[Artistic Assassin 01] • The Artisan

Warning: This thriller novel is filled with instances of dark and irreverent humor and purposefully pokes fun at things that are generally taken seriously.

Also, if you are someone who might be offended by an asexual, Machiavellian villain or a charming, metrosexual, serial-killer-like assassin, this is definitely not the best book for you.

On the other hand, if you crave intricately woven plots with humor, mystery, and suspense at their best, a kindle and paperback thriller book with 2014 panache, and over-the-top mystery, then you will love this newly released thriller by one of the most unique debut novelists of all time.

Here are the main players in our deliciously deadly game:

Dr. Rafaela Ramos - She's beautiful. She's the CIA's biochemical assassin. She thinks she’s untouchable.

Antonio Peloso - He's as bushy and hair-sprinkled as he is eccentric. Will his brilliant mind and Werther algorithm trap the much sought after Rafaela at last?

Gunter - The camera loves him almost as much as he nurtures and adores his razor sharp knives. Resplendently dressed in carefully sewn sequins, he pirouettes on video over his awestruck victims, while paving the way for Antonio's diabolical plan.

The Story:

Beautiful biochemical assassin, Rafaela, works for the CIA making untraceable hits, wherein she infects targets with viruses that cause "natural" deaths. Burnt out, she decides to take a few days off to help a fellow scientist do the more meaningful biochemistry she longs to someday embrace.

Little does she know, her colleague is unwittingly being used as bait. His request for her help is step one in luring her straight into a deadly web. And although she thinks she's impervious to being made vulnerable in any way, she arrives on her seemingly innocuous vacation and soon falls in love!

By the time she realizes this strike of Cupid's arrow is part two in the evil design of her sadistic nemesis—it's already too late.

An Excerpt:

Scanning her peripheral, Rafaela shook his hand with a firm grip.

"I'm Dickinson."

"Of course you are," she answered flatly. She watched his short, jerky movements as he popped several peppermints into his mouth. With a wandering gaze, she followed him outside to a cluster of trees. "What seems to be the problem? The ambassador is dead, isn’t he?" She picked at a piece of lint on her sleeve.

"Yes, but the virus spread to our man, the chauffeur, and he hasn’t stopped vomiting." Clumsily, he crammed the roll of mints back into the pocket of his understated, navy blazer.

She ran her thumb across one of the fingers on her left hand and studied her manicure. “Are you actually concerned that he’s going to die?”

His voice wavered. “No, no. Of course not. You are very good at what you do.”

“Then what seems to be the problem?” She took aim and kicked a tree root with her heel. She would have liked to kick the man in the teeth.

“Mr. Bailey would like to know why your little experiments have to be so remarkably contagious.” He shifted his weight from his left foot to his right.

“He didn't mind them being contagious when they sterilized that family of terrorists.” She moved in his direction.

Sensing her aggression, he took a nervous step away. “Mr. Bailey is not ungrateful, Doctor.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Anything else?” She continued to stare at him with piercing eyes.

Dickinson fumbled to pull out another mint. “Yes.”