Title: Liars & Lunatics in Goose Pimple Junction
Author: Amy Metz
Genre: Cozy mystery
Series: Goose Pimple Junction Mysteries, book 5
Publisher: Southern Ink Press
September 1, 2019 (paperback)
September 19, 2019 (Kindle)

 

Synopsis

It’s election season, and there’s a new candidate in town. Virgil Pepper is determined to take the job from Goose Pimple Junction’s long-time mayor. Virgil is a charming and charismatic candidate but someone who will say anything (and mean none of it) to get what he wants. Three things top his list: to become mayor, to acquire Jackson Wright’s land, and to make Caledonia Culpepper one of his many conquests.

Wynona Baxter is back, and she’s a new woman. Now Daisy has a new identity, new life, and new business-ironically named Killer Cupcakes. But the town soon finds out that isn’t the only kind of killer in town. Book five of the Goose Pimple Junction mystery series combines political hijinks, delicious cupcakes, Goose Juice moonshine, the ups and downs of finding true love, and, of course, murder.

It is said that “It’s a basic truth of the human condition that everybody lies. The only variable is about what.” Lying in politics, lying for personal and professional gain, lying about an identity . . . What are the folks of Goose Pimple Junction willing to lie for . . . and what are they willing to die for?

 

Excerpt

Prologue

He entered the territory of lies without a passport for return.

 –Graham Greene

 

Caledonia was resplendent in a hot pink sweater and black slacks as she walked into Slick & Junebug’s Diner after getting her boys, Pickle—a high school senior—off to work and Peanut—a sixth grader—off to a friend’s house. It was her habit to stop in every morning before she went to open up the dress shop she owned. Her day didn’t really get started until she’d had her morning gossip and cup of coffee. This morning, the place was buzzing. With a smile and a wave, she scooted past the regulars­—two old men, Clive and Earl—at their usual place at the counter and joined her best friend, Paprika Parker, in a window booth. They liked that spot so they could see what was going on in the town square while they drank their coffee and talked about town happenings.

Paprika could read Caledonia like a book. “What’s wrong?”

“No good morning? You’re just gonna jump right in?” Caledonia uprighted her coffee cup on its saucer.

“Might as well. I can see something’s up.”

“Is it that obvious?” Caledonia’s brow furrowed.

“Stop frowning. You’ll form wrinkles. And yes, to me it’s that obvious. Now for the last time, out with it.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. All right.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Virgil made another play for me last night.”

“After all you’ve done to make it clear there will never be anything between you again? Why doesn’t the man ever give up?”

Caledonia’s hand went up to stop her friend. “It’s a power play. He wants to be the dump-er instead of the dump-ee. Don’t worry. I didn’t give in. What I did give him was what for. You woulda been proud of me, Spice Girl.” Caledonia had long ago given the nickname to her friend, even though she was always tempted to call her Pippi because she resembled an adult Pippi Longstocking. Caledonia hunched her shoulders and leaned in, slightly sheepish but a touch defiant. She cupped her hand to the side of her mouth and whispered, “I hauled off and whacked him over the head with a tennis racket.”

Paprika sat up straight, her eyes bugging out behind her glasses. “You did not.”

“I most certainly did. Admittedly, it was a reflexive action, but upon reflection I’m glad I did it. Say, it didn’t by any chance rain last night, did it?” Caledonia wound some of her long blonde hair around a finger.

“Not that I’m aware. What do you mean a reflexive action?”

“I’d told him to take a hike and walked away from him. When he came up behind me and grabbed my left arm, my right arm reacted. I tell you what, he dropped like a bag of flour.”

Paprika broke out in a huge grin. “I wish I’d been there to see that.”

The women were laughing when owner, waitress, and half namesake of the diner, Junebug Calloway, came to the table. She had a crease in her septuagenarian forehead.

“Junebug, don’t do that. It’ll make your forehead permanently wrinkled.” Caledonia held out her coffee cup.

“I just thought you’d be a might subdued this morning, Caledonia, what with the news and all. I know that man did you wrong, but laughing at a time like this? I’m a might surprised is all.” She finished filling the cup and set the pot on the table, hands on her hips.

The two women exchanged bewildered looks before directing their confusion toward Junebug. “What news?” they asked simultaneously.

Junebug’s mouth dropped open, and she got a gleam in her eye. She loved to be the first one to pass on a bit of gossip. “You mean you haven’t heard?”

Again, both women were in sync. “Heard what?”

“‘Bout Virgil.”

The women stared at her blankly.

“He got stamped ‘return to sender.’”

“Return to sender?” Caledonia’s hand went to her throat. “You don’t mean . . . ”

Junebug nodded. “I do mean. He’s picking turnips with a stepladder now.”

Caledonia’s head bobbed from side to side. “That’s ridiculous. I just saw him yesterday afternoon.”

“You didn’t conk him over the head, did you?” Junebug chuckled but stopped when she saw the look that passed between the women.

“What do you mean, Junebug?” Caledonia’s mouth had gone dry.

“Well, somebody did. Bopped him on that thick noggin of his. Now they’re basting that turkey in formaldehyde.” As an afterthought, she added, “May he rest in peace.”

Junebug’s eyes went from woman to woman. “Listen, I hate to deliver bad news and run, but I’m in the weeds. Look at this crowd. Nothing like a good murder to bring out the townsfolk.” She held up a finger to a man two booths away. “Be right there, Chet.” Returning her eyes to Caledonia, she said, “Anything besides coffee today, ladies?”

Caledonia shook her head with a vacant expression on her face.

“Bring us two chocolate iced donuts, Junebug,” Paprika said.

Junebug nodded. “It looks like y’all could use a pick-me-up. Two life preservers, coming up.”

When Junebug left, the women stared at each other, both instinctively closing their mouths when they saw the other’s wide open. Caledonia swallowed hard. Paprika covered her mouth with her hand.

Finally, Caledonia leaned in and whispered, “You don’t think I killed him, do you?” Sitting back, she answered her own question, “I killed him. I sent the man to be with Jesus.”

“Now, Caledonia, don’t go getting ahead of yourself. And I doubt it’s Jesus he’s keeping company with if you ask me.”

“You heard her. Someone conked him over the head. That someone was me.” Caledonia poked her chest with a finger. “I offed a man. I’m a stone-cold killer. What will happen to the children?”

Paprika grabbed her friend’s hand. “Hush it. Not another word until we find out more. And talk to a lawyer.”

“I don’t know if a lawyer will talk to me. After all, I just killed my last one.”

“Caledonia Culpepper, get ahold of yourself.”

Caledonia stared blankly and muttered, “You take care of the boys until Mother can get here.”

“Take care of the boys? What are you talking about?”

Caledonia slid out of the booth.

“Where are you going?”

“I reckon to jail.” She walked to the counter where Johnny Butterfield, the chief of police, sat. Offering him her wrists, she said, “Lock me up, Chief. I’m a murderer.”

 

About the Author

Amy Metz is the author of the Goose Pimple Junction mystery series. She is a former first grade teacher and the mother of two grown sons. When not writing, enjoying her family, or surfing Pinterest and Facebook, Amy can usually be found with a mixing spoon, camera, or book in one hand and a glass of sweet tea in the other. Amy loves unique Southern phrases, cupcakes, and a good mystery. She lives in Louisville, Kentucky.

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The Price of Grace

By Diana Muñoz Stewart

Publication Date 9/24/2019

 

Synopsis

Who can you trust

When family, truth, and love are all on the line?

 Gracie Parish knows the true cost of trust. Rescued as a child by the infamous Parish family, she became a member of their covert sisterhood of vigilantes. Gracie saw her most precious relationships destroyed by secrecy. She learned long ago to protect her heart as well as her family’s secrets.

Special Agent Leif “Dusty” McAllister will do anything to uncover the truth about the Parish family’s covert operations. Dusty knows Gracie is his ticket in. He’ll use everything he’s got—fair, unfair, and just plain wrong—to break through her defenses. But the more he gets to know Gracie and her family’s mission, the harder he starts to fall. Neither one is sure they’ll get out of this with their lives—or their hearts—intact.

 

 

Amazon * B&N * Apple * IndieBound * BAM

 

Black Ops Confidential series

I Am Justice (Book 1)

The Price of Grace (Book 2)

The Cost of Honor (Book 3)

 

Readers are raving about the Black Ops Confidential series

“Witty, dangerous, fun, and smoking hot.”  — CINDY DEES, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author for I Am Justice

“A high-octane…satisfying roller-coaster ride. Stewart’s talent shines.”—Publishers Weekly for The Price of Grace

“Spellbinding, sizzling. Unsurpassed romantic suspense.”—Patricia Gussin, New York Times bestselling author for I Am Justice

 

Excerpt

Dusty entered the packed club. Not an empty seat at the bar. Or an empty space around it. People pushed in hard.

Behind the bar, the club’s owner, little Miss Gracie Parish was overrun, making multiple drinks simultaneously, while she nodded to acknowledge people and instruct servers.

Only one other person helped Gracie behind the bar. A brunette in the server’s white shirt and black pants. He pulled beers and gave shots, but Dusty didn’t see him making any mixed drinks.

Never say he wasn’t a man to help a friend in distress. Even if he had orchestrated that distress in order to get close to her, use her to get to her family and uncover their vigilante activities.

He navigated his way through the crowd with care. Being as big as he was, he was well aware of his ability to intimidate without trying, so he tapped shoulders, nodded politely, and made his way behind the bar as graciously as he could.

Upon seeing him, Gracie jerked her head in surprise then smiled. Hadn’t expected that. Kind of warmed his heart.

He put up a single digit, a give me a second before you kick me out. He leaned closer. She was a good foot shorter. “Stopped by to check on you and have that drink.” He gazed around. “Looks like you’re slammed. Okay if I help? Worked as a bartender in college.”

Gracie’s face walked the line between yes please and stay the hell away, then tipped over. “I could use the help.”

She sent the obviously relieved server back into the club, opened a couple of beers and handed them to a guy across the bar. She took his cash and smiled when he told her to keep the change.

When she turned back to Dusty, her eyes ran down him like it was involuntary. That kind of warmed him too. Warm enough to start a fire.

She pointed to a notepad. “There are two parties that have a tab, try to handle those. You can just write the drinks down. We have the credit cards, so we can tally them later.”

She began making a mixed drink, efficient and calm and sexy as anything he’d ever seen. “Cash is king for you. Drink prices are there.” She pointed to a laminated document held together at a punch-holed corner with a silver hoop. She winged a slice of lemon around the drink she’d made and handed it to a woman, who handed Gracie a credit card. Running the card, she gave Dusty a quick overview of the cash register.

Basically, he had to push three buttons. He could handle that and the math. “What about credit/debit cards?”

She pulled out the receipt that had just spit from the credit card machine. “I’ll handle all people with cards.”

“Got it, boss lady.”

She smiled, and as she walked away, tossed back, “Thanks. Really.”

Lady had a great backside. “Happy to help.”

Quick to learn where everything was, Dusty hit his stride. It wasn’t hard to find people with cash or on account, so he didn’t hurt for business. For the next few hours, he and Gracie worked, brushing hotly against each other as they buzzed here and there.

But, much to his disappointment, not standing in one place long enough to talk or explore that heat. The crowd kept them hopping. A few people got handsy with him and her, trying to get attention. Nothing they couldn’t handle, until the big guy.

Dusty watched him. Impatient as hell, using his size to insert himself at the bar as if the crowd were an insult. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loud to get Gracie’s attention. She turned.

If it had been him, Dusty would’ve ignored the guy. But he saw Gracie’s eyes evaluate the guy and the situation. A smile on her face, she went right over. They exchanged a few words. She tapped the bar as if asking for his patience and began to turn.

Guy’s big hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Gracie looked at where he held her, said something, smiled like it was the only warning she’d give.

The guy’s knuckles whitened on her wrist. A few people at the bar were paying attention now. Someone had taken out a cell. Gracie Parish on camera. Which meant she wasn’t likely to pull any self-defense. She surely wouldn’t want that all over the internet.

Dusty would’ve moved to help, but he was also sure the lady didn’t need it and wouldn’t appreciate him butting in. Plus, he wanted to see what she’d do.

Still smiling at the guy, she reached under the bar, pulled out a nozzle for the fountain drinks, and blasted the guy, not in the face, but directly up his nose.

Shock and the sting of it had him reeling back. The people lining the bar sprang away. Gracie backed up too but kept hold of the nozzle.

That second was all that was needed for one of the bouncers to move in for the kill. He wrestled the dude, got him under control, grabbed him by the neck. Forcing the guy’s head down, he marched the soaked idiot out.

By the time the bouncer reached the front door, Gracie was already getting bar towels and handing them to customers, apologizing for the mess and offering free drinks.

Maybe feeling his gaze, she looked over at him. He’d thought he’d see condemnation, like why hadn’t he hotfooted it over there and given her a hand, but she smiled. She smiled and mouthed, “That was fun.”

Lady was going to break his heart.

***

Excerpted from The Price of Grace by Diana Muñoz Stewart. © 2019 by Diana Muñoz Stewart. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

 

About the Author

Having earned her MFA in Creative Writing, Diana Munoz Stewart went on to write several novels that garnered awards and recognition in the paranormal, science fiction, and contemporary romance genres. A believer in the power of words to heal and connect, she blogs and provides web-content on health, writing, and social issues. She resides in Pennsylvania.

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Giveaway

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Synopsis

Finally, life is good for reluctant family law attorney, Jamie Quinn–her father may get his visa soon, her boyfriend is the bomb, and her law practice is growing like crazy–but when she agrees to take on a high-profile divorce case, everything falls apart. What looked like an opportunity to work with her friend Grace and make some serious bucks has turned into a deadly game, one that could destroy their friendship and tear their town apart. Why couldn’t Jamie just leave well enough alone?

 

Excerpt

Chapter One

“What do you mean you’re going to Australia for three months? If this is a joke, Kip, I don’t think it’s funny.” I pointed my chopsticks at my boyfriend for emphasis.

When I’m upset I get loud, which could explain why everyone in the restaurant was looking at us. For them, it was dinner and a show, but, for me, it was like being in a sit-com with a live studio audience–minus the laugh track. We had been enjoying a romantic dinner at Heart Rock Sushi (the one in Fort Lauderdale) and drinking enough sake to feel warm and fuzzy when Kip dropped this bombshell on me.

“I thought you’d be happy for me, Jamie.” Kip looked puzzled. His warm brown eyes held my gaze and I couldn’t turn away. “I have this incredible opportunity to work with an environmental scientist and save a species from extinction, all expenses paid. And I need a change of scenery–you know better than anyone that being Director of Broward County Parks hasn’t been my dream job.”

I smiled. “Oh, right, just because you had to deal with three hundred disgruntled employees, a smart-ass vandal, and a psychopath, it’s not your dream job? Anyway, that was six months ago, it’s been quiet since then.”

“That’s the problem,” he said, wedging a piece of tuna roll in his mouth. The wasabi made his eyes water but he didn’t seem to notice. “It’s too quiet. It’s dull, monotonous and predictable. In a word, bo-ring! I can’t stand doing budgets and employee reviews–I want to be outside, doing something real. Know what I mean?”

I’d suddenly lost my appetite. I knew I was being selfish, but I had my reasons. What if Kip loved Australia so much he never came back? Or what if he came back hating his job more than ever? It was a no-win situation, but I could see I’d lost this battle before it began. I resigned myself to the inevitable.

“The County’s okay with you leaving for three months?” I asked, forcing a smile.

“Hell, yeah,” Kip said with a grin. “They’re so glad I didn’t sue them after all I went through that they would’ve given me anything. They even offered me paid leave but I turned it down. It didn’t feel right.”

I shook my head in amazement. “That’s a nice chunk of change you’re walking away from, buddy, and I’d say you earned it–like combat pay. Look, I know Florida is flat and overdeveloped and could never be mistaken for the great outdoors, but we have endangered species, too. In fact, I was just reading about some creeps who were turtle-poaching. Why don’t you stay here and save the turtles? They need you, Kip! I don’t think the turtles can survive without you.”

He laughed and reached across the table to take my hand, “I’m sorry, Jamie, I can’t pass this up, but I promise that the three months will fly by. We’ll talk and Skype every day and you can come visit me. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?”

I refused to look at him, afraid I’d cry. I picked up a chopstick and poked listlessly at the stir-fry congealing on my plate.

“Babe?”

I had to stop fighting this and do the right thing. I’d lost Kip once before, when we were dating in high school and he’d gone off to college. We did wind up back together, eventually, but it had taken fifteen years. This time, I’d just have to have faith. Then there was the other problem…

“I can’t visit you, Kip,” I said. “I’m going to Nicaragua next month to see my dad–finally–and since I’m the one sponsoring him I can’t go to Australia and risk missing the immigration interview.”

No matter how tightly I squeezed my eyes shut, tears were starting to leak out. One was hanging off my nose and I didn’t even care. Kip came around the table and sat down next to me. After gently wiping my tears, he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I leaned into his chest, my wet face staining his shirt.

“It’ll be fine, Jamie, and who knows? Maybe your dad’s situation will straighten out early and you can come over. That might happen, right?”

I couldn’t resist that teasing half-smile, those laugh lines on his tan face. I squeezed his hand.

“Sure it could,” I said, sitting up straight, trying to shake it off. “Now, tell me what you’ll be doing out there. What poor creature needs your help so desperately? And I’m not talking about me this time.” I mustered a genuine smile and then polished off the last of the sake. It was stone cold, but still burned all the way down.

Kip’s eyes lit up and he became more animated than I’d seen him in a long time. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he showed me photos of a strange-looking animal with gray fur and a short stubby tail. It looked like a combination Koala Bear, housecat, and pig .I had to admit it was very cute. It reminded me of a stuffed animal I’d won at a carnival years ago that I still kept on my bed because my cat liked to snuggle with it. Okay, I’ll admit it, I liked to snuggle with it.

‘What do you think this little critter is?” Kip asked, playing teacher.

“No clue.”

“Meet the endangered Northern Hairy-Nosed Wombat,” he said. “There are only a hundred and sixty-three of them left.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “There’s also a Southern Hairy-Nosed Wombat?”

“Yup, and there’s a third one called the Common Wombat. The Northern is the largest and can weigh up to eighty pounds. I’ll be tracking them and exploring locations to start a new population. It has to be somewhere safe because they breed slowly and are preyed on by dingoes and Tasmanian devils.”

“Now if I only knew what a dingo and a Tasmanian devil looked like, I’d have the big picture,” I joked.

Kip spent the next twenty minutes describing the project and the Epping Forest in Queensland where he’d be spending most of his time. I tried to look excited for Kip’s sake, but all I could think about was how he’d be gone so long, making friends and having adventures, all without me. Right in the middle of my pity party I thought of something that made me laugh. Other girls might worry about losing their guy to another woman, but not me. I’d already lost mine–to a Hairy-Nosed Wombat. Excuse me, a Northern Hairy-Nosed wombat.

 

About the Author

Barbara Venkataraman is an attorney and mediator specializing in family law and debt collection.

She is the author of the award-winning Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery series, as well as “Teatime with Mrs. Grammar Person”, and three books of humorous essays: “I’m Not Talking about You, Of Course”; “A Trip to the Hardware Store & Other Calamities”; and “A Smidge of Crazy”, from her Quirky Essays for Quirky People series. Her books have won numerous awards including three-time winner of the “Indie Book of the Day” Award, First Place in the 2016 Chanticleer Murder & Mayhem Mystery Writing Competition, Honorable Mention in the Readers’ Favorite Contest for Non-Fiction Humor, and Finalist, 2017 Kindle Book Awards.

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Synopsis

When a homeless war veteran is beaten to death by the police, stormy protests ensue, engulfing a small New Jersey town. Soon after, three cops are gunned down.

A multi-state manhunt is underway for a cop killer on the loose. And Dr. Tessa Thorpe, a veteran’s counselor, is caught up in the chase.

Donald Darfield, an African-American Iraqi war vet, war-time buddy of the beaten man, and one of Tessa’s patients, is holed up in a mountain cabin. Tessa, acting on instinct, sets off to find him, but the swarm of law enforcement officers gets there first, leading to Darfield’s dramatic capture.

Now, the only people separating him from the lethal needle of state justice are Tessa and ageing blind lawyer, Nathaniel Bodine. Can they untangle the web tightening around Darfield in time, when the press and the justice system are baying for revenge?

 

Winner of Three Awards

2019 American Fiction Award

National Indie Excellency Award – Best Legal Thriller of 2019

Silver Medal Winner 2019 – Readers’ Favorites Awards

Chosen by Wiki.ezvid.com among their list of 10 Gripping and Intelligent Legal Thrillers

 

Praise

The courtroom scenes are wonderfully written…the characters are well described and the author paints a picture of each in the mind of the reader…Strong plot, strong characters and a strong writing style that I really enjoyed. This one is a definite “thumbs-up.” Strongly recommend! I look forward to reading additional works by N. Lombardi, Jr. – Kim M Aalaie, Author’s Den

One of my favorite suspense novels of the year. It will make you question the legal system. – The Eclectic Review

The courtroom action is excellent, trimmed to the most gripping parts of the trial, with plenty of emotional impact…a fairly realistic portrayal of the way small-town US society works…a fast-moving story with plenty of dramatic moments, and a big twist in the final pages. – Crime Review 

 

Excerpt

“Welcome, Dr. Thorpe. Meet our investigator,” Bodine said, obviously referring to the good-looking young man wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and baggy khakis.

He leaned over and offered his hand for Tessa to shake. “Michael Bodine.”

“Ah, I should have known…I can see the resemblance.” “Handsome, ain’t he?” the elder Bodine quipped. “Keeping it all in the family, are we?” Tessa fired back.

“If you want loyalty in this business, leave alone reliability, that’s the way to go.” The old man straightened out the recliner to a sitting position, with the footrest retreating inside the bottom with a muffled clang. “Well, we got everything the DA has to offer: arrest report, scene forensics, autopsy and ballistics…we were just about to discuss the witness list. Your arrival was good timing.”

“What about Donald’s alibi? Did you get a hold of that bartender in Allentown?”

Michael shook his head forlornly. “Disappeared, scrammed. Nobody knows where he went.”

Tessa nearly erupted. “What! Don’t you think that’s just a bit more than coincidence?”

Nat Bodine held his hand up, palm outward. “Stop that right now. I understand your paranoia of the State after all you’ve been through in your life, but we’re not going down that road yet…we won’t win that way…and maybe he just took off on his own, not wanting to get involved…course we’ll be sneaking behind the scenes to see if anything nefarious was involved, but we can’t be wasting time trying to prove such a serious charge, we got other fish to fry, so let’s get on with it.” He turned his head, his white mane flopping as he did so. “Michael, check out that Hoskers woman yet?”

“Hoskers woman?” Tessa asked.

Emily explained. “The prosecution has listed a witness who claims she saw Darfield in the vicinity of Fratollini’s house just around the time he was shot.”

“I’m still on it,” Michael said. “Going back right after we’re finished here.”

Tessa wore a puzzled frown. “Who is this witness?”

Bodine was growing annoyed at her interruptions. “She’ll testify that she saw a large black man with a rifle slung over his shoulder walking in a direction consistent with Fratollini’s residence. That little shit of an assistant DA will probably goad her into identifying Darfield right there in the courtroom. Now, Michael, what we got so far?’

“Well, she wears glasses for one. She answered the door with them on. And not for reading, she took them off to read my card. And when she read it, she practically plastered it to her eyeball.” “She probably doesn’t like bifocals, has two pairs of specs, one for reading. Good work, son. I would imagine there’s no golf

course around there.”

“No, but there is a pool hall. That’s what I want to follow up on today, have a few chats with the clientele.”

“Atta boy.”

“I don’t think I get you,” Tessa said.

Nat Bodine coughed briefly  before  speaking.  “It’s  easier to get someone to admit they made a mistake than to accuse someone of lying, and it goes better with the jury, I might add. Okay, she saw a large African-American man. How large? Was he really the same size as Darfield? Was he an African-American, or maybe a dark Latino, a Tamil from India…and was that a rifle over his shoulder, or a golf bag, or maybe just a black case holding a pool cue… now, let’s stop jabbering and review how the State is going to present its case. The reason I brought up this Hoskers woman is that most prosecutors prefer to start with a strong witness, someone who could put the accused in the same general location as the victim.”

“I’m afraid I disagree with you on that one, Dad,” Emily said. “Why’s that?”

“I’ve studied Fiske. He’s very methodical, likes to go from A to B…he’ll start off with the detectives on the scene, followed by the crime scene forensic people, I’m almost certain. Then, to gain sympathy early in the game, they’ll call the widow, Mrs. Fratollini. And to keep the emotional aspect up, they’ll call the coroner to go over the autopsy.”

“How can that be emotional?” Tessa asked. “They’ll show photos of the corpses.” “Oh.”

“Then come the experts: ballistics, and a psychologist to give testimony on PTSD.”

Tessa was alarmed. “Shit! Who’s this person?” “Dr. Weibul. Know him?”

“Her. Yes, I’ve heard of her. You’ll call me as a rebuttal witness, won’t you?”

“We’re considering it,” the old man said. “You’ll at least assist me in preparing the cross-examination. But as a witness for the defense, perhaps someone else less involved in the public eye would be better, maybe your right-hand man, Casey?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea?” “Why not?”

“I’m not sure. I’d better discuss it with him first.” “You do that,” Bodine said, a bit imperiously.

“I’m sorry, Dad, but again I disagree,” Emily said. “I think we should eliminate the gender factor here, you know, woman expert versus man expert…we need another woman.”

“Know of any?” Bodine inquired.

“Yes, a few,” Tessa said, “not closely associated with the clinic.”

“Contact them right away, arrange a meeting with Emily.” “Oh, look who they have here?” Emily exclaimed. “Donald’s

small arms instructor.”

“Well, they have the motive,” her father said, “so they need to concentrate on the means, namely, was Donald Darfield capable of picking off those men at long range with a rifle.”

“Should we get an expert to counter him?”

“No need. They’re gonna shoot themselves in the foot with this one. No pun intended.”

His daughter resumed her analysis of the State’s case. “After all the discussion on PTSD, they’ll put the motel manager on the stand. Remember the motel where Donald smashed the television? They’ll be building a foundation of violent behavior, and once it’s laid, they’ll go with Lt. Colonel Calvin Gerhard of the New Jersey State Police Investigations Branch to talk about Donald shooting at the police.”

“So,” Bodine posed, “when do you think they’ll put the Hoskers woman on the stand.”

“I think Fiske will save her for last, makes more of an impression, easier to stick in the minds of the jury.”

“Anyone else?”

“That’s it, Dad. Nobody that looks like a snitch here.” “Don’t be so sure. It just means they haven’t found one yet.” “So who do we have?” Tessa asked.

“We have our own ballistics expert,” Emily said. “A professor at John Jay Criminal College, worked with the NYPD for thirty years. And, as we just said, we’ll need a PTSD expert…”

“Who else?”

Emily looked at her father with a hesitant expression, and although he could not see it, the pregnant pause that followed told him the ball was back in his court.

“There’s only one other person,” he stated somberly. “No, don’t say it, you can’t put him on the stand.”

“If they do finally come up with a snitch, I’ll have to. Only he himself can deny the lies.”

“Look, he looks like this big tough guy, but he’s very fragile, he could lose it, especially when the DA butchers him in cross- examination.”

“Not if I butcher him first.”

Tessa was afraid to ask exactly what that meant. An awkward silence ensued. Bodine broke it. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Dad, I think we’re through now. I’d like to take Tessa to Jerry’s Home Cooking and have her taste that incomparable cheesecake.”

Bodine became animated. “I tell you, that cheesecake could compete with the best in the country, even those fancy places you might be going to in Manhattan.”

Tessa didn’t feel like cheesecake, but she did relish some time alone with Emily, intuiting that their discussion would center on Donald having to testify. “I’ll let you know,” she said, getting up in unison with Emily.

 

About the Author

N. Lombardi Jr, the N for Nicholas, has spent over half his life in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East, working as a groundwater geologist. Nick can speak five languages: Swahili, Thai, Lao, Chinese, and Khmer (Cambodian).

In 1997, while visiting Lao People’s Democratic Republic, he witnessed the remnants of a secret war that had been waged for nine years, among which were children wounded from leftover cluster bombs. Driven by what he saw, he worked on The Plain of Jars for the next eight years.

Nick maintains a website with content that spans most aspects of the novel: The Secret War, Laotian culture, Buddhism etc.

His second novel, Journey Towards a Falling Sun, is set in the wild frontier of northern Kenya.

His latest novel, Justice Gone was inspired by the fatal beating of a homeless man by police.

Nick now lives in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

Website * Goodreads * Amazon

 

Title: Claiming Sarah

Author: Susan Stoker

Release Date: September 10, 2019

Publisher: Montlake

 

Synopsis

Sarah Butler isn’t flattered. She’s angry and unnerved. She’s been getting intimate gifts from a man she barely knows. Nothing threatening yet, but there’s just a weird vibe she can’t ignore. Her recourse is Ace Security. Their solution: self-defense lessons at Rock Hard Gym with a personal, hands-on instructor. One look at the bearded, tattooed, green-eyed alpha is enough to take Sarah’s breath away.

Cole Johnson is definitely the man for the job. He’s eager to train her. Eager to get closer. And when it comes to Sarah’s instincts, Cole knows she’s not imagining things. He’s also not imagining the intense attraction between them—and his desire to protect her is growing. But so are Sarah’s fears, the worst of which come true when she disappears.

Enlisting the help of Ace Security, Cole will stop at nothing to find the love of his life . . . before she vanishes forever.

 

Opposites Attract: When Cole Claims Sarah

In Claiming Sarah, Cole Johnson is co-owner of one of his town’s most popular gyms. He’s extremely busy since his partner, Felicity, is out of town. He makes an appointment to meet with Sarah Butler, to arrange for some self defense training for her, but he almost loses his chance when she overhears him telling his secretary he’s too busy and to give her an excuse as to why he can’t meet her. The couple (obviously) works out that awkward first meeting and Sarah begins learning how to defend herself from a creepy man who keeps giving her inappropriate presents. Of course the more time Cole spends with Sarah, the more he likes her and they end up dating. When she disappears it’s up to Cole, and Ace Security, to put together the clues to find her before it’s too late.

Cole Johnson is a man who’s used to plowing through his day and when he needs or wants something, he simply gets it. Sarah Butler is more reserved. As a kid who didn’t feel wanted until she was finally adopted she was used to being in the background. Cole and Sarah compliment each other perfectly. Cole is able to ferret out what Sarah wants and needs and he delivers. And in return Sarah keeps Cole grounded. She smooths out his jagged edges.

I think that’s how good relationships work, at least in my books. The Hero is there to protect and shield his woman from anyone or anything that might want to hurt her, and she’s there to keep him grounded and to support him. It seems to just work.

***

Excerpt: Claiming Sarah

“Do you ask out every woman you train at your gym? It just seems . . . fast.”

Cole stared at her for a long moment, and when he frowned, Sarah felt as if she’d somehow disappointed him.

“No, I don’t ask out every woman I train. Not even close. It’s been a long time since I’ve asked anyone out. And believe me, Sarah, I’m looking at you—and I like what I see. A lot. You’ve got an air of innocence about you that I find fascinating. You’ve had a tough life, but haven’t let it harden you. I respect you, and I . . . I’d like to get to know you better.”

She bit her lip and took a deep breath, but didn’t immediately protest, so he went on. “I have a feeling simply being around you will make me a better person.”

Sarah shook her head. “Don’t do that. Don’t put me on a pedestal. I’m not some paragon walking around sprinkling glitter throughout the world.”

Cole laughed. Threw his head back and laughed as if she’d said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

Sarah tugged on her hand again, somewhat offended, but he still refused to let go.

When he got himself under control, he said, “I know you’re not perfect. You’re too trusting. You see the good in everyone, even when there isn’t any there. You probably neglect your own health in order to do something good for someone else.”

“You make me sound like an idiot,” Sarah grumbled, despite being secretly kind of flattered.

“You’re not an idiot. You’re refreshing. And I’m not. I’ve got more than my share of flaws that I’m sure you’ll discover sooner rather than later. But as I said, if you let me get to know you, go out on a few dates with me, I’m hoping you’ll find that you like me back . . . just a little.”

Sarah frowned. “I already like you, Cole, but I don’t understand you. You don’t know anything about me. I could totally be lying to you right now, and you just bought my lies hook, line, and sinker.”

He smiled again. “You’re not lying.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m an expert at reading body language. I’ve been around some bad people in my life, angel. You are who you say you are. What you see is what you get.”

Sarah licked her lips nervously, and his gaze immediately followed the movement.

Cole persisted. “Say you’ll go out with me, Sarah.”

“I thought I was here to figure out how to defend myself.”

“You are. And we’ll get to that. Agreeing to go out with me in no way affects whether or not I’ll teach you some basic moves that will allow you to get away from someone and get to safety.”

“But if I say no, things could get weird.”

“Then say yes,” Cole cajoled. “I swear you’ve got nothing to fear from me. I’ll even get references if that will make you feel safer.”

“It’s not that. I think I feel safer with you than anyone I’ve ever been around . . .” She

hesitated.

“But?”

“I’m afraid once you get to know me, you’ll decide I’m annoying. Too much work or something. I work odd hours, weird shifts. And I looked you up online. I know about your friend and what happened to her. And about the Andersons. The last thing I want is my stalker getting upset when he sees us together—because he will—and taking out any anger on you and your friends.”

“Breathe, angel. Take a breath. Nothing is going to happen to them.”

“You can’t control people, Cole,” Sarah pressed. “They’re unpredictable.”

“Fine. Then we’ll meet with Logan, Blake, Nathan, and Ryder, and make sure they know everything about this Owen guy. We’ll let them investigate and figure out what will make him back off. In the meantime, we’ll hang out at my place. Or here. Or your house. We won’t shove our relationship down Owen’s throat. We’ll be discreet. How’s that sound?”

Sarah could only gape at him. “How’d we go from me wanting some tips on protecting myself to having Ace Security investigating Owen and you and me hanging out at each other’s houses?”

He smiled at her again, but didn’t answer her question.

She took a deep breath and gave him the only answer she could. “Okay.”

He beamed. “Okay,” he said quietly. Then he finally let go of her hand and stood, before immediately reaching the same hand down to her again. “Time for your first lesson.”

Automatically, she reached up and let him help her off the floor. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. A kiss to seal the deal. A hug. A discussion about when and where their first date would be. But so far, Cole hadn’t done anything the way she expected him to.

“First lesson for today will be how to get a guy to let go of your hand if he’s been holding on too long and you’re uncomfortable.”

Sarah knew he was referring to her feeble attempts to pull her hand out of his, and blushed. But he was right, this was something she should know. It would come in handy at the hospital too, just in case one of the patients or family members got a little too familiar, as they’d done in the past.

Concentrating on his instruction, she did her best to put her nerves about dating Cole behind her.

 

 

About the Author

Susan Stoker is the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of Claiming Felicity, Claiming Bailey, Claiming Grace, and Claiming Alexis in the Ace Security series. A lover of alpha heroes, Susan is also the author of the Badge of Honor: Texas Heroes, SEAL of Protection, and Delta Force Heroes series. Married to a retired Army noncommissioned officer, Stoker has lived all over the country—from Missouri and California to Colorado and Texas—and currently lives under the big skies of Tennessee. She is a true believer in happily ever after and enjoys writing novels in which romance turns to love.

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Goodreads

 

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Synopsis

Organised criminals are smuggling tiger bone out of China to feed an insatiable black market. They will stop at nothing to dominate a growing trade where profit margins dwarf those of narcotics, with little penalty. They have only one problem – they can’t get enough of it.

Following the murder of his friend, former soldier Daniel Harpur is on the warpath. A small bag of white powder and a Chinese gangster with a dragon tattoo are his only leads. He has vowed revenge, but first he must overcome his own personal demons.

The Wildlife Investigation Agency, charged with protecting endangered animals and their habitats, are on the trail of an infamous poacher who is decimating the wild tiger population. But red tape and bureaucracy thwart their every move.
Both Harpur and the WIA want justice. Just in different ways…….

An action-packed and gripping novel highlighting the lucrative illegal trade in wildlife and the plight of tigers – one of the world’s most iconic and beautiful creatures.

Excerpt

The weather in London was cold, grey and dismal in comparison to the warm Indian climate Heather had only just returned from. As she looked out of the window from her small dingy office at the WIA Headquarters, she felt that it matched her mood well.

On her return from the Panna Tiger Reserve, having spectacularly failed in her bid to capture Kojo Selassie, she had been greeted with paperwork and bills demanding eye watering amounts of money for equipment and services used in her expedition. No commiserations from her authorities or encouragement to try again. Only grim faces and complaints. The head of the WIA, Peter Blackthorn, summed it up when he called her in for a debriefing.

“We had a lot riding on your endeavours, Heather. Perhaps I didn’t emphasise the importance, or maybe I should have sent someone else instead? Not only did you allow Selassie to escape, but you allowed him to escape with one of the last breeding females on the reserve and her cubs! It’s been a calamity, Heather. Too risky from the very beginning. I should never have let you talk me into it in the first place.”

“That’s unfair, Peter! You said it yourself. The only way to stop the poachers is to follow the chain to the top. To the dealers! Selassie and whoever he works with are the ones we were after. We agreed that a tiger must be sacrificed in order to follow it, did we not?”

“We did. But you’ve lost that tiger, Heather! It’s been two days now and we’ve heard nothing.”

“We’re so restricted, Peter! I had to play everything by the book and my hands were tied. What we need to fight these people is free rein and a strong arm internationally. Selassie is greasing the palms of officials all over Africa and Asia, and crossing borders at will. Following that tiger out of Indian jurisdiction and into Nepal, Bhutan or China, or possibly all bloody three would have been a nightmare!”

“Which is precisely why we needed to catch him in India! Get back to your office and compile a report on the matter. I have to apply for more funding in the near future, and God only knows, without results the Wildlife Investigation Agency itself could become as endangered as the animals we’re trying to protect! We rely on charity, Heather. A high profile arrest such as Selassie would have produced interest and funding from all angles. But now… well…”

“I was close, Peter. It boiled down to a matter of luck. We also rely on good luck and sparse information from oppressed and frightened people. If we had some muscle! Some way of fighting these criminals that would hit them hard!”

“Look, your efforts are appreciated, but we have few enough resources and manpower as it is. We operate within the law. We’re not mercenaries. Anyway, there are perhaps more manageable projects we could look at – African elephants, illegal logging in the Amazon, plastic in the oceans. A depressingly endless list.”

“But, Peter, we’re so close to catching Selassie! Just give me a little longer…”

He lifted his phone to make a call and waved her away. Heather left his office deflated and frustrated. She racked her brains for any other way she could have played it, but it always boiled down to the same thing. Luck.

If she had had her way, Heather would have marched into the village of the poachers and knocked some heads together. She would have locked them up and beat them until the whereabouts of Selassie and the tiger had been told.

Every single person in the village to which they had tracked the trail had remained silent. The rangers knew who the poachers were, and the poachers knew Selassie. It wasn’t rocket science, but all were so infuriatingly intertwined and the area so vast and isolated, that it made life very difficult indeed. Within minutes of arriving in the village, the tiger, if it was one, must have been whisked away in the back of a vehicle to join the scores of others heading for China. The trail had gone cold just like that. Needles and haystacks sprang to mind.

She averted her gaze from the window and back to the papers, as the phone on her desk began to ring.

“Hello. Wildlife Investigation Agency. Heather Walsh speaking.”

“Hello. I’d like to speak to someone about tigers?”

Thinking it a prank from someone in the building, at her expense, Heather wasn’t amused.

“Is this a joke? I really don’t have time for this…”

“My name is Daniel Harpur. I found your details on the internet. I believe you head up investigations into endangered tigers in Asia and their sale on the black market? I have information that could be of use to you. But it’s a two way thing. I want information in return.”

“What information do you have, Mr Harpur?”

“Three Chinese gangsters killed my friend, over a tiny bag of tiger bone in Laohu’s Traditional Chinese Medicine Shop in Belfast. I found the men at Carter International Logistics Headquarters in Belfast Harbour. You’ll not be surprised to hear that we don’t have tigers in Northern Ireland, so I’m guessing it was shipped into there from somewhere else.”

“Are you a police officer?”

“No. They don’t seem to be very interested in this case.”

“There’s not a lot of solid information there, Mr Harpur, but I can look into it. With regards to exchanging information… well… it really would need to be first class intelligence for anything like that to happen.”

“I understand… what if I could find out more? What exactly is it that you need to make it first class information?”

“I need to know what quantities are involved. Criminals move tiger bone all over the world, as powder, in wine, meat for restaurants, decoration. You may have just stumbled across the end product. To be honest, I need the supplier, not the street dealer or the user, and I need to trace the powder back to wherever it originated so I can try to stop it. Look, Mr Harpur, dangerous criminals are involved in this business. It is mostly the Chinese who demand these products, so the triads will be heavily involved. They are well organised and very dangerous. You should leave any investigations to your local authorities.”

“They don’t want to know. It’s been six months since my friend was murdered and the police are no further on in their investigation. His killer is still walking free.”

“You said you wanted to know more. What is it you need to know?”

“Everything.”

Excerpt is taken from Publishing Push

About the Author

Andrew Jackson writes gritty crime/action and adventure novels. He uses exciting and engaging characters, along with a fast moving plot, to grip the reader from the beginning to the end of the book. He is an avid reader and conservationist, hence the creation of the Dan Harpur series which tackles the epidemic in wildlife crime worldwide.

Website

 

 

Title: The Wonder of Now

Author: Jamie Beck

Release Date: September 10, 2019

Publisher: Montlake

 

Synopsis

Peyton Prescott would give anything for the carefree life she knew before breast cancer changed everything. But instead of using her second chance to move forward, she’s stuck promoting the memoir her brother convinced her to write, thus reliving the very battle she wants to forget. If she hopes her European book tour will allow her to enjoy revisiting her favorite travel-writing destinations, she’s wrong: her PR whiz is too consumed with his own goals to consider her needs.

Mitch Mathis has relied on discipline to achieve his goals, and with his new firm’s success riding on Peyton’s book launch, he must keep her on task. They’re here for business, not pleasure. And Mitch won’t let unbridled desire harm his professional reputation—not again.

When frustrated expectations and attraction throw the tour into chaos, it challenges everything Mitch and Peyton believe about themselves, life, and love, forcing these opposites to consider whether they can embrace the change they need to grow.

 

 

Guest Post: Author Jamie Beck Urges Readers to Focus on the Wonder of Now

Throughout my career, I’ve loved the challenge of redeeming a character that might be hard to like, much less love. In Peyton, the heroine from The Wonder of Now, I took on a particular challenge, because most of my readers are women, and most women don’t forgive a friend who betrays them for a man. This setup made redeeming Peyton a singular challenge and begs two questions: who is Peyton, and why should you care about what happens to her?

Peyton Prescott is part of a legendary literary family owing to her great-grandfather’s prolific career as a celebrated novelist. The casual observer would say she’s grown up in a mansion by the sea and enjoyed every privilege (wealth, beauty, wit). But life in Arcadia House wasn’t as picture-perfect as her family would have the public believe, and emotionally distant parents didn’t exactly model warmth or instill a sense of deep love and acceptance. She spent her twenties living out of suitcases and blogging about her travels, then had the misfortune of falling for her childhood friend’s boyfriend, who dumped that friend for Peyton…until she got diagnosed with breast cancer, at which point he dumped her, too.

Facing her mortality alone forced her to take a hard look at her life and her choices, spurring a sincere desire to become a better person, and to make amends with the friend she betrayed. Although she gets diagnosed in the first book in this series, and begins to make amends in the second, this final book is when all the threads come together. She and her famed-photographer brother recorded her journey from diagnosis through her final surgeries, collaborating on a memoir that is about to release (the proceeds of which will be donated to cancer research). Of course, at this point in time she’s more interested in moving on with her life than with reliving the experience with cancer and sharing those intimacies in public forums. Her attitude puts her in direct opposition to the publicist, Mitch, who is counting on her becoming his fledgling company’s big hit.

Despite Peyton’s flaws, of which she is well-aware, she also has strengths that draw people to her. She’s self-deprecating, witty, brave, beautiful, and empathetic. She now also has a heightened appreciation for living in the moment and not taking any day for granted—something the goal-oriented Mitch must learn to do. Although he has very good reasons for being disciplined and focused on his ambitions, he is instantly drawn to her energetic spirit and zest for life.

I confess that I struggled while writing this book, but it ended up becoming my favorite to date. Not just because I loved rising to the challenge I’d set up, but also because Peyton’s musings, fears, and hopes go to the heart of what connects us all, and because I think I gave her the perfect man to help her complete her much-needed personal growth arc. But you can be the judge!

 

Excerpt: The Wonder of Now

The writer from the Barcelona Review swaggered in and sat down. Medium height, trim, with coal-black hair worn a bit shaggy. The guy’s eyes lit up when he got his first good look at Peyton’s smile, making Mitch’s gut tighten.

“Hello, Miss Prescott. I’m Javier Molina, but friends call me Javi.” He reached across the table to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Javi. Please call me Peyton.”

The little knot in Mitch’s stomach screwed tighter when he thought she was flirting. She’s only smiling, stupid.

Javi set up his phone recorder and then slouched back, feet planted wide apart on the ground, pen in hand. That cocky bastard was trying to intimidate Peyton with his domineering position. “First, let me say I enjoyed the book, although I suspect some of the caustic humor was meant to keep us at a distance.”

“Not exactly,” she muttered.

Javi hesitated but would be disappointed if he expected his silence would force her to elaborate. Mitch had watched her operate with interviewers in Rome. She’d make an excellent trial witness, answering only those questions asked—nothing more or less. Even this spare utterance seemed to have slipped through her fortress wall.

Javi prodded again. “In certain cases, the photographs are more raw than the narrative, although they blend seamlessly together. All but the cover photo, which has no explanation or accompanying exposition. It’s a spectacular, harsh image . . . Can you tell our readers what was going through your mind when it was taken?”

“You mean aside from ‘I’m going to kill you, Logan’?” She chuckled, buying herself a precious moment to compose her thoughts, Mitch guessed.

Meanwhile, Javi raised his index finger with a sly nod, as if she’d proved the point he’d made a moment ago about her defense mechanism. Rather than venture another attempt to flirt his way past Peyton’s defenses, Javi simply stared at her this time, waiting for a real answer.

Her gaze drifted, eyes cloudy. If she’d wanted to discuss whatever happened at the time of that photo, she would’ve put it in the memoir.

Mitch loosened his fist and wiggled his fingers. She needed to do this for herself, and it might be easier on her if he left the room. It would certainly be easier on him not to listen to the story behind the photo that had captivated yet haunted him for weeks.

He wrestled with his internal debate until she sighed.

Without looking at Javi, she picked up the pen and began doodling on the pad in front of her while she spoke. “Forty-five minutes before Logan shot that photo, I’d used the magic mouthwash to help with my mouth ulcers. After the waiting period, I went to the kitchen to get some water. It was predawn, so I’d assumed Logan was sleeping. I took a few sips and then wandered to the living room window. Outside, the street was already coming to life, all shadows and movement and secrets. Garbage men emptying bins, night-shift workers heading home, a stray woman dashing toward the subway on an obvious walk of shame . . . ordinary people living their lives. Probably worrying about the electric bill, or looking forward to a sporting event, or maybe daydreaming about a new love. Things that had once occupied my thoughts but, in that moment, meant less than nothing to me.”

When she paused, Mitch stole a look at her notepad. Daisies?

Her expression shifted to something self-deprecating. “And yet I envied them and those small worries . . . envied their health. Their nonchalance about another new day. I was so separated from it all—and not only by the glass. I swallowed a scream because I knew they, like me before my diagnosis, were taking everything for granted. I watched them, resentment festering because I might not exist long enough to even see those people months later. Worse, they’d never know. Life everywhere would go on without me, and very, very few people would care. Just like that”—she snapped her fingers—“it hit me that my whole life never mattered much. No spouse. No children. No impressive legacy from my Globejotter days. What, of value, had I done with my time?”

The room remained silent while she resumed her doodling. “I don’t know what woke Logan. All I remember is that I turned when I heard the camera click, and then he kept snapping.” She finally looked at Javi and tapped the book jacket with the back end of her pen. “That was his favorite of the bunch.”

Javi straightened his posture while finishing his notes. Peyton shot Mitch a quick glance punctuated by a half shrug. What a strange, intriguing woman. Drawing flowers while relaying her existential crisis to a total stranger.

Mitch offered a sharp nod of approval when what he wanted was to gather her in his arms like a bouquet of delicate flowers and tell her that he would care very much if she didn’t exist tomorrow or the next day or the one after.

 

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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Synopsis

Can a good Southern Girl play tackle football?

Yes, if she nurtures her dream and never gives up!

 Mixing Fact and Fiction, BLACK & BLUE is a Powerful Novel about Fortitude and Determination, a Coming-of-Age Story for a New Generation of Women 

 Growing up in Zephyrhills, Florida, Toady loves nothing more than playing football.  It isn’t surprising, given that football is a religion in the small Southern town.  Indeed, a winning team is a cure-all throughout the South.  But for Toady, the love of football is bittersweet – because Toady’s given name is Christine.  She’s a girl, and girls “can’t” play football.  Christine’s story, and how she beats the odds to become the owner of – and player on – a championship women’s tackle football team, is told in Andra Douglas’s new novel, BLACK & BLUE: Love, Sports, and the Art of Empowerment (BookBaby, July 2019).

Loosely based on the author’s own story, BLACK & BLUE chronicles Christine’s struggle to “get a slice” of the “pigskin pie” of life.  The youngest of three sisters, she chafes against what the South tells her she should be.  From childhood on, she loves football and plays exceptionally well.  But she is denied a spot on the high school team, and by senior year, she watches unhappily as her male classmates win college football scholarships – knowing that for her it cannot be.  Reluctantly, she puts aside her football dreams and moves to New York City, never expecting to play the game she loves – but life is full of surprises.

Douglas, the former owner of the New York Sharks Women’s Pro Football team and a player herself, paints a compelling picture of Christine’s struggle.  But more importantly, BLACK & BLUE lays bare the complexity of being a woman who wants to play what has essentially been a man’s sport since it was first created.  Once in New York, Christine hears rumors about women playing flag football on Fire Island.  She rides the ferry over, clutching her ball – and there she finds her people.  The women who will one day be her teammates on the New York Sharks.

This quirky, tough, and diverse group is held together by their love of the game.  When, after several years of successful flag competitions, the Women’s Professional Football Association is launched, Christine becomes part of this new tackle league – against her better judgment, because she senses that something isn’t quite right.  Before long, she discovers the truth – the Association has no funding and the team needs money and an owner if they want to compete.  To keep her dream alive, Christine haggles and scrapes together the cash to buy the franchise.

And that’s when the tension really heats up.  In order to create a championship team, Christine must make countless personal and financial sacrifices.  Finding a coach who isn’t abusive is a struggle.  Rallying team spirit is an endless quest.  Add to that the loss of her one true love, the devastation of the September 11 attacks, and the sudden death of one of her players, and Christine’s dream seems doomed.  Does she have the guts and the stamina to spite the odds?  Will her sacrifices pay off?

BLACK & BLUE not only challenges gender stereotypes, but takes readers behind the scenes of one of America’s least understood sports. Readers will cheer Christine as she doubles down to fight for the women who want nothing more than to be allowed to play the sport they love.  This is a story of empowerment that will inspire anyone who is struggling to fulfill their dreams.

 

Excerpt

INVITATION TO PLAY

I stand in the heat of the day, thinking this must be a mirage! I look again: a group of women is playing football!

By Andra Douglas

I am sorting socks one day and thinking that all of them can’t possibly belong to one individual when I realize that there are two companions I have overlooked—Me and Myself. After this realization, I view my existence as three entities sharing space in one body. It is a type of schizophrenia that I find comforting. Plus, it explains all the socks.

Time passes quickly and living in New York City means paying the Piper. It also means paying the doorman, the coat checker, the cabbies, the “super” in my brownstone and the woman giving out hand towels in the bathrooms of fine establishments. Life in New York City moves so fast that it seems as though events overlap. Unlike my beloved game of football, there are no time-outs, no half-times, not even any two-minute warnings. Even the traffic lights mean nothing. And all the horns honking make it so noisy. At home, the things with horns say “mooooo.” In New York, there are lots of nasty and maladjusted people. They swear loudly from the middle of the streets and write rude words on walls. The rudest thing on the walls back home was the day the “l” dropped out of “public” on the building we know as the Public Library. Nevertheless, I navigate this city well. And it is slowly becoming home.

“Come through, New York!” I say, aiming my words at the beautiful skyline at the southern end of the island. “Come through…”

Then one day it delivers something. A group of women who play football. Somewhere I hear that beach football is played on Fire Island. So one Saturday I take the ferry over from Sayville out on Long Island. I sit down in the sand holding my football like a security blanket and look for the football action.

Suddenly, like an apparition, Jessie appears next to me. Twenty-nine, slim, muscular and quite beautiful, until she opens her mouth, at which point you know for sure she is a true Brooklynite. Everything you hear is unruly and the opposite of what you might expect from her full and opinion-giving lips. She swaggers; even her gestures have an accent.

I take notice of her curly, unruly shock of short hair. She takes notice of the football in my hands. Then she speaks.

“Seen ya bwall,” she says.

“Yeah?” My slight southern dialect is not nearly as distinguishable as her ‘Brooklynese.’

“Wanna play wit us?” she romps around me in the sand like a puppy.

“Yeah. Ok.” Of course, I want to play! Who’s “us?”

I follow her down the beach and see a group of about fifteen women throwing a football to each other. The heat of the day, the sand…this must be a mirage, or a dream and Jessie is the ghost of football past. But as we approach, I can see that they are still there. An entire group of athletic women and they are playing football! Jessie introduces me.

“Hey! Found another player for the game today. Maybe for the Sharks, too!” They greet me with sandy handshakes, and soon they are telling me about their team named the Sharks in a league in Brooklyn where they all live.

“It’s flag football,” announces a woman named Sarah who says ‘ flag’ like she’s just discovered rancid milk in her lunch pail. She is sitting in the sand putting a pink band-aid on her toe, and her long blonde hair drapes around her knees as she leans forward. Flag football. Alright, maybe it isn’t the spot on the Miami Dolphins I dreamed of as a child, but at least I can play my favorite game and meet people, too.

“But it IS full contact,” Sarah is quick to throw this in, as if embarrassed that they don’t play tackle. They all nod in agreement, grateful that Sarah has pointed this out. She is the EF Hutton of the group. Everyone listens. “Plus, it’s all we have.” She adds as a light afterthought. “So…let’s play…is it Christine or Chris?”

“Christine.” She stands up and her stature is not nearly as big as her presence. About 5’4”, Sarah has a thin, athletic but curvy body. She begins to trot away from the group and puts her hands up signaling for me to throw her the ball. I feel like I just reached heaven and as I whip the football in her direction, I hear several murmurs and a grunt of approval from Jessie, “That lil’ ‘ol skinny arm can send that ball!” she says and Jessie grunts again, but is smiling. Someone named Dulce is waving for me to throw the ball to her, so I zing one her way. She catches it effortlessly and grins at the others.

“Aiiight!” she says, and Sarah is kind enough to translate.

“That’s ‘alright’ in Puerto Rican, Christine.” Then she laughs as a cacophony of ‘aiiiights’ fill the beach air. We play most of the day and the only reason we stop is because Sarah’s dad, Thomas, is picking a group of the players up at the dock in a boat.

I sit in the sand after everyone is gone, tossing the football in the air against the blue sky, reliving moments that made my adrenaline flow: Jessie catching my pass in the end zone and rushing back to the huddle full of excitement. “I didn’t think you saw me!” But I did! Or after I was flushed out of the pocket and ran for a long gain; as we returned to our side of the ball, Sarah flipped her long hair around and, in a playful taunt, told the defense I was the fastest one on the field. These are the things I want to feast on, and the more I eat, the hungrier I become. I lie down in the sand to digest the delicious moments. The clouds form the X’s and O’s of the playbook in my head. I will go home, gnaw these memories to the bone and be ravenous in the fall when I play flag football in Brooklyn with my new friends.

Excerpted from BLACK & BLUE by Andra Douglas (BookBaby/2019).  Available at Amazon

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About the Author

ANDRA DOUGLAS is a native of central Florida and a graduate of Florida State University and Pratt Institute.  A national champion athlete in rugby and women’s tackle football, she was the owner of the New York Sharks Women’s Pro Football team for nineteen years and is the founder of the Fins Up! Foundation for Female Athletes, a non-profit to benefit at-risk teens.  In addition to her love of football, Andra is a professional artist and served as a Vice President/Creative Director at Time Warner for many years. Today, she lives with her parrot, ‘Pie’ in New York’s Greenwich Village where she creates mixed-media artwork.

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Title: Anyone But Rich

Author: Penelope Bloom

Release Date: September 3, 2019

Series: Anyone But…, #1

Publisher: Montlake

Synopsis

Seven years ago, my best friends and I made a promise: No matter what, we would never date one of the King brothers. Even if they grew up to become megafamous, gorgeous, heart-stopping billionaires. Even if they crawled on their knees and begged for forgiveness.

But guess who just flew back into our lives in a private jet? And guess who just showed up to my job on my first day? Richard. King. Fortunately, it takes two seconds for Richard to reveal he hasn’t changed. Conceited. Cocky. Rude. Unfortunately, he’s also the kind of gorgeous that’s borderline offensive—with a jawline to make statues self-conscious and a grin that short-circuits my brain.

He’s spent years taking what he wants. I doubt he’s hungry for anything else—except me, apparently. There’s no way I’ll let him maneuver his way back into my life. My friends would never forgive me. I would never forgive me. But did I mention his jawline?

 

Guest Post: Meet the Kings of North Carolina with Author Penelope Bloom

Anyone But Rich is the first book of my new, three book “Anyone But…” series. Every book is a true romantic comedy and is full of moments that I hope will have you laughing out loud, if not at least breathing out a little puff of air from your nose.

Anyone But Rich follows the oldest King brother, Richard King, and his love interest, Kira Summerland. Seven years ago, the King brothers left behind a trail of scorched earth as far as Kira and her best friends, Iris and Miranda were concerned. The three women swore an oath that they’d never date the King brothers again, even if they wound up becoming mega-famous billionaires and came back on their knees, begging for forgiveness.

But that’s exactly what happened. Now, Kira isn’t so sure she’ll be able to hold herself to a vow she made seven years ago, even if breaking it could drive a rift between her and her best friends.

Rich and the King brothers are global phenomenons. Each of them takes their own, unique approach to melting hearts. Rich is the kind of guy who puts business first and relentlessly pursues his goals, even if it means ruffling feathers along the way. That’s what makes Kira so special for him. She’s the one person who can bring out a softer side of Rich, and at times, even a funny side. But Kira or not, he’s generally seen as the face of the company, and he’s easily the biggest name to ever land in a place like West Valley.

Cade is Rich’s twin brother, but the two men couldn’t be more different. Cade is a somewhat strange blend of intelligence, goofiness, and unbearable cockiness. He can turn any situation into a joke, but behind the laughs and crude comments, he still wonders if his high school crush, Iris, would ever look beyond their past.

Nick is the youngest of the trio and generally thought of as the quiet genius of the group. He’s not as in-your-face as Rich can appear, but Nick commands respect in his own way. He also has the closest relationship with Cade, partly because Nick is the only one who ever seemed up to the task of keeping his wild, older brother alive.

All in all, the three brothers are like the riders of the apocalypse, if apocalypses were caused by melted panties and broken hearts, at least.

But the King brothers all share one thing in common. Whether they’ll ever admit it or not, they all came back to West Valley for the girls they left behind. Anyone But Rich is the story of Richard King and his attempts to win the forgiveness of Kira Summerland, his old high school flame. The question for Rich is how long he can pretend forgiveness is all he wants. For Kira, it’s a question of whether she can look past the mountain’s worth of warning signs telling her to stay as far away from Rich as possible.

There are endless obstacles between the King brothers and their West Valley girls, but the King brothers aren’t the type to shy away from a challenge. They’ve just never faced one this great.

***

Excerpt

Principal Lockett.

He was shorter than most of the freshmen, but the shiny patch of bald skin on his crown and the drooping bags under his eyes meant there was no mistaking him for a student. “Just wanted to say good luck on your first day, Kira.”

“Thank you,” I said. I hoped my smile looked genuine. I’d expected to need to try very hard to make a good impression on my new boss, but from the first day of preplanning two weeks ago, it seemed like he was the one sucking up. It wasn’t the first time being the mayor’s daughter had given me some unwanted advantage. No matter how much I protested, some people in West Valley were dead set on the idea that getting in my good graces was the same as getting in my father’s good graces. Unfortunately, my objections went unnoticed, and people had never been quick to believe that favoritism wasn’t something I secretly encouraged.

So I did what I always did. I pretended I still needed to bust my ass to make a good impression. I refused to sit back and let my father be an easy pass, and I hoped for the best.

“Is everything okay?” I asked when he was still standing there with a smile plastered on his face. From the corner of my eye, I saw students start pouring into my room from the back door.

“There is just one thing. A slight hiccup, really. Nothing that you would need to worry your father about,” he said. “There’s a very influential businessman in town. He got on the phone with the right people a few minutes ago, made some very interesting promises, and . . . well . . .”

“Well, what?” My eyes were darting between Principal Lockett and my rapidly filling classroom.

“He’s apparently an old friend of yours. Said he’d like to be able to stop by today and say hello. He promised it would be quick.”

“It’s my first day,” I said slowly, hoping I wouldn’t need to explain any further.

“And you’ll do great!” Principal Lockett seemed to sense my inevitable eruption, so he ducked back into the hallway and flashed me a quick thumbs-up before the door snicked closed.

I turned my eyes toward my students and made a weak attempt to mentally rally. I can do this. They’re just children in bodies that have grown faster than their brains. They aren’t as mature as they look.

“Do you see how red her face is?” whispered a girl in the front row. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but I was pretty sure I would’ve been able to make out every word of the “whisper” from the parking lot.

The boy beside her smiled cruelly. “Maybe she’s PMSing.”

The girl frowned at him and slapped his arm. “That’s not how it works, you idiot.”

“What do you mean? There’s all the blood issues. Some of it must end up in their heads.”

The girl rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and gave up on him.

I cleared my throat. “I’m Miss Summerland.” I paused, swallowed, and willed my windpipe to grow a little bigger. “This is—”

The bell signaling the start of first period rang deafeningly, cutting me off and making me realize I was already showing what a rookie I was.

I cleared my throat again. “This is—”

The announcements began, instructing the students to stand for the Pledge and the anthem.

I turned my back to face the flag and pretended I didn’t hear the snickering students behind me. I also pretended I didn’t remember being a high schooler not so long ago, and how quickly I would’ve decided a teacher like me was the kind students were going to eat for breakfast.

A few minutes later, the announcements ended, and I finally turned to face the students again. “Okay. This is—”

The door to my room opened. I spun, hands balled into fists. All the frustration of the last few minutes boiled over into an embarrassingly squeaky outburst. “I would love to finish my sentence!”

And that was when I saw my visitor.

Richard King.

Distantly, I heard the excited whispers of every girl in my classroom.

“Is that him?”

“Oh my God, is my hair okay?”

“This is going on my Snapchat!”

Their voices faded into background noise as I looked at him in person for the first time in so many years.

“Please,” he said. His voice was so deep and rich I could feel it rumble through my chest. “Finish your sentence. I’ll wait.”

He knew damn well there was no way I could think about anything else with him standing there. The corner of his mouth had twitched up into the suggestion of a smirk, and his eyes were locked predatorily on me. He knew exactly what was happening to me, and he was enjoying it.

I tried to picture a normal human being in his place. I tried and failed to unsee the broad, powerful shoulders and long legs, to unmake every cruel and perfect line of his face, from the sharp jaw to the dark eyebrows and burning green eyes. His nearly black hair was cut short and neat. He wore a suit that would’ve made most men look overdressed, but he seemed perfectly at ease. Here I was with my legs spread out like I was trying not to step in a puddle, pretending I was in control. Meanwhile, Rich’s pinkie toe projected more confidence than my entire body.

I wanted him and his obnoxiously cocky pinkie toe out of my classroom and out of my life. I was perfectly happy seeing him in a dirty dream every few weeks, where he couldn’t screw up my reality any more, thank you very much.

“Out,” I said.

“That was the end of your sentence? ‘This is . . . out’?”

The students acted like his sitcom laugh track, and I already wanted to give them all detentions for being traitors.

I turned, annoyed, and gestured to my students. “This is English Four Honors.” I looked back at Richard. “Out.”

 

About the Author

Penelope Bloom is a USA Today, Amazon, and Washington Post bestselling author whose books have been translated into seven languages. Her popular romances include His Banana, Her Cherry, Savage, and Punished.

Her writing career started when she left her job as a high school teacher to pursue her dream. She loves taking her imagination for a spin and writing romances she’d want to live. She likes a man with a mind as dirty as sin and a heart of gold he keeps hidden away. Her favorite things include getting to wear socks all day—pants optional—and being a positive example for her girls. Showing her daughters that no dream is too big, no matter what anyone tells them, is worth all the late nights, doubts, and fears that come with being a writer.

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I’ve Got You, Babe

by Lynnette Austin

Publication date: August 27, 2019

 

Synopsis

“Powerful chemistry that makes this a winning page-turner.”—Publishers Weekly for Must Love Babies

 

Where do you go when you’re at the end of your rope?

Former Marine Tucker Wylder wants nothing more than to work with his brothers in their vintage car restoration business and be left alone with his nightmares and regrets. The last thing he needs is to take on someone else’s troubles…

Then Elisa Danvers and her young daughter arrive in Misty Bottoms, Georgia. Elisa has reached the end of the line—flat broke, engine trouble, sick in body and spirit. Tucker steps up to the rescue and finds himself reluctantly taking care of a feisty preschooler and her independent mother, who doesn’t seem to want his help. And Tucker isn’t sure he’s ready for the way precocious little Daisy and headstrong, beautiful Elisa herself capture first his bachelor household and finally his carefully guarded heart…

 

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Must Love Babies Series

Must Love Babies (Book 1)

I’ve Got You Babe (Book 2)

 

What People Are Saying about Lynnette Austin

“Austin is a talented writer with a gift for capturing the charming…dynamic and interesting.”—Kirkus Reviews for Must Love Babies

“Austin’s sweet small-town romance hits all the right buttons.”—Booklist for Must Love Babies

“Readers will be drawn in most of all by the sweet Southern romance.”—Publishers Weekly for Picture Perfect Wedding

“Romance that has it all… A beautifully written tale of romance, friendship, and learning to trust.”—Fresh Fiction for Every Bride Has Her Day

 

Excerpt

A cup of hot, black coffee in hand and a well-earned—and desperately needed—weekend fishing trip on his mind, Tucker unlocked the front door of Wylder Rides. The smell of oil and new tires welcomed him like an old friend. He liked the peace and quiet of the early morning, the solitude before his brothers arrived.

When a breeze drifted in through the open bay door, he thanked the stars the calendar had finally flipped to October. This summer, his first in Misty Bottoms, Georgia, had been hotter than Hades. With the onslaught of autumn, though, temperatures had dipped to a less humid mid-seventies.

Still, even the Georgia low-country summer had been a hell of a sight better than the sweltering heat he’d suffered during his Middle East deployment. There the July temperatures hovered above the hundred-degree mark. Add in the blistering sun, and the place could turn a man’s hide to shoe leather in no time. Don’t even get him started on the never-ending sand that found its way into every crack and crevice on the human body and scoured exposed skin raw.

A tough place to live. A worse place to die.

Involuntarily, his hands clenched into fists. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed them. Not today. He dropped to the creeper, slid partially beneath the ’Vette, and got busy replacing the brake lines.

Southern rock blasted from his stereo. Over the magic of Charlie Daniel’s fiddle, Tucker heard a car slow, then pull in out front. Its muffler was shot. The engine knocked, coughed and sputtered, then shut down with a rattle.

Seconds later, a totally different sound caught his attention—high heels on the garage’s concrete floor. Tucker slid a sidelong glance toward the front of the bay and almost swallowed his tongue. Framed in the narrow window between the floor and the car’s bumper were a pair of legs that would have any red-blooded man drooling…and they crossed slowly toward him. Laying the wrench on the floor beside him, he gave a push with his foot and slid the creeper from beneath the car.

Flat on his back, he let his gaze travel up over a body that matched the legs beat for beat, then on to a face only angels could have created. The heart-shaped face, with its sensuous lips and the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen, sent a shockwave rocketing through him. Long, pale blond hair had been caught back in a ponytail.

An illusion? Maybe he’d breathed too many gas fumes and was hallucinating?

Nope. This woman was real and, from the expression on that stunning face, in trouble.

“My car—” She waved a hand toward the front of the building.

“Could use some work,” Tucker finished, slowly getting to his feet. Wiping his hands on a grease rag, he moved toward her. “Look, we’re not a repair shop, but I can probably figure out what’s wrong. If it’s minor—”

She swayed and reached out toward the wall.

“You okay?” Even as Tucker spoke, he saw those mind-blowing eyes go blank. Dark lashes fanned her cheeks.

With a muttered curse, he lunged, barely reaching her before she hit the floor. Heart racing, he held her against him and swore again. Out cold.

“Hey, can you hear me?” He tapped her cheek but got no response. “Wake up.”

Sweat broke out on his brow. Where were his brothers? They should be here by now. What was he supposed to do with an unconscious woman? He leaned his head close to hers, relief flooding him when her breath whispered against his cheek.

A high-pitched wail split the air. Panicked, his head whipped up, and he glanced toward the beater parked out front. The driver’s side door hung open; in the back, strapped into a child’s seat, sat a little girl with her mama’s pale blond hair—a little girl winding up for one hell of a crying jag.

And the day just got better!

He shook the limp woman gently, noticed the sheen of perspiration on her face. “Come on, sugar. For God’s sake, open those baby blues.”

She didn’t.

Kneeling and taking the woman down with him, he spread an old garage blanket and laid her carefully on it, straightening the short skirt of her flower-print dress.

With his forearm, he swiped the sweat from his brow. “Hey, wake up.”

She didn’t.

Okay. Time to tackle the second half of this double-feature horror show.

Edging toward the used-up Ford Escort and its young occupant in much the same way he’d approach a suspected sniper’s nest, he pulled out his phone and hit 911.

The sheriff answered on the first ring. “Misty Bottoms Police Department. What can I do ya?”

“Jimmy Don, it’s Tuck Wylder. I’m out at my shop.” Opening the sedan’s back door, he stared at the young child, at her tear-covered face and runny nose. He’d guess her to be maybe two or three years old. An opened bag of pretzels lay on the seat. Leaning in, he grabbed one and handed it to her. She raised it to her mouth and chewed, her cries dying to quiet whimpers.

Thank you, Jesus.

“Tuck? What’s goin’ on?” the sheriff demanded.

“A woman pulled up in front of our place, and, well, she’s passed out.”

“Been drinkin’?”

“I don’t think so, but she’s hot.”

“I don’t care how good lookin’ she is.”

“No, Jimmy Don. Not hot hot, hot! As in sweating.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“I did!” Who’s on first? he thought.

“Do I hear a kid?”

Exasperated, Tucker raked fingers through his short hair, his gaze travelling over the woman. She still hadn’t moved. What a friggin’ mess!

“Yeah, you do. She came with the woman who’s passed out on my garage floor.”

“She okay?”

Tucker raised his eyes to the heavens and rubbed at his forehead. “Which one?”

“The kid.”

“How would I know? Nothing wrong with her lungs, I can tell you that.” The nagging beginning of a headache bloomed into a full-fledged whopper.

“You need an ambulance or you gonna take the gal in to see Doc Hawkins?”

“What?” Tucker pulled the cell away to stare at it. Bringing it back to his ear, he asked, “Are you serious, Jimmy Don? You want me to pick up an unconscious stranger, toss her in my car, along with the baby, and drive them into town?”

“So I guess you want me to send the town’s ambulance out there.”

“Bingo.”

 

***

Excerpted from I’ve Got You, Babe by Lynnette Austin. © 2019 by Lynnette Austin. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

 

About the Author

LYNNETTE AUSTIN gave up the classroom to write full time. An author of eight novels, she has been a finalist in RWA’s Golden Heart Contest, PASIC’s Book of Your Heart Contest, and Georgia Romance Writers’ Maggie Contest. She and her husband divide their time between Southwest Florida’s beaches and Blairsville, GA.

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