Showing posts with label police procedural. Show all posts
Showing posts with label police procedural. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 23, 2026

Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Darkness Falls (Detective Nathan Parker, #5) by James L'Etoile

DARKNESS FALLS by James L'Etoile Banner

DARKNESS FALLS

by James L'Etoile

September 7 - October 2, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

DARKNESS FALLS by James L'Etoile

A DETECTIVE NATHAN PARKER NOVEL

Not all darkness flows into the Valley of the Sun from our southern borders.

Detective Nathan Parker discovers a double murder in a Phoenix drug lab, and all the evidence points at a connection to his son, Miguel. Was his adopted son swept up in a drug rip-off and murder? Did he play a role in the distribution of illicit designer drugs in the valley? As authorities close in on Miguel, Parker discovers a border militia group rushing to control the drug flow. The Night Watch militia leaves of trail of violence in their wake and local politicians use the shadow of the scourge of drug violence to influence an upcoming election. Who stands to gain while Parker and his family are caught in the crossfire? Who will betray them?

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller / Police Procedural
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: August 25, 2026
Number of Pages: 350
ISBN: 978-889203313
Series: A Detective Nathan Parker Novel
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

The Detective Nathan Parker Novel Series

Dead Drop
Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub
Devil Within by James L'Etoile
Devil Within
Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub




Served Cold
Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub
Sins of the Father by James L'Etoile
Sins of the Father
Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub


Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Sucking stale air through a respirator, John Thomas Mitchell finally found his niche. He dropped out of high school because it wasn’t his thing. The teachers said he wasn’t being challenged. Truth was, John Thomas left because he’d learned what he needed to make it on his own.

Most of the people he interacted with only knew him as the Birdman. If you wanted the best high, the Birdman was the source. He wasn’t a drug dealer; he was a connoisseur—a brand ambassador of pills.

“J.T., I got another five hundred bagged and ready,” a reedy voice said through his respirator.

John Thomas pulled the lever on his manual pressing machine, one of his own design, and twenty white, perfectly pressed pills dropped out, each embossed with his own logo—a Blackbird in flight.

“We need another thousand for the college this weekend. It’s pledge week, Cal.”

John Thomas tapped the plastic container, shaking loose the snow-colored powder residue from the sides, and monitored the loose material as it flowed onto the dimpled steel plate where it would be formed and pressed into the coveted Blackbird doses. The perfect blend of Ecstasy and opiate.

A hard knock on the trailer’s thick metal door reverberated through the old single-wide.

John Thomas and Cal exchanged a glance through drug powder dusted goggles.

“Cops?” Cal said.

John Thomas glanced at his watch. “Cops don’t knock. Must be our boy coming to pick up. He’s early. Get it would ya? I’m in the middle of setting up the next press.”

Cal scooted back from the workbench and placed the plastic-wrapped bundle of pills on the cheap folding table set up in the middle of the stripped-down trailer.

The knock at the door sounded again. This time, it came harder and rattled the heavy doorframe.

“All right, all right, I’m coming, dammit,” Cal said as he slid the two bolts that secured the door.

The moment he threw the door aside, a thundering blast echoed in the small space. Cal flew back against the far wall, a crimson blossom leaching through his t-shirt.

John Thomas fell out of his chair, and two gunmen, both dressed in black, wearing full-face respirators, stepped into the trailer. John Thomas crabbed backwards on the floor trying to distance himself from the gun-toting pair.

The closer of the two leveled a black shotgun at him.

John Thomas blanched. He looked away from the gunman. “Take it. Take what you want.” He held his hands up—submissive and cowering.

The gunman tipped his head to his partner, who stepped over Cal’s body and stuffed the bags of finished pills into a black nylon zippered duffle.

When the pills were tucked away in the duffel, the man backed away. The gunman didn’t lower the shotgun.

“You got what you came for. I won’t tell nothing,” John Thomas said. His voice thin and quivering.

Over his pounding heartbeat, John Thomas heard the gunman’s reply.

“I know you won’t.”

A flash from the muzzle and an ear-splitting roar filled the trailer. John Thomas lay sprawled on the floor. The gunman slung the shotgun over his shoulder and stepped around what was left of John Thomas’s head and grabbed the heavy pill press, dumping the powder that hadn’t been compressed on the floor.

He backed through the door and took a last look inside before his partner tossed in a plain blue backpack. They closed the metal door and jogged to where they’d parked their dark blue Ford F-150 pickup.

The pill-laden duffel went into a hardcover case. The gunman took less than a minute to strip down the pill press and remove the plates that formed the pills with their unique Blackbird signature logo. The two steel plates tucked into another hard case, and the mechanical parts of the press were tossed into a thick copse of creosote brush.

After the cases were secured in the back seat, the men got in, started the truck and backed away.

The gunman pulled his respirator off and tossed it into the back seat. His blue eyes fell on his cell phone he’d stashed on the console. He scanned it while driving on the rutted, washboard dirt road and dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency,” a voice sounded over the cellphone.

“Hey, I just spotted a pack of illegals busting into a trailer out near Vulture Mountain west of Wickenburg.”

“How do you know they were undocumented?”

“You can tell, and I heard gunshots.”

“What’s your name?”

The gunman hung up and handed the phone to the passenger, who slipped out the SIM card, snapped it in half and tossed the bits out the window.

“How long you figure it’ll take them to find the place?” the passenger said.

“Not long.”

The gunman pressed down on the accelerator toward Phoenix.

Chapter Two

Detective Sergeant Nathan Parker piloted his Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office SUV on the barely paved roads in the north part of the county known as Tweaker Heights. The largely undeveloped desert space wedged between Tonopah on interstate 10 and Wickenburg on the 60 was a prime location for operating a clandestine drug lab.

Parker glanced at detective Barry Johns in the passenger seat. Barry held a cellphone to his ear and held up two fingers. Two victims.

Drug ripoffs weren’t specifically listed in the fine print of the risk of doing business. There were rules. Usually, rivals understood that keeping the fragile peace meant hands off the production side of the operation. The street-level sales and distribution were another matter. In many ways, Maricopa County was the wild west, where intimidation and payoffs ruled. There was a fragile truce in the business when all sides followed the rules.

When a drug lab stiffed a supplier, bad things happened. This was not a business that cared about promises or referrals to human resources for mediation.

Barry disconnected the call. “Fire department from Buckeye station 70 responded to a report of a trailer fire south of the White Tanks. About the same time, we got the 911 call about shots fired and undocumented migrants at the location.”

“Fire and reported gunfire could mean a lab take down. If the lab was connected to any of the biker gangs up in the north county, could be reprisal coming.”

“We have a deputy on scene. Wilson. Said it looked like a pill mill. Some precursor chemicals there. Possible fentanyl set up.”

“Great,” Parker said. That would mean wearing protective gear and respirators while working the scene. And having Narcan on hand for accidental exposures.

“Did the 911 call mention the fire?” Parker asked Barry.

The big man shook his head. “No. Gunshots only.”

“But the fire department responded to a trailer fire.”

“That they did. We’ll have to find out how they got the call.” Barry pointed ahead. The red and white Buckeye fire engine near a dilapidated single-wide mobile home that looked as if it had been parked there since the Carter administration. “How you want to handle this?”

Parker mulled it over for a moment. Two dead in a drug rip-off. No neighbors to canvass, unlikely witnesses, and the fire may have consumed much of the useful evidence. “You tell me, Barry. You’re lead on this one.”

Barry Johns was a solid detective with slightly over five years in grade. Parker knew him to be smart and dogged when it came to chasing down leads. A former college football standout, Barry was looking at a pro career when his knee betrayed him, ending his athletic eligibility. He was recruited by two Black colleges for teaching positions but opted to come back home to the desert and join the Sheriff’s office. Parker knew he was capable and savvy enough to get this investigation off and running.

Barry was feeling a little disconnected after his partner, Pete Tully, retired over six months ago. Getting shot in the chest will make you rethink your priorities. While Barry and Parker worked well together, Parker sensed Barry needed a chance to take charge.

Barry glanced over. “I’d start by running down the origins of whatever chemical compounds we have in the trailer. By the looks of it, Buckeye Fire got here fast. We might have something to work with. Then the trailer itself. I want to know ownership records from the day it was dropped out here. Same with the land itself.”

Parker nodded. “Want me to run down the trailer registration and property records? I know you’ll get all geeked out over the chemical mumbo jumbo.”

Barry grinned. “Yeah, maybe.”

A cloud of red dust enveloped the SUV when Parker eased the vehicle behind the Maricopa County unit. He waited for the dust cloud to pass before he opened the door. “Let’s get the update from Wilson.”

Parker and Barry found deputy Wilson standing in front of the Fire engine, some fifty feet from the single-wide.

A pair of firefighters were pulling a hose from the doorway. Both wore full protective gear, including the air tank for the self-contained breathing apparatus.

Wilson turned as the detectives approached.

“Detectives,” the deputy said.

“What can you tell us, Wilson?” Parker said.

“Responded to the shots fired call and arrived just as the Buckeye Fire crew pulled up. Looked like the fire was small and contained mostly inside. Not much smoke. Don’t know who reported it.”

Barry nodded to the two firefighters. “They discover the bodies?”

“They did. Said it was laid out like a drug lab inside. A line of worktables down the center of it. Our two victims—one by the door and the second toward the rear.”

“Did you get a look?” Barry asked.

“I grabbed a mask and got a look from the door. Snapped a couple of photos before the fire jockeys destroyed everything.” He held his cell phone out to Barry.

“Good thinking,” Barry said as he took the phone and scrolled through the set of images. He handed the phone to Parker.

“Gonna be tough to get an ID on one of them. Most of his face is missing,” Wilson said.

“What I don’t see here is the product. Gives some credence to the idea someone took this pair down,” Barry said.

“I did find these,” Wilson handed a sealed plastic bag to Barry. Five pills lined the bottom of the bag. All white with a distinct Blackbird logo embossed on them.

“This is where Blackbird came from?” Parker said. “These pills have been all over the county, especially the colleges.”

“Blackbird has a whole upscale vibe going on with it. Users claim it’s a good safe high. I always thought the stuff came from a pristine lab somewhere in Cave Creek, or Fountain Hills,” Barry said.

“You take down Blackbird and assume their distribution, you’ve got a goldmine,” Parker said.

Parker glanced at the trailer hulk. Taking over a drug operation was one thing. But if the chemist behind the Blackbird pills was one of the two dead men inside, then there was another darker element in play here.

“You ask for the Medical Examiner?” Parker asked the deputy.

“No, sir. Watch Commander said you should make the call.”

Parker nodded. Barry picked up on the pause and reached for his cell phone. “On it.”

“Ask for Dr. White,” Parker said as Barry stepped aside to make the call.

The firefighters backed out of the trailer and shut off their hoses. The pumps on the engine whined down to a stop. A fire captain in a white helmet stepped away from the engine and unbuttoned his heavy turnout coat. Parker recognized the captain from a callout last year near the boundary of the Hummingbird Wilderness. Two bodies were found in an abandoned mining shack. His name tag read, Drucker.

“Detective, I can always count on you to keep us on our toes. Had to use all our hazmat protocols on this one with potential drug exposures and explosive materials in the place.”

“Explosives?” Parker said.

“Let me show you.” The fire captain started walking back to the trailer.

“Can’t you just tell me about it?”

“Just put on your big boy pants and come with me, detective,” Drucker said.

Barry had finished his call, and Parker gestured him over. “The captain has something to show you.”

Drucker grinned. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

“His case,” Parker said.

“What’s you got?” Barry asked once he arrived at the trailer.

The odor from the charred insulation, plastic, and rodent droppings was intense ten feet from the trailer door.

The fire captain brought up an image on a tablet device. “Check this out. Far right corner, on the floor. A ragged hole in the trailer’s thin metal skin shown in the picture.”

Parker’s eye drew to the four small cardboard boxes on the warped floorboard. The label on the containers in large red letters read, 12-gauge 00-Buckshot.

“Shotgun shells? That’s your explosive?” Parker said.

“One box cooked off a round. The fire started in the corner of the trailer—outside actually.”

Barry peered at the screen. “The fire didn’t start from inside with whatever they were cooking?”

Drucker shook his head. “Looks like someone tossed a couple road flares under the trailer chassis and ignited the scrub, trash, and some loose flooring material.”

“Safe to go in?” Barry asked.

“It is. We put an ion detection beacon inside and it’s reading no residual meth precursor chemicals, no fentanyl, but we did get a hit on other known opiates. I’d wear a M-95 mask to be safe.”

“Not much chemical residue. Doesn’t that strike you as a little off, if Blackbird was being made here? Labs are usually covered in the stuff.” Parker asked.

Barry donned an M-95 mask. “The Medical Examiner will be here in twenty minutes. Our crime scene techs should be here before then. They were finishing up a robbery call out in Carefree.”

As Parker and Barry entered, the trailer listed under their weight. As Captain Drucker explained the fire damage inside was rather minimal. The heat melted a few plastic tarps in the corner, but the bodies were untouched by the flames. Unusual if the fire was started to get rid of the evidence inside, Parker thought.

The dead man nearest the door leaned against the back wall. A pattern of gunshot wounds, eight that he could see, tore through the man’s chest and abdomen.

To the left, inside, partially under a long worktable, the second body lay sprawled on its back. The man’s face was missing, or most of it. Bone, brain tissue, and teeth were visible at a glance. Round holes behind the dead man meant he was gunned down at close range while his assailant stood over him.

Barry began shooting photos with his cell phone. While he was occupied, Parker spotted a blue backpack a few feet from the first dead man. There was something familiar in this plain blue model.

Parker took his cell phone and snapped a photo of the backpack as it lay in the blood spatter of the first victim. The backpack didn’t have spatter on it, which meant it landed thereafter the drug dealer was shot.

Turning the backpack with a glove-covered hand, Parker noticed a tag on one of the shoulder straps. He didn’t need to read it to know where it came from. It belonged to his son, Miguel.

***

Excerpt from Darkness Falls by James L'Etoile. Copyright 2026 by James L'Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L'Etoile. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

James L'Etoile

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, Macavity, and the Public Safety Writers Award. Illusion of Truth, Sins of the Father, and Darkness Falls are his most recent novels. James also serves as the Executive Vice President of Mystery Writers of America.

Catch Up With James L'Etoile:

JamesLEtoile.com
Prison to the Page Newsletter
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @crimewriter
Instagram - @authorjamesletoile
Threads - @authorjamesletoile
X - @JamesLEtoile
Facebook - @AuthorJamesLetoile
BlueSky - @jamesletoile.bsky.social

 

Review:

5 stars!

Parker is thrust into a riveting personal battle to save his family. 

Darkness Falls is the fifth book in author James L’Etoile’s riveting Detective Nathan Parker series, and its main character is locked in the ultimate battle to save his loved ones. Called to a remote drug lab and the scene of a double homicide in an unsavory corner of Maricopa County known to law enforcement as “Tweaker Heights,” Nathan and his partner, Barry Johns, discover one of the bodies is that of ‘The Birdman,’ a mysterious and, until now, elusive drug supplier, whose product has been all the rage among the more affluent college students and clubgoers in the greater Phoenix area. But smack in the middle of the crime scene, Nathan finds a familiar blue backpack, filled with the college textbooks and cellphone of his foster son, Miguel. 

The underlying political goals driving the action make for a shocking motive. A county outsider with ties to an out-of-control private militia, the Night Watch, wants to win the coming election for sheriff, and drugs, migrants, and illegal immigrants are hot topics, both locally and nationally. The story is an absolute page-turner as Nathan and Barry try to get in front of the plans of the manipulative candidate and his cronies, who have infiltrated not only their own department but also the local offices of critical federal agencies. From the start, the partners can’t be sure who to trust or who is leaking vital information to the bad guys. The plot has shocking twists and turns, and I was quickly and deeply drawn in by both the suspense and the relatable concerns of a parent with grown sons. 

While all the series books have been cases with deadly personal ties for Parker, this one manages to up the ante, involving both Miguel and Linda, Nathan’s pregnant love interest. This story hits on so many parents’ nightmares with Miguel becoming the target of powerful but hidden forces, his son’s complicity in the danger, and the senseless deaths of several young students barely into their teen years. Nathan doesn’t want to believe Miguel is involved, but the clues are not adding up in his favor. It is up to Barry Johns to be the more detached, uninvolved investigator, leaving Nathan to do what he can to find who and what are really behind the murders and the influx of deadly contaminated drugs into their community. Nathan has been a target before, but with his son in the crosshairs and a new baby on the way, the stakes are so much higher than ever before. 

I recommend DARKNESS FALLS to readers of thrillers, mystery, suspense, and especially fans of the previous novels in the series.



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Friday, September 18, 2026

Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway - Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn by Gail Waterhouse

BLOOD BECOMING: HALVYN DAWN by Gail Waterhouse Banner

BLOOD BECOMING: HALVYN DAWN

by Gail Waterhouse

September 7 - October 2, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn by Gail Waterhouse

DCI Eleanor Moore is drawn into a series of brutal killings that defy explanation. As she follows the trail of evidence, she uncovers links between the crimes, the vaccine, and a shadowy conspiracy determined to control the future. The investigation becomes painfully personal when Eleanor realises a member of her own family may be entangled in the very secrets she is chasing.

Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn is a paranormal crime thriller set in 2046, where the aftermath of a contaminated vaccine has altered humanity in ways no one yet fully understands. Hybrid beings walk among us, their true nature hidden until violence drags them into the light.

Praise for Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn:

"Highly compelling with many unexpected twists."
~ Natalie Key, Female First

"It had everything you’d want in a really good paranormal crime thriller — suspense, mystery, great characters."
~ Aysha Awan, ARC Reader

"Thoroughly enjoyable… a storyline that rattles along with characters you want to know."
~ Richard Wolstenholme, Waterstones reviewer

"I loved Eleanor. The two sides of her. The detective but also the mom and the wife who has lost her husband."
~ Goodreads reviewer

Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller, Police Procedural
Published by: Troubador Publishing
Publication Date: April 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 363
ISBN: 9781806345991 (ISBN10: 1806345994)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Troubador Publishing

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE

Friday 23 February 2046

THE SKY OVER the Spanish port was smeared with the colour of blood smoke, a heavy red-orange haze that clung to the air like the last breath of a dying sun. The scent of burning oil and salt hung thick, carried by the heavy coastal winds. It was sharp and acrid, biting against the damp of the sea. Fires crackled along the ridgelines of the coastal city, their glow flickering in the black water below. Distorted reflections trembled with every wave.

In the distance, the sound of falling glass mixed with the wail of sirens. Their shrill cries sliced through the thickening smoke like wounded animals in pain. Puerto de Málaga, once vibrant with the clatter of trade and the bustle of travellers, was now sprawling in disarray. The heat rose from the charred remnants of buildings, still glowing faintly as they collapsed in on themselves. The air was dense, almost suffocating, with the taste of ash and burning wood. The kind of fire that was all consuming.

At the edge of the docks, where the flames hadn’t yet reached, a body stirred amongst the shadows.

He rose from the ground slowly, uncertainly, like something dredged from the depths. His shirt was torn and wet with dark stains, his skin pale and cool against the rising heat. Beneath the surface of his eyes, something had shifted... something new and ravenous.

He didn’t know his name. He couldn’t remember. Not right now. Names were small things; the world was suddenly too loud for small things.

The salt air reeked of dashed hopes and desperation, but beneath that, beneath everything, was scent. Raw. Delicate. Sweet. It curled into his senses like perfume on fire.

People.

He could smell them.

Not just the sweat on their clothes, but the life blood moving beneath their skin. He could feel their warmth like a beacon. Hear their hearts. See the trails their bodies left in the air – vibrant, electric threads.

And he was starving.

The hunger lived in him like a second spine, twisting through his ribs, pulling at his throat. It was not like needing food, not like any hunger he had ever known. This was something more, something pure. It throbbed like instinct. It demanded.

Ahead, the docks were alive with panicked life. Families clutched their documents, arguing with port guards. Children wailed, sensing the anxiety around them. Ship horns blared over the shouting. The flames had cut off the southern road, and now hundreds of people pushed towards the vessels anchored at the quay, hoping to escape the violence swallowing the city. Amongst the chaos of the port, a young couple moved quickly, weaving through the crowd with a grace that seemed to carve a path of calm through the throngs of fearful, stressed faces. They clung to each other, their hopeful laughter soft but real, a gentle sound that contrasted with the heavy tension in the air.

Their smell hit him like lightning.

They were dark-skinned, their features a striking blend of beauty that caught the light in a way others didn’t. The rich, smooth tone of their skin seemed to absorb the firelight and the fading daylight, glimmering like polished wood. They weren’t the only ones with darker skin in the crowd, but there was something different about them. The way they moved, the way they stood, set them apart. Their essence was clean... pure. Not a trace of the fear or desperation that rippled through the others.

The woman, older than the man by a few years, wore a bright red scarf that fluttered behind her like a banner, bold and proud. The younger man, possibly her brother, had a leather satchel slung over one shoulder, his posture firm, the weight of it a comfort rather than a burden. They moved with a serene assurance, as if they had walked through fire to reach this moment, and now they were here, in this place, they knew they were safe. They were running towards something: towards home.

He couldn’t explain why, but he followed.

They didn’t see him. Not truly. Just a man in a crowd. A shape in their periphery.

Nearby, another couple had stopped at the checkpoint. An argument was unfolding. The air was thick with frustration. Shouts rose above the low murmur of the crowd. A tall Englishman, face red with rage, towered over a Spanish official. His words were clipped, sharp, each one slicing through the tense silence. His fists clenched. Veins stood out in his neck. Every inch of him was pressing forwards, demanding an answer.

Beside him, his wife stood still. She cradled a baby wrapped in a pristine white blanket. She remained silent, her eyes distant, her face pale, betraying none of the anxiety in the air.

The Spanish official, weary and weathered, gestured curtly, his voice firm but tired. ‘The passports for the woman and child,’ he stated, ‘are not valid for the British ship. They cannot board.

They will have to wait for the Spanish vessel, which departs later tonight.’

‘No!’ the man barked. ‘We stay together. We go as a family!’ His words were harsh, but they felt like they hung in the air, falling into the thickening tension like stones in water, creating ripples but no true movement. The woman beside him didn’t speak, only tightening her hold on the baby, whose cries were soft, unknowing. Her gaze, fixed on the horizon, seemed to be somewhere far away, as though the entire scene were not something she could reach.

The crowd around them seemed to retreat, uneasy. The man’s frustration was contagious, yet it failed to spark any real response from the official, who remained unmoved, his eyes cold, his posture rigid. The couple was surrounded by murmurs and mutters from the crowd, but it felt like nobody was truly listening. Concerned only with their own woes.

The woman shifted slightly, sensing something, or maybe it was just the sensation of being watched. Her grip tightened on the baby, her eyes flickering towards the shadows, though she saw nothing. The air around her thickened, and she couldn’t quite place why her heart began to race.

Because he was watching the argument. But he wasn’t watching them – the brother and sister. Their scent, now feeling distant. His mouth ached. His body trembled.

They had slipped from his grasp. The moment was gone. They had vanished into the flow of the crowd, their warmth and purity fading, like smoke lost to the night air. The watcher’s pulse quickened, but the hunt had shifted. He could still feel their faint trace, a lingering pull, but they were no longer within reach.

He quickly moved through the crowd, his steps light, measured, and the scent of sweat and smoke filled his senses, dulling his focus. But then, something changed. His head tilted slightly, drawn by a new, unexpected fragrance that cut through the heavy air. It was delicate, fresh, like the first spring buds on a tree, sharp yet soft. The scent was subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable. It was the scent of a young woman.

Alone.

Nervous.

His gaze flicked in her direction, a predator spotting its next target. He couldn’t see her yet, but he could feel her presence in the air; a vulnerability that stood out against the hardened masses around her. There was a stillness in her, but the air around her vibrated with anxious energy. She didn’t belong to the crowd, not like the others. She wasn’t lost, exactly, but there was an uncertainty in the way she moved, as though the port itself was a vast, unknowable place to her.

He moved slowly through the throng; his every sense tuned to her. Her scent drew him closer, a fragile thread that wound through the chaos. She wasn’t trying to escape, not in the way the others did. She was just... there. Walking, weaving through the people, her eyes darting, scanning for something. Looking for someone. Her nerves were a song to him, soft and fragile.

He could see her now, just ahead, her dark hair framing a face that seemed too young for the worry she carried. Her posture was hunched, as if she were trying to make herself smaller, to disappear into the crowd. She wasn’t trying to be seen, but the watcher saw her all the same.

And she was still.

Thinking.

He felt a stir of anticipation, his gaze narrowing as he took another step towards her. There was something about the way she looked, not at the crowd, not at anything. Her eyes kept drifting towards the shadows, as though she felt something watching her, though she couldn’t know it was him.

He moved closer, quietly... patient. He would have her. She was his now.

He moved silently, a smudge amongst shadows, slipping from container to crate, blending into the murky dark of the port. His steps were slow, calculated, his presence a breathless whisper in the night. Each movement was precise, natural.

Her footsteps echoed on the wooden boards as she moved through the labyrinth of abandoned structures. Her pace quickened, her heart already pounding, as if some deep instinct had begun to warn her. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of rust and salt, the smell of old fish and the faint, lingering tang of blood. This area of the dock felt empty, desolate, but there was something beneath it, a presence she couldn’t quite place. She turned a corner, her pace frantic now, as if her body knew something her mind refused to admit.

She glanced over her shoulder, and there it was, that chilling feeling of being followed. Her eyes searched the darkened spaces, the shadows between the crates, the broken walls of forgotten buildings, but there was nothing. Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She quickened her step, but then she made a mistake.

A wrong turn.

The path narrowed as she hurried down the dock, the sound of her boots slapping against the timber carrying through the silence. She didn’t see it at first, not until it was too late – a small, isolated room at the end of the corridor. The heavy open door loomed ahead like an invitation. Panic surged through her chest, but there was no turning back now. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, to find another way out, but her legs carried her forwards, into the dim light of the room.

The door slammed shut behind her.

She froze.

The room, that looked like a forgotten storage area, was empty except for some shelves, discarded crates and netting that smelt of old mildew. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, the air thick and close, the silence broken only by the sound of her ragged breathing. There was no way out. The windows were too small, the walls too strong, the door too solid.

And then, a sound. A faint click.

He had locked them in.

***

Excerpt from Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn by Gail Waterhouse. Copyright 2026 by Gail Waterhouse. Reproduced with permission from Gail Waterhouse. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:


Gail Waterhouse is a UK-based author of crime thrillers with a speculative edge. With a background in design, and an MA in Creative & Media Education, she writes grounded, character-driven stories that blend police procedural realism with darker, thought-provoking themes.

Her work explores near-future worlds shaped by scientific change and human consequence, where the line between the natural and unnatural begins to blur. Inspired by conversations about climate change and humanity’s future, her stories examine what we might become when survival demands evolution.

She lives in the North East of England.

Catch Up With Gail Waterhouse:

GailWaterhouse.com
Amazon Author Profile
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TikTok - @bloodbecoming_author
Facebook - @Gail Waterhouse - Author

 

Review:

5 stars!

Edgy, futuristic paranormal murder mystery! 

Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn is the first book in author Gail Waterhouse’s new futuristic paranormal crime thriller series, Blood Becoming, and it nails you to your seat from the very beginning, eager to discover the truth behind the murders. Detective Chief Inspector Eleanor Moore investigates a series of unusual murders in which the victims are eerily and methodically drained of blood. The first two deaths, a sister and brother, occur aboard the Mar Despierta, a ship carrying the desperate fleeing survivors of an environmental disaster in Puerto de Málaga, Spain, including Eleanor’s own son. Jamie Moore is the only individual who has been seen interacting with the deceased pair and naturally puts him at the top of the suspect list. But as the deaths continue, Eleanor discovers there may be a connection to a widely distributed vaccine with some surprisingly far-reaching and hastily covered-up side effects. 

DCI Eleanor Moore is renowned as a no-nonsense investigator but has recently suffered some personal setbacks. She is a very engaging and relatable main character. Although a clear conflict of interest exists, she must investigate the deaths of the Adebayo siblings even though her own son is among the passengers and suspects. She manages a large team, but her right-hand man is Detective Sergeant Zain Malik, also very likable, and they handle her son’s involvement like everyone else. They have their work cut out for them, as anyone on board the ship is a suspect, and there are few guaranteed criteria to rule anyone out. 

The story provides a first-person narrative from the shadowy, anonymous killer, who describes the hunger and need they feel and the details of their first kill: an accidental kill they never meant to happen, but one that initiated an unprecedented desire for blood. The author enhances the killer’s vampire-like addiction with a twist as they also receive the memories of the victim, vibrant, vivid, and as seductive as the hunger-assuaging blood. 

The 2046 near-future English setting includes expected changes and advancements, but the world remains quite familiar. Its close link to present reality makes the revelations Eleanor uncovers all the more frightening and believable. 

I recommend BLOOD BECOMING: HALVYN DAWN to readers of paranormal crime thrillers.



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Saturday, August 29, 2026

Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Hidden Currents (Sheriff Hank Worth Mystery, #8) by Claire Booth

Hidden Currents by Claire Booth Banner

HIDDEN CURRENTS

by Claire Booth

August 24th - September 18, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Hidden Currents by Claire Booth

SHERIFF HANK WORTH MYSTERY SERIES

 

Another outstanding book in an ever-evolving police procedural series perfect for fans of Terry Shames and Steven F. Havill.

When spring settles over Branson, Missouri, Sheriff Hank Worth hopes for a quiet season. Instead, the town is rocked when Gene Willard, owner of the local fishing stores, is savagely murdered. What looks like a burglary gone wrong quickly descends into something far more personal. Gene’s messy divorce, his resentful stepson, and a terrified employee with a violent ex all weave a tangle of motives. As Hank digs deeper, the investigation collides with the long‑delayed, politically explosive trial of the men charged in his chief deputy Sheila’s near‑fatal assault. Tempers run high throughout the county, stretching Hank’s department to the breaking point. With personal stakes rising and the community on edge, Hank must unravel lies, expose old betrayals, and confront a killer driven by revenge. In a place where everyone knows everyone else’s business, the hardest secrets to uncover may be the ones floating right near the surface.

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural
Published by: Severn House
Publication Date: September 1, 2026
Number of Pages: 240
ISBN: 9781448313891 (ISBN10: 1448313899)
Series: The Sheriff Hank Worth Mystery Series, Book 8
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Books-A-Million | Goodreads | BookBub | Severn House

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

The lake was calm and glassy, reflecting the bluffs on the other side. The giant bur oak rustled above them, its foliage almost fully returned after its winter shedding. The tree had stood near the White River for more than two hundred years, adding rings as settlers built Branson around it and dammed its river to create the lake. On this side, the shoreline was flat, dotted with homes, a cabin resort, the edge of downtown where Main Street met the water, and the park where Sam Karnes and Brenna Cassidy now stood.

It would make a beautiful background, Brenna said. There was no guarantee the weather would be good, Sam thought. But he looked at his fiancée’s face and kept his mouth shut. They had decided on a May wedding, before everything got too hot and sticky with summer humidity. That didn’t mean they’d be safe from the rain, though. That could come any time. He thought maybe he should suggest a contingency plan, then remembered his boss’s advice. “You can have an opinion on the food and the music. Everything else—tread carefully.”

So he stood quietly as Brenna framed potential photos with her hands. Where to take the wedding party pictures was one of the last decisions they needed to make. He hoped.

“This area looks good,” he said. “Doesn’t it? It’s not too far from the church.”

She half-nodded and moved to eye things from a different angle. “I don’t know how to avoid that darn plaque. It ruins every shot.”

He walked over to it. It was such a part of the scenery, he’d almost forgotten it was there. When some enterprising 1970s tree aficionado figured out the oak was older than the country, it became the Liberty Tree and the plaque went up in time for the bicentennial. Now the thing needed a good cleaning and, if Brenna had anything to do with it, a relocation.

“If we shoot this way, you don’t see the lake. And if you do it that direction . . .” She sighed. “Big old ugly plaque.”

It stood on a waist-high column. Sam leaned against it and watched Brenna wander around this end of the park. The darn thing was wider than he was. He thought about that and stepped away. Then did some hand measurements.

“What if we covered it up?”

Brenna walked back to him. “What do you mean?”

He moved so he stood directly in front of it. It was clearly visible behind his thin frame. “We put Roddy in front of it.” He spread his hands out a foot on either side, which was about how wide his groomsman Roddy Hale was. “He’d block the whole thing. We just have to arrange the order of everybody so he’s right here.”

Brenna considered that. “I think that could work. Don’t move. Stay right there.”

She walked fairly far away while Sam stood with his hands out as if he was illustrating the size of a particularly large trout. A mom with two young children walked by and gave him a look. He wished he had his sheriff’s deputy uniform on. Then he’d look like he was doing something important instead of just standing around like a sketchy weirdo in the park. The lady hustled her kids past and headed to the picnic area. Sam watched her go as another group came by on their way to the shoreline. By the time they noticed him, Brenna had gestured that he could put his hands down.

“Yes, that’s going to work. Good thinking, babe.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “And good thing you have a football linebacker as a friend.”

Sam laughed at that. Roddy’s size had come in handy many times growing up. He told her a few stories as they walked back to his car. By the time they got there, the group near the picnic area had equipment out, and a lady in slacks and a silk blouse was pointing them in multiple directions.

“Looks like someone else is planning an event, too,” he said, opening the passenger door of his Subaru for Brenna. “The way they’re measuring things, maybe it’s a whole wedding ceremony.”

She scoffed. “That would be way too risky. What if it rained?”

CHAPTER TWO

Sheila Turley had left him a note. And a file. It never boded well when she did this. Hank Worth sat down at his desk and cautiously slid the paperwork closer.

Gursey’s at it again. He’s all yours this time.

The Branson County sheriff opened the file and pulled out the arrest report. Sheila, his second-in-command, only printed things out when she wanted to make a point. Or wanted quick action. Because Hank wasn’t known for staying on top of his email. And she knew this particular suspect was a pet project of his. Gursey Rugg.

The young man had shoplifted again. The twenty-three-year-old was always plucking cheap items off the shelves of local retailers. If it was food, he’d eat it. If it wasn’t, he’d sell it on cheaply to friends and use the money for drugs. If the shopkeepers caught him, they’d call Hank’s deputies and Gursey would spend a while behind bars. But only rarely did people press misdemeanor charges. It wasn’t worth anybody’s time and, even if it had been, the sticky-fingered addict would still be back out on the street soon enough. So instead, he sobered up in Hank’s jail, swore he’d stay off the meth, and slouched back off into an existence where everyone involved deserved better and no one knew how to accomplish it.

But this time, Gursey overstepped. A magpie entranced by bright and shiny, he’d scooped up a handful of the wrong thing in the wrong store. Fourteen hand-tied, rare-feathered flies from Reel Life Outfitters. The owner was a newcomer. Purchased the two venerable fish and tackle stores on opposite ends of Lake Taneycomo when Lyle Boskins retired and seemed to be doing well. But it turned out he wasn’t willing to do nice. He wanted to press charges. And that meant a felony, because of the misdemeanor convictions Gursey had already accumulated. And a felony meant a stint in state prison, which wouldn’t be good for the fragile kid.

Hank re-read the narrative included in the arrest report. Then he got up and walked over from his office in the sheriff’s department Forsyth headquarters to hear from the man himself.

“Hi, Gursey. How you doing?”

“Hey, Sherf.” A disheveled scarecrow the color of a ghost rose to a seated position on the cell bunk. The jail scrubs hung off him in folds, and his dull brown hair stuck out in a dozen directions. At least it was clean. The young man blinked blearily and steadied himself on the mattress.

“What happened?” Hank leaned against the bars. “Last I heard, you were doing pretty well.”

Gursey shrugged, clavicles jutting like wings. “I was. Ask my addiction counselor. I got one of those, did you know? Nice lady. Always worried all the time, though.”

“It sounds like she was helping. When was the last time you saw her? Because right now you don’t look so hot.”

Gursey rubbed his wrists together. “Don’t feel so hot, neither.”

“You coming down off something?”

“Not really. Not like last year. At all, man, I swear. Just a little bit when Morty come to town.”

Hank had no idea who that was. He sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair in frustration. “And when did Morty come?”

“’Bout two weeks ago. He brought some homemade stuff, fresh cooked. I don’t remember much after that, ’til last night—I think. There weren’t no Morty anymore and I was at some trailer someplace.” He shifted suddenly from staring at the ground to looking Hank straight in the eye. “And that sucked, man. It was gross, and I was gross, and I don’t like that anymore.”

Hank blinked in surprise. After every previous arrest, Gursey had promised to stop the drugs. But until right then, he’d never come close to saying he wanted to stop. He kept Hank’s gaze as he continued to talk. “I walked ’til I got past Honey Lane and then saw that fishing place. Figured it would have a bathroom. I went in, and bro, I just wanted money for food. Thought I could turn some stuff over for a few bucks. I—”

“Stop talking,” Hank said. “Just take a deep breath and stop talking.” The goal of keeping Gursey out of state prison would not be helped by a confession to the county sheriff. He considered the inmate. In their numerous interactions in the four years since Hank became sheriff, Gursey had never made this much eye contact. It gave Hank hope. And made him a lot more willing to do what he was going to do once he left the cell block.

***

Excerpt from Hidden Currents by Claire Booth. Copyright 2026 by Claire Booth. Reproduced with permission from Claire Booth. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Claire Booth

Claire Booth spent more than a decade as a daily newspaper reporter, working all over the country—from Washington, D.C., to South Florida, the Seattle region, and the Bay Area. She spent much of it covering crimes so convoluted and strange they seemed more like fiction than reality. Eventually, she had enough of the real world and decided to write novels instead. Her critically acclaimed Sheriff Hank Worth mystery series takes place in Branson, Missouri, where small-town Ozark politics and big-city country music tourism clash in, yes, strange and convoluted ways.

Catch Up With Claire Booth:

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Tuesday, July 21, 2026

Audiobook Review: The Nightmare (Killer Instinct/Joona Linna, #2) by Lars Kepler

The Nightmare: A NovelThe Nightmare: A Novel by Lars Kepler
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Two seemingly unrelated murders and a professional hit man, who is stalking a young political activist, make for a twisty, intricate tale.

The Nightmare is the second book in the Killer Instinct series by Lars Kepler (the Swedish husband-and-wife writing team of Alexander Ahndoril and Alexandra Coelho Ahndoril) and features Detective Inspector Joona Linna of Sweden’s National Operations Department. It is a twisty tale of murder, professional hitmen, political corruption, and manipulation. When Penelope Fernandez and her fiancé, Bjorn, headed out for a relaxing weekend on his boat, they were joined at the last minute by her sister, who needed a change of scenery and a distraction from her recent romantic breakup. Instead, her sister is murdered on the boat, and Penelope and Bjorn must run for their lives from the killer through the wild terrain of the secluded lake shoreline. Meanwhile, Detective Inspector Joona Linna is investigating the suspiciously staged-looking suicide of a highly placed government official when he gets word of the body of a young woman found aboard a boat adrift on the water. With the victim’s sister and the sister’s fiancé missing, the race to find out what happened is on!

Joona Linna is a thoughtful, observant, and obstinate detective, confident in his ability to read a crime scene and know exactly what occurred there. He’s adamant about his theories and willing to push his superiors to the limits to follow his instincts. While at times socially awkward, he is still able to lend comfort to his coworkers and crime victims when needed. In these cases, which slowly begin to converge, he’s up against an incredibly talented professional killer and a powerful mastermind directing his moves from the shadows.

The story is deliberately plotted, and it takes some time for Joona to connect the dots that show the two cases are related. Readers get to know a little more about the police team members, which raises the stakes when the characters cross into danger’s path. I really enjoyed the use of classical music, performances, traveling musicians, and priceless instruments in unraveling the mystery. Saul Reichlin gives an excellent performance narrating and providing the various characters with distinctive voices, whether they are male, female, old, young, or of different nationalities.

While this book is the second in the series, it can be read and enjoyed as a standalone. However, the previous novel is truly a must-read for mystery lovers. I recommend THE NIGHTMARE to readers of suspense, traditional mysteries, and police procedurals, especially those with a taste for Nordic settings.

View all my reviews

Friday, July 10, 2026

Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Kill to Keep (Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery, #3) by Elena Taylor

Kill to Keep by Elena Taylor Banner

KILL TO KEEP

by Elena Taylor

July 6 - August 14, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Kill to Keep by Elena Taylor

A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery 

A female sheriff races against time to solve a murder at a carnival that puts her whole town at risk. Thrilling, romantic, and full of suspense!

Sheriff Bet Rivers' inspection of the carnival grounds should have been routine. Murder is certainly the last thing on anyone's mind. Then comes the sound of a gunshot. And a dead body with no signs of trauma, no witnesses and no obvious motive for the killing.

But solving the unexplained death is only part of the challenge. Bet is still grappling with her on-off relationship with town owner Rob Collier, while dealing with her feelings about her late father, the beloved town sheriff she had to replace.

As Bet launches her homicide investigation, she soon discovers the carnival is a place of whispers, rumours, resentments and lie after lie. And as the stakes build, it quickly becomes clear that protecting a deadly secret is something that someone is willing to kill to keep.

Fans of Julia Keller and Sheena Kamal will love this riveting suspense.

Praise for KILL TO KEEP:

"Thrilling . . . romance and suspense. Taylor delivers"
~ Glen Erik Hamilton, award-winning author of Past Crimes

KILL TO KEEP Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural, Rural Crime Fiction
Published by: Severn House
Publication Date: July 7, 2026
Number of Pages: 279
ISBN: 9781448317400 (ISBN10: 1448317401)
Series: Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Series on Amazon & Goodreads
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Severn House

Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Series


Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Crooked Lane Books
A Cold, Cold World by Elena Taylor
Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Severn House

Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Severn House


Read an excerpt KILL TO KEEP:

ONE

The air above the blacktop rippled as Sheriff Elizabeth “Bet” Rivers drove west. The tiny town of Collier struggled under a heatwave that had swept through Washington State and turned the last week of June unexpectedly brutal. The sun, barely over the tops of the mountains surrounding the community, already beat down hard. By midday, it would be merciless on the traveling Carnival Roma where they’d set up on the hardpacked dirt at the far end of the valley.

Bet parked the SUV in the makeshift visitor lot and eyed the temporary fencing around the fairgrounds. It didn’t encircle the entire footprint, tempting reckless souls to take a shot at getting in through the back for free.

She sauntered up to the empty ticket booth where Robert Collier Junior stood with an unreadable expression on his face. He cocked an eyebrow. “Mornin’, Sheriff.” His voice was warm and low, teasing her with his formality.

Pretending deference, she tipped the brown campaign hat that covered her auburn curls. “Mr. Collier.”

At thirty-seven, Rob had more than a few care lines etched into his tanned face, and the dark, neatly trimmed beard had begun to show hints of gray. He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Bet wrapped her fingers around the crook of his elbow, enjoying the tingle that always arrived when she touched him. They had stopped and restarted seeing each other so many times since they’d met last September that her head spun, but the physical attraction was always there—at least for her. Rob played his feelings close to the vest. Recently, there had been phone calls and texts that he ignored in her presence, or left the room to answer, giving Bet the impression she wasn’t the only woman in his life. She worried that they had missed their chance at something wonderful and would fall into the awkward role of “friends.”

It surprised her how much that hurt.

Following Rob through the turnstile, she kept her fingers tucked against his arm. “I feel special getting in before opening day.”

“It’s my role as the person renting the land to do a walkthrough, and as the head of local law enforcement, you should confirm that everything meets your approval.”

“And as a bonus, you get to show off your newfound status as feudal lord of the manor.” She meant it as a joke about his recently expanded fortune but caught Rob’s grimace from the

corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s OK.” He stopped and pulled her around to face him. “It’s not your fault that I’m uncomfortable owning an entire town.”

Not to mention international corporations and properties across the US. His sudden riches had regularly taken him away from their remote high elevation valley, interrupting their progress as a couple and turning him into someone else. Toe-to-toe, she got a better look at the dark circles under his eyes. There was a toll to all the travel his new position forced on him. Rob had left the Collier family responsibilities behind years before to pursue a career with the FBI, but his

father’s death had sucked him back in. As the sole heir, he felt obligated to the people his father’s businesses employed and responsible to various organizations.

He tugged her closer, and she closed her eyes, the heat of his body seeping through their clothing in direct competition with the weather. Standing together, the world felt right, even with a heat dome hovering over their heads.

All too soon, Rob stepped back with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I wanted to join the circus once.” The brim of his hat cast a shadow across his face and for the briefest of moments, he looked like a stranger.

Bet wasn’t sure if he was joking. “Because you wanted to run away?”

“Because I wanted to be Buffalo Bill.”

“And star in a Wild West show.” Bet could picture him on his big Morgan horse, shooting targets at a full gallop.

“Something like that.” The two continued their walk, and with no one around to see them, Bet kept her grip on his elbow, touching the soft blue denim of his shirt. It made them feel like a real couple. She’d never wanted that until now, when it wasn’t clear if they would ever be committed.

The midway split the meadow in half. Food stalls filled one side while games of skill and chance filled the other, with rides scattered in between. The big blue and white striped tent at the far end promised trick horses and acrobats, shimmering in the heat like a mirage. Carnival Roma combined the food, rides, and fun of a carnival with the live performances of a circus, guaranteeing tourist dollars for her often-overlooked town and spectacle under the big top.

As they made their way along the empty “street,” Bet imagined Rob in a fringed coat, performing with the big horse he’d brought with him to Collier almost a year ago. “You still got to carry a gun to work for the FBI. That’s almost like Buffalo Bill.”

“Does that make you Annie Oakley?”

They reached the first of the games—multi-colored balloons to pop with darts, metal targets to hit with little peashooters, heavy white milk cans stacked into pyramids waiting to be knocked into the dirt by an oversized softball. Memories of the past filled her, the view of those games from a child’s eye level. Her father always waving off trying his hand at hitting the targets. A crack shot, he didn’t believe guns should be used as toys.

The stalls were unattended, but a tall, gangly man stood not far away watching them—his blue polo shirt had GUS stitched in gold letters on the left side and a patch with the carnival’s logo on the right.

Rob gestured toward the shooting gallery like a game show host pointing out the grand prize. “Care to prove your gunslinger skills, Sheriff?”

“Only if Gus’ll let us use the dart game.” Bet didn’t hold the same belief as her father, toy guns didn’t bother her, but she refused to fail at hitting the targets with the carnival rifles because the sights were bad.

Gus started his singsong patter as he climbed over the knee wall in front of the games. “Hit a balloon and win a prize.”

Hefting a dart, Bet readied her shot. The pink balloon popped as the point found its target, but before they could finish the high five she aimed Rob’s way, a sharp crack rebounded down the valley. “That was—”

She caught Rob’s startled expression, and they finished with eyes locked together, “—a gunshot.”

Bet’s hand went instinctively for the gun in her holster. But before she drew, she reached down to her backup weapon and held the Smith & Wesson Shield Plus out to him. Planning a fun morning off, his weapons were all back home in his gun safe. Rob gave her a nod, the micro-compact looking tiny but lethal in his hand. They started toward the far end of the carnival grounds, their steps in sync.

Carnival workers streamed toward them, away from the blast at the north end of the midway. With the carnival opening in two days, performers and other staff had likely been at their various tasks and rehearsals. Now they formed a mob, racing toward the entrance, their voices loud and frightened.

Bet grabbed the arm of a young woman running by, wearing a glittery costume. Her silver tights and gold leotard were draped in spangled scarves and netting, which sparkled in the bright sunlight. “What did you see?” Bet asked her.

“Nothing.” Her wild eyes focused and she took in Bet’s sheriff uniform. “I was inside the big top when I heard the gunshot. It sounded close, like it came from out back where the trucks are parked.”

Bet let the woman go and she slipped into the crowd as Bet picked up speed in the other direction. She caught up to Rob, who had paused a short distance away. “Could have come from behind the tent,” she said.

His expression was grim, his body taut as they jogged toward the far end of the midway. “At least there haven’t been any more shots,” he said.

If this had been a spree, the report wouldn’t have stopped at one. But Bet wasn’t taking any chances. Kane Stand, her sole full-time deputy, answered his cell on the first ring.

“We may have an active shooter at the carnival,” Bet said before he could get a word out. “Call Clayton and get him back here now.” She hoped her part-time deputy was still in the area, his night shift had only recently ended.

Kane’s calm voice came through. “Will do. He just left, so he hasn’t gotten far.” Kane grounded her as she fought to steady her breathing. “Do we need Addy?” he asked.

Addy Jamisen was an EMT who owned the only ambulance to serve the rural valley.

“Yes, please. Call her too. But wait with her and Clayton at the front entrance while Rob and I determine if someone has been injured or there’s still a threat.”

“OK, but if I hear gunshots, I’m coming to back you up.” Kane’s voice said not to argue with him doing his job. “Keep me posted on your location.”

“We’re heading past the southeast corner of the tent to get behind it. I’ll be in touch.”

She made eye contact with Rob, and they moved faster in tandem again, weapons drawn.

The tent blocked their view of all the travel trailers for the crew and performers parked behind it, along with transport vehicles for rides and booths and animals. As they came around the side of the tent, the forest of vehicles and trailers threw angular shadows onto the ground. Danger could hide in the fractured light.

Fifty feet away, a man lay face down in the dirt near the back of the tent—as if the gunman had already hit the bull’s-eye, only to slip away in the crowd.

***

Excerpt from KILL TO KEEP by Elena Taylor. Copyright 2026 by Elena Taylor. Reproduced with permission from Elena Taylor. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Elena Taylor

Elena Taylor spent several years working in theater as a playwright, director, designer, and educator before turning her storytelling skills to fiction. Her first series, the Eddie Shoes Mysteries, written under Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime fighting duo. She is also the author of the standalone suspense novel, The Haunting of Emily Grace.

With the Sheriff Bet Rivers Mysteries, Elena returns to her dramatic roots and brings readers much more serious and atmospheric novels. Located in Washington State, Elena produces tense and suspenseful investigations for a lone sheriff in an isolated community.

Her favorite place to be is at Paradise, the property she and her hubby own south of Spokane, Washington. They live with their equines, dogs, and cats.

Catch Up With Elena Taylor:

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Review:

5 stars!

Steady suspense with plenty of surprise twists as the sheriff and her department investigate a murder at a traveling carnival. 

Kill to Keep is the third book in author Elena Taylor’s excellent Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery series, which finds Bet and her team struggling to solve a homicide during the return of the traveling Carnival Roma to small Collier, Washington. Rob Collier, a former FBI agent and owner of much of the small town, has leased some of his acreage to Carnival Roma for their annual two-week operation of rides, games, and performances. Before its official opening, he and Sheriff Bet Rivers arrive to conduct a site inspection when they hear a gunshot. They quickly discover the body of an unidentified white male behind the “big top,” however, the man doesn’t show any signs of trauma, let alone a wound from a bullet. 

The suspense builds steadily as Bet and the members of her department, including the deputized Rob, work to solve the man’s murder, and with rampant suspicions of and by the carnies, it is tough going. Much of the story also focuses on Bet and Rob’s growing relationship and her self-doubt about whether she is more into him than he is into her. A continuing storyline is her struggle with her past relationship with her deceased father, the former sheriff, and her resulting imposter syndrome after taking over his position as sheriff. Still, with a good group of coworkers on her side, she’s working her way through that and through this difficult case. 

The plot moves at a deliberate pace as the team must overcome roadblocks in dealing with the carnival community, who are, at best, reluctant to speak with law enforcement. They are an insular group with trust issues, and the transient nature of their livelihood creates a suspicious image for outsiders. Bet is smart and thoughtful, and able to see through her own preconceptions to reach the truth of the case. There are plenty of twists and turns along the way, especially toward the latter part of the story, and that really revs up the pace of the tale.  

While this book is the third in the series, it can easily be read and enjoyed as a standalone. However, I believe those who have read the previous novels will connect better with the building relationships and impact of shared past experiences of the main characters. I recommend KILL TO KEEP to readers of mysteries, suspense, and thrillers.



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Wednesday, June 24, 2026

Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove (McCusker Mystery, #3) by Paul Charles

Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove by Paul Charles Banner

HI LOVE, YOU JUST DROPPED YOUR GLOVE

by Paul Charles

June 1 - July 10, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove by Paul Charles

A McCusker Mystery

 

Thomas Barry, Lefty Kelly, and Brendy McCusker were all teenage boys who were roaming the streets of Portrush, County Antrim, in Northern Ireland in 1976 when Thomas Barry quite literally bumped into Isabella Scott, and he uttered the words of the title. In July 2019, the same Thomas Barry's remains were discovered at the foot of the Pilgrim's Steps in the Portrush Harbour. There were an extra 200,000 people visiting Portrush that week as The Royal Golf Club played host to Tiger Woods and Rory McIlroy and the UK Open Tournament.

McCusker and DI Lily O'Carroll are conscripted from the PSNI (Police Service of Northern Ireland) in Belfast to help the already stretched local police force work on the case. They discover McCusker's childhood friends Barry and Isabella Scott had married and then...well then, everything became very complicated relationship-wise involving Isabella's sister, Colette, lawyers, accountants, and showband singers. Thomas had become an ultra-successful property developer, sometimes in partnership with the Buckley Brothers, at least one of whom doesn't mind the cowboy approach to work. Meanwhile, McCusker is pining over a recent relationship he had started back in Belfast with O'Carroll's sister, Grace.

Set against the backdrop of the (actual) UK Golf Open taking place in a small seaside town, where absolutely everyone has an opinion, and their opinions they are keen to share.

Praise for Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove:

"Paul Charles' Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove is a page turner par excellence. Written written with Charles' customary verve. Another brilliantly compelling atmospheric effort from a master crime writer."

"A welcome return for Brendy McCusker... Charles crafts with such a careful eye on the sparks that can fly—some of them charming, some witty, some downright menacing—between characters who don't happen to see eye to eye, or sometimes even to be operating in the same galaxy. Once again, it's hard to resist a hero who realizes, 'He just had a habit of opening his mouth and not knowing what was going to come out."
~ Kirkus Reviews

"Charles's skillful depiction of the many sides of love and its strange bypaths lifts this clever novel well above the genre average."
~ Publishers Weekly

"Paul Charles is an outstanding author of crime fiction novels. They are models of character development and powerful observations of people the detectives meet. I enjoy reading his books."
~ Irish American News

"Charles's skilful depiction of the many sides of love and its strange bypaths lifts this clever novel well above the genre average."
~ Publishers Weekly

"Charles has a wealth of experience in the crime genre from his past Kennedy and Starrett novels and the McCusker series delivers the same blend of mystery and engaging protagonists. The characters have an authenticity that Charles has fine-tuned throughout his writing career. Charles ability to weave real-like details helps bring the story full to life. A Day in The Life of Louis Bloom is both a love letter to Belfast and a gripping thriller."
~ Aoife Bradshaw, Hot Press

"Charles In Full Bloom With Novel... a thrilling page-turner."
~ Sunday World

"Amusing light-hearted entertainment from Paul Charles."
~ The Irish Independent

HI LOVE, YOU JUST DROPPED YOUR GLOVE Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural, Crime Fiction
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: March 31, 2026
Number of Pages: 382
ISBN: 9798898201050
Series: A McCusker Mystery, Book 3 | Stand Alone
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

I was born here and I’ll die here, against my will.
—Dylan

‘Hi love, you just dropped your glove.’

When she turned to face him, he was amazed. He remained totally in shock to the extent he became a blabbering idiot.

‘Just now as it fell from your coat pocket…’ he continued, ‘I caught it before it hit the wet ground… Honestly it didn’t get wet. I mean it’s a little wet, but only from the rain and not the pavement…agh…’ and mid-sentence he reluctantly turned and chased after his two mates.

She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever set his eyes on during his seventeen years on this earth. When she’d passed him a few life-changing seconds beforehand, she was walking, arms interlinked in the midst of two friends with her head bowed to the pavement. Consequently, he’d missed her green eyes, hidden by her long black hair, and he’d missed her quiet demeanour, but, most of all, he’d also missed the chance to make a connection.

He insisted his two mates, Brendan and Lefty, continue walking around the streets of Portrush with him until darkness fell ninety minutes later. He was working on the theory they’d bump into the three girls again. They’d discovered, to his cost, the only thing more difficult than finding someone in Portrush in the peak holiday season was finding someone on the deserted streets of Portrush during the off-peak season, when Ulster’s number one tourist centre reverted to its more comfortable status of winter ghost town, aka Ghostrush.

Thomas Barry—Tommy to his acquaintances, Tom to his good friends—minus his two mates was back on the streets the following morning, just before eight o’clock. He walked the short distance from his parents’ house in the sedate Antrim Gardens to the nearly (but not quite) refurbished railway station in Eglinton Street, passing the moth-balled Barry’s (historic) Amusement Arcade on the way. It was a journey just like he’d done most days of his life. Most other days of his life. though, he’d just taken Barry’s (no relation) and every other local landmark, for granted. That Sunday morning in October 1976 though he’d studied every nook and cranny around the streets of the Port as if his life depended on it.

He felt it did.

When his friends met up with him just before lunch time, he admitted to them he’d already had tea and toast in Portrush’s Holiday Hostel, with its ultra-colourful rooms; the once elegant Adelphi Hoteland The Atlantic Hotel, with its spectacular views, in the vain hope the three girls were out-of-towners. The other hotels and guest houses were all closed for the winter, he claimed. Still, he’d tried them all, “just in case, you understand.” He also, for one who’d always gone to great trouble to keep the majority of his feelings inarticulately to himself, articulately explained he felt for the sake of his well-being, if not his life, he needed to find this girl. He also admitted that, not only did he not know what he was going to say to her when, and if, he met her, but if such an accidental, on purpose, meet happened he’d be so tongue-tied again, he might even need to walk on past her. He just knew he really needed to find her. He told them he’d been awake all-night thinking about her. Lefty put him out of his misery by offering to take him to some of the out-of-town hotels. The two of them hopped on Lefty’s trusted red Vespa 125 scooter and headed off out past Kelly’s trailer park and bar and on to Castle Rock, Portstewart, Portballintrae and even Bushmills.

They returned just over an hour later with the Vespa’s petrol tank empty and their four arms all the one length.

Thomas Barry admitted to his two best friends he’d never felt so convinced about anything before in his life. A real-life girl had never ever had such an effect on him before. Isabella Adjani on the silver screen yes, but a real live human, certainly not. He most certainly accepted the fact he was never ever going to meet the long-haired, green-eyed girl again in his life.

He admitted how weird this feeling was to him.

Nonetheless he continued his search.

He thought of all the things he could have done, should have done. Perhaps all of them were things capable of scaring her off for life. But what did it matter now? He’d most certainly lost her for life.

The lads wanted to go to the Old Harbour Bar. Even with the new glitzy restaurant extension, accessed by a half a flight of wooden stairs, it was still the cosiest bar in the winter and their favourite watering hole. He declined, suggesting he might join them later. Once again, he took to the streets of Portrush. The same familiar streets he had taken for granted all his life, but which now took on major importance due to the fact they may be keeping him from finding the green-eyed girl. He tried chastising himself for feeling sorry for himself. It didn’t work. How could it possibly work when someone, something, a God even, if such a spirit existed, had allowed him to experience this special creature and then not equip him properly about how to approach her? He chastised himself further for not considering what he’d say to her if, or when, he met her. He’d already let himself down once by blabbering away when he had the perfect excuse to greet her. Equally he felt if he had something rehearsed it would have sounded too false, stifled, insincere and a chat up line. He kicked himself over his rap about her glove being wet not because he had let it fall on the wet pavement but because it had gotten damp in the rain.

He’d never been one for the chat up lines. They’d left those to Lefty. Funny enough this approach hadn’t worked out for their lead wingman either. Thomas Barry had often wondered if they’d become mates, “blood brothers” just so they could hang out together and look for girls. Anyway, they had launched their little gang, the BLTs. They even had their own unique motto: May the Sauce be With You. It was funny at the time. They’d picked it over a meal together in Morelli’s as they simultaneously chased the food-saving flavouring known as HP. They’d also debated using: Life is a Beach and Then the Tide Goes Out,. Considering their endgame objective, they had unanimously voted against this option on the grounds it was too negative. As he wandered around the deserted streets, now it had gotten down to the nitty-gritty, he wasn’t so sure about their motto either, or even about their gang in the first place. Lefty was always complaining three wasn’t a good number to hang out in. If they met two girls and got through the even more complicated task of chatting them up, then the girls would surely feel sorry for the additional boy they would have to exclude due to the mathematical impossibilities. He reckoned maybe they could possibly have made the problematic maths work down in the more liberal Belfast. In the meantime, they had agreed they would figure out such a scenario as and when it arose. Lefty had claimed the girls would probably make their preference known and they, the boys, would just have to deal with it. They’d been happy to leave the tactics to Lefty. Even though Lefty’s tactics had, so far, been 100% unsuccessful, they still left him in charge. The alternate didn’t bear thinking about.

Tommy wondered if it would be any easier if, and when, one of them found a girlfriend and peeled off their gang as it were. He wondered who’d be the first to find a girl. He thought if you were a betting man and you followed the odds, then Lefty should be the first to find a girl. But then what would they do? They’d surely be lost without the tactics man. Or would they?

‘At least the rain has stopped,’ he said aloud, as he rounded the corner of the forsaken Mark Street Lane and into the desolate Atlantic Avenue.

‘Hi Love,’ he thought he heard a ghostly breathy voice say, not much above a whisper, ‘you haven’t found another glove, have you?’

There she was, there right in front of him on what would now become the hallowed, Atlantic Avenue. His green-eyed girl’s green eyes were smiling straight at him.

He was so intent on finding her he pretty much nearly walked straight into her. He knew if she hadn’t spoken first, he would have walked past her. Lucky enough before he’d a chance to figure out what he was going to say she spoke again.

‘What am I like?’ she started, ‘I’m forever losing a glove, thankfully never both at the same time, mind you, always just the one at a time. The one you picked up for me I…’

‘I’ve been looking for you all day,’ he admitted, his voice sounding a lot calmer than he felt.

‘Mmmm,’ she replied, studying his face and sounding like she knew, and accepted, such an admission wasn’t as weird as he feared, ‘you’d look good with a moustache.’

Of all the things he’d imagined her to reply, and most of them also included her rushing off as quickly as her shapely legs would carry her, this was not even in the top 1000. It wasn’t as though he had actually come up with more than three possible replies.

Before he knew it, they were involved in a natural freewheeling conversation.

She seemed inclined to linger rather than to walk away.

At a very brief lull in the conversation, they both silently acknowledged they didn’t want the conversation to be stifled, so they spurted out their next questions simultaneously.

‘Do you live here?’ Tommy asked.

‘Who were you talking to as you walked around the corner?’ she asked over the top of his question.

‘No, I’m at the University of Ulster in Coleraine and one of my course mates invited me and another friend over to her parents’ house for the weekend. Her parents own a wee guest house over by the West Strand,’ she said in response to his question.

‘I was talking to myself,’ he admitted, ‘what’s your friend’s name?’

‘Gilly Hutchinson.’

‘Oh,’ he said, without even meaning to.

‘You know her?’

‘Well I know of her,’ he replied, ‘I know her sister.’

‘Which one?

‘Gilly would have been a few years ahead of me,’ Tommy replied.

‘Right,’ she replied, without allowing him to finish, ‘so you’d know the youngest, Emmi Mae.’

‘Yeah we were really good friends when we were…oh 13 ish and then she outgrew me.’

‘Ah yes, it happens at 13 or even 13-ish.’

‘Tell me about it,’ he offered more to himself, ‘so was that Gilly the blonde-haired girl with you yesterday?’

‘No, Gilly was swotting, you saw the eldest sister, Adele, who’s just great craic altogether.’

‘Okay, figures, I don’t know her at all,’ he replied.

He looked at his green-eyed girl out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t see her as well as he’d seen her yesterday when they’d met face to face. She still looked stunning even though her long dark hair covered the side of her face. He couldn’t see those amazing green eyes though. On the upside what he’d missed yesterday was her personal scents. She smelt of a blend of soap, shampoo, mixed with little hints of a heather based perfume. The combination was totally intoxicating. ‘I’m Tommy,’ he offered, extending his hand, and knowing it was an excuse to steal another glimpse of her stunning emerald eyes, ‘Tom Barry.’

‘I know,’ she said, offering her own hand in return.

‘You know?’ he said, surprised while noticing two of her top teeth protruded a wee bit to the extent it looked like her top lip was going to have trouble covering them.

‘Yes, Adele told me,’ she said, as she smiled, ‘she also said you weren’t part of the other Portrush Barry family.’

‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ he said, still holding her soft skinned hand and shaking it gently, determined to never let it go again if he could get away with it. ‘’Fraid it also means I’ll not be able to get you free rides on the dodgems.’

‘I’d be more of a Barry’s Big Dipper kind of girl, anyway.’

‘Ditto on the Big Dipper, although I can’t pull any strings there either,’ he offered regretfully, while thinking he didn’t see her as being a Big Dipper kind of girl. All that screaming seems so alien to one so reserved and private. ‘I could get you a pony ride on the beach though if you wanted?’

‘Accepted,’ she replied, seeming content to leave her hand where it was, she leaned towards him, her nostrils wriggling the more they bridged the gap to his ear, ‘but not being part of the amusements also means you won’t smell of petrol and grease and candyfloss.’

‘Or Daulse and Yellowman,’ he added, attempting to complete her list and praying it was a compliment, ‘oh look…’ he continued and pointed with his free hand to the cuff of her red duffle coat, ‘there’s your missing glove, stuck up the sleeve of your coat.’

Sadly, for Tommy, this gave her an excuse to break away from him.

‘I’m Isabella,’ she said, retrieving her glove, ‘Isabella Scott and the pleasure to meet you on this wintery weekend, is all mine. That’s twice you saved me, Tommy, which means I’ll never forget you.’

And that, was how Tommy Barry and Isabella Scott first met.

Neither Isabella, her two friends, Gilly Hutchinson and Jane Murray nor Tommy Barry’s two friends, Lefty Kelly and Brendan ‘Brendy’ McCusker, would ever forget Tommy Barry. This fact was even more definite now that forty-three years later (bar three months) on Wednesday July 17th, 2019, the very same Tommy Barry died a very unnatural death.

***

Excerpt from Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove by Paul Charles. Copyright 2026 by Paul Charles. Reproduced with permission from Paul Charles. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Paul Charles

Paul Charles began his career in music at fifteen years old, managing his first band, The Blues by Five, in his hometown of Magherafelt in Northern Ireland. He moved to London in 1967 intending to study civil engineering but was quickly drawn back into the music world. In the 1970s he worked in multiple roles for the Belfast prog rock band FRUUPP, who signed to Dawn Records and toured widely across the UK and Europe. Charles lyrics for Sheba's Song were later sampled and used as Soon The New Day by Talib Kweli featuring Norah Jones on the album Ear Drum which debuted at #2 on the Billboard Top 200 chart in 2007. After FRUUPP disbanded Charles co funded the Asgard Agency and has represented major artists including Crosby Stills & Nash, Jackson Browne, Tom Waits, The Kinks, Van Morrison, Robert Plant, Ani DiFranco, Gordon Lightfoot, Nick Lowe, Elvis Costello, Loudon Wainwright III, John Lee Hooker, and Ry Cooder. He has programmed the Acoustic Stage at the Glastonbury Festival for the last 38 years. A life long writer he published his first Christy Kennedy mystery in 1997 Level Best Book have just published his 22nd mystery - Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove.

Catch Up With Paul Charles:

PaulCharlesBooks.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
Instagram - @paulcharlesbooks

 

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