Tag: #kingsumogiveaway

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: In the Pale Light by Wesley Smith

IN THE PALE LIGHT

by Westley Smith



August 12 – September 6, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for IN THE PALE LIGHT by Wesley Smith 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 Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

When Clay Graham and his family are found slain in the parking lot of his struggling business, the police suspect Clay’s troublemaker brother, Terry. Terry claims he was drunk the night of the murders and passed out at home. With little evidence against Terry to make an arrest, the case soon goes cold.

Shunned from the community, harassed by the locals who believe he’s a murderer, and suffering from an undiagnosed illness, Terry lives alone on his farm, punishing himself for his past indiscretions.

Then Pennsylvania State Police Trooper Henry Miller, who has ties to the town and the Graham murders, shows up with newly discovered evidence that kick-starts the case all over again.

Now, before his illness kills him, Terry sets out, battling against small-town secrets and old grudges, racing against time to stay one step ahead of both the State Police and his own impending death, to finally find out what really happened to his family and hopefully prove himself and innocent man –if he is one.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/215503080-in-the-pale-light?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=qomXBSvofB&rank=2

In the Pale Light

Genre: Crime Thriller
Published by: Watertower Hill Publishing
Publication Date: August 13, 2024

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

IN THE PALE LIGHT by Westley Smith is an intense vigilante cold case crime thriller with a man accused of killing his brother’s family racing against his terminal illness and law enforcement to discover the truth. Make sure you set aside a block of time to read this race-against-time thriller because if you are like me, you will not be able to put it down until the final revelation.

Terry Graham is known around town as a drunkard and troublemaker with a terrible temper. When his brother, brother’s wife, and daughter are found shot to death outside their business, everyone believes Terry is responsible, but there is no proof. Shunned in his small hometown for nine years, the case has gone cold until a pair of detectives from the State Police Major Crimes Unit take over this investigation and begin asking questions again.

Pennsylvania State Trooper Henry Miller is back in town with newly discovered evidence to investigate the Graham case that he was the first patrol officer on the scene on the day of the murder. Miller has always had questions about this murder case and now he hopes to find the truth, but Terry seems to have discovered something also and is beating him to people he wants to question.

With Terry barely ahead of the detectives, he is racing against time to discover the truth behind the murders and prove himself innocent.

This book has a protagonist that is not lovable, and has a terrible temper, but you end up cheering him on to find the truth before he succumbs to his illness. Every new discovery had me rethinking the crime; not only who but why. The crime thriller plot is fast-paced and full of twists and surprises. The tension builds to a crescendo that had me reading well past my bedtime.

I highly recommend this engrossing vigilante cold case crime thriller!

***

Excerpt

December 25th, 2015

The emergency lights from the Hickory Falls Sheriff’s Department Ford Interceptor flashed across the snow when it pulled into the Graham Video store parking lot. The sheet of white should have been untouched by tires at 6:45 a.m., and the snow-covered green Jetta, sitting in the far left-hand corner of the parking lot should not have been there. Two different sets of tire tracks cut through the pristine snow. One set belonged to the Jetta. The other set made a large circle in the snow before making its way back toward Main Street. 

The officer brought the SUV to a stop about five feet from the Jetta; its headlights bathed the car in the frigid darkness. Unable to see past the Jetta’s frosted snow-covered windows, a building sense of unease began to crawl over him, tightening the flesh to his bones.

The officer’s shift had been easy that night. He had not responded to any emergency calls, nor had he had to pull anyone over. A Christmas miracle itself. But all that had changed fifteen minutes ago while he was patrolling Broke Run Road, when Sheriff Will Daniel’s voice came over the radio.

         “Call just came in. We got a report of shots fired at the Graham Video store. Caller says they saw a man running across the parking lot, carrying what appeared to be a shotgun. The suspect reportedly got into the passenger side of a blue sedan before it took off with two others inside. Need you to check it out,” Daniel had said.

            Why the hell is the sheriff in at this hour? the officer had wondered. Shouldn’t Susan be on the call desk? And what’s going on at the Graham Video store?

Now on scene, with the first cracks of gray sky beginning to materialize through the night horizon, he radioed back into the station.

“I’m at the Graham Video store. I’ve located a V-dub Jetta. It’s an early 2000s model. No sign of anyone else, including the reported blue sedan. Though there are two sets of tire tracks in the snow, indicating another vehicle was present.” He glanced at the video store’s entrance. There were no broken windows and no ajar door to indicate a robbery had occurred. The place appeared buttoned up tight. “No signs of a break-in, Sheriff. Getting out to inspect the vehicle.”

         “Ten-four,” Sheriff Daniel’s voice came back over the line. “Proceed with caution.”

         Again, the officer thought it was strange that the sheriff was in at that hour, and on Christmas morning. Where was Susan Green? She usually worked the overnight shift; she should still have been at the station, working the dispatch desk. Still, the officer knew, she could have gone home for any number of reasons—the holiday, the storm, or maybe a family member had fallen –ill—and the sheriff had filled in for her. Pushing the thought from his mind, the officer returned to the pressing matter at hand.

            Stay focused.  Stay sharp.

Stepping from the SUV, the blowing snow and driving wind bit at the officer’s exposed skin, penetrated his clothes. Zipping his jacket up to his chin, he started toward the car, trudging through the shin-deep snow.

As he neared the Jetta, pelted with snow and ice so hard it stung, he noticed a set of footprints leading away from the passenger-side door toward the second set of tire tracks before vanishing. The tracks were nearly filled in with fresh powder, but it was unmistakable what they were. He assumed this was where the person had gotten into the second car—an old blue sedan. Looking back to the Jetta, he saw something smeared along the top of the passenger-side door. Whatever it was had frozen to a hard, ruby-colored substance.

         He eased in for a closer look.

         Blood! 

Frozen blood. 

A strange tightness gripped the base of the officer’s neck as if Death had wrapped a cold, boney hand around him and begun to squeeze. His heart rate quickened. He placed his right hand on his sidearm and identified himself.

         “This is the Hickory Falls Sheriff’s Department. If there’s anyone inside the vehicle, would you please step out?”

         There was no reply. The car was dead still. The only sound across the parking lot was the howling wind and the ice pebbles hitting the closest metal lamp post.

         Not wanting to disturb what he believed to be blood on the passenger-side door, the officer lumbered through the deepening snow, around the front of the Jetta, to the driver’s side. Reaching down, he took hold of the handle and pulled. 

         The driver’s side door was locked.

         He took a deep breath of cold air, sending what felt like ice daggers into his lungs as he tried to steel himself for what he might find inside. His teeth began to chatter, and an internal shudder tremored in his core and quickly expanded to the rest of his body.

         “I’m asking anyone inside to identify themselves and step out.” He waited, but when no one replied, he said, “If you do not comply, I will be forced to inspect the vehicle. Last warning.”

         Silence.

No movement came from within. The car’s stillness bothered him—like it was dead. But that was impossible. Cars could not be deceased like humans or animals. So why was he getting the dreaded feeling that death emanated from it?

         Placing his gloved hand on the window, he brushed the light dusting of snow away and bent down to look inside.

The officer recoiled at what he saw or who he saw staring back at him. His feet slipped out from under him, and he went down onto his backside, hard. Snow kicked up when he hit the ground, and for a moment he was cocooned in falling white powder, protected from what he had seen. 

But when the snow settled, the officer was again gazing at the driver’s-side door of the Jetta. There, he saw a man’s pale face pressed against the glass, the muscles twisted and tightened in agony. His eyes were open and locked directly on the officer with a vacant, lifeless stare, pleading with him, even in death, to save him.

Too late.  I’m too late to save you.

The officer shot to his feet; snow fell off his uniform in large patchy clumps. And though the temperature was in the teens, he felt sweat break out across his back and forehead.

Moving gingerly toward the Jetta again, the officer realized he knew the dead man looking back at him.

Clay Graham—the owner of the Graham Video store. 

He removed his Maglite from his belt and turned it on. Bending, he shone the beam through the ice-crusted driver’s-side window and began to scan the car’s interior.

That’s when he saw them.

He pressed a gloved hand over his lips, suppressing the scream that wanted to leap from his throat at the horrific sight of carnage and death inside the Jetta.

It wasn’t just Clay Graham dead inside the car but also his wife, Claire, and their teenage daughter, Sidney.

***

Author Bio

Westley Smith had his first short story, Off to War, published when he was just sixteen.

He is, more recently, the author of two horror novels, Along Came the Tricksters and All Hallows Eve, as well as the thriller Some Kind of Truth. His short fiction has been published in various magazines and websites. Wes lives with his wife and two dogs in the beautiful woodlands of southern Pennsylvania–the perfect place to hide a body.

Catch Up With Westley Smith

WestleySmithBooks.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @wssmith100
Instagram – @wsmithbooks
Facebook – @westleysmith100

Purchase Links

 Amazon | Goodreads | Watertower Hill Publishing

###

KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

The giveaway is for:  a print edition of IN THE PALE LIGHT by Westley Smith AND a $20 Amazon.com Gift Card

https://kingsumo.com/g/10pd7q3/in-the-pale-light-by-westley-smith-print-book-gift-card

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: A Cold, Cold World by Elena Taylor

A COLD, COLD WORLD

by Elena Taylor

July 29 – August 23, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for A COLD, COLD WORLD (Sheriff Bet Rivers Book #2) by Elena Taylor on this Partners ‘n’ 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 Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

A female sheriff tries to fill her late father’s boots and be the sheriff her small Washington State mountain town needs as a deadly snow storm engulfs the town, in this dark, twisty mystery.

The world felt pure. Nature made the location pristine again, hiding the scene from prying eyes. As if no one had died there at all.

In the months since Bet Rivers solved her first murder investigation and secured the sheriff’s seat in Collier, she’s remained determined to keep her town safe. With a massive snowstorm looming, it’s more important than ever that she stays vigilant.

When Bet gets a call that a family of tourists has stumbled across a teen injured in a snowmobile accident on a mountain ridge, she braves the storm to investigate. However, once she arrives at the scene of the accident it’s clear to Bet that the teen is not injured; he’s dead. And has been for some time . . .

Investigating a possible homicide is hard enough, but with the worst snowstorm the valley has seen in years threatening the safety of her town, not to mention the integrity of her crime scenes – as they seem to be mounting up as well – Bet has to move fast to uncover the complicated truth and prove that she’s worthy of keeping her father’s badge.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/208707891-a-cold-cold-world?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=XW93OEwlHR&rank=1

A Cold, Cold World

Genre: Police Procedural, Mystery
Published by: Severn House
Publication Date: August 6, 2024
Number of Pages: 256
ISBN: 9781448314065 (ISBN10: 1448314062)
Series: A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery, Book 2 | Each is a Stand-Alone Mystery

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

A COLD, COLD WORLD (Sheriff Bet Rivers Book #2) by Elena Taylor is an intricately plotted small town sheriff procedural crime thriller and the second book in the intriguing Sheriff Bet Rivers series. This book can be read as a standalone, but I felt both books are great reads, and I feel you would enjoy the first in the series, All We Buried, too.

Sheriff Bet Rivers is now the duly elected sheriff in place of her deceased father in her small hometown in Collier, a Cascade Mountain valley in Washington state. With a massive snowstorm looming, Bet receives a call that a family of tourists discovered a snowmobile accident with a teen victim. Bet finds the teen is not only dead but shows signs of having been dead for some time. As she investigates, she is called about a break-in at a summer cabin that appears to be a crime scene. Is it related to her dead teen even though the cabin is in a different area of the valley?

With a major storm over the valley and multiple crime scenes, Bet is stretched thin. She is doubting her ability to fill her father’s shoes as this complicated case has surprises with every piece of evidence uncovered.

Bet is a wonderful protagonist who is dogged in her pursuit of justice, but still worries that she is not up to the responsibility of being the sheriff her father was in her hometown. With this complicated case, she proves that she is. I was happy to reconnect with Alma, who runs the sheriff’s office and Bet’s deputy, Clayton. The team is great together and now with the addition of Deputy Kane, I will be looking forward to reading how they all work together in future stories. The crime plot is intricately twisted and kept me on the edge-of-my-seat. The blizzard adds to the threat level throughout, and Ms. Taylor’s descriptions of the wind and snow had me shivering even though it is the middle of summer as I read this.

I highly recommend this crime thriller and look forward to many more books in this series featuring Bet and her team in the future.

***

Excerpt

ONE

Bet Rivers sat in the sheriff’s station and watched the radar on her computer screen turn a darker and darker blue. Snow headed for the little town of Collier and keeping everyone safe was her responsibility. Bet’s advancement to sheriff had taken place less than a year ago, but the name Rivers had followed ‘Sheriff’ all the way back to the founding of the town. None of the previous Sheriff Rivers, her father included, ever failed the community, and she didn’t plan to be the first. With her father’s death last fall, Collier residents were the closest thing she had to family.

The valley Bet protected sat high in the Cascade Mountain Range of Washington State. Winter storms often dropped a couple inches of snow at once, a situation Collier could handle, and winter had been relatively mild so far. February, however, was shaping up into something else. 

This morning, nearby Lake Collier – a dark and dangerous body of water the locals respected from a safe distance – started freezing completely over for the first time in years.

Bet couldn’t remember such a large storm ever bearing down on the valley. The weather was determined to test her in ways that patrolling the streets of Los Angeles and her short stint as sheriff had not yet done.

Clicking off the weather radar screen and opening another file, Bet read over her severe winter storm checklist. Snowplow – ready to go. Volunteers with tractors and trucks with snowplow attachments – set. The community center would be open twenty-four hours a day in case the town’s power went out and people needed a warm place to go. Donna, the elementary school nurse, was on hand for minor health emergencies. She would be staying at the center twenty-four seven until the storm passed. 

Most residents owned generators and a lot of people used fireplaces for heat, but the community center provided a central location for anyone in trouble. 

Nothing like living in an isolated mountain valley to make folks respect what Mother Nature hurled at them – and rely on each other, rather than the outside world. A lot of people would look to the sheriff as a leader. She couldn’t let them down.

Bet turned her attention to the pile of pink ‘while you were out’ notes that Alma still loved to use rather than sending information to Bet digitally. Alma was much more than an office manager, but she also fought certain modern conveniences. 

Most of the notes were mundane issues that Alma could handle, but the last in the pile was a call from Jamie Garcia, a local reporter trying to get back into Bet’s good graces after an incident a few months ago had cost her Bet’s trust.

Wants to chat about the possibility of an increase in drug use in the area, the note read. Specifically – meth.

That would definitely have to wait. It crossed Bet’s mind that Jamie might exaggerate the situation just to have reason to touch base with her, but Bet taped it to the computer monitor to follow up on after the storm passed. Her valley didn’t have the kind of drug problems as many other communities, and Bet wanted to see it stay that way. If Jamie had any information on a rise in illegal activity, that could be useful.

The rest of the notes she would return to Alma to deal with. Right now, weathering the tempest would take all of Bet’s resources.

Bringing up the radar one more time, Bet’s stomach clenched as she tracked the monster storm. What if she made a decision during this event that hurt her entire community? Confidence didn’t make responsibility lighter to bear, and the hot, sunny streets of Los Angeles hadn’t prepared her for one thousand residents slowly buried under several feet of snow. They were a long way from the plowed highways and larger cities with fully functional hospitals. 

Bet was the first line of defense against disaster.

She was also likely the last line of defense. Once they were snowed in, she couldn’t bring help in from the outside.

A year ago, she had been poised to take the detective’s exam in Los Angeles. Her goal was a long and successful career in the nation’s largest police force. But events outside her control got in the way, and now she was back in Collier, trying to fill her father’s large, all-too-recently vacated shoes. 

She faced a once-in-a-century storm with her lone deputy, a septuagenarian secretary, and one very big dog.

Her first instinct was to talk to her father, but his death prevented her from ever gaining new insight into his expertise. Her second instinct was to contact Sergeant Magdalena Carrera. Maggie had mentored Bet during her time at the LAPD. 

‘We chicas need to stick together,’ she’d said to Bet early on in her career, back when Bet still called her sergeant. 

But as good as Maggie was at her job, Bet doubted she’d have much advice about facing a blizzard.

‘It’s up to us, Schweitzer,’ Bet said to the Anatolian shepherd sitting in her doorway. ‘As long as no one has a heart attack after the storm hits, we’ll be fine.’ Schweitzer had a look on his face like he knew what was coming. He always could read her mood, not to mention the weather, and he’d been edgy all morning. 

She had learned to read his mood too, and right now it wasn’t good.

‘It’s going to be all right, Schweitz.’ It surprised her to realize she believed her own words. She could handle this.

Lakers – residents proudly took the nickname from their mysterious lake – could hunker down in their valley and survive on their own. Everyone in town knew that if snow blocked them in and a helicopter couldn’t fly, they had no access to a hospital. But Donna was good at her job too. Plus, it would only be for a couple of days.

The phone on her desk rang, jarring her from her thoughts.

As long as the ring didn’t herald an emergency, everything would be fine.

Bet rolled out in her black and white on the long teardrop of road that circled the valley. She didn’t turn on her siren; there wasn’t anyone on the loop to warn of her approach and the sound felt too loud, like a scream into the colorless void. The emergency lights on top of her SUV stained the white unmarked fields of snow on either side red, then blue, then red again, like blood streaking the ground. Her studded tires roared on the hard-packed snow, the surface easy to navigate – at least for now. 

The drive to Jeb Pearson’s place took less than twenty minutes, even with the worsening conditions. Pearson’s Ranch sat at the end of the valley farthest from the lake and the town center. The ranch occupied an area the locals called the ‘Train Yard’, though that name didn’t show up on any official maps. 

Long ago, the roundhouse for the Colliers’ private railway perched there at the end of the tracks. The roundhouse was a huge, wedge-shaped brick structure, like one third of a pie with the tips of the slices bitten off. It was built to house the big steam engines owned by the Colliers. The facility could hold five engines, each pulled inside through giant glass and iron doors. Engines could be parked and serviced inside the roundhouse, while an enormous turntable sat out front to spin the engines around, sending them down different tracks in order to pass each other in opposite directions.

It was unlikely the Colliers ever housed five engines up here all at once, but they owned other mines around the state and had used engines in other places. It must have been reassuring to know that if they ever needed to, they could bring their assets up here, protected in their high-elevation fiefdom. 

Jeb used the property as a summer camp for boys who struggled with drug and alcohol addictions and guesthouses for snow adventure enthusiasts during the winter. Jeb lived there year-round, with a giant Newfoundland dog named Grizzly, a half a dozen horses, and one mini donkey named Dolly that helped him rehabilitate the boys. 

Bet pulled up in front of the roundhouse. The cabins and other outbuildings stretched away from where she parked, with the barn the farthest from the road. The pastures were empty with the storm bearing down, the animals all safely tucked away in their stalls. Jeb stood out front with two bundled figures that must have been the father and son who were currently staying at his place. A third member of their party, the mother, was nowhere to be seen. 

Bet got out of her vehicle and walked over to where two of Jeb’s snowmobiles were parked, running and ready to go. Layers of winter clothing padded Jeb’s wiry form, his face ruddy in the arctic wind. 

‘What have we got, Jeb?’

‘Mark and Julia Crews and their son Jeremy came across what looks to be a solo wreck up on Iron Horse Ridge. They didn’t have any details about the driver’s condition, so I’m not sure what we’re looking at. The parents wanted to protect their son and got him out of there before he could see anything gruesome. These two came down to get me while Mrs Crews stayed with the injured rider.’

Bet nodded to the man standing a few feet away. Only part of his face was visible through the balaclava he wore. His eyes looked haunted. 

‘You did the right thing,’ she said to him. ‘If the driver’s got a spinal injury, you could have done more damage than good trying to bring them down.’ She didn’t add that if the driver was dead there was nothing to be done except locate the next of kin.

‘Thanks, Sheriff,’ Mark Crews said, his voice shaky. ‘That was—’

Emotion cut off the man’s words. He reached for his son and pulled him close. The boy didn’t resist, but he also didn’t hug his father back. Bet considered checking the boy for shock, but guessed he was just a teen being a teen.

She gave Mark a nod and hoped the accident victim survived the wait – otherwise Mark Crews would always wonder if he should have made a different choice. 

The father got his emotions under control and turned his attention back to Bet. ‘Please get my wife Julia down safely.’ 

Jeremy might be shocky, but the two people up on the ridge were her priority.

‘Always prioritize,’ Maggie said to Bet on a regular basis. ‘Don’t get caught up trying to fix everything at once. Fix the big things first.’

Her father would have agreed. His voice no longer took precedence in her mind, but his teachings never left her.

Bet promised to take care of Julia Crews and walked over to straddle the closest snowmobile. Pulling on the helmet she’d brought, she tucked her auburn curls out of the way before closing the face shield. Bet admired the Crews family for helping a stranger as the ominous storm bore down on the area. It must be terrifying to know Mrs Crews waited up on the ridge as the weather closed in. Bet was impressed the family put their own safety in jeopardy for someone they didn’t know. Not everyone would do that. It would have been easy enough to pretend they never found the accident, leaving the driver alone in the snow.

Jeb hopped on the other snowmobile, which was already set up to tow the Snowbulance – a small, enclosed trailer with a stretcher mounted inside. Bet made eye contact with Jeb to confirm she was ready, and they took off with him in the lead. Search-and-rescue was Jeb’s specialty, and he knew the terrain better than she did. 

Her father Earle always said a good leader knew when to follow. Like most of her father’s advice, Bet knew it was true even if her instinct was never to admit someone else was the right person for a job she could do. In her defense, her father never faced life in law enforcement as a woman. 

Maggie always said, ‘Never let a man think he’s got control. If you hand control over, he’ll never give it up.’ 

Bet wasn’t her father, but she wasn’t a patrol officer in LA, either. Sometimes neither Maggie’s nor her father’s advice was any help to her at all.

Not far from the ranch, Jeb turned off the main road and started up a forest service road that went west and north into the mountains. The turnoff wasn’t obvious, so it was interesting that the Crews had found that particular trail. 

Snowmobiling was a popular sport in Collier and a lot of people used these forest service roads for trails, even the ones that were officially closed to traffic because there were no funds for maintenance. Without anyone to police the extensive system, the locals used them as their own private playground.

The roads connected in a complex web throughout the area. The injured teen could have arrived at the ridge from any direction. The forest was riddled with paths that the forest service no longer had the money or workforce to keep up, but people and animals kept cleared. In a lot of ways, the community benefited from the interlopers who cleared the roads, because that provided fire access into their local forest, which would otherwise become impassable through neglect.

If the brunt of the storm held off long enough for them to locate the scene of the accident and get the injured teen down the mountain before the conditions worsened, everything should still be all right. 

Bet kept her focus on Jeb’s sled as they rode up the hill. The road turned dark as they got farther into the trees and the cloud cover grew almost black. She was glad for the headlight and someone she trusted to follow. At least in this moment, her father’s advice was right.

If only the injured rider survived the wait.

***

CREDIT MARK PERLSTEIN

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 the name Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime fighting duo.

With the Bet Rivers Mysteries, Elena returns to her dramatic roots and brings readers much more serious and atmospheric novels. The series introduces Collier, Washington, with its dark and mysterious lake, tough-as-nails residents, and newly appointed sheriff with her sidekick Schweitzer, an Anatolian Shepherd.

Elena is also a senior editor with Allegory Editing, a developmental editing house, where she works one-on-one with writers to shape and polish manuscripts, short stories, and plays. If you’d like to work with Elena, visit www.allegoryediting.com.

Her favorite place to be is at Paradise, the property she and her hubby own south of Spokane, Washington. They live with their horses, dogs, and cats. Elena holds a B.A. from the University of San Diego, a M.Ed. from the University of Washington, Tacoma, and a Ph.D. from the University of Georgia.

Social Media Links

www.ElenaTaylorAuthor.com
Elena’s Blog: The Mystery of Writing
Goodreads
BookBub – @elenataylorauthor
Instagram – @elenataylorauthor
Twitter/X – @Elena_TaylorAut
Facebook – @ElenaTaylorAuthor

Purchase Links

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Severn House

###

KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://kingsumo.com/g/1ggvk61/a-cold-cold-world-by-elena-taylor-book-gift-card

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Garden Girls by Jessica R. Patch

THE GARDEN GIRLS

by Jessica R. Patch


June 24 – July 19, 2024 Virtual Book Tour


FBI: Strange Crimes Unit

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE GARDEN GIRLS (FBI: Strange Crimes Unit Book #3) by Jessica R. Patch 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 Kingsumo giveaway. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!

***

Book Description

On a remote Outer Banks island, a serial killer collects his prized specimens. And to stop him, an FBI agent must confront his own twisted past.

FBI agent Tiberius Granger has seen his share of darkness. But a new case sets him on edge. It’s not just the macabre way both victims—found posed in front of lighthouses—are tattooed with flowers that match their names. There’s also the unsettling connection to the woman Ty once loved and to the shadowy cult they both risked everything to escape.

Bexley Hemmingway’s sister has gone missing, and she’ll do anything to find her—including teaming up with Ty. That may prove a mistake, and not just because Ty doesn’t know he’s the father of her teenaged son. It seems the killer is taunting Ty, drawing everyone close to him into deeper danger.

As the slashing winds and rain of a deadly hurricane approach the coast of North Carolina, the search leads Ty and Bex to an island that hides a grisly secret. But in his quest for the truth, Ty has ignored the fact that this time, he’s not just the hunter. Every move has been orchestrated by a killer into a perfect storm of terror, and they will need all their skills to survive…

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/197031977-the-garden-girls?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=w8dkIdsyYX&rank=1

THE GARDEN GIRLS

Genre: Christian Psychological Thriller
Published by: Love Inspired Trade
Publication Date: April 23, 2024
Number of Pages: 367
ISBN: 9781335463074 (ISBN10: 1335463070)
Series: FBI: Strange Crimes Unit, Book 3 || Each is a Stand-Alone Novel

***

My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

THE GARDEN GIRLS (FBI: Strange Crimes Unit Book #3) by Jessica R. Patch is a chilling and suspenseful romantic suspense/serial killer crime thriller. This is the third book in the FBI: Strange Crimes series, but it can easily be read as a standalone thriller. Each book focuses on a different member of the team, and I have read all of them.

FBI Agent Tiberius “Ty” Granger is the religious studies and cult expert on the southeastern area’s unit of the Strange Crimes. His past, in which he grew up in the darkness of a religious cult, is the reason he chases these monsters. He is a grown man who diverts people from truly understanding him with juvenile humor and song lyrics. The current case has Tiberius being personally lured to the Outer Banks by a serial killer collecting girls for his garden.

Bexley “Bex” Hemmingway’s sister has gone missing. Ty discovers the girl he loved, and her sister are alive, and it is her sister that is missing, but Bexley has an even bigger secret. Before they were separated by the cult, Bexley was pregnant. Now the serial killer is personally taunting Ty and placing everyone he cares about in danger.

With a hurricane on the way, Ty and Bex are about to discover a terrible secret on a private island. This serial killer has been plotting for a long time to get Ty into his world and destroy him.

I find Ms. Patch’s serial killer crime plots to be extremely well written and plotted. In this book, and the two previous ones in this series, I found it difficult to put them down. The killers are truly terrifying. The killers are dark and gritty, but interspersed with their depravity is the friendship, closeness and sometime humor of the Strange Crimes team as they work the clues. This is a Christian romantic suspense series and while I appreciated the author not cheating by solving every problem with just a prayer, I did feel at times the proselytizing was a bit too heavy for my taste, and that is present in all three books. Others who are more into the religious aspects of Christian fiction may not agree with me and that is their right. There is violence in these books, but they are serial killer crime thrillers and that is to be expected.

The characters of the Strange Crime Unit are all fully developed and engaging. With each book you discover more of what makes each individual click and why they do what they do. I enjoyed meeting all the members of the team and I find the crime plots make for a very edge-of-your-seat thrilling read.

***

Excerpt

Prologue The Garden Girls

Sharp claws scrape along my neck.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Buzzing fills the room, and I strain to open my eyes but they’re like molasses, thick and sticky and slow-moving. My stomach jumps and the room shifts as my blurred vision registers red walls and coffee-colored concrete. I inhale a hint of bleach and incense with a spicy note as I shift to survey the rest of the room, but my muscles ripple like languid water.

The air-conditioner kicks on, and the cold air raises chills across my naked body.

I’m…naked. A fist squeezes my lungs as panic rips through my system. My memories are disjointed.

Where am I? How did I arrive here?

What is happening to me? What has already happened? Shoe soles click on the floor and silence my questions.

I am not alone. Or…I wasn’t. The door closes with a quiet click.

Get up. Move. Run!

Gripping the sides of a massage table, I roll off, and my bare feet hit cool flooring. The walls close in and shift, and my stomach roils. Something is wrong. Off.

Floor-to-ceiling mirrors cover an entire wall, and my breath catches as reality comes into view.

Pink flower buds wend through a vine of black along my neck and upper back.

Confusion clouds my senses, and I stand cemented in place gawking at the angry red skin, sore and tender and smeared with glossy petroleum jelly.

A tight knot grows in my throat, and tears stab with heated force against the backs of my eyes.

I have to get out of here.

Behind me, I spot a twin bed with luxurious sheets and a thick white comforter as well as tattooing equipment. My hands tremble. Am I in a tattoo parlor? Why is a bed in here?

Lying on the floor next to the bed is an old iron cuff attached to a thick, heavy chain that is anchored to the wall.

Why is that in here and where are my clothes?

I snatch the downy comforter and drape it over my exposed body.

Run. Run. Run!

I open the door but have no clue which way to go or where he is or how long until he finds and cuffs me to that bed.

I’ve been trapped before at the hands of a vicious predator. Old memories surface and spur me across the carpeted flooring. The hall veers left. My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness as I flee to safety—no.

To a dead end.

Defeat leaches like muddy water into my soul, and my chest aches. The only choice is to turn around.

But he’s in that direction.

Sweat slicks down my temples and spine, springing up through my pores like an underground fountain as I return the way I came.

I see what might be a crack in the wall. Light seeps in from the other side. As I  approach, I discover it’s a door made to look like part of the wall. I swallow hard and guide my fingers along the smooth wood until I feel a lever. I push it and the door releases, but it takes some grit to open it enough for me to slide through.

I expect some kind of lair or dungeon or God knows what—a wall with torture devices and cages—but it’s not.

It’s a living room with wall-to-wall windows overlooking dark water.

Where is he?

I suck in a breath as creaking registers on the stairs. There’s nowhere to hide, and the comforter is bulky and will easily give me away. I have no option but to ditch it in the corner. I can’t dwell on modesty.

Outside.

I dart toward the sliding glass door, silently slide it open and slip out into the warm night air before scrambling to the edge of the balcony. I crouch to make myself small, like when I was a child and needed to obscure myself.

Maybe he doesn’t realize I’m gone, but then it hits me.

I didn’t shut the secret door concealing the other rooms.

A sob bubbles to the surface as I shake uncontrollably like I’ve woken from anesthesia. The ground is far below me. I’d die or break my legs, maybe my spine. But I’d rather die than go back to that room.

To that chain.

To more tattoo needles.

To him.

I draw up my knees and wait, pray. Hope.

When the door doesn’t open, I scoot across the deck, the raw wood digging into tender flesh, but I need to see if the coast is clear.

What if he’s standing at the door, waiting? Watching?

I hear something and freeze.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi…I count silently until I reach Twenty Mississippi and scoot again.

I can’t be sure if he’s nearby. If he is, deep in the marrow of my bones, I know the kinds of things that await me. I know what evil men can do. I’ve seen it. Experienced it.

Finally, I muster the courage to peep through the door. The room is empty and dimly lit from the one glowing lamp. I creep inside; my brain is fuzzy and spins.

No footsteps. Only bulging shadows in the corners.

I slither across the Berber carpet and inhale the newness. A set of stairs is on the other side of the open living concept. About ten feet of space isn’t occupied with furniture which means when I make a run for it, and he enters the room, I’ll have no cover.

If he doesn’t and I make it downstairs, he could still be waiting for me.

I try to form a defense plan, but my brain might as well be sludge. Making my move, more out of my flight response than logic, I army-crawl across the open space to the stairs.

Two sets of six. I practically roll down the first set and pause.

He’s not there at the small landing.

Six more to go.

This time I move slower, ignoring the adrenaline shouting sprint. I can’t. He could be waiting and I need to listen.

One…two…three…four…five…six. I pause again at the bottom of the stairs.

No light befriends me on the ground floor. Only darkness—and darkness is never a friend. Darkness is deceptive, offering false security. Nothing good transpires in darkness. It’s not a refuge to hide. But a place to be found. In the dark, I can’t see my predator, but I know he’s lurking.

The door is five feet away to freedom, and I sprint for it.

Hope blooms in my chest.

I mutter a prayer as I run. Three feet left.

Two.

Thank God, I’m here. I twist the knob.

It’s locked.

A cry cracks loose inside me, but I hold it down and fumble with the dead bolt.

Shuffling sounds across tile.

Closer. Closer.

I manage to turn the dead bolt and pull on the door, but it sticks.

He’s coming. The clicks are methodic, slow and measured as if he’s in no hurry. Like he knows I can’t escape. It’s a game.

Please. Please. Come on!

The door opens and I slip out, forcing myself to stay calm in case my mind is playing tricks on me and it’s not him. This time, I make sure to close the door behind me. The air is balmy and the wind rustles through the grass.

The briny sea air washes over my tongue and the marsh grass swishes as I dart down a private boardwalk that leads…I don’t know where. I only know to run and eat up the ground and create distance between me and the house of horror. Between me and him.

Thick walls of clouds block the moonlight.

A door slams. Then I hear something.

Thwupt. Thwupt. Thwupt.

He’s dragging something across the boardwalk. I dare not turn to look.

He’s coming.

Slow and methodical. Silent. Only the awful dragging noise.

Nothing comes into view but marshland and water surrounded by clusters of trees. Alligators lie in wait. I can’t remember how I know this. There are snakes and snapping turtles too.

But he’s behind me.

Plopping noises in the water draw my attention, and I freeze. What is it? Will it approach me or prey on me if I enter too?

I can’t risk staying on the boardwalk. I ease myself into the icy depths and it steals my breath. Slime oozes over my feet, and I sink into mire. Murky water reaches my waist, sending a shock along my abdomen, but I can’t gasp. Instead, I push through the grass and hope the stirring due to my movement won’t alert him of my location.

Sharp twigs and rocks gouge into the bottom of my feet, and I crunch my bottom lip to keep from crying. Marsh grass appears soft at a glance, but it’s strong and sharp like knitting needles and stabs into my flesh and tender places where I’ve been tattooed in flowers.

Ahead is a patch of dense trees that would conceal me even in daylight. A huge splash sends ripples only a few feet away, startling resting birds to flight. Now I know what’s been causing the dragging noise.

A canoe.

He’s cutting through the narrow channels and at an advantage.

I can’t stop now. I push through the mud, which tries to hold me captive, and toward the dense thicket of trees. I finagle my way inside, but it’s like camping in a thorn bush, and nettles rip my flesh. A quiet cry escapes my throat, and I cover my mouth.

Did he hear me? Does he know I’m here?

I shiver in the water, my teeth chattering as something lightweight drops onto the crown of my head and skitters into the thick layers before I can catch it.

I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my jaw to muffle a scream. What hideous legged creature is creeping through my hair?

What swims unseen below my waist?

Plop. Plop. Plop.

Fish, alligators, snakes…him?

“Daaaah, daaaah, dah daaaah,” his rich buttery tone sings. It echoes through the wetland and sweeps over my skin like icy talons. “I’ve got all night,” he continues singing. “I’ll take my time.” I cup my hands over my mouth to silence my chattering teeth. He’s close. So close. “I’ll find you. There’s nowhere to hide,” he belts out as if we’re in a Broadway show. His voice is magical and terrifying. “You belong to meeeee…You want only meee…”

I can’t stay here. He’ll find me. I work as silently as possible out of the thicket and away from the concentration of his voice. I hoist myself onto the wooden boardwalk because he believes I’m in the water. Rushing is out of the question. He’ll hear my footfalls. Slow and steady is about all I can muster anyway. My legs might as well be licorice sticks.

He’s still singing and slicing an oar through the water as I forge ahead, quickening my steps by a small measure until I finally reach the end of the boardwalk and am on dry ground. In the woods.

The woods mean I’ll find a road at the clearing. Help will drive by, and I’ll flag it down to freedom.

I wait a beat while my eyes adjust to greater darkness. The trees loom overhead, and the ground is mushy and mixed with sand. I stub my toe, tripping over roots jutting out, but press on. There’s a path and I follow it. Bike path maybe?

My feet are cut and bleeding and my head pounds. The path curves, then straightens out, and I halt.

Not a road.

Not freedom.

Before me is a long stretch of beach littered with driftwood and shells that cut into my feet. Beyond the beach is the endless sea. No homes. Only wetland to my back and the sea everywhere else.

I have no boat. No canoe. Nothing to propel me to freedom.

I’m on a private island, and I finally remember how I arrived.

***

Author Bio

Publishers Weekly Bestselling Author, Jessica R. Patch is known for her dry wit and signature twists whether she’s penned a romantic suspense, a cold case thriller, or a small-town romance. When she’s not getting into fictional mischief with her characters, you can find her cozy on the couch in her mid-south home reading books by some of her favorite authors, watching movies with her family, and collecting recipes to amazing dishes she’ll probably never cook. Sign up for her newsletter “Patched In” at www.jessicarpatch.com and receive a FREE short thriller exclusive to subscribers. Jessica is represented by Rachel Kent of Books & Such Literary Management.

Social Media Links

www.jessicarpatch.com
Goodreads – @JessicaRPatch
BookBub – @JessicaRPatch
Instagram – @JessicaRPatch
Threads – @JessicaRPatch
Twitter/X – @JessicaRPatch
Facebook – @JessicaRPatch
TikTok – @readjessicarpatch

Purchase Links

 Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Harlequin | JessicaRPatch.com

###

KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://kingsumo.com/g/t6xpye/the-garden-girls-by-jessica-r-patch

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: MIA by John Lansing

MIA

by John Lansing

May 20 – June 14, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review of MIA by John Lansing 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 Kingsumo giveaway. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!

***

Book Description

Mia, is the origin story of retired inspector Jack Bertolino as a young undercover, NYPD narco-busting detective and his relationship with Mia, his confidential informant.

Mia, a former Miss Colombia, has the kind of beauty that can make a grown man contemplate leaving his wife, his job, and his kids. She’s a complex character, with a painful backstory, who signs on with Jack to help him infiltrate, and take down, a heavy hitter in the Colombian drug trade. Mia has ice water in her veins and is already responsible for delivering large amounts of cocaine, and millions of the cartels cash into the government’s coffers.

This is Jack and Mia’s story. How Mia became a confidential informant, her evolving relationship with Jack, and how the life and death case they break wide open becomes the prequel to The Devil’s Necktie.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/213024871-mia?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=GprHVmTUGO&rank=1

MIA

Genre: Crime Thriller
Published by: White Street Press/ Karen Hunter Publishing
Publication Date: June 4th, 2024
Number of Pages: 252
ISBN: 979-8-89456-000-7 (Print) | 979-8-89456-899-7 (Digital)
Series: The Jack Bertolino Series, Prequel

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

MIA by John Lansing is the action-packed origin story for the Jack Bertolino action/thriller series. This is the first book I have read in this series, and I am happy it was this one. Not only is this story an exciting thriller, but I cannot wait to continue with more books in the series now. I will be going into book one, The Devil’s Necktie, with even more knowledge of the main protagonist’s history.

NYPD detective Jack Bertolino heads up a special narcotics task force working to shut down all Columbian drug cartel cocaine from reaching the streets of NY and Miami. During this operation, Jack is introduced to the beautiful ex-Miss Columbia, Mia, who will be their confidential informant. Mia will do anything to bring down the Columbian cartel that has emotionally and physically harmed her in the past. The operation goes well, and Jack and Mia go their separate ways, but Jack has promised Mia to always protect her if she needs it.

Five years later, Mia is in danger and reaches out to Jack for help and when Jack makes a promise, he delivers.

This is an exciting, action-packed thriller that moves at a fast pace throughout. This story had me on the edge of my seat with the escalating tension of Mia being undercover and the violence of the cartel members. The law enforcement procedural plotline is well paced and interesting. Jack is a protagonist with a strict set of morals and while he is a workaholic, he still believes in family and loves his wife and son. The ending of this series prequel is sad and disturbing, but leaves you wanting to grab the first book in the series right away.

I highly recommend this prequel to the Jack Bertolino thriller series, and it is a great way to start the entire series which I will be doing.

***

Excerpt

Jack Bertolino’s early morning shower gave up the ghost long before he swiped his long-term pass to gain entry to the Staten Island Ferry. Once he landed in the City, he headed for Tango 23’s base of operations. There he picked up his NYPD plain-wrap sedan. The ninety-degree temperature, wetted by ninety-five degree humidity, made a mockery of the air conditioner in the Ford Crown Vic as it crawled through commuter traffic headed for LaGuardia. The air was thick, the stench of exhaust on the Grand Central Parkway overwhelmed as Jack dodged a pothole, rattled into the airport parking lot and came to an engine-clicking stop next to DEA agent Kenny Ortega’s government issue.

The joint narcotics task force case was in its sixth month. Jack had agreed to meet a few old friends and a new confidential informant who had arrived from Miami via Colombia. This CI claimed to be able to provide entry into the inner workings of Manuel Alvarez’s illicit drug operation.

Alvarez, a notorious Colombian trafficker, had been on Jack’s radar for more than a year. Alvarez was responsible for importing a thousand keys of cocaine into Miami on a monthly basis, and the poison

was dripping into New York City. Jack wanted Alvarez’s head on a pike.

At thirty-eight, Jack was already a lieutenant, the boss of the narco-rangers called Tango 23. His crew had great success shutting down drug and money-laundering cells in the five boroughs, piling millions of dollars of the cartel’s money into the city’s coffers.

Jack was a handsome, unpretentious man with thick dark hair he wore brushed back. Creases on his striking face were a roadmap of years exposed to the elements doing undercover narcotics work on the streets of New York City.

As he stepped out of the car, a hot gust of wind blew grit into Jack’s eyes and mouth. It also blasted the long hair of a young woman exiting the passenger side of Ortega’s vehicle, obscuring her face. The deafening sound of a wide-body jet thundered overhead as Jack spit and wiped his stinging eyes.

The woman hand-combed strands of blonde away from her face. When Jack’s vision cleared, he was momentarily stopped in his tracks. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous.

He nodded to Sal Traina, a member of the Tango group, and shook the hand of Mia Ferrero as Ortega made the introductions. Mia, an ex-Miss Colombia, was the confidential informant. Kenny Ortega, the Miami-based DEA agent, was Jack’s partner on the drug task force.

Nick Aprea, a detective from the LAPD narcotics division, had flown in from Los Angeles, where a large quantity of the illicit drugs ended up. He ducked low as he slid out of the back seat, wearing a black leather jacket in the New York heat, and led with a wolfish grin as he proffered a hand the size of a baseball glove. “Jack, good to be back in business.” Aprea was tall, hard, and took life as it came. He had arrived with serious skin in the game. A few years back, his partner had been gut-shot in an Alvarez–Delgado operation. Nick had put fifteen hundred keys of coke on the table, and his partner had been put in an early grave. When Jack invited him to the party, Nick jumped at the chance to deliver some retribution.

Mia signed on to the joint operation between the NYPD, Miami DEA, and LAPD to infiltrate Manuel Alvarez’s operation and help put away a

heavy hitter for the Colombian cartel. She was a proven commodity, already wealthy from delivering large quantities of cocaine and cash to the United States government’s coffers in their ongoing war on drugs. The Feds had a formula in place for paying informants. The bigger the bust, the larger the payoff. A nice way to fatten your wallet, an easy way to die.

Mia started playing Jack—who had a reputation of being a straight arrow—from the moment she touched down at LaGuardia Airport. She’d been summoned for a meeting downtown, organized to get a feel for the principals, define the case, and plan a strategy.

It was time to roll. Sal was sitting in the passenger seat of Jack’s car when Mia rapped on the window. Sal slid out, and Mia stepped in seconds before Jack pulled out of the lot.

“I hope you don’t mind. It was so crowded in the other car,” she said.

Jack wasn’t thrilled. “It’s okay,” he said, always careful when spending time with a CI. First of all, rules and parameters of the relationship had to be set in place, until the informant was proven trustworthy. Too many things could go wrong. Jack was career building and didn’t need any bullshit slowing him down. He had a line in the sand when dealing with informants, and although he always treated them with respect, sharing his personal life was a nonstarter.

Mia started talking rapid fire. Her English was lightly accented but flawless, and Jack chalked her excited banter to nerves.

“I wasn’t supposed to fly first class, but I used my frequent-flyer miles, and thank God because the plane was full, and I was in the air for so many hours. Should I call you Jack or Mr. Bertolino?”

“Lieutenant works.”

“Oh, very formal. It’s so hot in here,” Mia play-whined, and undid the second button on her blouse as she turned to face Jack. “Are you a by-the-numbers kind of guy?”

“Something like that.”

“I know a lot of Italians in Medellín. Not a formal one in the mix. Very sexy though, Italians in general, don’t you think?”

—

Jack kept his eyes trained on the traffic. “Never given it much thought.”

“Oh, I have. Very much so.”

Jack wasn’t going there. He hoped Mia would lose herself in the approaching view of the New York skyline and stop talking. Instead, she seemed content to stare at Jack who was growing increasingly uncomfortable, but didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with a woman who could break his case wide open.

“And the police in general, what do they call it? Mucho testosterone. You can’t hide it, Jack—I mean, Lieutenant.” Mia’s smile was sly, and Jack kept his eyes on the road, not wanting the conversation to get out of hand.

“Your nose,” she said knowingly, “that must have hurt.”

Jack had a bump on his otherwise straight Roman nose. It was a gift from a crack dealer named Trey, who he traded punches with outside the Red Hook projects in Brooklyn. Trey went to jail, and Jack had a reminder every morning when he shaved to keep his right fist higher and jab with his left.

“Do you like sex on the beach?” Jack hoped she was talking about the cocktail and didn’t respond. “What about sex in the car?” Mia said and ran a manicured nail down his thigh. “I love giving blow jobs, I mean, giving oral sex.”

Jack shot a look in the rearview mirror, tried to remain stoic, but he was getting hot under the collar. He was doing sixty and Kenny Ortega’s car was tight on his bumper. Jack glanced in the rearview again, and saw the men in the trailing car laughing.

He’d had enough. He signaled and pulled the wheel hard to the right, sending Mia sliding against the passenger door. As horns around him started blaring, he skidded to a tire-screeching stop on the shoulder of the Brooklyn–Queens Expressway. He was followed by Ortega, Nick, and a few other smirking detectives in the second car.

Jack knew he’d been set up. He picked up the radio and raised Ortega. “Get this woman out of my car.”

Mia feigned being hurt. “Is it something I said?” Over the intercom, Ortega and his crew were howling. Mia jumped out of Jack’s car, her

face split into a sultry grin, and she winked. “Just having some fun, Lieutenant.”

Jack was the only one on the crew not laughing. He pulled back into traffic, riding solo, and dialed his home number.

Jeanine answered on the second ring. “Are you all right, Jack?”

“Huh?”

“An afternoon call. It’s usually bad news.”

“Oh, no, not today. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Hmmm, okay… Good.” Jeannine could read Jack’s mood and wasn’t buying it.

Jack started to relax, the earth rotating back on its axis. “Actually, I just made a pickup at LaGuardia, had a moment.”

“Okay. Are you going to make it home for dinner?”

“Don’t wait on me. We have a TAC meeting, breaking in a new informant. You know how that goes.”

Jeannine knew all too well what that meant. And Jack was hit with the familiar chill on the other end of the line. “Okay, Jack. Your son’s asking what happened to his father.”

“Tell him I miss him.”

“Tell him yourself, Jack,” Jeannine said quietly before hanging up the phone.

Jack stifled his growing anger, fully aware that he was an absentee father. From his point of view, he was building a secure life for his family, and they all had to make sacrifices. It was a team effort. He knew he was being defensive, but he also knew what it took to rise through the ranks of the NYPD.

Jack snapped out of it when Kenny beeped his horn and rocketed past in the fast lane. He rolled his eyes, slightly amused as Mia, sitting in the back seat, nailed him with a look that was purely X-rated.

Excerpt from MIA by John Lansing. Copyright 2024 by John Lansing. Reproduced with permission from John Lansing. All rights reserved.

***

Author Bio

John Lansing is the author of six thrillers featuring Jack Bertolino—The Devil’s Necktie, Blond Cargo, Dead Is Dead, The Fourth Gunman, 25 to Life, and MIA—as well as the true-crime non-fiction book Good Cop Bad Money, written with former NYPD Inspector Glen Morisano. He has been a writer and supervising producer on Walker, Texas Ranger, the co-executive producer of the ABC series Scoundrels, and co-wrote two MOWs for CBS. The Devil’s Necktie is in development at Andria Litto’s Amuse Entertainment, with Barbara DeFina attached as a producer.

A native of Long Island, John now resides in Los Angeles.

Social Media Links

JohnLansing.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @JohnLansing
Instagram – @johnlansingauthor
Twitter – @jelansing
Facebook – @devilsnecktie

Purchase Links

 Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

###

KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://kingsumo.com/g/5ohoqr/mia-by-john-lansing

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Birthday of Eternity by A.D. Price

The Birthday of Eternity

by A. D. Price


May 13 – June 7, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE BIRTHDAY OF ETERNITY (A Comfort & Company Mystery Book #2) by A.D. Price 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 Kingsumo giveaway. Good luck and enjoy!

***

Book Description

L.A. private investigators Kit and Henry become entangled in the city’s robust post-WWII occult trade when they’re hired to track down Lillian, the estranged wife of a prominent physician, and her spellbinding “spirit” lover Tashin. Fresh from her training in judo and “dirty fighting,” Kit poses as an eager recruit at a Hollywood cult run by the ambitious Reverend, while Henry takes on the city’s séance circuit, which has reinvented itself in the wake of war. Assisting them are Kit’s psychiatrist lover Luca and her combat veteran brother Stanley, who offer their own brand of expertise in unraveling the tricks of the conmen.

Plunged into the strange and deadly world of mediums and gurus, Kit and Henry soon discover that surviving the spirit trade will take all of their cunning and a whole lot of luck.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/203611746-the-birthday-of-eternity?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=QDhFLFeiCw&rank=1

The Birthday of Eternity

Genre: Historical Private Detective Mystery
Published by: Indie
Publication Date: December 6, 2023
Number of Pages: 358
ISBN: 9798986893044
Series: Comfort & Company Book 2

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

THE BIRTHDAY OF ETERNITY (A Comfort and Company Mystery Book #2) by A.D. Price is a suspenseful historical P.I. mystery set post WWII in Los Angeles, California and features two memorable private investigators. This is the second book in the series, and I feel I understood and enjoyed all the characters and their motivations more by reading book one, After the Blue, Blue Rain, and book two in order.

P.I. Kit Comfort and her partner P.I. Henry Richman have barely recovered from their last case and find themselves quickly drawn into their next. Hired to track down the missing wife of a prominent L.A. physician, they find themselves involved in the world of cults and spiritualists. With the help of Kit’s psychiatrist lover and her combat veteran brother, Kit and Henry soon discover the spirits may be more dangerous than they believed.

I am really enjoying this historical mystery series. While it has a bit of a noir feel to the private investigation plot, it is not as dark or gritty as some others in this period. It has both Kit and Henry alternating the narrative of the story with the occasional insertion of the missing person’s narrative. It is a unique way of discovering the facts as the investigation gets closer to the solution. (The first book in the series was narrated in a similar way.) The investigation is interesting with none of the current advantages of technology, just plenty of personal contacts, shoe leather, ingenuity, and undercover work with some action interspersed throughout.

While the plots of both mysteries are well paced and plotted, it is the characters that I love. Kit is an emancipated woman for her times and yet she still has a very loving heart towards her brother, partner and friends and she also loves a good hat. Henry has a complicated history and an even more complicated marriage. While he gives off a hard guy persona, I felt so much sympathy for him. All the related characters in this series are fully drawn and believable for the period.

I highly recommend this compelling historical P.I. mystery series.

***

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

DAIVIKA

(Preface, “Survival: My Journey to Enlightenment,” CoEB Press, 1948)

Happy New Year! Today, I begin the story of my death. The story of my death and my rebirth. The story of my journey to enlightenment. It won’t begin at the beginning. It won’t unfold in chronological order, or in subject order. Instead, it will flow in psychic order. An order marked by change—the before and the after—and its place in my eternal existence, in the circle with no beginning and no end. 

Some in my position might shy away from sharing their story. They might prefer to keep their past a secret. However, from my experience—the experience that brought me to this point today—secrets destroy. They destroy trust, of course, but they also destroy hope. We can’t profess to love nature’s sunshine while keeping a part of ourselves in the darkness. Our past, our histories, are as much a part of our being as our beliefs and our actions.

Of course, it’s impossible to recall everything, and not all revelations are suitable for all audiences, but as far as common decency and memory will allow me, I will be truthful and open with my history. It’s the least I can do for my new friends and colleagues. Now more than ever, I need your trust. So, I will give you my secrets—some of them anyway.

And circle or not, I must start my story somewhere, and when I think about the past, I find myself returning to one moment, one place, one hot summer afternoon. It was a moment whose significance grew over time, like a soft mew swelling to a roar. It’s there I’ll begin the story of my life, a not-so-long-ago moment, fresh from death’s door. 

Chapter 1

DAIVIKA

(Excerpt from “Survival: My Journey to Enlightenment.” CoEB Press, 1948)

Death, as a concept, bubbles up often in my current existence, but in my previous life, I did my best to keep the topic at bay, to push down my fears and ignore any pain. Months after the war’s end, I was still rationing my sadness, still offering fake smiles and unearned laughs. 

That began to change with the death of my grandmother. Days before, she had taken a bad fall and her recovery had been fitful. I dropped by the hospital once or twice, but on that last Sunday, I canceled my planned visit and attended one of my husband’s archery competitions instead. She passed during the night.

Gramma had always been the kind constant in my life—more giving than my mother—and her departure from this world was a blow to my defenses. Its full impact, however—my shame especially— didn’t hit me until later. Even then, as I first stood by her open grave under that scorching sun, dry martinis in ice-cold glasses were all I was thinking about.

In her will, Gramma instructed she be buried at Forest Lawn, in the Everlasting Love section, next to her beloved husband, my grandpa. He had succumbed to a stroke a few years earlier, and his demise rendered Gramma spiritually unbalanced. Or as she put it, without him by her side, her life had no joy. At the time, I didn’t associate Gramma’s spiritual imbalance with a literal imbalance, the type of vertigo that caused her to misjudge a step, take a spill and break her hip, but the connection seems obvious to me now.

 I also see now the deep imprint that my grandparents’ long and loving marriage left on my psyche. My parents’ marriage was fragile and my own romances were flops. But Gramma and Grandpa’s bond truly was everlasting—in life and beyond. Who doesn’t yearn for that? 

No doubt that if my native Californian Gramma had been in charge of the matter, her burial would have taken place on a rainy dawn in winter. As it turned out, however, the fates preferred a cloudless afternoon in July. The night before, a Santa Ana wind had blown in, delivering a day of gusts so hot and dry they all but set fire to the lungs. The service at the Wee Kirk o’ the Heather Church had been reasonably well-attended, but most of the mourners, including my husband, skipped the burial. While immaculate and stubbornly green, the lawn the cemetery was famous for had absorbed the wind’s heat, making standing graveside more hellish than heavenly.

The minister-for-hire went through his rituals as quickly as was socially acceptable. But as he was delivering his final words over Gramma’s coffin, the birds and insects of Forest Lawn went abruptly silent. I felt the silence more than I heard it, but I sensed instantly that something was off and something else was eminent. And just as that anticipation hit, the sky’s light dimmed and the air dulled. We had been plunged, midday, into dusk. 

During the next few seconds, my ears started to ring, or rather, hum. My heart raced, and I gasped. Then I fainted. My knees gave out and I tumbled to the ground. I toppled just inches from the open grave, my left arm dangling over the side. I quickly recovered but when I opened my eyes, the world was tinged with red and the air that swirled around me was frigid. I could hear murmurs of concern and felt someone touching my back. Embarrassed, I struggled to my feet and assured everyone I was fine.

And for a time, I fooled myself into believing that I was fine. On the drive home from the cemetery, I heard radio bulletins describing the total solar eclipse that had just occurred in the Northern Hemisphere. Everything I had experienced during the funeral was unusual but explainable. A natural phenomenon. 

Or was it? Was Gramma’s funeral occurring at the same time as a rare astronomical event a coincidence? Or had Fortuna influenced the scheduling somehow? What had I seen? What had I felt? Had I felt through that cold wind Gramma’s spirit heading for the Afterlife? Or was it the stirring of my own sorrow, blowing around me in warning? Or both?

***

Author Bio

A native of Washington, D. C., A. D. Price is an Emmy-winning screenwriter and author. Her publications (as Amy Dunkleberger) include educational books and feature articles on historical and arts-related subjects. In 2022, she published After the Blue, Blue Rain, her first novel and the first book in her Comfort & Company mystery series. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two dogs.

Social Media Links

www.ADPricebooks.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @adpricebooks
Instagram – @adprice22
Threads – @adprice22
Facebook – @adpricebooks
YouTube – @ADPrice

Purchase Links

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

Audiobook Links: Audible | Spotify | Barnes & Noble | Google Play | Chirp

###

KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://kingsumo.com/g/gunjd0/the-birthday-of-eternity-by-a-d-price-ebook-gift-card

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Secondary Target by Angela Carlisle

SECONDARY TARGET

by Angela Carlisle

May 6-17, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SECONDARY TARGET (The Secrets of Kincaid Book #1) by Angela Carlisle on this Partner 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 Kingsumo giveaway. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!

***

Book Description

THE SECRETS OF KINCAID

A ruthless murderer. A deadly secret. An unbreakable love.

After the brutal murder of her mother and brother twelve years ago, Corina Roberts built a new life in Kentucky. But when strange things begin to happen, she is thrust into a perilous game of life and death. With nowhere else to turn, her best hope of survival depends on her ex-boyfriend, army veteran Bryce Jessup.

Recently returned from service, Bryce has every intention of staying away from Corina, but when threats close in around her, he isn’t willing to leave her safety to chance. As their search for answers uncovers lethal secrets her detective father kept hidden, Bryce and Corina must untangle the mystery of the merciless killer intent on terrorizing and eliminating Corina’s family before it’s too late.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/201908010-secondary-target?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=bnS6LrVMVZ&rank=1

Secondary Target

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Bethany House Publishers
Publication Date: May 7, 2024
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 9780764242502 (ISBN10: 0764242504)
Series: The Secrets of Kincaid, Book 1

***

Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

SECONDARY TARGET (The Secrets of Kincaid Book #1) by Angela Carlisle is an action filled gripping Christian romantic suspense set in small-town Kentucky where danger from one of the heroine’s P.I. father’s cold cases come back to threaten all those she loves. This is a well written start to a new series from a debut author.

Corina Roberts has built a new life with her father in a small Kentucky town. Strange things begin to happen that are increasingly threatening and she also discovers her father has been keeping secrets from her. With her father in the hospital, she turns to her Army veteran ex-boyfriend to assist her in discovering who is after her.

Bryce Jessup returned to his hometown hoping to stay out of his ex’s way, but when Corina is threatened, he is not willing to leave her unprotected. Corina and Bryce must untangle the mystery behind a ruthless killer from her father’s past before he eliminates everyone she loves, including her.

I really enjoyed these characters and the main suspense plot. Corina and Bryce both had communication issues after a tragic accident that ended their relationship, but they slowly resolve these problems even as they are dodging a killer. Corina is also dealing with her father keeping secrets from her, and her loss of faith after the two horrible tragedies in her life. While Corina and Bryce both have moments of prayer and discussions of faith, it did not disrupt the pace of the suspense plot. This is a Christian romantic suspense so there are no sex scenes in this second chance romance. I enjoyed both the well-developed characters and the well-paced romantic suspense plot.

I recommend this exciting Christian romantic suspense and I am looking forward to the next book in this series from this new author.

***

Excerpt

1

Security alarms shattered the autumn morning’s tranquility.

The mechanical shrieks pierced Corina Roberts’s consciousness, dissipating any lingering fog of sleep.

Not again.

She threw back the covers and rolled from the bed, revolver drawn from the nightstand before her feet touched the polished oak floor. She shoved the holster into her pocket but didn’t bother searching for her phone. Her dad’s security system was configured exactly like her own and would send a notification to the police within thirty seconds of being triggered if they didn’t shut it off. Help would be here soon enough. In the meantime, she’d be prepared to protect herself if necessary.

As she reached for the bedroom door, her German shepherd howled, creating a dissonant chorus with the wailing alarm. Shivers chased themselves up her spine. Her hand tightened around the revolver’s rose–wood–and–steel grip, and a fraction of her tension melted away. The .38 Special LadySmith fit her hand perfectly.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t need it.

She sucked in a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder. “Houston. Quiet.”

The howling broke off abruptly, but agitation continued to radiate from him. Before she had the door fully open, he burst through it, nearly knocking her off–balance in the process.

She slipped into the darkened hallway after him and caught sight of her father already standing at the front door, his own gun held in a ready position as he peered out the peephole. He would have checked the security monitor as soon as the alarms started. Whatever triggered them must be somewhere along the front of the house. The bright glow of motion–sensing lights beyond his position confirmed it.

“What is it?” She raised her voice to be heard over the alarm.

“I don’t know yet. Stay back.” He didn’t look her direction as he crept from the peephole to the edge of a nearby window and parted the blinds with his finger. Seconds passed. They were well past the requisite thirty now. “Turn the alarm off.”

Keeping to the perimeter of the entryway, she did as he asked. Sudden silence engulfed the home, but her eardrums still pulsed with the electronic rhythm of the previous few moments.

She glanced at her dad, and he signaled her to wait. Together they listened, but no sound carried through the door. Whoever had set off the alarm had probably been frightened away. Or were they merely biding their time?

Her dad bent down until his lips were close to her ear. “I’m going out the back to have a look around.”

She latched onto his arm as he started to turn away. “Wait for the police, Dad.”

“If anyone’s still out there, the police will scare them off.”

“Then let them get scared off.” Her voice rose on the last words, and he pressed a finger to her lips.

“Shh. I know what I’m doing. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He extracted himself from her grasp as he spoke.

Something akin to panic wrapped around her chest as he strode down the hallway. She had to stop him from doing something reckless. Something that could get him killed.

She followed him to the spare bedroom and found him unlocking a window. Even with the alarm off, he couldn’t use the back door without setting off the motion sensors. A window was his only option. But a window wouldn’t do much good if he needed to make a quick reentry.

“Don’t go out there, Dad.” Corina tried to still the slight tremble in her voice. She hated sounding weak, but more than that, she knew it would only feed her dad’s protective instincts.

“I need to, Corina.”

“Why? So you can play hero?” She refused to cringe at the implication of her words or take them back. Her dad didn’t play hero—-and they both knew it. But she never understood why he was always adamant about investigating threats on his own. Almost as if he didn’t trust the police to do their jobs.

He didn’t answer her. Just started easing the window upward. He wasn’t going to listen, so she said the first thing she could think of. “Fine. I’m going with you.”

Her wild shot hit its mark. Her dad stopped midmotion and turned back to face her. Even in the near darkness, she could see the steel in his gaze.

“No. You’re not. Stay here and keep Houston close.” Quiet finality rang in his words, but she lifted her chin in defiance, tamping the fear that threatened her control.

“I’m not a child, and if you’re going, so am I.”

“Corina, I know you’re not a child, but I don’t have time to argue with you. Stay. Here.” He fixed her with a look that had once made hardened criminals sweat.

She met it. Matched it. And waited.

The faint sound of a quickly approaching vehicle interrupted their glaring match and saved her further argument. The car stopped at their house, strobing lights announcing the police had arrived.

Her dad frowned and brushed past her to let them inside. He wasn’t happy, but he was safe. She’d stalled him long enough.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Corina leaned back against the wall as red and blue lights bounced around her. She slipped her revolver into her pocket holster, then clasped her arms across her chest to hide the trembling in her hands.

Buried memories surfaced, and she fought a wave of nausea. Not now. She clenched her fists and forced herself to focus on the present until the feeling subsided. She’d dwell on the past another day. Maybe.

Bryce Jessup’s hands stilled in the middle of his fifty–third rep. Police lights flashed outside his front window, and they weren’t just passing by. Not normal for sleepy Kincaid, Kentucky, especially at four in the morning. He lowered the barbell to its resting place and removed the headphones pumping upbeat music into his ears.

He tossed a towel around his neck before moving to peer outside. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of a cruiser parked across the street. Corina doesn’t live there anymore, he reminded himself. His sister had assured him of that.

Her father hadn’t moved, though.

Concern for the overly private man prompted him to step outside. He ignored the midforties temps and focused on the two officers from the local PD standing on the Robertses’ porch. With their backs to him, he couldn’t identify them. Truth was, he might not know them anyway. It had been several years since he’d spent more than a week or two in his hometown. Change in a small town might be stilted, but it was still inevitable.

Will Roberts stepped into view, leaving the door open behind him. Okay, so he was safe. Bryce held his breath, trying to hear the low voices, but he was too far away.

A flash of fur caught his eye as a familiar—-though now fully grown—-German shepherd pushed around Will to investigate the officers and the mess littered about the porch. A mess Bryce hadn’t noticed until now. He eyed the upturned trash can.

“Houston. Inside.” The command came from somewhere behind Will. The feminine voice was one Bryce knew all too well. His gaze settled on a shadow in the darkened doorway. His jaw tensed. So Corina was there after all. Why would Allye tell him she’d moved if she hadn’t?

When his mom had offered to rent him their old home upon his return from active duty, he’d put her off with excuses, not caring to voice the real reason behind his hesitation. Allye wasn’t fooled, though. At least she’d had the decency to wait until their mom was out of earshot before flatly informing him that Corina had moved. She hadn’t called him a coward, hadn’t even insinuated it. But he’d felt like one just the same as he took his mom up on her offer.

Now he just felt like a fool.

He truly intended to seek Corina out at some point—-try to make things right. But he had no intention of seeing her day after day in the neighborhood where they’d shared so many memories. That was asking too much.

Far too much. He cleared his throat, and Houston’s head shot up. Now you’ve done it, Jessup.

“Houston.” Corina’s call was slightly louder this time.

Houston glanced at the doorway. Back at Bryce. Back at the door-way. In an instant, he was off the porch and making a beeline for him. Bryce braced himself for the impact of paws against his chest. “Oof!” Houston had definitely grown since the last time he’d seen him.

He grunted and pushed the excited animal off him. “Down.” Without taking his eyes off the scene across the street, Bryce bent to ruffle the fur on the dog’s neck. “So you remember me, huh, boy?”

One of the officers turned, and he recognized Mike Broaddus, a senior member of their small department and one affectionately dubbed “Officer Mike” whether on or off duty. Although Mike was the type to keep a bag of candy in his patrol car just in case he had a chance to treat the neighborhood kids, he could also hold his own against any criminal likely to show up in this town.

As the man began walking toward him, Bryce straightened and pointed at the Robertses’ house. “Go home, Houston.” The dog sauntered off, taking his time but headed in the right direction.

“Well, if it isn’t Bryce Jessup. I’d heard you came back.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Bryce nodded, then gestured to the Robertses’ home. “Some excitement this morning?”

“Yeah.” Officer Mike scratched his head. “Something triggered his alarm system. You didn’t happen to see anything, did you?”

“Sorry, no. I was up but didn’t look outside until just now.”

“Figures. Eric’s taking a look around, but there’s no evidence anyone made it inside—-or even tried to, if you discount the alarms.” The man sighed. “I’d better get back over there.”

“You mind if I come with you?” Bryce could have kicked himself the instant the request popped out of his mouth.

Officer Mike quirked an eyebrow. “You and Corina back together?”

“No.” His lips firmed, and he was thankful for the darkness that hid the heat rising in his neck. Officer Mike and everyone else had been aware of their previous relationship. And why it ended.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit on a touchy subject.”

Bryce waved him off. “Not touchy. That ship sailed a long time ago.” Five years ago next month to be exact.

“Understood.” Officer Mike turned away. “I suppose it won’t hurt. Just don’t touch anything.”

“Thanks.” Bryce followed the officer across the street, still trying to figure out why he’d asked to come. He paused at the edge of the Robertses’ porch and glanced at the still–open door. No Corina. He wasn’t sure whether he was more relieved or disappointed. As much as he dreaded their inevitable meeting, he couldn’t help wondering how the last five years had treated her.

Will had his back to him and didn’t seem to notice his presence, but the other cop who’d arrived with Mike caught his eye and nodded. Eric Thornton. Of all the guys he’d attended high school with, Eric was the last one Bryce would have expected to hang around Kincaid this long. Maybe things had changed even less than he’d thought.

Bryce returned the nod, then allowed his gaze to travel the area. Might as well be useful while he was here. His eyes landed again on the upturned trash can. This was garbage day, so it had probably been full—-hence the mess. But he saw nothing that should have set off the alarm. Nothing unless . . .

On a hunch, he circled the outside perimeter of the porch, paying careful attention to a muddy patch near one corner. Yep. There they were. He motioned to the men. “Hey, I have some footprints over here.”

***

Author Bio

Angela Carlisle (AngelaCarlisle.com) resides in the hills of northern Kentucky and is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and The Christian PEN. Angela is an editor by day and prefers to spend her free time reading, baking, and drinking ridiculous quantities of hot tea. Her unpublished works have won awards in ACFW’s Genesis and First Impressions contests and placed in the Daphne du Maurier contest. Her shorter fiction works, including the prize-winning flash-fiction piece “Mansion Murderer,” have appeared in Splickety and Spark magazines.

Social Media Links

AngelaCarlisle.com
Goodreads
BookBub
Instagram – @angelacarlislewriter
Facebook – @AngelaCarlisle.Writer

Book Links: 

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Baker Book House

###

KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://kingsumo.com/g/ibmnjt/secondary-target-by-angela-carlisle-book-gift-card