Showing posts with label FBI. Show all posts
Showing posts with label FBI. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 31, 2025

A Nose For Mischief! - Riverbend K-9s Book 1 by K. T. Lee - A Delightful Blend of Mirth and Mystery!

“Don’t blame yourself for having a suboptimal run-in with an egomaniac. They’re hard to beat if you don’t have practice with them. They’re even hard to beat if you do. But you managed to do it anyway.”

“Alex, I think we are all playing checkers and you are playing 3-D laser chess.” 

Dear Ms. <firstname> Butler, We regret to inform you that we are not moving further with your application at this time. We appreciate your interest in the Renewable Energy Innovations family, however, we had a large and competitive group of applicants for this position. We wish you all the best in your future endeavors. Cheers, David Brandt Employee Happiness Coordinator
Zoey sighed into her open laptop. Well, the email addressed to Ms. <firstname> Butler was a new low. It was impressive, really, that her job search had gotten even worse. While Zoey suspected she’d only been receiving form rejections these past several months, it turned her stomach to have it so obviously confirmed. Only a few years earlier, she’d had her choice of extremely competitive offers before even graduating from college. She’d had the luxury of thinking hard about each offer before choosing the opportunity she believed would change her life. Unfortunately, it had. 
When Zoey began her career as a materials science engineer for Future State Energy, they had been the newest and most impressive player in the energy storage industry. While her peers had taken jobs with automakers focused on designing stylish electric cars, Zoey was interested in less splashy, but equally impactful, work in the battery industry. Someone needed to create power management solutions for the wind turbines and solar panels that generally garnered more attention in the news. The company she now referred to as “the F-word” claimed their solid-state technology would leapfrog the work of the more well-known players in the battery industry by decades, revolutionizing renewable energy and improving the future of the planet. There was just one small problem with Future State’s technology—the exciting claims made by the charismatic head of development, Ophelia Wagner, were too good to be true. Ophelia loved bragging that the talent at Future State was second to none. That, at least, was true. Zoey’s coworkers were incredibly talented scientists and engineers. Unfortunately for them all, Ophelia had made claims even they couldn’t materialize. 
Once Zoey was answering the FBI’s questions in a deserted conference room, it became clear that she’d been hired by Ophelia to buy time and make Ophelia’s exaggerations look believable, even to scientists and engineers within the company. She’d tried to stick it out and make it right, but after a few months of regular interviews with the FBI, uncomfortable conversations with possibly duplicitous coworkers, and a nearly constant feeling of humiliation, Zoey couldn’t take it anymore. Her last straw was when her boss, Marco Ortiz, had defended the quality of the lab’s work, getting into a not-so-subtle yelling match with the then-CEO, JJ Harris. Marco had been right, and JJ was demoted, but it did nothing to ease Zoey’s mind. She’d run the tests. She should have known. She found it increasingly hard to focus and couldn’t sleep. Zoey quit, sure she would receive more offers than when she had no experience at all. Instead, they regretted to inform her. Zoey focused on her current surroundings to pull herself out of the bad memories. Her hand was resting on the rustic kitchen table she’d helped her sister, and roommate since college, paint a cheerful yellow. The smell of the morning’s coffee still hung in the air. Back in the present, she looked at her computer again. She wouldn’t stop being persistent, even if things got hard. Especially when things got hard. She looked down at her computer screen—a new email had arrived. She knew what it would say before she clicked on it, but she couldn’t help looking anyway. They, too, regretted to inform her. Zoey squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying with frustration. It wouldn’t do any good. She’d run that experiment several times in the last few months and her conclusions were utterly repeatable. No number of form-based platitudes ever made her feel better. She needed an actual job. A tear escaped and she gave in to the moment for a few seconds, then wiped it away. There was nothing wrong with crying. She was human and three rejections in one afternoon hurt. She let herself feel it for another minute, then rolled her eyes at the one remaining email, still sitting unread. She shook her head and clicked on it. A representative from human resources at Future State claimed they were back in the game. According to the email, the F-word had evolved into a paragon of ethical decision-making and behavior. And they wanted her back. Was she available for a conversation? She deleted the message immediately. Why did they want her back so badly? They kept asking, even when she’d never responded to their emails. For a brief moment, Zoey considered pulling the email from Future State out of her trash folder. A job was a job, after all. She closed her eyes to resist temptation. Nothing good could come from going back. She’d been lucky she hadn’t ended up in jail. She’d had so many meetings with the FBI, reviewing her meticulous notes, Zoey ended up on a first-name basis with Alexis, the special agent in charge of the raid. Under different circumstances, they might have even become friends, as much time as they spent together. And Zoey had spent a fair amount of time with Alexis’s Labrador retriever, Waffle, whose wagging tail made him friends with everyone, regardless of the circumstances. Without the conversations with Alexis, Zoey would have never realized the extent to which her work was a purposeful misdirect, intended to cover illegal activity and lies to investors. She’d left the company without looking back, keeping nothing from Future State except a free flash drive Marco had given her that he didn’t want. And only because she hadn’t realized she’d forgotten to take it out of her purse. She’d nearly chucked it in the trash when she found it, but she couldn’t bear to be wasteful. 
Zoey let out a breath. Her emergency fund was running out and she’d been painted into a metaphorical corner. She slammed her laptop lid shut and her sister, Elise, sitting nearby on the couch, jumped. Elise closed the book she’d been reading and looked up at Zoey, giving her a half-hearted smile. “Still no leads, huh?” “No. No leads.” Zoey rested her chin on her hand. She normally had the patience to find joy in even the most tedious and time-consuming experiments, but this experiment was testing even her. “Listen, I can cover next month’s rent.” Zoey waved a hand to cut her off. “No way. I’m not freeloading off of family. You do enough good for the world. You don’t need to add me to your list.” “I can charge you interest and call it a loan if it makes you feel better.” Elise tossed her brown hair over her shoulder and lifted an eyebrow. While they had nearly the same dark blue eye color, Elise’s loose curls gave her an effortlessly beautiful, beach-ready look minutes after she rolled out of bed in the morning, as opposed to Zoey’s unruly strawberry blonde waves. As a result, Zoey usually didn’t bother with her hair. Like usual, she’d pulled her hair back into a tight twist. Elise’s eyes held a challenge, but it was gentle. Elise shared Zoey’s stubbornness but also had as big a heart as anyone Zoey had ever met. “I appreciate it more than you know, but it’s not a long-term strategy.” Zoey rubbed her temples. “You know what the real garbage burger is?” “There’s just one?” Elise placed her non-fiction book about the financial management of endangered species breeding programs on the coffee table and walked towards the kitchen. While they were both in the sciences, their interests had gone in wildly different directions. Zoey liked the ordered and repeatable nature of materials science engineering, and Elise had ultimately found her ideal job working for an animal conservation not-for-profit. Elise would do anything to help her sister get a leg up, but her employer was very selective and they weren’t exactly looking for engineers. Elise had distributed Zoey’s résumé on the narrow chance they’d find her a spot designing animal habitats, but they’d still regretted to inform her. “Okay. It’s more than one. But this is more like the ketchup on the actual garbage burger. Or pickles. I’m not sure.” Elise flicked a switch on the electric kettle and turned to face her. “Okay, hit me with your worst pickles.” 
Zoey scrunched up her nose. “Nope, that feels like we’ve taken it a step too far. The real garbage burger—hold the pickles—is that one of the FBI agents had the nerve to tell me she was sorry.” Elise dropped her mouth open in mock alarm. “You’re kidding. That is so rude. Just like that? Wow. I hope you let them know how upset you were. She didn’t thank you too, did she? That would have been awful.” Zoey dropped her head in her hands for a moment, then looked back up into the concerned eyes of her sister. “What good is it to be sorry when I’m unemployed? After years of work, all those late nights studying, I may have to switch careers, Elise. I just paid off my student loans. I can’t afford to live here on unemployment, and you can’t afford to have a freeloading renter forever.” Elise lowered a teabag into a big white mug, poured hot water over the top of it, then brought the mug to Zoey. “Sis, neither of us have ever been good at wallowing and you’ve been doing it for the last half hour. So, what are you going to do?” 
She let out a snort. “Besides go complain to the rude FBI agent, of course.” Zoey smacked her hand on the table. “Yes. That’s exactly what I should do.” “Zoey, please don’t get yourself arrested.” Elise’s own mug of tea was frozen in the air, halfway to her mouth. “Or me. I don’t want to get arrested either. This might make me an accomplice. I’m not sure. I could search the internet. Wait. Would that make it premeditated? That’s worse, right?” Zoey took a sip from the cup of tea, flipped open the lid of her aging laptop with her free hand, and waited for it to hum to life. “I won’t get arrested.” She tapped her fingernails rapidly against the ceramic mug until she felt Elise’s hand on her back. “Zoey, what are you doing?” Her voice was cautious, as if she was approaching one of the endangered animals her organization saved. One of the dangerous ones. “I like this apartment and don’t need a SWAT team to break down the door. I just got finished repainting it last weekend. It’s the light purple you picked out. If you promise that you won’t do anything to make them destroy it, I’ll concede that you were right and it’s the perfect color.” 
Zoey set down her cup of tea. “Hear me out. The details of what happened at Future State can’t be shared publicly, according to about a billion pieces of paperwork that I signed. But there is one place that knows what actually happened. The only potential employer who has the evidence that I’m honest, hardworking, and ethical is the FBI. Maybe they have something.” Elise looked down at Zoey’s still-full mug of tea. “Do you need something stronger? Maybe we could take a break and get a glass of wine instead?” “I’m good, actually. Thank you. I know it sounds like desperation talking. But I’m desperate.” “Let me get this straight. You would like to quit searching for a job in materials engineering…to go work for the FBI?” Elise grimaced. “Like is a strong word.” Zoey frowned. “I like to eat. I like to drive a car and have a roof over my head. Admittedly, I don’t have all the details ironed out. But it can’t be worse than…” “We regret to inform you?” Elise winced. “Exactly.” She clicked over to her email. 
Alexis had given her a business card. She’d seemed sincere. Only time would tell if the agent was as sincere as she’d seemed. A few minutes later, Zoey looked up and found Elise staring at her with concern, her eyes only darting back to the newly painted front door once. “Is this a good idea?” Zoey shut the lid of her laptop. “I mean, even if it isn’t, I sent it. Now we wait.” “Well, if they do break down the door, at least I kept the paint can.”
~~~~
What a cool book! And a wonderful beginning to a new series by K. T. Lee... Starting with a twist, when a dog who had just been pulled back for possible K-9 use, was given a second-chance, with an individual who knew nothing about K-9 activity, but had been personally selected by the dog! More later!

Zoey had worked for Future State Energy as an engineer until an investigation began and determined that they'd committed fraud against their customers. Zoey was a part of the FBI investigation, but had been found not guilty of being part of the scheme... Still she was out of a job and had been trying ever since to find another job in materials engineering. But she had been tainted by the scandal, even though she had been proven not guilty...and could not even get an interview.

Finally in frustration, she wrote to the Special Agent with whom she had been involved and explained what was happening and, more or less, indicated that FBI owed her a job! Quite a gutsy move--and smart too! Indeed, she was called in for an interview and when she arrived was shown into the K-9 Training facility. Zoey knew absolutely nothing about this type of activity, and had never worked with animals...but an interesting thing happened when they all asked her to try it out... But it soon proved to be more than that!

“Morning, Agent Graham. Sorry, I had to say hi to Tank first.” “Just Liam is fine.” He shrugged. “And I can’t blame you. Tank is easy to like. He’s not working, so pet him as long as you like.” He made eye contact and she, once again, noticed the intelligence behind them. There was also a hint of concern. Her breath caught a little, and a feeling strong enough to overwhelm her stress made itself known. Oh no. She did not need this right now. For all she knew, Agent Charming was taken. The dog. The dog was charming. Not the agent. The not-charming agent could be taken. Not that it mattered to her. She had questions to answer. She froze. Liam could be the one with questions. The inconvenient feeling evaporated, replaced entirely with suspicion. Zoey eyed Liam. “Alexis said the FBI might have some questions for me about Future State. You know anything about that?” “Yeah.” Liam jerked his head towards the conference rooms. “A couple of folks from the Chicago office wanted to ask you some follow-up questions. Want to hang out with me and Tank until they’re ready to bring you in?” Zoey winced. “Do you have to say it like that? Bring me in?” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Not your fault. Bad memories.” Liam took a step closer, and Tank pushed his head into her palm. “I’m sorry. You just seem so confident—I shouldn’t assume you’re alright. Are you okay?” “Oh yeah. Water under the bridge.” Zoey gave Tank a quick pet and shook out her shoulders. “It just took me by surprise, that’s all.” Liam studied her. “Do you normally mind surprises?” Zoey plucked her purse off the conveyor belt and hefted it on her shoulder. “Depends on what kind of surprise it is. I mean, a cupcake is great. I love a surprise cup of coffee. Both at the same time? Amazing. Potentially getting investigated for the second time in exchange for accepting a new job…not my favorite at all. I’m feeling a little like I walked into a trap. And honestly, I don’t have any emotional bandwidth to defend myself right now.” Liam grinned. “How about a bribe?” “Is this some kind of test?” Zoey pinched the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t do it, you know. I was working in the part of the business meant to look legitimate, and no one bothered to tell me that the company was breaking the law. Had they, I would have run fast and far away from them. What’s a girl got to do to shake that? I’ve cooperated with the FBI—” Liam raised his index finger and she waved it away. “—I’m not finished—moved halfway across the country, and have offered to scoop as much dog poop as it takes to repair the totally undeserved hit to my reputation.” Tank nudged his nose into her hand, and she looked down. Obviously, he could tell she was agitated. And she had every right to be. 
Out of the corner of her eye, Zoey saw a puff of a dog about half Tank’s size coming towards them at a dead sprint. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the dog was whooping with glee and smiling as it scampered down the hallway. She crouched down to greet the dog on instinct, and the dog ran straight into her. She fell over laughing, and the dog wiggled, waving its fluffy tail in the air and sneaking a lick on her nose. Liam looked over the fluffball at Zoey. He picked up the loose end of the newcomer’s leash. The dog sat perfectly, as if she hadn’t just bolted down the hallway at warp speed. “Sorry, Zoey. Bribe was a figure of speech. This is Tasha. Tasha, this is my new buddy, Zoey.” Heat flooded Zoey’s cheeks and she rose, brushing dust off her pants. She reached down to pet Tasha from an upright position. The medium-sized dog kept sneaking glances at the black lab sitting at Liam’s side. She was a mix of colors but mostly white with a sprinkling of tan and black spots around her eyebrows, giving her what would be a serious expression if her mouth wasn’t open in a doggy smile. If Zoey didn’t know better, she’d think the dog was more than a little bit mischievous. “Well, hello, Miss Tasha. That was quite the greeting.” Alexis jogged over with Waffle in tow. “Sorry about that. I was juggling treats, two leashes, and we had an unexpected bump in the hallway with one of the new puppies. When Tasha spotted you, she was off like a shot.” She looked down at Tasha. “We’re still working on our focus, aren’t we?” She put her hands on her hips, but one hand held a stuffed toy in the shape of a cow that had one ear chewed off. Tasha swished her tail. “If you promise you’ll be good, you can have your cow back.” Tasha lay on the floor and looked up at Alexis, her brown eyes projecting a silent promise to never run off to greet people ever again unless it was really, truly worth it. Alexis threw her the cow with a chuckle, and Tasha snagged it out of the air and began to chew on it. Liam smiled the easy smile that had probably sent Tasha in a beeline his direction. “So, you agree, then?” Alexis looked Zoey up and down. “After yesterday, no question.” Tasha, for her part, loudly squeaked her well-loved cow. “Wait, what does yesterday have to do with Tasha? And me?” Zoey eyed them both. Tasha stopped squeaking the toy at the sound of her name, looking up and swishing her luxuriously fluffy tail against the ground. 
Alexis clapped a hand on Zoey’s back. “I knew I liked you. Smart and observant.” “Okay, all this flattery is upgrading my concern to suspicion.” Zoey squatted to scratch Tasha behind one ear and was rewarded with another tiny lick to her hand. Tasha got up to sniff Zoey’s pants more thoroughly, then moved onto her shoes, all without dropping the cow from her mouth. Alexis pulled a treat from her bag and got Tasha into a perfect, focused sit. The cow tumbled from her mouth. Tasha’s back legs quivered a little with the effort, but she earned her reward, catching it easily as it flew through the air. “Tasha was assigned to a trainer who is no longer able to work with us. It’s left us with an extra puppy and no agent to help.” Alexis exchanged a look with Liam. “Full disclosure, Tasha and her trainer didn’t connect.” Zoey narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t connect?” Liam cleared his throat. “We had a dirty agent. He was working with a drug runner and was removed from the program before he ever really got started.” Liam looked at Tasha with pride. “Tasha never quite clicked with him, did you, girl? And he flunked Scarlett’s test.” “What a smart girl!” Zoey smiled at Tasha, whose pointy white ears perked up at the praise. Alexis nodded. “Exactly. So, since we’re an agent short, we don’t have room for her in the program. She has potential. She came in through a dog rescue and I don’t want to send her back. It’s just that I lost the funding when I lost the agent.” “I just got here. I don’t know if I’m qualified for that. I mean, what happens if I say no?” Alexis studied Zoey. “Are you really going to say no to the dog everyone else gave up on? All she needs is a second chance. And we’ll help you out.” Tasha looked up at Zoey as if waiting for her fate, her cow forgotten. Zoey’s face flushed. We regret to inform you…She ran a hand over the soft fur on Tasha’s head and was rewarded with another tail swish. “What kind of dog is she?” Alexis shrugged. “Some Samoyed, maybe a little border collie? Her tail doesn’t curve over her back like a Samoyed’s would, so she’s definitely a mix. It’s hard to say, honestly. She sheds like it’s her job, but she’s energetic and curious. A real go-getter.” “You can tell if a dog is a go-getter?” Zoey eyed Alexis. “You bet. And, trust me, you want the ones with a big personality and energy for this job.” Waffle’s tail began to thump against the ground. Zoey rubbed the back of her neck. “And what would this involve?” Alexis pulled a tennis ball out of a pouch on her waist. Waffle gently took it out of her hand and lay on the ground to start squeaking it. Tasha watched with interest for a moment before pouncing on Waffle’s head. There was a brief scuffle while Alexis coaxed Tasha back into a sit and rewarded her with a ball of her own. She squeaked it twice, dropped it on the floor, then scampered after it when it rolled away. Waffle resumed squeaking his own toy with one eye on the ornery fluffball. “Well, if you agree, we’ll train you for a few days. Then, you can bring her back home with you. You’ll be with her twenty-four seven and train with the agents already in the program. It’s not easy work. She’ll need walked, played with, let out, and trained when you are tired, sick, or it’s inconvenient. And you’ll have to spend more time here than most. We don’t normally throw dogs at untrained people. I just want Tasha to have a chance.” Zoey sighed. Sometimes, you just had to jump in. “Okay. I’ll take Miss Mischievous High Potential home. I can’t say no to that face. You must be really desperate.” Liam smiled. “Or you gave us the chance to take on one more dog. Every dog we train is another nose out there looking for trouble. You’ll have to work closely with Alexis and me. That okay?” Before Zoey could answer, Scarlett popped her head into the hallway from one of the conference rooms. Just the sight of Scarlett sent Zoey’s heart thundering, suddenly remembering that before she was tackled by the bulldozer of fluff, Alexis had some questions about Future State. “Alex, you ready?” “Yep. Let me get Tasha’s crate and then we’ll all join you. She’s not quite ready to lay down and be still around the other dogs yet. We’re still practicing. Liam, why don’t you come in with us? I’d like your thoughts.” 
Soon, Tank and Waffle were settled on the floor of the conference room while Tasha sat in her crate, paws crossed and ears perked, as if listening to the humans carefully. The humans sat in chairs and Scarlett delivered a folder to each of them. Zoey eyed Scarlett and Liam shifted in his seat. Well, at least he probably wasn’t in on it, if the TED Talk she saw on body language was telling the truth. With all the secrets around here, she might have to spring for the author’s book. Zoey swallowed. “Am I in trouble?” Alexis shook her head. “The opposite, actually. I’m wondering if you’d be willing to help with a slightly different job than the one you had planned.” Zoey’s face fell. “I don’t get to work with the dogs? That doesn’t make any sense. What about Tasha?” Tasha lowered her head to rest it on her stuffed cow, ears still alert. Alexis held up a staying hand. “No, we’d still like you to do that. We’re just looking for your insight. If things don’t quiet down, we’d like to have you connect with Scarlett’s team every week or so.” “I honestly don’t know what more I can tell you at this point.” Scarlett gestured at the folder and Zoey opened it. A summary of potential threats included familiar names. People she used to consider friends. She closed the folder. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel right about helping you chase down people you’ve already cleared. For obvious reasons.” “I understand that. Let me explain, and you can still back out if you don’t agree, okay?” Zoey crossed her arms. “Okay.” Scarlett looked at Alexis. “We haven’t officially closed the Future State case.” Zoey’s eyebrows shot up. “They’re involved in a major government contract to build energy storage facilities throughout the country. We assumed there wasn’t anything else to find, but last week, someone anonymously called their ethics hotline, worried that the research lab was doing some unauthorized work with flammable electrolytes. Our team has sniffed around the edges, but we’ve found no evidence. There are a few folks that were always pretty high on our suspect list that we had initially crossed off. We’re revisiting that. If you aren’t worried about them, that’s still valuable information.” Zoey ran a hand through her hair. “Okay.” She opened the folder and pointed to a picture of Kendra Pappas, a marketing employee with a big personality and drive to spare. Zoey sighed. “What did Kendra do?” Scarlett tapped her manila folder. “She’s just very well connected to those who committed the crime.” Zoey snorted. “Kendra is well connected to everyone. She’s in marketing and knows everyone and everything worth knowing.” Zoey pictured Kendra in her mind’s eye, whipping out her business card at the end of any interaction with someone new. After one conversation with a new acquaintance, Kendra knew enough to guess at least three of their security questions on any given website. “Kendra can get anyone talking. Although, come to think of it, I don’t know much about her personally.” Scarlett wrote something down. “What about your old boss, the director of the research lab? Marco Ortiz has been responsible for development and testing. Lately, he’s been working on the government project.” “No. I’m sorry. Marco is literally the best person in the labs. He was as clueless as I was.” Zoey pushed the paper away. She directed her eyes to the ceiling. “Look, I get why he’d be on your radar. He’s gruff and a little cynical, and sure, he gets in arguments with management sometimes, but he’s the first person to offer help if you’re in trouble. He’s just a little too blunt. There was one time in the research lab, a manager came in and started trying to operate equipment without reading an instruction manual, and he was so mad—” Zoey looked up at Scarlett taking notes and stopped short, giving her a warning look. “That does NOT implicate him in some kind of crime. You know what, then he forgave them, and it was all okay. They even hugged. They’re besties now.” “And Lynn Sosa? The new CEO? What have you heard about her?” Scarlett looked up from scribbling notes. Zoey frowned. “I don’t know. She came after the raid, and I’d never heard of her before. Apparently, she came through the lab during her interview, but I didn’t see her. We overlapped a bit, but she was busy cleaning up Ophelia’s mess and making sure the old CEO didn’t walk out the door and take all of his knowledge with him. And honestly, I was distracted with my own problems then.” “What do your old friends from Future State say about her?” Scarlett tapped her pen against her open notebook. “I don’t really talk to them anymore. I…I didn’t know who I could trust. Which is fine. It’s absolutely fine.” Zoey cleared her throat. “Lynn replaced the old CEO, JJ Harris. He was demoted after not realizing what was going on right under his nose. I mean, he was upset and trying to find someone to blame, but he got over it. Rumor had it, he was telling people he didn’t really mind getting back to the nuts and bolts of the business. I mean, it’s great he even wanted to stay on. And I understand not wanting to be in charge. I don’t have any desire to run a company either.” Zoey looked up at the three FBI agents listening attentively. She flipped the paper in the folder over, but there was nothing on the back or behind it. “Is that all?” Alexis nodded. “For now. With any luck, the ethics hotline thing was a one-off, but if we need more help to wrap it up, we may ask you, if that’s okay.” “Yeah. Honestly, I was worried something else awful had happened.” Scarlett gave her a gentle smile. “Worrying about Future State is Alexis’s and my job. If I know who I’m dealing with, it’s easier to get them to work with me. I’ll add this to my notes, but I’m glad to hear you don’t think this crew is trouble right off the bat.” Scarlett flipped her notebook closed.
~~~~

It wasn't a surprise that the FBI was still monitoring Future State. They continued to have the original contract, but much more was now involved. There was a new staff and things were progressing, but they had not been able to determine exactly who was involved in the original criminal activities years ago. A new leader had been hired and things were progressing, even to the point that they had begun to advertise more staff for their new project. It was arranged that Liam would go in as undercover while Zoey would be returning as a former employee...

And in order to cover all bases, Liam and Zoey were to be introduced as "involved" and that was why they came in to work together in the same company. As you might have guessed, both Liam and Zoey were quite willing to "pretend..." Especially since Tank and Tisha got along so well! Everything seemed to be going fine, until...it...wasn't...

An accident occurred, and tighter watch was required. Once again, it was Zoey that identified the problem. But this time, Liam was there to support her. Would it be enough, especially if they got separated on the job, with each reporting to a different boss? Because the problem was on the actual construction site and only an expert would be able to determine what the problem was...

With great characters, including the addition of multiple K-9 players, readers will be enjoying the off-duty play time for the dogs, as well as their involvement when "working..." with their trainers! A delightful blend of mystery and mirth, with a bigger touch of romance coming at the end... Enjoy this one!

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

Wednesday, December 27, 2023

The Resident Agent by David A. Charters - Became Personal Favorite in 2023

 



Semaskis Island, afternoon 

As planned, Carol was upstairs when Slim and his handler arrived. She didn’t see them but could hear them loud and clear through her earbuds, tuned to the Febreze recording device. Bud had placed it on a shelf in the living room when no one was looking. Slim’s voice was a slightly high-pitched wheeze. His handler, clearly the man who referred to himself as Karl, spoke tersely, with a heavy Eastern European accent. She could also hear Bud distinctly, chatting casually as he brought in the sandwiches, fruit, and drinks. Jon was near Karl but said little. Voices were muffled as they ate and made small talk. 

Carol glanced into her makeup bag; the two flashing lights indicated the recorder was catching everything: audio and video. Good. She dropped an extra pair of panties over it to make sure it remained hidden in case one of the goons came by to check on her. With that in mind, she had also transferred her pistol from the makeup bag to her purse, unzipped beside her on the couch. And if the goons decided to check, she could switch her earbuds instantly to a playlist:

 Michael Bublé, Jimmy Buffett, and Shania Twain. “So. Mr. Hayes, please lock the door when you leave,” Karl instructed. “Dr. Endell and I have business to discuss. Harrison, you stay here and run my video camera.” Endell. So that’s his name. Carol heard the door close and the lock click into place. Bud’s footsteps then faded into the kitchen. Osbert opened the discussion. “I promised something earthshaking. Shall I proceed?” “By all means,” Karl replied in a neutral tone. “As you may know, up to now the US has used its satellites only as collectors—for photos, missile detection, ELINT, SIGINT, et cetera. But that is about to change in a big way. ...

“But surely this is impossible!” Karl exclaimed. “One satellite alone would do all of this? For the whole world?” “Oh, no. There would be a constellation of them in geosynchronous orbit, covering the entire globe. And they can be slaved to each other. If the original primary is knocked out, any one of them can take over as primary. We—the US—would need only this one class of satellites, not the dozen or so different types we employ now. The cost savings—from construction to launch vehicles—will be immense. The US could probably cut its overhead reconnaissance budget in half, while gaining capacity it could only dream of a few years ago. Project High Diamond is the future of spying from space, and my company created it!” Holy crap! thought Carol. This is even bigger than we thought. 

Karl responded with as much enthusiasm as his voice allowed. “Thank you. This is obviously of interest to my people, since it has grave implications for our security. So we are grateful that you have brought it to our attention. It serves the interests of peace.” “For a price, of course,” Endell interjected hastily. “Remember?” “Of course, of course. We always honor such arrangements. The funds you requested are being transferred to a bank overseas as we speak. The deposit is inaccessible except by you.” “Good, good. And the girl?” 

“She is waiting for you upstairs. You will be thoroughly entertained, I am sure.” Not if I can help it, Carol thought. Karl spoke again. “But before pleasure comes business. I am impressed by your survey. But of course I am not an expert. Can you provide some additional technical detail on the record that would allow our scientists to test and verify the potential you describe?” “Certainly.” Osbert then launched into an extended monologue that Carol found too complex to follow. It started with AI and autonomous systems, then moved on to multispectral collection, quantum computing and nano-circuitry, self-correcting algorithmics, geomatics, and signal security. Along the way, he described equations and diagrams that he wrote on a flip chart. Carol took a quick look at the video recording as he spoke and got her first glimpse of Slim and Karl. 

She was stunned by Endell’s girth, but even more by the fact that he was speaking without any notes or documents—not even a laptop or tablet. Everything was coming out of his brain. Karl, by contrast, looked like a central casting Rambo wannabe. And from his facial expression and the few questions he posed, it was clear that Karl was well out of his comfort zone... 

~~~

Dare I hint at the climax when I am just beginning to talk about this book, which, in the end, became one of my favorite books... You see, it wasn't the climax, although it definitely was an exciting event, that, in the end, was what swayed my attention... Indeed, it was the rest of the book after that fantastic scene from which I found the real story... One that Carol had been asking about since they had first come together... again...

Weaving in and out of the past and present, readers will hear of the first meeting of the two main characters, Carol, who is now a FBI Special Agent, and a friend she had met very early in her life. He was a friend of her one-time male relationship that ended when she was raped... Bud had cared for Carol, even then, but after what happened, he couldn't bring himself to even contact her. 

Carol had come to care about him, mainly because her boyfriend would be doing something else and Carol would spend time...waiting for him... But it was decades before the time when a case--a murder case--brought the two together again. Bud had been put in as acting detective in the small town law office when a body had been found in nearby New Castle, Maine... When it was determined that the body had apparently been dropped from an airplane, it became an FBI matter... And the two worked the case separately and together.

I wanted to highlight the location because I noticed that the author had worked to enhance the locale through the language of the area's residents. Even though I'd never been there, I'm fairly certain that the writer had achieved the colloquial life in the state. It was fun and interesting to watch the changes, especially as the main character moved into the area.

Also, this book had a scene very similar to one of mine, and, which, I will be writing about next...

Carol Evans was on her way to what she considered was the next step forward in her career. Working in Boston. However, coincidentally, the resident agent for Portland Maine had died, and Carol, having once lived in the state, was being side-tracked (her word, not mine). She was not happy...

Until she realized that she still had feelings for Bud, with whom she would be working the case...

The individual who had been found murdered was a news blogger and he had been investigating how the land was being sold in the area. In fact, he even recorded what happened when he attempted to determine who bought a lone island off the coast of the state. One where he was met by arm guards... Of course, all of this was discovered during the investigation. An investigation whose scope was getting bigger and bigger as more people were identified... 

So…” The band had reassembled, lead guitarist Steve Somers picked out the melody, and their frontman, Vern Zwicker, started to croon Neil Diamond’s Play Me. Bud and Carol listened through the first verse before he said, “So, Special Agent Evans, would you care to dance?” She stood and took his hand. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

* * *

Great mystery, great dialogue, cool romance...and an emotional, memorable ending with a look at an American soldier, captured and tortured while in Afghanistan... Thank you David Charters for not stopping at the usual climatic ending... It was and is important for all of us to realize exactly what each soldier may be forced to endure as a result of working to save our Freedom--Our Democracy, like no other!

GABixlerReviews

Tuesday, April 26, 2022

Wild and Wonderful Chrome Mountain and The North Factor Chrome Mountain Saga Brought to Readers by Ben Schneider

Why do these bad dreams keep coming? he thought. This has been going on nearly every week since I started the invention. This last one was by far the worst of them all. Funny how it happened the same week my revolutionary device became operational. I could introduce it to the company and become one of the richest citizens of San Antonio. Plus, I’ve always wanted to make scientific history, like the ones who have inspired me––Darwin, Einstein, Hawking, even my dad. And now I could. However, could something like the dreams become reality? Could my contraption fall into the wrong hands and cost more lives than I can count? Of course, it could. 

Why have I wasted so much time on this scientific path? What was I thinking? I was thinking only about my future? What about the world’s future? Why have I never thought of that? The world’s future affects my future. If not mine, my kids’, if I ever have any. And what about my niece and nephews? Why did it never occur to me that anyone who would travel with a cloaking device, such as a chopper pilot, would never do so, unless…their intentions were evil? 

This can’t happen. It just can’t! I will not be responsible for any dark realities that are even remotely similar to those ghastly events haunting my dreams. As sad as it makes me, my goals of early retirement, making scientific history, and impressing my father will have to be forgotten. I’ll have to give those weaker projects at Envisiocom a shot instead. He got out of bed and went straight to his garage. When he flipped the light switch, fluorescent bulbs buzzed as they lit up the room, with his tan Toyota Corolla on one side, worktable on the other. Scattered about the table were science-related notes and tools that had aided his creation of the apparatus. Fastened to the old car’s hood was the cloaking device, an odd-looking stack of circuitry the size of a shoebox. The name of Trey’s creation was the VV1––Veiler, Version 1.

I have to end it now. I can’t take any more of those nightmares. A mallet was taken from a toolbox atop the table. He approached the Toyota with it, wanting to see the miracle gadget perform one last time. His hand felt its way through the multicolored wires for the correct switch and flipped it. A few scarcely audible bleeps could be heard as lights twinkled through the circuitry. After forty seconds, the red READY light came on. He flipped the second switch. Yellow radiance hummed, coating the entire Toyota. Then–– ––all signs of the vehicle were gone...

Next, Trey recalled the first eighteen years of his life. He’d been raised by good parents who’d brought him to church every Sunday. The church had constantly emphasized how important it is to love people. It’s so hard to love when there is so much to hate.

~~~

First, let me say that these books will not be for everybody. Language and violence are the hallmark of many of today's criminals--they are truly presented in these books! On the other hand, both of the main characters come to accept God as their Savior... And are often saved or act in accordance with His guidance... Given the issues confronting each of us in these days of chaos, prejudice and violence, I find I enjoy reading about how good always reigns over bad... So, you decide because I do recommend them as exciting sci-fi, action adventure stories mostly on bikes of all kinds, which will thrill you as every form of travel is exploited and used practically on every page!

Readers enter into the lives of two characters--one a former member of a biker gang and a genius scientist being hunted for his invention.  Trey had created something that would definitely change the world. He almost immediately, even though he'd worked diligently to achieve his dream, realized how criminals could use it for evil and decided to destroy it! He knew he'd done the right thing but that didn't mean he was safe. For his former fiancée was furious when she learned that he had destroyed the invention which would have made them all the money they would ever need. When she immediately left him, Trey realized that she had only been in it for the money...

Problem was, she had reappeared when Trey had been running from the evil group that knew what he'd built. And that's when the two main characters meet--Sonya had attempted to help this man who she immediately thought was cute...a good sign for the future! But even after many thrilling attempts to lose the enemy, both had been swept up into space by something that then disappeared, and taken into the secret location of a criminal group which was widely causing havoc all over--The Chrome Falcons.

This is an unbelievable futuristic criminal group who had already created a teleportation field. If they had Trey, they would make him recreate his invention through persuasion...or otherwise! And I don't think it is giving away too much when he learned that his "ex" was a member of the group and already involved with someone there and carrying a briefcase full of money and precious diamonds...

Sonya, who had escaped from the Screamon Demons Motorcycle Club immediately left town. Her grandmother, Iza had coincidentally (God Incident?) called and Sonya set out for home, living there for three years, staying even after her grandmother had died. Sonya had begun taking Iza to church and had finally heeded God's call... She now sought God's guidance in all things.

But that did not eliminate the danger that she had left behind when she was called the "old lady" of the leader of a dangerous and increasing murderous club. When her good friend risked her own life to call her, Sonya got on her low rider bike and soon was on her way...back into danger, but with God now as her co-pilot...

Sonya Radisson—formerly Sonya McCall—woke with a gasp. She was in her dark bedroom, not a parking lot. Instead of soaked blacktop, she was reclined on her soft, memory-foam mattress. Putting her sweaty hand between her breasts, she thanked God there was no shotgun hole there. Her racing heart was still intact and safe inside her rib cage. Her skull was not cracked, either. That’s not what happened last spring, she thought, annoyed. The rainy day in Fraser replayed in her head. When Levi was astride the police bike, he’d not been armed. Also, her flying kick had broken his neck. 

Where’d that awful dream come from? Her head spun to the clock on her bedside table. It was 5:51 A.M. She turned the other way, relieved to see she’d not wakened Trey, her husband of three months. They were married two weeks after she’d defeated Levi North. Levi was more than her vile ex-boyfriend; he was also the president of a lawless motorcycle club. They called themselves the Screamon Demons. Last December, the crime ring had disbanded after Sonya had spilled most of their secrets to the Feds. No one in the posse ever found out she was the rat—except Levi. Moreover, he was unlikely to find a chance to tell anyone who’d be a threat to his ex. Very few members of the MC had evaded arrest, but they’d stopped caring where Levi was and what he wanted. Sonya wondered if Levi was still alive. If he was, he probably wished he was not. Nova Krenshaw, Sonya’s friend in the FBI, had assured her and Trey that Levi would never be found. He would never be a free man, either. Being paralyzed from the neck down, he’d no chance of escaping from wherever he’d been locked up. 

Still disturbed by the dream, Sonya swept the blankets aside, baring muscular limbs and washboard abs. Her ivory skin starkly contrasted with her lacy lingerie, as gloss-black as her curly, mid-back-length hair. Feeling a slight chill in the room, she got off the bed and covered her shapely form with a fleece robe. Then she kicked into her slippers and strode from the room. The dark hallway led her to the great room of the spacious chalet-style house, located in the home rule municipality of Winter Park, Colorado. She flipped a switch, turning on a gas fireplace, and plopped down on an L-section sofa of soft gray leather. She faced a wall made mostly of large windows. The stunning, twilit view of the pine-cloaked Rocky Mountains was a vast improvement over the dull, flat scenery of Artesia, New Mexico, where Sonya had grown up. She sporadically told herself to return to the small town, someday. She could chat with old friends and set flowers on the graves of Derrick McCall, her late father, and Iza Gibbs, Derrick’s mother. She’d not seen Iza’s house for nearly a year, but had heard the Screamon Demons had torched it. Frank Giles, the pastor of the church she’d grown up in, had given her the bad news about the home. Last January, Sonya had called him to confirm all her friends in Artesia were extremely worried about her. Frank was more than happy to honor Sonya’s request of letting the church know she’d not gone missing. One night, almost a year ago, she’d had no choice but to leave town—without telling a soul. She’d had no intention of coming back, either. 

Days later, her friends and coworkers had grown concerned. They’d feared the worst once word got around of what had happened to her house. She’d had no time to think things over—not since that night Becky Lugo had called, warning her that Levi’s gang was coming to Artesia to look for her. Again, her brain reran the nightmare of her ex. Before heading to the kitchen to get hot coffee, she musingly eyed the majestic scenery for another minute. 

Was God trying to tell her something? Was someone with a grudge against her still out there, somewhere? Did the stench of Levi North still, somehow, linger in the world? And was it coming for her?

~~~

By the time of the second book, Trey and Sonya were in love and had married three months before. Once again, she had heard from her friend Becky, and needed to leave... Only to wind up in a hospital for the insane--and being called by another name and a complete history of that woman. But Sonya knew her real life, even though she'd been injured... Indeed, Sonya was soon to find out that she was not the only one who had been placed in that hospital under false names. There she met Judy and when it was time to escape, Sonya and Judy were helped by Judy's biker sisters.

Hoping to calm her frazzled nerves, Sonya turned on the radio. The selected station played “Hey Brother” by Avicii. The song helped swap her anxiety with a sense of triumph over her escape. But the feeling didn’t last; for ten more miles, her rearview mirror showed a single headlight a quarter mile behind her. Sonya was convinced she had a tail. She would need to somehow take her tail’s ride and ditch the crippled SUV. If she waited too long, either the steaming engine would die, or the vehicle’s damage would draw a cop’s eye. Either scenario would end badly for her. Seconds later, she grasped the best way to make her need a reality. With one of the switches on her door, she opened the front-right window. Then she tapped S-O-S on her “wristwatch,” activating the veil. Once the two-minute countdown started, she hit the brakes, pulled over, put the vehicle in park, and killed the engine. Without turning off the outer lights, she climbed out the open window, took the tranquilizer pistol, and waited by the front-right tire. As she’d suspected, the headlight belonged to a biker—one interested in the Outlander...

~~~

In both books, a connection had been established with the Federal Bureau of Investigations. In the first book, Trey and Sonya helped to bring down the Chrome Falcons. In the second book, Judy's MC had also been working with a local FBI agent. Sonya was honored to take a temporary membership in the Night Mares MC... who were helping gather evidence and then providing it to the FBI agent for legal actions...

But Sonya still did not understand how and why she had been placed in a hospital for the insane... Her greatest nightmare was yet to be revealed...

The two books are so action-packed that readers will be boggled by just how much havoc can be made by criminals in their search for revenge...or power and wealth!

And when most needed, prayer by those who are fighting evil, will be spoken and in miraculous ways, all that seems impossible is made possible...



Tuesday, August 14, 2018

Cynthia Drew Presents Intriguing Art Crimes Novel, Sing for the Dead


JUST PAST THE sign marking the Cruz County line the gold Corvette headed down into the canyon. The closer they came to Arco Viejo, the more Eliu Colón dreaded arriving there. He had heard about Ignacio Garza’s accident. That event had effectively shut down the workshop. The other santeros could rough out the bultos, but the finish that made the difference between folk art and fine art, between icon and parody, had been in Garza’s hands. On this, the Day of the Dead, the mood in Arco Viejo would not be joyous. Diaz watched for spiders and snakes as he drove. He was happy for Colón’s company—the last time he’d driven the road he’d been visited by the dead—the ghost of Pablo Estrella, and he couldn’t get the image of his own head, bouncing along the dusty road, out of his…well, his head.


Winner--Gold Award for Mystery Fiction 2017
Foreword Reviews
Author's Note

This book was based on the fact that Mexican cartels, increasingly weary of dodging drug enforcement and tired of the layered structure of dealing drugs, have, as recently as 2013, turned to gold mining as a revenue stream and a mechanism for laundering money. As much as nine percent of Mexico’s multi-billion-dollar gold industry is the result of illegal production, controlled by the cartels. Gangs demand extortion payments from local and multinational mine operators in exchange for allowing them to work their concessions, or take full control over a mining operation...
Sing for the Dead takes us to Santa Fe, New Mexico, dubbed by the Chamber of Commerce, “The City Different,” and modern-day spiritual home of the santeros, artists who carve and paint santos, images of saints, reflecting one of the oldest living traditions of religious devotion practiced by Hispanic Americans.
~~~




It was near the celebration, that was held annually, marking The Day of
the 
Dead. Most of the time it started on October 31st and continued for days... It was a busy time for the men who worked to create baltos, small statues that would be especially sold during this celebration.  Immediately, I thought of my small statue on my piano of the famous statue I visited years ago which has become a symbol of both the trip and Our Redeemer...

I found it ironic that the baltos played such a significant part in the story... both real ones and fake.

For there was a rush for more and more baltos to be created for sale or shipped out that drew attention of our main characters... Adrian Duhe, from Interpol, had received three different reports that the long-lost bulto, the Zuni San Gabriel, which had not been seen for 150 years, had been listed in Sotheby's and the last one of the three had sold for $75,500! His own investigation proved enough that he was soon on the telephone to the FBI Arts Crime Team in Washington... where he brought the issue to Jacques Pearce...

While J. J. Jaynes was on his way--to Santa Fe, NM.


And almost immediately, he met Alejandro...and his first balto. A santo of Saint Jude—the patrón of lost causes.” But this lady of the night would not sell the statue for any amount of money, letting him know that she'd had the balto for over 40 years and would keep it close always. She had sold her body to him, but not the statue...interesting... But he did "buy" where he could find another one...

And Alejandro Ramirez was dead before midnight... 

While Jacques Pearce began investigating with experts about the lost Zuni San Gabriel which had mysteriously reappeared and sold...and sold, and sold again...

And everything seemed to ultimately lead to Santa Fe, where Jacques Pearce had just sent Micki Jaynes. Yes, J. J. Jaynes' wife... which promised to get interesting...

This is one of those novels where I find I want to keep talking about it. I was learning fascinating new things, while thoroughly enjoying a murder mystery, and valuable art treasure hunt. I recommend you meet there in Santa Fe to discover exactly what type of treasure can be found! The story is intriguing, humorous, as well as an interesting look at the historical legends created within artistic endeavors--and how they can lead to danger and murder!

I normally am attracted by treasure hunt novels featuring relics or some other type of treasure, relishing the research that goes into such a book, so I was certainly happy to be attracted by the cover. Do check it out and let me know what you think...and we'll talk more...


GABixlerReviews





Works at  Author, Fiction Author, and Writer
Past:  Children's Book Illustrator