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Posts Tagged ‘thriller’

A Peek Inside Tropical Scandal by David Myles Robinson

Posted: September 27, 2023 in Mytery/Thriller, suspense
Tags: excerpt, mystery, suspense, thriller

A legal thriller about a grandson accused of murdering his grandmother which morphs into a scandal that shakes the very foundations of the Hawaii legal system…

Title: Tropical Scandal
Author: David Myles Robinson
Publisher: Bluewater Press, LLC
Pages: 291
Genre: Legal Thriller/Suspense/Mystery

When
Pancho McMartin, Honolulu’s top criminal defense attorney, takes on the
case of Dayton Kalama, a young drug dealer accused of murdering his
grandmother (tutu), Pancho is faced with a daunting amount of evidence
pointing squarely at Dayton. But as Pancho, together with his private
investigator, Drew Tulafono, gradually pull back the layers of deceit,
they begin to uncover hints at what is beginning to look like the
biggest scandal ever to hit Hawaii’s legal community. This book is pure
fiction, but is inspired by true, scandalous events which shook
Honolulu’s legal community to its core.

Amazon

Book Excerpt

I was surprised when my current lover, Padma Dasari, asked me to meet with Isaac Goldblum, a legendary Hawaii trial attorney who, now in his eighties, was an alcoholic still representing clients. I had made known my intolerance for those attorneys who fell prey to addiction

yet refused help—all while still accepting clients. They were walking malpractice cases who risked everything they’d worked for in their own lives—not to mention the lives of their

clients—by living and working as functional drunks or addicts.

Being a trial attorney was stressful. Being a criminal defense trial attorney was particularly stressful. Aside from the relatively rare innocent defendant, our customer base was composed of criminals who, generally speaking, were not the warmest and fuzziest people to deal with day in and day out.

Whether they were guilty or innocent, their lives were in our hands—a situation only the most jaded and burned-out counsel didn’t find stressful.

My surprise didn’t arise from the fact that Padma knew Goldblum. She was the former medical examiner for the city and county of Honolulu, and just as I had cross-examined her many times in her capacity as coroner, so had Goldblum. My surprise arose from the fact that Padma knew Goldblum had been one of my early heroes. He was most famous for having won an acquittal for two Hawaiian teenagers who had been charged with the murder of a prominent haole (Caucasian) businessman. The public outcry against the Hawaiian kids had been reminiscent of the uproar in the Deep South when young black men were charged with the rape of white women. It was scary. Goldblum was vilified for taking the case.

As he later said in an interview for the Honolulu Advertiser, he knew that anything short of proving who the real killer was would fall on deaf ears. His cross-examination of the

businessman’s administrative assistant, who’d been having an affair with the dead man’s wife and who ultimately confessed to the murder, was nothing short of brilliant.

I had shared my early hero worship of Goldblum with Padma, but I had also made it clear that I now harbored a healthy dose of contempt for the man, who seemed intent on destroying his own legacy. At the time, Padma had not tried to defend Goldblum.

We were enjoying a quiet Saturday afternoon at Padma’s Kahala Beach condo when she broached the subject of my meeting with Goldblum. “He lives here, in the next building,”

she said. “He’s invited us to stop by for a cocktail at about four.”

I stared out from her oceanfront lanai at the tranquil ocean.

The palm fronds on the coconut trees fronting the beach barely twitched. One lone puff of a cumulous cloud hovered in the bright blue sky.

“Why?” I asked. “Why would I want to go have a drink with a drunk who should have put himself on inactive status years ago?”

Padma stared back at me with her piercing dark eyes. I half expected her to admonish me for being too judgmental—a trait I seemed to have developed in recent years. “Isaac asked to

meet with you. We know each other from court, and he knows I live in this building, and he knows we’re in a relationship. I think he came to me rather than you because he knows—or at

least suspects—that you aren’t much of an admirer of his.”

Padma had been born in India and had done volunteer work as a doctor in Bangladesh, but she had lived and worked in the United States for most of her adult life. Nonetheless, she

still retained the remnants of an accent, which was melodic and soothing. No doubt she was a calming influence on many people grieving the loss of a loved one. She had been instrumental in

helping my mother in New Mexico get through the early stages of the loss of my father. Just the tone of her voice seemed to take the wind out of my judgmental sails.

“Okay, but do you know why he wants to meet?”

She gave a small shake of her head. “Something about a case. That’s all I know.” She paused for a beat. “Look, I know he’s a drunk and you hate the fact that he’s still going to court, but you have to admit: drunk or sober, the man knows the law and probably still has pretty good instincts. I doubt he would ask to meet with you if he didn’t think it was important.”

I resisted the temptation to make a snide remark and instead looked at my watch. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. “Why’d you wait until now to tell me about this?”

Padma’s beautiful brown face broke into a mischievous grin. “So you wouldn’t have time to obsess about it.”

I laughed. “Jesus, Padma. We’re not even married and you play me like a fiddle.”

“I love the fiddle,” was her only retort.

About the Author

David
Myles Robinson has always had a passion for for writing. During the
late 1960’s and early 1970’s, while in college, Robinson worked as a
freelance writer for several magazines and was a staff writer for a
weekly minority newspaper in Pasadena, California. Upon graduating from
San Francisco State University, he attended the University of San
Francisco School of Law. It was there that he met his wife, Marcia
Waldorf. In 1975 the two moved to Honolulu, Hawaii and began practicing
law. Robinson became a trial lawyer and Waldorf eventually became a
Circuit Court judge.

Upon retiring in 2010, Robinson completed his first novel, Unplayable Lie. He has since published eight more novels.

Website / Twitter / Facebook / Instagram

Dead West by Linda L. Richards ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: September 14, 2023 in giveaways, reviews, suspense, thriller
Tags: giveaway, noir, review, suspense, thriller

Dead West

by Linda L Richards

September 4 – 29, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Dead West by Linda L Richards

Synopsis

Still struggling towards the light, this time the assignment is to save, not kill.

Taking lives has taken its toll. Her moral justifications have faltered. Do any of the the people she has killed — some of them heinous, but all of them human — deserve to die? Her next target is Cameron Walker, a rancher in Arizona. When she arrives at his remote desert estate to carry out her orders, she discovers that he is a kind and beautiful man. After a lengthy tour of the ranch, not only has she not killed him, she’s wondering who might want him dead. She procrastinates long enough that a vibe grows between them. At the same time, she learns that he’s passionate about wild horses and has been fighting a losing political battle to save the mustangs that live on protected land near his property. He’s even received death threats from those who oppose him. She finds herself trying to protect the man she was sent to kill, following a trail that leads from the desert, to the Phoenix cognoscenti, to the highest offices in Washington, DC. Along the way she encounters kidnappers and killers, horse thieves and even human traffickers. Hopefully she can figure out who ordered the hit before they hire someone else to execute the assignment.

Praise for Dead West:

“Linda L. Richards delivers yet another riveting entry in her hired killer series. Set mostly in Arizona desert country, Dead West is a dust devil of a story, twisting in wildly unpredictable ways and with a powerful emotional center. But this book isn’t just a marvelously compelling thriller; it also cries out passionately for protection of the endangered wild horses of the West. Kudos to Richards for seamlessly weaving an important message into the fabric of a terrific tale.” ~ William Kent Krueger, New York Times bestselling author “When a contract killer’s wounded conscience begins to awaken, it only heightens the dangers of her profession. In Dead West, the incomparable Linda L. Richards poses the possibility of redemption and recovery for her tragic heroine, all while sending her – and us – on a deadly thrill ride through the stunning Arizona wilderness.” ~ Clea Simon, Boston Globe bestselling author

MY REVIEW

Cameron is a kind and honest man who wants nothing more than to save the wild horses of Arizona from being killed off. Many other rancher’s say the horses are causing permanent damage to the environment, threatening the grazing ranges of their cattle. He says differently. The battle to save the horses has been ongoing but now someone wants him out of the way, for good.

Enter, Katherine Eveline Ragsdill, the woman hired to silence Cameron. She needs to get close to her target. To study his patterns. Her dilemma. She could be getting too close. She could be falling for him. Who knew she could love. Katherine sure didn’t before now.

I had no idea this was the third book in a series when I started reading. Don’t know how I missed that. The author put me in Katherine’s head and I could understand why she was who she was and did what she did so I didn’t feel lost or left wondering. What really had me going was how she would be able to have a relationship with Cameron. No way could she hide her occupation and have a truly honest and happy one. Would the couple ride off into the sunset? I wanted to see how the author could or would pull that off. The answer was….. not something I can tell you. The no spoiler thing and all. I can tell you the answer was quite satisfying and made sense.

I’d made note of a couple of bread crumbs the author sprinkled in the story and they became apparent in the ending. I’d almost forgot about it and it was a great conclusion for me.

5 STARS

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller, Noir, Suspense

Published by: Oceanview Publishing Publication Date: September 2023 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 9781608095124 (ISBN10: 1608095126) Series: The Endings Series, Book 3

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview Publishing

Enjoy this peek inside:

CHAPTER ONE

I’m sitting on a beach. It’s a ridiculous proposition. Fluffy white clouds are scudding through a clear, blue sky. Surfers are running around carrying boards, often over their heads. Then they plunge into a sea that looks deadly to my non-surfing eyes. Palm trees are waving, and the air is so neutral, you don’t have to think about it. Soft, welcoming air. You just float right through. The view is beautiful. It’s like a movie backdrop. A painting. Something skillfully manufactured to look hyper-real. Textbook paradise, that’s what I’m talking about. I’m sitting on this beach, trying not to think about the reason I’m here. But it’s hard. Difficult. To not think about it, I mean. I’m here, in paradise, because someone has to die. Someone will die. I got the assignment a few days ago. I flew to this island to pull it off. My target is a businessman who lives on this island in the South Pacific. He is the kind of self-made guy who has achieved every goal in life and would seem to have everything to live for. Only now, apparently, someone wants him dead because here I am, ready for business. So I stake him out. You need to understand at least the basics of who someone is before you snuff them out. This is the idea that I have. I’m not going all sensitive on you or anything, that’s just how it is. In order to do the best possible job in this business, you need to understand a little about who they are. It’s not a rule or anything, it’s just how I feel. His name is Gavin White, and I researched him a bit before I got here. He made his fortune in oil and wax, which is an odd enough combo that you perk up your ears. Only it doesn’t seem to matter: the source of the income would seem to have nothing to do with the hit. Would seem to, because there is only so much I can learn about that, really. On the surface, anyway, I can find no direct connection between Gavin White’s livelihood and the death that someone has planned for him and that I am now further planning. I follow him and his S560 cabriolet all over the tropical island. He makes a few stops. I watch what he does, how he moves and who he interacts with. Some of it might matter. I’m not doing it for my health. I’m watching him so I can determine when I might best have advantage when I go to take him out. There are always multiple times and different places to fulfill my assignment and usually only one—or maybe two—that are virtually flawless. Sometimes not even that. So I watch. And it’s more than an opportunity I’m looking for, though that can play a part. It’s also a matter of identifying what will make my job not only easier, but also safest from detection. And so I watch. And I wait. As I follow him, he stops first at a bank. Does some business— I’ll never know what. After that he visits his mom. At least, I guess it is his mom. An older woman he seems affectionate with. From my rental car, I can see them through a front room window. There is a hug and then a wave. It could be a bookkeeper for all I know. But mom is what I guess. After a while he heads to the beach. He sits on the sand, contemplative for a while. I think about taking him there; full contemplation. But it is crude and much too exposed. More time passes before he takes off his shoes, leaves them on the beach, and walks into the surf. I leave my car and take up a spot on the sand, just plopping myself down not far from his shoes. I watch him surreptitiously. It is obvious he did not come to the beach to swim. He is fully clothed and he hasn’t left a towel behind there with his shoes. There is none of the paraphernalia one associates with a visit to the beach, even if this were one that is intended for swimming, which it is not. Signs warn of possible impending doom for those who venture into the water. “Strong current,” warns one sign under a fluorescent flag. “If in doubt, don’t go out.” “Dangerous shore break,” warns another. “Waves break in shallow water. Serious injuries could occur, even in small surf.” I don’t know if Gavin White read the signs, or noticed them, but even though he is still fully clothed, he steps into the water anyway. First, he gets his feet wet. Not long after, he wades in up to his knees. He hesitates when the water is at mid-thigh, and he stops there. For a while, it seems to me, it is like a dance. He stands facing the horizon, directly in front of where I sit. His shoulders are squared. There is something stoic in his stance. I can’t explain it. Squared and stoic. Waves break against him, push him back. He allows the push, then makes his way back to the spot where he had stood before. Before long, he ventures deeper still. The dance. I watch for a while, fascinated. I wonder if there is anything I should do. But no. The dance. Two steps forward, then the waves push him back. And now he is in deeper still, and further from shore. I see a wave engulf him completely, and I hold my breath. He doesn’t struggle, but then I see him rise, face the horizon, square his shoulders. The waves are strong and beautiful. And they are eerily clear, those waves. Sometimes I can see right inside them. Careful glass tubes of water, I can even observe that from shore. For a while he stands like that, facing the horizon—a lull in the action of the waves. And then he is engulfed once again. I hold my breath, but this time he doesn’t rise. I sit there for a long time, considering. And waiting. My breathing shallow. But he doesn’t reappear. After half an hour, I text my handler. “It is done,” is all I say, just as I know she will expect. It was not my hand, but the mission has been accomplished regardless. No one knows better than me that there are many ways to die.

CHAPTER TWO

There are many ways to die. I think I have died many times. Certainly, I’ve wanted to. I died when I lost my child. Died later when I lost my husband, even though by then there was little love left between us. Still. I died. I died the first time I took someone’s life. At the time it felt like living, but I didn’t yet know the difference. And then there was the time I had to kill someone I loved. I died that time, too. Sometimes I believe I have died so much that I’ve forgotten how to live. That I should most correctly walk into a waiting undertow just like Gavin White did. I don’t know what stops me, honestly. I don’t. Though there are days when it’s a very close thing. This isn’t one of those days. When my phone rings, it tells me the call is coming from Kiribati, a place I’ve barely heard of before. All of her calls are like that. Routed through some other place. They might be chosen for their convenience, but I think they are also selected for the mirth they might provide. I’m not certain she has a wicked sense of humor, but I suspect it, pretty much. She never used to call me. For a long time, it was text and email only, secure channels always. And then the calls began. I imagined that it meant we had developed some sort of connection. I no longer wonder about that now. Whatever the meaning, the calls have never been from normal places; they don’t come from the places one might expect. And none have been from the same odd place twice. They are chosen for some reason I don’t understand. Some inside joke I stand outside of. She can be cryptic that way. Another reason I guess I imagined for a while that we belonged. “That was efficient,” is what she says by way of greeting. “What do you mean?” I figure I actually know, but it makes no sense to admit that going in. “He walked into the sea,” she says. How does she know that? It makes me wonder, but not deeply. It would not be the first time I’ve wondered if there is someone who watches the hunter. It would even make a dark sort of sense. “Yes,” I say, unquestioning. She has her ways. “That’s right. He did.” “Hmmm,” she says. And then again, “Hmmm.” “There are many ways to die,” I say, and by now it feels like gospel. Something sacred. And more true than true. “What I really don’t understand,” I say, sailing into a different direction, “is that you said things weren’t going to be like this anymore.” “Excuse me?” I am put off by her tone. Surprised. It comes to me from a new place. Unexpected. And she doesn’t back away from it. Goes on just as strongly, instead. “What do you mean by that?” It’s a challenge. “I’m trying to think how you put it,” I say. “Something about how things have been wrong with the world. How we could . . . how we could make it right.” “Did I say that?” “You did,” I reply. “I do maybe remember something like that. Maybe.” I feel my heart sink a bit at her words. And why? I can’t even quite put my finger on it. It felt, maybe, like I might be part of something. Again. And now? Now I’m not. “You did say that,” I say it quietly though. Almost as an aside. “These things take time, as it turns out. One can’t just flip a switch.” I can hear her pushing on, rushing through. “Meanwhile, I’ve got another one for you,” she says, and I’m relieved that she has tacitly agreed to leave the drowned man to sink or swim. Disappointed by how easily the hopeful words she’d fed me not so long ago could be pushed to one easy side. Disappointed and relieved all in one gulp. It’s an odd thing to feel. I find I don’t like it. “So if you’re ready,” she says. “Another what?” I ask it, but I suspect I know. “Job,” she replies, and I wonder why I wasted breath. “I’m ready enough,” I say, though I’m struggling. I struggle every time. “Good,” she says. “I’ll send you the details, but I think the juxtaposition of these two will amuse you.” “How so?” And I try not to digest the irony around any aspect of a contract killing being amusing. “Well, you’ve just been in the Pacific. Water, water everywhere. And now you’re heading for the desert.” “I am?” “You are. Right out into it, in fact. The target is in Arizona.” “Phoenix?” Which is all I really know of Arizona. “You’ll fly to Phoenix, but, no: the target is near a national park. Rural. A place you won’t have heard of before, I’m betting. I’ll send the details once I’m off this call.” When I first get off the phone, I try not to think about it too much. It’s like my brain doesn’t want me to pay attention. Or something. But I put off checking my email. I’ll do it later. Right now, there are things that need my attention. Okay. “Need” would be an overstatement. There are things. I choose to give them my time. Walks in the forest with the dog. Cooking succulent meals for one. And recently, I have taken up plein air painting, simply because it was there. When I want to paint, I take the dog and my gear and we hike out to some remote spot and I set up my stuff and I paint what I see. Try to paint what I see. The dog meanwhile amuses himself— chasing squirrels, digging holes, sniffing his own butt. He’s very skilled at self-amusement. I’ve never seen anything like it. In less clement weather we hunker down and brave it out. I make a fire in the fireplace because it’s beautiful, not because we need the warmth. There is something idyllic to this life. Easy. After a while it gets even easier to forget . . . forget what? Everything, really. It gets easier to forget to remember. I paint the dog. My online classes have gone well enough, and I have proven to be a good enough student—and the dog a good enough subject—that I end up with a pretty credible representation of him; something I am proud to hang. And even if I wasn’t, it’s not like anyone is ever going to see. *** Excerpt from Dead West by Linda L Richards. Copyright 2023 by Linda L Richards. Reproduced with permission from Linda L Richards. All rights reserved.

About Author Linda L. Richards:

Linda L. Richards is the award-winning author of over a dozen books. The founder and publisher of January Magazine and a national board member of Sisters in Crime, she is best known for her strong female protagonists in the thriller genre. Richards is from Vancouver, Canada and currently makes her home in Phoenix, Arizona. Richards is an accomplished horsewoman and an avid tennis player. She enjoys yoga, hiking, cooking and playing guitar, though not at the same time.

You can find her at: LindaLRichards.com Goodreads BookBub – @linda1841 Instagram – @lindalrichards Twitter – @lindalrichards Facebook – @lindalrichardsauthor TikTok – @lindalrichards

Learn More about Linda in this #AuthorInterview!

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A Good Man by P.J. McIlvaine ~ Excerpt And Giveaway

Posted: August 26, 2023 in giveaways, thriller
Tags: giveaway, thriller

I am so excited that A GOOD MAN by P.J. McIlvaine is available now and that I get to share the news!

If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below.

This blitz also includes a giveaway for five signed copies of the book courtesy of P.J. & Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.

A GOOD MAN

by P.J. McIlvaine

Pub. Date: August 18, 2023

Publisher: Bloodhound Books

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 300

Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/A-GOOD-MAN

Read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited subscription!

Decades after a brutal childhood trauma,
a famous novelist finds his life shattered once again, in this unsettling
psychological mystery thriller.

After years of turmoil, Brooks Anderson is sober and has a stable life with his
wife and two kids. He should be enjoying life, but the persistent nightmares
and sleepwalking tell a different story.

As hard as he’s tried, Brooks can’t run away from the defining event of his
life: the senseless murders of his mother and brother during a vacation in
Montauk. An eight-year-old Brooks was the sole survivor of the carnage, which
left him in a catatonic state. He buried his pain and eventually overcame his
demons. Or so he believed.

Now an unscrupulous journalist is threatening to write about the deaths.
Fearful that the truth will be twisted to suit sordid ends, Brooks decides to
write his own book, despite the grave misgivings of his agent, wife, and
father.

However, when the journalist is brutally killed, Brooks finds himself in the
authorities’ crosshairs. To prove his innocence and exorcise the past, he digs
deeper into his psyche and that fateful summer. His relentless pursuit of the
truth soon leads Brooks down a slippery slope that challenges everything—and
brings him face-to-face with the real monster of Montauk . .

Excerpt:
(part of chapter one)

CHAPTER ONE

Sheldon
Adler, my agent at Crown-Hawkins and my brother from another mother, is late as
usual. No fucking surprise there. When you’re meeting Sheldon, you
have to tack on an hour at least. I’m at our usual table at La Bonne
Grenouille, the best little French bistro in Manhattan that no one has ever
heard of, sipping a glass of ice-cold watermelon seltzer. Sheldon has been
my literary agent—no, make that literary savior—since he read my first
published short story that didn’t involve erect penises in The New
Yorker. He contacted me out of the blue and suggested Hey, why don’t
you write a book and I’ll sell it? I wrote Fallen Angels in
twenty-four days in a drug haze. When it was finally published, it sold
less than two hundred copies, but Sheldon was so fucking proud you would’ve
thought it sold two million. I resigned myself to being a
failure. Months later, the book was plucked out of obscurity by the senior
literary critic of The New York Times and nominated for a
Pulitzer. A tabloid dubbed me “The Heroin Hemingway.” The name stuck,
even though I’ve been sober and drug-free for more than twenty-five years.

Sheldon got
me my first million-dollar advance. He’s the wolf that other wolves hire,
and his reputation is well-earned. My biggest supporter, he stayed with me
through the lean, mean years when I wrote truly terrible books. Despite my
abysmal marital track record, I’m extremely loyal. I wouldn’t dream of
leaving Sheldon and believe me, other agents have tried to poach me. And
unless I did or said something unacceptable that blew up on social media—which
is why I don’t have any social media accounts—Sheldon wouldn’t kick me to the
curb or toss me under the bus. All my skeletons are out there. Well,
most of them.

A portly man
with a vague resemblance to the great Mafia chronicler Mario Puzo, Sheldon
huffs his way to our table. I can’t say it to his face, but Sheldon needs
to lose forty—make that fifty—pounds, if not for himself, then for his young children. I’m
sixty-five and I can still fit into the jeans I wore when I was
nineteen. It takes discipline and willpower, of which I have plenty to
spare.

After we
order and exchange our typical innocuous pleasantries about the weather,
politics, and soccer, for we’re both rabid fans, Sheldon downs a gin and
tonic. It’s his first of the day and not his last. “Brooks, how is
the book coming along?” he booms in a guttural Brooklyn accent that has
other diners turning their heads.

“Great,” I reply cheerfully. “It couldn’t be going any better. Gold, pure gold.”

He tilts his head. “Cassie says you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Cassie’s my
third and—if I have anything to say about it—last wife. She interviewed me
for a puff piece and months later, when the pregnancy test was positive, I knew
I’d met my Waterloo, no thanks to Abba. An abortion was out of the
question. Now we have two children under six, our lives are a
merry-go-round of sweet chaos. Last fall, I had a vasectomy so there will
be no more miniature Andersons polluting the planet.

I finish my
seltzer and signal for another. “You know I never sleep well when I’m
writing. I do my best work after midnight.” In the old days, that
didn’t necessarily apply to writing.

The waitress
delivers our meals: me, a grilled chicken Caesar salad with extra feta, and
Sheldon a porterhouse with crispy julienne potatoes and parmesan creamed
spinach. I eye his steak with unconcealed envy, but Cassie’s always after
me to eat healthier. I sigh and add more dressing to my salad. Cassie
would be pleased.

“Yeah, I
know. You have the constitution of fucking Secretariat. You did drugs
with Keith Richards and Lou Reed.” Sheldon cut into his steak; it’s not
just blue, it’s bloody raw. Just looking at it makes me queasy. “But
this is different. You’re writing about your goddamn family.”

“I can be objective.”

Sheldon puts
his fork down. “Not about this, Brooks. Come on. The
cold-blooded executions of your mother and brother—”

I suddenly
lose my appetite. Sheldon means well. Cassie does, too. But this
quasi-intervention is the last thing I need. “Sheldon, you know as well as
Cassie that I had no choice. I wasn’t going to let that fucking
guttersnipe drag my mother through the mud.” The fucking guttersnipe in
question is Marshall Reagan (no relation to the former president), a douchebag
posing as a journalist. His brand is writing scandalous, unauthorized
biographies of the rich and famous because he knows he can get away with
it. No dirt, no sleaze, is beneath him. And when he can’t find
anything salacious, he makes shit up and pulls it out of his ass like saltwater
taffy.

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, but I
do know. I know exactly the angle he’d take. That my mother was
having an affair with Julian.” Julian Broadhurst, born in Lancaster,
England, in 1942. An artist who was supposedly the protégé of Peter
Max. Julian had long blond hair and drove a robin’s-egg-blue Aston Martin. Palmer
and I loathed him. “And when Mom wanted to end it, he killed her. But
that wasn’t enough, fuck no. When my brother tried to protect her, Julian
killed him, too.” I shake my head, the bile percolating like a fresh pot
of coffee. “My mother was brilliant. Graduated from Mount Holyoke
with honors. And she was utterly devoted to my father. To
us. The idea that she’d have a summer fling with that bohemian scumbag—” I
choke on the words (or is it a sliver of chicken that went down the wrong
pipe?). “And you know damn well that when that cocksucker Reagan’s done
tarring and feathering her, he’ll start in on my father, who has been nothing
less than a fucking saint. Saint Bernard.” I rap my fist on the
table. “It’s fucking ludicrous.”

Sheldon
nods, sympathy oozing from every pore. “All I’m saying is that you have a
lot on your plate. The book. The next book. Your father’s
gala. You’re writing a speech for that, right? Jesus fucking Christ,
Brooks. You’re not Superman. It’s bound to take a toll on you.”

“So, what
are you suggesting? I can’t return the advance. It’s already
spent.” Six million gone in a heartbeat. Lawyers. Trust
funds. The new house in Water Mill. And I was finally able to get my
ex-wives off my back with a tidy lump sum. For the first time in years, no
alimony to shill out every goddamn month. All thanks to Sheldon, who
hadn’t budged an inch during the multi-house book auction. He earned his
commission ten times over.

“No one’s
suggesting that. That’s crazy.” Sheldon’s halfway through his steak. “But
we can ask to push the deadline back by a couple of months.”

“No.” I’m
a stubborn son of a bitch. If there’s one thing I’m known for, it’s living
up to my contractual obligations. I’ve never missed a deadline. I
could be fucking pushing up daisies and I’d still deliver.

Sheldon sighs. “Why are you being so goddamn obstinate?”

“I’m well into the book now, it’s just a matter of research.”

“Really?” He gives me a side-eye. “Cassie says you’ve barely written the first chapter.”

I’m annoyed. Mostly because Cassie’s right. “It’s all in my head, Sheldon. Don’t worry.”

About P.J. McIlvaine:

PJ McIlvaine
is a prolific and creative children’s author/screenwriter/writer/journalist.

PJ will have
two books coming out in 2023: A GOOD MAN, a gritty adult contemporary psych
thriller from Bloodhound Books and THE CURIOUS CONUNDRUM OF CHARLEMAGNE CROSS,
a young adult alternate history adventure set in Victorian London from Orange
Blossom Books.

PJ’s debut
middle-grade supernatural historical mystery adventure VIOLET YORKE, GILDED
GIRL: GHOSTS IN THE CLOSET (Darkstroke Books, April 2022) is about a poor
little rich girl in NYC 1912 who sees ghosts.

PJ’s debut
picture book LITTLE LENA AND THE BIG TABLE (June 2019, Big Belly Book Co.),
with illustrations by Leila Nabih, is about a determined little girl tired of
eating with her annoying cousins at the kid’s table, only to discover that the
big table isn’t much better. She has another picture book, DRAGON ROAR
(MacLaren-Cochrane Publishing, October 2021) artwork by Logan Rogers, about a
lonely, sick dragon who has lost his mighty roar, and the brave village girl
who helps him find it again.

PJ is also a
co-host and founding member of #PBPitch, the premiere Twitter pitch party for
picture book creators.

PJ has been
published in numerous outlets including The New York Times and Newsday, and is
a regular contributor for The Children’s Book Insider newsletter (paid
firewall), writing about the path to publication and interviews with
established and debut kid lit authors.

PJ lives on Eastern Long Island with her family and furbaby Luna.

Giveaway Details:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

My Review ~ Zipline by P. Anthony Michael

Posted: August 18, 2023 in horror, reviews, suspense, thriller
Tags: Horror, review, suspense, thriller

Welcome to the book tour for Zipline by P. Anthony Michael. Read on for my review!

Potter-Cover-Project-full-jpg-scaled

Zipline

Publication Date: June 2022

Genre: Thriller/ Suspense

If Gail knew Uncle Perkins’ stories were true, she wouldn’t have taken her friends up that mountain.

The plan was simple. Hike, camp, and ride the zipline back down the mountain. But Uncle Perkins’ stories are true, and the horrors are real. Now the simple plan is the only plan they have to get off that mountain or disappear, remaining there forever.

Zipline is an immediately gripping, fast-paced, unique story that will keep you entertained until the last sent

Available on Amazon

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MY REVIEW

I have a bucket list and taking a ride on a zipline is on the list. After reading this book, I’m sure I’ll be imaging what scary things I’m rushing past as I zip along above the tree canopy.

Coming in at just 82 pages in my paperback copy, Zipline packs an eerie punch. The author managed to flesh out his characters too, and that’s no mean feat with so few pages.

There’s something strange happening at Finch Mountain. Nicknamed BEASTLY, that tag and an old man’s warning should have been enough to deter Gail and her friends. That old saying, “Curiosity Killed The Cat” turns out to be oh so true as they venture into the dark forest. And the second part of that saying, “Satisfaction Brought Them Back” proves not so true.

The action begins almost immediately and the story “zips” along. Will they get off the mountain? Who survives? Anyone? My curiosity was answered and what fun it was finding out.

4 STARS

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About the Author

Michael received a creative writing certificate from the University of West Virginia in the late 90s. He’s been running a successful writer’s group called For The Love Of Words for almost two decades. When he has time, he teaches in the local library Story 101 – How to create a story. He has won in every category over a five-year period in a state-funded wordsmith competition in Poetry, Essay, Short Story, and One-Act Play.

P. Anthony Michael

Book Tour Organized By:

R&R Book Tours

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Peek Inside And Giveaway ~ The Devil Within by James L’Etoile

Posted: August 16, 2023 in Excerpt, giveaways, thriller
Tags: giveaway, procedural, thriller

Devil Within

by James L’Etoile

July 24 – August 18, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The border is a hostile place with searing heat and venomous serpents. Yet the deadliest predator targets the innocent.

A sniper strikes in the Valley of the Sun and Detective Nathan Parker soon finds a connection between the victims—each of them had a role in an organization founded to help undocumented migrants make the dangerous crossing. Parker discovers no one is exactly who they seem. There’s the devil you know and then there’s the devil within—when the two collide, no one is safe.

Devil Within is the sequel to the Anthony and Lefty Award nominated Dead Drop.