Author: Avonna

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for WHISPERS AT DUSK (The Blackbird Trilogy Book #1) by Heather Graham on this HTP Books Spring 2023 Romance Blog Tour.

Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!

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Book Summary

Don’t miss the first book in the brand-new, suspense-filled trilogy spinning out of Heather Graham’s popular Krewe of Hunters series!

The Krewe of Hunters goes international with the introduction of Blackbird, a brand new team of operatives bringing justice, and their unique talent of speaking to the dead, to Europe!

They’ve barely finished stopping one serial killer on American soil before FBI agents Della Hamilton and Mason Carter are brought into the fold and sitting in a jet bound for Norway. A disturbed individual has been killing their way across the continent, starting in the United Kingdom and eventually making their way to the sleepy town of Lillehammer. The victims have been left completely drained of blood, with two telltale pinpricks in their necks! As the body count rises the couple must bring all of their abilities to bear as they work to uncover the identity of this vampire killer and put a stop to the terror they’ve begun to inspire.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62924831-whispers-at-dusk?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=5X2W69mlql&rank=1

Whispers at Dusk

Author: Heather Graham

ISBN: 9780778333562

Publication Date: June 27, 2023

Publisher: MIRA

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

WHISPERS AT DARK (The Blackbird Trilogy Book #1) by Heather Graham is an intriguing first book in a trilogy spinoff of the Krewe of Hunters series featuring a group of international law enforcement agents being led by two FBI agents who are able to see and interact with ghosts. This book is a mash-up of paranormal mystery/international crime suspense and a romance between the two FBI agents, but the emphasis is on the crimes and chase with not a lot of depth to the romance. You can pick this book up and easily read it without having read any of the Krewe of Hunters books.

Dead bodies are turning up of young American tourists and students laid out peacefully besides bodies of water drained of blood with two puncture wounds in their necks in England, France, and Norway. A member of the Krewe of Hunters, FBI Agent Della Hamilton is paired with FBI Agent Mason Carter who both have the ability to communicate with ghosts.

Della and Mason discover there is a “Master” training others to kill with the promise of immortality. Working with an international group of law enforcement personnel, some of the Krewe of Hunters back in the States, and a few friendly ghosts, they follow the Master back to New Orleans. As the investigation heats up so does the relationship between Della and Mason. Della needs to put herself out as bait since the Master wants her as a mate, but Mason has already lost one partner and is not willing to lose Della, too.

I enjoyed this new international spin-off from the Krewe of Hunters series. The crime mystery and suspense are paced well and kept me following along with the muti-country chase and there are a few surprising twists. The historical facts scattered throughout are interesting and the ghosts were benevolent. The romance between Della and Mason felt just a little thin to me. When they came together and interacted as a couple, it was believable, but I just wish there had been more emotion and not just trust between partners although that was important, too.

Overall, a good beginning for this new paranormal mystery/international crime suspense spin-off. I am looking forward to reading the next book in the trilogy.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

Mason Carter knew he had backup. The man now holding seventeen-year-old Melissa Wells hostage had been busy for months, and law enforcement across the country had been on his tail. Spread about in various positions outside, an FBI SWAT crew was situated along with local police who knew the area well.

Still, they were in bayou country surrounded by snake-and alligator-infested waters and a range of high grasses, trees, and brush that might hinder any assistance.

Though he’d left a trail of carnage across the country by taking nine victims along the way, the killer’s identity was unknown. He’d left behind fingerprints, but they couldn’t be found in any database, and nothing else discovered by any agency across the country had given them a single clue toward discovering his identity. The truth existed somewhere; it just hadn’t been found as yet.

He’d been labeled the Midnight Slasher since most of his abductions and kills had been after midnight. His note—handwritten and mailed from Las Vegas to the NYC FBI offices—had assured them he was fond of his moniker, and he’d try to make sure his murders did, indeed, occur after midnight in the future. He’d really have preferred being the Vampire, but that name had already gone to a coworker who was busy in Europe.

Coworker?

Mason knew about murders that were being called “the vampire killings” in Europe. He doubted this man and the European madman knew each other, though it appeared they were trying to outdo one another.

But then again, he didn’t really know.

Maybe this killer needed the moniker because he was such an ordinary-looking man. Not exactly handsome—cute might be a term applied to him. He didn’t appear at all insane or creepy as some seemed to think he must appear, not at all as people might think a maniacal killer should look.

He was about twenty-seven—the profilers had been right on his age—six feet even, perhaps a hundred and seventy pounds, with shaggy dirty blond hair, a clean-shaven face and friendly brown eyes. He smiled a lot. Mason could see how he’d managed easily enough to charm or coerce his victims out with him to a place where they might be alone.

And here they were. Mason had trailed the killer from Virginia and had suspected from the few clues he’d been told by the locals that the man would steal a boat and bring his victim far into the bayou. He’d been at the forefront of the investigation, and he called in as he made his way, seeking help from any and all law enforcement agency so they might really end the reign of the Midnight Slasher with a true force against him.

But Mason was the one who now stood alone, facing the man who held the teenaged girl, his blood-stained knife held so tightly to her throat that a trickle of blood ran down to her collarbone. Her terror-filled eyes were on Mason. She didn’t want to die.

Mason didn’t want her to die, either.

He was a good shot—but he’d still have to be at his fastest to hit the man before the knife could slide into the soft flesh of her throat and on to arteries and veins and…

“Okay, Midnight Slasher,” he said, his Glock trained hard on the man, “do you really want to die today?”

“I’ve been here before, and I’m still alive!” the killer said. The girl let out a terrified whimper; the killer had jerked with his words. Another trail of blood slid down to her collarbone.

“I don’t know. You’re in bayou country now. With people who know it well,” Mason said, shrugging.

It was truly doubtful the man would survive the day if he didn’t surrender, but Mason was telling the truth. And it was true, too, that before Mason had been called in on the case, the killer had escaped a similar situation in the Shenandoah mountains.

He had killed his hostage and tossed her to his would-be captors before escaping.

Backup wasn’t going to help.

Not here. Not now. While agents and officers might be all around, Mason was alone in the cabin with the man. His backup crew was holding. They all knew if the killer heard anyone trying to enter from the rear or break down any of the old wooden walls, the girl would die.

“You can do it, and there is no choice,” a voice whispered to Mason.

He was alone in the cabin with the killer—and with the ghost of one Gideon Grimsby, an Englishman who had come to the new world to meet, befriend, and then serve under the legendary Jean Laffite. He had fought at the Battle of New Orleans. Gideon had survived the battle, fallen in love and changed his ways—only to be shot down in the street by a vengeful man who had once coveted the beauty who had become Gideon’s wife.

Now, Gideon enjoyed the music of New Orleans, watched over his descendants and tended to haunt Frenchman Street. But having realized Mason was aware of him at a lounge one night, he’d discovered his afterlife of being a ghostly—and very helpful—investigator as well.

“Do it. Do it, Mason lad, you must!” Gideon said. “He’s going to kill her. The officers and agents outside will lose patience. They’ll seek entry as you know they must. And this rotten beast will die, but so will she. Dammit, man, take your shot!”

“I have to be sure!” Mason said the words aloud and cursed himself. He was accustomed to seeing the dead. And he’d learned before he was ten not to be seen talking to them.

But maybe this time it was good.

“Who the hell are you talking to?” the killer demanded.

Mason made a split-second decision and shrugged, saying, “I guess you can’t see him. Gideon is here. You’d have liked him. He was a pirate. Well, he was, but then cleaned up his act. And sadly wound up being murdered, but he’s enjoying his afterlife.”

“Man, they think I’m crazy. You’re crazy!” the killer said.

There was suddenly a gentle tap at the door to the cabin, surprising both Mason and the killer. Mason knew he frowned as the killer frowned. No one was bursting in; it was a gentle and polite tap.

The killer’s young hostage let out a terrified squeak as the knife drew closer against her flesh.

“What the hell?” the killer murmured. “You—you go and see what those idiots outside want. Because I’m telling you, you can kill me today, but she will die with me.” He laughed. “Maybe the two of us can haunt you, too.”

“God help me,” Mason murmured. “Fine. You want me to check the door?”

“Yeah. I want to see who is trying what.”

His gun still trained on the killer, Mason backed to the door.

“We don’t need any disruptions here,” he said loudly.

“I’m not a disruption,” a female voice said. “I’m unarmed. I just wanted to offer to trade myself for Melissa Wells.”

“What?” Mason demanded.

“Open the door, check her out. See if she’s really unarmed,” the killer said. “And don’t forget—if I’m going, she’s going with me!”

Mason cracked the door open. There was a woman standing there, mid-to late-twenties, about five foot eight with long light brown hair and a striking thin face. She was wearing black knit leggings and a tunic and lifted her arms to show that she carried nothing.

“I’m really a better choice,” she said, looking around Mason to see and talk to the killer. “Think of it! If you don’t manage to escape and get out of this or if you do, you’ll have killed a special agent or used her for your escape. I’m Della Hamilton, FBI. And I know you like your victims to have long hair. My hair is long and I’m the right age… Come on. This kid is a teenager. So far, you’ve at least chosen victims who were out of high school!” She paused, shaking her head. “You have a reputation. You’re a famous killer—don’t sully all that by having people think you were a pedophile.”

Apparently, she’d said just the right thing.

“I am not a pedophile!” the Midnight Slasher protested. “That’s disgusting. I haven’t gotten it down right yet, but I’m working on it, and I will be a master! I will learn to… Well, never mind! I will achieve what is necessary!”

“Whatever,” Mason said dryly. “And she has one hell of a point, I mean, you want to be a master killer, get it all right…perfect it all. But you don’t want to be remembered as a pedophile. That would…well, ruin your whole legacy.”

“Yeah, yeah… I never touched any of them. Except to kill them. And I was going to get it all right this time, but you found a stupid boat and followed me and… Ah, screw it! But you’re right. The pretty girl at the door can get me out of here, or… Well, I will be known for having killed a special agent! Yeah! Get in here, Special Agent Whoever. You come straight to me. When I can switch the knife over, this kid can go. But you need to know—if I die today, you die, too.”

“I’m willing to accept that,” Special Agent Della Hamilton said.

The killer laughed. “Suicidal, eh?”

“No, I just think I can talk you down,” she said. “And frankly, you fascinate me! Your mind is so amazing! And I’m older, okay, and maybe this is only in my own mind, but I think I’m…well, sexier, grown-up, and just a better choice for a victim all the way around. If you want to be famous—kill an agent!”

“Talk me down? I don’t think so. But I fascinate you? And you really are pretty damned gorgeous, so…hmm. Okay, lady, come on.”

“I am coming—when this guy lets me!” she said, smiling and shrugging to Mason.

“Let her by!”

“She wants you to take the shot during the exchange!” the ghost of Gideon Grimsby said. The ghost’s presence was near him. He all but whispered in Mason’s ear, almost startling him.

But Mason was staring at Della Hamilton, and she nodded at the words. As if she had heard them.

Had she?

He’d heard there were others like him. He’d even heard there was a special “ghostbusters” unit in the Bureau with some nothing title like Special Circumstances Unit.

He inclined his head; she blinked, letting him know she had the message.

“I’m coming over…slowly, slowly, and I’ll back up so you can free Melissa and get the knife right on me…”

She walked to him just as she had said she would do.

The killer moved the knife to push Melissa forward and reach out for Della Hamilton. And as he did, Della Hamilton dropped down, shouting, “Now!”

And Mason fired.

Melissa leaned to the side; Della was hunkered close to the floor.

The bullet hit the killer dead center in the forehead. While Melissa shrieked and cried with relief, the Midnight Slasher fell without a whimper.

The killer was dead. The reign of the Midnight Slasher had come to an end.

The wrap-up and the paperwork had just begun.

Naturally, there was chaos at first as other agents and police rushed in. The medical examiner and forensics arrived, and officers held the press at bay. Melissa’s parents were called, but before she raced down to meet them, she fell hysterically into the arms of Della Hamilton and then Mason, telling them, “Oh, my God, thank you, thank you! Thank you, both. You saved my life!”

Mason assured her he was grateful she was alive, as did Della Hamilton.

Gideon Grimsby stood by the whole time, arms crossed over his chest, a proud look on his face. Well, the ghost did like helping.

Mason saw Della Hamilton manage a wave and a nod and mouthed the words, “Thank you,” to Gideon at one point. Gideon smiled and nodded in return.

Mason turned in his firearm as necessary and was surprised to hear that a counselor was waiting to see him in the city. His Glock would be returned in the morning.

Things never happened that fast. He knew something was going on.

Mason was hailed by the waiting officers and agents, and he knew everyone was relieved a serial killer’s spree had come to an end. He wished he could feel celebratory, and he knew he had carried out the only feasible action. But he didn’t feel celebratory, just weary.

Of course, it had been just minutes before midnight when they’d taken down the slasher. With all the aftermath, it was the next day before anyone left the bayou country. And because of where they were, the press had finally arrived, but thankfully, by then the action was over and officers arranged to maintain the crime scene. People had a right to know what was going on but keeping details of such an event within ranks might prove to be extremely important.

He was ordered back to the city and the office before Della Hamilton finished a discussion with a member of the forensic team.

He didn’t see her again until they were finishing the last of the paperwork on the case and by then everyone involved was about to keel over.

Sleep was in order. When he was finally able to return to his hotel, he had no trouble crashing down into a sound sleep—despite the fact that dawn had arrived long ago and the sun was shining brightly beyond the heavy drapes that covered his windows.

He woke in the middle of the afternoon. An evening left in NOLA, time to finish up any necessary business, and then a flight back to the DC area in the morning.

Luckily, they’d been so far back in the bayou country the media hadn’t seen any of the takedown. And when asked, he assured the local powers that be he didn’t want his name seen anywhere, which was the right policy as known field agents could be at risk.

A press release saying the Bureau had rescued the Slasher’s latest victim and the man had been killed in the operation was just fine with Mason. He wondered if Della Hamilton was going to want more recognition.

She didn’t.

Mason was out on Royal Street, trying to decide on a restaurant for dinner, when he looked into a shop front and saw a TV screen showing the news.

The takedown had been perceived just as he’d hoped—a joint effort by the FBI and local authorities.

A lot of his friends at the local FBI offices and police precincts he’d come to know in NOLA had wanted to get together that night. And while he truly enjoyed a lot of the camaraderie and understood the feelings of many that a celebration was in order, he just wanted to be on his own that night.

He felt as if he needed to shake something off.

He decided then to go over to Magazine Street for dinner and hopefully some soothing music at one of its many restaurants. He was surprised when Gideon slid into a seat beside him there; he’d been nursing a scotch and listening to some great jazz, something that helped still his mind.

“You are a strange bird,” Gideon told him. 

“Why?”

“That fellow stole the greatest gift from so many—the gift of life. Mason, you stopped him.”

“With your help, for which I’m grateful—”

“And the help of Della Hamilton. I hung around her awhile earlier. She’s something, huh? As they say in your time, that girl has balls! Wait, she can’t, can she. Guts? Would that be right? She has guts!”

“She saw you in a flash,” Mason said. “And by the way, I am glad I brought a killer down. I’m just tired of… I took his life. I guess I hate killing.”

“But you love saving.”

Mason shrugged. “I will always act in the best interests of the victim. Let’s listen to the music, huh?”

“Sure. There’s a meeting tomorrow morning. Some bigwig with the Bureau is coming down tonight. He’s coming specifically to see you—”

“Why? Wait a minute. Last I heard, I run by the NOLA office, pick up another agent to drop me and bring the car back for the next guy who needs it. How did you hear that? I’ll be heading back to DC tomorrow.”

“Maybe not,” Gideon told him. “I heard Della talking to someone on the phone when she left the offices. She was going out, but that call changed things and she didn’t. She decided she’d better get some sleep. You were busy tonight,” Gideon told him, grinning. “You don’t interrupt a counseling session, and then it was a long day! You were supposed to have some dinner, some downtime… You’ll be informed. Apparently, this is…big. A couple of people are heading down from Washington just to discuss this with you.”

“And they informed another agent before me—about my assignment?” Mason asked.

“I’m guessing it involves her,” Gideon said with a shrug. 

“And that would be a darned good thing. You couldn’t do better, from what I saw.”

“She was good, yes. But—”

Mason groaned. Strange. He’d wanted this job; he’d worked hard for this job. But after his years in the military, now he was wondering why. He was good at what he did. He was a good investigator—largely because of a lot of help from the dead. But he was also good at killing.

And it just seemed to be weighing down on him lately.

“Damn you, man!” Gideon said. His accent—which he had largely lost during the many years since his death—came back strong when he was angry. “There is a seventeen-year-old girl alive and in the arms of her family because of you.”

“And Special Agent Hamilton, of course—or mainly,” Mason said dryly.

Gideon nodded. “I was glad to see her. I hadn’t met her, but friends saw her when she worked a case here not too long ago. The bank robbery out of Baton Rouge. They say she tricked the three—it was a woman and two men. That she got them into position by pretending to be a lost tourist, crying and desperate to find her way back to the airboat they’d been on. Anyway, she has a way that makes her excellent in this kind of case. But you! Stop it. When there is no choice, there is no choice. That teenager from today is going to need therapy for the rest of her life most probably, but she’ll have a life. Do you know what that man—so called Midnight Slasher—did to some of his victims?”

“Yes, yes, I do.”

“No, he wasn’t a pedophile. He sliced them, Mason. Slashed and sliced them! Cut off their fingers and ears while they were still alive.”

“I do know,” he said calmly.

Mason was glad he’d paid his tab. He stood. As he’d learned to do, he pretended he was on a phone call as he told Gideon, “I am so grateful she is alive—and our local intelligence knew where to find him before he could hurt her. Truly, I am. I just… I guess I wish I’d been a negotiator. I’d like to talk someone down for a change.”

“You talk them down when you can—you save the victim when you can’t,” Gideon said.

Mason nodded. “Yes, I know. Guess I’m tired.”

“You should be. Get some sleep.”

“I’m going to.”

“Finish listening to the jazz. See you in the morning,” Gideon said, and then he was gone.

That was the problem sometimes befriending ghosts. Since they were excellent at slipping away through crowds and even walls, it was extremely difficult to have the last word with them.

Excerpted from Whispers at Dusk by Heather Graham. Copyright © 2023 by Heather Graham Pozzessere. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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Author Bio

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She’s a winner of the RWA’s Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers’ Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her websites: TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, eHeatherGraham.com, and HeatherGraham.tv. You can also find Heather on Facebook.

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