Synopsis

Frank Baltimore is a bit of a loser, struggling by as a carpenter and handyman in rural New England when he gets his big break, building a mansion in the executive suburbs of Hartford. One of his workers is a charismatic eighteen-year-old kid from Liverpool, Dmitry, spending his summer before university in the US. Dmitry is a charming sociopath, who develops a fascination with his autodidactic philosopher boss, perhaps thinking that, if he could figure out what made Frank tick, he could be less of a pig. Dmitry heads to Asia and makes a neo-imperialist fortune as an investment banker, leaving a trail of corpses in his wake. When Dmitry’s office building in Taipei explodes in an enormous fireball, Frank heads to Asia, meets Dmitry’s wife, and things go from bad to worse.

A literary thriller about misogyny, unembarrassed rapacity, and unrestrained capitalism, Born Slippy will appeal to fans of Elmore Leonard, Patricia Highsmith, and Edward St. Aubyn.

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Excerpt

2013

The blast was felt for blocks. The concussion, the shattering glass, the rip of steel, the roar of falling concrete. The thick, evil odor lasted for days, as crews dug through the rubble and gathered debris-encrusted body parts. Passersby choked on the dust. Frank, when he first saw the images online, felt like he had been there, like the explosion was memory, not a photograph.

He had seen the building, the Credit Lyonnais branch in Taipei, only once, months before, during a brief, very distracted visit to see Dmitry, who was the head of their office there, or head of the region. It had been his first time in Asia. They had stopped in front of the building on Frank’s way out of town, that was all.
But when the Taipei Times website came up on his normal breakfast internet rounds, he immediately recognized the “before” picture. He felt shredded, felt the guilt of all survivors, obsessed with the cruel idea that he could have prevented it.

Which was ridiculous, he knew. Only Dmitry could have.

Something had caught up with him, Frank thought later that day — Dmitry’s voracious rapacity had finally met its match. He didn’t know how, or who, but he knew its karmic inevitability. Al Jazeera turned up some shaky video the next day, accompanied by the idea that separatist Xinjiang Muslims were responsible, which Frank thought unlikely — Dmitry had, by his own account, made many enemies, lots of them much closer to home. The video showed smoke blowing out of what had once been ten or twelve gleaming stories, now not much more than a maw, spewing black and noxious billows.

Did he see it coming? Like sharks and chum, like the Three Stooges with a ladder, like falling in love where you shouldn’t — Frank knew as well as anyone how stories start and how they end. This fiery mess, or something like it, was bound to happen. He had been expecting it for years.

He blamed himself, if not for everything, for not doing better. After all, he was the one who pretended to be Dmitry’s conscience. He was the one not paying attention, the one who had forsaken his duty, the one who had reneged on the implicit bargain he had made those many years earlier, without telling anyone, without telling Dmitry — without even telling himself. He was supposed to fix Dmitry. But he didn’t. He was inconstant.

He was, after all, the one who fell in love with Dmitry’s wife. He’d set some kind of bomb, too.

Frank Baltimore had first met Dmitry Heald on a building site in the Connecticut hills a dozen years earlier, when the eighteen-year-old Dmitry had come to America — in his Liverpudlian accent it sounded like Ameriker — trailing whatever dusty innocence he might still have had, looking for a little work, wanting to earn some quick money and then wander around for the rest of the summer doing a low- rent grand tour, reeling through the Big Lonesome West, as he always called it. Then he’d fly back to England for university: Leeds or Reading, Frank could never remember which, and didn’t know what the names meant, where they were on the status hierarchy — Ivy League-ish? Loserville? Frank had never gone to college. He had tried once, failed, quit. He had a chip on his shoulder about it, he knew.

He was a kid himself back then, having just turned twenty-eight. Like many people approaching thirty he was haunted by a sense that time was short, that he might remain an irredeemable failure into the flaky, moldy decrepitude that lurked around the bend. This house he was building was his big break, his move up from what he had always called a remodeling business, even though he had been nothing but a glorified handyman. This new house, nestled in the woods at the advancing edge of Hartford’s northwestern insurance-executive suburbs, had been his move into actual contractorland. He never made billions, like Dmitry did, but in the end he did all right. And, he said to himself, looking at the mayhem on his computer screen, he did it without killing or maiming anyone, either.

About the Author

Tom Lutz is a writer of books, articles, and screenplays, the founder of the Los Angeles Review of Books, and is now Distinguished Professor at UC Riverside. His books include American Book Award winner Doing Nothing, New York Times notable books Crying and American Nervousness, 1903, the travel books And the Monkey Learned Nothing and Drinking Mare’s Milk on the Roof of the World, and coming on January 14, 2020, Born Slippy: A Novel.

He has written for television and film, and appeared in scores of national and international newspapers, magazines, academic journals, and edited collections. He is working with a Los Angeles-based production company on a television show set in the 1920s, is finishing a third collection of travel pieces, a book on the 1920s (The Modern Surface), and is in the early stages of a book on global conflict along the aridity line.

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Synopsis

Jackson Schmidt is the biggest jerkity jerk ever. They should totally erect a statue to commemorate his jerkityness, jerkdom— Uggh! There are literally not enough words for ‘jerk’ to depict the man.

Unfortunately, Jackson is also the most gorgeous specimen of manhood I’ve ever laid eyes on. One look at him and I want to jump and climb him like a tree. But whenever he opens his mouth, his status as the biggest bastard on the planet is immediately reinstated. It’s impossible for the man to say anything remotely nice – at least not to me. To my best friend, though? To her, he’s Mr. Perfect Gentleman. Did I mention he’s carrying a torch for my engaged best friend?

My libido does not give one flying hoot Jackson is a dick who has a crush on my bestie. Nope. Not at all. No matter how much of a schmuck the man is – and trust me he takes schmuck to the next level – I continue to pant after him like a nerdy freshman crushing on the prom king. If I want to keep my sanity, I’m going to have to keep Jackson at arm’s length.

Sanity is totally overrated.

Review

This follow up book to About Face is a top notch book. The characters are hilarious, especially Grandma), the characters feel real and the story is engaging.

I enjoyed reading Shelby’s story and her obsession with Jackson and perhaps his obsession with her as well. They each have some issues but their chemistry is off the charts. The book is peppered with quick wit and humorous situations. I found myself chuckling throughout the book at the situations with Shelby, Jackson, Frankie, Grandma, and now Bailey. Brodie is in there too, but he is more of a minor character.

I have really enjoyed all of this author’s books and while I thought at first there might be a situation that wasn’t addressed, it was towards the end of the book.

A couple of my favorite lines:

“No need. I’m sure I’ll stick my foot in my mouth several times tonight. It makes conversation difficult, but somehow I manage.”

“But I’ve prepared at least a dozen nasty names to call her, ” Frankie pouts. “True story,” Brodie chuckles as he pulls his fiance close. “She’s been researching synonyms for skanky ho.”

Now the wait for Bailey’s story…and I think that might be a doozy.

We give this book 5 paws up!

Excerpt

“Woman, can we have one dinner when we don’t have to deal with your infernal matchmaking,” Frankie’s grandpa growls.

My eyebrows raise of their own accord at his grumbling. Bill is usually a mild-mannered dude, but I guess even the mild-mannered have their limits.

“You’re ruining my fun,” Grandma pouts. Seriously, pouts. She sticks out her bottom lip and flutters her eyelashes at him.

“You can flutter your eyelashes until the cows come home. I stopped falling for that bologna approximately three decades ago.”

“Cuddle-pumpkin, you didn’t have a problem with my eyelash fluttering the other night.”

He grunts. “You were offering something I wanted.”

“Oh my god, are you talking about sex?” Frankie shrieks. “Stop!” She slams her eyes shut and covers her ears. “La la la. My grandparents do not have sex. Nope. Nope. Nope.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t hear us when she lived here. Guess it was a good thing she had those pain pills to put her to sleep,” Grandma remarks.

I choke on the piece of lamb I’m chewing on. Jackson pats my back as he bursts out laughing. “I thought there was nothing that could phase you, babe.”

I take a sip of water. “Oh, I’m not phased.” I smirk when I see Frankie take her fingers out of her ears. “I’m perfectly okay with Grandma and Bill having loud sex.”

Frankie screams and jumps to her feet. “I’m…” She looks around as if the walls will offer her some type of excuse. They don’t. She throws her arms in the air and stomps out of the room.

Bailey watches her leave before turning to me with a grin on her face. “You were right. Sunday meals at Frankie’s grandma’s house are the best.”

About the Author

I grew up reading everything I could get my grubby hands on, from my mom’s Harlequin romances to Nancy Drew, to Little Women. When I wasn’t flipping pages in a library book, I was penning horrendous poems, writing songs no one should ever sing, or drafting stories which have thankfully been destroyed. College and a stint in the U.S. Army came along, robbing me of free time to write and read, although on the odd occasion I did manage to sneak a book into my rucksack between rolled up socks, MRIs, t-shirts, and cold weather gear. After surviving the army experience, I went back to school and got my law degree. I jumped ship and joined the hubby in the Netherlands before the graduation ceremony could even begin. A few years into my legal career, I was exhausted, fed up, and just plain done. I quit my job and sat down to write a manuscript, which I promptly hid in the attic before returning to the law. But practicing law really wasn’t my thing, so I quit (again!) and went off to Germany to start a B&B. Turns out running a B&B wasn’t my thing either. I polished off that manuscript languishing in the attic before following the husband to Istanbul where I decided to give the whole writer-thing a go. But ten years was too many to stay away from my adopted home. I packed up again and moved to The Hague where, in between tennis matches and failing to save the world, I’m currently working on my next book. I hope I’ll always be working on my next book.

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Synopsis

Your Future Depends on Your Decisions

Sorting out our lives amidst chaos, confusion, and innumerable options is a process we all have in common. The decisions we ultimately make can affect our lives and the lives of others. It’s not always easy. In this empowering guide, an expert in business strategies shares the choices of notable, visionary decision-makers–from Harry Truman and Henry Ford to Marie Curie and Malala Yousafzai–and explains how you can apply their principles to your own personal and professional real-life scenarios.

Resolve, patience, and practical thinking–take it from these politicians, scientists, economists, inventors, entrepreneurs, theologians, activists, and commanders of war and peace. Their inspiring counsel will give you the tools you need to help change your life. Both big and small, your choices can shape the minutes, days, weeks, and years ahead. This book is the first motivating step in the right direction.

“Upgrade your daily decisions with the wisdom of two dozen renowned influencers who changed history.” —Mehmet Oz, M.D., New York Times bestselling author of You: The Owner’s Manual

“A truly inspiring book about how to become a leader. Highly recommended!!” —Douglas Brinkley, New York Times bestselling author of American Moonshot

“The best decision you will make today is to read and learn from this array of bold thinkers.” —Harvey Mackay, New York Times bestselling author of Swim With The Sharks Without Being Eaten Alive

Excerpt

But there was no decision to make. This was my calling. Some powerful force had come to dwell inside me, something bigger and stronger than me. —Malala Yousafzai

Malala Yousafzai, as the world knows, was shot in the head by the Taliban on October 9, 2012, as she rode home on the school bus in the Swat Valley, Pakistan. Malala was fifteen at the time. She survived the attack, recuperated in England, and has continued her education. She was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2014 for her “struggle against the suppression of children and young people and for the right of all children to education.”

Can a child, an adolescent, a young person—make a world-changing decision? Is someone ever too young?

Let’s take a look at Malala’s story, because none of this came out of the blue. The “struggle” the Nobel Committee cited, was a decision that was so deeply embedded into her character that, at age fifteen, it had already become her way of life. And continues to be.

Seemingly from birth, Malala loved education. Her biographical material makes much of the fact that she sought to emulate her father, Ziauddin Yousafzai, who was so dedicated to education that he had founded his own school, the one she attended. Such “private” schools are not uncommon in Pakistan.

But Ziauddin’s school and his outspoken daughter became special targets of the Taliban. The fundamentalist group had issued an edict against educating girls and death threats against the entire family (mother Toor Pekai Yousafzai and two sons). The school was forced to close for a time and had re-opened shortly before Malala was shot.

You might say that the child was merely following the example—or the dictates—of the father (who was supported in all endeavors by the mother). That the child made no decisions on her own. That happens in families all the time. I can think of many examples in my own life—involving my parents and the decisions they made for me when I was young, and about how my wife and I did the same for our sons. None of these decisions involved defying the Taliban and bringing danger to our family. But, that may not be the right way to look at what Ziauddin did. Were his decisions part of doing what parents claim we always try to do—leading by example?

Do you ever think about the phrase “an accident of birth”? It means that none of us are responsible for the circumstances of our birth—who our parents are, our family, our nationality or state or town, our genetic make-up, economic status and so on.

Among the things that Malala was not responsible for: That she was a first-born daughter in a culture that values boys over girls; that she was born into a troubled country being over-run by violent extremists. But it was also an accident of birth that she had two parents who were, by all accounts, as dedicated to her welfare, education, and growth as they were to that of her two younger brothers. It seems to me that Malala took what she was given and decided to run with it.

By the time she was shot in 2012, Malala had shown by her own example that she recognized her “accident of birth.” Her dedication to education for girls was in fact her own decision based on parental example. Consider her words, written just a year later in her autobiography:

“I was very lucky to be born to a father who respected my freedom of thought and expression and made me part of his peace caravan and a mother who not only encouraged me but my        father too in our campaign for peace and education.”

At an even younger age than fifteen, Malala was already an ardent activist. She blogged for the BBC on the oppressions of life under the Taliban and was the subject of a New York Times documentary. She made speeches often, including one entitled “How dare the Taliban take away my right to an education.” The year before she was shot, she won both the International Children’s Peace Prize and Pakistan’s first Youth Peace Prize. As the Taliban’s noose ever tightened around her country, her family, and her safety, Malala’s outspokenness and visibility grew. As she wrote in her autobiography, “I decided I wasn’t going to cower in fear of [the Taliban’s] wrath.”

In the years since she survived the Taliban assassination attempt, Malala has become a global symbol for the cause of education for girls specifically and for the welfare of all children. Not even a year after she was shot, she addressed the “Youth Takeover” at the United Nations. Two years almost to the day after she was shot, the Nobel Committee announced that she would share the 2014 Peace Prize with Kailash Satyarthi, who made his name with international peaceful protests on behalf of children. Even with constant visibility while traveling the world to event after event, she completed the studies necessary to be accepted in 2017 into Oxford University (which fact she announced on her new Twitter account). Also in 2017, Malala was designated a United Nations Messenger of Peace “to help raise awareness of the importance of girls’ education.”

Malala is still enveloped in the support of her family, which left Pakistan to settle in the UK. The Economist, noting that “Pakistani education has long been atrocious,” included the following in a detailed and dismal examination of the current status:

“From 2007 to 2015 there were 167 attacks by Islamic terrorists on education institutions . . .    When it controlled the Swat River valley in the north of the country, the Pakistani Taliban closed hundreds of girls’ schools. When the army retook the area it occupied dozens of them itself.”

Malala has written two books. The first, I Am Malala, was published a year after her shooting and tells, with the help of writer Christina Lamb, of her early life in Pakistan and the event that put her onto a new trajectory. Published in 2017, the second book is for children, Malala’s Magic Pencil. In it, young Malala yearns for a special pencil that would let her do all sorts of special, interesting things, including drawing “a lock on my door, so my brothers couldn’t bother me.” I think every child wants a lock like that. Eventually, she describes what we adults will recognize as an intention, a determination, a decision: “I knew then that if I had a magic pencil, I would use it to draw a better world, a peaceful world.”

Time will tell us how Malala’s decisions as a girl, a teenager, a young adult, and into the future will all play out, how world-changing they will be. My hope is that the answer is— immensely.

Malala’s story offers all of us one overarching lesson about decision-making that will help us all lead better lives:

If you are a parent or other adult in a position to influence children and young people, remember how important your own example is. The decisions you make on behalf of others may turn out to be the template that helps form their lives.

If that’s all you glean, that’s enough. But there are many other lessons to take:

1. Have courage to do the right thing, whether it is large or small.
2. Understand you may be attacked and plan for that in advance. I mean physically attacked, as well as the more expected verbal criticisms.
3. Recognize you may be a symbol for others and prepare for that in ways they will embrace and admire. And behave that way.
4. Follow your decision. Give it a chance to shape your life.
5. Do not give up.
6. Depend on each other. Know whom you can trust, and be that trustworthy person to others to the best of your ability.
7. Seek education and take every other opportunity to broaden your knowledge of the world and its people.

Excerpted from DECISIONS by Robert L. Dilenschneider. Reprinted with permission from Kensington Books. Copyright © 2020 Robert L. Dilenschneider.

About the Author

Robert L. Dilenschneider has hired more than 3,000 successful professionals, and advised thousands more. He is founder of The Dilenschneider Group, a corporate strategic counseling and public relations firm based in New York City. Formerly president and CEO of Hill & Knowlton, he is the author of the bestselling books Power and Influence, A Briefing for Leaders, On Power and newly released Decisions: Practical Advice from 23 Men and Women Who Shaped the World.

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Road to Hope

How One Woman Went From Doubting Her Path
to Embracing Her Inner Journey

By

Dena Jansen

Genre: Memoir / Inspirational / Christian Life

Publication Date: November 15, 2019

Number of Pages: 240 pages

Scroll down for a giveaway!

Have you ever felt stuck? If so, you are not alone. As a 36-year-old wife, mother, and corporate executive, Dena Jansen’s life looked successful by society’s standards. But she found herself at an intersection—stranded at a real-life crossroads in her life.

Over a matter of years, darkness and doubt slowly crept in, leaving her unsure and unsettled in her life, marriage, and career. And after stalling out multiple times and nearly wrecking everything, she finally grabbed hold of a life-saving truth:

She had a choice to make. She could stay stuck, or she could try and find new roads that would lead to the peace and joy she was looking for.

With a glimmer of hope, Dena embraced the gifts of curiosity and grace and began a journey of self-discovery. And she chose to believe in a new truth:

She was meant for more and could no longer settle.

In Road to Hope, Dena invites you to join her as she wanders the roads she traveled and take anything you need from her story to help you in yours. She shares how she grew from a woman who doubted her path to one who is confident and ready for the next adventure. And she wants you to experience a similar shift. And more than that, she believes you can.

Excerpt from the Introduction

of Road to Hope

by Dena Jansen

I think you picked this book up because you want to feel enthusiastic and energetic about your life, but you can’t seem to find your way there. You have all the pieces of the puzzle – marriage, kiddos, career – but when you put them together, you still don’t feel whole. There must be missing pieces, but you can’t find them. You wonder why you can’t make it work when so many other women appear to be able to do it so effortlessly. And so you give in and get stuck in a roundabout of doubt.

I’m here to tell you I have been there. I’ve been stuck in that same gloom and doom loop. And the only way I got out was to get in my own way.

While I was starting to figure out where exactly I wanted my life to go and the best route I should take to get there, I realized that me, myself, and I was the only place to start. For the first time in my life, I had to make it all about me. Being the center of my own attention was something I was apprehensive about off the bat. But I had to focus on myself. I had to try all the things that I thought mattered to help me create the life I said I wanted.

And you will have to do the same thing.

At the time, I didn’t see my journey as part of a more significant movement – one of feminism or female empowerment. But looking back, I can see how it was part of a rising tide. Maybe you have felt it, too. My 70-year-old aunt always said to me, “You girls these days. Y’all just don’t settle.”

She was right. All around me there were strong-willed women pushing for more in their own lives. Like them, I believed that I was meant for more than what I was at the time, and I wasn’t going to settle until I searched out exactly what that more was.

Navigating through my life the last few years has been an adventure. Learning how to get back in the driver’s seat of my own life felt like learning how to drive all over again. At the beginning, I needed lots of direction. I made some wrong turns and found dead ends. But the more experience I gained behind the wheel—the more knowledge and confidence I developed in myself—the more equipped I became to try out the freedom these new lanes opened up for me.

~~~

So before I speed off into the sun-kissed horizon toward the life of my dreams, I owe it to myself to spend time in true reflection. To look back in the rearview mirror at the living and learning that occurred on the road all over again. To honor the amazing growth and healing that happened along the way and share it with the next brave woman looking for hope.

And my gut tells me that woman is you.

I want to share my journey with you. You can sit right up here next to me while we wander the roads I traveled. Please take anything you need from my story that might help you in yours. I know that our lives might not look exactly the same from the outside – different home and family situations, career paths or trajectories, personal successes or struggles – but I genuinely believe that our dreams are very much the same. We share dreams of deep love and connection in our marriages, our families, and our work.

And we desperately want those dreams to become our realities. But in order to make those dreams come true, we have to get on the road and go. We have to go and find ourselves first.

But I’ll be honest with you. While I was out finding myself, I also found that the road can get lonely. That’s why I pray you’ll take the risk and hop in the car with me this time. It would give me a ton of comfort to know I had a friend alongside me. That the words I’m sharing won’t go into the darkness, but rather, find you right where you are in your own journey and give you the hope you’ll need to keep going.

I’ve grown from a woman who was lost and alone to one who is confident and ready for the next adventure. I want you to experience that exact same shift. And more than that, I believe you can. But first, I can’t wait to tell you how I got here.

Are you ready to hit the road? I know I am.

Buckle up, friend, and enjoy the ride. I know I did.

Dena Jansen’s calling to lift others up is profoundly personal. She understands the fears and doubts that hold people back because she has them too. Her own path to fulfillment is a real-life journey that’s still very much in progress. As a CPA and retired partner from Austin-based CPA firm Maxwell Locke & Ritter, she launched Dena Speaks to inspire potential seeking individuals and businesses. Dena shares life and love with her husband, JP, and their two children, Trace, and Elizabeth in Buda, Texas. She loves romantic comedy movies, listening to podcasts, and spending time with her family and friends.

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————————————-

GIVEAWAY! GIVEAWAY! GIVEAWAY!

ONE WINNER: Signed copy + $10 Starbucks Gift Card + Dena Speaks swag

TWO WINNERS: Signed paperback OR audio code

+ $10 Starbucks Gift Card

JANUARY 21-31, 2020

(U.S. Only)

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Synopsis

Piper Manning’s about as tough as they come, she’s had to be. She raised her siblings and they’ve thankfully flown the coop. All she has to do is finish fixing up the lake house her grandparents left her, sell it, and then she’s free.

When a massive storm hits, she runs into a tall, dark and brooding stranger, Camden Reid. There’s a spark there, one that shocks her. Surprising her further, her sister and brother return, each of them holding their own secrets. The smart move would be for Piper to ignore them all but Cam unleashes emotions deep inside of her that she can’t deny, making her yearn for something she doesn’t understand. And her siblings…well, they need each other.

Only when the secrets come out, it changes everything Piper thinks she knows about her family, herself…and Cam. Can she find a way to outrun the demons? The answer is closer than she thinks—just as the new life she craves may have already begun.

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Excerpt

The last time a woman had ordered Cam to strip had been a very different scene altogether, and it’d been a while. Generally speaking, he liked to be behind the wheel in most situations, but he’d never had any complaints about a woman driving in his bed. “Interesting bedside manner.”

“Okay,” she said. “How about strip, please.”

He laughed, and he realized that until tonight, it’d been a damn long time for that too. “Well, since you asked so nicely . . .” But still he hesitated.

“Trust me, I’ve seen it all before.”

He pulled off his shirt, wincing when the cotton stuck to the deepest slice across his chest.

Piper blinked, and for the first time all night, appeared short of words.

It was pretty damn cute, especially with the mud on her nose. “Thought you’ve seen it all before.” She bit her lower lip, eyes suddenly hooded, and he couldn’t resist teasing her. “So, how do I stack up?”

That got her, and she rolled her eyes. “Like you don’t know. Sit.”

The couch seemed too . . . personal, so he sat on her coffee table. She dropped to her knees at his side and doctored up first the cut on his left palm from where he’d nicked himself in his dad’s kitchen, and then the two slices on his left biceps, and then the biggest one across his chest, during which time he did his best to ignore the feel of her soft breath on his skin and failed.

When she’d finished, she looked down at his cargoes and saw the blood seeping through from his thigh. Rising to her feet, she stepped back, gesturing for him to lose the pants too.

“Seriously,” he said. “Doesn’t even have to be dinner. An appetizer would work.”

“If you’re real good, I’ll give you a sticker.”

“How about letting me look at your secret secret bucket list instead?”

Her eyes narrowed. “How about we stop talking now?”

“Wait.” He cocked his head. “Does this mean you also have a secret bucket list? And possibly a not-so- secret bucket list?”

She had hands on hips; a fresh, clean gauze in one hand, antibiotic ointment in the other, her expression dialed to Not Feeling Playful.

With a rough laugh, he stood and took the gauze and ointment from her. “I got this one, Doc.” And then he gestured for her to turn around.

She did with a smirk, and then spoke over her shoulder. “Didn’t peg you for the shy type.”

“Oh, I’m not shy.” He shoved his icy, muddy, wet cargoes to his thighs, and yeah, the cat had come within two inches of de-manning him. “Just didn’t want to have to fight you off.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I always get verbal consent first. And I bet you didn’t want me to see your tighty-whities.”

He gritted his teeth as he cleaned out the cut. Son of a bitch, that cat had gone deep. “They’re not tight and they’re not white.”

“Batman undies?”

“Commando,” he said, and that shut her up. When he’d finished and pulled his pants back up, he lifted his head and found her facing him. His brows went up. “See anything you like?”

Instead of answering, she blushed. And he grinned because, yeah. She’d definitely seen something she liked.

From Almost Just Friends by Jill Shalvis, published by William Morrow. Copyright © 2020 by Jill Shalvis. Reprinted courtesy of HarperCollinsPublishers 

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis lives in a small town in the Sierras full of quirky characters. Any resemblance to the quirky characters in her books is, um, mostly coincidental. Look for Jill’s bestselling, award-winning books wherever romances are sold and visit her website for a complete book list and daily blog detailing her city-girl-living-in-the-mountains adventures.

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Wicked Cowboy Wolf

by Kait Ballenger

Publication Date: 1/28/2020

Genre: Paranormal

Series: Seven Range Shifters #3

Synopsis

To his enemies, he’s known as the Rogue. To her, he’s her only chance at survival…

Years ago, Grey Wolf Jared Black was cast from the pack for a crime he didn’t commit. Now, he’s the mysterious criminal wolf known only as the Rogue, a name his former packmates won’t soon forget. But when a vampire threat endangers the lives of their entire species, Jared must confront his former packmates again, even if that means betraying the only woman he’s ever loved…

Ever since Maeve Gray escaped the pack’s bloodsucking enemies, she’s been determined to save her species—and fast. Each passing day risks the lives of her friends and family. But when a wicked cowboy wolf shows up on the Grey Wolf ranch, offering everything Maeve’s heart desires, her eyes are opened to a whole new world beyond the packlands. For this cowgirl, sleeping with the enemy could prove as desirable as it is deadly…

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Excerpt

The pink summer sunset had long since faded to nightfall by the time Mae returned to her cottage on the other side of the Grey Wolf compound. As she approached home, she cringed at the thought of the poor excuse she’d given Alexander. There was no way he’d bought her lie. Sure, she and Maverick had scheduled Alexander for a meeting with the Pact, which was a small step forward, but if they didn’t get him on board and fast, their prospects were limited. But Mae was determined. She would find a way to save her pack. She had to.

Feeling more than a little defeated, she shuffled up to her door, scanning the other nearby pack cabins. Hers was one of many adjacent to the dining hall and the main compound building, which housed the elite warriors and the main pack offices. She grabbed her keys from her purse. As she did so, she glanced over her shoulder, as if she might find the Rogue lingering there in the darkness. But she didn’t. He’d disappeared without a trace.

She released a long sigh. From what she knew of his dangerous reputation, it was just like the arrogant bastard to trod right into a pack of alphas that would just as soon see him torn apart. He really was a rogue with a devil-may-care attitude to match his title. She gripped her keys tighter in her hand.

After unlocking her front door, she slipped inside.

Immediately, the taps of tiny hooves clopping against tile sounded from the darkness. She flicked on the dim entryway light. Tucker, her teacup pig, stared up at her from the white tiled floor, his beady black eyes sparkling with pleasure at her arrival. He let out a pleased oink. Mae grinned.

Bending down, she scooped him into her arms, coddling him like a baby as she cooed at him. Still a piglet, Tucker was no bigger than a small dog, and according to the breeder, he’d been the runt of the teacup litter and would likely stay small.

With Tucker cradled against her, Mae made quick work of feeding him a bottle of milk replacer before snuggling him into his fluffy, pink dog bed in her living room. Once the piglet was rocked to sleep, she showered before she changed into her nightgown and settled into the comfort of her bedsheets. The day had left her worn out, but her mind refused to calm.

Had she really seen the Rogue, or had it all been in her head?

That question still plagued her. She wasn’t sure how he would have gotten onto the ranch without detection, especially considering the heightened security for the reception.

She shook her head. It must have been her imagination, a memory triggered by the stress of Alexander’s questions. The Rogue couldn’t possibly have shown up at Wolf Pack Run only to disappear again.

Though it had felt so real…

She sighed, sinking deeper into her mattress. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d thought of him since their encounter in the vampire coven.

Heat rose in her cheeks. She’d dreamed of him almost every night since—and not in the way she should have. The memory of the night when her life had been threatened by bloodsuckers was a dark one, but when she dreamed of that night, of him, her dream often took a completely different course from reality. Instead of dreaming of the danger she’d faced, she’d woken more than once to the thought of his uncharacteristic heroism as he whisked her from the vampires’ cells, only to find her own hand exploring between her legs.

It was sick. She knew it. She shouldn’t be attracted to a dangerous criminal like him. Despite that, he stirred something primitive inside her. She knew what sort of dark circles he traveled in, yet she couldn’t seem to help it. A wolf like the Rogue was everything forbidden to her: a non–Grey Wolf, a vigilante. Not to mention one of her brother’s enemies, and the antithesis of every criterion she should consider for a mate.

Somehow, that only made him more appealing.

By her birthright, she was destined for a Grey Wolf alpha warrior. She shuddered at the thought. The Grey Wolf warriors were all fine men, handsome cowboys, but they were practically her brothers. Mae tossed and turned in her bed as she tried to put the Rogue from her mind, but still his face taunted her.

Eventually, her hand trailed beneath her nightgown. Maybe if she eased this ache, the desire would go away. Maybe then, sleep would claim her. Slowly, her fingers probed the folds between her legs, locating her own clit. She knew her body, what she liked.

Gently, she massaged and probed as she remembered how it had felt when the warmth of his breath had brushed against her ear, the deep timbre of his voice thrumming through her.

You won’t regret this, he’d whispered.

She imagined his lips trailing downward.

What would it be like to be with a criminal like him?

Something told her every touch, every caress would be more powerful, more sinful…just more. Soon, she was moaning in climax, the walls of her core tightening in a delicious wave that sent a rush of moisture straight to her center. She cried out, arching her back against the pillows.

As the last throes of her orgasm shook her, she relaxed into her sheets, sated, though it was little more than a fantasy. At that thought, a pang of sorrow thrummed through her. That was all her dreams would ever be—fantasy. Not just him, but all her heart’s desires. She wanted more than she could have. She always had. She loved her pack, but the duties that bound her to them had never been her choice.

She may have been a Grey by birth, but if she were braver, she’d live her own life. She’d make her own choices.

If she were free…

Mae lay there, the weight of the things she’d never have pressing down on her, constraining her chest so much that she struggled to breathe.

If only…

At least she could dream. Her dreams and desires were hers alone. She released a long sigh, switching on the light of her bedside table as she reached for a book to read. Until the sound of a familiar voice came from the darkness.

“Evenin’, Princess.”

***

Excerpted from Wicked Cowboy Wolf by Kait Ballenger. © 2020 by Kait Ballenger. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author

Kait Ballenger earned her B.A in English from Stetson University followed by an M.F.A in Writing from Spalding University. After stints in multiple careers, Kait finally decided that her eight-year-old self knew best: that she was meant to be a writer. Kait lives with her husband and young son in Florida.

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Lucky Chance Cowboy

by Teri Anne Stanley

Publication Date: 1/28/2020

Genre: Contemporary

Series: Big Chance Dog Rescue #2

Synopsis

At Big Chance Dog Rescue, everyone can find a forever home

Marcus Talbott is a soldier through and through, and he’s not going to let an injury keep him from his Army unit. Sure, his last mission nearly broke his back, but that’s nothing his positive attitude and work ethic can’t fix, right? In the meantime, he’s got a place on the board at the Big Chance Dog Rescue, and flirting with his friend’s sassy sister, Emma, is a welcome distraction.

Emma Stern is barely scraping by while working and caring for her elderly grandfather, but she’s running out of options—and hope. The last thing she has time for is Marcus and his flirting, sexy as he might be. But every time Emma thinks she’s reached the end of her rope, Marcus is there to lend a hand. Maybe there’s more to the handsome playboy after all…

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Excerpt

Marcus’s ridiculous vintage muscle car was parked in its usual spot next to the barn, but he could have gone with Adam.

She thought about calling again, but what would she say? “Hey, I stopped out at the ranch to make sure you weren’t being held hostage by terrorists, but you’re not here”?

No thank you.

She decided she’d say hi to Jake, then head home and fume until it was time to fetch Granddad from day care. Day Club.

A quick movement from the other side of the frosted glass next to the door made her pause. She saw it again…a flash of something light passing by.

And then she heard it. A light thump, followed by more movement. One of the dogs was inside, jumping up and down by the window.

“Hey, who’s that?” Emma asked, squatting to look.

Another thump, and the flash—this time she realized it was a big, light-colored dog.

Adam’s D-Day was black. Lizzie’s dog, Loretta, was white, but would be in the kennels with her pups anyway. The only other option was Patton, Marcus’s big golden retriever, who never barked. Like, ever.

He was also trained to never leave Marcus’s side unless he were dismissed—or if Marcus was injured and in need of help.

All the paranoid fantasies she’d ever had about bad things happening to her family squeezed Emma’s heart and lungs.

“Marcus?” she called, pushing open the unlocked door and stepping into the dim interior of the house.

The dog stood panting and wagging at Emma.

There was no obnoxious eighties hair-band music blasting from the kitchen, no explosions and screams coming from the giant television and game console in the living room. No creaks and groans from an old house giving clues to the whereabouts of its inhabitants.

Patton wagged and nudged her with his head, so she petted him. “Good boy. What’s going on? Where’s Marcus?”

He turned and padded toward the stairs, stopping to make sure she paid attention. Was Marcus upstairs, somehow injured? The band around her chest tightened another notch. She followed Patton, but by the time she reached the top step, a thought occurred to her. What if Marcus wasn’t alone? What if he’d exiled Patton because he had company?

It was quiet in the house, but maybe Marcus and his guest were snuggled down, enjoying some postcoital z’s while everyone else was working their asses off.

Well, she was outside his door now, and she had to be sure he was safe.

On Patton’s heels, she pushed open the door to her childhood bedroom and saw Marcus laid out flat on his back, feet crossed at the ankles, hands folded neatly on his hard stomach, eyes closed. He was sacked out so hard he didn’t seem to be breathing.

But Marcus wasn’t dead. He was living, breathing, and very warm, which she knew because she’d somehow made her way to his side.

The room smelled of spicy man and something she couldn’t quite put her finger on…something dangerous.

Since he was sleeping and not winking, smiling, or flirting with her, she gave herself a moment to study him. He was beyond beautiful. His thick, black hair was twisted into little corkscrews that normally bounced and bobbed like an outward extension of his personality. Russet brown skin, large nose, square jaw, and soft-looking, sensual lips that seemed to smile, even in sleep.

Before she knew it, she’d reached out toward him, then stopped, feeling like a creeper.

“Hi.”

“Oh crap!” She jerked her hand back, but not before Marcus took her slim wrist in his big hand.

“It’s okay. I don’t bite,” he murmured, his gaze hooded. “Unless you ask me to.”

A pool of heat formed low in Emma’s belly, chasing away her reason for being there. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said, though she didn’t even convince herself.

“I’m glad you did,” he said softly, slowly tugging the hand he held. She didn’t pull away, intoxicated by his scent, the heat in his eyes. When he tugged her hand again, she toppled onto his chest. To escape those half-mast eyes, she looked down at his full, luscious lips, which opened to say, “You can kiss me if you want.”

She wanted. Oh, how she wanted as his hands spanned her waist, then traveled to her hips. There was something unreal about this moment that made her believe she could kiss him, that it would be a good, good thing to kiss this man.

***

Excerpted from Lucky Chance Cowboy by Teri Anne Stanley. © 2020 by Teri Anne Stanley. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author

When Teri Anne Stanley isn’t writing sassy, sexy, love stories from her home near Sugartit, Kentucky (which is between Beaver Lick and Rabbit Hash. Seriously), she’s probably doing some sort of arsty-crafsty thing and hanging with Mr. Stanley, her three favorite children, and the dogs. Sometimes she’s masquerading as a day job science geek. She’s definitely not cooking or cleaning.

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Cold Nose, Warm Heart

by Mara Wells

Publication Date: 1/28/2020

Genre: Contemporary

Series: Fur Haven Dog Park #1

Synopsis

A poodle, a black lab and a Chihuahua walk into a dog park…

All Caleb Donovan has to do to redeem his family name is take a rundown Miami Beach apartment building and turn it into luxury condos. Easy, right?

Unfortunately, that would also turn the local dog park into a parking lot and the neighbors aren’t having it. Caleb is faced with outright revolt, led by smart, beautiful building manager Riley Carson and her poodle, LouLou.

For Caleb, this project should have been a slam dunk. But even more challenging than the neighborhood resistance is the mutual attraction between him and Riley. It would be so much easier just to stay enemies.

Can Riley and her canine sidekick convince Caleb that what’s best for business isn’t always best for the heart?

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Review

I’m a sucker for any book that involves dogs…and this one involves MANY dogs! Probably because there is a dog park located near the apartment building that brings out all of the dogs in the neighborhood and is quite the community gathering space. Of course, I use the term dog park loosely as it is a fenced area that people squeeze through a gap to enter. But it is definitely a gathering space.

Caleb and Riley are friendly rivals once the truth is out about who Caleb is and why he is at The Dorothy that Riley manages. As in a romance novel, there are the ups and downs in their relationship, starting as friends, becoming slight enemies, resolving their differences and finding happiness together.

I appreciated how the community came together when The Dorothy was in trouble and everyone offered their assistance for free to save this iconic building. Sure it was dilapidated but it had charm. Even a crotchety old man can be taught new tricks and that it does not have to be a dog eat dog world.

Excerpt

“LouLou!” a hoarse voice called. “LouLou!”

“Over here!” Caleb yelled, not sure where the voice was coming from, but hearing the pain in it and wanting to do anything in his power to make that pain stop. What could he say? Rescuing furry damsels in distress brought out his mushy side.

Through the sheets of rain, he spotted Riley limping along the sidewalk across the street from dog park. She didn’t look much better than LouLou had, hair flattened and plastered to her head, clothes sticking to her as though she’d taken a dunk in the ocean. And was she barefoot? All those shoes outside her front door, and she’d run out in the storm without so much as a flip-flop to protect her?

“You’re a pair, aren’t you?” He whispered to LouLou, waving frantically to get Riley’s attention. “Over here! Riley, I’ve got LouLou!”

Riley looked across the road, and he knew the moment she saw them. She collapsed to her knees, hands over her face, and a giant sob racked her body. So they’d be staying out in the rain a little longer. He crossed over and knelt beside her, the soaked poodle between them.

“It’s okay. She’s okay. You’re okay.” He sounded like an idiot. He knew it, but he kept saying stupid things anyway. “I’ve got her. She’s right here.”

Riley sucked in a big breath and looked up at him with her tilted eyes. “Thank you.” She held out her arms for LouLou. He shifted the dog’s weight to Riley’s hold, but LouLou curled her paw around his wrist, tight.

Riley’s chin sank. “I deserve that.”

“No, it happens.” Caleb didn’t know what he was talking about. What happened? Rain? Dogs running loose in the streets? “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He knew that part at least was right.

“I couldn’t find her.” She scrubbed at her face with the heels of her hands, eyes red and lids swollen from crying. “And now she’s hurt. What happened to her paw?”

“She’s fine, just a small piece of glass.” He pried LouLou’s paw off his wrist and handed the dog over, surprised at how giving her back felt like a loss. If he felt this attached after such a brief time with the dog, how bad must Riley have felt when she realized LouLou was missing? The impulse to make Riley feel better kept his assurances flowing. “Eliza patched her up, and she’ll be good as new in no time.”

“Thank you.” She buried her face in LouLou’s fur and stood, but as soon as she did, she lost her balance and keeled over with a squeak.

Caleb reached out to steady her. “What’s wrong?”

Riley closed her eyes and leaned heavily on him. “Think I stepped on something.”

“Let me see.”

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, he crouched to inspect the bottom of her foot, dark with dirt and specks of gravel stuck to it. “Looks like a bad bruise. Maybe from a rock.”

Riley bit her lower lip. “Sounds right.”

“Can you walk?” He levered her back to standing on her own.

“Of course.” One careful step forward. Then another. “Thanks for taking care of LouLou, but you don’t have to hang around.” She winced and took another step, face as white as the knuckles clutching her dog. “I’ve got it from here. No problem.”

It was painful to watch. Still, she’d said to back off, so he did. Until she stumbled, almost dropping the poodle, and a car horn blared at her for hogging up the road.

“This is ridiculous.” He scooped her up, exactly like he’d done with her dog. Unlike LouLou, she wasn’t grateful.

“Hey! What’re you doing?” Riley couldn’t bat at his chest because she was holding onto her dog, but she glared. “You can’t swoop in and take over everything.”

“Hang on tight. I’m taking you home.” Caleb clutched Riley and LouLou against his chest, her legs over his arm like in some damn rom-com movie, and strode back toward her condo. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could hear Eliza’s cackle following them, but he didn’t care. It felt good to save LouLou, and it felt even better to have Riley in his arms. 

***

Excerpted from Cold Nose, Warm Heart by Mara Wells. © 2020 by Mara Wells. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author

Mara Wells loves stories, but especially stories with kissing. She lives in Hollywood, Florida with her family and two rescue dogs—a poodle-mix named Houdini Beauregarde, and Sheba Reba Rita Peanut, a chihuahua-mix.

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Whiteout

by Adriana Anders

Publication Date: 1/28/2020

Synopsis

With a storm coming and a killer on the loose, every step could be their last…

Angel Smith is finally ready to leave Antarctica for a second chance at life. But on what was meant to be her last day, the remote research station she’s been calling home is attacked. Hunted and scared, she and irritatingly gorgeous glaciologist Ford Cooper barely make it out with their lives…only to realize that in a place this remote, there’s nowhere left to run.

Isolated with no power, no way to contact the outside world, and a madman on their heels, Angel and Ford must fight to survive in the most inhospitable—and beautiful—place on earth. But what starts as a partnership born of necessity quickly turns into an urgent connection that burns bright and hot. They both know there’s little chance of making it out alive, and yet they are determined to weather the coming storm—no matter the cost.

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Excerpt

They finished dinner, cleaned up, and went about getting ready for bed.

“Better take care of those feet,” he said.

A low sound of protest emerged from inside the sleeping bag, where Angel had already taken up residence. “Can it wait till the morning?”

“Frostbite’s not something to mess with. Let’s see them.” He didn’t intend to sound quite so bossy.

“I’ll do it.” Her words were slurred.

“You can barely move.” He held on to the kit, obstinate—and something else. Responsible, maybe. “I saw you limping out there. Your knee’s bugging you. Don’t deny it.”

She threw him a glare, but surprised him by complying.

He took hold of one slender foot and stripped it gently but quickly, since even in shelter, the risk of frostbite was real. It was light in his palm and mostly warm enough to alleviate his worry, though her toes were chilly. He touched each one. “Any numbness?”

She shook her head.

With great care, he peeled the bandages off, cleaned her skin, and reapplied fresh ones where needed, slipping the sock back on before starting the whole process with the other foot.

He couldn’t say exactly when it occurred to him that he held her naked foot in his hand, but once the realization popped into his head, it wouldn’t go away. Hung around like an itch he couldn’t get to.

A foot, for God’s sake. Ridiculous.

But the foot didn’t feel ridiculous right now. He gently squeezed it and expelled a harsh breath.

It felt…improper. Especially in comparison with the rest of her fully clothed body. And secret, somehow. He knew things about her now. He knew her second toe was longer than the big one, that her arches were high and elegant, her skin already roughened from two days of marching in the freezing desert air. He knew she’d put on a bright red nail polish at some point. It’d worn mostly off, but it made her toes look like candy. And he’d never craved sugar so badly.

The best course of action, now that she was all bandaged up, was to give her back her foot.

But he couldn’t.

Instead, he ran his thumb along the central curve, pressed forward beneath her toes, then down to her heel. The sounds she made were—he swallowed—obscene. A shocked gasp that urged him to look her way. He didn’t, though, because if their eyes met, he might have to stop.

And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Another rub, deeper this time, bearing down on aching muscles. But it didn’t sound like pain when she moaned, low and guttural, and though he knew better, he let his eyes slide up her body to her face.

He froze. He’d never seen anything hotter—not on-screen or in the throes of sex or in his darkest fantasy.

Mouth open, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, everything about her screamed pleasure. Just to be sure, he stroked back and pressed again, wanting—no, needing—to know which notes this spot would play on her ever-changing face.

And she didn’t disappoint. Every feature cringed, slowly, sensually, in a magnified expression of pleasure-pain. Sweeping up to caress her toes now was sheer torture, because he was hard—shocking in this cold—and her reactions, though subtle, were more intimately real than any peepshow.

He could’ve gone on forever, rubbing, rapt, eyes glued to her face as she showed him just how good he made her feel, picturing how amazing she’d look if he were kissing her, or—

Her eyes popped open, ensnaring his in their velvet trap.

Everything went quiet, stilling as if the storm had taken a breath. Or maybe it was him going a little deaf, like when his ears needed popping in a plane. Except he could hear the things happening in this tent. Could feel and smell with overwhelming precision every fine detail blown up under a microscope.

They shared a couple hard inhale-exhales, the tension between them as palpable as the frigid temperature.

The press of his fingers lessened, his caresses slowed, until he did nothing but grasp her foot while she just as steadily held his gaze.

“That feels amazing,” she said in a bedroom whisper that he could feel deep in his bones, though it couldn’t possibly be loud enough to hear.

Her mouth closed and his attention flicked down, watching her swallow with something awfully close to hunger before sliding back up to find her eyes boring into him.

***

Excerpted from Whiteout by Adriana Anders. © 2020 by Andriana Anders. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author

Adriana Anders is the award-winning author of the Blank Canvas series. Under Her Skin, a Publishers Weekly Best Book of 2017 and winner of two 2018 Holt Medallions, has been featured in Bustle, USA Today Happy Ever After, and Book Riot. Today, she resides with her tall French husband and two small children in France, where she writes the gritty, emotional love stories of her heart.

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Synopsis

The third book in the Mbuno & Pero series pulls terror from headlines to create a gripping international thriller for readers of John le Carré, Daniel Silva, and Iris Johansen.

Expert safari guide Mbuno and wildlife television producer Pero Baltazar are filming on Lake Rudolf in Northern Kenya, East Africa, when they receive news that Mbuno’s son, himself an expert guide, has been kidnapped while on a safari five hundred miles away in Tanzania. After gathering the clues and resources needed to trek through the wilderness, they trace the kidnappers back to an illegal logging operation clear-cutting national park forests, manned by sinister Boko Haram mercenaries. There, they find not only Mbuno’s son but also a shocking revelation that has terrifying and far-reaching consequences.

Relying on Mbuno’s legendary bush skills, the pair must overcome the danger both from inside and outside the camp to bring Mbuno’s son out alive. In doing so, Mbuno and Pero discover that kidnapping and deforestation are only the beginning of the terrorist group’s aspirations, and they realize a threat that would herald an even more dangerous outcome for Tanzania—a coup. A rescue might just risk the entire stability of the region.

Exciting and expertly plotted using facts ripped from news’ headlines, Kidnapped on Safari is a gripping, edge-of-your-seat thriller set in deepest, darkest, Machiavellian, East Africa.

Praise

Excerpt

KIDNAPPED ON SAFARI – CHAPTER 3

Mamba Kisiwa na Simu ya Dharura—Crocodile Island and an Emergency Call

The emergency call came in at breakfast. They could hear Wolfie’s shortwave radio belting out his call sign, repeatedly declaring, “Come in 5Z4WD, most urgent call for Pero Baltazar.” Pero got up and made his way to Wolfie’s office, asking Amal, their waiter, to get Wolfie. “Kwenda kupata bwana Wolfgang haraka, tafadhali, Amal.” (Go get boss Wolfgang quickly, please, Amal.)

Pero knew better than to touch Wolfgang’s sole means of communication with the outside world. Besides, Wolfgang had once allowed him to use the radio transmitter set, commonly called an RT set, to reach out to Pero’s old contacts at the CIA and State Department in Washington. Pero had been a runner for them, collecting papers and making note of fellow passengers at airports when asked, fortunately infrequently—nothing dangerous, nothing remotely exciting. Then two events had caused Pero to get deeper into the world of anti-terrorism than he ever wanted. Unable to cope alone those two times, he had involved his friends, including Heep, Mary, Susanna, and, of course, Mbuno, who were once again on location with him, this time along the shore of Lake Rudolf. Pero desperately hoped this emergency call had nothing to do with his old Washington contacts.

He had quit after the Berlin package incident, after he had nearly died, mainly because he had married for the second time in his life as soon as he had left the hospital and recovered. Susanna was a brilliant sound engineer, as devoted to Pero as he was to her. The name of Pero’s first wife, Addiena, who had died in the Lockerbie disaster, was tattooed on the underside of his right forearm. He used to sleep with it across his heart so he would not forget her after she perished. Her tragic death was the reason he had offered his minor services to the CIA in the first place, wanting to do something to thwart terrorism. It was heartwarming for Pero that his new wife, Susanna, now insisted she drift off to sleep lying to his right, making him put out his arm for her to use Addiena’s name as a pillow. “She loved you and you, her. It is how I can remember her, thank her, for teaching you how to love, you dummer Mann.”

Susanna’s native German expression of “dumb man” had been a scolding term for him originally deployed during the Berlin dangers, which was when she had revealed she cared for Pero deeply. Since then, it had become a term of endearment between them, their bond cemented by past events.

Adrenaline pumping because of the radio call, Pero weaved his way past tightly packed breakfast tables, careful not to allow his large, six-foot frame to disturb fellow guests. He heard Amal calling out to Wolfgang. By the time Pero got to the radio office, he could hear Wolfgang replying, “I am coming, I am coming.” The RT set was almost a living thing to Wolfgang, and Pero was used to hearing the man talk to it as a father would his child. Pero, waiting at the door, opened it for Wolfgang, who entered, sat, and flicked the on switch all in one practiced movement. He keyed the mike, gave his call sign 5Z4WD in answer, and said, “What is the message?”

The voice faded suddenly, coming in faintly, and Wolfgang gently turned the tuning dial. “Okay, Nairobi, I read you now, the sun’s up here so this may break up.” A woman’s voice came on the radio, asked if Baltazar was available, and Wolfie told her he was present and standing by.

“Message from Flamingo Tours, for Pero Baltazar, urgent, Mwana Wambuno, on safari, Moyowosi Game Reserve, missing for over ten hours. Safari clients being flown back to Nairobi. No trace of Ube. Over.” Ube was the nickname of Mbuno’s nephew, Mwana Wambuno. Pero immediately knew Mbuno would take the news of his favorite nephew hard.

Pero asked, “Wolfie, may I speak directly to her?” Wolfgang nodded and indicated the mike button. “Pero here, who’s that? Sheila Ndelle? Over.” Sheila, the backbone of Flamingo Tours, was also the sister of the UN security police chief and totally reliable.

“Ndiyo, over.” Yes, came the reply.

“Hi Sheila, give me all the details you have, and also, where’s Tone? Over.” Anthony Bowman was the owner of Flamingo Tours, known to everyone over the decades as simply Tone. An ex–white hunter, Tone ran the best safari outfitters anywhere—expedition tents, private toilets, dinner with white table linens, client’s wishes always fulfilled.

“Hi Pero, Mr. Anthony is down at the Tanzanian Embassy trying to find out more information, if there is any known terrorist or poaching problems in the area. There wasn’t any when we sent the clients there. All we know is that Ube took three clients out on a walking safari yesterday morning, camera clients”—by which she meant not hunters—“and they took leopard images in the tall grass, a kill of a bushbuck, treeing the carcass, you know the drill.” Pero did. Leopard was one of Africa’s big five—lion, leopard, rhino, elephant, and cape buffalo. Originally a hunting list, these animals still presented a challenge for the lens hunter. “On the plane’s HF radio, briefly, the clients have reported that suddenly as they were heading back to camp, Ube told our two bearers to make the clients crawl back to the Land Rover and fly back to Nairobi without stopping or talking to anyone. They said Ube told them to do this quietly if they valued their lives. They did as they were told. They have no idea what Ube did or where he went.” Sheila paused. “But, Pero, they said they heard a shot. Over.”

Pero’s producer instincts kicked in. “You say the clients are en route for Wilson Airport? Over.” Wilson Airport was on the western side of Nairobi and the jumping off small airport for most safaris and the Flying Doctor air services. Wolfgang glanced at Pero, clearly wondering why Pero should be interested in the clients since he knew Ube’s disappearance would be of paramount importance to Mbuno and, therefore, presumably to Pero.

Sheila’s tone also had an edge. “Yes, yes, they are inbound but had to wait for Tanzanian air traffic control for permission to depart. We had a plane waiting, in case, for medical reasons on the client’s instructions. They will be back in about two hours. But it is Ube we are worried about, and we need to tell Mbuno. Over.”

Pero nodded. “Agreed, I’ll take care of that. But Sheila, listen to me, please, I need you to go immediately to the airport, see Sheryl at Mara Airways, arrange for a Cessna 414 for us here immediately, plane and pilots—note, I said pilots—on loan, indefinite period. Over.” Sheila gave her confirmation. “Good, then call the Langata police station and ask for Sergeant Gibson Nabana. He’s the one I shot during that terrorist attack two years ago, remember? Over.” Sheila laughed and said she remembered it well. It had made the front page of the Daily Standard paper. At the time Pero had needed to gain control of a difficult confusion of authority at Wilson Airport and had only slightly wounded the sergeant. They subsequently became good allies and, since then, drinking buddies. “Okay, Sheila, tell Gibson to stop your clients and confiscate every piece of camera equipment they have. Tell him that I will be in Nairobi as soon as possible. Look, we need to review every shot to see if those camera-happy clients caught anything that can help us figure out what has happened to Ube. Once Mbuno and I see what is there, or not, we will reboard the Mara Cessna and proceed to . . . where was the landing strip? Remember that Sheryl at Mara Airways will need to have that information while you are at Wilson Airport, okay? Over.”

Sheila understood the flight would have to leave Kenya and land in Tanzania, an everyday occurrence as long as the paperwork was filled in properly with Customs and Excise on both sides of the border. “The Moyowosi Airport we used for the clients was actually at Mgwesi at the southwestern end of the Lake Nyagamoma, and then there is a three-hour slow drive into the game reserve. Should I lay on transport? Our drivers are still there, packing up the tents. I have not given them instruction to drive back to base. Over.”

“Yes, Sheila, hold your people in place, reestablish the camp, but move it at least a mile or more away. We’ll use it, and we’ll pay the fare. And one more thing, your clients will get back to Wilson before we do, so you have to make sure to tell them, before they land, that if Ube had reason to get your clients out secretly, whatever his reasons were, it is serious and if they value their lives they will not, I repeat, not talk with anyone. And keep them at the airport. Over.” Sheila said she understood and signed off.

Wolfgang looked over at Pero and simply said, “I guess you’ll be leaving then. The pool is full; I was thinking about draining it, but you might as well use it before you go while you wait for transport.” It was as friendly a gesture Pero had ever heard the owner of the Oasis make.

Excerpted from Kidnapped on Safari by Peter Riva. Copyright © 2020 by Peter Riva. All rights reserved. Published by Skyhorse Publishing.

About the Author

Peter Riva is the author of Kidnapped on Safari. He has spent many months over thirty years traveling throughout Africa and Europe. Much of this time was spent with the legendary guides for East African hunters and adventurers. He created a TV series in 1995 called Wild Things for Paramount. Passing on the fables, true tales, and insider knowledge of these last reserves of true wildlife is his passion. Nonetheless, his job for over forty years has been working as a literary agent. In his spare time, Riva writes science fiction and African adventure books, including the previous two titles in the Mbuno and Pero Adventures series, Murder on Safari and The Berlin Package. He lives in Gila, New Mexico.

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