The Velvet Storm: Psychological Lesbian Thriller (Signed EBook Bundle)

A string of baffling murders has Detective Ashley Tate questioning everything she thought she knew about death itself. The victims—all predators who escaped justice—are found decomposing in their homes, having been dead for days. Yet security footage impossibly shows them alive and walking around after forensics prove they died.
As the body count rises, Ashley's investigation leads to disturbing connections with her own secret lover, powerful crime boss Coco Matino, whose sudden behavioral changes raise questions Ashley never thought she'd have to ask. When evidence places Coco at a crime scene, Ashley's professional and personal worlds collide with devastating consequences.
Meanwhile, journalist Jude Abrahams has been tracking these cases with uncanny accuracy, always first at crime scenes and publishing articles that praise the mysterious vigilante while criticizing police incompetence. But Jude harbors a dark secret connected to her traumatic experience in a genetics lab one year ago—a secret that could explain the impossible evidence.
When Ashley finally confronts what she believes is the truth, she faces a revelation more terrifying than any crime she's investigated. In a city where nothing is as it seems and identity itself becomes a deadly weapon, Ashley must uncover who—or what—is hunting the guilty before she becomes the next target.

What the hell is that noise?
Something is buzzing in my room and it's woken me up. I've got no idea what time it is, but I know it's got to be early, earlier than I'd normally be awake. My eyes feel heavy, like they're still glued shut from sleep, and the muscles in my arm groan when I stretch out to grab my phone from the nightstand. I don't even bother to check the caller ID when I answer the call and bring the phone to my ear; in the middle of the night there's only one place that call could come from—work.
"What do you want?" I grunt. "This had better be good."
"I wouldn't call if it wasn't."
Shit. I'd know that smarmy voice anywhere. It's Farber. That means somewhere out there, there's a dead body waiting for me. "What is it?"
"Does the name Carl Newsome mean anything to you?"
I'm too tired to think, but somewhere from the depths of my sleep-deprived brain, the name rings a bell. "Maybe. Why?"
"Well, you're about to get really familiar with him. He's dead. I'm heading to your place now. I'm about fifteen minutes out. The crime scene techs are already there, and the patrol unit that found the body is taking statements from the neighbors."
I pull the phone away from my ear to check the time, wincing as the screen lights up and momentarily blinds me. 2:53. I've only been asleep for three hours. "I guess I'd better get dressed then."
"I'd prefer it if you did," he says before hanging up. The line goes dead, and with a groan, I slump back against the pillows, closing my eyes. The comforter feels warm on top of me, and the sheets are so soft against my skin. It would be so easy to just roll over, curl up into a ball, and let sleep wash over me again...
So easy...
So...
No.
My eyes snap open again, and I blink a few times. It doesn't matter how tired I am, or how warm and inviting my bed is. Someone's been murdered, and unfortunately, it's my job to investigate. I could have done what my mother wanted and worked in finance, but then I wouldn't get to carry a gun and catch bad guys.
I don't have long before Farber will be here. If anyone else from my team was coming to collect me, I'd have twenty, maybe even thirty minutes, to get ready. But Farber's always so painfully punctual that he's more likely to show up early, if not bang on time.
I take a few minutes, stumbling around my house, pulling on whatever clothes I can find before I head to the kitchen. There isn't time to wait for coffee to brew, so I dump as much instant coffee into the thermos as possible, pour over some hot water and wait for Farber to arrive.
A couple of minutes later, when I step out into the freezing night air, warming my hands with the heat from the thermos, Farber is waiting in his car. He spots me through the grime of his windshield, waving to get my attention and beckoning me in.
Like I could miss you, *you're the only one sitting in a car with an engine running. *
"Morning," he mumbles as I slide into the passenger's seat. I scowl over at him and strap myself in.
"It's not morning. The sun's not out yet. This isn't morning."
He hums in agreement before pulling away from the sidewalk, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. We drive in silence for a few minutes while I sip my coffee, taking the time to wake up before we launch into the case.
"All right," I say finally, settling into the seat. "Tell me about this guy, this uh... What was his name again?"
"Carl Newsome. Have you heard of him?"
"He sounds familiar. Don't know why though."
"Well, he's probably crossed your radar at some point or another—he's a pretty prolific criminal. Started out with petty stuff as a kid, some vandalism and burglary. There's even an assault charge from when he was eleven, but that got dropped."