Showing posts with label psychopaths. Show all posts
Showing posts with label psychopaths. Show all posts

Monday, June 4, 2018

New Release - The House

Happy Monday, everyone! Today, I bring you the release of THE HOUSE! I'm super excited about this book for several reasons. I'll tell you why, but first, grab your coffee or tea! Got it? Awesome. Let's get going!


We'll start off with some fun facts!
  • This book is written in first person. Not anything you've ever seen from me before (I'm a third-person writer), and it kinda skeers me because I've never done it.
  • It's told from the house's POV, as though the house is speaking to the reader, so it's done as an observer--the house remembering watching the people living inside and telling you the stories.
  • The House is a collection of short stories within one, longer, story.
  • There are five shorts:
    The Butcher
    Fred, Marna, and Kimberly McDade
    Lacy Mae Ritter
    Mark and Olivia Cullpepper
    The Writer
  • Guess who The Writer is!
  • If you guessed Jo Michaels, you'd be correct. Yes, I wrote a book with a story in it about me writing a book for the entity telling us the story.
  • Confused yet? It'll all make sense when you read the book. I promise.
  • Now for the sucky part! I know, I know! Sorry.
  • If you plan to read Intensification (the third story in the Pen Pals and Serial Killers series), you MUST read it first. The House gives too many things away about Intensification. They're tied and twisted together in several ways.
Here's the book trailer!! :D



Now for all the things like details!

Title: The House: A Killer Collection of Short Stories (Pen Pals and Serial Killers - Book Four)
Author: Jo Michaels
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Length: 218 printed pages
Buy Links: Amazon Kindle  ~  Paperback

Blurb:
This house is cursed, and everyone who lives there is in grave danger.

Ever wonder what stories you’d hear if walls could talk?

What if those walls witnessed unimaginable horrors?

Inside these pages is the story of one such house. What it sees, the people it meets, and what happens when a terrified spirit is invited to stay.

Story 1 – The Butcher
Story 2 – Marna, Fred, and Kimberly McDade
Story 3 – Lacy Mae Ritter
Story 4 – Mark and Olivia Cullpepper
Story 5 – The Writer

The House is a collection of short stories that ties in with the Pen Pals and Serial Killers series by Jo Michaels. You’ll find a couple of those characters named, and discover how one grew the teeth he used on the women he captured later.

~~~~~~

Excerpt time!

Story 1 – The Butcher

My yellow paint; pretty, white shutters; and pristine porch were sullied by the first man who dwelt here. I call him The Butcher, but his name was Butch Campion, and he was thirty-seven. His face is one I’ll never forget, and the atrocities he committed are things I still shudder to think about. We met one month after I was born. He walked in, so proud and full of himself, his feet sending vibrations through my floorboards as he tromped through, checking every room like he was planning to bring a whole family in and bring them up. I thought we’d get along famously and was looking forward to warming the feet of small children as they played.

Once the papers were signed, and I was his property, things went well for a month or so. He’d go to work, come home, sit on the threadbare couch, and drink beer. To my chagrin, he didn’t seem to have a wife or children, so there was nothing for me to do during the day except sit here.

It was after that first month that I started to figure he might not be my ideal owner after all. My lawn was never cared for, and the ivy growing nearby was allowed to spring up, threatening to take over the cute porch the builders thought to add. Butch would go out and bring home booze of some kind, cigarettes, and fast food. He never cooked, and he left wrappers and empty boxes all over the place, making me smell like a trash can. Roaches scuttled in, intent on a good meal, and he’d squish the ones he saw, leaving their carcasses to decompose where they met their gruesome end.

~~~~~~

Teasers!







Are you ready?


I hope you enjoyed this post!

Well, that's all for today, folks! Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo

Friday, May 4, 2018

New Release - Intensification

Happy Friday, good people of the blogosphere! Today, I'm excited to announce the release of the third book in my Pen Pals and Serial Killers series, Intensification. Read on for a snippet and other great info!



Title: Intensification - Pen Pals and Serial Killers - Story Three
Author: Jo Michaels
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Length: 232 printed pages
Buy Links: Amazon Kindle $3.17  ~  Paperback $19.99

Blurb:
Detective Hank Reynolds has just been handed the case of a lifetime. Another reality TV star has gone missing, and it’s up to the Atlanta police department to find her before it’s too late. While he’s digging around, he discovers there have been nearly twenty similar kidnappings in the surrounding areas over the last twenty years, and while trying to find out more—and a witness that’s still alive—he’s dragged into a past he wishes he could erase. His dreams become nightmares about the women, and his sanity unravels. Even his eyes begin to play tricks on him, but no hallucinations are as devious as the antics of the killer—who’s always one breath away—waiting for the chance to strike again.

NOTE: This is a stand-alone novel in a series with crossover characters and may be read independently of the other books.

~~~

Are you excited? You should be!! This is unlike any of the other books in the series, and I have my fingers crossed you enjoy it. For really, Claude will keep you up at night. He's worse than Tobias could ever have been.

SECOND NOTE: There's a book releasing on June 6th that ties in HARD with this book titled The House. You need to read this one before you read that one. Otherwise, it'll spoil the surprise. Ready for the excerpt? Awesome. Here's a teaser to start you out:


Hank

At six a.m. sharp, the alarm sounded, jolting Hank out of a deep sleep. He rolled onto his back, one hand absently slapping at the offending noise. Finally, it stopped, and he groaned. It was like he hadn’t slept in weeks, and it was starting to take a toll on him. A decision was made then and there that one of the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed would be taken that night. Just one night of rest was all he needed to trudge on through another few weeks of restlessness.

He peeled himself out of bed, pressed the button on the coffee pot, and headed for the shower. Music poured out of his mouth, and he took the detachable sprayer and held it in front of his lips, filling the small space with crescendos and a strong, natural vibrato. It was his favorite time of day, before dealing with the people from the office, before having to get into it with victims calling about some bullshit that might or might not have happened in the middle of the night; in that moment, he was just a man with music in his soul and warm spray from his shower microphone.

Once he was clean, he stepped out and toweled off, going to the kitchen to pour a huge cup of the coffee he could smell from the bathroom. He gulped at it, loving the way it burned as it made its way to his stomach. A sigh tore out of him. Perfection.

His routine was firmly established, and the next half hour was spoken for as he trimmed his beard, brushed his teeth, and dressed for the day in slacks and a button down, strapping his gun holster over his torso. He always grabbed his wallet and badge as he left the bedroom, and those went in his back pockets. Then, he filled his travel cup with more coffee and left for the day. On the drive to the precinct, he checked his voicemail. There were three calls: One from his ex-girlfriend inviting him for drinks—delete, another from his partner about the upcoming softball game—save, and a third from someone he didn’t know from some online bullshit magazine asking for a quote about the rich-girl kidnapping—delete.

He sighed and threw the phone on the passenger’s seat, leaning back with two hands on the wheel, and finished driving to work while yelling at other drivers to pay attention to what they were freaking doing before they killed someone. Some days he was so tempted to hit the switch on the light bar so people would move the hell out of the way and he wouldn’t have to sit in traffic.

Pulling into the lot, he parked in his designated spot and got out, nearly empty coffee thermos in hand, to go up to his office. His partner was already there.

“Morning,” Hank said.

“Dude. Phones are still blowing up over that rich-girl model that went missing. Cap says we need to nail this bastard soon.” Tony thumped the desk with his forehead. “Sorry. Good morning to you, too.”

“Do we have any new information?”

“No. That’s the thing. There have been a million and one ‘hot tips,’ but none of them check out, ya know?”

Falling into a rolling chair behind a desk facing Tony’s, Hank shook his head as his anger bubbled. “Don’t know what Cap wants us to do about it if we don’t have any damned leads. The guy snatching these women might as well be a goddamned ghost! Unless there’s more than one, and if so, they’re goooood.”

“I know. You’re preaching to the choir, man.”

“I’m just so f*ing frustrated with it all.”

“Well, what do you want to do today? Beat the streets?”

“We’re gonna have to.” Frustrated, he pulled the file folder over and flipped it open. A pretty brunette smiled out of the photograph. Missing nearly a week, she’d disappeared while grocery shopping at a local store, one with no exterior cameras. He read over the report once again, but the only thing that stuck out to him was that she’d been on TV on some reality show about marriage. A few cases with eerie similarities had come over his desk the previous two years, but they’d already gone cold due to lack of evidence and witnesses, and his mind whirled. He wondered if anyone else had thought about that. I wonder if it’s a pattern.

Their captain stuck his head out the door and barked at them, “Get in my office. Now!”

With a sigh, Tony and Hank rose and went through the glass door into the chaos beyond.

“Take a seat, boys.”

They did, neither of them saying a word, Hank still clutching the file.

“I need you two on top of your game. This f*er has everyone terrified to take a step outside.”

Hank held up a hand. “Whoa. Hold on a sec, Cap. I was just thinking that maybe this isn’t random and isn’t linked with those other two sloppy snatch-and-grab jobs from Fulton County. It struck me a few minutes ago that Sharon makes the fourth young woman that’s been kidnapped in what might be a series. All four of the women I’m thinking of have been on one reality TV show or another, and all have gone missing over the last few years. That suggests a pattern, right? I’m not sure ‘Jane the Wife’ has anything to be afraid of—as long as she doesn’t live in Fulton county. My guess is, those two will be solved pretty quickly. They’re lacking the finesse of the Sharon one.”

“Right. Suggests. There’s no way to be sure of that, Reynolds. If all the women in your recollection had gone missing after being part of one show, we’d have something.”

Truer words were never spoken, and he knew it; he just didn’t really like it all that much. A kidnapper had to be established several years and have a definitive pattern, but the cases they were working had no links between all the victims, only four out of six that he could see. It also seemed the reality kidnapper had only been active a little while, but if Hank’s suspicions were correct, the guy had snatched three other women who were in the public eye, but lesser known than the most recent. Reality kidnapper. Damn, I’m f*ing clever.

“My gut tells me we’ll catch someone soon, so I want you boys looking into everything you can think of, okay? Get out there and get me some answers. I need to assure people that my guys aren’t complete morons.” Cap crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and waved his hands. “Get!”

Tony and Hank got up and left, neither of them with a spring in their step.

“Let’s go, big guy,” Tony said.

“Wait a sec. I’m gonna grab another cup and look at something on my computer.” Hank refilled his travel thermos, capped it, and then pulled up the previous three cases that were on his mind, scanning them quickly. He shut everything down and stood. “Okay. Ready. Let’s do this shit.”

They got into Tony’s black Impala and pulled out, headed for the grocery store the missing girl had been taken from.

~~~~ END EXCERPT ~~~~

So? What do you think? I edited out some bad language. Tried to catch them all. Sorry if I missed one or two!!! This section happens right after the opening, so you're familiar with the killer already.

Do you hope Hank and Tony catch the bad guy?

Did you pick it up? If not, what are you waiting for? Go!

Well, that's all for today, folks! Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Book Excerpt #1 - Intensification - Pen Pals and Serial Killers Story Three

Happy Wednesday, everyone! Today, I'm scheduled to give you all an excerpt of my WIP, Intensification. Warning: It's not for the feint of heart. This excerpt will introduce you to both main characters, Detective Hank Reynolds and Claude. I hope you enjoy it! As a side note, Provocation is with the proofreader, and a release date will be coming at you soon! If you missed the first two excerpts from that book, check them out here and here. Grab your coffee, or tea, and let's get going!

First, a little about the book:

Title: Intensification - Pen Pals and Serial Killers - Story Three
Author: Jo Michaels
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Length: Looking like it'll be around 70k
Release Date: TBD (Spring 2018 for sure)

Blurb:
Detective Hank Reynolds has just been handed the case of a lifetime. Another reality TV star has gone missing, and it’s up to the Atlanta police department to find her before it’s too late. While he’s digging around, he discovers there have been nearly twenty similar kidnappings in the surrounding areas over the last twenty years, and while trying to find out more—and a witness that’s still alive—he’s dragged into a past he wishes he could erase. His dreams become nightmares about the women, and his sanity unravels. Even his eyes begin to play tricks on him, but no hallucinations are as devious as the antics of the killer—who’s always one breath away—waiting for the chance to strike again.

Now for the excerpt!



Chapter One
Claude

Rolling over, Claude’s eyes fell on the clock. Ten p.m. He grinned. That would give him plenty of time to do the things he wanted to do and still be back before it was time to get up and get moving for the day.
His feet made no noise as he padded down the hall to the garage, and he disabled the alarm system before opening the door. Careful not to knock anything over, he made his way in the dark to the table on the other side of the room and slid it to one side. A few wrenches hanging from pegs banged together, but there was no noise otherwise. Every night he went out, he was more grateful he’d thought to put the rollers on the legs. Once the table was slid aside, he stuck his pinky finger through a hole in the sheetrock and pulled.
It swung forward easily, the hole the only indication there was anything there. Inside were the articles he’d worn every night: A gray coverall, high boots, and a baseball cap with his favorite team’s logo emblazoned on the front.
He chuckled as he pulled it on, the NY turned toward the back. F--- the Red Sox and the horse they rode in on, he’d be a Yankees fan until the day he died.
Carefully, he folded the pajamas he’d been wearing before and put them in the hidey-hole, closing the door softly. His boots were in his hand, and he waited until he was safely in the alcove of the side door before slipping them on his feet. It wouldn’t do to leave prints from boots he wasn’t supposed to have anywhere inside.
Hands in his pockets, he stepped to the sidewalk, casting his gaze both directions before turning left and scurrying down three blocks then going right. His house was the fourth one on the left in the cul-de-sac, a large Tudor with an impressive privacy fence, a high gate, and only a few lights on inside that backed up to a large, wooded area. Before he went up to the door, he grabbed the mail out of the box, snickered at the fliers inviting him to shop at one store or another—they really didn’t want him anywhere near their establishments—and threw everything in the neighbor’s recycling bin.
It had been nearly a week since he’d been able to come home, and he could almost hear his beauties calling out to him. His hand shook as he put the key in the lock and turned, the excitement he was feeling threatening to boil over and consume him whole.
Claude dashed in and spun to engage the deadbolt, also sliding the long chain into place. Once it was locked, he allowed himself to relax. He peeled off the hat and boots, leaving them near the door, and the next to go was his coveralls. No clothing was required in his home, but he preferred to keep the boxer-briefs on. Sitting on chairs in the nude just made his balls sweaty, and he wasn’t about to suffer the discomfort.
As he walked through the kitchen, he swatted Alice on the ass and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I have something to take care of first.”
She giggled in response, and he checked her wires to make sure she was secure before moving on to Nadine.
“How are you tonight, my love?” he asked, caressing her beautiful, brown face.
“I’m excellent, Claude. How are you?” Her sweet voice was like milk and honey to his ears, and he kissed her on the tip of her nose.
“Wonderful. Glad to be home.” After checking her wires as well, he ignored the other ladies and went for the door to the basement. He glanced around to be sure no one was watching and pulled his key out of its hiding place under the plant nearby.
Door finally unlocked, he gave it a hard tug, enjoying the cool hiss of air as the seal broke. He stepped through and pulled the door shut all the way, re-engaging the locks, before hitting the switch to turn on the light. The LEDs nearly blinded him, and as soon as they came to full strength, she started screaming.
Again.
There was no need to run or get angry, so he whistled as he made his way down the steps to her cage, laughing to himself the whole time.
When he rounded the corner, something whizzed past his head, and he ducked back.
“Easy now. You sure you want to throw things at me, madame?” He’d been working on his French accent, and it was nearly perfect.
“F--- you! Let me the f--- out of here, you f---ing psycho!” Her cage bars rattled.
“That’s not a nice way to speak to me, cherie. I saved you.”
“F--- that!” Her voice was so shrill, it echoed off the soundproof walls and bounced around like a pinball.
He winced and leaned out a bit so he could see her. There was nothing else nearby for her to throw, and her hands were empty, so he stepped all the way out and smiled at her. “Cherie, I’ve missed you.”
She backed away from his side of the cage, flattening her body to the back bars, her eyes wide and fixed on his approaching form.
That was the reaction that made him feel most powerful—when they moved away as though they could sense there was something dark inside him.
“I recognize you. You were that guy on the news, huh?”
“No. That wasn’t me.”
“Then your twin brother? I don’t understand how you two can be so diff—”
He launched himself at the bars. “Shut. Up.”
Laughter sprung up and out of her.
“Don’t you dare talk about things you have no knowledge of, or I’ll end your life right now.”
“That’s what you plan to do anyway, right? So why should I give a sh-t if you care what I’m saying or not?”
“Because what you say is the line drawn between whether you enjoy your death or have a really f---ing hard time of it, bitch.” He snarled as the last word dripped from his lips and smiled when she flinched.
As he tracked a path around the outside of the cage, she moved, too, keeping her body on the side farthest away from him. The way her muscles moved under the skin of her thighs made his c-ck hard, and he wiped drool off his chin. Her breasts were magnificent creatures, rising and falling every time she panted. Though she could use a washing, she was still the most alluring one he’d taken.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered as he moved.
“F--- you!” she screamed.
“I can’t wait to add you to my collection. You’ll be my prized possession. I already have a room made up for you, and it’s just like something you’d pick for yourself. I can hear you thanking me now.” He lifted his voice a few octaves as he mimicked her. “‘Oh, Claude, I love every part of it so very much! You’re the best ever.’ And then maybe you’ll give me a kiss.”
“You know nothing about me, and there’s no way I’m ever going to kiss you.”
“Oh, but I do, Sharon. I do. I watched you for months on television, and then I followed you, always in the shadows where you couldn’t see me. That prick you were dating wasn’t worthy of you, darling.” His hand snaked out and caught her hair, and he pulled her to the bars closest to him. “You’ll never have to worry about not having the right man again, because I promise to take care of you for all time.”
“Killing someone isn’t taking care of them.” Tears were streaming down her face then, and her shoulders sagged. “Please, Claude. Please. Let me go?”
Pulling her head back, he yanked on her hair so the skin on her throat grew tight, the pulse banging away just under the surface. His teeth ached to sink into the supple flesh, tear at it, but he knew if he did, her corpse would be ruined, and he wanted her in his collection very badly.
He inhaled, savoring her perfume.
“Please,” she whispered.
“No.” It was a simple answer, and he watched her to see how she might react. That always told him the most about the women—how they responded when they didn’t get something they’d begged for.
Rather than grow angry, she softened, and her shoulders shook.
“Weak. Just as I expected.” His fingers opened, and he dropped her, letting her sink to the floor. “Tomorrow, mon cherie. Tomorrow!”
After bringing her some food that he left on a paper plate near the cage, he replenished her supply of water bottles then whistled his way back upstairs.
His ladies were waiting, and he had big plans for the evening.
He locked the door and stowed the key after making sure none of the women were watching, and then he went to join Ginger on the couch. “Mind if I have the remote?” he asked.
“Not at all, Claude.”
Taking it from her hand, he was careful not to knock around the supporting wire and damage the limb again like he’d done the week prior. It had been a bitch to repair, and he just didn’t have the time to dick around with it.
With a click of the red power button, the television came on, and he activated the DVR, looking for the latest episodes of She Wants to Marry Him.
Carefully, he put one arm around Ginger and pulled her close, moving her head so it rested on his shoulder. He kissed her blonde hair and laughed when the photos of the women on the show scrolled across the screen, their names emblazoned underneath. “Remember when you were on this show?”
Hand in her hair, he moved her head up and down.
“I bet you do. That d-ckless wonder didn’t know what he had in you, did he?”
Her head moved left and right.
“Let’s see what happens tonight.”
For two hours, he caught up on episodes he’d missed, using the notebook on the coffee table to write down details he thought might be important later on.
He tossed the pad back on the table, turned the television off, stood, and adjusted Ginger so she looked like she did when he arrived, caressing her chin with his thumb. “You’re so beautiful. It’s a shame you didn’t win that one, but it was probably because you’re so stupid.”
Returning to the kitchen and Alice, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed himself to her back and rear. She was still firm, and he liked it. Her roundness made him ache with desire. He buried his face in her hair but pulled back when he got a whiff of something unpleasant.
Moving her hair to one side, he examined her neck, and found a small patch of skin had peeled back, revealing the stuffing he’d packed her with. A little more digging in the hole found the culprit of the horrendous smell. It was a tiny patch of mildew. She’d been near the sink too long and needed to dry out.
“Alice, darling. You’re positively rotting from the inside out. I’ll need to move you, okay?”
Her head moved up and down.
“Perhaps Hailey would like to take your place. I’ll just go ask her. Be right back.” He sprinted up the stairs, flipping on the light at the landing, and making a hard right into the master bedroom. There, he found Hailey lying on the bed with Juniper lying nearby, one hand covering one of Hailey’s breasts. “Get up, ladies! I need Hailey dressed and downstairs to take Alice’s place. You want to do that, sweetheart?”
“Of course, Claude. Anything for you,” she answered.
He dug a pretty dress out of the closet and helped Hailey into it, and then he lifted her over his shoulder and carried her down, careful not to bang her head on anything.
Alice was unhooked from the wires, the dry sponge taken from her hand, and she was placed on the floor nearby. Hailey was buckled in, the sponge put in her right hand, and a clean plate fixed to her left with some Velcro strips he kept in a nearby drawer.
After carrying Alice upstairs, stripping her naked, and arranging her in the bed with Juniper, he pressed his back to the wall to admire his handiwork, deciding quickly that her hand was too high. He adjusted it so it was between Alice’s legs and sighed.
Perfect.
Again, he backed up to the wall and peered at them. His ---- immediately as he watched them play with one another, giggling, kissing, and rolling on the bed, but he shook it off. There was no time for that right then. He had to get back before his time expired. Kissing each lady on the head, he scurried out and down the steps, his hard-on dropping the moment he stepped off the last one.
“Well, my lovelies, I’ll see you all tomorrow! We’ll have a splendid party soon! I’ll bring champagne, and you can welcome Sharon with open arms when I finally bring her up.”
They cheered.
He quickly dressed and hurried out the door, being sure to lock it behind himself, before jogging back the way he’d come.
Quickly and quietly, he snuck through the garage door, changed, rearmed the alarm system, and slipped back into bed.

Hank

At six a.m. sharp, the alarm sounded, jolting Hank out of a deep sleep. He rolled onto his back, one hand absently slapping at the offending noise. Finally, it stopped, and he groaned. It was like he hadn’t slept in weeks, and it was starting to take a toll on him. A decision was made then and there that the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed would be taken that night. Just one night of rest was all he needed to trudge on through another few weeks of restlessness.
He peeled himself out of bed, pressed the button on the coffee pot, and headed for the shower. Music poured out of his mouth, and he took the detachable sprayer and held it in front of his lips, filling the small space with crescendos and a strong, natural vibrato. It was his favorite time of day, before dealing with the people from the office, before having to get into it with victims calling about some bullshit that may or may not have happened in the middle of the night; in that moment, he was just a man with music in his soul and warm spray from his shower microphone.
Once he was clean, he stepped out and toweled off, going to the kitchen to pour a huge cup of the coffee he could smell from the shower. He gulped at it, loving the way it burned as it made its way to his stomach. A sigh tore out of him. Perfection.
His routine was firmly established, and the next half hour was spoken for as he trimmed his beard, brushed his teeth, and dressed for the day in slacks and a button down, strapping his gun belt to his waist. He always grabbed was his wallet and badge as he left the bedroom, and those went in his back pockets. Then, he filled his travel cup with coffee and left for the day. On the drive to the precinct, he checked his voicemail. There were three calls: One from his ex-girlfriend inviting him for drinks—delete, another from his partner about the upcoming softball game—save, and a third from someone he didn’t know asking about the rich girl kidnapping—delete.
He sighed and threw the phone on the passenger’s seat, leaning back with two hands on the wheel, and finished driving to work while yelling at other drivers to pay attention to what they were freaking doing before they killed someone.
Pulling into the lot, he parked in his designated spot and got out, coffee in hand, to go up to his office. His partner was already there.
“Morning,” Hank said.
“Dude. Phones are blowing up over that rich girl model that went missing. Cap says we need to nail this bastard soon.” Tony thumped the desk with his forehead. “Sorry. Good morning to you, too.”
“Do we have any new information?”
“No. That’s the thing. There have been a million and one ‘hot tips,’ but none of them check out, ya know?”
Falling into a rolling chair behind a desk facing Tony’s, Hank shook his head as his anger bubbled. “Don’t know what Cap wants us to do about it if we don’t have any damned leads. The guys snatching these women might as well be g--damned ghosts!”
“I know. You’re preaching to the choir, man.”
“I’m just so f---ing frustrated with it all.”
“Well, what do you want to do today? Beat the streets?”
“We’re gonna have to.” Frustrated, he pulled the file folder over and flipped it open. A pretty brunette smiled out of the photograph. Missing nearly a week, she’d disappeared while grocery shopping at a local store, one with no exterior cameras. He read over the report once again, but the only thing that stuck out to him was that she’d been on TV on some reality show about marriage. There had been a couple of similar cases over the previous two years, and he assumed it was a pattern. He wondered if anyone else had put that together.
Their captain stuck his head out the door and barked at them to “get in his office. Now.”
With a sigh, Tony and Hank rose and went through the glass door.
“Take a seat, boys.”
They did, neither of them saying a word, Hank still clutching the file.
“I need you two on top of your game. This f---er has everyone terrified to take a step outside.”
He held up a hand. “Whoa. Hold on a sec, Cap. I’m thinking maybe this isn’t random and isn’t linked with those other two snatch-and-grab jobs from Fulton County. It struck me a few minutes ago that four young women who’ve been on one reality TV show or another have gone missing over the last few years. That suggests a pattern, right? I’m not sure Jane the Wife has anything to be afraid of—as long as she doesn’t live in Fulton.”
“Right. Suggests. There’s no way to be sure of that, Reynolds. If they’d all gone missing after being part of one show, we’d have something.”
Truer words were never spoken, and he knew it; he just didn’t really like it all that much. A kidnapper had to be established a number of years, and have a definitive pattern, but the cases they were working had no links between all the victims, only four out of six. It also seemed their realty perp only been active a little while. If Hank’s suspicions were correct, the guy had already snatched the three other women who were in the public eye, but lesser known than the most recent.
“My gut tells me we’ll catch someone soon, so I want you boys looking into everything you can think of, okay? Get out there and get me some answers. I need to assure people that my guys aren’t complete morons.” Cap crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and waved his hands. “Get!”
Tony and Hank got up and left, neither of them with a spring in their step.
“Let’s go, big guy,” Tony said.
“Wait a sec. I’m gonna grab another cup.” Hank refilled his travel thermos and capped it. “Okay. Ready. Let’s do this sh-t.”
They got into Tony’s car, a black Impala, and pulled out, headed for the last known address of the missing girl and the grocery store she’d gone missing from.

~~~~~
I hope you enjoyed that! EEP!

What do you think? Is Claude's house weird or what?

Well, that's all for today, folks! Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo

Thursday, February 1, 2018

Book Excerpt #2 - Provocation - Pen Pals and Serial Killers - Story Two

Happpppy Thursdaaaaaay, everyone! I'm so freaking pumped! Provocation is now sitting at 40k, and I'm nearing the end of this harrowing tale. You're all going to love this one. Today's excerpt is chapter 2, but I'm changing a bit of the language to make it safe for work, so the actual book won't be quite as tame as this. Not sorry! *grin* I'm gonna start by telling you a little about this chapter, and how it came to be, and then we'll move on to book details and the excerpt! Ready? Grab your coffee, or tea, and let's get going!

Provocation was meant to be written solely from Victoria's POV. When she started thinking about the past, her mother jumped in and wagged her finger at me. "I need my story to be told, too. It's more important than you realize," she said.

Okaaaaay. Yeah. I'm just the writer. These characters own this story, ya know? So, I ditched everything I'd written up to that point and started over, giving dear Jane her voice. Oh, what a voice it turned out to be! I think you're going to love what she made me to do this book. I realize now that it's the only way I could've told this story and have you understand fully.

So, I send a huge round of applause and thanks to Jane Ward for forcing me to give her a voice.

I hope you enjoy! Kindly remember this hasn't been edited yet. Raw! LOL  If you missed it, the first excerpt can be found here.

Book details:

Title: Provocation - Pen Pals and Serial Killers - Story Two
Author: Jo Michaels
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Length (guessing): ~ 60k
Release Date: Spring, 2018

Blurb:

Doctor Victoria Ward has been killing men for over thirty years. Her victims all have one thing in common: they’re abusive. Righteousness is a close companion—it helps her sleep at night—and she holds the virtue closely as she defends the innocent, upholding the law when it won’t rise to protect those who need it most. When she meets a young girl named Kelly, and follows her down a twisted path of deception, Doc Ward finds herself face-to-face with a ghost from her past. Never before has she wavered in her resolve—but can she defend another against someone she loves?

~~~

BEGIN EXCERPT

~~~



Chapter 2


Jane

“Mommy! Come look!”
Jane stood in the kitchen, her hands covered in flour, splotches of white dappling her apron, too. She turned and smiled, wincing with the movement. “Just a second, Vicki. Mommy’s got to clean up first.”
“Hurry, hurry!”
Laughing, she rinsed her hands and followed her daughter out the door, dishtowel flapping. “What is it, baby?”
Vicki gestured to a huge pile of rocks in the middle of the driveway, mud oozing down the tower’s sides, twigs sticking out at odd angles. She planted her small fists on her hips and lifted her chin. “I built a house! Just like Daddy does!”
Panic blazed through Jane at the speed of a supersonic jet. If Hank came home and saw… If he had to clean or move… No way could his truck get past that monstrosity, and it would probably rip the oil pan a new asshole in the process.
Her daughter’s face fell. “What’s wrong, Mommy?” Tears built in her eyes. “Don’t you like it?”
Shaking but smiling, Jane lifted her wrist to check the time as she answered, “I love it, baby.” Shit. He’ll be home in twenty minutes. No time. “Now, why don’t we get it cleaned up so Daddy can get up the driveway when he comes home?”
“Noooooooo! I wanna show it to Daddy, too!” Vicki wailed.
As the seconds ticked by, Jane’s heart thudded harder in her chest. She knelt and looked Vicki in the eyes. “I can’t even tell you how proud I am of you and how special this beautiful house is to me. Right now, though, I need you to be a big girl and help Mommy move it so Daddy doesn’t break his truck by running over it. You built it so big and so strong, not even his big ole truck could get past it.”
A giggle.
“That’s my girl. Now, could you please go get your brother and tell him to bring a shovel and wheelbarrow and come help?”
A nod.
“Thank you! Run! Go fast!”
Vicki sped across the yard, pigtails bouncing.
Jane turned to survey the pile and lifted her wrist. Fifteen minutes. There’s no way. Slinging the dishtowel over her shoulder, she plunged her hands into the mess, throwing the rocks as hard and as far as she could, praying none of them were found by the bush hog.
A few minutes later, Grant flew around the side of the house, pushing a wheelbarrow with a shovel in it. When he saw the rock pile, he asked, “Vicki do this?”
Jane nodded, moisture pooling on her bottom lids.
“Mom, why can’t you just explain it to her?”
“She’s too little to understand, Grant.”
“I’m not a baby!” Victoria yelled. “I’m six!”
Her brother brought his face within an inch of hers. “Then why do you act like one? Doing things like this!”
“I did it for Mommy and Daddy!” Her plump cheeks quivered, and tears dripped down to her chin. Pressing her lips together, chin jutting forward, she stomped to the rock pile and kicked it.
“It’s wonderful, Vicki. Calm down. We just have to get it moved before Daddy gets home, okay?” Jane could feel her patience wearing thin. They needed to get busy. She checked her watch and cursed silently. Ten minutes. “Okay, let’s get this moved!”
Grant and Vicki worked on loading the wheelbarrow and spreading rocks over the driveway while Jane continued to pitch them toward the woods. It was a brutally hot West Virginia day, and by the time they’d demolished the pile, she was wringing wet and nearly out of time.
“Okay. You two go play on the swing set. I’ll call you when supper’s ready. Dump these by the cellar house, and put the wheelbarrow back for me?”
Both the children gave her a quick hug, Vicki jumped into the cart on top of the rocks, and Grant pushed as he ran.
Arm shaking, Jane glanced at her watch before grabbing the shovel and sprinting toward the house. Two minutes. She put the shovel by the door, flew down the hall while stripping off her dress and apron, and raced to the closet. Dirty clothes went in the hamper, and a new dress and apron were in place in a moment. In the bathroom, she carefully patted her face with a cool rag, removed any dirt smudges, and smoothed her hair.
One minute. Roaring sounds came from the driveway, forcing her heart rate into the stratosphere. She had to be back in that kitchen when he came in, up to her elbows in something food related.
“Honey, I’m home!” Hank sauntered through the door and dropped his tool belt on the floor before holding his arms open wide.
“How was your day, dear?” Jane asked as she kissed him on the cheek and let him pull her in for a hug, careful to keep her flour-covered hands held high.
He looked down at her and stared, brows pulled together, like he was trying to work something out.
Fear’s icy black tendrils snaked around her. He knows… “Hank?”
A wide grin broke out on his face, and he tapped her nose. “You have flour all over you, but you’re so beautiful.”
Jane’s face got hot as relief flooded her. She smiled and kissed him again. Let him think it’s because he flattered me.
“Somethin’ smells good,” he said.
“It’s a deer loin. I’ve been roasting it all afternoon.” She moved away from him and went back to her task.
“What’s for desert?”
“Blackberry pie. I’m about to get it in the oven. I know how you like it hot.” No thought required, her hands skillfully rolled the pie crust out on the counter, flipped it over the rolling pin, and settled it over the dish.
“I do love hot pie.”
“Why don’t you go wash up? Supper will be on the table by the time you get back.”
With a grunt, he left.
Jane’s eyes slid closed, and she inhaled and exhaled, relief forcing hot air through her lips.
By the time he returned, she had the table set, pie in the oven, the children washed and seated, and piping hot food ready and waiting to be consumed.
His eyes flitted to his place, and he frowned.
She leapt from her chair, apologized, and fixed his glass of whiskey. Stupid! How could you forget? Hands shaking, causing the ice to clatter on the sides of the glass, she put the drink down and returned to her seat.
He picked it up and took a long draw, breathing heavily as the stress of the day whooshed out.
Everyone sat in silence and waited. It was several minutes before he spoke.
“Let’s get this over with.” One meaty paw extended on either side, grasping the hands of his wife and son, Hank led the prayer. “Amen.”
Jane filled his plate first then tended the children. Her hands were still shaking. No way would he let that slip up about the drink go unpunished. Question was: Would it be sooner or later? As she pondered, she worried for the children, especially Grant. He’d grown bolder over the previous year, and his last attempt at intervention damned near put him in the hospital.
They ate quietly, and Jane refilled Hank’s glass twice during the meal.
An odd smell infiltrated her nose as she was putting another piece of cornbread on Grant’s plate. Once again, terror gripped her as she realized what was happening. She sprang from her chair and ran for the kitchen, jerking the oven open, grabbing a dishtowel at the same time.
Her beautiful latticed pie was dark brown on top. Burned. Ruined. She would pay dearly. That was two mistakes. No amount of rutting would be enough; Hank would demand flesh.
“Burned that pie?” His voice floated through the air like an ominous shadow—threatening, carrying with it the promise of pain.
Tears carved their way free and raced to her chin. No. She wouldn’t let him see her like that. That’s what he wanted. Inhaling, she put the pie on the counter, threw down the dishtowel, wiped her face with the back of her hands, and slunk back to her chair. “I did. I’m sorry. I just forg—” His forearm collided with her face, and she fell backward, head slamming against the wood floor. Stars exploded in her vision.
“Stupid woman! You can’t even bake a freaking pie! What good are you?”
Instantly, Vicki starting crying.
“Go to your rooms!” He roared.
Both children fled.
Only Vicki paused at the doorway, looking back at her mother with wide, sad eyes full of tears. Then the child scurried away.
Each time Hank’s fist or foot collided with Jane’s body, she gasped. Insults fell on deaf ears, and she still held in tears she refused to let him see.
Finally, after he’d worked his rage out on her already tender frame once again, he collapsed on the couch. “Why do you make me do this? Why can’t you get it right? Just once.”
“I’m sorry, Hank.” Her voice sounded tinny and disconnected, far away and hollow. Nearly unrecognizable to her own ears.
“Yes. Yes, you are. You’re one sorry piece of crap. But I love you. I don’t wanna have to beat you to make you do right.” He stood up and walked toward the bedroom. “Clean this craphole up. When you’re done, come and tend to your husband’s needs.”
Vibrations from his feet striking the floor radiated through her brain. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She could only be.
I am nothing.
Vicki’s door was partially open, and one eye could be seen through the sliver of a crack.
A single tear slipped down Jane’s face.


~~~

END EXCERPT

~~~

What do you think? Excited yet?

Well, that's all for today, folks! Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo