When they face the most baffling missing person’s case of their careers, a fiercely ambitious lawyer and a homicide detective have no one to turn to for help except each other, from New York Times bestselling author Laura Griffin.
Up-and-coming attorney Leigh Larson fights for victims of sexual extortion, harassment, and online abuse. She is not afraid to go after the sleaziest targets to get payback for her clients. Leigh is laser-focused on her career–to the exclusion of everything else–until a seemingly routine case and a determined cop turn her world upside down.
Austin homicide detective Brandon Reynolds is no stranger to midnight callouts. But when he gets summoned to an abandoned car on a desolate road, he quickly realizes he’s dealing with an unusual crime scene. A pool of blood in the nearby woods suggests a brutal homicide. But where is the victim? The vehicle is registered to twenty-six-year-old Vanessa Adams. Searching the car, all Brandon finds is a smear of blood and a business card for Leigh Larson, attorney-at-law.
Vanessa had hired Leigh just before her disappearance, but Leigh has no leads on who could have wanted her dead. Faced with bewildering evidence and shocking twists, Leigh and Brandon must work against the clock to chase down a ruthless criminal who is out for vengeance.
***
Elise’s Thoughts
Last Seen Alone by Laura Griffin brings to life a subject that needs more publicity. Because of cell phones, people, especially women, are vulnerable to revenge porn, which is a form of on-line abuse. This subject matter is explored within a riveting storyline.
Leigh Larson is a fiercely ambitious lawyer who fights for victims of sexual extortion, harassment, and on-line abuse. She is the victim’s advocate, fighting to get payback for her clients.
The story opens with Vanessa Adams buying a gun. But she realizes someone is following her and runs into the woods. Her car is found abandoned along with her purse and phone. After being called in, Detective Brandon Reynolds of the Austin P.D. finds a smear of blood on the passenger seat car door that was left open. Brandon finds a lead when he discovers lawyer Leigh Larson’s business card among Vanessa’s things. It seems Vanessa had hired Leigh just before her disappearance. Faced with bewildering evidence and shocking twists, Leigh and Brandon must work against the clock to chase down a ruthless criminal who is out for vengeance. Leigh suspects that Vanessa may be harassed. She and Brandon team together to find out what happened to Vanessa. While doing this they realize they have off the chart chemistry. They grow closer after Brandon’s protective streak comes out when Leigh was attacked. They are racing against the clock to find Vanessa and to solve the case.
The gripping and riveting story puts on-line abuse front and center. The characters are very well developed and readers root for justice to be served.
***
Elise’s Author Interview
Elise Cooper: How did you get the idea for the story?
Laura Griffin: I used to be a newspaper reporter. I saw some articles about a girl targeted for revenge porn that turned her life upside down. I did some research on these types of cases of online harassment.
EC: How would you describe Leigh?
LG: It is pronounced “Lee” not Leigh like Vivian Leigh. I got the name from a good friend in college. Leigh is tenacious, outspoken, smart, and knows how to operate in a man’s world. She is confident, pushy, headstrong, and intuitive. I made her a lawyer because I did not want the hero and heroine to both be law enforcement.
EC: How would you describe Brandon?
LG: Analytical, observant, cool headed, protective, and at times bossy.
EC: Can you discuss online harassment?
LG: It uses technology for revenge. The two types of harassment, online and in person, blend together. A man can stalk a woman but can also interface with her at home with technology. There is a blurring of the lines.
EC: What method do online harassers use?
LG: They like to torment, terrorize, control, and manipulate their victims. They can be sadistic, intimidating, and threatening. In this story the victimized woman had to move. Even if it is online the threats are not less scary and less dangerous.
EC: How would you describe Vanessa?
LG: Exasperating, at times sympathetic, impulsive, and has many faults. She did not make very good decisions and is not an angel yet does not deserve to be targeted. She is also a cutter.
EC: Why did you make her a cutter?
LG: I wanted to show how these cases have a devastating effect on young people. They have their images posted around for all the world to see. There have been cases of suicide, depression, and psychological impact. Vanessa became stressed and withdrawn after she was targeted. Once the images are out there it is hard for the victim to gain control.
EC: How would you describe the relationship?
LG: Both Brandon and Leigh have been burned and betrayed in the past. She has built walls. But after a while they find common ground. She does like to push his buttons and he likes to be sarcastic with her. They have a dynamic with a healthy back and forth.
EC: What about your next book?
LG: It will be out in May 2022. It is part of the “Texas Murder Files series” and is titled, Midnight Dunes. The setting is still the coast, and it will feature Owen’s story.
THANK YOU!!
BIO: Elise Cooper has written book reviews and interviewed best-selling authors since 2009. Her reviews have covered several different genres, including thrillers, mysteries, women’s fiction, romance and cozy mysteries. An avid reader, she engages authors to discuss their works, and to focus on the descriptions of their characters and the plot. While not writing reviews, Elise loves to watch baseball and visit the ocean in Southern California, with her dog and husband.
The discovery of human remains unearths another nightmare from Sheriff Bree Taggert’s past in a bone-chilling thriller by #1 Amazon Charts and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Melinda Leigh.
Twenty-seven years ago, Sheriff Bree Taggert’s father killed her mother, then himself. Now Bree and her younger brother, Adam, find human bones on the grounds of their abandoned family farm. The remains are those of a man and a woman, both murdered in the same horrible way.
When the investigation determines the murders occurred thirty years ago, Bree’s dead father becomes a suspect, forcing Bree to revisit the brutal night she’s spent most of her life trying to forget. The only other suspect is an unlikely squatter on the Taggert farm who claims to know secrets about Bree’s past. When he mysteriously disappears and Bree’s niece is kidnapped, the cold case heats up.
Bree has stoked the rage of a murderer who’ll do anything to keep his identity—and motives—a secret. To protect everyone she loves, Bree must confront a killer.
***
Elise’s Thoughts
Right Behind Her by Melinda Leigh is a gripping read, just like her other books. Readers get sympathetic heroes and monstrous villains along with a plot that will keep them turning the pages.
Sherriff Bree Taggert agrees to travel to her childhood home with her brother Adam. She must confront the memories of her childhood that includes the cruelness of her father, being attacked by his dogs, the night her father murdered her mother, and then committed suicide.
What she did not expect to find are human bones on the grounds of the abandoned family farm. They appear to be cruelly murdered thirty years ago. She is wondering if her father, who killed himself and her mother while she hid herself, her brother, and sister, is the culprit. Suspects begin to pile up, including someone who kidnaps her niece to warn her from further investigation. Assisting is Matt Flynn, the police investigator, who is also helping Bree realize she wants a relationship with him. She begins to feel the need for family and starts to tear down the wall she has built to protect herself.
This story will keep readers captivated with plenty of emotion and suspense including wondering who committed the crime.
***
Elise’s Author Interview
Elise Cooper: In this story there is more of Bree’s backstory?
Melinda Leigh: I think there will be at least eight books in the series. This is book 4. After each book my goal is to leave each character in a happy place because they need a break. This continuing character series will develop the characters and their relationships over a long term. I will continue writing the series as long as the character personal development moves forward and is never stale. For me, the highest flattery a writer can receive is being told people enjoy their books.
EC: You try to make some of the bad guys redeemable?
ML: In reality, people have shades of grey. There are various shades of grey, some darker than others, some being greyer. Every character has their own viewpoint, their own perspective. Bree in this book found out more about her family and the memories she avoided as a traumatized child.
EC: How would you describe the relationship between Matt and Bree?
ML: At first it was just a friendship, but they had a connection. Her backstory affects her feelings until she allowed herself to lean on Matt a bit. She is learning she does not have to exist all by herself. Although she is there for others, to support them, there is a back and forth in relationships and she is seeing this. Bree is finally learning not to be a loner and allows Matt to support her.
EC: There is some therapy in this book?
ML: Bree is realizing that dogs are a great companion and know when they are needed. Brody, the German Shepherd retired police dog is a hero in this story. The saying feelings run down leash applies to all the dogs in the story.
EC: There is also paint therapy?
ML: Bree’s brother Adam obtained solace from painting. He had been born into a family filled with grief, anger, and abuse. Like Bree, he carried that burden into adulthood. Darkness always filled his work. The book quote, “Dark reds, bold blues, and stormy grays dominated the canvas. Bree saw sadness and anger and lack of control in the turbulent brushstrokes. But in one corner, a shaft of light blue with just the slightest hint of pale-yellow shadow pierced the darkness… Despite being a minute portion of the overall work, the smaller sliver of brightness drew and held the eye. It was a spark of hope at the edge of overwhelming despair…that tiny ribbon of light pulled her in.”
EC: A heads up about your next book?
ML: It is titled Dead Against Her and should be out in May 2022. It is about a double homicide in which Bree is a prime suspect. Morgan Dane from my other series will make an appearance and will be in this book quite a bit.
THANK YOU!!
BIO: Elise Cooper has written book reviews and interviewed best-selling authors since 2009. Her reviews have covered several different genres, including thrillers, mysteries, women’s fiction, romance and cozy mysteries. An avid reader, she engages authors to discuss their works, and to focus on the descriptions of their characters and the plot. While not writing reviews, Elise loves to watch baseball and visit the ocean in Southern California, with her dog and husband.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour for WOMAN IN SHADOW by Carrie Stuart Parks.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
Carrie Stuart Parks combines her expertise as a forensic artist with her ability to craft a gripping story in this page-turning web of light and shadow.
A woman off the grid.
Darby Graham thinks she’s on a much-needed vacation in remote Idaho to relax. But before she even arrives at the ranch, an earthquake strikes—her first clue that something is amiss. Then when a cabin on the edge of town is engulfed in flames and problems at the ranch escalate, Darby finds herself immersed in a chilling mystery.
A town on fire.
A serial arsonist sends taunting letters to the press after each fire. As a forensic linguist, this is Darby’s area of expertise . . . but the scars it’s caused her also the reason she’s trying to escape from her life.
A growing darkness.
As the shadows continue to move in, the pieces of the town around her come into sharper focus. Can she trust the one man who sees her clearly?
Genre: Mystery/Suspense Published by: Thomas Nelson Publication Date: July 13th 2021 Number of Pages: 336 ISBN: 0785239847 (ISBN13: 9780785239840) Series:Woman in Shadow is not a part of a series.
***
My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
WOMAN IN SHADOW by Carrie Stuart Parks is a Christian mystery/suspense with a hint of romance set in rural Idaho with a female protagonist who is memorable for her intelligence, courage and grit as she works to find the cause of disturbing incidents on a resort ranch she is sent to, while working to overcome PTSD from a previous horrific case gone wrong.
Darby Graham has spent two years at Clan Firinn, a program for law enforcement personnel to work on dealing with their severe PTSD. Clan Firinn has sent her undercover to Mule Shoe Ranch to use her skills as a forensic linguist to gather information regarding accidents that are sabotaging the future of the ranch.
Deputy Bram White is aware of the problems at Mule Shoe Ranch, but he is also investigating a serial arsonist. As the accidents at the ranch turn to murder, Bram turns to Darby for assistance. Are they looking for an arsonist who is also a killer, or do the two cases have separate perpetrators?
Will Darby be able to unravel all the suspects and motives before she becomes one of the killer’s victims?
I enjoyed this story from start to finish. Darby is a strong protagonist who goes through so much emotionally and physically during this story. Her backstory and the cause of her PTSD is revealed in increments throughout the story as she works to overcome all the personal obstacles thrown in her way from the killer. I also loved Ms. Parks’ addition of the dogs, Holly and Maverick, to aid Darby in so many ways during the story. Bram is a romantic interest who has his own backstory to overcome so as much as he helps Darby, he also makes her doubt herself. This has a thread of romance with no sex scenes, but a growth of understanding and acceptance. The Christian references during the story are few. The red herrings and plot twists left me guessing until the resolution which I always like.
I recommend this standalone Christian mystery/suspense!
***
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Targhee Falls, Idaho
“Why are those dogs barking?” I pointed across the wooden picnic table toward two obviously upset canines yelping nearby.
A man staring at a clipboard didn’t look up. “They’re dogs. That’s what they do. Are you Darby Graham?”
“Yes.”
The man checked something on his clipboard. “Good. You’re all here.” He had to speak up to be heard over the commotion.
Before I could ask about the dogs again, he turned and strolled toward the nearby general store.
Although the man seemed unmoved by the dogs’ distress, the other people seated around me on Adirondack chairs or at picnic tables had stopped speaking to each other and were staring. The dogs—a black Lab cross with hound-length ears, and a huge Great Dane mix—both had their tails tucked between their legs and were howling.
The picnic table trembled.
I lifted my hands off the rough pine surface but could still feel the movement under my body. A flock of birds burst from the treetops. Pinecones dropped to the ground from the towering ponderosas.
Earthquake.
I was seated near the general store, just below a plate-glass window. The glass rippled, then rattled.
Heart thudding, I dove under the table. The ground rolled under me like ocean waves. A low rumbling was followed by car alarms going off from the parking lot on the other side of the store.
The black Lab flew under the table and landed in my lap. I wrapped my arms around the quivering dog, feeling the prominent bones of her spine and rib cage. “It’s okay there, girl. You’re safe. Your big buddy isn’t so scared—”
The second quaking dog joined us, his large body pressing against my back.
The earthquake ended.
“All over.” I reached around and scratched the Dane’s chest, feeling more bones. Didn’t anyone ever feed these dogs?
Both dogs seemed content to stay put, but the weight of the Lab—even though she was too thin—was still more than my leg was used to and it was rapidly going to sleep. “Come on, sweet girl, time to get up,” I whispered.
Both dogs took the hint.
On the other hand, here under the table seemed a nice place to stay. Tucked into the shadows, I didn’t need to worry about anyone staring at me. I had room to stretch out and could smell the cut grass. I’d be prepared should another earthquake come. And my assignment was to maintain a low profile. Sitting on the ground under a table seemed to be as low profile as I could get.
Two legs appeared next to me. “Miss Graham?”
Flapperdoodle. Mr. Clipboard found me.
I crawled between the bench and table, sliding onto the seat, then glanced around. Several other people had taken similar action. Only Clipboard had noticed my reluctance to leave my hiding place.
One by one, the car alarms stopped. The slight breeze stirred the fragrance of fallen pine needles.
Mr. Clipboard stared at me for a moment, then turned toward the others. He was holding a number of fabric bags imprinted with Mule Shoe Ranch. “Don’t be worried, folks. The town of Targhee Falls is less than fifteen miles from Yellowstone. The national park routinely has between one and three thousand quakes a year—”
“Excuse me, but I’ve heard most of those quakes aren’t noticeable,” a gray-haired woman in a denim shirt said.
“Obviously some are.” The man gave her a rueful half smile and started handing out the bags after checking the attached name tags. “I’m Sam, owner of the general store over there.” He nodded toward the building featuring a two-story false front and wooden sidewalk. The peeling sign said Sam’s Mercantile. “I provide Mule Shoe with transportation, supplies, and assistance during team-building exercises. Inside these bags you’ll find a great deal of information about your stay at the ranch. The owner, Roy Zaring, wanted you to have these while you’re waiting for your transportation—”
“When will that be?” asked a handsome teen with flawless olive skin and a thick lock of black hair. “I’m not getting any cell service here.” He held up his phone. An impeccably dressed man and woman sitting at the same table gave each other sideways glances.
Sam finished handing out the bags, turned, and looked at the youth. “Those your folks?” His gaze flickered to the two people sitting with the young man.
“Yeah.”
“And I’m guessing your mom? Dad? Both? Told you they were here to take a team-building—”
“Watercolor workshop.”
“A five-day art class in the wilds of Idaho, right?”
“Yeeeaah.”
“Son, the Mule Shoe Dude Ranch is a primitive facility. No Wi-Fi. No cell reception. No television, radio . . . no electricity. You’ll have a cabin with a fireplace, a composting toilet, and a lantern at night.”
The color drained from the young man’s face. “What?” he whispered.
“That reminds me,” Sam said. “I’ll collect your cell phones and will keep them here and charged for when you return.”
I reached into my purse, took out my phone, and placed it on the table for Sam to collect. Whose brilliant idea was it to send me on assignment to a primitive facility when they know I need my computer and electricity? And five days with all these strangers? I wouldn’t even need to unpack.
“Don’t worry.” An attractive older woman sitting on a wooden Adirondack chair grinned at the boy. “There’s plenty of hot water for showers, courtesy of the natural geothermal environment. The water’s gravity fed and the food is world-class.” She looked around at all of us. “I’ve had an interest in the Mule Shoe and was here last summer, although I have to admit, I prefer to visit this time of year. Late September is perfect. You all are going to love it.”
The young man’s lips compressed into a thin line, and he seemed loath to let go of his cell. Sam kept tugging the phone until the youth relinquished it. “But what is there to do?” he asked no one in particular.
“Most of us are here for the art lessons.” Denim Shirt reached into her bag, pulled out a piece of paper, and held it up. “Listen.” She read from it. “‘You’ll find trail rides, fishing, canoeing, gold panning, mineral collecting, archery, photography, hiking, campfires, swimming—’”
“That’s what I mean.” The young man ran his hand through his hair. “There’s nothing to do.”
I tugged out the same brochure. Welcome, honored guests. We look forward to serving you during your stay with us. Your experiences here will be unforgettable for all the right reasons! You should bring to Mule Shoe your mindset for success.
Yeah, right. I’d like to set my mind on getting in, getting done, and getting home. “Sam, you mentioned transportation . . .”
“Horse and wagon.”
I was afraid of that. “Do you have a regular timetable?”
This time Sam actually focused on me. “No. The horse and wagon are available on an as-needed basis, mostly to transport new groups and supplies.”
From bad to worse. I was stuck. Now would be a good time to find a bathroom. Riding a bumpy, horse-drawn wagon would be uncomfortable enough without a full bladder. Besides, if I left now, no one would notice my slight limp. I normally wanted to be invisible, to disappear into a crowd. When Scott Thomas, my counselor, told me not to stand out, to blend in, he didn’t have to say it twice. Your final assignment before leaving us here in Clan Firinn is to check out Mule Shoe Ranch. We’ve heard rumblings that something’s not right. You’ll be registered as a guest. I’ll tell you more once you get there.
I was irritated at being sent out like this with no idea of what was expected. I now know why. Had I known I wouldn’t be able to use my computer programs or the internet, I would have put my foot down. I was fortunate to have a good memory for words.
I’d heard through the Clan Firinn grapevine that those getting ready to leave—“graduate” as they called it—would have a project that would test their progress toward wholeness. I figured they’d find out soon enough that I wasn’t ready to leave.
I rose, picked up my purse, and made my way to the general store. A cowbell jangled as I entered. “‘I got a fever,’” I muttered. “‘And the only prescription is more cowbell.’” The line made me smile. Why worry about earthquakes, lack of electricity, and the inability to do my work when the world needed more cowbell?
“What?” A young, freckle-faced woman with a smear of dirt on her nose stopped replacing items on the shelf.
“Iconic Saturday Night Live line—more cowbell?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” The interior had old oak floors, a tin ceiling, and a long counter with a glass display case. The sun through the window spotlighted twirling dust motes. Various cans still littered the floor, courtesy of the earthquake.
“Just let me know if ya need something.”
“Powder room?”
“Huh?”
“WC?”
“I think we’re sold out.”
“John? Head? Loo? Restroom?”
“Toilet?” She nodded to her right.
Fortunately, the primitive conditions did not include the store bathroom. Returning to the store, I picked up a can of soup that had rolled near me. “Do you know anything about those two dogs?” I handed her the can.
“Why are ya asking?” The woman placed it on the shelf.
“They just seem thin, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well.” She adjusted the display. “Sam’s been feeding ’em, but that’s gonna stop.”
My neck tingled. “I don’t understand.” I gave her a steady gaze.
She paused her work and looked around. We were alone in the store, but she dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “He’s just waitin’ for all of you to leave to the ranch.”
The tingling grew to an itch. My years of training as a forensic linguist kicked in, even though I was rusty. I grew very still and waited, listening for more clues in her language.
She gave up straightening the cans. “It’s like this: The dogs were owned by an old lady. I bet she was, like, at least forty.”
“Positively ancient. One foot in the grave.” I gave her a slight smile.
“Right. Her name was Shadow Woman. That’s what everyone called her. Well, that’s the nice name anyway. She was, like, a hermit, but a pretty good artist.” She jerked her thumb at a drawing on the wall behind the cash register.
Were owned, was. Past tense. I widened my smile to encourage her. “Why did everyone call her Shadow Woman?”
The clerk gnawed on a hangnail for a moment. “I guess ’cause she was weird, ya know, like she lived in the shadows. Creepy. Always showed up here at the store at dusk or when it was dark. Sam said she could sneak right up next to you in the shadows and you’d never see her. And her face was weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Like, really weird.”
“Ah, that clarifies it. Where did she come from?”
“Sam said she ran away from a group home near Smelterville.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Right, you know? No one wanted her. Anyway, she owned Holly—that’s the Lab mix—and Maverick, the Anna-toolian sheepdog.”
“Anatolian? From Anatolia in Asia Minor?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Of course. I thought the big dog was half Great Dane, half mastiff.”
“Nope. Sam looked it up. Anna-whatevers are super-expensive livestock guard dogs from Turkey or France, I forget which.”
“They are such similar countries,” I murmured.
“Right. So anyway, Sam was surprised that Shadow Woman had one.”
Sam looked it up. Looking for value? Surprised that Shadow Woman had one. Not just a hermit but poor? Broke? “I see.” I leaned slightly against the shelving unit. “You mentioned Shadow . . .”
“Right. Um . . . so Shadow Woman came to town like once a month with her mule, like I said, always after sunset, and bought stuff, like Spam. She’d usually pay her bill about every other month. The dogs always came with her. Six months ago, you know, she stopped coming.”
“Let me guess. She owed Sam a lot of money.”
“Right. Boy-howdy was he steamed about it. Then he, you know, got a check and note from the old woman to pay her bill, but the check bounced higher than a buckin’ bronco.”
“Did anyone follow up, call the police?”
“Not right away ’cause the dogs moved in, first Holly, then Maverick. So, you know, Sam started to feed them. And . . . I think someone changed his mind on what to do with the dogs.”
Cluster of you knows. Sensitive topic. I kept my gaze on her and nodded again.
She glanced down and plucked a piece of lint from her sleeve. “Sam always said he’d get his pound of flesh from her, whatever that means.”
“I’m sure it originated in Turkey or France.”
“Right. Foreign-like. Um . . . Sam finally got close enough to Maverick to see he’d been spayed.”
“Neutered?”
“What?”
“Never mind.” A neutered dog was of zero value, and Sam stopped feeding them. I made an effort to unclench my hands. “How have the dogs survived?”
“You know, folks around town feel sorry for them . . .”
The cowbell jangled.
The clerk straightened and glanced in that direction. Her cheeks flamed and her tongue flickered out to moisten her lips.
I turned.
A sheriff’s deputy charged to the bathroom, disappeared for a few moments, then reappeared and sauntered toward us, replacing fallen items on the shelves. His ordinary brown hair was the only average thing about him. He was otherwise a walking modern-day Adonis, his face chiseled by a master carver. He finally looked up and smiled at the clerk, exposing more teeth than the Osmond family, and seemed to enjoy her reaction to his arrival.
My hand automatically reached to fluff my hair. I stopped and squared my oversized glasses instead.
He looked at me, his eyes widening. “Hello there. I’m Bram White.”
“I’m—”
“Leaving,” the clerk said. “Goin’ to Mule Shoe. She’s a guest.”
“Darby Graham.” I glanced at his holstered pistol, then out the window at the two dogs lying under a tree. Check bounced. Sam’s been feeding ’em, but that’s gonna stop. Pound of flesh.
Deputy Bram glanced at his watch.
My neck was crawling with reasons to scratch it.
“Can I get you a Coke or somethin’?” she asked me. “It shouldn’t be long.” The clerk moved toward an ancient cooler. “I’d bet the wagon got slowed down by the earthquake.”
The two dogs began barking.
“See? I told ya. Betcha that’s the wagon now.” The clerk moved toward the front of the store, brushing past Bram. “Excuse me,” she said. At the window, she glanced out, then looked at the officer. “Yep. The wagon’s here.” Without taking her eyes from Bram, she said to me, “You can go now.”
Sam stuck his head in the door. “Miss Graham? Time to leave.” He spotted Bram and gave the man a quick nod.
I gave in and scratched my neck. This was none of my business. No need to get involved. No reason to draw attention to myself. Low profile. Right. I straightened. “I think I’ll wait here. Catch the next wagon.” The words came out without my thinking, but they seemed right.
Sam moved into the store. “I’m sorry, Miss Graham, there won’t be a next wagon. It’s quite a distance to the ranch and it’s getting late. You’ll need to leave now.” He wiped his hands on his slacks, glanced at the clerk, then at the deputy.
The itch was now a full-scale conviction. “Your clerk here—”
“Julia?” Sam glared at the clerk.
“Was telling me about Shadow Woman. And her dogs.”
Bram folded his arms.
Sam opened the door behind him and waved for me to exit. “Miss Graham, I really see that as none of your business.”
Go now.Run. You have nothing to offer. Well . . . almost nothing. I slowly walked over to the counter. “I know Shadow Woman’s check bounced. How much money did she owe you? And how much to cover all the dog food?” I opened my purse.
“How many times have I warned you to keep your piehole shut!” Sam said to Julia.
“I didn’t say nothin’!” Julia crossed her arms. “She figured it out on her own.”
Sam closed the door and approached me, both hands held out as if to show goodwill. “I don’t know what it is that you figured out, Miss Graham, but—”
“Please don’t try lying to me, Sam.” I pulled out my checkbook. “You figured the Anatolian dog would pay Shadow Woman’s bill, but when you saw he was neutered, he had no more value to you. The minute I leave, you’re going to have Deputy White here shoot both dogs. Your pound of flesh.” I stared into his eyes. “I intend to stop you.”
***
Author Bio
Carrie Stuart Parks is a Christy, multiple Carol, and Inspy Award–winning author. She was a 2019 finalist in the Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence in mainstream mystery/suspense and has won numerous awards for her fine art as well. An internationally known forensic artist, she travels with her husband, Rick, across the US and Canada teaching courses in forensic art to law-enforcement professionals. The author/illustrator of numerous books on drawing and painting, Carrie continues to create dramatic watercolors from her studio in the mountains of Idaho.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for THE QUESTION IS MURDER by Mark Willen.
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 Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Washington D.C. newspaper columnist Sam Turner, known to his readers as Mr. Ethics, faces his toughest moral dilemma yet: Can murder ever be justified?
That’s the question posed to him by a mysterious young woman who says she is being stalked and harassed by an ex-lover too powerful to be stopped any other way. Sam knows that journalists should never get personally involved in a story, but he finds he is being drawn deeper and deeper into this one whether he wants it or not.
So when Senator Wade Morgan turns up murdered, Sam fears the worst. Worried about his own involvement, the man who normally has all the answers is now the one making questionable decisions.
As his investigation into the Senator’s death begins to spin out of control, Sam finds he can’t let go—even as the case grows more complicated and the threats against his life become more immediate. With the fate of a young woman at stake and his own life in jeopardy, Sam can’t back down until the killer—whoever that may be—is brought to justice.
But this is D.C., and justice can be in short supply.
Genre: Mystery, Suspense, Amateur Sleuth, Psychological Thriller Published by: Pen-L Publishing Publication Date: May 14th 2021 Number of Pages: 304 ISBN: 1683132246 (ISBN-13: 978-1683132240) Series:The Question Is Murder is not included in a series.
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
THE QUESTION IS MURDER by Mark Willen is an amateur sleuth mystery/suspense set in Washington DC with a mature newspaper columnist/college lecturer who is known to his readers as Mr. Ethics. This mystery is not only told in the amateur sleuth’s point of view, but through the three main suspects’ points of view in alternating chapters, also.
Sam Turner known as Mr. Ethics receives an email to his column asking if murder can ever be justified?
The unknown young woman who asks the question says she is being stalked and threatened by her ex-lover who is too powerful to be stopped in any other way. Sam knows journalists should never get personally involved, but he is drawn to this woman and her dilemma.
A Senator turns up dead in his car. At first it looks like suicide, but quickly is determined to be murder. Sam fears he has become involved and is starting to question his own decisions. He is drawn deeper into the complicated investigation. Sam cannot back down, even when his own life is threatened, until the killer is brought to justice.
I enjoyed this mystery and the ethical questions that appear and are discussed throughout. It was interesting to see the slippery slope caused by Sam’s decisions and his rationalizations for those decisions. I also enjoyed the unique points of view telling their own stories right along with our amateur sleuth as the mystery unravels. This is a character driven investigation as much as a criminal or journalistic investigation. The author deftly handles all points of view, reliable or unreliable without giving away who is guilty. The resolution to the mystery is satisfactory, but quick. I do like the fact that this is a standalone mystery because I am not always craving a series mystery.
I can recommend this well written, paced and plotted amateur sleuth mystery.
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Excerpt
Dear Mr. Ethics
Sam reads the email a second time, then a third, not sure whether to dismiss it as a prank or call the police. He prints it out and then reads it again, looking for some clue to the sender’s frame of mind.
It’s probably a stunt. Sam gets more than his share of cranks and weirdos. There’s something about writing a newspaper column and calling yourself “Mr. Ethics” that attracts them. Some people just take offense at the notion of a guy sitting behind a computer trying to tell them there’s a right way to behave.
He takes a deep breath and reads the email again, a blue felt-tipped pen in his hand. He studies the words, the grammar, even the sentence structure, looking for oddities or inconsistencies. Nothing jumps out.
He doesn’t need this. Not now.
But then maybe he does. Maybe it’s just what he needs. Something to take his mind off of Lisa, not unlike the migraine that makes you forget the sprained ankle, at least for a while.
He looks up from the sheet of paper in his hand and glances at the poster that hangs in front of him. It’s filled with quotations on writing, and although it’s the kind of thing a college kid would hang in a dorm room, he’s always liked having it near. And he didn’t have much else to stick on the wall two years ago when he was awarded his own office, a privilege he didn’t especially want and still hasn’t adjusted to. He loves the column, both for its intellectual challenge and for the feeling that he may be helping people, albeit in small ways, to make the world a better place.
He turns back to the email. He needs another opinion and knows it should come from his boss, but he doesn’t want to lose control. Brenda would be cautious and call in the executive editor or a lawyer, maybe both, and that would mean days of delay. He’s not going to use the email in his column, so whatever he does shouldn’t come back to hurt the newspaper. He wants to help if he can, and he doesn’t want anyone to get in his way. He’s too old for bureaucratic games.
But he does want another opinion.
He gets up, grabs the printout, and walks down the hall to the newsroom. It’s eerily quiet, nothing like the newsrooms he grew up in. Gone is the chaos of constant motion and loud conversations carried on from opposite ends of the room. Gone too are the ugly metal desks shoved together so close you can smell the whisky on your neighbor’s breath, hear him belch or argue with an official or a source on the phone. Some had hated it, but Sam thrived on the synergy it produced, the bonds it created, the shared excitement of doing something he believed—still believes—is important.
Now, in its place he sees what the younger reporters view as high-tech paradise, with desks crowded with laptops and other electronic devices. The reporters and editors are stuck in a maze of mini-cubicles with three-foot high, sound-absorbing barriers to create a sense of privacy. They need to stand up to see another person.
He’s acutely aware of how much journalism has changed in the thirty years he’s been practicing it. Not that it was ever pure and not that all its practitioners had less than selfish motives. But many did. Now it’s nothing more than a business, a fight for internet clicks or a spot appearance on TV, just when facts and truth matter the most because they’re in such short supply. It’s one of the reasons he was ready to give up reporting and editing to take on the ethics column, but that’s not to say he doesn’t miss the thrill of unraveling an important story.
He walks the maze, heading to Molly’s corner. “Hey,” he says as he comes up behind her.
Her right hand rises in a silencing gesture, and he realizes she’s on the phone. One of those ear things hidden by her hair. How was he supposed to know?
While he waits, he glances up at the silent TV monitors on the wall and tries to guess why the weatherman is moving his arms around in a circle. After a minute or so, Molly ends the call and turns to him.
“What?” she asks, not unfriendly but not friendly either. Busy is the vibe he gets.
Sam was once Molly’s editor and mentor as she learned her way around Congress, which was Sam’s beat for twelve years. She still comes to him for advice, though not often, and he will seek her out when his ethics column needs the perspective of someone younger, or a woman.
He hands her the printout without speaking and watches her read it, biting down on her lower lip, a habit he’s grown used to. He averts his eyes when she looks up and catches him staring at her. He glances around her cubicle while she finishes, then turns back to her, focusing now on her hands, which grip the printout on either side, as if she’s worried he’ll have second thoughts and try to take it back. He’s never noticed how graceful her hands look, with long supple fingers, as though she was born to play the piano. Or type. The thought makes him smile.
Molly hands back the email and frowns. “So what’s the question?” she asks.
“Do you think it’s for real?”
She purses her lips and turns her head slightly. Her blue eyes, accented with eye shadow she doesn’t need, seem to settle on a photograph of her and Kyle, her fiancé. They are wearing hiking gear and standing atop a boulder, Molly’s bleached-blond hair blowing lightly in the wind. Their wedding is set for Memorial Day weekend, less than three months away.
“Look, Sam,” she says finally, picking up her water bottle and taking a swallow, making him wait for what’s coming. “Every woman has some rat-bastard in her past she’d love to blow to kingdom come, but they never actually do it.”
“Some do.”
“Not many. And probably only on the spur of the moment. More passion than planning, and never with advance notice.”
“This is different. He didn’t dump her. He’s stalking her and she’s scared. She doesn’t see any other way out.”
Molly tilts her head slightly and he’s not sure what that means. She reaches for the moisturizer she keeps on her desk. He watches her squirt some in her palm and then rub it carefully on the backs of her hands. He feels himself getting annoyed. Since Lisa asked him to move out, he has less patience for everything and everyone. He reminds himself of that and takes a deep breath.
“I can’t ignore it,” he says.
“But what can you do? It’s vague and anonymous. You can’t use it in the column. Are you thinking of turning it over to the police?”
“No. I have to answer her. Reach out in some way.”
“Tell me why. You always told me not to get involved in the stories I cover.”
“I can’t just let it go.”
“What if you find out she’s serious? Or suicidal?” she asks. “Then you’ll have no choice but to go to the authorities.”
The question annoys him. “Of course. But I don’t have enough to work with now.”
“I don’t disagree, and if it’s not a hoax, I feel sorry for her. But all you can do is tell her to go to the police.”
“She says she can’t,” he says. “I want to find out why. This is a cry for help.”
Molly shrugs, making it clear she doesn’t agree. “If I came to you with this, you’d say reporters shouldn’t get involved. I’d get your lecture on how our job is to shine a light on problems while staying above the fray, not try to make everything okay.”
He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t argue with the journalistic principle she’s quoting, but it doesn’t apply here because he’s not a reporter planning to write a story about the email. “I have to follow it up,” he tells her. “I just do.”
“Why’d you ask my advice if you already had your mind made up?”
He walks away without answering. On the one hand, he sees her point, but he’s disappointed she isn’t more concerned, more helpful. It surprises him that Molly isn’t able to put herself in other people’s shoes more often. Seeing the other side of an issue—any issue—is an important skill for a reporter. Call it empathy.
But maybe he’s just annoyed because she doesn’t agree with him.
Back in his office, he forwards the email to the IT department. He deletes the content, but they can analyze the IP address or whatever they look at to try to determine where it came from. He doesn’t have much hope, but it’s worth a try. Then he turns back to the email and rereads it.
Dear Mr. Ethics:
Is murder ever ethical? I hope so because I don’t have a choice. An ex-lover is destroying me. I broke up with him and now he’s ruining my life. He got into my laptop, stole all my data and used it to stalk, embarrass, and almost bankrupt me. Now he’s moved on to even worse stuff. He’s killing my hope for any kind of normal life, so killing him is a form of self-defense. Justifiable homicide, right?
I can’t go to the police for reasons I can’t explain here. And I can’t give you any more details because I can’t risk you figuring out my name.
So can I murder him? And no, I’m not kidding.
Sincerely,
Truly Desperate
Sam jots down several notes. The tone strikes him as strangely calm and rational. She’s making a logical argument, not what you’d expect from someone stressed and frantic. Or crazy. Is it a hoax? Maybe a college kid bored with her ethics class and looking for term paper ideas. Or an author concocting a crazy plot for a thriller. Or maybe someone pissed off at Mr. Ethics and hoping to draw him into a discussion that will embarrass him if made public.
But maybe not.
It doesn’t matter. He has to answer her. Keep her talking, try to get more clues so he can stop her on the off chance she really is planning a murder.
He turns to his keyboard and after several false starts comes up with his reply.
Dear Truly Desperate,
I’m going to assume this is a not a prank because I have no way of knowing, and I want to give you the benefit of the doubt.
From the little you’ve told me, I can assure you that what you propose is not ethical. Justifiable homicide applies only when your life is in imminent danger, and you haven’t convinced me that this is the case. I don’t think you’ve convinced yourself or you wouldn’t be asking me.
You need to go to the police. If you can’t do it yourself, is there someone who can do it for you? If necessary, I might be willing to do that, depending on the details. And with the newspaper behind me, the police will feel obliged to take it seriously.
If you don’t want my help, I suggest you talk to a mental health professional or a social worker or someone experienced in cases involving domestic partner abuse (which this obviously is).
If you’d like to talk about this more (and I will treat any conversations we have confidentially), you may call me at any time (cellphone number below).
Above all, don’t do anything rash.
Regards,
Sam Turner (a.k.a. Mr. Ethics)
He sits back and reads the note again. He considers his offer to go to the police on her behalf, mindful of Molly’s warning not to get involved. He wants to help her, but that’s going too far. He eliminates that sentence.
He also cuts the promise of confidentiality. If she asks for it, he’ll agree, but there’s no need to offer it upfront. And it might tie his hands unnecessarily.
He reads his response one last time and hits the send button.
* * *
Author Bio
Mark Willen was born, raised, and educated in New England, where he developed a special appreciation for the values, humor, and strength of its people, as well as the sense of community that characterizes so many of its small towns. After college, he moved to the Washington, DC area, where he quickly learned how the other half lives.
As a journalist, he has been a reporter, columnist, blogger, producer, and editor at The Voice of America, National Public Radio, Congressional Quarterly, Bloomberg News, and Kiplinger. Though based primarily in Washington, he has reported from datelines as varied as New York, Moscow, Cairo, Beijing, Buenos Aires, and Johannesburg. Having retired from journalism in 2010, Mark now divides his time between writing fiction and volunteer work. As a former graduate-level teacher of journalism ethics, he also tries to help people figure out the right thing to do in difficult situations through his blog, TalkingEthics.com Mark has a Masters of Arts in writing from Johns Hopkins University (2010) and a Bachelor of Arts in government from Dartmouth College.
The Question Is Murder is Mark’s debut mystery, but there is always an element of suspense in his novels. His earlier Jonas Hawke series, three books set in a small but troublesome town in Vermont, were also published by Pen-L. His short stories have appeared in The Rusty Nail, Corner Club Press, and The Boiler Review.
Mark lives in Silver Spring, Maryland, with his wife, Janet.
Today is my turn on the Books n All Promotions Blog Tour and I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE SILENT LISTENER by Lyn Yeowart.
Below you will find a book description, my book review and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
AN UNFORGETTABLE PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER SET IN THE DARK, GOTHIC HEART OF RURAL AUSTRALIA
The moment he dies, the room explodes with life.
Joy Henderson returns to the family farm to nurse her dying father. To the outside world, George is a pillar of the community, but to Joy and her siblings, he’s a monster. As children, they lived in constant fear of the punishments he dished out to his “dirty, filthy sinners who are going to rot in Hell”. Then, the day after George finally confesses to a horrific crime, Joy finds him dead — with a belt pulled tight around his neck . . .
Senior Constable Alex Shepherd, summoned to the scene by George’s doctor, is suspicious: did Joy murder her father? If so, why?
The more Shepherd digs the more questions he raises. Will the truth finally be revealed?
Effortlessly propelling the reader back and forth between three timelines, Lyn Yeowart’s unforgettable debut richly rewards the reader with its explosive, pitiless conclusion.
THE SILENT LISTENER by Lyn Yeowart is an intense, dark atmospheric family drama suspense. This debut author follows a family over several decades by intertwining three timelines. This is a slow burn suspense and it does take a while to sort out, but it is so well written it is difficult to put down even with the difficult subject matter and well worth your time.
Set in rural Australia, one timeline is set in the 1940’s when George Henderson meets his future wife Gwen and after a whirlwind romance marries her. George is not the man he pretends to be and Gwen does not realize the direction her marriage will take. They have three children, Mark, Ruth and Joy. The second timeline is told in Joy’s perspective. Joy in the 1960’s when she is age 11 and her neighbor’s 9-year-old daughter, Wendy disappears. Joy returns home in 1983 to take care of her dying father and Senior Constable Shepard investigation is the focus.
When George Henderson dies, it is under suspicious circumstances and Senior Constable Shepard is called to the home. He was part of the search for the missing Wendy all those years ago and now as he investigates George’s death and learns more about the Henderson family, nothing is as it seems.
This is a story that is difficult to read and yet difficult to put down. Even with the slow set-up, there are so many things that you question and that you are intrigued by. The plotting has subtle red herrings in the first part of the book and then as secrets begin to unravel and be revealed the pacing picks up to a conclusion that was very surprising and satisfying. Trigger warnings for readers: Domestic violence and child abuse.
I can recommend this dark family domestic suspense for an intense read by this debut author.
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Author Bio
Lyn Yeowart is a professional writer and editor with more than 25 years of experience in writing and editing everything from captions for artworks to speeches for executives. Her debut novel, The Silent Listener, is loosely based on events from her childhood in rural Australia. She is now happily ensconced in Melbourne, where there is very little mud, but lots of books.
Today I am on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour. I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for AFTERMATH by Terri Blackstock.
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 Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
A devastating explosion.
Three best friends are at the venue just to hear their favorite band . . . but only one of them makes it out alive.
A trunk full of planted evidence.
When police stop Dustin with a warrant to search his trunk, he knows it’s just a mistake. He’s former military and owns a security firm. But he’s horrified when they find explosives, and he can’t fathom how they got there.
An attorney who will risk it all for a friend.
Criminal attorney Jamie Powell was Dustin’s best friend growing up. They haven’t spoken since he left for basic training, but she’s the first one he thinks of when he’s arrested. Jamie knows she’s putting her career on the line by defending an accused terrorist, but she’d never abandon him. Someone is framing Dustin to take the fall for shocking acts of violence . . . but why?
Genre: Christian Suspense Published by: Thomas Nelson Publication Date: May 11th 2021 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 0310348587 (ISBN13: 9780310348580) Series:Aftermath is a stand-alone novel
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
AFTERMATH by Terri Blackstock is a standalone Christian romantic suspense with multiple characters that pull you immediately into this fast-paced read.
Taylor Reid and two of her best friends are attending a political rally/rock concert when the stage explodes. Taylor, in fight-or-flight mode, is able to escape, but when she realizes her friends did not, she is immediately filled with not just grief, but also guilt. Taylor already is living with OCD and this tragedy sets her mind spiraling.
Dustin Webb is the co-owner of a security firm with a fellow ex-soldier. He is pulled over and the police on the word of a tipster and find the same type of explosives used in the bombing in his trunk. He is taken into custody and accused while knowing he is innocent. He calls his childhood friend, who is now an attorney for help.
Jamie Powell is shocked when she receives the call for help from her childhood friend. They have not spoken since he left for basic training even though she tried to keep in touch. She is willing to put everything on the line to defend Dustin because she believes in his innocence as they search for the real bombers.
Jamie and Dustin are strong main characters and their reconnection and faith in each other is strong even after years apart. This is a Christian romance with no sex, but strong emotional connections between the couple and their religious faith. Ms. Blackstock was also able to intertwine Taylor’s story and show her devolving and her dangerous ideation yet I always felt empathy for her. The suspense plot eventually led to the real person who set the bombing into motion and was not a surprise which was a little disappointing. It was more of a mystery investigation than there being any actual suspense when you know who did it. There are many serious issues covered, and in my opinion handled well by the author throughout this story such as mental health, cancer, death, grief and forgiveness.
I enjoyed this character driven Christian romantic suspense.
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Excerpt
Aftermath
Chapter One
Taylor Reid’s phone flashed as she snapped the selfie with her two friends, their heads touching and their backs to the stage. The shot from the third row, with the lead singer in the background and the three of them in the foreground, was perfect. No one would believe their seats were so close.
They turned around to face the band, dancing to the beat of the song they’d been listening to in the car on the way to Trudeau Hall.
Taylor quickly posted the pic, typing, “Ed Loran targets nonpoliticals for his rally with band Blue Fire. Worked on us!”
She put her phone on videotape and zoomed onto the stage.
“I don’t want it to end!” Desiree said in her ear.
“Me either!” Taylor yelled over the music.
“Maybe they’ll play again after his speech,” Mara shouted.
The song came to an end, and the crowd went crazy, begging for one more song before the band left the stage.
But an amplified voice filled the auditorium, cutting off the adulation. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the next president of the United States, Ed Loran!”
The crowd sounded less enthusiastic as the band left the stage and Ed Loran, the Libertarian celebrity magnet, made his entrance. Taylor kept cheering and clapping, letting her enthusiasm for the band segue to him.
It happened just as the candidate took the stage. The deafening sound, like some confusing combination of gunshot and lightning bolt, a blast that blacked out the lights and knocked her to the ground. Smoke mushroomed. Screams crescendoed—shrieks of terror, wailing pain, shocking anguish . . . then sudden, gentle silence, as if she were underwater. A loud ringing in her ears filled the void.
She peered under the seats, choking for breath as dimmer lights flickered through the smoke. Even from here, she could see the fallout of whatever had happened. Blood pooling on the ground, people hunkering down as she was, feet running . . . What was happening? An explosion? A crash? She looked around and couldn’t see her friends.
She clawed her way up and looked over the seat. Smoke and fire billowed from the stage into the crowd, and heat wafted over her like some living force invading the room. Muffled, muted sounds competed with the ringing.
Get out! Now! She dropped back down and crawled under two rows of seats until she came to someone limp on the floor. She felt herself scream but couldn’t hear her own voice. Scrambling to her feet, she went to her left to get to the aisle, but her foot slipped on something wet. She grabbed the seat next to her to steady herself, then launched into the frantic crowd in the aisle. The room seemed to spin, people whizzing by, people under her, people above her, people broken and ripped and still . . . She stepped and fell, crawled and ran, tripped and kicked her way to the bottlenecked doorway, then fought her way through it.
The ringing in her ears faded as she tumbled downstairs, almost falling into the lobby below. The sound of crying, coughing, wretching, and the roaring sound of pounding feet turned up as if some divine finger had fiddled with the volume.
She set her sights on the glass doors to the outside and pushed forward, moving through people and past the security stations they’d stopped at on the way in. She made it to the door and burst out into the sunlight.
Fresh, cool air hit her like freedom, but at first her lungs rejected it like some poison meant to stop her. At the bottom of the steps, on the sidewalk, she bent over and coughed until she could breathe.
After a moment, the crowd pushed her along toward the parking garage until she remembered that her car wasn’t there. She had parked on the street, blocks away. She forced her way out of the flow of people and ran a block south. Where was it?
She turned the corner. Her car was here, on this block. Near the Atlanta Trust Bank. Wasn’t it? Or was it the next block?
Sweat slicked her skin until she found her silver Accord. There!
She ran to it and pulled her keys out of her pocket, wishing she hadn’t lost the key fob. Her hands trembled as she stuck the key into the passenger side lock and got the door open. She slipped inside on the driver’s side, locked it behind her. Instinctively, she slid down, her head hidden as if someone were coming after her.
What just happened?
One minute they’d been taking selfies and videotaping the band, and the next they were on the floor . . .
Where were Mara and Desiree? She hadn’t even looked for them! Should she go back for them?
No, that would be insane. She could smell the smoke and fire from here. They would know to come to the car when they got out.
Call the police!
She tried to steady her hands as she swiped her phone on.
“911, what is your—”
“An explosion!” she cut in, her voice hoarse. “At the Ed Loran rally at Trudeau Hall!”
“Where are you now?” the woman asked in a voice that was robotically calm.
“I got out. There’s fire . . . People are still in there. Please send ambulances!”
“Ma’am, did you see what exploded?”
“No . . . the stage area, I think. I don’t know where my friends are. Please . . . hurry!”
“We’ve already dispatched the fire department and police, ma’am.”
She heard sirens from a few blocks away and cut off the call. She raised up, looking over the dashboard for the flashing lights. She couldn’t see any, but the sirens grew louder.
She knelt on the floorboard, her knees on her floormat and her elbows on her seat, and texted Desiree.
I’m at the car. Where are you?
No answer. She switched to a recent thread with Mara and texted again.
Got out. At car waiting. Where are you?
Nothing.
She dictated a group text to both of them.
Are you all right?
They were probably running or deaf, fighting their way out like she had. She tried calling them, but Mara’s phone rang to voicemail. When Desiree’s phone did the same, she yelled, “Call me! I’m waiting at the car and I’m scared. Where are you?” She was sobbing when she ended the call.
***
Author Bio
Terri Blackstock has sold over seven million books worldwide and is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. She has had over twenty-five years of success as a novelist. She’s the author of If I Run, If I’m Found, and If I Live, as well as such series as Cape Refuge, Newpointe 911, Moonlighters, and the Restoration series.
