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Showing posts with label Personal Favorite for 2026. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Personal Favorite for 2026. Show all posts
“Things like that can make us lose little parts of our soul,” Agnes said. “A person can only stand so much of that. Let me know if you ever want help finding those parts again.”
“It’s been so much lately,” Tye said. “So much death. So much violence. So many bad people.”
We’ve run into some genuinely evil people lately—killers.”
He got the blank look that often came over his face when facts interfered with whatever desire had just popped into his head.
You seem angry sometimes.” “That’s because I am. I’m angry that these people exist in the world, and there’s very little I can do about it.
“Why are you angry?” Agnes’s voice was soft. The sun had moved far enough to the west that she now sat half in shadow. “Because I’m frightened,” Tye said. “It’s like I flipped over a rock and found all sorts of ugly, evil things crawling around underneath. If it were just me, that would be one thing, but I’m worried something will happen to my girlfriend Kaity or one of my other friends.” In the back of his mind, he realized he’d come here to get information from her, but he was the one sharing. But it felt like the right thing to do to him. Tye had trusted his gut when it came to other people all his life, and he’d rarely been wrong. “I think I scare Kaity sometimes.” That was out of his mouth before he realized it was coming. “In another time, another place, another culture, you’d have elders to guide you through this,” Agnes said. “Nowadays, we expect soldiers, police officers, firefighters, people like that, to deal with this all alone.” “I’m not any of those things,” Tye said. “But you are a protector, a guardian. You just don’t have the official blessing of a government.” “What do I do?” That question hung there between them for a few long moments. From outside, Tye heard the crunch of tires on gravel as the people from the meditation retreat left. “I can help you,” Agnes said. “But this presents me with a conundrum. I have some prior obligations to think about.” “Do you mean Brianna and Pauline?” She took a deep breath and settled in her chair. “I think all I can say is that if I had information that either of them was in danger, I’d certainly share it.” “That’s all I’m getting?” “For right now. Yes.” He looked at his watch and realized much more time had passed than he realized. He stood. “Guess I’ll be going then. If you change your mind, let me know.” “I still have your business card.” She stood and offered a hand. “Come see me when this is all over. We have much to talk about.” He shook her small hand, with its palm calloused from years of garden work. “I’ll do that.” As he returned to his truck, Tye tried to figure out what had just happened. Agnes knew more than she was telling. When he got to his truck, all the other cars had pulled out of the lot, and he stood there for a while. The only sound was the prayer flags flapping in the wind. A faint scent of incense wafted on the breeze. Tye felt a tremendous sense of peace here, like the retreat center was a little oasis of sanity in a world he was increasingly viewing as dark and malevolent. Over the years, he’d watched as Gary delved deeply into Buddhism and Taoism, but he’d never felt the need to be anything more than a half-interested observer. Lately, during the dark stretches of the night when he struggled to sleep, his head full of images of the death and violence he’d seen, he’d often wondered if there was a way to find a place of peace to counterbalance the evil and darkness he’d uncovered. He wondered if this was one of those places.
Truthfully, I didn't have a clue what I might encounter in this book. I was hoping for a series similar to that of Nevada Barr, who roams through the country as a ranger... But I never would have thought that it would include, partly, a reality crew who was shooting two women who were to be survivalists--in the nude! Yeah, they made a point that on the film, there would be appropriate coverage in the right place, but, really?
And Tye Caine was wondering why he kept getting pulled into this type of job by a questionable producer of such films... Interestingly there were only two women. It was hoped that they would get snarky, you know, like those stupid--my opinion--Housewives have been known to do, although that's only what I've heard. I'm not really a reality fan... Nevertheless, the hopeful plan did not happen since the two women soon began to work together to build shelter, find food...
Until one of them disappeared from the site location...
Ok, the plot was fairly open in my opinion, but that did not affect the basic mystery storyline--which proved to be quite creative and tense... There were many subplots that gave readers a chance to start playing around with what and how the story would flow... And, for your info, Tye Caine is a fantastic wilderness guide in all ways that are important.
Even to the point of having a female business partner who begins to be revealed in this book that intimates that her background is far more comprehensive in security methodology than he could have imagined! Should prove to increase the suspense in following books...
Of course, since one woman disappeared soon after the book starts, there is immediately a dual responsibility for Caine--keeping the second woman handling the activities she was dealing with as a survivalist. But, now, there was a search through the mountains trying to find what happened to the other one. They had found her backpack, but after intensive surroundings were searched, it was concluded that there had to be somebody who had been involved in her disappearance!
As with many books being published in the mystery, suspense, thriller genres these days, there are clear lines of the emotions of those involved. Some act criminally to gain riches... Some are pure evil and yet hide it from many through lies... Even from family members... But, sooner or later, even those who find it difficult to work to respond to the needs of others, must take a stand. And fight...
And the first concern was that night lights began to fly across the area, finally revealed to be the use of Morris Code between two areas. But who and why was this type of communication being used? Well, for one reason was, of course, that cell service was minimal. But readers learn that there are other types of technical methods used in tracking that could be both helpful as well as detrimental, especially when there was no known awareness that other types of surveillance had even been going on...
One of the unique aspects of the character creation is that Barbur brings in individuals as part of the story; however, does not mention who or why. A young delightful boy was the perfect character to call attention to the humanity of the "good guys" versus those who are not... And in this book, there is the extreme in one way and the other... The boy so delightfully alive while at the same time, soon, they found the location, where the slightly sunken ground proved to be...graves of young girls who also disappeared...
Tye had found his behavior odd the whole time but hadn’t been able to articulate quite why. Now, it finally came to him: Kenneth Howley was acting less like someone with a missing daughter and more like someone missing a valuable piece of property. Maybe the two weren’t that different to him.
“I think one of the things that’s bothering me the most is that the people who are supposed to help just seem inconvenienced by all this. First, it started with Brianna and Pauline, and everybody at the sheriff’s department seemed to care more about how they had better things to do than look for them. Now there’s a bunch of dead women in the forest, and the biggest priority is getting the paperwork right.” “Almost makes you lose faith in the institutions here to protect us,” Tye said. “The other thing that bothers me is I could be one of those women,” Kaity said. “It’s like they got picked off by some kind of predator.” “Except the other elk in a herd will at least try to protect one of their members if they can,” Tye said. “I’m not sure how I feel about being compared to an elk, but yeah.” They stood there for a while under the hot water. Tye had still felt a chill settle over him despite the heat of the day, and right now, standing there with Kaity seemed to be one of the only things that could drive it off.
Finally, it didn't surprise me to learn of supernatural additions to the story... Great! Right? In the mountains there was historical awareness of having the "sight" or dreams that are used to help find the way forward. Caine is one of those who "sees," but still has internal doubts and fears as he strives to understand, "Why him?" I'll be checking out more of this series as possible... I hope what you've learned here will help you realize that in this time of turmoil, lies, and conmen, that we must be working to help those who are captured in the sights of those who've chosen evil as a pathway for their lives... And rid the world of those who violently turn toward others for strange and weird types of satisfaction... Do check out this writer and this series in particular!
With a heavy sigh, she collapsed into his arms. “What if she pushes one button too many and I end up killing her?” “You can call Elliott and me, and we’ll help you get rid of her body.” She chuckled. “You’d do that for me?” “I vowed for better or for worse.”
Kassie gave a short, humorless laugh. “Always the cop, huh? Even when it’s family.” “Especially when it’s family.” Helen finally met her gaze. “I spent over thirty years wondering why people disappeared on us. I’m not losing you to something stupid like this.”
“How many pitchers of beer did you drink?” Elliott asked with a wicked grin. “Three,” Chris asked. “But Helen and I weren’t driving and—” “But buzzed enough to kill all inhibitions,” Francine giggled. “Let’s just say while this hotel is nice, the walls aren’t that thick,” Elliott said. “I’m in the mood for love,” Doris sang. Helen’s face flushed. “We are married.” Doris held up her hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m glad that you and my son have a sexually happy relationship.” With a sigh, Chris rubbed his flushed face. “Not for the rest of our stay here.”
It's been quite some time since I read a book by Lauren, but I knew that there would be a basic sameness that made me make her one of my favorite authors... First, a dog will always be a member of the family... Indeed, Lauren started out with a family series and has continued the saga down through the years, spotlighting each generation in one way or another... In my mind I might not be able to remember the ancestral lines, but I can still picture the first main character and how he came to be a rich cop! LOL
And, you will always feel like you're in the midst of a family event... Even with the latest, which includes the Geezer book club (the club is a cover for solving mysteries) there is a feeling of kinship, of laughter, of warmth and sharing that also comes along with backgrounds of individuals which makes the pain and hurt even more poignant to read about... If you're looking for a long-time series or a quick read, do check Lauren Carr out, by entering her name in the right column and pulling up book after book that has brought pleasure to thousands if not millions!
“I’ve made absolutely no headway,” Doris told Helen as she took a seat across from her. “But I’m going to crack this case. All the book club has to do is identify her, then we can find out who killed her and stuffed her in a barrel.” A group of retired law enforcement investigators, the Geezer Squad pretended to be a book club—because they were afraid of what their families would do if they knew that instead of reading crime fiction, their parents and grandparents investigated true crime. Their latest case was The Lady in the Barrel. “Mom is obsessed.” Chris refilled his glass of lemonade and joined them at the kitchen table. “Aren’t you going to take a shower?” Doris asked. “You’re sweaty.” “I’ll take a shower before dinner. I just want to rest for a few minutes.” He reached across the table and slid his mother’s copy of the folder containing the details of that month’s cold case.
“Can you imagine contracting to have your deck rebuilt and finding a dead body encased in a barrel that has been there for decades?” “How do you not notice a fifty-five-gallon barrel under your deck?” Helen picked up the copy of the forensics report of the barrel’s contents. “Do you know what’s under our porch?” Doris asked with a wicked grin. “Our house is a hundred years old. There’s no telling what secrets the Matheson family has hidden inside these walls or under our floors.” “The key is the barrel.” Chris pointed a finger at the picture of the rusty barrel on the report Helen was scanning. “How many people have fifty-five-gallon barrels lying around? It isn’t something you just pick up at the local hardware store. If we contact the company that made the barrel, they may steer us toward the killer.” “That combined with the used motor oil they found inside with the lady,” Helen said, “That’s a lot of used motor oil. We’re talking about a service garage.” “So, the killer has to have some connection to automotive.” Chris picked up the picture of the composite sketch of the Lady. “What details has the forensic pathologist given us to narrow down our search of the missing persons database?” “He believes she was in her late twenties to early thirties,” Doris said. “Female. She had long blond hair. She was a bleached blonde. Five feet four inches tall. Weighed approximately one hundred and fifteen pounds. She had given birth at some point.” The three of them passed around the picture of a young woman with long blond hair. She was a pretty woman. “What was the cause of death?” Helen asked. “I doubt if she crawled into that barrel to die of natural causes.” “The investigators said she died of asphyxiation,” Doris said. “She’d been strangled.” “Strangling someone with your bare hands is up close and personal,” Chris said. “Whoever did this went to a lot of trouble to hide the body. The killer got the barrel, sealed it, and concealed it in a location he knew would remain undiscovered for a considerable period.” “The homeowner had lived in that house for three years,” Doris said. “Law enforcement completely cleared him. Law enforcement has accounted for every woman in his life. Francine researched every homeowner from the time the house was built forty years ago to the present and discovered no potential victims. One of her sources told me that law enforcement has done the same. There’s no missing woman connected to anyone who lived in or had any connection to the crime scene.” “Did they find anything else in the barrel besides the body and dirty motor oil?” Helen asked. “The victim wore white jean shorts and a blue and white striped shirt with shoulder pads,” Doris said, “Now the shoulder pads tell me that this murder must have taken place in the 80s. Shoulder pads were a big thing then.” Chris mentioned the house was built in ‘83. “Forensics determined the clothes were all upscale designer brands,” Doris said. “Even her underwear was expensive. We’re not talking about Rodeo Drive. But we are talking about Macy’s or Bloomingdale’s. The type of woman that people would notice if she had disappeared.” “That points to our victim having an expensive taste in clothes,” Helen said. “I’d say,” Doris said. “Not only was she wearing designer clothes, but jewelry, too. She also had diamond sand dollar earrings. We're looking at a woman with means.” “Someone has to have reported her missing,” Helen said. “We just haven’t found the report yet.” “Did they find any other jewelry?” Chris asked. “Wedding ring?” “Nothing. No purse or wallet or driver’s license giving her name,” Doris replied. “That’d be too easy,” Helen said while giving Sterling a cracker with a slice of cheddar cheese on it. “No hit with her DNA in the national database?” “Or familial DNA.” “You said she had given birth,” Helen cast a glance at Chris sitting next to her. “That means she’s someone’s mother. She’s got family out there looking for her.” “We’ll find her. The Geezer Squad is on the case.” Doris gathered the reports and cleared the table for dinner.
“How did your helpers do?” The sly grin on her face revealed she knew the answer to her question. Chris let out a sigh filled with exhaustion. He laid his head in his arms on the table. “The highlight was the last hour when Katelyn got a splinter in her finger. While Sierra, Victor, and Buck administered first aid, Nikki and I collected the last two truckloads of hay and hauled them to the barn.” “Three people to remove one splinter?” Helen asked with a laugh. “Katelyn takes after her grandma,” Chris said. “I never needed a splinter to wrap a man around my little finger.” Doris winked at Helen. “All I needed was to turn on my irresistible charm.” “Why didn’t you use your irresistible charm on Elliott to get him to help me bale hay?” Chris asked in a sleepy tone. “He would have, but he had to go help that friend of his down in Georgia. Do you know where you made your mistake?” Doris shook the case file at him. “You should have had a bigger family. When I was growing up on our farm down in southern West Virginia, hay season was a big thing. All our aunts and uncles and cousins would come out. The women would cook all day and make desserts while the men would be out baling and hauling in the hay. Then afterwards, we’d be eating and gathering around the bonfire and shooting off firecrackers.” She continued to recount stories about her childhood in rural Appalachia as she put away her research and prepared dinner. Their voices lowered to a very dull roar in Chris’s ears as he drifted off to sleep. “Who’s that?” His mother’s question crashed through his slumber.
~~~~
Whoa, did you notice that the setting for at least part of this latest case is centered on West Virginia and Morgantown, where I used to live, as part of the search area? Carr is known for her novels being set in this particular area, but tapping into Morgantown was a bit more closer home for me. Made me connect more right from the beginning!
Before we go any further, this book starts out as a specific cold case, but becomes so much more that you will boggle at the complexity of your story line... So be prepared!
Christ Matheson is the ancestral main character; however, his wife, Helen, and her sister really set the stage for the entire book. You see, quite recently his wife's sister, Kassie, contacted her. The two sisters have been estranged in recent years... The girls lost both their parents at early ages. They both disappeared. Helen had been adopted and had a better life than Kassie who had been in several different homes during her childhood. But Kassie had come to realize that she needed to find some place--somebody--to be a part of a family for the rest of her life. She started with finding Helen and asking her to work with her to find out what had happened to her parents... And once that decision was made, of course, the entire Geezer group became part of the search. These individuals, by the way, all have some type of background that provides them a special expertise by which they can help in a formal criminal investigation. And when they started working a case, the pace, I must say, is much faster than any normal police procedural book you will ever read! LOL!
Once a plan has been made, they start the investigation, which almost immediately, led to the discovery of a body. It was not the girls mother, but the body did still wear costly jewelry, which could be identified and allow moving on to the next step in the search. In fact, each action that was discovered, soon resulted in the discovery of more bodies!
Just not the girls parents!
Staring out at the historic downtown buildings and the distant silhouette of Halliehurst Mansion against the forested ridge, Helen nodded. “Or maybe we just got bigger.” Her voice was quiet, laced with the weight of questions they’d carried for decades. They were here to uncover the truth about their parents, and in this quiet Appalachian town—gateway to endless trails yet rooted in its own stubborn history—that truth felt closer, and more daunting, than ever. Kassie turned at a light to take an exit ramp off the freeway leading into Elkins. “You can be the bad cop. You’re good at that.” Shooting a sideways glance at her sister, Helen ignored the dig.
“I used to entertain you kids by singing Dolly Parton songs.” “And play the guitar,” Helen said. “That was me.” Dani did a deep bow at the waist. “I perform most weekends at the local saloons.”
But soon they were traveling back to where the family clan was still living. Helen visited first and was immediately welcomed back with their pet name for her--this would be important as the search gets more tense! But an interesting event they discovered was that their mother had become involved with a group of call girls called the Suzy Qs, but she was known for her helping them with the business management rather than actually being involved... And all the SuzyQs that were still in town praised what their mother had taught them to be able to get out on their own and made a better life...
“Suzi Q was a class operation,” Dani said. “Didn’t any of you feel you were being exploited as sex workers?” Helen asked. “Nobody grows up saying they want to become a sex worker.” Trudy shrugged her shoulders. “In my case, I was being sexually abused by my stepfather. I ran away at sixteen–to Abby’s house. We had been best friends forever. I happened upon what Abby’s mother did for a living. I thought, why not charge for it? At least I could support myself. Your mother tried to talk me out of it.” “My grandmother was a prostitute.” Kassie stared at her uneaten slice of pizza. “My mother was a madam. My father came from a family of thieves.” “Oh, so you know about that,” Dani said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Do you ever regret taking up that line of work?” Helen asked. “I did what I had to do to survive,” Trudy said. “When it was time to turn the page on that chapter, I turned it and never looked back.” She leaned toward them. “Your mother wasn’t proud of what your grandmother did. She tried to get her out of that work. But just when she thought she was making headway, your grandmother would slide right back into it. She made good money, and she needed it to support her bad habits.” “Being level-headed, Abby could see things more clearly than any of us,” Stephanie said. “We all had baggage. Mostly low self-esteem. Abby knew we needed someone with a steady hand to guide and encourage us to look toward a future beyond Suzi Q.” “Use Suzi Q as a stepping stone to something better,” Helen said.
As with most stories these days, we soon are introduced to the fact that Helen and Kassie had come from the wrong side of town and had been frowned upon by those with money or power--and there is both. I really don't know whether it is on purpose, or whether every rich family acts like many political families or their rich neighbors, but we certainly have them in this book...
And that leads me to a point I especially wanted to mention about Lauren's books...Readers will be totally involved in "life..." with every facit... One minute the team will be involved in searching for possible cars in a waterway. While Helen, watches her sister dance in shadows as she waits for her friend who will be searching for any cars. Helen hides, not wanting to spoil her sister's moments of joy as she waits to have her close friend join them... For me, this helps to blunt the vision of the crimes that had been committed years ago, while, these breaks of wanting to be with a loved one allows us to gain warmth and safety, as we realize we are not alone in any type of tragedy... Carr excels at this type of twist and turn from one type of scene to another!
It was those in the higher class of town who conceived the story that Helen and Kassie's father had run away with a wife of another to go to Hollywood... But as the investigation developed in depth material, there was no evidence of their father being the man who had traveled out of state. Indeed, soon there was evidence that the woman he supposedly went with, was not the one who traveled out of town--in fact, did anybody? Yet the same rumor was repeated over and over and over, as if lies could make something false become true...
In fact, there was only one specific clue about, on the other hand, what had happened to their mother years later... And it was that Kassie, at age 5, had seen her mother get into a van with Pee Wee Herman... with his famous pinstriped suit... Could a child have correctly remembered that image for decades?
The group settled in, voices dropping lower, the office suddenly feeling smaller—and the stakes, somehow, larger. Outside, the dining room carried on with its usual clatter, but here, forty-five years of secrets had just surfaced...
“Can’t you see that those of us living in the present have lives to live? Some shadows are best left alone.” “Would you be saying that if it was your daughter who went missing and Destiny here had to grow up without her mother?”
You may think we are coming to the end of the story...but you'd be wrong...Wonderfully wrong!!! Because this author not only closes out every single issue/murder event, she presents a fantastic scene for each! Some are funny, some are sad, some reveal accountability which is much needed these days... You get the idea, right? Because this author is one of the best to be found for a totally unique type of family drama which happens to include exciting and intense scenes, one of which has to be read to believe, when Sterling acts to save the day! The signaling between Chris and his K-9 was so extraordinary, I'd defy anybody to figure out exactly how it occurred, unless you're a dog master too! LOL
“Always wanted to flatten high society. Feels better than I imagined.”
Helen and Kassie walked down the aisle together, heads high, family—blood and chosen—following to the front. The organ played “Amazing Grace.” Jethro stepped to the pulpit. “Dearly beloved,” he began, voice carrying to the rafters, “we gather to lay Michael and Abigail Hartman to rest—two souls taken too soon but never forgotten. They leave behind children who carried their light through the dark, and a family fractured too long. Today, that fracture mends.” He looked out over Hartmans, Suzi Q ladies, Geezers, and cousins. “Mike and Abby didn’t see this day. But I believe they’re watching. And I believe they’re smiling.”
Grab any book from Lauren Carr
Find justice, accountability, and Family Love and Truth
A princess escaping her ivory tower. Racing toward the awaiting prince in another kingdom.
If you haven't yet read a book written by one of the best storytellers I've read, I recommend you start with today's presentation. Midnight! Although I can't remember the name of the first book by Sala that I read, I can still remember my emotional response. That response which nudges me whenever I get a notice that she has a new book available. Midnight was written for avid readers like me--you know, I'm the one that normally responds to the question of "what is your favorite book" by responding "The one I'm reading right now..." No, that's not always true, but it covers a high percentage of the books I've written about here at Book Readers Heaven where no more than 10 a year are selected as a personal favorite... And, more importantly, only a very few are selected as favorite author... Sharon Sala became a favorite author with her first book I read!
You will find that Midnight, as a romantic suspense--heavy on the renewal of the relationship between Asher and Nora--just might fulfill every single hope
Sharon wins the Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award RITA from RWA (Photo Credit: Jan Goldstoff)
you might have for every book you read. And, in doing so, Sala also ensures that every single wish you'd want to close out each book is, indeed, fully responded to... You will have NO questions in your mind about what happened to this person or that... I, quite simply, loved this book! It provided a contentment that only can be provided by a writer that writes books that they personally want to read... And does that job perfectly!
Indeed, I wasn't surprised when I discovered that Sala had been presented a lifetime Nora Roberts' Award. Roberts is also one of my favorite writers, especially with her J.D.Robb series! Plan, therefore, to find the same quality of writing as Nora when you select a book by Sharon Sala!
Now, let me share a little about this story!
Asher Kingston didn’t thrive in disorder. He needed to know what was happening, what his part in it was, and what needed to happen next, and he hadn’t had one solid day of order since the phone call from his dad, telling him about Nora. At that moment, every carefully planned aspect of his life blew up in his face. It was Brenda’s fault. She’d disrupted all of their lives when she ended hers. But it was also the wakeup call that he’d needed, and now he couldn’t imagine any aspect of his life without Nora in it. Finding out about her stalker had been a shock. Learning how she’d saved herself, then found a retreat in her ivory tower that gave her the safety and space to continue her work without giving up what she loved, turned on every protective instinct he had. He knew she wasn’t helpless. Far from it, but he wanted to be there for her when she needed it. To make that happen, they first had to put the Brandt brothers in prison, and that was uppermost in his mind as he came out of Belker’s with a bouquet of flowers. Three minutes later, he was pulling up into Nora’s driveway. He loved her. He wanted her. Every part of him ached to take her to bed. He was saying it with flowers, but if she was slow to get the message, he was willing to strip naked and let her see it for herself. He traded his Stetson for the flowers and left it in the front seat. Then he was out the door and running up the steps with the wind at his back. He knocked, waiting for the sound of her footsteps, then all of sudden, the door swung inward and there she stood. A vision in pink wearing fuzzy socks and slippers. The smile on her face was all it took to pull him over the threshold. He shut the door and laid the flowers in her arms. “Asher! I love them. I never get flowers. They’re beautiful.” “Like you,” he said. “Go put them in water so I can kiss you.” She laughed. “Come help. I’m still making messes with this one,” she said, waving the hand with the stitches. He shed his coat on the sofa and followed, got a vase from the etagere, filled it half full of water for her, then watched her put them in the water and arrange them. “The fall colors in this are just perfect. I love them, and they’ll make a nice focal point on the dining table. I’m signing a contract with a realtor tomorrow and she’s using the existing furniture for staging.” As soon as she finished the arrangement, he carried it to the dining table for her, and as he turned, he caught a wistful expression on her face. “Are you sad, darlin’… About selling the house, I mean?” She shrugged. “A little, but realistic about it, too. It’s not the same with them gone, you know? I keep thinking about the us we resurrected. That’s where my hopes are. They’re already with you.” The look in her eyes. The words she’d just said. Like turning a cog and watching it fall into place. With her there was no discord, only peace. He brushed a kiss across her lips, then cupped her face, feeling the softness of her skin against his palms. “You are my touchstone. You always were. You always will be. I will always love and protect you.” “My darling, Ash. Through no fault of your own, you are the one who was left in charge, but you’re also the one who needs to be cared for, and tended to, and loved harder…loved more. Let me be that person for you, too. I know you still have to clear the deck for your dad, but spare me enough time for this. Come to bed with me. It’s going to take the rest of our lives to catch up with what we lost. Now is as good a time as any to start refilling the well. Make love now. Make babies with me later.” Then she was in his arms, moving through the shadowed halls, and once again, into her bedroom. Inhibitions came off with their clothes. They were as frantic for the joining as they had been when they were young and crazy wild for each other, but old enough now to savor the sweet heat of building a slow fire. One that engulfed, instead of flashed. Asher was stretched out beside her, tracing the shape of her cheek, to the shallow beneath her throat, to the weight of her breasts in his hand. Watching her eyelids flutter as he rolled her nipple between his fingers. Hearing the catch in her breath when he slid his hands between her legs, then leaving a trail of kisses from her chin to her belly button. Nora’s heart was racing as he moved over her, then in her. It was the beginning, and she already wanted more. She knew what turned him on. It was her. Sex between them had always been magic. A quickening of souls as well as bodies, and this time as he began, she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. It was ecstasy, and a kind of agony as he began to move. One minute, then another and another, and she could feel it building—wanting it to go on forever, then suddenly desperate for a release. It came without warning. Shattering focus and concentration as the blood rush hit. They lay in each other’s arms until there was nothing left of the ride but the intermittent ripple of aftershocks. Asher buried his face in the thick fall of her hair, groaning softly at the thought of having to move. “God, Nora, you destroy me.” Nora looked up into his face, at the high cheekbones and stubborn chin. A mouth for laughter, and kissing. And the clear-blue color of his eyes. “I will lose sleep thinking about this, and doing without you…without this wild madness you turn on inside me, but you are so very worth the wait. I love you. And I also know you haven’t finished what you came to do.” He rolled over, taking her with him, and pulled her close as she pillowed her head upon his chest. “Yes, we do, and there’s still work to do. Reddick agreed to the press conference. Once it airs, we go on lockdown.
~~~~
I chose to share a later excerpt on purpose, although I don't think it gives enough away that I would not be saying anyway. It seems to me that those writers who declare their books as "clean" have decided to leave out the full range of emotions that the majority of people have. I often wonder why... In any event, there is much emotional angst and happiness in this book, and the setup for the story takes only a few short pages of the early chapters...
Brenda, the wife of an owner of a bar and the mother of three boys, was involved in both a sexual and criminal way with a theft that took place many years ago. Brenda who realized they would be caught had taken the suicide way out, emptying a bottle of pills which allowed her death to occur before the police even had a chance to interview her. What she also succeeded to do, perhaps unwittingly--was ruin her family's lives in many ways.
Nora and Asher, the oldest of the sons, were already in love, but Asher had to immediately assume the role of caretaker for the younger boys, as well as maintaining the home which was attached to the bar.
Although the thieves had been killed or caught, little was done to close the case since none would talk. Years passed and the three young boys were now grown. Asher the oldest and Gunner, the youngest, and the most emotionally impacted by his mother's betrayal, had both gone into law. The other, Dylan, now was a contractor and the only one married. Life was moving along and the owner of the bar continued on to begin to establish and confirm that he, also, was not involved in the robbery of around $1M!
And it probably would have continued on except that death interfered... The leader of the gang who had done the robbery was dying. Nora's parents were now both gone and she had come back to town to sell the home they had lived in for most of their lives. Nora had moved, but worked out of her home, anyway, so she was able to go back, set up to keep her work going, and begin to prepare the house for sale, which would include repairs...
Readers will know the entire set of events from page 1, including the mother's lament, Brenda's cry of remorse
When Jacob slipped into bed beside her, she heard his weary sigh as he pulled up the covers and turned out the bedside lamp. He was such a good man. Oh God, oh God… What have I done to this family?
Until the other death was near, the leader of the gang called in his two sons, told them where the money was, and they soon were planning just how to proceed. The first act was for them to assume fake names, walk into the bar run by Jacob, spend some time there and finally explained they'd been looking for a bar to buy and wanted to know if Jacob was interested in selling. When he said no, they left... They brought a gun the next time they broke in. And even though they didn't plan on murder, Jacob was shot, badly, and close to death...
The entire town was in an uproar, not understanding why Jacob was attacked. Nothing was taken so it wasn't a robbery... Soon, the three boys arrived... And they weren't leaving until this entire mess, including the connection to the death of the gang leader, was cleared up and solved. Fast and furious action begins!
I smile. If she doesn’t have all of my heart, she has all of my body, spirit, and mind—because when it comes to the way my mind works, she knows exactly how to talk.
“So are we done sharing deep, dark secrets for the night?” she asks. “I don’t know. You decide.” “I think we’ve done an impressive amount of that kind of sharing.” “I think I’d say I agree.” She takes my hand and leads me to the bed. Kisses the back of my wrist, nibbles it before she lets me go. Stands on her toes to kiss a side of my neck, then my earlobe, which she bites just hard enough to send pain and maybe a little panic down my neck. “You do realize,” I say, “that it’s been more than four years.”
Mark Wish asks the question:
Who can you trust if you can't trust yourself?
Mark Wish sent me a postcard request for a review quite some time ago. I set the card aside until I was able to be back blogging... And I'm certainly glad I found his post card again. Most people know I love unique. And this is one of the most unique books I've read... So unique, I had to name it as a Personal Favorite for 2026!
I was immediately caught by the main character being a literary agent--Anything re books catches my attention...
Even if that literary agent committed murder...
The description of that murder was unique--it was not about killing somebody. It was about having lost a part of himself. Something that had been precious to him, which was now destroyed. But now that it was over, he was paying the price. He had learned something, though. He could not trust himself in certain types of situations... His time in Sing Sing was a time when he needed to be on good behavior every day of his sentence, hoping he'd be able to get time off for good behavior...
Still it left him plenty of time to, also, file divorce papers after she had been unfaithful. And, deal with the fact that a supposed friend had been involved with his wife... Four years had given him enough time to explore options for the future. After all, being a literary agent was a job that required trust in him, by individuals hoping to have his support and help in publishing their books. It was what he enjoyed doing, even if the percentage of his work reviewing material from those who were never going to be published was high and very time consuming. He also wondered if those with whom he'd had contracts would be willing to stay with him...
One in particular, who wrote a lot of poetry, even though he'd never been able to get a book published, he felt had real talent and enjoyed working with him. Would he even still be living when he got out?
I need to be able to talk with someone who knows me, the real me...
In fact I’m out there, in the yard, when I first meet Jonas. On the unshaded basketball court, where my mood often spikes if direct sunshine finds me. Using the hoop with no net and therefore alone, sometimes lost in thought about my victim, sometimes imagining him putting his first move on my ex, in any case vulnerable to the whims of anyone who has the nerve to approach me. And Jonas indeed has the nerve. As he crosses the out-of-bounds line, all I know about him (well, all I’ve heard about him since he arrived here yesterday) is that he, too, has killed a man, in his case during a flubbed attempt to rob the Mahopac OTB while partnering up with a defective AR-15...
Suddenly all of that changed for Matthew Connell!
Because the FBI had a serial killer case that they needed help to solve... Young writers were being targeted and ultimately dismembered. And the one who was being looked at as a possible person of interest was the poet that Matt had been thinking about... And Jonas was his new contact from the FBI who proposed that, if he helped them, he would be freed, with no strings attached after the case was closed... And Jonas became that somebody with whom Matt could talk... as long as he talked about what the FBI needed to know!
“Would rather hear what you know about Ethan Hendee,” he says. Ethan Hendee was a client of mine who, eighteen years ago—that is, more than a decade before I learned my wife wasn’t exactly a saint—gave up on writing novels to write poems that appear in those photocopied literary mags no one reads. He’s a helluva writer, candid and interesting and succinct as anyone published, but I have not survived here by not holding cards close. So: “Ethan Hendee?” “Ha.” “Why ha?” “Because I know you’re Matthew Connell, and that you’ve represented the poet Ethan Hendee for a long time.” “The only problem being I don’t know such a person.” “But see, bro, there’s no question in my mind that you do know him. I know you’ve been his agent for years.” I shake my head no. Eye the asphalt between us and the cyclone fence. “You trying to tell me you’re not Matthew Connell?” he asks. “Matt Connell.” I force a sour expression. “Maybe you’re confusing me with some hoity-toity guy? Anyway, how does someone who hauls around an AR-15 know anything about poetry?” He points at his hornrims. “Because he’s read some?” “Well, I don’t know any Hendee.” “But see, Matt, I still think you do. Plus I think that, as his literary agent, you know what a badass he is.” In all truth, I do not know this. The Ethan Hendee I represented before my arrest had a soul gentle as any. I’m curious about what this Jonas guy heard Hendee did, but to get an early release, I’ve pledged to myself never to talk about crime that’s gone down on the outside. After all, a rehabbed convict no longer cares about crime, and I am nothing if not a rehabbed convict. To let this Jonas guy know I’m done socializing for the day, I turn and face the run of the Hudson beyond the chain link and the razor wire, its waves peaking into whitecaps here and there. “So you’re not gonna spill?” he asks. I don’t as much as shrug. He zings me a no-look pass, really zips it, hard, straight at my head, but I notice it soon enough to catch it. “Ya missed,” I mutter loud enough for him to hear, and I look over to stare him down, but his back is already turned, a confident stride taking him off. And it occurs to me, as he heads to the guarded double doors between us and the inside, that if he doesn’t have six inches on me, he has seven. And that my own storied past has taught me that the strength to kill a man comes not only from size—it also comes from youth. So I’ll avoid him, I decide. Won’t let him know I’m avoiding him, but that’s what I’ll do. There’s an art to this.
And then Jonas put the pressure on...
A Quieter Saturday
Night of those 2 grandparents
my grandmother was nicer
but she loved my brother so much
there was rarely laughter in her for me
& on that night my brother wasn’t there—
it was just the 2 of us
& my grandfather
& my grandfather never spoke
so it felt as if it were just the 2 of us
she & I were playing cards for nickels
& she was winning
& my grandfather was reading the paper
& I could tell she liked to win
but it bothered her she’d lent me the nickels
in the first place
it just wasn’t the same for her:
winning at cards with this grandson
who didn’t like nuns
it would be better if she were winning
against adults & their money
or even losing to my brother
who she was sure would become a priest
& he did become a priest—
after she died
then he died from a virus
he caught from a priest
& the last 2 things I’d do tonight
are go to church & play cards
my grandfather died also
but by then I was no longer around
to see him off
still I am him in this room:
full of words not saying any of them
~~~~
Hendee’s candor has touched my heart yet again, but I decide that, for the moment, it’s best to appear unfazed. I stand, shrug, place the poem on Scardina’s desk. “You know who wrote that thing, right?” Jonas asks. “No,” I say. “It said so on the header.” “Guess I missed that.” “Matt, your client Ethan Hendee wrote that poem.” “I wouldn’t say Hendee’s my client.” “I would. And there’s plenty of evidence to prove me right.” “Is that so?” “All sorts back at my headquarters.”
Headquarters. God, do I love that word. As an agent—that is, before my twenty-eight minutes—I always wanted a headquarters, an airy square footage in which like-minded colleagues and I could find repose. Where I’d gain moral support and refresh my resolve on the toughest days in the grand competition that is publishing.
But, of course, the FBI always gets their man, even if it requires that he be given freedom from a murder charge and given an apartment, a phone, credit cards and all he had to do was...be himself... Check out his former client and see if he's become a serial killer...
Before his twenty-eight minutes--the time it took to hear what happened with his wife, get to his home, and kill him--Matt was a wonderful man, caring for his wife, his clients, and even going further to often provide rewrites necessary to get a book published. His poet had been able to get many of his individual poems routinely published. Enough to keep him in food an shelter. So Matt, after agreeing to what the FBI asked of him, immediately took off to try to find his friend and client. Finding him was enough to take some time, but finding his way there again, he was pleased to find him and, as they renewed their friendship, Matt just knew this man was not a killer! Nevertheless, he would spend time confirming what he already knew...
Along the way, as he started visiting the neighborhood where his apartment was located, he found it hard to accept that he was really free, after his four years out of circulation, to be able to move about. To walk into any location and sit down for something to eat or drink... It wasn't long before he met Em. And fell for her! Of course, that was not part of the FBI plan and soon he learned just how closely he was being kept in their circle of captivity: all phone information was captured or listened to; they had given him a set of specially-made shoes that could be tracked step by step no matter where he went...
In the meantime, another young writer disappeared. And, later, the killer changed his pattern, when the male poet who Matt had been asked to track and report on, as the number 1 suspect on the FBI radar, was also murdered...
I think through a few things I could mention about Hendee if asked to eulogize him: his candor, his honor, his wit, his decades of persistence in the face of what most people considered failure. I owe it to him to say these things publicly, I tell myself. Still, I want only to talk with Em...
Time to reconsider the plan of action for Matt and his new female connection... Was Em a possible suspect? In the meantime, as a convict, Matt started getting hundreds of requests for assistance, many of them from men in prisons who felt they had a story to tell. Indeed Matt had found when in Sing Sing that many could weave a story that was well worth listening to! And the FBI, of course, set a course for his emails; namely, send them any writer who gave off vibes of a psycho with violence as a key role in their writing...
But as Matt became more and more involved with the literary crowd he had once known, he was finding it harder and harder to follow the restrictions placed on him, especially about Em who he had fallen for quickly and totally... Only to find it was she who, because of their association, was to share a secret so monumental that it shook him to the bones, as he wondered just how far he...could...trust...himself...
Whew! Without explicitly revealing the type of violence that was placed by the Serial Killer, the book was written in such a way that readers sense the tension, the depth of depravity of the villain... The buildup of the climax is excellent. Even while readers have been given clues and are aware of the interrelation mixes that are developing, at least for me, it never entered my mind how the ending would occur...
Extraordinary! Exciting! Endless suspense... and a Necessary Deed...
Tori held up the newspaper article. “This is an invitation. My sister’s killer wants to play a game, so… game on.”
“You may have broken off contact with everyone here, but someone kept track of you. Watch your back.”
The massive stack of mail had collapsed and fallen to the floor. “Naturally.” Exasperated, Tori walked over and dropped down to her knees. She started pulling all the pieces of mail together, finding miscellaneous bills, junk mail, a donation solicitation for Boston College, her latest Vanity Fair and Vogue magazines, and then a yellow envelope that she flipped over to make sure it was addressed to her. There was no return address, but the postmark was for Manchester Bay. Tori exhaled. She hadn’t received a piece of mail from Minnesota, let alone Manchester Bay, in years. Pushing herself up from the floor, she went to her desk and reached for her letter opener.
She sliced the top open, reached inside, and pulled out a single piece of paper. “What the…?” It was a photocopy of the front page of the Manchester Bay Chronicle, dated July 5, 1999, and the headline read: Hunter Girl Missing. In the lower left-hand corner, secured by a paper clip, was a typed note that read: Check the Manchester Bay Chronicle. It will look familiar. She’d seen the clipping before, although it had been years. A copy of it was stored in a box in the closet. “It will look… familiar.” Tori went to her desk and powered up her laptop. She typed ManchesterBayChronicle.com into the search bar. On the home page the first headline was blunt: Genevieve Lash Missing. The sub-headline read: On Twentieth Anniversary of Jessica Hunter Disappearance.
As Tori scanned the article on the website, she learned that Genevieve Lash was last seen by a friend she dropped off at home early in the morning of July 5. In his press conference, Shepard County Sheriff Cal Lund reported that Lash’s car was found abandoned and locked along the side of a county road with a flat right front tire. “Cal…” Tori murmured.
Manchester Bay always went big on the fireworks for the Fourth. Synchronized to music, they were launched from the end of the long fishing pier at the opposite end of the beach. A massive crowd gathered in lawn chairs or on blankets on the beach and in the park and then along South Shore Drive, which was barricaded for several blocks to allow for more seating. A flotilla of speedboats and pontoons were anchored in the placid waters of the bay, as well as in front of Mannion’s on the Lake, a restaurant farther northwest up the shoreline. As they settled into their seats on the bench, Jason casually put his right arm gently around Tori’s shoulder. Self-conscious to a fault, she almost always held back her emotions and affection. Yet, in this moment, she was… content. For once, she stopped caring what anyone else thought or saw. Instead of keeping just a little distance between them, she snuggled closer to Jason and then turned her face to his. Rarely the initiator, she almost surprised herself as she leaned up and kissed him, first just a little peck on his lips and then a second, softer kiss that she held for an extra moment as the fireworks show began. It was a long show, lasting nearly forty-five minutes before there was a rapid-fire launching up into the sky. “I think this is the grand finale,” Jason observed as one rocket after another shot up into the sky, exploding loudly into a kaleidoscope of colors over the waters of the bay. With his arm wrapped lightly around Tori’s shoulder, he pulled her a little closer and then leaned down and kissed her again. “Do you want to get out of here? Just you and me?” Tori froze. She knew what this question meant, to go off alone with him, and where it was leading. She’d talked about this with Jessie, who’d already taken the plunge. Tori had openly wondered whether she was ready. It had been a frequent discussion topic between the two of them. “You are,” Jessie had assured her. “You’re ready.” “How do you know? How do I know?” “Because you’re asking the question. If you ask the question, this question, the big question, then you know—” “—the answer,” Tori finished the sentence. Her body was a jumble of nerves at the thought of… sex.
Tori was aware as she came home from another case completion that the annual holiday that haunted her each year had come and gone. She'd never forget that it was during that celebration she had lost her virginity, but, worse, lost her twin sister... Sure, they had talked about it before going to the town event; but, now, it was a heavy load of regret, knowing that she had not been around her sister, as she normally was, when she had, for some reason, disappeared... Not ever discovering what happened was part of the reason she had become a FBI Agent, specializing in lost children...
Nothing, however, could have prepared her for getting a notice in her mail postmarked from her home town--a place she had not visited since she had buried her father. That was now twenty years ago!
Traveling back to where she had lived for most of her life was hard. But when she checked in with the local police, she was pleased that she knew the now chief and one of the officers was still there. She was sure that the new detective, who was handling the death of Genevieve Lash, would not easily welcome her desire to participate, so she went to Cal first and let him know she was back and showed him the message that she'd received. There was really no choice, having an FBI agent with expertise in tracking missing people, would be an asset to the case that could not be ignored.
“Yeah, but then you showed up with that article and note,” he replied. “We either have a situation where they are connected, and your sister’s disappearance was not random, or someone is using the disappearance of your sister to deflect and hide some other agenda.”
Tori was surprised and grateful that she also was able to reconnect with quite a number of her high school gang. It was to prove an advantage as they all realized that with the message that was sent to Tory, which had spotlighted the 20th anniversary of her sister's disappearance, a merge of the two cases would be required to investigate where Genevieve might have been taken...
Interestingly, the two cases which were the first to be pulled together showed many parallels between the two... And, it was a natural assumption to believe that if somebody was still active 20 years later, that there were more victims between this period and possibly even before... But what they discovered to be the reality was shocking. Soon Tori was seeking help from a friend from the FBI...
But right in the middle of the investigation, Tori was called by her boss at the FBI to travel to where a two-year-old child had been kidnapped... Another case within the larger case!
Tori tried sleeping in an easy chair in the office of the Taylors’ home. With the number of times she’d done this in various houses, buildings, and offices over the years while working a kidnapping, she ought to have trained her mind and body to be able to sleep anywhere and on anything, no matter its size or level of comfort. Yet every time it was a struggle. And now, while loath to admit it, especially with a two-year-old child kidnapped, her mind was elsewhere. No matter the lengths she went to bury it, the memory of her sister and her disappearance was always there, lurking in the back of her mind. Thoughts of Jessie were ready to be triggered by the littlest thing from 1999, like if she heard “Scar Tissue” or “Californication” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Or if she happened to stumble across a Friends episode,
something she and Jessie always watched. If Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me was on, the last movie they’d gone to before she disappeared, it would all come flooding back. They’d spent three weeks
saying: Oh be-have and Not if I can help it or Felicity Shagwell. Shagwell by name. Shag-very-well by reputation. It was the little moments and memories like that which, in a flash, brought her sister’s case out of the dark corners of her mind. That memory was no longer the lurking, occasionally painful distraction that would appear and then fade. Now it was once again all-consuming. She had the taste of reopening her sister’s case—of Manchester Bay, of walking the stretch of highway where Jessie was abducted, cruising the streets of their old hometown knowing, knowing that somewhere nearby the killer was skulking, maybe even watching, and even possibly hunting her. More than anything, that was why she was wide awake in the pitch-black of the night. Instinctually she reached for her phone and checked her text messages and emails. There was an email from Tracy Sheets from late last night indicating she was working on the project and thought she’d have something to share later tomorrow, which was now today. Later in the day—how much later? How long would she have to wait? And if Tracy had something, what did she have? And even if Tracy did have something, Tori wondered what she could then turn around and do with it. She’d considered calling Braddock but then thought better of it. They were on good terms now and she didn’t want to do anything to distract or, knowing herself, annoy him before she heard from Tracy. Besides, she had no idea when she’d be able to get back to Manchester Bay. Trying to sleep in the chair was worthless. As if her own insomnia wasn’t enough, it was a cloudless night with a full moon, and the light filtered in through the six tall and lightly curtained windows of the office. Turning on a light was not required for her to inspect the many pictures on the shelves of the long, built-in bookcase. There were family pictures, several of the Taylors with Ava over her two years. A high shelf contained a set of photos of Jake Taylor with what appeared to be college friends, and on another lower shelf was pictures of Erica Taylor and what looked to be several of her friends. A shelf in the middle of the bookcase contained pictures that were perhaps ten years old, of Jake with three people, who Tori presumed to be his sister Cindy and their parents. There were also several pictures of just Jake and Cindy. She quietly made her way down the wide corridor dividing the main level of the house. To the left she glanced into the living room to see Jake, his back turned, sleeping on the couch. In the kitchen she could see a red light illuminated on the coffee maker. There was half a pot of warm coffee left. If she was going to be awake, she might as well do it with coffee. She took a ceramic coffee cup out of the sink’s drying rack and filled it halfway. Blowing to cool the coffee, she stepped to her right to look out the side window of the kitchen into the neighbor’s backyard. As she raised the cup to her mouth, she caught a flash of light and then looked up to the second floor of the neighbor’s house. In a narrow window, she saw a man who she recognized as the neighbor. She’d seen him in the driveway putting the garbage out earlier. He was holding his cell phone and appeared to be typing a message. After a moment, he looked up and to the Taylors’ house, waving the phone. Tori leaned forward over the sink, trying to peer out the kitchen window to look up to her right but she had no angle to see up to the second floor. She was aware of only one person being up there. Tori set her cup softly on the counter and walked back to the front of the house, quietly opened the front door, slipped out onto the front stoop, and then pulled the door gently closed. She turned to her right, stepped over some bushes and flowers that were planted along the sidewalk and front step, and then made her way around the south side of the house and into the backyard. Jutting out from the northwest corner of the house was an expansive deck. Crouching down low, using the spindled deck railing as cover, she picked her way along to the corner of the deck and then peered around it and up to the second floor of the Taylor house. As she’d expected, she saw Erica in the window with her phone, looking over to her neighbor.
Will Braddock, chief detective for the Shepard County Sheriff’s Department, had already done the onsite stop to where they have found evidence of Lash. At that time he had begun his routine lead of the two additional officers who would work the case with him. Readers learn more about Will as Tory does, later in the book, as she realized that she had given little notice to his credentials and background because of her intense desire to begin to compare the two cases. And, BTW, this book follows true on a romantic interest becoming a part of their lives, although, it was not a primary part of the plot.
“Cal, he can’t—” “Victoria, please sit down.” “Cal!” “Sit down and shut up, now!” Tori froze, stunned. In the entirety of her life, she’d never heard Cal raise his voice like that to anyone. Sheepishly, she did as she was told...
Tori mumbled, “What are we going to do?” “Go back to my place and strategize while we still have some time before we have to sing “Ave Maria” in five-part harmony.”
This became a personal favorite for me for a number of reasons. As the subtitle indicates, it is addictive even though I was unable, because of my fall, to read as long as I normally do. But perhaps, from that, I was able to ponder exactly what was so intriguing about the story--for surely abuse of girls is nothing new, sad to say... For one, the book was written by a man; I wanted to see how he treated the topic that was routinely covered by women writers. I found little difference, thankfully, because I don't think this is a topic that is in any way, sexist in nature, meaning that I believe that most men are as concerned about ridding our world of such terror as women are. It was, however, by reading at this time when so much news is in the headlines about the release of the Epstein files, it created a comparison of the villain in this book against those that have thus far been identified as active participators in this cult-like crime wave that has gone on for so many years and included a documented number of over 1000 victims, thus far.
The tenacity exhibited in those characters working on the cases within this book certainly supports the caliber and intensity of those congressional and other men (and women) who are working diligently to provide some semblance of justice for those innocents who were taken into a world in which they were forced to be involved. I, for one, continue to read such books in the hope that one day we can figure out just "why" some choose to use force against those who should be loved and cherished...
