Into the Fire

Such an impressive version of this heart-rending song. Love it. 

Father, thank you for those who perform the songs which proclaim your truth, our need, and the salvation of your Son. Thank you, Jesus. 

Brothers in war are family, and Jerry White was and is Jon's brother. However, after not hearing from him for years, Jerry shows up in a stolen car tailing him. Jon puts a quick stop to that and is surprised to find it's a frantic and terrified Jerry seeking refuge with Jon after escaping from a psych ward known as Wittenden Institute. What happens behind those sealed doors is a mystery, but what has happened to Jerry is clearly a psychotic break generating real fear for his life. When Jon realizes his friend is in serious trouble, he feels stymied in trying to help him as the institute's doctor and security come for him at Reznick's home. 

Jon knows he must help Jerry, but he's warned off by FBI Asst. Director Martha Meyerstein. Enlisting the help from his former NSA hacker, he gets a general blueprint for Wittenden and realizes what little he's learned smacks of a CIA operation to create super-soldiers programmed to do their bidding. Transported from a Florida clinic to the New York location, certain victims begin their "treatment" with experimental brainwashing torturous techniques conducted by their infamous creator. 

The plan to spring Jerry requires immense effort and only partially succeeds. Calling in all kinds of favors and eventually getting assistance from Martha's contacts, he hopes Jerry can finally get the real help he needs. 

In Hard Fall Jon experiences another loss after trying everything he could do to seek help for his friend who stood by him after Jon lost his wife on 9/11. The only positive is sharing the loss with his daughter Lauren. 

I don't usually experience tearful responses within the pages of thrillers. But I must admit there were a couple of those in Hard Fall. Let me leave you with this quote as Jon meditates on people like his mom and dad: 

   He thought of their lives. Ordinary men and women. People who toiled. And endured. Nobodies. Far from it. They were, in his eyes, giants. Quiet, unassuming, hardworking, upstanding, strong, and honest. The real America. The unsung. They were people who had built America. The people who had fought for America. And its values. Through hard work, sacrifice, and love.  (Jon Reznick in Hard Fall)

You can attack Jon Reznick, you can try to best him, but the only way you can truly get to him is to hurt his daughter Lauren. After that, any restrictions you attempt to apply to him won't matter and will have no effect. When it comes to her, nothing will stop him from getting justice. Nothing. No one. 

Lauren is jogging in New York City when she's struck by a hit-and-run driver who puts her in the hospital with a life-threatening head injury. Jon is by her side when she comes to, but her condition quickly regresses and she's put into a medically induced coma to relieve the trauma to her brain. The doctors can't give Jon a sure report about her recovery, and this puts Jon on the hunt for the driver. 

The identification of the driver is inconclusive, but the car is one used by a Ukrainian diplomat. Jon seeks out the detective on the case, and she is helpful but limited in what she can do because of the presumed driver's diplomatic immunity.

FBI Assistant Direct Martha Meyerstein gets involved but primarily in a cautionary position after rescuing him post-intimidation of the diplomat. Deep down she knows she can't really influence him in the matter, but she does in fact care about what happens to him and his daughter. 

Surprises await the reader in Hard Hit with plenty of personal realizations from Jon, his daughter, and even Martha Meyerstein. This former Delta soldier, this man who becomes introspective with his daughter's life on the line, who acts instinctively based on his training – this high-functioning, Dexedrine-stimulated, and devoted, loving father – is at a point where he must realize on a personal level it might be time to move on from the old pain of losing his wife. While not thoroughly convinced of it by the end of this story, it's beginning to make an inroad to his thoughts. 

Again, let me leave you with this excerpt of Jon thinking of his father:

     His father had the frontiersman spirit. He didn't want hand-outs. He didn't want charity. He had believed that an able-bodied man shouldn't rely on anyone. It was a matter of honor. A matter of pride. But most of all, it was about what it means to be an American. 

Profanity definitely present.

Father, thank you again and again for your writers/authors. Only you know hearts. Thank you for the stories, and please continue to bless J. B. with more of them. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

Hear me, O God, as I voice my complaint;

   protect my life from the threat of the enemy.

Hide me from the conspiracy of the wicked,

   from that noisy crowd of evildoers,

who sharpen their tongues like swords

   and aim their words like deadly arrows.

They shoot from ambush at the innocent man;

   they shoot at him suddenly, without fear.

They encourage each other in evil plans,

   they talk about hiding their snares;

   they say, "Who will see them?"

They plot injustice and say,

   "We have devised a perfect plan!"

   Surely the mind and heart of man are cunning.

But God will shoot them with arrows;

   suddenly they will be struck down.

He will turn their own tongues against them

   and bring them to ruin;

   all who see them will shake their heads in scorn.

All mankind will fear;

   they will proclaim the works of God

   and ponder what he has done.

Let us rejoice in the Lord

   and take refuge in him;

   let all the upright in heart praise him!

Psalm 64 

Two people haunted by their past sins comprise an unlikely team who investigate demonic activity wherever they are called by generally frightened people who desperately seek relief from the evil side of the supernatural realm and have no idea how to combat it.

Enter "Berg" and Teagan. Berg's an arthritic retired pastor, gracious, patient, intelligent, and determined; Teagan a divorced police academy wash-out, a young woman with crippling guilt and a sugar addiction, and every now and then her outbursts get the best of her. 

Their latest case takes place in a former Episcopalian church recently purchased as a private residence to eventually become a bed-and-breakfast. However, before significant renovations have been completed, a dead man is found in a resealed basement wall along with a strange note. Accompanying that discovery, things have gotten "noisy" and objects appear to be moved. 

After a strange acquisition of one of Teagan's business cards, Matt and Carissa Peterson and their two young children seem to have reached the end of their coping abilities, calling in Berg and Teagan to help them rid their home of "ghosts". Upon their arrival, Berg and Teagan learn they weren't the first choices for this endeavor, the couple first calling another man to perform a "psychic cleansing" and a woman who is a medium named "Madame Lebec" to do whatever she does. She's the party responsible for passing the business card to the scary neighbors who gave the card to Carissa. 

The evil neighbors know far too much about both Berg and Teagan – too much for it to be naturally accumulated. 

Both Berg and Teagan know this particular job is far more convoluted than what it originally seemed, and during their discoveries they realize both of them need to expand their confessions to one another to establish more trust. As they experience some horror, they learn they can truly count on each other, and their friendship expands out of necessity. 

Chasing Angels by Karin Kaufman is Book 1 in the Teagan Doyle Mysteries, and it's a great start. Most of you know I'm stingy with the 5-stars, but Karin earned all 5 of them in this very well-written supernatural mystery. Presenting a complex plot with superb character development and insights, she gives us two very likable main characters, and a real exposure to the power and influence of evil while making it clear that God is the true and ultimate power. With a tad bit of profanity, the outbursts are authentic and understandable giving the story a genuine reality.

I've read and enjoyed all of Karin's cozy mysteries (Juniper Grove Series) and her Anna Denning Mystery Series. Chasing Angels is on yet another level of excellence. Well done, Karin! Can't wait for the next one in the series.

And I want to mention this beautiful, enticing cover and the significance of the title! 

Father, please provide all that Karin needs to continue her very good work. You've blessed her with such talent, but she needs your healing touch at times to continue. Please comfort her and fill her every need. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

From my one and only mystery Race:

Part of Chapter 35

. . . "Would you mind telling me how much you know about these two people?" I dug out the picture and handed it to him.

     ""Bobby Rosen and Susie Kine." He handed it back to me. "Bobby's a great guy. He used to ride but got in a serious spill a few years back. Crippled him up pretty good. He took up horseshoeing and he's got a knack for it. Susie's a gallop girl, used to get around if you know what I mean but pretty much sticks with Bobby now."

     "Did she 'get around' with you?" I asked gently.

     He looked down his shedrow. "Yeah, she did. And just about all the other single guys at the time plus a few married ones." He looked at his boots next before lifting his eyes to look at me directly. "You must think I'm a real jerk."

     "I was your age once too, Dan. Not so long ago that I don't remember what it's like. What I need you to tell me is how you relate to either of these people in the present tense."

     Just then a horse with no rider came screaming up the asphalt toward us. Instinctively Dan pushed me back toward his shedrow and headed out further into the road with his hands waving over his head yelling "Whoa! Whoa!" The horse spotted him and tried to slow, sparks glinting from his aluminum shoes skidding on the asphalt. He slid to a stop, puffing and scared, to within arm's length of Dan. Dan snagged him by the reins, which had flopped over his head and somehow managed not to get tangled up in the horse's legs as he ran. Dan walked him in a circle, patting the horse's neck while looking for the missing rider or someone to retrieve the animal. A man on a pony came jogging up the road and thanked Dan as he took the horse in the direction the horse was running. I noticed one stirrup was missing.

     Dan returned to answer my question. "I've got no problem with Bobby. I used him 'til my regular horseshoer got up here, and he did a fine job for me. Now with Susie," he stopped talking. "Susie's a different story."

     "How so exactly?

     "You want a cup of coffee, Det–David? I could sure use one, and I've got a fresh pot in the tack room."

     "Sure."

     I followed him to his office tack room, his chaps creaking like only pliable well-used leather can, where he'd set up a coffeemaker on his desk with a quart carton of half and half and a box of sugar cubes. He poured us each a Styrofoam cup full, and it tasted good with a little milk. It told me something about him when he drank his black. Although not fancy by any stretch, he kept cream and sugar for those who preferred it. 

     "About Susie Kine?" 

Father, thank you is simply never enough for all that you've done for me, given to me, and allowed me to do. May I always honor you with my writing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

                 The beauty of Christmas and winter . . . 

Father, thank you for the beauty in every season, the gift of Jesus which is the most beautiful gift of all. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

I love this one. It did come upon a midnight clear, that glorious song of old, from angels bending near the earth . . . 

Thank you is never enough. Thank you, Jesus. 

In J. B. Turner's Book 3 Hard Wired in the Jon Reznick Thriller Series, Jon gets a phone call from his friend Tiny who's just been in what will turn out to be a fatal car crash. Tiny's dying words warn Jon that "They're going to kill us all." Jon is left dazed by the cryptic message and without a clue who "they" might be and who "us" includes. 

As it turns out, the information circulated about Tiny's crash is terribly wrong and sends Jon on the hunt for who murdered his Delta brother and his family. What he learns is it involves an operation where he and several of his Delta brothers were assigned, and there is now an ongoing execution planned on America soil of him and those specific men assigned to that detail. He wasn't in time to help Tiny, unaware of the plan by a foreign cell, but he's determined to help the others in spite of having not seen them for years. Tiny's death hit him hard because Tiny had just assisted him in protecting a scientist dark forces planned to execute, and he was unable to protect Tiny when he needed it most. 

Martha Meyerstein, FBI Assistant Director, eventually assists, but cautions Jon all along the way because Jon never plays by the rules – which in private moments she knows is the only way some things get done – but her hands are often tied to do them. Mostly, she warns Jon that he's on his own if he gets caught. 

As Martha learns (along with the reader), there's no stopping Jon Reznick if he's determined to do something. She does help where she can because she respects his history and courage, and she maybe likes him a little more than she wants to admit to herself. 

The search for the killers is convoluted and not without more deaths, but Jon's perseverance discovers more than expected.  

I find this series entertaining and generally action-packed. (I noticed the one star reviews on Amazon mostly deal with weapons and their uses mistakes which are a fatal flaw for some who've served in the military and law enforcement. For them, it shows a lack of knowledge/research and renders an impossible/implausible circumstance which ultimately diminishes the character and reading experience.)

In Hard Way FBI Assistant Director Martha Meyerstein is kidnapped on her way home from work by an elite bunch who pull off a perfect ruse to get her. The FBI and their seeming inability to advance the search quickly sends Jon into seek and destroy mode. He pressures the Director to allow him to help and expresses some questions as to how this could've happened. Many things aren't adding up, and when there's the suggestion of CIA and the Russian mob involvement, Jon knows "the rules" won't work in the extraction of Meyerstein. 

As with all of this series, we learn more about Jon. He's a Dexedrine-popping private operator who has helped the FBI precisely because of what Martha Meyerstein did for him in their first encounter. He's loyal to a fault as the saying goes but will sacrifice himself to help anyone who has helped him. Stubbornly addicted to rescuing her, he extracts information however he can and proceeds from there. Failure is not an option.

There's a dynamic between Martha and Jon neither of them will pursue or admit to themselves. Martha's a pure professional, loves her job except when her subordinates and boss and other agencies give her grief, and she stands up for Jon – except when she can't – because in her heart she knows he wants to solve their difficult dilemmas. He goes against the grain, pushes all the buttons to agitate, but ultimately won't settle for the wrong thing. 

Can't help enjoying this series. Something about those tough former military guys . . .  

Increasing profanity – sadly – present. 

Father, only you know the hearts of us all. You judge the heart. You save souls. Please let those writers know who has given them their talent. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

     Then he told me [John], "Do not seal up the words of the prophecy of this book, because the time is near. Let him who does wrong continue to do wrong; let him who is vile continue to be vile; let him who does right continue to do right; and let him who is holy continue to be holy." 

Revelation 22:10-11 (NIV) 

From my novel Destination . . . 

     She stood. “Let me show you to your room, Tommy.” And off she went, tapping that cane at a rapid pace.

     “I don’t expect to stay in the house, Grams,” he offered, not wanting to put his old friend to any trouble.

     That stopped her in her tracks, and she turned around abruptly. “Ha! And just where would you expect to be stayin’, Tommy? In the hen house? Heaven’s sake, boy. I don’t care if you are hired help, you’re going to have a little space to call your own in this big old lonely palace. You got a problem with that?” She confronted him with a look that reminded him of an angry little bird.

     “No, ma’am,” he replied. “Thank you.”

     “Huh. ‘I don’t expect to stay in the house, Grams,’” she imitated him. “For cryin’ out loud. Think this old lady is afraid to have a handsome young man in her house? That’ll be the day!” she muttered as they traveled down a spacious adobe-looking hallway. 

     They came to a stop outside a large room. Grams pointed with her cane. “This’ll do nicely, I think.” She walked inside. “That bed’s never been slept on to my knowledge. Ace built this end of the house for reunions with family and his Marine buddies. He put this king size bed in here just before he went on.” She plowed forward into the bathroom. “This here’s got a nice Jacuzzi. Ace put one in our room, too. It’s good for what ails ya, you know? Must be them bubbles—kinda massages away the aches and pains.”

     He smiled politely and wondered if a blush was threatening to warm his neck and face. The room and bath were like a hotel suite. 

     She went back into the main bedroom. “In here,” she said, pointing with her cane once again to some built-in cabinets, “are all the linens. Sheets, towels, blankets, the works.  You can’t find somethin’ you need, you tell me. Alright?”

     “Alright,” his voice soft.

     She turned toward the corner of the room near the multiple shuttered windows. “That there fireplace and insert will feel mighty good this winter. Ace built ‘em in most of the larger rooms. Great idea for wintertime.”

     Wow.

     “Now, you go get what stuff you got and set yourself up in here. If you’ve got anything you want stored, I’ve got the big barn and the bunkhouse. As soon as you get settled, you come on out for dinner. Alright?”

     “Alright, Grams. I don’t—”

     Grams held up her hand in a stop position. “Don’t. You know I’ll make you work for it. It’s only right. That way you don’t have to feel guilty.” She paused. “Looks like you’ve spent enough time feelin’ that way. No more.” 

     Having said that, she put her cane in motion and strutted out of the room and back down the passageway. He stood there in wonder. God, I don’t deserve this.

     He hauled in his belongings, short of some tools he left in the back of the Bronco. He needed a shower and felt privileged to take one in such elegant surroundings. He shaved only because he figured it would make him look more presentable, the menthol lather feeling good on his hot face. He slapped a bit of cologne on his jaw line and inspected himself. He decided a while back his long hair was here to stay. It made him feel new. Not so much like the uptight guy he once was with the perfectly styled hair and the expensive clothes he usually couldn’t afford. He shook his head a bit at the memory while he towel dried his thick wavy mane. A waitress in one of the small towns he’d stopped in to get a piece of pie and a glass of milk, had told him he had great hair—that normally she didn’t like long hair on a man, but that his was “plum nice, all shiny and well-groomed”. He’d thanked her with a smile and a good tip. When he was all dressed in clean jeans and a fresh T-shirt, he tied back his hair and went out to have dinner with Grams.

     She glanced up from her spot in front of the built-in grill. “No need to tie your hair back on my account, boy. You shoulda seen ol’ Hank Jr.’s when he wore it down.” She laughed out loud. “Ol’ Ace threatened to take him down, but Hank knew he’d gotten big enough to best his ol’ man. He wouldna done it, of course. I told ol’ Ace just to ignore him, and he’d probably cut it himself before the jarheads did.” She laughed a short burst at the memory and turned a large juicy steak over.

     As it sizzled profusely, two things happened. Thomas wondered how in the world Grams could read his thoughts, and his mouth watered at the wonderful aroma of that chunk of meat, the likes of which he couldn’t remember eating since . . . well, he couldn’t remember when. 

     “Pour us some milk, will ya, boy? You do still drink milk, don’t ya?”

     “Yeah, Grams. Coke and milk are pretty much all I drink, I guess.”

     “You and me both, Tommy. Yes sir. You smell good. I like a man who ain’t afraid to wear cologne. Ol’ Ace always cleaned up nice after a day in the hot fields. Put on some of that aftershave of his, and, well . . . he knew I liked it.”

     Grams attended to some other things on the stove while the occasional flames jumped up and licked the steaks on the grill. He wasn’t there too long before she shut it down, having decided the steaks were cooked to perfection. Later on when she served the meal and Thomas bit into one, he knew she was right. Medium rare, juicy, and so delicious he almost moaned with pleasure.

     “Wow, Grams. I’ve never in my life had a steak this good,” he said with complete admiration.

     “I still raise a few good beef. The feed store mixes up that grain concoction Ace made up. Just before he died, ol’ Norrie who owns the place asked if he could patent it and bag it up. Ace made a deal with him and they split the profits and called it Ace’s Beef Feed. They sell the darn stuff all over the world now, believe it or not. Keeps money in the coffers of heaven—Ace made sure all his profits on that project went to the Lord’s work. Missionaries. Generous man, that Ace.”

     “I remember,” Thomas said with genuine respect between the savored bites of his dinner. 

     “You probably don’t know this, son, but he really liked you, Tommy.”

     Thomas was quiet as he remembered the attention Ace would give him whenever he’d wander over to visit, a curious boy who loved the big ranch down the country road from his modest home. “He was always kind to me, Grams. I remember he taught me something every time I came over—either about hay, or cattle, or keeping up a ranch. He made me feel important, like I could actually be useful if I put my mind to it.”

     Grams laughed. “He told me he’d never met a kid who was so eager to learn. Our two boys, Samuel and Hank Jr., were just so used to everything, you know? They wanted to go into the military as soon as they could fight and play, I think. Be like their daddy. I think it’s a good thing when a man can die doin’ what he likes, you know?”

     Thomas almost choked on his food as the image of walking in on Will Otis having sex with his wife popped into his mind. He coughed violently and choked out an “Excuse me” before he was able to stop.

     “My land, boy.  Didn’t mean to bring up a bad memory.”

     Thomas’s eyes had filled with water and he needed to blow his nose. “Grams, is there a bathroom close or should I run to my room?” he asked hoarsely.

     “Just down that hall there on the left, son. Then get back here and finish your plate.”

     “Yes, ma’am.” 

     The main bathroom was as elegant and charming as the other rooms had been. He felt like he’d been transported to another country where he was a privileged guest. He quickly rinsed his face, blew his nose, and washed his hands. Then he tried to compose himself enough to go out and finish the fabulous meal he’d been served.

     “I’m sorry about that, Grams,” he said as he sat back down at the table.

     “You gonna tell me what happened?” she asked, sending a direct glare across the table at him.

     “Yeah, I am.” He paused. “It’s bad, Grams. And if you’re not okay with me bein’ here after you hear about it, I’ll understand.”

     “Pssht,” she uttered. “Go on now. You’ve got my attention.”

Father, plain and simple: apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.