Titus Ray Thrillers feature CIA intelligence officer, Titus Ray, who was brought to faith in Christ by a group of Iranian Christians during a botched mission in Tehran. Following his conversion, he questions whether or not he will be able to live out his faith and follow the teachings of Christ while still being employed at the CIA.  

These thrillers follow Titus as he carries out operations against America’s enemies, while trying to live the Christian life. In his journey of faith, he meets a beautiful Christian woman, deals with a myriad of family issues, and fights his own personal demons. Sometimes, he fails miserably at doing the right thing. At other times, he achieves victory over his sinful nature. In reality, Titus isn’t much different than most believers, except he’s a covert operative in the world of espionage.

You can learn more about each book in the series by clicking on the tabs in the menu above. If you’d like to receive updates and insider news on the series, you can sign up for the Titus Ray Thriller Series Newsletter here. When you sign up, you’ll receive a FREE COPY of Titus Ray Recipes and Short Stories.

The first series of Titus Ray Thrillers is the five-book Time/Place series which begins with One Night in Tehran and ends with Five Years in Yemen. The next series, the Step series, begins with the novella One Step Back, the prequel to Titus Ray Thrillers. Two Steps Forward, Book II in the Step series was published in July 2019. Three Steps Away, Book III, will be published in August 2020. 

As a way of introducing you to Titus Ray Thrillers there are excerpts to first chapters following this post. You may also click on the Categories menu on the left under Chapter Comments.

Three Weeks in Washington was the winner of the 2017 Oklahoma Book Award for fiction. Four Months in Cuba was a finalist in the Carol Awards from American Christian Fiction Writers. Two Steps Forward is the most recently published book. All books in the series are available on Amazon here.

The Mylas Grey Mystery Series begins with One Day Gone and features Private Investigator, Mylas Grey. Available on Amazon here.


Three Steps Away, Book VII

Posted: March 27, 2020 in Uncategorized

Three Steps Away is Book VII in the Titus Ray Thriller Series. To view the Book Trailer and read the complete book description, click here.

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Two Steps Forward is Book VI in the Titus Ray Thriller Series. To read a description and view the book trailer, click here. All Titus Ray Thrillers are available on Amazon here.

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Purchase your copy of Two Steps Forward   here from Amazon

Five Years in Yemen is Book V in the Titus Ray Thriller Series. To view the book trailer and a brief description, click here. Read a First Chapter excerpt below.

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Chapter 1

Tuesday, October 13

Douglas Carlton, my boss and the head of the Middle East desk at the CIA, wanted to see me. As I travelled north along the Capital Beltway on my way to his townhouse in McLean, Virginia, I thought about our last conversation.

It had taken place in his office at the Agency twenty‑four hours ago when he’d signed off on my three‑month leave following the successful completion of Operation Peaceful Retrieval.

At the time, Carlton had seemed upset, and I’d wondered if his disgruntled attitude and the Top‑Secret file on his desk were related.

He’d hinted the file contained the components of a new intelligence operation, one I would have been offered had the Deputy Director of Operations (DDO) not just given me a leave of absence.

Although I’d tried to pry the details out of him, he’d only offered me the bare facts; Jacob Levin—a CIA contractor who’d disappeared in Iraq five years ago—had been spotted in Yemen, and the DDO wanted to know what he was doing there.

Carlton had also implied the operation had political ramifications attached to it, and that it required the President’s approval before it could be implemented. More than likely, the political aspects of the operation had been the reason for his crankiness.

Playing politics, while putting America’s security at stake, was one of Carlton’s pet peeves—one of many.

He’d refused to tell me what the politics of the situation  were, and after we’d said our goodbyes, I’d walked out of my boss’s office thinking I wouldn’t see him again for three months.

That had brought a smile to my face.

For the past six months, we’d worked together on three separate operations, and I was looking forward to some time off.

No, scratch that.

The only thing I was looking forward to in the next three months was spending time with Nikki Saxon.

Although Nikki and I had only known each other a short time, I’d surprised myself yesterday by asking her to marry me.

As soon as I’d put the ring on her finger, Carlton had called and invited me to drop by his townhouse in McLean.

“It’s nothing urgent,” he said. “Come by tomorrow around seven.”

“Should I pick up dinner for us?”

“Sure, grab us a pizza from Listrani’s. I’ll call it in.”

Of course, he would call it in. That’s what Carlton did.

I was a Level 1 covert intelligence officer at the CIA, and Douglas Carlton was my handler.

He handled things.

Most of the time, I let him.

Purchase your copy of Five Years in Yemen from Amazon here.

Image  —  Posted: September 12, 2018 in Chapter Comments, Five Years in Yemen, Titus Ray Thrillers
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The Prequel: ONE STEP BACK

Posted: February 3, 2018 in One Step Back

One Step Back is the prequel to One Night in Tehran, Book I in the Titus Ray Thriller Series. To view the Book Trailer and read a synopsis, click here. An excerpt from Chapter One is reprinted below.

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Purchase your copy of One Step Back on Amazon here.


Posted: February 3, 2018 in One Step Back

Chapter 1

Tehran, Iran
October 6, 2014

I was ahead of schedule. Even though I was supposed to meet my asset, Farid Kazim, near Zafaranieh Plaza at eleven o’clock, I was at the designated location an hour early.

Some Agency operatives might consider my early arrival a little excessive. They could be right.

On the other hand, those operatives hadn’t been living in Tehran for the past two years.

I’d arrived in Iran two years ago as Hammid Salimi, the son of an Iranian watchmaker and a Swiss businesswoman. According to my legend—the false identity prepared for me by Support Services at the CIA—I was in Tehran to open up a market for my parents’ line of luxury watches and jewelry.

In reality, I was in Tehran to identify potential assets who might be willing to help fund the opposition and topple the government.

To that end, I’d spent the last two years rubbing shoulders with some of the upper-class members of Iranian society, making friends with businessmen, as well as bankers, and cultivating ties with wealthy entrepreneurs.

During that time, I’d recruited six individuals who were now the core of my Iranian network. Three of them were bankers, two of them were businessmen, and one was a rich playboy.

Farid was the rich playboy.

His father, Asadi Kazim, owned three hotels in Iran; two in Tehran and one in Mashhad. All three of them had been built during the Shah’s regime, and, when the Shah was ousted from power in 1979, Asadi had been allowed to keep the hotels.

According to Farid, his father had always been an ardent Islamist and had publically supported the revolution from the beginning. Allowing him to keep his hotels was the Supreme Leader’s way of rewarding him.

Now, the Parisian Asadi Hotels were the only hotels in Iran with a five-star rating. However, the rooms were under constant surveillance by members of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), and foreign dignitaries were warned to use caution when staying there.

Despite that, diplomats, as well as international investors, used the Asadi Hotels almost exclusively, and, in return, the IRGC supplemented Asadi Kazim’s income for catering to them.

Outwardly, Farid appeared to be an Islamist like his father, but a few months after I’d recruited him, Farid had confessed to being an atheist.

I had my doubts about that.

While I believed Farid despised his father and blamed him for his mother’s death, it was hard for me to believe a man who had been praying, fasting, and memorizing the Quran all his life didn’t believe in a god of some sort.

Granted, I had no real belief system of my own, so I might not be the best person to judge someone else’s faith.

Farid had chosen a passive aggressive method for exacting revenge on his father. His means of retribution included spending his father’s fortune on expensive toys, associating with members of the Iranian opposition, and becoming a CIA asset.

As recruits go, Farid had been an easy target.

A member of one of the Iranian opposition groups, the People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran, had given me Farid’s name, and I’d taken it from there.

After introducing myself to Farid at the wedding of a high-ranking IRGC official, I’d handed him my business card, and, in the midst of a discussion about the groom’s father, I’d told Farid a less than flattering story about my father’s treatment of my mother.

My anecdote was part of Hammid Salimi’s fictional background and totally fabricated, but I could tell it resonated with him.

He’d called me a few days later.

Although he said he was calling because he wanted to purchase a watch for his girlfriend, when he showed up at my apartment, he seemed more interested in hearing about the hatred I had for my father than in buying my baubles and beads.

The two of us met often after that, and it wasn’t long before I realized I’d become a kind of surrogate father to him. Since I was only in my late forties, I had a hard time identifying with this role, but it appeared to be working, so I went with it.

Within six months of meeting Farid, I’d recruited him as my asset. Now, not only was he feeding me intel from his contacts inside the IRGC, he was also supplying me with information about some of the guests at the Asadi hotels.

Douglas Carlton, the head of the Middle East desk at the CIA and my operations officer, had congratulated me on my recruitment of Farid during one of my rare video conferences with the Ops Center. I’d even seen him smile when I’d delivered Farid’s first product—a recording of a conversation between a Russian general and a member of the Iranian President’s security council.

Discerning how Carlton felt—even when I knew I’d exceeded his expectations—was never an easy task. On the other hand, he was sure to let me know exactly how he felt if I messed up—which I occasionally did.

With my own assets, I took the opposite approach. If the intel they delivered was an outstanding product, yielding measurable results, I showered them with praise—along with gifts or a bundle of cash. However, I seldom said anything about the superfluous stuff they dropped on me.

Today, I planned to commend Farid for the information he’d given me on the Syrian President’s recent visit to Tehran. As a token of how useful Farid’s information had been to the rebels trying to overthrow the Assad regime in Syria, I was planning to slip him an envelope full of American dollars.

When I glanced down at my watch, I realized I still had ten minutes left until Farid’s scheduled arrival, and I decided there was enough time for me to do a third recon of the plaza.

Was I yielding to my compulsive tendencies by doing the extra recon?


However, two years ago, when Carlton had briefed me on Operation Torchlight, he’d warned me about becoming complacent during my long-term assignment.

Although I didn’t always listen to my boss, this time I did.

Purchase your copy of One Step Back on Amazon here. 

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Book IV in the Titus Ray Thriller Series is now available on Amazon here.  Read an excerpt from Chapter One below.

Chapter 1

Monday, July 13
My flight from Port‑au‑Prince, Haiti to Maceo International Airport in Santiago de Cuba lasted less than an hour.

It felt like an eternity.

For some reason, the passenger seated next to me thought I might enjoy hearing how he’d spent the previous evening sampling the nightlife of Port‑au‑Prince.

He was wrong about that.

When we’d boarded the aircraft, Antonio Guillermo had introduced himself as a travel agent from Havana, with a branch office in Santiago de Cuba, and I’d politely recited the legend I’d been given in my operational briefing at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia two days ago.

“I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Nacio Bandera.”

He pointed at my briefcase.

“I’m guessing your trip to Santiago is business.”

I nodded. “I’m an archivist at the Haitian National Museum. The assistant curator and I are touring Cuban museums to evaluate their collections and discuss exchanging artifacts.”

The man’s eyes glazed over as soon as I mentioned museums, and his reaction led me to believe my dull job description would cut off any further communication between the two of us.

Not so.

He asked, “Male or female?”


“Is the assistant curator male or female?”

“Juliana De Santos is definitely a female.”

“Nice. Is she on this flight?” he asked, looking around the cabin.

“No, she arrived in Santiago a few days ago.”

“I hope the two of you plan to have a little fun together while you’re in the city, take in some of the hot spots around the harbor, that sort of thing.”

“We’ll check everything out. You can be sure of that.”

After making some additional suggestions about what to see in Santiago, he spent the next forty‑five minutes telling me all about the nightclubs he’d visited, the company he’d entertained, and the women he’d met on his visit to Port‑au‑Prince.

Now, as our plane taxied into the terminal, Guillermo once again recommended the nightlife of Santiago de Cuba, and I decided there was a possibility the man could actually provide me with some much‑needed intel about one location.

“What do you know about Club Nocturno?” I asked.

He looked surprised.

“That place? It’s mainly a neighborhood bar; local talent on the weekend. When you go clubbing, you’d do better to stick to the downtown area or the harbor district. There aren’t many people in Santiago who’ve ever heard of Club Nocturno. How’d you hear about it?”

I wasn’t about to tell Guillermo the first time I’d heard about Club Nocturno had been eleven days ago during an operational briefing in Damascus, Syria. The briefing had taken place during a video conference call with the Ops Center back at Langley. That was the moment I’d learned my partner, Ben Mitchell, had disappeared after visiting the club.

Mitchell had been in Santiago de Cuba running a surveillance op on a shipment of chemical weapons the Syrian government had recently handed over to Hezbollah, a terrorist organization run by Iran. Mitchell had been working Component Two of Operation Citadel Protection, a mission tasked with preventing a sarin gas attack on Washington, D.C., and I’d been in Damascus working Component One, trying to ascertain the date of the scheduled attack.

Mitchell’s last communication with his operations officer, C. J. Salazar, had been a text message, along with a photograph. After sending the message, his Agency sat phone had flatlined, and his signal had disappeared off the Grid, leaving the Ops Center with only his GPS coordinates.

Those coordinates had pinpointed Club Nocturno as his last known location.

I repeated Guillermo’s question. “How did I hear about Club Nocturno?” I scratched my head. “I must have seen some pictures of the nightclub when I was looking up information about Santiago on the internet. I always do a little research on a city before I visit it.”

“Like I said before, you and your lady friend should probably stick to the downtown area for your entertainment. Nocturno doesn’t attract the best clientele.”

“Rough crowd?”

He nodded. “The Los Zetas drug cartel owns most of the businesses in that area, including Club Nocturno. If there’s trouble, la policía are paid to look the other way.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Guillermo opened up his wallet and removed a business card. “Call me if you and Señorita De Santos would like to see some of the Cuban countryside. We have several daylong excursions into the backcountry, including a sugar mill tour. If you’d be interested in an overnight train ride to one of the region’s oldest coffee plantation, I could arrange that as well.”

I pocketed his card. “I might give you a call.”

When our plane arrived at the gate, Guillermo stood to his feet and said, “Let me be the first to welcome you to Santiago de Cuba, home of poets and revolutionaries. As the saying goes, ‘Ignore them both.’”

I always ignored poets.

Revolutionaries—not so much.

END of First Scene in Chapter One of Four Months in Cuba. Download from Amazon here.