Thursday, April 17, 2014



Genre: Adult, Thriller

Word Count: 78,000

Pitch: Child Advocate Sam Dakota encounters a child he can't save--his son. After two years with no decent leads, he hires Rami Amato, a P.I. with an aversion to “kid cases,” who uncovers a conspiracy of lies and betrayal.

After seven years as an advocate, Sam Dakota encounters a child he can't protect--his son. When Danny vanishes, the chance of finding out who took him dwindles with every dead end. Faced with impossible odds, Sam makes a tough decision to hire Rami Amato, a P.I. with an aversion to “kid cases.” Amato uncovers a conspiracy of lies and betrayal that threatens to bury all hope of finding Danny alive. Then, the letters arrive.

Strange notes depicting the horrors being exacted on his son show up at Sam’s job and his home, but there's nothing the authorities can do. The ongoing nightmare consumes Sam's life as the kidnapper starts a clock, counting down to Danny's death. Rami can't let another case end like this, and it's clear Sam won't survive getting that final letter. Everyone's time is running out.


The water ran hot across Sam’s skin, punishing him. His feet were tired from chasing down leads yesterday and posting fliers he knew wouldn’t make a difference. The water couldn’t wash away the sense of doom that hovered, deepened by the trill of his cell in the bedroom. Groaning, he glanced at the digital clock on the bathroom mirror. He used to think it was cool. Now, it represented things best left alone. 6:30, nothing good came of a call this early. Dripping, towel draped around his waist, he slid across the slick tile floor to the closest phone.


“Yo. Jimmy Slade.”

“When?” Sam’s wet hair slapped at his back as he shook out the excess moisture.

“An hour ago. Dunc said tell you not to come alone.” Jimmy’s drawl diminished the words.

Sam’s damp skin chilled, and his empty stomach roiled. He hung up, slipping once on the wet floor before he made it to the bathroom where his diaphragm went nuts.

Nothing came up. As usual, he remembered nothing after the call or the drive to the M.E.’s office.


Cold. Murky. Dank.

Wholly devoid of life.

Even the people who worked here wore death like a cloak they put on at the door.

Visiting this place had always been a hazard of Sam’s job, one he gave little thought, but that was B.D., before Danny’s disappearance. A.D., after Danny disappeared each visit brought him statistically closer to a body turning out to be his son.


  1. Hey, congrats! I'm relaying this message because of a commenting technical problem. Ms. Pooja Menon would like to see your first 50 pages, synopsis, and pitch. Please send to pooja (at) kimberleycameron (dot) com (make sure to replace "at" with "@" and so on) with "The Writer's Tank Request: [TITLE OF MANUSCRIPT, Genre]" in the subject line.

  2. Please email the first 75 pages, your bio and synopsis in ONE Word document attachment to