- Cover for new book
Detective Roy Spitzer wants to catch a killer. He’s chasing a ghost who kills young prostitutes and posing them in startling positions on the streets of Seattle, shocking its citizens. He’s also searching for his own missing teenaged daughter and trying to save a marriage that has faded since he’d put all his time and energy into investigating homicides. Now he was at a personal crisis point and he is desperately juggling his murder investigation with a need to locate his daughter and get back his wife and family. His personal crisis comes to a shattering climax that takes many surprising victims.
Exerpt from Death of Dirty Angels:
Erika walked quickly toward her hotel room; teetering on the black sling back stiletto heels she’d recently bought at Fredrick’s of Hollywood for a good sum of money. Her heels tapped out a staccato beat as she walked. They were a little high, but she looked good and she knew it. She just needed to use a practiced, exaggerated wiggle to attract male attention. For a moment as she walked, a chill crawled down the back of her spine, causing the hair to rise up on the back of her neck, but she couldn’t figure out why it creeped her out so she kept on walking. She picked up her pace a little, but didn’t turn her head to look back since she was almost at the door of her hotel room.
She got out her keys and walked through old bits of trash that littered the drive until she reached unit 12, an end unit at the Hotel SnoFair, an older, crumbling down place located conveniently within fifty feet of Aurora Avenue. The place had seen better days, with peeling paint, spider webs in corners, windows that wouldn’t open, and toilets that flushed loudly, if at all. She didn’t usually bring her tricks here, but if she needed to, it was convenient, clean inside, and as a bonus it offered a really large manager with a soft spot for hookers that she could call if a problem popped up. She’d lived here for the last two months and it was working out OK. The place wasn’t a palace, but she didn’t intend for it to be forever, and what hooker lived in a palace anyhow? For now, she was just trying to save enough money to do something with her life. She didn’t know what that something else might be yet, but wanted to find out before all the life was fucked right out of her. She had better plans for her future than to just keep slinging’ dicks all her life. She thought she could make something else happen if she just kept her goal in mind and stayed away from the drugs and the pimps who wanted to run her and drug her until she became nothing. She might not be much in some eyes, but she wasn’t nothing in her own mind, and that’s what kept her going.
As she reached out her hand out to unlock the door, someone walked up so close behind her, that she could feel his hot breath on her neck and smell the stench of unbrushed teeth and garlic. She could feel the hardness and the breadth of his penis through her tight skirt. She could feel the strength in his chest and in his tightly coiled thigh muscles as he moved in even closer toward her. She trembled uncontrollably. He was so solid and strong, and as he grabbed her and pressed a sharp object to her waist, she let out a frightened yelp. She was alarmed and tears started to run quietly down her face, ruining her mascara.
Her eyes widened in fear as she thought about the pain she was sure she was about to experience. He was probably a rapist, wanting a free sample. Rape was an indignation you had to be prepared to face in her line of work. After all, it’s a small step between selling yourself and having it taken from you. It , wasn’t as if she were a virgin—as if she were losing something precious and special, but it was her body and she was losing the right to choose what she wanted to do with it. Her hands started to sweat as he whispered into her ear with a low, steely voice.
“Open the door and don’t scream.” He pressed himself more firmly into her back and the knife into her waist, causing her knees to buckle in fear.
“Don’t drop it,” his gruff voice caused her hand to shake as she tried to place the key in the lock.
The man kept digging the knife into her skin on the right side at her waist, and causing her to focus only on the pain in the one spot. The smell of coffee on his breath was so thick that she could almost taste it and the stale cigarette smell that clung to his clothing was gagging. She finally got the key to fit into the lock and she turned it, opening up her room to his view.
“Let go,” she yelled and pushed at him as he shoved her into the room. She attempted to get away from him, but caught her stilettos on the lumpy carpet on the floor of her room, falling to the dusty floor. He grabbed at her ankle, pulling her toward him. Like a dangerous animal with gigantic jaws, she could only see his face and his yellow, stained teeth as he drew her closer into the danger zone. Her favorite stockings, once in pristine condition, now ran in shreds at her knees as he pulled her legs toward him.
She grunted and clawed at the carpet, breaking off pieces of her treasured red nails as she tried to grab something—anything—to keep from being drawn ever closer toward the man and the black pit off his hate. Her tiny black leather skirt rode up, showing the garters that held up her ruined stockings. The garters left little red marks in the skin where they dug into her white, lightly freckled thighs.
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