Emily Kimelman

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

Unleashed

The Sydney Rye Mysteries Box Set

"Sydney Rye is missing. All that's left of her is a depression in the dirt and a pool of blood. There are those who want to locate Sydney, but they can't find her if she doesn't want to be found." -- Adapted from back cover.

Sydney Rye Mysteries

In Sheep's Clothing

Private detective thriller with a touch of romance, reader's call THE DEVIL'S BREATH "A master mystery" Emily Kimelman's best selling Sydney Rye series feature a strong female protagonist and her canine best friend, Blue. It is recommended for the 18+ who enjoy some violence, don't mind dirty language, and are up for a dash of sex. Not to mention an awesome mystery with tons of action that will keep you reading late into the night! One of Sydney Rye's dearest friends, Hugh Defry, has been accused of brutally murdering his business partner. All the evidence points to Hugh and he has no memory of that night. But Sydney refuses to believe that Hugh is capable of such violence. Called to investigate by Robert Maxim, a man she has, until now, considered her greatest enemy, Sydney flies to Miami searching for the real killer. Her investigation leads her from the mansions of Star Island to the depths of the Everglades. Rye's suspicions are raised when she learns that Robert Maxim not only wants to work together, but also wants to build a friendship. She doesn't begin to understand Maxim's motives until her former lover, Dan, arrives in Miami to tell her a devastating secret. As more people from her past turn up, and not knowing whom to trust, Sydney begins to recognize that her personal fight for justice has become much more than she'd ever imagined. Sydney is pushed towards making a decision that will change not just her life, but possibly the future of crime fighting. The Sydney Rye Series UNLEASHED (A Sydney Rye Novel, #1) DEATH IN THE DARK (A Sydney Rye Novella, #2) INSATIABLE (A Sydney Rye Novel, #3) STRINGS OF GLASS (A Sydney Rye Novel, #4) THE DEVIL'S BREATH (A Sydney Rye Novel, #5) INVITING FIRE (A Sydney Rye Novel, #6)

(a Sydney Rye Novel, #5)

The Devil's Breath

Justice with a Vengeance When a dangerous man from her past calls, Sydney Rye finds she cannot turn him away. Robert Maxim explains that the daughter of a powerful friend has gone missing and he wants Rye to find her. In exchange, he offers her something she had given up hope of ever having; freedom from her past.

Insatiable

I didn’t expect a phone call to crack the bedrock of my life. How easy it is to forget we are all floating on molten lava...and tectonic shifts happen all the time... Carlos was the one who felt my phone vibrating; it was under one of the napkins we'd used for our picnic lunch. I found it, and glancing quickly at the "UNKNOWN" on the caller ID, picked it up. While used to calls from unknown places, I was not used to calls from this guy. "Sydney, how are you?" I didn't recognize his voice right away. Rolling away from Carlos, I sat up. "I'm sorry, but I don't know who this is." It was when he laughed that I recognized him. “Robert Maxim?" He laughed again. "I'm glad you remember me. My heart would be broken if I could be so easily forgotten." I stood up, Carlos looked up at me, a question in his eyes. I shook my head and stepped away from our blanket. My dog, Blue, a huge wolf-like creature with one blue eye and one brown followed me, keeping at a heel. "Forget you, Bobby Maxim? In order to do that I'd need a lobotomy." "With your penchant for revenge, I half expect to see you bursting through my closet doors some day, guns blazing." I laughed. "Who says I'm not in there right now?" "I know exactly where you are. I've been keeping very good track of you." I looked around the park. Gentle green hills spotted with couples and groups of friends lounging on blankets dominated the landscape. On a field below me a soccer match was beginning to form. A woman ran by in a skin-tight suit, nothing on her jiggled. "Are you here now?" "No, no. I'm calling to ask a favor." Carlos waved, letting me know he was going to join the soccer game. I nodded back, forcing a smile onto my lips. "I'm not doing you any favors,” I said to Robert. “It seems you're not totally clear on the fact that you took something from me." "Sydney, I don't understand this animosity. I was just doing you a favor." "A favor!" My raised voice attracted the attention of several groups of Londoners trying to enjoy their first day of sun. "You bastard," I hissed quietly. "I hope you rot in hell." "I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner, darling." "You're insane!" I was yelling again. I took a deep breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Blue tapped his muzzle against my hip to let me know he was still there. "Sydney, I didn't know what you two had planned. I would have killed Kurt long before you showed up. Remember, I'm not the one who left my fingerprints behind; whose blood was spilled all over the floor. You took yourself down, it had nothing to do with me." He said it in an off-hand way. Like I was being petty and missing the big picture. "You killed him," I whispered, trying to control my anger, but I was shaking. "That was my right. Kurt Jessup murdered my brother and I should have been the one to end him." "At the time I had no idea about that. Mulberry didn't tell me what you were planning, just that we had a problem. I had no intention of stifling your little revenge act. If anyone should be pissed it's me. At least you got the treasure." I stood on the green feeling lightheaded. It was like Bobby Maxim was taking the world and flipping it upside down. "What are you talking about? Mulberry told you that?" "Oh Cher, you didn't know?" Maxim's voice rose an octave, teasing and dripping with syrup. A cold knowledge traveled from my toes right up to my brain. My best friend betrayed me, our relationship was built on a lie. P.S. The dog does not die. **Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.**

Justice with a Vengeance She'll risk everything to bring a killer to justice... After one too many deadbeat boyfriends, Joy needed a fresh new start. She swapped out her man for a lovable pooch named Blue and picked up a dog walking gig on the Upper East Side. But she never expected her new lease on life would include a dead body... When her curiosity takes her deeper into the case, she and Blue dig into the dirty secrets of Manhattan's elite. As it becomes clear that murder is only the tip of the iceberg, Joy will put the people she cares about in danger to make sure justice is served. Failure to catch the killer could destroy everything she knows and loves... Unleashed is the first book in The Sydney Rye series of dark mysteries that never shy away from sex or violence. If you like daring heroines, canine companions, and edge-of-your-seat thrillers, then you'll love Emily Kimelman's vigilante origin story. Download Unleashed to get on the case today!

I am naked, bruised, and clutching a blood-stained Oscar statue. I didn't mean to kill him. The last thing I want is the director of my film—my first big role—dead. Now the cops are here, and even though it's obviously self-defense, I'm done for...my life is over. I'll never work in this town again even if I manage to avoid jail time. I'll be infamous instead of famous. Temperance Johnson is straight out of central casting—a spy master with tiger's eyes and unnatural grace—a real killer. He offers me a solution. He'll sweep all this under the rug and help me reach my goals if I work for him. Well, for the government. There is a long history of spies in Tinseltown; we have the perfect cover, and we're good at lying. I always wanted to be a star, and I never considered becoming a spy. Now I'm both. ***If you have trouble reading about violence against women, modern political themes, or sex (not graphic but out of wedlock).. then this series probably isn’t your thing. If you love powerful women, gritty thrillers, and vivid storytelling then download A Spy is Born today!***

Russia Conspiracy Thriller

A Spy Is Born

Justice with a Vengeance Do you have faith in your friends? Enough to risk your freedom to prove their innocence? One of Sydney Rye's dearest friends, Hugh Defry, has been accused of brutal murder. All the evidence points to Hugh and he has no memory of that night. But Sydney refuses to believe that Hugh is capable of such violence. Sydney flies to Miami searching for the real killer unprepared for the realization that her personal fight for justice has become much more than she'd ever imagined. Sydney is pushed towards making a decision that will change not just her life, but possibly the future of crime fighting.

Sydney Rye Mysteries, Book 5

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

Betray the Lie

The only thing more terrifying than taking a life is creating one. The positive pregnancy test rocks my world harder than any bomb or bullet. Like the hurricane bearing down on Miami, it threatens total destruction. I'm confident I can escape Miami, evade the mercenaries intent on killing me, and uncover the people who hired them. But telling the father I'm pregnant... raising a child... I'm not cut out for motherhood. I know I'll survive. It's everyone I love who dies. That changes now.

A Sydney Rye Mystery

Savage Grace

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

Sydney Rye Mysteries Books 1-8

At the end of a long journey, lightning flashed outside my window...I need more control. My hand jumped to Mulberry's forearm and squeezed. Shutting my eyes, I struggled not to picture the small plane cracking in half, my body flying through the air, still seat-belted to the beige leather chair; Blue, his paws grasping at empty space, disappearing into the bruise-colored clouds. The small jet shook and our pilot's voice, smooth and steady, came over the loudspeaker, "Sorry about the bumps. We'll have you down in Miami in about twenty minutes. Just hold tight." Mulberry put his hand over mine. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll be there soon." He smiled, making his crow's feet crinkle. Mulberry's eyes were deep emerald with ochre and flashes of gold. I tried to smile back but could tell I was just giving grimace. Mulberry handed me his whisky and soda. I finished it off. The ice cubes danced in my empty glass. Then we were suddenly out of the clouds. Below us the ocean was close, steel blue with white caps cresting each wave. The city's skyscrapers looked like towers of mercury in the storm's eerie light. Raindrops clung to my window, streaking across it as our speed pushed them aside. Hugh was somewhere down there in that city, a flat landscape made multi-dimensional through the efforts of man. My stomach lurched as we dropped through the air, my seat belt pressing into me. Blue whined softly and flattened himself even further onto the floor of the plane. A giant of a dog, Blue has the coat of a wolf, the snout of a Collie, with one brown eye and one blue. Both of which were trained on me at that moment. My fear was freaking him out. Closing my eyes, I tried to imagine the turbulence as a gentle rocking but it didn't work. An ice cube jumped out of my glass landing on the carpeting. Blue, his belly still flat on the ground, inched his way toward it, then his tongue stretched out and pulled the cube into his mouth. He crunched twice before looking back up at me, now hoping for more whisky-flavored ice. I couldn't help but smile at the expectant look on his fuzzy face. We touched down with a jerk that sent my heart racing one more time. But as we slowly taxied toward our hangar the storm seemed suddenly minor. Just a breath of wind fluttered across the puddles, turning them into shimmering mirrors framed by the dark tarmac. "All right Ms. Rye," our captain's voice came back on over the loudspeaker. "Sorry about that descent, but we got you here safe. Thanks for flying with us, I hope we'll have you back real soon." As soon as humanly possible. I didn't want to be here, but Hugh was in trouble, and if there was one person I cared about in this world it was him. He was a tie to my murdered brother, a shared memory bank. I would do anything to help Hugh. P.S. The dog does not die. **Beware: If you can't handle a few f-bombs, you can't handle this series.**

Sydney Rye Mysteries #5

Devil's Breath

At the end of a long journey, lightning flashed outside my window…I need more control. My hand jumped to Mulberry's forearm and squeezed. Shutting my eyes, I struggled not to picture the small plane cracking in half, my body flying through the air, still seat-belted to the beige leather chair; Blue, his paws grasping at empty space, disappearing into the bruise-colored clouds. The small jet shook and our pilot's voice, smooth and steady, came over the loudspeaker, "Sorry about the bumps. We'll have you down in Miami in about twenty minutes. Just hold tight." Mulberry put his hand over mine. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll be there soon." He smiled, making his crow's feet crinkle. Mulberry's eyes were deep emerald with ochre and flashes of gold. I tried to smile back but could tell I was just giving grimace. Mulberry handed me his whisky and soda. I finished it off. The ice cubes danced in my empty glass. Then we were suddenly out of the clouds. Below us the ocean was close, steel blue with white caps cresting each wave. The city's skyscrapers looked like towers of mercury in the storm's eerie light. Raindrops clung to my window, streaking across it as our speed pushed them aside. Hugh was somewhere down there in that city, a flat landscape made multi-dimensional through the efforts of man. My stomach lurched as we dropped through the air, my seat belt pressing into me. Blue whined softly and flattened himself even further onto the floor of the plane. A giant of a dog, Blue has the coat of a wolf, the snout of a Collie, with one brown eye and one blue. Both of which were trained on me at that moment. My fear was freaking him out. Closing my eyes, I tried to imagine the turbulence as a gentle rocking but it didn't work. An ice cube jumped out of my glass landing on the carpeting. Blue, his belly still flat on the ground, inched his way toward it, then his tongue stretched out and pulled the cube into his mouth. He crunched twice before looking back up at me, now hoping for more whisky-flavored ice. I couldn't help but smile at the expectant look on his fuzzy face. We touched down with a jerk that sent my heart racing one more time. But as we slowly taxied toward our hangar the storm seemed suddenly minor. Just a breath of wind fluttered across the puddles, turning them into shimmering mirrors framed by the dark tarmac. "All right Ms. Rye," our captain's voice came back on over the loudspeaker. "Sorry about that descent, but we got you here safe. Thanks for flying with us, I hope we'll have you back real soon." As soon as humanly possible. I didn't want to be here, but Hugh was in trouble, and if there was one person I cared about in this world it was him. He was a tie to my murdered brother, a shared memory bank. I would do anything to help Hugh. P.S. The dog does not die. **Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.**

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

Sydney Rye Mysteries Books 1-6

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

Sydney Rye Mysteries Books 1-3

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

Flock of Wolves

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

Death in the Dark

Books 4-6 in the Sydney Rye Mysteries: Strings of Glass, The Devil’s Breath, and Inviting Fire. In Goa, India, Mother Nature rules. The road crumbled under my feet as I ran up the incline. There is no road surface strong enough to resist the return to dirt in this climate. Blue touched my thigh with his nose, a gentle tap to remind me he was there. Thick jungle lined our path. This hill had the fewest homes on our route. No neighbors to wave a hello to or children to smile at as they raced by on bikes either too large or too small for them. There was just me, Blue, the burst of vegetation, and this road of rocks. I reached the top of the hill, my thighs and calves burned. Panting, I struggled to keep my pace. A low growl narrowed my attention onto a black and white street dog in the brush. Ears flat to her head, she curled her lips and showed teeth. Noting the swollen teats hanging low and exposed, I kept moving. "I'm not going to bother you, mama," I said in a steady voice. "We are just passing by." Blue slowed, and when I patted my thigh for him to catch up he stopped. I turned to look back at him, my senses on high alert. Blue was a mutt the height of a Great Dane with the coat of a wolf and the long snout of a Collie, with one blue eye and one brown. Blue has saved my life more than once so when he stopped, so did I. I recognized a twitch on his lip and saw the hackles raise off his shoulders and back making him appear even larger. A deep and rumbling growl left his chest. It was answered behind me. There were suddenly three dogs in our path. None as big or strong as Blue but together they looked dangerous. I'd been warned about this pack. Growing larger by the day, it was led by an aggressive alpha male the color of dirty water. This must be him, I thought, as the largest of the three, his head wide, fur the silt brown of an engorged river, growled at Blue. The compactness of his body spoke of strength and survival. When he barked, the saliva that shot from his mouth caught a ray of sunlight streaming through the thick foliage around us. The alpha stepped forward, revving his growl like a teenager on a motorbike. The bitch in the brush flanked our left side and when I turned right, two young dogs, their ears still soft from puppyhood, glowered at me. The owner of the guest house where I lived warned me to take a stick if I planned on running. "Just in case," she'd said with a dip of her head and a flip of her hand. Because of her advice I carried a light but solid piece of bamboo about twice the thickness of my thumb. I tapped it on the ground in front of me as I backed toward Blue, keeping my eyes forward, focused on the alpha but paying close attention to my peripheral vision, watching the dogs to my sides. When I reached Blue he moved backwards with me, slowly and deliberately. But the dogs followed. We stopped, and raising the stick over my head, I brought it down hard onto a rock. The loud sound and sudden movement spooked the pups to my right, but the alpha male just growled louder. The two dogs flanking him went crazy barking, the force of their calls lifting their front paws off the ground. The mother and the young ones joined in raising a ruckus that certainly beat mine. Blue, his front paws planted on the road, exposed his teeth and growled, his pitch wavering up and down. He wanted me to tell him it was okay to attack. I could feel his energy bundling up inside him, roiling around. Soon I'd have no control. P.S. The dog does not die. **Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.**

Sydney Rye Mysteries Books 4-6

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

Emily Kimelman

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