"Avid readers have, no doubt, encountered many brilliant story tellers but brilliant writers are precious and rare, and Jones is well on his way to becoming one." -Chrysta Brown, Culture Mob
"This story is everything you love about a classic mystery and modern thriller."
"Jones has a talent for taking some classic elements in very unexpected directions and always with an unrelenting hopefulness."
"Love how this book all comes together. Many characters that you quickly care about and cannot wait to learn more about. Second book by author I have read and loved both. I bought another and can't wait to get started on that one."
"WOW! I simply could not put it down! From the beginning I was hooked all the way through. The characters come to life in your hands and you simply MUST know what happens. The author did a wonderful job answering all questions and finishing all thoughts (nothing more frustrating for me then getting to the end of a book with unresolved questions). Looking forward to many more novels!"
Sal Russo finds a mysterious package bearing his name. In it,
a manuscript detailing a girl’s abduction. And a note: If you
don’t read this, she'll die. If you call the police, she'll die.
You will write the next chapter in her life, or I’ll kill her. Her fate is in your hands.
Enclosed with the papers is a bagged human heart.
Meanwhile, The victims from a three-year-old cold case have surfaced,
preserved in formaldehyde and posed to resemble death scenes
in Sal Russo’s novels. Police Commander Kyle Truman tries to connect
the dots between that case and a newly abducted girl, Tiffany Preston.
Planted evidence mounts against Sal, forcing him to flee, searching for
clues to unmask the killer. Tiffany’s only hope is for Sal to
find her before the police find him.
EXCERPT FROM THE NEXT CHAPTER:
Monday, April 4, 9:22pm
Six grueling months, nearly to the day and Sal's wish came true: he was dying. The knife's searing pain and death's icy embrace were slowly drawing him away from this world, whispering the summons he'd longed to answer.
But not like this. Not at the hands of a naked lunatic smeared white with paint. Not half-bound to a broken chair, sprawled on a concrete slab in a pool of his own warm blood. Not watching a helpless young girl die.
His vision blurred. He couldn't tell if it was death's doing, or the sickly-sweet haze of incense clouding the air. With each breath, Sal inhaled the foul stench, along with gypsum dust from cut drywall. Darkness advanced at the corners of his sight while pixels of light twinkled before him. He blinked, tried to shake his head, but it thudded to the floor. Too weary to cry, he watched the girl turn and face him. Ashley. Brown hair tumbling playfully around her shoulders. She sat up and smiled. Her mouth moved, but no words came out. Rising, falling, his chest heaved, wretchedly battling sinking despair. How he yearned for her voice, to reach out and touch his little girl. But when she reached out, her hand was no longer pink and smooth. Rather, it was black, charred beyond recognition. Sal clamped his eyes shut. When he opened them again, Ashely was gone. The other girl lay prone on the bed, fastened to its posts. Darkness, for the moment, had receded from his eyes. But the room seemed to tilt and his stomach swirled weightlessly.
The naked man leaped and landed bedside, hovering over the girl. He looked back at Sal, a lecherous grin slashing his features, an animal glint illuminating his eyes.
The sight spurred a shot of adrenaline, fueling bitterness and savage rage against a God Sal could no longer pretend to understand, much less trust. Where was God's protection for the innocent? Where was his almighty hand, turning things for good? Even as wintry tentacles wound themselves around him, like slithering constrictors, he wanted to curse his faith. But something inside blocked that urge, damming up his poisonous uncertainty. Unable to curse his God, Sal prepared to meet Him.
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