Allison Brennan introduced readers to an ambitious FBI Special Agent and an edgy police detective in The Third to Die and in her next book in the Costa and Quinn series, Tell No Lies, we find out what the second case brings to the new FBI Mobile Response Team. Let's see what the author has to say about the new book and other fun stuff.
Q&A with
Allison Brennan
Q:
How much research do you do before beginning to write a book? Do you go to
locations, ride with police, go to see an autopsy, etc.
A: Research is one of my favorite parts
of writing. Because I’ve been writing for more than a decade, I’ve been doing
research for just as long. I’ve been to most locations I’ve written about,
though sometimes long ago (and I rely on Google Earth, books, and friends to
keep me up to date about changes.) I’ve gone on ride-alongs with law
enforcement, I’ve been to the morgue twice and observed not only an autopsy,
but have talked to technicians and toured the crypt.
I also went through the FBI Citizens
Academy in 2008, when I was in the middle of writing my 8th book. After that, I
had multiple agents to call upon for help with details; I toured Quantico
twice, the national FBI Headquarters, interviewed both senior and brand new
agents about their different experiences in the academy and on the job, and
participated in numerous SWAT training drills as a “role player.” What does that
mean? I’ve played the part of the bad guy, a hostage, and a victim based on the
scenario they were training for. I’ve observed dozens of different scenarios as
they drill them, including high-risk traffic stops. I once observed a live
ammunition drill from the catwalk, which was both scary and exhilarating.
I recognize that I can’t put everything I
learn into my books, and that because I write fiction sometimes reality is too
slow and I need to speed things up (trust me, you don’t want to watch my
characters doing paperwork!) But I try to write my books to be as realistic as
possible.
Q:
What’s your favorite part of writing suspense?
A: Everything! I love suspense. I read it
as a child (Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, Agatha Christie, Stephen King) and I
read it now. I love romantic suspense (I’m a sucker for happy endings); police
procedurals; and race-against-time thrillers. When I’m writing, my absolute
favorite part is when everything comes together near the end and I have that
“AHA!” moment. It’s exhilarating and worth every struggle along the way.
I’d also have to say that suspense is
part of every story. If there’s no suspense, it’s a boring character study. I
want to have that physical reaction in my story -- the sense of impending doom
and “OMG, how are they going to get out of this?” -- and if I get it while
writing, my readers will feel it when reading.
Q:
From the books you’ve written or read, who has been your favorite villain and
why?
A: The Man in Black, Randall Flagg, is
one of the most compelling and scary villains I’ve read, created by the master
Stephen King in THE STAND (though Flagg has also shown up in other books.)
Favorite? Maybe not. But definitely the villain that stuck with me for the rest
of my life. In my books, I’ve created a couple of villains who I’ve actually
sympathized with (while condemning their crimes) because their backstories are
so tragic -- such as in TEMPTING EVIL. My favorite villain to write was Elise
Hansen Hunt who popped up in several books, including the recent COLD AS ICE.
She is young, reckless, violent, and I never knew what she might do. I’ve
written several serial killers, who are always scary because you never quite
know what’s going to happen with them. For example, in the first Quinn &
Costa book, the killer was so focused and determined I worried he would outwit
my good guys.
Villains should be both believable and
realistic, so sometimes the most compelling are those who you can almost
sympathize with, or at least understand, even when you are horrified by their
crimes.
Q:
What hobbies do you enjoy?
A: Reading (duh!), baseball (go Giants!),
television (too many shows to list), hiking (except during the Arizona summer),
shooting at the gun range (my daughter is a cop and great instructor), video
games (with my boys -- at least that’s my excuse.) A little known fact about me
… for years I used to make my own soap. It was fun, relaxing, and always made
the house smell amazing.
Q:
Do you write under one name for all books across genres or do you have other
AKA's?
A: Just me! Allison Brennan is my legal
name. In fact, I once told my husband if he ever left, I was keeping the name.
Ha.
Funny story -- I bought my website domain
allisonbrennan.com right after I sold my first book. This was 2004. I wanted to
make sure I had it when I had books to put up there. A year later I got an
email from someone named Allison Brennan. She tried to buy the site but
couldn’t -- she was also a writer (a journalist) and wanted to know how I
picked the name and if she could buy it from me. Small world! (There’s also an
Allison Brennan who is a Olympic diver, an Allison Brennan who is a gymnast,
and an Allison Brennan who lived in my town -- we used the same pharmacy, the
same vet, went to the same church, and both had sons named Luke. Yet we never
met!)
Q:
Do you have pets?
A: Yes. Life just wouldn’t be as much fun
without animals. I used to have chickens when we lived on a couple acres in
California. I miss them--they were so much fun, and fresh chicken eggs are so
much better than store bought. Now, we have two cats and a dog (a ten-year-old
black lab). My son has a bearded dragon (lizard) who I adore as well. Who would
have thought lizards could have so much personality? And we have a goldfish
named Filet.
Allison
Brennan
On Sale Date: March 30, 2021
9780778331469
Hardcover
$27.99 USD
432 pages
About
the book:
New York
Times bestselling author Allison Brennan's newest
thriller again features an edgy young female LAPD detective and an ambitious
special agent, both part of a mobile FBI unit that is brought in to investigate
the unsolved murder of a college activist and its alleged ties to high stakes
crime in the desert Southwest.
Something mysterious is killing the wildlife
in the desert hills just south of Tucson, Arizona. When Emma Perez, a
college-intern-turned activist, sets out to collect her own evidence, she too
ends up dead. Local law enforcement seems slow to get involved. That’s when the
mobile FBI unit goes undercover to infiltrate the town and the copper refinery
located there in search of possible leads. Costa and Quinn find themselves
scouring the desolate landscape that keeps on giving up clues to something much
darker—greed, child trafficking, other killings. As the body count continues to
add up, it's clear they have stumbled on more than they bargained for. Now they
must figure out who is at the heart of this mayhem and stop them before more
innocent lives are lost.
Brennan's latest novel brims with complex
characters and an ever-twisting plotline, a compelling thriller that delivers.
Buy
Links:
Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/books/tell-no-lies-9780778331469/9780778331469
Indie Bound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9780778331469
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0778331466/httpwwwalli0f-20
Books A Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9780778331469
Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B087JTYYSY/httpwwwalli0f-20
Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tell-no-lies-allison-brennan/1136909250?ean=9781488077142
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/tell-no-lies-16
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Allison_Brennan_Tell_No_Lies?id=RHDeDwAAQBAJ
Ibooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/tell-no-lies/id1509698872
Sneak Peek Excerpt:
Prologue
Two months ago
Tucson, Arizona
Billy Nixon had been waiting his
whole life to have sex with Emma Perez. Okay, not all his life. Two and a half
years. It just felt that way since he’d fallen in love with her the day they
met in Microeconomics, on his first day of classes at the University of
Arizona. Love at first sight is a cliché, and until that moment in time Billy
didn’t believe in any of that bullshit. His parents were divorced, his older
sister had been in and out of bad relationships since she was fifteen, and his
friends slept around as if the apocalypse was upon them.
But
in the back of his mind, he remembered the story about how his grandparents met
the day before his grandfather shipped off to the Korean War, how they wrote
letters every week, and how three years later his grandfather came home and
they married. They were married for fifty-six years before his grandfather
died; his grandmother died three months later.
That’s
what Billy wanted. Without having to go to war.
It
took Emma two years before the same feeling clicked inside her. They’d been
friends. They both dated other people (well, Billy pretended to date because he
couldn’t in good conscience lead another girl on when he knew that he didn’t
care about her like he cared about Emma). But it was three months ago, when
Emma lost her ride home to Denver for the Christmas holidays and he found her
crying in her dorm room, that he said, “I’ll drive you there,” even though he
was a Tucson native and lived with his dad to save money.
From
then on, she looked at him differently. Like her eyes had been opened and she
saw in him what he saw in her. From that point on, they were inseparable.
The
morning after they first made love, Billy knew there was no other girl, no
other woman, with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Call him a
romantic, but Emma was it. He had started saving money for a ring. They were
finishing up their third year of college, so had a year left, but that was
okay. He did well in school and had a part-time job. He already had a job lined
up for the summer in Phoenix that paid well, and he could live there cheaply
with his sister—though the thought of spending two months with his emotional,
self-absorbed sibling was a big negative. And the idea of leaving Emma for two
months made him miserable. But if he did this, he’d have enough money, not only
for a ring, but to get an apartment when they graduated. And—maybe—his job this
summer would be a permanent thing when he was done with college next spring,
which meant he’d have stability. Something he desperately wanted to provide for
Emma.
Emma
rolled over in bed and sighed. He loved when his dad was out of town and he had
the house to himself, since they had no privacy in Emma’s dorm. Billy kissed
the top of her head. He thought she was still sleeping, or in that dreamy state
right before you wake up. It wasn’t even dawn, but how could he go back to
sleep with Emma Perez naked in his bed?
“Billy?” she
said.
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you a
favor?”
“Anything.” “I
need to go to Mount Wrightson today. The Patagonia side of the mountain.”
“Okay.”
An odd request,
but Emma spent a lot of time these days in the Santa Rita Mountains and
surrounding areas. She was a business and environmental sciences double major
who worked part-time at the Arizona Resources and Environmental Agency—AREA, as
they called it—the state environmental protection agency.
“For work, school
or fun?” he said.
“Last week my
Geology class went out to Mount Wrightson and we hiked partway down the Arizona
Trail. I noticed several dead birds off the trail. My professor didn’t think it
was anything, but it bothered me. So I talked to my boss, Frank, at work, and
he said if my professor didn’t think it was unusual, then it wasn’t. But I couldn’t
stop thinking about it, so went back a couple days ago on my own. One of the
closed trails has been used recently. And I found more dead birds, more than a
dozen.”
“Which means
what?”
“I don’t know
yet, but birds are especially vulnerable to contaminated water because of their
small size and metabolism. Remember when I told you my boss got an anonymous
letter two years ago? Signed A Concerned Citizen and postmarked from Patagonia?
The letter writer claimed that several local people were being made sick and
that the water supply was tainted. Frank tested the water supply himself after
that, but he didn’t find anything abnormal. So he dismissed it. But no one has
been able to explain why those people were sick.”
“And
remember—there was no evidence that anyone was sick,” Billy said. “The
letter was anonymous. It could have just been a disgruntled prankster. Didn’t
Frank talk to the health center about the complaint? Didn’t he investigate the
local copper refinery?”
“Yes,” she said
and sighed in a way that made him feel like he was missing something. “Maybe
two years ago it wasn’t real,” she said in a way that made Billy think she
really didn’t believe that. “But now my gut tells me something’s going on, and
I want to know what.”
“You told your
boss about the dead birds. You said he was a good guy, right?”
“Yeah, but I
think he still thinks I’m a tree hugger.”
“You certainly
gave that impression when you first started there and questioned their entire
record-keeping process and the way Frank had conducted that original
investigation.”
“I’ve apologized
a hundred times. I realize now how much goes into keeping accurate records, and
that AREA uses one of the best systems in the country. I’ve learned so much
from Frank. I really believe I can make a difference now, and be smart about it
too. All I want is to give him facts, Billy. And the only way I can do that is
if I go back up there.”
Billy didn’t have
the same passion for the environment that Emma had, but he loved her commitment
to nature and how she continued to learn and adapt to new and changing
technologies and ideas.
“Whatever you
want to do, I’m with you,” he said. He’d follow her through the Amazon jungle
if she asked him to.
“It’s going to be
a beautiful day,” she said, as if he needed encouragement to do anything for
her. “I just want to check out the trails near where I found the second flock
of birds. We can have a picnic, make a day out of it.”
“Good call,
bribing me with food.”
She smiled. “I
can bribe you with something else too.” Then she kissed him.
* * *
An hour later the
sun was up and they stopped for breakfast in the tiny town of Sonoita,
southeast of Tucson where Highways 82 and 83 intersected. Emma had been quiet
the entire drive, taking notes while analyzing a topo map.
As they ate, Emma
showed him the map and her notes. “The dead birds I found last week with the
class were Mexican jays. The ones I found after that on my own were trogons.
I’ve been studying both of their migration patterns. The jays have a wider
range. The trogons are much more localized. It seems unlikely that they just
dropped dead out of the sky for no reason. I’m thinking, logically, they might
have been poisoned. I don’t see any large body of water near where I found
them, but there’s a pond here that forms during the rainy season.” She pointed.
While Billy
couldn’t read a topo map to save his life, he trusted her thinking.
“That pond, or
this stream—” she pointed again “—are right under one of their migration
routes. I’ve also highlighted some other seasonal streams, here and here.”
“That seems like
a huge area. North and south of Eighty-Two? How can we cover all of that
in one day? Where are the roads?”
“We can hike.”
He frowned. Hike,
sure. But this looked like a three-day deal.
“Emma, maybe you
should talk to your boss again, show him the map and tell him what you
suspect.”
“But I haven’t
found anything yet—just on the map!”
Tears sprouted to
her eyes, and Billy panicked. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “Okay,
what are we doing, then?”
“If you don’t
want to help me, Billy, just say so.”
“I do, Emma. I
just need to know the full plan, and I don’t understand your notes. I don’t
even know where exactly I’m going.”
“This is the town
of Patagonia, see?” She trailed her finger along one of the paths that went
from Patagonia up the mountain. “And this is Mount Wrightson, to the north.”
Billy had hiked
to the peak of Mount Wrightson once. He wasn’t into nature and hiking like
Emma, but he liked being outdoors, so he took a conservation class that doubled
as a science requirement. His idea of being outdoors was playing baseball or
volleyball or riding his bike.
“Okay.”
“We need to hike
halfway up Wrightson. I found a service road that I think we can use to get
most of the way to the trailhead. Okay?”
“If you’re sure
about this,” he said.
She frowned and
looked back down at her map. He hated that he’d made her sad.
“I’m sorry,” he
said. “It’s fine.”
“You don’t want
to go.”
“I do. I just
don’t want us to get lost.”
She smiled
sweetly at him. “Stick with me and you won’t.”
That was the
smile he needed. He took her hand, interlocked their fingers. “I trust you.”
“Good.” She gave
him a quick kiss, and they left the café and got back on the road.
Several hours
later, Billy wasn’t as accommodating. They’d parked at the end of a dirt road
near the trailhead halfway up the southeastern side of the mountain and been
hiking through rough terrain ever since. The landscape was dotted with some
trees and pines, but not as dense or pretty or green as on the top of the
mountain. The land wasn’t dry—the wet winter and snow runoff had ensured
that—so the area was hard to navigate, and the paths they were on weren’t
maintained. Billy doubted they were trails at all.
The hiking had
been fine up until lunch. At noon, they ate their picnic, which was a nice
break, because then they had sex and relaxed in the middle of nature. It wasn’t
quiet—they heard birds and a light breeze and the rustling of critters. A
family of jackrabbits crossed only feet from them as they lay on the blanket
Billy had brought. Afterward, Billy suggested they head back to the truck. He
was tired, and they had already walked miles, which meant as many miles back to
the truck.
But Emma didn’t
want to leave. He was pretty sure she didn’t know exactly what she was looking
for, but that she had this idea that if she walked long and far enough, she’d
find evidence to support her theory that something nefarious had been happening
out here to kill all those birds.
So Billy kept his
mouth shut and followed her.
By four that
afternoon, Billy was pretty sure Emma had gotten them lost. They had seemed to
zigzag across the southern face of Mount Wrightson. He was tired, and even the
birds had gone quiet, as if they were getting ready to settle in and nest for
the night, even though sunset was still a few hours away.
He stopped next
to a tree that was taller than most and that provided much-needed shade. It was
only seventy-six degrees, but the sky was clear and the sun had been beating
down on them all afternoon. He was glad he’d thought to bring sunscreen,
otherwise they’d both be fried by now.
He dropped the
large backpack he’d been carrying that contained their picnic stuff, blanket,
water, first aid kit and emergency supplies. He knew enough about the desert
not to go hiking without food and water to last at least twenty-four hours.
Like if his truck didn’t start when they got back, they needed to be okay. So
he had extra water—but he didn’t tell Emma that. It was for emergencies only.
“We’re down to
our last water bottles,” he said. He’d paced himself so he had two left,
whereas Emma had gone through all six of hers.
He handed her one
of the two. “Drink.”
She sipped,
handed it back to him. “Thirty more minutes, honey. See this?” She pointed to
the damn map that he wanted to tear into pieces now, except without it he was
positive they would be lost here forever. “That’s the large seasonal pond I was
talking about. It’ll dry up before summer, according to the topo charts.”
How she could
stay so cheerful when he was hot and tired and, frankly, bored, he didn’t know.
“How far?”
“Down this path,
not more than two hundred yards. Three hundred, maybe.”
He looked at her.
Implored her to let them start heading back.
“Why don’t you
stay here and wait,” she said.
“You don’t mind?”
She smiled,
walked over and kissed him. “Promise.”
Twenty minutes
later she was back where Billy waited. She looked so sad and defeated. “I’m
ready to go,” she said.
“We’ll come back
next weekend, okay? We’ll bring a tent and food and camp overnight.”
She looked
surprised at his suggestion, a smile on her face. “You mean that?”
“Absolutely.”
She threw her
arms around him. “I love you, Billy Nixon.”
His heart nearly
stopped. “I love you, too,” he said and held her. He wanted to freeze this
moment, relive it every day of his life.
“We’re actually
closer to your truck than you think—we made a circle. First we went north, then
west, then south, now we’re going east again. When we get back to the main
trail at the fork back there, we go left rather than right, and the truck is
about half a mile up.”
He was impressed;
he had underestimated her. Maybe they weren’t as lost as he thought; maybe he
was the only one with a shitty sense of direction. But that was okay, because
Emma loved him, and they were going to be together forever. He knew it in his
heart and his head, and she’d always be there to navigate.
They drove down
the mountain, the road rough at first, then it smoothed out as they got near
town. They headed west on 82, deciding to drive the scenic route back to
Tucson. Emma marked her map to highlight where they’d already walked, when
suddenly she looked up. “Hey, can you get off here?”
“Have to pee
again?”
“Ha ha. No.
There’s several old roads that go south. Sonoita Creek, when it floods, cuts
fast-flowing streams into the valley. We had a couple late storms this winter.
I just want to check the area quickly—we’ll come back next weekend. But if I
see anything that tells me the streams were running a few weeks ago, I want to
come back here first. Okay? Please?”
Billy was tired,
but Emma loved him, so he happily turned off the highway and followed her
directions. They drove about a mile along a very rough unpaved road until they
reached a narrow path. His truck couldn’t go down there—there were small cacti
sprouting up all over the place, and the chances of him getting a flat
increased exponentially.
Emma got out, and
Billy reluctantly followed. She was excited. “See that grove of trees down
there?”
He did. It looked
more like overgrown brush, but it was greener than anything else around them.
“I’ll bet there’s
still water. This is on the outer circle of where the birds could have flown
from. I just want to check.”
“The path looks
kinda steep and rocky. You sure about this?”
She kissed him.
“I’m sure. Stay here, okay? I won’t be long.”
“Ten minutes.”
“Fifteen.” She kissed him again, put her backpack on and headed down the path.
He sat in the
back of his truck and watched Emma navigate the downward slope. He doubted this
“path” had been used anytime in the last few years. From his vantage point, he
saw several darker areas, plants dense and green, and suspected that Emma was
right—this valley would get water after big storms.
Emma was
beautiful and smart. What wasn’t to love?
He watched until
she disappeared from view into the brush.
He frowned. He
should have gone with her. Was he just sulking because he was tired and hungry?
Predators were
out here—coyotes, bobcats, javelinas. Javelinas could be downright mean even if
you did nothing to provoke them. Not to mention that these mountains bordered
the corridor for trafficking illegal immigrants. Billy had taken a criminal
justice class his freshman year and they touched upon that topic. He didn’t
want to encounter a two-legged predator any more than one on four legs.
What kind of man
was he if he couldn’t suck it up and help the woman he loved?
So he grabbed his
backpack and headed down the path Emma had taken. He was in pretty good shape,
but this hike had wasted him. Emma must have been fitter than he was, because
she’d barely slowed down all day. After this, they’d go to his place,
shower—maybe he could convince Emma to take a shower with him—and then he’d
take her out to dinner. After all, they had something to celebrate: the first
time they said “I love you.” They’d go to El Charro, maybe. It was Billy’s
favorite Mexican food in Tucson, not too expensive, great food. Take an Uber so
they could have a couple of drinks.
He wished he were
there right now. His stomach growled as he stumbled and then caught himself
before he fell on his ass.
He was halfway
down the hill when a scream pierced the mountainside. Billy ran the rest of the
way down the narrow, rocky trail. “Emma!”
No answer.
He yelled louder
for her. “Emma! Emma!”
He slipped when
the trail made a sudden drop as it went steeply down to a small pond—the
seasonal one that Emma must have been looking for. The beauty of the spot with
its trees and boulders all around was striking in the desert, and for a split
second he thought it was a mirage. Then all he could think about was that Emma
had been bitten by a rattlesnake, or had fallen into the water, or had slipped
and broken her leg.
But she didn’t
respond to his repeated calls.
“Emma!”
He stood on the
edge of the pond, frantically searching for her. Looking for wild animals, a bobcat
that she may have surprised. A herd of javelinas that might have attacked her.
Anything.
Movement to his
right startled him, and he turned around quickly.
In the shade, he
saw someone. He shouted, wondering if Emma was disorientated or had gone the wrong
way. But whatever he thought he saw was now gone.
Then he saw her.
Emma’s body was
half in, half out of the pond, a good hundred feet beyond him, obscured in part
by an outcrop of large rocks on the water’s edge. He ran to her and dropped to
his knees. His first thought was that she had slipped and hit her head. Some
blood glistened on her scalp.
“Emma, where are
you hurt? Emma?”
She didn’t
respond. Then he saw the blood on a hand-sized rock on the edge of the pond.
And he felt more blood on the back of her skull.
“No, no, no!”
He saw her chest
rise and fall. She was alive, but unconscious. He pulled out his phone, but
there was no signal. He had to get help, but he couldn’t leave her here.
Billy picked Emma
up and, as quickly as he could, carried her up the steep hillside to his truck.
As he drove back
to the main road, he called 911. An ambulance met him in the closest town,
Patagonia.
But by then Emma
was already dead.
Excerpted from Tell No Lies
by Allison Brennan, Copyright © 2021 by Allison
Brennan. Published by MIRA Books.
About
the author:
ALLISON BRENNAN is the New York Times and USA
TODAY bestselling author of over thirty novels. She has been nominated for Best
Paperback Original Thriller by International Thriller Writers and the Daphne du
Maurier Award. A former consultant in the California State Legislature, Allison
lives in Arizona with her husband, five kids and assorted pets.
Social
Links:
Author website: https://www.allisonbrennan.com/
Facebook: @AllisonBrennan
Twitter: @Allison_Brennan
Instagram: @abwrites
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/52527.Allison_Brennan
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