Title: ANGEL IN AN IRON RINGGenre: Adult Mystery
My Main Character’s Most Stressful Relationship is with Gabe Alvarez. As children, Max and Gabe were closer than brothers. As adults, Gabe lies in a coma, brain dead. Max blames himself because he led Gabe into the situation resulting in his fate. After losing Gabe, Max suffers a psychotic break. He remains friendless throughout high school, suffering the effects alone and in silence. Now an adult, Max feels he doesn’t merit any close companionship because of his role, and pushes everyone away so he won’t be hurt again.
When dealing with the effects of childhood trauma, most people have a choice - confront it, or run from it. Detective Max Herczeg does both.
Max’s memoir becomes a bestseller with his history of drug rings, rescue missions, and a serial killer he once called friend. He has shared his ordeal, and no longer feels the need to discuss it, choosing instead to focus on his career, his doting wife, and his not-so-subtle mistress.
But a sniper's bullet reminds Max that his past is still his own. He survives the sniper, thanks to an emerald-eyed little blond girl, but he can’t give her any credit; per his wife (and some well-placed TV cameras), she doesn’t exist. Well, until he develops some personal photographs. She's in them - all of them.
By surviving the assassination attempt, Max involves himself in a double enigma. Discovering the girl's identity comes first, but surviving a past as misfortunate as his own means he has enemies. Enemies who also survived undocumented events of his memoir.
Enemies who want him buried as deep as he buried his past.
First 250 Words:
Chapter 1 Another Day, Another Parade
Detective Max Herczeg walked out of the posh, red-brick apartment building on the edge of Midtown, placing his coat, hat, and solid gold wristwatch on the concrete front steps. Arms spread wide, he allowed the chill March tempest to inundate every inch of his body, dousing his Italian suit. Arrow-sharp droplets pelted down in torrents. Puffs of steam blasted from his mouth, the heat of his breath meeting the frigid air feeding the downpour. The rain washed away any obvious trace of Miranda. No scent, no hair, no lipstick.
Cheating is such hard work.
Finally, he felt clean enough from Miranda to continue. He put on his coat and hat, his shoulders slumping under the hefty weight of soaked leather. The watch he placed in an inner coat pocket, checking the time before he scurried from the stoop. Four-fifteen A.M.
Thunder overhead shook the ground underfoot; the storm showed no sign of stopping.
He thought about the St. Patrick’s Day parade, only a few hours from then, and resented ever giving money to the mayor.
Maybe the parade will be rained out, he thought. First time for everything.
Max walked along the dark road, stopping when something solid hit his thigh from a secondary coat pocket. He reached in, retrieving a small disposable camera he’d bought for the parade. Further along the storm-obscured lane, a cab stopped at a red light. He ran to it, tapping the glass with a ruby-wrapped finger.