ABOUT THE BOOK
Every Emily Stone Thriller is a stand-alone novel.From the multi-award winning thriller series:
What happens when one California community has a disturbing spike in homicides? It catapults cops into a deadly game of murder. Frozen human body parts hideously displayed at the crime scenes offers a horrifying interpretation that only a sadistic serial killer could design—and execute.
On the hunt for a complex serial killer, vigilante detective Emily Stone must face her most daring case yet. Stone’s proven top-notch profiling skills and forensic expertise may not be enough this time.
Young and ambitious, Detective Danny Starr, catches the homicide cases and discovers that it will test everything he knows about police work and the criminal mind. Can he handle these escalating cases or will the police department have to call in reinforcements—the FBI.
Emily Stone’s covert team pushes with extreme urgency to unravel the grisly clues, while keeping their identities hidden from the police. With one last-ditch effort, Stone dangles someone she loves as bait to draw out the killer. She then forces the killer out of their comfort zone with her partner Rick Lopez, and with help from a longtime friend Jordan Smith. A revelation of the serial killer’s identity leaves the team with volatile emotions that could destroy them.
The killer continues to taunt and expertly manipulate the police, as well as Stone’s team, and as they run out of time—they leave behind everyone and everything—in Dead Cold.
LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT INTERVIEW WITH JENNIFER CHASE
A few of your favorite things:
My husband, my German Shepherd, and my favorite pair of worn blue jeans.
Things you need to throw out:
A few things in my refrigerator.
Things you need in order to write:
Quiet atmosphere, 2-4 hours of time, and bare feet.
Things that hamper your writing:
Procrastination. Procrastination. Procrastination.
Things you love about writing:
The creation process and research. I love learning new things and sharing with readers.
Things you hate about writing:
There’s not enough time to write ALL the books I want to write.
Things you love about where you live:
The beach. Great photo opportunities. Great hiking.
Things that make you want to move:
High cost of living. Experience a new place and new people.
Things you never want to run out of:
Fictional storylines and my Zevia cola.
Things you wish you’d never bought:
Those pricey three and half-inch strappy heels that I’ve never found a place to wear yet.
Words that describe you:
Reserved. Hardworking. Loyal.
Words that describe you but you wish they didn’t:
Anxious. Tough. Obsessive/Compulsive.
Favorite foods:
Anything Italian. French fries. Most salads.
Things that make you want to throw up:
Beets. The smell of cooking cabbage. Liver.
Favorite smell:
Anything lavender and citrus.
Something that makes you hold your nose:
Car exhaust and garbage cans.
Something you’re really good at:
Jigsaw puzzles.
Something you’re really bad at:
Organizing my garage.
Last best thing you ate:
A plate of homemade raviolis.
Last thing you regret eating:
A hot fudge sundae with the works.
Things you always put in your books:
Suspense, forensics, and bad guys.
Things you never put in your books:
Gratuitous sex or violence.
Things to say to an author:
Where do you get your ideas? Why did you want to be a writer. What inspires you?
Things to say to an author if you want to be fictionally killed off in their next book:
Are you going to get a real job? How much do you make? You must be rich.
Things that make you happy:
Good food, friends, and a great day at the beach.
Things that drive you crazy:
Traffic. Rude people. People who don’t train or pick up after their dogs.
Most daring thing you’ve ever done:
Took a fast motorcycle ride from a complete stranger.
Something you chickened out from doing:
Skydiving.
EXCERPT FROM DEAD COLD
ESCAPE WAS IMPOSSIBLE. TEARS STREAMED down her face as she sat in the darkness and waited for the man to return. There was no other choice—but to wait.
She hadn’t eaten anything in three days and had only a limited amount of water—her strength continued to fade with every hour. With her wrists and ankles secured with duct tape, her skin stung with pain every time she struggled to move. At least the man had peeled the tape from her eyes and mouth so that she could see something besides pitch-blackness.
Even if she could escape, the only way to safety was jumping into the frigid water, but she could not swim and would drown before ever reaching the shore.
The only thing thirteen-year-old Kayla Swanson thought about was home. Fond memories flashed through her mind of her parents, her little brother, and her dog Charlie. She was never going to see them again. Their smiling faces were forever etched in Kayla’s mind, and she constantly held them close to her heart.
The boat rocked, and seemed to sway more violently as the tide flooded in and out of the harbor. Kayla could hear a consistent clanking noise above her as the boat rolled back and forth. The sound had a hypnotic quality, and kept her mind on something else besides when the man would return and what he would do next.
Her lips were dry and cracked as she bordered on dehydration. Even her tears dried on her cheeks, leaving her skin stiff and drawn. Her body began to shake, not only from fear, but also because of the extreme exhaustion and the constant dampness all around her.
The boat rocked more, but this time it shifted from the opposite sides. Kayla heard soft footsteps above, which she knew wasn’t her captor’s heavy walk. She strained her eyes in the darkness and thought she saw a thin shadow stealthily move along the upper deck.
Was it a ghost?
Kayla remembered a television series where a team of people hunted ghosts and they had said that ghosts could occupy any type of space, house, property, and even a boat.
She blinked her eyes several times and hoped that she could catch a glimpse of the ghost again. With every ounce of declining strength, Kayla scooted her body closer to the narrow stairs leading to the upper deck.
Painfully craning her neck, she strained to see something up in the darkness.
The dark shadowed areas played tricks on her eyes—it was there, then it wasn’t.
She waited for several minutes.
Nothing appeared.
The only sounds she heard were the usual boat noises she had grown accustomed to hearing.
Whatever she thought she heard was gone now. It was most likely her imagination trying to give her some hope and a few moments break from her dire circumstances.
As she relaxed her shoulders and leaned back against the wall, the reality of her world pressing down hard. Tears streamed down her face. She tasted the saltiness that settled around her mouth. Her last moments were approaching, and there was nothing she could do.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Connect with Jennifer:
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
Buy the book:
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