QSFer C.B. Lewis has a new MM time travel/mystery book out:
What began with a dead intruder and a missing scientist quickly becomes the most perplexing case of Detective Inspector Jacob Ofori’s career. Nothing about it makes sense, from the incredibly advanced technology found on the intruder to the scientist’s mysterious workplace, the Temporal Research Institute. Jacob’s gut tells him the TRI is hiding something, and the questions keep piling up. Who would abduct Sanders; what is the strange gate in his basement laboratory; and how does it connect to similar gates in the TRI?
TRI engineer Kit Rafferty only wanted one night with the sexy, older policeman, but Kit’s mouth tends to run away with him when he gets excited, and nothing gets him more excited that cutting-edge tech—like the intruder’s cybernetic eye. Suddenly Kit is pulled into the investigation—and into a relationship that could jeopardize both of their lives. Kit hates lying to Jacob, but he cannot reveal what really goes on at the TRI—time travel. Faced with time-jumping criminals but unable to share that knowledge with Jacob, Kit turns to a man who knows time travel firsthand: Janos Nagy.
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Excerpt
“Everyone,” Ashraf said, “this is DI Jacob Ofori. He’s the police officer in charge of the investigation into Tom’s disappearance. He has some images from Tom’s house and needs to know if they’re relevant to the case. You’ve all worked with Tom’s notes before, so we need you to have look at them for us. Detective Inspector?”
There was a projector on a stand by the wall. Jacob connected his slate to it. The images lit up on the blank wall at the far end of the room, showing the whiteboards and the intricate display of numbers and letters. The technicians and engineers all turned to look at it.
Jacob watched them in turn.
From the first glance, it was clear none of them had seen it before. A couple of people were frowning, as if they couldn’t quite work out what they were looking at. Two exchanged glances and shook their heads.
Jacob’s eyes flicked to Kit. Of course, he knew Rafferty was a technician, but he hadn’t expected the babbling, blushing young man from the lift to be so focused. He had one hand thrust into his shaggy red hair and was staring at the board so intently, it looked like he was trying to bore a hole in it.
“Any suggestions?” Mrs. Ashraf’s voice broke the silence.
“It’s encoded,” one man said. “Sanders sometimes did that. You’d need a key to crack it.”
A woman near him nodded. “He usually only did that if it wasn’t finished, just in case someone tried to use whatever he was doing and it went tits up.”
Other voices supported this theory, and he nodded as if he were listening.
One eye, however, remained on Rafferty.
Rafferty’s eyes were still on the board. The hand in his hair was curling slowly, and the fingertips of his other hand were drumming against his lips. He looked like he was whispering to himself, and his eyebrows were drawing together in a furrow.
“What about Mr. Rafferty?” Jacob finally asked.
Every head in the room turned toward the man, who didn’t even notice.
The woman beside him nudged him sharply.
“Shit!” Rafferty spun back around, his hair rumpled in all directions. He looked like a startled puppy caught pissing on the carpet. He looked around warily, every eye on him. “What?”
“DI Ofori was wondering if you have any idea what we’re looking at.” Mrs. Ashraf’s voice was cool.
Rafferty blinked. “It’s coded.”
“We gathered that much.” Jacob leaned forward, his hands braced on the desk. “So, Mr. Rafferty, do you know what it’s about?”
Rafferty’s face was rapidly going red. His blue eyes darted around the table. “Um. No.” He tangled his hands together. “I mean, if I had the key, I might be able to work it out. But Mr. Sanders didn’t let us keep a copy of the key.” He offered Jacob a wary smile. “Um. Sorry.”
Author Bio
A book-lover from infancy, C.B. has been writing and telling stories for as long as she can remember. Based in Edinburgh, she has diverse tastes and will quite happily attempt to write any genre, but always come back to history, fantasy, and sci-fi like an old friend. C. B. Lewis is small and Scottish and can often be spotted perched around historical monuments with her notepad and pen. She has been writing and telling tales for almost as long as she can remember, and has a brain that constantly fizzes with an abundance of ideas. If she’s not working on half a dozen things at once, it should be considered a slow day. She loves to travel and just has one continent left to complete her travel bingo card. A lot of the travel has also been research-based, and if pointed at any historical event, she will research it vociferously, just because she can. Normally, she is based in Edinburgh, where she tends toward the hermit-lifestyle, needing nothing but a kettle, a constant supply of tea, and – of course – the internet. There are no cats, no puppies, no significant others, only a lot of ideas, and an awful lot of typing. And occasionally, cake. Never forget the cake.