Authors: Lori Armstrong
Merciless
Praise for
Merciless
“Lori Armstrong’s writing is as smart, sexy, and ruthless as her characters.
Merciless
is her best novel yet.”
—
Allison Leotta, author of
Discretion
and
Law of Attraction
“Armstrong’s heroine blows away the stereotypes. Suspense lovers who haven’t met Mercy
Gunderson are missing out.
Merciless
has it all—a chilling mystery, smart dialogue, and memorable characters. Another
riveting addition to the Mercy Gunderson series.”
—
Laura Griffin, bestselling author of
Twisted
“Driven, damaged, and dangerous, FBI agent Mercy Gunderson is one of the best female
leads to come down the pike since Eve Dallas. Lori Armstrong delivers the goods with
Merciless
.”
—
Cindy Gerard, bestselling author of The Bodyguards and The Black Ops series
Praise for
Mercy Kill
“With a gutsy heroine, sharp humor, and a strong sense of place, Armstrong has created
a winning series. The female veteran perspective is particularly fresh—not unlike
a young V. I. Warshawski gone rural. Craig Johnson and C. J. Box fans should like
it, too. Highly recommended.”
—Library Journal
(starred review)
“Sharp . . . An intriguing new character, FBI agent Shay Turnbull of the Indian County
Special Crimes Unit, will leave readers eager to see how their relationship plays
out in the next installment.”
—Publishers Weekly
“[A] tough-mouth novel . . . [readers] will enjoy Mercy—tough, funny, and hardly a
girl in a guy suit.”
—Booklist
“Another surprisingly twisted tale leads readers into a thicket of relative good and
evil.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“This is a harsh tale filled with hard people but, like the South Dakota landscape,
it’s compelling and difficult to walk away from without being changed.”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews
(four-star review)
“Mercy is one of the best female characters around, and you can quote me on that.”
—
Lisa Gardner, author of
Love You More
and
Live to Tell
Praise for
No Mercy
“[A] smartly written, high-velocity tale.”
—The Wall Street Journal
“Mercy Gunderson [is] a complicated and fascinating character whose presence in modern
novels is way overdue.”
—USA Today
“This is a new series to pay attention to.”
—San Jose Mercury News
“Mercy is the kind of woman Lyle Lovett sings about with her scuffed boots, faded
jeans, a hip flask instead of a purse, and enough attitude to rein in a steer.”
—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“A voice laced with so much attitude and personality . . . Mercy is a take-no-prisoners
toughie with (of course) a soft, vulnerable underbelly.”
—Boston Globe
“Compelling . . . Mercy is as tough as an old army boot, with a vocabulary and weapons
proficiency to prove it.”
—Publishers Weekly
“[Armstrong] has created a grittier character in Mercy Gunderson. . . . Fans of the
Collins mysteries should embrace this new novel with open arms, but the author could
pick up some new readers, too, on the strength of this new heroine.”
—Booklist
“Armstrong’s writing is intense and passionate. With every turn of the page, she reveals
more shocking revelations. This gripping story will undoubtedly become a must-read
series. 4.5 out of 5 stars.”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews
, Top Pick review
“Within just a few pages of
No Mercy
I was gripped. . . . Lori Armstrong is the real deal and so is the setting and the
characters in this novel which by turns is tough, sassy, sexy, and unique. As gritty,
haunting, and authentic as South Dakota itself,
No Mercy
is a terrific series debut.”
—
C. J. Box, Edgar-winning author of
Below Zero
“Mercy Gunderson shoots straight onto the list of my favorite heroines. A master of
snappy dialogue and twisting plots, Lori Armstrong proves again why she is an award-winning
author.
No Mercy
is a thrilling mystery, a hard-edged, fast-paced, no-holds-barred roller coaster
ride.”
—
Allison Brennan, author of
Original Sin
and
Fatal Secrets
“Mercy Gunderson, the protagonist in Lori Armstrong’s wonderful new series, is everything
readers hope for in a lead character: strong, capable, hot-headed, and soft in all
the right places. Set in South Dakota ranch country that’s so well evoked you’ll smell
things you wish you didn’t, with a compelling cast of supporting characters and a
dynamite mystery sure to keep you guessing until the very end,
No Mercy
is a no-holds-barred, flat-out winner of a series debut.”
—
William Kent Krueger, author of
Heaven’s Keep
and
Red Knife
“Step aside, cowboys, there’s a new star on the horizon and her name’s Lori Armstrong.
With
No Mercy
, Armstrong introduces one of the most original heroes to come out of the west in
years. Mercy Gunderson is a perfectly flawed woman; a tough-as-nails, take-no-prisoners
kind of gal
who’d just as soon outshoot or outdrink a man as bed him. Read this book or answer
to Mercy.”
—
Reed Farrel Coleman, two-time Edgar nominee and Shamus Award–winning coauthor of
Tower
“People always ask me what I read and I tell them Lori Armstrong. There comes a point
when I need to read her like I need a shot of whiskey at the end of a hard day; Lori’s
writing is like that, unforgiving and deeply satisfying.”
—
Craig Johnson, author of
The Cold Dish
and
The Dark Horse
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May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won’t.
—General George S. Patton
I
blamed my unrealistic expectations of becoming an FBI special agent on
The X-Files.
Granted, Mulder and Scully were fictional characters, but working in the FBI was nothing
like portrayed on any TV shows. Disappointment made me want to crawl inside the TV
and kick some ass.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
So far my new FBI job hadn’t entailed chasing down aliens—either illegal or the bug-eyed,
misshapen-headed types.
I hadn’t been assigned a trippy private office that I could decorate with funky, yet
prophetic posters.
I hadn’t met a weirdly wise, hip, confidential informant.
I hadn’t participated in a raid where I got to yell, “Federal agents! Everyone on
the ground!”
The brass hadn’t issued me a shiny badge or one of those rocking black jackets with
FBI emblazoned in big white letters on the back.
Heck, I hadn’t even been saddled with an official partner.
I was damn lucky I’d gotten a gun.
Not that I’d gotten to shoot it yet.
Instead of chasing down bad guys and busting heads, I was trapped in an overheated
office building in Rapid City with other agents, flipping though a stack of paperwork,
listening to Director Shenker drone on.
And holy J. Edgar Hoover, did the man love the sound of his own monotone.
I sighed. A boot connected with my ankle, and I sucked in a quick breath at the sharp
pain.
Of course, Director Shenker chose that moment to pause his lecture.
He peered at me over the top of his cheater bifocals—leopard print cheater bifocals,
no less.
Peered was too bland a word. Glared was more fitting.
I fought the urge to squirm.
“Have something to add, Agent Gunderson?”
“No, sir.” I pointed to my empty water glass. “Just a dry throat.” I reached for the
water pitcher—we’d been in meeting hell so long the ice had melted. When I thoughtfully
refilled my tablemate’s glass—oops, water splashed on his notebook, obliterating the
elaborate doodle he’d been working on for the past two hours.
Served the bastard right for kicking me.
“Take ten, people,” Shenker said, leaving up the PowerPoint presentation.
Didn’t have to tell me twice. I was out of the room and down the hallway before my
seatmate quit scratching himself.
Or so I thought.
A hand on my shoulder spun me around so I was nose to nose with Special Agent Shay
Turnbull—my unofficial trainer, my doodling seat-mate, the disher of a daily dose
of snark that made me snicker like a teenage girl in spite of myself.
I shrugged him off.
“Follow me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the senior agent, that’s why. Do you have to make everything so damn
difficult?” Turnbull headed for the door marked
STAIRS,
assuming I’d follow.
Another ass-chewing session. I grudgingly admitted I preferred Turn-bull’s private
approach rather than our boss’s public browbeating—not that I’d been on the receiving
end so far.
We entered the small concrete landing to the stairwell. I rested my shoulders against
the cement-block wall, half wishing I smoked. Would I look tough and cool if I flicked
my Bic and squinted mysteriously at Turnbull through the smoky haze?
No. Turnbull would see right through me. He had that uncanny ability. Which sort of
sucked ass for me.
“Would it kill you to look alive and at least partially interested in this training
session, Gunderson?”
“Yes, it might kill me, because it’s boring me to death. I don’t see the importance
of knowing riot procedure. There’s not enough population base here to even
have
a riot. And historically, the guys in charge call the National Guard.”
Turnbull lifted a brow. “Has it somehow escaped your notice, Sergeant Major, that
more than half the South Dakota National Guard troops are currently deployed?”
I scowled at his pointed reminder of my army rank. “Doesn’t matter. Training assignment
is busywork. I wanna be out there doing something. Not sitting on my ass.”
“The FBI’s success rate is based on ninety percent office work and—”
“Ten percent fieldwork, yeah, yeah, I recently lived the manifesto.” Standard training
time for new FBI agents was five months at Quantico. I fell into the “special exclusion
category” since at thirty-nine I was older than the federal government’s mandated
final hire age of thirty-eight for federal employees. With twenty years’ service in
Uncle Sam’s army, and a pension in place, I’d been allowed to skip the firearms portion
and specialized tactical maneuvers of the training program, allowing me to shave off
four weeks in Virginia.
