Leslie, an author I met on my journey, has a blog tour running right now.
Let's check out the details, shall we?
Taker of Lives:
Taker of Lives:
can you outrun a killer you won’t see coming?
They are the most violent, blood-thirsty, and
vicious of criminals. While hunting for them, FBI profilers call these monsters
UNSUBS, short for unknown subjects of ongoing investigations. At any given
time, in the United States there are more than fifty serial killers at large,
preying on vulnerable, unsuspecting victims.
Until yesterday, no one knew Florida had another
serial killer on the loose. Special Agent Tess Winnett calls this particularly
elusive one the Taker of Lives.
After a well-known model commits suicide, Tess
refuses to accept the findings and pushes for an investigation into the reasons
behind the beautiful young woman’s decision to end her life.
What she finds surpasses her wildest fears.
Each new crime scene brings more questions than
answers. While secrets are revealed, even those meant to be kept forever in the
dark, Tess can draw only one conclusion: she’s not the one in charge; the Taker
of Lives controls the game, the players, even the course of the investigation.
With little information and even less evidence, Tess
must connect the dots of a deadly scenario with a large number of potential
victims. If she fails, another beautiful, young girl will die tonight, and the
blood will be on her hands.
The Taker of Lives might be closer than you think.
Who’s watching you sleep tonight?
Release Date: May 4, 2018
Genre: Crime Thriller, Suspense
Universal reader link: https://books2read.com/u/bQ9a5v
Riveting! Congratulations on your new blog tour!
So, what are readers saying about this book?
" - Piaras, Amazon
The profiling and psychological twists and turns are impressive. Really brilliant storyline and research by the author, Leslie Wolfe!" - Susan1, Amazon
Taker of Lives is the first of Leslie Wolfe’s novels that I’ve read; it won’t be the last. To try to sum it up in a few words by labeling it as a procedural crime novel with a difference would not really be doing it justice. I won’t go into details, as this ventures into the realm of spoilers, yet suffice it to say I’ve not come across a villain as despicable and scary as this one in a long time." - Enrico Grafitti, Amazon
Brilliantly twisted villain meets brilliantly insightful FBI agent. This is another outstanding work by Leslie Wolfe and easily better than a lot of what the big publishers push onto the bookshelves of those increasingly rare bricks and mortar bookstores!" - Frequent Reader, Amazon
WOW. That was good! A really eerie scary killer is killing young girls who are in the public eye. It was interesting how Tess and the others work through it all together to find this elusive killer and the reason for the murders. Its fast paced detailed with a twist you never see coming. " - PWA, Amazon
Readers, this book is only 99 cents on Amazon for a limited time!
She woke with a start, her heart instantly racing
when the raw memory of strange, gloved hands on her body invaded her
consciousness. She could still feel the cold latex on her skin, touching her,
stripping her naked, manipulating her limbs, sending shivers of fear and
aversion through her veins. She remembered feeling paralyzed, wanting to scream
but staring powerlessly at the face of a monster hiding behind a mask, laughing
in quiet, raspy gurgles that only she could hear, glaring at her with
merciless, hateful eyes.
She rubbed her forehead with frozen, trembling
fingers and forced herself to breathe, gasping in deep, long breaths of air to
wash away the memory of the troublesome nightmare. Must’ve been a nightmare...
she was in her own bed, wearing her favorite silk jammies, and she could hear
her mother’s rushed footfalls as she was getting ready for work. Nothing was
out of place.
Just a night terror, that’s all it was. The worst
she could remember, a vivid one she won’t be forgetting any time soon, still,
just a nightmare. Her eyes fell on Pat’s photo, framed on her night table, and
she focused on his loving smile for a moment, imagining his strong arms wrapped
around her body, making her feel safe again.
She stood, feeling a little weak at the knees, but
pushed herself to walk out of the bedroom, heading toward the kitchen. Her
throat was parched dry, as if she hadn’t had a drink of water in ages. She
filled a glass at the sink and gulped it down avidly, then breathed again.
“Good morning, sweetie,” her mother greeted her,
then grazed her cheek with a warm hand. “Feeling better?”
She frowned, a bit confused. What was her mother
Her mother stopped her morning get-ready rush and
gave her a head-to-toe scrutiny, then a tiny smile stretched her lips. “You
were a little dizzy last night, and your blood pressure was lower than what I
like to see.”
“Ah,” she reacted, still frowning, realizing she
didn’t remember much of the night before.
“Christina, we discussed this,” her mother said in
her clinical voice, the tone she reserved for her most disobedient patients.
“You don’t eat much, these photo shoots are a resource drain, so you have to
pace yourself. You’ll burn out. Vogue won’t go bankrupt if you take a day off
every once in a while.”
It was the eternal conflict between the two of them.
Her mother meant well but failed to realize a model’s career span only lasted a
few short years, and she couldn’t afford to waste a single day. She was
twenty-four years old, already on her way to becoming old news. Soon, the
agencies would start sending her templated emails, saying stuff like, “After
careful consideration, yadda, yadda, we have decided to proceed with a different
candidate who suits our needs better at this time.” Free translation? “You’re
too old for this game, sorry. We’ve got someone younger; find something else to
do with yourself.”
But that day hadn’t arrived yet; she was still one
of the most sought-after models in the industry, and her photo shoots took her
around the globe, adorning her in designer clothing that she got to keep after
showing on coveted catwalks under the incessant flicker of thousands of
flashlights. Dizzy or not, she had a schedule, and she intended to keep it. Her
pickup limo was due at nine, and she wasn’t going to be ready in time.
She toughed it out and pushed her mother’s concerns
aside with a beaming smile and a hand gesture. “I’ll be fine, Mom, don’t worry.
I’ll even do some blood tests if you’d like, but not today. Any coffee left for
Her mother gestured toward the Keurig machine. “Got
you some vanilla pods, the ones you like.”
“Hazelnut too, sweetie,” she smiled, then placed a
smooch on her cheek and rushed out of the house, jingling the car keys in her
hand. “Have a safe flight! And get some rest.”
“I will,” Christina replied to the empty house,
suddenly as cold and quiet and scary as her nightmare had been.
Still shivering, she threw the coffee maker a
regretful glance as soon as she realized it was a quarter to nine. Not nearly
enough time to put on makeup and get dressed. She forced herself to move
quickly, although it felt like she moved in slow motion, the air thick as if it
were water, opposing too much resistance for her weakened body to overcome.
She entered the bathroom and turned on the vanity
lights, then gave her face a critical overview. Dark circles under her eyes
that would require concealer, a pallor that asked for more blush than usual and
maybe a darker foundation tone. Hollow, haunted eyes that needed a touch of
eyeshadow to bring their faded color forward.
She turned on the shower and began undoing her
buttons, still examining her face, but her fingers hesitated; she looked in the
mirror and her breath caught. Her pajama top was buttoned wrong, the lowest
button fastened through the second lowest buttonhole. Trivial.
Then why did she feel her blood turn to ice when she
looked at the uneven hems?
She felt a new wave of dizziness wash over her and
took a step back. A strangled whimper came out of her mouth as faint memories
invaded her mind.
Cold, latex-gloved hands touching her, stripping her
naked, manipulating her body. A piercing, evil stare from behind a mask, and a
raspy, terrifying laugh, a stranger’s snicker, yet eerily familiar. The sound
of a camera shutter, over and over, in a familiar rhythm of rapid bursts. Her
own skin, turning to goose bumps when those strange hands invaded her. The same
hands dressing her, putting on her pajama top, grazing against her breasts while
doing the buttons.
She wrapped her arms around her body and took
faltering steps back until she ran into the wall, her eyes riveted on the
mirror, on the image of her unevenly done buttons.
“Oh, God, please...” she whimpered, as tears rolled down her pale cheeks. “Please don’t let it be true.”
The nightmare was real.
The nightmare was real.