Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SHADOWS OF FRENCHMEN (A Jonathan Grey, M.D. Mystery) by Michael Rigg 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 PICT giveaway. Enjoy and good luck!
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Book Description
On a frosty Sunday morning in February, Dr. Jonathan Gray, Coroner of Orleans Parish, faces a gruesome sight. A dead man splayed against the circular steel and cut-glass blocks of the city’s AIDS memorial in Washington Square Park has strange symbols carved into his forehead and chest. A coded note—a cipher—has been placed under one hand. The body mutilation and note are hallmarks of a serial killer dubbed by the news media as the “Mardi Gras Sweeper,” because he strikes during Carnival season and leaves coded manifestos taunting police and giving hints about his next victim.
Hoping to avoid a panic during the city’s most profitable season, Mayor Max Jamerson asks Gray to investigate the murder “on the sly,” without formal assistance from the New Orleans Police Department. Time is of the essence as Gray races to figure out the cipher and track down the Sweeper in order to prevent additional killings—and save Mardi Gras.
Genre: Medico-Legal (Coroner) Thriller Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: May 5, 2026 Number of Pages: 336 ISBN: 979-8898202354 Series:A Jonathan Gray, M.D. Mystery, Book 2
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
SHADOWS OF FRENCHMEN (A Jonathan Gray, M.D. Mystery) by Michael Rigg is the second exciting book in the Jonathan Gray, M.D. Mystery series. While this book is easily read as a standalone, I am glad I read book one, Voices of the Elysian Fields, first, just for more detailed character backstory. There is little time between each book with book one set during the Christmas/New Years holidays and this second book set during Mardi Gras.
There have been some repercussions for Lt. Detective Betsy Sprance since accusing the mayor in her last case, but Coroner Jonathan Gray is determined to get her help when a body is discovered with strange symbols carved into its flesh. It is very similar to bodies left during a killing spree two years previous, also during Mardi Gras. While Jonathan and Betsy believed they had witnessed the killer’s death, it appears he has returned.
As they race to catch a killer, they are hampered by the mayor not wanting to panic the Mardi Gras crowds. As the murders continue, they must solve the cypher of the killer’s manifesto with only the help of their small group of friends to stop the killings once and for all.
This is another New Orleans immersive fast-paced mystery/crime thriller featuring a great cast of characters. All the main characters are fully developed and realistic. Jonathan and his wife have a strong relationship that has been tested, and they came out even stronger. Betsy has worked hard as a Marine and then worked her way up in the NOPD Detective Squad. Ranger, Betsy’s husband’s storyline is still evolving and intriguing. Jonathan and Betsy are both engaging and exciting main protagonists. The plot of this serial killer crime/ mystery was well paced with as many dead ends as surprises and twists. The discovery of the killer completely shocked me, and I like when that happens. This series is addictive.
I highly recommend this thrilling addition to the Jonathan Gray, M.D. Mystery series!
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Excerpt
Chapter One
Alpha and Omega
Sunday, February 1, 2015 – 1:47 a.m.
Twenty-plus years with the Orleans Parish Coroner’s Office taught Jonathan Gray to expect the unexpected. But Washington Square Park had always been a tranquil haven on the fringe of the French Quarter. So crime-scene tape draping the square’s wrought-iron fence presented the visual equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard. Moonlight filtering through stately live oaks cast eerie—almost funereal—shadows, adding to the dissonance.
Fluttering in the nippy midwinter breeze, the neon-yellow ribbon communicated
a mute warning. On this side, normalcy. On the other, insanity. Stepping into the dysfunction never got easier. Regardless, turning back wasn’t an option. As if speaking the incantation aloud would immunize him against the unfolding drama, he repeated his trite pre-crime scene mantra: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” His breath lingered in the frosty air before evaporating.
After checking in with the uniformed officer monitoring access, Jonathan angled toward floodlights illuminating a temporary canopy above the city’s AIDS memorial. More tape—red as opposed to yellow—identified the innermost “Do Not Cross” perimeter. Crime scene technicians in white Tyvek protective suits busied themselves measuring and photographing what must be the reason he’d been summoned. A male corpse sitting upright on the ground—its arms and legs twisted at seemingly impossible angles—leaned against the memorial’s circular cut-glass and steel panels surrounded by a pool of thick, dark-crimson liquid.
A curved, nearly rectangular piece of wood with brass edges—most likely a knife handle—protruded from under the right side of the dead man’s rib cage. A portion of his intestines spilled out of the wound. A second knife—its handle and part of its blade visible—had been thrust downward into the soft tissue between the left collarbone and neck.
Cause of death seemed too obvious to require someone of Jonathan’s seniority. A first-year med student could have made the call. But markings carved into the dead man’s forehead and chest hinted at something more sinister. No wonder Mitch Broussard from NOPD had called him in the middle of the night. The man’s heavy flannel shirt lay open, exposing his chest and a series of
capital letters etched into his skin. The letters—G I D I A I D I V—made no sense, at least not in English. A folded piece of paper with similar letters and other symbols, not quite readable from that distance, lay under the man’s left hand. Lack of blood covering the letters in the chest signaled they had been added postmortem. Jonathan focused on two marks in the man’s forehead. An uppercase “A” and what looked like an upside-down horseshoe—the Greek letter Omega—apparently cut while the victim was still alive.
It couldn’t have been two years already. But there it was. Alpha and Omega. Jonathan bit his lip and cursed under his breath. Then, a silent prayer. Looked like the nightmare was about to begin—again.
One of the CSTs stood and raised her clear face shield. “Hey, Doc. Welcome to Funsville.”
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Author Bio
Agatha and Anthony-nominated author Michael Rigg, a lawyer for more than four decades, writes mysteries and thrillers set in two very different locations: Virginia Beach (where he lives) and New Orleans (which he visits as often as possible “for research,” including participation in three Mardi Gras Krewes). He is a retired Navy Judge Advocate and a retired civilian government attorney, formerly working for the Department of the Navy Office of the General Counsel. He is a member of International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America, and both the Sisters in Crime national organization and its Southeastern Virginia Chapter—Mystery by the Sea.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for KILL TO KEEP (Sheriff Bet Rivers Book #3) by Elena Taylor on this Partner’s 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 PICT giveaway. Enjoy and good luck!
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My Book Description
Sheriff Bet Rivers’ inspection of the carnival grounds should have been routine. Murder is certainly the last thing on anyone’s mind. Then comes the sound of a gunshot. And a dead body with no signs of trauma, no witnesses and no obvious motive for the killing.
But solving the unexplained death is only part of the challenge. Bet is still grappling with her on-off relationship with town owner Rob Collier, while dealing with her feelings about her late father, the beloved town sheriff she had to replace.
As Bet launches her homicide investigation, she soon discovers the carnival is a place of whispers, rumours, resentments and lie after lie. And as the stakes build, it quickly becomes clear that protecting a deadly secret is something that someone is willing to kill to keep.
Genre: Police Procedural, Rural Crime Fiction Published by: Severn House Publication Date: July 7, 2026 Number of Pages: 279 ISBN: 9781448317400 (ISBN10: 1448317401) Series: Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Series
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
KILL TO KEEP (Sheriff Bet Rivers Book #3) by Elena Taylor is an action filled smalltown crime thriller/police procedural in the Sheriff Bet Rivers series. I enjoyed the characters and investigations in the previous books and looked forward to reading this new one. Like most books in this genre, as the series continues the lives of the main characters also develop, but the criminal investigation plots are always concluded in each book.
Sheriff Elizabeth “Bet” Rivers has settled into her role as the sheriff of her smalltown in Collier, Washington. Former FBI agent Rob Collier and longtime friend invites Bet to do a walk-through of the carnival that has come to town and is leasing part of his property. A gunshot rings out and when they investigate, they discover a dead body, but it has no gunshot wound.
Bet and her team, along with the help of Rob, find silence and deception from many of the carnies. It will take all their skills to discover the identity of the body and the killer.
I found this addition to the series to be another well plotted crime thriller with plenty of suspects and twists. Bet is once again a smart and resourceful smalltown sheriff who makes do with what she has and the excellent help of her deputies, Clay and Nate, Rob, and Alma, her senior office manager/computer tech extraordinaire. And you cannot forget Schweitzer, her Anatolian Shepard. My small criticism of this book, which made it not as enjoyable as the previous two was Bet’s continual internal dialogue about her and Rob’s relationship. It felt overdone and not what I would expect from Bet. Even though I was not really interested in the carnival plot to start, it did pull me in the further I progressed in the story, and I realized I had some of the same prejudices of carnies as Bet. The revisiting of the town and characters along with an intricate crime plot made this another solid addition to the series and I hope to read many more in the series.
I recommend this smalltown crime thriller and the entire Bet Rivers series.
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Excerpt
ONE
The air above the blacktop rippled as Sheriff Elizabeth “Bet” Rivers drove west. The tiny town of Collier struggled under a heatwave that had swept through Washington State and turned the last week of June unexpectedly brutal. The sun, barely over the tops of the mountains surrounding the community, already beat down hard. By midday, it would be merciless on the traveling Carnival Roma where they’d set up on the hardpacked dirt at the far end of the valley.
Bet parked the SUV in the makeshift visitor lot and eyed the temporary fencing around the fairgrounds. It didn’t encircle the entire footprint, tempting reckless souls to take a shot at getting in through the back for free.
She sauntered up to the empty ticket booth where Robert Collier Junior stood with an unreadable expression on his face. He cocked an eyebrow. “Mornin’, Sheriff.” His voice was warm and low, teasing her with his formality.
Pretending deference, she tipped the brown campaign hat that covered her auburn curls. “Mr. Collier.”
At thirty-seven, Rob had more than a few care lines etched into his tanned face, and the dark, neatly trimmed beard had begun to show hints of gray. He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
“We shall.” Bet wrapped her fingers around the crook of his elbow, enjoying the tingle that always arrived when she touched him. They had stopped and restarted seeing each other so many times since they’d met last September that her head spun, but the physical attraction was always there—at least for her. Rob played his feelings close to the vest. Recently, there had been phone calls and texts that he ignored in her presence, or left the room to answer, giving Bet the impression she wasn’t the only woman in his life. She worried that they had missed their chance at something wonderful and would fall into the awkward role of “friends.”
It surprised her how much that hurt.
Following Rob through the turnstile, she kept her fingers tucked against his arm. “I feel special getting in before opening day.”
“It’s my role as the person renting the land to do a walkthrough, and as the head of local law enforcement, you should confirm that everything meets your approval.”
“And as a bonus, you get to show off your newfound status as feudal lord of the manor.” She meant it as a joke about his recently expanded fortune but caught Rob’s grimace from the
corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s OK.” He stopped and pulled her around to face him. “It’s not your fault that I’m uncomfortable owning an entire town.”
Not to mention international corporations and properties across the US. His sudden riches had regularly taken him away from their remote high elevation valley, interrupting their progress as a couple and turning him into someone else. Toe-to-toe, she got a better look at the dark circles under his eyes. There was a toll to all the travel his new position forced on him. Rob had left the Collier family responsibilities behind years before to pursue a career with the FBI, but his
father’s death had sucked him back in. As the sole heir, he felt obligated to the people his father’s businesses employed and responsible to various organizations.
He tugged her closer, and she closed her eyes, the heat of his body seeping through their clothing in direct competition with the weather. Standing together, the world felt right, even with a heat dome hovering over their heads.
All too soon, Rob stepped back with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I wanted to join the circus once.” The brim of his hat cast a shadow across his face and for the briefest of moments, he looked like a stranger.
Bet wasn’t sure if he was joking. “Because you wanted to run away?”
“Because I wanted to be Buffalo Bill.”
“And star in a Wild West show.” Bet could picture him on his big Morgan horse, shooting targets at a full gallop.
“Something like that.” The two continued their walk, and with no one around to see them, Bet kept her grip on his elbow, touching the soft blue denim of his shirt. It made them feel like a real couple. She’d never wanted that until now, when it wasn’t clear if they would ever be committed.
The midway split the meadow in half. Food stalls filled one side while games of skill and chance filled the other, with rides scattered in between. The big blue and white striped tent at the far end promised trick horses and acrobats, shimmering in the heat like a mirage. Carnival Roma combined the food, rides, and fun of a carnival with the live performances of a circus, guaranteeing tourist dollars for her often-overlooked town and spectacle under the big top.
As they made their way along the empty “street,” Bet imagined Rob in a fringed coat, performing with the big horse he’d brought with him to Collier almost a year ago. “You still got to carry a gun to work for the FBI. That’s almost like Buffalo Bill.”
“Does that make you Annie Oakley?”
They reached the first of the games—multi-colored balloons to pop with darts, metal targets to hit with little peashooters, heavy white milk cans stacked into pyramids waiting to be knocked into the dirt by an oversized softball. Memories of the past filled her, the view of those games from a child’s eye level. Her father always waving off trying his hand at hitting the targets. A crack shot, he didn’t believe guns should be used as toys.
The stalls were unattended, but a tall, gangly man stood not far away watching them—his blue polo shirt had GUS stitched in gold letters on the left side and a patch with the carnival’s logo on the right.
Rob gestured toward the shooting gallery like a game show host pointing out the grand prize. “Care to prove your gunslinger skills, Sheriff?”
“Only if Gus’ll let us use the dart game.” Bet didn’t hold the same belief as her father, toy guns didn’t bother her, but she refused to fail at hitting the targets with the carnival rifles because the sights were bad.
Gus started his singsong patter as he climbed over the knee wall in front of the games. “Hit a balloon and win a prize.”
Hefting a dart, Bet readied her shot. The pink balloon popped as the point found its target, but before they could finish the high five she aimed Rob’s way, a sharp crack rebounded down the valley. “That was—”
She caught Rob’s startled expression, and they finished with eyes locked together, “—a gunshot.”
Bet’s hand went instinctively for the gun in her holster. But before she drew, she reached down to her backup weapon and held the Smith & Wesson Shield Plus out to him. Planning a fun morning off, his weapons were all back home in his gun safe. Rob gave her a nod, the micro-compact looking tiny but lethal in his hand. They started toward the far end of the carnival grounds, their steps in sync.
Carnival workers streamed toward them, away from the blast at the north end of the midway. With the carnival opening in two days, performers and other staff had likely been at their various tasks and rehearsals. Now they formed a mob, racing toward the entrance, their voices loud and frightened.
Bet grabbed the arm of a young woman running by, wearing a glittery costume. Her silver tights and gold leotard were draped in spangled scarves and netting, which sparkled in the bright sunlight. “What did you see?” Bet asked her.
“Nothing.” Her wild eyes focused and she took in Bet’s sheriff uniform. “I was inside the big top when I heard the gunshot. It sounded close, like it came from out back where the trucks are parked.”
Bet let the woman go and she slipped into the crowd as Bet picked up speed in the other direction. She caught up to Rob, who had paused a short distance away. “Could have come from behind the tent,” she said.
His expression was grim, his body taut as they jogged toward the far end of the midway. “At least there haven’t been any more shots,” he said.
If this had been a spree, the report wouldn’t have stopped at one. But Bet wasn’t taking any chances. Kane Stand, her sole full-time deputy, answered his cell on the first ring.
“We may have an active shooter at the carnival,” Bet said before he could get a word out. “Call Clayton and get him back here now.” She hoped her part-time deputy was still in the area, his night shift had only recently ended.
Kane’s calm voice came through. “Will do. He just left, so he hasn’t gotten far.” Kane grounded her as she fought to steady her breathing. “Do we need Addy?” he asked.
Addy Jamisen was an EMT who owned the only ambulance to serve the rural valley.
“Yes, please. Call her too. But wait with her and Clayton at the front entrance while Rob and I determine if someone has been injured or there’s still a threat.”
“OK, but if I hear gunshots, I’m coming to back you up.” Kane’s voice said not to argue with him doing his job. “Keep me posted on your location.”
“We’re heading past the southeast corner of the tent to get behind it. I’ll be in touch.”
She made eye contact with Rob, and they moved faster in tandem again, weapons drawn.
The tent blocked their view of all the travel trailers for the crew and performers parked behind it, along with transport vehicles for rides and booths and animals. As they came around the side of the tent, the forest of vehicles and trailers threw angular shadows onto the ground. Danger could hide in the fractured light.
Fifty feet away, a man lay face down in the dirt near the back of the tent—as if the gunman had already hit the bull’s-eye, only to slip away in the crowd.
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Author Bio
Elena Taylor spent several years working in theater as a playwright, director, designer, and educator before turning her storytelling skills to fiction. Her first series, the Eddie Shoes Mysteries, written under Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime fighting duo. She is also the author of the standalone suspense novel, The Haunting of Emily Grace.
With the Sheriff Bet Rivers Mysteries, Elena returns to her dramatic roots and brings readers much more serious and atmospheric novels. Located in Washington State, Elena produces tense and suspenseful investigations for a lone sheriff in an isolated community.
Her favorite place to be is at Paradise, the property she and her hubby own south of Spokane, Washington. They live with their equines, dogs, and cats.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SHADOW OF BETRAYAL (Kyndall Family Suspense Series Book #2) by Blaire Morgan on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Blast.
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 PICT giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
In this chilling romantic suspense, U.S. Marshals investigator Heather York stumbles into danger at a Maine lakeside lodge, with Jordan Kyndall’s protective instincts as her only hope.
A woman hunted by corruption.
Heather York thought her life was ordinary—until a sudden threat pulls her into a deadly game. In Shadow of Betrayal, she’s forced to question whether she’s a target—or collateral damage.
A man who won’t walk away.
Jordan Kyndall planned a weekend celebrating his college roommate’s wedding. Instead, he finds a grisly scene in the woods—a woman’s lifeless body—and a surge of protective instinct binds him to Heather in ways he never expected.
A danger that could destroy them both.
As threats multiply and secrets surface, Heather and Jordan must navigate corruption, desire, and deadly stakes—trusting each other may be the only way to survive.
Genre: Romantic Suspense Published by: Blaire Morgan Books Publication Date: June 8, 2026 Series: Kyndall Family Suspense Series, Book 2
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
SHADOW OF BETRAYAL (Kyndall Family Suspense Series Book #2) by Blaire Morgan is an exciting second romantic suspense in the Kyndall Family Suspense series. I would suggest reading book one, Witness in the Shadows, first because while the romance plot and suspense plot are complete in each book, there are a lot of family character crossover and history from the first book in this second book.
U.S. Marshal investigator Heather York is to be the maid-of-honor in her best friend’s wedding in a beautiful Maine lodge in the woods. When she and another friend at the wedding go in search of their other friend who is going to miss the rehearsal, they are attacked.
Jordan Kyndall is in Maine for the wedding of his college roommate. He is instantly taken with the red-headed maid-of-honor and hopes to get to know her better. When he goes in search of the missing women, he discovers a horrific scene. One woman is near death and Heather is unconscious. Jordan’s protective instincts are awakened, and he refuses to leave her side until the danger is identified.
Jordan and Heather work together to discover if Heather is the target or just a part of a random crime. The threats multiply and they are being chased and attempting to stay ahead of the danger until they discover why Heather is being targeted. They need to learn to trust and rely on each other if they are going to survive.
This is a romantic suspense plot with plenty of action and many plot twists that leave you guessing throughout. Jordan is a great hero that you would want as your protector. His previous military service and wilderness training made him perfect for the job. I also love his love and connection to his family. I had a few problems though with Heather as the heroine. She is a U.S. Marshal investigator and she is intelligent, and while she works in the office only on warrants, she uses that as an excuse for no type of physical or police training. I believe she should have had more training to even have that job and make her character realistic. I also did not like how she continued to go back and forth on trying to get rid of Jordan through almost the entire story, while she had no physical skills of her own, whether she was worried for his safety of not. Even with these small points, they work well together as a couple.
Overall, it is an enjoyable, action-packed addition to this series, and I look forward to hopefully reading the other brothers’ stories.
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Excerpt
Prologue
The drive to the dingy bar outside of the city had been rough when the directions led him down a series of dirt roads before reaching what managed to loosely be called civilization. The bell above the door chimed a dull sound, barely registering his presence. He shook his rain-soaked umbrella, drawing a few curious glances his way before the three men at the bar decided their cold beer and stale peanuts were more interesting than him.
The bartender, a man in his late fifties with a marine tattoo on a bicep, asked him if he wanted anything. Though kind, if the bartender had offered him a bottle of the Alps’ finest water, he wouldn’t accept—not in a place like this—but he was trying to blend in.
“Whatever is on tap,” he said, and found a table in a back corner.
Although he had no intention of staying longer than necessary, the location offered him anonymity. The front door, with its surprisingly clean window, opened and brought with it a strong wind and his associate. The new arrival scanned the room, nodded at the others, and crossed the dark bar.
“You’re late.”
“I’m here now. You have something for me, Hewitt?”
He’d made a mistake giving the man a name, even if it wouldn’t lead back to him. They’d agreed not to use names, not here, not ever. He removed a black, zippered deposit bag from the inside pocket of his rain slicker and slid it across the table.
The man across from him chuckled and unzipped the bag.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Hewitt asked, his whisper a low hiss. He quieted when the bartender set a beer in front of him.
His associate raised an eyebrow and continued to wear his smile. “You’ve seen too many movies.” He closed the bag and leaned forward. “Do you honestly think anyone here cares who you are or what you’re doing? At least you dressed for the occasion—kind of.”
Hewitt stared at the man across from him, confident that despite his off-balanced behavior at times, he’d get the job done. History had proven he was capable, if not entirely trustworthy, and willing to do anything—for a price.
“You’re forgetting something,” he said.
Hewitt hated this man. “It’s in the bag.”
Another chuckle. “In the bag, I like that.” He pulled the colored photograph from the deposit bag and studied the image. “How’d you find me?”
“Does it matter?”
“I like to know what I’m getting into.”
Hewitt studied him, unsure now of his idea but knowing he had to move forward. “All you need to know is I can make your other . . . inconvenience go away.”
“And what might that be?”
Hewitt pulled a folded sheet of paper from his inside breast pocket and slid it across the table.
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
“You know who I work for?” Hewitt asked.
“I checked it out.”
“Then you know I can do what I say,” Hewitt said, growing impatient. “Will it be a problem?”
“No, no problem.” Instead of returning the picture to the bag, he slipped it into the pocket of his dark, denim shirt. “You going to drink this?” he asked before he lifted Hewitt’s beer and drank deeply.
From Chapter One
Jordan eased the rented SUV into the graveled parking lot of the lakeside lodge. Nestled in the thick pine forest surrounding Moosehead Lake, the Highlands Lodge reminded him of the fishing camp his family frequented in Alaska.
He stepped out and walked around to the back of the vehicle, breathing in the fresh northern air. Though nothing like his hometown of Stewart Crossing, which was tucked away on a remote Alaskan bay, Moose Creek, Maine, was a pleasant escape from the spring heat of North Carolina, where he operated the main branch of Eagle Wilderness Journeys.
The parking lot was empty, but he heard voices coming from the back of the lodge, laughter carrying through the trees and echoing over the water. Adam, his college roommate and the reason Jordan trekked up north, ambled across the gravel and pulled Jordan into a big hug. Considering Adam stood four inches shorter than Jordan and weighed thirty pounds less, it wasn’t easy.
“Dang, it’s good to see you.”
Jordan returned the amiable smile. “You look happy.”
“Wait till you meet her.” Adam opened the back of the SUV and lifted the duffel out before Jordan objected. “You’re going to love her. I mean, whoever thought I’d ever be monogamous.”
Jordan laughed, closed the back door, and followed Adam to the lodge. “If I recall, you didn’t know the meaning of the word throughout our senior year.”
“Well, yeah, but could you blame me?” Adam led him around the corner of the lodge and stopped. “Wait, there she is.”
Adam had described her perfectly. Girl-next-door pretty and fresh off the cheerleading squad, Grace was only a year younger than his friend. Her pale, blond curls bounced as she walked on long legs across the lawn. “She’s something all right. I wouldn’t have expected—”
It wasn’t often when life’s unexpected moments stunned Jordan into silence or immobilized him, but none stopped his breath quite like his first glimpse of the woman standing next to Adam’s fiancée.
“Who is she?”
“It’s Grace, man, who do you think . . . Ah.” Adam nudged Jordan’s ribs with his elbow and laughed. “That’s Heather, Grace’s maid of honor.”
Jordan didn’t want to use the word “dumbstruck,” but at the moment, he couldn’t formulate another. His sister would have called him “twitterpated” and normally he would put her in a headlock until she cried “mercy” and take it back, but it had been a long time since she’d had cause to tease him about a girl.
“Hey, buddy, close your mouth before you drool.”
Jordan wiped his mouth before he realized Adam was messing with him. “Don’t forget, I can still kick your golf-playing butt from here to next Tuesday.”
“Why don’t I introduce you instead, and then you can owe me one.”
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE VIVALDI CIPHER (Vatican Secret Archive Thrillers Book #1) by Gary McAvoy 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 PICT giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
During the election of a new Pope in the mid-18th century, famed violinist Antonio Vivaldi learns of a ring of art forgers who are replacing the Vatican’s priceless treasures with expertly-painted fakes. Desperate, the composer hides a message in a special melody, hoping someone, someday, will take down the culprits . . .
Nearly three hundred years later, the confession of a dying Mafia Don alerts a Venetian priest to a wealth of forged paintings in the Vatican Museum, and the key to their identities lies hidden in a puzzling piece of music. Father Michael Dominic, prefect of the Secret Archives, investigates, and is mystified when he finds a cipher in an old composition from Vivaldi. Desperate to stop this centuries-long conspiracy, he calls on fellow sleuth Hana Sinclair and Dr. Livia Gallo, a music cryptologist, to help him crack the code and learn the truth.
But the Camorra, a centuries-old Italian Mafia clan, won’t stand by while some interfering priest ruins their most lucrative operation. Along with a French commando and two valiant Swiss Guards, Dominic explores the dark canals and grand palazzos of Venice to uncover the evidence he needs to stop the sinister plot. Can he unearth it in time, or will the Church’s most valuable artworks fall prey to this massive conspiracy?
Genre: Suspense, Suspense Thrillers, Historical Thriller Published by: Literati Editions Publication Date: August 16, 2021 Number of Pages: 400 ISBN: 9781954123076 (ISBN10: 1954123078) Series: Vatican Secret Archive Thrillers, Book 1
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
THE VIVALDI CIPHER (Vatican Secret Archive Thrillers Book #1) by Gary McAvoy is an exciting, fast-paced, action-packed international thriller that is about a three-hundred-year-old conspiracy involving the Vatican’s vast collection of world-famous paintings and the Venetian Camorra (Mafia). The protagonists are led once again by Father Michael Dominic and his cast of friends who were together in Mr. McAvoy’s previous trilogy, The Magdalene Chronicles. While the characters were in previous books together, you can read this book as a standalone.
A Venetian priest takes the confession of a dying Camorra don and learns of a three-hundred-year ongoing conspiracy involving the Vatican’s most famous paintings, forgery, and the Venetian Camorra. The priest is troubled by the confession and Father Michael Dominic, prefect of the Secret Archives, is called in to investigate. Friend and French reporter, Hana Sinclair, is along to assist and soon they discover they are in more danger than anticipated when a Vivaldi music score is translated and exposes a centuries long conspiracy of forgery between corrupt church officials and the Venetian Camorra.
Can Michael, Hana, and friends uncover the evidence they need to stop this ongoing conspiracy without becoming victims of the Camorra don and his assassins?
I really got caught up in this thriller plot and could not stop reading. There is constant action and high stakes encounters with not only Mafia killers, but corrupt Vatican employees. While not all the characters’ actions are realistic in a few parts of the story, their actions are still exciting, move the plot forward, and did not detract from my enjoyment of the overall story. Even with the fast pace, Mr. McAvoy was able to intersperse moments of art history, art forgery, and interesting facts about Vivaldi throughout. I prefer to read books in order and thought I was reading book one in this series, which I was, but the characters were in a previous trilogy together, so I did have some questions about their previous connections, but it did not stop me from enjoying this book.
I can recommend this exhilarating thriller, and I am looking forward to more books in the Vatican Secret Archive Thrillers series.
***
Excerpt
Prologue
Vatican City, Rome – February 1740
The first symptom of the poisoning began as a fever.
Sitting at one of two long, white-silk-draped tables in the Sistine Chapel, along with sixty-seven of his fellow cardinal-electors, Pietro Ottoboni cast his vote for pope on the eighth day of the conclave to replace the late Pope Clement XII.
Enfeebled by fever, the seventy-three-year-old Ottoboni made his way toward the front of the chapel to a small altar below Michelangelo’s majestic fresco The Last Judgment, dropped his ballot onto a brass saucer, then tipped the saucer, letting the ballot fall into the large brass urn beneath it.
A few moments later, having returned to his seat, the cardinal collapsed onto the table, the high temperature having sapped his energy. Shocked, the other cardinals stood to better see what was happening to their colleague. The master of papal liturgical celebrations suspended the conclave while they moved Ottoboni to his apartment under the care of a Vatican physician.
Long considered favorite among the papabili to succeed Pope Clement, Pietro Ottoboni was born in the Most Serene Republic of Venice to a rich and noble family, whose most distinguished member was his grand-uncle, Pope Alexander VIII. Ottoboni had held every important post in the Vatican during an illustrious career and, as cardinal-bishop to several churches in Italy, his annual salary exceeded fifty thousand gold scudi—the present-day equivalent of six million dollars per year.
Cardinal Ottoboni had been a prolific paramour with a countless number of lovers, many of whom were married to the great patricians of Venice. In fact, the famous masks unique to Venetians were introduced not to ward off the plague, as many later believed, but to officially disguise the wearer’s identity—thus permitting anyone, noble or peasant, to do or say whatever one pleased. With this ingenious permissiveness, affari di cuore—affairs of the heart—were as common as the fleet of gondolas plying the canals of the celebrated city, without legal recourse. Having taken full advantage of this liberal device, Cardinal Ottoboni was known to have produced up to seventy children in his lifetime among his various mistresses.
Though he lived well in Rome’s grand Palazzo della Cancelleria, Ottoboni’s greatest passions were music and art, and he was a generous patron to some of the most renowned masters in both fields: Arcangelo Corelli, Alessandro Scarlatti, Giuseppe Crespi, Tintoretto, Paolo Veronese—and most of all, to his close friend and protégé, the prodigious maestro di violino of Venice, Antonio Vivaldi.
As he lay on his deathbed, Ottoboni summoned Vivaldi to his side. In a low, rasping voice, the cardinal confided to his friend a tale of great importance, a scandalous operation run by the notoriously corrupt Cardinal Niccolò Coscia in league with the feared secret Mafia organization known as the Camorra.
In fact, he added with struggling breath, he was convinced it was Coscia, acting on orders from the Camorra, who had poisoned him to keep him from acting on what he knew. With information gleaned from one of his many spies, Ottoboni had discovered the ongoing scandal days earlier and approached Cardinal Coscia with a warning that he and his Camorra would soon be out of business, at least as far as the Vatican was concerned. Were it not for his required attendance in the papal conclave, he would have put a stop to it sooner, especially if he was elected pope, an elevation to supreme power that was expected by everyone.
The following day, however, Cardinal Ottoboni succumbed to the poison, killed for a secret now known only to Antonio Vivaldi.
Like most Italians, Vivaldi survived cautiously within the Camorra’s Venetian sphere of influence. The secret society’s tentacles reached into everyone’s life, and their strict enforcement of the seal of omertà—the sacred code of silence—ensured clan activities remained discreet and wholly within la familia. The family.
Since the late seventeenth century, the Camorra had carved out its territories, starting in Naples and moving northward into the Lombardy and Veneto regions of Italy, encompassing its most lucrative prizes, Milan and Venice. Competing with La Cosa Nostra in Sicily and the ‘Ndrangheta of Calabria, the Camorra’s criminal enterprises included prostitution, gambling, smuggling, kidnapping, and art theft—but also the unusual niche of producing and selling fine art forgeries of the highest order.
During the earlier reign of Pope Benedict XIII, who cared little for managing his vast realm of Papal States, Cardinal Niccolò Coscia oversaw all Vatican government operations, taking advantage of his authority to carry out substantial financial abuses, virtually draining the papal treasury. But his ongoing misdeeds eventually caught up with him. In 1731, he was charged with corruption, tried and convicted to ten years’ imprisonment, and excommunicated from the Church.
However, still not without influence, he managed to get his heavy sentence commuted to a mere fine. He was also mysteriously reinstated as a cardinal, allowing him to take part in the papal conclave of 1740—the one during which Cardinal Ottoboni had died.
* * *
With Ottoboni out of the way, Cardinal Niccolò Coscia could now carry out his master plan without hindrance. In his not-so-secret role as capo of the Roman Camorra, Coscia led development of the Veneto branch of the Mafia clan, based in Venice and headquartered in his own newly acquired Palazzo Feudatario on the Grand Canal. Purchased with funds he had discreetly absconded from the Vatican treasury, Feudatario would be a most fitting place to carry out his planned forgery operation of the Vatican’s most profound works of art.
Niccolò Coscia was a meticulous diarist and, owing to all the business he conducted outside the Church, he had created the first book to record the activities of his new organization, naming it IlGiornale Coscia della Camorra Veneta—The Coscia Journal of the Veneto Camorra. In it he would secretly record careful notations of all paintings by artist and title, including each work’s provenance and to whom the forgeries or originals were sold, depending on which he chose to return to the Vatican—for many were prominently displayed in public, while most were simply returned to the Vatican’s vast art storage vaults, unseen by anyone.
The Coscia Journal would be passed down to each capintesta, head of the Veneto Camorra, for generations.
Unfortunately for Coscia, Cardinal Ottoboni’s spies had discovered not only the Camorra’s abhorrent plan for art forgeries, but the very existence of the Coscia Journal for recording such transactions. At that point Ottoboni’s death was preordained, for no one could ever know such proof existed.
* * *
Antonio Vivaldi, who at age twenty-five was ordained a Roman Catholic priest, was now at a crossroads. He feared possessing knowledge of the treacherous secret passed on to him by his esteemed patron in his dying moments. Putting himself at odds with the Camorra was not just an unappealing prospect; it could end up costing him his life, depending on what he did with what he knew.
But Cardinal Ottoboni had one last request of his protégé.
Intent on stopping the sinful and unlawful activities of Cardinal Coscia, Ottoboni had pleaded with Vivaldi to see that Coscia was brought to justice, to pay for his felonious actions. Distressed by letting his friend and mentor die without the satisfaction of such a promise, Vivaldi agreed to do what he could. He would ensure that the authorities were informed, the Coscia Journal would be found, and the matter would be settled.
After the cardinal’s stately funeral, Vivaldi waited for the right moment to fulfill his promise. But as he waited, he became more apprehensive. He was just a lowly priest, after all, and not a very good one at that. The violin was his life, and teaching it was his life’s work. Besides, who would believe him? Where was the proof? And what would the Camorra do to him if he were to expose its business? He had seen the results of their retribution—those who crossed the Mafia were dealt with harshly. Beheadings were not uncommon, and those who weren’t beheaded were drawn and quartered—alive. No, he must find a way to honor his pledge without exposing himself to such horrible consequences.
An idea came to him: he would hide the messages in plain sight, in his musical compositions.Picking up a sheet of staff lined manuscript paper, Vivaldi began to assemble the first of many, his Scherzo Tiaseno in Sol.
***
Author Bio
Gary McAvoy is an American novelist known for internationally bestselling thrillers that blend historical intrigue, religious scholarship, and modern suspense. A lifelong researcher of rare manuscripts and Church history, he draws on extensive archival study to craft narratives rooted in authentic detail. His work includes the Vatican Secret Archive Thrillers, the Magdalene Chronicles, and the Vatican Archaeology Thrillers. Before turning to fiction, McAvoy built a distinguished career as an entrepreneur, technology consultant, and collector of historical documents. He now writes full time from the Pacific Northwest, where he continues to explore the shadowed crossroads of faith, power, and history.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for FIRST DAUGHTER by Marlie Parker Wasserman 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 PICT giveaway! Enjoy!
***
Book Description
In the summer of 1895, President Grover Cleveland and his pregnant wife, Frances, retreat to their secluded Cape Cod home, eager to avoid Washington’s heat and hassles. The very day that Frances gives birth, their three-year-old daughter vanishes. A ransom note surfaces, demanding a mysterious and peculiar sum.
Is the kidnapper a political enemy or someone closer to home? Secret service agents chase multiple leads but reach dead ends. Desperate, Frances Cleveland searches for answers on her own. As the hunt continues, the kidnapper carefully plots each move and determines to settle a score.
The historical record documents threats against the Clevelands, but no actual kidnapping. Yet, what if the president and his wife, known for keeping secrets, concealed a terrifying chapter of their lives? In this gripping blend of fact and fiction, the line between public duty and private anguish blurs in a mother’s fight to save her child.
Genre: Historical Crime Fiction Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: April 14, 2026 Number of Pages: 324
***
My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
FIRST DAUGHTER by Marlie Parker Wasserman is a well-researched historical fiction novel with a fictional crime mystery interwoven throughout around the eldest daughter of President Grover Cleveland and First Lady Frances Cleveland set in their secluded summer home on Cape Cope.
It is 1895 and Frances Cleveland is about to give birth to the couple’s third child in Grey Cables, the summer home of the President and his family during the summer months. When Frances sends for her two daughters to meet their sibling, the eldest, three-year-old Ruth, is discovered missing.
With no clues until a ransom note is found, the First Lady and their lead Secret Service agent follow multiple leads, which is difficult as the President wants this crime to remain secret with minimal people knowing the truth. It is a different time, with minimal security around the President and his family and secrets to be kept. Can the case be solved and Ruth returned safely?
This is a historical fiction that demonstrates the author’s in-depth research, comprehension of the period and the Cleveland family. The author makes you feel as if you are right there on Cape Cod in 1895. Frances Cleveland is a complicated character, but also a woman of her time. While the kidnapping mystery is purely fictional, it allows the author to bring in many additional historical facts, as well as a suspenseful tension to the story. The story does start out a bit slowly, but it does pick up as the characters become more developed and the mystery plot intensifies.
This is an engaging historical fiction look into President Cleveland’s family with a crime mystery twist.
***
Excerpt
At the western edge of Cape Cod, in the grandest bedroom in the sprawling residence known as Gray Gables, Frances Cleveland couldn’t stifle the rising sound of her own screams. Between pains, she rested. The late morning breeze drifted across the lawn from Buzzards Bay, fluttering the lace curtain and cooling the sweat on her forehead.
Even at this moment, Frances felt grateful that Grover chose to spend summers away from Washington’s heat, away from the prying public. Here, in this secluded haven, she needn’t fear strangers hovering near the windows of the Executive Mansion for a glimpse of their president—or, more likely, of his wife and daughters. She could concentrate her fears on her pains and pray for the safe birth of her third child, in the same way she had for her first and again for her second. Frances expected from experience that her suffering would soon recede, replaced by the joy of motherhood. She did not know that before the day was over, her bodily misery would end, yielding not to joy but to overwhelming terror.
The previous February, after sensing a flutter beneath her gown while greeting a crowd of visitors at a reception, Frances guessed the baby would be her third girl. Practiced at keeping confidences, she never mentioned her prediction to her preoccupied husband. When she gave birth to another girl, the blathering journalists would have their say. They would try out their jokes about the president’s little harem. Most days, Frances ignored the journalists. Most days, she trusted Grover to love each of his babies.
The image of a trio of girls was far from Frances’s mind now, as she suffered in bed. She cried out, too loudly. Dr. Bryant reminded her that she’d survived labor pains before. “Don’t you dare say that again,” she said, in a shrill tone that surprised her.
At last, Frances heard the newborn’s cry, faint but lovely. Dr. Bryant chuckled while he clamped and cut the cord. “Mrs. Cleveland, should I bring the president upstairs to see his new daughter? He’s pacing on the front porch. Once he sees this one—she’s beautiful—he won’t regret it’s not a son.”
“Yes,” Frances said, with the strongest voice she could muster. A girl, as she’d guessed. For an instant, with the last of her contractions, she’d ignored her prediction and hoped for a boy. Now, she didn’t linger on that momentary weakness of character. She let a surge of pride swell over her, above the exhaustion. She’d done it. Again.
Frances turned to the local midwife hired to assist. “Tell the steward, his name is Sinclair, to get Ruth and Esther. I want my daughters to see their new sister.”
Frances raised herself a few inches, enough to see the midwife slip into the hall. The woman returned and gave Frances a nod. The girls would come shortly. Frances sank back and watched the midwife wipe down the infant and swaddle her. She did look beautiful. “Here,” Frances said, crooking her arm to make room for Marion, the name Grover chose that would serve for a girl or a boy. The same name as a town across Buzzards Bay, where many of their friends lived. Frances appreciated Grover’s decision to buy an estate on the outskirts of a different but nearby town, Bourne. The family could escape Washington’s heat and busybodies.
And escape the threats.
Hours earlier, Frances gave thanks for the breeze blowing through the open window, reminding her that Gray Gables was perfectly located on a point overlooking the Bay’s east side. But now she blocked the sound of wind and waves. straining to make sense of other sounds, to hear what Grover would say about a third daughter. The doctor scurried downstairs. The midwife remained stationed over the bed, tending to Frances and crooning softly to the baby. Frances ignored the woman, mindful only of the voices wafting in through the window. First, low tones as the doctor talked to Grover. They were friends. Dr. Bryant saved Grover’s life two summers ago, removing the cancer eating away at his palate. Now, Frances imagined the doctor patting her thickset husband on his shoulder and shaking his hand. She hoped Grover would offer the doctor a contented smile. Seconds later, Grover clomped upstairs. The doctor followed behind, with lighter steps.
“So happy, Frankie.” Her husband used one of her nicknames. After their wedding, she asked Grover to call her by her more dignified name, Frances. He still used Frankie or Frank in private moments. She let him—the nicknames added tenderness to his gruff voice. “The doctor tells me you’re fine. You managed without chloroform this time, too. And the baby’s healthy. Marion, right? Three girls. They will enjoy each other’s company.”
He said the right thing. She didn’t need to feel anxious about another girl. He was a good man, kind to her, whatever others thought. He wouldn’t hold the baby, rarely did. But he wiped his chubby hand on a cloth, then touched Marion’s forehead. He stood there for a few minutes, cherishing their third child. For him, it was a fourth, but no matter. His eyes shifted to gaze at her. He wouldn’t see the tall, slender belle he married nine years ago, the one the reporters called lovely. He’d see a tired, sweat-drenched woman who looked every day of her thirty years.
“Ruth and Esther?” Frances asked again, eyeing the midwife. “Did you send Sinclair for them?”
“Yes, ma’am. The steward went a minute ago.” The midwife spoke quietly, carefully. She’d feel nervous in the presence of the president.
Still almost flat in bed, Frances clutched Marion, admiring the infant. Perfect features. Ten fingers and ten toes. Another blessing from God.
A familiar sound at the door. Sinclair knocked softly. His usual pattern—soft, loud, soft—keeping to the household code. Another sound, when the midwife opened the door. Next, Frances would hear four little feet rushing toward the newest baby.
No feet. Only hushed words.
“Sinclair found Annie,” the midwife said. “She’s your older daughter’s nursemaid, right? He tells me she needs another minute to bring Ruth and to tell your younger daughter’s nursemaid to bring Esther.” The midwife stood far from Frances’s bed, speaking almost in a whisper.
Grover didn’t look concerned. His rough mustache skimmed Frances’s cheek as he kissed her lightly on her damp forehead. She was too tired to return the kiss. She heard him drop into the nearby rocking chair.
“Joseph,” he said, addressing the doctor, “you’re certain Frankie is fine? No complications?”
“Just fine, Grover. Ready for the next one before long.”
Four years earlier, when Ruth was born, Dr. Joseph Bryant told Frances how to manage her family. “Breastfeed for six months.” He looked straight at her, with no awkwardness. “You’ll not get in the family way, and the baby will stay healthy. After six months, well, you and Grover can proceed to another.” And so they had. Esther after Ruth. Marion after Esther. A daughter every two years.
Frances closed her eyes, relying on her ears. Dr. Bryant thanked the midwife for her assistance. The woman tidied up, gathering soiled sheets and opening a chest, hunting for fresh linens. The room went silent, except for the soft, repetitious squeak of the rocking chair. Grover leaned up, then back, up then back. Frances sensed herself drifting off.
Another soft knock, barely a sound, followed by a pause, and two more soft knocks. Not Sinclair. One of the nursemaids. Annie? The midwife opened the door. “Ma’am.” Annie’s voice came out as a croak. “I can’t find Ruth.”
***
Author Bio
Marlie Parker Wasserman loves writing historical crime fiction. She has published three novels–First Daughter will be her fourth. After a career in publishing in New Jersey, she moved to Chapel Hill, NC with her husband. When she is not writing, she travels, reads, and sketches. One of her goals is to visit every national park in the U.S., and she is close to her goal.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for RELENTLESS (Kate Preacher Thriller Series Book #1) by Michael Maloof 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 PICT giveaway. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
On the eve of her five-year wedding anniversary, a devastating terrorist attack in Paris thrusts former CIA analyst Kate Preacher into a lethal cat-and-mouse game of kill or be killed…
Kate’s husband, retired Navy SEAL Jake Church, is the right man in the wrong place. Caught in the middle of the Paris attack, Jake’s actions spark an international media storm, drawing unwanted attention and awakening old enemies.
Refusing to let the suspicious attack go unquestioned…or the perpetrators go unpunished, Kate’s lured back into a world of deception and betrayal—a world she thought she had escaped. And as the pieces in a twisted puzzle reveal a shocking global conspiracy, the investigation paints a target on her back.
Is Kate just a pawn in a deadly international plot, or can she outplay a ruthless killer?
RELENTLESS (Kate Preacher Thriller Series Book #1) by Michael Maloof is an explosive international crime thriller and first book in a series featuring a female former CIA agent that had me hooked immediately. I am so glad this is a series because I did not want this story to end.
Former CIA agent Kate Preacher is on the eve of her five-year wedding anniversary with her husband. Jake is a retired SEAL and now heads up a private security firm and is on assignment in Paris, France. Jake is on a Facetime call with Kate when he is suddenly in the middle of a terrorist attack. Jake’s actions cause unwanted media attention and questions of his real purpose at being in that place at that time.
Kate’s suspicion of the attack will not let her sit back and wait for answers. She wants all the perpetrators to pay. What she does not realize is her questions and actions are being followed by friends and foes alike and what she does not know is which is which.
This book pulled me in from page one and at every chapter end, I would say, “just one more”, until it was well into the night and I had finished the book. Kate Preacher is a brilliant, bad ass, and relentless protagonist that I was emotionally attached to the entire book, from her happiness to her depths of despair. (The funeral chapter had me in tears with tissues in full use.) The action is fast paced, realistic, and had me on the edge of my seat throughout. The secondary characters are as fully developed and fleshed out as Kate herself and kept me continually surprised by their actions and motives. The crime plot is intricately intertwined with action, misdirection, and believable situations.
This is an amazing female protagonist forward thriller that I highly recommend!
***
Excerpt
FRIDAY, APRIL 17, THE PRESENT
6:15 AM EDT
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
Nomad flexed his right wrist, and with the palm of his hand, eased the joystick forward. The motor on his wheelchair hummed, and he maneuvered toward the center of the workstation. This environment was his creation. The height set to accommodate his chair with room beneath to manipulate the joystick. With subtle right or left pressure on the stick, he could navigate the full semicircle desk and jump between clients and projects.
There were traditional keyboards and mice, but the layer of fine dust revealed little use. Nomad’s world was one of proprietary speech recognition technology and the pressure-sensitive controls he designed and added to his chair. His forearms, wrists, fingers, head and voice all served as system navigation and command-and-control interfaces.
A matrix of monitors, stacked three high and eight across, spanned the arc of the desk and formed his window on the outside world. As a C6 quadriplegic, what he lost in physical mobility he regained in the virtual world. He chose the name Nomad for the irony, and believed his world offered freedom, control, and safety.
Nomad scanned the monitors. His building’s security cameras, global news feeds, random engineering musings of a few MIT grads on Slack. Another monitor was hammering away on a client’s file with one of his decryption algorithms. No challengers yet on any of his virtual chess boards, and that brought him to the Frenchman, his favorite opponent.
The central monitor was a live, split-screen camera feed from the Frenchman’s Paris apartment. One feed came from the Frenchman’s laptop, and the other from the camera embedded in the smart TV. It was Nomad’s practice to plant malware on the systems of anyone in his inner circle. What began as a safety protocol became something more, and he watched and lived vicariously through his contact’s living rooms and their digital and social media lives.
Nomad glanced at the camera feed’s system clock. Twelve-fifteen. It was almost time. He hoped the apartment would be empty, but saw Francois scurrying about, preparing for the meeting. Nomad knew it was pointless, but he had to try one more time.
Francois’s laptop rang with Nomad’s encrypted call request. He watched the Frenchman approach the laptop and press cancel. Nomad tried again, and this time he watched Francois accept the call.
“I admire your determination,” Francois began, “but there’s nothing left to discuss.”
“Look, I know how it sounds, but I’m begging you to trust me,” Nomad said. “You need to leave.”
“You ask for trust, but hide in the shadows.”
“Who I am is not important. All you need to know is that your life is in danger.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “For one thing, I know who you are, but rest assured, your secret is safe with me. Why you’ve chosen this life, I will never understand, but that is your business and now you must leave me to mine.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, no, my friend. You misunderstand,” Francois said. “This is just a promise that I will keep you out of the discussion, but Moore Industries needs to know what you found. They believe the device is impenetrable, exceeding even the capabilities of quantum computing, and with millions relying on this technology, I have no choice. There is no room for debate.”
“You’re missing the point,” Nomad said. “Tens of millions of customers is exactly why Moore will do anything to protect the NanoVault’s reputation.”
“Again with the conspiracy theories,” Francois said. “You watch too much American TV. I am a respected academic meeting with a representative of a major corporation, not the KGB.”
“I pray I’m wrong,” Nomad said.
“Au revoir, my friend.”
“Wait,” Nomad said. “Before you hang up, what makes you think you know who I am?”
“I understand some hackers have a signature, patterns of behavior, code or techniques they use, that help identify the author.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“So do chess players.”
Nomad heard the knock at the Frenchman’s door. Francois called out to his visitor, and the call ended.
* * *
FRIDAY, APRIL 17
12:17 PM CEST (Central European Summer Time)
PARIS, FRANCE
Francois LeGrande imagined his meeting with the Moore Industries representative. They’ll want to see my research and review my findings. A lucrative offer for my work would be nice, but it would be an honor to receive one of Moore’s Distinguished Fellowships.
Francois rushed to answer the door. He never saw what the masked man pressed into his side, but the effect was immediate. His body convulsed, knees buckled, and his head struck the floor. Next came the duct tape over his mouth and around his wrists and ankles. He lay on the floor of his apartment, dazed and in pain, only half-aware of the large black boot that passed over his face.
Adrenaline surged. His heart raced. He fought to focus his thoughts. Blinked and squinted to clear his vision. He squirmed and wrestled against the restraints. Tried to call out, to scream. Nothing worked. In the futile struggle to free himself, his breathing was rapid and shallow. His vision blurred, and the room spun. Don’t pass out, he thought. Just breathe. Slow down. Listen.
From the hallway, it was difficult to know what the stranger was doing. Was Nomad right? No. Can’t be. If he was here to kill me, I’d be dead already. Then what? What does he want? His head throbbed as he thought back to the fleeting image of opening the door and looking up at the face. There was no face. Just a blur of gray and white rectangles. The man’s ball cap and hoodie obscured any chance of street cameras catching his approach to the building, and the camouflage mask stretched tight from his forehead to his neck prevented facial recognition.
Francois tried to follow the sound of the stranger’s steps. The attic apartment, converted from an 18th-century mansion, was elegant but small. While it suited the Frenchman, it took only moments to explore. He heard the wheels of the office chair as they rolled across the hardwood floor.
He’s in the bedroom.
The bedroom served as his home office. Stacks of books and papers shared his bed, and most of the floor. He pictured the stranger seated at his laptop and cursed his decision to close the connection with Nomad. If he knew, if he saw, he would call the police.
There was an odd sound. An electronic chirp beeping slowly at first, then faster and louder, then slow again. Finally, a solid tone for a moment, then silence.
Francois heard the tones of a cell phone. Too many digits, he thought. Not a local number.
“I have it,”the man said. “No, it has to be tonight. And count yourself lucky I could make this work on short notice.” There was another brief pause and then the call wrapped up. “Yes. Yes. I’ll keep it safe. Now, send me the drop site.”
American, Francois thought, and at that moment, all hope vanished. The businessman he thought might still arrive, might somehow intervene. The man he was expecting was already here. Despair wrapped him in an ice-cold blanket and he trembled. He stopped fighting back the tears and sobbed.
The American dragged Francois down the hallway and into the living room, and the tears gave way to terror when he surveyed the room. A chair from the small kitchen table was in the center. A rope stretched over the ancient oak beam that framed the ridge-line of the apartment’s ceiling, and a noose hung above the chair.
The duct tape muffled his attempts to cry out, and the masked man had little trouble setting the slight Frenchman on the chair. He slipped the noose over Francois’s head and pulled on the rope. Francois stiffened his back, lifted his chin, and gasped for air. The man kept one hand on the rope and the other drew a knife. With a flick and click, the blade locked into place, and in one sudden move he cut the tape binding Francois’s feet. He pulled the slack from the rope and Francois’s only escape from suffocation was to climb up on the chair.
The American tied the rope to the radiator, then stood directly in front of Francois and stared. The mask was disorienting, and Francois found it difficult to focus. He saw a black leather jacket and a gray hoodie. He saw dark blue jeans, and the boots. Large black boots. He could be anyone on the streets of Paris, even one of my students. What is he waiting for? What does he want?
“Let’s talk.”
The words startled him and Francois wobbled atop the wooden kitchen chair. The noose made it difficult to breathe, much less answer questions. When he raised up on the balls of his feet, he could almost take a full breath, but the old chair flexed and creaked when he moved. He knew at any moment it might collapse and he would hang.
“I’m going to remove the duct tape,” the masked man said. “I suggest you remain still. And quiet,” and he gave the rope a slight tug. “Understand?”
Francois nodded, and the stranger ripped the duct tape off the old man’s face. The Frenchman scrunched his eyes, gritted his teeth, and wrinkled his nose. Tears and snot seeped into his mustache. The American balled up the tape and noticed the collection of gray hair.
“Trust me,” he said. “Faster is better.” And then he reached into his jacket, fished out the shiny black device, and held it out for the Frenchman to see.
“Did you crack it?”
Laying in the palm of his glove was a Moore Industries NanoVault. The polished black onyx device, about the size of a woman’s lipstick, was ringed with seven combination dials that controlled access to the device’s unique properties. For the first time since the masked man crashed through his door, Francois thought he understood what was happening. He thinks I’m after the bounty. He thinks I’ve cracked the encryption.
The offer of a bounty, paid in anonymous, untraceable, and tax-free Bitcoins, intrigued cryptographic researchers and enticed the hacker denizens in every corner of the Darknet. Crack the encryption on a Quantum NanoVault, known affectionately as a portable Swiss Bank account, and you’d learn the location of 1,000 Bitcoins. What started as a clever promotional stunt became a worldwide phenomenon when Bitcoin values rose exponentially, and the bounty, still unclaimed, grew to tens of millions of dollars.
“No. No, Monsieur. I assure you, this device is worthless.”
“My client insisted I retrieve this specific device,” he said. “And paid handsomely to recover it immediately. I’d like to know why. What makes this device so valuable?”
“Please. Just take it and go.”
Francois imagined his ordeal might soon be over. He has what he came for. He can just leave.
The American slipped the device back into his pocket and glanced at his watch.
“What’s the combination?”
“It’s not locked.”
“What’s on it?”
“Nothing. I assure you, it’s completely blank,” and Francois nodded toward the laptop. “Go. See for yourself. You will see. It’s empty.”
The American took the device back to the desk, and the NanoVault connected automatically. He returned moments later.
“You’re right, it’s blank,” he said. “But if you’re not using it, why have one?”
“Research,” and Francois nodded toward the back wall. The American turned to see a lifetime of achievement and accolades. Among the faded degrees hanging on the wall were journal clippings, edges curled and fraying, a small shelf of dusty mathematics awards, and a handful of student group photos. Missing was any semblance of a life outside of academia. No wife. No family.
“Then, tell me Professeur,” he said, exaggerating the Frenchman’s academic position. “What makes this device so special?”
“Oh, but it’s not. It’s like any other. Available at any—”
The slap caught him before he could finish.
***
Author Bio
Michael Maloof is the author of the Kate Preacher Thriller Series—Relentless, Unstoppable, and Defiant—known for its global scope, emotional intensity, and hard-won authenticity. His novels draw readers into high-stakes worlds where intelligence, courage, and consequence collide. A lifelong adventurer, Michael has traveled to more than forty countries across six continents, experiences that deeply inform his writing. His real-world pursuits have ranged from gold dredging in Honduras and artifact hunting in Guatemala to acquiring uncut diamonds in Liberia and surviving an elephant charge in Kenya. He has also trained alongside Navy SEALs, Marine Raiders, Army Rangers, Green Berets, and the CIA—firsthand insights that lend his fiction uncommon realism and respect for the craft of service.
