When the victims have no voice…

The first victim was poisoned. Three others are missing. One turns up dead.

It’s almost Christmastime, but FBI agent and profiler Brandon Fisher and his team are packing their bags for Colorado to stop a serial killer. But they soon find out this might not be an easy case to solve as the killer’s method of operation keeps changing.

A look into the victims’ pasts reveals one commonality, though: they all beat charges of animal abuse. The killer, known as the Advocate, is inflicting the same treatment on them that they had allegedly committed against their animals. And while the job is all about finding justice, this investigation has the FBI team questioning who is on the right side—them or the murderer. But they’re going to have to get themselves together quickly if they’re going to catch a killer and return home for the holidays.

Enjoy this excerpt taken from the Prologue of The Defenseless:


HE SHOULD BE CELEBRATING AT home with a bottle of Cristal. Instead, he was outside of his neighbor’s house, frozen to the bone, his hands like ice.

He hadn’t had a moment of peace and quiet all day. His project was getting further behind, the deadline ever looming, but the new resident next door gave no consideration to those around him. First it was his barking dog, but when he came to complain, the sight of it whelmed up pity into his heart and fueled his rage toward its owner.

With the canine now tucked away back at his home, warm and secure, he trudged back out through the snow.

The heavy-metal music that had drowned out the howls of the animal, now vibrated the deck.

All he needed was silence. So he could think. So he could get what he needed to get done, done.

He pounded on the door, and it sent pain flashing through his knuckles—the combination of determination and the bitter temperatures against flesh and bone.

The wind howled between the two houses, gusting up the snow into miniature funnel clouds of ice crystals. They assaulted any bared skin—his neck and face taking the brunt of it. A quiver wracked his body and prompted a deep exhalation, which created a cloud of white in the night air.

“Open the fucking door!” He pushed through the discomfort and knocked again.

Still no evidence the man was even listening.

He surveyed, left and right, glancing over his shoulder, feeling eyes on him. Were the neighbors watching him? Did they call the cops?

The light was on in an upstairs room, but otherwise the nearby house was enshrouded in darkness. The only other illumination were the streetlights that cast dull beacons amidst the blowing snow.

He went to bang again, but his hands refused. They had seized up from the cold. He blew on them to warm them. Surely, the occupant was drunk and would awaken from his stupor to—

The door opened and with it, the music got louder.

“What the fuck do you want?” The man stood there, six feet tall, a few inches shy of his own height, and his face was unshaven. His suspicions were confirmed by the pungent smell of whiskey that flushed out of the house and exuded from the man.

But it wasn’t his neighbor’s appearance, or even the odor that burned his eyes and had his attention, it was his identity. He would never forget that face. It had scarred his childhood, and it wasn’t until this moment, until this reunion that he realized how much. Ken Bailey was the man’s name.

A warmth encased his insides and his vision grew clearer.

“Freak, what the fuck is up?” Ken leaned against the doorframe but lost his mark and stumbled to regain his balance.

This arrogant son of a bitch didn’t recognize him. It provided him clarity—and strength. A shiver laced down his spine as he stepped inside the house.

“Hey!” Ken slammed a hand against his shoulder.

It shuffled him back a few feet, but he never lost his balance. He was sober as a priest, thanks to Ken interrupting his evening’s plans.

He pushed past Ken into the house. He shut the door behind him and stood there, facing his opponent, breathing as if he’d run a marathon. His heart beat so fast, it pained in his chest. Whatever happened next, Ken would deserve it for what he had done to her.

You’ve reached the end of the excerpt, but The Defenseless is available in e-book, paperback, and hardcover formats. For retailers links, visit here.

FBI agent and profiler Brandon Fisher and his team are called to Savannah, Georgia when body parts belonging to three victims are recovered from the Little Ogeechee River. As the case takes one dark turn after another, Brandon finds himself embroiled in a creepy psychological nightmare.



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