Wednesday, June 11, 2025

Colleen Helme Presents Carrots: A Paranormal Psychic Suspense Mystery - Shelby Nichols Adventure Book 1

 It all began because I’d stopped at the grocery store for some carrots. Who would have thought that could be dangerous? It was enough to make me want to stay home for the rest of my life.

 I knew he was planning something I wasn’t going to be happy about. It made me mad, but worse was that other feeling I’d been trying to bury under layers of anger. Deep inside where I didn’t want to admit it, I was scared to death.

He started humming along to the radio, and turned up the volume. How someone like him liked country music was a puzzle to me. It just didn’t seem to fit him at all. In an effort to understand, I tuned into the beat and pretty soon I was nodding my head in time with the rhythm. It was an upbeat song, which surprised me. Maybe that was why he liked it.  I would have thought a trained assassin would go for the dark, heavy-metal stuff.
Monday morning began rainy and wet, perfect for a funeral. I donned my wig and glasses, but decided not to wear my black clothes even though they were the right color. I was getting tired of black. Besides, I wanted to wear the new clothes I got at the mall. As I drove to the funeral, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t care much for funerals in the first place, but I was worried that with my abilities, I would pick up a lot of the family’s grief and sadness. I really didn’t want to cry, but some funerals were sad with all the goodbyes, even when the deceased wasn’t someone you knew. That, along with listening to all those minds, could be disturbing. I mean, wouldn’t most of them be thinking about Johnny? Of course, the murderer probably would be too, and that was what I wanted, right? If I actually heard the murderer, I sure hoped I could figure out who it was in the crowd. I arrived about ten minutes early. Not early enough for the viewing, but hopefully in time to get a good seat in the back. Usually those were the first to go, but if I was the murderer, that’s where I’d sit, and I was hoping the proximity would help me ‘hear’ him. Or her if it was a woman, I mean, who knew? The place was filling up, and there weren’t many seats left. So much for my plans. Uncle Joey and Ramos were sitting up front, but I didn’t want to go up there. I scanned the back again, hoping to find a small space I could squeeze into. Number Five was sitting on a row close to the back, and he caught my eye. He motioned me over, and I happily squeezed in beside him. “Thanks for letting me sit here,” I said, truly grateful. “No problem,” he answered. “I have to admit I am surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you knew Johnny that well.” “Oh, I’m not here for Johnny as much as for Uncle Joey. He was pretty upset about Johnny’s death.” Number Five smiled. “I didn’t know Mr. Manetto was your Uncle.” Oops. “Oh, yeah… on my mother’s side.” My mother would kill me if she ever found out I’d said this. “Ah… I thought you were involved because of other reasons.” He was thinking it was because of things I had no control of. “Oh, I am… I mean… well… you know how it is.” I was trying not to say too much, but if he was a cop, I didn’t want him to think I was really working for Uncle Joey of my own free will. I smiled and he just smiled back. Maybe now was a good time to do a little probing of my own. I whispered, “I think Uncle Joey has a good idea about who killed Johnny.” “Really? Did he tell you?” Number Five was suddenly tense. His whole body tightened up, and he focused all of his attention on me. “No,” I said quickly, hoping he’d calm down. Why was this upsetting him so much? “But he has informants everywhere, even in the police department.” I hoped he took that as a warning. “Oh.” He relaxed, and I let out my breath. I puzzled him. He was wondering why I’d bring up the cops, since he was the one who took care of them. Maybe I didn’t know as much as I thought. Or maybe I knew a lot more than he was giving me credit for. Whatever the case, it was time he did some real checking up on me. Oh great. Now I’d just made things worse. What was I thinking? The funeral services began, and the conversation around us stopped. Everyone stood as the funeral directors brought the casket down the aisle with the family following behind. I didn’t want to listen to any of them, their grief and anger was too fresh. Besides, I already knew none of them did it. After everyone sat down, I got down to business. I tried to pick out individual thoughts, and concentrated on the back row. I figured I’d move forward row by row, that way I wouldn’t miss anyone. At first, all I got were random thoughts, none of them telling me anything important. I scanned up through the crowd, listening for anything that sounded remotely incriminating. There were a lot of people who would miss Johnny. He was a good person even though he was a bad guy. Everybody seemed to agree about that, but I wasn’t sure it made sense. Many were angry that he’d been killed so violently, but that came with the territory. They just hoped Uncle Joey would take revenge. Soon, my mind began to overload. I could no longer pick out individual thoughts because there were so many. It was like being in a crowded room with everyone talking at the same time. I used all of my concentration to pick up those stray thoughts that told me they were glad he was dead, but it was almost like looking for a needle in a haystack. I tried blocking out thoughts and then listening again, but that didn’t make them any clearer. I tried everything I could think of, but all it got me was a pounding headache. The funeral was nearly over when I knew I had to get out of there, even if it was just for a few minutes. I excused myself to Number Five, realizing I didn’t even know his name, and nearly collapsed when I got outside the doors. I found a drinking fountain, and swallowed some aspirin, then wandered around until I found an empty room. I sank into a soft chair, and closed my eyes, grateful for the silence. After a few minutes my headache dulled to something bearable, and I could breathe again. I relaxed and decided I couldn’t go back in there. The stress was too much. I wasn’t sure what I’d tell Uncle Joey, but I’d figure that out later. After a while the voices of people leaving the service reached me, and I knew it was over. I reluctantly left my chair, and searched for Uncle Joey. He would probably want a report, and if I gave it to him here, then maybe I could go home. I wandered into the foyer and spotted Ramos standing beside Uncle Joey in a watchful stance. He looked like a bodyguard, and it hit me that Uncle Joey was a standing target for the killer. If someone took him out now, my troubles would be over. That didn’t make me feel as glad as I would have thought. I didn’t like Uncle Joey, and I hated being in his service, but I still didn’t like the thoughts of him being gunned down in cold blood. What was wrong with me? Was I showing signs of that hostage syndrome thing? I hoped not. It was probably just that I didn’t like to see people get killed. Now if he were holding a gun to my head, it would be different. The crowd had thinned considerably when Uncle Joey spotted me. His smile was friendly, and he motioned me over with an outstretched arm. “I’m glad to see you made it. You look a little pale, are you all right?” “I’m okay now. It was a little stressful in there.” “I didn’t see you come in.” “I sat in the back by Number Five, but I got a headache, and had to leave for the last few minutes of the service.” “Number Five?” “Yeah, the guy you saw me talking to in the parking garage, on your surveillance camera. I don’t know his name, so that’s what I call him.” “Oh, yes I remember now. Why don’t we head over to my office? We can order some food, and discuss what you found.” “Well, I really didn’t find anything—” “That’s okay. I have some other things I need to talk to you about.” He held the doors open for me, and I took a breath of fresh air. The rain had stopped, and the sun was shining. A big rainbow hung over the cemetery like a benediction, and took my breath away. “That’s something isn’t it?” I said. “Yes. Somehow, it makes me feel okay about Johnny. I hope he’s in a better place.” I was surprised to hear that coming from a hardened crime boss like Uncle Joey. “I’m not all bad, Shelby.” He didn’t like the look of surprise on my face. “Oh…no, of course not.” “You can come with us, my car’s over there.” “No, wait. I brought my car. I might as well meet you at the office.” He looked around until he spotted it. “I know you went car shopping over the weekend, did you have any luck?” Did he know everything? “No, not yet.” “I know someone who can get you a good deal. You can have anything on the lot for less than half of what they’re asking. I’ll call him, and tell him you’re coming. I just got a new car myself. It’s right over there.” He pointed it out, and we started walking toward it. “Oh, you mean that black one? Now why doesn’t that surprise me? You know, you really should try a different color some time.” “But I like black. He’s got another one on the lot just like it that you could get. It’s a great car with all the bells and whistles. It even has a remote start. Ramos, show her how it can start from here.” Did he really think I’d want a car just like his? I had to admit, however, that it looked pretty sleek, lots more fun to drive than a van. Ramos pulled the keys out of his pocket and pushed a button. The engine sputtered for a second, and then sprang to life with a huge unnatural roar. Why did it sound so strange? Suddenly, the car exploded in a fiery blast of shattering glass and metal. The blast threw me to the ground, and I cringed as showering sparks and metal fell around me. Ramos and Uncle Joey were beside me, and before I knew it, Ramos pulled me under him, shielding me with his body. We stayed like that until the last of the flying debris came to rest. For a fleeting second Ramos’s eyes met mine, then traveled to my lips. I could feel a rush of pure desire pulse through him before he quickly jerked to his feet. He turned to Uncle Joey, checking to see if he was injured. “I’m all right,” Uncle Joey muttered. Ramos helped him to his feet. “Check Shelby.” Ramos dutifully took my hands and pulled me up. I was shaking so bad it was hard to stand without his help. “Are you okay?” he asked. My mouth didn’t seem to be working so I just nodded. What was going on?  What had happened? We all stood there in shock, watching flames shoot out from the car. The black smoke billowed up, and the air was thick with the smell of burning rubber and gasoline. Soon people were gathering around us, and I heard a siren in the distance. Someone asked if that was our car, and Uncle Joey nodded. His hair was sticking up on one side, and there was a smudge of dirt on his face. A trickle of blood ran down the side of Ramos’s face, making him look more dangerous than ever. His hair was sticking up too, and I panicked, hoping my wig hadn’t blown off my head. I frantically reached up and let out my breath to find it was still there. It seemed a little crooked so I straightened it the best I could, and caught a fleeting smile from Ramos. He nodded, then quickly turned away, puzzled and uncomfortable with the protective feelings I aroused in him. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. It was good he felt that way, wasn’t it? At least it would make it harder to kill me, and that was a plus. I inspected my new skirt and cardigan and gasped. Not only were they spotted with something black, but covered with charred holes where the material was burned away. That’s when it hit me that I’d almost been killed. Again...

~~~

In many ways, this book reminded me of my one and only long-time favorite movie not to be replaced, yet... that I saw over a decade ago! The main character is a homemaker who gets involved--with other things! And throws her family into confusion and fun for readers! Colleen Helme has taken this basic concept of a Mom and, during the midst of accomplishing her daily meal preparation--today will be chicken soup--for which she needs carrots--because nobody's heard of soup without carrots, right--so decides to stop at a local store...

Which happens to include a branch bank...

Which happens to be robbed during her visit...

Which happens to include the robber shooting two people...

As she stands there watching him do the shooting!

Confusion immediately reigns, but the shooter had the chance to also see the woman watching and he took a shot at her! She is hit, the bullet enters her skull...

Shelby Nichols, in this first book of her adventures, is a delightful mix of innocence and a recognition of how her life has become somewhat boring... That is, after she gets shot... And after she discovers that she can hear what other people are thinking...

And, of course, one of the things that changes is that she has become involved with Dimples (a cop who is in charge of th bank robbery/shooting and she knows and remembers only as the delightful dimples that he happens to reveal on his handsome face. So, while the police encourage her to be alert and contact them if she sees anybody following her, she goes back to her regular life, which becomes confusing as she hears what her husband and two children plan to say, and answers--before they actually speak... 

Shelby begins to see what her new skill is, but is afraid of what that may mean to her life (as she should be!).

Because the very first time she is out walking, she is confronted with the guy who shot her... That is, until he is shot and killed, saving her life (2nd near-death experience)... The shooter quickly comes to see if she is alright, and explains what she should do: Call the cops as soon as he leaves, explain that he was about to shoot her and somebody nearby shot him instead... Most importantly she did not see who murdered the murderer...

Enter the "genteel" mob boss that owns a legitimate business, but was interested in knowing who had robbed the local store/bank. His "fixer" figured that guy was going to ensure there was nobody still living who had seen him--and had already entered the hospital and killed the other witness--so had decided the easier way to find the thief was to follow his other witness... Thankfully he was correct and Shelby was saved by the mob's paid assassin...

If you haven't guessed by now, while this is a great mystery, with some suspense on multiple levels of the plots, it really is a fun and humorous story as well... So, sit back and enjoy! Because what happens next is not a return to her normal life...

Ramos, the fixer/assassin is one of my favorite characters in additiion to Shelby... Because, having saved Shelby, he seems to have noticed just how charming a woman she is and easy and fun to talk to. Shelby never flirts because she does love her husband, which will be demonstrated several times in a little side hustle happening at her husband's law offie, she does both resent his need to be there all the time, but, also that she feels, interestingly, safe with him...

Until she is being called in to give her report to the mob boss, as to how and why Ramos had killed a man in her presence... Ramos was asked to leave during that interview and we learn just how the man has become so successful in his business. Because when he starts questioning what had happened at th bank as well as later, his probing led to a slight revelation from Shelby, which he quickly pursued... Shelby in the past had never needed to lie. Now she was having a hard time with all of the events... When she was then threatened that something might happen to her family, Shelby explained that based upon her head injury, she had become able to read people's minds...

And that, if you even have to be told, resulted in her becoming the unwilling personal assistant to the mob boss. Her job was to sit, listen and report back what the other individual had actually been thinking during any meeting! Having to explain all this to her husband was taking her skills of lying to a whole new level...

Especially, when she learned that her husband had a new lawyer in his office, who Shelby quifkly saw that he was after her husband for personal attention... but, even worse, later learned that she had a personal relationship to the mob boss! In other words, Shelby was caught in the middle between her husband's colleague and her forced relationship with a new boss that was demanding of her time with her new job in his company!

What a mess! But when one of the second in command to the boss was murdered, along with his son, talk of a possible takeover attempt came to the front. Especially, when at the funeral of his friends, there was an attempt to blow up the boss' car when they left the funeral home... And since Shelby would have been in that car, she was quite ready to seek out and share as much information as she could find to help discover who had committed the latest murders and attempted murders! But, I have to say, that the climax was more funny with chaotic confusion rather than an exciting adventurous conclusion... Loved it!
Highly recommended!

GABixlerReviews

Tuesday, June 10, 2025

Wow! Fiction at its Finest - Not Like Us: An Ilse Beck FBI Suspense Thriller - Book 1 by Ava Strong!

...She had no piercings, and only a single tattoo around her wrist. She glanced down at it, rubbing at the long sleeve of her sweater. The tattoo was visible just beneath the cuff, looping her wrist like a handcuff or a manacle. The words of the tattoo read:

  Take captive every thought...


“Vicarious resolution to trauma,” Ilse murmured softly, answering the thoughts reverberating in her mind. “Projecting interpersonal control on tangential issues.” Dust and dirt crunched beneath her feet as she took the trail, following it along the old concrete barriers lining the nighttime road. “Stupid,” she added at last, channeling her inner Agent Sawyer. “Really, really stupid.” The streets were empty; the night stretched above and stared down, watchful of the vacant trails. Ilse rubbed at her arms, feeling a chill seep through the soft fabric of her baggy hoodie. This was not a good idea. How had a quick trip for a bite to eat turned into something so stupid? And yet, even as she thought it, she continued marching on, eyes ahead, taking the portion of the dirt road that ran parallel to the highway itself, on the other side of the concrete barrier. A trained psychologist. A licensed therapist. And yet, still, she ignored her own counsel—maybe she’d been too hard on some of her patients over the years. The ones who’d ignored her completely and beaten their own path. She shivered, remembering how some of those stories had ended. But still, she marched along the old dirt road, arms at her side now, swinging like pendulums. It had been a while since she’d gotten some decent cardio in. She picked up the pace a bit, speed-walking and breathing in slow, steady patterns. Fear was a liar. Fear was her enemy. Sometimes, it seemed, even more than her history, her father—even more than Hilda Mueller’s memories. Fear was the true threat. Stupid though this was, a small part of her felt like this was the only way… No more cowering behind locked doors and shuttered windows. No more double- and triple-checking locks… well, perhaps that would be a harder habit to break. But she refused for fear to be the motivator now. Refused to allow it to control and manipulate as it so often did. As she stalked along the old road, the same road the killer had been hunting, the same road where two women had been killed, where Samantha had been kidnapped, she could feel the fear rising like a cloud over her. Despite her best intentions, despite her desire to face it head on, fear was stretching across her like a blanket, weighing her movements, suppressing her thoughts, strangling the life from every moment of natural vitality, trying to drown her in sheer panic. “No,” Ilse said, simply. “No!” she repeated, louder into the dark. Headlights suddenly flashed over the top of the hill, moving down past the concrete barrier. Ilse’s heart skipped a beat. She waited, breathing heavily, watching as the car slid past. For a moment, it almost seemed to stall, the engine grumbling loudly in the night, echoing and reverberating off the concrete barrier. But then the headlights shifted, and the vehicle picked up the pace again, growling and speeding away. Ilse breathed a bit easier, watching the taillights blink back toward her like the red eyes of some sentinel demon. Where had the other bodies come from? She stopped moving for a second, standing on the old dusty trail, frowning to herself. The FBI was tracking down the identities of the other victims they’d found in that basement. Ilse shivered. Where had they come from? This road too? More hitchhikers? More unsuspecting victims? Ilse gritted her teeth and shook her head, marching forward again. Take captive every thought… She mouthed the phrase, picking up her pace until she was jogging now, kicking up dust and darting under the splayed branches and shivering shadows across the dusty road. Another car’s lights flashed behind her, this one coming from the opposite direction. Again, the vehicle seemed to slow… Ilse paused, looking back. Her heart skipped a beat, watching as the car moved through the gap between the opposite highways. It paused beneath a clearly marked No-U-turn sign. A cop? Not a cop. No, a truck. An old, flatbed truck. It came across three empty lanes, pulling from the sheer opposite side of the highway and coming to a crunching halt next to the barrier. The headlights illuminated her, shining bright, and Ilse could feel the oppressive cloud of fear now turn into a cold trickle rattling down her spine. For a moment, breathing heavily, she came to another halt, facing the bright lights, squinting against the glare, listening to the steady rumble of the truck’s engine. A second later, the lights clicked off, and a hand waved out of the front driver’s side. “H—hello?” Ilse said, hesitantly, staring toward the waving, fluttering hand. “Need a ride?” a voice called from inside the truck. A faint, gravelly voice, like a smoker’s. Hard to make out, though. Ilse could feel her feet rooted to the spot, could feel the familiar chill rising up her spine. Her mind flashed with images of basements and postcards and dead pigeons. Her teeth set and she stared at the greasy windshield. The fear was slowly met by a rising sense of sheer fury. Righteous indignation that went as deep as her bones. The man’s outline was hard to determine through the windshield. Though it looked like he might have been wearing a baseball cap. For a moment, Ilse thought of Agent Tom Sawyer. For another moment, she felt a shiver of surprise at how much she missed the lanky, silver-haired BAU agent. Missed him, and especially his gun. Alone on the open highway, witnessed only by the moon, Ilse forced one frozen foot forward. Her hands trembled horribly as she did, but she refused to back down now. She was here for a reason. No more postcards, no more haunting memories. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. “Hi,” Ilse said, finding her voice surprisingly steady despite her inner turmoil. “Can I help you?” The same road. The same road the killer had been hunting. The same road. Ilse blinked and watched as the man in the baseball cap gave a soft little chuckle. It smelled, perhaps, like cigarette smoke wafting from the front of the vehicle. “Thought maybe I could help you,” he called back. Ilse shivered, rubbing her elbows through her thick sweater. She shifted uncomfortably on the road, feeling trapped for a moment. Her hand went to her pocket, where she’d placed her keys, and she felt the comforting, hefty weight of the ring of metal. She paused, though, hesitant. Where was her pepper spray? She glanced down, frowning. The little plastic container was missing. Where had it gone? She froze now, double-checking her pocket, then her keys. The pepper spray was missing. Panic began to set in. Her sheer exhaustion weighed heavy, and the momentum of her choices up to this moment pressed on her. Abort. She needed to abort. This was a terrible idea. Unarmed, defenseless… Her hand tightened around the keys, and she took another step toward the truck despite her thoughts. “Just saw your car back that way,” the man said, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Did you break down?” Ilse swallowed once. “Yes,” she lied. Leave! Get out of there! But she ignored her subconscious. She’d come too far. She was too tired to try again. Sometimes risks were necessary. Besides… she had a plan, didn’t she? She swallowed, hand tightening further around the keys. Where had she lost her pepper spray? “Tough luck. Well, wanted to be a good citizen. Need a lift anywhere? I’m in no rush.” Ilse exhaled slowly. What sort of folk were in no rush at midnight? Most, perhaps. But on the other hand, what sort of folk pulled over to the side of the road at midnight for a stranger? The man seemed friendly enough, though his voice came muffled from the front of the cabin, and his hand—which still dangled out the window—seemed limp. But still… Ilse hadn’t come here for fear. Just five minutes. Always five minutes. What could it hurt? The keys were good enough, weren’t they? She’d defended herself with far less as a child. She could only imagine the absolute gold strike a set of keys would have been back in that basement. “Unknown… Brown eyes… Six victims…” “What was that?” “Nothing. Yeah, I could use a ride. Thanks!” She’d said it. She’d committed. Damn it. Ilse circled to the passenger side of the truck. Before she could reach the handle, she heard the click of locks, and the driver reached across, shoving the door open. His smile flashed beneath a baseball cap, his features wreathed in shadow as he waved at her, gesturing for her to get in. A very pronounced smile. Almost an intentional thing. More a leer than anything. Ilse, though, refused to allow her feet to command her actions. When they again seemed intent on rooting to the concrete, she forced herself up the small metal rung into the front of the truck, and slid into the passenger side. Inside the cabin it was surprisingly clean. She detected the faint scent of air freshener, trying to hide the odor of cigarette smoke. “Mind shutting that?” the man said. Ilse nodded numbly. Stupid! Don’t be stupid! Stupid! Don’t be stupid! She ignored her own thoughts and shut the door. A second later, the lock clicked. “Sorry,” the man said. “Locks are finicky.” He brushed off any chance at anxiety with a wink and another smile. “Where can I take you?” he asked. The man’s chin was covered in stubble, and he smelled of smoke and lavender from the air freshener. Two little dice dangled from his mirror, cottony, fluffy things. In the rearview mirror, Ilse noticed two strange canisters sitting on the back seat and… there, tucked beneath the canisters, she spotted what looked like the hilt of a bowie knife. She swallowed, glancing toward the locked door, her fingers trailing down the cool glass, touching against the metal handle inside the cabin. But she’d come this far. No backing out now. The same road. Don’t be stupid. The same road. Don’t be stupid. She ignored the thoughts again. “Oh, just to Three Lakes,” she said. “That work for you?” “Dandy,” the man said with a nod and a wink. “Buckle up.” He waited expectantly, a sort of hungry look in his eyes as she reached with a quavering hand toward the buckle past her shoulder and then pulled it, locking it in place. Alone, trapped, watched by a stranger with just a bit too much eagerness. She felt like a specimen, the way Dr. Mitchell sometimes made her feel. But where Donovan’s attention was on her behalf, examining to help, to aid and care for, this man’s attention seemed of an entirely different and far more selfish variety. Once she was buckled, the truck began to move, heading in the exact opposite direction it had been going before, taking her back toward town. “Kinda late to be out on your own, isn’t it?” the man asked in a light, airy tone. Ilse’s eyes fixed on the road. “Wanted some fresh air,” she murmured. “Know what’s wrong with your car?” “I’m not really a car person.” “Oh… Well, I am. I can take a look if you’d like.” Ilse swallowed. “No… No, that’s fine. If you could just take me back to town.” “Sure, sure, whatever you want.” He shot her a sidelong glance, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment and then shifting down, taking more of her in. Ilse stiffened in her seat, locked in place, feeling like an animal in a zoo, trapped in a cage. “You know, I don’t do this for just anyone,” the man said, still conversationally. “I had somewhere to be—the opposite direction actually. But, you know, I suppose I can help a fellow citizen out.” He reached over and patted her on the leg. His hand lingered for a bit longer. She glanced in the rearview mirror again, her eyes on the hilt of what she was certain was a bowie knife. She pictured the way he’d smiled, leering as she’d entered his truck. A smile on the top of a note paper. A smile of corpses. A smile from a driver who picked her up on the same road where two women had been killed. Though she felt like she was doing something monumentally stupid… And it was that. Stupid. She also wasn’t an idiot. She knew when a coincidence became more than that. She shivered as his hand trailed from her thigh. “Thank you for the ride,” she said, stiffly. “You know… Maybe if you just let me off here, I can walk.” “What? No, don’t be silly. All sorts of strange guys are out this time of night. A pretty little thing like you? It’s just five minutes that way. I’ve got you.” The easy, carefree tone had grown sort of strained now. The man was breathing a bit heavier, his eyes hooded beneath his cap as he stared at the road. Ilse’s fingers pressed against her ring of keys, holding them tight, bunched up in her hand nearest the door. Her thigh felt slick and oily and gross from where his fingers had trailed. Maybe he was just being friendly? Maybe he was just a bit too touchy… Was it all in her head? The man was whistling softly now, fiddling with the radio, turning the station to a crooning love ballad. It came crackling and low over the car’s janky speakers. “There we go, that’s the right mood, yeah?” He chuckled a bit as the love song echoed in the cabin. A prickle spread along Ilse’s arms. She glanced toward the locked door again. “Where you from—you never even told me your name,” he said, speaking a bit louder now. Instead of friendly and curious, it came across as demanding. She shifted. “Ilse,” she said. “Ilse. My ex was named Ilse, you know.” He let out a little shuddering breath accompanied by a wiggle of his thick shoulders against seat leather. “She had a mouth on her, I’ll tell you. A real, real pretty mouth. If you catch my drift…” He glanced at her, his eyes lingering on her lips. This time, he didn’t even try to look away, but instead met her gaze and winked. “Hey,” he said suddenly. “I gotta take a leak. You can watch if you like.” He gave a grunting little laugh. “Just hang tight one sec, all right?” He pulled the truck sharply over to the side of the road, moving to a rest stop with a blacked out safety light. The truck trundled over asphalt and loose gravel, crunching in its path behind a low grove and against a metal rail blocking the rest stop from the rest of the road. “What are you doing?” Ilse said, quickly. “I gotta piss,” he replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Won’t take but a second. I never do. Sit tight, won’t you?” And then they pulled to a full stop in the darkest, most hidden section of the rest stop, shielded by a metal railing and low trees from the rest of the highway. The man put the vehicle in park, and—for a moment—it seemed like he was double-checking the doors were locked. Then, smiling, he turned to face her...

~~~


Sawyer tapped Ilse on the arm. Before he could indicate she follow, though, she stepped past him and quickly moved ahead. Then, without looking back, she beckoned him with a crook of her finger. He blinked after her for a moment as she strode away, the photo clutched in one hand. Despite himself, a small smile crept across his lips. He hid it in a cough, though, and then followed Dr. Beck out of the precinct. Was she right after all? What were the odds? Had she remembered Samantha Wright’s words correctly? Had Ms. Wright remembered the past correctly? Somewhere out there, Samantha’s time was running out. They didn’t have another lead. Maybe there was a chance… a chance of a chance. Maybe, just maybe, they had a chance at finding this old abductor’s address. Active for twenty years… Sawyer shivered, frowning as he did. He wouldn’t make it personal. Couldn’t allow it. But even for him, the thought made his skin crawl. He could only hope Dr. Beck was right. Otherwise, things were looking grim for Samantha Wright. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The gloomy, overcast weather marked the horizon as Ilse watched Agent Sawyer drive through the narrow roads south of the city. At least this time, he’d allowed her a seat up front, though he’d seemed reluctant to do so. Ilse’s eyes kept darting from the printed photo in her hand to the road ahead of them. The GPS from Agent Sawyer’s phone kept chirping. His eyes were fixed on the road. As they traversed beneath gray skies, Agent Sawyer murmured, “Tell me again why we can’t use your phone’s GPS?” This was the first he’d spoken to her in the nearly twenty-minute drive south from the station. She cleared her throat delicately, glancing toward the lanky form of the BAU agent. “I have a dumb phone,” she murmured. “It doesn’t have GPS.” She pulled out her old flip phone to show it to him. He glanced over, then returned his attention back to the road. A few moments passed, but then, to her surprise, he spoke again. “You’re not a drug dealer, are you?” It took her a second to realize he was joking. “Umm, no. I just like the phone. Not a big fan of technology. I have a wood-burning stove back home, actually.” She wasn’t sure why she’d volunteered this last part. But for some reason it seemed to prompt a ghost of a smile on Agent Sawyer’s normally dour lips. “I see,” he said. They drifted off into silence again, and Ilse did her best not to shoot glances in his direction. A strange case study, Agent Tom Sawyer. Named, it seemed, after a character from a novel. A novel written by an author who’d hidden his name. Samuel Clemens to Mark Twain. Not too unlike Hilda Mueller to Ilse Beck. Maybe the two of them had something in common after all. However small though it was. “There we are,” Sawyer murmured, nodding through the windshield to an old, dead field a second before the GPS chirped, Arriving at destination on your left. Sawyer piloted the vehicle smoothly onto the dirt road, past the broken, dusty field. The car jolted and bumped. A branch had fallen, forcing Sawyer to veer off into the dirt and then back onto the road, kicking up a cloud of dust which wafted to meet the gray, glaring skies. In the distance, through the dust and past the low-hanging, arching boughs, withered much in the same way as the surrounding fields, a creepy scene confronted them. A vacant, abandoned farm. The fields were tell-tale, but the rusted, overgrown tractor and combine added to the desolate scene. Old farm equipment piled against the side of a large, red barn. Ilse glanced at the photograph in her hand, then tracing a finger, she pointed off behind an overgrown patch of forest. “The old shack should be back there,” she murmured in a faint voice, feeling a chill rise along her spine. The trees seemed larger, darker than they had from the main road. Now, as they trundled along toward the old barn, and the weathered farmhouse on the flat land, facing the dead field and the abandoned farm apparatus, Ilse could feel her mind flitting, sifting through the basement of her memories. Her fingers gripped each other, hard, and she swallowed, shivering against the rising thoughts. Agent Sawyer glanced at her. “You okay?” he said, quietly, his voice oddly gentle and gruff at the same time. “Fine,” she murmured. “The shack should be just past there.” No movement from the farmhouse. A flutter of birds who’d hidden out behind the rusted tractor scattered toward the sky as they drew nearer. A crackling, cracking sound arose from old sticks and dried boughs across the road as the sedan moved closer to their target. Suddenly, a loud bang. Then the car jolted to the left. Ilse yelped, but Sawyer cursed, slamming a hand to the top of the wheel and immediately bringing the car to the side of the road and throwing on the brake. “What was that?” Ilse demanded, her heart pounding as she glanced around, her eyes on the farmhouse, tracing to the barn, then back to the very edge of a weathered, but hidden building behind the overgrowth. “Flat tire,” Sawyer replied, kicking open his door and sliding his lanky legs out onto the dusty road. “Wait inside.” Ilse paused, then huffed. “Hang on,” she said, firmly, “I’m not staying here.” Sawyer looked through the window at her. “You’re not coming with. Stay in the car.” “Oh? And what if the killer sneaks up on me while you’re off searching the farm?” Sawyer paused for a moment, tongue in his cheek, but then sighed, gesturing at her. Ilse wasn’t sure if she’d wanted to win this particular battle. Locked behind the car’s doors seemed a safer location than anywhere on the farm. But she had to remind herself why she was here. Who she was here for. She pushed out of the vehicle, her eyes on the old, creepy fields, feeling suddenly very alone and isolated. She stepped delicately out onto the dirt road, exhaustion weighing heavily on every movement. She circled the front of the unmarked sedan and approached where Sawyer was on one knee, grumbling and poking with a pale finger at the front left wheel. “What happened?” Ilse said. “Nail,” he replied. He tapped a finger on a jutting metal spike in the tire. Already, the thing was deflated beyond use. “Damn it,” he growled, slapping a hand against the hood of the car. He turned, glancing along the trail, and then his frown deepened further. “What is it?” Ilse said, reading his expression. Instead of answering, he began to move carefully toward a portion of the road they’d passed. He pulled up short, staring down. One of his hands twitched toward the holster on his belt. “Agent Sawyer?” she pressed, peering in closer. Ilse looked past Sawyer’s form, his looming shadow cast as a dark streak against the gray road. There, dull and scattered across the ground, she spotted more nails, as well as screws and small jutting pieces of metal. They’d been left in a line across the dirt road...

~~~

I found myself intrigued by the title of this book--and still am. I think I understand, but I'm not quite sure who the "Us" is supposed to encompass... It could be the two lead characters who will clearly continue on in the series, or it also could related to the villains as well... I wish I knew for sure. It affects my own personal perspective of how I read the book... But, as they say, "It is what it is..." What I can tell you is that this author is set to keep readers guessing from the very first page. Even as you know a little about the background of Ilse Beck, the story does not lend regular clues that will confirm whether a reader is moving in the right direction. In fact, I thought the book was over, concluded, the FBI got their man... But the book was not finished yet...

I was stunned, even as I read... Be prepared because there is no way I'm even going to hint at the full scope and breadth of this suspense thriller. It can only be called one thing--Extraordinary!

At the same time, I sense a budding friendship or romance between Ilse Beck, who has become a renowned expert on serial killers and looks at her job as a psychologist to help those whose lives have been affected by these individuals in some way... In this book, she has already gained the respect of the local FBI Agent Sawyer, who seems to have connected by caring little about the work clothes they wear, if that makes sense... Both of them, however, are very interested in doing their job and when it connects, each takes the initiative to grab the lead for their respective expertise and won't back down from anything or anybody working to stop them... A dangerous dilemna for Ilse...

The local police are already involved with the disappearance of several women. However, it is only because Ilse has taken on a new client as recommended from her long-time teacher and mentor that she begins to think about serial killers... Samantha had been attacked 20 years ago, but has grown fearful that her attacker at that time is now looking for her again. Her fears, her memories--everything is coming back and she has sought out a psychologist to help her through her fears... Sam and Ilse have met for two sessions, but during the second meeting Ilse had realized that she was doubtful that a 20-year-old killer would still be looking for old victims so she found her own history coming into the picture much more than it should as Sam was describing where she had been held, what had taken place, and more...

So, it was quite a shock that at some time during the night, Ilse took a call from Sam. She was running, being followed and knew it was the same man who had attacked her... She was calling for help! Ilse immediately went into action, calling the police, getting dressed and drove directly to where Sam had last been when she'd lost contact. Of course, Ilse became ashamed that she had not given much concern that something was really happening, so there was no other choice, Ilse was going to work along with the police until Sam was found!

The book describes the basic methodology of building a case history on clients which I found fascinating, even if I could never hope to figure out how to use it... In any event, Ilse never kept records, which is one of the reasons she has so many clients come to her--less fear of their secret lives being exposed... However, now that Ilse was being asked for possible clues, perhaps based upon what information Sam had disclosed during the two sessions, she had to build up to accessing the few things covered thus far. Ilse used a rather strange method for calming herself. She would pick a serial killer and then review the basic statistics of that particular individual she had studied and set to memory. But, this time she was so upset that her mind was going over her own life, Sam's life, and the awareness that Sam could now be dead because Ilse had not paid her routine diligent attention to what the client was saying... A stress that just made everything more distressful... Readers will watch as she pulls herself together and proceeds to gain confidence again--perhaps with the helpful support she was being given by the FBI Agent?

Finally she remembered where and how Sam had been captured and held and with computer assistance, they began to discover possible locations where Sam was now being held... But would it be too late?

This novel is both informative and entertaining re the unfortunate number of serial killers in the world... It is clearly character driven with characters you will be watching closely as the series proceeds... Highly recommended

GABixlerReviews

Sunday, June 1, 2025

What's Happening at Book Readers Heaven! Spotlighting Singapore - An Ongoing Country Visiting Book Readers Heaven

 



Republic of Singapore
Malay:Republik Singapura
Mandarin:新加坡共和国
Xīnjiāpō Gònghéguó
Tamil:சிங்கப்பூர் குடியரசு
Ciṅkappūr Kuṭiyaracu
Motto: Majulah Singapura (Malay)
"Onward Singapore"
"Onward Singapore"
Duration: 1 minute and 20 seconds.
CapitalSingapore (city-state)[a]
1°17′N 103°50′E
Largest planning area by populationTampines[1]
Official languages
National languageMalay
Ethnic groups 
(2023)[b]
Religion 
(2020)[c]
Demonym(s)Singaporean
GovernmentUnitary parliamentary republic
Tharman Shanmugaratnam
Lawrence Wong
LegislatureParliament
Independence 
from the United Kingdom and Malaysia
3 June 1959
16 September 1963
9 August 1965
Area
• Total
735.7 km2 (284.1 sq mi)[4] (176th)
Population
• 2024 estimate
Neutral increase 6,040,000[d] (113th)
• Density
7,804/km2 (20,212.3/sq mi) (3rd)
GDP (PPP)2025 estimate
• Total
Increase $952.6 billion[6] (34th)
• Per capita
Increase $156,755[6] (1st)
GDP (nominal)2025 estimate
• Total
Increase $564.7 billion[6] (27th)
• Per capita
Increase $93,956[6] (4th)
Gini (2023)Steady 43.3[7]
medium inequality
HDI (2023)Steady 0.946[8]
very high (13th)
CurrencySingapore dollar (S$) (SGD)
Time zoneUTC+8 (SGT)
Date formatdd-mm-yyyy (AD)[e]
Calling code+65
ISO 3166 codeSG
Internet TLD.sg

My thanks and special welcome to those living in Singapore!

I'm thrilled to have you as one of the ongoing visiting countries to Book Readers Heaven...

It's wonderful to know that book reading is important across the world!

I hope you enjoy my latest 3-page post talking about God our Father, creator of all people... from around the world!

So happy to get to know a little bit about your wonderful country!

So, I've tasted, here in America, Chinese, Indian and other Asian foods, so I was wondring, is there a "taste" difference of your food versus what I've tasted, recognizing that our food might be quite different than that in the country? Although I've tasted Chinese in china town in Canada and in South America and it was fairly close to what I was used to...

Oh well, since I'll never discover Singapore myself, I hope you'll know that this area was always one that I'd like to have visited... Would love to hear from some of you! I have yard furniture from oriental countries that I've enjoyed since I moved here in my log cabin with 13 acres... and have built little rooms to display.

God Bless,

Gabby

I love to try new foods! Especially with oriental spices...