✱✱Book Review✱✱ DEADLY. SET. VEGAS. Review Tour

 

DEADLY. SET. VEGAS.

Vanessa M. Knight

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Romantic Mystery

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Kennedy Romero is not a murderer. Why is she the only one who believes that? Well, her and her best friend believe it. And, yes, she knows it’s a little coincidental that she arrived in Vegas the same day her best friend’s husband was killed. But she swears she had nothing to do with it.

Unfortunately, Vegas Metro has other ideas—and they all lead to Kennedy.  So instead of enjoying her vacation in Las Vegas, she’s stuck smack-dab in the middle of a murder investigation.

What she would give for an all-you-can-eat buffet and watching her best friend's soccer team play a match. But no. Instead of hitting the casinos, she’s trying to interview the players of the Vegas Victory FC and wishing she wasn’t the main suspect.

The body is growing as cold as the trail of the murderer. But if she doesn’t find the killer soon, Metro will be giving her a red card and she’ll be sitting in jail. Permanently.

Buy Links:

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Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1505906

Silence buzzed as Kennedy Romero walked a long desolate hallway in the Vegas Victory soccer building. Normally the place would be filled with spectators and the scents of beer and popcorn. But today they were silent. Yeah, murder tended to silence a lot of things. Too bad it didn’t silence the questions in her head.

Her dirty military boots scuffed along the concrete as she followed the security guard up the stairs to the owner’s box. She’d always wanted to see how the other half lived, but not like this. The security guard opened the metal door to the box and cool air caressed her face before her boots hit the soft gold carpet.

A thirty-foot picture of Chuck and Craig Perrault, owners of the Vegas Victory Soccer Club, hung in the foyer. No matter his faults, Chuck was handsome. Had been handsome? Kennedy had no idea what to do with that. Salt and pepper hair, more salt than pepper these days, and bright blue eyes.

“I can’t believe he’s gone.” Kennedy stared at the picture, her voice catching. “I watched him play in college, and then for the LA Galaxy. He was an incredible striker… unstoppable on the pitch.”

“Pitch?” The security guard crossed his arms at the wrist and tapped his watch from his post in front of a hallway on the other side of the room. He seemed to be in a hurry. Kennedy was not.

As it was, the whole situation felt crazy. “Pitch is another word for field.” Kennedy was explaining soccer to a security guard in a soccer venue while avoiding a crime scene. Not exactly how she pictured her day going. Had anyone told her when she’d gotten on the plane yesterday that she’d be checking on her friend after her best friend’s husband was murdered, she would’ve told them they were crazy.

Momma Says: 4 stars⭐⭐⭐⭐

Deadly. Set. Vegas. is the first in a new series, and we meet MC Kennedy Romero. Kennedy is one of my favorite types of character. She's not just one thing or the other. She's flawed, and she makes mistakes, but she owns those mistakes, and she is working on herself. I liked Kennedy almost immediately, and I'll be interested to see what happens with her as the series progresses.

This first book is a murder mystery, and it does have a fair amount of red herrings. Here also are characters who aren't all good or all bad. Instead, they've made mistakes and life has gotten complicated, to say the least.

Vanessa M. Knight has an engaging writing style that pulls a reader in. The characters and their stories interested me and I wanted to know more about them. The story is suspenseful with just a touch of romance - well, I'd say it's more the hint of a possible romance. It's also quite witty, which I enjoyed. All things considered, I'd say Deadly. Set. Vegas. is a fast-paced, entertaining read, and I'll be watching for whatever's next in the series.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

Who is Vanessa M. Knight?  Well, I’m an author.  Wow.  After years and years of wanting to use those words, that is fun to say.  It’s almost as fun as supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.  Did I spell that right?  

I write contemporary romantic suspense. 

 

I live in Chicagoland with my family and menagerie of four-legged friends.  In my mind, these lovely animals do everything as they should.  I’m the alpha, keeping peace and harmony amongst my humble servants.  In real life, they own me.  I’m the maid, here for their feeding pleasure.  Well, that and to clean up their messes.

When not catering to the needs of adorably-furry faces, I slug through the nine to five grind and head home so I can write.  Of course, that’s after I make dinner and clean the house and all the other tasks that go into family life.  So really, I work, cater to animals and my family… and then, if I don’t fall face first into bed, I write.  I love putting my characters into crazy situations and watching how they react. I hope you love reading about them.  

I love to hear from fans.  I can be found on Facebook at VanessaMKnight and at www.vanessamknight.com.

Links:

FB LINK:  https://www.facebook.com/vanessamknightauthor

Amazon Author page LINK:  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Vanessa-M.-Knight/author/B00JZBJ3EO

Website: www.VanessaMKnight.com

Vanessa M. Knight will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner. 

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✱✱Book Review✱✱ Review Tour: The Tequila Promise by John MacGougan

 

Crime/Thriller

ETHAN PICKETT'S battered pickup truck is found in the valley of the Bluewater Ski Club, a four hundred foot drop, his broken and bloodied body trapped inside.

Ethan is a local hero, a retired rodeo cowboy, and self-made billionaire businessman. His death is big news.

When Charlie Beach hears the news, he's devastated. As a private investigator, he's had experience with death, but not with the death of someone as close to him as Ethan Pickett.

On the night of the funeral, Charlie and Cedar, Ethan's daughter, and Charlie's best and closest friend since JK, are sharing a few beers and trading stories. At one point, Cedar makes a casual comment about the irony of her father's accident, running his truck off a dark and deserted country road he had been driving his entire life.

Charlie didn't understand the concept of irony, but what he did understand was the bad feeling washing over him.

The OPP's top investigators ruled it an accident, but what if they missed something? What if it wasn't an accident? What if the accident was staged to cover up a murder?

With no evidence, no suspects, and no motive, Charlie wouldn't go hard at it, but he figured there was no harm in talking to a few people, asking some questions, see if anything popped.

Charlie would be happy if it turned out to be nothing. But, if it turned out to be something, then he'd make it his life's mission to track down the killer, and send his ass to prison.

The first Saturday in August. Sunset. The town cast in shadows... 

Chester Posey cruised Main Street, the Heritage District of town, six blocks of broad streets with angled parking, shoulder-to-shoulder brown and yellow brick three-story 1860-era Victorians with renovated storefronts, big picture windows, elaborate gingerbread trim, brightly painted cornices, and colourful sidewalk awnings. 

Chester drew heavy on a cigarette, bloodshot eyes darting from one side of the street to the other, continually checking the rear-view and side mirrors. He hadn’t seen a cop car, local or OPP, since leaving his Cabbagetown rooming house over two and a half hours ago. So far so good, he thought, taking another long drag on his cigarette. 

The Yankees and Red Sox were in the top of the sixth, volume on the satellite radio up, but not enough to drown out the electronic voice prompts from the onboard navigation system. The Yankees had just hit back-to-back singles, a home run and were now up a run with only one out. Chester nodded, blew out a plume of smoke, and said, “Yeah. Now that’s what I’m talking about.” 

Chester had a c-note riding on a five-game parlay. He had won all four of the afternoon ballgames and needed the Yankees to beat the Sox. Before the sixth inning ended the Yankees scored another run and took a two-run lead into the seventh. Yep. After riding the schnide for over a month, Chester was feeling like Lady Luck was finally on his side, snuggled up close, riding shotgun. 

Main Street, the social and economic centre of town, was buzzing with activity. Saturday evening traffic was bumper-to-bumper, the sidewalks bustling with people. According to the forecast, this was to be the first weekend in the past three that had promised sunshine, warm temperatures, and clear skies. No rain. That, and with only a few weeks of good summer weather remaining, had flushed out the crowds.

Momma Says: 4 stars⭐⭐⭐⭐

John MacGougan and Charlie Beach are on my radar! I'm always looking for crime thrillers, and I'll admit that I'm not the easiest to please where the genre is concerned. Anytime I run across a character and writing style that I enjoy as much as any of my favorites, I'm definitely coming back for more.

As I understand it, The Tequila Promise is MacGougan's debut, so when I say it's right up there with any of my favorites in the genre, most of those are authors I've read for years. The storyline is captivating and gritty, the twists are very well done, and Charlie Beach is a character I genuinely like and want to root for. The book is well-written, and the pacing is perfect for the twists and suspense of the story.

So, if you enjoy crime thrillers, I'd highly recommend John MacGougan's The Tequila Promise. Now, I'm off to add the second Charlie Beach book to my TBR. 

John MacGougan, a Crime/Thriller author hailing from the picturesque town of Sarnia in Canada, weaves gripping tales of suspense and intrigue. With a passion for storytelling that ignites his narratives, MacGougan crafts thrilling mysteries that keep readers on the edge of their seats.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100063651077313

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Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Tequila-Promise-John-MacGougan-ebook/dp/B07CKHYJCP/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Tequila-Promise-John-MacGougan-ebook/dp/B07CKHYJCP/

John MacGougan will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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✱✱Book Review✱✱ The Lost Child by Thomas Grant Bruso Review Tour

Contemporary Crime/Thriller

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Newspaper reporter Luke Sorenson has recently moved to a new town in upstate New York. Despite the change in scenery, Luke cannot run away from a brutal, harrowing past driven by the death of his only child, Emily.

Soon, Luke is propelled into a dangerous case of child abduction, an eerie reminder of losing his daughter. An eight-year-old boy named Daniel Hadley is kidnapped from his own bedroom and it is Luke, battling his own demons, who is assigned the story of the year.

As pieces of Luke’s mysterious, violent past are revealed, so are the sinister secrets to his daughter’s demise, sending Luke into a tailspin of heavy drinking and self-torment.

The search for Daniel is on, but it may be too late for everyone involved.

Amazon

Chapter One

One year later

Eight-year-old Daniel Thompson Hadley, a boy who dreams of becoming a NASCAR champ someday, pedals down Olive Way on his new birthday bicycle.

A light September wind ruffles his sandy-brown hair. Six houses down, his mother and father watch from the stoop of their Victorian home, eyes intent on the erratic movement of their only child.

“Not too far,” Penny Hadley warns him over the rim of her tea mug.

Peter looks down at his wife and whispers softly, “He’s fine. Let him be a kid.”

She tugs the collar of her winter coat closed as if it will keep her warm from the chill and gazes up at the sky. “It’s getting dark.”

Peter tucks his hands into his pants pockets, slightly put off. “Let him enjoy his new wheels, Pen.”

She scoffs at her husband’s remark. “Daniel. Daniel Hadley. Come back right now,” she calls.

But young Daniel does not hear his mother’s voice. By this time, he is at the end of the unlit street, hidden in the shadows of the Jettisons’ ash tree. The elderly couple, close friends of the Hadleys, sit on their porch swing beneath a yolk-yellow light. Betty busies her fingers knitting Wendell a cozy afghan. Wendell sips his usual nightcap: scotch on the rocks.

“Did you hear your mom and dad, Daniel?” Mrs. Jettison calls out.

Wendell touches her arm, shaking his head. “Don’t bother. Kids will be kids.”

“Wendell, please. It gets dark sooner these nights.” She grips the arm of the swing and heaves herself to her feet. She stumbles, crying in mild pain against arthritis in her knees and legs. She ambles over to the edge of the wraparound porch. “You hear me, Daniel? Your mother and father said not too far.”

The young boy turns his eyes up to the raspy voice of his neighbor in a you-are-not-my-parent stare. He continues across the neighbors’ unkempt lawns, strewn with late fall leaves, to the adjacent apartment complexes a few houses down.

He wheels along, whistling against a windy night, in astonishment at his newborn freedom. The gears of his bicycle rattle around the corner, fading down the street.

Penny feels a pinprick of tears at the corners of her eyes as she races down the street, tea sloshing over the rim of her mug. Peter can’t catch up. Not after his triple bypass surgery five months ago. He follows a few feet behind his wife, wheezing, blathering obscenities under his breath. The heat of his sweat-glossed face stops him from running.

“Daniel!” Trembling, he fingers beads of sweat out of his eyes.

The Jettisons stare down at the sidewalk as Penny and Peter pass the house in a moonlit blur.

Tense with frustration, Penny glances up at the couple, scared-looking, panting. “Did you see Daniel?”

Mr. Jettison mumbles something Penny can’t quite hear. His wife points a finger down the street. “I think he went that way, dear.”

The stricken mother yields at the end of Palmer Street and Olive Way and gazes around the neighborhood she has called home for the last eight years. Daniel is nowhere in sight.

She runs into the middle of the four-way intersection, looks behind cars and in neighbors’ front yards. She stands on her tiptoes to see over the tops of hedgerows and crouches to peek behind rhododendrons and quinces. Daniel is known to carry his hide-and-seek games too far, she knows. Tonight, though, is different. Her exasperated breath and beating heart tell her something is wrong.

She kneads the side of her neck. “Daniel!” Ugly images of a lost child invade her thoughts.

Peter pants closely behind her like an obedient dog. His unsteady hand skims the top of her shoulder. “Where is Danny? Where’s my son?” He peers around frantically, calling out for Daniel.

The panicked expression on Penny’s sour face and the discomforting rhythm of her voice tells him she doesn’t have an answer.

The sudden sound of a thrumming bicycle chain stirs the air, and Daniel appears around the corner. And the bold escapee knows, as he pedals closer toward his parents, noticing their scared wide eyes, that he has frightened them. He knows he is in big trouble.

Momma Says: 3 stars⭐⭐⭐

Thomas Grant Bruso's The Lost Child starts out with a prologue and first chapter that are quick to simultaneously draw you in and creep you out. If you read the included excerpt from Chapter One, you'll realize that nothing really happens, but the writing style and the way it unfolds quickly put me on the edge of my seat. There are a few chapters like that, and while part of it is knowing a child is going to be taken, or lost as the title suggests, a bigger part is the writing. Bruso knows how to paint a chilling picture.

The drawback for me lay in the way the story slowed down so considerably at times. It moves back and forth with reporter Luke Sorenson telling us his story in first person. His chapters have the feel of a diary or journal, and it even feels a bit like you'd expect from a reporter. That rings true with the author's bio, but I didn't do that until I'd finished the book, so it's nice to know I got it right. Anyway, back to the pacing. I wonder how much of it was completely intentional because the further I read, the more sense the pacing made to me. Certain details and the buildup needed that slower pacing. Maybe not all of it, but there were things that happened that kind of gave me some aha moments.

I realize I've been vague, but this is a thriller, and I don't want to give away the book's secrets. So, I'll say that while I would've preferred a little less slow in the slow burn of this one, there were some solid twists, several moments that had me sitting up and taking notice, and there were a fair few of those twists that I didn't see coming at all. If you enjoy crime thrillers, I'd say give this one a go. 

Thomas Grant Bruso knew he wanted to be a writer at an early age. He has been a voracious reader of genre fiction since childhood. 

His literary inspirations are Ray Bradbury, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Jim Grimsley, Karin Fossum, and Joyce Carol Oates.

Bruso loves animals, reading books, and writing fiction, and prefers Sudoku to crossword puzzles.

In another life, he was a freelance writer and wrote for magazines and newspapers. In college, he won the Hermon H. Doh Sonnet Competition. Now, he writes and publishes fiction and reviews books for his hometown newspaper, The Press-Republican.

He lives in upstate New York.

Links:

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Buy link: https://ninestarpress.com/product/the-lost-child/ 

Thomas Grant Bruso will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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✱✱Book Review✱✱ Review Tour: Racing the Dream by M.T. Bass

 “If everything seems under control, you’re not going fast enough.” ~Mario Andretti

Strap down the 5-point harness in the cockpit of a Formula 1 air racing plane and join Hawk as he chases victory! First on their amateur make-shift course over Antelope Acres, then on the re-emerging pylon racing circuit in the early 1960s. And finally, as Hawk battles 7 other top-level pilots at the very first National Air Racing Championship event in Reno!

Abandoning the cloth and his African mission, Father Bob returns to his slide rule to design Hawk’s racer. Sparks, his loyal yet surly mechanic, built it and wrenching both on the engine—as well as on Hawk—keeps them at the front of the pack. Home again in Los Angeles from behind the stick of a T-6 Texan as a mercenary in the Congo civil war, air racing is a new aviation adventure for Hawk. Ride along as he tangles with fellow pilots in “uncooperative formation flying” at two-hundred miles per hour a mere fifty feet off the ground!

And then one day cruising home to Van Nuys airport, Hawk spies Allison, a beach-blonde surfer girl, insanely wing walking on the top wing of a Stearman PT-17 bi-plane. He quickly sets his sights on her.

Fly low…Fly fast…and Turn Left…

Author Web Site Info Page

Amazon (Kindle Unlimited) 

Chapter 1 — Antelope Acres

I chased Scotty down the long straightaway. Three hundred feet back. A hundred feet off the ground. One hundred seventy knots.

Quick looks at the panel: Thirty-six hundred RPM. Look: engine oil pressure—green. Look: oil temperature—green.

All good.

Banking hard into the “pylon” at W Avenue G and Myrick Canyon Road over the desert, a shadow on the ground to my left crawled toward my British Racing Green colored wing. He had to be outside. You can’t look to the right. It’s just not safe. But the sun was behind us…

I lofted a bit in the eighty-degree turn—climbed twenty feet or so—then quickly dove back down to close another hundred and fifty feet on Scotty, picking up a bit of his wake turbulence.

Rolling out and down the front straightaway, I found smooth air twenty-five feet above his hot red Jensen Cassutt.

We used the crossroads, a pile of rocks, a little hump in the desert sand, and a windmill water pump to set up our three-mile oval course. I knew Scotty from Van Nuys, but the other three guys were new, from other SoCal airports. We were all on “Company Frequency,” one-two-three point four-five. We joined up in a loose formation for a pace lap, then got down to business with a flying start.

Like Henry Ford said, racing began five minutes after the second airplane was built. And that’s where Father Bob came in. There were a ton of modified Cassutts out there. Anybody could buy the design for $20. But Father Bob used his engineering skills to develop and, with Sparks’ help, build White Hawk Redux, an 85 horsepower, Continental C-85 Goodyear racer that we were pushing over two hundred miles an hour.

It was all unofficial because, after fifty years of glorious history, airplane racing fell off the face of the earth for a while in the Sixties. There were no sanctioned races around anymore, so we made up our own course, kicking up dust devils and rooster tails over the desolation of Antelope Acres. Our version of California street drags.

Of course, I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I was learning fast.

Around the windmill and up to the forty-foot hump in the sand. I chased Scotty down foot by foot. I knew I could take him.

Only two laps left. It was now or never.

Banking hard into the crossroads, I juiced the power up near four thousand RPM and pulled back on the stick to take Scotty up and outside.

But dammit, I missed him—

In my peripheral vision, a Tweety-yellow racer on my right came toward me.

I flattened my wings and rolled off the power sweeping below him to keep from colliding. But I caught the tornado of his wingtip vortices and involuntarily flipped inverted. 

A Joshua tree bloomed overhead in my canopy as I arced upside-down towards the ground at two-hundred-fifty feet. Gravity pulled my shoulders down against the straps of my five-point harness.

Without thinking, back pressure on the stick moved quickly forward to illogically raise the nose with a nudge of left rudder to roll level and maxing out the power…

Momma Says: 4 stars⭐⭐⭐⭐

Racing the Dream is a little outside my wheelhouse, or so I thought. I don't mind admitting I picked this one up for the nostalgia of the premise more than anything else. My late husband loved all things air travel. Me, not so much. I prefer to keep my feet on the ground, but after years of hearing his enthusiasm for planes, I was still surprised at how many things I remembered. Several times, I thought how much he'd have liked this book.

Then I realized how much I was liking this book. M.T. Bass has a unique voice for storytelling. I was drawn into the excitement and competition of the races and the camaraderie of these friends. Bass manages to make the adrenaline almost palpable, and I was so caught up in the story that I didn't realize how much time had passed until I was turning the last page.

So, set some time aside and settle in for an exciting read because you don't want to miss this one.

M.T. Bass is a scribbler of fiction who holds fast to the notion that while victors may get to write history, novelists get to write/right reality. He lives, writes, flies and makes music in Mudcat Falls, USA.

Born in Athens, Ohio, M.T. Bass grew up in St. Louis, Missouri. He graduated from Ohio Wesleyan University, majoring in English and Philosophy, then worked in the private sector (where they expect “results”) mainly in the Aerospace & Defense manufacturing market. He is the author of twelve novels, two novellas, and a book of verse. His writing spans various genres, including Mystery, Adventure, Romance, Black Comedy and TechnoThrillers. A Commercial Pilot and Certified Flight Instructor, airplanes and pilots are featured in many of his stories. Bass currently lives on the shores of Lake Erie near Lorain, Ohio.

M.T. Bass Author Links

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Stories by M.T. Bass

White Hawk Aviation Adventure Stories

My Brother's Keeper

Jungleland

Racing the Dream

***~~~***

Murder by Munchausen Sci-Fi Thriller Series

Murder by Munchausen

The Darknet

The Invisible Mind

Motherless Children

Murder by Munchausen Trilogy: Books 1-3

***~~~***

Article 15

Somethin' for Nothin'

In the Black

Crossroads

Lodging

Untethered

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M.T. Bass will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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