Showing posts with label thriller. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thriller. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

The 13th Victim - #TuesdayTease

It's been a long time since I had two books coming out back to back.  The 13th Victim is now in the hands of the final editors and should be available by late October or early November.  The beginning and I hope not the end of a new series starring Andi Carter, an investigative reporter, and Shamus O'Conner, her apprentice.  The relationship between Andi and Shamus was a true joy to write, and no it isn't a romantic relationship.  Here's a little teaser to wet your appetite. As any author knows, this may change slightly after the final edits and proofreads.





PROLOGUE

“Tell me what I want to know and I won’t hurt you again.”
Andi Carter stared into the deep green eyes of Richard Thomas as she tried to collect enough saliva to swallow.  Pain had dulled her senses, and her throat was raw from screaming. She wasn’t sure she could speak, or if she did somehow manage to utter a few words if they would be coherent.  “I don’t…I don’t know what you want…to know,” she whispered.
Thomas sighed as he followed her gaze to the door leading out of the basement. “Still think Jerry is going to barge through that door and save you, Andi? He isn't, you know. In fact, dear old Jerry is the reason you're here. He's the one who told me what you were up to.”
A burning river of rage flowed through her, much like the sensation from the whiskey he kept feeding her, but instead of dulling her senses it cleared her mind.  He's going to kill me anyway. “Jerry Palano is a good cop. Scum like you would never understand that. If he told you anything it was because he was your partner and he trusted you.”
Even white teeth flashed, but the green of his eyes darkened. “That's my Andi, spirited and loyal to the end. Would you like a drink?” He reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table. “If you spill it, you know it’s going to hurt.” He inserted the tip of the bottle between her lips. “Drink up now, like a good girl. Then we’ll talk some more.”
Andi tilted her head back, guzzling the alcohol. Tears ran freely down her face as a tiny stream of alcohol dripped from her chin onto the raw blistered flesh of her legs. The pain was excruciating and she struggled not to scream as she continued to drink, praying for oblivion.   
Only when the bottle was empty did Thomas pull it away and pick up the scalpel. “Tell me what I want to know and I won’t hurt you again.”
“Gambini!  Gambini was running young girls. I was going to expose him.” Her words began to slur, and came from a long way off.  “Please.  Please just kill me.”
Thomas began to laugh, his roar filling the damp, musty room. “I can't believe that crap actually works.” He leaned in close, his breath hot on her cheek as he whispered, “I'm not going to kill you, Andi, but you're going to wish I had.”
His threat seeped through the alcohol induced fog as bile rose in her throat. A tiny pinpoint of satisfaction surged through her as she opened her mouth and spewed vomit on both of them.
“Son of a bitch.” Thomas leapt up, knocking over his chair. “You'll pay for that, Carter.”
Andi tried to smile, but the acidity of the vomit had reignited the pain from her cuts and burns. She began to tremble, her breath coming in short gasps as she watched his hands clench and unclench. Three days as his captive had convinced her of one thing—Thomas was crazy. His moods swung from euphoric enjoyment of torturing her physically and mentally to angry depression and occasionally to apologetic sympathy for having caused her pain. I don't really want to die.
Thomas pushed the table bearing his torture instruments into her view and lit the blowtorch. “You shouldn't have done that, Andi. I was going to let you go.”
“Please don't, Richard. I told you what you wanted to know. You promised you wouldn't hurt me again.” She struggled against the ropes binding her arms and legs.
He studied her, tilting his head to the side. “I did, didn't I?” His lips puckered as he turned off the torch. “Perhaps I'll give you some time to think about your apology.” He leaned in close, staring directly into her eyes. “Your punishment will depend on just how well you can beg.”
Sobs shook her body as she watched him leave, the heavy steel door slamming behind him. The alcohol had dulled the pain in her body, but not the emotional devastation of realizing Jerry wasn't going to save her. He betrayed me.
Time passed as she drifted in and out of consciousness until a scraping noise at the door jerked her wide awake. The door slowly swung open and Stuart Gambini peered inside.
“Jesus.” He crossed the room and knelt in front of her grabbing the scalpel on the table and quickly cutting the ropes around her wrists and ankles. “I'm gonna get you out of here. Can you walk?”
“Why? You’re just going to kill me anyway. Do it here.” Andi croaked out. Her mind was still fuzzy, but she was pretty sure Gambini was the reason she was here.
Gambini frowned, took off his jacket and lifted her from the chair. “We can talk about that later. Here, wrap this around you. Patrick is waiting for us at the top of the stairs.” He slipped her arms through the sleeves and pulled the coat up around her shoulders.
“How did you find me?” Andi leaned against him, taking a step toward the door, a small trail of blood dripping from her swollen feet.
“I've had my girls watching Thomas. This is the only place he kept coming back to.” Stuart placed an arm around her and half lifted, half dragged her toward the door. “We don't have a lot of time.”
Placing her right foot on the first step Andi took a deep breath as she raised her left foot and placed it on the second step. “Where are you taking me?”
“Put your arm around my neck.” Stuart tightened his hold around her waist, placed an arm under her legs and picked her up. “We'll hide you at the boarding house for the time being.”
Andi leaned into him and placed her head on his shoulder. “I need to call the Tribune. I was on a case and they must be going crazy wondering what happened to me.”
“You're old news. They gave up on finding you after the first three weeks.”
“Three weeks? I've only been missing three days.”
Stuart grunted as he took the last step. “Honey, you've been missing for over a month.”

Darkness closed in around her. A month? What the hell did Thomas do to me before he tortured me?

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

The Forgotten - Meet the Characters - Dr. Mary Ann Coomer



Dr. Coomer is named after one of my lovely fans.  My newsletter requested anyone wanting to be mentioned in a future book to email me with their name.   Like to see your name appear in a future novel?  Sign up for my newsletter at http://www.lindasprather.com

Dr. Coomer is an old country doctor who has been the family doctor for the Redmonds for as long as Loki can remember, and who took care of Loki’s grandfather until he passed away. Originally a bit part, I was somewhat shocked when the serial killers had other plans for Dr. Coomer.

She’s dedicated to saving lives, feisty and her sense of humor had me laughing out loud as her part developed and grew.  A Christian woman, she often prays and talks to God, although at times she has to ask for forgiveness as some of her prayers and thoughts might be perceived as detrimental to the health of the killers.

A couple of my favorite quotes from Mary:

He’s nuttier than your grandma’s jam cake, Anna Claire.


She’d known the second she laid eyes on Harriett Tatum that the wheels might be spinning but the guinea pig had died a long time ago.




Available on all Amazon sites. Grab your copy now! The Forgotten




Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Three Great Books For $.99 and New Release!



For one week only, you can get a combined set of three books for $.99
Love legal thrillers? Check out Jenna James in Beyond A Reasonable Doubt.
Paranormal Mysterys - Catherine Mans is awesome in Bet you Can't Find Me
Psychological Thrillers - Jacody Ives in The Gifts

Nook
Amazon (all sites)
Kobo
Apple ibooks




It was my great pleasure to co-write an exciting new series with NYT best selling author, M. A. Comley.  Clever Deception is now available for pre-order on Amazon.








Amazon




CHECK OUT THE BOOK TRAILER!


https://youtu.be/UOsWba6HX6w

Friday, May 8, 2015

Excerpt - Beyond A Reasonable Doubt

Clifford Beaumont was one of my favorite characters to write. A man with a past. A man with stories to tell. A loyal friend, but formidable enemy.

EXCERPT - Beyond A Reasonable Doubt


Closing the door, he headed down the stairs. He’d kept his hands clean for a long time, but before that night was over, blood would flow.

Clifford returned to the library, downed a quick glass of wine, replaced the gun in the drawer, and pulled out his switchblade. He opened a panel behind the bookcase, stepped through, and closed it behind him before flipping on a light switch and descending a set of stairs. The room below had taken months to build to his specifications. The contractor had thought him crazy when he’d stated he wanted it totally soundproof. That night was the first time he’d had to use it. His hands clenched at his sides. Depending on what the bastard told him, it wouldn’t be his last.
Travis had already secured the man, his hands and feet tied to a chair, and he’d removed the black hood. “He’s awake, sir, but not very talkative.”
Clifford smiled. “Let’s see what we can do about that. Put down some plastic, Travis, he looks like a bleeder to me.”
Clifford took his time unbuttoning his shirt, folding it, and placing it on a table against the wall. Next he removed his shoes and socks and placed them on the table. He undid his belt, stepped out of his pants, folded them neatly, and placed them with the shirt. He’d saved the best for last. Hooking his fingers in his underwear, he slipped them off and tossed them on top of the shoes. He flexed his shoulders and rolled his head from side to side until his neck made a cracking sound before he picked up the switchblade. The only thing more intimidating than a huge, hairy man approaching with a blade was a huge, hairy, totally naked man approaching with a blade.
“I ain’t talking,” the intruder said. Clifford slid the knife inside the neck of his black T-shirt and slowly ripped it from top to bottom. “Why don’t you tell me your name?” He nicked him just below the collarbone, letting the knife glide across his chest, a small trail of blood appearing along the line. “Or better yet, tell me who sent you here.”
“Told you, I ain’t talking.”
Clifford reached up and grabbed his face, holding it tight as he looked him straight in the eyes. “They all say that, son. But everybody talks. All you’ve got to decide is how much blood you want to lose before you do it.” Clifford smiled and lowered his voice. “Eyes, tongue, fingers, or toes?”
“Wha-at?”
“I’m gonna start cutting. Being the nice guy I am, I’ll let you choose where I start.”
“You’re crazy.”
The fear in the man’s light-blue eyes pulled at Clifford’s primitive side, that side of human nature that made one more of an animal than a man. He’d buried that side for a long time. An image of Kamela lying in bed, her blond hair spread out on the pillow, flashed through his mind, and he let the knife slide across the intruder’s bare chest again, that time going a little deeper. “You tried to hurt my daughter. If I were crazy, I wouldn’t let you choose. Let’s start with fingers. Travis, bring me a board.”
Travis picked up a board and approached the chair. “Right or left, sir?”
“Right.”
Travis grabbed the right hand and strapped it to the board. “Want me to gag him?”
Clifford shook his head and, with one fluid motion, chopped off the pinky. A scream filled the room as the chair rocked. “Who sent you here?”
“I ain’t talking!”
Clifford swiped at the blood that had sprayed across his chest and grinned. He raised the knife. “Suit yourself.”


Grab your copy now for just $.99/99p 

Amazon – all sites getBook.at/BeyondAReasonableDoubt
 Apple iBooks http://ow.ly/M3GEM 
B & N http://ow.ly/M3GKf
Page Foundry  http://ow.ly/M3GPi 


Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Countdown......Who Are The Twelve?

Teasers have been going round of some fabulous news for mystery, thriller and suspense readers. Twelve award winning authors have joined together to offer their readers a fabulous deal. The time is almost upon us. So who are The Twelve? Collect the cards below and follow on FaceBook, Twitter and the Website for exciting news and prizes.


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.”




Tuesday, August 20, 2013

New Release



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.”

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Friday, May 17, 2013

Sneak Peek at upcoming New Release - Eternal Beauty

Looking for early August release (as it goes through content edit; first and second edits; and proof reads); but I'm so excited and wanted to share a sneak peek with those who loved Bet you can't...Find Me. Watch the blog as I actually have 2 covers I love and I'll be letting my readers pick the final choice--with one lucky entry receiving a nice gift card to Amazon and one to Barnes and Noble, as well as some autographed copies of the new book.







PROLOGUE

“One more, sweetheart, and we’ll be finished.” He folded her hands across her chest, prayer-like, delicately arranging them to hide the missing fingers. “That’s perfect.”

The camera flash lit up the darkness for a moment. He crouched beside her, gently brushing the 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, listening to the sounds of her screams as they rose and fell. Desire swelled deep in his groin, intensifying each time a scream would peak. He licked his lips, yet he denied himself the pleasure of touching, the sweet beauty of release. Later, he could watch the video, study the photos, and listen to the tape to relive the excitement. Perhaps then he would allow himself the ecstasy of release, but only if it didn’t cheapen her memory. At the moment, it was enough to just enjoy reliving the feel of the scalpel in his hand and the rush of pleasure as he severed the muscles one by one.

He glanced at her hands still delicately folded across her bosom. He’d had to discipline her. But she’d learned quickly, and only two fingers were missing, which did nothing to diminish her perfection. And she’d been so perfect—her beautiful eyes the perfect shade of blue. 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.

A feeling of remorse washed over him as he reached for the Ziploc bag housing the remnants of his first experiments. Although each had been beautiful in her own way, there had been no ceremony, for them. A simple flip of a switch and 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, not as they would have been had he not taken them. Although they would hold 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 as they flipped and floated on the waves. The screams began to taper off into whimpers as the sun crested the horizon. He rolled the body to the edge of the boat, wound the rope around it, then 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.”

He recited the verse he’d memorized for the occasion. Just for her. “Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”

She was the first worthy of holding a place of honor. Her fate was assured in the annals of time and history. She would always be remembered as the first Eternal Beauty.

Dawn was approaching quickly, but there was still 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 our moment of triumph. We have our 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’m sorry I ever doubted you, my darling. You were right, of course. The true beauty of life is art. And art must be shared to be appreciated. I will blaze a path around this world, seeking only those worthy and preserving them for all time. Soon, the world 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. The boat rocked slightly as his heartbeat quickened, his hands growing sweaty. The tension was nearly unbearable as he waited in anticipation. The recorder paused for a moment of silence before her voice filled the night.

“Please… remember me.”

Thursday, September 29, 2011

The Jacody Ives Mysteries - Limited time only--get both for less than $5.00!

Have a Kindle? Now you can enjoy both the Jacody Ives Mysteries for less than $5.00.
The Gifts $2.99 and Sacred Secrets $1.99. Also available on Smashwords and B & N.



Excerpt From The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Sheriff Sarah Burns pulled off the road and parked near the site of Saturday night’s tragic accident. Unnatural deaths were rare in Glade Springs, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d missed something.

An image of Morgana Nelson clutching the body of her daughter, her heartbroken cry echoing through the morgue, flashed through Sarah’s mind.

Maybe it was only wishful thinking. The Nelsons were good people, and Johanna had been their only child. The accident made no sense. Johanna wasn’t the typical eighteen year old. She didn’t run off to Edgewood or Richmond after graduation, looking for a larger city and more excitement. She didn’t stay out late. She didn’t drive fast. She didn’t drink. So why had she been here, driving so fast she missed the curve? The toxicology reports weren’t in yet, but the body had reeked with the smell of alcohol. The Nelsons had questions, needed answers.

Climbing out of the Explorer, Sarah walked toward the curve as she closed out the noises around her, traveling the path Johanna had driven. Emotions were strong here. She could feel the sadness—and the anger. Johanna was upset.

Sarah moved into the curve slowly, feeling the shift in the emotions surrounding her. Panic took over, quickly turning to fear. She retraced the path the car had taken as it skidded off the road into the huge oak tree.

Crouching near the point of impact, she placed her hand on the earth and closed her eyes. For a brief moment she felt physical pain and then all emotions ceased.

Sighing, Sarah stood up. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to find. Let it go, Sarah, she chided herself. Some questions have no answers.

Heaving another sigh, Sarah started toward her vehicle. She was tired, looking forward to a quiet evening at home. Last night’s dream had upset her. All day she’d been haunted by the image of the dark brown eyes filled with pain, the heart-wrenching cry that had jerked her from an uneasy sleep. The whispered message that had kept her lying awake, trembling as she listened to the sounds of the night.

She hated the dreams. Hated the feeling of helplessness they created inside her as the dying reached out, sending messages to loved ones, or crying out for vengeance against their attacker. Only this time the dream had been different. This time the message was for Sarah.

Sarah shook herself mentally, pushing away the memories, the fear. It was just a dream. And this was just a horrible accident. Accidents happened—especially when teenagers drank. Her foot touched the passenger tire track imprinted in the soft earth near the tree. A feeling of panic clutched at her, growing stronger, making it hard to breathe.

“Jesus,” she muttered as she stepped away from the track, breathing deeply.

Kneeling, she touched the earth, holding her breath, as emotions flowed through her fingertips. Unlike the driver’s side, the panic here continued to escalate. There was no physical pain, no ceasing of emotion. This was what had been bugging her. The something missing. Johanna Nelson had died almost instantly, but she hadn’t died alone. Someone else had been in the car with her when she crashed into that tree.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Ripple In Time - WIP Part 2

I haven't decided exactly what I'm going to do with this. Short story, novella or novel. Ideas are running rampant and I hope to really get started on it this week.
Hope you enjoy.

Part 2


Fumbling with the doorknob she finally got it open and sprinted across the room to Casey's bedroom, turning the handle and pushing. The door wouldn't budge. "Casey!" Valerie pounded on the door, continuing to push.

"What?" Casey pushed the chest away from the door and opened it a crack. "Jesus, Val, it's only four a.m. I knew you wanted to get an early start but this is…" Casey took a good look at Val's face, noting the paler than usual complexion, as well as the tears streaming down her face. Pushing the chest completely out of the way she opened the door. "What's wrong?"

Valerie struggled to bring her breathing back to normal. "I heard a scream. I thought. . ." She couldn't finish the sentence, instead she reached out and pulled

Casey into a tight embrace. "I thought he'd killed you."

Casey broke the embrace. "Who, that sweet little old man you rented this place from?"

Valerie had the decency to flush. "Okay, so he gave me the creeps too. But I did hear voices and then there was this horrible scream."

Sighing, Casey knew she wasn't going to get back to sleep so she headed for the kitchen and a fresh pot of coffee. "Maybe it was your lady in white?"

Valerie perked up at the idea, but immediately discarded it following Casey into the kitchen. "Ghosts don't usually talk in groups, and I've never heard one scream like that."

Casey filled the coffee pot and turned it on taking two cups down from the cabinet. "You're always telling me that it's an unknown phenomena. How do you know ghosts don't scream like that?"

Valerie pondered the question for a moment. She couldn't be sure, but it sounded human. Too human. "Well, I'm going to ask Mr. Jenson if there's anyone else around here, and if there is we're going to get at least part of our money back."

Casey chuckled, and shook her head. "We stole this place as it is, Val. Two hundred dollars for a full month? I expected it to be run down, poorly furnished and a real dump. Instead it's clean, and the furniture looks almost new. Where else could we find a deal like that?"

Casey's words sunk in and Val felt the hairs rise along the back of her neck. What had she been thinking when she'd read the brochure? "Yeah, where else could anyone get a deal like that?" She whispered.

# # #

Grabbing her easel, canvas and paints Valerie headed to the clearing at first light. Two pots of coffee and daylight had gone a long way in dispelling her earlier fears. It really was beautiful here, and she couldn't wait to start painting.

At least Mr. Jenson hadn't lied about the clearing. Setting up her easel and canvas Valerie walked around the clearing, getting a feel for the place. She had the feeling something had stood here in the past. Perhaps another cabin. The grass was lush and green as if tended by some unknown hand. The forest closed it off in a perfect circle.

Returning to the easel she prepared her pallet and picked up a brush. "Okay, guys. Show me what you want me to see."

Valerie knew she often tranced out when painting and hours passed like minutes. Still she was surprised when she looked around and noticed the deepening shadows and sun disappearing below the horizon. Where had the day gone? Standing back she looked at the canvas and frowned. She recognized the clearing, but there was definitely something new there. A huge stone occupied the center. More disturbing though was the water-like ripples flowing from left to right. The painting was ruined. Sighing she packed up and headed back to the cabin. Casey was just coming out the front door as she trudged up the porch.

"Hey, I was just coming to look for you. I had to cook supper again and it was your night."

Valerie shrugged, mumbling as she passed her. "Sorry, I lost track of time."
Casey followed her into the cabin. "You better put something on that sunburn. What happened anyway?"

Tossing the painting into her bedroom, Valerie put her easel and paints away before coming back to the living room and flopping on the couch. "Bad paint, I guess. A total day wasted."

"I doubt that. You only buy the best paint. Let me have a look." Casey picked up the discarded painting, frowning as she noted the ripple effect. "Is this the clearing you were in?"

Valerie nodded. "With the exception of the rock in the middle."

Casey looked closer. "That's not exactly a rock, you know."

Valerie joined her looking closer. "Looks like a rock to me."

Casey gave her a condescending look. "You really need to get out more. It's an altar."

"Altar? What kind of altar? And what's for dinner?" Valerie took the painting and propped it against the wall. Maybe it wasn't a wasted day after all.

"Looks like a sacrificial altar to me, and we're having franks and beans."

Valerie grimaced. "We had franks and beans last night."

Casey grinned. "Maybe tomorrow night you'll cook."

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Tuesday's Tease - The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery



“That’s Cooper,” Joshua whispered, crouching lower and signaling Gavin to do the same. They watched as he dumped something on the ground and proceeded to dig. Gavin glanced at Joshua, fear taking his breath, clutching at his heart. They couldn’t be too late. Not this time. Joshua shook his head and motioned for Gavin to follow him into the forest.

Joshua waited until he was sure they were out of hearing distance. He’d read the fear reflected in Gavin’s eyes. “Too large to be Nikki.”

“Who then?”

“Well, since that’s the good Reverend Cooper, I’d say maybe Mrs. Cooper.”

Gavin was horrified at the thought. “You think he killed his wife?”

Joshua shrugged. “Maybe she wasn’t his wife.”

“You know, you’re beginning to freak me out just a little,” Gavin stated. “My psychiatrist would have a field day analyzing you.”

Joshua grinned, placing a toothpick between his teeth. “That’s why they burned Joan of Arc. Just didn’t understand. Let’s go.”

Buy Now!

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Saturday, March 19, 2011

SampleSunday - Mel Comley - Final Justice (A Lorne Simpkins thriller)




March 20, 2011 – Mel Comley – Final Justice (A Lorne Simpkins Thriller)
A Chateau in Normandy



September 2009.

Chapter One

A smug satisfied smile stretched across Baldwin’s handsome but menacing features as he surveyed his lavish surroundings, self-congratulation exuding from every pore. Tonight would be all about him, his ability to manipulate others, as months of meticulous planning came to fruition.

A couple of the scantily clad girls, all of Eastern-European extraction, giggled in the corner. He scowled at them, when he realised they’d been helping themselves to the potent punch, intended for his esteemed guests.

With its final tune-up complete the band drifted off to get changed. Meanwhile, the experienced agency waiting staff were tinkering, adding the finishing touches to the thirty-foot table laden with some of the world’s finest food, specially imported for tonight’s soiree.

His gaze drifted out over the large terrace and he took in the incredible view; the view that had sold the chateau to him. A view that took in thirty acres of manicured lawns, bordered by hedges shaped like animals; luxurious surroundings more suited to royalty than a lad brought up, or rather dragged up, in the boarded-up slums of Salford, Manchester. A lad with a rap sheet longer than the Seine.

Most of his men were already standing in position, their weapons safely concealed beneath their smart tuxedos, they would be joined by the others once the limos arrived.

Baldwin glanced at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, his irritation bubbling just below the surface. The guests should have arrived at seven, a full ten minutes ago; where the bloody hell were they? He marched over to the window and craned his neck to look up the long tree-lined drive. Nothing, not a limo in sight, nothing but the grey gravel, glistening in the evening sun. It didn’t bode well, not in his book, anyway. His blood began to pump harder, faster so much so that the vein in his temple jutted out, just as it always did when something didn’t go according to plan. His plans.

‘Well?’ he asked, when Julio, his second in command, joined him at the window.

‘Nothing as yet, boss. Everything’s ready though.’

‘That much I can see, you bloody moron. Now go and see what the fucking hold-up is. I want this evening to go smoothly. You understand, Julio, no cock-ups.’

‘Yes, boss. I’ll get onto it straight away.’

‘Never mind, I’ll see for myself, I know how those guys can twist you round their fingers.’

Baldwin stormed into the communications room located next door. The room was littered with pizza boxes and a bottle of scotch sat on the desk in front of his men. The three men, all built like bouncers, leapt to their feet. ‘Look at the bloody mess in here. Did I say you could drink on duty? This is supposed to be serious business tonight. I’m warning you, fuck this up and you’ll pay for it, with your lives. You got that? Now, what’s the bloody hold-up?’ his glare unnerved the men, and they nodded, like toy dogs in the back of a car.

Baldwin stepped forward, a menacing look in his eyes. He stopped in front of the youngest of the three men, their noses a few inches apart, ‘I said, have you got that, Benji?’

The man gulped, his eyes bulging with fear, he nodded again, ‘Yes, boss, I got it.’

‘This is your final warning, Benji. Screw this up and….’ Baldwin left the sentence unfinished on purpose.

The new recruit backed away and Baldwin let him go, for the time being; he’d had his eye on him for a while, and had come to the conclusion that the man’s attitude stank. It hadn’t escaped him that the man thought highly of himself and enjoyed strutting around as if he owned the place, ‘Now, let’s start again, shall we? Tell me, what the hell is going on?’ He sat on the corner of the desk, looking at the ten TV screens attached to the wall in front of him, each showing a different area of the chateau and its grounds.

‘The limos called in a few minutes ago. They got held up a couple of miles up the road. They should be here within ten minutes,’ Benji said.

‘Make sure they are. I’m getting anxious and I don’t need to tell you what that means, do I?’

The men nodded their understanding of the unspoken threat. His anxiety was notorious, and often resulted in bouts of violence. Despite his men having muscles ten times larger than their IQs, when Baldwin went on the rampage, they all turned into quivering wrecks.

With the threat still lingering in the air, Benji pointed to one of the screens, as a car pulled into the drive, ‘Here comes the first lamb now.’

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Final-Justice-Lorne-Simpkins-thriller/dp/B004OEKFYO
http://www.amazon.com/Final-Justice-Lorne-Simpkins-thriller/dp/B004OEKFYO
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/43071 For other ereaders.

Final Justice (A Lorne Simpkins thriller)

www.amazon.co.uk
This is the sequel to Impeding Justice but is also a standalone thriller/adventure. After suffering a breakdown and quitting the force, former Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins is contacted by a friend at MI6 to help in a covert operation. Against her will, Lorne is convinced to help track down an . . .

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Thursday's Tease


It was getting dark, but Joshua continued driving, hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. Mary would worry, but dammit, he couldn’t go home yet. Not this way. Why? Why the hell did women feel they had to protect the cowardly bastards?

The memory of Ella Mae’s bruised and swollen face still burned inside him. She’d fallen all right. The same way his mother had fallen time and time again. Emotions washed over him. Rage, hate, love and guilt. He’d felt no remorse when his father died. He hadn’t killed him, though God knows he’d wanted to many times. But then he hadn’t tried to save him either. It had taken every ounce of his eight-year-old strength to drag his mother’s body from the burning car.

Pulling the Jeep to the side of the road, he cut the engine and rested his head on his hands. He hadn’t been able to save her, either. She’d died in his arms as he sat there watching the car go up in flames.

A heavy sadness descended upon him. He wouldn’t be able to save Ella Mae either—not unless she wanted to be saved.

Joshua relaxed his hands on the steering wheel, turning his thoughts to Mary and the child growing inside her. His child would never know the pain he’d had to grow up with. Never know the fear. Love flowed through him, chasing away the last of his rage. It was too late for dinner at the café, but he’d make it up to Mary. It was time he went home.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B003U4WVQ4/

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Interview with Al Boudreau - In Memory of Greed


Today I have the pleasure of interviewing Independent Author Al Boudreau, author of In Memory of Greed.

LP: Good morning Al, and thank you for being my guest today.

AB: Good morning, Linda. Thank you for having me.

LP: Let’s jump right in. Tell us a little about yourself. Where do you live now, and where did you grow up?

AB: I grew up in Southwest New Hampshire and moved to Southern Maine about eight years ago.

LP: Do you feel that the environment you were raised in has any effect on your choice of genre?

AB: My environment allowed my creative spirit to grow, as I spent a great deal of time hiking, canoeing, and camping with some very colorful characters.

LP: Sounds like a perfect life to me. When and why did you begin writing?

AB: I started writing about eighteen months ago in order to begin a new adventure in my life. Ultimately, writing will become my second career and life’s work, if all goes as planned.

LP: Share with us what inspired your first book.

AB: My first book, “In Memory of Greed,” was inspired by observations pertaining to big business and bigger government taking advantage of the middle class. Members of the middle class are people who really make our country great. To eliminate corruption and wrong-doing, I feel there must be a chorus of voices. I consider my writing to be a voice in that larger choir.

LP: As member of that middle class, Al, I’m even more interested in reading your book now. I personally love book titles, and I’m often amazed at how well a title fits the book. How do you come up with your titles?

AB: The title is a summary of the plot subject matter. It also represents a hope; that by making our voices heard, greed and power, for powers sake, can have a spotlight focused on them, making it untenable for those who abuse their positions to continue.

LP: I hear comments all the time that readers “just didn’t get it” when describing certain books that attempted to convey a message. Is there a specific message in your novels that you’d like the reader to grasp?

AB: My specific message to my readers is, take a good, hard look at what’s going on all around you. Don’t believe all you read in the papers or see on tv. Rather, dig deeper and seek the truth. It’s there, if you choose to see.

LP: How much of your book is realistic or based on real life issues?

AB: My book is based on real life issues. I feel, if I’m to achieve my goals as a writer, my readers should be entertained and enlightened about important issues which adversely affect us all.

LP: When did you first consider yourself a writer?

AB: Writing is something I’m passionate about. I will feel like a true writer when I am able to do it full time and balance everything it takes to do so successfully.

LP: Do you have a specific writing style?

AB: I don’t feel I have developed a specific writing style, as my experience is limited. Hopefully, I will grow into that as my body of work expands.

LP: If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?

AB: Though I read many books by authors I admire, I don’t necessarily have a mentor. Amanda Hocking provides me with inspiration. She is so successful and talented, yet grounded and approachable. She is a true professional and I am so proud of her.

LP: I believe Amanda is an inspiration to all Independent Authors. I’m picked up on the fact that, like me, you’re an avid reader yourself. What book are you reading now?

AB: I am presently reading ‘Sankofa,’ by Wyatt Bryson.

LP: Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?

AB: I am highly anticipating all three of L. M. Stulls works, and an upcoming novel by Marni Mann, called ‘Memoirs aren’t Fairytales.’

LP: If you had it to do all over again, would you change anything in your first book?

AB: In my humble opinion, any author who says they wouldn’t change things in their first novel is not being critical enough … a resounding yes!

LP: Are you currently working on a new book, and if so, can you share some of it with us?

AB: I have begun a detailed outline of my next novel. The title is yet to be determined. The plot deals with social unrest and the governments nefarious plans to deal with it.

LP: You’ll have to keep us updated on your progess. What has been the most challening part of writing your current work in progress?

AB: Time is the most challenging part of writing my current WIP. As an indie author, promoting takes up the bulk of my time lately.

LP: Who are your favorite authors and what is it that really strikes you about their work?

AB: I don’t have a favorite author. Someone who I respect a great deal is Dan Brown. The research required to write a novel like ‘The DaVinci Code’ is truly staggering. My hat’s off to him for that reason.

LP: Do you actually travel to the places you write about?

AB: I feel I must travel in order to convey the true nature of the locales in which my characters do their thing. I feel it provides color and richness that research alone does not.

LP: Do you design your own covers?

AB: I only have one cover and I did design it. I took the cover photo in Africa and completed the cover design as well.

LP: You did a great job. What was the hardest part of writing your book?

AB: The hardest part of writing my book was re-writing my book three times. It was a painful, but necessary process.

LP: I hear you there. I’m getting ready to start the first rewrite of my current WIP. Do you feel that you learned something from writing your book, and if so, what?

AB: In the process of writing ‘In Memory of Greed,’ I learned what to do differently with my next novel. As I write, I feel there should be a tremendous amount of growth from one book to the next.

LP: Do you have any advice for other writers?

AB: I don’t feel nearly experienced enough to be doling out advice. For myself, I try to read other authors works and learn from their talents.

LP: Is there anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

AB: I feel that we should all try reading genres outside the ones we generally gravitate toward. You never know what you might like until you try it. I hope a large percentage of female readers will give my Mystery/Thriller a chance, as the women in my novels are smart, savvy people who get the job done, despite the obstacles they encounter.

LP: Love smart/savvy women. Thank you, Al, for sharing with us today. I look forward to reading and reviewing your book in the near future. I hope when your new book is ready for publication you’ll drop me a line and stop by to update us.

AB: Thank you, Linda, for the opportunity to share with you today and I’ll definitely let you know about my upcoming releases.


Don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m looking forward to reading In Memory of Greed.

Ready to download a sample or buy now?

http://amzn.com/B004L2LJ94
http://tiny.cc/2d76v
http://amazon.co.uk/dp/B004L2LJ94

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Steven Savile - Silver


A lifelong genre fan, Steven Savile has written for Doctor Who, Torchwood, Primeval, Stargate, Guild Wars, Warhammer, Slaine, Star Wars and the Jurassic Park series, as well as Fantastic TV, a critical study of 50 years worth of science fiction on television. In 2009 won the International Media Tie-In Writer's Scribe Award for his original novel Primeval: Shadow of the Jaguar. Steven has sold over quarter of a million books worldwide, won multiple awards, including the Writers of the Future and Scribe Award, and is a number one bestseller in the United Kingdom.

***********************************************************************************
Sometimes the truth is anything but honest.

Sometimes the stories everyone knows by heart are lies.

Sometimes lies are all we have left.

Two thousand years ago, thirty silver Tyrian shekels were paid to secure the most infamous betrayal of all time. Melted down by the grandsons of Judas Iscariot, in the dark heart of the Sicarii fortress, Masada, the silver was re-forged as a dagger. When the Sicarii zealots committed mass suicide in AD73 the dagger of Iscariot and the truth of his sacrifice were lost. Until now.

A religious cult calling itself the Disciples of Judas has risen in the Middle East. Its influence is pernicious, its reach long. In thirteen cities across Europe thirteen people martyr themselves in the name of Judas, promising forty days and forty nights of terror. They twist the words of ancient prophecies to drive home the fear. Everything you believe in will be proved wrong. Everything you hold true will fail.

Day by day the West wakes to increasingly harrowing acts of terror. As fear cripples the capitals of Europe, who will be the next to fall? London? Rome? Berlin?

In a race against time - and prophecy - believing the terrorists intend to assassinate the Pope as part of their plan to bring down the Catholic Church, Sir Charles Wyndham's team of combat specialists, codename Ogmios, tracks a labyrinthine course through truth, shades of truth and outright lies that takes them from the backstreets of London to the shadow of Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin and all the way into the heart of the Holy See itself.

Forty days and forty nights of fear. And today is day one.

"The mix of history, suspense, and action in Silver is a perfect combination for those DaVinci Code fans looking for another electrifying read combining Biblical history with modern-day Armageddon."
-- Douglas Preston, NYT Bestselling author of IMPACT and BLASPHEMY

"Fascinating, gripping, horrific, tragic and compelling."
-- Steve Alten, NYT Bestselling author of MEG and THE SHELL GAME

"SILVER is a wild combination of Indiana Jones, The Da Vinci Code, and The Omen."
-- Kevin J Anderson, international bestselling author of THE SAGA OF SEVEN SUNS and co-author of PAUL OF DUNE

"Move over Dan Brown!"
-- Stel Pavlou, international bestselling author of DECIPHER and GENE

Buy Now

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Excerpt From The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery



“Morning, Sheriff. I was beginning to worry about you.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, looking at her favorite deputy, Joshua Cross, before glancing at the clock.

“It’s only eight-thirty.”

“Forget something?” Joshua raised an eyebrow, mocking her.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered. The toxicology report on Johanna Nelson. “Did they call?”

“About ten minutes ago. Doc Hawthorne says to call him when you get in. Got something on his mind.”

Sarah nodded. Doc Hawthorne had delivered Johanna Nelson, watched her grow up, and he’d been the one to tell her parents about her death. She was sure he had a lot on his mind. There were still unanswered questions about Johanna’s death, questions that would probably never be answered, as the case seemed no more than a tragic accident. Johanna had been drinking, lost control in the curve and hit a tree. Death had been instantaneous. And then there was what she had felt at the scene last night. Dammit, that was always the problem. She never knew when it was real. Had there really been someone else with Johanna?

Sarah hesitated, tempted to tell Joshua about her suspicion that Johanna had not been alone in the car. “Damn,” she muttered, grabbing a cup of too strong coffee as she headed for her office. And how would she explain her suspicions? Joshua, I have this gift, and it tells me things. She was sure that would go over great.

Grabbing the phone, she dialed Doc Hawthorne’s number. The sooner she made the call, the sooner Johanna’s parents would be allowed to lay their daughter to rest. Maybe Sarah could also lay her doubts to rest.

Five minutes later, Sarah grimaced as she slammed down the phone. The call to Doc had done no more than raise additional questions. Although Johanna smelled of alcohol, blood tests revealed she had not been drinking. Sarah knew there was something else. Something Doc had not told her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was there. She’d have to go see him in person, take a look at the autopsy report, and find out what he was hiding. The knock on her door did nothing to improve her mood.

“Come in.”

“Everything okay?”

“Just fine,” Sarah muttered sarcastically. “Doc says Johanna wasn’t drinking.”

Joshua seated himself comfortably in the old armchair Sarah had purchased at a yard sale.

“Don’t surprise me none. Never knew that girl to take a drink.”

“Then what the hell happened out there, Joshua? What am I supposed to tell her parents?”

Joshua shrugged, chewing a toothpick. A habit he’d taken up when he’d stopped smoking three years ago.

“You’d better put something on that burn.”

Sarah glanced down at her hand. She’d almost forgotten about burning herself that morning. The skin was now a fiery red.

“It’s not that bad. Did you need something?” Sarah wanted to be alone. She rubbed her temples. Everything seemed to be off kilter.

“Just worried about you. You look a little pale. Maybe you should have Doc take a look at that hand.”

Sarah stopped rubbing her temples. Genius. A perfect excuse to pick the old doctor’s brain. “Yeah, I’ll do that. But I’m fine, really. Nikki hasn’t been sleeping well lately, so, of course, neither have I.”

“I’m afraid you’re not gonna sleep too well in the next couple of weeks, either.” Joshua tossed a mystery novel on her desk. “Know him?”

Sarah glanced at the novel. “G. C. McAllister?” She read the title, A Jacody Ives Mystery – Pool of Tears. “No, I’ve never heard of him.” She glanced from the book to Joshua.

“Got a reputation for being a pretty ruthless bastard. Fancies himself as some kind of private detective like his character. Travels around to small towns looking for secrets. Digs around until he finds a good story. Rumor has it he’s destroyed a lot of lives.”

Sarah frowned. “What does that have to do with us?”

“He just made a reservation at The Lodge. Be here two weeks from today.”
Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. She forgot about Johanna, forgot the burn on her hand, and the need to talk to Doc Hawthorne. The dying words of a tortured soul seemed to echo in the room.

He’s coming, Sarah. He wants to destroy you.

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery