Switchbacks

Remington Dean Returns to Bring Texas Justice to the Rockies!
A body is found alongside a river in Rocky Mountain National Park, missing its eyes and with an X carved in its chest. At the same time, a wealthy couple are killed in a manner that could only mean the paramilitary rogues that brought war to Eden Falls in The Ranger are out for blood again.
Remington Dean will face new challenges, new mysteries, and new developments as his investigation takes him higher into the mountains. Rhett Windsor emerges as an unexpected ally, while Dean once again relies on Detective Sadie Donovan, Agents Samuels and Marino, and reporter Ashleigh Storms to bring down the violent team of mercenaries- and the people behind them.
High in the mountains, a new community emerges providing sanctuary for those driven off their land by the machinations of the wealthy and corrupt in the valley, the Switchbacks. As Dean and friends fight to save the community and find answers, he will find clues to the one mystery he cannot let go- the murder of his wife.
Action, mystery, romance, and humor await in the follow-up to The Ranger:
Switchbacks
The Rocky Mountain Gothic continues!


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    The dreadful summer heat had finally surrendered to fall’s pleasant coolness along the western slope of the Rockies, and the aspens had turned, making the mountainsides look like a dragon’s hoard of gold.
    It was still a little early for the leaf peepers of the western United States to be out and about in droves, so Warren and Emilia Cornelius had the road to themselves. Their Arabian Grey Mercedes AMG G 63 glided around the curves of the switchbacks in the high altitudes of Garvin Pass in north central Colorado. The couple was enjoying a peaceful road trip to rekindle their struggling marriage fire.
    ‘Peaceful’ might have been the wrong word.
    “I told you the exit for Eden Falls was back that way,” Emilia said, rolling her eyes.
    “Yeah. You said that. Five different times!” Warren shouted back. “I know where I’m going. The cabin is outside of Eden Falls. Not in it.”
    Tensions had been high in the marriage since Emilia discovered Warren’s affair with his secretary. Of course, Emilia was having her own little dalliance with her yoga instructor, but what Warren didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He had suggested the trip, but Emilia only went along because the prenup stipulated that they had to stay married for five years for her to get half of his wealth in a divorce.
    They were in year four.
    And he had hundreds of millions of reasons to make her miserable enough to leave early.
    Warren had made it big in crypto right before they met, and he knew she was drawn to him for his money more than anything. He had gone bald at twenty-two. Got the spare tire around the waist at twenty-three. Hit the monetary jackpot at twenty-five, got the wife at twenty-six.
    She was out of his league. Physically, anyway. Beautiful and statuesque, long blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She had been a fitness influencer, and still was, but lately she posted more about her extravagant shopping sprees than her workouts. 
    Alas, she was not that smart, and the woman was mean to boot. He had worked hard to get fit, gotten hair plugs, and everything to please her, but nothing worked. Except his money. But his secretary fawned over him, telling him how smart he was and how much she admired him. So he fell for her.
    Neither woman knew he was secretly funneling money from the company he had founded. Or that he was also embezzling money from some clients of his crypto investment firm. He told himself he was no Bernie Madoff, because he only stole from the richest clients.
    For all the hatred he had toward Emilia for her extravagance, it turned out Warren was just as greedy and selfish as she was.  And he had proposed the road trip because he knew all that time in the car would royally piss her off and hopefully make her take off before the five-year clause in the prenup. Plus, an investor’s aide had offered the use of a remote cabin outside of Eden Falls for free.
    She was pouting when he noticed movement in the trees to his right. They were on a curve with a near vertical drop into a valley on the left, and a tree-covered patch of steeply inclined land on the right. 
At first, he thought it might be a herd of deer or elk, but then a single tree just fell across the road. Then a second. A third was instantly followed by a whole stand of trees. Warren slammed on the brakes and the Mercedes skidded to a stop just feet from the apparent landslide.
    “What are you doing?” Emilia screamed at him.
    He glared at her and replied, “Trying not to get us killed, woman!” He was breathing heavily and as the adrenaline faded, he felt terror rising in his chest. He had almost hit the trees. And had he tried to swerve, he might have taken them both down the side of the mountain. Who would get his money then? 
    Warren started to get out of the car, but Emilia taunted, “What are you gonna do? Move the trees with your bare hands?”
    He looked back at her, arms crossed over her chest and sneering. “Well, we can’t just go back, now can we? Unless you want the trip to last longer?”
    Her eyes grew wide, and he knew her answer. Maybe his gambit was paying off.
    Warren walked to the trees to see if it was possible to go around, but sure enough, the trees covered the road all the way to the edge of the drop-off. He walked to where the landslide had come from, wondering if he could drive through that space. He smelled cobalt and saw heavy dust hanging in the air, but just assumed it was from the landslide. He knew finance, not geology.
    Warren looked back and saw a truck approaching. He ran back toward his car, trying to wave them down and warn them. It was an older model Ford, beat-up and mud covered. It had what looked like a three- to four-inch lift with giant off-road tires.
    It screamed red-neck. Or mountain people. Warren wasn’t sure what the proper term for them was in those parts.
    The truck lurched to a stop, and as it did, it belched out an acrid cloud of black diesel smoke. But no one emerged from the truck. Warren could see a figure behind the wheel, but the window was filthy and he couldn’t make out any of the person’s features. He waved and shouted, “Road’s blocked- you got a wench?”
    The figure stayed put.
    Warren began to walk closer, and as he did, Emilia scowled at him and warned, “Watch out. He might try to make you his girlfriend.”
    Warren flipped her off.
    Finally, the door creaked open and a massive man hopped out of the truck. He sported cut-off sleeves displaying heavily muscled arms and had long red hair pinned back behind his head. His beard was well-kept, a contrast to the oil stained jeans he wore.
    Then Warren saw the gun. A sawed-off shotgun was swaying from the man’s left hand as he approached. Terror swelled up inside, and Warren wanted to run.
    The man saw that, and then looked at his gun. “Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s just a precaution. We’ve been having some issues up here with wildlife.” He looked at the trees, then the Mercedes, and then back at Warren. “I don’t think that’s the problem here, though. Names Rhett.  Rhett Windsor.” But he didn’t put the gun away.
    Warren still felt uneasy, but the man’s demeanor was calm and intelligent. Not what he had expected. “Y-you think you can help me clear the road?”
    Rhett looked around Warren and cocked his head to the side. “I can. But I need to go get my chainsaw. It’s back up at my worksite. Take me about ten minutes, if you don’t mind waiting?”
    Warren smiled uncertainly, then looked at Emilia. Her jaw was hanging open looking at the muscular redneck/mountain man. “We can wait.”
    Rhett nodded, then lumbered back to his truck. He stopped, then turned back. A car approached from the other side of the downed trees, and Rhett seemed concerned. The car stopped, turned around and went back the way it came. Rhett relaxed. “I’d get off the road. Folks can’t see around these switchbacks very well.”
    “Will do,” Warren said. “Thanks!” He hopped in the Mercedes and pulled it off to the cut out on the side of the road. “He said it’d be ten minutes.”
    “I’d like ten minutes with that guy,” Emilia said.
    Warren muttered, “Devil woman,” under his breath.
    She chuckled maliciously. “You probably would, too.”
    He turned to face her fully, and was about to yell at her about how other women seemed to appreciate him, but he saw something that made him freeze. A large black vehicle with a metal grill guard plowed down out of the trees and into the side of the Mercedes. Emilia’s body contorted and her head snapped forward and back so fast she had to have died instantly. Warren’s door wasn’t fully closed, so the force threw him out onto the pavement. The Mercedes was screeching toward him, and he had the presence of mind to roll under the vehicle. It stopped its progress when he was directly under the middle of the SUV. From his position, he saw three sets of booted feet drop to the pavement. “It’s not one of Windsors,” a gruff voice announced. “Too fancy.”
    “She’s a goner,” said a second voice. “Too bad. She was a looker.”
    “You’re sick, Withers,” a third voice said. “Now, find the driver. He has to be around here somewhere. See what we can get out of him.”
    The boots stomped around the car, then Warren felt an iron grip around his ankles. He tried to grab the asphalt, but his fingernails just peeled back and he screamed in pain. Light fell on him, and then he was rolled over. He saw a large African American man standing over him. He was dressed in military gear, dark in color, maybe black. A large rifle was strapped to his back, and he spoke in a deep voice. “Got him.”
    “Thanks, Benton,” a dark-haired man said. He was wearing a beret and a khaki shirt, holding a tactical shotgun. The man knelt next to Warren and sized him up. “Name’s Stone. You work for Rhett Windsor?”
    “W-who? The big ginger?” Warren gasped.
    Stone laughed maliciously. “That’s him.”
    “I just met him,” Warren said. “H-he was g-going to help me clear the road.”    
    “He was here?” Benton asked.
    “Just a minute or two ago.”
    Stone swore. “Then he might have seen us and will be coming back. Let’s get outta here.” He stood up, then looked down at Warren. “But first, what’s your name?”
    “W-why does that matter?” Warren managed.
    Stone gave him a look that matched his name. 
The third man, wearing a green beret over his close cropped brown hair, stomped over and pointed his pistol in Warren’s face. “Where I’m from, a man asks your name, you give it to him. Especially if he has a gun.”
“W-warren. Warren Cornelius.”
The men exchanged a look.
Stone spoke again. “Withers, take his wallet and any cash he has.
    “You’re robbing me?” Warren asked.
    “Yeah,” the man called Withers said flatly.
    “I don’t have any money.”
    The man looked at the wreck of the Mercedes. Then back to Warren. “Liar.” Then he shot him in the face with the pistol.
    “WITHERS!” Stone yelled. “What do you think you’re doing? We could have gotten more out of him.”
    “He wouldn’t talk,” Withers replied, rifling through Warren’s wallet. “C’mon Stone, you know the ending was always gonna be this. I just sped it up.” He found a small slip of paper, and waved it in the air.
     Stone looked at the paper, and knew that- unfortunately, Withers had been right. He hated when that man was right. Stone turned to Benton. “Clear out the car. Check the woman for anything else we could use.Wipe it down. Just like usual. Withers- you keep an eye out for Windsor. We are gone in sixty.”