Christopher Greyson's Blog, page 3

New Novel in the Bestselling Detective Jack Stratton Mystery-Thriller Series

Jack of Hearts























Jack of Hearts is available for pre-order today!

I'm pleased to announce my latest Detective Jack Stratton novel is now available for pre-order. Jack of Hearts is a heart-pounding mystery filled with action, humor and a dash of romance. Join Jack, Alice and Lady on a wild adventure to sunny Florida in Jack of Hearts. I don’t want to give anything away, so I’ll let the book’s blurb do the talking for me:

Jack Stratton is heading south for some fun in the sun. Already nervous about introducing his girlfriend, Alice, to his parents, the last thing Jack needed was for the dog-sitter to cancel, forcing him to bring Lady, their 120-pound King Shepherd, on the plane with them. The dog holds Jack responsible and wants payback. On top of everything, Jack is still waiting for Alice’s answer to his marriage proposal.

When his mother and the members of her neighborhood book club ask him to catch the “Orange Blossom Cove Bandit,” a small-time thief who’s stealing garden gnomes and peace of mind from their quiet retirement community, how can Jack refuse?

The peculiar mystery proves to be more than it appears, and things take a deadly turn. Now, Jack finds it's up to him to stop a crazed killer, save his parents, and win the hand of the girl he loves—but if he survives, will it be Jack who ends up with a broken heart?

Grab your pre-order copy of this brand-new novel in the highly-acclaimed, wildly-popular Detective Jack Stratton Series, by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Christopher Greyson, and be one of the first to start reading this thrilling whodunit today! Click here to pre-order.

Jacks Are Wild and Jack and the Giant Killer - Now in Audio!

Handsome white-knight police officer Jack Stratton is back in this action-packed, thrilling adventure. When his sexy old flame disappears, no one thinks it's suspicious except Jack and one unbalanced witness. Jack feels in his gut that something is wrong. He knows that Marisa has a past, and if it ever caught up with her - it would be deadly. Determined to buck the critics and listen to his instincts, he and his feisty sidekick Alice (aka Replacement) plunge ahead and start tracking down leads, hoping to find Marisa in time.

The trail leads them into all sorts of trouble - landing them smack in the middle of an all-out mob war between the Italian Mafia and the Japanese Yakuza. When evidence surfaces that Marisa was kidnapped, Jack must navigate through the warring parties, assassins, and cold-blooded hit men to outwit the cunning kidnappers before it is too late. As the body count rises, the stakes in this game are life and death, with no rules except one - Jacks Are Wild.

If you love a strong hero, smart women sleuths, and more twists and turns than a piece of licorice - you have found your book!

PICK UP A COPY TODAY

Jack looked up at the giant, dead body brazenly hung on the quaint Welcome to Darrington sign. He turned to the town’s mayor. “Mayor Lewis, when you said people had nothing to fear, it pricked the killer's vanity. He’s using this latest victim to send you a message: Be afraid. Be very afraid—of him. If you want to catch this serial killer, you need to feed his ego. Tell the people he’s right. They should be scared—no one’s safe while he controls the town.”

Rogue hero Jack Stratton is back in another action-packed, thrilling adventure. While recovering from a gunshot wound and the loss of his job on the police force, Jack’s romance with feisty Alice (aka Replacement) continues to develop. When Alice gets a seemingly harmless private investigation job—locate the owner of a lost dog—Jack grudgingly assists. Little do they know it will place them both in the crosshairs of a merciless serial killer.

PICK UP A COPY TODAY!

Girl Jacked & Jack Knifed Now AVAILABLE in Audio!

 

ON SALE TODAY - CLICK HERE TO BUY THIS BESTSELLER TODAY- NOW IN AUDIO!

Jack Stratton’s a good guy on the ugly side of life. Eight years ago a bomb blew his world apart and he’s been picking up the pieces ever since. Guilt has driven a wedge between him and the family he loves. When Jack hears the news that his foster-sister Michelle is missing, it cuts straight to his core. The police think she just took off, but Jack knows Michelle would never leave her loved ones behind—like he did. Forced to confront the demons from his past, Jack must take action, find Michelle and bring her home... or die trying. 

This runaway hit mystery series introduces us to handsome rogue Jack Stratton. Driven by a debt of honor to his fallen foster-brother and a deep need to protect his vulnerable, yet feisty sidekick, Jack must dive into a world full of deception and lies. But in the sleepy community of Darrington, nothing is as it appears to be. Navigating the quirky characters that hold the answers to their foster-sister’s disappearance, these two underdogs must put aside their differences and fight back-to-back if they are to save Michelle. As Jack’s world continues to crumble, secrets from his past drag him down. Following a trail that has grown cold, Jack must tread carefully to protect his job, his family, and his own life. 

PICK UP A COPY TODAY!ON SALE TODAY - CLICK HERE TO BUY THIS BESTSELLER TODAY- NOW IN AUDIO!

Jack felt the familiar burn of shame in his chest.
Why do I keep doing this...thinking about her? It was so long ago, but I can't get what happened out of my head. I shouldn't let any of that junk define me, but I still do. I'm driving in circles, caught in some loop that I can't break out of. I want to know why she abandoned me...but some things, I guess, I'll never know... 

Handsome police officer Jack Stratton is the "hometown hero cop with a heart of gold." Constant nightmares have forced him to seek answers about his rough childhood and the dark secrets hidden there. With Alice (aka Replacement) by his side, Jack travels to Hope Falls to solve a murder that occurred before he was born. Everyone in the small town remembers the unsolved murder of Steven Ritter, but after 27 years, no one thought that someone would look into it--but they don't know Jack.
 

PICK UP A COPY TODAY

Now Hear Jack!

NEW AUDIO BOOK FROM WALL STREET JOURNAL
BESTSELLING AUTHOR CHRISTOPHER GREYSON!ON SALE MARCH 21ST, 2017 - CLICK HERE  TO PRE-ORDER THIS WALL STREET JOURNAL TOP 10 BESTSELLER TODAY-NOW IN AUDIO! “THE SOUND MYSTERY BRIMS WITH RED HERRINGS”
—KIRKUS REVIEWS

What's done in the dark will be brought to the light...

The silhouette stood at the edge of the woods like a spider watching a fly enter its carefully crafted web. Only a few more steps and she'd be within its grasp.

Stacy Shaw has her whole life ahead of her. New job, new house, and now a baby on the way - everything she's ever hoped for is finally coming true. But on a warm summer night on the way home from work, she vanishes. The police race to find her, but the clues don't add up. Conflicting facts emerge as her story twists and turns, sending the trail spiraling in all directions.

A hometown hero with a heart of gold, Jack Stratton was raised in a whorehouse by his prostitute mother. Jack seemed destined to become another statistic, but now his life has taken a turn for the better. Determined to escape his past, he's headed for a career in law enforcement. When his foster mother asks him to look into the girl's disappearance, Jack quickly gets drawn into a baffling mystery. As Jack digs deeper, everyone becomes a suspect - including himself. Caught between the criminals and the cops, can Jack discover the truth in time to save the girl? Or will he become the next victim?

Grab your copy of this Wall Street Journal best seller in the highly-acclaimed, wildly-popular Detective Jack Stratton Series and start listening to this electrifying whodunit today! Expertly narrated by Andrew Tell.

PRE-ORDER TODAY!Or: Sign up here  STARTING MARCH 11 to win a free copy of the audio book.

Greyson Media Associates Charts an Exciting Course for 2017!

The Top 10 Reasons I Love Being An Indie Author

During the month of October, Amazon is celebrating Indie Authors and I am honored to be featured. They’ve asked me to share why I love being an Indie Author so here are my top 10:

 

10. The Thrill of Discovery

Journey to an undiscovered country or a whole new world. Cast off the bow lines of your imagination and set sail toward whatever star you pick. You’re the captain of your own ship and the destination is w10.here ever you want to go!

 

9. You’re the Boss

There’s no cigar chomping editor telling you what you can or can’t write. A committee didn’t set your due dates. Gatekeeper? HA! It’s you and you alone calling the shots!

 

8. Have Pen Will Travel

With all the new technology you can capture an idea whenever one leaps to mind. Jot it down on your phone, take a voice note on your watch or use a napkin and a crayon, you can write and work anywhere.

 

7. Everything is Work and Work is Good

When you love your job, it’s good to be on duty twenty-four seven. It doesn’t matter if you’re out for a jog or at the store. You’re collecting information constantly. Is the old, run down scary building that you’re jogging by a perfect setting for your horror novel? Isn’t your neighbor’s unique way of speaking just perfect for a character in your new thriller?

 

6. Change is Good

Have you ever wanted a do-over? Well, Indie authors get them. Find a typo in your published novel? No problem! With a push of a button, and the help of Amazon, we republish! Talk about power.

 

5. You’re Not Alone

You may be captain of your own ship but you are far from alone on the high seas. If you need help learning to sail, there are thousands of fellow adventures willing to lend a hand. Forums, books and blogs offer countless advice to make what had been a perilous journey smooth sailing.

 

4. You’re the Schedule Maker

Not only do you dance to the beat of your own drum, but you sail on a tide that you set! You get to write when, where and how you want. It doesn’t get better than that.

 

3. Your Space—Your Place

Set your writing space up to be your own happy place. You’re not under the yoke of a corporate office. If you want to have posters on your walls, action figures on your desk and write while wrapped up in your favorite bathrobe — go for it! It’s good to be king.

 

2. You’ve Made It

Being an Indie author means you are an AUTHOR. You’re in the club. You’ve arrived. When someone asks you where they can get your book you can look them in the eye and say—anywhere. E-book or print you’ve got it covered.

 

And the #1 reason to love being an Indie Author

 

1. Reach New Readers

The world just got a whole lot smaller. Not long ago, it would take a lifetime to get your work out globally. Now with the push of a button—ZOOM! People everywhere can read what you write.

 

Being an Indie Author is an adventure like no other. Cast off from the dock, point your bow out to sea and unfurl the sails. There’s never been a better time to start your journey. God speed and may the wind be at your back!

 

Amazon has selected me to be featured in their October Powered By Indie page. You can check them out along with other indie authors here: www.amazon.com/poweredbyindie.

 

Follow me on Facebook.com/ChristopherGreysonAuthor

#PoweredByIndie

Now Available New Detective Jack Stratton Novel

The Latest Novel in the Detective Jack Stratton Series
And Then She Was GONE is now available!

And Then She Was GONE is the riveting new suspense novel in the Detective Jack Stratton Series. The novel begins with Jack getting ready to enlist in the Army when he's swept up into his first case.

 
What’s done in the dark will be brought to the light…

The silhouette stood at the edge of the woods like a spider watching a fly enter its carefully crafted web. Only a few more steps and she’d be within its grasp. 

Stacy Shaw has her whole life ahead of her. New job, new house and now a baby on the way—everything she’s ever hoped for is finally coming true. But on a warm summer night on the way home from work, she vanishes. The police race to find her, but the clues don’t add up. Conflicting facts emerge as her story twists and turns, sending the trail spiraling in all directions. 

A hometown hero with a heart of gold, Jack Stratton was raised in a whorehouse by his prostitute mother. Jack seemed destined to become another statistic, but now his life has taken a turn for the better. Determined to escape his past, he's headed for a career in law enforcement. When his foster mother asks him to look into the girl’s disappearance, Jack quickly gets drawn into a baffling mystery. As Jack digs deeper, everyone becomes a suspect—including himself. Caught between the criminals and the cops, can Jack discover the truth in time to save the girl? Or will he become the next victim? 

Grab your copy of this brand new novel in the highly-acclaimed, wildly-popular Detective Jack Stratton Series and start reading this electrifying whodunit today! 

And Then She Was Gone is part of the Detective Jack Stratton Mystery Series, which has more than 2,000+ five-star reviews and over half-a-million readers and counting. If you love a page-turning thriller with mystery, humor, and romance, pick up And Then She Was Gone today. 
 

“The sound mystery brims with red herrings” —Kirkus Reviews 

Click here and read it today!

And Then She Was Gone

Read a sneak peak of the latest Jack Stratton Novel: And Then She Was GONE

For you my loyal readers:
Here's another exclusive sneak peek of the latest novel in the Detective Jack Stratton SeriesAnd Then She Was GoneChapter 2 - A Bright Future

Stacy sat in her stiff office chair and listened to the quiet. All was silent around her little cubicle; the last of her coworkers had gone home over an hour ago. But to be sure, she raised herself up on the arms of her chair to peek over the cubicle wall at the maze of cubbies that surrounded hers. Only when she was certain she was alone did she dare to break one of the standing rules at H.T. Wells Financial: she slipped her aching feet out of their high-heeled prisons. Wiggling her toes, she settled back in her chair and let herself enjoy her mini-rebellion.

Her phone’s beep announced yet another text from her mother. She glanced at the screen. Her mother had forwarded her an advertisement for a Taser. In the picture, a white-haired grandmother posed like Rambo. Personal Protection Guaranteed, the ad promised in giant type.

Stacy didn’t reply. It was the fourth similarly themed text in the last few days: pepper spray, guard dogs, even a gun safety class. This had all started after her mother read an article about a rash of purse snatchings in Fairfield. In spite of Stacy’s insistence that her new home was in a quiet bedroom community, her mother still worried.

“Stacy.” A man’s deep, slightly irritated voice broke the silence.

Startled, Stacy jumped out of her chair, banging her knee on the desk drawer in the process. So she wasn’t alone after all.

“Do you have a second?” her boss called out.

She peered over the cubicles toward his office. “Yes.” She tried to smile instead of wince. “Do you need something, Mr. Chambers?”

Leland Chambers, director of finance, stepped out of his posh corner office. Like a boorish customer flagging down a waitress, he summoned her over. “Come here. I need to speak with you.”

Scrambling, Stacy jammed her feet back into her shoes and rushed down the corridor of the empty office, her hurried response fueled by her need for this job.

“Here.” Leland dumped a stack of folders into her arms, then sat down in his high-backed leather chair behind his wide mahogany desk. “I’m taking a long weekend on the Vineyard. I’ll need those done by Wednesday.”

“Yes. Certainly, Mr. Chambers.”

“Call me Leland.”

Stacy nodded, but she had no intention of honoring the request. Leland Chambers was upper management and she was a worker bee. At H.T. Wells, the haves and have-nots didn’t mix—if they wanted to keep their jobs.

Stacy Shaw was a mid-level financial analyst. Everything about her dress matched her position—plain and practical. She wore a gray silk blouse, classic black pants, a narrow leather belt, and simple black heels to compensate for her diminutive stature. Her makeup was light and natural, her blond hair neat, and her only jewelry was a pair of pearl stud earrings. All compliant with HR’s dress code.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked. “I had planned to work late tonight.”

“Won’t your husband be upset?”

“He’s out of town on business.” Stacy self-consciously held the pile of papers to her chest.

Mr. Chambers swiveled slightly in his chair and sized her up. “I’m surprised he leaves your side.”

Stacy pretended to read the top folder in an attempt to hide her disgust at the shallow come-on. “He has to for his job.”

Mr. Chambers snapped his fingers. “That’s who you look like. I’ve been trying to nail it down since you came on board.”

“Who?” she asked, but then immediately regretted doing so, fearing who she was about to be compared to.

“Jennifer Lawrence. A lot shorter, but your smile is spot on.”

Stacy lowered her eyes as her hand tucked an errant strand of naturally blond hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she mumbled, and made a hasty exit from his office.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Mr. Chambers jumped up and followed after her. “I’m heading down to O’Flaherty’s.” He pulled his office door closed and strode over to her cubicle. “Accounting just wrapped up the end of the quarter, and they’re celebrating.”

Mr. Chambers stopped with one foot inside her cubicle and angled his shoulders. There was something different about his stance; Stacy couldn’t put her finger on what it was until the words “strike a pose” jumped to mind. From his tasseled leather loafers and pleated khakis to his fitted white shirt and perfectly groomed goatee, Mr. Chambers’ style seemed carefully lifted from a GQ magazine. Even his fingernails were expertly manicured.

His gaze surveyed the empty office before it settled on her. “Would you care to join me?”

Stacy shook her head. “Thank you, but I want to finish up a couple of things.” She sat down.

“That works out well for me.” A confident smile spread across his broad face. “I’m going for a quick run around Hamilton Park first, while it’s still light out. It’s a beautiful park—during the day.” He twirled the keyring to his Porsche Carrera 911 around his long finger. “That gives you an hour. By that time, Accounting will have had enough drinks in them that they won’t be so stiff. Is that enough time for you?”

“Actually…”

“You’ve already done enough time in the mine for one day. Besides, the buck stops with me. I’ll adjust your time card.” He gave her an over-the-top, slow-motion wink.

“I couldn’t let you do that.” She slid her hand under her thigh and scrunched up in her chair.

“You can’t—but I can.” He leaned against the cubicle wall. “Think of it as a ‘welcome on board’ bonus.”

She crossed her arms tightly. “I’ve been here almost three months now.”

“Happy anniversary.” He opened his hand as if he were giving her a gift. “It’s only an hour, and really, you’re doing great work. I believe in rewarding a job well done.”

Maybe it was his choice of words—happy anniversary—but as her thoughts shifted to her beloved husband Michael, she was certain he would warn her not to go anywhere near this kind of guy. “Thank you,” she said, “but I really have to be heading home. I’m just going to finish up the Right-A-Way Shipping report and call it a night.”

“But—”

She wiggled her mouse and tried to change the subject. “I noticed they were spending a large amount of money on insurance.”

“The Right-A-Way Shipping report?” Mr. Chambers repeated.

“Yes. At my last job, this same level of coverage was a quarter of this amount—”

“That report is done.” Mr. Chambers’ tone changed. He stepped forward and glared at her monitor. “What’re you doing with it?” He pressed against her chair, pinning her in place.

“I’m supposed to review the report and—”

“No,” Mr. Chambers snapped, “you’re supposed to review your section of the report, and you assured me that you had. Are you changing what you submitted?”

His sudden change in demeanor caught her off guard. She’d gotten a glimpse of Mr. Chambers’ “other side”—as they called it in the break room—before, but it had never been directed at her. She cleared her throat. “No. But I found a discrepancy with—”

Mr. Chambers scoffed. “You should have nothing to do with that. I’ve already reviewed and approved the report myself.”

“Umm…” She shuffled some papers around on her desk, unsure what to say next.

“Is this why you’re working late? When I approved your overtime, I thought you were catching up on tasks, not just making busywork for yourself so you can get paid time and a half.”

“I’m not! I was just—”

He thrust a finger at the monitor. “Close the file and send me what you’ve done to it.”

Stacy nodded. She pressed a few buttons on the keyboard and opened the mail program. “I haven’t changed anything.” She swallowed.

Mr. Chambers spun his keys around his long finger like an outlaw gunslinger twirling his pistol. “I’ll take a look at it in the morning.” His voice had softened somewhat, but he stood with both feet planted wide just behind her chair. “You couldn’t know, but once these reports are submitted, it’s a nightmare to make corrections. I’d rather get a public flogging than have to request to change it.”

Despite his new tone, she kept up her guard. She sat rigidly, focused on the monitor. “I’m sorry. I…” She wanted to bolt, but he hovered so close to her chair that it was impossible. “I only highlighted the line. I didn’t alter the report.”

His keys chimed as they spun round again. “I’ll review it later. I’m sure it’s fine. No harm, no foul. Like you said, you didn’t change anything.”

Stacy nodded demurely, but didn’t turn around.

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider? O’Flaherty’s makes a heck of a Long Island Iced Tea.”

Mr. Chambers’ Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality frightened her. “No thank you.” She opened up her calendar. “Have a good night.”

“I’m sure we’ll be at O’Flaherty’s for a while if you change your mind. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Feeling like a prisoner in a cell, Stacy sat there and listened to his keys jingle as he walked away, tapping each cubicle wall as he passed it. Her heart thumped in her chest and her hand trembled as she moved the mouse. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. She wanted to call Michael, but she wasn’t sure whether he was having dinner with clients. He had called earlier from his hotel room to let her know that he’d arrived and that their old car had held up on the long journey. And considering nothing had really happened, she thought there was no reason to get Michael upset, too.

She pushed the incident with Mr. Chambers aside and got back to work. The requests in her inbox were dealt with quickly, and it took only another forty-five minutes for her to finish her reports. After clicking the last report closed, she triumphantly sent it off.

She shut down her computer and sighed as she studied the framed picture on her desk: her and Michael honeymooning on a beach in the Bahamas. Had it really been seven years already? A wave of emotions washed over her. Everything was changing so fast. New house, new job, and now… she gently laid a hand on her stomach. “It keeps getting better,” she whispered. “My little miracle.”

She grabbed her favorite tan handbag off the floor, and realized it was damp. She sniffed and smelt the pungent scent of carpet cleaner.

“Darn it.”

On her way out, she passed by her coworkers’ cubicles, filled with photos of happy families, smiling kids, and hugging couples. She was starting to know her new coworkers, and the more she did, the fonder of them she became.

A shudder ran through Stacy’s body, but not because she was cold. The air conditioner had already turned off for the evening, and the heat of summer had quickly warmed the office. No, it was the thought of the silence, the cold stillness, she faced at home without Michael that made her wince. She had grown up a latchkey kid, in a quiet house with no brothers or sisters, and parents who were always gone. But instead of conditioning her to enjoy being alone, the experience had done the opposite. She hated being alone.

An industrial vacuum cleaner that looked like a small Zamboni rounded the corner up ahead. At first, the burly custodian kept his eyes focused on the area in front of the machine as he pushed it down the hallway, but then he noticed her and switched the vacuum off.

“Hello, Mrs. Shaw.” His eyes darted all around the office, never meeting hers.

“Hi, Jeremy.” She always tried her best to make polite conversation with Jeremy; he had few friends but he was a sweet young man. She spoke carefully so the mentally challenged man would understand her. “You’re working late.”

“Like you.” Jeremy smiled lopsidedly. He spoke deliberately, but his speech was slurred and hard to understand. He wiped his hand on his coveralls. “It’s not raining out.”

She nodded. Even though Jeremy towered over her, she wasn’t frightened. “Jeremy, did you clean my carpet again last night?”

His eyes brightened. “You saw?”

“Yes. But… didn’t you just clean it on Monday?”

“I cleaned your office extra.” Jeremy looked at the ceiling. “You like it? It smells nice?”

Stacy sighed. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Yes. But next time maybe you can just vacuum?”

“Okay. T’ank you. I’ll do that.”

“Well, have a nice night, Jeremy.”

Jeremy awkwardly offered his hand to shake. As she shook it, she struggled not to recoil at the touch of his rough, callused skin.

“See you tomorrow,” Jeremy said.

“Good night.”

Jeremy watched her until she disappeared through the door. Then she heard the vacuum cleaner turn back on.

Outside, the warm, moist summer night air felt wonderful on Stacy’s face. The sun had set, and faint stars peeked out from behind dark clouds that were rolling in. Away from the office, Stacy felt free. She wanted nothing more than to discard her heels, take off her bra, slip into one of her husband’s t-shirts, and curl up on the couch with a pint of ice cream.

A voice behind her made her jump.

“Is the job making you crazy yet?”

Stacy’s hand flew to her chest.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Betty Robinson snuffed out her cigarette with her heel and walked over. “Did Mr. Happy Pants chain you to the desk, or are you working late, fixing one of his mistakes that he’s blaming you for?”

Stacy chuckled. “Chased me around the desk would be more accurate.”

Betty was on the north side of fifty and seemed as though she’d probably had the same tough exterior since college. She was tall for a woman, and her heels made her even more imposing. When they first met, Stacy wondered why Betty wore outfits that drew attention to her thick, broad frame—but after she came to know her, she realized that Betty liked to be intimidating.

“You haven’t asked any questions for a few days,” Betty said. “Does that mean the torch has been passed?”

“Hardly,” Stacy said. “I think it’ll take me another three months to get the hang of everything you did. How’s upstairs?”

“Living the dream.” Betty smiled coyly. “Make sure you keep up on the Henkle filing or the end of the summer will be killer for you.”

“I will.” Stacy cleared her throat. “Hey, did you work on the Right-A-Way Shipping report for Mr. Chambers?”

Betty took out a cigarette. “I still work on it. Don’t tell me something’s wrong with the report or I’ll scream.”

“You work on it now?” Stacy asked, confused.

“I approve the PO section. Leland does the insurance.” Betty’s tone became terse. “Is there an issue?”

“No. But I did notice we overpaid the insurance premium again, and from my records check, it was at least the second time it’s happened.”

Betty let a stream of smoke drift from her mouth, then exhaled in a huff. “It happens. They’ve shifted the payment dates before. As long as the insurance doesn’t lapse. That would be a total crap storm. Do me a favor and forget about it. If you touch it now, five people have to sign off on it again, including me.” She looked down at Stacy’s stomach. “You’re going to be showing soon. When are you going to make the announcement?”

“Soon. My obstetrician says everything looks good, but please don’t say anything. Michael wants us to wait until after the first trimester just in case something goes wrong. You’re the only one that knows.”

“I won’t say a word. But no complications?”

“None. My own little miracle.”

“With everything that happened before that’s wonderful news.”

An older blue BMW came flying down the road and pulled up to the curb in front of them. Betty strolled over to it. “Do you need a lift?”

“No. My car’s out in the company lot.”

“Bruce and I would love to have you two over for dinner again,” Betty said as she opened the passenger door. “Wouldn’t we, Bruce?”

Her husband leaned across the front seat and smiled. He was a tall man with a friendly grin that softened his square face. “We’d love to. We can get something delivered and I’ll get a decent meal. How about tomorrow?”

“It’ll have to be next week. Michael is coming home tomorrow,” Stacy said.

“Michael’s out of town?” Betty asked.

“For work.”

“Oh, is he…” Bruce said.

Bruce and Betty exchanged a quick glance.

“If you’re free,” Bruce kept his eyes on his wife until she nodded, “then why not just come tonight?” He reached a long arm over the seat back and pushed open the back door. “It’ll be a low-key, intimate dinner for three. How does Chateau de Mama Mia’s Pizza sound?”

“If you want the company,” Betty added.

Stacy was appreciative of the offer, but said, “Not tonight. Actually, I’m trying to take advantage of the time to myself. I’m looking forward to doing some tidying up before Michael comes home.”

“The job has made you crazy,” Betty quipped as she got into the car. “Or you’re nesting. Don’t overdo it.”

“I won’t.”

Stacy waved as they pulled away from the curb. She walked around the corner of the building to the company parking lot. There were only a couple of cars in the lot, and she walked straight to her Civic.

The driver’s door squeaked as she opened it. She mentally added lube the car door to her honey-do list. Michael had suggested they get her another car, but Stacy knew they couldn’t afford it. Right now, every penny they had was going into the savings they would need in a few months.

She sat down in the driver’s seat, cranked the window down, and turned the key.

Absolutely nothing happened. Not even a click.

She turned the key again. Nothing.

“Oh, no. Not now.” She pushed the gas down and turned the key again. The engine didn’t so much as sputter.

She fought back tears and laid her head on top of the steering wheel. Her phone rang, and she jumped. When she saw the caller ID, her smile returned. “Are you psychic?”

“Yes, I am. You’re about to tell me that you love me,” Michael joked.

“I do love you. I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

“Why? Is everything all right?”

Stacy hesitated. No, she wanted to say, but she knew that would only worry him, and he was already a bundle of nerves because of the pregnancy. “Everything’s fine.”

“Oh, okay. You sounded a little upset. Rough day?”

She chuckled. “Nothing that I can’t handle. Really, I’m fine. You’re the one with a big day tomorrow. Is everything ready for your presentation?”

“Yup. I just spent an hour at the copy store making handouts,” Michael said. “I’m hoping between those and a few boxes of donuts and coffee, they’ll stay for the whole presentation.”

“I’m sure you’ll knock their socks off.” Stacy took the keys out of the ignition. “You sound tired.”

“Actually, I am. The long drive was brutal,” Michael admitted. “It’s been an exhausting day. Tomorrow looks like a beast too.”

“Then go get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.” Stacy blew a soft kiss into the phone.

“Love you too. ’Night.” Michael hung up.

Stacy slumped back into the seat. She crossed her hands over the steering wheel and stared across the road to the park. A warm breeze blew through the open window; it was a beautiful night. She took a deep breath, enjoying the balmy summer air.

She knew if she cut through the park, it would be only a short twenty-minute walk from here to home. And she had gone to the park a few times with Michael during her lunch break, and thought it was a lovely place. She could leave the car overnight, then Michael could fix it when he got home and they’d save the money for a tow.

Satisfied with her plan, Stacy grabbed her handbag, closed the window, locked the car door, and crossed the street.

The entrance to Hamilton Park was marked by a beautiful stone archway. Modeled after Roman architecture, its twin stone columns towered fifteen feet high on each side, suspending a rounded arch between them, and thick, pitted iron gates were welded eternally open.

Inside the park, old-fashioned streetlamps lit the paved main paths. A web of smaller unlit paths crisscrossed the park, but Stacy elected to stick to the lighted areas. As she walked, she made plans in her head of all the things she would need to buy over the next few months: nursery furniture, baby clothes, and one of those instant baby thermometers. Her shopping list grew longer with each step. While she hurried along, she spoke aloud to herself. She didn’t care; no one was around, and she had no one else to talk to.

“Perhaps in a little while, we can buy an affordable car. Reliable. Maybe a mini-van. If we get used, then I might be able to stay home—for a little while at least.”

She looked up, and suddenly realized that beyond the sporadically lit path, the park was dark. Completely dark. Her happiness dissipated like the breeze as Mr. Chambers’ words from earlier suddenly struck her: “It’s a beautiful park—during the day.”

During the day…

Stacy was passing by a monument—a neoclassical column of marble that stood twelve feet high. The top of the column was decorated with four stone faces of older men, one facing in each of the four compass directions. Stacy felt as if those faces were scowling down at her in silent judgment as she passed. She shuddered and turned away.

The park now felt different. The rolling hills and groomed grounds no longer reminded her of families walking and children playing. Now, unnervingly, they reminded her of a cemetery.

She sped up.

The faster she walked, the louder her heels rang on the tar. The tap-tap-tap of her shoes matched the rapid pace of her heart. A bench ahead drew her focus. At first it looked like her couch on laundry day, covered in a mound of clothes. But as she drew closer, the mound moved.

A homeless man sat up and glared directly at her. He had apparently laid two filled trash bags over himself, and as he rose, the contents of one of the bags spilled onto the walkway.

Instinctively, Stacy moved to the far side of the path. The man crouched low over his bags, looking like a rabid raccoon protecting his spilled trash. He glared at her, his eyes barely visible behind bushy eyebrows, his yellow teeth poking out from his unkempt beard. He cursed under his breath as he watched her pass.

Stacy took a deep breath and upped her pace. Her mother’s words of warning now filled her with dread. She clenched her bag to her chest and hustled on.

The lovely park’s tall oaks and flowering shrubs had turned ominous. A dead tree’s branches clawed at the sky like skeletal fingers. Just a few yards off the path, everything was shrouded in the murk, and dark shadows played tricks on her mind. Every sound now took on a foreboding tone: branches groaned and creaked; leaves rustled; an unseen creature scurried along the undergrowth. Goose bumps crawled across Stacy’s skin. Her shoulders hunched inward as she marched forward like a hiker in the winter woods, her body leaning forward against an invisible storm.

She was almost jogging now. The heel of one of her leather shoes had dug a deep blister into the back of her foot.

As she crested a hill, she stopped suddenly. Up ahead, the path dipped down again—into darkness. Peering, she could just make out another of the old-fashioned streetlights, but it was unlit, as lifeless as a dead tree. And without it…

Stacy looked around like a startled bird. The heat of the night now felt thick and oppressive. She took a deep breath and tried to marshal her resolve.

She started forward, her skin prickling as the night air wrapped around her. Like a child, she found herself holding her breath as she hurried through the darkness. With every step, a shiver crawled down her spine. But when she heard the rush of water from a fountain up ahead, she knew she was almost out of the darkened area. And when she saw the next streetlight through the trees, shining like a welcome beacon, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“I can make it,” she reassured herself.

A muffled sound made her turn to the side. Not far away, along the tree line atop the hill, a darker shadow stood apart from the others—a hulking silhouette emerging from the woods.

The figure rushed toward her.

Stacy shrieked incoherently and bolted.

Her pursuer’s footsteps rang loudly off the tar behind her. They were heavy and fast. Tears blurred Stacy’s vision, but she cast one fleeting glance over her shoulder. Like a bear crashing down from a mountain, her pursuer was gaining on her fast.

The figure was still shrouded in darkness, and the only detail Stacy could make out clearly was that they wore a ski mask.

As she ran, Stacy rifled through her handbag, searching desperately for her phone. Tight bands circled her chest as she gasped for air. Her heart thumped and thrashed like an unbalanced washing machine.

Her fingers found the phone. She began to dial. But just then her heel caught on a broken edge in the paving stones, and she stumbled and pitched forward.

She would have fallen if her assailant hadn’t caught her. Long fingers seized her belt around her waist. The leather dug into her stomach as she was yanked back.

“Let me go,” she pleaded.

Hoping they were just after her money, she flung her handbag as far into the woods as she could. “Take it. Just take it!” she screamed.

Her scream turned into a guttural wail when the attacker ignored the bag and kept hold of her.

Her hands clutched at the air. She felt like she was swimming through a riptide, desperate to make it to shore.

She darted a glance at her attacker. The front of the ski mask was painted with a skull—a skull with a twisted, evil grin. She recoiled and tried to pull away.

If they don’t want money…

She fought back as hard as she could. She raised her leg and drove her heel down onto her attacker’s foot. A growl of pain emerged from beneath the mask, and the fingers grasping her belt let go.

Stacy took off.

“Help!” she cried out into the stillness of the night. But no one answered.

The light was still too far away, and there was no reason to believe mere light would protect her now. Her only chance was to lose her attacker in the darkness. So she kicked off her heels and ran off the path, the wet grass slick beneath her bare feet.

She still had her phone in her hand, and once again she tried to dial. But her attacker had recovered quickly, and now closed the distance, fast. She felt herself pushed from behind, and she pitched forward and landed hard on her chest. The phone flew from her hand and landed softly in the grass in front of her, the numbers 911 illuminated on the screen. She just needed to press the call button.

But it was too late. A hand grabbed the back of her neck. Long fingers wrapped around her belt and yanked her up.

She screamed and grabbed at the hands, but the thick fingers only tightened their grip. A muscular arm circled her waist from behind and dragged her toward the woods. Her arms thrashed, but she could only beat helplessly at the air. She kicked backward, and her foot struck flesh, but her attacker didn’t slow.

Fear turned into abject terror. “No,” she wept.

She dug her feet into the ground as she was yanked backward, trying to slow their progress. A rock sliced deep into her heel and blood flowed, but still she struggled.

Finally her attacker must have decided they were far enough from the path, as Stacy was flung roughly to the ground, face up.

“Please, no—”

The attacker’s full weight dropped down on top of her.

Something brushed against her thigh. Stacy shoved her palms into the ground and pushed up as hard as she could. “No!”

With one last burst of strength, she clawed at her attacker’s face. Grasping the ski mask, she wrenched it off.

Her eyes went wide. “You?”

A fist struck her violently. The blow cut her lip. She tried to think, but her mind fogged. “No…” she mumbled.

Then the fist struck again, and everything went black.

Read a sneak peek of the latest Jack Stratton Novel: And Then She Was GONE

Read a sneak peak of the latest Jack Stratton Novel: And Then She Was GONE

For you my loyal readers:
Here's an exclusive sneak peek of the latest novel in the Detective Jack Stratton Series And Then She Was Gone

 

CHAPTER 1 – Where Have All the Heroes Gone?

“HELP ME!” The old woman’s desperate plea rose above the din of the afternoon traffic. The bystanders moved away from the trouble; in the rough neighborhood of Hamilton Heights, you kept your head down and your eyes shut if you wanted to make it home alive. 

The lanky junkie yanked on the woman’s handbag. Her money was the ticket to his next fix, and that was a train he wouldn’t miss. His forearms, riddled with scabs, strained as he attempted to twist the leather strap from her hands. “Let go, you old hag.” 

A small crowd formed, watching the struggle from a safe distance. None offered assistance. One man took out his phone but didn’t call the police; he pressed the video record button instead. 

The frail Hispanic woman, whose age and poverty had worn her shoulders into the shape of a wishbone, begged for mercy. “No money.” She clung to the strap of the handbag like a drowning child clutching a rope. “Jus’ medicine.” 

The junkie’s eyes widened. He jerked harder, pulling the old woman forward. Her legs buckled and then her knees crashed down onto the pavement. The junkie planted his feet and dragged her forward. Her fingers tightened on the leather as her legs scraped along the jagged concrete.  

“My husband needs it,” the woman begged. 

The junkie’s dilated pupils darted erratically. “Give it up.” He smashed his fist down onto her fingers. 

“Please—” 

The strap broke, and the woman landed with a sick thud onto the sidewalk. The thief bolted with his prize clutched under his arm. 

As the indifferent crowd parted to let him through, two young men stepped out of Ma Barker’s Mini Mart—and straight into the junkie’s escape route. When the druggie slammed into the first man—Chandler, all six foot six and two hundred and ninety pounds of him—he bounced right off. Chandler didn’t budge an inch. 

The junkie swore, scrambled to his feet, and scurried away down the sidewalk. 

“Please, please, stop him!” The woman begged, running toward the two young men. “He stole my purse.” 

The second man, Jack, turned and raced after the junkie without hesitation. 

“Jack, stop!” Chandler called out, but it was too late. 

Adrenaline mixed with testosterone surged through Jack’s body as he ran down the sidewalk. He knew that if there was trouble, you call the police. His adoptive parents had reinforced that concept at every opportunity. But Jack left caution in the dust as he chased the fleeing perp. 

“Wait up!” Chandler yelled after him. 

Jack, who had been working out every day to get ready for the physical entrance exam, didn’t slow. He wasn’t just “in shape”; he was close to his peak athletically. For the last year, he had been training with the same focus as an Olympian. But a gold medal wasn’t his objective—a gold shield was. 

The wiry purse snatcher, clearly determined to sell the handbag for a fix, cradled it like a football. He picked up the pace. He had a huge lead, but Jack’s speed quickly shrank that distance. The sidewalk was crowded and traffic was heavy. The junkie weaved between pedestrians and shoved aside anyone in his way. 

The old woman’s cry for help still rang in Jack’s ears. Her face flashed through his mind—desperate, bloody, and helpless. She was a victim. As a little boy, Jack had been the helpless victim—he’d been the prey… but not now. Now Jack was the hunter. 

The deep-seated anger Jack kept constrained below the surface exploded inside him and propelled him forward. Blood pumped through him and power surged down his legs. His feet became a blur. 

The junkie suddenly changed direction and headed for the other side of the street. Jack quickly adjusted his pursuit, cutting in front of a speeding car. Its horn blared and brakes squealed; His hand brushed the car’s hood and the bumper passed just behind his legs. He made it to the other sidewalk right behind the thief. Less than ten yards separated them now. 

“I’m not going to stop,” Jack shouted, as he flew forward. 

The junkie cast a desperate glance over his shoulder. He gasped for breath and his legs slowed. Losing steam, he cut down an alley. 

Jack barely slowed as he rounded the corner after him. His long legs stretched out and his hands sliced through the air as he pushed himself even harder. 

Trash littered both sides of the narrow utility alley. Its graffiti-covered brick walls trapped the summer heat like a furnace, and the stench of garbage and urine hung in the stale air. A rat, searching for its next meal, scurried away under a dumpster. 

When the alley came to a dead end stop, so did the junkie. Cornered, he turned to face Jack. 

Jack skidded to a halt. Figuring the junkie had had enough, Jack expected the guy to give up. “Hand over the bag.” 

A thin smile curled across the junkie’s cracked lips. Then he hurled the handbag at Jack’s head. 

Jack snagged it with one hand. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” As Jack glanced down at the bag, a flash of bright sunlight caught his eye. He blinked and looked up to see a knife in the druggie’s hand. 

“Whoa!” Jack raised his hands. 

The serrated blade was short, about four inches, but long enough to kill. 

The junkie took a step forward. 

Jack cursed himself. Once again his need for justice had short-circuited his instinct for self-preservation. I should bolt— 

Before Jack could make up his mind, the junkie lunged straight at him. The knife cut through the air. Jack jumped back, but not quite fast enough—the blade sliced through the front of Jack’s shirt, grazing his skin. 

The junkie thrust again. 

All of Jack’s training took over. He pushed off with his right foot and twisted sideways. His right hand swept down in a scoop block, and he used the momentum to knock the junkie’s jab to the side. 

Remembering what he’d learned about self-defense, Jack quickly sprang forward. His right elbow shot out and connected with the junkie’s face, just under the nose. The sound of the druggie’s teeth snapping shut echoed off the bricks in the narrow alley. The knife flew out of the junkie’s hand, the blade clanging as skidded along the tar, and the thief was thrown into the wall. His legs wobbled and he slid down into a heap. 

“Freeze!” The sharp order came from behind Jack. 

Jack started to turn toward the opening of the alley. 

“Don’t move!” the policeman yelled. His gun was raised, and he moved forward. “Put your hands over your head.” 

“Who, me?” Jack stared at the cop in disbelief as he realized that the order was directed at him. “But…” He looked at the purse still in his hand. “Wait a minute—” 

“Put your hands above your head,” the policeman ordered again. 

Jack raised his hands. 

The junkie rose to his feet and slyly stepped closer to the opening of the alleyway. 

Jack moved toward the junkie. The policeman barked, “Freeze!” 

“But—” 

As the policeman’s attention was focused on Jack, the junkie bolted past the cop and toward the street. 

“That guy’s the thief.” Jack pointed at the fleeing druggie. 

“Hands in the air, now.” 

Jack’s jaw clenched, but he lifted his hands. “He’s getting away.” 

“You’re the one with the handbag. Now show me your hands.” 

Jack did what he was told. 

“Drop what’s in your left hand.” 

Jack started to lower his arm. 

“Drop it.” 

“It’s that old lady’s handbag. Can I set it down?” 

“DROP IT!” 

Jack released the bag. 

“Keep your hands in the air and face the wall,” the policeman ordered. “Feet out and spread ’em.” 

“I’m the good guy,” Jack grumbled as he put his hands on the brick wall and set his feet wide apart. “Can we hurry this up so you can catch the real thief?” His foot tapped impatiently, his body yearning to continue the pursuit. 

The policeman holstered his gun as he moved up behind Jack. “Do you have any weapons on you?” 

“I don’t. But that junkie did. A knife. It’s over there.” Jack nodded in the direction of the blade. 

“Why were you beating that guy up?” the policeman asked in a low, authoritative voice. 

“He stole a woman’s handbag outside Ma Barker’s.” 

“That still doesn’t explain you bashing the guy into the wall.” 

“He pulled a knife on me. What was I supposed to do—ask him if he cared for some tea and crumpets?” 

“Jack!” Chandler panted as he thumped to a stop at the front of the alley. 

“Stay where you are.” The policeman kept one hand on Jack’s shoulder and pointed the other at Chandler. 

“What happened?” Chandler asked. 

Jack grinned. “I’m getting frisked.” 

Chandler shook his head. “That’s not a good thing, Jack. Why are you getting frisked?” 

Jack shrugged as the policeman patted him down. “He thinks I was beating up the junkie.” 

Chandler walked forward. 

“You were fighting.” The policeman stepped back and pointed at Chandler. “You get against the wall too.” 

“Yes, sir.” Chandler moved right over and stood next to Jack, his back to the wall and his hands in the air. 

“Why are you making him get against the wall?” Jack asked. “Is it because he’s black—” 

“Shut up, Jack,” Chandler snapped. 

“He didn’t do anything.” Jack kept his hands on the wall and craned his neck so he could get a good look at the cop. 

The cop scowled but didn’t respond. 

“Jack, you’re going to get us arrested,” Chandler said out of the side of his mouth. 

“For what? We’re not going to get arrested. We’re the good guys.” 

“Just be quiet, okay?” 

The police officer directed his next question to Chandler. “Now what’s your story?”  

“We were coming out of Ma Barker’s on D Street when this junkie stole an older woman’s handbag,” Chandler politely explained, keeping his hands in the air. 

“Is she all right?” Jack asked. 

“She seemed more worried about her husband’s medicine than about herself.” Chandler looked down at the handbag. “She’ll be happy you got it back.” 

“Did you see the other man steal it?” The policeman finished patting Jack down. 

“Neither of us did,” Jack said over his shoulder, “but the lady was screaming, ‘He stole my bag,’ and that junkie didn’t exactly look like the purple handbag type.” Jack started to turn around. 

“Keep facing the wall.” The policeman pointed at Chandler. “You too.” 

“Yes, sir.” Chandler turned right around and put his big hands against the brick. 

“He didn’t do anything,” Jack persisted. 

“Shut up,” the policeman snapped. He patted down Chandler, then stepped back and looked back and forth between them. “What’s your name?” 

“Chandler Campbell, sir.” 

“And you?” 

“Stratton. Jack Stratton.” 

The policeman reached for his shoulder radio. “This is Officer Denby. Have there been any reports of a situation around D Street and 43rd?” 

As the officer called it in, Chandler whispered to Jack, “How about trying to get us out of this?” 

“We didn’t do anything. We’re fine.” 

“No, we’re not. Have you forgotten what it’s like to live in the hood?” 

“What took you so long to get here, anyway?” 

“I… er… I wanted to make sure the old lady was okay.” 

Jack frowned. “You haven’t been exercising, have you?” 

“I have,” Chandler muttered. 

“Yeah, right.” Jack cocked an eyebrow and looked toward Chandler’s belly. “You’ve got three months to lose fifteen pounds.” 

“Ten.” 

“That’s what it was last month. You gained weight.” 

“I plateaued.” 

Jack chuckled. 

The policeman’s radio beeped, and the dispatcher came on: “Officer Jenkins is on scene. Possible mugging.” 

“Eat less, run more,” Jack said. 

“Just keep your big mouth shut or I won’t have to worry about my weight.” 

“Why?” 

“Because we’ll be disqualified before the weigh-in,” Chandler grumbled.  

The policeman spoke into his radio. “Officer Jenkins? This is Officer Denby. Do you copy?” 

Jenkins’s voice came through the speaker: “Copy.” 

“Can you give me a description of the perp?” 

“Tall. Thin build. He’s wearing a red hoodie.” 

“Was anyone with him?” 

“No. But two teenagers chased after him. One African-American, one Caucasian, both male.” 

Jack kept his hands on the wall and looked over his shoulder. “Ask him if one of the teens is tall and really good-looking.” 

“That would be me.” Chandler grinned as he raised himself up to his full six-foot-six. 

“I’m with the teenagers now,” Denby said. 

Over the radio, Jack could hear the old woman asking, “My handbag, where’s my handbag?” 

“Hold on, ma’am.” Jenkins’s voice. To Denby, he asked, “Did you recover the handbag?” 

Jack smiled, broadly. 

Officer Denby responded, “That’s affirmative. We did.” 

Jack glanced over at Chandler and mouthed, We? 

Chandler gave Jack his shut-your-big-mouth face. 

“I’m driving the victim over to you. What’s your location?” Jenkins asked. 

“I’m in a dead-end alley between J and K Streets.”  

Denby clicked his radio off. “Okay, you two can turn around.” The officer took a long breath and then somewhat begrudgingly added, “I know you thought you were doing the right thing, but you should have called the police.” 

“I didn’t want him to get away,” Jack said. 

“He won’t. We’ll pick him up.” He took a small notebook and pen from a pocket on his shirt. “Anything you can tell me about him?” 

“Approximately five foot eleven. One hundred and fifty pounds. Newer white Nikes, ripped blue jeans, grubby Puma red hoodie. He has medium-length sandy hair with a Grim Reaper tattoo on his neck.” 

The cop’s mouth fell slightly open. 

“And he’s missing at least two front teeth.” Jack smiled cheekily. 

Chandler lowered his eyes and rubbed his forehead. 

“What?” Jack shrugged. “He knocked down that old lady.” 

“How did you remember all that?” Denby asked. 

“I’m studying to be a cop.” 

Denby radioed in the enhanced description of the junkie, then nodded toward the weapon on the ground. “Is this the knife the guy had on him?” He took a plastic evidence bag from his pocket. 

“Yes, sir, it is.” 

Chandler pointed to Jack’s side. “Did you tear your shirt?”  

“Crud,” Jack muttered as he stuck a finger through the slice in his t-shirt. “It’s one of my favorites.” 

Chandler grabbed Jack’s shirt and examined it. “Did he stab you?” 

“No.” Jack pulled back. “It’s a scratch.” 

“A guy almost slices you up and you’re more worried about your t-shirt.” 

“I looked really good in it.” 

Chandler shook his head. “That’s why you call the cops. Simple math. Bad guys have knives. Cops have guns.” 

“I got the handbag.” 

“You don’t get it,” Chandler said. “Nothing’s worth getting killed over, Jack. What would your father say?” 

Jack ran his hand through his thick brown hair. “Don’t bring my dad into it. That’s crossing the line.” 

“Ha!” Chandler said. “Your dad would flip out and he’d be right.” 

“Whatever. I got the handbag back.” 

“You pull any of that crap in the Army and I’ll shoot you myself.” Chandler shook his head, but he grinned. 

Denby picked up the handbag. “You boys enlist?” 

Jack nodded. “Yes, sir. We go to basic in three months. Serve two years. Pay for college with a GI bill, and then off to the Police Academy.”

“I went through Fort Benning.”

“We don’t know where they’re sending us yet,” Chandler said. 

A police cruiser stopped at the end of the alley, and the old woman peered out of the window. 

Denby handed the handbag to Jack. “I think you can do the honors.” 

Chandler nudged him forward, and Jack walked over to the car. 

The woman opened the window and leaned out, her hands gripping the frame. Her deep brown eyes searched Jack’s face. 

Jack held out the handbag. “Here you go, ma’am.” 

“Oh, thank you.” Her bruised hand trembled as she took it. She zipped it open, checked that the pharmacy bag was still inside, then clutched it to her chest. “Thank you. Thank you, young man.” She reached out for Jack’s arm. Her frail hand, as light as a bird, patted him. 

“It was our pleasure, ma’am.” Jack nodded toward Chandler and the cop. 

She waved them closer, then reached out and squeezed Chandler’s hand too. “You boys are my heroes.” 

“We’re just happy to help, ma’am.” Chandler tipped his head to the woman, then to Denby, and he and Jack headed down the street. 

When they were out of earshot, Jack swaggered like a cowboy and in his best John Wayne Texan drawl said, “We’re just happy to help, little lady,” as he tipped an imaginary ten-gallon hat. 

Chandler punched his arm. “Shut up. You’re making me sound corny.” 

“You are.” Jack laughed. 

“Whatever!” Chandler waved him off. “That cop was right—you should have called the police.” 

“What was I going to do? Did you see her? All scared and helpless. I had to do something. Anyways, her stuff would be as good as gone if I hadn’t.” 

Chandler grabbed Jack’s arm and pulled him to stop. “Seriously. I know you’ve had a hard life, Jack, and you want to help others. But you can’t help everyone.” 

“I’m not. She was different. Believe me, I stick my neck out for nobody.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I mean it. Nobody.” Jack walked on. 

“You say that, except you keep doing just that,” Chandler said, catching up. “Someday you’re going to find someone you can’t help, Jack. Not everyone can be saved.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jack said, but as he walked on a pit began to grow in his stomach.

Pre-Order It Today!

NEW RELEASE FROM THE DETECTIVE JACK STRATTON SERIES

New Novel in Detective Jack Stratton Series

And Then She Was Gone is available for pre-order today



I'm pleased to announce my latest Detective Jack Stratton novel is now available for pre-order. And Then She Was GONE is a riveting new suspense novel that keeps you guessing until the end. The novel begins with Jack getting ready to enlist in the Army when he's swept up into his first case. I don’t want to give anything away, so I’ll let the book’s blurb do the talking for me:

What’s done in the dark will be brought to the light…

The silhouette stood at the edge of the woods like a spider watching a fly enter its carefully crafted web. Only a few more steps and she’d be within grasp.

Stacy Shaw has her whole life ahead of her. New job, new house and now she’s pregnant; everything she’s ever hoped for is finally coming true—but on a warm summer night on the way home from work she vanishes…. As the police race to find her, the details don’t add up. Conflicting facts emerge as her story twists and turns, sending the trail spiraling in all directions.

A hometown hero with a heart of gold, Jack Stratton was raised in a whorehouse by his prostitute mother, but now his life has taken a turn for the better. He’s headed for a career in law enforcement when his foster mother asks him to look into the disappearance. Jack quickly gets drawn into the baffling mystery where everyone becomes a suspect—including himself. Caught between the criminals and the cops, can Jack discover the truth in time before he becomes the next victim?

Grab your pre-order copy of this brand new novel in the highly-acclaimed, wildly-popular Detective Jack Stratton Series and be one of the first to start reading this electrifying whodunit today!

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