Showing posts with label political. Show all posts
Showing posts with label political. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 10, 2018

"Devil in the Grass" by Christopher Bowron

Devil in the Grass
(A Jackson Walker Thriller Book 1)
by Christopher Bowron

Devil in the Grass (A Jackson Walker Thriller Book 1) by Christopher Bowron

Devil in the Grass by Christopher Bowron is currently ON SALE for only $0.99. You can read my review and an excerpt below. You can also read my blog post on the sequel, The Palm Reader.

The Palm Reader by Christopher Bowron

When his pro football career fails, Jackson Walker returns to his home in southwest Florida to sort out his life. He lands an internship with Republican state senator James Hunter, whose Clean Water Bill puts him at odds with influential members of The Brotherhood of Set, a Satanic cult. They have deep roots in Florida, and are led by the sinister Henrietta LePley.
After Walker begins a relationship with a member of the Brotherhood, he is framed for the horrific killing of two elderly people. To clear his name, Jackson turns to his Seminole family to evade the police and a particularly nasty bunch of malevolent characters who specialize in the disposal of dead bodies. The Everglades provides an ancient and frightening setting for the unfolding action that will prove whether Jackson Walker will pull himself free from the dark evil that lurks there.

Chapter 1
JACK THANKED THE STOCKY Seminole woman with a nod as she handed him his coffee in a tin can. She had been sent by his grandfather to look after him while he was in hiding. The can burned the tips of his fingers as he held it gingerly. No coffee cups? He reminded himself this was a hunt camp in the middle of nowhere. He stirred in some sugar and watched the woman as she left through a tattered drape that half-covered the only doorway. The room contained nothing more than a cot, a table, and two chairs. The plank-board floors and walls were a collage of warped paneling and narrow horizontal logs. The room smelled musty, with a slight undertone of rotting wood. The lone window looked out over the grass plain and wetlands of the Big Cyprus Swamp. A rusty piece of bug screen attached to the frame was covered with duct tape. The hot breeze did little to change the oppressive, stifling heat pressing down on Jack’s already sagging shoulders.
Jack took a sip of the strong coffee, careful not to burn his lips on the hot tin. He set the drink down on the table and leaned forward, running his hands through his sweat-drenched hair, his mind churning. He’d become a shell of the man he had once been. Perhaps it was the fact that he was sober, or perhaps it was the reality of his dire situation, that allowed him to lay a finger on the truth for the first time in years. He breathed a heavy sigh. His mother’s death during his senior year in college had hit him harder than he’d been willing to admit. He blamed himself in part, and had a hard time dealing with his guilt. He’d buried his emotions, trying his best to be the strong guy. But then he’d cracked. His fall from grace had been steady, including substance abuse and the demise of his professional football career. He’d allowed himself to slide into despair, to the point where he felt he didn’t know himself anymore.
Jack stared at the ceiling, slowly shaking his head. He remembered idolizing great football players like Joe Montana and John Elway when he was a teenager, trying to emulate the way they played the game. He appreciated their skill, but it was the fearlessness with which they marched onto the field that had mattered to him; they seemed oblivious to the adversities they faced and allowed their abilities to produce great results, unhindered by doubt. Jack worked hard to exhibit many of the same characteristics during his high school football days, and then later at the University of Florida. He’d grown into a person that his teammates looked up to, the one who didn’t back down. He was a gamer.
Jack had fallen a long way from that standard these past few years. He didn’t blame anyone. He’d become soft and apathetic. He’d made a half-assed attempt to clean himself up after hitting what he thought was rock bottom. He realized now that he had never dealt with the root of his problems, he’d only masked the symptoms.
The magnitude of his situation and the possible consequences hit him like a slap to the forehead. He picked up the Naples Daily News, which lay at his feet. It was the third time he’d read the front page since waking an hour earlier. His picture was prominently displayed with the headline beneath it:
A Fort Myers man in his mid-twenties is the subject of a massive manhunt in connection with the slaying of a man and woman in the small town of Clewiston, near Lake Okeechobee Tuesday night. The suspect, Jackson Walker, is described as 6-foot-2, with dark hair and athletic build. He was last seen in LaBelle, east of Fort Myers.
Walker, a local football star, played three years for the University of Florida Gators. Walker was later drafted by the Cincinnati Bengals and played three years in their system. He currently works as an intern for Sen. James Hunter.
Walker is believed to be connected with a local Satanic cult called The Brotherhood of Set, based in South Florida. Not much is known about the cult, or whether it is associated with other Satanic sects within the country.
Details and names of the deceased are being withheld pending further investigation. Anyone with information or knowledge of his whereabouts should call the Lee County Sheriff’s hotline. Walker is considered armed and dangerous.
Jack threw the paper into the far corner of the room. “Fuckin’ hell! . . . Cult leader, armed and dangerous? Come on.” He shook his head. Jack possessed nothing more than the clothes on his back and a little cash in his wallet. Reading the newspaper again infuriated him.
The Naples Daily was a small rag, but by now his story could be on WINK news, maybe even Fox TV, his history dissected and the media hounding anyone closely associated with him. He shook his head once again. This doesn’t look good. He stood up and paced the small room. He was not a devil worshiper, nor was he a cult leader; he needed to prove his accusers wrong.
He’d known that there were risks associated with his involvement with Satanists. He blamed his naiveté for becoming involved with Sarah. It could have happened to any red-blooded American male, and he was paying a massive price for chasing that woman. Now he was accused of murder, facing a long prison sentence, and perhaps the death penalty. He would not turn himself in—not yet. He couldn’t get caught by the Satanists either; that would end badly. He shuddered.
He was stuck in the middle of the largest swamp in the United States, sweating profusely in a small, dismal hut. If he were to give up at this point, he wouldn’t be able to prove his innocence. He owed that much to himself and his family. He needed time to figure things out. Why me? What were his assailants’ motivations? He didn’t think it a coincidence that the whole affair began shortly after he was hired by Senator Hunter. He had been drawn into some sort of conspiracy? To what end? Had he been preyed upon because of his apathetic state? He banged his fist on the table. Most importantly, he needed to become the Jack Walker he had once been. He could feel the fury building in him like he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He would need this emotion to get out of the mess he was in.
Jack paced the room waiting for Janie to arrive. Janie worked for a Naples law firm, and had been hired by his Aunt Rebecca from Atlanta. Jack didn’t think that the situation was going to be resolved with legalities, but for the time being, he was out of options and had to trust his aunt. He lay down on the rusty cot. At least the bedsheets are clean, he thought. Aunt Rebecca took care of everything. The smell of the freshly laundered bedding gave him some comfort. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, thinking about the crazy events of the past few months.
[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book
"Devil in the Grass, by Chris Bowron, is a clever and suspenseful thriller with an intriguing story and variety of unique characters. [...] A great sense of place, with a myriad of plot twists and turns, make this a page-turner which is hard to put down!" ~ Sheila Guenzer
"Devil in the Grass is an intense thriller filled with riveting suspense and chilling characters which quickly capture and a hold a reader's attention from beginning to end." ~ Stacie Theis
"A fast paced book that you can’t put down. I thought this would take me a while to read (from the kindle estimate) - wrong! You somehow know that Jackson is one of the good guys and is an innocent in a very bad situation. The scenarios are well written and the characters very believable. The ending is good and leaves a possible link into another book- please???!!" ~ Misfits farm
"You'll need a strong stomach and the ability to block out visualization to read this book, but it is not only cruelly graphic, it has a wonderfully crafted plot and well-developed characters, a pleasant flowing writing style, good life-like dialogues and a lot of Florida atmosphere." ~ Barbara Tsipouras
"What a pleasant surprise. [...] you really can't put the book down. A roller coaster ride of surprising twists and turns and I will have to read more of Chris Bowron's books. It feels so professionally written I would understand if a major publisher picks up this author. I loved this book." ~ Jack Gold

My Review
I received this book in return for an honest review.

By Lynda Dickson
It all starts the day Jack Walker meets Sarah. She seems to be the perfect woman - apart from the fact that she is a member of a Satanic cult, The Brotherhood of Set. Jack finds himself at the center of a century-old feud and is wrongly accused of killing two people. Could his current predicament have something to do with the fact that he works for Senator James Hunter? Jack sets out to prove his innocence, but he must contend with the cops, Satanists, and the creepy McFadden brothers. Will he make it out alive?
Devil in the Grass is told from multiple points-of-view in the third person. Each narrator lends a unique quality to the story and, while their accounts overlap, there is no repetition. This is a clever technique used to reveal the motivations of all of the different parties involved. The author skillfully uses the Florida Everglades setting as a character in its own right; you can practically feel the “no-see-ums” biting. While this story is complete, the author leaves it open for a sequel. I read an ARC with a number of editing errors which have hopefully been corrected in the final version.
This is a tale of intrigue, sex, and politics, with a bit of witchcraft thrown in for good measure. Sure to hold your attention until the last page.
Warnings: coarse language, sex scenes, graphic violence.

About the Author
Christopher Bowron
Christopher Bowron’s roots stretch back four generations in historic Niagara-on-the-Lake, voted the prettiest town in Canada. Christopher is the owner of a successful Real Estate Brokerage, Niagara-on-the-Lake Realty. He has a bachelor of arts from Brock University and is a lover of fine wine, sport. Christopher has a second residence in southwest Florida where he has spent a good part of his life since childhood. Southwest Florida is the backdrop for his first novel, Devil in the Grass, a number one bestseller, published by Köehler Books in March 2016.
Christopher has just finished the sequel to Devil in the Grass, a thriller called The Palm Reader. Jackson Walker returns to find himself in another paranormal mix up as he is now working for Peter Robertson, where he attempts to find a client mixed up in a taboo porn ring, at the same time, Walker is stalked by Mason Matye, head of the Church of Satan. The Palm Reader was published by Koehler Books in June 2018.
Christopher has also just finished a non-fiction book, Waiting For Morning Time, about three men whose boat sank during a fishing expedition in the Gulf of Mexico. They spent 48 hours floating in shark-infested waters off the coast of Venice Florida. His Lit Agent, Mary Ellen Gavin, is currently shopping this title.


Wednesday, September 6, 2017

"A Burning in the Darkness" by A. P. McGrath

A Burning in the Darkness
by A. P. McGrath

A Burning in the Darkness by A. P. McGrath

Author A. P. McGrath joins us today to share a guest post and an excerpt from his debut novel, A Burning in Darkness. You can also enter our exclusive giveaway for a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card.

A compelling crime drama and poignant love story about a devoted man who must confront the painful legacy of his war torn childhood when he is wrongfully accused of murder. Michael Kieh's struggle to prove his innocence leads him on a charged journey that pitches the pursuit of justice and the search for love against the instinct for revenge.
Michael is the chief suspect in a murder at one of the world’s busiest airports where he is a full-time faith representative. A series of brief encounters with a soul mate has eased his loneliness and together they come close to uncovering a past major crime, but ultimately he chooses to protect a young witness who could prove his innocence. When he was a child, Michael witnessed appalling abuses of power, including the killing of a missionary priest who refused to betray young Michael. But there was a first love that he left behind in the brutal confusion of war. When she and Michael cross paths once more, they battle to prove his innocence in a foreign, hostile country. Can they solve the mystery before it is too late?

Young Foday Jenkins spied a curious sign at the far end of the concourse. The seven-year-old weaved his way through the hurrying travellers with their trolley-loads of suitcases. There were airline pilots and cabin crew walking briskly towards their international flights and armed police strolling like fortress watch guards. A rainbow glistened in the eastern sky beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, watched in wonder by the frustrated passengers whose flights had been delayed by the ferocious summer storm. A charcoal wash of lightning-filled rain clouds shrouded the distant city outline.
Foday arrived at the sign. It was a matchstick man or woman kneeling, praying. Beneath it there was an entrance of two heavily frosted glass doors. He pushed them open and stepped inside. When the doors closed behind him there was a nice silence. He was in a room, maybe twice the size of his classroom, but it seemed so much bigger because there were sacred symbols from all over the world and holy words on the walls and little statues, and it wasn’t brightly lit in here like outside, yet it wasn’t so dim that it was scary. The duskiness made you look. There was a lovely smell in the air, the scent of a faraway country.
There was a row of electric burning candles that could be switched on for a handful of coins. There were six happy photographs of teenagers from all over the world tacked to the wall above the electric candles. One of the happy faces looked like his older sister Ameyo. She smiled that way. Uh-me-yo. This is how Mummy said it. There were handwritten notes stuck around the photographs with words like Please remember. Foday wondered if the person who wrote one of them had been crying because the ink was smudged.
On a cloth-covered table there was a visitor’s book. Foday wrote his name and address: Foday, 19 Bletchley Avenue, London NW22, UK, Europe, The World. He added I really like this place.
Over on the other side of the church, tucked around a corner, there was a wooden playhouse. A sign outside the door read: If you want a priest to hear your confession, press the button.
Foday turned nervously when he heard the loud sounds of the bustling concourse as the church doors opened. He could see a silhouetted figure against the gleaming frosted glass. The figure focused into a heavy man walking down between the seats. He stopped, agitated and sweating.
‘Are you lost?’ the man asked.
Foday knew he shouldn’t talk to strangers.
‘Where’s your mummy or daddy? Are they with the priest? Are you alone?’ he asked crossly.
Foday pressed the button requesting a priest to take confession.
[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book
"... I think this book is amazing. It is not too long to be draggy and it is not too short to feel that the story is being rushed. It is just perfect and the resolution part just wraps every loose end." ~ Mimi Jazman
"A Burning in the Darkness is an intense and unusual story involving a Catholic Priest who vacillates between being God’s disciple and being a normal man with sexual and emotional needs." ~ Amazon Customer
"I loved the story arc of this book. Each time I thought I had it figured out there was another twist and it turned in another direction. It had everything you could want in a great mystery/suspense novel." ~ Martha Speller
"A Burning in the Darkness by AP McGrath gets high marks from this avid reader! [...] This was one that I couldn't put down." ~ Pam
"A Burning in The Darkness is far more than the telling of a convoluted, connected murder mystery with the unusual protagonist being a priest whose parish is a large London airport and its travelers. All of the elements of a strong and gripping murder mystery are there and hold the reader's attention easily and intently." ~ Kindle Customer

Guest Post by the Author
A Sense of Place
The small town in south Tipperary in Ireland where I grew up had a population of 5,000 and when I was a teenager I began taking black and white photographs of local people in the places where they worked and lived. My mum knew the editor of the local newspaper - everybody knows everybody in a town that small. He liked the pictures I was taking and offered a weekly slot entitled "The Town and Its People". I would approach shop owners, butchers, pub owners etc. and ask them if I could drop by someday soon to take their picture. I realised they would dress up a little and strike a certain pose, but people reveal themselves through these self-conscious acts as much as they do when they are caught unawares. These folk had a certain pride in their living or work places and I wanted to capture these spaces as much as the people themselves. I was interested in the details of the old shops that were giving way to the more modern out-of-town shopping. I liked the light and the tonality and the resonances of past times. The weekly portraits were a hit with the townsfolk. Indeed on more than one occasion I remember my mum remarking to me "Oh, I hear Mrs O’Reilly is disappointed you haven’t taken her photograph." The townsfolk wanted themselves seen in and certain light and, in truth, I probably had my own slightly selfish reasons for taking the photographs. I knew that I wanted to leave and I was developing a skill that might get me a ticket out.
Probably all of the world’s biggest airports have a quiet prayer room offering sanctuary before a journey. A traveller might be embarking on a whole new life in a new country. Maybe he or she has planned an escape from an anxious past or is simply going on a welcome family holiday in the sun. Travel can also be a dreary necessity. We may need to make a business trip or a journey because of events that are beyond our control, as in the death of a family member or loved one. One friend told me she was about to go on a business trip when she miscarried her second pregnancy. She was in her mid to late forties and knew it was probably her last chance to give her young son a brother or sister. She entered the quietness of the prayer room and had a think and a good cry before she carried on with her journey. The prayer room had been a welcome and necessary shelter.
In a novel, place is inseparable from character and events. Indeed it can become an effective character in itself, a protagonist or an antagonist, soaked in mood. My novel A Burning in the Darkness begins in the prayer room of one of the world’s biggest airports. There is a tiny confessional box and in its anonymous darkness a voice confesses a murder to Father Michael Kieh, but a young boy has witnessed the killer go into the confessional. Father Michael becomes the main suspect in the murder investigation because of a group of pitiless antagonists, but he doesn’t betray the identity of the young boy nor break the Seal of Confession.
A large airport is a cinematic place. It is a frenzied cathedral dedicated to travel. It is also a lonely place. Michael is one of a number of faith representatives tending to the needs of more than 80 million passengers who pass through its gates each year, yet he rarely gets to see members of his flock more than once. His environment is constantly changing and he begins to question his faith. He is drawn to the companionship of an art dealer, Joan, who frequents the airport for business trips.
Michael grew up in Liberia in the midst of its brutal civil war. His childhood experiences shaped him and made him what he is: a good man. I wanted to explore the idea that he had the freedom to think differently from his environment. He had the ability to strike out against its dominant mood because he wanted the world to be good and not characterised by the destructive madness of war. And he had the strength of character to do it.
I studied English and Philosophy at University College Dublin, but I also trained and studied as a photographer. In the late eighties I had the opportunity to go to the tiny Caribbean island of Montserrat and used my time there to take portraits of some of its people. Some months ago, after I’d finished writing the novel, I was doing a clean-out of the attic and came across the photographs which had been hidden away for many years. I was struck by the way they explore the intertwined relationship between character and environment. In technical terms the portraits are taken with a wide-angle lens so that you see both the person and the surroundings. I was drawn to the looming Soufrière Hills volcano at the centre of the island and it becomes the backdrop to many of the photographs. However, in July 1995, the volcano erupted and destroyed most of the main habitable areas, including the principal town, the airport, and docking facilities. Two thirds of the population were forced to leave, mainly to the UK.
Most of the photographs were taken in parts of the island ravaged by the volcano. This area was designated an exclusion zone and it covers more than half of the island. So, there is poignancy to these photographs that capture a world now lost.
Several months before the publication of my novel I realised I had to set up a web site. I’m not a corporate person. I couldn’t see myself in a smiling brochure portrait, passing myself off as a kind of salesperson. But I could see that the photographs of Montserrat might say as much about me as they do about the people in the photographs. The quality of the relationship between the subject and the artist is crucial. The degree of imaginative sympathy for the subject is something that sets a good work of art apart from others. The ultimate skill is not in mastering the camera or a fancy ability with words; it is getting the subjects to reveal themselves – even if the subject is entirely your invention.
You can find more portraits of Montserrat on my website.

About the Author
A. P. McGrath
A. P. McGrath was born and grew up in Ireland. He now lives in London and works in TV. He is a single father with three beautiful children. He studied English and Philosophy and then post-graduate Film Studies.

Enter our exclusive giveaway for a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card.


Tuesday, March 28, 2017

"The Outsider" by Anthony Franze

The Outsider
by Anthony Franze

The Outsider by Anthony Franze is currently on tour with Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours. The tour stops here today for an excerpt and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

For another book by this author, please check out my blog post on The Advocate's Daughter.

A young law clerk finds himself caught in the crosshairs of a serial killer in this breathtaking thriller set in the high-pressure world of the Supreme Court, from renowned lawyer Anthony Franze.
Things aren’t going well for Grayson Hernandez. He just graduated from a fourth-tier law school, he’s drowning in student debt, and the only job he can find is as a messenger. The position stings the most because it’s at the Supreme Court, where Gray is forced to watch the best and the brightest - the elite group of lawyers who serve as the justices’ law clerks - from the outside.
When Gray intervenes in a violent mugging, he lands in the good graces of the victim: the Chief Justice of the United States. Gray soon finds himself the newest - and unlikeliest - law clerk at the Supreme Court. It’s another world: highbrow debates over justice and the law in the inner sanctum of the nation’s highest court; upscale dinners with his new friends; attention from Lauren Hart, the brilliant and beautiful co-clerk he can’t stop thinking about.
But just as Gray begins to adapt to his new life, the FBI approaches him with unsettling news. The Feds think there’s a killer connected to the Supreme Court. And they want Gray to be their eyes and ears inside One First Street. Little does Gray know that the FBI will soon set its sights on him.
Racing against the clock in a world cloaked in secrecy, Gray must uncover the truth before the murderer strikes again in this thrilling high-stakes story of power and revenge by Washington, D.C. lawyer-turned-author Anthony Franze.

When her computer pinged, Amanda Hill ignored it. This late at night, she shouldn’t have, but she did.
All her energy was focused on tomorrow’s closing argument. Her office was dark, save the sharp cone of light from the desk lamp. She’d waited for everyone to leave so she could run through her final words to the jury. So she could practice as she’d done a thousand times, pacing her office in front of imaginary jurors, explaining away the evidence against the latest criminal mastermind she’d been appointed to represent. This one had left prints and DNA, and vivid images of the robbery had been captured by surveillance cameras.
She glanced out her window into the night. Normal people were home tucking in their children, watching a little TV before hitting the sack. Her little girl deserved better. She should call to check in, but she needed to get the closing done. Amanda’s mother was watching Isabelle, and her mom would call if she needed anything.
There was another ping. Then another. Irritated, Amanda reached for the mouse and clicked to her email. The subject line grabbed her attention:
Amanda opened the email. Strange, there was no name in the sender field. And the message had only a link. Was this one of those phishing scams?
She almost deleted it, but the subject line caught her eye again. Her seven year old’s name.
Her cursor hovered over the link— then she clicked. A video appeared on the screen. The footage was shaky, filmed on a smartphone. The scene was dark, but for a flashlight beam hitting a dirty floor. Then a whisper: “You have thirty minutes to get here or they die.”
A chill slithered down Amanda’s back. This was a joke, right? A sick joke? She moved the mouse to shut down the video, but the flashlight ray crawled up a grimy wall and stopped on two figures. Amanda’s heart jumped into her throat. It was her mother and Isabelle. Bound, gagged, weeping.
“Dupont Underground,” the voice hissed. “Thirty minutes. If you call the police, we’ll know. And they’ll die.”
The camera zoomed in on Isabelle’s tear-streaked face. Amanda’s computer began buzzing and flashing, consumed by a tornado virus.
Amanda drove erratically from her downtown office to Dupont Circle. She kept one eye on the road, the other on her smartphone that guided her to the only address she could find for “Dupont Underground,” the abandoned street trolley line that ran under Washington, D.C.
Her mind raced. Why was this happening? It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be a kidnapping for ransom. She had no money— she was a public defender, for Christ’s sake. A disgruntled client? No, this was too well organized. Too sophisticated. Common criminals, Amanda knew from her years representing them, were uneducated bumblers, not the type to plan out anything in their lives, much less something like this.
She checked the phone. She had only fifteen minutes. The GPS said she’d be there in five. She tried to calm herself, control her breathing. She should call the police. But the warning played in her head: We’ll know. And they’ll die.
She pulled over on New Hampshire Avenue. The GPS said this was the place, but she saw no entrance to any underground. It was a business district. Law firms and lobby shops locked up for the night. She looked around, panicked and confused. There was nothing but a patch of construction across the street. Work on a manhole or sewer line. Or trolley entrance. Amanda leapt from her car and ran to the construction area. A four-foot-tall rectangular plywood structure jutted up from the sidewalk. It had a door on top, like a storm cellar. The padlock latch had been pried open, the wood splintered. Amanda swung open the door and peered down into the gloom.
She shouldn’t go down there. But she heard a noise. A muffled scream? Amanda pointed her phone’s flashlight into the chasm. A metal ladder disappeared into the darkness. She steeled herself, then climbed into the opening, the only light the weak bulb on her phone. When she reached the bottom, she stood quietly, looking down the long tunnel, listening. She heard the noise again and began running toward it.
That’s when she heard the footsteps behind her. She ran faster, her breaths coming in rasps, the footfalls from behind keeping pace. She wanted to turn and fight. She was a god-damned fighter. “Amanda Hill, The Bitch of Fifth Street,” she’d heard the defendants call her around the courthouse. But the image of Isabelle and her mother’s faces, their desperation, drew her on.
The footsteps grew closer. She needed to suppress the fear, to find her family.
The blow to the head came without warning and slammed her to the ground. There was the sound of a boot stomping on plastic and the flashlight on her phone went out. The figure grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her to a small room off the tunnel. She was gasping for air now.
A lantern clicked on. Amanda heard the scurrying of tiny feet. She saw the two masses in the shadows and felt violently ill: her mother and Isabelle. Soiled rags stuffed in their mouths, hands and feet bound. Next to them the silhouette of someone spray-painting on the wall.
Amanda sat up quickly, and a piercing pain shot through her skull. She averted her eyes, hoping it was all a nightmare. But a voice cut through the whimpering of her family.
“Look at them!” Amanda lifted her gaze. She forced a smile, feigned a look of optimism, then mouthed a message to her daughter: It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.
It was a lie, of course.
A godforsaken lie.
[Please click here and use the "Look inside" feature on Amazon to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book
"The Outsider is as authentic and suspenseful as any John Grisham novel - and I like Grisham a lot." ~ James Patterson, #1 New York Times bestselling author
"[A]ll ingredients of a fine thriller, and that’s exactly what this one is." ~ Booklist
"Crafty and clever! Franze’s insider knowledge of the Supreme Court sets this twisty legal thriller apart. The sympathetic plight of the outsider hero, Grayson Hernandez, will keep you glued to the pages; the explosive plot will leave you breathless." ~ Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author
"Franze raises the ante and with an astute piece of misdirection that keeps the reader guessing. A lawyer in a prominent Washington firm and an expert on the Supreme Court, he uses his experience and knowledge to create an authoritative, taut tale of power and revenge that focuses on a justice-minded, admirable protagonist." ~ Richmond Times-Dispatch
"Truth, justice, and the American way, Franze-style. From the first page to the last, The Outsider is a stellar look inside the Supreme Court, and a killer thriller to boot. Franze has cemented himself as a top-notch legal thriller writer. If you like Grisham, you will love this book." ~ J. T. Ellison, New York Times bestselling author

About the Author
Anthony Franze is a lawyer in the Appellate and Supreme Court practice of a prominent Washington, D.C. law firm, and a critically acclaimed thriller writer with novels set in the nation’s highest court. Franze has been a commentator on legal and Supreme Court issues for The New Republic, Bloomberg, National Law Journal, and other major media outlets. He is a board member and a Vice President of the International Thriller Writers organization.
Franze lives in the Washington, D.C. area with his family.

Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win a $20 gift card.