Posts Tagged ‘thriller’

Devious Web by Shelley Grandy Banner

DEVIOUS WEB
by Shelley Grandy
February 17 – March 14, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
Gone Girl‘s twists, The Social Network’s scheming, and Agatha Christie’s detective sleuthing coalesce in this suspenseful mystery fiction novel set in Toronto in a mid-pandemic business environment.

When Tom Oliver, a successful Canadian entrepreneur, is offered millions from a Silicon Valley company for his data analytics business, he believes his only challenges as he considers the offer will be deciding on next steps for his company and reconciling with his aloof wife. What could possibly go wrong? Things escalate quickly when Tom is targeted by an unknown perpetrator and his inner circle of family and colleagues comes under scrutiny. Tom’s friend, homicide detective Jason Liu, strives to keep Tom safe while he investigates to find the truth. Who would want to murder a well-liked tech CEO at the top of his game, and why? A progression of intriguing plot twists takes this bingeworthy thriller through business, politics, social media, interpersonal relationships, and even equestrian scenarios. When the dust has settled literally motivations become clear, and Tom discovers that while some relationships are worthy of long-term investment, others have expiration dates.

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Praise for Devious Web:

“Writing with aplomb about a corporate world she clearly knows, Shelley Grandy has come up with a pulse-pounding psychological thriller and whodunit, with political overtones, that fully captivates. She keeps you guessing until the very end, making this an impossible book to put down.” ~ Jude Berman, author of The Die

“A truly captivating read! Shelley Grandy weaves together a web of suspense and intrigue in Devious Web, leaving readers spellbound until the final page. With its engaging plot and well-drawn characters, this book is a thrilling must-read for any lover of suspense fiction.” ~ Kelley Keehn, best-selling author of Talk Money to Me and Rich Girl, Broke Girl

“A thrilling and well-crafted read that will captivate fans of tech-driven mysteries.” ~ Publishers Weekly BookLife Reviews

“Shelley Grandy builds a complex story packed with twists and turns. Tension, characters, and connections are so well-constructed that even savvy murder mystery readers won’t see many of these developments coming.” ~ Midwest Book Review

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller

Published by: SparkPress Publication Date: October 15, 2024 Number of Pages: 272 ISBN: 9781684632749 (ISBN10: 1684632749)

. Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Simon & Schuster

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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Chapter 1
TOM AND LAWRENCE—JULY 29, 2021

The pandemic had not been kind to Lawrence Cameron, at least not to his waistline. As The Big Guy strode across the restaurant to join him for dinner, Tom could easily see that Lawrence had packed on a few more pounds while working from home. Toronto’s legendary finance guru and media commentator had earned his nickname for his investing prowess, but now the term was even more suitable for the six-foot-two-inch, 250-pound influencer.

When Tom stood to greet him at their table, Lawrence gave him his usual whack on the back and the now customary COVID-19 elbow bump. Even though Tom had played football in high school and was himself six feet tall, he always felt dwarfed by his main investor and personal mentor. Maybe it was also because of the gap in experience between them, as Lawrence was twenty years older. “Tom, how’s my favorite entrepreneur doing?” Lawrence asked while settling into the comfortable leather banquette reserved especially for him by the manager of ONE, the see-and-be-seen restaurant adjacent to the Hazelton Hotel in Toronto’s upscale Yorkville enclave. “Good, thanks, Lawrence, but crazy busy with all that’s going on with the business, as you can imagine,” Tom responded. “No doubt. And I bet you never thought that seven years in, you would have brought Pellucid so far!” Lawrence said. Tom agreed as he reflected on how truly surreal it was that the data analytics software company he had founded— Pellucid—was valued at over US $200 million, and a Silicon Valley company was now proposing an acquisition. To have hit that milestone at the age of thirty-eight is honestly mind-blowing, Tom thought. “I’m looking forward to hearing your updates today, Tom, but given that Grace just put me on a no-frills diet, I’m definitely ready to dive into this menu before we get started,” Lawrence joked. Tom smiled, knowing that Lawrence’s second wife, Grace, did her best to keep her husband’s life—and his weight—balanced. He knew Lawrence would be eyeing the restaurant’s signature lobster spoons as an appetizer and something carb-heavy and definitely not on Grace’s diet plan for the main course. While Lawrence ordered for them, Tom admired the contemporary styling of the chic restaurant. It’s the little things everyone missed during the restrictions of the pandemic, like being able to get together with friends or enjoying this kind of ambience, Tom thought. Yorkville, with its high-end boutiques and elegant hotels and restaurants, was where Toronto’s elite dined and shopped. It wasn’t part of Tom’s typical day-to-day, but he and his wife, Miriam, sometimes had drinks at ONE’s expansive bar because the art gallery she curated was just around the corner. After the waiter had filled their glasses with a Chianti Classico wine, Lawrence leaned forward and spoke quietly so other diners wouldn’t overhear. “So, what about the acquisition? What’s the latest from Crystal Clere?” he asked. Tom confided that the California artificial intelligence company’s CEO had confirmed he would be offering US $250 million in cash and stock to acquire Pellucid. The next step would be for Tom to receive a letter of intent formalizing the offer, and then Pellucid’s board would have until September 15—about six weeks—to decide whether to approve the sale. “I’m open to the offer, which is certainly substantial, but I still feel a bit reluctant, Lawrence. I always envisioned taking Pellucid to an IPO on the TSX and Nasdaq myself. On the other hand, it’s hard to turn down a huge payout from a well-established company like Crystal Clere that’s a great fit for our software,” Tom said. “Not only that, Tom, but as they say, timing is everything. The pandemic has shown you never know what kind of economic climate you might encounter just when you’re ready to take the company public. Sometimes it’s good to take a profit and focus on the next opportunity,” Lawrence said, as he nodded to acknowledge a couple of people passing by their table who obviously recognized the Big Guy from media interviews. “That’s a great point, especially after everything we’ve seen over the last year, from market volatility to the January 6 insurrection,” Tom agreed. “It definitely creates a more opportunistic mindset.” “And of course, I wouldn’t object if my investment in Pellucid netted out to a nice-sized return,” Lawrence quipped. “Ha, I’m sure!” Tom replied. “Well, for now, Winston is earning his CFO pay and then some, working through the due diligence to address all the financials, and Crystal Clere’s CEO and I are in discussions ensuring we’re well aligned. But so far, I can say that I like what I see. And that’s important because if we sell, they’ll probably want me and possibly a couple of my senior team to commit to working for a year or so as part of Crystal Clere.” “Yes, it’s pretty standard for the acquiring company to want at least the CEO to stay on for continuity,” Lawrence agreed. “Overall, you’ve got this, Tom. Working through the process, making sure you have all the information up front, and doing the due diligence is the right approach. Then when you have all the facts and feel comfortable, I’m sure it will be easier to make your final decision. And, of course, whatever direction you decide to take, the board of directors must be onside with it as well.” Tom nodded agreement as Lawrence twirled some of his impressively presented main-course seafood linguini onto his fork. “Okay, so fill me in on Patrick,” Lawrence said. “I know you were having some issues with him last time we talked. How did that net out?” Tom sighed. It had been a tough situation to manage. Five years before, Tom had met Patrick McGowan at the stable where they both boarded horses and had soon hired Patrick to be his business development manager. The two men were close in age but had vastly different personalities. While Patrick’s Irish flair and direct manner with prospects had proven helpful in building the business, his proclivity for partying had created problems. Tom shared with Lawrence that he’d had no choice but to fire Patrick and, after a contentious final meeting with him, he suspected their friendship had been permanently shattered. “That’s unfortunate, Tom,” Lawrence said. “But eventually Patrick’s shenanigans would have attracted attention and reflected badly on Pellucid. I know you hate being tough on people, but didn’t he lose an investor for you when he missed a key meeting?” Tom indicated that had indeed been the last straw and agreed he had run out of options when it came to keeping Patrick on his payroll. The two men lingered over coffee and liqueurs while reviewing Pellucid’s latest quarterly results, upcoming sales pipeline, and the company’s case study currently in development at Tom’s father-in-law’s business in North Carolina, one of Tom’s biggest early-stage clients. “Are you staying here in Yorkville tonight or at your place?” Tom asked as he and Lawrence concluded their business. “Next door at the Hazelton,” Lawrence replied. “Grace and I have been living up north at the cottage during the pandemic, and I’m more comfortable playing tourist here in Yorkville rather than rattling around our big house in Rosedale without Grace.” Tom chuckled at Lawrence’s candor and, as always, admired the close relationship Lawrence had with his wife. The two men parted ways, with Lawrence going to the bar for a final nightcap before turning in and Tom heading for home. *** Excerpt from Devious Web by Shelley Grandy. Copyright 2024 by Shelley Grandy. Reproduced with permission from Shelley Grandy. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Shelley Grandy:

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Shelley Grandy

Shelley Grandy is a Canadian communications professional whose journalism degree from Ottawa’s Carleton University fueled a career that started in newspapers and progressed to a high-tech company, Nortel. She subsequently founded Grandy Public Relations Inc. and has supported tech sector clients in Ontario and Quebec for the past fifteen years. You can find her at the boarding stable with her horses, Chancey and Briosa. Shelley lives in Trenton, Ontario, Canada, with husband Roy, Husky dog Luka, and cat Otto, and within spoiling distance of her granddaughters, Emilia and Olivia Oulds.

Catch Up With Shelley Grandy: www.ShelleyGrandy.com Goodreads

 

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Some buried secrets are better left unearthed.

The Unforgetting

by Bonnie Traymore

Genre: Psychological Thriller, Suspense

Ten years ago, Reagan’s friend died in a tragic accident.

 

But what if it wasn’t an accident?

 

The morning after a raging college graduation party, we found Lanie Martin
lying at the bottom of a ravine, her neck snapped in a fatal fall. And I’m not
proud of what came next.
Before we called the police, we covered ourselves. Cleaned up from the blow-out
at Ella’s cabin in the Adirondacks the night before. Got our stories straight.
Ella begged me not to tell the police what I saw. She insisted that it was an
accident—and we all went along. What did I know? I was plastered that night,
and large chunks of that evening are missing for me.
But now, in my postpartum state, memories are starting to return, and I can’t
help but feel that they might be connected to the soul crushing depression I’ve
been experiencing. Is it guilt? Or do I know more than I think I do?
So when I receive Ella’s invitation for a ten-year reunion at her family camp—a
gathering of remembrance and healing, she’s calling it—I know I have to go.
Are the memories I’m struggling to recover the key to my moving on? To being
able to take care of my infant son and stay married to the perfect man?

 

Or are they a death sentence for me, too?

 

 

“The Unforgetting is a great read filled with tension on every
page, stunning twist after twist, and a mind-blowing ending that you’ll never
see coming. Highly recommended!” – R.G. Belsky, author of the Clare
Carlson series.

 

The Unforgetting is a riveting, twisty, slow-burn atmospheric
thriller that will delight and disturb, in the best possible ways. Highly
recommended.” Douglas Corleone, international bestselling author of Falls
to Pieces

Amazon
* Bookbub
* Goodreads

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PROLOGUE

Ten Years Earlier

The crackling flames feel close.

Too close.

The heat licks my face.

“She’s gonna fall in,” I hear someone say.

Not me.

They can’t be talking about me.

Because I’m floating.

Floating people can’t fall.

Gyrating to the rhythm of the blaring music, I want to be one with the flames. They dance in a way I envy, shooting up and down in sharp angles, casting shadows over the partiers, giving them a ghoulish look. Some of the people I know. Many I don’t. We twist and writhe and merge with the music.

Nirvana. 

So fitting. 

The smell of burning wood permeates my nostrils, mixing with reefer and patchouli oil. Embers float down like sparkling rubies in the twinkling night sky. A red-hot one lands on my shoulder. I bat it off, singeing the hairs on my hand, but I don’t flinch.

This is what the afterlife must feel like. When you become a bodiless bundle of energy, no longer tethered to the corporal world, free to roam around the atmosphere.

A blood-curdling scream comes from…somewhere.

Something bad is happening.

But we don’t stop.

We can’t stop.

We keep dancing and laughing and soon the flames are too hot and it’s not fun anymore and I think maybe, just maybe, that was my scream I heard in the woods.

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Bonnie Traymore is the award-winning, Amazon best selling
author of page-turner mystery/thrillers that hit close to home. Her books
feature strong but relatable female protagonists. The plots explore difficult
topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological
disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood
from time to time. She’s an active status member of International Thriller
Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon
* Goodreads

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Red Ultimatum

by Edwin D. Fuller, Gary Grossman

 

(The Red Hotel, #4)
Publication date: February 25th 2025
Genres: Adult, Thriller

A former U.S. President’s plane is brought down in the Atlantic. Revolutionary forces attack Cairo. The U.S. Secretary of State is kidnapped in Panama. A North Korean ballistic missile submarine tracks toward America’s West Coast. A sleeper cell spy awakens in the halls of Congress. A woman assassin takes aim on the Washington Mall. Behind it all is Russian President Nicolai Gorshkov who has mastered the ability to walk between the raindrops and not get wet. Until… China determines that Gorshkov’s policies are endangering its global initiatives… until Beijing issues Gorshkov a defiant ultimatum… until Dan Reilly, hotel executive/CIA freelancer, and friend of the Secretary of State, reads the moves on the international political chessboard and picks up the pieces. The non-stop action plays out on Air, Land, and Sea. Yet, with so many geo-political threads being tugged simultaneously, will the Russian leader succeed getting another step closer to rebuilding the old Soviet Empire in his image? (https://redhotelseries.com/)

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

ATHENS, GREECE

“I saw you die!”

“You saw me fall off the building.”

“Yes, and you died! I saw it happen. The explosion from below. The fireball that swept up. Your last look. I’ve relived that moment every day since. Oh my God, Marnie, I was there. I saw it all.”

“And I’m here with you, Dan.” “You’re not. You can’t be.”

“I am and we can be together again.”

She reached out to him. Dan Reilly stepped back and stared. She was wearing the same dress, green blouse, and leather jacket she had worn that day in Stockholm; the day Marnie Babbitt returned to his hotel room seemingly regretful; wishing things were different; wanting to make them so.

“You loved me, Dan,” the brunette said softly. “You can love me again. Tonight. Here in Athens.”

Dan Reilly stopped retreating. Yes, he thought. Here. Athens.

He looked at the surroundings. Nighttime traffic was flowing along Adrianou Street. Horns honked. Couples walked arm-in-arm. Tourists window-shopped. Everything was normal until the woman he had desperately loved, the woman who had betrayed him stepped out of the shadows in front of him and into the light of a street lamp.

Dan Reilly had just concluded a successful business meeting at Kuzina, one of Athens’ most celebrated restaurants that boasted a magnificent view of The Temple of Hephaestus, the Agora, and the Acropolis. He had come to discuss the final terms for his company’s acquisition of a luxury hotel property currently owned by a Greek billionaire. It would take lawyers months to solidify the terms, but atop the restaurant’s Tarazza, with the golden glow of the Acropolis backlighting them, Reilly and the seller toasted to their relationship with a final glass of Ouzo.

It had been a good night for the International President of Kensington Royal Hotel Corporation. As he had walked along the cobblestones on Adrianou, Marnie Babbitt was not on his mind, but suddenly she was there alive and vibrant as ever. Her beauty took his breath away. Her voice was as soft and lilting as the last whispers in his ear.

Or the last lies, he thought.

“No lies, Dan,” she said as if reading his mind. “This time it will be different.”

At first, Reilly had felt immobile. Then he was drawn to her.

She reached out to him and stroked his cheek. Her touch was as present as ever. The light gave her an almost ethereal glow. She looked longingly into his eyes and proved she was alive with a lingering, deep kiss. Then she said, “Is that the kiss of a dead woman?”

Her tongue, her scent, and her breath were just as he remembered.

Just as he missed. So was the quickening of his heartbeat.

He withdrew and looked into her brown eyes. They were so bright and inviting.

“You missed me. I know you did.” She smiled and took a step back into the shadows. “Come with, Dan.”

The sounds of the city faded away. Gone were the car horns and sirens, people talking, dogs barking, car doors slamming, and footsteps on the sidewalk. Everything around him blurred. There was just Marnie and him. He felt his desire for her grow. Then he thought of Yibing Cheng, the woman now in his life.

“But—”

“It’s all right my darling. I know that there’s someone else. But I’m back. You want me.”

More thoughts from his head. How did she know? “You want us to be together again.”

“Marnie, I saw…

“You saw what we wanted you to see.”

She leaned forward and kissed him again. She felt him. He responded. “Now I’m here. To be with you.”

He withdrew.

“Don’t you want that, Dan? Don’t you want me?” “Marnie…”

“Yes.”

“Marnie,” he said again. “Yes, my love.”

“But you’re—”

She suddenly laughed. Her brown eyes went black.

Maybe it was the Ouzo, but all he initially felt was a prick in his stomach. Then he looked down. There was the hand that he had loved caressing. But now it held the black handle of a Russian Kizlyar Spetsnaz Special Forces knife.

He brought his eyes up to hers. She smiled cruelly, waited a moment, and then twisted the 6.5-inch blade and sliced upwards.

Reilly tried to speak. He couldn’t. He felt his legs crumble, but Marnie Babbitt’s grip on the knife kept him on his feet. She twisted again.

“Why?” Reilly silently gurgled.

“Because this is the way it should have ended.”

Marnie’s words confused him. He grabbed her hand with his. Blood soaked them both.

Should have ended?

Reilly tried to pull out the knife, but she was stronger. Life began to leave him.

With a sickly sweet laugh, she repeated, “This is the way it should have ended. You, not me.”

Should…have…ended. The words were familiar. He’d heard them before. Many times before.

“No!” Reilly shouted in full-throated defiance. “This is not how it should end! And…you…are… dead!”

“What?”

“You’re dead,” he shouted. “You’re dead!” “No, Dan. No! It’s all right.”

He was shaking violently. “Dan!”

Dan Reilly bolted upright. He automatically grabbed his stomach. It was wet, but from sweat, not blood. And the woman whose concerned voice was cutting through his dream belonged to Yibing Cheng.

“Dan, Dan, it’s okay. You’re here with me. Yibing.”

Reilly slowly collected his thoughts. Yibing turned on a night light and faced the man she’d been seeing for just a few months. They were in Athens, but he was not on the street bleeding. But he had had nights like this—in Paris, Washington, and where Reilly and Yibing had first met, Beijing.

“Your dream again?” she asked. He gathered his thoughts.

“Yes, except this time it was here. Outside our restaurant last night.

The street—”

“I’m so sorry,” Yibing said pulling him close to her naked body.

What did she do?”

“At least she didn’t throw me into a woodchipper this time,” Reilly replied lightly. “No plastic bag over my head. No fall from a cliff.” He rubbed his gut. “But she was pretty good with a knife, even for a dream.”

Reilly knew what was going on. Shrinks might call it PTSD. He saw it more as a combination of guilt over the fact that he failed to recognize Marnie Babbitt was a Russian plant and guilt that he couldn’t save her the moment he realized she wanted out. It was all manifesting itself in very vivid revenge dreams. But it was not paranoia.

There was more that wasn’t in his dream world. Dan Reilly had seen drones out his window after he and Yibing had returned from Beijing. He’d spotted people following them. And they were not his people. Not Yibing’s either.

For now, he viewed the tails and eavesdropping as intimidation. Russian or possibly Chinese. But it could get worse. It likely would get worse and not because he was an international hotel executive. It was his moonlighting. Dan Reilly had deep ties with officers at the CIA and even deeper ties with the United States Secretary of State.

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Author Bio:

ED FULLER is CEO of Laguna Strategic Advisors, a global consortium providing business consulting services worldwide. He has served on business and charitable boards during his 40-year career with Marriott International where he was chief marketing officer followed by 22 years as president and managing director of Marriott International. Under his management, the international division grew from 16 to 550 hotels in 73 countries with 80,000 associates and sales of $8 billion. Upon retirement, Fuller has served on five university boards and taught as adjunct professor for MBA and undergraduate students. He blogged for Forbes and other tourism and lodging industry media. His book, You Can’t Lead with Your Feet on the Desk, has been printed in English, Japanese and Chinese. Fuller served as captain in the U.S. Army, stationed in Germany and Vietnam and received the Bronze Star and the Army Commendation medals. He and Gary Grossman are co-authors of the Red Hotel series, including the 2018 thriller Red Hotel and the 2021 release, Red Deception, soon to be followed by Red Chaos.

Gary Grossman is author of the bestselling political thrillers EXECUTIVE ACTIONS,EXECUTIVE TREASON, EXECUTIVE COMMAND, and EXECUTIVE FORCE; a geological thriller that spans 4 billions years, OLD EARTH; and with co-author Ed Fuller, RED HOTEL, RED CHAOS, and RED DECEPTION. Grossman has also written two acclaimed non-fiction books covering pop culture and television history: SUPERMAN: SERIAL TO CEREAL and SATURDAY MORNING TV.

He is an Emmy Award-winning network television producer, a print and television journalist, a novelist and a film and TV historian. His career has included stints producing for NBC News, CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox, PBS and 40 cable networks.

Grossman has produced more than 10,000 series episodes and specials through his TV production company Weller/Grossman Productions, and earned numerous awards including the prestigious Governor’s Emmy Award for a USA Network production and an Emmy for Best Informational series with the production of “Wolfgang Puck” for Food Network. Their documentary “Beyond the Da Vinci Code” (History Channel) earned two national Emmy nominations. In all, Grossman has received 14 Emmy nominations.

Grossman earned a Bachelors Degree in Communications from Emerson College in Boston and a Master’s Degree in Urban Affairs from Boston University.

He began his broadcasting career as a rock disc jockey at WHUC, in Hudson, New York. He worked at Boston television station, WBZ; joined The Boston Globe as a special contributor, and then became the television critic and media columnist at The Boston Herald American. His freelance articles have appeared in The New York Times and numerous magazines. He taught journalism and media at Emerson College, Boston University, USC and now Loyola Marymount University’s Graduate School of Film and Television.

Grossman helped formulate, program and launch television cable networks including HGTV, National Geographic Channel, and The Africa Channel.

Grossman has served on the Emerson College Board of Trustees where he chaired the Academic Affairs Committee. He is also a member of the Boston University Metropolitan College Advisory Board. For four years he was chair of the Government Affairs Committee for the Caucus for Television Producers, Directors & Writers, a Hollywood-based media activist group. He is member of The International Thriller Writers Association.

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The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane Banner

THE KARMA FACTOR
by Thomas Lane
February 10 – March 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
NYPD Detective James Early wanted out. Taking his death wish into a tenement on the Lower east side, he stepped into a hail of machine-gun fire…and waited. But the bullets never arrived. Somehow they had been “diverted” and his life saved. Now he had to find out why.

Ricochetting between the mountains of Tibet, the streets of New York City and the haunted corridors of past lives, Early attempts to track down this mystery. A devastating truth from his previous lifetime awaits him. At its core lies a pure and innocent love that led to carnage and death. In the process of discovery, however, Early mysteriously gains access to a database of past lives (the Akashic Records), and begins to understand the submerged element that underlies the human condition—the godfather of change. Karma.

Infused with this new awareness, Early hits the streets—this time “awakened” to the deeper layers. Immediately, he is flung into the frantic hunt for an unknown assassin who has declared a private war on America and has already killed seven times.

While the combined forces of the NYPD, FBI and Interpol comb the streets looking for clues, James Early follows the twisting light.

In the end, it will come down to a wild card: The Karma Factor

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Praise for The Karma Factor:

“The Karma Factor not only delivers on all its IOUs—it provides ample food for thought as to how we live our lives and our connection to the cosmos.” ~ Joey Madia, Into the Outer Realms

“Demonstrating remarkable literary talent, Thomas Lane transcends the troubled police detective trope by incorporating elements of Eastern philosophy, predestination and reincarnation in this fast-paced thriller. In the tradition of The DaVinci Code and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Lane’s debut novel The Karma Factor is entertaining and thought-provoking; introducing readers to characters and concepts that are not often given center stage in Western culture…” ~ BOOKTRIB

“Tom Lane has written a powerful story of inner transformation and outer suspense and heroism that will have you turning pages, inspiring you to understand your own life within a new cosmic framework. I couldn’t put it down.” ~ Robert Thurman, Professor Emeritus of Tibetan Buddhism, Translator for the Dalai Lama and Author of Wisdom Is Bliss

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Supernatural Thriller, Visionary Fiction, Metaphysical Thriller 

Published by: Waterside Productions Publication Date: November 1, 2022 Number of Pages: 352 ISBN: 1958848212 (ISBN-13: 978-1958848210)

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

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Enjoy this peek inside:

In times of crisis, James Early often found himself listening to the background noise of the city, the churning mantra of Manhattan that drifted up from the streets below. Somehow all those harsh single notes—the honking horns, the squealing brakes—could blend together and end up sounding restful, like the wash of the sea.

But tonight, watching her put her clothes back on, the air was charged and full of static. He had his reasons, but he hated himself for causing her this moment.

Lit only by the flickering light from the fireplace, Kelli Girard stood with her back to him, pulling on her skirt. Usually, after being together, getting dressed was a graceful act, a physical celebration of her womanhood. But on this evening, her motions were clipped and terse. Right then, the world was an ugly place. On top of everything else, she broke another nail fighting with the buttons on her blouse. She spoke without looking up.

“Come on, Early. This stinks. Throw me a bone here. Say something that makes sense.” Balancing on one foot, she leaned down and slipped on a high heel. “You won’t even give me the satisfaction of a cliché. There’s no ‘other woman.’ You’re not doing the ‘you deserve better’ bit. Nothing. Just—bang! It’s over. And you can’t even tell me why?” She stood up and smoothed down her clothes. “But I’ll tell you how it feels. Like you’ve had your little fling with the secretary. And now it’s time to toss her back into the general pool where she belongs. Cold, Early. Really cold.” He remained silent, compulsively rubbing his forehead, pushing back a clump of grey-tinged dark hair. In truth, there was too much to say, but words would trivialize it. And it had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with anything he understood. All he knew was that his mind was finally giving way. The hostile voices and images were crowding him out. And he couldn’t access the language to describe it… Early finally stood up. At thirty-eight years old and driven, he was still lean and muscular. A hybrid of Irish and Jewish ancestry, his thin, sculpted face seemed overwhelmed by a collection of strong irregular features. Growing up in Brooklyn and living the daily warfare of the streets had deepened and darkened the effect, giving him an intense, somewhat brooding presence. As he turned toward her, his expression remained cloaked. “You’re making it worse. This was never about the big love. We knew that from the start. We’re friends, remember? Let’s leave it there before we regret the whole thing.” She turned away from him, almost fiercely, then checked herself and sighed. “What’s the use? You’ve got everyone else duped. I hear the talk. By day, the great legendary cop—intuitive, ballsy. Down at the station, a James Early hunch is considered gospel. And, on top of all that, he’s a regular good guy. Nothing but hard work and ‘go team, go.’” She squinted at him in the semidarkness. “But after hours? Well, strange things come out to play. Guy’s got a flip side. He’s doing women, liquor, God knows what else. And here’s the sad part. He’s working hard at it, but the bad boy thing doesn’t fit him. Doesn’t fit him at all.” She paused, retrieved her earrings from the bedside table, and jammed them into her purse. “So who’s James Early? The jury’s absolutely still out.” Early grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen. I’m bone-tired, and I’m not right. I have nightmares, vicious ones. I wake up sweating, with no memories—just worn out. And the pressure never quits, never gives me a day off. Right now, all I want to do is go sit on a beach somewhere and forget. But I can’t. And there’s no room . . . no room for anything else until I sort it all out.” He slackened his grip. “I can’t care if you don’t understand. I’m just asking you not to take it personally.” His words slapped her quiet. For a moment, she stopped her barrage and actually studied him. It had only been five months ago, but no, this was not the same man she had flirted with in a Soho bar. The sharp features seemed worn down, the grey-green eyes colder, more distant. Even his skin looked paler, drawn more tightly across his cheekbones. With his guard down, her sometimes-lover did seem ten years older and running very rough. “Hey Early, it’s the twentieth century. You feel messed up—you see somebody. There are medications that—” “Zombies and junkies. No thanks. I’ll take my chances.” He mustered his best smile. “I just need to regroup. I’ll get through it. People do it every day.” Kelli resumed her packing. Wadding up her negligee into a ball, she tossed it unceremoniously into her overnight bag. “I thought I got in there,” she said softly, “but I swear there’s an electric fence around you.” He shrugged. It was true –– he avoided real intimacy. It was all about sex and liquor–– mind numbing sensation and quick routes to oblivion that had gotten hm through the nights. Now even that wasn’t working. The flames in the fireplace had softened into embers—a steady orange sheen bathing the room. As Kelly zipped up her bag, Early slipped on his underwear and trousers, then got her coat from the closet. Taking her arm, he navigated her around the chaos on the cluttered floor. Her traditional comment about the maid’s night off went unspoken. At the door, he put his arm around her waist. His six feet towered above her diminutive frame. “It’s better for both of us this way. I mean it.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Please take care of yourself.” “Whatever.” She fixed her collar. “I’m not going to hold my breath, but if you need or want . . . hell, just a friend, call me.” She leaned up against him and gave him a girlish kiss on the cheek. Turning quickly, she disappeared down the stairs into the darkness of the lower landing. When he could no longer hear the click of her heels, he closed the door softly, then sagged against it, exhausted from his efforts. It was getting harder and harder to hold the surface together while the foundation was breaking into pieces… He willed himself upright and into the living room, where he collapsed into the armchair in front of the fireplace. Alone now, the fire hissed and danced quietly before him. His eyes scrutinized the small studio apartment. He was struck by its sadness, struck by the pervading sense of loneliness. The room was inhabited, yes, but not lived in. It hadn’t always been that way. When, as a rookie cop, he had first moved in, he had commanded the space. Within months, he had turned it into a bastion of discipline and masculine aesthetics: dark wood and brick and things in their rightful places. As his condition worsened, however, things unraveled. Chaos was an easy mistress. Now, from the unmade bed to a floor strewn with empty bottles, pizza boxes, and newspapers, no sense of home was being articulated. Maybe it never would again. Early leaned over and pulled his .38 revolver from the shoulder holster on the end table. It felt like a touchstone; the weight, the cold metal in his hand oddly soothing. The cylinder spun effortlessly beneath his fingertips. Round and round. He lifted it to his ear and smiled obliquely. Chamber music. With the heel of his hand, he brought the spinning cylinder to an abrupt halt, then unloaded a single bullet. Turning it around between his thumb and index finger, Early examined it carefully. Sexy. A jewel of death. Rotating the chamber slowly, he emptied the rest of the ammo into his hand until all six bullets lay nestled in his palm. They were asleep now. A family. At peace in their snug metal jackets. Then, as if feeding them to a wild animal, he began to toss the bullets, one by one, into the fireplace. “Here’s one for the sickos. One for the cop killers.” Then two more. “For all the scumbag lawyers, corrupt politicos. You’re the worse. You keep it all going. You’re supposed to know better.” Without warning, the first slug hit meltdown and exploded, sending a shower of shattered brick from inside the chimney down onto the flaming logs. The second and third followed quickly as ash and smoke belched into the room. Early’s face remained impassive as he fingered the last two shells. He isolated one. “For all of you. Your crap. Not mine anymore.” The next eruption came moments later, kicking out a fireball onto his carpet. A chunk of metal whizzed past his ear and tore into the wallpaper on the opposite wall. The hallway outside filled with the sudden cacophony of rattling deadbolts sliding and doors flinging open and people yelling. Early ignored the commotion. Unaware of the silent tears on his cheek, he leaned closer to the pit of swirling sparks and ashes, the last bullet resting in the middle of his open hand. “And this one, James Early, is for you. You and all your ghosts. You’re broken. Don’t know how to fix yourself.” A furious knocking at his door startled him back to reality. “Hey! Hey in there! Early, you all right?” Disoriented, the detective looked around. Caustic smoke swirled around the room. Live coals glowed on the carpet and from the side of the armchair. He stared down at the bullet still cupped in his palm. It seemed out of focus. Surreal. The knocking came again, this time louder. But now the sounds were far away, in someone else’s bad movie. Placing the final bullet back into his revolver, he adjusted the chamber. When he needed it, it would be there. Slowly and deliberately, Early got up, went to his closet, and finished dressing. His plainclothes uniform never varied: white shirt, tie, black shoes. Beneath the grey sports jacket, his revolver and holster pressed against his ribs. Trench coat under his arm, he crawled through the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. The sudden shift was abrasive. A sharp April wind lashed at his face. A massive city roared below. Hands gripping the railing, he leaned out into the night. All around, the inky skyline peaked and plunged. Above, the stars shone like dull silver—cold, eternal nails hammered into the night sky. As the wail of a siren grew closer, Early descended, zigzagging his way down to Seventy-Eighth Street. One thing was obvious. Whatever forces were conspiring, whatever madness was overtaking him, it was about to hit critical mass. *** Excerpt from The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane. Copyright 2022 by Thomas Lane. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Lane. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Thomas Lane:

Born and raised in Connecticut, Thomas Lane is a multi-dimensional creative drawn to spaces where art, spirit, and social justice intersect. He is the author of The Artists’ Manifesto–– a tribute to the power of the Arts, its value to a society that has forgotten the precious nature of life.

In addition to a book of poetry, screenplays and paintings, he recently recorded a CD of his songs, entitled Hotel Earth under the stage name, Trakker.

Politically active since his teens, Thomas subsequently created The Helen Hudson Foundation, a charitable organization focused on social issues –– including homelessness, racism, and the environment. He currently lives with his wife in Rhode Island.

Catch Up With Thomas Lane: www.ThomasLane.com Amazon Author Profile Instagram – @thomaslane494 YouTube – @thomaslane2402 Facebook – @musicwordimage

 

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Bone Pendant Girls by Terry S. Friedman Banner

BONE PENDANT GIRLS
by Terry S. Friedman
February 10 – March 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:
THE ANDI WYNDHAM SERIES

 

 

Beware the Fisherman.

Andi Wyndham has communicated with spirits since she was a kid. When a bone pendant carved into the likeness of a girl’s face calls to her at a gem show in Pennsylvania, she can’t resist buying it and a sister piece. When she discovers the girls are missing runaways and the pendants are made of human bone, Andi is drawn into a mystery that will force her to confront her gifts, her guilt, and the ghosts haunting her. Pendant Girls Mariah and Bennie urge Andi to find a man they call “Fisherman,” a master of disguise. Teaming up with a handsome private eye and a South Carolina sheriff, Andi must find the girls’ bodies and put their souls to rest, before the Fisherman casts his deadly net to trap Andi.

Praise for Bone Pendant Girls:

“Beautifully written, Friedman’s lyrical style will lure you in and scare you senseless.” ~ Annette Dashofy, USA Bestselling author of the Zoe Chambers Mysteries “Friedman’s fast-paced thriller is both heart-pounding and heart-wrenching.” ~ Starred review Library Journal, March 1, 2024 “Full of paranormal twists, Bone Pendant Girls is a supernatural thriller about trust and acceptance.” ~ Foreword Reviews “This supernatural thriller provides an enjoyable wrinkle in narration. The audiobook doesn’t feature a single narrator voicing all characters or a full cast with an individual narrator voicing each character. . . . Together, the three narrators provide enlightening perspectives on the hunt at the heart of this chilling production.” ~ D.E.M. © AudioFile 2024, Portland, Maine [Published: MAY 2024]

 

Book Details:

Genre: Paranormal Thriller, Suspense, Mystery, Southern

Published by: CamCat Books Publication Date: February 25, 2025 Number of Pages: 496 ISBN: 9780744307931 (ISBN10: 0744307937) Series: Andi Wyndham, Book 1

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books | Goodreads | Audible

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MY REVIEW

Do you enjoy the paranormal? Suspense? Thrillers? Well, this book has it all. Along with a strong protagonist in Andi and the supporting characters. And it provides plenty of feels. From kind of eerie to sad and funny.

I admit, the cover was what first caught my attention. It’s gorgeous. And once I got further into the book, the cover and title held more meaning for me.

The story alternates between more than one POV and more than one world. I easily followed the story and was always eager to read about who and what was happening where.

There’s mystery, suspense, a sprinkling of romance and great dialogue. Many of the characters won me over and a certain someone needed to be voted off the island, permanently. There was never a time where I felt like skipping ahead. The writing and plot kept my full attention. This was an excellent story and I’m crossing fingers and toes that this won’t be the last time I read about these characters and worlds.

5 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:
Ginkgo leaves drifted down like butterfly wings outside the gem show. They made a yellow carpet on the walkway to the boarding school’s gymnasium. Within the swirling leaves, Andi heard a voice. Hollow metallic vowels rustled like leaves in gutters. Consonants scratched and thumped like animals trapped in heating ducts. When the frantic skittering of syllables merged into words, a ghostly plea slipped into her consciousness. Trapped . . . help. “You’ll find your way to the Other Side,” Andi whispered. Some days, the spirits refused to leave her in peace. Turning off spirits’ voices was like trying to keep a snake in a bird cage. The Shadows had been with her since she was four. Her mother had sent those spirits to watch over her. But the voice she heard today was not the Shadows. They rarely spoke. Please . . . help. Andi opened the door. “I’m not the one to help you,” she told the young voice. “I attract bad men.” The ticket ladies took her money and stamped her hand. She scanned from one end of the gymnasium to the other. So many vendors. Where to start. Left past the fossils to a station called P&S Lapidary. They always had unique pieces. Please . . . ma’am. The whisper had a faint Southern lilt. “Aw come on. Hijack someone else’s head. Go see my ex-husband. Convince him to give me all his money.” Andi looked left and right to make sure no one had heard. No need to worry. Odds were good that at least one other person in the crowd talked to herself. Andi made her way through thirty stations. Through bargain-bound women rummaging in bins of clearance beads, through vendors taking orders to set stones, through miles of bead strands, she searched for the perfect happy, shiny piece. Twice around the gym, and that whispering voice drilled its way into her conscience again. Please . . . buy . . . me. Cripes! The urgency of that sweet young voice. She heaved a sigh. “Hope you’re not expensive. Where are you?” Her feet ached and the place was stifling hot. “Where?” Over here! She couldn’t see a damn thing through the shoppers lined up two people deep at the stations. Up on her toes, down, from foot to foot, sideways. A tiring, annoying dance. Andi shivered despite the stuffy gymnasium. Here! Easing her way through the shoppers, she peered into a glass display case. Malachite beads, a red coral branch necklace, two strands of ringed freshwater pearls, and one pendant with a cameo-style face etched in bone. The vendor with a bolo tie looked like her ninth grade geography teacher. “Let me open that for you. The face pendants are going fast. Only two left.” He lifted the hinged glass cover. Me! A loud whisper from the carved pendant with a girl’s face. Andi looked intently at it. Like most cameos, the face was a side profile. Tendrils of the girl’s curly hair escaped an upswept hairdo, framing her face. At first, she appeared to be asleep. Then the girl’s face turned and studied her too, eyes blinking as if she’d just awakened. Andi shivered. In the spirit world she’d inherited from her mother, voices whispered. Images in jewelry didn’t move. What now? She spoke silently. Subconscious to subconscious. Hurry, ma’am! Buy . . . A woman who reeked of Chanel No. 5 snatched the face pendant from the case. “Excuse me,” Andi said. “I came here to buy that piece. It called to me.” There now, she’d admitted she was crazy. She gave a lopsided grin and a shrug. “Please could I have it?” “Sorry, hon. I got here first.” A condescending glance at Andi, and the lady wrapped her bratwurst fingers around the pendant. “Not to worry, ladies,” the seller told them. “I have another like this.” He pushed the tablecloth aside, reached under the table, and pulled out a second pendant. “It’s stunning with Namibian Pietersite accents. I could let you have it for the same price.” No . . . me. An adamant voice. “I don’t want the other pendant,” Andi said. “I came here for the one in her hand.” At the next booth, a woman holding a jade jar stopped talking and stared at her. Andi blushed, knowing she sounded like a petulant child. Suddenly, Chanel Lady gasped. “Ouch! Awful thing cut me. It has sharp edges.” A thin line of blood welled on her finger, and she dropped the pendant as if it had bitten her. Andi caught it before it hit the floor. The silver bezel felt ice-cold. A young girl’s eyes gazed up at her and blinked. Thanks, ma’am. She stared at the pendant. Her mother had warned about spirits attaching to people. If spirits attached, she’d said, terrible things could happen. Chanel Lady cradled the darker pendant. Not a word was uttered from it. Maybe the tea-stained piece believed in being seen and not heard. Its bone face was younger. Pietersite in the top bezel had chatoyancy, a luminous quality. Thin wavy splotches of browns, blacks, reds, and yellows swirled through the dark stone like tiny ice crystals in frozen latte. “Yes. I like this one better. Excellent quality Pietersite,” Chanel Lady said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take her payment first.” The seller probably wanted to send the woman to another station before she started a fight with his customers. “No problem. Is this ivory?” Andi asked. Whether vendors called it mammoth bone or not, elephants didn’t deserve to be slaughtered for jewelry. “Absolutely not. Wouldn’t sell it if it was. Cow bone,” he assured her. A triumphant smirk aimed at Andi, and Chanel Lady made her way through the crowd. Subduing an impulse to give her the middle finger, Andi turned back to the pendant. She studied the heart-shaped face, turned it over and winced at the tiny price sticker. Was she insane? Andi couldn’t afford that; she’d lost her teaching job. “I’ll need your address and email.” The seller handed her a clipboard. She’d fought over it and won, no changing her mind now. While he charged her credit card, Andi filled out the information for his mailing list. Then she weaved through the shoppers to find a quiet corner by the concessions stand. What the hell. The pendant was a dose of credit card therapy. Unzipping the plastic sleeve, she lifted the piece by the bail. Two bezels set in silver. One disk held labradorite, a luminous blue stone with black veins, and in the second bezel, a face carved in bone. She shifted it in her palm, studying the details. Had light played with the image, making it look like the girl moved? It would warm at the touch of her skin. Once more around the gym, and she left the show, slogging through the field toward her car, wondering how a whispering girl had convinced her to buy a pricey pendant. Yet, she had a sense that something other than her credit card bill had changed. *** Excerpt from Bone Pendant Girls by Terry S. Friedman. Copyright 2024 by Terry S. Friedman. Reproduced with permission from Terry S. Friedman. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Terry Friedman:

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Terry S. Friedman

Terry Friedman is a writer and a rockhound. Her novel, BONE PENDANT GIRLS, a paranormal thriller, was published by CamCat January 30, 2024. Terry began her writing career freelancing for a small newspaper outside Philadelphia. While raising her daughters Jessica and Chelie in West Chester, PA, she taught English for decades and traveled abroad with students. Terry earned an M.F.A. from Wilkes University and also graduated from the FBI Citizens Academy. Thirteen of her fiction and non-fiction pieces have been published, and she co-edited Delaware Valley Mystery Writers’ short stories anthology. DEATH KNELL V. She is an award-winning author. In 2022 the Southeastern Writers Association awarded her first place in their writing contest for her humor piece, second place for BONE PENDANT GIRLS in a fiction category, and an honorable mention for THE BANSHEE’S WAIL, an unpublished Irish novel. She is a Killer Nashville Claymore Finalist in the Supernatural category. A Pennwriters Board member and a member of Sisters in Crime, she currently writes thrillers from coastal South Carolina. Terry has traveled the world from Fiji to Delphi and brings to her writing a solid respect for things that go bump in the night.

Catch Up With Terry S. Friedman: www.TerryFriedmanAuthor.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads – @tfried44 BookBub – @tfried44 Instagram – @wineandreeses Threads – @wineandreeses X – @tfried44 BlueSky – @tfried44 Facebook – @TerrySFriedmanAuthor

 

 

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She’s the first female police detective in Acapulco.

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Barracuda Bay

Detective Emilia Cruz Book 9

by Carmen Amato

Genre: Mystery, Thriller, Female Detective

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Political corruption turns Acapulco’s first female police detective into a fugitive on
the run . . . in Washington DC.

“A thrilling series” — National Public Radio
In a derelict building for sale, Acapulco police detective Emilia Cruz stumbles
on the body of a woman brutally shot to death. Incredibly, the victim was the
sister of Acapulco’s ambitious mayor, who is running for re-election against an
opponent with deep pockets.
Emilia’s investigation is immediately under pressure for a fast result. The
victim’s ex-boyfriend has a suspiciously weak alibi but is the crime scene the
key to finding the murderer? The building was once used for a secret Mexican
government operation targeting a ruthless drug lord.
Meanwhile, there’s a conspiracy within the police department to force Emilia
out.
Before Emilia can save her job or arrest her prime suspect, she’s sent on an
errand of mercy to Washington, DC.
There she becomes a fugitive hunted by killers masquerading as cops. Alone,
desperate and on the run, Emilia turns for help to a man she once vowed to
murder.
He’s her only chance to survive a deadly game of political intrigue on the
wrong side of the border.
From Acapulco’s beaches to the streets of Washington, DC, the stakes couldn’t
be higher in this electrifying, page-turning thriller.

 

2019 and 2020 Poison Cup award, Outstanding Series – CrimeMasters of
America

 

 

“Emilia is a character who is close to my heart” –
MysterySequels

 

 

“Amato brings her characters to life with her vivid writing style
and sets them on the streets of a Mexico steeped in Catholicism and
corruption” – OnlineBookClub.org

 

With unflinching authenticity from the author’s own espionage and counterdrug
experience in Mexico and Central America, this is a female detective mystery
series like no other.
The Emilia Cruz series is for fans of international mystery and crime by Ian
Rankin, Jo Nesbo, Ann Cleeves, Donna Leon and Liza Marklund, plus the
Department Q series by Jussi Adler-Olsen. Fans of Don Winslow’s cartel and
border thrillers set in Mexico love the plots torn from the headlines of the
Detective Emilia Cruz police series set in Acapulco.

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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Casa de Plata looked just the same except for the yellow crime scene tape proclaiming PROHIBIDO EL PASO zigzagging across the massive front entrance. Emilia peeled it back on one side and unlocked the door.

The huge echoing foyer was the same as well. Emilia didn’t bother to turn on the chandelier. She wasn’t there to gaze upward.

The crime scene techs had come and gone but she combed the entire building, checking for door locks that looked to have been jimmied open and finding nothing. She even studied the balconies from all angles and concluded that the only way someone could have accessed a balcony from the outside would be to swing Tarzan-style over the razor-topped perimeter wall.

Each of the two ground floor apartments had a French door that opened to a patio running the full width of the rear of the building. In Casa de Plata’s heyday, the doors would have allowed for a beautiful view of gracious living. Now all that remained were paving stones choked with weeds, shards of half a dozen terracotta planters, and an abandoned wrought iron table slowly turning into a heap of rust.

She went back inside and unlocked the door to the apartment where Monica had been killed. She stood in the silent dining room. The crime scene techs had taken the armchair away, presumably for forensic study, but Emilia was more interested in the faint streaks it left on the terrazzo floor.

“You were sitting here,” Emilia muttered as she squatted by the chair. Dust motes swirled gently in the air, illuminated by sunlight filtered through the grimy windows. “Eating all sorts of different tapas. There must have been lots of small plates or takeout boxes.”

Certainly Monica had not been there by herself. No, someone else sat across from the woman, sharing an impromptu but elegant picnic complete with linens and champagne.

Until something spooked her. Monica pushed herself away from the table hard enough to leave skid marks on the floor. Raised her hands to ward off danger. The killer had faced her, with the table between them. Two shots, one through each hand.

She straightened up, looking at the clean tabletop and mute row of chairs on the other side. A tablecloth would have prevented fingerprints and made cleanup easy. No extra bullets that missed the target and hit the wall or chair. No wasted energy. The nerve to shoot a defenseless woman while staring straight at her.

“Her date was either lucky or a pro,” Emilia said, thinking aloud. “He shoots her. Takes her purse and cell phone, then gathers up the tablecloth with all the leftovers and walks out.”

Either way, the killer was someone Monica knew and trusted. Was comfortable eating and drinking with them.

But why here? Why Casa de Plata? Was there a federale angle to this? Lieutenant Campos rose up in her mind’s eye. He was slick and trendy. Not at all the somber federale officer of public imagination.

Help me. 

An invisible hand touched Emilia’s cheek. She flinched so hard that her feet went out from under her.

Her hip hit the floor first, then her right shoulder. Emilia twisted to keep her head from cracking like an egg against the terrazzo. She was instantly dazzled by sparks of pain shooting from thigh to neck.

Her phone rang. Breathing hard, Emilia managed to roll onto her stomach and extract it from the back pocket of her jeans.

“Where the hell are you?” Silvio thundered. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind. Meet me downtown. We found Monica Montoya’s car.”

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**Don’t miss the rest of the Detective Emilia Cruz Series!**

Find out more on the Author’s Website!

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  1. Your Ticket to Acapulco

Ask someone to name a vacation spot in Mexico and chances are good that they’ll say Acapulco.

Name recognition is one of the reasons I set the Detective Emilia Cruz series in Acapulco. It’s one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Viewed from the famous Las Brisas neighborhood, the city is a picture postcard with its sweeping bay, gorgeous sandy beaches, white skyscrapers and sparkling nightlife.

Not only is Acapulco a spring break destination, but it used to be a playground for Hollywood stars. John Wayne and Johnny Weissmuller owned the Hotel Los Flamingos, which they ran as a private club for friends. Rita Hayworth celebrated her 28th birthday on Errol Flynn‘s yacht, while Elizabeth Taylor married producer Mike Todd there. Elvis starred in Fun in Acapulco in 1963.

But Acapulco has fallen on hard times. Thanks to the drug trade, the city is a prize fought over by rival drug cartels. Chinese precursor chemicals used to make meth and fentanyl come through its ports. Drugs of all types pass through on the way to the United States.

This duality—Hollywood glam vs dangerous drug waypoint–makes Acapulco a unique setting for a mystery series. Trying her best to be an honest cop in a tough situation, Detective Emilia Cruz is caught in the middle. How does she balance investigating gruesome homicides, then having cocktails in a hi-rise?

Resilience is a theme through all the books in the Detective Emilia Cruz series. Especially in  BARRACUDA BAY, Emilia’s resilience will be tested like never before. On the eve of city elections in Acapulco, a violent murder leads her to Washington DC where she is stalked by killers determined to make sure she never makes it home alive.

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A 30-year veteran of the Central Intelligence Agency,
Carmen Amato writes the contemporary Detective Emilia Cruz series pitting the
first female police detective in Acapulco against Mexico’s cartels, corruption,
and social inequality. Beginning with Cliff Diver, it’s a 2-time winner
of the Outstanding Series award from CrimeMasters of America and a 4-time
finalist for the Silver Falchion award, lauded by Kirkus Reviews as “Danger and
betrayal never more than a few pages away.”

 Carmen Amato is also the 2023 winner of the Silver
Falchion Award for Best Historical for Murder at the Galliano Club,
inspired by her grandfather’s experiences as a deputy sheriff during
Prohibition. Her standalone thrillers include The Hidden Light of Mexico
City
, which was longlisted for the 2020 Millennium Book Award.

 Carmen is a recipient of both the National Intelligence
Award and the Career Intelligence Medal. She has been a judge for the BookLife
Prize and Killer Nashville’s Claymore Award. Her work has appeared in Huffpost,
Criminal Element, Publishers Weekly,
and other national publications.

 Originally from upstate New York, after years of
globe-trotting she and her husband enjoy life in Tennessee.

  

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Pack with a signed copy of the book, a mini poster with a Frida Kahlo quote, a
seasoning mix to make the recipe in the book and a Detective Emilia Cruz book
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The Sun
by Frank F. Weber

 

Publication date: December 10th 2024
Genres: Adult, Thriller

Taytum Hanson, a determined and alluring attorney, steps into the sunlight, as she relentlessly searches for a loophole in her lover’s conviction. Is freeing Tug Grant the answer or the beginning of a new set of problems? Taytum’s passionate lifestyle and willingness to take on the Minnesota Mafia places her life in jeopardy. Jon and Serena Frederick face hard choices in this intense fast-paced thriller with a fierce pulse-pounding ending. If you enjoyed Scandal of Vandals you’ll love how The Sun warms and then burns.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

TUG GRANT
6:00 A.M., TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2021
MINNESOTA CORRECTIONAL FACILITY – LINO LAKES
7525 4TH AVENUE, LINO LAKES

The cells in each pod at Lino are dull brown concrete with blue metal doors. I shiver as I glance out the thin side window, waiting for the day to start. Everybody wears two layers because there’s a chill that runs through this cellblock on a cold night that you can’t shake. The common area has blue metal tables and chairs bolted to the floor. It would be impossible to make a seat less comfortable than the flat steel circles mounted too close to our tables.

I’m tempted to call the Innocence Project. Dick Doden mur- dered my wife, Deb Grant. Doden testified that my friend, Roan Caruso, hired him for the hit. And that’s where the evidence ends. How the hell did I get convicted of murder-for-hire? Prosecutor Bridget Bare claimed the circumstantial evidence was over- whelming. But was it? Is taking out an insurance policy on your partner evidence of murder? Ten million dollars might have been a little excessive, but it’s not enough to convict a man of murder.

I had loaned Roan one hundred thousand dollars before Deb’s murder. That loan and the insurance were all they had. It was all circumstantial. Roan never implicated me.

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About Author Frank F. Weber:

Frank Weber is a forensic psychologist who has completed assessments for homicide, sexual assault, and domestic abuse cases. His work has ranged from assessing murderers chained to the cement floor in the basement of a prison and assessing psychopaths to providing therapy for wealthy professionals who’ve engaged in multiple affairs. He has testified as an expert witness in numerous sexual assault and homicide cases, written seven different treatment workbooks, and in 2015 published a training series for psychologists which has been accredited by the MN Board of Psychology. He has received the President’s Award from the Minnesota Correctional Association for his forensic work, and recently received an award for excellence in his clinical work. Frank Weber has used his unique understanding of how predator’s think, victim trauma, and actual court cases to create a thrilling mystery. His debut novel, Murder Book, will be available in May, 2017.

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Reign of Terror by Leo Silva is a gripping true crime memoir that takes readers deep inside the brutal world of Mexico’s Los Zetas cartel. Follow a rollercoaster of suspense, intrigue, and unrelenting action as you delve into this heart-pounding thriller.

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Reign of Terror

by Leo Silva

Genre: True Crime Memoir, Thriller

 

“One of the best DEA narco books I have ever read” – Dave Gaddis, DEA Chief, Global Enforcement Operations

 

Reign of Terror by Leo Silva is a gripping true crime memoir that takes readers deep inside the brutal world of Mexico’s Los Zetas cartel. Former DEA Special Agent Silva brings unparalleled insight, recounting his years on the front lines in the relentless fight against one of the world’s most violent criminal organizations. This powerful narrative unveils the hidden realities of the drug war, from the complex relationships between the cartels and law enforcement to the personal sacrifices made by those who risk everything to protect others. With raw detail and authenticity, Silva sheds light on the lives of those entangled in a web of corruption, power, and violence. Reign of Terror is more than a recount of battles won and lost—it’s a story of courage, resilience, and the cost of justice. A must-read for fans of true crime and international intrigue.

“In Reign of Terror, Leo Silva masterfully recounts the rise and fall of the notorious and ultra-violent Los Zetas cartel. But more than just retelling the story, Leo’s work is filled with inside information and insights that bring the reader into the world of those tasked with dismantling Los Zetas. Compelling, Leo brings profound humanity to the fight against the Zetas, a fight that brought both victories and tragedies, all of which are deeply felt by the reader.”
–  Jack Luellen, Author of Someone Had to Die Podcast Host: “Cartels, Conspiracies and Camarena”

 

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It was a scorching hot day on July 14, 2007, not unlike most summer days in deep south Texas. The kids were out of school and were eager to take a dip in the pool. I decided I would barbecue some burgers for the kids, and some ribs for some friends and family who would visit later in the afternoon. Because of all the pressure we had been under during the investigation, I had not celebrated my birthday. But today I was going to forget about work and celebrate my birthday the way any self-respecting Texan would celebrate, with beer and barbecue, surrounded by friends and family. I had the ribs marinating in my special marinade of pineapple juice, lime juice, soy sauce and a tinge of ginger and I had just lit the charcoal in my old pit when my wife came out to tell me she was going to make a quick run to the store because I had forgotten to buy her favorite side dish, corn, when I bought the meat earlier. I’m not sure what compelled me to assure her it was alright and that I would fetch the corn, while she stayed at home and supervised the kids in the pool. I have often thought about that specific moment and wonder what would have happened if I had not gone.

I took my wife’s gray 2002 Ford Focus with a “Hello Kitty” sticker in the rear windshield and hauled ass to the grocery store. The layout of the store was as familiar to me as the back of my hand. I knew it so well I could probably run through the entire store blindfolded and still find whatever I needed. I got my shopping cart, went straight to the produce section, and parked my shopping cart in front of the corn section. Carefully shucking the hulls and inspecting each ear, I started in on the corn to make sure there were no defects on the kernels, intent on getting home to cook the ribs and burgers.

As I was inspecting one ear of corn, three men turned the corner from the meat section into the produce section. I locked eyes briefly with a stocky built older man with grayish hair. The two men with him were much younger and walked behind the older man, in deference to his authority. They all passed by me on my right-hand side. I noticed that one of the younger men put his hand on the older man’s back, in a somewhat protective posture. I had seen the old man somewhere. The old computer in my brain started a file search in the most cavernous, obscure, and remote depths of my intellect. It transported me back to my office, to my desk, where I had posted a picture of Carlos Landin Martinez on the wall next to my door. Every day, for two years, the picture stared at me callously, devoid of feeling, almost mockingly.

I immediately went into high gear. Before taking any further action, I had to confirm for a fact that it was Landin, without a doubt. I watched them as they made their way in the produce section to the watermelon section. Landin himself picked out a large watermelon and gave it to one of the younger guys to inspect. I pushed my shopping cart closer to them so I could get a better look and confirm that it was Landin. I passed within 8 feet of him and got a good look at his face and confirmed that it was him. He glanced up as I passed them by, and we locked eyes again. The adrenalin was surging through every artery in my body, pumping out charges of electricity through my bloodstream. I could feel my carotid artery pulsating as the adrenaline flooded my blood stream. They placed their watermelon into their shopping cart and went to the checkout. While I was standing in line about four aisles away, I watched them through my peripheral vision, careful not to spook them or lose sight of them. I went through the checkout and paid for the corn, trying to fit in with the rest of the customers, despite wearing a shirt with the official DEA logo over the left side of my chest. I would not get close enough for him to notice that minor detail. They finished paying for the watermelon and they walked out of the north side exit of the store. I had parked on the south side, which could pose a problem for me, and I prayed they had not parked on the north side of the store—if they had, I might not get to see their vehicle.

Luckily, they were relaxed, taking their time to walk through the parking lot. I got the bag of corn, ran to the south side of the store, and quickly got into my wife’s “Hello Kitty” car just as they opened the door to a white Chevrolet pickup truck and got in.

We were in business!

They maneuvered their truck through the parking lot exiting on the south side, where I happened to be waiting. They left the store parking lot and approached 10th street, the principal thoroughfare in McAllen, Texas. I was behind them with two cars between us. It occurred to me then that if they made me, they would turn my wife’s Hello kitty car into Swiss cheese, with me in it. They turned south on 10th and then immediately turned into a car wash. I nearly panicked as they got out of the truck, as I didn’t want to lose them. But I remained calm and drove past the car wash and pulled into a furniture store parking lot that gave me a perfect view of them.

Landin and one individual got into a four-door sedan parked near the exit of the car wash and waited as the other individual took care of business with the car wash. I watched patiently as the other guy emerged from the car wash and entered the sedan on the passenger side, with Landin seated in the back. It was at this point that I pulled out my Nextel and called my McAllen PD task force officer, Erik Torres, gave him the description of the suspect vehicle, and my wife’s hello Kitty vehicle and told him to send me a unit immediately for a possible traffic stop. I could barely control my breathing as I spoke to Erik. I told him to keep it low profile because I wanted to make sure it was, in fact, Carlos Landin before letting anyone else know, especially the bosses in Houston.

When they left, the car was moving within the flow of traffic, going south on 10th street. I followed them cautiously for what seemed like an eternity. Erik called me and informed me that he had notified a unit in the area. Right after he said this, a McAllen PD unit pulled up alongside me and the officer gestured to me, as if asking which car. I pointed to the white four-door sedan, and he gave me a thumbs up and proceeded south on 10th behind the vehicle. Erik was in communication with the officer and gave me a play-by-play as the events developed. I dropped back and let the officer do his job. At the intersection of 10th and La Vista, the driver of the vehicle runs a red light, and the officer immediately pulls up behind him and flashes his emergency lights. The car with the three men pulled over, and I passed them up and pulled into an adjacent parking lot to watch the action.

The officer approached the vehicle, interacted with the occupants of the vehicle, and asked for their respective identification. My heart was pounding as I considered the magnitude of what was about to happen. The officer returns to his vehicle and calls Erik, who then calls me and says, “Leo, it’s him. It’s Carlos Landin Martinez! What do you want to do with him?”

“Get some more units to back up this officer and let’s lock him up!”

Within minutes, the place was swarming with McAllen PD units, and I watched as they handcuffed Landin and put him in the back of a patrol unit. His life would never be the same. My next call was to Jimmy Bird. He genuinely thought I was fucking with him.

I told him, “Jimmy, call Erik and get all the details, then call the AUSA assigned to the case and let her know what just happened. We have a lot of work to do before Monday and no, I am not fucking with you. Now get off the phone so I can call the boss and let him know.”

He let out a whooping victory cry before hanging up the phone.

So, I called my boss. He called his boss. And they called Washington, DC. Before dusk, the Administrator of the DEA was aware of what had transpired that Saturday afternoon in McAllen, Texas. I called our office in Monterrey to let them know. The rush of excitement swept through the whole agency like wildfire. I was taking and making calls all over the place, but there was one call I forgot to make in all the excitement. I forgot to call my wife and let her know I had gotten busy. She called me and when I saw the name on the incoming call list, my heart sank.

She had been worried sick, but I explained what happened and assured her I would be home soon. She understood. They always do.

Landin went to trial and on January of 2008, a jury of his peers found him guilty on 29 counts of charges ranging from Conspiracy to possess with the intent to distribute over 150 kilograms of cocaine, laundering over $1.5million in drug proceeds and possession with intent to distribute cocaine and marijuana. For these crimes, he received a sentenced of life in prison, where he died in December 2021.

***

So I revert to the question. Was it destiny or circumstance that brought us together?

All I know is that I did not wake up on the morning of July 14, intending or expecting to capture one of the most notorious members of the Gulf Cartel. I woke up expecting I would have a fun filled day with my family.

I truly believe destiny brought us together on that summer afternoon in July, and I often wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t gone to the store for corn at that specific time on that specific day. Why had I taken my wife’s place? There is no logic or order to be found in it like so much in this world. Hell, his wife probably sent him out for a watermelon for a family gathering as well. Our paths crossed because of our love for and commitment to our families. Isn’t that ironic?

I have always been curious what leads a man to a life of crime. In my research, I interviewed an old classmate of Landin’s from Primaria Articulo 1, an elementary school in Reynosa Tamaulipas. The classmate told me that even as a kid, Landin had always been a bully, picking on weaker or smaller kids. The classmate recalled a time when, for no reason, Landin brutally beat on a much younger classmate in the playground, leaving him on the ground, bloodied and practically unconscious. Landin just laughed it off as if it were a big joke. As they got older, the classmate withdrew from Landin and the company he kept, stating that Landin never seemed to have any parental supervision and was always on his own, doing whatever he wanted to do, He drank alcohol at fourteen, and avoided school altogether. So, from an early age, Landin lived a life of crime and violence, causing harm to others and had no remorse for it. He had to know that his life of crime would end someday—and it did, on that scorching hot summer day in July.

I did what I had to do, what I was trained to do, and what I love to do. I certainly don’t have any regrets and never will.

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What is something unique/quirky about you?

 

My passion and love for writing goes hand in hand in hand with my passion for music. In my family, I represent the fourth generation of musicians, with a love for music that is deeply embedded in my soul. I am both a singer and piano player and a huge fan of all musical genres with a special affinity for jazz and traditional Mexican boleros. My writing is interspersed with references to music and songs as I believe music plays a huge role in our daily lives and emotions.

 

Can you, for those who don’t know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author?

 

I am a native of Brownsville, Texas, a coastal city in deep south Texas. My love for reading books and writing stories was nurtured by my mother, who is an avid reader herself. In college, I majored in English with a concentration in American Literature and honed my writing skills under the tutelage of a highly talented professor. After college, I joined the US Drug Enforcement Administration as a Special Agent where I served in various assignments along the Southwest border and in Guadalajara and Monterrey, Mexico for a total of 28 years of service. My experiences as a DEA agent provide the backdrop for my writing. My first book Reign of Terror depicts my experience in Monterrey Mexico and the DEA’s struggle to assist in the apprehension of some of their most violent members.

 

Who is your hero and why?

 

Without question, my heroes are my parents, who taught me valuable life lessons at a young age. Lessons which have helped shape my character and lessons that I have passed onto my own children. My writing makes several references to the advice and lessons my parents have given me over the course of my life.

What inspired you to write Reign of Terror?

 

In my college years, I always dreamt about writing a book one day. After I retired from DEA, I saw it as the perfect opportunity to tell my story in Reign of Terror. I often see the narrative about El Chapo Guzman being played out in the news, movies, books and series but hardly anyone knows about the other Cartels that exist in Mexico, especially the Gulf Cartel, one of the oldest if not the oldest Cartel in Mexico. Reign of Terror gave me the opportunity to show the public that Chapo Guzman was not the only player in town and that there were people far more dangerous and treacherous than El Chapo.

 

Convince us why you feel your story is a must read.

 

Reign of Terror gives one the opportunity to immerse oneself into the darkest corners of Mexico’s Narco underworld. It is a collection of true stories, true events, victories and defeats, a rollercoaster of emotions told by someone who lived it firsthand.

 

What is your advice to new authors?

 

My advice to young writers is to be persistent and realize that writing is a marathon not a race. There may be days when one doesn’t feel like writing and that is OK.  But keep chipping away at it until you have told your story the way you want. Persist, every day, even if you only write one sentence. It will all be worthwhile when you are finally done.

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Leonardo “Leo” Silva is a native of Brownsville, TX, a charming seaside city on the border. He is a 1982 graduate of Homer Hanna High School and received a Bachelor of Arts degree in Literature from the University of Texas-Brownsville in 1985. He served as a Special Agent/ Supervisory Special Agent with the United States Drug Enforcement Administration from 1987 to 2015. During his career, he was assigned to offices along the Southwest border, Guadalajara, Jalisco and Monterrey Nuevo Leon, Mexico.

 

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Change of Heart

by Dr. Cristina LePort

 

(A Miner & Mulville Novel)
Publication date: February 4th 2025
Genres: Adult, Thriller

In the bustling heart of New York City, a young medical student’s life is tragically cut short, though her heart continues to beat, holding the promise of life for another. Detective Kirk Miner is called to the scene and quickly uncovers a chilling conspiracy involving organ donations and high-stakes crime. As the investigation unfolds, Miner realizes the case is far more complex and dangerous than it initially seemed.
Enter FBI Agent Jack Mulville, who steps in to supervise Special Agent Charlotte Bloom as they join forces with Miner. Together, they unravel a web of corruption, revealing that Amy Winter’s death is connected to a ruthless organ trafficking ring. Amy Winter, a promising pre-med student, is found dead under mysterious circumstances. Her death triggers an investigation that pulls Miner, Mulville, and Bloom into a labyrinth of deceit and desperation. As they dig deeper, they discover that Amy’s heart is not just a donor’s gift but a coveted prize in a deadly game controlled by criminals willing to kill to keep their secrets hidden.
The quest for justice takes Miner, Mulville, and Bloom through the shadowy underbelly of organ trafficking, revealing the lengths to which people will go to secure life-saving transplants. Amidst the danger, they face moral dilemmas and personal risks, pushing them to their limits as they strive to protect innocent lives and dismantle a powerful criminal network.
“Change of Heart” is a gripping medical thriller that intertwines the intricacies of modern medicine with the relentless pursuit of justice. Cristina LePort, M.D., masterfully combines her medical expertise with edge-of-your-seat storytelling, delivering a novel that will keep you turning pages long into the night. Dr. LePort is an accomplished physician with a passion for weaving medical knowledge into thrilling narratives. Her extensive background in medicine lends authenticity and depth to her stories, making the Miner & Mulville series a unique blend of fact and fiction. (CristinaLePort.com)

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Enjoy this peek inside:

He examined the blood-smeared paper. Only one typed sentence: I donate my organs for transplant. Kirk stared at the illegible signature. Something begged for attention, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was…

“Any weapons or bullets?”

“This was on the driver’s seat between the victim and the door.” John produced an evidence bag from his backpack. “A Ruger. A woman’s gun. Small, concealable, and accurate.”

Kirk reached for the bag and wrapped his hand around the plastic covering the grip’s checkered frame. In his mind, the weapon’s light weight and John’s words triggered an image of a beautiful young woman, Amy Winter, with no future.

“The bullet,” John went on, “ended up embedded next to the ceiling, on the car’s front passenger side. No other bullets found in the gun.”

“Why next to the ceiling?” Kirk lifted his eyes from the gun.

“It must have hit her cellphone.” John handed Kirk a plastic-wrapped iPhone with a dazzling pink case. “She must’ve been holding the phone to her ear when the bullet exited. We found the phone on the car floor between the two back seats. Screen’s shattered, phone’s dead.”

Kirk examined the phone. The black screen bore a bloody diagonal fracture from top to bottom. That would have been the direction of the exiting bullet grazing a phone glued to the woman’s right ear. Who in hell would she be chatting with while killing herself?

“Who discovered the victim?” Kirk said.

“A man called the hospital ER and 9-1-1 at about the same time.” John extracted a smartphone from his sport jacket and scrolled through his notes. “The call to the ER was registered at 4:41a.m. I’m not sure how precise that is. The 9-1-1 call came in at 4:42.”

Kirk placed his index finger on the phone’s volume button. Nothing happened. Then his thumb pressed the reset button several times. After the third try, the screen lit up. A key piece of a puzzle fell into place, making Kirk feel almost giddy with excitement.

“I’m afraid we’re not dealing with an attempted suicide,” Kirk said, turning the face of the phone toward John, “but an attempted murder.”

“I agree.” John’s brows went up. “But how can you be so sure without any forensics?”

“Several things,” Kirk said. “The note was added later, after the shot. Smears of blood, instead of sprays. Poor attempt by the shooter to make us believe the note was on the seat before the bullet hit.”

“Yeah,” John said, “that’s been bothering me also. You’ve come a long way from your training over ribs and beer.”

Kirk smiled at the memory of their favorite pub. It seemed a long time ago when Kirk decided to leave the police force and John helped him get started as a private investigator. John was more than a mentor. He always cared about Kirk, but cared even more after Kirk’s near-fatal car accident years ago. John had become as protective as an older brother.

The image of the dark pub dissipated and Kirk refocused on the victim’s note.

“I’m no calligrapher,” he said, “but, from the slanting of the signature, I think the victim is right-handed. A right-handed person would shoot her right side.”

“If it’s actually her signature,” John said.

“The shooter could have forced her to sign at gun point,” Kirk said. “Either way, it would point to attempted murder.”

“What else?”

“We’ve got the exact time of the shooting,” Kirk said, waving the plastic-clad phone. “Here in this frozen, undead iPhone.”

John grabbed the evidence bag. He stared at the fractured, frozen screen.

His lips stretched into a grin.

“The bullet froze the time at 4:43,” Kirk said. “One minute after the 9-1-1 call. The man called before the shooting occurred. It’s unlikely someone would notice the shooter, figure out what he was going to do, call the police, and leave without talking to them.”

“The witness could have left because he was afraid the shooter would come after him,” John said.

“Or perhaps,” Kirk said, “the caller knew the shooting would occur because he himself was the shooter. And he wanted the victim to be found as soon as possible.”

John referred again to his notes. “The caller said that someone had been shot. Not someone is going to shoot, or is shooting, somebody. The woman had gun powder residue on her left hand, but the shooter could’ve placed the gun in her hand before throwing it in the car. We’ve got a few prints on the handle. I bet they’re all from her. But I still think you’re right.”

Kirk nodded. “The shooter made sure she would be rescued in time for her organs to be saved for donation and subsequent transplant.”

Kirk turned toward the hospital ER entrance. A vivid memory materialized. A plastic bracelet around his wrist, from six years ago, in a different hospital. The bracelet classifying him as an organ donor. After his prolonged coma, doctors had given up on Kirk. Luckily for him, he had woken up and retained his organs.

The woman who had crossed the ER threshold earlier that morning wouldn’t be so lucky. Someone wanted her organs badly enough to put a bullet in her brain.

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About Author Dr. Cristina LePort:

Dr. Cristina LePort was born in Bologna, Italy. She attended medical school at the University of Bologna and then completed her medical training at Long Island College Hospital in Brooklyn and at the University of California, Los Angeles. She is board certified in Internal Medicine and Cardiovascular Diseases and has been practicing medicine for more than thirty years. Cristina is also the Chief Medical Officer and co-founder of Genescient, a biotech company devoted to genetic research on aging and the amelioration of chronic diseases. Medicine and fiction are her twin passions, and she is absolutely thrilled to be able to share her medical thrillers with the world.

Cristina LePort currently resides in Orange County, California, with her husband Peter LePort, a general surgeon. They have three children and three grandchildren.

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Eternal Ashes

by Janelle Marie

 

(Ash & Rage, #1)
Publication date: January 21st 2025
Genres: Adult, Thriller

One night. One moment. One mistake.
Now life will never be the same.

In her hometown of Auburn Village, Sofie Collins has built a good life for herself and her teenage daughter, April.

Sofie’s business is growing, and they are both happily in love, with April about to graduate from high school in only a few weeks.

Life – although far from perfect – is good. But one moment is all it takes.

Just one moment and now Sofie’s world will never be the same again.

Instead of building a brighter future with each passing day, Sofie suddenly finds the happiness she found slipping further and further through her fingers.

And it seems as though all the blame and guilt lies with her…

Or does it?

This mesmerizing drama is the compelling first chapter of a story of heartbreak, betrayal and cold revenge. When her world breaks, will Sofie find the strength to rebuild the pieces? Or is she about to send it crashing down?

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Sofie stared out the window of Chief Edison’s unmarked police car, a cold sense of dread spreading through her chest as she awaited her daughter’s fate. The local hospital wasn’t far, but the ride felt like it was hours. They had left immediately after throwing on some clothes. Sofie wasn’t sure what she had grabbed, or if she should bring anything for April. What had happened? What could’ve possibly happened? Why hadn’t she come home?

The night was still and silent. Everything was so quiet and peaceful, in such stark contrast to the turmoil raging through Sofie’s whole body.

Please, let my baby girl be okay. The thought repeated itself in her head, right along with the last image she had of April walking hand-in-hand out of the pub with Drew. April’s last words to Sofie had been “I love you.” But Sofie couldn’t remember if she’d said those all-important words back to her.

Sofie’s breath clutched in her chest, her gasp disturbing the silence inside the car. Chief Edison glanced back at her through the rearview mirror, concern in his eyes despite his blank expression. Beside her, Parker took Sofie’s hand, interlocking their fingers.

Chief Edison hadn’t given them many details beyond the fact April and Drew had been in an accident. He’d shared no insight into their condition. He didn’t need to though. Sofie could read between the lines. If the kids were okay, they would have been driven home.

April would have called.

If the kids were okay, Chief Edison would have said so instead of staying tight-lipped. His silence was a red flag. A bad omen.

Please, let my baby girl be okay…

Sofie’s vision blurred and she blinked back tears, refusing to let any fall yet. She was convinced crying prematurely would only bring bad luck. Sofie was fearing the worst, but she needed to hold on to some kind of hope. At least now, before she knew for certain how bad it was.

Maybe the kids were banged up and in shock. Maybe there were some broken bones. Maybe some concussions. Scrapes and scratches. Bruises. A bunch of stuff would heal quickly…

And maybe one day, a few weeks or months from now, they would remember this incident as a scary close-call they’d overcome. A minor setback.

Someday in the future, April and Drew would be married and in their forties, telling their kids about the bad crash they had weeks before graduating high school. Their yearbook would have pictures of all the signatures they’d gotten on their matching casts.

There was no need to panic.

No need to panic. Sofie let these words replace the chant in her head, wanting so badly to believe them. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to cling to some optimism, the prolonged drive provided ample time for dread to take hold again.

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About Author Janelle Marie:

Janelle Marie is a distinguished voice in the realm of thriller-suspense fiction. Residing amidst the towering evergreens and cascading mountains of the Pacific Northwest, she infuses her stories with the essence of her surroundings, creating a unique and immersive experience for her readers.

With a talent for weaving tales, Janelle embarked on her writing journey, driven by a love for a great book. She discovered her passion for crafting stories that send shivers down the spine, skillfully spinning narratives that are tapestries of suspense, where unexpected twists and turns keep readers guessing until the final, gripping conclusion.

Janelle Marie invites readers to join her on a journey into the heart of suspense, where the landscapes are as unpredictable as the twists in her tales. Through her evocative prose, she aims to transport readers into a world where danger lurks in the shadows and the only way out is to keep turning the pages.

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