The Reaper Follows by Heather Graham – a Review

The Reaper Follows by Heather Graham – a Review

 

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Description:
Death comes for everyone.

Deep in the Florida Everglades, the body of a woman is discovered in pieces, presumably ravaged by an alligator. Upon closer inspection, it’s determined no animal could make such perfectly precise cuts. Only a blade could do that. Wielded by a human. Soon, dozens of oil drums emerge amid the river of grass. Each one packed to the brim with body parts.

FDLE special agent Amy Larson and her partner, FBI special agent Hunter Forrest, share a bad feeling that extends beyond the horrifying nature of the grim discovery. They’ve seen this kind of sadistic killing before, and when a small beige horse is discovered at the bottom of one of the barrels, they know exactly what it means. The fourth horseman of the apocalypse rides a pale horse—and his name is Death.

With so many bodies to identify, connecting one victim to the next is easier said than done. But finding a pattern in the chaos might be the only way Amy and Hunter can zero in on the killer, testing their skills as agents—and their relationship—like never before. And when the disturbing trail of clues signals these slayings are just the beginning, the agents will have to return to where it all started before it’s too late. The apocalypse is coming, and Hunter and Amy have only one chance to stop it, even if it means sacrificing each other.

 

 

Review:

The Reaper Follows by Heather Graham is the 4th book in her Amy Larson & Hunter Forest FBI series. When bodies start turning up in the Florida Everglades, dozens of oil drums emerge filled with body parts.  They have seen this kind of killing before, and when a small beige horse is found in one of the barrels: they know what it means. Both continue their investigation into a series of crimes linked to the four horsemen in the Book of Revelations; the 4th one meaning death. FDLE special agent Amy Larson and her partner, FBI special agent Hunter Forrest, with both of them on this case since the beginning. This final book brings us to the final horseman and mastermind; who rides a pale horse. Amy and Hunter know they are close to finding the mastermind, who is killing so many people, especially in the Everglades.

Though we do not know who is the killer until near the end, we know he considers himself the archangel, and brainwashes his followers; then when they are no longer needed, he kills them.  The mastermind (archangel) is a manipulator who manages to sway people to his cause. Sadly, many of these deluded cult followers take their own lives.  I will say that half way through the I did suspect who the killer was.

I really liked the duo of Amy and Hunter, as in this 4th book, they are both planning to marry, once this case is solved.   Amy is an amazing tough and fearless detective, who pushes herself to exhaustion, even when her superiors force her to get sleep and rest.  Hunter being FBI, and closely working with all the agents that have gathered where the bodies have been found; he is also determined to protect Amy at any cost.  As noted previously, they both made a great team.  The romance between Amy and Hunter was sweet, as it was spread throughout the book. I really liked so many of the agents and secondary characters, who all played major parts in this conclusion; Aiden, Sabrina, Mickey, Jimmy, and so many wonderful team members. They all made a great team, working hard together to solve the case.  

The Reaper Follows was an intense, suspenseful, haunting, dangerous story that kept us unable to put the book down; especially in the last quarter of the book when Amy’s life was in danger and she knew who the killer was.  The story was a great plot, fantastic characters, and the murders were gruesome.  The Reaper Follows was so very well written by Heather Graham, who once again gives us a fabulous murder mystery.

Reviewed by Barb

Copy provided by Publisher

 

 

 

 

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Cry of the Banshee by Heather Graham – review tour

Cry of the Banshee (Krewe of Hunters/ 1001 Dark Nights) by Heather Graham – Review Tour

 

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Description:
Strange things are happening at Castle Darien, the legendary home of Angela Hawkins Crow’s family just outside of Dublin, Ireland.

People are dying in the most unusual drowning where there’s no water, falling from heights that don’t exist…

But before every death, the banshee lets out a cry, warning that loved ones are in danger. The Irish death ghost’s haunting shrieks and sobs echo within the ancient stone walls and travel up and down the hillsides.

Terrified and broken after the death of a friend, Moira Hawkins, Angela’s second cousin, turns to her family for help, convinced that evil is at work and sure the Krewe of Hunters can determine what is happening and put an end to the strange and deadly haunting.

Angela is mystified and stricken, but she and Jackson travel to the Emerald Isle to investigate, certain that someone very much alive is behind whatever is going on.

But she and the Krewe just might need the dead to uncover the truth.

 

 

Review:

Cry of the Banshee by Heather Graham is a novella from her wonderful Krewe of Hunters series. I am a big fan of Heather Graham, and always enjoy her books.

The story begins in Ireland, where strange things are happening at Castle Darien, such as strange mysterious deaths. Moira Hawkins, who owns the Castle, wakes up during the night, hearing a warning cry that someone is in danger; Moira can hear a banshee giving warning shrieks that only she can hear. That evening, during the castle’s tour, a woman is found dead. Moira is in a panic, worried that she is losing her mind. She makes a call to her cousin in the States for help, since her cousin is a member of the Krewe of Hunters. 

Angela Hawkins Crow is Moira’s cousin, and she convinces her husband, Jackson to take time off and go to Ireland to help her terrified cousin.  Angela and Jackson are the leaders of the Krewe of Hunters, and together they decide to take time off to travel to Ireland to try and discover what evil is happening at Castle Darien. 

When they arrive at the Castle, they are greeted happily by Moira, who was thrilled to have them come help discover what strange and deadly hauntings are happening.  Angela and Jackson get to meet all the staff in the Castle, as well as the guards and the tour director. Irish Inspector McCrae joins them in the investigations, with the Inspector noting that the dead woman died of a heart attack. Both Angela and Jackson look around the bathroom where the woman died, and found nothing; but trying again the following morning they do find a small clue.  When visiting the morgue, both notice some tiny marks on the woman hairline, and the Inspector returns with the clue they had found to note that it was found to be a unique poison.

What follows is an exciting, tense story that opens up the investigation on everyone from the tour visitors and the staff.  Angela, who has some psychic ability hears the cry of the banshee, and follows the sound outside; a woman who is a banshee ghost, trying to stop the evil in the castle. Angela learns that there is someone who is evil causing the deaths, and the banshee will warn them the next time.  Moira is thrilled that Angela was able to see the women, and hopeful this would give them help to find the culprit.  The last third of the book was very exciting, with surprise twists.

Cry of the Banshee was another great story so very well written by Heather Graham.  I was happy to see Angela and Jackson get their own story again.  If you are a fan of Krewe of Hunters, you need to read this book. If you are new to Graham, you should start reading her books.  Always very good.

Reviewed by Barb

Copy provided by Publisher

 

At first, Moira Hawkins thought she might be imagining the sound. It was so soft at first, like a sigh on the wind or a whisper through the trees.
Except she wasn’t in the woods. She was lying in bed in the private wing of Castle Darien, her family’s nearly ancient stronghold.
But the windows were open. That had to be it. The temperature was cool but pleasant, and she didn’t need to use the heat or air-conditioning systems. Which was good since they would never be great in such an old stone fortress.
Moira had promised her grandmother she wouldn’t let the castle, built at the end of the thirteenth century, go to ruin. She said she would do everything needed to bring it up to the standards so many others used to save the structure and turn it into a hotel.
She was partway there. While she worked on getting the necessary loans and finding contractors to undertake such an epic restructuring, she hired a tour company to bring visitors through. There were even a few Haunted Ireland tours put on by historians, who talked about some of the dire events of the Emerald Isle’s bloody past.
She figured anything around for over eight-hundred years must have some nightmarish events to relay.
And her ancestral home was in the Republic of Ireland, which had suffered a great deal of bloodshed to get where it was today.
Yet…
It occurred to her that she had heard—or at least imagined—the soft, mournful sobs before.
The night Granny had died.
Imagination. Had to be.
But she’d heard the sound the night before they found the old man drowned in the river that ran alongside the castle’s western wall, too.
And the time the would-be thief fell to his death from the wall.
They’d learned the elderly gentleman, visiting family in the area, had been suffering from cancer. Moira wondered if he had chosen his end.
And while the thief shouldn’t have been trying to climb the wall, he hadn’t deserved death.
As she thought back, she realized the sound had preceded all those events.
She shook her head. She had to be imagining it. She might have spent the last few years of Granny’s illness working in the States, but she’d grown up with all the tales of leprechauns, pixies, fairies, and banshees. Granny had been so good at telling them, holding her cousins and her spellbound as she wove her magical tales.
The crying grew louder. She wasn’t imagining it. She could definitely hear it.
It wasn’t a frightened cry. It was mournful, heartfelt. Yet Moira was afraid.
Where is it coming from?
She glanced at the clock on her bedside table—just past midnight.
The last ghost tour had ended by now, but she wasn’t alone in the castle. Stewart McKenna, her grandmother’s longtime castle steward, slept down the hall with his wife. Their son’s bedroom was next door to theirs. Nellie Antrim, the head housekeeper, was on this floor, as well. And while the tour of the two unoccupied towers had just ended, Mark Meadows, the tour agency’s director, often stayed behind to answer any questions the guests might have regarding the castle or Ireland’s history. Because, of course, Mark wasn’t just a businessman, though he was a good one. He truly loved history and didn’t mind working late. He was…wonderful.
The sobbing continued.
Moira’s mind went to something her granny had told her.
Banshee. Banshees are the remains of the Tuatha dé Danann, the gods of Ireland, driven underground when the Milesians arrived—Gaels who traveled the Earth, seeking a home. And there, in Éire, they claimed the land while the Tuatha dé Danann settled the underworld. Once, keeners had been on hand at funerals, sobbing mournfully for those who had left the earthly world. The banshees fulfilled that tradition now, warning of someone’s death…
Get a grip! she told herself. Seriously, she’d spent enough time in the United States to learn all about all kinds of myths and legends from around the world.
There are no such things as banshees.
Still…

For More Information about Heather Graham, visit her website:

https://www.theoriginalheathergraham.com/

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She’s a winner of the RWA’s Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers’ Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her websites: TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, eHeatherGraham.com
HeatherGraham.tv. You can also find Heather on Facebook.

 

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Whispers at Dusk by Heather Graham – Review & Excerpt

Whispers at Dusk by Heather Graham –  Review & Excerpt

 

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Description:
When darkness falls, there’s nowhere to hide.

Four bodies have been discovered along Europe’s riverbanks, placed with care—and completely drained of blood. Pinpricks on their throats indicate a slender murder weapon, but DNA found in the wounds suggests something far more sinister. Tasked with investigating, the FBI recruits Agents Della Hamilton and Mason Carter to Blackbird, an international offshoot of the Krewe of Hunters. If you want to catch a vampire killer, you need agents who can speak with the dead.

The pair travel to Norway, where the shadowy forests of Lillehammer reveal a gruesome scene. The killer is thirsty for more victims, and the bloodless trail soon leads Della and Mason to a group that believes drinking blood is the key to immortality. To catch the culprit of such an intimate crime, the agents will have to get close. Mason’s already lost one partner; he’s not ready to risk Della as bait. But sometimes justice requires a sacrifice…

 

 

Review:

Whispers at Dusk by Heather Graham is the 39th book in her Krewe of Hunters series, and the 1st book in her new Blackbird trilogy series. I am a big fan of Heather Graham, as her romance suspense books are always exciting and action packed. 

Della Hamilton (our heroine) and Mason Carter (our hero), are FBI special agents that have been recruited by Adam Harrison and Jackson Crow (Krewe Leaders) to head up the new Blackbird Team; which is an expansion of the Krewe of Hunters going international, with a new team.  The team is called Euro Special Assistance, who will work with different groups throughout Europe.  Both Della and Mason have unique abilities, as they see ghosts and talk to the dead.

Della and Mason are sent to Norway, to look into 4 bodies found with pinpricks on their necks, totally drained of blood. The killer claims to be a Vampire, and convinces others to do his deeds, to become immortal. The team besides Della and Mason, are investigators from various countries, and they work closely together to find the so-called Master, who continues to drain the blood and kill innocent women.  A powerful vicious killer is still at large, and Della puts herself as bait to lure the killer, who is enamored with her. 

What follows is a tense exciting thriller that will have Della, Mason and all working together to save the women. To say too much more would be spoilers, and you need to read this from start to finish, as there are some twists and surprises.  It was a wild tense book, as we raced to the climax, which had me holding my breath to see who will survive. Whispers at Dusk was an exciting, intense, suspenseful, dark story of murder, with a slow burn romance, great couple and lots of action throughout.

Once again, Heather Graham gives us a wild, mind-boggling thriller, that kept our attention from start to finish.  I did like that both Della and Mason together. If you like intense supernatural thrillers, which is written so very well by Heather Graham, then I suggest you read Whispers at Dusk.

Reviewed by Barb

Copy provided by Publisher

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

Mason Carter knew he had backup. The man now holding seventeen-year-old Melissa Wells hostage had been busy for months, and law enforcement across the country had been on his tail. Spread about in various positions outside, an FBI SWAT crew was situated along with local police who knew the area well.
Still, they were in bayou country surrounded by snake-and alligator-infested waters and a range of high grasses, trees, and brush that might hinder any assistance.
Though he’d left a trail of carnage across the country by taking nine victims along the way, the killer’s identity was unknown. He’d left behind fingerprints, but they couldn’t be found in any database, and nothing else discovered by any agency across the country had given them a single clue to¬ward discovering his identity. The truth existed somewhere; it just hadn’t been found as yet.
He’d been labeled the Midnight Slasher since most of his abductions and kills had been after midnight. His note—handwritten and mailed from Las Vegas to the NYC FBI offices—had assured them he was fond of his moniker, and he’d try to make sure his murders did, indeed, occur after midnight in the future. He’d really have preferred being the Vampire, but that name had already gone to a coworker who was busy in Europe.
Coworker?
Mason knew about murders that were being called “the vampire killings” in Europe. He doubted this man and the European madman knew each other, though it appeared they were trying to outdo one another.
But then again, he didn’t really know.
Maybe this killer needed the moniker because he was such an ordinary-looking man. Not exactly handsome—cute might be a term applied to him. He didn’t appear at all insane or creepy as some seemed to think he must appear, not at all as people might think a maniacal killer should look.
He was about twenty-seven—the profilers had been right on his age—six feet even, perhaps a hundred and seventy pounds, with shaggy dirty blond hair, a clean-shaven face and friendly brown eyes. He smiled a lot. Mason could see how he’d managed easily enough to charm or coerce his victims out with him to a place where they might be alone.
And here they were. Mason had trailed the killer from Vir¬ginia and had suspected from the few clues he’d been told by the locals that the man would steal a boat and bring his vic¬tim far into the bayou. He’d been at the forefront of the in¬vestigation, and he called in as he made his way, seeking help from any and all law enforcement agency so they might re¬ally end the reign of the Midnight Slasher with a true force against him.
But Mason was the one who now stood alone, facing the man who held the teenaged girl, his blood-stained knife held so tightly to her throat that a trickle of blood ran down to her collarbone. Her terror-filled eyes were on Mason. She didn’t want to die.
Mason didn’t want her to die, either.
He was a good shot—but he’d still have to be at his fastest to hit the man before the knife could slide into the soft flesh of her throat and on to arteries and veins and…
“Okay, Midnight Slasher,” he said, his Glock trained hard on the man, “do you really want to die today?”
“I’ve been here before, and I’m still alive!” the killer said. The girl let out a terrified whimper; the killer had jerked with his words. Another trail of blood slid down to her collarbone.
“I don’t know. You’re in bayou country now. With people who know it well,” Mason said, shrugging.
It was truly doubtful the man would survive the day if he didn’t surrender, but Mason was telling the truth. And it was true, too, that before Mason had been called in on the case, the killer had escaped a similar situation in the Shenandoah mountains.
He had killed his hostage and tossed her to his would-be captors before escaping.
Backup wasn’t going to help.
Not here. Not now. While agents and officers might be all around, Mason was alone in the cabin with the man. His backup crew was holding. They all knew if the killer heard anyone trying to enter from the rear or break down any of the old wooden walls, the girl would die.
“You can do it, and there is no choice,” a voice whispered to Mason.
He was alone in the cabin with the killer—and with the ghost of one Gideon Grimsby, an Englishman who had come to the new world to meet, befriend, and then serve under the legendary Jean Laffite. He had fought at the Battle of New Orleans. Gideon had survived the battle, fallen in love and changed his ways—only to be shot down in the street by a vengeful man who had once coveted the beauty who had be¬come Gideon’s wife.
Now, Gideon enjoyed the music of New Orleans, watched over his descendants and tended to haunt Frenchman Street. But having realized Mason was aware of him at a lounge one night, he’d discovered his afterlife of being a ghostly—and very helpful—investigator as well.
“Do it. Do it, Mason lad, you must!” Gideon said. “He’s going to kill her. The officers and agents outside will lose patience. They’ll seek entry as you know they must. And this rotten beast will die, but so will she. Dammit, man, take your shot!”
“I have to be sure!” Mason said the words aloud and cursed himself. He was accustomed to seeing the dead. And he’d learned before he was ten not to be seen talking to them.
But maybe this time it was good.
“Who the hell are you talking to?” the killer demanded.
Mason made a split-second decision and shrugged, saying, “I guess you can’t see him. Gideon is here. You’d have liked him. He was a pirate. Well, he was, but then cleaned up his act. And sadly wound up being murdered, but he’s enjoying his afterlife.”
“Man, they think I’m crazy. You’re crazy!” the killer said.
There was suddenly a gentle tap at the door to the cabin, surprising both Mason and the killer. Mason knew he frowned as the killer frowned. No one was bursting in; it was a gentle and polite tap.
The killer’s young hostage let out a terrified squeak as the knife drew closer against her flesh.
“What the hell?” the killer murmured. “You—you go and see what those idiots outside want. Because I’m telling you, you can kill me today, but she will die with me.” He laughed. “Maybe the two of us can haunt you, too.”
“God help me,” Mason murmured. “Fine. You want me to check the door?”
“Yeah. I want to see who is trying what.”
His gun still trained on the killer, Mason backed to the door.
“We don’t need any disruptions here,” he said loudly.
“I’m not a disruption,” a female voice said. “I’m unarmed. I just wanted to offer to trade myself for Melissa Wells.”
“What?” Mason demanded.
“Open the door, check her out. See if she’s really unarmed,” the killer said. “And don’t forget—if I’m going, she’s going with me!”
Mason cracked the door open. There was a woman standing there, mid-to late-twenties, about five foot eight with long light brown hair and a striking thin face. She was wearing black knit leggings and a tunic and lifted her arms to show that she carried nothing.
“I’m really a better choice,” she said, looking around Mason to see and talk to the killer. “Think of it! If you don’t manage to escape and get out of this or if you do, you’ll have killed a special agent or used her for your escape. I’m Della Ham¬ilton, FBI. And I know you like your victims to have long hair. My hair is long and I’m the right age… Come on. This kid is a teenager. So far, you’ve at least chosen victims who were out of high school!” She paused, shaking her head. “You have a reputation. You’re a famous killer—don’t sully all that by having people think you were a pedophile.”
Apparently, she’d said just the right thing.
“I am not a pedophile!” the Midnight Slasher protested. “That’s disgusting. I haven’t gotten it down right yet, but I’m working on it, and I will be a master! I will learn to… Well, never mind! I will achieve what is necessary!”
“Whatever,” Mason said dryly. “And she has one hell of a point, I mean, you want to be a master killer, get it all right…perfect it all. But you don’t want to be remembered as a pe¬dophile. That would…well, ruin your whole legacy.”
“Yeah, yeah… I never touched any of them. Except to kill them. And I was going to get it all right this time, but you found a stupid boat and followed me and… Ah, screw it! But you’re right. The pretty girl at the door can get me out of here, or… Well, I will be known for having killed a special agent! Yeah! Get in here, Special Agent Whoever. You come straight to me. When I can switch the knife over, this kid can go. But you need to know—if I die today, you die, too.”
“I’m willing to accept that,” Special Agent Della Hamil¬ton said.
The killer laughed. “Suicidal, eh?”
“No, I just think I can talk you down,” she said. “And frankly, you fascinate me! Your mind is so amazing! And I’m older, okay, and maybe this is only in my own mind, but I think I’m…well, sexier, grown-up, and just a better choice for a victim all the way around. If you want to be famous—kill an agent!”
“Talk me down? I don’t think so. But I fascinate you? And you really are pretty damned gorgeous, so…hmm. Okay, lady, come on.”
“I am coming—when this guy lets me!” she said, smiling and shrugging to Mason.
“Let her by!”
“She wants you to take the shot during the exchange!” the ghost of Gideon Grimsby said. The ghost’s presence was near him. He all but whispered in Mason’s ear, almost star¬tling him.
But Mason was staring at Della Hamilton, and she nodded at the words. As if she had heard them.
Had she?
He’d heard there were others like him. He’d even heard there was a special “ghostbusters” unit in the Bureau with some nothing title like Special Circumstances Unit.
He inclined his head; she blinked, letting him know she had the message.
“I’m coming over…slowly, slowly, and I’ll back up so you can free Melissa and get the knife right on me…”
She walked to him just as she had said she would do.
The killer moved the knife to push Melissa forward and reach out for Della Hamilton. And as he did, Della Hamil¬ton dropped down, shouting, “Now!”
And Mason fired.
Melissa leaned to the side; Della was hunkered close to the floor.
The bullet hit the killer dead center in the forehead. While Melissa shrieked and cried with relief, the Midnight Slasher fell without a whimper.
The killer was dead. The reign of the Midnight Slasher had come to an end.
The wrap-up and the paperwork had just begun.
Naturally, there was chaos at first as other agents and police rushed in. The medical examiner and forensics arrived, and officers held the press at bay. Melissa’s parents were called, but before she raced down to meet them, she fell hysterically into the arms of Della Hamilton and then Mason, telling them, “Oh, my God, thank you, thank you! Thank you, both. You saved my life!”
Mason assured her he was grateful she was alive, as did Della Hamilton.
Gideon Grimsby stood by the whole time, arms crossed over his chest, a proud look on his face. Well, the ghost did like helping.
Mason saw Della Hamilton manage a wave and a nod and mouthed the words, “Thank you,” to Gideon at one point. Gideon smiled and nodded in return.
Mason turned in his firearm as necessary and was surprised to hear that a counselor was waiting to see him in the city. His Glock would be returned in the morning.
Things never happened that fast. He knew something was going on.
Mason was hailed by the waiting officers and agents, and he knew everyone was relieved a serial killer’s spree had come to an end. He wished he could feel celebratory, and he knew he had carried out the only feasible action. But he didn’t feel celebratory, just weary.
Of course, it had been just minutes before midnight when they’d taken down the slasher. With all the aftermath, it was the next day before anyone left the bayou country. And be¬cause of where they were, the press had finally arrived, but thankfully, by then the action was over and officers arranged to maintain the crime scene. People had a right to know what was going on but keeping details of such an event within ranks might prove to be extremely important.
He was ordered back to the city and the office before Della Hamilton finished a discussion with a member of the foren¬sic team.
He didn’t see her again until they were finishing the last of the paperwork on the case and by then everyone involved was about to keel over.
Sleep was in order. When he was finally able to return to his hotel, he had no trouble crashing down into a sound sleep—despite the fact that dawn had arrived long ago and the sun was shining brightly beyond the heavy drapes that covered his windows.
He woke in the middle of the afternoon. An evening left in NOLA, time to finish up any necessary business, and then a flight back to the DC area in the morning.
Luckily, they’d been so far back in the bayou country the media hadn’t seen any of the takedown. And when asked, he assured the local powers that be he didn’t want his name seen anywhere, which was the right policy as known field agents could be at risk.
A press release saying the Bureau had rescued the Slasher’s latest victim and the man had been killed in the operation was just fine with Mason. He wondered if Della Hamilton was going to want more recognition.
She didn’t.
Mason was out on Royal Street, trying to decide on a res¬taurant for dinner, when he looked into a shop front and saw a TV screen showing the news.
The takedown had been perceived just as he’d hoped—a joint effort by the FBI and local authorities.
A lot of his friends at the local FBI offices and police pre¬cincts he’d come to know in NOLA had wanted to get to¬gether that night. And while he truly enjoyed a lot of the camaraderie and understood the feelings of many that a cel¬ebration was in order, he just wanted to be on his own that night.
He felt as if he needed to shake something off.
He decided then to go over to Magazine Street for dinner and hopefully some soothing music at one of its many restau¬rants. He was surprised when Gideon slid into a seat beside him there; he’d been nursing a scotch and listening to some great jazz, something that helped still his mind.
“You are a strange bird,” Gideon told him.
“Why?”
“That fellow stole the greatest gift from so many—the gift of life. Mason, you stopped him.”
“With your help, for which I’m grateful—”
“And the help of Della Hamilton. I hung around her awhile earlier. She’s something, huh? As they say in your time, that girl has balls! Wait, she can’t, can she. Guts? Would that be right? She has guts!”
“She saw you in a flash,” Mason said. “And by the way, I am glad I brought a killer down. I’m just tired of… I took his life. I guess I hate killing.”
“But you love saving.”
Mason shrugged. “I will always act in the best interests of the victim. Let’s listen to the music, huh?”
“Sure. There’s a meeting tomorrow morning. Some big¬wig with the Bureau is coming down tonight. He’s coming specifically to see you—”
“Why? Wait a minute. Last I heard, I run by the NOLA office, pick up another agent to drop me and bring the car back for the next guy who needs it. How did you hear that? I’ll be heading back to DC tomorrow.”
“Maybe not,” Gideon told him. “I heard Della talking to someone on the phone when she left the offices. She was going out, but that call changed things and she didn’t. She decided she’d better get some sleep. You were busy tonight,” Gideon told him, grinning. “You don’t interrupt a counsel¬ing session, and then it was a long day! You were supposed to have some dinner, some downtime… You’ll be informed. Apparently, this is…big. A couple of people are heading down from Washington just to discuss this with you.”
“And they informed another agent before me—about my assignment?” Mason asked.
“I’m guessing it involves her,” Gideon said with a shrug.
“And that would be a darned good thing. You couldn’t do better, from what I saw.”
“She was good, yes. But—”
Mason groaned. Strange. He’d wanted this job; he’d worked hard for this job. But after his years in the military, now he was wondering why. He was good at what he did. He was a good investigator—largely because of a lot of help from the dead. But he was also good at killing.
And it just seemed to be weighing down on him lately.
“Damn you, man!” Gideon said. His accent—which he had largely lost during the many years since his death—came back strong when he was angry. “There is a seventeen-year-old girl alive and in the arms of her family because of you.”
“And Special Agent Hamilton, of course—or mainly,” Mason said dryly.
Gideon nodded. “I was glad to see her. I hadn’t met her, but friends saw her when she worked a case here not too long ago. The bank robbery out of Baton Rouge. They say she tricked the three—it was a woman and two men. That she got them into position by pretending to be a lost tourist, crying and desperate to find her way back to the airboat they’d been on. Anyway, she has a way that makes her excellent in this kind of case. But you! Stop it. When there is no choice, there is no choice. That teenager from today is going to need therapy for the rest of her life most probably, but she’ll have a life. Do you know what that man—so called Midnight Slasher—did to some of his victims?”
“Yes, yes, I do.”
“No, he wasn’t a pedophile. He sliced them, Mason. Slashed and sliced them! Cut off their fingers and ears while they were still alive.”
“I do know,” he said calmly.
Mason was glad he’d paid his tab. He stood. As he’d learned to do, he pretended he was on a phone call as he told Gideon, “I am so grateful she is alive—and our local intelligence knew where to find him before he could hurt her. Truly, I am. I just… I guess I wish I’d been a negotiator. I’d like to talk someone down for a change.”
“You talk them down when you can—you save the victim when you can’t,” Gideon said.
Mason nodded. “Yes, I know. Guess I’m tired.”
“You should be. Get some sleep.”
“I’m going to.”
“Finish listening to the jazz. See you in the morning,” Gideon said, and then he was gone.
That was the problem sometimes befriending ghosts. Since they were excellent at slipping away through crowds and even walls, it was extremely difficult to have the last word with them.
The following morning, just as Gideon had said, Mason found himself in an office with the “bigwigs” down from Washington.
Two bigwigs.
The one was an elderly man. Mason had heard of him. His name was Adam Harrison, and he was known for both his philanthropy and the fact he’d been instrumental in forming special units of the Bureau.
He was with another man, this one in his forties, a striking fellow with Native American blood and a stature that indi¬cated hours in the gym—and probably out in the field as well.
This man was Jackson Crow.
Mason knew who they were. Everyone in the Bureau knew about the special, separate unit that was called in for bizarre cases that included cult activity, so-called witchcraft and cases which involved “haunted” buildings, “werewolves,” or any other strange manifestation. They had an amazing record for resolving cases, and while they were teasingly called “the ghostbusters,” the Krewe of Hunters were also highly re¬spected.
He had thought at times about seeking an interview with Adam Harrison or Jackson Crow. But he’d discovered he was good at working alone. He wasn’t married and he didn’t have children. That meant he could keep going at any time he wanted on his own—all day and into the night—when he was hot on a trail.
But now, he was intrigued.
He had been called in by them. He was sure that meant they’d been observing him from afar.
And they knew.
Just as he had known the truth about the Krewe.
That morning, the three of them were alone in the office. When the introductions were done, Jackson Crow began his speech.
“Due to recent developments, we’re forming a new team, attached to our current unit. Loosely, we’ve been referring to our new operation as Blackbird—but officially, it will be the Euro Special Assistance Team. You’ll be working with me as your immediate supervisor, and you’ll still be stationed out of our Northern Virginia offices. But you’ll be on the move a great deal—should you accept this, of course,” Jack¬son Crow told him.
Mason shook his head. “Accept… I’m not sure what. I mean… Well, truthfully, I know you run a special unit, and you must know that I—”
“Speak to the dead. Yes, of course. Gideon didn’t fill you in?” Adam Harrison asked him.
Mason’s brows shot up. Then he grimaced.
He’d assumed the people who were selected for this unit were found from across the country. Some were possibly found through the academy, and some because they stumbled into a case while working with other law enforcement or because they’d simply become involved.
Mason smiled, nodded, and leaned back. “I guess you’ve met Gideon.”
“We started up in New Orleans,” Jackson said. “We have many…friends here.”
“Of course,” Mason acknowledged dryly. “No, Gideon didn’t tell me much. But Euro—”
“Yes, we’re the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but the world has grown very small in the last several years. You are aware the Bureau has sixty legal attaché or legate offices around the world, as well as at least fifteen offices in our embassies in foreign countries?” Adam Harrison asked him.
He nodded. “Of course. I’ve been with the Bureau six years, ever since I got out of the service. Yes, I was aware. I admit—”
“We’re federal, yes, and our focus is this country. But as Adam said, it’s a small world these days, and when we have an American causing havoc abroad, conspiracies that involve Americans, felons we wish to apprehend abroad, hostage situ¬ations, and so on, we need a presence. Do we have great rela¬tionships with all countries? No. But with most of Europe and beyond, law enforcement likes to be reciprocal,” Jackson said.
“Okay, so…”
“I was asked by someone as high up in the chain as you can get to begin this project, to open support on strange cases that stretch outside of the country,” Jackson told him. “Someone who doesn’t want to admit we have help from strange places—yet still wants to make use of our rate in solving crimes and catching killers—wants us to get a team to Norway as quickly as possible. They’ve now found four bodies, stretching from France to England to Norway, completely drained of blood along with strange writing on the river embankments where the bodies have been displayed,” Jackson said. “There might have been earlier victims here in the States. They are afraid the Vampire isn’t working alone, or perhaps something even more sinister is going on. You’d work with Interpol and local police over there—”
“I don’t speak Norwegian.”
“Neither do I. The amazing thing is most Europeans speak English or a minimum of two languages, something I wish we were better at here,” Adam said.
“You said ‘a team’. So—”
“We’ll be starting this with two agents and detectives from England, France, and Norway, as well as an Interpol liaison, a Frenchman named Bisset who seems able to get anything needed at the drop of a hat. And, you’ll be working with support back here in anything tech or forensic. You’ll be the first of a team with Special Agent Della Hamilton,” Jackson told him, then nodded his head toward the door to the office.
It opened on cue.
And Della Hamilton walked into the room, wearing a pantsuit today, her long sweep of hair tied in a knot at the nape of her neck.
Very pro. When taking down the Midnight Slasher, she had made herself appear to be all casual and cute—and naive.
Today, the woman was all professional.
“Della, thanks. And Mason, you, too,” Jackson Crow said. “First, we’d like you both to accept this venture. As I’ve ex¬plained, I hope you’ll still be working with me. We have An¬gela—my wife and one of our first Krewe members along with a few others—and an amazing team of techs and experts in our offices to help with anything at any time. We really have a great team to deal with any evidence no matter how small. They’re brilliant with video and so much more. So, here we are. We want you willing to begin this new venture, ready to accept it, and move forward. If you’re hesitant, that’s all right. We want you, for many reasons—”
Mason was surprised to discover he was slightly amused.
“You’ve been stalking me?” he asked.
“Not stalking!” Adam Harrison protested. “Heaven for¬bid!” Grinning, he glanced at Jackson.
“Of course,” Jackson continued, amused as well, “we’ve done our homework. If you don’t choose to accept this as¬signment, we’d still appreciate you accepting a transfer to the Krewe.”
“I’d thought about requesting an interview with you,” Mason admitted.
“Why didn’t you?” Jackson asked.
“I guess I got used to working alone.”
“And yet, you can’t imagine the amazing abilities and team¬work that exists among our people,” Jackson said. “Okay, to be blunt—no recorders in here—we know you have the abil¬ity to speak with the dead. We are a small percentage of a small percentage of the world population,” he added quietly. “You’ve never worked with anyone who was just like you.”
“No, I haven’t,” Mason admitted.
He was silent for a minute. He turned to look at the woman who would be his partner for the enterprise, curious as to her reaction.
She was looking at Jackson, nodding. “I’ve been reading about the killer they’re calling the Vampire. He needs to be stopped—especially if he’s gaining followers.”
“We don’t know that,” Jackson told her. “Nor can we be certain he started this in the United States—”
“Our killer last night wasn’t the Vampire killer on the move across the pond,” Mason said. “He was slashing throats—not drinking blood.”
“Right,” Jackson said. “And he may not have known the Vampire, or wanted to emulate him.”
“But…he did talk about getting it right,” Della said.
“Most probably not associated, but…the man you brought down was William Temple of Slidell. We’ve investigated his background and the profilers had it just right on him. He was bullied through school. He asked a girlfriend to marry him and she turned him down and took off—he drank heavily at several of the bars along Bourbon Street. He worked for one of the bayou tour companies until he was fired for un¬wanted attention toward female tourists—and calling them filthy names when they spurned his advances. He was evicted from his apartment off Esplanade.”
“A killer, but hardly a brilliant one.” Della nodded. “And again, nothing compared to the man leaving bodies in pris¬tine condition and beauty, just devoid of blood.”
“The display of the victims has become important now. One of our Krewe members, also a medical examiner, be¬lieves the victims discovered in the Florida Everglades and the Blue Ridge in Virginia might have been this killer’s be¬ginnings for murder—practice victims, one might say. They were also exsanguinated. While the throats on the victims were slit, because of other markings, Kat believes he was perfecting his ability to pierce blood vessels perfectly—and draw blood from the neck, leaving marks that could appear to be those left by vampire fangs. Right now we just know he’s on a cross-country killing spree in Europe, either on his own or with an accomplice. Interpol is on it—officers from three countries are now on it. But I’ve been asked from on high to help, so…”
“I’m in,” Della said. “Of course, you knew I would be.”

“Thank you, Della,” Jackson said. He stared at Mason. “Special Agent Carter?”
“I… Wow. I—I admit to being intrigued. Why us?” he asked, curious.
“Well, the obvious, of course. Della had been assigned to my office already when this came up. And, yes, we have watched your work.”
“Someone else knows your record for finding resolutions to cases. Remember, I told you voices on high in the gov¬ernment wanted this, and they were adamant you were the man for the job, Mason,” Adam Harrison told him. “But you’re hesitating.”
Mason shrugged and grimaced. “No, not really. Maybe I’m afraid of failure. This is important to many people, naturally, and I am hoping I am capable to stop—”
“You may be afraid. We’re not,” Jackson told him. He leaned forward. “Should you choose to accept this assign¬ment—not mission, assignment,” he added dryly, “you’ll be leaving this evening.”
Mason lifted his hands. “I’ve been chasing the Midnight Slasher for months now. I guess I thought I’d be getting a few weeks of vacation.”
“You get this Vampire,” Jackson said, “and I’ll see to it you get a month’s vacation after, if you wish.”
“I…” Mason lifted his hands again. “Honestly, it’s not that I need or expect so much time off, I just…”
“You may refuse,” Jackson assured him. “This isn’t for ev¬eryone.”
“But should you?”
He turned to see Della Hamilton had spoken quietly and was staring at him, again, as if she read something in him, as if she knew more than he did about himself.
“I…”
He didn’t know what it was about the way she was look¬ing at him. Challenging him? Or seeing something in him he really wasn’t sure of himself.
He looked from her to Adam Harrison and then to Jack¬son Crow.
“So,” he said with resolve, “we’re leaving tonight. I take it we’ll be briefed—”
“Every file from every country will be sent to your inboxes immediately. Along with connections here in the home of¬fice for any help you need, and bios on the members of Eu¬ropean law enforcement you’ll be involved with. We will be planning a larger team, of course, but this came up suddenly. And they need our help. Also, one of the officials in Norway has a suspicion the Vampire might well be an American.”
“American?” Mason said, surprised. “I understand there were similar killings here that might have been this killer’s start-up. But now, the display of the killings has apparently stretched from country to county. Maybe he’s gotten it all right where he wants it to be, but these killings have been in Europe—”
“I think, in the killer’s mind, the killings have been per¬fected in Europe,” Jackson said. “I believe the killer’s prac¬tices were here in America. I have been involved in this for a long time, and I consider it an educated theory. You’ll find everything you need will be sent to you, every piece of in-formation or even supposition that we have. I’ve done all the reading on this and, trust me, there’s plenty of reading mate¬rial for a long flight.”
Mason nodded.
“All right. So, tonight. When and how do we leave?”
“Private jet, Krewe jet,” Adam told him. The older man shrugged. “I’ve been lucky in life. The plane is my gift to special agents who are…special.”
“I’m packed and ready,” Della said. She looked at Mason.
“I’ve been living out of a suitcase here in New Orleans. I’ll get my things from the hotel.”
“We’ll meet up at Louis Armstrong International,” Della said, rising. She nodded to Jackson and Adam. “I know we’ll have cooperation, and I truly hope we’ll do the Bu¬reau proud.”
“I know you will,” Jackson said.
It took Mason less than fifteen minutes to collect his be¬longings from the hotel. The drive to the airport where he returned his rental car took another forty-five. He met up with Della Hamilton at the coffee bar in the terminal.
“You’re here,” she said.
“Of course, I’m here. I said I would be.”
“But you don’t seem pleased with the assignment.”
“Oh, you’re wrong,” he said. “I’m just enthralled.”
“You’re just enthralled,” Della murmured. “Strange choice of words.”
“I was obviously being sarcastic,” Mason told her dryly.
“I didn’t miss your tone,” she assured him. “It’s just that we’re headed for Norway. The word enthralled comes from thrall—which is what the Norse called the human beings they enslaved. People tend to think the Vikings were after gold and jewels—and they were, but they were also slave traders. They needed slaves to build their ships and sew their sails and work the land when it was workable, but they also found great wealth in the slave trade.” She paused, shaking her head. “Hu¬manity hasn’t changed. Of course, it wasn’t just the Vikings. The Romans were big on enslaving conquered people, and so on throughout history. And still, though we try to stop it, there are still some places today that enslave others. Anyway, the conquerors could be cruel. Some of the sagas that were written in Iceland in the fourteenth century portray the in¬vaders as great heroes—and the thralls as dull and stupid crea¬tures who needed owners since they were fit for little more than slavery. They’ve found iron collars and chains in archae¬ological digs, proof of man’s treatment of man, or in slavery, more of woman. But anyway, being enthralled means you’re basically enslaved by someone or something.”
“Woah!” Mason said. “Woah, so, I’m traveling with a walk¬ing encyclopedia! But, hmm, you are hard on those people. Are you sure you should be going to Norway?”
She shook her head impatiently. “I hardly blame anyone today for the Viking age. It ended a long, long time ago. We call the Dark Ages the Dark Ages because that’s what they were—dark. Torture chambers abounded! Oh, and I love Norway and the Norwegian people. My maternal grandpar¬ents were born there.”
“Ah, that’s why they’re sending you,” he said. “You know the terrain?”
“Hopefully, they’re sending me because I’m a competent agent, capable of rolling with whatever comes up. And yes, I know some of the terrain, of course. We traveled fairly fre¬quently when I was a kid.”
“Rich kid?”
She shook her head. “My parents just knew how to make travel with the family into both a fun and profitable event. My mother was an artist and my father was a great marketer—he found buyers for her work all over in ad campaigns and the like. So yes, I know and love Norway.”
“And the Bureau?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I was majoring in criminology when an old friend suggested I use everything I have to get bad guys. I went into the academy straight from college.”
“A dead friend?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, a dead friend. You?”
“College, the military, more college, the academy. Oh, and on the enthralled—maybe I said it just right. I get the feeling you’re something like me.”
“Oh, I doubt that! And why—”
“Because work became your life at some point. Basically, we’re slaves to it.”
Della shook her head. “Not true. Or I don’t see it that way. I’m still dedicated. I believe in what we’re doing, and the fact we can get help sometimes from those who are gone—that not everyone can—is amazing. Don’t you believe in what we’re doing?”
Mason hesitated. “Yes, of course. Okay, honestly? I just… I don’t want to kill anymore. Maybe what I thought I needed was a breather. Not that I would have preferred to have been killed myself, I mean…” He paused. He barely knew Della Hamilton, and he wasn’t really ready to pour his heart out to her. But…
“Seeing so much death,” he continued, “I’ve gained a marked appreciation for life. I have never killed in any cir¬cumstance in which I wasn’t being shot at myself or in a situation in which it was necessary to protect another—an in¬nocent, someone stunned and terrified to suddenly find them-selves the target of a killer, or in the middle of a crime, war, or violence. But I wish I was better at…negotiating! Getting people to surrender. I… No matter what, it still takes some¬thing out of you when you take a human life.”
“Yes, I agree,” she said, “and everyone hopes to bring a sus¬pect in alive because our job is to uphold the law while judges and juries do the rest. I understand how you feel. I was told you were a good guy. You are. No one wants to kill, Mason. But sometimes, negotiation doesn’t work, and we must care about the victim first. Negotiation is great, but when there is no choice… Well. And honestly, I guess you haven’t had much chance to read about this Vampire yet, but… Mason, he’s a truly terrifying figure. And if he has others joining his ranks… Mason, you do know there are groups of people across the world, I believe—I know of a few in the States—who call themselves vampires, right? Some just meet and drink one another’s blood. Some say they are spiritual vam¬pires, and claim it’s in a good way—they can gain kindness from others and all that. But…if this guy really thinks he’s a vampire, we may be looking at worse things to come. At one time, people believed in blood-sucking vampires—diseases that destroyed the blood caused that kind of theory. In the 1800s, even in the United States, people dug up their loved ones to stake them through the heart or burn their hearts, afraid they were coming back to drink their blood when in truth, the disease was just spreading. But—”
“I don’t think this killer believes he’s a vampire, though if he is seeking followers, he’ll want to convince them he is a supernatural creature. I believe he’ll be like the guy we just got—probably handsome or charming enough to lure vic¬tims. Somewhere in his twenties or thirties. Thirties, I think, old enough to have gotten clever enough to clean up a crime scene and have the finances to pull off what he’s doing. He’ll be making sure he gets a lot of press all over Europe. He wants the fame or the infamy.”
“You spent time with profilers?”
“I did,” he said. “And we all know a profile can be wrong—but most of the time, it turns out to be right on. Let’s hope we have good help once we get there.”
“We will. And we have tons and tons of time to study all the files on the plane. Mason, we can make this work. And I know you’re a loner. This is the first time you’ve worked with a partner and a team in a long time. But I swear, I’ve got your back.”
He nodded. “I’ve uh… I’m sorry if I’m…difficult. You’re right. I’ve been on my own for a few years now. And—I swear—I’ve got your back, too.”
She smiled. “Hey, I’ve gotten to see you do that already. And I’m so sorry. I heard. I heard your last partner was killed in the line of duty,” she said.
He nodded, looking away, and not sure why he didn’t want to look at her.
Yes, Stan Kier had been killed. Mason had been nearby when it happened, and seeing Stan, he had felt a burning fury. Perhaps there had been no choice, but the searing sensation of anger and hatred he’d felt when he brought down the killer had been horrible.
There were things an agent had to do. Times when he had to kill.
But the amount of hatred he’d felt then…
It had scared the hell out of him.
It was just something he didn’t want to ever feel again. Though he had to admit, it didn’t come close to the pain of seeing Stan die. Stan had been a great guy, a family man, a friend.
He started, feeling her hand on his knee. He looked her way. In truth, he knew nothing about her.
“Like I said. Not to worry. I’ve seen you in action,” she said.
“Yeah, thanks. And I’m sorry. I’m not sure if I ever said anything to you after the events in the bayou. You were amaz¬ing. For what you did in that cabin. That was…”
“Unorthodox?” she asked, wincing.
“I was going to say it was very brave. Coming in unarmed.”
“I had a little Beretta hidden in my waistband,” she said. “I also read up on you and I knew you were a crack shot. The SWAT director there was getting edgy. And while you are such a good shot and you’d have been fine without me, I fig¬ured a little help couldn’t hurt. It can be hard to get a guar-anteed clean shot. I had talked to Melissa’s parents and… We just couldn’t let him take out another victim.”
“Well, then, thanks. You threw me. I had heard things about the Krewe of Hunters, but I didn’t know you were with them—”
“Newbie,” she reminded him. “Not quite a year. The Krewe was formed over a decade ago. In New Orleans, as a matter of fact. There were originally just six, and now we have dozens of agents, and it’s good—we’re all always out, all over the country.”
“So you were down in this area with the Krewe before?”
“Right before I joined the Krewe I was on assignment as a field agent down here. In fact, it was almost right after the case I was on here that I had my interview—and found out they were real. I promise you, it’s like…sanity in the insane world we’ve chosen to work in.”
“And I think I still doubted in my way—since we’re taught by our parents and families not to let other people think we’re crazy—that what I’d heard could be real, that the Bureau re¬ally had a unit in truth that was composed of…”
“Weird people like us?” she asked, grinning.
He nodded.
“As I told you, I’m still fairly new to the Krewe. Well, not that new, almost a year. I went to the academy, started in the field, and then my supervisor told me I had an interview with a special unit,” she told him. “I believe sometimes the head players at the Krewe know from our records or cases… Well, they have it themselves so they recognize it in others. They seek people from other law enforcement agencies as well. I believe Adam Harrison and Jackson Crow are pretty amazing at studying situations.” She paused, smiling. “It’s a wonderful place to be, with others like us, and they just have that tal¬ent for determining who the weird people are. And instead of hiding and feeling weird, we get to see that it is amazing, this ability we have, because it’s like so many things with DNA, just a fraction of a fraction of the population has it, so…”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?” she asked.
He smiled. “I wonder if Norwegian ghosts will speak any English.”
She smiled in return for a minute, and then she was dead serious. Her eyes were a true green he realized—like emerald lasers the way she was staring at him. “We’re going to make this work,” she told him.
“All right. We’re going to make this work. Partner.”
Her phone was ringing and she answered it quickly and told him, “Our plane is ready and the pilot is aboard. I un¬derstand the plane is great. So…”
“On to hours of reading in the air,” he said.
“We are going to work well together,” she vowed.
He forced himself to nod. He had been so uncertain; and then again, as Gideon had said, she had balls. And she was unorthodox.
He might even like her. He imagined she was an excellent agent, able to use her natural beauty and abilities in her in¬vestigations and takedowns.
Yeah, he liked her. But he was going to be careful.
He vowed he wasn’t going to like her too much.
Because nothing changed the fact there were kill-or-be-killed situations.
It wasn’t a good thing to become too involved with a partner—not in their line of business. He’d learned that the hard way. And he’d worked on his own—with plenty of backup, of course—for several years now. Working as a loner had its advantages.
He would have her back. And he’d try to be a team player.
He just couldn’t lose another partner.

Excerpted from Whispers at Dusk by Heather Graham. Copyright © 2023 by Heather Graham Pozzessere. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

 

 

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She’s a winner of the RWA’s Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers’ Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her websites: TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, eHeatherGraham.com
HeatherGraham.tv. You can also find Heather on Facebook.

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Facebook: @Heather Graham
Twitter: @HeatherGraham

 

 

 

 

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Voice of Fear by Heather Graham – a Review

Voice of Fear by Heather Graham – a Review

 

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Description:
A killer is looking to silence them, once and for all.

FBI agent Jordan Wallace is close to cracking the human trafficking case she’s been working, when she does the one thing she should never do: let her guard down. The botched undercover mission is semisalvaged by the last-minute appearance of criminal psychologist Patrick Law, but Jordan can’t imagine making a worse first impression. Especially when she’s partnered with Patrick moving forward.

Patrick’s innate ability to get inside a criminal’s head is an asset for the Krewe of Hunters. But Jordan wishes she could protect her own thoughts from her new partner. Patrick assures her that both she and her thoughts are safe with him, but Jordan’s less sure about her heart. Letting someone have her back has never been her strong suit, but with a dangerous killer still at large, trusting in Patrick might be the only thing keeping them alive.

 

 

Review:

Voice of Fear by Heather Graham is the 38th book in her Krewe of Hunters series.  I am a big fan of Heather Graham, as her romance suspense books are always exciting and action packed.  Voice of Fear is the third book in this trilogy arc.  The last two books were centered on Colleen, who is an FBI agent (with the Krewe Hunters), and her sister Megan.  In Voice of Fear, Jordan Wallace, our heroine, an FBI agent is the lead, with the third Law family member (triplets), Patrick Law, as the hero in this book. 

The story starts with Jordan working undercover, finding herself captured by human traffickers, trying to escape. Just when she thinks they will kill her, she is rescued by the FBI and Patrick Law. The FBI and Krewe team manage to save other women being sold to other countries. Patrick went out of his way to tell Jordan that she was wrong not to have a backup, nearly getting herself killed. With the man behind the human trafficking still missing, Patrick and Jordan are teamed up as partners.  Even though they got off on the wrong foot, in a short time they become great partners, and eventually a romance will bring them even closer.

It was great to see other members of the Krewe team, especially those who have unique abilities. The Law triplets each possess unusual powers, such as Colleen being able to hear voices in her head, and Patrick, who is criminal psychologist, and can read minds; not to mention that many Krewe members can see ghosts.   Both Patrick and Jordan can see ghosts, and one ghost, Alfie will play a major part in this story, trying to save an old friend, before he moves on.

A powerful and evil vicious dangerous killer is still at large, and Jordan, Patrick, and the team do everything to find him before he kills again. What follows is a tense exciting thriller that will have Jordan, Patrick, and all the wonderful Krewe team, such as Coleen, Ragnar, Angela, Jackson, Mark, Megan, and other members of the Krewe team, working together to save the women. I loved Patrick’s dog, Bry-Bo, who was so helpful when danger was near. To say too much more would be spoilers, and you need to read this from start to finish, as there are some twists and surprises.

It was a wild tense last third of the book, as we raced to the climax, had me holding my breath to see who will survive.  Voice of Fear was an exciting, intense, suspenseful, dark story of murder, with a sweet slow burn romance, great couple and lots of action throughout. Once again, Heather Graham gives us a wild, mindboggling thriller, that kept our attention from start to finish.  I did like that both Patrick and Jordan were a great couple.  If you like intense supernatural thrillers, which is written so very well by Heather Graham, then I suggest you read Voice of Fear.

Reviewed by Barb

Copy provided by Publisher

 

 

 

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Aura of Night by Heather Graham – a Review

Aura of Night by Heather Graham – a Review

 

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Description:
True evil never dies. It only waits in the dark.

All book editor Megan Law wants is to bury the memory of her brutal kidnapping and move on with her life. So when her publisher asks her to spin her hellish experience into the next bestseller, Megan agrees only because it might help keep other women safe. Then a mysterious, gruesome package arrives in the mail—a reminder that the nightmare isn’t over just yet.

FBI investigator Ragnar Johnson is running out of time. He knows in his gut there’s more to the recent Embracer killings, and he needs Megan’s help. Even with their rocky past behind them, working together now isn’t going to be easy. But when things take a deadly turn, Megan and Ragnar discover a deep connection that they’ll have to use, because something is trying to tear them apart…forever.

 

 

Review:

Aura of Night by Heather Graham is the 37th book in her Krewe of Hunters series.  I am a big fan of Heather Graham, as her romance suspense books are always exciting and action packed.  Aura of Night is the second book in this trilogy arc.  The last book (1st in trilogy arc) was centered on Colleen, who is an FBI agent (with the Krewe Hunters), and in this book, her sister Megan is the lead.  

Megan, our heroine, is a book editor, and her publisher wants her to write about her experience when she was kidnapped (mistaken identity, supposed to be Colleen), almost buried alive.  Though Megan is back at work, she still has nightmares, and not to mention psychic abilities, such as seeing the dead. When the FBI agent comes to NY, he convinces Megan that she is still in danger, and when she receives a horrific package, she knows that she needs to go to a safe house with the agent, whom she has a crush on.

Ragnar Johanson, our hero, interviews the two men (now in prison) who were responsible in killing multiple women, and he immediately suspects there are more people outside under the guise of The Embracer; and he knows he has to get to Megan. Together they arrive at a safe house, with some other agents, but Megan is determined to work closely with Ragnar to help find the clues, using her abilities; in order to help save other women.  Ragnar agrees and Megan joins his investigation.  Megan watches Ragnar interview the men in prison, and immediately senses danger for someone else; they race against time to save one woman from being buried alive, and discover another villain. Who truly is the Embracer and how is he puling in strange people to do his deeds? 

What follows is a tense exciting thriller that will have Ragnar, Megan, and other members of the Krewe team, working together to save the women. I loved Megan’s dog, Hugo, who was so important in finding those buried. To say too much more would be spoilers, and you need to read this from start to finish, as there are some twists and surprises. 

The wild tense ending as we raced to the climax, had me holding my breath to see who will survive.  Aura of Night was an exciting, intense, suspenseful, dark story of murder, with a sweet slow burn romance, great couple and lots of action throughout. Once again, Heather Graham gives us a wild, mindboggling thriller, that kept our attention from start to finish.  I did like that both Ragnar and Megan, as they made a great couple.  If you like intense supernatural thrillers, which is written so very well by Heather Graham, then I suggest you read Aura of Night.

Reviewed by Barb

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Crimson Summer by Heather Graham – Review & Excerpt

Crimson Summer by Heather Graham – Review & Excerpt

 

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Description:
They’re not going down without a fight.

When FDLE special agent Amy Larson discovers a small horse figurine amid the bloody aftermath of a gang massacre in the Everglades, she recognizes it immediately. The toy is the calling card of the apocalypse cult that Amy and her partner, FBI special agent Hunter Forrest, have been investigating, and it can only mean one thing: this wasn’t an isolated skirmish—it was the beginning of a war.

As tensions between rival gangs rise, so does the body count, and Amy and Hunter’s investigation leads them to a violent, far-right extremist group who are in no hurry to quell the civil unrest. With a deadly puppet master working to silence their every lead, it’s a race against the clock to figure out who’s been pulling the strings and put a stop to the escalating cartel turf war before the Everglades run red.

 

 

Review:

Crimson Summer by Heather Graham is the 2nd book in her Amy Larsen & Hunter Forest FBI series.  I did not read the first book in this series (guess I missed it), but this reads very well as a standalone.  Amy Larson (FDLE special agent) and Hunter Forest (FBI special agent) are our heroes in this series.  The storyline revolves around an apocalypse threat (the four horsemen), which concentrated on the first book being a cult, and using the white horse.  While on vacation, Amy and Hunter discover someone left them a gift, a red horse toy; knowing the danger in that message, as well as learning that there was a bloody gang massacre in the Everglades; they cut their vacation short and return to Florida to help investigate the massacre and red horse clue.

The tension and suspense escalate, especially between rival gangs, as another mass murder happens in New York, as well as threats in Chicago.  Amy and Hunter begin to suspect that a violent, extremist group maybe behind the war, as there are many twists and turns along the way, leading them to try and figure out who the real person is behind the scenes.

What follows is a fast paced, exciting, suspenseful thriller that even puts innocent people in danger. Amy and Hunter race against the clock to protect the innocents, and find the villain. There were a number of surprises, and to say too much more would be spoilers. I really loved Amy and Hunter together, as they made a great team, not to mention romance.  Since there is more horseman to come, I look forward to reading what Graham has in store for us. Crimson Summer was so very well written by Heather Graham.  If you enjoy exciting suspense thrillers, you need to read this book; especially Graham is one of the best in writing suspenseful novels.  

Reviewed by Barb

Copy provided by Publisher

 

 

                                     Prologue

The sun was out, inching its way up in the sky, casting golden rays and creating a beautiful display of color over the shading mangroves and cypress growing richly in the area. The sunlight touched on the streams running throughout the Everglades, the great “River of Grass” stretching over two hundred acres in southern and central portions of Florida, creating a glittering glow of nature.
The sky was gold and red at the horizon, and brilliantly blue above, with only a few soft puffs of clouds littered about. Diamonds and crystals seemed to float on the water.
Such beauty. Such peace.
Then there was the crime scene.
The bodies lay strewn and drenched with blood. The rich, natural earth hues of the Everglades were caught in a surreal image, greens and browns spattered liberally with the color red as if an angry child had swung a sopping paint-brush around.
Aidan Cypress had never understood why the mocking-bird had been made Florida’s state bird—not when it seemed that vultures ruled the skies overhead. Never more so than today.
Now, as he stood overlooking the scene with his crew and special agents from the FDLE, trying to control the crime scene against the circling vultures, Aidan couldn’t help but wonder just what had happened and why it had happened this way—and grit his teeth knowing there would be speculation.
Stooping down by the body of a man Aidan believed to be in his midthirties—with dark hair, olive complexion, possibly six feet in height, medium build—he noted the shaft of an arrow protruding from the man’s gut.
All the dead had been killed with arrows, hatchets, axes and knives. Because whoever had done this had apparently tried to make it look like a historical Native American rampage.
Except the killers hadn’t begun to understand there were differences in the weaponry and customs between the nations and tribes of the indigenous peoples across the country.
In South Florida, the dead man’s coloring could mean many things; Aidan himself was a member of the Seminole tribe of Florida, though somewhere in his lineage, some-one had been white—most probably from northern Europe originally. He had a bronze complexion, thick, straight hair that was almost ebony…and green eyes.
South Florida was home to those who had come from Cuba, Central and South America and probably every island out there. The area was truly a giant melting pot. That’s how his family had begun. In a way, history had created the Seminole tribe because there had been a time when settlers had called any indigenous person in Florida a Seminole.
But while the killers had tried to make this look like a massacre of old, the dead men were not Seminole. They were, Aidan believed, Latino. He could see tattoos on the lower arms of a few of the dead who had been wearing T-shirts; a single word was visible in the artwork on the man in front of him—Hermandad.
Spanish for “Brotherhood.”
“What the hell happened here, Aidan?”
Aidan looked up to see that John Schultz—Special Agent John Schultz, Florida Department of Law Enforcement—was standing by his side.
John went on. “It’s like a scene out of an old cowboys and Indians movie!”
Aidan stared at John as he rose, bristling—and yet he knew what it looked like at first glance.
“Quaking aspen,” Aidan said.
“Quaking aspen?” John repeated blankly.
“It’s not native to this area. Look at the arrow. That wasn’t made by any Seminole, Miccosukee or other Florida Native American. That is a western wood.”
“Yeah, well, things travel these days.”
Aidan shook his head. He liked John and respected him. The older agent was experienced, a few years shy of retirement. The tall, gray-haired man had recently suffered a heart attack, had taken the prescribed time off and come back to the field. They’d worked together dozens of times before. He could be abrasive—he had a sometimes-unhappy tendency to say what he thought, before thinking it through.
A few years back John had been partnered with a young woman named Amy Larson. It had taken John a long time to accept her age—and the fact she was female. Once he’d realized her value, though, he’d become her strongest supporter.
But Amy wasn’t here today.
And Aidan missed her. She softened John’s rough edges.
She was still on holiday somewhere with Hunter Forrest, the FBI agent she’d started dating. They were off on an island enjoying exotic breezes and one another’s company minus all the blood and mayhem.
Aidan stopped lamenting the absence of his favorite FDLE agent and waved away a giant vulture trying to hone in on a nearby body.
Half of the corpses were already missing eyes and bits and pieces of skin and soft tissue.
Aidan sighed and looked around. There were twenty bodies, all of them male, between the ages of twenty and forty, he estimated.
Because he’d noted the tattoos on a few of them, and using his own years of experience, he theorized the dead were members of a gang. Florida had many such gangs. Most were recruits from the various drug cartels, resolved to hold dominion over their territories.
He looked at John, trying to be patient, understanding and professional enough to control his temper. “You know, you may be the special agent, but I’m the forensics expert, and this was not something perpetrated by any of the Florida tribes—or any tribe anywhere. I can guarantee you no one sent out a war party to slaughter some gang members. Someone tried—ridiculously—to make this look like some Natives did this.”
“Hey, sorry, you’re right. Forgive me—just…look around!” John said quickly and sincerely. “It’s just at first sight…well, I mean—wow. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
The apology was earnest. “Okay. Let’s figure out what really happened.”
The corpses were in something of a clearing right by a natural stream making its way through hammocks thick with cypress trees and mangroves and all kinds of underbrush.
While the area was customarily filled with many birds—herons, cranes, falcons, hawks and more—it was the vultures who had staked out a claim. The bodies lay with arrows and axes protruding from their heads, guts or chests, as if they’d fought in a bloody battle. And now they succumbed to decay on the damp and redolent earth.
John followed Aidan’s gaze and winced. “It’s a mess. Okay, well…all right. I’m going to go over and interview the man who found this.”
“Jimmy Osceola,” Aidan said. “He’s been fishing this little area all his life, and he does tours. Two birds with one stone. Members of his family work with him and all of them fish and take tourists out here. He has a great little place right off I-75. It’s called Fresh Catch, and his catch is about as fresh as it gets. Catfish. He’s a good guy, John.”
“I believe you. But we’re going to need a break here—you and your team have to find something for me to go on.”
Aidan stared at him, gloved hands unclenching at his sides. John was rough around the edges and said whatever came to mind, but he was a good cop.
He’d be hell-bent on finding out just what had gone on here.
Aidan told him what he’d heard. “Jimmy was out with a boatload of tourists—they’re right over there. See—two couples, a kid who just started at FIU and two middle-aged women. The first officers on the scene made sure they all stayed. Go talk to them. They look like they came upon a bloodbath—oh, wait, they did.”
John arched a brow to him and said, “Yeah. I got it.”
He headed off to talk to Jimmy Osceola and the group with him.
Aidan studied the crime scene again, as a whole.
First, what the hell had all these men been doing out here? A few of them looked to have been wearing suits; most were in T-shirts and jeans.
The few bodies he had noted—not touching any of them, that was the medical examiner’s purview—seemed to bear that same tattoo. Hermandad.
That meant a gang of enforcers in his mind, and he was sure it was a good guess.
Had a big drug deal been planned?
They were on state land, but it was state land traveled only by the local tribes who knew it. The park service rangers also came through, and the occasional tourist who arranged for a special excursion into the wilds.
Bird-watchers, often enough.
All they’d see today, however, would be the vultures.
“Aidan.”
He heard his name spoken by a quiet female voice and he swung around.
Amy Larson was not enjoying an exotic island vacation.
She was standing just feet from him, having carefully avoided stepping on any of the bodies, pools of blood or possible evidence. She was in a navy pantsuit, white cotton shirt and serviceable black sneakers—obviously back to work.
No matter how all-business her wardrobe, Amy had blue-crystal eyes that displayed empathy and caring. She was great at both assuring witnesses and staring down suspects.
“What are you doing here, Amy?” Aidan asked her. “You’re supposed to be sunbathing somewhere, playing in the surf with Hunter.”
“I was.”
“So what happened?”
“It was great. Champagne, chocolates, sun, surf, sand…” She sighed.
“And?”
“And a little red horse—like the one from last month’s crime scene—delivered right to the room,” she said.

Excerpted from Crimson Summer by Heather Graham, Copyright © 2022 by Heather Graham Pozzessere. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

 


 

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She’s a winner of the RWA’s Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers’ Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her website, TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, or find Heather on Facebook.

Social Links:

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Twitter: @HeatherGraham

Instagram: @TheOriginalHeatherGraham

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The Forbidden by Heather Graham – a Review

The Forbidden by Heather Graham – a Review

 

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Description:
She is someone’s darkest desire

Playing the victim of a vampire king on an island off New Orleans is actress Avalon Morgan’s creepiest role to date. It’s also scary good fun—until the victim of a real killer is discovered on set, laid out for all to see. With production shut down, Avalon can’t stop thinking about the chilling crime scene, or Grayson Avery, the investigator working the case.

With a rising body count and zero leads, Gray can’t help but be impressed by Avalon’s amateur sleuthing, which takes her to the darkest corners of the internet, where killers confess their crimes. One such account is a dead ringer for the murders, but when the evidence vanishes, nobody believes Avalon—except for Gray. With no one they can trust, Avalon and Gray are determined to unbury the truth at any cost, but a return to the deadly island could be the last thing they do.

 

 

Review:

The Forbidden by Heather Graham is the 34th book in her Krewe of Hunters series.  I have only read a few books from this series, but they do read very well as a standalone; I plan on reading more; as I enjoy Graham’s other books/series.

Avalon Morgan, our heroine, is an actress and is part of a group of actors working on a film, with most of them being friends, and working with the director for other films.  Avalon has just completed a scene with her made to look beautiful lying on a tomb, as it is a scary vampire movie.  When they break for the day, Avalon takes a walk around the island with her fellow actor friend, and they discover the body of their makeup artist friend, who was laid out exactly like the scene Avalon had just done.

The group of friends gathered together, upset about the muder, as the police questioned everyone, and shutting down production until the killer can be found.

Gray Avery, our hero, is the lead investigator, who is part of the Krewe of Hunters team that works on supernatural investigations.  Gray immediately recognizes that Avalon has unique abilities to see the dead, which he can too. At first, she refuses to talk about it, but in time she begins to trust Gray and together they work on trying to find clues; especially with Avalon insisting none of her friends committed the murder.  

Gray has his team checking out possible similar murders, and Avalon, being very good doing research on the internet, discovers the dark web, with people describing their fantasy murder; which is too close to the real thing.  Gray also becomes worried that the killer or killers are focusing on Avalon, as she fits the description of previous murders. He makes sure that Avalon comes with him at various locations, since she knows how to talk to ghosts, and he keeps an eye on her.  During this period, both Avalon and Gray find their attraction to each other becoming serious, and their chemistry was sizzling.

What follows is a tense thriller that will have them not only looking at the film crew, but also the owners of the island, who also hang around the area.  Gray suspects that there is more than one killer, who are very dangerous and evil.  To say too much more would be spoilers, and you need to read this from start to finish, as there are some twists and surprises.  The wild tense ending as we raced to the climax, had me holding my breath to see who will survive. 

The Forbidden is an exciting, intense, suspenseful, dark story of murder, with a nice romance, and lots of police procedurals. Once again, Heather Graham gives us a wild, mindboggling thriller, that kept our attention from start to finish.  I did like that both Gray and Avalon, as they made a great couple.  If you like intense supernatural thrillers, which is written so very well by Graham, then I suggest you read The Forbidden.

Reviewed by Barb

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Danger in Numbers by Heather Graham – Review, Excerpt & Q&A

Danger in Numbers by Heather Graham – Review, Excerpt & Q&A

 

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Description:
On the edge of the Everglades, an eerie crime scene sets off an investigation that sends two agents deep into a world of corrupted faith, greed and deadly secrets.

A ritualistic murder on the side of a remote road brings in the Florida state police. Special Agent Amy Larson has never seen worse, and there are indications that this killing could be just the beginning. The crime draws the attention of the FBI in the form of Special Agent Hunter Forrest, a man with insider knowledge of how violent cults operate, and a man who might never be able to escape his own past.

The rural community is devastated by the death in their midst, but people know more than they are saying. As Amy and Hunter join forces, every lead takes them further into the twisted beliefs of a dangerous group that will stop at nothing to see their will done.

Doomsday preppers and small-town secrets collide in this sultry, twisty page-turning thriller.

 

 

Review:

Danger in Numbers by Heather Graham is an exciting, tense standalone murder mystery. We meet our heroine, FDLA Special Agent Amy Larson, who is on the scene of a gruesome ritualistic murder of a female in the Florida Everglades. The woman was on a pole, with violent slashes across her face and stabbed through her heart.  Amy and her partner John, both from the Florida State Police, were disturbed, as well as worried if this was the start of more to come. The murder draws the attention of the FBI, and Special Agent Hunter Forrest, who has knowledge of how cults operate.

In a short time, Hunter will join the investigation with Amy as his partner, since her partner suffered a heart attack.  Together Hunter and Amy made a sensational team, as they are both good at what they do.  Early on there is another POV from many years ago, showing a family on the run from a cult and hoping for help from the FBI, leaving us unsure of how this effected the current case; halfway into the story, we do learn what and who was in that POV.

After another female is murdered, Hunter begins to see some similarities of previous ritualistic crimes. Amy and Hunter know that someone powerful runs a dangerous cult, and think nothing about putting women through horrific rituals.  After meeting all the local churches and temples, they do further investigations on all of them to find clues as to who is the leader; and to find another missing woman before she is killed. But there were so many secrets that hindered their investigation, and because Amy is a woman, Hunter and another detective worry that she is in danger, too.

What follows is a tense thriller that will bring them into a commune of dangerous people who are blinded by a leader who will kill at whim.  To say too much more would be spoilers, and I would ruin it for you.  Danger in Numbers is an exciting, intense, dark story of murder and the cults that brainwash people.  Amy and Hunter find themselves in dangerous situations that had us holding our breath if they would survive. 

Once again, Heather Graham gives us a wild, mindboggling thriller, that kept our attention from start to finish.  I did like that both Amy and Hunter started a slow build romance, that hopefully will give us more stories to come.  They made a great team and couple.  If you like intense thrillers, which is written so very well by Graham, then I suggest you read Danger in Numbers.

Reviewed by Barb

Copy provided by Publisher

 

Fall 1993
Sam

Sam Gallagher stood in the forest, deep within the trees, holding his wife and son to him as closely as he could, barely daring to breathe.
They would know by now. He and Jessie would be missed. He could imagine the scene: Jessie wouldn’t have appeared bright and early to help prepare the day’s meal with the other women. He wouldn’t be there to consume the porridge and water that was considered the ultimate meal for the workday—the porridge because it was a hearty meal, the water because it was ordained as the gift of life.
Their absence would be reported to Brother William, sitting his office—his throne room, Sam thought—where he would be guarded by his closest associates, the deacons of his church.
The family had only been in woods for a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Jessie was so still Sam couldn’t hear her breathing, just feel the tremor of her heart.
Cameron was just six. And yet he knew the severity and danger of his situation. He stood as still and silent as any man could hope a child might be.
Panic seized Sam briefly.
What if Special Agent Dawson didn’t come? What if there had been a mix-up and he hadn’t been able to arrange for the Marshals Service to help?
What if they were found?
Stupid question. He knew the what if.
He gritted his teeth and fought against the fear that had washed over him like a tidal wave. Dawson was a good man; Sam knew he would keep his word. He’d arrived at the commune undercover, having the intuition to realize Sam’s feelings, his doubt, and his fear for his wife and his son. Together, Dawson had told him, they would bring down the Keepers of the Earth. His actions would free others. No, their actions would free others.
Today was the day. Just in time. Sam had known the danger of remaining, felt the way he was being watched by the Divine Leader’s henchmen.
They had to leave. Leave? No, there was no leaving the compound. There was only escaping.
Alana Fisk had wanted to leave, and they knew what had happened to her.
It had been Cameron who had found his beloved “aunt” Al- ana’s body at the bottom of the gorge, broken, lying beneath just inches of dry dust and rock, decomposing in her shallow grave. It had been Cameron, so young, who had become wary and suspicious first. He’d seen a few of the older boys in the area when he’d last seen Alana there, and he didn’t trust them. They were scary, Cameron said.
Sam tightened his hold on Cameron. Seconds ticked by like an eternity.
Sam closed his eyes and wondered how they had come to this, but he knew.
He and his wife had wanted something different. A life where riches didn’t make a man cruel.
Jessie hadn’t hated her father; she had hated what he stood for. And Sam knew the day when her mind had been made up. Downtown Los Angeles. They had seen a veteran of the Vietnam War, homeless, slunk against a wall. Only one of his legs remained; he had been struggling with his prosthetic, his cup for donations at his side. The homeless veteran had looked at Jessie’s father and said, “Please, sir, help if you can.”
Peter Wilson had walked right by. When Jessie had caught her father’s arm, he had turned on her angrily. “I didn’t get where I am by giving away my hard-earned money. He’s prob- ably lying about being a vet. He can get himself a damned job doing something!”
Sam had been walking behind them. Embarrassed, he tried to offer Jessie a weak smile. He hadn’t come from money, and he had lost his folks right after his twentieth birthday, but he was working in a coffee shop, dreaming he’d get to where he could work, go to college and have time left over to be with the woman he loved.
He had given the man a dollar and wished him well. Jessie had turned away from her father.
It was the last time Jessie saw her father. Despite the man’s efforts to break her and Sam up—or because of them—Jessie and Sam had eloped. The plan was to both get jobs and finish college through night school. Her father had suspected her pregnancy; he’d wanted her to get over Sam and terminate the baby.
Jessie quickly made friends at a park near their cheap apartment. They were old f lower children, she had told Sam. Old hippies, he’d liked to tease in return. But those friends had been happy, and they’d talked to Jessie about the beauty of their commune, far from the crazy greed and speed of the city.
In the beginning, Brother William’s commune did seem to offer it all: happiness, unity, love and light.
But now they knew the truth.
Brother William—with his “deacons,” his demands on his “flock” and the cache of arms he kept stowed away as he created his empire, demanding absolute power for himself, complete obedience among his followers. And it became clear Brother William’s will was enforced; he had those deacons—Brothers Colin, Anthony and Darryl, and the squad beneath them. They received special treatment.
Sam clutched his family as he strained to hear any unfamiliar sound in the woods. Was that footsteps? Was the rustling of branches just the breeze?
He had to stop dwelling on fear.
He had to stay strong. Maybe not ruminate on what they’d been through.
But there was nothing else to do while they waited, barely breathing.
Think back, remember it all.

Excerpted from Danger in Numbers by Heather Graham, Copyright © 2021 by Heather Graham Pozzessere Published by MIRA Books

 

 

Q&A with Heather Graham

Q: Please give the elevator pitch for Danger in Numbers.

A: Danger in Numbers is the first in a four book series based on crimes with a mastermind playing with the concept of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. A Florida Department of Law Enforcement agent winds up working a strange, ritualistic murder discovered in the Everglades along with an FBI agent, who, due to his past, has a unique ability to investigate the machinations of cults.

Q: Which came first: the characters or plot line?

A: A drive through my state on Highway 27! The area for the  beginning first–then characters and plot falling in together!

Q: Why do you love Amy and Hunter and why should readers root for them?

A: I always love people who are able to take something negative happening and turn it into something good for others or for the future. I also greatly admire our FDLE, and so many of the men and women working in the department!

Q: What was your last 5 star read?

A: LOL — I have no idea! I never base my reading on stars, rather on whether the subject matter is intriguing, or I know the author’s work and I know it will be a good read!

Q: What is one thing about publishing you wish someone would have told you?

A: Hm. Publishing has changed so much since I started! But, I did start without an agent and I think that a good agent is priceless. And, a good agent isn’t necessarily the agent you hear about being the “best.” The “best” agent is the one who loves your work and really wants to go to bat for you!

Q: With your two lead characters being in law enforcement, I was curious about the research into police procedures.  Have you ever taken one of the law enforcement ‘schools’ for authors?  Or do you personally have experience or know folks in law enforcement?

A: One of my favorite conferences is The Police Writers Academy. It’s run by Lee Lofland and he brings in specialists from all kinds of agencies, dealing with so many factions regarding law enforcement, evidence, and the law itself. I’m also grateful to International Thriller Writers for trips to the New York offices of the FBI–and out to the CIA. Mystery Writers have also brought in wonderful speakers to various conferences, and, of course, I have friends who are still with–or were with–various law department agencies. And my five children have paid off nicely! One has a U.S. Marshal friend who brought me through his offices and another friend is a Miami-Dade detective.

            They may start running now when they see me coming!

            But they’re seriously wonderfully helpful.

Q: When writing your thrilling mysteries like this one going into the dark side of cults, have you ever felt chills or thrills as you write?  Have any of your fictional villains given you the willies?

A: I’ve seen–thankfully, from a distance–what horrors can arise from cults. I’ve gotten chills many times!

Q: I’ve always wanted to see them.  Have you been on location to the Florida Everglades before? 

A: I grew up in Miami and I love trips out to Shark Valley and other areas of the Everglades. I love visiting our Native American villages and information centers in both Miami-Dade and Broward Counties. We do have mosquitos, alligators, and now, of course, massive constrictors, but we also have amazing birds and incredible nature sites. We’re unique! Down at the tip of the state, we also have crocodiles. No, I don’t really want to play with them or get close to them!  But the habitat, the hammocks, wetlands, and more are all uniquely beautiful.

Q: How much research do you do before beginning to write a book? Do you go to locations, ride with police, go to see an autopsy, etc.

A: It always depends on what I’m doing. I have friends who prefer their research on line–when I can, I love to travel. There are certain cities and areas I love and return to, but bizarre stories can be found in tiny towns and almost anywhere. Fiction will never be stranger than truth! When I can, I go to locations and speak with law enforcement or those close to a situation. When I can’t . . . well, I have a massive library and thankfully, friends who have been police and medical examiners!

Q: What hobbies do you enjoy?

A: Reading! Diving and anything to do with the water, and ballroom dancing.

Q: Do you write under one name for all books across genres or do you have other AKA’s?

A: I do have an AKA — Shannon Drake. At one time, I was writing historical novels under the name, and then doing a vampire series under it as well. Many of the publishers later reissued them under Heather Graham. (Went a little crazy a couple of months ago and wrote an historical, Arthurian fantasy, Daughter of Darkness and Light. Because it’s very different from contemporary thrillers, it’s up under Shannon Drake.) Years ago, I also used my full married name for a few books–Heather Graham Pozzessere. But Pozzessere is apparently hard to say, making it difficult for booksellers! But my dad was Graham, so writing as Graham is important to me!

Q: Do you have pets?

A: I do. A shy crazy cat and two pups, Rocket and Nimh.

Q: What’s your favorite part of writing suspense?

A: Taking a situation–and ending it the way I want it to end!

Q: Do you prefer reading and/or writing suspense with elements of romance? Why or why not?

A: I like relationships, I think they often define us. If not necessarily romance, I still like a story to contain friendships or other relationships.

Q: From the books you’ve written or read, who has been your favorite villain and why?

A: LOL – I don’t have a favorite child and I don’t have a favorite villain! That said, I have always loved Maleficent. She was my girl long before they cast Angelina Jolie as Maleficent in a movie. So evil and glamorous! And now, of course, we know she’s the classic, misunderstood villain–if only the world had treated her more kindly!

 

 

Heather Graham is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author has written over two hundred novels and novellas, has been published in approximately twenty-five languages and with about 60 million books sold in print in the categories of romantic suspense, historical romance, vampire fiction, time travel, occult, and Christmas holiday fare. For more information, visit her at TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com.

Social Links:

Author Website
Twitter: @HeatherGraham
Instagram: @TheOriginalHeatherGraham
Facebook: @HeatherGrahamAuthor
Goodreads

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