Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for December, 2018

Unimaginable Kindness

Title: Unimaginable Kindness
Author: Samatha Harris
Release Date: 12/11/2018
Genre: YA, Romance
Waking up was never part of the plan. Turns out, I am as much a failure in death as I am at life. Now I’m trapped in a hell of my own making, being haunted by some jerk who thinks he can save me with some kind of emotional bucket list. 
 
Make a friend
Make someone’s day
Laugh until you can’t breathe
Do something unexpected
Change your mind
Find forgiveness
Do the hard thing
 
My name is Elena Carter, and I have three days. Just three days to decide if I am worth saving, to decide if one act of unimaginable kindness is enough to change someone’s life.
Available on Amazon and KU

Samatha “Sam” Harris lives near Baltimore, Maryland with her husband David and daughter Ava. Born in Florida, she migrated north which most people agree was a little backwards. She has been an artist all of her life, a Tattoo Artist for more than ten years, and a storyteller since she was a kid.

Sam has a slightly unhealthy love for Frank Sinatra, classic movies, and Jazz and Blues music, but her first love will always be reading. From Romance, to Thrillers, to Historical Fiction and everything in between, she loves to become a part of the story. As a writer she tells the stories that she would want toread.

 

Website     Facebook     Twitter     Instagram      Goodreads

My Review

5 stars

Elena Carter wakes up in the hospital. Next to her is a young man that has written a bucket list for her. But she is filled with so much pain that she has a hard time accepting what he says. Elena has a tough home life and has determined that she doesn’t belong in this world. But she is stuck in the hospital for three days as they evaluate her.

Elena hates everything since she has been through it all before. But Noah just keeps breaking through her walls. But we learn that Noah has cancer and has decided to spend his last days in the hospital. Elena starts to realize that he means a lot to her but she is afraid to deal with the feelings that he has awakened in her.

This is a short yet touching story. Elena has decided that life is not worth living yet Noah is trying to get her to see that there is so much going for her. But Noah keeps trying to show her how special she really is. When I learned of their connection it almost broke my heart. Here was this tough, hardened girl that was reaching out to help someone else.

Of course the ending is brutal and expected, I had to set the book down a couple times because I was crying. This story is short but has a powerful message.

I received a complimentary copy of this book. I voluntarily chose to read and post an honest review.

Lip Services PR
@LipServicesPR
I would like to thank Lip Service PR for the opportunity to read and share this book.

Read Full Post »

Retrieve

 

 photo Book One_Symbol Romance Internet Use - Copy 2_zpsdsriyagk.jpgYA action adventure

Date Published: 26 December 2018
Publisher: Double Edged Sword Publishing
 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png
What if the job you took to stay alive might be what kills you?
Kade knows what it is to suffer. He knows what it’s like to lose everything and everyone around him.
His job in a Stormer Unit guarantees not just his survival in the decimated country of Azetaria, but his sister Meg’s. Even if it means facing the Numachi warriors baying for his blood, he’ll do what it takes to keep her safe.
Hadley is alone and surviving the only way she knows how. By hiding where predators won’t find her and scavenging enough just to keep her alive.
When desperation drives Hadley to search for her missing brother, she mistakenly accepts the offer of recruitment into the Stormer’s camp, only to be partnered with Kade and sent as a scout into Numachi territory.
The intimidating young Stormer may just know where her brother has gone. But can they stay alive long enough to find him?

Pre-Order Link

Amazon

Excerpt
Kade’s footsteps were heavy as he approached and stared down at her. “This isn’t going to work. You need to be wearing something lighter, or we’ll never make it to Lazen.”
Hadley tried for a weak shrug but could barely muster the energy. “What do you suggest?”
Kade raised an eyebrow, and a deep frown appeared on his face as he considered her.  He continued to stare at her as she sat, legs sprawled out on the ground. “The best I can come up with is cutting your clothing.”
His eyes narrowed as he searched the length of her. A bolt of alarm jostled her into thinking. “How much are you cutting off?”
Kade dipped his chin, his voice low as he spoke. “Enough, so you don’t keep fainting, enough, so you still pass for a boy.”
He reached for a knife and wore the slightest of smiles as he unsheathed it. “Let’s hope you have hairy legs then eh?”
Hadley’s lips split into a smile before she remembered she was annoyed with him for being so smug.
About the Author

 photo New profile photo airbrushed_zps4dxl9bcx.jpgSarah Addison-Fox is a New Zealand-born misfit who writes action-packed fantasy with a smattering of punch-ups, mega amounts of romance and a dash of family values. She has an astonishing amount of nail polish, has all her creative writing credentials shoved in a drawer somewhere, and has a husband who, after 28 years, can still make her blush. When she’s not working on her multiple YA fantasy romance series’ she can be found binge watching Mission Impossible movies, drinking lager and eating curry.

Contact Links
Website    Facebook    Twitter    Blog    Goodreads
RABT Book Tours & PR
I would like to thank Reading Addiction Virtual Book Tours for the opportunity to share this book.

Read Full Post »

Blood Moon Fever

Blood Moon Fever

By Connal Bain

Genre: Horror, thriller, crime

Crime … Corruption … Werewolves. Just another day in LA.

David Goodwin isn’t having a good month. Sent on a manhunt after escaped felon ‘Hard Time Jake’ Griffon, he finds he has bitten off more than he can chew as he moves from the wooded Northern California wilderness to the mean streets of LA in pursuit of a man who has become something beyond human.

During Griffon’s bloody prison break, something happened in the woods of the Modoc Forest. Something inhuman. Something evil. Something terrifying.

Now, as the full moon prepares to rise over the City of Angels, Goodwin must piece together elements of a puzzle involving a fugitive on the run, a crooked lawyer, a violent drug cartel, and a string of bloody corpses left in the wake of an ancient terror now awake and hungry for fresh carnage.

Combining the hard-boiled realism of Jim Thompson with the gritty horror of Jack Ketchum and Clive Barker, Bain introduces a new brand of horror noir.

Savagely dark and wildly inventive, Blood Moon Fever introduces a powerful new voice to horror and crime fiction.

Amazon     Goodreads

About the Author

Connal Bain is a freelance writer and novelist living a peripatetic life in the Western United States. He has worked as a journalist, long-haul truck driver, short-order cook, labor organizer, and bookstore clerk, among other odds and ends.  Traveling from job to job around the great American West has provided him the opportunity to spend much of his free time writing, often gathering story and character ideas from his experiences on the road.

An avid reader from an early age, he became a horror and mystery enthusiast upon discovering a treasure trove of paperback originals in his parents’ basement in junior high school, beginning with John D. MacDonald and Manley Wade Wellman and working up through King, Herbert, and the late great Jim Thompson.

His fascination with all things dark and creepy grew as he expanded his tastes to the classics and the pulps, always finding pleasure in the genre at hand.  This brought him a great respect for the printed word, regardless of the merits of canonical “literary” value.  Always in search of a tale well-told, he began writing his own detective and supernatural horror stories in high school, and has been writing ever since.

Website     Twitter

 

My Review

4 Stars

Jake Griffon is an inmate at the Redwood State Penitentiary in Northern California. One day he is visited by Rachel Lewis, an attorney that says she can help him. But he quickly learns that she is going to help him escape. But once outside he decides to do his own thing and things quickly go south, especially when he meets a stranger in the forest. But when he gets to LA things go from bad to worse when a lot of people are not going to just let him get away.

David Goodwin is sent to catch Jake. But this is not just a simple jail break with drug dealers and the cartels. This also involves the world of werewolves and the like. It’s going to be up to David to figure out what is going on and try to catch or stop Jake before he causes lots of problem in LA.

This is a great story. It starts out like a normal thriller. Bad guy is helped to get out of prison as long as he agrees to do the bidding of even bigger bad guys. Then turns against them and all hell breaks loose. But then it takes a supernatural twist that just amps up the action until you are rushing to get to the end of the book to see how the story ends.

This is great read, one to definitely check out. It’s the first book I have read from Connal Bain but it won’t be my last.

I received a complimentary copy of this book. I voluntarily chose to read and post an honest review.

Excerpt

Water ran down the bathroom sink drain, stained red and then pink before finally running clear. Griffon splashed water on his face, clearing away spots of blood and bits of flesh and hair. He ran handfuls of water over his hair, slicking it back with his fingers before looking into the mirror over the sink. He turned his head from left to right, mesmerized by the return of normalcy to his features, then wiped the sink clean with his hands before turning off the water.

He grabbed a towel off the bar mounted to the wall and glanced at the slip of paper resting on the toilet tank. A Home Depot invoice with a photocopy of a returned check attached. He studied the name and address on the check copy while he dried his hands.

“Well, pleased to meet you, Mr. Hollister,” he chuckled, crumpling the papers and burying them beneath a pile of used tissues in the trash next to the toilet.

He froze, listening intently. Moving silently out of the bathroom, he slunk to the living room and stood still, listening. A light breeze blew in through the open windows, stirring the mesh curtains.  He turned to the front door and dropped into a crouch.  For a moment, the only sound came from the radio in the kitchen. Suddenly, the door crashed open, swinging from broken hinges. Tear gas canisters crashed through the window screens, filling the room with a haze of chemical smoke. Black-clad SWAT team members burst through the door frame in respirators and full body armor.  Beams of light crisscrossed the room from flashlights clipped under the barrels of their assault rifles.

Griffon whirled as the back door shattered and more SWAT officers swarmed in. Smoke rapidly filled the room.

“On the ground! On the ground now! Hands behind your head. Do it now!”

Griffin let his face go slack and complied.  One officer stood over him, the barrel of his M4 aimed at his head while another landed with one knee on his back and cuffed his wrists behind his back.

“We clear?” said the man aiming at Griffon.

“We’re clear,” said a voice from the kitchen. “Sir, you’d better come back here.”

The team leader stepped away from Griffon’s prone form, another officer immediately stepping into his place. He crossed to the kitchen where a group of officers were huddled, staring at something partially hidden by the door.

The walls and counters were bathed in streaks of blood and gore, running in the crazy patterns of a psychotic abstract painter.  Behind the island counter, a pair of nylon-clad legs protruded, ending in bloody knobs where they had been torn off at the knees. White bone and cartilage glistened under the florescent lights.

To call the room an abattoir would be an insult to abattoirs. Bits of flesh and muscle lay scattered across the floor and a slimy blood trail led around the corner to the side.

“Where’s the rest of her?”

“Something over here,” said another officer in a shaky voice, pointing at the sink.

The team leader walked to the sink, sidestepping the pools of blood on the floor.  He peered inside, ignoring the gagging sounds from the other men in the room. In the sink lay an eyeball, a gangly network of nerves still attached. The blue iris stared back at him, the whites shot through with a spiderwebbing of thin red lines.

“What the fuck did he do to her? Check the knives, power tools. Everything. Anything. There’s still a lot of body missing.”

“Sir,” said an officer standing at the edge of the blood trail at the opposite end of the kitchen. He vomited into an empty evidence bag and stepped back. The team leader edged the crime scene and peered around the corner.

“Aw, Jesus…”

I would like to thank Sage Adderley Knox for the opportunity to read and share this book.

Read Full Post »

In Servitude

Inservitude

I’m thrilled to share this gorgeous book today! In Servitude by Heleen Kist, has been blowing readers away in Europe since it’s release and now is taking North America by storm!

Today I will be sharing an exclusive excerpt, and inviting you to enter an international giveaway for a chance to win a paperback copy of this exciting thriller!

In Servitude is also available for review through R&R Book Tours. Find out how you can get a copy below!

InServitude_HeleenKist_Cover_.jpgIn Servitude

Publication Date: August 23, 2018

Genre: Thriller/ Suspense/ Mystery

Do you owe your family your life?

Grace thought her sister led a charmed existence.

She was wrong.

Now she has to pay the price.

When Grace’s beloved sister Glory dies in a car crash, her carefully planned life spirals out of control. She discovers Glory had been manipulated into illegal activities at her trendy vegan café. What’s worse, Grace finds herself an unwitting accomplice now forced to take over her sister’s shady dealings.

Determined to keep her fingers clean and protect those Glory left behind, Grace plots to escape the clutches of Glasgow’s criminal underworld. But her moral certainty is challenged when more family secrets emerge and her sister’s past intentions remain unclear.

Grace grows convinced Glory was murdered. Why won’t anyone listen?

Seeking justice, she finds betrayal…

Add to Goodreads

Excerpt

inservitude_heleenkist_cover_1.jpg

Blue pulled at the lead. I let him off once I’d scanned the area and noted no loose dogs. Only a lone figure loitering. His eye line crossed mine as he also examined the park, and paused on me long enough to raise a creepy sensation.

I moved to a bench by the play park and pretended to tie my laces. When I straightened up, the man was striding straight towards me. I searched for Blue, hoping for a semblance of protection, but he was nowhere to be seen. Nor was anyone else.

Before I could stop him, the man sat down next to me. He whistled and shouted, ‘Here boy!’ then faced me with a disturbing grin. As if he knew the dog wouldn’t come. I jumped to my feet and looked around. What had he done?

On the second blow of silent air through my dry mouth, Blue appeared from behind a tree thirty yard away. Safe. He showed no interest in me or the man, instead sniffing out the ground’s many treasures.

I turned back to the intruder. Standing over him gave me an edge—at least I thought it did—and I raised my chin and my voice when I asked, ‘Do I know you?’

He chuckled. ‘Nah, hen. I’m only the messenger.’

‘What?’

His smile faded. ‘We’re not very happy about you closing the café for so long. You need to open up again. There’s a delivery coming on Thursday.’

‘What do you mean? How do you—’

His eyes turned to ice as he grabbed my wrist in a flash. ‘We’ll be very disappointed if you’re not there to receive the goods. Ken what I’m saying?’

He rushed off, his dark coat billowing behind him like a cape, almost engulfing Blue who circled his legs, tail wagging, until he turned towards the road.

Available on Amazon (Everywhere)!

About the Author

InServitude_HeleenKist_Author

Heleen Kist is a Dutch businesswoman who lived all over the world while growing up and for her career. Then she fell in love with a Scotsman and his country, and now writes about its (sometimes scary) people from her garden office in Glasgow.

She was selected as an ‘up and coming new writer’ and awarded a Spotlight at Bloody Scotland 2018, the International crime writing festival.

Her debut psychological suspense novel ‘In Servitude’ was inspired by Heleen’s expertise in small business finance mixed with her friend’s courageous idea to open a vegan cafe in a city renowned for its dubious diet. She is currently working on her next book, which will be dark women’s fiction.

Heleen Kist | Amazon | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

2 paperback copies of In Servitude by Heleen Kist are up for grabs!!!

Winners will be selected at random on 23 December and notified personally, only your initials will be used in the winner’s announcement.

Enter Here!

Book Blitz Organized By:

R&RButto200x200

I would like to thank R&R Book Tours for the opportunity to share this book.

Read Full Post »

Prodigy
Giver of Life Trilogy Book 3
by Kristy Centeno
Genre: YA Paranormal
Leah Parker’s fate had always been controlled by others—who she loved
and who she lost. Five years after the tragic murder of her
daughter’s father, she’s done everything in her power to protect
her little girl from the outside world. But she’s rebelled against
fate in the past and no act of defiance goes unpunished in the
Enchanter community.
The ultimate power wants to correct the damage done by Jae and the only
way they can do that is by getting rid of her special child—a child
destined to replace all branches of Enchanter magic one day.
But, Leah isn’t willing to go down without a fight. She will do anything
to save what Jae died to protect, even if she must turn against the
Circle of Elders. But when her first love, Brandon Morris walks back
into her life, Leah knows nothing will ever be the same again.
Leah must confront her past, before she and her daughter are erased from
her family line. She must get over her guilt and rely on Brandon to
ensure her daughter’s survival. But will the pain from their past
destroy their friendship forever? Or will their old bond hold them
together and carry them through what’s ahead?
Kristy Centeno loves to spin tales of creatures that go bump in the night, with a sprinkle of romance to top them off. Her passion for writing stems from a lifelong enjoyment of reading and the pleasure derived from the magical worlds created by authors like her. She prefers her female leads strong, independent, and stubborn who will stop at nothing to save their loved ones and protect those they care for.
Kristy currently resides in Pennsylvania with her five kids and a trio of noisy parakeets. When she’s not working or writing, she juggles her free time between raising a handful of minions and pursuing other career goals.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

I would like to thank Silver Dagger Book Tours for the opportunity to read and share this book.

Read Full Post »

DeathinVermilion.jpg

To get ready for the 2019 release of book 2 in The Cape Mysteries, I’m sharing Death in Vermilion today, the book that started it all! I dare you to read the first chapter and not download a copy today!

39863595Death in Vermilion

Publication Date: April 16th, 2018

Genre: Mystery/ Thriller/ Suspense

KWL Cover Contest of 2018, Mystery Category Nominee!

A psychological thriller about murder among friends … and enemies.

Who do you trust?

Leila Goodfriend is laying down the bones of a painting. Interrupted by Iris, the noisy, unlikeable artist in the studio upstairs, Leila becomes distracted and annoyed.

When she discovers the racket was actually Iris’ dead body hitting the floor, Leila becomes obsessed: Who murdered Iris?

The other Red Barn Cooperative artists—competitive, jealous and hypocritical—are prime suspects. They all hated Iris. “An artist owes his life to his art,” Iris said.

Iris was good for a laugh. But no one is laughing now.

In this gripping mystery, new author Barbara Elle paints a clever and twisted picture of women and sisters, whose lives are entwined by a brutal murder in a charming Cape Cod town.

Alibis fall apart. Plot twists multiply. And Leila comes to a dangerous conclusion.

Add to Goodreads

Excerpt

red-paint-splatter-e1530293377416

Chapter 1

Bellies and Strips

There was no glance more cutting or cruel. The narrowing of unsympathetic eyes a shade of cool, blue slate, like Dylan’s on the cover of Highway 61 Revisited. The imperceptible flare of nostrils, followed by a slow yoga exhalation in Savasana, the corpse. It wasn’t going well.

Leila Goodfriend was laying down the bones of a painting. She took a step back from her easel. A no-name clam shack clung fearlessly as a barnacle to the edge of the old East End pier. A forlorn wooden structure, barely bigger than a Punch & Judy puppet stage, had withstood the fierce winds whipping off the water in the dead of winter. The pier was deserted. Anyone could paint a sunny day.

After outlining the shack in ghostly charcoal strokes, she stood, hand on hip, poised with a palette loaded with ultramarine and cobalt blues for the sky, sap green for foliage, a transparent manganese blue hue for waves in the water, Van Dyck brown for the pier’s planks and Naples Yellow Hue for sunlight. Flake white blobs dabbed in the foreground could be gulls, or children, or discarded clam containers. She hadn’t decided which. Leila loved that shack, the rough pier, and the view of dotted Race Point Lighthouse off the distance. Painting was all about execution, feeling a connection to the subject, the composition, the angles of light. Though local artists mostly painted popular summer scenes of boats and beaches.

That’s what the summer birds, vacationers who nested in the Cape Cod dunes from June until the end of August, bought. Her husband Joe dubbed them the dorks of summer. Leila didn’t care what unflattering name Joe had for them, or whether the summer birds cared as much about this place she called home as she did. She wanted to sell them a painting capturing what she loved about this place.

If she was lucky, and painting was largely a matter of luck, random strokes on the canvas would become a painting, At the Clam Bar: Succulent Bellies and Strips. If one of the summer birds bought her painting, she’d be happy. Even the most dedicated of artists needs affirmation sometimes.

A loud whacking thump overhead jarred Leila rudely from her thoughts; the thud traveled like a jolt of electricity down her spine Immediately, Leila knew the disturbance, of course, was Iris. Iris again. Always Iris. Of the six other artists who called the Red Barn home, her studio had to be, unfortunately, overhead.

And inevitably, as Iris worked, the creaking old floorboards quaked under her relentless assault with her flapping Birkenstock sandals.

Leila complained about Iris to Joe more than once, actually almost every day. It was impossible for someone who barely grazed five feet could make so much noise. Iris could be quiet if she tried, she’d say. She was inconsiderate. She was pompous. “Art,” Iris would say, “has a life of its own and an artist owes his life to his art.” Quoting Iris was good for a laugh.

If Iris bothered her so much, Joe would say, why keep talking about it? Why not rent a different studio? That would make sense, except Leila loved her space, had been there for nearly five years, and was lucky to have found it in this touristy town. Besides, she hated giving in to her own annoyance; she’d learn to ignore Iris if it killed her. Maybe, someday, Iris would just float away like a child’s birthday balloon. No such luck; gravity worked overtime with every tread Iris inflicted in her flapping Birkenstock sandals. Leila fought her first instinct, which was to grab the long, telescoping pole by the casement window, stand on a stool and bang her weapon of choice sharply on the lofty ceiling, twice. It wouldn’t work. It never did. Iris would ignore her.

Instead, Leila turned up NPR on the radio. She could drown out Iris with the sound of undemanding human voices on the radio. NPR was excellent company and, when necessary, excellent white noise. The hourly news, a lengthy interview, a personal piece affected in that breathless NPR accent was the perfect antidote for distraction. And the distraction was usually Iris.

Iris McNeil Thornton was a fellow member of the Red Barn Art Cooperative at Castle Road, which was housed in the happily dilapidated Red Barn Studio. It was high on a hill, overlooking Pamet Marsh, close enough to spy the flights of blue herons and egrets wheeling through the Aliziran Crimson sky, the sun an orb of Cadmium Yellow falling into the salt marshes from her window.

Among the Red Barn’s many charms were the old building’s quirky twists and turns, the sizeable studio spaces with high ceilings from its former life as the Southwind Bros. Button and Snap factory. Leila loved the patina on the old, uneven oak floorboards, the room secreted under the stairwell, doors that jammed and staircases that creaked.

But it was the heady mix of gesso, turp, linseed, pigments, primer, developers and emulsions, the fat smell of oil layered with acrylic resin and a faint dash of watercolor, an acrid, chemical concoction heady in the nasal passages, smells as familiar as the scent of a baby, that made it home.

Not that the Red Barn was without its problems. The daily irritations of artistry and intimacy meant the Red Barn artists were often less than happy. And when the Red Barn artists were less than happy, which occurred as frequently as the tides, they would reach for anything on hand ⎯ brooms, clogs, slammed doors, sighs in the hallways, post-it notes on the bulletin board, giggles behind a back, and any combination thereof ⎯ to convey their displeasure. Under other circumstances such communications might be considered rude, but the Red Barn operated by its own set of rules.

It wasn’t that the Red Barn, a collective space of otherwise solitary individuals, didn’t have its share of fellowship and communal spirit. Sometimes it was nice to see a friendly face.

But, recently, their friendships had been called into question by a series of items gone missing, small stuff, seemingly at random, from their studios, Daklon paintbrush, a can of gesso, and unused tube of paint and a half-used tube of paint. A box of plastic gloves was now empty; which Leila was sure had been half-full. No

one said theft, not at first. It was more like, did I leave this in your studio? did you find this in the bathroom? I must be a little crazy because I was sure I had it, but as the missing items mounted, minor though they were, so did whispering, suspicion, and an uneasy sense someone, maybe one of them, was a thief.

It made Leila uneasy; maybe someone was invading her studio, without her knowing. She debated whether, like Iris, she should lock her door at the end of the day. But she shook it off as unnecessary paranoia and decided to ignore it.

Leila took a deep breath, brushed back her unruly, graying curls, squinting at her canvas. When she painted, the circling steps of the heavy woman upstairs receded from consciousness, and time was suspended.

The wood planks of the pier were muddied. The perspective wasn’t quite right. The colors weren’t right. Leila waggled the end of her paintbrush like a cigar between her lips. It was a messy habit. She looked down at the black-and-white photo of the shack, not that she had any intention of painting the snapshot, any more than a musician only plays the notes.

Leila picked up her palette knife. Shaped like a small trowel for digging in the dirt, its usefulness came from its versatility in blending colors, creating textural effects, or scraping across the surface of a painting to obliterate an offense. Artists can be rough on their work; Leila was her own toughest critic.

The pier had to go. Leila wielded the knife, scraping hard until she hit the tooth of the canvas. She preferred working on a good, tightly woven cotton duck. It wasn’t an inert surface, so it recovered quickly after Leila’s brief attack. She dabbed a rag soaked in turpentine on the wound. The reconstruction of the pier could wait until tomorrow.

What time was it? Leila lost track of time as she worked. She never wore a watch in the studio.

But if she left too late, Joe would be annoyed his port wine reduction for the seared tuna had broken. It wasn’t the sauce—he could revive with a quick whisk of butter on a low heat—it was her spending more and more time at the studio and coming home later. The sky over Cape Cod Bay was a wistful grey heading into night.

Leila put down her palette knife, turned down her radio, and listened. There was quiet, finally quiet, blissful silence.

Now, at the end of the day, Leila had to steel herself for the most infuriating moment of the day: Iris leaving. The torrential thumps of Iris’ flapping Birkenstocks as she gathered up her belongings, slammed the window, searched for her purse, and slammed her door. The old oak boards were punished as as Iris clomped overhead.

The stomp was followed by the slam. Iris was incapable of doing anything quietly. There was some relief in the slam—it meant Iris was no longer overhead. The Red Barn artists never said good night, pretending not to notice each other’s comings and goings. So Leila didn’t expect Iris to poke her head in, or wave when she passed by. However, the daily drama of the swirling clamor that was Iris, like a performer doing a star turn on the stage, made it impossible not to notice her entrances and exits.

Leila walked to the window. The light of an Indian summer day was fading. Sailboats moored in the bay listed drunkenly. Had the final thump earlier signaled Iris’ departure? Leila walked back to her canvas. She recognized this as the same solitary circling as that of her neighbor overhead. It was ironic, but that didn’t stop Iris from being an annoyance.

She put her tools on her workbench. She should rinse them in turpentine and water in the bathroom at the end of the hall—the brushes would be tackier and difficult to clean after drying overnight. Oh well, she’d deal with that in the morning. Grabbing her backpack, she turned out the lights and closed her door. The hallway was silent. The other studio doors on her floor were closed. No Philomena, no Dové.

But something in the quality of the jarring loud noise earlier somehow made the quiet louder.

The stairs were poorly lit, even after Leila switched on the bare bulb dangling overhead. The whole damn place was a fire hazard. She climbed to the second floor. No Liz, no Gretchen. Later, she couldn’t quite explain why hadn’t she gone home.

The crap fixture in the upstairs hall, that never worked right, was out, as usual. The damn, dusty moose head Iris had mounted above her door stared down dolefully through its blind, button eyes. Its antlers wore a fine coat of dust.

Iris’ door was open a crack, which surprised Leila. Iris worked behind closed, locked doors, all day, every day. The other Red Barn artists left their doors open at least a smidgen, not exactly an invitation, but not a deliberately antisocial act. Iris had no such compunctions.

Leila knocked. Silence. She hesitated. Should she leave Iris alone? She took a few steps back toward the stairs, but turned around. What harm was it peeking inside? “Iris, its only me, Leila. ” No answer. “Iris, are you there?”

Leila stared through the crack in the door. At first, she thought the room was empty, but as her eyes adjusted, Leila made out a shape, or maybe a shadow, in the center of the studio.

The value of the only available light source, through the far window, made it difficult to see. Iris refused to use artificial light. She insisted on painting ‘as the Old Masters had’, that is, only by natural light. For a time, she had painted by candlelight, until the Red Barn got wind of it, banning burning candles before Iris burned the place down.

Leila stared at the shape. It didn’t move. Iris never left her door unlocked. Maybe she’d left something behind and would come back for it. Leila pushed the door open further, venturing into the silent studio, under the disapproving gaze of the mildewed moose, inching towards the shadow.

Iris, who incurred the Red Barn artists’ collective ire by deprecating the work of her fellow artists, neglecting to lock the front door, leaving puddles around communal hall sink, and far worse, as the prime suspect in the ongoing war of toilet squatting accusations, that same annoying Iris, was splayed on the floor, eyes wide open, inert as a tube of sepia.

It was a body. Iris’ body. Later, Leila recalled the body like a dead deer, abandoned on the side of the road after an accident. She remembered noting the color of Iris’ skin, like the underpainting of flesh in a neutral shade—what artists called grisaille, or dead coloring.

Ironically, under the circumstances, the scene is not unlike Iris’ own brooding assemblages: the carnage of death, overripe fruit in silver bowls, bird carcasses on platters, and game animals, fresh and bloodied, trophies of the hunt hung in the background, rendered in the style of the Old Masters.

And later, Leila was vaguely ashamed of her observations, her detachment. But, she thought defensively, isn’t observation was a habit developed over a lifetime?

Tentatively, Leila inched forward, reaching out her hand to touch the body. She yanked it back as if it was submerged in a shark tank. Iris was surprisingly warm, alive warm.

As her eyes adjusted to the low light, Leila saw Iris’ blood was a seeping stain from her flowing blue dress onto the floorboards. The red was the red every paint manufacturer had tried, but failed, to capture in a tube. Brilliant, blood red. But the eyes were dead, even if the heart was beating. Leila’s heart dropped a beat. Fear crept up her throat. Leila had to look away; she couldn’t look at those eyes. Should she call out? Is anyone here? But it was better she was alone, even if it was with a dead body. But, Iris wasn’t alone.

A small figure stood—as if on guard—over the body. Leila bent down to look at it: it was a wooden artist’s mannequin, no bigger than a child’s toy, standing guard over Iris. She recognized him immediately.

Jesus, it was Fred, fucking Fred— Leila, in a fanciful mood, had painted the figure to be anatomically correct, as well as well-endowed—who had gone missing from her studio months ago.

But poor Fred, as an eyewitness to a crime, could have nothing to say. There was no doubt he was Fred, and that he belonged to her. Bending down to pick up her missing mannequin, Leila gazed into his dead eyes. What to do?

In truth, she was both embarrassed by her handiwork, and concerned his presence could be construed as evidence at the scene of the crime; she pocketed Fred and in a sleight of hand he disappeared.

Leila didn’t need Fred to paint the picture. Iris prone. The blood. The burnished wood handle of a knife stuck in an ample left breast. Iris had been murdered. Leila didn’t scream. Leila wasn’t a screamer

Available on Amazon & Kobo

About the Author

barbaraelle

In her stunning debut thriller, author Barbara Elle paints a clever and twisted picture of women and sisters, whose lives are entwined by a brutal murder in a charming Cape Cod town. Death In Vermilion asks: Who can you trust?

After falling love with books and writing at a young age, she honed her writing chops as a copywriter at Macmillan, Doubleday Books and other publishers. She reported on local events, news and personalities working as a freelance journalist.

She grew up in Boston, but as an adult became a New Yorker. However, her writing draws on people and places she remembers, so Death In Vermilion is set on Cape Cod, a place of memories.

Barbara continues collecting characters and plots, often traveling the world with her touring musician husband, exploring Buddhist temples in Beijing, crypts in Vienna or Kabuki Theater in Tokyo. She always packs a notebook and a laptop.

She is currently working on the second book in The Cape Mysteries, Death in Smoke, due for publication in 2019.

Facebook | Goodreads | @barbaraelleauth (Twitter)

For your chance to win a digital copy of Death in Vermilion, click the link below!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Book Blitz Organized By:

R&RButto200x200

I would like to thank R&R Book Tours for the opportunity to share this book.

Read Full Post »

Caribbean Layoff

32282276

Caribbean Layoff by C. Michael Lance

Steve and Jen Henning have both been laid off in the great recession of the early 21st century. Their marriage is falling apart. On the way home from coaching at a martial arts tournament, Steve witnesses a single-vehicle wreck on a lonely Kansas highway, and stops to render aid. The driver is dead. The van is full of drugs and cash. Steve takes the money. He thinks it’s the perfect crime. No witnesses. No fingerprints. No sign the cash was ever there. Steve and Jen come together in a plot to move the stolen funds to a Caribbean tax haven. But, the cartel wants its money back, and sends a DEA investigator on the cartel payroll and two of its enforcers to track the theft. Perhaps it’s not the perfect crime.

Amazon     BN     Goodreads

 C.M. Lance

About the Author

An Aerospace Engineer, Accountant, Product Manager, Operations Director, Sales Executive, and Writer in that approximate chronological order.

He’s always enjoyed writing, even though early writings were mostly Product Specifications, Sales Proposals, and Departmental Budgets. Most readers assumed those were fictional.

Currently lives in a motorhome and is traveling the US with his Interior Designer wife and their remaining Granddog.

Three grown children span the United States from New York to Austin, TX to San Diego.

Website     Facebook

 

My Review

5 stars

Things have not been going well from Steve and Jen Henning. They are have been laid off, their marriage is falling apart, and they are about to lose everything. But on the way home from a martial arts tournament Steven witnesses a single vehicle crash. When he checks on the driver he finds him dead but he also finds a lot of drugs and money. Thinking that no one would really miss the money Steve walls away with $30 million in cash. But the cartel is not happy and will go to any length to find their money. They get a lead and follow Steve to get their money back.

This book is full of action and some serious bad guys. But I really like how there was some thought with what Steve and Jen were going to do with the money. Granted they still did some stupid things but that just makes them more believable.

This was a great read and one that I recommend checking out if you like thrillers. It will keep you on the edge of your seat and flipping pages like crazy. This is the first book of Lance’s that I have read but it won’t be my last.

I received a complimentary copy of this book. I voluntarily chose to read and post an honest review.

I would like to thank Ari at Candid Book Reviews for the opportunity to read and share this book.

Read Full Post »

The Devil’s Son

The Devil’s Son

by Charles Kowalski

on Tour November 19 – December 21, 2018

Synopsis:

The Devil's Son by Charles Kowalski

The son of a notorious Nazi fugitive is running for U.S. President. A Secret Service Agent sworn to protect him meets a beautiful Mossad spy determined to stop him.

 

Book Details:

Genre: Political, Espionage thriller
Published by: Seabridge Press
Publication Date: July 24, 2018
Number of Pages: 333
ISBN: 1724248731 (ISBN13: 9781724248732)
Purchase Links: Amazon | Goodreads

 

Read an excerpt:

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA
1960

Azriel “Azi” Horowitz grimaced as his partner’s Zippo flared in the darkness beside him. He had never been a smoker, and in the confines of the Ford Mainline – a clunker, but the best rental they could find, and not out of place in the working-class Olivos neighborhood in Partido Vicente Lopez – the fumes from the Lucky Strikes nauseated him.

“Yaki, you know I have a little problem with noxious gases in closed spaces.”

Yaakov Lavan shrugged, with his usual easygoing grin. “We’re just two old friends having a chat, right, Azi? And we have to do it in the car, because my wife won’t let me smoke near the baby.”

Horowitz had to concede the point, although he still thought it was a rather thin cover story. One small mercy of operating in Argentina was that the sight of two men conversing in a parked car at night was not altogether uncommon, but every little extra touch of realism they could add was vital. If anyone accosted them, they would have a lot more explaining to do than either of them could manage in Spanish.

Lavan took a deep drag from his cigarette, held it for a moment, and slowly exhaled a white cloud with a look of supreme contentment. As much as Horowitz hated the smell of tobacco, he felt a touch of envy for his partner, and wished he had some similarly portable means of calming his own nerves. His mind continually flitted over the long journey that had brought them to this moment – the years of detective work that had traced their targets to Argentina, the months of secretly stalking and planning in their theater of operations – and all the hundreds of things that could still go wrong.

In addition to the unease in his mind, Horowitz felt another kind in his body: he desperately needed a bathroom break. Thanks to one of the men they were waiting for, his kidneys had stopped growing at the age of seven.

Their targets called themselves Carlos Vasquez and José Mendoza, and had the identity cards to prove it, but Horowitz had first made their acquaintance under different names. One was SS Hauptsturmführer Karl Weiss, #7278, the sadistic Lagerführer – deputy commandant – of Auschwitz. The other, holding the same SS rank, was Josef Mengele, #317885, a living desecration of the title of “doctor.” Anyone who had ever passed through the gates of Auschwitz knew him by yet another name: der Totesengel, the Angel of Death.

If all goes well, Horowitz thought, tonight will be a night for the history books. With luck and the blessing of the Almighty, they would soon have their targets in hand and be on their way to the safe house code-named Tira – “castle” in Hebrew – where Mengele and Weiss would go straight into an improvised holding cell, to join the worst of the worst: SS Obersturmbannführer Adolf Eichmann, “the Master,” architect of the Holocaust, personally responsible for the murder of millions.

The Israeli government naturally regarded Eichmann as the grand prize, but Horowitz had a personal score to settle with Mengele and Weiss. As soon as the cattle car arrived in Auschwitz, Weiss had sent Horowitz’s mother and father directly to the gas chambers, but knowing Mengele’s notorious fascination with twins, kept Azriel and his sister Rachel alive as subjects for his experiments. Mengele had tried to change Rachel’s eye color by injecting her eyeballs with a substance that left her blind, and then infected her with typhus, keeping a careful record of her wasting away. When her end was near, rather than let the disease claim her, Mengele passed her on to Weiss, who used her in one final experiment to see how long it would take to die from a new type of lethal injection.

It had taken twelve minutes and nineteen seconds before she stopped screaming.

“Look,” came Lavan’s voice, bringing Horowitz sharply back to the present. “Is that them?”

Horowitz gazed through the windshield and saw two figures staggering tipsily along the route from the Hofbräuhaus, the German restaurant Mengele and Weiss were known to frequent, towards the guest house where they lived. At first, the darkness and distance made it impossible to make out their features. Then they stepped into the light of a street lamp, and Horowitz risked a quick glance through his binoculars. At the sight of their faces, he felt a sudden burning pain in his left forearm.

Fifteen years had passed since Horowitz last saw those faces, but there could be no mistaking the granite jaw and ice-blue eyes of Weiss. Nor was there any doubt about the gap-toothed smile that gave Mengele the appearance of a little boy – one who delighted in torturing anything smaller and weaker than himself. Many children in Auschwitz had seen that smile on the face of their self-proclaimed “Uncle Josef” as he sat them on his knee, gave them sweets, stroked their hair – and in a soft, soothing voice, ordered an aide to inject them with poison.

“It’s them,” Horowitz said.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Lavan stubbed out his cigarette. He turned around in the driver’s seat, pointed a hooded flashlight at the car behind them, and gave it two quick on-off bursts. The crew in the second car would relay the signal to Tabor and Rosen, who were waiting around the corner.

Right on cue, they appeared a moment later, Tabor in a suit and fedora, Rosen in a coat that would allow her ample freedom of movement. They sauntered toward Mengele and Weiss, with the same relaxed, unsteady gait as their targets, pretending to be absorbed in conversation, occasionally leaning on each other for support. To all appearances, they were a couple coming home from a party with a few too many drinks under their belts, too wrapped up in each other to take much notice of their surroundings.

They would maintain this masquerade until they passed their targets, right between the two cars. Then they would turn and grab them from behind, as the driver of the rear car switched on the high beams to blind them. Horowitz, and the other strongman in the rear car, would jump out and help Tabor and Rosen subdue their targets and bundle one of them into each car. They would apply an ether mask to knock them out, and the two cars would take off on separate routes to Tira, where they and their captives would stay until the plane was ready to take them all back to Israel.

And then, Horowitz thought, all the stories you thought would lie buried with your victims will be told to the world, from a courtroom in Jerusalem. The world will know what we mean when we say, “Never forget.”

He pulled on a pair of gloves. The May night was chill enough to warrant them, but more than that, he might have to use his hand to muffle Weiss’s screams. It revolted him to think of his bare hands touching the mouth that had ordered his parents gassed and his sister tortured to death.

Tabor and Rosen were fifty paces away from their targets and closing.

Forty paces.

Thirty.

Horowitz heard the roar of a motorcycle approaching from behind. He tensed, and took an anxious glance in the rear-view mirror. The last thing they needed at this moment was for the police to pass by. The upcoming celebrations for Argentina’s hundred-fiftieth anniversary, which had all of Buenos Aires in a festive mood, had proven to be a double-edged sword for Horowitz and his team. The diplomatic entourage from Israel, one of many visiting from all over the world, had provided the perfect cover, but the influx of high-level international visitors also meant the constant menace of police patrols and checkpoints. The Mossad team was conducting this operation without the knowledge or approval of the Argentine government, and if they were found out, they might well go to jail. And, far worse, their targets might well go free.

The motorcycle passed by the lead car. Horowitz took a sidelong glance and saw no police insignia, just a single rider driving rather unsteadily. He breathed a little easier, but his heart was still pounding.

Twenty paces.

Ten.

“Get ready to meet the real Angel of Death, you sons of bitches,” Horowitz muttered aloud.

***

Excerpt from The Devil’s Son by Charles Kowalski. Copyright © 2018 by Charles Kowalski. Reproduced with permission from Charles Kowalski. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Charles Kowalski

Charles Kowalski is an active member of International Thriller Writers. His debut thriller, MIND VIRUS, won the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers’ Colorado Gold Award, and was a finalist for Killer Nashville’s Silver Falchion Award for Best Thriller of 2017. His latest, THE DEVIL’S SON, was shortlisted for the 2018 Adventure Writers’ Competition Grandmaster Award. He divides his time between Japan, where he teaches at a university, and Downeast Maine.

Catch Up With Charles Kowalski On:
Website, Goodreads, Twitter, & Facebook!

 

My Review

4 Stars

Argentina in the 1960’s, we find Mossad agent Azriel Horowitz hunting down the Nazi fugitives Karl Weiss and Josef Mengele but they escape. Zip to present day and Henry Hale is about to be elected as president of the United States. Rachel Horowitz, Azriel’s daughter and Mossad agent too is tasked with keeping Henry from being elected as president. The reason is that Henry is Karl Weiss’s son. This is not an easy job and Rachel is going to have to find help. Thankfully an accident gives her an in.

This book is full of action and thrills from the start. It makes you think of the possibilities we face with our elections. Do we really know the candidates and do they really intend to take care of their people?

Rachel is tough but she quickly learns that she may be in over her head. But running into Secret Service Agent Emmett Miller may have been the best thing to happen to both of them. Things don’t go as planned and twists and turns at every corner keep the tension going through the story.

I really enjoyed this book. It definitely fit with the present day political drama. This is a great read and one that you should check out.

I received a complimentary copy of this book. I voluntarily chose to read and post an honest review.

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

https://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=288101

Enter to win!

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Charles Kowalski. There will be 1 winner of one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card. The giveaway begins on November 19, 2018 and runs through December 22, 2018. Void where prohibited.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours

I would like to thank Partners in Crime Book Tours for the opportunity to read and share this book.

Read Full Post »

Darcy the Dog Who Talked

Book Details:

Book Title: Darcy The Dog Who Talked by Liane Carter
Category: Adult Non-fiction, 152 pages
Genre: Pets / Memoir (told from dog’s perspective)
Publisher: Independently published
Release date: June 18, 2018
Tour dates: Nov 26 to Dec 21, 2018
Content Rating: PG (mild language – such as hell, bloody, damn)

Book Description:

I’d never adopted a dog before. I had no idea what to do and this dog needed someone who did. An abused dog and a clueless human, we embarked on a journey of love, struggles and joy.

“Every abandoned Darcy dog needs a Liane.”
– Teresa Roberts, Veterinary Nurse, Hertfordshire, England

To read more reviews, please visit Liane Carter’s page on iRead Book Tours.
Meet the Author:

Devoted to giving her readers smiles, tears and tension in both her poignant non-fiction and fast-paced fantasy adventures, Liane Carter bares her soul. Author of The Chronicles of Joya, The Dream Devils, Darcy: The Dog Who Talked and Tammy: The Little Cat With A Big Attitude, she has written features and a weekly column for Costa Blanca News, articles for Writing Magazine, and has taught over 150 writing workshops. She pours her innate joy into her books and also expresses it in nature, playing instruments, creating art and dancing.

Connect with Liane: Website ~ Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Pinterest


My Review

5 stars

Darcy, first called Blackie, had a poor past after having puppies and been abused by her previous owner. She was turned in to the shelter after escaping one too many times. Liane volunteered at the shelter and just knew that she needed to adopt her. Liane had never had a dog and didn’t really know what to expect but she also adopted an abused dog that has several issues that needs to be worked out. But with lots of patience and love Darcy comes around and becomes a very loving dog with a couple quirks.

After reading Tammy The Little Cat With a Big Attitude I just knew that I was going to love this book before I even opened it. Darcy had such a rough life before being rescued by Liane. Having been in Liane’s position I just knew that this was not going to be an easy journey for her but I also know it would be worth the extra work.

I loved following along with the different antics that Darcy got into. I really enjoyed watching her come out of her shell with the love of Liane and Lee. Of course the ending had me choked up but I expect nothing less.

This is a wonderful story that will appeal to all ages and anyone that loves animals. It’s one I recommend checking out.

I received a complimentary copy of this book. I voluntarily chose to read and post an honest review.

Enter the Giveaway!
Ends Dec 29, 2018
Enter for your chance to win (1)st prize: An 11 x 14 inch print of Tammy: The Little Cat With A Big Attitude book cover signed by the author and the illustrator
An 11 x 14 inch print of Darcy: The Dog Who Talked book cover signed by the author and the illustrator
A signed paperback of Tammy: The Little Cat With A Big Attitude
A signed paperback of Darcy: The Dog Who Talked, and a $10 Amazon GC
(open internationally to wherever Amazon delivers)

Rafflecopter giveaway https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js

I would like to thank iRead Book Tours for the opportunity to read and share this book.

Read Full Post »

Dig Two Graves

Dig Two Graves (Detective Solomon Gray – 1) by Keith Nixon

Was it suicide … or murder? Detective Sergeant Solomon Gray is driven to discover the truth. Whatever the personal cost.

When teenager Nick Buckingham tumbles from the fifth floor of an apartment block, Detective Sergeant Solomon Gray answers the call with a sick feeling in his stomach. The victim was just a kid, sixteen years old. And the exact age the detective’s son was, the son Gray has not seen since he went missing at a funfair ten years ago. Each case involving children haunts Gray with the reminder that his son may still be out there – or worse, dead. The seemingly open and shut case of suicide twists into a darker discovery. Buckingham and Gray have never met, so why is Gray’s number on the dead teenager’s mobile phone?

Gray begins to unravel a murky world of abuse, lies, and corruption. And when the body of Reverend David Hill is found shot to death in the vestry of Gray’s old church, Gray wonders how far the depravity stretches and who might be next. Nothing seems connected, and yet there is one common thread: Detective Sergeant Solomon Gray, himself. As the bodies pile up, Gray must face his own demons and his son’s abduction.

Crippled by loss Gray takes the first step on the long road of redemption. But is the killer closer to home than he realised?

Set in the once grand town of Margate in the south of England, the now broken and depressed seaside resort becomes its own character in this dark police suspense thriller, perfect for fans of Ian Rankin, Stuart MacBride, and Peter James.

Dig Two Graves is the first in the Solomon Gray series. Pick it up now to discover whether Gray finds his son in this thrilling new crime series.

Amazon US     Amazon UK     BN     Goodreads

42432276

Burn the Evidence (Book 2)

Mixing business with family can be a murderous affair …

A body washes up on the beach near Ramsgate in the South of England. For Detective Sergeant Solomon Gray, the case appears cut and dried – the drowning of an immigrant. Another victim to the sea in his desperate attempt to reach the UK.

As the tidewaters recede, two more corpses surface. One appears to also be a refugee, but he’s been stabbed to death. The other, Gray recognises immediately and Gray knows this means trouble. Because the corpse is the son of local business tycoon Jake Armitage, a man with a dark reputation and an ex-school friend of Gray’s.

A post mortem reveals ligature marks on the son’s wrists and drugs in his bloodstream. All signs indicate murder. Armitage swears to track down his son’s killer and avenge his death.

Gray’s investigation points to a deadly fire ten years prior, and soon Armitage comes under suspicion. But Gray knows what it’s like to lose a child and puts aside his distrust of Armitage to help. How are the dead men connected to each other – and to the infamous fire?

It’s then that Gray gets another tip. On the whereabouts of his own missing son …

Set in the once grand town of Margate in the south of England, the now broken and depressed seaside resort becomes its own character in this dark detective thriller, perfect for fans of Ian Rankin, Stuart MacBride, and Peter James.

Burn the Evidence is the second book in the series featuring Detective Sergeant Solomon Gray. Pick it up now to discover whether Gray can escape his past in this taut crime series.

Amazon US     Amazon UK     BN     Goodreads

42550143

Beg for Mercy (Book 3)

Two men fight to prove their innocence. A cop and a convicted murderer. One of them is lying.

Fifteen years ago, local crime boss Duncan Usher was sent to prison for killing his wife. A young Detective Solomon Gray was first at the scene and instrumental in putting Usher away. But now Usher is out, released on a technicality.

Usher has held a grudge all this time, and he won’t stop until he gets revenge on the dirty cop who framed him all those years ago. Usher wants Gray’s help, acting as an inside man within the police. Gray refuses, but Usher has leverage – information on Gray’s missing son.

Gray agrees to work with Usher because he’ll do anything to find his son. But Gray is taking a huge risk; playing both sides of the game and carrying out his own investigation into what really happened fifteen years ago.

Can Gray get to the truth? Or will the past bring Gray down?

Set in the once grand town of Margate in the south of England, the now broken and depressed seaside resort becomes its own character in this dark detective thriller, perfect for fans of Ian Rankin, Stuart MacBride, and Peter James.

Beg For Mercy is the third book in the series featuring Detective Sergeant Solomon Gray. Buy it now to discover whether Gray can track down the real killer and escape Usher’s clutches in this tense crime series.

Amazon US     Amazon UK     BN     Goodreads

About the Author

Keith Nixon is a British born writer of crime and historical fiction novels. Originally, he trained as a chemist, but Keith is now in a senior sales role for a high-tech business. Keith currently lives with his family in the North West of England.

Website     Twitter    Facebook    Blog

My Review

5 Stars

When Nick Buckingham falls from the fifth floor of an apartment Detective Solomon, Sol Gray is called in and he learns that Nick, who Sol has never met, has Sol’s number in his phone. Then Sol learns that his priest has been found killed in this church. Then a woman that he knew is found dead too. The only link to all three murders is Sol.

This is just the beginning. We also learn that ten years ago Sol’s son Tom was abducted and they have not hear from him or found his body. This lead to his wife committing suicide and his daughter alienating herself from him. He seems to be a hard man that won’t listen to anyone and is generally a cantankerous old jerk. But knowing everything else you can’t help but feel for him.

I originally thought that this book was going to be a basic detective story but there was so much more to the story. It tells the story of a broken man. I really enjoyed the read and an curious to see what happens to Sol in the next book.

I received a complimentary copy of this book. I voluntarily chose to read and post an honest review.

I would like to thank BOTBS Publicity for the opportunity to read and share this book.

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »