Jack Probyn · A Deadly Vice - Sample
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When criminals cross the line, who will make them pay?

From police to vigilantes to secret government organizations, the answer awaits those who think they are beyond the reach of the law-abiding world. They make their own rules. 

For that, we must make them pay! 

More than twenty thriller authors bring their ‘A’ game with never-before-seen stories, different takes on justice, and maybe that’s the way we want it to be.

Here's what to expect:

Contract killing’s hard. Especially when the next name on your list is your father’s.

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Contributions from:
M.A. Comley, Craig Martelle, Ian W. Sainsbury, M.K. Farrar,
Jeff Shelby, G.K. Parks, Michele Pariza Wacek, J.R. Pomerantz,
Jack Probyn, John Hindmarsh, D.K. Greene, Drew Avera,
Douglas Dorow, Stephen Couch, A. K. Hughey,

and many more...


CIDCase: Chapter Excerpt

Chapter 1: The Dying Star

Wind whipped and whistled around the building like a steam kettle finishing its boil. Hissing, screeching. Ominous. Like something deadly was about to happen.

Not half wrong.

It brought with it a bitter chill. The kind found in the Arctic. Where intrepid travelers wore dozens of layers to keep their facial hair from freezing over—along with the rest of their body. The threat of frostbite up here is very real, he thought.

More real than the Y2K nonsense everyone was talking about. It was everywhere. On the news, on the radio, talk shows, papers. Making people panic and freak out about what was going to happen.

The answer was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just another conspiracy theory designed to send the world into a frenzy.

But if word spreading on the rumor mill could be trusted, it wasn’t nearly as bad as what else was to come. Although that was a political conversation for another time. 

And he wasn’t about to get into the habit of talking to himself. 

Not when there was a job to do. 

An important one, no less. 

Otherwise, why else would he be alone on the thirtieth floor of the Stoughton Office block, sitting just over several hundred yards from the—aptly named—Millennium Wheel, buffeted and battered by the blowing wind that was blistering its way through the half-completed construction work, with a gun in his hand? A sniper rifle, to be precise. An Accuracy International AW50, to be even more so. 

Earlier in the week, he’d been given the location of where he needed to be. Then, a few days later he’d received the time. Then it was the target’s location followed by the precise time they were going to be there. 

All the leg work was done for him. The only thing he needed to do was pull the trigger—the way a contract killer was supposed to. Sometimes, when he allowed his mind to think about it, it felt like a robbery charging the prices he did. But at the end of it all, he was the one risking his reputation, his career, his future, his life.

In that order. 

Being caught meant going to jail. Going to jail meant having to live with The Memories—having to relive the harrowing and haunting experiences he’d only just managed to wean out of his psyche. And it wasn’t long ago that he’d been able to silence the buzzing, the whining that sounded like power saws chopping through plasterboard. 




The mobile phone he’d placed beside the AW50’s bipod started vibrating. He answered the call. 

The voice on the other end was deep, gruff, hidden behind a machine to distort and fragment the sound waves coming through the microphone.

“Are you in position?”



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