DECEPTION Murder Moon

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• 5 out of 5 stars

Lots of twists and turns

• Reviewed in Canada on February 5, 2026
• Format: Kindle
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• This book will keep you engaged. I wonder if there will be a sequel. Well Done!

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The decade of Balkan wars lasted from 1991 until the early part of this century. This was the first European conflict since the Nazi Second World War campaigns to be formally classified as genocide. In the aftermath of the fighting and atrocities the millions of military grade weapons, from hand grenades to anti-tank weapons that had flowed into the country were left in civilian hands. Organized crime was making hundreds of thousands of dollars on every transaction by reselling them to terrorist and criminal organizations. A United States Army sniper team was covertly sent in to take out a key underworld figure and put a stop to it.

Haunted by a savage past and the tragic death of his beloved wife, Antonio the former sniper lives in quiet isolation. Then repercussions from the Balkan assassination force him once again into violent situations. Hiding under an assumed name from both law enforcement and the eastern Adriatic mafia—until a woman who looks exactly like his dead wife shows up in paradise.

Marija is a struggling actress from Croatia. Desperate for work, she is lured to Hawaii under false pretenses. Unknown to her, she’s the centerpiece of a final ruthless scheme orchestrated by a vengeful crime lord—one who has waited years to find and destroy Antonio. Her mission? Entice him into the open. Seduce him. Break him. Deliver him to his enemies. But nothing goes according to plan. Torn between the lies she’s told and the man she’s come to know, Marija finds herself respecting Antonio. She soon regrets accepting the role offered her—and wondering if her resemblance to his late wife is fate… or a trap neither of them will survive.

Inside cover SAMPLE:

CHAPTER 28

"The doctor tells me that your wife passed away from cancer. I know it must be painful, Mark; you don’t have to talk about it; I just thought you should know that I know." Marija told him. He nodded. They walked together in silence for another minute before Marija said; “Last night while we were dancing, I think you whispered her name. You must have loved her very much.” “Yes.” He replied. “Where did you meet her Mark?” “College.” Was his short answer. They walked the beach in silence for another minute before Marija stated; “We should talk about something else; I can tell it makes you sad.” “That’s okay Marija I think about her everyday anyway.” “You must miss her very much.” He nodded; “That’s true.” “What was she like?” Marija asked. He stopped and looked at her strangely for a moment, then replied; “She looked a lot like you.  Marija realized that she had gone too far. She needed to know if he suspected the truth. Not because she cared about spoiling Brankovic’s plan. No, she was concerned that he would dislike her. For some reason she felt it important that he respected her.

Read the first few chapters for free on AMAZON: DECEPTION Murder Moon: B Fredrick https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FH5Y7NSV

SAMPLE:

ANTONIO:

 The dream never started the same. Unfortunately, it always ended the same horrible way it actually had happened. This time it began at Fort Benning, before the name was changed to Fort Moore in 2023. Back when he had been an infantry scout and first entered the seven-week U.S. Army sniper school there.

The first part, in typical dream incredulousness, made no sense. Brankovic, the target he had helped assassinate, was his fieldcraft instructor. They were told it was critical for national security that he, Brankovic, be eliminated. Tony was being mercilessly grilled on his short comings in range estimation by the man who somehow was standing after having the banned, civilian hunting 168 grain soft point bullet blow his lower intestines out. Brankovic was upset they hadn’t obeyed the mandated by the 1980 revised Geneva convention mandate on projectiles. While twirling his lower intestines and colon with his mangled right arm. Chastising him while he held the remains of his lower face in his undamaged left.

Brankovic, a man in his mid-thirties who Tony was equally responsible for orchestrating his painful death, haunted him in his nightmares. A gruesome, ghoulish, and monstrous specter that often tormented him in his sleep. The grisly apparition in the nightmare was accusing Tony of being a war criminal for not using NATO M118LR sniper rounds instead of the devastating Barnes Vor-Tx TTSX projectile, suitable for big game animals, not human enemies. A quick and sure death without chance of a survivable wound had been decided by someone they didn't possess the clearance to know.

Even more shocking was the chastisement, in profanity laced English, coming from Brankovic’s lower jawless, bloody face that the polymer tipped, flat based projectile had blown away. Four shots, one kill. Sloppy, nothing to be proud of, rather endless shame of the horror their target had suffered. Nikolopoulos and he had been sheep dipped. The unofficial term used when military personnel are temporarily discharged to participate in covert operations. Both were given a civilian identity that gave the army and government plausible deniability in case of failure or discovery. Tony had acted as the spotter. Nicholas Nikolopoulos had squeezed the trigger. Nick the Greek also known by his peers as Nick-Nick, was fourteen years older, more experienced, and already a semi legend.

Brankovic, it was learned, nearly every evening between nine and ten pm had a habit of visiting a secluded stream overlook. It was only a ten minute walk from the bombed out apartment the man shared with his younger brother. The forecast was for clear skies and a full moon, the visibility would never be better. "Tonights a go!" was ordered. Nick and he had been waiting in silence since dusk. The razed village had posted a guard. The war was over but the violence wasn't. People who had nothing except weapons would often use the tools at their disposal to obtain necessities in nightly raids.

At 20:55 the sentry only fifty meters away descended into the ravine. Eighty meters from them a flame flashed into life. An orange ember glowed briefly, the smell of harsh tobacco drifted into their nostrils. At 20:57 Tony broke the quiet and whispered; "If he's making so much money dealing in black market arms, why live in a place like this where water, sewer, and electrical infrastructure has been destroyed? It doesn't make any sense!" Nick, with eyes focused on the sentinel quietly replied; "This is where one of the major sources of his inventory is. After a decade of a war this brutal with many factions and shifting alliances only a fool wouldn't squirrel away armament, just in case. Especially in this place that saw the worst of it. This town is too far gone to rebuild, soil contaminated so that only thistle grows. A few goats are their only livestock. The people too poor to move away and start over. All that they have is what foreign interests supplied them with to act as proxy warriors and what was scavenged from the battlefield. Weapons are always good to barter for medicine, money, and food in a worst case scenario, which this surely is. In return Brankovic is supplying their needs." Nick replied in a hushed voice.

Tony turned to look at the sky and whispered; "A stalking moon." Nick rolled onto his side, peering at earth's satellite, tinted crimson by smoke from the bombed, looted, and sixty-five percent destroyed village's cooking fires and the waste pits where human and domestic goat feces were soaked with diesel and set on fire. Nick softly remarked; "No, we're not pursuing him, we've found him. It's a murder moon! I've seen this twice before, full with a blood shade. Someone always dies a violent death. Tonight it's Brankovic!" Tony couldn't think of a reply. So, he remained silent. .....

MARIJA:

CHAPTER 1 

 CRIKVENICA CROATIA Marija Petrovic stood with seventeen other hopefuls in Stjepana Radic square, named after the Croat politician and founder of the Croation People’s Peasant Party, while technicians fussed with the lights and cameras. A short distance to her east was the 35-meter-high steeple of church St. Anton that towered over them. To their west was the emerald topped palm-lined promenade along the Crikvenica Riviera, a scenic location on the Adriatic Sea.

They had been told that after a few shots here they would probably make the walk over to the beach or possibly to the nearby old town to pose. Marija had her photo book, a professional modeling portfolio she had paid to be made. All they had been instructed to bring was a form-fitting gown and a one-piece bathing suit. So far no one had asked to see her photo portfolio. She had hopes of getting a call from Midikenn, the top modeling management agency in Croatia. As of now, they had shown little interest in anything that she had sent.

Growing up Marija had wanted to be an actress since the age of five and perhaps earlier, not remembering the desire to be or do anything else but be in the performing arts. She had enrolled in the Istrian National Theater of Drama and Dance in Pula. She had performed in Zagreb, Croatia's capital city, and the National theater in Rijeka, but mostly on the Istrian peninsula in theater, a career that paid little. 

Tall and slender with an oval face, a gently curved jawline harmonious with a narrow chin. High cheekbones, full lips and a delicate Greek nose with a straight bridge and pointed tip gave her a classical beauty. She had been urged to try modeling. “I’m twenty-six. Too old.” Marija had protested, but with only a few other rather poor options she had given it a try. Five days ago, a casting call went out for models between 170 and 175 centimeters in height and blue or greenish blue eyes and hair that was or could be dyed to a light cinnamon brown shade. A working knowledge of English and acting experience was a plus with an age between 20 and 32 years old. A current valid passport, with at least a year until expiration, would also be a requirement. “That’s you!” Her best friend Dejana exclaimed excitedly, adding; “I bet it’s for a film role! Probably in Spain or the South of France. Perhaps even out of the European Union or on a different continent somewhere. That’s why they asked for a passport!”

Her fiancé Alarick had driven her down from Rijeka, where she’d had a small part in a .....

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