#Review - White Wolf by Eric Van Lustbader #Thriller #Suspense #Espionage

Series: Evan Ryder # 5
Format: 352 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: December 2, 2025
Publisher: Forge Books
Source: Library
Genre: Thriller, Suspense, Espionage

New York Times bestselling author Eric Van Lustbader pits Evan Ryder against a new and unfathomable threat in this heart-stopping new installment of this blockbuster thriller series!

In this cutting-edge installment of the acclaimed thriller series, New York Times bestselling author Eric Van Lustbader thrusts readers into a world where power is being redefined by a revolutionary communication program that renders modern encryption obsolete, one that will topple global power structures and give rise to technology-driven totalitarian states.

Evan Ryder races against time in a landscape where secrets can no longer hide behind digital walls. Ilona Shokova, the elusive, deadly assassin White Wolf, holds the key to mastering this unhackable method.

Two powerful, deadly women, one quest. Will either one of them survive?

In this pulse-pounding thriller, the future isn't just written in code - it's locked behind it.

White Wolf by Eric Van Lustbader is the Fifth installment in the author's Evan Ryder series. This book has way too many narratives for me to list, so I will get right to the story. Evan Ryder, a survivor of profound personal tragedy who has dedicated her life to covert operations, finds herself in a desperate race against time. A revolutionary new communication program threatens to render all modern encryption obsolete, potentially upending global power structures and paving the way for technology-driven totalitarian regimes. 

Secrets can no longer hide behind digital walls, and control of this unhackable technology is the ultimate prize. At the center of the chaos is Ilona Shokova, codenamed the White Wolf—an elusive, deadly Russian assassin and operative who holds the key to mastering this groundbreaking method. Described as an almost inhuman killing machine, Ilona carries on a legendary (and originally male-associated) legacy with ruthless efficiency. Evan’s mission becomes deeply personal when a young Russian boy named Timur—whom she regards as a son—is taken hostage and used as leverage.

Blackmailed after a violent attack, Evan must track down the White Wolf, navigate treacherous alliances (including with tech figures and her sometime lover), and retrieve a bizarre item tied to the conspiracy, all while racing to save Timur and prevent catastrophic global fallout. The story pits two formidable, deadly women against each other in a high-stakes quest where survival is far from guaranteed. The story has numerous locations, including Japan and Malaysia. 

The premise feels timely and relevant—exploring how unbreakable communication tech could destabilize nations and empower authoritarian control—without getting bogged down in excessive technobabble. The cat-and-mouse dynamic between Evan Ryder and the White Wolf generates strong tension, amplified by the personal stakes involving Timur. Evan remains a compelling protagonist: resilient, skilled, and driven by both duty and deep emotional wounds, while the supporting cast (including recurring figures from prior books, such as her own sister) adds layers of alliances and betrayals.

Ilona Shokova is a formidable antagonist, but her near-mythic portrayal sometimes borders on larger-than-life, which works in the thriller genre yet might feel less nuanced to readers seeking deeper psychological depth. The story serves well as a series capper or a late entry, though starting with The Nemesis Manifesto provides fuller context for character relationships and ongoing arcs.

1

SUMATRA, NORTHEAST COAST

MARCH

They had spent themselves physically. Their entwining—sometimes violent, sometimes sensual, always desperate—had taken over four hours. Now they lay, still entwined, two lizards stunned into immobility, drenched in sweat, the sour-sweet odor of sex wafting off them like incense.

Wrapped in Marsden Tribe’s strong arms, Evan Ryder allowed his warmth to sink into her. It was an altogether different heat from what she felt beneath the Sumatran sun or from any other sun, for that matter. The warmth exuded privacy and, she supposed, privilege, something in which she had no interest. But she did have interest in Tribe. He was a tech genius, a multibillionaire, the founder and owner of Parachute, the world’s most advanced, privately owned quantum tech company.

He had fascinated Evan so deeply since she had met him nearly two years before, that she not only continued to work for him but now made love to him every month, his private jet always arriving when expected at the airstrip on the landside periphery of the enormous estate he owned. Here in the main villa, built atop a small headland with steps down to the beach, she had lived for a year. And over the course of that year, Tribe had signed long-term deals with the word-salad branches of the DOD, the Pentagon, NSA, a strategic portion of the Fortune 500 companies, as well as every tech company not named Google, Meta, Amazon, or Apple, all of which depended on Parachute’s hyper-speed quantum computer clusters for everything from enhanced AI workflow to end-to-end cybersecurity. Publicly, Evan was just another member of Parachute’s security division. In reality, she was its prime field agent, continuing the clandestine work she had done for Ben Butler’s team under the DOD umbrella.

She began to roll over but Tribe’s arms caught her. He stirred, rose out of sleep, and within moments their naked bodies entwined once more. He was an insatiable lover, perhaps because they were together only the one night each month. Inventive, too. She’d never been with a man who knew his way around the art of sex like Marsden Tribe.

Afterward, sweat-slicked, sated, he closed his eyes, asleep in seconds. She waited for her heart rate to return to normal, then unwound herself from him. Slipping out of bed, she shivered. Tribe insisted on keeping the air-conditioning on while he was in residence, whereas Evan preferred to be lulled to sleep by the night concerto of tree frogs, crickets, cicadas, moths. She crossed to the sliders, unlocked them, stepped out onto the expansive terrace. There were any number of exotic species of birds indigenous to the island but her favorite by far was the regal black-crowned night heron. Lucky for her the stream just yards away from where she stood was home to one. The water, reflecting the moon, wound from the interior, spilling into the sea. She saw the night heron by the light of the moon and the thick river of stars, tall, majestic, moving slowly or not at all, its head directed at the water through which it high-stepped. It saw her as she saw it—she was sure of it; sure, too, that it ducked its head in acknowledgment of being in the same place at the same time.

She leaned against the railing, watching the bird hunt in its singular fashion. She breathed the hot, humid air, heavily laden with night-blooming jasmine, frangipani, Melati. She still felt Tribe’s sweat on her, his musk, and she grew wet between her thighs. As if her body became aware of him an instant before her mind, she felt his arm snake around her waist. She took his hand, ran a finger over the wide silver band circling his right wrist. He never took it off, at least not in her presence.

“Do you want to know how Timur is progressing?” she asked huskily.

For just a moment a cauldron of bats defaced the moon, then were swallowed up by the blackness.

“Are you happy here, Evan?”

“Why should I be happy here?”

“You’ve been here in my villa for over a year.”

“And yet it feels like Lyudmila died yesterday.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t condescend, Marsden. You never cared a fig about her.”

“But I care about you.”

She took a breath, let it out slowly. She was not about to pull on that string. She tilted her head forward. “You see that bird in the stream?”

“The night heron, you mean.”

She nodded, trying not to be surprised that he knew; but then he knew most everything. That was the scariest thing about him; it was also why she was drawn to him.

“The black-crowned night heron, yes. It took months, but we’ve developed a relationship, he and I.”

“Should I be jealous?” He was half mocking.

“Seriously, we have a connection. Time and again, we’re out here together, we recognize each other in the shadows and we communicate.”

“And how do you communicate with a bird?”

“It’s a secret,” she whispered.

She could feel him moving beside her, a restlessness she had come to recognize as one of his trademarks. It was also a tell, if you knew him well enough. Very few did. To them it seemed like he was drifting, when really he was flowing, like mercury.

“Tonight this island, this sea, this night,” he whispered into the shell of her ear, “was made for love.”

She gave no response, stayed quite still as he stepped behind her, spread her legs. Soon enough all thoughts flew away like the night heron, having sated itself. Before dawn they too, were, at last, sated.

* * *

A week after Tribe’s departure, the afternoon idled, glazed with a heavy light, heat and humidity combining to turn skin sweat-slicked, nut-brown. The intense blue, the white sand, green trees at their backs, here and there shadow-shot beneath the clattering canopies of palm trees.

Evan Ryder and Timur Shokov had just finished their daily ten-mile run. They had started months ago, running in the morning, just before sunrise, when the air was still cool, the humidity tolerable. But as Timur’s stamina grew, multiplying swiftly, she had amped up their workout under the blazing tropical sun. Wordlessly, plunging into the surf, they cooled their bodies, then ran back up onto the beach.

Rehydrating with bottles of ice-cold water fetched from an insulated case, they stared at each other, their shared past scrolling through their minds, tremorous chords connecting them.

“Today,” Timur said, “is my mother’s birthday.”

Evan dipped her head. “I’ve been feeling her.”

“I know.”

She looked up. “Really.”

“I do.” He drank more water. “I can always tell.”

Evan frowned. She had thought she kept her sorrow separate from him, just as she kept Tribe’s nighttime visits separate. “How?”

“You get this expression.” He broke off, shook his head. “No, that’s not right. Your eyes … they get, I don’t know, dark, I guess you could say.”

“I apologize. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” he said. “Apologize, I mean.”

“Timur, I—”

“There’s no need.” He put the empty bottle neck down back in the ice. “I mean it. Really.”

She smiled, knew it was a sad smile. “She’s so close, sometimes, I swear I can hear her voice.” Her voice telling me to take care of you while she bled out in my arms. Now she looked away so he wouldn’t see the tears glittering, making her eyes huge, glossy.

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#Review - Blood Oath by Steve Urszenyi #Thriller #Espionage

Series: Special Agent Alexandra Martel (#3)
Format: 304 pages, Hardcover

Release Date: November 18, 2025
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Espionage, Thriller

In this action-packed thriller, Special Agent Alex Martel's fight becomes personal when her father is abducted by rebel forces.

In the heart of Africa, CIA Special Agent Alexandra Martel’s safari with her father spirals into a deadly game of betrayal when he is kidnapped by rebels. Suddenly, her peaceful Serengeti vacation transforms into a desperate race against time. As the general is held by local rebels, Russian mercenaries and Chinese MSS operatives descend on East Africa, all hunting the military secrets locked in her father’s mind.

Alex assembles an elite team to navigate the treacherous terrain, but complications arise when her CIA boss, Caleb, shows up unexpectedly, stirring feelings she’s tried to bury since her husband’s death. As competing forces close in, Alex uncovers betrayals stretching from the Serengeti to the highest levels of global intelligence. Trust becomes as scarce as water in the African savanna.

With enemies converging from all sides, Alex must embrace her darkest instincts to save her father. But in a world where allies become enemies, and nothing is as it seems, how much of herself is she willing to sacrifice to honor the bonds of blood?

Blood Oath is the 3rd installment in author Steve Urszenyi's Special Agent Alexandra Martel series. Special Agent Alex Martel, a tough, skilled CIA paramilitary operative, Former FBI Agent, and sharpshooter who was awarded both the Purple Heart and Silver Star, is finally taking a well-deserved break: a photography safari in Tanzania's Serengeti National Park with her retired general father, David Martel. What begins as a peaceful father-daughter bonding trip quickly escalates into chaos when her father is kidnapped by rebel forces.

After her mother died unexpectedly, Alex and David formed a bond that neither would leave the other behind for any reason. "Blood of my blood, until my last breath." Complications arrive when her CIA boss, Caleb, arrives unexpectedly. Caleb and Alex have worked together for about a year, and Caleb wants more from their relationship. After David is kidnapped, they assemble an elite team to rescue the general, but betrayals are in abundance. Who can Alex trust? Nothing is as it seems. As Russian mercenaries and Chinese operatives swarm the region, pursuing sensitive military secrets held by David, Alex is thrust into a desperate rescue mission. 

Trust is scarce in this treacherous environment, forcing Alex to confront betrayals, alliances of convenience, and her own limits. The story explores themes of family bonds, honor, sacrifice, and the blurred lines between right and wrong in the shadowy world of international intrigue. Nearly everyone had agendas, and the novel features deception, betrayal, espionage, power, protecting political careers, national security, compromise, cooperation, and more. Alex Martel remains one of the standout heroines in contemporary thrillers. 

She's fiercely competent—a decorated sniper, combat medic, and operative—yet Urszenyi humanizes her by exposing her emotional vulnerabilities without diminishing her strength. This book makes her journey deeply personal, amplifying the stakes as she fights not just for duty, but for family. Supporting characters, including her father and various allies/antagonists, feel grounded and multifaceted, adding layers to the conflict. The ending of this book leaves hope that the author will write another novel. Too many secrets were exposed to leave them unanswered.

CHAPTER 1

SERENGETI NATIONAL PARK, TANZANIA

Somewhere ahead in the fog lurked her quarry, and as she stalked through the grass she remained vigilant, watching and listening for any hint that she had been detected. But only the muffled sounds of the savannah filled the air—the whispering rustle of the grass, the distant bray of a zebra, the low grunt of a wildebeest chasing off a rival. All other noise was muted as if swallowed by the fog that crept in and enveloped her.

Special Agent Alexandra Martel, contract CIA paramilitary officer, pushed forward. Each beat of her heart sent a rush of blood coursing through her veins, echoing in her ears like a Maasai drumbeat in the stillness of the heavy air.

Alex had always trusted her instincts. They had served her well as a young combat medic in her Ranger regiment, and with every posting and assignment ever since. Now, having lost sight of her quarry, she hoped those instincts wouldn’t let her down. But as the minutes ticked by without another sighting, she wondered if perhaps she had lost her edge, and the moment had escaped her. Maybe she’d been outsmarted. Maybe they were on to her. Or worse, maybe they had circled back and flanked her.

Then, as if someone had lifted a veil, she saw her target and adjusted her aim through her optics.

A little to the right, she told herself. And ever so carefully, she slithered sideways on her belly, making the required adjustments to bring her subject back into range and focus.

“Eighty-five meters,” called her spotter.

But Alex wasn’t satisfied. The thorny branch of a blackthorn acacia partially obscured her primary target through her lens, so again, she waited.

“Alex,” whispered her spotter. “Take the shot.”

Moments slipped by as Alex watched and waited for the image in her mind to align with the sight picture presented through her optics. Luck was the intersection of preparation and opportunity, and she was content to await a stroke of it to achieve success.

“Take the shot! You’re going to lose him.”

“Her,” she whispered.

“What?”

“It’s her, not him. Now be quiet for two seconds.”

She was losing time. The sun was setting, and the rays reflecting off the thin layer of fog set her subject off in a hue of golden light that wouldn’t last more than an instant. But the wind shifted behind them, carrying their scent on the warming air currents up the slight grade to the kopje, an island outcropping of ancient granite in a sea of grass.

The female leopard she had been watching through her camera’s telephoto lens pressed her nose into the air, lifting it to sniff the wind. Then Alex saw her chest give a slight heave. Though she couldn’t hear it, she knew the mother cat had issued a warning call to her three leopard cubs poking their heads over the edge of the rock high above. They scampered down the rock face toward their mother. Together, they disappeared into the many small trees, shrubs, and hollows that provided plenty of cover and concealment options from predators.

“I told you,” said her companion.

“For an old man, you can be such a twelve-year-old girl,” she said, noting his frown. General David Martel didn’t seem amused by the analogy—or the snipe at his age. “Truth hurts, huh, Pops?” she said.

“Yeah, well, the truth is you missed the shot.”

“For your information, I got some great shots.”

“Maybe, Little Miss NatGeo, but you also miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”

“So now you’re channeling hockey wisdom?”

“If the skate fits…”

He was right, of course. Although she had gotten a few photos that would probably turn out well, she had been so focused on the great shot that she might have let the best of them slip away. But there was no sense telling him that and inflating his already robust ego.

She sat up and slung her camera over her shoulder, the long, heavy lens weighing down the front of her Nikon. She reviewed the images on the camera’s display. “Look at this one,” she said, tilting the screen toward him. “See how the light catches her eyes?”

It still amazed her that, after all these years, she still wanted her dad’s approval. She guessed she would always be her daddy’s little girl.

Retired US Army general David Martel leaned closer, his weathered face softening into a warm smile. “Beautiful shot, Allie.”

Alex grinned. For once, she wasn’t calculating wind speed or counting heartbeats between trigger pulls. No lives hung in the balance. There were no targets to eliminate. Just this moment of perfect stillness in the Serengeti, sharing her father’s company and the simple joy of photography—a passion she’d neglected during years of deployments and operations.

She had come out a few days ago to meet her dad for a safari vacation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a vacation, let alone one with her dad. Despite being unable to spend much time together over the past few years, they quickly fell back into their usual banter and good-natured chirping. They were having fun, and she found herself smiling more than she had in a long time. She was relaxed, enjoying her time with her dad.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get back to the truck.”

They didn’t hike far before finding the Toyota Land Cruiser, where their guide awaited their return. James was a native of northern Tanzania, descended from the Chagga people who inhabited once-sovereign kingdoms within the Kilimanjaro Region on the mountain’s southern slope. When he wasn’t guiding safaris, he still called the town of Moshi, two hours east of Arusha along the Arusha Himo Road, his home.

“I was wondering if I was going to have to send a search party,” said James, exuding a cheerful facade through a robust accented voice.

“Alex thinks she’s a famous nature photographer,” the general replied as they climbed into the SUV.

“My daughter has much the same delusions,” he said, shaking his head, his puffy jowls shaking as he laughed. “We are in Tanzania, David. Africa is a magical place that elevates notions of our own greatness.” He sniffed like a lion checking a scent on the breeze. “It’s in the air,” he said.

Alex sniffed the air herself. “The only thing I smell here, James, isn’t coming from any magical place I’ve ever been,” she said. “Mavi ya tembo.”

He laughed even louder. “Now I am sorry that I am teaching your daughter Swahili, General. When she starts speaking about elephant dung, I know she is becoming too fluent in our language!”

“She’s a fast learner, alright,” said David Martel. “Just a slow photographer.”

“You’re a pair of real comedians,” said Alex. “Home, James.”

“And you seem to have lost your sense of humor, Ansel,” Alex’s dad teased, summoning the legacy of the groundbreaking American photographer Ansel Adams.

“Yes, but I’ll have the last laugh when I’m awarded a prestigious juried prize for wildlife photography for my photos of the leopardess and her cubs.”

James and the general burst out laughing as they headed along the two-track red dirt road toward their lodge.

The Land Cruiser featured a closed-cab design with a pop-top roof, sliding windows, and creature comforts like air-conditioning and a refrigerator. Alex and her dad preferred to ride with the roof up and the sliding windows fully opened rather than with the A/C cranking. Most of the time, they stood with their heads and shoulders protruding through the opened roof, taking in the majesty of the land and on the lookout for animals. But, as it was getting late, the pair lounged in their seats, one on either side of a center aisle.

Alex picked a traditional Maasai shuka off the seat in front of her, then wrapped the red, green, and black cloth around her shoulders like a shawl. She leaned her head against the 4x4’s window. She had almost drifted off into a much-desired slumber when two staccato pops in rapid succession reached her ears. Immediately, she sat bolt upright in her seat.

“What is it?” asked James, who had caught her movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“I heard nothing.”

“Hear what?” asked the general.

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#Review - The Tourists by Christopher Reich #Espionage #Thriller

Series: Mac Dekker (#2)
Format: 351 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: October 14, 2025
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Source: Publisher
Genre: Espionage / Thriller

From the New York Times bestselling author of Matterhorn comes a heart-stopping thriller about a man who returns to a life of espionage to save the woman he loves and the City of Light.

Retired special agent Mac Dekker travels to Paris to propose to Ava Attal, once Mossad’s deadliest operative. After too long, life is good. But before he can propose, Ava leaves the table to take an urgent call. And never returns.

Mac launches a frantic search, spiraling through the city’s brightest and darkest places. People are lying, agents are dying, and he finds himself caught in the crosshairs of CIA shadows and enigmatic assassins while battling a wealthy, ruthless prince planning a truly terrifying act of violence.

With only hours to find Ava and save thousands of lives, Mac’s CIA training kicks in, along with his Is Ava truly missing, or did she come to Paris on a mission even more secretive than his own?

The Tourists is the second installment in author Christopher Reich's Max Dekker series. Key Characters: Max Dekker, formerly of the CIA, was supposed to be dead after a car bomb 9 years ago. Ava Attal, a covert operative who worked for the Mossad. After kicking off the saga with Matterhorn—a mountain-climbing espionage tale inspired by Reich's own passion for alpine adventures—this follow-up shifts the action from snowy peaks to the glittering streets of Paris. 

At its core, The Tourists is a classic man-on-the-run thriller with a romantic twist. Protagonist Mac Dekker, a grizzled ex-CIA operative in his late 50s, has traded black ops for a quiet life in the Swiss Alps, complete with a granddaughter and a budding romance. But when he jets off to Paris to propose to his girlfriend, the formidable Ava Attal—a former Mossad agent with a lethal skill set—over a candlelit dinner at the iconic Jules Verne restaurant in the Eiffel Tower, everything unravels. 

Ava steps away for a mysterious phone call and vanishes into the City of Light, leaving Mac to piece together a web of deception that spans assassins, double-crossing CIA handlers, and a ruthless Middle Eastern prince with ambitions that could ignite a regional powder keg. As Mac races against the clock through Paris's labyrinthine alleys and beyond, he must confront not just external threats but nagging doubts about Ava's true loyalties. 

The stakes escalate from personal heartbreak to a potential catastrophe threatening Europe's fragile peace, all while Reich weaves in flashbacks to Mac's past for added depth. It's a plot that zips along like a high-speed train, building to a crescendo of twists that feel both inevitable and surprising. Mac's internal conflict—balancing his desire for domestic bliss with the adrenaline-fueled instincts of his spy days—adds emotional weight, making his desperation palpable as he turns Paris upside down. 

Ava Attal is a standout too: fierce, enigmatic, and unapologetically complex, she's no damsel but a force whose absence drives the narrative as much as Mac's pursuit. Their chemistry crackles with shared trauma and unspoken trust issues, elevating the story beyond mere action. Secondary characters, however, are more hit-or-miss. 

The Middle Eastern prince antagonist is a compelling puppet-master with real-world echoes of geopolitical power plays, but some readers find him veering into caricature territory. CIA operatives and French authorities pop up as obstacles, providing solid foils. That said, across the series, these archetypes gain nuance, rewarding readers who commit to the full Mac Dekker arc.

Not a fan of the ending, but it apparently ensures that there will be a sequel in the near future. 

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#Review -The Oligarch's Daughter by Joseph Finder #Thriller #Espionage

Series: Standalone
Format: 438 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: January 28, 2025
Publisher: Harper
Source: Publisher
Genre: Thrillers / Espionage

Paul Brightman is on the run, living under an assumed name in a small New England town with a million-dollar bounty on his head. When his security is breached, Paul is forced to flee into the New Hampshire wilderness to evade Russian operatives who can seemingly predict his every move.

Six years ago, Paul was a rising star on Wall Street who fell in love with a beautiful photographer named Tatyana—unaware that her father was a Russian oligarch and the object of considerable interest from several US intelligence agencies. Now, to save his own life, Paul must unravel a decades-old conspiracy that extends to the highest reaches of the government.

Rivaling the classic spy novels of the Cold War, The Oligarch’s Daughter is a breakneck thriller built for the frightening world we live in now.

The Oligarch's Daughter, by author Joseph Finder, centers on Paul Brightman, a former Wall Street hedge fund analyst now living under the alias Grant Anderson in a small New Hampshire town. For five years, he’s hidden from a million-dollar bounty placed on his head by a Russian oligarch, with the FBI and CIA also in pursuit. The story kicks off when his cover is blown during a fishing charter, forcing him to flee into the New Hampshire wilderness to evade Russian operatives who seem to anticipate his every move. 

Through a dual-timeline structure, Finder alternates between the present—Paul’s desperate survival from New Hampshire, to Russia—and the past, revealing how his romance with Tatyana Belkin, the enigmatic daughter of billionaire oligarch Arkady Galkin, entangled him in a web of international intrigue, illegal investments, and a decades-old conspiracy reaching the highest echelons of the U.S. government. The present-day scenes brim with visceral tension, as Paul relies on survival skills learned from his estranged, off-grid father to navigate the wilderness. 

The past timeline, set five to six years earlier, details his romance with Tatyana, his recruitment by the FBI to spy on Arkady, and the catastrophic fallout when his amateur espionage is exposed. Finder’s short and clipped chapters make the 448-page novel feel like a one-sitting read. The alternating timelines converge seamlessly, with each revelation in the past amplifying the stakes in the present, culminating in a denouement that ties loose ends with satisfying clarity, though some may find it overly tidy. 

Finder excels at making Paul relatable; his initial naivety about Tatyana’s background and his moral struggle over spying on his father-in-law resonate deeply. Tatyana Belkin, the titular “Oligarch’s Daughter,” is the novel’s heart and weakest link. Introduced as an independent photographer living modestly in New York’s East Village, she captivates Paul with her artistic spirit and apparent rejection of her father’s wealth. Her role as the linchpin of Paul’s downfall—and the question of her loyalty—adds layers of intrigue.

Arkady Galkin, the oligarch, is a standout, embodying charm and menace in equal measure. Arkady’s ties to the Kremlin and manipulative generosity create a palpable threat. Finder’s portrayal of his opulent lifestyle—palatial townhouses, yachts, and caviar-fueled parties—offers a fascinating glimpse into the oligarch’s world. Finder explores the corrupting influence of wealth through Arkady’s empire and Paul’s seduction by its trappings, while the conspiracy subplot critiques the moral compromises of governments and intelligence agencies. 

The novel also examines personal betrayal (Tatyana’s divided loyalties) and institutional (the FBI’s manipulation of Paul), making trust a central enigma. Finder apparently has developed and maintained close contacts throughout the intelligence world and draws on them to add authenticity and inside detail. For this novel, he regularly consulted with the CIA’s top Russian expert, and his positions as a member of the Council on Foreign Relations and the Association of Former Intelligence Officers give him insight that informs the narrative. The author hits on the ongoing conflict in Ukraine, but it doesn't overwhelm the story. 

If you love sophisticated thrillers with geopolitical intrigue, like those by Daniel Silva or John Grisham, or enjoy Finder’s signature blend of finance and espionage, this book hits on all targets. 

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#Review - Icon and Inferno by Marie Lu #YA #Thriller #Suspense #Espionage

Series: A Stars and Smoke Novel (#2)
Format: Hardcover, 320 pages
Release Date: June 11, 2024
Publisher: Roaring Brook Press
Source: Publisher
Genre: Young Adult / Thrillers & Suspense / Espionage

 New sparks. Old Flames. And a mission that's playing with fire.

A year has passed since superstar Winter Young last saw secret agent Sydney Cossette. After barely surviving their first assignment together in London -- and their intense chemistry – the two haven’t spoken at all. Though they’re never far from the other’s thoughts, or fantasies.

So when Sydney shows up at Winter’s studio one day with a new mission from Panacea, he has no choice but to accept. With the clock ticking, the duo prepares to head to Singapore to rescue an operative in danger -- only to learn he’s none other than Sydney's ex, a rogue agent known as the Arsonist.

Of course, nothing is ever simple when it comes to Winter and Sydney. Especially not with the glamorous Gavi Ginsburg, a globe-trotting socialite and Winter’s one-time girlfriend, in the mix. Is she back for Winter’s heart – or does she have her eye on another prize?

The smoldering sequel to New York Times bestselling Stars and Smoke follows Winter and Sydney on yet another treacherous mission that grows more sinister with each twist and turn. To make it out alive, they'll have to figure out how to be partners again -- and if they can resist the burn of something more.

Icon and Inferno is the second installment in author Marie Lu's Stars and Smoke series. This book is set one year from the end of the first installment. The book alternates between superstar Winter Young, and Sydney Cossette, an operative who works for the Panacea Group. Winter (who is in Hawaii when he learns of a tell all book that is set to be released) and Sydney (who is now a full operative) haven't stopped thinking about each other even though they haven't been in contact since then. 

That changes when Panacea asks them to team up on another mission, once again using the cover of Winter's concert. It seems one of their agents has been missing for 2 weeks, and there's the possibility that he's been compromised. In order to make things twisted, Sydney learns that the missing agent is Tems, a rogue agent named the Arsonist who just happens to be her ex. Thanks to a past incident, Tems isn't exactly on Syd's Christmas list. Meanwhile, Winter is forced to ask the glamorous Gavi Ginsburg, a globe-trotting socialite and Winter’s one-time girlfriend, to be by his side for the duration of the mission. 

Syd & Winter's mission sends them to Singapore, and the guest appearance by one Emika Chen, who is now CEO of Henka Games who made her claim to fame in the Warcross games. While in Singapore, Syd and Winter learn of a threat to the US President by rogue actors. Syd soon finds that she is also under attack by an undetermined group of agents, as well as her employer. The author turns up the volume to 11 by having a very important character killed off in what appears to have been intentional. And when a murder accusation has Sydney on the run, suddenly it's not just a life at stake, but all-out war.

*Thoughts* The ending of this book leaves much to be desired. It seems that this was meant as a duology, but there's always the possibility of a return. Also, why bring back Emika if you weren't going to use here and Hideo in another story? This book is filled with action, suspense, romance, songs that weren't supposed to be played in public, betrayal, heart break, and maybe a bit of hope that the author will continue with the Syd and Winter trials and tribulations. 

1All Love Bears a Cost


Honolulu, Oahu Hawaii

The forecast had called, as it often did in Honolulu, for scattered showers. But by midafternoon, luck had pushed the warm rains further up the island of Oahu, and instead the skies over Waikiki Beach were dappled with cotton clouds against the late summer blue. The winds were gentle and humid, the ocean changing colors under the shifting sunshine like a mercurial gemstone, from deep jade to a turquoise so searing that the water looked artificial.

It was the perfect day for the interview of the year, and the crowd that had gathered around the stage set up on the sand was frantic. Now and then, excited cheers pulsed through them, like ripples that originated with the boy seated at the center of the stage, his figure shaded under a translucent white canopy, one of his legs crossed casually over the other.

He was dressed in a pale collared shirt and shorts, and smelled like sunscreen, citrus, and salt wind. His hair was thick and messy, so pitch-black that it shone blue under the sun, and his eyes, dark and slender behind a pair of aviators, currently expressed a mixture of politeness and discomfort as he stared at his interviewer.

Winter Young, the most famous superstar in the world, had only agreed to this interview for the sake of his manager, Claire, who’d had to deal with star reporter Evelyn Dace for a year as she tried to nab Winter for a proper interview.

Now the reporter leaned forward from the chair opposite Winter, her green eyes fixed so intently on him that he felt like she could see into his very marrow. He kept his face calm, his own gaze steady and unwavering, a quiet challenge in return.

“Tell me,” Evelyn began in a gentle yet patronizing tone. “Are you currently dating anyone?”

Claire had, as usual, given her a list of approved questions in addition to topics they were to avoid at all costs, but Evelyn had strayed from the list early on—first a pointed comment about Winter’s diet (he didn’t have one), then an off-the-cuff remark about his close relationships with his backup dancers. Now this. Winter could feel the heat rising at his collar, but he couldn’t give her the satisfaction of a response.

So instead, he offered Evelyn a demure, practiced smile and pushed the sleeves of his shirt higher, exposing more of the tattoos decorating his forearms. “Not right now,” he said. “I’ve been too busy with the new album to date.”

Instead of taking his hint to steer the conversation back to the album, the reporter just looked down at her notes slyly, as if she knew there was more Winter wasn’t letting on. “Come now, Winter. You’ve been dropping hints in all your new tracks.”

He shrugged. “Every artist is inspired by life. And love is one of life’s greatest inspirations,” he said, and scattered shrieks came from the crowd.

Evelyn smiled at that, nodding at the career highlights reel playing on the screen behind them. Winter watched the footage of himself as a fourteen-year-old boy, long and lanky like an unsteady colt, newly famous and petrified of crowds, stepping out onto the stage of an arena for the first time.

Sometimes he forgot how young he was when he began this wild journey. Years later, he still found it strange to look back.

“This is my very first concert,” the past version of himself said shyly in the video, offering the crowd his famous, secret smile. And the audience went wild.

Winter glanced away from the screen and back at Evelyn, who had crossed her arms. “Some people say that you’ve reached a renaissance in your work,” she said. “Bolder melodies and complex lyrics hinting at new secrets.”

“Are you some people?”

“Sure. Let’s say I am.”

He took the opportunity to steer the topic back to his album. “Then thank you,” he replied. “There are a lot of tracks I’m excited to share. I hope others can relate—”

The reporter interrupted him. “It seems fairly obvious your growth isn’t just random. You really expect us to believe you don’t have some new passion—new love—inspiring you?” She was not letting him go easily. “What really changed—or better yet, who changed you?”

Sydney Cossette.

Her name sprang unbidden to Winter’s mind, and he had to force himself to keep his expression neutral.

Sometimes Winter forgot that, for a month, he had been an actual secret agent.

Sometimes, what happened last year—that he’d been recruited to work undercover for an intelligence agency called the Panacea Group to help take down a billionaire tycoon—still seemed like a fever dream. Sometimes he forgot that the girl who’d posed as his bodyguard back then was really a secret agent assigned to be his partner.

Sydney Cossette.

If only they’d given in to being so much more.

They’d hated each other at first, and then they’d become allies. And then … well, they’d had a moment with each other that went beyond friendship. And now it didn’t matter, because they’d probably never see each other again.

His thoughts about her had been hourly for the first few weeks after he left London to recuperate fully at home, sometimes so overpowering that he could barely bring himself to get out of bed. But now they had faded to something manageable, the image of her small, fierce face framed with blond hair pushed inevitably aside for the crowd of concerts and parties and banquets and galas and interviews that all came back with regular force once he returned to his work.

Sometimes he forgot entirely, and that strange world felt so distant that he wondered if perhaps he had imagined the whole thing.

But sometimes he would walk past a cobblestone street or a quiet, hedged garden. Sometimes he would see an elegant bridge or a particular frame of airplane. Sometimes he would see a messy blond bob in the crowd. And those thoughts would return to his mind.

She would return.

He coped the only way he knew how: by writing. For the past half year, he’d written music like a boy possessed, gotten out some of the best songs of his life, filled an entire stack of little notebooks that sat teetering on his work desk at home. It felt like a guiding light had switched on in his mind, and all he had to do was follow it and the notes would come pouring out of him.

He snapped back to the present, waving at the crowd by way of answering the reporter’s question. Cheers momentarily drowned out anything and everything.

He smiled at them again before turning back to the reporter. “I’ve just been grateful lately,” he said. “Any romance in my new lyrics is inspired by that, by gratitude for what my fans have given me. That’s it.”

Evelyn’s jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. Winter’s eyes darted for a moment to Claire, who was standing at the edge of the stage with her arms crossed, her lips flattened into a line. Their eyes met, and she gave him a near-imperceptible shake of her head.

Hang in there, she seemed to say. Time’s almost up.

“That’s a lovely statement,” Evelyn said, her gentle smile so professional that it grated on Winter’s nerves. “There’s been a real sense of joy in your recent music, nevertheless. Perhaps you’ve been able to put aside some of the tragedies in your past. Would you say that’s true?”

Winter stiffened, holding back a sigh of frustration. She was really going there. “What do you mean?” he said.

“Tell me about your brother,” she said. “It’s common knowledge that his death has always loomed large in your life, yes?”

Artie.

Off in the corner, Winter could hear the unmistakable hiss of Claire taking a sharp breath. He didn’t need to look at her to know she was furious at this question.

“Yes,” he answered curtly. “Of course.”

“Have you found a way to move on from that loss?”

Had he? For a moment, Winter imagined that he wasn’t sitting in this interminable interview, but wandering along the edge of the ocean in Santa Monica beside his older brother, twelve years apart in age, fathered by different men but united by the same mother.

Look, Artie had said on that misty morning. An unbroken shell.

He leaned down to pick up a pristine, pink-tinted clamshell, then washed it in the tide before handing it to Winter. Toss it back in the ocean and make a wish, he’d said.

Is that a thing? Winter had replied.

Artie had laughed and mussed up Winter’s hair. You can make it a thing.

So Winter had tossed it into the sea and wished to be famous, to be loved by his mother, to be remembered by somebody.

He should have wished instead for Artie to stay alive.

The memory faded. “You don’t ever move on from a death,” Winter answered calmly. “You just find better ways of coping.”

“You’ve managed to replace the grief in your past with love, then.”

“Grief is love. It’s the price we pay for the gift of someone meaningful in our lives.” They should be nearly at the hour mark. Almost done.

The reporter seemed to hear something in her earpiece. She paused, listening.

Then her eyes darted to Winter, and a look of what Winter could only describe as gleeful anticipation came across her face. She nodded. “Now, my sources say that a major publisher has just announced a tell-all book about you, to be released in the fall of this year. Any comment?”

Winter’s polite smile faltered at the same time the crowd let out a chorus of confused murmurs, then gasps. He must have heard her wrong. Behind Evelyn, he saw Claire staring down at her phone with an expression of growing horror. The news must have broken right in the middle of his interview.

Evelyn seemed to catch the crack in his façade, because a gleam came into her eyes. “This is a surprise to you, I see.”

A tell-all. Who would write an unauthorized tell-all about him?

Say something, he told himself harshly. “That rumor’s new to me,” he answered out loud.

She nodded with false sympathy and leaned toward him, her guise of concern still on her face. “I’m sorry to catch you off guard, as I thought you were already aware of it. No one has announced the author of the book yet. Perhaps you know?”

“I don’t,” he heard himself say stiffly, but the words sounded like they came from someone else. His eyes darted to Claire, who was now arguing with one of the producers. When the man shook his head at her, a look of fury crossed her face.

“Could it be someone you know well? A family member?” the reporter pressed.

“I don’t know,” Winter repeated.

“Winter,” the woman said in a gentle, coaxing voice. “Tell me about your mother.”

His mother?

“Are you implying that she wrote this?” he said.

“Absolutely not.” Evelyn lifted her hands in innocence. “But the nature of the book feels like an inside source. Perhaps someone close, familial. I’ve heard you’ve had a rather contentious relationship with your mother. Is that true?”

“I’m not going to answer that,” he said, his voice tight. “And nothing anyone has to say in a book about me will be a surprise to the public.”

But Evelyn’s words had already planted seeds of doubt in his mind. Could it be his mother? Had some company called her, talked her into doing it? Had she neglected to tell him? She had done unauthorized magazine interviews that had approached her, had once given away one of his school notebooks for an auction without telling him, the contents of which were then spread everywhere online. The thought was too much to handle, at least in a setting like this, with thousands of eyes fixed on him and the shine of a Hawaiian afternoon suddenly much too warm.

He needed to get off this stage. He needed to escape.

The reporter’s sweet, sympathetic expression soured to a grimace. “You once considered ending your career early in your first year in order to take care of your mother while she suffered a mental health crisis. Isn’t that right?”

At that, Winter snapped. He moved as if through a dream, suddenly rising from his chair and stripping the microphone from his collar, yanking the device’s wire out of his clothes. The clip fell from his side and onto the wooden stage with a hollow clank.

Down in the sand at the side of the stage, Claire nodded at him and made a circular motion with her finger.

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