Justice Betrayed

A Memphis Cold Case Mystery, #3

by

Patricia Bradley

  Genre: Fiction / Romantic Suspense

Publisher: Revell

Date of Publication: June 5, 2018

Number of Pages: 352

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It’s Elvis Week in Memphis, and homicide detective Rachel Sloan isn’t sure her day could get any stranger when aging Elvis impersonator Vic Vegas asks to see her. But when he produces a photo of her murdered mother with four Elvis impersonators—one of whom had also been murdered soon after the photo was taken—she’s forced to reevaluate. Is there some connection between the two unsolved cases? And could the recent break-in at Vic’s home be tied to his obsession with finding his friend’s killer?

When yet another person in the photo is murdered, Rachel suddenly has her hands full investigating three cases. Lieutenant Boone Callahan offers his help, but their checkered romantic past threatens to get in the way. Can they solve the cases before the murderer makes Rachel victim number four?

 

Praise

“The third installment of Bradley’s Memphis Cold Case series focuses on a cold case related to a homicide detective’s past…Bradley includes the unique character of Erin who seems as if she is a real person and takes great care to portray her respectfully.”  —RT Book Reviews

Baker Book House ~ Amazon

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EXCERPT: CHAPTER 1, PART 2

JUSTICE BETRAYED

BY PATRICIA BRADLEY

(used with permission)

 

Click to read the Prologue on the Lone Star Book Blog Tours 8/15 tour stop

Click to read Chapter 1, Part 1 on the Lone Star Book Blog Tours 8/16 stop

1

August 2017

Elvis is in the building, and he wants to see you. 🙂

 

Continued…

Memories scratched at the back of her mind. “And you want me to solve it?” Rachel had enough cases without adding another one, particularly one that delved into her past. “This is a cold case, and I don’t work cold cases.” She started to hand him the photo. “Wait, did you say Harrison Foxx?”

The memory finally surfaced, though it was cloudy. He was her mother’s friend. And somehow her father was involved, but it was all jumbled in her mind. “Why are you bringing this to the police now?”

“I brought it to the attention of the police last year, and they didn’t do anything about it. This week marks seventeen years since he was murdered. It’s time somebody paid for what they did.”

Rachel felt there was more. He held himself too rigid, and when she didn’t comment right away, he shifted in the chair.

“Is that the only reason?”

Vic swallowed and moistened his lips. “I may be in over my head. I think someone broke into my house last night, and my gut says they were looking for information about Harrison’s murder.”

“Why would anyone be looking at your house for information on his murder?”

He hesitated. “You’ll think I’m crazy. My daughter does. For years, I’ve been trying to solve Harrison’s murder, but this last month I really got into it. I’ve been calling around and asking questions of people we knew back then, even followed up and went to see a few of them. I think I asked the wrong person the wrong question.”

Joy. An Elvis impersonator and an amateur sleuth. It was her lucky day. “Are you saying that generally or are you talking about a specific person?”

“I don’t have enough proof to call any names, just the same gut feeling I had seventeen years ago.”

“This break-in. Did you report it?”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t find anything missing.”

Oh boy. This was sounding stranger and stranger. Maybe his daughter was right. Vic obviously believed what he was saying. She doodled on her desk calendar. “So, why bring it to me? We have an excellent Cold Case Unit.”

“They’re the ones I took it to last year, and they said there were a lot of cases ahead of this one and they’d contact me. So far, no one has. I thought the case might be personal to you since he was a friend of your mother.”

She had no recollection of Foxx being murdered, but if it had happened around the time of her mother’s funeral, it was no wonder. Grief and anger had consumed Rachel then. While the grief had lessened over the years, the anger remained hot as ever.

Vic’s intense gaze held hers. The cases already on her workload hung in the back of her mind. Maybe a quick look at the cold case file would provide information that would satisfy him that everything had been done to find Foxx’s killer. Either way, she had to fill out a report, so she took out a notepad and one of the mechanical pencils she liked to use to write her notes. Made erasing easier. “I don’t suppose Vic Vegas is your legal name?”

He grinned and ducked his head, much like she’d seen Elvis do in film clips.

“Actually, it is. I had it legally changed in ’95. It was less confusing.”

O-kay. “Give me your original name for the records.” She wrote “Phillip Grant” on the pad as well as the stage name, then asked for his contact information. After he gave it to her, she tilted her head toward him. “I’ll talk with someone in the Cold Case Unit Monday.” And hope Sgt. Brad Hollister didn’t laugh her out of his office.

“Would you like my files on the murder?” Vic asked.

“Files?”

He nodded, raising his eyebrows. “I typed up everything—the people I’ve talked to in person or on the phone, what I learned, everything—and put the notes into files.”

“You have a list of people you’ve questioned?” That might save time if anything in the cold case files warranted a second look at the case.

He nodded. “I even talked to your dad.”

That was bound to have gone over like a ton of chicken feathers with the Judge. “Why would you talk with my father?”

“He represented Harrison in a legal matter a year or two before Harrison died. And he was there the night of the contest.”

She caught her breath. Vic was right. An image of her dad in the audience flashed in her mind. She’d been surprised that he had attended the charity event because he and her mother had been separated for about a month then. If Vic hadn’t mentioned it, she probably never would have remembered it. To her knowledge, it was the only time he attended anything Elvis. Her dad thought all the hoopla around Elvis Week was ridiculous. Which never sat well with her mom, since she’d been one of Elvis’s biggest fans.

“Do you have the files with you?” Rachel doubted Vic had uncovered anything worthwhile, but the Cold Case Unit might be interested.

“Afraid not,” he said. “Stopping here was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. And I don’t have time to go get them before the competition starts.”

Click to read Chapter 1, Part 3, the conclusion of Chapter One, coming on the Lone Star Book Blog Tours 8/23 tour stop!

 

Patricia Bradley is the award-winning author of Justice Delayed and Justice Buried, as well as the Logan Point series. She is cofounder of Aiming for Healthy Families, Inc., and a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Romance Writers of America. She lives in Mississippi.

 

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GIVEAWAY!  GIVEAWAY!  GIVEAWAY!

GRAND PRIZE: All Three Books in the Memphis Cold Case Series + Elvis Umbrella + $10 Starbucks Gift Card

2^ND PRIZE: All Three Books in the Memphis Cold Case Series

+ $15 Barnes & Noble Gift Card

3^RD PRIZE: All Three Books in the Memphis Cold Case Series

+ $10 Starbucks Gift Card

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  August 15-24, 2018

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Check out the other blogs on this tour

8/15/18	Excerpt Part 1	Missus Gonzo
8/15/18	BONUS post	Hall Ways Blog
8/16/18	Excerpt Part 2	Forgotten Winds
8/17/18	Review	Dressed to Read
8/18/18	Author Video	Chapter Break Book Blog
8/19/18	Review	Reading by Moonlight
8/20/18	Character Interview	Books in the Garden
8/21/18	Review	The Clueless Gent
8/22/18	Excerpt Part 3	StoreyBook Reviews
8/23/18	Excerpt Part 4	Book Fidelity
8/24/18	Review	That’s What She’s Reading

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Synopsis

In a city that runs on industrialized magic, a secret war will be fought to overwrite reality itself–the first in a dazzling new series from City of Stairs author Robert Jackson Bennett.

Sancia Grado is a thief, and a damn good one. And her latest target, a heavily guarded warehouse on Tevanne’s docks, is nothing her unique abilities can’t handle.

But unbeknownst to her, Sancia’s been sent to steal an artifact of unimaginable power, an object that could revolutionize the magical technology known as scriving. The Merchant Houses who control this magic–the art of using coded commands to imbue everyday objects with sentience–have already used it to transform Tevanne into a vast, remorseless capitalist machine. But if they can unlock the artifact’s secrets, they will rewrite the world itself to suit their aims.

Now someone in those Houses wants Sancia dead, and the artifact for themselves. And in the city of Tevanne, there’s nobody with the power to stop them.

To have a chance at surviving—and at stopping the deadly transformation that’s under way—Sancia will have to marshal unlikely allies, learn to harness the artifact’s power for herself, and undergo her own transformation, one that will turn her into something she could never have imagined.

Praise

“A stunning fantasy [from] the endlessly inventive Bennett…a crackling, wonderfully weird blend of science fiction, fantasy, heist adventure, and a pointed commentary on what it means to be human in a culture obsessed with technology, money, and power.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“Mona Lisa meets The Matrix…A grand entertainment [that] inaugurates another series of imaginative, thoroughly idiosyncratic fantasy novels.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

“Intricate worldbuilding, fascinating magic, and engaging characters. More please!”  —Felicia Day, New York Times bestselling author of You’re Never Weird on the Internet (Almost)

“In Foundryside, scriving magic is the cheat code to reality, and Bennett is a master gamer. A refreshing look at magic—featuring a heroine every reader will root for—from one of the smartest writers I know.” —Peter V. Brett, New York Times bestselling author of The Demon Cycle

“Inventive, immersive, and thrilling, Foundryside is a fascinating look at how our best intentions can be corrupted—and how wickedly awesome and terrifying gravity belts can be. Do yourself a favor and pick this up.” —Kevin Hearne, New York Times bestselling author of The Iron Druid Chronicles

“Fast-paced, intelligent, and fun with a fantastically cool magic system. I can’t wait to read the next one.” —Brian McClellan, author of The Powder Mage trilogy

“Foundryside pulls you in with fast-paced heists, then knocks you down with its innovative magic system. Fun, thoughtful, and thrilling from cover to cover, it’s sword-and-sorcery meets computer programming.” —James L. Sutter, co-creator of the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game

“Bennett spins a marvelous tale reminiscent of Sanderson. Foundryside is a gripping story with clever characters, intriguing plot, and spectacular worldbuilding.” —Charlie Holmberg, author of the Paper Magician series

“The best epic fantasy of the year is also the best cyberpunk of the year. How often do you get to say that?” —Dan Wells, author of I Am Not a Serial Killer

“An irresistible, fast-paced adventure that welcomes even non-fantasy fans into its pages, unveiling a remarkable world of magic and intrigue. With non-stop twists, a compelling cast of characters, and an innovative magic system, Foundryside is an altogether terrific read.” —Sebastian de Castell, author of The Greatcoats series

Excerpt

Chapter 1

As Sancia Grado lay face down in the mud, stuffed underneath the wooden deck next to the old stone wall, she reflected that this evening was not going at all as she had wanted.

It had started out decently. She’d used her forged identifications to make it onto the Michiel property, and that had gone swimmingly – the guards at the first gates had barely glanced at her.

Then she’d come to the drainage tunnel, and that had gone… less swimmingly. It had worked, she supposed – the drainage tunnel had allowed her to slink below all the interior gates and walls and get close to the Michiel foundry – but her informants had neglected to mention the tunnel’s abundance of centipedes, mud adders, and shit, of both the human and equine variety.

Sancia hadn’t liked it, but she could handle it. That had not been her first time crawling through human waste.

But the problem with crawling through a river of sewage is that, naturally, you tend to gain a powerful odor. Sancia had tried to stay downwind from the security posts as she crept through the foundry yards. But just when she reached the north gate, some distant guard had cried out, “Oh, my God, what is that smell?” and then, to her alarm, dutifully gone looking for the source.

She’d avoided being spotted, but she’d been forced to flee into a dead-end foundry passageway and hide under the crumbling wooden deck, which had likely once been a guard post. But the problem with this hiding place, she’d quickly realized, was it gave her no means of escape: there was nothing in the walled foundry passageway besides the deck, Sancia, and the guard.

Sancia stared out at the guard’s muddy boots as he paced by the deck, sniffing. She waited until he walked past her, then poked her head out.

He was a big man, wearing a shiny steel cap and a leather cuirass embossed with the loggotippo of the Michiel Body Corporate – the candle flame set in the window – along with leather pauldrons and bracers. Most troublingly, he had a rapier sheathed at his side.

Sancia narrowed her eyes at the rapier. She thought she could hear a whispering in her mind as he walked away, a distant chanting. She’d assumed the blade was scrived, but that faint whispering confirmed it – and she knew a scrived blade could cut her in half with almost no effort at all.

This was such a damned stupid way to get cornered, she thought as she withdrew. And I’ve barely even started the job.

She had to get to the carriage fairways, which were probably only about two hundred feet away, behind the far wall. And she needed to get to them sooner rather than later.

She considered her options. She could dart the man, she supposed, for Sancia did have a little bamboo pipe and a set of small but expensive darts that were soaked in the poison of dolorspina fish; a lethal pest found in the deeper parts of the ocean. Diluted enough, the venom should only knock its victim into a deep sleep, with an absolute horror of a hangover a few hours later.

But the guard was sporting pretty decent armor. Sancia would have to make the shot perfect, perhaps aiming for his armpit. The risk of missing was far too high.

She could try to kill him, she supposed. She did have her stiletto, and she was an able sneak, and though she was small, she was strong for her size.

But Sancia was a lot better at thieving than she was killing, and this was a trained merchant house guard. She did not like her chances there.

Moreover, Sancia had not come to the Michiel foundry to slit throats, break faces, or crack skulls. She was here to do a job.

A voice echoed down the passageway: “Ahoy, Nicolo! What are you doing away from your post?”

“I think something died in the drains again. It smells like death down here!”

“Ohh, hang on,” said the voice. There came the sound of footsteps.

Ah, hell, thought Sancia. Now there are two of them…

She needed a way out of this, and fast.

She looked back at the stone wall behind her, thinking. Then she sighed, crawled over to it, and hesitated.

She did not want to spend her strength so soon. But she had no choice.

Sancia pulled off her left glove, pressed her bare palm to the dark stones, shut her eyes, and used her talent.

The wall spoke to her.

The wall told her of foundry smoke, of hot rains, of creeping moss, of the tiny footfalls of the thousands of ants that had traversed its mottled face over the decades. The surface of the wall bloomed in her mind, and she felt every crack and every crevice, every dollop of mortar and every stained stone.

All of this information coursed into Sancia’s thoughts the second she touched the wall. And among this sudden eruption of knowledge was what she had really been hoping for.

Loose stones. Four of them, big ones, just a few feet away from her. And on the other side, some kind of closed, dark space, about four feet wide and tall. She instantly knew where to find it like she’d built the wall herself.

There’s a building on the other side, she thought. An old one. Good.

Sancia took her hand away. To her dismay, the huge scar on the right side of her scalp was starting to hurt.

A bad sign. She’d have to use her talent a lot more than this tonight.

She replaced her glove and crawled over to the loose stones. It looked like there had been a small hatch here once, but it’d been bricked up years ago. She paused and listened – the two guards now seemed to be loudly sniffing the breeze.

“I swear to God, Pietro,” said one, “it was like the devil’s shit!” They began pacing the passageway together.

Sancia gripped the topmost loose stone and carefully, carefully tugged at it.

It gave way, inching out slightly. She looked back at the guards, who were still bickering.

Quickly and quietly, Sancia hauled the heavy stones out and placed them in the mud, one after the other. Then she peered into the musty space.

It was dark within, but she now let in a little light – and she saw many tiny eyes staring at her from the shadows, and piles of tiny turds on the stone floor.

Rats, she thought. Lots of them.

Still, nothing to do about it. Without another thought, she crawled into the tiny, dark space.

The rats panicked and began crawling up the walls, fleeing into cracks and crevices in the stones. Several of them scampered over Sancia, and a few tried to bite her – but Sancia was wearing what she called her “thieving rig,” a homemade, hooded, improvised outfit made of thick, gray woolen cloth and old black leather that covered all of her skin and was quite difficult to tear through.

As she got her shoulders through, she shook the rats off or swatted them away – but then a large rat, easily weighing two pounds, rose up on its hind legs and hissed at her threateningly.

Sancia’s fist flashed out and smashed the big rat, crushing its skull against the stone floor. She paused, listening to see if the guards had heard her – and, satisfied that they had not, she hit the big rat again for good measure. Then she finished crawling inside, and carefully reached out and bricked up the hatch behind her.

There, she thought, shaking off another rat and brushing away the turds. That wasn’t so bad.

She looked around. Though it was terribly dark, her eyes were adjusting. It looked like this space had once been a fireplace where the foundry workers cooked their food, long ago. The fireplace had been boarded up, but the chimney was open above her – though she could see now that someone had tried to board up the very top as well.

She examined it. The space within the chimney was quite small. But then, so was Sancia. And she was good at getting into tight places.

With a grunt, Sancia leapt up, wedged herself in the gap, and began climbing up the chimney, inch by inch. She was about halfway up it when she heard a clanking sound below.

She froze and looked down. There was a bump, and then a crack, and light spilled into the fireplace below her.

The steel cap of a guard poked into the fireplace. The guard looked down at the abandoned rat’s nest and cried, “Ugh! Seems the rats have built themselves a merry tenement here. That must have been the smell.”

Sancia stared down at the guard. If he but glanced up, he’d spy her instantly.

The guard looked at the big rat she’d killed. She tried to will herself not to sweat so no drops would fall on his helmet.

“Filthy things,” muttered the guard. Then his head withdrew.

Sancia waited, still frozen – she could still hear them talking below. Then, slowly, their voices withdrew.

She let out a sigh. This is a lot of risk to get to one damned carriage.

She finished climbing and came to the top of the chimney. The boards there easily gave way to her push. Then she clambered out onto the roof of the building, lay flat, and looked around.

To her surprise, she was right above the carriage fairway – exactly where she needed to be. She watched as one carriage charged down the muddy lane to the loading dock, which was a bright, busy blotch of light in the darkened foundry yards. The foundry proper loomed above the loading dock, a huge, near-windowless brick structure with six fat smokestacks pouring smoke into the night sky.

She crawled to the edge of the roof, took off her glove, and felt the lip of the wall below with a bare hand. The wall blossomed in her mind, every crooked stone and clump of moss – and every good handhold to help her find her way down.

She lowered herself over the edge of the roof and started to descend. Her head was pounding, her hands hurt, and she was covered in all manner of filthy things. I haven’t even done step one yet, and I’ve already nearly got myself killed.

“Twenty thousand,” she whispered to herself as she climbed. “Twenty thousand duvots.”

A king’s ransom, really. Sancia was willing to eat a lot of shit and bleed a decent amount of blood for twenty thousand duvots. More than she had so far, at least.

The soles of her boots touched earth, and she started to run.

Excerpted from Foundryside by Robert Jackson Bennett. Copyright © 2018 by Robert Jackson Bennett. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

About the Author

ROBERT JACKSON BENNETT is the author, most recently, of the Divine Cities trilogy, which was a 2018 Hugo Awards finalist in the ‘Best Series’ category. The first book in the series, City of Stairs, was also a finalist for the World Fantasy and Locus Awards, and the second, City of Blades, was a finalist for the World Fantasy, Locus, and British Fantasy Awards. His previous novels, which include American Elsewhere and Mr. Shivers, have received the Edgar Award, the Shirley Jackson Award, and the Phillip K. Dick Citation of Excellence. He lives in Austin with his family.

Website * Twitter

Synopsis

BHARATVARSHA, LAND OF THE ARYAS: 270 BC

Bindusar, the Samrat Chakravartin of all the Aryas, ruler of the Indian subcontinent, is dead. Chaos rules across the empire. The royal succession turns upon intrigue, dark coalitions, violence and death. The realm stands divided and civil war ensues.

In Vidishanagri: Asoka kills his brother’s Ashwamedha stallion and marches to Patliputra with his army. The ancient Brahminical order rises in his supports, awaiting his entry into the capital. Have they made the right choice?

In Taxila: The rightful heir, Sushem, raises an army to meet the challenge posed by his ambitious and gifted brother, Asoka. He prepares to march to the capital and seize the throne by force. Will history repeat itself; will Sushem achieve what his grandfather Chandragupta did 50 years ago?

In Junagarh: Guild Master Hardeo sets out on a private mission to acquire the great salt pans of Sindh. Will he succeed in his secret enterprise?

In Vidishanagri: Radhagupta travels to fulfill the task allotted to him by the Order. Kanakdatta, the Buddhist, stands up to stop him. Will Radhagupta fail in his mission?

The winds of war howl over the sub-continent, blowing every last person one way or the other. Blood will be spilled, secrets revealed and men ruined. History shall be made.

In Book II of the epic Asoka Trilogy, the storm approaches; the harbinger of death and destruction. When the dust finally settles, the great question will be answered: Who is the next Samrat of the holy Lands of the Aryas?

Excerpt

For many centuries the holy books of the Aryas have preached everything from eternal unity of one’s own kind to selfless service to one’s family and society. But aeons after they were written, we still cannot practice what we preach…

Our lands lie fragmented, divided by everything from regionalism to tribal sentiment and the petty selfishness of individual rulers. Our Rajas had fought over everything from women, to land and pride; so much so that wars with their neighbours has become a habit. And every time some powerful Arya rises above these squabbles and seeks to unify our lands, he turns out to be an evil monster rather than a rightful Samrat. Be it Jarasandha of yore or the tyrannical Nandas of our times, those who have tried to unify our lands have

It is not that the learned men of our society have accepted or become resigned to this state of affairs. They have always attempted to stand against these evil rulers. Be it Lord Krishna of a thousand years ago, or I the humble servitorof my people in these unsettled times.

My name is Arya Chanakya, though I am known as Kautilya these days. Few are privy to my past so take heed of what I say; then hold the words sealed within your breast.

I was born eight decades ago in the northwest of our subcontinent, where the Land of the Aryas ends and those of foreigners like the Mlechhas and the Yavanas begin. For my entire youth I strived for only two things – to accumulate knowledge of our world; and unite our race as a single entity.

People considered me foolish and stubborn. The Rajas laughed at my advice and continued to fight meaningless wars for worthless reasons. For three decades of my life my efforts were in vain as I tried and failed to instill the virtues of unity and service in our rulers.

Then, everything changed. I recognized my mistake. I had been counting on changing the mindset of our people from within. What I should have realized long before was that change of such proportions can only be brought about by a powerful external force. Fifty years ago, that powerful force arrived at the boundaries of our Bharat, armed with insurmountable power. His name was Alexander, and he came from beyond the seven seas, from the lands of the Greeks. His objective was simple – to conquer the whole wide world. And our lands were next – the doorway to the far East.

The Rajas of the northwest reacted as I had expected. They made deals with this foreign foe in order to destroy the enemies of their own race. Even Raja Ambhi of Taxila, did so. Only one man refused to succumb to Alexander. His name was Puru, the mightiest Raja of the region.

But even Puru’s might was no match for Alexander’s tactics and deceit. On the banks of the holy Jhelum, everyone gasped with horror as Puru lost the battle to the Greeks – everyone except me; I just smiled.

As Alexander spent time consolidating power in the northwest, I travelled east to the greatest city of the known world – to Patliputra, ruled by the Nandas. My plan was simple: to ask the Nanda Maharaja to take his army northwest to defeat the Greeks. The people of the northwest were disgusted by the unmanly conduct of their Rajas, almost all of whom had surrendered without a fight. If The Nandas fought and won against the Greeks, the people of the northwest would accept them as their saviours, thereby uniting the subcontinent, north and south, east and west.

But my plan had a serious flaw. While everyone knew the Nandas had the largest standing army in the world, what few people beyond their borders knew was how they used it. I discovered that the army was used to terrorize their subjects. The Nandas were tyrannical kings who ruled with the force of an equally tyrannical army. I witnessed and experienced their tyranny first hand. I was imprisoned and tortured by Nanda lieutenants in Patliputra.

But I was rescued by an Ancient Brotherhood that had dwelled in the tunnels below the city for five centuries. Since its founder, Maharaja Ajatshatru, had laid down its mission, the brothers of the order had zealously safeguarded the interests of the Arya race, secretly. They rescued me from prison and inducted me into their ranks. They bestowed upon me their mission: To bring down the evil Nandas from their thrones.

About the Author

Shreyas is a 21 year old guy currently pursuing his B.Tech in Electrical Eng. from VNIT Nagpur. His love for history since his childhood prompted him to write his take on the story of Asoka who was one of the towering figures in the history of India, which has been taken up as ‘The Asoka Trilogy’ by Leadstart Publishing.

The first part of the trilogy called ‘The Prince of Patliputra’ has been published in January 2016 and garnered positive responses.

He is also presently working on several other manuscripts and completing the final year of his engineering Course.

Website * Facebook * Twitter

Synopsis

In 2005, Ted W. Baxter was at the top of his game. He was a successful, globe-trotting businessman with a resume that would impress the best of the best. In peak physical condition, Ted worked out nearly every day of the week. And then, on April 21, 2005, all that came to an end. He had a massive ischemic stroke. Doctors feared he wouldn’t make it, or if he did make it, he would be in a vegetative state in a hospital bed for the rest of his life.

But miraculously, that’s not what happened . . .

In Relentless, Ted W. Baxter describes his remarkable recovery. Not only did he live, but he’s walking and talking again. He moves through life almost as easily as he did before the stroke; only now, his life is better. He’s learned that having a successful career is maybe not the most important thing. He’s learned to appreciate life more. He’s learned that he wants to help people—and that’s what he does. He gives back, volunteering his time and effort to help other stroke victims.

Relentless is a wonderful resource for stroke survivors, caregivers, and their loved ones, but it is also an inspiring and motivating read for anyone who is facing struggles in their own life.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Four Days, Four Flights

I was at the top of the totem pole.

I had surpassed all others on my globe-trotting climb to the top of the financial industry. I was a man on a mission—a constant blur of motion as I steadfastly pursued my career goals.

I have a resume that would impress the best of the best. I spent years devoting nearly every waking moment to the Price Waterhouse financial services consulting group. I started and grew their Tokyo division, which led to my designation as partner.

When that challenge was no longer enough, I left Price Waterhouse and joined Credit Suisse First Boston as the regional financial controller for Asia Pacific. When they moved me back to Manhattan to serve as American financial controller and then on to global managing director of financial systems and strategy, I found myself bored once again. I needed an even greater challenge. I had to keep moving. So my wife and I relocated, yet again, to Chicago, so I could take the position of global controller at Citadel, one of the most successful hedge fund companies in the world. At forty-one, at the peak of my game, I was the go-to guy in the financial services arena.

I have an impressive resume, but it didn’t come without a great deal of effort.

And in an instant, it was all gone.

I remember bits and pieces of the weeks leading up to my collapse.

For instance, I remember being impressed by the view as my wife and I landed on Mauritius, an island off the coast of Africa, en route to an all-inclusive resort. As would be expected, we were dressed for relaxation when we walked out of the airport into the bright sunshine, with sunglasses in place and shorts showing off our untanned skin. Winter in Chicago had, as usual, been brutally long. Things were starting to thaw there, but it would be another month, at least, before we had day-to-day nice weather. We were in major need of a warm getaway, and I remember the sun feeling exceptionally good, despite my wandering mind.

I was, as always, thinking about work, wondering if the last presentation had sealed the deal with a stubborn international client. Those concerns had me checking my email, via BlackBerry, as often as possible.

“What are you doing?” Kelly asked as someone had to weave around me, my nose pointed directly at the mobile screen.

“Just checking my email,” I mumbled in reply, too busy absorbing what I was reading to meet her eyes.

“Don’t worry about your email, Ted. Look! This place is beautiful.” Though the words were true, her voice lacked its usual conviction, and that did make me take notice. I placed an arm around her shoulders, thinking that she really could use the sun. Her face was quite pale.

Then my BlackBerry beeped an alert, and my eyes were back on the small screen.

When we climbed into the back of the car that would take us the rest of the way to the resort, I looked up at Kelly again. She was resting her head against the black leather seat. I poured a drink from the decanter beside me and offered her one. She shook her head ever so slightly, turning the drink down.

“Is there a gym at the resort?” I asked, believing that conversation would help her perk up.

“Yes. You aren’t going to work out this week, are you?” she replied.

“Of course I am. I always do,” I answered. It was an argument that she couldn’t win, so she just shook her head at me, as she often did.

“Try to enjoy the vacation, Ted.”

I chuckled and slid in closer to her. “I will.”

She smiled but still didn’t lift her head.

“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling the warmth of the back of her head seeping into my arm.

“I’m okay. I think I must have gotten motion sickness on the plane.”

I knew that wasn’t the case, and so did she. We had been together for years, and in all the time I knew her, she’d never suffered from motion sickness. A fever took hold of her later that day, and she spent the majority of our time in Mauritius in bed with the flu.

Without my wife to keep me from it, I worked. That’s how I was and what I did. I spent most of our trip using the resort’s Wi-Fi to keep in contact with my colleagues and clients. Many were all too happy to take a trip to the African island to meet with me in person. After all, Kelly was right; the place was beautiful.

A week later, with Kelly feeling much closer to her normal self, though without the tan that she had so hoped for, we boarded a flight headed back to Chicago.

“When do you leave?” she asked as we buckled into our seats.

After taking the requested pillow from the stewardess, I turned to Kelly. “I leave Sunday. Shouldn’t be gone more than four or five days.” I went to Europe on business about every six to eight weeks.

“What time?”

“I’ll have to check the itinerary. Overnight, though. Ten-hour direct flight to London, then on to Luxembourg . . . and I think that’ll be the only other stop this time.”

“That’s good,” she said, accepting a cocktail from the stewardess. A devious grin tugged at her lips as she looked up at me and sank deeper into the airline chair. I watched her take a sip of her drink, and then she set her hand on my arm. “It’s not all bad, you know. Comfy pillows, drinks, snacks. I could get used to flying all of the time.”

I laughed. “Well, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know,” I responded, leaning back a little farther in my own chair.

—

That flight to London on the Sunday after we returned from Mauritius was the first of four international flights that I would take in a matter of four days. The final flight of the four was the return trip from London to Chicago on Thursday. On this flight, I was exhausted, which wasn’t like me, and I figured it was just the lack of sleep, jet lag, and being away from home for so long.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” the stewardess asked after handing me the pillow.

“No, thank you. This’ll be fine. Can you just wake me ten minutes before we land for a cup of coffee, please?” I said.

“Of course, sir. Sleep well.” Whether or not her words had anything to do with it, I can’t say, but I do know that I slept that entire flight. I didn’t wake for the meal, a drink of water, or a trip to the bathroom. “Sir, it’s time to wake up. Sir? I have a cup of coffee for you,” she said in a sweet voice. I smiled in thanks and took a sip of the coffee. I never sleep through an entire flight.

It was Thursday afternoon, and I was checking the incoming emails on my BlackBerry on my way out of the airport when my limo driver called out to me.

“Good afternoon, sir. How was your flight?”

It was then that I noticed that I wasn’t walking right. I found myself limping every four or five steps as I walked over to the limo. “It was fine, thank you.”

“Are you all right, sir?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just tired from the flight,” I answered, further baffled at the fact that, despite the hours of uninterrupted sleep, it was a true statement.

The driver glanced at my leg as I got in. I guess my limp was more obvious than I thought. “Leg is bothering me. Too much time sitting on the plane, I guess,” I said, rubbing it a bit as I sat in the soft leather seat.

The driver didn’t say anything more, and I promptly put the thought out of my mind. There was work to do, and besides, this wasn’t the first time I’d had trouble with my legs. I had long since given up on the idea of having legs free of varicose veins. I had asked several doctors about them and was always told that the noticeable veins in my legs were superficial and not the dangerous kind. Even if I had them stripped, for cosmetic reasons, varicose veins like mine usually come back anyway. Genetics at its finest.

When I arrived home, Kelly greeted me as soon as I walked in the door. “Welcome home,” she said and then gave me a small kiss on my cheek before quickly returning to what she had been doing before I walked in. I watched her make her way to the kitchen. She had laid a stack of my mail on the entry table, like usual, so I grabbed it on my way to my office.

“You’re not going out, are you?” she called from the other room.

“No, I’m going to get these bills paid and get stuff ready for work tomorrow.”

“Do you need help getting unpacked?” she asked, sticking her head into the doorway.

I smiled and shook my head. Even though traveling was part of my routine, she always seemed excited to see me come home. “No, I’ll do it. I’ve got to get my gym bag packed anyway.”

She rolled her eyes and walked away. I knew that most people didn’t work out like I did, but it was a part of my routine that I wasn’t willing to part with. So the next day, like every day, I would wake up by five so I could be in the city by six. That gave me an hour to work out and a few minutes to get cleaned up before I had to be at the office. Kelly laughed at me, but she was health conscious too. We both maintained a healthy diet, didn’t smoke or take recreational drugs, and drank infrequently, in moderation. Physical fitness was a priority for us in life. And for me, not only did it allow me to feel good, but it didn’t hurt my image in business either. I was the picture of good health.

Except, my leg hurt.

The Stroke

When we walked out of our home an hour or so later to get some dinner, Kelly asked me about my leg. “Why are you limping?”

“I’m not limping. My leg . . . it’s just a little sore.” I rubbed it and made a conscious effort to walk naturally. “What do you want to eat?’’

“Sushi okay?”

“Sounds great,” I answered, opening the front door for her.

We arrived at our favorite local sushi restaurant in the next town over and were seated in the dining room.

“Don’t you want a drink?” Kelly asked after the waiter came to take our drink order and I declined anything other than water. Typically, I would have ordered a large hot sake and enjoyed every warming sip with our sushi, as I had done when I lived in Tokyo.

“Not tonight. Just water is fine,” I said.

She looked at me with a funny expression but let it go and told me about how she’d spent her time while I was away, saying once again how much she wished that she hadn’t been sick on our trip. I was happy to keep up the usual stream of conversation, happy to be seated across from her eating the delicious meal, but when the bill came, I quickly pulled out my card and handed it to the waiter. I was ready to go home.

“Would you do me a favor tomorrow?” I asked Kelly as we walked through the front door of our home. “Can you call and schedule me an appointment with my doctor? Just sometime later this month, after your appointment.”

“Are you all right?” she asked. Concern covered her face. “I can try to get you in sooner.” “I’m fine. It’s just that my leg is sore, and sometimes it feels like I’m experiencing growing pains. The doctor will just say the same thing he always does, I’m sure. ‘Don’t worry about the pain. It’s no big deal.’ But it feels worse than usual.” I rubbed my hand over it, and she agreed to make the call for me.

I made my way to our bedroom and sighed as I sank into the couch in the sitting room of our master suite. Kelly laughed and fell back in the chair beside me.

“You’re not going to sleep already, are you? It’s only eight o’clock.”

“Nah. Not yet,” I said groggily, picking up a Men’s Health magazine. I really was tired, but I flipped a few pages until I came to an article of interest. “Look, maybe I should start taking this supplement,” I said, showing her the article.

“You already take a few different ones,” she answered. I pointed to the list of the four supplements men should be taking. I was already taking three of the four

The Apprentice was on, and a few minutes into the show, Kelly asked, “Did you see that commercial?” I picked up the remote and rewound it, thinking again how wonderful TiVo was. I watched the commercial but didn’t respond.

“Did you see that?” she asked again, looking to me, surprised that I didn’t have a comment to make about it. “What’s wrong? Don’t you think that’s funny?”

I didn’t respond. I realized I couldn’t respond. Suddenly, I couldn’t get my mouth to form any words. I was extremely light-headed, and I began to shiver. I felt pain in my head like a really bad migraine but something I had never experienced before. I couldn’t say anything, and nothing made any sense.

“C’mon, Ted. It was funny, and you know it. It wasn’t that bad.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I was too busy almost dying.

Used with permission from Greenleaf Book Group Press.

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About the Author

After spending 22 years in the financial industry, Ted W. Baxter retired as a global finance executive with a large hedge investment firm based in Chicago. Prior to that, Ted was a managing director for a global investment bank and he was a Price Waterhouse partner and a consultant concentrated on banks and securities, risk management, financial products, and strategic planning. Internationally, he spent 6 years working and living in Tokyo and Hong Kong.

Ted now resides in Newport Beach, CA where he volunteers at several health related institutions and hospitals in Orange County, leading groups in a stroke-related communication recovery program, and is a member of the Board of Directors at the American Heart and Stroke Association.

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Title: Fling Club

Author: Tara Brown

Release Date: August 14, 2018

Publisher: Skyscape

Synopsis

For the young, rich, and beautiful, summertime in the Hamptons means one thing: Fling Club. Only this time, Cherry Kennedy won’t be selecting a boy for a fleeting romance. Nope, this season, Cherry is out for revenge. Her target? The Fling Club founder and society darling who slept with Cherry’s now-very-ex-boyfriend. And all Cherry needs is the perfect guy for her plan… Ashley Jardine can’t afford to refuse. He scored almost a full ride to MIT. But that almost still costs a lot. And this is so much money for a little game of revenge and a chance—albeit short—to live the high life. Here, rich girls rule the shore, and everyone has a role to play. Only nothing in the job description warned Ashley that the redhead who’s running the scheme would be so crazy. And cute. Or that he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about her. Now, everything is going according to plan—until an unexpected attraction raises the stakes. It’s enough to turn the perfect payback into absolute heartbreak.

Fling Club Inspirations by Tara Brown

My book releasing is Fling Club, sort of like Fight Club but with romance.

The fabulous main characters are Cherry and Ashley, an unlikely match. It’s opposites attract to the extreme. Cherry is a spoiled rich girl with a serious problem, how to get revenge on the mean girl ruining her life. And Ashley is a sexy, geeky MIT scholarship student who doesn’t fit in her world. He doesn’t even want to. He can’t stand the rich elite and makes no bones about sharing that opinion.

Cherry’s from a rich family and went to school at a private, well known academy where the expectations from parents are demanding. She is demure and reliable, a doormat like most of her friends. Letting parents and guys take the lead in their lives.

After summers of the boys running the shore and parents ruling their lives, the girls decided to take back the power. One girl in particular. She created Fling Club, a fun way to control the dating and socializing the young women were expected to participate in. The head mean girl who runs it, Cait, is every young woman’s nightmare. Controlling, conniving, and completely self-centered. If you have a social life and friends, it’s because Cait allowed it. She has all the parents and every guy on the shore fooled, while all the young women are terrified of crossing her.

When Cherry catches Cait in bed with her boyfriend, the fake friendship is off just as the summer is beginning, meaning Cherry has to come up with a plan for revenge against her frenemy.

With the help of her sarcastic and judgmental brother, Andy, and her pessimistic and evil genius sister, Ella, Cherry is about to wreak havoc on Fling Club, and Cait.

This is where Ashley comes into the plan. He is the bait. Sexy, funny, sarcastic, and just arrogant enough that they don’t have to worry about him falling for Cait while she is falling for him. But after a couple weeks together, the plan is threatened when Ashley and Cherry start falling for each other.

He desperately wants Cherry to see that she is so much more than she pretends to be, and that fitting into her world isn’t worth the price she is paying.
And once she starts seeing herself the way he does, she realizes how much she hates the person she has always pretended to be.

Fling Club, which used to be called The Exception to the Summer Fling, is an old story I wrote a decade ago but never published. It came to me when I was driving. I was crossing North America, moving from the West Coast to the East for my husband’s work in 2008. My girls were watching movies in the backseat, kid’s movies. So I got to listen to that the entire six day drive.

I don’t even remember the movie they were watching, I think it was a Barbie movie, maybe Princess and the Pauper, but it got me envisioning the moment Cait marched back and forth in front of the new recruits, cruelly telling them the rules of the summer fling club. (Being a HUGE fan of Cruel Intentions and Gossip Girl, of course I already had a stable of possible plots for mean rich girls.)

The story really formed when I got Cait down in my head, thanks to the long drive and the kids movies.

Cait needed to be that sweet and powerful girl the parents would respect and want their daughters to emulate. But she also needed to be terrifying and controlling so the girls went along with whatever she demanded of them. Even if it was disturbing. Of course, Cait is similar to Kathryn from Cruel Intentions, she is calculating and cold. Almost sociopathic in her nature. But I decided to spin the story a little and make our poor little victim, her equal in social rank.

Cherry might be the weaker link at the start of this story, but she comes from a good family with a lot of money. And as the story progressed she evolved from the damsel in distress who can’t cope with anything into a strong young woman. I wanted her to be victim of the story but then I also wanted her to be the savior. Her own savior. I like that love helped her find herself, but she needed to do the work.

I think we nailed that, and the way the characters are meant to make you hate them. I wanted the readers’ feelings to grow and change as the characters did.
Cait is unbearably horrible and yet somehow relatable once we have all the facts. Cherry is weak and pathetic to start but grows into someone we liked in the end. And we made the bad guy someone you didn’t expect.

I love the idea that there is an underbelly in the wealthy world, a place we don’t see because they hide it from us. And I adore the meet cute we have created for the entire series of standalone novels, the Post-it Note Wall.

Welcome to the Serendipity Series, starting with Fling Club.

Excerpt

I called my brother. “Hey, Cherry. Look, I can’t talk—”

“Cait’s sleeping with Griffin,” I blurted out, cutting off whatever excuse he was about to make.

“What? Who?” It took him half a second to connect the dots. “Seriously? How do you know?”

“I just caught them.” My words had turned to a whisper. I was ashamed of my former friends for betraying me, and of myself for having been so naive. I knew Andy would call me stupid and tell me I deserved what I got for dating a Griffin, and that I was a sheeple like Mom and Cait, and—

“Oh, Cherry. I’m so sorry. Neither of those asshats deserves you.”

That reaction, I didn’t expect. Andy’s kindness broke me. Angry tears flooded my eyes, and before I could help it, I was blubbering and ranting in front of a platform full of strangers. I’d called Andy because I needed his sarcasm to toughen me up and put me on the defensive. I needed to be strong, like him. But instead he gave me tenderness, something I couldn’t handle at the moment.

“You’re lovely and sweet and kind. And you would never do something like that to anyone. Not even an enemy. I’ll come get you; tell me where you are.”

“I—I’m going home. I’m at the train. I feel sick.” My words were coming out in gasps.

“Screw them both. Let them have each other. I never liked that idiot. He’s like Mom and Cait. He thinks his blue blood earns him the right to everything—clearly. They’re selfish people, Cherry. Selfish and stupid and blind. I’m glad he showed his true colors before you got too invested in him.”

Not wanting Andy to know I was as invested as I could be, I stayed silent while he shouted and ranted all the things big brothers said to sad little sisters. “I should beat the piss outta him! Want me to kick his ass? I’ll go find a couple of friends and we can make sure he doesn’t show up for—”

“No.” I sniffled. “I just—” What did I want?

“Listen. Go home and take a hot bath, drink a bottle of wine, and try to get some sleep. I’ll come get you in a week. We’ll go to New York and get trashed, and you—”

“Sleep!” I snapped, finally losing the hold I had on my ferocity. “You think I could sleep right now? I’m not Mom, Andy. I can’t just take something and coast through shit like this.”

“Okay, don’t sleep. Try eating a whole sheet cake and plotting their deaths. They aren’t worth the energy you’re putting into being pissed off. I’ve never understood how you were friends with her. Or part of her club. Which, by the way, she only started because Wendell cheated on her with that chick from Derby. It’s ironic, because then she turns around and does this to you.”

“Andy, I don’t care why she started it,” I groaned, wiping my eyes. “I don’t care that someone cheated on her in high school. I care that she’s currently sleeping with my boyfriend—”

“Cherry, take a breath. If you’re crying, you’re losing it.”

I heaved, realizing I was blind with rage and tears.

“If you can’t get past this with a simple cake, then I don’t know what to say. If I ever make the mistake of falling in love again, it’ll be with some girl in a different financial bracket. This is why we don’t date our kind.”

“Yeah, great advice now!” I spit my words, feeling the fury building.

“Don’t lose control! You’re in public, and you’re a Kennedy for God’s sake. We don’t lose it in front of strangers. Plus, you’ll be upset you didn’t cry in the shower like a winner.”

“Shut up!” I hated him sometimes.

“Cherry, getting upset and ruining your summer is pointless; you’re the only one who suffers. They’ll win. They’ll ruin your last summer before college is over and the real world hits. Don’t let them do that to you.”

“What should I do then?” I burst again, sobbing.

“I don’t know. Maybe take her down. Get revenge. Just whatever you do, don’t go back to that moron, Chatsworth.”

“I won’t.” I sighed. “I can’t talk about this anymore. I’ll text you later.”

“Trust me, eat the cake. It will make you feel better. Do that before you do anything else. My friend Angela swears by it.” He laughed bitterly and hung up.

But I didn’t focus on the cake or the bath or the wine. My mind was stuck on the one thing Andy had said that was useful, on repeat.

Get revenge.

And I would.

About the Author

The international bestselling author of Roommates and the Puck Buddies series, Tara Brown writes in a variety of genres. In addition to her comedic Single Lady Spy series, she has also published popular contemporary and paranormal romances, science fiction, thrillers, and romantic comedies. She especially enjoys writing dark and moody tales, often focusing on strong female characters who are more inclined to vanquish evil than perpetrate it. She shares her home with her husband, two daughters, two cats, an Irish wolfhound, and a Maremma Sheepdog.

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Synopsis

An Earl mired in melancholy is no match for a determined woman…

Widower Benjamin Romilly, Earl of Furness, has given up hope of finding happiness. His wife died in childbirth five years ago, leaving him with a broken heart and a child who only reminds him of his loss.

Miss Jean Saunders is a cousin by marriage. She doted on Benjamin’s late Countess, and can’t bear it when she hears rumors that the Earl is too bereaved to care for his young son. She arrives on the scene to evaluate his fitness as a father, and if necessary, to take his son away.

Jean’s sudden eruption into the Earl’s household simultaneously infuriates and invigorates him. She may be the only person who can breathe life into his neglected home—and his aching heart…

Excerpt

Toward the far end of the attic, Jean came upon a row of leather trunks bound in brass. Resettling her lamp securely, she opened the first. The scent of camphor wafted out at her. Pushing aside a layer of tissue paper, she unearthed a swath of satin brocade in an exquisite shade of peach. Although the fashion of another era, it was one of the loveliest gowns she’d ever seen.

There was no one around, and she was so tired of the few outfits she had with her. She couldn’t resist. She slipped off her much plainer gown, placing it out of the dust on a sheet of tissue, and slithered her way into the peach creation.

The dress was a bit large on her. Fortunately, it laced up the side so she could reach to pull it tighter, but the shoulders still threatened to slip off. Her shift and stays showed above the low neckline, and without the elaborate underpinnings such a garment required, the skirt sagged around her in heavy folds. Even so, she felt very grand.

“Very elegant,” said an appreciative male voice.

Jean whirled and nearly lost the dress. She frowned at Lord Furness, who stood near the head of the attic stair, as she pushed the shoulders back into place. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my house.”

“Yes, but you went riding.”

“And I returned.” Benjamin strolled toward his disheveled houseguest. In his ancestress’s gown, Miss Saunders was an unsettling combination of little girl playing dress-up and lush courtesan, with her clothes falling off and her curling hair making a determined break for freedom.

She gathered the heavy skirts and retreated to a rank of trunks a little distance away. “I was just… I’ll put on my own gown.”

Benjamin walked a bit closer.

“If you will go away.”

“But I came up to help you look for toys for Geoffrey.” It was an increasing delight to tease her. There was something so charming about the look she got, which said she knew precisely what he was up to and refused to stoop to acknowledge it. And yet she couldn’t help but react.

“I haven’t found any.”

“Only a hoard of finery.” Benjamin walked along the row of trunks and glanced inside them. He picked up a satin coat. “I think I remember my grandfather wearing something like this, with lots of lace at his shirtfront. Perhaps it was this very coat.” He held it up and looked closer. “I’m not sure. He died when I was around Geoffrey’s age.” He smiled at his disheveled companion. “Grandpapa didn’t care much for change at the last. Or for what people thought of his appearance. He wore what he liked.” Geoffrey would have appreciated that attitude, Benjamin thought. “He had a dueling scar across his cheek.” His hand went to his own face to demonstrate. “A bit puckered and quite frightening, as I recall. They don’t seem to go together—all this frippery and bloody sword work.”

“I imagine gentlemen took off their coats when dueling,” replied Miss Saunders.

Benjamin laughed.

“You should try it on,” she added in an odd tone.

He looked at her, hands clutching the brocade bodice to keep it from sliding off, a beam of sunlight shining through the uninhibited glory of her hair. Holding her gaze, Benjamin slowly took off his coat. “No wigs,” he said. “I draw the line there.”

“I haven’t found any,” she answered breathily.

He donned the bright satin garment. It fit well enough, only a little tight in the shoulders. It felt strange to have wide skirts around his legs. He made an elaborate bow. “Pon rep, my lady, I am so pleased to see you. I hope I find you in better health?”

“What do you mean, better?”

Benjamin straightened. “I’ve been concerned about you since—”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted. “My…outburst in the library was quite uncharacteristic, I assure you. It won’t happen again.”

“No apology is necessary.”

“I wasn’t apologizing.” Coppery glints snapped in the depths of her eyes. “Only informing you that all is well.”

He didn’t believe her, though he couldn’t have said why. Her bearing and expression were calm, her manner quelling. Clearly, she didn’t want to talk about the bout of weeping, and he had no right to press her. Why should he wish to? “I don’t know how ladies moved about in those gowns.” He indicated the sweep of peach brocade trailing over the floorboards.

“With stately elegance,” she replied.

“That is to say, very slowly. Have you seen the sort of shoes they wore? Teetering along on four-inch heels must have made it hard to run away.”

“From what?” she asked with a quizzical glance.

“Anything.” Benjamin had spoken randomly. All his attention was on her, leaving his tongue unsupervised. “Bears.”

“Bears?” She laughed.

It was a delightful sound. Benjamin realized he hadn’t heard it nearly often enough. Irresistibly drawn, he stepped closer. “Or impertinent admirers.”

“The gentlemen wore heels, too,” Miss Saunders said. “So it would have been an equal race, mincing along the cobblestones in a satin-draped procession.”

She looked up at him, still smiling. Her eyes were suffused with warmth now, her lips a little parted, and Benjamin couldn’t help himself. He moved closer still and kissed her.

Just a brush of his mouth on hers, an errant impulse. He pulled back at once.

She leaned forward and returned the favor, as if purely in the spirit of experiment. Benjamin felt a startling shudder of desire.

In the next moment, she’d twined her arms around his neck, and they were kissing as if their lives depended on it. He buried his fingers in her hair, as he’d been longing to do for days. It sprang free and tumbled over his hands, a glorious profusion of curls. Hairpins rained onto the attic floor.

Then she pulled back and blinked at him, her eyes wide, dark pools. Her arms dropped to her sides. She took a step away, and another. “Oh.”

The small sound was a breath, a worry, an astonishment. Benjamin struggled with his arousal, glad now of the long, concealing coat.

Miss Saunders put her hands to her wild crown of hair. The lovely lines of her body were outlined in peach brocade and sunlight. “Oh dear.”

“I could help pin it up, if you like.” Benjamin bent and gathered a handful of hairpins.

“No, you couldn’t.”

He gave her the pins. “I have a deft hand,” he said.

“My hair is beyond deftness. It has to be wrestled into submission.”

He nearly lost his careful control at the phrase and the thoughts it elicited. “I have strong fingers.”

About the Author

Jane Ashford discovered Georgette Heyer in junior high school and was captivated by the glittering world and witty language of Regency England. That delight was part of what led her to study English literature and travel widely in Britain and Europe. She has written historical and contemporary romances, and her books have been published in Sweden, Italy, England, Denmark, France, Russia, Latvia, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Spain, as well as the United States. Jane has been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews. She lives in Beverly Hills, CA.

 

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Title: Someone I Used To Know

Author: Patty Blount

Genre: Young Adult Contemporary

Release Date: August 7, 2018

Publisher: Sourcebooks Fire

Synopsis

It’s been two years since the night that changed Ashley’s life. Two years since she was raped by her brother’s teammate. And a year since she sat in a court and watched as he was given a slap on the wrist sentence. But the years have done nothing to stop the pain.

It’s been two years of hell for Derek. His family is totally messed up and he and his sister are barely speaking. He knows he handled it all wrong. Now at college, he has to come to terms with what happened, and the rape culture that he was inadvertently a part of that destroyed his sister’s life.

When it all comes to a head at Thanksgiving, Derek and Ashley have to decide if their relationship is able to be saved. And if their family can ever be whole again.

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Review

This is a powerful book that takes a look into the life of a victim and her family after a rape. We all may know someone that has been a victim (or perhaps it is you?) and that we could never fully understand what that person went through before, during, or after the incident. And it doesn’t just affect the victim, it affects the family as they help the victim work out their fears regarding the incident.

There are so many good things to write about this book it is hard to know where to start. I think the biggest impact this book had on me was taking a look into how being a victim of rape or sexual assault can affect the victim for years after the event. It can be the smallest thing that triggers a reaction and memory of the event. I never really understood what a person might go through but this book really opened my eyes. Ashley is 14/15 when this happened to her and many of her reactions, while valid, also reflect her age. She is angry at everyone, even those trying to help her. Some comments made by friends and family were misunderstood and instead of asking for clarification, she just shuts that person out of her life. At the same time, she doesn’t understand the guilt that her family feels about the situation and not being able to protect her. There are many situations that she has to work her way through to understand and accept how others feel or their reactions in the past. She does grow over the two years that this book spans and realizes that she doesn’t have to let this event traumatize her at every turn. No she won’t forget the incident, but she can take control back and move forward.

Ashley’s brothers, Justin & Derek, also have their own battles to fight regarding the incident. They are not handling it as well and they might have thought, but it turns into character building for them, especially Derek since he feels the most responsible. His POV was sometimes hard to read only because of the guilt you could feel in his words especially when attending a rally on his college campus. Ashley’s parents are also trying to balance protecting Ashley without smothering her.

I appreciated all of the links to organizations that support victims and families of sexual assault. The author even recommends searching the hashtag #MeToo to read stories by those assaulted.

I would have liked to have a bit more development of Sebastian and Brittany since these characters play a pivotal role in Ashley and Derek’s lives.

Overall a book that made a huge impact on my thought process and view of victims of assault.

We give this 5 paws up

Excerpt

This novel is a companion story to my award-winning SOME BOYS. In this scene, Ian Russell, one of the main characters in Some Boys, meets Derek Lawrence in SOMEONE I USED TO KNOW.

~*~

Derek

A knot forms in my gut, a thick and oily clot of guilt. I sink on to the first bench I spot, clutching my middle and trying like hell not to puke. Damn it, I wish to hell I’d beaten the snot out of Victor Patton.

Came close to it.

“Hey, man.”

I twitch and find some guy sitting beside me. No idea where he came from. He’s older than I am, but not by much. Mid-twenties, maybe? Dark hair, dark eyes, some serious muscle.

I nod and shift away, willing my stomach to settle down.

“I’m gonna say something to you,” the guy says. “And you can tell me to buzz off, or you can listen. I see you sitting here, green around the gills, gripping one of those rally flyers, and see a look on your face I know well.”

I shift back to study him. He meets my gaze without flinching, and there’s something in his tone that tells me he’s not kidding.

“Somebody you love got assaulted,” he says, and before I can say anything—before I can even think of something to say—he adds, “Me too.”

I stare at him in disbelief. Are we supposed to do some kind of male bonding over rape…some sort of weird bro hug and then share our feelings? That kink in my gut unclenches, and my breakfast comes up and out. I manage to turn away before I ruin this guy’s day and spew into the bushes behind the bench. It takes a few minutes. When I’m finally empty and want to crawl into the gutter to die, the guy shoves a bottle of water into my field of vision.

“Take it. Keep it.”

Grateful, I crack the seal, chug, and rinse out my mouth. Then I take a nice gulp, sit back on the bench, and wipe my mouth. “Thanks,” I offer a few minutes later, when I’m sure I’m not dying.

“Yeah, no big.”

There’s a long pause. “Girlfriend?” he asks after a minute. And it takes me another minute to figure out he’s asking who I know that got raped. I shake my head.

“Sister.”

“Oh, man. I’m sorry.”

I only nod. What else is there to say? In silence, we watch the perky girl with the clipboard chase down two guys on Rollerblades to sign up for the rally.

He snorts out a laugh. “That girl has some serious fun attitude.”

I laugh, too. “That’s an oxymoron, no?”

Shrugging, he says, “Maybe. Never could keep those lit terms straight.”

That makes me wonder about him. “You’re not a student?”

“No,” he admits. “I graduated a few years ago. Degree in engineering. I work in the city now.”

“So what are you doing here?”

He sighs and looks back to the quad where Perky Girl’s got another pair of guys on the hook for rally duty. “Over there. Under the Rock Stock tent. Black boots.”

I scan the area, find the tent, and see a bunch of people under it. But the black boots do it for me. The girl is hot, like off-the- charts hot. Long wild hair, dark sunglasses, jeans, and a black shirt that’s held together with a series of metal rings. She looks like the lead singer from some hard rock band.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Was she—”

“Yeah. Back in high school. By my friend. At a party she only went to because she hoped I’d be there.”

“I’m sorry.” I sigh.

“I came over here to talk to you because you looked like— well, like a guy about to puke.”

My face gets hot. I swallow another gulp of water and look away. But I can’t deny I’m curious. “How do you…” Deal with it? Avoid killing the guy who did it? I wave my hand, trying to fill in that blank but coming up empty.

He angles his head, studying me. “Get over my guilt?”

Okay. That works, too.

He takes another look at the girl in the black boots and shrugs.

“Still working on it. Being here is part of it. She’s doing the keynote speech at the rally. Took me a while, but I finally figured out that therapy’s not so bad, either.”

My parents wanted us all to go to therapy, but I said no way. Maybe that was a mistake. “Can I ask you something?”

The guy nods.

I swallow more water. “You ever say something you can’t take back? Something that made her hate you.”

He grins and rolls his eyes. “God, yes. I can’t watch a Star Wars movie without wanting to kick my own ass.”

“Huh?”

He waves a hand. “Long story. I was a real dick to her, embarrassing her in front of my friends so they wouldn’t turn on me. She forgave me. Somewhere along the line, I figured out how to forgive myself so I could be the man she deserves.”

Forgive myself. That’s exactly what Brittany said. I consider that for a couple of minutes and then shake my head. “I gotta go.” I stand up. “Thanks for the water and for—” I wave a hand. “You know.”

“Yeah. No problem. Hope we see you at the rally. Trust me, she’s something.” He jerks a thumb toward the girl in the black boots, and I don’t doubt him for a second.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He extends a hand. “Ian.”

I shake it. “Derek,” I say. “Thanks again.”

“Here.” He fishes through his pockets and comes out with a business card. “My cell number. I can help. If you want.”

I take off, tucking the card into my pocket along with the blue-and-white flyer. I don’t even know why I’m keeping them. It’s not like there’s any way Ashley’s gonna forgive me. I’m not even sure I can forgive myself. I’ll never be the hero again in her eyes.

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About the Author

Patty Blount grew up quiet and somewhat invisible in Queens, NY, but found her voice writing smart and strong characters willing to fight for what’s right. Today, she’s the award-winning author of edgy, realistic, gut-wrenching contemporary and young adult romance. Still a bit introverted, she gets lost often, eats way too much chocolate, and tends to develop mad, passionate crushes on fictional characters…and actors like Gilles Marini….and Sam Heughan. Okay, so Patty’s not nearly as cool as her characters, but she is a solid supporter of women’s rights and loves delivering school presentations.

Patty is best known for her internet issues novels, including SOME BOYS, a 2015 CLMP Firecracker winner and RWA Rita Finalist, and SEND, a 2012 Junior Library Guild Fall Pick. Her upcoming release, SOMEONE I USED TO KNOW, has already been selected as a 2018 Junior Library Guild Fall Pick. She blogs at YA Outside the Lines and is also active on Twitter and Facebook. When she’s not writing, Patty loves to watch bad sci-fi movies, live tweeting the hilarity, and scour Pinterest for ideas on awesome bookcases. Patty lives on Long Island with her family in a house that, sadly, lacks bookcases. She loves hearing from readers, especially when they tell her she’s cool (even though she knows it’s not true), and is easily bribed with chocolate. Never underestimate the power of chocolate.

Read | Roar | Revel

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Giveaway

Patty is offering one (1) lucky Grand Prize winner a $25 Amazon Gift Card and a paperback copy of Someone I Used to Know, plus three (3) Runner-Up winners a $5 Amazon Gift Card. To enter for your chance to win one of these exciting prizes, please fill out the Rafflecopter link below:

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Title: Defending Allye
Author: Susan Stoker
Release Date: August 7, 2018
Publisher: Montlake Romance

Synopsis

Ever since his rescue op off the Pacific Coast, Mountain Mercenary Gray Rogers hasn’t been able to forget his latest “job”—Allye Martin. Any other woman would have panicked during a rescue, but the wily dancer kept her cool—even after being kidnapped by an elusive human trafficker. And Gray couldn’t be happier when a grateful Allye follows him home to Colorado Springs…

For Allye, finding sanctuary in the arms—and bed—of the former Navy SEAL is only temporary. People are disappearing off the streets of San Francisco, victims of the same underground trade that targeted her, and Allye could be the key to dismantling the entire operation. She’s willing to do anything to bring them down. Gray isn’t—for good reason. But you don’t say no to a tough girl like Allye who refuses to play it safe.

Now Gray is risking more than ever before. The Mountain Mercenaries have his back. But is it enough to keep the woman he loves out of harm’s way?

Meet the Mountain Mercenaries by Susan Stoker

In my new romantic suspense series, the “Mountain Mercenaries” were formed by a mysterious “handler” named Rex. He brought all the men to Colorado Springs for an “interview”, then never showed up, leaving the men to get to know each other on their own. At the end of the night, however, he offered each of them the job.

Rex is a voice on a phone, and none of the Mercenaries has ever met him face to face. He does the research and sends the men on the missions. He only chooses to assist in cases involving women and children.

Each of the men are former special forces. Grayson “Gray” Rogers and Lowell “Black” Lockard are former Navy SEALs. Ronan “Ro” Cross was a British SAS soldier. Archer “Arrow” Kane was a Marine. Kannon “Ball” Black was in the Coast Guard. And Hunter “Meat” Snow was Delta Force.

The men all live in the Colorado Springs area now and have “regular” jobs. Their missions with the Mountain Mercenaries aren’t exactly top secret, but no one talks much about the organization because of the nature of the missions they go on and the kind of enemies they make as a result.

And to whet your appetite for the men…

Gray has a knack for being “invisible” on jobs.

Ro has a sexy British accent that seems to be more pronounced when he’s angry.

Arrow is slightly claustrophobic because of an incident that happened in England (and where he actually saved Ro’s life).

Black is the best interrogator of the group and Ball is the best driver.

Meat is the computer genius of the group and is relied on heavily to gather intel.

And Rex, is a mystery to the men on the team. They don’t know much about him except that his wife disappeared into thin air years ago.

There’s no real reason why Gray was the first on the team to find his woman in my newest release Defending Allye. Someone had to be first, and who better to find a woman who he was attracted to in the middle of the ocean, than a former Navy SEAL?

Excerpt

Allye turned to her right and glanced at the group of men sitting at the only square table in the room—and froze.

Her breathing increased, and her fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. The men weren’t paying any attention to her and hadn’t seen her yet.

Allye took one step backward toward the doorway she’d just walked through. But she was too late.

“What the hell?” The exclamation had come from Black. The man she’d met just over a week ago on a mission she knew wasn’t exactly public knowledge.

Five more heads swiveled to look in her direction, and Allye could do nothing but stare. It was as if she could actually feel the amount of testosterone in the room increase.

All six men at the table were big. And good-looking. And staring at her as if they’d never seen a woman before.

But it was Grayson Rogers’s eyes that she couldn’t look away from.

Without a word, he stood, a fluid movement that was as graceful as those of any dancer in her troupe, and walked toward her.

“Kitten, what the hell are you doing here? How’d you find me?”

She loved the sound of her nickname on his lips, but his second question sounded more like an accusation than an actual “Boy, am I glad to see you again” statement.

“I . . . I didn’t know you’d be here,” she stammered. “I wasn’t looking for you.”

He looked confused.

“I called Rex, and he arranged to meet me here. But he hasn’t shown up yet. I was sitting out there”—she pointed at the doorway—“talking to the bartender, Dave, and got bored waiting. I didn’t know you’d be here,” she repeated.

“Rex,” Gray said under his breath, then held out his hand. “Whatever the reason, I’m glad to see you again. Are you okay?”

Allye liked this gentler Gray. She nodded and put her hand in his outstretched one. The second she touched his palm, his fingers closed around hers. The warmth from his body seemed to seep into her. She hadn’t even known she was chilled until she felt how warm his skin was. “I’m okay,” she said softly.

“No one’s been following you?” Gray asked.

Allye shrugged. “I don’t think so. I’ve felt uneasy recently, but it’s probably just a result of what happened to me before.”

Gray frowned and tightened his fingers. “Maybe, maybe not. Come on, I want you to meet my friends.”

She allowed him to lead across the room. He stopped at the table and wrapped an arm around her waist. Their hips were smashed together, and she felt every finger as he gripped her opposite hipbone.

“Guys, I’d like you to meet Allye Martin. Allye, these are the guys. Meat, Arrow, Ball, Ro, and you know Black.”

“Hi,” she said awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

Her greeting was returned by all the men, and she couldn’t help but squirm under their scrutiny. The man Gray called Meat got up, snagged a chair from a nearby table, and placed it next to the empty one. She sat when Gray gestured to it. She didn’t lean back in the chair but instead sat fully upright, wondering what in the world was going on.

“So . . . you’re the woman Gray rescued the other week, huh?” Arrow asked.

Allye swallowed, then gave him a small nod.

“What I’m about to tell you, kitten, isn’t common knowledge. But after what you’ve been through, and given the fact that you’re supposed to be meeting Rex here, so he obviously trusts you, I’m comfortable telling you. These men and I are all part of a group called Mountain Mercenaries,” Gray said quietly. “Rex is our leader, so to speak. He contacts us when he has rescue jobs for us to do, mostly involving women and children who are being abused or were abducted. And before you ask, we’re highly qualified. All of us are former military, all different branches, for the most part, and we’ve been through extensive training.”

Allye stared at him for a second, then her eyes went to the rest of the men around the table. She was surprised that he’d explained as much as he had, but she had no trouble believing that these men had the skills and strength to operate rescue missions.

Then something Gray said sank in.

“Mercenaries?”

He nodded.

Allye was confused. “You have a name? Can I look you up online? Hire you?”

“No.”

“Then why have a name?” Allye thought it was Ball who answered.

“Because Rex decided, rightly so, that we would become more well known if we were associated with a name. He wanted the bad guys to fear hearing the Mountain Mercenaries were coming for them. And it’s worked. There was a situation not too long ago where a bad guy in Chicago was desperate to keep Rex and his Mountain Mercenaries out of his business. Desperate enough to kill his own son when he couldn’t control him anymore.”

Allye wasn’t sure she wanted to know the details about that. But she was still a little confused. “But mercenaries are guns for hire. Like, they go where the money is and don’t care about right or wrong, good or bad. They’re all about the money. Aren’t you more like vigilantes or something? Working around the law to do what’s right and good?”

Gray stared at her, but the other men around the table chuckled.

Finally, Gray grinned. “Knew you were too smart for your own good,” he said. “You’re right, but when Rex formed our little group, he thought Mountain Mercenaries sounded tougher than vigilantes.”

Allye rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I guess Vengeful Veterans doesn’t exactly have the same ring, does it?”

And with that, the other men burst out laughing.

About the Author

Susan Stoker is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author whose series include Badge of Honor: Texas Heroes, SEAL of Protection, and Delta Force Heroes. Married to a retired army noncommissioned officer, Stoker has lived all over the country—from Missouri to California to Colorado—and currently lives under the big skies of Texas. A true believer in the happily ever after, Stoker enjoys writing novels in which romance turns to love.

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Goodreads

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Synopsis

It’s true, Wes is well-endowed.

But everything else is a huge misunderstanding…

Wes Evans, son of Broadway royalty, just wants to achieve something without riding his family’s coattails. Too bad the whole world is talking about his sex life after the notorious Bad Bachelors app dubs him “The Anaconda”. But when he sees a talented ballet dancer, he knows she is exactly what he needs to make his show a success.

Remi Drysdale only had one thought when she fled Australia for New York—never mix business with pleasure again. Ever. Working with Wes is the perfect chance to reclaim her career. Remi promises herself not to tangle with the guy who holds her career in his hands…no matter how enticing his reviews are on the Bad Bachelors app.

Excerpt

It’d been a heck of a long time since Wes had done anything close to dancing. These days, he favored going for a run through Central Park or chasing his niece around until they were both huffing and puffing. But muscle memory was a fascinating thing, and his body knew exactly what was required. He’d retained some of his fluidity, some of that strong posture and confident, graceful movement. All the things that allowed him to enter a room with a bang.

Most guys his age were monster trucks—big and powerful but clunky. Lumbering. Despite merciless bullying about his dancing when he was a kid, Wes knew it had been the very thing that made him who he was today. A sports car—smooth, stylish. A head turner.

Did that make him cocky? Hell yeah. But modesty didn’t get you anywhere. Not in this city, anyway.

Watching the instructor subtly raise a brow as he followed her steps had been enormously satisfying. She’d underestimated him.

“Great job, class. We’ve got a few final stretches and then we’re done.” Miss Perky Instructor grinned at the students, the bright expression turning smoky when her eyes landed on him. “Take a port de bras up over your heads and then hinge forward. Touch the floor if you can.”

The first movement of her demonstration grabbed his attention, the gentle whisk of her hands above her head into that perfect port de bras shape. But when she bent forward, folding herself in half and thrusting her pert ass into the air, Wes’s lungs almost gave out. The woman was wildfire.

The floor-to-ceiling mirrors behind her gave him a perfect view of her long, shapely legs and sweet, heart-shaped butt. But he wasn’t only captivated by her gorgeous body—there was something about her movement too. A quiet musicality and grace that hinted at formal training. Perhaps not much, since Wes knew everyone in the New York ballet scene. Though she did have an accent.

“Uncle Wes,” Frankie hissed. “You’re supposed to be standing up.”

He grunted when a small but sharp elbow landed hard against his rib cage. “Sorry, Frankie.”

He righted himself, catching up to the group and enjoying the instructor’s delightful smirk. Busted! She knew he’d been checking her out.

When the class finished, Frankie raced off to change into her sneakers

“Thanks for being a good sport.” The instructor walked over, her feet ever-so-slightly turned out and her hands brushing delicately by her sides. Yep, she’d definitely trained at some point. Talented too, he’d bet. “Even if you were unprepared.”

“You certainly kept me on my toes.”

“Was that a ballet pun?” She narrowed her eyes, the corner of her mouth fighting a smile.

“Definitely not,” he said with a mock-serious expression.

“Because I really don’t see the pointe of those. It’s not that I have a bad attitude, but I need to set the barre higher than that.” A mischievous twinkle lit her dark eyes.

“That’s impressive.”

“Don’t even try to out-pun me. I’m like the Energizer Bunny with bad jokes.”

He chuckled. “What else you got?”

“What animals are poor dancers?” She paused. “Four-legged ones, because they have two left feet.”

“I’ll have to tell Frankie that one.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure she told me that joke.” Remi shook her head. “Your niece has a great sense of humor.”

“It’s a family gift.” He pretended to brush something off his shoulder and was rewarded with the tinkling sound of her laughter. Damn, that sound was straight out of heaven. “Good turnout and a passion for lame jokes.”

“That all?”

“Well, I have a few personal talents.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“I make a mean stir-fry. And my tendu was pretty damn spectacular, in case you didn’t notice.” He winked, barely able to keep a straight face.

“Oh, I noticed.” The words were fired back and forth lightning fast. Like fireflies zipping around them. “I’m Remi, by the way.” She stuck her hand out.

“Wes.” Her palm slid into his, and he closed his fingers around her hand. Judging by the quick flare of her nostrils, she felt the snap of electricity too. “I know all the ballerinas in New York, but I’ve never seen you before.”

“How lucky for all the ballerinas in New York.” Her voice was husky as she pulled her hand back, severing the crackling connection between them. “You got some kind of tutu fetish?”

“Yeah, I love that scratchy feeling.” He shoved his hands into his back pockets. “And nice job dodging the question, by the way. That’s some politician-level interview skills you got there.”

“I wasn’t aware I was being interviewed,” she replied with a smirk. “And if you watch the replay I think you’ll find you didn’t actually ask me a question.”

The exchange made him even more curious. “How come I haven’t met you already?”

“I’m not from around here, if you couldn’t tell.”

“New Zealand or Australia?” He cocked his head. “I won’t claim to know the difference well enough to pick a side.”

“Chicken,” she teased. “I’m an Aussie, born and bred. But I’m not a ballerina, which would explain why you don’t know me.”

Wes would bet his last dollar bill Remi was classically trained. He’d seen a lot of dancers come in and out of his parents’ school over the years, and if there was one thing he could spot with ease, it was the way a ballerina moved.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“Just wondering why you’re lying to me.”

Remi blinked. “I’m not lying.”

“You said you weren’t a ballerina.”

“I said I’m not a ballerina,” she corrected. “Present tense.”

Ah, that explained it. He was tempted to argue that one never stopped being a ballerina, even if they weren’t training or performing anymore. But instinct told him it was a touchy subject. “Right.”

“You’ve got a good eye, though.”

He wasn’t sure if she was wary or impressed. “Decided it wasn’t for you?”

“Other way around.” Darkness flickered across her face, casting a shadow over her rich brown eyes. “Ballet decided I wasn’t right for it.”

About the Author

Stefanie London is the USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romances with humor, heat, and heart. Originally from Melbourne, Australia, Stefanie now lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband. She loves to read, collect lipsticks, watch zombie movies and drink coffee. Her bestselling book, Pretend It’s Love, was a 2016 Romantic Book of the Year finalist with the Romance Writers of Australia.  

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Goodreads * Instagram * YouTube * Pinterest

And, get the latest dirt on Bad Bachelor #1 at the site badbachelors.weebly.com!  

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Synopsis

You may now kiss the biker

Bethany Jernigan owes her bestie. Big time. So when wedding planning overburdens the bride-to-be, Bethany steps in to handle the nitty-gritty. But the guy in charge isn’t anything like she imagined. He’s gruff, tattooed, and 100% male. His staff is even rougher around the edges, and it’s not long before she feels as if she’s stepped into some kind of crazy alternate reality.

Are those…bikers? Arguing about wedding favors?

Trey Harding never wanted this to get so out of hand. One little lie somehow snowballed into a world of dresses and flowers and food and holy-hell-he’s-in-over-his-head. But it’s not like he can confess he’s not the wedding planner he’s pretending to be—especially now that he’s falling for the maid of honor! His charade is becoming a farce, and as engines rev and ribbons fly, Trey’s running out of time to figure out how to tell the truth without losing his new family, his crew…or the woman of his dreams.

Excerpt

He was in way over his head.

Mrs. Yelverton was a freaking saint. All his life he’d been imagining her as an evil, heartless, empty stranger who had abandoned him, and now? Now?

How could he tell her what he’d turned into?

“I, well, I’m in charge of a kind of group.” He paused to clear his throat, his hand rubbing the back of his neck to clear the tensing of the muscles there. “Yeah.”

“A group? Like a business group?”

He coughed, then took a sip of coffee. “Yeah, you could call it that.”

“What kind of business are you in?”

Damn it.

Her stare was too clear, too honest, much too direct. He was struck by a feeling he hadn’t been expecting. Somehow, someway, he was afraid of disappointing her.

Well, if that wasn’t a kick in the teeth.

There wasn’t a way around it. Was there?

Desperate, he looked around the kitchen while he took another long sip of coffee.

What to say? Because the truth—the shakedowns, the Robin Hood–style robberies, the bodyguarding—none of it was exactly on the up and up. There were definite legal and moral gray areas to what he did. And while he had no problem with it personally, he didn’t want to run the risk of disappointing her.

Who was he turning into?

Desperate, his gaze flew about the kitchen.

“Well, we do a little…” Hell, she’d never believe he cooked. Something else. Quick, you dumbass. Keep it vague. Stall. “A little organizing, you might say.”

She nodded, an interested look on her face inviting him to continue. Ah, dammit.

Keep looking. A container of herbs sat on the windowsill above the sink. Gardening? Screw that. He scanned the rest of the kitchen. Nothing. No ideas whatsoever.

“What kind of events do you organize?”

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

He rested his elbow on the tabletop, knocking a magazine to the floor.

“Whoops. Sorry.” He bent down to get it.

A woman in a beautiful white gown was spread across the back of the magazine. The tagline for a bridal boutique advertisement read We help you tie the knot in style.

“Not a problem. So, you were saying?”

His mind was blank. Totally, completely blank. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Mrs. Yelverton furrowed her brow in obvious concern. “Are you okay?”

He had to say something. He looked down in desperation. The magazine was still there, facedown beside him, the laughing woman in the white gown like an angel of salvation.

“Weddings,” he blurted out as he straightened in his seat. “We organize weddings.”

What. The. Actual. F*. Had. Just. Come. Out. Of. His. Mouth.

“Weddings. Wow, I hadn’t expected that.”

He coughed. “Yeah, me either.”

Mrs. Yelverton laughed. “I can imagine. How did you get into it?”

Wanting nothing more than to jump up and leave the county at a dead run, Trey shrugged, trying to play it off. “I got a chance to do some, enjoyed it, made my own business.”

“That’s really impressive! What’s the business called?”

His hand was lying atop the magazine beside him, his knuckles lining up with the ad copy perfectly. He read the words out together.

“The Iron Knot.”

Mrs. Yelverton laughed, clapping her hands delightedly. “That’s absolutely perfect. Trey, I’m so proud of you.”

Those words should have made him feel amazing. Instead, he felt like a scum-sucking bastard for lying to her.

Just then, the door behind her opened, and Trey’s chest went vise-tight, his heart clambering against his ribs in triple time.

She was long, lean, with bone-straight blond hair and elfin features complementing porcelain skin. Her blue eyes were a bit red, as if she’d been crying recently. But despite the obviously brimming emotion beneath the surface, she wore a bright smile. It was the kind of expression he’d adopted many times over the years. Pretending things were all right when everything had turned to ashes around him was the only option he’d had at times, and seeing the same kind of defense mechanism in her touched him in a way he wasn’t expecting. Physically, she was just his type, and the way she moved into the room, both cautious and confident—strong as hell despite whatever was trying to bring her down—sparked immediate interest and admiration in his gut.

This was…unexpected.

“Oh, Bethy, I didn’t expect you until late this afternoon.” Mrs. Yelverton rose and pulled the girl into her arms.

A wave of nausea overtook Trey. Was this girl…Was she…

Well, so much for that short-lived spark of attraction.

“Trey, I’d like you to meet Bethany.”

“Hi,” the blond said, and Trey stood. She looked a little intimidated as he stood to his full height.

He’d been about to step toward her for the introduction, but he stopped. No need to make her more uncomfortable. But the idea that she found him scary was oddly disappointing.

“I’m Bethany Jernigan,” she said, sticking her hand out for him to shake.

“Trey Harding,” he said, gripping her much smaller hand in his, trying to ignore the softness of her skin, the faint tremble of her touch.

“Bethany, I hope you won’t mind keeping this quiet from Sarah for now. I haven’t had a chance to tell her about it. But this…” Mrs. Yelverton drew Trey’s arm through hers. “This is Samuel.”

Bethany gasped, her hand over her mouth, and Trey looked away. “Samuel? That Samuel?”

Mrs. Yelverton nodded delightedly. “My son. He’s finally home.”

“Oh…oh my God.”

Trey hated this. He felt awkward, like a sideshow freak. His spine prickled, his feet nearly bouncing with the urge to get the hell out of there.

“Trey, Bethany has been part of our family for years now. She’s your sister Sarah’s best friend and lived with us until she went to college. Of course, she’s still got a room here. She’ll always be welcome to come back home.” Mrs. Yelverton’s smile was gentle as she looked at Bethany.

“Wait. So we’re not related?” Trey gestured between himself and Bethany.

Mrs. Yelverton laughed. “No, not by blood. But I hope you’ll be close.”

Something uncurled in his belly then, a knot of anxiety releasing as he looked at Bethany Jernigan—no relation—with new eyes.

“I hope so too,” he said. She blushed a little and glanced away.

About the Author

Regina Cole, lover of manly muscled arms, chest hair, and mini-marshmallows, has been reading romance since her early teens. When she’s not frantically pounding away at the keyboard, she can be found fishing with her family, snuggling with her hubby and tiny twin boys, or slinging mud in her magical home pottery studio. She lives outside Raleigh, North Carolina.

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