Nightfall #Excerpt by Brian White #Crime #Mystery

Reality is not what it seems. Any science teacher worth his salt can tell you that. An infinite number of extra dimensions, microscopic black holes flitting into and out of existence right in front of your nose. They’re all around us, but we can’t see them except through numbers on paper.

Sometimes, though, reality tilts and you catch a glimpse through the wormhole into the surreal nature of existence. It can happen because you gaze up at the night sky and for a fleeting moment you grasp what infinitemeans. Or it can happen because you find yourself being stared down by a monster of a man outweighing you by almost two-hundred pounds who wants to introduce you to the cast-iron wrench he’s holding.

When reality tilts you find out what your life really means.

That momentary understanding is the most frightening thing I can imagine.

My name is Ezzy Morgan. The Ezzy is short for Esmerelda, but please don’t call me that.

I worked for fifteen years as a paramedic in the city of Middleton, California. That’s ten years longer than the average. And it was probably ten years too long.

Middleton has the highest rate of EMS provider suicides in the country. There is something in the water here that makes people just a little uglier to each other than anywhere else, I guess. As a paramedic you get to bear witness to it all.

At some point I started getting nightmares. They were always the same.

In them I would be flying. The air screamed past, pulling my cheeks back against my skull. I would be going so incredibly fast that at first I’d laugh with the thrill of it.
Then I’d open my eyes and see the ground. Far away. Miles to go until I got there, but rushing up at me, closing the distance faster than I could react.
That’s when I’d realize I was falling, not flying. Plummeting like a meteor.
Clouds always formed below me. White towering tips reaching up to touch me, ready to drag me into their belly where darkness waited.
I would claw at the air, seeking purchase and finding none. Tears would be ripped from my eyes before I could blink them away.
I would plunge into the storm and become lost in the dark.
Warm wet drops would pelt my skin. You’re not supposed to be able to feel physical sensations in dreams. Someone forgot to tell my subconscious, because I could feel the rain inside the storm.

Only, it was never rain. The taste of copper would fill my mouth and when lightning flashed I would see my bare skin covered in blood.
Somewhere in the darkness a woman would utter a mad cackling laugh, and a child would scream in response. The scream was always cut off mid-breath. Always.
Then the clouds would vanish and the ground would be there terrifyingly close. I’d throw my arms up, but really, there was nothing I could do except wake up.

I woke from the nightmare entirely the day I walked into my supervisor’s office and slid my resignation across his desk. I walked out of his office and never looked back.

If you asked me why I became a private investigator I couldn’t tell you. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

It’s been a long time since I rode around in the back of an ambulance. The nightmares are less now, but every once in a while they still come, and I’ll fall through the bloody rain and see the ground hurtling up at me.

It’s been said you see your entire life in the instant before you die. All your good deeds and bad. Everything in between.

I don’t think that’s true. I think we all have the same thought:

Just give me one more day.

A beautiful young escort is strangled to death, her corpse discarded in a back alley dumpster. The killer’s identity is a mystery, and the homicide has gone almost unnoticed. Welcome to Middleton, where these things happen every night and the police are too busy or too jaded to notice.

Ezzy Morgan once roamed these blue collar streets as a paramedic. Here she was weaned from innocence and taught the cold-blooded nature of the human heart. Now she works as a private detective and has shut the door on shootings, stabbings, and the constant specter of death. But her life is about to be shattered when the dead woman’s only surviving friend seeks her out, looking for justice.

Clues are sparse and the trail seems to be a dead end before it has even begun. But the mystery takes a macabre turn after another death is dropped at Ezzy’s feet, and she’s hit with an ultimatum from the world of organized crime: find the killer in the next twenty-four hours . . . or die.

This murder mystery turned terrifying struggle between life and death will expose a cover-up spanning two generations involving a sadistic psychopath, a burned-out cop with a cocaine habit, and a powerful man willing to commit murder just to ensure a secret stays buried.

With the noose tightening and the clock winding down to her own demise, Ezzy must come to terms with a darkness she thought she’d left behind years ago. Nightfall has come to Middleton, and she might not live to see the dawn.

Brian White has crafted a captivating tale in the new noir. Nightfall, with its crisp prose and razor-sharp dialogue, is a thrilling tale of crime and suspense that grips you by the throat and doesn’t let go until the end.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Crime, Noir, Mystery

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Brian White through Facebook

#Excerpt from Once Upon a Set of Wheels Part 1: Baby Driver by @LMSteel1 #Thriller #Crime #TBR

Lotus is living with her first foster family and it’s not the happy home she was promised it would be. So very young she is already starting to learn what she must do to survive…

Martin was the worst. He would torment me in ways that would almost have me in tears, but I never cried; I would never give him the satisfaction. Things got worse as time went on, and he realised I could beat him. At first it was just teasing and torment, but eventually it became physical – that was shortly before I was removed from their care.

On the way to school he would steal my lunch box and sell my lunch to the other kids. For a while I would go hungry through the day, but after I came out of hospital I started taking care of things. He still stole my lunch, and I would pretend to be upset, but what he didn’t know, was that when everyone had gone to bed at night, I would sneak into the kitchen and make myself a second lunch, which I hid in a tear in my little orange coat. Because I could only hide a small sandwich in my coat, I would pick-pocket the other kids and buy crisps and sweets from the shop at first playtime.

Some might say this was when my life of crime began, but not really. This was just survival, and when you were treated like me you had to be quick to survive. The other kids would bully me and call me names and some would even go as far as pinning me down in the playground and punching my face. I had no friends to stand up for me, but I was fine. After a while I discovered it was a great way to get my money; while they were on top of me beating the crap out of me, I would pretend to try and push them away and steal the twenty pences out of their pockets. This was my own special way of avenging their beatings, and I was never suspected of stealing by the teachers; I was the quiet little foster child who sat in the corner with no friends and kept to herself.

On May 17th 1982, an infant girl is found in a stolen car abandoned on a bridge. The police call her ‘Lotus’ after the car she is discovered in, and ‘Ogden’ – the name of the dam over which the car rested. Abandoned for no one; for no one came to claim her as their child, no one came to say that they were responsible for this babe, no one came to love her. This was how it was to be; always. Following abuse at the hands of her adoptive father, foster families and others, Lotus finds unlikely allies in car thieves and drug dealers, but her life of crime extends so much further than any of them appreciate. So very young, she takes her first life and realises how easy it is, and how no one would ever suspect the poor, timid, shy little girl who nobody calls their own. “Villain? Anti-Hero? Whatever she is, Lotus Ogden is like a perfect storm of rage and pain, but she’s also disturbingly human.” “Feed the dogs and take the phone off the hook. Once you get into this book you’re not going to want to put it down.” “A fast read, a great story, full of twists and turns.”

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Crime, Thriller

Rating – PG-18

More details about the author

Connect with L. M. Steel on Facebook & Twitter

Birth of an Assassin by Rik Stone @stone_rik #Thriller #Crime #Suspense

Jez let his mind dwell on the ceiling’s dull paint rather than think about his recent nightmares. But those thoughts wouldn’t stay down: whatever happened, he would achieve justice for Viktor.

Anna came out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel, turban style. “We still have time to travel south,” she said. He sighed. She looked desperate again. “Please think about it. I promise this isn’t a test. No tricks. I’m telling you what’s in my heart, and I think we should run.”

Vertical tracks forged between his eyebrows. “We’ve already been through this, Anna. I do trust you, but I’ve made my decision.”

“But I don’t think you’ve thought it out properly. From what I can see, Mitrokhin has high-ranking contacts everywhere and I don’t think even Petrichova can save you. The captain has the guile of a fox and his cunning outwits us all. Please, Jez,” she implored, “go with me now.”

He got off the bed and embraced her. “I don’t know why you’ve become so worried. I’d never imagined you like this, but whether what you say is true or not, I won’t run. I must win justice for Viktor – and for me, come to that. Viktor has been murdered and I’ve been set up to look like his killer.”

Anna wept against his chest, and he couldn’t figure why. Of what he knew about her, it was totally out of character.

“I want you to remember this,” she sobbed. “And I’m speaking from the heart. No matter what happens, this is what is real and this is the memory I want you to hold onto. I love you, Jez, I love you.”

Baffled, he realized that having a real relationship with a woman was an enigma. Her declaration seemed distressed rather than tender. The only way he could think of handling this was to let it go straight over his head.

“And I love you, Anna, but I must go back.”

*

Outside the hotel the snow lay thick, and despite the best efforts of a heavy blanket of cloud, the cold had worked its way through.

“I’m glad I packed the ski jacket. Cold or not, this suitcase has me overheating. I know you’ve put my stuff in with yours, but what a weight.”

“Just girl things,” she smiled, and stepped out ahead.

“That’s right, don’t wait for me. Oh…” he said, almost stopping, “I forgot to pay for my lodgings at the hotel.”

She turned and raised an eyebrow. He grinned.

“You’re right, all the troubles I’ve got and I should worry about paying for a room. I’ll let the state sort it out.”

She laughed.

They trudged through the snow until they came to Railway Station Square – part of Stalin’s rebuild of the city. Anna wore the same azure coat with fur trimmings and fur hat as on the second day of their reunion, and he wondered how such a beautiful woman could really be interested in him.

“You look like a film star dressed like that, but aren’t you worried someone might be following?”

She tutted. “You seem to be worrying enough for both of us.”

She was so avant-garde, maybe she hadn’t carried out as many missions as she’d suggested. “Oh well, nearly there,” he said.

She smiled sadly.

He stopped to cross an avenue near a trolley rank. Six or seven people queued closely together, ankle-deep in snow, exhaling frosted breath as they waited for their ride. At last, a lull in the traffic. Anna went ahead. Jez kept a half metre behind, but something jarred his senses. Above the din of the city an explosion rang out. He turned to the direction of the noise and then looked at Anna. A hole had opened and blossomed in the back of her coat. His heart seemed to stop beating. She’d been shot and he couldn’t move. The force of the bullet had arched her back. She spun to face him, stumbled, eyes widened in shock.

The crowd at the trolley rank scattered in panic and shrill screams pierced his ears. But still, he couldn’t move – Anna.

Buy Now @ Amazon, B&N, Kobo & Waterstones

Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense

Rating – R

More details about the author and the book

Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com

#Author Spotlight on William Knight @_William_Knight #Crime #Thriller

Why do you write?

I could say something to make you groan here, like: I write because I live. But that would be a crock of minced insects.  Honestly I think I write to show off. If nobody read it I wouldn't bother. That's not to say I don't love words, I do, but that probably wouldn't get me writing novels all by itself, that might get me writing the odd poem.

Have you always enjoyed writing?

I mostly don't enjoy it! I mostly suffer writing, and frankly I think it suffers me in return. On occasion, I write a few lines that come together like pieces in a jigsaw and I think – in hindsight – I enjoyed that. It's rare though, and that's odd because I've been writing since I was a teenager even though it's a chore. Crikey, think about that; a quarter of a century making yourself do something you don't really enjoy very much. I must be bloody stupid.

What motivates you to write?

I remember reading that rather than wanting to be a writer, most people want to have-been writers. I think that's what I want – I don't really want to spend the time writing, I want it all to be finished so I can point at my work and say, “Hey look, I did that,” and everybody can stare and say, “Wow, that's amazing!” Shallow, I know.

What writing are you most proud of?

As a technology journalist I wrote a few pieces for the UK's Guardian. It's a world-famous newspaper with an excellent reputation and I'm proud to have made it into its hallowed sheets.

What are you most proud of in your personal life?

No doubt here, my children. Frankly it's not much to do with me, but I still try to scrape some credit for them!

What books did you love growing up?

So many books... this question is just too hard. But if I have to name some then here goes: Watership Down was the longest book I'd ever read, and it wasn't long enough. I stared at the cover for hours after I'd finished longing for another chapter to magically appear. I read all the Asterix books dozens of times and never failed to titter at all the word plays and ridiculous character traits --- I know some of you are shouting that they aren't really books, and you're probably right – but luckily I'm the one answering the questions.

Who is your favorite author?

I really struggle to answer this one now. When I was younger I'd have shouted James Herbert back at you before you'd finished the question, but now I'm older, wiser (some say not), and believe you cannot compare apples with bingo halls. Herbert is just one of my lifetime favourites, in a list that includes Dickens, Iain Banks, Steinbeck, Azimov and Ian McEwan

What book should everybody read at least once?

Well this is easy. Everybody should read Generation by yours truly – at least once. Now I suppose I have to justify that brazen piece of self publicity. Err... Well, it's got something for everybody, science for nerds, thrills for chiler fans, medicine for hypochondriacs, a rich seam of irony and will make you think about your own mortality (that's if you need a dose of reality because your head is too big or because you are naturally introspective.)

Are there any books you really don’t enjoy?

This is really hard to admit, but I mostly struggle with anything that has won the Booker prize. I'd love to come across as intellectual, witty and literary but those books bore me. It's awful, isn't it. I'm supposed to be a writer and appreciate great prose as judged by incredibly clever people, but anything deemed to be worthy normally sends me to sleep.

What do you hope your obituary will say about you?

Died suddenly aged 120 playing strip scrabble with beautiful women. (Which he was winning)

A man emerges from the sodden undergrowth, lost, lonely and starving he is mown down by a speeding car on the edge of a remote forest.

Rumours of ghostly apparitions haunt a rural Northumberland community.

A renowned forensic research establishment is troubled by impossible results and unprecedented interference from an influential drug company.

Hendrix 'Aitch' Harrison is a tech-phobic journalist who must link these events together.

Normally side-lined to investigate UFOs and big-beast myths, but thrust into world of cynical corporate motivations, Hendrix is aided by a determined and ambitious entomologist. Together they delve into a grisly world of clinical trials and a viral treatment beyond imagining.

 

In a chase of escalating dangers, Aitch must battle more than his fear of technology to expose the macabre fate of the drugged victims donated to scientific research.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Crime, Thriller, Horror

Rating – R-16

More details about the author

Connect with William Knight on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.williamknight.info