The Blue Ridge Project
The Project
Book One
Neil Rochford
Genre: Dark Suspense/Paranormal
Date of Publication: May 6 2016
Number of pages: 260
Word Count: 65,500
Cover Artist: ebooklaunch.com
Book Description:
Conspiracy. Murder. Secret experiments. Mind control. A detective, a journalist and a rich deviant struggle with their pasts as their actions set them on a collision course with each other and The Project.
Detective Andrea Nox has been asked to quietly investigate a bizarre and violent murder-suicide that could have consequences for Beacon City and the people in charge. Dead ends and odd clues are hindering her efforts, and when another similar murder occurs, she has to juggle the investigation and her own troubled past with the Beacon City Police Department.
Journalist Robert Duncan is visiting home after a personal crisis when the unthinkable happens, and secrets are unearthed about his family and his place in it. His involvement in a dangerous and far-reaching conspiracy grows as he uncovers information that implicates powerful people in horrible crimes.
Frank Mortimer, disturbed son of a wealthy and influential family, is taking part in an experimental program that has promised to make him better. However, with the shadowy and powerful group known only as The Project behind the program, what he is getting better at could prove disastrous for everyone else, as a dangerous power is unlocked inside him...
Their paths will converge in a shocking story of murder, conspiracy and clandestine experiments taking place that could change the world.
Excerpt:
The car that had
followed Frank’s van out of the city rolled down the same route Frank had
taken, belching exhaust occasionally. It was a gray sedan, with a bumper
sticker that said 'If You’re Reading This, You’re Too Close!' As with Frank’s
van, the driver had chosen a car that wouldn’t draw attention or stick in a
memory. It was as if the owner had used the word “nondescript” when the
salesperson asked what type of car he wanted.
Said owner was
Graham Turner, a self-made journalist according to him, a bottom-feeding
paparazzo according to almost everybody else. His purview was the lifestyles of
the rich, the famous, and the mentionables, especially their bad habits and
indiscretions. The most money was to be made in the latter and Turner had made
his meager living through catching people of note with their pants down,
figuratively or otherwise.
His mission
today was to catch a Mortimer doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. A
picture of the son, Frank, doing something untoward could pay out massively.
Turner didn’t care if it was through sale of the picture or blackmail, just as
long as he got his payday.
He was sure the
squeaky-clean bachelor was up to no good, driving out here in the middle of
nowhere in a busted-up van when his family was rich enough to have a foundation
in their name. Turner parked a good distance from the van, reached around to
the back seat to grab his camera with the long-distance lens, and stepped out
onto the tarmac.
He began to feel
ill immediately. He broke out in a sweat and his stomach churned like a washing
machine at the start of a spin cycle. He stood leaning against the front of the
car for a second, a headache thumping behind his eyeballs, and a loud ringing
in his ears. He wiped his soaked forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and
started to make his way through the grass, searching for a decent vantage
point.
Around forty
paces in, close to the warehouse, his headache intensified massively. The pain
shot up and down his body, and he felt a pop inside his skull. His left leg
went dead and useless beneath him, and he groaned as he fell to his knees. The
camera fell and smashed apart on the ground. He heard another pop, like a tiny
balloon being pricked with a needle inside his ears, then he fell forward onto
the remains of his equipment.
The man with
'SECURITY' written across his cap came sauntering over the grass toward
Turner’s body. He rolled it over with one boot-clad foot and saw the burst
capillaries in Turner’s eyes: They were as red as the eyes of a B-movie
vampire, and just as dead.
Hell of a tune
they play, the man thought as he went through Turner’s pockets for the keys to
the gray sedan. As he stood up, he double-checked his earplugs, as he often did
after finding someone who had come too close, and strolled over to the car to
put it out of sight. The body could wait. He couldn’t even see it from the car,
the grass deep enough to hide it. He saw a small flock of birds flying
overhead, wheeling to make a wide detour around the building nearby.
Birds are
smarter than people. He chuckled, proud of his philosophical revelation, and
got into the driver’s seat of the almost unnoticeable car.
About the Author:
Neil Rochford is a freelance writer who loves fiction where bad things happen. After more than five years traveling from continent to continent and a few short stories, he finally got to work on his first book, and hopes to continue writing as many as he can. Originally from Ireland, he speaks three languages and has lived in Estonia, Brazil, France and Spain. He is a staff writer for the popular Irish podcast and website Those Conspiracy Guys.
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1 comment:
Thanks for the feature Roxanne! I hope that your readers enjoy it!
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