That Night by Gillian McAllister

I love my brother, but there are limits. This book lives right at that line.

The prologue hooked me immediately: a narrator standing over a body, begging her sister for help. You can’t not turn the page after that. I was in. If I had to pitch That Night in one breath, it would be this: How far would you go for your family?

The story follows three siblings, Cathy, Joe, and Frannie, who are unusually close after losing their youngest sister to SIDS and growing up with parents locked in endless grief. While on vacation, Frannie accidentally hits someone with her car, and what follows is not so much about the accident itself, but about everything that happens because of that night. The book moves back and forth in time, slowly revealing how far the siblings are willing to go to protect one another, and how messy those choices become.

I appreciated how the story lingered in the “then” long enough to establish the situation and its consequences. The moral dilemma at the heart of this book is deeply uncomfortable, and McAllister really got under my skin with the extremes these characters were willing to reach. The theme of family secrets, not just from the outside world, but from each other as well, was especially effective. The ending genuinely surprised me, once again forcing that central question: How far would you go for family?

That said, this didn’t fully grip me emotionally. The shifting timeline occasionally made it hard to stay oriented, and there were moments where POV changes happened without enough warning. When I lost track of who was who or where I was in the timeline, I also lost some emotional investment. I also struggled to connect with the siblings themselves; their level of closeness didn’t feel believable to me. (I love my brother, and I’ll give him a great character witness, but I’m not burying any bodies.) Interestingly, I found myself most connected to Joe’s wife, Lydia, and wished her perspective carried more weight.

The pacing itself worked well for me. It never dragged or rushed, but despite being a psychological thriller, I never felt an urgent need to race back to the book.

Content warnings include family trauma and the death of a sibling. This is an emotionally heavy read, particularly in terms of moral unease.

Overall, That Night is a thought-provoking but not gripping psychological thriller that will appeal to readers who enjoy crime fiction and morally complex family dramas. On my own personal rating system, I would give this 4 out of 5 stars. It is a solid, well-constructed read that made me think, even if it didn’t keep me up at night.

A special thank you to William Morrow for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

A Killing Truth by DV Berkom

I didn’t expect to root for a mercenary, but somehow this one pulled it off. 

I never thought I’d say this, but here we are: I found myself rooting for a mercenary.

A Killing Truth by DV Berkom is a solid, fast-moving thriller with a main character who lives firmly in moral gray territory and somehow still earns your sympathy. The story moves along at a good clip, the stakes are clear, and there’s enough tension to keep you engaged without feeling emotionally wrung out. This was very much a “just one more chapter” listen… but not a “staring at the ceiling at 2 a.m.” kind of book.

As an audiobook, it worked well for commuting and daily life. It was easy to follow, well-paced, and generally not confusing. I stayed interested the whole time, which counts for a lot.

I landed at a 4 out of 5 stars. A good story, an unexpected character to root for, and an entertaining listen, even if it didn’t completely wreck me (and honestly, sometimes that’s a plus).

Just Breaking the Rules by Lauren Blakely

Not a romance reader, plenty of page-skipping, but the story itself was solid. 

I picked up Just Breaking the Rules by Lauren Blakely for the Rusty book club, fully aware that romance novels are not really my thing. As usual, once a shirt came off, I started skimming like it was my job. That said, the story itself worked for me.

Mabel inherits an old firehouse from her grandmother and turns it into a bakery. She teams up with Corbin who just happens to be a professional hockey player with a genuine love for baking. Honestly, that combination was way more charming than I expected. The small-town setup, family vibes, and shared passion for creating something meaningful gave the book some heart beyond the romance.

While I could have done with fewer steamy scenes and more time in the kitchen, I enjoyed watching the bakery come to life. My only real complaint? Blakely missed opportunity on not including a recipe or two. If you’re a romance reader, you’ll probably love it. If you’re romance-adjacent like me, the storyline makes it worth the read, even with strategic page skipping.

Bitter Roots by CJ Carmichael

Secrets, murder, and missing money, perfect commuter listening.

Bitter Roots by C.J. Carmichael was a great audiobook choice for my daily commute, engaging enough to keep me alert in traffic without being so twisty I missed things if someone cut me off. The story follows two parallel mysteries: the murder of a new girl in town and missing funds tied to a Christmas tree ranch, both unfolding in a small community where everyone knows everyone… or thinks they do.

I really enjoyed how the two storylines gradually intersect, although the missing funds storyline was abruptly solved and not fully developed. The story has that classic small-town crime feel and the pacing worked especially well in audio. A solid, satisfying listen that kept me looking forward to my drive.

Target Acquired by Don Bentley

Heavy on military detail, light on story

Target Acquired by Don Bentley delivers exactly what it promises: Intense combat scenes, detailed military operations, and a heavy focus on tactics, weapons, and chain-of-command decision-making. And if that’s what you’re here for, you’ll probably be very happy. Bentley clearly knows his stuff, and the action is constant.

For me, though, it was too much military and not enough story.

I struggled to connect with the characters on any meaningful level. They felt more like vehicles for missions than fully realized people, which made it hard for me to stay emotionally invested. The plot moves fast, but it’s driven almost entirely by operations rather than character development or suspense that builds beyond “what happens next in the mission.”

There’s also a lot of technical detail, which slowed the pacing for me instead of heightening tension. I found myself skimming sections, waiting for the story to dig deeper or shift focus, and it never quite did.

This isn’t a bad book; it’s just very much written for a specific audience. If you love military thrillers with nonstop action and realism, this will probably hit the mark. If you’re like me and need more character, intrigue, and narrative depth, this one may miss the target.

The Quiet Girls by Dorothy Koomson

A missing girl, a dead teacher, and an appalling amount of silence.

From the opening pages, The Quiet Girls feels off in the most unsettling way. A teenage girl goes missing from a prestigious school, a teacher is found dead, and yet there is a disturbing lack of urgency from those in power. The absence of official investigation becomes one of the book’s earliest sources of tension, immediately signaling that this story will not follow a typical crime-fiction path.

The narrative unfolds through two interwoven threads: Dr. Kez Lanyon’s present-day perspective as she begins asking quiet but dangerous questions, and the voice notes of Fredi, the missing girl, which gradually reveal her experiences leading up to her disappearance. Between these two timelines, the story develops not through procedural investigation but through relationships, power dynamics, and what people choose not to say.

As Kez untangles the web surrounding the school it becomes increasingly clear that silence is not accidental. The story starts as a slow burn while the characters and dynamics are established, but that pacing works in its favor. About 100 pages in, I found myself tracking relationships, sensing early on that nothing here would be straightforward. Once the momentum builds, the book becomes a relentless psychological thriller. I put it down once to sleep and picked it up first thing the next morning, unable to stop until the final page.

Kez Lanyon was a standout character for me. I admired her courage, her persistence, and her refusal to back down when something felt deeply wrong. What frustrated me, clearly by design, was the number of adults who either suspected the truth or chose not to act. This is a school, and as a teacher, I found the collective silence surrounding the girls was infuriating.

The psychological tension is highly effective, creating the feeling of watching a slow-motion train wreck. You don’t want to see what’s coming, but you can’t look away. Themes of wealth, class privilege, and silence are woven seamlessly into the story, highlighting how power protects itself. I did not see the villain coming, and the reveal genuinely shocked and appalled me in the best possible way.

Content warnings include sexual assault, pedophilia, and animal cruelty. Despite some deceptively simple language early on, this is not a young adult novel. Readers who enjoy dark psychological thrillers, particularly fans of Freida McFadden, will likely find this one gripping and unsettling.

A special thank you to Headline Publishing Group for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

The Dahlia Suite by Carinn Jade

Three women, one island, and far more baggage than what’s packed for vacation.

The Dahlia Suite pulled me in slowly and deliberately, taking its time to let me settle into the world and really get to know the characters before tightening the screws. That patience pays off. By the time the story turns twisty, I was fully invested, and eventually, completely unable to put it down until the ending, which I never saw coming.

The novel is told from the points of view of three women: Gabby, Lindsay, and Paige. Each was carrying her own private struggles to Suenos Resort on Beck Island, a small, exclusive private island off the coast of Puerto Rico. Suenos caters to the ultra-wealthy, offering luxury and privacy that feels almost unreal… and that setting of “perfect paradise” becomes a sharp contrast to the very real problems the characters bring with them.

Gabby is the resort concierge, someone who prides herself on making other people’s dreams come true while quietly neglecting her own. Lindsay is an actress desperate to win an Oscar, retreating to Suenos to reassess her career and her life away from public scrutiny. Paige is married to Ethan, the COO of the hospitality company that operates the resort, and she’s struggling on two fronts: infertility after trying to conceive again, and the frustration of a manuscript that no publisher seems willing to accept. Each woman’s voice feels distinct, and I appreciated how their experiences, hang-ups, and emotional baggage unfolded naturally through their individual perspectives.

This book truly has a bit of everything, lost love, the possibility of romance rekindled, murder, and even a touch of the paranormal, all set against a backdrop most people would consider absolute paradise. When someone goes missing and it becomes clear she isn’t the first, the story shifts gears and becomes increasingly tense and unpredictable.

I’ll admit that when a psychic entered the picture, I initially rolled my eyes. I’m skeptical by nature. But the way Jade integrates this element, particularly in relation to Paige, felt organic and surprisingly effective. Even if you’re unsure where you land on psychic abilities, the story makes it easy to suspend disbelief and lean into it.

If I had to note one critique, it would be that the book starts on the slower side as the foundation is being built. Personally, I appreciated that time spent developing character and atmosphere, but readers expecting immediate action should know this is a gradual, layered build. Once it takes off, though, it really takes off.

The hook, for me, is simple and powerful: even in paradise, people don’t leave their troubles behind, and sometimes those troubles are deadly. I loved how justice was ultimately handled and how the women find their way forward without everything being neatly or unrealistically tied up.

I don’t want to give anything away, but I can say this confidently: I loved this book. As the story grew, so did my inability to stop reading. I would recommend The Dahlia Suite to just about everyone. Yes, everyone. It really is That Good.

A special thank you to Atria Books for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

The Waitress by K.L. Slater

What would you do if escaping one dangerous man meant putting your trust in another?

The Waitress opens with a death and the unsettling revelation that the deceased was a liar and a cheat who tried to destroy the narrator’s life. From there, the story rewinds to show how Alicia became trapped in an increasingly dangerous web. She’s being coerced by one man who threatens her family if she doesn’t get him what he wants, while at the same time spying on him for another man with his own motives. Caught between two controlling figures, Alicia’s only real goal is survival and keeping her family safe.

The premise is strong and immediately intriguing. Watching Alicia attempt to play both sides against the middle was the hook that kept me reading. The tension comes not from action-heavy scenes, but from the constant sense that one wrong move could have devastating consequences. Alicia isn’t reckless or naïve, but rather someone reacting under pressure with limited choices. Even when I questioned her decisions, I understood the fear driving them.

However, while the setup suggested a fast-paced psychological thriller, the execution felt much slower than I expected. The pacing is deliberate, and although all the threads eventually come together, I never felt a strong sense of urgency to reach the conclusion. Crucial motivations behind Alicia’s situation aren’t fully explained until the final quarter of the book, and spending so much time wondering why everything was happening made it harder for me to stay emotionally invested. By the time those answers arrived, my interest had already started to fade.

Content warnings include references to domestic abuse and a controlling partner, which are important to note for sensitive readers.

Overall, The Waitress is a solid psychological suspense novel with an engaging concept and a sympathetic main character, but it didn’t deliver the tension or momentum I look for in a thriller. On my rating scale, I’m giving it a 3 out of 5: a decent read that kept me mildly interested, but not one I’d recommend to readers seeking a high-stakes, fast-moving thriller.

I would recommend this to fans of slow-burn psychological suspense who prefer character-driven tension over rapid pacing.

A special thank you to Bookouture for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

One Good Deed by David Baldacci (Archer #1)

I don't care what they were wearing. I just wanted the story to Move! 

I knew One Good Deed was going to land squarely in the “fine, but not a favorite” category when I realized it was less mystery-thriller and more historical mystery. Set in the late 1940s, this book spends a lot of time establishing atmosphere, and by atmosphere, I mean what everyone is wearing, what things look like, and other period details that mattered far less to me than, you know… the actual story. They all could’ve been naked for all I cared. I just wanted to get to the point.

That said, the story itself is solid.

Aloysius Archer has just been released from prison and sent to Poca City to serve out his parole. As the plot unfolds, it becomes clear that Archer didn’t commit the crime that landed him behind bars. When a wealthy and powerful man in this small town is murdered, Archer finds himself tangled in something much bigger and framed yet again. Along the way, he builds relationships with his parole officer, the murdered man’s concubine, and the local lawman, all while trying to stay on the right side of the law.

Archer is a well-rounded, likable character. In fact, it wasn’t until I finished the book that I really saw his potential as a series lead. He’s already edging into amateur-detective territory here by making smart observations, asking questions, and making plenty of mistakes along the way. That growth arc worked for me.

The small-town setting also added genuine tension. In a place where everyone knows everyone (and everyone’s business), things get personal for Archer very quickly. I especially enjoyed his relationship with Shaw, the local lawman. Shaw felt fair, steady, and quietly instructive, taking on a subtle mentor role as Archer finds his footing. That dynamic was easily my favorite part of the book.

The mystery itself was satisfying. While the “wrongly accused man” trope is very familiar and obvious from early on, the eventual villain wasn’t who I expected, which helped the ending land well.

Where the book struggled for me was pacing and focus. This is not a thriller, which something worth knowing going in. The story moves slowly, and while it kept me engaged in a “pleasant, steady read” kind of way, it never generated real urgency. Much of the book felt longer than necessary due to superfluous detail that didn’t add to the plot. None of it made the book hard to read, but it did dilute the momentum.

In the end, this stayed at 3 stars for me. It’s a decent read with a strong central character and a solid mystery, but the execution felt overstuffed. Less atmosphere, more story would’ve gone a long way.

I wouldn’t recommend this to thriller readers looking for fast pacing and high stakes. However, readers who enjoy historical mysteries, especially fans of authors like Charles Todd, will likely appreciate this much more than I did.

The Keeper of Happy Endings by Barbara Davis

A love story broken by war, stitched back together by time, memory, and hope. 

I don’t usually reach for historical fiction, so when a book set during WWII completely pulls me in, I pay attention. The Keeper of Happy Endings did exactly that, quietly, gently, and with just enough magic to make it unforgettable.

The story opens in Paris during World War II, where Soline Roussel is young, talented, and secretly working for the French Resistance. She falls in love with Anson, another Resistance member, and for a brief moment, hope feels possible. But war doesn’t allow for easy love stories. When Soline is suddenly forced to flee France for her own safety, everything she knows and everyone she loves falls apart.

What follows is a devastating turn of events: Soline discovers she is pregnant and ends up in the care of Anson’s father, a cruel and controlling man. She is told that Anson and their newborn child are dead. From there, the novel becomes less about war itself and more about survival, how grief reshapes a person, how love can be buried but not erased, and how some promises refuse to stay broken.

Running alongside Soline’s story is the present-day narrative of Aurora (called Rory) who leases Soline’s long-shuttered bridal shop. Rory arrives carrying her own grief and uncertainty, unsure of what comes next in her life. As she begins restoring the shop and turning it into an art gallery, she unknowingly brings life back into more than just a physical space. Light fills rooms that have been closed off for decades. Joy slowly re-enters a place that has been frozen in time.

Watching the shop come back to life is quietly powerful, especially because Rory isn’t trying to fix anything. She just allows something beautiful to grow, and in doing so, she becomes the bridge between past and present. She reminds us that places hold memories. Sometimes all they need is the right person to help them wake up again.

If you’re worried this is a heavy WWII novel filled with battlefield scenes and dense historical detail, don’t be. The war matters, but the heart of the story is deeply personal. This is about love that endures, grief that lingers, and the courage it takes to keep going when happy endings feel impossible.

Readers who love emotional, character-driven stories will enjoy this book along with anyone who believes in second chances. And yes, even those of us who usually scoff at historical fiction will enjoy this story.

Sometimes a book reminds you that happy endings aren’t always loud or obvious. Sometimes they’re quiet. And sometimes, they just take a very long time to arrive. In keeping with my personal rating system, I gave this a 4 out of 5 stars. I didn't lose sleep or cancel plans, but it was a good solid read that kept me turning pages. 

Not My Sister by Rosie Walker

 This book crept under my skin, messed with my head, and stole my sleep.

Twelve-year-old Lydia vanishes without a trace, leaving her sister Annabel and their mother Wendy shattered. Soon after, Annabel’s father walks out, and the family fractures completely. Six years later, Lydia suddenly comes home, alive, older, and with significant gaps in her memory. Wendy is overjoyed. Annabel is not. Even the family dog doesn’t recognize her. As Annabel grows increasingly convinced that this girl is not her sister, the story spirals into a tense psychological game where nothing, and no one, feels entirely reliable.

This is a slow-burn psychological thriller that rewards patience. The suspense builds gradually, tightening chapter by chapter, until it becomes genuinely head-spinning. I loved how Rosie Walker keeps the reader constantly off-balance; I went back and forth repeatedly on who was unraveling faster: Annabel, Wendy, Lydia… or possibly all three. That uncertainty is the hook, and it’s executed beautifully. I lost sleep with this one and found myself irritated when real life (rude) interfered with my reading time.

Content-wise, readers should be aware of themes involving child disappearance, family trauma, abandonment, and psychological manipulation. None are handled gratuitously, but they are central to the story. My only minor critique is that the pacing may feel a touch slow for readers who prefer nonstop action, but for me, the creeping dread was exactly what made it so effective. I think fans of Gillian Flynn and Freida McFadden will feel right at home here. This was a compulsive, unsettling, and very satisfying read, and an easy five stars.

A special thank you to Bookouture for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

No Prisoners by Ellis Blake

 Nothing is wasted, nothing is random, and sleep is not an option.

No Prisoners starts quietly, almost deceptively so. Hannah’s husband has been missing for three weeks. There are no solid leads, no dramatic breakthroughs, and the detective assigned to the case has essentially stalled out. At first, it feels like a straightforward missing persons investigation ... sad, frustrating, but contained.

Then Hannah realizes someone is following her.

From that moment on, the story tightens its grip and refuses to let go. What unfolds is a steadily escalating thriller where nothing is quite what it seems, and every new detail subtly shifts your understanding of what’s really happening. This book doesn’t rely on shock for shock’s sake; instead, it builds tension brick by brick until you suddenly realize you’re reading way past your bedtime.

One of the strongest aspects of this novel is how precise it is. There’s nothing superfluous here. Every scene, every detail serves a purpose. Ellis Blake trusts the reader to pay attention, and that trust pays off in a twisty, deeply satisfying way. The moment I read that Hannah was being followed, I was all in. Sleep became optional. Regrets were minimal.

There is mention of domestic violence. It is not a recurring or graphic theme, but it is present and may be difficult for some readers.

As for critiques, this is one of those rare cases where I don’t have much to nitpick. The pacing is deliberate rather than flashy, which may not work for readers who want nonstop action right out of the gate, but for me, that slow, creeping tension is exactly what made the payoff so effective.

This is absolutely a book for readers who love psychological thrillers, unreliable situations, and stories where the unease grows quietly until it’s impossible to ignore. If you enjoy thrillers that reward close reading and leave you thinking long after you close the book, this one is for you.

Five out of five stars. I only hand out my highest praise when a book costs me sleep. No Prisoners definitely did.

A special thank you to Penguin Random House for providing this book for review consideration via NetGallery. All opinions are my own.

Lies and Bones by RJ Law (Det. Tracy Sterling #1)

 A solid crime novel where sexism talks louder than evidence and the wrong people refuse to listen.

Tracy is the kind of character I immediately root for: a woman following in her father’s footsteps, doing the job because she wants it and not because of who her dad was. Of course, that doesn’t stop everyone around her from accusing her of riding his coattails. She’s told she won’t amount to half the cop he was, and when she makes mistakes (you know, because she’s human?), it only reinforces their assumptions.

What really got under my skin is that Tracy was on the right track. She made one mistake, got pulled from the case, and after that no one would listen to her. Not because she was wrong but because she was inconvenient.

Then there’s Bradley. Ugh.

Bradley is a condescending, know-it-all slob who clearly believes he’s better than any woman within breathing distance. His attitude alone made my blood pressure spike. He talks down to Tracy constantly, dismisses her instincts, and treats basic respect like it’s optional. Unfortunately, he also felt uncomfortably realistic. Cops like him exist, and that made him even harder to stomach.

John was more complicated. I sympathized with him at first; he liked Tracy and genuinely wanted to help her. But he worked alongside Bradley, and that limited what he was willing to do. My feelings shifted when John, too, refused to listen to Tracy and instead told her she sounded crazy and needed some sleep. Which… come on. In a murder investigation, isn’t a little crazy kind of the baseline?

Bradley’s version of events was the one I trusted the least from the very beginning. His lack of respect for Tracy immediately made me question his credibility. If you can’t take someone seriously, why should I take you seriously?

Jimmy Hunter, the former cop turned PI, was an interesting secondary character. I still don’t quite know what to make of him. He bends the rules sometimes and sticks to them other times, like he’s operating under a personal code only he understands. I’m guessing he’s the kind of character who makes more sense the more you read assuming he shows up again later in the series.

As for pacing, it worked. I didn’t lose sleep, but I also didn’t skim or skip ahead. No filler, no dragging, no unnecessary drama. I appreciated that most about this book.

No romance. No hysterics. No flashy twists for shock value. Just real people doing real jobs, making real mistakes, in real time. Well, not really real, but you know what I mean.

Lies and Bones isn’t trying to be clever or trendy. It’s just a good, solid crime novel that knows exactly what it is.

Close By by Blake Pierce

'Not human. Not human.’ 

That line alone made this audiobook leave my car and follow me home.

I usually only listen to audiobooks in the car. It's my strict rule. Commute only. Close By broke that rule.

The moment I knew this audiobook wasn’t staying in my car was during the second murder, when the victim is running for her life thinking, “Not human. Not human.” That was it. Couch listening activated. Shoes still on. Priorities reassessed.

The book hooks you immediately with a murder that feels almost inevitable. A geologist is warned to stay away from a site after dark. He ignores that warning. If this were a horror movie, he’d be the person hiding behind the one tree in an open field. You know something terrible is coming—you just don’t know exactly how bad it’s going to be. That sense of dread never really lets up.

What really sets Close By apart is how deeply it weaves in Native American spirituality and culture. The respect for the earth, the heavens, and everything in between felt genuine and thoughtfully handled. It wasn’t flashy or overdone; it just made sense. Pure in a way that grounded the story rather than distracting from it.

Kari, our main character, stands with one foot in two worlds: Her mother’s Navajo culture and her father’s white culture. Watching her navigate both with respect, intelligence, and purpose was one of the strongest parts of the book. She doesn’t reject either side. She uses both to solve the murders, and that balance felt authentic and earned.

Audiobook-wise, listening definitely slowed me down. If I’d had a paperback, I’d have torn through this in half the time. That said, the narrator did a solid job, emotion where it mattered, emphasis in the right places, and no vocal gymnastics that make you cringe. Always appreciated.

Kari was front and center for me the entire time, but I wanted to slap the conceited FBI agent on her behalf. Gently. With a 2 x 4. He was insufferable. The kind of character who exists solely to make you mutter, “Ugh, this guy again,” every time he shows up.

The setting did a lot of the heavy lifting when it came to tension. These murders happen on sacred land, and that alone adds a layer of unease that seeps into every scene. You don’t just feel like crimes are being committed. You feel like something deeper is being violated.

This was my first Blake Pierce book, but it won’t be my last. These are exactly the kinds of thrillers I love: crime-focused, atmospheric, culturally rich, and unapologetically dark.

And for the record, there’s no sweaty sex, no romance, no flowers. Just pure, unadulterated murder and mayhem.

Which is exactly how I like it.

Murder On Site by TG Wolff

 My first TG Wolff book—and definitely not my last.

When Inspector Lucy Torok is murdered and dumped at a construction site, the case quickly becomes complicated legally, politically, and personally. Newly appointed interim Attorney General Jakob Rizk is tasked with prosecuting the case, and his twin brother Seth flies in to help. From there, the story weaves through dirty politics, competing construction companies, and a young engineer who appears to be framed, all while keeping the focus on character and momentum rather than getting bogged down in technical detail.

The real hook for me was the dynamic between the twins. Jakob is serious and academic, while Seth brings humor and mischief, and their interactions added warmth and levity to an otherwise serious story. While this isn’t a thriller, I had a hard time putting it down. Wolff balances legal intrigue, police work, and political maneuvering without overwhelming the reader, keeping the twists coming and the pages turning. The Indianapolis setting gave the story a solid mid-sized city feel which is important to the plot without overshadowing it.

Content-wise, the book includes the sudden death of a close friend and a suicide attempt by the accused engineer. These moments were handled thoughtfully and realistically, without unnecessary drama. The characters felt fully developed and familiar very quickly, from Jakob navigating his new role, to Seth hiding his own problems to support his brother, to the sharp and capable detectives and the less admirable political players. Based on my rating system, this earned 5 out of 5 stars. Any book that keeps me reading past my bedtime gets top marks. Readers who enjoy legal mysteries with strong characters and a touch more humor than a typical John Grisham novel should find this a great fit. I’ll definitely be reading more from TG Wolff and hope this turns into a series.

A special thank you to Tule Publishing for providing this book for review consideration via NetGallery. All opinions are my own.

The Darkest Game by Alex Sigmore (Oak Creek #1)

Started reading. Cancelled plans. Finished stiff, tired, and slightly unhinged.

Dead, unidentified bodies dumped by a creek which is clearly not the original crime scene will cancel my plans and cost me sleep every single time. The Darkest Game didn’t ease into that chaos either. It kicked the door in, stole my free evening, and dared me to look away. I didn’t. One sitting later, I was stiff, tired, and very glad I’d ignored real life.

The tension in this book pays off immediately. There’s a constant urgency to the storytelling, like something is about to explode and you’re powerless to stop it. The pacing kept me glued, and just when I thought I had a handle on where things were going ... wrong again.

And then there’s Mona’s father.

I did not see that coming. Disturbing doesn’t even begin to cover it. The man needs a team of psychiatrists, possibly on rotation, because his level of psychological manipulation is next-level unhinged. The mind games here are brutal, the kind that leave you questioning everything and wondering how deep the damage really goes. And that explained a lot about Mona.

Charlotte is the character who’s going to stick with me. Losing the ability to do a job you love hit me. Her struggle added an emotional weight to the story that grounded all the madness and made the stakes feel personal, not just procedural.

Genre-wise, this one refuses to choose. It’s a thriller wrapped in psychological torture, and at times I genuinely didn’t know if I was coming or going. Especially after that reveal. Yeah. Mona’s father again.

Final verdict: Five out of five stars. Don’t start this at bedtime unless you’ve already slept all day. Thriller fans will absolutely eat this up.

One Dark Night by Alex Sigmore (Ivy Bishop #5)

Sleep is for people who aren’t trying to piece together a trauma-induced memory gap before the next body drops.

This was one of those cancel-your-plans, stay-up-too-late, “just one more chapter” books. One Dark Night had me completely hooked. I went in thinking I’d read a few chapters before bed and ended up bleary-eyed, muttering, “Just one more” until sunrise.

Ivy Bishop is dealing with trauma-induced memory gaps, never a good sign in a thriller, and she’s determined to fill them in. Naturally, the process involves danger, betrayal, and people who really should’ve minded their own business. (Yeah you, Nat.) Nat’s the kind of character who barrels ahead on half-truths and hunches, breaking laws like they’re speed limits on an empty highway. What she did was so egregious I started out thinking she was the villain. She’s a walking, talking example of what happens when you “assume.”

Jonathan, on the other hand, is the emotional anchor here and somehow manages to do it without turning the story into a Hallmark moment. He’s the quiet, loyal type who doesn’t realize he’s in love with Ivy, but you sure do. He moves mountains for her, saves her life, and keeps believing in her even when things get ugly. Ten out of ten; would trust him in an apocalypse.

When the story twisted back to Ivy’s mom being the origin of the whole nightmare, I had an honest-to-God “oh crap” moment. Pages turned themselves after that. By the end, justice was served, the bad guy was done for, and karma got the final word, which is my favorite kind of ending.

I later found out this is book five in the Ivy Bishop series, but it stands perfectly on its own. Now I’m planning to hunt down the rest because clearly Alex Sigmore knows how to write a thriller that doesn’t let go. If you’re a fan of Lee Child but wish his stories had a bit more psychological grit, this series will scratch that itch.

Five stars, no hesitation. Murder, mayhem, and just a touch of feeling, exactly the balance I like.

Where Angels Go by Debbie Macomber

If angels ran like customer service reps, this would be their training manual.

I gave Where Angels Go by Debbie Macomber 3 out of 5 stars because I followed my rating system like a responsible adult. I am not Christian, I don’t believe in angels, and I’m generally skeptical of any story that assumes divine intervention works like a very polite customer service department. So right out of the gate, this book and I were never going to be soulmates.

The story follows three Prayer Ambassadors who are assigned prayers to answer. Shirley handles Carter, whose Christmas wish is a dog (honestly, the most relatable prayer in the book). Mercy is assigned to Harry Alderwood, who is nearing the end of his life and praying that his wife of 65 years will be taken care of after he’s gone. Goodness focuses on Beth, who is afraid to love again after a truly disastrous first marriage, while her mother, Joyce, prays for Beth to find love again. Subtle, this book is not.

And of course, every prayer is answered, because this is a Debbie Macomber book and the angels do not miss deadlines. It’s sweet. It’s comforting. It’s very much a Hallmark movie in book form. For me, it also lived well beyond the realm of believability, but I can appreciate what it’s trying to do.

This is a warm, gentle, feel-good read that goes down fast and leaves no emotional bruising. It didn’t convert me, move me spiritually, or make me believe in angels, but it passed the time pleasantly enough. If you enjoy sentimental, faith-based stories with guaranteed happy outcomes, this one will probably be right up your alley.

A Cut Above by Janice Angelique

Not all salon gossip is about bad bangs and messy breakups. 

Some of it can get you killed.

A Cut Above by Janice Angelique starts with what sounds like a perfectly reasonable post-retirement plan: Marie Greenbrooks leaves the FBI and buys a hair salon with her daughter, Ellie. Marie wants peace, quiet, and absolutely no drama. Which is adorable, because this is a hair salon, and also because some of the employees are using it as a front for criminal activity. Oops.

The salon setting is one of the strongest parts of this book. Hair salons are made for gossip and cliques, and Angelique clearly understands that. The smoking group, the personality clashes, the employee turnover, it all felt very real. The first third of the book takes its time setting up the space and the people in it, and while it’s a slower start, I actually appreciated it. By the time things went sideways, these weren’t just “characters”. They were people I had opinions about. And those opinions changed more than once.

This isn’t a heart-pounding thriller, and it’s not trying to be. The pacing and tone lean much more toward cozy mystery, with a crime-fiction edge. The book doesn’t start out dark or sinister, even though it eventually deals with serious subject matter. There’s also a light romantic spark involving Ellie and an FBI agent, just enough to make me smile, not enough to push this into romance territory.

Content-wise, the story references human trafficking and drug abuse, which could be triggering for some readers. There is also some profanity, though it’s censored with asterisks. Personally, I didn’t think the profanity was necessary at all. A simple “the language was colorful” would have done the job without making me mentally fill in the blanks.

What really worked for me was the way the story unfolded. I enjoyed getting to know the characters, watching the salon dynamics play out, and trying to figure out who was involved while hoping the missing employee was still alive. Marie stepping back into investigator mode was especially satisfying, and I can absolutely see the potential for this to become a series. If Marie and Ellie keep the salon, I’d happily keep reading.

Final verdict: ★★★★☆ (4/5)

I didn’t cancel plans or stay up all night, but I was engaged the whole way through. My only real eye-rolls came courtesy of Roy hitting on Peter (sir, please stop), and I did notice a few punctuation hiccups, but that’s a me problem. Overall, this was a solid, enjoyable read that I’d confidently recommend to fans of cozy mysteries and lighter crime fiction. Thriller junkies and spicy romance readers should probably look elsewhere.

A special thank you to Ms. Angelique for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

Blue Smoke by Nora Roberts

 Turns out when Nora Roberts dials down the spice and lights a fire, I’m all in.

I don’t usually reach for Nora Roberts. Too much spice and not enough plot, at least for me. Truth be told, I reached for it because the Rusty Book Club is having a January challenge: To read a book with a blue cover. I figure a title with the word blue in it has to have a blue cover. 

Blue Smoke surprised me, and I genuinely enjoyed it. Catarina Hale (Reena, if you’re family or friend) is a cop, a firefighter, and an arson investigator, and she’s tops at all three. Fire isn’t just part of her job; it’s practically a character in her life. Her family's pizzeria burned when she was a child, two former boyfriends died in fires, and danger seems to circle her whether she wants it to or not. Still, Reena doesn’t need rescuing. She’s competent, tough, and emotionally grounded, exactly the kind of strong female lead I’m always rooting for.

Then there’s Bowen Goodnight. Bo had a wild streak once, but the death of a friend forced him to grow up. Now he’s built a solid life and runs his own business. He’s not whiny, not needy, and not looking for someone to fix him. He is searching for “Dream Girl,” a woman he glimpsed for seconds at a party and never forgot. It takes a while, but when these two finally collide, it feels earned. (That part of the story created suspense on its own.)

As Reena investigates a series of fires, anonymous calls begin, and it becomes clear that someone is targeting her and the people she loves. That’s where the book really hooked me. I’ll admit I skimmed the sex scenes to get back to the mystery, careful not to skip too far and miss something important. The suspense and character work were what kept me turning pages.

Blue Smoke is a romantic suspense that actually leans into the suspense. If all of Nora Roberts books were like this, I'd read more of them! Strong characters, a solid mystery, and just enough romance (scannable if needed) to keep the story moving. Strip away the extra heat, and what’s left is a smart, suspenseful story that kept me reading for the right reasons.

Disappeared by Linda Castillo (Burkholder #12.5)

In a place built on order, desperation doesn’t follow the rules.

I really enjoy Linda Castillo’s novellas because they fill in the quiet (and not-so-quiet) spaces between the big crimes in Painters Mill. Disappeared does exactly that. It's short, sharp, and emotionally heavy without overstaying its welcome.

In this story, a toddler vanishes, and what unfolds is less about a whodunit and more about the impossible position his parents are in. The child is seriously ill. His father is an Englisher and his mother Amish. Her family is Old Order Amish, the strictest and least forgiving. Their relationship is forbidden and every decision they make comes with consequences that feel cruel and unavoidable.

Castillo is especially good here at showing how rigid rules can collide with love, fear, and desperation. It’s a quick read, but it adds meaningful depth to the world of Painters Mill without needing a full novel to do it.

The Women by Kristen Hannah

Vietnam was never forgotten. History just forgot 

The Women.

I had no idea The Women was going to make me cry like it did. I expected emotion, this is about Vietnam, after all, but I did not expect the kind of deep, bone-level grief that sneaks up on you and refuses to let go.

I have family who served in various wars, including Vietnam. My Steven is a veteran who fought in Grenada, an often forgotten conflict. He has scars, both physical and mental. My surviving uncle served in Vietnam and is still not healthy, mentally or physically. He won’t talk about it. He drinks until he’s black-out drunk. The Fourth of July has never been a happy day for him, even after all these years. So yes, I knew this book would hit close to home. I just didn’t know how relentlessly it would do so.

Frankie begins the story young, naïve, and idealistic, just like so many of the men and women who volunteered to serve. They wanted to make a difference. They wanted to do something meaningful. And none of them had any idea what they were walking into. Frankie is baptized by fire the moment she hits the ground, immediately thrown into a mass-casualty situation with no real preparation and no idea what to expect, having already been lied to by recruiters before she ever arrived. 

I knew women were there in Vietnam. Women were permitted (yes, permitted) to serve in non-combat roles. Nursing, though, looks an awful lot like combat when you’re surrounded by blood, trauma, and constant loss. Hannah pulls no punches in depicting what combat nurses saw, what they treated, and what they carried home with them long after the war ended.

Frankie’s homecoming hit me the hardest. Being spit on. Ridiculed. Screamed at. Isolated even by her own father. All because she was an idealistic young woman who followed orders and served her country. The most unsettling part is that none of this felt exaggerated. The entire book could have been non-fiction, because everything depicted actually happened. What’s even more disturbing is how few effective treatments existed for those young men and women when they came home. They self-medicated and spiraled. They were told to forget about it and move on. My uncle still lives that reality.

The book reinforced what I already know to be true: PTSD is real, and dismissing it doesn’t make it go away. Frankie endures trauma from every direction: Losing her brother, losing her idealism, losing love, witnessing unimaginable suffering, losing a pregnancy. And yet she survives. Not because she’s untouched, but because strength often shows up when people feel the most broken.

The friendships between the women were lifelines. They were the only ones who truly understood what the others had seen, and sometimes survival depends entirely on being believed. The emotional weight of this book is overwhelming at times but that’s the point. Women were there. And when they came home, they were ignored, erased, and told to get over it.

But trauma doesn’t work that way. You don’t “get over it.” You learn how to live with it so it hopefully doesn’t rule your life.

I would absolutely recommend The Women, but with a warning label. If you’re a trauma survivor, this book will hit triggers. Even if you’re not, have a box of Kleenex nearby. There is a hopeful ending, you just have to walk through the hurt to get there.

And honestly, that's about as true to life as it gets. 

Dire Bound by Sable Sorensen

Equal parts ‘what did I just read?’ and ‘fine, one more chapter'.

Dire Bound by Sable Sorensen is one of those books that makes you pause mid-chapter and think, I can’t believe this exists… and then immediately keep reading. Hands down, this is the strangest book I've ever read. It’s like Disney collided with Greek and Roman mythology, took a sharp turn into adult-only territory, and never looked back. We’ve got a rigid social hierarchy (Alphas, Betas, Gammas), a desperate, down-on-her-luck heroine, a prince who rides in looking heroic and turns out to be… complicated, and forest animals with magical powers just wandering around. All of this like it's totally normal.

I rolled my eyes more than once and freely skipped the steamy scenes, but I’ll admit the story worked. It had that irresistible train-wreck quality. I didn’t want to keep watching, but I absolutely couldn’t look away. Every time I thought, okay, this is too much, something else happened that dragged me further in.

By the end, it felt less like Disney and more like Alice in Wonderland. I fell down the rabbit hole and had to keep going just to see how strange it would get. Not a favorite, not something I’d usually pick up, not something I'd recommend, but undeniably compelling in a what on earth did I just read kind of way. And with that, January's Rusty Book Club pick is now in the books. No pun intended.

The Lion Women of Tehran by Marjan Kamali

Becoming a lion woman means risking everything. Staying quiet costs more than we admit.

Some books tell a story; others hold up a mirror and ask uncomfortable questions. The Lion Women of Tehran by Marjan Kamali does both, weaving real historical events into the lives of fictional women who feel anything but imagined. At its heart, this is a story about friendship, specifically Ellie and Homa, but it’s also about class, politics, womanhood, and the long shadow of the choices we make when we’re young.

The novel opens with Ellie in 1980s New York City, where she is keenly aware of appearances. The city feels like a place where you must look like you belong, and Ellie believes that means looking wealthy. That instinct doesn’t come out of nowhere. Her mother raised her to believe that appearances matter above almost everything else. In New York, that lesson sticks. Ellie doesn’t just want to fit in. She feels she must 'perform' belonging.

Kamali’s portrayal of Tehran during Ellie and Homa’s childhood resists romanticizing the city. Tehran is shown as a real place, with wealthy neighborhoods and poor ones, privilege and hardship existing side by side. Ellie grows up in affluence until her father’s death; Homa grows up with less material comfort. And yet Homa’s upbringing feels warmer, steadier, and more grounded. Ellie’s mother is perpetually dissatisfied: Complaining, posturing, and confiding her bitterness to her daughter far too early. Homa’s home, by contrast, feels lived-in and emotionally secure. The irony is hard to miss.

Ellie’s mother’s obsession with the evil eye is another way she explains the inexplicable. Humans have always invented systems (gods, myths, superstitions, etc.) to explain suffering. For Ellie’s mother, the evil eye becomes a convenient explanation for misfortune and, perhaps more importantly, a way to avoid responsibility. Bad things didn’t happen because of bad choices; they happened because someone wished them harm. That belief shapes Ellie in quieter but lasting ways, instilling in her an anxiety that good actions might somehow invite punishment.

Ellie spends much of her childhood idealizing her late father, placing him safely on a pedestal. Later, when her mother reveals his infidelity, that image cracks. Ellie is forced to reconcile the loving father she knew with a deeply flawed man. With that knowledge comes understanding. Her mother’s bitterness, her unhappiness, and even her willingness to marry her husband’s brother after his death begin to make sense. Divorce was not an option. Survival was. The revelation doesn’t absolve anyone, but it reframes everything.

As Ellie grows older, class consciousness tightens its grip. By the time she attends an upscale school in a wealthier neighborhood, she begins acting as though she belongs to that world and distancing herself from Homa. It’s painful to watch. Ellie is embarrassed by her oldest friend, and once again, her mother’s influence looms large. Respectability, status, and safety matter more than loyalty.

Politics, however, refuse to stay in the background. They are everywhere in this book, shaping choices, limiting futures, and determining who gets to speak and who must stay silent. In many ways, politics function as a character themselves. This is not just the story of two girls; it’s the story of Iranian women fighting, then and now, for autonomy, rights, and visibility. Homa engages with politics head-on. Ellie, cushioned by privilege, is more inclined not to rock the boat. And as the novel shows, fortune often favors those who already have it.

The idea of becoming “lion women” runs through the book like a quiet dare. To me, lion women are the ones who roar: The activists, the risk-takers, the women who refuse to shrink themselves to survive. Homa understands this instinctively. Ellie understands it intellectually, but struggles to live it. That tension feels painfully real because the truth is, women everywhere are still expected to be lion women. There is still a glass ceiling. It still needs to shatter. And stories like this remind us what it costs, personally and politically, when we choose silence over courage.

The Lion Women of Tehran is thoughtful, layered, and quietly powerful. It lingers not because of what it says loudly, but because of what it asks us to examine about ourselves.

The ManiScripts Book Club pick for the January meeting.