The lovely people at Bonnier Zaffre invited me to be part of the blog tour for The Cathy Connolly trilogy by Sam Blake to celebrate the release of the third book!
Due to the books not arriving in time for this post, this will just feature an extract from the third book No Turning Back! I will have reviews up for each book when I read them, so keep an eye out for those!
‘Sit down will you, you’re making me nervous standing up.’
Arching her eyebrows, she pulled the guest chair out from in front of his desk like a belligerent teenager. And like a belligerent teenager, she sat and immediately leaned back until it tipped precariously on its back legs. O’Rourke looked at her witheringly.
‘If that chair falls over, Cat Connolly, and you injure your wrist trying to break your fall, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do to McIntyre. When’s that fight?’
‘Middle of April.’ Cathy abruptly set the chair straight.
He was right. The Boss, Niall McIntyre, her friend and coach, would kill her if she injured herself. As a result of the explosion she’d been off the kick-boxing competition circuit for a year. Now she was fit again and they were putting everything they had into getting her ready for the next National Championships. She was going to win back her title and she was going to wipe the floor with her rival, Jordan Paige.
‘That’s better. Now let’s look at the promotion list properly, shall we?’
O’Rourke flipped open his laptop and pulled up the members’ portal on the Garda website, running his eye down the list to ‘Forensic Profiler’. It was a new position, listed last after other roles and ranks: Sergeant Sub-Aqua, Warrant Officer, Dog Handler, Community Liaison. It was the first time An Garda Síochána had created the position, mainly through lobbying from Cathy and her report on their last case. Uncovering a trans-European criminal empire had been an added bonus to finding her best friend alive, despite getting shot at twice during the process.
And everyone reckoned that the job was made for Cat Connolly. Very few applicants had her specific training in forensic psychology, her experience. She’d got a first in every single assessment she’d handed in for her Masters. The final piece, due in May, would give her the formal certificate in Forensic Psychology, but her tutors were confident it was a foregone conclusion, had written her a glowing recommendation. She’d ploughed through ahead of most of her classmates, knowing her time wouldn’t be her own when she was back in the unit and fully operational.
‘So who got it? Who’s the wonder boy?’ Cathy didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, pulled her necklace from the neck of her black sweater, running the Tiffany dog tag along its silver bead chain as she waited for him to answer. She couldn’t look at him.
O’Rourke stared at the name on the list for a long moment. Running his hand over his chin, smoothly shaven today, he took his time replying.
‘Well?’ Cathy stared at him suspiciously. At times like this his broken nose and military buzz cut made him look seriously shifty, but he couldn’t hide anything from her; after all these years she could read him too well. ‘What are you not telling me? One of the lads said he was from Donegal. Why have I never heard of him if he’s gone and got my fecking job? Has he trained with the Met or something?’
‘You’ve done that.’
‘I know, but … What?’ She could tell from O’Rourke’s face that something was wrong.
‘He’s a sergeant. He was stationed on the border.’
‘So he’s got a rank on me.’ She looked at him; she could almost feel her mouth turning down at the corners. Glum, that was the word.
O’Rourke glanced at her. ‘He’s in his thirties.’
‘So he’s got a Master’s or a PhD, has he?’
O’Rourke shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He hesitated, ‘He’s the Taoiseach’s nephew.’
Make sure you check out the posts from the others involved in this blog tour!
Let’s be friends!