Sydney Rye Mysteries Series by Emily Kimelman

My dog once took a bullet that was intended for me.A bullet that ripped through his chest, narrowly missing his heart, and exited through his shoulder blade, effectively shattering it. This left him unconscious on the floor of my home. Amazingly, this bullet did not kill him. Ten years ago I adopted Blue as a present to myself after I broke up with my boyfriend one hot, early summer night with the windows open and the neighborhood listening... moreMy dog once took a bullet that was intended for me.A bullet that ripped through his chest, narrowly missing his heart, and exited through his shoulder blade, effectively shattering it. This left him unconscious on the floor of my home. Amazingly, this bullet did not kill him. Ten years ago I adopted Blue as a present to myself after I broke up with my boyfriend one hot, early summer night with the windows open and the neighborhood listening. The next morning I went straight to the pound in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Articles on buying your first dog tell you never to buy a dog on impulse. They want you to be prepared for this new member of your family, to understand the responsibilities and challenges of owning a dog. Going to the pound because you need something in your life that's worth holding onto is rarely, if ever, mentioned. I asked the man at the pound to show me the biggest dogs they had. He showed me some seven-week-old Rottweiler-German shepherd puppies that he said would grow to be quite large. Then he showed me a six-month-old shepherd that would get pretty big. Then he showed me Blue, the largest dog they had. The man called him a Collie mix and he was stuffed into the biggest cage they had, but he didn't fit. He was as tall as a Great Dane but much skinnier, with the snout of a collie, the markings of a Siberian husky, the ears and tail of a shepherd and the body of a wolf, with one blue eye and one brown. Crouched in a sitting position, unable to lie down, unable to sit all the way up, he looked at me from between the bars, and I fell in love. "He's still underweight," the man in the blue scrubs told me as we looked at Blue. "I'll tell you, lady, he's pretty but he's skittish. He sheds, and I mean sheds. I don't think you want this dog." But I knew I wanted him. I knew I had to have him. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Blue cost me $108. I brought him home, and we lived together for years. He was, for most of our relationship, my only companion. But when I first met Blue, a lifetime ago now, I had family and friends. I worked at a crappy coffeehouse. I was young and lost; I was normal. Back then, at the beginning of this story, before I'd ever seen a corpse, before Blue saved my life, before I felt what it was like to kill someone in cold blood, I was still Joy Humbolt.I'd never even heard the name Sydney Rye.P.S. The dog does not die.**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

I am not totally alone in this world. He’s right. I need help."Wait!" My voice strained against the wind blowing off the Sea of Cortez. Mulberry was a slow-moving figure several yards ahead, solid looking in the hazy light of dusk, he took his time crossing the beach. I pushed through the sand, running after him. My dog, Blue, stayed by my side, his gait lopsided. Mulberry didn't turn until I grabbed his arm. "Wait," I panted. "You're right. I need your help... moreI am not totally alone in this world. He’s right. I need help."Wait!" My voice strained against the wind blowing off the Sea of Cortez. Mulberry was a slow-moving figure several yards ahead, solid looking in the hazy light of dusk, he took his time crossing the beach. I pushed through the sand, running after him. My dog, Blue, stayed by my side, his gait lopsided. Mulberry didn't turn until I grabbed his arm. "Wait," I panted. "You're right. I need your help."He grinned, pushing his crow's feet into sharp relief as his yellow-green eyes brightened. "I know," Mulberry laughed. "You're such a mess."He wrapped me in a hug—one muscular arm around my waist and the other across my shoulders. Mulberry buried his head in my hair and pulled my face into his chest. At first, in that dark intimacy, I felt like I was suffocating. Almost immediately, though, relief washed over me. I am not totally alone in this world; my only companion a limping mutt.Blue yelped, excited by our embrace, and circled us, churning up the sand. Mulberry smelled like clean laundry, sea salt, and carried an unmistakable scent that was all him. Pulling away, Mulberry left his hands on my shoulders and looked down into my face. He seemed so much bigger than me, so much stronger and smarter, and under control. I felt like a blurry image next to his stark silhouette."Come on, I'll buy you dinner," he said, throwing his arm around me. We walked back toward the Oyster Farm. I'd been living there for months, ever since we crossed into Mexico. I'd come for the oysters and stayed for the isolation."So, where've you been?" I asked. "It's been what? Four months?" After turning our treasure into money, which made us both rich, Mulberry left, and I stayed, despite his invitation to come with him. "You went to Paris, right?" I asked.The sun was beneath the sea now, and the deep blue of the sky turned black at the edge. "Yeah, Paris, then London. Like I said, I've been setting up a detective agency."At my plastic table, a couple of oysters sat in their half-shells. I righted the fallen bottle of tequila next to them, but did not take a sip. The passport, the same deep blue as the darkening sky and embossed with the American seal, waited next to my plate for me to pick it up.For me to become a new woman: Sydney Rye.P.S. The dog does not die.**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

Amazon Top 100 Best Seller#1 in Hard Boiled#1 in Mystery Series#1 in Vigilante JusticeVigilante crime mystery with a dash of romance, reader's call INSATIABLE "thrilling"Private detective Sydney Rye is living a simple, disciplined life in London. But when a dangerous man from her past calls, Rye finds she cannot turn him away. Robert Maxim explains that the daughter of a powerful friend has gone missing and he wants Rye to find her... moreAmazon Top 100 Best Seller#1 in Hard Boiled#1 in Mystery Series#1 in Vigilante JusticeVigilante crime mystery with a dash of romance, reader's call INSATIABLE "thrilling"Private detective Sydney Rye is living a simple, disciplined life in London. But when a dangerous man from her past calls, Rye finds she cannot turn him away. Robert Maxim explains that the daughter of a powerful friend has gone missing and he wants Rye to find her. In exchange he offers her something she had given up hope of ever having; freedom from her past.With her dog, Blue, at her side, Rye meets up with her new partner, a handsome man she's not sure she can trust. Heading for Mexico City, they go undercover, posing as husband and wife. After meeting with the bereaved parents, Rye starts to sense that there is more going on than just a missing girl. But it isn't until they arrive in the Yucatan Peninsula, hot on the girl's trail in Paradise, that all hell breaks loose. Sydney has to reach out for help from old friends and deal with the consequences of her past, if she's going to find the girl and keep them all alive.The Sydney Rye SeriesUNLEASHED (A Sydney Rye Novel, #1)DEATH IN THE DARK (A Sydney Rye Novella, #2)INSATIABLE (A Sydney Rye Novel, #3)STRINGS OF GLASS (A Sydney Rye Novel, #4)THE DEVIL'S BREATH (A Sydney Rye Novel, #5)INVITING FIRE (A Sydney Rye Novel, #6)Emily Kimelman's Sydney Rye series of vigilante crime mysteries feature a strong female protagonist and her canine best friend, Blue. It is recommended for the 18+ who enjoy some violence, don't mind dirty language, and are up for a dash of sex. Not to mention an awesome mystery with tons of action that will keep you reading late into the night! less

In Goa, India, Mother Nature rules.The road crumbled under my feet as I ran up the incline. There is no road surface strong enough to resist the return to dirt in this climate.Blue touched my thigh with his nose, a gentle tap to remind me he was there. Thick jungle lined our path. This hill had the fewest homes on our route. No neighbors to wave a hello to or children to smile at as they raced by on bikes either too large or too small for them... moreIn Goa, India, Mother Nature rules.The road crumbled under my feet as I ran up the incline. There is no road surface strong enough to resist the return to dirt in this climate.Blue touched my thigh with his nose, a gentle tap to remind me he was there. Thick jungle lined our path. This hill had the fewest homes on our route. No neighbors to wave a hello to or children to smile at as they raced by on bikes either too large or too small for them. There was just me, Blue, the burst of vegetation, and this road of rocks. I reached the top of the hill, my thighs and calves burned. Panting, I struggled to keep my pace.A low growl narrowed my attention onto a black and white street dog in the brush. Ears flat to her head, she curled her lips and showed teeth. Noting the swollen teats hanging low and exposed, I kept moving. "I'm not going to bother you, mama," I said in a steady voice. "We are just passing by."Blue slowed, and when I patted my thigh for him to catch up he stopped. I turned to look back at him, my senses on high alert. Blue was a mutt the height of a Great Dane with the coat of a wolf and the long snout of a Collie, with one blue eye and one brown. Blue has saved my life more than once so when he stopped, so did I.I recognized a twitch on his lip and saw the hackles raise off his shoulders and back making him appear even larger. A deep and rumbling growl left his chest. It was answered behind me. There were suddenly three dogs in our path. None as big or strong as Blue but together they looked dangerous.I'd been warned about this pack. Growing larger by the day, it was led by an aggressive alpha male the color of dirty water. This must be him, I thought, as the largest of the three, his head wide, fur the silt brown of an engorged river, growled at Blue. The compactness of his body spoke of strength and survival. When he barked, the saliva that shot from his mouth caught a ray of sunlight streaming through the thick foliage around us.The alpha stepped forward, revving his growl like a teenager on a motorbike. The bitch in the brush flanked our left side and when I turned right, two young dogs, their ears still soft from puppyhood, glowered at me.The owner of the guest house where I lived warned me to take a stick if I planned on running. "Just in case," she'd said with a dip of her head and a flip of her hand. Because of her advice I carried a light but solid piece of bamboo about twice the thickness of my thumb. I tapped it on the ground in front of me as I backed toward Blue, keeping my eyes forward, focused on the alpha but paying close attention to my peripheral vision, watching the dogs to my sides.When I reached Blue he moved backwards with me, slowly and deliberately. But the dogs followed. We stopped, and raising the stick over my head, I brought it down hard onto a rock. The loud sound and sudden movement spooked the pups to my right, but the alpha male just growled louder.The two dogs flanking him went crazy barking, the force of their calls lifting their front paws off the ground. The mother and the young ones joined in raising a ruckus that certainly beat mine. Blue, his front paws planted on the road, exposed his teeth and growled, his pitch wavering up and down. He wanted me to tell him it was okay to attack. I could feel his energy bundling up inside him, roiling around.Soon I'd have no control.P.S. The dog does not die.**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

Hatred and desire haunted my dreams.I woke up tangled in my sheets, Blue standing next to the bed, his eyes glowing green in the darkroom. He whined at me gently. "I'm okay," I told him. He pushed his nose against the mosquito net and whined again. "You don't think so?" I asked with a small laugh.He circled around to the net's opening. I sat up and reached through, petting his head to reassure him. Blue was a giant of a dog with one brown eye and one blue... moreHatred and desire haunted my dreams.I woke up tangled in my sheets, Blue standing next to the bed, his eyes glowing green in the darkroom. He whined at me gently. "I'm okay," I told him. He pushed his nose against the mosquito net and whined again. "You don't think so?" I asked with a small laugh.He circled around to the net's opening. I sat up and reached through, petting his head to reassure him. Blue was a giant of a dog with one brown eye and one blue. When I adopted him he was tall, the height of a Great Dane, but thin. Still a puppy really. The pound in Bushwick, Brooklyn thought he was about a year old at the time.Over four years later, Blue looked very different. His coat, which had been ratty when I brought him home to my apartment in Park Slope, now shone in the soft light of my bedroom. He had the markings of a wolf. Black and white and beige all sharing space on his large form. His snout was long and made me think there was some collie in his ancestry. Blue's chest was broad and strong. The pink scars that marked the entrance and exit wounds from a bullet he took for me were hidden beneath his long coat.My scars from that battle were more obvious. One ran under my left eye. White and pink, it arched across the top of my cheekbone, puckering the skin. Above that eye another scar, fainter than the first, ran across my forehead, slicing through my eyebrow and disappearing into my hair.I wore my bangs long, covering the top scar. They almost reached to my gray eyes, but I made sure they never got in the way. My hair was dyed black and cut short, barely reaching my chin. The heat here was too much to bother with long locks.I looked out the glass doors of my balcony and into the jungle. The sky was still dark, the foliage a pitch black mass. I heard the guttural roar of the howler monkeys and knew the sun would be here soon. Blue's nails clicked against the tile floor as he walked to the door.Blue stared at me, then looked at the door, then to me again. "I get it," I said. "You want to go for a run." He lowered his front end, waving his tail around in the air and let out a low warble. Some things would never change.Throwing off the sheet, I climbed through the opening of my mosquito net. The tiles were cool against my bare feet. I dressed quickly, Blue following me around the room, encouraging me by tapping his nose against my hip.Sneakers tied, headlamp in place and phone in hand, I opened my bedroom door. The villa was dark. My house-mate, Cynthia Dawlings, was still in bed. The sky outside the glass was just turning a milky gray. As I closed the door behind me, another group of howler monkeys began their morning call.As Blue and I started down the path toward the trails, I heard another group of monkeys start up in response to the ones in my yard. And then another, like a round robin of roars. The path we walked on was lit by low lights, yellow and solar powered. The air was moist and fresh—it carried a chill that wouldn't last long once the sun rose.I passed other villas on my route. This was once an eco-resort. Now it was a training center for Joyful Justice, the stupidest named vigilante organization to ever blow stuff up. But no one asked me when they were naming it, even though I inspired the whole thing. They had it wrong—I am a monster, not a hero.I don’t care about justice; I crave revenge.P.S. The dog does not die.**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

Dan looked at me like I was some kind of hero, someone he would die for.We circled the runway, a strip of black in a field of green...Dan was down there. There was a time, I thought I was in love with him. A founding member of Joyful Justice and a computer genius with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, I imagine I could’ve been happy with him if I wasn't so screwed up.But I doubted all that now. I suspected he'd betrayed me... moreDan looked at me like I was some kind of hero, someone he would die for.We circled the runway, a strip of black in a field of green...Dan was down there. There was a time, I thought I was in love with him. A founding member of Joyful Justice and a computer genius with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, I imagine I could’ve been happy with him if I wasn't so screwed up.But I doubted all that now. I suspected he'd betrayed me. That he'd been telling my secrets for years to the one person I'd tried to hide them from, Robert Maxim. Bobby to his friends. And now, weirdly enough, I could count myself as his friend. After years of hating him, of blaming him for taking my revenge from me. After knowing, for sure, for absolute sure, that Robert Maxim was the worst kind of man, I had now let him join Joyful Justice. I'd decided to trust him.So Dan had betrayed me to Robert Maxim, but I'd found out after I'd decided to trust Robert Maxim. So how angry should I be? I laughed out loud. Blue, my dog, raised his head and checked my face, letting his tail tap against the floor. I smiled down at him and scratched under his chin. He tapped louder. "What do you think?" I asked him. "What should I do about this betrayal?"As usual Blue did not have a response.Wind battered the plane, whistling around the small vessel. The pilot's forearms strained to hold the plane steady. As we neared the ground one wing dipped for a moment before touching down with a jolt that knocked all anxiety out of my mind, sharpening my vision and pumping me full of adrenaline. The wind continued to push against the plane but we were down. We were safe.When the plane came to a stop, I stood, grabbed my small bag from the seat next to me, and waited as the co-pilot opened the door. The stairs unfolded and met the tarmac as an open-topped Jeep Wrangler pulled alongside the plane. Dan was at the wheel. His hair was longer than the last time I'd seen him. It covered his ears and brushed the neckline of his worn cotton green T-shirt. His beard was shaggy, bleached from the sun and wild-looking. Dan smiled as he looked up at me. I couldn't help but return the grin.Blue and I made our way down the steps. Dan embraced me; he smelled like sunscreen, salty sea, and a whiff of coconut. Blue tapped his feet next to us, waiting impatiently for his own greeting. I wrapped my arms around Dan's neck and pushed my face into his chest, breathing in his intoxicating scents.Closing my eyes, I reveled in the final moment before I exploded our relationship.P.S. The dog does not die.**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

Letting go is an art.And I am not an artist.I'm a killer.Suds slipped down my body and gathered at my ankles before traveling in a flotilla to the drain. The white, iridescent bubbles jiggled as droplets of water crashed around them. They popped one by one, the mass sinking into the pipe as each bubble lost tension and let go.I don’t kill for pleasure, though there is some. Lady Justice is tantamount to my god. I serve her single-mindedly, but there is no blindfold. I am prejudiced, human.. moreLetting go is an art.And I am not an artist.I'm a killer.Suds slipped down my body and gathered at my ankles before traveling in a flotilla to the drain. The white, iridescent bubbles jiggled as droplets of water crashed around them. They popped one by one, the mass sinking into the pipe as each bubble lost tension and let go.I don’t kill for pleasure, though there is some. Lady Justice is tantamount to my god. I serve her single-mindedly, but there is no blindfold. I am prejudiced, human...so human.Would the world be safer with me under lock and key? One less terrorist wreaking havoc. Or more dangerous? One less soldier fighting for justice.Blue barked. I looked through the fogged glass seeing nothing but gray shapes in the mist. He barked again and I turned the water off and opened the shower door, a cloud of steam coming with me into the room.Another bark, a "hello,” a "there is someone here," a "someone we trust" bark. Grabbing a towel I left the bathroom; making wet prints on the carpeting as I padded into the living room. Blue sat by the door, his large tail swishing back and forth.He barked again, turning to look at me, his mismatched eyes bright with excitement. He pushed his large head against my hip, urging me toward the door with a soft whine.Mulberry stood in the hallway, his broad shoulders taking up the width of the doorway. He wore a subdued yellow and green plaid shirt that brought out the same colors in his eyes. Silver and black stubble covered his jaw.Blue pushed past me and wriggled his body against Mulberry's legs. The former New York detective broke his gaze from mine and looked down at my dog. He ruffled Blue's head. "Hey, boy.""I wasn't expecting you."Mulberry looked up at me, his hand still on Blue. "That's the first thing you say?""Hi." He smiled and gave off a little laugh. "I figured I'd stop by and see you. We left things a little …""I thought I was pretty clear.""I'm not sure it's up to you to decide.""I'm not sure about having this conversation in a towel."Mulberry raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you need it.""Come in; I'll get dressed."He followed me into the living room, clicking the door into place.I dressed in a pair of dark indigo jeans and a white T-shirt, one of the few without any stains. Blue's tail wagged and his tongue lolled. "Don't look so excited,” I told Blue before returning to the living room.Mulberry waited on the couch. "You want a drink?""Sure." I crossed to the kitchenette and grabbed us each a sparkling water; cracking one open, it released a fizzing sound.Mulberry came up behind me and placed his hand on my hip. I turned to him and opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head.He stepped closer so our bodies brushed. His face was right above mine, his chin angled down, as I stared at his collarbones.He fisted the short locks at the base of my skull and pulled gently so my chin rose and our lips touched. His kiss was achingly familiar and electrifyingly new. His smell brought back memories I was afraid to face.The pain of my brother's murder lanced through me; the paleness of his skin, the vivid red of his blood as he died—the gaping wound his loss left in me.Everybody I love ends up dead. And not some gentle kiss into the night. They leave this world in violence and suffering; they end in misery.I couldn't watch Mulberry die. But did loving him and denying it hurt more than the grief I feared?P.S. The dog does not die.Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series. less

Softness is the first thing eaten.Animals had gotten to the corpse, tearing the flesh off the skeleton and exposing the bone. The man standing over the body, his green-blue gaze the same shade as Caribbean waters if they ever froze, stared into the empty eye sockets of his former employee. Bloody, torn flesh, ribboned by some bird, hung down the dead man's cheeks.A breeze stirred the pine trees, their needles tapping against each other, whispering in a private conversation... moreSoftness is the first thing eaten.Animals had gotten to the corpse, tearing the flesh off the skeleton and exposing the bone. The man standing over the body, his green-blue gaze the same shade as Caribbean waters if they ever froze, stared into the empty eye sockets of his former employee. Bloody, torn flesh, ribboned by some bird, hung down the dead man's cheeks.A breeze stirred the pine trees, their needles tapping against each other, whispering in a private conversation. Robert Maxim scanned the ground again, his gaze tracing the fight.Blood was splattered in the dirt. A lot of it. Phillip had died slowly. He'd tried to pull the knife free, but the black, blood crusted handle still protruded from the dead man's throat. Philip's left forearm appeared particularly ravaged, probably from Sydney Rye's dog, Blue.The sharpshooter's weapons were gone, unless you counted that knife in his neck.Next to Philip, a depression in the dirt—the outline of a medium-sized woman punctuated with pools of blood—kept pulling Robert's attention.Sydney Rye plunged the knife home and then fell over, succumbing to her own wounds. Which, judging by the amount of blood on the ground, were grave.Robert turned slowly, observing every rock, stick, scuff and depression in the dirt.Deep scratches marked where Blue leapt, his nails digging into the dirt as his back legs propelled him into the air. There were other dog prints, too. Not as large as Blue's, but far bigger than the common dogs found in this area, the contested territory along the Syrian-Iraqi border.A tuft of white fur fluttered on a low branch. Bobby approached it slowly, carefully placing his booted feet where no clues lay. The fur was softer than Sydney's mutt's rough, wolf-like coat. Bobby pulled the white fluff off the branch and slipped it into his pocket.Footsteps approached, soft thuds cushioned by pine needles. "Stay back." The intensity of Robert's emotions roughened his voice into a dangerous growl."That's our man there. Gotta pack him up, get him out of here. Animals are already getting to him," Conner said. Another sharpshooter who'd worked with Philip for years, Conner's bald head and scarred face made him look dangerous. And he was. Had Conner known that Philip took money to try to kill Sydney Rye?"I need more time." Conner disappeared, silent and patient.Robert crouched down and looked at the dirt. Goats. Goats had come through here after the fight.Sydney Rye didn't get up and walk away. Someone carried her, and they managed not to leave a trail of blood. The bald tread of a homemade boot wound through the forest, the goat hooves obscuring all but the smallest trace.Either a small man or tall woman, traveling with a dog and a herd of goats, had carried Sydney Rye away. Why?Herders passed through here on their way from one village to another. The person must be under Daesh protection…or desperate. Why take a bleeding woman? That injured, she'd be useless, the amount of work to patch her up hardly worth the price. Unless, of course, this herder knew who Sydney Rye was.And Robert Maxim would pay any price to get her back.P.S. The dog does not die.**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

I should be the one dying.I should be dead.The doctor flashed her penlight into my eyes, and I blinked against the bright ray. My dog Blue sat on the floor next to me, his head resting on my knee. My fingers curled around the edge of the exam table, gripping onto the seat, hoping I could hold onto reality.Robert Maxim stood by the door, his arms crossed and face shadowed. He watched us, reminding me of a simmering pot, one just on the cusp of a rolling boil... moreI should be the one dying.I should be dead.The doctor flashed her penlight into my eyes, and I blinked against the bright ray. My dog Blue sat on the floor next to me, his head resting on my knee. My fingers curled around the edge of the exam table, gripping onto the seat, hoping I could hold onto reality.Robert Maxim stood by the door, his arms crossed and face shadowed. He watched us, reminding me of a simmering pot, one just on the cusp of a rolling boil.The sound of thunder rumbled in the back of my brain. The stringent scent of the hospital tickled my nose. My heart echoed in my chest, pounding out Mulberry's name.He'd changed my life, Mulberry—helped me when I needed it and when I didn't. Touched me when I asked and stayed away when I insisted. Now, if my mind was to be believed, his life teetered on the edge, his leg blown off, the veins opened, his blood spilled onto the battlefield, rushing away from him.The doctor stepped back, a woman in her early 40s with straight black hair and big glasses that slipped down her elegant little nose. "You've suffered major trauma."Thanks Captain Obvious."I think…” She cocked her head, narrowing her eyes, inspecting me like a gardener might a plant that refused to grow toward the sun. “We need to get you back to the States." She turned to Robert.Thunder rumbled louder, crackling in my ears and blotting out her voice. Lightning sizzled across my vision, and I blinked against the bright, white light.A woman's voice whispered through the storm…You are a miracle.I shook my head, trying to shake free of the hallucinations, but they clung to me like fog hovering over a harbor—thick and dangerous, but intangible, impossible to touch or avoid. There and yet not.Had my worst nightmare really come true? Mulberry, the man I loved, in dire danger. Me, powerless to help.I stayed away to keep him safe.Everyone I love dies.P.S. The dog does not die in this series.**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

“Carrying a girlAcross the river;The hazy moon.”Robert glances up from the book of Haiku verse. “That’s like us.”“Is it?” I ask with a smile.Blue shifts on the couch next to me, pressing more weight against my side. Nila and Frank lay together, their limbs intertwined, on the marble floor.Robert is half in shadow, his green glass shaded reading lamp throwing a pale yellow circle across his lap and chest. A small, leather-bound book lays open in one of his long-fingered, elegant hands... more“Carrying a girlAcross the river;The hazy moon.”Robert glances up from the book of Haiku verse. “That’s like us.”“Is it?” I ask with a smile.Blue shifts on the couch next to me, pressing more weight against my side. Nila and Frank lay together, their limbs intertwined, on the marble floor.Robert is half in shadow, his green glass shaded reading lamp throwing a pale yellow circle across his lap and chest. A small, leather-bound book lays open in one of his long-fingered, elegant hands.The last wisps of the sunset, just the palest, most powdery blues and darkest hues of purple, light up the sky and filter through the wall of glass, casting shadows around the living room.Robert’s phone, lying on the table next to him, vibrates, sending a low hum through the quiet, peaceful room. He glances at the screen and then answers it.“Yes, Brock.” Brock is his head of home security and handles the safety and impenetrability of this mansion on Star Island—a refuge for the extremely wealthy in Biscayne Bay, just east of downtown Miami. “I see.”Robert’s gaze meets mine, his blue-green eyes narrowing. The fine lines around them deepen. In his fifties, with dark hair silvering at the temples, Robert is an imposing presence. It's not just that he's over six feet tall and well-muscled. Or that he moves with the elegance and speed of a killer, either. There is an aura of power that surrounds Robert Maxim—wafts from him—and demands to be acknowledged.He closes the book of poems and leaves it on the side table. Blue, Nila, and Frank lift their heads, collars jangling. The puppies look to their father for direction. Eight months old, with gigantic paws, soft features, and keen instincts, they are almost as tall as Blue.A mutt I adopted back when I lived in New York—a lifetime ago—Blue is the height of a Great Dane with the long, elegant snout of a collie, the thick coat of a wolf, and the markings of a Siberian husky, with one blue eye and one brown. Blue is trained to protect and his offspring are learning…Nila better than Frank.Frank is a dumb dog—which I love about him. The guy is almost too sweet for the job. Whenever Merl, a dog expert, tries to get him to attack, Frank turns it into a game. Nila, on the other hand, is ruthless, smart, and quick.Robert hangs up the phone, and Blue leaps off the couch. The puppies scramble to their feet, facing the door.Robert stands, slipping the phone into his pocket, and crosses to me. He reaches out a hand—the shirt-sleeve rolled up, exposing a strong forearm dusted in dark hair. “Time to go,” he says. I twine my fingers with his, and Robert pulls me from the couch, holding me tight as we begin to move.A heavy fist pounds on the front door, echoing through the large house. My soft-soled sneakers are almost silent on the marble as we begin to jog. The dogs’ nails click along with us.“Homeland Security. Open up!” A man yells, his voice muffled by the large house. Robert presses a button, and a bookshelf slides away, revealing a doorway.The loud crash of a battering ram striking the front door echoes as Maxim punches a code into the keypad next to the elevator. My heartbeat remains even.I am not afraid.P.S. The dog does not die.** Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series. ** less

I’m pregnant.Gripping the test in my hand, I can’t stop staring at the blue cross in the window.Tears roll, hot and slow, down my cheeks. I huddle in a low ball, emotion bowing me. My dog, Blue, whines and presses against my side, his warm tongue laving my cheek, his musky scent enveloping me. A familiar comfort.Will my child love Blue as I do?My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter, and I hiccup a sob. Squeezing my eyes shut, pressing more tears free, I hold my breath... moreI’m pregnant.Gripping the test in my hand, I can’t stop staring at the blue cross in the window.Tears roll, hot and slow, down my cheeks. I huddle in a low ball, emotion bowing me. My dog, Blue, whines and presses against my side, his warm tongue laving my cheek, his musky scent enveloping me. A familiar comfort.Will my child love Blue as I do?My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter, and I hiccup a sob. Squeezing my eyes shut, pressing more tears free, I hold my breath. Blood rushes in my ears, and my heart throbs in my chest…a tidal wave is washing me away. I can’t do this.The soft ping of a voicemail brings my eyes open. I’m staring at the cross again.Blue shifts closer, leaning his warm weight against me. As tall as a Great Dane, with the elegant snout of a collie, the markings of a wolf, and mismatched eyes—one blue the other brown—Blue means the world to me.My heart will have to make room for more.Fear slices through me, adrenaline flooding my veins and bringing another soft whine from Blue. Standing quickly, the adrenaline demanding action, I glance at my phone.Robert Maxim.He can’t know. My eyes trace to the trash can of the hotel bathroom. Wrap up the test and put it in there.But my hand won’t follow the advice. My fingers grip tighter, refusing to release the small wand of plastic. The proof. The truth.Grabbing my phone off the counter, I step back into the hotel room. Blue stays close to my hip, his nose tapping my waist once, a gentle reminder he is there.I shove the plastic wand into my bag, pushing it into a zipper interior pocket and closing it up. Locking it away.Just throw it out.I can’t.My hand strays to my stomach, and Blue’s nose swipes against my fingers. Vision blurred with tears, I stand in the center of the hotel room, my mind reeling. Lightning sizzles across my vision, and thunder ricochets inside my mind.I’m not cut out for motherhood.I know I’ll survive. It’s everyone I love who dies.That changes now.P.S. The dog does not die.**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

Blood. It’s blood. The dark stain circling Sydney is blood.No, no, no. I grab my phone, unlock it, navigate to favorites, and touch Mulberry's name without even fully registering the thought.It rings. How am I going to explain knowing Sydney Rye needs help?I’m thousands of miles away, stationed on a private island in the middle of the Pacific. And yet—"Hello?" Mulberry's voice, gravelly with sleep, cuts through my thoughts."Sydney is bleeding... moreBlood. It’s blood. The dark stain circling Sydney is blood.No, no, no. I grab my phone, unlock it, navigate to favorites, and touch Mulberry's name without even fully registering the thought.It rings. How am I going to explain knowing Sydney Rye needs help?I’m thousands of miles away, stationed on a private island in the middle of the Pacific. And yet—"Hello?" Mulberry's voice, gravelly with sleep, cuts through my thoughts."Sydney is bleeding.""What?" Mulberry's voice clears as sheets rustle in the background.A dog barks. I focus on the monitor with the live feed of Sydney's room. Blue is up and going wild. Sydney, her shoulder length hair splayed out on the pillow, the white of the hotel sheets only a few shades lighter than her blanched skin, remains motionless.I didn't even need to call. The dogs would have alerted Mulberry. Foolish. Careless. Stupid."What’s going on, Dan?”I don’t answer.The door between Mulberry and Sydney's rooms flies open—I watch it on the screen and hear the hinges swoosh over the phone line. Reaching out, I slide my finger along the stylus bar to raise the volume. Mulberry stumbles into Sydney's room, unsteady on just his one leg.She didn't lock the door. That isn’t like her. Except it was Mulberry on the other side. A subtle invitation?"No!" Mulberry’s voice echoes between the phone and computer speakers. He lunges toward the bed.Sydney lies on her back, a dark stain spreading around her hips. Mulberry drops the phone when he grabs her shoulders, his broad back blocking Sydney’s face from my view.I swivel to a different monitor and bring up Mulberry's phone screen. I dial 911. Someone has to. I can always be counted on to do what needs doing. Overstepping saves lives."What's your emergency?" the Miami 911 operator asks.I clench my fist on the glass surface of my desk. Answer her, you idiot. Mulberry doesn’t follow my mental command. Fine. I take full control of the phone. "My wife is pregnant and bleeding. We’re at the airport Marriott, room 523," I say, my voice even and clear. I say it like it's my baby. Like it's my life. Not something I’m watching on a screen. My eyes flick back to the live feed of her room. "I can't wake her."Mulberry sits on the edge of the bed, face tear streaked.Sydney isn’t moving.She isn’t moving.Don't let her die.P.S. The dog does not die.**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

I am desperate for freedom, for peace, and for justice.As I leave captivity and step into the bright sun-filled day, a wave of relief washes over me. I am not free yet, though. Walking between barbed wire topped walls toward the exit gate, I breathe in fresh air, preparing for the next challenge. An enemy posing as a lover waits for me. I will evade him, though.Robert Maxim meets me at the prison gate, his smile predatory and victorious. I blank my mind... moreI am desperate for freedom, for peace, and for justice.As I leave captivity and step into the bright sun-filled day, a wave of relief washes over me. I am not free yet, though. Walking between barbed wire topped walls toward the exit gate, I breathe in fresh air, preparing for the next challenge. An enemy posing as a lover waits for me. I will evade him, though.Robert Maxim meets me at the prison gate, his smile predatory and victorious. I blank my mind. If I think about my plan, Robert will see it on my face. He expects me to do something—it's part of the fun for him.Is this fun for me, too?His hand cups my upper arm as he bends to brush a kiss against my cheek. Robert’s scent engulfs me: low notes of sandalwood and fine leather balanced by a sharp tang of cold metal."You look lovely," Robert says.I'm wearing lightweight black cargo pants, unbuttoned to make room for my growing pregnancy, and tucked into my boots which are laced tight at my ankles—they keep spiders out when in the jungle. Under the parka that Special Agent Consuela Sanchez gave me when we flew back to the States all I have on is a thin tank top. It's cold here in DC, not so much in Costa Rica.Robert is wearing a camel hair overcoat a few shades yellower than the copper in his beard. The collar is pulled up and his cheeks are tinged pink from the cold. A soft wind plays with his dark hair gone silver at the temples.Behind Robert, a black SUV with tinted windows idles. Brock, his head of personal security opens the back door. Brock is big and broad with weathered skin the color of brushed brass. His dark coat captures the sunlight, seeming to hide it somewhere it will never be found."Good to have you back, Ms. Rye," Brock says as I get into the back seat."Thanks, Brock. It's good to be back." Robert joins me. "Where are we going?" I ask. "To my apartment?"Robert smiles. "Yes." When Robert faked his own death he really went the extra mile by leaving me most of his worldly possessions, including his apartment in Washington DC. Now that he is forcing me to marry him to avoid prosecution—a husband can choose not to testify against his wife—he'll be getting his wealth back."I may need you to sign a prenup," I say. "You realize I'm a very wealthy woman."Robert laughs as we merge onto the highway. "Your wish is my command.""Yeah, right," I grumble, looking out the window. The industrial area we're leaving slides by in a smear of speed.Robert captures my hand, pulling it into his lap. "Sydney," his voice is serious and I turn to look at him. "I recognize this isn't what you wanted."I huff a laugh. "You're so observant Robert, was it the threat of giving birth in prison, or just the regular old forcing me to marry you?" I hold my chin with my free hand, pretending to be really thinking. "I wonder if I'm being triggered by the fact that you're treating me like an object rather than a person.""Sydney," his voice is lower now, a warning. I have to look away to keep the thoughts bubbling up in my mind hidden from him.You will learn that I am not an object. Only a thinking, feeling, sentient being can ruin you the way I plan to.P.S. The dog does not die.**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

The moon hangs low and full, her silvery light reflecting in the facets of black choppy water.Blue and I sit in the cockpit of a sailboat. My eyes scan the open ocean while female Peshmerga fighters sleep all around me—below deck, across benches on the bow, and one curled up on the stern.I cup my pregnant belly, allowing myself room to grieve in this peaceful moment. Rida saved my life… and I got her killed.My old story starts to ride its rails: Everyone I love dies.Tears thicken my throat... moreThe moon hangs low and full, her silvery light reflecting in the facets of black choppy water.Blue and I sit in the cockpit of a sailboat. My eyes scan the open ocean while female Peshmerga fighters sleep all around me—below deck, across benches on the bow, and one curled up on the stern.I cup my pregnant belly, allowing myself room to grieve in this peaceful moment. Rida saved my life… and I got her killed.My old story starts to ride its rails: Everyone I love dies.Tears thicken my throat. My dog, Blue, sitting by my feet, leans more heavily against my leg. I sink my fingers into the thick ruff across his broad shoulders, finding some peace in the warmth there. Blue doesn't die.Rida did, though. Shot in the back. Killed in an instant.The faces of others I've lost crowd my mind's eye. My brother, James, grins at me like he knows all my secrets. Malina winks, her eyes sparkling with joy. I got them killed too…I spawned the lies Rida used to start a revolution. Right before she died, Rida told me my lies were truth, that she was a messenger from God, and so was I. Because we are all divine. Bunch of nonsense.But Rida's lies lent strength to women, offering them the opportunity to recognize their worth.Her words freed women who'd believed other lies about our gender. That we are dangerous and in danger. More nonsense.But women believed Rida's new story instead of the old ones…fascinating how much power belief lends reality.Rida claimed to be a profit, to have heard the voice of God, and that He said women were equal, and should rise-up and claim their rightful positions next to men. But it wasn't God, it was a very brain damaged me.The lies took on a life of their own, as they so often do. Fueled by enough belief, a well told lie—fiction—can change the world.The boat rocks gently, the sail filled by a fresh gust of wind.We are in international waters off the coast of France, fleeing. This is how my life as Sydney Rye began. Blue and I in a boat, escaping New York City. But it’s no longer just us two. My son shifts inside me as if he can sense my thoughts of him…and maybe he can.The connection I feel to my son is not something I can articulate. Maybe because I’m afraid of what it sounds like. It sounds like a bunch of nonsense.I've always insisted that faith in a God, in a deity outside myself is dangerous. I always held myself responsible. Insisted that I choose to save lives, often by taking others. I made those choices. No God told me what to do, or absolved me of my actions.Those beliefs brought me here, to this boat, to this life growing inside of me. To a grief as deep as the sea beneath me.Is there a way forward without bloodshed? Can I break this curse and hold onto the ones I love without giving up and just letting the world spin on without me? It's all the trying that gets people killed. But every time I stop… they suck me back in.Lightning flashes in the distance and I look at Blue, he doesn't react to the storm I see hovering on the horizon. It lives in my damaged brain. A lie I'm telling myself.I smile, humor in the absurd thinning the blanket of grief cloaking me.Thunder rumbles and a voice whispers within it. Burn it all down.Images spring to life inside my mind's eye. A web of lies suspends humanity in a constant struggle, each of us flies buzzing against the spider's perfectly designed snare—the more we fight, the stronger the web holds. Each of us entangling ourselves further, twisting the silk tighter, holding us in our singular perspective.But even if we don't fight, the web still holds—it does not release when we surrender.There is no escape…except to destroy the web. To burn it down. less

To her neighbors, Jennifer Johnson seemed odd, just a little off. How could she not? Her entire existence was a lie.While the child at her breasts was really hers, the husband by her side…not so much. John and Jennifer Johnson shared the same innocuous last name—second most common in the United States—but he was not the father of her son, nor the love of her life.The Johnsons had a dog they called Buddy, the second most popular dog name in the country... moreTo her neighbors, Jennifer Johnson seemed odd, just a little off. How could she not? Her entire existence was a lie.While the child at her breasts was really hers, the husband by her side…not so much. John and Jennifer Johnson shared the same innocuous last name—second most common in the United States—but he was not the father of her son, nor the love of her life.The Johnsons had a dog they called Buddy, the second most popular dog name in the country. Tall as a Great Dane with the snout of a Collie, the markings of a Siberian Husky, and the thick coat of a wolf with one blue eye and one brown, that dog watched the baby as if he was operating some kind of military operation. It was adorable.Buddy wasn't fixed though, something noted on by the homeowners association. A discussion ensued as to whether he was even allowed to be in the neighborhood, such a large hairy dog with such big balls. Is that what Hidden Bush was all about?The husband though, everyone liked him. Tall, fit, and handsome, he had beers with the men and helped women with their groceries. He said they'd chosen this community because they liked it, which made people feel good about the Johnsons. They could live anywhere, and they'd chosen Hidden Bush…that said something good about the neighborhood for sure. For absolute sure.The wife was a bit odd though, everyone had to admit it. And they did, as often as possible. She ran more than was probably healthy. Nursed that baby still…and it was 10 months now, the boy was walking.The Johnsons never went on dates. Seemed like Mrs. Johnson didn't ever leave that baby. Many women suspected that Mr. Johnson needed to be saved from his wife…but to be truthful, they needed to be saved from their own marriages and were really just projecting.After all, the Johnson were a lie, remember? less

Robert Maxim's smirk feels a little like home, like the scary exciting basement steps with their shadows and hints of unnatural powers. A cold wind rushes across the fallow corn field, pulling at my cargo pants and dipping into the open neck of my long overcoat. It's too large for me, drooping off the shoulders and buttoned around my son, James, as he sleeps against my chest in his baby carrier. Blue's nose taps my hip. My son's breath warms my chest. This is home... moreRobert Maxim's smirk feels a little like home, like the scary exciting basement steps with their shadows and hints of unnatural powers. A cold wind rushes across the fallow corn field, pulling at my cargo pants and dipping into the open neck of my long overcoat. It's too large for me, drooping off the shoulders and buttoned around my son, James, as he sleeps against my chest in his baby carrier. Blue's nose taps my hip. My son's breath warms my chest. This is home. They say you can’t ever go home again–but I think they're wrong. No matter where I stand, as long as I have these two with me, I am home. Robert Maxim, on the other hand…I know I don't belong with him although he doesn't agree. The man is richer and more powerful than anyone should be. He holds as much sway over our world as the basement steps over the imagination of a child—it's a death grip that makes no sense. Here he stands now, the same cold wind bracketing me, teasing his hair—sable but silvered at the temples, just like a real villain. His ebony coat fits him perfectly, the material the kind of soft black that absorbs light. When we are ten feet away, Robert stirs, moving forward to meet us. "Sydney," he says in that voice of his, looking at me with those oceanic eyes, smiling with that smirk. Robert's gaze drops to Blue. "Blue," he says, nodding a greeting. Blue's tail wags, and he lets out a warble. Robert's smirk spreads into a smile. Blue doesn't hate Robert Maxim. Which is a point in Robert's favor. But there are too many checkmarks in the "this guy is a dangerous psychopath column" to totally trust Blue's assessment that he shouldn't be mauled on site. "Robert," I say, tilting my chin up. His gaze shifts to the bulge under my coat. My arms circle James. The black wool coat reaches past my knees covering James's body, keeping him hidden and warm. "He's asleep." "I've so looked forward to meeting him." I spent James's entire life—all eleven months of it—hiding. Not just from Robert Maxim, but he was one of the key components that made me want to bury myself away from the world. I may believe you can find home no matter where you are…but that also means you can't ever run away from yourself. Wherever you go, there you are…and in my case Robert Maxim is there too. "I left you, Robert. You must realize that I'm not going to let you be in my son's life." "No?" His gaze drops to the top of James's head. He leans forward to get a peek at his face, and the emotion that steals over Robert Maxim breaks off a piece of my heart and runs away with it. "You can have it all," Robert says. "Any thing or person you desire." He throws the word desire at me like it's mine, like I should own it. "All of your wants and needs can be met. You just have to allow yourself to have them." His eyes come back to mine. "Can you do that, Sydney? Let yourself have everything you want?" "How do I get you to just leave me alone?" His nostrils flare, and the skin around his eyes tighten. "You can have that too. I'm not here to force you into my bed, Sydney. I'm here to save your life." P.S. The dog does not die. ** If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.** less

The dog’s howls echo the mechanical whine of the sirens blaring from the speakers. The sounds undulate, rising and falling like the jungle-draped topography around us.The airfield we stand on is a swath of ochre in a sea of riotous green—the sky above a cerulean dome hazed in tremulous clouds. Sunlight beats through them, baking the dirt, mixing with the moisture of the jungle and wrapping itself around us in a heavy, sweaty embrace. My arms tighten around my son... moreThe dog’s howls echo the mechanical whine of the sirens blaring from the speakers. The sounds undulate, rising and falling like the jungle-draped topography around us.The airfield we stand on is a swath of ochre in a sea of riotous green—the sky above a cerulean dome hazed in tremulous clouds. Sunlight beats through them, baking the dirt, mixing with the moisture of the jungle and wrapping itself around us in a heavy, sweaty embrace. My arms tighten around my son.Frank presses his snout to James’s foot, a low whine escaping as he looks up at me. Nila joins with Blue circling us as though forming a defensive line. They know we are in danger but don’t know from what.The dogs in the jungle, trained to protect the compound’s perimeter, continue to howl even as the sirens wind down.Blue leads us to the jungle path. Darkness closes in around us, the air stifling and humidity thick. Over the cascading insect orchestra, a resonating hum grows louder. James looks up at the canopy above us. “Vroom?” He asks.“Vroom,” I agree, keeping my focus on the winding path. Roots criss-cross the dirt. Big wet leaves and spidery vines encroach, tugging at my clothing as if to stop me from entering. Sweat slides down my spine under my shirt.Nila jogs ahead, taking the lead, her nose to the ground while Blue stays by my side and Frank behind us—a train of people and dogs. A pack moving through the jungle. A formidable force.A bird squawks loudly, jerking James’s attention. He pulls his arms from around my neck to clap.The drone’s mechanical hum grows louder.Nila stops, turning her head to the sky, nostrils flaring, trying to find its scent. I crane my neck. Through the thick foliage the sky is just a few flashes of blue. Three shadows darken the diamonds of light cascading to the jungle floor, and flashes of white glint above us. No bombs drop. No bullets rain.Yet. less

Declan will die if he kills me. The community I belong to—my tribe—is strong and ruthless. Vengeful.Consuela or Declan could kill me right now. I don't have a gun. Either of them could raise their weapons, aim, fire. They could soak this carpet with my blood, spatter it across their shirts, mist droplets in their hair.But they don’t want to and not just because they don’t want to die. They like me and, honestly, I like them.Consuela’s so f****** grounded... moreDeclan will die if he kills me. The community I belong to—my tribe—is strong and ruthless. Vengeful.Consuela or Declan could kill me right now. I don't have a gun. Either of them could raise their weapons, aim, fire. They could soak this carpet with my blood, spatter it across their shirts, mist droplets in their hair.But they don’t want to and not just because they don’t want to die. They like me and, honestly, I like them.Consuela’s so f****** grounded. She knows who she is and what she cares about. Declan’s grim determination to not be a total piece of s*** is kind of adorable. And makes him somewhat easy to manipulate—which is useful.“Remember the first time we met?” Declan asks, surprising me. I reach back in my memories to sparkling turquoise eyes—a mounted police officer. Declan’s partner. “You were sitting on a curb holding a dog’s leash with blood caked on your shins." He reminds me.The heat of the sun basks my cheeks, the stench of the dead body clings to my nose. The drying blood, whipped across my legs by a grotesque toupee locked in a Golden Retriever’s mouth, itches.“What’s your point?” I ask.Behind me, one of the drugged police officer’s radio crackles. I hold up a hand, silencing Declan’s response but I can’t make out the words.Mulberry speaks into my ear. “They’re asking if one of the men can come down and assist. Apparently, the disturbance has turned into a bit of a brawl. You need to leave now. Plan B.”The original plan, A, was for me to just stroll out of the hotel, walk to the helipad on the East River, where Robert Maxim offered to give me a ride over to New Jersey, dropping me off so I can board a trawler and head north up the Hudson.Plan B means I’m taking the stairs to the service exit. That’s fine. But I need to go before someone comes to check on this situation.“We’ve known each other a long time,” Declan says. He's still not making a point. Is Declan buying time?“That doesn’t mean anything, trust isn’t linear, Declan.”His lips press together, Declan does not like that truth. “We won’t hurt you.”I laugh again. “Declan, if there is one thing I trust, it’s that you won’t hurt me.” I give him one more grin before turning away into the shadowed living room. Blue’s nose taps my hip.My long, warm overcoat with its big hood drapes across an over stuffed chair. My gaze tracks briefly to the police officers passed out on the couch. They each lean against an armrest, their legs spread wide, knees almost touching.I swing my coat on, adjust my backpack over it, tightening the straps. Then I get the f*** out of there. less