Tag Archives: Thriller

A Game of Assassins

I absolutely love author James Quinn and his spy the Gorilla. In 2015 I did some work on this book for James and because I enjoyed it so much I quit my office job to work with more people like him. Despite the fact that James’ knowledge of guns has left me always wondering exactly what he did for our government, he really is an absolute gent and I’m so pleased to share his promotion with you. Please download this story, it’s the best spy thriller I’ve ever read.



New Promo Price!!! £/$ 0.99

29th January to 4th February 2016

Available from Amazon

The assassination of a Caribbean dictator….The “hit” on a traitor in Beirut……The brutal murder of a young CIA officer behind the Iron Curtain…..

It is 1964, the height of the Cold War, and British Intelligence is riding high with its top double agent network: Constellation.

But in the secret war fought across Europe the enemy is never far away and soon the agents of Constellation are targeted by an unknown team of assassins. In desperation British Intelligence sends in their best agent to protect the network and hunt down the killers.

Jack “Gorilla” Grant isn’t your typical Cold War secret agent. Short, tough, uncompromising, rough edged. He doesn’t fit in with the elitist spies and debonair intelligence agents. He prefers working at the rough end of British covert operations.

But “Gorilla” is one of the best “Redactors” in the business. He’s an expert at close quarter combat: quick to the draw and deadly accurate when it comes to the elimination of traitors and extremists on behalf of the British Secret Service (SIS). He is soon drawn into a game of cross and double cross where nothing is as it seems and even the most perfect spy can die in a wilderness of mirrors.

“A Game for Assassins” is an action packed edge of your seat thrill ride played out across the global stage of the Cold War.


James Quinn spent 15 years in the secret world of covert operations, undercover investigations and international security before turning his hand to writing.

He is trained in hand to hand combat and in the use of a variety of weaponry including small edged weapons. He is also a crack pistol shot for CQB (Close Quarter Battle) and many of his experiences he has incorporated into his works of fiction.

The second book in the Gorilla Grant series – SENTINEL FIVE – will be available from Creativia Publishing in 2016.

He lives in the United Kingdom.

For more information check out the James Quinn Website: http://jamesquinn.webs.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/James-Quinn/1558765681046413

Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B00VRR0DYI?ref_=pe_1805931_64002121 https://www.amazon.com/James-Quinn/e/B00VRR0DYI/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Excerpt from SENTNEL FIVE

Coming 2016

Reierson smiled the smile of a man that was satisfied with life. He stretched, heard his muscles click and then made his way to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large Remy martin, no ice. He flicked on the record player and turned the volume up. Something rock and roll that Gorilla didn’t know. Someone was singing about being a wild thing.

Reierson sat back in the high chair facing the fire and the rug that he just made love on. His feet were tapping along to the music as he sipped at his drink. Gorilla was pleased. The man was relaxed, off guard, and the volume of the music would help to hide what was about to happen next. He did one final mental check: catch to the inside of the cabinet loose, gloves on, gun primed. Check. Then he gently pushed open the door, took three long steps forward so that he could reach the chair, brought the gun up to the side of Reierson’s head and pulled the trigger just as the drum beat intensified. The boom of the revolver was lost in the maelstrom of music. It had been that simple, that easy and that brutal, and no more than five seconds had elapsed since he had left the confines of the wall cabinet. Taking a life could take no time at all and Reierson hadn’t even been aware of what had happened. One moment here, the next gone. Permanently.

The Running Game Trailer

I’m extremely excited to present to you the new trailer for my soon to be re-released book The Running Game.




Take a look at an extract from this new thriller…


Daniel Eagleton


Somewhere over Germany, his mind turned against him. The pure, undiluted terror had kicked in hours ago, but he’d been expecting that, even as it came on like a bout of gastric flu, giving him the shakes and making him rush to the toilet to void his bowels. As he left the cubicle he passed one of the Danes, also looking decidedly pasty. Hung-over, probably. Not uncommon after the stopover in Cyprus. Now this Dane would have to deal with the stench Charlie had left behind. Would he complain to his mates about it? Perhaps Charlie’s shit reeked of fear. He sat back down and while the other Movers laughed and joked and planned two weeks’ leave with their girlfriends and families, Charlie did his best to appear calm. If anyone did notice his sweating, the way he was gripping the armrest, he wouldn’t be able to blame it on the booze.

He hadn’t touched a drop, not even on the beach yesterday.

He had to get a hold of himself.

Think of something.

Bit of airsickness, mate, that’s all.

An airsick RAF man?

They’d still be laughing when they landed in England.

No, no. Fine, really. Bit nervous, that’s all. Got five kilos of uncut heroin taped to my chest.

Probably best not to mention that.

The five kilos of smack concealed beneath his uniform.

Better to think about the money instead. The five grand already in his account, the other five waiting for him once he made it through customs. And he’d get through customs. They’d been over it a hundred times, him and Baker the Military Policeman. They’d even Skyped Geddis, the other copper, the one who’d be waiting for Charlie when he touched down and who’d personally make sure he wasn’t picked out of the assembly and searched.

Every detail covered.

Geddis had said as much himself.

‘For this to go well,’ he’d shrugged, his face filling the computer screen, voice

blaring through the headphones, ‘it’s in everyone’s interests, right? You get caught, that’s bad for all of us. But that’s not gonna happen. I mean, think about it. You’re gonna get your own, personal, police escort, son.’

But it was Baker who really sold it, during one of their many bonding sessions at the gym. Unable to drink during their tour, all anyone did when they weren’t working was hit the gym. Baker was older than Charlie, and Charlie respected his casual approach to life in a war zone. Charlie also liked that Baker happily reinforced the reputation enjoyed by RAF Movers, who didn’t just plan and execute the transportation of personnel and equipment by air, but were also known for their partying, their love of the ladies, and even, on occasion, their willingness to smuggle a little contraband.

‘We control every aspect of that flight,’ Baker had said. ‘We walk you on, walk you off. Meanwhile, they’re looking at your luggage, not you.’

He was right, of course. Charlie had been in and out of Brize countless times over the last seven years and he’d never once been searched. After a stint in Gibraltar, his mate Westy had to be gently reprimanded for failing to declare his knife and several rounds of live ammunition. And what about Andy ‘Two-pints’ Thompson? Everyone knew Two-pints had an M16 stashed in his room back on base.

Got it off a Marine, he said.

Never said how he got it past security, though.

The point being, Charlie had no weaponry about his person, and that, primarily, was what they’d be looking for. That’s what he’d been telling himself. Only now that voice inside his head, the one that had been so sure this was going to work, had changed tempo. It was, in fact, no longer a voice. It was a huge, expansive noise, like the crashing of a jet airliner. This jet airliner. They were about to plummet to the ground, their bodies immolated and strewn across the first piece of dust-free pasture any of them had seen in months.

‘Cup of coffee?’ said the flight attendant, looming over Charlie with a fresh pot.

‘Something I ate,’ Charlie said, ungluing his lips.

The flight attendant, a thin, fresh-faced man, adopted a playful, concerned expression. ‘You alright? You’ve gone a bit pale, there.’

Charlie coughed, sat up straight, the tape beneath his uniform squeaking.

‘I’m fine. Some water would be great, though.’

‘No problem,’ the flight attendant said. He winked at Charlie. ‘And don’t worry. You made it. You’ll be home in an hour.’

As they touched down the other servicemen and women cheered and applauded, a sound

like static being blasted through a wall of broken speakers. Charlie was now sweating profusely, miming laughter, his head back, teeth bared. How wrong can you get? To think you can do something, only to discover you’re not up for the challenge.

Don’t just sit there, said the voice in his head, calling to him from somewhere far away, somewhere amid the whirlwind.

Get on your feet and make it happen.

He stood, pulled his pack from the overhead compartment. A series of simple, inculpable gestures. They taxied across the airfield, then waited for the cabin doors to open, his colleagues talking excitedly, busy with their own thoughts and feelings about what lay ahead. Charlie ignored the urge to vomit, told himself again how Geddis would be waiting. Geddis who was tall and ginger and therefore impossible to miss, and who had as much to lose as Charlie should anything go wrong.

He disembarked to congratulations from the captain and crew and descended onto the tarmac. It was dark, but he could still see the cloud cover that everyone had missed so much while under the glaring, Afghan sky. They were back at Brize, their home town. But it wasn’t home any more. Charlie realised that now. He was an interloper, an enemy, and still a long way from any Safe Zone.

Double doors parted and he walked into the terminal, bright under the lights and unkept as always. They formed an orderly queue, passports at the ready. Outside came the familiar roar of a C-17 taking off, and at the desk, friendly but efficient, were the customs officials. Charlie became aware of his mates, a few metres behind him. He should acknowledge them. They knew him as a talker, a joker. Why the silence, they’d wonder. And why was he was having trouble standing like a normal person?

How did he normally stand?

What if he fell down?

He reached the desk, the official looking over his documents and waving him through. On the other side of a large partition security personnel awaited, ready to stop-search some of the men as they made their way to Baggage Claim. Charlie fell in behind four or five identical uniforms, feeling momentarily camouflaged but knowing this was an illusion. He snuck a glance over the shoulder of the guy in front. Up ahead, an MP had pulled someone aside and was asking him to unpack his rucksack and sports bag. The MP was not Geddis. Where was Geddis? Charlie could see Baggage Claim through another set of automatic doors, so close he might be able to make it unnoticed. He’d simply put his head down and saunter over there.

A second later Charlie saw him: tall, ginger, walking the length of the queue.

He stopped at Charlie’s shoulder.

‘If I can ask you to come with me, sir. Won’t take a moment.’

Charlie looked at the floor.

Some mistake, surely.

Then Geddis ushered the man directly in front of Charlie to one side, saying, ‘Just a formality. The rest of you on your way, now.’

For a moment, as the flow of traffic started up again, Charlie just stood there, his feet rooted to the floor, until finally, on pins and needles, he shuffled through the doors into the adjacent hall.

He’d made it, and as he waited for his luggage to arrive he began to mingle, parading up and down the conveyor belt, clapping his co-workers on the shoulder, reminding them there was some serious drinking to be done. He felt light-headed, unsubstantial, but in a good way. Finally, their bags began to trundle past and as they did so another MP appeared, this one with a small, excited dog at his feet.

Charlie’s airways constricted, white pixels swarming at the edge of his vision.

The MP led the dog along the conveyor, the tiny canine sniffing each bag or pack as it passed, moving swiftly towards Charlie, who thought seriously about sprinting for the exit. Instead he put several men between himself and the mutt, which was looking for bombs or weapons but which probably wouldn’t discriminate should he catch the whiff of an illegal substance.

Charlie walked to the other end of the conveyor.

The stink of it.

Narcotics and dread, spreading like sonar.

His luggage curled into view and he lurched forward, overextending, making a spectacle of himself as he reached for the handles. Then he turned, an awkward, stumbling pirouette, away from the dog which yapped, leapt, and was yanked back on course by its handler.

Don’t run, Charlie told himself, his bags hanging off him as he hustled into Arrivals.

There was nobody waiting for him, but still the wives, kids and girlfriends searched his face to see if it was that of their loved one. A moment later, he was outside, into the freezing night air, where he disappeared among the hangars and buildings, taking the short cut back to his quarters.

His room seemed frozen in time, a different time, yet he’d only been away three months. It felt more like years. Back then, he’d packed up his stuff, ready to move into Claire’s flat so

he could spend more time with her before he shipped out. They were going to marry, get an RAF house, an Andrex puppy, until, one night, Charlie had sat in the local pub with his mates, having the same, work-related discussion they always had. But for once he hadn’t found it reassuring. It was tired, old as the stone fireplace he found himself staring into. He went to the bar, where the landlord poured his usual without saying a word. That’s when he knew for sure that nothing was going to change.


Not unless he did something about it.

So he broke up with Claire.

It took a while, but in the end she was surprisingly stoical about it, as though she either didn’t believe him or understood completely where he was coming from. He couldn’t be sure. You had to hand it to her, though: she knew how to keep him guessing. He wanted to call her now; not to get back together, just to hear a friendly voice. He also wanted to rip the packets of heroin from his chest, to be free of them, even by a few feet.

So why the paralysis?

Geddis was due at any moment, and tomorrow Charlie would receive the rest of his money. Things couldn’t have gone more smoothly.

He surveyed his room. Four years he’d been in here. When he’d first moved in it had been a step up. No more sharing with another lad, an en-suite bathroom (complete with black mould and an intermittently hot shower). Was that why he’d asked Claire to marry him? To get a house? He wondered what she’d say if she found out he’d carried drugs. (And not just any kind: the really bad kind.) No doubt she wouldn’t approve. Not an easy thing to admit to, anyway: doing something morally questionable for money. Of course, he knew guys who killed for money, and who talked openly about how much they enjoyed it.

Yet carrying smack would be seen as worse.

He’d be a disgrace.

But what did they know?

What did anyone know?

He took home seventeen thousand a year. It wasn’t enough, not any more. He knew he should have retrained, worked his way up the ranks, but somehow he’d lacked the necessary ambition. Easier to work, drink beer in the local with his mates.

Only now, suddenly, seven years had passed.

He sat down on the bed. Geddis would be here any minute. Perhaps Charlie should just ask him straight out: the drugs, how much were they worth?

More than ten grand?

Because, alone for the first time in months, it seemed so obvious.

He was being ripped off.

Without thinking, he began to throw random items of clothing into a bag. In the drawer next to the bed, his mobile and charger. He crossed the room and stepped into the hallway beyond. No one around, only the throb of dance music as the lads prepared for an almighty piss-up in their local. He moved quickly down the corridor, passing the communal bathroom, the sound of showers running. Outside, the cold was less of a shock this time, as though he’d acclimatised already. He heard voices, a couple of airmen approaching. He turned, walking the length of the building towards the car park where his second-hand Golf was waiting. Overhead, the steady drone of air traffic. He reached the Golf, had to remind himself he wasn’t going AWOL in any official sense. He had two weeks’ leave, starting tonight. He keyed the ignition, steered his way out of the car park, following the road to the front gates. Another security checkpoint, the MP there already leaning from his booth. Charlie flashed his ID and was through, pulling out onto the Carterton Road.

Don’t floor it.

That was the trick now.

Nice and steady.

He was on the A40 when his mobile rang.

‘Charlie?’ said Geddis. ‘I’m here. You gonna let me in, or what?’

‘Yeah. About that. What I mean is, I need to talk to you about that.’

‘What are you, driving? Tell me you haven’t gone walkabout.’

‘Well, actually,’ Charlie said, having to clear his throat, ‘what I’m thinking is, we meet up tomorrow. And we’ll talk then. Because the way I see it, there’s a few things we need to, you know, discuss. Anyway, it’s late. I’ll call you in the morning, alright?’

‘Charlie, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I want you to think about what you’re doing. About the implications of your actions, alright? Because you don’t wanna do this, understand? Believe me. You do not wanna do this.’

‘Alright,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll talk to you first thing, then, alright? All the best.’

He disconnected the call.

Outside his window the landscape was dark and foreign.


The Running Game Cover Reveal

I’m two days late (blame too much wine and not enough sleep), but I have been busy and as this very important event is taking place today I figured it was worth the wait.

I am very, very pleased to reveal the new cover for The Running Game.

This cover was designed by the incredibly talented Ashley Ruggirello, her attention to detail is incredible (and so are all her covers). I’m over the moon with it.

The Running Game is going to be re-released very soon and we’ll also be showcasing a new trailer next week. The excitements getting too much! Not long now.

Find out more about my cover designer here:  www.CardboardMonet.com

The Phoenix Project

The Phoenix Project by D.M. Cain


The brand new edition of dystopian, psychological thriller The Phoenix Project by D.M. Cain will be re-released on December 11th. Originally published in May 2014, this new Booktrope edition has had a complete editing overhaul plus a stunning new cover design.


The Phoenix Project Cover - Booktrope

The book will be available to buy from a wide range of digital and paperback distributors, including Amazon:

US: www.amazon.com/D.M.-Cain/e/B00LTTX3PA/

UK: www.amazon.co.uk/D.M.-Cain/e/B00LTTX3PA/


Author: D.M. Cain

Title: The Phoenix Project

Genre: Psychological thriller/Dark thriller/Dystopian

Book Content: Occasional adult language, graphic violence, and mild sexual content.

Original Cover Design from the first edition: 

OLD cover




How can you fight to the death, when you’ve given up on life?


A thought provoking and compelling dystopian world that will change the way you view justice…


A man fights for life—and redemption—in D. M. Cain’s riveting re-released novel, The Phoenix Project.


Britain has descended into chaos as violence and terrorist attacks seethe across this once-peaceful country. Outraged by the steady stream of lawlessness, citizens demand a harsher penal system, and the Phoenix Project is born.


In prisons across the country, inmates fight to the death in a weekly bloodbath while the nation cheers them on.


Raven Kennedy, a prisoner who has never forgiven himself for his unspeakable crime, struggles against his own guilt and self-loathing. But even as the real war wages on within himself, Raven is forced to battle some of the prison’s most ruthless killing machines. Can he survive long enough to unravel the anger and regret that shackle him—and one day find the forgiveness he seeks?


‘The Phoenix Project by D.M. Cain is a superbly written debut, soaked in tension and intrigue,’ Jack Croxall, author of the ‘Tethers’ trilogy.


An interesting fact about The Phoenix Project: The horrifying ‘dark room’ in The Phoenix Project (a pitch-black sensory deprivation cell) was inspired by D.M. Cain’s visit to the Terror Haza in Budapest—a museum dedicated to the fascistic and communistic regimes that operated from the building. In the cellar of the Terror Haza are the old cells used to imprison and torture inmates. D.M. crawled inside a very low cell and shut the door, casting herself into total darkness. It was terrifying and claustrophobic, and she only lasted five minutes in there!

D.M. Cain Biography


D.M. Cain is a dystopian and fantasy author working for US publisher Booktrope. She has released three novels: The Phoenix Project – a psychological thriller set in a dystopian future, Soren – a middle-grade fantasy, and A Chronicle of Chaos – the first in a dark fantasy series. She is currently working on the next novel in the series, ‘The Shield of Soren’, and a novella to accompany it.


D.M. Cain is also a member of the InterProfile picnational Thriller Writers and is one of the creators and administrators of the online author group #Awethors. Her short story ‘The End’ was published in Awethology Dark – an anthology by the #Awethors.


Cain lives in Leicestershire, UK, with her husband and young son, and spends her time reading, writing and reviewing books, playing RPGs and listening to symphonic metal.





Website: www.dmcain84.com

Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/XevZH

Amazon: www.amazon.com/D.M.-Cain/e/B00LTTX3PA/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DMCainauthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/DMCain84

Google+: https://plus.google.com/+DMCain/posts

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7888430.D_M_Cain

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCzt_E8st1pyfkoTiA4E5jNg


Example tweets – These can be copied and pasted straight into Twitter, or you can make changes and personalize them:

#Regret, #revenge and #fightstothedeath by @dmcain84 at http://amzn.to/1QrVODA #ThePhoenixProject

A thought-provoking exploration of #depression and #self-harm by @dmcain84: #Booktrope #Edge http://amzn.to/1QrVODA

Anger, regret and despair #ThePhoenixProject One man’s journey on the road towards #redemption #Booktrope #Edge http://amzn.to/1QrVODA

When you’ve lost everything, all that’s left is to #fight #ThePhoenixProject – on Amazon now! #Booktrope #Edge http://amzn.to/1QrVODA

How would you survive in a #fighttothedeath? Cover reveal for #ThePhoenixProject by @dmcain84 #Booktrope #Edge http://amzn.to/1QrVODA

The riveting and thought-provoking   #ThePhoenixProject by @DMCain84 is available now! #Booktrope #Edge http://amzn.to/1QrVODA


Halloween Special – Safe Haven

Running through the forest. Bullets flying through the air. Pretty scary right. Well check out my Reacher short story, Safe Haven, which you can download for Free. Did you hear me? I said FREE. What are you still doing here? Oh right, blurb…

It’s Christmas time and snow is falling over Red Forest. Isobel is nine years old, she is running with her father and sister, trying to escape the gunfire tearing through the trees. Civil war is erupting and the family are right in the middle of the battlefield. With nowhere else to go they have to somehow make it our of the forest, but can they all make it out alive?

Safe Haven is a short companion piece to the novel The Running Game. Set two decades earlier this is the story of where the Reacher girls came from.

Download Now For Free

Halloween Special: The Devil You Know

It wouldn’t be Halloween without an appearance from the Devil right? Here’s another from Rocky Rochford and his book The Devil You Know.

Meet a conman who always carefully chooses his marks. Then one day he discovers that he’s
been someone else’s mark, and not just for a little while, but his whole life. Think you know the Devil? You don’t know Jack.

Download Now: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Devil-You-Know-Rocky-Rochford-ebook/dp/B00SXL41L2/ref=asap_bc?tag=geolinker-21&ie=UTF8

Halloween Special: Don’t Say A Word

I featured the first book in the series at the start of the week, well here’s the sequel to Rocky Rochford’s serial killer series. Introducing Don’t Say A Word:

Don’t Say A Word…

For this one last time, it’s just a game.

Don’t Say A Word…

For no one here will survive to save you.

Don’t Say A Word…

For other predators slip between the walls.

Download now: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dont-Say-Word-Rocky-Rochford-ebook/dp/B010OAJHFY/ref=pd_ecc_rvi_4?tag=geolinker-21

Blind Redemtion


A woman is missing, paths are misleading. Can Psychic Detective Jackie Vaughn see through the veil of lies to find her?


Kidnapped and sold into the Chinese slave trade the survival of Annette Freder, the wife of University Chancellor, Charles Freder, depends on struggling psychic detective, Jackie Vaughn.

Crippled by grief over the unexpected death of her wife, Jackie deals with her anguish through pills and booze. While these coping mechanisms numb her pain, the growing addiction hampers her abilities, and places her health and livelihood in jeopardy.  The missing person’s case of Annette Freder shifts Jackie’s focus, challenging her psychic abilities.

Blind Redemption Cover

While on the job in China, Jackie finds herself with limited access to medication, resulting in bouts of withdrawal and depression. But that is just one of the many hurdles hindering Jackie in her quest to find Annette and return her to safety. Will corrupt police, maxed out credit cards, an ousted Greek intelligence officer assassin, and a revelation from an unexpected source prove too much for her?

Entangled deceit and unravelling lies Blind Redemption captures the essence of the human spirit and the power of redemption.

Video Trailer

Buy Links

WIP: http://www.waywardinkpublishing.com/product/blind-redemption-by-denise-dearth-and-amy-gillen/
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B014U2PX9G
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B014U2PX9G
Amazon AU: http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B014U2PX9G
Amazon DE: http://www.amazon.de/dp/B014U2PX9G
ARe:  https://www.omnilit.com/product-blindredemption-1887377-243.html


An hour later, Jackie sat in her office and watched the thin blond woman pace the floor in front of her desk.

“My husband is cheating.”

“Mrs. Kelly, I’ve had your husband under surveillance for six weeks. He doesn’t have a girlfriend. This is good news.”

The woman turned on her, frowning. “Well, your investigation is wrong. What kind of accreditation is CDI?”

“I completed the Certified Detective Institute requirements fourteen years ago. I’m certified in Indiana and all other states to work with individuals and law enforcement on investigative procedures.”“

A certificate on the wall doesn’t mean anything.”

Jackie stifled a sigh. “Mrs. Kelly, we discussed all the possible outcomes when I took your case. I’m sorry you’re not pleased with the results, but I assure you—”

“You’ll get your damn flat fee, whether you deserve it or not. I should have known better.”

Mrs. Kelly spun on her heel and left the office, slamming the door behind her.

“Boss, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jackie assured her assistant. She choked down a persistent emptiness that kept her up at night and overwhelmed thoughts throughout the day. For relief she pulled out a prescription bottle from the desk, and when the lid relented, she popped a Xanax without benefit of water. “When will the life insurance rep reschedule?” she asked.

“I hadn’t gotten the chance to tell you. The rep left a message on the machine this morning. He said background checks are on hold because of company cutbacks. Sorry, boss.”

“Sorry doesn’t pay the bills,” Jackie said, rubbing her eyes. “Now I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get bitchy.”

“You’ve still got the teaching job, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks to the dream analysis class, I won’t go hungry, and we can keep this place going, so long as you can hang in there.”

“I’m good for a while, thanks to my police pension. Can you do some psychic readings to help with the cash flow?”

“I’ve never done readings, and I never will.”


Prize: $10 WIP Gift Card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

About the authors

DENISE DEARTH is a novelist and songwriter.  Blind Redemption is the first novel in the compelling Jackie Vaughn detective series. She is a member of Broadcast Music Incorporated, a music performing right organization, and the National Writers Union, UAW Local 1981. When’s she’s not writing she may be seen riding a two-toned, sky blue and white Victory Vegas Steel horse into the Midwestern sunset.

Denise Dearth can be found at:

Website: www.fictioncorner.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/JackieVaughnPI

AMY GILLEN is a co-creator of the Jackie Vaughn detective series.  She earned a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature from Indiana University.  She is a poet, photographer, and entrepreneur with a passion for kayaking and travel.

Amy Gillen can be found at:

Website: www.fictioncorner.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/JackieVaughnPI

Halloween Special – Death Most Wicked

Here’s the final book I have for you from Suzi Albracht (and if you haven’t checked out the rest of the series then make sure you do), introducing Death Most Wicked…

The thing Evil craves most is innocence. When small children disappear, you can be assured that Evil has crawled out of its dirty corner. And when those children turn up dead, Evil has clawed its mark on humanity.

What if you were a homicide detective and little girls were suddenly being kidnapped and murdered by a devious pedophile? And what if that pedophile left no evidence behind except for the broken bodies? What would you sacrifice to save just one innocent child? Would any sacrifice be too great? What if it cost you someone you loved? What if, by saving that child, you unleash a horrific monster into your own life?

Mikael Ruskoff was living his dream. He was a highly successful, homicide detective working a career he loved. He had a mother who adored him, a son he took skateboarding, and a wife he loved more than words could express. He played a mean drum set every Thursday night with his best friend on guitar. His life was comfortable and pleasurable. Then he caught a case that would change his life forever.

Download Now