Quentin
Black Mystery
Book
Five
JC
Andrijeski
Genre: Paranormal Mystery /
Romance/ UF
Publisher: White Sun Press
Date of Publication: 7/27/16
ISBN: 9781370573745
ASIN: B01J4AXZ8U
Number of pages: 336
Word Count: 101,005
Cover Artist: Jennifer Munswami
at J.M. Rising Horse Creations
Book Description:
“He’d be fresh meat here. And he
didn’t have his sight...”
Black takes a new consulting gig
with the LAPD, helping them find a contract killer who left a dead body behind
the Los Angeles Theater. Despite Miri’s lingering fears after what happened to
him during the last murder case he worked, he assures her it’s routine, that he
won’t be doing fieldwork, that nothing could possibly go wrong.
Then, during his first night on
the job at the Port of Los Angeles, all hell breaks loose and all bets are off.
Black wakes up in a nightmare he
couldn’t have foreseen, with no way out and no idea how he got there. Robbed of
his psychic sight, he can’t even call to Miriam for help, or use his abilities
to figure out where he is, who took him, or what they want from him.
On the outside, Miri is frantic,
working with the police and Black’s team to find him. She has even less
information than Black… until a confession from her Uncle Charles brings her
face to face with a much older enemy, the same enemy that may have killed her
entire family.
BLACK
AND BLUE is book five in the paranormal mystery romance starring brilliant but
dangerous psychic detective, Quentin Black, and his partner, forensic psychologist
Miri Fox.
Book
Trailer: https://youtu.be/OWlwoa8lOBY
Excerpt:
Prologue
HISTORY REPEATS
ALARMS EXPLODED
OVERHEAD, bells clanging. The sounds slammed into his skull like a rock wielded
by a psychopath. Grimacing, he raised a hand to his eyes, though it wasn’t
bright. Blood pressed against the bone of his skull, harder with each throb,
like a beating heart.
Even past the
pain, he was groggy. He felt nauseous––that specific kind of sick feeling he
associated with a head injury. But he might have been drugged.
He couldn’t
clear his head enough to decide.
Either way, the
specifics likely weren’t important. He got the gist. Someone clocked him good.
He’d been out cold, at least a few hours.
He tried to
retrace his mental footsteps.
The port. That
asshole, Mozar, dragged him out to the port with his SWAT guys and Hawking and
a few other detectives. It was supposed to be a simple job, advisory only. He
was there as a goddamned consultant, which was humorous in and of itself.
Then it all went
wrong. Seriously crazy shit went down.
Hawking... it
all started with Hawking.
He fought to
think, but everything kept fuzzing in and out. He got details, fragments, but
it wasn’t enough to piece together. He knew that might be the head injury too.
He also knew––unfortunately, from previous experience––that he might have gone
into ungrat, the seer stasis, if they’d hit him hard enough. If so, his
memories should start filtering back if he didn’t get himself too banged up
again in the next twenty-four hours or so.
Unfortunately,
he suspected he was in danger of banging himself up again right now.
The knowledge
came without words, without additional information.
It didn’t come
from reading anyone with his “psychic” ability, either––a term his wife,
Miriam, still insisted on using, no matter how much he bitched at her at the
inadequacy and fuzziness of the lame, New-Agey (and human) meanings of the word
“psychic.”
This was pure
instinct. That same instinct told him, unequivocally, that he had only a few
minutes to get his head on straight or he was in serious fucking trouble.
Opening his eyes
reluctantly, he looked around at where he was. That sense of danger started
vibrating his skin, making it hard to focus at first. A different clanking
sound came from a lot closer, ratcheting up that feeling of concern. He was
definitely in danger.
He reached out
with his sight, trying to pinpoint the source...
...And pain
ripped through his spine.
It was so
intense, so completely unexpected, he let out a broken gasp.
Then he lay back
on the mattress, panting.
Understanding
filtered into his mind, then disbelief.
He sat up in a
near panic that time––but had to stop, panting and hanging his head when nausea
overwhelmed him a second time. He lay on a thin mattress pad over what looked
like concrete. He recognized the institutional gray, even before his eyes
shifted to the bars and wire mesh that made up one wall of the cell.
His hand went to
his throat, a reflex he hadn’t had in years, one he’d broken in himself
deliberately. When he first got to this version of Earth, he used to reach
reflexively for his throat every time he woke up. He would feel around the full
circumference of his neck, making sure, reassuring himself that he really had
left that behind, that he wasn’t there anymore, in that world where his people
lived like animals.
As his fingers
closed over the cold metal now...
His mind fuzzed
out.
Then he was
breathing too much, panting, half-groaning as his hands followed the thing
around his neck, using both hands now, feeling around to where it hooked into
the base of his skull. He winced at the pain where the prongs sank into the
back of his neck.
It was the same.
Exactly.
Fucking. The Same.
He reached out
with his sight––carefully, that time––and the collar shocked him again. It was
a lot less intense that time, but it still gritted his teeth. And it hurt like
hell.
He let out a
furious growl, then tried again.
That time, the
collar shocked him harder––hard enough to blur his vision.
He sat on the
edge of the cement bench, panting, so filled with rage he couldn’t think
straight for what felt like several minutes.
Disbelief
flooded his mind a second time; denial blotted out everything else. He knew he
had to focus on the danger he could still feel coming, but he didn’t give a
shit. Rage and denial and disbelief erased the pain he felt in his body, the
wounds he hadn’t yet catalogued but knew were there. He forgot his pounding
head, reaching out with his light a third time, trying to see, to use his
seer’s sight.
The brushed
metal collar shocked him for a full minute that time. That pain in his head
exploded, getting so bad he couldn’t make a sound at first.
He barely
noticed.
He tried to use
his sight again.
The shock that
time nearly blacked him out.
“No.” He spoke
aloud without knowing he meant to, his voice a low, deep mantra after that
first whisper. “No, no, no, no... fuck no, this isn’t happening... this isn’t
fucking happening...”
He yanked on the
collar, pure instinct again, no reason.
The pain that
rippled up through the back of his skull that time did knock him out.
He came to
seconds later, groaning.
Pulling himself
off the mattress a second time, he lurched to his feet, slamming his head into
a shelving unit above him, which forced him to sink back to the bed, letting
out another low cry of pain. He gripped the thin mattress below and the shelf
above, breathing through the blinding throbs at the base of his skull, fighting
to calm down, to clear his mind. His shoulder hurt too, bad enough to reach his
awareness beyond the deeper pain coming from his head.
Once he could
see again, he heard another loud clanking and looked up. He watched in
disbelief as the heavy metal door set in the far wall slid open in front of
him.
Then, the rest
of it finally fell utterly into place.
He was in
fucking prison.
He looked around,
taking in the scratched, metal-plate mirror, the metal sink and toilet
combination, the table and shelf bolted to the opposite wall. A plastic
television with a clear-plastic body stood on that shelf. Otherwise, the room
was empty, stripped of life.
Someone knocked
him out, put a sight-restraint collar on him, and stuck him in a fucking prison
cell.
Looking down, he
saw he wore royal blue formless pants, a white tank top. He had a bandage on
his shoulder and one around his arm.
He touched the
collar again, tentatively that time.
His fingers
followed it to the back of his neck, where the prongs of metal burrowed into
his skin, wrapping coldly around his spine. He touched the whole thing with
both hands, still feeling that as the biggest point of unreality.
It was
definitely a sight-restraint collar.
Was he back in
that goddamned shit-hole where he was born? Did he fall through another
goddamned door? He struggled against the idea, the rising panic that came with
it.
Then another
realization hit him. Miri.
Gods. Miri.
If he wasn’t on
that Earth anymore...
But his mind
couldn’t finish the thought.
For a few
minutes he could only sit there, breathing too hard, fighting to think. He
looked at his body, at his clothes. As he did, the panic that briefly paralyzed
his mind began slowly to recede. This was fucking-A real, all right.
But he was still
on the right Earth.
None of this was
right for his home world. None of it. He was wearing prison fatigues, but they
were human. If he was back in that other world, they wouldn’t have left his
hands and feet free. No way. Not at his sight rank.
He’d be wearing
organic or semi-organic binders, not just the collar. They’d have him chained
to the wall. And no way in hell would they open the door with him un-cuffed
inside. The door was all wrong, anyway. Back home, that door would be pure
organic metal, possibly with a sliding view hole. Or organic glass.
The cell would
be dark.
He would also
probably be drugged, or hooked up to wires. He definitely would have been beat
up more, not just groggy from a head injury.
And yeah, the
clothes were all wrong.
Black’s rational
mind slowly began to take over as he looked around the small cell. This was
definitely what he thought of as his Earth. Back home, they didn’t house seers
like this, even during Black’s time. Now they probably had even more sadistic
tech toys to control people like him. They’d definitely have surveillance in
the room.
Taking another
deep breath, he flipped over his arm, looking at his old race-cat tattoo. He
found himself relaxing even more when he saw the skin unbroken.
If they’d picked
him up in the old world, they would have re-chipped him immediately. He’d had
the old one removed as soon as he possibly could, about ten years after he
first reached this world. Running his fingers over the smooth skin, he forced
himself to take another breath.
So he was still
on the right Earth. The Earth where his life was.
The Earth where
Miri was.
But how the fuck
would anyone know to collar him here? And if they knew that much, why would
they put him in with a general population at all?
Well, unless
they were trying to disappear him.
Or kill him.
At the thought,
he rose shakily to his feet––more cautiously that time. He gripped the cement
shelf as he got up, using it for balance. Turning his head slowly, mostly
because of the pain, he looked over both sides of the room, reassuring himself
it was empty. He knew he wouldn’t be alone in here for long, though.
His eyes
returned to the open door.
He could already
hear the sounds.
Prisoners
leaving their cages, joking, laughing, talking loudly, starting to walk the
catwalks. Heading in his direction.
New guy. He’d be
the new guy.
He again fought
to pull his head together, knowing he didn’t have a lot of time. He couldn’t be
found in here like this, half-blind with pain, clutching the collar and whining
like a wounded dog. He’d been in prisons before. That had been in a different
world, a different time and place, but some things wouldn’t have changed.
Some things
never changed.
He’d be fresh
meat here, just like he had been back then. And he didn’t have his sight.
Welcome to the
jungle, motherfucker.
Welcome home.
About
the Author:
JC Andrijeski is a USA TODAY
bestselling author who writes paranormal mysteries and apocalyptic fiction,
often with a sexy, romantic and metaphysical bent. JC has a background in
journalism, history and politics, and loves martial arts, yoga, meditation,
hiking, swimming, horseback riding, painting… and of course reading and
writing. She grew up in the Bay Area of California, but travels extensively and
has lived abroad in Europe, Australia and Asia, and from coast to coast in the
continental United States. She currently lives and writes full-time in Bangkok,
Thailand.
To learn more about JC and her
writing, please visit
Website http://jcandrijeski.com
FB author page: https://www.facebook.com/JCAndrijeski/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jcandrijeski @jcandrijeski
Mailing List: http://hyperurl.co/JCA-Newsletter
Amazon Author page: http://amzn.to/1GqSJlq
Goodreads author page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4470130.J_C_Andrijeski
Tour
giveaway
2 full ebook sets of the first
four Quentin Black Books
1 signed copy of Black In White
(Quentin Black Mystery #1)
$25 Amazon Gift Card
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