I’m going to guess that most readers discovered the singular talent that is C.J. Leede when they read Maeve Fly, her audacious, blood-soaked debut horror novel that put a feminine twist on American Psycho. For me it was an ARC of American Rapture, her scarifying descent into a very much American apocalypse. I then immediately read Maeve Fly, because, well, holy shit, American Rapture is a modern masterpiece. I was not disappointed by either novel.

Headlights is just as harrowing, just as dark, as Leede’s first two novels, written in a brutal, propulsive, stripped down prose style that sucks the reader in and never lets go.

Daniel Stansfield is a beyond burned out FBI agent who fled Denver on the heels of a chilling series of savage, inexplicable killings he wasn’t able to solve. Now those crimes have begun again, and Daniel is drawn back helplessly. As he tracks the mystery across Colorado’s lonely wilderness, he’s forced to confront the trauma of his childhood he’s tried his best to bury, and must deal with a presence that may have been stalking him since he was a child.

If it seems like I’m being purposely vague, I am. One of the many pleasures of reading Headlights is discovering the terror for yourself. This is part devastating psychological horror, part hard as nails police procedural, all of it twisted up in frightfully unique serial killer vibes. Leede excels at creating flawed—forget that, downright damaged—characters, and then putting them through an emotional shredder. No one in this novel emerges unscathed. Make no mistake, Leede seems to take a special delight in putting her readers through a shredder as well.

One final note…there is a scene in Headlights set in the Stanley Hotel’s notorious Room 217, and it is the most gloriously gonzo mindfuck I’ve read in a long time. I loved every page of it.

Headlights debuts June 9, 2026, and is available for preorder now. Don’t miss this one.