Book Title: Mirrored Reflections by J.F. Ridgley Category: Adult Fiction (18+) , 418 pages Genre: Christian Romance Publisher: R Pride Publishing Release date: December 2022 Content Rating: PG-13 +M. This is a Christian Romance, no sex. two hot kisses. Lots of trauma but a happy ending. There is a language warning: Chad’s debridement is painful, being a burn survivor is painful and the story is about also about sexual trafficking.
Book Description:
“I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU NOR FORSAKE YOU”– Hebrews 13:5
Opposites attract and Chad and Sierra are that.
Chad is destroyed on the outside by a suicide bomber while Sierra is broken on the inside by human trafficking. They are each other’s reflection of who they are – beautiful but ravaged by life.
Chad Michaels, an Afghan vet, comes home to a suicide bomber who destroys not only his family but the man he was. Now, he must deal with life as a burn victim — as a monster. But Sierra sees what a beautiful man Chad truly is.
Not all wounds are flesh. Many are inside one’s soul where Sierra Smith’s scars run deep. Yet, Chad sees the innocence that Sierra fails to see. Kidnapped at the early age of six, Sierra was raised to become a high-end prostitute who now dreams of becoming a nurse…someone who helps heal people not service them. But her past relentlessly haunts her.
Sierra and Chad are determined to help each other heal from their traumas – whatever it takes. And, somehow, with God’s help, they will survive to see a brighter day.
JF Ridgley is the author of eight novels and short stories set in ancient Rome and three contemporary romance novels. She loves researching history and writing fiction based on real stories of real people. She also loves to write contemporary romance because the ancient Roman saying of ‘Live. Love. Laugh.’ is just as true today.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Trixie Silvertale will be awarding a $75 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other hosts on the tour.
A pattern of murder. A threadbare case. Can our psychic sleuth pick out the guilty before time spools out?
Mitzy Moon is finally tying the knot. And she’s loving the whole town’s excitement for their upcoming big day. But when their tailor is found buttons up behind a jazz lounge, the almost-newlyweds will have to hem in a murderer before their dreams rip apart at the seams.
Knowing they’ll get no help from the new sheriff in town, the couple embarks on a tightly woven undercover assignment. But Mitzy fails to heed ominous warnings from her mentor, Ghost-ma, and her entitled feline. When another body drops, she could be the next target erased by the mounting powers in the darkness…
Can Mitzy and Erick unravel the twisted clues, or will their wedding be eclipsed by a funeral?
Bells and Bombshells is the first book in a hilarious new paranormal cozy mystery series, Harper and Moon Investigations. If you like snarky heroines, supernatural intrigue, and a dash of romance, then you’ll love Trixie Silvertale’s wedded whodunit.
Buy Bells and Bombshells to stitch up a killer today!
Read an Excerpt
Dear Diary, in less than a week I’ll be married! I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Sheriff Erick Harper is the kindest, handsomest man in all the land.
“Oh, Mitzy! You’re such a hoot!” The ghost of my not as dearly departed as everyone thinks grandmother pops into the visual spectrum directly above my bed.
“Grams! Get out of my head! How many times do I have to tell you, thought-dropping is against the rules? If these lips —”
“Spare me the lecture, sweetie. It’s the only way I can get your attention lately. For weeks, you’ve been acting like a girl trapped in a, what do you call it, Rom-Com?” The ethereal specter crosses her bejeweled arms over her burgundy silk-and-tulle Marchesa burial gown.
“Don’t play innocent with me, Myrtle Isadora. I was in my safe space. Snuggled under the comforter of my cozy bed, enjoying my own personal thoughts. No invitation was extended.”
“Reow.” Can confirm.
“See, even Pyewacket agrees with me.” It’s not as though my half wild tan caracal can actually speak, but the longer I live in Pin Cherry Harbor the more I understand the subtle variations of his intonations.
The glowing apparition scoffs. “You know I don’t approve of you two ganging up on me. I simply came in to see if you needed help selecting the right outfit for this morning’s breakfast.”
“Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!” I fling my legs toward the floor and attempt to leap out of bed. Bad idea.
If you know me, you know what happens next. If you’re new in town, let me cut to the chase. My legs do not spring clear of the bedding, and I tumble into a puzzle of reindeer onesie pajamas and mortification on the floor beneath.
About the Author:
USA TODAY Bestselling author Trixie Silvertale grew up reading an endless supply of Lilian Jackson Braun, Hardy Boys, and Nancy Drew novels. She loves the amateur sleuths in cozy mysteries and obsesses about all things paranormal. Those two passions unite in her Harper and Moon Investigations series, and she’s thrilled to write them and share them with you. .
Ed Earl Burch, a cashiered Dallas murder cop, is a private detective facing the relentless onslaught of age, bad choices, guilt and regret. Smart, tough, profane and reckless, he’s a survivor who relies on his own guts and savvy and expects no help or salvation from anybody.
But he’s also a man who longs for the sense of higher calling he felt when he carried a homicide detective’s gold shield. He seeks redemption and a chance to make amends to a dying old woman he abandoned decades ago when she needed him most.
When he sees her again, she has the same request — save her granddaughter from the vicious outlaws on her trail and bring her home for a final goodbye. Easier said than done because the granddaughter is a hardened hustler and gunrunner, hellbent on avenging a lover who got chopped up and stuffed into a barbecue smoker by cartel gunsels and a rival smuggler.
To fulfill the old woman’s last request, Burch heads back to the borderlands of West Texas on a mercy mission that plunges him into a violent world of smugglers, cartel killers, crooked lawmen, Bible-thumping hucksters, anti-government extremists and an old nemesis who wants to see him dead.
The odds are long and Burch has his doubts — about himself, the granddaughter, old friends and the elusive nature of grace from guilt. Truth be told, doubt is the only thing he’s dead certain of.
Grace Or A Desert Grave?
Praise for The Dead Certain Doubt:
“Gritty and tough with enough despicable West Texas hombres to fill a tour bus.” ~ Bruce Robert Coffin, award-winning author of the Detective Byron mysteries
“Rough days and harsh nights seem like paradise before it’s all over….” ~ Rod Davis, author of the Southern noir novels, South, America and East of Texas, West of Hell
“A no-holds-barred mission of revenge, redemption and righting wrong from the past….” ~ R.G. Belsky, author of the Clare Carlson mysteries
“The pace is swift, the action is raw and the characters are intense and visual.” ~ Carmen Amato, author of the Emilia Cruz and Galliano Club mystery series
“Ed Earl Burch will guide you through the last arroyo with wit, truly memorable dialogue and locations you’d like to visit…with a gun.” ~ John William Davis, author of Rainy Street Stories and Around the Corner
“The Dead Certain Doubt is a thrilling, lightning-paced, ferocious crime novel. Highly recommended!” ~ Rich Zahradnik, author of The Bone Records and Lights Out Summer, winner of the 2018 Shamus Award for Best Paperback Private Eye Novel
Book Details:
Genre: Hard-Boiled Crime Thriller Published by: Spotted Mule Press Publication Date: March 2023 Number of Pages: 260 ISBN: 978-0-9983294-5-1 Book Links:Amazon
Read an excerpt:
Seven
Watch your six, Sport Model.
A dead partner’s whispered warning. A triggered twitch of muscle memory and street cop reflexes. The split-second dive to the right. The graceless tuck and shoulder roll that slams and skids your ass across the greasy linoleum floor of a roadside tienda.
Left hand full of a Colt’s cold comfort. Hammer back. Eight Fat Boys in the mag. One in the pipe. Hardball .45 ACP and Flying Ashtrays. Find the source of that buckshot blast meant to blow your head into red mist, skull fragments, hair and brain matter.
Ignore the screams, shouts, clumping footfalls and Dios Mios of customers and clerks exiting rapido to safety. Smell the cordite but pay it no mind.
Ignore all that shattered bottle glass and the ketchup, mustard, mayo, salsa picante and salsa verde splattered across the floor, your jeans, your belt buckle and your best Nocona boots. A swirling mess of red, green, white and yellow that just doesn’t matter.
Find that shooter. Listen for the telltale shing-shing pumping more buckshot into the chamber. Pray he’s old school. Pray the shotgun isn’t a semi-automatic with the next round already in the pipe.
Shing-shing.
Answered prayer. The sound rises from the next aisle to his front left. The Colt tracks the echo, sights panning across the shelves facing him. Jarritos, Jumex, Sidral Mundet, Big Red, 7 Up. Spam, Underwood Deviled Ham, Starkist. Valvoline, Havoline, Pennzoil.<
A boot sole scrapes the linoleum. Front corner of the next aisle. Right behind the 10W30. Colt centers on the sound. Front blade splits a quart of Havoline. Blast five shots. A grunt, a groan and the clatter of dropped gun metal. Ears ring.
Quick crab crawl to the opposite corner.
Sneak a peek. Shooter on his knees. One hand covers his bloody gut. The other reaches for his pump shotgun.
Fuck you, old school. Three more blasts from the Colt. Squeeze the trigger like a lover until the slide locks back and smoke curls from the breech. One round cores a Third Eye in the shooter’s forehead.
Quema tu culo en el infierno, pendejo. No last rites. No absolution. Straight to the flames. Spit a sour green ball of phlegm on the floor.
Shuck the empty mag. Slap home a fresh one. Trip the slide. Shake out a Lucky and stick it on a dry lip.
Light the nail with a Zippo and a shaky hand. Drag the smoke down deep to smother the stench of gunsmoke and blood. Dial 911 on the black rotary phone next to the cash register and wait for the gaudy post-mortem show to start. No popcorn.
Give thanks to the whiskey gods you survived another gunfight. Thank those old reflexes, too. They’re the second cousins of doubt — the only thing you’re dead certain of.
*** *** *** ***
Dealer’s choice. Jacks or better to open. Check, raise, bluff or call in a round of liar’s poker with a lawdog Burch knew but hadn’t seen in almost a decade. Didn’t know if he could trust the man who held all the high cards. And the badge. Best to play it close to the vest.
“I see you still worship at the Church of John Browning. Bet you still follow the lessons they taught you at the Hollow-Point Charm School.”
Raise with a bluff and smartass bluster.
“Dance with who brung ya, Sheriff. And not much charm to this deal. Just a shitload of lead. Muchacho there tried to make me a headless horseman with some double-ought. I begged to differ and let Brother John’s best do my talking for me.”
“Old gun.” Call.
“Old man shootin’ it. Only gun I can hit anything with.” Re-raise.
“And you had to come all the way out to my county to prove you still could. Why the hell is that?”
Burch smiled but didn’t answer. A quiet fold. The sheriff was deeply annoyed but wasn’t ready to throw him in a jail cell. Yet.
Burch stood about five feet away from the shooter’s corpse, dripping ketchup, mustard and salsa on the tienda linoleum. Half-assed trying not to fuck up the sheriff’s crime scene while smoking another Lucky pacifier.
His eyes scanned the body, sprawled face first in a dark, spreading pool, left arm flexed out like it was plowing a path for a body that would never follow.
His brain automatically picked out and filed the details. Once a murder cop, always a murder cop. Gold badge or not.
Detail: The last hollow-point he fired blew out the back of the man’s skull. Filed.
Detail: A scorpion tattoo on the left forearm. Black ink only. Lines still sharp. Filed.
Detail: Shooter’s gun a Remington 870 pump. Twelve gauge with a sawed-off barrel. Common as rocks and sand in West Texas. Filed.
He studied the left side of the man’s face, the side that wasn’t marinating in blood and brain pulp.
Detail: Smooth bronze skin, left eye showing the eight-ball bulge. Detail: Lips locked back over a pearly white grimace. Silver cuff on the left earlobe. Maricón? Maybe.
Details and question filed. Nothing rose from his memory banks. Noted and filed.
His eyes returned to the gaping hole in the back of the man’s skull.
Gotta love them Flying Ashtrays. Did damage to a man. Hardball knocked him down and hollow-point chewed up his innards and cored out his skull. The Big Adios. One-way ticket. Paid in full.
The sheriff squatted on his boot heels near the dead man’s right hip, using the eraser end of a pencil to lift the bloody tail of a denim shirt to study an exit wound. A muttered oath. English or Spanish. Burch couldn’t tell.
More muttering. A wallet fished out of a back pocket with a hand gloved in latex. A glance at the driver’s license. A quick riffle through a thick sheaf of greenbacks.
Detail: Helluva lot of lettuce in that wallet. More than your average greaseball carries. Noted and filed.
Sheriff Sudden Doggett gave one shake of the head then pinned Burch with dark, angry eyes framed by the underside of a faded, stained and dented Resistol that might have been dark gray in its younger days.
“Why the fuck is it every time you cross the Cuervo County line you have to announce your presence by painting the walls red?”
“Only the second time I’ve visited your fair jurisdiction, Sheriff. And the first time was a few years back. Seven or was it eight?”
“Not long enough if you ask me. Why can’t you be like every other tourist passing through and keep trucking over the river for some bad tequila and cheap pussy?”
“Because I’m on a job. Was on my way to see you when this happened.”
“Well, fuck me runnin’. Worst news I’ve had all day. Fuckin’ angel of death is what you are. And my morgue’s already full. Last thing I need is another gun hand racking up body count.”
“Startin’ to sound like your old boss.”
“You can just take that talk and jam it straight up your ass, pendejo. Go clean yourself up some. You look like Ronald McDonald with that shit smeared all over you.”
“Good to see you again, too, Sheriff.”
“Bite my ass, Burch.”
Risky to poke a stick at Doggett with the thin hand he held. Might wind up in a jail cell for his trouble. But the reaction he got was worth it – genuine pissoff with no hesitation or trace of guilt. Told him he just might be dealing with a straight shooter. Hope so. We’ll see.
The lawman kept his eyes locked on Burch as he barked an order.
“Get this fuckhead out of my face before I run him in lookin’ just like the clown he is. Take him out back. Ruby’s got a garden hose out there. Let him use it and get cleaned up while I check out this mess. Leave his Colt on the counter.”
A blade-faced deputy with acne scars and the flattened nose of a bad boxer stepped up and grabbed him by the elbow. Burch shook his arm free, gave him a glare and walked toward the back door of the store.
Anger flushed out the shakes. He felt better, but not great. As good as it gets after killing a man.
***
Excerpt from The Dead Certain Doubt by Jim Nesbitt. Copyright 2023 by Jim Nesbitt. Reproduced with permission from Jim Nesbitt. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Jim Nesbitt is the award-winning author of four hard-boiled Texas crime thrillers that feature battered but relentless Dallas PI Ed Earl Burch — THE LAST SECOND CHANCE, a Silver Falchion finalist; THE RIGHT WRONG NUMBER, an Underground Book Reviews “Top Pick”; and, his latest, THE BEST LOUSY CHOICE, winner of the best crime fiction category of the 2020 Independent Press Book Awards, the 2020 Silver Falchion award for best action and adventure novel from the Killer Nashville crime fiction conference and bronze medal winner in the best mystery/thriller e-book category of the 2020 Independent Publisher Book Awards. His latest book is THE DEAD CERTAIN DOUBT, which was released in early March. Nesbitt was a journalist for more than 30 years, serving as a reporter, editor and roving national correspondent for newspapers and wire services in Alabama, Florida, Texas, Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina and Washington, D.C. He chased hurricanes, earthquakes, plane wrecks, presidential candidates, wildfires, rodeo cowboys, migrant field hands, neo-Nazis and nuns with an eye for the telling detail and an ear for the voice of the people who give life to a story. His stories have appeared in newspapers across the country and in magazines such as Cigar Aficionado and American Cowboy. He is a lapsed horseman, pilot, hunter and saloon sport with a keen appreciation for old guns, vintage cars and trucks, good cigars, aged whiskey and a well-told story. Nesbitt regularly reviews crime fiction and history on his blog, The Spotted Mule, and his author web site, as well as Facebook, Amazon and Goodreads. He now lives in Athens, Alabama.
Book Title: The Adventures of Lefty & Righty: The Windy City by Lori Orlinsky Category: Children’s Fiction (Ages 3-7), 38 pages Genre: Children’s Picture Book Publisher: Mascot Books Release date: Mar 7, 2023 Content Rating: G for everyone.
Book Description:
Do you ever wonder what happens to socks that get lost in the dryer? Join Lefty and Righty for the adventure of a lifetime as they sneak out of the laundry room with a destination in mind: a White Sox game! But with so much to do in The Windy City, will they make it to the game in time? Through their fun-filled day, they’ll discover the sights, sounds—and even the tastes—of Chicago, all while encountering a few surprises along the way!
Award-winning children’s book author Lori Orlinsky lives in. . . you guessed it . . . Chicago! Lori is the mother of three little ladies, who are small but mighty. At 5’1”, she wishes her children’s picture book, Being Small (Isn’t So Bad After All), was around when she was growing up. Lori also wrote The Tooth Fairy’s Tummy Ache and Balloons for Tiger. Her latest book, The Adventures of Lefty and Righty: The Windy City, was inspired by her daily struggle to find matching socks when they come out of the dryer.
**images are linked to Amazon (I am an affiliate)**
Hi Everyone. Hope you had a good week. Mine was. Piddled around outside, blogged, read and watched some great TV. I just finished watching I See You and all I can say is WOW. It blew my mind!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I got the idea and the motivation to start doing Tackling The TBR from All The Book Blog Names Are Taken. I love showcasing the books on Goodreads, my ereader and my bookshelves.
COME ON….JOIN IN.
Previous Total: 2005
Currently Reading
Books Read
The three books below are on Goodreads and no where else. I believe Coda Languez’s stories will be released in the future. I will need to check the dates. Not The Norm by Becca J Campbell, I believe, is a newsletter exclusive.
PI Steve Rockfish’s morning meeting was supposed to focus on a case of straightforward harassment. Two clients had purchased a miniature golf course and instantly became victims of vandalism and projected intolerance.
But as the team investigates, a neighborhood’s bigoted knee jerk reaction to a new sapphic-owned business, is in fact a laser focused plan of intimidation. Before anyone can yell FORE!, violence litters the front nine after Rockfish uncovers the real perpetrator, their actual motive, and dangerous accomplices.
Soon, an old nemesis returns to raise the stakes with plans of revenge and domination. Now facing a battle on two fronts, Rockfish finds his allies thinning at the worst possible time, and recklessly goes on the offensive.
The back nine takes Rockfish and McGee on a frenetic ride from a corporate boardroom, across cyberspace, and to the 19th hole where a long overdue showdown will change everything for the partners, for better and worse.
Book Details:
Genre: Crime Fiction Published by: Black Rose Writing Publication Date: March 2023 Number of Pages: 356 ISBN: 1685131530 (ISBN-13 978-1685131531) Series: The Case Files of Steve Rockfish – 3 Book Links:Amazon | BLACK ROSE WRITING
Read an excerpt from A Bad Bout of the Yips:
CHAPTER ONE
You’ve reached Rockfish & McGee, Investigative Specialists. At the tone, leave your name and message. Someone will get back to you. [Beep]
Jawnie stared down at her phone, annoyed. She hung up the call after the office’s message ended and slid the phone into her messenger bag. With a proper receptionist comes a proper voicemail message. It’s about time. Where the heck is everyone? Rockfish could be out doing God knows what, but what about Lynn? Maybe she’s in the can after an extra spicy lunch? Jawnie laughed to herself. There were a thousand and one reasons Lynn couldn’t get to the phone. Don’t go all Rockfish at once.
The sun had slipped behind the clouds on a mid-Thursday afternoon when Jawnie walked down the endless row of marble steps in front of the Baltimore County Government building. She had submitted her final report regarding former county employee Harvey Henderson, who had been sitting at home on disability from a leg injury suffered while on the job. Henderson ran a bulldozer at the county landfill. That was until he fell off the equipment and reportedly injured his leg.
Jawnie loved this type of case. She conducted a couple of surveillances to find out Henderson’s daily schedule and then one final, quick outing to snap a few pictures from a safe distance. Jawnie followed Harvey and his mistress down to the town of Laurel and out on the Rocky Gorge Reservoir, where the couple spent the day attempting to wake-board. The day served as a twofer and the future ex-Mrs. Henderson would gain the information needed to win her freedom without spending a dime.
At the bottom of the steps, she pulled her phone back out, and double checked the time. Five after two and still no notifications. Apparently, nothing of importance had transpired while she was in the meeting with the County Commissioners. Her car was across the street in the paid lot, and she glanced up from the screen. Jawnie felt flush and concern filled her brain. The green Kia Soul remained parked at the corner, blocking a hydrant. Her heart kicked it up a notch.
The damn thing hadn’t moved in the hour and a half while I was inside. Jesus Christ, I don’t need this shit today. Or any day. Fuck.
Three times today since leaving her condo, the Kia coincidently found itself parked nearby, always within eyesight. The odd shaped vehicle and the color stood out. Amateur hour or someone who clearly wants me to notice. Jawnie gritted her teeth, glanced both ways, and then kept her head down as she jogged across the street. She walked through the small lot until she found her Subaru and slid behind the wheel. She pulled around to the exit gate and paid the attendant. A second later, the arm rose, but the car didn’t move. Thoughts of the Kia had Jawnie lost deep in her mind.
What Would Rockfish Do? Probably tell me to go on the offensive, concern be damned. Well, I’m definitely not going to pull sideways in front of this guy, jump out and confront him, that’s for sure. People are crazy these days and with my luck I’d end up TikTok famous #KarensGoneWild. Okay, let’s see if I’m imagining things. Maybe give him a little I see you action instead.
Jawnie turned left onto Pennsylvania Ave and sped up. At the end of the block, when she was right alongside the Kia, she held her breath and cut the wheel. The Subaru hung a hard right onto Baltimore Ave and missed the Kia’s left front fender by only a foot. Enough to make him take notice. She straightened the wheel and exhaled. Her eyes shot to the rearview mirror. The Kia followed suit but was losing ground as she pressed down on the accelerator. The car remained a block back when Jawnie turned right again. Her eyes flickered from the front windshield to the rearview, expecting to see the Kia at any second, but it never appeared. Or at least that she noticed. Her grip on the steering wheel grew tighter.
Did I lose him? Was he some civilian who flew into road rage when I almost hit him and then gave up once his blood pressure came down? No. I definitely saw that car multiple times today.
Half an hour later and back in Anne Arundel County, Jawnie received an answer to her question. She spotted the Kia two cars back at a traffic light. Alright McGee, you aren’t imagining things. Let’s figure out who this driver is.
“Hey Siri. New note.”
“What do you want it to say?”
“Dark green Kia Soul Maryland Plate 555-RJ4K.”
“Ok, I’ve created your note. It’s called Dark green Kia Soul Maryland plate 555-RJ4K.”
I’ll call Michelle at DMV to run it as soon as I get back to the office. The favor may cost me a drink or an actual date, but it will be worth it to know who he is. Hopefully, the name will ring a bell. The last thing I need is a fresh surprise.
Jawnie was only a mile from the office but took the Kia on a short sight-seeing tour of Linthicum Heights. See exactly how dedicated the driver was to their mission. First stop was Fairway Car Wash. Jawnie got in line behind the others and when it was her turn, she lined up the front left tire to the guide and selected the Supreme.
A tapping on the driver’s side glass caught her attention. “Hands off the wheel, ma’am.”
Jawnie looked down. White knuckles. Her hands slid off the wheel and fell to her lap as the car jerked forward. She tried to relax and think calmly as the conveyor pulled her forward. Each stage coated the windshield with a different chemical and blocked the view. Because you don’t see him, it doesn’t mean he’s gone. Maybe he’s hiding behind that iHop, but with a simple line of sight as you exit the car wash? What’s next? Mario’s? She had dry cleaning that was overdue to be picked up. Big ass empty lot there, nowhere to hide and nowhere to street park. As she exited the car wash, the track gave way. Her hands returned to the wheel. Jawnie waved off the man, wanting to finish drying the Subaru with an armful of hand towels. I’m good, no thank you, she mouthed as she cracked the window and slid out a five-dollar bill.
Mario’s was four lights further down the road and by the third red light, the Kia emerged from the background. Jawnie could feel the sweat building on her lower back. A single drop formed on the side of her face. She lifted her arm and wiped away the drop with her sleeve. Mario’s came up on the left and Jawnie put on her blinker. No need to attempt some big ruse at this point.
Five minutes later, she exited Mario’s with her dry cleaning hung over her left shoulder and iPhone held in her right, ready to capture the moment for posterity’s sake. Jawnie took the picture before the guy could raise his newspaper in a piss poor effort to hide his identity. She unlocked the Subaru and hung her clothes on the back hook. She got in and slammed the door. A combination of the force and noise caused her to jump.
Goddamnit! WWRD? I should have done something proactive after the meeting back at the county building. Jawnie reached into the center console. She chose her weapon of choice and speed walked to the Kia. Deep breath, deep breath. Look and act like you belong here.
The man was blond, with very short hair. Maybe balding. She couldn’t tell with the slight window tint. When he spotted her approaching, the newspaper went back up. Jawnie snapped another picture before sliding the phone into her back pocket. She tapped on the window. The early edition of the Baltimore Sun didn’t move.
She rapped her knuckles a second time. Harder, louder. This time the paper came down and the man’s eyebrows went up. He reached over and lowered the window, roughly two inches, before speaking.
“Can I help—”
The mace streamed through the opening as if she was an Olympic crack shot. The creeper didn’t see it coming and Jawnie didn’t stick around to see the after-effects. She could hear his screams, interlaced with every curse word in the book by the time she slid behind the wheel. Her death grip returned, and she rocketed out of Mario’s parking lot without a clear destination in mind and a little less rubber on her tires.
The Subaru ended up in the parking lot of a Wawa, a good half mile down the road. Jawnie parked behind the convenience store. She pulled up the note she made earlier with the Kia’s license plate and added the photos. At the bottom of the note, she dictated the man’s description in two sentences and returned her phone to the cup holder.
Jawnie exhaled and didn’t move. How long had it been? Three months? Maybe a little longer. Well, kid, it was an enjoyable ride. I look forward to the next extended period of calm. Maybe today showed I’m not built for this line of work. Her mind went back to the night on Rockfish’s front lawn. Porbeagle’s gun. The sound of the shot. The smell of burning cotton as the bullet passed through the material of her oversized sweatshirt. Fixing middle school laptops out of my garage doesn’t sound so bad now. Granted, no one’s launching a streaming network based on that show, but then again, I don’t have to look over my shoulder every time I leave the goddamn house. Jawnie stopped rubbing her hands and dropped her head into them. The tears flowed freely.
She didn’t remember how long she remained parked next to the dumpster, but when she felt she could make it back to the office without having a complete emotional meltdown, she shifted into drive.
***
Excerpt from A Bad Bout of the Yips by Ken Harris. Copyright 2023 by Ken Harris. Reproduced with permission from Ken Harris. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Ken Harris retired from the FBI, after thirty-two years, as a cybersecurity executive. With over three decades writing intelligence products for senior Government officials, Ken provides unique perspectives on the conventional fast-paced crime thriller. He is the author of the “From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish” series. He spends days with his wife Nicolita, and two Labradors, Shady and Chalupa Batman. Evenings are spent playing Walkabout Mini Golf and cheering on Philadelphia sports. Ken firmly believes Pink Floyd, Irish whiskey and a Montecristo cigar are the only muses necessary. He is a native of New Jersey and currently resides in Virginia’s Northern Neck.
Thorns at Sunrise (Janeen Ippolito) Publication date: March 23rd 2023 Genres: Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult
A young queen. Her imaginary friend. A kingdom on the verge of death.
She believes she’s crazy.
Queen Usilea has a secret–and he lives in her mind. Ever since she was six years old, her imaginary friend has been her closest companion, and her arranged marriage has been a great dread. When she learns her betrothed and the royal family have suddenly died, she feels obligated to attend the funeral in the foreign land of Absteph–and perhaps learn more behind their mysterious passing.
He only wants the truth.
Petar endures great pain to protect those he does not remember. His only solace is a shadowy woman who he loves–even though she denies that he exists. When a terrible tragedy occurs in his kingdom, that mysterious woman is his only hope of bringing justice to light. For the cage that imprisons him grows harsher every day, and he is losing the fight.
But there are thorns at sunrise.
Brought together on the barest thread of reality, Usilea and Petar must discover what really happened to the royal family. But Petar’s time is running out. Soon not even a Mender like Usilea will be able to save him.
This YA romance features a gender-swapped Sleeping Beauty in an original fantasy world on the brink of doom.
Her imaginary friend was playing a new trick on her. This time, she would discern his meaning.
Usilea set down the quill on the paper, frowning at the words mocking her from the page. She pressed her lips together in thought. Thorns at sunrise? What could it mean? What was her mind trying to tell her?
“What do you think of my riddle?”
As usual, the voice didn’t come from within her mind directly, but somewhere outside. Yet were she to glance around, all she would perceive is the vaguest sensation of shadow and soul in the periphery of her vision.
And so, she refrained from looking. Instead, she focused on the words she had written, words he had spoken into her mind at some point in the night.
I think … you’re afraid.
“And what am I afraid of, goldenbird?” Amusement teased the edges of his words. She had known her friend was a male since the first time they had met, whenever that had been. Sometime after her sixth year. “Tell me, you who know me so well.”
I know you as well as I might any figment of my imagination.
“Likewise. That is not the answer to the riddle.”
A sigh escaped her. Usilea leaned back in her cushioned chair and rubbed the tense area around her eyes. You are afraid of being lost. You are afraid of being found. You are afraid of darkness, and you are afraid of light.
No answer came from the voice in her mind. A faint smile curved her lips. He only withdrew like that when she was right and he was bewildered. She had learned that pattern over the years as they had conversed. He liked keeping his mysteries, while he equally delighted in unveiling the mysteries of others. A curious behavior for her imaginary friend.
A strange, stabbing sensation pierced through her musing.
What did it imply about her that her closest friend wasn’t real?
Author Bio:
Janeen Ippolito writes about misfits who defy expectations, whether in fairy tale, steampunk fantasy, urban fantasy, humorous paranormal romance, or poetry. She also spreads wordtastic joy in her work as a fearless book strategist, nonfiction author, and coach. In her spare time, she swordfights and posts cute animal memes.
Join me in celebrating the release of ALL SIGNS LEAD TO LUCY by Julieann Dove. This women’s fiction romance shares the story of Lucy Fister, who discovers that in the game of love, fate always wins. Check out an excerpt, download your copy and enter the fabulous giveaway.
After living a life of failed, predictable relationships, Lucy Fister took the advice of the psychic who charged sixty dollars for ten minutes: start seeking men who are the absolute opposite of who she dated. It made sense, but paying for the obvious meant it might work.
Tyler Tolliver met that criteria. He was an out of work actor who’d invented the love language ‘have a good time.’ They had a whirlwind relationship and after four months, he proposed, holding a bread tie for a ring, and giving the argument that the lease on his loft was expiring.
One year into her marriage with Tyler, and Lucy was tired of playing Xbox, clubbing, and watching movies before reading the book. She missed conversations deeper than picking where they’d eat, and being in bed before midnight. When her estranged best friend, Vanessa asked her and Tyler to go on a week-long trip to the Caribbean with her new fiancé, Martin VanLeer, Lucy accepted the invitation.
Fate scatters people and plans like a ceiling fan scatters loose papers. On the eve of the trip, Tyler and Vanessa respectively were called to fulfill work related tasks. The new plan was for them to meet up with Lucy and Vanessa’s fiancé in a couple of days.
One week is all it took for Martin and Lucy to fall in love. And for Lucy to realize that psychic was wrong—she didn’t need to find someone opposite of all the guys she dated, she needed to be warned of the millionaire engaged to her best friend. Because if they acted on this attraction, it meant destroying a marriage, a wedding, and a lifelong friendship.
“The captain has been tracking a tropical storm off the coast in the path we are heading.”
My empty stomach dropped. “That doesn’t sound good.” I wanted to want this boat trip, but truth be told, it was Tyler who talked it up more than me. And of course there was us salvaging our torn relationship goal. But I’ve seen Six Days, Seven Nights. And Titanic. And Cast Away. I’m not new here. And now a storm?
Vanessa must’ve felt my heat radiating from where she sat. “Come on, Lucy. It’s fine.” She looked at Martin. “Right, honey? I mean, storms move, right?”
“Right. And that’s what we’re banking on. But we’re going to wait a day to leave. We’ll pull out at lunch tomorrow. That will ensure us that it’s moved out of the way.”
The waitress placed our drinks on the table and took off again.
What, no bread? I punctured my straw through the paper and dipped it in the ice. Ah, refreshing. Vanessa squeezed the lime wedge in her martini and sipped from the edge. Was she impervious to alcohol? Did she have an iron liver?
“How bad is it? I mean, tropical isn’t code for cyclone, right? I mean, hurricanes are still a thing, aren’t they? Don’t they typically name them after women? Maybe this one had a nice, un-destructive name like Eleanor. Or Melanie.” I needed assurance this was raindrops and a breeze, not a rip-off-the-side-of-the-boat and you’re on 60 Minutes thing, being watched by helicopter above while the sharks circled.
His mouth frowned. “I think he said winds of seventy miles per hour.”
My chest heaved. “This is a bad sign. Don’t racecars travel at 100 miles per hour? And they’re hard to watch. That’s only thirty more miles. Per hour.”
“Actually, I believe they travel much faster,” he replied.
Did it matter? Seventy certainly sounded more frightening than a graceful twenty-five. I took another drink. “First my luggage, then it appears Tyler has dropped off the edge of the earth, and now a tropical storm?” I clicked my nail on the tabletop. “No, this is definitely a sign.”
Julieann Dove takes great pleasure in writing about love and all the mess that goes along with it. How else does happily ever after become realized, if not for some type of hardship and journey? When she’s not writing, she loves playing with fabric at her sewing machine, baking new recipes, and playing in the dirt, trying to get things to grow. Julieann loves old movies, and never tires of listening to music—it’s where she finds most of her inspiration for her books.
Book Title: Queen’s Catacombs (The Frean Chronicles #2) byJordan H. Bartlett Category: YA Fiction (Ages 13-17), 416 pages Genre: YA Fantasy Publisher: CamCat Books Release date: Mar 2023 Content Rating: PG.Very clean, but there is some brief violence.
Book Description:
Winning the crown was only the beginning.
Jacs, now the rightful Queen of Frea, seems to be Queen in title alone. She scrambles to learn the customs and traditions of a Realm she had only read about in books. The Council of Four have her firmly under their thumb, and their ideas for the Queendom are oppressive and outdated. Their knowledge of her mother and Master Leschi’s whereabouts is the only leverage they need to make the new Queen dance to their tune.
Jacs is determined to find those who were taken from her and do what’s right for her Queendom. But in her search for answers, Jacs uncovers a much darker truth from the Queendom’s past that will forever change its future.
