#NewRelease “Under The Radar (Ray Okon Crime Thriller #2)” by Stanley Umezulike

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Some cases will get you killed.

When the body of a final-year student at the University of Lagos is found in the lagoon, the police rule it an open and shut case: suicide. But as the bodies of more final-year university students end up in the lagoon, DSS Special Agent Ray Okon is called to investigate the incidents sending chills across the country.

National Intelligence Agency security expert Sarah Aderinsola is investigating a similar case. Ray and the DSS Criminal Investigation Department team up with her to find answers.

As Ray and Sarah race across university campuses and peel layers of deceit, they face a terrible evil residing under the radar, unnoticed —until now. Worse, it is ready to shatter the fragile heart of the nation.

To save the country, they must risk their lives to stop a ruthless enemy determined to bring the nation to its knees.

Buy Links

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#BookTour “In Danger of Judgment” by David Rabin

In Danger of Judgment by David Rabin BannerAugust 8 – September 2, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

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Synopsis:

 

When a covert operation during the Vietnam War ends in tragedy, one of its members resolves to kill the man who betrayed it to the enemy. Now, fifteen years later, he’ll finally get his chance.

Chicago, 1987. Home of mediocre baseball teams, gangs that rule the streets, and a Mexican drug cartel that supplies the city with heroin. Chicago Police Detective Marcelle DeSantis and her partner, Bernie Bernardelli, are working a series of heroin-related murders, and their job just got more complicated. The man who sabotaged the Vietnam operation, Robert Thornton, is now the chief enforcer for a Southeast Asian heroin cartel, and after fifteen years overseas he’s arrived in Chicago to eliminate the reigning cartel and seize control of the city’s heroin trade.

Racing to stop a drug war, Marcelle and Bernie don’t realize they’re about to be caught in a deadly crossfire: another man is circling in the wings, one of Thornton’s soldiers from Vietnam, who’s preparing to exact his long-sought revenge against his former mentor. He’s the last person anyone would ever suspect, and when he finally makes his move, the paths of these four people will explosively converge.

Praise for In Danger of Judgment:

In Danger of Judgment does a masterful job of juggling multiple, full-blooded characters through high-octane storytelling as they make their way to a shocking, violent ending. David Rabin is a name that is sure to become familiar among lovers of best-selling, full-throttle thrillers”

––David Shawn Klein, award-winning author of The Money

“Mr. Rabin brings a fresh set of characters to the tried-and-true crime drama, and his breezy narrative style and crackling dialogue kept me turning the pages well past my bedtime.”

––Ronald Aiken, author of Death Has Its Benefits and former president of The Atlanta Writers

“Kudos to Mr. Rabin on the high quality of the prose, the thrilling plot with a twist and surprise ending, and the extensive research that went into this novel. I highly recommend it.”

––Jill Caugherty, author of Waltz in Swing Time

“Well-developed characters drive Rabin’s taut thriller. . . . the story builds to a lengthy, sensational final act, brimming with well-earned suspense”

––Kirkus Reviews

“A stunning debut, David Rabin’s In Danger of Judgment is an engrossing page-turner. Shocking twists barrel full-speed into an action-packed and tense crime thriller readers won’t see coming…. Builds an intricately-plotted crime thriller that’s cinematic and wildly compelling. The author’s prose is concise and ‘unputdownable,’ skilled at giving a tangible sense of the time period these characters inhabit.”

––IndieReader

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller

Published by: Black Rose Writing

Publication Date: August 4th 2022

Number of Pages: 369

ISBN: 1685130593 (ISBN13: 9781685130596)

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Black Rose Writing

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Read an excerpt:

Prologue

1968 – 1972
South Vietnam

The eight men filing into the Tactical Operations Center had six days’ beard growth, they reeked of sweat and jungle, and their clothes were smeared with soil and grime and still-wet enemy blood.

Major Henry Sampson waited for them at a table at the rear of the TOC, as far away as they could get from the beeping, static, and chatter of the radios. The men settled themselves around the table and didn’t wait for Sampson to ask a question. They’d just completed their fourth mission, and by now they knew the debriefing procedure.

“Eleven,” said the first man.

In due course, Sampson would steer them to other aspects of the mission, but they always started with what was most important: the number of enemy killed in action.

Sampson had had a rude awakening a few years earlier, during his first tour in South Vietnam. He was a West Point man, a professional soldier to the core, but Vietnam was a war unlike any he’d prepared for. In every war America had ever fought, the objective was to capture and hold territory, but in Vietnam, that was never the goal. The only metric that mattered was the body count.

“Tell me about the first one,” Sampson said.

“Sentry in the southwest sector. Older than usual, thirties, maybe, leaning against a tree with a Chicom AK slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t even scanning, just gazing into the distance, probably thinking about his old lady back in Hanoi. I snake-crawled from the rear, put my hand over his mouth, and pulled back. Three stabs and a slash through the neck. No sound.”

The man described the rest of his kills and then they went around the table. By the time they finished, the count reached 102. It was a good night’s work.

Sometimes the body count was so high that Sampson wondered whether they were exaggerating, but he questioned them carefully and they convinced him the count was true. When the two guys from the Department of Defense had given him the assignment, he didn’t dream the men would kill so many.

* * *

The DOD men had arrived by helicopter on a soggy December morning in 1968, late in the rainy season at Phu Bai, South Vietnam, where Sampson was stationed with the 101st Airborne Division. They weren’t in uniform, but from the way they exited the Huey—quickly and gracefully—Sampson could tell they’d spent some time in the bush.

There was no fanfare on their arrival. That was by design. Sampson had been told the men would meet with him and then leave, and the fewer the people that knew about the meeting, the better.

The DOD men introduced themselves as Robinson and Reese, and it occurred to Sampson that whoever gave them their code names must have been a Dodgers fan. They wore identical navy-blue suits, white shirts, muted ties, and blank expressions. Robinson was black and Reese was white, but otherwise they could have been twins.

Sampson took them to his hooch, a rudimentary structure of plywood elevated a foot off the ground and divided into four living quarters. Inside, the décor was olive drab, drab being the operative word. Sampson’s corner had a cot, a small desk, makeshift shelves, a locker, and a table fan.

He pulled over a couple of folding chairs for the two men to sit on. Sampson wished he had a conference room befitting their importance, but the hooch was the only venue at the base where they could be assured of privacy. He’d made sure that the other three officers who lived there would be absent for the meeting’s duration.

Reese got it started as Robinson shook a Marlboro out of a hard pack and lit it with a Zippo. “We’re going to tell you some stuff you may already know, but bear with us. We’ll get to the good part shortly.”

Sampson sat up straight and did his best to look attentive. “I’m at your disposal, sir.”

“When you got here,” Reese said, “you were fighting the Viet Cong and the North Vietnamese Army. The VC are still around, but we hit them so hard during Tet that they’re no longer a major threat to the South. That’s why you’re now focused on the NVA.”

Robinson took the baton. “The NVA’s constantly moving men and supplies down the Ho Chi Minh Trail, infiltrating into the South, probing for weaknesses. Occasionally, they attack us and the South Vietnamese, and then they hightail it back to the North. Now, we both know that in a war you’re supposed to pursue the enemy, take the fight to them instead of the other way around. That’s how it’s always been done, but this is Vietnam, where nothing gets done the way it’s supposed to.”

“We’re not allowed to send ground troops into the North,” Sampson said.

Reese nodded. “That’s right, and it’s not because our civilian leadership is spineless, contrary to what you guys in-country may believe. North Vietnam has a great, big patron on its northern border called Communist China. In ’64, the Chinese told us that if we sent boots north of the 17th parallel, they’d intervene on behalf of their North Vietnamese comrades. Meaning, they’d send a few million Red Chinese soldiers down south, just like they did in Korea when we drove too far north, and we all know how that turned out for us.”

“Not real well.”

“Yeah. Not real well. We want to help the South Vietnamese, but we don’t want to start World War Three. Frustrating for us, frustrating for you.”

“I don’t make policy, sir. My duty is to follow orders and execute the mission.”

“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Robinson said, “because we came here to give you a mission.”

“Sir?”

Robinson stubbed out his cigarette and leaned forward. “You are very quietly going to insert ground troops into North Vietnam.”

They proceeded to tell him about the operation they wanted him to supervise: how the men would be selected, how they’d be trained, and the nature of the missions. They spoke for nearly an hour. Sampson listened intently, saying nothing. When they finished, they asked if he had any questions.

He did indeed have a question, though he hesitated to ask it, fearing they might think him insolent. But it was such an obvious issue, he just had to ask. “Why go to all this effort? All this planning, the massive selection process, the special training? Why don’t you use the men you already have?”

The DOD men looked at each other without a trace of reaction, communicated telepathically, and turned back to Sampson. “That’s above your pay grade,” Reese said, “but if you’re not comfortable with this op, we can find someone else.”

Now Sampson wished he hadn’t asked, but he recovered quickly. “I can do it,” he said.

“There’s one more thing. The body count is important—the higher the better, of course—and it needs to be accurate. You’ll have to drill it into the men to keep an accurate count. Can you do that, Major?”

“I can do it.”

Sampson thought the whole thing was a crock, just another foolhardy operation in a senseless war. But they got through the selection process and trained the men, and when they were finally let loose on their missions, they surpassed everyone’s expectations. The body counts were staggering.

* * *

It was now late 1972, and Team One was nearing the end of its sixth mission. The Huey had inserted them six nights ago. They’d spent three nights approaching the target camp, followed by three nights of recon. Seven of them would attack the camp, and the eighth would remain just outside the camp’s perimeter to cover them as they withdrew.

They wore no insignia and bore no identification, all to give the government plausible deniability if things went south. For the same reason, they never called each other by name during their missions. They were Ares Numbers One through Eight, a bit of theater they deemed absurd but acquiesced to nonetheless.

They killed time with the usual idle chatter: their favorite bands, best road trips, girlfriends good and bad. In their three years together, they’d told the same stories so many times that the telling was no longer the point. It was how they reinforced the bonds among them.

“Okay, guys,” Ares One said, “fifteen minutes till go time.”

They synched their watches, and as they went through one last gear check, Four addressed the elephant in the room. “The war’s almost over, so this is probably our last mission.”

Silence. No one wanted to talk about it.

“You know I’m right,” Four continued. “The Paris peace talks are barreling down the tracks. Kissinger went on TV and said peace is at hand.” He absent-mindedly checked his M16 again. “When we started out, I thought you guys were a bunch of losers, and now I don’t want it to end.”

“Jesus, you’re a downer,” Five said. “Look, when we get back, we’ll do it up right. Get us a case of that black-market champagne, put on some CCR and turn it all the way up.”

“Temptations,” said Seven.

Everyone laughed. Seven loved Motown.

“Enough of this shit,” Three said. “If this is our last mission, I don’t want the perimeter again. I want some action. Lemme be on the assault team.”

Two shook his head. “If Sampson and Thornton find out you violated the orders—”

“Fuck ’em,” Three said. “What’re they gonna do, fire me?”

No one had a response to that unassailable logic, and Three turned to Six. “Let me take your place,” Three said. “Take the easy duty tonight.”

Six looked at the others. They all nodded.

Three and Six exchanged weapons and ammo, Six getting the sniper kit. They all gave each other thumbs-up, and the seven men on the assault team moved silently into their assigned sectors.

Six checked his watch. The men would breach in twenty minutes and return one hour after that. He had nothing to do now but wait.

He stared into the darkness, listening to the sounds of the jungle and imagining the men—

Gunfire.

There should not have been gunfire.

It was not the treble staccato of American M16s. It was the bass thuds of Chinese AKs.

The gunfire ended abruptly, and then all was silent.

A flood of thoughts coursed through his brain.

His friends were dead.

The enemy had known they were coming, and so the enemy knew he was here.

And now, the enemy would come for him.

* * *

Sampson sat in his hooch, drinking his fourth Scotch of the night. The operation had gone along like clockwork until that bastard Thornton went rogue, the chief instructor selling out his own men.

The higher-ups had immediately terminated the entire operation, and Sampson could just imagine the hysteria now playing out at DOD. First, there would be recriminations. Who picked Thornton? Who vetted him? How in the hell did no one foresee this? Then they’d have to invent stories to tell the families, explaining why the bodies of their sons and brothers weren’t coming home. They’d prime people to describe how heroically the men had died, so the families would buy it and not inquire further. And once the cover-up started, they’d have to cover up the cover-up. It would feed on itself and grow exponentially until the cover-up itself was more important than the events that birthed it.

As distasteful as it was, Sampson knew there was nothing else they could do. If the public ever learned the whole story, there’d be more heads rolling at DOD than bowling balls at the local alley on dollar night.

* * *

Three weeks after the operation ended, the DOD men visited Sampson again.

In the four years since he’d last seen them, Sampson’s world had changed dramatically. The war was winding down and would end soon—and for Sampson, that was a problem. The way to get ahead in the military was to serve in a war zone. He’d done multiple tours in Vietnam, but once this war ended, who knew when there would be another one? He would have to find a way to make himself invaluable.

When the DOD men arrived, they looked just the same as before, all the way down to their navy-blue suits and inscrutable faces. They assured Sampson that no one blamed him for the unfortunate way the operation had ended. They complimented him on how well he’d run it, and on the results the men had obtained. A promotion to lieutenant colonel was already in the works.

When he heard the word “promotion,” Sampson knew they were about to get to the real point of the meeting. Guys like them always dangled a prize before asking for something.

“There are two other things,” Robinson said. “DOD wants to keep the operation and its outcome confidential.”

No kidding, Sampson thought. “What else?”

“The upper echelon at DOD considers the remaining men to be somewhat unstable.”

“What you mean is, you think they’re crazy.”

“However one puts it, given their, uh, mental disposition, we consider it prudent to monitor them until the last of them has passed away.”

Sampson saw the logic of it. “Where do I fit in?”

“The perpetuation of secrecy and the observation of the men are related tasks, and we need someone to oversee both. We’d be pleased if you could do that, at least until your retirement, which we hope will be many years from now. Can you do that, Major?”

At that moment, Sampson saw his future.

These assignments were delicate. They were critical. They would last the rest of his career.

They were giving him a way to make himself invaluable.

He took his time and pretended to think about it, not wanting to look too eager, then slowly nodded.

“I can do it,” Sampson said, though it would be another fifteen years before he’d discover just how complicated it could get.

Chapter 1

Sunday, May 10, 1987
8:02 p.m.
Chicago

Marcelle leaned against the railing of an apartment building at the south end of the 3700 block of Wilton Avenue, waiting for someone, though not for anyone in particular. She’d been there for five minutes and decided to wait another two before moving on.

The street was deserted, the residents having battened down the hatches in anticipation of twilight. An empty Old Style can rolled down the street in a grating, metallic rhythm, pushed by the wind coming off Lake Michigan a mile to the east. The only sign of life was the rumbling of an L train on the tracks a half-block from where she stood. The neighborhood seemed peaceful, though she knew its tranquility could be deceiving.

She was about to give up on this spot when two men in their late teens rounded the corner at the other end of the block and began walking toward her. They wore the gray and black colors of the area’s predominant street gang, the Latin Eagles, and they walked with a slow swagger as if they owned the place, which they pretty much did. One was taller and one was shorter, and thus became, in her lexicon, Mr. Tall and Mr. Short.

The instant they saw her, they broke into big smiles and started conversing energetically. She’d gotten their attention. It didn’t surprise her, because she was accustomed to getting attention. She was about five-eight and in her late twenties, with dark brown hair that barely touched her shoulders and a face that belonged on a magazine cover. Tonight she wore a light coat that was open at the front. Marcelle always dressed for success.

The men were five steps away now.

She put her right hand in her coat pocket.

Que pasa, mami chula,” said Mr. Tall.

They walked back and forth around her from opposite sides, examining her from head to toe and leering at her, no doubt expecting she’d panic and try to extricate herself.

Except she didn’t.

Instead, she smiled at them.

It was a beautiful, radiant, magazine-cover smile, and because it was the last thing they’d expected, they froze in their tracks.

Her hand came out of her coat pocket.

It held a badge case.

“Detective Marcelle DeSantis,” she said, “and I want you to know I do appreciate the compliment.”

Mierda,” said Mr. Short.

“We don’t talk to police,” said Mr. Tall.

Her smile turned into a pout. “A minute ago, you thought I was sexy, and now you don’t even want to talk to me? My feelings are hurt.”

The men looked dumbfounded. Marcelle figured no police had ever spoken to them that way, and she took the opening. “I’m not here to hassle you guys. You’re just two fine-looking dudes strolling down the street. Fact is, I need your help.”

Now they looked intrigued. “Help with what?” asked Short.

“I want to find the guy who killed your friends. Hector, Ramon, Angel, and Luis.”

“We take care of our own business,” said Tall.

“That’s good to know. Have you found the guy yet?”

Again, they were speechless.

“I know you want to find the guy who did it,” Marcelle said. “You want revenge, and you want people to know they shouldn’t screw with the Latin Eagles. The problem is, you won’t find him on your own.”

“Why not?” asked Tall.

“Because he’s a pro and you guys aren’t exactly Sherlock Holmes. If he gets found, it’s going to be the Chicago Police Department that does it.”

Tall shrugged. “We don’t know anything.”

“Okay,” she said, “but maybe you’ll remember something or hear something.”

“What do we get if we help you?” Short asked.

Now she knew she was getting somewhere. When they asked for something, it meant they were interested.

“I’ll tell you what you’ll get. If we convict the guy, he’ll get a life sentence or death row. Either way, he’ll go to a prison. Probably Pontiac, Stateville, or Joliet, and you’ve got members in all three. I’m sure your buddies will give him a warm welcome when he arrives.”

It was the men’s turn to smile.

“I’m gonna go now,” Marcelle said, “but I want you to remember something. I didn’t give you any shit. I didn’t ask for ID or search you. I treated you like men because that’s what you are.”

They nodded their agreement.

“Here’s how I work,” she continued. “You play straight with me and I play straight with you. As long as you’re law-abiding, I’ll treat you like you live on Lake Shore Drive.” She handed each man a card. “If you learn anything that might help us, call me. I don’t know your names and you won’t have to give them.”

The men pocketed the cards. Short looked ready to leave, but Tall stood still, his face gripped in concentration, as if trying to recall something from long ago.

Now, he looked like he remembered.

He stood up straight and looked her squarely in the eyes. “It was good to meet you, Detective. Have a nice night.”

***

Excerpt from In Danger of Judgment by David Rabin. Copyright 2022 by David Rabin. Reproduced with permission from David Rabin. All rights reserved.

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Author Bio:

David Rabin

DAVID RABIN was born in Chicago and raised in its Lakeview neighborhood. He later moved to Atlanta, where he worked as a trial lawyer for thirty-three years. Now retired, he writes fiction, runs a competitive shooting program, and competes in rifle sports, including the discipline of Highpower Rifle, in which he holds two High Master classifications. He and his wife, a former clinical social worker, have two grown sons. In Danger of Judgment is his first novel.

Catch Up With David Rabin:
DavidRabinAuthor.com
Goodreads
Facebook – @DavidRabinAuthor

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Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

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ENTER TO WIN!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for David Rabin. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

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#BookReview “See You Next Tuesday: From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish” by Ken Harris

July 11 – August 5, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

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5/5 Stars!

Rockfish and Jawnie are back without missing a beat, but with a change or two.

Rockfish and McGee, Investigative Specialists now has two licensed investigators after Jawnie passed her exam, and she’s still dragging him into the new millennium and the wonderful world of technology. Steve grudgingly takes baby steps and would rather swallow glass shards before he admits he actually likes it.

A family emergency distracts Steve, and Jawnie is left on her own for the first time… with a cheating husband case.

Doing his lone wolf style investigating—except for Raffi—a furious Steve is hellbent on tracking down the scammers who took Mack and Iggy for over forty-thousand dollars.

Despite a lack of clear, two-way communication, the partners soon realize both their cases are connected and go deeper than they could have imagined.

This was another great ride with Rockfish and McGee and plenty of bad guys, too many close calls, and never too many one-liners.

We also get to see even more into the sometimes troubled psyches of the dynamic duo, meet a guy named Earl—easily forgettable—and a young woman named Gwendolyn Hurricane-Tesla, not at all forgettable! Nor is the title’s meaning!

A great plot and stellar writing do an amazing job of blending popular culture, current events, and generational differences with the investigations of the flawed but sharp sleuths.

Hard-boiled and gritty, or witty and hilarious, this read doesn’t miss a beat!

Rockfish shops at Things Remembered. Who knew?

Enjoy!

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Synopsis:

 

From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish

PI Steve Rockfish’s father loses part of his retirement savings in an online romance scam while partner Jawnie McGee handles the firm’s newest client who spins a tale of alleged spousal infidelity. Rockfish ignores his current case load and becomes fixated on tracking down those responsible for the fraud. Restitution is coming in the form of cash or broken bones. At the same time, Jawnie’s surveillance of the cheating spouse reveals more acts of kindness than sex leading to a client who doesn’t want to believe the good news.

Unbeknownst to the partners, each investigative path leads the partners to the Church of the Universal Nurturing II where the fraud is on a cryptocurrency level. Their new SunCoin is marketed as the only post-rapture currency accepted inside the pearly gates. After all, who wants to show up to the after party with out-turned pockets and not get past Heaven’s paywall?

Church elders court Rockfish and his new-found Hollywood wealth with an old-fashioned honey pot. The danger level ratchets up as Rockfish counters by sending the firm’s two new confidential informants undercover only to find the church’s endgame grift is larger and deadlier than anyone expected.

Praise for See You Next Tuesday:

“Action packed and smartly written.”

Kevin Somers, GoodReads Review

“Harris has created his own sub-genre with this series, which is a beautiful and unique thing to see. Beloved characters must brave the most dangerous, harrowing journey yet. The suspense woven through this tale is done with a finesse rarely seen, and ensures we stay glued to the page.”

Ben Eads, author of Cracked Sky and Hollow Heart

“The second in the Case Files of Steve Rockfish series begins with separate cases involving a cheating husband, a corrupt religious cult, a stockpile of poison gas, and a currency scam. The cases come together in a wild ride worthy of a chase scene in a movie, as the detectives pursue the cult leader in a rip-roaring page turner of an ending.”

Carolyn Geduld, author of Take Me Out The Back and Who Shall Live

“Harris takes you on two journeys you hope will never happen to family members but fear it could. The emotional roller coaster you will ride, keeps you reading and hoping the end comes with a taste of sweet revenge. Harris finds a way to weave a story that keeps you turning the pages and wanting more Rockfish.”

Stephen W. Briggs, author of Family of Killers-Memoirs of an Assassin

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Fiction, Crime Thriller

Published by: Black Rose Writing

Publication Date: July 14th 2022

Number of Pages: 546

ISBN: 1684339898 (ISBN13: 9781684339891)

Series: Case Files of Steve Rockfish, #2

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Kindle Unlimited

~~~

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

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Enter for a chance to win an Amazon Gift card!

GIVEAWAY!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Ken Harris. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

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Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

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#BookTour “See You Next Tuesday: From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish” by Ken Harris

See You Next Tuesday by Ken Harris BannerJuly 11 – August 5, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

book cover

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Synopsis:

 

From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish

PI Steve Rockfish’s father loses part of his retirement savings in an online romance scam while partner Jawnie McGee handles the firm’s newest client who spins a tale of alleged spousal infidelity. Rockfish ignores his current case load and becomes fixated on tracking down those responsible for the fraud. Restitution is coming in the form of cash or broken bones. At the same time, Jawnie’s surveillance of the cheating spouse reveals more acts of kindness than sex leading to a client who doesn’t want to believe the good news.

Unbeknownst to the partners, each investigative path leads the partners to the Church of the Universal Nurturing II where the fraud is on a cryptocurrency level. Their new SunCoin is marketed as the only post-rapture currency accepted inside the pearly gates. After all, who wants to show up to the after party with out-turned pockets and not get past Heaven’s paywall?

Church elders court Rockfish and his new-found Hollywood wealth with an old-fashioned honey pot. The danger level ratchets up as Rockfish counters by sending the firm’s two new confidential informants undercover only to find the church’s endgame grift is larger and deadlier than anyone expected.

Praise for See You Next Tuesday:

“Action packed and smartly written.”

Kevin Somers, GoodReads Review

“Harris has created his own sub-genre with this series, which is a beautiful and unique thing to see. Beloved characters must brave the most dangerous, harrowing journey yet. The suspense woven through this tale is done with a finesse rarely seen, and ensures we stay glued to the page.”

Ben Eads, author of Cracked Sky and Hollow Heart

“The second in the Case Files of Steve Rockfish series begins with separate cases involving a cheating husband, a corrupt religious cult, a stockpile of poison gas, and a currency scam. The cases come together in a wild ride worthy of a chase scene in a movie, as the detectives pursue the cult leader in a rip-roaring page turner of an ending.”

Carolyn Geduld, author of Take Me Out The Back and Who Shall Live

“Harris takes you on two journeys you hope will never happen to family members but fear it could. The emotional roller coaster you will ride, keeps you reading and hoping the end comes with a taste of sweet revenge. Harris finds a way to weave a story that keeps you turning the pages and wanting more Rockfish.”

Stephen W. Briggs, author of Family of Killers-Memoirs of an Assassin

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Fiction, Crime Thriller

Published by: Black Rose Writing

Publication Date: July 14th 2022

Number of Pages: 546

ISBN: 1684339898 (ISBN13: 9781684339891)

Series: Case Files of Steve Rockfish, #2

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Kindle Unlimited

~~~

Read an excerpt:

After a couple of early morning passes for Jawnie to grab a handful of fresh photos, the team backtracked to an abandoned gas station they had passed on the way in. Rockfish parked the van behind the dilapidated building. Jawnie bundled their supplies and they headed out with backpacks bursting at the seams. It would be a two-mile trek to the edge of the woods overseeing Diane’s trailer.

The route would take them along the main road for half a mile and then a diagonal cut across fields littered with large, round hay bales before entering the woods for the rest of the hike. As they veered off the road, Jawnie wanted to pick up the pace so that they weren’t visible to any curious drivers coming down this open stretch of highway. But one glance at her partner told her he was already looking forward to the first rest stop.

They arrived at their vantage point an hour and fifteen minutes later. Rockfish dropped his backpack and took up position on the ground. “Let me sit here for a minute and I’ll be okay, I swear.”

Jawnie slid off her pack and patted Rockfish on the shoulder as she walked over to get a better view of their target. The line of sight was perfect. She could use her telephoto lens and look down into the trailer through a window. They were close enough to watch what went on in the backyard without the help of her camera. The field between them and Diane’s was also littered with the large round hay bales. They’ll provide more than ample cover if I need to get closer for any reason.

“Nice job picking the spot, boss. I hope you live to walk another day.”

“Fucking Bataan Death March had nothing on this hike,” Rockfish said and Jawnie could tell he had yet to catch his breath.

They set up their gear and took turns peering through the camera’s telephoto lens, down onto the property and sometimes straight through the uncovered window. It wasn’t long before Jawnie concluded that the only people at home were Sunny and another woman who she assumed was Diane.

“No sign of Roan unless they’re keeping him in some back bedroom and not letting him out. But all these two are doing is eating cereal and watching television. The View was on. Now it’s turned to The Price is Right.”

“See, now you’re experiencing the glamour side of being a P.I. Not all of it is meeting with Mafia Dons and car chases. I used to love this grunt work, but this old body sure doesn’t want to keep up.”

“Sit tight,” Jawnie said. “You keep providing that wit and wisdom and I’ll take care of the physical stuff. Partners, remember?”

The quiet morning hours slowly turned into an equally uneventful afternoon where Rockfish spent way too long bitching about the Nature Valley pressed cardboard bars that Jawnie had packed for lunch. And she, without hesitation, returned fire.

“If you hadn’t done takeout from the Waffle House this morning, you could have spared us all, and not had to keep making that twenty-minute hike back into the woods every hour on the hour. That stuff isn’t meant for anyone’s stomach, and those cardboard bars are binding. We should all be thankful for that.”

“Maybe it’s the water?”

She looked down at the Dasani bottle at her feet. Yeah, it’s definitely the water and not seventeen grams of pure grease. I’d better change the subject before this goes any further.

“We’re going to want to get one of those trackers on that Jeep down there.”

“Yup, hopefully once it gets dark, we’ll draw straws,” Rockfish said.

“I’m letting you know I’m going to do it. I’m quicker, a smaller visual target and won’t need CPR upon my return.”

Jawnie was into the last hour of her shift on the camera, a little after 2pm, when the back door to the trailer opened. The women emerged and walked across the lawn towards the trampoline. They’re not going to jump on this thing, are they? She watched them crawl through the netting and lay in the center. Now they’re not dressed for sunbathing, not to mention the sun isn’t cooperating this afternoon and it’s freaking mid-April. Jawnie hunched over the camera’s tripod and swung it towards the trampoline. A flash of light caught her attention, and she zoomed in. The flick of a lighter and a hand rolled joint passed between the two. Jawnie wouldn’t need to wait for the cover of darkness when a THC haze would do the trick.

Jawnie turned and waved Rockfish over. “Look at this.”

He glanced through the telephoto lens, and she relayed her plan. Rockfish kept nodding as he agreed. Or is he enjoying the view? I’m going and won’t take no for an answer.

“Okay, no dillydallying. Down and back,” Rockfish said. “Put your phone on vibrate in your back pocket. If it goes off, turn around and head back. That means they’ve moved off the trampoline and I don’t want you taking any chances. You got me? Vibrate equals full stop and start working your way back. No hesitation, get back here, moving from bale to bale to bale.”

“Got it.”

“Come back as careful as you went down. If you hear my voice, then you know shit’s gone sideways. Time to put on your track shoes.”

Jawnie took one of the GPS trackers and carried it in her right hand. She serpentined from one hay bale to the next until she had made her way down to where the field met Diane’s property. Jawnie peeked out around the large bale and could see it was a diagonal sprint, twenty yards to her left, to where the Jeep Wrangler sat in the driveway. She peeked around the other side but could not see past the trailer’s back corner. Back on the left side of the bale, she knew her best shot would be to aim for the passenger side rear wheel. Snap this puppy on and then slide around the back to reassess. Fuck, I hope no one drives down the road at that point.

Jawnie inhaled deeply and took off. If she were wrong and there was a third occupant, who was in the front living room, she’d be fucked before she got halfway. She reached the Jeep in six long strides and the driveway gravel gave way as she slammed on the brakes. Jawnie landed on her ass and popped right back up. She slapped the tracker up into the wheel well and heard the satisfying clunk. She pulled her hand back. Well, it didn’t fall out. That’s a bonus. No buzz from Rockfish yet. Time to press that luck he told me not to. She presumed that if no one had fired a load of buckshot over her head by now, no one was sitting in the living room, looking out over the front yard.

She worked her way around the back end of the Jeep and then forward, along the driver’s side, towards the set of double windows next to the small front porch. Jawnie reached up and stood on her tiptoes to peek inside. The stench of cigarettes hit her senses from the open window before her eyes focused on the inside. A second later, when they did, she wished they hadn’t. The place was a disaster. Domino’s boxes and Big Gulp cups littered any flat surface. And then she saw it. Someone had draped a black leather duster over a wooden chair next to the small dinette.

Fucking B-I-N-G-O was her name-o. A fist pump and a game of hay bale Frogger later, Rockfish claimed she resembled the cat that had eaten the friggin canary and went back for seconds.

“He’s here,” Jawnie stammered. “I mean not right now, but he’s been here, and odds are he’s coming back, if not for the jacket, another round of good times. Raffi and Lynn both mentioned that damn coat.”

“And you saw no one else?”

“No one. When I got back to the field, I stopped behind that first bale and looked back to see if I had missed anything, but you saw that.”

“I did. Now let’s make sure this thing actually works after making the trip.” Rockfish pulled out his cell and opened the tracking app. “Good clean signal,” he said. “I believe we’re in business. I hope someone gets in that Jeep and heads out so we can really test this thing out.”

“Based on the Domino’s delivery boxes piled up, I think the only destination you’ll get off that one is 7/11. Cigarettes and Big Gulps runs.” “Don’t forget the rolling papers,” Rockfish said. He put his fist out and she bumped it. That was her attaboy, and Jawnie couldn’t have been happier.

She sat back on the ground and her heart continued to beat as if it would come through her ribcage. Jawnie tried to relax but had a hard time settling back into the waiting game. The adrenaline rush from that little ten-minute operation was the first on the job, legit high she had experienced. She couldn’t wait for the Jeep to head out for Earl or for him to show up. It didn’t matter whether the action came at dinner or lunch tomorrow. She’d be ready.

Jawnie’s second opportunity came after ten that night before they were ready to call it a day. Rockfish had tracked the headlights as they came down the road and turned into the driveway, sans blinker. An old Chevy pickup pulled in behind the Jeep and backfired before the engine died. The driver quickly climbed the porch steps carrying a twelve pack of beer in his right hand. The small porch light above the door lit Earl Porbeagle in all his glory. Rockfish knew when he saw him. The man could pass for any Kilingess resident, in a tank top and jeans.

An hour passed before the kitchen and living room lights went off, one at a time. A couple of seconds, later Rockfish could see through the telephoto lens a light from a rear window at the back of the trailer had flickered on. It illuminated the far corner of the backyard.

“Hey, I think we’re primed—”

Jawnie was three hay bales deep into the field before Rockfish could tell her it was time.

She followed the same path as before and stopped again at the last bale that separated the field from the property. Her breathing was calmer on this second trip, and she looked around the left side of the hay bale at her target. The porch light lit little more than the small landing and the front half of the Jeep. Darkness smothered the old pickup. Jawnie counted to three and stepped out into the open. She slowed this time as she approached the driveway and didn’t end up on her ass.

Jawnie crouched down at the right rear wheel and reached up the side of the truck to the bed wall. These old trucks had holes on the top of the bedsides, called stake pockets, or so Rockfish claimed. It would be an undetectable spot; he swore on it. She ran her hand along the top of the bed and easily found the first one. Clunk.

Well, I’ll be damned. Old man knows his shit. She turned and bent over, stayed low and sprinted back to the confines of the hay bales.

***

Excerpt from See You Next Tuesday by Ken Harris. Copyright 2022 by Ken Harris. Reproduced with permission from Ken Harris. All rights reserved.

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Author Bio:

Ken Harris

Ken Harris retired from the FBI, after thirty-two years, as a cybersecurity executive. With over three decades writing intelligence products for senior Government officials, Ken provides unique perspectives on the conventional fast-paced crime thriller. He is the author of the “From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish” series. He spends days with his wife Nicolita, and two Labradors, Shady and Chalupa Batman. Evenings are spent playing Walkabout Mini Golf and cheering on Philadelphia sports. Ken firmly believes Pink Floyd, Irish whiskey and a Montecristo cigar are the only muses necessary. He is a native of New Jersey and currently resides in Northern Virginia.

The Pine Barrens Stratagem published on January, 27, 2022. The sequel, See You Next Tuesday published July 14th and the third in the trilogy A Bad Bout of the Yips is coming March 9, 2023.

Catch Up With Ken Harris:
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Twitter – @08025writes
Facebook – @kah623
Twitch – @KenHarrisFiction

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#ReleaseBlitz “The Girl Who Escaped” by Mark Nolan

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Crime Thriller

Date Published: July 29, 2022.

 

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One month ago, four college girls were abducted.

Three were brutally murdered.

One girl escaped.

Angie Taylor was traumatized and shocked speechless.

The police think she killed her friends, and then had a mental breakdown.

Her psychiatrist believes she has an emotionally unstable personality disorder.

Can she ever speak up and describe the killer’s face to a police sketch artist?

Is the murderer stalking her right now, eager to finish what he started?

Everyone in the city is on edge, fearing the worst, not sure what to believe.

 A visit from a determined FBI agent shakes things up and raises the stakes.

FBI Special Agent Brenda Reynolds of the VSRT must investigate whether the mysterious silent girl is a victim, a killer, or has gone insane.

 Grab your copy of the suspense thriller everyone is talking about, and start reading right now.

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 About the Author

Mark Nolan is an Amazon Bestselling Author and Kindle Unlimited All-Star.

His latest book is titled The Girl Who Escaped.

 

 

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#PreOrderBlitz “The Girl Who Escaped” by Mark Nolan

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Crime Thriller

To be Published: July 29, 2022.

 

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One month ago, four college girls were abducted. Three were brutally murdered.

One girl escaped.

Angie Taylor was traumatized and shocked speechless.

The police think she killed her friends, and then had a mental breakdown.

Her psychiatrist believes she has an emotionally unstable personality disorder.

Can she ever speak up and describe the killer’s face to a police sketch artist?

Is the murderer stalking her right now, eager to finish what he started?

Everyone in the city is on edge, fearing the worst, not sure what to believe.

A visit from a determined FBI agent shakes things up and raises the stakes. FBI Special Agent Brenda Reynolds of the VSRT must investigate whether the mysterious silent girl is a victim, a killer, or has gone insane.

 Grab your copy of the suspense thriller everyone is talking about, and start reading right now.

~~~~

 About the Author

Mark Nolan is an Amazon Bestselling Author and Kindle Unlimited All-Star.

His latest book is titled The Girl Who Escaped.

 

 

Contact Links

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#New “A Killing Rain (A Raven Burns Tale)” by Faye Snowden

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Dark, Southern gothic tale of homicide detective Raven Burns, with a complicated past and a desperate case to solve. Black Girls Lit recommends the first book, A Killing Fire “to crime fiction and mystery lovers and fans of Ruth Ware and Gillian Flynn.”

“Full-bodied and dynamic characters carry this one along a mystery, tying a brutal past with a bloody present that will keep you guessing right up to the finale.” — Unnerving Magazine on Book 1 in the series.

After former homicide Raven Burns returns to Byrd’s Landing, Louisiana to begin a new life, she soon finds herself trapped by the old one when her nephew is kidnapped by a ruthless serial killer, and her foster brother becomes the main suspect. To make matters worse, she is being pursued by two men— one who wants to redeem her soul for the murder Raven felt she had no choice but to commit, and another who wants to lock her away forever.

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#BookTour “The Lawyer’s Angel” by Scott Allen Benkie

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Crime Thriller

Date Published: January 31, 2022

Publisher: MindStir Media

Attorney James Crosson is in the grips of despair, blaming himself for his wife’s death. A widow hires him to pursue a wrongful death case on behalf of her late husband who died in a seemingly ordinary car wreck. Crosson must
confront his own tragic loss and gambling debts as he unravels the plot hatched by a deranged corporate tyrant who will stop at nothing to conceal the truth, take down the lawyer, and preserve his empire. With Vegas goons closing in and everything at stake, Crosson goes all in one last time with no realistic chance of winning the case or surviving the evil arrayed against him.

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#BookTour “Overturned” by Emily Donoho

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Welcome to the book tour for crime fiction novel Overturned by Emily Donoho! Read on for more!

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Overturned

Publication Date: April 10, 2022

Genre: Thriller/ Crime Thriller

Publisher: Gypsum Moon Publishing

Alex Boswell, a young New York City detective, joins an elite Manhattan homicide squad in the late-1980s, the dawn of the crack cocaine epidemic that would see the tragedy of addiction and violence touching every corner of the city, destroying thousands of lives. As a young detective facing entrenched power structures and a grinding treadmill of violence and death, Alex finds himself driven into making unconscionable choices that will haunt him forever.

Two decades later, Alex must face his past when courts overturn the wrongful convictions of people he’d arrested, and a federal grand jury opens an investigation into police misconduct and abuses of power.

A soaring epic of life and death, power, injustice, and at its heart, humanity, unfolding on the New York City streets.

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About the Author

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Emily is a native of Boulder, Colorado, currently living in Glasgow, working as a freelance writer. She did a degree in psychology from Mount Holyoke College in Massachusetts, before she moved to the UK for more degrees, completing an MA in the history of science at Durham University and then a PhD in historical geography from the University of Glasgow. Her PhD examined the history of madness and of psychiatric provision in the Scottish Highlands and Islands. After a couple years spent discovering that postdocs in history were rarer than wolves in Scotland and working as a freelance horse trainer, she went back to uni for an MSc in journalism at Strathclyde University. She published her first novel, In the Canyons of Shadows and Light, in 2020.

When not writing, she can be found riding her horses, paddling a kayak on lochs and rivers, or somewhere on a mountain.

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