Introducing Terry Shepherd
Where did the idea for the story come from?
Jessica Ramirez is based on a real-life Latina cop and the diverse ensemble cast are composites of real people. I wanted to create a story with role-model heroes that could empower and inspire people who look and act like the characters to believe that they could be heroes, too.
Give a quote from the books, one that says little but speaks volumes.
“Killers always sign their work,” Joey Price said. “They want us to know who they are. The map to their undoing is hidden in the graffiti.”
The medical examiner is saying that often, malfeasance is a cry for help, a desire for attention and an admission that bad guys are hurting, too.
Summarise your book in ten words or less.
A Latina Detective chases a killer with a deadly secret.
What genre is it?
Thriller with enough twists and deductions to fall under both “Mystery” and “Police Procedural.
How many pages is it?
It is 347 pages in length.
Why do you think the readers will want to read it?
“Chasing Vega” appeals to our desire for both challenge and redemption. Jess learns that what she thought she wanted ultimately didn’t bring her peace, that life is a series of mysteries, where each solution opens the door to an even deeper challenge. The diversity of the cast, which includes minorities, LGBTQ characters and persons on the autism spectrum appeals to a wide audience. The action and the relationships we see develop are fun and the plot is an addicting thrill ride you hate to see come to an end.
Where are you located?
I live and write on the ocean in Jacksonville, Florida.
“Chasing Vega” is a thriller that stars a dynamic Latina Detective and her LGBTQ partner. Banished to Arizona when a meth lab bust goes bad, they end up on the trail of a vigilanti serial killer with designs on a terrorist attack that could destroy the New York Financial district.
New York – Courtland Subway Station Utility – Fifty Feet Below Ground Level
“Over here, Officer Clark.”
The voice seemed far away. Ali ran in its direction. About seventy-five yards down the tunnel, three light beams were focused on a rectangular box that encircled a thick, black thousand-count fiber bundle. A small blue light on top of the box blinked at the rate of one pulse per second.
In another instant, Watervliet was beside them. He produced a small device that looked to Ali like the infrared thermometer she used to make sure her grill was hot enough for cooking. A crowd surrounded Watervliet as he grasped the handle and adjusted the sensitivity with a thumbwheel.
“This is a Mass Spectrometer,” he said. “Keep an eye on the display. If it turns red, we’ll know what’s inside that box.”
He pulled the trigger as Ali reflexively checked her watch. It was 11:55. The device beeped.
“Composition C RDX.” Watervliet’s voice sounded like he was reading his pizza order over the telephone.
Ali knew exactly what he was talking about.
“Plastic explosive. Blast radius?”
“About fifty yards.”
Poole jumped in. “Anyone see anything else like this?”
A New York cop nodded. “About fifty yards that-away.”
Ali turned and sprinted in the direction of the street level and safety. It was 300 yards away. A message lit up her iPhone. She read it on her watch. “12 Noon is H-Hour. Get to safety now!”
“This is all going up in five minutes, gentlemen,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Last one up the ladder is a dead man.”