by V. B. Tenery
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00YG5J9AW
DEATHWATCH
WWII Historical Suspense
Finding a killer in the middle of a blitz is murder.
When a cryptanalyst in Britain’s top-secret Code and Cypher School is murdered, alarms sound in the highest echelons of Parliament. Was it merely a lover’s quarrel that ended her life, or was she killed after telling the Germans everything they wanted to know? That’s what MI6 Agent, Commander Grey Hamilton must find out.
He is joined in the chase by an old university friend from Scotland Yard, and a young American genius who has been singled out by the killer as his next victim.
As the Luftwaffe escalates its reign of terror over London, the unlikely team dodges bombs while searching the Underground and London docks knowing failure is not an option. The lives of English soldiers and perhaps the fate of the British Empire itself, is at stake.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01BVXDXAI
DEAD RINGER
From the Pelican Book Group
Mercy Lawrence is terrified.
Bermuda airport facial recognition software has identified her as missing runway star, Traci Wallace. Despite Mercy’s protests, Traci’s husband, ex-CIA agent Thomas Wallace, is convinced Mercy is the mother of his ill six-year-old son. With only his son’s welfare in mind, he abducts Mercy and takes her to a private island to care for the boy.
But Mercy soon discovers there are men much more dangerous than a father desperate to save his son. Her doppelganger has made deadly enemies—a relentless team of killers who now want her dead.
When Thomas is lured into a covert mission to rescue a CIA asset and uncover a government mole, Mercy is left isolated and alone—and Thomas finds himself stranded on foreign soil with a compromised mission and a wounded agent. Fighting against a rogue nation’s timetable for launching a nuclear strike, he must escape Saudi Arabia alive and rescue Mercy and his son before assassins finish the job they started.
Purchase DEAD RINGER on Amazon
THE WATCHMAN
Gifted with supernatural abilities, he’ll protect the innocent and avenge the abused, he is . . . The Watchman
When Detective Noah Adams meets the abused son of a powerful judge, he knows he must intervene, and fast. The violence is escalating, and even Noah’s special gifts may not prevent the unthinkable from happening.
Relentlessly pursuing two cases, Noah receives a chilling message: Cody’s deranged father has taken his son and it’s up to Noah to follow the judge’s twisted trail to find the boy before it’s too late.
Corrupt city officials, a missing socialite, an attempted murder, and a rescue in the middle of a blizzard entangle Noah in the most complicated case of his career. A case that will mean his ultimate redemption or will take him back into the dark history that haunts him.
Purchase THE WATCHMAN on Amazon
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Read on for a Sneak Peek at:
Book 2 in the
Matt Foley/Sara Bradford Series
THEN THERE WERE NONE
CHAPTER 1
Grayson Manor
Light filtered through the cottage windows as Sean McKinnon drained the last sip of the strong brew from his teacup. He took the empty mug to the sink, rinsed it out, and placed it in the dishwasher. He pulled on a jacket, picked up his cap and umbrella from the rack by the door, then strolled up the hill to the big house.
Morning clouds hung heavy in the gray sky and heavy raindrops began to splatter the stone walkway. Sean sucked in a deep breath of cold moist air and smiled, glad to have the family home from their stay in England. The big estate was lonely when they were gone. He increased his pace as the rain pelted faster. He hummed despite the weather, looking forward to breakfast in the kitchen with Amanda Castleton. Aye, he’d missed the woman’s cooking.
He crossed the large expanse of manicured lawn and bright flowers. It was a bonnie garden. He’d come over with the Graysons more than thirty years ago. Those had been dark times for the family.
The task Mr. Grayson had set for him—planting a proper English garden in this arid Texas land, had proved a mighty one. He’d faced many failures before the land yielded its secrets. He breathed in the sweet fragrance of English roses, pleased that the garden rivaled any to be found in his native country.
He slowed, examining a recently replaced rosebush. Satisfied, he move closer to the manor’s back door. As he drew closer, the blast of smoke alarms pierced the silent morning.
Sprinting toward the manor’s back entrance, he stumbled on the stone path but managed to keep his balance. He stopped, snatched a deep breath and hurried on.
Black smoke engulfed him as he jerked the kitchen door open and rushed inside. “Mrs. Castleton! Mrs. Castleton!”
Only the deafening blast of the alarms answered.
Smoke billowed from the huge gas range on the right, just inside the doorway. Pulling his jacket over his nose, he pushed farther into the room, switched off the stove’s burners, then flipped on the exhaust fan. The acrid smell of scorched food burned his nose and stung his eyes. Through a blur of tears and smoke, he grabbed oven mitts from a rack and carried the charred pans outside.
His mind raced. Something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Where was Mrs. Castleton? She would never leave dinner unattended. And where was the rest of the family?
The questions would have to wait. For now, he must switch off the blasted alarms and attend to the smoke.
With the burned food outside, he breathed easier. He re-entered the kitchen and moved around the large island to open the bank of windows on the other side of the room. He rounded the corner and stopped, his feet glued to the floor.
Three bodies lay on the floor behind the counter.
Sean whispered, “Dear Heavenly Father,” the sight too horrible to comprehend. He staggered and fell to his knees.
CHAPTER 2
Twin Falls Police Station
Police Chief Matt Foley shrugged into his jacket and walked to the door when his phone rang. He gave his watch a quick glance and picked up the receiver. Still a few extra minutes before his meeting.
Charles Kennedy, the desk sergeant’s voice sounded in his ear. “Glad I caught you, Chief.”
“What’s up, Charlie?”
“Ethan Grayson’s gardener called 911 earlier…” Kennedy hesitated, his voice subdued, tense. “Said bodies were scattered everywhere in the big house.”
The full implication hit Matt like a sledgehammer. Ethan Grayson was a friend. “Dead? Is he sure? All of them?”
“The cook and her daughter, too. Six bodies. That’s what the gardener reported.”
“I’m on my way. Detectives Turner and Allen are on call. Have they been notified?”
“They left a little ahead of McCulloch and the crime-scene crew. Mac told me to let you know.”
Mass murder didn’t happen in Matt’s town. It didn’t happen to his friends. He closed his eyes as white-hot anguish flowed through his body and lay like lead in his chest. Inhaling a long breath, he let the oxygen calm the turmoil until the pain became manageable. He’d deal with the grief later. “Call the DA and cancel my appointment.”
Matt wanted Miles Davis on this case. He was the senior detective in the division and a professional. Lucy Turner had a year in the department. A good detective, but she was also as prickly as a porcupine. The giant chip on her shoulder made her nearly impossible to work with. Her partner, Cole Allen, seemed to be the only one who could handle her. He laughed off her bad temper.
Matt hurried out the private entrance to his office. His black Explorer sat by the curb. He jumped inside, shoved the gearshift into reverse, and spun out of the parking lot.
Reaching for his cell phone, Matt found Miles’ mobile number and waited for the connection.
“Morning, Chief,” Miles said. Traffic noise in the background meant Miles was on the road.
“You hear about the Graysons?”
“Yeah, Charlie filled me in. Luc
y and Cole are up for this one. Right?”
“Yes, but I’m going to make a switch. You’ll be lead. Lucy will be your partner.”
A groan came through the line. “You know I want this case, Chief. But partnering with Turner is above and beyond the call.”
“This isn’t a suggestion, Miles, it’s an order. I need both of you. You’ll be good for Lucy. She could use some of your finesse. But I won’t have any squabbling. This case is too important.”
“Understood. But she’s not gonna be happy.”
“That’s her problem. Meet me at the crime-scene. I’ll fill Lucy in when I get there.”
Traffic was light on the familiar streets. Most commuters headed to Dallas and points south had left hours earlier.
A heavy sky hung over the city and a light morning drizzle wet the pavement. Mirrored buildings along Highway 75 reflected the gray weather in their dark windows. June was well into the hurricane season. Things would get worse as the day progressed. Condensation formed on the windshield and he switched on the air conditioning to clear the glass.
When he reached FM320, the road leading to the Grayson estate, an ambulance flew past, headed in the opposite direction, sirens wailing. Maybe someone had survived the carnage.
Grayson Manor
The ornate black gate stood open, and Matt swung onto the private road. The open gate wasn’t the norm. Ethan Grayson valued his privacy. An elaborate security system provided a shield from the outside world. Some called Ethan eccentric, but it was the man’s prerogative.
Matt pulled in behind the coroner’s white ambulance. His own Crime Scene Unit’s blue van and two black-and-whites filled the circular driveway. County Sheriff Joe Wilson, a childhood friend and colleague, slid to the curb behind him.
Matt slammed his car door and waited for the sheriff to catch up.
“Lisa gave me the news.” Joe extended a large hand for a firm hand shake, in keeping with the rest of his six-three frame, in a firm grip. “Came to see if I could help.”
In the distance, a local news crew tried to sneak through the front gate. Matt tapped a young officer on the shoulder. “Turn that van around and post a man at the entrance.”
With an affirmative nod, the officer stepped into the driveway and headed to intercept the van.
Matt stomped water from his shoes and joined the sheriff at the entrance. They walked into the mansion together and signed the crime-scene log on the foyer table. After donning booties and gloves the officer provided, they ducked under the yellow tape and stepped inside the manor.
Across the entryway, Lucy Turner chatted with one of the crime-scene techs. Turner was short and a little overweight, but attractive despite her customary scowl. A cascade of auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail that hung past the collar of her navy pant suit.
Matt strode across the tile to where she stood. “I passed an ambulance down the road. Please tell me one of them survived.”
She nodded. “Victoria Grayson still had a pulse when the first officer arrived. Five confirmed dead.”
“Where was she found?”
Turner pointed to the wide staircase leading to the second floor. “The shooter grazed her head as she came downstairs. She lost a lot of blood.”
A chalk outline and a large red stain on the stairwell marked the spot. “What do we know so far?”
“The security system wasn’t breached. Whoever the killer was, someone admitted them or they had the gate entry code. I pulled the security camera data. We should have a picture of the killer or killers entering through the front gate.”
“Could they have gone over the wall?”
“Cole checked it out,” Turner said. “The rain washed away any footprints there might have been. The fence is electrified and has razor wire. So it would be difficult to breach, but not impossible.”
Matt glanced over at the security system by the entrance. “They must have shut down the system before the murders.”
“It was off when we arrived. The smoke alarms would have summoned the police and fire department if the system had been on.”
Miles Davis walked through the entrance. He was easy to spot with his rugged dark face framed by short-cropped black hair and expertly trimmed beard.
Lucy’s steel gaze zeroed in on Davis. “What’s he doing here?”
“I told him to come.”
Angry red spots flushed her cheeks. “Why? This is my case, Chief.”
“I made an executive decision, Lucy. Davis is coming onboard. You’ll work with him. He’ll be lead on this one.”
She froze at his words, mouth twisted with suppressed rage. “Why, because I’m a woman?”
“No, because he’s a grade three, and you’re grade two.”
The tension in her body and the stoic expression that formed on her face revealed her feelings more than any words could.
From behind Lucy, Joe rolled his eyes and stepped away to join the crime-scene unit.
“Good morning, Chief, Lucy,” Davis said. “You’ll never guess who followed me in.” Davis jerked his head toward the entrance. “Our esteemed mayor.”
How had Hall heard about the murders so quickly? Unless he kept a police scanner in his office, someone must have tipped him off. The thought left a bitter taste in Matt’s mouth.
“Must have smelled blood in the water.” Matt had dealt with Terrence Hall when the man served on the city council. The experience had not been pleasant.
Hall, with a fresh-faced clone in tow, tried to march past the cop at the door. Matt crossed the room. The officer would need assistance to keep Hall at bay.
Hall’s cold stare settled on Matt. “What happened here?”
“We’ve just started to collect evidence. You’ll need to sign the crime-scene log.” Matt glanced down at his feet, then up at Hall. “You can’t cross the yellow tape without footwear.”
In his Armani suit, Hall rivaled Davis for best dressed, but where Davis exuded masculinity, Hall came off effete. If Matt knew the mayor, he wouldn’t mar his carefully crafted image with the blue booties.
Hall waved the cop with the log away. “So, you know nothing?”
Matt debated whether to push the point that he had just arrived. It wasn’t worth the effort. “We know five people are dead, one survivor, at least so far. We’ll know more after the crime-scene is processed.”
“Who survived?”
“Ethan’s daughter, Victoria.”
“Get on top of this, Foley. Ethan Grayson is an international player. You don’t want to end up looking like a local yokel on prime-time television.”
The mayor was right in one respect. Keeping this tragedy quiet would be impossible. Ethan was one of the big three in the microchip industry. When news of his death surfaced, the press would flock into town like a swarm of killer bees.
Hall was yanking his chain, but it wouldn’t work. Not today. “Ethan Grayson was a friend. You don’t have to worry about me giving the case my full attention.”
“I’m calling a press conference this afternoon.” Hall straightened, a stance Matt recognized as Hall’s officious posture. “We will need to update the media, daily. I want you and the DA present.”
He should have been prepared for this from Hall. The mayor always went for the limelight. “The family members haven’t been notified. The oldest son lives outside the U.S., so it may take a while.”
Hall stepped so close the smell of his breath mint and cologne was intense.
Matt held his breath and moved back. Hall wasn’t welcome in his airspace.
“Let me know the minute they’re notified.” Hall whirled and started for the exit, then turned. “I want a daily written report on the case status. This will put Twin Falls on the map. I don’t intend to have my office, and this city, portrayed as a bunch of amateurs.”
Shaking his head, Matt watched the mayor leave the premises, then he joined the two detectives.
Davis adjusted his coat sleeves over the cuffs of his shirt. �
��Politicians should be like groundhogs. Come out for a few minutes once a year, and then go back into their holes.”
Matt led Davis and Turner down the hallway. Every light in the foyer burned, and the crime-scene techs were busy stringing cords to set up extra lighting for video. Nearby, a tech gathered three shell casings from outside the door and numbered the spots where they had fallen.
Matt leaned over, and the tech handed him one of the shells. He examined the markings then gave it back. “Any more of these around?”
The tech nodded. “Three more in the kitchen.”
Matt glanced at Lucy. “Rifle casings. Any of the guns missing from Ethan’s collection?”
“The gun cases were locked and nothing appears to be missing. But we’ll check them out anyway.”
The marble floor from the hallway continued inside the room, where a green and gold Persian rug covered most of the area. Two impressionist paintings hung on one wall across from the hearth, part of a priceless collection of original Monets. The fact they were still here ruled out robbery as a motive.
Matt swallowed hard as his gaze moved closer. He’d learned to become detached at crime-scenes—a form of survival. If you didn’t disengage, you took it home with you. But when it was personal, the mechanism didn’t work.
Ethan Grayson’s body rested in a large leather chair, next to the fireplace. His head slumped forward on his chest, almost as if he had dozed off, except for a large, dark circle over his heart. Even in death, he had an enviable elegance. Not a tall man, yet his compact frame had held a sense of power. His dark eyes, always alight with humor and intelligence, were now dull and vacant.