Lost Hours
(A Joe Hooks Mystery)

chapter 1   

I looked intently at the image trapped inside the rearview mirror and saw a man drained of fortitude. Dark lines charted a timeline beneath his eyes like rings of a tree. I could almost map the long weeks of restlessness to the very minute. Blowing out a long breath, I shifted my gaze to the house. I stayed put within the safe haven of the car watching the home we once shared. I was indecisive on whether I should remain inside or leave its warmth for the cold response I would most certainly receive at the door. Everything I cherished lay before me. All I had to do was swallow my pride and step out.

On the second floor, light escaped through a bedroom blind that had suddenly been cracked. Someone was at the window peering out. It was still black outside, and the dark tone of the Mustang made it invisible. I waited until the upstairs light had faded before turning the key and starting the car. I was confident my being there had never been detected.

I drove downtown and pulled over beside a broken parking meter near the corner of Washington Boulevard not far from the convention centers or from the meeting I had later. I felt a need to get some air before my engagement and decided a stroll would clear the dust from my head. It wasn't the first time I'd done this—in the many months since the separation, it had become a place for me to think and to enjoy the stars. Civic Center Drive was peaceful at that hour. There was the occasional shuffling of homeless people that slept in dark places disrupting the quiet but they were only minor distractions.

Street lamps lit the direction down the walkway. The path had a view of the Detroit River and beyond that, resided Canada . Darkness cloaked the reflective water but across the river the city lights of Windsor glistened as if it were the Emerald City Dorothy had sought. At dock, was the Detroit Princess—its decks—dark and quiet. The old styled riverboat, a new attraction to the city, promised entertainment by way of pleasant cruises, spirited music, fine food and drinks. None of which I was in the mood for. I passed the boat with barely a glance.

Stopping close to Hart Plaza , I stared at the stone set of steps that led up to it and remembered the many events Nina, Jamaal and I shared here. We enjoyed ethnic festivals, music concerts, and fireworks. The showground's desolate, empty seats and the waterless fountain in its center mirrored the seclusion I felt in my heart. I faced away and leaned against the security barricade dividing the pavement and the river. My gaze turned upward beyond Windsor 's towering structures made of steel and mortar, and escaped to the heavens. The translucent sky had surrendered itself to the stars. It was a perfect vista of the cosmos, and I was left breathless. It was a moment I wished to share with my son. Regret began to permeate inside me. I should have gotten out of the car—should have talked to my wife—should be there to wake my son for school.

There was a great deal of things I should have—could have done my entire life. Bad decisions surrounded me like a pack of hungry wolves, and I was so tired of it. I spent a lot of time that morning reflecting and wondered if what I was about to pursue would be another regret piled on top of the others. But how could I avoid it? The nightmares were getting worse. My thoughts were interrupted when I heard the sounds of the city starting to wake. The stars had begun their slow retreat and first light embarked on its ascent into the heavens. A chilly early morning October breeze that I had not noticed before during my walk reminded me I had somewhere to be.

Crossing Hart Plaza , I tried not to think of the past. This was a problem in itself, since the answers about the past were what I actually sought. When I reached Jefferson and Woodward, the streets were congested with traffic and hurried people rushed to work. The solitude I enjoyed retreated with the night. It would have taken me ten or fifteen minutes to walk to police headquarters, but I had walked enough and decided to move the Mustang closer to the station. I turned back toward the water and stared out at Windsor . With the daylight, it had lost its majesty—the yellow brick road led not to a magical place where a wizard could fix my problems—but to another city with troubles of its own.

The Friday House is now available in both trade paperback and hardcover formats.
                                                      
                                                                      Blurb

Special Agent Jamaica Kurtz first assignment after returning from a six month long medical leave was supposed to be a simple one. She was to run a psychological profile of two dead terrorists. She was assured by her superiors that the two killers weren't linked. They were wrong. Adjusting to her newly developed clairvoyant abilities she doesn't know whether it is a blessing or a curse. A trail of seemingly insignificant breadcrumbs that no one else sees reveals a truth the Central Intelligence Agency doesn't want found--a truth that dates back to the Cold War era and to one of its forgotten secrets. Unexpectedly showing up at Kurtz's door is her best friend, CIA Analyst Rosetta Calendar. She insists on aiding Kurtz with her assignment but Calendar's actual motives are more subversive in nature.

Ex-thief, former orphan Larry David (LD) Westerman left his past behind a long time ago. He now works as a Guidance Counselor in Detroit. He was happy with his life. That was until he was drugged, restrained and thrown into the back of a van, driven hundreds of miles to New York without knowing why or by whom. After escaping his captors with expert killer proficiency, a dark veil begins to rise from over his unconsciousness. He is not the man he thought he was—far from it in fact. Hunted by the government, Westerman forcibly enlists New York police detective Raymond Kilgore to help him discover the truth and to destroy those that created him.

Their perilous journeys lead them to the Friday House, a seemingly run of the mill orphanage. They discover quickly that it is far more than what it pretends to be. With no other choice, they go headlong into the belly of the beast to do whatever they can to avert the greatest threat the United States has ever faced—itself.

Listen to an audio excerpts

Homepage: www.dkgaston.com

Purchase The Friday House

Genre:                        Mystery..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

SubGenre:                Thriller

EBook ISBN:             978-1-59374-059-7

Paperback ISBN:     978-1-59374-058-0

On Father's Day 1982, a twelve year old was blamed for the multiple

stabbing death of his father. The boy had no memory of doing it. He

was convicted of murder and sentenced to two years at a mental

hospital. Twenty-three years later, now a private detective and a

father, his son is the same age he was when he was accused of murder. This prompts Joseph Hooks to discover what really happened that day two decades ago. Did he kill his own father or did something else happen?

As he searches for the truth, he must deal with an uncooperative Detroit police force, rekindle strained relationships with his siblings, protect his loved ones from the threats of a mysterious stranger and live with the knowledge his estranged wife is sleeping with another man.

Finding out the truth might prove deadly.

Buy:                            http://whiskeycreekpress.com/chapters/LostHours_DKGaston.shtml

Audio Podcast:         http://podcast.dkgaston.com

Home Page:              http://www.dkgaston.com

Reviews:

With an urbanized Hitcockian/Christie-ish feel, the story pulls you into its drama. Twists and turns fill its pages. Although it is somewhat of a melancholy tale, if you enjoy mystery, you should find this an intriguing, though not comfortable, read."

--Reviewer Amanda Killgore, Huntress Book Reviews

Author D. K. Gaston develops a tantalising, suspenseful story that draws in the reader immediately and hangs on for the long haul. Well-developed characters and a seemingly impenetrable mystery render Lost Hours a true winner. As the reader cudgels her brain along with detective Joe, we wonder whether the truth will ever be discovered. Lost Hours is a wonderful, curl-up-with story to while away a few hours of the reader's own.

-–Annie, Euro-Reviews

                         Please listen to the audio Podcast of The Friday House.

FBI Agent Jamaica Kurtz and NYPD Detective Raymond Kilgore are facing America's greatest threat--itself.

                                 D. K. Gaston Podcast Page

                                Available September 2007

Please listen to the first nine minutes of XIII:

XIII Prologue Audio Podcast

Paranoramal Thriller