Some of my fans have asked the question: "Why a legal thriller?" My former publications have all had a paranormal aspect of dreams and psychics, except for my one venture into a romantic suspense.
Most authors write about things they're passionate about. Whether it's love or murder. You have to have a certain passion for your characters, your plot and your solutions. Taking us back to the first writing instruction: Every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. The rules of writing have changed, and we see many novels now that don't have an end but merely lead us into the next installment. I haven't been able to do that yet. With series I lead my characters into the next installment, but I try desperately hard to conclude the current plot in the current novel.
So back to my original question, "Why a legal thriller?" I love shows like Criminal Minds, Blacklist, Castle and some NCIS. Blue Bloods has also become a favorite this year. And I'm becoming just a little bit of a Daredevil fan. Most of these shows elicit a different type of emotion related to criminals and justice. Red in Blacklist clearly has to be one of the worst criminals of all time, and yet we love him. We love him because somewhere inside there's a goodness he doesn't show very often. We watch the profilers on Criminal Minds and occasionally they show their emotions, pushed to the limit of what they are able to bear. We connect with that. Daredevil brings out the vigilante hidden inside all of us. The need to make a difference. The desire to protect those who can't protect themselves.
I've worked in and with the judicial system for almost twenty years now. I started as a legal secretary, answering calls and typing up complaints, and all the documentation necessary to make a case or defend a case. I went into this career with a somewhat jaded opinion of lawyers, judges and the court system. Over the years I found much of that opinion was wrong--but it didn't make me feel any better. Morality had no place in the judicial system. Sure, you could show the character of a witness, but the truth is the only thing that matters is the law on the books, or what the courts call precedent law. Cases that have been won and Supreme Court decisions have been published. This is what the Judge will rule on, and the instructions that will be given to a jury that they must base their decision on. One of the things I did love about my job was research. Research makes all the difference in a case. And I loved the minds of some of the attorneys I worked with. How could they possible remember laws written fifty years ago?
I moved from legal secretary to court official stenographer. This was my first introduction into the criminal system that tried and prosecuted crimes. I once again went in with a jaded opinion of defense lawyers. I asked myself how they could defend someone guilty and do their very best to get them off. I learned that many criminal defense lawyers are not hired to do the job, they are court appointed to do the job and have no choice in the matter. Regardless of their personal feelings about their client's guilt or innocence they have to do the job the same way as if they had been personally hired and knew their client was innocent.
It was in the criminal system that I learned to become frustrated, angry and found myself many times unable to sleep at night. How could we simply declare a mistrial on such a minor technicality as the prosecutor forgetting to turn over a document? How could we let a murderer walk out of that courtroom free to kill again? How could someone who had broken both their child's legs, spent a year in jail for their crime, come back out and take that child from the parents who for over a year had nurtured and loved it, helping it heal? I learned that witnesses were protected by law so that they could lie on the stand without any penalty or fear of perjury charges. I learned judges could overrule a jury verdict. I worked for some truly great judges, who would never done this, but they do have that discretion.
We see a lot of police shows on TV, and we wonder at times if they're true. Do the police really browbeat witnesses into giving false confessions? Having worked with local law enforcement on some murder cases, watching witness interviews I have to admit there are probably times that occurs. Usually when the officers know the witness they're interviewing is lying or committed the crime, but the evidence won't hold up beyond a reasonable doubt. I followed a case where a 16 year old had bludgeoned a family member with a hammer. There simply wasn't enough evidence to convict him. The officer investigating the crime knew he was guilty and he never gave up. Three years later the young man bragged about it at a party. Gave information that only the killer could have known. What he didn't know was the person he was bragging to was a police informant put there specifically to wait, watch and eventually get the evidence they needed to convict him. So there is good and bad with all branches of the judicial system and all branches of law enforcement. Nothing is ever truly black and white. There are far too many grey areas.
In real life there was nothing I could do about my frustration, my anger, and desire to see justice done. I started the Jenna James Legal Thrillers because I wanted to have a prosecutor who would stop at nothing to get her man or woman. I wanted police officers who never gave up, and I wanted bad guys that were some of the worst I've seen. And I wanted those bad guys brought to justice. There are many times that a deal is made to let a criminal go for the opportunity to catch a bigger criminal. Right or wrong it happens. I wanted a no-deal prosecutor. Jenna James may have to change some over her career, as she's already changed her opinion on some very bad guys who do very good things. The one thing that will not change is she will always stand up for what she believes in.
If you're a fan of lots of courtroom scenes and legal jargon, you may not find what you're looking for in the Jenna James Legal Thrillers. However, if you like kick-butt characters and fast paced action, I think you'll like them. Pick up your copy today still at the introductory price of $.99/99p.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author ~ ~ ~ writing and streams of consciousness
Showing posts with label FBI. Show all posts
Showing posts with label FBI. Show all posts
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Kobo Paranormal Mystery at it's best! $.99 for a limited time.
Love paranormal mysteries? Catherine Mans takes you into the darker side of mind.
Current $.99 at KOBO
PROLOGUE
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me…
But He wasn’t with her.
She leaned against the cold steel door, her eyes closed in prayer. “Father, why have you forsaken me? What sins have I committed that you would punish me this way?”
When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood.
“Fiank-o!” she screamed.
Her eyes flew open, and she spread her hands in front of her. Blood rimmed her manicured nails. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw the blood-soaked blouse plastered to her chest. So much blood for such a tiny body.
Ripping at her blouse, she mewed like a wounded animal. “Then take my eyes, so I no longer see the blood of my child on my hands. Take my ears, so I no longer hear the shrieks from below, the clanging of the chains.”
Silence met her cry. God was no longer listening. She sank to her knees and ripped at her hair, bordering on madness. How could they do this to her? Had she not served them well for more than ten years?
“You know what you must do, Aggie. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diablo, and she has cursed you.”
For a moment, rage blocked the pain squeezing her heart. “You!” Her eyes filled with hatred, fists clenched at her side. “You brought this upon us with your superstitions and your curses.”
“Mwen pòv zanj pèdi—you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life, her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows, so does the evil. They warned you this day would come.”
The old woman’s words washed over her like a river of ice, extinguishing the fire of her rage, leaving only a cold, still emptiness.
“I begged them, Mother. Begged for her life as her blood seeped through my fingers. I have served God, and I have served the spirits. But they have forsaken me.” She raised tortured eyes to beseech the old woman, her efforts met with stony silence and beady eyes filled with accusation. “I begged them!” Her voice tapered to a whimper. “She is only five. I have lost Catherine. Must I lose Mary also?”
The old woman knelt beside her. Taking her right hand, she pried open the fingers and closed them around the cold steel of the knife. “You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down. You disobeyed. You have been punished. Now pick up your cross, and carry it.”
The silence in the room was broken only by her whimpers; the old woman had left as quietly as she’d come. The knife lay heavy in her hand, just as the task before her lay heavy on her heart.
She rose and opened the door to the basement, ignoring the shrieks and clang of the chains. Her feet descended the steps slowly, the old woman’s words echoing inside her head: You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Für meine deutschen Freunde
I wish that I were good enough to translate this myself because some things become last in translation on Google translate, but I love the way it sounds even now. If you love English crime novels, check this one out.
My Darling Dakota :
Ich bete, dass Sie mich heute Abend zu vergeben, denn ich Erinnerungen der Dinge für immer verloren. Vielleicht waren sie nicht in der Fantasie , die wir erstellt wichtig, aber manchmal frage ich mich, wenn wir falsch waren.
Ich habe daran gedacht, Akachi . Wussten Sie, sein Name bedeutet " die Hand Gottes " ? Das war wirklich wie ich mich fühlte , die Nacht , als sein Vater brachte ihn in mein Zelt . Er war kaum noch am Leben , nachdem er von einem Geparden, die nicht so selten ein Vorkommen in Südafrika , wie man denken könnte übel zugerichtet . Was war selten war für das Opfer , um zu überleben . Ich habe an ihm stundenlang fieberhaft Reinigung und die tiefen Wunden zu nähen . Er war acht und hatte die Jagd , begierig, seine Männlichkeit zu beweisen. Ich war mit ihm am nächsten Tag und Nacht, während der Stamm sangen ihre Gebete. Am zweiten Tag , öffnete er seine tiefbraunen Augen und sah mich an. In diesem Moment , meine Liebe , fühlte ich, dass ich den Höhepunkt meines Lebens erreicht hatte. Ich einen sterbenden Kind in meinen Armen gehalten hatte , und ich habe ihn gerettet hatte.
Und dann fiel mein Blick auf Sie , wie eine Vision von Schönheit , die mir den Atem weggenommen wurde , und mein Geist wurde taub für alle, aber das, was Sie sind. Ich habe diese Straße, die vielen Stufen unserer Fantasie gereist , und ich habe festgestellt, dass es Schönheit in beiden ein Leben zu retten und unter einem. Akachi wird nur eine kurze Zeit zu leben, für die Bühne seines Lebens bei der Geburt festgelegt . Wenn er nicht vor Hunger sterben, wird er sicherlich zugrunde gehen auf das Ende der Speer eines rivalisierenden Stammes Mitglieds. Und wer an ihn erinnern wird ? Wie die Tage vergehen , die Monate , die Jahre , die Jahrhunderte niemand Akachi erinnern.
Fürchte dich nicht, mein Liebling, denn obwohl die Erinnerungen verfolgen mich mal , ich habe nicht vergessen, wo ich hingehöre und was ich tun muss.
" In diesem Buch, das meiner Erinnerung ist ,
Auf der ersten Seite des Kapitels , das ist der Tag , als ich dich das erste Mal traf ,
Erscheinen die Worte : "Hier beginnt ein neues Leben. ' " Dante Alighieri
Get your copy now!
My Darling Dakota :
Ich bete, dass Sie mich heute Abend zu vergeben, denn ich Erinnerungen der Dinge für immer verloren. Vielleicht waren sie nicht in der Fantasie , die wir erstellt wichtig, aber manchmal frage ich mich, wenn wir falsch waren.
Ich habe daran gedacht, Akachi . Wussten Sie, sein Name bedeutet " die Hand Gottes " ? Das war wirklich wie ich mich fühlte , die Nacht , als sein Vater brachte ihn in mein Zelt . Er war kaum noch am Leben , nachdem er von einem Geparden, die nicht so selten ein Vorkommen in Südafrika , wie man denken könnte übel zugerichtet . Was war selten war für das Opfer , um zu überleben . Ich habe an ihm stundenlang fieberhaft Reinigung und die tiefen Wunden zu nähen . Er war acht und hatte die Jagd , begierig, seine Männlichkeit zu beweisen. Ich war mit ihm am nächsten Tag und Nacht, während der Stamm sangen ihre Gebete. Am zweiten Tag , öffnete er seine tiefbraunen Augen und sah mich an. In diesem Moment , meine Liebe , fühlte ich, dass ich den Höhepunkt meines Lebens erreicht hatte. Ich einen sterbenden Kind in meinen Armen gehalten hatte , und ich habe ihn gerettet hatte.
Und dann fiel mein Blick auf Sie , wie eine Vision von Schönheit , die mir den Atem weggenommen wurde , und mein Geist wurde taub für alle, aber das, was Sie sind. Ich habe diese Straße, die vielen Stufen unserer Fantasie gereist , und ich habe festgestellt, dass es Schönheit in beiden ein Leben zu retten und unter einem. Akachi wird nur eine kurze Zeit zu leben, für die Bühne seines Lebens bei der Geburt festgelegt . Wenn er nicht vor Hunger sterben, wird er sicherlich zugrunde gehen auf das Ende der Speer eines rivalisierenden Stammes Mitglieds. Und wer an ihn erinnern wird ? Wie die Tage vergehen , die Monate , die Jahre , die Jahrhunderte niemand Akachi erinnern.
Fürchte dich nicht, mein Liebling, denn obwohl die Erinnerungen verfolgen mich mal , ich habe nicht vergessen, wo ich hingehöre und was ich tun muss.
" In diesem Buch, das meiner Erinnerung ist ,
Auf der ersten Seite des Kapitels , das ist der Tag , als ich dich das erste Mal traf ,
Erscheinen die Worte : "Hier beginnt ein neues Leben. ' " Dante Alighieri
Get your copy now!
Saturday, November 23, 2013
A Glimpse Into A Twisted Mind
I'm not always sure where my characters originate, but Brightstone quickly became a loved/hated character for me. Perhaps because I understood his pain.
Take a glimpse into a twisted mind.
Take a glimpse into a twisted mind.
There was nothing exceptional
about my birth, except perhaps for the fact that my parents shared the biblical
names of Joseph and Mary. They were a good, God-fearing couple.
Alas, they did not name me
Jesus, but their hopes for me were not in vain. They soon realized I was not a
normal child. Not like the other five-year-olds. I cared not for toys and
storybooks. I spent my time developing healing antidotes from ordinary shrubs.
I cared for animals, birds with broken wings. It was not unusual for me to come
home carrying a poor dog that had been run over by some careless motorist. I
would spend hours stitching up their wounds, applying homemade poultices, and
nursing them back to health. I was indeed a savior of sorts.
School was my first experience
of the cold reality of being different. Like my parents, my teachers discovered
that my mind was much further advanced than they could deal with. How could you
teach a child whose mind was a sponge and whose knowledge, within days,
exceeded your own? I did not know then how to hide my intelligence and fit in
with a crowd. I did not know how to play the games of life and lose
occasionally.
Soon it became apparent that
our small community was not the best place for a child of such brilliance. Or
at least that was what the men in white coats convinced my parents of. So the
men took me away for my own good.
I had no best friends, no first
dates, no senior proms. Nothing but a cold grey building, lab coats, and books.
Lots and lots of books. Not the fun, frivolous stories I should have enjoyed in
my youth. Textbooks of knowledge that I absorbed and mastered within days,
weeks, and months. I graduated with honors. My parents, whom I had not seen in
ten years, were in the front row, beaming with pride. I smiled at them, but
there was no feeling behind my smile. Any memory of the warmth of my mother’s
touch or the gentle yet firm guidance of my father’s hands had long ago been
lost. My father was a stranger, an old man, still handsome in some ways, but
the luster was gone from his eyes. My mother, once a spirit of light and life,
seemed cold with her sweater wrapped around her thin shoulders, her beauty
faded by time. Had their lives grown cold and loveless like mine?
Love mysteries, page-turning suspense, prizes, fun, reviews and author interviews? Sign up for my once a month newsletter. $100.00 prize to one lucky winner on 12/15--just in time for Christmas. Visit my website at www.lindasprather.com
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Take a thrilling jaunt into some real criminal minds for less than $1.00
Two great books--$.99 through Friday 11/8/13 - Read Chapter One of Sole Intention and the Prologue of Eternal Beauty and see what other readers are saying.
Sole Intention by M. A. Comley
Review
I was immediately pulled into this story by the taut prose and elegant way in which the story unfolded. Ellen Brazil and Bryan Lynx run a missing persons investigation business which is an interesting hook - makes a change from the usual detectives and cops in this genre. I especially liked the evocation of place. I am a Brit living in America and the book made me homesick perhaps because it is so convincingly wrought. I am excited to discover this new author and am off to read some more of her books.
CHAPTER ONE
Sweat poured from her brow. Her clothes clung to her as she ran for her life through the ink-black forest. She’d already bumped into several tree trunks while looking over her shoulder for him.
Why me? Why is he so desperate to kill me?
She tripped over a half-hidden log and landed in a pile of autumn leaves, but she was up running again within a few seconds. Her life depended on it.
Stop thinking and just run!
She could hear him tracking her—the sound of crunching undergrowth getting ever nearer. She had no place to hide. Is that why he brought me here? Of course. The question was: would she ever leave this place alive?
Another stray branch slashed her cheek, distracting her. As she tumbled over a large fallen tree trunk, her heart almost shuddered to a stop. She tried to get up and continue running but winced as a sharp pain shot up her leg. She looked down at her ankle. It hung at an odd angle. “Fuck! Damn and fuck.”
The noise of leaves rustling just behind her made her turn her head sharply. She didn’t see the flat head of the shovel until it was inches from her face.
“Run from me would you, bitch?”
Stars danced through her terrified brain. She tumbled back into the damp undergrowth, but her attacker quickly yanked her upright again and placed her back against a wide tree. Everything was a daze, except the way he was glaring at her. She felt the rope slither around her torso, then groaned when it tightened, pushing the air out of her burning lungs. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, fear tearing at her vocal chords.
“You shouldn’t have run. Now I have no choice.”
“Yes, you do. Everyone has choices.” She tried to reason her way to survival. Right then she would have done just about anything to save her life. “Please, I have money, savings in the bank. Take it. Have it all… but please don’t hurt me.” Saltiness from her tears slipped into the corner of her mouth.
“I don’t want your money. I wanted you.”
“Then have me. We’ll go away together. You scared me. That’s why I ran. Please, give me another chance. I won’t mess up again. I swear.” Her words forced confusion to travel his face.
Is he debating setting me free? “We’ll be good together, once I get to know you properly. It takes me a little while to get used to people. Please give me that chance.”
The confusion gave way to anger. His eyes creased up until they formed tiny slits in his tanned face and his lip curled with intent. “If I set you free now, you’ll only run to the police and give me away.”
“I won’t. I promise. Give me a chance. Give us a chance,” she implored, desperation lacing her words.
“You had your chance. Nobody makes a fool out of me. Many women have tried before, seen me as some kind of joke, to their cost. I thought you were different, but when it comes down to it, you’re all the same. Full of your own self-importance. Preening yourself to attract us men. Then, when you’ve snared us, you cast us away like a used tampon.”
She had never thought of herself in that way and really wanted to challenge him. However, she was conscious that would only make matters worse. She turned her head to the side and mumbled an apology.
His hand shot out and clasped her throat. “What did you say?”
He had cut off her airway, so she couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. She could feel the air disappearing and felt light-headed as his grip tightened. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her family’s faces filled her oxygen-starved mind. Bye, Mum, Dad, and Cheryl. I’ll never be able to share good news with you all again. Please don’t grieve much for me. Go on with your lives. Never let the bitterness of what he’s about to do to me destroy your lives like he’s destroying mine. I love you all… until the end.
He let go of her throat, and she gulped air as if it were an endangered commodity.
He held her hand in his, touched it affectionately to his cheek, then looked her in the eye as he crushed her fingers between his. She’d never felt so much pain in her life, and she screamed until her voice dried up.
“Scream all you want, bitch. No one will hear your desperate cries out here.”
She sobbed and whispered through dry lips, “Get it over with. Kill me.”
“Oh, I will. Not yet, I intend to make you suffer first. This is just the beginning of what I have in store for you, bitch.”
He stood up and towered over her. Her gaze remained focused on the tree stump opposite. She could make out, formed in its bark, her mother’s beautiful smiling face, giving her the courage to be brave. When she looked around, she realised that he’d vanished, leaving her alone and vulnerable to the four-legged creatures of the forest. The sobs came and increased in tempo as she came to the conclusion that even though he hadn’t killed her, it wouldn’t be long before she died a horrible death out there. Alone.
Lost deep in thought, she neglected to hear his return. She jumped when he taunted her with his vile words.
“Say your prayers, bitch.” Something glinted in his hand, and her eyes opened wide before the object sank deep into her flesh. “Your life is about to end.”
She tried to scream, but her voice box proved to be raw and uncooperative. The third time he struck her, she drifted into a welcome unconsciousness. The blackness surrounding her quickly gave way to the brightest light she’d ever witnessed. She moved towards it and breathed a sigh of relief. I’ve arrived… He can no longer hurt me.
Eternal Beauty by Linda S. Prather
Review:
I read the first novel in the series of these characters Bet you can't... FIND ME (Catherine Mans' Suspense) and loved it; so when to my great joy, the second was immediately available I had to read it.
It has not disappointed me. You are drawn in by the storyline but also by your relationship of the characters. I can see this becoming a Tv series easily.
The Special FBI team is unique due to it being of psychics and intuitive people. Can they save the blond/blue eyed women that this brilliantly psychotic killer is after? Can they help a sweet innocent like woman from his plans for her. Will they escape this madman when he sets his sites on them?
Plot twists and didn't see that one coming is what will keep you glued from page one through the shocking reveals and leaves you wanting more books from this author and the main character 'Catherine Mans'.
I highly recommend this series.
PROLOGUE
“One more, sweetheart, and we’ll be finished.” He folded her hands across her chest, carefully arranging them to hide the missing fingers. “That’s perfect.”
The camera’s flash lit up the darkness for a moment, illuminating her pale features. He crouched beside her and gently brushed her blond hair away from her face. “You can rest now. Your memory is forever preserved.”
He placed the small digital camera in his pocket, stood, and reached for the tape recorder. A light breeze swept over the bow of the boat, and he closed his eyes. He’d stopped believing in God, but he still believed in Hell. And he was going to burn in Hell. Not because he’d killed her, but because he’d enjoyed it so much.
He opened his eyes and glanced at the recorder. He’d taped every scream. Recorded every moan. His purpose had been innocent enough in the beginning. He’d wanted a reminder of the sins he had committed. But then something had broken. Needs had awakened. Darkness had descended on his soul. He had become the very thing he abhorred. And worst of all, he liked it.
He pushed the play button and listened to her screams rise and fall. Desire swelled deep in his groin, intensifying each time a scream peaked. He licked his lips, yet he denied himself the pleasure of the sweet beauty of release. Later, he could watch the video, study the photos, and relive the excitement. Perhaps then he would allow himself the ecstasy of release, but only if it didn’t cheapen her memory. She didn’t deserve that. At the moment, reliving the feel of the scalpel in his hand and the rush of pleasure of severing the muscles one by one was enough.
His gaze fell on the hands still delicately folded across her bosom. He’d had to discipline her. But she’d learned quickly, and the missing fingers did nothing to diminish her perfection. And she’d been so perfectly exquisite. Her hair was a golden halo, her skin soft as silk, and her body… If goddesses existed, they must have cringed in envy every time she walked by. But her eyes set her apart from the others. Beautiful, gleaming sapphires. That was why he’d kept them. If the process worked, he would use them. If it didn’t, he knew where to find an identical pair.
He placed the recorder in his shirt pocket but left it running. His desire was gone, but something about her cries was soothing. They created a pleasant balm in the pre-dawn stillness.
He reached for the Ziploc bag housing the remnants of his first experiments and opened it. Although each had been beautiful in her own way, they had had no ceremony, no words of beauty spoken over them. He had simply weighted them down with rocks, and with a simple flip of a switch, the cargo hold had opened, expelling the cold, stiff bodies. They were not worthy of a starring role, but their lives had not been totally in vain, as they would have been had he not taken them. Although they held no place of honor on his board, he had immortalized them. They would be remembered. Holding the bag over the side of the boat, he whispered, “I cast your eyes to the ocean.”
He watched the white orbs flip and float on the waves. The screams on the tape tapered off into whimpers as the sun crested the horizon. He rolled the body to the edge of the boat and wound a rope around it. Then he secured the massive stone to the corpse and lowered the special-made railing.
“You, my darling, have the starring role in Act One.” With a smile, he pushed the bundle overboard. “I cast your soul to the sea. ‘Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.’” He’d memorized the verse for the occasion. Just for her.
She had changed everything, cleared the fog from his brain, and given him a reason to live. Such beauty must be preserved, protected from the ravages of time or disaster. He had honored her by taking her life. Saved her from a fate much worse than death. The human race was fickle. Once her beauty had faded, she would have been forgotten, tossed aside for the next beautiful face and body. Now, she would never be forgotten. She would always be remembered as the first Eternal Beauty.
Dawn was approaching, but he still had time. Wiping his hands on his pants, he sat and reached for his journal.
My Darling Dakota:
How I wish you were here beside me now to share my moment of triumph. The play has changed, my love, but fear not, for I shall make you proud. I have my first, and although her beauty mirrors your own, it will never surpass it. Act I is now complete, and soon, Act II will begin.
I shall honor your wish, my love. It has taken me five years to realize what you knew all along—true beauty is art. And art must be preserved and protected in its purest form to be remembered and appreciated.
My quest is now clear. No longer will I linger in the shadows, waiting, watching, praying for a sign. Instead, I will blaze a path around this world, seeking those worthy and preserving them for all time. Soon, everyone will know your name, and all the world will know your beauty. You, my darling, shall be revered as the most beautiful of them all, and you will always be remembered.
Standing, he lingered at the rail, watching where the long blond hair had sunk beneath the water. Taking the recorder from his pocket, he waited in anticipation. The screams grew quiet as the tape neared its end. The boat rocked slightly as his heartbeat quickened, his hands growing sweaty. The tension was nearly unbearable. The recorder paused for a moment of silence before her voice filled the night.
“Please… remember me.”
Sole Intention by M. A. Comley
Review
I was immediately pulled into this story by the taut prose and elegant way in which the story unfolded. Ellen Brazil and Bryan Lynx run a missing persons investigation business which is an interesting hook - makes a change from the usual detectives and cops in this genre. I especially liked the evocation of place. I am a Brit living in America and the book made me homesick perhaps because it is so convincingly wrought. I am excited to discover this new author and am off to read some more of her books.
CHAPTER ONE
Sweat poured from her brow. Her clothes clung to her as she ran for her life through the ink-black forest. She’d already bumped into several tree trunks while looking over her shoulder for him.
Why me? Why is he so desperate to kill me?
She tripped over a half-hidden log and landed in a pile of autumn leaves, but she was up running again within a few seconds. Her life depended on it.
Stop thinking and just run!
She could hear him tracking her—the sound of crunching undergrowth getting ever nearer. She had no place to hide. Is that why he brought me here? Of course. The question was: would she ever leave this place alive?
Another stray branch slashed her cheek, distracting her. As she tumbled over a large fallen tree trunk, her heart almost shuddered to a stop. She tried to get up and continue running but winced as a sharp pain shot up her leg. She looked down at her ankle. It hung at an odd angle. “Fuck! Damn and fuck.”
The noise of leaves rustling just behind her made her turn her head sharply. She didn’t see the flat head of the shovel until it was inches from her face.
“Run from me would you, bitch?”
Stars danced through her terrified brain. She tumbled back into the damp undergrowth, but her attacker quickly yanked her upright again and placed her back against a wide tree. Everything was a daze, except the way he was glaring at her. She felt the rope slither around her torso, then groaned when it tightened, pushing the air out of her burning lungs. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, fear tearing at her vocal chords.
“You shouldn’t have run. Now I have no choice.”
“Yes, you do. Everyone has choices.” She tried to reason her way to survival. Right then she would have done just about anything to save her life. “Please, I have money, savings in the bank. Take it. Have it all… but please don’t hurt me.” Saltiness from her tears slipped into the corner of her mouth.
“I don’t want your money. I wanted you.”
“Then have me. We’ll go away together. You scared me. That’s why I ran. Please, give me another chance. I won’t mess up again. I swear.” Her words forced confusion to travel his face.
Is he debating setting me free? “We’ll be good together, once I get to know you properly. It takes me a little while to get used to people. Please give me that chance.”
The confusion gave way to anger. His eyes creased up until they formed tiny slits in his tanned face and his lip curled with intent. “If I set you free now, you’ll only run to the police and give me away.”
“I won’t. I promise. Give me a chance. Give us a chance,” she implored, desperation lacing her words.
“You had your chance. Nobody makes a fool out of me. Many women have tried before, seen me as some kind of joke, to their cost. I thought you were different, but when it comes down to it, you’re all the same. Full of your own self-importance. Preening yourself to attract us men. Then, when you’ve snared us, you cast us away like a used tampon.”
She had never thought of herself in that way and really wanted to challenge him. However, she was conscious that would only make matters worse. She turned her head to the side and mumbled an apology.
His hand shot out and clasped her throat. “What did you say?”
He had cut off her airway, so she couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. She could feel the air disappearing and felt light-headed as his grip tightened. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her family’s faces filled her oxygen-starved mind. Bye, Mum, Dad, and Cheryl. I’ll never be able to share good news with you all again. Please don’t grieve much for me. Go on with your lives. Never let the bitterness of what he’s about to do to me destroy your lives like he’s destroying mine. I love you all… until the end.
He let go of her throat, and she gulped air as if it were an endangered commodity.
He held her hand in his, touched it affectionately to his cheek, then looked her in the eye as he crushed her fingers between his. She’d never felt so much pain in her life, and she screamed until her voice dried up.
“Scream all you want, bitch. No one will hear your desperate cries out here.”
She sobbed and whispered through dry lips, “Get it over with. Kill me.”
“Oh, I will. Not yet, I intend to make you suffer first. This is just the beginning of what I have in store for you, bitch.”
He stood up and towered over her. Her gaze remained focused on the tree stump opposite. She could make out, formed in its bark, her mother’s beautiful smiling face, giving her the courage to be brave. When she looked around, she realised that he’d vanished, leaving her alone and vulnerable to the four-legged creatures of the forest. The sobs came and increased in tempo as she came to the conclusion that even though he hadn’t killed her, it wouldn’t be long before she died a horrible death out there. Alone.
Lost deep in thought, she neglected to hear his return. She jumped when he taunted her with his vile words.
“Say your prayers, bitch.” Something glinted in his hand, and her eyes opened wide before the object sank deep into her flesh. “Your life is about to end.”
She tried to scream, but her voice box proved to be raw and uncooperative. The third time he struck her, she drifted into a welcome unconsciousness. The blackness surrounding her quickly gave way to the brightest light she’d ever witnessed. She moved towards it and breathed a sigh of relief. I’ve arrived… He can no longer hurt me.
Eternal Beauty by Linda S. Prather
Review:
I read the first novel in the series of these characters Bet you can't... FIND ME (Catherine Mans' Suspense) and loved it; so when to my great joy, the second was immediately available I had to read it.
It has not disappointed me. You are drawn in by the storyline but also by your relationship of the characters. I can see this becoming a Tv series easily.
The Special FBI team is unique due to it being of psychics and intuitive people. Can they save the blond/blue eyed women that this brilliantly psychotic killer is after? Can they help a sweet innocent like woman from his plans for her. Will they escape this madman when he sets his sites on them?
Plot twists and didn't see that one coming is what will keep you glued from page one through the shocking reveals and leaves you wanting more books from this author and the main character 'Catherine Mans'.
I highly recommend this series.
PROLOGUE
“One more, sweetheart, and we’ll be finished.” He folded her hands across her chest, carefully arranging them to hide the missing fingers. “That’s perfect.”
The camera’s flash lit up the darkness for a moment, illuminating her pale features. He crouched beside her and gently brushed her blond hair away from her face. “You can rest now. Your memory is forever preserved.”
He placed the small digital camera in his pocket, stood, and reached for the tape recorder. A light breeze swept over the bow of the boat, and he closed his eyes. He’d stopped believing in God, but he still believed in Hell. And he was going to burn in Hell. Not because he’d killed her, but because he’d enjoyed it so much.
He opened his eyes and glanced at the recorder. He’d taped every scream. Recorded every moan. His purpose had been innocent enough in the beginning. He’d wanted a reminder of the sins he had committed. But then something had broken. Needs had awakened. Darkness had descended on his soul. He had become the very thing he abhorred. And worst of all, he liked it.
He pushed the play button and listened to her screams rise and fall. Desire swelled deep in his groin, intensifying each time a scream peaked. He licked his lips, yet he denied himself the pleasure of the sweet beauty of release. Later, he could watch the video, study the photos, and relive the excitement. Perhaps then he would allow himself the ecstasy of release, but only if it didn’t cheapen her memory. She didn’t deserve that. At the moment, reliving the feel of the scalpel in his hand and the rush of pleasure of severing the muscles one by one was enough.
His gaze fell on the hands still delicately folded across her bosom. He’d had to discipline her. But she’d learned quickly, and the missing fingers did nothing to diminish her perfection. And she’d been so perfectly exquisite. Her hair was a golden halo, her skin soft as silk, and her body… If goddesses existed, they must have cringed in envy every time she walked by. But her eyes set her apart from the others. Beautiful, gleaming sapphires. That was why he’d kept them. If the process worked, he would use them. If it didn’t, he knew where to find an identical pair.
He placed the recorder in his shirt pocket but left it running. His desire was gone, but something about her cries was soothing. They created a pleasant balm in the pre-dawn stillness.
He reached for the Ziploc bag housing the remnants of his first experiments and opened it. Although each had been beautiful in her own way, they had had no ceremony, no words of beauty spoken over them. He had simply weighted them down with rocks, and with a simple flip of a switch, the cargo hold had opened, expelling the cold, stiff bodies. They were not worthy of a starring role, but their lives had not been totally in vain, as they would have been had he not taken them. Although they held no place of honor on his board, he had immortalized them. They would be remembered. Holding the bag over the side of the boat, he whispered, “I cast your eyes to the ocean.”
He watched the white orbs flip and float on the waves. The screams on the tape tapered off into whimpers as the sun crested the horizon. He rolled the body to the edge of the boat and wound a rope around it. Then he secured the massive stone to the corpse and lowered the special-made railing.
“You, my darling, have the starring role in Act One.” With a smile, he pushed the bundle overboard. “I cast your soul to the sea. ‘Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.’” He’d memorized the verse for the occasion. Just for her.
She had changed everything, cleared the fog from his brain, and given him a reason to live. Such beauty must be preserved, protected from the ravages of time or disaster. He had honored her by taking her life. Saved her from a fate much worse than death. The human race was fickle. Once her beauty had faded, she would have been forgotten, tossed aside for the next beautiful face and body. Now, she would never be forgotten. She would always be remembered as the first Eternal Beauty.
Dawn was approaching, but he still had time. Wiping his hands on his pants, he sat and reached for his journal.
My Darling Dakota:
How I wish you were here beside me now to share my moment of triumph. The play has changed, my love, but fear not, for I shall make you proud. I have my first, and although her beauty mirrors your own, it will never surpass it. Act I is now complete, and soon, Act II will begin.
I shall honor your wish, my love. It has taken me five years to realize what you knew all along—true beauty is art. And art must be preserved and protected in its purest form to be remembered and appreciated.
My quest is now clear. No longer will I linger in the shadows, waiting, watching, praying for a sign. Instead, I will blaze a path around this world, seeking those worthy and preserving them for all time. Soon, everyone will know your name, and all the world will know your beauty. You, my darling, shall be revered as the most beautiful of them all, and you will always be remembered.
Standing, he lingered at the rail, watching where the long blond hair had sunk beneath the water. Taking the recorder from his pocket, he waited in anticipation. The screams grew quiet as the tape neared its end. The boat rocked slightly as his heartbeat quickened, his hands growing sweaty. The tension was nearly unbearable. The recorder paused for a moment of silence before her voice filled the night.
“Please… remember me.”
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Warning!!!!
These books are not for the squeamish, but if you love police procedurals, Criminal Minds and CSI, you'll love them.
Mel Comley spins a such a wonderful criminal mystery in Foul Justice that one can't help but keep reading until the crime is solved.
Detective Investigator Lorne Simpkins is the UK's modern day Sherlock Holmes. When DI Lorne Simpkins lost her DR. Watson 2 years ago, her partner dying in her arms, she resigned the Force. When a horrible crime has stumped the other law enforcement officials they call on DI Lorne Simpkins to save the day, she returned. When DI Lorne Simpkins is given volatile new Detective Sergent Katy Foster as her new partner, she decides to train her. Even when her personal problems pile one atop another (one is her upcoming wedding to her MI6 fiance who is currently MIA) DI Lorne Simpkins still presses on to solve the case!
It's great to read how DI Lorne Simpkins gets her criminals by the short and curlies! A joy to read with a surprise end!
~Gypsy~
Mel Comley spins a such a wonderful criminal mystery in Foul Justice that one can't help but keep reading until the crime is solved.
Detective Investigator Lorne Simpkins is the UK's modern day Sherlock Holmes. When DI Lorne Simpkins lost her DR. Watson 2 years ago, her partner dying in her arms, she resigned the Force. When a horrible crime has stumped the other law enforcement officials they call on DI Lorne Simpkins to save the day, she returned. When DI Lorne Simpkins is given volatile new Detective Sergent Katy Foster as her new partner, she decides to train her. Even when her personal problems pile one atop another (one is her upcoming wedding to her MI6 fiance who is currently MIA) DI Lorne Simpkins still presses on to solve the case!
It's great to read how DI Lorne Simpkins gets her criminals by the short and curlies! A joy to read with a surprise end!
~Gypsy~
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Cyber Monday Ebook Special - The Jacody Ives Mysteries $.99
Cyber Monday Special - Both The Jacody Ives Mysteries available on Kindle for $.99 - a savings of $4.00
THE GIFTS, A JACODY IVES MYSTERY
Setup: Sheriff Sarah Burns was born with what her grandmother calls “The Gift”. In the final throes of death, souls reached out to her with dying messages. Only this time the message was for Sarah.
“He’s coming, Sarah. He wants to destroy you.”
SACRED SECRETS, A JACODY IVES MYSTERY
Setup: Charity Froste is one of three women missing. A prostitute, a nurse and a voodoo woman (Charity). Two of them are already dead.
Charity looked around her, her heart fluttering as reality closed in. She was in an old farm cellar. From the looks of it no one had been here for years. Tears formed, she bit her lip, steadied the candle. Her whispered words stirring fear into full blown terror. “Yous’ in trouble now, sugah. Yous’ done been buried alive.”
THE GIFTS, A JACODY IVES MYSTERY
Setup: Sheriff Sarah Burns was born with what her grandmother calls “The Gift”. In the final throes of death, souls reached out to her with dying messages. Only this time the message was for Sarah.
“He’s coming, Sarah. He wants to destroy you.”
SACRED SECRETS, A JACODY IVES MYSTERY
Setup: Charity Froste is one of three women missing. A prostitute, a nurse and a voodoo woman (Charity). Two of them are already dead.
Charity looked around her, her heart fluttering as reality closed in. She was in an old farm cellar. From the looks of it no one had been here for years. Tears formed, she bit her lip, steadied the candle. Her whispered words stirring fear into full blown terror. “Yous’ in trouble now, sugah. Yous’ done been buried alive.”
Saturday, October 29, 2011
#samplesunday Coming in 2012 - Bet you can't....FIND ME.
A Psychic Thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat and turning pages. This isn't the official cover, but one I've played with until the official cover can be designed.
PROLOGUE
Leaning against the cold steel door, she closed her eyes in prayer. "Father, why have you forsaken me? What sins have I committed that were so bad that you would punish me in this way?"
When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood.
"Fiank-o," she screamed opening her eyes and spreading her hands in front of her. Blood rimmed the manicured nails.
Her gaze fell to the blood soaked blouse sticking to her skin. So much blood from such a tiny body. Her clothing was soaked in it.
Ripping at her blouse she mewed like a wounded animal. "Then take my eyes so I no longer have to see the blood of my angel on my hands. Take my ears so I no longer have to hear the shrieks from below, the clanging of the chains."
Only silence met her cry. God was no longer listening. Sinking to her knees she ripped at her hair, bordering on madness. How could they do this to her? Had she not served them well for more than ten years?
"You know what you must do, Aggie. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diable and she has cursed you."
For a moment rage blocked the pain squeezing at her heart. "You!" She screamed, her eyes filled with hatred, fists clenched at her side. "You brought this upon us. You with your superstitions and your curses."
"Mom chere ti chou, you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life. Her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows so does the evil. They warned you this day would come."
The old woman's words washed over her like a river of ice, extinguishing the fire of her rage, leaving only a cold still emptiness. "I begged them, Mother. Begged for her life as her blood seeped slowly through my fingers. I BEGGED THEM!" She screamed.
Her scream tapered to a whimper, her voice a mere whisper. "She is only five. I have lost one already. Must I lose them both?"
The old woman knelt beside her. Taking her right hand she prized open the fingers and closed them around the cold steel of the knife.
"You can't cure a mad dog, Aggie. You can only put it down."
The silence in the room was broken only by her whimpers. The old woman had left as silently as she'd come. The knife lay heavy in her hand, like the task before her lay heavy on her heart.
Rising she opened the door to the basement, ignoring the shrieks and clanging of the chains. Her feet descended the steps slowly, the old woman's words echoing over and over inside her head. "You can't cure a mad dog, Aggie. You can only put it down."
I hope you enjoyed this prelude of things to come, and I hope you'll check out The Jacody Ives Mysteries while you're waiting. Tentative release date for Find Me is February 2012.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Character Interview, Carl Jackson, FBI
Good morning. My guest today is FBI agent Carl Jackson.
L: Mr. Jackson, it’s such a pleasure to have you here with us today. Of all the characters in the Jacody Ives Mysteries, you actually became one of my favorites.
C: Hell, I could have told you that. Where’s the ashtray?
L: We don’t smoke in the house.
C: No smoking, no coffee, no interview.
L: *sigh*. Well, let me see what I can do about that.
C: *grin* And put some of that good Kentucky Bourbon in the coffee.
L: Here you go. Sorry, we don’t drink.
C: “sniffing the coffee”. You ain’t American, and you sure as hell ain’t no Kentuckian.
L: Well, I assure you not all Kentuckians drink bourbon. But we’re here to talk about you.
C: Better hurry it up then. I got a date with a fishing pole and a worm.
L: Oh, yes, I remember. You didn’t get to do much fishing.
C: Yeah, and I’m still mad at you about that.
L: Me?
C: All I wanted was just a half hour. One half hour. And could you give it to me? No, you had to have the Chief call and chew my ass out.
L: Well, Jacody had just been shot.
C: And whose fault was that?
L: *sigh*
C: And you better not ask me how that makes me feel.
L: Oh, no, I’d never do that. I totally understand you’re not a big fan of psychologists or psychiatrists.
C: Fan? *******, psycho-social babbling fools. Ain’t got nothing better to do than **** up young kids
L: Language, Mr. Jackson. Please.
C: And who writes my language?
L: And you’re not a big fan of profiling either, are you?
C: College educated idiots. I was catching killers when he was wearing diapers. And I didn’t need no ******* ********** computer printout to tell me who to look for.
L: Well, maybe we need to move on.
C: *cell phone rings* Yeah, I’m on my way.
L: Are you going somewhere?
C: Yep. Got me a date with an old voodoo woman and a worm.
L: How are things with you and Ms. Charity?
C: Be a lot better if you’d get off your *** and write the next chapter.
L: *shuffling notes*. I do have a few more questions.
C: *standing up walking to door* Times up. And little Nikki is running out of time too. You better get to writing. *opening door* Don’t make me have to come back here.
L: *grin*
C: *door opening—picking up forgotten cigarettes* And another thing. The next time you let some old codger clobber me I’m gonna kick your ***.
L: *grin* You were sneaking around Millie’s house with a gun in hand.
C: Yeah, and whose fault was that? *slamming door*. Next time get some damn bourbon.
So, ladies and gentlemen there you have it. Don’t worry, although he smokes like a freight train, and cusses worse than a sailor, his bark is worse than his bite. He’s really just a big old teddy bear that’s deadly when those he loves are in danger.
Carl makes a regular appearance in all Jacody Ives Mysteries.
L: Mr. Jackson, it’s such a pleasure to have you here with us today. Of all the characters in the Jacody Ives Mysteries, you actually became one of my favorites.
C: Hell, I could have told you that. Where’s the ashtray?
L: We don’t smoke in the house.
C: No smoking, no coffee, no interview.
L: *sigh*. Well, let me see what I can do about that.
C: *grin* And put some of that good Kentucky Bourbon in the coffee.
L: Here you go. Sorry, we don’t drink.
C: “sniffing the coffee”. You ain’t American, and you sure as hell ain’t no Kentuckian.
L: Well, I assure you not all Kentuckians drink bourbon. But we’re here to talk about you.
C: Better hurry it up then. I got a date with a fishing pole and a worm.
L: Oh, yes, I remember. You didn’t get to do much fishing.
C: Yeah, and I’m still mad at you about that.
L: Me?
C: All I wanted was just a half hour. One half hour. And could you give it to me? No, you had to have the Chief call and chew my ass out.
L: Well, Jacody had just been shot.
C: And whose fault was that?
L: *sigh*
C: And you better not ask me how that makes me feel.
L: Oh, no, I’d never do that. I totally understand you’re not a big fan of psychologists or psychiatrists.
C: Fan? *******, psycho-social babbling fools. Ain’t got nothing better to do than **** up young kids
L: Language, Mr. Jackson. Please.
C: And who writes my language?
L: And you’re not a big fan of profiling either, are you?
C: College educated idiots. I was catching killers when he was wearing diapers. And I didn’t need no ******* ********** computer printout to tell me who to look for.
L: Well, maybe we need to move on.
C: *cell phone rings* Yeah, I’m on my way.
L: Are you going somewhere?
C: Yep. Got me a date with an old voodoo woman and a worm.
L: How are things with you and Ms. Charity?
C: Be a lot better if you’d get off your *** and write the next chapter.
L: *shuffling notes*. I do have a few more questions.
C: *standing up walking to door* Times up. And little Nikki is running out of time too. You better get to writing. *opening door* Don’t make me have to come back here.
L: *grin*
C: *door opening—picking up forgotten cigarettes* And another thing. The next time you let some old codger clobber me I’m gonna kick your ***.
L: *grin* You were sneaking around Millie’s house with a gun in hand.
C: Yeah, and whose fault was that? *slamming door*. Next time get some damn bourbon.
So, ladies and gentlemen there you have it. Don’t worry, although he smokes like a freight train, and cusses worse than a sailor, his bark is worse than his bite. He’s really just a big old teddy bear that’s deadly when those he loves are in danger.
Carl makes a regular appearance in all Jacody Ives Mysteries.
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