Day nine was Christmas Day, the family had all gathered; they decorated the table with holly and crackers. We were all smiling, Dad had been generous with gifts this year. Mum carried the turkey from the oven. Uncle Pete stood, pulled his Browning and shot his brother, my father. The bullet entered below his eye, killing him instantly.
Mum dropped the bird and stood opened-mouthed. My sister screamed. Granddad pushed his chair back and started after uncle Pete. The door slammed. Uncle Pete fired the engine and screeched down the otherwise quiet street. The black Jaguar disappeared by turning left.
I jogged back inside. Granddad was coughing and bent double by the door getting his breath back, I passed him to check on my mum. She was crying, slumped in an armchair. My fifteen-year-old sister, calling emergency services, hammering number nine. My dad? He hadn’t moved after hitting a side-plate with his head. Oddly, I noticed the family framed photo behind him, glass shattered with a small lump of metal buried in mum’s face.
Dad was wearing his Christmas present, a light-blue button-down collar business shirt. He also sported a bulky bandage on his wrist. A thought struck me, “How come did Dad and Uncle Pete have the same taste in clothes. When Dad wore light blue, Pete wore a slightly different shade of blue. If Dad wore yellow, Pete would wear orange, if Dad wore burgundy, Pete sported maroon?” I also wondered, “Why does uncle Pete have a bandage wrapped around his head?”
Pete and my Dad would meet up most mornings, they planned their next robbery. In the evening they would share a few beers, sometimes here in our living room or down at their local.
“What happened?” I asked my sister.
“You saw what happened, don’t ask stupid questions,” she answered.
I asked my mum and anyone listening to the same question. The replies were grunts or shakes of heads.
Then the police arrived, followed by the ambulance.
The Doherty boys were well known to the ‘Old Bill’. The questioning went on for an hour. The police received similar answers to me. My granddad lost his temper, swore and threatened the police. They arrested him. They sent my sister and me upstairs.
Mum continued talking, but we couldn’t hear, even when we crept closer down the stairs. Janice grunted, “I’m going for a walk,” slamming the front door.
“Can I come?”
“No!” she yelled at me.
“The Post Office offers such slim pickings these days, we should try something else,” said Pete.
“What have you got in mind?” asked my dad.
“I watched the employees at that Indian factory in West Road. Friday nights they check their pay packets as they exit the door.”
“You want us to knock a few foreigners over the head? And nick their pitiful wage?” asked my Dad.
“Because they are illegals, they don’t have bank accounts, so, all cash.”
“That means somebody has to pay in pound notes? Why not nick the lot? We are wasting our time by taking each worker’s salary. We’ll hit the boss,” said my Dad smiling.
Both Dad and Uncle Pete leaned back and fiddled with their neckties, Dad’s plain dark blue, Pete’s Paisley patterned royal blue.
Sat in the Jag, they took it in turns to watch the factory. Taking snaps of everyone who entered the works. Most walked along the road, a few came on the bus. The first to arrive were in a newish Mercedes. A large turbaned man driving the passenger was a strikingly good-looking young lady in a silk sari. They sauntered through the main door.
“He must be the boss. Who is she? Too young to be his wife. Well-dressed for a secretary?” said Pete. “Christ, she’s beautiful.”
My Dad had given up trying to find a wife for his brother. He snorted, “Get a nice English lass. What’s wrong with you?”
The staff must clock in at eight. The turbaned man and the good-looking lady were already in their office. Just after noon, a new van pulled up, the driver in smart casual clothes, flicked his ginger hair from his eyes as he breezed in. Five minutes later he left, after assisting a pair of men loading the van with bundles wrapped in brown paper. Dad and uncle Pete followed the buyer’s truck.
“Hello mate, what’s the food like in here?” said Dad to ginger.
“Yeah, pretty tasty mate.”
The pub was empty; the cooking smells wafted into the bar.
“What are they cooking, smells great?” asked Pete.
“They knock up a special, good job you’re here early. It gets packed at one when the factories shut for lunch. Sit with me if you like?”
The three men sat by the window tucking into the special lunch.
“Are you your own boss?” asked Dad.
“Yeah, I buy a bit of this and that. Hope to sell it for a tasty profit. Doing well with fancy rip-offs,” he chuckled.
“Really? That sounds good. Tell us more. What are you selling?”
“I sell fashion polo shirts, stuff like that. I get a good deal from that Indian ‘gaff up the road,” said Ginger.
“Indians, eh? Are they good to deal with?”
“Yeah, except they want cash upfront. It was difficult at first, but now business is great.”
The Merc arrived well before eight. Later, the silk sari flowed to Starbucks on the corner. Dad stayed in the car, while Pete decided they needed coffees too.
“She smells divine,” Pete mouthed silently, following the sari.
He rushed ahead and opened the door for her, “After you,” he said.
“Thank you, kind gentleman,” she said, brilliant white teeth flashed a shy smile.
He turned and opened the door for her once more. Coffee in hands, she walked back to work.
Pete made sure nobody saw him get in the Jag.
“We’d better park somewhere else, I’m worried they’ll get suspicious, us here day after day.”
“It wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t got out. You and your coffee? We have dark windows in case you’ve forgotten. Come on, that’s enough surveillance for one day.”
Pete was busy Googling at six am, finding out all he could about Indian ladies. He wanted to learn about saris, in case he got another chance to speak with her.
Dad swapped his car for his mate’s Ford, “Just for a day,” he told Mum. She was proud to sit in the Jaguar and didn’t want to lose it.
Late that morning a ten-wheeler arrived, staff rushed a forklift to the doors. Soon bolts of cloth, blues of many shades, creamy white and bright yellows and oranges hastily shipped inside. The driver left, stuffing cash-filled envelopes into his cab.
“Come on, let’s nick that lot,” yelled Pete.
“Don’t be so hasty, young brother. They deal in cash, right? That means there will be a lot more. Just wait, we will be in for a bumper payout,” said my Dad happily.
They parked the Jag in the opposite direction and further down the road. Dad had brought his binoculars.
He was jumping with excitement when he came home at the end of the shift.
“You should have seen the number of customers they had, in and out, all day.”
He was rubbing his hands as he told us about bundles and bundles being shifted.
Pete was strangely quiet as Mum served the dinner.
Pete was late coming to our house that morning.
“Where the hell is he?” asked my Dad.
“Maybe he overslept?” answered my Mum.
“He never sleeps in when we are working,” said Dad.
Pete was not in bed, he was timing his walk to coincide with the Indians.
“Good morning, lovely day,” he said.
The turban grunted, “Good day.”
She chuckled as she ducked through the door.
“Where the hell have you been?” asked my Dad.
“I went to the factory early, to see what happens before the staff arrive.”
“You never know,” Pete said.
“Did anything happen?” asked my Dad.
“Don’t be late tomorrow. We’ll complete our business, then the day after we can enjoy Christmas.”
“What’s our plan?” asked Pete.
“They will stuff the office with cash, as all the dealers will try to hit shoppers on Christmas Eve.”
“Why don’t we go after the dealers as they arrive. We know they have cash?”
“That cash will all be in one place if we wait. It makes our job easy,” said Dad.
“Yeah, but we have to go inside,” said Pete.
“We used to go into the Post Office too.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“You won’t have a bad feeling when we divvy up.”
“Good, you’re early. Got everything?” Dad asked.
Pete showed my Dad his pistol, it was a newer version of Dad’s one. They bought them from a man they know down the pub.
“Taking the money is one thing, but I don’t want to shoot anyone,” said Uncle Pete.
“It has never bothered you before.”
“What’s the matter, Pete?” asked my Mum.
She rarely got involved in men’s business.
“It’s the Indian lady,” said Pete nervously when Dad wasn’t listening.
My Mum controlled herself after her unladylike raucous laughter, “What are you on about?” she asked.
“He’s in love!” grinned Mum when Dad returned.
“Come on, let’s do it,” said Pete.
Both men checked their weapons. Hiding them as they walked towards the car.
They watched the factory doors, no one in or out for thirty minutes.
“Okay, let’s go,” said my Dad.
Scarves hid their lower faces, hoodies hid the rest.
The factory was noisy. Machines clattered as the brothers walked to the office.
“Hands up,” Pete shouted.
“You, open the safe,” said Dad.
“Sorry sir, but I can’t,” said the man with the turban.
Pete walked up close, pointing the barrel inches from his chin, “And why not?”
The man shook his head, “I do not know the combination.”
“Yeah right, your factory, your safe,” said Pete.
“Oh no, sir, it is not mine,” he said.
The graceful lady put her hand up, “It is my business, he does not know how to open it.”
“Your business?” asked Pete. “Who is he then?”
The turban moved like a cobra striking, knocking out Pete with one punch.
As he turned towards Dad, the Browning fired, the shot hit him in the leg, collapsing; he hit the floor.
“You open it,” said Dad, panting, the gun now levelled at the lady.
She glared and was in no hurry to move. Dad shook his gun under her chin.
Still, she refused to move. He turned his shoulders, keeping his eyes fixed on the owner. He shot the man’s other leg. At last, she slowly knelt and started twisting dials.
“Come on, we haven’t got all day,” he screamed at her.
The well-oiled door opened, revealing wads of used notes.
“Put it all in this bag,” Dad thrust the sack at her.
The turban rolled slowly and silently, pulling a blade from a hidden sheaf. He lay on his back then released the short sword, throwing with tremendous power. Blood spurted from my Dad’s wrist. The gun fired.
It fired again, this time aimed. The turban soaked in blood. Dad slapped Uncle Pete awake. Grabbing the sack, they ran for the door. Factory workers rushed to witness the puddles of blood. Dad waved his pistol at them, they retreated.
The injured brothers escaped with a sack of cash. Job done!
“Please, guys, give mum a break. Can’t you see you’ve upset her?” I said.
“Your father shot and killed a young business owner and her bodyguard, both in cold blood and in front of dozens of witnesses. That much is clear. What we are unsure of, is why Peter Doherty killed his elder brother?”
“My Mum has answered all your questions, now go!” I yelled.
“Sit down and shut up, unless you wish to tell us more about your family?” the younger of the two officers reddened.
“What can you tell us about the budding romance between your brother-in-law and the factory owner?” asked the police officer.
“Pete hasn’t got a lady friend, hasn’t had for years,” Mum answered.
“We checked his email account, he sent four unanswered emails to Miss Sharma. The last one sent two days ago, ‘Darling, I can’t wait until we can be together. Please answer my letters. Your loving Pete.’ All his emails were unopened. What does that mean to you?” said senior.
“Who do you know in India?” asked the young one.
“No one, why?” answered my Mum.
“Your brother-in-law landed at Indira Gandhi International Airport, Delhi, this morning.”
Horniman, Birley and Craine is a highly respected legal firm with clients drawn from the highest in the land. When a deed box in the office is opened to reveal a corpse, the threat of scandal promises to wreak havoc on the firm’s reputation―especially as the murder looks like an inside job. The partners and staff of the firm keep a watchful and suspicious eye on their colleagues, as Inspector Hazlerigg sets out to solve the mystery of who Mr. Smallbone was―and why he had to die.
Hunted by the police, and with his daughter’s time running out, Debruin must pick his way through the killer’s victims to discover the truth before he strikes again – But little does he know, the truth will destroy him and everyone he loves.
Set in the grimy back streets of London, this British detective novel is a roller-coaster ride of murder, mystery, and suspense, laced with cruel twists that will keep you turning the pages.
I thought I had found heaven. Living on a dairy farm a full fifty miles away from the torture of New York seemed like a paradise. It was.
Now what is going on? I stirred, shaken awake, the normally peaceful surroundings were now alive with action, bustle and people, trucks and tons of equipment. What is it all for? Birds no longer sang.
The last couple of days were bad enough, people were moving things, big things. The noise started early, banging, drilling and worst of all, shouting.
It soon dawned on me that worse was to come. They had erected stages. More people, this time not only scruffy but filthy too. The men’s hair was long and unkempt, the women’s hair was croppedand ugly. Admittedly, they were all working hard.
Banging drums, thrashing about with electric guitars and the endless ‘Hello, hello, testing, testing’, with microphones. What is wrong with these folk?
Later there were endless processions of people parading up and down in my, my field. Lugging bags, backpacks and hookah pipes. Have I gone crazy or has the world?
A gorgeous young thing, still a teenager I guess, laid out some nylon, aided by a slightly older man, together they constructed a garish blue and green tent.
“What would her mother think?” I asked myself.
Talking to myself is something I got used to. Now, I wouldn’t have it any other way, I even answer myself.
The V for victory was being flashed by people passing. Funny that, we didn’t see much victory in Viet Nam.
I had spent most of my time looking after people who could no longer, or had no intention of raising their fingers. War does that.
Occasionally I put soldiers out of their misery.
Richie Havens’ name was being screamed, who the hell is he? I wonder if he could play some Wagner instead? I doubt it. This gets worse.
Explosions of bad temper regularly disrupted my early life, fiery outbursts I thought these tantrums were behind me. It seems not. I used to kill things, pets at first, the hamsters were passedoff as ‘not understanding how to care for them’, but the puppies were takenmore seriously, I had to go to a special school. I was the only sane one there, and that included the teachers.
Rage is bubbling and boiling under my skin. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’
My mind flitted back to Saigon. My family had decided it was better for all who knew me, that I serve my country. They drafted me into the medical corps. I served as a nurse, a wonderfully fitting job.
We saw a lot of pain, often caused by stupidity. Being smart and not wanting to be a hero, I remained well away from the action.
Lysergic acid diethylamide, you will know as LSD, or commonly Acid was lockedin our hospital lockers. We saw lots of it, not by soldiers ‘having fun’ but combatants taking it under an order, or prisoners who unknowingly had some white powder added to their food. Our special forces were fearless, we, as medics knew why. They were givenpower drinks.
Prisoners, both enemy and our guys, spewed out information, without painful encouragement. What are the ‘slants’ planning? Who were the ‘peace and loving’ GIs in our force? The guys that needed reminding why they were there.
The man passed her a joint, she took it, sucking hungrily, “Man, the music gets better.”
“Yes, I will get some Acid. You don’t mind do you? I know you can’t.”
“No, help yourself, I’ll stick with thisthanks.”
The crumpled reefer had too much ash hanging.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, my only problem is the toilets, too far and too busy.”
“Look, don’t worry, if you need to pee, do it behind the tree. Everyone will be smashed, they won’t care.”
“Just make sure I drink plenty of water, ok? It’s more important that I drink gallons, than embarrass myself by wetting my jeans.”
She laughed, but not enjoying the humour. He nodded and grinned, knowing her kidney condition was not a joke.
Now I knew what I could do. LSD caused havoc to those little organs we call kidneys. Oh, what fun this will be.
The music got louder; the excitement increased. As the grey clouds descended on my shoulders, the only rainbows I could see were the seven colours on t-shirts and even hideous jeans.
I couldn’t stop the noise, but I could ruin someone’s fun.
Calmly descending the tree-trunk, I crept into the tent and hid. Right on time he returned. Throwing a small packet next to his backpack.
Back outside he joined the others, shouting out the lyrics to a song fortunately I’d never heard before.
I have small hands, therefore carefully emptied the screwed up paper pack into her drinking bottle. Dusting my hands of white powder, I headed towards the tent’s flap.
“Oh look, a beautiful squirrel, isn’t she gorgeous?”
She? I could cry.
“Never mind the vermin, there is a new band starting.”
“Off you go baby, back to your tree.”
I’m going, but I want to watch this.
“Come on, they are playing.”
“I can hear, just need a drink first.”
The doctored water bottle was drained, the hallucinations started within minutes. That was the fun bit, but then the agony in her lower stomach and back, her boyfriend did not understand what was happening to her. She died in writhing pain, her friends danced around her and cheered the new moves.
Did you know squirrels could smile? I was stuckin a furry body, for how long I don’t know. The girl had more peace than me, eventually they would move on. How many more would I minister to before they leave me in peace?
My Generation ended. I committed suicide in Saigon two years ago. And no, it was not an overdose of LSD!
Doctor Christopher Ravello is driven by an unquenchable desire to avenge his mother’s senseless murder. He forsakes a lucrative career in medicine, and plunges headlong into the brutal, unforgiving world of a New York City homicide detective. Head of the new Division of Medical Crimes, Ravello’s first case pits him against a brilliant, sadistic serial killer. Known only as The Giver, he is hell bent on subjecting young women and their unborn babies to his illicit experiments. As the body count rises, New York City is engulfed in fear. Fighting an illness which threatens his job, immersed in turmoil at home due to his radical career change, Ravello struggles to understand who The Giver is and where he will strike next. Just as he discovers the killer’s identity the unspeakable happens, and Ravello is confronted with an agonizing choice: will he play it safe or make the ultimate sacrifice to save his loved ones and the city he is sworn to protect and serve?
Natasha Dawson is a lucky woman. Her career as a fashion photographer has taken off magnificently. After her imminent marriage, she will have a stable future to look forward to and a loving husband in the funny and generous Luke Stevens. Everything is very nearly perfect. But her ex-boyfriend has disappeared, and, try as she might, she can’t forget about him. Some part of her feels she’s about to marry the man of the wrong person’s dreams. The other man in her life is handsome, engaging and passionate, and Natasha is deeply in love with him. But he also has a terrible secret, and Natasha may have to risk everything if she wants to uncover it…
This is the sequel to the popular ‘Not Far Enough From Worries’. Kev and Skylab pit their wits against Camilla, the beautiful but ruthless lesbian.
This dark novel starts in Hua Hin, a sleepy seaside town in Thailand. “Not much ever happens there.” Don’t you believe it! A thriving gambling hub, wives kill husbands to raise a stake for the next turn of a card. Never owe the debt-collector or his mother. You may be set alight!
Kev and Skylab are now the guardians of a very talented child, amongst other skills, he can tell if you are lying, making Kev very nervous, fortunately, the only person Nick will talk to is Camilla’s daughter, Philippa. That ability is useful if you want a casino.
Characters to avoid on a dark night are Mik and Mak, Thai twins, yes, real Siamese Twins. You’ll have to think about that comment. Their ‘friend’ Randy has some mental issues. He ends up missing part of his body!
The action moves to Bangkok for a fast, hard-hitting surprise. Horror when you don’t expect it!
This is book two in the ‘No Worries’ series. Book 3 ‘Children With No Worries’, to be published 2019.
When Kathleen Cunningham approaches PI Jake Travis in a hotel bar, he knows trouble when he sees it. Kathleen wants his help finding her missing brother-in-law. Jake has sworn off the opposite sex for good after a disastrous affair, yet…he can’t resist her request.
But as the two slowly fall in love, Jake learns that Kathleen isn’t who she says she is, and not only is her life in terrible danger…so is his.
Equal parts suspense, humor, and romance, Midnight on the Water will hook you on Jake Travis, a character Florida Weekly calls, ‘One of the best leading men to take the thriller fiction stage in years.’
Midnight on the Water is the never-published prequel to Robert Lane’s award-winning debut, The Second Letter.
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February 1945 : With the war nearly over, the Nazi regime moves their entire cash and gold Reichsbank reserves, from Berlin to the salt mines of Merkers. But some of the gold is stolen and is never found again.
September 2017 : A fierce national election campaign is being fought out in Germany. Extreme right-wing nationalists, connected to a major election candidate, are terrorising the streets and murdering at will.
Captain Sophie Decker of the elite Department 89 is given an order by the German Chancellor to stop the violence. But little do they know that the missing Reichsbank gold and a long-lost Nazi icon will light the spark that will make Berlin explode.
Get your FREE copy of The Meeting At Bishop’s Rest
Jack Sibley came up to Bishop’s Rest with one thing in mind: to get even.
When he and his blizzard bound hunting party come face to face with a ghostly apparition known as The Long Rider, however, all of their lives irrevocably change course in ways they could hardly imagine.
The Meeting At Bishop’s Rest is an excellent novella introduction to The Strange Air series of Oregon-based supernatural mysteries. Check it out now for your chance to dive into this eerie world of spooks and specters.
Living with Saci is set in the sprawling metropolis of São Paulo, Brazil. It tells the story of Teresa da Silva, an overweight, depressed, drink dependent, and her struggles in the city. Estranged from her daughter, who lives with the ex-husband in England, life seems to constantly deal Teresa a bad hand. She begins to wonder whether the mischievous character from Brazilian folklore, Saci, might have something to do with it. Events seem to be taking a turn for the positive when she meets Felipe, who asks her to marry him. But when he disappears, Teresa finds that she is the object of suspicion.
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The prequel to the Lagotti Family series, this stand-alone novella follows Frank Lagotti as he tries to get some bread to pay the rent and maybe make some seed capital so he can rob a bank one day. His pal Louis might be the brains of the outfit but he also has a keen interest in sex and drugs – not a great mix when your future rests on the next robbery and he’s the one who has planned everything out to the finest detail. Or not.
Can they pull off the job with their motley gang or will the cops come screeching round the corner and shoot them all to hell?
The Lagotti Family series follows Frank and his girlfriend Mary Lou as they rob a bank, try to escape and live off the proceeds of their crimes – spanning thirty years of American crime family life.
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After signing up, you’ll receive One Step Back as a welcome gift!
Titus Ray tries to recruit a nuclear scientist in Tehran. Days later, he goes on the run from the secret police.
CIA intelligence officer Titus Ray has been in Iran trying to recruit assets willing to feed him intel on the Iranian opposition. When he unexpectedly meets Amir Madani, one of Iran’s premier nuclear scientist, he can’t resist the opportunity to pursue him as a CIA asset.
Although Chaman, a beautiful Iranian socialite, warns Titus to stay away from Madani, he ignores her advice and befriends the nuclear scientist. The consequences prove disastrous for Titus, and, as the secret police close in on him, he’s forced to find shelter with a group of Iranian Christians, who risk their own lives to save his.
One Step Back, a Titus Ray Thriller novella, is the prequel to One Night in Tehran, Book I in the Titus Ray Thriller Series.
Here’s what reviewers are saying about Titus Ray Thrillers:
“I recommend these books for all who enjoy good clean fiction, especially those involving current events in the world. I like the development of the characters and their relationship. I gave it five stars for the great storyline and the characters that seem so real.” -Amazon review
“The characters are very well-developed and believable. I enjoyed the way the author described Titus Ray’s internal struggles and character flaws creating a very authentic main character. The story was action-packed and one is left wondering how the author could be so knowledgeable of the CIA and the work of their covert operatives.” -Amazon review
A gripping psychological thriller filled with mystery, suspense and intrigue, that keeps you guessing from beginning to end.
On a rainy September morning baby Cassandra is kidnapped while her mother cowers in a closet. Shea is a victim of post-partum depression.
When Detectives Darby and Mel begin to dig the truth becomes more and more murky. Ugly secrets from the past emerge. No one is above suspicion, least of all Shea, herself. In her desperation to find her baby who can she trust? Someone is watching . . . And nothing is as it seems . . .
When Sandy Bay’s crème de la crème congregate to raise money for charity, Meghan Truman is proud to have her tasty desserts the talk of the party. She’s not so proud when the wealthiest couple in Sandy Bay are discovered dead and rumors circulate around town that her brownies are the cause of this tragedy.
This murder case casts a dark shadow over Meghan’s budding romance with handsome Officer Irvin who’s disappointed that she’s once again at the center of another murder investigation.
With everything to lose, Meghan must work hard to clear her name, restore broken relationships and solve this murder mystery before everything she’s worked so hard to build comes crumbling down.
Book 2 in the Sandy Bay Cozy Mystery series, which can be read in one to two hours! Can be read as a standalone, but enjoyed better as part of a series. Perfect for a lunchtime read. If you love cozy mysteries with an amateur female sleuth, mouth-watering culinary desserts and a gripping murder mystery, then you’ll love Meghan Truman and the quirky characters in Sandy Bay!
Growing up in a state hospital like Creedmore could have broken Ena’s spirit, but instead it gave her the will and drive to seek out the mother who had abandoned her there as a child. Her search leads her at last to a small town near the Shawangunk Mountains in upstate New York. Yet after moving to Harlow, she hesitates to make contact with her mother.
Instead, hired to collate archaeological documents at the local college, Ena is drawn into unraveling the mystery of a dig that is being sabotaged, and helping the Welsh-born detective Galen Hill find a killer.
When she discovers artifacts stored from a dig in Peru, handwritten archaeological journals lead her to a curious connection between the artifacts themselves and the intricacies of an old video game about a legendary journey through time. What she doesn’t know is that her research is a threat to someone who isn’t willing to let the truth be known. The closer she comes to a solution, the more real danger waits for her.
To her surprise, her involvement with Galen grows stronger and deeper as together they seek to reveal their adversary. Gradually, in the midst of the chaos and darkness of what unfolds, Ena begins to find a way to let go of the past…
Fast Paced/Twists/Jeff Case, just out of the Army, saves an old lady from a mugging on the streets of NYC. It could get him and his wife killed. This lays the foundation for the Jeff Case adventures in the Kill Crime Series.
Jeff Case does what most people would never do, and thank God for that. He makes the community a safer place. But before he moved to Houston and his world turned upside down, Jeff had a different plan.
Former soldier. Defender of the innocent.
Case may have left a warzone, but he soon discovers that the New York City streets and brownstones can be just as dangerous.
Case is ready to move on after his successful military time and start a new life and civilian career with his wife, Becky.
When he sees a woman being brutally attacked from the backseat of a taxi, Jeff leaps to her defense. But, did Case prevent a mugging or a murder? The heroic rescue is a catalyst that kickstarts the day from hell. A day that Case and Becky may not survive.
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Benjamin McGuinness fulfils his dream of establishing successful businesses and gives jobs with a new home to some of life’s misfits, deep in the English countryside on a farm. Everything seems perfect and his workers are as close as family.
A fire strikes close to home, a disaster that changes his perception of life and one of his loyal workers takes the chance to propose a life-changing venture.
This new business drags Lisa, his sister, into the deadly web of deception.
When exiled Russian twins join the family a symbolic tattoo is created that drives Benjamin’s money into a new league.
Benjamin knows that his future is defined by ‘the family’.
Will greed cause everything to crumble before his eyes, or will there be brutal consequences to their actions?
What can stop the rise of a Fourth Reich on American soil?
Get your FREE copy of Wall of Secrets ( Book One of the Vital Secrets Series)
Grieving the loss of his best friend, while covering for colleagues killed and wounded by the unknown Haymarket bomber, Sergeant Billy Doran is not a happy man.
The rookie he has thrust upon him to complicate his working and personal life only adds to his frustration, but when a madman appears from the shadows to stalk his city and endanger his own family, Doran knows he must find a way to work with his new detective if they are to catch the killer, or it will be more than the city of Chicago that will lie in ruins.
When Chris Haynes is beaten up one evening, a nightmare begins.
Struggling to cope as a single parent, Chris is attacked again – only this time the mugger uses his name and hints that he knows a secret about his volatile son, Bradley. Why does Bradley hate his father so much? And what does Chris have to feel so guilty about?
The mugger’s game intensifies, and Chris tries desperately to reach out to his son, suspecting that he alone holds the key to solving the mystery. But Bradley has a psychological game of his own to play, driven by resentment, rage and terror. He intends to put what he knows about Dad to his own ends, to punish his father for what he sees as the betrayal of his absent mother.
In this tense urban crime thriller, Chris is driven towards a mental breakdown, a victim of vigilante justice where the nature of his crime is never stated. What does the mugger really want? What role does Bradley’s new school friend, Gordon have in this unending nightmare? Does he know the mugger too? And what is hidden under the floor of the Haynes’ summer house?
As the intimidation and violence escalates, someone is heading for a bloody fall, and someone stands to lose everything – even their life.
What would you do if you found a suitcase in the woods?
What would you do when someone came looking for it?
Out of prison, but still on parole, Max just wants to keep his head down, go to work and maybe grab a cold beer at the end of his shift. He doesn’t even care that the program stuck him in Essex – a nice, but nowhere small town. With his head already full of bloody and painful memories, he’d like it just fine if his past and future stayed nice and quiet.
Too bad the present just got really messy.
A body in a tree. A missing briefcase. A Russian hit man. A DEA agent bent on revenge. Not to mention a sheriff with dangerous ambition and some pissed off bikers. Things are suddenly very interesting in sleepy Essex county. Bodies are turning up. Secrets are coming out. Questions are being asked.
Six Stories of Cold War NoirAn heiress who can’t seem to keep her legs closed. A Russian plan for dominating the space race. An assassin with a penchant for rich food and sadistic murder. When you’re alone in the cold, passion and betrayal are commodities and love hangs on by an icy thread. From the author of The Bone Church and Cold, comes a white knuckle tour de force of Cold War noir.
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These are the patrol officers of River City – that mythical thin blue line between society and anarchy. They must stop the robber, all the while juggling divorces, love affairs, internal politics, a hostile media, vengeful gang members and a civilian population that isn’t always understanding or even grateful.
Written by a real cop with real experience, Under a Raging Moon is like a paperback ride-along. Enjoy the ride.