Showing posts with label Chris Patchell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chris Patchell. Show all posts

Friday, August 11, 2017

"Dark Harvest" by Chris Patchell

REVIEW and GIVEAWAY
Dark Harvest
(A Holt Foundation Story Book 2)
by Chris Patchell

Dark Harvest (A Holt Foundation Story Book 2) by Chris Patchell

Dark Harvest is the second book in the Holt Foundation Story series by Chris Patchell. Also available: In the Dark (read my blog post).

In the Dark by Chris Patchell

Dark Harvest is currently on tour with Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours. The tour stops here today for my review, an excerpt, and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.


For another book by this author, please check out my blog post on Deadly Lies.

Description
Becky Kincaid ventures out in the middle of a snowstorm to buy a car seat for her unborn baby and never makes it home. When a second pregnant woman disappears, Marissa Rooney and the team at the Holt Foundation fear a sinister motive lurks behind the crimes.
Lead investigator, Seth Crawford, desperately searches for the thread that binds the two cases together, knowing that if he fails, another woman will soon be gone. While Seth hunts for clues, a madman has Marissa in his sights, and she carries a secret that could tear her whole world apart.
Can Seth stop the killer before he reaps his dark harvest?

Excerpt
Chapter 1
A sharp pain jabbed Rebecca Kincaid’s side, and she sucked in a breath. Her hand fell to the hard swell of her belly, rubbing gently. Round ligament pain, she figured, just one of the many joys of being pregnant.
“Chillax, kiddo,” she said to the baby dancing inside her as the pain subsided.
Smiling to herself, she glanced around to see if anyone else was close enough to hear. Some people called you crazy for talking to yourself in public. She caught the eye of a redhead standing beside a stack of Diaper Genies. Dressed in blue jeans and a red flannel coat, the woman smiled. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, older than Becky, but not as old as some of the women in her prenatal classes. The woman’s gaze strayed to the strained buttons around Becky’s baby bump.
“When are you due?”
“Two more weeks and counting.” She grimaced. Being this big, nothing was comfortable. Her back ached, her hips hurt, and even sleeping was hard.
The woman smiled sympathetically. “I know, right? I felt the same way when I was pregnant, like I was Sigourney Weaver in that Alien movie with a little monster just dying to get out.”
“I know what you mean,” Becky said, breaking eye contact.
Truthfully, she hated that movie. Violent and gory. Comparing a baby to a bloodthirsty alien tearing its way out of its mother’s womb, well, that was kind of sick. She was much more of a romantic-comedy kind of girl.
“I have a toddler at home,” the woman said. “Seems like just yesterday I was in maternity clothes, though.”
Becky faked a laugh and turned down an aisle, away from the stranger.
She parked the cart and ran her hand over the Chicco car seat sitting center shelf. She didn’t need her mother to tell her it cost too much. Most of her baby stuff she’d picked up at the Salvation Army store or had gotten handed down from the women at work, but Becky knew that car seats were one of those things you had to buy new. On her waitressing salary, the best she could afford was the cheapest one on the rack. And even that was pricey.
The doctor said that most first babies came late, but in the last day or two, she’d had a few contractions. Fake contractions, the nurse said. Whatever they were, they freaked her out. She knew she wouldn’t be able to bring the baby home from the hospital without a car seat, so here she was, shopping in the middle of a freak snowstorm. If her mother knew that she was out on a night like tonight, she’d have a fit.
Becky fingered her necklace, grabbed the white-gold heart, and ran it along the chain as she searched the shelves for something more affordable. Of course, the one she wanted was up on the top shelf, well out of reach. She scanned the area looking for a box stowed a bit lower. There were none.
Becky sighed and glanced down the aisle. Didn’t anyone work in this store?
Where was Nathan when she needed him? All six foot three of him could have reached up and grabbed the box off the shelf with no problem at all, but at five foot two, almost as wide as she was tall these days, it was hopeless.
Frowning, she stepped on the bottom shelf and stretched high, wiggling her fingertips in a desperate bid to tip the box toward her. The metal shelf groaned under her weight. It shifted suddenly, and Becky’s stomach lurched. Thrown off balance, she careened backward, hands flailing wildly as she grasped for something—anything to stop her fall. Nothing but air.
Oh God. The baby.
Strong hands gripped her coat, catching her inches from the floor. Heart racing, Becky closed her eyes and regained her footing. Her hands flew to her belly. The baby kicked her hard, as if chastising her for being so careless.
“Careful, honey. You don’t want to fall in your condition,” a woman said. It was the redhead again. “Let me get that.”
Becky bit her lip and stared at the damned box. Why didn’t they put the boxes lower where pregnant moms could reach? It was probably some stupid marketing trick to get you to buy the most expensive ones. They were at eye level.
“Maybe we should find a clerk,” Becky said. “I’m not sure you should be climbing up there either.”
“If we wait for someone else to come along, we’ll both die of old age. Besides, we gals have got to help each other out.”
The redhead winked. Stepping onto the warped bottom shelf, she reached high overhead and slid the baby seat from its perch. Climbing back down, she turned and dropped the box safely into Becky’s cart.
“There,” she said, clapping the dust from her hands with a satisfied smile.
“Thanks,” Becky said. “If my boyfriend were here . . .” She trailed off, irritation rippling through her. Why was it that she was the only one responsible for all of this baby stuff? She hadn’t gotten pregnant by herself.
The redhead’s eyes narrowed.
“Where is the baby daddy? Shouldn’t he be helping you with this?”
“He’s out with his friends. He’ll be home soon, though.”
Becky blushed and turned away. Why was she lying to a perfect stranger? Nathan wouldn’t be home soon. In fact, she didn’t know when she would see him again. For her, home was a dreary little basement apartment that she could barely afford, while he lived in a sprawling frat house minutes away from the University of Washington campus. She had only been there once. The night she had gotten pregnant.
The last three dozen texts she sent him went unanswered. He ignored her baby updates. She’d even sent him images from the ultrasound.
But he’d never responded. He didn’t answer her calls. She might as well not exist. Pregnant and alone, she was an eighteen-year-old walking cliché. And what was worse, her mother had been totally right about Nathan, not that Becky had any intention of admitting it.
Becky’s shoulders slumped. A painful lump formed in her throat, and she rubbed her belly.
“Men are pigs, honey,” the redhead said, patting Becky’s shoulder. “The sooner you learn that lesson, the easier your life is going to be.”
Even though Nathan was ignoring her, Becky still held a sliver of hope deep in her heart that once the baby was born, he’d come around. Once he held his son, looked down into his beautiful face, everything would change.
Becky sniffed and dabbed her nose on her sleeve. She could hope.
“Do you have someone who can help you carry the baby seat to your car? It’s slippery out there. You almost fell once today; you don’t want to risk that baby again.”
The woman reached out and patted her baby bump. Becky recoiled, startled by the presumption of the stranger’s touch.
“Sorry,” the woman said, curling her fingers into a fist. “Force of habit.”
Becky grasped the handle of the shopping cart and steered it down the narrow aisle.
“Thanks for your help but I can manage,” she called over her shoulder. In her haste to escape the awkward situation, the front wheels slammed into a shelf. The cart shuddered, and Becky’s belly ran up against the handle. She gasped, pain shooting through her.
“You okay?”
The bright flash of pain subsided. Cheeks burning, Becky waved her hand and kept going, wanting to distance herself from the woman. She’d already embarrassed herself enough for one night. Besides, it was late, and her back was killing her. All she wanted to do was go home and stretch out on the couch, maybe catch an episode of The New Girl before she fell asleep.
Waiting at the register, she looked at all the baby things crammed on the shelves. They were so sweet. Stuffed bunnies with long, floppy ears; burp cloths; and pacifiers.
Her belly tensed. The baby kicked like he knew he was going to be born into a life of hand-me-downs. A fake contraction rippled through her, and she released a short breath. At least she thought it was fake. She wasn’t ready for the real kind yet.
Unable to stop herself, Becky picked a stuffed bunny off the shelf. Raising it to her face, she ran its baby-soft fur across the bridge of her nose. It smelled powdery fresh and reminded her of her favorite stuffed animal from when she was a kid. A potbellied bear with a matted brown coat and a large blue nose. She’d loved that bear. Took it with her on every trip. Slept with it every night for far longer than she cared to admit. Her mom had restuffed that bear at least three times that she could recall.
She felt a pang thinking about her mom. They hadn’t spoken for five months now, ever since that terrible fight they’d had about Nathan. And the abortion her mother thought Becky should have.
She couldn’t kill her baby.
“Ma’am?” the clerk called to her. She looked up. The couple in front of her was gone, and the line had cleared. She was next.
“The bunny?” The clerk held out her hand for the stuffed animal. Becky shook her head and forced a smile. The bunny was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Squeezing the downy soft tummy one last time, she set the stuffed animal back on the shelf.
“Just the car seat,” she said, digging for her wallet. Paying cash for her purchase, she left the store.
Thick flakes of snow shone under the streetlights and swirled around her in the frigid wind. A blanket of white covered the icy parking lot.
Becky pressed the trunk button on the remote. Some asshole had parked his black van right next to her. With the whole empty parking lot to choose from, why would he park so close?
Shit luck, she supposed, the only kind she seemed to have these days.
The wheels on Becky’s cart rattled on the chunky snow and ice. She slipped. Catching herself, she kept going. On a grim night like this, most smart people stayed home.
Snowflakes caught in her eyelashes, and others brushed her cheeks like icy angel kisses. Becky stowed the car seat in the trunk. The nearest cart caddy was a football field away. Okay. She probably shouldn’t abandon the cart, but screw it. She was tired, pregnant, and it was damned cold out here. No one would blame her. She launched her cart through the empty parking lot. It ground to a halt the next row over.
Shivering as the damp night air wrapped around her and the snowflakes melted in her hair, Becky rounded the side of the car and glared at the van. He’d left her eighteen inches of space. How the hell was she supposed to open her door wide enough to crawl into the driver’s seat? It would have been difficult even if she had been her normal size, but in her current condition, it was impossible.
But what choice did she have? Wait out here until the asshole showed up and moved his ratty van? With the way her luck was going, it probably belonged to some kid who worked in the store and wouldn’t be off for hours yet. She could try the passenger’s side, but crawling over the gearshift and the console between the seats in her condition . . .
Becky sighed. Feeling dumb and desperate, she dialed Nathan’s number. His picture flashed on her phone. He had a handsome face with blue eyes and a smattering of light-brown freckles. She waited. One ring. Two. Five. The call went through to voicemail the way it always did. Becky’s stomach heaved, and she pocketed the phone.
Glancing up, she eyed the van and set her jaw.
She could do this.
Easing her way between the two vehicles, her swollen belly smearing the dirty side of the van, she waddled toward the driver’s door. The side mirrors of the vehicles almost touched.
Behind her, she heard the crunch of shoes on snow. Becky’s breath caught.
She spun, her belly scraping the passenger’s door as she looked behind her.
The redhead from the store smiled.
“God, you scared me.” Becky slapped a hand over her racing heart as adrenaline shot through her system at warp speed. The baby must have felt it too. He twisted and squirmed inside her.
“Sorry. I would have called out, but I didn’t know your name.”
“Becky,” she said, still gripping the keys tight in her hand. She drew in a couple of cleansing breaths.
“I think you dropped this.”
The woman held something out in front of her. It was the stuffed animal from the store—the snow-white bunny with floppy ears. Becky frowned and shook her head.
“It’s not mine. I . . .”
She was so focused on the rabbit that she didn’t hear the grinding sound of the van’s door open until it was too late. Large gloved hands clamped onto her shoulders and heaved her inside. She landed on her belly. A bright bolt of pain ripped through her. The air rushed from her lungs.
The front door slammed closed. The engine roared to life. Becky screamed. A stabbing pain, like the sharp pinch of broken glass, burned at the base of her neck. She tried to push the man away, but he pinned her hands.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The van rumbled out of the parking lot. A right turn, then a left.
Becky screamed again. Her vision narrowed, a black tunnel growing wide around the edges. Her eyelids drooped, heavy as lead, until they fluttered closed.
[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]


Praise for the Book
"Patchell perfectly captures the complexity of human nature." ~ Quiet Fury Books
"Another pulse-pounding thrill ride to save innocents while chasing bad guys. I love these characters, they are continuing to change and grow in believable ways." ~ Amazon Reviewer
"This is an excellent story about murder, deception, and mental illness. The characters are interesting, believable, and well developed." ~ Amazon Reviewer

My Review
I received this book in return for an honest review.

By Lynda Dickson
When a pregnant college girl goes missing, the Hold Foundation steps in to investigate her disappearance. Former cop Seth is now an investigator at the foundation. He is also dating Marissa, the mother of Brooke, the girl he rescued in the first book. When another pregnant girl is kidnapped, Seth begins to suspect that an illegal adoption ring is at work. But the truth turns out to be even more sinister. While Seth and Marissa struggle to cope with personal issues and work problems, the kidnapper becomes more and more unstable. Will they be able to stop him before anyone gets hurt?
The events of this book take place two months after the previous book. While it is not strictly necessary to read the first book before reading this one, I suggest you do. The story is told from seven different points-of-view, but mainly those of Seth and Marissa. The kidnapper's identity is revealed to the reader from the outset; using this technique, the author creates sympathy for him by showing us his childhood, vulnerabilities, and relationships.
Once again, there are a number of editing errors, and everyone is still pursing their lips. Jesse, the bartender from the previous book, appears again, working at two different bars, causing Seth to ask, "Was Jesse Morgan the only bartender in town?" I think he might have read my review of the previous book, where I said, "it seems that Jesse Morgan is the only bartender in Seattle."
A riveting suspense novel that will keep you on the edge of your seat.
Warnings: coarse language, sexual references, sex scene, graphic violence.

About the Author
Chris Patchell
Chris Patchell is the bestselling author of In the Dark and the Indie Reader Discovery Award winning novel Deadly Lies. Having recently left her long-time career in tech to pursue her passion for writing full-time, Chris pens gritty suspense novels set in the Pacific Northwest, where she lives with her family and two neurotic dogs.






Giveaway
Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

Links

Friday, February 26, 2016

"In the Dark" by Chris Patchell

REVIEW and GIVEAWAY
In the Dark
by Chris Patchell


Chris Patchell's In the Dark is currently on tour with Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours. The tour stops here today for my review, an excerpt, and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.


For another book by this author, please check out my blog post on Deadly Lies.

Description
When the worst happens and her daughter goes missing, a mother will do anything to find her …
Marissa Rooney’s daughter, Brooke, has been missing for days. Her roommate hasn’t seen her since that night in the bar. Standing in the middle of her daughter’s dorm room with a half-used vial of insulin clenched in her hand, Marissa comes to the terrifying realization that if she has Brooke’s insulin, it means that Brooke does not.
The missing person’s investigation takes a sudden and deadly turn when the police discover the body of another college student who went missing a week before Brooke. Desperate to find her daughter, Marissa fears time is running out.
But she isn’t alone in her terror. A phantom from Marissa’s past is lurking in the shadows, waiting in the night, and holding her family captive … In the dark.

Excerpt
Prologue
The heavy gate groaned shut. After engaging the lock, he pulled the backpack out of his Jeep and slung it over his shoulder. It was a rare fall day in the Pacific Northwest, and he planned to take full advantage of the good weather.
He had work to do.
He walked a quarter of a mile along the fence line and stopped. Then he pulled a “No Trespassing” sign from the pack and propped it against the fence. With a few sure strokes of a hammer, he nailed it to the post. The dull blows echoed in the quiet woods.
Branches and fallen leaves popped and crackled beneath his feet as he worked his way methodically along the ridge, checking the barbed wire fence for gaps. The cinnamon smell of the turning leaves was a sure sign that hunting season would soon begin, and he couldn’t afford to have strangers stumbling onto his property.
He nailed the last sign to the post.
There. That should keep the bastards out.
He turned and started down the rugged trail carved into the steep hillside. A couple of hundred feet below, the valley floor glimmered like an emerald in the late-day sun. Three cabins stood in the clearing beside the Tolt River. A half dozen more were scattered along the upper ridge, overlooking Lake Langlois.
The place had been a youth camp once, before the drowning of a teenage girl had destroyed its reputation. Afterward the camp had closed and the cabins had fallen into disrepair.
It was a shame, really. He had fond memories of the place. While his father had spent the summer basking in an alcoholic haze, he’d spent it exploring the woods, far away from his father’s violent mood swings. By any measure it was a win-win.
Dappled sunlight shone through the thick canopy of branches overhead. He loved days like this. Alone in the woods, he felt at peace with the world.
A scream rent the air, shattering the stillness of the afternoon.
It was shrill. Human.
Crows fled the safety of the trees, a torrent of black wings flooding the blue sky. Heart racing, he started to run. The uneven ground slid beneath his boots. Branches slapped at his face, and he ran faster, driven on by her panicked cries.
The valley floor was muddy after the long weeks of rain. The spongy earth slowed his pace as he raced toward the river.
Another scream. Louder.
“Help me. Oh God. Please.”
It was coming from the cabin farthest from the water’s edge.
His boots pounded up the wooden steps. Hinges squawked in protest as he crashed through the door.
The stench hit him hard—stale sweat and human waste. His stomach churned.
At first he could see nothing, his eyes blinded in the dim light. Then her slender form materialized out of the darkness—a slip of a girl, barely more than a hundred pounds. She was standing near the center of the room, her hands bound behind her back. A soiled University of Washington T-shirt hanging from her skinny frame. Pink panties. And nothing else.
The relief on her face froze the instant she spotted him. A small sob escaped her lips. She stepped back, retreating into the shadows.
As if she could hide.
“Now, Kim,” he said. “What was the rule?”
Her jaw worked, but no sound emerged. She took another pitiful step back, her wide eyes brimming with fear.
“What was the rule?”
His voice boomed in the small cabin. She flinched like a beaten dog.
“No calling out,” she mumbled.
“I can’t hear you. What’s the rule?”
“No calling out.”
“No calling out,” he repeated, smiling thinly. “That’s right. You leave me no choice.”
“Please,” she said, voice trembling, tears leaking from her eyes. “I’ll do better, I promise. I promise…”
He stepped toward her, his tread echoing on the bare plank floor. She shrank back, trembling, and stumbled over the bucket. Without her hands to stop her, she crashed to the floor.
He stopped. His six-foot frame loomed above her. She averted her gaze, looking anywhere but at him.
This will not do.
He hunkered down and gripped her narrow chin, forcing her gaze to meet his.
“Please,” she whispered.
Her mouth trembled.
“Aw, princess,” he said, running his thumb slowly across her swollen bottom lip. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
He reached down and unbuckled his belt.

Chapter 1
There was something seriously fucked up about turning a mortuary into a bar, Drew Matthews thought as he walked through the heavy oak doors of the Chapel. While much of the original architecture of the 1920s building remained intact, the interior displayed the tumors of decades of evolving taste. There were a few recent growths, like the U-shaped bar in the center of the former embalming room. Lit up like a runway at Sea-Tac International Airport, it guided him in.
The drink menu read like the King James Bible, with parables about sins and martinis.
Arm propped against the bar, he ordered the Bruce Lee, a fast, tawny drink that howled like a banshee with fists of fury. It was named after the famous Seattle martial artist whose embalming had reportedly taken place in this very bar.
But there was nothing dead about the place now. Swarming schools of urban hipsters out for their Saturday-night fix swelled like dividing cells. So many desperate souls crowding the bar, looking for that elusive thing missing from their lives. Attention. Sex. Connection. Drew felt the pulsing need, so palpable he could almost taste it.
Tension rippled across his shoulders, into the base of his brain. If ever there was a night he’d felt like getting good and truly shitfaced, this was it. He knew he couldn’t give in to the impulse though. Meeting the friends was a rite of passage he must endure for his relationship with Alicia Wright to progress. And he had every intention of taking their relationship to the next level.
He’d already picked out a sparkly new ring.
A hand ran up his back and he turned. Alicia had dressed well for her starring role. A fitted white blouse hugged her athletic curves, the plunging neckline low enough to reveal a delectable view of her cleavage. A tight black miniskirt rode up her well-toned thighs. In highheeled boots, she was almost at eye level with Drew. He found the accumulated effect arousing.
Alicia leaned in close. He caught a whiff of her perfume. Dark. Floral. Orchids. Her ruby lips brushed his ear, sending sparks jangling along his taut nerve endings.
“Hey, look who finally decided to show up,” she said in a sexy, throaty murmur.
“Sorry, I had to work a little late. Came straight here.”
“Well, grab your drink and let’s go. Gretchen’s waiting.”
Drew raised a finger and drained his glass in a long swallow. Alicia raised her eyebrows.
“You okay?”
“I’ve got some catching up to do.”
So what if he was a little nervous? Who wouldn’t be? Alicia and her pack of prep-school friends had grown up in a different world. While their nannies had dropped them off at private schools and playdates, he’d watched cancer devour his mother and his father fall to pieces. What could they possibly know about being hungry enough to steal food, or hiding in the woods all night, afraid to come home because your father was a mean drunk? Or being left behind, abandoned by your evil stepmother?
Alicia grasped his hand and tugged him away from the bar. Drew followed her up a narrow staircase to a wide balcony overlooking the main floor. The speakers blared and the upper deck swarmed with life.
He definitely needed another drink.
Alicia threaded her way to the front of the platform, where she stopped. Her back to the railing, she looped an arm around the shoulders of a chubby girl.
“Drew, this is Gretchen Lange. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”
“What she means to say is that we’ve been BFFs since third grade,” Gretchen tittered.
Bright-blue eyes sparkled in her doughy white face. A ridiculous mass of strawberry blonde curls bounced and jiggled when she laughed.
Drew stretched out his hand.
“Gretchen, at last. Alicia’s told me so much about you.”
“Not too much, I hope.”
“She didn’t tell me you were so lovely,” he said.
She wasn’t really. Clad in a skintight floral dress, she looked like a gaudy pink hibiscus.
Smelled like one too. Up close, her perfume made his eyes water. But he knew the comment would score points with both women, so he said it anyway.
“Shame on you, Alicia, for keeping this one all to yourself.”
“She was afraid I’d embarrass her,” Drew said.
“You? Looking all James Bond? Not likely.”
“James Bond?” Drew asked, his lips stretching into a grin.
“Careful, Gretchen,” Alicia said. “You’ll only feed his ego, which is enormous, by the way.”
Drew’s mouth dropped open in mock incredulity.
“Don’t you believe a word of it,” he said, splaying a hand across his chest. “I’m the very embodiment of modesty.”
“Oh, I can see that,” Gretchen cried. “Modest and charming. A killer combination.”
Gretchen wasn’t very bright, but watching her was fun—in a train-wreck kind of way.
Alicia shook back the dark curtain of her glossy hair and leaned into him. The warm press of her body had him thinking more about the after-party than the festivities at hand, and he wished he could push the fast-forward button on the evening. Get to the part where she was his alone.
Glancing around, he spied the waitress on the other side of the platform. Raising his hand, he caught her eye. She hustled over and he ordered another drink—a nod to the serial killer Ted Bundy this time.
Moments later more of Alicia’s friends arrived. Amid a flurry of hugs and kisses, Alicia made the introductions.
“Tracy, Madison, and Liam,” she said, her bright eyes glittering.
The anorexic spandex twins could have passed for sisters with their long blonde hair and skintight dresses. The guy was tall, with a swimmer’s build and a bored, pouty look that said exactly what he thought: they were all beneath him. Ice-blue eyes stared at Drew through a fringe of wispy blond bangs in a messy, chin-length cut that could easily have cost a couple of hundred bucks.
Liam’s hand wedged into the small of Alicia’s back, his little finger inches above the curve of her ass. Eyeing Drew with the clinical stare of a scientist assessing his subject, Liam smiled. The bastard was baiting him. Wondering just how far he could push before Drew lost his shit.
He wanted to plow the prick in the face. Instead he grasped his ring and twisted it around his finger. The bloodstone ring glimmered red in the light. He remembered his father’s fist lashing out, how the ring had gashed his cheek. But he was no longer that boy. Now he knew there was more than one way to win a fight.
Drew tore his gaze away from Liam and scanned the upper deck.
Where the fuck is the waitress?
Apparently the universe heard him because just then the beer wench appeared, hefting a tray of jewel-colored cocktails. Like a frat boy at a freshman party, Drew inhaled half of his in a single swallow. Vodka burned a fiery path down his throat, and he realized with regret that he should have ordered a double.
“Drew, is it? Tell us how you met Alicia,” Liam shouted over the throbbing house music.
“We met at the investment firm where she works. I was meeting with my financial advisor when she walked in. She took pity on me when I asked for her number.”
Alicia smiled. “Pity had nothing to do with it. He asked me out for dinner, and the rest is history.”
“Investments, eh? Tell me about your portfolio,” Liam said, swirling an electric-blue drink around in his glass with his free hand.
“Why? Do you have some wisdom to share?” Alicia asked.
“Not likely,” Gretchen scoffed. “You see, Drew, Liam here is Seattle royalty. His father founded one of the first successful dot-coms and sold before the bubble burst. Unlike the rest of us working stiffs, he doesn’t worry about petty things like money.”
“I like to dabble in stocks.” Liam shrugged, sipping his drink.
“That’s sweet,” Gretchen quipped with a small, sour look that made Drew smile.
“Don’t you have people to do that for you?” Drew asked.
“Sure, but everyone needs a hobby.”
“A hobby? Now that’s funny,” Gretchen snorted, sloshing her drink onto her dress.
Cheeks flushing red, she glanced around for a napkin. Drew handed his over. Dabbing at her dress, Gretchen scowled at Liam.
“See what you made me do?”
“Not me, Gretch. You always were a sloppy drunk.”
“Liam!” Alicia said.
“It’s true. Don’t you remember the time we all went to dinner at that place?” Liam said, snapping his fingers like he was trying to recall. “You remember, Alicia, the posh little place in Madison Park.”
“Crush?”
“Yeah, that’s it, Crush. Gretchen got so wasted, the maître d’ hauled her out of there…”
“Escorted her, you mean,” Alicia said.
Liam waved a hand. “Whatever. The whole way out of the restaurant, she’s yelling at him, calling him names…”
“Until she threw up on his shoes,” Alicia blurted, before slapping her hand across her mouth like she’d just spilled a secret.
“Sweetheart,” Liam said. He paused and turned his affectionate gaze on Alicia. “You stripped down to your panties and danced in the fountain.”
“That’s right,” Gretchen said, her flaming-red face breaking into a smile.
“It was epic,” Liam roared, and the whole group erupted in laughter.
They spent the next half hour reliving highlights from their glory days—like the time Liam and Alicia took his father’s private jet to Paris for the weekend—while Drew stood at the edge of the group and looked on. An outsider. He laughed at the right moments. Feigned interest.
Checked his watch. The minutes crawled by.
By eleven thirty the party was in full swing, but he was done. Alicia turned to him, as if suddenly recalling his presence.
“Get me another drink?”
It came out sounding more like a command than a request, and Drew bristled. Liam shot him a condescending smile and smoothed his hand over Alicia’s ass.
A hot burst of anger surged through Drew.
“Sure,” he said.
He grabbed Alicia by the hand and tugged her toward him. His eyes boring deep into hers, he leaned down and kissed her hard. Through the thin fabric of her shirt, he felt her stiffen, resist. So he deepened the kiss. His tongue probed the depths of her mouth.
All conversation stopped. The throbbing beat of the house music pulsed, and Alicia’s face glowed bright red as she pulled away.
Drew released her and winked at Liam on his way by. Last call. He had to get out of here before he did something stupid. But first he needed another drink.
And then what?
Then he’d do the smart thing. He’d go home and cool off. He’d deal with Alicia later.
After all, she wouldn’t have any trouble finding a ride home.

Praise for the Book
"An edge-of-your-seat suspense novel. It scared the hell out of me. Read it with the lights on!" ~ Robert Dugoni, Amazon #1 and New York Times bestselling author of My Sister’s Grave
"As with Chris Patchell's other book, Deadly Lies I expected to be engaged in her second book. I was completely wrong: I was absolutely riveted. Patchell has grown as a writer in this book and it shows. She is becoming a force to be reckoned with. The characters develop throughout the book and the storyline has a lot of suspense. You simply don't know what is coming next ... which is why I had so many rough mornings because I was up reading In the Dark late the night before. Highly recommend Patchell's books!" ~ Giovanna Daldassarre
"I won't lie - this story is scary. But it's also a rich drama woven around complex characters that pull you into their world. From the first page, I couldn't put it down, and the pace continues to build, along with the suspense, until the very end. I won't ruin the surprising twists and turns of the plot by enumerating them here. Just read it, and enjoy. Kudos to Patchell for a wonderfully-written second novel." ~ KAS
"What an amazing book! It was a real page-turner and once I'd started reading it, I resented any interruption [...] I could see this book as the start of a new series. I would certainly enjoy learning more about Marissa and her family. If you are looking for a great plot and edge-of-your seat, nail-biting suspense, In the Dark is definitely the book for you." ~ Jackie Roche
"If you're looking for a spine-tingling thriller with a strong cast of characters look no further. Chris Patchell's masterful weaving of this dark and intriguing tale kept me hooked all the way to the climactic end. I can definitely see this as the beginning of a series, or maybe I just don't want to say goodbye to Marissa Rooney, a vulnerable yet tough-as-nails mom, and Seth Crawford, a conflicted Seattle police detective." ~ RJB

My Review


By Lynda Dickson
When her diabetic daughter Brooke goes missing, Marissa knows that it is critical to find her as soon as possible. While the police don't take her concerns seriously, Marissa receives help from an unexpected source. Brooke is being kept in the dark, both literally and figuratively, but with a growing pool of likely suspects, will Detective Seth Crawford find her in time?
The book begins with a chilling scene featuring our anonymous villain. The ensuing short chapters are told from at least six different points-of-view. We are introduced to a lot of characters, and we have to piece together how their stories intersect. I could see the plot going in several different directions, but the suspense is lost once the kidnapper's identity is revealed to the reader; I would have preferred the villain to remain anonymous for a bit longer.
There are a couple of minor editing errors, an overuse of similes, too much lip pursing, the annoying use of full names anytime anyone is introduced, and way too many coincidences. And it seems that Jesse Morgan is the only bartender in Seattle. Nevertheless, the action is non-stop, especially towards the end and, because our villain is so unpredictable, you never know what will happen next. The pace alone will keep you reading.
Warnings: coarse language, sexual references, sex scene, graphic violence.

About the Author
When Chris Patchell isn't hiking in the Cascade Mountains or hanging out with family and friends, she is working at her hi-tech job or writing gritty suspense novels. Writing has been a lifelong passion for Chris. She fell in love with storytelling in the third grade when her half-page creative writing assignment turned into a five-page story on vampires. Even back then Chris had a gift for writing intricate plots that were so good her father refused to believe she didn't steal them from comic books.
Years later, Chris spent long afternoons managing her own independent record store and writing romance novels. After closing the record store and going to college, Chris launched a successful career in hi-tech. She married, had kids but amid all the madness, the itch to write never really went away. So she started writing again. Not romance this time - suspense filled with drama, and angst, speckled with a little bit of blood.
Why suspense? Chris blames her obsession with the dark on two things: watching Stephen King movies as a kid and spending ridiculous amounts of time commuting in Seattle traffic. "My stories are based on scenarios I see every day, distorted through the fictional lens. And my stories come with the added bonus of not having to be restrained by socially acceptable behavior."
Recipient of the 2015 Indie Reader Discovery Award for Deadly Lies.

Giveaway
Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win one of five paperback copies of In the Dark by Chris Patchell (US only).

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