Law Can Be Murder

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THREE HARD-BOILED PAGE TURNERS IN ONE EBOOK!

These novels will appeal to all fans of tough-talking female sleuths. Picture Sue Grafton's Kinsey Millhone if she'd gone to law school. If you enjoy characters like V.I Warshawski, Philip Marlowe, or Elvis Cole, you'll love Sam McRae.

“Debbi Mack has created a first-rate heroine in Sam McRae. Sam is tough, resilient, sassy and unstoppable. Good thing, too, as Identity Crisis moves at a slam-bam pace.”– Simon Wood, author of SAVING GRACE

“Debbi Mack crafts a taut narrative with crackling dialogue.”– Aimee Zuccarini, The Maryland Women’s Journal, Oct./Nov. 2009

BOOK ONE: IDENTITY CRISIS

A missing client, a dead body, the FBI, and the Mob.How much can one lawyer handle?Lawyer Stephanie Ann "Sam" McRae's life is upended when a client suspected of killing her ex-boyfriend disappears. When a friend asks Sam to find Melanie Hayes, the Maryland attorney is drawn into a complex case of murder and identity theft that has her running from the Mob, breaking into a strip club and forming a shaky alliance with an offbeat private investigator to discover the truth about Melanie and her ex-boyfriend.With her career and life on the line, Sam's search takes her from the blue-collar Baltimore suburbs to the mansions of Gibson Island. Along the way, she learns that false identities can hide dark secrets, and those secrets can destroy lives.MORE REVIEWS AND ENDORSEMENTS"If you enjoy realistic legal thrillers--and dread the thought of 'identity theft' striking home--IDENTITY CRISIS will be a genuine treat. Debbi Mack has used her own experience as an attorney to craft a twisty yet completely credible plot. And her protagonist, Stephanie Ann 'Sam' McRae, is a perfect example of what every client should hope for in an advocate: a professional who's willing to take risks both inside AND outside the courtroom."-- Jeremiah Healy, Author of RESCUE, TURNABOUT and THE ONLY GOOD LAWYER"IDENTITY CRISIS is a well-written and well-plotted mystery which introduces lawyer-sleuth Sam McRae. She's an exciting new protagonist mystery readers will want to get to know."-- Louise Titchener, Author of MALPRACTICE, BURNED IN BALTIMORE and BURIED IN BALTIMORE"Of suspense, Alfred Hitchcock once said, 'There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.' Author Debbi Mack nails that statement in this tightly written tale about a flawed Maryland attorney, 'Sam' McRae, and her relentless search for a killer when the domestic abuse case she has been handling kicks itself up a notch: The accused is found dead and his wife has taken off. Not good. Add to that the FBI, the Mob, identity theft, and a vulnerable main character involved with a married prosecutor and you have a darn good page-turner. Debbi Mack crafts a taut narrative with crackling dialogue."-- Aimee Zuccarini, The Maryland Women's Journal, Oct./Nov. 2009.

BOOK TWO: LEAST WANTED

Can a lawyer defend two clients of murder before becoming the next victim?Stephanie Ann "Sam" McRae's life as a Maryland lawyer takes a chaotic turn when two clients are accused of murder. A poor, black girl is accused of killing her mother. A young man suspected of embezzlement is accused of murdering his boss. The cases collide in a bizarre way involving girl gangs and computer pornography.Sam ventures into the heart of DC's suburban ghettos to find answers. A maniacal killer who'll do anything to hide them stalks her. After a nearly disastrous confrontation, Sam must do business on the run. As the body count grows, Sam races to learn the truth and clear her clients before she becomes the next victim.MORE REVIEWS AND ENDORSEMENTS

"LEAST WANTED is a brave, heartbreaking, and thrilling book with a complex plot that takes attorney Sam McRae on a dizzying tour of several circles of urban hell, against a backdrop of white-collar crime. I loved it, and I admire Mack for writing it without flinching or suggesting easy answers. It's a sequel that outdoes IDENTITY CRISIS and holds the promise of a great series."-- Timothy Hallinan, author of THE QUEEN OF PATPONG and CRASHED"In LEAST WANTED, Debbi Mack serves up a solid mystery plot wired together with high octane suspense. Washington, DC attorney Sam McRae is smart, tough and dedicated, but her latest cases in LEAST WANTED push her to her limits. Defending two clients accused of murder, she finds herself dealing with girl gangs, pornography and crazed killers. For mystery and suspense, it’s Laura Lippman’s Tess Monaghan in Baltimore and Robert B. Parker’s Spenser in Boston, but Sam McRae is the woman to have at your back in Washington."-- Austin S. Camacho, author of the Hannibal Jones mystery series"Sam McRae is back and as brash as ever, with a colorful cast, a relentless plot, and enough twists to leave you breathless. Debbi Mack has carved her own niche in the mystery pantheon."-- Scott Nicholson, author of DISINTEGRATION"LEAST WANTED hooks you from the start and never lets go. A fascinating and absorbing mystery."-- Simon Wood, author of LOWLIFES"Fast-paced and brimming with dark, twisting plot turns, LEAST WANTED will keep crime and mystery buffs off balance and guessing until the very end."-- J.T. Cummins, author of COBBLESTONES"From its clever—and ironic—title to the carefully drawn characters ..., LEAST WANTED is a worthy sequel to Debbi Mack's first crime novel."-- Jeremiah Healy, author of THE ONLY GOOD LAWYER and A STAIN UPON THE ROBE"Sam McRae is not your run of the mill attorney. She is a strong, intelligent, and fiercely committed advocate, who puts her life on the line in the pursuit of justice. Author Debbi Mack brings to the hardboiled genre, a fresh voice and direct writing style that gives this richly layered mystery a feeling of authenticity I found wholly compelling. The multifaceted plot grips the reader like a falcon's talons and never lets go."--Lawrence Kelter, bestselling author of The Stephanie Chalice Mystery Series

BOOK THREE: RIPTIDE

A week at the beach could be murder.Stephanie Ann “Sam” McRae’s stay in Ocean City for the annual Maryland bar association convention turns into a busman's holiday when her best friend Jamila is arrested for a murder she didn’t commit. All signs point to a frame, but Jamila’s local counsel must plea bargain, placing a permanent stain on the ambitious attorney’s spotless record, unless Sam and the private investigator on the case find evidence to clear her. Sam has her work cut out for her, given that the victim is the stepson of a local wealthy entrepreneur and poultry producer and no one will talk to her, including the investigator hired on the case. Even Jamila appears to be withholding information. Meanwhile, Sam's running from mysterious pursuers and comes under police scrutiny when another murder takes place.With the clock ticking down to the convention and preliminary hearing, Sam must uncover secrets, lies, and fraud to find the real killer. At what cost will that knowledge come for Sam?MORE REVIEWS AND ENDORSEMENTS

"I absolutely loved reading Riptide! ... Sam McRae is the best attorney sleuth ever."--Jada Temple, reviewer, Thriller Ink Spot"A fast-paced, compelling crime novel that leaves the reader as buzzed and breathless as the Running of the Bulls."-- Benjamin Sobieck, author of CLEANSING EDEN"Full of tension and suspense from cover-to-cover, RIPTIDE is a cracking good read."-- Leighton Gage, author of A VINE IN THE BLOOD"… a fast, smooth read, chock full of tension with an action payoff."-- Frank Zafiro, author of WAIST DEEP and the River City Crime series"The place is Ocean City, Maryland, a summertime paradise replete with sun, sea, sand, and ... murder. Thus begins this gritty tale and McRae's attempt to clear a dear friend, who has been charged with the heinous crime. Our hero must bring to bear all of her considerable investigative skills as she unwinds this tightly drawn mystery, which is sure to have you hooked until the satisfying end."-- Lawrence Kelter, bestselling author of The Stephanie Chalice Mystery Series"Sam McRae is my favorite new female sleuth!"-- Scott Nicholson, author of LIQUID FEAR"Sam's sleek, sarcastic narration propels this satisfying legal caper, which also manages to score points about lingering regional racial prejudice, providing a sad reminder that justice doesn't always prevail unless the just take action. Another winner from the pen of Debbi Mack, author of Least Wanted and Identity Crisis."-- W.D. Gagliani, author of WOLF'S TRAP, WOLF'S EDGE, and SAVAGE NIGHTS"Sam McRae is back— and just as sassy, smart and loyal as ever."-- Donna Fletcher Crow, author of A DARKLY HIDDEN TRUTH, The Monastery Murders 2"RIPTIDE is so riveting you might forget to turn over, but the pace is so hot you’ll want to dive in to cool down!"-- Austin S. Camacho, author of the Hannibal Jones mysteries"IDENTITY CRISIS and LEAST WANTED are tough acts to follow, but Debbi Mack meets her own high standards in RIPTIDE, attorney Sam McRae's third outing. Sam's attempt to help a friend who's been charged with murder leads her into an insular world where the secrets are so thick they create their own 'riptide.' A great read."-- Timothy Hallinan, Edgar-nominated author of the Poke Rafferty and Junior Bender thrillers

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Chapter 1

Chapter 1 I’ve never been a morning person, and if there’s one thing I don’t need before my first cup of coffee, it’s a visit from the cops. But at 8:45 on a Friday morning, two of them waited for me at my law office. I shut the door on the steam heat—typical July weather in Maryland—and shook my sticky blouse loose. Seven years in practice had taught me many hard lessons. One of them should have been never to wear dry-clean-only blouses in the summer. Sheila, the seventy-plus receptionist and secretary for the accounting firm where I sublet space, gave me a brief wave while answering the phone through her ever-present headset. Her long, bony fingers clacked away at the keyboard without skipping a beat. Both men stood as I approached. I recognized Detective Martin Derry of the Prince George’s County police. I wondered what the homicide investigator wanted with me. “Good morning,” I said. “Morning, Ms. McRae.” Derry had light blue eyes, the color of lake water in January. “I need to speak to you about one of your clients.” Derry’s companion was tall and gangly, as if loosely constructed of mismatched bones. His frizzy reddish-blonde hair was short, making his head seem too small and his nose and ears too big. He peered at me with his head c****d to one side, like a pigeon. “Let me have five minutes, OK?” Derry nodded, and I trudged up the steps to my office. I didn’t have any clients charged with homicide. Since I’d left the public defender’s office, most of my criminal clients were yuppies with first-time DWIs or habitual traffic offenders, so I was dying to find out what he wanted. Whatever it was, it could wait five more minutes. I went through the daily routine of opening the Venetian blinds, turning down the thermostat on the ancient window unit, and booting my computer. I started a pot of dark roast coffee, placing my mug on the burner to catch it as it dripped out. When I felt ready, I invited them in. They each did a cop’s visual sweep of my office before they sat down. No doubt, they were impressed by the plush furnishings—a used desk, two guest chairs, a metal filing cabinet, a small hutch for my supplies, and tables for my fax, copier, and Mr. Coffee, most of which I’d bought at a state surplus outlet. My one indulgence was a new high-backed desk chair. “This is Special Agent Carl Jergins, FBI,” Derry said. “Sam McRae,” I said, extending my hand. Jergins worked my arm like a pump. FBI? I wondered what was up. Derry sat stiffly upright. Dark-haired and mustached, he had a solemn, squarish face. In a charcoal gray suit, starched white shirt, and red tie, Derry was one of those people who manage to look dapper, no matter what. We’d met years before when I’d defended the man accused of killing his fiancée. Derry treated me with complete, almost excessive, professionalism. I tried to ignore the charged feeling in the air when he was around. “We understand you have a client named Melanie Hayes,” Derry said. I stared at him. “She’s not—” I couldn’t finish the thought. “No. It’s her ex, Tom Garvey. He was found shot to death.” “Oh, my God.” “We know you represented her in a domestic violence matter,” Derry said, watching me closely as he spoke. “You understand why we need to talk to her.” I nodded. “When did this happen?” “Over the weekend,” Derry said. “I’ll be present when you question her.” It was not a request. Derry bobbed his head in brief acknowledgment. “When was the last time you spoke to Ms. Hayes?” “Last Friday.” “On the phone or in person?” “In person. She came to the office.” “And you haven’t spoken to her since?” “No. Why?” Derry leaned back in his chair. He appeared to think about whether to answer the question. “There’s a problem,” he said. “She seems to have disappeared.” “What? Just vanished?” “She hasn’t been home and hasn’t shown up for work all week.” An angry sizzle interrupted my thoughts. The odor of burnt coffee filled the room. My cup was overflowing onto the hot plate. “Shit.” I jumped up and exchanged the cup for a carafe. Coffee was everywhere. In haste, I ripped a couple of pages from a writing pad and daubed at the mess, grinning sheepishly at the cops. Derry’s mustache twitched into a brief grimace. Jergins stared. “Well, I have no idea where she could be,” I said, swiping at drops that had landed on my blouse. Both cops studied me, maybe waiting for more. I sat down and drank my coffee. The air conditioner clicked and roared in the background. Jergins cleared his throat, leaning forward. “Ms. McRae,” he said, in a gruff, rat-a-tat voice, “it’s extremely important that we get in touch with Ms. Hayes as soon as possible. Her life may be at risk.” “Why? And what’s the FBI’s interest in this?” I looked directly at the bony fed. Jergins’ nostrils flared as if he’d detected a bad smell. From the look in his beady eyes, you’d have thought I was the source. “Has your client ever mentioned the name Gregory Knudsen?” “No. Who is he?” “What about Christof Stavos?” “What about him?” I asked, a little annoyed that he’d ignored my question. “Have you heard that name? Ever?” “Nope. Never ever.” Jergins did that pigeon move with his head again. I resisted the urge to imitate him. He said, “Mr. Stavos is a sick and dangerous man. It’s absolutely essential that Ms. Hayes get in touch with us as soon as possible. For her own safety, if nothing else.” “Why?” I asked. “Who is he?” “Wiseguy from New York.” The phone rang. I decided to let the voice mail get it. “Mafia? What would someone like that want with my client?” Jergins leaned back, allowing himself a dramatic pause. “Did your client leave anything with you? A CD, maybe?” “No.” “And she never mentioned Knudsen?” “Like I said, no.” He nodded, still not looking satisfied. “So, who is this guy, Knudsen?” I said. “And what’s on the CD?” Jergins said nothing. “Let’s get back to your client,” Derry said. “Did she ever mention anything about leaving town? Even a hint that she might?” I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. “Not that I recall.” Derry appeared to ponder my response then said, “I guess we’ve taken enough of your time.” Jergins looked like he wanted to subpoena every piece of paper in the room. “Wait a second,” I said. “What’s going on? Obviously, someone’s been murdered, but is there more?” Derry glanced at Jergins, who remained mute. “There’s got to be,” I said. “Or why would the FBI be involved?” Another look passed between the men. Derry said, “Right now, I’m concerned about investigating a homicide.” As opposed to what? I wanted to ask. “This mobster—what was his name? Stavos?—he’s also a suspect?” I asked. Silence. Forget it, I thought. I might as well go outside and ask a fire hydrant. As they stood up, Derry said, “You’ll let us know if you hear from Ms. Hayes.” “Of course.” Jergins pulled out a business card and thrust it toward me. It said he was with the field office in Baltimore. “You hear anything about Knudsen, you let me know,” he said, in his clipped monotone. Probably picked it up watching too many reruns of Dragnet. After they left, I checked my voice mail. Someone named Christy from my credit card company had called. I was up to date on my bill, and the message didn’t say anything about their “great new services.” Curious, I dialed the number and connected directly with Christy, who sounded like a college student working the phones during her summer break. “Stephanie Ann McRae?” she said. The credit card was in my full name rather than the acronym I use as a nickname. “I’m calling to confirm your recent application for a line of credit,” she continued, sounding as if she were reading from cue cards. “But I haven’t applied for more credit.” A few seconds of silence. “You haven’t? Oh, wow. Have you lost your card recently?” “No, no. I would have reported that.” I pulled my purse out of my desk, just to check. The card was still in my wallet. “Well, it looks like someone has applied for a credit line in your name,” Christy said. “I’m glad we were able to catch this. The amount is unusually large.” “How large would that be?” “Ten thousand dollars.”

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