Tag: #excerpt

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Winter’s Season by R.J. Koreto

WINTER’S SEASON

by R.J. Koreto



January 26 – February 20, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for WINTER’S SEASON by R.J. Koreto 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, the author’s social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway sponsored by Partners In Crime. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

In 1817 London, Before the Police, There Was Captain Winter.

London, 1817. A city teeming with life, yet lacking a professional police force. When a wealthy young woman is brutally murdered in an alley frequented by prostitutes, a shadowy government bureau in Whitehall dispatches its “special emissary”―Captain Winter. A veteran of the Napoleonic Wars and a gentleman forged by chance and conflict, Winter is uniquely equipped to navigate the treacherous currents of London society, from aristocratic drawing rooms to the city’s grimmest taverns.

Without an army of officers or the aid of forensic science, Winter must rely on his wits and a network of unconventional allies. His childhood friend, a nobleman, opens doors in high society, while a wise Jewish physician uncovers secrets the dead cannot hide.

But Winter’s most intriguing, and potentially dangerous, asset is Barbara Lightwood. Shrewd, beautiful, and operating as a discreet intermediary among the elite, Barbara shares a past with Winter from the war years. Their rekindled affair is fraught with wariness; she offers intimate information crucial to his investigation, but guards her own secrets fiercely. Like Winter, she is both cunning and capable of danger.

From grand houses to dimly lit streets, death stalks Captain Winter. He must tread carefully to unmask a killer, navigate a web of secrets and lies, and perhaps, in the process, save his own soul.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/235788930-winter-s-season?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=QD0blWBgcc&rank=1

Winter’s Season

Genre: Thriller, Historical, Romance, Political, Crime
Published by: Histria Books
Publication Date: February 17, 2026
Number of Pages: 300
ISBN: 9781592116898 (ISBN10: 1592116892)

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

WINTER’S SEASON by R.J. Koreto is a new Regency mystery with an exciting cast of characters from all levels of Regency society, an intriguing murder mystery, and a well-paced investigative procedural led by retired military Captain Edmund Winter who now works for the Home Office. While this is a standalone book at this time, I would love to see it become a series because I did not want it to end.

The Napoleonic war ended two years ago and now in 1817, after his return from a deployment to India, Captain Edmund Winter finds himself working for the Home Office. With the successful capture of a murderer targeting prostitutes, Winter and the Bow Street Runners he is assisting find an unrelated corpse at the scene. It turns out to be a young Society woman who the family assumed had returned to their country home.

Winter must use his wits to navigate Society ballrooms and the shadowy secrets they keep with the help of unconventional friends. His childhood friend, now a nobleman, a Jewish physician from the Army who now performs autopsies, and a secretive woman from Winter’s past who is more than an entrée into society families. While Winter is dangerous to all those who cross him or threaten those he cares for, he must be careful because someone has already tried to kill him before he can unravel the secrets and lies to discover a murderer.

This is one of those books that I just fell into and could not put down. Capt. Winter is a compelling protagonist with so many facets. The main characters are all fascinating and fully developed, and the mystery is well plotted with plenty of twists and surprises, and well-paced to keep me reading. The author’s research is evident from the descriptions of the multiple levels of society, from nobility to servants, and the required or proper access to them and how to talk with them.

I highly recommend this thrilling Regency mystery and hope I get to read more about Capt. Winter’s investigations in the future.

***

Excerpt

CHAPTER I

It was the custom of Colonel Sir Joshua Williams to invite his veteran officers to his house each Season to commemorate the Battle of San Stefano. After dinner, the closing ceremony was invariable: First, the ladies rose, the young in their pale blues and pinks and the more matronly in their deeper reds and purples. They smiled and departed, leaving the table surrounded by men in their scarlet coats, adorned with medals glittering by the light of dozens of beeswax candles in their silver holders. The liveried footmen filled the port glasses and left as well, closing the doors behind them.

One former company captain looked around, taking note that he was the youngest battle veteran there—the toast would fall to him. Others had moved on or died. He had himself missed last year’s dinner, spending it on the Afghan border, dressed like a Saracen and getting his skin burned black while trying to uncover the secrets of that land’s sullen and violent inhabitants. Even the task he had to complete after leaving tonight, difficult as it seemed, was nothing compared with that.

The colonel caught his eye, and so the captain stood. Every man stopped talking as the captain raised his glass, and then they stood at attention. He remembered the words easily, and in a strong voice he said, “Did our battle line ever break?”

“No!” shouted the company.

“Why did it not break?”

“We are the hard men,” they replied in unison.

“Gentlemen, to our departed brothers of the First Northumberland Foot,” called the captain. They drained their glasses and slammed them down, then burst into applause. The dinner was over.

The captain—indeed, he suspected, the other officers as well—was reflecting on how this dinner came about in a year of peace. The English and their allies had defeated Napoleon for the final time at Waterloo two years past now in 1815 and life was moving on—the best people were all in London this time of year, with no war to talk about, just fashions and parties and theater and how good it was to be able to import from France the best claret again.

They rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, and the captain sought out Lady Williams, the colonel’s wife.

“My Lady, thank you for your invitation.”

“It is I who should thank you, captain. These dinners mean so much to the colonel as he ages, having all his officers around.”

“And he means so much to us, Lady Williams, the pleasure and honor are ours. I am only glad I am back in London so I can attend.”

“Yes, he mentioned you found a position in the Home Office?” She showed as much surprise and curiosity as a lady of her breeding dared reveal. The captain knew the look—how did a man of his obscure background land what appeared to be a distinguished government position? Despite its simple name, the Home Office had become, since its founding some 25 years before, one of the most powerful and overarching government ministries, with responsibility for security and safety within the British Isles. The Home Secretary was one of the most influential men in England. How Winter had advanced his career in that august body was beyond reckoning.

“Yes, my lady. The work is interesting, but at times onerous, I’m afraid. Indeed, my masters call me even now.”

“At this hour, captain? How tedious for you. But again, I am pleased you could come. Give my warmest regards to the Earl and Countess.” 

The captain said goodbye to his colonel and a few other officers, and the butler saw him out. He walked to the nearest stand and engaged a hackney cab to Bow Street Court. A few heads turned as he entered the building, but no one accosted him. A clerk gave him the barest nod but said nothing as he entered a room. 

A few minutes later, the captain came out. He was no longer in his regimentals, but in rather shabby outfit, almost rural, with a slouch hat. Down the hall, he entered another room, where a squad of Bow Street Runners awaited—constables, employed by the local court at Bow Street, to keep order and seize felons. Winter suppressed a grimace. They were poorly trained and poorly paid, but it was pretty much all London had for law enforcement. Many still thought the idea of a formal professional constabulary too much government interference—too un-English. So, the Runners would have to do. At least they were willing and obedient. 

“We have already gone over where you should be standing,” said the captain. “You know how important it is you aren’t seen.” There was more than instruction in his voice–there was menace.

“Yes, sir,” said the most senior constable present. 

“Then take your places. I’ll be along shortly.”

Moving quickly, he left the building and walked along dark streets that became progressively dirtier and more dangerous. He saw men hiding in the shadows, those who preyed on the weak and unaware, but nothing happened to him.

Eventually he came to a building that was well-lit, at least by the neighborhood standards. It was certainly the noisiest venue in the street. The cracked and faded sign marked it as The Three Bells.

The Captain entered—a few were eating off dirty plates, and almost everyone was drinking beer, or something stronger. Slatternly women laughed and tried to slip away from the half-drunk men who loudly pursued them. Some allowed themselves to be caught, and there was more laughter and then a talk of money. The whole room smelled of smoke and grease, and the floor was sticky from weeks of spilled ale.

Few paid attention to the captain, but a fat man walked up to him surprisingly quickly for someone of his bulk.

“Oh captain, I am so pleased, do you think—”

“Shut up. Where’s Sally? She was suitable last night, and she’ll be suitable tonight.”

“Sally—oh there she is.” He pointed to a tallish girl wearing more makeup than an actress. A large man in worker’s clothes, probably a stevedore, thought the captain, had grabbed her and placed her on his lap. She didn’t seem to mind.

The captain strode over, grabbed the woman by her wrist, and pulled her off the man’s lap. 

“Come, my girl, we have an appointment as you well know.” 

She yelped with surprise, then gave a shrug and followed. The large man stood up.

“See here—I saw her first,” he said. His accent wasn’t London, which explained everything.

“Good for you,” said the Captain, and pulled the girl across the room. The big man started to follow, but two of his friends grabbed him.

“Now Jake, no need to cause trouble,” said the first, who was clearly local.

“Cause trouble? I’ll flatten him—”

“No, you won’t. You don’t know, you’re new here. For God’s sake, that’s the Captain, a soldier, they say he was, and you don’t want to start something with him—I’ve seen what happens to those who do—”

“That’s right,” chimed in the other friend, also a Londoner. “Remember Big Nick—used to be here, no one stood up to him, but he challenged the Captain…” he shuddered.

“And what happened?” asked a skeptical Jake. Both men look their heads.

“We never saw him again. He wasn’t arrested. They didn’t find his body—he was just…gone. So just stop thinking about it. There are plenty of other girls.”

But Jake still felt he had to make a show of standing up for himself. 

“So, you’re telling me it would be a mistake to call him out?”

“Your last mistake,” said the first man. Then very softly, as if he was afraid of his words, he said, “He’s called Winter. If you’re thinking of staying in this part of London, you would do well to remember that name.”

***

Author Bio

R.J. Koreto is the author of the Historic Home mystery series, set in modern New York City; the Lady Frances Ffolkes mystery series, set in Edwardian England; and the Alice Roosevelt mystery series, set in turn-of-the-century New York. His short stories have been published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, as well as various anthologies.

Most recently, he is the author of “Winter’s Season,” which takes place on the dark streets and glittering ballrooms of Regency-era London.

In his day job, he works as a business and financial journalist. Over the years, he’s been a magazine writer and editor, website manager, PR consultant, book author, and seaman in the U.S. Merchant Marine. Like his heroine, Lady Frances Ffolkes, he’s a graduate of Vassar College.

He and his wife have two grown daughters, and divide their time between Paris and Martha’s Vineyard.

Social Media Links

www.RJKoreto.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub
Instagram – @rjkoreto
Facebook – @rjkoreto

Purchase Links

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PROMOAMP GIVEAWAY

https://pictbooks.tours/mTgK1prm

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Assassins by Mike Bond

Hi, everyone!

Today I am featuring my Feature Post and Book Review for ASSASSINS by Mike Bond on this book amplifier tour.

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

Book Summary

In Assassins, Mike Bond introduces Jack, an intelligence operative whose career unfolds alongside some of the most volatile geopolitical shifts of the modern era. His work places him at the center of covert operations that blur the line between duty, loyalty, and accountability.

For CIA operative Jack, intelligence work is never confined to a single mission. Early assignments place him close to local communities, creating personal ties that complicate later operations driven by politics and fear. As global terrorism escalates, Jack is sent into increasingly volatile environments to gather intelligence and stop emerging threats.

Doctors, journalists, foreign officers, and militants move through the same conflicts, each shaped by decisions made far beyond their control. Jack’s relationship with Sophie Dassault, a doctor who once saved his life, becomes a rare human constant amid instability. As former training programs begin producing unintended consequences, Jack confronts a career defined by secrecy, responsibility, and outcomes no one fully controls.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33789163-assassins

Amazon: https://amzn.to/49oZhSM

***

My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

ASSASSINS by Mike Bond is a thought-provoking spy thriller that took me through many memorable moments, not necessarily good, in recent history and reminded me of many political debates I have had with family and friends. There are several viewpoint characters throughout the novel, but the main protagonist is Jack, a CIA agent, and the story begins with his parachuting into the mountains of Afghanistan to assist the mujahideen in their fight again the Soviet Union.

This is a very suspense filled and political story that takes the readers over the years from the Soviet war in Afghanistan to the Bataclan theater attack in Paris. Jack is a complex character who is tortured by the people he loses on operations but is also strongly accepting of that cost to fight terrorists. The thriller plot moves at a fast pace and is very good at showing not only both sides of those in armed conflict, but also the political greed and interference that uses both sides as puppets.

I enjoyed this book, the intricate plot, and characters, but it is heavy on military and political issues, and it is not just a fast-paced thriller. It appeals to those of us who like those intricacies and may feel too heavy for others.

***

Excerpt

An Evening in Paris

November 2015

IT WAS WARM for mid-November. They sat on the terrace of a little restaurant. Anyplace in France, she said, how wonderful the food, the delicious wine, the gentle harmony of others there for love, food, friendship, ideas, freedom, the joys of life.

They had been through the wars together, fallen in love amid the hail of bullets and thud of explosions in cities drenched with blood. Knowing, as the cliché put it, any moment could be their last.

It gave an intensity to love, that this person dearer to you than life itself could be extinguished at any instant. Someone you cherished so completely, composed of neurons, cells, muscles, bone, tissue and memories, could be blown apart, riddled with bullets, any second.

“I love you so much,” she said. “But I think I love you even more in Paris.”

“France does that to us all. What was it Hemingway said –”

“Paris is a moveable feast.”

“Yes, and we will happily feast, in whatever life brings us.”

“As you’ve said, to follow the path with heart?”

 “Yes.” He caressed the back of her hand. “For us, the wars are over.”

“For us the wars will never be over. You know that.”

He looked out on the quiet street. “Let’s take time out. Then we decide.”

“Decide what?”

 “Whether we keep fighting or run for cover.” He smiled at the thought. Not once in all these years had he ever run for cover. Nor had she.

“Your buddy Owen said that people like us, once we’re in, we can never get out.”

“Look where it got him. You want that?” Again he checked the street. It was automatic, this watchfulness. On the edge of consciousness.

He scanned the passing pedestrians – happy couples hand in hand, an old man with a wispy beard, a little girl walking a black poodle, an ancient limping Chinese woman, a kid on a skateboard.

But it worried him, this something; he wished he’d brought a sidearm, but Home Office didn’t want you carrying one here. And everything seemed so peaceful. He sipped his wine, the raw ancient roots of Provence…

A black Seat slowed as it came down the street. A grinning face full of hatred, an AK barrel aiming at them out its window, a blasting muzzle as he leaped across the table knocking her to the sidewalk and covered her with his body amid the hideous twanging hammer of bullets and smashing glass and screams and clatter of chairs and tables crashing and the howl of the Kalashnikov and awful whap of bullets into flesh as people tumbled crying.

It couldn’t be, this horror, he’d left it all behind.

***

About the Author

Mike Bond is the author of nearly a dozen bestselling novels and an ecologist, war and human rights journalist, award-winning poet, and international energy expert. His work spans more than thirty countries across seven continents, often drawn from firsthand experiences in remote, dangerous, and war-torn regions. His novels are praised worldwide for their intricate plots, vivid settings, and explosive pacing. His reporting has covered wars, revolutions, terrorism, and major environmental crises.

Social Media Links

Website: https://mikebondbooks.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mikebondbooksinfo

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/assassins-by-mike-bond-2021-01-21

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Illusion of Truth by James L’Etoile

ILLUSION OF TRUTH

by James L’Etoile

January 5 – 30, 2026

Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for ILLUSION OF TRUTH (A Detective Emily Hunter Mystery Book #3) by James L’Etoile 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 Partners In Crime hosted giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

A Detective Emily Hunter Mystery

Illusion of Truth takes Emily by the throat when her cop boyfriend, Brian Conner, responds to a disturbance only to be lured into a church bombing. Seriously wounded, Emily worries if he survives, will he be the man she knew? One-by-one, other officers linked to a crime years earlier are targeted. Was it covered up? Was Brian part of it? Emily discovers truth depends on who’s left to tell the story.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/231796293-illusion-of-truth?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=JbS7Zl54J3&rank=2

Illusion of Truth

Genre: Police Procedural with a Thriller Edge
Published by: Oceanview Publishing
Publication Date: January 6, 2026
Number of Pages: 366
ISBN: 978-1608096497 (1608096491)
Series: A Detective Emily Hunter Mystery, #3

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

ILLUSION OF TRUTH (A Detective Emily Hunter Mystery Book #3) by James L’Etoile is another suspenseful, edge-of-your-seat police procedural/crime thriller/mystery mash-up featuring Sacramento Detective Emily Hunter. I anxiously wait for each new book from Mr. L’Etoile in this series and the Detective Nathan Parker series. He has become one of my favorite writers in this genre with his fully developed memorable main characters and intricately twisted crime plots. While each crime plot/mystery is complete in each book, the characters and their relationships continue to evolve, and I feel the series are best read in order of publication.

Detective Emily Hunter receives a call that her fellow police officer and boyfriend, Sgt. Brian Conner, is in the hospital after being caught in a bomb blast with fellow officers on a fake call for assistance. As Emily and her partner, Det. Javier “Javi” Medina begin their investigation, the bombings continue to injure other officers and then finally the bomber murders a target. They discover all the officers were targeted due to a shared incident in their past.

Trying to pull all the threads from the past together in this investigation is not easy, while also dealing with Brian’s PTSD and TBI, and her mother’s continued mental decline due to Alzheimer’s. Will Emily be able to discover how the past is influencing the bombings of today and bring the killer to justice?

I find I need to set aside a block of time for these books because I cannot put them down. The books pull you in with Emily’s personal trials and her sometimes full hardy, but always genius ways of solving crimes and bringing the guilty to justice. While I follow every twist and turn of the investigation, I am always surprised by a last-minute twist in each plot that shocks me. You may think you know the resolution, but there is always more.

I highly recommend this addition to the Det. Emily Hunter series and cannot wait for more.

***

Excerpt

Chapter One

“All available units, report of a large crowd and 459s in progress at the corner of Rio Linda and South Ave.,” the dispatcher’s voice called out over the radio.

Sergeant Brian Conner clicked the microphone in his patrol unit. “1-Sam-12 responding.”

“Hey, Tommy, isn’t there a church on South Ave.?” Conner asked.

Tommy Robinson, a Black rookie officer assigned to Patrol District 1 in North Sacramento, turned in the passenger seat, checking for cross-traffic at the intersection. “Yeah. It’s one of those pop-up, God-in-a-box churches. You know—no denomination, takes all comers.”

“Why would a church be a target for looting at midnight?”

“It’s right on the edge of Tru Heights Bloods territory. Could be gangbangers after the food pantry and the donations the church’s brought in.”

“Tommy, let me ask you something. You’ve been married a while, so you’ve got this whole relationship thing down. When Emily says she isn’t ready to move in together, what does that mean?”

“Um, Sarge, you think I’m the one to answer that? Shouldn’t Emily—I mean Detective Hunter—tell you why?”

“I mean, sure, but I thought everything was going great—and then, she’s not ready. You ever have anything like that?”

“No. But then my Baptist momma would’ve slapped me into tomorrow if I thought about living in sin.”

“That’s not helpful, Tommy.”

Conner shot north on Rio Linda. The flashing blue lights from other patrol units ahead marked the location. As Conner pulled into the church parking lot, he expected a crowd spilling out of the church and into nearby businesses. There had been a rash of daylight attacks on retail establishments in the city, where mobs of thieves grabbed armfuls of whatever they could carry. Hitting a church in the middle of the night was a new direction.

“Where are they? The looters?” Tommy said.

Conner parked near the church entrance, ahead of another Sacramento Police Department SUV, and stepped from his vehicle. He couldn’t spot a single person near the church, except for the six police officers who had responded to the call.

“Dispatch, 1-Sam-12, have a callback number on the RP? Looks like a false alarm.”

“Negative, 1-Sam-12. Caller didn’t give their name.”

An officer rounded the corner of the church building and approached Conner. “Nobody’s here, Sarge. What gives?”

The hairs on the back of Conner’s neck pricked up. He swiveled around and surveyed the darkened windows on the street opposite. They were lured here.

“Got movement across the street—second floor, left side,” an officer called out. His brass nameplate read Tucker.

Conner spotted the window and the flare of a cigarette. Someone watching the police respond to this snipe hunt?

“We see any evidence of a break-in? Broken windows, open doors, anything?”

“Nada. Simmons and I walked the perimeter. No sign of entry. No sign of anything,” Tucker said.

“Someone wanted all the units in District 1 to respond. A report of a large crowd breaking into businesses would draw us out here.”

“They needed a diversion so they could pull off whatever they were into somewhere else,” Tucker said.

“Maybe. I haven’t heard anything new from dispatch. Why would we get a callout to the edge of Tru Heights territory?”

“Westgate Crips are on the other side of the freeway. I could see them making a false report to push us to roust a couple of their rivals.”

“Well, nothing going on here. Why don’t you and your partner hit the road. Let dispatch know this was a dry hole,” Conner said.

“Got it, Sarge. You need Parker and Cortez in the other unit? They’re watching the back of the church.”

“Nah, send them on their way, would you?”

“You got it.”

“Thanks, Tucker. Be careful out there. I’ve got an uneasy feeling about someone sending us here.”

“I hear you.”

Conner started back to his SUV, paused, and turned. “Hey, Tucker, anyone check the front door lock?”

“Yeah, I shook it. Locked up tight.”

Tucker and his partner got into their SUV, shut off the lights, and backed out of the church parking lot.

Tommy Robinson wandered to the front entrance and peered through the smoked glass doors. “Place is empty. Nothing going on—hey, what’s up with this?”

A metal donation bin sat to the right of the front door. Gang graffiti adorned the side of the four-foot-tall, repainted mailbox.

Conner caught the glint from a thin wire attached to the donation box door. On the concrete below, a cut padlock lay in the shadow.

Tommy reached for the bin.

“Tommy! Wait!”

Conner ran to the young officer as he tugged on the lid.

“Stop,” Conner said.

Tommy was focused on the unlocked donation bin and didn’t hear Conner.

Conner shoved Tommy as a click echoed in the entry vestibule. A microsecond later, a fireball erupted from the donation bin.

A pressure wave of heat and metal shards exploded. Conner caught the blast in the back as he pushed Tommy away. The force of the explosion picked Conner off his feet and threw him into the brick wall opposite the donation bin.

Conner couldn’t hear anything through the ringing in his ears, and his vision was a blurred kaleidoscope of flames and smoke. From where he fell, he could see the parking lot and the window across the street. The glowing ember from the cigarette was gone, but he swore he spotted a flashing red strobe.

Another explosion sounded to his right. A flash of orange shot from the parking lot. Conner squinted through his warped vision and saw a police SUV on fire. Tucker and his partner, Simmons. He couldn’t see them anywhere.

He tried reaching for his shoulder-mounted radio microphone and his arm wouldn’t move. A quick glance down and Conner saw his broken arm pointing in the wrong direction.

“Tommy. Tommy, you okay?”

Conner couldn’t hear anything but the high-pitched ringing in his ears.

He wasn’t even supposed to be working tonight. Conner swapped the shift with a buddy so his friend could go spend some time with his kids.

Conner felt cold, and a heavy blanket of exhaustion fell over him. Emily. He wanted to tell Emily how much he loved her one more time. She’d wanted to take it slow, but now he felt regret. He should’ve told her how he felt when he had the chance.

The sirens in the distance pierced through his muffled hearing. They would not be in time.

“Emily” . . .

***

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.

Social Media Links

Website: https://jamesletoile.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/james.letoile

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorjamesletoile/

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/jamesletoile.bsky.social

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/illusion-of-truth-a-detective-emily-hunter-mystery-book-3-by-james-l-etoile

Purchase Links

PARTNERS IN CRIME HOSTED GIVEAWAY

https://pictbooks.tours/KkRVvqpM

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Killer Tracks by Mary Keliikoa

KILLER TRACKS

by Mary Keliikoa



October 27 – December 12, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review of KILLER TRACKS by Mary Keliikoa on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.

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

***

Book Description

A Misty Pines Mystery

A peaceful retreat. A maze of smoke and murder. Is their remote getaway about to become a death trap?

Sheriff Jax Turner is worried about going off-grid and leaving his young team of deputies behind. But while his getaway with his ex is meant to help them reconnect, Jax is distracted by signs of a break-in at their rented lookout.

After a string of unsettling events and an approaching wildfire turn their isolated retreat into a danger zone, he’s stunned to find a dead body with marks tying it to a killer he put away a decade ago.

Terrified that his attempt at reconciliation has led them both into a fatal setup, Jax rushes back to his estranged wife before she joins the list of victims. But his dedication to serving and protecting could become an Achilles heel as other players join them among the darkening trees.

Can he fight his way out of the woods before the flames of revenge consume everything?

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/240210865-killer-tracks?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=1pQAS3qDVv&rank=1

Killer Tracks

Genre:  Police Procedural; Detective and Mystery; Crime Fiction; Suspense
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 30, 2025
Number of Pages: 319
ISBN: 979-8-89820-033-6 (pb)

***

My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

KILLER TRACKS (Misty Pines Mystery Book #3) by Mary Keliikoa is an intense genre mash-up of mystery/crime thriller/police procedural that kept me turning the pages. This is the third book in this series and like most books of this type, the mystery/crime plot is complete and resolved in each book, but the characters’ relationships continue to evolve, and I feel the series is best read in order.

Sheriff Jax Turner has agreed to spend a week away with his FBI agent ex-wife, Abby, to work on their relationship. When they arrive at the remote cabin, they notice things that has Jax’s cop radar on alert. They discover a lone female camper who is hiding something and deal with the sabotage of their vehicle. Jax discovers a dead park ranger and now is desperate to get Abby safely off the mountain as they are chased by not only a killer, but a wildfire.

Meanwhile in Misty Pines, Deputy Rachel Killian is in charge and dealing with an apartment explosion and a dead tenant found in another apartment. As she inspects the body with the new medical examiner, the body has an “X” carved into his chest and the medical examiner realizes this signature is reminiscent of an old serial killer case. Rachel is also dealing with her cold case detective father showing up in Misty Pines unannounced. The more they investigate, they begin to fear for Jax and Abby.

This is a very good story that weaves two crime plots together that come from two different directions and ends with an explosive resolution. There were plenty of twists and surprises and towards the end the suspense kept me on the edge of my seat. While Jax and Abby are both interesting, flawed characters, sometimes I find Abby not sympathetic, but a bit annoying, but not enough to stop reading the series. I find Misty Pines an interesting town and as I get to know more of the secondary characters, it gets even more interesting.

I really enjoyed this gripping crime thriller/mystery, and I am looking forward to more books in the Misty Pines series.

***

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

Click. Slide. Clang.

If he never heard that sound again, it’d be far too soon. That, and the sleepless nights under a thread-bare wool blanket that chafed his exposed skin, the looming threat of death… in the yard, the shower, the halls to and from the cafeteria or his cell. 

Death and desperation seeped from the pores of this godforsaken place. So thick he could almost taste it. No amount of soap, no amount of ritual, would rid him of the stench that clung to him—though he’d be willing to try.

It was over now. Dying among these second-class men would not be his fate. A man of his intellect, a man far superior to the minions around him, deserved better than what he’d endured these past years. 

He’d eagerly reeducate those who believed otherwise. They’d all see it by the time he was through with them, just like those that came before. 

Click. Slide. Clang.

A voice echoed off the concrete walls.

“Inmate 22-A-4242. Gather your crap. Time to go.”

He stood, hands to his sides.  

“Ready to face the world?” 

He remained silent. None would get the satisfaction of his acknowledgement.

The voice continued. “They gave you a goddamn Hail Mary. Bleeding heart liberals anyway. Don’t screw it up.”

He bowed his head to obscure his smirk.

“Right. I know your type. You’re innocent.” The guard continued rambling. “That’s what all you convicts say. ‘I didn’t do it.’ ‘I was framed.’ ‘It’s unconstitutional.’” The guard’s voice dropped to a growl, prickling his skin. “Tell that to the victims and their families. I’d reckon less than one percent of you bastards got a legit claim.”

The guard had forgotten betrayed, of which he surely had been. But he shrugged, not to agree, but to stave off the urge to wrap his hands around the guard’s throat. So close to freedom…

Whether he was innocent or not had no bearing; it had not been among the criteria for the help he’d received. Being wrongfully convicted qualified. According to the junior team that had embraced his cause when he’d written the letter, they agreed that’s what had happened in his case. Even if it took them ten years, he loved a system that allowed more loopholes than the cable-knit sweater Mother had dressed him in for school.

“Sell it to someone else, you psycho,” the guard snapped. “Bet you money. We’ll see you again real soon.”

A jagged smile crossed his face. The guard had part of it correct—but he’d never be back here. Next time, he’d be less gullible. 

And he intended to snuff out anything that could hurt him, like the light of every other woman who hadn’t seen his worth. 

Chapter One

Some days, it didn’t pay to get out of bed. 

Sheriff Jax Turner had experienced more than his fair share of those mornings in the past six years. First, when his daughter Lulu died from leukemia. Then, when his marriage dissolved—more like shattered into a million pieces. Followed by a couple of cases that had tested his limits of trust. They’d destroyed some, too.

Today was different. 

Abby Kanekoa, his ex-wife with whom he’d shared the gutting grief of those past years, had offered hope for reconciliation—the chance to glue a few of those pieces back together. It would never be the same without their little girl… but perhaps they could create something new. 

Leaving for the mountains just after Labor Day was less than ideal. Though with the tourist season coming to an end in Misty Pines, and Abby due a vacation at the Bureau, it was the best time. Deputy Rachel Killian, his new hire and right hand, was turning out to be as capable as he’d hoped. Applicants for filling the gaps at their station had been sparse. Few, it seemed, wanted to work these days—or work at the often cool and foggy Oregon coast. He’d at least been able to get most of his young crew on full-time payroll, so Rachel had help.

Bottom line, getting away was Abby’s idea. He would not tell her no.

Now to get through the pep talk with the team. The two major events of the past year had allowed them to punch a few notches into their experience belt, but wisdom and reliance on gut instinct were born with time. Leaving them to run Misty Pines without his guidance had his muscles taut. 

He entered the sheriff’s office with his duffle flung over his shoulder.

“Oh hon, don’t tell me that’s all you’re taking for the week?” Trudy said. Jax’s long-time secretary, and overall, Team Mother to him and his ragtag group of deputies, lifted the headset off her ears. 

He suppressed a smile. “Glad to see your accident hasn’t made you any less opinionated.” 

Eight months had passed since the event that had nearly stolen her from him and the team. A warm and fuzzy Trudy would be hard to get used to—he was grateful he didn’t have to learn.

Trudy rested the headset around her neck. “Looks like Abby hasn’t given you any clue about where you’re going.”

“Other than the mountains, not much. I’ve tossed a few essentials in my truck.”

“Like?”

“A good book and a board game.” He smiled. “A couple of bottles of wine.”

She arched her brow.

“What? I’m assuming she’s arranged for us to be at some luxury resort.”

“You think so?”

“Abby likes her massages, saunas, breakfast in bed.” Not to mention time basking on the deck with a steaming cup of coffee. For being a tough no-nonsense woman, and a hell of an FBI agent, she liked the finer things—and she’d earned every damn one of them.

“And what do you like?” Trudy asked.

He chuckled. Not much of what he’d just mentioned. “Roughing it.”

“Hmmm…and she arranged this for the two of you to reconnect?”

His smile faded; he dropped the bag at his feet. “Are we camping?”

Trudy laughed and shook her head. “When it comes to women, you do take a minute to catch up. Might I suggest a few more items?”

“Like a tent?” He’d have to dig it out of his garage, which wouldn’t take long.

“No. But a communication device might come in handy.”

“Abby said something about our phones being off for the week.” He shifted on his feet. “Are you saying we’re headed somewhere with no service?” 

She returned to her desk in response.

Of course they were. Several interruptions to his and Abby’s conversations had come from the station over the past months. Too often, when they’d just settled into talk or were on the edge of a sensitive topic. Tourist season was like that every year with the random fender bender, a too-loud party on the beach, a drunken brawl at the pub. Some infraction demanding his attention.

Added to that, Brody had slid his motorcycle on wet pavement and nearly dislocated his shoulder in the spring. Garrett had a few interviews in Portland, one in Seattle. Matt was called in to stock shelves by his boss at the IGA grocery store when they were short staffed, which had become more consistent.

Time with Abby had been the price, although the last time they’d carved out a night together still brought a smile to his face. Maybe this trip signaled her intention of wanting more quality togetherness. That thought alone made having limited phone access worth it regardless of where they went, even as the uneasiness of being out of contact with his crew niggled at him.

He flung the bag back over his shoulder and headed to his office. 

The click of claws on the linoleum sounded behind him. 

“Boss.” Rachel and Koa, her black lab, came out of the kitchen. “You all set?”

“Almost. Picking Abby up soon for what appears might be a wilderness retreat.”

Rachel laughed. “Don’t look so concerned.”

“I’m not.”

“Uh-huh. That’s why you have a crease between your eyebrows.”

He rubbed the spot. “Guess I’m not fond of surprises.”

“Never have been myself, but I have a feeling you’ll have fun.”

“According to Trudy, I will. Hope Abby does.” It was sweet she’d chosen a place that appealed to him—more imperative if she enjoyed herself. She’d never been one to sleep on the ground. 

“Believe me, she did good.” 

“Take it you know where we’re headed?” 

“Not precisely.” 

“How about a hint of what you do know, so I’m better prepared?” Having spent far too much time in the dark, he preferred to be ahead of things these days.

She did a zipping motion in front of her mouth. “I get that it’ll be difficult for you, but try not to worry. The men and I have everything covered.”

He nodded. Letting go of the wheel would never be easy, and in law enforcement things could change quickly. But Rachel was solid, and he trusted her… despite his former partner Jameson not agreeing with him hiring his only daughter. Jax had made the right call; he stood by it. There should be no hesitation about him and Abby taking a week for themselves.

“You’ll get a hold of me if there’s a problem?” he said.

“You won’t have any way…”

“I’m taking the satellite phone.”

Rachel folded her arms over her chest. “Suppose that’s smart after the last trek in the wilderness…”

“Exactly my thought.”

Rachel pursed her lips, likely recalling that day when radio silence had left her and the team wrought with worry as they waited for word on whether Jax and Abby were alive. But Abby should understand his decision, if it came up. Probably better it didn’t. 

“Let’s do a briefing before I head out,” he said.

Rachel winked. “The men are waiting for you in the strategy room.” 

He chuckled. That’s why there’d been no sign of them when he’d arrived. 

In his office, he set his duffle bag on a chair, and retrieved the satellite phone, burying it near the bottom in a T-shirt. Once he checked his email for the tenth time and cleared his desk, he started toward the meeting room, until he heard voices in the reception area.

Trudy was holding open the station’s door. The men were grabbing their gear about to file out, Rachel and Koa behind them. 

“What’d I miss?” Jax said. 

Koa turned at the sound of his voice, trotting to his side. Jax squatted next to her, draping his arm gently over her back. 

“Nothing to worry about, boss,” Rachel said. 

“Just a routine traffic revision, chief,” Brody said. “We’ve got it.” He’d gelled down his wispy brown hair today, making him look young. Too young.

“I’ve got forty minutes before…” 

“Oh no you don’t, Jax Turner,” Trudy said. “It’s a half-hour drive to Abby, and you will not be late.”

“I—”

“We’ve got it, Sheriff,” Rachel said, calling Koa to her. Koa didn’t budge.

“Koa’s siding with me on this,” he said. 

Rachel lifted a brow at her black lab, who promptly returned to her side. 

Fine. Jax stood. He’d wanted a team he could rely on, and he had one. So why did he feel left out? “Who’s in need of traffic revision anyway?”

“Fire department,” Trudy said.

“There’s an apartment complex on fire at the edge of town,” Rachel said.

Battalion Chief Mike O’Brien rarely requested assistance. With the remaining tourists eking out the last of their holiday weekend there could be a traffic log, he supposed. 

“I’ll go with you,” Jax said.

Rachel held up her hands in a stop gesture. “Please. Get out of here and have a good time.”

Before he could protest, Rachel was out the door and Trudy shut it behind them. Through the glass, Jax watched his team slide into two of the patrol cars. 

“You heard your deputy, hon. Get your stuff and head to Abby’s. And don’t come back until you and that saint of a woman have worked everything out.”

Trudy was right. He needed to check his ego. Misty Pines could handle a week without him.

A call came through Trudy’s headset which she tapped to answer. She settled behind her desk as he grabbed his bag, her voice fading as he walked outside.

“Yes, Mrs. Harper. Just a small fire. Nothing to worry about.”

***

Author Bio

Eighteen years in the legal field, and an over-active imagination, led Mary Keliikoa to plot murder—novels that is. She is the author of the domestic thriller DON’T ASK, DON’T FOLLOW, the newly released KILLER TRACKS, the third book in the Misty Pines mystery series which is an IPPY Silver and Bronze Award winner, Silver Falchion finalist, and a Foreword Indies award finalist, and the Shamus and CLUE Finalist, and Lefty, Agatha and Anthony nominated “PI Kelly Pruett” mystery series. Her short stories have appeared in Woman’s World and the anthology Peace, Love and Crime.

Social Media Links

MaryKeliikoa.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @Mary_Keliikoa
Instagram – @mary.keliikoa.author
Threads – @mary.keliikoa.author
Facebook – @Mary.Keliikoa.Author

Purchase Links

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PROMOAMP GIVEAWAY

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Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Murder at the Moulin Rouge by Carol Pouliot

MURDER AT THE MOULIN ROUGE

by Carol Pouliot

November 3 – 28, 2025

Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for MURDER AT THE MOULIN ROUGE (A Blackwell & Watson Time-Travel Mysteries Book #5) by Carol Pouliot 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!

***

Book Description

Paris, 1895. When a cancan dancer at the Moulin Rouge falls to her death from the top of one of Montmartre’s highest staircases, the police dismiss it as an accident. But, Madeleine was one of Toulouse-Lautrec’s favorite models, and the artist is certain she was murdered. Enter Depression-era detective Steven Blackwell and 21st-century journalist Olivia Watson who travel back in time to Paris to hunt down the killer. Before long, they learn that a second dancer—a ballerina and favorite model of painter Edgar Degas—has died. Two dancers dead in two weeks. Two artists grieving. Is the killer targeting young dancers, or, does this case involve the enigmatic Paris art world?

From the moment Steven and Olivia arrive, Steven is out of his element. The small-town cop has no idea what techniques the French police use in 1895. Worse, he has no official status to investigate murder in one of the world’s largest cities. The sleuths soon discover disturbing secrets at the Paris Ballet. And when Olivia insists on going undercover to visit a suspect’s house alone, Steven fears he’s made the biggest mistake of his life.

Travel back in time with Steven and Olivia, as they enter the back-stabbing world of dance in one of the world’s greatest cities. Murder at the Moulin Rouge is their most daring and dangerous case to date.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/242072783-murder-at-the-moulin-rouge?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=JiTm6J5ZU4&rank=1

Murder at the Moulin Rouge

Genre: Traditional Police Procedural with a Time-Travel Twist; Historical Mystery.
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 23, 2025
Number of Pages: 325

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

MURDER AT THE MOULIN ROUGE (A Blackwell & Watson Time-Travel Mystery) by Carol Pouliot is an intriguing historical mystery as well as a time-travel romance all intertwined with memorable protagonists. This is the fifth book in the series, and they keep getting better and more captivating with each story. I do recommend reading them in order, while the crime plots are completed in each book, the main protagonists, Steven and Olivia’s relationship continues to progress and evolve over the series.

Depression era detective Stephan Blackwell and 21st century journalist Olivia Watson are relaxing after their last adventure, when they are shocked by the appearance of Steven’s deceased artist mother as her younger self asking them to return with her to Paris in 1895 to help her friend, Henri Toulouse-Lautrec. One of his models, Madeleine, from the Moulin Rouge has been murdered, but the Paris detectives have called it an accident. Henri has set Stephen up with a detective friend from the Surete Nationale and the three set out to discover who killed Madeleine.

The sleuths discovered Madeleine started at the Paris Ballet but moved to the Moulin Rouge. They also discover another young ballerina died from poison just a few weeks before. Are the two cases connected? Stephen and Olivia are both trying to uncover a killer while trying to navigate a time where both are trying to fit in.

I always enjoy a trip through time as Olivia helps Stephan with his cases in 1934, but this book takes both to a completely new city and time period, Paris in 1895. The descriptions of the historical artists who inhabited the city at this time and the life of the fictional dancers pulled me in and I felt like I was there. The intricately plotted and paced crime mystery kept me turning the pages and I was very satisfied with the conclusion. The research is evident in the details of the city and inhabitants’ lives. Stephen and Olivia’s relationship continues to grow even with the difficulties of living in different moments in history. I always look forward to getting the next book in this series with its great mix of history, crime mystery, and romance.

I highly recommend this engaging historical mystery/time-travel romance in the Blackwell & Watson Time-Travel Mystery series.

***

Excerpt

Chapter One

December 25, 1934

Knightsbridge, New York

“I need you to come to Paris.”

“You need what?” he asked.

Detective Steven Blackwell stared at the younger version of his mother standing in the room that had been her studio. Jaw dropped, eyes like saucers. He could barely speak.

“I need you—and your friend Olivia, if you like—to come to Paris. There’s been a murder and the police aren’t doing anything,” said Evangéline. “I thought I heard a voice a minute ago. Was that Olivia? Why don’t you get her? She’s probably wondering what’s going on.” 

In a daze, and feeling like he had no control over his actions, Steven turned away from the vision of his mother and stumbled out into the hallway. He saw Olivia still waiting in the doorway at the end of the hall. Her hand flew to her chest, and she heaved a great sigh. “Oh, my God, you’re okay! What’s going on? I thought I heard voices. Is somebody here?” As he came closer, she noticed the look on his face. “What’s wrong? You look funny.”

“It’s my mother. My mother’s here.”

“What?”

“She looks as real as you do, but she’s young, around our age. She said she needs me to go to Paris. And you should come too.”

“What?” For one terrifying moment, Olivia wondered if a year of grieving had unhinged Steven’s mind. How could his mother be here? Evangéline Neuilly Blackwell died last January.

Steven repeated Evangéline’s instructions. “She said I should come get you.” He held out his hand. Olivia took it and stepped over the threshold into 1934. 

They moved slowly down the hall then paused at the doorway to look at each other. Steven squeezed her hand.  Olivia nodded. They both took a deep breath then entered Evangéline’s studio.

There in the shadowy room stood a beautiful woman, shoulder-length copper hair shining in the lamplight. She was slender, taller than average, and wore a stunning emerald dress, the kind French women wore to perfection. A wool coat with a fur collar had been thrown over the back of a chair. She held out her hand toward Olivia.

“Hello. I’m Evangéline Neuilly. I’m so happy to meet you.”  

Olivia had always wanted to meet Steven’s exotic-sounding mother—a famous French artist—but that possibility had died along with Evangéline. Or so she had thought. Olivia told herself to close her mouth, which had fallen open, and shook the woman’s hand. “Olivia Watson.”

Evangéline looked at Steven. “I can tell you’re surprised to see me. I must not have told you about my ability to time travel. Surely, you wondered why you can? And if your father or I also had that ability?”

“Eh, no. Not really.”

Evangéline rolled her eyes and gave Olivia a look that said, Men, huh?

Olivia couldn’t help grinning.

“Well,” Evangéline opened her arms wide, “here’s the answer to your unasked question. You got it from me.”

Olivia recovered first. “So, Evangéline, you traveled here from…when?”

“1895. And I really need your help. Both of you.” She shook her head and waved her hand back and forth. “I know. I know. You have a lot of questions. Let’s go downstairs and have something to drink. I’ll tell you what has happened.”

They trouped down the stairs and into the living room. 

“I know I must have lived in this house for some time and I assume I decorated this room….” Evangéline turned to Steven for confirmation. 

“Yes, we lived here about twenty years or so before you….” He swallowed hard.

“Before I died,” she whispered, then patted his hand. “Pauvre chouchou. Poor sweetheart. I’m so sorry. But, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know when. Of course, I have an idea. But not the exact date.” She opened a door in the sideboard. “Bon! A bottle of red.” She handed the wine to Steven.

Still dazed, he opened it and poured a glass for each of them. Evangéline curled up in a leather chair. Steven and Olivia sat facing her on the couch. 

His mother took a sip and pursed her lips. “Not bad. So, listen, we must act fast. A young girl has been killed but the police do nothing. They say it was an accident. We know it was not. I want you to find out who killed Madeleine Gervaise.”

His cop’s instincts kicked in, and Steven found himself intrigued. Who was Madeleine Gervaise? How did she die? Why do the police think it was an accident? And what was her connection to Evangéline?

Suddenly, Steven remembered something Sherlock Holmes once said: “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” And with that assurance, he snapped out of his stupor and accepted his mother’s bewildering appearance. He leaned forward. 

“All right, let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I can and will go to Paris. Answer these questions.” He ticked them off his fingers. “Why do the police think it was an accident? How do you know it wasn’t? When did this happen?”

Evangéline placed her feet on the floor and mirrored him, ticking her answers off her fingers. Olivia almost laughed at the two of them. Talk about a chip off the old block, as her grandfather used to say. “She fell on one of the tall staircases in Montmartre. The police say she slipped on the ice. My friend Henri knows the human body and how it works. He says the…how do you say ‘marks of black and blue’?”

“Bruises,” Olivia chimed in. “We also say black-and-blue marks.”

“Ah! Bon. Henri says the bruises prove someone pushed her. It happened late Sunday night, early Monday morning. Today is already Wednesday. That is why we must move fast.”

Steven groaned, thinking of the days lost. “Is Henri a doctor?”

“No, an artist. But, believe me, Steven, he knows the body. If Henri says she was pushed, she was pushed.”

“So, again, if we were to do this, how would it work?”

“We must go with all speed. That means we must travel in Olivia’s time in one of those fast aeroplanes. That’s how I got here so quickly.”

“Wait, how do you know about Olivia?”

“Oh, mon Dieu, the questions! It is a long story but if it will help speed this up…last summer, I traveled to 1934, to America, with someone on business that had nothing to do with you or my future. When I was in New York City, I saw a photograph in a newspaper of the painting I’m working on right now. The article said a museum in Chicago had bought it and gave information about me, you, and your father. While my friend was completing his business, I had a couple of days to myself, so I took a train here and came to this house. Naturally, I was curious, so I came in and looked around. You really shouldn’t leave your doors unlocked, you know. Anyway, I saw the photograph of Olivia on your dresser. You have her name and the year 2014 written on the back. I realized you had inherited my ability to time travel and that Olivia also had the gift.” Evangéline blew out her cheeks. “Can we not return to the problem at hand now?” 

Steven grinned. “Yeah, okay. You know, I always thought you learned English when you moved here with Dad. You speak really well.” 

She rolled her eyes. “As you must know, my father is a professor of English at the Sorbonne. He taught me when I was a child.” She took a drink of her wine. “Now, to our problème…I went through the portal in Paris, from 1895 to Olivia’s time.”  

“Why did you go into Olivia’s time?”

“If you keep interrupting me, we will never get anywhere. Just listen.” Evangéline took another drink of wine and went on. “Time is of the essence, as it’s already been almost three days. We must travel into 2014 and go to New York City as quickly as possible. Someone there will help us with what we need. Tomorrow night, we’ll fly to Paris. Once we’re there, we’ll travel back to 1895.”

“You make it sound easy. But I have so many questions,” Steven persisted. “How are we going to pay for all this? How do I get a passport fast enough to fly tomorrow? What about other things we might need?”

His mother tilted her head toward the ceiling and sighed. “You think I have come all this way without a plan? Before I left, Henri gave me a sketch. There’s a man in New York City—you will soon learn we have travel agents in cities all over the world who help us. This man in New York City, a place called Brooklyn, is selling the sketch for me, so we’ll have plenty of money. He’ll make a passport and other documents for you, Steven, just as someone in Paris made mine so I could come here.” Evangéline turned to Olivia. “Do you have a passport? Do you drive an automobile?”

“Yes. And I have a car.”

“Can you take us to New York City tomorrow morning so we can get Steven’s documents and the money to buy our tickets for the aeroplane? We must leave for Paris tomorrow night.”

“Sure. Listen, Evangéline, I’m sorry to hear about your friend Madeleine.”

“Thank you. She was lovely—a dancer and one of Henri’s favorite models. Such a waste.” 

“Who is Henri? And why would anybody buy one of his sketches?”

“Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. I think he is well known in your time, Olivia.”

“Toulouse-Lautrec?” Olivia gasped. “He’s a friend of yours?”

“Yes, and he’s now your employer.”

Olivia’s jaw dropped. 

Evangéline reached out toward Steven with her empty wineglass then settled back in the chair after he’d refilled it. “Now, let us talk about tomorrow. You must both pack a small bag. Steven, bring any tools or objects you will need to investigate. I don’t know what they might be, but that is most important. When we travel to my Paris in 1895, you can borrow clothes belonging to my friend Théo. He’s away on business right now. His wardrobe is filled with additional items—suits, shirts, collars, and so forth. There’s a cloak and hat as well. Olivia, we’re about the same size. I’m happy to share my clothes with you. I have plenty of skirts and dresses. I have an extra cloak, too. Just bring your personal things.”

Suddenly, Steven realized he had been given a gift. After a long, difficult year of grieving, he had the chance to spend time with the woman who would become his mother. How could he possibly say no?

“I’m sorry, but I have to interrupt again,” Steven said, grinning at Evangéline. “Before it gets too late, I need to call the chief to tell him a family emergency has come up and I need a few days off.” He stood and headed for the phone, then stopped. He turned around and walked back to Evangéline. “I know this is going to be weird for you. You don’t even know me yet. But I have missed you so much!” And he bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek.

***

Author Bio

A former language teacher and business owner, Carol Pouliot writes the acclaimed Blackwell and Watson Time-Travel Mysteries, traditional police procedurals with a seemingly impossible relationship between a Depression-era cop and a 21st-century journalist. With their fast pace and unexpected twists and turns, the books have earned praise from readers and mystery authors. Carol is a founding member of Sleuths and Sidekicks, 4 mystery writers who have banded together to share their love of mysteries, immediate Past President and Program Chair of her Sisters in Crime chapter, and Co-Chair of Murderous March, an online mystery conference. When not writing, Carol can be found packing her suitcase and reaching for her passport for her next travel adventure.

Social Media Links

www.carolpouliot.com
Sleuths and Sidekicks
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @cpouliot13
Instagram – @carolpouliotmysterywriter
Pinterest – @cpouliot13
Facebook – @WriterCarolPouliot

Purchase Links

Amazon – https://pictbooks.tours/3NsOyxER

BN – https://pictbooks.tours/Qo6UYxwv

BookShop.org – https://pictbooks.tours/vanURNyy

Goodreads – https://pictbooks.tours/lwwWrSX7

BookBub – https://pictbooks.tours/PgZWfR46

Publisher – https://pictbooks.tours/gteCEMSW

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PROMOAMP GIVEAWAY

https://www.promoamp.com/c/murder-at-the-moulin-rouge-carol-pouliot

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Serves You Right by Orion Gregory

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SERVES YOU RIGHT (Sydney Livingstone Detective Series Book #2) by Orion Gregory on this Book Amplifier Tour for AME.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section and social media. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

In Serves You Right by Orion Gregory, justice becomes personal, and one detective must decide whether the greater threat lies in the shadows—or within her own department.

Sydney Livingstone thought her leap from the spotlight of professional tennis to the badge of a small-town police officer would mean calm, routine, and a sense of purpose. Newly engaged to Enzo and ready to build a new life, she expected quiet days in Walsh County. Instead, a faceless vigilante calling himself The Enforcer launches a brutal campaign against criminals and the justice system itself. With each attack, his reach grows broader, his methods more terrifying. Sydney quickly learns she isn’t just investigating the crimes—she may be one of the targets.

The deeper she digs, the more the boundaries blur between protector and predator. Evidence points toward betrayal within the force, a stalker shadows a fellow officer, and the media descends as fear spreads through the community. Sydney must question her instincts, her colleagues, and the very idea of justice. With the body count rising, the line between truth and deception narrows, and Sydney must race against time to survive a killer who always seems one step ahead.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/237696808-serves-you-right

Amazon: https://amzn.to/4gEGWTZ

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

SERVES YOU RIGHT (Sydney Livingstone Detective Series Book #2) by Orion Gregory is a twisted crime thriller/police procedural featuring a female detective who was once a pro tennis player and is now a newly minted detective in a small Wayne County department in Northeast Ohio. While this is the second book in the series, it can be easily read as a standalone.

Rookie detective Sydney Livingstone is trying to find her footing not only as a new detective, but also one of only two females in her department. When Sydney makes a mistake that could have cost officers their lives, she is placed on a two-week probation. While out, she is asked by a superior to quietly look into rumors of a vigilante, known as The Enforcer on the dark web.

The Enforcer is a self-proclaimed executioner of those who escape justice in the courts. Sydney is assigned to work to case and finds not only a killer who broadcasts his kills on the dark web but also has hinted at the fact that someone in the Wayne County department assists him. When a detective is murdered, Sydney must work out all the clues and navigate betrayal on the force before the wrong man is charged with The Executioner’s crimes, and she is let go.

This is a fast read with a protagonist who is trying to find her way in a new profession with mainly male colleagues who are not all welcoming. Sydney was portrayed as a regular human being with faults and insecurities and not endowed with superpowers of investigation. The crime plot was well paced and had a multitude of suspects and surprise twists that were solved with good investigative work and not a surprise out of thin air.

I recommend this gripping crime thriller/police procedural and would be interested in reading more in the series.

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Excerpt

He looked over at Andrea, who was happily finishing a chili dog next to a side of circular, mangled fries. She was saying something about changing the drapes in the front window of her house, but Frank wasn’t listening.

His hamburger looked nauseating. Even the idea of taking a sip of beer made him want to vomit. The smell was now all-encompassing.

A pair of young boys chased each other, darting between tables. One bumped their table, causing some of Frank’s beer to spill.

“Undisciplined brats,” he muttered. “Can you imagine what kind of adults they’re going to be?”

Murderers? Spouse killers?

There goes Sheila again, funneling bullshit into my mind.

“We were all there once,” said Andrea. “Just ignore them.”

Frank smiled, wondering how Andrea wasn’t overcome by the disgusting smell. “You know what, I’m not really hungry,” he said. “I’m going to throw this stuff out.” Distracted by the unpleasant odor, Frank forgot about the possibility he was being followed. He fell into line behind two teenagers who were attempting to shove their trash inside an overflowing receptacle. The park seemed to be growing more crowded by the minute.

The park noises consumed Frank’s thoughts. Ice cream machines revved crazily in a high pitch, barbeque grills hissed louder than usual, and soda machines buzzed. Kids squealed at their parents while nearby game operators hollered at customers to step forward and win prizes.

He glanced upward, noticing hot-air balloons in the distance, moving toward the theme park. They were decorated with bold, contrasting colors. The late afternoon sun cast its light onto them, creating a living rainbow of color in the open air.

Frank’s eyes honed on one particular balloon, a white teardrop with silver accents and a printed logo. Four passengers waved cheerfully at everyone below. He struggled to read all the letters, but his mind was quick to fill in the gaps.

Murderer.

Frank was now trapped by the growing crowd. They jostled him, making it impossible to breathe properly. If he had the military sword that he found in Afghanistan, he could clear a five-foot radius around himself with a 360-degree swing. And what was that stinging sensation near his spine? Had a bee or wasp stung him? Or did someone accidentally jab him with a plastic fork?

But the stinging sensation was less noticeable than the certainty that he was being taunted from the heavens by some bastard who had rented a hot-air balloon. How was that possible? Who would’ve even known he would be at this theme park at this exact time?

Frank saw Andrea walking toward him, carrying a hot-fudge sundae. “Surprise!” she said. “I bought you a little treat. I figured maybe some ice cream would stimulate your appetite.”

Andrea, he thought? Of course. She was the only person who knew they were coming here today. But she would never betray him, would she? Andrea had stood steadfast by his side for two years. Had someone gotten to her? Was she gaslighting him so she could end up with everything? No, that couldn’t be right.

Andrea handed the ice cream to Frank. “Have some,” she said. “It might make you feel better.”

Why wasn’t she looking skyward? Playing coy? Perhaps. But then again, maybe someone else was behind all of this.

Frank let the sundae fall out of his hands. It struck the ground, cracking its plastic container and oozing white and brown onto the concrete.

“Shit, Frank. I just paid seven bucks for that. What the hell are you doing?” “Look up,” said Frank. “That white-and-silver balloon to the west. Tell me what you see.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s nice,” she shrugged. “They all are. Why are you acting so strange?” “Read the message on the balloon,” said Frank. “Tell me what it says.” Andrea squinted, looking upward.

“I don’t understand why it matters, but I’ll give it a go. Um – it appears to be a moving and storage company, I think. Yes, ‘Furderer Moving and Storage.’ Now, why was that important enough to drop your ice cream?”

Furderer. Not Murderer?

Shit. In all the hullabaloo of the last several years, Frank had neglected to update his contact lens prescription.

“Andrea, I am so sorry,” he said. “For some reason, I’m not feeling well.” Perhaps it was the combined smells of the food court, or maybe it was something else. The stinging sensation on his back was now more painful.

“I think I need to find a place to sit.”

Andrea placed her hand on his shoulder and attempted to help him navigate through the tight crowd. In the distance, Frank could see a few vacant seats located around a water fountain. It looked inviting – water spraying upward in a fanning arc, sparkling in the sun’s reflection.

He’d cool off near the fountain. Once he gathered his thoughts, they could leave and resume their romantic getaway. He grabbed Andrea by her outstretched arm and pulled her toward the fountain. When he was only steps away, Frank collided with a distracted man – holding four large translucent cups of beer – coming from the opposite direction. The impact caused the man to lose his balance, sending the cups tumbling out of his hand and onto the ground.

The man turned to Frank, his face red with anger. “Watch where you’re going, asshole!” he shouted. “That’s $36 of beer you spilled. You’re either gonna pay me back or I’m going to kick your ass and take the money out of your wallet myself.” The stinging sensation seemed to be increasing by the second. He tried to focus on the man, but his vision blurred.

The man leaned in, transferring saliva into Frank’s face as he continued his verbal barrage.

Frank understood the most logical solution would be to remain calm and pay the man for the spilled beer, especially after the last two tumultuous years. But between the insult and challenge to his manhood, Frank certainly wasn’t going to back down now.

Frank’s tormentor was about 6’ 2” and would be fortunate to reach 160 pounds. He looked like someone who had experienced a few too many go-rounds with methamphetamines. With Frank’s superior size and strength to go along with his hand-to-hand combat techniques, he knew he’d have this guy on the ground in a matter of seconds, begging for his life.

The man grinned, displaying two missing front teeth. His crooked nose had obviously been broken before. He sported a stained blue ball cap, a heavy-metal T-shirt, and his blue jeans displayed holes in the knees.

Andrea tugged at Frank’s shirt sleeve. “Let’s just go.”

Frank moved closer. “I give you one free shot,” he growled. “From that point on, I’m only defending myself.”

Frank held his hands low. Even a direct shot didn’t really concern him. He’d taken huge punches from some of the top instructors in the area during his martial arts classes. Surely, this guy wouldn’t even come close to matching them.

Frank suddenly was seeing two images of the man in front of him. And then three. The world was rotating around him like a turbo-charged merry-go-round. He no longer was thinking about moving his head at the sight of an incoming fist. He couldn’t focus his vision on any one thing. He could hear Andrea begging him to stop among the chats of a bunch of high school kids who were encouraging the other man to throw a punch. And the stinging pain in his back had become even more intense. He lost all feeling in his legs.

At the same time, the man barreled his head into Frank’s face. He heard laughing from above him. Everything was a blur. And still, there was that stinging sensation in his lower back. He heard Andrea scream. And then, Frank lost consciousness.

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About the Author

Orion Gregory’s fascination with mysteries and human psychology began when he read his first Agatha Christie novel as a boy. After earning a degree in Communications from Wright State University, he carved out an award-winning career in journalism and advertising, later contributing to a national sports magazine. For 25 years, he balanced his professional life in sales with raising a family alongside his wife, Fran, and coaching tennis—a sport that sharpened his focus and strategy, both qualities he threads into his fiction. Now based in Southwest Ohio, Gregory writes fast-paced thrillers that combine page-turning suspense with emotional depth.

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