Nik Morton Multi-Genre Author is my Guest…

Leon Cazador is on FBI liaison duty in Charleston, South Carolina when a dead child is found with a kidney missing. Suspecting an old foe, he jumps into action when a convoy of trucks with kidnapped children hits a snag, and a boy escapes. But what starts out as a simple cat and mouse chase turns into a convoluted web of deceit involving an underground organ transplant ring that surpasses Leon’s wildest expectations—and abilities. Years later—and carrying around the weight of unresolved burdens—Leon runs into suspicious activity in Córdoba, Spain which makes his heart stop cold. Organ traffickers are running rampant, and a three-man investigating team has gone missing. Eager to put an end to this corrupt organization’s misdeeds once and for all, Leon makes finding its leader his top priority. But will he have what it takes to bring an evil like no other to its knees?

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Former Entertainment Attorney and Award Winning Mystery Author Susan Lynn Solomon is my Guest Author

Libby Bridgeman, a stringer for the Village Voice, balks when Max Howard, her editor, insists she interviews Alicia Kane. Though a campus rebel, a rock superstar, and an icon in the 1970s, Kane hasn’t been heard of in forty years. A Brooklyn court case involving a Black Lives Matter protest seems far more relevant. But you don’t say no to Max Howard.

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Multi-Genre Author and Blog Talk Radio Host Dellani Oakes is my Guest…

Dellani Oakes. I've been writing since I was a child. I began my illustrious career when I was six or seven, writing terrible verse. I wrote a poem for my grandmother and illustrated it. I don't remember exactly what I said, only the repeating line, "When you get a coffin, you never will grow cold, if you make sure that the coffin's made of 14-carat gold." No clue what she really thought of it, but she thanked me very graciously.

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Benny the Fence handed the Money over for the Diamonds…

Undercover: Crime Shorts.
Benny the Fence handed over the money for the diamonds, no questions asked. He didn't know her name, didn't want to. The sulky blonde had been using him for years and so far things had worked just fine. They spoke little. She always wore huge dark glasses and a navy overcoat with the collar turned up over her face covering her features. In moments she was gone. Picking her out in a line-up would've been impossible. He had protection so she wasn't a threat to him. She knew it too.

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The Jazz Singer with a Sting in her Tale.

Closing the safe door quietly and with an expert spin of the dial, the black-clad woman straightened up, slinging the grip with her haul over her shoulder. She stood listening intently before moving towards the office door. Again, she waited, her ears straining, before gently prizing the door open and stepping silently into the corridor of darkened offices; she eased the door closed, calculating she had barely two minutes before the night-watchman made his rounds, trying the doors and checking the building was secure.

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