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Showing posts with label murder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label murder. Show all posts

Monday, February 14, 2011

GUEST POST BY PAMELA SAMUELS YOUNG AUTHOR OF MURDER ON THE DOWN LOW.

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I want to welcome  Pamela Samuels Young, author of the legal thriller, Murder on the Down Low (Goldman House Publishing), as she virtually tours the blogosphere on her eleventh virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book! Thanks for stopping by.


Story Ideas are Everywhere

You hear it all the time: Write what you know. But where do you find a story idea that might become the next best seller? Everywhere.

Great plots are all around us. The plots for my legal thrillers are usually spurred by something I’ve heard or read.

The Oprah show gets credit for Murder on the Down Low. I can still remember the day I watched in stunned silence as Oprah interviewed JL King, the author of On the Down Low. He boldly professed to sleeping with men, but at the same time, claimed that he was heterosexual. His shocking revelations about the secret world of men on the “down low” really shook me up. The very next day while I was driving to work, the plot for Murder on the Down Low came to me: What if a number of attractive, successful family men who all shared a shocking secret were being gunned down on the streets of L.A. and no one knew why?


The plot for Buying Time came to me while chatting with a guy at a party. I knew he was in the insurance business, but when he explained that he was a viatical broker, I started asking lots of questions because I’d never heard of the viatical industry. When he finished explaining that a viatical broker helps terminally ill people sell beneficiary rights to their insurance policies in exchange for quick cash, I knew immediately that the industry was the perfect backdrop for a thriller.

On the drive home from the party, the following idea came me: What if a disbarred lawyer becomes a viatical broker? And what if his terminally ill clients start dying sooner than they should and he is suspected of killing them? I was so excited about the idea, I started outlining it the very next day.

The more difficult task for me is coming up with plot twists that will surprise my readers. It’s so disappointing to read a book that ends exactly the way I expected it to. So I work really hard to come up with twists and turns that keep my readers guessing.

My best plot twists usually hit me while I’m stuck in traffic. I’ll rack my brain for days trying to come up with a red herring for a particular scene. Nine times out of ten, my light bulb moment will happen while I’m in my car stuck in rush-hour traffic.

So as a writer, I’m constantly looking and listening for interesting story ideas. Once I have an intriguing “what if,” the fun part is developing characters and creating conflicts to bring that question to life.


About the Author-

 Pamela Samuels-Young is a working attorney who squeezes in time to write whenever and wherever she can find it. Her desire to see engaging African-American characters in today's mainstream legal fiction prompted her to pen her first novel, Every Reasonable Doubt. The former television news writer earned her law degree from UC Berkeley's Boalt Hall School of Law. She has a master's degree in broadcasting from Northwestern University and a bachelor's degree in journalism from the University of Southern California. Pamela served as legal consultant to the Showtime television series, Soul Food, and speaks frequently on writing and 'Pursuing Your Passion'. 


Authors Website.



Tuesday, January 25, 2011

BLOG TOUR AND REVIEW OF FATAL JUSTICE BY IRENE HANNON

Fatal Judgment (Guardians of Justice, Book 1)In Fatal Judgment (Guardians of Justice, Book 1), U.S Marshal Jake Taylor was on a special mission in Iraq and when he returns home he is assigned to a new mission to protect  Liz Michaels who is a Federal Judge. She has kept her life secret and was married to Jake's best friend. Liz's sister was murdered in Liz's house and the killer might be after Liz. Jake was very upset after the death of his best friend who was married to Liz and he has not spoken to her in many years. While the Marshals are searching for the killers, there is an attraction forming between Liz and Jake. When it becomes clear that an unknown enemy may want her dead, the stakes are raised. Because now both her life--and his heart--are in mortal danger.


About the Author-

Irene Hannon is the author of more than 25 novels, including the CBA bestsellers Against All Odds, An Eye for an Eye, and In Harm's Way. Her books have been honored with the coveted RITA Award from Romance Writers of America, the HOLT Medallion, the Daphne du Maurier award, and the Reviewer's Choice Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine. She lives in Missouri.


Author's Website-




My Thoughts-

 Fatal Judgment is full of suspense, faith, a little romance and is very realistic. I have never read any of the author's books before but I will definitely be reading the second book in the series. I was hooked from page one and the book was a page turner.  All of the characters were realistic and when the villain was introduced in the story, I wanted to find out more. There were times that I was at the edge of my seat and I was always rooting for Jake and Liz. So if you like suspense with a little romance this is the book for you.


Available January 2011 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book for my honest review and I was not compensated for my review.

Friday, December 31, 2010

BLOG TOUR AND REVIEW OF THE CLOUDS ROLL AWAY BY S. GIORELLO (CONTEST)

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The Clouds Roll Away (Raleigh Harmon)In The Clouds Roll Away, forensic geologist Raleigh Harmon returns home for Christmas but discovers Richmond, Virginia running low on goodness and light.

Although her exemplary service in Seattle lifted her disciplinary transfer, Raleigh lands a hometown civil rights case riddled with problems that could get her sent away again. When she helps out a fellow cop, her life goes on the line, forcing her undercover in a sting operation. As Raleigh realizes the lines are crossing and double-crossing, her domestic life starts to unravel. Her mother's mental health cracks like ice, her closest friend grows cold, and her old boyfriend DeMott comes a-calling, hoping for more than chestnuts by an open fire.

While the city glows with Christmas lights and carols, Raleigh is forced to rely on her sharpest skills to stay alive, hoping for that one clear moment when everything makes sense and the clouds roll away.


sibella-in-blueMeet Sibella:

Sibella Giorello grew up in Alaska and majored in geology at Mount Holyoke College. After riding a motorcycle across the country, she worked as a features writer for the Richmond Times-Dispatch. Her stories have won state and national awards, including two nominations for the Pulitzer Prize. She now lives in Washington state with her husband and sons. Find out more about Sibella and her other books at her website. www.sibellagiorello.com

Click here to see the other stops on this virtual book tour!

You can purchase your copy here.


My Thoughts- 

The book was written well and I was hooked from the first page. This is the third book in the series and I had no difficulty reading it. As I was reading it, I noticed that Sibella included information from the other two books to keep you up to date. I really liked Raleigh because she was believable and had a good relationship with her mother, Nadine. The storyline included mystery, a little romance, and plenty of twists and turns to keep it exciting. All of the characters were developed well and there was a lot of emotion throughout the book. So go and get yourself a copy of the book. You will not be disappointed.



Win a KINDLE from Sibella Giorello!

 Sibella’s celebrating the release of The Clouds Roll Away by giving away a KINDLE prize pack worth over $150.00!

giorello_300x250


One Grand Prize winner will receive:
  • Latest Generation KINDLE with Wi-Fi
  • $25 gift certificate to Amazon.com
To enter simply click on one of the icons below! Then tell your friends! Winner will be announced January 3, 2011 on Sibella's blog: http://sibellagiorello.blogspot.com/



About The Clouds Roll Away – “Beautifully written with exquisite descriptions, Giorello’s mystery also features well-developed characters…”
—Booklist, starred review





Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book from the Lifuse Group for my honest review and I was not compensated for my review.

Friday, December 17, 2010

BLOG TOUR AND REVIEW OF THE 19TH ELEMENT BY J.L. BETCHER



The 19th Element: A James Becker Nuclear ThrillerIn The 19th Element: A James Becker Nuclear Thriller, Al Qaeda plans to attack Minnesota’s Prairie River Nuclear Power Plant as a means to return the down-trodden terrorist organization to international prominence.
In addition to their own devoted forces, the terrorists enlist some homegrown anarchists, and a Three Mile Island survivor with a pathological vendetta against the nuclear establishment, to assist in the assault.
James “Beck” Becker is a former elite U.S. government intelligence operative who has retired to his childhood hometown of Red Wing, Minnesota – just six miles down the Mississippi from the Prairie River nuclear facility.
Possessing wisdom born of experience, Beck suspects the terrorists’ intentions as soon as the body of a university professor turns up on the Mississippi shore – the clear victim of foul play.
He recognizes connections between seemingly unrelated incidents – the murdered agronomy professor, a missing lab assistant, an international cell call, a stolen fertilizer truck – but can’t piece it together in enough detail to convince government authorities that a larger threat exists.  Only his American Indian friend, “Bull,” will help Beck defuse the threat.
So it’s Beck and Bull versus international terror.


My Thoughts-

The book started out slowly and then picked up speed rather quickly. There were some chapters that provided me too much technical information and I felt that I was reading a chemistry textbook. This is a great psychological thriller and I was able to finish the book in one afternoon. It was scary and I felt like I was right there with Beck stopping the terrorists. The characters were well developed and believable. I look forward to reading the next book in the series and his newest book A Higher Court, One Man's Search for the Truth of God's Existence.


About the Author-

The author holds a Bachelor's Degree, cum laude, in English from St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota and a Juris Doctorate from the University of Minnesota Law School in Minneapolis. He has practiced law for more than twenty-five years in the Mississippi River community of Red Wing, Minnesota. He has also been a long-time supporter and coach of youth volleyball there. Mr. Betcher has published three feature articles in COACHING VOLLEYBALL, the Journal of the American Volleyball Coaches Association. His most recent article was the cover story for the April/May, 2009 Issue. 



Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book from the author for my honest review and I was not compensated for this review.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

REVIEW OF HELL'S CORNER BY DAVID BALDACCI

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In Hell's Corner, John Carr, aka Oliver Stone is requested by the President to participate in a secret and high risk mission. He has tried to forget his past but he has no choice but to say yes.

Hell's CornerAs Stone watches the motorcade of The British Prime Minister leave the White House a bomb goes off in Lafayatte Park. It is an apparent terrorist attack against both leaders. He is knocked out and when he wakes up, he is determined to find out who is responsible for the bombing.

He partners with British Agent Mary Chapman to search  for the attackers. They discover that the attackers are mysterious, skilled and very dangerous. The bombing may be the first event in the attacker's plan and Stone decides to turn to The Camel Club for assistance. What happens to Stone and who is responsible? I guess you have to read the book to find out.


Author's Website-

My Thoughts-

I have never read any of The Camel Club novels before so I cannot compare this novel to the others. I had no difficulty following the plot and it was a page turner. The book had many twists and turns that made it exciting. I do not like novels that are predictable and Hell's Corner kept me guessing throughout the entire book. All of the characters interacted well together and I did not figure out who the villain was until the end. I highly recommend this book.I am a Baldacci fan!








Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book from the Hachette Book Group for my honest review and I was not compensated for my review.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

BLOG TOUR AND REVIEW OF THE REMAINS BY V. ZANDRI

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Join Vincent Zandri, author of the thriller suspense novel, The Remains (Stone House Ink), as he virtually tours the blogosphere on his fourth virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book!



About The Book-

The Remains smThirty years ago, teenager Rebecca Underhill and her twin sister Molly were abducted by a man who lived in a house in the woods behind their upstate New York farm. They were held inside that house for three horrifying hours, until making their daring escape.
Vowing to keep their terrifying experience a secret in order to protect their mother and father, the girls tried to put the past behind them. And when their attacker was hunted down by police and sent to prison, they believed he was as good as dead.
Now, it’s 30 years later, and with Molly having passed away from cancer, Rebecca, a painter and art teacher, is left alone to bear the burden of a secret that has only gotten heavier and more painful with each passing year.
But when Rebecca begins receiving some strange anonymous text messages, she begins to realize that the monster who attacked her all those years ago is not dead after all. He’s back, and this time, he wants to do more than just haunt her. He wants her dead.




Read an Excerpt-

October 2, 2008
Albany, New York
In the deep night, a woman sits down at her writing table. Fingering a newly sharpened pencil, she focuses her eyes upon the blank paper, brings the black pencil tip to it.
She begins to write.
Dear Mol,
I’ve been dreaming about you again. I don’t think a night has gone by in the past few weeks when I haven’t seen your face. Our face, I should say. The face is always in my head; implanted in my memories. The dream is nothing new. It’s thirty years ago again. It’s October. I’m walking close behind you through the tall grass towards the woods. Your hair is loose and long. You’re wearing cut-offs, white Keds with the laces untied and a red T-shirt that says ‘Paul McCartney and Wings’ on the front. You’re walking ahead of me while I try to keep up; but afraid to keep up. Soon we come to the tree line, and while my heart beats in my throat, we walk into the trees. But then comes a noise—a snapping of twigs and branches. The gaunt face of a man appears. A man who lives in a house in the woods.
Then, just like that, the dream shifts and I see you kneeling beside me inside the dark empty basement. I hear the sound of your sniffles, smell the wormy raw earth, feel the cold touch of a man’s hand. You turn and you look at me with your solid steel eyes. And then I wake up.
We survived the house in the woods together, Mol, and we never told a soul. We just couldn’t risk it. Whelan would have come back for us. He would have found us. He would have found mom and dad. Even today, I know he surely would have. He would have killed them, Mol. He would have killed us. In just five days, thirty years will have passed. Three entire decades and I’m still convinced we did the right thing by keeping that afternoon in the woods our secret.
When I see you in my dreams it’s like looking in a mirror. The blue eyes, the thick lips, the dirty blond hair forever just touching the shoulders. My hair is finally showing signs of grey, Mol.
I wonder, do you get gray hair in heaven? I wonder if Whelan’s hair burned off in hell? I wonder if he suffers?
All my love,
Your twin sister,
Rebecca Rose Underhill
Exhaling, the woman folds the letter neatly into thirds, slips it into a blank stationary envelope, her initials RRU embossed on the label. Running the bitter sticky glue interior over her tongue, she seals the envelope, sets it back down onto the writing table. Once more she picks up the pencil, brings the now dulled tip to the envelope’s face. Addressing it she writes only a name:
Molly Rose Underhill
The job done, the woman smiles sadly. Opening the table drawer, she sets the letter inside, on top of a stack of nine identical letters-never-sent. One for every year her sister has been gone.
Closing the drawer she hears her cell phone begin to vibrate, then softly chime. Picking it up off the desktop, she opens the phone, sees that a new text has been forwarded to her electronic mailbox. Fingering the in-box, she retrieves the message.
Rebecca is all it says.
Punching the command that reveals the name and number of the sender she finds “Caller Unknown.” The sender’s number has been blocked. Closing the phone back up, she sets it down on the desk. That’s when the wind picks up, blows and whistles through the open window.
“Mol,” she says, staring out into the darkness. “Mol, is that you?”



My Thoughts-

Mr. Zandri has done it again, he has written another fantastic thriller.  I became a fan of the author after reading Moonlight Falls. I was not able to put the book down and I kept saying to myself "just one more chapter." I read the book till two am  and boy did I regret it in the morning when I had to get up for school. The author's writing style was brilliant and the way that he alternated between Rebecca's past and present life was unique. I was able to follow the plot completely and I felt that I was right there with the two girls and the villain. I am a twin and I have a connection with my brother just as Molly and Rebecca did in the book. I definitely see this novel on the big screen as a psychological thriller. So go on out and get your self copies of The remains and Moonlight Falls. You will not be disappointed.


Visit the Author's site.




Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book from the author and I was not compensated for my review.


CymLowell

Monday, November 15, 2010

GUEST POST BY V. ZANDRI AUTHOR OF THE THRILLER- THE REMAINS

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I want to welcome Vincent Zandri to Books R Us. Vincent is the Author of The Remains and  he is virtually touring the blogosphere in November and  December ‘10 on his fourth virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book! Thanks for stopping by.




The ‘What Now’ Syndrome
By Vincent Zandri



Do any of you writers feel a cold droplet of sweat run down the spine of your back when you complete a big a draft of a new novel? I know I do. I'll be a sad son of bitch but I just can't I explain it, other than I must be a little bit warped in the head. Or so my ex-wife, the dreadful “M” lets call her, reminds me on a daily basis.

Shouldn't the completion of a new book send me seeking out my cell phone to call my travel agent? Come to think of it, I just did that. But what I mean is, shouldn't I be looking forward to relaxing a little? You know, sleeping in a little, having a couple drinks? Take in some fishing? A movie or two? A couple of nice dinners out with my friends? A trip to somewhere exotic?

I guess it all has to do with the "What Now" syndrome. Like Hemingway once said, in this writing business chuck full of highly critical academic jerks, you're never judged on what you have done, but always what you are doing.

Therefore, while I have a long rewrite to look forward to on my new project, tentatively titled, The Dead Souls, I am now scrambling to work on something else first. The lucky winner will probably be the second in the, Dick Moonlight, Moonlight Falls, series, or Moonlight Rises.

Hey, I shouldn't be complaining. My new books, like The Remains, are bestsellers. I've just signed two new contracts for two more books with my new publisher. Plus I now have a movie scout. I remember when, not too long ago, I used to complete a novel and wait for the onslaught of the "big quiet." There was no money coming in and Dreadful M use to hang me in effigy out on the front lawn (Course now that I'm just a tad more successful she's been on-again/off-again hinting about a reconciliation. I wonder how her boyfriend feels about that! In any case Dreadful M, I’m still running….!!!!).

Times have changed. I make my living as a full-time writer. But one thing hasn't changed. I want to always be working on something. Writing is who I am and what I'm all about as a human being. Some people might think this wrong. That I should be a father, a husband, a citizen, or what have you first. But I choose to be a writer first. I can't imagine myself living any other way.

Vincent Zandri is an award-winning novelist, essayist and freelance photojournalist. His novel As Catch Can (Delacorte) was touted in two pre-publication articles by Publishers Weekly and was called “Brilliant” upon its publication by The New York Post. The Boston Herald attributed it as “The most arresting first crime novel to break into print this season.” Other novels include the bestselling, Moonlight Falls,Godchild (Bantam/Dell) and Permanence (NPI). Translated into several languages including Japanese and the Dutch, Zandri’s novels have also been sought out by numerous major movie producers, including Heyday Productions and DreamWorks. Presently he is the author of the blogs, Dangerous Dispatches and Embedded in Africa for Russia Today TV (RT). He also writes for other global publications, including Culture 11, Globalia and Globalspec. Zandri’s nonfiction has appeared in New York Newsday, Hudson Valley Magazine, Game and Fish Magazine and others, while his essays and short fiction have been featured in many journals including Fugue, Maryland Review and Orange Coast Magazine. He holds an M.F.A. in Writing from Vermont College and is a 2010 International Thriller Writer’s Awards panel judge. Zandri currently divides his time between New York and Europe. He is the drummer for the Albany-based punk band to Blisterz.
His latest book is the bestselling thriller novel, The Remains.
You can visit his website at www.vincentzandri.com or his blog at www.vincentzandri.blogspot.com.



Check Back tomorrow 11/16 when I review this fantastic book.


Friday, November 12, 2010

BLOG TOUR OF CLOSURE BY R. MCGAHA (GIVEAWAY)



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I want to welcome Rie McGaha to Books R Us. Rie is the author of Closure (Champagne Books: 8/2/2010)  Thanks for stopping by.


Going Through the Going Through

Recently a seven-year-old little girl named Maybl passed away as a result of Rhett's Syndrome. This little known disease is sneaky, deadly and steals a child's life. Maybl was born a healthy, happy baby girl who developed like any other baby. She sat up, crawled, cut teeth and laughed at her older sister, Audreay. When she was about a year old she began to digress physically and emotionally until she could only lie on her back as she did right after birth. The life expectancy of a Rhett's Syndrome child is late teens to early twenties but Maybl, bless her sweet little heart, lived seven and a half years. Unable to even eat, she was fed through a tube in her stomach. She couldn't sit up, crawl or talk but when she smiled she lit up the room. On the evening of September 20, 2010 Maybl's mother went to get her up for a bath and found she had passed away.

I have known Maybl's mom Kori since she was fifteen years old. She and my daughter Lisa were best friends from the moment they met and Kori spent as much time in my home as she did her own. I consider her one of my daughters and she calls me mom. Well, usually she calls me "Lisa's mom" because Lisa introduced me as her mom and Kori said, "Hi, Lisa's mom." And I said, "Hi, Lisa's friend." It's been a running joke ever since.

Over the course of my life I have lost five children and two grandchildren. Loss is something that we all experience. We know our grandparents are going to die, followed by our parents and various aunts, uncles and other relatives. The loss of a child throws our entire view of life off kilter. Our children and grandchildren are supposed to follow us in death, not precede us. When someone experiences the death of their child or grandchild everything changes. Life, God, breathing, getting through each day…everything is now a huge question mark and answers aren't easy to come by.

When my daughter Cassandra died at age sixteen I thought my world had ended. Taking a breath was difficult and just getting up in the morning was a chore, which was strange because I never thought I would sleep again. But I had other children to take care of, to try and explain the loss to, and a husband to take care of. While I was vocal with my feelings and cried often over our loss, Cassandra's father was the opposite. He didn't cry, he didn't talk about her, and in fact, he didn't want to talk about anything. I know he felt guilty because as a man, he felt as if he should have been able to protect her. I understood his feelings logically, but not emotionally.

In Maybl's case, I understand Kori's distress as a mother losing her baby girl. But for Maybl, I am happy. She is no longer confined to a body that refuses to obey, that refuses to move, and has been her prison for the past six years. I know her spirit is now free from the earthly confines she has known, and I know that as sad as Kori is, she also knows her baby is now in the arms of Grace. While the loss of a child is devastating and it's something you never really "get over," it does become easier to accept as time goes by. And when you know that a pure soul like Maybl's has been released, there is something very mystical and satisfying that settles inside of you.

Going through the going through is the hardest part of life but when you arrive on the other side, you find you are a better, more caring and loving person for having made it through the going through.

About the Author-


Rie McGaha is a wife, mother, grandmother who lives in SE Oklahoma. She is the author of several books in various genres. Her recent book, CLOSURE, is a spicy romantic/thriller from Champagne Books.  COMES AN OUTLAW, a historical romantic/western is now available at Silver Publishing. Excerpts are available on Rie's website www.riemcgaha.com.


About the Book-



High in the hills above Albuquerque, New Mexico Detective Zachariah Ellison arrives at the scene of a murder, and not just any murder, but one that definitely falls into the “gruesome” category even for a seasoned cop like Zach. When another body is found murdered in much the same fashion, Zach knows he’s got a serial killer on his hands, and to top it off he’s got an assistant district attorney hounding him about the case. As Zach tries to investigate the crimes while sidestepping nosey Amy Logan, a third body is found and Zach hasn’t a clue as to whom the perpetrator might be.


Amy Logan has worked hard to put herself through school and pay for law school on her own and now that she’s secured a position as assistant district attorney in Albuquerque, she’s determined to do everything she can to be the best prosecutor this office has ever seen. And as if luck was following her, she’s been assigned to the biggest homicide case the city has ever seen. The only problem she’s having is the homicide detective who’s leading the investigation—Zach Ellison.

My Thoughts-

What a great thriller. It was a page-turner and well written. This novel is definitely for the 18 + crowd due to the erotic content and descriptive scenes in the book. I Thought I knew who the killer was but I never expected it to be... All the characters were well developed and interacted well. There were twists and turns throughout the book. I have always loved thrillers and this was one of the best ones that I had read recently. I Look forward to reading the author's other novels.


CONTEST-

Click here to purchase your copy of Closure today or visit Rie at her website to learn more.
By commenting to this post, you will be entered to win a Rie McGaha Writing Tablet. By commenting at every stop on Rie's virtual book tour, your chances of winning increase so be sure to stop by Goddess Fish Promotions for a complete tour schedule.





Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book for my honest review and I was not compensated for my review.

Friday, September 10, 2010

BLOG TOUR AND REVIEW OF MEDICAL ERROR BY R.L. MABRY, M.D.

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!


Today's Wild Card author is:


and the book:

Abingdon Press (July 12, 2010)
***Special thanks to Maegan Roper, Marketing/PR Manager, Christian Fiction, Abingdon Press for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Dr. Richard Mabry built a worldwide reputation as a clinician, researcher, author, and teacher before retiring from medicine. He entered the field of non-medical writing after the death of his first wife, with the publication of his book, The Tender Scar: Life After The Death Of A Spouse.

Richard describes his work as "medical suspense with heart." Medical Error is his second novel. His first novel, Code Blue, was published by Abingdon Press in April of 2010, and will be followed next spring by the third book in the Prescription For Trouble series, Diagnosis Death.

He and his wife, Kay, live in North Texas.


Visit the author's website.
Visit the author's blog.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: Abingdon Press (July 12, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1426710003
ISBN-13: 978-1426710001

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Eric Hatley’s last day alive began routinely enough.

He paused beside his brown delivery truck, shifted the bulky package, and turned in a tight circle to search for the right apartment.

Shouts filled the air. Firecrackers exploded all around him. A dozen red-hot pokers bored holes through his gut.

The package flew from his arms. He crumpled into a privet hedge at the edge of the sidewalk, clutching his midsection and recoiling when his fingers encountered something wet and slimy.

A wave of nausea swept over him. Cold sweat engulfed him.

Eric managed one strangled cry before everything faded to black.

* * *

Dr. Anna McIntyre bumped the swinging door with her hip and backed into Parkland Hospital’s Operating Room Six, her dripping hands held in front of her, palms inward. “Luc, tell me what you’ve got.”

Chief surgical resident, Dr. Luc Nguyn, didn’t look up from the rectangle of abdomen outlined by green draping sheets and illuminated by strong surgical lights. “UPS driver, making a delivery in the Projects. Got caught in the crossfire of a gang rumble. Took four bullets in the belly. Pretty shocky by the time he got here.”

“Find the bleeding source?”

“Most of it was from the gastric artery. Just finished tying it off.”

Anna took a sterile towel from the scrub nurse and began the ritual of gowning and gloving made automatic by countless repetitions. “How about fluids and blood replacement?”

Luc held out his hand, and the nurse slapped a clamp into it. “Lactated Ringer’s, of course—still running wide open. We’ve already pushed one unit of unmatched O negative. He’s finishing his first unit of cross-matched blood. We’ve got another one ready and four more holding in the blood bank.”

“How’s he responding?”

“BP is still low but stable, pulse is slower. I think we’re catching up with the blood loss.”

Anna plunged her hands into thin surgical gloves. “Lab work?”

“Hematocrit was a little over ten on admission, but I don’t think he’d had time to fully hemodilute. My guess is he was nine or less.”

Anna turned slightly to allow the circulating nurse to tie her surgical gown. “Bowel perforations?”

“So far I see four holes in the small intestine, two in the colon.”

“Okay, he’ll need antibiotic coverage. Got that started?”

Luc shrugged. “Not yet. We don’t know about drug allergies. His wallet had ID, but we’re still working on contacting next of kin. Meanwhile, I have Medical Records checking his name in the hospital computer for previous visits.”

“And if he’s allergic—“

The nursing supervisor pushed through the swinging doors, already reading from the slip of paper in her hand. “They found one prior visit for an Eric Hatley, same address and date of birth as on this man’s driver’s license. Seen in the ER two weeks ago for a venereal disease. No history of drug allergy. They gave him IM Omnilex. No problems.”

The medical student who’d been assisting moved two steps to his left. Anna took his place across the operating table from Luc.

Luc glanced toward the anesthesiologist. “Two grams of Omnilex IV please.”

Anna followed Luc’s gaze to the head of the operating table. “I don’t believe I know you. I’m Dr. McIntyre.”

The doctor kept his eyes on the syringe he was filling. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Jeff Murray, first year anesthesia resident.”

A first year resident on his own? Where was the staff man? “Keep a close eye on the blood and fluids. Let us know if there’s a problem.” Anna picked up a surgical sponge and blotted a bit of blood from the edge of the operative area. “Okay, Luc. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

In the operating room, Anna was in her element. The green tile walls, the bright lights, the soft beep of the monitors and whoosh of the respirator, the squeak of rubber soles as the circulating nurse moved about the room—all these were as natural to her as water to a fish or air to a bird. Under Anna’s direction, the team worked smoothly together. Conversation was at a minimum, something she appreciated. Do the job in the OR, talk in the surgeons’ lounge.

“I think that’s got it,” Luc said.

“Let’s check.” Anna’s fingertips explored the depths of the patient’s belly with the delicate touch of a concert violinist. Her eyes roamed the operative field, missing nothing. Luc had done an excellent job. He’d do well in practice when he finished his training in three months.

Anna stepped away from the table. “I think you’re through. Routine closure, leave a couple of drains in. Keep him on antibiotic coverage for the next few days.”

Luc didn’t need to hear that, but she figured the medical student did. She might as well earn her Assistant Professor’s salary with a little low-key teaching.

She stripped off her gloves and tossed them in the waste bucket at the end of the operating table. “If you need me—“

“Luc, we’ve got a problem. Blood pressure’s dropping, pulse is rapid.” A hint of panic rose in the anesthesiologist’s voice.

The scrub nurse held out fresh gloves, and Anna plunged her hands into them. “He must be bleeding again. Maybe one of the ligatures slipped off.”

“No way,” Luc said. "Everything was double-tied, with a stick-tie on the major vessels. You saw yourself, the wound was dry when we finished.”

“Well, we’ve got to go back in and look.” Anna turned to the anesthesiologist. “Run the IV wide open. Hang another unit of blood and send for at least two more. Keep him oxygenated. And get your staff man in here. Now!”

He snapped out a couple of requests to the circulating nurse before turning back to Anna. “He’s getting hard to ventilate. Do you think we might have overloaded him with fluid and blood? Could he be in pulmonary edema?”

“I want your staff doctor in here now! Let him evaluate all that. We’ve got our hands full.” Anna snatched a scalpel from the instrument tray and sliced through the half-dozen sutures Luc had just placed. “Deavor retractor.” She shoved the curved arm of the instrument into the edge of the open wound and tapped the medical student’s hand. “Hold this.”

Anna grabbed a handful of gauze sponges, expecting a gusher of blood from the abdomen. There was none. No bleeding at all within the wound. So why was the blood pressure dropping?

“Pressure’s down to almost nothing.” The anesthesia resident’s voice was strained. “And I’m really having trouble ventilating him.”

Dr. Buddy Jenkins, one of the senior anesthesiologists, pushed through the swinging doors. “What’s going on?”

Anna gave him the short version. “Blood pressure’s dropping, pulse is climbing. We’ve gone back into the belly, but there’s no bleeding. And there’s a problem ventilating him.”

Jenkins moved his resident aside, then slipped a stethoscope under the drapes and listened for a moment. “Wheezes. And no wonder. Look at his face.”

Anna peeked over the screen that separated the patient’s head and upper body from the operative field. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when she saw the swelling of the lips and the red blotches on the man’s face.

“It’s not blood loss,” Jenkins said. “He’s having an anaphylactic reaction. Most likely the blood. Did you give him an antibiotic? Any other meds?”

Anna’s mind was already churning, flipping through mental index cards. Anaphylaxis—a massive allergic reaction, when airways closed off and the heart struggled to pump blood. Death could come quickly. Treatment had to be immediate and aggressive.

“He had two grams of Omnilex,” Luc said. “But his old chart showed—“

Jenkins was in action before Luc stopped speaking. “I’ll give him a cc. of diluted epinephrine by IV push now, then more in a drip.” He turned to the anesthesia resident. “Get that ready— one milligram of epinephrine in a hundred milliliters of saline.”

“Luc, you two close the abdominal wound,” Anna said. “I’m going to break scrub and help Dr. Jenkins.”

Jenkins handed her a syringe. “Give him this Decadron, IV push. I need to adjust the ventilator.”

Anna injected the contents into the patient’s intravenous line. She said a quick prayer that the epinephrine and steroid would turn the tide, that they hadn’t been too late in starting treatment.

The team battled for almost half an hour, at first gaining ground, then losing it steadily. Finally, Jenkins caught Anna’s eye. They exchanged glances. There was no need for words.

She sighed and stepped away from the table. “I’m calling it.” Her voice cracked. “Time of death is eleven oh seven.”

Luc let the instrument he’d been holding drop back onto the tray. Jenkins picked up the anesthesia record and began to scribble. Murray, the anesthesia resident, turned back to his supply table and started straightening the mess. The medical student looked at Anna. She nodded toward the door, and he slipped out of the room. She didn’t blame him. This was probably the first patient he’d seen die.

Anna tossed her gloves and mask into the waste container. She shrugged, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t go away. “Any idea why this happened? The blood was supposed to be compatible. He’d tolerated Omnilex before. What else could have caused it?”

No one offered an answer. And she certainly had none. But she intended to find out.

The OR charge nurse directed Anna to the family room, where she found Hatley’s mother huddled in a corner, twisting a handkerchief and occasionally dabbing at her eyes. The room was small and quiet, the lighting was soft, the chairs as comfortable as possible. A box of tissues sat on the table, along with a Bible and several inspirational magazines. Soft music playing in the background almost covered the hospital sounds drifting in from the nearby surgical suite.

Anna whispered a silent prayer. She’d done this dozens of times, but it never got any easier. She knelt in front of the woman. “Mrs. Hatley, I have bad news for you.”

Anna stumbled through the next several minutes, trying to explain, doing her best to make sense of a situation that she herself couldn’t fully understand. When it came to the matter of permission for an autopsy, Anna wasn’t sure of the medico-legal situation here. Hatley had died after being shot, but his injuries weren’t the cause of death. Would she have to call the County Medical Examiner and get him to order one? The weeping mother solved the problem by agreeing to allow a post-mortem exam.

There was a light tap at the door, and the chaplain slipped into the room. “I’m sorry. I was delayed.” He took the chair next to Mrs. Hatley and began speaking to her in a low voice.

Anna was happy to slip out of the room with a last “I’m so sorry.” Outside, she paused and took several deep breaths.

It took another half-hour for Anna to write a chart note, dictate an operative report and final case summary, and change into clean scrubs. She was leaving the dressing room when her pager sounded. The display showed her office number followed by the suffix “911.” A “stat” page—respond immediately.

As she punched in the number, Anna wondered what else could possibly go wrong today. “Lisa, what’s up?”

“Dr. McIntyre, there are two policemen here. They want to talk with you. And they say it’s urgent.”

* * *

Nick Valentine looked up from the computer and grimaced when he heard the morgue attendant’s rubber clogs clomping down the hall. The summons he knew was coming wasn’t totally unexpected. After all, he was the pathologist on autopsy call this week, which was why he was sitting in this room adjacent to the morgue of Parkland Hospital instead of in his academic office at the medical school. But he’d hoped for some undisturbed time to get this project done.

The attendant stuck his head through the open door. “Dr. Valentine, you’ve got an autopsy coming up. Unexpected death in the OR. Dr. McIntyre’s case. She asked if you could do it as soon as possible. And please page her before you start. She’d like to come down for the post.” The man’s head disappeared like that of a frightened turtle. More clomps down the hall signaled his departure.

There was nothing new about an attending wanting a post-mortem done ASAP. You’d think they’d realize there was no hurry any more, but that didn’t seem to stop them from asking. At least she was willing to come down and watch instead of just reading his report. Nick turned to the shelf behind his desk and pulled out a dog-eared list headed “Frequently Needed Pager Numbers.” He ran his finger down the page. Here it was: Department of General Surgery. Anna E. McIntyre, Assistant Professor. He picked up the phone and punched in her number. After he heard the answering beeps, he entered his extension and hung up.

While he waited, Nick looked first at the pile of papers that covered half his desk, then at the words on his computer screen. He’d put this off far too long. Now he had to get it done. To his way of thinking, putting together this CV, the curriculum vitae that was so important in academics, was wasted effort. Nick had no interest in a promotion, didn’t think he’d get one even if his chairman requested it from the dean. But his chairman wanted the CV. And what the chairman wanted, the chairman got.

The phone rang. Probably Dr. McIntyre calling back.

“Dr. Valentine.”

“Nick, this is Dr. Wetherington. Do you have that CV finished yet?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Well, I need it soon. I want you to get that promotion to Associate Professor, and I have to be able to show the committee why I’ve nominated you. Don’t let me down.”

Nick hung up and riffled through the pile on his desk. Reprints of papers published, programs showing lectures delivered at medical meetings, textbooks with chapters he’d written, certificates from awards received. His professional résumé was pitifully small, but to Nick it represented the least important part of his job. What mattered most to him was what he was about to do: try to find out why the best efforts of a top-notch medical staff failed to save the life of some poor soul. If he did his job well, then maybe those doctors would be able to snatch some other patient from the jaws of the grim reaper.

His phone rang. “Dr. Valentine, are you about ready?” the morgue attendant said.

Nick looked at his watch. Almost half an hour, and Dr. McIntyre hadn’t responded to the page. He hated to start without her, but he might have to. “Give me another ten minutes.”

While he waited, Nick figured he might as well try to make Dr. Wetherington happy. Now when did he deliver that paper before the American Society of Clinical Pathology? And who cared, anyway?

* * *

Her administrative assistant met Anna at the doorway to the outer office. “Dr. McIntyre, I didn’t know what to do.”

“That’s all right, Lisa. I’ll talk with them.” Anna straightened her white coat and walked into her private office, where two people stood conversing in low tones. Lisa had said, “Two policemen,” but Anna was surprised to see that one of them was a woman.

The man stepped forward to meet Anna. “Doctor McIntyre?”

Anna nodded.

He pulled a leather folder from his pocket and held it open for her inspection. Anna could see the gold and blue badge pinned to the lower part of the wallet, but couldn’t read the words on it. The card in the top portion told her, though. It carried a picture beside the words, US Drug Enforcement Administration.

Lisa had been wrong. These people were from the DEA, not the police. Still, an unannounced visit from that agency made most doctors sweat. You never knew when some innocent slip might get you into trouble.

The man flipped the credential wallet closed. “This won’t take long.”

“Good. I’ve just finished an emergency case, and I still have a lot to do.” Anna moved behind her desk and sat.

“Your chairman said you’d give us as much time as we need.”

Anna glanced pointedly at her watch. “Well, have a seat and let’s get to it. What do you need from me?”

The man lowered himself into the chair, his expression slightly disapproving. His partner followed suit. “We have some things we need for you to clear up.”

“Could I see those credentials again?” Anna said. “Both of you.”

They obliged, laying the open wallets on the desk. Anna pulled a slip of notepaper toward her and began copying the information, occasionally glancing up from her writing to match the names and faces on the ID’s with the people sitting across from her. The spokesman was Special Agent John Hale, a chunky, middle-aged man wearing an off-the rack suit that did nothing to disguise his ample middle. Anna thought he looked more like a seedy private eye than an officer of the law.

The woman, the silent half of the pair so far, was Special Agent Carolyn Kramer, a woman who reminded Anna of a California surfer bunny, complete with perfect tan and faultlessly styled short blonde hair. The resemblance stopped there, though. Kramer’s eyes gleamed with a combination of intelligence and determination that told Anna she’d better not underestimate the woman. Kramer wore a stylish pants suit that had probably cost more than Anna made in a week, How could a DEA agent have money for an outfit like that?

Anna handed the badge wallets back to Hale and Kramer. “All right, how can I help you?”

Hale pulled a small notebook from his inside coat pocket and flipped through the pages. “Doctor, recently you’ve been writing a large number of Vicodin prescriptions, all of them for an excessive amount of the drug. Can you explain that?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Anna said. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t written any more Vicodin ‘scripts than usual, and I certainly haven’t changed my prescribing practices.”

Hale nodded, stone-faced. “What are those practices?”

“I prescribe Vicodin for post-operative pain in many of my patients, but always in carefully controlled amounts, usually thirty pills at a time. By the time they’ve exhausted that first prescription I can generally put them on a non-narcotic pain reliever. It’s rare that I refill a Vicodin ‘script.”

Apparently it was Kramer’s turn in the tag-team match. She picked up a thick leather folder from the floor beside her chair, unzipped it, and extracted a sheaf of papers held together by a wide rubber band. “Would you care to comment on these?” Her soft alto was a marked contrast to Hale’s gruff baritone,

Anna’s eyes went to the clock on her desk. “Will this take much longer? I really have things I need to do.”

Kramer seemed not to hear. She held out the bundle of papers.

“Okay, let me have a look.” Anna recognized the top one in the stack as a prescription written on a form from the faculty clinic. She pulled it free and studied it. The patient’s name didn’t stir any memory, but that wasn’t unusual. She might see twenty or thirty people in a day. The prescription read:

VICODIN TABS

Disp. [#100]

Sig: 1 tab q 4 h PRN pain

At the bottom of the page, three refills were authorized. The DEA number had been written into the appropriate blank on the lower right-hand corner.

Anna squinted, closed her eyes, then looked again. There was no doubt about it. The DEA number was hers. And the name scrawled across the bottom read: Anna McIntyre, MD.

“Can you explain this?” Kramer asked.

A familiar vibration against her hip stopped Anna before she could reply. She pulled her pager free and looked at the display. The call was from the medical center, but she didn’t recognize the number. Not the operating room. Not the clinic. She relaxed a bit when she saw there was no “911” entry after the number. If this was about the autopsy, she’d have to miss it.

Hale picked up the questioning as though there had been no interruption. “What can you tell us about all these prescriptions for Vicodin?”

“I suppose the most important thing I can tell you is that I didn’t write them.” She riffled through the stack, paying attention only to the signature at the bottom of each sheet. “None of these are mine.”

“That’s your number and name. Right?” Kramer said.

“Right. But that’s not my signature. It’s not even close.”

“Can you explain how someone else could be writing prescriptions on your pads using your DEA number?” Hale asked.

“I have no idea.” Anna made no attempt to keep the bitterness out of her words. “Sorry, I’ve just lost a patient, and I’m not in the best of moods. Can’t we wind this up? I didn’t write those ‘scripts, and I don’t know who did.”

Obviously, Hale didn’t want to let the matter go. “You’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell us?”

“What would I have to tell you? I said I don’t know anything about this.”

Kramer spoke, apparently filling the role of good cop. “Take a guess. Help us out here.”

Anna felt her jaw muscles clench. These people were relentless. She had to give them something, or this would never end. “I really don’t know. I mean, we’ve got an established routine, and all the doctors here are pretty careful.”

Kramer pulled a silver ballpoint from the leather folder and began twirling it between her fingers. “Why don’t you walk us through that routine?”

Anna wanted to follow up on Hatley’s autopsy, talk with her department chair about today’s events, eventually sit down and try to relax. She was drained. The agents, on the other hand, seemed to have unlimited time and energy.

“Doctor?” Kramer’s voice held no hint of irritation. Patient, understanding, all the time in the world. Just two women chatting.

“Sorry.” Anna tried to organize her thoughts. “The prescription pads in the faculty clinic are kept in a drawer in each treatment room. That way they’re out of sight, although I guess if someone knew where they were he could latch onto one when no one was in the room.” She looked at the agents. Kramer simply nodded. Hale scowled. “Hey, we know it’s not perfect, but that’s the way we have to do it. Otherwise, we’d waste all our time hunting for a pad.”

“And do you ever forget and leave the pads sitting out when you’ve finished writing a prescription?” Kramer asked.

“Sure. Especially when we’re in a hurry.” Anna’s cheeks burned.

Hale turned a page in his notebook and frowned. “How about your DEA number?”

“You’ll notice those aren’t printed on the forms. Each of us has to fill in our number.”

“Maybe someone else had access to your number. Do nurses ever write the prescriptions for you?” This came from Kramer. Anna felt as though she was watching a tennis match, going back and forth between the two agents.

“When we have a nurse in the room with us, yes, she’ll write the prescription. I don’t know what the other doctors do, but I sign the prescriptions after she writes them. And I add the DEA number to the narcotic ‘scripts myself.”

The questioning went on for another half hour. Anna’s throat was dry, her eyes burned, she felt rivulets of sweat coursing between her shoulder blades. Finally, she’d had enough. “Look, am I being charged with something? Because if I am, I’m not saying another word without a lawyer.”

Hale replaced his notebook in his pocket. Kramer picked up her folder and purse. They let the silence hang for a moment more before exchanging glances, then standing.

“Right now, we’re simply investigating, Doctor,” Hale said. “You may be hearing from the Texas Department of Public Safety and the Dallas Police as well. Also, since your DEA number and identity have been compromised, I’d advise you not to prescribe any controlled substances for now. You’ll receive formal notification in writing tomorrow about applying for a new permit.”

The agents walked out, leaving Anna with her hands pressed to her throbbing temples.

* * *

Nick stepped back from the autopsy table, pressed the pedal under his right foot, and spoke into the microphone hanging near his head. “No other abnormalities noted. The balance of findings will be dictated after review of the histopathology specimens and the results of the toxicology tests. Usual signature. Thanks.” He turned away from the body and gestured to the morgue assistant to close the incisions. “I’ll be in the office if you need me. Thanks for your help.”

Nick removed his goggles and stripped off his mask, gown, and gloves. He was standing at the sink outside the autopsy room, drying his hands, when he heard footsteps hurrying down the corridor toward him. He turned to see a woman approaching. The attractive redhead wore surgical scrubs, covered by a white coat. As she neared him, he could make out the embroidered name above the breast pocket: Anna McIntyre, MD. She stopped in front of him, and the set of her jaw and the flash of her green eyes told Nick she was in no mood for light banter.

“Dr. McIntyre?”

She nodded.

“Nick Valentine. I paged you, but when you didn’t answer I had to go ahead and get started. Sorry.”

She waved away his apology. “No, it’s my fault. I couldn’t break free to answer your page. What can you tell me?”

“Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you what I’ve found so far? If we go to the food court, we can get away from the smell down here. I hardly notice it anymore, but I’ve learned that my visitors aren’t too fond of the odor of chemicals.”

She hesitated for a few seconds. “Okay. Lead the way.”

It seemed to Nick there was a Starbucks on every corner of every major city in the US. Most important to him, however, was the one here in the basement of the Clinical Sciences Building at Southwestern Medical Center. As he waited to order, he sniffed the rich aromas that filled the air. The smell of coffee never failed to lift his spirits. Maybe it would do the same for the woman who stood stoop-shouldered beside him. For most doctors, caffeine was the engine that helped propel them through long days and longer nights. Maybe all she needed was a booster shot.

When they were seated at a corner table with their venti lattes Nick filled her in on his findings at the autopsy he’d just completed. “That’s about it,” he concluded. “I’ll sign the death certificate with the preliminary cause of death as anaphylaxis due to an unknown cause.”

“But you won’t have a final diagnosis until—“

“Right. I’ll review the tissue samples and the results of the toxicology screen, but I doubt that we’ll find anything there. I’m going to have some tests run on the blood samples I took, and maybe that will help us. I’ll need to research whether there’s a good blood test for a drug reaction or latex allergy. The long and short of it is that we may never know the real reason he developed anaphylaxis and died.”

“I hadn’t even thought of latex allergy,” she said. “But that’s pretty rare, isn’t it?”

“Less than one percent of the population. Seen in people chronically exposed to latex: surgeons and nurses, industrial workers, patients with lifelong indwelling catheters.” He felt himself slipping into his lecture mode and made an effort to pull back. “I mean, we could talk about all these uncommon things, but I’ll bet you learned the same thing in medical school that I did. When you hear hoof beats—“

“Think horses, not zebras.” She managed a tiny smile. “Yes, I know. So we should concentrate on the blood or the antibiotic. If it was the blood, there’s a problem in the blood bank because he got one unit of unmatched O negative, which should have been okay, and one unit that was supposedly compatible by cross-match.”

“The residuals in both bags of blood are being re-typed and cross-matched against your patient’s blood as we speak. We’ll know the answer by the time we finish our coffee.” He drank deeply from his cup. “Don’t you think an antibiotic reaction is the most likely cause?”

She took a sip of coffee. “Probably, although I hope not. Choosing an antibiotic wasn’t a routine matter, because we didn’t know if Hatley had any drug allergies. The resident—one of our sharpest ones, by the way—thought he’d see if we could get the information another way. He had medical records check for a previous visit for the patient. They found a recent emergency room visit by the patient where he tolerated Omnilex. Since that antibiotic’s the best choice to cover spillage from a perforated bowel, I agreed with Luc when he ordered it.”

“But—“

“I know. If you give that drug to a patient who’s allergic to it or to penicillin, their reaction is likely to be severe—like this one. But I thought, since we had that history of tolerance, it was okay.” She blinked hard. “I should have known better. Should have made him use a different drug.”

Nick sensed he was treading on thin ice here. Maybe he should change the subject. Besides, he wanted to know more about this woman. “You know, I’ve seen you in the halls, but we’ve never actually met. Did you train here?”

She hesitated before reeling off what had apparently become a stock answer. “Raised in Oklahoma. Graduated from med school in North Carolina. Duke, actually. Lucky enough to get a surgery residency here at Parkland, and when I finished I was offered a faculty position in the Surgery Department. I’ve been here a little less than a year now.”

Nick held up a hand, palm out. “I know better. You don’t get a surgery residency here because you’re ‘lucky.’ You get one because you’re good. Let me guess. AOA at Duke?” If Anna was Alpha Omega Alpha, she must have been in the top ten percent of her class.

“Right. But I don’t guess it’s enough to be bright if you foul up and cost a patient his life.” She drank from her cup, and Nick noticed that she kept swallowing several more times after that.

Nick was barely aware of the activity around him, the ebb and flow of people, the sounds of pagers punctuating dozens of conversations. All he saw was Anna. She was one of the prettiest women he’d encountered in quite a while. But he was certain there was more to this trim, green-eyed redhead than striking good looks. Right now she was focused on medicine—it was obvious she cared a great deal about her patients, and this loss hit her hard—but Nick had a sense that in a different setting she’d be fun to know. And he intended to see if he couldn’t arrange that. Anna shifted in her chair. He couldn’t let her leave yet.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Aren’t you curious about me at all? There may be a prize if you can answer all the questions later.”

Did he see the ghost of a grin? “Sure. Why not? What’s your story—the Reader’s Digest version?”

Nick moved his cup aside and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could draw out their time together, but he was determined to give it his best shot. “My roots are Italian. Named for my grandfather. He was Nicolo Valentino when he got off the boat, changed his name when he got his citizenship. I’m Nicolo the Third.” He ticked off the points on his fingers. “Worked my way through pre-med at Texas Tech. Got into the med school there by the skin of my teeth. Managed to get a residency in pathology here at Southwestern. When I finished, they had an opening in the department.” He held out his hand, palm up, fingers spread, thumb tucked under. “So here I am—four years in the department, still an Assistant Professor. Up for promotion now, and I suspect that if I don’t make it they’ll cut me like a dead branch from a tree.”

Nick’s last sentence rang a faint alarm bell in his head. He had to finish that project or the chairman would be royally ticked off, but it only took Nick a second to put that chore out of his mind. He was sitting with the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. He wanted to get to know her better, and he intended to keep her here as long as possible, even if it meant incurring Dr.. Wetherington’s wrath.

My Thoughts-

I have always enjoyed medical mysteries and this book was fantastic. I did not have to pleasure to have read Code Blue but I bet it is as good as this novel. My mother who is a RN read the book and said that the medical information was very realistic and she enjoyed it as well. I thought that I figured out who the villain and I never expected it to be ..... I originally thought that the book was about identity theft, but it was a whole lot more. The book combined mystery,romance,medical drama,suspense and was a page turner. I cannot wait to read the next book in the series called Diagnosis Death.