Today I am quite pleased to be a part of the blog tour for Something Wicked by Kerry Wilkinson. Below is the description, link and author information.
Elaine Carr’s son, Nicholas, disappeared in the dense woods near his home. He hasn’t been seen since, and she’s falling apart.
Andrew suspects Nicholas is alive, but in grave danger. He wants to know how no one in the small town of Prestwich has any answers. Why the teenager’s girlfriend is so cagey, and to get a proper look at the tattoo on her wrist. And as he follows the trail of an unsettling clue found in the boy’s bedroom, he begins to wonder if the case is connected to one buried in the past.
Can Andrew find Nicholas alive, or is he already too late to save him?
A gripping thriller full of shocking twists that will have you hooked! If you like L.J. Ross, Mark Edwards or Rachel Caine, you’ll love Something Wicked!
Buy Link: https://amzn.to/2PpTTU8
PLEASE ENJOY THE FOLLOWING EXCERPT:
CHAPTER ONE - TUESDAY
Cheese dripped from the radio presenter’s voice as he drawled his way in a put-on American accent over the top of a song Andrew Hunter didn’t recognise.
‘… just in case you’re feeling a bit down this morning, we’ll be taking you back to the 1980s with “The Only Way Is Up” by Yazz and the Plastic Population –right after the news…’
As if that was going to make people feel better a little after nine on a Tuesday morning.
The unknown song ebbed into the opening bars of the far more serious news jingle as Andrew zoned out from the radio, focusing on the road in front of him. As usual, Manchester was gridlocked. Long lines of cars stretched far into the distance in front and behind, rows of blinking brake lights edging forward two or three lengths at a time before the dreaded red traffic light of doom told them to stop. If that wasn’t enough, the mustard yellow traffic camera on Andrew’s left gazed unmovingly at the road, daring any wayward drivers to sneak through on crimson.
Do you feel lucky, punk? ‘… a tanker has spilled its load on the M60, leading to large tailbacks heading into, and out of, the city. Police say the motorway will be closed until at least lunchtime…’
The female newsreader’s voice remained calm as she told thousands of people their mornings were going to be spent staring at the back of other people’s cars.
Andrew began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as the traffic heading across the junction was shown the green light of acceptance. Waiting directly in front of him at the front of this particular queue, a sleek dark grey Audi growled at the morning, tinted windows blocking any indication of who the driver was.
‘… have arrested seven people in connection with last month’s riots in the Moss Side area of the city. Police swooped in the early hours of the morning in a coordinated operation with the Serious Crime Division. Assistant Chief Constable Graham Pomeroy said…’
Blah, blah, blah. They’d be back on the streets by lunchtime.
Ahead, the cross-traffic dribbled to a stop and the engines around Andrew grumbled in anticipation, waiting for the green light to twinkle its emerald glow of approval.
As the burn of red was joined by amber, the grey Audi surged forward, before stopping almost instantly with a squeal of tyres. Directly in front of the vehicle, a thin girl wearing jeans tucked into bright white trainer-boots, a checked shirt and a pulled-down baseball cap jumped backwards in alarm. The car’s horn beeped furiously with a flailing arm appearing though the driver’s side window.
‘Look where you’re walking!’
Instead of sheepishly heading for the kerb, the girl stepped towards the car, tugging the brim of her cap down further. She slapped the palm of her hand on the bonnet, before pointing an angry finger at the driver.
‘You look where you’re going. Just because you’ve got a big car, it doesn’t mean you own the… world.’
The hesitation before the word ‘world’ let her down a little but there was impressive venom before it. Behind Andrew, cars beeped their annoyance at the lack of movement. The green traffic light had promised so much but was delivering so little.
The Audi driver’s arm flapped its way back inside the car, his window no doubt humming back into place. His vehicle was less than a year old and stuck out like a dad at a disco in this area of the city. Andrew could almost hear the driver’s thoughts: was the girl part of some gang who would now swoop down and take their vengeance? You never knew nowadays –the scrawniest runt of a teenager could have a dozen tooled-up mates hiding in the bushes eagerly waiting for someone to talk out of turn.
The girl continued to stand in front of the Audi, arms wide in the universal pose to ask ‘what are you going to do about it?’ The reason the pose was universal was because no one ever stretched their arms out so provocatively unless they knew the person they were taunting was going to do precisely nothing about it. You ended up looking quite the tit if you asked ‘what are you going to do about it?’, before promptly finding out the person was going to cave your face in.
The girl’s cap was covering the top half of her face as a twisting ponytail of black hair wound its way around the curve of her chin. She wiggled her little finger. ‘You know what they say about men with big cars.’
The traffic lights shimmered from green to amber and a long line of drivers behind Andrew began grumbling. Bastarding, bloody council. Stupid, sodding lights. What’s wrong with a roundabout? Why are there so many people on the road?
The girl skipped around the Audi towards the driver’s window, crouching slightly but not enough to properly try to look through the dark frosted glass. She tapped on the window before continuing around the vehicle, slapping the rear wheel rim hard. After a glance at Andrew, she sidestepped through the gap between his car and the Audi and then dashed away from the road towards a bush on the other side of a set of railings.
The amber traffic light glimmered tantalisingly before blinking back to red.
Thou shalt not pass.
Except that the Audi did pass, roaring forward and turning left all under the watchful eye of the traffic camera.
Andrew edged forward until his car was resting against the white line, waiting for the lights to change.
‘… and finally, a postcard sent in the early 1900s has arrived at its destination –over a hundred years late…’
Royal Mail up to its usual standards then. Try getting compensation for that one.
The vehicles zipping across the junction slowly trickled to a halt again and Andrew grappled his car into first gear, bopping his free hand on the steering wheel.
Around him biting points were reached, car bonnets rising slightly in expectation. Suddenly, there was a rush of movement from his left. Andrew spun too slowly as the back door of his car was wrenched open and the shape of a baseball cap-wearing young woman flung herself inside, out of breath, ponytail wrapped around her neck like a python choking its prey.
The traffic light switched to green.
‘What are you waiting for?’ the girl gasped as she pulled the door shut. ‘Go.’
About the author:
As well as his million-selling Jessica Daniel series, Kerry has written the Silver Blackthorn trilogy - a fantasy-adventure serial for young adults - a second crime series featuring private investigator Andrew Hunter, plus numerous standalone novels. He has been published around the world in more than a dozen languages.
Originally from the county of Somerset, Kerry has spent far too long living in the north of England, picking up words like 'barm' and 'ginnel'.
When he's short of ideas, he rides his bike or bakes cakes. When he's not, he writes it all down.
Author Social Media Links:
Website / Facebook / Twitter