Some minds were never meant to be touched.
Augur Bryn Ashton has been psychologically scarred after reading the mind of a serial killer, Doctor Everard Templeton, aka The Forest Ripper. Bryn’s testimony put Templeton behind bars, but in the process Bryn saw too much—glimpses of the killer’s obsessions, his appetites, and his intent. That moment of psychic exposure forged a connection Templeton refuses to let die.
Having escaped custody and evaded the FBI, Templeton returns to Boston with Bryn in his sights. He lays a meticulously engineered trail designed to pull Bryn in and punish him for daring to look into Templeton’s mind. The puzzles twist back on themselves, leading nowhere, but leaving innocent victims in their wake.
Detective Gunnar Ericson, Bryn’s partner and lover, finds himself thrust into a nightmare. How can he protect Bryn when Templeton always seems to be three steps ahead of them?
As Templeton draws closer, a confrontation becomes inevitable. His taunts are all part of a sadistic game designed to increase the pressure on Bryn and his team because Templeton doesn’t just want revenge—he wants Bryn to suffer for daring to see true evil. And refusing to blink.
General Release Date: 2nd June 2026
The last thing Bryn Ashton expected on a Sunday was a phone call at six-thirty in the morning from his boss telling him there was a dead body on Boston Common.
“I thought we agreed,” Bryn said into his cell, not bothering to hide his irritation, “that unless the world was ending, my Sundays were sacrosanct. Twenty-four hours of blissful ignorance.” Next to him in the bed, his partner, Gunnar Ericson, stirred with an unintelligible grumble.
“Wassup?”
“No idea.” Bryn switched his cell to speaker. “But it’s too damned early for this. You’re on speaker, boss.”
“Unfortunately,” Warden’s voice came through the speaker with its usual dry authority, “the world has a tendency to ignore your scheduling preferences, Bryn. That goes double for murderers.”
Bryn rolled over in bed, wincing as the movement sent him a sharp reminder about his healing ribs. Three weeks of light duties had done wonders for his recovery, and the cracked bones and general battering he’d sustained during the Boston Cathedral incident were finally healing properly. There was just an occasional twinge.
“What’s going on, Warden?” Gunnar dragged himself into a sitting position.
“A child, a nine-year-old boy called Timmy Smit,” Warden said, “was found this morning by an early jogger on the Common. Preliminary examination suggests he’s been dead for approximately six hours.”
“Without wishing to sound cold, why does that concern us? It’s a Boston PD case, isn’t it?” Bryn questioned.
“In normal circumstances, it would be.”
Oh fuck. “How did the child die?” Bryn asked.
“His throat was cut. A clean, single stroke. He had no defensive wounds.” Warden paused. “There’s something else, though. Something left at the scene.”
The words hit Bryn like a physical blow. He sat up too, any hope of an energetic lie-in with Gunnar long gone. “What kind of something?”
“A drawing. Child’s crayon on construction paper. It’s a stick figure with your name written beneath it.”
“Son of a bitch. Templeton.”
“My thoughts exactly. How quickly can the two of you get to the scene?”
“Half an hour?” Bryn sent a questioning look to Gunnar, who nodded. He was already swinging his legs out of bed. “Has anyone else seen the drawing?”
“Only the first responders. I called in the Feds, and Special Agent Bell has the scene locked down tight.”
“Okay.” Nothing about this is okay.
“Giles will meet you at the Common. Gunnar, there will be a car waiting for you outside. I’ll call Emmett in so that he can provide support when you get back here.”
Bryn ended the call and turned to find Gunnar watching him with narrowed eyes.
“What? Don’t look at me like that.”
“I can smell your stress,” Gunnar said. “This is bad.” His voice was still rough from sleep.
“The worst, and your sniffer needs to take a break.” Bryn stood up slowly, one hand pressed to his ribs as he started pulling on his clothes. “Looks like the psycho doctor has decided to resume his hobby. He’s back, and the sonofabitch is making it personal.”
* * * *
Boston Common at seven in the morning was usually a peaceful place, with joggers making their circuits, dog walkers letting their pets exercise their noses, and weekend workers taking a shortcut. Today, a section of it looked like a crime scene, which was exactly what it was.
Gunnar flashed his credentials to the uniformed officer manning the perimeter and ducked under the yellow tape. He held it up for Bryn to follow.
“I’m not looking forward to this,” Bryn muttered.
“It’s not something you ever get used to,” Gunnar replied. “Seeing the body of someone who dies by violence is not great. When it’s a child…”
He didn’t have to finish. The body was about fifty yards from the main path, in a small clearing that would have been hidden from casual view.
“Smart positioning,” Gunnar observed.
“Well, we know Templeton is far from stupid. If this was his work.”
Special Agent Bell came across to them from where he’d been standing, watching the crime-scene techs at work. “I’d say good morning, but it isn’t. I thought you were still on light duties, Bryn.”
“I am, so don’t ask me to pick up your donut bag because the weight might damage me.”
“He’s getting back to his usual, charming self, isn’t he?” Bell addressed the question to Gunnar, who had a smirk on his face.
“Tell me he’s wrong.” Gunnar nodded toward the covered form on the ground a few yards away. “What do we have?”
Bell flipped open his notebook. “Timmy Smit, nine years old. Parents reported him missing Friday afternoon when he didn’t get off the school bus. We’ve got a preliminary timeline suggesting he was grabbed sometime between three and four. Driver doesn’t recall him getting on the bus, so it’s likely he was taken outside his school.”
“Cause of death? Warden told us, but I’d like to get it confirmed.”
“Single cut across the throat. No sign of hesitation by whoever inflicted the cut, and the kid didn’t fight. He likely didn’t see it coming, which is a small mercy.”
“Any signs of sexual assault?”
“ME’s preliminary suggests not, but we’ll know more after the autopsy.” Bell shuddered. “Whatever this bastard’s motivation is this time, it doesn’t seem to be sexual.”
Gunnar frowned. “Templeton got off on his earlier killings, we know that, but it was the act of killing that got him going. This is still a bit off his usual MO, though. He was into torture and strangulation. Are you sure this is down to him?”
“As sure as we can be at this point.” Bell handed over a clear plastic evidence bag. “Because of this.”
Gunnar held up the bag so Bryn could see the drawing it contained. Bryn’s stomach knotted, and he had to fight the urge to throw up. The picture was how Warden had described it, a stick figure in crayon. What he hadn’t mentioned was that the figure had short, black hair and bright-green eyes. Beneath the drawing, in a child’s blocky handwriting, were the words ‘For Bryn’.
LM lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.
She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She's fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle leanings towards BDSM.
LM is a past winner of the National Leather Association – International’s Pauline Reage Award for best novel and John Preston award for short fiction. She has twice won the Golden Flogger Award for best BDSM novel in the LGBT category. She has received multiple Honorable Mentions in the Rainbow Awards and won the Action and Adventure category of Divine Magazine’s Book Awards.
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