Seeking Angel

By A J Burton

This is a new title and cover for 'Demon's Coven' also by A J Burton.

This thriller-mystery filled with unexpected comedy follows two broken-ass detectives. Bull is bent on avenging his lost love, Tommy is fighting his hatred of human beings. They join forces in NYC to track down a vicious killer who seems to possesses super-human abilities. Add a circle of BDSM Dominatrix and their slaves who are being infiltrated for a deadly purpose to the mix of mystery, intrigue, humour and murder - an exciting read with some laugh-out-loud moments.

Professionally Edited at Quintessence Publications

5* Amazon Review: This book grabs you and doesn't let go! I started to read, figuring that I'd read for about a half hour and found that I couldn't put this book down. The words came alive on the page. The detailed information regarding the alternative BDSM lifestyle was amazing. The characters were real. There was nothing that I read that I judged to be contrived or written for shock value alone. I wanted more with each passing page. This author understands police procedure, the BDSM lifestyle and has a knack as a story teller; something that I find lacking in many authors. Ican see this book easily translating itself to a film version. In my mind I picture Sam and Bull's interaction on a large screen. I wouldn't discount a TV series as well. I was disappointed when I got to the end of the book, but celebrated the fact that there is more to come. I want more and I want it sooner than later.

5* Review Smashwords:- Review by: C.C. on July 12, 2012 :
Detectives Angelo ‘Bull’ Protettore and Tommy Delaney have been partnered up by the Chief either in the hopes they’d get their acts together or screw up even more badly so they get kicked off the force. Tommy has real anger management problems, but Bull is still dealing with losing his fiancé to a serial killer. Just when it looks like Bull is finally pulling his life back together the serial killer strikes again and Bull is determined this time to catch him, no matter the cost. Tommy agrees to help because on top of his anger management problems he has a real problem with authority and playing by the rules.

Starting with a missing persons case and ending with a lot of bodies on the ground I really enjoyed watching Bull try to piece together a lot of various pieces of a much bigger puzzle to find the serial killer. Intertwined with the case is a group of Dominatrix informally known as The Style Mistresses who Bull thinks are involved in some way, so he attaches himself to one of them in hopes of finding out more about the group. Along the way he and Tommy learn a lot about themselves and solve the case, too.

This was a great read! It proceeded at a good clip, had a twisty plot and an interesting cast of characters. The best part? It’s not completely over. While this part of the mystery was solved there’s still a bigger mystery to unravel. I can’t wait for Book 2!

*The author provided a copy of this book to me for review. Please see disclaimer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Quintessence Publications Ltd
• Release date: Jul 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9780987659170

A J Burton

I am a retired policeman, harness horse trainer, gibstopper and small block farmer. I have loved reading since I can remember. I have owned horses, dogs, and cats since I was twelve years old. I enjoyed the bush, surfing, snorkling, rugby, and judo and now in my retirement fishing on the family boat with friends and family.I am married with four boys and one gorgeous grand-daughter.Over the years I have written many short stories and a couple of novels without any serious thoughts of publishing them. A few years ago I decided I would write a novel with a view to having it published. Demon's Coven looked like it was going to become so large I decided to make it into a Trilogy. Demon's Coven is my first novel Check it out here and let me know what you think of it.Any feedback would be appreciated.All my work has been professionally edited. You will be getting a quality book which is worth your time and money.

Book preview

Prologue

The long, stone paved room was lit by soft overhead lighting. Twelve people dressed in sinister black hooded robes sat silent around a huge black timbered table. Their hands were crossed in front of them, hidden in the confines of their voluminous sleeves. At one end of the table a gigantic man, naked above the waist, stood behind a young woman. He was holding her, his huge hands completely encircled her upper arms. She was sobbing quietly, her head bowed. Her naked body shook. But for the strength of the giant behind her she would have fallen. No one paid her any attention; instead they looked towards the other end of the table.

There a figure in a blood red cassock sat impassive. He uncrossed his arms. A pale hand, fingers tipped with sharpened red painted nails appeared as he reached for an old seventies style phone on the table before him. The dial tone of the old phone bounced from the speaker and off the stone walls, a connection was made. Another number was dialled; a remote dialler at the other end then duplicated the dialled number. Now the call was untraceable.

Greetings, Grand Master, said a female voice.

The waiting is over. Release him.

He will be hungry for blood - it has been well over a year, almost two.

In death we guide the souls we take. His voice was soft but as he spoke all the other sect members chanted together Our sacrifice your thirst will slake. was their devout response.

The man put down the phone. Getting to his feet he threw back his hood. With his other hand he produced a long serrated knife from inside one of his sleeves. All of the others around the table did the same.

Thrown onto her back on the great table the young girl finally screamed.

Today was the start of the bloodletting.

Chapter One

On his back on a low black leather bench in the atrium he stared longingly up through the skylight while fingers of moonlight bathed him in a cold brittle light. His soft black leather body suit clung to him like a second skin. He had always loved the way it showed off the contours of his muscular frame.

Ready!

Like some macabre gymnast he stood in one effortless movement. As a great cat stalking through dense jungle he glided across the floor to the heavy wooden door at one side of the hallway. Dropping to one knee his left eye pressed to the brass keyhole. A dim red bulb cast eerie shadows over the room inside. Mistress stood with her back to him. Her slave was hanging from hooks in the ceiling which were attached by chains to leather cuffs around her wrists. Slap! Slap! The sound of leather on bare flesh was a part of his world. Taking pain so that others could take pleasure had been part of his training.

But he was more than just some pain slut. Much more!

He watched as the female slave known as Angel was unbuckled from her restraints, mistress helped her to lie on her back on the bed. Her whispers were too quiet for him to hear but he knew the drill. First given pain, Angel would take a little more each day, then afterwards a gentle let down. Tonight it seemed she would be given the honour of some affection as mistress lowered herself down onto her slave and they embraced. Soon they were fast asleep in each other’s arms. Sometimes it would be wild unrestrained sex he observed through the keyhole. But mistress was never predictable; she knew instinctively what was right at any moment for any person.

When he whispered it was with a hiss like a poisonous reptile.

"Sleep, sleep, little one sleep deep.

For into your bedroom one night I will creep.

When my teeth, your neck I do bite.

You shall feel my hideous spite."

Ahh… poetry, it’s not just for the soft and fawning. I could write such meaningful poetry, he thought.

Tonight was special. He had endured an enforced break, restrained only by loyalty and iron discipline. Now he would once again become an instrument of death, a taker of souls. This was his destiny.

Flirting with danger never worried him. He enjoyed it, relishing the chance to pit his body against the odds. Death for him was something he wanted, even sought, but he was not prepared to embrace that dark shroud meekly. His wish was to die in a maelstrom of violence and blood, all of his own creation.

The coldness of the metal against his face stirred something within him. His eyelids closed and he focused inwards. This was his way of working himself into a higher state of being. Then, like a python, he slithered back into the shaft of moonlight.

A stainless steel and glass syringe already filled with a light blue liquid along with a thin rubber strap were withdrawn from a leather pouch that hung from a cord around his neck. He unzipped his leather sleeve from the wrist up and wrapped the strap tightly around his upper arm. Holding the syringe in one hand he pierced the skin of his forearm, sliding the steel shaft inside a bulging vein. Slowly he depressed the plunger. The liquid began to enter his blood stream. Aaah...It felt so good! How I have longed for this! He thought.

The drug required enormous strength of will to resist using it purely for pleasure. Years of training had always saved him from the insidious charms of the chemical.

Replacing the empty syringe and strap in the pouch he lay down. His strong hands opened and closed repeatedly, caressing thighs and genitals as he worked himself into a vile perverted state. A warm glow swept through his body as the liquid worked. The sensation caused him to arch his back as the transformation from slave to unfeeling beast took place. Opening and closing his mouth, he grimaced, working his jaw like a boxer before a fight. Fingers brushed lightly across his lips. If only they were fangs!

At last his body relaxed. For a few seconds he lay completely still. Now he was ready with the latest dose of NAPE5 in his veins; an innocuous title for a potent dangerous substance. Non Addictive Performance Enhancer variant number five, only a scientist could give this wonderful substance such a sterile title. He knew the chemist only too well - truly she was the embodiment of evil.

The drug flooded through his veins, a warm glow masking the true purpose. When he next used his body in a violent and explosive way, the drug would stimulate his adrenal gland producing abnormal amounts of adrenalin. Muscle nerves would then begin to fire at an increased rate. For a few minutes he would be capable of almost super human feats.

Now he must stay in control and resist the temptation to rush into action until the time was right. Effortlessly he stood up, making no sound on the hardwood floor. Moving quietly he walked to the end of the hallway then descended a stairway into the garage. A highly polished, late model, black GM Van was parked on one side. A black tracksuit and hooded top were folded on the seat inside the cab. He dressed quickly slipping off his skin tight leather mask, placing it on the seat beside him. Once he found his prey it would take him seconds to strip off the tracksuit and replace the mask.

He used a remote control to open the large panelled garage door that gave access to the courtyard behind the apartment building. It opened silently on heavily greased bearings.

The van, lights off, quietly moved out of the courtyard into the alleyway as the garage door closed behind him. He waited until he had driven for a hundred yards on the deserted street before switching on the headlights. Now he was in his element and felt the heightening of his senses. The tension was electric!

Chapter Two

Simone fumbled through her purse searching for cigarettes. She would have preferred a joint, but she knew it was best to keep her wits about her when working. In a couple of hours the joint at the bottom of her bag would help her relax, but only after the last customer was off the streets.

Stained fingers found cigarettes and lighter among the contents of her purse. A yellow flame flared. Her lungs drew in the smoke; Simone felt the nicotine enter her blood stream helping her focus.

It had been a slow night. Only two clients, both cheapskates wanting hand relief, which had made her total take for the evening a disappointing sixty dollars. She often wondered why these sorts of clients even bothered. Why they simply didn’t do themselves and save their money was beyond her.

I’m twenty five; she thought sadly, five years on the street seemed like a decade. She could see no end to it since she had no more cash now than when she had started. Simone was like many girls who worked the area. She’d become lazy, slovenly - a drug addict, who slipped easily into a seedy lifestyle as a working girl. She pulled her tight purple tank top down over her large breasts: her man magnets.

Under her long black wig, her own hair was cropped short. The wig was her disguise. However flimsy, it gave her the confidence to walk the same neighbourhood during the day hopefully unrecognized by former clients.

She usually stood by the alleyway between two businesses, a dry-cleaners and a television repair store, both of which had closed for the day. Street lighting was adequate to show prospective clients what was on offer.

The wind was cold and she cursed herself for not wearing something warmer. This small patch of the neighbourhood was now hers and hers alone. C’mon, c’mon, anyone, fat, bald, old or young, she thought.

Sometimes she did her business in the alleyway. Mostly she went in the client’s cars. She wouldn’t get into any car until she’d been paid and checked the client visually for any signs of aggression. Heavily intoxicated or drugged-up clients she told directly to go elsewhere, though her so-called rules literally went out the window if the client managed to produce good old American green backs in sufficient quantity.

Simone finished the cigarette and flicked the glowing stub into the street. She didn’t notice a black van parked a hundred yards down the road, its lights out. The van stayed there for a few minutes. It was very late, two a.m. if she had bothered to check her wristwatch. Plastic bags, blown by the wind floated across and down the deserted street.

The van’s motor coughed into life, its V8 motor was barely audible, due to the double mufflers specially installed by its owner. It cruised quietly to a stop opposite Simone, the motor quietly idling. Thrusting out her breasts, she tried to peer into the blacked out windows of the cab, not seeing a black figure slide out from the rear of the van. Simone tapped on the passenger window.

I can’t see in, baby! Roll down the window so you can see what I’ve got. She jiggled her breasts from side to side even rubbed them on the glass. C’mon baby, you know you want me.

From behind, a leather-encased arm completely encircled her neck, pulling her backwards. Simone tried to lash out, scream. Her efforts were choked off as strong muscles squeezed. The inside of the forearm exerted pressure on the main artery on the side of her neck, shutting off the blood supply to the brain. The pain was incredible. Simone struggled violently as the pounding in her brain grew into hot stabbing needles. The attacker squatted, turned his hip into the small of her back lifting her off the ground. Twisting and writhing, Simone’s own weight began to choke her. Finally her struggles weakened and she blacked out as she was carried backwards.

Tossed into the back of the van her limp body landed heavily onto a vinyl mattress. Simone began to come around but was dazed and confused. She did not have the strength to fight back as a ball gag was forced into her mouth. Then she felt herself flipped onto her stomach, her hands forced behind her and strapped with plastic ties. Both ankles were tied in a similar fashion. Within seconds, Simone was completely helpless, neither able to cry out nor move.

As the blood once again began to flow she quickly regained full consciousness but was so terrified she failed to struggle at all. Her attacker produced a large body bag and began slipping her into it. Simone’s fear turned into abject horror. Now instinct took over and she began to thrash about violently. Got to get out, oh my God! Someone please help me! But this screaming was done in silence, despairing, pathetic and all to no avail. The gag did its work; the plastic ties rendered her struggles ineffectual.

She watched helplessly as the darkness closed in with an ominous zipping sound. Imprinted in her memory was the face of the leather-hooded man, then the darkness became total, the smell of vinyl filling her nostrils. Lying in the back of the van she fainted as paralyzing terror overwhelmed her. She never felt the van move off.

As the van drove past the next intersection, a motorcycle pulled out and followed it at a discreet distance. The van drove a few miles before stopping. The slave removed his gloves. He reached over, opened the glove compartment, and took out a cell phone. Dialling a memorized number, he waited patiently while the phone rang at the other end. A female voice answered. Her voice was a soft whisper, as if she had just awoken.

Yes? said the voice.

It’s beginning, the slave answered. I have the first one.

There was a short pause. The slave could hear the sharp intake of breath as she absorbed the implications of this news.

Let the terror begin. It is your time now. she said, You have been extremely patient. What you are about to do will bring you honour at the gathering when we have finished our mission. I will meet you at the temple.

In death we guide the souls we take. The soft voice spoke the first line of a mantra they had both learned long ago.

Yes mistress, he replied. Our sacrifice your thirst will slake.

The phone went dead and the van started up again and drove off into the night trailed at a discreet distance by the motorcyclist.

Chapter Three

Detective Angelo Protettore known to all his colleagues as Bull, sipped his coffee from a paper cup. He was careful not to crush it while his partner of a few weeks, Detective Thomas Delaney, careened around the precinct in their squad car.

Bull’s partner sat bolt upright in the driver’s seat, his large hands gripping the wheel like he wanted to strangle it. Tommy was having his usual daily dose of road rage. It was almost comical to watch.

Tommy hit the horn, venting his spleen at no one in particular. Jeez! Who said New York taxi drivers are the worst in world? It’s the rest of the road-hogging morons that get my goat! said Tommy. You got that coffee under control, Bull? That little cup looks pretty fragile in your big mitts.

Well, it might help if you relaxed a little bit, you dumb Irish prick.

I can’t. Why are we still doing this shit?

Bull squeezed his cup as they tail-spun round a corner. Because this is New York, buddy. It’s broke, just like you and me. We are on missing persons detail because we are the unclean and unwanted from the precinct. But at least we’re employed.

Ok, I get the hint. Tommy relaxed his death grip on the steering wheel. Don’t go thinking I am going soft but when you’re right, you’re right. You know the Captain wants us to fail. I know I am an embarrassment to the department. He broke into a fair imitation of the precinct head. You’re a cynical, violent, foul-mouthed man with an attitude problem whereas your new partner is just plain violent. It’s only a matter of time before either one or both of you screw ups gets himself so deep in the shit even the blessed saint of assholes won’t be able to help. said Tommy.

Yeah, the Captain’s a peach, isn’t he? Still, he’s got a point; we just gotta stick together and back each other up. I - Look out! shouted Bull.

Son of a bitch! yelled Tommy.

Rubber squealed and smoked as the heavy squad car pulled to a shuddering stop, slamming both men into their seatbelts and sluicing Bull’s coffee onto his crotch.

Jeez, Tommy! Bull found himself talking to thin air. His partner had already leapt from the vehicle. Tommy yanked open the driver’s door of a stationary Volvo in front of them. What followed was a tirade of some of the worst language Bull had ever heard. Tommy, in the process of checking the man’s driver’s license, managed to insult his heritage, ancestry, driving skills and his chances of surviving the week. Then as quickly as his temper flared, Tommy seemed to lose interest, as all the driver’s documents seemed to be in order.

Okay, have a nice day, you moron. Tommy strode back to the vehicle before mashing himself into the driver’s seat slamming the door so hard the whole car shuddered.

You feel better now? Bull said. You owe me another coffee. Plus, we gotta go back to my place. I need to change my pants and check for third degree burns on me balls.

Tommy sighed. "Sorry. Okay, we’ll get some clean threads for you, and then I’ll spot us a meal. Screw what’s her name; she’s only been missing a couple of weeks. And she’s probably shacked up with some dope smoking prick anyway." said Tommy, putting the car into drive.

Right, only I don’t think the Captain would be particularly pleased with that attitude. Shit, forget my pants they’ll dry on the way over. Turn the heater on. said Bull.

Tommy did an illegal U-turn and sped away. I hate it when you’re right, I wasn’t hungry anyway. Still, two detectives with our experience doing this crap is just an insult. Bad enough we are working on a fucking Sunday. said Tommy.

Ten minutes later without any more driving adventures they arrived at the complainant’s apartment. Raylene Andrews lived on the third floor of a run-down apartment complex. She had reported her roommate missing for ten days. Walking up the stairs, the detectives could not help but notice the stink of stale urine, unwashed floors and walls.

What a shithole, said Tommy. I can never understand how people can be this filthy. What number did you say the apartment was?

Seven. Okay here it is. Bull knocked loudly on the door. His fist made the door vibrate on its hinges. There was no answer, so he knocked even louder.

Who’s there? inquired a muffled female voice from inside.

It’s the Police, ma’am, said Bull. Detectives Protettore and Delaney; I understand you reported Angel Wyman missing a few days ago.

I’ll be just a minute Detective.

Sure, take your time, Tommy muttered. Hide the damn crack pipe; flush the shit down the john.

As if to confirm Tommy’s suspicions, the detectives heard a toilet flush and smiled knowingly at each other. A short time later, an unkempt but not unattractive woman in her early twenties opened the door.

Sorry about that. I had to go to the bathroom.

The two detectives walked in, both checking out the apartment, a small studio type with an open plan kitchen, dinette and small living room area. Unwashed dishes littered the dining table. The faded carpet was stained and grimy; the whole interior resembled a dump.

Bull pulled out his notebook and rested it on his clipboard containing the missing person reports. Okay, ma’am, I’ve got the basic details but we need to go over a few things. You reported you haven’t seen Angel Wyman for two weeks. She had gone out the previous Saturday night and hadn’t returned, is that correct?

Yes. Angel said, She was going to meet someone special for dinner, but she didn’t come home and I haven’t heard from her since.

Do you have any idea at all who she was going to meet?

No, she didn’t say her name.

A woman then - you can confirm that? Do you know if the meeting was business or pleasure?

The young woman fidgeted for a moment and touched her hair. Well, with Angel, the thing is, she’s bisexual, but she’s not ashamed of it. She and this woman had been talking in an internet chat room back and forth for a few weeks. Angel was really excited about meeting her.

Bull rubbed his pen on the side of his nose. Can you tell me about this chat room, or anything about this mystery woman?

I don’t know what the web site was called, but Angel said this woman was a dominatrix. I think she wanted Angel for a playmate or something. Angel said if things went well she was going to be her sub, you know, a submissive.

Bull thought for a while. Yeah I know what you mean. Okay, so she left happy, as far as you know. Perhaps Angel and this dominatrix have hit it off and maybe she has moved in with her? Is that a possibility?

I suppose so, but we were good friends, said the woman. "I think she would have told me something or have come back for her stuff. It’s so unlike her not to call or anything. She left her cell phone here and all her clothes. She’s only got her purse and the clothes she went out in."

Bull studied Angel’s photo. Does she have any distinguishing features like scars, tattoos?

Yes, she’s got a dove tattoo on each shoulder blade. Each one is about six inches long.

Bull heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. A pale, thin, scruffy, heavily tattooed youth stomped into the apartment. Who the hell are you? he asked.

Watch your tone, punk. said Tommy. We’re here to check out this lady’s roommate, who’s been reported missing.

Well, now you know she’s missing you may as well fuck off! She’s just a dyke slut! said the young man aggressively.

Max, don’t say that! Angel could be in danger! The young woman said.

I’ll tell you what, Bull, said Tommy. You finish speaking to the lady. I’ll have a few quiet words with Max in the hallway.

Bull watched as Tommy walked towards Max forcing him to step back into the hallway. The door was kicked shut and Bull picked up his conversation.

Well, the tattoos should be enough information about Angel. There won’t be many young women with those on each shoulder. Plus we have the photo, it’s a good headshot.

The young woman shifted around uncomfortably before speaking again. Your partner isn’t going to do anything to Max is he? I know he has a loud mouth but…

Don’t worry; he was just a distraction I didn’t need. He will be fine. Detective Delaney will calm him down. I don’t suppose he knows anything, does he?

No. Max doesn’t like Angel because of her sexual preferences. They were very cool towards each other. Actually it got on my nerves sometimes.

Alright, that should do for now. If Angel does get in contact, phone the precinct and let them know she’s ok. I will file a report tomorrow and see if anything has come to light. I wouldn’t be too concerned, most people usually show up again.

Thank you Detective I feel a bit more reassured but this is New York. Anything can happen.

Bull let himself out and shut the door behind him. He noticed Tommy at the top of the stairwell looking down.

Everything alright? he asked.

Tommy grinned. Yeah Max found out he can take steps four at a time. Pity his landing wasn’t so polished. Still he’s up and away like a good pony.

You got to take it easy. Remember our situation. said Bull.

Don’t sweat it, I’m bulletproof, said Tommy as both men began their descent out into the street. Look! Forget this shit. Tommy ran his hands through his hair. Bull guessed something else was more pressing on Tommy’s mind.

I have a big favor to ask. I have to go to an anger management meeting tonight, but I gotta way out of it. I would say five-minute stop tops, and we’re back on the road. Is that okay with you?

Sure, but who the hell scheduled it in working time?

"Me, of course; do you think I’m going to sit with an anal retentive group of losers listening to them go on about how society caused them to be total failures in my own fucking time?"

Once in the car, seated and belted, Tommy floored the accelerator. Sorry - I’m behind schedule. The session will have started by the time we get there so I gotta push a little. he said.

Don’t sweat it. But you still haven’t told me why you have to go on this anger management course in the first place. said Bull.

Just bad luck really. A few months ago, I happened to pull over this fat bitch in her brand new Cadillac. I am trying to explain to her that to turn left she should switch on her left indicator, so I know she’s going to turn left and not the right indicator like she did. Then this tarted up old whore said to me - Tommy mimicked a high-pitched woman’s voice. Really, officer, you are the rudest man I have ever met. I want your badge number. I intend to report you to your superiors.

Tommy switched back to his own voice. Damn it, I should’ve smoothed it out with the old bitch, but I was in a bad mood - a real stinker. I can’t remember exactly what I said but it went something like: - ‘Just because you are filthy rich don’t give you the right to tell me what the hell to do.’ Then I told her to fuck off, and several other things I don’t remember saying. Anyway, it turned out the bitch is the wife of a judge. Go figure the odds. The department had me against the wall, ready to trash my ass. Nearly thirty years of service down the drain.

So how did you get off? asked Bull.

Tommy grinned. "By chance, I rented a movie starring Jack Nicholson. His character had a medical problem that made him rude to people even though he didn’t mean it. I thought, hey, that’s exactly what I got. I did a bit of research, saw a shrink and he confirmed what I had already figured. Tommy chuckled. That old bitch swallowed it hook line and sinker. When my lawyer suggested I take a course in anger management to help me fight the condition as well as giving her a letter of apology, she dropped the charges."

Bull laughed so hard his face went red. You cunning bastard, I bet the department didn’t take it well.

Nope, they assigned me to you, remember. Tommy said, grinning.

Despite his misgivings Bull was still chuckling to himself when they reached the rooms where the anger management course was held.

Bull struggled to keep up as Tommy raced out of the car into the building taking the stairs two at a time. Tommy opened the door without knocking, striding into the room. The doctor and her patients were seated in a circle. For a moment there was silence. Tommy clasped his hands, trying to look as contrite as possible.

Sorry to barge in on you all. I’m Tommy Delaney. I’m a detective and I should have been here earlier for my first counselling session for my… um… personality disorder. Truth is my partner and I - Tommy pointed at Bull who waved sheepishly, wishing he had stayed in the car.

Well, we’ve got this missing girl. I am afraid she’s in mortal danger. We have a couple of leads, but due to a mistake in scheduling, I’m also meant to be in this session at the same time. said Tommy, looking down.

A rather obese middle-aged woman sitting in the circle butted in with an annoying high-pitched voice. "Oh my God! Detective, you have to save that poor girl. We can cover for you. If her life is in danger, you have got to move heaven and earth to help her."

The other members muttered their approval for Tommy to leave the meeting, several saying they would cover for him.

God bless you all, but I am really struggling with this personality thing - it’s causing havoc with my work. I really do need help.

"Don’t worry

Reviews for Seeking Angel

[avoraciousreader · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Detectives Angelo ‘Bull’ Protettore and Tommy Delaney have been partnered up by the Chief either in the hopes they’d get their acts together or screw up even more badly so they get kicked off the force. Tommy has real anger management problems, but Bull is still dealing with losing his fiancé to a serial killer. Just when it looks like Bull is finally pulling his life back together the serial killer strikes again and Bull is determined this time to catch him, no matter the cost. Tommy agrees to help because on top of his anger management problems he has a real problem with authority and playing by the rules. Starting with a missing persons case and ending with a lot of bodies on the ground I really enjoyed watching Bull try to piece together a lot of various pieces of a much bigger puzzle to find the serial killer. Intertwined with the case is a group of Dominatrix informally known as The Style Mistresses who Bull thinks are involved in some way, so he attaches himself to one of them in hopes of finding out more about the group. Along the way he and Tommy learn a lot about themselves and solve the case, too.This was a great read! It proceeded at a good clip, had a twisty plot and an interesting cast of characters. The best part? It’s not completely over. While this part of the mystery was solved there’s still a bigger mystery to unravel. I can’t wait for Book 2!*The author provided a copy of this book to me for review. Please see disclaimer page on my blog.