The Wayward Path by Mark Love is a Stress Busting Book Festival pick #mystery #crimefiction #policeprocedural #mustread #giveaway
- N. N. Light
- 7 hours ago
- 6 min read
Title: The Wayward Path
Author: Mark Love
Genre: Mystery, Police Procedural
Book Blurb:
Charity Gray was an intelligent, inquisitive teen who disappeared fifteen years earlier. When her body is discovered, it should be a typical cold case. Before the Detroit police can get started, the FBI commandeers the investigation, with a prime suspect in mind: retired mobster Leo Agonasti.
When Agonasti slips through their grasp, he reaches out to Sergeant Jefferson Chene. Their unusual friendship draws Chene into the thick of the case. Burdened with two reluctant FBI agents, Chene is working against the clock and the feds to find the real killer.
Chene senses they are getting close to the answers. Will he be able to solve the murder and clear the old mobster of this heinous crime before time runs out?
Excerpt:
Several of the houses we’d visited earlier had been empty. Regular people working regular jobs. We were going to swing back through them after five, just in case. There are times when you get nothing. As Pappy was fond of saying, ‘Sumtimes y’all is good. And sumtimes y’all gets lucky. And sumtimes it’s a lil bit of both’. I was hoping this was one of those times.
Banks surprised me. She’d gotten a clerk at the bureau to pull up details on all the names of the residents in our area, going back to the date of the murder. If the people had moved, I was hoping we could get their current addresses. Somewhere, somehow, someone had seen something. Young girls don’t just disappear in the middle of a spring afternoon without a trace.
We were down to the last name, an older couple named Griffith. The house was on the corner of a residential side street. Banks popped her door as I rolled to a stop. Stretching as I got out, there was a flicker of movement from between two houses across the street that caught my eye. I heard a dull snick that was too familiar by far. Banks moved forward, letting the door slam behind her.
“Down!” I dove across the hood and tackled her as the first shot rang out. What followed sounded like an open session at a firing range. Several guns were involved. The windows of the Pontiac imploded.
“What the hell!” she screamed.
“Stay low. Keep the engine block in front of you!”
Banks had her weapon drawn. Crawling toward the rear, I drew my gun. Risking a peek through the shattered windows, I saw three guys spread out across the street. Two had assault rifles of some sort. The guy on the left was tall and lanky. The one on the right was short and stocky. The man in the middle had a revolver in each hand like a character from an old Western. He was methodically firing, first one gun, then the other, taking his time with his shots.
I squirmed low, sliding off the curb and under the Pontiac. If they blew the tires, I wouldn’t have much time to get out before the car settled on its rims. But the element of surprise might be in my favor. Quickly I lined up the guy to the right.
A squeeze of the trigger sent three rounds at his legs. He danced when hit, still firing his assault weapon. Bullets sprayed the air. Without hesitation, I swung to the left and got off three more shots. One was close. But then the rear tire exploded with a bang. I wiggled backward, not wanting to push my luck.
Banks was kneeling by the front wheel. She was pumping rounds at the guy on the right. As I glanced through what remained of the windows, she nailed him in the face. He dropped in a heap. One down.
I slid closer to the trunk and aimed at the guy with the rifle. He staggered to his left. Banks was beside me now. She slumped against the rear door. Her face was ashen. There wasn’t enough light remaining to see much else of her.
“You hit?”
“In the side. Don’t know if it was a round or shrapnel.” She gritted her teeth. “Hurts like hell. But I got that guy when you shot him in the legs.”
“Two left.”
She nodded. “You got a plan?”
“Wait until they’re out of ammunition or reinforcements arrive.”
“That’s not a plan!”
“The rifle’s gotta run out soon. When he goes to switch the clip, that’s when we move.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Cover me. I’m going for that tree to get a better angle,” I said.
There was a chatter as more rounds slammed against the Pontiac. Banks raised up enough to put the barrel of her gun where the backseat window used to be. She risked a glance at me and nodded. I got to my feet and ran. Beyond the driveway was a sizable oak tree. I was hoping it was solid enough to give me some protection. Banks fired. I squeezed off several more shots at the rifleman. Something tugged my arm. I dove for the grass behind the tree.
A metallic clatter sounded across the street. I peeked around the tree’s trunk. The rifleman was down. But so was Banks. The gunslinger stood in the middle of the street, one arm pointed in my direction, the other where Banks had been crouching. My left arm felt funny. A glance at my weapon confirmed it was empty. I pulled the fresh clip from the shoulder holster and managed to load it. I fumbled my left hand in place and racked the slide, sending a fresh shell into the pipe. Bringing the gun up, I pushed off the tree and got to my feet.
The gunslinger was slowly advancing in my direction. With the angle he was taking, the tree wouldn’t do me any good. He lowered his left hand and shoved the gun into his jacket. An evil grin crossed his face.
“Don’t need that one anymore. Now it’s just down to you and me. You’re screwed. You are just so stupid that you don’t realize it yet.”
My gun was pointed at his core. He was only fifteen feet away. “Doubt I could miss from here.”
He rapped knuckles against his chest. “Body armor.”
I didn’t move.
“Latest and greatest, so they say. Can stop a shot from an elephant gun.”
“You’re assuming I’ll shoot for center mass.”
“Of course. That’s what they teach you Boy Scouts.” He started to bring his right hand up to bear on me. “This is state of the art. There’s nothing…”
Tilting my weapon slightly, I fired twice, striking him in the forehead. He flopped backward on the ground. I walked over and kicked his gun underneath the Pontiac’s rear wheels.
“Never was a Boy Scout.”
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What’s your favorite way to combat stress?
I like to exercise or go for a long walk if the weather is good. Either way helps me clear my head and step away from whatever the stressful situation may be.
Why is your featured book a stress busting read?
Getting caught up in a good mystery is a great way to deal with stress. Forget about whatever is stressing you out for a while and discover how Jefferson Chene and the squad deal with a challenging case. You might discover a new favorite series.
Giveaway –
One lucky reader will win a $100 Amazon gift card.
Open internationally.
Runs May 1 – 31, 2025
Drawing will be held on June 1, 2025.
Author Biography:
Mark Love lived for many years in the metropolitan Detroit area, where crime and corruption are always prevalent. A former freelance reporter, Love honed his writing skills covering features and hard news. He is the multi-award-winning author of the Jamie Richmond mysteries, Devious, Vanishing Act, Fleeing Beauty, Stealing Haven and Chasing Favors. Love also writes the Jefferson Chene mystery series, WHY 319? Your Turn to Die and The Wayward Path.
His first standalone mystery, “Rules of Desperation” was released in 2024.
Love’s latest work is the novella “Part-Time Criminal”.
Mark Love resides in west Michigan with his wife, Kim. He enjoys a wide variety of music, books, travel, cooking and exploring the great outdoors.
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