Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for HOME THIS CHRISTMAS by Sue Roberts on this Bookouture blog tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, the author’s bio, and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Ruby hasn’t been back home since she made the heart-wrenching decision to leave her childhood sweetheart, Nathan, for a career in London. But when she’s invited to judge the charity gingerbread competition, she decides it’s time. And it seems there’s Christmas mischief at work. Because Nathan is joining her as a gingerbread judge.
But it’s clear he would rather she’d stayed away, from his icy silence when they are alone, to the snarky comments and his accusing glare as they prepare for the event with other members of the community. And all Ruby wants to do is get back to London.
Then bad weather leaves her snowed in the village until after Christmas, with nowhere to stay. And things go from bad to worse when she slips on the ice… And falls straight into the arms of Nathan.
The pain of her injured ankle is nothing when, her heart aflutter, Nathan surprises her. As he scoops her up and sweeps her off to the hospital, it seems like the frost between them is finally thawing. But could the magic of Christmas mean a second chance is possible? Or is it too little too late?
HOME THIS CHRISTMAS by Sue Roberts is a heartwarming Christmas women’s fiction/second chance romance mash-up featuring a young woman named Ruby who left her small village and first love behind to chase her dreams of success in London. Now she has attained many of her dreams, a beautiful flat in London and successful career as a food and restaurant critic and another Christmas is just around the corner.
Ruby is happy with her London life, but she is just out of a relationship and at loose ends. She has made plans with her girlfriend for Christmas but then receives a note from her hometown to be a judge for the charity gingerbread competition. She decides to accept and be in and out of the village in one day. When she shows up at the competition, she is surprised to discover her first love, Nathan, is the other judge.
Nathan is even more handsome than Ruby remembered, and she is surprised that their attraction is still strong. As Ruby gets involved in village affairs and makes new friends, she ends up staying longer and the attraction between them only grows. Ruby is afraid that she will have to leave Nathan behind again or can this second chance at romance be strong enough to keep her in the village?
This is an enchanting holiday read. The first half of the story is more focused on Ruby and her career and life in London, while the second half has her in her old hometown and the second chance romance begins to bloom with Nathan. The romance plot is sweet, charming, and believable. We get to see the village through Ruby’s eyes from her memories of her youth and how things have changed in the present. Ms. Roberts does a wonderful job of making the village and all its Christmas activities come to life on the page. This is a wonderful story to escape into over the holidays.
I recommend this delightful holiday HEA genre mash-up.
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Author Bio
Sue Roberts lives in Lancashire with her long term partner Derek and has had a lifelong love of writing, encouraged by winning a school writing competition at the age of 11.
She always assumed that ‘one day’ she would write a book, always having a busy household and a job, the idea remained firmly on the back burner but never forgotten.
The inspiration for her first novel came to her on a holiday to a Greek village. Her daughters had left home and suddenly the time had come to write that book!
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for CRIME WRITER by Vinnie Hansen on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my mini book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
In the peaceful California coast city of Playa Maria, CRIME WRITER ZOEY KOZINSKI joins a local police officer for a ride-along in hopes of breaking through her writer’s block. But during a routine traffic stop, the cop is shot, the victim of a brutal homicide.
Zoey realizes she is the only witness and the number one target on the killer’s hit list. PTSD kicks in, sending her into a tailspin. It doesn’t help that she lives on an illegal cannabis farm and that her estranged mother has just arrived. Even the police officer’s widow points a finger at the writer, claiming she was a distraction, and the police department knew it.
Lurking on the fringes is a man who stopped briefly at the crime. Good Samaritan or sinister suspect? For her safety, Zoey needs to find out.
Genre: Suspense Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 9, 2025 (ebook) Number of Pages: 266 (paperback) ISBN: 979-8-89820-027-5 (paperback)
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My Mini Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
CRIME WRITER by Vinnie Hansen is an immersive crime thriller where the reader knows who the killer is and what he is doing to cover his tracks, but the interest, twists, and action are all centered around the protagonist, a crime writer and musician named Zoey Kozinski.
The red-headed and feisty Zoey witnesses the murder of the police officer she is doing a ride-along with during a routine traffic stop. The killer knows there is a witness and the drug trafficker he works for tells him he must eliminate her. With PTSD from the incident, the arrival of her estranged mother she has been hiding from, the cop’s widow who blames Zoey and wants revenge, and a man who appeared at the scene of the crime and keeps popping up in her life, Zoey needs to unravel what is happening and who to trust before she ends up dead.
This story starts out appearing to be very straight forward, but the more you learn, the more twisted and anxiety inducing the story becomes. Zoey is interesting and Ms. Hansen’s writing brings her to life with all her problems. The ending was not what I was expecting, but it is satisfying. For me, this was an interesting change in perspective from the usual crime thriller/police procedural mystery.
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Excerpt
One
Day 1 – early evening
Heat from the Mobile Data Transmitter radiated onto Zoey Kozinski’s arm. The interior of the patrol car cooked, muggy and close. September brought the hottest weather to the central coast of California, anxiety about fires flaring as the oak leaves curled and undergrowth crisped. Thankfully, Officer Austin kept the windows of the patrol car open even as the sun started to set.
“Must be boiling with your vest.”
“Better to sweat than bleed.” Austin’s profile was sharp angles, pointed nose, strong chin.
“How much does that thing weigh?” Zoey already knew, but the officer didn’t seem talkative. She needed to crack the façade and dig out some grist to apply to Officer Horne, the character in her book. Her stalled, barely-started book.
“Six pounds.”
Officer Austin rolled along Scenic Drive, a main thoroughfare through Playa Maria County. Zoey wished they could listen to music, something to go with driving on a sultry evening, maybe Ella Fitzgerald’s “Summertime.” Instead, the police radio spat information, filling awkward silence. Zoey jotted down that a list of stolen cars was tucked on the left side of his dash. She’d chosen a night shift, hoping for a modicum of action but nothing on the radio stirred Austin’s interest.
“How do you feel about ride-alongs?” She flipped her legal pad and the printed-out opening pages of her manuscript winged to the floor. All two of them. A whopping three hundred ten words. She bent down to retrieve them.
“It’s part of our Community Policing.” Austin kept his focus forward. “To increase civilian awareness of what police work entails.”
She didn’t bother to write down the canned response.
Austin must be a rookie to receive the crappy assignment of hauling a ride-along, but he didn’t look like one. Silver highlighted his short hair. Older than her fictional Officer Horne. Her protagonist Horne should be young, freshly free of his training wheels, a more credible character to rush toward a terrible mistake after witnessing the shooting of a fellow officer.
In the margin of the legal pad, she scribbled: A hot-head. Temper=hubris. Too eager to prove himself?
Then she wrote Stan and put a question mark after it. The name of the murdered officer in her manuscript had appeared in a magician’s puff of smoke, typed by her fingers before she was conscious of a choice. Not a common name for guys of her generation, the lost kids born between Generation X and the Millennials. The name had merit—easy to pronounce, but not overly used. Why had it popped into her head?
She slipped her pen through her tangle of red hair and scratched her scalp.
Austin shot her a glance, maybe thinking she didn’t know she was using the ink end.
“Writing off the top of your head?”
She smiled slightly. Witty for a police officer.
He quirked a brow. “Making headlines?” His tone was dry. No smile. Was he being funny or busting her balls?
Zoey tapped the legal pad. Her next question wasn’t on it, but Austin’s age and his quips begged for it.
“What did you do before becoming a law enforcement officer?”
Long fingers curled around the wheel, maneuvering the vehicle through the rush-hour clog of Scenic Drive. He scanned the lanes of traffic and sidewalks long enough that she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“I was a teacher.”
“Really?” Her voice squeaked with unveiled surprise. Heat rose up her face. With her coloring, there was no playing off a blush. When she was a kid, her Grosse Pointe classmates had pinned her with the nickname Tomato.
“High-school history.” In the parking lot, he’d offered a firm handshake and introduced himself formally as Officer Austin, although he’d added with a trace of humor ‘at your service.’ Over six-feet with ropy muscles, he was a bit old for her, maybe forty-five, but a hottie, nonetheless.
“That’s a strange career trajectory.”
“Not really. In both jobs you deal with a lot of young punks.”
As part of the outreach program, he probably was not supposed to refer to members of the community as punks. She was making progress.
“In policing I bet you have more flexibility about how you deal with punks?”
His lip curled, but he didn’t respond.
“So why the career move?”
“In teaching, the more you work, the less you’re paid,” he said. “Police work offers time-and-a-half for overtime. Ten-hour shifts and four-day work weeks. More money and time for my family.”
“Kids?”
“Three.”
She felt a twinge of disappointment. Her sex life had been reduced to her Magic Wand, and Austin wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so a bit of fantasy had slipped under her normally guarded door. Since she didn’t want a relationship, a hot cop could be the ticket. Married killed that idea.
And three kids! With the world’s exploding population and global climate change, that was self-indulgent. One of her least favorite character flaws—in reality. In fiction, it was a great character flaw.
“My wife’s the one who should have made the career move to cop,” Austin volunteered. “She’s a tiger. Can outshoot me.” He shook his head in admiration.
Another twinge. She had a serious weakness for men who complimented women in absentia.
Zoey touched the cool metal of the AR15 propped in front of the passenger seat. “This is some serious fire power.”
The creases in his uniform lifted infinitesimally, a hint of a shrug. “You should see what they have on the street.”
She ran her finger down her list of questions. Nothing so far had gotten the juices flowing. “What kind of handgun do you carry?”
“Smith & Wesson. Officers with more seniority get Berettas. The most senior officers have Glocks.” Jealousy tinged his voice. “But if you want a better gun, you can buy one. I’m looking at a Glock.”
The crackling voice of dispatch relayed a report of a middle-aged black male dealing drugs in Playa Maria Park.
Austin swung off Scenic onto a street that cut along the seedier edge of downtown, where the homeless population dwarfed the number of university students. He slowed at the park.
Dusk had sifted into darkness, but streetlights illuminated the perimeter of the grass. Young men played basketball in a well-lit court. A lone man leaning against a light pole straightened at the cruiser’s arrival. Austin put the windows up, parked the car, and plucked a wood baton from the base of his door. “Remain in the vehicle.”
Another patrolman rolled up and joined him. She noted details. Suspect’s dreadlocks glisten in bluish light. Tan pants bag around skinny legs.
Austin questioned the man, while the other officer patted him down and dipped into the pockets of his army-fatigue jacket. With the window closed, Zoey sweated.
In the end, the man bumped away and swaggered toward the basketball court.
Talking together, the officers watched him, then turned in the direction of the vehicle. Austin nodded. The other man laughed. They were talking about her. The inside of the cruiser steamed like a sauna. Austin was letting her marinate in a patina of sweat.
Zoey opened the passenger door, which prompted Austin to step toward the cruiser. Before he plopped into his seat, he thunked his baton into its spot.
“I asked the suspect if we could search him and he said no,” he started before Zoey even asked. “But he has a Search Clause.” Austin cleaned his hands with foam sanitizer. “That’s a bargain he made for probation. He relinquished his right to probable cause.”
She scribbled the information. This was good stuff, strengthening her knowledge of the law.
“But you didn’t find anything?”
“Maybe he sold out.”
Dry humor. Deadpan delivery. Her favorite. To curtail a blush, she cast her eyes to the pocket of his door.
“Don’t most officers these days carry whip-batons?”
He gave her a look.
Amazing eyes—way greener than her own. He yanked the baton from its spot and held it across his lap, the top grazing her thigh.
Phallic symbol, for sure. The air inside the car shifted subtly.
“See all those nicks?” he said. “My T.O. gave this to me, said the riff-raff on the street notice the dents. They’re mostly from getting in and out of the car, but hey,” he returned the baton to the door pocket, “they don’t know that.”
He gave his hand a second squirt of the sanitizer. “I tell you one part of this job I don’t like. The grime. You’d have to get up close to appreciate how much that guy . . . how grubby he was.” Austin started the car. “Tell you the truth, I’m more afraid of an accidental needle poke than a gunshot.”
“Was he dealing?”
“I imagine.” Austin put down the windows. Fresh air rushed into the compartment. “He doesn’t have any other means of income.”
The radio called Austin to roust a panhandler near the entrance to the freeway. Civilian complaint. Austin zoomed back up to Scenic. At the intersection before the freeway entrance, he stopped at a red light with the rest of the traffic. The girl panhandling on the median spotted the cruiser, folded her sign, and meandered down the sidewalk.
Austin turned and rolled along the street across from the girl. In spite of a curvaceous figure packed into tight jeans, with her wavy brown hair hitched into pigtails she looked all of fifteen. The girl ignored them.
Zoey twisted toward Austin. “Are you going to stop?”
“She’s not doing anything illegal now. She didn’t even jaywalk.” He sped up. “We got her off the median.”
“Yup. Sure did.” He knew, and she knew, that as soon as they were out of sight, the girl would return to her spot.
How do they negotiate spots? She wrote. First come, first served?
If she asked Austin about the girl—did he know her—what was her story—she sensed he’d blow off the questions. The police department had picked the wrong officer to give ride-alongs. Austin lacked a gregarious, empathetic personality.
Zoey tried to unpack how she’d arrived at this conclusion. Maybe because he’d chosen policing over teaching. Police work had to be more frustrating than high school teaching, certainly less rewarding.
***
Author Bio
A Claymore and Silver Falchion finalist, Vinnie Hansen is the author of the Carol Sabala mystery series, the novels LOSTART STREET, ONE GUN, and CRIME WRITER, as well as over seventy published short works.
She is a member of Mystery Writers of American, Sisters in Crime, and the Short Mystery Fiction Society. A retired high-school English teacher, she lives with her husband and the requisite cat in Santa Cruz, CA.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for MURDER AT THE WEDDING (Modern Midwife Mysteries Book #1) by Christine Knapp on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Birth, death, mayhem, and murder…..
Maeve O’Reilly Kensington loves her job as a nurse-midwife at Creighton Memorial Hospital in the quintessential New England seaside town of Langford. Nothing could bring her more pleasure than helping women usher new life into the world… except possibly having a child of her own with her husband, Will. In the meantime, she’s happy to celebrate the families of those she treats, and content to support her husband in his newly formed catering business.
However when Creighton Memorial’s Chief Obstetrician suddenly drops dead at his daughter’s extravagant wedding reception, catered by Will, Maeve’s two worlds collide in the worst possible way. Suddenly murder is on the menu, and Maeve is desperate to help her husband and find out who killed the doctor.
With the help of her wealthy, acerbic sister Meg and quick-witted Boston Irish mother, Maeve sets out to solve a murder and clear her husband’s name. Can she stay one step ahead of the killer? Or will they strike again… this time closer to home?
Genre: Cozy Mystery Published by: Gemma Halliday Publishing Publication Date: June 10, 2022 Number of Pages: 249 ISBN: 9798835432134 (pbk) Series: Modern Midwife Mystery Series, Book 1
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
MURDER AT THE WEDDING (Modern Midwife Mysteries Book #1) by Christine Knapp is an exciting and intricately plotted start to a new cozy mystery series featuring a nurse-midwife who becomes involved in a murder investigation with her family and friends. This new to me author pulled me into the story, and I was so involved with the clues, crimes, and the entire cast of characters that I read this book completely in one sitting.
Maeve O’Reilly Kensington is a midwife at a New England hospital. She loves her work, her husband, and her family. The head of her OB department’s daughter is getting married, and her husband’s new catering company is handling the reception. Suddenly, the father of the bride collapses and dies after giving his toast to the newlyweds. It was not natural causes.
Maeve is determined to help her husband prove his company or employees were not responsible, and she also wants to find out who killed the doctor. Her police detective brother tells her to stay out of the investigation, but Maeve and her sister Meg are determined to get to the truth. Can she discover the killer before the killer decides she knows too much?
This is a wonderful read with fully developed characters and a perfectly paced cozy mystery plot. Maeve and her family are realistically written with the foibles of any large loving family. Maeve’s family is contrasted well by her rich and snobby in-laws and their family who wish Will would enter the family investment company rather than be a caterer. Maeve’s profession as a midwife is intertwined throughout the story with many different situations she encounters, both emotionally difficult and easy, and all are described with medical details. This is just one of those stories you begin to read, and you become immediately immersed in the characters and plot. I love it when that happens.
I highly recommend this new cozy mystery and cannot wait for the next in the Modern Midwife Mysteries series!
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Excerpt
The parking lot at St. Andrew’s Episcopal was filled almost to capacity. Despite a recent visit to the car wash, my Jeep looked out of place next to all the Mercedes, BMWs, Range Rovers, Jaguars, and Porsches.
I took out and quickly scanned the engraved linen cream invitation. It read:
Matrimonial Ceremony of
Charlotte Alexis Whitaker
and
Brooks James Hawthorne IV
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
Langford, Massachusetts
Saturday, the eighth of June, at two o’clock in the afternoon
As I approached the massive church, I saw all the pink plantings and railings wrapped in white tulle with pink peonies at precise intervals. It was a floral tour de force that must have taken an army of gardeners and florists a few days to accomplish. Inside there were pink roses, peonies, and hydrangeas everywhere. The scene was right out of InStyle Magazine. I wondered, were there any pink flowers left on the East Coast? On the West Coast?
As I squeezed into the last row, a large choir serenaded the full house in the loft above the congregation.
The choir began to sing “My Spirit Sang All Day” as Mrs. Whitaker, resplendent in a strapless, rose silk Carolina Herrera with a vibrant pink cabbage rose behind one ear and a necklace of marble-sized, green South Sea pearls, was ushered to the left front pew. Really? Strapless for the mother of the bride? Well, she does look amazing.
A hush fell over the crowd. The stained-glass doors closed, and the groom and his men filed to the altar.
Did one have to be six feet two, gorgeous, and ripped to be in this wedding party?
As the first strands of Wagner filled the air, the doors opened, and down the aisle came Anastasia Bleeker. She was one of the bride’s four-year-old charges at Miss Bloomfield’s School, where wealthy, pregnant women enrolled their offspring-to-be to claim a coveted spot. Anastasia was wearing a white tulle fairy-tale gown with a dark rose-colored sash. A circle of petite, light pink roses and baby’s breath crowned her chin length, straight, white-blonde hair. She carried a small, white wicker basket in one hand, and with the other, she started to drop pale pink rose petals down the long aisle.
Channeling Lady Di, I thought.
Next came the ring bearer, Barrington Cabot. He was another nursery school trust-fund-baby-in-the-making in white linen shorts and jacket and a head of black, curly hair. Then six breathtaking models, or rather bridesmaids, dressed in rose-colored tulle skirts and pale pink lace wrap blouses, floated down the aisle carrying white and pink hydrangeas wrapped in rose-colored ribbons. They looked like an upscale version of an ad for the United Colors of Benetton.
After a slight pause, the stained-glass doors parted again, and Dr. Whitaker appeared in his morning suit, standing at Charlotte’s right side. She was breathtaking in a Vera Wang white silk ball gown glittering with thousands of tiny seed pearls. A deep rose satin ribbon wrapped around her bouquet of white peonies. Her Belgian lace veil trailed behind her down the aisle.
The ceremony went on amid candlelight, roses, and organ music. It was like being in a dream, albeit a very, very expensive dream.
Finally, vows were exchanged, there were no objections, and Charlotte and Brooks were off to the photo-taking session in a vintage, white Bentley. As they left, the guests milled about outside the church for a bit and then headed to the reception.
Evelyn Greyson, the sixtyish director of Obstetric Nursing, stood at the top of the church stairs as I exited. She was dressed in a powder blue suit with a short jacket with peplum and knee-length, fitted skirt. A pearl necklace, her ever-present pearl brooch, and small pearl stud earrings completed the look. Her graying hair was, as usual, in her trademark chignon.
“Beautiful wedding,” I said.
“Magnificent,” Evelyn replied. “Dr. Whitaker wouldn’t have it any other way. See you at the reception, dear.” And then she strode off to her car.
Evelyn always agreed with everything Dr. Whitaker said and did. She worshipped him. Did she also have an unrequited crush on him?
I quickly greeted a few colleagues but didn’t linger because I wanted to see how Will was doing.
The Country Club was buzzing with activity when I drove through the porte cochère, pulled up to the main entrance, and handed my keys to a valet. The grand foyer was glittering with hundreds of candles and still more massive floral arrangements in blush pink. A string quartet played Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” beside the grand staircase.
Out on the veranda, the wedding party was taking pictures before an expanse of green lawn and brilliant blue sky and sea. It would be a wedding album worthy of its own issue of Town & Country.
Large silver serving trays were circulated among the guests, offering tiny crab cakes topped with dill aioli, mini beef Wellingtons, smoked salmon pinwheels, and tomato and goat cheese on toast points. There were massive silver bowls of fresh shrimp on ice on round marble tables.
“Maeve! Maeve! Over here!” one of the midwives called. Looking around the ballroom, which held table settings for six hundred guests, I saw that the Creighton Memorial staff was on the right side of the room while family and friends were on the left. I waved to the midwives but walked over to the table where Grand, Will’s grandmother, was sitting with Will’s parents, Will’s sister, Eloise, her husband, Taylor, and Will’s younger brother, Teddy.
“Hello, Maeve.” William stood and extended his hand. Never a hug, never a kiss on the cheek, just a handshake.
“Hello, so nice to see you all,” I replied, shaking his hand as I nodded to the table. I saw that Lydia, my mother-in-law, was outfitted in a mint green silk cocktail dress with a large diamond necklace and matching drop earrings. She tilted her head toward me and smiled but said nothing.
“The Country Club is such a perfect wedding venue,” I offered.
“Quite lovely,” she replied.
“You look beautiful, Maeve,” Grand said.
“Thanks, Grand.”
“Sweet dress,” Lydia said.
Sweet dress? What, am I five years old? Lydia was a master of the backhanded compliment, and she was not my biggest fan. Keep it together, Maeve.
Eloise was in a sleeveless, pale green and cream striped dress with an emerald and diamond pendant and earrings. Like mother, like daughter.
“Well,” I said, “enjoy the meal. Will has been creating a masterpiece.” I saw William’s and Lydia’s smiles tighten. They did not respond. They were not pleased with Will’s chosen profession.
“I can’t wait,” Grand said.
I gave a little wave and headed over to find my table.
Scanning the room, I saw my sister, Meg, cross her eyes and raise her wine glass in a mock salute. Meg was the Langford real estate agent of choice for the wealthy and had been invited along with other top business leaders of the town. She knew I had just navigated a minefield with my emotionally distant in-laws. As soon as I reached my table, I quickly sat down and took a long drink of chardonnay.
Herend Chinese Bouquet china in pink, Gorham Newport Scroll sterling, and Baccarat crystal decorated each setting.
My gosh, they’ll have to pat everyone down before they leave.
Murray Alfond, the famed orchestra leader, turned on his mic and said, “Please be seated while the bridal party arrives.”
There was sustained applause as Charlotte and Brooks triumphantly paraded into the ballroom. “The bride and groom will dance to a classic personally chosen by Brooks,” Alfond announced.
“The Very Thought of You” wafted through the room as Charlotte and Brooks took to the floor. They obviously had attended many ballroom dancing classes in preparation for this moment, and they danced impeccably.
Then the entire wedding party sashayed to “Fly Me to the Moon.” It was like watching La La Land. They were all perfectly coiffed, dressed, and ready for filming. Plus, they could dance.
When they were done and returned to their seats, Alfond intoned, “Please bow your heads while Reverend Lucas Mathers says grace.”
The Episcopal pastor of St. Andrew’s, Reverend Mathers, was slightly rotund with flushed pink cheeks. He ran his hand through receding black hair, obviously feeling the weight of this moment. Then he bowed his head.
“Dear Holy Father, thank you for this glorious day! What a wonderful celebration! We ask you to bless Charlotte and Brooks, as well as their families and friends, and we beseech you to grant this special couple a life together that is happy and blessed. We further ask you to bless this fabulous repast and grant your blessings on all present. Amen.”
Gee, that was short. He must be hungry.
A phalanx of waiters served the first course of spring green and white asparagus spears with shaved red onion. As we started in on the delicate vegetables, the best man, Ry Farmington, took the microphone and asked all to raise their glasses in a toast to the couple.
“Brooks has been like a brother to me since our first day at Hollis in Harvard Yard. We’ve seen many adventures together—none of which, out of respect for your patience and his reputation, I will go into here.”
He paused for applause and a few knowing hoots.
“In the words of the Bard,
No sooner met but they looked;
No sooner looked but they loved;
No sooner loved but they sighed;
No sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason;
No sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedy;
And in these degrees have made a pair of stairs to marriage
Please rise and toast to their lives together.”
Six hundred guests rose and toasted the couple.
Then came truffle-scented tenderloin with dauphinoise potatoes and tender baby carrots. I snuck a look first at the Whitaker table and then at William and Lydia. They all seemed to be enjoying the meal, and I prayed that all the reviews would be excellent.
For dessert, a chocolate mousse with a crème brûlée center was placed at each setting. I knew the wedding cake would be cut and served later.
Just then, the wait staff re-entered the room. They set a Baccarat champagne flute filled with pink champagne at each place. A hush came over the ballroom. Dr. Whitaker was standing at the head table, staring the crowd into silence. Then he picked up his glass and smiled adoringly at Charlotte.
Everyone listened as he gave a long, loving toast to his daughter. Finally, he took a moment to gather his thoughts before saying, “Charlotte, your mother and I found this magnificent champagne in France a few years ago and had it shipped in for your wedding.”
Mrs. Whitaker stared at Dr. Whitaker with a huge Miss America smile.
Dr. Whitaker continued, “Would everyone please rise and toast my lovely daughter Charlotte and her husband, Brooks.” He lifted his crystal flute to his lips and took a sip while beaming at Charlotte.
Immediately, his cheeks turned scarlet, and he started to wheeze. The crystal dropped from his hand and shattered on the ground. He clutched at his throat while making extensive gasping attempts to pull in a breath. Then he went limp and collapsed to the floor. The room erupted into pandemonium.
***
Author Bio
Christine Knapp practiced as a nurse-midwife for many years. A writer of texts and journal articles, she is now thrilled to combine her love of midwifery and mysteries as the author of the Modern Midwife Mysteries. Christine currently narrates books for the visually and print impaired. A dog lover, she lives near Boston.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for CANYON OF DECEIT by DiAnn Mills on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my mini book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
When wilderness survival expert Therese Palmer receives a frantic phone call from former colleague Professor Rurik Ivanov, she is shocked by the news that his young daughter, Alina, is missing—and that Rurik wants Therese’s help finding her. She’s sure Rurik hasn’t given her the whole story . . . especially since he refuses to report the kidnapping to the police. Yet with a child’s life hanging in the balance, Therese can’t turn down this mission. She knows the clock is ticking and she can’t do this alone.
Therese reaches out to Texas Ranger Blane Gardner, whom she met seven months ago during one of her training courses in wilderness survival skills. Blane’s specialized training and background with the Crisis Negotiation Unit make him uniquely prepared for this search-and-rescue mission. He agrees to help Therese and to accept Rurik’s terms to keep Alina’s disappearance quiet, and as the two begin working together, Therese is determined the spark growing between them won’t distract from their mission to save Alina.
Traversing deep into the desert of Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Alina’s last known location, Therese and Blane struggle to separate truth from lies within the mix of intel they’re receiving. As they close in on answers that suggest the involvement of Russian organized crime and a high-profile international assassination attempt, they must fight to rescue Alina before she becomes an innocent casualty of a much bigger plot—no matter the risk to their own lives.
Genre: Romantic Suspense Published by: Tyndale House Publishers Publication Date: September 9, 2025 Number of Pages: 352 (pbk) ISBN: 9781496485151 (ISBN10: 1496485157) pbk
***
My Mini Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
CANYON OF DECEIT by Diann Mills is a suspenseful and intricately plotted Christian romantic suspense/mystery/thriller set in the beautiful and rugged Guadalupe Mountain National Park of New Mexico. The protagonists are Therese Palmer, a wilderness survival expert and Blane Gardner, a Texas Ranger on the hunt for a kidnapped child. This is a standalone story that is tension filled with many surprising twists that kept me on the edge of my seat and turning the pages.
This romantic suspense plot is well paced with physical struggles and obstacles as well as struggles with their faith. What starts as a kidnapping soon turns into a complex web of assassination, murders, and military espionage. Therese and Blane both have traumas in their pasts that lead to their beliefs, but heartfelt, honest conversations occur between the action as both come to care for each other. Therese lives her faith, and she is clear with Blane that she will not compromise her beliefs even for a relationship, but she is not preaching at him. Blane is the protagonist on a spiritual journey in this story. This is a Christian romantic suspense so there are no sex scenes.
I recommend this exciting, well written Christian romantic suspense.
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Excerpt
Chapter One
New Caney, Texas
October, Thursday, Current Day
Therese
The shrill ring of my mobile phone jolted me awake at 2:00 a.m., a haunting prompt that emergencies seldom emerged in daylight. Someone had ventured into the wilderness and needed me to lead a rescue mission. My skills of trekking over precarious terrain to find victims who suffered from physical injuries, dehydration, starvation, or all three, kept me on alert. At times I viewed my life like a Star Trek tagline, “Where no man has gone before.”
I grabbed the phone off my nightstand. Unidentified caller. “Hello?”
“Ms. Palmer, this is Professor Rurik Ivanov from Houston Leonard University. We met nearly a year ago. You taught a course in wilderness survival as an adjunct professor.”
I captured a mental image of the Russian man—gray-blue eyes, stone-gray hair, angular face. “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”
“I apologize for the hour, but I’m in a desperate situation.”
The angst in his voice zapped me into guarded mode, especially when I barely knew the man. I snapped on my bedside lamp. “Are you all right?”
“No, ma’am, which is why I’m calling you. Do you remember my wife and daughter?”
“I met them both at a faculty dinner last Christmas. A lovely family.”
“My wife was murdered today, and kidnappers have taken my daughter.”
I inhaled sharply, and alarm for the professor’s family fired hot from the soles of my feet. “Daria? Alina? What happened?”
“A man called me late this afternoon while I prepared to leave for home. He said he’d taken Alina. Then he sent a link to a video showing my wife’s execution—”
He stopped abruptly, his final words drumming into my senses. The seconds ticked by, and I waited.
“I watched Daria grab her chest and struggle . . . The blood rushed from her precious body—my dear Daria’s life gone forever.” He grappled again to control his tear-filled voice. “He said they would release Alina unharmed if I paid three million dollars. They’d call with instructions. When the man hung up, I hurried home thinking it had to be a terrible mistake or someone had used AI to generate the video. On the way, I phoned Daria and the call went to voice mail. I also redialed the man who’d contacted me. The phone rang repeatedly, but the number offered no way to leave a message. I contacted Alina’s school and learned Daria had picked her up before noon.
“At home, reality rooted. A lamp and a table in the living room lay in pieces. Daria would have fought hard, but there were no signs of blood. I didn’t recognize the place in the video where they killed her. I even checked for geotag information on the clip, but it had been stripped. I later clicked on the link . . . the video had disappeared.”
I ached for his loss. “What do the police say?”
Silence answered me, then Rurik finally said, “Contacting them is impossible. The man warned me against telling anyone who works in law enforcement, or I’d never see Alina again.” He sobbed into the phone. “Please, give me a moment.”
“Take all the time you need.”
The professor taught Russian language and literature at Leonard University and was highly respected and liked among faculty and students. I’d enjoyed our occasional chats, and he’d observed some of my classes. What had he done to upset the wrong people?
“Thank you. I can talk now,” he said. “I have no idea where the killers have taken Daria’s body or how to find Alina. Neither do I suspect anyone.”
I willed my pulse to slow. “Professor, the police are trained in handling confidential matters and how to find who is responsible. They have families and understand what you’re going through.”
“And endanger my daughter?” Panic throbbed in his ragged voice.
“I’m sorry.” My grief over losing Kate many years ago surfaced raw and bleeding. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. At home.”
“Are there family or friends who can stay with you?”
“My family is in Russia, and I do not trust anyone.”
“You could very well be in danger too.”
“My welfare is unimportant.”
“Who are these people, and why has your family been victimized?”
“I have no idea. The man refused to identify himself, but he did say ‘we.’ Maybe he thinks I have money or believes I have done something criminal to my country or to the US.”
What was he not telling me? I tossed off my blanket and stood in my bedroom, shivering, not from the cold but the horror of this unfolding story. “Professor Ivanov, I’m confused. Why call me? This is a job for the police or the FBI.”
“I cannot risk my daughter’s life. You are my only hope to find Alina. You have the skills to get her back.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m a wilderness-survival specialist, nothing more. I’m not equipped to carry out a hostage negotiation without backup, which is another reason you need to involve the authorities.” More questions bolted into my mental space like a landslide. “How would I find her?”
“That’s where I can help you. Alina has GPS trackers hidden in her shoes. Not even Daria knew about them.”
“Why would you track your young daughter?”
“Alina’s biological mother died when she was a baby, and I’ve been consumed with protecting my daughter ever since. I checked my phone app and learned at one thirty this afternoon, Alina was taken to a private landing strip west of Houston. I called there, and a woman who worked in the small office said no one had filed a flight plan. But she made a mistake. The tracker had stopped registering.” He coughed and asked me to wait while he got a glass of water.
A connection at Harris County Office of Homeland Security & Emergency Management popped into my consciousness. They had the technology to confirm the date and time a plane took to the skies and where it landed.
“I’m better. I apologize for my lack of control,” the professor said. “My app showed tracking again near an abandoned airstrip in a remote area south of Hobbs, New Mexico. The tracking indicated ground-speed movement for two and a half hours to a section on the north side of Guadalupe Mountains National Park called Dog Canyon. That’s where the tracking ended, and I’ve detected nothing since. I assume the kidnappers parked the vehicle and proceeded on foot with Alina. Research shows the area is off-grid. Ms. Palmer, did they remove her shoes? How would they expect her to walk in bare feet?”
My thoughts trailed to the worst possible scenario. Why take Alina to a remote location unless they planned to dispose of her body there? Another argument lay with logic. Why go to the expense of transporting a kidnap victim there when they had the ability to dispose of her body in their backyard? A morbid idea, except true. Whatever the reason, they risked exposure from security cameras until they reached an off-grid area.
“I can’t stress enough how the authorities have technology and skills to find Alina. They can unravel valid threats and comprehend the danger of taking your story to the media.”
“The man who called me said they’d be watching my every move. I bought a burner phone tonight to call you.”
His anguish rippled through me, interfering with my ability to think clearly. “What about the ransom?”
“I can liquidate assets here and in Russia to meet their demands, but the statistics on kidnappers returning my Alina alive are not good. Perhaps they would accept what I can put together now. I’m sorry . . . I wish I had an answer. Why harm an eight-year-old little girl?”
“I have empathy for your grief.” Daria’s lovely face and the white-blonde-haired little girl refused to leave me alone. “Although I could lead you into Dog Canyon, I have no idea how to pull her out of the clutches of dangerous men. You’d need armed law enforcement and possibly a negotiator.”
“That would draw attention. I’ll pay you whatever you want.”
“Money is not the issue, Professor—”
“Alina means more to me than anything else in this world. What is love but to take ownership of a problem and do all I can to stop those men?”
“What if I fail?” The terror of not finding his daughter alive resurrected an echo from the past that had shaped my career.
“Can you live with yourself if you don’t try?”
Unaware, he’d pressed my weakest button. “I’ll hear you out. But I don’t believe you’ve given me the whole story, and I need the truth before I risk my life.”
“I’ve . . . I’ve given you all of it.”“You’ve stated what you want me to know. What have you done or not done in this tragedy that Daria is dead, Alina is missing, and you can’t go to the police?
***
Author Bio
DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who invites her readers to step into stories where suspense meets adventure and romance warms the heart. Known for crafting unforgettable characters tangled in unpredictable plots, DiAnn believes every breath we take unfolds a story waiting to be told—so why not make it thrilling?
Her novels have consistently landed on bestseller lists including CBA, ECPA, and Publishers Weekly, and have won prestigious awards such as the Christy, Selah, Golden Scroll, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol awards.
DiAnn is a founding board member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Conference Advisor for the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers. She actively participates in Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, and International Thriller Writers, DiAnn passionately invests in helping fellow authors succeed through mentoring, book coaching, and editing. She travels nationwide speaking and teaching engaging writing workshops.
A proud coffee snob who roasts her own beans, DiAnn also enjoys diving into good books, experimenting in the kitchen, and unabashedly spoiling her grandchildren—whom she insists are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband make their home under the sunny skies of Houston, Texas.
Connect with DiAnn online for behind-the-scenes glimpses, writing tips, and lively discussions:
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE HOUSE OF LOST CHILDREN by Marty Wingate on this Bookouture Books-On-Tour blog post.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
English countryside, 1940. A brave mother’s love offers hope for children fleeing war. When her world falls apart, will they be her guiding light?
When a class of frightened children escape the city’s bombs for her countryside home, Louisa vows to do everything in her power to protect them. As she sends up silent prayers for her only son David, fighting the Nazis in the skies above Britain, she tucks them in to bed. Her heart aches as they cry in their sleep, and she knows they need all her love and care.
Among them is wide-eyed orphan Gracie, who was found next to her mother in the rubble, and clings to Louisa like a shadow. And little Alf, who begins to smile again as he cares for Lulu the dog, the only other survivor of his family. Alongside their handsome teacher Jack, can Louisa help the children to heal? Or when the school governors threaten closure and the war edges closer than ever before, will she soon lose them all?
Then devastating news about David shatters Louisa’s world. Through the depths of her grief, she must find the strength to fight for her beloved lost children. Can they show her the way through the darkness? Or when German planes fly over their peaceful village, will Louisa and the orphans be torn forever apart?
THE HOUSE FOR LOST CHILDREN by Marty Wingate is an emotional and heartwarming standalone WWII historical fiction novel with romantic elements. Set in England during the Blitz, it features a generous and loving woman who opens her home in the country to a group of children and their teachers who have their charity school destroyed in London.
Lady Louisa Brightford is alone in a rambling mansion in the countryside with a minimal staff and her son, David, away flying Spitfires for the British Air Force. When she learns of a group of children and their two teachers displaced by a bombing in London, she calls the family lawyer and asks for his assistance in moving them to the mansion. She hopes the children can find safety and love of the countryside as they each capture her heart in their individual ways and with their particular needs, especially the youngest named, Gracie.
Louisa becomes attached to Gracie, who lost her mother in the bombing. Gracie has not spoken since she lost her mother, but clings to Louisa who continues to offer her love. Louisa also finds herself becoming closer to Jack Barry, one of the teachers. So, when the governors of the charity that run the school threaten to take the children away because she is a divorced woman, she will do everything in her power to keep them. While she is fighting for the children to stay, she receives news that her son is missing in action.
Even through her grief and anxiety over her son, Louisa is determined to keep the children in her home. With the help of Jack, long-time friends in the village, and new surprise allies, Louisa does not give in to despair but fights for the future of the children.
This is an emotionally uplifting and satisfying read that had me completely invested in all the characters. Ms. Wingate brought all the characters in this story to life. Louisa was so strong in the face of everything she had gone through personally and was still able to share so much love and understanding with the children. It was also satisfying that she found someone for herself as well. I loved all the children and their individual personalities. This story demonstrates love in all its manifestations even when you have to go through worry or despair to find it.
I highly recommend this WWII historical fiction with romantic elements and dare you to not fall in love with Gracie!
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Author Bio
Marty Wingate is a USA Today best-selling author of both mysteries and historical fiction. Marty enjoys weaving humor into her books and creating characters—from quirky and loveable to sinister and duplicitous—that leap off the page. Before embarking on her series about the London Ladies Murder Club with Bookouture, Marty published three contemporary cozy mystery series (the Potting Shed, Birds of a Feather, and First Edition Library books). She has also published two standalone books of historical fiction and found stories of the past to be compelling. She’s delighted to combine her penchant for both mysteries and histories to bring her readers more satisfying stories. Marty currently resides near Seattle, Washington.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SINS OF THE FATHER (A Detective Nathan Parker Novel Book #4) by James L’Etoile on this Partners In Crime Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Detective Nathan Parker discovers an unidentified man tossed to his death from an airplane is connected to the emergence of a new criminal organization, Red Dawn, when a secretive Joint Terrorism Task Force appears in Phoenix. The leader of the Task Force coerces Parker to support their efforts or his ex-coyote friend, Billie Carson, could face federal charges for supporting a terrorist organization. With Billie’s freedom in jeopardy, Parker agrees and one-by-one, people associated with the Task Force are picked off. When a target close to Parker is attacked, and the Task Force leader vanishes, Parker seeks help from an unusual ally to expose Red Dawn’s mastermind. Familiar foes, lies, secrets, and a father’s sin converge in a deadly standoff.
Genre: Thriller; Police Procedural Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: July 15, 2025 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 978-1-68512-992-7 Series:The Detective Nathan Parker Novels, Book 4
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
SINS OF THE FATHER (A Detective Nathan Parker Novel Book #4) by James L’Etoile is an action-packed police procedural crime thriller and another great addition to this series. The series follows Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office Detective Nathan Parker, his co-workers, family, and friends as they deal with immigrants, cartels, gangs and drugs on both sides of the border. While each book has a main crime plot which is unique to that book, I feel the books should be read in order for character continuity and because of some carryover antagonists from prior books.
A new criminal organization, Red Dawn, is attacking the cartels over the border and has moved to killing FBI Terrorism Task Force members and innocents in Nathan’s jurisdiction. Nathan gets pulled into the investigation by the Task Force’s leader by applying legal pressure on his friend, Billie. While every clue in this investigation leads to Red Dawn, it also has Nathan believing it ties to his past with Esteban Castaneda, the vicious leader of the Los Muertos gang, but he is in solitaire in the Federal Colorado Supermax.
With several dead bodies and one of his own shot and fighting for his life, Nathan and his team are finding more questions than answers. With an unrelenting pace, danger all around them, and twists that continually change the direction of the investigation, Nathan and his team must discover the truth before any more people die.
I always look forward to a new Nathan Parker crime thriller. Nathan, his friends, coworkers, and adopted family are all fully developed and interesting. The information the reader receives through the character of Billie is informative and thought-provoking as she just wants to help people no matter who they are or their legal status. The locations on both sides of the border are all brought to life with Mr. L’Etoile’s descriptive and well researched writing. The crime plots could come right out of the current news cycles and have many layers, twists, and surprises that keep the reader turning the pages. I never quite get the entire picture before the resolution, which I enjoy.
I highly recommend this gripping crime thriller and cannot wait for more!
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Excerpt
Chapter One
Death to a ten-year-old is a pause in a video game. It’s temporary. A momentary setback until you’re back into the game again. At their age, the boys of Boy Scout Troop 116 thought they were immortal. Or they did until they got their first glimpse of human remains.
Ken Dryden stood on the brakes, sending the fifteen-passenger van into a skid on the hard-packed desert road. A flock of eight turkey vultures pecked and tore hunks of flesh from their prey. The enormous birds didn’t budge at the approach of the speeding white passenger van. Only one bothered to look up with a flap of meat hanging from its curved beak.
The birds ignored a loud burst from the van’s horn. Dryden unbuckled and turned to the eight boys in the back. “Stay here.”
Dryden and the assistant scoutmaster, Bill Cope stepped from the van and approached the circle of birds.
“Must’ve found themselves a coyote or something,” Cope said. “Why you insist we take this road? It’s in the middle of—”
“This can’t be…” Dryden trailed off and crept toward the flock of scavengers.
“Whatever they found, they sure don’t want to give it up,” Dryden said as he waved his arms trying to chase the birds off the road.”
“Don’t blame them. Pickings are probably a bit thin out here.”
From behind, a high-pitched voice called out. “Oh, cool. What did they kill?”
Dryden turned and three ten-year-old boys stood a few feet away gawking at the feeding frenzy on the hardscrabble dirt road.
“I told you guys to wait in the van.”
“What did they find?” The tallest boy asked.
“Probably a coyote or something run over on the road, Chase.”
“There’s no tracks in the dirt but ours,” Chase said.
The birds fought and squawked at one another, tearing bits of flesh out from the beaks of weaker birds in the flock. Wings flared and cupped over the remains, claiming them.
“Mr. Dryden? What’s that?” Chase asked.
“What?”
“That,” the boy said with a trembling finger, pointing toward the largest vulture with a torn hunk of flesh hanging from its red beak.
Dryden followed the boy’s line of sight and under the bird’s talons were the remains. He felt sick when he saw it. A brown work boot. Coyotes didn’t wear boots.
“Oh my God.”
“Is it a dead person? Chase said.
“Back to the van boys,” Cope said.
“But—”
“Now!” Dryden barked the order, and the three scouts scurried back to the van.
“Why did you take us on this back road to begin with? What do we do now?” Cope asked Dryden. The two adult supervisors of this scout troop stood at the desert crossroads.
Cope pulled out his cell phone. “No signal out here. We need to call 911.”
Dryden looked back to the van and all eight boys pressed up against the windows gawking at the human remains as the carrion birds devoured their treasure.
“We gotta get them outta here,” Dryden said.
He charged the birds, and most of them backed away. Dryden got a good look at what lay in the desert crossroads—a man, twisted, mangled, and broken. Huge swaths of flesh torn away by the feeding birds. Dryden’s shoulders drooped at the sight—a dead man left in the crossroads.
“I’ll try and keep them away. Drive the boys back out to Quartzite. Call 911. I’ll wait.”
“You wanna stay out here? In this heat?” Cope said.
“It’s early, the heat won’t top out for a couple of hours. I’ll take my pack and all the water we can spare. I’ll be fine. There’s a little shade over there under that Palo Verde.”
Tall, dry creosote brush and a few taller gangly green Palo Verde trees and Saguaro cactus lined the crossroads
“You sure? It’s not like you can help that guy?”
“Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve to get eaten by these feathered desert rats either. How would you feel if it was someone you knew?”
Dryden retrieved his day pack and two canteens from the van.
“Guys, Mr. Cope is going to take you out. He’ll stop in Quartzite for a pee break.”
“I’ll stay with you, Mr. Dryden,” Chase said.
“Everyone’s going with Mr. Cope.”
A sigh of disappointment filled the back of the van. Dryden knew Chase’s mother was going to meltdown over her precious offspring’s exposure to the dark fringes of life. He figured the Scottsdale socialite would spirit her son away to a resort in Sedona for a crystal bath and chakra realignment.
Dryden hefted his pack and slung the canteens over his shoulder while the van cut a three-point turn and returned in the direction they came.
Once the dust and engine noise died down, all that remained was the breeze cutting through the dried brush and the cackling of the vultures fighting over their prize.
Setting his pack down, Dryden broke off a creosote branch and swung it in front of him forcing the birds away from the remains. Reluctantly, the birds gave up and hopped to the other side of the crossroads.
Dryden closed in on the dead man and grimaced at the mess the vultures made. Unrecognizable. Legs twisted and folded under the body, with a boot sticking out at an impossible angle. No way Chase would earn his first aid merit badge here.
The arms were flayed out over his broken head.
“Oh God.”
Dryden noted the wrists bound with zip ties. This wasn’t a lost hiker. This was a murder victim.
He snatched his cell phone and tried calling Cope to warn him, but the screen reminded him there was no cell signal out here. He shot a series of photos of the dead man, figuring the police would want to see what they found before the vultures could finish it off.
Dryden backed off into the shade and moved out when the vultures grew brave enough to advance. Back and forth for an hour until Dryden spotted a dust trail.
It was too soon for Cope to have summoned help. Quartzite was more than an hour away and the authorities would need time to respond after Cope called them. And this dust plume was coming from the other direction and building fast.
A dead man. Murdered. Alone in the desert. Only a twinge of relief. It wasn’t someone he knew. He knew what that kind of loss felt like and felt guilty about feeling thankful. The dust plume was coming in fast and there was the faint whine of an ATV engine—high pitched and loud.
Dryden snatched his pack and blended into the brush along a game trail, hoping he didn’t encounter an unfriendly javelina. Fifty feet from the road, he hunched down as a green ATV tore into the crossroads and skidded to a stop a few feet away from the body.
Two men stepped from the six-wheel ATV, and one used a bulky satellite phone. After a quick call, the two men donned gloves and picked up the remains, tossing them into the rear cargo compartment of the ATV. They weren’t gentle about it—they were hurried. They needed several trips to gather the bits and pieces.
Once they finished loading the dead man, they sped off in the direction they came from.
Dryden waited until the dust plume died down before he stepped out from his hiding place. He approached the spot in the center of the crossroads where the body had been. There was little to prove a life ended there. The red dirt was marked by a dark circle—what Dryden believed was blood. A single human finger was left behind by the men on the ATV.
A second trail of dust appeared on the horizon in the direction Cope and the boys used on their way out.
Dryden sank back into the brush again until the Black and Yellow Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office SUV pulled to a stop near the intersection.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the finger. Had they left the finger by mistake, or was it a message?
***
Author Bio
James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, and the Public Safety Writers Award. River of Lies, Served Cold, and Sins of the Father are his most recent novels. Look for Illusion of Truth coming soon.
