Spectral Advocate arrives next week at all digital retailers. Book Four of The DSA Season One opens up a new realm of possibilities for Ben Riley, who stumbles into a murder investigation with dangerous implications for both him and the DSA.

Be sure to pre-order your copy today!

Paperback lovers:

You can order a signed paperback here. Or head over to Amazon to order one right now.

Check out the exclusive preview of Spectral Advocate –

Thought escaped him. Seconds ticked by though it felt like an eternity. The world silenced around him. Ben was grateful for the reprieve, content to have something to do instead of mull over his options, despite the growing weariness in his bones.

The flight of stairs to the eighth floor of the Edgemont faded behind him. His bare feet slid along the stained carpet of the corridor. Dim lights ran along the center of the ceiling. Ben blinked rapidly, resisting the heaviness of his eyes. The cold metal of the Ruger sent a chill along his arm. He held the weapon tight to his side. Despite the emptiness of the hall, Ben took each step slower than the last. Each door remained closed and each shadow caught on his periphery was his own.

When a door opened to his left he nearly opened fire on instinct. An elderly woman with rollers in her hair and thick glasses staggered from her apartment. Her eyes thinned at the sight of him and his weapon. Never stopping, never backing away, the woman raised a frying pan at him, ready to swing.

Ben lowered the gun and tucked it in his waistband. He opened his badge for her, though her attention was elsewhere. Her gaze trailed down from his awkward smile to his bare chest.

“Great,” Ben muttered, attempting to close his shirt. He continued down the hall. As he passed her, a needy paw pinched his ass. “Hey!”

The woman chuckled, the pan holstered under her arm. She licked her lips slowly, hand to the frame of her apartment. Her words were rapid mumbles, the language foreign and incomprehensible to the exhausted agent.

Ben nodded politely as he backed away from her creeping hand. Before he could respond, a wrenching sound echoed down the corridor. Wood cracked, once then twice in quick succession, before shattering. When he turned back to the woman, her door was closed and the chain lock was sliding into place.

Swiping at his eyes, Ben rounded the corner for the far side of the building. The third door on the left was exposed. The heavy oak had been snapped at the lock. It hammered against the back wall, unable to make the return trip to the frame. Splinters were scattered inside the hall of the apartment and right outside. The intruder’s footprints were clearly marked through the debris.

Hand to the door to keep it in place, Ben entered the apartment. His gun led the way. No more screams guided him. The aid was no longer necessary to track its origin point.

The domicile matched his own, reversed because of its location in the building. Just inside the entrance was a small hallway. Green carpeting ran throughout. The bathroom was tucked on the right and the door was open a crack. Ben edged the door back. He caught his reflection in the mirror.

I look like crap.

He cleared the room quickly, then wheeled down the hall for the rest of the apartment. Opposite the bathroom was the kitchen, which bled into the main living space of the two-bedroom unit.

Dishes were stacked in the sink, one plate, a coffee cup, silverware, and a wine glass. The wrapper of the microwave meal peeked from the lidless trash in the corner. It looked like a lonely night in, matching most of his when not in the field for the DSA.

A single occupant clearly lived there. Female, from what he could tell from the decorations. Candles sat along the counter. A bright pink sweatshirt hung over the lounger in the corner of the living room.

The place looked newly furnished, the couches factory fresh. Someone new to the area? Their first apartment?

Speculation fell behind the sound of heavy breathing in the living room. Away from the couches dotting the space on the left-hand side lay a woman along the carpet. She stared up at the ceiling. Gaping lips of ruby red and deep, recessed green eyes welcomed him to their emptiness. Thin, black locks of hair were scattered underneath her, spreading like a fan along the ground.

No wounds were visible, and no blood spread beneath her along the recently installed carpet. At least not that Ben noticed. His focus was locked on the pair of hands pressing with all their might between her breasts.

A figure knelt close to her body. His wrinkled shirt and moppy brown hair obscured Ben’s view of the victim.

“Don’t move!” Ben shouted, awake to the situation at last. He raised his sidearm, maintaining a safe distance from the man looming over the deceased in the room. “Hands where I can see them!”

The man’s arms fell limply to his sides, the heavy breathing from the act of supplying CPR to the dead woman slowly fading. He turned to face Ben, hands spread to show their emptiness.

“This looks kinda bad, doesn’t it?”

Spectral Advocate launches February 11th!

Be sure to order your copy now. This installment not only propels the series toward the season finale, but also introduces you to Cal Cooper – a hero with his own story to tell.

Pre-order your digital copy now.