This was the first short/novella that I have read. It’s about 1 call the the stories behind all of those people who are linked to the call. I thought that this was an interesting concept and it works really well. This is a fab read that I read in one sitting…
A massive thank you to HQ for allowing to be on tour with Mel McGarth and Give me the child.
I absolutely loved this book, and was not able to put it down. From the opening chapter the twists starts and a massive bombshell is dropped on what seems the ideal couple…
This book was a pleasure to read and I would certainly recommend it 4 star from me!
Here is the opening chapter as a sample…
My first thought when the doorbell woke me was that someone had died. Most likely Michael Walsh. I turned onto my side, pulled at the outer corners of my eyes to rid them of the residue of sleep and blinked myself awake. It was impossible to tell if it was late or early, though the bedroom was as hot and muggy as it had been
when Tom and I had gone to bed. Tom was no longer beside me. Now I was alone.
We’d started drinking not long after Freya had gone upstairs. The
remains of a bottle of Pinot Grigio for me, a glass or two of red for Tom. (He always said white wine was for women.) Just before nine I called The Mandarin Hut. When the crispy duck arrived I laid out two trays in the living room, opened another bottle and called Tom in from the study. I hadn’t pulled the curtains and through the pink light of the London night sky a cat’s claw of moon appeared. The two of us ate, mostly in silence, in front of the TV. A ballroom dance show came on. Maybe it was just the booze but something about the tight-muscled men and the frou-frou’d women made me feel a little sad. The cosmic dance. The grand romantic gesture. At some point even the tight-muscled men and the frou-frou’d women would find themselves slumped together on a sofa with the remains of a takeaway and wine enough to sink their sorrows, wondering how they’d got there, wouldn’t they?
Not that Tom and I really had anything to complain about except, maybe, a little malaise, a kind of falling away. After all, weren’t we still able to laugh about stuff most of the time or, if we couldn’t laugh, at least have sex and change the mood?
‘Let’s go upstairs and I’ll show you my cha-cha,’ I said, rising and holding out a hand.
Tom chuckled and pretended I was joking, then, wiping his
palms along his thighs as if he were ridding them of something unpleasant, he said, ‘It’s just if I don’t crack this bloody coding thing…’
I looked out at the moon for a moment. OK, so I knew how much making a success of Labyrinth meant to Tom, and I’d got used to him shutting himself away in the two or three hours either side of midnight. But this one time, with the men and women still twirling in our minds? Just this one time?
Stupidly, I said, ‘Won’t it wait till tomorrow?’ and in an instant
I saw Tom stiffen. He paused for a beat and, slapping his hands on his thighs in a gesture of busyness, he slugged down the last of his wine, rose from the sofa and went to the door. And so we left it there with the question still hanging.
I spent the rest of the evening flipping through the case notes
of patients I was due to see that week. When I turned in for the night, the light was still burning in Tom’s study. I murmured ‘goodnight’ and went upstairs to check on Freya. Our daughter was suspended somewhere between dreaming and deep sleep. All children look miraculous when they’re asleep, even the frighten- ing, otherworldly ones I encounter every day. Their bodies soften, their small fists unfurl and dreams play behind their eyelids. But Freya looked miraculous all the time to me. Because she was. A miracle made at the boundary where human desire meets science. I stood and watched her for a while, then, retrieving her beloved Pippi Longstocking book from the floor and straightening her duvet, I crept from the room and went to bed.
Sometime later I felt Tom’s chest pressing against me and his breath on the nape of my neck. He was already aroused and for a minute I wondered what else he’d been doing on screen besides coding, then shrugged off the thought. A drowsy, half-hearted bout of lovemaking followed before we drifted into our respective oblivions. Next thing I knew the doorbell was ringing and I was alone.
Under the bathroom door a beam of light blazed. I threw off the sheet and swung from the bed.
No response. My mind was scrambled with sleep and an anxious pulse was rising to the surface. I called out again.
There was a crumpling sound followed by some noisy vomiting but it was identifiably my husband. The knot in my throat loosened. I went over to the bathroom door, knocked and let myself in. Tom was hunched over the toilet and there was a violent smell in the room.
‘Someone’s at the door.’ Tom’s head swung round.
I said, ‘You think it might be about Michael?’
Tom’s father, Michael Walsh, was a coronary waiting to happen, a lifelong bon vivant in the post-sixty-five-year-old death zone, who’d taken the recent demise of his appalling wife pretty badly.
Tom stood up, wiped his hand across his mouth and moved over to the sink. ‘Nah, probably just some pisshead.’ He turned on the tap and sucked at the water in his hand and, in an oddly casual tone, he added, ‘Ignore it.’
As I retreated into the bedroom, the bell rang again. Whoever it was, they weren’t about to go away. I went over to the window and eased open the curtain. The street was still and empty of people, and the first blank glimmer was in the sky. Directly below the house a patrol car was double parked, hazard lights still on but otherwise dark. For a second my mind filled with the terrible possibility that something had happened to Sally. Then I checked myself. More likely someone had reported a burglary or a prowler in the neighbourhood. Worst case it was Michael.
‘It’s the police,’ I said.
Tom appeared and, lifting the sash, craned out of the window. ‘I’ll go, you stay here.’
I watched him throw on his robe over his boxers and noticed his hands were trembling. Was that from having been sick or was he, too, thinking about Michael now? I listened to his footsteps disappearing down the stairs and took my summer cover-up from its hook. A moment later, the front door swung open and there came the low murmur of three voices, Tom’s and those of two women. I froze on the threshold of the landing and held my breath, waiting for Tom to call me down, and when, after a few minutes, he still hadn’t, I felt myself relax a little. My parents were dead. If this was about Sally, Tom would have fetched me by now. It was bound to be Michael. Poor Michael.
I went out onto the landing and tiptoed over to Freya’s room. Tom often said I was overprotective, and maybe I was, but I’d seen enough mayhem and weirdness at work to give me pause. I pushed open the door and peered in. A breeze stirred from the open window. The hamster Freya had brought back from school for the holidays was making the rounds on his wheel but in the aura cast by the Frozen-themed nightlight I could see my tender little girl’s face closed in sleep. Freya had been too young to remember my parents and Michael had always been sweet to her in a way that his wife, who called her ‘my little brown granddaughter’, never was, but it was better this happened now, in the summer holidays, so she’d have time to recover before the pressures of school started up again. We’d tell her in the morning once we’d had time to formulate the right words.
At the top of the landing I paused, leaning over the bannister. A woman in police uniform stood in the glare of the security light. Thirties, with fierce glasses and a military bearing. Beside her was another woman in jeans and a shapeless sweater, her features hidden from me. The policewoman’s face was brisk but unsmiling; the other woman was dishevelled, as though she had been called from her bed. Between them I glimpsed the auburn top of what I presumed was a child’s head – a girl, judging from the amount of hair. I held back, unsure what to do, hoping they’d realise they were at the wrong door and go away. I could see the police officer’s mouth moving without being able to hear what was being said. The conversation went on and after a few moments Tom stood to one side and the two women and the child stepped out of the shadows of the porch and into the light of the hallway.
The girl was about the same age as Freya, taller but small-boned, legs as spindly as a deer’s and with skin so white it gave her the look of some deep sea creature. She was wearing a grey trackie too big for her frame which bagged at the knees from wear and made her seem malnourished and unkempt. From the way she held herself, stiffly and at a distance from the dishevelled woman, it was obvious they didn’t know one another. A few ideas flipped through my mind. Had something happened in the street, a house fire perhaps, or a medical emergency, and a neighbour needed us to look after her for a few hours? Or was she a school friend of Freya’s who had run away and for some reason given our address to the police? Either way, the situation obviously didn’t have anything much to do with us. My heart went out to the kid but I can’t say I wasn’t relieved. Michael was safe, Sally was safe.
I moved down the stairs and into the hallway. The adults remained engrossed in their conversation but the girl looked up and stared. I tried to place the sharp features and the searching, amber eyes from among our neighbours or the children at Freya’s school but nothing came. She showed no sign of recognising me. I could see she was tired – though not so much from too little sleep as from a lifetime of watchfulness. It was an expression familiar to me from the kids I worked with at the clinic. I’d probably had it too, at her age. An angry, cornered look. She was clasping what looked like a white rabbit’s foot in her right hand. The cut end emerged from her fist, bound crudely with electrical wire which was attached to a key. It looked home-made and this lent it – and her – an air that was both outdated and macabre, as if she’d been beamed in from some other time and had found herself stranded here, in south London, in the second decade of the twenty-first century, in the middle of the night, with nothing but a rabbit’s foot and a key to remind her of her origins. ‘What’s up?’ I said, more out of curiosity than alarm. I smiled
and waited for an answer.
The two women glanced awkwardly at Tom and from the way he was standing, stiffly with one hand slung on his hip in an attempt at relaxed cool, I understood they were waiting for him to respond and I instinctively knew that everything I’d been thinking was wrong. A dark firework burst inside my chest. The girl in the doorway was neither a neighbour’s kid nor a friend of our daughter.
She was trouble.
I took a step back. ‘Will someone tell me what’s going on?’ When no one spoke I crouched to the girl’s level and, summon-
ing as much friendliness as I could, said, ‘What’s your name? Why are you here?’
The girl’s eyes flickered to Tom, then, giving a tiny, contemptu- ous shake of the head, as if by her presence all my questions had already been answered and I was being obstructive or just plain dumb, she said, ‘I’m Ruby Winter.’
I felt Tom’s hands on my shoulder. They were no longer trem- bling so much as hot and spasmic.
‘Cat, please go and make some tea. I’ll come in a second.’
There was turmoil in his eyes. ‘Please,’ he repeated. And so, not knowing what else to do, I turned on my heels and made for the kitchen.
While the kettle wheezed into life, I sat at the table in a kind of stupor; too shocked to gather my thoughts, I stared at the clock as the red second hand stuttered towards the upright. Tock, tock, tock. There were voices in the hallway, then I heard the living room door shut. Time trudged on. I began to feel agitated. What was taking all this time? Why hadn’t Tom come? Part of me felt I had left the room already but here I was still. Eventually, footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door moved and Tom appeared. I stood up and went over to the counter where, what now seemed like an age ago, I had laid out a tray with the teapot and some mugs.
‘Sit down, darling, we need to talk.’ Darling. When was the last time he’d called me that?
I heard myself saying, idiotically, ‘But I made tea!’ ‘It’ll wait.’ He pulled up a chair directly opposite me.
When he spoke, his voice came to me like the distant crackle of a broken radio in another room. ‘I’m so sorry, Cat, but however I say this it’s going to come as a terrible shock, so I’m just going to say what needs to be said, then we can talk. There’s no way round this. The girl, Ruby Winter, she’s my daughter.’
The second installment is as good as if not better than the first! Another non stop rollercoaster ride of action and twists, to ensure that you will not be able to put this down. I cannot wait for the third installment.
The Second Captive
This is a compulsive read, that leaves you wanting more. I was compelled to read this at any opportunity I had, and didn’t take long to read, the prose flowed well and the storyline kept me wanting more.
Beth Sutton is eighteen years old when she is abducted. Held prisoner in a basement, she’s dependent on her captor for food, clothes and her very existence. As the months pass, her hatred towards her imprisoner changes to compassion.
But Beth cannot forget that her abductor is also a killer. And she has evidence to prove it…
Then Beth escapes
Can Beth escape from the prison that she has found herself in?
And is there a relationship between love and fear?
Maggie James is a British author who lives in Bristol. She writes psychological suspense novels.
Before turning her hand to writing, Maggie worked mainly as an accountant, with a diversion into practising as a nutritional therapist. Diet and health remain high on her list of interests, along with travel. Accountancy does not, but then it never did. The urge to pack a bag and go off travelling is always lurking in the background! When not writing, going to the gym, practising yoga or travelling, Maggie can be found seeking new four-legged friends to pet; animals are a lifelong love!
Goodreads Author Page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/828751.Maggie_James
Today after some technical issues I am on tour with….
NO EXIT BY TAYLOR ADAMS
This is a fantastic book, full of twists and turns! Very dark and I wasn’t able to put it down once I had started it. I won’t comment on the storyline which is featured below…
The official blurb….
ONE OF THE TENSEST, MOST GRIPPING THRILLERS YOU WILL EVER READ. FROM TAYLOR ADAMS, UK AND US BEST-SELLING AUTHOR.
A kidnapped little girl locked in a stranger’s van. No help for miles. What would you do?
Darby Thorne is a college student stranded by a blizzard at a highway rest stop in the middle of nowhere. She’s on the way home to see her sick mother. She’ll have to spend the night in the rest stop with four complete strangers. Then she stumbles across a little girl locked inside one of their parked cars.
There is no cell phone reception, no telephone, no way out because of the snow, and she doesn’t know which one of the other travelers is the kidnapper.
Full of shocking twists and turns, this beautifully written novel will have you on the edge of your seat.
Perfect for fans of Gillian Flynn, Paula Hawkins, or Stephen King.
Who is the little girl? Why has she been taken? And how can Darby save her?
And the author…
Taylor Adams directed the acclaimed short film And I Feel Fine in 2008 and graduated from Eastern Washington University with the Excellence in Screenwriting Award and the prestigious Edmund G. Yarwood Award. His work has been selected by the Seattle True Independent Film Festival and his movie reviews have appeared on KAYU-TV’s Fox Life blog. He has worked in the film/television industry for several years and lives in Washington state with his girlfriend Jaclyn and their chihuahua, cat, and python. EYESHOT is Adams’ debut novel. Film and audio rights have been sold.
TAYLOR is the author of EYESHOT and OUR LAST NIGHT
Here is a review I have done for an author. Unfortunately there wasn’t any pretty tour parafinalia, so I have just copied my Amazon.co.uk review.
Wiping the condensation off the bathroom mirror with the sleeve of her shirt, Kate Palmer stared at her reflection for a few seconds before letting out a deep sigh. She didn’t like what she saw – her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from where she had been crying and an angry-looking spot was about to erupt on her chin.
She attempted to apply a fresh coat of mascara but once again she felt the tears begin to well, spilling hot and warm down her cheeks. Taking a wad of used tissue from her pocket, she quickly dabbed at her eyes before blowing her nose on the rapidly disintegrating bundle.
‘How could I have been so stupid?’ she muttered to herself. It was a question that she had asked repeatedly over the last few days. In her wildest dreams, she had never expected her life to turn out like this.
Kate was a bright, talented artist, with a promising future ahead of her. She was popular amongst both her tutors and peers at the university she attended, due to her warm, friendly, easy-going nature. Despite this, Kate was often plagued by deep-seated insecurities, lacking self-confidence in both herself and her abilities. Not that anyone would have guessed, mind; she was very good at hiding her feelings from those around her.
Looking back, her insecurities had probably stemmed from a period of relentless teasing during her early teenage years – her acne, her braces, her flat chest – all considered fair game by the boys in her year. However, by the age of fifteen, she had started to blossom and her natural beauty began to shine through. Her insecurities still lingered though and Kate’s last year at school was a difficult one, not helped by the breakdown of her relationship with her father.
She thought about him for a minute.
They had what could only be described as a strained relationship and hadn’t been close for some time now. Over the years they had had some pretty heated arguments as Kate tried to assert her independence whilst her father tried to assert his authority, laying down the rules he expected her to abide by. Her poor mum would often find herself stuck in the middle, trying to appease both sides, yet failing miserably.
It was not a happy time for any of them and so it was with some relief all round that Kate had chosen to move into the halls of residence at the start of her first year at university, rather than commute, as her father had originally wanted. Although he would never admit it, Kate knew it had been the right decision for all of them. Still, things change, and now all she longed for was the security of home, for the days where there was no pressure, no financial worries and no responsibilities.
Just thinking about home caused another fresh wave of tears and she let out a loud sob as the enormity of her situation played out before her. Kate knew she had messed things up this time, knew her father wouldn’t be happy when he found out. She could already imagine the look of disappointment in his eyes and it hurt that she had let him down. Trying to control her sobs, Kate placed the mascara she was holding on the edge of the sink and pulled off some fresh toilet tissue to mop up the tears.
Why had it all gone so wrong?
Kate had had so many hopes when she first arrived on campus at BCU and had enjoyed her first year – making new friends, going to parties, nightclubs and the student bar. Birmingham was so different to Alvechurch, the village where she had spent most of her childhood, and she loved it. That all changed though, once she had finished her first year of study. She could no longer stay in the halls of residence, and had to look for student accommodation away from the hustle and bustle of the campus.
It would probably have been easier if Kate had taken up the offer to house share with some of her fellow students, but she was determined to have her own space. She soon found herself a small, one-bedroom flat on a run-down housing estate in Newtown, a short bus journey away from the Perry Barr campus. The flat had come fully furnished, although the furniture had clearly seen better days, and whilst the decor was not to her taste, she knew that she would soon have it feeling like home.
It was a lot harder than she had imagined. Permanent work that fitted in with her studies was hard to come by and, even though she had access to student loans, paying the rent, the utilities, buying groceries, as well as paying her university fees and buying course materials, was a struggle. Before she knew it, Kate had found herself in a situation that was spiralling out of control.
She had finally made up her mind though. Tomorrow, Kate would call her mum, tell her that she had decided to drop out of uni and wanted to come back home – at least until after Christmas – then she could figure out what to do next. She just hoped her mum would understand, or at least support her decision. It would make facing her father that bit easier, knowing her mum was on her side.
Wiping her eyes one last time, Kate picked up the mascara again and carefully applied a final layer, hoping that no one would notice she had been crying. Another quick touch of powder to her cheeks, a coat of lipstick and a final brush of her hair, then Kate was ready to leave. She would sort it all out tomorrow and, while she would never be able to tell her parents everything, right now, more than ever, she just wanted to be back home with her family.
Lucas is coasting to retirement in a mundane Florida police precinct when a brutal serial killer, codenamed Mechanic, lands on his patch.
Three years ago they thought Mechanic was dead. But Mechanic is very much alive and no family is safe from the savage, ritualistic murders that this sadistic killer is compelled to commit.
Mechanic is always one step ahead and Lucas is forced to operate outside the law.
But who can he trust and who is Mechanic?
Soon Lucas will learn that truth is more terrifying than he could ever imagine and in order to find the answers he needs, he might just have to put his life on the line…
In my opinion…
Phew! What a book! A throughly enjoyable read, and I cannot wait for the next installment (please see below) of the trilogy! The writing is detailed which I enjoy as it helps me feel this I am part of the story unfolding… There were so many twists and I didn’t see the end coming, not that I wanted it to end.
Rob is delighted that all three books in the Mechanic Trilogy will be published with Bloodhound Books in 2017.
Those That Remain – 22 June
In Your Name – 13 July
Pay The Penance – 8 August
Rob now writes full time and has recently completed his fourth novel titled Faceless.
About the Author…
Rob is married to Karen with two grown up daughters. He is originally from South Wales and after moving around with work settled in North Lincolnshire where he’s spent the last twenty-two years.
Like all good welsh valley boys Rob worked for the National Coal Board after leaving school at sixteen and went to University at the tender age of twenty-three when the pit closures began to bite. Since then he’s worked in a variety of manufacturing and consulting roles both in the UK and abroad.
It took Rob twenty-four years to write his first book. He only became serious about writing it when his dad got cancer. It was an aggressive illness and Rob gave up work for three months to look after him and his mum. Writing Those That Remain became his coping mechanism. After he wrote the book his family encouraged him to continue, so not being one for half measures, Rob got himself made redundant, went self-employed so he could devote more time to writing and four years later the Mechanic Trilogy is the result.
When he is not writing, Rob is a frustrated chef with a liking for beer and prosecco, and is known for occasional outbreaks of dancing.
I would like to thank Sarah Hardy and Bloodhound Books for my review copy.
The Black Hornet: an action packed and utterly gripping thriller from the best-selling James Ryker series
What do you do when the love of your life vanishes without a trace? If you’re ex-intelligence agent James Ryker you search for the answers whatever the cost, however much blood and sacrifice it takes…
Six months ago Lisa was taken from Ryker, and he’ll stop at nothing to find out who is responsible and why. Following a trail to Mexico, the ex-Joint Intelligence Agency asset soon finds himself in the firing line of enemies he long thought he’d left behind. Set-up for the murder of a former informant, Ryker is thrown into a crumbling jail run by The Black Hornet, the notorious leader of a Mexican drug cartel. But what connects the cartel to the informant’s murder, and to Lisa’s disappearance? And just who is the mystery American claiming he can help Ryker in his hour of need?
Yet another Rob Sinclair book, that I haven’t been able to put down! This book does follow on from The Red Cobra, so I would recommend reading both, however there so well written it’s not a chore!
So many fast paced scenes and action, this book is unputdownable and would recommend this to any fan of spies and action thrillers.
The Gravediggers aren’t exactly what they seem. They’re the most elite of the world’s fighting forces—and all they have in common is that they’ve been betrayed by the countries they’ve died for. Because they are dead. To their country, their military, and their families.
Sometimes the dead do rise…
Deacon Tucker is a dead man walking. A former black ops agent, he was disavowed and stripped of all honor before being recruited as a Gravedigger. But his honor and good name no longer matter, because no one knows he’s alive, and he’ll never get the recognition he deserves. His mission is simple: save the world or die trying. And for God’s sake, don’t ever fall in love. That’s a rule punishable by death. The kind of death a man can’t be brought back from.
Tess Sherman is the only mortician in Last Stop, Texas. She has no idea how Deacon Tucker ended up in her funeral home, but she’ll eat her hat if he’s only a funeral home assistant. Deacon is dangerous, deadly, and gorgeous. And she knows her attraction to him can only end in heartache.
Deacon is on a mission to stop the most fatal terror attack the world has ever known—what’s known as The Day of Destiny—a terrorist’s dream. But when he discovers Tess has skills he can use to stop them, he has to decide if he can trust her with secrets worth dying for. And, most important, he has to decide if he can trust her with his heart.
My first from this author. This book has been categorised as Romance which isn’t normally my thing, however I found the plot very enjoyable. I felt that ffter a slow start, the tension picks up to an enjoyable read. There is a humourous side to the story telling. I found the book quite descriptive in places, but this doesn’t deter from the enjoyment of the story.
This book doesn’t stop! I read most of this in one sitting! Very enjoyable and a few dark twists thrown in. Delves between current events and those that have previously contributed. I would recommend this for any crime-thriller fan.
Being held hostage at gunpoint by her childhood friend is not Dr Heather Gilmore’s idea of a good day at work. It only gets worse when she hears that her nineteen-year-old daughter Leah has been kidnapped.
Sergeant Claire Boyle wasn’t expecting to get caught up in a hostage situation during a doctor’s appointment. When it becomes apparent that the kidnapping is somehow linked to the hostage-taker, a woman called Eileen Delaney, she is put in charge of finding the missing girl.
What happened between Eileen and Heather to make Eileen so determined to ruin her old friend? Claire Boyle must dig up the secrets from their pasts to find out – and quickly, because Leah is still missing, and time is running out to save her.
A shocking discovery starts a trail of mayhem on the Cornish coast.
Alice Green is a beekeeper in the small Cornish village of Polgarrow. One evening, Alice finds something strange under the hollyhock bush in her garden. The gruesome discovery will change everyone’s lives.
Detective Harriet Taylor has just transferred to the area from Edinburgh. As she investigates a series of shocking crimes, she grows close to the old beekeeper and is determined to bring the murderer to justice.
A crime mystery with a streak of black humour. You’ll enjoy this fast-paced and dark unearthing of the underbelly of a sleepy Cornish village.
About the Author…
After reading English & Drama at three different English Universities and graduating from none of them, I set off travelling and finally ended up in South Africa, where I still live. I enjoy the serene life running a boat shop on the banks of the Vaal Dam. I came up with the DS Jason Smith idea after my wife dropped a rather large speaker on my head. Whether it was intentional still remains a mystery. Smith, the first in the series was finished in September 2013 and was closely followed by Boomerang and Ladybird. Occam’s Razor, Harlequin and Phobia (a series of short stories detailing Smith’s early life) were all completed in one hazy 365 days and Selene was done and dusted a few months later. Horsemen, the seventh in the DS Smith thriller series is out now.
I devoured this beauty in a few hours. What I thought was going to be a bit of light reading got darker and with seemingly endless twists and turns I was unable to put it down.
When can I get this?
The Beekeeper, a departure from the DS Smith series was released through Joffe Books on 22 May 2017
I would like to thank Little Brown Book Group and NetGalley for my ARC and being invited to be part of the blog Tour.
I Want You Gone
What if all your secrets were put online?
Sam Morpeth is growing up way too fast, left to fend for a younger sister with learning difficulties when their mother goes to prison and watching her dreams of university evaporate. But Sam learns what it is to be truly powerless when a stranger begins to blackmail her online, drawing her into a trap she may not escape alive.
Who would you turn to?
Meanwhile, reporter Jack Parlabane has finally got his career back on track, but his success has left him indebted to a volatile source on the wrong side of the law. Now that debt is being called in, and it could cost him everything.
What would you be capable of?
Thrown together by a common enemy, Sam and Jack about to discover they have…
Having not read a Chris Brookmyre before I had no idea what was instore…
What I found was a captivating book that I was not able to put down. The characters are introduced and well developed, along with a story with so much tension and twists and and ending I didn’t quite expect.
I’ve not read a thriller before involving technology and hacking, but the reality is it’s something we’re all at risk of. It opened my eyes to the possibility that this could be more than fiction.
Would recommend to others and I’m definitely off to try and read the rest of the rest of Chris Brookmyre’s books.
One week til my very first blog tour and a second already for May 2017!