LAS CRUCES, Zack Tolliver, FBI book #7 is ready to appear on presale next week on Amazon.com. Those who purchase the book during the presale period will pay the introductory price of $2.99 and know it will be delivered to you the moment of release.
LAS CRUCES is a riveting story springing from an actual cruel and ironic incident that ended the lives of two American pioneers whose adventurous careers constitute a book in itself. Perhaps, one day.
Read on for a preview of the novel’s back page and preface and the first look at the book’s cover, the work of cover artist Krysta Lynn who once again perfectly captures the essence of the content that lies between.
“They came down from Oregon Territory in 1864 to tend sheep after a narrow escape from an Indian attack, hoping a peaceful life in the verdant valley of Las Cruces, California would heal Pru’s damaged nerves. But violence even beyond that awaited them. They were found beaten, stabbed, and burned in their cabin. Their murders were never solved.
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“Zack Tolliver, FBI is called to investigate the murder of a woman found near the original murder site, her body burnt beyond recognition and strange metal bands as if from a hoop skirt melted around her. Was history repeating itself?“
It was happening again. She felt the old familiar dread clutch at her gut and throat, the horror she had somehow reduced to background noise over the months and years, those nights of sitting bolt upright in her bed with her heart beating a tattoo so that it must burst from her chest, the images of blood and the sound of the gunshot and the whine of the bullet vivid in her nightmare, those desperate moments relived but mercifully obscured and faded by the veil of time.
And now it was happening all over again. They were here again. They were killing George with their knives and now turning their bloodlust upon her. Once again the window loomed as her only escape, a square frame into black unknown. Once again she thrust, scrambled, threw herself over and through it, onto the hard ground, rolling, gasping, her hoop-buoyed skirt snagging. She found her feet, ran down the slope toward the creek, toward the road, seeking help. But this time her toe caught, she pitched forward screaming, fell and before she could rise again rough hands grasped and held her. She fought with all the fury born of terror until a stunning blow to her head turned her senses dull. She felt herself dragged on her stomach by her feet up the hill, her hoops snagging, encircling her upper torso like a cage. She tried to help herself, grasping at roots, grass, the hard dirt, her nails tearing, bleeding. But they were too strong for her.
It was happening all over again and this time she would not escape.
And now….drum roll, please… the cover!