A Match Made in Mayhem
A Grit & Grace Mystery Book One
Coming June, 2026
Murder … mayhem, and two detectives without a clue how to navigate romance.
Murder. Mayhem.
And two detectives who might survive the killer before they survive each other. Detective Luke Barritt has a grin for every occasion and a gift for making his new partner, Dakota Littlebear, question every life choice that brought her to homicide. She’s a five-foot-two force of nature with no patience for nonsense. He’s a six-foot-four smart-mouth who treats danger like it came free with the job. Their case? Three young women, executed with cold precision. As Shallows Creek reels, Luke and Dakota close in on a calculating killer desperate to stay one step ahead. With bodies dropping, boundaries cracking, and danger getting explosive, they’ll have to trust each other long enough to stay alive.
Murder is complicated. Killing your partner? Debatable.
Killing your partner? Still debatable.
Madness Made in Mayhem
A Grit & Grace Mystery, Book Two
Coming September, 2026
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
Mistletoe in Mayhem
A Christmas Novella, 2026
Money Made in Mayhem
Coming in 2027
A Grit & Grace Mystery, Book Three
A billionaire and his family are found dead in their mansion in Shallows Creek.
A mysterious phone call. Gruesome murders. A household full of carefully kept secrets.
Homicide detectives Luke Barritt and Dakota Littlebear dig into family money, old resentments, and evidence that refuses to settle into a neat line. Clues pile up. Suspects line up. And every answer points toward one horrifying possibility.
All while Luke and Dakota circle one another, fighting feelings neither one is ready to name.
The fine print wasn’t the problem.
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.
