| Buy at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Kobo ISBN: 978-1-4874-4206-4 Formats: PDF, PRC, EPUB, MOBI Teaser Just when you think you have found the perfect match, you may find yourself bursting into flames. Blurb In the Washington, DC metro, police officers are being maimed and murdered, unconnected victims chosen randomly. What kind of killer is the FBI up against? Can Agent Hayes and his team uncover the truth behind the brutal murders? Callahan turned on the light. Weatherly lay in his own blood, flowing freely from a deep cut in his throat. There were other cuts across his torso and legs, but they were minor compared to the gash that had torn open his throat. When FBI agent Richard Weatherly dies, the team of agents led by Nicolas Hayes is assigned to investigate. Their assumption that the murder might be connected to the Mafia case on Callahan’s desk proves wrong. Then the next officer becomes the victim of the Death Trap Killer, a faceless man who attacks old people in their homes. It becomes clear that the killer’s aim is far more sinister—he’s on a killing spree, and his main targets are law enforcement officers. In his private life, Nicolas is confronted by a group of gangsters who want to kidnap his girlfriend, Jacklyn, for reasons only her father can explain. To keep her safe, the couple must separate. Regretfully, Jacklyn leaves their home, not knowing when she will be able to return. Excerpt Nicolas left his hideout cautiously. There was no way of knowing how many burglars he was up against. The carpet under his bare feet was soft and warm, swallowing every sound. He had crossed the room when he became aware of a shadow at the next door, which led to the parlor, Mr. Hollander’s favor-ite abode. The aroma of expensive tobacco was in the air, mingling with that of leather and faintly of flowers. He noticed that there were sandy shoe traces from at least two persons on the otherwise spotless carpet. The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, a man attacked him from the right. Nicolas blocked the man’s arm, twisted it around and thrust the man face-first against the wall. The impact stunned him amid the screams of pain. He went down and lay unmoving. Nicolas let go of the man’s arm to face the second opponent, who aimed a pistol at him. Instinctively, Nicolas turned away, and the projectile passed him soundlessly. Before the shooter could pull the trigger again, Nicolas closed the gap, kicked the man in the shin, and twisted the gun out of his hand, turning his body into him. It had not yet reached the floor when the man boxed Nicolas in the kidney twice so forcefully it was both hurtful and stunning. Gasping for air, Nicolas rammed his elbow into the attacker’s midsection, gaining the advantage to turn and punch the man in the face, twice, three times, driving him backward. His side hurt, but for the moment he had his eyes on his opponent and ignored the pain. Nicolas kicked the man’s knee, triggering a groan, then kicked higher at the man’s chest. The opponent hit the wall behind him, and Nicolas was upon him, hitting him hard in the face once again. The man’s defense crumbled—he couldn’t keep up his fists. Nicolas heard a voice calling out in shock behind him. Quickly he swiveled the injured man around him so that he was a shield against yet another silent bullet. A third man had crossed the threshold into the parlor. Wide-eyed and obviously surprised by the situation, he turned tail and ran back through the living room toward the side entrance of the house. “Fuck!” Nicolas dropped the now unconscious intruder and pursued the third gangster on bare feet. He heard glass shatter with a deafening noise, as if the living room’s mighty candelabra had hit the floor.It was the glass cabinet. The shards lay scattered across the floor, glistening in the afternoon sunlight, too broadly spread to jump over. Nicolas was lucky he came to a skittering halt before stepping into the glass. “I don’t believe this!” Nicolas put his hands on his hips, catching his breath. He heard the third man run down the hall and leave the building, shouting an order in a language Nicolas didn’t understand. On the way back to the intruders, he tore off the power line of a floor lamp and used it to tie up the two men. Both were unresponsive, and he had his first good look at them. They were both of Asian origin, solidly built, with hair cut so short their scalps shone through, in their late twenties. The second man he had beaten had a shiny silver dart in his chest. Nicolas refrained from touching it. He searched their pockets but didn’t find a passport or a wallet. He also did not find backpacks or bags to transport stolen goods. “What were you guys up to?” he murmured as he left them behind to search the house. On the way, he grabbed a phone from the hook to call the police. When he couldn’t find any other intruders, he fetched a pair of shoes from the bedroom, a few clothes for Jacklyn and himself, and went to open the closet. “Hey, lady, good to see you.” Jacklyn embraced him, sighing with relief. She looked up to him with a frown. “You look… chipper.” “What did you expect? Your badass FBI agent knows howto use his fists.” |