Volume Two contains all four novels in DeVoon's sizzling detective series The Case Files of Cable and Blount, conceived as a film and television franchise, starring Marine Corps hero Christopher Cable and his brainy bisexual wife Mary Blount PhD, a modern Nick and Nora Charles. They risk life and limb in A Portrait of Valor (2016), cheat death in The Tar Pit (2017), roil international currency markets in Charity (2017), and chase halfway around the world in the mysterious cold case adventure Finding Flopsie (2018). Five star praise for Wolf DeVoon's CABLE & BLOUNT series: "A master of sly observations, of the truths hidden in words, a big dose of literary fun, that even if played out in today's world, echoes to the time when men were men, and writers weren't afraid to tell stories." (L.B. Johnson) "One part grit, a dash of over the top machismo, a pinch of womanly intuition and common sense, add heartfelt devotion, murder, and heat over a flame of erotic pleasure." (Goodreads librarian) "The combination of courage, tenderness, integrity, brains and raw sensuality is way out of the ordinary. A Portrait of Valor alternately growls, whimpers and seduces, pulling crime noir characters out of stereotype, breathing 21st century life into a well worn genre. Private eye Chris Cable struggles against his nature. He melts like an ice cube on a hot plate one minute and the next moment breaks his mold like a brick through a plate glass window. Realistically erotic, appropriate to the unsheathed violence that is happening around them. I was scared for them." (Erik Svehaug) Who is Chris Cable? - straight, tough, loves women, fights with men to retain his self respect and win as often as possible. That's why he carries a gun, a particularly nice gun, a SIG-Sauer 1911. When it's shot out of his hand, a crippling injury, Chris has to make do with a left handed PPK. Later in life, he'll be given a SIG P320, government standard issue, a 9mm with no mechanical safety, just draw and shoot. He's military, on first name basis with national security people and LAPD. He earned two battlefield promotions as a Marine Corps officer, immersed in relentless death and dismemberment, work that fighting men do. Half of his platoon were KIA, the other half scarred and crippled, including Chris, decorated for bravery. When Navy comrade Nick Narcourt was severely wounded, an officer he liked and respected, Chris resigned his commission, spent a year at his friend's bedside, helped him through rehab. They were both finished with killing. Nightmare memories were bad enough. What do ex-military people do? Law enforcement. Except that Chris had a hard time taking orders, following rules. After a couple years of getting yelled at and told to do nothing, Chris decided he'd rather be a private investigator, have gun will shoot. That succeeds for a while, but no one wants to hire him twice. He's dangerous, hard, emotionally absent. Girls shun him in nightclubs. They know who he is, a lone wolf, doesn't take any hooey. Of course there's a perfect female for Chris - a modern Nick and Nora Charles - except that Chris is armed and dangerous and well-connected, has friends and family in secret government service, career O.G.A. who don't tell Congress what they're doing, routinely misdirect Presidents and cabinet secretaries, collaborate with DIA, NSC and NSA, but never FBI. There's an open job offer in Langley if he wants it as a ruthless covert operator - urbane, sexy, Ivy League confident and unpredictable. Station chiefs complain that Cable did it again, went dark and failed to report as ordered, impossible to supervise. Murder. Prison. Black Ops. And one of the greatest love stories ever told. Four tense adventures by Wolf DeVoon, champion of anarchy, individual action and red hot sex, the passionate romance of a hard man and an intelligent woman. Wild, cinematic, told in blazingly realistic language, escapades that celebrate love and courage u
About the Author: I'm an outsider, indie novelist blocked by Google. I know I'm quite stupid, but it could have been different. I clocked 145 IQ as a kid. Probably about 80 now, a big palette of useless skills. Funny thing about intelligence testing, doesn't measure math aptitude or the ability to memorize big stacks of facts. I excelled at logic. So, what could a bright dumbshit have done in life? -- anything involving physical reality, nuts and bolts, mechanical design, optics, machining, soldering, welding, component wiring and assembly, troubleshooting and testing -- all of which I did as a kid and later in life. I had talent as an architect, graphic artist, furniture designer, filmmaker, audio tech, lighting designer. I covered thousands of pages in complicated diagrams, built prototypes and systems. Ooo, bad news. Destined to be a second or third banana. Top earners are businessmen and bankers, number guys who invent nothing and shave pennies, roll them into dollars. Doctors and lawyers have minds like libraries stuffed with detailed info and generally accepted best practice, spend decades in specialized training to qualify as licensed professionals. I didn't have the attention span of a gnat, unless I was designing something original. Nor did I have the gift of gab, hallmark of a salesman. I was a terrible presenter, tongue tied and shy, never at ease unless I was working alone and imagining an unique solution. Always got a kick out of designing speaker systems, brilliant highs and thundering bass, using cheap components and series-parallel power division. Simple stuff. Writing is like that. Words are cheap, but they can be combined in original ways with acoustic power. I don't write anything with scholarly or literary elegance. Show me the main panel and stand back, you might need a fire extinguisher.