Taker of Lives Book Tour & Giveaway 5/17 – 6/17

After a well-known model commits suicide, Tess refuses to accept the
findings
and pushes for an investigation into the reasons behind the beautiful
young woman’s decision to end her life. What she finds surpasses
her wildest fears.

Each new crime scene brings more
questions than answers. While secrets arerevealed, even those meant to be kept forever in the dark, Tess can
draw only one conclusion: she’s not the one in charge; the
Taker
of Lives controls the game, the players, even the course of
the investigation.

With little information and even less evidence, Tess must connect the
dots of a
deadly scenario with a large number of potential victims. If she
fails, another beautiful, young girl will die tonight, and the blood
will be on her hands.

**Only .99 cents!!**

 

 

Goodreads * Amazon

 

Leslie released the first novel,
Executive,
in October 2011. It was very well received, including inquiries from
Hollywood. Since then, Leslie published numerous novels and enjoyed
growing success and recognition in the marketplace. Among Leslie’s
most notable works, The Watson Girl
(2017) was recognized for offering a unique insight into the mind ofa serial killer and a rarely seen first person account of his
actions, in a dramatic and intense procedural thriller.

A complete list
of Leslie’s titles is available athttp://wolfenovels.com/order.

1
Nightmare
She woke with a start, her heart instantly racing when the raw memory of strange, gloved hands on her body
invaded her consciousness. She could still feel the cold latex on her skin, touching her, stripping her naked,
manipulating her limbs, sending shivers of fear and aversion through her veins. She remembered feeling
paralyzed, wanting to scream but staring powerlessly at the face of a monster hiding behind a mask, laughing
in quiet, raspy gurgles that only she could hear, glaring at her with merciless, hateful eyes.
She rubbed her forehead with frozen, trembling fingers and forced herself to breathe, gasping in deep, long
breaths of air to wash away the memory of the troublesome nightmare. Must’ve been a nightmare… she was
in her own bed, wearing her favorite silk jammies, and she could hear her mother’s rushed footfalls as she was
getting ready for work. Nothing was out of place.
Just a night terror, that’s all it was. The worst she could remember, a vivid one she won’t be forgetting any
time soon, still, just a nightmare. Her eyes fell on Pat’s photo, framed on her night table, and she focused on
his loving smile for a moment, imagining his strong arms wrapped around her body, making her feel safe
again.
Better.
She stood, feeling a little weak at the knees, but pushed herself to walk out of the bedroom, heading toward the
kitchen. Her throat was parched dry, as if she hadn’t had a drink of water in ages. She filled a glass at the sink
and gulped it down avidly, then breathed again.
“Good morning, sweetie,” her mother greeted her, then grazed her cheek with a warm hand. “Feeling better?”
She frowned, a bit confused. What was her mother talking about?
Her mother stopped her morning get-ready rush and gave her a head-to-toe scrutiny, then a tiny smile
stretched her lips. “You were a little dizzy last night, and your blood pressure was lower than what I like to
see.”
“Ah,” she reacted, still frowning, realizing she didn’t remember much of the night before.
“Christina, we discussed this,” her mother said in her clinical voice, the tone she reserved for her most
disobedient patients. “You don’t eat much, these photo shoots are a resource drain, so you have to pace
yourself. You’ll burn out. Vogue won’t go bankrupt if you take a day off every once in a while.”
It was the eternal conflict between the two of them. Her mother meant well but failed to realize a model’s
career span only lasted a few short years, and she couldn’t afford to waste a single day. She was twenty-four
years old, already on her way to becoming old news. Soon, the agencies would start sending her templated
emails, saying stuff like, “After careful consideration, yadda, yadda, we have decided to proceed with a
different candidate who suits our needs better at this time.” Free translation? “You’re too old for this game,
sorry. We’ve got someone younger; find something else to do with yourself.”
But that day hadn’t arrived yet; she was still one of the most sought-after models in the industry, and her photo
shoots took her around the globe, adorning her in designer clothing that she got to keep after showing on
coveted catwalks under the incessant flicker of thousands of flashlights. Dizzy or not, she had a schedule, and
she intended to keep it. Her pickup limo was due at nine, and she wasn’t going to be ready in time.
She toughed it out and pushed her mother’s concerns aside with a beaming smile and a hand gesture.
“I’ll be fine, Mom, don’t worry. I’ll even do some blood tests if you’d like, but not today. Any coffee left for
me?”
Her mother gestured toward the Keurig machine. “Got you some vanilla pods, the ones you like.”
“Hazelnut too?”
“Hazelnut too, sweetie,” she smiled, then placed a smooch on her cheek and rushed out of the house, jingling
the car keys in her hand. “Have a safe flight! And get some rest.”
“I will,” Christina replied to the empty house, suddenly as cold and quiet and scary as her nightmare had been.

Still shivering, she threw the coffee maker a regretful glance as soon as she realized it was a quarter to nine.
Not nearly enough time to put on makeup and get dressed. She forced herself to move quickly, although it felt
like she moved in slow motion, the air thick as if it were water, opposing too much resistance for her
weakened body to overcome.
She entered the bathroom and turned on the vanity lights, then gave her face a critical overview. Dark circles
under her eyes that would require concealer, a pallor that asked for more blush than usual and maybe a darker
foundation tone. Hollow, haunted eyes that needed a touch of eyeshadow to bring their faded color forward.
She turned on the shower and began undoing her buttons, still examining her face, but her fingers hesitated;
she looked in the mirror and her breath caught. Her pajama top was buttoned wrong, the lowest button
fastened through the second lowest buttonhole. Trivial.
Then why did she feel her blood turn to ice when she looked at the uneven hems?
She felt a new wave of dizziness wash over her and took a step back. A strangled whimper came out of her
mouth as faint memories invaded her mind.
Cold, latex-gloved hands touching her, stripping her naked, manipulating her body. A piercing, evil stare from
behind a mask, and a raspy, terrifying laugh, a stranger’s snicker, yet eerily familiar. The sound of a camera
shutter, over and over, in a familiar rhythm of rapid bursts. Her own skin, turning to goose bumps when those
strange hands invaded her. The same hands dressing her, putting on her pajama top, grazing against her breasts
while doing the buttons.
She wrapped her arms around her body and took faltering steps back until she ran into the wall, her eyes
riveted on the mirror, on the image of her unevenly done buttons.
“Oh, God, please…” she whimpered, as tears rolled down her pale cheeks. “Please don’t let it be true.”
The nightmare was real.

 

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