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The Long Shadow of Murder: A Will Rees Mystery

The Long Shadow of Murder by Eleanor Kuhns

 

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The Long Shadow of Murder


A Will Rees Mystery

 

When the body of a visitor is found in the woods by the local Shaker community, suspicion immediately falls on them. Rees is reluctant to believe anyone in this peaceful community committed murder. And Hans Bergin arrived with his wife, his brother-in-law and sister-in-law. They had their own reasons to want Bergin dead.

But as Rees investigates, he discovers everyone, including a recent Shaker convert, have secrets of their own, some stretching all the way back to the Revolutionary War. Who, among the many suspects, decided to take matters in their own hands? Bergin’s wife and other family? The new Shaker? Or someone else entirely?

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Murder Mystery
Published by: Indie
Publication Date: May 15, 2025
Number of Pages: 292
ISBN: 979-8312662825
Series: Will Rees/Shaker Series, #12

Book Links: Amazon | Kindle Unlimited | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt of The Long Shadow of Murder:

Chapter 1

Constable Rouge and Will Rees rode south on Surry Road, past the Shaker community, until they reached the entrance at the southern end. They pulled into the small clearing and Rees parked his wagon. When he had first gone to town for supplies, Lydia needed both flour and sugar, he had not intended to join the constable in his search for a missing man. But, hearing of the disappearance, Rees’s curiosity had driven him into joining Rouge in the search.

“I still think we should have questioned the Shakers first,” Rouge said critically as he dismounted and tied his bay to a nearby tree. “On Sunday, Mr. Bergin told his wife he was going to Zion. He might still be there.”

“Was he planning to join the Shakers?”

“No,” Rouge said with a grin. “Hardly. He came to Durham because he heard that the Shakers danced naked, and he wanted to see the ‘fair white forms’ of the women.” Rees could hear the quotation.

“Huh,” Rees said. Although aware of the scurrilous slander concerning the Shakers, he could not understand why anyone would be foolish enough to believe it. The Shakers were a modest, quiet and industrious people. “The gullibility of men constantly amazes me.”

“You should hear what I hear at the tavern,” Rouge muttered.

“Besides,” Rees continued, ignoring the constable’s aside, “if there had been a problem at the Shaker community, wouldn’t someone inform you?” Rouge shook his head. After a moment, Rees reluctantly nodded in agreement. Maybe not. The community was notoriously insular and tried to handle any issues themselves. During the smallpox epidemic last year, the one that had sickened Rouge and left him severely scarred, they had refused all offers of assistance.

“We may have to speak to them,” Rees agreed. He was not enthusiastic. Elder Jonathan was beginning to display some irritability towards Rees and his frequent requests for help. “Since you were told by Mr. Bergin’s friend that he rode this way, I suggest we begin our search here, in these woods. Maybe his horse threw him. Or,” he added, looking at the muddy track across the road, “he might have taken the lane across the street back into town?”

Rouge shook his head. “Mr. Bergin did not return to town. I’m certain of that. We looked.”

“It’s unlikely he disappeared on that path,” Rees said. It was just past midday, and the sun felt warm on his shoulders and face. They were at the end of April. Although snow from the last storm still lingered on the shadowed down – slopes of the hills and under the trees, he could see bright spring green beginning to fringe the trees. “Farms line both sides of that little road and all the farmers will be out in the fields now, beginning the spring planting. If something happened to Mr. Bergin, and his body was dumped there, most likely someone would have seen it. He disappeared during the day, yes?” At Rouge’s nod, Rees paused a moment, thinking. “Did his horse return?”

“No. That’s gone too. Of course,” Rouge added cynically, “Mr. Bergin might have

continued riding south, hoping to find a new life. His disappearance does not mean he was murdered.”

“Someone was here,” Rees said, pointing to a relatively fresh pile of horse dung. “And recently too.”

“So, Mr. Bergin stopped here,” Rouge said. “Close to Zion.”

“It wasn’t necessarily Mr. Bergin. It could be another visitor.” Rees hoped that was so but feared the constable was correct. It was still too early in the spring for many visitors.

Rees squatted to examine the soft slick mud underfoot. Although his wagon wheels had cut across the older tracks, he could see the horseshoe shaped indentations left by a shod horse. “Whoever rode in here,” he said, pointing out the marks to Rouge, “he tied up over there. See?” He pointed to a tree. “There are boot prints where the rider dismounted.” Rouge crossed the dirt and stared down at the impressions.

“Look at the toes,” he said. “Riding boots.”

“Yes. And here are the nicks left by the spurs,” Rees agreed, pointing. “Did Mr. Bergin wear riding boots? Could they be his prints?”

Grimacing, Rouge nodded.

“You were right.” Rees looked at Rouge. “Mr. Bergin went into Zion.” Rees followed the tracks to the bridge that went to Zion’s main street. When he crossed the bridge, he saw the same footprints on the other side. But, a few yards in, the riding boots were met by farmer’s boots. The riding boots turned around and returned to the other side of the bridge. “One of the Shaker Brothers prevented him from entering the village,” he said.

“He walked back out to the road.” Rouge said. “Here are the marks of those boots

here.”

Taking care to avoid the boot impressions, Rees jumped across the soft earth. He misjudged his landing, and his right foot went into a deep puddle. Cold muddy water began seeping into his shoe. Rouge laughed.

“It’s not funny,” Rees said, lifting his foot to shake it. Water flew in all directions.

“Hey,” Rouge complained, jumping back.

“Serves you right,” Rees muttered but without malice. He was too focused now on following the tracks.

The riding boots went to the road where they were joined by another pair of shoes. The soil on the edge of the road was drier, more solid, so the imprint was shallow and harder to see. “I think these are ordinary shoes,” he muttered to himself. “Do you see any signs of another horse?” he called out to Rouge.

“No,” the constable replied, adding sourly, “But I am not the great tracker you are.”

“He met someone who walked here,” Rees said.

“One of the Shaker Brothers, then,” Rouge said with the air of a man who has solved the problem.

“Perhaps not,” Rees said. He was well used to Rouge’s propensity for jumping to the easiest and most obvious solution. “The second fellow could have tied up in the lane and then walked across the street to meet him here. Or,” he added quickly to forestall Rouge’s objection, “he could have even walked down the lane.” Rouge eyed Rees for a few seconds and then nodded.

“Yes, all right. He could have seen Mr. Bergin from the lane,” he agreed. “It would have

taken no time at all to cross Surry Road from town. But then where did they go?”

Rees did not reply. Instead, he began following the tracks made by the riding boots south along the Surry Road and away from Zion. From the impressions, it seemed the man was walking slowly. Not running, not afraid, just ambling along. Every now and then, Rees spotted a footprint or two produced by the other boots. It seemed the two men were talking as they followed the road.

He found the spot where the two people paused. But when he walked further down the road, he discovered he had lost the trail. There were no discernible footprints. He turned and walked back to the last spot he had seen them. This time, when he looked around, he saw scuff marks through the leaves descending the slope into the forest.

“Here,” said Rouge, pointing to a downed tree several yards in. Muttering under his breath, Rees followed the constable further into the woods. Rouge’s path had obscured the marks left by the two men. But when Rees fought his way through the brambles and the stand of small fir trees, he saw why Rouge had summoned him. Right in front of the downed tree was a mess of overturned leaves, where the feet of the two men had disturbed them.

“They sat down to talk,” Rees said, staring at the disordered leaves on the ground. He was beginning to believe these two men had nothing to do with Mr. Bergin’s disappearance and that this entire search had been a waste of time. The absence of the horse also made him wonder if Rouge was correct and Mr. Bergin had simply chosen to disappear. Rees was disappointed. Without really articulating his desire to himself, he had been hoping for something more serious. After several months spent inside at home, he was ready for some excitement. With a sigh, he examined the disturbance in the leaves. It looked as though one of

the men had risen to his feet and begun pacing.

But, as he neared the thicket, he smelled the barest whiff of the coppery rotten smell of old blood. The odor was so faint he wondered if he’d imagined it. Pausing, he lifted his face and took a deep inhalation into his nose.

“What are you doing?” Rouge asked, staring at Rees in fascination.

Rees threw him a glance but did not reply. Instead, he plunged forward, following the disturbances in the pad of last year’s leaves. Although the oaks and maples were just beginning to show the first bright green new leaves and the sun shone through the bare branches, the tall pines kept the ground below in shadow. Rees tracked the trail around tree trunks and through slick muddy patches. But he was halted by a large expanse of flat granite. He could not tell which way the trail went: straight down the slope or to one side or another.

As he stared at the rock in consternation, Rouge toiled up behind him, puffing. “Why have you stopped?” he asked, panting for breath.

“Not sure which way to go,” Rees admitted. Nodding, Rouge joined Rees on the rock slab and for a moment they were silent.

“Wait,” Rouge said, holding up a hand. “Listen. Do you hear it? A horse.”

For a moment Rees listened. Yes, he heard the faint whickering of a horse. The sound came from below them, but he couldn’t tell exactly in what direction. Rouge started forward, moving so quickly on the muddy and leaf strewn slope that he fell. “Damn,” he grumbled, staggering to his feet and continuing down the hill.

Rees glanced at the steep gully, the bottom slick with trickling snow melt, and turned to the bare rock. He started across the granite, angling down the slope toward the distant creek. The rock was not uniformly flat. As Rees clambered over a ledge, stepping down to the slab below, he saw streaks across the gray. Dark brown streaks. Rees knelt beside them and lightly touched the stain. Blood.

***

Excerpt from The Long Shadow of Murder by Eleanor Kuhns. Copyright 2025 by Eleanor Kuhns. Reproduced with permission from Eleanor Kuhns. All rights reserved.

 

Guest Post from The Long Shadow of Murder Author Eleanor Kuhns

Where do I get my ideas?

 

I think every writer is asked where they get their ideas. To a degree, that’s a mystery to us too.  (lol) 

But I do have a few thoughts. Will Rees, my protagonist in Long Shadow of Murder, is a traveling weaver. Yes, it was a real job before the Industrial Revolution. I chose that profession because I own a loom and weave so I knew something about the process. I know nothing about bricklaying. Besides, as a weaver, Rees would be able to meet women and question them. Most of the jobs back then were heavily gendered; weaving is one of the few that both men and women performed. (Although women stayed home. Only the men traveled.)

I knew I wanted to write a historical mystery. I love them – any period. But instead of choosing the popular Victorian era, and writing about Great Britain, I wanted to write about the United States. We have a shorter history, but it is full. I also knew I did not want to write about a war, although the Revolution and Rees’s part in it, has crept in from time to time. There is a lot of history that happens in the gaps between wars.

The research I do always has an impact on the plot and sometimes on setting.

In Long Shadow, for example, experiences in the Revolutionary War, for Rees who joined the Continental Army as a teenager, and for another character are important to one of the underlying themes. I worked at Goshen Public Library and Historical Society (in New York State) and that town is linked to the Minisink Battle during the Revolutionary War. Because of this association, I knew I wanted to include the battle in the mystery.

Finally, setting. Choosing the Shakers, who are an integral part even when Rees travels to Schoharie County in New York State or Salem, Massachusetts, stemmed from a random visit to the last remaining Shaker community with living Shakers. Sabbathday Lake is in Alfred, Maine. Because people still live there, the tours must be guided, unlike Hancock Village or the other historical sites. My guide was the daughter of a child adopted and raised by the Shaker Sisters. (Until 1966, when the Federal governments disallowed the Shakers ability to adopt, this is how this celibate community kept their numbers up.) She had a lot of stories, told to her by her mother, about living in a Shaker community. When I left, I knew I had my setting.

This is where I admit that sometimes the unexpected happens. In A Simple Murder, the first Will Rees, he follows his runaway son to a Shaker community. Because Rees will not be permitted to speak to the Shaker Sisters without a chaperone, he is introduced to a woman who was expelled from the Shakers but is still connected as their beekeeper. (Using non-Shakers for some jobs was pretty common.) The Shakers are a celibate sect, and Lydia has had a baby, a definite no-no.

 Although I didn’t imagine it, Lydia takes over. By Long Shadow, she and Rees are married and have several children, both adopted and biological. She is also a full partner in all of Rees’s investigations. He relies on her completely, and not just because she can question the female character in depth, but for her intuition and acumen as well. She is also a huge factor in mellowing him. Or, as I had in my head, helping him grow-up.

So, from these elements, not just one, but eleven stories were crafted. Since I am a pantzer, I go where the characters and the random thoughts that pop into my head take me.

The Long Shadow of Murder Author Eleanor Kuhns

Eleanor Kuhns is the 2011 winner of the Minotaur/Mystery Writers of America first novel prize for A Simple Murder. The Long Shadow of Murder is the twelfth in that series. She also has written a Bronze Age Crete series.

A lifelong librarian, she transitioned to full time writing at the start of the pandemic. She lives in upstate New York with her husband and her dog.

Catch Up With Eleanor Kuhns:

www.Eleanor-Kuhns.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @eleanorkuhns
Instagram – @edl0829
Facebook – @writerkuhns

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The post The Long Shadow of Murder: A Will Rees Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

The Regression Strain: Medical Thriller

The Regression Strain by Kevin Hwang

Author Guest Post + Book & Author Info

 

Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.The Regression Strain

Nobody’s safe when the inner beast awakens.

Dr. Peter Palma joins the medical team of the Paradise to treat passengers for minor ailments as the cruise ship sails across the Atlantic. But something foul is festering under the veneer of leisure. The brig fills with felons, the morgue with bodies, and the vacation becomes a nightmare.

Peter and his staff face a vile affliction that pits loved ones against each other and shatters the bonds of civil society.

With the ship hurtling towards an unprepared New York, only Peter can neutralize the threat, but he’s hallucinating and delirious.

And sometimes primal urges are impossible to resist.

 

 

 

Genre:  Medical Thriller
Published by:  Normal Range Press
Publication Date:  May 21, 2025
Number of Pages: 344
ISBN: 9798992727012 (Pbk)

To purchase your copy of The Regression Strain, click any of the following links: Amazon – Kindle Unlimited – Goodreads – BookBub The Regression Strain Author Guest Post

I was born in Houston, after which my family promptly left Texas and eventually settled in a small town in upstate New York. I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently anywhere north of NYC is considered upstate. Seems like the fulcrum of that geographical spectrum is a bit off-center, but I suppose that alpha city has a certain gravitational weight.

Great memories in that little town. My goodness, the glorious Milky Way stretching across the dark sky—I’ve never seen it like that anywhere else.

We moved back to Houston, where I spent my teen years playing basketball, swimming, and hanging out with the youth group at church. Then college at Rice University, med school in Galveston, and then on to New Jersey, where I completed my internal medicine residency and met my wife.

Back to Houston again, where I started working at McGovern Medical School. That’s where I currently serve as a professor of internal medicine as well as medical director of an internal medicine clinic in the Texas Medical Center. Boring name, but it’s the largest medical center in the world. Yeah, everything’s bigger in Texas, for better or for worse.

My days are filled with treating patients with diabetes, hypertension, heart disease, you name it. Every day brings a new challenge, even after all these years, as I try to bring medical expertise to bear while listening to my patient’s concerns. I enjoy teaching residents how to do the same. They have a hard job. Memories of the grueling years of training were certainly percolating as I fleshed out a backstory for Dr. Peter Palma in my debut novel, The Regression Strain.

Is Peter just a fictional version of me? The official answer is no, but ask my friends and colleagues what they think. They’ve told me it’s hard to see a distinct line between my protag and me. Oh well, I guess it was inevitable, especially for my first novel.

Over the years, I’ve published dozens of peer-reviewed medical articles as the primary author or co-author that have been cited over 1,500 times. I’m board-certified in both internal medicine and clinical informatics. It should be no surprise that I work a lot on optimizing how we use electronic health records. This fast-growing field earned some page time in my novel, but not enough to bore folks with no interest in it.

Writing has long been a passion of mine. Before turning to fiction, I was consistently engaged in freelance medical writing for platforms like MedPage Today, GoodRx, Healthline, and WebMD. Writing for professional and patient audiences nurtured my clinical proficiency, and vice versa. I’m not sure if I’ll spend much time on nonfiction medical writing in the near future. We’ll see how it goes with my second novel.

Read an Excerpt of The Regression Strain

 

As the cab rounded the corner behind the service buildings, the full bulk of the ship rose into view, a floating city gleaming white and blue against the gray Baltic sky. The Paradise would be Peter’s home and workplace for the next month.

His shoulders tightened. Had he forgotten to pack anything? It was too late now.

The taxi ejected him into the cool summer of Copenhagen—heaven compared to the stifling heat of Texas. He checked in at the terminal counter, cleared security, and joined the stream of chattering passengers traversing the covered gangway to board the vessel. Most of them spoke in English and a few in Spanish. Others conversed in German, French, or Scandinavian tongues. They seemed affluent and confident, not at all like his impoverished patients in Houston’s Fifth Ward. That guy in front—his Rolex probably cost more than Peter’s Outback.

Peter wheeled his suitcase through a colonnade of clapping crew members and across the threshold of the grand atrium. Its rich wood paneling and glittering chandeliers were as opulent as the brochures promised. He fused with the crush of passengers piling up in front of the diagrams posted near the elevators. Living quarters for the medical crew were on the lowest deck, conveniently adjacent to the clinic.

Amid the throng, a woman was fussing over a teenage boy in a wheelchair. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear, then tousled his thick mop of brown hair. With one hand cranked tight against his chest, he lolled his head back and rewarded her with a crooked smile. Her haggard face lit up. Now that was one tired mama.

“I like his shirt.” Peter pointed to the graphic of Thor wielding his massive hammer.

“You hear that, Calvin? He likes it.”

Calvin’s nose crinkled above the sparse stubble dotting his chin. She retrieved a ChapStick from her floral fanny pack and slathered Calvin’s lips first, then her own.

She offered the tube to Peter with a glistening smile. “Want some?”

He cringed. That was weird. “Uh, no thanks.”

“Want him?”

Peter’s eyes snapped up to hers. “Excuse me?”

“You can take him for a while.” She smiled and tipped her head. “He doesn’t eat much.”

“Ah…”

“Ha ha, it’s a joke.” She licked her moistened lips. “I’ve been on this boat too long. Cabin fever.” She gave him a little nod and wheeled the kid into the elevator.

The adjacent elevator dinged open, revealing a family that looked right at home, mom admiring the decor, two school kids horsing around. Sipping coffee in his striped polo, dad looked a bit like Peter’s microbiology professor—placid and plump.

Peter pulled his suitcase to the side with a smile. It was nice to see people relaxed and carefree. And if they needed medical attention—well, he could offer it. It would be a relief to simply treat patients. No rationing medications against their rent. No fighting through nettles of bureaucracy just to get a CT scan. He wasn’t built for that fight, and the last few rounds had left him bruised.

The younger child in the elevator darted out. Mom lunged and grabbed his collar, jostling dad into Peter. Coffee sloshed out of the man’s cup and down his jeans.

An animal snarl flashed over the man’s pale, doughy face. “Watch it, prick.”

“Sorry, I didn’t expect…”

The man leaned in, eyes glowing hot behind round bifocals.

Peter jerked back. “Whoa, are you okay?”

As the man cocked his fist back, Peter watched the sleeve of his polo shirt ride up his bicep, almost in slow motion. Peter quickly raised his open palms.

“Honey,” mom hissed. She tugged her little one back, and he huddled under her frail wings.

The man lowered his fist, the stench of coffee hot on his breath.

Peter nodded. “It was an accident. I’ll buy you another coffee. Or jeans.”

The heat in the man’s eyes dissipated and he blinked a few times, looking at Peter’s face yet his attention was directed elsewhere. “Ah, shoot.”

Sorry, mom mouthed and hustled the whole family away.

Peter stepped into the elevator among passengers who seemed oblivious to the encounter. His heart hammered in his chest, and his mouth soured with adrenaline. Microbiology professor? Scratch that—this guy was more like that assistant principal caught in a minivan with the high school girl. And here he’d nearly gotten into a fistfight on his first day.

But hey, he’d defused the situation. He was still supposed to be here. This was going to work out. He closed his eyes as the last passengers got off and the elevator continued to the bottom level.

The doors opened onto a hallway with plush burgundy carpet and polished handrails. Colorful abstract prints enlivened the walls. This was where everything could begin again, even at age thirty-two. He would be a healer on the high seas, applying his hard-earned expertise to help people on vacation.

But the aura disintegrated when he opened his cabin door. Inside was a single bed, a nightstand no larger than a magazine, and a built-in desk with a swivel chair. The sheets lay twisted in a lump at the foot of the bed, exposing a mattress with stains the color of dirty bathwater. A smudged TV hung crookedly from the ceiling, and a stale scent lingered in the air. The only feature that distinguished the cabin from a hospital on-call room was the round porthole window giving view to rusty shipping containers on the dock.

Well, he wasn’t on vacation, after all, even if everyone else was. Peter heaved his suitcase onto the lumpy mattress and began stowing his clothes. Luckily he’d packed light for this trial run. The tiny closet contained a white uniform, starched and waiting like a suit of armor, as well as an orange life vest and a safe the size of a cigar box.

The only real valuable he’d brought was his new 3M Littmann Cardiology IV, an upgrade from the battered stethoscope from residency. He fished around in the side compartment of the suitcase but came up empty. It should’ve been right there.

He checked every zippered pocket, then rummaged through his backpack. Nada. How could he have forgotten his freaking stethoscope, of all things? He’d followed his packing list. He loved lists, for heaven’s sake, loved checking off each item. Little good it had done. He drew a deep breath in then out, trying to clear his mind by counting to ten like the therapist said.

Ten seconds was a long time to think about nothing. Maybe he needed a higher dose of Lexapro. He’d been reluctant to accept his diagnosis, one he himself had given to so many patients, but the antidepressant seemed to help with his mood, concentration, and sleep.

The ambiance of the bathroom matched that of the bedroom, with black spots of mildew mottling the lower edge of the shower curtain. The sink offered little space for personal items.

He opened his bottle of Lexapro, shook a tablet into his palm, and swallowed it dry as he stared into the dingy mirror. Working aboard a cruise ship would be a huge change, and he needed to bring his best. He set the bottle on the narrow counter, but it clipped the edge, flipped out of his hand, and plopped into the toilet with an insulting splash.

His stomach clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe, by some miracle, the bottle had landed upright with the tablets safe and dry inside, like a lifeboat. A tiny boat in a tiny toilet on a gargantuan ship.

He peered down. Nothing doing—the bottle floated on its side, surrounded by white tablets bobbing in the murky water like pearls of pasta in chicken broth. Why did the water have to look like that? Was it just reflecting the grimy inner surface of the toilet bowl?

Didn’t matter. His mental health was officially soaking in shit.

The half-life of Lexapro was around thirty hours, and he’d taken one yesterday back in Houston. He could just retrieve the tablets, wash them off, and dunk them in rubbing alcohol. Without more doses, the effects would diminish over the next few days. He could picture his exit interview: I’m sorry, Dr. Palma, you came ill-prepared.

One hand drifted to his pocket. At least he’d remembered to pack his favorite metallic pen. Even in the age of digital everything, a quality pen remained one of his favorite tools—that and old-fashioned index cards. His fingers closed around the pen, clicking the top: Ta-tick, ta-tack. Ta-tick, ta-tack.

Someone knocked on the door, but the bolt clicked open before he could reach it. The slight, olive-skinned man turned back to the hall almost as quickly as he’d come in. White shirt and charcoal vest—must be a steward.

“I’m sorry, I come back later,” he said with a duck of his bald head.

Peter waved him in. “It’s all right. I just got here.”

“Nobody clean your room yet?”

“I guess not.”

“You the doctor, no?”

“One of them.” He propped the door open for the man’s cart.

The steward glanced around the tiny room. “It will be my pleasure to serve you. I come later when you have gone out.”

Peter suspected the man’s cheerful acceptance hid the same bone-deep fatigue that had weighed down his own mother. She used to clean offices, back before Felipe joined the army, and she was always exhausted. Chemical fumes permeated her clothes and hair, and her knuckles cracked and bled until he bought her the non-latex gloves that her cheap-ass boss wouldn’t pay for.

Before Peter could return to the bathroom, somebody else came knocking: a petite woman in blue scrubs, probably late thirties. A tight ponytail held back her glossy chestnut hair. Her sharp cheekbones and jawline were all business.

“Luisa Calderone, nurse on staff.” The strength in her bony handshake matched the intensity of her hazel eyes. “They said this is your first gig.”

Yep, a fresh start, a sorely needed one. “Sorry. I’ll try to learn quick.”

“We can do a proper tour later, but let’s just walk and talk for now.” She nodded back at the hallway. “I can give you some time to get changed, but we have patients—so not too long, please.”

Right back into it, then. He was a kid on a roller coaster cresting the first big incline—the moment before the bottom fell out. He opened the closet and confronted his uniform. Sure, he’d paid for the ride, but that didn’t make it any less stomach-churning.

Copyright 2025 by Kevin O. Hwang. Excerpt from The Regression Strain used with permission from the author.

The Regression Strain Author Kevin O. Hwang

Kevin O. Hwang, MD, is a professor of internal medicine at McGovern Medical School at UTHealth Houston where he sees patients and teaches residents. His academic work has appeared in leading medical journals. Nothing excites him more than chicken enchiladas, index cards, and appropriately sized packaging. The Regression Strain is his debut novel.

To learn more about Kevin, click any of the following links:KevinHwang.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @kevin847
Instagram – @kevinhwangmdauthor
X – @KevinHwangMD

 

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Midnight Meet-Ups: Three Short Stories

Midnight Meet-Ups by Eliza Storm, SD Porter, and Celaine Charles — Holiday Chronicles #1

Book and Author Info + Authors Pet Corner!Don’t miss any new books! Click the link here for more.Midnight Meet-UpsThree short stories. Three women. One Halloween night

Each girl, caught in her own setup, must navigate the mystical and the unexpected.

Masquerade Meet-Cute

After a dating dry spell, Luna attends a masquerade singles event on Halloween, where an app generates a match for every guest. But solving riddles to discover her perfect someone becomes more of a trick than a treat when couples pair off, and she’s left standing alone.

Hallowed Be My Ex

All Hazel wanted was a cozy Halloween with a good book. But when her ex leaves a trail of clues that he wants her back, she follows. Not everything is as it seems, and Hazel finds herself tangled in a web of lies that keeps building.

Uber-ly Spooked

Gemma has a love-hate relationship with Halloween, and when her Uber driver turns out not to be who he appears to be, her and her friends’ Halloween plans take a terrifying u-turn.

To purchase Midnight Meet-Ups, click the following link: Books2ReadMidnight Meet-Ups AuthorsEliza Storm

Eliza Storm, a software engineer by day, author by night, loves stories about love and laughter while cuddled with her 5 cats in the comfort of her home in Austin, Texas.

When she isn’t writing, she is most likely to be found in a National Park, sampling every ice cream in a fifty-mile radius, or dancing with reckless abandon.

Instagram: @elizastormbooks

www.elizastormbooks.com

 

SD Porter

SD Porter, a lover of all things apocalyptic, is a multi-genre author who lives in the PNW with her husband and Great Pyrenees.

She loves hiking in the beautiful state of Washington, photography, going to concerts, and travel.

www.penproseandpoetry.com

Instagram: @SDporterwrites

Facebook: SD Porter: Author

Author Pet Corner!SD and Djovi!

 

Celaine Charles

Celaine Charles, a multi-genre author, teaches elementary students by day and writes poetry and fiction by night. Her inspiration to create comes from reading, taking long walks through her enchanted Washington State forests, and eating mounds of allergy-free chocolate.

Instagram: @cc_celainecharles

linktr.ee/celainecharles

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Author Pet Corner!Celaine’s Granddog!Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

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Girl Lost: Romantic Suspense

Girl Lost by Kate Angelo

 


Book & Author Info + an Excerpt + a Giveaway!
 
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Girl Lost


The King Legacy
A LOST BABY

Luna Rosati found acceptance and comfort with her childhood foster family, but when she became pregnant at sixteen, she gave the baby up for adoption and left without a word. Now a CIA counterintelligence officer, Luna wants to reconcile her fractured sense of self by finding the only blood family she has–the teenage daughter she’s never met. As Luna closes in on learning the girl’s identity with the help of her mentor, Stryker, she prepares to meet him in her old neighborhood–the last place she wants to be. Then Stryker is captured.

AN INESCAPABLE PAST

Special Agent Corbin King changed his last name to escape the shadow of his convicted father serving a life sentence. When he runs into Luna, the object of his failed teenage romance, the two must put their pasts aside and work together to expose a secret that someone’s willing to kill for.

A DEADLY THREAT

But when they encounter a kidnapping, missing bodies, and murder, the secrets Corbin and Luna are keeping from one another are only the beginning of the threat they face with more than their own lives at stake.

A gripping Christian romantic suspense thriller with CIA intrigue, second chances, and found family. Perfect for fans of clean thrillers, faith-based fiction, and emotional page-turners by Lynette Eason, Colleen Coble, Jessica R. Patch, and Charles Martin.

Praise for Kate Angelo:

“Kate Angelo skillfully unveils the savagery of greed under the pretense of good.”
~ DIANN MILLS, bestselling writer

“An exciting story that will capture readers’ emotions while also taking them on a pulse-pounding, suspenseful roller coaster ride they won’t soon forget.”
~ NANCY MEHL, author of the Erin Delaney Mysteries

Girl Lost Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Christian Romantic Suspense Thriller
Published by: Revell
Publication Date: September 23, 2025
Number of Pages: 336 pages, Paperback
ISBN, Pbk: 9780800746636 (ISBN10: 0800746635)
Series: The King Legacy, Book 1

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Baker Book House

Read an excerpt of Girl Lost:

From Chapter 1

“What are you doing here, Luna?” The honeyed tone he’d used on the waitress morphed to granite.

“Since when does the FDLE investigate missing persons?”

“Since when do you talk to Stryker? Or any of us, for that matter?”

“Why do you keep answering questions with another question?” Although she knew good and well she’d started it.

The squiggle of a blue vein bulged at Corbin’s temple, and she kind of enjoyed it. “Since we gave our baby up for adoption. Since you cut me out of your life.” His finger stabbed the table to punctuate each sentence. “Since you left town without a word and never looked back.”

Another crack formed. His words knifed her heart. Images of a teen beggar girl on the streets of Pakistan played through her mind. The one with dark hair and eyes that mirrored her own. The girl’s striking resemblance to herself had brought Luna back to the time when she held a tiny life in her arms. The baby girl she’d given up—not because she wanted to, but because she refused to let her child suffer the life she’d had.

The daughter she’d brought into being was somewhere out there in the world, and she needed Stryker to tell her where.

The pang cut deep, but Luna gathered her composure and locked her emotional armor down tight. She wasn’t the only one who’d walked away. “You broke up with me, Corbin. You told me you didn’t want to be a father. You made that choice. I just made sure our daughter had a future.”

The skin around his collar flushed crimson. She could see his neck straining. “I can’t believe you—”

A sharp glint of light flashed through the storefront windows. Whatever Corbin was saying faded into nothingness. She watched Stryker emerge from his rusty old Jeep parked across the street. His hair, a blend of salt and pepper, hung in a knot at the nape of his neck. Aside from the silver strands, he looked like the same athletic man she’d known when she was a teenager.

Years melted away. She saw the man who’d seen the good in her, even when she was a mess of anger and bad choices. The man who’d taken a lost and confused girl and forged her into something stronger, something more. He’d pulled her back from the edge, shown her a different path. And somehow, against all odds, the rebellious girl who’d once cursed every cop in sight had become a government agent.

He’d challenged her, pushed her, never let her give up on herself. And she hadn’t. Would he still recognize that girl in the woman she’d become?

A black SUV slammed to a halt outside. Doors flew open. Three dark figures jumped out, faces swallowed by masks, bodies muted by black tactical gear.

Guns. They had guns.

Luna was on her feet before she knew what was happening. Her brain put it together on the fly. Outside. Help Stryker.

Corbin’s chair scraped back. Clattered over. He was on her heels.

Stryker wouldn’t go down without a fight. With his reflexes, he could disarm a shooter and break a few bones faster than she could blink. His resistance would buy them the priceless seconds they needed to get outside.

One man pointed a Taser at Stryker and squeezed the trigger. Two barbed probes shot through the air and embedded into the back of Stryker’s neck, sending fifty thousand volts of electricity screaming through his body. The other two men caught him under the arms before he hit the sidewalk and hauled his limp body into the back seat.

Luna and Corbin burst outside. Shouts. A woman screamed. But Luna’s eyes were laser focused on the dark vehicle. The doors slammed shut.

Corbin had his gun out. “Police! Stop or I’ll shoot!”

The SUV’s engine roared. The vehicle lurched forward, tires shrieking, grabbing traction. It fishtailed, sideswiping two parked cars. Then it swerved back on course, speeding down the street. It blew through a stop sign and disappeared around the corner.

Bits of red and yellow confetti littered the street and sidewalk. Luna crouched and used her fingernail to scrape up a few of the tiny round dots.

Corbin sprinted half a block chasing after the vehicle before he stopped. Feet set shoulder width apart. Knees flexed. Arms extended and ready to fire.

She marched over and slapped her palm on the muzzle of his gun to shove the barrel down. “Put that away. You can’t shoot into a busy street at a fleeing vehicle.”

He was breathing hard. “No plates. They wore masks. Should be able to get surveillance footage and interview witnesses.” Like her, Corbin was already thinking of the next steps.

She had her phone out, thumb hovering over the screen. The secret code used to send secure cables to the Agency wouldn’t work on this plain smartphone. The only person whose number was stored in this one had just been kidnapped.

Corbin muttered something Luna couldn’t hear. He had a hand on his waist. The tail of his blazer was pushed back, showing the gun in its holster on his hip. He rattled his name, badge number, and their location into his phone. “I’m reporting a confirmed kidnapping in progress. Requesting immediate backup and notify detectives.”

With Stryker gone, she had no reason to stay. Time to start searching for him. She did an about-­face and went back inside.

Angie was on the phone in hysterics. It’d be a wonder if the dispatcher could make sense of the gibberish behind her sobs. Luna marched to the table and picked up her purse. Paused long enough to drain her lemonade and toss a twenty on the table before heading back outside.

Corbin fell into step beside her, phone still pressed to his ear. “Where are you going?”

She kept walking.

“Hey, you can’t leave a crime scene.” He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

She caught his hand in a wrist lock and rotated his forearm until his knees buckled. “You’ve gotten slow in your old age.” She flashed a thin smile and shoved him, releasing her hold.

Corbin stumbled a few steps. The look on his face was almost worth the agony of seeing him again. She turned and headed for her car.

The last person she’d ever wanted to see was Corbin King. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

“Luna! You can’t just walk away. Luna!”

Stryker was not only her mentor but a father figure. She wouldn’t stand by and let someone hurt him. Besides, he was the one who’d arranged the adoption. Handled everything himself, outside the system when she was too young and emotionally wrecked to question the details. Back then, she hadn’t wanted to know. Convinced it was better that way. But that had changed.

Now, without Stryker, she had no way to find the only blood relative she had left. And after everything she’d lost in Pakistan, she could not afford to lose anything else.

The weight of it all didn’t matter.

She would save Stryker.

She would find her daughter.

And she would do it without Corbin King.

***

Excerpt from Girl Lost by Kate Angelo. Copyright 2025 by Kate Angelo. Reproduced with permission from Kate Angelo. All rights reserved.

 

Girl Lost Author Kate Angelo:

Kate Angelo is the Publishers Weekly bestselling author of Hunting the Witness, Selah Award winner of Deadly Holiday Hijack, and Amazon Top 100 Bestseller of Driving Force. Kate works alongside her husband championing stronger marriages and families. Her journey from foster care to bestselling author fuels her fast-paced romantic suspense, where flawed characters discover hope and healing through life’s fiercest trials and relationships.

When she’s not putting fictional people through the wringer, she’s out creating real-life happily-ever-afters at conferences and events nationwide.

To learn more about Kate, click any of the following links:

KateAngelo.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads – @kateangeloauthor
BookBub – @kateangeloauthor
Instagram – @kateangeloauthor
X – @thekateangelo
Facebook – @kateangeloauthor

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Girl Lost by Kate Angelo {book + gift card}

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The post Girl Lost: Romantic Suspense appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

Canyon of Deceit: Romantic Suspense

Canyon of Deceit by DiAnn Mills

 

Guest Post + Book & Author Info + An Excerpt!Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.

 

Canyon of Deceit

A rescue team searches for a missing young girl and suspects all is not as it seems in this high-stakes romantic suspense novel from the author of Lethal Standoff and Facing the Enemy

When wilderness survival expert Therese Palmer receives a frantic phone call from former colleague Professor Rurik Ivanov, she is shocked by the news that his young daughter, Alina, is missing—and that Rurik wants Therese’s help finding her. She’s sure Rurik hasn’t given her the whole story . . . especially since he refuses to report the kidnapping to the police. Yet with a child’s life hanging in the balance, Therese can’t turn down this mission. She knows the clock is ticking and she can’t do this alone.

Therese reaches out to Texas Ranger Blane Gardner, whom she met seven months ago during one of her training courses in wilderness survival skills. Blane’s specialized training and background with the Crisis Negotiation Unit make him uniquely prepared for this search-and-rescue mission. He agrees to help Therese and to accept Rurik’s terms to keep Alina’s disappearance quiet, and as the two begin working together, Therese is determined the spark growing between them won’t distract from their mission to save Alina.

Traversing deep into the desert of Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Alina’s last known location, Therese and Blane struggle to separate truth from lies within the mix of intel they’re receiving. As they close in on answers that suggest the involvement of Russian organized crime and a high-profile international assassination attempt, they must fight to rescue Alina before she becomes an innocent casualty of a much bigger plot—no matter the risk to their own lives

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Tyndale House Publishers
Publication Date: September 9, 2025
Number of Pages: 352 (pbk)
ISBN: 9781496485151 (ISBN10: 1496485157) pbk

Purchase your copy at:  Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Walmart | Goodreads | BookBub | Tyndale House PublishersCanyon of Deceit: Guest Post by DiAnn MillsCrafting Characters in Romantic Suspense

The techniques used to craft our romantic suspense characters incorporate many of the traits present in every genre. The reader wants to know what the character looks like, their dreams, flaws, needs, wants, back story, weaknesses, motivation, and more. Writers reveal the true characters by placing them in action—heart-wrenching scenes that keep the reader turning pages.

Romantic suspense characters require an added engine additive that deepens their goal or problem to solve by involving them in rising stress, tension, conflict, and danger. Motivations, distinct points of view, and high stakes followed by internal thoughts are created organically to engage the reader. These literary techniques heighten the protagonists’ ability to step into danger with skill and find unexpected romance. Romantic suspense is balanced on a scale with romance on one side and the ramifications of not stopping an antagonist on the other. The clock ticks, cueing the reader that time is running out, and the admirable protagonist is failing.

In addition, protagonists need:

CourageTrainingSkills or educationStaminaWisdom

Who or what constitutes an antagonist in a suspense novel when every breath equates to potential disaster?

Man vs. manMan vs. nature—such as a hurricane, earthquake, or a meteor speeding toward Earth.Man vs. a predatory animalMan vs. society—for example, a group of people who will stop at nothing to change an existing social, political, or religious setting.Man vs. God

Excitement builds by ensuring the characters and the reader never experience downtime. The characters are racing against a ticking clock, and they are running out of time.

What else adds to a romantic suspense character?

Choices—Instead of giving your characters a right or wrong choice, give them two rights or two wrongs.

Complications—New information, unexpected complications, eliminating a character, or changing the setting.

Crucible—A mental or physical environment that bonds two people together. It is greater than their desires, and neither is willing to give it up.

Married couples who stay together because of their children.All the people in a lifeboat.Working situations in which people who dislike each other remain at their jobs due to high salaries and benefits.

Decisions and Doubts—Reaching the goal is hard work. The characters have doubts, and at times they make poor decisions in which they must face the consequences.

Subplots—Problems involving minor characters who have valid issues or knowledge about a viewpoint character that is separate from the main story idea.

What meets the reader’s expectations in characterizing a romantic suspense protagonist?

The reader anticipates the adventure in the book title.The reader is hooked at the beginning and ending of each scene.The reader admires the unpredictability of the twists and turns of the plot.The reader is aware of the high stakes/danger in the first chapter.The reader values the unique protagonists who are determined and reflect an ability to learn from mistakes and acquire what is needed to succeed.The reader experiences the action vicariously through the point of view characters.The reader sees the antagonist’s strength and fears the protagonist will fail.The reader worries about the protagonist.The reader is invested in the romance.The reader learns the hero and heroine vow to keep the relationship in the background until the danger passes.The reader sees sacrifices made on the part of the hero and heroine.The reader understands the threats to the couple and those involved if the hero and heroine care more about each other than overcoming the antagonist.The reader observes rising emotions linked to the romance in body language, behavior, subtext, and sacrifices.The reader values the climax where the high stakes of danger and the romance are threatened.The reader accepts the satisfactory conclusion.

Crafting characters in a romantic suspense novel stretches the writer’s skills. The danger is real. The hero and heroine are committed to ending the crime or potential crime. The romance is organic, and the antagonist just might win.

What do you value in creating strong heroes and heroines in a romantic suspense story?

 

Read an Excerpt of Canyon of DeceitChapter OneNew Caney, Texas
October, Thursday, Current Day
Therese

The shrill ring of my mobile phone jolted me awake at 2:00 a.m., a haunting prompt that emergencies seldom emerged in daylight. Someone had ventured into the wilderness and needed me to lead a rescue mission. My skills of trekking over precarious terrain to find victims who suffered from physical injuries, dehydration, starvation, or all three, kept me on alert. At times I viewed my life like a Star Trek tagline, “Where no man has gone before.”

I grabbed the phone off my nightstand. Unidentified caller. “Hello?”

“Ms. Palmer, this is Professor Rurik Ivanov from Houston Leonard University. We met nearly a year ago. You taught a course in wilderness survival as an adjunct professor.”

I captured a mental image of the Russian man—gray-blue eyes, stone-gray hair, angular face. “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

“I apologize for the hour, but I’m in a desperate situation.”

The angst in his voice zapped me into guarded mode, especially when I barely knew the man. I snapped on my bedside lamp. “Are you all right?”

“No, ma’am, which is why I’m calling you. Do you remember my wife and daughter?”

“I met them both at a faculty dinner last Christmas. A lovely family.”

“My wife was murdered today, and kidnappers have taken my daughter.”

I inhaled sharply, and alarm for the professor’s family fired hot from the soles of my feet. “Daria? Alina? What happened?”

“A man called me late this afternoon while I prepared to leave for home. He said he’d taken Alina. Then he sent a link to a video showing my wife’s execution—”

He stopped abruptly, his final words drumming into my senses. The seconds ticked by, and I waited.

“I watched Daria grab her chest and struggle . . . The blood rushed from her precious body—my dear Daria’s life gone forever.” He grappled again to control his tear-filled voice. “He said they would release Alina unharmed if I paid three million dollars. They’d call with instructions. When the man hung up, I hurried home thinking it had to be a terrible mistake or someone had used AI to generate the video. On the way, I phoned Daria and the call went to voice mail. I also redialed the man who’d contacted me. The phone rang repeatedly, but the number offered no way to leave a message. I contacted Alina’s school and learned Daria had picked her up before noon.

“At home, reality rooted. A lamp and a table in the living room lay in pieces. Daria would have fought hard, but there were no signs of blood. I didn’t recognize the place in the video where they killed her. I even checked for geotag information on the clip, but it had been stripped. I later clicked on the link . . . the video had disappeared.”

I ached for his loss. “What do the police say?”

Silence answered me, then Rurik finally said, “Contacting them is impossible. The man warned me against telling anyone who works in law enforcement, or I’d never see Alina again.” He sobbed into the phone. “Please, give me a moment.”

“Take all the time you need.”

The professor taught Russian language and literature at Leonard University and was highly respected and liked among faculty and students. I’d enjoyed our occasional chats, and he’d observed some of my classes. What had he done to upset the wrong people?

“Thank you. I can talk now,” he said. “I have no idea where the killers have taken Daria’s body or how to find Alina. Neither do I suspect anyone.”

I willed my pulse to slow. “Professor, the police are trained in handling confidential matters and how to find who is responsible. They have families and understand what you’re going through.”

“And endanger my daughter?” Panic throbbed in his ragged voice.

“I’m sorry.” My grief over losing Kate many years ago surfaced raw and bleeding. “Are you alone?”

“Yes. At home.”

“Are there family or friends who can stay with you?”

“My family is in Russia, and I do not trust anyone.”

“You could very well be in danger too.”

“My welfare is unimportant.”

“Who are these people, and why has your family been victimized?”

“I have no idea. The man refused to identify himself, but he did say ‘we.’ Maybe he thinks I have money or believes I have done something criminal to my country or to the US.”

What was he not telling me? I tossed off my blanket and stood in my bedroom, shivering, not from the cold but the horror of this unfolding story. “Professor Ivanov, I’m confused. Why call me? This is a job for the police or the FBI.”

“I cannot risk my daughter’s life. You are my only hope to find Alina. You have the skills to get her back.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m a wilderness-survival specialist, nothing more. I’m not equipped to carry out a hostage negotiation without backup, which is another reason you need to involve the authorities.” More questions bolted into my mental space like a landslide. “How would I find her?”

“That’s where I can help you. Alina has GPS trackers hidden in her shoes. Not even Daria knew about them.”

“Why would you track your young daughter?”

“Alina’s biological mother died when she was a baby, and I’ve been consumed with protecting my daughter ever since. I checked my phone app and learned at one thirty this afternoon, Alina was taken to a private landing strip west of Houston. I called there, and a woman who worked in the small office said no one had filed a flight plan. But she made a mistake. The tracker had stopped registering.” He coughed and asked me to wait while he got a glass of water.

A connection at Harris County Office of Homeland Security & Emergency Management popped into my consciousness. They had the technology to confirm the date and time a plane took to the skies and where it landed.

“I’m better. I apologize for my lack of control,” the professor said. “My app showed tracking again near an abandoned airstrip in a remote area south of Hobbs, New Mexico. The tracking indicated ground-speed movement for two and a half hours to a section on the north side of Guadalupe Mountains National Park called Dog Canyon. That’s where the tracking ended, and I’ve detected nothing since. I assume the kidnappers parked the vehicle and proceeded on foot with Alina. Research shows the area is off-grid. Ms. Palmer, did they remove her shoes? How would they expect her to walk in bare feet?”

My thoughts trailed to the worst possible scenario. Why take Alina to a remote location unless they planned to dispose of her body there? Another argument lay with logic. Why go to the expense of transporting a kidnap victim there when they had the ability to dispose of her body in their backyard? A morbid idea, except true. Whatever the reason, they risked exposure from security cameras until they reached an off-grid area.

“I can’t stress enough how the authorities have technology and skills to find Alina. They can unravel valid threats and comprehend the danger of taking your story to the media.”

“The man who called me said they’d be watching my every move. I bought a burner phone tonight to call you.”

His anguish rippled through me, interfering with my ability to think clearly. “What about the ransom?”

“I can liquidate assets here and in Russia to meet their demands, but the statistics on kidnappers returning my Alina alive are not good. Perhaps they would accept what I can put together now. I’m sorry . . . I wish I had an answer. Why harm an eight-year-old little girl?”

“I have empathy for your grief.” Daria’s lovely face and the white-blonde-haired little girl refused to leave me alone. “Although I could lead you into Dog Canyon, I have no idea how to pull her out of the clutches of dangerous men. You’d need armed law enforcement and possibly a negotiator.”

“That would draw attention. I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

“Money is not the issue, Professor—”

“Alina means more to me than anything else in this world. What is love but to take ownership of a problem and do all I can to stop those men?”

“What if I fail?” The terror of not finding his daughter alive resurrected an echo from the past that had shaped my career.

“Can you live with yourself if you don’t try?”

Unaware, he’d pressed my weakest button. “I’ll hear you out. But I don’t believe you’ve given me the whole story, and I need the truth before I risk my life.”

“I’ve . . . I’ve given you all of it.”

“You’ve stated what you want me to know. What have you done or not done in this tragedy that Daria is dead, Alina is missing, and you can’t go to the police?

***

Excerpt from Canyon of Deceit by DiAnn Mills. Copyright 2025 by DiAnn Mills. Reproduced with permission from DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved.

Canyon of Deceit Author DiAnn Mills

 

DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who invites her readers to step into stories where suspense meets adventure and romance warms the heart. Known for crafting unforgettable characters tangled in unpredictable plots, DiAnn believes every breath we take unfolds a story waiting to be told—so why not make it thrilling?

Her novels have consistently landed on bestseller lists including CBA, ECPA, and Publishers Weekly, and have won prestigious awards such as the Christy, Selah, Golden Scroll, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol awards.
DiAnn is a founding board member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Conference Advisor for the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers. She actively participates in Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, and International Thriller Writers, DiAnn passionately invests in helping fellow authors succeed through mentoring, book coaching, and editing. She travels nationwide speaking and teaching engaging writing workshops.

A proud coffee snob who roasts her own beans, DiAnn also enjoys diving into good books, experimenting in the kitchen, and unabashedly spoiling her grandchildren—whom she insists are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband make their home under the sunny skies of Houston, Texas.

Connect with DiAnn online for behind-the-scenes glimpses, writing tips, and lively discussions:

diannmills.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads – @DiAnnMills
BookBub – @DiAnnMills
Instagram – @diannmillsauthor
X – @DiAnnMills
Facebook – @DiAnnMills
YouTube – @DiAnnMills

Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

The post Canyon of Deceit: Romantic Suspense appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

The Snake Handler’s Wife: a New Mystery

The Snake Handler’s Wife by Sue Hinkin

Book & Author SpotlightFind more new books! Click the link here. The Snake Handler’s Wife

When Lucy’s life partner, war reporter Michael Burleson, suddenly leaves the U.S. to take a job re-establishing the cable news network office in Iraq, Lucy is alone with their four-year-old son Henry on her isolated Malibu Ranch. Michael’s sweet but unstable, recovering addict daughter, shows up looking to meet her baby half-brother and establish a relationship with Lucy.

Despite Michael’s warnings, Lucy wants to re-kindle family ties and hires the girl to help care for Henry when Lucy is working. Weird things begin to happen at the ranch—her beloved horse is bitten by a rattle snake not native to the region, the animal enclosures are vandalized, and a loaded gun is found next to Henry’s swing set.

Lucy doesn’t know that the daughter has fallen under the spell of a sexy, snake-handling cult leader who wants to get rid of Lucy, take her ranch and her son.

To purchase The Snake Handler’s Wife, click the following link: AmazonPraise for The Snake Handler’s WifeDarkly riveting and disturbingly real, The Snake Handler’s Wife features Hinkin’s most chilling villain yet. Move this edge-of-your-seat domestic thriller to the top of your reading queue. —www.BestThrillers.com …a thrilling ending that makes for a worthy conclusion to the series. —Kirkus ReviewsVivid and memorable characters and relationships, a strong sense of place, a compelling story that flows naturally, fast, hair-raising action, romance and with as satisfying an ending as the beginning – it’s all there.    —Carolyn Olson Adams, Librarian Ret.Read an Excerpt of The Snake Handler’s WifeChapter One:

It was beginning.

The Man walked stealthily through the pre-dawn darkness. A single yard light cast tepid shadows along the ranch’s outbuildings. The scent of horse flesh and creek willow filled his nostrils, soothing a hint of nervous anticipation as he entered the barn.

The faint rattling sound emanating from the basket he carried calmed him further.

The first step in this divine plan came upon him in a holy  vision. Directed by God, like the Israelites in Israel, he would own this land and inhabit it for His glory.

Approaching the stall, the gravel beneath his boots crunched like soft tissue paper. The Paint horse nickered. The Man stroked the equine neck and spoke reassuring words as he  slipped inside the enclosure. The brown and white stallion watched him carefully, stomped once, but showed little sign of concern.

The Man opened the basket in the far corner of the stall and  watched the serpent slither from its confines into the straw. The rattle’s ominous susurration accelerated.

The Man whispered to the horse, “As in the Book of Genesis, the serpent shall be in your path and bite your heel so the rider will fall…” 

He kissed the animal’s warm cheek, reflecting on serpents in  the Garden before leaving the barn. The horse snorted and shook his head. Don’t do this, he seemed to say, but it was prophesied.

Shutting the stall door, The Man further reflected on the next step toward fulfillment of his sacred ambition. It was in the hands of an unsure blonde girl who loved him with an addict’s  compulsion. The snakes etched on his body stirred. He had to have her, now.

The Man disappeared into the darkness just as the sky began to lighten in the East.

Pulling at a loose strand of her dark, wavy hair in anticipation, Lucy Vega gazed over her laptop screen to the slate gray Pacific less than a mile away. The annual “June Gloom” had cast its dreary marine pale across the landscape. She was waiting to Zoom chat with Michael Burleson, her lover, life partner, and father to their four-year-old son, Henry. Michael was a network  war correspondent for TV news who almost lost everything from the curse of alcohol abuse. With Lucy’s support, he was back on track, five years sober.

The zoom link kicked in and he was on the screen. Eyes like sea glass, messy brown curls, he wore his usual utilitarian black T-shirt. A smile warmed her heart.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, rubbing his neck. “I miss you.” “Then get that cute butt of yours out here.”

After two years in New York, Lucy was thrilled at the thought of being together as a family this week at her ranch in the mountains above Malibu, where she’d grown up after her parents and younger brother died in a car accident. The last several promises Michael had made to join her and Henry at this place, her spiritual home on Earth, he hadn’t kept. But this time it would be different.

She continued, ignoring niggles of fear and disappointment.  “Our son has a long list of to-dos with daddy. Starts with the Santa Barbara Zoo and ends with a new bike without training wheels.” Lucy laughed. “My list is short. I just want you in my bed every night, at my complete beck and call.”

His smile seemed forced. “Sweetheart, we have to talk.  Something’s come up.”

Her chest tightened with a disturbing old feeling. “What is it, Michael? Are you okay? Are your, uh, plans changing?” Not again. It couldn’t be.

A long-time news photographer, Lucy’s well-trained eye quickly scanned the digital scene before her. His context would tell the story. The setting was not Michael’s office in Manhattan or their dining room table in Brooklyn. Thick, peeling layers of paint—military green, bone gray, and umber the color of faded blood—provided a grim backdrop. The edge of a chipped Cyrillic-inscribed sign hung in a dark top corner of the frame.

Michael Burleson was not in New York. He was not on this continent. He was not coming to the ranch.

“Where the hell are you?” she demanded. “Obviously not packing for your trip to Southern California to see your family.  As promised!”

Michael took a deep breath. Lucy knew this was hard for him. She hoped to make it hell.

“Okay, let me explain. Out of nowhere, Jay Levinson, you know, the Bureau Chief—”

“Give me a break. I know who he is. Our kids go to preschool together.”

“Of course, sorry. This opportunity came up literally overnight. You know how things move in this business. Boom.  They’re opening a Fallujah office.”

Lucy was momentarily dumbfounded. She cleared her throat. “Did you actually say Fallujah? Like in Iraq?”  “Yes, well, we’re trying it out for six months. Just six months, a year max. They offered me the start-up, along with two staffers I can choose. It’s a chance of a lifetime, babe. The network trusts me again. I have to take it, Luce. If this goes well, there may be an opening in Rome coming up. Until then, you, Henry, and I—we’ll live in the Middle East—just for a short stint. Would be an adventure.”

Lucy pressed her palms against her eyes. The network loved him again. His dark days and subsequent recovery from addiction added to his appeal. We journalists were vultures at our core.

She raised her head. “A decade and a half ago, before we met, I spent two weeks on assignment in Al Ambar province, stationed in Fallujah at the end of the war.”

“I know. I remember you telling me about it. I thought you might enjoy returning to see how it’s changed. Fallujah: Then and Now. Great subject for a photog.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Lucy shook her head. “We’d probably be living in the same walled compound I stayed in back then.  Probably the same mortar rounds and bullet holes, plus some new ones pocking the damn walls. Am I right?”

“Well, maybe, yeah. But it’s not so bad anymore. It’s a different time. That’s why the network’s coming back in. There’s a great city market and even a new mall. Lots of American goods.”

Lucy’s laugh was scornful. “Despite the Islamic Republic’s PR machine, women are still treated like crap. And every other person on the street in that city is probably still suffering from PTSD. Henry can play in fields where IEDs are left over from the last incursion.”

“Lucy, I’m so sorry to drop this on you.” He twitched in his chair. “But things are way better here now. Truly. Six months will go by in no time.”

“The Iraqis, apart from their politicians, are an incredibly kind and hospitable people. But things can go south there in the blink of an eye.” She stood and began to pace, wanting to run away, then gritted her teeth and sat back down. “But it’s not about Iraq. It could be anywhere. It’s about something more fundamental.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “I can’t trust any kind of commitment from you, can I?” His inability to show up for her and their son told the whole story. “All we wanted was two weeks of your precious time. Two! Life is short.  God only knows what we have left.” Lucy turned away. Her thoughts skittered to a dark corner of her experience—to the accident, and to her uncle’s murder.

“Honey, this is just a one-off thing.” His face said he wasn’t sure at all that was true. A young man in military garb interrupted to hand Michael a stack of papers.

Lucy shook her head again, dismayed. “I gave up everything and moved to the East Coast so we could have a chance at being a normal family. Hurting me is awful, but lying to your son is inexcusable.” Her hand slapped the table; the laptop bounced.  She was tempted to throw it across the room.

“Things between us have been so good,” Michael said. “We can make this work, Luce. Give it a chance.”

“I’m not your news groupie. I thought you finally had your priorities right. That family was first. You promised that. What a fool I’ve been. People never change.” Why couldn’t she just say I’m done.

“Lucy, I…”

She heard the screen door slam and the pounding of little feet on the Saltillo-tiled kitchen floor. Henry, their beautiful boy with the same translucent eyes and brown curls as his dad, burst onto the porch. Her broken heart ached in her chest.

“Mommy, mommy! Odin’s sick. Bit by a snake. In the leg.  Needs a shot.”

“What are you talking about, honey?”

The screen door slammed again and in came Alyssa, Lucy’s teenage goddaughter who sometimes helped with childcare.  “Your horse was bitten by a rattler,” she said, out of breath.  “Cody’s on the phone with the vet right now.”

Odin, a twenty-three-year-old brown and white American Paint horse, had been Lucy’s beloved companion since she was fifteen. Over the years, he’d saved her life in so many ways. She couldn’t lose him, too. Lucy’s chest tightened with dread.

“Alyssa, can you stay with Henry while he talks to his dad?” “Of course.” The girl slid onto the chair next to Henry, who was already chatting away with his father.

Terrified and upset, Lucy raced to the paddock.

Author of The Snake Handler’s Wife — Sue Hinkin

SUE HINKIN: Sue Hinkin is the author of the award-winning thriller series, The Vega & Middleton Novels, featuring the investigative team of Los Angeles TV news journalist Bea Jackson and best friend, photographer Lucy Vega. BestThrillers.com called Lucy and Bea one of the top 10 female detectives of 2023.

A former Cinematography Fellow at the American Film Institute, Hinkin has worked in higher education and as one of the first female TV news photographers. Now living in Colorado, she was voted Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Writer of the Year.

She is active in that organization as well as Sisters in Crime and the Rocky Mountain Chapter of Mystery Writers of America. Her work has been recognized by the Colorado Humanities Center and Colorado Authors Guild for Best Thriller, a Foreword Indies Best Mystery and a Silver Falchion Award Finalist.

She loves her friends and family, growing things, and long walks with her puffy white rescue dog, Harley.

To learn more about Sue, click any of the following links: www.suehinkin.com, Facebook: @suehinkinauthor & Instagram: @hinkinsueElena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

The post The Snake Handler’s Wife: a New Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

Essentials of Death: New From Kim Davis

Essentials of Death by Kim Davis

Book & Author Spotlight + A Giveaway!Don’t miss any blog tour posts. Click the link here.Essentials of Death

After a scandalous arrest in San Francisco, Carissa Carmichael has moved back to her small Southern California hometown to start over as she opens her Aromatherapy Apothecary shop and reflexology services. A tourist destination, Oak Creek Valley, seems the perfect place to put the past behind her, but it seems no one will let her forget, especially her high school nemesis, Lacie. When Carissa finds her frenemy murdered after having a public altercation at the town’s playwright conference and festival, she becomes the primary suspect. It doesn’t help that the tarot cards she drew earlier in the day foretold the nature of the murder weapon. Despite her father’s position as Oak Creek Valley’s chief of police, the detective assigned to the case assumes she’s guilty.

When tarot death cards begin turning up to taunt her, Carissa not only has to prove her innocence to keep her freedom, she has to make sure death doesn’t come calling for her or those she loves. With the suspects acting as slippery as the essential oils she distills, it’s up to Carissa to apply pressure and sniff out the truth before it’s too late.

Includes essential oil and reflexology tips.

Essentials of Death: An Aromatherapy Apothecary Mystery

Cozy Mystery
2nd in Series
Setting – California
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Harbor Lane Books, LLC.
Publication date ‏ : ‎ September 23, 2025
Print length ‏ : ‎ 299 pages
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0FMS643F7

To purchase your copy of Essentials of Death, click the following links:   Amazon & other online book retailersEssentials of Death Author Kim Davis

Kim Davis writes the Aromatherapy Apothecary cozy mystery series and the award-winning Cupcake Catering cozy mystery series.

She lives in Southern California with her husband and rambunctious mini Goldendoodle, Missy, who has become an inspiration for several plotlines. When she’s not spending time with her granddaughters or chasing Missy around, she can be found either writing on her next book, working on her blog, Cinnamon, Sugar, and a Little Bit of Murder as well as Mystery Lovers’ Kitchen, or baking up yummy treats to share.

Kim Davis is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators.

To learn more about Kim, visit any of the following links:
Website:  http://kimdavisauthor.com/
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/Kim-Davis-Author-1532277473479031/
Bluesky:  https://bsky.app/profile/kimdavisauthor.bsky.social
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20202599.Kim_Davis
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/kim-davis-899e51b0-5661-401c-98b1-ec4c2973d58a
Pinterest:  https://www.pinterest.com/kimdavishb/
Mystery Lovers’ Kitchen: https://www.mysteryloverskitchen.com/

Visit all the Stops on the Tour!

September 22 –  Christy’s Cozy Corners  – AUTHOR GUEST POST

September 23 –  Jody’s Bookish Haven  – SPOTLIGHT

September 23 –  Socrates Book Reviews  – SPOTLIGHT

September 23 –  Carstairs Considers  – REVIEW

September 24 –  Ascroft, eh?  – CHARACTER INTERVIEW

September 24 –  Read Your Writes Book Reviews  – RECIPE

September 25 –  MJB Reviewers  – REVIEW

September 25 –  Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book  – REVIEW

September 26 –  The Mystery of Writing  – SPOTLIGHT

September 26 –  Books, Ramblings, and Tea  – SPOTLIGHT

September 26 –  Maureen’s Musings  – SPOTLIGHT

September 27 –  Boys’ Mom Reads!  – REVIEW

September 27 –  Sarandipity’s  – AUTHOR INTERVIEW 

September 28 –  Cozy Up With Kathy  – REVIEW, CHARACTER GUEST POST

September 28 –  Sapphyria’s Book Reviews  – SPOTLIGHT

September 29 –  Baroness Book Trove  – SPOTLIGHT

September 29 –  My Books and Crafts  – SPOTLIGHT

September 30 –  FUONLYKNEW  – SPOTLIGHT

September 30 –  Maureen’s Musings  – SPOTLIGHT  

October 1 –  Books1987  – SPOTLIGHT

October 1 –  Guatemala Paula Loves to Read  – SPOTLIGHT

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The Bystander: A Debut Thriller

The Bystander by John David

Author Interview + Book & Author Info + Author Pet Corner!Don’t miss any ITW Debut Author interviews! Click the link here.The Bystander

It wasn’t just another live shot …

TV reporter Pete Lemaster anticipates nothing more riveting than filming a short lifestyle segment for an upcoming college football rivalry when he arrives at the Jacksonville Waterfront pregame tailgate party. Then chaos erupts as a bystander stops an active shooter with an act of stunning bravery. And Pete suddenly holds a golden career opportunity in his hands—an exclusive video that goes viral.

With the citizen hero’s star rising among the Second Amendment folk, Pete, too, enjoys the perks of fame. But something about that now-famous moment feels off, so he uses his journalism skills to poke around. Suddenly, he’s not sure what he captured is the truth.

And now opportunistic political and media figures are threatening Pete’s life if he doesn’t back off. Can he blow the whistle on a coverup, out the real villain, and stay alive?

The Bystander combines the twists and turns of Catherine Steadman’s Something in the Water with a bit of Carl Hiaasen’s Florida snark.

 

“This debut novel hit it out of the park…” – Mystery Review Crew 

“Breathless stuff and riveting.” I was just wondering when the hook would kick in when the shots were fired. Perfect. We’re hooked and the action sweeps us along as if we’re there. Everything is finely tuned here: the set-up, the shooter, the live broadcast, the aftermath. Breathless stuff and riveting. – Page Turner Awards

The Bystander Awarded as Finalist for 2025 Storytrade Book Award. The Bystander awarded 2025 Finalist for Traditional Mysteries – Storytrade Book Awards (USA)

Purchase your copy of The Bystander at Bookshop.org and Amazon.Interview with The Bystander Author John DavidThe Bystander involves an active shooter at a tailgate party. What interested you about using that particular scenario to launch your debut novel?

In 2022, there was an active shooter incident at a mall in Indiana. That event struck me and became the spark for what eventually turned into The Bystander.

Once I had the initial idea, I began looking for a way to tell the story in a setting that felt natural to me, and I landed on the idea of a football game tailgate. I am a big sports fan, and in much of my writing, I weave in some connection to sports. The atmosphere of a tailgate is energetic and celebratory, which makes it a powerful backdrop when contrasted with sudden violence. The story was inspired by a real event, but it quickly evolved into a fictional narrative.

 

The Bystander centers on TV reporter Pete Lemaster. Tell us about that character, how do the events of the novel change him?

When I created Pete Lemaster, I envisioned a television reporter who was good at covering local news and human-interest stories, but who quietly aspired to do more. At the beginning, he is young, ambitious, and focused primarily on capturing the facts. As the events unfold, Pete is thrust into a story that is far bigger and more dangerous than anything he has covered before. His growth as a journalist is central to the novel: He begins to see how the pursuit of truth can put him at odds with powerful forces but also how it can define him professionally and personally.

My background as a PR and media relations consultant also shaped Pete’s world. Years ago, local TV reporters and anchors were celebrities in their communities, while today the media landscape is fragmented and constantly shifting. Pete has to navigate this changing world while dealing with the chaos of the story itself. That journey forces him to confront larger questions about truth and accountability.

 

The Bystander weaves in politics and the Second Amendment—hot button topics in today’s climate. What drew you to writing about conspiracy and corruption?

There are really two layers to that. First, I find the debate around gun rights and gun violence to be one of the most complex and important conversations in America. The right to bear arms is enshrined in the Constitution, yet the realities of gun violence are heartbreaking and divisive. It is an issue where people on both sides have deeply held beliefs, and the presence of extreme voices makes the discussion even more volatile. That complexity makes for a compelling backdrop.

The second layer is the theme of conspiracy and corruption. I have always been fascinated by the intersections of government, private industry, and media. We live in a world where someone can be working in government one day and, the next, representing the private sector—or where a communications professional can shape narratives for both sides. These blurred lines create opportunities for conspiracy, and sometimes corruption, to thrive.

While I want to believe the information we are given is truthful, the reality is that sometimes it is not. That tension between truth and deception is fertile ground for fiction.

 

You are a public relations and crisis communications consultant. What does a crisis communications consultant do? Does your work impact your writing?

As a crisis communications consultant, I work with companies and organizations facing difficult situations that draw media attention. Often, I get the call when a reporter is asking questions that could be damaging. My job is to help shape messaging, develop strategy, and protect reputations. Sometimes, a story turns out to be a non-issue, and I can help make the problem disappear. Other times, the challenge is very real, and I help clients navigate it while minimizing long-term harm.

Over the years, I have seen how crises unfold and how people respond to them. Most of the time, the issues are fairly straightforward. But every once in a while, something unusual or extraordinary happens, and those moments stick with you. I often take small pieces of those real-life experiences—the way someone reacted, or how a situation escalated—and weave them into my fiction. For example, in The Bystander, there is a subplot involving veterans’ issues, and some of the details came directly from real situations I encountered in my work. Using slivers of truth can give a story a feeling of authenticity.

 

You enjoy fishing out there in Florida—fresh water or salt? Deep sea or surf?

I enjoy all types of fishing, and I usually take any opportunity I can get.

Living in South Florida, I fish salt water, near shore, most frequently, but I have also enjoyed bass fishing on lakes and deep-sea fishing trips.

In recent years, I have spent a lot of time surf fishing. My wife loves the beach, and while I am not as enthusiastic about sitting on the sand, bringing along a fishing rod makes the experience much more enjoyable. It has become a balance for us—she gets her time on the beach, and I get the challenge and relaxation of fishing. 

What are you working on now?

The Bystander is my debut novel, but I actually finished writing it almost three years ago. Since then, I have completed the second book in what is now called “The Lemaster Files.” The second book, The Pawn (you heard it here first! (Awesome!)), is scheduled to be released in May of 2026. I am currently working on the third book in the series. Between continuing to write, promoting my debut, and my day job, I have been very busy, but it is a rewarding kind of busy.

 

Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:

In the acknowledgements for The Bystander, I specifically mentioned aspiring writers because I know how hard the journey can be. Writing a novel-length manuscript and then trying to get it published is incredibly challenging. I often call it a slog. My advice is to keep pushing forward.

I borrowed inspiration from legendary college basketball coach Jim Valvano, who during his battle with cancer famously said, “Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.” That is the mindset you need as a writer. If you believe in your work and know it has value, persistence is essential. I was fortunate to have people encouraging me to keep going, and I suggest others to seek out that support. It may take time to get published, but it is possible. I think I’m proof of that.

Excellent advice!

 

Author Pet CornerRocky!

We are definitely a pet family.

Over the years, we have had a half-dozen cats, two rabbits, and two dogs.

Right now, we have two cats and one dog.

Rocky is an eight-year-old, affectionate mutt and is almost always at my feet while I am working. He is the first to hear the twists, turns, and reveals of my novels.

The Bystander Author John David

John David is a long-time public relations and crisis communications consultant, author of a non-fiction business book, and a corporate ghostwriter.

His debut novel, The Bystander (The Lemaster Files Book 1), was longlisted for the BPA First Novel Award, was awarded as a finalist for the 2025 Storytrade Book Award for traditional mysteries, and was named a finalist for the 2025 Page Turner Award for mysteries and cozy mysteries.

It will be released by Tule Publishing in September of 2025. Though not a big joiner, he is a member of the International Thriller Writers Debut Author program.

When not working or writing, he enjoys fishing, talking about politics, and following the Florida Gators. He and his beautiful wife Pamela live in Pinecrest, Florida.

To learn more about John, visit any of the following links: Website, Instagram, X, and Bluesky.Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

Header image from Pixabay

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Fade In: A New Thriller

Fade In by Kyle Mills

Books & Author Info + an Excerpt!Find more new books! Click the link here.Fade In by Kyle MillsWhen an ex-Navy SEAL ends up injured and imprisoned, a shadowy ring of power brokers offers him the only way out—through a high-stakes military mission—in this knockout punch of an international political espionage thriller from #1 New York Times bestselling author Kyle Mills.

When ex-navy SEAL Salam “Fade” al-Fayed steps in front of a sniper’s bullet, he assumes that he’s reached the end of the road—his death wish has finally been answered.

Instead, he wakes in a hospital. As one of the deadliest operatives in U.S. history, he’s now incapable of even standing without assistance. Alone and wanted by authorities, he’s destined to spend the rest of his life lying in a prison infirmary.

So when a shadowy organization offers him a new identity and next-generation medical care, he has no choice but to agree. Nothing’s free, though. After a grueling rehabilitation, he’s drafted into an elite paramilitary unit. But who’s in charge?

When a dire threat—a highly contagious pathogen—explodes out of China, his question is quickly answered: A select group of the world’s wealthiest and most powerful people has decided that governments are no longer capable of controlling the chaos erupting around the globe. It’s a power grab by billionaires who’ve decided that it’s their time to rule.

With panic rising, the leaders of both democracies and dictatorships prove equally willing to destroy anything and anyone to save themselves. Forced into action before he’s fully ready, Fade finds himself at the sharp end of a mission to stop a menace unlike any he’s faced before. If he fails, the consequences will be unimaginable. But what if he succeeds?

No one elected the people he’s working for. And God sure as hell didn’t ordain them. Has he signed on to save the human race . . . or to help quietly enslave it?

Fade In  tackles the complex threats of international espionage, power imbalances, and global terrorism–and introduces a character destined to take his place among legends like Vince Flynn’s Mitch Rapp, Robert Ludlum’s Jason Bourne, Lee Child’s Jack Reacher, and Daniel Silva’s Gabriel Allon.

Kyle Mills is the author of nine New York Times bestselling Vince Flynn novels featuring Mitch Rapp.

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Authors Equity
Publication Date: July 29, 2025
Number of Pages: 336 pages, Hardcover
ISBN: 9798893310399, Hardcover

To purchase your copy of Fade In, click any of the following links: Amazon, B&N, BookShop, Goodreads, BookBub, and Simon & and SchusterRead an Excerpt of Fade InThompson Training and Rehabilitation FacilityNear Fayetteville, West VirginiaUSA

FADE MANAGED to achieve a state between sleep and consciousness that he could more or less maintain. His eyes were open but didn’t register the hospital-like room he’d occupied for the last three months. And the dreams didn’t come. They were out there, though. Hiding under his bed. Peeking through the crack in the bathroom door.

A sound slipped through his barriers, but it was hard to say if it was real or just one of those monsters on the move. In the end, it turned out to be both.

“Hajjiiiiiiiiiii!”

The shout was followed by ham-sized fists hammering Fade’s locked door. The handle rattled uselessly, followed by more pounding, this time hard enough for dust to rise off the jamb and hang pale in the air.

“Come out and play, Haji! You’re going to die soon anyway! Haven’t you heard? All you old bastards!”

Fade frowned. He was only a few years Thor Erickson’s senior, and it was almost three in the morning. Apparently, the NFL lineman he was sharing the facility with found a way into the pharmaceutical cabinet.

Fortunately, the door was original to the old building, lovingly created from solid oak. Back before robots, assembly lines, and particleboard. When craftsmen learned at their fathers’ sides and took pride in what they did.

“Thor!” A woman shouted. “What’s wrong with you? Go back to bed!”

Fade groaned and muttered to the empty room. “What are you doing, Lisa? Lock yourself in your room.” The pounding went silent.

“Are you high? Have you been taking drugs?”

Heavy footsteps, still slightly off rhythm from his knee injury.

“Stop it! Go back to bed! Now!”

His response was muted but intelligible. “Oh, come on. You said you’d do whatever it took to put me back together . . .”

Then running. Light footsteps with a quick, even beat. But then the chase was on. It shook the entire building.

Fade swung his feet off the bed and stood, stretching his back and registering once again that it felt good. Probably not good enough to save him, though.

When he arrived at the open door to Lisa’s office, she and Erickson were on opposite sides of the desk, staring at each other like the lecherous boss and pious secretary from an old sitcom. When he feinted left, she moved right. When he feinted right, she moved left.

Of course, he could go over or through that piece of IKEA plywood any time he wanted. The question was whether that was really what he had in mind. So far, his violence had been limited to the psychological kind.
Would it stay that way?

Best to hang back and wait for an answer. Fade knew his involvement would only escalate the situation. If this was nothing more than a little harmless fun, better to let the god of thunder get bored and end it on his own.

Erickson’s knee brace was conspicuously absent, exacerbating some residual instability to the outside. It caused him to move right more confidently than left. The power, size, and incongruous grace that had made him famous on the field were all there, though. As was the laser-like focus on destruction.

“Okay, this isn’t funny anymore,” Lisa said with impressive calm. “It’s time for you to go back to bed. If you don’t, you could do damage that I can’t fix. It could end your career, Thor. Do you understand?”

The discipline necessary to conjure such a serene tone was noteworthy but also a complete misreading of this piece of shit’s psyche. He fed off the fear he instilled in others. Denying him that would just cause the fire to burn hotter.

Erickson threw himself forward and managed to get hold of her upper arm. She tried to break free but, despite being a hell of an athlete in her own right, had no chance. Instead, she was dragged over the desk and spun around. With his hand now clamped around the back of her neck, she ended up bent at the waist with her cheek shoved into the blotter.

And so it began.

Fade tore himself from the wall he was leaning against and walked to the doorway.

“Hey, big guy.”

Erickson spun, knocking Lisa to the floor. Instead of using her newfound freedom to bolt, she waved Fade off. “Go back to your room! It’s okay.”

He wondered if she actually believed that she could control this douche-bag or if she was just willing to take the bullet to keep her first— and unquestionably most charming—client safe. Not that it mattered. Either she had an unwavering faith in humanity or bigger balls than anyone he’d ever met. That made her worth something. If Lisa Thompson existed, maybe humanity was actually worth saving.

“Looks like you got a hold of a little too much, Thor. Why don’t you and I go outside and walk it off. Let Lisa hit the—” It was impossible not to marvel at the man’s charge. It was like getting shot at by a hippopotamus cannon.

Options were limited, and Fade had already considered all of them. Showing up to this fight in nothing but boxer shorts was intentional. Not just because it was becoming a bit of a tradition, but because football players tended to make good use of their opponent’s clothing to gain control.

The second decision had been even harder than condemning himself to being beaten to death in his underwear. He’d committed to not retreating into the hallway. While bigger than the office, it was certain death. Outrunning this prick over a quarter mile would be a piece of cake, but not so much over the length of that passageway. Further, there was nothing out there that could be used as a weapon. Going up against this bulldozer empty-handed wasn’t going to end well. Anything short of an RPG was going to feel light.

Fade slipped into the office, staying on Erickson’s weak side and ramming a shoulder into him as they came even. The hope was to nudge him in line with the door and let his momentum carry him through. Then they could barricade themselves inside and wait for whatever he’d taken to wear off.

It turned out to not be that easy. Hitting the guy was like colliding with a sack of wet cement. And the idea that his momentum could be counted on to carry him anywhere turned out to be a complete fantasy. The son of a bitch could stop on a dime.

Erickson spun, swinging an arm that caught Fade in the shoulder he’d used so ineffectively a moment before. The force nearly lifted him off his feet, sending him crashing into— and then over— Lisa’s desk. He landed face-first in her chair, which immediately rolled away and sent him to the floor. The illusion of having a bit of cover disappeared when Erickson swept the desk away like it was made of papier-mâché.

Admittedly a bad start, but finally, part of Fade’s master plan worked. Sweaty, bare skin was hard to hold on to. It wasn’t a lengthy reprieve, but it provided an opportunity to throw a magnificent punch directly into the man’s groin. Perfect leverage, great technique, propelled by Mystery Machine–enhanced muscles.

The motherfucker didn’t even notice.

A moment later, Fade felt himself being lifted. His head penetrated the acoustic tile ceiling, providing him with a brief view of the AC ductwork before he was yanked down again. The bear hug he ended up trapped in was centered on his lower back, and he expected his spine to fail. It didn’t, though. Whoever performed his surgery was due a gold star. No numbness or paralysis from the waist down. Just a complete inability to breathe.

A quick review of his situation uncovered a number of problems, the worst of which was that he was being slowly crushed to death. On the brighter side, he was facing his opponent, and his arms were free. Also, Lisa was releasing a steady stream of obscenities that would have made even his old master chief blush.

Hilarious.

He leaned forward and bit down on Erickson’s nose while simultaneously trying to drive a thumb into his eye. Accustomed to having his face protected by a helmet, he was taken by surprise, and Fade once again found himself sailing through the air. This time he landed on the sofa, which wasn’t too bad until he went over the side and landed on Lisa’s guitar. It shattered beneath his weight, driving a sizable shard into his left triceps. By the time he yanked it out, Erickson was coming at him, adding his own screamed epithets to Lisa’s.

The sofa took the brunt of the collision, but the lineman was still able to get a handful of Fade’s hair. Putting up a fight would just waste energy, so Fade allowed himself to be dragged, focusing on keeping hold of what was left of the guitar. Erickson’s knee finally started to show signs of weakness, reducing the force with which he was able to slam Fade onto the desk. Still hard enough to loosen a few fillings, but not sufficient to prevent Fade from winding a couple of the guitar’s strings around the man’s nearly nonexistent neck.

A massive fist connected with his ribs, but Fade ignored it as he tried to fight his way into a position where he could exert some force. Then Erickson made the fatal error of jerking back.

The strings tightened, opening a deep gash that caused his incredible strength to falter. Fade held onto the broken neck of the guitar with one hand and the detached bridge with the other, allowing himself to be pulled to the floor. Erickson kept swinging, connecting repeatedly, confused as to why he was inflicting so little damage.

Lisa appeared from the right, pressing a cloth to his neck in an effort to stop the fountain of arterial blood. A swipe of the man’s hand was still enough to send her spinning across the floor.

Fade got a hold of wrists too thick to wrap his fingers all the way around, gaining a certain amount of control. “You’re dying, man! Pay attention!”

Erickson’s eyes widened, revealing pupils dilated into manhole covers. Imminent death was a hard thing to process. Fade knew that better than
anyone. But it was something to be stared in the face. No one should be cheated out of life’s last and most profound experience. Not even this tool.

Erickson finally went still, and Fade tried to stand, using the edge of the desk for balance. He righted Lisa’s chair and sat, not sure for a moment whether it was spinning or if it was just his head. He looked down at a desk drawer hanging broken to his right, trying to bring the image into focus.

When his vision finally cleared, one of his many suspicions was confirmed. It was refrigerated.

He retrieved an icy Coke and then forced the drawer above, revealing an elaborate junk-food stash. Ho Hos. Twinkies. Chips of various crunch
profiles and flavors. The mother lode.

His first sip of Coke in years tasted like blood, so he spit it out. The second was heaven.

“Help me!” Lisa was on her hands and knees, once again pressing a cloth to Erickson’s neck.

“You’re wasting your time.”

“Then do something!” He opened a packet of Pop-Tarts and took a bite. Cinnamon. What kind of sick taco bought cinnamon? “He’s not going to make it, Lisa. Take my word for it.”

“Call an ambulance!”

He made a show of searching his nonexistent pockets. “No phone.”

She retrieved hers from her sweatpants and threw it at him. He scrolled through her contacts until he found one that said Matt. No last name.
It took six rings, but a familiar voice finally answered. “Lisa? Is everything okay?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

A full second passed before Egan responded. “How big?”

“About three hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

The next pause was longer, accompanied by what sounded like fingers on a keyboard. “It’s going to be a few hours before I can get anyone there. Can you not screw anything else up until then?”

“Sure. No worries.” Fade disconnected the call.

Despite not being a particularly long conversation, sometime during it, Erickson had expired. Lisa fell back into the blood pooling behind her, blond hair glued to the tears and sweat on her cheeks. Fade grabbed a bottle of chocolate Yoo-hoo and rolled the chair alongside her.

“Here. Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.” She grabbed it and removed the lid with a practiced twist, draining almost half before coming up for air. “Better?”

No response.

“Are you hurt?” When she shook her head, he put a hand under her arm and lifted her to her feet. “Good. Now let’s get you cleaned up before the cavalry arrives.”

Excerpt from Fade In by Kyle Mills Copyright 2025 by Kyle Mills. Reproduced with permission from Kyle Mills. All rights reserved.

Fade In Author Kyle Mills

Kyle Mills is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of twenty-two political thrillers, including Enemy at the Gates, Total Power, and Lethal Agent for Vince Flynn and The Patriot Attack for Robert Ludlum. He initially found inspiration from his father, an FBI agent and former Interpol director, and still draws on his contacts in the intelligence community to give his books such realism. Avid outdoor athletes and travelers, he and his wife split their time between Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and Granada, Spain.

To learn more about Kyle, click any of the following links:KyleMills.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @KyleMills
Instagram – @KyleMillsAuthor
X – @KyleMillsAuthor
Facebook – @KyleMillsAuthor

 FADE IN by Kyle Mills [Gift Card]

Elena Hartwell | Elena Taylor

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Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper: Debut Action Adventure

Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper by Leonard Apa

Author Interview + Book & Author InfoDon’t miss any ITW Debut Author interviews! Click the link here.Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper

Thomas Malloy has just witnessed the worst trauma a child can suffer. With nowhere to turn he seeks out the only man he feels can help him, The Scarlet Scrapper! The trouble is that Frank Hodge is no kind of hero, he just plays one on the radio.

Hodge, a veteran who drinks too much, is dealing with his own inner demons. Now he must decide if he will continue down the disastrous path he has been on since returning from the war, or if he can become the hero Thomas needs him to be.

A story of action, adventure and heart, where hero and villain collide in a showdown for an innocent boy’s life.

 

You can get your copy at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and BAM.Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper Author InterviewIntroducing the Scarlet Scrapper centers on Thomas Malloy and Frank Hodge. Tell us about those two characters:

Thomas Malloy is an eight-year-old boy who goes through the worst tragedy a child can. With nowhere to turn, he seeks out the one man he thinks can help, his radio hero The Scarlet Scrapper. 

Frank Hodge is a returned veteran, not so much fighting his demons, as living with them. He despises his role as the Scarlet Scrapper and has been climbing into a bottle to numb himself. But when Thomas finds him and asks for help, Hodge begins to feel something again for the first time in a long time. 

 

Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper is set in the 1940s. What did you do to research the era and bring those details into the novel?

In order to build the world of 1940’s New York, I read novels from the time period, I watched newsreels and looked at pictures of NYC in the 1940’s. As the book is heavily influenced by the old radio shows of the period, I listened to all the big heroes of the times. 

 

Tell us about the society that these characters exist in? What’s the environment like?

Hodge and Thomas are living in a society torn by war where corruption runs deep. While they navigate this corruption, there are also those who bring hope and who are willing to help others. 

 

Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper involves a radio show. What intrigued you about that medium for storytelling? You also have full episodes of the radio show along with artwork on your website, how did those come about?

I have always loved superheroes and back in high school, I stumbled upon the old Superman radio show. It was love at first listen. From there, I began to look for other radio shows. I ended up finding The Shadow and remembered the movie from 1994 and decided to listen to that, then came The Phantom, then The Green Hornet. There is just something about the sound effects and the advertisements and the acting in the shows that pulled me in. They are a lot of fun. 

When I was writing the book, I thought a fun aspect would be to include excerpts of radio scripts from the fictional show The Adventures of the Scarlet Scrapper. So, I studied old radio scripts and began to build stories that could feature the Scarlet Scrapper. I thought it would be fun to have those scripts brought to life, so I extended the scripts into full episodes, and then asked around on social media to see if anyone would be willing to produce them. The rest is history. 

As far as the artwork on the website, I have some amazing students who are very talented. It started with one student who wanted to make some art for me. When I hung it on my classroom wall, more students decided to make art. One student even gifted me with a mask and fedora on a mannequin head. Most recently, the art was used to make bookmarks, and a t-shirt.

 

You also teach high school English in New Jersey. What do your students think about you having your debut novel coming out?

It’s actually pretty flattering how excited my students are for the book to be released. This excitement is where a lot of the art came from. The students ask about ordering the book, and on the less than rare occasion, one will raise their hand and ask about the book as they visit my website … while they should be working in class. 

 

What are you working on now?

I just finished writing the first draft of Re-Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper, which is the sequel to Introducing and takes place twenty-five years after the first book. There will be one more book to complete a trilogy, but what is fun about the character is that there are endless possibilities in other mediums. 

 

Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:

Be patient with yourself and your writing. Sometimes when we complete something or make some headway, we start to rush. Sometimes, with the excitement, it’s hard not to, but like most everything else, it takes time. Writing takes time. Crafting a story takes time. It’s okay to take your time.

Brilliant advice!Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper Author Leonard Apa

Leonard Apa is a high school English teacher living in New Jersey. He is also a member of ITW (International Thriller Writers). His short fiction has been published in CAPED: An Anthology of Superhero Tales, Deadman’s Tome Campfire Tales Book One, the first issue of Creepy Campfire Quarterly, and The Good Fight 5: The Good Fight. He was also featured in the “Reject a Hit” segment of Writer’s Digest.

Leonard’s debut novel Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper will be released by Running Wild Press on September 23rd, 2025. He is currently hard at work on a new project.

 

Follow Leonard’s author journey: Leonard Apa- Author Website, Leonard Apa- X.com.Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

The post Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper: Debut Action Adventure appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.