Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: All Guilty Anyway by Russell W. Johnson

ALL GUILTY ANYWAY

by Russell W. Johnson

September 28 - October 9, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Ivy Collins, a fourth-generation attorney, is the daughter her powerful father never wanted. After growing up chasing approval that never came, Ivy rebels by joining the practice of Lester “The Truth” Williams, a notorious criminal defense lawyer who once bested her dad in court. Ivy expects mentorship and mastery. Instead, she finds a burned-out cynic running a settlement mill where clients are pressured to plea bargain their cases because, as The Truth insists, “They’re all guilty anyway.”

Ivy plays along until she’s assigned to represent Sonia Cabrerra, a Guatemalan immigrant accused of unspeakable child abuse. The case seems open and shut with physical evidence and a devastating confession. However, Ivy uncovers some linguistic and cultural misunderstandings that could lead to a massive miscarriage of justice.

Up against a broken system, Ivy must decide how far she is willing to go to fight for a client when key evidence resides in dangerous, cartel-controlled regions of Guatemala and local witnesses live amidst the constant threat of deportation.

All Guilty Anyway asks whether, in a world built upon bargains and broken people, the truth still stands a chance.

Praise for All Guilty Anyway:

"A genuine page-turner with a cast of quirky but loveable characters and thought-provoking themes. A masterpiece of legal fiction."
~ Reedsy

"A brisk but thoughtful and timely legal thriller."
~ Kirkus Reviews

"While All Guilty Anyway is a slam dunk for legal thriller junkies, it possesses enough moral and emotional depth to engage a far broader audience. Highly recommended."
~ bestthrillers

"Russell Johnson delivers a fantastic courtroom drama."
~ J.D. Trafford, writer of the "No Time" series

"ALL GUILTY ANYWAY raises timely questions about immigration, structural inequities, and our fraught legal system, all while being a brisk, entertaining read."
~ Joanna Pearson, author of Bright and Tender Dark

Book Details:

Genre: Legal Thriller
Published by: Red Adept Publishing
Publication Date: April 28, 2026
Number of Pages: 282
ISBN: 9781971903019 (ISBN10: 1971903019)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Red Adept Publishing

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Ivy Collins had been going to the Wake County Courthouse every day for six months, yet the deputies still made her show her bar card before admitting her to the “Attorneys Only” line through security. At first, she attributed this to her youthful appearance. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, with that frightened, fresh-out-of-law-school expression, Ivy was used to people not taking her seriously. But the husky deputy eying her ID that morning had checked her in at least twenty times before and ogled her ass enough that he could probably describe its every contour in his sleep. So, she was pretty sure this was just part of the hazing, the numerous ways defense attorneys were treated like the visiting team inside the courthouse.

Virtually everything, from the Justice Center’s towering hard-block exterior to its inconvenient downtown location, surrounded by a maze of one-way streets with scarce parking, to the imperious judges seated high on mahogany benches, down to the beefy, gun-toting men who checked the bags, all of it felt designed to make the experience as intimidating as possible.

“I really am a lawyer, scout’s honor,” Ivy said, holding up two fingers.

The deputy sneered as he handed back her credentials and fired a thumb over his shoulder.

I bet prosecutors never have to deal with this crap. Ivy knew they, the assistant district attorneys, practically owned the courthouse. They got reserved parking in an underground garage, were issued key fobs to unlock private entrances that bypassed security altogether, worked out of cozy offices nestled in the building’s secret alcoves, and were on a first name basis with every judge and member of the courthouse staff. Even the youngest ADAs quickly became masters of the local bureaucracy. Plus, they got to basically set the court’s calendars and, in many ways, were more in charge of “the system” than even the judges themselves.

It was massively unfair.

Before law school, Ivy had been a fairly serious athlete, a five-seven point guard with a wicked crossover and decent jumper, so she was no stranger to competition or hostile environments. But she had never dealt with a home court advantage like this. Nor had she ever faced an opponent as fierce as the one she was set to meet that morning, the Hatchet Lady herself, ADA Eliza Wells.

Ivy slipped through the metal detector without a ding and retrieved her bag from the conveyor belt, looking back just in time to catch the deputy, once again, checking out her posterior.

Maybe tomorrow I should walk in backwards, so he’ll recognize me. Might speed things up.

As for that morning, however, Ivy was running late. She hustled across the ground floor, serpentining through pro se defendants meandering toward traffic court, then managed to squeeze into an over-full elevator just as the doors closed. Twenty people were mashed into a space built for ten, and it was a sweltering North Carolina morning outside, which meant various levels of BO swirling together into a kind of rotten stew, an unfortunate circumstance, considering Ivy was on for the long haul, headed all the way to the tenth floor.

She eyed the lighted numbers as they stopped at every level. Each time the elevator stopped, the crowded conditions required an awkward, time-consuming shuffle to allow those pushed into the back to exit before newcomers came on board. It wasn’t until the doors closed on the ninth floor that Ivy was finally alone, the sole rider ascending to the Superior Court, where the major felonies were handled.

The doors opened onto a faded tile hallway. Ivy took a deep breath of the rarified air. To that point in her brief legal career, she’d worked exclusively down in District Court, mostly pleading out misdemeanors. This would be her first foray into the big time, wielding the court-appointed case file she’d been handed that morning by her boss, Lester “the Truth” Williams, who’d assured her that the step up was nothing to worry about.

“Shoot, girl, it’s all the same.” Lester was a Black man in his fifties and a graduate of NC Central, an acclaimed HBCU in Durham, though the Truth liked to say his real degree came from the school of hard knocks. That morning he had been wearing one of his tailored three-piece suits, this one olive-green, and was settling into a leather office chair while snipping the end of his morning cigar with a finger guillotine, when he said, “Superior Court, District Court, it’s no different, Ivy. Remember, your job’s really not to fight with the prosecutor. Just find out what kind of deal they’re offering and go sell it to the client. The case pleads, we get our paltry fee, the state gets their conviction, and the client gets a reduced sentence. Everybody’s happy.” Lester mimed washing his hands.

“But what if she’s innocent?” Ivy asked.

The question caught Lester in mid-puff and launched him into a prolonged coughing fit as he laughed hysterically. “Oh, that’s a good one,” Lester said once he’d caught his breath. “Innocent.” He rested his cigar in a glass ashtray on the corner of his desk and gave Ivy one of those looks she despised, the grizzled veteran having to explain once again how the world worked to his little White-girl associate. “Listen, Ivy, I’ve been doing this a long time, okay? And one thing I can tell you, without hesitation, is everybody’s guilty. Everybody. Hell, we’re all guilty of something.”

Ivy knew she was in no position to argue. Though she didn’t consider herself naive, she was inexperienced and undoubtedly privileged. That was part of the reason she’d taken the job with Lester in the first place. She had something to prove and knew there was a lot she could learn from a legit street lawyer like “the Truth,” as Lester often referred to himself in the third person.

Ivy flipped open the file and started to read until Lester stopped her.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow your roll there, Nancy Drew. We don’t have time for all that. Need you to get on down to the courthouse pronto. Cesar wrote down everything you need to know, right here.”

Cesar was Lester’s paralegal/translator who hustled up most of the firm’s Latino clients. His unmistakable chicken scratch filled a post-it note on the folder’s outside cover:

Defendant, Sonia Cabrerra, 22
Felony child abuse
Victim, Hugo (son), 8.

“What’s the hurry?” Ivy asked. She didn’t like the idea of heading downtown on her first felony without having at least read the file.

Lester sighed like he was getting annoyed with always having to explain everything. “We need to find out what the offer is before the prosecutor starts a trial this morning that the court administrator says is expected to last three weeks. I know this Eliza Wells. She’s no joke. All focus. If you don’t catch her before she gets rolling on whatever poor schmuck she’s about to put away, then it could be a month before we get to talk to her. Meanwhile our client’s cooling her heels in the county jail.”

Ivy checked her watch. It was already nine thirty and Superior Court started at ten. Now she understood why Lester was pushing her to move. She’d really have to run if she was going to catch Eliza before her trial got going. Ivy stuffed the file in her leather bag and started for the door before asking, “Suppose they don’t offer a deal. What then?”

“Trust me,” Lester told her, “The last thing the state wants is the time and expense and uncertainty of a trial when they can get a nice and easy guilty plea. There’s always a deal. Always.”

***

Those words echoed in Ivy’s head as she slipped into the back of courtroom 10-C and immediately realized she was too late. Eliza Wells was already in the midst of her opening statement for this other case she was handling, laying out the particulars of a crime to a jury of twelve. Ivy thought for a second about heading back to the office to let Lester know she’d missed her shot, but she quickly became entranced by Eliza’s delivery.

The prosecutor was a humorless-looking woman in her sixties with gray hair pulled back tight. She wore little to no makeup and a long shapeless black dress accessorized only by a single strand of pearls. Yet every eye was on her as she strutted back and forth, commanding the courtroom, stalking the jury like a predator cat. For half an hour, Ivy watched as Eliza hammered away, utilizing no notes at all, every fact, every picayune detail not only committed to memory but absolutely mastered. Eliza drove them like nails into the defendant’s coffin.

“By the end of this trial,” she said in summation, “you will have no choice, but to find the defendant guilty.” Eliza fired a vicious point at the defendant that sent chills down Ivy’s spine. It was like a laser beam of judgment shooting from the tip of the prosecutor’s finger. Guilt was an absolute certainty. Even without hearing the other side of the case, Ivy could feel it from Eliza’s conviction, a righteous indignation that was palpable. Ivy saw it in the eyes of the jury as well. They were already nodding along, ready to hang the son of a bitch.

Jesus, this lady’s good.

“Thank you, Madam Prosecutor,” the judge said. “Why don’t we take a brief ten-minute recess, before the defense gives their opening statement.”

After that, there was some shuffling as people headed for the restrooms. It stirred Ivy from her reverie. She realized this was an opportunity to try and talk to Eliza about her new case. If she could muster the courage.

The prosecutor was making her way down the aisle toward Ivy, not giving her long to gin up her nerve. Ivy cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Eliza passed by and was about to exit the courtroom when Ivy timidly managed to say, “Excuse me, Ms. Wells?”

Eliza stopped, turned, and looked Ivy up and down, no doubt pegging her for a young wannabe lawyer in her short skirt and form-fitting blazer, both courtesy of Ralph Lauren. The prosecutor’s expression morphed from a natural sneer, what Ivy would classify as “resting bitch face”, into something decidedly less pleasant, as though Eliza had just discovered a wad of gum stuck to her shoe.

“Yes?”

Ivy cleared her throat and tried to use her big-girl voice. “I’m Ivy Collins. I’m... uh... handling the Cabrerra case.”

Eliza’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling, searching a mental filing system for the name, among what must have been hundreds of cases.

“Cabrerra, yes,” Eliza said finally. “I’m familiar with it.”

Ivy nervously dug into her bag for the folder that had been sent over from the Public Defender’s Office. “I’m sorry to bother you during trial. It’s just that I was wondering what kind of plea the state was offering.”

Eliza looked at Ivy like that was the stupidest thing she had ever heard. “Have you read the file?”

Ivy swallowed hard. “Um... just had time to skim it,” she said, lying. “Our firm was assigned the case this morning, from the court appointed list.”

The mention of “the list” brought a look of disapproval. It meant the defendant was indigent and, because the Public Defender's Office was grossly underfunded and overworked, the case had been farmed out to a local private attorney at way below their normal market rate. Many lawyers viewed such appointments as akin to indentured servitude. Thus, a court-appointed firm had an inherent economic motivation to assign the case to their least experienced lawyer, and to give it the least amount of attention possible, regardless of the case’s complexity.

“I suppose you haven’t seen the video then?” Eliza asked.

“There’s a video?”

“DVD,” Eliza droned. “Back of the file.”

Ivy flipped the folder over and, sure enough, taped to the inside cover was a shiny silver disk.

“Look, I really don’t have time to discuss this right now. If you’ll excuse me,” Eliza said, “I’d like to use the bathroom before we start back up.”

The prosecutor headed again for the door, but Ivy called after her, hating how desperate she sounded. “I just need to know what the plea deal is.”

Eliza turned, shaking her head defiantly. “Uh-uh. Nope. Not on this one. No reduction. No deal.”

Ivy assumed at first that this was just more hazing, like the deputy downstairs. But the prosecutor remained stone faced.

“I don’t understand,” Ivy said.

Eliza huffed. “Just watch the video. Trust me, you’ll understand.”

***

Excerpt from All Guilty Anyway by Russell W. Johnson. Copyright 2026 by Russell W. Johnson. Reproduced with permission from Russell W. Johnson. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Russell W. Johnson is a fiction writer and North Carolina attorney. His debut story, "Chung Ling Soo's Greatest Trick," was published by Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine in January 2015 and won the Edgar Award's Robert L. Fish Memorial prize for best short story by a new author. Since then he's been published in a number of outlets and recently won the West Virginia Writers Association’s Pearl S. Buck Award, as well as first place for book length fiction.

Catch Up With Russell W. Johnson:

www.russellwjohnson.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @rwjwriter
Facebook

 

Review:

5 stars!

Riveting courtroom drama and legal thriller. 

All Guilty Anyway by Russel W. Johnson is a riveting legal thriller featuring a first-year attorney assigned to the defense of an immigrant mother in what appears to be a slam-dunk case of child abuse. But everything quickly goes off-script, starting with no plea deal and ending in a courtroom facing a renowned assistant district attorney nicknamed “The Hatchet Lady.” 

Fledgling defense attorney Ivy Collins had turned her back on joining her father’s prestigious law firm and gone to work for Lester “The Truth” Williams, a famed defense attorney who may be beyond his glory days. Sonia Cabrerra, the pregnant mother of eight-year-old Hugo, is in jail awaiting adjudication on charges of child abuse, based on the child’s testimony that the scarring on his torso came from her deliberately burning him with a hot skillet grate. Speaking neither English nor Spanish well, she had given the investigating detective compromising answers that indicated she had hurt the boy in the past. However, subsequent questioning in her native language soon revealed a different story than what the police and district attorney were peddling. Still, obtaining corroborative evidence from those who could help prove Sonia’s innocence hit roadblocks at every turn. Ivy has her work cut out for her in her first-ever court trial, defending a client with all the evidence against her, whom she believes is innocent. 

Ivy Collins is an engaging young attorney, ready to do all she can to provide a righteous defense. She’s stubborn and headstrong when it comes to being told she can’t do something: the initial reason she turned her eyes toward working as a criminal defense attorney rather than following in her demanding and larger-than-life father’s footsteps. She’s softhearted, too, and willing to help her friends, even considering some shady maneuvers to keep a coworker from being deported. She’s a character you want to root for from start to finish. 

The plot features a horrible accusation by a seemingly charming little boy, so it was quite a long shot that readers would be persuaded to feel sympathetic toward the accused. However, the author accomplishes this, and Sonia Cabrerra becomes the underdog, trapped by circumstances and facing impossible odds. The courtroom scenes are riveting, with all the involved attorneys portrayed as top-notch professionals. For once, none were made to look buffoonish or incompetent, just formidable adversaries. The resolution is satisfying, with careful attention paid to the future of the unbearably broken mother-child relationship between Sonia and Hugo. 

I recommend ALL GUILTY ANYWAY to readers of legal thrillers and courtroom dramas.

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Book Blitz & Giveaway: The Awful Truth (The Glass House Collection, #2) by Melanie Summers

The Awful Truth
Melanie Summers
(The Glass Houses Collection, #2)
Publication date: September 24, 2026
Genres: Adult, Suspense, Thriller, Women’s Fiction

They have money. Status. And terrible judgment.

It was supposed to be the ultimate escape. A curated guest list. A luxury yacht. A week on the crystal-clear Adriatic, far from everyone’s real lives.

Except no one is there for the view. Careers, contracts, and futures are all quietly in play.

Antonia and Ted have built a global brand on their perfect marriage, which would be more convincing if they could still stand each other. Mercy has spent years smoothing over the worst instincts of her powerful husband, convinced the man she fell in love with is still there. Winslow is hiding a secret that could end his career, while his husband, Miguel, is carrying news that will change everything between them.

And then there’s Charlotte—the assistant everyone overlooks. Which gives her an excellent view of everything.

The first night, the drinks flow, the gossip gets vicious, and everyone shares far more than they should. But what’s a little indiscretion among new friends?

The trouble with a yacht is that there’s nowhere to go once you’ve said too much. No separate hotels. No quick exits. Just the same people, fewer places to hide, and another breakfast together in the morning.

By the third day, one marriage is as good as over. One guest is desperate enough to do something irreversible. And Mercy is realizing the man she loved was all for show—and the man she fears is who he really is.

Before any of them set foot on solid ground again, one of them will be dead in the water.

Privilege has protected them from consequences for years. But desperation can make even very comfortable people do terrible things.

The Awful Truth is a sharp, warm, wickedly funny domestic suspense novel about marriage, power, and the spectacularly bad decisions people make when they have everything to lose. For readers who love the wit and heart of Liane Moriarty and Sally Hepworth, with the glamor and menace of The White Lotus.

Heat Level: Open door, spicy not explicit
Tone: A fast-paced, suspenseful, emotional, character-driven drama
Series Type: Standalone, part of a collection of domestic suspense novels
Ending: Emotionally satisfying, book club / upmarket resolution
POV: Multi-POV, third person
Content Notes: Infidelity, emotional abuse dynamics, death, suicidal ideation, brief sexual violence, psychological tension

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

Charlotte sat back, tuning out the conversation while she stared out at the hills and smattering of buildings along the highway. So far, the city wasn’t much to look at. A lot of low brush and an irritating bank alongside the road that only allowed the briefest glimpse of the water. But soon, she’d be surrounded on all sides by the clear blue Adriatic Sea, and she felt a surge of excitement. It was her first time in Europe. As a teenager, she always thought she’d go right out of high school—backpacking and staying in hostels for a few months, really living, as her mother, who’d never gone farther than Niagara Falls from their home in Muskegon, would say. But in the end, Charlotte met a boy and decided he was more exciting than Italy and France and England combined. Only he wasn’t. He was a huge disappointment, and by the time she realized it, it was already move-in week at the University of Michigan.

So here she was, at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, getting her first taste of the ‘old world.’ This wasn’t how she imagined it (few things were)—sandwiched between her lover and her lover’s wife in the back of a limo—but this was how she had arrived. Charlotte was sleepy and mixed up and felt guilty as all hell, but she was here. She had made it. She’d take as many glamorous pics as she could to post on her Instagram account. Her friends would be filled with envy which they would mask with comments like, ‘Looking hot, mama!’ and ‘You deserve it. You work so hard. Have an amazing time, girlie!’

But she wouldn’t be having an amazing time, would she? She’d likely be working long hours—maybe even through the night—to liaise between the studio and her bosses, not to mention having a front row seat to the ‘Ted and Antonia pretending to be blissfully happy’ show, which she’d much rather skip. She knew it was all bullshit, at least on Ted’s part. An act meant to keep the multi-million-dollar ruse going. It was bad enough when they were on set and she had to watch them gaze into each other’s eyes and act like they were still in the playful honeymoon phase. Ted had warned her that they’d have to lay it on extra thick around Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, but not to let it get to her. Because he only wanted her.

None of that was stuff she could share on Instagram, or tell her friends, for that matter. She’d keep her secret and smile, like she always did. But at least she could pretend she was having a wonderful time.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Melanie Summers also writes steamy romance as MJ Summers.

Melanie made a name for herself with her debut novel, Break in Two, a contemporary romance that cracked the Top 10 Paid on Amazon in both the UK and Canada, and the top 50 Paid in the USA. Her highly acclaimed Full Hearts Series was picked up by both Piatkus Entice (a division of Hachette UK) and HarperCollins Canada. Her first three books have been translated into Czech and Slovak by EuroMedia. Since 2013, she has written and published three novellas, and eight novels (of which seven have been published). She has sold over a quarter of a million books around the globe.

In her previous life (i.e. before having children), Melanie got her Bachelor of Science from the University of Alberta, then went on to work in the soul-sucking customer service industry for a large cellular network provider that shall remain nameless (unless you write her personally - then she'll dish). On her days off, she took courses and studied to become a Chartered Mediator. That designation landed her a job at the R.C.M.P. as the Alternative Dispute Resolution Coordinator for 'K' Division. Having had enough of mediating arguments between gun-toting police officers, she decided it was much safer to have children so she could continue her study of conflict in a weapon-free environment (and one which doesn't require makeup and/or nylons).

Melanie resides in Edmonton with her husband, three young children, and their adorable but neurotic one-eyed dog. When she's not writing novels, Melanie loves reading (obviously), snuggling up on the couch with her family for movie night (which would not be complete without lots of popcorn and milkshakes), and long walks in the woods near her house. She also spends a lot more time thinking about doing yoga than actually doing yoga, which is why most of her photos are taken 'from above'. She also loves shutting down restaurants with her girlfriends. Well, not literally shutting them down, like calling the health inspector or something--more like just staying until they turn the lights off.

She is represented by Suzanne Brandreth of The Cooke Agency International.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / Facebook / X

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The Awful Truth Blitz

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

DARKNESS FALLS

by James L'Etoile

September 7 - October 2, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

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 Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub

Served Cold Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub

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 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.

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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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Blurb Blitz Tour & Giveaway: Cold Hands by Daniela Alibrandi

Cold Hands

by

Daniela Alibrandi

Noir Thriller/MultiDimension Crime

Publisher: Morellini Editore

Publication Date: June 23, 2026

Page count: 310 pages

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by

Goddess Fish Promotions.

Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

SCROLL DOWN FOR GIVEAWAY!

SYNOPSIS:

In Rome, the past never stays buried for long. When a dangerous man, Cold Hands, is released from psychiatric detention and quietly returns to the city, Commissioner Rosco and his team are drawn into a shadowy investigation where old crimes, hidden grudges, and new threats begin to intertwine. Beneath the surface of ordinary lives, secrets fester in hospital wards, along the Tiber, and in the darkest corners of the capital. Seemingly unrelated crimes gradually intertwine within a hypnotic, subterranean world of hidden Rome, mysterious lakes and ancient legends, revealing a larger pattern that is difficult to recognize. As tensions rise, Rosco must protect the fragile happiness he has finally found while facing a menace that knows how to wait, watch, and strike. Atmospheric, gripping, and rich in psychological tension, Cold Hands is a suspense novel set in a Rome of buried memories and lurking danger.

***

Whoever reads this novel will discover the unbelievably seductive settings, on the shores of Rome’s underground lakes, in which a disturbed mind stalks its prey. They will enjoy this important step in the overall journey of the work, which intertwines serial crimes with murders of a different nature, even with the ancient legends that abound in the Eternal City.

Through the MultiDimensionCrime approach, the novel invites readers to enter a world where atmosphere, emotions, and events become almost tangible, entering the mind of the killer, the desperation of the victims, while investigating with the squad in increasing twists and suspense. The novel, set in the Eighties, is also published as an Extended Book, an innovative publishing format experienced by Morellini Editore, that enhances the reading experience. By scanning the QR code printed on the back cover, readers can explore the locations featured in the story, immerse themselves in its atmospheric world, and listen to a curated soundtrack of 1980s music that brings the novel’s setting to life. A journey that doesn’t end with the last page!

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ENJOY AN EXCERPT:

Rome in early spring—there’s nothing more enchanting, even for Rosco, who slid behind the wheel, still heavy with sleep, having skipped breakfast yet again. Another night spent with the little one waking up over and over, until he’d earned his rightful place in the big bed. And yet, for Rosco, there was nothing sweeter than feeling that warm little body pressed close, so bossy and so tender—a tiny tyrant to whom he gladly surrendered.

But by morning, Marilena had reached her limit. With gentle hands, she’d scooped up the boy and, for the umpteenth time, tucked him back into his crib. Then she’d slipped back under the covers—a mistake, as it turned out, because now Rosco could smell her, and it had been ages since he’d been this close to her. The child was sleeping soundly now, dawn’s timid light beginning to seep through the shutters, and Rosco could make out the outline of Marilena’s body as she breathed deeply, on the verge of drifting off again. He couldn’t resist the urge to caress her hips, and when she turned toward him, he kissed her lips, then her neck, and finally began to suckle her nipple. She wasn’t nursing anymore, and the scent of her skin had returned to what it once was, before— a whiff of stale caciotta cheese, during those endless months of round-the-clock feedings.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Daniela Alibrandi is the author of successful thrillers and noirs in Italy and abroad. She was born in Rome, and lived and studied in the United States. In her professional life, she has been involved in cultural exchanges within the Council of Europe and the European Union. With her seventeen published novels, a Trilogy, an Anthology of short stories and seven English editions she is a prominent figure in the Italian literary scene. Her writings have often been featured in national newspapers and literary columns on RAI Italian television and radio broadcasts. The author, always present with her novels in the most important national bookfairs, has also won several national literary awards and the 2022 Women Art Week Award for her literary career. Some of her Italian editions are present in Harvard and Yale libraries as well as in New York Public Library.

For years and from various sources, such as literary critics and reviewers, this author’s style has been defined as multidimensional, until it was officialized as MultiDimensionCrime (Acronym MDCrime). A reading experience that forges imagination in a multi-dimensional way. In the complex and intertwined plots of her novels, which lead to sudden and unexpected twists, the characteristics of different strands are harmoniously blended. The reader follows the investigation to solve a murder and at the same time he amazingly enters the mind of the killer, reasoning alongside him, preparing the crime with him, and even partaking in the victims’ despair and terror. All in a growing suspense, both during the narration and in the final pages, when the reader often has to question all the beliefs he has developed during the reading. The settings the author chooses as well as the atmospheres are always amazing and palpable.

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Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Invisible Justice (Kyle McMann & Graham Kurland Medical Thriller, #1) by Gary Brown, M.D.

INVISIBLE JUSTICE

by Gary Brown, M.D.

September 7 - October 16, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Dr. Kyle McMann became a physician to save lives. But when she watches violent criminals escape punishment again and again, she begins to question whether the system designed to protect the innocent actually protects the evilest of villains.

Haunted by the death of her younger brother—which she’s sure she could have prevented—Kyle is drawn into a clandestine cabal called The Tribunal. Its members include physicians, intelligence specialists, and former military operatives who secretly hunt down murderous criminals that have escaped the law.

They deliver surgically precise punishment that mirror the crimes committed by these vile homicidal maniacs, disguising them as natural medical events.

Transplant surgeon Dr. Graham Kurland, a decorated former Army Ranger struggling with the scars of war, finds himself pulled into Kyle’s life-and-death efforts to protect the defenseless and punish the guilty. As the two doctors grow closer, they must confront the moral and deadly consequences of the vengeance the Tribunal has inflicted.

Praise for Invisible Justice:

"rapid-fire action scenes ... make the pages turn easily ... a delicate balance between interior emotional examination and tough medical drama ... the main players are subtly and fully developed."
~ Kirkus Reviews

"A compelling, fast-paced read that combines suspense with meaningful explorations of grief, accountability, and moral responsibility. It is both an entertaining thriller and a powerful examination of what happens when ordinary people decide that the law is no longer enough."
~ Mary Karnes, Author, Wedding Bride Doom

"Dr. Gary Brown has created a rip-roaring 'Dexter with Doctors' thriller, using his deep-dive knowledge of medical catastrophes, hard-earned as they were by one of America's top eye surgeons, from slicing into eyeballs for decades. It's so much fun to watch brilliant medical minds figure out how to murder, with as much pain as humanly possible, evil bastards who prey on the innocent. There's a fantastic love story between two hot yet damaged doctors trying to find love in a world full of blood, guts, death, and the miraculous saving of lives. This is the kind of book you keep thinking about as you go through your day and can't wait to get back to, just to see who dies next and in what excruciating way they bite the dust, knowing full well that the events are not natural."
~ Henry Sterry, bestselling author of Chicken.

"Dr. Gary Brown blends his considerable medical acumen with gripping storytelling ability to take the medical thriller to new heights. Gary is an artistic master who entertains, educates, and tantalizes our intellect . . . I can’t wait for the next book."
~ Timothy W. Olsen, M.D. Professor and Consultant of Ophthalmology, Mayo Clinic; Chair Emeritus, Emory University; Founder, iMacular Regeneration, LLC

"Gary, I found your book wonderful . . . I just kept turning the pages. I couldn’t stop. I wanted to know what happened next?. . .What happened next?. . . What happened next?. . . It unfolds in a really good way. I like that being a doctor, you have access to that kind of information. And your protagonist is a woman. She ends up joining this thing called the Tribunal, which is kind of like a – we talked about this earlier – Dexter on Steroids – as she gets the bad guys. I like reading thrillers, whether they’re legal or in this case medical. I think you’ve done a really great job. So, congratulations on your book."
~ Jack Canfield, author of Success Principles and co-author of the Chicken Soup for the Soul Series with over 600 million sales

INVISIBLE JUSTICE Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Medical Thriller
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: April 28, 2026
Number of Pages: 416
ISBN: 979-8898201494
Series: A Kyle McMann & Graham Kurland Medical Thriller, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Level Best Books |

The ebook is just 99 cents on all platforms through October 16, 2026!

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Outside the Surgical Emergency Room

Grady Memorial Hospital, Atlanta, Georgia

Kyle McMann groaned as she paced on the Grady Memorial Hospital Emergency Room ramp, her eyes tracking the incoming ambulance. She prayed this wasn’t another twenty-five-year-

old—her exact age—stiffened by rigor mortis, still cradling her crying infant son in her arms. She was haunted by the mother’s lifeless stare that sent shivers down her spine. Obviously, some evil bastard shot her close up as she held her baby.

Kyle had picked the short straw, as per usual. She was starting her career as an intern in the Surgical Emergency Room of Grady, the Mount Everest of U.S. shock-trauma centers.

Unlike most hospitals that had one ER, this godforsaken medical behe-moth had three: the Surgical ER, the Medical ER, and the Pediatric ER. Each had its own unique variants of traumatizing trauma.

It was dark by nine p.m. on Thursday, July 5th, and she shielded her eyes from the strobing reds and blues. It was her job to screen the incoming “clients.”

Though not specified in the hospital bylaws, inherent in the mission of the lowest of the low on the professional totem pole was ramp duty.

Aka processing the worst of the worst and pronouncing the dead bodies dead.

Didn’t get much grimmer than that.

Her mind flashed back to this morning’s thirty-one-year-old basketball phenom with bacterial meningitis. A day ago, a vibrant human being. Now approaching his maker with a devastated brain failing on a respirator despite the efforts of the best infectious disease minds on the planet.

She’d been there for five days, and already it was wearing her out. Facing the families.

The tears. The sobbing.

Parents collapsing.

It was like everyone fell from the tree of horrors and hit each branch on the way down.

Her fight or flight reflex kicked in, and she sprinted to the ambulance, sharp brown eyes focused, runner’s body whipping towards the EMS vehicle, coughing out the black exhaust that smacked her face-on and splayed her middle-parted chestnut brown hair in both directions. Staying on the driver’s side, she peered in as the BLS 911 Emergency Ambulance backed into the ramp.

“What is it?” she shouted as the driver rolled down his window.

“Bad one, doc. Bleeding like a stuck pig. A bunch of kids worked him over with bats and knives. You want to get in here fast.”

Kyle’s heart sank as she ran back and yanked open the rear door. She jumped in before the van came to a full stop.

Blood.

And more blood.

A vampire’s wet dream.

On the sheets. The floor. Smeared on the windows.

“Come on!” she shouted to the half-panicked tech staring at the abdomen. “Let’s get him inside.”

The two front EMTs ran around back and pulled the stretcher out. The group slammed through the steel and glass doors into the ER.

“WAIT A MINUTE!” Ellen Chu, the hard-as-a-rock head nurse, blocked their path and held up her hand. “What’s going on?”

Kyle spoke up from behind. “Let ’em through. We’re going to Trauma, stat.”

She pushed the stretcher, sweeping Ellen aside, then looked back over her shoulder. “And call Eli.”

The Trauma Room was halfway down the hall. It was larger than the rest, so more people could fit in to stabilize the endless stream of broken bodies in this war zone.

Kyle slipped in before the men and slapped the trauma room table. “Here. Let’s move him. One, two, three.”

They lifted the patient from the stretcher using the draw sheet underneath him.

He was light. Must be a kid, Kyle thought.

She peered into the open abdomen. The wound stretched all the way across the belly.

“Oh, man,” she cried as she catapulted back.

An arterial pumper squirted blood into the air, hitting her directly in the right eye.

Everything she learned drained from her mind. She went from flight/fight to freeze.

All she could see was that fountain of red shooting up from the patient’s pulsating bowel.

Where the hell was Eli?

Her stomach dropped from the sheer helplessness of it all.

Think, dammit. THINK!

Ellen poked her head around the corner.

Kyle looked up from the bowel, snapped out of her stupor, and wiped blood from her face with the arm of her white lab coat.

“Where’s Eli?”

“I told him to get his ass down here stat.” Ellen looked at the spurting blood, then back at Kyle and said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world: “Shouldn’t we start an IV?”

“Yeah, yeah, uh, good idea.” Kyle shook her head and mentally kicked herself. Four years of working her ass off, and she couldn’t even think of an IV? What kind of a moron was she?

“I’ll put in the IV,” Ellen said hard and fast, “but you’ve gotta get that bleeder, or he won’t last until Eli gets here.” The ambulance attendants backed off while Ellen tossed Kyle a large Kelly clamp, then ransacked the drawers for an IV.

“Kyle?!” she barked, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Kyle faced the patient, ready to save his life. Then she froze. Again.

Sure, she’d been through the surgical rotation, but only as a second or third assistant. She’d read all the books. But books didn’t shoot blood at you while you tried to stop them from dying.

It was her first week in the ER, for fuck’s sake.

She wasn’t even a real doctor yet. Real doctors knew what they were doing.

“Kyle, SNAP OUT OF IT!” Ellen shouted.

“Okay, sorry…” Kyle muttered as she sprang out of her stupor.

She pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and yanked the suction catheter from the wall. The long plastic tube slurped the liquid blood and dark clots from the open wound to expose a glistening bowel.

There it was.

The base of the bleeder.

She took the Kelly clamp and went for it. Blood splattered her face again.

Now it was in her left eye.

What if he had AIDS?

Or hepatitis?

“Damn!” She missed.

The blood was pooling.

And the bleeder was going down again.

In another second, it would disappear below the surface of a new red pond.

She went for it once more, holding her right wrist to steady her hand.

“Gotcha, you little bastard.” “What’s going on?”

Kyle squinted to keep more blood from rolling into her eyes as she growled at Eli, finally strolling in like the cool customer he was. “Nice of you to stop by.”

The second-year surgery resident leaned over to inspect the wound. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ a-okay to me, Newby.”

A clot dislodged from another severed vessel.

Blood spewed two feet and caught Eli in the cheek. “Okay, well, maybe you do need a little help from your friends.”

He wiped his face with a green towel and snapped on a pair of tan gloves. “Kyle, gimme the suction catheter. I’ll work here. You put a second IV in his other hand. Ellen, call the OR. Tell them we’re coming up stat.”

Kyle was happy to slide aside. She grabbed the patient’s right hand and smacked the back of it a half dozen times to raise a vein. It was no easy matter considering the scar tissue covering the vessels.

Strange. She’d given her little brother a scar like that once. Brian had been chasing her in the house, and she slammed the bathroom door on his hand as hard as she could.

The poor kid. She remembered it like it was yesterday. She’d cried for nights when she saw the skin torn back and the tears running down his little pink cheeks.

She stared at the patient’s face. Except there was no face.

No pink cheeks. Nothing close to normal human features. Only bloated purple lips, swollen shut eyes, and the disfigured pulp left by the vicious stomping. His facial bones had to be fractured beyond recognition.

Eli clenched his teeth, his casual nonchalance gone. “Son of a bitch!” “What? What’s the matter?” Kyle asked.

“Every time I grab a damn vessel, another pops up.” Even Eli, the king of chill, was sweating. Something he rarely did. “We’ve gotta get this bowel fixed, or we won’t have to worry about the rest of him.”

Ellen careened around the doorway corner on one hand. “They gave us the okay. Said to bring him right up.”

“Unlock this stretcher. LET’S GO!!!” Eli threw another clamp on the exposed gut.

The trio wheeled the stainless-steel stretcher as fast as they could into the main corridor of the ER, then down the dim hallway, with Kyle sprinting at the side.

She looked down at the abdomen. Blood was oozing everywhere. She ran ahead and punched the erratically blinking, red “UP” button. Twice. Three times. Four…Eli, Ellen, and the patient arrived in seconds.

Kyle’s foot tapped on the floor, and she bit her lower lip as she stared at the patient’s hand. Was she going to lose this one, too?

Her mind disassociated as she waited for the clanking elevator. She needed to stop after work to stock up on Fritos. Brian was visiting on Monday. Just out of tenth grade, this was his first solo trip by train. It was a wonder Mom let him come, especially for two days. She hated being alone since Dad died. But she’d finally relented when he expressed such a strong interest in Emory University. He so wanted to follow his big sister’s path, only on the veterinary side.

“No pulse,” Ellen said as she felt the patient’s neck and looked up from the head of the stretcher with wide eyes.

Eli reached for a confirming feel, then looked back toward the ER, hesitant for a moment.

“We gotta get him to the OR,” he decided. “Kyle, you pump. I’ll breathe him.”

Kyle jumped onto the stretcher and straddled the patient with her legs, half-standing, taking care not to put weight on the open abdomen.

Knees flexed, she pushed down on his chest with both palms, counting off one-per-second thrusts that forced blood through his oxygen-starved body.

One of the clamps slipped, and blood squirted, spraying the crotch of her white house officer’s pants over and over.

She kept going.

Unless they got this poor kid’s heart started again, he’d be a brainstem preparation in ten minutes.

Eli sighed deeply and shook his head. “Not good, guys. Where’s a phone to call a code?”

He glanced left, then right. “Not even a fucking phone?” Cells were useless down here.

Ellen scowled and ran back to the ER, mumbling something unintelligible, though her tone needed no explanation.

“I don’t think I’m pumping him well,” Kyle said between heavy breaths. “Why not?” Eli asked.

“There’s no support under his back.” “God DAMNIT!”

Eli dropped the breathing mask, pushed the stretcher against the wall for stabilization, and pulled a sideboard out from underneath. “Turn him so I can put this under.”

Kyle stopped her thrusts and, standing on the stretcher with her back against the wall, lifted the left side of the patient’s body while Eli tried to slip the flat board underneath. The awkward position set off horrific pounding in her head, but not before she had him halfway over.

“Almost. Just a little more.”

The patient’s shirt slipped up.

The birthmark!

The brown oval over his right kidney!

Kyle’s shocked mouth dropped open. Instead of pulling harder, she dropped him.

The patient fell back on Eli and the board with a thud.

Kyle’s head snapped back and slammed against the hard tile wall abutting the stretcher. She could hear a crack as her head bounced.

The birthmark. The mark on his back—Brian’s mark. And with the hand scars?

NOOOOO!!!

Eli yanked his right hand out from between the board and the stretcher and shook it.

“Kyle! What the hell are you doing? Why’d you let go?”

The board crashed to the ground.

Kyle climbed down and grabbed the side of the stretcher, her head exploding with the worst pain she’d ever felt.

Eli held his hand and grimaced. “What’s wrong with you? Get moving, or he’s gonna die.”

“I—I can’t. I just can’t, I’m not, I don’t… I just can’t…”

“Why not?”

“I-I can’t.”

“Jesus Christ!” Eli uttered.

Then he shouted, “HELP, STAT!!! WE NEED HELP DOWN HERE!!!”

He hit a red wall alarm and climbed onto the stretcher. He pumped with his good hand while Kyle hugged the wall for support.

Brian.

Dear God, NOOOOO!

What was he doing here four days early? He never showed up anywhere early in his entire life.

Personnel poured from the stairways and into the hallway.

Eli jumped off and ran down the corridor, waving at the people pushing the stretcher back to the ER.

“Come on, move it, MOVE IT!”

Kyle stumbled after them in a daze. The seat of her pants dripped blood that splattered down to her green and white Nikes. Normally, the wetness would’ve driven her crazy. Now she watched and felt a cold nothingness.

While her head throbbed with an excruciating ache. As if it were on fire.

People ran past.

Someone was shouting in the distance. Bodies crowded the main ER.

Their faces were blurs.

She stopped outside the door to Trauma. Inside, it was alive with a flurry of activity, but the noises were far away.

Kyle stood alone, the Ghost of Christmas Past, looking in on people illuminated by the powerful overhead beams.

As she stood there wobbling, the noise stopped. Suddenly, the frenzied motion ceased.

White coats and pants came out singly and in pairs, silent, their heads hanging low.

Eli came last, biting his lower lip.

Only the solitary monotone of the cardiac monitor echoed through the door.

Kyle dropped back against a wall and slid to the ground, a hand pressing into each temple to try and hold in the jackhammer pounding inside her head.

Her mental and physical pains faded as she passed out into a black void.

Chapter Two

Seven Years Later

Pennsylvania Hospital, Eighth Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Graham Kurland, 6’ 5”, 230 pounds of sinew and muscle, strolled in the Pennsylvania Hospital parking lot like the former Purple Heart winner he was, a world-class warrior who’d traded his

weapons for a scalpel and become a rising star surgeon of the medical world, as well as a renowned transplant researcher. If you looked closely, you could see his assurance and graceful gait almost concealed the limp he’d had after a grenade’s shrapnel shredded his leg.

He was greeted by the occasional nurse who flirted, or a doctor who was in awe and/or jealous of the famous Dr. Kurland. But no matter how much attention he got—professional or personal—none of it ever went to his head. He either didn’t know or care how brilliant and easy on the eyes he was.

He was excited about the surgery he was scheduled to perform. A double renal artery in a recipient kidney. Much more difficult to implant than a single renal artery. So his XXL brain was working out each detail, making contingencies for everything that could go wrong. The donor kidney had two arteries supplying it, rather than the typical one. This anomaly made it more difficult to connect the donor kidney into the kidney recipient. Couldn’t be done without a great team. They were very good. But were they great? He thought so.

This was his last year of internal medicine residency. He had already finished his surgical residency and would be one of the select few in the country with Boards in Surgery and Medicine. He couldn’t have done it without his photographic memory. And his years as a kill-or-be-killed warrior. And a CEO who turned his dead father’s business into a cash cow. While raising his teenage brother.

BAM!

A car backfired loudly, like a shot being fired just outside the hospital.

Suddenly, Graham was in the middle of a raging battle in the desert outside Kandahar, missiles and bullets flying. Eddie Severs, his ride-or-die best friend, was by his side. Eddie took one step towards him, and the whole world exploded as he stepped on an IED.

Graham was thrown back, even as he saw Eddie blow up, blood and flesh flying as he screamed in agony and horror.

Graham felt a hand on his shoulder, and he whipped around, fists clenched, fire in his eyes, face full of rage, in full fight mode.

He snapped back to reality when he saw he was face-to-face with Nurse Beth Kelly, a fifty-something veteran of twenty-five years at Penn, the sweetest, kindest soul here. She was looking horrified at Graham’s hard, furious face, his body spring-loaded and ready to kill.

The look of terror on Nurse Kelly’s face jolted Graham back to sanity. He saw what he was doing and was overcome with shame and embarrassment. He forced his face into a disarming, charming grin.

“Sorry, Beth, oh my God, you scared the bejesus outta me. My apologies, I get a little wonky sometimes. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m really sorry.” Beth’s face changed from scared to neutral to thoughtful to understanding to kind. She nodded and smiled her sweet smile. “PTSD,” she said with an understanding nod. “My husband served in Desert Storm. Gee willikers, I

know trauma’s a killer. I hope to heck you’re getting help.”

“Oh yeah, I went through the program, I just get a little sketchy when I hear, uh…”

“Loud noises? Like a gunshot. Or a car backfiring?” she gave him a wry little smile. “I get it.”

“Thanks, Beth, I really appreciate that. Maybe we could keep this, uh, you know…”

She made a funny little locking-her-lips-with-a-key gesture and did a slightly silly mock whisper. “What happens at Penn stays at Penn.”

Graham laughed. Beth laughed.

“Shall we?” Beth nodded and gestured towards the hospital.

“Yes, we shall,” Graham said with his trademark aw-shucks animal magnetism as they walked through the parking lot and into the rest of their lives.

***

Excerpt from Invisible Justice by Gary Brown, M.D. Copyright 2026 by Gary Brown, M.D. Reproduced with permission from Gary Brown, M.D. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Dr. Brown is a retired professor and vitreoretinal (eyeball for civilians) surgeon. He performed over 40,000 operations in his award-winning career. Among his honors are inclusion in Marquis Who's Who in the World and The Leading Physicians of the World. He served as the editor of three medical journals and has 650 publications and 12 medical/economic book authorships. This is his debut novel.

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Review:

5 stars!

Riveting tale of dedicated doctors and vigilante justice. 

Invisible Justice is the first book in author Dr. Gary Brown's electric new Kyle McMann & Graham Kurland Medical Thrillers series, and readers will be glued to their seats as this exciting story unfolds. The story is so well done and polished that I was surprised and delighted to learn this is the author's fiction debut! 

After losing her younger brother in an unsolved crime of violence, Dr. Kyle McMann struggles with guilt that she failed to save his life when he showed up in the ER where she was working. Other medical professionals who have also suffered similarly tragic losses join together to form the secret group called The Tribunal, where the members agree to enact retribution for victims whose perpetrators have escaped justice. Made up of medical doctors and two former Navy SEALs, The Tribunal's methods of punishment are ingenious, undetectable, and strive to fit the crime they are avenging. But a new doctor at the hospital where Kyle works has brought his own brand of brilliance to his job and is often only steps behind Kyle in figuring out what is wrong with the patients who were The Tribunal's targets. Relying on The Godfather's adage, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," Kyle sets out to get close to Dr. Graham Kurland, only to discover a real connection forming between them. 

After her devastating loss, Kyle McMann suffers her own medical emergency and is lucky to have survived. But as soon as she's able, she makes up any lost time, thriving while researching, writing, and advancing her career until she's one of the youngest department heads at her teaching hospital in Philadelphia. Graham Kurland, a decorated veteran, enters the medical profession after successfully preserving his family's business and serving in the military. He gives his new career his all, and it shows. I loved that these two middle-aged go-getters are both in a position to pursue their mutual attraction freely. They make a great couple, and their scenes together are fun and flirty, but with an underlying tension as Kyle tries to keep Graham from discovering her secret agenda and the true nature of The Tribunal's targets' afflictions. 

The story is told through multiple points of view, and not just those of the two main characters. Good guys and bad guys alike have a part of the narrative, so readers know, without a doubt, who's who. The good guys have moments where they struggle with their actions but are convinced they are doing the right thing. The bad guys are overtly evil people, and the deeds attributed to them are heinous and shocking at times. The ingenious methods of retribution that the doctors on The Tribunal develop will take your breath away. The author writes with authority but explains medical details so clearly that even untrained readers can follow the plot: gripping and graphic, without delving too deeply into the science or relying on jargon that might go over the layperson reader's head. 

With its compelling plot and engaging, complex characters, I recommend INVISIBLE JUSTICE to readers of medical thrillers.

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