09 October, 2025

October 09, 2025 0

The Regression Strain by Kevin Hwang

The Regression Strain by Kevin Hwang Banner

THE REGRESSION STRAIN

by Kevin Hwang

September 15 - October 10, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Regression Strain by Kevin Hwang

Nobody’s safe when the inner beast awakens.

Dr. Peter Palma joins the medical team of the Paradise to treat passengers for minor ailments as the cruise ship sails across the Atlantic. But something foul is festering under the veneer of leisure. The brig fills with felons, the morgue with bodies, and the vacation becomes a nightmare.

Peter and his staff face a vile affliction that pits loved ones against each other and shatters the bonds of civil society.

With the ship hurtling towards an unprepared New York, only Peter can neutralize the threat, but he’s hallucinating and delirious.

And sometimes primal urges are impossible to resist.

Praise for The Regression Strain:

"With tight pacing, visceral horror, and sharp psychological insight, The Regression Strain explores what happens when science, instinct, and morality collide in the vacuum of survival...claustrophobic, haunting, and razor-sharp"
~ K.C. Finn for Readers' Favorite

"I am very impressed with Hwang’s first novel. He has an ability to draw in his reader within the first few pages. There were some unexpected twists and heartwarming moments. I look forward to reading more by this author."
~ Amazon reader

"Hwang's debut is fast-paced and propulsive, and I loved the medical mystery at the heart of the thriller. He's great at crafting creepy scenes that will stay with you!"
~ Amazon reader

"I really enjoyed this novel. I was hooked from the beginning, wanting to know more about the mysterious illness and the troubled backstory of Peter, a doctor grappling with his past whilst trying to have a fresh start in life with a new job on a cruise ship. The author Kevin Hwang portrays Peter with such realism and empathy. Hwang’s keen eye for people’s inner monologue and perspective on their secret struggles must be informed by his years of work as an internist. Ultimately, Hwang’s story is a fast-paced thriller that reveals the darker side of human nature lurking in all of us. I had trouble putting this book down and can’t wait to read his next novel!"
~ Amazon reader

"This is an excellent thriller, with plenty of plot twists and turns that kept me guessing. It packed plenty of excitement and intrigue with excellent medical knowledge from the author. You don't want to put this down until you've finished reading."
~ Amazon reader

Book Details:

Genre: Medical Thriller
Published by: Normal Range Press
Publication Date: May 21, 2025
Number of Pages: 344
ISBN: 9798992727012 (Pbk)
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

The Regression Strain

As the cab rounded the corner behind the service buildings, the full bulk of the ship rose into view, a floating city gleaming white and blue against the gray Baltic sky. The Paradise would be Peter’s home and workplace for the next month.

His shoulders tightened. Had he forgotten to pack anything? It was too late now.

The taxi ejected him into the cool summer of Copenhagen—heaven compared to the stifling heat of Texas. He checked in at the terminal counter, cleared security, and joined the stream of chattering passengers traversing the covered gangway to board the vessel. Most of them spoke in English and a few in Spanish. Others conversed in German, French, or Scandinavian tongues. They seemed affluent and confident, not at all like his impoverished patients in Houston’s Fifth Ward. That guy in front—his Rolex probably cost more than Peter’s Outback.

Peter wheeled his suitcase through a colonnade of clapping crew members and across the threshold of the grand atrium. Its rich wood paneling and glittering chandeliers were as opulent as the brochures promised. He fused with the crush of passengers piling up in front of the diagrams posted near the elevators. Living quarters for the medical crew were on the lowest deck, conveniently adjacent to the clinic.

Amid the throng, a woman was fussing over a teenage boy in a wheelchair. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear, then tousled his thick mop of brown hair. With one hand cranked tight against his chest, he lolled his head back and rewarded her with a crooked smile. Her haggard face lit up. Now that was one tired mama.

“I like his shirt.” Peter pointed to the graphic of Thor wielding his massive hammer.

“You hear that, Calvin? He likes it.”

Calvin’s nose crinkled above the sparse stubble dotting his chin. She retrieved a ChapStick from her floral fanny pack and slathered Calvin’s lips first, then her own.

She offered the tube to Peter with a glistening smile. “Want some?”

He cringed. That was weird. “Uh, no thanks.”

“Want him?”

Peter’s eyes snapped up to hers. “Excuse me?”

“You can take him for a while.” She smiled and tipped her head. “He doesn’t eat much.”

“Ah…”

“Ha ha, it’s a joke.” She licked her moistened lips. “I’ve been on this boat too long. Cabin fever.” She gave him a little nod and wheeled the kid into the elevator.

The adjacent elevator dinged open, revealing a family that looked right at home, mom admiring the decor, two school kids horsing around. Sipping coffee in his striped polo, dad looked a bit like Peter’s microbiology professor—placid and plump.

Peter pulled his suitcase to the side with a smile. It was nice to see people relaxed and carefree. And if they needed medical attention—well, he could offer it. It would be a relief to simply treat patients. No rationing medications against their rent. No fighting through nettles of bureaucracy just to get a CT scan. He wasn’t built for that fight, and the last few rounds had left him bruised.

The younger child in the elevator darted out. Mom lunged and grabbed his collar, jostling dad into Peter. Coffee sloshed out of the man’s cup and down his jeans.

An animal snarl flashed over the man’s pale, doughy face. “Watch it, prick.”

“Sorry, I didn’t expect…”

The man leaned in, eyes glowing hot behind round bifocals.

Peter jerked back. “Whoa, are you okay?”

As the man cocked his fist back, Peter watched the sleeve of his polo shirt ride up his bicep, almost in slow motion. Peter quickly raised his open palms.

“Honey,” mom hissed. She tugged her little one back, and he huddled under her frail wings.

The man lowered his fist, the stench of coffee hot on his breath.

Peter nodded. “It was an accident. I’ll buy you another coffee. Or jeans.”

The heat in the man’s eyes dissipated and he blinked a few times, looking at Peter’s face yet his attention was directed elsewhere. “Ah, shoot.”

Sorry, mom mouthed and hustled the whole family away.

Peter stepped into the elevator among passengers who seemed oblivious to the encounter. His heart hammered in his chest, and his mouth soured with adrenaline. Microbiology professor? Scratch that—this guy was more like that assistant principal caught in a minivan with the high school girl. And here he’d nearly gotten into a fistfight on his first day.

But hey, he’d defused the situation. He was still supposed to be here. This was going to work out. He closed his eyes as the last passengers got off and the elevator continued to the bottom level.

The doors opened onto a hallway with plush burgundy carpet and polished handrails. Colorful abstract prints enlivened the walls. This was where everything could begin again, even at age thirty-two. He would be a healer on the high seas, applying his hard-earned expertise to help people on vacation.

But the aura disintegrated when he opened his cabin door. Inside was a single bed, a nightstand no larger than a magazine, and a built-in desk with a swivel chair. The sheets lay twisted in a lump at the foot of the bed, exposing a mattress with stains the color of dirty bathwater. A smudged TV hung crookedly from the ceiling, and a stale scent lingered in the air. The only feature that distinguished the cabin from a hospital on-call room was the round porthole window giving view to rusty shipping containers on the dock.

Well, he wasn’t on vacation, after all, even if everyone else was. Peter heaved his suitcase onto the lumpy mattress and began stowing his clothes. Luckily he’d packed light for this trial run. The tiny closet contained a white uniform, starched and waiting like a suit of armor, as well as an orange life vest and a safe the size of a cigar box.

The only real valuable he’d brought was his new 3M Littmann Cardiology IV, an upgrade from the battered stethoscope from residency. He fished around in the side compartment of the suitcase but came up empty. It should’ve been right there.

He checked every zippered pocket, then rummaged through his backpack. Nada. How could he have forgotten his freaking stethoscope, of all things? He’d followed his packing list. He loved lists, for heaven’s sake, loved checking off each item. Little good it had done. He drew a deep breath in then out, trying to clear his mind by counting to ten like the therapist said.

Ten seconds was a long time to think about nothing. Maybe he needed a higher dose of Lexapro. He’d been reluctant to accept his diagnosis, one he himself had given to so many patients, but the antidepressant seemed to help with his mood, concentration, and sleep.

The ambiance of the bathroom matched that of the bedroom, with black spots of mildew mottling the lower edge of the shower curtain. The sink offered little space for personal items.

He opened his bottle of Lexapro, shook a tablet into his palm, and swallowed it dry as he stared into the dingy mirror. Working aboard a cruise ship would be a huge change, and he needed to bring his best. He set the bottle on the narrow counter, but it clipped the edge, flipped out of his hand, and plopped into the toilet with an insulting splash.

His stomach clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe, by some miracle, the bottle had landed upright with the tablets safe and dry inside, like a lifeboat. A tiny boat in a tiny toilet on a gargantuan ship.

He peered down. Nothing doing—the bottle floated on its side, surrounded by white tablets bobbing in the murky water like pearls of pasta in chicken broth. Why did the water have to look like that? Was it just reflecting the grimy inner surface of the toilet bowl?

Didn’t matter. His mental health was officially soaking in shit.

The half-life of Lexapro was around thirty hours, and he’d taken one yesterday back in Houston. He could just retrieve the tablets, wash them off, and dunk them in rubbing alcohol. Without more doses, the effects would diminish over the next few days. He could picture his exit interview: I’m sorry, Dr. Palma, you came ill-prepared.

One hand drifted to his pocket. At least he’d remembered to pack his favorite metallic pen. Even in the age of digital everything, a quality pen remained one of his favorite tools—that and old-fashioned index cards. His fingers closed around the pen, clicking the top: Ta-tick, ta-tack. Ta-tick, ta-tack.

Someone knocked on the door, but the bolt clicked open before he could reach it. The slight, olive-skinned man turned back to the hall almost as quickly as he’d come in. White shirt and charcoal vest—must be a steward.

“I’m sorry, I come back later,” he said with a duck of his bald head.

Peter waved him in. “It’s all right. I just got here.”

“Nobody clean your room yet?”

“I guess not.”

“You the doctor, no?”

“One of them.” He propped the door open for the man’s cart.

The steward glanced around the tiny room. “It will be my pleasure to serve you. I come later when you have gone out.”

Peter suspected the man’s cheerful acceptance hid the same bone-deep fatigue that had weighed down his own mother. She used to clean offices, back before Felipe joined the army, and she was always exhausted. Chemical fumes permeated her clothes and hair, and her knuckles cracked and bled until he bought her the non-latex gloves that her cheap-ass boss wouldn’t pay for.

Before Peter could return to the bathroom, somebody else came knocking: a petite woman in blue scrubs, probably late thirties. A tight ponytail held back her glossy chestnut hair. Her sharp cheekbones and jawline were all business.

“Luisa Calderone, nurse on staff.” The strength in her bony handshake matched the intensity of her hazel eyes. “They said this is your first gig.”

Yep, a fresh start, a sorely needed one. “Sorry. I’ll try to learn quick.”

“We can do a proper tour later, but let’s just walk and talk for now.” She nodded back at the hallway. “I can give you some time to get changed, but we have patients—so not too long, please.”

Right back into it, then. He was a kid on a roller coaster cresting the first big incline—the moment before the bottom fell out. He opened the closet and confronted his uniform. Sure, he’d paid for the ride, but that didn’t make it any less stomach-churning.

***

Excerpt from The Regression Strain by Kevin Hwang. Copyright 2025 by Kevin Hwang. Reproduced with permission from Kevin Hwang. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Kevin Hwang

Kevin O. Hwang, MD, is a professor of internal medicine at McGovern Medical School at UTHealth Houston where he sees patients and teaches residents. His academic work has appeared in leading medical journals. Nothing excites him more than chicken enchiladas, index cards, and appropriately sized packaging. The Regression Strain is his debut novel.

Catch Up With Kevin Hwang:

KevinHwang.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @kevin847
Instagram - @kevinhwangmdauthor
X - @KevinHwangMD

 

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06 October, 2025

October 06, 2025 0

Murder at the Wedding by Christine Knapp

 

Murder at the Wedding by Christine Knapp Banner

MURDER AT THE WEDDING

by Christine Knapp

September 8 - October 3, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Murder at the Wedding by Christine Knapp

A Modern Midwife Mystery

 

Birth, death, mayhem, and murder…

Maeve O’Reilly Kensington loves her job as a nurse-midwife at Creighton Memorial Hospital in the quintessential New England seaside town of Langford. Nothing could bring her more pleasure than helping women usher new life into the world... except possibly having a child of her own with her husband, Will. In the meantime, she's happy to celebrate the families of those she treats, and content to support her husband in his newly formed catering business.

However when Creighton Memorial's Chief Obstetrician suddenly drops dead at his daughter’s extravagant wedding reception, catered by Will, Maeve's two worlds collide in the worst possible way. Suddenly murder is on the menu, and Maeve is desperate to help her husband and find out who killed the doctor.

With the help of her wealthy, acerbic sister Meg and quick-witted Boston Irish mother, Maeve sets out to solve a murder and clear her husband's name. Can she stay one step ahead of the killer? Or will they strike again... this time closer to home?

Praise for Murder at the Wedding:

"Christine’s writing style is very entertaining with sensory laden description of the various environment, characters, and even the state of Maeve’s cookies and knitting. Clever & Entertaining Gem!"
~ Kings River Life Magazine

"Readers will fall in love with this series immediately!! I highly encourage and suggest you grab your copy."
~ Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published by: Gemma Halliday Publishing
Publication Date: June 10, 2022
Number of Pages: 249
ISBN: 9798835432134 (pbk)
Series: Modern Midwife Mystery Series, Book 1

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Audiobooks.com | Gemma Halliday Publishing

MODERN MIDWIFE MYSTERY SERIES

Check out the full Modern Midwife Mystery series: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Gemma Halliday Publishing

Murder on the Widow's Walk Modern Midwife Mysteries book #2 Christine Knapp
Murder on the Widow's Walk, #2
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Audiobooks.com
Murder on the Books Modern Midwife Mysteries book #3 Christine Knapp
Murder on the Books, #3
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Audiobooks.com
Murder at First Light Modern Midwife Mysteries book #4 Christine Knapp
Murder at First Light, #4
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Murder on the Green Modern Midwife Mysteries book #5 Christine Knapp
Murder on the Green, #5
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

 

Read an excerpt:

from CHAPTER TWO of

Murder at the Wedding

The parking lot at St. Andrew's Episcopal was filled almost to capacity. Despite a recent visit to the car wash, my Jeep looked out of place next to all the Mercedes, BMWs, Range Rovers, Jaguars, and Porsches.

I took out and quickly scanned the engraved linen cream invitation. It read:

Matrimonial Ceremony of
Charlotte Alexis Whitaker
and
Brooks James Hawthorne IV
St. Andrew's Episcopal Church
Langford, Massachusetts
Saturday, the eighth of June, at two o'clock in the afternoon

As I approached the massive church, I saw all the pink plantings and railings wrapped in white tulle with pink peonies at precise intervals. It was a floral tour de force that must have taken an army of gardeners and florists a few days to accomplish. Inside there were pink roses, peonies, and hydrangeas everywhere. The scene was right out of InStyle Magazine. I wondered, were there any pink flowers left on the East Coast? On the West Coast?

As I squeezed into the last row, a large choir serenaded the full house in the loft above the congregation.

The choir began to sing "My Spirit Sang All Day" as Mrs. Whitaker, resplendent in a strapless, rose silk Carolina Herrera with a vibrant pink cabbage rose behind one ear and a necklace of marble-sized, green South Sea pearls, was ushered to the left front pew. Really? Strapless for the mother of the bride? Well, she does look amazing.

A hush fell over the crowd. The stained-glass doors closed, and the groom and his men filed to the altar.

Did one have to be six feet two, gorgeous, and ripped to be in this wedding party?

As the first strands of Wagner filled the air, the doors opened, and down the aisle came Anastasia Bleeker. She was one of the bride's four-year-old charges at Miss Bloomfield's School, where wealthy, pregnant women enrolled their offspring-to-be to claim a coveted spot. Anastasia was wearing a white tulle fairy-tale gown with a dark rose-colored sash. A circle of petite, light pink roses and baby's breath crowned her chin length, straight, white-blonde hair. She carried a small, white wicker basket in one hand, and with the other, she started to drop pale pink rose petals down the long aisle.

Channeling Lady Di, I thought.

Next came the ring bearer, Barrington Cabot. He was another nursery school trust-fund-baby-in-the-making in white linen shorts and jacket and a head of black, curly hair. Then six breathtaking models, or rather bridesmaids, dressed in rose-colored tulle skirts and pale pink lace wrap blouses, floated down the aisle carrying white and pink hydrangeas wrapped in rose-colored ribbons. They looked like an upscale version of an ad for the United Colors of Benetton.

After a slight pause, the stained-glass doors parted again, and Dr. Whitaker appeared in his morning suit, standing at Charlotte's right side. She was breathtaking in a Vera Wang white silk ball gown glittering with thousands of tiny seed pearls. A deep rose satin ribbon wrapped around her bouquet of white peonies. Her Belgian lace veil trailed behind her down the aisle.

The ceremony went on amid candlelight, roses, and organ music. It was like being in a dream, albeit a very, very expensive dream.

Finally, vows were exchanged, there were no objections, and Charlotte and Brooks were off to the photo-taking session in a vintage, white Bentley. As they left, the guests milled about outside the church for a bit and then headed to the reception.

Evelyn Greyson, the sixtyish director of Obstetric Nursing, stood at the top of the church stairs as I exited. She was dressed in a powder blue suit with a short jacket with peplum and knee-length, fitted skirt. A pearl necklace, her ever-present pearl brooch, and small pearl stud earrings completed the look. Her graying hair was, as usual, in her trademark chignon.

"Beautiful wedding," I said.

"Magnificent," Evelyn replied. "Dr. Whitaker wouldn't have it any other way. See you at the reception, dear." And then she strode off to her car.

Evelyn always agreed with everything Dr. Whitaker said and did. She worshipped him. Did she also have an unrequited crush on him?

I quickly greeted a few colleagues but didn't linger because I wanted to see how Will was doing.

The Country Club was buzzing with activity when I drove through the porte cochère, pulled up to the main entrance, and handed my keys to a valet. The grand foyer was glittering with hundreds of candles and still more massive floral arrangements in blush pink. A string quartet played Pachelbel's "Canon in D" beside the grand staircase.

Out on the veranda, the wedding party was taking pictures before an expanse of green lawn and brilliant blue sky and sea. It would be a wedding album worthy of its own issue of Town & Country.

Large silver serving trays were circulated among the guests, offering tiny crab cakes topped with dill aioli, mini beef Wellingtons, smoked salmon pinwheels, and tomato and goat cheese on toast points. There were massive silver bowls of fresh shrimp on ice on round marble tables.

"Maeve! Maeve! Over here!" one of the midwives called. Looking around the ballroom, which held table settings for six hundred guests, I saw that the Creighton Memorial staff was on the right side of the room while family and friends were on the left. I waved to the midwives but walked over to the table where Grand, Will's grandmother, was sitting with Will's parents, Will's sister, Eloise, her husband, Taylor, and Will's younger brother, Teddy.

"Hello, Maeve." William stood and extended his hand. Never a hug, never a kiss on the cheek, just a handshake.

"Hello, so nice to see you all," I replied, shaking his hand as I nodded to the table. I saw that Lydia, my mother-in-law, was outfitted in a mint green silk cocktail dress with a large diamond necklace and matching drop earrings. She tilted her head toward me and smiled but said nothing.

"The Country Club is such a perfect wedding venue," I offered.

"Quite lovely," she replied.

"You look beautiful, Maeve," Grand said.

"Thanks, Grand."

"Sweet dress," Lydia said.

Sweet dress? What, am I five years old? Lydia was a master of the backhanded compliment, and she was not my biggest fan. Keep it together, Maeve.

Eloise was in a sleeveless, pale green and cream striped dress with an emerald and diamond pendant and earrings. Like mother, like daughter.

"Well," I said, "enjoy the meal. Will has been creating a masterpiece." I saw William's and Lydia's smiles tighten. They did not respond. They were not pleased with Will's chosen profession.

"I can't wait," Grand said.

I gave a little wave and headed over to find my table.

Scanning the room, I saw my sister, Meg, cross her eyes and raise her wine glass in a mock salute. Meg was the Langford real estate agent of choice for the wealthy and had been invited along with other top business leaders of the town. She knew I had just navigated a minefield with my emotionally distant in-laws. As soon as I reached my table, I quickly sat down and took a long drink of chardonnay.

Herend Chinese Bouquet china in pink, Gorham Newport Scroll sterling, and Baccarat crystal decorated each setting.

My gosh, they'll have to pat everyone down before they leave.

Murray Alfond, the famed orchestra leader, turned on his mic and said, "Please be seated while the bridal party arrives."

There was sustained applause as Charlotte and Brooks triumphantly paraded into the ballroom. "The bride and groom will dance to a classic personally chosen by Brooks," Alfond announced.

"The Very Thought of You" wafted through the room as Charlotte and Brooks took to the floor. They obviously had attended many ballroom dancing classes in preparation for this moment, and they danced impeccably.

Then the entire wedding party sashayed to "Fly Me to the Moon." It was like watching La La Land. They were all perfectly coiffed, dressed, and ready for filming. Plus, they could dance.

When they were done and returned to their seats, Alfond intoned, "Please bow your heads while Reverend Lucas Mathers says grace."

The Episcopal pastor of St. Andrew's, Reverend Mathers, was slightly rotund with flushed pink cheeks. He ran his hand through receding black hair, obviously feeling the weight of this moment. Then he bowed his head.

"Dear Holy Father, thank you for this glorious day! What a wonderful celebration! We ask you to bless Charlotte and Brooks, as well as their families and friends, and we beseech you to grant this special couple a life together that is happy and blessed. We further ask you to bless this fabulous repast and grant your blessings on all present. Amen."

Gee, that was short. He must be hungry.

A phalanx of waiters served the first course of spring green and white asparagus spears with shaved red onion. As we started in on the delicate vegetables, the best man, Ry Farmington, took the microphone and asked all to raise their glasses in a toast to the couple.

"Brooks has been like a brother to me since our first day at Hollis in Harvard Yard. We've seen many adventures together—none of which, out of respect for your patience and his reputation, I will go into here."

He paused for applause and a few knowing hoots.

"In the words of the Bard,
No sooner met but they looked;
No sooner looked but they loved;
No sooner loved but they sighed;
No sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason;
No sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedy;
And in these degrees have made a pair of stairs to marriage

Please rise and toast to their lives together."

Six hundred guests rose and toasted the couple.

Then came truffle-scented tenderloin with dauphinoise potatoes and tender baby carrots. I snuck a look first at the Whitaker table and then at William and Lydia. They all seemed to be enjoying the meal, and I prayed that all the reviews would be excellent.

For dessert, a chocolate mousse with a crème brûlée center was placed at each setting. I knew the wedding cake would be cut and served later.

Just then, the wait staff re-entered the room. They set a Baccarat champagne flute filled with pink champagne at each place. A hush came over the ballroom. Dr. Whitaker was standing at the head table, staring the crowd into silence. Then he picked up his glass and smiled adoringly at Charlotte.

Everyone listened as he gave a long, loving toast to his daughter. Finally, he took a moment to gather his thoughts before saying, "Charlotte, your mother and I found this magnificent champagne in France a few years ago and had it shipped in for your wedding."

Mrs. Whitaker stared at Dr. Whitaker with a huge Miss America smile.

Dr. Whitaker continued, "Would everyone please rise and toast my lovely daughter Charlotte and her husband, Brooks." He lifted his crystal flute to his lips and took a sip while beaming at Charlotte.

Immediately, his cheeks turned scarlet, and he started to wheeze. The crystal dropped from his hand and shattered on the ground. He clutched at his throat while making extensive gasping attempts to pull in a breath. Then he went limp and collapsed to the floor. The room erupted into pandemonium.

***

Excerpt from Murder at the Wedding by Christine Knapp. Copyright 2022 by Christine Knapp. Reproduced with permission from Christine Knapp. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Christine Knapp

Christine Knapp practiced as a nurse-midwife for many years. A writer of texts and journal articles, she is now thrilled to combine her love of midwifery and mysteries as the author of the Modern Midwife Mysteries. Christine currently narrates books for the visually and print impaired. A dog lover, she lives near Boston.

Catch Up With Christine Knapp:

ThoughtfulMidwife.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @cwknapp4478
Instagram - @maevecw
Threads - @maevecw
X - @chriswknapp
Facebook - @Christine Whelan Knapp
TikTok - @maevecw

 

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02 October, 2025

October 02, 2025 0

Girl Lost by Kate Angelo

 

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GIRL LOST

by Kate Angelo

September 22 - October 17, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Girl Lost by Kate Angelo

The King Legacy

A LOST BABY

Luna Rosati found acceptance and comfort with her childhood foster family, but when she became pregnant at sixteen, she gave the baby up for adoption and left without a word. Now a CIA counterintelligence officer, Luna wants to reconcile her fractured sense of self by finding the only blood family she has--the teenage daughter she's never met. As Luna closes in on learning the girl's identity with the help of her mentor, Stryker, she prepares to meet him in her old neighborhood--the last place she wants to be. Then Stryker is captured.

AN INESCAPABLE PAST

Special Agent Corbin King changed his last name to escape the shadow of his convicted father serving a life sentence. When he runs into Luna, the object of his failed teenage romance, the two must put their pasts aside and work together to expose a secret that someone's willing to kill for.

A DEADLY THREAT

But when they encounter a kidnapping, missing bodies, and murder, the secrets Corbin and Luna are keeping from one another are only the beginning of the threat they face with more than their own lives at stake.

A gripping Christian romantic suspense thriller with CIA intrigue, second chances, and found family. Perfect for fans of clean thrillers, faith-based fiction, and emotional page-turners by Lynette Eason, Colleen Coble, Jessica R. Patch, and Charles Martin.

Praise for Kate Angelo:

"Kate Angelo skillfully unveils the savagery of greed under the pretense of good."
~ DIANN MILLS, bestselling writer

"An exciting story that will capture readers' emotions while also taking them on a pulse-pounding, suspenseful roller coaster ride they won't soon forget."
~ NANCY MEHL, author of the Erin Delaney Mysteries

Girl Lost Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Christian Romantic Suspense Thriller
Published by: Revell
Publication Date: September 23, 2025
Number of Pages: 336 pages, Paperback
ISBN, Pbk: 9780800746636 (ISBN10: 0800746635)
Series: The King Legacy, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Baker Book House

Read an excerpt:

From Chapter 1

“What are you doing here, Luna?” The honeyed tone he’d used on the waitress morphed to granite.

“Since when does the FDLE investigate missing persons?”

“Since when do you talk to Stryker? Or any of us, for that matter?”

“Why do you keep answering questions with another question?” Although she knew good and well she’d started it.

The squiggle of a blue vein bulged at Corbin’s temple, and she kind of enjoyed it. “Since we gave our baby up for adoption. Since you cut me out of your life.” His finger stabbed the table to punctuate each sentence. “Since you left town without a word and never looked back.”

Another crack formed. His words knifed her heart. Images of a teen beggar girl on the streets of Pakistan played through her mind. The one with dark hair and eyes that mirrored her own. The girl’s striking resemblance to herself had brought Luna back to the time when she held a tiny life in her arms. The baby girl she’d given up—not because she wanted to, but because she refused to let her child suffer the life she’d had.

The daughter she’d brought into being was somewhere out there in the world, and she needed Stryker to tell her where.

The pang cut deep, but Luna gathered her composure and locked her emotional armor down tight. She wasn’t the only one who’d walked away. “You broke up with me, Corbin. You told me you didn’t want to be a father. You made that choice. I just made sure our daughter had a future.”

The skin around his collar flushed crimson. She could see his neck straining. “I can’t believe you—”

A sharp glint of light flashed through the storefront windows. Whatever Corbin was saying faded into nothingness. She watched Stryker emerge from his rusty old Jeep parked across the street. His hair, a blend of salt and pepper, hung in a knot at the nape of his neck. Aside from the silver strands, he looked like the same athletic man she’d known when she was a teenager.

Years melted away. She saw the man who’d seen the good in her, even when she was a mess of anger and bad choices. The man who’d taken a lost and confused girl and forged her into something stronger, something more. He’d pulled her back from the edge, shown her a different path. And somehow, against all odds, the rebellious girl who’d once cursed every cop in sight had become a government agent.

He’d challenged her, pushed her, never let her give up on herself. And she hadn’t. Would he still recognize that girl in the woman she’d become?

A black SUV slammed to a halt outside. Doors flew open. Three dark figures jumped out, faces swallowed by masks, bodies muted by black tactical gear.

Guns. They had guns.

Luna was on her feet before she knew what was happening. Her brain put it together on the fly. Outside. Help Stryker.

Corbin’s chair scraped back. Clattered over. He was on her heels.

Stryker wouldn’t go down without a fight. With his reflexes, he could disarm a shooter and break a few bones faster than she could blink. His resistance would buy them the priceless seconds they needed to get outside.

One man pointed a Taser at Stryker and squeezed the trigger. Two barbed probes shot through the air and embedded into the back of Stryker’s neck, sending fifty thousand volts of electricity screaming through his body. The other two men caught him under the arms before he hit the sidewalk and hauled his limp body into the back seat.

Luna and Corbin burst outside. Shouts. A woman screamed. But Luna’s eyes were laser focused on the dark vehicle. The doors slammed shut.

Corbin had his gun out. “Police! Stop or I’ll shoot!”

The SUV’s engine roared. The vehicle lurched forward, tires shrieking, grabbing traction. It fishtailed, sideswiping two parked cars. Then it swerved back on course, speeding down the street. It blew through a stop sign and disappeared around the corner.

Bits of red and yellow confetti littered the street and sidewalk. Luna crouched and used her fingernail to scrape up a few of the tiny round dots.

Corbin sprinted half a block chasing after the vehicle before he stopped. Feet set shoulder width apart. Knees flexed. Arms extended and ready to fire.

She marched over and slapped her palm on the muzzle of his gun to shove the barrel down. “Put that away. You can’t shoot into a busy street at a fleeing vehicle.”

He was breathing hard. “No plates. They wore masks. Should be able to get surveillance footage and interview witnesses.” Like her, Corbin was already thinking of the next steps.

She had her phone out, thumb hovering over the screen. The secret code used to send secure cables to the Agency wouldn’t work on this plain smartphone. The only person whose number was stored in this one had just been kidnapped.

Corbin muttered something Luna couldn’t hear. He had a hand on his waist. The tail of his blazer was pushed back, showing the gun in its holster on his hip. He rattled his name, badge number, and their location into his phone. “I’m reporting a confirmed kidnapping in progress. Requesting immediate backup and notify detectives.”

With Stryker gone, she had no reason to stay. Time to start searching for him. She did an about-­face and went back inside.

Angie was on the phone in hysterics. It’d be a wonder if the dispatcher could make sense of the gibberish behind her sobs. Luna marched to the table and picked up her purse. Paused long enough to drain her lemonade and toss a twenty on the table before heading back outside.

Corbin fell into step beside her, phone still pressed to his ear. “Where are you going?”

She kept walking.

“Hey, you can’t leave a crime scene.” He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

She caught his hand in a wrist lock and rotated his forearm until his knees buckled. “You’ve gotten slow in your old age.” She flashed a thin smile and shoved him, releasing her hold.

Corbin stumbled a few steps. The look on his face was almost worth the agony of seeing him again. She turned and headed for her car.

The last person she’d ever wanted to see was Corbin King. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

“Luna! You can’t just walk away. Luna!”

Stryker was not only her mentor but a father figure. She wouldn’t stand by and let someone hurt him. Besides, he was the one who’d arranged the adoption. Handled everything himself, outside the system when she was too young and emotionally wrecked to question the details. Back then, she hadn’t wanted to know. Convinced it was better that way. But that had changed.

Now, without Stryker, she had no way to find the only blood relative she had left. And after everything she’d lost in Pakistan, she could not afford to lose anything else.

The weight of it all didn’t matter.

She would save Stryker.

She would find her daughter.

And she would do it without Corbin King.

***

Excerpt from Girl Lost by Kate Angelo. Copyright 2025 by Kate Angelo. Reproduced with permission from Kate Angelo. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Kate Angelo

Kate Angelo is the Publishers Weekly bestselling author of Hunting the Witness, Selah Award winner of Deadly Holiday Hijack, and Amazon Top 100 Bestseller of Driving Force. Kate works alongside her husband championing stronger marriages and families. Her journey from foster care to bestselling author fuels her fast-paced romantic suspense, where flawed characters discover hope and healing through life's fiercest trials and relationships. When she's not putting fictional people through the wringer, she's out creating real-life happily-ever-afters at conferences and events nationwide.

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29 September, 2025

September 29, 2025 0

Reaper by Sam Stone

 

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REAPER

by Sam Stone

September 8 - October 3, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Reaper by Sam Stone

A TASK FORCE RAVEN THRILLER

In the aftermath of a devastating terrorist attack on a U.S. Border Patrol station in McAllen, Texas, Major Jake Baylor faces his most personal mission yet. When a VBIED explosion and mortar attack kills dozens, including his best friend Clint McNamara, Baylor and his elite Task Force Raven spring into action.

What appears to be a brutal cartel assault is actually something far more sinister—a coordinated diversion allowing ISIS operative Abu Waleed Hassan, known as "The Reaper," and his team of jihadists to slip across the border undetected. As Baylor and his team of Texas Rangers with special operations backgrounds race to track down the terrorists, they find themselves operating in the shadows of bureaucracy, caught between political agendas and the urgent need to prevent another attack.

From interrogating a high-level cartel operative in a remote Texas ranch to conducting off-the-books operations in Mexico, Task Force Raven follows the trail of breadcrumbs leading to Hassan's deadly plot. When suicide bombers strike San Antonio's Riverwalk, killing hundreds, the clock starts ticking on an even more catastrophic attack aimed at Houston's petrochemical infrastructure.

In this high-stakes thriller that blends military action with law enforcement tactics, Baylor must confront not only the external threat but also his own grief and rage. As federal agencies squabble over jurisdictional authority and media narratives, Task Force Raven operates with a simple directive from Texas Governor Robert Williamson: "Find them, and make sure they can never hit us again."

With time running out and lives on the line, Baylor will need every skill he's honed from years with both the Texas Rangers and Special Forces to bring the terrorists to justice—or stop them permanently.

Book Details:

Genre: Political Thriller
Published by: Indie
Publication Date: June 1, 2025
Number of Pages: 644 PBK
ISBN: 979-8316987726 PBK
Series: A Task Force Raven Thriller, Book1
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle Unlimited | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

 

 

Author Bio:

Sam Stone

When the action starts, you know it’s real. A fifth-generation Texan with a cowboy spirit, Sam Stone spent over 30 years as a Texas Police Officer, retiring as the Commander of Special Operations, leading in high-stakes situations where failure wasn’t an option. Coming from a proud, patriotic military family, he writes with an authenticity that can only come from lived experience. Now, he calls the Texas Hill Country home, where he lives with his wife—his love in this life and all others—and their two loyal dogs. Get ready for a pulse-pounding ride—check out his latest book today!

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27 September, 2025

September 27, 2025 0

Barnabas Bartholomew and the Undead Freshmen by Matthew Lett

 

Barnabas Bartholomew and the Undead Freshmen
Matthew Lett
Publication date: September 16th 2025
Genres: Coming of Age, Fantasy

Death isn’t the end of education—at least not at UniverZity U., where fourteen-year-old Barnabas “Barney” Bartholomew is about to begin his freshman year.

As a recently raised zombie trying to make his undead mother proud, Barney must navigate the haunted halls of an underground mausoleum-turned-school, where strict Crypt Keepers enforce ancient rules and mysterious passages hide untold dangers. With fellow freshman facing expulsion for merely refusing to eat their grits, Barney knows he’ll need more than just good grades to survive. But when he discovers his beloved grandfather’s connection to this shadowy institution, Barney realizes there might be more to UniversZity U.—and himself—than meets his speckled blue eyes.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

           “What in the heck is a lich?” Barney asked.

“It’s a member of the Undead class, like us, except it was brought back to life by a sorcerer or a necromancer for evil purposes.”

“What sort of evil purposes?” Barney asked. There was a knot in his stomach; a bundle of nerves resting on the edge of a guillotine.

“Hard to tell,” Pudgy replied. “Depends on what the sorcerer wants the lich to do. He could use it as an assassin, I suppose, to knock off his enemies, or as a bodyguard. Or in this case, a guard dog over a graveyard.”

“But why a graveyard? What would a sorcerer want in a graveyard anyway? And what if it’s not even there? This lich thing. Suppose it’s gone?”

Pudgy shrugged. “Then it’s gone and we don’t have to worry about anything. But if it is real, and there is a lich wandering around, it’ll be looking for souls to eat. That’s why we need the crucifix, to repel it.”

’Souls to eat?’” Barney repeated. “Are you serious?” He felt light-headed for a second; the world beyond his eyes in a lazy swoon.

“Quite serious,” Pudgy answered. “That’s what liches do. They eat the undead, and if they can, they’ll eat their souls too.”

Barney’s face paled at the thought. An undead cannibal running around the graveyard? That’s what it was! An undead cannibal! The dead eating the dead, for Christ’s sake!

     Pudgy caught the look on Barney’s face; pallid, the sickly color of cream cheese left out in the sun for too long. He snickered. “Hey, calm down. It’s a legend, remember? We’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Barney didn’t answer, his tongue frozen to the roof of his mouth, when Millicent cleared her throat. “Guys?” She tapped the face of her wristwatch. “We need to go if we plan on making curfew. You can discuss the ins-and-outs of liches later, but we need to move.”

“You’re right,” Pudgy said. “I’ll take the lead with the flashlight. Milly, you’ll be behind me. Barney next and then Marcy, and I don’t want you two kissing back there. Agreed?”

Barney blushed clear to his toes. Marcy smiled at him. Millicent laughed out loud and Pudgy winked at Barney, who was staring at the tops of his shoes with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, yeah, okay…” he mumbled. “Funny, real funny, now can we go?”

And so they entered the southwest tunnel, its passages by now near memorized. It was more of a home away from home for the children; its twists and turns nothing more than well-travelled streets and avenues in their hometowns.

Barney stepped through (minus his flashlight which he’d given to Pudgy), when a thought struck him like a phantom stone in the darkness: Pudgy never fully answered my question, he thought. Why the graveyard? Why would a sorcerer (or a necromancer, for that matter) want a lich guarding a graveyard for him? Hmmm…

###

The trip to the graveyard took less than forty-five minutes, and the four of them arrived to find the wrought iron gates unlocked, and the tombstones shrouded in a silky mist of pale fog. A raven, with one eye missing, was perched on a spire atop the gate. It looked down at the children, as if considering their plight, then cawed in its shrill voice a single word they heard all too well:

BEWARE!

The raven took flight after its portent of doom. It did a hop and a half-skip, spread its wings, and then soared over the face of the moon reflected in the wavering mist. The raven disappeared as Pudgy opened the gate in a scream of rust. It was loud in the tranquil of the graveyard; as good as any doorbell that rings after midnight.

“Smooth move,” Barney quipped.

“Sorry,” Pudgy said. “I didn’t expect that. Let’s go.”

They walked through the gates; their eyes blind, sinking in what they could not see. Silence–the full-time caretaker of the grounds–greeted them. Distant thunder rolled over the clouds in the east. Lightning followed and took a snapshot of the graveyard for posterity’s sake.

And had there been a black cat perched on the back of a tombstone, with its yellow lamp-lit eyes and its spine arched in a splay of fur, it would not have surprised Barney in the least. The graveyard was spooky, if not picturesque in the simmering light of the moon; a mural better suited on the backdrop of a Halloween landscape.

“What now?” Barney whispered. The air was dank, hollow

somehow. There was no need to whisper, but the graveyard almost

demanded—dared that it be so upon its consecrated ground.

Author Bio:

Matthew Lett was born in Kassel, Germany. Currently, he lives in Sapulpa, Oklahoma with his wife of 39 years, and their two daughters, who also reside in Oklahoma. He’s also a Veteran of the United States Navy, serving on both the U.S.S. Saratoga and U.S.S. America aircraft carriers from 1985-1989. Matthew has been a prolific writer for over 20 years and is a multi-published author with an array of Novels, Novellas, Novelettes, and assorted short stories in a variety of genres. Most of his work can be found in Horror/Suspense/Mystery categories.
During his leisure time, Matthew enjoys rock-n’-roll music, attends church on a regular basis, watches Mystery Science Theatre 3000, reading, and playing with his 3 grandchildren. And of course, Writing. His books include such titles as, “He Who Walks the Corridors,” (Wolf on Water pub.), “Trail of Love and Death,”, “Woodview Heights: Legacy of Decadence” Trilogy and “Barnabas Bartholomew and The Undead Freshmen.”
Matthew Lett can be reached via e-mail for comments, feedback, and suggestions at matthew74107@yahoo.com


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25 September, 2025

September 25, 2025 0

Canyon of Deceit by DiAnn Mills

 

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CANYON OF DECEIT

by DiAnn Mills

September 8 - October 3, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Canyon of Deceit by DiAnn Mills

A rescue team searches for a missing young girl and suspects all is not as it seems in this high-stakes romantic suspense novel from the author of Lethal Standoff and Facing the Enemy

When wilderness survival expert Therese Palmer receives a frantic phone call from former colleague Professor Rurik Ivanov, she is shocked by the news that his young daughter, Alina, is missing—and that Rurik wants Therese’s help finding her. She’s sure Rurik hasn’t given her the whole story . . . especially since he refuses to report the kidnapping to the police. Yet with a child’s life hanging in the balance, Therese can’t turn down this mission. She knows the clock is ticking and she can’t do this alone.

Therese reaches out to Texas Ranger Blane Gardner, whom she met seven months ago during one of her training courses in wilderness survival skills. Blane’s specialized training and background with the Crisis Negotiation Unit make him uniquely prepared for this search-and-rescue mission. He agrees to help Therese and to accept Rurik’s terms to keep Alina’s disappearance quiet, and as the two begin working together, Therese is determined the spark growing between them won’t distract from their mission to save Alina.

Traversing deep into the desert of Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Alina’s last known location, Therese and Blane struggle to separate truth from lies within the mix of intel they’re receiving. As they close in on answers that suggest the involvement of Russian organized crime and a high-profile international assassination attempt, they must fight to rescue Alina before she becomes an innocent casualty of a much bigger plot—no matter the risk to their own lives

Praise for Canyon of Deceit:

"…Time was running out, and the chilling certainty settled in Alina’s life depended on them unraveling the truth before the ruthless men hunting them closed in. With danger at every turn, Therese and Blane had no choice but to trust each other, even as the secrets they carried threatened to pull them apart…"
~ Sue Garland, Christian Novel Review

"Set against the rugged, dangerous beauty of the Guadalupe Mountains, Canyon of Deceit is a riveting tale of high stakes, survival, and trust that I couldn't put down. DiAnn Mills has crafted a page-turning novel. This is romantic suspense at its finest!"
~ Elizabeth Goddard, award-winning author of Storm Warning

"A pulse-pounding blend of romance and suspense, Canyon of Deceit has a gripping plot and unforgettable characters with a story that keeps you on the edge of your seat until the very last page."
~ Carrie Stuart Parks

"Buckle up, readers! Canyon of Deceit is a heart-pounding suspense packed with intrigue on every page. Danger, action, and adrenaline-fueled drama make this a must-read for fans who crave edge-of-your-seat adventure."
~ Natalie Walters, bestselling, award winning author of the SNAP Agency series

Canyon of Deceit Trailer:

Plus, Canyon of Deceit includes two original songs written by the heroine, Therese—one from her childhood and one that captures the depth of her love and transformation as an adult. These heartfelt lyrics come to life in custom-recorded tracks that reflect the emotion and spirit of the novel.

Click here to listen and step deeper into Therese’s world.

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Tyndale House Publishers
Publication Date: September 9, 2025
Number of Pages: 352 (pbk)
ISBN: 9781496485151 (ISBN10: 1496485157) pbk
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Walmart | Goodreads | BookBub | Tyndale House Publishers

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

New Caney, Texas
October, Thursday, Current Day
Therese

The shrill ring of my mobile phone jolted me awake at 2:00 a.m., a haunting prompt that emergencies seldom emerged in daylight. Someone had ventured into the wilderness and needed me to lead a rescue mission. My skills of trekking over precarious terrain to find victims who suffered from physical injuries, dehydration, starvation, or all three, kept me on alert. At times I viewed my life like a Star Trek tagline, “Where no man has gone before.”

I grabbed the phone off my nightstand. Unidentified caller. “Hello?”

“Ms. Palmer, this is Professor Rurik Ivanov from Houston Leonard University. We met nearly a year ago. You taught a course in wilderness survival as an adjunct professor.”

I captured a mental image of the Russian man—gray-blue eyes, stone-gray hair, angular face. “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

“I apologize for the hour, but I’m in a desperate situation.”

The angst in his voice zapped me into guarded mode, especially when I barely knew the man. I snapped on my bedside lamp. “Are you all right?”

“No, ma’am, which is why I’m calling you. Do you remember my wife and daughter?”

“I met them both at a faculty dinner last Christmas. A lovely family.”

“My wife was murdered today, and kidnappers have taken my daughter.”

I inhaled sharply, and alarm for the professor’s family fired hot from the soles of my feet. “Daria? Alina? What happened?”

“A man called me late this afternoon while I prepared to leave for home. He said he’d taken Alina. Then he sent a link to a video showing my wife’s execution—”

He stopped abruptly, his final words drumming into my senses. The seconds ticked by, and I waited.

“I watched Daria grab her chest and struggle . . . The blood rushed from her precious body—my dear Daria’s life gone forever.” He grappled again to control his tear-filled voice. “He said they would release Alina unharmed if I paid three million dollars. They’d call with instructions. When the man hung up, I hurried home thinking it had to be a terrible mistake or someone had used AI to generate the video. On the way, I phoned Daria and the call went to voice mail. I also redialed the man who’d contacted me. The phone rang repeatedly, but the number offered no way to leave a message. I contacted Alina’s school and learned Daria had picked her up before noon.

“At home, reality rooted. A lamp and a table in the living room lay in pieces. Daria would have fought hard, but there were no signs of blood. I didn’t recognize the place in the video where they killed her. I even checked for geotag information on the clip, but it had been stripped. I later clicked on the link . . . the video had disappeared.”

I ached for his loss. “What do the police say?”

Silence answered me, then Rurik finally said, “Contacting them is impossible. The man warned me against telling anyone who works in law enforcement, or I’d never see Alina again.” He sobbed into the phone. “Please, give me a moment.”

“Take all the time you need.”

The professor taught Russian language and literature at Leonard University and was highly respected and liked among faculty and students. I’d enjoyed our occasional chats, and he’d observed some of my classes. What had he done to upset the wrong people?

“Thank you. I can talk now,” he said. “I have no idea where the killers have taken Daria’s body or how to find Alina. Neither do I suspect anyone.”

I willed my pulse to slow. “Professor, the police are trained in handling confidential matters and how to find who is responsible. They have families and understand what you’re going through.”

“And endanger my daughter?” Panic throbbed in his ragged voice.

“I’m sorry.” My grief over losing Kate many years ago surfaced raw and bleeding. “Are you alone?”

“Yes. At home.”

“Are there family or friends who can stay with you?”

“My family is in Russia, and I do not trust anyone.”

“You could very well be in danger too.”

“My welfare is unimportant.”

“Who are these people, and why has your family been victimized?”

“I have no idea. The man refused to identify himself, but he did say ‘we.’ Maybe he thinks I have money or believes I have done something criminal to my country or to the US.”

What was he not telling me? I tossed off my blanket and stood in my bedroom, shivering, not from the cold but the horror of this unfolding story. “Professor Ivanov, I’m confused. Why call me? This is a job for the police or the FBI.”

“I cannot risk my daughter’s life. You are my only hope to find Alina. You have the skills to get her back.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m a wilderness-survival specialist, nothing more. I’m not equipped to carry out a hostage negotiation without backup, which is another reason you need to involve the authorities.” More questions bolted into my mental space like a landslide. “How would I find her?”

“That’s where I can help you. Alina has GPS trackers hidden in her shoes. Not even Daria knew about them.”

“Why would you track your young daughter?”

“Alina’s biological mother died when she was a baby, and I’ve been consumed with protecting my daughter ever since. I checked my phone app and learned at one thirty this afternoon, Alina was taken to a private landing strip west of Houston. I called there, and a woman who worked in the small office said no one had filed a flight plan. But she made a mistake. The tracker had stopped registering.” He coughed and asked me to wait while he got a glass of water.

A connection at Harris County Office of Homeland Security & Emergency Management popped into my consciousness. They had the technology to confirm the date and time a plane took to the skies and where it landed.

“I’m better. I apologize for my lack of control,” the professor said. “My app showed tracking again near an abandoned airstrip in a remote area south of Hobbs, New Mexico. The tracking indicated ground-speed movement for two and a half hours to a section on the north side of Guadalupe Mountains National Park called Dog Canyon. That’s where the tracking ended, and I’ve detected nothing since. I assume the kidnappers parked the vehicle and proceeded on foot with Alina. Research shows the area is off-grid. Ms. Palmer, did they remove her shoes? How would they expect her to walk in bare feet?”

My thoughts trailed to the worst possible scenario. Why take Alina to a remote location unless they planned to dispose of her body there? Another argument lay with logic. Why go to the expense of transporting a kidnap victim there when they had the ability to dispose of her body in their backyard? A morbid idea, except true. Whatever the reason, they risked exposure from security cameras until they reached an off-grid area.

“I can’t stress enough how the authorities have technology and skills to find Alina. They can unravel valid threats and comprehend the danger of taking your story to the media.”

“The man who called me said they’d be watching my every move. I bought a burner phone tonight to call you.”

His anguish rippled through me, interfering with my ability to think clearly. “What about the ransom?”

“I can liquidate assets here and in Russia to meet their demands, but the statistics on kidnappers returning my Alina alive are not good. Perhaps they would accept what I can put together now. I’m sorry . . . I wish I had an answer. Why harm an eight-year-old little girl?”

“I have empathy for your grief.” Daria’s lovely face and the white-blonde-haired little girl refused to leave me alone. “Although I could lead you into Dog Canyon, I have no idea how to pull her out of the clutches of dangerous men. You’d need armed law enforcement and possibly a negotiator.”

“That would draw attention. I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

“Money is not the issue, Professor—”

“Alina means more to me than anything else in this world. What is love but to take ownership of a problem and do all I can to stop those men?”

“What if I fail?” The terror of not finding his daughter alive resurrected an echo from the past that had shaped my career.

“Can you live with yourself if you don’t try?”

Unaware, he’d pressed my weakest button. “I’ll hear you out. But I don’t believe you’ve given me the whole story, and I need the truth before I risk my life.”

“I’ve . . . I’ve given you all of it.”

“You’ve stated what you want me to know. What have you done or not done in this tragedy that Daria is dead, Alina is missing, and you can’t go to the police?

***

Excerpt from Canyon of Deceit by DiAnn Mills. Copyright 2025 by DiAnn Mills. Reproduced with permission from DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

DiAnn Mills

DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who invites her readers to step into stories where suspense meets adventure and romance warms the heart. Known for crafting unforgettable characters tangled in unpredictable plots, DiAnn believes every breath we take unfolds a story waiting to be told—so why not make it thrilling?
Her novels have consistently landed on bestseller lists including CBA, ECPA, and Publishers Weekly, and have won prestigious awards such as the Christy, Selah, Golden Scroll, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol awards.
DiAnn is a founding board member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Conference Advisor for the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers. She actively participates in Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, and International Thriller Writers, DiAnn passionately invests in helping fellow authors succeed through mentoring, book coaching, and editing. She travels nationwide speaking and teaching engaging writing workshops.
A proud coffee snob who roasts her own beans, DiAnn also enjoys diving into good books, experimenting in the kitchen, and unabashedly spoiling her grandchildren—whom she insists are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband make their home under the sunny skies of Houston, Texas.

Connect with DiAnn online for behind-the-scenes glimpses, writing tips, and lively discussions:

diannmills.com
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22 September, 2025

September 22, 2025 0

Mild Mannered Men by Walter Horsting

 

Mild Mannered Men by Walter Horsting Banner

MILD MANNERED MEN

by Walter Horsting

September 1-26, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

MILD MANNERED MEN by Walter Horsting

The Rain Will Wash Away The Blood

An action-packed thriller, Mild Mannered Men explores how a simple mistake can change the lives of countless people. An honest mistake leads to the accidental exchange of a disc that holds top-secret information which can threaten the socioeconomic fate of the world as we know it.

The novel follows Sergei, an ex-KGB freelancer who’s dealing with the Cartel and China’s technology leader. Happy Camper, sister of George Camper, a cybersecurity expert, is putting together a venture deal of her own during a VTC. John Nord is the man helping set up the international video teleconference with Sergei and Happy, unaware of how a simple meeting could change his life and the lives of many.

As the Russian kidnaps John’s fiancée for a barter, an FBI agent is hot on the trail, desperate to find closure of his own. Peter Holland, a reporter chasing a story, finds himself in the middle of the chaos after having accidentally left his phone in Happy’s car.

Murder, espionage, and an international conspiracy bring together five people from different walks of life who find themselves entrapped in an adventure beyond their grasp.

How much could possibly go wrong in just four days?

Praise for Mild Mannered Men:

"Don’t let the title fool you. Mild Mannered Men is a fast-paced thriller in the tradition of John Le Carré and Tom Clancy. Horsting’s first novel weaves multiple characters into a spiraling narrative, picking up the pace as the main characters are drawn into the intrigue of hi-tech international espionage. Mild Mannered Men deftly juxtaposes seemingly divergent plot lines in a cleverly-constructed cat-and-mouse game of Who Has It, rather than Who Done It. If you like car chases and snappy dialogue then give this shape-shifting page-turner a spot on your bookshelf."
~ Ken Nicholson Emmy Winning Editor

"Mild Mannered Men is a fantasy come true: who hasn’t wondered what would happen if you suddenly became involved in a high tech international conspiracy with Russian hit men, drug cartel death squads and FBI agents all converging on you? How would you do in a high-stakes, high-speed chase through the mountains of northern California? All of you Ian Fleming, Tom Clancy enthusiasts can stop wondering—here’s the novel for you. Horsting’s hero is a regular guy who thinks his way out of dire situations, using his with and cunning to get out of tight scrapes that lead into worse situations. With the help of a big cast of characters, his fianceé and some well-monied friends, John Nord follows the tech trail to navigate this wide-ranging, fast-paced thriller. It’s not everyday you get a chance to save the world."
~ Max Rebeaux, Publisher

"Bob and I just finished reading your book and thoroughly enjoyed it! I brought it with me on our 5 day trip to Cabo. I liked the spacing (layout) in the book, pictures, list of characters and their roles for reference during the early part of my read. The many places are a tribute to Sacto and SF! I need to revisit Frank Fat and Boulevard in 2025. I typically read nonfiction but loved it! Very clever in the time frames and most visual descriptions ❤️ throughout. Congrats and THANK YOU for this signed copy. It took me quite a while to read the book in order to fully absorb the story but it was a faster read for Bob. I will lend it to a couple of friends in the coming months."
~ Bob and Carol Tetz

Mild Mannered Men Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Spy Action Adventure
Published by: Self Published
Publication Date: October 4th 2024
Number of Pages: 298
ISBN: 9798337680613
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Goodreads | BookBub | Audible

Read an excerpt:

The monsoon gale was relentless, tearing apart the redwood trees that dotted the sweeping curves of Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park. Traffic was minimal, with only a few drivers braving the hundred-year storm that assailed the Santa Cruz Mountains that day.

Mount Herman Road

The storm was brutal. John Nord squinted through the moving windshield wipers; his brows drawn with tension. The visibility was close to zero. He was clenching his jaw, angry at how the wipers were not quick enough, even at their fastest.

The rain came down in sheets, thundering on the roof of John's faded blue Taurus Wagon. His car swerved on the deserted but slick curves of the road, the winding asphalt reflecting the wagon's headlights at him. The midday sky was heavy with dark clouds, the torrential rain blinding every driver on the road.

The world beyond the shelter of John's car was pure chaos. The noise of the storm hemorrhaging through the car’s windows. Even though the windows muffled the sound, John was fully aware of the creaking as the redwoods bent under the pressure of the wind.

Felton Empire Grade Curve

The roadbed spiraled around consecutive two hundred and seventy degree turns while clawing another one hundred feet of altitude; sheets of rain pelted the road and hillside.

The wind whipped redwoods side to side, and the raging gale edged up in pitch and fury. Massive trees groaned in protest. Branches snapped in the wind, the redwood needles adding to the hell that poured down the Felton Empire Road curve.

The sound of heavy wind in an evergreen forest had its own fierceness. The high-pitched growl of trillions of needles scratching the air mixed with the guttural low-frequency strain of heavy timber, stretching to survive, foretold doom. A large branch slashed across the road and down the cliff along the side of Felton-Empire Grade.

The roadway rose two thousand tortuous feet from the foot of the grade. Hurricane-force winds lashed and moaned from the forest above the pavement as it twistingly ascended through a nasty corner. No one should be out driving, but John had no choice.

Mount Herman Road

“This is Santa Cruz classic rock. It is a wonderful day to stay indoors with another classic from Yes, Owner of a Lonely Heart.

The DJ's voice crackled through the radio. The song’s instrumental began to bleed through the speakers of John's car. The riff of the electric guitars was easy to hear, even over the noise of the heavy rain. The blue wagon sped away from the Highway 17 exit. Mount Herman Road wedged itself between the competing strip malls of Scotts Valley. John ignored the discordant symphony of horns behind him, protesting his driving.

John focused on another vehicle that zoomed in and out of the midday traffic ahead of him. The black sedan he followed sped past cars on the four-lane highway, snaking through the rush of traffic as John stepped on the accelerator in anxious pursuit.

The DJ's voice broke into the song's flow.

"Folks, we have a breaking story. A national weather alert for the Santa Cruz Mountains, torrential rain for the next six hours, and a landslide warning. Back to Yes.”

Move yourself,” the singer belted.

John's eyes darted to the signboard above, making a mental note of how soon Mount Herman Road would leave Scotts Valley behind. The sedan sped forward smoothly, unaffected by the torrential rain. John's faded blue wagon whizzed past five more cars, jumping ahead of traffic before the stoplight turned green.

The road began to narrow as the chase continued, the four lanes shrinking to one going uphill. John scanned ahead for the sedan, squinting through the downpour.

He spotted the dark sedan pulling past a fuel tanker truck beginning its slow ascent uphill. John gritted his teeth in frustration, staring at the sedan fast disappearing in the rain.

Never thinking of the future. Prove yourself,” the song continued.

In his rush to catch up with the sedan, John almost missed the tanker changing lanes. He winced at the wrenching sound of metal against metal. The scrape was a sickening contrast to the rock song. Still, his car sped forward. John straightened up in his seat checking the damage his wagon had sustained.

The hauler had clipped the Taurus, taking the right turn signal with it. John veered right, narrowly escaping a collision with an oncoming logging truck. As he returned to his lane, the logger angrily sounded his air horn. The headlights behind him were blinding, the truck's beam set high.

“You are the move you make.
Take your chances, win, or lose.
See yourself. You are the steps you take.
You and you, and that's the only way.”

The downpour got heavier as the road narrowed. The wind and rain had increased to hurricane strength. Branches snapped, and mud oozed over the road. Sludge began covering the inside lane as the howling wind increased.

Inside the Taurus, John, a rough handsome man in his thirties, ran a hand through his blonde hair, puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled. His gaze darted frantically to the mirrors, checking his position on the hill. His heart still thundered from the near-death experience of almost totaling his wagon into a logging truck. He was feeling the strain of the high-speed chase.

John sped after the dark sedan. It was the only thing he could do. His hand fell for his phone as he kept his gaze on the road, glancing down in time to see that it would not turn on no matter how many times he pressed the button on the side.

Shake…

The car veered sideways again as John's eyes darted around for the car phone charger. The charger he kept on the dashboard slid off onto the passenger side floor, out of reach.

John grunted, annoyed. The charger thumped against the soft makeup case his fiancée had kept there. He glanced down to see a nail file and cuticle clippers peeking out from the case. The passenger side was a mess of clutter, as if the woman who sat there would return any moment, gather her things, and pass John a smile and a wave as she headed off to work.

A Sutter Healthcare security pass slid out from her purse on the floor beside the case. John's throat tightened at the sight of the face staring back at him from the badge.

The sound of the truck horn faded into the downpour. John swallowed sharply, dropping the phone in his lap while pressing down on the gas, willing his car to speed up.

Shake yourself…

The rain hammered down on his windshield. John turned up the wipers' speed, clearing the windshield for a millisecond before the view returned to a blur of rain and the heavy wind. The redwoods bent whichever way the wind pleased, and the thunderous crackle of smaller trees falling and branches snapping leaked into the safe shell of John's car.

The redwood trees moaned as the rain blew sideways, cracking as nature continued its violent assault. Muddy rivulets trailed down into the roadway.

"You're every move you make.
So, the story goes, owner of a lonely heart.

The narrow path had turned into a steep incline. As John urged his car up the slope, the faded Taurus battled against the wind and rain. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles white as his jaw ached, his fiancée's face flashing before his eyes.

He had to make it.

"Owner of a broken heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.

John let out a heavy breath as his faithful Taurus pulled through. The windshield cleared again momentarily, and John's eyes widened at the sharp curve ahead. The slick roadways would make it impossible to make it through in one piece. John clenched his jaw, determined as he turned the wheel, whispering a silent prayer as he felt the rear wheels slide on the turn slewing off the road entirely for a moment.

John held his breath, his heart stammering as the wheels floundered, barely staying on the road as he entered the town of Felton.

You've been hurt so before; watch it now.
The eagle in the sky.
How he dancin' one and only, you, lose yourself.
No, not for pity's sake; there's no real reason to be lonely.
Be yourself.

The blue wagon slid to a rolling stop at Gramhill Road as he caught his breath. The chase had started taking a toll on him, but it was up to him. John's head whipped toward the right, gaze zeroing in on his target. The dark sedan was speeding away, unaffected by the storm. John stepped on the gas, shaking his head, his car rocketing away in pursuit.

Give your free will a chance.
You've got to want to succeed—owner of a lonely heart.

The blue wagon crossed Highway 9 onto Felton Empire Grade at a breakneck speed. The car veered left and right; John was understeering to get his vehicle under control. John caught his breath as his car straightened. He felt the tension in his shoulders, the steady ache that increased with every passing moment. A battered green pickup truck on Highway 9 spun out of control at the light. Most drivers were pulling their cars onto the side of the road at awkward angles, not wanting to drive in blinding dangerous conditions.

John slammed his fist on the steering wheel, willing the car's exhausted, faded, battered remnants to push its limits for one more charge. He fought to steer left, the road both turning and rising as it curved uphill and steepened. John felt like he may as well have been chasing that sedan on foot. Steering the distressed Taurus was no less than a marathon.

The faithful wagon journeyed onward, the song's chorus continuing as the trees on either side had started to canopy the road John was on, supplying a temporary respite from the assaulting rain. John exhaled; his relief was short-lived as he took in the approaching hairpin curve.

After my own indecision, they confused me so.
Owner of a lonely heart.
My love said never question your will at all.
In the end, you've got to go.

The rock song continued as John sped forward. No turn could scare him enough to stop his pursuit. Just then, a giant redwood branch fell onto the road. Spotting it in time, John avoided it, but the road ahead now seemed impassable. The wind whipped branches off strong redwood trees and laid them out crossways on the road. But John refused to slow down. He pushed the Taurus to its last limits, sweat beading on his forehead.

John muttered a silent curse as a branch landed heavily on the roof of his car.

Up ahead was a sharp turn that veered left, then right, with fifteen miles an hour posted.

Look before you leap—owner of a lonely heart.br>And don't you hesitate at all - no, no.

As the song faded into a guitar solo, John stared at his next challenge: the hairpin corner.

The roadway snaked through a series of turns. The rain softened the shoulder of the mountain opened to a ravine below. He steered a centerline through the extreme right hairpin as the pavement descended into the Redwoods. The water poured down the hillside in torrents that became gushing creeks.

John Nord nodded to himself, determined. He slammed his foot down on the pedal as the dark sedan sped seamlessly toward the turn, disappearing around the turn raising wakes of road water.

Owner of a lonely heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.
Much better than a
Owner of a broken heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.

The road straightened slightly out into rhythmic curves. The wagon strained against the weather, the rasping sounds from the engine a sure sign of the price the chase cost the wagon. The straining engine mirrored John's mental state, the faded Taurus manifesting the intensity of its driver's panic, fear, and determination.

John floored it. The chorus of the song repeated, inching toward the end.

Sooner or later, each conclusion,
Will decide the lonely heart.
Owner of a lonely heart.
It will excite; it will delight.

The song faded into silence as John approached another yellow fifteen-mile-per-hour sign leaning to the left. The storm bent the pole planted into the ground. The road spiraling up to the left, the slick road ahead had large cracks across the surface, promising him a harrowing experience.

It will give a better start.
Owner of a lonely heart.

The music faded, John's panic winning out as he braked hard for the hairpin turn. The wagon dropped into the large crack in the road, jerking his body as the sun visor popped down. John felt the jolt run through him, his head slamming back against the headrest.

"Don't deceive your free will at all.
Don't deceive your free will—owner of a lonely heart.
Don't deceive your free will at all,
Just receive it—
"

John sighed, gritting his teeth, reaching over, switching off the radio.

The blue wagon drifted through the hairpin curve and raced around the sweeping blind turn as the rain saturated hillside mud slipped down into the valley. The dark sedan disappeared while John, caught in the unforgiving road collapse, slid into the abyss.

In defeat, John pounded the steering wheel.

“And I thought I had it made.

***

Excerpt from MILD MANNERED MEN by Walter Horsting. Copyright 2025 by Walter Horsting. Reproduced with permission from Walter Horsting. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Walter Horsting

At age nineteen, Walter Horsting started his first career as a teenage soundman in the music industry and formed a concert audio company. He engineered over three thousand live shows in ten years. Walter branched into media systems integration of government hearing rooms, military command rooms, entertainment complexes, and Fortune 500 headquarters. He has developed national and international business for leading media and technology providers for airports, smart cities control rooms, network control centers, and global briefing centers.

Walter lives with his wife, Sherry, in Sacramento, California.

Catch Up With Walter Horsting:

MildManneredMen.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
Instagram - @mildmanneredmen
YouTube - @MildManneredMen-r1o
X - @WalterHorsting
Facebook - @Walter Man

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!

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This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Walter Horsting. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
MILD MANNERED MEN by Walter Horsting

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