$10 GC & Review – The Nephilim’s Fate by Eliza Hampstead @xpressotours

The Nephilim’s Fate
Eliza Hampstead
(War of the Nephilim Series, #1)
Publication date: August 16th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

The gorgeous cover art for The Nephilim’s Fate by Eliza Hampstead is done by Rio B Nugroho and a cover can turn my head, making me feel that I have to have the book.

The War Of The Nephilim series takes place in London, in a magical world shared by witches, vampires, fae, demons, hellhounds, Nephilim, and humans. Each book highlights a couple, telling their story and The Nephilim’s Fate is Alissa and Nate’s story. Brace yourself for some spicy, sizzling forbidden romance.

We start out with some hot and heavy sex, but it’s only a dream. Or is it? Alissa finds out soon enough when she discovers her dream guy is a Nephilim and she is a witch. I love anything to do with gods and goddesses, angels and demons, vampires, and witches and wizards.

I quickly got lost in the story and read it in one sitting. My only regret, I don’t have the next two sitting by, waiting to be read. I probably would have went straight to them, because the characters are fascinating and the story had me caught up in the forbiddenness of it. How long can they last, before giving into their attraction…and what happens when they do?

Try telling Alissa they say it can’t be done and she sets off on a mission of her own to get the answers.

We usually have some kind of battle or war going on when we are in a magical fantasy and the paranormal world. They can’t seem to get along, but there are also other reasons that have been kept hidden.

I do like walking the darker side of things, and we will do so here.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

SYNOPSIS

She will find a way, even if it leads to a war between Heaven and Hell.

In the heart of London, Alissia’s ordinary life takes a thrilling turn when she is attacked by bloodthirsty vampires. When Nate, the man she dreamed about for years, swoops in to save her, her reality shatters as she discovers a shocking truth: she’s a witch, and he’s a Nephilim. But their love is cursed, forbidden by ancient laws that threaten to tear their world apart.

As old rivalries resurface and dark secrets come to light, Alissia and Nate must confront their deepest fears and fight for their love, even if it means igniting a war between Heaven and Hell.

With unforgettable characters, steamy romance, and gripping plot twists, this captivating new fantasy series by award-winning author Eliza Hampstead delves into a world of angels and demons, forbidden love, and the inexorable power of fate.

If you crave the intensity of Shadowhunters with an added dose of spice, don’t miss out on this spellbinding series!

*Warning: strong language, steamy scenes, and graphic violence inside. Mention/Description of abduction, blood, death, rape, and torture.*

Goodreads / Amazon


Author Bio:

Award winning author Eliza Hampstead, a scientist by training, lives with her family in the UK. When she’s not writing, she spends her time as a geek. Playing all sorts of games (board games, video games, RPGs) and being a big fan of medieval history are only a few of the many hobbies she has. Passionate about fantasy, she’s always planning her next adventure.

Sign up for Eliza’s newsletter to get exclusive updates on new releases, behind-the-scenes author news, and exciting extras like character interviews, maps, playlists, and bonus chapters that bring the books even more to life!

https://subscribepage.io/Jsj7Dt

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / TikTok / Bookbub / Newsletter


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$20 GC – Autumn Embers by Tina deBellegarde @partnerincr1me @tdbwrites

Autumn Embers by Tina deBellegarde Banner

AUTUMN EMBERS

by Tina deBellegarde

October 14 – November 8, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A Batavia-on-Hudson Mystery

 

Bianca St. Denis travels to Kyoto to return a priceless artifact recovered in Batavia-on-Hudson during last summer’s flood. It’s late October and the city of 2,000 shrines is in full autumn splendor. While she’s in Japan’s ancient capital, Bianca visits with her son, a student at Kyoto University. Ian shows her the sights and introduces her to his circle of friends—his chosen family.

On the night of her welcome party, Bianca thinks she witnesses a struggle in the garden, perhaps even a murder. When the police investigate and find no body, she is stumped yet alarm bells won’t stop ringing. She knows she’s witnessed something.

When a dead body surfaces and suspicion falls on her son, Bianca’s maternal instincts spring to action to protect Ian and clear his name. Meanwhile, things in Batavia-on-Hudson are tense. Sheriff Mike Riley is losing his re-election while tackling devastating news about his dead partner, and wavering about his troubled marriage.

Autumn Embers explores the malleable nature of our identities and reminds us that chosen families can be stronger than we think, and that true friendship can bridge any distance.

Praise for AUTUMN EMBERS:

“A beautiful novel that seamlessly embraces past and present, east and west, mystery and resolution, all the contradictions that make us human. This is the rare book that leaves its reader feeling balanced and whole.”
~ Carol Goodman, two-time winner of the Mary Higgins Clark prize and author of Return to Wyldecliff Heights

“Tina deBellegarde expertly captures the details of two very disparate worlds, reminding us that at the heart of these experiences is our shared humanity. I’ve become a new fan!”
~ Naomi Hirahara, Edgar Award-winning author of the Mas Arai mystery series and the Mary Higgins Clark Award-winning Clark and Division

“Get ready for another thrilling ride with Tina deBellegarde’s mystery series, this time in our own Kyoto backyard.”
~ Amy Chavez, Author of The Widow, the Priest and the Octopus Hunter

“Fans of Louise Penny and Crazy Rich Asians will adore Autumn Embers…Heartful and human, an intriguing mystery, and filled to the brim with rich descriptions, this love letter to Japan is Tina de Bellegarde at her finest.”
~ Jen Collin Moore, Author of the captivating Roman Holiday Mysteries

‘This is a scrumptious book…Autumn Embers will have you reaching for your passport and booking a ticket to “the land of the rising sun.”‘
~ Carol Pouliot, Author of the Blackwell and Watson Time-Travel Mysteries

“Like a richly woven tapestry, this immersive tale has it all…With vivid descriptions and an unhurried writing style, Autumn Embers is thoroughly engrossing!”
~ Lida Sideris, Author of the Southern California Mysteries

Book Details:

Genre: Female Amateur Sleuth
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 17, 2024
Number of Pages: 321
Series: A Batavia-on-Hudson Mystery, 3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER SEVEN

Bianca removed her shoes and found a pair of slippers approximately her size. She tucked her shoes in a cubby and followed Ian up the stairs of the ramen house. They settled into a spot at the counter in the far corner. She looked at the menu out of habit, but knew she couldn’t read it, nor did she need to. This was her favorite ramen place, and she knew exactly what she wanted. In fact, tired or not, this place had been on her mind all day. If she couldn’t sleep, she could at least have her black sesame ramen.

Across the counter, the server brought them each a small beer and took their orders. Bianca looked around and realized that nothing had changed at all. It was as if she had never left. She wondered what it must be like to live in a world where the movement of change could be at once imperceptible and monumental. Kyoto was remarkable in its ability to modernize dramatically while remaining steadfastly traditional.

Bianca’s mouth watered as a steaming bowl was placed before her. The handmade noodles beckoned, submerged in a rich dark broth of spicy black sesame.

Itadakimasu,” they said before they started their meal.

She took a slurp of broth first, the spice clearing her sinuses immediately, then with her chopsticks she gathered up some long strands of ramen and did her best not to make a mess.

They barely spoke as they ate. The food was too delicious and demanding of their attention, and they had talked for hours already. They were content in the sounds of their eating and the sounds of the fellow diners having a fun night out.

When Ian excused himself to find the men’s room, Bianca continued spooning the last of her broth then was surprised by a nudge. She opened her eyes and slowly realized that she had nodded off to sleep at the counter with her spoon still resting in her hands. The last strands of noodles had never made it to her mouth.

“Time to go, Mom.”

Bianca used all her energy to stand up with some dignity and followed him back to the shoe cubby and then out the door, but not before they called out to the ramen chefs to thank them for the meal.

Gochisousamadeshita!”

Once outside, they lingered briefly at the window watching as the chefs rolled and cut the fresh noodles. Bianca was mesmerized by their actions. They worked so effortlessly as if they had no need to think about these motions.

Bianca leaned on Ian as they made their way through the alley known as Ponto-chō, the traditional bar district. Too small for cars, the cobble- stone walkways were lined with tiny restaurants and clubs, their entrances illuminated by glowing paper lanterns. A different aroma escaped each establishment. Some scents Bianca could identify—ginger, garlic, grilling meats. Other delectable fragrances she couldn’t. Despite having eaten enough, her appetite was reawakened.

They walked slowly, enjoying the cool autumn night. Just as they were leaving the quiet street, they saw a geisha walking beside a businessman. The rich fabric of her amber kimono shimmered in the light of the lanterns and her hair was perfectly coiffed with a burgundy hairpin. As the lovely girl passed them, Bianca turned to catch a better look. She admired the elaborate knot of the brocade obi belt and the delicate end points of the white makeup on the young woman’s neck.

Bianca considered it a good omen to spot a geisha on her first day in Kyoto. They were a rare sight. Some tourists could spend their entire vacation in Kyoto and never see one.

Arriving at the apartment close to 9:30, Ian unlocked the gate and led her to the front door of the guest house. As he opened the door to the darkened room he whispered, “Tadaima.” I’m home.

He showed Bianca to her room where Jiro had already deposited her bags. She hugged Ian, turned to her futon, and crawled into it without changing into pajamas. Ian turned to close the door.

“Ian, wait.”

He turned back.

“You’re happy here.”

He nodded.

“You feel at home, don’t you?”

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. He nodded again.

She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

***

Excerpt from Autumn Embers by Tina deBellegarde. Copyright 2024 by Tina deBellegarde. Reproduced with permission from Tina deBellegarde. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Tina deBellegarde

Tina deBellegarde’s debut novel, Winter Witness, was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Novel. Dead Man’s Leap, her second book in the Batavia-on-Hudson Mystery series, was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best Contemporary Novel. Reviewers have called Tina “the Louise Penny of the Catskills.” Tina also writes short stories and flash fiction. Her story “Tokyo Stranger,” nominated for a Derringer Award, appears in the Mystery Writers of America anthology When a Stranger Comes to Town edited by Michael Koryta. Tina co-chairs the Murderous March Conference and is a founding member of Sleuths and Sidekicks, where she blogs, tours virtually, and teaches writing workshops. She is a member of Writers in Kyoto and reviews books for BooksOnAsia.net. She lives in Catskill, New York with her husband Denis and their cat Shelby. She travels frequently to Japan to visit her son and daughter-in-law and to do research. Tina is currently working on a collection of interconnected short stories based in Japan.

Catch Up With Tina deBellegarde:
www.TinadeBellegarde.com
www.SleuthsAndSidekicks.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @tinadebellegarde
Instagram – @tdb_writes
Threads – @tdb_writes
Twitter/X – @tdbwrites
Facebook – @tinadebellegardeauthor

 

 

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Review – Run by Blake Crouch #netgalley #run @blakecrouch1

Amazon / Goodreads

I have seen a lot of recommendations for Blake Crouch novels, but Run is my first one. I want to thank NetGalley and Random House/ Ballantine Books.

Jack Colclough hears his name called over the radio and knows that ‘they’ are coming to kill him and his family. He has no other option than to run.

They run through deserts and mountains, searching for gas, food and water. All the things necessary when an apocalypse hits. They do their best to avoid anyone else, not knowing who can be trusted…no one. Blake definitely puts his characters through hell.

Riveting. Engrossing. Suspenseful. Unputdownable. I’ll definitely be checking out more of his work.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

5 D A Y S A G O
A rash of bizarre murders swept the country…
Senseless. Brutal. Seemingly unconnected.
A cop walked into a nursing home and unloaded his weapons on elderly and staff alike.
A mass of school shootings.
Prison riots of unprecedented brutality.
Mind-boggling acts of violence in every state.

4 D A Y S A G O
The murders increased ten-fold…

3 D A Y S A G O
The President addressed the nation and begged for calm and peace…

2 D A Y S A G O
The killers began to mobilize…

Y E S T E R D A Y
All the power went out…

T O N I G H T
They’re reading the names of those to be killed on the Emergency Broadcast System. You are listening over the battery-powered radio on your kitchen table, and they’ve just read yours.

Your name is Jack Colclough. You have a wife, a daughter, and a young son. You live in Albuquerque, New Mexico. People are coming to your house to kill you and your family. You don’t know why, but you don’t have time to think about that any more.

You only have time to….

R U N

This 80,000-word novel also contains a bonus interview with Blake, and excerpts from his other work.

  • Genre: Apocalyptic, Dystopian, Fiction, Horror, Science Fiction
  • Format 331 pages, Kindle Edition
  • Published February 24, 2011 by Blake Crouch

Blake Crouch is a bestselling novelist and screenwriter. He is the author of the forthcoming novel, Dark Matter, for which he is writing the screenplay for Sony Pictures. His international-bestselling Wayward Pines trilogy was adapted into a television series for FOX, executive produced by M. Night Shyamalan, that was Summer 2015’s #1 show. With Chad Hodge, Crouch also created Good Behavior, the TNT television show starring Michelle Dockery based on his Letty Dobesh novellas. He has written more than a dozen novels that have been translated into over thirty languages and his short fiction has appeared in numerous publications including Ellery Queen and Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Crouch lives in Colorado with his family.

Website / Twitter / Facebook / Instagram

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$25 GC – The Legendary Mo Seto by A Y Chan @AYChanWrites @goddessfish

THE LEGENDARY MO SETO by A.Y. Chan

GENRE:  Middle Grade, Martial Arts, Action/Adventure

BLURB

Mo Seto, martial arts movie star! Has a nice ring to it doesn’t it? Too bad there’s a height restriction to audition. But 12-year-old Modesty (Mo) Seto has never let her height get in the way before, not when she became a black belt, or when she fought the meanest boy in her class, and she’s not going to let it stop her this time! Now if only she can figure out a way to grow five inches and fool everyone at the auditions…and find time to search for her missing father (who just might be harboring a dangerous secret of his own). Join Mo on an adventure (and audition) of a lifetime and find out if powerful things really do come in small packages!

Publishers Weekly calls THE LEGENDARY MO SETO “Adrenaline pumping”, Kirkus Reviews says it “Packs a punch”, and Booklist calls it “Remarkably relatable.” Leap in and join the fun!

EXCERPT

I may be small, but I am fierce. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Over and over again. Fierce.

“Charyeot,” the taekwondo tournament referee says in Korean. Attention.

I snap my arms to my sides.

“Kyeong-nae,” the ref says. Bow.

I turn to face my opponent, Dax Washington. His dark skin glistens with sweat. We dip our heads.

I look up to see Dax towering over me, his eyes stormy.

It suddenly occurs to me how much “fierce” sounds like “fears.” Not that I’m scared or anything. I’m not.

“Sijak!” The ref throws up his hand. Begin! Immediately Dax’s large fists hammer down like a hailstorm.

Well, maybe I’m a little worried.

Dax lunges. I block his front kick with my forearm. I flinch and reel back. The ref blows his whistle, but Dax doesn’t stop. I barely have time to move before—oof—another kick nails me in the elbow.

Okay, fine. I’m totally panicking.

AUTHOR Bio and Links

A. Y. Chan grew up in Canada’s Greater Toronto Area reading all the middle grade and young adult books she could get her hands on. To this day, those remain her favorite genres. After achieving her black belt in Taekwondo, she explored other martial arts, such as Wing Chun, Hapkido, and Muay Thai. These days, she continues her martial arts training some mornings, writes in the afternoons, takes long walks to muddle out plot points, and falls asleep reading.

Book Buy Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Legendary-Mo-Seto-1/dp/1665937327

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-legendary-mo-seto-a-y-chan/1144226905

Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-legendary-mo-seto-ay-chan/20699961

A.Y. Chan Social Links:

  • Twitter/X: https://x.com/AYChanWrites
  • Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/aychanwrites/
  • Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aychanwrites/
  • About Book Links:
  • Website: aychanwrites.com
  • Simon & Schuster Author Page: https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/The-Legendary-Mo-Seto/A-Y-Chan/The-Legendary-Mo-Seto/9781665937320
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Follow the tour and comment. The more you comment, the better your chances of winning. Follow the tour HERE.

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Sherry’s Shelves 10.13 – 10.19.24

Hi Everyone. Hubby and I spent a few days trying to get a good shot of the Comet A3 Tsuchinshan Atlas 10.16.24. All in all, a good week.

No photo description available.

  • Sherry’s Shelves
  • $25 GC – The Legendary Mo Seto by A Y Chan
  • Review – Run by Blake Crouch
  • $20 GC – Autumn Embers by Tina deBellegarde
  • $10 GC & Review – The Nephilim’s Fate by Eliza Hampstead
  • $25 GC – Unnatural Intent by Brooke L French
  • Review – You Can Kill by Rebecca Zanetti
  • You can see my Giveaways HERE.
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  • Leave your link in the comments and I will drop by to see what’s shakin’.
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  • Thanks for visiting fundinmental!

$10 GC – A Little Getaway by Bonnie Traymore @xpressotours @btraymore

A Little Getaway
Bonnie Traymore
Publication date: October 9th 2024
Genres: Adult, Suspense, Thriller

“Traymore’s page-turner is a tension-filled psychological thriller, where the line between friend and foe is razor thin.” Tracey Devlin, USA TODAY bestselling author

A little getaway takes a deadly turn for Morgan and Kyle Murphy in this spicy suspense thriller about a marriage filled with passion, dark secrets, and suspicions.

Morgan Murphy has always longed for a romance for the ages. And she’s found it with the love of her life, husband Kyle Murphy—until their spicy marriage suddenly starts to cool off.

Is Kyle preoccupied and distant because of a problem with his development project? Or is it something worse? Could Kyle Murphy be…cheating? He’s hiding something, that’s for sure. And Morgan’s determined to find out what it is.

With the help of gal pal Carla Flores, Morgan tracks her husband’s movements, and the signs increasingly point to infidelity, the ultimate sin in Morgan’s book. When Kyle increases their life insurance and surprises her with a weekend getaway to get their mojo back, she goes on the offensive and hatches a plan to make him come clean about what’s been going on.

But before she can pull it off, Morgan’s attacked and nearly kidnapped, and Kyle vanishes from the resort without a trace. With no clue as to who took Kyle or why, she’s not sure who is the biggest threat: the shady investor he owes money to, the police, or the guys she hired to teach Kyle a lesson. With the clock ticking, she needs to find out soon.

Before they come for her, too.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

Morgan

I smell death in the air. A briny scent with an undercurrent of decay, wafting in from the murky sea outside our sliding glass door.

“Kyle?” I call out again.

Nothing.

Maybe he went for a walk on the beach?

But that wasn’t the plan.

Something’s not right.

I close the door and lock it.

Where did he go?

A log pops in the fireplace, and I startle. This was supposed to be a romantic little getaway, but so far, things have been tense.

“I have a surprise for you, Morgan,” he said, about a week ago.

So here I am, in this little cottage on the beach that he picked for us, in the middle of nowhere, a few miles north of Monterey Bay. A chance to rekindle our marriage. Put some spark back into it. The resort, if you could call it that, is a series of separate units on a vast swath of beachfront land, one step up from a trailer park. I suppose it could be romantic under different circumstances, with the rugged beach outside our door and a cozy fire inside.

I have a bad feeling, though. I came out of the shower and saw a few drops of blood in the bathroom sink. I figured he’d cut himself shaving. And now he’s nowhere to be found. A chill runs up my spine. This place is getting creepier by the minute. Do I wait here like a sitting duck?

The office is on the other side of the property, and I’m not sure if anyone’s there at this hour of the night. It’s not that late. Just after nine in the evening. But even when we checked in, around noon, it took a good twenty minutes for the woman to come to the front desk and help us.

I don’t want to overreact, so I decide I’ll take the car and drive to the store.

Better safe than sorry.

We talked about the fact that I needed milk for my morning coffee. It’ll buy me some time, and when I get back, maybe he’ll be here, wondering where I’ve been. And if it turns out to be nothing, I can keep this little freak out to myself.

But we took his car, so I have to find the keys. I rush into the bedroom and look around. I thought I saw them on the dresser, but they’re not there.

His pants are draped over the back of a chair.

I check the pockets.

Nothing.

My heart starts to race.

I rifle through his carry-on bag.

No luck.

His cell is gone, along with his wallet. I wonder if he went out for provisions while I was in the shower? But the car is parked near the office, a few cottages away, so I can’t see if he’s taken it. I pick up the house phone and call the front desk, thinking maybe the attendant could check if the car is there. It rings and rings and nobody answers.

My heart races even faster. Rushing into the kitchen area, I survey the options. I grab the utility knife. With its five-inch blade, it’s the best option. This is a risky move. I’ll look like a psycho walking around with it if someone sees me, and the last thing I want is to call attention to myself. But the place seems deserted, so it’s unlikely I’ll be spotted.

Who comes to a beach resort in the middle of winter?

This was his idea, I remind myself.

And now I’m here.

Alone.

At a deserted resort.

Clenching the knife in my fist, I step out the sliding glass door and start making my way to the front office.


Author Bio:

Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon Bestselling author of seven domestic/psychological thrillers. Her thrillers feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She’s an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

Bonnie has a doctorate in United States history and has taught at top independent high schools as well as Columbia University and the University of Hawaii. Originally from the NYC area, she resides in Honolulu with her family.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / Twitter


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$20 GC – The Chemical Detective by Fiona Erskine @partnersincr1me

The Chemical Detective by Fiona Erskine Banner

THE CHEMICAL DETECTIVE

by Fiona Erskine

October 7 – November 1, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

THE CHEMICAL DETECTIVE by Fiona Erskine

A Jaq Silver Thriller

 

Dr Jaq Silver blows things up to keep people safe. An engineer and explosives expert, she’s also an excellent skier.

Working on avalanche control in Slovenia, Jaq stumbles across a problem with a consignment of explosives. After raising a complaint with the supplier, a multinational chemical company, her evidence disappears. Jaq is warned, threatened, accused of professional incompetence and suspended. Taking her complaint further, she narrowly escapes death only to be framed for murder. Absconding from police custody, she sets out to find the key to the mystery.

Racing between the snowy slopes of Slovenia and the ghostly ruins of Chernobyl, can she uncover the truth before her time runs out?

Don’t miss your chance to access the limited time pricing for THE CHEMICAL DETECTIVE, Kindle edition, at only $1.99!

Praise for THE CHEMICAL DETECTIVE:

“Just the right blend of suspense and tension… I recommend this original and compelling debut novel for fans of mysteries and thrillers, as well as for those looking for a credible female protagonist in a genre dominated by male superheroes. Already, I am looking forward to reading the next instalment in this series.”
~ Forbes, Editors’ Pick

“Explosive science, strong women, and snowy landscapes, all within a gripping, smart, fast-paced read.”
~ Helen Sedgwick, author of When the Dead Come Calling

“Imagine the love child of Jack Reacher and Nancy Drew…a delicious cocktail of dating and detonations. Call it Mills and Boom.”
~ Evening Standard

“An audacious, female-led thriller which took the disposable women of the James Bond franchise and flipped the concept entirely on its head.”
~ Chemistry World

“Fiona Erskine is an engineer, and in Jaq Silver, who shares her profession, she has created a wonderful antidote to all the resentful, floppy victims of much domestic noir… Her adventures are eye-popping and exciting.”
~ Literary Review

Book Details:

Genre: Sexy Engineering Thriller
Published by: Snickered Mole
Publication Date: August 2024, US
Number of Pages: 400
ISBN: 978-1-7385120-5-8
Series: Jaq Silver Thriller series, 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookBub | Goodreads | Kobo

Read an excerpt:

PRELUDE

Teesside
Thursday 24 February, Teesside, England

The trouble with Semtex is the smell. Dogs can sense it. Most humans can’t. Boris could. Not the plastic explosive itself, you understand; neither RDX nor PETN – the main components – have much of an odor. The scent comes from the tracers added, to make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. Hands like his. Chemist’s hands. Wide hands with long fingers, calloused from handling hot glassware, thickets of black hair curling over the knuckles and between the joints. Hands now gripping the steering wheel of a five-axled truck hurtling toward the Zagrovyl factory in Teesside.

Boris only carried a small amount of Semtex these days, just enough for his personal use. He kept it in a Tupperware container, wrapped in Clingfilm, under his sandwiches. Sentimental value, really. He’d moved on. To some, it might look like a backward step, from laboratory shift work to long-distance truck driving. But only to those who didn’t know the tedium of analytical testing. The same samples, the same tests, the same results, hour after hour after hour. Not like the old days, when you had thorny problems to solve and real fires to fight. Nothing more boring than a well-run factory. He was glad when they sacked him. Glad to be free of the monotony. Glad to be out on the road. These days, his insight into tracers was a key skill for the job.

Boris yanked the wheel to the left and hauled the truck into a lay-by with a view. The chemical plant skulked on the far side of a chain-link fence. One factory was much like another. Plumes of steam billowed into the sky, glowing orange in the sodium lights, bright against a dark, winter day. He traced the familiar shapes in the condensation of his side window: an hourglass – the cooling tower curving to a waist and then flaring out again; two, thin vertical lines – the nitric acid absorption columns lit up like Christmas trees; three circles – the ammonia storage spheres, massive, metal balls trapped by sturdy legs to stop them rolling away; a rectangle – the ammonium nitrate prilling tower looming over the A19, the main road out of Teesside.

The wind whistled up the river, screaming through the gap between the warehouses, bringing with it a faint whiff of sulfur, reminding him of home: Pardubice in the Czech Republic. The Semtex factory where he trained.

He watched the car park from the lay-by, waiting until the last company car roared away, before driving up to the gatehouse and presenting his papers. At the collection bay he plugged a small black box into the vehicle’s lighter socket. It beeped, and flashed, a red light showing it had located the Zagrovyl computer network. He tucked the jamming device under the passenger seat before turning off the ignition and stepping down from the cab.

“Snow Science, right? Two metric tons?” The bald warehouseman tapped his keyboard. “Bloody system down again.”

Boris slid his papers through a hatch. “Twenty metric tons.”

“Fertilizer grade?”

“Explosives grade.” Boris jabbed his finger at the product code on the order.

“You sure?” Baldy frowned and inspected the order line by line. He picked up a phone, running a hand over his eggshell-smooth head as he waited. When there was no response, he shook his head and cursed, “Lazy tossers, all buggered off early.” He slammed the receiver back into its cradle. “I’ll get you loaded up in a jiffy, mate.”

The metal ramp screeched against the concrete floor as a forklift truck drove into the back of the truck, delivering the first pallet. Two forklifts worked in tandem, an intricate dance, weaving and turning on a dime as they loaded the cargo. Within fifteen minutes it was finished. Fast and skillful, these old men of the north.

Boris secured the load, signed the paperwork and drove out of the factory gate.

Click. Location 54.597255, -1.201133. Intensity 800X

Instead of taking the A19 south, he headed east to Haverton Hill and a decrepit warehouse lying in the shadow of a blue bridge. A damp chill rose from the misty river. Boris shivered as he opened the cab door and scanned the quayside.

A tall, thin man materialized out of the fog, moving slowly with labored, jerky movements. He emerged into the sidelights: dark coat, spiky black hair, gaunt white face. The Spider. Christ, this run must be important.

“So?” The question came out as a hiss.

“All good.” Boris pointed to the trailer. “No problems, boss.”

The Spider pressed a button and battered doors began to open, groaning and squealing with neglect.

Boris backed the truck into the warehouse and hopped down from the cab. “How long will it take?” he asked, as he unlocked the back doors and dropped the ramp.

“Assist,” The Spider ordered. “Time is of the essence.”

Two hours later, Boris’s arms ached as he maneuvered the truck onto the southbound motorway. Bloody amateurs. Leaving him to do all the heavy work.

Boris made good time to the south coast, skirting London after the rush hour. Transport of explosives was not permitted in the Channel Tunnel, so Boris and his truck boarded the ferry to France.

Click: Location 51.12646, 1.327162. Intensity 152X, 648C

He stood on deck, sipping a watery, English coffee, as the white cliffs of Dover receded into the mist. Plain sailing from here. He shivered as the towers of the titanium dioxide factory beside the Port de Calais hove into view, and returned to his truck.

Click. Location 50.96622, 1.86201. Intensity 152X, 648C

The drive through France was uneventful as far as Strasbourg, but a young border guard flagged him down at the crossing into Germany for extra checks. So much for a borderless Europe. Boris remained calm. It had happened before. Nothing to worry about.

The ginger-haired guard puzzled over the papers, wrinkling his brow. “You do know what you’ve got in there?”

“Yes.” Boris lied easily now. After the first few runs, he knew how unlikely it was that anyone would check. And even if they did, what would they see?

Ginger picked up a phone and moved out of earshot. After a few minutes, he marched back. “Drive carefully.” He waved him on his way.

Click. Location 48.5857412, 7.7583997. Intensity 152X, 648C

Boris drove on past Baden-Baden. After lunch, near Munich, he took a nap in the back of the cab. When he woke, the stars guided his way to Salzburg and the crossing into Austria.

Click. Location 47.7994, 13.0439. Intensity 152X, 648C

As he approached the mountains, snow started falling, wet flakes that melted on impact. A weather report on the radio warned of treacherous conditions and several inches of snow up ahead. Great for the skiers, bad for lorries full of explosives and worse. Best to cross in the morning. He slid into a lay-by. A police car drove toward him, slowing as it passed on the opposite side of the road. Boris stared into the snowstorm, craning his neck to make sure it didn’t turn back.

Not that he need worry too much. The dispatch papers matched the Dangerous Goods Note. The bags had the correct hazard warnings. All the papers were faultless. None of the inspections, on any of the runs, had ever uncovered a thing. After all, who wanted to poke around inside bags of explosives? You could hide anything in there.

OVERTURE

Slovenia
Saturday 26 February, Kranjskabel, Slovenia

A strange bed. A naked man. And a few hours to kill before the explosives arrived. The day was looking up.

Jaq stretched, savoring the smooth cotton sheets against her skin. Snowflakes danced through a web of ice on the sloping, attic window. In the dawn glow, she could just discern the layout of the unfamiliar room. Two doors: one of solid oak with tongue-and-groove paneling, brass hinges and a sturdy lock; the other a flat, sliding panel leading to a modern shower room carved from a corner of the attic. A pine bed, wardrobe and chest of drawers, a leather sofa and a couple of metal stools tucked under a bench that divided the bedroom and kitchenette. From outside came the faint swishing and rumbling of a distant snowplow. Inside, the gurgle of a fridge, creaks and sighs of an old house waking up and the steady, slow breathing of the man beside her.

Jaq breathed in. Musk and licorice. And a faint whiff of nitroglycerine. Her scent on his body.

She slid backward across tangled sheets and ran her eyes over the golden curls decorating the pillow, down the ridge of his spine to the curve of his buttocks, sturdy thighs and powerful calves. Definitely a skier. One foot hung over the edge of the bed while the other was tucked under a leg forested in fine, bronze hairs. A tall, blond skier. Athletic. And much too young for her.

She grinned as she reached for the quilt – curved, appliqué ridges between her fingers, uneven stitching, not machine-made – and gently covered him. He stirred but did not wake.

The room smelled of pine resin with a hint of lemon. Clean and tidy. Well, at least it had been before last night. Her eyes followed the trail of clothes across the oak floorboards. Her coat and hat hung on a wooden peg near the entrance door, but her long boots had toppled over and lay at angles to the pashmina snaking across the floor, coiled around a scarlet bra and matching thong. There was no sign of her dress, but on the chest of drawers in the corner she could see his clothes, neatly folded on top. When had he folded his clothes? While she was asleep? Certainly not as she was undressing him.

The guy from the karaoke bar. Nossa. What had he done to her brains last night? She’d known he was trouble the moment she heard him sing.

What had she been thinking of? She loathed office parties, but her boss at Snow Science had insisted on it. Team building, Laurent said, a bit of fun. Laurent was a fool.

She slid down the bed, covering her head at the memory of Laurent’s excruciating impersonation of Charles Aznavour. Carapau de corrida. He’d insisted on the drinking games afterward. Sheila and Rita had the sense to refuse but Jaq could never resist a challenge.

And then the man with the golden curls took to the floor.

The moment he opened his mouth, Jaq was hooked. His voice emerged an octave deeper than she expected. He sang with authority and passion, the pitch and cadence perfectly controlled. His voice rumbled right down the small stage, across the wooden floor, up through the soles of her feet, tugging at the tight knots that held her together, unraveling all the cords of restraint with the song. An old Russian lullaby. One she knew so well.

Had she stared too hard? Clapped too loudly? Was that why the singer with the deep voice and lopsided smile singled her out afterward? She wouldn’t have danced at all if Laurent hadn’t made such an arse of himself. Sitting too close. Breathing too hard. Whispering in her ear. Escaping to the dance floor was intended to put some distance between them; Jaq always danced alone. Laurent followed her, his manbag on one shoulder, lurching and gyrating, arms outstretched in invitation to an inappropriate waltz.

The stranger interposed himself, moving between Jaq and Laurent, a subtle, sinuous barrier, increasing the separation until the drunken Frenchman found another target for his amorous attentions. Jaq danced on for a few tracks, just for the joy of the music, and then made her escape.

And there he was, outside the bar ahead of her. Waiting. Something in his eyes gave her pause, drew her in. She could have walked straight past. What was it that held her? Made her stop? The gentleness of his touch as he helped her with her coat? The deep voice bidding her lahko noč, goodnight? Had she imagined an inflection, an upturn, a question? There was no mistaking the smoldering fire she glimpsed before he hooded his eyes and turned away. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her with such honest desire. A very long time. And, oh, amor de Deus, how she had missed it.

“Wait!” Her lips found his, and there was no mistaking the interest with which he returned her kiss. Gentle, searching, increasingly confident. Hot lips and strong arms. She remembered him asking but had no memory of her reply, or how they ended up at his place.

Time to face the morning after the night before. Careful not to touch him, her detailed inspection must have registered. He brushed the curls from his face and wrinkled his nose. His eyelashes fluttered, and his breath became shorter, shallower.

She slipped out of bed and wrapped the pashmina around her. Where was her bag? Dropping to her hands and knees, she spotted it under the bed frame and took it to the bathroom. The scent of lemon behind the sliding door hit her like a wave. She sat on the toilet and grasped the edge of the sink. How much had she drunk last night? When the dizziness passed, she took stock. Clean towels neatly folded on a rail, a shower, sink and toilet spotlessly clean. Had he expected company? She opened the glass cabinet above the sink. Soap, straight razor, shaving mirror, shampoo, cotton buds, toothpaste, one toothbrush, and dental floss. A large box of condoms, somewhat depleted after last night, but no sign of a permanent, female presence. Just one tidy man.

Jaq reached for her bag. Despite her love-hate relationship with handbags, her party clothes lacked sensible pockets, and this was the least-bad option. Black with silver buckles, the fabric was lighter and thinner than leather but textured, tough and waterproof. It could be carried by the arched handle like a briefcase or, releasing three ingenious hooks, clipped onto a bike as a pannier. When carrying a laptop or other heavy items, two, wide adjustable backpack straps unfurled so that she could take advantage of the padded, contoured panel for extra comfort against the spine. The pleated sides, held in shape by concealed Velcro strips, made it capacious enough for most outings. It even had two, parallel zippers, designed to slot over the handle of a rolling suitcase, but also perfect for carrying a snowboard.

She rummaged inside the bag for her phone, encountering ticket stubs, café receipts, coins, a set of Allen keys, a socket wrench, Maglite torch, penknife, comb, and packets of hot chocolate. Ouch! She caught her finger between the jaws of a Vernier caliper. No blood, just a scratch, but she continued her search more cautiously: hydrogel plaster, crepe bandage, latex gloves, paracetamol, ibuprofen, neodymium magnet hook, PTFE tape, thermos flask, duct tape, ball of hairy string, condoms, fuse wire, superglue, paper clip, Blu Tack, ball of rubber bands, sandpaper, a fold-up kite, Slovenian–English dictionary, an unposted letter, multiplug, catapult, USB stick, fluorescent highlighter pens, snow goggles, earplugs, spare socks, tissues, tampons, a silver propelling pencil, a tube of mints, a packet of dried apricots, a tuning fork and a green marble.

Like the Tardis, the bag was bigger on the inside.

A bunch of keys fell out, clinking against the tiled floor. Odd. She unzipped the secure inside pocket where she normally kept them and, at last! There was the phone. One missed call she had no intention of returning. Amid the dross of email, a single pearl from Emma with a long, chatty message about Johan and the kids. Not now, save for later, only one bar of battery left. No message from Snow Science. She put the phone back and zipped up the keys before dragging a comb through her hair.

As she emerged from the bathroom, the naked man sat up in bed, blue eyes fixed on her face.

Dobro jutro!” He switched to English. “Good morning.”

Now that he viewed her in the daylight, was there a shadow of surprise? If so, he hid it well. What did he see? An athletic woman, naked except for a brightly colored pashmina and a large shoulder bag. Tall – five feet nine inches in bare feet, with a Mediterranean complexion – brown eyes, olive skin and shoulder-length hair, dark brown, almost black, except for the hints of russet fire. Well proportioned, curvy even. His smile appeared uncomplicated, no hint of embarrassment or regret, only pleasure at finding her still there.

“I don’t think we were properly introduced last night.” He held out a hand. “Karel.”

She took his hand, smiling at the absurd formality. There was hardly an inch of each other’s bodies that hadn’t been stroked or kissed or explored last night, and yet the contact with his hand felt deeply intimate, sending a tingle straight to her core. Careful.

“Jaq,” she said. No second names. Polite but no promises. Civilized without commitment. “Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” He raised the quilt in invitation.

So tempting. She hesitated and was gratified by the flicker of disappointment that rippled across his brow when she shook her head.

“Breakfast, then.” He sprang out of bed, bringing the sheet with him, wrapping it around his hips. He handed her a robe. The faint hint of musk was his. She let it envelop her and perched on a stool as he got to work in the kitchen.

“A quick cup of tea, or whatever you are making,” she said.

“Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon.”

She started to protest, but the smell of butter melting in a pan made her stomach rumble. He heard it and laughed, breaking eggs into a bowl, many more than he could possibly eat alone. When had she last eaten? She’d gone straight from work to the karaoke bar, changing from coveralls to party dress in the lab toilets. There was no reason not to eat breakfast. No reason a one-night stand couldn’t be civilized.

“Nice flat,” she said.

“Belongs to a friend. He’s working abroad.” He grinned. “I keep an eye on things when he’s away.”

He served the scrambled eggs on toasted crumpets, a thin sliver of pink salmon sandwiched above the little craters of butter, turning opaque where it touched the hot egg piled in a pyramid and topped with a sprinkle of freshly ground black pepper and a sprig of parsley from a plant by the sink. A small glass of orange juice and a bowl of tea served black, fragrant with bergamot and dark tannin. The speed and ease with which he presented two perfect covers made her curious. A singer, a skier, a chef. What else could this man do? Her eyes traveled around the room and paused at the bed. Amid the otherwise orderly space it stood out, an explosion of disarray. A surge of warmth rose through her body, and she turned her attention back to the food.

“Mmmm.” Jaq wiped her lips with a napkin. “Very good.”

Karel bowed his head to acknowledge the compliment. “More tea?”

Jaq shook her head. Time to leave. He was a young man with impeccable manners, but some awkwardness was only to be expected now. She would spare him the brush-off. He would have things to do, people to see, places to go. “My clothes?”

“I hung your dress up,” he pointed to the wardrobe. “But—”

“I should go.”

“Should you?” He moved toward her.

The glass rattled in the window above. A flurry of hail blasted the ice clear enough to reveal a storm-dark sky. No skiing today. No message from Snow Science about the delivery. Time to kill.

Karel laid a hand on her shoulder. Warm, gentle, no hint of coercion. Only invitation. Promise. He ran a finger up the side of her neck and whispered, “Come back to bed first.”

Her skin tingled under his warm breath. When his lips nibbled her earlobe, she had to fight the urge to grin inanely. The good food, the cozy little attic, the storm outside, the gorgeous man, the firm bed. She might regret this, but . . .

Last night she’d taken a risk, let herself go with the flow, to see where it led her. What did she have to lose? Things could hardly get any worse. Forget about the past. Forget about the future. Focus on the moment.

Focus on the pleasure.

***

Excerpt from THE CHEMICAL DETECTIVE by Fiona Erskine. Copyright 2024 by Fiona Erskine. Reproduced with permission from Fiona Erskine. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Fiona Erskine


Fiona Erskine,
credit Gary Walsh and Stockton-on-Tees Library

Engineer by day, writer by night.

Fiona Erskine is a professional engineer, born in Scotland and now based in the North-East of England. As a female engineer, she is often the lone representative of her gender in board meetings, cargo ships and night-time factories, and her fiction offers a fascinating insight into the traditionally male world of heavy industry.

Fiona’s stand-alone portrait of a factory Phosphate Rocks: A Death In Ten Objects, made the UK Literary Review’s top ten crime novels of 2021.

Her international thriller series is published (outside USA, Canada and The Philippines) by Point Blank, the literary crime imprint of Oneworld, and follows engineer protagonist Jaq Silver blowing things up to keep people safe. The Chemical Detective (2019) was shortlisted for the SPECSAVERS DEBUT CRIME NOVEL AWARD at Crimefest, The Chemical Reaction (2020) was shortlisted for the STAUNCH Prize, The Chemical Cocktail (2022) was an FT Best Summer Book of 2022. Her latest novel is The Chemical Code (2023).

Fiona is passionate about music and outdoor swimming, though not generally at the same time.

Catch Up With Fiona Erskine:
FionaErskine.com
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BookBub – @thechemicaldetective
Instagram – @thechemicaldetective
Threads – @thechemicaldetective
Twitter/X – @erskine_fiona
Facebook – @fionaerskineauthor

 

 

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Review – Her Deadly Rose by Carolyn Arnold @Carolyn_Arnold #NetGalley #HerDeadlyRose

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It’s good to be back with some familiar characters in Prince William County, solving another mystery in Her Deadly Rose (Detective Amanda Steele) by Carolyn Arnold.

I feel for Amanda and her lack of a personal life. She has been torn between Logan, her live in boyfriend, and Trent, her partner. I wonder how strong her relationship is with Logan. Can it withstand the trials and tribulations he is put through. He spends more time with Zoe, her adopted daughter, than she does.

Amanda has come to the arena to watch Michaela Glover perform. Michaela Glover is an Olympic hopeful figure skater and she has come home to put on a performance. Instead of watching her skate, Amanda finds her lifeless body amongst rose petals on the floor of her dressing room.

Carolyn Arnold takes us on a step by step mystery tour. Who wanted Michaela dead? Before they can solve the first murder, another body drops. We have a multitude of suspects, but none seem to be the villain.

Her Deadly Rose doesn’t have the thrills and chills that ignite my imagination, but her mysteries do keep my mind churning, gathering clues, trying to put them together to solve the crime. There isn’t a lot of romance and family life takes a backseat to Amanda’s work. That’s what happens when you are a police officer. It’s not a nine to five, five days a week job. Family events are missed, which can cause a lot of conflict. Her novels are easy to relate to, because the realism makes the characters come to life.

We end with : “You and Trent are needed right away.”

“Just tell me where.”

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

The girl’s lifeless body lies next to a scattered bouquet of crimson roses, the petals around her head like tiny pools of blood. Gripped in her hand is the note that came with the flowers, sent by someone who wanted her dead.

When champion figure skater Michaela Glover returns to her hometown of Woodbridge for a special performance, Detective Amanda Steele is part of the cheering crowds. But when Michaela is discovered dead in her dressing room after the show, Amanda is the first to investigate the shocking scene.

There is no sign of foul play, and the room is overflowing with flowers from Michaela’s adoring fans. But Amanda’s heart stops at the sight of a few roses tied with black ribbon and a note that reads “You’ll be sorry”. And when forensic tests reveal the ribbon was laced in something Michaela was deathly allergic to, Amanda is certain this is cold-blooded murder.

Desperate for a lead, Amanda dives into Michaela’s life to find out who could possibly want this sweet girl dead. She soon discovers that despite having a glittering future ahead of her, Michaela had a troubled past, and was surrounded by people jealous of her success.

When someone close to Michaela is discovered brutally murdered, Amanda is terrified there could be yet more innocent victims to follow. Can she uncover the twisted killer’s identity before they strike again?

  • Genre: Fiction, Mystery, Police Procedural
  • 355 pages, Kindle Edition
  • Expected publication October 18, 2024 by Bookouture
  • Series: Detective Amanda Steele, #12

CAROLYN ARNOLD is an international bestselling and award-winning author, as well as a speaker, teacher, and inspirational mentor. She has several continuing fiction series and has many published books. Her genre diversity offers her readers everything from police procedurals, hard-boiled mysteries, and thrillers to action adventures. Her crime fiction series have been praised by those in law enforcement as being accurate and entertaining. This led to her adopting the trademark: POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT™.

Carolyn was born in a small town and enjoys spending time outdoors, but she also loves the lights of a big city. Grounded by her roots and lifted by her dreams, her overactive imagination insists that she tell her stories. Her intention is to touch the hearts of millions with her books, to entertain, inspire, and empower.

She currently lives near London, Ontario, Canada with her husband and two beagles.

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$10 GC – The Bluff by Bonnie Traymore @partnersincr1me @btraymore

THE BLUFF

by Bonnie Traymore

October 15-18, 2024 Book Blast

Synopsis:

The Bluff by Bonnie Traymore

“What do you have to lose, Kate?” Ryan asked me, as we stood on the bluff looking out on Lake Michigan.

Turns out, almost everything.

When I first moved from Manhattan to this small town six years ago, I worried about many things. I worried about finding a job. I worried that I’d be bored. I worried that my relationship with charming photographer Ryan Breslow was moving too fast. But I never worried about whether the ground beneath my feet would crumble—both literally and figuratively.

My marriage didn’t go as I’d imagined. A year ago, Ryan met his untimely death in a car accident that’s still under investigation. Isolated and alone, all I wanted was to sell my home and leave Crest Lake and its painful memories behind.

But with my home inching ever closer to the edge of the crumbling bluff, the property has become unmarketable. All of us on the lakefront have lost chunks of property, and tempers are at a boiling point about what to do next.

And now, on the evening of a contentious vote about how to fix this pressing issue, my nemesis on the shoreline committee has been murdered. I know how it looks, but it’s not what it seems. But I have to get my plan passed and cash out.

Because I do have secrets.

And they won’t stay buried forever.

Praise for THE BLUFF:

“With a slow-burn intensity that explodes into a jaw-dropping finale, this psychological thriller is both bingeworthy and delicious. Traymore is a master of layered tension, and she left me guessing until the last page.”
~ Noelle W. Ihli, #1 bestselling author of Gray After Dark

“With its high-stakes plot and complex characters, the novel is a masterclass in building tension and intrigue.”
~ NetGalley

“Gripping and full of surprises, The Bluff is a clever psychological suspense with layered characters and an atmospheric setting. Traymore masterfully ratchets up the tension little-by-little until the shocking, explosive end.”
~ Tracey Devlyn, USA Today bestselling author

“This was a slow burn psychological suspense that heated up to a twisty, thrilling finale. A domestic thriller with a timely topic in the background. Great setting. Highly recommended.”
~ NetGalley

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Thriller, Psychological Thriller
Published by: Self/ Pathways Publishing imprint
Publication Date: September 1, 2024
Number of Pages: 277
PRINT ISBN: 979-8218417543
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE

Doug Mitchell takes in the shoreline of Lake Michigan, letting his Sundancer drift around in the currents. The sight of his house high atop the bluff reminds him of what’s at stake. The vote is tonight, and it’s sure to be a doozy of an evening. There’s a cool wind whipping up what little sand remains on the shrinking beach, and he can see the bare patch of earth where the southern stairs collapsed two years ago. But he feels safe and warm on the deck with the soon-to-be-setting sun still overhead, beaming down on him.

It’s not the same shoreline it was decades ago, but then the world is an ever-changing place. He knows this, although he doesn’t let on about it to most people. Right now, his mind is drifting to another place, and he feels a delightful stirring. He pictures the curve of her back. Her slender, graceful neck. The look on her face when he makes her moan. He takes another sip of his cocktail, closes his eyes, and sinks into it.

After a few minutes, a different kind of feeling washes over him. He’s dizzy. And tired. Way too tired. He’s barely had one drink. He opens his eyes, and the world appears blurry. He feels clumsy. Almost immobile. Shaking his head, he tries to snap out of it, but everything’s…

Fuzzy.

Confused.

Off.

He came out here alone, he thought, although he didn’t check the cabin before leaving the dock. A figure is standing on the deck now, too far away from him to make out who it is. It’s someone, though, and even with his mind dulled, he knows this isn’t good.

Seized with panic, he struggles to pull himself out of the quagmire. Finding a last burst of strength, he attempts to spring up and go on the offensive, but his legs are like rubber. His body rocks forward a bit, accomplishing nothing.

He sinks back into oblivion as the figure approaches.

You?

ONE

Kate

I arrive five minutes late, breathless from my run in from the parking lot. The proceedings haven’t started yet. I rush in, whip off my scarf and coat, and take a seat.

Just in time.

The stage is set for a contentious evening. Tonight, the town council will vote on the pressing issue of the failing bluff. I head up the shoreline committee, and I’ve been invited here this evening to present my plan, one of two the board will consider.

“Hi Kate,” the board member next to me says. “Glad you made it.”

She gives my shoulder a squeeze, confirming that I’ve got her vote.

“Of course,” I say. “Sorry I’m late.”

A tingling sensation creeps up my spine, and a feeling of dread squeezes my stomach like a vise. Perhaps it’s the weather. It’s early fall, but it may as well be the dead of winter. It’s bitter cold and gray, with intermittent downpours. The howling wind whipping off Lake Michigan has been keeping me up at night. It’s the same kind of weather we were having when my husband met his untimely death a year ago, which is likely stirring up some buried feelings. A widow at forty-one. Not the way I expected my life to go when I moved here six years ago.

“The meeting of the Crest Lake Township board of directors is now in session,” the president proclaims, banging his gavel with the countenance of a man desperate for power and relevance. Sam Bolger’s his name.

Sam takes role, and it’s lost on nobody that Doug Mitchell is absent. I fiddle with a strand of hair, twirling it between my fingers. It looks darker in this light, almost auburn. My eyes search the room, and hushed tones fill the silence as people whisper to each other.

Where the hell is Doug?

Are we really going to start without him?

I hope he’s okay.

His allies look concerned, naturally, but even his opponents seem troubled, although that could be an act. It would be unacceptable to show their glee, in the event they were feeling it. But I’m not feeling smug or excited or victorious. I’m feeling nervous. Doug is scheduled to present the opposing plan, and there’s no way he would miss this meeting.

Tempers have been flaring over the issue of what to do about the eroding bluff. The police had to be called during the last public hearing. And there have even been a few death threats, anonymous posts that most of us brushed off.

Silly, really. We’re all on the same team, trying to fight mother nature. Desperate to give ourselves the illusion of control. Struggling to keep our large, lakefront luxury homes from plummeting onto the shrinking shoreline that hugs the massive body of water eighty feet below the fragile bluff.

On some level, we all know that whatever we do will only be a stop-gap in the big picture of geological time, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s what’s making people so angry. Humanity’s stubborn insistence that we can bend the planet to our will. Because it’s obvious that we can’t, and perhaps it’s easier to blame each other than to face the realization that humans are at the mercy of forces we don’t really understand and can no longer control.

The president seems to be stalling, fumbling with his computer as he tries to pull up the agenda and project it onto the TV screen. The board member to my right shares a theory with me. Perhaps Doug’s pulling a stunt for dramatic effect, she whispers in my ear. Maybe the president’s in on it—he’s on Doug’s side—and Doug will come bursting in at the last minute, waving some new study in his hands. But after a few moments, it’s clear to everyone that’s not going to happen.

Sam tables the vote for the time being and moves on to other issues. The board gets to work. There are a handful of mundane items on the agenda aside from the one that matters to me. What to do about the shoreline. I wait patiently as the board members work through other business, waiting for Doug’s arrival. He’s a board member and I’m not, and I’m surprised that they didn’t ask me to sit outside.

I wonder what will happen if he doesn’t show. Will they postpone the vote, or will it go my way by default, with my proposal the only option? Item after item is addressed, and I can feel my pulse starting to race as they tick them off.

Parcel tax proposal.

New library budget.

Changes to the vacation rental rules.

My stomach is in knots. Because if the vote goes my way, it will be a Pyrrhic victory, inflicting massive economic consequences on my lake front neighbors. Doug’s plan to simply shore up the bluff at the toe, the spot where the waves hit and wear it down, is the simple one. The less expensive one. But it’s got the environmental groups up in arms. They’ve grown increasingly vocal over the last few years.

The environmentalists want to force the removal of all existing seawalls, like the one Doug Mitchell installed in front of his home, and ban all such structures. Let nature take its course. Force lakefront owners to move back their homes or demolish them if they are in danger of falling off the bluff. But none of them are on the shoreline committee, and none are on the board. And they’ll be upset whichever way it goes tonight.

My plan is a compromise of sorts. But if I win, there will be consequences. Expensive ones that will dramatically reduce some people’s property values and limit beach access for everyone. And lots of visceral anger, much of it directed at me, especially from my wealthy lakefront neighbors who will absorb most of the cost. Several million dollars, split between ten of us. Sweat beads form at my temples as the minutes tick along to the rhythm of the cheap wall clock mounted above my seat.

Why do they keep it so hot in here?

The council meets at the town center, a small, institutional structure that used to serve as a middle school. The chairs are small and uncomfortable. I sit up and twist from side to side, trying to stop my lower back from cramping up. After an hour or so, there’s nothing left on the agenda but the bluff, and I’m wondering if they’ll postpone my presentation and the vote.

A knock at the door startles us.

Police, a voice calls out.

The door opens, and a young officer enters tentatively, crouching his way into the room. It’s a tight community, and he’s likely a bit intimidated. We’re a powerful bunch. If he ran into one of us around town, I imagine he’d be deferential. But this isn’t a coffee shop or a grocery store, and this isn’t a social call.

After a moment, he straightens up, and his face registers the requisite look of authority. “Doug Michell’s been reported missing,” he says. “He went out on his boat earlier today and never returned. The Coast Guard is conducting a search.”

My stomach sinks, and gasps echo around the room. We all sit with the shocking news for a few moments as the officer bites his lower lip.

He continues. “We’re going to need to interview all of you. Detective Whittaker is on his way. Please stay seated and be patient.”

And with that, the vote is delayed.

***

Travis Whittaker leans back in his chair, eyeing me. I can see tension lines in the detective’s forehead. He seems to have aged since I last saw him, although his thick, dark head of hair reveals few strands of gray. It’s his eyes. They look heavy and full, like the weight of the world sits behind them.

He’s been working his way through the group, and I’m second-to-last. It would have been better to get it over with. Waiting around only increased the tension. Nobody really knew what to say to each other, so there was nothing but awkward silence filling the space between us as we stood in the hallway waiting for our turns to go in and be interviewed.

“So, Ms. Breslow. You arrived five minutes late,” he says.

“I just said that,” I reply, immediately regretting my sharp tone.

The detective’s nostrils flare, ever so slightly. He’s an attractive man for his age—early fifties or so—with a neatly trimmed beard and dark, haunting eyes. Right now, though, he looks menacing.

“Yes. I was about five minutes late,” I say, in a softer tone. My throat feels as if it’s about to close.

He narrows his eyes on me and I look away. I catch myself absent-mindedly stroking my neck and stop myself, placing my hands on the table top.

This feels all too familiar.

“And why were you late?”

“The rain,” I offer. “It got heavy when I was driving down Lakeside.” I tap my fingers on the table top as I search for something to add. “I had to drive more slowly.”

He nods and jots something down on his notepad. Almost everyone at the meeting had to drive down that road in the rain. It’s not a very good excuse, but it’s all I can give him.

“Did Doug Mitchell give you any indication that he was planning to miss the meeting tonight?” he asks.

“No, not at all,” I say. “We were all shocked when he didn’t show up tonight.”

“Have you heard from him today?” he asks.

I shake my head no.

“When’s the last time you had any contact with him?” he asks.

I look off to the side, struggling to keep myself focused and calm. I turn back to him. “In person?” I ask.

“In general,” Whittaker replies.

“We’ve been on the same email and text chain over the last week or so. Exchanging information, in anticipation of the vote.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I swallow. He’s already seen our text stream, I assume. “Yesterday. Around seven in the evening.”

“Was that an email or a text?”

“It was a text.”

“And what did it say?”

I pull up my phone, hold it in my palm, and let him read the exchange. His eyes rest on my last line to Doug Mitchell.

If you do that, I’ll bury you.

It would have been less stressful for me if Whittaker’s face had registered some kind of surprise. Instead, he closes his notepad and puts his pen down. I struggle to keep a neutral look on my face. Then he informs me that I can leave and asks me to send in the next board member.

I start for the door but then turn back to him. “In paperwork,” I offer. “I meant I’d bury him in paperwork.” Then I turn away again and continue to the door.

“Don’t leave town,” he calls out. “We’re sure to have more questions as the investigation develops.”

I nod and keep walking.

***

As my car winds up the dark, curvy road to my lakefront home, I struggle to steady my shaking hands. This night already had me on edge, and I can feel my pulse racing as I reach the bend in the road, near the top. The part where the drop-off is the steepest. They replaced the guardrail with another one that looks exactly the same.

What was the point of that?

Sometimes I can ignore it and drive right past. On sunny days, when the sky is bright and the birds chirp and all is well in the universe. It looks so different in the daylight. But tonight is foggy and foreboding, and I drive slowly. So slowly, I’d probably get a ticket if an officer was behind me. I don’t look to my right though, because then I have to picture it, and imagine the look of terror on his face as he plunged through the rail and over the side.

What was he thinking?

Or was he not thinking at all?

Did he scream?

Or was there no time?

A chill runs up my spine as I turn carefully around the bend and breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes, I get a sensation that he’s in the car with me, and I can almost feel his breath on my neck. And now Doug’s missing, and I have no idea what to do next or what this means for me and my shoreline plan. All I know is I have to sell my house get out of this town, before I lose my mind.

Or worse.

***

Excerpt from The Bluff by Bonnie Traymore. Copyright 2024 by Bonnie Traymore. Reproduced with permission from Bonnie Traymore. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Bonnie Traymore

Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon International Bestselling author of six domestic/psychological thrillers. Her “popcorn thrillers” feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She’s an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

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Review – Savage Risk by Jane Blythe @jblytheauthor #romanticsuspense

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Well, I’m sad to say that Savage Risk was not one of my favorite Jane Blythe novels. She writes wonderful romance novels filled with danger, hunkalicious males, suspense, romance, and happy ever afters. It’s rare when one of her books misses the mark.

We have two dysfunctional characters, Skye Xenos and Caleb Quinn. They had been friends since they were four years old. They had grown up in the wealthy, political world, where their fathers had their lives planned out. That didn’t fly with either one. Skye was an animal whisperer, so it made sense for her to become a vet. Caleb went into the military, then joined Prey Security.

We have an ongoing suspense mystery that will be wrapped up in Savage Risk, the final book in the Prey Security, Alpha Team series.

Caleb comes back into Skye’s life with plans to use her to get information on her father, but that’s not the only reason. Caleb wants her back. That makes her a target. The Russian wants her for a birthday gift for his son to use and abuse and probably kill before it’s all over. Her father wants her to torture her and kill her. She won’t do down without a fight, but it will take Prey Security and Caleb to save her life.

The story was predictable, but I have been invested in the characters since I first met them in previous books. I was glad to see that the bad guys get their just desserts and second chances do pay off. A little bit of spit and polish and this ARC can really shine.

I voluntarily reviewed an ARC of Savage Risk by Jane Blythe.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
3 Stars

Some wounds run too deep to heal.

Once upon a time Skye Xenos had a friend. He didn’t know it but he was the only reason she could survive the Hell that was her home. Then he left, breaking a piece of her that could never be repaired. Now over a decade later he’s back and bad things start happening to her. A coincidence or did he really return to destroy the remaining pieces of her heart?

Caleb Quinn knows he made the biggest mistake of his life when he turned his back on his quirky neighbor. He just didn’t know how big a mistake. Not until the final piece of the terrorist plot he and his team have been working to dismantle for over a year leads him back to the one woman he wants and can’t have. Problem is Skye wants nothing to do with him, leaving him no choice but to keep secrets in a desperate bid to keep her safe.

But secrets always have a way of coming out, and if he can’t convince Skye to trust him then the sun, moon, and stars of his world will go out forever, leaving him trapped in the dark.

If you loved USA today bestselling author Jane Blythe’s inclusions in Susan Stoker’s Operation Alpha world, you’ll be thrilled with SAVAGE RISK, the sixth and final book in the Prey Alpha Team series.

Scroll up and one click to start this thrilling military romantic suspense filled with alpha heroes, tough heroines, danger, action, and love! HEA guaranteed!

  • Genre: Fiction, Military, Romantic Suspense, Suspense, Thriller
  • 242 pages, Kindle Edition
  • Published August 8, 2023 by Bear Spots Publications
  • Series: Prey Security, Alpha Tream

USA Today bestselling author Jane Blythe writes action-packed romantic suspense and military romance featuring protective heroes and heroines who are survivors. One of Jane’s most popular series includes Saving SEALs, part of Susan Stoker’s OPERATION ALPHA world! Writing in that world alongside authors such as Janie Crouch and Riley Edwards has been a blast, and she looks forward to bringing more books to this genre, both within and outside of Stoker’s world. When Jane isn’t binge-reading she’s counting down to Christmas and adding to her 200+ teddy bear collection!

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