Excerpt :

Winston forced a smile. “The founder imparted to me that every contestant was personally selected because each of you has a secret that absolutely must remain—a secret. Especially from law enforcement.” He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “Since the winner of the contest will become fabulously wealthy, it would seem, everyone is here because of a potentially—lucky secret.”
Zoe’s head whipped toward me. With eyes wide, she mouthed law enforcement. I threw her a little headshake, even as my body exploded in tingles. I have no such secrets—anymore. I think. A picture popped in my head of the open safe-deposit box with the gold artifact, gold bar, and emeralds. With my name on the signature card. Somebody obviously manufactured a secret for me. But why? And is it the same for all the contestants? Were they also blackmailed into coming for something they didn’t do? Or were they…
Excerpt Three:
Karsh Azarian’s pretentious voice came from the end of the table. “It would appear I am now the only courageous one going it alone.” He held a glass of red wine aloft in our direction, a smug grin splashed across his stupid goateed face. “As it should be, I suppose. Fair play and what not.”
Across from me and next to Olivia Fantucci, Scooter Jablonsky’s attention bounced between Karsh, Jimmy, and I. Then he pointed with his half-full drink glass toward Frederick Volkov and Rod Toft, who were seated on our side of the table to Azarian’s right. “Hey, Freddie boy, y’all been quiet tonight. Whatsa matter, your contest off like a herd of turtles?”
Volkov fixed his hound-dog eyes on Scooter. “Quite the contrary, Burl. Tell me, have you and Spencer made it out of your rooms yet, or are you still wrasslin’ with that devilish first clue?” Volkov finished with an amused laugh and clinked glasses with Toft. “Cheers, my friend.”
Scooter was about to blow when Spencer Fernsby inserted himself in the conversation. “Frederick, throughout my career, I have seen your kind come and go. Usually to prison for insider trading and fraud, I might add.” He raised a water glass to his lips. “My goodness, it would be quite difficult to win the contest from a jail cell, don’t you think?”
Volkov jumped to his feet. Even from my vantage point, I could see the blue vein throbbing in his forehead. “Are you threatening me, Fernsby?”
Fernsby smiled warmly, a contrast to his suddenly stone-cold blue-gray eyes. “That certainly wasn’t my intention. My respectful apologies.”
Jimmy whispered in my ear, “The plot thickens.”


About the Author

B.T. Polcari is a graduate of Rutgers College of Rutgers University, an award-winning mystery author, and a proud father of two wonderful children. He’s a champion of rescue pups (Mauzzy is a rescue), craves watching football and basketball, and, of course, loves reading mysteries. Among his favorite authors are Richard Osman, D.P. Lyle, Frederick Forsyth, and Michael Connelly. He is also an unapologetic fantasy football addict. He lives with his wife in scenic Chattanooga, Tennessee.

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