At CIA headquarters, a young officer discovers that
terrorists may have commandeered their computer systems to launch an
unauthorized mission. Elsewhere, conspirators abduct nine people to manipulate
the rules of their game. Two disparate ambitions — Clint Masters becomes the
reluctant link in the chain of danger.
Ever since Clint’s almost ex-wife dumped him, he bobs
along the Massachusetts coast in a sailboat with his black lab for company. He
avoids all forms of technology, a counterintuitive effort for the burned-out
founder of CatSat Laboratories. Tired of clutching the brass ring, he needed to
untether, step off the corporate treadmill, and smell a flower. Fortunately, he
met one, a beautiful, unspoiled woman who doesn’t treat him like a commodity.
His relationship with Beth offers more promise than his marriage ever did, even
if she is on dialysis for her recovering kidneys, until she disappears.
In spite of the evidence, her family refuses to admit
she’s in danger. Without routine dialysis, she won’t survive. As Clint realizes
that he loves Beth, damn-near ex-wife Paige sashays back into his life with
disturbing news.
While the CIA young gun tracks his quarry, Clint
enlists the help of two men to find Beth, a blithe Brit named Merlin, and Todd,
his playboy partner-in-tech. But Clint must find Beth before her kidneys fail.
And before someone unloads a bullet in his head.
Sale Price:
3 LIES ON SALE for only 99¢ at Amazon, B&N, and
iBookstore
from 2/24/13 until 3/2/13.
Links:
Once started, I could not put it down. The writing is
genuine and the feelings are heartfelt. This would be a wonderful book for your
library. I look forward to reading more from Helen Hanson, she has an artistry
that is hard to deny. – Seattle
Post-Intelligencer Review
***
Another thing I liked was that the plot was involved,
in that it had multiple threads that eventually came together, yet I didn't
have any difficulty keeping track of the different characters and threads. It
takes talent for an author to keep a complex story with multiple things
happening from becoming too difficult for the reader to keep everything
straight.
None of this would matter were "3 Lies" not a great story. The different story threads kept me guessing. Although it became apparent how they were related, how (or if) everything would resolve was never obvious, which maintained the suspense. Several twists near the end were big surprises and made the ending even more satisfying. – BigAl, Top 500 Amazon Reviewer
This author has nailed the cliffhanger ending! I would
read along (great suspenseful story, wonderful characters) and think, oh, I'll
finish after this chapter and then BAM! grrrrr cliffhanger - what happens
next?! OK, I'll just read a couple paragraphs into the next chapter. Ohhhh it's
a new thread of the story, and it's so good and at the end of the chapter BAM!
another cliffhanger. This story literally keeps you reading until it’s done. – Alchemy
of Scrawl Reviews.
Chapter One
The
water bead on her chest slalomed south to join the others on the black-diamond
run to her groin. Beth Sutton wrapped the thick, white towel around her
dripping hair. Both hung to her hip. As she stepped onto the bath mat, the
arterial catheter bounced off her inner thigh muscle. She wiped down the rest
of her body and draped the towel on the rack.
Clint
left her house at eleven the night before with a promise to return for
breakfast prior to their fishing trip. Another evening absorbed in unguarded
conversation. Their two months together passed with an easy contentment.
She
should have dialyzed last night, but she’d fallen asleep too soon, cocooned in
fading dreams, down, and enchantment. The evening proved too satisfying to
interrupt for blood filtering. He’d offered to help. Again.
Maybe
he could really handle it. Maybe not. Maybe she wasn’t ready to test him.
A
knock came from her door as she dressed.
Six-fifteen.
He was early.
Once
over in the mirror—baggy pink jeans and a pink thermal shirt sufficed for
cooking breakfast.
Omelets.
Everybody liked omelets.
She
hustled to the door. The deadbolt resisted. “Just a second.” The lock popped.
She threw the door open with a flourishing smile. “Good morn—”
Her
chest inflated with fear. A stocky man wearing a blue ski mask shoved her
inside. He covered her mouth before a scream loosened. A piece of paper dropped
from his hand. Footsteps fell behind her. She struggled, but she couldn’t
escape his grip. A sharp jab pierced her bottom.
Her
pulse staggered. A needle. Oh dear, God.
Dreaminess
surged. Her focus failed.
Clint
was coming. He’d stop them.
Maybe
Clint would prefer waffles.
Last
night was lovely.
Chapter Two
According
to Paige Masters, Clint’s almost ex-wife, he never noticed anything. But the
white Chevy van pulling out of Beth’s road caught his attention. At least the
sound of the V-8 engine rumbling under the hood did. Between a full-size and a
mini, that van never left the factory boasting anything larger than a V-6. Dull
and gutless by reputation, the piece of junk couldn’t get jacked during a riot.
A
throaty roar from the vehicle broke his expectation, like a Swedish accent from
the lips of a black man. While the kiddies tried to give the illusion of raw
power under the hood without the trouble of an actual engine swap, this van
camouflaged its strength with exhaust silencers. Sporting rear-wheel drive and
a torquey V-8, that homely white box could spank a Mustang in a quarter mile.
Don’t
say he didn’t notice anything. Hell yes, he noticed.
Clint
parked his black pickup on the main street of Clement, Massachusetts but stayed
in the cab to finish his coffee while the seaside burg enjoyed the remaining
minutes of slumber. He preferred walking down to Beth’s house so his black lab,
Louie, could sniff the flora on the way. Beth’s road was nearly half a mile
long and ran mostly downhill on a headland. It led to four houses and a winery.
Each home occupied five wooded acres; and the winery, fifty. If Clint drove
down to her house without letting Louie romp, then for the duration of their
visit the young dog would whimper, paw the floor, and sulk.
Clint
had heard the van coming before it emerged from the patchy fog a car length
away. Two swarthy men stayed behind blue-mirrored sunglasses and Red Sox ball
caps as they crested the hill. Probably a delivery to the winery. In spite of
not knowing these men, Clint waved, as a gesture.
The
men either didn’t see him or weren’t up for friendly this early. Neither waved
back. The van’s rear tires spun, searching for a hold in the loose gravel. It
lurched onto the roadway staying long enough for Clint to see a dirty patch of
bumper sticker glue in the shape of Australia that adorned the back door.
Virginia plates. It roared off toward the highway through the dissipating mist.
A
beautiful day barely underway. What’s the rush? Smell the flowers. Will ya?
He
emptied the last of the coffee from his paper cup and tossed it onto the
floorboard before getting out of the truck. A glance to his watch showed the
time as six twenty-two. He was early, but extra hungry. Somehow, that made up
for the early.
The
ocean-side chill receded under the constant gaze of the new sun. He pushed the
sleeves of his sweatshirt back to the elbows. “C’mon, Louie.”
The
glossy black dog bounded from the back seat of the cab. A wag started at the
tail and rippled through to the other end of his sleek body. A drooling red
tongue flapped amid the pearly-whites of his mouth.
“Good
boy.” Clint clipped a leash on the leather collar and patted Louie’s firm
flank. “Let’s go, Lou.”
Louie
led Clint on a tour of every white oak, sugar maple, and pitch pine before
scampering up the porch to Beth Sutton’s door. A nineteenth century bungalow
with the Atlantic Ocean slapping its back, the whole place boasted only 820
square feet. Clint lowered the anchor-shaped knocker onto the strike plate. She
would hear the clatter from any room. Echoes settled into silence. He knocked
again.
No
shower noises. Even if she were in there, she’d at least call out and tell him
to wait. A growl undulated from Clint’s empty stomach. Beth specifically
invited him to breakfast. He was early, but she ought to be up by now. He
knocked again. Louder.
Another
full minute passed. Clint walked around to the back of the house and rapped on
the kitchen door. He peered through a sliver of uncovered windowpane. The
hemodialysis machine she named Dracula stood sentry at the bedroom wall. The
doors to both her bedroom and bath were open. Her vacant computer table
occupied the near corner in the still, Beth-less room.
Helen Hanson writes
thrillers about desperate people with a high-tech bent. Hackers.
The CIA. Industry titans. Guys on sailboats. Mobsters. Their
personal maelstroms pit them against unrelenting forces willing to kill.
Throughout the journey, they try to find some truth, a little humor, and their
humanity — from either end of the trigger.
While Helen writes
about the power hungry, she genuinely mistrusts anyone who wants to rule the
world.
Helen directed
operations for high-tech manufacturers of semiconductors, video games,
software, and computers. Her reluctant education behind the Redwood Curtain
culminated in a B.S. in Business Administration with concentrated studies in
Computer Science. She also learned to play a mean game of hacky sack.
She is a licensed
private pilot with a ticket for single-engine aircraft. Helen and her
husband spent their first anniversary with their flight instructor studying for
the FAA practical. If you were a passenger on a 737 trying to land at SJC in
1995, she sends her most sincere apologies. Really.
Born in fly-over
country, Helen has lived on both coasts, near both borders, and at several
locations in between. She lettered in tennis, worked as a machinist, and saw
the Clash at the San Francisco Civic Auditorium sometime in the eighties.
She currently lives amid the bricks of Texas with her husband, son, and a dog
that composes music with squeaky toys.
If you enjoy her books,
please consider writing a review. If you don’t, please be kind.
Social Links:
2
paperback copies of 3 LIES – US only or
2 eCopies of either 3 LIES or DARK POOL
if winner is outside of US
Closes 3/24/13
1 comment:
Laurie, thanks for hosting me here! I'm grateful. For your readers, if you buy 3 LIES at 99¢ and then win the paperback, you are welcome to receive my other novel, DARK POOL, instead.
Thanks for reading and entering!
Helen
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