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#blogtour Pismo Beach Sniper by Topper Jones

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A sniper.

 A surf contest. 

A father with everything to lose.

Pismo Beach Sniper

A Thad Hanlon/ Bri de la Guerra Mystery Book 3

by Topper Jones

Genre: Private Investigator Mystery 

When sniper fire erupts at the Central Coast Surf Trials at
Pismo Beach, private investigator Thad Hanlon is thrust into every parent’s
worst nightmare. His eleven-year-old son and two teammates are shot while
surfing—one critically injured—plunging the contest into chaos and terrorizing
the tight-knit Five Cities beach community.

The shooter disappears, torching his hideout, leaving only questions in his
wake. Random attack—or the first move in a deadly game? Why target young
surfers? And is the marksman finished…or just getting started?

Urged by desperate parents, Hanlon and his sharp-witted partner, Bri de la
Guerra, race to protect the kids as they train for the upcoming West Coast
Championships. But as the detective duo close in on the sniper, they uncover a
chilling truth: the surf team isn’t his ultimate target—and the nightmare is
far from over.

This gripping thriller will keep you turning pages late into the night.

 

What Critics Are Saying

“Engaging characters, wit, and suspense elevate this rip-curling
page-turner.”

— Kirkus Reviews

 

“Pismo Beach Sniper is a tense and fast-moving mystery
with real emotional stakes. The target audience is readers who enjoy mystery,
private investigator fiction, crime thrillers, action suspense, coastal noir,
and family-driven detective series. Readers who like Robert Crais’s Elvis Cole
and Joe Pike novels may appreciate the same mix of banter, loyalty, and
wounded-hearted heroism, though Jones swaps Los Angeles grit for Central Coast
surf and spiritual undertow.”

— Literary Titan   

 

“It felt like I was reading something akin to James Patterson: fast,
frighteningly imaginative, and furious with action. Pismo Beach
Sniper is a deftly plotted story of a man doing everything to keep his
child safe in a world where not only waves can kill.”

—R. Oserio, Readers’ Favorite Reviews

 

Amazon * Author’s Site * Bookbub * Goodreads

Chapter 1

I was sitting under a beach canopy in the spectator
section of the California Central Coast Surf Trials, watching the first heat of
the semifinals, when I heard the sonic crack of a large firearm. Something
long-range like the scoped high-precision rifle my business partner, Bri, uses
to qualify at the Five Cities Shoot’n Center.

“What was that?” my son’s surf coach asked. Gev Burian
was sitting on my left. “Sounded like it came from behind us.”

Bri de la Guerra, on my right, stood to check things
out. “Cityside, yeah. I’m thinking .30 cal. Maybe three-oh-eight.”

I swiveled to scan the low-rise buildings of downtown
Pismo—the seafood cafes, souvenir shops, and beach rentals. Clumps of tourists
meandering down narrow Pomeroy Avenue stopped. Some gazed skyward, herd-like,
examining the highest roofline—the old Hotel Pier Vista. Others rushed indoors.

When a second blast didn’t happen soon after, I saw
pedestrians raise their palms in the classic “what’s up” shrug before
continuing their weekend saunter. Some, trailing well-groomed dogs on leashes,
took refuge in their smartphones.

I turned to face the Pacific as Bri sat in her folding
chair. Coach Gev got out his binocs and we rejoined the hundreds of other
parents, friends, and supporters along the beach to watch the tournament.

Three junior surfers, ages eleven to twelve—”grommets”
in surf jargon—were perched on their boards 100 yards offshore in the chilly
morning waters north of Pismo Pier. The contestants wore different colored
jerseys over their wetsuits. Red jersey had priority takeoff; the next wave was
his. As the kids waited for the sets to roll in, they bobbed in the mushy surf
like sitting ducks.

“Yellow’s down!” Coach Gev shouted. He handed me his
binoculars. “The kid’s slumped sideways off his board.”

“Cramp, maybe?” I pressed the field glasses to the
bridge of my nose, fiddling with the adjustments. “January water temps are
cold, fifty-three, fifty-four degrees. These temps? He should have worn a 5/4/3
mm instead. Maybe even a—”

There was a second sonic crack. I watched Yellow’s board
splinter into pieces. Chunks of the foam core ringed the downed contestant as
he struggled to keep his head above water.

Red jersey, closest to Yellow, dropped prone and paddled
with fury toward him. Just as he was about to grab Yellow’s arm, I heard shot
three. There was a splash near the tail of Red’s board.

Red turned turtle, flipping his tri-fin surfboard over
so the bottom faced the sky. Only his hands, gripping the sides of the
shortboard, were exposed.

Shot four took out Red’s middle fin. Shots five and six
took out the two outer fins. Red let go of his board and sank out of view.

That left the eleven-year-old in the light blue jersey
as the only contender sitting on the water. My son, Zael, was in full
competition mode, hyper-focused on The One Thing—a wave with his name on it. A
wave built by the sea gods just for him, for his performance, his tricks, the
ones he’d stick. The 10-rating he’d be awarded by all three judges. That
perfect ten.

Zael was in the zone, tunnel vision his ally. Chaos
bending to will. He had no clue what had happened to Red and Yellow.

I popped out of my beach chair, sprinted from our shade
canopy to the shoreline, and screamed as I waded in. “Duck and cover, Zael! Get
down! Now!” I waved my arms, zigzagging through the shallows.

My son wasn’t hearing me, wasn’t seeing me, wasn’t even
attuned to my panic despite his gift for sensing things unspoken. Zael paddled
hard for takeoff, slid into the three-foot wave breaking off the pier, and
dropped into the curl. He drove down the line, pumping his board to build
speed, then bottom turned, and angled toward the lip to launch into his
signature 360-degree air rotation and—

Blam.

Shot seven.

Zael’s right leg buckled. He lost balance and angled
into a dive as far away from his board as his leash would let him. When he didn’t
come up for air…

Oceano Beach Bedlam

A Thad Hanlon/ Bri de la Guerra Mystery Book 2 

Hanlon & de la Guerra have gone full service. In this
second book in the surfing crime-fighter mystery series, Thad Hanlon and his
martial-arts-obsessed partner, Bri de la Guerra, hang out their shingle as
newly licensed private investigators. Now in addition to fraud-busting, the two
detectives do it all. Background checks. Surveillance. Even finding lost souls.
Just about anything that requires sleuthing or going undercover.

All they need is a client.

That’s when a former exotic dancer from Bakersfield CA shows up looking for her
surf prodigy son who’s gone missing in the wake of cult violence terrorizing
the California Central Coast.

 

What Critics
Are Saying

“A crunchy detective novel set in the world of California surfers.
Jones delivers a proper beach read, both in form and content.”

-Kirkus Reviews

 

“Honestly, I had a blast with this one. Oceano Beach
Bedlam is a smart and entertaining read. If you like your mysteries with
surfboards, sass, and just enough heart to keep you caring, this one’s for you.
It’s a great pick for fans of offbeat detectives, fast dialogue, and
sun-drenched noir with a brain and a soul. I’d recommend it to readers who
enjoy Janet Evanovich, Robert Crais, or the beachier edges of Elmore Leonard.”

— Literary Titan  

 

Amazon * Author’s Site * Bookbub * Goodreads

All That Glisters

A Thad Hanlon/ Bri de la Guerra Mystery Book 1

When the facts don’t add up in his surf buddy’s bizarre
death, forensic consultant (and daddy-to-be) Thaddeus Hanlon investigates,
volunteering to go undercover to pick up where best friend Rafi Silva left off
in a secret probe of the U.S. gold stockpile—every last bullion bar.

Rafi’s spunky fiancée, Bri de la Guerra, has suspicions of her own and soon
joins Thad on the hunt for answers. Together, the two amateur sleuths delve
deep, stumbling onto a financial a-stock-alypse in the making, triggering a
brutal manhunt along the Eastern seaboard meant to silence anyone looking to
set the ledger straight.

 

What Critics
Are Saying

“Jones’ action-packed murder mystery…is
tension-fueled with plenty of twists and two appealing sleuths. In this
detective series opener, Thad Hanlon, a 27-year-old forensic accountant,
becomes the target of a murderous cadre when he accepts a new assignment that
takes him from Los Angeles to the East Coast center of power. Woven into the
gripping plot are sensual, detailed descriptions of Thad’s adventures riding
the waves, which should please the surfer crowd and afford others a visceral
sense of the experience.”

—Kirkus Reviews

 

“All That Glisters by Topper Jones is well-written with not a
single dull moment. I liked the way the author included elements of action,
mystery, and even some cyber investigating. Overall, I found this book to be an
amazing read.”

—Sefina Hawke, Readers’ Favorite Reviews

 

Amazon * Author’s Site * Bookbub * Goodreads

 

Writing
as Topper Jones, award-winning author Christopher G. Jones, Ph.D., delivers
detective fiction with a dash of romance, plenty of action, and memorable
characters. His Thad Hanlon & Bri de la Guerra Mystery Series has earned
Readers’ Favorite Five Stars and the Literary Titan Gold Book Awards.

 Before
writing full-time, Jones taught financial reporting and business systems
development at the university level and worked in public accounting and
consulting. He is a member of The Private Eye Writers of America and
International Thriller Writers, and an affiliate of Mystery Writers of America.

 To
stay close to family, Jones now lives in the southwestern desert rather than
his native California. But when the surf’s up, he’ll make the 450-mile trek to
the coast for a little “water therapy.”

 

Website * Facebook
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* Bookbub
* Amazon
* Goodreads

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#blogtour Cains Chameleon by Mark G Bearss

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Historical Fiction

Date Published: 01-27-2026

Publisher:
BearssLair Books

If the newspaper reported your death and no one questioned it, would you
correct the mistake… or take the lifeline?
Dan Driscoll is consumed by
gambling debt, cornered by bookies and loan sharks, forced to bet on one last
scheme. When things turn violent and two people are shot, his best friend,
Stan Neumann, swallows what he suspects. He can’t risk divulging a
closely-held family secret.
Then a body washes up on the Lake Michigan
shoreline, and the lake gives Dan what the bookies never would: a way out.
Authorities call it an accident and list him as the drowning victim. For Dan,
it’s an escape route delivered in black ink.
He becomes a ghost, an
imposter, a chameleon. But lies don’t stay buried.
As America is pulled
into World War II, Stan enlists, choosing duty on his terms before the draft
can rewrite his life. In Pearl Harbor, one chance encounter dredges up a name
he thought was long buried.
War changes everything, but it doesn’t erase
unfinished business. And when the truth demands to be heard, how long can a
stolen life stay buried before the past comes to collect?

Excerpt

Lucy wasn’t smiling like she used to when she folded her letter, slipped
it into the envelope, sealed it with a kiss, and applied the three-cent stamp.
Even the spring in her step lacked the zeal she typically exhibited during her
walk to the post office. The words on the paper were true to her commitment.
They spoke of the news from the home front, stories that helped Stan’s
morale, and made sure her underlying message was being proud, supportive, and
encouraging. The words wandering around in Lucy’s thoughts, however,
were in stark contrast to this messaging.
Ever since Stan was assigned to
the navy radar training school, Lucy had become more and more unsure in her
belief that things would be okay. His work as an Aviation Machinists Mate
stateside meant he was safe. And Minneapolis was relatively close to home.
Being trained as a radarman for shipboard duties meant it was more likely he
would be sent overseas into a combat zone. This caused a higher level of
worry. Like everything else this war has put in short supply, her ration of
optimism was slowly being depleted, and the resources for replenishing that
reservoir were becoming scarce.
Her quandary was not letting Stan know
about this foreboding, even though he was normally her most trusted sounding
board. She tried to talk about this with her sister Millie. But Millie’s
approach to these heartfelt struggles was to fix them, make them go away, or
advise Lucy, “Try not to think about it.” This was not the type of
support Lucy needed.
During her alone time, sitting staring out the
window, the overwhelming emotion that prevailed over all others was that she
really missed her husband. She now knew what being heartbroken felt like.

 

About the Author

 
While author Mark Bearss was setting the stage
for his retirement, concerned co-workers would ask, “What are you going
to do when you’re not working?” He found this question rather
curious. It should have been posed, “What are you going to do
first?” Mark knew that if travel was involved, he had had enough of
commercial flights after 28 years of teaching for the medical device industry.
Mark yearned for road trips – to visit those places he only saw from
38,000 feet. Little did he know that wish journeyed down an unexpected fork in
the road. He would become an author.

While conducting genealogy research,
Mark discovered archived de-classified military documents that revealed the
name of a U.S. Navy destroyer his father served aboard during WWII. The reason
this was a poignant discovery was because, while growing up in Grand Rapids,
Michigan, his father made no mention of this. Apart from being a U.S. Naval
Reserve flight instructor, he knew his father served aboard the carrier USS
ESSEX. But in what capacity? That, too, was not revealed. More discoveries
materialized the further he dug. In fact, there was a lot more his father
didn’t mention. This wasn’t unusual. Many WWII veterans
didn’t talk about what happened back then.Because of the pandemic, the
National Archives in St. Louis was closed and rendered Lt. Bearss’
military records unavailable. Thus began a project that challenged
Mark’s research endeavors for over two years and about 5,000 miles on
the road. The biographical sketch was sorted from creative Internet search
strings, history books, navy publications, and networking with journalists,
librarians, archivists, bloggers, aviation enthusiasts, museum and historical
society curators, navy veterans, relatives, and more. One online resource that
was instrumental in tracking his father’s journey was the weekly
newspaper published in the county where his parents grew up: The Oceana
Herald. It included a Local News section where family members and
organizations could submit a short blurb about a relative’s visit, a
social gathering, or – where a son or husband was currently
stationed.

This project culminated in 2022 with Mark’s first
publication titled, Undisclosed Stories Discovered: Honoring the World War II
Military Journey of Lt. Joseph Ward Bearss, USNR. When asked what was one of
the highlights surrounding this story, he described the road trips to seek out
and discover places where his father lived, trained and was stationed during
the war. What prompted him to write this as a biography took place during a
meeting with the curator of the World War II Home Front Museum on St. Simons
Island, Georgia. St. Simons Naval Air Station was the site for the U.S. Naval
Radar Training Station, where Lt. Bearss was trained in shipboard radar
operations, enemy interception, and Fighter Direction.  While the museum
had ample archived materials about the facility, it had very little documented
about the servicemembers who trained there.

Only 250 copies were printed.
Mark went back on the road in his Class-B motorhome and personally donated
those copies to family members, friends and relatives, the librarians,
archivists, researchers, museums, curators, historical societies, newspapers,
The American Heritage Center, VFW Posts, airport FBOs, and other assorted WWII
enthusiasts in 12 states who helped in his endeavors. It was a two-fold
reward. Not only did his father’s story finally become told, Mark
experienced the pleasure of meeting all these wonderful people who were his
resources, advisors, collaborators, and consultants. Up until that point, they
were only names in an email contact list.

You’re probably asking,
“How is all this relevant to Mark’s new novel, Cain’s
Chameleon?” It was the research from The Oceana Herald that planted the
seed for this story. While perusing its issues, Mark stumbled on two articles
that piqued his curiosity. The first reported an attempted murder in a home
close to his family’s summer cottage on Lake Michigan. The second
reported a drowning victim that washed up on the beach right where Mark and
his friends used to play. Just two more stories never divulged while growing
up. He wondered, Were these two events related? Then Mark decided — he
would make them related.

Contact Links

Purchase Link

RABT Book Tours & PR

#blogtour The Human Language by Penny Newton Hurley

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Develop psychological safety, improve your relationships, transform your
life. Launching The MECAnism, a practical framework

Non-Fiction, Self-Help, Business, Parenting, Mind/Body/Soul,
Inspirational

Date Published: September 2026

Publisher: Serapis Bey Publishing

 


TRANSFORM YOUR LIFE WITH THE WAY YOU SPEAK

As human beings, we have a deep need for social connection, yet our primitive
fight-or-flight response can be a major barrier to achieving it, leading to
misunderstanding, conflict and disconnection.

Fortunately, there is a solution.

The Human Language delivers a compelling message. By replacing our habitual,
learned patterns of communication we can experience greater understanding,
empathy and connection in our relationships, transforming our lives.

Through easy-to-follow chapters, this book introduces The MECAnism, to calm
your instinctive reactions, gain emotional clarity and develop psychological
safety. It gives you the practical tools and techniques to listen, speak and
act in your daily life with compassion, for yourself and others, enabling you
to meet your needs with confidence.


“I will recommend using The Human Language 1000 times. It helps me
verbalise my feelings and work through moments of overwhelm. There are
applications across all areas of life.It can, and will be, a transformative
book.”

Pam Bryant, Oxford, UK


“Penny uses just enough science to help the reader understand why they behave
the way they do while focusing on simple techniques to get to the heart of
change.


The Human Language should be required reading for anybody who has to work or
live with other people, which is most of us.”

Diana D’Ascoli, Philadelphia, US


Excerpt

We all have the ability to re-engineer our relationships, and trade self-defence, blame and inauthenticity for understanding, compassion and trust, leading us to a greater sense of inner peace. We just need to find the right way to communicate.

The Human Language provides just the solution. Through practical tools and techniques, its MECAnism framework empowers you to foster a healthier mindset, to listen empathically, speak authentically and ask for what you truly need, turning conflict into understanding and connection.

In doing so, we not only bring about personal improvements in productivity, relationships and self-worth but also create a world where seeking understanding becomes the default approach.

About the Author

 

 Penny Newton-Hurley is the founder of CommPassion Ltd. She has worked with
large private organisations in the UK and globally, and in the public sector
across the areas of government, military, healthcare and education for more
than 30 years. CommPassion provides training in interpersonal communication
skills, resolving conflict between individuals and building psychological
safety within teams for higher workplace and relationship performance.

In 2025, her company launched their first four online courses, taking their
expertise and experience from the world of business directly to individuals in
all areas of their lives. This book reveals the details behind her courses and
supports the learning of improved communications skills.

Communication has been a fascination for Penny since childhood, when she spoke
with her father in Morse Code! After a few exciting years spent working in
International Marketing, Penny had an opportunity to be involved in the
nascent field of Internal Communication where she began to understand the
importance of humanto-human connection in the workplace. In 2005, she was
introduced to the teachings of nonviolent communication. From that moment on,
it became her purpose to spread this message as far as possible, a mission to
change the way we talk and listen and communicate with each other; to change
the way the world speaks.

Today, she is a trainer of compassionate communication techniques, Workplace
Mediator, Certified Psychological Safety Facilitator with the Fearless
Organisation; as well as a UK Samaritans Listening Volunteer. Penny holds a BA
(Combined Honours) in Modern Languages (French/Spanish) with Politics,
Economics and Linguistics.

 

Contact Links

Website

Instagram: @pennynewtonhurley

Facebook: Penny Newton-Hurley

LinkedIn: Penny Newton-Hurley

TikTok: @pennynewtonhurley

YouTube: Penny Newton-Hurley

RABT Book Tours & PR

#blogtour  Memory of Rivers by Shelley Odendahl

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A Past Life Love Story

Time Travel Romance

Date Published: 09-09-2019

Publisher: Flyway Press LLC

Three Lifetimes, One Love – A Time Travel Romance

 

Vivid sensations and images from Diana’s dreams stream into her
conscious mind. Are the dreams memories of her past lives?

As Kari, in prehistoric times, she dances in a coming-of-age ceremony in an
ancient cave, with wild animals painted on the walls. Captivated by flute
player, Lor, they promise to love each other forever, but dangers threaten
their plans.

As Rachel, isolated in gold rush era Deadwood, she is mistreated by her
drinking, gambling husband but finds comfort with Civil War veteran Sam. His
harmonica music enchants Rachel as they draw together to soothe their lonely
souls.

Now, in her life in 1972 Minnesota, Diana is drawn to singer-songwriter Eric.
His songs and her memories, along with a deep longing for love, connects her
soul with his. Is he the man from her dreams? Will they find happiness
together at last?

 


“In an age of brief encounters and ‘friends with benefits,’
lasting love is a rare commodity. But you’ll find it here in Shelley
Odendahl’s Memory of Rivers. Enjoy.” – Faith Sullivan,
author of nine novels including the latest, Ruby and Roland.


Excerpt

As Eric continued to sing, I stared into his soul. Somehow then, I knew
for certain that he was the man I loved, since my earliest memories, since
pre-history. We met in a cave, and I danced to his music. Immersed in the
past, I felt the dense smokiness of the cave’s enclosed space as the
flute player captured my body and spirit. We were alone. Together.

With a slight shake of my head, I pulled myself back to the present, into the
enclosed space of a bar, where the smoke of cigarettes hung in the air. My
face and neck had grown prickly and hot, as if a mild electrical charge played
on the surface of my skin. I focused on Eric, every bit of him, especially his
eyes. I inhaled a quick breath when he stared back at me, as if my spirit had
summoned his. Still singing, his voice was sensuous, velvet, as it caressed my
body and settled into my being.


If, from the other we are ever lost,

Draw me in with your force of life

Somewhere inside, the truth resides,

My elusive woman of the wilds.


Our fates are entwined now and forever,

My dancer, my muse, my river nymph,

My elusive woman of the wilds.

 

His voice quietly held the last note of the song, as his fingers picked the
final chord. We maintained eye contact, sharing a moment that began with our
encounter at the cave ceremony, and traveled the spectrum of time and place,
bringing our emotions into the present. Right now. We were seeing all of each
other without ever before having met in this lifetime.

Eric broke eye contact and looked down at his guitar.

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” he told the crowd, as he
put the guitar in its rack and stood up. He made his way toward the people at
his table up front and sat down with them.

My hands trembled as I dug in my purse for a tissue, using it to dab my
tear-filled eyes. What had just happened here? My heart over-flowed,
incredulous that I had met my love. I still didn’t know what it all
meant to my life today. Would he remember me, from our lives so long ago? What
if he didn’t?

 

About the Author

Shelley Odendahl is the author of Serendipity and Other Travel
Adventures – stories that cover forty years of touring the world with
her husband Cliff.

This book brings readers along as they travel across the USA by motorcycle,
and to Europe, Australia, New Zealand, Bali, and Patagonia, experiencing
breathtaking highs, and lows that challenged the couple to create solutions
along the way.

Shelley also wrote an inspirational book, Realize Your Dreams – Create
an Action Plan for Life Transformation, and a time travel novel: Memory of
Rivers – A Past Life Love Story.

She lives in Minnesota, USA, with her husband Cliff, where 10,000+ lakes,
scenic rivers, majestic white pines, wildflowers, swans, and eagles nurture
her spirit.

Her passions are traveling and writing about traveling, creating watercolors,
appreciating art of all kinds, and baking her own Sourdough bread from a
starter she created over 5 years ago. She enjoys hiking in National Parks,
going to musical performances, and being on a lake in a boat.

Shelley is happiest when in the company of her husband, family and friends,
with perhaps some food and wine involved.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Goodreads

Purchase Link

Amazon


RABT Book Tours & PR

#blogtour The  Reed Lavender Series by Ashley  Capes

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If you love snarky heroes, twisty mysteries and plenty of
magic,

delve into this urban fantasy series set in Melbourne, Australia!

Graves Robbed,
Heirlooms Returned

Reed Lavender Book 1

by Ashley Capes

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Mystery

 He can speak to the dead. But will giving them justice get him killed?

Reed Lavender lives two lives—one as a detective and another as a reaper.
Hearing the last words of the dead is a handy skill in his line of work, but
magic can’t solve all his problems. While investigating the case of a teen
runaway, he learns his cousin is missing. Racing against the clock, Reed soon
finds himself trapped in a vast conspiracy.

A cult is capturing reapers to siphon their powers and his current case is
somehow connected. But the deeper he digs, the more dangerous and convoluted
the trail becomes. As his two lives get tangled, Reed realizes if he can’t
solve the case and save his cousin, the man who listens to the dead will end up
joining them.

Graves Robbed, Heirlooms Returned is the first thrilling urban
fantasy novel in the Reed Lavender series. If you love snarky
heroes, twisty mysteries and plenty of magic, delve into Graves Robbed,
Heirlooms Returned!

 

**Get it FREE!**

Amazon * Books2Read * Bookbub
* Goodreads

 

Graves Robbed, Heirlooms
Returned (Reed Lavender: 1)

 

Chapter 1

 

In the bright moonlight, Reed Lavender inserted his best
crowbar into the pine box where the top met the sides and wrenched the steel
down. Wood squeaked and he shuddered. Worse
than fingernails on a blackboard. He lifted the lid free, resting it
against the freshly turned earth – which, unlike the sound of an opening coffin
– was an almost pleasant thing. A pungent scent, but real. Honest. Worms and
bugs, minerals and secrets lived in the earth; when you got right down to it,
grave dirt wasn’t really any different to regular dirt.

And
he was certainly down to it now, about to be elbow-deep in a coffin.

Again.

But
for what they’d given Elise, the word ‘coffin’ was a stretch. A pine box wasn’t
much of a final resting place – dignity hardly came cheap in Rikerton’s funeral
home and unclaimed bodies were lucky to avoid the incinerator. Or maybe that
would have been better. Dust to dust and
all that.

“But
then you’d be out of work,” he told himself.

Elise
the runaway – that’s what the police thought she was – lay in her dirty jeans
and the same faded Pink Floyd t-shirt she wore when she walked into the cafe
two days back. Her arms lay at her sides, cuts on her palms mostly hidden. Her
face had been covered… by a used napkin. “Jesus, Jennings, that the best you
could do?” Reed growled. At least the napkin was in one piece; the undertaker
had been known to be far more slipshod at times.

Reed
lifted the napkin… and ground his teeth.

She’d
been beaten blue. Deep bruises swam across her cheeks, one eye swollen shut and
the other just as blackened, torn skin at her temple. Jennings had cleaned her
face up well enough but there were still leaf fragments and dried blood in her
hair. The pallor of death had washed out Elise’s freckles, mere suggestions
crossing her bent nose. God, what is she,
fifteen? She looks so small.

Reed
tossed the napkin aside and unwound his scarf, folded it and placed it over her
face, standing still a moment, shaking as he blinked. The night air ran chill
fingers across his now-exposed throat and the back of his neck. Finally, he
took a breath and leant over the coffin, where he lifted her arm. “Sorry,
sweetheart,” he said softly, twisting her silver bracelet up to the moon. Only the
letters ‘Elise’ engraved there. Really, there was little he could learn from a
perfunctory glance at her clothing and jewellery that the police wouldn’t have
already catalogued. He’d check that later, of course – but Elise deserved more.

No,
he’d have to wake her up – sort of.

Her
last words would maybe be enough of a clue. Most folks didn’t have much to say,
right before the end. Sometimes it was a scream or a grunt if he was unlucky.
Other times, they addressed their killer. Or a loved one, perhaps, if the death
was peaceful. Not that I’ve heard a lot
of those in my time.

There’d
been a man out west, he couldn’t recall where – so many cities and towns
blended together – whose last words had been an apology for burnt toast. After
that, the poor guy hadn’t said a thing before being t-boned at an intersection
by a bus an hour later, two blocks from his office.

But
sometimes, a person’s last sentence held a clue.

“Come
on, Elise, tell me something I can use.”

If
she didn’t, he had no other supernatural tricks up his sleeve either, since he
couldn’t simply call upon her spirit. It would have made things much easier and allowed him to stop violating
peoples’ graves but sadly, he wasn’t that lucky.

Reed
removed the scarf a moment, took her cold hands and closed his eyes, sending
his awareness down through her mute fingertips, pushing his way along quiet
veins until he reached her chest, still echoing with the memory of a million
heartbeats, then at last up the throat to the tongue; the tongue which
remembered everything.

But
it would move only once more.

“In
the name of Mors, speak any that you might,” he whispered. “I’ll help you if
you can.”

Her
body resisted.

Not
unusual. It meant reliving the pain and shock – why wouldn’t her body want to
fight that? It was at rest now, if not at peace. But he had to know. Reed
pushed harder, pouring both his hope and anger into the request. “Please,
Elise.”

A
flicker, a tiny sound as her jaw shifted.

He
opened his eyes and leant close. Would it be a scream? A clue? Nonsense? Her
voice was little more than a rasping whisper, such as might easily be mistaken
for a breeze, but he caught the words.

“Wow,
what a beautiful view. This is some place; you can see half the city from
here.”

Then
silence.

“Shit.”
Poor girl, she probably never saw it coming.

Reed
lowered Elise’s hands. Half the city.
That hardly narrowed things down – there were only hundreds of such high points available. But it probably put the
owner in a certain tax bracket at least. He shook his head. No assumptions. It was his first rule.
And that went for murder too – maybe it was an accident. Still, something happened to bring Elise’s life
to an unjust end.

He
had to find out; no-one else was looking and Elise’s grandmother deserved
answers. Even unpleasant ones, he supposed.

Reed
placed the scarf back over the girl’s face and reached for his shovel.


The Radiant King

Reed Lavender Book 2

Things aren’t exactly
getting easier for Reed Lavender.

Old obligations and new cases are piling up but in the aftermath of Feronia’s
defeat, answers are still too thin on the ground. But one clue – his father’s
knucklebone – might just lead to something big.

To learn the truth about his parents’ disappearance, Reed
will have to take the fight to whoever is behind the growing turmoil in his
city. And if the rising number of Spirit-Worms, needy Gods, vindictive lawmen
and only somewhat-helpful cousins don’t stop Reed, then his sense of duty might
do what the others cannot.

Because Reed now finds himself caught between two goals –
solving the murder of Elise or chasing down whoever stole the Goddess’ hand, an
unfathomable thief who might hold answers about his parents…

 

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Summer in the City

Reed Lavender Book 3

Reed is about to snap
– and this time, nothing is going to stand in his way when it comes to getting
answers for Elise, not even a supposedly long-vanished Sumerian God. 

Or so Reed thinks.

But summer in the city isn’t going to be like the others.
The city itself isn’t quite the same either, and even if you’re lucky (or
cursed) enough to count the children of Gods among your friends, nothing is
ever simple…

 

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* Goodreads

Ashley is a poet, novelist and ex-teacher living in
Australia.

He taught English, Media and Music Production, he ‘sang’ in
a metal band, worked in an art gallery and for a few years, slaved away at
music retail. (For a few years, he was also a legal secretary).

Aside from reading and writing, Ashley loves (indoor)
volleyball, Studio Ghibli and Magnum PI.

 

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* Goodreads

 

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#blogtour Jazz Bang Boom by Will Okati

Mybeautymark Leave a comment

Gay Cyberpunk Adventure Romance

Date Published: August 14, 2026

Riot’s attempt to teach his pretty lover to behave himself
doesn’t… quite… go as planned.

Jazz loves pretty things and things that go BOOM. Tyger, AKA Riot, is a man on
a mission, searching for the bits and pieces that’ll repair his damaged,
bio-constructed DNA. It only makes sense for the happily mismatched lovers to
turn airship pirates and sneak, snatch or con what they need, right?

Right. One problem. Occasionally Jazz gets a little too fond of explosives,
and Tyger gets a tad too focused on his quest. When that happens, they need to
vent a little steam. So to speak.

 

EXCERPT


T-minus sixty seconds. Really, it was bad manners to blow up a tea party, but
some society dames were just asking for it. Jazz landed in the ornamental rose
bushes outside his hostess’s parlor window, gathered his heavy silk skirts
around his knees, and ran like hell.

Not that he was worried. Jazz knew his explosives like he knew his way around
the three-dimensional differential equations of a projected illusory field.

And wine. And perfume. What? Jazz prided himself on having layers.

He ticked off the seconds in his head, listening to an internal countdown.
Right about now the aforementioned queens of “polite” society (and those who
knew Jazz knew far better than to push a particular argument on behavior
becoming to a lady and the mind-boggling double-standards that — oh, anyway).

Jazz did enjoy traveling to different worlds and sampling the finest wines,
velvets, songs and yes, incendiary devices from the thousands of cultures that
flourished around the galaxies, but the next time his honey, Riot, wanted to
spend time where good manners were forbidden in favor of good times? No
thanks.

Where had he been? Oh, right. Crap! Cue the fine ladies screeching, coughing
and sneezing, the last of a harmless fog floating out the window he’d
helpfully, er, opened by jumping through, and they might have regained enough
composure after the flash and bang that went with the smoke to have started
complaining and oh, right.

Five, four, three, two —

Jazz managed to free himself of the pannier hoops just in time to dive under
the cover of a cluster of almost-certainly-sacred ancient oak trees, before —
BOOM.

If a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. “Proper.” See what I
did there?

This time, however, the dainty device of detonation had not been hidden in
Jazz’s decolletage (quite convincing cleavage, if he did say so himself). He’d
set the charges long before smiling politely and pretending to enjoy a
coin-sized cress sandwich in the ladies’ salon.

BOOM.

There, that was the ticket! One for distraction, two to cause confusion to his
enemies, e.g. the people in possession of A Thing Jazz Wanted, and a third to
blow the ever-living fuck out of irritatingly secure locks that otherwise
prevented his honey from wholesale liberation of a few deliciously prized
goods.

POOF.

Oops. He’d forgotten the fourth bomb in the salon. Well, that one had been a
bit spur of the moment. And a leetle more powerful. Enough to, say, jar loose
some ripe pickings of his own, if he were lucky. All he needed to do was
circle back around, and —

The discreet two-way comms device concealed in the cunning shape of a rosebud
earring spoke to him. “Overkill, Jazz. Overkill.”

“Spoilsport,” Jazz said, and sneezed. “Let he who has never enjoyed the smell
of C4 in the morning cast the first stone in a glass house.”

“Excuse me?” The voice on the comms sounded amused. “You’re high on adrenaline
again, aren’t you?”

“Pish, tosh, nonsense, and absolutely, yes. Perhaps that was overkill. Others
could say I was in the wrong, but I can’t blame me.”

“You are a ridiculous man,” the speaker said fondly.

“I know.” Jazz preened. He sneezed again. “Tch. Plastique is one thing. Debris
coated in dust is quite another. What about you, tick-tock man? Did you get
what you came here for?”

“Stop calling me that,” Riot said, quite clear — even over the comms — that
he didn’t mind in the least, and even had a soft spot in his heart for the
nickname. “Yeah, I got what I needed. And then some. Wasn’t easy to find and I
had to pay a price, but it was worth it.”

Jazz enjoyed a ripple’s worth of goosebumps. He anticipated all sorts of good
things once back on board the Sarah-Jessica-No-Parking. A triumphant Riot made
for a feisty Riot with his blood running hot and his body all-systems-go. He
employed the same affectionate tone when he replied, “Tell that to the
watercress and unspiced kimchi I had to eat to make nice with my hostess.”

“The one you just blew up?”

“Unspiced kimchi,” Jazz repeated.

“The trials and tragedies you face, darlin’.”

“Darn right. This piece of the puzzle you went after — tell me about it,” he
coaxed.

“Later. For the moment –“

“Yes, yes. Run and keep running until you swoop in to save the day, and clear
out of here before the smoke does?”

“You read my mind,” Riot said, very dryly indeed but pleased. Almost purring.

Consider Jazz’s curiosity piqued.

“I’m on my way.” Such a tragedy, but the skirts had to go. Almost a full bolt
of silk! Still, a man had to do what a man had to do, even when he’d tricked
himself out in the finest of ladies’ clothing.

Probably more so at such times. Hmm. He’d have to think about that more later.
In the meantime, business. Beautiful, sparkly, gloriously shiny business! Jazz
retrieved the pouches of more easily liftable and valuable trinketry from the
panniers and pushed them into his reticule.

“Jazz? When I said run, that wasn’t a suggestion.”


Oh! Right. “And what’ll you be doing while I skedaddle? How will I know if I’m
being rescued by the right man?”

“I’ll be the one dangling out of an airship with a rope and a half-cocked
plan.”

“Easily recognizable,” Jazz said happily. Wait. “How long a rope? How high do
the airships go?” Wouldn’t exactly Be Done to whip off the 3-D fooler facade,
and on this steampunk aficionado’s wet dream of a world the airships he’d seen
before had to go quite high indeed –“Riot? How high?”

“High enough I’ll make it worth your while to man up and climb. And,” Riot
purred, “when I say ‘worth your while’ I mean, ‘I plan to punish you, then
fuck you three-quarters of the way through the nearest flat surface.'”

“I am so on my way now.”

“Fast?”

“Darling, you have no idea.” Jazz kicked off his heels. Not the shoes, mind,
those gorgeous soft-supple open-calf boots of fawn-soft suede. Just the heels
and pattens. “After all, who do you think you’re talking to?”


Oh dear. Jazz heard a set of mastiffs on their way. Here I go again. Skirts,
knees, running feet, check. Go time.

Fast.

 

About the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat
hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter
weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong
love of storytelling. Will’s definitely one of the quiet ones you have to
watch out for, though he — not she anymore — is a lot less quiet these days.

 

Will on Facebook

Will on Instagram

Will on Goodreads

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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