She’s short. She’s feisty. She’s sexy. She’s Mom. Meet FBI Agent, Abby Kane.
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The Doctor Is Back.
In the quiet Corktown neighborhood of Detroit, a mutilated body has the residents nervous and for good reason. Detroit Metro Police recognize the handiwork of the serial killer known as the Doctor. But there’s a problem with that. They locked him up seven years ago.
Because of her expertise with serial killers, former hotshot detective and now FBI agent, Abby Kane, is tasked with figuring out how this madman is able to kill again. When she visits The Doctor behind bars, he swears he’s innocent and not the psychopath everyone thinks he is. Oddly enough, Abby believes him.
Corktown is a page-turning thriller that dives headfirst into the grit of Detroit, exploring government corruption and deadly violence.
Corktown Excerpt 1
To be honest, I never had many girlfriends growing up. They seemed to come and go. As a teen, I was a bit of a tomboy. I preferred hunting trips with my father to hair braiding sleepovers with girls from school. I liked boys, but second dates were hard to come by after my suitors met my father; the tall, broad-shouldered Irishman that hovered behind me. In lieu of dating, my father taught me to bare-knuckle fight, a favorite pastime in Ireland, he would say. When I graduated from Hong Kong’s Police College at age nineteen, unheard of for a woman, he told me, “I’m proud of you, son.”
I like to think he was joking.
From that point on, my career in law enforcement became my focus; it took over my life. It left little time for what few friends I had and completely ruined any chance of a romance with someone other than myself. My relationships were pathetic at best and upsetting for my mother. All she had ever wanted were grandchildren. What about me, the child you birthed?
“Why Abby?” She would start over Sunday dinner. “Why are you not married? What is wrong? Are you a lazi?”
“I knew it; you’re a lazi.”
“I’m not a lazi!”
I finally proved my mother wrong eight years later when I married a man.
Peng Choi was my first true love. He also showed me there was more to life than the job. We enjoyed six months of marital bliss. I say six months because that’s how long we had been married before my old partner, a good friend, sat me down and told me my husband had just been found brutally murdered.
We had no motive and no knowledge of enemies Peng might have had. I wasn’t prepared for that—life shoving its hand into my chest and ripping out all that mattered.
He left me with two young children, Ryan and Lucy, and a mother-in-law, Po Po. Peng was a widower when we fell in love; now I was a widow, and a stepmother to boot.
I dealt with his death by throwing myself into my work. I had all but abandoned the family during that time. My stepchildren were strangers to me and Po Po was fast becoming their mother, a job I slowly started to realize I wanted. So I did what I thought was best. I quit the force and moved the family to San Francisco for a new start on life. Mine, mostly.
Corktown Excerpt 2
The first recognizable sign was an overbearing, metallic smell. The second sign was unavoidable. The crimson substance was everywhere: pooled on the patio tiles, dripping from the tables and chairs, soaked into the lawn, and smeared inside the bounce house. In some of the areas where multiple bodies congregated, the puddles were still splash-worthy.
Preston sat quietly on the patio chair, admiring his handiwork. A total of twenty-two bodies lay strewn about the backyard. Blood dotted Preston’s face and clothing. The grin on his face still stretched from one side to the other.
He had finished them all off, starting with the parents. From there, he moved on to the fourteen children. They were easy—surprisingly, even his own. The last to go was his wife. He still held onto the scalpel he used. In his other hand, he gripped his wife’s hair, holding her head up. Her neck had been opened from one end clear across to the other side. Blood still dripped onto the cement. It was the only sound, except for the buzzing of flies.
Corktown Excerpt 3
The small white house on Campbell Road had two cars in its front yard. Neither of them had tires or windows. The house had a tiny, screened-in front porch, overtaken by dead, potted plants and old electronics. I could hear the television before we made it to the porch steps. It sounded like a court case show.
Wilkinson had to knock twice before someone came to the door.
A white lady shoehorned into denim shorts and wearing layered tank tops opened the door. A cigarette hung from her mouth. “Yeah?” she said, adjusting her shirt.
“I’m Agent Kane. This is Agent Wilkinson. We’re with the FBI. May we ask you a few questions?”
She looked at us as if she had a choice, like there were options to consider. Eventually, she turned around and walked away, leaving the door open.
I entered the house first. I wished I hadn’t. The smell of cat urine nearly destroyed my nose. I didn’t bother to hide my reaction either. Wilkinson had a bit more self-control. By my count, there were eight furry felines either walking or lying on the furniture. Our host had already taken her seat in front of the television.
“Are you Lisa Bass?” I asked. She didn’t respond, so I picked up the remote and shut the television off.
“Hey, I was watching that.”
The strong stench of urine had fouled my mood and left me with little patience. I tried once again, with a little bitch sprinkled in the tone. “Are you Lisa Bass?”
“Hell, no,” she said, yanking her head back. I could count the chins.