A lost artifact. A killer on the loose. A reluctant spy with everything to lose—and one man who might be her salvation… or her ruin.
Annouie Bach walks a razor’s edge. By day, she’s a university student drowning in deadlines. By night, she slips through locked doors and steals secrets for people who don’t ask questions.
Then her handler makes an offer: one last job—and she’s out.
The catch? She has to get close to Antony Meyer-Edwards—a brilliant, arrogant music prodigy caught in something far more dangerous than he realizes. When his former mentor sends him a legendary artifact, the hunt begins.
With rival operatives, hired guns, and powerful enemies closing in, Annouie is forced into an uneasy alliance. But the deeper she gets, the harder it becomes to tell ally from threat—especially when Antony’s secrets may be darker than her own.
He’s magnetic. Dangerous. Infuriatingly hard to read. And as the lines between mission and emotion blur, getting close might be her biggest mistake.
Think Celaena Sardothien dropped into John Wick’s world.
Smart, stylish, and charged with slow-burn tension, Mastering the Art of Deception delivers a noir-edged thrill ride where truth cuts deep—and every move could be their last.
A lost artifact. A killer on the loose. A reluctant spy with everything to lose—and one man who might be her salvation… or her ruin.
Annouie Bach walks a razor’s edge. By day, she’s a university student drowning in deadlines. By night, she slips through locked doors and steals secrets for people who don’t ask questions.
Then her handler makes an offer: one last job—and she’s out.
The catch? She has to get close to Antony Meyer-Edwards—a brilliant, arrogant music prodigy caught in something far more dangerous than he realizes. When his former mentor sends him a legendary artifact, the hunt begins.
With rival operatives, hired guns, and powerful enemies closing in, Annouie is forced into an uneasy alliance. But the deeper she gets, the harder it becomes to tell ally from threat—especially when Antony’s secrets may be darker than her own.
He’s magnetic. Dangerous. Infuriatingly hard to read. And as the lines between mission and emotion blur, getting close might be her biggest mistake.
Think Celaena Sardothien dropped into John Wick’s world.
Smart, stylish, and charged with slow-burn tension, Mastering the Art of Deception delivers a noir-edged thrill ride where truth cuts deep—and every move could be their last.
Chapter One
The phone slipped from Antony’s fingers and hit the floor with a heavy clunk, cutting off the dispatch officer’s voice. He sank to his heels, breath catching, eyes fixed on Sara Miles’s body sprawled across the bed. Thunder growled through the walls. Strands of bronze hair tangled with the blood on her arms, thighs, breasts. A penknife lay discarded on the bedside table.
But it was the purple bruising around her neck that told the story of her final moments.
A tremor crept up his fingers as he untied her hands and folded them gently over her chest. He steadied his breath, stroked her tear-streaked cheek—a futile gesture in the face of death. For one terrible moment, he almost sank to the floor. Gave in. Let it crack him wide open.
Instead—
He stood.
Fists clenched, he stumbled down the corridor, shoving the scene from his mind.
On the kitchen counter, an open bottle of Macallan beckoned. He grabbed it, took a long swig, and stared through the back door. Another swig. Then—
He squared his shoulders and stepped into the study.
The glow of Sara’s computer cut through the dark, guiding him to the desk. He squinted at the blinking cursor, still pulsing as if waiting for her return. He read the scandalous opening paragraph, set the bottle down, and leaned in.
The tremors eased as his fingers found the keys.
Clack. Clack. The sound rose above the wind stirring through the open doors. With a final tap, her words vanished.
He turned away—then stopped.
A gleam of polished wood.
He pivoted. Eyes locked on the box on the shelf above her desk.
A chill slid down his spine.
African blackwood. Carved from a single piece. Mother of pearl inlay. Seamless. Keyless.
Now stained with Sara’s blood.
The third piece of Rebrisi’s masterpiece—The Three Elements—sitting there like some kitschy op-shop find.
His jaw tightened. He crossed the floor. Paused—just for a moment. Then reached. Hands steady. Jaw set—
Bang.
He froze. His breath loud in his ears. Wind howled through the doors. Beneath it: voices—low, clipped, professional. A car door slammed. A radio crackled.
A knock. Followed by boots on pavement.
“POLICE. OPEN UP.”
His throat tightened.
The box—forgotten. Sara’s body—cooling in the next room.
The evening, already catastrophic, was about to get worse.
He rolled his eyes. Of course—discovered . . . with blood on his hands.
There was only one thing left to do.
He drank.
#
“You’re here about a disturbance?” Antony asked, eyeing the two officers across the threshold.
Detective Katrine Ratcliffe stepped forward.
Five foot seven, platinum-blond, and radiating restless energy, she moved with a predator’s grace—cool, composed, and taut with threat. She carried the presence of someone used to commanding the room.
Her partner, Detective Kyle Saunders, loomed a half-step behind. Broader, with linebacker shoulders and a flattened nose, he looked more like her muscle than her equal.
Antony exhaled slowly, hiding his bloodstained cuff beneath his palm as he stepped aside. Ratcliffe was already scanning the space with practiced eyes. Saunders followed, his bulk filling the doorway.
A dark blur shot through the entrance, claws skittering on hardwood.
“Shit!” Saunders flinched. “What the hell was that?”
A hiss answered as the Maine Coon crab-walked toward the kitchen, tail puffed out like a feather duster.
“Tib!” Antony dropped to his knees, his cool façade slipping. The cat halted, sniffed, and returned, pressing against his leg. A loud purr filled the foyer.
Ratcliffe’s eyes flicked between Antony and the animal, one brow raised. “Friendly, isn’t he?”
“Depends who you ask,” Antony muttered. “He bites.”
“So do I.” Ratcliffe’s gaze snapped to the back of the house. “Right, then. What’s this all about? Dispatch said it was a domestic dispute.”
Antony scooped the Maine Coon into his arms and led them into the front room. Ratcliffe planted herself in front of the fireplace, arms crossed—the picture of quiet judgment.
At the bay window, Saunders scanned the quiet street beyond.
Antony’s voice darkened. “Not exactly.” His chest constricted, stomach churning. He lowered himself onto the silk sofa, the cat curling into his lap. “There’s been a murder.”
Ratcliffe’s brow lifted. “A murder? So, we’ve got a body, then?”
Antony nodded, stroking the cat’s fur with unsteady hands. “Before you ask, it wasn’t me. I tried to resuscitate her.”
She stiffened, shooting Saunders a look. He vanished into the corridor.
Minutes later, he returned, speaking into the mic clipped to his jacket. In his gloved hand: a Stanley knife and a roll of duct tape in an evidence bag.
“Affirmative, sir,” he said. “I’ll relay this to Ratcliffe now.”
Thunder rolled overhead as he released the transmit button. “Scene’s secure. Victim’s in the back bedroom. CSI’s already on the way.”
Another rumble shook the room. “We’ve logged multiple calls to this address tonight.” He paused, gaze locking on Antony
Ratcliffe gave a grim nod. “I’ll say it—looks like the work of the Bayside Ripper.”
#
Over the next hour, Sara Miles’s swanky bungalow transformed into the epicenter of a full-blown crime scene investigation. Police cordoned off the front and rear of the property, the driveway, and the garden, weaving a giant spiderweb of yellow tape. Inside, forensic techs in coveralls and nitrile gloves combed the bedroom, the living room, and the kitchen.
They spent the first thirty minutes photographing the body from every conceivable angle. Then came the bagging and tagging. Antony groaned as—despite his protests—the bottle of Macallan vanished into an evidence bag. With a resigned sigh, he returned to his perch by the window, settling Tib into his lap as more news crews gathered on the lawn.
Vans with swiveling satellite dishes jammed the street. Cameramen jockeyed for position, their broadcast lenses trained on anything that moved, while predatory reporters whispered into mics held centimeters from their glossy lips. Antony pressed his forehead to the cool glass, fingers sinking into the ruff at Tib’s neck. The cat’s low purr deepened.
Outside, Ratcliffe and Saunders stood on the veranda, their voices drifting in through the open doorway.
Saunders folded his arms, casting her a long, judgmental look. “You’ve been keeping tabs?”
Ratcliffe shrugged. “Gut feeling.” A beat. “On paper, she’s renting in Bayside, but no one’s seen her. Then she shows up tonight. With Landvik.”
Thunder rolled in the distance.
“He’s up to something—I can feel it.”
Saunders sighed. “So bring him in.”
Footsteps creaked behind Antony. He turned as an officer approached, carrying a pet carrier.
“What the hell?”
The officer gave a weary shrug. “I’ve been instructed to take the cat down to forensics.”
“Why?”
“Detective Ratcliffe says he bites. If he bit our perp, there might be DNA.”
His brows lifted. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. Tib growled low in his throat as she stepped closer, the door of the cage clinking open.
“He won’t go in that.” His grip tightened on the cat.
“It’s a workplace health and safety issue, sir.”
“Then do it here.”
“It has to be at the lab,” she said, her mouth setting into a firm line.
He arched a brow. “Why bother? Seems like a long shot.”
Her voice softened, though her patience was wearing thin. “Because any small detail might lead us to the Bayside Ripper.”
Antony huffed. “Well, I suppose you’ll take anything you can get. What is it now—four murders? Five? I’m losing count.” He turned back to the window and the circus on the lawn. Grief threatened to crack his tightly held façade.
“Your cooperation would be much appreciated,” she said, frustration creeping in. “It won’t take long. Just a DNA swab. I’ll return the cat personally.”
Tib growled again.
The officer sighed. “Fine. Have it your way. Keep the cat. But that means we’ll need both of you to come down to the station.”
A lost artifact, a killer on the loose, a reluctant spy with everything to lose, and one man who might be her salvation, just maybe.
By day, Annouie Bach is a typical university student burdened by the looming weight of deadlines, but by night, she is an entirely different person. She slips through locked doors and steals secrets.
Then her handler makes an offer that’s too good to refuse: one last job, and then she’s free.
Of course, the job won’t be easy, why would it? She has to get close to Antony Meyer-Edwards, a brilliant, arrogant music prodigy caught in something far more dangerous than he realizes. When his former mentor sends him a legendary artifact, the hunt begins.
With powerful enemies closing in, Annouie is forced into an alliance. But the deeper she gets, the harder it becomes to tell ally from threat.
There are many ways to describe a story centred on thrills and suspense, but 'fun' isn’t usually one of them. However, Mastering the Art of Deception is an exception. As someone who reads a lot of thrillers, they have always ignited various emotions of suspense, anticipation and tension, but there was something about this story that felt different. It was an emotional rollercoaster in a typically thrilling way, but it was also a lot of fun to read from start to finish. A lot is going on, which raised some worry of being lost in the plot and not fully grasping all the details; however, that wasn’t the case at all, as it was surprisingly easy to follow along. The way the story is paced makes everything feel fast-paced and exciting. The stakes were high, and the story became addictive as a result.
There were a multitude of different characters, and the uncertainty of who could be trusted kept the suspense high, ensuring that any reader would be on the edge of their seat. The characters were delightful; they had a great deal of depth and felt distinct from one another. I don’t necessarily believe in this novel; it was about connecting with the characters, but it was more about the entertainment they provided that made them likable. They had unique personalities, and as a result, they were incredibly entertaining. A specific shoutout to Annouie Bach, she is a strong character, it was enjoyable to follow her along the journey.
Lastly, the writing was phenomenal. The author's description of a specific situation is not for the faint of heart. There are some grotesque descriptors during some of the action-packed scenes that will have your skin crawling.
Overall, this was a fantastic read. Mastering the Art of Deception was written for those who love an action-packed thriller and those who don’t shy away from the dark and twisted nature of crime.