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Diversion by Cindy Goyette | #AuthorInterview

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DIVERSION

by Cindy Goyette

March 2 – 27, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Diversion by Cindy Goyette

A Probation Case Files Mystery

 

Phoenix probation officer Casey Carson could use a change of scenery to clear her head and make some major life decisions. When the opportunity arises to take on a side job wrangling juvenile delinquents on a wilderness adventure for a diversion program, she’s skeptical. But she wants to support her cousin, who was hired as a counselor. The extra cash in her pocket sweetens the deal.

Unfortunately, one of Casey’s clients—an escaped murderer after one of her charges—threatens to upend her plans. Facing wildfire, flash floods and an angry mountain lion are nothing compared to the murderous intentions in store for one of the kids.

On a crash course with the killer and with her faithful pup Felony by her side, Casey desperately tries to lead the group to safety. She doesn’t realize that her two love interests, ex-husband Betz, and hunky ex-neighbor, Marcus, are frantically looking for the group. Casey must utilize every negotiating skill she possesses to not fail, or she’ll lose all she holds dear.

Praise for Diversion:

“A breakneck adrenaline rush of wilderness adventure, emotional angst, and high personal stakes. Whether you’re a fan of the Probation Case Files Mysteries or jumping in for the first time, Cindy Goyette’s DIVERSION is certain to entertain!”
~ Tori Eldridge, bestselling author of KAUA‘I STORM

“With nonstop action, continually mounting stakes, and a fearless heroine, Cindy Goyette’s DIVERSION doesn’t let go and will have you turning its pages well past bedtime–and not regretting it one bit in the morning.”
~ Audrey Lee, Edgar and Anthony-nominated author of The Mechanics of Memory and Never to Be Told

“Casey Carson is a hands-on probation officer with a lot on her hands in Cindy Goyette’s engrossing novel, DIVERSION: Two men’s affections, shepherding troubled teens on a wilderness hike gone wrong, and an escaped killer on the loose closing in. A lot of balls in the air that Goyette handles masterfully, all while torquing up the tension.”
~ Matt Coyle, author of the award-winning Rick Cahill crime series

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Suspense
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: February 24, 2026
Number of Pages: 320
Series: A Probation Case Files Mystery, Book 3
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Mystery Series


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Early Termination by Cindy Goyette
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Read an excerpt:

Prologue

The girl held her breath, hoping her pounding heart wouldn’t give her away. She’d squeezed herself under her parent’s four-poster bed, between totes of out-of-season clothes. It had been her favorite place to hide when she was little… but she was almost full grown now. A stupid choice. Wouldn’t it be the first place they looked?

Fear wouldn’t let her chance a move.

The roar in her head made it difficult to hear what was happening in the other room. Still, she listened.

She knew one thing. Her parents were dead. She’d heard their pleas, their screams. Then gunshots.

Silence after that.

She fought back her tears. Swallowed hard. Held her breath.

Now, the killer was rummaging through the house. Looking for something. Looking for her.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall and then stopped at the bedroom doorway.

She clamped her hand over her mouth. Tears dripped down her cheeks, gathering at the cleft of her chin before landing soundlessly on the carpeted floor.

Scuffed black boots walked across the room and came to a stop at the foot of the bed. So close, she could reach out and touch them.

She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to face her fate as it unfolded. She was next.

But a cell phone chimed, and the boots turned. The footsteps moved away and toward the door.

She opened her eyes and risked a small breath.

In her hand, she gripped the key her father had passed to her just before he’d told her to hide.

Chapter One

Six months later

I stuffed crackers in my mouth and washed them down with a Diet Coke before leaving my desk and heading for the probation department’s training room. It was early morning, and I felt like I had a killer hangover. Strange, because I’d had nothing to drink in the last few days. I’d thought about calling in sick, but I’d never done that before, and I didn’t want to ruin my perfect record. Even if no one else was keeping track.

Plus, this training was mandatory. I’d put it off until the last class offering, and I needed to get it done.

Most of the seats in the cramped room were already taken. I didn’t have a record of being on time, so I didn’t sweat it.

“Casey,” my coworker Claire called from across the room. “I saved you a seat.”

I dropped into the chair next to her, took another drink, and placed my Big Gulp on the table. “I can’t take another day of this,” I said, under my breath.

“Sorry to hear that,” the trainer said, reaching around me and placing a binder in my lap. “Just for that, you get to go first.”

I cringed. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were standing there.”

“Obviously not.” The trainer walked over to the dry-erase board, picked up a marker, and opened the cap with a flourish. I didn’t know her well, but she was on the fast track to becoming a supervisor. I also didn’t know she hated me until now. “So, Casey, give us your greatest weakness.”

Right now, it was my stomach. The leftover burrito I’d eaten for dinner last night must have been spoiled, but that wasn’t what she meant. I hated this question. The goal was to name something that you could turn into a strength. Nothing came to mind.

Hands shot up around the room. Apparently, not the case for those around me.

“Impatient,” someone yelled.

“Opinionated!”

“Sarcastic!”

“Workaholic!”

The trainer couldn’t write fast enough.

“Okay, that’s plenty,” I said. I loved my job but clearly had to work on my reputation.

The list was moving into a second column when my work cell vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. Betz, my ex-husband. Well, he was more than that, but I’d pumped the brakes on reconciling while I figured some things out. Still, taking his call was a good excuse to escape the room and the assassination of my character my peers were treating like a game show. “Gotta take this’” I got to my feet and hurried from the room. “It’s a detective.”

“Evasive,” someone added to the list before I silenced them by closing the door. I answered as I walked down the hall. “What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt your day,” Betz said. I could picture him rubbing the back of his neck. Didn’t matter what he was calling about, most times when we talked, he rubbed his neck, shook his head, and I’m pretty sure his blood pressure rose. And yet, he wanted us to get back together. If we reconciled, he’d probably stroke out at the young age of thirty-five from the stress I caused him. Still, he loved me.

“No problem,” I said. “You’re saving me from a painful day of training. Please tell me you have something that can get me out of finishing the class.”

“You supervise Martin Phillips?”

“I do.”

“He’s a suspect in a double murder that happened six months ago. Think it’s over drug money. We want to take him into custody, but we don’t want to spook him since he’s armed and dangerous. Think you can trick him into showing himself?”

My adrenaline kicked in, stomach problems vanishing. A double murder was nothing to sneeze at. And if it had happened months ago, before he was on probation, there was nothing I could have done to stop it. Now we had to get my client off the street. “I can text him. Tell him I need to do a field visit, and I need him to be home.”

Typically, we didn’t warn our clients we were coming. But sometimes, if we had enough failed attempts, we’d set something up. Anyway, Phillips was fairly new on supervision. He didn’t know the drill. But he knew we had to do regular home visits, and he was due. He’d probably fall for it.

“That should work,” Betz said. “Gear up, and I’ll meet you at the employee entrance in ten.”

I disconnected the call and took the stairs two at a time to my cubicle. I loved playing with cops. Although I never wanted to be one. Too much blood and guts for me.

***

Excerpt from Diversion by Cindy Goyette. Copyright 2026 by Cindy Goyette. Reproduced with permission from Cindy Goyette. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Cindy Goyette

Cindy Goyette is a former probation officer who had a front-row seat to the criminal justice system. She kept her sanity by finding humor in most situations. A mix of these things helped her create The Probation Case Files Mystery Series. Book one, OBEY ALL LAWS, won a Public Safety Writer’s Association award, and it has been a finalist for Lefty and Silver Falchion Awards. Book two: EARLY TERMINATION released in 2025. She also authors The Wiggle Butt Manor Mystery series. DIAMOND IN THE RUFF is book one. After spending over twenty years in Arizona, Cindy lives in Washington state with her husband and two Cocker Spaniels.

Catch Up With Cindy Goyette:

ccgoyette.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @ccgoyettewriter
Instagram – @cindy.goyette
Threads – @cindy.goyette
X – @cindy_ccgoyette
Facebook – Cindy Goyette, Author

 

Q&A with Cindy Goyette

 

What was the inspiration for this book?
DIVERSION is book 3 in the Probation Case Files Mystery series. My main character, Casey Carson, is a probation officer in Phoenix. It’s something I know a little about, as I worked as a probation officer in Arizona for thirteen years and as a manager for five. Books 1 & 2 find Casey working her day job. I wanted to try something else for book 3.
Many probation officers take on second jobs, and I did that several times during my career. One of those side jobs was teaching diversion classes to juvenile offenders. I taught shoplifting (not how to, but why you shouldn’t), anger management, and substance abuse, to name a few.
I wanted to take Casey out of her element, her comfort zone. And dealing with teenagers accomplished that. To up the tension, I threw them into a wilderness adventure. Not only does she have to wrangle unruly teens, she has to deal with storms, wildlife, wildfire, and an escaped convict. She juggles all this while trying to make some major decisions in her personal life.
Book 4, LIFETIME, which will release in early 2027, finds Casey back at her day job but in a new assignment.

How did you come up with the title?
Each book in the series has a probation-related title. Book one, OBEY ALL LAWS, is the first condition of probation. Book 2, EARLY TERMINATION, is named for a petition a probation officer can submit to the court to get a probationer off probation early. There are two ways to finish supervision early: one is to complete the conditions imposed by the court. The second way is to die. The paperwork is not called Early Termination anymore, but I still liked it as a title.
DIVERSION is a program that is an alternative to traditional prosecution or incarceration that redirects an eligible offender into supervision, treatment, or services, with charges reduced or dismissed upon successful completion. LIFETIME is the duration of supervision for most sex offenders in Arizona. Did I just give away Casey’s new assignment?

Tell us why readers should pick up your book—what makes it stand out?
There aren’t many (I found one) books out there where a probation officer is the protagonist. So, if you want to dive into a little-known aspect of law enforcement, this series might be for you. There is so much material. The job sits right at the messy intersection of crime, behavior change, and interaction with collateral agencies, while incarceration hangs over every probationer’s head. It’s Casey’s job to help her charges steer their way through and put their criminal past behind them. A lot can go wrong.
Like in most law enforcement jobs, if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. So, this series relies on a lot of humor. And I’ve been told they are enjoyable, fast reads!

Are you currently working on your next novel? If so, can you share a little about it?
Book 4 in the series is complete. Will there be a book 5? Probably. I’m kicking a few ideas around. But for now, I’m concentrating on my other series, THE WIGGLE BUTT MANOR MYSTERIES. It’s a cozy series that takes place at a pet hotel on a fictitious Pacific Northwest island. Book 1, DIAMOND IN THE RUFF, came out last summer. Book 2, DASHING THROUGH THE SHOW, releases in June of this year. I’m working on book 3 in that series now.
My agent is also shopping a stand-alone suspense novel I wrote, and I’ve started another stand-alone that I’m very excited about. So, I have a lot going on.

What has been the best part of being published?
Nothing makes my day more than hearing from readers. Whether it’s through a review, a social media post, or an email through my website (ccgoyette.com) I love to hear from you! Attending book clubs, either in person or via Zoom, is another way I love to connect with readers. Sitting around talking with people who also know my “imaginary friends” is a high I can’t explain. Please contact me if you’d like me to stop by your book club.

Thanks for visiting with us, Cindy. Now, we’re anxiously awaiting LIFETIME and more in THE WIGGLE BUTT MANOR MYSTERY series!

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No Mystery Here—Just A Great Prize!

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Eyes to Deceit: The Company Files 4 by Gabriel Valjan #AuthorInterview

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EYES TO DECEIT

by Gabriel Valjan

February 23 – March 20, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Eyes to Deceit: The Company Files 4 by Gabriel Valjan

THE COMPANY FILES: 4

 

Espionage is easy. Living with it isn’t.

The Company named it Operation Ajax. MI6 labeled it Boot. History would call it a coup.

Walker calls it the beginning of the end.

1953. The Company is orchestrating the overthrow of Iran’s elected leader—an operation cloaked in propaganda and alliances. In Rome, Walker is stationed with Leslie, former M16 and now Company agent, and tasked to coordinate efforts between the US and UK. But when resources on the ground become a liability, Walker is forced to make a difficult decision—one that threatens to unravel what’s left of his conscience.

As the coup’s first attempt crumbles and Washington grows desperate, old loyalties shift. Allen Dulles wants results. Kim Roosevelt wants glory. Darbyshire feels left out. And Walker begins to suspect he’s not there to help win the Cold War, but to prove he can stomach it.

From Missouri to Rome to the Catskills to Tehran, EYES TO DECEIT explores postwar American idealism—and the spies who find themselves too loyal, too late, to walk away clean.

For readers of le Carré, Furst, Kanon, and Vidich this is espionage at its most personal—and most perilous.

Praise for EYES TO DECEIT:

“A remarkable, fly-on-the-wall story of Cold War realpolitik, Gabriel Valjan’s EYES TO DECEIT careens from Rockefeller Center to a Catskill resort to Rome and Tehran, giving readers a front-row seat to the plotting of the 1953 CIA and MI6 overthrow of the Iranian government. With noteworthy cameos from the famous, the powerful, and the ruthless, EYES TO DECEIT is intelligent, high-stakes intrigue at its best.”
~ James W. Ziskin, Author of the Anthony, Barry, and Macavity award-winning Ellie Stone mysteries

“The burdens of history and secrecy weigh heavily, gracing this excellent historical espionage novel with a gritty, nuanced, and ominous sensibility where betrayal is always possible. Even that of your own soul.”
~ James R. Benn, author of the Billy Boyle WWII mystery series

Book Details:

Genre: Literary Noir, Historical Fiction, Classic Spy Fiction
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: November 4, 2025
Number of Pages: 212 pages, Paperback
ISBN: 9798898200510, Paperback
Series: The Company Files, Book 4
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

The Company Files

The Good Man by Gabriel Valjan
The Good Man
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The Naming Game by Gabriel Valjan
The Naming Game
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The Devil's Music by Gabriel Valjan
The Devil’s Music
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Read an excerpt:

Tania moved fast, her shoes clicked sharply on the floor. She fished a five-dollar bill from her clutch and approached a housekeeper in the hallway.

“A roll of toilet paper, and in a discreet bag, please.”

The woman hesitated, but Tania’s eyes were steady, unblinking. She slid the bill into the woman’s shoulder strap with practiced ease.

“Take it,” Tania said softly. “In case someone accuses you of theft.”

The woman nodded.

Ruth led the way. Tania followed, her mind already ahead, calculating the next move. In the bathroom, she locked the door and leaned against the wall. She heard Judith’s groans.

“It’s me, Judy.”

“Tania?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

The air was thick with sweat and nausea, sharp like unchanged hospital linens. Tania handed Ruth the roll of paper and a small perfume atomizer.

“Tell her it’s from London. She’ll like it.”

Ruth nodded and slipped into the stall.

Tania stepped back into the hallway, then stopped. A girl sick and humiliated in a stall behind her. She caught her reflection in a wall sconce—lipstick fine, hair in place, eyes clear.

Decide now.

This wasn’t strategy. She wasn’t gaining leverage. And still, her feet moved.

When she returned, Judith was pale, shaken, but upright. Tania offered her the drink.

“Peppermint helps nausea,” she said.

Judith studied her. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing.”

“There’s no game,” Tania said. “You have to believe me.”

Judith hesitated. “You and your uncle seem awfully interested in my father.”

Tania unwrapped a mint. “It’s a secret,” she said. “Just not the kind you think.”

She leaned in. “The government wants something your father owns or controls. Sheldon’s the go-between.”

Judith stared at her. “That sounds shady.”

“It might be.”

Judith exhaled. “They spiked my drink. Esther and those girls. Laxatives.”

Tania nodded. “Brutal.”

Silence settled between them.

Tania met her eyes.

“Want revenge?”

Judith smiled.

And didn’t say no.

***

Excerpt from Eyes to Deceit: The Company Files by Gabriel Valjan. Copyright 2025 by Gabriel Valjan. Reproduced with permission from Gabriel Valjan. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Gabriel Valjan

Gabriel Valjan is the author of The Company Files, and the Shane Cleary Mysteries with Level Best Books. He has been nominated for the Agatha, Anthony, Derringer, and Silver Falchion awards. He received the 2021 Macavity Award for Best Short Story, and the Shamus Award for Best PI in 2023. Gabriel is a member of the Historical Novel Society, ITW, MWA, and Sisters in Crime. He lives in Boston and answers to a tuxedo cat named Munchkin.

Catch Up With Gabriel Valjan:

GabrielValjan.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @gvaljan
Instagram – @gabrielvaljan
BlueSky – @gvaljan.bsky.social

 

Inside the Shadows: Gabriel Valjan on Espionage, Loyalty, and EYES TO DECEIT

What was the inspiration for this book?
I’ve always been drawn to moments where history is made in whispers, not headlines. EYES TO DECEIT grew from a fascination with Operation Ajax: a coup that reshaped a nation, yet left its human cost invisible. I wanted to explore what it feels like to live inside those decisions, where loyalty, conscience, and survival collide. My hope is that readers see—and feel—how the shadows of 1953 stretched into the 1979 Iranian Hostage Crisis.

What was the biggest challenge in beginning your writing career?
To riff on Debussy’s quote, “Music is the space between the notes,” I had to learn to trust the silence between words. Early drafts were overstuffed with explanation and moral commentary. I had to unlearn the urge to lecture and instead let tension live in character choices, small betrayals, and moral compromises. Fiction is most alive when you leave room for the reader’s imagination to fill in the shadows.

What do you absolutely need while writing?
Space to think, and honesty with myself. I think in scenes, so there’s the thrill of bringing them to life on the page—and the terror of losing momentum, the fear that a vivid scene in my mind might vanish before it hits the page. Sometimes I know how the story will end; other times, I don’t.

Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?
A little of both. Ideas need their own gestation, but the work demands discipline. I carve out regular hours in the morning, even when the muse is quiet, because that’s when the story flows best. Routine keeps everything alive, and flow makes it sing. I set the work aside and then return with critical eyes, ready to chisel, sand, and polish the prose.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?
Walker, absolutely. Not because he’s heroic, but because he embodies the moral friction I wanted to explore: a man learning, too late, what loyalty really costs, and coming to understand his vocation. Over the course of the Company Files series, Walker realizes he is a writer.
A close second is Tania. She is probably the most self-realized character in the series—a dark butterfly emerging from her chrysalis. She’s been shaped by trauma, and fiercely alive in ways that surprise even her (and me).

Tell us why we should read your book.
Eyes to Deceit doesn’t just trace history—it’s espionage without car chases or shootouts. It’s political and nuanced, where every conversation carries weight, and the choices of a few shape the fates of many. Fans of moral tension, suspense, and the human stakes behind Cold War operations will feel themselves inside the story, not just observing.
Also, the novel highlights the crucial role women play in what le Carré called The Game. Leslie, Tania, and Clare Boothe Luce are forces to be reckoned with.

Give us an interesting fun fact or two about your book.
Operation Ajax, the coup at the heart of the story, was the CIA’s first “successful” covert action—but the novel treats it as the spark to other dubious operations.
Some historical events are slightly rearranged for narrative purposes, like Clare Boothe Luce’s arsenic poisoning. Fiction allows me to explore the “what if” of perception and speculation.
The Catskills Borscht Belt scenes? Entirely invented—but they reveal how espionage often hides in the most ordinary places.

Do you have anything specific you want to say to your readers?
I hope readers question the history they were taught—or weren’t. Question assumptions and contradictions. For example, we believe in the separation of Church and State—but why do we mention God in the Pledge of Allegiance, or display the flag next to the altar, as it did in the parochial school I attended as a kid?
“In God We Trust” appears in the novel through Allen Dulles. The phrase became mandatory on all currency in 1955, after a 1956 law made it the official national motto during Cold War anti-communist efforts.
Readers should interrogate the cost of loyalty, the weight of unseen choices, and the quiet compromises that haunt posterity. Fiction can’t fix history—but it can let you feel it, moment by moment.

Tell us a little about yourself and your background.
I never saw myself as a writer. I studied literature and the sciences, worked in research, wrote healthcare policy, and then shifted into tech as a systems engineer before becoming a nurse. Since childhood, I’ve been an avid reader. My second short story publication was short-listed for the Fish Prize in 2010, when I was in my early 40s.

What’s next that we can look forward to from you?
The next Shane Cleary Mystery is off to Level Best Books. Here’s a teaser for the sixth installment, FOUR ON THE FLOOR: Boston, 1978. Oppressive heat. Four dead. One PI. Zero clean exits.
The mayor, governor, and ex-police commissioner send a mafia don with a ‘request’: investigate the four bodies on the floor of a popular bar and disco in downtown Boston before the city explodes.
As Shane navigates corrupt cops and a killer who may be his mirror image, he’s drawn back into a war he thought he left behind—only now, the jungle is concrete, steel, and stained glass.
In a city where everyone hides something, Shane will discover who will kill to protect their secrets.
For readers who like fiction lean and lethal: think of FOUR ON THE FLOOR as the questionable morality of Gone Baby Gone with the velocity of Drive.
As for the Company Files, the next postcard is from Cairo, Egypt.

 

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THAT OTHER FAMILY by Lis Angus #AuthorInterview

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THAT OTHER FAMILY

by Lis Angus

February 23 – March 20, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

That Other Family

Julie Walker thought she knew her life: three teenagers, a husband, and her job at the Ottawa library. But when a stranger confronts her with a shocking claim about her late father, everything she believed about her family is thrown into question.

At first she struggles to know what to believe. But once the truth is revealed, a series of unsettling incidents escalate into real danger: her family has become the target of someone with resources she cannot match and few limits to what they might do. Drawn into a web of menace and betrayal, and uncertain who to trust, Julie must find the strength to confront an enemy she doesn’t fully understand.

Layered with dread and emotion, THAT OTHER FAMILY is a domestic thriller about fractured loyalties and one mother’s fight to keep her family safe.

Praise for That Other Family:

“Lis Angus has written a nail-biting cat-and-mouse crime thriller that has you suspecting everyone, trusting no one, and rooting for a woman desperately trying to protect her family from the sinister consequences of long-buried secrets. You won’t put it down until you’ve made it through the heart-pounding finale.”
~ Katie Tallo, international bestselling author of Dark August (Gus Monet mystery trilogy)

“Lis Angus provides a tale of secrets, betrayal, and sharply drawn characters that had me gasping at the final twist. A great, fast-paced mystery.”
~ Amy Tector, author of the Dominion Archives Mysteries

“Taut and riveting from the first page, this is a domestic thriller with real emotional stakes. What begins as a shocking family revelation becomes a harrowing fight for survival. With its layered characters and relentless tension, That Other Family will hold you in its grip to the very end. This is a great second novel from author Lis Angus. Those who liked her first book, Not Your Child, will love That Other Family.”
~ Mike Martin, award-winning author of the Sgt. Windflower Mystery series

“From Lis Angus, author of the gripping and fast-paced debut, Not Your Child, comes her eagerly anticipated second novel. That Other Family is another page turner, a story of betrayal and buried secrets — and a mother who will risk everything to protect her family.”
~ J. Woollcott, Daphne du Maurier award-winning author of A Nice Place to Die and Blood Relations

“Lis Angus weaves another thrilling tale of family deception that crosses borders, wrecks lives, and calls to mind the question of what it truly means to be a family. That Other Family is tightly paced and intriguing until it’s exciting end!”
~ Michelle Hillen Klump, author of A Dash of Death and Murder Served Neat

That Other Family Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Suspense
Published by: Next Chapter
Publication Date: December 29, 2025
Number of Pages: 290
ISBN: 9798241761187 (Paperback)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Additional Links

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

JULIE

The woman slid three photos to me across the table, her manicured nails immaculate. “I know you don’t want to believe me. But you need to look at these.”

I was already on my feet, having told her—Frances Boyle, she said her name was—that we had nothing further to discuss. She had no business coming to me with this preposterous story, and certainly not here at the library where I worked. Her manner suggested she wasn’t used to people saying “no” to her, but I wanted her gone.

Yet I couldn’t help glancing at the faded snapshots she’d spread in front of me. All showed the same grouping: a couple, seemingly in their forties, and two teenagers, a boy and a girl.

“That’s my family,” she said, a rasp deepening her voice. “My parents with my brother and me. That was the year before Papa died.”

Against my will, my eyes were drawn to the man in the photos. “Papa,” she’d called him. He sure looked like Dad. My memories of him were vivid, though I was only eight when he died. That dark hair, cut short, with a white streak just off-center. Neat ears, firm chin, and warm smile. And those pointed eyebrows: unmistakable.

But I’d never seen the other people in those photos before.

Heat flared at the back of my neck, and the walls of the small meeting room felt like they were closing in on me. I shook my head, trying to clear it. I wished I’d thought to bring a bottle of water in with me.

Frances leaned forward, the gold chain around her neck glinting as she moved. “From your reaction, Julie, I’d say you recognize him.” Her gaze intensified. “Now do you believe me? Our father had two wives, two families. Yours and mine.”

This couldn’t be true. I gripped the edge of the table and took a deep breath, fighting to get my emotions under control. Who was this woman and what was her game? Inspecting her more closely, I guessed she was in her late forties, a little older than me. Well-groomed. Stocky but not fat. Wearing cropped pants and a short-sleeved silk blouse, a good choice for the hot weather we were having. Her clothes looked expensive, more Nieman Marcus than Walmart.

“Can you show me some ID?” I demanded. Maybe I should have asked for that earlier.

She smiled coolly and reached into her leather bag, pulling out a passport. The photo was definitely her, but with shorter hair. Her name: Frances Louisa Boyle. Date of birth: 1975.

“Wait a minute. Boyle?”

“That was Papa’s name—James Boyle.”

The tightness in my shoulders loosened. “So. That’s not my dad.”

“When he married your mom, he used the name James MacMillan.”

That was Dad’s name—but this was ridiculous. She was claiming not just that he’d had two families, but two names.

She sat back abruptly. “I can see you’re having trouble accepting it,” she said. “I understand. It’s hard to take in.” Her expression hardened. “I only found out after Mama died in February and I was going through her papers. I found some old letters tucked away, referring to his other family.” She raised her eyes to mine again. “Your family.” After a moment, she added, “I have a couple of the letters with me, if you want to see them. They’re in my safe at the hotel.”

My mouth tasted of something bitter, metallic. “What are you after?”

She clasped her hands together. “I had a private investigator locate your mother, your family. I came here to find out more.” Her gaze swept over me. “I thought it was best to come to you first, to see if you knew about it. Before I approach your mother.”

“You can’t be thinking of disturbing my mother with this!”

“I’m sorry, but that’s why I’m here. To find out what she knew, or knows, about what happened.”

If Frances confronted Mom with this story, it would devastate her. “Give me some time to think about this first.” There must be some way to check this woman’s claim. “Can I have copies of those photos?”

She pushed them toward me. “Those are for you.” She rose and pulled a card from her purse. “I realize you may need a bit of time to get used to the idea. Here’s my cell number. When you’re ready, give me a call.” She dropped the card on the table. “But don’t take too long. I can play tourist here in Ottawa for a couple of days, but then I’ll need to talk to your mother.” She straightened her shoulders and left.

I watched her cross the library’s open lobby, passing Tony at the info desk, heading toward the main entrance. I paced back and forth in the hallway, fuming. What she was claiming couldn’t be true.

But a coldness was rising in my stomach. Could Dad really have done this to Mom? To us?

#

Returning to my office, I closed the door and collapsed into my chair, my stomach churning. I dropped my head back against the headrest and stared blankly at the ceiling. Frances’s story kept echoing through my mind. It had to be nonsense…except for those photos. That guy did look like Dad.

When she asked for me by name at the front desk, I had hoped the interruption would be short. I hadn’t anticipated how shaken our conversation would leave me.

I needed to get back to work; I had to post next month’s staff schedule soon. But after staring at my computer screen for a few minutes, I picked up my phone to call Caroline.

She and I had been friends since our university days in Toronto. I was studying library science and she was a psychology grad student. We met when we both moved into a shared student house near campus and clicked from the beginning. We’d stayed close friends ever since.

I came back to Ottawa after graduating. When she moved to Ottawa as well, joining the psychology staff at the Royal, our friendship grew. She had become my rock, the person I turned to first for advice.

“Do you have a few minutes?” I asked.

“I do. What’s up?”

I quickly recapped my meeting with Frances and the story she’d told.

“That’s quite the tale.” Caroline’s voice deepened. “But you don’t think it’s true?”

“I’m not sure.” I wanted to say no. But those photos had left me with doubts.

“Have you told Matt?”

My husband. “No. I haven’t had a chance.” I wasn’t even sure I wanted to tell him.

“Or your mom?”

My jaw clenched. “If Dad had another family, if he deceived Mom, I don’t see any need for her to know about it after all these years. She’d be heartsick.”

“But you say Frances wants to talk to your mom. How can you prevent that?”

“Maybe I can’t. But I wish I could find out first…”

“If it’s true?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a foolproof way to check. A DNA comparison.”

Trust Caroline to have a scientific suggestion. “Yeah. But I don’t know if Frances would agree to be tested.”

“Why wouldn’t she? She’s the one who says you’re related.”

I sighed. “Testing takes time, and I don’t think Frances wants to wait.”

She paused. “Do you know about Ancestry.com?”

“…I’ve heard of it, but don’t really know—?”

“It’s a site where people upload their DNA, and check to see if they match with anyone. I keep hearing about people finding linkages there to relatives they didn’t know about.”

“So we could check that site to see if we’re related to Frances?”

A doubtful tone entered her voice. “Well, maybe not, if you’ve never sent in a sample. If you send one in now, it could take several weeks for results to show up. And you don’t even know whether anyone on Frances’ side has uploaded there. If not, there’d be nothing to match to.”

I grimaced, disappointed. “Doesn’t sound like DNA’s going to help us. In the short run, anyway.”

“Yeah, maybe not. So let’s look at this another way. Is Frances’ story plausible? Could that have happened?”

Frustrated tears were pressing behind my eyes. “I don’t think so. But I wish I remembered more about our family, how things were before Dad died. I was so young, and my memories are pretty thin.”

“How about your brother? Would he remember more?”

I sat up at the thought. “That’s a good idea.” Patrick was four years older than me, so his memories of our family life back then would be better than mine.

#

Calling Patrick was complicated by the fact that he lived in Canberra, where he moved when he married Melissa six years ago.

Checking my watch and doing a time conversion, I realized it was still the middle of the night in Australia. But if I called around 4 p.m. my time, it’d be 6 a.m. there. I didn’t know what shift he’d be working—he was a paramedic with the Capital Territory Ambulance Service. If he was on the day shift, he’d be up. I’d text to see if he was awake.

He replied with a yawning-face emoji, but I took that to mean I could call. He answered on the first ring, “Yeah.”

I cut our usual time-and-weather chitchat short. “Listen. A woman came to see me today with a weird story.” I blurted out Frances’ claim that Dad had had two families, ours and hers.

His reaction was immediate. “That’s ridiculous.”

Thank you. “I know, right? It’s just not possible.”

“Wait, let me put on some coffee.” A series of indistinct sounds came through the phone. Then he was back. “Tell me the whole thing. From the beginning.”

I ran through it all, starting with Frances showing up at the library, and ending with her dropping a card as she left.

“Ridiculous,” he repeated. He was silent for a moment. “You think it’s Dad in those photos?”

“I don’t know.” I breathed out. “It looks like him. But photos can be manipulated…”

“Can you send me copies?”

“Sure. Hold on. I’m sending them now.”

While he waited for the images to arrive, he asked, “Are you thinking it’s some kind of scam?”

“Well, what could she be after? It’s not like there’s any inheritance or anything…”

He gave a small cough. “What about Mom? Are you going to tell her?”

“No! Can you imagine her reaction?” I swallowed. “Even raising it…I don’t want to spoil her memories of Dad.”

“Hold on—the photos are coming through.”

***

Excerpt from That Other Family by Lis Angus. Copyright 2025 by Lis Angus. Reproduced with permission from Lis Angus. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Lis Angus

Lis Angus is a Canadian suspense writer. Originally from Alberta, she has also lived in Germany and Toronto. Before turning to fiction, she worked with children and families in crisis, and later as a business writer, conference organizer, and policy advisor. Her debut novel, Not Your Child, was a finalist for the 2021 Daphne du Maurier Award and was published in 2022. That Other Family is her second novel. Lis is a member of Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, Crime Writers of Canada, and Capital Crime Writers. She lives in a small town south of Ottawa with her husband.

Catch Up With Lis Angus:

LisAngus.com
Lis Angus’s Newsletter
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads – @lis_angus
BookBub – @lisangusauthor
Instagram – @lisangus459
Threads – @lisangus459
X – @Lisangus1
Facebook – @lisangusauthor

 

#AuthorInterview with Lis Angus:

What was the inspiration for this book?
I love reading suspenseful stories where ordinary people face a terrifying situation, and that’s what I like to write. In this case, I started with an image: of a stranger showing up and revealing a shocking secret. And — this wasn’t really an inspiration, but it did come to mind — I remembered a former mayor of Toronto who was discovered to have another, secret family. So that percolated into my story.

Tell us a little about yourself and your background?
I grew up in Alberta, in a farming community. I loved reading, and writing seemed like a natural extension of reading so I wrote a lot of stories as a teenager. After high school I spent two years in Germany, at first with relatives and then at university. Then I returned to Canada. I was going to become a journalist, but ended up studying psychology and working with children and families in crisis. Then I shifted gears, working as a business consultant and policy advisor for twenty-some years. I had always wanted to write a novel, but I didn’t seriously try until after I retired, when I told myself “If not now, when?”

What was the biggest challenge in beginning your writing career? 
There were many challenges. Most of my writing during my career was academic and business writing. Switching to fiction writing took me through a big learning curve: how to develop a character, how to build suspense, how to show emotions, how to structure a novel.

What do you absolutely need while writing?
I like to think that I need a stretch of uninterrupted time, but I actually tend to work in bursts, so what I need is just get to it. But I’m not someone who can sit and write for hours. At various stages of writing, I need different things. When I’m coming up with a story, I spend a lot of time doodling in my notebook, making lists and drawing diagrams with circles and arrows. When I’m actually in drafting mode, what I need most is a deadline. This can be self-imposed, like “I want to finish this draft by the end of March,” with smaller (daily or weekly) deadlines that I have to meet in order to reach that target.

Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?
My routine changes depending on what stage I’m at with my writing. I tend to be more creative in the mornings, but there are times when I don’t get down to anything until the afternoon, or even after dinner. On occasion I have an idea overnight and have to get up to jot it down, or I’ll forget by morning.
Some writers say their writing comes first and they never miss a day. I don’t find that applies to me. Other things can take precedence —like my husband’s chemo or our daughter’s wedding — and routine goes out the window. I’d like to be someone who never misses a day of writing, but if life interrupts my writing plans, I don’t consider that a failure.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?
Though Julie is my main character, I have a soft spot for her teenage kids. They’re young and spunky, also tender and vulnerable. I couldn’t help but be teary when writing the scene where Ethan blames himself for their dog being injured. Julie is desperate to keep her kids safe, but they don’t want to stay in the background; they’re determined to help — and they do.

Tell us why we should read your book.
If you like stories that take ordinary people through challenging times, confronted with secrets and betrayals and surprises, with building tension and danger that they have to overcome, this one is for you.

Give us an interesting fun fact about your book?
The book refers to the what3words app. This actually exists. It’s a system that divides the entire world into ten-foot squares, assigning each a unique, permanent address composed of three random words. It’s a downloadable app that anyone can use, and is used by many agencies for navigation, emergency response, and deliveries. In the book it’s used to guide police to a location that’s not easily found.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
I send out a monthly newsletter with updates and writing news; readers can sign up at https://lisangus.com/sign-up. There’s a free download for new subscribers, with “outtakes” from That Other Family: scenes that didn’t make it into the final version but give a flavor of the characters and story. That Other Family also has its own Facebook page, where I post reviews and other book news as it comes in. Click Here!

What’s next that we can look forward to from you?
I’m working on a third novel, and I’m playing around with ideas for a short story. But at the moment I’m mostly focused on getting That Other Family launched into the world. Thank you for inviting me to visit with your readers, and I hope they’ll enjoy reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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The Fatal Saving Grace by Jim Nesbitt #AuthorInterview

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THE FATAL SAVING GRACE

by Jim Nesbitt

February 9 – March 6, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Fatal Saving Grace by Jim Nesbitt

ED EARL BURCH HARD-BOILED TEXAS CRIME THRILLER

 

MAYHEM WITH A BADGE

After wandering the peephole wilderness of a private detective for two decades, defrocked Dallas homicide detective Ed Earl Burch is finally an official manhunter again, wearing the badge of a district attorney’s investigator working in the harsh desert mountains of West Texas.

Big D, it ain’t. And life as a resurrected lawman isn’t everything he hoped it would be. Too many rules. Not enough satisfaction. And a boss who hates him for saving his life.

But Burch is back, playing the same deadly game he mastered as a murder cop, tracking a serial killer who tortured and murdered his ex-lover with a straight razor—an Aryan Brotherhood gang leader Burch thought he killed in a desert shootout.

He’s also trying to protect the fugitive granddaughter of an old friend and her four-year-old son—from this remorseless killer and cartel gunsels hired by her incestuous Dixie Mafia daddy.

Throats get slashed. Bullets smack flesh. Bodies drop. And Ed Earl Burch and his partner, Bobby Quintero, are in reckless pursuit, dodging death, closing in on their prey.

No place Burch would rather be. Unless he gets killed.

Praise for The Fatal Saving Grace:

The Fatal Saving Grace is the Independent Press Award Distinguished Favorite for Action/Adventure 2026

“Nesbitt delivers a scorched-earth tale where every shadow conceals an ambush and every road bleeds history. He paints West Texas in colors of rust, smoke and whiskey, and the result is a story that feels carved in stone. This is cowboy noir at its finest.”
~ Baron Birtcher, Will Rogers Medallion winning author of Knife River

“Ed Earl Burch, who’s partial to Lucky Strikes and Maker’s Mark, makes Mike Hammer look like Miss Marple. Jim’s novels offer wicked humor, an eye for detail, brass-knuck action and language that would strip the paint off a Hummer.”
~ Noel Holston, author of Life After Deaf and As I Die Laughing

“Jim Nesbitt knows his Texas crime and writes one fine line at a time. Hard-boiled with prickly pears, old leather boots, a bit of tobacco, freshly spit of course, he gets it right.”
~ Joe R. Lansdale, champion mojo storyteller and author of the Hap ‘N Leonard crime thrillers

“A gritty and deadly must-read, THE FATAL SAVING GRACE cements Nesbitt’s standing among the best writers in the pantheon of Southern noir.”
~ Bruce Robert Coffin, bestselling author of the Detective Justice Mysteries

“Ed Earl Burch is back, and that’s great news for readers who love classic hard-boiled noir, colorful characters, crackling dialogue and plenty of action. Highly recommended!”
~ R.G. Belsky, author of the Gil Malloy and Clare Carlson mysteries

“Some would call it justice. Some would call it revenge. No matter what you call it, the concept has been a long running theme of the Ed Earl Burch series. The same is very much true in the fifth book of the series, The Fatal Saving Grace: An Ed Earl Burch Novel by Jim Nesbitt.”
~ ‘Ace Texas book reviewer’ Kevin Tipple

Book Details:

Genre: Hard-Boiled Crime Fiction, Western
Published by: Spotted Mule Press
Publication Date: December 15, 2025
Number of Pages: 301
ISBN: 9780998329482 (ISBN10: 0998329487)
Series: Ed Earl Burch Hard-Boiled Texas Crime Thriller, Book 5 | Each is a Stand-Alone Thriller
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Ed Earl Burch Novels, 1-4

The Last Second Chance: An Ed Earl Burch Novel
The Last Second Chance
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub
  The Right Wrong Number: An Ed Earl Burch Novel
The Right Wrong Number
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub
  The Best Lousy Choice: An Ed Earl Burch Novel
The Best Lousy Choice
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub
  The Dead Certain Doubt: An Ed Earl Burch Novel
The Dead Certain Doubt
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

From Chapter 1

When a man gets hit by a .45 ACP Flying Ashtray or three, by all that’s ballistically holy, he ought to get dead and stay dead.

All manner of official paperwork swore he was dead. All of it based on a bogus death certificate filed by parties unknown in the Cuervo County Coroner’s Office, with copies popping up like blowflies on a cow carcass. Even the federales had him playing poker with the Devil, his prison mugshot tucked away in ATF and DEA files, DECEASED stamped across his face in bold, black letters.

The con was slick and easy. Money changed hands, files were swapped or ditched, reports were shredded or faked. Somebody else’s corpse became him. The relentless power of bureaucratic incompetence and inertia did the rest.

Yessir. According to all that yellowing, lawdog paper, he was nobody they had to worry about no more. Finito. A shade. A ghost who said adios. A good thug now that he was a dead thug. Muerto.

Not hardly.

That’s what John Wayne said to all those hombres who thought he was dead in Big Jake. With a growl and a scowl.

Not hardly.

He liked that. Matter of fact, he just trotted out the Duke’s line to a guy he used to be tight with. Caught up to him climbing the three cinder block steps to the front door of his desert double wide.

Tapped him on the shoulder, saw the wild-eyed fear when the dude turned and saw who the finger belonged to. Blurted out: “You’re supposed to be dead!”

Not hardly. Said it with a growl but no scowl. Then grabbed him by a greasy hank of raven black hair, yanking his head back and cutting a crimson smile across his throat from ear to ear. With a bone-handled straight razor. His favorite.

Threw the guy into the sand at the side of the steps. Listened to the choking gurgle and death rattle. Then licked the blood off the blade.

Not hardly. He tilted his head back and laughed. Savored the kill. Alone and alive. An endless dome of stars glittering in the midnight sky above the rocky desert outback near Radium Springs, New Mexico. No moon. A dead man at his feet. Used to be a member of his crew. Frankie Sheridan.

Met him at Pelican Bay. An Alice Baker brother doing a long stretch for bank robbery. Had a shamrock tattooed on his chest with the initials AB in capital letters—Alice Baker, Aryan Brotherhood. Blood in, blood out. Ex-Army. Knew his way around diesels, alarm systems, and weapons.

Sent him a ticket to Texas when he got out. Made him a member of his crew, smuggling guns and drugs out of a ranch north of Faver, the Cuervo County seat, a bent outfit that ran cattle for cover and fleeced bitter and gullible white trash while promising them the return of the Republic of Texas for Caucasian Christians only, a New Zion based on God, guns, guts, and the Good Book. Niggers, Jews, Arabs, and Spics need not apply.

Bad move. Frankie was a ratfuck snitch. Uno chivato. Not to the lawdogs. Just as bad, though. Frankie sold him out to a rival outfit of gunrunners and drug smugglers. Kept them one step ahead of him as they chased a third outfit that held a cache of stolen military hardware everybody wanted.

Rockets, bloopers, mortars, and full-auto carbines and rifles. Bang-bangs that could tip the scales on both sides of the river. All in the hands of a crew fronted by a flashy woman in jeans, tall boots, a bolero jacket, and a blonde wig. A wet dream for the pendejos she hustled.

La Güera. Just the thought of her caused his molars to grind. He wanted her dead. No, he needed her dead. She and her lover were the reason his life got flushed into the sewer, his crew dead, his stash of guns and drugs long gone. Had him climbing out of the shitter, clawing to the top of the dung heap. Again.

He caught the lover. Sliced off his manhood. Slit his throat. Then chopped off his head and butchered his body to stuff into a giant barbecue smoker. Tucked the man’s jewels into his mouth as the crowning touch to a cannibal’s mesquite-smoked delight.

Not the same. Didn’t have her. She still needed to feel his blade, feel his eyes boring holes into hers as he gave her that crimson smile. He needed to lick her blood off that sharp stainless steel. Taste it. And grin. Only then would the circle be complete. He’d be whole again.

Well, not completely whole.

His right eye was gone, blown out by a glancing hit from one of those .45 ACP slugs that also shattered the orbital bones. Nothing extensive plastic surgery, bone implants and a new glass eye couldn’t cure. Had to stack plenty of cash up front to repair damage that severe.

Gave that part of his face a waxy texture straight out of Madame Tussauds. But it sure beat wearing an eye patch and the lopsided face of a Dick Tracy cartoon villain.

His left knee was also shattered, replaced with a titanium joint that allowed him to walk with only a slight limp. Another five-figure hit to his stash of greenbacks.

The man who fired those rounds was also on his payback list. An ex-cop. Big-ass older fucker with a gray beard. Said to be a washed-up Dallas P. I..

Beg to differ, sir. Sumbitch sure kept him from getting to her during that clusterfuck in the West Texas desert. A real Wild West shootout between rival drug gangs wanting the blonde bitch’s bang-bangs.

He was oh-so-close to grabbing her up, dodging bullets and bodies, closing the gap between him and Ol’ Dude, who was carrying the bitch draped over his right shoulder. He screamed her name and leveled an M-16A1 at the both of them.

“La Güeraaaaaaa! I got you, bitch! Got you now! Gonna slice you wide open and watch you bleeeeeeed!

Ol’ Dude spun on his heel and emptied a 1911 mag at him offhand. Yelled this: “Not today, you cockbite motherfucker. Not in this lifetime or the next.” A lefty. On target without dropping the bitch. Only thing that kept him alive was a Kevlar vest that caught the Flying Ashtrays that would have shredded his chest.

Washed-up, my ass. The man wrecked me. His time was coming, though. Count on a reckoning. Soon. But not now. He was working his way up the ladder of a list he kept in his head. One body at a time.

Frankie was the bottom rung. La Güera was at the top with Ol’ Dude second. Five other rungs between Frankie and them.

Time to get gone. And get busy.

***

Excerpt from The Fatal Saving Grace by Jim Nesbitt. Copyright 2025 by Jim Nesbitt. Reproduced with permission from Jim Nesbitt. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Jim Nesbitt

Jim Nesbitt has the perfect radio face, bionic knees that can grind coffee beans and tell time and a cat who poaches his cigars and uses his cellphone to place bets on British soccer. He is also a recovering journalist who once chased politicians, neo-Nazis, hurricanes, rodeo cowboys, plane wrecks and the everyday people swept up in a news event who gave his stories depth, authenticity and a distinct voice.

A lapsed horseman, pilot, journalist and saloon sport with a keen appreciation of old guns, vintage cars, red meat, good cigars, aged whisky without an ‘e’ and a well-told story, Nesbitt is also the award-winning author of five hard-boiled Texas crime thrillers that feature battered but relentless Dallas PI Ed Earl Burch — THE LAST SECOND CHANCE, THE RIGHT WRONG NUMBER, THE BEST LOUSY CHOICE, THE DEAD CERTAIN DOUBT and THE FATAL SAVING GRACE.

A diehard Tennessee Vols fan, he now lives in enemy territory — Athens, Alabama — with his wife, Pam, and is working on his sixth Ed Earl Burch novel, THE PERFECT TRAIN WRECK. When he’s off his meds, he’s been known to call himself Reverend Jim and preach the Gospel of Hard-Boiled Crime Fiction.

Catch Up With Jim Nesbitt:

www.JimNesbittBooks.com
Jim’s Substack – @edearl56
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @edearl56
Instagram – @edearl74
Threads – @edearl74
Facebook – @edearlburchbooks

 

 

#AuthorInterview with Jim Nesbitt:

What was the inspiration for this book?
A perverted sense of charity for the main character of my hard-boiled Texas crime thrillers, cashiered Dallas homicide detective Ed Earl Burch. For two decades, he’s been wandering the peephole wilderness of a private detective, longing for the sense of calling and higher purpose he had when carried the badge he lost. I wanted to give him what he wished for and see how he copes with life as a resurrected lawman, forced to take orders and work with people after living life as a loner and semi-outlaw for a long time. It’s not everything he hoped it would be, as is often the case with magnificent obsessions. Too many rules, too many people, too many years as a lone wolf and semi-outlaw unfettered by rules. I also wanted to show the hard miles he’s racked up, giving him the aches and pains of middle-aged tough guy without turning him into a cripple or a poster child for Geritol. He’s still tough, profane, ornery and reckless. And he’d still just as soon shoot you as look at you — if you’re a bad guy in need of killin’. But it’s harder for him to get out of bed in the morning.

What was the biggest challenge in beginning your writing career?
Getting started. I come from a long line of hillbilly storytellers who taught me the importance of knowing where you’re from and who your people are. Seems like I’ve always had a book in my hand and started writing at a very early age. Had some talent and was able to parlay it into a fairly successful journalism career for nearly forty years. I was lucky to break into journalism when long-format stories that used the tradecraft of fiction writing was in vogue. I was also a hard-boiled crime fiction junkie, a faithful follower of Chandler and Hammett and others who broke free from the confines of the English cozy mystery and amateur sleuths, giving crime back to the criminals of the gritty urban underworld. Wasn’t a huge leap for me to tackle my first hard-boiled crime thriller. But I’m a lazy bastard so it took me way too long to start. Wish I’d cranked it up twenty years ago. Make that twenty-five.

What do you absolutely need while writing?
Used to be George Dickel Tennessee whisky (spelled without the e), preferably hundred proof bottled-in-bond, and a damn good cigar, waiting for me at the end of a writing session. These days, it’s more likely to be cornbread and iced tea, to poach a line from Hank Williams, Jr. And a cushion for my butt.

Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?
I’m not really strict about anything and I hate routine. That said, I know the key to writing a book is the discipline to keep your butt in the chair for hours at a time and writing even when the words don’t flow. If you wait on those mystical ideas to flow, you’ll never get anywhere. I don’t punch a clock or slavishly do periodic word counts but I do put in the time it takes to write a good story. I just don’t brag about it on Facebook or my blog.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?
Rhonda Mae Mutscher. She’s just as tough and unsinkable as Ed Earl Burch. Maybe tougher. Quicker to shoot somebody, maybe. Very much like many of the women in my books, she’s smarter than most men, Burch included. But there’s a bond between her and Burch based on the earlier experience of him helping her escape from cartel sicarios and gunrunning rivals, including the serial killer of this book, a nasty piece of work named Cleve Chizik, who Burch thought he killed during a desert shootout four or five years ago described in The Dead Certain Doubt. Because of that bond, she thinks of Burch when Dixie Mafia gunsels sent by her incestuous father chase her out of the small Colorado town where the feds stashed her as a protected witness. She also has a five-year-old son she has to protect and doesn’t trust the feds to keep her or him safe. West Texas feels safer because Burch and the family of her son’s dead father are there.

Tell us why we should read your book.
Because it bristles with relentless action, has a pulse-racer of a plot, a solid storyline, and a colorful cast of characters. It’s hard-boiled detective fiction at its finest, centered on a protagonist like no other, the deeply flawed but wildly compelling Ed Earl Burch. It’s a taut, tense, uncompromising tale of revenge and redemption — a damned good story exceptionally well-told.

Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book?
To give myself a little more literary license, I created two West Texas jurisdictions that are both figments of my imagination: Cuervo County, because crows are smart and fascinating birds, and the town of Faver, the county seat, named for the pioneering cattle baron of the Big Bend Country, Milton Faver. Faver was an interesting character who is mostly forgotten today. Like a lot of newcomers to Texas, both before the split from Mexico and after, he was escaping something unsavory back east. He killed a man in a duel in Missouri and fled, first to Mexico, where he worked in a flour mill than as a freighter hauling goods over the Chihuahua and Santa Fe trails, surviving an Indian attack that left him severely wounded. Although hazardous, the freighting business was profitable enough for Faver to start a general store in Ojinaga. In 1857, he moved with his wife and only son to the frontier of the Chianti Mountains in the Big Bend Country, bought land around three springs and established the Cibolo Creek ranch, building herds of cattle and sheep as well as fortress houses to repel attacks from raiding Comanche and Apache. He ruled his ranches with an iron hand and meted out justice by his own lights. He didn’t believe in credit and stood at the gate during a cattle sale, taking silver coin for each cow, steer or sheep as it passed into the corral. He died in 1889.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
Like my earlier books, The Fatal Saving Grace is the polar opposite of a cozy mystery. There isn’t a lick of cuteness in it. It’s a hard-bitten tale told in the hard-boiled style of Chandler, Hammett and later-day writers like the late, great James Crumley. It’s raunchy and violent with no punches pulled or euphemisms used to protect delicate sensibilities. And most of the people rambling around the stark, harsh beauty of West Texas have been honed, beaten and shaped by this land. They’ve all got some hard bark on them. And even the good guys have a mean streak and do bad things to get the job done according to what they think is right. It’s country that demands rough justice and Ed Earl Burch has been given a badge again to deliver just that.

Tell us a little about yourself and your background?
The Irish say that writers are failed talkers — guilty as charged since I always tell people it’s a damn good thing I write better than I talk because the way I talk is a curious mixture of 40s and 50s tough-guy jargon and cowboy lingo. I was born up North, near Philadelphia, but my parents were both North Carolina hillbillies from around Asheville. My sister and I weren’t Yankee-raised and we spent a lot of time with the country cousins when we were young during extended summer road trips. I was a journalist for almost forty years, nearly twenty of that spent as a roving correspondent for newspapers and wire services, parachuting into big stories of the moment, from presidential campaigns to hurricanes, and chasing big trends like the ongoing battle over public land use in the West, a vicious and long-running fight about grazing rights, mining and logging, or the rise of neo-Nazis and Christian Patriots in the mountain West. That experience taught me to look for the telling detail and listen for the voices of the people swept up in an event. I was also fascinated by the features of the land where people lived and the impact of that place as they tried to extract a living from it. That fascination is very much a result of my parents instilling in me a keen sense of place — knowing where you’re from and who your people are — something I believe is vitally important in storytelling. The place where you set your story should be as alive and vivid as you can make it — a character unto itself, not a one-dimensional stage flat in a play.

What’s next that we can look forward to from you?
I’ve been accused of writing thinly disguised Westerns and, truth be told, that’s a strong undercurrent that threatens to break the surface in all my books. Ed Earl Burch doesn’t wear a white hat, but he has a code he tries to live by and a strong sense of right and wrong. I’ve decided to let him rest a bit and resume writing a Western set in the 1920s in one of the rowdy oil boomtowns of the Texas Panhandle. I’ve created a character I think fans of Ed Earl Burch will like, a morally ambiguous gypsy lawman named Charley Mack Kincaid, whose been a cowhand, a deputy, a Texas Ranger and a Pinkerton agent, tapped by a Ranger styled after the legendary Frank Hamer to go undercover and help bust open the ring running the town. I’ve also got two more Ed Earl Burch novels rattling around my brainpan that I’ll get around to writing after I finish this Western, tentatively titled Boomtown Blood, which is the most unambiguous and straightforward title I’ve ever created. Gotta do something about that.

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The First to Die by Suzanne Trauth | #AuthorInterview

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THE FIRST TO DIE

by Suzanne Trauth

February 9 – March 6, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The First to Die by Suzanne Trauth

Connie Tucker, a free-spirited beach bartender, has been estranged from her family in New Jersey ever since her actress mother, Simone, disappeared one night during a violent storm at the theatre where she was rehearsing. Uncontrollable and in a rage at the loss of her parent, fifteen-year-old Connie is exiled to California, due to her delinquent behavior, to live with an aunt she doesn’t know. Now, fifteen years later, Simone’s murdered remains are discovered at a construction site and Connie returns to the east coast for the funeral—she owes it to her mother. The cold case unit will take over now and solve the crime. But then she discovers a message her mother left behind. It feels like a dispatch from the grave. Connie must face her tortured past, the guilt of concealing a devastating secret, and the part she played in her mother’s disappearance. Unearthing buried family history and childhood demons, she confronts the agonizing reality that she doesn’t know where she belongs, where to call home. Who to trust. When a second suspicious death occurs, Connie races to unravel the events of the night Simone disappeared. Her mother was the first to die…but not the last.

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Suspense
Published by: Between the Lines Publishing
Publication Date: November 18, 2025
Number of Pages: 334 (Pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-965059-65-4
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Between the Lines Publishing

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Now

“They found Mom. You need to come home.”

Her older sister Gaby wasn’t one to waste words.

Connie should have been relieved, comforted, something. Unfortunately, it was fifteen years too late for that. And anguish she had buried deep in her body, and mind, erupted with a vengeance.

She cooled her heels in San Diego until the last possible moment to return for the funeral. The less time spent there, the better. New Jersey triggered chilling images tethered to that night. To the last time she saw her mother.

The plane thumped to earth, delivering Connie Tucker to the past with a bounce. Everything about this state was a rude wake-up call. She couldn’t wait to board the return flight to California. At fifteen, she left New Jersey in a rage, thrown out of the only home she’d known, dumped thousands of miles away on a relative she’d never met. Nerves twitching, her insides were a stew of anxiety and bitterness, wondering how people here would react to seeing her. Connie shook her head to tamp down the unruly thoughts and scold herself. They were the ones who should be nervous.

Down the parkway in the rental car, exit onto Lenox, right onto Mercer, left onto Third Street. Past Antonio’s Pizza where she and Gaby bought slices on their way home from school because who knew what their mother would cook for dinner. Past the playground attached to St. Gabriel’s. At the corner of Mercer and Third, a few patrons ambled in and out of a bodega. The street was mostly empty. Her heart bounced in her chest.

42 Third Street. She lowered the car window, her breathing shallow at the sight of the ancient Lincoln in the driveway. The blue paint polished and gleaming. “Buy American” was her father’s motto when Connie was a kid. The same automobile she and her best friend Brigid had “borrowed” until Gaby blew the whistle on her. Grounding was followed by exile two months later. She swallowed raging emotions—love, hate, sadness. If Connie closed her eyes, her parents magically materialized on the porch swing, creaking steadily back and forth on warm summer nights. Sometimes Uncle Charlie sat on the steps and the three of them drank beer, Charlie telling stories and her father laughing. But that was before.

Connie stepped out of the car and surveyed the neighborhood. Much had changed and much had remained the same. Down the block, Porter’s Bar and Grill still boasted the neon signs out front advertising beer, wine, and food. After his stint on the police force, and her mother’s disappearance, her father found employment at the bar—back then a hangout for current and former cops, a nerve center for law enforcement chatter. Old Man Porter was fond of her father, of the whole Tucker family.

Despite the sun shining in a brilliant blue sky, the area was tinged with gray. Sunny in San Diego and sunny in Hallison, New Jersey were two different animals. But even worn out as it was, her Jersey home beckoned, a magnet luring Connie into a tangle of sensations and history. Part of her, she hated to admit, yearned to be here again, but before nostalgia could overwhelm her, she stiffened her resolve: do her duty to her mother and then back to the other coast.

The day was already sweltering, humid air like a wet sheet clinging to Connie, her bangs plastered to her forehead, her shirt dotted with damp patches. Urban smells permeated the neighborhood—exhaust, heat shimmering off the pavement, cooking odors. Third Street radiated a kind of shabby warmth despite reopening sharp wounds. As she climbed the steps to her family’s front door, a voice boomed behind her.

“Connie Tucker!”

She whirled to her left. “Rosa!” she sputtered. Rosa Delano. Standing on her front porch. Daughter of the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Delano, whose front yard featured neat flower beds and trimmed bushes. The woman who’d been a kind of second mother after Connie’s first one disappeared.

“Yeah, that’s me.” A cigarette dangled from between bloodless lips, graying hair a tangle of frizz, her expression sullen.

She’d aged. And not well.

Rosa smirked. “Came home ’cause they found your old lady, huh? Si-mone.” Hands stuffed in jeans pockets, she extended the second syllable to mock the dead woman. “Bunch a bones by now, I guess.”

Connie’s stomach lurched, her fingers forming a fist. Attack mode. Breathe, she told herself. Stay in control. She’d forgotten how mean Rosa could be. In and out of the Delano house when Connie was growing up. Sometimes gone for months, once even for a whole year. Neighborhood gossip churned out tales of Rosa’s arrests for petty, and not-so-petty, crimes, their father warning Gaby and Connie to stay clear of her. That was easy to do since she was away for much of their pre-teen years.

“Wonder who buried her? Si-mone.”

Connie refused to take the bait. The hell with her. “Tell your mother I’ll stop by later.”

“Fat chance. You keep away from her.” Rosa opened her screen door. “Guess you figured Si-mone was still alive all these years, huh?”

The question split the air like the crack of a whip, jerking Connie’s head backwards. “How dare you talk about my—”

Rosa laughed in triumph. “Ha! Listen to you. ‘How dare you?’ Always did act like you were better than everybody else. Always had to have your own way.” She slouched into the Delano house and let the screen door slap shut behind her.

Heart hammering, Connie was left to wonder probably for the thousandth time how sweet, generous Mrs. Delano could live with someone as nasty as Rosa. According to Connie’s mother, she was already a troublemaker when her parents were killed in a car crash and she was adopted by Mrs. Delano at thirteen. Connie was only two or three when Rosa rolled in next door like a storm front that never budged. Now, twenty-seven years later, her words hung around Connie in the ether, burning through a tangle of jumbled ideas and leaving the charred truth—Connie had figured her mother was alive somewhere.

Needing a minute, she stepped back from the front door and confronted the Tucker residence, which exhibited contrasts identical to most of the other homes on the street: window frames in need of scraping and painting, and her mother’s favorite old-fashioned glider—and slightly rusty matching metal chairs—crowding the porch, hinting at benign neglect. Yet, two flower baskets hung from hooks on the porch pillars with cascading red, yellow, and blue blooms. Someone tended to those plants. Gaby, no doubt.

Connie steeled herself, donning emotional armor. Knocking brought no response, neither did pressing the bell, broken years ago and apparently never repaired. She’d kept a key to the house—from spite—and jiggled the lock a fraction, the way she’d done as a teenager breaking the curfew her father had tried to establish.

The door swung open.

With the windows shut tight, primal odors hung in the air like church incense. Lingering smells of baking, fresh laundry, furniture polish. Connie pulled a carry-on suitcase into the house. “I’m here.” Where were her sister and father? The car was in the driveway. She’d texted her arrival time and expected someone to be in the house to meet her. Instead, she was greeted by silence. Perfect.

A chair in the hallway held a stack of mail. Circumventing the living room to her right, Connie moved straight ahead to the kitchen. A used coffee mug and bowl sat in the sink. Otherwise, the room was orderly, a table in the breakfast nook had placemats, The Star-Ledger, and a vase of flowers. The sweet scents of lilacs and roses filled the air.

Back to the hallway she stopped in the arched entrance to the living room. Taking it all in. A new couch and the worn leather of the old recliner, her father’s favorite piece of furniture, and a flat screen television. The coffee table was the same. Also, the rug she and Gaby had danced on with their mother to ABBA all those afternoons. Their beautiful French mother.

A rush of memories confronting her on all sides, blocking progress, keeping her captive, nowhere to go but back into that night.

***

Excerpt from The First to Die by Suzanne Trauth. Copyright 2025 by Suzanne Trauth. Reproduced with permission from Suzanne Trauth. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Suzanne Trauth

Suzanne Trauth is a novelist and playwright. Her novels include The First to Die, What Remains of Love (a first-place winner in Women’s Fiction, Firebird Book Awards; a finalist in General Fiction, American Book Festival; and a finalist for the Hemingway Prize) and the Dodie O’Dell mystery series–Show Time, Time Out, Running Out of Time, Just in Time, No More Time and Killing Time. Ms. Trauth has co-authored Sonia Moore and American Acting Training and co-edited Katrina on Stage: Five Plays. She is a former member of the theatre faculty at a university and is a member of the Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, the Dramatists Guild, and the League of Professional Theatre Women.

Q&A With Suzanne Trauth:

What was the inspiration for this book?

I first got the idea for the book several years ago when I heard a story about an elderly woman. The details about the woman were interesting and I thought she’d make a great character. But as I wrote and rewrote—and received editorial feedback—the murder mystery morphed and the woman, who initially was a witness to a killing, became a background character. Though the plot changed over a number of drafts, the elderly woman hung around! With a name and nationality change by the final version of The First to Die, she remained in the story and helped provide clues and move the plot forward. But she triggered my initial thinking about the story.

What was the biggest challenge in beginning your writing career?

I find the first drafts fun…just letting my imagination go and playing with characters and story, knowing that most things will change in the revision process. For me, the revision process is more challenging, less freewheeling, more structured, and requires more attention to detail. Staying patient with the project and letting it develop more deeply can also be challenging for me. Early on, it was challenging to find time to write while I was still working full time. I had to carve out certain hours of certain days; once I had projects completed, the challenge was finding publishers. It took years and hundreds of query letters to finally get a publisher with my first mystery series. I was fortunate to find publishers who believed in my projects.

What do you absolutely need while writing?

I’d like to say I need a clear workspace, but unfortunately, that’s not true! My desk is overflowing with papers, notes, books, to-do lists, and post-it notes. Though it’s rather messy, somehow I am able to keep order in my creative imagination as I work. And I need my mug of tea…usually some herbal blend.

Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?

I am not a 5:30 a.m. writer like some authors I know. I tend to spend the mornings doing life chores and busywork unrelated to writing; then I settle in in the afternoon and write—often rereading yesterday’s work before tackling new material or new revisions. I write most days to keep on a self-imposed schedule, especially when I have a publisher deadline. It’s great to work when the ideas are flowing, but sometimes discipline requires showing up at the computer even when ideas are only coming in fits and starts.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?

I have a couple of favorite characters. Of course I love my protagonist, Connie Tucker. She is obsessive about finding her mother’s killer and who can’t identify with someone so committed to a goal? So willing to pull out all the stops in achieving her objective. I also love the elderly woman I mentioned earlier—the one who hung around and wouldn’t go away. Her name is Deirdre O’Shaughnessy and she provides a bit of humor in the story.

Tell us why we should read your book.

I feel that The First to Die is entertaining, providing the reader an experience that combines both a suspense story and a family narrative. There is certainly a “whodunnit” element to the novel, but also a “whydunnit,” and, at the same time, there is a story about a family and how it handles the crime at the core of the book. I want my readers to go on a journey with the characters, especially my protagonist, and feel into the story. That may mean laughing or crying, empathizing with the characters’ wants and needs and challenges.

Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book.

I used a town near where I live as a model for the setting in The First to Die. It was a perfect location for the action of the mystery. I loved a particular house on a lovely street as one of the homes my characters inhabit. I would pass this house whenever I was in the town and it was my favorite. Fast forward to last month and I am discussing the book with a local library group. We had barely begun the discussion when one participant announced, “I recognized the town you used as a model in the book.” I was impressed! Then she went on to add, “In fact, I know the exact house you also used.” I was flabbergasted…she was correct.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Thanks for the opportunity to talk about The First to Die—in my experience, authors love to discuss current projects. We spend so much time by ourselves with characters and plot points in our heads that it’s great to be able to share the process of creating the novel and the writing life. While all of my murder mysteries take place in New Jersey, the state really is a lovely place to live. And stay alive…

Tell us a little about yourself and your background.

I started writing novels full time when I retired from teaching at a university in the theatre program here in New Jersey, so theatres figure prominently in my mysteries. I started out with a cozy mystery series: the Dodie O’Dell Mysteries, and wrote six of them before I switched genres and published a women’s fiction/historical romance based on a true story and set in part in WWII. But for my recent novel, The First to Die, I returned to the mystery genre and wrote psychological suspense. Before the novels, I wrote screenplays and plays, both of which helped me with structure, creating characters, and writing dialogue.

What’s next that we can look forward to from you?

I am a couple of drafts into a new mystery that again takes place in a small town in New Jersey. The story involves four sisters and includes a historical element; I’m not completely sure whether this is a cozy mystery or a thriller. We’ll see…

Catch Up With Suzanne Trauth:

www.SuzanneTrauth.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads, @suzannetrauth
BookBub, @trauths1
Instagram, @suzannetrauth
Facebook, @suzanne.trauth.2025
Facebook, @SuzanneTrauth (Author)

 

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Bait the Devil by Winter Austin #AuthorInterview

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BAIT THE DEVIL

by Winter Austin

February 2 – March 13, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Bait the Devil by Winter Austin

A BOUNTY OF SHADOWS

 

In bounty hunting, clean jobs are a myth. Dot knows—she’s seen the blood.

Dot Ybarra doesn’t bluff. Fresh into her bounty hunting career, she’s already earning a reputation for results. But when a “routine” rogue bounty—taken as a favor to her lawyer cousin—turns lethal, she’s staring down a case with international reach, bodies in its wake, and the stench of power.

Her business partner, T.J. Roman, is hiding a secret. If Dot finds out … well, she can’t find out. It would end the effective partnership they’ve built. But the trail won’t wait. What should have been a clean pickup of a fellow military veteran spirals into a hunt through the shadows, where one wrong move could see them both buried in an unmarked grave.

To stop the predators at the center of a violent trafficking ring, they’ll have to go straight into its core—and make themselves the bait. Every step makes them vulnerable to each other as well.

The devil’s coming for them.

Dot plans to be the one still standing after he bites.

Bait the Devil Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Modern Western Thriller
Published by: Tule Mystery
Publication Date: January 19, 2026
Number of Pages: 285
ISBN: 9781969218651 (ISBN10: 1969218657)
Series: A BOUNTY OF SHADOWS, Book 2 {Amazon, Tule}
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Apple Books | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Mystery

Bait the Devil #AuthorInterview:

What was the inspiration for this book?
I don’t think I really had any inspiration. This series, A Bounty of Shadows, is more about where the characters lead me, and Dot Ybarra is running the show. If there was any real inspiration, it was to bring forth more about the plight of U.S. veterans and their silent warfare.

What was the biggest challenge in beginning your writing career?
If we’re talking about the very start of my publishing career, it was gaining traction and readers. It’s very hard right out of the gate to get as many interested readers as possible and hold them. Once you build that backlist and connections, those readers come easier and more often.
It’s also hard to make the right connections at first. But if you stick with it and network in the right circles, you will make the connections that will help drive up visibility.

What do you absolutely need while writing?
Being left alone. I’m at the point in my life where I have an empty nest, but I still have to send my husband out the door in order to focus, or he’ll drive me nuts while he’s goofing off and watching videos and such online. Course, during football season, that becomes even more difficult, but I find ways around it.

Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?
Routine? What’s that? The only thing routine for me is the day job four days a week and the farm chores I need to handle on a daily basis. I try to get writing in early in the morning before I leave for work, and on the weekends. Most of the time I’m looking down the barrel at a deadline and that’s when the butt in chair has to happen and then the words come. Otherwise, I’m such a pantser that most of the writing hits me in spurts.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?
I love Dot, I really do, but the precocious Bethany has really taken over. Her interactions with Dot and T.J. are some of my favorite scenes in the book. If things progress as I hope, Bethany will be to Dot what Wonder Girl was to Wonder Woman. Bethany got a rough start to her life, but her newly adopted aunt in Dot has changed her path drastically and that girl will have her own starring role if ya’ll help keep the series alive. 😉

Tell us why we should read your book.
If you love anything western, thriller, mystery, and action driven, these books are right up your alley. And if you truly love having a female lead who can kick some serious bad guy butt, then you’ll really love Dot.

Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book?
Dot’s love of cigars stems from some wonderful women in my life who have taken up cigar smoking. In addition to being a cigar consignor, Dot does not drink. She might have a beer on a rare occasion, but her preferred drink of choice is coffee. Dot has a few other neat quirks that you’ll need to read in Ride a Dark Trail and Bait the Devil to learn what those are.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
If you enjoyed reading the book, liked it, or even loved it, please let the author know in some form or fashion. If that means reaching out to the author directly or leaving a rating/review for the book. We can’t do this without the readers.

Tell us a little about yourself and your background?
I’m Midwestern by birth and still. I’m a Jane of all trades kinda woman with a burning desire to run my own homestead with a huge herd of goats while I pour out more thrilling books. All of my writing education came at the feet of learning from other successful authors and professionals in the publishing industry and still learning as I grow. I love to pay it forward and when given the opportunity, I teach workshops for the younger/budding writers.

What’s next that we can look forward to from you?
I’m finishing up the 5th book in my police procedural/mystery Benoit and Dayne series and gearing up to write book 3 in the Bounty of Shadows series. I’ll be making appearances at a lot of local or Iowa-based bookstores when I can with a run out to Chicago for a one day mystery conference in April. And digging in for the upcoming show goat season with my nieces that will round out with our county fair and the Iowa State fair shows.

Read an excerpt:

From Chapter 1

Two hours later, they had managed to corral the quickly sobering Freddy into the back of the Suburban, with no more eventful chases, and turn him over to the county jail. Freddy’s bail bondsman paid out their fair share of the bond and a huge tip after some hard pressing on T.J.’s part about the circumstances leading up to Freddy’s apprehension. Once the check was cashed, a celebratory late lunch at one of the best Basque eateries Dot had found in Boise was the best way to top off a successful day of bounty hunting.

Parked behind the Bar Gernika, she and T.J. sat in the back end of the Chevy Suburban with the hatch up eating chorizo sandwiches with smoked cod croquetas and a bowl of green olives dripping in garlic olive oil. Dot slurped down half of her Coke, then shook the ice in her cup.

T.J. pointed the remains of his smoked beef chorizo at her. “We should register for the SHOT show in Vegas.”

“Why?”

“Because we can.” T.J. pulled his duh face.

Dot rolled her eyes and bit into her sandwich.

“Have you ever been there?” T.J. asked.

She shook her head, wiping smokey chorizo juice from the corner of her mouth.

“The woman raised to be a hunter and a firearms collector has never been to the great SHOT show?” He lowered his reflective sunglasses and eyed her over the top of the rims. “Never?”

“You do realize my family wasn’t made of money.” Dot popped one of the croquetas into her mouth. “And that’s in the dead of winter, when we couldn’t just up and run off while we were in the middle of lambing season.”

“All the more reason you should go now.” T.J. grinned. “A lot of the best bounty hunters meet up there.”

Dot scowled at her partner and sometimes bunk buddy. “Lemme guess. You wanna show off your shiny new partner to the boys?”

“Maybe.” His grin turned devilish. “Or maybe I wanna see you kick their asses.”

Dot wadded up the sandwich wrapper and chucked it at T.J.’s head. “I’m not a toy.”

The crumbled ball of waxed paper bounced off his forehead and landed on the Suburban floor between them.

“Really? Then why are you so easy to wind up?”

“You sonofa—” Dot lunged for his throat but was quickly subdued.

Their moment of levity was interrupted by a shrill ring from T.J.’s phone.

“Damn it,” he snapped and patted down his body in search for his cell.

Dot found it lying on the makeshift floor behind his hulking frame. She snatched it up and checked the screen. She batted her eyelashes at T.J.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled.

She pressed the green icon to answer the call. “Well, hello, cousin dearest.”

Lawyer-extraordinaire and covert purveyor of information, Vivian Montgomery was Dot’s second cousin. And apparently had earned a spot on T.J.’s contact list under the moniker of Hot Ass Lawyer.

“Dot? When did you start taking business calls?” Vivian asked, her brisk tone underscored by the sound of her heavy breathing.

“What are you doing?” Dot asked. “You sound like you’re saving the horse and riding a cowboy.”

“Oh, grow up. I’m on a treadmill. Put T.J. on the phone.”

“You shouldn’t run on those things. They destroy your knees and back,” Dot chided.

“When I want health advice from a cigar smoker who jumps from helicopters for fun, I’ll call.”

“I don’t jump from the helo. Unless it’s crashing. Even then, that’s sketchy shit.”

T.J., giving a rumbling growl, jerked the phone from Dot, and pressed it to his ear. “Vivian, what do you need?” He waited a moment, then with another low growl, pulled the phone from his ear and put it on speaker. “You’re on speaker.”

“I need a huge favor from the two of you.”

“When you say huge favor, how huge are we talking?” Dot asked.

“You know, I think I liked you better when you were a brooding, isolated eremite whose main goal in life was equal parts trying to piss off her mother and keep her out of trouble,” Vivian shot back.

“Love you too, coz.”

“Now shut up and let me finish.” The whining sound of the treadmill belt slowing echoed over the phone connection. “I just got a call from one of my colleagues. She had a client fail to appear today.”

“Shouldn’t the defendant’s bail bondsman be calling us?” T.J. asked.

“It’s … complicated.”

Dot smiled as T.J. groaned.

“Vivian, every time you rope us into one of your firm’s problems with their unruly children, we’re out money, time, and patience. We’re called bounty hunters for a reason. Bounty is in the name.”

“Roman, if you keep up the condescending behavior, I’ll expose your dirty little secret.”

“Dirty secret, huh,” Dot piped in. “What’s that?”

He thrust a finger at her nose. “None of your business. Vivian, if you so much as breathe out of line, I’ll make you regret it.”

“Will you do me the favor?”

T.J. stared at Dot, who shrugged as if to say, Why not?

“Fine. Mark my words, I’ll be cashing in on this huge favor sooner than you think.”

“I wouldn’t have bothered you with this, expect the guy is a veteran, and you two being veterans yourself, I figured he’d be more likely to work with you than anyone else.”

“What’s on his file?” Dot asked.

“That’s the complicated part. Officially, his file says he was picked up a third time for carrying with the intent to sell. Unofficially, he’s … classified.”

Dot frowned as she and T.J. locked eyes. As a former army ranger who spent a lot of time flying in and out of forward operating bases in Afghanistan, T.J. knew all about classified situations. Dot, as the main helicopter pilot shuttling him and his team back and forth, though never read in on his actual missions, typically was under strict orders of her own.

“Vivian, I’m not getting fuzzy feelings about this,” T.J. said.

“Neither am I. It’s why I’m calling the two of you in. The judge wants to issue a bench warrant. My colleague was able to ask for a delay before it’s submitted. She was given three hours to present her client or the warrant is released. If you’d rather, you could consider this job PI work instead of fugitive recovery.”

The shingle hanging outside their business office did say private investigators. At this point, that title belonged to T.J. and T.J. alone.

“Still not selling me on this,” he said. “If there’s no bench warrant, there’s no cash for catching him.”

“Hang on.” Vivian spoke to someone, her voice muffled, then she was back. “The firm will pay you a finder’s fee.”

T.J. continued to stare at Dot. She could sense what he was thinking. He was torn. Take this off-the-cuff job and cash in on the favor department with Vivian to help a fellow veteran? Or say fuck it and play hooky for the rest of the day like he’d planned?

Dot didn’t really have much of a say in the business dealings of their partnership since she was eight months into the training phase as a fugitive recovery agent and she wasn’t a licensed PI. It didn’t stop T.J. from pressing her for her opinion, who argued that, because she was about to start taking bounties on her own, she needed to take the reins more often.

“If it helps you make a decision, I’ve got his last known address and a phone number along with a photo,” Vivian said. “This won’t be a hard catch.”

“Stop saying that. Every time you tell me it’s an easy one, it turns into a disaster,” T.J. snarled.

“He’s right,” Dot added.

“Okay, I retract my statement. But, please say yes. Huge favor to me. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

Dot glared at him.

“Within reason,” Vivian shot back.

“We’ll do it,” Dot said, tired of T.J.’s runaround. “Send us the four-one-one, and we’ll go check it out.”

T.J. glared at her; his dark eyes flashed a warning. Dot returned his glare with a smug look of her own that dared him to bring it.

“Thank you, coz. Hurry. There’s only two hours left before the bench warrant goes out. Then it’ll be a free-for-all.”

“You couldn’t have called us about this an hour ago?” T.J. groused.

“Shut your yap, Roman,” Vivian said. “There. Info sent.”

His phone dinged.

“His name is Cade Porter. He was a staff sergeant in the Marine Corps.” Vivian sucked in a breath. “Oooh.”

“Oooh, what?” T.J. insisted.

“If this is right, he was in an artillery unit.”

“Oh my God.” T.J. groaned.

Dot grinned. Not only did acting on a favor for Vivian chafe T.J. in the chaps, but doing it for a Marine with explosives expertise was going to make that chafe burn. Throughout their long, storied history, there had always been a deep-seated friendly animosity between the army and the Marines. Push came to shove, however, they still had each other’s backs.

“If that crayon eater blows us up, I’m going to haunt you,” he said.

“I look forward to the visits. Now get going.” Vivian ended the call.

T.J. shoved his phone in a side pocket of his cargo pants. “Tell me again why we let Vivian help us out?”

“Because,” Dot said as she scooted out of the SUV’s backend, “she’s good for the money. And I trust her intel more than I would some of your bail bondsmen.”

“You say that because you’re biased.”

Nire familia da. Garrantzitsua da.

T.J. paused before closing the hatch. “I speak Pashto, Arabic, some Spanish, and Oklahoman. I do not speak Basque.”

Dot chuckled. “Time to learn, Danger Ranger.”

“Load up and let’s roll.”

***

Excerpt from Bait the Devil by Winter Austin. Copyright 2026 by Winter Austin. Reproduced with permission from Winter Austin. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Winter Austin

Winter Austin perpetually answers the question: “were you born in the winter?” with a flat “nope,” but believe her, there is a story behind her name.

A lifelong Mid-West gal with strong ties to the agriculture world, Winter grew up listening to the captivating stories told by relatives around a table or a campfire. As a published author, she learned her glass half-empty personality makes for a perfect suspense/thriller writer. Taking her ability to verbally spin a vivid and detailed story, Winter translated that into writing deadly romantic suspense, mysteries, and thrillers.

When she’s not slaving away at the computer, you can find Winter supporting her daughter in cattle shows, seeing her three sons off into the wide-wide world, loving on her fur babies, prodding her teacher husband, and nagging at her flock of hens to stay in the coop or the dogs will get them.

She is the author of multiple novels.

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New from Fran Lewis: Inverted Reality

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INVERTED REALITY

by Fran Lewis

July 21-25, 2025 Book Blast

Synopsis:

Inverted Reality by Fran Lewis

Inverted Reality is a compilation of five books that teach people, through the characters involved, the consequences of doing harmful, dangerous or mean things to others. The person will face in some cases the “mirror” that will replay their wrongdoing and then ask if they will repent. If not, the mirror will decide their fate for them.

Each story has different characters who have done something wrong or evil to someone else. Some of the stories have voices that have been silenced and can no longer be heard. One story describes someone who was wrongly accused. The last part “The Third Choice” is Fran’s favorite. It tells a story about people who do not repent, and fate or consequences will be inflicted, but she won’t tell you how.

Some of the stories are fiction while others are true and factual. You, the reader, will decide whether the story is true or false as you enter the world of Inverted Reality. You can decide what your own definition of the title means, and how you would react if you had to face the mirror or the third choice for what you might have done. You decide if it really happened and how you would react.

It’s good vs. evil, and consciousness vs. unconscionable.

Praise for Inverted Reality:

“Actions Have Consequences! Inverted Reality by Fran Lewis is a chilling look at bad people committing horrific deeds.”
~ Irma Fritz, author of novels and short stories

Book Details:

Genre: Horror, Short Stories, Suspense and Thrillers
Published by: Just Reviews
Publication Date: May 13, 2025
Number of Pages: 219
ISBN: May 13, 2025
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

 

Author Bio:

Fran Lewis

Fran worked in the NYC Public Schools as the Reading and Writing Staff Developer for over 36 years. She has three masters degrees and a PD in Supervision and Administration. Currently, she is a member of Who’s Who of America’s Teachers and Who’s Who of America’s Executives from Cambridge.‬‬

Fran is the author of more than 14 titles including three children’s books. She has written several books on Alzheimer’s disease in order to honor her mom and help create more awareness for a cure. These include Memories are Precious: Alzheimer’s Journey; Ruth’s Story and Sharp as a Tack and Scrambled Eggs Which Describes Your Brain?. She also wrote A Daughter’s Promise about her walk through the disease with her mother. ‪Fran is the author of the Faces Behind the Stones series, a middle school series featuring stories growing up in the Bronx with her sister and MJ magazine. Voices from Beyond is her latest book which was preceded by Mirror Image, What If?, Population Zero, and Accusations.‬

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Goldhammer by Haris Orkin | #GuestPost

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Goldhammer

by Haris Orkin

June 6 – July 1, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A James Flynn Escapade

Goldhammer by Haris Orkin

A young actress, involuntarily committed to City of Roses Psychiatric Hospital, plunges James Flynn into a dangerous new adventure when she claims one of the most powerful producers in Hollywood is trying to kill her.

Still convinced he’s a secret agent for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, Flynn springs into action, helps her escape and finds himself embroiled in a battle with a dangerous sociopath worth billions. In the process, he uncovers a high-tech conspiracy to control the mind of every human being on Earth.

With the help of his reluctant sidekick, Sancho, and a forgotten Hollywood sex symbol from the 1960s, Flynn faces off with Goldhammer and his private army in a desperate attempt to save the young actress…and save the world…once again.

Praise for Goldhammer:

“One of those books that has you laughing and turning pages well into the night.” —Len Boswell, Bestselling author of The Simon Grave Mysteries

“A riotous comic novel that’s also a legit page turner. A deftly plotted, swiftly paced thriller.” —R. Lee Procter, Author of The Million Dollar Sticky Note and Sugarball

“A fast-paced quixotic thriller that would make Miguel de Cervantes and Ian Fleming proud. The third James Flynn novel is a powerful cocktail of suspense, adrenaline and a whole lot of laughs. Orkin has the remarkable ability to keep the reader straddled between a genuine spy thriller and an off-the-wall comedy” —Joe Barret, Award-winning author of Managed Care

Book Details:

Genre: Comedy Thriller
Published by: Black Rose Writing
Publication Date: June 23rd 2022
Number of Pages: 240
ISBN: 1684339677 (ISBN-13: 978-1684339679)
Series: The James Flynn Escapades, Book 3 | Each is a stand-alone thriller
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter ONE

The Corsican wanted him dead.

Of that James Flynn was certain.

Somehow, the assassin had infiltrated Her Majesty’s Secret Service as a security officer. Flynn didn’t recognize him at first. The killer had put on a few pounds and likely had plastic surgery, but what he couldn’t disguise were his eyes. His cold, dark, pitiless eyes. The eyes of a sociopath. The eyes of an executioner.

The only question was when.

When would the Corsican come for him?

He told his colleagues what he suspected, but they refused to believe him. They claimed his name was Thomas Hernandez and that someone else on the security team had recommended him. They also said they fully vetted him. But Flynn wasn’t fooled. He tangled with the Corsican before. The man was relentless. A cold-blooded enforcer who started with the Corsican mafia but went on to do contract hits for the Sicilians, the Albanians, the Serbians, and the Russians.

Instead of waiting for the Corsican to come to him, Flynn decided to flush him out. Force his hand. Expose him for who he was and why he was there.

Flynn dressed in black denim and a black turtleneck and waited until 2 a.m. to make his move. He kept to the shadows as he trod the deserted corridors. He had no weapon since lethal weapons of any kind were now forbidden at headquarters. A foolish rule put in place by sheltered bureaucrats who had no clue. Luckily, not even security could carry a firearm at headquarters. All the Corsican had was an expandable baton and a Taser. Even so, the man was lethal enough with just his hands and feet.

But then, so was Flynn.

Flynn heard footsteps ahead and ducked into a conference room. He waited and listened as the footsteps drew closer. As they passed the doorway, Flynn peered into the corridor to see the Corsican lumbering forward, quietly peering in room after room. Suddenly, he stopped. Flynn felt a jolt of adrenaline. The air was electric. The silence palpable. Could the Corsican feel Flynn’s eyes on him? Flynn knew that scientists have identified a specialized group of neurons in the primate brain that fire specifically when a monkey is under the direct gaze of another. Humans also appear to be wired for that kind of gaze perception. Predators like Flynn and the Corsican can also be prey and have developed a sixth sense to alert them to danger.

The Corsican turned and he and Flynn locked eyes for a moment. Before the hit man could take a step, Flynn took off down the hall in the opposite direction. He heard the footfalls of the Corsican as he chased after him. Flynn had his route all mapped out. Darting down one corridor. Then another. Running until he arrived at a door that led down to the basement and the guts of the building. Flynn had picked the lock after dinner, knowing that this was the night he would lure the Corsican to his end. He had a license to kill and could have used it anytime, but Flynn didn’t exercise that power willy-nilly. Only as a last resort. He didn’t want the Corsican dead. He needed to know who put the price on his head. Otherwise who ever hired the killer would continue to send hitters until finally one succeeded.

The building that housed HMSS was huge and had a substantial infrastructure. The basement utility plant had mechanical, electrical, HVAC, and plumbing systems that fed water, air, and electricity all through the facility. Flynn moved from massive room to massive room, staying just ahead of the Corsican. He needed to lose him and lay in wait. Flynn was confident in his abilities, but to come at a killer like that head-on didn’t make much sense. Why give your opponents any edge at all?

Flynn ducked into a room that housed all the electrical panels, distribution boards, and circuit breakers. Conduit snaked everywhere and Flynn found a metal door secured with a heavy padlock. Using two straightened paper clips, he quickly picked the lock. The door led to an outside area protected by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. The security fence surrounded three giant transformers and two massive backup generators the size of semi-trailers.

Flynn stood next to the door and strained his ears to hear approaching footsteps over the electrical buzz of the transformers. Faint at first, they moved closer. Careful. Slow. Stealthy. He saw a shoe as someone came through and Flynn took them from behind, using jiu-jitsu to slam them into the ground.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said the man Flynn had face down in the gravel.

“Sancho?”

“Get off me, man.”

Flynn released his comrade-in-arms and helped him to his feet. Bits of gravel still clung to his face. “I thought you were the Corsican.” Flynn’s British accent had a touch of Scottish burr.

“His name is Hernandez,” Sancho said.

“That’s not his real name.”

“And I’m telling you, he’s not the Corsican.”

“Don’t let him fool you, my friend. He’s not who he says he is.”

“Then why’d he call me? He knows I know you. He knows we’re friends. He asked me to find you. Talk to you. Calm you down.”

“Perhaps he wants to take care of you too.”

“Take care of me?”

Flynn heard the Corsican call to them, his voice deep and resonant. “You okay in there, brother?”

“We’re good,” Sancho said.

The Corsican walked in with two other men. All three wore the blue security uniform issued to those who guard HMSS. The Corsican looked at Flynn with his dark, merciless eyes. “You okay, Mr. Flynn?”

“Tell them who you are,” Flynn demanded.

“Thomas Hernandez.”

“Who you really are.”

The Corsican rolled his eyes and sighed. “That’s who I really am.”

Flynn aimed an accusatory finger. “I know who you are. Born Stefanu Perrina in Porto, Corsica. Contract killer for the Unione Corse, the Cosa Nostra, and the Russian mafia. Wanted by Interpol for fifty-two confirmed kills.”

“I was born in Hacienda Heights.”

Flynn glanced at Sancho. “The man is a master of deception. It’s kill or be killed with men like him.”

The Corsican drew his Taser and the other two guards followed suit.

Sancho raised his hands. “Whoa, come on now. Easy.” He stepped in front of Flynn as the Corsican fired. The Taser darts caught Sancho in the shoulder and socked him with fifty thousand volts. He screamed in agony as his whole body seized up and shook. His legs gave out and he fell on his side, helpless and twitching.

Flynn dove behind a generator before the other two guards could fire. Each guard stalked him from a different side. Flynn clambered up over the top and launched himself from above, tackling the Corsican. He wrenched away his reloaded Taser and shot one of the guards in the crotch. The man went down with a shriek as the other guard fired on him. Flynn fell to his knees and the darts parted his hair before hitting the Corsican in the chest. The killer crumpled as Flynn sprang to his feet and pulled the Corsican’s expandable baton out of its holster. Flicking his wrist, Flynn fully extended the menacing club and turned to confront the last standing guard.

Someone grabbed Flynn by the arm and Flynn elbowed him in the face. Sancho staggered back, holding his bloody nose. “What the hell, man?”

“Sorry, mate.”

Flynn heard a Taser fire and an instant later, two darts hit him in the side. Fifty thousand volts took him to his knees as another guard fired another Taser. Those two darts hit him in the stomach. Flynn lost control of every muscle in his body. And then he saw the Corsican looming over him with his own weapon. He shot the darts directly into Flynn’s chest. Right over his heart. Now all three lit him up with electricity. One hundred and fifty thousand volts rocked Flynn as they shocked him with charge after charge until the world faded into a tiny aperture that slowly began to close.

***

Excerpt from Goldhammer by Haris Orkin. Copyright 2022 by Haris Orkin. Reproduced with permission from Haris Orkin. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Haris Orkin

Haris Orkin is a novelist, a playwright, a screenwriter, and a game writer. His play, Dada was produced at The American Stage and the La Jolla Playhouse. Sex, Impotence, and International Terrorism was chosen as a critic’s choice by the L.A. Weekly and sold as a film script to MGM/UA. Save the Dog was produced as a Disney Sunday Night movie. His original screenplay, A Saintly Switch, was directed by Peter Bogdanovich and starred David Alan Grier and Vivica A. Fox. He is a WGA Award and BAFTA Award nominated game writer and narrative designer known for Command and Conquer: Red Alert 3, Call of Juarez: Gunslinger, Tom Clancy’s The Division, Mafia 3, and Dying Light.

 

Guest Post by Haris Orkin

James Bond in the age of #MeToo

When I first found out I was going to be a father, I was happy, excited, and terrified. My wife and I knew we were going to have a son and the prospect of impending fatherhood raised all kinds of questions and fears. What kind of man am I? What kind of example would I be? What would I teach my son? What kind of man would I like him to become? With all those concerns and thoughts swirling around in my head, I started writing things down. It was a way to process my thoughts and feelings. Those thoughts and feelings eventually became a play that was performed at the American Stage Company, the Coronet Theater in Los Angeles, and at the La Jolla Playhouse.

The play was called “Dada” and the main character is David, an insecure father to be. At one point in the show he has an imaginary conversation with James Bond. 007 confronts him on the choices he has made.

“You settled. You gave up. You wanted to be me. How do you know you couldn’t have?”

“You’re not even real.”

“When you were fifteen I was more real to you than your own father. I embodied all your dreams. All your desires. You wanted to be suave and masterful and seductive and dangerous. You wanted men to fear you and women to fall all over you. Is that no longer true? Or do you no longer know what you want anymore?”

“You kill people. You force people to have sex with you.”

“I have a license to kill and because I do I will brook no insolence from anyone. I take what I want and I do what I want and no one tells me how to live or what I can or cannot do.”

“But no one cares about you. And you don’t care about anyone else. What kind of life is that?”

“A life free of sticky and unnecessary encumbrances. To love is to allow someone inside so deeply the can cause you…unmentionable pain.” Bond’s eyes fill with tears. “Why give someone that power?”

Goldfinger - GoldenGirl

I was an impressionable 13 year old when I first saw James Bond in Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Bond was engaged to be married to Teresa Draco, played by Diana Rigg. I was a huge Avenger’s fan back then. (The English Avengers…not the one with Captain America and the Hulk.) Diana Rigg was beautiful and smart and incredibly cool. Who wouldn’t want to be engaged to Diana Rigg? But Bond wasn’t content with just one woman. He had to sleep with every woman he bumped into. Even those who seemed reluctant. At the time I didn’t realize that was a problem. I thought that’s what men did when they were engaged to be married. And then (spoiler alert) Diana Rigg died and Bond was heartbroken. It was clear even to my 13 year old self that the producers didn’t want a married Bond; a Bond who had to change nappies and help with the dishes. They killed off his fiancé so Bond could continue to be a lady killer.

The Bond ethos along with the Playboy philosophy warped the world view of my entire generation. Dan Draper on Mad Men reflected that ethos perfectly. Bond was of that age and also part of what shaped that age. By 1974 the feminist movement was burgeoning and my college years were shaped by James Bond on one hand and feminist girlfriends on the other. It was a schizophrenic time and when my son was about to be born sixteen years later, I reflected on all of that.

Connery’s my favorite Bond, but he was also the most “old school” in terms of how he treated women. Daniel Craig’s version of Bond feels a lot more nuanced in that regard. He’s just generally tortured and angry about everything. At least he’s not as glum as Timothy Dalton.

Does James Bond have a place in the age of #MeToo? I would hope he would change with the times. Or at least reflect them. It was never believable when every woman Bond met threw herself at him. That didn’t happen in the more recent Bond films starring Daniel Craig…so maybe things are changing. Judy Dench’s M always seemed wonderfully irritated with him. The first time we see her with Bond she calls him a “sexist, misogynist dinosaur, a relic of the cold war” (Though to be honest, every M since the first one has been irritated with Bond.)

When Bond is rebooted again, I’d like to see some changes. I’d like to see James Bond get rejected and ignored once in a while. I’d like to see Miss Moneypenny call HR on him. Maybe Bond should miss occasionally when he leaps off a building to grab onto a passing helicopter.

I love the daring-do, but anyone would have to be a little crazy to do what James Bond does. He’s always risking life and limb and scrotum (in Goldfinger) to save the world and rescue damsels and take down evil masterminds bent on world domination.

Do you know what other character that brings to mind? Don Quixote. A clearly delusional hero. But at least Don Quixote wasn’t such a jerk with the ladies. He treated Dulcinea with respect and followed the rules of chivalry. (Yeah, I know, turning women into untouchable objects of perfection can be just as problematic.)

I get that we like our heroes to be infallible and indestructible and always quick with a quip, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt if 007 took a few tips from crazy old Don Quixote. After Bond himself, that’s the character that most inspired James Flynn. Flynn even has his own Sancho. Together they blunder out into the world, seeking adventure, and slaying all kinds of metaphorical dragons. Flynn still loves the ladies, but he treats them with respect and isn’t a “sexist, misogynist dinosaur.” At least not all the time.

Catch Up With Haris Orkin:
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