Considered one of the most prolific writers working in modern fiction, with more than 30 million books sold, writer Dean Wesley Smith published far more than a hundred novels in forty years, and hundreds of short stories across many genres.
At the moment he produces novels in several major series, including the time travel Thunder Mountain novels set in the Old West, the galaxy-spanning Seeders Universe series, the urban fantasy Ghost of a Chance series, a superhero series starring Poker Boy, a mystery series featuring the retired detectives of the Cold Poker Gang, and the Mary Jo Assassin series.
His monthly magazine, Smith's Monthly, which consists of only his own fiction, premiered in October 2013 and offers readers more than 70,000 words per issue, including a new and original novel every month.
During his career, Dean also wrote a couple dozen Star Trek novels, the only two original Men in Black novels, Spider-Man and X-Men novels, plus novels set in gaming and television worlds. Writing with his wife Kristine Kathryn Rusch under the name Kathryn Wesley, he wrote the novel for the NBC miniseries The Tenth Kingdom and other books for Hallmark Hall of Fame movies.
He wrote novels under dozens of pen names in the worlds of comic books and movies, including novelizations of almost a dozen films, from The Final Fantasy to Steel to Rundown.
Dean also worked as a fiction editor off and on, starting at Pulphouse Publishing, then at VB Tech Journal, then Pocket Books, and now at WMG Publishing, where he and Kristine Kathryn Rusch serve as series editors for the acclaimed Fiction River anthology series.
For more information about Dean's books and ongoing projects, please visit his website at www.deanwesleysmith.com.
Eve Bryson died and found herself dead and lusting after a cop?
And not just any cop. Deputy McCall Cascade: Superhero.
Can a ghost and a superhero find true happiness and sex and stop a few killers along the way?
USA Today bestselling author Dean Wesley Smith brings you the fourth book in the crazy Ghost of a Chance series.
Dean has a one-of-a-kind perspective on the world. Only he can mix ghosts and superheroes and mysteries into a series filled with both humor and lust. Two of those elements should be almost too much, and he manages to make the entire mix work—in book after book after book. The Cop Car is a great introduction to the Ghost of a Chance series. You'll want to read each book in the series after you've read this one. – Kristine Kathryn Rusch
"[The Poker Boy] series is unlike anything else out there. It's quirky and a lot of fun."
– Amazing StoriesONE
EVE BRYSON DIED so fast, she didn't even realize she was dead for a few minutes.
The rain was pounding down hard, one of those storms that felt more like standing under a cold shower. She had on only a light cotton summer dress, sandals, and panties. No bra, so this rain was sticking her dress to her like a second skin. Not pleasant in the slightest.
Around her the heavy pine forest seemed frighteningly dark, even though the sun was hours from setting. She could hear nothing but the pounding rain against her head, matting her long brown hair into a mess down her back.
She wasn't even sure how she had ended up in the rain. A moment before she had been driving toward a dinner date at a local brewpub in downtown Portland with three friends from college.
In the years since college, the four of them had managed to get together every month or so and she loved those evenings. It took her mind off her worthless husband and even more worthless job she couldn't figure out how to get out of.
She had thought she would love high-tech work after coming out of college with her masters in engineering. But she hated it, hated the people more than anything else. Their goal wasn't to create new things, use their brains for good. All they did was try to figure out how to get ahead in the corporate game.
And just like her job, she thought marrying Simpson Jones right out of college was a good idea as well. It didn't matter that he was taking a break from finishing his degree. They had had great sex, lots of fun traveling, and planning for a future. She thought she had found a soul mate.
Maybe a soul mate for her single lost sock. But that might be giving Simpson more credit than he deserved.
It seemed good ol' Simp to his friends never understood that working was required to get ahead. She had no idea what he did all day while she was working, but it certainly wasn't anything to bring in money. She had a hunch he just looked at porn and played online games. She had gotten tired of asking about six months ago.
The marriage was that dead.
So for two years now she had supported him and that was going to end very, very soon. All of the rebel things she had found charming with him in college now just annoyed her beyond belief.
And all of her friends didn't like him either right from the start. That should have been a clue to her, but when a girl was in the first blush of love and sexual satisfaction, thinking with the logical brain wasn't that possible.
So she had made two mistakes right out of college. In six months, she would be out of both mistakes.
She shivered from the pounding cold rain and looked around. What had happened?
The two-lane winding road through the trees was empty. Water ran down one side, it was raining so hard.
Then she saw her wonderful little classic blue Miata off the road and down an embankment. Then she remembered. She had been thinking about how Simpson had complained that she wouldn't cook his dinner before she left. She had gotten so angry, she had been driving far too fast down the twisting area through the trees from their house in the hills to the main street below.
Far too fast for a pounding June rain.
She had slid into one corner, managed to get straightened out, and then didn't make the next corner. The last thing she remembered was the Miata heading over the bank and for a large pine tree.
She must have bumped her head. She didn't remember climbing up here to the road.
She quickly felt her forehead, looking for any sign of blood in the rain pounding at her.
Nothing.
The Miata's lights were still on and she went to the edge of the road to look down at it. It was pretty smashed up, but it wasn't that far off the road and the next person to come by would certainly see it and her.
She felt really sad she had totaled her Miata. She had bought it right out of college as well and it was the only fun thing left in her life after two years. Now it looked like she would be starting over completely.
The rain kept pounding at her and she could feel she was starting to really get chilled. It had been a seventy-degree day today. How could she be this cold?
A blue pickup, brand new from the looks of it, came around the corner, saw the lights from her car and quickly braked and pulled over onto the gravel shoulder of the road, putting on its flashing red warning lights.
The driver was a guy about forty. Maybe older. She could never tell with men in that range.
He pulled on a rain jacket with a hood as he climbed out and went to the edge of the road to look at her poor car.
She put one arm across her chest to cover what was showing through her wet dress and said to the guy, "I sure made a mess of it, didn't I?"
He said nothing, but instead quickly scrambled down the bank. When he got to the Miata, he looked inside, then shook his head and at a fast climb came back up the bank and started toward his truck.
"Why are you ignoring me?" Eve asked.
She reached for the guy as he went past and her hand went right through his arm.
And as it did, she could feel and read his mind.
All he was thinking was to get help out here quickly. And that he doubted the woman in the car was alive. Her neck was badly twisted in a way that necks didn't twist.
She watched him move to the truck and climb in and use his cell phone to call for help.
Then in the pounding rain, she moved over to the edge of the bank and once again looked at her car.
She could see now that she was still inside.
She was dead.
And she was just about as cold and wet as she could ever remember being. And she was getting hungry.
She was dead.
She was a ghost.
How the hell could she be hungry?
