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Professional Book Reviews

Kirkus Reviews stated;   

“A fiery, absorbing, impressive crime fiction procedural sure to shake up fans of the genre and 

introduce readers to a new author with great potential.” I was chosen by them to be featured in their Kirkus Review 6/15/18 issue because of the high rating my review received.


Bookviral.com stated;    

Our review......

A sordid rape and a thirty-year-old cold case set the scene for what proves to be a classy and edgy debut for Reichwein and one that’s sure to get her noticed by avid readers of the genre. Crime fiction is by necessity plot driven and writing a good police procedural, thriller or suspense novel isn’t easy. New authors often find themselves juggling so many plot threads that they become irrevocably tangled but Reichwein weaves hers with genuine flair and A Different Kind Of Fire And Fury; Revenge is one of those novels where you’ll want to savour the fine detail. A sure sign of a bestseller the forward momentum is relentless as Detective Michelle Velasquez finds herself drawn into a web of lies and misdirection and whilst Reichwein may be new to the genre she’s clearly adept at revealing her characters’ emotions. Doing so through well-conceived backstories and a word or two of nicely nuanced dialogue readers who like James Patterson will find this certainly hits the mark.

With her sights clearly set on the genre's bestsellers, Reichwein has come out fighting with a series that has huge potential and A Different Kind Of Fire And Fury; Revenge is highly recommended.

Recommend for the coveted BookViral Crimson Quill. To make your recommendation simply click on the award badge below......

Dark Secrets Prefer To Stay Buried!


Circleofbooks stated;  

Author Julie Reichwein has put together a gripping, relentless, super fast psychological thriller and I wouldn't expect less when it comes to... revenge!

This novel is divided in 69 chapters and each one of them is allocated to a specific character at a time. I really enjoy this kind of organization as it strengthens characterization, we come to know each one of the characters really well – ie. their motives, thoughts, traumas, fears, backgrounds, etc.


And certainly she did a thorough research about the different characters, for instance, sexual assailants and their psychology. For the characters have very strong personalities and their souls are masterfully exposed in their sick, gritty, dirty and dark glory, sometimes their behaviors borders on the ridicule but I think it adds to their authenticity.


Reichwein is very good also when it comes to describing scenes, she makes it look effortless as she uses the exact right amount of description – not wordy but also not lacking in detail, this will make the reader easily visualize the scene in his/her mind.


This novel features strong language and it is sexually charged.


Bestthrillers.com stated;  

The Bottom Line: A timely, high-octane revenge thriller for the #metoo era.


 Like the Uma Thurman revenge thriller Kill Bill, Reichwein’s narrative is full-bore from the get-go. 


 Whether intentional or not, the title is an apt description for the raw emotion on display in this most unusual and effective novel. 


U.S. Reviews stated;   

The plot is intricate. Too much detail would spoil the fun of unraveling it with the detective. Just be apprised that the story is awash with sex and perversion plus violence and viciousness. Crude language abounds. Horrific acts are depicted unflinchingly. This tale is definitely not for the squeamish. Author Reichwein paces her novel well. The read is fast and frequently furious. Her character development is strong. You’ll find yourself hating the dastardly, pitying the injured parties, and pulling for the few actually trying to right egregious wrongs. Dialogue, while coarse, is appropriate based on the types of individuals mouthing it. Reichwein’s novel is more a descendant of Jim Thompson than Raymond Chandler. It’s a walk on the decidedly wild side.

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“While seeking revenge, dig two graves- one for yourself.”

Douglas Horton

CHAPTER 1

Detective Michelle Velasquez

Santa Fe, New Mexico

May 20th, 2013


It was the 21st century, but my victim cowered naked on the floor as the man in the ivory tower hadn’t signed on to equality in the workplace. #MeToo It was the age of female empowerment, but the big man in the office wanted her, in kitten heels, as he walked through her door. It was the age of feminism but to him it meant she hated men. For the man filled with hate, the new age woman fueled his anger as he justified his vile actions. The man forgot the golden rule; sometimes women hit back. Because you resided in a gated community, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t come after you. If you’d been more concerned about revenge, you might have controlled your actions. Since revenge never crossed your mind, you imposed pain only to learn that it didn’t heal what ailed you, so it was time for justice to even the scales or revenge would. All women deserved a dignified and respectful workplace, and I had a new victim who wouldn’t further her career by getting down on her knees. They sent me to the Jones Financial offices, on Calle Mejia Street, after housekeeping called about an assault. 


I’d been drawn to Police work, because I loved to discover secrets, since 

I was young. How were puppies made? Could Santa Claus visit every day? These questions changed as I grew up and became a Detective. Do you feel better after you murdered her? Did 

you look in her eyes and let her know what awful act she’d done to deserve the final humiliation? I’d like to understand what happened, so can you tell me?  


On the drive over, my cell phone sang out. Meghan Traynor’s, “If your lips are moving, then you’re lyin, lyin, lyin,” played on it as a call came in from an old friend who I hadn’t talked to in years. He chose wealth management, for the top one percent, and I chose “who dunnit” as my way of life. Richard Stanberry III, a flash from my youth, as powder on the ski slopes of Crested Butte, Colorado filled our days, as we raced down the mountainside.

 

Steve, my husband, called Richard a salesman who never turned it off and an arrogant prick, with ulterior motives, dressed in his monogrammed wardrobe as if we couldn’t remember 

his name, if he didn’t embroider it on everything. 


I answered the phone and said, “Long time no talk, so how are you?”


Richard said, “I couldn’t be better, and I’m in town for a day or two. I’m prepared to set your financial future straight, if you have time for dinner at the Compound tonight?” More 

jubilant than I remember, so he must have found a new whale, but my checking account couldn’t feed a goldfish.


“Richard, I can’t. I’m off to a rape scene.” 


“Not to sound judgmental, but how on earth did you choose such a degrading line of work?”


“It chose me.”


“Not to question your decision, but I think you made a mistake.”


“My cross to bear Richard.”


“What about lunch tomorrow? You really need some career advice, and I want to see you. It’s been too long. After I saw you the last time, I left grateful for what I had, and I want to 

impart my wisdom on you for old time’s sake.” And the alarm system in my brain screamed, “FIRE,” because he consulted for the elite. Not known for his persistence in the pursuit of me, so 

my interest peaked, through the mountain top, as to the intent of his call. With my finances, I couldn’t cover the suit of the day in his world, so what did I have to warrant the sudden 

attention?


“I’ll let you know, if I have time hotshot,” and I hung up. In need of a hot shower, but it would have to wait. 


Our mutual shared interests, in the past consisted of big air and black double diamond runs as we skied, without abandon, with Schnapps in our flasks, and it bonded us forty years ago. Santa Fe, “The City Different,” sits in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Known for its Pueblo style architecture, and we called it home. We hung out in our teen years, with the counter culture influence masked behind the preppy clothes, as steep slopes ruled our youth. When we graduated from high school, since we loved extreme, there was one place to go to college, Western State College in Gunnison/Crested Butte, Colorado. After graduation, we went in different directions, but we kept in touch through Facebook. Richard surrounded himself with guys, who loved the slopes as much as he did, and with females attracted to his boyish charm, so his future glittered with star power. My husband’s character assessment nailed it as he said, “Richard patronizes those who can help his cause.” 


Fifteen years since I talked to Richard but time had arrived to unfriend him. Once he married mega-money, his arrogance grew unrestrained towards those beneath him, so we drifted apart. 

As I pulled into the parking lot, I said, “I have to go. I’m at the crime scene.”


He said, “I respect you for trying to make the world a better place, but my experience with women is they like the attention. You used to,” and I knew why I hadn’t talked to him in years.


“Bye Richard. Call back in fifteen years, and I might have time for lunch then,” and I hung up. Otto and I walked into the Pueblo style building with a Xeriscape garden and a stone 

pebble walkway. The security guard ushered us to a room, with a Kiva fireplace in the corner and a Kermanshaw antique Navajo rug, where the victim, Maria Acevedo, drew back. She was wrapped in an Eyedazzler homespun blanket and desperate for a friend. In need of privacy, I motioned for the street cops to clear out as I read her personnel file. 

Maria Acevedo was a new employee as she cringed with the eyes on her. So did the man justify his actions because she wore the wrong outfit? It said, “Yes,” in his perveted mind as her words said, “No.” In his eyes, she chose the wrong profession, so she had to be put in her 

proper place. She didn’t know that, “No,” meant nothing because she was a, ”Nobody,” in his hate filled eyes. Women were born with a brain, so was her intelligence unimportant because she wore a skirt? She worked harder than most, to show everyone she belonged, but she would never have a man’s physical strength which did not give him the right to take from her what she never agreed to. All she asked was to be treated with the same respect as those who wore pants to the 

office. Was that too much to expect?


With a blank look on her face, so I introduced myself and said, “I’m Detective Michelle Velasquez, and this is Otto. What’s your name?”


“Maria Acevedo.” Her head down, her shoulders convulsed, and her face ashen as the parade of onlookers unnerved her, so Otto laid down next to her. 


I knelt down and said, “Can you tell me what happened to you?”


She said, “A man raped me,” as she shook from side to side. After a moment, she pet Otto, my four year old German Shepherd, and she began to settle. Her attack had nothing to do 

with desire; it had everything to do with hate. #HerToo.


“Can you take me through the events?”

She nodded and said, “Yes.” It took her a minute, to gather her thoughts, before she began again and said, “I was a nobody.”


“What do you mean?” And she took me through her day. “Can you give me his name?” 


She shook her head. “But you do know who he is?” As her world slid out of control, all she could muster was a nod as her mascara ran down her cheeks. Worried I would lose her but I wanted to get the name of the prick who raped her. “Is he your boss?” 


With the sleeve from her blouse, she wiped the tears and mascara before she spoke, “No.” 


“Has he given you problems before?”


“I’m new.”


“Are you afraid to tell me who he is?” 


She nodded in the affirmative.


“I wasn’t a person to him. Just a body to poke his dick into for my humiliation.”


“If you tell me who he is, I can arrest him, and you’ll never have to worry about him again.” Tears started down her cheeks. “Can you tell me why you are so scared of him?” 


She said, “Because he threatened me.” 


“But you called the Police?”


“No. The cleaning crew came in, after closing hours, and found me. I begged them not to call you, but they did.”


“I’m glad they did.”


“Please don’t make me tell you who he was. He’ll destroy me.”


I said, “You know most rapists threaten their victims to keep them quiet, but they seldom follow through.” As I said it, I didn’t believe a word of it because to confront your attacker would not be easy. I’d shoot the bastard where it counted, if I ever got raped before I’d get dragged through the system. She continued to shake her head from side to side, so I said, “Why don’t we do this. I’ll take you to St. Francis Hospital, and we’ll process the evidence. You don’t need to make a decision, at the moment, on disclosing his identity. If in the future you change your mind, we have the evidence.”


“I don’t think I can.” 


“We need photographic evidence of your injuries plus he may have left a hair or two behind.” She shook her head faster, so I said, “It’s just a few photos. Nothing too obtrusive,” but 

they were anything but. If she named her rapist, her life would no longer be private. But without evidence, I had no chance of an arrest. “Let me take you to the hospital. I’ll call a rape counselor 

for you to talk to. It’s confidential between you and her.” She nodded. I’d get the son of a bitch because he wasn’t going to get away with destroying Maria Acevedo’s life. #Timesup


I rode with her in the ambulance, to St. Francis Hospital, where I stayed with her through the abysmal experience. They loaded her onto a gurney. They cut her clothes off and replaced 

them with a gown. Wrapped in a blanket to keep her warm, they shuffled her from room to room. 

Once they reached the examination room, they had her stand. They removed the blanket and gown as the nurse held a ruler to the different abrasions while they photographed them. They swabbed her vagina and anus and gave her various shots and pills. After the shots were administered, they aimed a Canon between her legs. Once they had sufficient pictures, they inserted long beaks inside her and smeared her vagina with blue paint to check for abrasions. When they finished, they let her shower. Her rapist wasn’t a novice, so I would check the database for any similar reported attacks. 


Otto and I went home after her rape counselor showed up. I’d get the son of a bitch because the arrogant prick thought he was entitled to take what he wanted, but he didn’t know that I would

get the final say. I would be Maria Acevedo’s avenger. Scumbags like her rapist understood one thing, you had to punch back.

Files coming soon.

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