Thicker Than Water
I’m always in love with my latest book. I like it more than the previous installments. This book was fun to write. I loved the characters and each of their stories. It’s now available on Amazon and soon in print. I am experimenting with this title and solely publishing on Amazon to use some of their marketing tools. So for now (and maybe forever) it will remain only for sale on Amazon. You can see it HERE.
Blood may be thicker than water, but family isn’t necessarily who you’re related to. In this suspenseful mystery with a romantic twist, we follow Private Investigator Michelle Mott on her most exciting case to date.
Wisecracking Mott has been a loner since her parents died. When Daniel Cardinale walks into her office with her most interesting case yet, his world threatens to turn hers upside down. He needs her to find out who is sending him anonymous money and what the truth is behind his dead fiancé’s demise. If his case weren’t complicating her life enough, local crime lord Gino Salito has taken an interest in Mott.
Mott’s empty life begins to fill up with an unexpected and rag-tag group of people, and she’s afraid her dangerous life will take them away, leaving her alone once again.
In truth, it’s Mott’s life that may be the one at risk. She’ll have to hope that blood isn’t always thicker than water.
I am about to die. I don’t mean in the Sylvia Plath-we’re-all going-to-die-sometime sort of way. In mere moments, the meathead behind the barrel of the handgun held to my temple will pull the trigger. The hammer will come down, igniting a tiny explosion that will send a lead ball tearing through my cranium. My brains, bones and blood will spray on the area beside me. I won’t even hear a click. I won’t feel a thing. Idiots. This is the least creative way to murder someone.
And the suicide note they had me write sounds nothing like me. No one is going to believe I committed suicide. If they watched one episode of one crime show they’d know I needed gun powder residue on my hands, not duct tape residue on my wrists. This has to be the worst faked suicide in history. That’s what you get when you hire steroid induced freaks with the IQ of a cannoli.
I should have known this would happen. Wrong guy in your bed, you get a little nosey and this is where you wind up. Cold barrel pressed against your temple by some guy who doesn’t even fully understand why his boss wants you expired. Nor does he care. He doesn’t even care that his boss is too much of a puss to pull the trigger himself.
I should be crying or begging for my life. But I’m not. I’m sitting here like a limestone statue: cold, calm…it’s sort of creepy, actually. Fear and panic should be knocking at my door. Instead an unexpected feeling of calm was all I had. Maybe I knew this was a possibility.