CLAIRE
O'SULLIVAN
A Match Made in Mayhem
A Grit & Grace Mystery Book One
Coming this Spring, 2026
Murder … mayhem, and two detectives without a clue how to navigate romance.
Detective Luke Barritt has a grin for every occasion—and a knack for driving his new partner, Dakota Littlebear, nuts. She’s a five-foot-two force of nature with no patience for nonsense, especially not from a cocky six-foot-four smart-mouth who treats danger like it’s part of his skincare routine.
The case? Three young women, all executed with cold, professional precision. It’s grim, it’s urgent, and it gets downright explosive—literally.
But with bodies dropping, attempted murder, and professional boundaries disintegrating, this mismatched duo must rely on each other more than ever. The danger’s real, the stakes are rising—but will they be partners? In Shallows Creek, nothing's predictable ... except mayhem.
Murder is bad. Killing your partner? Debatable.
Concept Cover Only
A Madness Made in Mayhem
A Grit & Grace Mystery, Book Two
Murder, mayhem, and two detectives learning what loyalty really costs.
Detective Luke Barritt works homicide in a modest police department outside Central Oregon. Quirks abound, and the new chief—brilliant but unsettling—keeps the team on edge.
Luke’s life splinters when the department’s anthropologist enters his world just as a string of murders rocks Shallows Creek. A chilling threat arrives: she’s first on the killer’s list. Dakota Littlebear is second. Luke will be third—forced to watch everyone he cares about become targets.
Detective Dakota Littlebear is the calm in the storm. Quiet racism cuts deep, but her resolve never falters. She is the anchor Luke relies on. The torch he still carries.
Together they navigate Shallows Creek’s darkest corners while chasing a killer one step ahead.
Murder is our business. Sanity is optional
Mark Made in Mayhem
Coming in 2027 (God Willing and the Crick Don't Rise)
A Grit & Grace Mystery, Book Three
A billionaire and his family are found dead in their mansion in Shallows Creek.
A mysterious phone call. All gruesome.
Clues pile up. Suspects line up. And the evidence is confounding.
A son had come to visit, only to suffer at the hands of intruders.
A maid connected to the household becomes a key piece of the puzzle.
Is she a witness … a loose end ... a suspect?
Homicide detectives Luke Barritt and Dakota Littlebear work with their team to hunt down a brutal killer. Maybe more.
All while Barritt and Littlebear continue circling one another, unable to decide whether they’ll banter, fight—or fall in love.
Freedom wasn’t in the fine print.
CHAPTER ONE
Homicide Detective Luke Barritt
Monday, March 15, 7:15 a.m.
Outside, March decided to deliver one last glancing blow of cold, daring normal people to walk around in it. Me? I stood in the icy wind waiting for my partner and a warm ride. My Corvette was in the shop again. A betrayal of the highest order.
I checked my watch. She was late.
A motor growled somewhere up the street. I turned.
Someone on a motorcycle rolled up to the curb.
At first, I didn’t recognize the rider who waved me over. Black helmet. Dark jacket. Built like trouble.
“What?” I shouted into the wind.
Wait.
No.
Dakota Littlebear pulled off her helmet.
My nemesis. My partner. The woman who drove me insane in ways Internal Affairs would prefer not to document.
“What is this?” I demanded.
“My bike,” she said. “Your ride.” She held out a helmet.
“This is not a ride. It’s suicide. And in winter.”
“It’s almost spring. Put the helmet on, you lazy bum.”
“You’re bundled up like a Himalayan sherpa. I’ve got on a light jacket.” I eyed her layers. “And this?” I lifted the helmet. “It’s a frikken brain bucket. Please tell me this is not a perp’s used helmet.”
She grinned while I wrestled with it. “Oh, come here, you baby.”
She stripped off her gloves. Warm fingers snapped the strap tight under my chin, way too fast. I wanted them to linger. Heat was currency this morning.
The seat was frozen when I climbed on behind her.
Seven minutes. I could survive seven minutes. Probably.
She revved the engine.
“What do I hold on to?” I yelled.
She turned her head. “Me or the air.”
I chose her. Gravity has a personal vendetta against me.
We launched.
Wind knifed through my jacket. Cold bit straight through my lightweight tailored pants.
A minute in, I shouted, “I can’t feel my face or my legs. Is that normal?”
She gave me a cheerful thumbs-up.
I was going to end this menace of a woman. Adoration had officially met revenge, and I already knew where to bury the body. Figuratively. Unfortunately, I was still in love with her, which made me terrible at follow-through.
A stoplight gave me a chance to look at the car next to us, where some women were clearly entertained.
I tightened my grip and shoved my hands under the edge of Dakota’s jacket, stealing whatever heat I could find.
For the record, Dakota and I operate in a complex ecosystem of mutual torment. We tease. We sabotage. Occasionally we’re kind. On special occasions, we save each other’s lives.
Friends.
No benefits.
Unless you mean food.
Today was clearly a sabotage day.
When we finally rolled into the Shallows Creek PD garage, I dismounted like a man escaping cryogenic storage.
