Sneak Peek: Excerpt #4 from Vigilante Mine

This article is part of the blog tour for Vigilante Mine by Cera Daniels. For more information on the tour, such as giveaways and tour schedule, visit the official blog tour page of Vigilante Mine.
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Here is an excerpt from the book Vigilante Mine by Cera Daniels.

Book Overview
Vigilante Mine Book Cover

Internal Affairs be damned, Detective Amanda Werner’s ditching protocol to hunt the vigilante whose bullet landed her on the bench. But this is no vendetta. Evidence suggests he’s the zealot offing corrupt public officials–the same zealot who’s promised to set the city ablaze by week’s end–and she’ll risk her career and her life to save her hometown. Too bad she can’t find anything stronger than Kevlar to guard her heart against her primary suspect: a masked man with a telepathic German shepherd, unstable supernatural hearing, and lips that invite...

For more information, visit the book page of Vigilante Mine.

Ryan’s office design, much like his condo, kept the city’s ambient noise from assailing him when they experimented with new tech. Still, during a switch, the white noise that kept his ability in check went offline. He had zero defense against sound. His power raged out of control—always would.

He’d learned to take every precaution. Anything from the buzz of a forgotten lamp to a fly on the ceiling could knock him on his ass for days. Yet even here, his lungs ached and the room wavered. Zach’s purposefully shallow breathing buffeted him into the couch cushions as he made the switch with sluggish movements and fingers like lead.

The new earpiece chafed for a moment. Layer after layer of white noise sank in. Then, Ryan could breathe again. He ran through the filters, but the real test would be whether or not he could still hear Amanda’s voice when he cranked them to blasting.

Satisfied by the initial results, he stood.

Instant vertigo.

“Which ones did you modify? I can’t tell a difference.” Ryan grunted and leaned on the wall for support, then hit the light switch. The room seemed to shudder into place.

His brother’s jaw shifted, grinding his teeth.

Still pissed. Great.

“All right, I should have called,” Ryan said.

Zach didn’t move.

“Just to let you know something was up.”

Not even a blink.

Ryan noted his brother’s pale cheeks and joined him by the window. “What’s this really about?”

Zach pulled his hands out of his pockets and signed slowly, “Something bad.”

He’d gathered that much. Few things sobered Zach like his spirit guide-granted ability kicking into full gear. Ryan studied the weary expression on his face. “Worse than yesterday?”

“Yesterday I knew you’d make it out alive,” he murmured.

A chill tugged at Ryan’s shoulders, insidious, spreading over his chest.

Zach pivoted and slumped against the wall. With his gaze aimed at the floor, his shoulder-length hair concealed his face. “Maybe we should stay in tonight.”

“Too late. I already have dinner plans.” Though he kept his tone light, inside Ryan reeled with concern.

They’d tangled with their powers for years. Even though Zach’s ability for sensing a vague, near-future danger or injury for a family member pissed him off, made him sick, and kept him guessing, he’d never suggested they stop.


“Who, Brennan?” His brother shot him a glare, but it lacked the usual venom. Instead, Zach’s bronze eyes showcased his pain. “She’s about as trustworthy on the identity scale as Klepto. The woman can’t be herself for five minutes.”

“Our arrangement doesn’t allow for her to be just Brennan.”

“Do you even know who that is? Even after the background check, I couldn’t tell you.” Zach shoved his hair back as if he were striving for normalcy. “You’re not worried she’ll find too much?”

“There’s nothing to find.”

Though Brennan didn’t know about the McLelas family tradition of playing vigilante afterhours or the current generation’s superpowered abilities, she was fully versed in their family tree and had all of their father’s records on the subject. Including the ones recovered from Old Town, documents written in a pictographic language Ryan couldn’t begin to understand.

Brennan could.

“She knows we’re half Ohanzee,” Ryan continued. “She’s a scholar. Anything she digs up related to our powers would be just a jumble of stories to her. Legends, folklore, nothing more.”

He slipped into his jacket, but his hand paused over his keys. If the prospect of this dinner out with Brennan brought out his brother’s danger-sense more strongly than yesterday’s fiery encounter had, perhaps tonight called for Chinese food at the office.

“She’s smarter than that, or you wouldn’t have hired her.” Zach frowned. “I want to get a handle on the crazy shit we can do as much as you, but is she—is her research—worth the risk?”

“Yes.” Ryan flicked the communicator on his new earpiece to life, then clapped his brother on the shoulder. “I’ll be late if I don’t leave for La Province now. You need to stop me?”

“Whatever this is, it hasn’t peaked. It’s bad, but . . . trouble’s not that close.” With the resolute statement, anxiety seemed to drain from his expression. “Go. Get out of here.”

“You’ll be up for a while?”

Zach snorted. “My spirit guide’s a bat, bro. When do you think we sleep?”

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