Book Blitz & Giveaway: Same Place Same Stars by Katey Taylor

Same Place Same Stars
Katey Taylor
Publication date: May 13, 2025
Genres: Adult, Psychological

Twenty-one-year-old Natalia battles a rare parasomnia sleep disorder that propels her to act violently, experience night terrors, and put herself in dangerous situations—all while she’s unconscious.

After waking up covered in unexplained bruises, she lands herself back in a mental facility. Making friends has never been easy, but at Awana, she quickly bonds with her fun-loving roommate Lindsay and falls for Gabriel, a handsome yet severely depressed resident she secretly meets at night.

As Natalia wrestles with the harsh side effects of her medication, her reality unravels, exposing disturbing truths about those she trusts most. Though romantic relationships are strictly forbidden at Awana, Gabriel becomes her lifeline amidst the chaos. To be with him, Natalia must risk everything—including her sanity, and she learns some choices carry devastating consequences.

Filled with shocking twists, Same Place, Same Stars, unpacks the many layers of what happens when you can no longer avoid dark secrets that refuse to be ignored.

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—

CHAPTER 1:

No sharp objects. Pack light.

My instinct is to run, but I don’t know how far my sore limbs will carry me.

Apathy is my last line of defense.

I reach for a baggy sweatshirt and leggings. This has become my uniform when I go away, not for any fashion statement but its functionality—it can be easily taken off before my body is searched by a nurse’s gloved hands. The pressure from the fabric causes me to hiss in pain. I carefully step each leg in to cover the tender scrapes and deep purple bruises along my pale white shins and thighs. The bruises are a reminder that I’ve messed up again.

I drag my worn leather suitcase that’s on its last leg away from our cottage and into the trunk of Olga’s station wagon. She doesn’t say a word as we head out of our driveway and onto the tree-dense highway. The branches are grayer than normal, though it could be my mood filtering the world in a cloud of indifference.

Olga rolls every window down even though it’s a brisk fifty-two degrees. Long drives make her sweat. I think she would never leave our small town if it were up to her, but I remain her forcing agent.

My eyes wander from the pastures filled with cows and horses to Olga and her wild blowing hair that is unusually more silver than black for someone in their thirties.

“So, what’s this ward like?” I ask, trying to break the tense silence.

“Don’t call it that. That’s not what it’s called. This is a treatment center.”

She turns up her classical piano playlist, the one she plays to calm her nerves, then hands me a folded piece of stock paper filled with smiling faces of young adults—those who, like me, are not teenagers anymore but not quite what I would consider adults either. Much like our mental state, we’re something in between.

The brochure states this center isn’t government funded. By the looks of it, it seems far out of the budget of Olga’s ballet studio salary and my unemployed status, but it claims as part of their philosophy that they take on special cases free of charge. Just my luck, they happened to have room for a last-minute drop-in.

After the stunt I pulled last night, I’m sure Olga would be willing to pay any price.

Author Bio:

Katey Taylor is a San Francisco Bay Area-based author and published poet, with work featured in online magazines such as DarkWinter Lit, SWAAY, and Fauxmoir. She’s recognized for her ability to address complex topics with sensitivity and depth. To find out more about her previous and upcoming novels, visit www.kateytaylor.com.

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Book Blitz: The Button Collector by M.M. Cochran

The Button Collector
M.M. Cochran
Publication date: September 17, 2024
Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller

When Chicago journalist Jessica Knight is linked to a string of odd murders happening across the country, her life takes a turn for the worse.

She is left wondering why her relatives are the ones dropping like flies under the signature mark of a serial killer . . . why she can’t stop thinking about Michael Bradley, the appealing detective assigned to protect her . . . and most of all, why, despite being the Button Collector’s prime target, she’s still alive at all. One thing she knows for certain: the killer is always watching. As the line between truth and deception begins to blur, Jessica crumbles under the dense web of lies she’s trying to keep straight–especially once the police start questioning more than just her sanity. With pressure mounting, Jessica must navigate being under the watchful eye of the police–and the killer–while risking it all in a dangerous game to make up for the mistakes of her past.

Her days are numbered…one way or the other.

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—

EXCERPT:

Chapter 1

The first thing I feel when I step outside my apartment building is his eyes on me.

They burn. They haunt. They’re always there, somehow finding me almost every day since the first murder.

Long shadows stretch over the brown patch of grass before my building. They’re soft on my boots and heavy on the winter flowers that need sun. Rain pelts down the petals, but I’m too cold to get my fingers wet and shake the water off the weak flowers.

The thick weather clouds the feeling of his surveillance, but I still close my eyes to escape it.

Count backwards from ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Okay, it’s gone.

Now open your eyes, I instruct myself.

It’s time to catch a cab. “Time to catch a cab,” I say.

Leave me alone. “Leave me alone,” I say.

The office buzzes with fluorescent lights over rickety desks made for half-hearted journalists. I slide between their narrow spaces and make my way to the associate editor’s desk. The editor in chief smokes in his office, and Della can tell me everything he knows, so I avoid him and his stench. It’s not something I can handle this morning, though on a good morning, I’d crave the smell of his cigarettes.

“Della, John wanted to see me? Why?” The tip of my umbrella taps the ground, sprinkling cold drops of leftover rain onto my pant leg.

She doesn’t even look at me, doesn’t even jump at the opportunity to comment on my red lipstick that’s too dark or my unshapely long coat. “He’s in his office.”

“But—”

“Jessica.”

The smoke in John’s office rolls onto me in waves of foggy white. My automatic response is to cough, clear my throat, but it would be nothing more than for show. He knows I’m used to it.

“Knight. Come here, I’ve got somethin’ for you.” He fingers me in and motions for me to take a seat. The dark leather on the chair does everything but absorb the moisture from my wet thighs.

He nudges a stack of papers in my direction. “Here’re some stories for the week that I came across over the weekend. Fire and Crime section looks like it’ll be good and full next issue, but I’d like you to start on this Button story. A profile about him to follow-up his murder we reported on last week. It’ll take some research, so I want your time and attention on this one. All week.” He taps the folder with his index and middle finger, keeping his cigarette in place between them. “Make it good. If you need me to get some intern on the other stuff, you just let me know, Knight. Let’s focus on this Button profile, and make sure to really center it around the freakshow killer more than the victims.”

John takes a long, focused drag off the cigarette. Blows it in a thin streak over his shoulder. Eyes me with a glare that’s crimped with sixty-year-old crow’s feet.

“You alright, Knight?”

“Fine. But why do you want me for this? I’m not investigative, just—”

“A hard crime reporter. I know. But you really proved yourself with investigative journalism skills after you covered that murder trial last month. I want to spread your wings a little more. Cover this Button story, Knight. It’s going to sell a lot of papers. Keep it up, and we’ll change your title to Investigative instead of just Crime Journalist.”

“Thanks, John, but I’m comfortable with my position.”

“I’ll give you a little raise, dear.” He wraps his lips around his cigarette and blows the smoke over his shoulder again. “And I’ll hire one of those interns to take over hard crime. Okay?”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“Well, we’ll see how this Button story goes.”

I nod.

“You sure you’re okay, Knight?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Then shake that look off your face and get to work. I’d like to have that story by Thursday; I want the designers to arrange A1 layout around it. This’ll generate a lot of attention, you know. People are all over this Button Collector thing.”

“The word count?” I ask. I usually don’t have to talk word counts with him, but with big stories like this—like that trial—he always has some requirements to meet.

“Give me nine-hundred, no less.”

A knock on the door diverts his attention to behind me. “John,” the receptionist says, “a young lady would like to speak with you about advertisement.”

John pushes back his chair and stands, surrendering his cigarette to the dusty ash tray. “Stay here, Knight. I’ll be right back.”

My next breath is stifled by the smoke that folds into my face when he walks by. He leaves the door cracked behind him.

Author Bio:

As both a self-published and traditionally published author of YA fiction and a thriller, I know how vulnerable and scary handing your manuscript to an editor can be. . . But it is my job to take care of my clients and their stories, cherishing them as my own.

My novel, Between the Ocean the Stars, was ranked #2 at the worldwide distributors center upon publication and later named a finalist in the National Indie Excellence Awards. My next novel, The Button Collector, releases in 2024.

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Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Show Game by Steve Anderson

SHOW GAME

by Steve Anderson

July 1-12, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A mysterious vigilante abducts powerful abusers and exposes them in a twisted “Show Game" in this psychological thriller.

The pandemic may be over, but the world is not safe for those who prey on the innocent. A vigilante known by the alias “Alex” knows what these transgressors have done. And taking them captive is only the first step toward vengeance. In order to be set free, they must first play the Show Game . . .

A predatory priest, a double-dealing politician, a fraudulent philanthropist—Alex has ways of making them confess, on camera, for all the world to witness. But the Show Game is building toward a darkly personal finale: exposing society’s most notorious and evil abuser.

As Alex gets closer to the main event, investigative reporter Owen Tanaka is determined to unmask the vigilante’s true identity and motive. But when a shocking revelation hits close to home, Owen must decide whether to stop a criminal mastermind’s devious scheme . . . or let the Show Game play its final round.

Praise for Show Game:

"Show Game is not only a high-octane thriller, it’s an urgent and timely reckoning for the sins of the past. A thriller crackling with heart and soul."
~ Jahmal Mayfield, author of Smoke Kings

"An original, thought-provoking and fast-paced novel ... This thriller is written with so much heart and brings out hope in people that good will prevail."
~ Teresa Brock, reviewer, Best Thriller Books

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological, Crime, Suspense Thriller
Published by: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller
Publication Date: July 2, 2024
Number of Pages: 316
ISBN: 9781504086776 (ISBN10: 1504086775)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Open Road

Read an excerpt:

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 17

ALEX

I have the bastard, finally, I got him. Target number one. He’s cowering on the high-backed chair before me, in the near dark. We keep a single harsh light on him, a bare caged bulb hanging from one of the rafters, just above his eyes, still swinging a little. He’d tried standing twice and bumped into the bulb before my hard eyes made him drop right down again.

It was so easy. We have duct tape and various tools of the trade in a tactical backpack and are more than happy to use them. But he doesn’t even need taping up. He’s clenching the chair’s cracked leather so hard his knuckles are whiter than those pricey snow-white crowns of his. It can’t help that his seat resembles a dentist chair.

“You tricked me,” he keeps repeating. “I trusted you.”

“Sound familiar?” I say and let the question hang in the air a good minute. To see how he likes it done to him. I’ll let him fill in the rest, going back decades.

Oh, before we get too far—I will be known as “Alex.” It’s my vigilante name, for my first-ever job. I’m speaking to my target in a lower, rougher voice to help cover myself.

Dwayne Specklin, forty-nine and quivering before us, is the founder and head pastor of one of the largest megachurches in southern California, let alone the country. But before that, before he was “ordained,” he was a scoutmaster and Scout unit chaplain for many, many years. So many boys had put their trust in him.

You might see where this is going. But I’ll let Dwayne Specklin tell you, and soon.

We’re in a warehouse in San Diego. It’s only minutes from the surf and the palms and so many retired admirals’ young grandsons, but inside here it’s cold enough to be the Pacific Northwest. Up north, I’d found out, was where Dwayne had escaped justice after molesting his first ten-year-old, a lowly Cub Scout. All Dwayne had to do back then was abscond for college.

On one side of Dwayne is an aluminum briefcase, silver and dinged up, displayed upright on an old music stand. It holds video of him with boys, ready to roll on an old and unregistered iPad. Sick and vile footage. I won’t tell you what Dwayne was doing to those boys. After months of trying, I’d gotten the video from one of his accomplices—a junior pastor.

Dwayne has to know what’s inside the briefcase. It’s bathed in a red glow from the color lens of the military-grade LED flashlight mounted to our tripod.

He keeps glaring at the metal case like it’s a bomb ticking down to one.

Then I raise the handheld voice changer to my mouth. He recoils at the sight.

“Are you ready?” I say in my newly digitally warped tone. He releases a little yelp.

“Ah, now . . .” I come in close and lean down to him, just like he as Scout chaplain might have done while visiting another troubled boy at home, in a time of such dire need and defenselessness. I even stroke his plump knee gently. A heat of disgust swells in my throat.

“Are you ready?” I repeat. “It’s time to play the Show Game.”

“The wha? . . .” Dwayne’s eyes widen.

I don’t answer. In my planning, I decided to reverse the wording of “Game Show.” Let him figure it out. It’s barely afternoon. We’ve got all day and night.

I let Dwayne squint around a few moments, first at the briefcase again, then around the whole room. All he is going to find, if his bleary, puffy eyes can adjust enough, is our dim corner of an old machine shop, its only windows opening to a fully dark former manufacturing hall, both now gutted. Then there’s a cavernous warehouse surrounding that, and on and on, like some Russian doll of those abandoned factory locations from the season finales of thriller shows. I look around along with Dwayne, following his eyes and scrunched-up nose. We see corrugated metal walls, busted windows, jagged exposed bolts sawed off, and gaping holes and hatches to who knows where. Grease stains, oily puddles left from somewhere, something.

I flinch inside a moment, wondering what might have first activated my target’s depraved mind. Maybe a Scout leader or priest had committed the same abuse on Dwayne, or even his own father? Maybe Dwayne, deep down, has the same developmental age as the ones he deceives and abuses.

Who knows. Screw him.

Dwayne is looking up now, as you do, probably seeking that megachurch god he justified his crimes to—if he even bothered. But all he can probably see is the white glare of that bare bulb, and he sniffs and snorts, and his nostrils surely fill with the tang of stale oil and dead insects and the boozy metallic fear breath of his own bastard self.

Target number one is ready to play. My first contestant! I have to admit, I feel a little swell of happy warmth in my chest. I cannot reiterate how easy this has been, especially for my first. To help ease Dwayne’s stage jitters, we have a bottle of Old Taylor, ten bucks plus tax at the nearby Vons. We had offered him a paper cup, but he drank straight from the bottle despite claiming to be a lifelong teetotaler. And I was all too happy to corrupt him. The booze had made him gasp and emit a wheezing trill that left him breathing heavy and drooling. Then the tears started running down his cheeks. I was expecting vomit soon. I’d remembered to wear my waterproof boots just in case.

Talk about drinking to forget. It was far too late for that, though. Because I’m here to make Dwayno remember. Total recall.

Time to play.

“Dwayne?”

“Yes. No,” he says. “I’m not ready. I don’t get it! Who are you?

What do you want?”

“I want you to tell me what you did.”

“Did?”

“You know. All of it. And do not lie. Because we will know.”

His eyes go dead a moment. Silence ensues. He stares at his white knuckles. His face flashes green. I see it coming so I move back with a quick little two-step and the stream of hot vomit gushes out straight for the industrial floor drain we’d conveniently placed the chair near. He misses himself but it splatters, then it dribbles down the front of his pearlescent, still tucked-in golf shirt. Thank god he wipes at his chin because I’m not going to keep staring at that in this harsh downward light.

It’s such a contrast to the public Dwayne Specklin, a rotund if not fleshy fellow with pale pink skin that you never would’ve guessed spent much of its adult life in sunny California. His full head of hair somehow still more blond than gray, and a little spiky. His look reminds me of a jokey football coach, capable of either great care or extreme pressure within seconds.

He always had this little upturned grin in all those official photos and videos I researched, just one side of his mouth, but without that grin he truly does look like the eternally enabled child molester that he is. I wonder if he’d trained himself in the mirror at some point. He’s still wearing the pricey kangaroo leather sandals he had on when we’d approached him, his feet and toes soft and pedicured with a nearly white gloss.

He squints at me, and at the metal case again, then around. Squints, case, around. This repeats for like a minute.

“Who sent you?” he says finally.

Nobody sent me. I sent myself. Let him wonder why. This should be for all the victims. Let Dwayne Specklin mine his foul and barbed memory until blind.

[Chapter continues...]

***

Excerpt from Show Game by Steve Anderson. Copyright 2024 by Steve Anderson. Reproduced with permission from Steve Anderson. All rights reserved.

 

 

Review:

5 stars!

Intriguing psychological thriller with twists all the way to its exciting conclusion! 

Show Game by Steve Anderson is a riveting tale of vigilante justice, with twists and turns from start to finish. With an intricate plot that slowly reveals its secrets, like the peeling layers of an onion, and sympathetic, driven characters, this exciting tale gripped me immediately and never let me go. 

A vigilante known as "Alex" becomes judge and jury for the most blatant and heinous abusers, those who take advantage of the most innocent. After abducting the evildoers, he makes them play the "Show Game" and publicly confess, live on camera, their crimes. Seeking ultimate justice for the victims and the future of society, investigative reporter Owen Tanaka is determined to unmask the vigilante but in a shocking twist, he suddenly must decide whether to stop Alex or let the Show Game play out one more time. 

The story unfolds from two viewpoints: the mysterious Alex and the tenacious, guilt-ridden investigative reporter Owen Tanaka. I couldn't help rooting for Alex to continue to bring down and expose the powerful predators who had gotten away with abusing so many innocent boys, girls, and young women while still wanting Owen to unmask the vigilante and uncover the details of who and why. Alex's story, the motivation behind the vigilante campaign, is shocking and tragic. Owen is anxiety-prone and fearful of repeating a mistake that landed someone in jail. The guilt he bears, at times, threatens to paralyze him and prevent him from doing his job. 

The author's writing is smooth and easy to read; he's most assuredly an accomplished storyteller. This story of revenge and vengeance is an absolute page-turner. From the very first "Show Game" to the eventual fallout, I was compelled to keep reading to see things through to the final exciting conclusion. 

I recommend SHOW GAME to readers who enjoy tales of revenge, vigilante justice, and psychological thrillers.

Author Bio:

Steve Anderson is the author of numerous novels, mostly historical thrillers about gutsy underdogs. In an earlier life he earned an MA in history and was a Fulbright Fellow in Germany. Day jobs have included busy waiter, Associated Press rookie, and language instructor. He’s also written historical nonfiction and translated bestselling German novels. A hopeless soccer addict, he lives in his hometown of Portland, Oregon with his wife René.

Catch Up With Steve Anderson:
www.StephenFAnderson.com
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Twitter/X - @SteveAwriter
Facebook - @SteveAndersonAuthor
Substack - @SteveAWriter

 

 

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