Ebook - Self Published - Novel
TBR reviewer: R.B
A former government assassin...
Two men who weren't supposed to be seen together...
A cop who won't let go...
High tech industrial espionage....
Gwen Michaels moved to California two years ago to start fresh, hoping her past could stay secret forever. But when a hired killer shows up, she assumes her cover is blown. When it turns out the man knows nothing of her past, the search is on for who wants her dead, and why.
In all honesty when I first chose this book to review I was intrigued by just the excerpt that I read. Upon delving further into the world of Gwen Michaels, I was severely let down. This author had a wonderful plot, but lacked everything else. The dialogue, characters, the whole shebang and it lacked excitement. Don’t get me wrong, I love it when a woman is take charge and not a damsel in distress. However, this story lacked luster and adventure. It would have been nice to see the characters endure a little more drama so to speak. Once Gwen’s secret past was revealed, her husband who was completely in the dark handled it all too smoothly. I would have liked to have seen him deal with this revelation differently. I know, if I found out my spouse had been a hired assassin, I would not have taken it with a “grain of salt” like Jack did.
This story also lacked sex or even sexual innuendo. I understand that some authors do not feel comfortable delving into the sexual world, but, I at least would have liked a little “teaser” to the characters sex life.
Although I really don’t have anything nice to say about this book, I have to at least admit that I liked Gwen Michaels. She was the main character of this book. Gwen was definitely a take charge, fiercely independent woman.
I have to admit that I am highly disappointed that I will not be recommending this book to other readers.
An excerpt of Secrets by S.L. Pierce
It wasn't the words that concerned me. It was the cold metal pressed against my temple. That concerned me, a little. But his attack was lazy. His arm was loose, he hadn’t pulled me tightly to him, and his gun was touching, but not pushed tightly against my temple.
All big mistakes. For him.
I elbowed him high in the diaphragm while smashing the back of my head into the high profile area of his face. Namely, his nose. Not a light little tap either. This wasn’t some movie where you hit the bad guy ten times and he gets right back up. I gave it all I had, and let me tell you, that’s a lot. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, I twisted the gun out of his hand, hit him hard in the temple with said gun, and knocked him out.
My breath was steady and heart rate only slightly elevated. It had been two years, but some things you never forget.
I grabbed him under the arms, pulled him down the hall to the kitchen, and dropped him on the rug. A little duct tape from the junk drawer, and he was bound in no time.
I like duct tape better than rope. First, everyone has duct tape, whether they've ever needed it or not. I'm pretty sure it's a law. Therefore, no need to carry rope around. Looks suspicious anyway. Second, duct tape is much harder to get out of, especially when taping a much bigger area than is really needed, say halfway up the leg or arm. Even Houdini would need a knife to get out of that.
Call the police? Not my style. They have their way and I have mine. And mine is much more effective in getting to the bottom of things. No warrants or probable cause, or civil rights. You break into my house and hold a gun to my head, I don't need a judge and jury to know your guilty.
Even if I were going to involve the police, it wouldn't be till after I made the phone call. The one that would tell me if more were coming. The one that couldn't be made from my phone. And the one that needed to be made right now.
If my instincts were right, and they usually were, this man on the floor would have an untraceable cell, either on him or in his rental car. The rental car was an assumption on my part, but again, I tend to be right about these things. I searched the man’s pockets and bingo, found the cell and some keys from, surprise, surprise, a rental car.
Using his phone, I dialed a number I had memorized two years before.
“Check 8734CharlieTangoWilco,” I said.
“Speak,” a voice commanded.
“Am I compromised?”
I hung up. Well that answered that, but if I hadn’t been compromised, who the hell was trying to kill me?