Guest Post by Liz Milliron Author of Shattered Sight A Mystery (#contests- enter to win a gift card)

 

 

I want to welcome Liz Milliron to Books R Us. Liz is the author of Shattered Sight (A Jackson Davis Mystery). Liz has written a guest post just for my readers. Enter below to win a gift card Thanks for stopping by.

SHATTERED SIGHT

by Liz Milliron

March 10 - April 4, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Jackson Davis Mysteries

 

Niagara Falls Police Detective Jackson Davis is living a lie.

He has the perfect life: married, two children, a home, a promising career.

Underneath, however, he battles self-doubt and guilt over the incident that cost his partner her sight and her career in an explosion during the pursuit of a suspect. He denies having PTSD or any trauma related to the event, but those around him know better.

When Jackson returns to active duty and is tapped to lead the investigation into the death of a prominent local business woman, all of this comes to the forefront. He must learn to work with a new partner and deal with his personal demons if he is to catch the killer — or he risks losing it all.

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural
Published by: Harbor Lane Books
Publication Date: March 2025
Number of Pages: 402
ISBN: 978-1-963705-05-8
Series: The Jackson Davis Mysteries, book #1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

GUEST POST: 

Deciding to write another series (Or “How I might have lost my mind”)

“You’re writing how many books?”

This was a common response when I told people I’d be launching a new series in 2025. See, I already write two of them: The Laurel Highlands Mysteries and the Shamus award-nominated Homefront Mysteries. That means I write two books a year.

Plus, I work 40 hours a week. And I have a family. And a social life.

Why would I start another series? Did this mean I’d have to figure out how to write three books a year?

To answer the second question first, no. I haven’t completely lost my marbles. I have friends who dissuade me from those moments when it looks like I’m going to take a flying leap into insanity. It’s still just two books a year.

Why a third series? That one’s a little harder to explain.

As a writer, I’m always looking for opportunities to push myself. To grow and overcome challenges. I’d reached a point with both series where I wanted to explore different characters. People who were a little more… broken, you might say. See the protagonists in the Laurel Highlands Mysteries and the Homefront Mysteries have issues to deal with, but I wouldn’t describe them as seriously flawed. Sure, they have aggravating characteristics, but that’s not quite the same thing.

But Jackson Davis has lived through trauma. His former partner lost her sight when she saved his life in an explosion – after he got carried away with the pursuit of a suspect. He carries all the baggage that goes with something of that nature: guilt, a bit of shame, a sense of responsibility, and a little post-traumatic stress. The first three he can kinda-sorta admit, even if he won’t acknowledge how they impact his daily life. The third, well, he cannot and will not acknowledge. Because in his mind, that means saying he’s “broken.” What if they take his job away? Being a cop and protecting others is his purpose in life. If he can’t do that, what will he do?

Yet it’s his very inability to admit he needs help that puts everything he values in jeopardy. His family life, his job, his friendships. Everything.

His former partner, Max Simon, is dealing with her own issues. She lost her sight and her job. She needs to adapt, but she’s a detective at heart. How can she move on when she – and Jackson – can’t seem to let go?

Then there’s Amy, Jackson’s wife who loves him dearly, but can’t seem to get through to him. And Rodney, the new partner, who is not only adjusting to a new role in police work, but a partner who confuses him; a guy who is friendly and competent one minute and a basket-case the next.

It’s a great boiling pot of angst and the possibilities for disaster are everywhere.

I love it.

Very early in my writing career, a friend and mentor told me one truism of fiction: Happy people are boring. We may want our characters to be happy in the end but think about it. If nothing ever challenged them, if they never had to fight for what they want, would the story be as interesting? Probably not.

The Jackson Davis Mysteries give me an opportunity to explore characters who are good people at heart, but who have serious shortcomings, both when it comes to themselves and to others. When you put a challenge in front of them, how will they react? What will they learn about themselves? And, maybe most importantly, what will I – the author – learn about myself?

Because there is a kernel of me in every character I write. Fiction is a (relatively) safe place to find out how I’d react to the situations I put my characters into and an opportunity to find out what I really believe.

So, three series it is.

But I still might be a little insane.

 

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

I stood in front of my open closet and shuffled through my tie selection. “Amy, have you seen my red tie?” I called to my wife.

No answer.

“Amy!”

She came into the bedroom, dark brown hair in a messy knot, stray strands stuck to her face. She held our six-month-old son, Christopher, over her shoulder as she rubbed his back. “What are you yelling for?” She glanced at the jacket on the bed. “I thought you only wore that suit to court.”

“I need to look sharp today, which means I need my lucky red tie.” I went over the ones on the rack for the third time. “The one with the dark gray pinstripes. It should be here.”

“For crying out loud. Let me.” She held Christopher out, forcing me to take him.

Before I could turn him around, he burped, a wad of spit landing on my chest. “Grab me a clean shirt, too.” I didn’t have time for this. “I need to make a positive impression today.”

“Jackson, you’re coming off desk duty. Not starting a new job.”

“All the more reason to look good. I need to remind the guys I’m an investigator, not a glorified secretary.”

Whatever Amy said was lost in the rattle of hangers. “Here.” She held out the tie. “It was with your other court suit, still in the bag.” She tossed it, along with a clean shirt, on the bed.

I handed back our son. “You’re an angel.” I leaned over and kissed her. Even wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, she put any supermodel to shame. At least in my mind. If I hadn’t been determined to be early, I would have demonstrated my gratitude with a little more emphasis.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t you forget it.” She disengaged Christopher’s hand from her hair.

I slipped into the shirt, buttoned it, and swiftly knotted the tie. Then I shrugged into my jacket. I held out my arms. “Well, how do I look?”

She smoothed my lapel. “Like one of Niagara Falls Police Department’s finest homicide detectives, which you are.” Her voice was light, but I caught the worried glint in her beautiful deep blue eyes.

“It’s going to be okay, Amy. I’m ready to get back to work.”

“I know.” She kissed me. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

I arrived at HQ and waved to the desk sergeant.

“Detective Davis, you going to testify today?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m back in the rotation, Herb.”

He smiled. “It’s about time.”

I took the elevator up to the floor where the Criminal Investigation Division was located and went to my desk. As always, I avoided looking at the empty one facing mine. I briefly wondered how long that would last.

Hopefully for a while.

From across the room, a voice said, “Davis. You’re here.”

I looked up to see Captain Yannick striding toward me. Trailing him was an unfamiliar Black man. He was in his mid-thirties, close-cut hair, nice suit. Really nice suit. He held the largest-sized cup of coffee Starbucks sold in one hand and a cardboard box under the opposite arm.

I focused on the captain. “Morning, sir. You get the paperwork?”

“I did.” The captain shook my hand. “I’m glad to have one of my ace investigators back in the rotation. I want you to meet Rodney Kirke. He’s a new detective for homicide. This is his first day.”

I nodded. “Welcome to the looney bin. I’d shake your hand, but looks like they’re full.”

He put the box and Starbucks on Max’s empty desk. “Captain Yannick told me all about you.”

“Only the good stuff, I hope.” I refrained from saying anything about his stuff on that desk. “Who’d you get partnered up with?”

Yannick pointed. “You. Meet your new partner.”

What the actual? I forced myself to remain calm. “Oh. You didn’t mention anything on Friday before we left.”

“And I apologize. I meant to and the day got away from me.”

I glanced at Rodney. “Captain, can I talk to you?”

“What about?”

“Nothing major. A few details and then I can get to work.” Like how he’d forgotten to say he’d assigned me a new partner.

“Unpack your things.” Yannick pointed to the new guy. He nodded toward me. “My office.”

Once inside, I closed the door. “Sir, what the hell? A new partner on day one?”

“I understand you feel blindsided. I should have called over the weekend. Mea culpa.” His expression told me he’d expected this response. “You had to know this was coming, though.”

I did. But the speed unsettled me. “I guess I expected more notice. Not to walk in on Monday and be introduced to the new guy without even a hint of noticed. And I didn’t realize Max was so easily replaced. I thought you’d take more time.”

Yannick’s gaze and voice held sympathy, but firmness at the same time. “Her position has been open for six months. Kirke’s recently passed the detective exam. You’ll work well together. You can show him the ropes.” He leaned back. “I spoke to Kirke’s commander from patrol, who said he’s top-notch. I think you’ll get on well together.”

Seeing the empty desk every day had been hard. Having a stranger occupy Max’s chair was worse.

Yannick seemed to read my mind. “Look, I can’t replace Max. Oh, sure. I can hire a new body. It won’t be the same. I know. But give him a chance. You learned a lot from Max and she’d expect you to step up and pass it on. Next call is yours.”

What a cheat. Problem was, he was right. She would expect it. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

***

I returned to the desks and assessed the man who Yannick thought could fill Max’s shoes. He’d unpacked the box and was arranging everything to his satisfaction. Strike one, he drank Starbucks. I couldn’t stand the import from Seattle, much preferring Tim Horton’s, the Western New York alternative. Max had not much cared about where the coffee came from, as long as it was hot and black.

Strike two. He’d put a fancy brass nameplate in front of him, with a leather blotter, and matching pen and pencil cup next to it. I hoped the attention to office supplies didn’t mean anything except excitement for the new shield. Max had never bothered to have more than a jumbo calendar and her ever-present book of Sudoku puzzles on her desk. “Looks like you’re all settled in.”

His hand jerked and the cup of pens toppled over. “Just about.” He straightened everything and looked around. Very few of the battered desks held anything as fancy as his desk set. “Guess I overdid it a little with the office supplies, huh?”

“How long have you had your shield?”

“Two weeks.”

That explained a lot. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s natural to be a little nervous, especially starting a new job like this.” I sat down. “Where’d you come from?”

“Downtown. Spent a lot of time chasing pickpockets away from tourists.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket and took his seat. “It’s not very often you meet a white guy named Jackson. No offense.”

It was what people said when they knew they’d been offensive. I could tell his clothes were new. The jacket and slacks were tailored and the tie shone like silk. “My mother was a horror fan and The Lottery was her all-time favorite short story. She loved it so much, she swore to name her first child after the author. I’m lucky I wasn’t a girl or I’d be called Shirley.”

He laughed, but stopped short. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

I held up my hand. “True story. My father tried to get the nickname Jack to stick, but it never did. I’ve gotten used to it.”

He shifted in his seat. “I, uh, heard about what happened to your old partner. Hope I can measure up. She sounds like she was quite the investigator.”

The words were a knife in my chest. “She was.” I had no intention of discussing Max with the new guy. “Why’d you become a detective?”

“It was time for a challenge. I also thought it would help in other areas.”

I waited, but he didn’t continue. “Such as?”

“What’s the scoop? Did Yannick give you an assignment when you talked to him or something?”

He has things he doesn’t want to discuss. We’re equal there. “Not yet.”

Yannick emerged from his office. “Davis, Kirke. Attempted bank robbery downtown. Get down there and take witness statements.”

I stood. “On it, sir.”

***

Excerpt from SHATTERED SIGHT by Liz Milliron. Copyright 2025 by Liz Milliron. Reproduced with permission from Liz Milliron. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Liz Milliron is the Shamus-nominated author of the Homefront Mysteries, set in Buffalo, NY during the early years of WWII, the Laurel Highlands Mysteries set in the scenic Laurel Highlands of southwest Pennsylvania, and the Jackson Davis Mysteries set in Niagara Falls, NY. Her short fiction has been published in multiple anthologies including Murder Most International, Blood on the Bayou, and Murder Most Historical. Liz is a past president of the Pittsburgh Chapter of Sisters in Crime and the current Secretary, as well as the Education Liaison for the National Board of Sisters in Crime. She is also a member of International Thriller Writers, Pennwriters and the Historical Novel Society. Liz lives in the Laurel Highlands with her husband and a very spoiled retired-racer greyhound.

Catch Up With Liz Milliron:
LizMilliron.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @mary1414
Instagram - @LizMilliron
Threads - @LizMilliron
Facebook - @LizMilliron

 

 

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Interview of James L 'Etolle Author of River of Lies(#interview-#showcase)

 

I want to welcome James L'Etoile to Books R Us. James is surfing the Blogosphere with Partners In Crime Tours. Thanks for stopping by:
 

Detective Emily Hunter must be the voice for the voiceless

The homeless camps spread throughout the city of Sacramento are a topic of heated debate among residents. They’re considered undesirable—a nuisance—an eyesore. But when the camps fall victim to a string of devastating arson attacks, Detective Emily Hunter and her partner, Javier Medina, dive into the investigation and become acquainted with the real people whose lives have been destroyed.

The attacks only begin to draw attention when two of the victims are identified as the city’s former anti-homeless mayor and a camp social worker—but rather than strengthening the push for justice, the movement to completely abolish the camps intensifies.

The investigation becomes politically charged when Emily discovers who stands to gain from burning the homeless out of their shelters. She struggles to balance the high-stakes investigation with caring for her Alzheimer’s-stricken mother, whose condition is rapidly deteriorating. The investigation uncovers an unlikely suspect and a reluctant witness standing between Emily and the shocking truth. Can Emily overcome resistance and her personal obstacles to halt the attacks?

 

INTERVIEW

Can you tell us when you started writing?

I didn’t begin writing commercial fiction until I got out of prison—I mean when I retired from working in the prison system. I was an associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a former hostage negotiator, and director of California’s parole operations. One morning, I had my morning coffee on the patio and the book I was reading wasn’t very good. I tossed it aside and muttered, “I could do better than that.” Then, after another sip of coffee, I wondered if I could do something so audacious.

Classes at Book Passage Mystery Writers Conference got me started. After a few years of practice and learning about the craft of writing commercial fiction, I was off and running. Oh, I met that author—the one who’s book I tossed aside. I thanked them for the inspiration to begin writing.

Can you tell me who or what the inspiration for the book was?

There wasn’t a single inspiration for River of Lies. But one experience stuck with me while I was working in parole. I accompanied some of my parole agents on a tour of Los Angeles’s skid row, known as the largest homeless camp in the nation. A good number of the inhabitants were parolees and difficult to supervise in the dense and impermanent encampment. The loosely knit community possessed a structure and organization of its own. That stuck with me as I wrote the scenes in River of Lies, starting with the opening passages in a sprawling homeless camp.

Can you tell us how you came up with your title?

River of Lies came from the location of several large encampments along the riverbanks in Sacramento. The Lies part—well, the city is a government town. Where politics and promises come together, lies are born.

Can you tell us a little about your main characters?

Detective Emily Hunter is the main character in this series. She’s brash, bold, and sometimes irreverent. She’s cut that way because she’s a strong woman in a traditionally male-dominated profession. She must push a little harder to get the same recognition her male counterparts receive. Emily doesn’t suffer fools well and has her share of old-school cops who are a little jealous of her success. She also balances her demanding day job with caring for her mother who suffers from dementia.

Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it?

I don’t experience writer’s block. I might get stuck on a scene of a character, but what that tells me is that I’m looking at that passage the wrong way. I’m missing something. Now I’m a died-in-the-wool plotter, so I generally know where the story is headed. When I’m stuck, I’ll jump to the end and write that scene. Inevitably, I’ll find what the earlier scene needed.

Where is this book set, and why did you choose that setting?

River of Lies is set in Sacramento. It’s a city with a history of corruption, backroom deals, and a very transient daytime population. Crime is rampant and there is a historical tie to serial killers in the city. The government workers go home to their districts and it’s a city that breeds anonymity. What better place to set a crime fiction series?

What’s next on your writing to-do list?

The publishing business is slow. River of Lies is coming out now. The next book in the series, Illusion of Truth, is set for release in January 2026. The fourth Detective Nathan Parker series book, Sins of the Father, is set for July 2025. I’m working on the next books in each of those series now.

Can you tell me about your experiences finding a publisher for the book?

River of Lies is published by Oceanview Publishing. They’ve been great to work with and “get” Emily and her quirks. I’ve known the original owners for quite some time, but it wasn’t until my agent submitted the manuscript for Face of Greed that we came together on the project.

If you were going to hang out with one of your characters, who would that be?

Despite her sarcastic front, I think Emily would be fun to hang out with. We share a similar taste in 90s alternative and grunge music and Irish whiskey. Wonder where she got that from?

What do you like to do for fun when you’re not writing?

It seems like I’m always writing. But I spend a bit of time with my two Corgis, who help me figure out plot points during our walks. Hence, the name the Plot Hounds. They’ve both been certified as therapy dogs and visited people in memory care, assisted living, and hospice.

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, and the Public Safety Writers Award. River of Lies is his most recent novel. Look for Sins of the Father and Illusion of Truth, coming soon. You can find out more at www.jamesletoile.com

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural; Thriller
Published by: Oceanview Publishing
Publication Date: January 7, 2025
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 9781608095896 (ISBN10: 1608095894)
Series: A Detective Emily Hunter Mystery, 2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview Publishing

Author Bio:

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, and the Public Safety Writers Award. River of Lies is his most recent novel. Look for Sins of the Father and The Red List, coming soon. He is the host of Authors on the Air, served as a board member of his local Sister-in-Crime chapter, sits on the Mystery Writers of America national board, and serves as the Director of QueryFest at ThrillerFest for International Thriller Writers.

 

Catch Up With James L’Etoile:
www.jamesletoile.com
Prison to the Page Newsletter
Goodreads
BookBub – @crimewriter
Instagram – @authorjamesletoile
Threads – @authorjamesletoile
X – @JamesLEtoile
Facebook – @AuthorJamesLetoile

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

It would be easy to float away in the darkness and let the current pull her under, too. She’d thought about it several times before—in her “dark times,” as her ex-husband used to call them.

Lisa’s life hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped. Abusive parents, a failed marriage, the booze—so much booze—all swirled together to set her on this path. Losing her apartment finally put her out here. Now this. She thought she’d escaped, but running from her past hadn’t worked. The ghosts of years past had stripped everything away. Lisa had nothing left, not even hope.

The tug of the Sacramento River on her legs was temping, and the spring snow runoff numbed Lisa’s thighs as she waded out.

Lisa closed her eyes and pictured herself lying back and allowing the river to put an end to it.

“Momma?”

Lisa’s eyes shot open.

Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted the faint outline of her daughter standing on the riverbank. The eight-year-old wore a thin blue t-shirt with a unicorn on the front, a threadbare pair of jeans, holding a stuffed bunny with one ear missing. The girl’s face registered confusion.

“Baby, go on back to the tent,” Lisa said.

Lisa felt her daughter would be better off without her. The mother’s sins cast a damning shadow. But she couldn’t abandon Willow. Not like this. Lisa knew what it was like to be an orphan in an unfriendly world. The future of an eight-year-old alone in a homeless camp wasn’t the life Willow deserved.

“Momma, what are you doing?”

Lisa’s eyes welled. She didn’t need to tell her daughter the world was a hurtful place. She’d keep the secrets and not let her know there was nothing worth living for—for now.

“I’m coming, baby.”

Lisa turned and waded back toward the bank. Her daughter spent the last two years in one homeless camp or another. The tightly packed shelters made Lisa’s claustrophobia itch.

Lisa reached for her daughter and grabbed her, lifting the girl into a tight hug. Tears streamed down Lisa’s cheeks. Not because Lisa wanted to end her suffering. She’d considered that option before. The tears came from nearly making Willow an orphan and leaving the innocent girl behind in a homeless camp. Willow couldn’t fight off the predators who lurked in the darkness—like they did tonight.

From the river’s edge, the camp spread a quarter mile in either direction. There was never any official count because people came and went, died, were arrested, or simply disappeared from the camp. Lisa guessed there were over two hundred people living here in the city’s forgotten shadows.

It was time to move. When the camps get too big, bad things happen, and people talk.

Lights flickered from small campfires and lanterns throughout the settlement. Lisa thought they looked like fallen stars. She hugged Willow a little closer and followed the trail back into the camp.

She unzipped the fly on their tent and scooted inside. Their belongings—a change of clothes, a towel to share, and two children’s books lay on one end of the nylon dome tent. A pair of sleeping bags took up most of the space. Lisa knew they were lucky to have them—others didn’t.

“All right, sweetie, let’s get you settled in for the night.”

Willow wiggled into her sleeping bag with her stuffed rabbit. Lisa grabbed a book, The Mouse and the Motorcycle, one of her daughter’s favorites. The eight-year-old could recite most of the story by heart.

Lisa opened the book when a loud commotion erupted outside. It wasn’t uncommon in the camp. Fights over property, drugs, or imagined slights fed by drugs, alcohol, and glitchy mental health were a daily occurrence. Lisa learned the best thing to do was stay out of it and never get involved.

It sounded like the usual dust-up until the screams began.

“Stay here, Willow.”

Lisa crawled to the tent flap, zipped it open, and poked her head out.

Fire.

Flames erupted on the far side of the camp. It was always a risk in the cardboard condos and plastic tarp shelters along the riverbank. This was different. At least six structures were ablaze. People were running, backlit by the orange and yellow glow. The evening delta breeze fanned the flames, igniting another dozen tents.

The cheap nylon shelters went up like dried rice paper.

“Baby, get your shoes on.”

“What is it, Momma?”

“We need to—”

Lisa spotted two men in the chaos, both outlined by the flames behind them. They weren’t running. One set the next row of tents ablaze. The second man wielded a baseball bat and swung the aluminum cylinder at anyone who came near. A sickening tink sound echoed among the rows of tents when he bounced the bat off a man’s shoulder.

Lisa grabbed her daughter’s hand, pulling her from the tent. The girl’s eyes grew large when she spotted the fires.

Willow pulled away and ducked back into the tent.

“Willow Marie, don’t you pull away from me. Come here. We need to get away.”

Lisa felt the heat from the fire. It was spreading fast, and the flames jumped up into the trees within the camp.

Bending into the tent, Lisa found Willow gathering her stuffed animal and the books.

“Come now, we need to—”

Tink.

Lisa fell flat on the ground. The rounded end of the baseball bat shoved at her ribs. Dazed from a blow to the head, she didn’t move. Lisa registered a man’s boot stepping over her.

The flames grew closer.

Willow’s fear backed her into the far corner of the tent.

Lisa’s ragged voice called to her daughter. “Willow. Listen. I need—I need you to run. Hide. Go to the safe place—the rock where we hide things. Stay until I come for you.”

“I don’t want to go. I’m scared.”

“I know, baby. You have to be brave. Take Mr. Bunny and go, now.”

Willow clutched her stuffed animal, the book, and stepped through the tent flap.

“Momma, you have an owie.”

“I know, baby. I’ll be okay.”

It was a lie. Lisa knew she was far from okay. She could feel the pressure in her head building with each heartbeat.

“Go to the place we talked about, honey. Go quick.”

Willow’s eyes welled. She didn’t budge, frozen in fear before a scream from someone nearby broke her from the trance. Another row of tents went up in flames.

“Go.”

Willow hugged her bunny and trotted toward the river. Lisa lost sight of her through the smoke billowing through the camp.

She tried to get up and couldn’t move her legs. She crabbed forward using her arms, inching away from the burning camp.

Her tent flashed, and the flames consumed it in seconds. The melting fabric, plastic and nylon fibers fell on her. The molten material burned through her clothing and ate into the flesh on Lisa’s back.

The pain seared into her. Screams around her meant she wasn’t the only one. The two arsonists headed in the same direction Willow had fled.

“Stop them,” she cried. No one could hear over the chaos of the burning camp.

Lisa now wished the water had brought a calm end to everything. She didn’t expect this—the fire, searing flame, and torture. Part of her believed she deserved this fate for the pain she’d caused. Willow didn’t. The girl didn’t understand. Now, Lisa worried about what would happen to her sweet little girl. Mr. Bunny would not be enough.

The last thought before the flames ate at her pant legs. “I’ve failed you.”

***

Excerpt from River of Lies by James L’Etoile. Copyright 2025 by James L’Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L’Etoile. All rights reserved

 

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