• Winner of the 2020 Michael Van Rooy Award for Genre Fiction

NYPD Detective Nicola Cortese, veteran of three tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, is leading a routine drug bust at a warehouse in the Bronx, but the SWAT team Commander pulls rank and starts a firefight that gets Cortese’s partner killed. The tragedy triggers combat flashbacks, sleepless nights with cold sweats, nightmares, and violent outbursts during which he assaults fellow officers.  He is demoted and transferred to a desk job in Operations.  For months, all his appeals are denied. But when a new Precinct Commander returns him to active duty, he is elated—until he’s told Captain Chase expects him to act out again and get kicked off the Force.  His first case, a B & E homicide, leads him to uncover an international conspiracy that is using a genetically engineered seed to take control of the world’s wheat. This draws him into deadly conflict with Corporate power backed by US Intelligence.  Haunted by issues from his military past, he must survive attacks by contract mercenaries, neutralize threats to loved ones, prove his innocence when framed for a Capital Crime and unravel the Stealth Seed Agenda. He has an ally, a therapist who is also a Marine, but can they clear up his symptoms before it’s too late?

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Malone hesitated and Price cut in, “Let’s just lay it out, Chaz. Nico, it’s boring as tapioca these days. We want you back bustin’ our chops like the old days.”

Nick was touched. “I’d like that too, Corbie, I surely would, but it’s not up to me.”

Malone said, “Well, actually, it kinda is, or uh, you know, it might be?”

Price shook his head. “What monkey mouth is tryin’ to say is that IAB would take another look pronto if you’d do a few rounds with a counsellor.”

Nick felt himself getting hot, and his breathing quickened. He felt surrounded, smothered, trapped.

The beer came and he poured himself a glass, took a long drink before he answered. “Yeah, well, I thought about it, but I don’t see what good it will do.”

“We ain’t saying anything’s broken, bro, it’s just, you know, for the brass.” Malone added, “They want to move you back, but they need some paper.”

“Paper? Don’t they have enough paper in the NYPD? The Department’s drowning in paper. Besides, I haven’t had any, uh, incidents since I left the Sixth. I’ve been sending them letters telling them so every week. That should be good enough. I’m not gonna spill my guts to some office boy with a bullshit degree.”

Malone looked disappointed. He opened both hands in a conciliatory gesture, and shrugged, “Hey, Nico, I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Nick chucked him on the arm. “I understand. And it means a lot that you guys want me back. I just don’t see myself sittin there like Tony Soprano mouthing off about anxiety attacks and stuffing myself with downers.”