Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 11
January 28, 2024
I read all three one right after the other!-that's how good this was!
A short & sweet review for my thriller trilogy, Ash Suspense Thrillers: Trilogy:
MikiHope5.0 out of 5 stars I read all three one right after the other!-that's how good this was!Reviewed in the United States on October 21, 2023
Verified PurchaseEach of these suspense filled books follow each other. Ash seems to always be getting the rough end of everything until the very end of the last book!! Really a lot of action and some really bad guys. I read allthree one right after the other!
January 17, 2024
Sounds like his heart is about to break. Oh, I can only wish.
He lets out a heavy grunt. Sounds like his heart is about to break. Oh, I can only wish.
“Oleg,” I say, “how about, free my hands?”
He lets the baton hang idly by his side, and his eyes start filling with menace. “No vay.”
“Oh well.” I shrug. “You can’t blame me for asking.”
Finally, the shoes are on. I straighten, then rub my eyes, trying to keep the rope from itching my nose. Despite the shadows, I recognize this place. Pointe Dume. Near the top of the bluffs, the path passes right along the edge, skirting a sharp drop-off. Seen from here, the ocean should be sparkling in the distance—but on this moonless night, it looks dim.
I remember how lovely this beach looked from this very spot a month ago, how it greeted Michael and me with a beautiful sunset as we clung to each other, kissing.
Clouds were brushing the horizon copper, their fiery edges sketched in reflection across the vast surface of swirling water. An abundance of wildflowers burst over the shoulder of the bluff, painting it mustard yellow. Tickseed flowers shook their toothed-tip petals, their scent sweetening the salty breeze.
The breeze is just as bitter now—but the fragrance has been lost.
His clammy hand paws at my waist, which startles me into the present. It’s not where I want to be.
“I vill not hurt you,” Oleg tells me, “if you do vat I want.”
I know what he wants to hear, what would turn him on—but I’m in no hurry to say it, because of what would inevitably come next.
Drooling, he hisses in my ear, “Say you vant me.”
And just as I take a fluttering breath, not even sure what would fly out of my mouth, something unexpected happens. A buzz. It vibrates noisily from his pocket. It’s my cellphone, which he’s snatched away from me.
Oleg now has three things to juggle: the cellphone, the baton, and me. He does his best. First, he uses his right hand to lean me against the van. With his left, he sticks the baton under his armpit, grabs the cellphone out of his shirt pocket—maybe he mistakes it for his own—then barks, impulsively, “Vat?”
I hear Rita’s voice, bright and cheery. “Hi!”
His hold on me is somewhat looser than before, perhaps because he’s distracted. The baton keeps slipping from his armpit every time he raises the cellphone to his ear. “Hi,” he says, in apparent confusion.
“Who is this?”
“Vat number you call? Zis is mistake.”
I don’t stick around to hear the rest. Instead, I jerk my elbow sharply out of his hated clasp. And on impulse, I leap off the trail, my body rolling down, bumping over the steep, rocky slope—unfortunately, without the benefit of using my arms for balance.
Oleg is coming for me—his bellow, way up above, is deafening—but at this point, despite getting banged every which way, I feel simply ecstatic. A chill sings around me in the night air. I am free.
For now.
By popular demand, all three thrillers in one box!
Coma Confidential
Overkill
Overdose
January 13, 2024
They emitted a slight rattling sound every once in a while, as if eager to spring into action.
None of the wire characters stirred from their assigned positions on the landscape. But despite being still, they emitted a slight rattling sound every once in a while, as if eager to spring into action. Even Lace seemed to have a vapor of cold breath trembling in the air just outside her mouth.
Staring at them, Michael felt as if he, too, were locked in suspended animation. He missed Ash. He missed hearing her voice. Was it too early to call her?
At any other time, he would not hesitate to wake her up and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. With every word, he would come closer to arousing her. But this morning, what he had to say wasn’t sugary, and it was far from intoxicating.
He had to share a clue with Ash, a substantial clue that sobered him. Michael had derived it from The Artist’s Hand. The scar on its palm could be explained in one of two ways: either Bull had an unusual intuition, which allowed him, somehow, to depict its shape—or else, he was the killer.
So far, Michael had been inclined to set aside his suspicion and give Bull the benefit of the doubt. Even now, there was nothing he wanted more than to go on trusting him. After all, his friend shouldn’t be judged by the same measuring stick as other people, should he? His mood swings, extravagant as they might be, served to fuel his inspiration. In his art, creative forces were tightly coupled with destructive ones.
“The artist’s hand is really invisible,” Bull had told him.
Michael remembered the bandage around his wrist. Was his the invisible hand?
“Long time no see,” Bull had said. “When did you see me last?”
To that, he had added, “I think you don’t care to remember. But sooner or later, it’ll come back to you.”
Did he think that Michael had spotted some detail, some hint of the killer’s identity and might, one day, figure it out?
There would be no urgency to answer any of these questions, if not for Ash, planning to head over to his studio.
“My last model was beautiful, just like you, but she stopped coming,” Bull had told her. “I can always use a new one.”
Michael groaned. Flipping his cellphone on the palm of his hand, he clicked her name. Would Ash disregard his concern, would she treat it as mere jealousy?
There was a ring, a prolonged ring that died out in the end.
He clicked her name a second time.
No answer.
And just as he was about to click one last time, there was a loud bang on outer side of the garage door. It rolled up as if of its own accord, revealing two figures standing there. They were practically indistinguishable from each other. Same height, same cropped haircut, same police uniforms.
The first cop rubbed his hands together. “This time,” he boasted, baring his teeth in a smile, “we got ourselves a murderer.”
Directing his gaze towards Michael, the other said, “Yes, if the shoe fits.”
Virtually Lace
Haunted by discovering the body of a beautiful dancer, Michael re-constructs her murder in a virtual reality. Can he bring the mystery to life? Can he solve it in time, before the killer turns on the woman he loves, Ash?
"A truly fascinating glimpse into the world of virtual reality. I felt as though I was in Michael's work environment whenever he was using Virtual Reality. Whether he was displaying Laguna Beach or the Northrop Grumman B -21 Raiders flying overhead, I not only was there but I could feel my heart pounding and my pulse racing..." ~Serenity
January 4, 2024
I’ve done it before. I’m tired of it now.
I try to contact the dermatology clinic, hoping to prove that I was never treated by anyone there for anything, let alone a vasectomy. Why would they even offer such a procedure? It is more than skin deep, obviously outside the scope of their medical specialty. Why would they even offer the procedure to a female patient? Why me? Clear my record, I say, and cancel the nonsensical charge. An apology for the mix-up would be nice, too.
I leave a message on the answering machine. Hours later, it remains unanswered. I can’t say I’m surprised.
So I hit the road, determined to get to LA and find that clinic before the end of the business day. Can you blame me for blowing off my earlier decision to lay low? Self-quarantine is a tedious thing. I’ve done it before. I’m tired of it now. Fuming, I puff my cheeks. I feel like I’m burning. Maybe it’s rage. Maybe fever. I have a devious urge to breathe on this Dr. Cohen character so he, too, catches fire.
Just kidding.
This used to be rush hour—or more precisely, a stretch of four long hours or even more, starting at two in the afternoon, during which you would be stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. But now, the drive is surprisingly smooth. Boring, even. Because of the stay-at-home directive, there are few cars on the 405 highway. From time to time, a gray van appears in the rearview mirror, somewhere in the far distance. A couple of refrigerator trucks trundle in front.
I turn on the car radio, flip between this station and that, hoping to plunge myself into the clamor of news reports. As long as I do that, the loneliness sending its cold, creepy fingers toward my heart will be held at bay. In the presence of a good tale, it will go away.
I flip to another radio station. Nothing holds my interest for long. But then, as I enter the city and pass through Skid Row, a story comes on the air that quickens my pulse. It’s about the 2010 Medicaid fraud case, committed by a gang called The Armenian Power.
Wait, wait! I remember this story. The other day, I even read it out loud for my dad. The leaders of this organized crime group, based in New York and Los Angeles, were eventually caught. I suppose they’re rotting in jail. Still, I wonder if the idea of their scam could has propagated, somehow, to the outside world. If it did, then a new version of that fraud is now claiming new victims.
I may be one of them.
(Volume IV of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)
Her bullet grazed his head, but the leader of a Russian crime organization is still breathing. One way for Vlad to avoid paying the price for his crimes is to play dead; another is to play dying. For Ash, this is not a game. She must learn his secrets. Only one problem: because of the raging pandemic, she must put her plan on hold.
Vlad slips away from the hospital in a body bag, then develops a brazen fraud scheme that will bilk health insurance companies out of millions of dollars. If not caught in time, he will drive victims to suicide, rob Ash of her identity, and slit her throat.
Will Ash manage to stay one step ahead of him and at the same time, protect her loved ones from contagion?
December 26, 2023
OLD STORIES REVIVED AND BRILLIANTLY TOLD ANEW
Marta Moran Bishop is the Award-winning author of Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal, The Divide Series, Children's and adult poetry. New Release Whispers on the Wind a time-travel, romance, with the backdrop of the war between Atlantis and Lemuria. I am thrilled to find her review of my Historical Fiction trilogy, The David Chronicles: Trilogy:
M. M. Bishop5.0 out of 5 stars OLD STORIES REVIVED AND BRILLIANTLY TOLD ANEWReviewed in the United States on December 15, 2023
Verified PurchaseThe David Chronicles: Trilogy draws one into ancient stories told vividly as they draw you into the world, mind, and thoughts of an aging David, his clandestine passion for Bathsheba, as he tries to find solace in his own mind and the deeds he has done some good, some out of greed and passion for Bathsheba.It takes you into David’s spiritual and emotional turmoil that is his life. Will he find the peace he seeks?
I loved these stories. Ms. Poznansky’s telling of them with a bit of a modern twist is much as I imagine the old sages did in years gone by, putting the tales into words that those reading them can identify with.
Ms. Poznansky’s writing is dynamic, poetic, and holds an element of realism that draws the reader into new world. One where you can feel, touch, and taste all that world holds. It is a rare talent that can do that.
December 17, 2023
POIGNANT AND BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN
Marta Moran Bishop is the Award-winning author of Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal, The Divide Series, Children's and adult poetry. New Release Whispers on the Wind a time-travel, romance, with the backdrop of the war between Atlantis and Lemuria. I am thrilled to find her review of my Women's Fiction Novel, My Own Voice:
M. M. Bishop5.0 out of 5 stars POIGNANT AND BEAUTIFULLY WRITTENReviewed in the United States on December 15, 2023
Verified PurchaseMs. Poznansky’s book My Own Voice captured my heart on page one. It is an enchanting gem that one easily can become enthralled as the story unfolds and you enter the heart and mind of Anita, who is very young and marries Lenny, who is much older and worldly than she is. The emotions of the characters are so poignantly told that they will tug at your heartstrings.The portrayal of the emotions of the characters will sweep you into their world and out of yours. In, each of them you find something that touches you to your very soul, and find something that you will identify with.
I felt the emotions of each character, especially Anita’s, as she flounders her way through the maze of her life as she seeks to find herself.
Brilliantly told story, I can’t wait to read the next in this series.
December 14, 2023
A Dramatic Suspense
Martha Perez is the author of over 25 books. She is a woman with simple tastes. She loves reading books and takes long walks in the evening. Martha enjoys going to baseball games. movies, and unknown adventures.. I'm thrilled to find her review of my suspense thriller, Coma Confidential
Martha Perez5.0 out of 5 stars A Dramatic Suspense!!!!!Reviewed in the United States on December 9, 2023
COMA is a hair-raising suspense, yet I found it refreshing that it was a reality-of-life novel. Ms. Poznznsky details what the victim feels in a Coma and what she is going through, which is unnerving; she's in her little world just in a dream, so we think—a powerful story with drama, a thriller with a twist and unexpected plots. The author has written a remarkable, masterful story, a page-turner indeed. I strongly recommend the book.December 7, 2023
The child and I must survive
Tied to the back of the chair by a rope that cuts into one shoulder, Timmy draws his knees to his chest and wraps his free arm around them. His face is awash with tears.
Being shackled to the closet rod, I itch to put up fight, but if I do, Paul will retaliate—as he’s threatened to do—not only against me but against the child, too.
So instead of resisting I pray, as fervently as I never did before, for someone out there to pay attention, to listen to the distress call I sent earlier. It should have gone not only to my boyfriend, Michael, who is on the airplane now, but also to the sheriff’s officer, Joe Miller, who is on the case. Did he get my call? Why isn’t he here already?
Paul tugs at my chain, making sure I’m tightly restrained. I breathe through the pain, through the sharp stings caused by having my elbow twisted behind me in an unnatural way.
Clearly basking in the demented pleasure of seeing me suffer, “I can smell you,” he says. “What have you done, Ash darling, what have you put on to turn me on like that? Some kind of deodorant?”
There is nothing I can say to that. What he smells is fear.
“It goes right to my crotch,” he adds, now in a hoarse voice. “What a zinger!”
I ignore him, but not the suffering. How can I take my mind off it?
I tell myself, you’re not here. Go elsewhere. Drift off.
Focus on something else.
No, that doesn’t work.
Help.
Yes, focus on that.
Right now, my boyfriend is on his way. Airplane mode blocks the connection to cellular networks. With no internet access, he won’t be able to even notice my call till he lands.
The flight time LAX to Clearwater, Florida is about four and a half hours. Add to that a cab ride from the airport to my place. So, in the best-case scenario, Michael may arrive about five hours from now. In the meantime, if no one else comes to rescue us, the child and I must survive, somehow, for at least that long.
On the other hand, the sheriff’s officer should be here by now. Why isn’t he? Has the call gone through? Did I program the panic button on my cellphone properly? I thought I added his private number. I should have also added 911. Too late now.
Just for good measure, the punk punches me in the belly, which makes me realize something. For the first time in this unwanted pregnancy, I pray for my baby. No longer do I think of her as a thing, a consequence forced on me by violence. I picture the innocent little one curled in my womb, sucking her thumb.
Will she survive this ordeal?
Will I?
I breathe, breathe, breathe through a sense of despair.
Once Paul is done with restraining me, and the key to the chain key lock is securely tucked in his pocket, he drools into my ear. With a sinister tone, he whispers, “I got you babe.”
Startled, I turn to him and spit in his face.
“How exciting,” he says, without even bothering to wipe the spittle. “My Mama used to have the nerve to do that to my father, after he beat her. She did it to me, too. I learned not to mind it.”
I turn my head, utterly in disgust.
“Now,” he says, “comes the part I love.”
★ Love Suspense? Prepare to be thrilled ★
(Volume II of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)
The last thing Ash expects when she lands in Clearwater, Florida is to be stalked by a troubled teenager. If that's not bad enough, she is caught in a shooting spree next to the nearby elementary school. The cops think it’s an attempt at mass killing, but Ash wonders if the only victim was specifically targeted by the killer. Will she manage to identify him and have him arrested before he comes after her?
November 27, 2023
STUNNINGLY TOLD STORY THAT WILL GRIP YOU IN ITS PAGES
M. M. Bishop5.0 out of 5 stars STUNNINGLY TOLD STORY THAT WILL GRIP YOU IN ITS PAGESReviewed in the United States on November 17, 2023
Verified PurchaseMs. Poznznsky’s, COMA Confidential is brilliantly written. To write from the perspective of a patient in a coma, who can think, hear, but not see, touch, or talk, is a daunting task. Yet to bring her to life, with all that one might expect someone who is in a coma to experience, is beyond extraordinary. This book is masterfully told, with an eye for not only detail, but filled with trauma, suspense, and terror.There is a beauty in the way Ms. Poznznsky can make the words flow across the page. They draw you deeper and deeper into the story until you feel as if you, too, were lying in that bed, as the memories flow back into you. And when Ash finally feels herself move, only to understand that the true terror is yet to come for her, fills one with the need to turn the pages faster.
The sheer suspense and horror that Coma draws you into is stunning, and could only be written by someone who has the ability to find empathy and courage to tell it. Although, to date, I have loved every book that I’ve read by Ms. Poznznsky; I picked this up with apprehension. How can anyone tell a story from the perspective of a coma victim? Yet, this book is powerful. The story is astounding, and great. I am so glad I read it and look forward to the next book. You will not be disappointed if you read COMA.
November 8, 2023
Please, God, no. This can’t be true.
Ed lies still on the sidewalk, his eyelids open but unflinching. The only thing about him that moves are the lapels of his corduroy coat, flapping slightly this way and that across his neck as the wind floats chilly feelers over his body.
Timmy gasps—but his eyes are not tearful, not yet. In that second, when time slows, the driver side door is swaying with an annoying noise. With each squeak, the child takes a gulp of air as if about to ask, “Dad, will you get up? Will you grab the door handle?”
No blood is visible, at first. So, I too allow myself to wonder: Will Ed climb back into his seat, dust off his shoulders, and wave goodbye to his son, before driving away?
I expect him to do so. Almost.
Until another round of gunshots blasts the air.
Without even thinking, I push Timmy down to the asphalt, which is quite easy because he’s such a skinny child and utterly in shock. Then I land hard on my elbows beside him and push a hand against his chest until he crawls backwards, until he butts against his father’s car. It casts a shadow over him. At the moment, there is no better place to hide.
Up on the pavement, a short distance from us, blood starts puddling around Ed’s shoulder. I try to block Timmy from seeing it.
He shakes his head, still in disbelief.
Please, God, no. This can’t be true.
Everything around us is in a state of utter confusion. The sidewalk is strewn with abandoned backpacks, as some pupils are running for their lives. Others cower behind a bush or a car. One uses his flimsy umbrella as a shield.
A teacher cries out to him, “Duck!”
And another teacher, by the gate of the school, yells, “Run! Get inside! Get down, crawl under your desks! And for Heaven’s sake, stay away from the windows!”
A couple of parents attempt getting out of their cars to pull their children to safety, but at the sound of shooting they drop to their knees with empty arms.
Next to me, Timmy turns onto his stomach, mashes his nose against the tire, and wedges himself, somehow, between the curb and the Ford. Then he crawls under it toward the rear bumper, making room for me, too.
I try to cock my head up from the damp surface. Looking at the scene from under the belly of a car is a whole different experience. Someone stands at the other side of the car, and all I can see is his sneakers, socks, and the hem of his coat, flaring at its bottom. Also, the muzzle of his gun. For a heartbeat, before dark clouds close in, it glints in the sunlight.
I reach over and clamp a hand over Timmy’s mouth to prevent him from screamihng, from drawing the killer’s attention. A hail of bullets rains down, sparking off the front bumper.
Timmy tenses up. His breath trembles as it escapes my touch. I must protect him. I must bring him back safely to his mother.
The edge of the curb gouges into my back. I adjust, I turn over. Now it presses against my belly.
I must not lose this child, either
★ Love Suspense? Prepare to be thrilled ★
(Volume II of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)
The last thing Ash expects when she lands in Clearwater, Florida is to be stalked by a troubled teenager. If that's not bad enough, she is caught in a shooting spree next to the nearby elementary school. The cops think it’s an attempt at mass killing, but Ash wonders if the only victim was specifically
