The Killdeer Connection by Tom Swyers is an Unputdownable and Unforgettable Thriller. Pick up your copy today and find out why this novel was selected by Kindle Scout!

Praise for The Killdeer Connection

"Unputdownable!"

“This author is just as good if not better than John Grisham.”

“Mystery, thriller, suspense, action, it has it all!”

A Message from Tom Swyers

 I’m an attorney and a former judge. I write thrillers in the Lawyer David Thompson Series. My debut novel, Saving Babe Ruth, is the prequel in the series and is based on a true story. It was a 2015 recipient of two Benjamin Franklin Book Awards for “Best First Book, Fiction” (first place) and “Best Popular Fiction” (second place).  My second novel, The Killdeer Connection, is the first book in the series and was selected as a 2017 winner in Amazon’s international Kindle Scout writing competition. Either novel can be read as a standalone.  If you like engaging, realistic, original thrillers, try reading one of my books.

About The Killdeer Connection

Worn-out lawyer David Thompson is on a mission to prove his innocence. Falsely accused of murdering his friend, he must desert his family and seek out a secret society of bird-watchers in a desperate search for the truth. When the feds talk of adding a terrorism charge, the death penalty looms and Thompson is on the run from both the law and the real killer. With Thompson out of the way, his family becomes a target. Thrust on a riveting thrill ride through the oil fields of North Dakota, Thompson's quest to save his own skin explodes into a race to save both his family and the nation from a deadly tidal wave of terror. But he may be too late...

Don't miss this action-packed, realistic, and thought-provoking legal thriller filled with mystery, family secrets, conspiracy, financial intrigue, captivating characters, deception, prejudice, greed, courtroom drama, and a bird!

An Interview by David Thompson from The Killdeer Connection

What is your greatest fear?

The lethal injection needle. The feds want to slip it to me.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

I’ve never thought about it and probably never will. Too much introspection can lead to mental health issues.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Where do I begin?

Which living person do you most admire?

The people I admire most are dead.

What is your greatest extravagance?

My 1974 pearl-white Ford Mustang. My wife Annie gave it to me.

What is your current state of mind?

Scared. I’ve been set up. I think someone is out to kill me. The police want to pin a murder on me.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Patience.  These questions bring that to mind.

On what occasion do you lie?

I’ll lie to protect my family.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?

I look middle age. People think I’m ready to retire but I can out run, out hustle guys half my age. 

Which living person do you most despise?

Dick Pottenger. He’s a lawyer I worked for decades ago. They don’t call him “Dick Pot” for nothing. I’ve got a score to settle with him.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

“Yes” and “no.” I like to keep my conversations short and to the point.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

My wife, Annie and my son, Christy.

Which talent would you most like to have?

The talent to create money out of thin air.

If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

The Universe. Then I’d know everything about anything.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

I’m not exactly sure, but reading this question gets me close.

What is your most marked characteristic?

My ability to survive.

Who are your favorite writers?

You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I have time to read.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Jesus.

What is it that you most dislike?

Stupid questions.

What is your greatest regret?

Doing this interview ranks up there.

How would you like to die?

Happy.

What is your motto?

There’s plenty of time to rest after you’re dead.    

Who is David Thompson

Random Acts of Unkindness by Jacqueline Ward is a thriller about time traveling and missing children. 

About Random Acts of Unkindness

#1 Bestselling, gripping crime thriller with an ending you will never guess... how far would you go to find your child? DS Jan Pearce has a big problem. Her fifteen year old son, Aiden, is missing. Jan draws together the threads of missing person cases spanning fifty years and finds tragic connections and unsolved questions.

Bessy Swain, an elderly woman that Jan finds dead on her search for Aiden, and whose own son, Thomas, was also missing, may have the answers. Jan uses Bessy's information and her own skills and instinct to track down the missing boys.

But is it too late for Aiden?

Set in the North West of England, with the notorious Saddleworth Moor as a backdrop, Random Acts of Unkindness is a story about motherhood, love and loss and how families of missing people suffer the consequences of major crimes involving their loved ones

Random Acts of Unkindness is the second in the DS Jan Pearce series of novels. Fans of Angela Marsons, Rachel Abbott, Val McDermid and Mandasue Heller will love this gritty crime novel

A Message from Jacqueline

Thank you for reading - find out more about DS Jan Pearce in the rest of the series

Praise for Random Acts of Unkindness

'This book is excellent, a real page turner. I couldn't put it down!!!'

'Wow, when I sat down to have breakfast on this lazy Sunday, I thought I'd start this book and read it for a while before getting on with my day. It is now 7.30pm and I have just finished this book, having not been able to put it down and do anything else BUT read it ... all day!'

'I hope this is the start of a series as I'd like to see more of Jan Pearce. She was an excellently nuanced character and she saw things as both a mother and a police officer. Complex plot with great twists that I did not see coming. Highly recommend but do not read at night because you'll keep telling yourself 'one more chapter' and you'll be up all night.'

An Interview by Jacqueline with DS Janet Pearce

I'm DS Janet Pearce, but you can call me Jan!

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

My greatest happiness is spending time with my son and my dog. Ironically, this has been exactly what has been stolen from me and what I am hell-bent on getting back. I love cooking, so making a meal and some cake would be high on my happiness list.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

I hate liars. No one's perfect and everyone tells a little white lie once in a while, but people who intentionally lie irritate me. Once I know someone has lied I avoid them at all costs.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

If I could change one thing about myself I'd relax more. I'm a pure workaholic and while that gets the job done, I often go weeks without having a day off from my police job. I'd go to the spa more and get m nails done!

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

I've solved a lot of high profile cases and but the thing I'm most proud of is being able to juggle parenting with a full time job. I have to be mum and dad to Aiden, my son, and it hasn't been easy. People look down on 'single parents' without understanding their circumstances. But I did it and I'm proud.

What do you most value in your friends?

Honesty. Not just 'does my bum look big in this' honesty, but emotional honesty. That leads to trust and I hope that's what my best friend Lorraine feels about me, as I do for her. Another thing, less important but still up there, is punctuality. It's funny, but I hate people being late! If someone is consistently late I would probably stop arranging to meet them in time!

Who is DS Janet Pearce?

A Sensitive Time is a prequel short story set in the world of Touch Sensitive, which is a thrilling PI novel by Lee Isserow. If you want to learn more about John Ballard and find out what he's getting up to then check it out!

You can check out the feature of Touch Sensitive here if you want to learn more about his Kindle Press novel.

About A Sensitive Time

She lies with him in bed, holding him close.

But something is brewing inside her, a change in chemistry, and soon she'll find out more than she ever wanted to know about the man she loves...

A Message from Lee

Hi, I'm Lee Isserow.

You may remember me from the credits of shows and movies that you never watched - and more that never aired. . .

Now I write books. Too many books.

At least one book a month until I run out of steam or *pun alert* lose the plot. 

A Sensitive Time

His breathing was slow, soft, shallow, and she held him close as he slept. It had taken him three hours to stop crying. Three hours to stop blaming himself. Three hours to finally admit that there was nothing he could have done.

She was still wide awake. The day had exhausted her, but caring for him in this time of need had sent her adrenaline surging, and it was still rocketing through her system. Her thoughts were like the wind making its way around a tree. Flowing one way then being split off in another direction, two or three directions at times, reconvening on the other side as something the same, and yet different.

He needed her now more than ever, and she knew it. He was always the strong one, always the one who looked after her, helping her with the crisis of the day or week or month. Always level headed, always a rock.

Yet this, the death of his mother, the death of the one family member he had left, was the straw that broke the proverbial camel. And not just its back, the whole damn thing. Every limb fractured, its belly torn open, the organs flopping out, fluids of one kind or another oozing out in a puddle around the poor thing's dishevelled corpse.

He could get better. He would get better. She reminded herself that these things take time. Reminded herself that time heals all wounds, that time flies like an arrow, that time is the longest distance between two places, that time... is a created thing. That time is an illusion.

Her thoughts were doing it again, going on that journey and coming back changed. Those thoughts, those quotes, she wasn't even sure where they were coming from. They were the kind of thing he would say. He always had a good memory for sayings and so forth, always seemed to be able to pull exactly the right one out at the right time. It was like he had memorised those little books of wisdom they sell by checkouts, even though he swore he hadn't.

He would get better, she reminded herself, putting her thoughts back on track. That was all that mattered.

He moved in his sleep, let out a longer breath. There was something on the air as it escaped his lips. Something she had never felt before. A notion, a feeling, that didn't quite seem as though it were her own.

She ignored it. She needed to sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day, the grief would be just that little bit smaller. The day after that smaller still, and on and on until rather than mourning his mother's passing, he would just miss her. One day, he might forget about her all together.

But it would be a long time until then, she reminded herself, closing her eyes, willing herself into unconsciousness.

Another long exhale from him.

Her eyes opened wide. This time it was unmistakable.

It could have been a fraction of a dream, she tried to pretend as such, but deep down knew that it was real. She waited again for him to breath. The inhale had nothing on it, and he held it for what felt like an eternity. And then out it came. A long, soft sigh. And she had no idea how she knew it, but she did.

He killed her.

***

It wasn't malicious. He loved his mother, that was clear. But he hated the pain she was in.

He doubled up her meds. His mother protested of course, knew her dose, it had been the same for the best part of the year. But he assured her that the doctors had told him that she was to take more, to alleviate the agony, to make her more comfortable.

She could see it in the old woman's eyes, watching through his eyes. There was disbelief, not about the doctor at least. But there was something in his face, something that told her that one way or another, the pain would be gone if she did as she was told. So she took the extra meds with no further argument or questions.

He waited outside her door. There was a steely calm that took him over. A calm that felt so familiar. He took deep breaths, checking in on her until she passed out. Then he took the pillow from under her head. The old woman already looked at peace. This was just a small act, to allow that peace to continue.

She didn't struggle. Her breath was already weak, it didn't take long until there was no breath at all. Then he placed the pillow back under her head. Held his mother's hand in his. Said goodbye.

***

His exhale ceased and she was back in the room, in the bed, holding him close.

It wasn't real, it couldn't be real.

A dream, it must have been a dream, even if it were only for a split second.

Yet she knew it wasn't.

And she knew what this meant she was.

It was all over the news. She wasn't the only one.

He exhaled again. And she took in more of his memories.

And she remembered that his mother wasn't the only one either.

***

He had done it before, and not just to family members, but to strangers too.

It wasn't a daily activity, he wasn't that prolific, it was only when he couldn't contain the urge any longer. He fought it, he fought it so very hard, tried to stave off the dark notions that crept through the dank, inky black swamps that fettered and rotted and bubbled away in the back of his mind. But it was always a battle he lost.

Old age homes were easy pickings, they were under-funded, under-staffed, he could slip in and out with barely anyone noticing him. He had done it ever since he was a child, and would do it until the day he died. He knew it. He had accepted that this vile part of himself had a hunger that needed to be sated, and as long as it didn't harm anyone young and vibrant, with a full life ahead of them, he was okay with the occasional slip, an indiscretion, a pillow over the face every now and then.

***

The breath ended. And she came out of the memories wondering who this person was, the man who slept beside her, who had slept beside her every night for the last six years. He wasn't that man, this awful person lying in their bed. That man was kind, he was gentle, he was a beautiful soul.

That man, she realised, never existed.

He was putting on a mask, a facade, he was the charismatic leading man in a play and she was right in the front row. That mask had never slipped. Not whilst he was awake.

But now, now that she had the first inklings of this gift, a gift that she knew would likely turn into a curse if the papers could be believed, she was seeing right through his theatrical make up, seeing the actor behind it. And she didn't like him one bit.

He exhaled.

***

She was a good mate, he thought, when he first met her. Nice to look at, a bit on the frail side emotionally, but he could deal with that. He did love her, in his own way, she could feel that coming through with the memory. But it wasn't anything close to the way she loved him. It wasn't real love. It was functional. And the sex was good, he liked the sex.

He watched her sleep sometimes, when the darkness reared its head. He would watch her, listen to her breath, and clutch the pillow beneath his head. It would be so easy, so very easy. She wasn't a fighter, she'd barely fight at all. But he hadn't let himself give in. She was too precious, part of his well-crafted facade. He couldn't risk that. Not yet.

***

The sound of his exhale disappeared into the night, and once more she was pulled out and back into the real world. Her body was two steps ahead of her mind, had already rolled on top of him, her knees pinning his hands to the bed, the pillow in her hands, held with all her strength over his face.

He struggled longer than his mother. Certainly fought more than she did, more than any of them did. He was always the strong one, she reminded herself, always level headed, always a rock.

With time, and not that much time, he was no longer fighting. She could no longer hear his breath, no longer remember his memories.

She pulled the pillow away and looked at his face, so still, so panicked. She had never seen that look on his face before. But she had seen it on the face of so many others he had euthanised over the years

And then, it came to her.

That the action was not hers. His death was not at her hands.

It was at the hands of his memories, his personality traits borrowed, personality traits that were dissipating as the realisation came up on her with a chill that he was dead. That it was all his fault that it was all her fault. His dark notions swimming through her head, in and out and gone with the wind.

But, of course, the police would never believe that.

Touch Sensitive

Check out Touch Sensitive, which is where this short story is based!

Vernal Equinox

The Devil's Poetry by Louise Cole is a brilliantly suspenseful story about magic and mayhem!

About The Devil's Poetry

Questions are dangerous but answers can be deadly.

Callie’s world will be lost to war – unless she can unlock the magic of an ancient manuscript. She and her friends will be sent to the front line. Many of them won’t come back. When a secret order tells her she can bring peace by reading from a book, it seems an easy solution - too easy. Callie soon finds herself hunted, trapped between desperate allies and diabolical enemies. The Order is every bit as ruthless as the paranormal Cadaveri. 

Callie can only trust two people – her best friend and her ex-marine bodyguard. And they are on different sides. She must decide: how far will she go to stop a war? 

Dare she read this book? What’s the price - and who pays it? 

Commended in the Yeovil Prize 2016, this is an action-packed blend of adventure, fantasy and love story. 

'Twisty, suspenseful and occasionally heart-rending, The Devil's Poetry is a captivating read. I raced through it." Emma Haughton, Now You See Me

Praise for The Devil's Poetry

"I LOVED IT!! A must-read!" Alejandra, Alejandraslife.com "Addictive, spooky and thrilling." Faye, Big Book, Little Book "Beautifully written and fast-paced" Zoe Collins, nosaferplace.co.uk "I didn't want it to end! I truly loved reading The Devil's Poetry." Katie, Lifewithktkinnes.com "Action-packed with an original premise." Amy McCaw, YAundermyskin.com "Louise is a fantastic author. I am beyond excited to read more of her work in the future!" Louise Bodle, louisebodlex.wordpress.com "Hard to put down!" Nat, the Tween Book Blog

A Message From Louise Cole

The Devil's Poetry is a page-blistering thriller. But it's also a homage to the importance of books. As one reviewer said, it's about how books can "transport us, support us and sometimes even save us". Books have saved me again and again, giving me a place to hide, to learn, to heal, to grow, to love, and to have wonderful adventures well beyond the scope of my physical reality. But it's also about how the most important element of a book is the reader. And that's you. xx

An Interview with Callie from The Devil's Poetry

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Gosh. If you’d ask me that a few weeks ago I would probably have said in a library. A huge, empty, echoing library with galleries and rickety wooden ladders and lecterns laid out like altars to the books.

Now – my idea of perfect happiness would be more complicated because it would have more people in it. My Dad, for one. And my friends, all safe and delivered from the jaws of war – and worse fates.

And Jace. My beautiful sweet soldier.

We’d still be in a library though, because you can’t compromise the most important things in life even for love. Right? 

What is your greatest fear?

That’s a rather personal question. What if someone asked you your greatest fear? Would it help you? Would it make it all magically go away to share it, pollute the air with it, spill it across the page like ink?

Do you really believe it would help?

Trust me, it doesn’t. There’s a reason we bury pain deep, like nuclear waste. It’s so that it can’t ruin our lives any more than it already has.

Which living person do you most admire?

That’s easy. My friend Amber. Don’t get me wrong, my dad has been amazing the way he’s coped with being left alone. And he’s really clever. And Jace is brave and selfless. Possibly the best person I know, in terms of virtue, you know, honour and duty.

But the person I admire most is still Amber. She… she lives. I don’t know how else to describe it. I live in my head. I live in books, I over think, I imagine, I analyse. Amber just lives with her whole being. It’s not that she isn’t clever – book smart I guess Americans would call it. She is, fiercely intelligence. But it’s a practical, concentrated joyous intelligence that just infuses everything she does.

She loves cult TV. Not just likes it but loves it passionately, drinks it in. She loves dancing. She’s as terrified as any of us at the war that’s coming – with more reason to be than many – but she doesn’t et it stop her. She dances harder, laughs more, loves more fiercely.

Like I said, she really lives.

On what occasion do you lie?

I never used to lie at all. Or swear. Honest. My dad took very little notice of me and I never really did anything wrong. I find school work easy so my teachers were always happy. I never really had any reason to lie to anyone. I suppose, if I’m honest – ha, see, that’s the good girl still coming out in me – I thought I didn’t lie because I was a moral person.

I no longer think that’s true.

I didn’t lie because I didn’t need to. The Order of Sumer turned up in my life, in my village, and somehow the need to lie, the need for secrecy, has grown up thick and fast like bindweed all around me. Sometimes at night now, I lay awake and feel like it’s choking me. Trouble is, I don’t know what clogs my throat more – the truth or the lies.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

Jace.

[I’m trying not to lie. It’s not that I’m deliberately lying to you, I’m not. And you can’t tell him this. Please. Because I do love him, more than anyone. He is the love of my life. He’s the who.] The what is the Book.

As soon as the Order of Sumer pressed the little illuminated manuscript into my hands, it began to bond with me. I couldn’t resist. Why would anyone want to resist? Its pages are soft as brushed cotton where they aren’t stiffened by the glistening paint of the illustrations. Parakeet blue, blood red, firework gold, they explode off the pages, insinuate themselves around the poetry, cocooning it and protecting it.

Just as I protect the book. It belongs to me. It lives in me and through me.

It’s mine.

Who is Callie?

Touch Sensitive by Lee Isserow is a fast-paced crime thriller with a unique plot and some amazing characters.

Touch Sensitive

A thoroughly modern noir with a scifi twist.

John Ballard is a PI with a condition. One in a million born with a sensitivity.  He absorbs the memories of whatever or whoever he touches. 

The cops call him in to help on a case, a gruesome and inexplicably artistic murder that only someone with his gift can solve.  But absorbing the memories of the mutilated body is going to send John's life spiralling out of control, force him to cross every line, betray everyone who trusts him.

He doesn't just want to find the killer - he needs to find her - because the one thing that's clear about the woman behind the crime, is that she's a sensitive too.  

And the more he learns about this mysterious woman that shares his gift, the more he's convinced he's in love with her, and will do whatever it takes to keep the police off her scent.

Touch Sensitive is a genre-bending thriller, combining noir and scifi with romantic suspense, channelling Iain Banks and Margaret Atwood by way of Dashiell Hammett and Philip K. Dick.

Praise for Touch Sensitive

“A thoroughly modern noir with a twist of sci-fi”

"Puzzling that a story so well crafted, unique, and polished has not been transformed into a film as yet!"

“A well crafted novel which is gripping to the last page.”

"One great, fresh PI novel!"

"Kept me absolutely riveted until the very end..."

A Message From Lee

Imagine Sam Spade, as re-told by Philip K. Dick, with a splash of Kurt Vonnegut and Margaret Atwood for good measure. That is Touch Sensitive in a nutshell, a thrilling, twisting and turning romantic suspense murder mystery with a smidgen of the scifi/supernatural.

An Interview With John Ballard

How would you describe this book?

In all honesty? Jesus... where to begin. The bastard on the other side of the keyboard has consigned me to a life of essentially being a shit magnet, dredging through the very worst humanity has to offer. I try to look on the bright side, y'know, often with the aid of whisky and too many cigarettes - because some stereotypes exist for a bloody reason. Dammit, I was meant to be talking about the book... Yeah, it's great, screws my life up real good, whilst taking you on a magical mystery tour of Liverpool, and giving you a picture of the city that I'm pretty much trapped in. My own personal prison where my condition is less likely to mess my day up and freak others out in the process.

This condition you speak of?

Read the damn blurb, what am I, your nursemaid? I'm a sensitive, y'know, I absorb memories via a sense, simple enough. Touch is my gift - ha! - gift... it's as much of a damn curse as it sounds. Can't even blow my nose without reliving the memory of the tissue. And you know what? Even that recycled handicapped cousin of a tree has a better damn life than me since this all kicked off.

Jesus, that sounds awful... why haven't you just killed yourself already?

What do you think I am, some kind of wuss? Glutton for punishment, me. Watch me gluttoning it up over here. My life ain't all grouchy spaff! I like to laugh, I'm sarcastic as your ma' on toast, and frankly, I'm fun for all the family.

Okay... tell us a joke then?

This child-molesting KKK member in blackface tailgates a mosque on Eid - -

I think I'm going to stop you right there... Interview over.

It's a great punchline. you're missing out.

I hate you so much.

You are me, idiot.

That explains so much.

Tell me about it... I have to live with you.

Who is John Ballard?

John is a detective with a condition, a sensitivity, he absorbs the memories of everything - and everyone - he touches. The condition has left him isolated, disconnected in an increasingly connected world...