Ever have to depend on someone you weren’t sure you could trust? What if it involves matters of life and death? Kerry Peresta’s new book, The Rising, raises that very question.
Synopsis:

After an assault that landed her in a hospital as a Jane Doe two years earlier, Olivia Callahan has regained her speech, movement, and much of the memory she lost due to a traumatic brain injury. The media hype about the incident has faded away, and Olivia is ready to rebuild her life, but her therapist insists she must continue to look back in order to move forward. The only person that can help her recall specifics is her abusive ex-husband, Monty, who is in prison for murder. The thought of talking to Monty makes her skin crawl, but for her daughtersâ sake and her own sanity, she must learn more about who she was before the attack.
Just as the pieces of her life start falling into place, she stumbles across the still-warm body of an old friend who has been gruesomely murdered. Her dream of pursuing a peaceful existence is shattered when she learns the killer left evidence behind to implicate her in the murder. The only person that would want to sabotage her is Montyâbut heâs in prison! Something sinister is going on, and Olivia is desperate to uncover the truth before another senseless murder is committed.
Book Details:
Genre: Psychological Suspense, Thriller, Crime Fiction, Suspense, Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: March 29, 2022
Number of Pages: 300
ISBN: 168512092X (ISBN-13: 978-1685120924)
Series: Olivia Callahan Suspense, Book 2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
âHow low you fall points to how high youâll rise.â
~Matshona Dhliwayo
The stark buildings and barbed-wire-topped walls surrounding the correctional facility reminded me of a Hitchcock movie.
My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. I found a parking spot, and waited in the car a minute, taking in the starkness and finality of a prison compound. My heart did a little lurch when I thought about Montyâmy ex-husband and the father of my two daughtersâinside. Incarcerated. I guess since I hadnât seen him since his indictment, it didnât seem real.
However, Iâd learned that having sympathy for Monty was like having sympathy for a snake just before it sank its fangs. âItâs been eighteen months. You can keep it together with this psycho,â I hissed to myself. I hiked my purse onto my shoulder and walked out into the buttery sunshine toward the visitorsâ entrance.
I presented my driverâs license, endured a frisk, offered my hand for the fingerprint process, and walked through the metal detector, which of course, went off. With stoic resignation, I endured another frisk, a few hard glances from the guards, and eventually pulled the culprit from the pocket of my pants, an aluminum foil candy bar wrapper.
While I waited for Monty at one of the small, circular tables in the visitorsâ room, I scanned the list of doâs and donâts. Hands must be visible at all times. Vulgar language not allowed. No passing anything to the prisoner. No jewelry other than a wedding band or religious necklace.
I stared at my hands, sticky with sweat. My heart beat in my throat.
I lifted my curls off my forehead and fanned my face with one hand. Three other visitors sat at tables. One woman with graying hair piled like a crown on her head stared at the floor. When she noticed that I was looking at her, she raised her head and threw me a sad smile. A younger woman at another table struggled to keep two young children under control, and an older couple with stress-lined faces whispered to each other as they waited. The room had tan, cinder block walls, a drop-in ceiling with grid tiles that probably hid video cameras, and a single door. No windows. A scrawny, fake plant in one corner made a half-hearted attempt at civility.
The metal door opened. My thoughts were mush, a blender on high. Could I do this? After two years of physical therapy, occupational therapy, and every other kind of therapy the docs could throw at me, shouldnât I react better than this?
Remember, theyâre only feelings.
I squared my shoulders. Wiped my palms on my pants.
As Monty offered his cuffed wrists to the corrections officer, he scanned the room under lowered eyelids. When he saw me, he gave me a scorched- earth glare. After the guard removed his handcuffs, he shook out his arms and rubbed his wrists. The raven-black hair was longer, and brushed his shoulders. Heâd been working out. A lot. He wore a loose-fitting top and pants. Orange. As usual, he was larger than life, and in the bright white of the visiting space, surrounded by matching plastic tables and chairs, he was a raven-haired Schwarzenegger in a room full of Danny DeVitoâs. Iâd once had hope for reconciliation. The thought gave me the shakes now.
He dropped into the chair across from me and plopped his hands on the table. âWhat do you want?â
I spent a few seconds examining his faceâthis man Iâd spent twenty, long years trying to please, and the reason Iâd been assaulted and left for dead by Niles Peterson, a wreck of a man whose life Monty had destroyed as well.
The man responsible for my convoluted recovery from a brain injury that stole my past. Even after two years, I still had huge gaps in my memory, and staring at him felt like staring at a stranger instead of an ex-husband. âMy therapist says I need to look back to move forward. I wanted to ask you a few questions, thatâs all.â
âOkay,â he grumbled. âIâll give you a few minutes. Oh, and youâll love this. I have to attend counseling sessions about how to keep my âdarker dispositionsâ under control, and I have one of those in thirty minutes.â
Resisting a smile, I quipped, âAre they helping?â He rolled his eyes. âWhat are the questions?â
âI still have problems remembering stuff. There are things I need to⊠figure out about who I was beforeââ
âBefore you hooked up with my oleâ buddy Niles?â he interrupted, with a smirk. âBefore you threw away everything we had? Before you got yourself in a situation that couldâve gotten you killed? Before you started treating me like a piece of shit?â
I was careful not to react. Iâd had enough therapy to understand how to treat a control freak that tried to make me the reason he ended up in prison. That part of my lifeâthe part where Monty had been in charge and his spouse had to obey or elseâwas over. âAre you done?â I asked.
He clamped his lips together.
I folded my hands on the table and leaned in. âIâll get right to the point. What drew you to me in the first place? What was I like before the accident, from your perspective?â
Monty tried to get comfortable in the plastic chair. Beneath his immense bulk, it seemed like a childâs chair. âIs that how youâre dealing with it?â His lips twisted in disgust. âIt was an assault, Olivia. He tried to rape you, for Godâs sake.â
I looked away. âItâs over, and heâs in the ground, thanks to you.â
He crossed his arms and glared. A corrections officer lifted his hand. With a grunt, Monty slapped both hands on the small table where the officer could see them.
After a few beats, he sneered, âYou mean besides the obvious attraction of an older guy to a high school girl?â âGive me a break, Monty.â
He chuckled. âYou were kind ofâŠI donât knowâŠscared. I was drawn to you in a protective way. You were shy.â
I frowned. âWhat was I scared of?â
âYour crazy mom had married some jerk that kept you off balance all the time. Donât you remember him?â
I thought for a few seconds. Nothing came.
âThat coma still messes with you, doesnât it? WellâŠmight be good not to remember. Maybe he did things to you that he shouldnât have.â Monty raised his eyebrows up and down.
I wanted to slap him, but I kept my expression neutral.
âA brain injury recovery is unpredictable. I still lose memories, even if someone has drilled them into me. Iâm trying to use visualization. I have this feelingâŠthat if I can see it, the rest will be like dominos.â
âSo you may not ever remember? Even the good things about our marriage?â
I laughed. âWe must have very different perspectives about the word âgoodâ, Monty.â
Montyâs jaw muscles flexed. âNext?â
âWas I a capable mother? Was I available andâŠloving to the kids?â
Maybe it was my imagination, but his lower lip quivered. Did the guy have a heart after all? Iâd always believed he loved our daughters. I hoped this was true.
âOlivia, you were a good mother. We had our problems, but you made a good home, and took excellent care of the kids. You were at every freakinâ event, every school fundraiser, everything.â He scowled. âI took a big back seat to the kids.â
âWhat problems did we have? When did they start?â
He leaned in. âYou donât remember our sex life? How terrible it was? Nothing I could do would get you toâŠ.â He shook his head. âYou couldnât even fix a decent meal. You should have been grateful you married someone like me so I couldâŠteach you things.â
CHAPTER ONE
âKeep your voice down!â I insisted, embarrassed.
He cocked his head and grinned. âYou always had thisâŠdesperate need for my approval or whatever. And when you conveniently avoided telling me you werenât taking birth control it caused a lot of issues that couldâve been avoided.â He snorted. âLike being in here.â
I tried to rein in my disgust.
âSo, let me get this straight. Your priority in our marriage was sex and good food and to pin all our issues on your child bride?â My tone hardened. âA young woman who came from a single-parent home? Who had no understanding what a good and normal guy was like?â
He gave me a look that could peel the skin off my face.
âHow did you react when I didnât do things the way you wanted?â I continued.
âLike any man whoâd been disrespected. I corrected the issue.â
âHow? By yelling? Physical force? Kicking your pregnant wife in the stomach?â This was a memory I had recovered.
A vein pulsed in his neck.
âHow often, Monty? Were these reactions aâŠa lifestyle in our marriage?â âLook,â he snarled, âI donât know that this is productive.â
âIt is for me,â I said, brightly.
I glanced at the closest officer. He had his hands full with an issue at one of the other tables.
âMom told me that Serena and Lilly floated out to sea one time, on a rubber raft. Do you remember that?â
His eyes found a spot on the wall.
âSo you do remember. What happened?â
âLook, they were, I donât know, four and six or so. I didnât think it would be a problem for me to run grab a drink from our bag, and come back. I was gone less than five minutes. How could I know theyâd lose control of the raft?â
An earthquake of anger shot through me. âYou turned your back on a four-year-old and a six-year-old and expected them to have control of a raft? They were babies!â
âYeah. Well.â He rose. âLooks like this question thing of yours isnât working for me.â He pushed his chair in with a bang. The correctional officer gave him a look. Monty strode to the officerâs station and held out his wrists. Adrenaline made me a little shaky after heâd gone, but it wasnât from fear of the man. My therapist would call this real progress.
I left the room and gathered my things from the visitorsâ processing center. As I walked out of the prison facility, all I could think about wasâŠwhy? Why had I married this guy? And stayed for twenty years? I couldnât even remember myself as a person who could do that.
At least Iâd dragged more information out of him. I was determined to piece together the puzzle of the past Iâd lost.
***
Excerpt from The Rising by Kerry L Peresta. Copyright 2022 by Kerry L Peresta. Reproduced with permission from Kerry L Peresta. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:

Kerryâs publishing credits include a popular newspaper column, âThe Lighter Side,â (2009â2011), and magazine articles in Local Life Magazine, The Bluffton Breeze, Lady Lowcountry, and Island Events Magazine. She is the author of three published novels, The Hunting, womenâs fiction, The Deadening, Book One of the Olivia Callahan Suspense Series, and The Rising, Book Two. Book Three in this series releases in 2023 by Level Best Books. She spent twenty-five years in advertising as an account manager, creative director, editor, and copywriter. She is past chapter president of the Maryland Writersâ Association and a current member and presenter of Hilton Head Island Writersâ Network, South Carolina Writers Association, and the Sisters in Crime organization. Kerry and her husband moved to Hilton Head Island, SC, in 2015. She is the mother of four adult children, and has a bunch of wonderful grandkids who remind her what life is all about.
Catch Up With Kerry L Peresta:
www.KerryPeresta.net
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Twitter – @kerryperesta
Facebook – @klperesta
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Wow!
Thanks for sharing! I LOVE Kerry Peresta’s books and can’t wait to read this one too!