Never Go Alone by Denison Hatch



Title: Never Go Alone
Author: Denison Hatch
Publisher: Lookout Press
Pages: 300
Genre: Thriller/Mystery/Police Procedural

A rash of elaborate cat burglaries of luxury buildings in Manhattan has the police and mayor panicked. When a group of social media obsessed millennials—a loosely organized crew that call themselves “urban explorers”—are suspected in the heists, NYPD detective Jake Rivett is assigned the case.

Already undercover with one foot on each side of the blue line, Rivett is ordered to infiltrate the group and discern responsibility. Battling against both his own personal demons and misgivings regarding his superiors, Rivett dives deep into the urban exploration scene in pursuit of the truth. But what, and who, he finds—deep in the sewers, up in the cranes above under-construction skyscrapers, and everywhere else in New York—will change not only Jake, but the city itself.

Purchase at Amazon.

Book Excerpt:
Two feet hammered the pavement. With movement as rapid as it was controlled, the explorer’s muscles tensed for what was to come. The target, all twenty stories of unabashedly neo-classical splendor, towered across the street. Infiltrating the building would be easy, but the next step was difficult. And the rest? Brilliant meets impossible.
The explorer was wearing a small camera on his chest, which captured his viewpoint with slightly shaky but high-definition clarity. A parking post stood ahead—cement poured into a strong iron tube. The man sprinted forward and vaulted onto the post. He maintained his momentum, springing off the top of the post onto an enormous industrial air-conditioning unit. Now eight feet in the air, he had only one stride before his next jump. He sailed through the empty air, arms outstretched, fingers tensing—a twelve-foot-high brick wall ahead. Just reaching the wall, the explorer’s fingers grasped the edge. His right hand couldn’t find traction. His fingernails scraped desperately as he started to fall. But two fingers on his left hand did their job. He hung on, swinging precariously before centering himself and pulling his body up and over the wall.
The explorer dropped down on the other side. His body contracted into a tight ball as he careened toward the construction gravel below. At the last moment, he rotated and achieved a rolling landing—lessening gravity’s impact. He came to a stop. Breathing heavily, he took a brief respite from the task at hand. His chest heaved as he peered around the construction site that he’d just infiltrated. He knew that a lone security guard sat in a booth on the other side of the block. But he also knew the guard was engrossed in his cell phone, only stopping occasionally to gaze onto an adjoining street. As long as the explorer was quiet, the guard would be none the wiser. The coast was clear. He reached for a mic attached to the side strap of his backpack.
“All silent. Only one clown in the circus,” the explorer whispered into the microphone. Still out of breath, he reached for his hydration tube and took a long sip of water. Then he rotated and watched as three more compatriots covertly slid over the top of the tall brick wall.
They each hit the ground in the same rolling manner, limiting trauma with expert precision. The entire crew was clad in dark outdoor technical clothes, breathable shirts, top-of-the-line Gore-Tex pants and trail runners with all reflective surfaces blocked out by black Sharpie. Their faces were covered by bandanas or ski masks. Respirators, climbing gear, knives, and cameras were both hanging from and strapped to their belts and backpacks.
The crew split in three different directions, acting as lookouts for any errant guard or construction manager onsite in the middle of the night. It was unlikely, but their plans called for extreme caution. That’s what had made them so successful—their secret sauce was not daring; it was preparation. After confirming that the others were in position, the explorer focused on the mission at hand.
An enormous tower crane stood against the edge of the construction site. Built like a towering T, the machine’s base was a concrete shithouse holding up three hundred feet of crisscrossing steel. The explorer expertly grabbed the side of the crane. Instead of heading for the control booth at the bottom, he simply began to ascend up the latticework that made up the sides—hands followed by legs on an upstream ladder.
Stopping midway to catch his breath, the man couldn’t help but look down. Vertigo’s tendrils reached out like forbidden fruit. His foot wavered to catch hold of a one-inch bar of the latticework. But he controlled the panic, centered himself, and continued climbing.
A few minutes later, the explorer reached the top of the crane. He pulled himself over the T’s edge and gazed along the hundred-and-fifty-foot-length atop the long horizontal span. Instead of traversing in the direction of the construction site from which he’d originated, the explorer headed the opposite way. Careful with the placement of his feet, he headed towards the side of the crane that extended halfway across the street below. It was a slow process. The latticework consisted of both ninety-degree and diagonal pieces of steel, like a series of bars with a crosshatch pattern strung across it. And between the pieces of the crane’s structure was nothing—a dark void. One misstep, one hesitation, one dash of grease and the explorer would plummet over twenty stories through thin air and become one with the blacktop of the city. It was not a pleasant thought, making the already difficult process deeply nerve-wracking.
“You will not bust.” The man talked himself through the fear as he reached the far end of the crane. He was now extended as far across the street below as the machinery would take him.
The explorer gazed down the gleaming city from the Upper West Side, all the way through Midtown and into Chelsea. It was more than a place now, more than a landscape. By this point at its evolution, Manhattan represented a geospatial-and-social coordinate on the razor’s edge of modernity. It was no longer what the future could be. It was the future itself, right now, happening in front of one’s eyes and reaching the stage of infinite singularity. As the years had gone on, the surfaces of the metropolis had become smooth, the lights perfect, the façades utterly complete. It no longer beckoned for the masses humbly—it repelled them. The construction site the explorer had ascended from would soon consist of glass, marble, and sex. That was all, and that was everything, and if one was rich enough, one could buy it. The new culture didn’t care for culture itself. It did not bow to subtlety of argument or freedom of soul. It only knew money—astronomical levels of money. The only people who could afford to live here would be the progeny of sovereign wealth fund managers, tech moonshot winners, and industrial titans. Nothing was free, for anyone—not even the views.
Except for our explorer—right now. It was his, alone. He admired the panorama of New York. Yes, there was the mission, but this was deserving of a photograph. He pulled the camera off his chest harness, activated selfie mode, and turned it towards himself. He lined up, framing the background of the city behind him. Click. The camera’s flash erupted. He flipped his hand down, as if to form an upside down V slogan. Click. Another flash—another selfie—his face shrouded by a hood throughout the entire process.
Having finished memorializing the scene, the man ducked down towards the crane. As he secured something to the crane, he gazed away from the construction site and towards his target.
A sharp contrast to the modern structures popping up like weeds, the limestone apartment building across the street was built during the turn of the century—the last century, not this. Its hulking body did not undulate as it rose. Instead the building consisted of strong vertical bands that ran up to form elaborate choragic arches and support the pointed top of the roof. Four large penthouse balconies graced each corner of the building, easily visible to the explorer who stood above them on the crane. He breathed deeply, then jumped off the crane into the darkness below.
Suspended by a climbing rope, the man careened from the top of the crane and over the street, until he was positioned directly above the penthouse balcony of the old building. The pendulum continued, however, and he swung back.
The second time he was ready. His toes landed lithely on the penthouse’s balcony. He paced towards the enclosed glass greenhouse. One of the small windows of the greenhouse was unlatched, exposing a sliver of access.
The explorer carefully maneuvered the window open.
He climbed into the penthouse.
And the city’s lights twinkled as if nothing had happened at all . . .

Double Take by Abby Bardi

Title: Double Take
Author: Abby Bardi
Publisher: Harper Collins Impulse
Pages: 186
Genre: Mystery/Women’s Fiction

Set in Chicago, 1975, Double Take is the story of artsy Rachel Cochrane, who returns from college with no job and confronts the recent death of Bando, one of her best friends. When she runs into Joey, a mutual friend, their conversations take them back into their shared past and to the revelation that Bando may have been murdered. To find out who murdered him, Rachel is forced to revisit her stormy 1960s adolescence, a journey that brings her into contact with her old friends, her old self, and danger.

FOR MORE INFORMATION:

Amazon | Barnes & Noble


Book Excerpt:
1975
I recognized his voice from across the room. When I handed him a menu, he looked up absent-mindedly and went on talking to some guys, then did a double take.
“Cookie?” he said.
I tried on the name like an old article of clothing to see if it still fit. It felt like a suede fringed jacket. “Yep,” I said.
“Wow. You look so different.”
“I cut my hair.”
“Everyone did.”
“I’m older,” I said.
“Everyone’s older.”
“You look exactly the same,” I said. He was wearing a beat-up leather jacket over a green T-shirt, maybe the same jacket and T-shirt he had always worn. His thick black hair was shorter now and curly, skin still tan from summer, small mouth with perfect teeth. He still looked tough and handsome, but in a creepy way, like someone you couldn’t trust.
“Cookie, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I work here. I’d rather you didn’t call me that. My name is Rachel.”
“I thought your name was Cookie.”
“Nope. Do people still call you Rat?”
He laughed. “Nowadays I go by Joey.”
“Okay, Joey,” I said, since this was nowadays.
“Miss?” a voice called from a nearby table. The voice brought me back to where I was standing, in Diana’s Grotto, a Greek diner on 57th Street, with ten tables full of customers. For a moment, I had thought I was in Casa Sanchez.
It took me a while to make it back to Joey’s table. A divinity student had found a fly in his milkshake, and it wouldn’t have taken so long if I hadn’t made the mistake of saying, “So, how much can a fly drink?” Like most academics, this guy had no sense of humor and gave me a lecture on hygiene. It was amazing that knowing as much about hygiene as he seemed to, he would continue to eat at Diana’s Grotto. By the time I got back to Joey’s table, the men he had been sitting with were gone. Off-duty police, from the looks of them, I thought, or plain-clothes. We got a lot of cops in Diana’s; they slumped on stools at the counter with their guns hanging from their belts, sucking down free coffee. Back in the sixties, the sight of their blue leather jackets had always made me nervous, like I’d committed some crime I’d forgotten about.
“So why are you working here?” Joey asked. “I thought you were a college girl. A co-ed.” He flashed his white teeth. “I don’t mean to be nosy.”
“The problem with college is they make you leave when you finish.”
“And here I thought it was a permanent gig.”
“Nope.”
“But why aren’t you doing something a little more—”
“Collegiate? Don’t ask.” I slid into the booth next to him. From across the room, Nicky, the maître d’, shot me a poisonous glance. I ignored him. “I like it here.” I smiled a crazy little smile.
“Hey, different strokes.” His eyes swept the room, resting on a mural of a white windmill on an island in the Aegean. The windmill’s blades were crooked. I remembered this eye-sweep from Casa Sanchez, where he had always sat facing the door so he could constantly scan the whole restaurant. His eyes returned to me. “Didn’t I hear a rumor you were supposed to be getting married? Some guy in California?”
“Just a rumor. Glad to hear the grapevine still works.”
I felt someone hiss into my ear. Nicky had slunk up behind me. He looked like a garden gnome in a plaid jacket and baggy pants, reeking of aftershave that had tried and failed. “Rose!” he snapped. He never called anyone by their right name. “What’s in a name?” I always murmured.
“Be right with you.” I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
“This is a classy place,” Joey said as Nicky ambled away.
“He’s the owner’s brother-in-law.”
“Diana?”
“There is no Diana. She’s a mythological figure.”
“Like Hendrix?”
“Kind of.”
“Hey, you want to have a drink after work?”
“Actually, I don’t drink any more.”
“You want to come watch me drink? What time do you get off?”
“Nine thirty. You could come help me fill the ketchups.”
“What?”
“You know, take the empty Heinz bottles and pour cheap generic ketchup in them.”
“Sounds like fun, but why don’t you meet me at Bert’s? Back room?”
I thought for a moment. This did not seem like a good idea, but I didn’t care. “Okay, why not. So, can I get you anything?”
“Just coffee.”
“You want a side of taramasalata with it? It’s made from fish roe.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
When I brought him his coffee, he said, “You’re still a hell of a waitress, Cookie.”
“You’re still a hell of a waitress, Rachel.”
“Whatever.”
“Thanks,” I said.
 






Sealed Up by Steve Dunn Hanson



Title: Sealed Up
Author: Steve Dunn Hanson
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 402
Genre: Action/Adventure/Suspense

 

The Da Vinci Code unsettles. SEALED UP shakes to the core!

 

UCLA anthropologist Nathan Hill, in a funk since his young wife’s death, learns of staggering millennia-old chronicles sealed up somewhere in a Mesoamerica cliff. This bombshell rocks him out of his gloom, and he leads a clandestine expedition to uncover them. What are they? Who put them there? No one knows. But, self-absorbed televangelist Brother Luke, who funds the expedition, thinks he does. If he’s right, his power-hunger will have off-the-charts gratification.
Striking Audra Chang joins Nathan in his pursuit and brings her own shocking secret. As they struggle through a literal jungle of puzzles and dead ends, she finds herself falling in love with Nathan. Her secret, though, may make that a non-starter.
When a shaman with a thirst for human sacrifice, and a murderous Mexican drug lord with a mysterious connection to Brother Luke emerge, the expedition appears doomed. Yet Nathan is convinced that fate—or something—demands these inscrutable chronicles be unearthed.
And if they are . . . what shattering disruption will they unleash?
Intricately layered and remarkably researched, this enthralling suspense-driven and thought provoking tour de force begs a startling question: Could it happen?

Amazon

Book Excerpt:
“How much farther?” Paul’s shirt was soaked from sweat.
Itzel looked at him and laughed. “Just like Torrance, huh?” Paul rolled his eyes.
“The cenote.” Ichika pointed to a three-foot-wide path that was recently cut through the brush. They followed it as it turned to the left then sharply to the right. The sinkhole loomed in front of them. The water, a huge blue sapphire, sparkled 15 feet below. Thick emerald-green growth reached down the sinkhole’s sides, but where they were standing, the vegetation had been cleared all the way to the water’s surface.
Paul stood at the cenote’s edge and stared down into the bowl. “You slipped here, you’d go all the way in.”
Itzel shuddered and pulled back; thoughts of her father overwhelming her. Was this what it was like where he fell? She trembled and turned away from the cenote. “Let’s leave.”
Paul looked at her and understood. He almost said something about his stupidity, but decided one foot in his mouth was enough. He motioned for Ichika to take them back the way they came. He put his arm around Itzel, and she leaned her head against him.
“Where are the ruins?” Paul asked. Ichika didn’t say anything, just pointed ahead. The brush and ferns that surrounded them were head high and prevented their seeing anything except along the trail. As they turned to go to where they first entered the path, Kish’s men stood waiting. Ikan, Muluc, and Yochi had machetes, and Gukumatz held a tranquilizer gun.
Paul and Itzel stopped. Ichika, her eyes fastened on the ground, kept going until she stood on the other side of the men. She turned back toward Itzel but wouldn’t look at her. “What’s going on?” Paul demanded in Spanish as he stepped in front of Itzel. Gukumatz raised his gun and shot a dart into Paul’s stomach. Paul flinched at the pain and looked down at his stomach. “What the ....” Paul yanked the dart out and threw it on the ground. A small circle of blood soaked through his shirt. He lunged at Gukumatz and swung his forearm around catching him on the bridge of his nose. Blood spurted from Gukumatz’s nostrils as he fell to the ground; a gash flaring open on top of his nose. Ikan and Yochi dropped their machetes and jumped Paul.
“What are you doing?” Itzel yelled in Lacandón. “Where is Kish?” Muluc grabbed her and threw his arm around her neck, holding her from behind.
“Don’t you hurt her!” Ichika screamed, as she advanced on him. Gukumatz stood up and wiped his nose with his sleeve; blood soaking through his shirt to his skin. His stare at Paul was chilling, and he swore at him in Spanish. Paul tried to get up to come at him. It was all the two men could do to keep him down even though his strength was ebbing. Gukumatz turned away from Paul and pulled a cartridge and a dart from the bag on his shoulder and loaded them into his gun. He walked to Itzel and shoved Ichika aside. He lowered the gun and shot the dart into Itzel’s stomach. She flinched at the pain and stared at Gukumatz. “You pig!” she spat.
Within a few minutes Paul and Itzel were unconscious. Gukumatz pulled the GPS trackers from their belts, turned them off, and slammed them against a rock. He grunted as he picked up Itzel and slung her across his shoulder. The other three men lifted Paul. They headed to the platform ruins.
The place of sacrifice.

For Immediate Release: Steve Dunn's SEALED UP: THE COURSE OF FATE: BOOK BOOK Virtual Book Tour

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Pump Up Your Book! is proud to announce Steve Dunn Hanson’s Sealed Up: The Course of Fate: Book One virtual book tour January 3 - March 31.  Steve will be guest appearing at blogs throughout the U.S. and international regions talking about his phenomenal new action/adventure/suspense novel that critics are calling “Fascinating. Intricate. Intelligent.”

Hanson has lived in places that grew him – from a small Idaho farm town, a run-down neighborhood in St. Louis, and a middle-class southern California community to Sydney, Australia and Bucharest, Romania. His experiences are as varied as the places he’s lived.  He says, “I have a hopper of ‘reality’ including being a volunteer jail chaplain and flying with a U.S. presidential candidate in his small plane when an engine conked out.  And all of this is fodder for my writing.”

In Sealed Up, UCLA anthropologist Nathan Hill, is in a funk since his young wife’s death, and learns of staggering millennia-old chronicles sealed up somewhere in a Mesoamerica cliff. This bombshell rocks him out of his gloom, and he leads a clandestine expedition to uncover them. What are they? Who put them there? No one knows. But, self-absorbed televangelist Brother Luke, who funds the expedition, thinks he does. If he’s right, his power-hunger will have off-the-charts gratification.
Striking Audra Chang joins Nathan in his pursuit and brings her own shocking secret. As they struggle through a literal jungle of puzzles and dead ends, she finds herself falling in love with Nathan. Her secret, though, may make that a non-starter.

When a shaman with a thirst for human sacrifice, and a murderous Mexican drug lord with a mysterious connection to Brother Luke emerge, the expedition appears doomed. Yet Nathan is convinced that fate—or something—demands these inscrutable chronicles be unearthed.

And if they are . . . what shattering disruption will they unleash?

Intricately layered and remarkably researched, this enthralling suspense-driven and thought provoking tour de force begs a startling question: Could it happen?

If you’d like to follow his tour stops, visit http://www.pumpupyourbook.com/2016/12/09/pump-up-your-book-presents-sealed-up-virtual-book-publicity-tour-win-25-amazon-gift-card/ and you may win a $25 Amazon Gift Card or an autographed copy of his book. Please leave a comment or question at each of his tour stops to let him know you stopped by!

Pump Up Your Book! is an award-winning virtual book tour agency for authors who want quality service at an affordable price.  More information can be found on our website at www.pumpupyourbook.com. While there, check out our Authors on Tour page to see what we have coming up in the months ahead. We’re always looking for new bloggers to join our team. 

Contact Information:
Dorothy Thompson
Founder of Pump Up Your Book! Virtual Book Tours
P.O. Box 643
Chincoteague, Virginia  23336
Email:  Dorothy@PumpUpYourBook.com

Cat O' Nine Tales by Krystal Lawrence



Title: Cat O’ Nine Tales
Author: Krystal Lawrence
Publisher: Telemachus Press
Pages: 284
Genre: Horror/Suspense

What evil dwells within the pretty lady next door or the ordinary house cat?
What happens when you pursue your dreams into the desert after dark?
Beware the man borne of your imagination. He could seek vengeance on the one who created him.
Visit a bookstore offering a most alluring and sinister service.
Journey to the dark side with ten twisted tales of horror, malevolence, and the truly uncanny.

Amazon | Barnes & Noble


Book Excerpt:
On an overcast Tuesday, Brianna awoke to a commotion out on her back patio in the early morning hours. Glancing at the clock next to her bed, she saw it was just after sunrise.
Having no idea what all the racket was, Brianna flung open the window shade in her bedroom. Taking in the unbelievable scene playing out below her in the backyard, she stumbled away from the window and screamed.
Literally hundreds of birds were whirling in a dizzying cloud on her lawn. They formed a tight sphere and appeared to be pecking and clawing at something caught between them. Brianna had never seen so many birds at once.
The way they were moving together in that frenzied dance was worse than anything from even Tippi Hedren’s worst nightmare.
All were converging on an unknown victim, in a blinding array of colors, shapes and sizes. Brianna could not see where one bird ended and another began. Their claws were working, their beaks snapping, and God help whatever was caught in the middle of the murderous orb they had formed.
She ran from the bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time.
As she approached the back door she heard the mad cacophony of thousands of beating wings. Bartholomew hissed and charged between Brianna’s feet and up the stairs, retreating to the safety of her bedroom.
Brianna cautiously opened the curtains on the back door. She watched in dumbstruck horror as the colorful shroud of madly pecking birds elevated into the sky. It was impossible to see if her trio of crows was a part of that insane roaring tapestry.
Brianna collapsed against the door as the thick veil of screaming feathers flew over the house and due south. Just as they were ascending over the trees, Brianna uttered an anguished moan.
Peeking from between all those madly rushing bodies was Rob’s staring face. It was frozen in a death mask and covered in dozens of bleeding scratches. Where his right eye should have been was only a bloody gaping hole. She saw this grisly scene for only a few seconds before the birds disappeared over the horizon.
            With shaking hands Brianna unlocked the back door and stepped out onto her patio. Apart from several brightly colored feathers lying on the patio and strewn about the yard, there remained no evidence of the unspeakable horror she had just witnessed.
She plucked a single sleek black feather from the Dogwood tree and staggered back onto the patio. Falling into a chair, she called weakly, “Hey, crows. Are you guys here?”
            The morning remained eerily still, and silent as a tomb. Her feeder sat empty and there was nothing perched in any of the bushes or trees. For the first time since she moved in, there was not a single bird anywhere in Brianna Douglas’s yard.
            Eyes glazed over in shock, Brianna sat slumped against the table for several minutes. When the doorbell rang, she recoiled as though a canon had been fired next to her head.
            Sucking in harsh gasps of air, she rose on wobbly legs and made her way to the front door. She did not recognize her visitors, but began shaking uncontrollably when she saw a police car parked in her driveway.
Convinced Rob’s body had already been found, she was sure the men on her porch were there to arrest her. She was the only person alive with a motive to kill him. It would, of course, be futile to try and explain to the authorities what fate had actually befallen him. Who in their right mind would believe it? She barely believed it herself. Brianna hoped Paula knew a good criminal defense attorney.
            Neither of the two men waiting at her front door wore a police uniform. They were in business suits. Brianna steeled herself for their accusations and opened the door.
            They smiled politely and held up their badges for her inspection. “Mrs. Douglas?”
            Unable to trust herself to speak, Brianna nodded.
            “I am Detective Ramirez, and this is my partner Detective Soames. We are sorry to disturb you at this hour, but we have reason to believe your life may be in danger.”
            This was not what she was expecting to hear. For several seconds she did nothing but look back and forth between the two men, her brow knitted in confusion. Finally, Brianna whispered, “What?”
            “Ma’am, we received a phone call this morning from a woman named Ariel Forbes. She claimed that her boyfriend——your ex-husband, Robert Douglas, was on his way over to your house with a gun. According to Ms. Forbes, he was planning to kill you. We put out an APB on his vehicle and it was located about a block from here. We were afraid we might have been too late. Have you seen or heard from Mr. Douglas today?”
            Brianna shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes and she sagged against the door frame. The detective who had done all the talking put a supportive arm around her waist.
He said sympathetically, “I know this is a lot to absorb. May we come in? We don’t want to leave you alone until Mr. Douglas is apprehended. There are officers and a canine unit in the area looking for him. It’s only a matter of time before we catch him.”
            Brianna allowed the officers inside. She looked nervously toward the backyard, but all was quiet there.
Brianna offered the detectives coffee, but her hands were shaking so badly she spilled the grounds all over the floor. Detective Soames wiped them up while Ramirez got the coffee pot going. Brianna excused herself to get dressed and went upstairs to her bedroom.
            The full impact of what the detectives had told her hit her like a ton of bricks and she collapsed onto the bed. She now understood what this morning’s hellish occurrence was all about. The birds had saved her life. Equally amazing; the skinny, anorexic bitch alerted the cops to Rob’s plans in an effort to spare Brianna from his wrath. She supposed she should thank her.

           
Robert Douglas’s body was never found. His disappearance was investigated and even made news headlines. The case was listed as unsolved in the police archives. His fate remained a mystery to everyone. Only Brianna knew the truth.
Eventually the birds returned to her yard——all except the crows. Brianna waited for them every morning and left toast for them on the grass, but they did not show up.
After several months, Brianna accepted that they probably weren’t coming back. She missed them a great deal.
 She reasoned they had been her guardian angels, and once they saved her from Rob, their job was done.
            It was a pleasant surprise when the following summer she found a sparkling seashell waiting for her at the edge of the patio one morning.
She shaded her eyes against the sun and peered up into the Dogwood. The crows weren’t there.
That was okay. She smiled and held up the shell anyway. “Thanks, this is very pretty. Come back and see me, okay? I miss you guys.”
The next morning Brianna awoke to the familiar sound of the crows cawing, and looked out the window to see all three of them waiting patiently for their toast on the lawn.

Sealed Up by Steve Dunn Hanson

The Da Vinci Code unsettles. SEALED UP shakes to the core!

 

UCLA anthropologist Nathan Hill, in a funk since his young wife’s death, learns of staggering
millennia-old chronicles sealed up somewhere in a Mesoamerica cliff. This bombshell rocks him out of his gloom, and he leads a clandestine expedition to uncover them. What are they? Who put them there? No one knows. But, self-absorbed televangelist Brother Luke, who funds the expedition, thinks he does. If he’s right, his power-hunger will have off-the-charts gratification.
Striking Audra Chang joins Nathan in his pursuit and brings her own shocking secret. As they struggle through a literal jungle of puzzles and dead ends, she finds herself falling in love with Nathan. Her secret, though, may make that a non-starter.
When a shaman with a thirst for human sacrifice, and a murderous Mexican drug lord with a mysterious connection to Brother Luke emerge, the expedition appears doomed. Yet Nathan is convinced that fate—or something—demands these inscrutable chronicles be unearthed.
And if they are . . . what shattering disruption will they unleash?
Intricately layered and remarkably researched, this enthralling suspense-driven and thought provoking tour de force begs a startling question: Could it happen?

Amazon

Book Excerpt:
“How much farther?” Paul’s shirt was soaked from sweat.
Itzel looked at him and laughed. “Just like Torrance, huh?” Paul rolled his eyes.
“The cenote.” Ichika pointed to a three-foot-wide path that was recently cut through the brush. They followed it as it turned to the left then sharply to the right. The sinkhole loomed in front of them. The water, a huge blue sapphire, sparkled 15 feet below. Thick emerald-green growth reached down the sinkhole’s sides, but where they were standing, the vegetation had been cleared all the way to the water’s surface.
Paul stood at the cenote’s edge and stared down into the bowl. “You slipped here, you’d go all the way in.”
Itzel shuddered and pulled back; thoughts of her father overwhelming her. Was this what it was like where he fell? She trembled and turned away from the cenote. “Let’s leave.”
Paul looked at her and understood. He almost said something about his stupidity, but decided one foot in his mouth was enough. He motioned for Ichika to take them back the way they came. He put his arm around Itzel, and she leaned her head against him.
“Where are the ruins?” Paul asked. Ichika didn’t say anything, just pointed ahead. The brush and ferns that surrounded them were head high and prevented their seeing anything except along the trail. As they turned to go to where they first entered the path, Kish’s men stood waiting. Ikan, Muluc, and Yochi had machetes, and Gukumatz held a tranquilizer gun.
Paul and Itzel stopped. Ichika, her eyes fastened on the ground, kept going until she stood on the other side of the men. She turned back toward Itzel but wouldn’t look at her. “What’s going on?” Paul demanded in Spanish as he stepped in front of Itzel. Gukumatz raised his gun and shot a dart into Paul’s stomach. Paul flinched at the pain and looked down at his stomach. “What the ....” Paul yanked the dart out and threw it on the ground. A small circle of blood soaked through his shirt. He lunged at Gukumatz and swung his forearm around catching him on the bridge of his nose. Blood spurted from Gukumatz’s nostrils as he fell to the ground; a gash flaring open on top of his nose. Ikan and Yochi dropped their machetes and jumped Paul.
“What are you doing?” Itzel yelled in Lacandón. “Where is Kish?” Muluc grabbed her and threw his arm around her neck, holding her from behind.
“Don’t you hurt her!” Ichika screamed, as she advanced on him. Gukumatz stood up and wiped his nose with his sleeve; blood soaking through his shirt to his skin. His stare at Paul was chilling, and he swore at him in Spanish. Paul tried to get up to come at him. It was all the two men could do to keep him down even though his strength was ebbing. Gukumatz turned away from Paul and pulled a cartridge and a dart from the bag on his shoulder and loaded them into his gun. He walked to Itzel and shoved Ichika aside. He lowered the gun and shot the dart into Itzel’s stomach. She flinched at the pain and stared at Gukumatz. “You pig!” she spat.
Within a few minutes Paul and Itzel were unconscious. Gukumatz pulled the GPS trackers from their belts, turned them off, and slammed them against a rock. He grunted as he picked up Itzel and slung her across his shoulder. The other three men lifted Paul. They headed to the platform ruins.
The place of sacrifice.

Dominion by Doug Hewitt



Title: DOMINION: FIRE AND ICE
Author: D.A. Hewitt
Publisher: Double Dragon eBooks
Pages: 372
Genre: Science Fiction

It’s the year 2075. Lunar mining and processing facilities have prospered near the lunar south pole, where the Moon’s largest city, Valhalla, rests on the rim of the Shackleton Crater.

Dominion Off-Earth Resources has beaten the competition into space and is ready to establish its monopoly with the opening of the orbiting space resort Dominion. But Pettit Space Industries has a secret plan to emerge as a major contender in the commercialization of space. The upstart company is training the first space rescue squad at a secluded off-grid site in Barrow, Alaska.

The rescue squad gets nearly more than it can handle when its first mission involves the Pope, who’s traveling to the Moon to establish the Lunar See. During the rescue attempt, they discover Earth is imperiled by an asteroid large enough to cause mass extinction. Using the unique skills taught during their training, skills emphasized by the great psychoanalyst Carl Jung, these Jungi Knights must elevate their game if they are to save both the Earth and the Pope—while not getting killed in the process.

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Book Excerpt:
The girl shook her head impatiently, the ponytail swaying back and forth. “You don’t recognize me?” she asked.
I looked closer. “I’m not up on the latest supermodel scene,” I told her, “and I haven’t seen many movies lately.”
“Supermodel? Movies? What on Earth are you talking about?”
“You seem to think I should recognize you. I assume you’re a model or an actress, someone who would be easily recognized.”
She whispered something under her breath, and having a modest ability to read lips, thought she’d said, What an idiot. “I’m Jessica Thibideau.”
I thought Julia was going to leap out of her chair and try to strangle the girl. I reached over and laid my hand on her forearm with as much reassurance as I could muster.
Julia reached over, grabbed the back of my neck, pulled my head down, leaned in, and whispered, “She runs the science departments in DOER’s space program. She’s the daughter of Benjamin Thibideau.”
“Oh,” I whispered. “Yes, of course I’ve heard of her. Never seen a picture, though. Why would she assume I’d recognize her?”
“Even in the Ural Mountains, I’ve seen news pics of the famous Jessica Thibideau. Her spaceship designs incorporate integrated shielding generators. She’s responsible for the explosion of industry in space.”
“And on the Moon,” I added. “Maybe I have seen her picture. She looks different in person.”
Jessica Thibideau began tapping her toe. “If you don’t mind, I have things to do.” She waved her arm in a wide sweeping movement. “And in case you haven’t noticed, we have a problem here.”
I began straightening myself but Julia grabbed my wrist. “Be careful,” she whispered. “Her company practically buried yours. Some say the stress is what killed your father.”
“Yeah, well, my dad worked too hard.”
I pulled away and straightened myself in my chair and folded my hands in front of me on the table. “Are you referring to the street music?”
She snorted. “Of course. What are you, some kind of joker?”
“Just trying to communicate.”
She reached up and pinched her nose, equalizing pressure. “You stole my asteroid retrieval drone.”
My reaction caught me by surprise. I jerked back as though jolted by a cattle prod such was my surprise at being accused of something so off my radar that she may very well have accused me of being an alien in disguise. “What?” I managed to eke out.
“You must’ve sanctioned it, at least. There are only two players in space—DOER and PSI. And DOER wouldn’t steal from itself.”
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“A DOER asteroid interceptor-collector drone has gone missing. Not only that, a dummy drone was left in its place to camouflage the theft. Now tell me, Mr. Pettit, how many companies have the capacity to handle what an interceptor-collector drone can deliver?”
I held up two fingers, eyebrows raised with uncertainty.
She stared as though trying to melt me with her glare. After a few moments, she made a sound that resembled harrumph and placed her hands on her hips. “Anibal Sanchez is your stooge, right?”
She throws out big tomatoes and observes your reaction.
I realized that this woman believed she possessed the skill to discern changes in blood pressure, eye dilation, and other change indicators that revealed when a person was lying.
Interesting.
“Never heard the name before,” I told her. “And now that I’ve answered your question, Miss Thibideau, I’ll tell you that you’re in no position to judge me. You don’t know me, and I doubt you have the depth of field to see clear enough for me to even want to have a conversation with you.”
“We all make judgments constantly,” she shot back. “You’re judging me right now.”
“You’re the one who barged in on us.”
She took a step to her left, then to her right. She placed her hand on her chin, opened her mouth, then finger-tapped the side of her head. She looked like a frenzied shopper who’d lost her shopping list and was trying to recall each item in the order in which they appeared.
She reached up and pinched her nose. Instead of finding it annoying, I found myself attracted to it.
Here, let me help …
Finally she stopped fidgeting and looked at me. “Mr. Pettit, allow me to apologize, please. I just got back from Valhalla, and I’ve got a bit of the jitters. I’m jumping at conclusions.”
“I hear jitters can be a common problem for space-goers,” I said. I reached over and nudged a chair away from the table. “Have a seat.”
Julia jabbed me with her elbow. I leaned over and whispered, “Let’s see how much information we can get.” Then I kissed her neck and this seemed to appease her.
Jessica Thibideau glanced back at her sedan. “All right. I am starving.” She sat and whispered a command that brought up a translucent eight-panel octagonal grid interface that encircled her.
Impressive. But where’s the projector? An implant? No—more likely embedded in clothing.
Signorina Thibideau twirled her finger and jabbed at one of the displays on the panel to her left. She glanced at me. “How’s the pizza here?”
“Out of this world,” I said, trying to suppress the corner of my mouth from rising slightly. I failed.
Jessica closed her eyes, sighed, then placed her order.
Julia leaned in and whispered, “She seems flighty to me.”
“Jitters is typically temporary.”
“Permanent jitters, in her case, if you ask me,” Julia commented.

Kracken by Ray Ellis

Title: KRACKEN
Author: Ray Ellis
Publisher: NCC Publishing LLC
Pages: 367
Genre: Inspirational Science Fiction

The year is 135 New Reckoning. A Godless world is rebuilding itself.

When a stranger from Mike Stone’s past appears on his doorstep, his ordinary life is suddenly and violently destroyed. Mike’s past has come back to haunt him. Now with his family attacked and his home destroyed, Mike finds himself running for his life through a jungle-planet filled with terrors and a monster known only as the Kracken.

In the midst of the chaos, Ted Waters launches his plan for domination. In a post-apocalyptic world, Waters sets himself up as the sole leader of the emerging world government. Using children as slaves, he mines a new narcotic used to subdue the people’s will.

Kracken, the story of two men, two opinions and two bases of power set on a collision path. When the two collide, Mike finds himself confronted by the God he thought he left behind.

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Book Excerpt:

Chapter One
The village square was busy. Moist streets and the smell of sweat and dirt, mixed with the aroma of raw sewage, hung heavy in the air. Dirty-faced children played in the streets, and escaped animals ran under foot. Skipp Langg had come to find the needed components to finish the project that he was working on.
Skipp stopped, pretending this time to study a set of sonic amplifiers. He looked back the way he had come. The lone figure stopped as well. Now he was sure he was being followed. He rubbed his chin. He wasn’t sure by whom or why, but he was sure whoever it was or for whatever reason, it wasn’t good.
Tossing his raven-colored braid over his shoulder, Skipp used the occasion to scan the area more thoroughly. Nothing. Where are you guys?
He grimaced and spoke into his wrist communicator, “Jonas! Jay! Anybody!” He let his gaze travel over the sea of faces, studying them. He looked at the walls again. He swore. Signal must be blocked. His gaze shifted upward, tracing the canyon-like walls of the buildings in the inner city.
Since being let go by The Company, Skipp had made his home in the underground; the subterranean world, which had evolved in the abandoned subway systems that ran for over 4700 kilometers in length and more than 2.5 kilometers beneath the city streets. After years of no contact, Jonas had left a video message, calling in an old debt, urging Skipp to meet him that
afternoon in the city. Now he was wondering if coming had been the best decision. He called again; still no answer.
Closing the connection, Skipp glanced over his shoulder again and then burst into flight, hoping to draw his pursuers out into the open. As he did, he realized his plan had worked, if only too well. Lowering his head, he simply ran. Rounding a corner, he came to a skidding stop; he had run into a dead-end alley.
Skipp turned—too late. Behind him, blocking the mouth of the alley stood four very large men and one smaller figure whom Skipp took to be their leader. With slow, purposed steps, the men made their approach.
“Jonas,” Skipp called frantically into his wrist-com. “Jonas, now would be a good time to show up.” Despite the cool breeze and damp weather, beads of sweat rolled down Skipp’s aquiline face.
The group was near enough now that Skipp could see their faces. The five figures continued to close the distance between themselves and Skipp, fanning out in a half circle as they advanced. Suddenly, one of them pulled a handheld energy weapon from his pocket, an IMR/S457-Agitator. The weapon banned from legal sale had long been outlawed, even for military use. The energy beam did more than just kill its victim but was designed to torment as well. The beam attacked the central nervous system, disrupting the brain’s electrical activity, increasing the body’s core temperature. This would cause the brain to swell simultaneously, triggering violent muscle spasms. Finally, due to increasing pressure and contractions, the victim’s heart and other vital organs would simply implode.
As the man leveled the weapon on Skipp, he smiled, exposing broken, yellowed and missing teeth. “After all I he’rd about you, I thought you’d be smar’er than this.” He gestured with the weapon indicating the alley. “To allow yerself to be trapped in a blind alley. Too bad though.” He began to laugh. “You don’t get to learn from your lil’l mistake.”
Skipp could see the man’s dirt encrusted finger tightening on the trigger. “Wait!” It was all he could think to say.
“What, you want to beg first? Not that it’ll do ya any good.” The man continued laughing. “Hey, boys, he wants ta beg fer his life. Shall we let him beg or should we just kill em?”
“Oh, let him beg first. Who knows, he might even make me laugh, too,” the second of the large men said. Then turning a fiery gaze on Skipp, he said, “I’m not as easily amused as my friend is though.”
Skipp’s words came quickly, “You don’t have to do this. How much you getting paid for this? I’ll double it.” His hazel-blue eyes dancing all over the alley looking for something—anything that might be used in his defense. “You have me at a disadvantage.” He managed a nervous smile. “At least tell me who you’re working for. A man should at least know why he’s being killed.”
A third man spoke, “Our client just wants him dead. Didn’t say nothing about keep’n him pretty. I say we have some fun first.”
“Wait, fellas,” Skipp said slowly, lowering his hands.
The third man grabbed Skipp by his collar and threw him against the wall. Skipp slid to the ground, the side of his face landing in a thin puddle of rancid water. With his hands beneath him, Skipp worked frantically to remove his wrist communicator. Just as he pulled it from his wrist, he was kicked hard in his side. Along with a burst of air forced from his lungs, he felt several ribs crack.
As he lay there fighting for breath, Skipp could see his attackers. The smallest of the group stood back; Skipp assumed he was the lookout, though why they would need one, he couldn’t figure out. No one would interrupt them. Trying to force himself up, his breathing became labored; each intake brought with it a stab of searing, white-hot pain.
“Come on, get up, pretty boy. You’re not done yet,” the man said as he jerked Skipp from the ground and held him level with his face. Skipp’s feet dangled several inches above the ground. “Look at me,” the man bellowed into Skipp’s face, flecks of sour spittle spattering him.
Skipp winced before staring defiantly at the man. Taking a breath, he settled himself then spat in the man’s face. He grimaced. He knew this was going to hurt.
Roaring like a mad bear, the man flung Skipp all the way across the alley, slamming him off the far wall like a child’s play thing.
This time Skipp was expecting it; in fact, he hoped that it would happen. He was ready. Twisting as he flew, he managed to absorb the impact on his side. Lying on the ground, he finished connecting the new components to the energy cell in his wrist-com.
Staggering to his feet, Skipp defied the men. “So, you gonna let this brute beat me to death and cheat you out of using your toy.” Blood ran from Skipp’s nose and mouth, his eyes swollen nearly shut, each breath coming rough and ragged. He stepped toward the men, antagonizing them. “Go ahead,” Skipp yelled at the man, then closed his eyes and lunged forward. “Shoot me!”
The man fired.
At that precise moment, Skipp pressed the activator switch on his wrist-com. There was a bright flash and an accompanying blast, which threw him backwards, slamming him into a row of partially filled trash barrels. He felt the air rushing out of his lungs as his world suddenly began to grow dark.
Moments passed.
Struggling to his knees, Skipp willed himself back from the brink of unconsciousness. Grasping desperately, trying to catch that elusive first breath, he celebrated the fact that he wasn’t dead.
Skipp looked up to see all five of the would-be assassins struggling to regain their footing. Overcome by the intensity of the optical burst, and unprepared for the backblast, the assailants had momentarily lost consciousness. Skipp made a mental note of the unexpected bonus and continued his struggle toward the mouth of the alley and freedom.
Willing his legs to obey, Skipp began in his best imitation of a man running but looking more like a common drunk after too many last drinks. Slowly, strength returned and just as he staggered past the last of the fallen men, he felt a hand close around his ankle.
He fell—hard.
With his body not fully recovered, he landed face first onto the murky pavement, his ribs screaming in protest. Dragging his breath through gritted teeth, Skipp turned to see the business end of another weapon, an optical neutralizer pointed directly at his head. Then the barrel swung away.
The cloaked figure turned and fired on the four other men, who in their weakened state, realized too late that they, and not Skipp, were the intended target. The men fell backwards, moaning and screaming, enraged and in pain. Their optical nerves seared, blindness claimed them.
The fifth and considerably smaller of the assailants turned his attention back to Skipp. The weapon leveled at him, directing Skipp to the back wall of the alley. The assailant stood, blocking any possible chance of escape.
As the assailant removed the hooded mask, Skipp realized to his amazement, that the fifth man was actually a woman, a fact lost to him during the earlier stress. “What?” A look of unbelief and confusion washed across his youthful face. “What are you doing here?” was all he could manage.
“Looks like I’m saving your rear end,” she said smugly. “And good thing, too, you were about to run into the rest of this squad. There’s Mercs all over the square.”
Skipp could see, now that she had taken off the too-big-for-her mercenary’s uniform, that although not a pretty girl, she had a strong athletic body and a confidence that gave her a certain attractiveness. Remembering himself and feeling slightly embarrassed at being saved by a female, Skipp tried bravado. “Well, I had everything under control. I was just about to—”
“—Get yourself killed and ruin an entire day’s work for me,” she said waving off his comment. “I saw these guys tracking you and was just about to make contact when you decided to run into this blind alley.” She couldn’t help smiling.
Skipp could feel his cheeks turning red. He looked away, pretending to check the burnt-out wrist communicator. “Not that I’m not grateful, but who are you anyway? So, I suppose I’m your prisoner now?”
She laughed. “Prisoner? You are full of yourself, aren’t you? No, Skipp, you’re no prisoner of mine. Jonas sent me in here to find you before these guys did. You almost messed that up.”
At that moment, a chirping noise came from her pocket. She answered her communicator with a crisp military tone, “Julie here.”
“Who is—” Skipp had tried to ask, but was stopped by an upraised hand.
“Copy. Setting position now. ETA?”
A rope ladder fell along the back wall, causing both Julie and Skipp to look up. Above the rim of the building, just over the rooftop, they could see Jay waving and speaking into a communicator. “How about right now,” said a voice with a Caribbean accent and a widening smile.
Behind them, the four men began thrashing wildly, a barrage of profanities flooding the quiet of the alley. Julie stopped to kick aside the discarded weapons, taking the IMR/S457-Agitator with her. “How did you get past those guys,” Skipp asked, stepping aside and offering her first up on the ladder.
“No way, pretty-boy, up you go,” she said, tucking the weapon in her belt. “I didn’t go through all this just to watch you get whacked while I’m climbing a ladder. Now store your chauvinistic attitude and climb the rope.”
“Some people call it chivalry, but—”
“You know, I really don’t care what you call it. Move your hiney before I carry you up.”
She was smiling, but something about her stance made Skipp believe she was serious, and looking at her, he believed she could.