“Stress Fracture is a cunning, imaginative thriller that will keep you up reading as I did, riveted from first page to last.”
~ Michael Palmer, MD, New York Times best-selling author of The Last Surgeon (November 2009)
“. . . D.P. Lyle writes the perfect prescription for a psychological thriller.”
~ L. Dean Murphy, BookReporter.com (4/3/2010)
“D.P. Lyle’s Stress Fracture is an intense, nail-biting adventure. The author’s knowledgeable voice adds a fear factor that can’t easily be found. A wonderful, thrilling read, an excellent work of fiction—and more!”
~ Heather Graham, New York Times best-selling author (October 2009)
"The writing is hard-edged and visually evocative, and readers of dark serial-killer thrillers will definitely want to read this one."
~ David Pitt, Booklist Magazine (December 2009)
"Lyle writes what he knows—and what he knows is terrific. Dub Walker is a keeper."
~ Lee Child (December 2009)
“Cutting-edge forensics and a whip-cracking pace make Stress Fracture a one-sitting read. If you love CSI, this is the book for you.”
~ Tess Gerritsen, New York Times best-selling author of The Keepsake
"D.P. Lyle's Stress Fracture is just what I love in a book: lightning paced, brutally executed, dynamic characters, and a story that grips you by the throat. If Michael Crichton had written an episode of Law and Order, here might be the result. Simply brilliant!"
~ James Rollins, New York Times bestseller of The Doomsday Key
“Lyle creates fascinating characters and gives them a mesmerizing story. The tension builds to a startling climax that begins with the riveting opening sentence.”
~ Donna M. Brown, Romantic Times Book Reviews
“Shockingly authentic and psychologically disturbing, Stress Fracture pulls us in against our will to read every horrifying detail while hoping for an ending that we can live with. Lock your doors before you read this heart-thumping thriller by talented D. P. Lyle.”
~ Donna, Single Titles (April 2010)
“Expecting a high noon showdown, fans will enjoy this entertaining cautionary tale as underneath the nonstop action, D.P. Lyle warns readers of the excessive use of drugs.”
~ Harriet Klausner, Midwest Book Review (April 2010)
"The characters in this book were great. Dub Walker in particular was one of those honorable good guys who you just want to root for. . . . The plot was intriguing and pulled me in. The action scenes were chilling. . . ."
~ Night Owl Reviews (June 2010)
“If there were an award for the Best Chapter Endings, D.P. Lyle would be the hands down winner. A master in the art of tethering readers to each and every crisp, deftly written word, his bold imagery snakes through the pages of his latest action-packed thriller, Stress Fracture, making it physically painful to put down.”
~ Suspense Magazine (September 2010)
He relished the moments before the kill. When his heart thumped against his chest. When sweat slicked his skin and stung his eyes, his breathing coarse and raspy. When the muscles of his shoulders tightened and his hands tingled as if awakening.
.
He closed his eyes and took several breaths, the night air warm and sweet. No hurry. He had time. Time to enjoy the anticipation. Squatting behind a thick, five-foot row of hydrangeas, Brian Kurtz leaned against the cool brick wall. Its roughness tugged at his T-shirt. Inside, his victim slept. The deep, peaceful sleep of someone who thought the future held many such restful nights.
.
Not so, Mr. Michael Savage.
Savage. He liked that name. It possessed power and passion and violence and rage. It conjured images of the old man at the Russel Erskine and the little fag over in Madison.
Savage. They had learned the meaning of the word. Tonight the man beyond the wall would, too. “Very soon, Mr. Savage,” he murmured. He often talked aloud to himself, though at these times his voice sounded foreign. Tinny, flat, muffled. His pulse hammered in his ears, and the familiar rage-fueled knot expanded in his stomach. The anger wanted out.
Not yet.God, he loved this feeling. He shifted his weight. The marble-sized gravel beneath the shrubs crunched softly.
.
His shoulder shook loose a few petals from one of the ball-shaped flowers. They floated to the ground, joining others that had already taken the fall. His plan looped through his mind for the hundredth time. Every step a crisp picture. Jump the fence into the backyard. Through the side garage door, the kitchen, and down the hall to where Savage sprawled on his bed, easy prey. The gun, the soft pop, the recoil. Then, Savage was his. The images kicked his pulse up a notch. Sweat collected on his face, and he swiped it away with the front of his shirt. It was time.
