Showing posts with label James L'Etoile. Show all posts
Showing posts with label James L'Etoile. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 20, 2026

Illusion of Truth by James L'Etoile ~ Detective Emily Hunter Mystery ~ #PoliceProcedural #Excerpt ~ @JamesLEtoile @partnersincr1me

Illusion of Truth by James L'Etoile Banner

ILLUSION OF TRUTH

by James L'Etoile

January 5 - 30, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

About the Book:

Illusion of Truth by James L'Etoile

A Detective Emily Hunter Mystery

 

Illusion of Truth takes Emily by the throat when her cop boyfriend, Brian Conner, responds to a disturbance only to be lured into a church bombing. Seriously wounded, Emily worries if he survives, will he be the man she knew? One-by-one, other officers linked to a crime years earlier are targeted. Was it covered up? Was Brian part of it? Emily discovers truth depends on who’s left to tell the story.

Perfect for fans of Karin Slaughter and Michael Connelly

 

Praise for Illusion of Truth:

"Illusion of Truth is a real deal police-eye view of the mean streets. Bosch and Ballard, make room for Emily Hunter. She's brash, bold, but with a soul and a heart for justice."
~ Reed Farrel Coleman, New York Times bestselling author

"An absolutely relentless thriller… in ILLUSION OF TRUTH, we find Detective Emily Hunter at her very best: Smart, sharp, and willing to do whatever it takes to solve the case of a renegade bomber. With a frightening, ripped-from-the-headlines story of attacks on her fellow police, and a cast of characters with emotional depth, perseverance, and spouting the best cop talk, L’Etoile has penned another hit in this top-notch series."
~ J.T. Ellison, NYT bestselling author of LAST SEEN

"A high-voltage, high-stakes police procedural, ILLUSION OF TRUTH is crisp and fast-paced, as cinematic as a Michael Mann thriller. On full display here is the unique storytelling sensibility that's made James L'Etoile's books beloved among mystery readers: a badass, rock-solid investigation plot with precinct veracity, hostage negotiation expertise, and deep empathy. ILLUSION OF TRUTH is a remedy for cynicism, a throwdown to wake up and follow the clues, to pay attention, to believe in a better tomorrow. The world is unfair, yes, and it might feel broken sometimes, but, as Emily Hunter reminds us: 'We're all broken in one way or another. It's how we put the pieces together that counts.'"
~ Margot Douaihy, bestselling author of Scorched Grace, Blessed Water, and Divine Ruin

"Like the best of Michael Connelly, L’Etoile has created characters readers care about while also crafting a twisty and compelling story. Fans of police procedurals and heart-stopping thrillers should consider L’Etoile an essential addition to their reading pile."
~ First Clue Reviews

"Everything you read police stories for is here, and much, much more."
~ STARRED Kirkus Review

"Rich in character and full of humanity, James L’Etoile’s writing shimmers with authenticity, with what Raymond Chandler called the “tangled woof” of real life. These are the procedurals that last: gritty, suspenseful and deeply satisfying."
~ Megan Abbott, New York Times bestselling author of El Dorado Drive

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural with a Thriller Edge
Published by: Oceanview Publishing
Publication Date: January 6, 2026
Number of Pages: 366
ISBN: 978-1608096497 (1608096491)
Series: A Detective Emily Hunter Mystery, #3
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview

The Detective Emily Hunter Mystery Series

Face of Greed by James L'Etoile
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview
River of Lies by James L'Etoile
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview
Illusion of Truth by James L'Etoile
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview

Read an Excerpt:

Chapter One

“All available units, report of a large crowd and 459s in progress at the corner of Rio Linda and South Ave.,” the dispatcher’s voice called out over the radio.

Sergeant Brian Conner clicked the microphone in his patrol unit. “1-Sam-12 responding.”

“Hey, Tommy, isn’t there a church on South Ave.?” Conner asked.

Tommy Robinson, a Black rookie officer assigned to Patrol District 1 in North Sacramento, turned in the passenger seat, checking for cross-traffic at the intersection. “Yeah. It’s one of those pop-up, God-in-a-box churches. You know—no denomination, takes all comers.”

“Why would a church be a target for looting at midnight?”

“It’s right on the edge of Tru Heights Bloods territory. Could be gangbangers after the food pantry and the donations the church’s brought in.”

“Tommy, let me ask you something. You’ve been married a while, so you’ve got this whole relationship thing down. When Emily says she isn’t ready to move in together, what does that mean?”

“Um, Sarge, you think I’m the one to answer that? Shouldn’t Emily—I mean Detective Hunter—tell you why?”

“I mean, sure, but I thought everything was going great—and then, she’s not ready. You ever have anything like that?”

“No. But then my Baptist momma would’ve slapped me into tomorrow if I thought about living in sin.”

“That’s not helpful, Tommy.”

Conner shot north on Rio Linda. The flashing blue lights from other patrol units ahead marked the location. As Conner pulled into the church parking lot, he expected a crowd spilling out of the church and into nearby businesses. There had been a rash of daylight attacks on retail establishments in the city, where mobs of thieves grabbed armfuls of whatever they could carry. Hitting a church in the middle of the night was a new direction.

“Where are they? The looters?” Tommy said.

Conner parked near the church entrance, ahead of another Sacramento Police Department SUV, and stepped from his vehicle. He couldn’t spot a single person near the church, except for the six police officers who had responded to the call.

“Dispatch, 1-Sam-12, have a callback number on the RP? Looks like a false alarm.”

“Negative, 1-Sam-12. Caller didn’t give their name.”

An officer rounded the corner of the church building and approached Conner. “Nobody’s here, Sarge. What gives?”

The hairs on the back of Conner’s neck pricked up. He swiveled around and surveyed the darkened windows on the street opposite. They were lured here.

“Got movement across the street—second floor, left side,” an officer called out. His brass nameplate read TUCKER.

Conner spotted the window and the flare of a cigarette. Someone watching the police respond to this snipe hunt?

“We see any evidence of a break-in? Broken windows, open doors, anything?”

“Nada. Simmons and I walked the perimeter. No sign of entry. No sign of anything,” Tucker said.

“Someone wanted all the units in District 1 to respond. A report of a large crowd breaking into businesses would draw us out here.”

“They needed a diversion so they could pull off whatever they were into somewhere else,” Tucker said.

“Maybe. I haven’t heard anything new from dispatch. Why would we get a callout to the edge of Tru Heights territory?”

“Westgate Crips are on the other side of the freeway. I could see them making a false report to push us to roust a couple of their rivals.”

“Well, nothing going on here. Why don’t you and your partner hit the road. Let dispatch know this was a dry hole,” Conner said.

“Got it, Sarge. You need Parker and Cortez in the other unit? They’re watching the back of the church.”

“Nah, send them on their way, would you?”

“You got it.”

“Thanks, Tucker. Be careful out there. I’ve got an uneasy feeling about someone sending us here.”

“I hear you.”

Conner started back to his SUV, paused, and turned. “Hey, Tucker, anyone check the front door lock?”

“Yeah, I shook it. Locked up tight.”

Tucker and his partner got into their SUV, shut off the lights, and backed out of the church parking lot.

Tommy Robinson wandered to the front entrance and peered through the smoked glass doors. “Place is empty. Nothing going on—hey, what’s up with this?”

A metal donation bin sat to the right of the front door. Gang graffiti adorned the side of the four-foot-tall, repainted mailbox.

Conner caught the glint from a thin wire attached to the donation box door. On the concrete below, a cut padlock lay in the shadow.

Tommy reached for the bin.

“Tommy! Wait!”

Conner ran to the young officer as he tugged on the lid.

“Stop,” Conner said.

Tommy was focused on the unlocked donation bin and didn’t hear Conner.

Conner shoved Tommy as a click echoed in the entry vestibule. A microsecond later, a fireball erupted from the donation bin.

A pressure wave of heat and metal shards exploded. Conner caught the blast in the back as he pushed Tommy away. The force of the explosion picked Conner off his feet and threw him into the brick wall opposite the donation bin.

Conner couldn’t hear anything through the ringing in his ears, and his vision was a blurred kaleidoscope of flames and smoke. From where he fell, he could see the parking lot and the window across the street. The glowing ember from the cigarette was gone, but he swore he spotted a flashing red strobe.

Another explosion sounded to his right. A flash of orange shot from the parking lot. Conner squinted through his warped vision and saw a police SUV on fire. Tucker and his partner, Simmons. He couldn’t see them anywhere.

He tried reaching for his shoulder-mounted radio microphone and his arm wouldn’t move. A quick glance down and Conner saw his broken arm pointing in the wrong direction.

“Tommy. Tommy, you okay?”

Conner couldn’t hear anything but the high-pitched ringing in his ears.

He wasn’t even supposed to be working tonight. Conner swapped the shift with a buddy so his friend could go spend some time with his kids.

Conner felt cold, and a heavy blanket of exhaustion fell over him. Emily. He wanted to tell Emily how much he loved her one more time. She’d wanted to take it slow, but now he felt regret. He should’ve told her how he felt when he had the chance.

The sirens in the distance pierced through his muffled hearing. They would not be in time.

“Emily” . . .

***

Excerpt from Illusion of Truth by James L'Etoile. Copyright 2025 by James L'Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L'Etoile. All rights reserved.

 

 

Meet the Author:

James L'Etoile

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, Macavity, and the Public Safety Writers Award. River of Lies and Sins of the Father are his most recent novels. Look for Illusion of Truth coming in 2026. James also serves as the Executive Vice President of Mystery Writers of America.

Catch Up With James L'Etoile:

www.jamesletoile.com
Prison to the Page Newsletter
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @crimewriter
Instagram - @authorjamesletoile
Threads -@authorjamesletoile
X - @JamesLEtoile
BlueSky - @jamesletoile.bsky.social
Facebook - @AuthorJamesLetoile

 

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Wednesday, July 14, 2021

Book Tour & #Giveaway ~ Black Label by James L'Etoile @JamesLEtoile @partnersincr1me ~ #Thriller


Black Label

by James L'Etoile

July 12 - August 8, 2021 Tour


About the Book:

Sanity is something you don’t miss until it’s gone. Hard charging pharmaceutical executive Jillian Cooper fears she’d destined to inherit her mother’s history of mental illness when she finds herself accused of murdering her boss. All the evidence tells her she’s either a murderer, or insane. When Jillian struggles to find the truth, she uncovers a web of black market pharmaceuticals, prison gangs, and greed. She begins to believe she may have killed to cover up the off-the-books drug operation.

Can she discover the truth before she’s condemned to life in prison, or a mental hospital?

Praise for Black Label:

"Tight, terrific, terrifying. BLACK LABEL delves into the murky world of pharmaceuticals where profit is prioritized above all else. L’Etoile creates a strong female lead in Jillian Cooper, a woman who faces obstacle after obstacle, but still charges into the abyss. More unnerving than a fistful of amphetamines. Unputdownable."
—K.J. Howe, international bestselling author of SKYJACK

"James L'Etoile's BLACK LABEL is a delightfully complex and twisty thriller with a ripped-from-the-headlines plot that will make you think long and hard before you swallow your next dose of medication. Add in an intrepid heroine willing to do whatever it takes to uncover the truth no matter the cost, and L'Etoile's newest offering is a winner!"
— Karen Dionne, author of the #1 international bestseller THE MARSH KING'S DAUGHTER and THE WICKED SISTER

"Relentlessly fast-paced and compellingly twisty! The talented James L’Etoile sets up an irresistibly high-stakes situation: a woman is certain to be charged with murder and doesn’t remember a thing. Can she prove her innocence before she's silenced forever? A dark journey through the world of big Pharma and big money—you will turn the pages as fast as you can."
— Hank Phillippi Ryan USA Today Bestselling author of THE FIRST TO LIE

"If this book had a tag, it would say ‘proceed with caution’ because nothing is what it seems. Told with a vivid and visceral style, this is le Carré’s Constant Gardener meets The Fugitive. As the title suggests, BLACK LABEL is a top of the line thriller."
Gabriel Valjan, Agatha & Anthony Award nominated author

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: July 20, 2021
Number of Pages: 300
ISBN: 978-1-953789-14-3
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Add to Goodreads

Read an Excerpt:

Chapter 1

It was bad this time. Jillian shielded her eyes from the sharp edge of morning light and dug her fingers into the pillow clutched over her face. Deep in her temples, her pulse hammered a fast, painful staccato rhythm. She’d gone months since her last migraine, and this one tightened a vice around her skull. Even with her eyes closed, her vision clouded with a kaleidoscope of bright dots. The rustle of bedcovers sounded like the world fell in around her. Jillian Cooper’s world had crumbled down and threatened to suffocate her, only she didn’t know it–yet.

She reached for the phone she kept on her bedside table. There was no way she was going to make it to her Saturday morning spin class. Her hand probed for the phone, her head still tucked under the pillow. First one way, then she groped in another direction, knocking over a small brass table lamp. Jillian recoiled from the clatter as the metal lamp rung as loudly as the bells at Saints’ Peter and Paul Church over in North Beach. She peeled off her protective pillow and reached for the phone. Her phone wasn’t on the bedside table, and neither was the stack of paperback books she habitually kept at hand. Blinding pinpricks of light danced in her vision, making it impossible to focus through the swirling aura.

Fighting against the pounding in her head, Jillian crept to the edge of the bed, dangled her legs off the side, and brushed her toes gently on the polished hardwood floor. Jillian shuddered, a wave of nausea poured over her. The feeling wasn’t from a migraine. It came from the realization she wasn’t in her apartment. Her place didn’t have hardwood floors. Jillian didn’t know where she was, or worse, how she got here.

Instead of her phone, a half-empty Gran Patrón Platinum tequila bottle and a wrinkled condom wrapper lay on the nightstand. She spotted her clothes on the other side of the room, in a heap on a leather chair. Jillian pulled the sheet away from herself and peered downward.

“Shit.”

She was naked under the bed covers. Jillian couldn’t remember the slightest detail leading up to her ending the night disrobed, nor could she feel the lingering warmth of being with someone, in spite of the condom wrapper left on the nightstand. She’d never experienced a blackout from alcohol before. Jillian stayed away from tequila as a rule because of a few bad hangovers back when she attended San Francisco State University. If it weren’t for the half-empty bottle of pricy booze, she’d have sworn she hadn’t touched the stuff in ten years.

Yet, here she was–tequila, nakedness, and all. She hoped a tall, dark, handsome, athletic man was going to burst through the bedroom door with a tray of cappuccinos and warm croissants. At this point, a short, round, gnomish man with instant coffee and a day-old pop tart would be welcome. It wasn’t her habit to “sleep around,” as her mother used to call it. However, Jillian Cooper was a woman who enjoyed the occasional company of men, and this was not the first time she’d greeted the sunrise from a man’s place following a late night hook-up. She always remembered them, until this morning. The migraine and the tequila played games in her head—loud, pulsing, and painful games.

The bedroom, where she did God-only-knows-what, was expensively furnished and decidedly masculine. Dark hues of burnished leather and deep mahogany dominated the space. A set of wooden horizontal blinds kept out some light, and in spite of her headache, curiosity demanded she open them.

The window looked out over Huntington Park in Nob Hill, some of the priciest real estate in San Francisco. From her vantage point, Jillian figured the room sat on the sixth floor, or higher, and commanded a view of the grey slate tile roof of Grace Cathedral and Mt. Sutro off to the South. The condo, or whatever this place was, offered the resident one of those “ten-million-dollar views” everyone wanted, but few could afford. Jillian’s salary as a Vice President of Marketing for Dynalife Pharmaceutical wouldn’t buy the dust in a place like this.
Another wave of nausea buckled Jillian’s knees. She grabbed onto a dresser near the window and braced herself while the queasiness passed. As she opened her eyes, she focused on a silver-plated frame on the top of the dresser. Jillian peered at a photograph of her own image, a picture of her, with her boss, Jonathon Mattson, the CEO of Dynalife Pharmaceutical.

Confusion and panic clawed at Jillian’s mind. Mattson was thirty-five years her senior and married to one of the city’s society matrons. Jillian supposed some women found him attractive, with his swagger and the ease with which he flaunted his wealth. There were lines Jillian did not cross; never, ever, get involved with someone at work, and married men were off limits.

What was she doing here, naked in Mattson’s apartment? Had Jillian broken both rules? The thought of a relationship with Mattson was unthinkable. The photograph meant they’d been together before. The two looked at ease with one another in the photo, and it hinted at a close personal relationship, her hand on his chest. When the hell was that taken? She had no recollection of an evening with Jonathon Mattson, let alone posing for a photo.

“What have I done?”

Jillian staggered to the chair with her wadded-up clothes, slid into her panties, quickly stepped into her dark blue dress, shoved a bra in her purse, and grabbed her shoes from the floor. With an ear to the door, Jillian listened. Filtered by the thrum of her heartbeat, she heard voices deep within the apartment. She felt her face blush thinking about who she’d meet as she snuck out. Her hand trembled on the doorknob as she turned it, a fraction of an inch at a time until the lock slid back with a muted click. The door opened inward a few inches, the voices became more distinct–a television.

Shoes in hand, Jillian crept down the hallway. The hardwood floor felt cold under her bare feet as she made her way to the large open living space. A flat-screen television blared the financial news from CNN to an empty room. Jillian glanced at the kitchen, and she exhaled when she realized she was alone in the apartment. The veil of swirling bright spots in her vision started to clear, and she needed to head home for her migraine medication. She desperately wanted to leave before Jonathon Mattson returned. She couldn’t face him with the cocktail of anger and shame whirling inside her.

Slipping on her shoes, she listened as the CNN anchor, a carefully coifed and airbrushed young blonde reporter, delivered her monologue.

“The market opened with a quick rally this morning,” the anchorwoman said.

“Today’s Saturday and the market isn’t open, bimbo,” Jillian said. “Where do they find these people?” She found her jacket folded over the back of a sofa.

Jillian tucked the jacket under her arm, reached for the apartment door and stopped when she heard the woman’s voice drone on.

“In other financial news, the death of Dynalife Pharmaceutical CEO, Jonathon Mattson sent the mega-pharmaceutical company’s stock prices plummeting in early trading. Authorities are looking into the matter and haven’t disclosed any details about the death.”

Jillian froze when the screen flashed a photo of Mattson, with a banner under the image proclaiming, “Billionaire Pharmaceutical CEO Dead.”

The television news turned the page and droned on about other financial news. Mattson was a mere footnote in the market ledgers. Business goes on.

“That can’t be. Jonathon, dead?”

Another cramp of nausea hit her, and she wrapped her arms around her midsection as if she held her insides together. The apartment space closed in on her, and when the spasms subsided, Jillian darted for the door and flung it open. She ran across the hall to an elevator and stabbed the down button repeatedly, willing the car to appear. The hallway space was foreign; nothing in the décor sparked a memory of how she got here. But here she was, and it wasn’t like she magically appeared in Mattson’s apartment. Jillian didn’t know Jonathon kept an apartment on Knob Hill. It must have been a secret rendezvous pad for Jonathon and his rumored affairs. A wave of nausea swept over Jillian at the though she was now among his conquests.

The whir of the elevator stopped, and a light electronic bleep sounded the arrival of the conveyance. She slid into the empty elevator before the doors fully opened and punched the lobby button. The cool wall of the elevator car soothed the back of her head, the first comforting thing since awakening in this bad dream.

She couldn’t shake the nightmare off. Questions without answers cascaded through her mind. What happened? Where was she? Who was she with?

“Come on–come on,” she urged the doors as they closed at a slow agonizing pace.

“It’s not possible. Today is Saturday, and I saw Jonathon at a board meeting yesterday–Friday. It has to be a huge mistake.” She drew in a deep breath and tried to center herself.

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened into the building’s lobby. Jonathon wasn’t there to expose some elaborate practical joke. Instead, Jillian found the marble-tiled lobby empty, except for a doorman who gave her a smirk and a nod signaling, “I know what you did last night.” The man leered and stroked his short stubble beard as Jillian passed his station.

Jillian stepped outside to the curb and raised her hand for a taxi. She glanced at a newspaper rack on the sidewalk next to her, and the headline caught her breath short.

Billionaire Jonathon Mattson Murdered.

The date jumped off the page. It was the Monday edition.

Mattson was dead; she’d met with him on Friday and woke up in his apartment this morning. Jillian’s knees buckled with the realization that two days passed without a single lingering memory. Two days erased without a trace.

***

Excerpt from Black Label by James L'Etoile. Copyright 2021 by James L'Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L'Etoile. All rights reserved.

 

 

Meet the Author:

James L'Etoile

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, facility captain, and director of California’s state parole system. He is a nationally recognized expert witness on prison and jail operations. He has been nominated for the Silver Falchion for Best Procedural Mystery, and The Bill Crider Award for short fiction. His published novels include: At What Cost, Bury the Past, and Little River -The Other Side of Paradise.

Catch Up With James L'Etoile:
www.JamesLEtoile.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @jimletoile
Instagram - @AuthorJamesLEtoile
Twitter - @JamesLEtoile
Facebook - @james.letoile

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

 

 

Giveaway:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for James L'Etoile. There will be Seven (7) winners for this tour. Two (2) winners will each receive a $20 Amazon.com gift card; Three (3) winners will each receive a $10 Amazon.com gift card; and Two (2) winners will each receive 1 signed print edition of At What Cost and Bury the Past by James L'Etoile. The giveaway begins on July 12 and runs through August 10, 2021. Void where prohibited.

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