A Murder on Call by Jes Bogg – Spotlight and Giveaway

December 15, 2025 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jes Bogg will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

He only wanted to help. Now he’s being hunted.

When community carer, Baz Bexon, discovers a murder victim at a new client’s home, his life unravels. With unrestricted access to the property, he and his colleagues fall under suspicion.

Determined to clear his name, and wishing to safeguard the disabled occupant he’s employed to assist, Baz turns amateur sleuth on the seedier backstreets of Hull.

But his questioning arouses the interest of a killer. One fixated on revenge…

A Murder On Call is the gripping first novel in the Baz Bexon series. If you enjoy unlikely heroes, break-neck action, and gritty blends of mystery and thriller, dive into Jes Bogg’s debut.

Read an Excerpt

The house remained silent, apart from the background buzz of the central heating.

“I reckon she’s still in bed,” Baz said.

“Yup. Let’s go.” Shell took the lead. When she glanced through the open doorway beside the kitchen, she halted, staring into the darkened room.

“Hey, warn me when you’re gonna do that, would you?” Baz chided, stepping aside so as not to plough into her.

“Oh, crap!” Shell motioned through the door.

Baz followed her gaze. Someone lay on the threshold between the dining room and lounge.

“She’s fallen.” He swallowed.

They hastened to put on their disposable gloves, Shell pausing to turn on the dining room light.

A woman wearing a pink fluffy nightgown and matching slippers was curled on her side, her auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun and a pair of round-lensed spectacles askew on her large, aquiline nose.

Baz crouched beside her and took her hand with care. It chilled his palm.

“Jasmine, can you hear me?” His voice sounded foreign to his ears.

No response.

Pressing his fingertips into the woman’s neck, he felt for a pulse. Nothing.

He held his wrist to her mouth, hoping to feel the faintest tickle of a breath.

Again, nothing.

Pulling aside her robe, he checked for chest movements and froze.

A large kitchen knife protruded from her stomach, sticky blood coating the inside of her gown. He snatched his hand away and leaned back. “She’s dead.”

About the Author:
Jes was born, raised and continues to reside in England’s northern city, Kingston Upon Hull. She lives with her mother, eight-year-old daughter and their Abyssinian cat, Petrie.

Growing up, she was inspired by Point Horror stories, Sweet Valley High and anything by K A Applegate, and as an adult she was gripped by the writers Agatha Christie, Elizabeth Peters, Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child, Lee Child and Scott Mariani.

As an advocate of breastfeeding, Jes volunteers for a local trust, assisting mothers to feed their children, in addition to promoting the benefits of human milk to their relatives. She has also taken on a new role at a nearby gymnastics club, a sport she loves to watch if unable to participate in.

A fair warning—don’t get her talking about ancient Egypt or cats, you’ll never get away.

Throughout her adult life, Jes has always been the one persuaded to produce thank you cards, letters of complaint, résumés, advertisements, and much more for family and friends. The constant excuse being, “You know how to write.”

And so, A Murder on Call was born.

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The Unswitchable by Yoav Blum – Spotlight

December 10, 2025 By Leave a Comment

A culture that treats bodies as temporary vessels underscores the tension at the heart of The Unswitchable by Yoav Blum. When transformation is effortless, permanence becomes a threat—and a target.

In a society built on borrowed bodies and temporary identities, permanence has become a burden—and a threat. The Switch-Bracelet reshapes daily life: people outsource the exhausting parts of their routines, slip into new forms for pleasure or anonymity, and treat their original selves as optional. For the only person who cannot participate, the world has always felt slightly out of reach. That changes when a messenger in a leased body dies after delivering a revelation tied to a past he never knew he had. Within hours, assassins capable of changing appearance in an instant pursue him through a society where faces offer no clues and strangers could be enemies wearing borrowed skin. His fixed identity, once the source of quiet isolation, becomes the one trait that makes him valuable—and endangered. As the chase tightens, he must unravel the connection between his unchangeable self and a secret powerful enough to disrupt a world built on transformation.

What if everyone could become someone else—except you?

In a world where the Switch-Bracelet lets people instantly jump into any body, Dan Arbel is cursed with something unthinkable: he’s stuck being himself. While others hire stand-ins to do their workouts, commute in borrowed bodies, or vacation through the eyes of professional tourists, Dan remains trapped in his own skin—the only person on Earth who can’t switch.

That makes him valuable. And dangerous.

Working as a black-market courier in a society where identity is fluid, Dan thought his condition was just a lonely burden. Then a dying stranger in a borrowed body whispers impossible words—tying Dan to a secret buried deep in his past. Before he can process the revelation, assassins with ever-changing faces descend, hunting for something he carries without knowing.

In a world where anyone can be anyone, how do you know who to trust?

Dan’s unchanging identity, once his greatest curse, becomes the one constant in a deadly maze of deception. To survive, he must rely on the only thing no one else can claim anymore: his own irreplaceable self.

A heart-stopping blend of cyberpunk thriller and philosophical mystery that will leave you questioning the nature of identity itself.

Enjoy an Excerpt

She took a deep breath, her eyes cast down toward the glass of water in her hands. The light of the setting sun snuck through the open window behind her, painting the back of her right shoulder.

I looked at her, trying again to decide whether to believe her story.

She shuddered. The air in the room suddenly felt different, or perhaps I just imagined it. When she lifted her eyes toward me, I saw something that wasn’t there a moment earlier. Urgency, panic, maybe.

“Dan?” she asked.

The tone of her voice changed. It was the tone people use when they want to say something important, or when they’re suffering from amnesia and have no idea who you are. I wagered on the former.

She moved toward me, abruptly, stepping into the light of the setting sun.

“Dan?” she asked again.

I was about to say “Who else could I be?” when her head lurched forward, pulling her neck in its wake and then her entire body. Only after her body hit the floor did I realize the noise I’d heard half a second earlier was the whoosh of the bullet.

My eyes darted to the window, then to the floor. What the h…?

She lay there, a gaping hole in the back of her head, blood pouring from it. Such things aren’t supposed to happen to normative people. And yet, this was happening again.

About the Author: Yoav Blum is an author known for blending high-concept speculative ideas with gripping mystery, thriller, and philosophical depth. His work explores extraordinary situations—time travel, body switching, orchestrated coincidences—while grounding them in questions of identity, perception, fate, and free will. Beneath each thriller or puzzle lies a reflection on what it means to be human. His tone is introspective, suspenseful, and often playfully self-aware.

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Fine Points Malice and Payback by Sherrie Todd-Beshore – Spotlight

December 8, 2025 By Leave a Comment

Sherrie Todd-Beshore’s Fine Points Malice and Payback situates a rising detective within a complex weave of past and present mysteries. Set in Tucson’s demanding homicide division, the story brings together investigative pressure, unresolved childhood questions, and the delicate balance between instinct and evidence.

After months studying dormant case files, Detective Andrew Coates notices subtle but significant overlaps among three unsolved murders. When a fourth homicide surfaces with the same disturbing hallmarks, he finds himself unexpectedly leading an investigation that grows more tangled by the hour. As he works through interviews and inconsistencies, a fifth attack introduces the first surviving victim and an emotional entanglement that complicates his focus. Andrew’s efforts to maintain clarity become more challenging as the long-unanswered questions surrounding his own background resurface. Abandoned as a newborn and raised in foster care, he must confront what personal history means when identity and motive are central to the crimes at hand. The closer he gets to understanding the pattern, the more the boundaries between his case and his past blur.

Rookie Tucson Detective Andrew Coates who spent months going through several cold-case files connects the investigation dots of three unsolved murders. With a fourth victim discovered his captain assigns the new open case to the nervous novice. But when the harried detective begins to fall for the sister of a fifth victim the mystery of his own life intrudes into his murder investigation. Raised in foster care, not knowing who he is still haunts him…

Enjoy an Excerpt

Hospital security towed Detective Coates’ Bronco.

From the hospital emergency parking lot he was able to flag down a patrol car for a ride back to the Stone Avenue police station. As tempted as he was to take the wise advice of Dr. Lopez, he felt compelled to keep going.
Now was the time to interview Rosa Chavez’s landlord, her neighbors, friends, co-workers, and family even though the shock was still like an open wound.

The general mood on the third floor felt odd when Coates stepped off the elevator. The first detail he noticed was that Captain Fleming’s office was dark and the door was closed.

Lieutenant Brayburn looked up and waved him over to his desk. His partner, Lucia Mendoza worked to clear a paper jam at the photocopier.

Cream cheese icing from Clarence’s half-eaten cinnamon roll stuck to one side of his mouth contrasting against his dark skin. “Have you spoken to the captain yet this morning? Cause…” The senior homicide detective was interrupted when the elevator door opened and Police Chief Perez stepped out.

“Detective Coates, just the man I need to see.” The Chief of Police strode beyond the narrow elevator hallway into the open office area then beyond the rows of desks into the first available interview room.

Andrew Coates thought his heart would crash straight through his chest, and for the second time that morning his legs were like rubber.

The Tucson Chief-of-Police never came to the third floor. Everyone always went to his office either by order or invitation – only.

The young detective took a deep breath for more oxygen trying not to pass out then hurried after Pedro Perez.
When he closed the door, the ex-marine chief of police was blunt. “Make sure there’s no video or sound recording of this meeting?”

Andrew couldn’t help himself; he had to pull out a chair and sit. “Of course, sir. Absolutely. Just you and me and nothing outside this room, sir.”

Chief Perez remained standing at attention extending his five-foot, nine-inch muscular frame to full height. “Officially, I’m releasing to the press that Captain Fleming has taken ill suddenly with a previously undiagnosed heart ailment – which ironically is technically true.”

About the Author: Sherrie Todd-Beshore began her writing career as a reporter and editor before moving into magazines and daily newspapers across Canada and the U.S. A dual Canadian–U.S. citizen, she later shifted from journalism to fiction, writing middle-grade mysteries and adult suspense thrillers. Her award-winning titles include The Crow Child, The Count of Baldpate, and Dream Gate II: Grabbing Time. She is the author of 17 books and has earned honors from the Independent Press Award and the Purple Dragonfly Book Awards.

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Crude by Mike Bond – Spotlight

December 8, 2025 By Leave a Comment

Given how quickly global events can escalate—from political decisions to market shocks—Crude by Mike Bond begins with a scenario that echoes current concerns. A nuclear-attack alert sparks a chain of consequences that reach into intelligence networks, energy infrastructure, and media coverage.

The book opens with a nationwide nuclear-attack alert, throwing the country into panic. Tensions between the United States and Russia are spiraling, and Ross Bullock believes the administration’s actions could trigger unimaginable consequences. He tries to warn top journalists, but instead of sparking caution, his message becomes political fuel. When a Rawhide Energy platform is destroyed in the South China Sea with massive loss of life, it becomes clear that the crisis extends beyond politics. Through multiple regions and systems under strain, Crude merges geopolitical danger, financial volatility, intelligence pressure, and the fast-moving influence of media into a streamlined, gripping present-day thriller.

The US President is escalating tensions with Russia, dragging the country to the brink of nuclear war. CEO of Rawhide Energy, Ross Bullock, invites members of every prominent news organization in the country for the most important announcement he is ever going make in his life: a warning that we are headed into Armageddon if the administration doesn’t pull back.

As the press eats him alive for raising the specter of nuclear annihilation, and putting the President’s re-election in jeopardy, Bullock finds out that one of his oil platforms in the South China Sea has been blown to bits, along with hundreds of team members.

Someone is trying to take him down. The question is: is the call coming from inside the house? Or is it a geopolitical adversary that would have more to gain if he was brought down to his knees?

Unfolding across Mongolia, Indonesia, Washington D.C., Wyoming, and Ukraine, Crudeis a masterfully written super-thriller that takes us to the door of world annihilation and shows us what’s inside.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The shark hit so hard he thought it was a ship keel out of the deep, its gritty hide rasping his thigh and its huge tail
ripping a dive fin off his foot. He yanked a repellant tube from his divepack, fumbled and lost it, couldn’t see it in his headlamp, faced the shark but it wasn’t there, was above him, to the left, below, grinning jaws.

He dove, grabbing for the repellant, watching the shark. It attacked, feinted and dodged, the biggest tiger shark he’d ever seen. His hand bumped the repellant, knocking it away. He grasped for it, trying to circle to face the shark, to stay upright despite the missing fin. Don’t panic.
The shark dove, then rose toward him, teeth glinting in his head‐ lamp. His wrist grazed the repellant, driving it lower. He snapped on his Orca torch, looked around frantically for Two, but the other diver wasn’t there.

Don’t panic.

He sank deeper. His face touched the tube. He grabbed and squeezed it, repellant blinding his mask. The shark circled once, slid into the depths.
The repellant faded. He coughed, realized he had spit out his mouthpiece. He shoved it in, gurgled water, coughed and spit it out. His legs and feet were still there. The shark had just nicked him, tested him. Maybe it had smelled blood from when he’d torn his knee climbing out of the sub.
Or blood from someone else?

Where was Two?

The shark darted beneath him. He wanted to shine his torch at it, but that might attract it, anger it. He pulled in his legs and yanked out a second tube. Black repellant spurted out.

Don’t panic.

One tube left. The rebreather thundered with his panting. Larger and larger, the shark nosed toward him through clouds of repellant, crunching its jaws.

He ripped off his divepack, the rebreather hissing, and smashed the shark’s snout. It dove, tail slamming him sideways, swung round and began to circle him, closer and closer.

Don’t panic.

Faster the shark circled. With only one fin he couldn’t keep up; it would get him. He fired the last repellant.

It clouded the water and he couldn’t see the shark, only felt the crush of water as it smashed past, couldn’t hear over his own frantic gasps. Choking and crying, he shoved his arms back through the divepack straps, tugged up his legs against his body.

Beyond his torch light the watery darkness expanded forever. Without Two, how could he finish? Should he return to the sub? Maybe Two was already there, had abandoned the mission because of the shark? There’d been no message from the sub.

The water grew colder, darker; he was sinking too deep. The repellant was gone. With tiger sharks, he remembered, when there’s one, there’s many.
His watch showed 38 feet. He couldn’t see the shark. Fish schooled past, fusiliers or jacks.

01:52, the watch said. One hour left. If one diver didn’t reach the platform, the other had to do it alone. He turned to 347 degrees and began to swim, slowly kicking the one fin.

Above him the black waves glinted with light. He ached to go up, but the shark would attack if he rose to the top like a dying fish. He swam toward the light till it brightened the wavetops, then surfaced quickly to check his approach.

About the Author:
Mike Bond is the author of nearly a dozen bestselling novels and an ecologist, war and human rights journalist, award-winning poet, and international energy expert. His work spans more than thirty countries across seven continents, often drawn from firsthand experiences in remote, dangerous, and war-torn regions. His novels are praised worldwide for their intricate plots, vivid settings, and explosive pacing. His reporting has covered wars, revolutions, terrorism, and major environmental crises.

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A Day with Me Behind the Scenes by M. Jayne LaDow – Guest Post and Giveaway

December 5, 2025 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. M. Jayne LaDow will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

A Day with Me Behind the Scenes

People imagine writers living glamorous lives—typing away in cozy coffee shops, inspiration flowing like wine, manuscripts practically writing themselves.

My reality? I write in the cracks.

A sentence here while the coffee brews. A paragraph there between loading the dishwasher and figuring out what’s for dinner. I used to write sitting next to my mother-in-law during our afternoon TV sessions in her final years. Now I write from my recliner, usually with all three cats staging a hostile takeover of my workspace.

Gino is the boss. He doesn’t sit on the laptop—he just stares at me with those unblinking cat eyes until I bend to his will, which usually involves stopping mid-sentence to provide chin scratches. Jonesy is the cuddler, determined to wedge his entire fluffy body between the keyboard and my arms, oozing over the keys like some kind of purring lava flow. And George? George wants to play. Constantly. He brings me toys to throw, strings to dangle, and the unwavering belief that right now is the perfect time for fetch, regardless of whether I’m mid-sex-scene or trying to figure out whodunit.

On a good day, I knock out several thousand words. On a bad day, I do literally everything except write—reorganize my files, scroll social media (which takes up the most time, let’s be honest), convince myself I need to research 1997 fashion trends for the fourth time, and maybe vacuum.

I get ideas constantly—at the food bank while sorting cans, making dinner, in the shower. I’ve learned to write them down or record voice memos wherever I am. Yes, people look at me weird when I start muttering plot points in the cereal aisle. Eh.

My bestie and I book-talk daily. Right now we’re reading Fake as Puck by Sarah Smith (very spicy, highly recommend). Soon it’ll be Christmas romances and cozy mysteries, because we’re seasonal like that. She keeps me sane and reminds me why I love reading and writing in the first place.

I manage my own social media and online presence—not very well, but I try. I post five days a week even though I’m pretty sure no one’s listening. I volunteer with Creative Footnotes, help out at the food bank, and somehow juggle it all.

And my family? They think it’s hilarious. Every time I mention a new book, one of them asks if this one has Fabio on the cover or if there are sweaty pirates involved.

The answer is no. But honestly? There probably should be.

She set out to solve a mystery, not to fall in love.

In 1997 Virginia Beach, some truths refuse to stay buried…

Dani Jones is used to lesson plans and late-night grading, not murder. But when a student’s uncle confronts her after class and then disappears, her world tilts. Days later, during a Chesapeake Bay cleanup, she is there when his body is found, hidden in the marsh. As the last person to see him alive, Dani is suddenly at the center of a mystery that rattles the quiet coastal town.

Enter Gavin Larkhurst, a sharp-tongued radio newsman with a protective streak. His feelings for Dani make him desperate to keep her safe—even when she refuses to stop digging. But trust is fragile when danger lurks around every corner, and someone will do anything to keep the past buried.

Equal parts mystery and romance, A Pilgrimage of Whispered Truths is a spicy whodunit about uncovering secrets, risking your heart, and the lessons that change everything.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The ocean had always been her refuge. Even now, with storm clouds bruising the horizon, Dani walked the shoreline barefoot, the wind tugging strands of hair across her face. The water hissed over the sand like something whispering secrets it could no longer keep.

She tried to quiet her mind—to let the rhythm of the waves wash away the questions still circling like gulls. But the past few days wouldn’t let her rest: Carl Rendell’s fury, the burned church, Brian’s haunted silence. Each memory rose and fell with the tide, reshaping itself into something sharper.

A flash of color caught her eye—a shard of glass half-buried near her foot. She bent to pick it up. Red, warped by heat. A fragment of stained glass.

Her breath hitched.

She turned it over in her palm, the edges cutting faintly into her skin, and for a moment she imagined the flames reflected there, licking at the sky. The wind howled, cold and certain.

Whatever she’d stumbled into, it wasn’t finished with her yet.

She slipped the shard into her pocket, the salt wind stinging her eyes, and kept walking toward the dark line of the pier, where the sea met the secrets she could no longer ignore.

About the Author:

M. Jayne LaDow is a playwright and author who leapt into writing romance after thirty-three years wrangling middle school English students. Her rom-coms and spicy cozy mysteries are inspired by her years in education, where she was regularly pied in the face, sang classroom karaoke, and dressed up like characters from novels.

She’s the author of The Marchfield Series — One Night Stands and Lesson Plans, Learning Goals and Dancing Poles, Pop Quizzes and Stolen Kisses, Tardy Pass, No Questions Asked, and the upcoming Budget Cuts and Midnight Lust — and the Tides of Truth Series, beginning with A Pilgrimage of Whispered Truth: A Steamy Cozy Mystery set in 1997 Virginia Beach.

She firmly believes every great story starts with a dash of trouble and a happily ever after.

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Handling Negative Criticism by Forest McMullin – Guest Blog and Giveaway

December 2, 2025 By 1 Comment

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $25 Amazon/BN.com gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Handling Negative Criticism

Handling negative criticism can be a difficult skill to learn. We put much of our identity and years of our lives into creating something that we believe deserves to be out in the world. When someone disparages it, we can easily and understandably bristle and shut down. We can dismiss their thoughts and assume the critic doesn’t realize what we were trying to do and just doesn’t “get it”. We can be defensive and argumentative. And we can end up not hearing things that might make our work better.

For years I was a college professor, teaching photography at an art school. My job required me to criticize my students’ work almost daily. As a result, I developed the skill of being critical while still being constructive and honest. This meant I always included something positive in my critique of student work, except when someone just didn’t try, in which case all bets were off. By leading with the positive, students tended to be much more receptive to the real analysis that followed.

It is quite possible to become so close to our work that we are blind to the ways it functions. We can’t be objective to its qualities and need an outside critic to help us pierce our subjective bubble.

The criticism we receive for our writing may not be as considered. In fact, it may be ignorant, misguided, or downright cruel. But– and this is a big but–we owe it to ourselves and our creative output to listen to it with as much humility as we can muster. We should be committed to making our work the best it can be and hearing and listening, really listening, to honest criticism is an essential component in that process.

I’m not suggesting that we take all advice and criticism to heart. Actually, I think the greatest challenge facing us as creative practitioners is to determine which input is useful and which we can and should ignore. Finding that balance is essential. But, it will lead us toward producing a product that pleases and excites both our readers and ourselves.

A photograph can tell the truth. It can also get you killed.

Ethan McGuire’s relentless pursuit of explosive stories has cost him his family, his integrity, and now–possibly–his life. While documenting the rise of white supremacist movements in Western New York, Ethan encounters a world of neo-Nazis, heavily armed survivalists, rogue FBI agents, and violent criminals, all with something to hide. But when a crew of ruthless bank robbers starts hunting him for photos he doesn’t even know he has, the stakes turn deadly.

As his enemies close in and his family becomes a target, Ethan must expose the truth–before it buries him. Shooting at Shadows is a relentless thriller and chilling cautionary tale, inspired by the author’s real-life experiences as a photojournalist. It exposes the darkness lurking beneath the surface of American extremism–and the cost of bringing it to light.

“One hopes that McMullin has further adventures planned for his unlikely hero.” –Kirkus Reviews

“…a provocative thriller exploring highly pertinent themes in American culture today…” –Fredrick Soukup, author of Blood up North

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Let’s do this.”

The driver pulled across the lot and into the space closest to the entrance. The other three men immediately got out and walked into the bank as they pulled down their ski masks. At the same time, they opened their coats and swung out submachine guns on shoulder straps.

BAM!BAM!BAM!BAM!BAM!BAM!BAM!BAM!

The first man in the door sprayed the ceiling of the waiting area with bullets from his gun. Chunks of drop ceiling flew apart and fell to the floor as dust and smoke filled the air.

“THIS IS A HOLD UP. GET ON THE FLOOR. NOW!”

One of the men stood and looked out the front door. A second one raced to the desk of the manager, grabbed her by her hair and threw her to the floor as he screamed, “AND DON’T TOUCH THAT ALARM BUTTON OR YOU WILL DIE!”

The third man jumped on the tellers’ counter and pointed his gun, first at the tellers, then to the half door that led to the waiting area. “Away from your drawers, get out there and lie on the floor. Keep your hands where we can see them. No cell phones. No heroes. Everybody lives to see another Friday night fish fry.”

A blond woman was visibly very pregnant, eight months or so it appeared, and when she got to the front she struggled to get down. “HURRY UP!” the second man screamed.

“HEY,” the man on the counter yelled. “Get her a chair!”

“What the hell, man?”

“DO IT!”

“Damn,” he complained, but he went behind the manager’s desk, pulled the chair out, and pushed it to behind the woman. “SIT!” he yelled in her face.

The third man jumped down from the counter on the tellers’ side and let his gun hang again from its shoulder strap. He pulled a black plastic garbage bag from his coat pocket and calmly went from drawer to drawer pulling out stacks of fives, tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds, all bundled with paper wrappers. He took a moment flexing each before he threw them in the bag. The few that were stiff he left on the counter. He knew they would explode with purple dye as soon as they were a few yards outside the bank.

About the Author: Forest McMullin is a writer based in Atlanta, Georgia. Earlier in his career, he was a photojournalist who specialized in photographing fringe social groups. Today he writes both long and short form fiction, Shooting at Shadows is his first novel.

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If I’d never heard of me, would I read my book? by Austin S. Camacho – Guest Blog and Giveaway

November 28, 2025 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Austin S. Camacho will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

If I’d never heard of me, would I read my book?

Well, the first thing I look for in a novel is interesting characters. This book stars Skye Maddox who is no ordinary assassin—she is meticulous, principled, and views her work as both a profession and a challenge. Hired by Milo Williams, a grieving father whose son was murdered after a botched kidnapping, Skye is tasked with eliminating everyone responsible. Milo provides her a starting point, but the real mission is to climb the ladder of crime, one target at a time, until she reaches the true mastermind.

I also love books with a lot of action, and this one has it in spades. As she works her way through the criminal underworld of Washington, D.C., Skye’s assignments pit her against violent gang members, corrupt judges, and ruthless mob bosses. Each step forces her deeper into a deadly web of organized crime, Yakuza involvement, and betrayal. Along the way, she gains reluctant allies—like Brandon, a terrified mouthpiece for a mobster who wants out, and her therapist Jayla, the only person who knows her true name and glimpses her conflicted psyche.

Even in a high-action book, I like to meet complex characters like Skye. Her assignments are never just about pulling the trigger. Skye prides herself on precision, creativity, and leaving law enforcement baffled in her wake. But her professional detachment is tested as she confronts echoes of her traumatic past, the ghost of her first kill, and the dangerous possibility of trust and connection in a world where both are liabilities.

Suspense is another factor I look for in a new book. In this one, the tension escalates as Skye maneuvers between rival factions—Hetman’s criminal empire, Kobayashi’s Yakuza contingent, and law enforcement circling closer to the truth. Every move sharpens the line between hunter and hunted, and Skye must decide whether she’s fulfilling a contract, enacting justice, or simply proving herself the best at her deadly craft.

In the end, True Target is just what I look for when I want a fun read: a high-stakes thriller that blends relentless action with psychological depth, following an assassin bound by her own rules, haunted by her past, and driven toward a final reckoning where survival means outsmarting everyone—including herself.

Skye Maddox is a contract assassin driven by both personal demons and professional discipline. Hired by grieving father Milo Williams to hunt down the chain of men responsible for his son’s death, Skye takes on a mission that escalates into a war with Washington, D.C.’s most dangerous underworld figures led by a man known only as Hetman. As she climbs Milo’s ladder of revenge, Skye uncovers a web of corruption that links drug dealers, judges, mobsters, and even international crime syndicates.

The story escalates through brutal shootouts, betrayals, and psychological games, as Skye pushes deeper into Hetman’s empire. Each success makes her a bigger target. In the end, she must weigh the cost of finishing Milo’s revenge against the danger of becoming just another expendable weapon in someone else’s war.

Enjoy an Excerpt

When Jayla stood, Skye raised a palm to stop her. “Yes. Yes, all right. I just finished an assignment, but it was part of a larger contract so I’m feeling like both the situations you mentioned. I’m on the job, and I just took a player off the board.”

Jayla jotted in her notebook. She always collected the euphemisms Skye used for her profession. “So, tell me about this latest assignment. How do you feel about this player you’ve taken off the board? Was it, in your mind, a just action?”

“You always want to go there,” Skye said, shaking her head. “What did I tell you? The first rule of the assassin’s doctrine. The target has got to deserve it.”

“Oh, yes,” Jayla said with a half-smile. “Your job, while criminal, does have rules.”

“I misspoke earlier,” Skye said, sliding a slim dagger out of her boot. “It’s not a job. It’s a profession. All professions have their rules. For doctors, rule number one is ‘do no harm’, right? For an assassin, it’s that the target has got to deserve it.” Skye began to absently flip the dagger in the air, catching it by its tip each time. “In this case, this bastard kidnapped my client’s son. I don’t know how they got him. My client kept his family totally under the radar. But once he got the ransom demand, the client agreed to pay, and the ransom money was in transit but not fast enough to suit the kidnappers. They killed the boy, I think just to make a point. Just to be snotty. The action took place overseas and no way the police would ever have gotten close to the killer.”

Jayla nodded. “I think I understand. So, you were hired to…”

“Correct the balance,” Skye said, standing.

About the Author: Austin S. Camacho is the author of eight novels about Washington DC-based private eye Hannibal Jones, five in the Stark and O’Brien international adventure-thriller series, and the detective novel Beyond Blue. His short stories have been featured in several anthologies and he is featured in the Edgar nominated African American Mystery Writers: A Historical and Thematic Study by Frankie Y. Bailey. He is a past president of the Maryland Writers Association, past Vice President of the Virginia Writers Club, and one of the creators of the Creatures, Crimes & Creativity literary conference.

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Verb Tenses by M.G. da Mota – Spotlight and Giveaway

November 18, 2025 By 3 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. M G da Mota will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Thirty-four-year-old Raquel Whiteman has it all: beauty, a high-powered career, a very rich fiancée, a loving brother and a stepfather she adores. Life is good. Until her mother commits suicide. Clearing the paraphernalia of her mother’s life she finds old photographs and journals which plunge her into a search for the truth about her real father and early childhood, forsaking everything including her engagement to travel a path she is powerless to resist. Like a giant wave the past travels fast and comes crashing down on her, flooding her mind with incomprehensible fragmented memories and continuous questions – What? Why? Why?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Ken’s journal, December 2017

In hindsight, I would have acted differently. Hindsight is a great thing. It’s a shame we don’t have it when we most need it. We would then be able to weigh our decisions and ensure the future wouldn’t be negatively impacted. As it stands, regret sets in and regret is a useless feeling, as it always arrives too late. I wonder why we even have it within the range of our human emotions. With her strict Catholic upbringing my darling Matilde would have said that God decided humans needed to feel regret to enable them to eventually redeem themselves of their sins. She would have added that we are not to question God’s reasons, as we don’t understand them. Sadly, I don’t believe in God. I believe in Matilde and my love for her. I believe in my children and the people I care about, which is probably the whole list of my beliefs though actually that is not strictly true. I believe in science and the scientific approach. It is logical and based on fact and evidence.

All these thoughts however are irrelevant. They are just ramblings of an old man with too much time on his hands.

I continue to worry about my children even though they are now middle-aged and can fend for themselves very well. But I suppose that once a dad, always a dad.

It is a warm day for December though grey and wet. I’m sitting in the conservatory, looking at nothing in particular. I’ve tried to read but cannot concentrate. I can hear the noise from the television. It is tuned into some sports channel. Not that I care about it; it’s all white noise to me but it’s a company of sorts. A fake company of course but I got used to leaving it on all day after Matilde died and, somehow, I feel the need to hear it in the background. I dozed earlier, listening to its distant, monotonous sound. I dreamed that Matilde appeared at the door and called me in for a cup of tea. Then I woke up and of course there was no-one. Just the endless white noise of the TV. I decided to write down some of my thoughts after Matilde was gone from me forever. It’s not for anyone to read but writing my thoughts makes me feel less alone in this house. In hindsight, as mentioned earlier, I’d have done things differently.

About the Author

M G da Mota is Margarida Mota-Bull’s pen name for fiction. She is a Portuguese-British novelist with a love for classical music, ballet and opera. Under her real name she also writes reviews of live concerts, CDs, DVDs and books for two classical music magazines on the web: MusicWeb International and Seen and Heard International. She is a member of the UK Society of Authors, speaks four languages and lives in Sussex with her husband. Her website, called flowingprose.com, contains photos and information.

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What Would I Tell a New Author? by p.m. terrell – Guest Blog and Giveaway

November 6, 2025 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. p.m. terrell will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What Would I Tell a New Author?

I’ve been in the business of writing for over forty years, and I’ve seen a lot of changes. However, there are a few things that seem to stay the same, including:

Write the best book you can possibly manage, and hire the most capable editor that you can afford. If you are traditionally published, your competition is formidable. If you are self-published, editing is even more important.

If you want a traditional agent or publisher, check out a copy of Writer’s Market at your local library. With over 100 editions since it was first published, it is the best source of publishers, agents, and editors who are most likely to want your book.

Your book is unlikely to hit the national bestseller lists unless you have a dedicated marketing team behind it. This usually means a major imprint has published your book. There are exceptions, but they are rare.

Learn as much as you can about the publishing industry, particularly about book marketing. The industry is complex, and book marketing is a unique skill. If a traditional imprint publishes your book, understanding the industry will help you to become a valuable team member.

If you self-publish, you are taking on the role of a publisher as well as an author. This means you’ll have to wear multiple hats, including sales, marketing, production (editing, formatting, print runs, etc.), and lots more.

Be wary of any emails or advertisements promising you bestseller status. Unfortunately, authors can be easy prey, especially when someone promises you exposure and sales. Do your homework.

Stay in the game. If you love to write, keep writing. Improve your craft. Sometimes, all it takes is to stay in the game.

While researching her next book, historian and author Hayley Hunter rents a lighthouse in Southeastern North Carolina. The modern lighthouse and vacation home replaced an original wood structure that only functioned during the Revolutionary War. The old lighthouse may be long gone, but the lightkeeper’s ghost remains.

Hayley becomes increasingly obsessed with finding why the spirit of Jonathan Corbyn lingers between realms. Joined by her lover Shay MacGregor, her search will take her into a world of spies, double agents, and espionage at the dawn of American democracy.

Enjoy an Excerpt

I bolted upright and tapped on the latest alert. I found myself staring at the lantern room. The security camera encompassed nearly the entire circular room, save for the wall behind it. My eyes skimmed the walls, alighting briefly on each window. The moon was high and full, and for a moment, I thought the camera might have picked up the glow or perhaps even something flying against the window. But as I continued to stare into my phone, I spotted something moving along the top steps as if ascending.

I quietly tossed the covers off me and glided into my slippers as I grabbed my robe. I cautiously strode to the spiral stairs to peer upward into the stairwell. It was not as dark as I had expected, but a muted light from the moon struggled to illuminate it. I glanced downward to discover it was darker beneath me. Turning my attention again to the stairs leading upward, I remembered the curvature in the design prevented me from seeing to the top. How, then, my mind argued, could the moonlight find its way down?

I stepped onto the staircase. My right hand clenched the phone, while my eyes continually moved from the image on my screen to the steps above me. My naked eyes could see nothing out of the ordinary. The steps appeared just as they had a few hours earlier. But my phone displayed a shadow moving upward.

As I reached the uppermost stairs, I realized the image picked up by the security camera was not a human, but rather a human form. It was opaque, but I detected the outline of a man’s broad shoulders, his torso, arms, and legs. His legs were misshapen, as though he were wearing breeches that ballooned slightly from him. There was something else that extended beyond his body, like a waistcoat. I could see the outline of his head, but it was shadowy, with facial details absorbed into the darkness.

I froze on the step. I could see the image clearly on my phone’s security app. But when I used my naked eyes without the benefit of the phone, I could see nothing at all in the spot where it should have appeared. Shakily, I climbed to the next step and then the next.

The figure moved just beyond me as if to entice me to follow him. As my head topped the floor, it turned to me, as if he was looking straight at me, though I could see nothing but darkness where his face should have been.

About the Author My full name is Patricia McClelland Terrell, and I have been writing under the pen name p.m.terrell ever since a publisher presented me with my first fiction book cover. The graphic designer had also entered my name in lower-case letters; my editor hated it, and I loved it. It’s been p.m.terrell ever since.

I began writing when I was nine years old, inspired by a schoolteacher and elementary school principal. Scott-Foresman published my first book, a computer instructional for universities, in 1984. Scott-Foresman, Dow-Jones (Richard D. Irwin branch), Palari Publishing, Paralee Press, and Drake Valley Press have published 26 books to date.

Before embarking on a full-time writing career, I founded McClelland Enterprises, Inc. in the Washington, D.C. area in 1984, specializing in computer instruction for employees in the workplace. I opened another business, Continental Software Development Corporation, in 1994, which focused on custom application development, programming, website design and development, and computer crime.

I was honored to be the first female President of the Chesterfield County/Colonial Heights Crime Solvers. I also served as the Treasurer for the Virginia Crime Stoppers Association. Since moving to North Carolina, I served on the Robeson County Friends of the Library and Robeson County Arts Council.

I launched The Book ‘Em Foundation with Waynesboro, Virginia Police Officer Mark Kearney, and assisted in Virginia, New Hampshire, and South Carolina events before establishing the Annual Book ‘Em North Carolina Writers Conference and Book Fair, chairing it for several years before turning it over to Robeson Community College in Lumberton, NC.

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The Martha and Marya Mysteries by Emily Hanlon – Spotlight

November 5, 2025 By 1 Comment

With compassion, wit, and a sharp eye for human contradiction, Emily Hanlon’s The Martha and Marya Mysteries explore the unlikely partnership between two women who use faith, intellect, and intuition to uncover truth in the face of moral ambiguity.

In Who Am I to Judge?, the quiet parish of Saint John of the Cross is rocked when a beloved priest confesses to the murder of a parishioner. Marya Cook, an eccentric octogenarian known for her purple wardrobe and Bible quotes, refuses to believe he’s guilty. Her search for justice draws in Martha Collins, a younger, efficient church volunteer who would rather stay far from gossip—or the strange old woman leading it. Yet together, they peel back layers of deceit in Pequot Bays’ affluent social circles, revealing envy, corruption, and hypocrisy in unexpected corners. A Cloud of Witnesses opens as the town tries to recover from scandal, only to find itself torn apart by a new priest and his cultlike following, Dies Irae. When tragedy strikes again, Marya’s peculiar reasoning and Martha’s practicality clash and converge as they unearth motives rooted in ambition and fear. In The Wagers of Sin, the duo travels beyond Pequot Bays aboard a luxury cruise to the Greek Isles, where an elderly heiress drops dead mid-vow at her own wedding. Surrounded by opportunists, heirs, and hidden resentments, Marya and Martha race to expose the truth before another life is lost. Through these interlocking mysteries, Hanlon examines faith as both compass and test—and friendship as its most steadfast form of grace.

Enjoy an Excerpt from Who Am I to Judge?

Martha craned her neck to see over the Purple Pest and O’Hara, trying to get a glimpse of her first set of suspects to no avail. She would have to squeeze by them.

GET OUT OF MY WAY!

As though the old woman could hear Martha’s screamed thoughts, she looked up. She smiled, exhibiting a missing bottom front tooth, but Martha looked away. The old woman spoke softly to Martha as she brushed past, but Martha ignored her.

Martha’s eyes narrowed in on her first suspect, Monica Byrnes, who sat praying earnestly, looking up at the statue of St Joseph. Monica wouldn’t have the nerve to kill anyone. She’d just worry her own self to death over Matthew, her no-good son. Martha instead eyed Lance, sitting next to his wife, his handsome features unmarked by concerns about anything other than himself. She followed his gaze and saw, with a start, that it was locked on the shapely figure of her third suspect, Cyndi Higginbotham.

Martha looked from Cyndi back to Lance, and then she shook her head. No. They might want to get rid of their spouses but not Enid.

She turned her glance to Higgy. It couldn’t be him. Higgy’s a jerk, a loudmouth, and a blowhard, but no one who’s so generous to the Bishop’s Annual Appeal could be a murderer.

Martha was puzzled for a moment until she recalled there was one more suspect. She slowly turned toward the front of the church and saw the young man—tall, dark and handsome—spotlighted by a ray of light from the large rose window so bright that dust motes danced in its glare. What a shame he became a priest.

Fr. Jim Cartwright , the associate pastor at St John of the Cross, wore a gold embroidered vestment that rustled majestically as he processed down the center aisle.

She looked him over, from his perfectly coiffed hair to his black leather shoes shined to a mirror gloss, as she followed his progress toward the back of the church. It’s him! He’s the murderer.

Martha sat down in a pew and remained in church long after everyone left, drained of energy, her adrenaline spent. She trudged to the door that, as she opened it, was a good deal heavier than when she had entered the church. Walking to her car, the Purple Pest’s comment pushed its way into her consciousness. She stopped short.

Had the old woman really whispered, “It must have been quite a shock for you, my dear. Discovering the body like that.” No. It couldn’t be. I’m exhausted. It must be my imagination.

About the Author: Emily Hanlon is a lifelong storyteller whose journey from the courtroom to fiction has given her writing both precision and heart. Raised in Texas and educated in Boston, she spent years as a personal injury litigator and later as an arbitrator, sifting through contradictory stories to uncover what’s real—a skill that translates seamlessly to her mysteries. A late-life convert to Catholicism inspired by her husband and sons, she now serves as a eucharistic minister and volunteer for the St. Vincent de Paul Society. Her novels reflect her belief that truth and compassion can coexist—and that justice begins with understanding. All profits from her books support charitable causes. Learn more on her website or follow her on Instagram and Facebook

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