Connections eMagazine February 2025 Edition

Connections eMagazine

Message from the Editor

The Purpose of this eMagazine is to connect readers and bloggers with authors. This is a FREE eMagazine that is produced quarterly. The first magazine of the new year is always one of my favorites. It’s dedicated to spring, love, and new growth. But, in this issue we also go back in time and visit the wild west, a cold case that time forgot, and the heroes that stopped a dangerous killer. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

“Books are the mirrors of the soul.”―Virginia Woolf

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A Deadly Attack… Seven Lawmen, A love triangle, and a brutal killer. Discover how the case was solved nearly a century later (Page 6).

Author Interviews…

In this issue critically acclaimed authors Angela Van Breemen (Pg 28), Humphrey Hawksley (Pg 52), Glenda Benevides (Pg 86), and Bjorn Leesson (Pg 124)

Stephen King

Blogs | Articles

• 77 1/2 Herbs — Dandelion by Ronesa Aveela

• Diversity Doodles by Briony Kay

• Soda Bread Recipe by Kenny Wilson

• Illustrated Idioms by Susan Faw

• The Mouse Family that live by the Brambles by Gez Robinson

• The Other Woman By Tom Benson

• Writing Fiction — Research (Part 2) by Lyssa Medana

A Picture is Worth 1000

Words Multiple Authors

Book Reviews

Author Tips and Tricks

• First Chapters — Trigger by Melanie P. Smith

Editorial Team

EDITOR –IN– CHIEF

Melanie P. Smith

https://melaniepsmith.com

CONTENT EDITOR

Sylva Fae

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COPY EDITOR

LaPriel Dye

https://dyenamicsediting.com

SOCIAL MEDIA COORDINATOR

Emalee Jensen

CONTENT MANAGER

Lyssa Medana https://alwaysanotherchapter.co.uk

REVIEWS..

Eric Lahti Living the Henchlife https://ericlahti.wordpress.com/category/reviews

Kaye Lynn Booth Writing to be Read https://writingtoberead.com/category/writing/book-review

PUBLISHER..

MPSmith Publishing

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The Deadliest Attack in Utah History

Who is Randy Lish?

The Man that Solved Utah’s Oldest Cold Case

You had a long career in law enforcement. Can you tell us a little about your background?

I was born in San Diego, California in 1955. When I was 15 years old, I started working at a western theme park called Big Oak Ranch where we got into gunfights. That ’s what got me interested in the western history stuff. Everyday at three o’clock, I got shot off the hotel roof. We also studied movie special effects and included them in our routine. Around that same time, I had a history teacher Mr. Shepherd who got me interested in searching history to find the truth.

After High School, from 1974 to 1976, I served as an El Cajon Police Cadet and then a Reserve Officer until 1978. At that time, I was hired as a Reserve Officer with the San Diego Sheriff ’s Office. I also joined the Grossmont College Police Department as a patrolman but was promoted to Sergeant a short time later. In June 1978, I was hired as a full-time Deputy Sheriff with the San Diego Sheriff’s Office (SDSO).

During my time with the SDSO, I worked numerous assignments to include the jail, patrol, the Detective Division, and later became a Training Officer utilizing the special effects skills I acquired from my days at the Big Oak Ranch to create several law enforcement training films. In 1986, I was on patrol when a guy ran a red light and hit my vehicle at 45 miles an hour. The steering wheel hit my chest and it broke in half. The only thing that saved my life was my body armor. Unbeknownst to me, I broke C3 and C4 in my neck, ending my career. The doctor said if I ever got kicked in the neck, I’d be a quadriplegic. So, the risk was too great and I was given a medical retirement.

In addition to my full-time position with the Sheriff’s Office, I was also the apartment manager where I lived. And, on my days off, I worked on a cattle ranch. We had 2.800 acres and 100 head of cattle. I’d head out and herd cattle because it helped me to relax. When my job ended at the Sheriff’s Office, I quit both of these jobs, and headed to the mountains.

I took my horses and arranged for a trailer to drive us to Ferron, Utah. I offloaded out in the middle of nowhere and I stayed there for the next couple of months. Once I got that out of my system, I sold my horses in Orangeville just south of Price, Utah.

The man that purchased my horses was a nice guy and agreed to drive me to Salt Lake City where I caught a Greyhound bus back to San Diego. I loaded up my stuff and moved to Utah. Once I settled, I ended up working for a hunting outfitter that covered Utah, Wyoming and Nevada.

I did that until I got a job as a Constable serving papers. I was there for a while but I missed law enforcement, it was the only thing I knew. So, I tested with all these different agencies and finally got hired as a Bailiff with the Salt Lake County Sheriff’s Office. I worked in Court Services until 2005 when I transferred to the Firearms Unit. Earlier, when I was at the Constables Office, I challenged the police officer test at POST and passed, then I put myself through a firearms instructor course. I’d always been a firearms instructor down in San Diego so I already had firearms experience down there. I remained at the range until I retired in 2013.

How did you get involved in the cold case of Lopez?

In 1993, I’m working at the Circuit Court and I have some time on my hands so I walked over to the Salt Lake City Library. They used to have a center turnstile with all the new books displayed. And there’s a book sitting there that caught my eye. “Utah’s greatest Manhunt.” And I think “What the hell is this about?” I had no idea. So, I started looking through it and decided “I’m going to read this thing.” I mean, you’ve got six dead people and one suspect that was never caught. How the hell does that happen? It doesn’t. So, I read this book by Lynn Bailey and decided I still had questions and I wanted to talk to the author.

I was finally able to track him down, he lives in Arizona. By that time it was 1994. I learned he only spent two weeks here in Utah researching before he wrote the book. Hence, there s a lot of errors and missing pieces. So, that book goes by the wayside and I’m left with this unsolved mystery.

It was November 21, 1913. Bingham Canyon, Utah was the quintessential wild west mining town. As the population grew, ethnic hatred flared, and violence was a regular occurrence. Another notable fact is that winters in Utah can be harsh, especially in the canyons. So, it’s no surprise that at the time of this incident, a winter storm had recently blown through the area leaving approximately 3-4 inches of snow on the ground. Days were cold, nights even worse. On this particular evening, temperatures were in the low thirties.

At approximately one o’clock in the morning, a quick -tempered, quick-fisted, sharp-shooter

The Cold Case...

Main Street, Bingham Canyon 1900s Salt Lake County Sheriff’ s Office History Book

named Rafael “Red” Lopez, became embroiled in an argument with fellow minor Juan Valdez. The argument was allegedly over the affections of a dance hall girl named Inez.

The details are a little fuzzy, but we know Lopez lived at the McKensie Boarding House in what was called the Sap Gap area, as did Inez. There is speculation that on the night in question, Lopez tried to visit Inez but was turned away because she was already entertaining Valdez. At approximately one o’clock in the morning, Valdez left the boarding house.

A short time later, he was confronted by Lopez, who wasn’t dressed for the harsh winter weather in fact, he wasn’t even wearing shoes. An argument ensued; and, at some point, they were joined by Thomas Carrillo, a fellow miner. Suddenly, without warning, Lopez pulled out his pistol and shot Valdez dead. When Carrillo criticized Lopez for shooting an unarmed man, calling it a bad shooting, Lopez pistol whipped him.

The killer then rushed back inside, grabbed his rifle — believed to be a Winchester Model 1895, lever-action 30.06 —and fled. The police were called and Deputy Julius Sorenson with the Salt Lake County Sherif ’s Office arrived to investigate.

What do we know about these two men?

Very little is known about Juan Valdez. He moved to Utah in 1912, during the miner strike, and decided to stay. Friends told authorities his parents had passed away and he didn’t have any living relatives.

Rafael “Red” Lopez was born in Coahuila, Mexico. He was believed to be between twenty-five and thirty years old. He was handsome, with a light complexion and a muscular build. He spoke fluent English and was a known trouble-maker. In fact, he’d been arrested several times before, and had spent twelve

“The trail over which Lopez is traveling is covered with three to four inches of snow and it is thought that if he is not captured, he will either starve or freeze to death.”

- Salt Lake Tribune November 22, 1913

days in jail after being arrested by Deputy Sorenson for assault and battery. Once released, Lopez swore he would retaliate against Deputy Sorenson and pledged to kill the lawman if he had the chance. It was also rumored that Lopez was wanted in Wyoming for stealing a horse. He was an excellent shot and was rumored to spend his free time target shooting and frequently demonstrated his skill by shooting a coin tossed into the air by a spectator.

THE ORIGINAL INVESTIGATION

Salt Lake County Deputy Sheriff Julius Sorenson responded to the scene of the homicide, interviewed Carrillo and transported him to jail for safekeeping. He was detained for his protection as he was the only witness to the crime.

Sorenson then contacted Deputy Otto Witbeck and briefed him on the situation. Witbeck notified the mortician and then the two deputies spent the next six hours on horseback tracking Lopez through the snow.

At approximately 0900 hours, Witbeck and Sorenson stopped at the United States Mine and phoned the Bingham Police Department to request backup.

Bingham Chief Billy Grant and Salt Lake County Sheriff’s Deputy Nephi Jensen responded on horseback and met up with Witbeck and Sorenson. They continued to follow Lopez south toward Utah Lake.

At approximately 1700 hours, the four lawmen approached the Jones residence located eight and a half miles from Lehi, Utah and four miles north of Pelican Point on Utah Lake.

Deputy Stannard Jensen (on horse) and Chief Billy Grant (far left - 1909 Sheriff’ s Office History Book

From a distance, they spotted a male, matching the description of Lopez, approach the cabin. The four lawmen quickly headed toward that location.

They were approximately a quarter mile from the home when Chief Grant instructed Witbeck and Sorenson to approach the house while he and Jensen held back to keep watch. Witbeck and Sorenson concurred and cautiously rode toward the cabin.

Unfortunately, none of them knew Lopez had spotted them in the distance and quickly left the Jones’ cabin. He snuck past some brush, and dropped into an irrigation ditch to wait. From this position, Lopez had a clear shot to ambush the two officers . They were approximately a hundred feet away when he started shooting. Chief Grant was killed instantly, Jensen was mortally wounded and toppled off his horse.

Upon hearing the shots, Witbeck and Sorenson rushed from the cabin to assist their fellow officers. When they arrived, they found two riderless horses wandering around and no sign of Chief Grant or Deputy Jensen. They were trying to decide how to proceed when another round of shots rang out. This time, Witbeck was mortally wounded but Sorenson was able to slide off his bucking horse as a bullet whizzed by his head. He took cover in the nearby brush and began to fire his weapon in the direction where the gunshots had come from.

Lopez fled along the irrigation ditch and escaped while Sorenson was rending aid to a fallen Witbeck. Unfortunately he succumbed to his injuries. Sorenson found Grant and immediately knew he was deceased. Jensen was taken to the cabin where he also died from his injuries.

Deputy George O. Witbeck End of Watch 11-21-1913

Otto Witbeck is survived by a widow and two children. Witbeck was appointed deputy sheriff two years ago by Sheriff Joseph C. Sharp. He was reappointed a year ago by Sheriff Andrew Smith, Jr. Practically all of the time he has been in the service of the county he has been stationed at Bingham. The position as deputy sheriff at Bingham is one that calls for cool judgment and bravery at all times. Witbeck was always regarded as a most efficient officer and his work at Bingham as a peace officer had won him warm praise from his superiors and the citizens of Bingham.

Deputy Nephi S. Jensen—End of Watch 11-21-1913

Nephi Jensen was a teamster previous to his appointment as a deputy sheriff by Sheriff Andrew Smith, Jr. He is survived by a wife and three small children. Since his appointment, he had been stationed in Bingham. He had the reputation of being absolutely fearless and figured in a number of daring arrests in the mining camp. He was born in Salt Lake and had lived here practically all of this life. He is also survived by his mother.

“Say good-by to my wife and children for me,” said Witbeck to Sorenson a moment before he died.

The Salt Lake Tribune, November 22, 1913 Page 1

Chief Billy Grant (center) and Bingham Police Department 1908

Salt Lake County Sheriff’s Office History Book

Record of the Victims published in The Salt Lake Tribune, November 22, 1913

Chief J.W. Grant— End of Watch 11-21-1913

J.W. Grant had been Chief of Police at Bingham for the last six years. His administration was characterized by the practical elimination of the lawless element from the mining camp. With a firm and courageous hand, the chief restrained the evildoers of the camp and crime was kept at a minimum. The chief knew no fear and always took an active part in the apprehension of criminals. He had been under fire many times during his public service, but was never hit until yesterday. He is survived by a widow and seven children.

"The shots came from a point about 300 yards from the Jones house and toward the lake, and we galloped our horses in that direction. We found Grant and Jensen on the ground and their riderless horses running about", said Deputy Sorensen. "Just then, another shot was fired and Whitbeck shouted that he was hit. I asked him the direction of the shot and he said 'the right'. I fired three shots in that direction and don't know whether I hit Lopez or not.”

"Are you badly wounded Otto?", I asked.

"'Yes, here', he said.

"Then he slipped from his horse and I gave all my attention to the wounded men. Grant had been shot first and died almost instantly. Jensen was alive and Whitbeck the most seriously wounded. Otto begged pitifully for water and I supplied him by letting snow melt in my hand. His last words to me were whispered farewells to his wife and family. He lived about 45 minutes. ”

Source: Deseret News, (Salt Lake City, Utah), Saturday, November 22, 1913, page 1, microfilm; LDS Historical Library, Salt Lake City, Utah. Death of Otto Witbeck.

“I don’t care for myself, but I wish I could live for my wife and children,” whispered Deputy Jensen into the ear of his comrade, Deputy Sorenson, as the latter bent over him. A moment later, Jensen died.

The Salt Lake Tribune, November 22, 1913 Page 1

Lopez continued to elude his pursuers for several days, hiding in the Oquirrh mountains. During this time, he engaged in several gun battles with various posse members.

At one point, he taunted the men from a secure location. “Looks like you’ve got about forty men with you,” yelled Lopez. “Come on up here. It is dangerous and I want company.” Later he called out, “I’d like to get a shot at Sorenson.”

It was bitter cold in the mountains and Lopez was not dressed for that kind of exposure. Finally, tired, hungry, suffering from the elements, one of his feet damaged from frostbite, he made his way back to the Bingham area.

On November 26, at approximately 2300 hours, Lopez reached the home of a fellow miner named Mike Stefano. Stefano gave Lopez food, clothing and supplies. He also switched rifles with Lopez accepting the Winchester 30.06 and trading it for his Winchester 1894 30 -30. He also provided Lopez with forty-two rounds of ammo. Stefano then helped Lopez transport his supplies back to the entrance of the Minnie Mine where he could hide.

Enraged by the news of the murders, hundreds of local citizens armed themselves and joined the search creating what was believed to the largest posse in the country’s history. 250 armed men, newly sworn reserve deputies and career officers, swarmed the valley and Oquirrh Range determined to stop a dangerous killer.

Map published in the local newspaper — It is approximately 40 miles from Bingham to Utah Lake

Newly appointed Salt Lake County Special Deputy Sheriff J. Douglas Hulsey was an excellent human tracker. On November 27, he picked up the trail and tracked Lopez back toward Bingham. They led him to Stefano’s cabin. He was then able to trace two sets of tracks from that location to the tunnel of the Minnie Mine. He reported his finding and approximately 150 law enforcement officers from all over Utah emerged on the mine. They closed off all access points and restricted entry for days.

As the miners working inside the tunnels exited, they reported seeing Lopez, having conversations with the dangerous killer, and some were robbed with Lopez demanding their candles and food.

On November 29th, a group of posse members entered the mine. The plan was to transport carts of hay that had been soaked in crude oil and sulfur into strategic locations. They would then set the hay on fire, hoping to smoke Lopez out. A unit of four men entered the Andy incline tunnel — two pulling from the front, two pushing from behind.

As the men cautiously went about their task, Lopez opened fire from a secure location hitting two of the men in the back. Hulsey was shot twice, Manderich was hit once. The other two miners dove for cover. One fell down a shaft and was knocked unconscious. They were eventually able to crawl to safety. Upon hearing the news, the sheriff sealed all entrances, determined to wait it out. A friend of Manderich snuck into the mine, determined to either save his friend or retrieve his body only to discover the bodies had been moved. He exited the mine, knowing the men were likely dead. The following day, Sheriff Smith sent deputies in to recover the bodies. Once they were removed, the mine was closed down completely and the waiting game began. Days later, the tunnels were searched but Lopez was never found.

Record of the Victims published in Salt Lake Harold, Sunday, November 30, 1913

Deputy James Douglas Hulsey End of Watch November 29, 1913

“I’m going to get the Mexican or he will get me” said Hulsey to friend Dan Fitzgerald before leaving for the mine where he met his death. Hulsey had lived in Bingham nearly ten years and was very well liked throughout the canyon. Up to two years ago, he was a carpenter. Then he started working as a bartender. He was tending bar when word came of the killing of Grant, Witbeck and Jensen. Hulsey joined the posse that night. During the chase Hulsey displayed rare judgment on many matters and was one of the most trusted advisers of Sheriff Andrew Smith, Jr. Hulsey was also a volunteer fire fighter.

Deputy Tom (Vaso) Mandervich — End of Watch November 29, 1913

Tom Mandervich was one of the leading foreigners in the Bingham camp, holding membership in prominent Servian orders. He was a member of the Servian Benefit Society of Bingham and the Grand Lodge of Servian Federation of Sloga of New York City. He leaves a widow and two children. Mandervich had not taken part in the manhunt for Lopez prior to the day he was killed. When he learned a party was going to enter the mine to smoke Lopez out he asked to join saying that he wished to help get the Mexican. Mandervich was 29 years old His brother Dan and sister Mrs. George Churcvich live in Bingham. He was well known and had been very popular

The story of this afternoon’s tragic underground battle, fought in the still of darkness, 900 feet from the fresh air, is told to The HaroldRepublican by the survivors.

Relayed by Dr. David H. Ray We had lifted a bale of hay up the raise of the stope and were seeking a favorable place to fire it when “Dug” Hulsey stepped forward on a level spot in the raise for a distance of about five feet, holding a candle. Suddenly there came a shot. I saw Hulsey drop the candle, groan and fall. There came a second shot and F.J. Thompson dropped down. I don’t remember whether I had a candle, but I do remember I tried to get out of the way with all possible haste.

I believe the second shot hit the Austrian. I heard him fall. There was a third shot, I could hear several groans and gasps. Thompson and I got out as fast as we could. Thompson fell and hurt himself. He recovered sufficiently to crawl to a point of safety and was helped out of the mine and taken to Bingham.

Half an hour after the shooting Lopez opened fire on another group of patrolmen inside the mine. W.M. Domm who came under fire said “a bullet whisked by me, hit the wall and dislodged a piece of rock that struck me in the nose and dazed me for a few moments. Lopez was firing all the time. He knew he had us trapped and I believe he was trying to kill us all. ”

Many volunteered early in the evening to go in after the bodies of the two victims. Sheriff Smith refused saying it would be suicide.

In 1998, you picked the investigation back up, what happened to trigger new interest in the story?

Finally, on January 3rd, Sheriff Smith withdrew his men from the Bingham mine area and ordered his deputies to continue the search along the Oquirrh mountains and surrounding area. A short time later, one of the deputies found a discarded Winchester 30 -30 and a gun belt next to the railroad tracks. Mike Stefano confirmed it was the rifle he gave to Lopez. He was able to positively identify it with the serial number and a mark on the stock. It was also confirmed that the gun belt belonged to one of the men Lopez killed inside the mine. The deputies pistol was still missing. Utah residents and law enforcement officers had to accept a violent killer got away.

— Fast forward to 1998—

Our interview with Randy Lish continues...

I was standing in line at the grocery store and next to the check-out counter was a book titled “Manhunter The Life and Times of Frank Hamer, Texas Ranger. ” My love of history won and I purchased the book. Chapter thirteen was titled “Del Rio September 1921.” This chapter details an event where Captain Frank Hamer is involved in a gun battle and shoots a man named Ralph (AKA Red) Lopez. This chapter mentions crimes Lopez committed while in Utah. I thought “Oh, my gosh. That sounds like the six murders I read about from 1913.”

I also realized the stories reminded me of a book I read in high school “I’m Frank Hamer, Life of a Texas Peace Officer.” I began looking for a copy but discovered it was out of print. I finally found one in the fall of 2000. Chapter 12 in that book is titled “I’ll kill anyone who tries to catch me.” This book, published in 1968, contained the same details of the shootout in 1921 that killed Lopez. The source sighted was Frank Hamer, Jr (son of Captain Frank Hamer) as well as clippings from Hamer family papers.

On March 9, 2001, I met with Salt Lake County Sheriff Aaron Kennard. I outlined my research and requested permission to pursue the matter on my own time and at my own expense. He granted my request and also gave me permission to use official Sheriff’s Office letterhead throughout the investigation.

How did you investigate a cold case that was several decades old?

In the books, the footnotes site Frank Hamer, Jr. and Gladys Hamer as sources. They got all these stories from the newspapers; so, I start checking around. Gladys has passed away but Frank Jr. is still alive. Author Gene Shelton is also still alive. I decide I need to get ahold of Shelton because he doesn’t have any footnotes. Gene Shelton’s novel is a historical novel, which means they can take creative license. I did a lot of looking, calling people and stuff, I will be looking for information on Shelton for a long time.

In the meantime, I’m looking into the Hamer family. Frank comes from a family of nine brothers and sisters. At the time he’s a Texas Ranger, four of the brothers are on the Ranger force. I’m not finding anything that will help me find them, so I decide to look into Frost and Jenkins. I ’ve got to find somebody somewhere that can open a door for me.

I also started searching around Utah. I spoke with local historians and police departments. What I found was, years ago, agencies didn’t keep records, they didn’t have anywhere to store them. So, after a few years, they’d throw them out. So, I’m looking around and decide to go to the State Archives and the University of Utah history center.

What challenge was the most surprising?

Here's where I learned about theft. I'm at the state archives and I said “Hey, how you doing? I need the case on an Otto Whitbeck and on a John Grant. It's from 1913.” He goes for a box and he sets the box down in front of me then he stands right behind me. I mean, like right behind me. And I said “Can I help you?” He goes “Yeah, I'm watching what you're doing. ” I said “I'm really not doing anything. I'm wondering why you're standing here. ”

And he said “Well, I don't want you to take anything.” I showed him my badge and said “I'm a deputy sheriff. I'm on an investigation .” He said “You would not believe what people take. We had a box full of stuff on a guy named Robert Leroy Parker, does that ring a bell with you? ”

I said “Yeah, and?” “We don’t have that box anymore. It was stolen. They stole everything. ”

“Everything?” I asked in surprise. “Yeah,” he confirmed.

This problem with theft became a huge challenge throughout my investigation.

So, I’ve got a crime, and I’ve got victims. I’ve got their names, who they are, and then I had to find out — okay, what happens? There’s a manhunt. Then what happens? How does he get away? How do we know he got away?

Do you know how he got out of the mines?

The only valuable information I discovered at the State of Utah Archives was an “Offer of Reward” issued by Utah Governor William Spry in the amount of $1,000 “to the person or persons delivering to any sheriff in the state of Utah the person of one Rafael Lopez. ” It was signed on the 9th of December, 1913. The other document was a warrant of arrest for Lopez. Now I’ve verified my suspect. They sealed off the mines but Lopez knows these tunnels better than most. So, the sheriff got a court order to shut down all the mines, but Kennecott had a lot of political clout. They kept their mines running with people going in and out all day. So, no surprise, Lopez just walks out with the other employees and makes his way to the railroad.

Enter Captain Frank Hamer, Company C

Texas Rangers — the man who stopped Bonnie & Clyde

So, what was your next step?

During the first week of November 2001, I was attending a gathering of western historians in Tombstone, Arizona. I’m talking to a guy named Ken Holmes, Jr. I told him about my investigation and how several books appear to connect Frank Hamer to the killings in Utah. He admitted he was familiar with the Hamer family. Then he relayed a story regarding a suitcase full of documents that belonged to the family.

Ken Holmes was a marshal of Meridian, Texas from 1972 1988.

One of his hobbies is collecting memorabilia from 1930’s era gangsters. He became aware there was some Bonnie & Clyde documents coming up for sale on the black market. When he looked into it, he discovered a father and son claimed they found a suitcase full of photographs and documents as well as two large scrapbooks of photos and newspaper clippings that appear to have belonged to Captain Frank Hamer.

They claimed they worked for a demolition company and found the items in an abandoned building scheduled for destruction. Ken Holmes contacted the Texas Rangers and informed them of his findings. Somewhere there was a miscommunication and they only recovered one of two suitcases. The Hamer family donated the recovered items to the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame Museum in Waco, Texas. The missing suitcase contained the two scrapbooks and various newspaper clippings saved by Gladys Hamer chronicling her husband’s career.

Ken Holmes added that he was currently a friend of Harrison F. Hamer, who was considered the spokesperson for the Hamer family. Harrison (Sonny) Hamer was the cousin of Frank Hamer, Jr. Ken promised to contact Sonny Hamer once he arrived back home in Texas.

Captain Frank Hamer, Texas Rangers (Public Domain)

The existence of these suitcases would become important later in my investigation. They were loaned by Gladys and Frank Jr. to Jenkins and Frost, the two history professors with the University of El Paso that wrote “I am Frank Hamer” back in 1968. They were contacted by the Hamer Family after the movie “Bonnie and Clyde” came out. That movie made the Hamer family furious because they portrayed Frank Hamer as a buffoon. The Hamer family filed a lawsuit against Warner Brothers. It ended up with the Texas Supreme Court and the Hamer ’s won. The book was the family’s way of getting the truth out to the public and it was very well sourced.

How did you proceed from there?

In November 2001, I made contact with Harrison (Sonny) Hamer. I explained my investigation. He asked me to send him a letter detailing what I was doing and what I would need. I sent a letter to Harrison requesting assistance from the Hamer family to verify the shooting of Rafael Lopez by Captain Frank Hamer.

Harrison asked me to contact a researcher from Texas A&M University named Pat McConal. Pat was doing research for a book on the lives of Capt. Frank Hamer and his three other brothers that were also Texas Rangers. He felt that Pat may be helpful in locating information on the Lopez/Hamer shooting incident.

Pat was successful in locating Gene Shelton but he was not much help. Pat also began looking for any newspaper articles from 1921 from Texas that would corroborate the incident. This also proved unsuccessful as many of the newspaper agencies from that time had gone out of business or did not have archives that extended back that far in time.

How did you overcome the roadblocks you kept encountering?

After months of not finding anything that would assist in my investigation, I decided to go to Texas and conduct my own research. I knew that Frank Hamer Jr was still alive. He was 82 years old at the time. I also knew he was sited as a source in what appeared to be the most accurate accounting of the shootout in Texas between Capt. Frank Hamer and Red Lopez. I felt the only way to get answers was to meet with him in person.

I met with Sheriff Kennard again and he agreed to send a letter to Frank Hamer Jr. officially requesting his assistance. I again, contacted Sonny Hamer, who agreed to be my guide during my trip. He told me he would also act as a liaison locally to help pave the way.

October 16, 2002 at 1933 hours — I received a call from Frank Hamer Jr. He says “I understand you want to talk to me. I said, “Yes, sir.” He says “What about?” I asked if he remembered when his father shot and killed a man named Lopez. He tells me the whole story. And I ’m thinking where’s my friggin recorder? I need this recorded. Before I hang up, I get a commitment from Frank that he will speak to me when I arrive in Texas.

On October 19, 2002 — I arrived in Austin, Texas. I met Harrison at the airport and joined him at his ranch for a tour. Over the next several days he accompanies me to The Former Texas Ranger Association, the current Texas Ranger Headquarters, the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame Museum, Texas State Archives, Gene Shelton’s home and finally he takes me to the home of Frank Hamer Jr.

Over the course of my trip, I was able to confirm that Captain Frank Hamer was highly respected and had a reputation for being honest. I obtained articles from August and September 1921 confirming information sited in the book written by Jenkins and Frost. I also obtained a copy of Frank Hamer’s Oath and Warrant of Authority confirming his employment with the Texas Rangers at the time of the incident in question. The deputy director of the museum assured me the biographical book “I’m Frank Hamer” is the most accurate book in existence on Captain Frank Hamer.

Gene Shelton did not retain any documentation. He was certain a train was robbed in 1914 by the Lopez gang and 19 of the 20 passengers were killed. He was also certain the Red Lopez Capt. Frank Hamer killed in 1921 was the same man wanted in Utah.

October 26, 2002 — I visited with Frank Hamer Jr. in his home. I told him I was conducting an official investigation regarding the death of five deputies and one civilian and he was the only living person to see evidence of the crime. I showed him a picture of a watch that was described in the book. He says “Yeah, they hung that watch in the headquarters in the customs house.”

Frank Hamer Sr. mentioned this watch and a man he called “Red” Lopez in a rare interview with the Houston Post August 5, 1945. This was the only time Frank ever gave an interview. He talks about the shooting and how he killed Red Lopez. There’s my smoking gun.

Texas Ranger Frank A. Hamer (Public Domain)

He stated, In part, “Then there was Red Lopez. Red was the terror of the border country, leader of a band of smugglers and cutthroats. ”

“One day a Mexican informer told Hamer that Lopez and his bandits were coming down a certain route at a certain time of night. ”

The informant took Hamer and his unit to a designated spot and told them to hide in an irrigation ditch. When the informer left, Hamer told his comrades, “I believe he’s trying to trap us.” The group moved over a short distance and hid behind a different ditch.

Suddenly, “they saw shadowy forms approaching — about 20 of them.” Captain Hamer shouted in Spanish “Halt! We’re officers of the law.” The Mexicans immediately opened fire. Lopez was known to shoot from the hip. His first shot “creased Hamer’s cheek, just enough to draw blood.” Hamer fired back. When the smoke cleared, eleven bandits lay dead. The body of the leader, Red Lopez proved to be one of them. “A slug from Hamer’s rifle had drilled through his watch and into his heart. ”

Some believe Lopez stole the watch from a passenger on the train Lopez and his bandits robbed in 1914.

Frank Jr. indicated the watch hung on the wall “To show them Mexicans — don’t come to Texas and cause problems. You got a problem with that, we’ll shoot your ass.”

I then gave Frank Jr. an affidavit and I asked him if he would sign it. The document was based off the information he had previously provided me over the phone. He read through it and signed it. I also signed it as did Harrison Hamer as a witness. Frank Jr. indicated he first heard of the incident with Rafael Lopez from Charlie Miller. I ask him why he remembered it was Charlie Miller. He said, “Charlie gave me my first gun.”

I handed him the group photo of Company C and he named every person in the photo without looking at the names listed on the back. That group was the posse that killed Rafael Lopez in 1921.

1st Row (L -R) EB McClure, Capt. Frank Hamer, Sgt. John Miller, Manuel Gonzaullas

2nd Row (L -R) Capt. W.Lee Barker, Claude Darlington, Charlie Miller

3rd Row (L -R) Henry Glasscork, Nat Jones, Charles Carta, Oscar Latta

Did you discover how the breakdown in communication happened? How did Frank Hamer kill Lopez in 1921 but the case remained open?

Pancho Villa. Once I returned home, I purchased a book about Pancho Villa and there ’s a chapter titled “100 Gunfights”. Every day for 100 days there were gunfights involving the Texas Rangers and what they called Border Bandits.

So, what I found out from Frank Jr, is they just dealt with the battle and moved onto the next gang that needed to be stopped. I asked him if they wrote reports. He said “Yeah, they wrote them with their rifle.” He said they didn’t have the time, they had to move on to other crimes. If someone put the Ranger on the spot, they ’d have to write a report. Then it would be something like “Ranger Bob was tracking Bad Man Steve. Bad Man Steve went up the canyon, resisted my efforts to take him into custody and I had to shoot him. ”

There was also speculation that the shooting did not happen on the US side of the border. It ’s possible it happened just over the border in Mexico itself. This was a usual technique to engage on their home turf.

Did you talk to Frank Jr. about Bonnie and Clyde?

I asked him, I said how did your father feel when he killed Bonnie and Clyde?

He said, “I didn’t know who Bonnie and Clyde really was, and when I got to school that day, all these friends now knew who my father was and that he killed Bonnie and Clyde. So I came home and asked dad who are they and what did they do? He said they were just a pair of rattlesnakes is all they were. And I said “Well, didn’t it bother you? And he said no. He said because I faced more dangerous men that would smile when they pulled the trigger. Bonnie and Clyde were not that kind. They would not take you straight on. They were back shooting rattlesnakes. I felt no different killing them than I did getting rid of a rattlesnake. ”

So, what happened next?

I got home and wrote up my report. So, I said okay, I know the DA isn’t just going to rubber stamp this. Then, I tried to disprove everything. I couldn ’t find any way to disprove it and they didn’t. I met with Vince Meister with the Salt Lake County District Attorney’s office to screen the case. He took the case file and it took them three months, but they finally closed out the case.

Was there anything unexpected that happened?

I was contacted by the great, great grandson of Deputy Jensen. His son was in the process of completing an Eagle Scout project. He arranged to have a monument erected near Utah Lake commemorating the officers that were killed there. Somehow they heard about my investigation and decided to wait to complete the project until I finalized my investigation. Instead of ending the story with the killer was never caught. They were able to include the details of the shootout with Frank Hamer.

Thank you for taking the time to go through this complicated case with me. It’s clear that, without your hard work and tenacity, this case may have remained open and unsolved forever.

Randy Lish with Frank Hamer, Jr

© Randy Lish

Official letter closing out the case from District Attorney David E. Yocom.

Angela Van Breemen

Melanie P. Smith

Angela van Breemen is delighted to have completed her first novel, Past Life's Revenge, a crime thriller with a twist of spiritualism. She is an avid writer of poetry, belongs to the Wordsmiths Writers' Group based out of New Tecumseth, Ontario and is a member of the Crime Writers of Canada and the South Simcoe Arts Council. Angela is a Soprano Soloist.

A firm believer in giving back to the community, she often sings for different charitable organizations. Music and poetry have been an integral part of her life, and in early 2024 she launched her debut album, In The Breeze. Celtic in nature, it includes three original pieces of music, based on her poetry.

Angela volunteers for Procyon Wildlife Rehabilitation and Education Centre, a group dedicated to the rescue, rehabilitation and safe release of orphaned and injured Ontario wildlife. More information can be found about Angela at: Angela van Breemen, author – Author of the David Harris & Emma Jackson Mysteries

Interview by

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

My name is Angela van Breemen, and I grew up in rural Ontario. I am a graduate of the University of Guelph with a degree in management economics. I was co -owner of a dental supply company which was sold in 2013.

Since then, I turned my focus to writing, music, and volunteering my time at Procyon Wildlife Rehabilitation and Education Centre, a group dedicated to the rescue, rehabilitation, and safe release of orphaned and injured Ontario wildlife.

Last year, I published my first novel, Past Life ’s Revenge, a crime thriller with a twist of spiritualism.

I am also a poet, and a singer. A firm believer in giving back to the community, I love to sing for different local charitable organizations.

Music and poetry have been an important part of my life, and in early 2024 I launched my debut album, In The Breeze. Celtic in nature, it includes three original pieces of music, based on my poetry.

I live in Loretto, Ontario with my husband Peter Thomas Pontsa, author of Outfoxed and Sanctity of Freedom which are book one and book two of the Inspector William Fox series.

When did you start writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

Yes, strangely enough, at ten years of age, my first poem was triggered by an argument my parents had. I was a shy kid and prone to quiet reflection. I was profoundly affected by the harsh words, and I really didn’t know what to do. I remember climbing up the stairs to my bedroom, sitting at my desk, taking the pen in my hand, and starting to write. I was sure if I wrote a beautiful poem everything would be okay, and everyone would feel better.

The title of that first poem was Dawn Can Not Be Long Now. There were only a few stanzas to this rudimentary effort at poetry, but I chose each word carefully, wanting them to be perfect. When I showed my parents the poem, my mother’s eyes filled with tears.

Are you a multi-genre author or a single-genre author? How did you decide what types of book you would write?

I am a single -genre author. My genre is currently crime fiction with strains of the paranormal woven into my books. My writing is influenced by my belief in the supernatural.

My father pulled my mom, my younger sister, and myself into a huge hug. ‘Dawn’ really had arrived for me, as I had awakened to the power of words.

Since then, poetry has been an integral part of my life. It has been a constant friend and has helped me to sort out and express how I view the world.

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a panster? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

I am a plotter. Although my writing process is very creative, I prefer to give myself a roadmap, so I know where I am going with the story. That does not mean to say that I am inflexible. There is still plenty of creativity that happens within each chapter, and I am open to a “course” change whenever needed.

For example, occasionally, a character which I expect to be of minor importance, steps forward, gives me a virtual tap on the shoulder and says, “You need me to play a more important role. ” This very thing happened with Inspector Bryan Grant in my first book. He made it apparent soon on that he was needed as a major supporting character to help David and Emma solve a decades old case.

I also rely on my own personal history. In my case, I grew up surrounded by psychics and mediums and so to intertwine the paranormal into my story was a smooth and effortless process.

That being said, I had to do plenty of research when it came to ensuring I presented a credible story when describing my fictitious police department, the New Elgan Police Service.

What books have influenced your life the most?

Farley Mowat’s Never Cry Wolf. This was an unforgettable book I read as a kid. I was exposed to the idea that the natural world is at risk when man interferes. Based on the destruction, I see to wildlife habitat each and every day, I am convinced the natural world is in even more peril than when Mowat wrote the book.

How / where do you find the plots you write about?

The inspiration for Past Life’s Revenge is based on my belief in reincarnation. If you had asked me a few years ago, I would have told you I was a poet and a singer, and sometimes an oil painter. I would never have considered writing a full book, nor calling myself an author.

When I was twenty -three, I had an idea for a story. David Harris, a young man, is tormented by terrible dreams and visions. After having sought the advice of psychiatrists and other health professionals without receiving any relief, he was convinced by his new girlfriend and psychic Emma Jackson, to undergo a past life regression. During that regression, he learned that he had been murdered in his most recent life, and worse yet, that his killer was still alive.

Tell us your latest news

Currently, I am taking a book marketing course to understand how to best promote my books on Amazon. Learning more about cover design, how to find the best key word phrases and analyzing which keywords best fit for my novel have been a fascinating experience thus far.

Revenge is timeless. But so are the consequences.

David Harris has been haunted by relentless nightmares since childhood. No psychiatrist or specialist has been able to help. But when he meets Emma Jackson, an alluring young psychic, she leads him to a hypnotherapist who unlocks something far more terrifying than he ever imagined.

Under hypnosis, David relives the chilling memories of his past life-one that ended in murder. His killer is still alive. And he may be hunting again.

Torn between justice and the future he's building with Emma, David faces an impossible choice:

Let the past lie, or risk everything to stop his murderer once and for all.

This book is like a warm hug on a rainy day. A must read. - Amazon

If you’re looking for a gripping and suspenseful crime thriller, then Past Life’s Revenge is going to be a must read. - Amazon

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0CW1FNT3L

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

As a believer in reincarnation and karma, one message threaded throughout the story is the concept that there are benefits to having lived a good life and repercussions, if that life lived was not a morally good one, for example, that one cannot get away with murder.

There are consequences for whatever we do, whether it is for the greater good or for evil. All our actions have a ripple effect that can influence our current life, our future life and those individuals who surround us.

How much of the book is realistic?

Although the book is a work of fiction, there is some basis to the concept of reincarnation and how certain individuals do remember their past lifetimes. In some rare cases, they remember it easily, and as children will direct their current parents to their previous home.

There is an interesting case of a three-year-old young boy from the Golan Heights who remembered his past life and identified his murderer. No one believed him until he led adults to the spot where his body was buried. When he led elders to the village where he previously lived, and told them his name, villagers remembered the man. They said he had disappeared four years earlier.

Most fascinating was that the boy remembered the name of his murderer. When the murderer was confronted by the boy, and the village elders, he caved in and admitted to having committed the crime. I believe this is a compelling reason to believe in reincarnation.

Like my protagonist, David Harris, this young boy reincarnated almost immediately, with the intention of gaining justice.

In most cases, people undergo past life regressions to learn important things about their previous lifetimes that may help them address problems or challenges in this one. The purpose of these regressions is to help people live a better life.

Do you have a mentor that helped or encouraged you to follow your dream of writing?

Yes, I do. My mentor is my husband, Peter Thomas Pontsa. We are both authors and we are each other’s muses. Peter released his first book, Outfoxed, two years ago. His success and enthusiasm encouraged me to dust off the half-written manuscript I had conceived in my mid -twenties and to complete the story.

What are your current projects?

Currently, I am working on my second book in the David Harris and Emma Jackson Mystery series, called Revenge is Not Enough. I expect to have the first draft completed by the end of this month, with an expected release date in mid-2025. Hopefully readers will be interested to learn what David and Emma will be up to next in the series and how their personal relationship will grow.

Can you share a sample of your current work with us?

Of course, I will be happy to share with you an excerpt from my currently published book, Past Life Revenge, Chapter 12: George Samuel Larson. To set the tone, David has just undergone a past life regression and is about to learn the name of his killer.

DAVID OPENED HIS eyes. A nagging feeling told him that something of extreme importance had occurred, but he could not quite grasp what it was. He was certain he had seen the eyes during the session.

He heard Anna say, “Wake up, David,” but he was too weak and groggy to answer right away.

He saw Anna’s worried eyes and said, “Something happened, didn’t it?”

“Yes, we had a breakthrough, but you gave us a scare.”

“What happened?”

“You relived the death of your former life. It was traumatic and I had trouble bringing you out of the trance.”

“Did we learn anything worthwhile?”

“David, you were named George Larson and either worked or lived here in New Elgan in your previous life,” she paused. “You died at the age of thirty-two on December fifteenth, nineteen ninety three.”

David stared ahead and said, “So you really think my dreams are not just nightmares, but actual memories from a past life.”

“Yes, I do.” Her expression was thoughtful. “It’s unusual, though.”

“What is?” asked Emma.

“Normally souls don’t reincarnate so soon after death. Unless ”

“Unless? ” David swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

“The trauma was so great, the soul needed to return sooner ”

David interrupted. “I was murdered, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, I think so. I’ll review the recording and prepare a transcript for you, but my impression is that you saw and may even have known your killer.”

“This is a lot to process.”

“I’d recommend you review the transcripts, and then we can schedule another session.

“I wonder…” David looked back and forth between Anna and Emma; his face pinched with concern. “Yes?” asked Anna.

“If this is all real, and I was murdered thirty years ago, there ’s a good chance the killer could still be alive.”

“True,” said Anna. “And still be relatively young. Possibly still in his fifties. Maybe even early sixties.”

“What are you thinking?” asked Emma.

“Hang on a sec.” David grabbed his iPhone and typed in his query. “Just found this website called Canada Cold Cases. It’ s a database of unsolved murders and disappearances.”

“Is there a search tool?” asked Emma, unable to hide her excitement.

“Yep. Typing in ‘George Larson.’ Oh my God, I’ve got a hit.” His face turned white. He turned the display around for both Anna and Emma to read.

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

I’d like them to enjoy themselves. My heart and soul went into the novel, and I can’t imagine a greater reward than if people will find Past Life’s Revenge an exciting read and a good introduction to the concepts of reincarnation and the paranormal.

Pick one of your characters and share some of their backstory that didn’t make it into the novel.

Unfortunately, I don’t have backstories to share with you about specific characters since their profiles were fully integrated into the book.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Never throw anything you write away. What you have written may not work for your current story but might be perfect for another one.

In addition, although it’s great to try and write every day, life’s demands can sometimes interfere. Don’t stress about it. Even when you can ’t physically be at your desk writing, it doesn ’t mean that you aren’t still being creative.

In fact, a little break can sometimes be beneficial so that when you do sit down to write, the ideas will flow effortlessly because somehow your subconscious has still been processing those ideas for you.

What do you want written on your headstone and why?

I firmly believe in living life to the fullest, which also includes living up to one ’s potential. For this reason, I would want the following inscribed on my headstone: “Not a moment was wasted in the pursuit of art.”

Is there one person past or present you would like to meet and why?

I would be delighted to meet Nana Mouskouri, the Greek singer and politician. She studied classical music with the focus being on opera at the Athens Conservatoire. She was encouraged to explore jazz by her friends, and she performed in nightclubs with them. When her professor found out he was so furious that he would not let her complete her final exams.

I think she is a remarkable individual not just because of her musical talent, but also for her work as a politician and as a UNICEF Goodwill Ambassador.

It would be fascinating to meet her and talk with her.

Other than writing do you have any hobbies?

Yes, I am a soprano soloist. Just this past year I released my first album, In the Breeze which was inspired by Celtic music. The eleven-song album also includes three original pieces of music based on my poetry.

Can you share something personal with your readers? Do you have any holiday traditions? What kind of music do you enjoy? What kind of movies do you prefer? Do you have a favorite author?

Although I was born in Canada, my parents are from the Netherlands. As a result, I grew up with many Dutch customs. A favourite one at Christmas time was the exchange of Chocolate letters. The letters corresponded with the first letter of the person ’s first name. My letter, of course, was the letter A, for Angela. My mom would always have to get to the Dutch store to purchase them early, since many Dutch first names began with the letter A. Traditionally there were given out on December 5th, Sinterklaas Day (Santa Claus Day), however our family always waited till Christmas Eve.

Being a singer, I love and appreciate a wide variety of music, ranging from smooth jazz, to rock, to Celtic and to opera (but not Wagner so much, as I find the music too heavy).

Romantic comedies are my favourite, but I also like spy thrillers and detective movies.

My favourite author is David Baldacci. I found his book, The Edge, particularly riveting and I could not put it down. I also enjoyed his most recent book, Calamity of Souls a fantastic read.

If money was no issue would you prefer a cozy beach bungalow or a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake?

If money were no issue, I would not have to choose. For the cold winter months, I’d choose the cozy beach bungalow. For hot summer days, I would enjoy the refreshing views from a rustic cabin overlooking a crystal, clear mountain lake. However, if I truly had to choose, and live in one place year -round, I would pick the mountains.

One final question...Do you have a blog/website? If so, what is it? Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress?

Yes, I do, and thanks so much for asking. Here are the links to my website and social media sites:

https://angelavanbreemen.ca/ https://www.facebook.com/angela.vanbreemen.5

https://www.instagram.com/angela_van_breemen/ https://wildsongbird.ca/

https://aspirebookcovers.com/

Aspire Book Covers is a website that offers inspirational book covers and formatting services at affordable prices. The website, located at aspirebookcovers.com, is run by Sharon Brownlie, who warmly welcomes authors to her site. Whether you have finished your book or are in the final stages, Aspire Book Covers provides customized covers to meet your specific requirements. Prices for pre-made covers are listed on the website, and keep a lookout because occasionally, some covers may be on sale!

For custom book covers, Sharon Brownlie will work closely with you to ensure that your book's cover design reflects your vision accurately. She will collaborate with you closely, engaging in discussions about your book description and understanding your requirements.

We had some great entries for our last challenge. If you didn’t get a chance to read them, you should take a minute to check them out. Congratulations to our top winners for getting the most reader votes on his submission. You can read the winning story as well as the other entries here…

https://view.publitas.com/mpsmith-publishing/ connections-emagazine-4th-quarter-2024/page/42-43

1st Place Informant Melanie P. Smith

2nd Place The Traveler Val Tobin

2nd Place Conrad Tom Benson

Everyone has heard the saying A Picture is Worth 1000 Words. Well, this is where we put that saying to the test. In each edition we post an image and ask authors to tell a story in approximately 1000 words. Each story is unique, compelling and interesting. It just goes to show, while the picture might be worth a thousand words those words can be as diverse as the authors writing them

Keep reading to discover new authors and their stories based on the picture provided. And be sure to visit our Facebook page to vote for your favorite.

https://www.facebook.com/ConnectionsEMagazine

Betrayal

By Melanie P. Smith

https://melaniepsmith.com

Lexi dropped to the ground and rubbed her ankle, hoping it would give her some relief from the pain. She had to find somewhere to hide, but she had no idea where to go. A twig snapped and she whipped around, terrified the guards already caught up to her. This night was a disaster and the consequences could be catastrophic. She lost her shoes, Jack was missing or dead, and their underwater transport vehicle had disappeared. She just hoped Conner was still safe. She wasn’t sure she could live with herself if anything happened to Con.

“Lex,” Conner called. “I’m coming over, don’t shoot me.”

Lexi stared into the darkness in disbelief. “Con, what are you doing here?”

“How bad is the leg?” Conner ignored her question.

“Conner,” Lexi scowled. “You have to get back. Don’t blow your cover, this case is too important.”

“Too late,” Conner dropped onto the sand and grabbed her ankle. “Can you walk, or do you think it’s broken? We have to get out of here.”

“I won’t let you destroy nine months of undercover work for me,” Lexi objected. “Just point me in the right direction and get back to the mansion.”

“My cover is already blown,” he stood and held out his hand.

“What? How?” Lexi placed her palm in his and slowly stood.

“One of the guards got the drop on Jack,” he sighed. “The blow to the back of the head knocked him out cold. Gino moved in for the kill. I had to stop him.”

“Where is Jack?” Lexi took a tentative step. She was pretty sure her ankle wasn’t broken, just a bad sprain.

“I dragged him to the beach,” Conner wrapped an arm around her waist and helped support her weight. “We have to go. There’s not much time.”

“You just left him there?” Lexi hissed. “Where?”

“Of course not,” Conner pivoted and practically dragged her into the jungle. “I loaded him into the sub, activated the homing device, and shoved him out to sea. He’s safe and probably back on the ship by now. But we’re not.”

“Where are you taking me?” Lexi step-hopped along, not sure how much further she could go. They both froze when they heard someone stomping through the jungle. Conner lifted Lexi into his arms and began to jog. They came to a solid rock wall that blocked their progress.

“Conner, just leave me here and go for help,” Lexi glanced toward the noise. “They’re close.”

Conner maneuvered through a clump of ancient vines and pulled her along with him. Once they were pressed up against the rocky cliff, he dropped to his knees and ran his hand over the rough dirt. Finally, he smiled and lifted the lid to a hidden compartment. “You first,” he took her hand and helped her onto the first rung of a metal ladder.

Lexi hesitated, then carefully gripped the cold metal. She took one cautious step at a time, terrified she’d put too much weight on her injured ankle and topple to the ground. When she reached the bottom, she hopped to the side to give Conner room to drop down beside her.

“Now what?” Lexi looked up and realized Conner had secured the lid before he descended.

“I’ve got you,” Conner assured her. “We need to make our way back toward the mansion.”

“No!” Lexi blurted. “We need to get as far away from that place as possible. Sedwick Hill will kill us.”

“Sedwick’s not involved,” Conner disagreed. “Someone is using him, his secluded island and a few of his men, but I’m nearly certain Sed doesn’t know anything about it.”

“How can you be so sure?” Lexi pressed.

“Nine months of investigating,” Conner pulled her into a hidden alcove. “Be still, someone’s coming. Once they pass, I need you to tell me why you’re here.”

Lexi covered her mouth with her hand in surprise when she heard Agent Campbell ’s distinctive voice.

Conner pulled her closer and shielded her body with his.

“I told you,” the voice was impatient and female. “Conner Ruben has no idea these tunnels exist.”

“Why are they here?” Campbell barked. “Conner is one thing, he’s too stupid to catch us. But Jack Dalton and Lexi Vega? There’s a reason the FBI sent three agents to this island and it’s not to attend Sedwick Hill’s ridiculous ball.”

“They don’t know anything,” the woman insisted. “Hurry, we need to check the cargo.”

They took a side tunnel and disappeared.

“We need to go,” Conner stood.

“I can’t,” Lexi objected. “I can barely stand; there’s no way I can run. Get back to the house. If you’re sure Hill isn’t involved, appeal to him for help.”

“He won’t get involved,” Conner shook his head. “We need a plan. Why are you and Jack here, anyway.”

“To warn you,” Lexi took a deep breath. “We’re monitoring communication in and out of the island. We intercepted a call from your father. He’s here, or at least he planned to attend tonight. We had to warn you.”

“My father,” Conner leaned against the wall, confused. “He’s supposed to be in London.”

“I know this looks bad and it complicates things,” Lexi began.

“It doesn’t. My father has enjoyed a lifelong friendship with Sedwick Hill. There’s no conflict and Dad won’t interfere,” Conner crouched. “Stay here. I’ll find transportation and we’ll reason things out once we’re safe.”

“Be careful,” Lexi warned.

Conner gave her a quick kiss, then slipped into the main tunnel. He was nearly at the opening when a thick, muscular arm circled his neck and pressed against his windpipe.

“I guess he does know about the tunnels,” Campbell dragged Conner toward Ellice. As soon as they reached her, she slapped him across the face.

Lexi swallowed hard, fished out her phone and began recording. She might be in trouble without a plan, but she was going to document everything.

“Where’s Lexi?” Campbell demanded.

“So, illegal smuggling,” Conner accused. “I hope Ellice is compensating you well.”

“Shut up,” Ellice growled. “Where’s the girl? Tell me and I’ll let you die together.”

“What girl?” Conner glanced around and scrambled to come up with a plan. “I’m a little shocked to find the ostentatious Ellice Fisher scurrying through abandoned tunnels like a fat rat searching for its next meal?”

Ellice Fisher? Lexi considered. Of course, she had the means and clout to smooth the way, especially if they got caught. Now what?

Campbell pulled out a Glock and pointed it at Conner’s head. “Lexi Vega?”

A loud boom echoed through the tunnel and Campbell dropped to the ground, dead, with blood oozing from his chest.

Ellice screamed, dropped to her knees, and curled into herself. “Please, help me. Don’t let him hurt me.”

Deputy Director Owen Ruben shook his head at her theatrics and moved to study his son. “Are you hurt?”

“No, sir,” Conner pivoted, then relaxed when Lexi emerged from the shadows.

“Agent Lexi Vega, I presume,” Owen studied her.

“Dad,” Conner took Lexi’s hand. “I’d like you to meet Lexi my fiancé.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet the girl that stole my son’s heart,” Owen glanced at the dead agent in disgust. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up. We have a party to attend, and a lot of catching up to do.”

Melanie P. Smith Long before she delved into the world of fantasy and suspense, Melanie served nearly three decades in the Special Operations Division at her local sheriff ’s office; working with SWAT, Search and Rescue, K9, the Motor Unit, Investigations, and the Child Abduction Response Team. She now uses that training and knowledge to create stories that are action-packed, gripping, and realistic. When Melanie’s not penning her next adventure, she can be found riding her Harley, exploring the wilderness, or capturing that next great photo.

“What a powerful hook! It grabbed me and I couldn’t stop reading.”

Balancing the Scales by Force…

A ruthless killer, a survivor, and a dysfunctional family running out of options.

A shocking act of violence sends a young widow into hiding. Now, a killer with rules of his own has set his sights on those fighting for justice. Frustrated by the system they dedicated their lives to, doing their best to fly under the radar, a flawed band of unlikely heroes must set aside their personal beliefs and professional ethics to bring a killer to justice before it's too late.

Time is running out; a ruthless sociopath continues his reign of violence; rules must be broken. Can this secret group of vigilantes unearth the truth before it’s too late? They didn’t start this war, but it’s up to them to finish it.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B09DTTPX6P

Dye-Namic Editing

REVIEWS

Shadows and Relics (Smoke and Shadows Book 1)

by L.L. Gray

Reviewed by Eric Lahti

For more reviews and entertaining blog posts by Eric Lahti, check out his blog: https://ericlahti.wordpress.com/

The Review

No matter what happens, I will always think the Urban Fantasy genre is worthy of respect. Building a sci-fi or fantasy world whole cloth is a blast, no doubt about it. But taking our world and adding elements to it – bizarre and extraordinary elements – and making it feel real takes a deft brush. Now, granted, New Orleans has always had a touch of the bizarre and extraordinary, but not to the extent of leprechauns owning bars. At least not last time I was there. Again, granted, I was pretty drunk but I’m fairly certain I’d recognize a leprechaun behind a bar.

So, let’s take New Orleans. The city of vampires and voodoo, absinthe and witchery. The only place I’ve ever been that came stocked with a leather store and a voodoo store. The perfect setting for some explosive entertainment involving magic, werewolves, and fae magic. Now, drop a smart-talking tough with just enough street sense to know when she’s in over her head into the milieu, stir gently, and wait for the fireworks.

I’ve never been into rehashing plots. If you want to know the plot of the story, look below for a synopsis and then buy the book and read it. Trust me, L.L. can tell you the story better than I can. Instead, let’s take a closer look at the elements of the story: Deception, intrigue, and adventure. A lot of urban fantasy focuses primarily on the latter. There’s nothing wrong with a good

"If you don’t like to read, you haven’t found the right book."

adventure, but a linear plot can get tedious. Go here, fight these folks. Go over there, fight those folks. It’s the literary equivalent of an 80s Schwarzenegger movie. Entertaining, amusing, a serious drain on the national popcorn reserves, but ultimately just a tale of large people beating each other up. Now, drop some deception and intrigue into the mix and you’ve got yourself the makings of a serious ass-kicking cocktail.

And, while the writing is top-notch and the characters fun, it’s the change in the blueprint that really breathes life into Gray’s story. A simple task that gets well out of hand and various threads that all get woven together into a neat tapestry of magic, mystery, and a surprisingly relatable villain.

And let’s not forget Meridiana.

So, if you’re into strong female characters with karambits (they’re fun knives, I highly recommend them), some less-than-common magical folk, and an overall fun story that will keep you guessing, pick up a copy of Shadows and Relics. And for this trip to New Orleans, you can leave the stakes behind. Although some steaks might come in handy.

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Check out her website

A dark ritual. Werewolves on my trail. A single chance to uncover the truth …

Cameron Blaze is my name, living on the edge is my game. Acquiring an ancient artifact? Sure, I like old stuff. Procuring a precious? I’ve got some sticky fingers right here. I will do pretty much anything to make rent and will enjoy the hell out of the ride as I go.

When werewolves turn up in New Orleans for the first time in living memory, I was curious. When they start to disrupt my business, I was annoyed. But when they come at me? I’m ready to open a can of whoop-the-wolf, no matter the consequences.

Adding to my canine conundrum, ghosts are disappearing from the New Orleans cemeteries and rumors of dark rituals are floating around the seedy underbelly of my city. To top it off, a powerful and mysterious relic has gone missing. A relic that, by all accounts, has the power to tear the veil that separates this world from the next to shreds.

With time running out and lives on the line, will I be able to find this ancient relic before all hell is set loose on my city?

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0B5H91DQZ

The Blurb

REVIEWS Truth Games

by Caroline England

She tries hard to be the perfect mother, the perfect partner, the perfect daughter – but Ellie never seems to get it right.

When an old friend from university re-enters her life, dark memories from Ellie’s past begin to resurface.

As Ellie starts to unravel some shocking and sinister realities, she realises that she must choose between keeping the family she loves – and facing the truth.

From the Top Ten ebook bestselling author, this twisty psychological thriller will have you hooked from the first page to the last jaw-dropping twist.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B087JQFZZY

The Review

I purchased a digital copy of Truth Games, by Caroline England from Freebooksie. All opinions stated here are my own.

Everyone has secrets, some buried deeper than others. As Ellie Hastings searches for the truths of a past she can’t remember, she uncovers many truths which she’s been hiding from herself. Told from a singular point of view, this introspective tale of deceptions, uncovers the lies and ommisions of those she loves and cares about. Obsessed with learning the truth, Ellie reveals all their secrets, as well as her own, each more devastating than the last.

At first, with all the dreams mixed in with snippets of memories, I thought perhaps Ellie was just a bit paranoid in feeling that the people around her were all lying about various things. But as the story unfolds it becomes evident that she may not be crazy, as her suspicions prove to be true, one by one.

A psychological thriller that keeps readers guessing. I give Truth Games three quills.

Review by Kaye Lynn Booth For more reviews and entertaining blog posts by Kaye Lynn Booth, check out her blog, https://writingtoberead.com/

"The man who does not read good books is no better than the man who can’t."

The Poet and the Magician

by Jennifer Renson

Like a bird trapped within a cage, Fawn yearns for freedom. But the journey since her harrowing escape veers in a direction she could never have foreseen. She meets an enigmatic stranger, Taikuri, whose eyes conceal secrets as deep as his charm is irresistible. What begins as a chance encounter draws them into a world of crumbling kingdoms and breathtaking landscapes. Will their bond, both exhilarating and dangerous, lead to something more? Fawn isn’t the only one running from her past. As their relationship deepens, could their plights unite poet and magician or destroy the fragile connection they’ve built? When Fawn questions the cost of such secrets, she must ask herself: is she trading one birdcage for another?

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0DR7HHCGH

The Review

The author’s world-building in this novel was incredible. The tension and gritty nature of the world the protagonist inhabits make the high-stakes nature of the narrative feel alive on the page. The imagery in the author’s writing made this kingdom and the territories the characters travel through feel vibrant and engaging.

At its core, however, this novel is a story of fate, destiny, and our connections with others. The protagonists of this novel, Fawn and Taikuri, feel an instant bond as if drawn together by some unknown forces. The mystery and intrigue that both of their pasts hold and the almost Shakespearean nature of their journey delve into the rich history of this kingdom with ease.

Reviewed by Author Anthony Avina https://authoranthonyavina.com/

The Verdict

Memorable, enthralling, and beautifully written author Jennifer Renson’s “The Poet and the Magician” is a mustread fantasy novel. The twists and turns this narrative takes, as well as the emotional pull of the protagonists and their bond, help elevate the grand mythos and world-building that this author has become known for throughout their previous books and leave readers eager for more. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!

Rating: 10/10

Siren Song

https://valtobin.com/wp

By Val Tobin

The rowboat at the ocean’s edge attracts me before the woman does, though I spot her almost simultaneously. She’s sitting far up on the dune, almost at the edge where the sand sprouts weeds and grasses. Though the light is dying, she’s illuminated as if caressed by the last rays of twilight.

I turn my back on her, the boat’s presence more incongruous. Could it belong to her? If so, she rowed it herself, and that seems doubtful. I scan the horizon, but nothing else is out there, not even gulls. Certainly not a larger vessel from which she could’ve originated.

Humming, soft and melodious, reaches my ears, and I turn to face the source. The woman, of course. She’s not looking my way. Her eyes cast down, she strokes a hand along one shapely ankle. One leg, bent at the knee, crosses her other leg. Is this sexy display for me?

Her bare shoulders glow white in the growing darkness. The black dress she wears resembles taffeta, but what do I know? I’m a man.

Her long brown hair drapes over one shoulder, the breeze gently lifting it away from her face. Ruby lips part, revealing even, white teeth.

I take a step toward her.

Waves crash along the beach, almost drowning out the woman’s soft hum. My feet sink into the sand, making progress difficult. I kick off my shoes and rip off my socks, leaving them behind.

I glance once in the direction from which I came. The resort is a faint shadow in the distance, lights in windows and on the grounds twinkling in the distance.

The breeze wafts ocean scents my way, a combination of earthy sand and salty sea and briny fish.

Her song grows louder the closer I get to her, but it’s not proximity that does it. She’s raising her voice, and it compels me to walk faster. I think I hear my wife calling, but it can only be a trick of the night. Casting aside all thoughts of her, I rush toward my target.

Darkness descends, and I welcome it.

Wobble and salt spray awaken me. I sit, peering into the starlit blackness. I’m in the boat. White hands, tipped with long, dirty fingernails, push the vessel forward at the stern. I don ’t have to check even though they look different now, soiled and vile. The hands are hers.

Weak, dizzy, I sit. Search for oars. There aren’t any. I clamber to the back and stare overboard. My gaze meets two dark pools. The hair is black now, straggly as seaweed. Her lips, once red, are thin and black. When they part, she flashes equally black teeth and fangs.

She propels the boat with a swish of a fishtail.

This can’t be right. I’m dreaming.

I search the boat, but there’s nothing in it except me. I can’t even use my shoes to batter those hands away. Why did I take them off?

Loath to touch her, I have no other option.

I lean forward and attempt to pry her hands off, finger by finger. Her flesh is slimy, making me wince in disgust, but I refuse to give up. Wherever she’s taking me, I don’t want to go.

Suddenly, I remember my wife. Our anniversary. What was joyous turned sour when we argued about money, of course. It’s always about money, which seems so stupid now. She wanted to get a dress. A stupid dress. Not in the budget, I said, and it escalated from there.

The creature in the water hisses at me and her grip tightens. She gives the boat a solid shove, and I hurl backward with a cry.

My head cracks on the bow. My vision darkens but doesn’t fade. I struggle to my feet and consider leaping overboard, but when I search for the shore, I don’t see it. My heart pounds. Despite the chill air, sweat beads on my brow and trickles down my spine.

Fury replaces fear, and I snarl at her. Shoes or no, I can still hurt her.

I brace myself with one hand on each side of the stern. Lifting one leg, I aim at that hideous face. I’m not swift enough. She tilts the boat. I tumble again and am saved from a dunking by grabbing the seat’s edge.

I didn’t even cry out.

The shrew gurgles with laughter.

I sit up on the seat, gripping the sides. A sudden light throws my shadow before me, and I whirl around to see what cast it.

We’re heading to a rocky shore, a small island that shouldn’t exist and shimmers in the mist that almost cloaks it. More of these creatures await our arrival. Their mouths gape open. Saliva drips from their fangs.

When the boat strikes the shore, they cheer.

The police knock on my hotel room door. I identify them through the peephole. My heart almost stops. They look grim.

I fling open the door.

“You’ve found my husband?”

The taller one nods. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Parker. He still had his wallet on him, but you’ll have to identify the body.”

That task seems to take forever, but at last it’s done, and I recognize him despite his ravaged body. The police suspect a shark, but the locals stare at me with pity and an eerie knowing in their gazes. They avoid talking to me, offering polite condolences and nothing more.

They’re hiding something, and a quick Internet search reveals the urban legends.

I buy a hunting knife with a sheath I attach to my belt. That night, I retrace his steps, heading in the direction in which they found his body.

I spot the boat almost at the same time I spot the man sitting at the edge of the dune. My breath catches as a soft, deep hum reaches my ears. Involuntarily, I step toward him, but as I do, I draw the knife out. It feels like victory.

Tricia Copeland

Critically acclaimed and Award-Winning author, Tricia Copeland has been acknowledged as an Award Winners in two separate book categories for the prestigious 2024 Global Book Awards this past weekend. Tricia’s critically acclaimed novel, To Be A Fae Queen which is the first book in her Realm Chronicles series was the recipient of the Gold Award in the Teen and Young Adult Action/Adventure category. In addition, Tricia also received the Silver Award in the Teen and Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy Category for her standalone novel, Azreya, Aztec Priestess.

Tricia Copeland, critically acclaimed author and

now

multiple Book Award Winner

Tricia Copeland believes in finding magic. She thinks magic infuses every aspect of our lives, whether it is the magic of falling in love, discovering a new passion, a beautiful sunset, or a book that transports us to another world. An avid runner and Georgia native, Tricia now lives with her family and four-legged friends in Colorado. Find all her titles from contemporary romance, fantasy, to dystopian fiction at www.triciacopeland.com.

Gold Winner: 2024 Global Book Awards - Teen and Young Adult Action and Adventure Category https://bit.ly/Goldawardwinnerteen

This double recognition is a first for this up-and-coming author and is the latest highlight in a number of accomplishments including positive Five-Star reviews by Readers Favorite as well as being a Gold Medal Winner at the Readers Choice Awards, and as Silver Award Winner in the YA Audiobook Category at the Ben Franklin Awards.

Silver Winner: 2024 Global Book Awards

Teen and Young Adult

Science Fiction and Fantasy Category

https://bit.ly/GlobalSilverTeen

Interview by Melanie P. Smith

Humphrey Hawksley

www.humphreyhawksley.com

Humphrey Hawksley work as a BBC foreign correspondent has taken him all over the world. He is a regular panelist and speaker and his writing has appeared in most mainstream publication such as the Guardian, The Times, Financial Times, and Yale Global. His latest non-fiction book is Asian Waters: The Struggle Over the Asia-Pacific and the Strategy of Chinese Expansion. Hawksley’s television documentaries include The Curse of Gold, Bitter Sweet and Aid Under Scrutiny. @hwhawksley | humphreyhawksley.com

Future History Dragon Strike, Dragon Fire and The Third World War that explores world conflict. He has published four international thrillers, Ceremony of Innocence, Absolute Measures, Red Spirit and Security Breach, together with the nonfiction Democracy Kills: What’s so good about the Vote – a tie-in to his TV documentary on the pitfalls of the modern-day path to democracy from dictatorship.

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

My day job for thirty years or more was as a BBC foreign correspondent with postings in Sri Lanka, Delhi, Manila, Hong Kong and Beijing. Then, based in London, I covered crises around the world mostly after Nine Eleven in the Middle East and North Africa. My first thriller, the best -selling Dragon Strike, The Millenium War was published in 1997. It became the first in my future history series, mapping out war between China and the United States. Given the current state of the world, it still sells well. I live in London from where I host the weekly Goldster Magazine Show and podcast, an hour -long conversation with significant figures in the world of health, well -being, adventure and books. Goldster is one of Britain’s leading preventative health platforms aimed at persuading people to take more control of their own health and reduce their need for pills, doctors and hospitals. I also host the monthly Democracy Forum debate which examines global political issues with a team of experts. In recent months we have done climate, China and Pakistan.

Are you a multi-genre author or a single-genre author? What types of books do you write?

I am multi -genre as I write fiction and non -fiction. My future history series Dragon Strike, Dragon Fire, The Third World War examines factually based scenarios of global conflict, written in the style of a fast -paced thriller. My latest Rake Ozenna series Man on Ice, Man on Edge, Man on Fire, Ice Islands has a hard -boiled special forces veteran as protagonist. Rake Ozenna is a native of the Alaskan island of Little Diomede, the only settlement in America which directly faces Russia, less than three miles away. My non -fiction books are Asian Waters: The Struggle Over the Indo -Pacific and the Challenge to American Power and Democracy Kills: What’s so Good About Having the Vote which I wrote at the height of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I am now updating it to reflect the challenges to democracy in the wider world. The new title will be The Freedom Factor; Our Quest for Dignity, Identity and Freedom.

As a multi-genre author, do you have a favorite? Or, is one type of book easier for you to write than others, and why? Do you find it hard to balance them?

Fiction that takes a reader deep inside a subject. As a teenager I was wrapped in authors like James Mitchener, Robert Ruark, Leon Uris and Alex Hailey from whom I learned about Hawaii, Kenya, Israel and how airports and hotels were run in a way I would never have learned from non -fiction.

Is there a genre you haven’t tried that you would like to?

I am experimenting with crime fiction which I have never done and had no concept about how difficult this genre is. A thriller is about good guys stopping evil guys from doing something bad. In crime mystery, the bad has already happened and the story is about the good guys finding out who the evil guys are.

How long have you been writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

As a journalist, I have been ‘writing’ forever. My first book, Dragon Strike: The Millenium War evolved from a pitch to my agent, David Grossman, for a non -fiction book about China. David took me to see the late legendary publisher, William Armstrong, who asked if I could do a military thriller about war between China and America. There is nothing a journalist likes more than an editor who knows what they want. That led to a three-book series.

What comes first — the plot or the characters?

Concept, scenario and setting come first. What is the environment in which characters face challenges? Mine are mostly geopolitical as in, say, Russia against America. Where does this happen? The Rake Ozenna series is mostly in the Arctic or very cold places. And concept is: what makes this different from everything else out there? From there character and plot are forged. What is the threat? Who poses it and who is going to stop it?

What

makes your book stand out from the crowd?

As far as I know, there is no thriller with a character from a place like Little Diomede, a remote Alaskan island, population eighty, with no roads, one store, no cars, no police, no military and it looks straight across to America’s deadly enemy, Russia. A review in Library Journal sums it up A hard -as-nails hero, an out-of-the-ordinary location, and oodles of high-action encounter it’s everything readers want in a political thriller. The late great Nelson de Mille described Rake as smart and tough, ‘and we ’re glad to have him on our side’.

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

I am not clever enough to write by the seat of my pants. Whenever, I’ve tried the plot and characters head off down rabbit holes that it takes forever to extract them from. I begin with an idea that becomes a five -hundred-word synopsis that grows to a several thousand word outline which metamorphosizes into a scene -by-scene tabulation so I can be sure characters are balanced, narrative drive doesn’t go off course and so on. Once the detailed plot line is established, I’ll do only the research needed. Research can be a rabbit hole trap. I think Lee Child is a pantser. But he ’s a genius, a Mozart among us.

Would you and your main character get along?

Definitely. I would feel very safe.

Whom do you trust for objective and constructive criticism of your work?

Writer friends and editors I have worked with for a number of years

What are your current projects?

A geopolitical thriller under a non-disclosure agreement and a crime mystery based on the English east coast.

What’s your favorite and least favorite part of publishing?

My favorite part is seeing the cover which represents the publisher’s take on how the book is to be presented to the market. My least favorite is the social media plugging of the book. I’m not a ‘me, me, me’ guy.

Have you ever killed off a character your readers loved?

I did once and it didn’t last the edit. She came back.

What is the most valuable piece of advice you ’ve been given about writing?

There is no such thing as writer’s block.

If you could spend a day with another author, whom would you choose?

Marc Cameron who writes brilliant thrillers and lives in Alaska.

Are you a cat person or a dog person?

Dog

If you could invite any three people for dinner, whom would you invite?

Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping.

How many books have you written? Which is your favorite? Or has one stuck with you more than others?

Thirteen with two in the pipeline. Rake Ozenna’s Man on Fire is my favorite. Dragon Fire: The Realistic and Gripping Novel of the Next War stands out because briefly when first published it was outselling Harry Potter in India.

What is the most inspiring feedback you've ever received from a reader?

I got a hand -written note asking for Marathi translation rights to my Future History series, Marathi is a regional language in India. I gave the rights for nothing. The general reviews for the series are uplifting like, “Chillingly realistic and detailed. You can tell that Hawksley knows of what he writes. A compelling book.” The feedback that gives me the biggest kick for the Rake Ozenna series is the appreciation that Rake is not your stock thriller. He is an indigenous native from the Bering Strait.

Do you aim for a set number of words/pages per day? Or, do you just write and let the story decide when you stop and take a break?

At least a thousand although it doesn’t really work like that. I could do 3,000 one day and 200 the next. With The Third World War, I wrote the last chapter in the transit lounge at Dubai airport. I heard Dan Brown of Da Vinci Code allocates his writing sessions with an egg -timer and romantic novelist Barbara Cartland got into the Guiness Book of Records by writing 23 books one year, mostly through dictation to secretary.

How long does it take you to write a book?

Allow a year. The first draft can be done in a couple of months. The real writing is in the re-writing.

Other than your current WIP, do you have any unfinished books? Do you think you will ever finish them?

I have a Second World War thriller that got interrupted about ten years ago. When the next two books are across the line, I very much want to finish it.

How do you decide if a story will be standalone or part of a series?

The market, feel for the lead character and what the publisher wants.

Can you share any upcoming projects or plans for future books?

After a quarter of century, I have a rights revision for the Dragon Strike future history series. I plan to republish them with a new introduction to take into account the threat of war today as opposed to two or three decades ago. I also have the rights to Democracy Kills which, as mentioned will be republished and updated as The Freedom Factor.

If money was no issue, would you prefer a cozy beach bungalow or a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake?

Money no issue, would be both. Write, move, write, move. New surroundings stimulate.

One final question...Do you have a blog/website? If so, what is it? Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress? Website: - www.humphreyhawksley.com

X @hwhawksley @Humphreyhawk

Facebook Humphrey Hawksley Books https://www.facebook.com/HumphreyHawksleyThrillers/ LinkedIn https://www.linkedin.com/in/humphreyhawksley/

FINDING COLOR

A hilarious and messy backpacking adventure in the '90s

The Back in a Year series begins with the stunning debut of author, Candace MacPhie

Grab your backpack and get ready for an adventure in the '90s when the Internet was scarce but laughs weren’t. Finding Color is book one in the five-part Back in a Year series, the true story of a young woman traveling around the world. Each book can be read independently, but it’s more fun to take the full trip.

Silver Winner in the 2024 Global Book Awards Humor and Satire Category

https://bit.ly/Globalbookawardsilver

Candace MacPhie

Born in Montreal, Quebec, I spent years backpacking and working around the world. I have a Bachelor of Commerce degree, an MBA, and worked for twenty years on four different continents and now call Calgary, Alberta home.

I got married, had kids, and things got busy. Time was moving by quickly and my kids were growing up fast. I shifted gears and quit my job to spend time at home. During the COVID lockdown, I had time on my hands, decided to try writing, and started writing the Back in a Year series.

When I’m not at my computer yelling “Just a few more pages, then I’ll make dinner,” I love hiking in the Rocky Mountains, hot yoga, reading romance novels, and making up new cake recipes. I especially like to laugh and spend time with my husband, the self-proclaimed grumpy motherf*%ker, and my three awesome kids.

www.candacemacphie.com

Crystal

http://www.tombensonauthor.com

By Tom Benson

Gary’s Gold Mine

Las Vegas

“What the hell is going on where’s Danny?” Crystal was held between two heavily built men in tuxedos, but her fury was directed at the man sitting behind the desk.

“Calm down, sweetheart.” Gary Kane casually clipped his Cuban cigar and gazed at the pretty twenty-something as he lit up. “Are you a fellow Scot?” “Yes.”

“Let go of the lovely lady, fellas … she’s not a prisoner.”

Crystal glanced at both smartly dressed gorillas and shook her head. She shrugged and adjusted her dress before focusing on the casino manager. “If I’m not a prisoner, why was I dragged up here, and where is my boyfriend? ”

Kane said, “You’re here so I can offer you a proposition.” He grinned and puffed smoke across the desk. “And … your boyfriend is sitting over there.” He nodded beyond Crystal and her escorts.

Crystal turned to see Danny sitting in a hardback chair, wrists and ankles bound with zip ties. Danny shook his head. “I’m sorry, Crystal, I ”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kane barked. “You made your choice, and now it’s your girlfriend’s turn.”

Crystal looked from the sleazy manager to Danny and back again. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s simple … Crystal.” He drew on his cigar. “Danny over there owes me a serious amount of money; to save his skin, he offered you as collateral.” He appraised her slowly. “If you join some of my girls in a fancy house nearby, you could probably erase Danny’s debt in about six months.”

“I hope you’re fucking joking.”

Kane smiled and slowly shook his head. “No, sweetie, I’m not. And, if we don’t have to make you drug dependent, you’d attract more customers.”

Crystal arched a shapely eyebrow. “What if I don’t want to become a whore to pay off his debts?”

“After you’ve entertained Jimmy and Nico in the desert, they’ll leave you there.”

“You want sexual entertainment go fuck yourself.” She stepped forward and spat in his face.

“Jeez.” Kane inhaled deeply and wiped his face. “She’s all yours, lads.”

*

Twenty minutes after exiting the casino via a secret exit, Crystal sat in the back of a stretch limo as it cruised into the desert, leaving the bright lights behind. Her wrists were secured with a zip tie. She looked around, breathing heavily.

Nico sat opposite her on the other long, leather bench seat, enjoying a drink. “You’re very calm for a young woman who’s about to be brutalised and left for dead.” He grinned.

“How far into the desert are we going?”

“About thirty miles, why?”

She bit into a glossy, ruby lip. “Would you rather use force or prefer that I played nicely and showed you a good time?" She felt disgusted by the way he appraised her, but she eased forward, crossed her legs, and sat back.

Nico nodded. “You really are a piece of work ”

“You know what they say, Nico.” She licked her lips. “One volunteer is better than ten pressed men.”

“I don’t follow.” He refilled his glass and gulped more liquor.

“I wouldn’t let your boss use me as a whore, but I’ll make a deal with you.”

He grinned. “Go on, pretty lady, make me a deal.”

“If you give me the use of my hands, I’ll show you and Jimmy a good time.”

“Even if I untied you, and you gave us both a good time, we still can’t let you go.”

“It was worth a try.” She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, watching his gaze. “Okay, instead of letting me go, when you’ve finished with me, will you make the end quick?”

Nico’s brow furrowed, and he glanced at the closed glass screen between the passenger section and the driver.

Crystal whispered, “We could get started now, and Jimmy could have your leftovers.”

He placed his glass in the nearby holder. “You give me any grief, I’ll kill you ”

“You can’t be that big down there.” She grinned and offered her wrists to be untied. After the flick of Nico’s switchblade, Crystal massaged her wrists. “Is a condemned girl to be offered a drink?”

Nico closed the knife, placed it on the seat beside him and turned to pour a drink for the attractive prisoner. He screamed in agony when two sharp fingernails pierced his eyeballs. Two seconds later, a bloody, slender hand lifted the switchblade, there was a click, and four inches of steel pierced Nico’s windpipe.

The big car skidded to a halt in the desert sand, and the glass partition slid open.

Jimmy turned and had a double-take. “What the ” Crystal was aiming Nico’s automatic.

“There’s a round in the chamber, so don’t do anything stupid,” she said. “Use a thumb and finger to pass me your gun.” She dropped Jimmy’s weapon on the long seat beside her. “Now, set the casino location on the satnav, and get in here.”

Jimmy set the satnav, but got out of the car and ran into the darkness. The first bullet tore into his left thigh, and two seconds later another punctured a kidney.

Kane turned his big chair slowly to face the private door as it opened. “What the ”

Crystal said, “It’s been a year since you stole four hundred thousand pounds from Mad Mick, and it’s payback time.”

“How do you know about … who are you?”

She nodded to her blood-covered hands and Nico’s automatic. “Guess.”

Kane stood, shaking his head. “You’re … you’re Mick’s daughter?”

She nodded. “My dad didn’t think I could cut it in his gang, but I saw this trip as an opportunity to prove my ability.” She crossed the room.

“We could be partners and ….”

Crystal locked the main door, turned, and shot Kane twice in the gut.

“Bloody hell,” Danny whispered from the chair. “Untie me quick, Crystal, and let’s ”

She turned. “Arsehole.”

A bullet in Danny’s gut left him bleeding and in agony.

Crystal left with the gun and, twelve hours later, was back in Glasgow, Scotland.

Tom Benson New Release

During the summer of 2003, New York detective Kimberley Forest discovered a crime scene which filled her with revulsion. Within days, she disappeared, and a merciless vigilante materialised. Honey Woods was the name adopted by the ex-detective, and as she hunted a list of perpetrators, she didn’t take prisoners ... for long.

Two of the intended targets succeeded in escaping from the United States, but unfortunately for both of them, they’d been seen at the airport. The vigilante was going international to finish what she’d started.

Europe was about to witness Honey's particular style of justice.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/

77 ½ Magical Healing Herbs

By Ronesa Aveela

Dandelion

Venture into the magical, healing world of herbs and embrace the power of nature. This article is taken from the book 77 ½ Magical Healing Herbs, which is an introduction to herbs found in a special Midsummer ’s wreath. This is an especially enchanting time of year. Among the Bulgarians, the day is called Eniovden. You may think herbs are only for spicing up food and healing the body and mind, but they have other uses, as well. This unique herbal book is an essential guide for tapping into the power of herbs. It highlights centuries of lore and historical facts about healing and magical uses of herbs from Slavic and other traditions.

Please see the medical and magical disclaimers before you try any of the recipes from the book.

Dandelion

Description: From within a rosette of green jagged leaves, the hollow, purplish -tinted stem of the dandelion rises to a height of 2 to 16 inches (5 to 40 cm), and occasionally 28

Taraxacum officinale

inches (70 cm). The grooved leaves form in such a way as to conduct rain to the center of the rosette and the root. At the top of the stem, a single yellow flower head grows and is made up of 40 to 100 strap-shaped florets. The blooms are sensitive to the light, opening fully in sunny conditions, but closing as the sky darkens. The flower closes after all the florets have matured. They produce a silky white ball of seeds on slender attachments that the slightest breeze can blow away. The roots are usually unbranched taproots, dark brown and almost black on the outside and white and milky on the inside. The stem and root produce a milky juice when broken, which stains skin brown.

History and Traditions: The genus name may be derived from the Arabic tarakhshagog (bitter herb) or the Greek taraxos (disorder) and akos (remedy), because of its curative actions. Other sources say it is from a Latin root translated from the Greek, meaning “inflammation of the eye,” since the plant’s secretions have treated eye inflammation. The common name is thought to be a corruption of the French dent de lion (also the former Latin name of dens leonis and its former genus of Leontondon), which means “lion’s tooth,” referring to the jagged leaves. The plant, or its ancestors, has long been on the planet, with fossil records dating to glacial times. Its first known mention in medicine is in Arabian physicians’ works from the tenth and eleventh centuries. English settlers brought the flowers to the Americas because of their medicinal applications and for use as a food crop. It was also believed that if you picked a dandelion (called a witch gowan) on Midsummer ’s eve, that it would repel witches and keep you safe from them.

Habitat and Distribution: Native to Europe and Asia, but now common worldwide. It grows in disturbed places, lawns, meadows, and along roadsides.

Growth: Perennial. The plant grows during the summer months, but it may be found in bloom most of the year, depending on its location. It ’s a sun-loving plant that can grow in low-sunlight areas. The plant can adapt to most soils, but it prefers ones that are moist. A flower head produces 54 to 172 seeds per head, and a single plant up to 5,000 a year.

Harvesting: Leaves, flowers, seeds, and roots are used. Harvest the leaves when they are young, the stems when the plant flowers, and the roots in autumn when the stem and leaves whither. It’s best to select large, fleshy, well -formed roots from plants that are two years old. If you dig them when the soil is wet, it’ll be easier to uproot them. Avoid breaking the roots when digging them up, because they’ll lose their milky juice, which has medicinal value. Rinse them, then cut off the leaves and don’t leave any scales. Dry the roots whole, or cut larger ones transversely into 3 - to 6-inch (90 - to 180-cm) segments. After a couple of weeks, the roots should be hard and brittle. The inside will be white, not gray. Store them in tins in a dry place to keep insects and mold from them. Keep the dried herbs for only one year. Leaves and flowers can be used fresh or dried for tea. Cut them on a dry day and choose only whole (preferably young) leaves. Cover seeds with coarse muslin when drying them in the sun, to avoid the wind blowing them away.

Medical Use: Modern science has begun to corroborate some of the claims of traditional medicine about the dandelion’s benefits as a diuretic, although more studies are required. Other common treatments for the herb are for inflammation, detoxing the body, and the common cold. Dandelion is an excellent source of vitamin A, and studies have shown that this vitamin may lower the risk of cataracts, diarrhea, measles, and breast cancer. Research has shown the roots kill cancer cells without harming the body, but more studies of its application in this manner are needed.

Rituals and Magical Use: Dandelions are good for divination. Steeping a cup of dandelion root tea or leaving a steaming cup by your bedside is a way to call spirits and have prophetic dreams. Seeing dandelions in your dreams indicates happy unions. The puff balls have

prophetic power. Children blow on them to make wishes. This works for adults, as well. According to legends, the number of seeds remaining on the flower head after blowing on it is a way for a female to know how many children she will have. Blowing on the seeds is also a means of blowing away bad habits, dark thoughts, and negative energy. Since spells and wishes are similar, dandelions can enhance any spell. Particular types that work well with the flower are ones for luck, love, balance, hope, and happiness. Since the dandelion has its own strength in clinging to the earth, this magic works well to help people overcome adversity, inspire creativity, and become brave. It can bring joy and happiness to a wedding couple if they include dandelions in the bouquet. Adding the flowers or seeds in luggage will prevent a loved one from being unfaithful on long trips.

Other Use: The plant is often a culinary dish: the young leaves and unopened buds in salads and soups, ground and powdered roots for a coffee substitute, flowers for dandelion wine or ale, as well as jam or syrup. The herb in tea also helps in weight-loss diets, and the plant’s juice removes warts. You can get yellow dye from the flowers. Dandelions are also good to clean soil and break up compacted dirt with their long taproots, which helps to prevent erosion.

Other Names: Common dandelion, plus numerous regional and old names.

Aromatic: The raw leaves are slightly bitter, but soaking them in salty, lukewarm water for thirty minutes will remove some of this bitterness. Tearing the leaves, rather than cutting them, will help retain their flavor.

CAUTION: Excessive use of the herb may cause allergic reactions or increase stomach acidity. Pregnant or lactating women should avoid because its effects are inconclusive. Don’t use if you’re taking a diuretic or antibiotics, being treated for kidney or liver problems, or taking blood-thinner medication.

Dandelion Salad

Ingredients:

400 g of young dandelion leaves

3 to 4 cloves of garlic

250 g of yogurt

Lemon juice

Salt to taste

Wash the dandelion leaves well. Finely cut them and soak them in cold water. Dry them and add to a bowl. Pour over them a mixture of yogurt mixed with the garlic, lemon juice, and salt (Stoyanova, 33).

Dandelion Coffee

Use dandelion roots that have been thoroughly cleaned and dried by artificial heat (for about two weeks; see harvesting section for more information). Slightly roast the roots until they obtain the color of coffee. Grind them. You can mix them with regular coffee or even cocoa (Botanical.com).

SOURCES

Botanical.com. “Dandelion.” https://botanical.com/botanical/ mgmh/d/dandel08.html.

Crystal. “Билките в магията.” [Herbs in magic.] January 7, 2014. http://dreamland-bg.com/index.php?topic=4951.0. Greenmanmeadows. “Dandelion Magic.” June 12, 2020. https:// greenmanmeadows.com/dandelion-magic/. Petrova, Bilyana, Dr., ed. “Глухарче, Радика.” [Dandelion, Radika.] March 22, 2010, updated on April 28, 2021. https:// medpedia.framar.bg/ботаника/глухарче-радика. Stoyanova, Valentina Магията на Билките – над 70 вида билки Издателство [The magic of herbs – over 70 types of herbs.] ABG Publishing House: Sofia, 2008. WebMD Editorial Contributors. “Dandelion Tea: Is It Good for You?” September 19, 2020. https://www.webmd.com/diet/ dandelion-tea-is-it-good-for-you.

Herbs are powerful, but they can also be dangerous.

MEDICAL LIABILITY DISCLAIMER: The information in this article, in the book and on our website is not intended to be medical advice, nor does it claim that the herbs listed are safe or effective to use in the manners described. It is not meant to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease. It is merely a brief summary of various herbal folk remedies and how they have been used in the past and may still be used today. With the exception of a few personal recipes, we have not tried any of these remedies and cannot verify their effectiveness or safety.

MAGICAL DISCLAIMER: Magical ingredients and spells are for entertainment only. We have not tried any of these remedies, nor do we make any claims as to their effectiveness or safety.

77 and a Half Herbs?

The wheels in your mind have probably been turning as you think, “77½ herbs is an odd number.” And you’re right. But it’s a special, magical number, referring to herbs gathered on Eniovden, June 24, when Bulgarians celebrate Midsummer’s Day. If you want to find out the secret of the half herb, you’ll have to read the book.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/ronesa -aveela/77-1-2-magical-healing-herbsthe-secret-power -of-herbs

Ronesa Aveela is “the creative power of two.” Two authors that is. The main force behind the work, the creative genius, was born in Bulgaria and moved to the US in the 1990s. She grew up with stories of wild Samodivi, Kikimora, the dragons Zmey and Lamia, Baba Yaga, and much more. Her writing partner was born and raised in the New England area. She has a background in writing and editing, as well as having a love of all things from different cultures. She’s learned so much about Bulgarian culture, folklore, and rituals, and writes to share that knowledge with others.

A Witchy Night

https://rhondahopkins.com/

By Rhonda Hopkins

This short story is based on, and inspired by, the characters from my paranormal cozy mystery series, Witches of Whispering Pines.

Moonlight rippled across the still waters of Whispering Pines Lake. I let the cool sand shift between my toes as I walked, my black dress swaying in the summer breeze. The fabric brushed against my shoulders, a gentle comfort that failed to ease the knot of anxiety in my chest.

A ghost had awakened me just after midnight. This one was a woman in her forties, dressed in clothes from what must have been the late 1800s. She stood silently at the foot of my bed, but vanished before I could get a good look at her face. Something about her presence felt different than the others, though. More intentional. More personal. Between that and my still-unstable fire magic, which had set my curtains smoldering just yesterday, sleep had been impossible.

“You're thinking too loud!” A familiar voice chimed in my mind, followed by the soft whoosh of wings. Trixie, my young owl familiar, landed on a nearby piece of driftwood, her round, green eyes gleaming with their usual mischief. “Your forehead gets all scrunchy when you're worried. It's not a good look on you.”

I couldn't help but smile. "Thanks for the personal critique, Trix."

“Any time! But seriously…” The young owl hopped closer, her tone softening. “Is it the magic stuff again? Or that strange feeling you and Grandma Ruby have been going on about? ”

My great-grandmother and I had both been having a strong sense of foreboding. As if something bad were about to happen. I was a little scared, to be honest. But Grandma Ruby would never admit to any fear.

"Both." I sank down onto the sand, drawing my knees to my chest. "I just... I keep thinking about Genevieve, my great-great-great-whatever grandmother. About how much magic she had, and how one of her powers corrupted her. Made her go dark."

“You would never do that, if that ’s what you’re thinking. Did you use your powers to wreak havoc and get hauled away by the COWS? No! Of course not. You just singed some curtains.” Trixie spread her wings wide. “Big difference!”

I smiled briefly at the use of my family’s nickname for the Council of Witches. “Thanks, Trixie. I appreciate your belief in me. I’m just worried because Grandma Ruby thinks I’m inheriting Genevieve’s powers in the order she received them.”

A deeper voice resonated in my mind. “While Trixie's point is characteristically lacking in eloquence, she isn't wrong.” Barnabas, my bat familiar, glided down from a tree on the edge of the lake and circled me before returning to hang upside down from a small branch. He carried himself with considerably more dignity than Trixie. “Power itself is neutral, Charley. It's the wielder who determines its nature.”

I raised an eyebrow. "That's unusually optimistic coming from you."

“Perhaps,” the bat replied, pulling his wings tight against his body. “But I've observed you long enough to know that you're nothing like the way Ruby describes Genevieve. Your concern about these powers is precisely what makes you worthy of them.”

The knot in my chest loosened slightly, but before I could respond, a soft shuffling in the sand behind me caught my attention. I turned to find Jackson approaching. He looked pale in the moonlight, and more than a little shaken.

"I... I think your bat just spoke to me? In my head." His voice wavered slightly. "Unless I'm losing it. Am I losing it?"

Barnabas just blinked at my startled glance in his direction. “Indeed, I did. You needed someone, and I didn’t think your family was a wise choice at this time of the night.”

I gulped when I thought about my dad, the chief of police, finding out his seventeen-year-old daughter had slipped out of the house when she was supposed to be sound asleep in her bed. “No. No, that would not be good. Thank you, Barnabas.”

Touching Jackson's hand, I said, “You’re not losing it.”

He sat down beside me. "Barnabas said you needed me. That you were trying to work through something." He ran a hand through his hair, still looking bewildered. "I mean, I know you talk to him all the time and everything, but... this is a little weird."

"I always like having you with me," I admitted, leaning against him. "But I am kind of shocked he came to you."

“Oh my gosh, Barnabas, you big softie! ” Trixie hooted in our minds, earning herself a withering glare from the bat.

“I simply made a tactical decision,” Barnabas sniffed. “Sometimes the comfort of another human is more valuable than the wisdom two familiars can provide though I’ll deny it if you quote me.”

Jackson wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “What's going on, Char? What's got you out here in the middle of the night?”

I stared out at the moonlight dancing on the water. "There was this ghost this morning... and with everything else the fire magic I can barely control, and this feeling that something's coming. Plus, I just keep thinking about my ancestor, Genevieve. How powerful she was, and how she chose darkness." I took a deep breath and held it a few beats before blowing it out. “I just don’t want that to happen to me.”

The lake continued its whispered conversation with the shore, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. Probably one of the shifters from the local pack.

"Whatever's coming," Jackson said while pulling me closer. "whatever powers show up next, you've got this. And you've got me."

“Us! You’ve got us!” Trixie fluttered her wings as she hovered in the air. “And if any stuck-up COWS show up, I'll peck their fancy robes full of holes!”

Barnabas’s chuckle mixed with the sounds of the night. And for a moment, I let myself believe that maybe that would be enough to keep the darkness at bay. I had a large circle of support family, friends, Jackson, and the familiars who were ready to face whatever came next, standing, or flying, beside me.

A native of Pittsburgh, PA and a hardcore Pirates and Steelers fan, Bob began his radio career in 1972 and worked all over the western US, several times in the L-A market. He's currently a news anchor at the all-news radio station in Los Angeles, KNX News 97.1 FM Bob has won multiple broadcast awards including an Edward R. Murrow Award (among others) for anchoring KNX's storm coverage in 2011.

Bob made his mark with the UPI Radio Network when a gunman went crazy in a San Diego fast food restaurant and Bob covered the story. It was his first big break. He later became a UPI National Correspondent and Bureau Chief. He has interviewed presidents, covered Super Bowl games and Hollywood as well as major news stories.

He lives in L-A. He has survived earthquakes and a beating during the 1992 L-A riots while covering the story, which was recorded on audio tape.

https://www.bobbrill.com/

The newest thriller by award-winning author and broadcaster, Bob Brill

A hard-nosed private investigator learns from a former movie star of a plot to take down humanity for greed and profit. P-I Casey Order teams with Ginger Queen and the pair are charged with foiling the plot of a coalition of brutal criminal gangs. With the world’s premier sporting event set to take place in Los Angeles, the criminals plan to execute a massive hack that could devastate economies and wreak havoc across nations. With the help of various law enforcement agencies, their own wits, some strategically placed friends and a lot of luck, can Order and Queen survive?

Filled with relentless action, sharp dialogue, and unexpected camaraderie, “5 Seconds to Die” is an adrenaline-fueled journey that explores the lengths two unlikely heroes will go to protect the world. The clock is ticking are you ready to hold your breath until the final second?

https://bit.ly/05secondstodie

Welcome to Diversity Doodles!

By Briony Kay

Well, I guess the first question to answer would be 'what is Diversity Doodles?' Diversity Doodles is an ever-growing collection of hand drawn memes that contain important messages about neurodiversity. They were born out of desperation, as my primary school aged son struggled endlessly at school and eventually received his diagnosis of both autism and ADHD a year ago. Although my misplaced belief was that this diagnosis would be the key to unlocking the understanding, support and accommodations he so urgently needed, this was not the case. And despite thriving with support outside of school, at home, social gatherings and clubs he attends, the firm belief held by those overseeing his education were that he would just learn to fit in to mainstream education, without any further assistance on their part. My seemingly endless attempts at explanations as to why this wasn't working was falling on deaf ears and so, out of sheer desperation, I attempted to draw what I was clearly failing to describe in words. Diversity Doodles became the result.

So, here we are, now putting out these doodles on the internet and hoping that the messages they contain help as many people as possible to both give and receive information about what it is like to be neurodiverse and the challenges that are faced in our daily lives.

My son's diagnosis gave rise to the realization that I too am neurodiverse, and so these doodles are given from the perspective of someone who has faced such situations in my own life and now recognizes them in the lives of others. My only wish is that they play a small part in bridging the gap in understanding, acceptance and support for neurodiverse people in a neurotypical world.

Masking.

Not everyone does it. Those who do have their own individual ways of doing it. And different situations and circumstances may demand that it is done in different ways. For different reasons.

And, yes, of course everyone, neurodivergent or neurotypical, masks to a certain extent in response to different circumstances. But the neuro divergent masking to which I am referring is not just about being a different version of you, but actively suppressing who you actually are. Being continuously conscious of every word and mannerism. Suppression of stims, emotions and meltdowns. Forced interactions or presence in uncomfortable situations that can be physically painful to endure.

Masking is something that many neurodivergents learn just to try and fit in, become acceptable and adapt to living in a neurotypical world. For some it's necessity. For others it's not an issue. But regardless of the whys and wherefores, it requires a degree of self-awareness.

For those who mask hard and often (or always) this is an awful lot of selfawareness. Of your speech, tone, mannerisms, emotional display......constantly keeping tabs on yourself to keep those *flaws in check. And then constantly critiquing your 'performance' whilst interacting. And analysing it afterwards.

But does this not just become self-consciousness? Not only aware of yourself, but also your own biggest critic, in your strive to iron out all those *flaws. Trying to do better, be better, fix yourself.

How then is it possible to be authentic? How do you just speak? How do you just walk, sit or stand? How do you just authentically emotionally react to a situation? When you live in a constant state of hypervigilant self-awareness?

It's a difficult thing to undo. When this is hard wired into your brain. It's a hard balance to find between good self-awareness and constant self-criticism. And it's hard to put down the understanding of those *flaws that aren't anything more than other people's interpretation of societal expectations. It's hard.

(*Flaws - I do not suggest there is nothing about ourselves we don't need to work on, but those things that make us ND aren't flaws. They are part of who we are.)

And the creation of the mask can be even complicated further by other, often unseen, factors. I struggle with alexithymia. It's extremely difficult to put a name to the feeling. This is exacerbated by slow processing of how I feel even when I do. There's a delayed response to recognition. So what happens before that understanding, as an undiagnosed child? It means you have to find a work around.

And that work around for me was using the ability to understand others. I am not sure if this is an innate skill, or one honed through years of needing to accurately read those of others in order to develop the mask. In order to figure out the myriad of unwritten rules and blend in. Because the assumption was this was typical.

So, in any given situation there are responses. By yourself. And by others. But if you cannot trust yourself then the logical work around (in my brain) was to read everyone else. Assume that must be how I ought to feel. And file that for future reference.

But this is one sided. This never questioned the validity of those assumptions. If they even were assumptions. Or if the other people were justified. Or if they could be questioned. Or if these were the same principles everyone worked from. And if they were then why was it all one way?

Was it a fawn response to try and get needs met that morphed into not having any? Was it being overly empathetic to tell point of self-abandonment? Did it simply become a pattern of behaviour that your emotional response to a situation meant that the emotional response became the problem, rather than the situation, because the interpretation of your response was deemed wrong by someone else? Until, as an adult, your feelings about every single situation are just a external dictation of how you must deal with it?

And sometimes so much of life is like trying so hard to overcome our feelings and emotions to push on. Push through. Be who we are needed to be. Show up for others. And keep shoving the deficit we internally create in doing so onto an emotional 'credit card'. To be dealt with later. When we have time. When it's more convenient....

But it's inevitable that eventually you hit the limit. And hard. Especially if you weren't told there was one. And those repayment charges are steep.

It's why we need patience with our kids. We need to ensure that their credit card isn't maxed out. But it's also something we need to recognise in ourselves. For our own benefit and also, it's what we model for them. So that they do actually understand the terms and conditions in full.

And, no, it's not easy. It's seldom convenient. If ever. And life carries on relentless and regardless. But if we don't make those payments now then what will those charges look like later?

But what about making changes? Asking for accommodation? Doing it differently? So the mask can be less burdensome even if it cannot be entirely disregarded?

Perhaps you were explicitly called selfish. Maybe it's something that was implied.

Or that you interpreted given other people's reactions. If you made them uncomfortable. Or upset. Or were told you were 'difficult' or 'demanding'. Told 'it's extra', 'unreasonable', 'not feasible', or 'cannot be done just for one person'.

But whether that's advocating for yourself, or your child, or someone you care about, changing things to make them easier can feel like selfishness. Asking for too much. That your needs must find their place within the comfort of everyone else's.

Maybe it only feels selfish. Maybe that's how you've come to understand it. But what if it's not. What if it's actually bravery?

And for those who have masked hard and for a long time know how increasingly difficult it is to distinguish yourself from it. If you can even recall who you were without it. That's not to say that finding yourself again is impossible, this is just acknowledgement of how hard it can be to believe you can, let alone achieve it. I hear you.

Diversity Doodles also has an Etsy shop: diversitydoodleprint.etsy.com

Briony is a single mum to a neurodiverse seven year old, whose experiences and struggles within the school system gave rise to her creation of Diversity Doodles. What began as a form of creative therapy and messages intended to help her son's school's understanding of both autism and ADHD, has now become messages of hope, information and inspiration to help bridge the gap between the acceptance, understanding, and support of neurodiversity in a neurotypical world. She is in the process of creating both a book and resources that can be used in a broad range of settings to help achieve a better world for those struggling in it.

You can connect with Briony through Facebook https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61557677262825

Lisa Gammon Olson

My name is Lisa Gammon Olson (www.lisagammonolson.com) and I am a children’s book author as well as an Administrator for a grassroots Community-Building group called Balance-America (www.balanceamerica.com).

Author Page Links:

Facebook Page: https:// www.facebook.com/AuthorLisaOlson/

Website: https://lisagammonolson.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ AuthorLisaOlson

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ authorlisaolson/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/ author/ show/17795954.Lisa_Gammon_Olson

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/ authorlisaolson/

Like much of the population of the United States of America, we too are weary of the extreme ugliness, distrust and conflicting opinions that have divided our country in half. We’ve forgotten about Kindness…we’ ve forgotten about WE. Our hope is to start a national wave to bring our beloved America together with kindness, empathy and civility.

Reach! is allegory written in prose about nine babies of all ethnicities growing up on a balance beam high above the clouds, out of reach of outside influences that will ultimately change the way they feel about each other. Elementary school children will love other children unconditionally UNTIL they are told otherwise whether by parental biases, media or outside influences and as a society, WE need to change that in order to heal the chaos we’ ve sown for future generations.

I wrote this book specifically for Balance-America as it parallels our beliefs in a way children can understand. This book is non-partisan and intended for Anyone who wants to see kindness and civility in our communities.

Thank you so much for helping me bring awareness to very important and pertinent issues we are all living today. I am 63 years old and have decided, “Enough is Enough”. We have children to raise and we need to leave them a world of moral integrity, so hopefully, this one small step will lead to a journey of positive transition.

We are not Human Beings on a spiritual journey, but Spiritual Beings on a human journey travel well, my friends!

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0BBT72D88

The Yes/No Game

https://www.facebook.com/SylvaFae

By Sylva Fae

She took a moment to feel the cool sand beneath her feet, and breathed in the salty air. The shush of the waves shifting the shingle was a welcome relief from the noise of the drunken celebration she’d sneaked out of. She’d played the part of merry wedding guest well, remembering to smile and laugh in all the right places, but now she needed to ground herself and focus. This was the perfect place – quiet and secluded.

She grabbed a small hip flask from her clutch bag, then stashed the bag with her jacket and shoes under a bush at the end of the patio. Settling down on the sand, she could easily see the brightly lit, ostentatious mansion she’d just escaped from. She watched and waited, certain he would show up. Occasionally guests wandered out, smoked a cigarette, then headed back into the noise.

Finally, a man emerged, there was no little orange glow signalling a smoke break, just a lone figure escaping the noise. She watched as he glanced around, walked to the edge of the patio, scanned the beach, then paused in her direction. It must be him but I need to be sure.

“Care to join me for a moment?” she called out, patting the sand beside her. “It’s more peaceful out here.”

“Sure,” he agreed, and settled down facing her. “So which side of the family are you here with?” he asked casually. His eyes flicked up and down her body, lingering for a brief moment on her hips; it was a subtle glance but she noticed him appraising the short black dress that clung to her slim figure.

“I’m just a random plus one,” she replied vaguely. “My date is currently trying to out-drink his cousins and has likely forgotten I exist.” She studied the stranger’s face trying to get a read on his intentions. His lips were curled into a smile but his eyes held a cold focus. He was sober too, unlike the rest of the party crowd. I’m sure he’s the one; he has to be...

“Hmm, I’m here as more of a business associate,” he replied, equally vaguely. He continued to study her, his eyes resting on the hip flask.

“Want to join me?” she said, handing it to him. He took a swig and handed it back.

“So, do you want to engage in more awkward small talk or should we get to the matter in hand,” he said coldly. “Who’s your mark and who hired you?”

Well that certainly confirms my suspicions were accurate!

“You’re eager,” she laughed. “Am I supposed to spill all my secrets before we’ve got to know each other?”

The man casually drew a small pistol from inside his jacket pocket. “I hoped this might encourage you to talk. Rather foolish of you to come out here without a weapon. I checked, not much room to conceal anything in that dress. I have to say, I ’m a little disappointed you don’t live up to your reputation. I expected this to be more of a challenge.”

“Maybe you are underestimating my skills,” she replied, smugly. “Anyway, back to your original question, I thought we could play a little game – the yes/no game – you ask me a question, then I ask you one, but you can only answer yes or no.”

“Okay... I’ll play along for now. Were you hired by the O’Connors?”

“No. My turn. You knew I’d be here. A tip off?” she asked. She already knew the answer, but she needed to kill some time.

“Yes, I picked you out straight away. You did a reasonable job of blending in, but there were tells that you weren’t part of the wedding crowd. You always placed yourself close to an easy exit. It was subtle, I’ll grant you that, but I noticed you assessing people. You’re losing your touch. So, my question: who was your mark? ”

“Ah now that’s not a yes/no question, is it?” she chastised him, and handed over the flask again. He took another swig and sighed. “Was it the boss?”

“No. Not even close. My turn again. You’re here to prevent me from doing my job, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I think that’s fairly obvious. It’s a little unsporting to order a hit at a wedding, don’t you think? This is a reasonable response,” he replied.

“It was convenient. Just business, you know how it is. Your turn to ask another question. Make it interesting this time.”

He grimaced, dropping the amiable act from earlier. “I’m growing bored of this game now. If I’m not going to get any answers...” He raised the pistol.

“Wait! Okay, I’ll talk. I wasn’t hired by anyone tonight. I’m here for my own reasons.”

“What do you mean? The tip-off...” he started, but she interrupted.

“That was me. All part of the plan to meet you, but given that I didn’t know who you were, or what you looked like, I had to get a little creative. I don’t like competition, you see.”

The man laughed, “so I’m your mark? You’re acting pretty cocky for someone with a gun pointing in your... He tailed off, his words slurring, and his arm slumping to the sand. “What... what have you done?”

She shook the hip flask in his face. “Just a little cocktail to help you on your way.”

“You bitch!” he snarled, attempting to aim the pistol again.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I was you. Right now you should be feeling a little sluggish but you still have time if you listen carefully. The antidote is hidden somewhere inside the house and you have about three minutes to find it. I’ll ring you on the house phone in two minutes to give you the location.”

He struggled to his feet, slurring insults as he raised his fist to hit her.

“Not a good idea,” she said, calmly ducking out of the way. “You need me conscious if you have any hope of surviving. You could hang around to discuss this unfortunate turn of events, but you really don’t have the time.”

She watched as he frantically staggered back to the house. There was no antidote, but he wouldn’t last long enough to discover her deception. His death would send a valuable message to the family not to underestimate her, and very soon, her competition would be eliminated.

Sylva Fae is a married mum of three from Lancashire, England. She has spent twenty years teaching literacy to adults with learning difficulties and disabilities, and now works from home as a children’s writer and illustrator.

Written by Sylva Fae

Down at the edge of my woodland, where the trees border the field, there’s a little clover patch. Many times, over the years I’ve taken my children on a woodland wander, then sat in the clover patch looking for fourleaf clovers to make wishes. We always find them and so the area was named, ‘the magic clover patch’. Our magic clover patch is also the home to butterflies, bees, ladybirds and many other minibugs. It was the perfect setting for a children’s story.

Illustrated by Cameo Anderson

Cameo Anderson is an artist, illustrator and writer from Michigan, who specialises in pet portraiture. She has a passion for snow dogs but also likes to paint wolves, polar bears, orcas, and everything else that lives under the glow of the northern lights.

‘My work is best described as visual poetry about my love for all things wild. Be prepared to feel another soul in the room with you should you hang one of my paintings in your home.’

https://cameoanderson.com www.facebook.com/cameopaints https://www.instagram.com/cameoanderson

Cassy’s Rainbow Day

The sun and rain share the sky casting a rainbow over the little clover patch. Cassy Caterpillar and her minibug friends have so much fun playing under the rainbow, they decide to have a party on the next rainbow day. Every creature has something different to offer, and all is going well until Cassy disappears. Can the minibugs find Cassy in time for the next Rainbow Day party?

https://mybook.to/RainbowDay

Award -Winning | Grammy nominated SingerSongwriter | Recording Academy Voting Member | Mentor for Women's Full SelfExpression | Author of Courage, Find Your Fire and Ignite Action in Your Life, Own The Goddess Within and Soul On Fire.

Glenda Benevides is an award-winning singersongwriter celebrated for her soulful vocals and deeply resonant lyrics that inspire audiences around the globe. As a GRAMMY®nominated artist and Recording Academy voting member, Glenda actively contributes to honoring and elevating excellence in the music industry.

Interview by Melanie P. Smith

Beyond her remarkable musical achievements, Glenda is a passionate mentor committed to empowering women to discover their authentic voices, embrace freedom, and unlock their full potential. Through her transformative performances, retreats, and her best-selling book, Courage: Find Your Fire and Ignite Action in Your Life, she guides individuals on a journey of clarity, courage, confidence, and community, inspiring them to lead empowered, purpose -driven lives.

Glenda Benevides:

Website: www.glendabenevides.com

Email: glendabenevides@gmail.com

Social Media:

Instagram@GlendaBenevidesMusic

Facebook Glenda Benevides

LinkedIn Glenda Benevides

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/c/ glendabenevides

Booking/Performances Inquiries: https://glendabenevides.com/contact

Award -Winning Grammy Nominated Singer-Songwriter: Glenda's mesmerizing voice and captivating songwriting have garnered her numerous accolades and critical acclaim throughout her career.

Recording Academy Voting Member: As an esteemed member of the Recording Academy, Glenda actively participates in the selection process for prestigious music awards, ensuring deserving artists receive recognition on merit.

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I've been singing and performing professionally for many years, and my journey as an artist has been nothing short of extraordinary, with trials and triumphs. In 2021, I ventured into writing self -awareness and self -help books, drawing from my own life experiences to inspire others. My mission is rooted in producing music, promoting unity, and living action values I live by every day. As an altruist, I believe in giving back, donating proceeds from my merchandise sales to social and environmental causes close to my heart. Like, One Tree Planted and more.

As an award -winning, GRAMMY® -nominated singersongwriter and a Recording Academy voting member, I ’ve had the honor of performing to audiences around the world. Using my gift to help and support others brings me joy and light to make a difference. My intention with my voice, songs, retreats and books is to inspire listeners to take action, embrace love, and connect deeply with themselves and others.

For me, music is more than entertainment it’s a way to feel, express, uplift, empower, and create unity.

Are you a multi -genre author or a single -genre author?

When I am writing books I am a single-genre author. Self Help, Transformational style

What types of books do you write?

I write books and music that inspire and drive a sense of personal curiosity. Words and melodies that make you want to have a richer more power- filled life. I aspire to go beyond the mundane and to allow yourself to embrace your uniqueness and let it shine. To never give up gets you to where you want to be in life.

If you are a single genre author, what draws you to that genre and compels you to write those stories?

I love personal stories, and I love anything to do with transforming and evolving one ’s own being. You don’t have to be a scholar to have an experience; life will give you wisdom if you ’re paying attention. With a little wisdom and grace, you can share those breakthroughs with others. I ’ve learned many insightful things from amazing people navigating life ’s challenges and triumphs. I also undertook my own personal transformation to free myself, which gave me courage and confidence for a solid personal foundation.

Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

I think I was truly looking at myself from a place of, “Do I have anything valuable to say?”

I had a girlfriend who once told me that she felt I was a badass goddess. I was shocked, but instead of hiding or feeling shy about the comment, I decided to embrace it. I asked her what she meant, and then I began to explore what that could mean for me.

I decided it would be more empowering to redefine “Badass” as an acronym. What I came up with was:

B - Beautiful

A - Accessible

D - Daring

A - Abundant

S - Savvy

S - Sassy

What are your current projects?

I’ve got several. I am working with a fabulous and talented woman from the UK, Dr. Madelene Chan. We have decided to put together a three -day retreat that supports people in exploring what it means to be human, with full self -expression and freedom. What do life, love, and family look like for each individual when they have clarity, courage, and confidence? Also, next summer I will be in Scotland doing live musical performances. TBA on my website.

What is the most valuable piece of advice you’ve been given about writing?

"Anytime you put pen to paper, so to speak, remember that it comes from you your experience or your research, along with your opinions and that is valuable. It’s uniquely yours, and we all have valuable experiences to share."

Can you share a sample of your current work with us?

If you are alive and breathing, you are growing no matter what you believe or what is happening. “Who am I?”Ask yourself this ever -evolving, truth -seeking question every day and ponder it with curiosity. Embracing yourself as you are is a key factor in being able to move anything forward in this world as an empowered manifestation of the honest YOU. Take the time to step back and reevaluate your life. This action will support your efforts to embrace your own thoughts, inspirations, and honest desires and sort out the inner monologue that is working against you. Look at your own truth and intentionally let go of others’ opinions.

The walls of fear take the wind out of the sails of courage. Own what are truly your feelings. Speak up and speak out with passion and fervor, and love who you are.

Would you share something about yourself that your readers don’t know (yet)?

In addition to writing music and books, I produce and create retreats designed to help people discover their own empowerment and how to thrive. I also donate a portion of all my merchandise sales to “One Tree Planted,” believing that by supporting each other, we can truly make a difference. In my free time, I enjoy horseback riding, fencing, and archery.

How long does it take you to write a book?

It’s different for everyone, and it varies by genre too. For me, it took fifteen days, writing one chapter a day. Then came the rewrites and working with an editor, which added another six months in total. It was intense!

Are you a cat person or a dog person?

I am both! I love all animals and that is dangerous for my household!

How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

Four Books thus far. I think my favorite is “Courage, Find Your Fire and Ignite Action In Your Life.” It really tells the story of how to follow your passion, not give up to live and design your life the way you want.

If money was no issue, would you prefer a cozy beach bungalow or a rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake?

A rustic cabin overlooking a mountain lake in Scotland.

One final question...Do you have a blog/ website? If so, what is it? Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress?

TREE PLANTING/MERCH:

https://bit.ly/GlendaGoddessShop

COURAGE Book: https://bit.ly/GBGCourage

W: glendabenevides.com

IG: https://glendabenevidesmusic

FB: https://www.facebook.com/glendabenevides

LINKED: https://www.linkedin.com/in/glendabenevides/

YOUTUBE: https://youtube.com/@GlendaBenevides

By Kenny Wilson

RECIPE S Soda bread

1Ib plain flour

1Ib brown grain flour

2oz bran

2oz wheatgerm

1ltr of buttermilk

4oz oil

3 tsp of salt

2oz of brown sugar

4tsp of bicarbonate soda

Seeds to garnish

1 tbs of brown sugar for sprinkling

Sieve the plain flour and bicarbonate soda into a bowl, add the brown flour , wheat germ and bran. Add the salt, sugar milk and oil and bring together to a paste, if it appears a little to dry add a splash of milk.

Pour into 2 lined bread loaf tins and sprinkle with seeds and sugar pushing down with a fork to help them stick.

Bake for 65 minutes at 180°c test with a wooden skewer to see if the bread is cooked in the middle, sprinkle a little flour on top 5 minutes before the bread is ready and return to the oven. Allow to cool before slicing and serving.

Chef’s note. As there are no preservatives in it this bread it is best prepared on the day or the evening before it’s required.

After the Party

https://alwaysanotherchapter.co.uk/

By Lyssa Medana

There was still some warmth in the sand, though the breeze coming from the sea was cool. Vanessa rubbed her sore feet and closed her eyes. Her therapist tried to make her ‘let the emotions run through you and out of you’ and ‘focus on the good’ but the cauldron of emotions tumbling inside her were too strong for platitudes. How could her mother say that? How could her father agree? She blinked back tears.

She shivered. She should have stopped to pick up a coat, or even change out of this stupid dress her mother had insisted that she wear. It was too low, too short and too embarrassing, especially with the ridiculous shoes her mother had added to the outfit. The judgemental gazes of the elderly relatives assembled at this evening’s party had stung. Even the party had been mortifying. Her parents had obviously thrown a lot of money at a planner and the planner had gone wild. There had been a string quartet and a DJ, a long and extravagant buffet and staff circulating with trays, fresh flowers stuck in with holographic blooms and sparkle everywhere. The banner congratulating her on her engagement had been huge and could be used as an awful warning when planning a tasteful event.

Vanessa could feel the engagement ring heavy on her finger. At least that was to her taste with a deep blue Ceylon sapphire baguette flanked with diamonds on a delicate setting. “Your fiancé chose it,” her mother had hissed as she thrust it at Vanessa. “And when you meet him, smile like you know him. And try and act like a lady for once.”

Vanessa stared out at the sea. There were faint lights from fishing boats at the edge of the horizon where it met the deep blue of the darkening sky. Her father wasn’t doing badly. She should know – she kept the accounts. The only way she had got away to college was by taking courses

that could be used in the family business, and thank goodness she’d liked numbers. It was much safer hiding behind a computer and checking the totals than being dragged around by her mother for the ‘interior design’ side of her father’s small rental business.

The sand felt rough against her fingers as she traced patterns into the sand. Her father was a good man, as far as she could tell, but he would not be moved on one thing – women could not run businesses. They could do the accounts, the marketing, the design, the cleaning – anything and everything that went with the business was fine. They just couldn’t be in charge. Vanessa couldn’t inherit what her father described as his life’s work. It would have to pass to her husband, whoever that was. And Vanessa’s father was going to be damned sure that the husband was up to the job.

“Your mother has realised that you left the party.”

Vanessa looked up and managed a faint smile. “My fiancé found me.”

Luke sat on the sand next to her. “I knew that my father wanted me to marry the daughter of a business associate,” he said. “But I didn’t realise it was you.”

Vanessa shrugged. “A cleaning and construction company and a rental company go well together, I suppose,” she said. “But it’s not like they’re huge businesses. They’re doing well enough, but it’s not like a Wall Street merger.”

Luke put an arm around her shoulders. “Did you like the ring?” he asked.

“I loved it,” Vanessa said. “I wish I could say the same about this dress.”

“It’s not exactly your style,” Luke said. “I could see you were uncomfortable.”

“Do you think our parents knew that we’d already met?” Vanessa asked. “I think that my father realised that I was dating someone and wanted to lock this down quickly.”

“My father didn’t realise that I’d already bought the ring.” Luke gently squeezed her closer to him. “And I’m glad that you’d already agreed.”

“You know that the wedding is going to be a circus, don’t you?” Vanessa said. “Shared with five hundred of our closest friends and family.”

“It’s going to be insane,” Luke agreed. “There will be hysterics over the exact shade of black for the tuxedos.”

Vanessa giggled. “And heaven knows what the cake will be like – what’s trending?”

“I don’t even want to think,” Luke said. He sighed. “If we hadn’t met in that business class…”

“I don’t know why they didn’t just introduce us,” Vanessa said.

“Because we were showing signs of dating,” Luke said. “And now that we’re back from college, we need to be reminded that we have to remember what’s good for family.”

“And what’s good for family is this damned marriage,” Vanessa agreed.

“And the publicity from a wedding that’s worthy of OK magazine.” Luke picked up Vanessa’s hand. “The ring is almost as beautiful as you.”

“My mother is going to make it hell,” Vanessa said. “We won’t have a chance. She’s going to choose the flowers, the dress, the music, the food …”

Luke kissed her hand. “What sort of wedding do you want?” he asked.

Vanessa turned and stroked his face. “A wedding where I end up married to you,” she said. “For all I care, we could be married in Vegas.”

Luke looked into her soft eyes for a long moment. “Seriously?”

Vanessa nodded. “I’ve never liked big parties.”

Luke checked his phone. “It’s a six and a half hour drive to Vegas from here,” he said. “Do you want to go?”

Happiness washed through Vanessa. “Give me five minutes to grab my bag and a pair of jeans,” she said. “That is… if you want to?”

“Hell yeah!” Luke scrambled to his feet and held out his hand. “Vegas here we come!”

Affordable Editing

Illustrated Idioms

Inspired story prompts by

Susan Faw

When I created my author website at the launch of my authorial career, I was lost as to what to blog about. It is a common problem for authors who are starting out. Most of us feel that no one wants to listen to us talk about our dogs or our families or look at pretty cat pictures. So instead of blogging about what people flock to every day, I decided to write short, quick stories that illustrated something that I had long been fascinated with, the odd words and phrases that make up English idiom.

I bought a copy of The American Heritage ® Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer. With that primer in place, I was ready to bring to life the idioms that we so often use but rarely understand their sources.

Can you guess the idiom in the story?

Rising to the Occasion

Lucinda bolted upright, pushing her heavy fall of hair back from her eyes. It wasn ’t a dream. The distant drone of the RAF bombers grew louder, the powerful rumble of propellers whirling at inconceivable speeds creating a thump, thump, thump that reverberated within her chest. Her hand crept to the other side of the bed. Empty.

She swung her legs over the side and sat for a second, listening to the sound of the planes. The room was dark, the inky blackness relieved by the opaque grey of the window, which in turn was lit by a sliver of moon frozen in the wintry sky. The street lamps were dark, a normal precaution in these most treacherous of days in East London.

The roar of the planes swelled as they passed overhead. West, they were headed west.

Her hand curled around the swell of her belly as she stood, stretching her back slowly. She chewed her lip as she shuffled into slippers and then descended the stairs to the kitchen. Maybe she would make a cup of tea and bake a cake to pass the time.

A dirty oil lamp hung on a peg to the right of the kitchen doorway. She scratched the rough side of the opening with a match, which flared to life. She poked the match at the wick through the hood then closed it to allow minimal light into the room.

She pushed the kitchen door closed with her foot before crossing the narrow room to tug at the blackout curtain to assure that it was indeed tight and no light escaped the room.

Lemon. It would be a lemon cake, sunny and bright.

She gathered two lemons from the fridge and placed them on the butcher’s block. Next, she pulled out two eggs and some milk and placed them on the counter.

As she pulled bowls and whisks and measuring cups from the cupboard, she thought about Gerald. Her handsome husband of twenty -eight was a flight captain with the RAF. He was considered a veteran, having served in the RAF in the years leading up to the outbreak of this, a second world war.

Her mind wandered back to their meeting, in a pub in Cardiff, as she subconsciously measured out flour, salt, sugar, and baking powder into the wooden bowl.

She had been working as a barmaid in her uncle’s pub, serving ale and ploughman’s and cod fish fry lunches to the men in off the boats, both fishermen and navy crews.

The door opened and a crowd of seamen spilled into the pub, chattering like magpies. Eight navy

regulars flowed through the door and in their midst bobbed a lone airman ’s uniform. Gerald was taller than his companions, and she spied tousled blond hair as he swept his cap from his head. His twinkling blue eyes met hers, and she was lost.

She smiled at the memory, cracking the eggs into the first chipped bowl and whipping them by rote, tipping in increments of sugar and continuing to stir on autopilot.

Gerald had been so handsome and so dashing, so mature at twenty -one compared to her scant seventeen years. They had married six months later, against her mother and father ’s advice.

She sliced lemons in half and juiced them into the egg mixture. Grabbing her grater, she zested the peel into the second bowl of flour and soda then discarded the hulks.

She grabbed a splint and lit it in the lantern ’s flame then walked over to the stove, pushing the burning ember into the pilot hole and turning on the gas for the oven. It clicked a few times before a blue flame popped into being in the oven compartment. She doused the splinter in a trickle of tap water and set it aside to dry.

Pulling the kettle close, she filled it from the tap and set it to boil on a burner of the stove top. Her groping hand found her favorite mug in the cupboard and set it on the counter beside the matching teapot. Earl Grey, always Earl Grey.

She combined the two bowls and stirred then dumped the sticky contents into a pan dusted with flour and set it on the oven racking, closing the door and setting a timer.

He should be back soon. There were no scheduled runs tonight. So why was he gone? She closed her mind to those thoughts. That path led to madness and fear. She rubbed her belly again. The baby kicked in response to her touch. She would write in the baby ’s journal, anything to fill the time while the cake baked.

She picked up the lantern and carried it over to a small wooden kitchen table, set with two chairs up against the wall papered with a cheerful flowered pattern.

The kettle whistled, and she scooped it up off the flame and poured the boiling water into the pot and set the tea ball inside to steep.

Mug and teapot and milk joined the journal on the table as she settled down to write.

She felt the need to capture these most desperate of times in her baby’s journal. She wanted her child to know about their fear, their terror but also about their love and their joy, from her hand, not from the books that would someday be written about a history yet to be created. She picked up her pen and sank into her writing, pen flying over paper, capturing her fear and hopes, horrors and dreams, pausing only to remove the cake from the oven when the timer sounded.

So absorbed in her writing had she become that she failed to hear the front door open, downstairs.

The kitchen door swung open, startling her. Her head jerked up and in walked her husband, Gerald in his slate blue RAF jacket and pants, pulling a package of cigarettes from the button -down pocket on his chest.

She dashed to him and into his arms, hugging him tight. He patted her back awkwardly with his left hand, cigarettes still clutched in the right.

“What are you doing up, Cindy?” She kissed him and hugged him fiercely.

“I heard the planes.”

He rubbed her back. “You should have stayed in bed. It was nothing to worry about. Did you hear any sirens?”

She shook her head.

“These are scouting runs, practice runs. You know we have new planes. I told you that.”

She nodded again.

“These evening runs, well,” he looked around and spied her baking, “they are a piece of cake! Simple, easy scouting runs. No one is hunting us. No one knows why we are in the air. When the sirens go off, then you should worry.”

He squeezed her again. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” He turned her toward the door, holding her close to his side.

At that moment a piercingly loud siren shattered the quiet. It wailed in increasingly high -pitched swells, sending shivers of alarm down Lucinda ’s back. They froze. Then Gerald grabbed her shoulders kissed her fiercely and whispered, “I have to go! I love you!” before he dashed away, slamming the door behind him.

Lucinda grabbed the heavy lantern, the baby’s journal, and the uneaten cake and ran for the safety of their assigned air -raid shelter. The house shook as the first of the bombs fell.

English Idiom: Piece of Cake

Something easily accomplished, as in I had no trouble finding your house. It was a piece of cake. This expression originated in the Royal Air Force in the late 1930’s for an easy mission and the precise reference is as mysterious as that of the simile easy as pie. Possibly it evokes the easy accomplishment of swallowing a slice of sweet dessert.

Source: The American Heritage® Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer. Copyright © 2003, 1997 by The Christine Ammer 1992 Trust. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

If you want to read more of Susan Faw’ s Illustrated Idioms, the series is available here: https://bookgoodies.com/a/B074ZTK65V

Book nerd and fantasy aficionado, Susan is an award-winning author who also doubles as masked crusader for the fantastical world. Championing mythical rights, she quells uprisings and battles infidels who would slay the lifeblood of her pen. It’s all in a day’s work, for this whirlwind writer.

Winner of the Dante Rossetti Grand Prize for Best Young Adult Fiction of 2016 (Seer of Souls, Chanticleer Reviews) she is actively crafting stories that sing in your memory. Welcome to the quest!

You can find Susan at www.susanfaw.com, on twitter @susandfaw or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/SusanFaw

Peter Thomas Pontsa

While Inspector William Fox and girlfriend Tracy Jordan cruised on his cigarette boat The Midnight Fox, a crackle of the police scanner informed him a body had washed up on a beach. Much to Tracy's disapproval, William chose to investigate. The Montreal police investigator already on the scene discovered a note on the body intended for William's friend and taekwondo master, Mr. Kim. He is certain the note was from his long-lost sister, Mi-Cha. Kidnapped, while still a child, and trapped in North Korea, Kim is convinced she is still alive and implores William to help get her home.

Sanctity of Freedom plunges RCMP Inspector Fox and FBI Special Agent Patrick Reilly into an investigation of a savage assassination of a Canadian diplomat and two Australian intelligent agents. Meanwhile, Kim and his old friends chase down leads to find his sister that point to Pyongyang, the North Korean leadership, and the shadowy operatives of Bureau 39 who skirt the NATO sanctions.

All of them get drawn into a murderous game of cat and mouse leading Mr. Kim to face the man who took his sister and William Fox to match wits with the cunning killer.

Sanctity Of Freedom

An Inspector William Fox Adventure

The adventures of Inspector William Fox continue by critically acclaimed author, Peter Thomas Pontsa

https://peterthomaspontsa.com/

During the years Peter Thomas Pontsa operated his dental supply business, he shared his knowledge writing dental articles which appeared in many dental journals. He was president of the College of Dental Technologists of Ontario, where he helped develop the quality assurance program and was an associate publisher for a denturist magazine. He is an avid British sports car enthusiast and while president of the Headwaters British Car Club, wrote numerous stories about cars in the club’s newsletter, “British Driven.” Peter spent two seasons racing with Jagged Edgers Motorsports and is a student of Taekwondo and holds a second degree blackbelt. He belongs to the Wordsmiths and is a member of the Crime Writers of Canada. Peter Pontsa lives in Loretto, Ontario, with his wife, Angela, and their orange tabby, Mr. Tee, where he combines his passions British cars and writing.

The Mouse Family That Live By The Brambles

by Sylva Fae

Photography by Gez Robinson

Gez Robinson is a talented wildlife photographer from Yorkshire, England. For the last few years, I’ve been following the story of a family of mice, that live in an area of the garden dedicated to wildlife. It has been fascinating to watch the trust that has built up between the mice and Gez, as he patiently sits behind the camera. The photos are stunning, and show what characters wild mice are, whether it be their quirky antics in their natural environment, or their curiosity as they interact with the props left by Gez for the mice to explore.

Gez has been a wildlife photographer for around fifteen years, and has a passion for wildlife. During the first pandemic lockdown, craving his photography fix, he started taking photos of the birds and other wildlife in his garden.

“…and that’s when I spotted a little mouse on the old decking. It was looking at a blackberry on the blackberry bush and just stood there whilst I took photos of it. My passion with the mouse family was born.”

Since the early successes of the Mouse Family That Live by the Brambles facebook page, Gez has published a book of the same name and set up other social media accounts.

https://www.facebook.com/bramblemouse

https://www.gezrobinsonphotography.co.uk/

Instagram: gez_robinson_photography

TikTok: @mousefamilybythebrambles

Copyright @ Gez Robinson for all photos featured in this article.

The

Hoodwinked Book Five of The Nemesis Series

https://bit.ly/ HoodwinkedJM

critically acclaimed series continues

by author and PGA Championship

Winner, John Mahaffey

In concert with her cybercrime team, spearheaded by computer genius Levon Vargas, Chairperson Liz McCall Lonagon quarterbacks Nemesis agents on a worldwide rollercoaster ride. Previously hoodwinked by czar imposters, their arduous mission is to unmask the actual mastermind behind the Shadow State

During the operation, Nemesis Agents Maxwell Silver and Chloe Devonshire blindside a crooked judge and his lessthan-loyal cohorts to settle a multigenerational grudge. But their work isn’t over, as an opportunistic antagonist, Myra Gates, thrives in the shadows, dealing in illicit services on the dark web. Her ruthless hustle for wealth and control knows no bounds until Nemesis sets its sights on her plans.

John Mahaffey

John Mahaffey is a professional golfer on the PGA Tour. Between 1973 and 1999, he won ten events on the PGA Tour. His last PGA win was on the Champions Tour, at the 1999 Southwestern Bell Dominion.

Two of John’s most exciting years on the PGA tour were 1978 and 1979. In 1978 he won back-to-back tour events: the PGA Championship followed by the American Optical Championship. He also won the World Cup individual that year, plus the team event paired with Andy North at Princeville on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. John played on the victorious 1979 Ryder Cup team and the World Cup team that same year in Athens, Greece, with Hale Irwin as his partner.

In 2003, John was successful in making the challenging transition from pro golfer to announcer/analyst on Golf Channel covering the Champions Tour.

Off the course John released his first book Hogan’s Boy: A Journey In Golf, plus he hosts a monthly radio show called A Glimpse of Greatness, on Sirius 208 XM 93 PGA Tour Radio.

In his spare time John enjoys fishing and writing, and he always enjoys promoting the game of golf.

By

TOM BENSON

West Berlin before reunification. He saw active service in Northern Ireland and the first Gulf War. A career in retail management followed and lasted 25 years. Since 2007 Tom has published novels, anthologies and poetry. https://tombensonauthor.com/

The Other Woman

Canterbury England

“He kissed me on the cheek before heading off to work, knowing nothing of my real profession.” Ashley had no sooner said the words than her husband stepped into the study.

Gerald said, “There was a hint of menace in your voice when you read that, my love. Perhaps you should perform the voice-over for other people instead of imagining your own world of covert agents.” He kissed his wife’s cheek. “Some of us have to save the world every day.”

“Have a pleasant day, darling, and be careful you don’t let any nasty people into the country.” She grinned as her husband went downstairs, chuckling to himself. Ashley read through the paragraph again. As she considered whether to use first or third person point of view her phone buzzed with a text.

COFFEE AT 9mm. USUAL PLACE. ’

To anybody else the 9mm looked like it should have been 9 am, but it was misspelt for good reason.

Ashley saved her work in progress, closed down her laptop and changed from her baggy tracksuit into a blouse, skirt and heels. Before going downstairs she opened the top drawer of her desk, reached to the back and lifted out her Beretta 9mm and her knife. She pulled out the large drawer below, which was full of suspension files.

Ashley flicked the files forward with her fingertips, passing Writer Today, All About Writing and various other magazines. At the back was the magazine she needed, but it didn ’t have pages, it was loaded with live ammunition. She slipped it into the pistol grip of her automatic and pulled back on the slide; ready.

“Good morning, Ashley,” the man said as he took a seat opposite the attractive brunette in the cafe. “

“What’s happened, Mark?”

“We’ve got eyes on Lolita and the boss would like her compromised with extreme prejudice before she targets another official.”

“If this is sanctioned we must be absolutely certain. When was Lolita identified?”

“Two days ago. I’ve got three good people on her tail, and though she’s good, our people are better.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s here in the UK, in Dover.”

I understood that Lolita had her claws into customs officials in the Netherlands, Belgium and France.”

“She does, but forty-eight hours ago we found out why she takes so many risks. Lolita is a top asset for the trafficking operation but she isn’t the top dog. The kingpin is the Czech guy we codenamed Vladimir.”

“He’s been under surveillance longer than Lolita so how come we’ve only just discovered that he’s the top man?”

Until two days ago we’ve never seen Vladimir and Lolita in the same country, let alone the same city. They met in Cologne Cathedral in Germany and our operative got the pictures, the targets were standing closer than we are now.”

“Have we any intel on why they met in Germany?”

“I had our analysts studying the photographs we’ve got of both of these top people and it was only a couple of hours ago when one of our guys hit on it. We have pictures of Lolita all over Europe and a host of pictures at hotels near seaports on both sides of the English Channel and the North Sea. Vladimir on the other hand has never been seen in any country with a coastline … he flies everywhere.”

“It takes him out of most equations then, doesn’t it? The trafficking operation is all done by road and ferry crossings but to locate Vladimir you’d have to trace him by following several other people. I don’t understand how he can trust each one in the chain to get the information passed accurately.”

“The guys in GCHQ can’t locate them on phones because they don’t talk to each other. A recording device with a few music tracks on it is transported physically via the use of a dead drop system. It sounds long-winded and old-fashioned, but it’s not so silly when you consider that a written letter is more secure than a bloody email these days.”

“Right, so a list of names and other details is recorded on the device and it would only take three or four couriers before it becomes difficult to keep up with where they’re going.”

“Correct.”

“Wouldn’t the system be compromised if a border official was to stop just one person and check the device?”

“No, because they have it hidden in plain sight. The courier has ear-plugs in and connected to the device as if they’re actually listening to it, but it can be switched on and not playing. The person responsible for sending the message records a few songs on the machine before any names or other information is added via speech, so unless the official was to listen for longer than say fifteen or twenty minutes all they would get is music.”

“How do we know this is the method being used? ”

One of our people saw a dead drop being used and got to the machine before it was picked up by the next courier. Our girl copied the memory of the device, replaced it in the dead drop and maintained surveillance to see it continue the journey.”

“Okay, so how much damage can we do to their operation?”

“I’m sorry to say it depends a lot on you, Ashley.”

“Well I can take out Lolita if she’s here in the south of England, or get me to Prague and I’ll cut the head off the beast.”

“Across France, Belgium and the Netherlands we’ve got fourteen couriers identified, right down to their names and addresses. We have two addresses for Lolita in each of those countries and she has flats rented in Ashford and Maidstone. We also have an address for Vladimir.”

“Has the agency involved the police or intelligence services in those countries, bringing them up to date with progress?”

“No, because I’ve come up with a new plan this morning. The boss said we can go for it if you agree.”

“Why am I the key to this working out?”

I made a few rapid phone calls earlier. Not including you, or me, we have twenty-five assets in Western Europe. Right now every courier has one of our people within a five-minute walk. We have three people on Lolita and up until a short while ago we had two on Vladimir.”

“You’ve got my attention Mark. What’s your revised plan?”

“I wanted to share the two top people with you, but I have to control the flow with so many assets involved. The boss has sanctioned the elimination of the whole package.”

“Including the couriers?”

“None of them are innocent, Ashley. Every bloody one of them is aware that in the past three months fifty-four people have been found dead in containers at British ports. I don ’t want to cut the head off the beast, I want to wipe the fucking thing from the face of the Earth.”

“What do you want me to do? ”

“Five minutes before I texted you this morning I got word that Vladimir landed at Heathrow Airport. He had a rental car waiting and left London as soon as his passport and hand luggage were checked.”

“You said that until a short while ago we had two people on Vladimir ”

One of them is missing in action, and the other was found in a public toilet in Heathrow.” He looked around, reached into his jacket and produced a smartphone. “The operative in Heathrow didn’t die in vain, because he got a bug attached somewhere on Vladimir.” Mark switched on the monitor. “This uses the usual satnav technology and because we’re within fifty miles of the target, the screen is showing the southeast of England. The red flashing dot is telling us that Vladimir is travelling towards the south coast.”

Who or what is the blue dot?”

“Lolita, and as you can see, she’s already in Dover. We believe she’s going to see a double-agent or recruit another UK asset.”

How do I enlarge the map to show one or the other? ”

“Usual routine tap the one you want highlighted. The screen enlarges automatically as you get closer. By the time you’re within five hundred metres this will show street names.”

Ashley took the device, switched it off and slipped it into a pocket. “How will we handle the eliminations?”

“The boss has been summoned to MI5 HQ to ask for permission to go ahead. He ought to get clearance by about the time we’ve done the job.”

“Are you telling me that this is going to be a sequence of unofficial hits? ”

“These people are causing the deaths of around twenty desperate people every month. Are you in, Ashley?”

“I’ll contact you when both have been neutralised.”

Mark leant across the table. “Are you taking a long shot?”

“No, for these bastards it’s up close and personal. We need immediate confirmation.” She winked and stood to go. “Speak to Gerald for me if it goes pear-shaped.”

“I’ve no intention of speaking to your husband … go and do some cleaning-up.” His smile faded as he watched his friend and colleague stroll out into the street. Mark pulled out a smartphone like the one he’d given his best field agent. When he powered-up he got a map of the southeast of England, showing a blue dot, stationary in Dover, a red dot travelling towards the Dover coast, and a green dot close to his location, but moving away. * * *

Twenty minutes after leaving her controller in Canterbury, Ashley was on the A2 heading south to Dover. She selected ‘hands-free’ and hit speed dial for her husband’s number.

“Hello, Gerald … I’m sorry to be calling you at work, my love. I know how you hate secrets, so I thought I’d give you a heads-up about something.”

“Go on, but you’ll have to be quick. I shouldn’t be on my phone.”

“What’s up?”

“The whole of Dover Port Authority is heaving this morning. It’s one of those days when we have a maximum number of container lorries coming in.”

Well, it’s not really work-related, but I got a call earlier from one of your colleagues. Apparently, there is a strip-o-gram or something similar going on at your immigration section. Don’t tell any of your friends, but if you see an attractive female around, keep away from her.”

“Are you jealous, because you’ve no need, and you know that?”

“No, my love, but if it’s the person I’ve heard about she gets pictures taken and then they end up on social media, and it doesn’t take much to photoshop ”

“Bloody hell thanks, love. Now, you get back to killing bad guys.”

“That’s what I’m about to do. I love you, Gerald.”

“I love you.”

Five miles from Dover as she drove along the A2, Ashley was able to look out at the English Channel. In a couple of minutes the road would descend in a steep curving gradient towards the coastal town and the ports. She glanced at the satnav phone Mark had given her.

“Shit … where the bloody hell ” The A2 on the screen was no longer a thin red line but showing clearly as the four lanes of a dual carriageway. The red dot was less than a mile away. “What are you up to?” She slowed from seventy to fifty and then flicked her indicator and eased up to pull into the next lay-by. The red flashing dot took up most of the screen and had circles radiating from its centre.

Ashley pulled in behind a white Ford Focus which had a long yellow strip on the rear window to advertise the rental agency. “Nothing too flashy, or powerful. Good choice.” She was wearing her light jacket but still undid the next two buttons on her blouse and hiked her skirt up another couple of inches before getting out of her car.

The operative went around the front of her car, walked in towards the grass verge and then strolled along the side of the verge, passing the rental car. While she walked she flexed the fingers of both hands in the way that some people do after having driven a long while. As she pretended to look down at her hands she glanced in the nearside wing mirror of the Ford.

Mikhail Norakov, otherwise know to British Intelligence as Vladimir was squinting as he watched the attractive brunette stretching her considerable legs. The Czech gangster was a heartless individual but like many men his Achilles’ Heel was nowhere near his feet. He watched the woman walk past, turn and stroll back again. She glanced at him and smiled as she made the slow and leisurely walk back along the inner perimeter of the lay-by twice more.

Norakov wondered if the woman was a hooker, but then he thought, no, she was too classy. If he had somebody like her working for him he’d put her in accommodation … she was too good for

the streets. He was considering whether he would enjoy her himself first, and then she walked behind his rental car and paused. She’d obviously had a long enough break. By the time he realised she was walking along the driver’s side of his car it was too late to react.

Ashley had measured the length of the Ford by pacing along the nearside of the vehicle. She was confident that four good strides from the rear would place her at the driver’s door.

The expression on Norakov’s face was worth seeing, especially when he raised his hands up to defend himself. When the business end of the suppressor touched the driver’s window it left the bullets less than an arm’s length to travel.

‘Phutt! Phutt! ’ Two holes appeared in the gangster’s forehead close together, despite the fingers that the bullets had to pass through.

Ashley slipped her weapon back into the low shoulder holster and walked back towards her car. She stopped at the back of the Ford where she pulled on latex gloves and flipped the tailgate up, effectively blocking the view of inside the car. Ashley got into the passenger seat of the Ford.

Two minutes later after a search of the glovebox and the corpse, she left with two passports and four credit cards.

Ashley grabbed a handful of dirt spat on it and spread it over her rear number plate, obscuring most of the lettering. Armed with a one-gallon can of fuel from her car, she went along to the nearside of the Ford and opened both doors. Every ounce of the accelerant was used, pouring it over the upholstery and the dead man. The plastic fuel can joined the corpse in the front.

Before she returned to her car, Ashley kept her head slightly bowed as she watched for a gap in the passing traffic. She leant inside the Ford, turned on the ignition and depressed the cigarette lighter.

Ten seconds later, as Ashley accelerated away from the lay-by, she glanced in her rear-view to see the white Ford engulfed in flame. “Such a waste of a nice car.” A click on the satnav device caused her to look down at the centre console. The red dot had disappeared and the map enlarged to display the location of the blue dot.

“Junction of Church Street and Castle Street … okay.” Ashley selected her husband’s number and hit speed dial.

* * *

Ashley made one last check of her satnav phone before entering the cafe. She paused when closing the door as if preventing the door from slamming but in those few seconds she assessed how many customers were seated, and where the toilets were situated. .

She sat with her back to a wall, a healthy habit she’d once been told by a colleague. “Ah’ pot ay’ tea, please, darlin’,” she said in a broad Glasgow accent, which was as far removed from her Oxford accent as the two cities were from each other

The woman sitting alone reading a magazine was good at blending in, but not as good as the woman who spotted her in a slow and casual look around. Of the seven customers, four were men and apart from herself and the target there was a woman in her winter years.

Ashley’s mobile phone buzzed. She lifted it from her shoulder bag, cancelled the timer, pretended to listen to the device and looked around the cafe, sensing the gaze of the attractive auburnhaired woman sitting two tables distant. The operative looked straight at her target, squinted and nodded.

“I think I have,” Ashley said in a conversational tone and nodded again. “I’ll ask her bye.” She put away her phone.

“One pot of tea.”

“Yerr a darlin’ … thanks very much.” Ashley didn’t touch the cup or the pot, but stood and took two paces to reach Lolita. “Excuse me, are you waitin’ fur Peter Grainger?”

“Why who are you?”

“Ah’ve goat a message fae ‘im.” She briefly held a finger to her lips and nodded towards the short corridor at the back where the toilets were signed. Ashley turned, went straight to the Ladies room and went inside. She quickly checked that all three cubicles were empty.

The door opened a few seconds later and Lolita stepped in, reaching inside her jacket. “Who are you and what is this about?” When she brought her hand out from her jacket she was holding a bone-handled knife. A gleaming four-inch blade glinted briefly and before waiting for a response Lolita threw it underarm at her adversary.

Ashley ducked left and raised her left hand simultaneously deflecting the weapon from her throat with her palm. “Naughty, naughty.” A cut hand was better than a blade in the neck.

Lolita ran forward and aimed a kick with the two-inch bone blade which protruded from the toe of her shoe. The rapid and confident movement left her unbalanced because of the recently washed floor tiles so she grasped a washbasin and turned slightly to take another kick.

Ashley had side-stepped the kick, and as she brought her right hand up there was a reflection from a slim silver blade. She made no effort to slash or stab which so often went wrong and created a struggle. Ashley used the other woman’s momentum against her and thrust the knife straight into the neck, severing the trafficker’s jugular artery on the way to her throat.

Lolita’s eyes opened wide in disbelief before the smooth metal was twisted and withdrawn. She grabbed at her injury as she coughed up blood for the final few seconds of her worthless life. Lolita collapsed to the tiled floor in an untidy heap.

Ashley’s left hand stung, but she had kept it squeezed tight to stem any flow of blood from her palm. She squatted beside the dead woman to wipe her blade on her jacket and then thrust her weapon under the door as a wedge. A rapid, painful rinse with warm water was sufficient and then she padded the injury with toilet tissue before making a fist. She used toilet tissue to wipe her adversary’s weapon and turned the blade over in the victim’s blood.

When satisfied all was ready, Ashley lifted her knife from beneath the door, sliced through the strap of Lolita’s small shoulder bag and took it with her, dropping her own knife inside. The weapon left behind would be a useful decoy when the forensics department discovered the only prints were those of the victim.

Ashley produced a note which was more than enough for her tea and handed it to the woman at the counter. “Ah’m feelin’ a wee bit sick.” She dashed out of the cafe. Ten yards from the cafe, Ashley turned a corner, glanced over her shoulder and then removed her blonde wig and blackframed glasses. She tucked the extra shoulder bag under her jacket and walked to the car park.

When safely in her car she wrapped a hanky around the blood-stained tissue in her slashed hand. Ashley lifted out her phone and hit speed-dial for Mark. “Two evening meals cancelled.”

“Thanks for the call.” * * *

Ashley arrived home, showered, applied a large plaster to her left palm and changed into her baggy tracksuit. She’d been back in Canterbury for less than an hour when she heard her husband come up the stairs.

“Hello love,” Gerald leant over and kissed her on the cheek. “I don’t know about you, but we’ve had an exciting day in Dover. Oh, before I forget, Peter is really grateful for the heads-up about that possible compromising situation.”

Ashley lifted her coffee … the first since her meeting with Mark in mid-morning. “Tell me more … was all the excitement in the Dover Immigration Department?”

“No, thankfully, it wasn’t at our place, the action was in or near Dover. A couple of miles from the port where the main road starts to descend, some foreign guy set himself on fire in his car. ”

“How do you know he was foreign?”

“It was a rental car and he was a Croatian or Serb or something according to the passport he’d used for the rental.” Gerald shook his head slowly. “And then in the afternoon some crazy Scottish woman stabbed a European woman to death in a cafe toilet and stole her handbag.”

“Not a great day for European visitors then?”

“Well, the woman who runs the cafe said she recognised the Scottish woman’s accent and she was a blonde who wore glasses. She didn’t know what the other woman was, but said she was one of those Slavic sounding types.”

“Who was it said it was boring working down in Dover, eh?”

We did have our share of glory. Not one, but two container lorries came in from Zeebrugge in Belgium with twenty immigrants in each. The people were sick, but thankfully alive.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

“What happened to your hand?”

“I was deflecting a throwing knife during a fight with a desperate people trafficker.” She lifted her letter opener. “And please don’t ask how many people have been killed with this.”

Gerald laughed and stared at the laptop screen. “You haven’t done anything since I left … that’s the same opening sentence.”

“Oh, I’ve done plenty. There was a secret meeting between two MI5 agents and ”

“Please tell me you’ve done more than that, Ashley.”

“Gerald, love, I had one of those days. I saved some important documents and burned a few others. You know when you have the chance to affect something that’s working well, but you don’t save it. On top of everything else I had to cancel a couple of Czechs.”

The End

A story taken from, Shadow and Other Stories

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B08P8PVNDF

There are twelve original stories of mixed-genre (no erotica included). The collection contains tales of crime, karma, mystery, suspense, romance, horror and humour, and they vary in length.

One story is factual and based on an incident in which the author was involved in 2019.

Hi, I’m Lyssa Medana and this is a series of articles with my thoughts on research and the fiction author. I hope that you can use them as a starting point for your own writing journey.

Why Should You Research When Writing Fiction?

The main reason you should research when you write is so that you don’t look like a complete doofus. Every writer makes mistakes as they write –no exceptions. Editors should pick up if you have two full moons twelve days apart, or leave a room before you ever walk into it, or have a character change eye colour halfway through a book. Writers get caught up in the flow and stuff gets missed and everyone does it. Sorting out the editing is part of the writing process. Research protects you in a slightly different way.

Lyssa Medana

Let’s talk about the beach walking heroine in the last post. She strolls along Whitby beach at sunset, heading towards her first meeting with the strong jawed hero. She goes up a gentle bank and into the ruins of Whitby Abbey. And all those who know anything about Whitby, UK, howl in frustration. Whitby Abbey isn’t near the beach. There is a set of 199 steps that take you from the shops by the harbour to the church near the Abbey and they are steep. When I was there, I didn’t hesitate to take the bus. And you have to pay to get into the Abbey. There are, unfortunately, plenty of people who know about Whitby, UK. They have goth weekends, steampunk weekends and, as it was used as a location in the original Dracula novel, it gets a lot of traffic. Anyone who picked the novel because it was set in Whitby are (a) less likely to finish the book, (b) less likely to leave a good review and (c) not likely to buy another of your books.

Research is part of ‘write what you know.’ That doesn’t mean that you have to have walked every inch of Whitby and memorised its street plan. You may never have visited there but still want to use it as a location because of the plot or perhaps a series that you are building. That’s okay. You don’t need to get everything perfect, and you don’t need to put every detail. The reader is going to be caught up in the budding romance between the sweet heroine and strong jawed hero. The exact type of pebble that is regularly found on Whitby beach is unimportant. The main part and importance of research is to put in enough correct detail to give a strong backdrop and help the flow of the story. If someone is distracted because you put Whitby on the English Channel instead of the North Sea, they may miss the important first, dramatic kiss.

And that’s the thing – research shouldn’t be noticeable. Your reader should be too worried about whether the gentle heroine’s malicious sister will cause trouble to worry about whether you’ve called the sweet treat cotton candy or candy floss. However, when it comes to getting into the abbey, people notice. Anyone who has queued for ages and then handed over a fortune to get into Whitby Abbey will be so busy resenting the heroine’s easy access that they may well miss that important clue to the main plot, which would be a waste of your excellent writing.

There is another point about research here. A reader who picks up your book is giving you a certain respect. They are choosing to spend some of their precious time reading what you wrote. They may have allocated a percentage of their spending money to it. They are giving you a compliment when they choose your book to read. It seems only fair that you respect them enough to get the broad details of the background right.

All in all, the reason you should research is so that you don’t mess up something bad enough to distract from the plot, irritate the reader and deter them from buying another of your books. And so that you look like an amazing author instead of an idiot. But you’ve got this.

Lyssa Medana is a fifty something author living in West Yorkshire, UK. Her works include Out of the London Mist, Under the Bright Saharan Sun, King’s Silver, The Forgotten Village, Digging up the Past, and Dinner at Dark among others.

Lyssa also regularly publishes poems, articles and short stories on her blog, Always Another Chapter https:// alwaysanotherchapter.co.uk/ along with all the latest news.

Lyssa is fascinated by the odd, the quirky and the unusual and enjoys dipping into old folklore and English social history, which she uses shamelessly for her writing. Her hobbies include knitting, reading and heckling history documentaries.

Tong Ge, critically acclaimed author and now multiple Book Award Winner

2024 National Association of Independent Writers and Editors Award for Literary Fiction

Author Tong Ge is now a multiple Award Winner. Her critically acclaimed historical epic, The House Filler was the recipient of the prestigious 2024 National Association of Independent Writers and Editors (NAIWE) Award for Literary Fiction.

This recognition of acknowledgement in a contest of this magnitude is a first for this up-andcoming author and is the latest highlight in a number of accomplishments including an award win at the 2024 Independent Press Award for new fiction as well as being a finalist at the 2023 Eyelands Book Awards and the 2024 Canadian Book Club Awards for fiction.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B0CL2WX7XB

Born and raised in China, Tong Ge moved to Canada in the late 1980s as an international student, earning a Master of Science degree from the University of Saskatchewan in 1992. Since 2012, she has written under both her real name and the pen name Tong Ge, publishing poetry, prose, and short stories in English and Chinese across North America, England, and Taiwan. A recipient of five literary awards and a finalist for five others. Her debut novel, "The House Filler," was published in Canada in 2023. It is a finalist for the 2023 Eyelands Book Awards and the 2024 Canadian Book Club Awards for fiction and won the 2024 Independent Press Award for new fiction and National Association of Independent Writers and Editors (NAIWE) Award for Literary Fiction.

Matthew Hughes

Matthew (Matt) Hughes writes fantasy, space opera, crime fiction, and historical novels. He has sold 24 novels to publishers large and small in the UK, US, and Canada, as well as 101 works of short fiction to professional markets.

Besides the Global Book Award in the dark fantasy category, he has won the Endeavour and Arthur Ellis Awards, and has been shortlisted for the Aurora, Nebula, Philip K. Dick, Endeavour, A.E. Van Vogt, Neffy, Derringer, and High Plains Book Awards. He has been inducted into the Canadian Science Fiction and Fantasy Association’s Hall of Fame

People who sign up for his monthly newsletter will receive a free ebook of his short story collection, 9 Tales of Henghis Hapthorn: http://eepurl.com/cyNSA9

The Ghost Wrangler

“I really enjoyed Barbarians of the Beyond. Matthew Hughes does Jack Vance better than anyone except Jack himself.”

George R. R. Martin

Gold Winner in the 2024 Global Book Awards by critically acclaimed author, Matthew Hughes

In a world of wizards and walled cities, Galabras Nachecko is a necromancer in the seaport metropolis of Golathreon, connecting the living with deceased relatives and associates to answer questions left unresolved at the time of death.

Then he is tasked by Duke Simisson’s conniving seneschal to capture the ghost of a notorious land pirate scheduled for execution. He snags the spirit but finds that the assignment has made him a man who knows too much.

Nachecko is propelled into a new career secret agent segueing into diplomat that leads him far from home, plunges him into perilous adventures, and brings him both true love and tragedy.

Gold Winner in the 2024 Global Book Award Dark Fantasy Category

https://bit.ly/GlobalGoldAwardWinner

Bjorn Neesson

Bjorn was born in the Lowcountry of South Carolina a long, long time ago. He has worked in manufacturing all his working life to feed himself but has nourished his mind with the study of many topics; history of all eras, the paranormal, astronomy, writing of different types, photography, archeology, genealogy, vexillology, some other -ologies, even stock car racing for a couple of years, and on and on. Bjorn finds just about everything fascinating in some way and has been accused of being too easily entertained. A blend of a few of his interests led to the creation of the Thalsparr Universe. The first installment of the series will be “Runes of the Dokkrsdottir,” with a release date to be determined. He currently lives in the Midlands of South Carolina with his wife of 25 years on their hobby farm.

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I am your average working-class South Carolinian with a plethora of interests in everything from photography, to just about all the sciences, to philosophy and psychology. Essentially, I find everything fascinating. Not that it was ever my “life’s plan,” per se, but I have found myself sampling a little bit of everything that life has to offer. I have raced stock cars, done volunteer work on an archeological dig, dabbled in politics, enjoy a hobby farm, and write historical fiction fantasy novels. As for work to feed myself, I have been in industrial manufacturing and metals recycling my entire working life – from the lowest guy on the shop floor to general manager of a plant.

Are you a multi-genre author or a single-genre author? What types of books do you write?

That is a semi -complicated question for me: Theoretically, my genre is considered “historical fiction fantasy,” but embedded in my book series, “Outside the Thalsparr” is historical crime drama, paranormal, military action, Old West styled gunfighting, and probably a few more. It literally offers a little something for everyone.

If you are a multi-genre author, do you have a favorite? Or, is one type of book easier for you to write than others, and why? Do you find it hard to balance them?

I don’t have a particular favorite. It just depends on the story or scenes I have stuck in my head at the time.

Is there a genre you haven’ t tried that you would like to?

I think I would like to eventually try my hand at a true paranormal horror novel.

How long have you been writing? Did an event or person prompt you to take that leap?

As I would imagine nearly every writer will say, I have always enjoyed writing, starting with technical writing, then historical non-fiction, and now historical fiction fantasy. I can ’t think of a particular event or person that prompted me to begin story -telling on paper, but I can say that the “person” that prompted me to really take the plunge and try to publish my work is Myrgjol the Dokkrsdottir, the protagonist in the “Outside the Thalsparr” series.

What comes first the plot or the characters?

For me, I seem to envision a character first, then build a plot around them. Not all the time though. Sometimes it is the other way around. They are equally important.

How or where do you find the plots you write about?

Sometimes for me, the seed might be planted by something I have seen on TV or in a movie, something I have witnessed in the real world, or more often, just something that pops in my head without my knowledge of exactly what made it pop to begin with.

In the case of the “Outside the Thalsparr” series, the initial idea was a confluence of several interests of mine; genealogy, history (Norse era history in particular), the paranormal, and a few more.

What makes your book stand out from the crowd?

I spend an incredible amount of time on character development. I want each one to be deep, compelling, relatable, and can easily pass as someone who could really exist. I strive for the reader to love them (or hate them) as if they were living and breathing next to them.

Then next, I ensure a lot of effort in world building. I want the reader to “see” what the characters see, pulling them right into the story as though they are a character themselves standing next to the Dokkrsdottir in her epic saga.

Mark Twain said “Write what you know.” Tell us about your writing process. Are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you plot, plan, and conduct hours of research; or, do you just sit down and write whatever comes to mind based on your personal history and knowledge?

It is a chaotic mix of all of this. If the scene or situation calls for a different approach from the previous one, I follow my instincts as to which to employ. It makes it fun as a storyteller, and I feel like it is rewarding and “unpredictable” for the reader as well.

Would you and your main character get along?

Perfectly! Quite a bit of Bjorn was placed in Myrgjol, and I believe some of Myrgjol has rubbed off on Bjorn as well.

Have you ever killed off a character your readers loved?

In every book, and more than one. I have gotten several “complaints” about killing off a lovable character, and how it was done. I don’t take pleasure in killing beloved characters, but it ’s life, isn’t it? Good people die early and sometimes badly, and bad people live.

What are your current projects?

I am currently awaiting the completion of the editorial process for Book 7, “Rune of Building.” The releases of Book 4, “Rune of Revenge” is coming on February 25, Book 5, Rune of Whispers ” is coming in May 2025, then the releases of “Rune of Spirits” and “Rune of Building” will follow.

After that, I am not sure yet. I have several spinoff possibilities, and a couple ideas for a whole new series or two.

One final question...Do you have a blog/website? If so, what is it? Do you have a social media platform where your fans can go to interact with you and follow your progress?

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61561472191034

Website: http://thalsparr.com

Trigger: Vigilante Justice Book 1

by Melanie P. Smith

Chapter One https://books2read.com/Trigger1

Justine was giggling as she stood impatiently waiting for her husband to unlock the front door. She hadn ’t been this giddy since high school. Yes, she was giddy. And… she was a little drunk. She rarely had more than a single glass of wine these days but tonight she wanted a little fun. She needed a relaxing evening on the town with the man she loved more than anything. Life always seemed to get in the way these days. They were both so exhausted and stressed that, by the end of the day, they barely had the energy for a quick peck and a mumbled goodnight before they dropped off to sleep. She giggled again; they were so… married! She never thought she’d say this, but she missed the carefree, and sometimes silly, days they complained about when they were young, struggling newlyweds. The days of relaxing in the park, camping under the stars, and plopping on the floor in front of the television with bad Chinese takeout. If only they could go back in time. The instant the door flew open, Justine took a step forward, tripped on the threshold and would have landed hard on the majestic marble floor if her husband hadn’t caught her. She snorted out a laugh and wrapped her arms around his neck before pressing her lips to his. The kiss was long and deep and loving.

“Let’s go upstairs, baby,” Kevin whispered in Justine’s ear.

“You might have to carry me,” Justine grinned. “I’m not sure I can make it.”

“That’s because you’re drunk,” Kevin accused, leaning in to give her ear a gentle nip. “Maybe,” Justine began, then frowned when Kevin’s phone chimed.

Kevin glanced at the screen then dropped it back into his pocket. “It’s the end of a perfect date.” He pulled her closer and kissed her neck. “I wonder if I’ll get lucky.”

“You got lucky before dinner,” Justine teased.

“That was hours ago, and I did show my date a good time,” Kevin winked at her, then sighed when his phone rang again.

“Maybe you should get that,” Justine frowned.

Kevin pulled the phone from his pocket. “It’s Richard. He can wait, I have something more important to do,” his eyes sparkled, and one corner of his mouth tipped up in amusement. “Or, more to the point someone.”

Justine laughed, more content than she’d been in weeks. Her heart did a little flip when her husband leaned forward and gently pressed his mouth to hers. It quickened even more when he shifted, deepened the kiss, and trapped her body against the wall. She was amazed, but grateful. After all this time, Kevin still made her heart flutter. A gentle touch or a simple kiss could send an electrical surge of desire through her entire body, reminding her just how much she loved this man. The ringing stopped then immediately started up again.

Kevin let out a frustrated growl. “Let me get rid of him or he’s going to annoy us all night.”

“I’ll head up,” Justine decided. “Don’t take too long,” she paused to glance over her shoulder, giving her husband a flirtatious smile. “I’ll be waiting on our big warm, inviting bed in something more... comfortable.”

Kevin laughed and pulled out his phone. He paused to watch, completely enamored with his wife’s long legs and sexy body as she made her way to the top of the steps. “Hey, baby,” he called.

Justine turned, gave him a flirtatious grin, and silently waited.

“I love you,” Kevin locked eyes with hers. “I love you more with each passing day; and, I’m pretty sure, I’m the luckiest man alive.”

“I love you, too,” Justine’s breath caught in her throat. “And I’m the lucky one.”

His phone began to ring, again. Kevin glanced at the display then shook his head. “He’s definitely persistent. I won’t be long. Maybe you could change into that little black number you bought last month.”.

“Maybe I could,” Justine said playfully before she turned and headed for the bedroom, laughing.

“This better be important,” Justine heard Kevin growl. She moved to the large walk-in closet and began searching for a different sexy, black nighty. One Kevin would love, but he hadn’t seen yet. Once she changed, she slipped into the bathroom to freshen up a little. She knew she was taking too long, but she wanted the night to be special one they would remember for a very long time. She was just finishing up, when she heard a loud noise that sounded like the front door slamming

She moved to the top of the stairs and realized they had company. Who could it be at this hour? She didn’t recognize the voices, other than Kevin’s. His was flat, but she knew that tone. He was angry and defiant. She descended three stairs before she remembered what she was wearing. She started to pivot but froze when she saw movement in the large mirror on the foyer wall. She let out a surprised gasp and gripped the railing for support. Then, she immediately covered her mouth. Terror gripped her and she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, didn’t know what to do. So, she just stood there staring through the mirror at the man in an expensive suit and the gun. The lethal weapon was swinging from the guy’s right hand a hand that was clad in thin black leather gloves. She continued to stand frozen on the edge of the stair, studying the intruder. He was pacing back and forth and with each turn, he tapped the gun on his muscular thigh. He looked familiar but she couldn’t place him, couldn’t get a clear view of his face.

Justine silently moved down one more step. She could see the group clearly now. Kevin was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, a huge man stood to the left of the chair, one enormous hand gripping her husband ’s shoulder to hold him in place. There was another man standing on the far side of the room, near Kevin ’s antique desk. Then, of course, there was the man in the suit the one with the gun pacing back and forth in front of her husband.

“Just return my property and this will be over. If you don ’t give me what I want, I’ll make you watch while I have a little fun with that sweet little wife of yours,” the man warned. “Good luck with that. My wife’s out of town,” Kevin shot a glance toward the mirror and Justine realized he knew she was there. “You want to involve Justine; you’ll have to come back. She’s on a week -long girls’ trip with her sister. I’m surprised the all -knowing Anson Baldoni didn’t know that already.”

Justine swallowed hard and wanted to run, she would run. But first, she had to get a clear look at the other intruders. Now that Kevin said the name, she recognized the sadistic monster — even with his back turned away from the stairs. Everyone in town feared Baldoni, including Justine. She avoided him as much as possible because he terrified her. But why was he here, and what did he want from her husband? She focused on the man she loved; their eyes locked for just a second before he looked away. It was enough. He was

pleading with her to save herself.

“Mark my words,” Anson growled. “If you don’t give me what I want, I will kill you. Then, I’ll come back next week and take care of your wife. When I do, I ’ll make sure she knows all the pain, all the suffering, is your fault. She’ll know you could have stopped it, you could have prevented it, but she wasn’t important enough. She’ll die knowing her husband didn’t love her enough to protect her.”

“Justine knows I love her,” Kevin focused on the mirror on his wife. “She knows she’s the most important person in my life. She is my life. She knows I would do anything, give anything including my own life to protect her. And she knows how to protect herself. She knows where to hide. You’ll never find her, Baldoni. Come back next week, or next month, it won’t matter. My wife’s a survivor and she’ll easily outsmart someone like you. I assume you already killed Richard Loveless.”

“I’m asking the questions here,” Anson stalked away, out of Justine’s view.

She jumped in surprise and nearly fell off the step when she heard the loud thud and realized the man just slammed his fist onto Kevin’s sturdy wooden desk. She also understood Kevin’s message, loud and clear. He wanted her to hide, then run. He wanted her to leave him in that room knowing Anson Baldoni would kill him, knowing she’d never see her husband again, knowing he loved her enough to give his life to protect her and help her escape. But how could she live with that? How could she live without him?

“Then ask your questions,” Kevin gave Justine another pleading look. Tears streamed down her face, but her eyes stayed locked on her husband ’s. She had always loved his eyes, they were brown with tiny speckles of gold; and, when he smiled, they sparkled. I love you, she mouthed silently.

“This is your last chance,” Anson moved to stand by Kevin’s side. “Tell me where it is, and I’ll spare your wife. We both know I won ’t spare you; so, it’s a waste of time to lie about that. You defied me, you got in my way, and you stuck your nose where it doesn ’t belong. You must pay for that interference. But your wife...” he let the sentence hang.

“As I said,” Kevin tried to sound bored. “Justine’s untouchable,” his eyes bore into her, begging her to flee. “She’s out of town, out of your reach, and she doesn ’t know anything about Richard, the finances, or where I might have hidden the evidence. Go ahead, tell her anything you want the next time you see her — if you see her. She knows how much I love her. She became my world the instant I met her, and she knows it. Some off-handed comment from you would never change that. You will never understand the bond we have because you’re incapable of love, Anson. The bond I share with Justine can’t be broken by your lies.”

Justine wanted to scream, she wanted to run down the stairs and attack the ugly, creepy, sadistic man, but she knew that would only get her killed. At the moment, the only thing .

she could give Kevin the man she loved with every fiber of her being was her life; and the peace of mind he’d get from knowing she’d be okay. She waited until Kevin glanced her way, told him she loved him one last time then turned, and used the handrail to steady her as she silently made her way to the top of the stairs. Once she reached the landing, she darted into the master bedroom, snatched her cellphone off the dresser, and slipped back inside the large walk -in closet. Her hand was shaking uncontrollably when she pressed her palm to the plate and waited for the secret door to slide open. It had only gone a couple feet when she slipped inside and slammed her hand on the interior panel sending the signal to close and lock the door behind her

The instant she heard the click, she sank to the floor and called the police. Everyone knew Anson had at least one cop in his pocket, maybe more. But what other option did she have? The dispatcher told her not to hang up, but she didn ’t listen. She disconnected the call, shut down her phone, and slipped the battery from the back, tossing them both onto the table. It was the hardest thing she would ever do, but she moved to the sleek black console and settled into the large executive chair. Within seconds, the monitors fired up and she was staring into the face of a madman.

Kevin was resigned but he was also more relaxed now, she could see it in his eyes, in his movements, in his demeanor. He knew she was safe, and he knew Anson Baldoni was going to kill him. She knew it too, but she still jumped and let out a loud, anguished moan when Baldoni pulled the trigger, killing the only man she would ever love. Kevin ’s body jerked, blood oozed through his shirt, then his body went limp and the man holding him in place released his grip. Her husband fell to the floor, his lifeless body discarded by a coldblooded killer. She was no longer watching when Baldoni sauntered casually out the front door, his men a few steps behind.

Justine fell apart. She slipped from the chair and landed in a fetal position on the floor. Pain and sorrow engulfed her. She was sobbing so hard; she could barely breathe. Kevin was gone. Nothing else mattered. She’d never see him again. Never hold him. Never talk to him. Her life would never be the same. She let herself grieve; another inhumane moan escaped from deep in the pit of her stomach, but she didn ’t care. She knew she was safe and secure in here. Kevin had installed the impenetrable, sound proofed room himself with the help of Mack Devonshire. Nobody knew it existed. Nobody but her and Mack. She could take as long as she needed to fall apart, then she’d run.

Anson might instruct his men to search, to take a few valuables and make it look like a robbery, but they wouldn’t search the house for her. And, they would never find the evidence Kevin hid from them. Chances were high whatever Richard gave him it was concealed inside this secret room somewhere. Kevin was smart, and protective. He spent the last few minutes of his life protecting her and ensuring her safety; because the sadistic killer that just murdered her husband, believed she was off vacationing with some made -up sister she

didn’t have. Justine was pretty sure that was another ploy, a lie her husband made up to keep Anson busy to give her time to run and hide. Baldoni would eventually try to track her down, but he wouldn’t find anything. Justine was an orphan. Her parents died when she was four. She spent another two years in foster care before a middle -aged couple adopted her. It took time, but she finally warmed up to her new family; and eventually, she let herself love them. She cherished the short time they had together. Then, suddenly, they too had died. Three years ago, they were returning home from their dream vacation when a thunderstorm hit unexpectedly. The small plane her father had been piloting went down hard. The couple, her second set of parents, were killed on impact. The pain and hopelessness she felt after losing another set of parents nearly destroyed her. Kevin helped her get through it. Kevin carried her through that difficult time. His support and his love gave her the strength she needed to make it through the day. Now, he was gone too. She let herself slip further into a dark pit of despair and succumbed to another round of uncontrollable sobbing. She wasn’t sure she could survive this time. She wasn ’t sure she wanted to. Losing Kevin might just break her beyond repair. And, right now, she was too distraught and overwhelmed to care. Eventually, she’d have to run. She could practically hear Kevin’s voice in her head, begging her to hide until it was safe — then, run. So, she’d run. She would hide until she was sure it was safe, then she’d vanish into the night. She wouldn ’t stop running until she found somewhere safe to disappear forever.

Long before she delved into the world of fantasy and suspense, Melanie P. Smith served nearly three decades in the Special Operations Division at her local sheriff’s office supporting SWAT, Search & Rescue, K9, the Motor Unit, Investigations, and the Child Abduction Response Team. She now uses that training and knowledge to create stories that are actionpacked, gripping, and realistic.

Visit Melanie on her website at www.melaniepsmith.com

Forced Feminisation

I was at home alone, perusing the vacancies in the local newspaper. When bored, I looked for something more interesting. I found a story about a mature man who’d been in a minor accident while dressed as a woman. I was a twenty-year-old, straight guy, but the story captured my imagination.

A few days later, Brian, my stepdad, arrived home early and discovered me in my twin sister’s bedroom. I was wearing makeup, my sister’s lingerie and my mum's high heels.

The next morning my stepdad took me to meet a friend of his who owned a remote hotel in the Scottish Highlands. Brian said I’d be expected to wear a uniform and work in various positions.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/B0DTV2CR9G

Charles Breakfield is a technology expert in security, networking, voice, and anything digital. He enjoys writing, studying World War II history, travel, and cultural exchanges.

Charles is a fan of wine tastings, winemaking, Harley riding, cooking extravaganzas, and woodworking.

Rox Burkey is a technology professional who excels at optimizing technology and business investments. She works with customers all over the world focusing on optimized customer experiences. Rox writes white papers and documentation, but found she has a marked preference for writing fiction.

Together these Texas authors create award-winning stories that resonate with males and females and young and experienced adults. They bring a fresh new view to technology possibilities today in exciting stories. Visit their website for more information and free stuff. Https:// www.EnigmaSeries.com

Breakfield and Burkey, critically acclaimed writing duo and now multiple

Book Award Winners

Critically acclaimed and Award-Winning writing Duo, Charles Breakfield and Rox Burkey have been acknowledged as Award Winners in two separate book categories for the prestigious 2024 Global Book Awards this past weekend. Their critically acclaimed novel, Enigma Forced which is the second book in their Enigma Heirs series was the recipient of the Gold Award in the Techno-Thriller category. In addition, their entry into the Magnolia Bluff Crime Chronicles series, Ransom Enigma received the Bronze Award for Best Amateur Sleuth Mystery.

This double recognition is a first for this up-and-coming writing duo and is the latest highlight in a number of accomplishments including positive Five-Star reviews by Publishers Weekly and Readers Favorite along with other Award wins including the reputable Page Turner Awards and ABR Award which focuses on audiobooks and is sponsored by Audio Book Reviewer.

Bronze Winner: 2024 Global Book Awards

Amateur Sleuth Mystery Category

Gold Winner: 2024 Global Book Awards

Techno-Thriller Category

https://bit.ly/ GlobalBookAwardGoldTechno

https://bit.ly/GlobalAwardBronze

& Tricks

"Keep reading. It's one of the most marvelous adventures that anyone can have."

Lloyd Alexander

The web is a wonderful tool. There’s instant access to a wealth of knowledge on any topic - including Self-Publishing. Here are a few examples to help authors along the way.

The Writer’s Road to Creative Burnout Recovery

Creative burnout can feel like a wall between you and your writing goals.

https://www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com/the-writers-road-to-creative-burnoutrecovery/

How to Get Better at Self-Editing Your Fiction: 8 Vital Steps to Follow

The thing about good editing is that really, it’s just good writing. All the same principles apply.

https://www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com/how-to-get-better-at-self-editing-yourfiction-8-vital-steps-to-follow/

How to Write a Short Story: 10 Good Tips for Writers

Because of their brevity, short stories allow writers to experiment with a large variety of forms and styles, even ones that wouldn’t be easy to sustain for an entire novel.

https://www.atticus.io/creative-resilience-for-authors/

How Indie Authors Can THRIVE (and Survive!) in 2025

2024 was no walk in the park for authors – whether indie or traditional. But here’s the good news, 2025 is shaping up to be a pivotal year for self-publishing.

https://press.barnesandnoble.com/bnpress-blog/how-indie-authors-can-thrive-andsurvive-in-2025/

Publishing Leaders Share 9 Bold Predictions for 2025 and Beyond

We asked 18 experts and leaders from across the publishing industry to reflect on what’s changed for authors and publishers over the past five years and share their predictions about where they believe the industry will be in 2030.

https://insights.bookbub.com/publishing-leaders-share-predictions-2025/