Synopsis

 

A standalone Wildstone novel

Brynn Turner desperately wishes she had it together, but her personal life is like a ping-pong match that’s left her scared and hurt after so many attempts to get it right. In search of a place to lick her wounds and get a fresh start, she heads back home to Wildstone.

And then there’s Kinsey Davis, who after battling serious health issues her entire twenty-nine years of life, is tired of hoping for . . . well, anything. She’s fierce, tough, and she’s keeping more than one bombshell of a secret from Brynn — her long-time frenemy.

But then Brynn runs into Kinsey’s best friend, Eli, renewing her childhood crush. The good news: he’s still easy-going and funny and sexy as hell.

The bad news: when he gets her to agree to a summer-time deal to trust him to do right by her, no matter what, she never dreams it’ll result in finding a piece of herself she didn’t even know was missing. She could have real connections, possibly love, and a future—if she can only learn to let go of the past.

As the long days of summer wind down, the three of them must discover if forgiveness is enough to grasp the unconditional love that’s right in front of them.

 

 

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Review

 

This is my first venture into this series, but it is a series where each book stands on its own with only the town binding each story to the other.  So feel free to read these books in any order.

This is told from two different POV – Brynn and Kinsey, frenemies that have more in common than they know.  They both have issues in their lives that seems to be exacerbated by events out of their control and by each other.  But despite it all, they manage to find common ground and perhaps they will be able to move forward in their lives.

This book brings in a lot of topics that are very relevant in today’s world.  Brynn has two moms, she has anxiety, Kinsey has medical issues, bullying, organ transplant, and many more.  Each topic is woven into the story so that it flows seamlessly from one life to another.  There is romance and while I think the focus of this book was more Brynn than Kinsey, I would have liked to read more about Kinsey’s relationship with Deck.  He’s a single dad who has his act together and while he is willing to do anything for Kinsey, she pushes him away.  She has her reasons but opening herself to Deck could be life altering.

This book also focuses on truth and deception.  Secrets should not be kept and it can only cause more problems down the line if the truth is withheld.  I think Brynn and Kinsey learn this very well by the end of the book.

This is an enjoyable read and with a few heavier topics, but nothing that will bring down your mood while reading.  We give it 4 paws up.

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

Brynn Turner had always wanted to be the girl who had her life together, but so far her talents hadn’t led her in that direction—although not for lack of trying.

Mentally recapping the week she’d just endured, she let out a stuttered breath. Okay, so her life skills needed some serious work, but as far as she was concerned, that was Future Brynn’s problem. Present Brynn had other things on her mind.

Like surviving the rest of the day.

With that goal in mind, she kept her eyes on the road, and three hours and two 7-Eleven hot dogs after leaving Long Beach in her rearview mirror, she pulled into Wildstone. The place that reinvented itself many times over since it’d been an 1800s California wild, wild West town complete with wooden sidewalks, saloons, haunted silver mines, and a brothel. Sandwiched between the Pacific Ocean and green rolling hills filled with wineries and ranches, Wildstone had once been her favorite place on earth.

Parking in the driveway of her childhood home, she took a minute. It’d been a decade since she’d lived here. She’d gone off to attend college and to conquer the world, though only one of those things had happened. She’d been back for visits, but even that had been a while. Six months, in fact. She’d stood in this very spot and had asked both of her well-meaning moms to butt out of her life, saying that she knew what she was doing.

She’d had no idea what she was doing.

            Note to self: You still don’t.

With a sigh, she pulled down her visor and glanced in the mirror, hoping that a miracle had occurred and she’d see the reflection of someone who had their shit together. Her hair was knotted on top of her head with the string tie from her hoodie because she’d lost her scrunchie. She was wearing her old glasses because she’d lost her newer pair. Her face was pale and her eyes were puffy and red from a bad combo of crying and not sleeping. She wore yoga pants that hadn’t seen a yoga class since . . . well, ever, and in spite of being nearly thirty, she had a big, fat zit on her chin.

In short, she looked about as far away from having her shit together as she was from solving world hunger.

Knowing her moms—sweet and loving and nosy as hell—were going to see right through her, she pawed through her purse for a miracle. She found some lip gloss that she also dabbed on each cheek for badly needed color. As a bonus, she found two peanut M&Ms. Couldn’t waste those, could she? She shook her purse looking for more, but nope, she was out of luck.

The theme of her life.

With a sigh, she once again met her own gaze in the mirror. “Okay, here’s the drill. You’re okay. You’re good. You’re happy to be home. You’re absolutely not crawling back with your tail between your legs to admit to your moms that they were right about Asshole Ashton.”

Swallowing hard, she got out of her hunk-o-junk and grabbed her duffel bag and purse. She’d barely made it to the porch before the front door was flung open and there stood her moms in the doorway, some deep maternal instinct letting them know their sole offspring was within smothering distance.

Both in their mid-fifties, their similarities stopped there. Olive was pragmatic and stoic, and God help the person who tried to get anything by her. She was perfectly coifed as always, hair cut in a chic bob, pants and blazer fitted, giving her the look of someone who’d just walked out of a Wall Street meeting. In sharp comparison, Raina’s sundress was loose and flowery and flowing, and she wore beads around her neck and wrists that made her jingle pleasantly. She was soft and loving, and quite possibly the kindest soul on earth. And where Olive was economical with her movements, Raina was in constant motion.

Opposites attract . . .

But actually, her moms did have something in common beyond their age—their warm, loving smiles, both directed at Brynn. It was her own personal miracle that they loved her madly, no matter how many times she’d messed up and driven them crazy with worry.

And there’d been a lot of times. Too many to count.

“Sweetheart,” Raina said, jingling as always, bringing forth welcome memories: growing vegetables in the back garden, taking long walks on the beach to chase seagulls, and late-night snuggles. Raina opened her arms and Brynn walked right into them, smiling when Olive embraced her from behind.

The three of them stood there for a long beat, wrapped up in each other. Catherine the Great Cat showed up, her appearance forewarned by the bell around her neck. She might be twelve and seemingly frail and delicate, but as with Brynn’s moms, looks were deceiving. Just beneath Cat’s skin lived the soul of an ancient prized hunter—hence the bell. No one blamed her for her instinctual drive to do this, but Raina did object to Cat dropping “presents” at her feet in the form of cricket heads and various other pieces of dead insects. Which made Cat the most adorable murderer who ever lived. She rubbed her furry face against Brynn’s ankles. Once. Twice.

And then bit.

“Ouch!”

“You know her rules,” Olive said. “A little love, a little hate. It’s how she is. Now tell us why you’re home unannounced, looking like something not even Catherine would’ve dragged inside.”

“I think she looks wonderful,” Raina said.

Olive’s eyes never left Brynn. “She hasn’t been sleeping or eating.”

“Trust me, Mom, I’ve been eating plenty.”

“Okay, then you aren’t sleeping enough or eating the right food. You’re as pale as . . . well, me.”

Olive indeed had the pale skin of her English ancestry. In contrast, Raina was Puerto Rican, and golden brown. Being a product of Raina’s egg and an unknown sperm donor, Brynn’s skin was a few shades lighter than Raina’s. Unless she was trying not to hyperventilate, of course. Like now. In which case she was probably even whiter than Olive.

“We can fix the eating right and sleeping, for a start,” Raina said with determination. She slipped her hand into Brynn’s, and as she’d been doing for as long as Brynn could remember, she took over. She settled Brynn onto the couch with one of her handmade throws, and in less than five minutes had a tray on Brynn’s lap with her famous vegan chickpea noodle soup and steaming gingerroot tea.

“Truth serum?” Brynn asked, only half joking. Raina was magic in the kitchen—and at getting people to spill their guts.

“I don’t need truth serum.” Raina sat next to her. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I made almond-butter cups for dessert and you love almond-butter cups.”

“You’d withhold dessert from your only child?”

“She wouldn’t, she’s far too kind,” Olive said. “But I would. In a heartbeat.” She sat on the coffee table facing Brynn. “Talk.”

 

From THE SUMMER DEAL by Jill Shalvis, published by William Morrow. Copyright © 2020 by Jill Shalvis. Reprinted courtesy of HarperCollinsPublishers 

 

 

About the Author

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

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Synopsis

 

Is it medical malpractice, or is the attorney just another ambulance chaser?

It’s 1995, and Houston orthopedic surgeon Dr. Jim Bob Brady has been sued for medical malpractice; a mysterious infection caused a knee replacement to end up as an amputation. Donovan Shaw, a ruthless plaintiff’s attorney, has taken the case and doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that he and Brady share a number of friends. “It’s not personal!” Shaw says. But it feels personal—especially when Shaw threatens, “I will do anything, and I mean anything, to win the case, even if I have to destroy you and that pretty wife of yours. I will stop at nothing. You remember that!”

And Brady isn’t the only one in his practice being sued. How is Shaw getting his inside information? Can the patients afford to say no to filing lawsuits, even if the claims aren’t valid? Through a series of twists and turns, and with the support of his wife Mary Louise and their professional investigator son J. J, Brady once again doggedly goes into “sleuth mode” to get to the truth of the matter—even after his life is put in jeopardy. Will he survive, only to find himself at the mercy of the wild and wooly Houston court system? Is this whole mess his fault? Or is there an act of deception involved?

 

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

Act of Deception: A Doc Brady Mystery

Chapter 1

 

Friday, August 25, 1995

I awoke that Friday morning in a serious sweat, the kind that is not immediately relieved by rising and washing one’s face with cold water. I noted that the clock in the bathroom read 4:38, twenty-two minutes before my designated alarm setting. After staring at the clock for a minute, maybe two, I felt my right radial pulse. The accelerated throbbing confirmed that tachycardia was still my predominant rhythm. I decided to attend to ritualistic morning bathroom chores, make coffee, read the paper, and at least try to pretend that it was a normal Friday morning.

Upon completion of the bathroom routine, as quietly as possible, I punched in the five-digit alarm code and started to leave the bedroom to go downstairs. Unfortunately, even the sound of punching in the numbers was unduly shrill, and it caused Mary Louise, my bride of twenty-four years, to stir.

“Jim Bob?”

“Yes?”

“It’s not even five yet. Why are you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Woke up with the sweats again. Sorry to wake you. I thought I’d go downstairs, make some coffee, and sit outside and think for a while. Okay?”

“Want some company?”

Normally, I would never turn down such an offer. I loved my wife dearly. She was, in fact, my best friend. That particular morning, however, I responded in the negative.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, sweetie, but this is just one of those times I need to collect my thoughts. Know what I mean?”

“I do. I’m sorry you’re having to go through all this. It isn’t fair. After all you’ve done for everybody else. I know in my heart it will be all right, just maybe not today. Try not to get too upset. Promise?”

“I’ll do my best.” I leaned down and kissed her warm cheek. She smelled so good, I considered taking off my robe and getting back into bed. I finally chose not to. “Go back to sleep. I’m not leaving until about eight o’clock.”

I left her reluctantly and plodded downstairs barefooted, in my cotton robe, with lights still off, toward coffee heaven. I selected Twin Peaks Blend coffee beans, which we kept in the freezer to avoid staleness, ground them, and began the ten-minute process to achieve as perfect a cup of coffee as I could make. I waited on the back porch in my “spot,” a large white cane rocker. The month of August was a stifling time of year in Houston, even at that hour of the morning. The heat and humidity were almost unbearable during July, August, and early September. I turned on the outdoor ceiling fan that hovered above my chair and hoped it would make the weather more pleasant. It didn’t.

I considered my life that morning. I, Dr. James Robert Brady, who had done my best to be a compassionate and dedicated orthopedic surgeon for the past seventeen years, was being sued for medical malpractice. I was not a neophyte when it came to lawsuits. I had been sued twice before, not an unusual occurrence in a city of four million people, with far too many law school graduates sitting in their quiet offices with nothing to do. The other two suits were quite minor and did not linger but were dismissed rather quickly, meaning over a year-or-two period. The current lawsuit, the cause of my awakening before five with the sweats and intense gastrointestinal distress, had not been dismissed.

I stepped back inside to the relatively cool air, although during August even the air-conditioning system labored heavily. I poured my coffee into a large black mug with a removable top that allowed intermittent filling of the cup but twisted on securely so as not to spill during the drive to work. While I wasn’t yet ready to leave, I used the “to go” cup anyway, being a creature of habit, a trait inherited from my dear departed father, and one which drove even me to distraction on occasion.

I returned to the French door to head back to the humidity and spotted Cat perched on the back doorstep, peering through the lowest windowpane, awaiting her breakfast. I sipped my coffee and prepared her Prime Feast in a disposable dish, probably not recyclable because I am sure it isn’t possible to remove the smell of mixed seafood, no matter what treatment is available at the nearest recycling plant.

Strolling to the door, feast in hand, I greeted the discriminating feline.

“Morning, Cat. I have your breakfast.”

No response. Just a simple twitch of the sensitive nose. There was no tail-wagging or jumping on my bare leg to greet me, sure signs that man’s best friend loved you and missed you. Rather, Cat simply did what she did best. She remained aloof and distinctly noncommittal. I bent down, sat her dish on the patterned concrete deck, and stroked her damp fur as she sampled my selection. She did give me a brief look of gratitude, then resumed her nibbling. I returned to my chair and continued to assess my life and its worth.

I was most critical of self that morning, pondering the effects of aging on a once-athletic physique. While Mary Louise considered me to be a handsome specimen, I lamented my shrinkage from six feet plus one inch to slightly less than the “manly” six feet. I continued to disguise my shortening by wearing Western boots, and only on weekends did I allow myself the comfort of high-topped athletic shoes—not that I used them for athletics.

I remembered my previously full head of hair that had slowly thinned, especially at the front, to allow for enlargement of my forehead while a balding spot was created on the crown of my head. My sideburns were a little long and gray and transitioned to brown at an always-increasing distance from the top of my ears. I criticized the extra minute I spent every morning to carefully position my combed-straight-back locks over that bare spot I had grown to hate.

I had begun to study myself each morning before showering to confirm that I indeed resembled Alfalfa of Little Rascals fame, with thin wisps of hair sticking straight up toward the heavens. I then reminded myself of my need to wear bifocals and of my need to start a workout program to slim my waist from its size 38—although I had noticed lately that the cleaners had been shrinking my best jeans.

I tried to take comfort in Mary Louise’s love of what she called my “charming cleft chin” and “captivating smile” but was unsuccessful. I felt old that morning, which, along with words like useless, worthless, out-of-shape, and four-eyed, drove me to an even fouler mood than when I awoke to cold sweats and the dreaded digestive-tract blues.

By six o’clock I was sweating again, that time from drinking an entire pot of coffee and from the oppressive heat that had already risen to a sultry 80 degrees with the humidity at drip level. I threw off my robe and dove into the pool, taking care to avoid a cervical spine injury in the four-foot-deep water. It did cool me off temporarily, so after two laps I simply stood in the healing waters, naturally, in the buff. As I reminisced over the treatment of the patient that had decided to sue me, the back door of the house opened and the Tipster bounded outside. He saw me in the pool and almost dove in with me. Fortunately, I was able to hold him back while I ruffled his shaggy mane and scratched his ears. At least he was glad to see me and acted as though we had been apart for years, not just the six hours since we had bid him good night.

His official title was “Tippecanoe and Tyler Too,” a typical name given by a particular breeder who prized his full-blooded intelligent golden retrievers. But “Tip,” “Tipper,” or “the Tipster,” as Mary Louise intermittently called him, had failed the IQ test for well-bred dogs and was lovingly given to me by that grateful patient, who had many more golden retrievers than insurance dollars.

Tip had been presented to me in the office five months previously at the end of the day as a surprise. The man didn’t ask me if I wanted a dog, but simply showed up at my office with a large, overly friendly seven-month-old golden retriever puppy. I still suspected that Fran and Rae, my faithful office staff, had somehow conspired with my darling wife to bring some new joy into my life. At the time, I was highly skeptical and hoped to rid myself of the constantly-shedding beast who had disrupted our lives. Over the next few months, however, I had grown to love, without restraint, this large, adorable dog, whose only faults were that he was too much a friend to strangers and a poor fetcher of dead birds. Neither flaw bothered me. I didn’t hunt much anymore, and we rarely had anyone to the house that I despised. Besides, considering we had yet to be burglarized, the Tipster’s camaraderie with those stealers of one’s things was an untested character defect.

My mood improved significantly after seeing Tip, and I watched with interest as he bounded over to greet Cat with a friendly good morning. He had attempted to make Cat his new best friend every day since his arrival at our abode but had been miserably unsuccessful. Cat’s reaction to his energetic playfulness was to leap gracefully into the rocking chair next to mine, back herself up as far as possible to the rear of the chair, and wait. When Tip happily padded over to see her and put his whole head onto the seat of the chair, she would strike out at his sensitive nose with one of her front paws, prompting an episode of howling. For five months, this scenario had occurred each and every time the two animals had a backyard encounter. I believed that Cat had become bored with the whole routine and had actually become embarrassed at what seemed to be the retriever’s inability to learn.

“Tip? Be careful over there. She scratches your nose every day! It’s so raw, you almost need stitches.”

I obviously had lost my mind. I was talking to the dog as though he understood my every word. Just before pushing his fat head into the seat of the chair to smell the gray bundle of fur, though, he turned his head toward me and perked up his ears. I didn’t know if he had actually understood what I had said or simply had forgotten that I was in the pool, since he had wandered into the bushes to relieve himself before approaching Cat. He stared at me for a moment, seemed to consider what I had said, then pushed his tender, scarred nose toward the she-beast, and . . . I couldn’t believe it! She didn’t hurt him! He licked her fur, and Cat just stood there. I guessed she finally decided that Tip was harmless and just wanted to play. She might have also figured out that a large dog like that could be an impressive ally when trying to ward off neighborhood cats who strayed into her domain looking for a free meal.

And so it was that on that hot, steamy morning in August, my cat and dog became friends. I thought that maybe Mary Louise was right, having told me repeatedly that everything would be okay. Alas, that small, backyard miracle was the only one I witnessed for a while.

 

Excerpted from Act of Deception: A Doc Brady Mystery. Copyright © 2020 by John Bishop. All rights reserved. Published by Mantid Press.

 

 

 

About the Author

 

John Bishop MD practiced orthopedic surgery in Houston, Texas, for 30 years. An avid golfer and accomplished piano player, Bishop is honored to have once served as the keyboard player for the rhythm and blues band Bert Wills and the Crying Shames. The Doc Brady medical thriller series is set in the changing environment of medicine in the 1990s. Drawing on his years of experience as a practicing surgeon, Bishop entertains readers using his unique insights into the medical world with all its challenges, intricacies, and complexities, while at the same time revealing the compassion and dedication of health care professionals. Dr. Bishop and his wife, Joan, reside in the Texas Hill Country.

 

Website

 

 

Synopsis

 

Having killed his father’s nemesis and gotten away with it, Hilo, Hawai`i Chief Detective Koa Kane, is not your ordinary cop. Estranged from his younger brother who has been convicted of multiple crimes, he is not from a typical law enforcement family. Yet, Koa’s secret demons fuel his unwavering drive to pursue justice. Never has Koa’s motivation been greater than when he learns that an elementary school was placed atop a volcanic vent, which has now exploded. The subsequent murders of the school’s contractor and architect only add urgency to his search for the truth. As Koa’s investigation heats up, his brother collapses in jail from a previously undiagnosed brain tumor. Using his connections, Koa devises a risky plan to win his brother’s freedom. As Koa gradually unravels the obscure connections between multiple suspects, he uncovers a 40 year-old conspiracy. When he is about to apprehend the perpetrators, his investigation suddenly becomes entwined with his brother’s future, forcing Koa to choose between justice for the victims and his brother’s freedom.

 

 

 

You can purchase the Kindle version now for $0.99 and the paperback is expected out 9/1/2020

 

Excerpt

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Disaster rode the gale force winds of Hurricane Ida across the Big Island of Hawai‘i from the southwest. Ferocious gusts felled century-old trees. Sonic booms of thunder chased lightning bolts sparking through ominous black clouds. Torrential rains pounded the mountains, filling gulches, and gathering into flash floods. On Hualālai Mountain, one of the five volcanoes that make up Hawai‘i Island, ten inches of rain fell in a single hour. Water cascaded into cracks and caverns, pouring deep into the earth. The pressure of the floodwaters opened long-sealed fissures in the faults on the west side of Hualālai. Water entered the volcano’s magma reservoir and flashed into steam. Steam under astronomical pressure.

Catastrophe struck. Devastating news flashed through the Hilo police headquarters. Disaster at KonaWili School on Hualālai Mountain. Dead kids. Injured children. Stricken teachers. Panicky reports of a mass shooter, a terrorist bomb, a deadly poison gas attack, or something even more sinister. Confusion swirled like the storm still raging.

Conflicting disaster scenarios swarmed the airwaves as Chief Detective Koa Kāne, Sergeant Basa, and four patrolmen dashed through the downpour to a police helicopter. Why does shit always happen when the chief ’s off-island? Normally, Hawai‘i Police Chief, S. H. Lannua, took the lead in disasters, but ‘a‘ole i kēia lā, not today. With the chief preparing for surgery in California, Koa would be the senior police officer at the scene. At least he had Sergeant Basa, whose piercing dark eyes missed nothing. The thirty-five-year-old, bear-like police sergeant was one of ten brothers, all immensely proud of their Portuguese heritage. No one in the police department topped Basa for reliability under pressure. In a crisis, he stood like lava against every tsunami.

What the hell happened inside the school? Koa asked himself as the chopper rocked and bounced through the vicious wind and pelting rain. When the helo rounded Hualālai Mountain, an eight-thousand-foot volcano towering over Kona on the west side of the island, Koa glimpsed the elementary school through the driving rain.

Emergency lights flashed from fire trucks, rescue vehicles, and ambulances. Dirty yellow smoke obscured the south end of the year-old elementary school. More emergency vehicles, lights blazing on and off, converged on the scene from nearby Kona. The chopper’s radio squawked horrific news—more than fifty children and teachers dead or injured. The mayor had activated the disaster management plan for the western side of the island. Nine-one-one operators were alerting all medical personnel to report to their emergency stations.

Wind slammed the police helicopter while it circled the school grounds waiting for a fire department medevac chopper to lift off and another to land on the flooded athletic field. Koa saw dozens of kids on the soaked ground in front of the school, some on stretchers and others lying helpless where they’d been dragged. He’d seen children bloodied during his Special Forces days in Afghanistan. Children caught in the crossfire. Youngsters killed by misplaced bombs. The sight sickened him then, but not like this. This was America. Kids should be safe in school. Instead, they were dead and dying.

When the police chopper settled onto the soggy softball diamond and Koa slid the door open, an overpowering smell of noxious gases washed over him, burning his nostrils and making his eyes water. He knew the awful smell—nearly everyone on the Big Island knew the odor of volcanic gases—but the stench was strangely out of place. Koa glanced up toward the top of Hualālai. The volcano hadn’t erupted in over two hundred years, but it wasn’t extinct. Had Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of volcanic fury, erupted under the KonaWili elementary school? If Hualālai went up, lava could rush down its steep slopes, cutting highways, disrupting electrical power, destroying Keāhole airport, and propelling death through the streets of Kona. The thought made him shudder.

Despite the torrential rain, thundering like a waterfall, firemen with two-and-half inch hoses shot canons of water onto the south end of the school building. In defiance, the water vaporized before it touched the building, creating superheated steam clouds whipped in all directions by the wicked makani, the wicked winds. Try as they might, firefighters couldn’t get close to the south end of the building. No amount of water dented the inferno.

Koa ordered the police helicopter back to Hilo for reinforcements before fastening his poncho and dashing into the foul weather. Chaos reigned around him. People ran everywhere. Kids and teachers screamed. Since he didn’t yet know what had happened, Koa designated the whole area a potential crime scene, and assigned Basa and his patrolmen along with other cops from Kona to set up a cordon around the school. The five-foot-eight, barrel-chested police sergeant swung into action. Koa ran toward the building.

Firefighters in protective gear with breathing tanks, along with EMTs and policemen with bandanas over their faces, dashed into the north end of the building—the end away from the inferno. Others carried children from the building to a pair of raingear-clad triage nurses who categorized the injured. Green tags for the walking wounded, yellow tags for the injured not in immediate danger, red tags for the critical, and black tags for the dead. Way too many red and black tags.

Black-tagged kids lay in a row on the wet grass. Unconscious, but still breathing, children occupied stretchers, covered with makeshift ponchos waiting for ambulances or medevac helicopters. Youngsters suffering only mild signs of distress straggled toward buses four blocks from the building, guided by a phalanx of teachers. Anything to get the kids away from the crippled school and out of the driving rain. Teachers, some with rain protection, but many soaked to the skin, moved from one group to another trying to account for all the students. Even as Koa watched, more doctors, EMS, and nursing personnel poured in to help stabilize the situation.

Koa called Hawai‘i Mayor George Tanaka, stunning him with the gruesome scope of the disaster. The mayor, saying, “This is the damned Education Department; that makes it Māhoe’s problem,” hooked Governor Bobbie Māhoe into the call. Koa focused on the most urgent problem: “We need state-wide disaster help.” A rumble of tearing metal distracted Koa as a portion of the school roof ripped away. “There aren’t enough doctors or medical facilities on the Big Island to treat the injured.” He heard the governor instruct his staff to alert Maui Memorial Hospital and the Queen’s Medical Center in Honolulu to prepare to receive patients. Koa then requested additional medevac helicopters to airlift wounded children.

“What the hell happened?” the governor demanded.

“No one knows, Governor, but it smells volcanic. The heat is horrendous. If Hualālai erupts, thousands of people in and around Kona are in harm’s way. You should put the national guard on alert.”

“Jesus,” the governor responded. Both he and the mayor fired more questions, but Koa had no answers. The politicians demanded hourly updates, and the call ended.

Harry ‘Ōhai, the short, squat, titanium-tough Kona area deputy fire chief, trotted by, heading into the damaged building as fast as his bulky gear allowed. “C’mon,” he yelled over his shoulder, “still got keiki inside,” using the Hawaiian word for children. Koa covered his face with a handkerchief, like other police officers trying to rescue children, and sprinted after ‘Ōhai. “We’ve cleared the north end, but not the south classrooms,” ‘Ōhai shouted. Inside, they turned down the south hall. Thick yellow smoke billowed at them. Heat blasted Koa’s face. ‘Ōhai turned into the first classroom.

Koa ran straight into the thick yellow smoke. The rotten egg stench overpowered all other smells. He began to choke and dropped to the floor as though back on the battlefield, crawling under the worse of the fumes. The building rumbled and the floor vibrated. Turning into a classroom marked First Grade, he saw a child lying on the floor ahead of him. He scrambled forward, grabbed hold of the child, a little girl, and pulled her toward the door. At the doorway, he scooped her up in his arms. Holding her tight to his chest, he felt her shallow breathing. Still alive. Crouching low, he dashed down the hallway. Coughing from the acidic smoke, he carried the first-grader to safety.

Handing the child over to a teacher, he raced back into the building. The smoke had grown thicker, and he again crawled down the hallway. The floor grew hot. His eyes burned. He scrambled past the first two classrooms before turning into another. The building shook. A deep growling sound reverberated. He couldn’t see. He banged into a desk, and then something soft. Another keiki. Choking uncontrollably, he became disoriented. Which way to the door? Clenching his teeth, he told himself not to panic. That instinct to remain in control had saved him many times.

Clutching the limp child, he inched forward. When he hit a wall, he followed it until he reached the door. A hacking cough racked his chest. He made it into the hall. Barely able to stand, he hauled the child into his arms and stumbled forward. His eyes, the inside of his nostrils, and his throat burned like acid. The hallway seemed to go on forever; he wasn’t sure he’d make it out. Finally, he reached the entrance and stumbled outside. His lungs were on fire. A teacher rushed forward to take the child from his arms. Koa gasped for air. He couldn’t breathe. He felt his legs go weak. The world turned gray, and he collapsed.

 

Reprinted from Fire and Vengeance with the permission of Oceanview Publishing. Copyright © 2020 by Robert McCaw.

 

 

About the Author

 

Robert McCaw grew up in a military family traveling the world. After graduating from Georgetown University, he served as a lieutenant in the US Army before earning his law degree from the University of Virginia. Thereafter he practiced as a partner in a major international law firm in Washington, DC, and New York City—and maintained a home on the Big Island of Hawai’i. McCaw brings a unique authenticity to his Koa Kāne Hawaiian mystery novels in both his law enforcement expertise and his ability to portray the richness of Hawai’i’s history, culture, and people. McCaw lives in New York City and La Jolla, California, with his wife, Calli.

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Until the End

 

by Juno Rushdan

 

Publication Date: 5/26/2020

 

 

Synopsis

 

He’s strong. Fierce. Relentless. And he may be her only chance of surviving the night.

 

Gray Box operative Castle Kinkade always gets the job done, no matter how tough the assignment. But when he agrees to protect white-hat hacker Kit Westcott, Castle’s loyalty is tested like never before. Trapped in the closest of quarters, protective instincts flaring, he can feel the ice surrounding his heart melt…and he knows he’d do anything to keep Kit safe.

Even defy the rules that shaped his life.

Castle is the last person Kit should confide in, let alone be attracted to, but he’s the only ally she has left. Under threat of imminent attack—and a chilling conspiracy that hits too close to home—Castle and Kit are forced to put their hearts and lives on the line…and stop at nothing to face the greatest danger the world has ever known.

 

 

 

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Excerpt

 

Did you find out why they changed security protocol?” Jess asked, driving the armored truck along the dark, deserted road stretching before her like a giant black hole.

“Nope.” Roger stared out the passenger window. “I don’t care either.”Did you find out why they changed security protocol?” Jess asked, driving the armored truck along the dark, deserted road stretching before her like a giant black hole.

She tried ignoring the dread that always bubbled in her gut on Route 15. This road was the worst part of their quarterly drive making deliveries from Nexcellogen to Fort Detrick.

Her gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. All clear. She half expected to find the boogeyman chasing up behind them. So ridiculous. Nothing was different about this run—except the sidearms she and Roger both carried. A new security requirement that substantiated the unnerving rumors among the drivers about the nature of their cargo.

Roger tapped his fingers against the gun on his hip like he was itching to shoot something. “Be grateful Nexcellogen didn’t replace us with retired cops. And the hazardous duty pay they’re giving us means more money for our kids’ college funds.”

Jessica wasn’t turning her nose up at an extra thousand per delivery, but it didn’t whitewash the fact they now had to carry lethal weapons and hadn’t been told why.

“I heard Fort Detrick handles the biological defense program,” Jessica said. “There’ve been whispers we’re transporting engineered toxins.” The kind of whispers that fueled her nightmares and painted her and Roger as Satan’s little helpers.

“It’s none of our business.” Roger raised his palms. “We’re paid not to ask—”

Pop! Pop! The truck jerked and swerved. That was damn loud. It sounded like exploding balloons or gunshots, followed by a whiffling noise. She slowed down and tightened her grip on the wheel.

“What the hell?” Roger asked. “Did we blow a tire?”

“More than one. But how on earth—”

Her head snapped around at the growl of a roaring engine. Blinding light cleaved the darkness on her left—and on the right!—from both sides of the crossroads. Headlights bore down on them.

Oh God! She threw her arm up, shielding her eyes from the onrushing light.

It happened fast. Too fast.

Two vehicles bigger than theirs, traveling at twice their speed, T-boned them on either side. The thunderous crunch of metal smashing into metal swallowed her scream.

Her head whipped back, slamming on the headrest and then forward into the airbag. The grinding force of the crash jarred every bone in her body.

Everything inside her hurt like a son of a bitch.

The airbag deflated. Her vision was fuzzed, dizziness eating away at her brain.

Roger stirred. “Jess, you okay?”

She wiped the moisture leaking from her nose. Blood streaked her hand. “Yeah. You?”

The semis that had pinned them wheeled into reverse, pulling back from the armored truck in an agonized squeal of metal. Headlights flicked on in front of them from a third vehicle.

She squinted at the light, letting her eyes adjust. Two men appeared in the road, dressed in black, wearing ski masks and carrying guns.

Roger drew his weapon and aimed it at the windshield.

“Don’t shoot,” Jessica said. “They can’t get in.” The glass was bulletproof. Doors, shell, and cabin were reinforced. There were no external door locks. The onboard sensor had detected the accident on impact. Police and hopefully an ambulance were already dispatched. “We have to sit tight. The cops are on the way.”

“Bullshit! Nexcellogen gave us guns to protect ourselves!”

The taller of the two men made a throwing gesture, bringing his hand from his shoulder straight out toward them.

A spear-shaped instrument resembling a harpoon shot into the windshield, puncturing the glass. Long prongs ejected like steel fingers, hooking onto the inside of the windshield.

Bulletproof but not spike-proof. That’s not good.

“Christ! What do we do?” Roger yelled, the 9mm shaking in his hand.

Saying a quick prayer, Jessica fumbled for her cell phone. They needed help. Right now! But the cops were already on the way, so who to call?

“They’re going to get in!” Roger waved his gun wildly at the figures on the other side of the windshield. “Jess, we’ve got to do something.”

The engine of the vehicle in front of them revved. The safety glass splintered into a mass of spiderweb cracks around the steel prongs.

Jessica’s heart lurched. Panic swelled. She dialed 911, her fingers moving on instinct.

The windshield began to buckle, the safety film still holding together.

“Oh, fuck!” Roger opened fire.

Bullets ricocheted around the cabin. Searing heat bit into Jessica’s side, tearing through her belly while her ears rang from the percussion of the shots. She dropped the phone and gripped her stomach. Hot blood seeped through her fingers. “I’m…I’m hit.”

The windshield popped out of the frame. Something whizzed into the cabin and clattered to the footwell. A deafening bang and a startling flash battered the confined space.

The world turned stark white. A great roaring silence filled her ears. She grabbed her head, disoriented, her senses swimming, just as someone dragged her out of the truck cabin and onto the cold pavement.

Pain exploded in her side and nausea climbed up her throat.

The man pressed something to her wound and patted her cheek with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry.” Not a man. A woman’s voice rose over the fading high-pitched hum in Jessica’s ears.

The back doors of their armored vehicle were hoisted open. Two people climbed inside.

Jessica shifted her head, looking underneath the truck. Roger was facedown on the ground, his wrists cuffed behind his back. Another individual stood near him.

“You weren’t supposed to have guns, Jessica,” the woman said.

They knew her name. How?

The woman took Jessica’s weapon and tossed it. “No one was supposed to die.”

Die! “I c-can’t die.” She was only forty. Too young to die.

“Yankee?” the woman called to the tall, broad-shouldered man stepping out of the truck, a metal container in his hands. “Did we get it?”

“Smallpox, anthrax, and Z-1984,” Yankee said. “How bad is she?”

“The bullet punctured her liver. The blood is black.”

“Sierra, leave her,” Yankee said and turned. “Whiskey, Victor, blow the trucks.”

“The pain will end soon,” Sierra said. Then she was gone from sight.

That thought wasn’t reassuring. Pain was good. It meant Jess was still alive. Where were the cops and ambulance?

Explosions rocked the night. Twin fireballs burst from the Mack trucks, painting the darkness red and orange. Heat licked her face but failed to warm her body.

She was so cold. Bile flooded her mouth. A growing numbness crept up her side as fear choked her, twisting her heart.

Still no sirens. Hope fled. The bloodcurdling realization sank in that she was going to die on this godforsaken road…all because someone wanted to steal the deadliest biotech ever created.

***

Excerpted from Until the End by Juno Rushdan. © 2020 by Juno Rushdan. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

 

About the Author

 

Juno Rushdan draws from real-life inspiration as a former U.S. Air Force Intelligence Officer to craft sizzling romantic thrillers.  Although she is a native New Yorker, wanderlust has taken her across the globe. She’s visited more than twenty different countries and has lived in England and Germany. When she’s not writing, Juno loves spending time with her family. She currently resides in Virginia.

 

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Title: If You Must Know

Author: Jamie Beck

Release Date: June 1, 2020

Publisher: Montlake

 

Synopsis

 

Sisters Amanda Foster and Erin Turner have little in common except the childhood bedroom they once shared and the certainty each feels that her way of life is best. Amanda follows the rules—at the school where she works; in her community; and as a picture-perfect daughter, wife, and mother-to-be. Erin follows her heart—in love and otherwise—living a bohemian lifestyle on a shoestring budget and honoring her late father’s memory with a passion for music and her fledgling bath-products business.

The sisters are content leading separate but happy lives in their hometown of Potomac Point until everything is upended by lies that force them to confront unsettling truths about their family, themselves, and each other. For sisters as different as these two, building trust doesn’t come easily—especially with one secret still between them—but it may be the only way to save their family.

 

 

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Q&A with Bestselling Author Jamie Beck

 

How do you describe your newest novel If You Must Know?

 

This book is a “beach book” in the best sense. It’s not angsty, yet it has a page-turning plot and a bunch of interesting, relatable characters. I think it’s entertaining and heartfelt at the same time, which is exactly what many enjoy reading while on vacation.

 

What inspired the novel?

 

The external plot came to me as a result of the influence of two people in my life. My dear friend’s husband is a forensic accountant, so some of his stories about how people hide money and flee their families provided one point of inspiration. The second is my mother’s best friend who, in her seventies, sold her house and bought a boat, which she and her husband live on full-time. The impetus for the oil-and-water sisters was to provide myself an opportunity to explore the sibling-rivalry dynamic.

 

Tell us about the two main characters in the story—sisters Amanda and Erin.

 

Amanda is the middle child. She’s diligent, earnest, hard-working, and generous. She wants the people she loves to be happy and feel her love. Her weakness is a deep-seated insecurity—a sense that she is not interesting enough to be lovable. This leads her to overlook when she is being taken for granted because her need to be pleasing is omnipresent.

Erin is the baby of the family and her late-father’s pet. She is outgoing, fun-loving, and views her average intelligence as a blessing (rather than lamenting that her siblings are smarter). She is willful and has her own way of moving through the world. The big weakness she has is her impulsiveness, whether with jobs or relationships. As she approaches her 30th birthday, she’s looking to mature and create a more stable life for herself.

 

What kind of relationship do the sisters have?

 

I think they share a typical relationship insofar as their differences cause many misunderstandings and instill in each a sense of being judged by the other, and yet they do care about and love each other, too. They simply do not know how to be true friends and trust the other—at least not at the outset of this tale.

 

This book focused on the main female characters growing and learning about themselves. What prompted this ‘women’s fiction’ approach to the story?

 

Partly market forces and partly my own need to stretch. At 53, it was becoming more difficult to write a 20-something woman facing the challenges of dating. The shift to women’s fiction allows me to write late-30 and early 40-something characters, which comes more naturally to me. I also enjoy exploring family and friendship dynamics, and absolutely love having endless options for story arcs (as opposed to having to follow a traditional romance arc).

 

What does your new Potomac Point series have in common with your previous books?

 

All my books to date have focused on critical relationships and some type of redemption theme. I find damaged people to be very interesting and believe that there is good in most everyone, so I prefer to populate my stories with flawed people who must confront their inner demons in order to be happy. My new books will also focus on relationships and redemption, but the non-romantic relationships (or even the relationship with one’s self) will be more central.

 

***

 

If You Must Know Excerpt

 

I rolled onto my side with a groan, coming face-to-face with one of my favorite family photos. We’d taken our annual family summer trip to Hilton Head—the one real splurge my dad had made sure we enjoyed every year. We had a tradition of having lunch at a little open-air cabana bar and restaurant called Coco’s on the Beach.

Between the deck and the volleyball court in the sand stood a tall pole with colorful arrow-shaped signs pointing in different directions. Each one was painted with the name of a different city somewhere on the globe, along with the mileage to get there. We’d dream about all the places we might go, and after high school I’d had the chance to see many. In this picture, our whole family is standing around that sign, smiling at the camera. My dad has his hand on my shoulder, and if you look closely, you can see Amanda holding my hand. I must’ve been only five or six—young enough that she hadn’t given up trying to be my second mother. At the time, I’d felt smothered by her attention, but looking back, I’d also felt loved.

I grabbed my phone and called my sister, but it went to voice mail. A heaviness pressed on me, but I couldn’t tell if it was from looking at that picture of our family that would never again be whole or from the fact that I’d disappointed my mom and sister today.

They loved me in their way even if they couldn’t love and accept me as I am. My dad had, though, and to honor his memory and wishes for our family, I couldn’t continue to drift out of their lives as I’d been doing.

After the beep, I said, “Hey, it’s moi. Surprise! My plans have changed and I’ve got a little time. If you get this message, let me know where you are and I’ll try to catch up.”

I hit “End,” my feet restlessly kicking the foot of my bed. The small bedroom seemed claustrophobic, but I didn’t want to talk to Max. Not that I could avoid him in here, either, where his dirty laundry, sandals, and other items lay about. Rather than take a match to it all, I decided to organize some of his things to help with his packing. Hauling myself off the bed, I then went to the armoire to get to the vintage albums my dad had left me in his will.

Some were fairly valuable, like the Beatles collection box set from 1982, valued at roughly a thousand bucks. Or the Led Zeppelin first pressing with the turquoise label, which should net around eight hundred or so dollars. U2’s Joshua Tree collection box set from 1987—maybe worth six or seven hundred. Then there were others worth less than one hundred dollars. But each one had infinite sentimental value.

Every song resurrected a specific memory of time spent with my father playing cards, washing cars, grilling hot dogs … anything. Whatever he’d wanted to do, I’d done with him, and he’d always chosen the perfect background soundtrack for every activity. Those stolen moments had also been a great way to escape my mom’s endless lectures and demands. She’d never yelled at me for skipping out on chores or being messy when I’d been spending that time with him. Probably because he wouldn’t let her.

At present, my restlessness matched the mood of a typical Bob Seger song, so I grabbed Beautiful Loser and slipped the record from its sleeve, resisting the urge to hug it as if it were my dad. I set it on the old turntable he’d also left me. As the few first drumbeats clangored, my heart kicked an extra beat or two—partly happy, partly sad. I glanced toward the bedroom door, picturing Max on the sofa, and then got to work.

It didn’t matter where life led me next. I had faith because my own personal angel was looking out for me now.

Que será, será.

 

 

Review

 

Families are a complicated mess, but when the chips are down those differences disappear and you find out who really has your back.

The Foster family is truly a unique family with diverse personalities.  Amanda and Erin approach life differently.  Amanda seems very uptight and perhaps she feels like she needs to be perfect.  Erin is the wild child and lives life as it comes.  Erin didn’t feel like she fit into her family except with her dad.  Nancy, the mom, is much like Amanda and that causes some friction between the three women.  There were many times I wanted to shake Nancy and tell her to get over herself if she thinks she is that important that she has to worry about what people will say about Amanda’s now scandalous life.  I could say the same about Amanda and her fears about what others will think about her situation.  It takes Erin shaking things up to loosen them up by the end of the book.

I was surprised at how some situations were handled with Lyle, Amanda’s husband, at the end.  I won’t go into too much detail, but I’m not sure if the situation would have ended this way in real life.  But let’s just say that Lyle gets his just rewards.

I did enjoy watching Erin discover what a real relationship should be like when she meets Eli.  He has his own issues, but the two of them are able to help each other move forward in life.  I’m not sure if future books in this series will touch back on these characters, but I hope so because I don’t think their story is finished.

A couple of quotes that really stuck out while I was reading this book:

“Will there ever be a day when people stop demanding that others conform to their own expectations?”

“Most people are good people, yet bad things happen every day. You and I? We aren’t unique victims.”

Overall we give this 4 paws up.

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

National bestselling author Jamie Beck’s realistic and heartwarming stories have sold more than two million copies. She’s a Booksellers’ Best Award and National Readers’ Choice Award finalist, and critics at Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, and Booklist have respectively called her work “smart,” “uplifting,” and “entertaining.” In addition to writing, the author of the Cabot novels, the Sterling Canyon novels, and the St. James series enjoys dancing around the kitchen while cooking and hitting the slopes in Vermont and Utah. Above all, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family.

Fans can learn more about her on her website, www.jamiebeck.com, which includes a fun “Extras” page with photos, videos, and playlists. She also loves interacting with everyone on Facebook.

 

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Wolf Under Fire

 

by Paige Tyler

 

Publication Date: 5/26/2020

 

Synopsis

 

For the cases no one else can solve, they send in the Special Threat Assessment Team

Supernatural creatures are no longer keeping their existence secret from humans, causing panic around the globe. To investigate, monitor, and—when necessary—take down dangerous supernatural offenders, an international task force was established: The Special Threat Assessment Team.

STAT agent Jestina Ridley is in London with her team investigating a suspicious kidnapping. Over her radio, Jes hears her teammates being savagely attacked. She runs to help, but she’s too late. The only survivor, Jes calls for backup and gets former Navy SEAL and alpha werewolf Jake Huang and his new pack. Convinced that the creature who butchered her teammates was a werewolf, Jes doesn’t trust them. But if they’re going to uncover the facts and make it back home alive, she’ll need Jake’s help. And with everything on the line, Jes will have to accept Jake for who he is, or lose the partner she never expected to find…

 

 

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Excerpt

 

Jes sprinted down the hall without giving it a second thought. Grabbing the last man through the door by the collar of his jacket, she yanked him backward, flipping him over her hip and slamming him to the floor before he knew what was happening.

Balling her hand into a fist, she punched him in the throat hard enough to stun him, then ripped his pistol out of his grasp while he was gasping for air. Refusing to think about the brutality of the situation, she placed the barrel of the large-caliber automatic against the man’s chest and squeezed the trigger. In this position, the recoil of the big weapon was ferocious, but she ignored it—and the resulting blood—focusing instead on snagging the extra magazine from the man’s underarm holster.

Getting to her feet, she approached the room carefully. The last thing she needed was to catch a stray round from one of the guards—or Jake.

Pressing her back against the wall outside the open door, Jes darted to take a quick look inside. The room was filled with acrid smoke from the flashbangs, but she could still see the dead bodies strewn across the floor. Jake and Misty were nowhere in sight and something told her they’d taken cover behind the heavy desk that was flipped over.

The piece of furniture was thick enough to stop the spray of bullets the men were popping off, but the gunfire was so intense Jake couldn’t even try and get off a shot in return. Since the bad guys were already spreading wide to circle around and come at the desk from both sides, the situation was only going to get worse.

What if Jake had already been hit?

That thought scared the hell out of her. She’d heard a werewolf could absorb a lot of damage, but how much was too much?

“Backup’s arrived,” Jes announced loud enough for Jake to hear her in his earbud, even over the gunfire, then took aim and started shooting.

The moment the men realized someone was coming at them from behind, they turned their weapons on her. At the same time, Jake popped up from behind the desk and began blazing away with the automatic in his hand. Bodies started dropping under the combined effort.

Jes was sure they’d gained the upper hand, but then a flashbang came at her through the light haze of smoke still filling the room from the previous ones. Cursing, she leaped back into the hallway to keep it from blowing up right in her face. She hit the floor hard, the air getting knocked out of her. Ears ringing, she scrambled around and lifted her pistol, knowing a bad guy would be coming to finish her.

But no one did. A moment later, the shooting stopped. It was immediately replaced with a roar and a growl that seemed to echo through the house and make the entire third floor vibrate.

Jes quickly climbed to her feet, only to fall on her butt again as Jake and Damien crashed through the wall. Somewhere along the way, they’d lost their weapons and were now locked in hand-to-hand combat, like two enraged monsters. Jake wasn’t the only one with claws, either. Damien had them, too.

Jake had been sure the creature that had attacked Jaime and Neal wasn’t a werewolf, but seeing Damien fight, she was beginning to think Jake had been wrong.

Jes got up on one knee, trying to get a shot at Damien, but he and Jake were moving way too fast as they smashed each other into first one side of the hallway, then the other, fists slamming into their opponent so hard she could hear bones break.

She was about to say the hell with it and take a shot at Damien regardless of the risk, but then he slung Jake bodily across the hall, bouncing him off the wall. Even though it had to hurt, Jake immediately jumped to his feet and kicked Damien in the center of his chest, shoving him halfway down the hallway.

Jes didn’t waste the opportunity. Lifting her weapon, she emptied the remainder of her magazine in the man’s chest. Damien flew backward from the impact of all those rounds hitting, slamming into the floor so hard she felt it. She didn’t give a crap if he was a werewolf. That many bullets through the center of his chest had to mean he was freaking dead.

Dropping the spent clip, she quickly slammed a new magazine in and chambered a round. The son of a bitch had killed Jaime and Neal and tried to do the same to Jake. It took everything in her not to put all the bullets in the fresh magazine into him. The only thing stopping her was the knowledge that she might need them if they had to fight their way out of the manor.

She was so focused on keeping her weapon trained on Damien where he lay on the floor, she didn’t even realize Jake had disappeared back into the room until he ran out with a limp Misty in his arms. Jes’s heart sank like a stone.

“We need to go,” Jake said, striding past her and heading down the hallway away from the steps. “We’re about to have more company.”

Jes didn’t ask how Jake knew that. She simply chased after him.

The fight with Damien must have caused him some serious damage, but Jake carried Misty without slowing down. They were almost at the end of the corridor when she heard the thud of footsteps on the stairs behind them.

Jes glanced over her shoulder to see at least ten armed men reaching the third floor. That was bad enough. But then Damien sat up, shirt covered in blood and looking pissed as hell…and not nearly as dead as he should be. Suddenly, the group of armed men didn’t seem like a big deal. Damien worried her way more.

Turning, she sprayed the men—and Damien—with half the rounds in the magazine just to make them duck, then ran after Jake again. She expected him to seek refuge in the last room along the hallway. Instead, he yanked open the french doors at the end of the corridor with one hand, exposing a small Juliet balcony.

What the hell were they going to do with that? It wasn’t like they could hide out there. The balcony was too shallow. Besides, Damien and the rest of Darby’s men had already seen where they were headed.

Jes was about to ask Jake as much when he gently placed Misty on the floor. Before she could question the move, he turned, put both hands on Jes’s waist, then swung her over the metal railing of the balcony, holding her by one wrist and dangling her like a toy.

“When I let you go, grab the railing of the veranda below us,” he said, dark eyes intent on hers.

Wait. What?

Jes opened her mouth to tell him he was insane—that she wasn’t a werewolf with superstrength and animallike reflexes like him—but she was already falling. She released the pistol she didn’t even realize she was holding, somehow miraculously grabbing the railing on the second-floor veranda before she fell to her death.

Crap. It felt like her shoulders were being ripped out of their sockets.

She was never doing that again.

Jes was still hanging there in midair when she felt as much as heard Jake leap past her. She looked down just in time to see him land on his feet on the lawn below her, Misty wrapped firmly in his arms.

He’d jumped from the third floor of a building—with someone in his arms—and landed on his feet.

Double crap.

Setting Misty on the ground, he scooped up the automatic pistol Jes had dropped, firing it at something above her. She flinched when the bullets struck the metal balcony, but then felt like cheering when the men up there grunted as other bullets struck flesh.

“Let go!” he shouted to Jes before shooting another volley at the floor above her. “I’ll catch you.”

That idea was even crazier than the first one, but Jes did it, falling at a dizzying speed. She opened her mouth to scream, unable to stop herself, but then strong arms snatched her out of the air before setting her on her feet. She barely had a chance to catch her balance before Jake grabbed her hand and dragged her away from the manor.

He scooped up Misty in one arm on the way even as bullets kicked up the grass all around them. Seconds later, the big Rolls-Royce SUV was barreling across the lawn toward them, Harley at the wheel. The moment it skidded to a stop, Forrest jumped out of the passenger seat to take Misty from Jake while Caleb got out of the back and fired a MAC-10 machine gun at the remaining men on the third floor. Jes wasn’t sure if he hit anyone, but they sure as hell ducked.

Jake led Jes past Caleb and practically shoved her into the backseat, then jumped in after her, deftly climbing over her to take the window. The big omega followed, sitting on the other side of her and yanking the door closed as Harley floored it, tearing the grass to all hell as they sped away.

 

***

Excerpted from Wolf Under Fire by Paige Tyler. © 2020 by Paige Tyler. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

 

About the Author

 

Paige Tyler is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of sexy, romantic fiction. Paige writes books about hunky alpha males and the kick-butt heroines they fall in love with. She lives with her very own military hero (a.k.a. her husband) and their adorable dog on the beautiful Florida coast.

 

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Synopsis

 

In this year, 2050, among the humans on the streets, there are these very few others. Others who are made in the biggest technology company, AITA (artificial intelligence and technological advancements), what humans call, the guardians. They were crossbreeds of humans and animals which had the highest Intelligent Quotient (IQ)they were created to protect all citizens with their special abilities. However, they had one enemy. The citizens called them the poachers. They are from another company, The Royal AI. This company was the second most advanced company and they wanted all the glory of AITA. To win them over, The Royal AI had to prove themselves worthy and they resolved to hunting down the guardians to kill them all off. They have decided to start off with the head of the guardians, 7 different crossbreeds – Aurelia, Jiwon, Hye Kyo, Lena, Darren, Justin and lastly Richard. Aurelia, the chairwoman and Jiwon, the vice chairwoman. Hye Kyo and Lena, the advisors and the three males, heads of defense. Humans just did not understand one thing… These guardians they so often talk about did not want fame. They wanted something else…

 

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

In 2050, among the humans on the streets, there were these very few others. Others who were made in the biggest technology company, AITA (Artificial Intelligence and Technological Advancements), what humans called, the guardians. They were crossbreeds of humans and animals which had the highest Intelligent Quotient (IQ). They were created to protect all citizens with their special abilities. However, they had an enemy. The citizens called them the poachers. They were from another company, The Royal AI. This company was the second most advanced company and they wanted all the glory of AITA. To win them over, The Royal AI had to prove themselves worthy and they resolved to hunt down the guardians to kill them all off. They decided to start off with the head of the guardians, 7 different crossbreeds – Aurelia, Jiwon, Hye Kyo, Lena, Darren, Justin and lastly Richard. Aurelia, the chairwoman, and Jiwon, the vice chairwoman. Hye Kyo and Lena, the advisors and the three males, heads of defence. Humans just did not understand one thing. These guardians they so often talked about did not want fame. They wanted something else…

Chapter 1

 

“Oh my gosh, this work is killing me,” Aurelia groaned.

“Tell me about it,” Jiwon grumbled. Jiwon and Aurelia walked together, hat over Jiwon’s ears which were on top of her head and her long pants hiding her tail. Sunglasses on Aurelia’s eyes, covering the little crown of black on her eyes which looks like Halloween swan mascara and a skirt to hide her little feathery white feathers and a trenchcoat to hide her white wings.

“ I wish I could just be a normal human,” Aurelia sighed.

“ They get a job, a salary, a home and a family of their own,” Aurelia continued in dismay.

“ Well, if you think about it, we have our own family too, and friendly neighbours like Lena though she doesn’t offer much food to us,” Jiwon said positively.

“ And humans don’t have powers that we have,” Jiwon continued.

After what seemed like an eternity, it was break time for them. As they returned to their habitat, Jiwon at her cave which she marked as her territory and Aurelia at the nearby lake with Lena in a nest, sharing the pond with Aurelia for food. Aurelia was a white swan while Lena was a cormorant who stayed in a nest in a tree beside Aurelia’s lake.

When Lena joined in, Aurelia took the first step to offer her food but all that helpfulness of hers was taken for granted. After Lena knew how to find food and do work, she never communicated with Aurelia and what more shared the food she hunted. So Aurelia decided to make friends with a nearby carnivore called Jiwon. She was scared it might eat her but later found out that Jiwon only liked to eat beavers and anything she would find. And when they found out that both of them had at least a little bit of white outer covering, they developed a liking for each other, thus making friends. Slowly, Jiwon also knew about Lena who was selfish.

Resting in her pond, Aurelia looked at her reflection, pleased with how she looked.  Well, we must all admit that Aurelia was elegant and beautiful but she could be secretly vain. She placed her beak gently into the water, catching a frog surprisingly. Lena dived in smoothly and flew back to her nest, catching a shrimp in her beak.

Their mundane life continued until one day when a fox, lynx and a lion appeared.

Roaring, the lion strolled near to the pond, staring intently at Aurelia who looked up from her reflection. There was a strange feeling— although she was an omnivore and the lion was a carnivore, she wasn’t scared of him at all, in fact, she thought he looked pretty hot, charming and powerful.

Silence. Awkward silence as the white swan and golden, brown-skinned lion stared intently at each other.

Behind, the fox widened its eyes with excitement, spotting Jiwon who was close to the same breed as him. He strolled towards her, containing his excitement.

The lynx, however, strolled along the lake and stood beside the lion, staring at Aurelia too.

Flattered yet embarrassed, Aurelia stared back at her reflection, swimming a little further elegantly, as she fed on the aquatic plants. The lynx looked around and spotted a tall and lovely giraffe and ran softly towards her.

The giraffe reached its head out, feeding on the fresh leaf while peeping at who was running towards her. Turning around, she blushed. Lowering her head, she introduced herself.

“ I’m Hye Kyo, and you?” She asked.

“Richard,” he stated, beaming.

About the Author

 

Neveah Hor, born and raised in Singapore, is the author of Love Machine. She published her first book at the age of thirteen. She likes to write, read and enjoys Ballet. She writes mainly under the genres of Young Adult, Romance and Fantasy. She won several writing contests at the age of nine. She is currently receiving her education in Singapore and lives with her parents and an elder sister. She is just an ordinary teenager who holds a pen and paper as she enters the world of stories. She hopes she could be someone’s favourite author one day. Her passion for writing never fades.

 

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Night of the Billionaire Wolf

 

by Terry Spear

 

Publication Date: 5/26/2020

 

Synopsis

 

It’s not easy being a billionaire, a wolf shifter, and a woman…

 

Lexi Summerfield built her business from the ground up. But with great wealth comes great responsibility, and some drawbacks Lexi could not have anticipated. Lexi never knows who she can trust… Even on vacation, Lexi has a hard time trying to relax. And for good reason—the paparazzi are dogging her, and so is someone else with evil intent.

Then Lexi meets bodyguard and gray wolf shifter Ryder Gallagher, who’s also vacationing at Redwood National Park. When the two run into each other on the hiking trails, and then serendipitously rescue two bear cubs, Lexi feels safe for the first time in she can’t remember when. But secrets have a way of surfacing… With the danger around Lexi escalating, Ryder will do whatever it takes to stay by her side…

 

 

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Excerpt

 

Friendship is fine. Mating for life is a whole other story.” Lexi had never checked into their backgrounds, something she would definitely have done if one of the wolves had really moved her.

“I agree with you there.”

The rain-saturated breeze switched, and Lexi smelled the scent of a male wolf and a black bear that had passed through there recently.

“The wolf has to be a lupus garou like us,” Kate said, “since no one has reported any sightings of wolves in the area. Maybe the wolf was the one who left the message?”

“I don’t believe so.” Lexi didn’t think her father would ask another wolf to get involved in this. The fewer people who knew about it, the better. “And there’s a female black bear, by the smell of her, roaming the area. Keep your eyes peeled and continue to make noise. We need to head on back before the rain starts anyway. We can check the other location later. It will take us about an hour to reach the cabin.”

Kate laughed. “How often does the weatherman get it right?”

Lexi saw a fairy ring of mushrooms and took another picture. “Yeah, I know. But you know me. I always try to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Light rain began to fall, and then the drops grew bigger. Lexi hurried to put away her camera, and both laughing, they pulled out their ponchos. They were already soaked by the time they got the ponchos on. Still, they’d be protected somewhat from the continuing rainfall.

A couple of young bear cubs cried out somewhere in the distance, and Lexi’s adrenaline surged. “Do you hear that?”

“Yeah, they’re close by. It sounds like danger to me.”

“They’re crying for their mother. They have to be in trouble. I’ll see if the park rangers can rescue them.” Lexi hurried to get her phone out and called the ranger service. “Hi, my friend and I were hiking, and we heard the distress calls of a couple of bear cubs.”

“We’ve got our hands full with a family of hikers who have lost their way, including one who’s badly injured. And a search party is looking for another missing hiker. We can look into the cubs’ situation after we’ve taken care of the hikers in distress.”

“Thanks.” Lexi ended the call.

“You didn’t tell them where the bear cubs are.”

“The park rangers are too busy with human distress calls. You’re my bodyguard. You can protect me.” Lexi left the designated trail, which she wouldn’t normally do as a human because she didn’t want to trample the vegetation. The bear cubs’ cries guiding her, she raced through the forest as best she could, trying not to stumble over tree branches and fall into the ferns filling the understory.

Kate trailed close behind her. “This is a dangerous idea. Where there are cubs, there’s a mother bear nearby. The female bear we smelled, I betcha.”

“Unless something has happened to her. And then we need to rescue them.”

“What do you propose we do? Take them home with you?”

Lexi was sure Kate wasn’t being serious. Wolves raising bear cubs at her oceanside home? No way.

“Once we rescue them, I’ll call the park rangers to pick up the cubs and take care of them if the mother doesn’t come for them. The rangers can find a home for them. As young as the cubs’ cries sounded, they wouldn’t be able to make it on their own.”

Lexi and Kate continued to move quickly through the underbrush in the direction of the cliffs. Lexi’s skin prickled with unease, her stomach twisting in knots. From the sound of the cubs’ cries, they were way down below the cliffs, and the only way to reach them quickly would be climbing down there. That terrified her. Worse, her fearful scent would clue Kate in.

No way had Lexi wanted anyone to know what had happened to make her fear cliffs. She prided herself on keeping her secret. But even now, she suffered a flashback: gasping as a wolf as the soil and rocks at the edge of the cliff gave way, free-falling toward the rocky ground, praying some of the tree branches would help to break her fall. They did, scraping and bruising her, but she still landed badly on the rocks below and broke her left hind leg. Just from the memory, she felt a shock of phantom pain shoot up her left leg. That would be the last time she’d fight with a boyfriend and take off on her own without telling anyone where she’d be.

It had been a stupid thing to do, something she had seen others do in videos on I Shouldn’t Be Alive—in other words, going alone, not telling anyone where she’d be, not having a satellite phone in remote areas, and not having water with her—though as a wolf, that was understandable. She’d sworn she’d never do anything that dumb herself. Worse, she’d been in her wolf form and couldn’t climb to safety with a broken leg, so she’d had to shift into her human naked form before help arrived.

She and Kate finally reached a steep cliff and Lexi hesitated, not wanting to get near the edge that, according to forest ranger reports on the area, were known to crumble. Chills raced down her bare arms and legs. She had to force herself to move toward the cliff’s edge. Slowly, so she wouldn’t end up falling and breaking a leg like she’d done before.

“Are you okay?” Kate asked.

“Yeah, sure. The cliff face is unstable. I’m just being careful.” But it was a lot more than that.

“Okay, yeah, you’re smart to do that. I guess I can’t talk you out of taking this dangerous route and looking for a safer way to get down there instead.”

“I don’t want to risk delaying the rescue.” Lexi finally reached the edge. She observed the rocky cliff, looking for the best way to climb down, terrified she would fall. The mewling cries were coming from the base of the cliff near a couple of trees.

“This is not what I had in mind when I signed up to… Holy shit,” Kate said, peering over the edge of the cliff.

Lexi looked down at the swollen creek rushing along the banks of the cliff. “The creek’s risen because of all the rain. The cubs are crying in a den down below. They could drown. We have to save them.” Lexi started down the cliff, grabbing whatever she could—rocks, tree roots, vines—to keep from falling to her death or breaking a leg or more. She grabbed what looked like a stable rock, but as soon as she tried to hold it and move her right foot to another rock, the one in her left hand pulled free. She fell and cried out, grabbing for anything that could stop her fall. She grasped a tree root and hung on for dear life, her breath coming out in harried puffs.

“Oh God, hang on, Lexi. I really didn’t sign up for this.” Kate waited to descend so she didn’t cause an avalanche of rocks and dirt to collapse on Lexi.

“You don’t have to do it.”

“Are you kidding? Then you’d be able to take all the glory!”

Lexi smiled, then frowned. If the mother bear attacked them, there wouldn’t be much glory in that.

***

Excerpted from Night of the Billionaire Wolf by Terry Spear. © 2020 by Terry Spear. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

About the Author

 

USA Today bestselling author Terry Spear has written over sixty paranormal and medieval Highland romances. In 2008 Heart of the Wolf was named a Publishers Weekly Best Book of the Year and in 2016, Billionaire in Wolf’s Clothing was a Romantic Times Top Pick. A retired officer of the U.S. Army Reserves, Terry also creates award-winning teddy bears that have found homes all over the world and is raising two Havanese puppies. She lives in Spring, Texas.

 

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Killing Time (A Dodie O’Dell Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
6th in Series
Publisher: Lyrical Press (June 2, 2020)
Number of Pages: 215

Synopsis

 

With Halloween just around the corner, Dodie O’Dell is making preparations to transform the Windjammer Restaurant on the Jersey Shore into a haunted house, while the Etonville Little Theatre is staging Dracula. But casting the titular Transylvanian is proving challenging. The amateur actors in the company are not shy about chewing the scenery, but who among them can convincingly sink their fangs into a victim’s neck? When a mysterious newcomer with a transfixing Eastern European accent lands the part, rumors that he might be an actual vampire start to take flight—not unlike the bat who’s recently been spotted in the town park.

 

But everyone’s blood really runs cold when a stranger is found in the cemetery with a real stake in his heart. Dodie decides to put her Halloween theme menu on the back burner and stick her neck out to bring the killer into the light of day. She’d better keep her wits about her, though—or Dodie may be the next one to go down for the Count . . .

 

 

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Guest Post

 

Today we welcome Lola from the Dodie O’Dell mysteries and she gives us a look into her character and the series.  Take it away Lola!

 

I’m beside myself! As artistic director of the Etonville Little Theatre I am responsible for making sure the production gets on its feet. At least that’s what I thought my job was, but now I find myself holding Walter’s hand, because he’s always about five minutes away from a panic attack, keeping Penny in control and muzzling her whistle, if possible, and calming the members of the theatre whenever a crisis hits a production… “Lola, take a breath and pump the brakes,” Dodie, my BFF and the manager of the Windjammer restaurant, would say right about now.

I’ll start over… ever since Walter, the founder of the Etonville Little Theatre, was caught doing some creative bookkeeping with the theatre’s box office, the board appointed me acting artistic director to replace Walter. I was perfectly happy as the theatre’s diva, starring in nearly every production. I loved it…the bright lights, the applause, the ecstatic reviews in the Etonville Standard…well, mostly ecstatic. But now I’m wearing two hats: artistic director and occasional performer.

Except for Walter’s moods,  anxiety, and decision to direct/perform/or write every show, and production manager Penny’s claim that the only way to corral actors is by blasting her ridiculously loud whistle, things have been running smoothly. As smoothly as possible given that the ELT is usually on the brink of a disaster.

But I had such hope for a calm, stress-free fall production. I campaigned for a small comedy, something simple, fun… that I could star in. Walter wouldn’t hear of it. He said we needed to make a “big splash,” impress the New Jersey community theatre association with a “spectacle.” I just hoped the ELT wouldn’t make a spectacle of itself. Since the show was scheduled to open late October, Walter insisted on Dracula. The ELT members went gaga, the town applauded Walter’s choice, and we were off to the races. I started twisting my blond hair…a nervous tic that Dodie says is a sure sign “I am beside myself.” See what I mean?

Casting wasn’t too much of a problem, except for the lead. Where were we going to find a leading man to play the vampire? Now I was really twirling lengths of hair. Then I caught wind of a new couple in town. They’d rented the old Hanratty house on the edge of Etonville, which definitely looked haunted. They seemed so normal…he was tall, dark and handsome, with a vaguely foreign accent and a widow’s peak. She was serene, pleasant, and read palms. I couldn’t believe our luck, at first. He agreed to play Dracula and the part fit like a glove.

But then strange things started to happen. Props went missing, light cues were erased, and according to Mrs. Parker, who I must admit is a little daffy, a bat was seen flying around the Etonville park. And no one could remember seeing our Dracula in town during the day. Only at night. The thought made me shiver. Dodie would tell me I was letting my imagination run wild… Suddenly, Etonville had contracted vampire fever and the Banger sisters were wearing garlic necklaces. Now, with the opening and Halloween approaching, I’m nervous. Walter is so preoccupied with both directing and playing the lead—I warned him that wearing two hats was one hat too many—that he can’t be bothered with my fears. What if our leading man really is a …? No I can’t say it. It’s unthinkable…

I need to slip next door see to Dodie before dress rehearsal tonight. I know she’ll calm me down. Her logical explanation for everything is a dose of tranquility. That and a glass of chardonnay. Is it too early for happy hour?

 

Excerpt

 

“It sure looks haunted,” Edna murmured to no one in particular, to the cast of Dracula in general. They were grouped around her on the sidewalk that ran past the old Hanratty place that Carlos and Bella had rented. I’d never been inside though once I’d driven by it when I first moved to Etonville on my way out of town. The house stood on half an acre of scruffy lawn with patches of dried dirt, surrounded by a few straggly trees—minus leaves at this time of the year—and no neighbors. The nearest houses were on a side street some distance away. The three-story building looked as if it might collapse at any moment, its outer walls covered with weathered, gray shakes, the steps to the front door supported by concrete building blocks. There was no handrail. Light leaked out of windows on the first floor. Curtains covering small, circular panes on the third story—an attic room?—quivered. Was someone up there watching us? I shivered. A turret rose upward from the right side of the structure, giving the house a smidge of outdated dignity. A drain pipe dangled loosely from the gutter.

“Let’s go.” Penny corralled actors and nudged everyone forward to the front door. There were six company members, Renfield saying he’d be along later, plus Penny, Lola, Pauli, and me. Strength in numbers.

We crept across the porch cautiously, aware of the creaking beneath us as the flooring shifted with each individual’s footsteps. Penny put out a hand to knock on the door. Before she could hit knuckles to wood, it flew open. “Welcome everyone!” Bella stood in the doorway, a silhouette backlit by muted foyer lighting.

Behind her Carlos stood silently, observing the group huddled in his entryway, like deer caught in headlights.

Lola took the lead, moving graciously into the house. “Thank you. So nice of you to invite us to your home.”

I’m not sure what the members of the Etonville Little Theatre were expecting. Given the exterior and location of the Hanratty homestead, I anticipated something out of a late-night classic horror film.

 

 

About the Author

 

Suzanne Trauth is a novelist, playwright, screenwriter, and a former university theatre professor. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and the Dramatists Guild. When she is not writing, Suzanne coaches actors and serves as a celebrant performing wedding ceremonies. She lives in Woodland Park, New Jersey.

 

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Giveaway

 

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Synopsis

 

Dawn Andersen and her parents are horrified when her carefree Aunt Amy is found stabbed to death on the beach, the second woman to be murdered in the small oceanside town of Manatee Beach. The police have arrested a homeless man for the murders, but is he the real killer? Dawn, 25, makes the biggest decision of her life when she decides to leave her routine existence in Ohio to move into her aunt’s cottage a block from the ocean in South Florida. From the first night that Dawn arrives in Florida, the feeling of uneasiness never leaves her. There’s the strange man next door who always seems to be watching her. Married neighbors who were infatuated with her beautiful aunt. The nosy, the too friendly mailman. A hooded figure who’s been lurking outside her house at night. As Dawn learns more about her aunt’s life in Florida, she becomes convinced that the murderer is closer than she ever imagined, that her aunt’s killer is actually somebody in the neighborhood.

 

 

 

 

Review

 

This mystery/suspense novel will have you looking at your neighbors and wondering if they are who you think they are, or if there is something evil lurking beneath the face they present.

Dawn is a character that many will relate to her desire to adventure out on her own and out from under the watchful eyes of her parents.  While her parents only have her best interests at heart, sometimes they (and many parents) don’t know when to step back and let their children take a chance.  Now there is more to that story between Dawn and her parents and a secret is revealed near the end, but it is one the reader will probably figure out before the announcement but the details will be unknown until the reveal.

Throughout the book, I felt like I was in Manatee Bay from the descriptions of the town, the beach, and even the neighborhood.  The characters had a depth to them, even the minor characters like the mail carrier and the homeless men.  I am always glad when an author does a story justice by drawing in the reader and making them feel like they are living with the characters.

The mystery is who killed Amy and another young woman in this sleepy town in Florida? The author does a wonderful job of weaving in possible motives and peppers possibilities and red herrings throughout the novel.  There are several suspects but the actual killer surprised me in the end.  Once I thought about it, I saw the motivation of this character but this character never crossed my mind to suspect.

This novel also reminds us that everyone is different and we should give people the benefit of the doubt before casting aspersions on their character.  In this novel, it is one of the neighbors, Jerome, that had a head injury as a child and is not like everyone else.  It is a shame that so many assume he is bad or evil because he is different when that couldn’t be further from the truth.  I admired the way some of the neighbors stood up for him and gave him a chance.

Overall I enjoyed this book and plan to look into her other works.  We give this book 5 paws up.

 

 

Excerpt

 

It was midnight by the time Dawn circled the cul-de-sac on Coral Court to the last house. Amy’s little cottage didn’t have a garage, or even a carport, so Dawn pulled into the short driveway and turned off the engine. She sat in the driver’s seat for several moments, wringing her hands and trying to calm herself. Seeing that headline had totally unsettled her. The article didn’t say much, just that the murder was similar to the other two. The victim had been bludgeoned and stabbed to death on the beach. The police didn’t come out and say it was the same murderer—since the homeless man they thought did it was locked up in their jail. They just said they were continuing their investigation, words she and her parents had heard more times than they could count.

But Dawn knew. Amy’s murderer, and the killer of those two other women, was still out there somewhere. Somewhere not too far away. Who knew where he was right now? She was only one block from the beach. And here she was, alone after dark, just like her aunt and those other women had been.

The neighborhood was completely dark except for a couple of dim porch lights.

“Not even a street light,” Dawn thought nervously.

Not only was there a murderer on the loose, one who killed women at night in the dark, but her mother’s fear of a neighbor thinking she was breaking in popped into her mind. What if one of them shot first and asked questions later? She’d heard of that happening before. Florida had a Stand Your Ground law. Did that count for a neighbor’s house? She wasn’t sure. She tried to calm herself. You’re not moving to the Wild, Wild West, for God’s sake. This is Florida, beautiful Florida. Just relax. Everything will be fine.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she should do. It finally came to her that the best thing would be to leave the inside car lights on with all the doors open so if anyone saw her, they would realize she was unpacking the car. She timidly stepped out of the Honda, and immediately perked up as the cool sea air hit her face. A steady breeze rustled the palm fronds of the trees on the block, and she could hear the repetitive breaking of waves on the beach in the distance.

Clicking on the flashlight, Dawn hurried up the walkway as fast as she could, stepped onto the porch, and started looking for her keys. She thought she’d put the key chain in her pocket, but it wasn’t there. Where was it? Oh God, was it still in the ignition?

She stumbled over the bottom porch step as she rushed back to the car, keeping the beam on the flat stones of the walkway. At the car, she snatched the keys out of the ignition and turned to start back to the house when she heard a deep howl that sounded like a wolf or a coyote. A shiver went down her spine. Her imagination was starting to get the best of her. She realized it was just a dog, but from the sounds of it, a very big dog.

It howled again, louder this time, and she cringed.

She couldn’t tell where the howl was coming from—she just hoped the dog was penned up and not roaming around free. Moving as quickly as she could up the walkway, she froze when she saw the silhouette of a man standing in the middle of the road. A tall man. A huge, hulking man. “What if he’s the killer,” she thought in a panic. Her pulse sped up, and she tried to move toward the house. But her feet felt frozen to the walkway.

The man had something on his head that was shining out a beam of light, like a coal miner’s hat. She couldn’t see his face or his features, just his enormous size. He looked like he was seven feet tall. The dog stood at his side. She could see its yellow eyes shining in the dark. It was built like a pit bull or a Rottweiler, and it was growling now.

 

 

About the Author

 

Judy Moore is the author of the popular thriller, “The Mother-in-Law,” as well as three mystery novels: “Somebody in the Neighborhood,” “Murder in Vail,” and “Murder at the Country Club.” She has also written numerous novellas, including the Christmas anthology “Christmas Interrupted,” which contains three novellas: “Airport Christmas,” “The Holiday House Sitter,” and “The Hitchhiker on Christmas Eve.” She has a master’s degree in journalism from the University of Florida and worked as a newspaper reporter, magazine feature writer, and publications editor for several years. A former tennis pro, Ms. Moore’s writing background also includes sports writing, and athletes from various sports are sprinkled throughout some of her novels. A lifelong resident of Florida, she currently resides in Vero Beach.

 

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