When Yesterday Comes Calling (Harry Nichols: Investigative Journalist Book 1)

When the Past Refuses to Stay Buried

A year after exposing her family’s corrupt legacy, Anna Felby should be free. With Harry Nichols at her side, her days revolve around her tranquil farm—and their quiet, passionate relationship. But when Harry is nearly assassinated during a film shoot in Kashmir, their hard-won peace begins to unravel.

Back home in Australia, more violence follows, and the arrival of Anna’s distant English cousin, Michael Bentford, raises fresh alarms. Suave and well-connected, Michael has secrets buried deep in Eastern Europe, and all roads lead back to Anna’s long-dead grandfather—a man tied to a powerful Serbian crime family.

As bodies begin to fall, Anna and Harry are forced into a deadly game of truth and survival. What starts as a mystery over a hidden inheritance escalates into a violent struggle with family, legacy, and betrayal.

Discover 501, a gripping thriller where love and loyalty are tested in the shadows of organized crime. Read now and follow Anna and Harry as they fight to stay one step ahead—and alive.

Excerpt from the book

There was no sound, just a movement of air when there shouldn’t have been. I opened one eye just in time to see the flash of something slashing towards my throat. I grabbed at the shadow behind it. It was an arm. I used its momentum to throw it as far as I could. It crashed into the wall first, then to the floor. But since I was still hanging onto it, I did too.

I felt yesterday’s stitches rip as we crashed into a medical trolley that joined us on the floor in an ear shattering cacophony. As I yelled at the top of my voice, my assailant thrashed his way out from under me and the trolley and legged it towards the door. He was just in time to meet the doctor and his assistant racing in.

He dodged around them as I yelled, `Grab the bastard!’

But it was too late. Ari, our doctor, was a slow-moving man and his assistant was bailed up behind him. By the time they disentangled themselves, my wannabe assassin was gone.

Ari looked at me, his head on the side. ‘Well, well, Harry, more trouble? My handiwork still okay?’

Ari Hazam, our doctor, was a happy soul, wide of girth and given to telling tasteless medical jokes, never noticing that he was usually the only one laughing.

I felt my side. My hand came away red and wet. `Ah…don’t think so, Ari.’

`Shit,’ he said. `You really have to stop meeting these nasty people; it’s bad for my reputation. When I sew someone up, they’re supposed to stay sewed up. Let me look.’

He pushed me back onto the bed, stirring up a bruise I didn’t know I had but which was almost certainly the result of having crashed into the trolley. I winced. Ari was unapologetic. Unless you broke a bone, it wasn’t serious.

`In case you have any more visitors tonight, I think I’ll just stick you together with Elastoplast and do the main act in the morning. Okay?’

`You’re the doc.’ I grumbled.

I’d known Ari since the early days of the project. He was a highly experienced doctor with years of working in remote areas where normal medical services were sparse. He was also the veteran of many expeditions like this and improvisation was the name of the game.

When he’d gone, I lay back. The original wound was stinging but luckily it was just a slice across my ribs. It was meant to penetrate them. Once again the quick reflexes from a youth dodging a solid back line on the footy field served me well. But I shivered. This was the second attempt to kill me in two days.