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$25 GC – Bloody Is The Night by Robin Jeffrey @xpressotours @TheSidekick

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Bloody is the Night
Robin Jeffrey
(The Night, #2)
Publication date: November 12th 2024
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

Unbeknownst to humans, the werewolves of the world live in tight knit gangs, or “dens”, for protection from outsiders – and each other. Every major metropolis has one; to belong to a den is to have a family for eternity. Shaye Cassidy, an unhoused human woman scraping by on the streets of Los Angeles, hasn’t had anything close to a family in over ten years. Shaye left her home under a cloud to chase the dream of a new start, a dream that quickly turned into a nightmare; a nightmare that grows even more twisted when Shaye witnesses a werewolf killing a fellow unhoused man.

Andy Vasquez is a top member of Sangre Sagrada, second only to the den leader herself. When she tasks him with tracking down a werewolf gone rogue, someone who is killing humans for sport and risking the exposure of their world, Andy dedicates all his resources to the task. He couldn’t have predicted that the key to uncovering the identity of the rogue wolf would be a human woman, any more than he could have predicted that he would fall in love with her.

Now, Andy must protect Shaye not just from the rogue wolf, but also from those within his den who wish she would disappear. Shaye has her own secrets, however, and in the city of angels, everyone has a devilish side.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble

—

EXCERPT:

I faced forward and froze.

Sitting on the stool across the table was the slim man from the library. He looked me over with an unimpressed glaze to his eyes, leaning against the table, his breathing somewhat labored.

“Shaye Cassidy?” he said casually, as if we had arranged to meet here on a blind date.

I pushed away from the table, my eyes widening. “Shit–!”

Two massive hands clamped onto my shoulders. I tried to twist around, to twist out of their grip, but I might as well have been trying to squirm out of handcuffs. “Stay awhile,” said the silver-haired man behind me, pressing me down into the stool, squeezing hard, but not hard enough to be painful.

Heart in my throat, pounding against my skin like it was trying to escape, I watched as the dark-haired man slid himself on top of the plush green seat across from me, reaching forward and picking up a few pieces of hard-shelled candy out of the bowl as he settled himself. “How did you even get into a place like this?” he asked, an amused quirk to the corner of his mouth that set me on edge.

Even in the midst of the chaotic bar, his voice was deep, cool, and clear, like water from a mountain river. I watched as he threw the candy into his mouth piece by piece, and he returned my stare, his brows lifting over his dark eyes.

My tongue darted out to wet my suddenly dry lips. I cleared my throat. “Are you going to hurt me?”

His lips twitched up into a lightning strike smile that was gone almost as soon as it appeared. “No.” Tongue probing the inside of his cheek, he leaned forward across the table, so he didn’t have to shout. “Are you going to answer my question?”

His calmness grated on my raw nerves. I rolled my eyes and gestured towards the back of the club, past the dance floor. “Fire door alarm around the back is busted. Has been for almost a year.” As I shifted my weight on my seat, the man’s grip on my shoulders remained steady and firm. I grimaced at the pressure. “I noticed it when they hired me for a day to wash some dishes.”

The man looked in the direction I indicated and gave a harrumph, his shoulders rising and falling. He returned his attention to me, nodding. “Clever.”

Frowning, I gripped the edge of the table tightly. “I’m homeless, not blind.” I looked around. No one seemed to notice that I was under duress. If I started screaming, what would happen? What would anyone do? I decided not to risk it, sighing and staring at the man across from me instead. “I’m not stupid either. You’re Andy Vazquez, right?”

His calm facade cracked, if only slightly. This time he actually looked impressed, his eyes widening slightly, faint surprise clear in the opening of his mouth. “Ah, yeah.”

“What do you want?” I demanded.

“I thought you said you weren’t stupid.” He smiled, his eyes narrowing. “What would someone like me want with someone like you?”

“I don’t know,” I answered with unusual honesty, throwing one hand into the air. “I don’t even know who you are; not really. Just that you’re looking for me. You and the LAPD.” Looking him over more closely, a thought occurred to me. “Is that it? Are you a cop? Like a detective or something?”

As soon as the question was out of my mouth, I knew the answer was no. Getting a closer look at him, he couldn’t have been dressed less like a police officer. A part of my brain I had not used in a long time recognized the deceptively plain white dress shirt he was wearing as Louis Vuitton, meaning it cost somewhere close to a thousand dollars. The pants they were tucked into? Armani, over a thousand. The jacket? Even at this distance, I could tell: a single-breasted affair in virgin wool and silk – two thousand at least.

But it wasn’t just the clothes. It was the way he wore them.

Like they were strictly temporary.

Author Bio:

Robin Jeffrey can almost always be found cranking out punchy flash fiction, lyrical essays, or world-rich novels. Her writing has been published in magazines across the country and around the world. She currently calls the Pacific Northwest of the United States home, where she lives happily with her husband and their out of control comic book collection. She currently resides in the rainy Pacific Northwest. More of her work can be found on her website, RobinJeffreyAuthor.com.

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$20 GC – Color Me Dead by Teresa Trent @partnersincr1me

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Color Me Dead by Teresa Trent Banner

COLOR ME DEAD

by Teresa Trent

October 14 – November 8, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Color Me Dead by Teresa Trent

Artist Gabby Wolfe has the ability to see not only the beauty of the living but the despair of the dead. When she returns to her childhood home in Henry Park Colorado, she is forced to bring along her younger brother Mitch. He is on a “break” from college where he was majoring in wine, women, and song. If that isn’t enough they also have Mitch’s rambunctious beagle Luigi along who prefers to spend his days wallowing in junk food. When Gabby draws the death of a young woman before it happens, she knows she must tell someone and risk a new job and her professional credibility. Will she reveal her secret in time to save the woman in the water or will it be too late?

 

 

Book Details:

Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Published by: Harbor Lane Books
Publication Date: September 24, 2024
Number of Pages: 260
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

We pulled into the driveway of a home nestled into the banks of Lake Henry. The overhanging roof, a dark silver color, provided ample shade on the front porch. As if guarding the home against the outside world, stone pillars stood on either side of the door. I parked my car on the circular drive that made its way through the deep, green lawn. Clarence Bradford’s home was well-kept, and the square corners and functional design reflected a sense of order. The light played between the two pillars, creating stripes on the slats of the porch. Built up on the mountainside, the house almost looked like a natural part of the landscape.

Standing on the porch was a man I recognized from his book covers: Clarence Bradford. He was still quite handsome for his age, and his outfit—a forest-green button-down shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots—told me every day was casual Friday. His silvery hair augmented his healthy tan.

“You made it.” He took in my cotton flowered tunic, my favorite pair of jeans, and the high tops I was wearing and said, “You are young.”

Maybe the high tops were a little much, but they were my favorite shoes. Even in my late twenties, I still hadn’t shed this style of footwear left over from my teens. Maybe it was the artist in me not conforming to uncomfortable heels that made my knees wobble. Clarence stood next to a tray set with a pitcher of tea and glasses. “You made good time. I was just on a break and decided you might be near and need some iced tea.”

Luigi leaped out of the car first and ran like a maniac around the yard.

“Will he run off?” I asked.

Mitch scowled. “I told you. Luigi is the product of discipline and training. He’ll let off a little steam and then be back to his guard-dog status.” From the wild look in Luigi’s eyes as he tried to bounce off a pine tree, I doubted his strict training included that.

Trying to put Luigi out of my thoughts, I gave an awkward little wave to my new employer. “Hi. I’m Gabby and this is my brother, Mitch.”

My brother walked over and plopped into a chair, grabbed an icy glass, and kicked off his flip-flops. “Excellent, Mr. Bradford.”

“Please, call me Clarence.”

“Clarence then,” he said, downing the tea in almost one gulp. Nothing like a hangover to make you thirsty.

I took a seat in the third chair. The smell of pine trees was so intense around me that it gave me the giddy feeling of Christmas. “You have a beautiful home, Clarence.”

“Yes, it’s where I get all of my inspiration. But, of course, growing up around here you already knew how beautiful it was. If I had to write the Adventure Kid books in the city, I don’t think they’d be any good. Can’t exactly have my little adventurers taking the subway to get to their next escapade.” He refilled Mitch’s glass.

“Working here,” I paused to look around at the towering trees and listen to the birdsong emanating from them, “sounds like paradise. I work in coffee shops a lot myself.”

“Ugh, what a terrible thing. I don’t know how people concentrate in those places,” he said in disgust.

“Earbuds,” I answered.

“Excuse me?” Obviously, Clarence Bradford had no need to block out sound and pump in music.

I pulled my earbuds out of my pocket. “These things.”

“Oh, yes. I see young people wearing them all the time. It’s like they have to have an extension cord wherever they go. Seems kind of ridiculous-looking to me.”

“You’re so right, Clarence,” Mitch said. “What I hate is hearing people’s phone conversations in the store. Do they even know how stupid they look having a heart-to-heart in the middle of the hemorrhoid creams?”

Clarence’s laugh boomed from his chest as he slapped his knee. “I can see you’re going to make this summer interesting, Mitch.”

“Mitch makes every summer interesting,” I added. “We’re renting a house on the other side of the lake, so it will be easy for me to come to work over here.”

“That’s good. Would you like to see where we’ll be working?”

I followed Clarence Bradford to what I thought would be a book-lined study, complete with the smell of cherry tobacco and a roaring fire. Instead, he took me to a room at the back of the house almost entirely encased in windows. There were blinds built into the double panes of glass. Clarence Bradford’s study wasn’t an office at all. It was an air-conditioned room on the lake.

“This is beautiful,” I said, spinning around. “I don’t know how you get any work done here.”

“Oh, but that’s the secret to writing outdoor adventure books for kids. I write them practically outdoors, with the modern conveniences of air conditioning and Internet. It’s my oasis.”

“What a fantastic idea.” The wall facing the windows was lined floor to ceiling with books. As an artist, I appreciated just how much there was to see from Clarence Bradford’s view of Lake Henry.

“Do the people going by in their boats watch you? I mean, do you feel like you don’t have any privacy here?”

“Tinted windows. I can see them, but they can’t see me. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The view was stunning, and I also made a mental note that whenever I needed a cigarette, I shouldn’t smoke it within view of this office if I wanted to keep it a secret. As I looked across the lake, the wavy line of the shore caught my eye. It looked like something I had seen before. I stepped closer to the glass.

“Are you a bird-watcher?” Clarence asked.

“Uh, no. I just thought I saw something familiar.”

“Is your house visible from here?”

“No. We’re too far away, and our house is on the other side of the road.”

I glanced back at the shoreline. My shoulders began to feel cold, and I held onto my arms. The vision was trying to come in again. I must be close to whatever it was that was causing the woman with the cold hand to invade my senses.

“I must have the air conditioning up too high in here. You’re shivering,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

“No, I’m fine. Really.”

“Of course …” he said but then asked once more, “You’re sure you’re alright, now.”

“Yes.” I turned my back to the window. “This is my first children’s book, so I’m sure I have a lot to learn,” I confessed, changing the subject.

***

Excerpt from Color Me Dead by Teresa Trent. Copyright 2024 by Teresa Trent. Reproduced with permission from Teresa Trent. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Teresa Trent

Teresa Trent started out teaching English, but life and children intervened and she began writing mysteries starting with her Pecan Bayou Cozy Mystery Series. After that, she wrote the Piney Woods and the Swinging Sixties Mystery Series. Color Me Dead is the first book in her new Henry Park Series and while all her other books take place in Texas, this series is set in Colorado, where Teresa grew up. Teresa is also the author of several short stories and is teaching writing at her local library encouraging new writers. Teresa lives in Houston, Texas with her husband and son.

Catch Up With Teresa Trent:
TeresaTrent.com
Books to the Ceiling
Goodreads
BookBub – @TeresaTrent
Instagram – @teresatrent_cozymys
Threads – @teresatrent_cozymys
Twitter/X – @ttrent_cozymys
Facebook – @teresatrentmysterywriter

 

 

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$30 GC – Crashers by Lindy S Hudis @sdbooktours @Lindyscribe

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MY REVIEW

Crashers is a psychological thriller sure to leave you with your mind spinning.

Need some money? Join Shari, Nathan, and Bryce for some hair raising, spine tingling moments cashing in on car crashes that are purposely staged, with no thought of the consequences, or what could possibly go wrong.

I’m not sure where to even start talking about Crashers.

Immoral. Unethical. Greed. Desperation. Corruption.

Shari goes down a dark path when she agrees to become a Crasher. Desperation drove her to it, but greed and easy pickings will twist her morals out of existence. She loses herself.

I must say, there wasn’t much to like about any of the characters. though the story kept me turning the pages, having to know what comes next. If Karma raises its ugly head, these three are in for an ugly future. Will they end up in prison? Will they lose more than their freedom? I mean, doing something so despicable, I can’t imagine them being able to walk away scot free.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars


Crashers

by Lindy S. Hudis

Genre: Thriller, Suspense  



**Currently in film production with Face 2 Face Productions!**


How far would you go to get rich?

What if you were desperate? What if you were completely out of options? Would you cut in front of a sparkling, new Mercedes on the busy L.A. freeway and slam on the brakes? What if it were that easy?

Enter the world of Crashers…

The con is simple: Get in a car accident. Collect the insurance blood money. What could go wrong? That’s what Shari believed when she found herself in dire need of cash. When she meets the sexy and mysterious Bryce, the teaches her all about how to be a “capper.”

Soon, Shari realizes that by staging more of these accidents, she’ll have more money than she knows what to do with.

But as she becomes more and more obsessed with her strange new world, she discovers there’s no such thing as easy money. And what started out as a simple payout soon turns into a deadly game.



Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads



Lindy Sternberger Hudis is an award winning filmmaker, author and actress. Lindy is a graduate of New York University, where she studied drama at Tisch School of the Arts. She also performed in a number of Off-Off Broadway theater productions while living in New York City.

She is the author of several titles, including her romance suspense novel, Weekends, her “Hollywood” story City of Toys, and her crime novel, Crashers. Her latest release, “Hollywood Underworld – A Hollywood Series” is the first installment of a crime, mystery series.

She is also the author of several erotic short stories, including “The S&M Club”, “The Backstage Pass”, “Guitar God”, “The Guitarist”, and “The Mile High Club”.

Her short film “The Lesson”, which she wrote, produced and directed, has won numerous awards, including ‘Best Short Film’ at the Paris International Film Festival, The Beverly Hills Arthouse Film Festival and the San Fransisco International Film Festival.

She is also a former actress, having appeared in the television daytime drama “Sunset Beach”, “Married with Children” , “Beverly Hills 90210” and the feature film “Indecent Proposal” . She and her husband, Hollywood stuntman Stephen Hudis, have formed their own production company called Impact Motion Pictures, and have several projects and screenplays in development. She lives in California with her husband and two children.


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$20 GC & Review – The Crushing by Kerry Peresta @kerryperesta @partnersincr1me

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The Crushing by Kerry Peresta Banner

THE CRUSHING

by Kerry Peresta

October 21 – November 15, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

MY REVIEW

The Crushing by Kerry Peresta is the fourth novel in the Olivia Callahan series. The more I get to know her, the more I love her…and her Wine, Whine, & Win group of friends.

Hannah had gotten married and moved to Pensacola, Florida. Hazel had moved there too. She’s ready for the quiet life. Olivia’s memory may never be fully restored, but she remembers enough to have built a business and pick up her personal life. Her home has been restored since the fire and she loves it. Sherry (it’s always so fun to see my name in a book) has become a part of the private investigating firm Olivia started. Callie lives behind Olivia’s house helping out when she can. Beth is a newcomer and works at the firm. She seems like a good fit. Monty is in prison, but refuses to keep his nose out of their business.

They haven’t heard from Hannah in a long time, so Sherry makes the trip to Pensacola. Patrick, Hannah’s husband says she’s around, just not available. Something seemed amiss before Sherry even got there.

We have more than one wolf hiding in sheep’s clothing and their lives will be put on the line while running through the swamps of Florida.

Poor Hunter. He is torn between two women. At times I feel bad for him, other times I feel like he keeps one on hold for when the other doesn’t work out. So far Olivia isn’t ready for a commitment, though she feels a rightness when they are together, wanting to reach out and kiss him. Will she or won’t she?

The Crushing by Kerry Peresta rolls along at a suspenseful pace. We have many culprits heaping bad things on the ladies. Some of the danger is right in front of their eyes.

To sum it up, the more I read the more suspenseful the story became, the more danger dogged their footsteps, the more complex the mystery became. I couldn’t figure out who was doing what and why and what the outcome would be. The ending left me with a comfortable feeling of relief. The ladies live on to fight another day.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

SYNOPSIS

OLIVIA CALLAHAN SUSPENSE

 

The victim of a vicious assault six years ago that resulted in a traumatic brain injury, Olivia Callahan is now a private investigator with her own firm. The assault that almost took her life resulted in a spectacular metamorphosis. No longer the shy, passive introvert she once was, she’s become a driving and determined force. However, the lack of impulse control caused by her rewired brain causes her to run toward trouble instead of away from it.

When Olivia sends her colleague, Sherry, to the Florida panhandle to find a missing friend, Hannah; the search takes Sherry into the dark heart of an abusive, hostage situation. The man Hannah married is cruel, dangerous, and well-connected. Olivia reels in her favorite cop—Sergeant Hunter Faraday—for a discreet assist, and it soon becomes clear that Hannah’s new husband is adept at waging war against anything that blocks his way.

While rescuing Hannah is Olivia’s primary goal, her incarcerated ex-husband has other plans. He’s collected friends who support his obsessive need to punish her for her role in his murder conviction, and a time bomb is ticking.

As Olivia and Sherry battle to save Hannah, try to neutralize the fiendish plan of an ex bent on revenge, and endure a terrifying race for their lives through the Florida wetlands; a final betrayal waits patiently in the dark. Smiling.

Praise for The Crushing:

“Fans of Frieda McFadden and Lisa Jewell will stay up past their bedtimes devouring the latest thriller from Kerry Peresta! Haunted by her abusive ex-husband, P.I. Olivia Callahan had better keep her friends close and her enemies closer. Now, if she could only tell them apart. When one of her best friends goes missing in a Florida swamp, the clock is ticking. The suspense winds tighter on every page!”
~ Kelly Oliver, author of the Jessica James Mysteries

“The tension in Kerry Peresta’s The Crushing is off the chain. Chilling! ‘I can beat this,’ the captive whispers from her locked room. ‘I will escape.’ Taut. Gripping. Engrossing. Highly recommended!”
~ Tracy Clark, award-winning author of the Cass Raines Chicago mysteries and the Detective Harriet Foster series.

“Rich details, a strong, character-driven plot, and enough snaky twists and turns to give you vertigo – this fourth entry in Kerry Peresta’s Olivia Callahan series will have you sweating bullets and turning pages like a tornado, leaving you as breathless as a mile sprinter. There’s nothing less simple than a simple missing-persons case, and there are far worse things than gators in the dark, dank Florida boonies. Don’t believe me? Read The Crushing.”
~ J.R. Sanders, Shamus Award winning author of the Nate Ross novels.

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller, Suspense
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: October 15, 2024
Number of Pages: 310
ISBN: 978-1-68512-770-1
Series: Olivia Callahan Suspense, Book Four
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE

Sherry crammed the phone against her ear as she dashed through the thick undergrowth, trudged across boggy marshes, and arrived at a feeder stream.

“Olivia! Olivia?”

Nothing.

“Dammit!” she muttered, shoving her cell back into her pocket. She calculated that the nearest town rested fifteen miles down the highway out here in Florida-cracker country, and holing up until the shooter emerged seemed the best option.

She should’ve known there’d be no service out here.

Where did he go? She scraped mud off her face and rubbed her sunburned cheeks. He actually fired a weapon. On no planet had she ever thought this little trek would become a fight for her life, yet here she stood, hands glued to the trunk of a huge palm, eyes darting back and forth across the marshy, pancake-flat wastelands of inland Florida. Behind her lay a wide body of water surrounded by suspicious-looking marsh grass and, she suspected, alligators…and in front of her lay miles of marshland and bedraggled palms spearing the sky.

Why had she volunteered for this assignment, again?

“I just had to get my investigator’s license,” she muttered. “Maybe I should’ve stayed put as Olivia’s assistant instead of private investigator. This isn’t quite how I envisioned the job.”

She rubbed her calves. How long had she been running? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? An hour? Where was Olivia?

The distant blast of gunfire reached her ears. A bullet sliced through the air and hit the tree she’d wrapped herself around, missing her hand by inches. Sherry felt her stomach freeze into a block of ice.

Wiping the sweat from her eyes, she slid her hand to the paddle holster on her belt, gripped her Smith & Wesson revolver, and released the safety strap. Another crack of gunfire erupted closer this time. She swallowed, hard. A whoosh of air zipped past a mere twelve inches in front of her nose. Sherry dropped to the ground like a stone. The spikey bushes on the ground dug into her arms, her chest, her legs. She located a slight rise about ten feet away, and hastily low-crawled through the weeds on her stomach, edged to the top of the incline, and threw herself over the top.

Breathing hard, she peeked out above the edge. The crack-crack-crack of shots fired caused her to dive for cover. She took a deep breath, wiped the sweat off her palms, and fired back a volley of her own. When silence fell, she relaxed against the incline and tugged out her phone. A signal!

With fumbling fingers, she pressed in Olivia’s number. She waited through one ring, then two, before her call was answered.

“Where are you?” Olivia’s anxious voice demanded. “Are you okay?”

Tears of relief trailed down her cheeks. She rattled off a description of her location. Her gaze trained on the best-case origination of shots fired, she whispered, “Olivia! I found Hannah. She’s exhausted and weak, but I’ve got her.” Sherry listened to Olivia’s instructions. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the airport, but…wait. I hear something,” she whispered, and stuck the phone back in her pocket. She gripped her weapon with both hands.

Minutes passed. Sherry tried to breathe.

Something shuffled through the grass. Her eyes sliced left, right.

The shuffling stopped.

The hum of cicadas intensified. She swatted at mosquitoes. Sweat trickled down her face.

Sherry adjusted her grip on her sidearm.

She strained to hear more footsteps, but only heard the faint squawk of herons and hoot of owls. The setting sun left a red slash on the horizon. Bats dipped and swooped above her.

She lowered her weapon, puzzled. Had one of her prior shots wounded her target?

Taking her time, she rose from her niche behind the incline.

A single shot burst from her adversary’s weapon and sizzled through the air.

She cried out in pain. The bullet had nicked her, the sting of a monster wasp. She groped her waist with her free hand and lifted it away wet with blood. Rage rushed through her chest and down her arms. She planted her legs wide and emptied her weapon in the direction of the shooter.

The phone in her pocket vibrated with a text as she reloaded.

Another bullet clipped her in the shoulder.

The sound of sirens wailed in the distance.

She collapsed.

***

Excerpt from The Crushing by Kerry Peresta. Copyright 2024 by Kerry Peresta. Reproduced with permission from Kerry Peresta. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Kerry Peresta

Kerry Peresta is a suspense novelist, and her releases include The Deadening, The Rising, The Torching, and The Crushing, books one-four in the Olivia Callahan Suspense series; and Back Before Dawn, a standalone thriller, all published by Level Best Books Publishing. Her magazine articles have appeared in Hilton Head’s Local Life Magazine, The Bluffton Breeze, Lady Lowcountry, and Island Events Magazine. She spent twenty-five years in advertising as an account manager, creative director, editor, and copywriter. She is past chapter president of the Maryland Writers’ Association and a current member and presenter of Hilton Head Island Writers’ Network, South Carolina Writers Association, Pat Conroy Literary Center, International Thriller Writers, and the Sisters in Crime organization. Kerry is the mother of four adult kids, a flock of grandkids, and three cats. She and her husband moved to Hilton Head Island in 2015.

Catch Up With Kerry Peresta:
kerryperesta.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @kerryperesta
Amazon Author Page
Instagram – @kerryperesta
Twitter/X – @kerryperesta
Facebook Author Page
Facebook Personal Page

 

 

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This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Kerry Peresta. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

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MY KERRY PERESTA REVIEWS

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$25 GC – We Never Kissed by Lia Fairchild @xpressotours

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We Never Kissed
Lia Fairchild
Publication date: November 5th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

The spark between Ava and Alex, her brother’s best friend, was always undeniable. So, Ava spent her life wondering why Alex had never claimed her lips.

Torn between loyalty and desire, Alex always kept Ava at a distance, leaving her to stand on the sidelines, watching him go through women faster than a beating heart.

No longer able to ignore the pull toward Alex, Ava drops everything in her life—including her boyfriend—to finally try to make things work between them. But surrendering to their deepest desires could ruin everything, including the fragile fabric of a shared family history.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

I ordered one more and took my time finishing it as I waited for the guests to fill the room; maybe I could disappear among the crowds. Still, all eyes would be on me when I gave my toast. But there was only one pair of eyes that could destroy me tonight, and as I glanced over my shoulder, the woman who owned them was gliding toward the ballroom.

Fuck me.

Ava was naturally beautiful and typically wore little makeup, but tonight she could have just stepped out of the pages of a magazine. The gown she wore was a dark and elegant shade of red, almost burgundy. It hugged her curves to perfection and had one sleeve draping her arm in sheer red material. The floor-length dress had a slit that I had to tear my gaze from before I broke out into a sweat. I actually eyed the path that led back to the elevators, but now was not the time to turn tail and run.

I stalked after her, planning to…I wasn’t sure, but as she entered the room, I saw dozens of eyes turning her way—men and women. A sense of urgency shot through me; if I had the guts—and was the selfish bastard I wanted to be—I would drag her out of that place and take her back to my hotel room, where we’d stay until I properly worshiped her the way I’d only dreamed of.

I said her name, and she stopped short, hesitating a beat before she turned to face me.

Closing the distance between us, I said, “You’re breathtaking, Ava.” I’d never used that word in my life, but it felt appropriate and inappropriate all at once.

She grinned, but it only lasted a moment, and I knew something was coming. “Can we talk?”

“Dance with me,” I said without thinking. I took her hand and led her to the dancefloor but before we stepped foot on it, fear shot through me as my mind flew back to another time I’d held Ava in my arms.

Author Bio:

Bestselling author Lia Fairchild writes romance and women’s fiction. Fans of her books praise her endearing, real characters who become their own heroes.

Fairchild is addicted to the warmth of Southern California and holds a bachelor’s degree in journalism and a multiple-subject teaching credential. She is a wife and mother of two.

Look for updates on her and her books at http://www.liafairchild.com or follow her on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/liafairchild/ or Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/lia.fairchild.author?fref=ts


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$40 GC & Review – I Know She Was There by Jennifer Sadera @partnersincr1me @jennifersadera

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I Know She Was There by Jennifer Sadera Banner

I KNOW SHE WAS THERE

by Jennifer Sadera

October 28 – November 22, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

MY REVIEW

Caroline Chase walks the streets with her colicky baby, poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. If you don’t want her looking in your windows, then close your blinds. I had a hunch about something and I was correct, but there was so much more going on than I ever guessed.

Jennifer Sadera has a hit with her debut novel, I Know She Was There. She weaves a complex mystery around an even more complex main character, Caroline Chase.

Her husband, Tim…well, he turned out to be worse than I anticipated.

I Know She Was There by Jennifer Sadera has everything I love in a psychological thriller. We have some bad guys, some good guys, and a damsel in distress. Jennifer kept the suspense rising as the pace picked up. I couldn’t stop reading. I had to know. By the time I got to the end I never saw coming, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

Synopsis:

Be careful what you see when you shouldn’t be looking.

Residents of the posh Upstate New York neighborhood of Deer Crossing enjoy all the amenities wealth provides. From drive-up dog-grooming to monthly botox parties, these lucky suburbanites have everything they could ever want. And one thing they don’t. Stalker Caroline Case, who wheels her infant along their streets each night with just one goal…to spy on anyone too careless or too foolish to close their window blinds.

Convinced the owners of the impressive homes are living a dream existence, the troubled new mom hopes to escape her working-class life by prying secrets from the unsuspecting. But the fairy tale twists into a nightmare when she sees something she shouldn’t. Something that shatters her illusions about the people in the privileged community she’s obsessed with, even as she begins to doubt what she saw.

As Caroline investigates the event, shocking secrets are laid bare, and nothing is as it seems. She knows she must prove something sinister occurred in Deer Crossing or risk letting someone get away with murder.

Praise for I Know She Was There:

“‘Twisty’ doesn’t begin to describe this compelling and complicated story. Don’t even try to guess how this turns out—just put yourself in Sadera’s capable hands and enjoy the ride!”
~ Karen Dionne, author of the #1 international bestseller The Marsh King’s Daughter and The Wicked Sister

“In the world of thrillers, few conceits are more alluring than a ‘mostly harmless’ habit gone terribly awry. Such is the premise in Jennifer Sadera’s addictive I Know She Was There, where protagonist Caroline Case’s proclivity for sidewalk-spying on her wealthy neighbors turns into her own living nightmare. Sadera’s deeply psychological novel, echoing nicely to Rear Window, has Caroline guessing not only what she saw, but whether she saw it at all, and her struggle becomes ours through effective first-person narration. An impressive and thrilling debut . . . Sadera is an author to watch.”
~ Carter Wilson, USA Today bestselling author of The Father She Went to Find

“Jennifer Sadera’s intense debut about a troubled young mother on a passionate mission to discover the truth kept me awake all night! It’s a gut-wrenching and addictively readable thriller.”
~ Bonnar Spring, author of Toward the Light (2020), Independent Publishers’ bronze medal winner for Best First Novel, New Hampshire Literary Awards—People’s Choice winner for fiction, and Disappeared (2022) ‘Best of 2022’ from Bookreporter and Crime Fiction Lover short fiction: 2023 Al Blanchard Award, 2024 Derringer

“Twisty and compelling, I Know She Was There deftly explores how well we can truly know each other—or ourselves.”
~ Tracy Sierra, author of Nightwatching

“A knockout debut—sharp domestic suspense that combines taut prose with a complex, artfully crafted unreliable narrator, and plenty of twists and turns that readers won’t see coming. I Know She Was There proves Jennifer Sadera is a voice to watch.”
~ Elena Hartwell Taylor, bestselling author of the Eddie Shoes and Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery series, including the upcoming A Cold, Cold World

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense, Domestic Suspense
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: November 12, 2024
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 9780744310955 (ISBN10: 0744310954)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books

Read an excerpt:

Jane Brockton was going to get caught.

My heart raced when Jane emerged from the side door of her home; what she and I were both doing was risky, but it was too late for regrets. I wondered if she thought so too. Probably. Her behavior was becoming alarmingly brazen. I pulled Emmy’s stroller closer and pushed aside boxwood branches, widening the portal I peered through. Although Jane’s across-the-street neighbors’ hedge was directly in front of her farmhouse-style McMansion, it was too dark this late at night for me to be seen.

Go back inside if you know what’s good for you. I pressed my fingers to my lips as the man emerged from the house next to hers. Even if I’d yelled a warning, Jane Brockton wouldn’t heed it. Who the hell was I? Certainly not someone her neighbors on Woodmint Lane knew. If Jane observed my late-night excursions through the streets of her stylish suburban New York neighborhood, her first instinct wouldn’t be to worry about her behavior.

I was prepared. If confronted by any resident of the exclusive enclave, I’d explain I walked the streets late at night to lull my colicky baby to sleep. I couldn’t admit my ulterior motive—worming my way back onto Primrose Way and into my former best friend’s good graces. And there was no need to share how, lately, the lives of this neighborhood’s inhabitants had been luring me like a potent drug—or how Jane Brockton was fast becoming the kingpin of my needy addiction. Jane stood out, even in this community of excess: gourmet dinner deliveries, drive-up dog grooming, same-day laundry service, and monthly Botox parties.

Her meetings with the mystery man were far from innocent. The first tryst I’d witnessed was late the previous Friday night—exactly a week earlier. I’d strolled around the corner of Woodmint Lane just as the pair had emerged from their side-by-side houses and taken to the dark street like prowlers casing the block. I followed their skulking forms up Woodmint, being careful to stay a few dozen yards behind, until all I could discern was their silhouettes, too close to each other for friendly companionship. They’d eventually crossed Primrose Way and veered into the woods where the bike trails and picnic areas offered secluded spaces. When they didn’t emerge from the wooded area, I backed Emmy’s stroller up silently and reversed my route, heading away, my pulse still throbbing in my temples.

It was impossible to deny what was going on, as I watched similar scenes unfold three nights that week: Jane slipping soundlessly from her mudroom door like a specter, the flash of the screen door in the faint moonlight an apparent signal.

This night, as they hooked hands in the driveway between the houses, I slicked my tongue over my dry lips. She risked losing everything. I knew how that felt. Tim had left me before I’d even changed out his worn bachelor-pad sofa for the sectional I’d been eying at Ethan Allen. I watched them cross through the shadows, barely able to see them step inside the shed at the far end of Jane’s yard. And all under the nose of her poor devoted husband, Rod. He couldn’t be as gullible as he appeared, could he?

A voice called out, shattering the stillness of the night. I flinched, convinced I’d been discovered. I scanned the immediate shadows, placing a hand over my chest to still my galloping heart.

“Jane?” It was Rod’s voice. I recognized the timbre by now. Settle down, Caroline.

My eyes darted to the custom home’s open front door. Rod had noticed his wife’s abandonment earlier than usual. Warm interior light spilled across the porch floorboards and outlined Rod’s robed form in the door frame.

“Are you out here? Jane?”

The worry in his voice made me hate Jane Brockton. I flirted with the idea of stepping away from the hedge and announcing I’d witnessed her heading to the shed with the neighbor. Of course, that would be ridiculous. I was a stranger. My name, Caroline Case, would mean nothing to him.

Rod closed the door and my gaze traveled to the glowing upstairs window on the far left of his house. The light had blinked off half an hour earlier, like a giant eyelid closing over the dormered master bedroom casement. I knew exactly where their bedroom was because I’d studied the Deer Crossing home models on the builder’s website. I knew the layout of all three house styles so well I could escort potential buyers through them. I’d briefly considered it. Becoming a real-estate agent would give me access inside, where I could discover what life behind the movie-set facades was really like. Pristine marble floors, granite countertops, and crystal vases on every conceivable surface? Or gravy-laden dishes in sinks and mud-caked shoes arrayed haphazardly just inside the eye-catching front doors?

I suspected the latter was true for almost every house except for my former best friend Muzzy Owen’s place on Primrose Way. Muzzy could put Martha Stewart to shame.

I wedged myself and Emmy’s stroller further into the hedge. Becoming a real-estate agent wouldn’t connect me as intimately to Jane and Rod Brockton (information gleaned by rifling through the contents of their mailbox) as I was at this moment. Trepidation—and yes, anticipation—laced my bloodstream and turned my breathing shallow as I waited for Rod to come outside and start his nightly search for his wife. Some may consider my interest, my excitement, twisted, but I didn’t plan to use my stealthily gathered information against anyone. It was enough to reassure myself that nobody’s life was perfect, no matter how it appeared to an outsider.

A faint click echoed through the still night. I squinted through the hedge leaves, my eyes laser pointers on the side door Jane had emerged from only moments before. Rod appeared.

As he stepped into the dusky side yard, I thought about the people unknown to me until a week earlier: the latest neighborhood couple to pique my interest. Even though they were technically still strangers, I’d had an entire week to learn about the Brocktons. A few passes in my car last Saturday morning revealed a tracksuit-clad Gen Xer, her wavy hair the reddish-brown color of autumn oak leaves, and a gray-haired, bespectacled boomer in crisp dark jeans and golf shirt standing on the sage-and-cream farmhouse’s front porch. Steaming mugs in hand, their calls drifted through my open car window, cautioning their little golden designer dog when it strayed too close to the street, their voices overly indulgent, as if correcting a beloved but errant child. The very picture of domestic bliss.

I studied the Colonial to the Brocktons’ right. On the front porch steps, two tremendous Boston ferns in oversized urns stretched outward like dozens of welcoming arms. The only testament to human activity. Someone obviously cared for the vigorous plants, but a midnight peek inside that house’s mailbox revealed only empty space. It made me uncomfortable not knowing who Jane’s mystery man was.

And did Rod usually wake when his wife slipped between the silk sheets (they had to be silk) after her extracurriculars? He obviously questioned her increasingly regular late-night abandonment. He wouldn’t be roaming the dark in his nightwear if he hadn’t noticed.

Perhaps Jane said she couldn’t sleep. She needed to move—walk the neighborhood—to tire herself. Hearing that, he’d frown, warning her not to wander around in the middle of the night. Rod was the type—I was sure just by the way he coddled his dog—to worry about his lovely wife walking the dark streets, even the magical byways of Deer Crossing. Hence, the need for new places to rendezvous each night. But the shed on their very own property! Even though this night’s tryst was later than usual, it was dangerously daring to stay on-site. Maybe Jane wanted to get caught.

A scratching sound echoed through the quiet night. I looked at the side door Rod had just emerged from, saw his silhouette turn back and open it. The little dog circled him, barking sharply. The urgent yipping cut clearly through the still air, skittering my pulse. I quickly glanced at Emmy soundly sleeping in her stroller. If the dog didn’t stop barking, I’d have to get away—fast. Emmy could wake and start her colicky wailing, which would rouse the Brocktons’ neighbors whose hedge I’d appropriated. One flick of their front porch light would reveal me in all my lurking glory.

As if to answer my concerns, the dog ceased barking and scampered toward the shed. I rubbed at the sudden chill sliding across my upper arms. That little canine nose was sniffing out Jane’s trail.

Rod stepped tentatively forward. It was too dark to see what he was wearing beneath the robe, but I pictured him in L. L. Bean slippers with those heavy rubberized soles and cotton print pajamas, like Daddy used to wear. Daddy’s had line drawings of old-fashioned cars dotted across the white cotton background. Model Ts and roadsters. I felt angry with Jane all over again. How dare she . . .

“Sorry, darling,” Jane called, striding from the shadows, stopping a few feet in front of him. “I was potting those plants earlier and thought I left my cell phone in the shed.” Her voice was soft, relaxed. She was a pro.

“I saw it on the bookshelf in the study earlier this evening,” Rod said, bending to calm the little dog, who was bouncing between them like a child with ADHD.

“Oh geez, I’m losing it,” she said, laughing.

Not yet, you’re not, I thought. Not yet.

***

Excerpt from I Know She Was There by Jennifer Sadera. Copyright 2024 by Jennifer Sadera. Reproduced with permission from Jennifer Sadera. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Jennifer Sadera

Jennifer Sadera began her writing career just out of college as a junior copywriter at book publisher NAL before transitioning to the editorial departments of national women’s magazines Woman’s World, Redbook, and Beauty Digest. She’d already established herself as a freelance writer and blogger when she decided to follow her true passion: creating novels. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime; her writing has earned her multiple awards at Atlanta Writers Conferences and a fellowship at the Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. I Know She Was There is Jennifer’s debut psychological suspense novel. When not writing, Jennifer can be found gardening, traveling, or reading anything she can get her hands on. She is blessed with CJ, her husband of many years, two adult children, Amanda and Ryan, and two adorable rescue grand dogs named Sunny and Moonie.

Catch Up With Jennifer Sadera:
JenniferSadera.com
Goodreads
LinkedIn
Instagram – @jensadera
Twitter/X – @jennifersadera
Facebook – @jennifersadera

 

 

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$20 GC – Runaway Hearts: Seduced By Danger by Elsa Jacobs @xpressotours

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Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger
Elsa Jacobs
Publication date: November 1st 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

Have you ever wished to run away from your life?

Start anew and leave everything bad behind…

Marianne, a young woman hungry for a fresh start, can’t wait for her beach house getaway. But her plans take an unexpected turn when she picks up a mysterious hitchhiker on the way.

The irresistible stranger is the sole heir of a Japanese *organization*, and despite Marianne’s own anxiety struggles, she can’t say no to someone in need. As they travel together, swapping past traumas and dreams, love sparks. To heal her troubled mind, she must embrace her true desires, no matter how twisted they seem.

But as love deepens, an enemy from the man’s past threatens to pull them apart. In the midst of looming danger, Marianne must choose between sticking to her anxious ways or diving into the unknown for true love.

Get ready for a wild ride where each page brings new revelations and perils, leading to a destination unlike any other.

Runaway Hearts is a slow burn, steamy, contemporary romantic suspense with morally questionable characters. HEA.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

As I return to my car, a painful golden gaze greets me. The second I pull out of the alley, tires screech in the distance, a silver SUV closing in on us at great speed.

Stranger Danger turns his head when he sees my wide eyes. “Drive!” he yells with desperation.

And just like that, I’m thrown into a heart-pumping car-chase scene.

My hands grip the steering wheel with an iron resolve.

The engine roars as I speed through the city streets, determined not to be caught by my pursuers.

I’m not on the menu tonight!

My mind races, searching for an escape route. The unfamiliar streets of the city blur past me as I navigate through the labyrinth of alleys and side roads.

“Wow…” the wounded stranger says in the back.

I burst into a weird cackle. “Glad you’re enjoying the ride! Buckle up, it might be a rocky road.” Mm. Ice cream.

“Just try not to kill us both,” he replies, amusement and genuine concern in his voice.

Each turn is calculated, each maneuver executed with precision. I can’t afford a single mistake. It’s easier than the go-karts!

And I love it.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of the pursuer’s SUV closing in. Their dark, tinted windows hide their identities, but their malevolent presence creeps like a shadow up my spine. A sentiment I can’t recognize fuels my every move, pushing me to the limits of speed and agility.

“Who’re they? Why’re they chasing you?” I shout, teeth clenched as I drift a tight turn.

“Not now! Just fucking drive!” he snaps, tension radiating from him like heat.

The answer should scare me, but instead, it ignites something within. A reckless defiance maybe. I punch the gas harder. The SUV fades in the distance.

Where’s the police now?

As I navigate through the streets, the city becomes a haze. The thrill of the chase is intoxicating, but the danger is very real.

“Just one more crazy move and I’ll lose them,” I say, pulse thudding hard in my throat as adrenaline spikes through my system.

I need to shake them off for good. Ahead lies a narrow alleyway, barely wide enough to fit my car. Shit. My fingers grip the wheel tighter. The alley is empty. On an impulse, I slam the gas, my heart drumming as I squeeze through the tight space. The pursuers hesitate, thrown off by the daring move. I bet their SUV is too large to come in here.

I cackle, my breath hitching with the rush, as I put distance between us and the furious men. The sharp sting of sweat trails down my spine, but relief crashes through me.

“Ha! Suck on that, you oversized tin cans!” I yell, voice ragged, throat dry from the wild tension that’s been gripping me.

It’s been ages since I’ve felt truly alive. I rush with abandon, the music blasting. Nothing can touch me at this moment of pure euphoria.

As the sky turns shades of pink and orange, I finally reach the outskirts. The energy from the chase has left me breathless yet exhilarated. With every turn, the weight of my life lifted off my shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of freedom. I bite back the “whoop!” threatening to escape my mouth.

I didn’t even know I could drive like that. I slide the sun visor’s mirror to look at myself and burst out laughing. My cheeks are a deep pink, my eyes have an electric gleam, and my lips are stretched into the most wicked smile I’ve ever seen on myself.

“That was wild,” I whisper to myself.

Stranger Danger shakes his head with amusement and worry. “You drive like a maniac.”

“Maniac but living!” I reply, a wild grin on my face.

But the adrenaline surge recedes, leaving my heart rate back to normal and my heart empty. A quick look to the rearview mirror shows me an empty road.

Phew.

Stranger Danger has changed his clothing, but he remains lying across the back seat. I didn’t even see him change his underwear, and that’s a disappointment. A car chase will do that to you.

Author Bio:

I’m Elsa Jacobs, an indie author of contemporary romance and romantic suspense/thriller. I write unique love stories with a substantial amount of twists, turns, and spices.

Let me tell you how it all started. A few years back, I was battling brutal insomnia that just wouldn’t quit. Nights were a blur of characters and plots swirling around in my head, refusing to let me catch some shut-eye. It was maddening. Writing became my escape hatch—I had to get these stories out of my head.

In less than a year, I wrote four drafts, all because I needed an outlet for the chaos that was keeping me up at night. Publishing wasn’t even on my radar; I just needed some peace of mind. But then, something unexpected happened. I sent a chapter to an editor, not really expecting much to come of it.

But instead of a brush-off, I found myself teaming up with that editor to bring my first novel to life.

It was a game-changer. That’s when I decided to take the plunge and share the rest of my drafts, bit by bit, with the world.

My stories might have been born out of sleepless nights, but they’ve become my sanctuary, and I hope they become yours too.

Cheers,

Elsa.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / Facebook


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$25 GC – Here Lyeth by Johanna Frank @xpressotours

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Here Lyeth
Johanna Frank
(A Lifeline Fantasy Novel)
Publication date: November 1st 2024
Genres: Fantasy, Supernatural

A small-scale supernatural fantasy on big, real-life values. A story of rewiring unworthiness and searching for a place to belong. Pre-order your copy today for an extraordinary, heartwarming read that is sure to unearth you. Release date, November 1, 2024.

Answers are buried beneath a grave marker. Only it happens to be her own.

Something was missing. It was easy for Lexxie to bury that niggling sense, she had all the love and protection a young woman needed. But when the man she thought to be her father spilled a fever-pitched confession—that she’d been taken from her real family as an infant—her content and isolated life ended.

STIRRING… EXTRAORDINARY… UPLIFTING…

Angry and heartbroken, Lexxie left the people she loved on a mere hint—her true father lived in Vereiteln Dorf, two villages over. Once there, she’s drawn to an unconsecrated graveyard. Since answers don’t come easy from the locals, she’s forced to make many assumptions and patch puzzling pieces together. But the more she does, the more her presence in this superstitious village becomes a threat, and the more she gives credence to a voice coming from a pit of ashes. The perils of a noose amid a 1688 witch hunt lay heavy on her shoulders.

Years earlier, in the same village, young Meginhardt succumbs to a vicious attack. Ethereal beings take him on a time-traveling journey to shake away the lad’s deeply rooted struggles of unworthiness.

But when Meginhardt learns that some woman named Lexxie is the chosen one to carry forward his father’s line of descendants, he throws away all he’s been shown. Fits of jealousy ensue—a dream shattered. It should have been him. He becomes frantic to ensure the demise of this undeserving woman. In apparitional form, he delivers Lexxie a message, face to face.

Her future lyeth in his words.

-The standalone background story to the Prologue in The Gatekeeper’s Descendants
-Book length approximately 90,000 words
-Recommended for Young Adults (14+) and up
-An edifying story involving feelings of unworthiness and a need to belong
-A small-scale fantasy representing the outskirts of heaven

More from the author:

The Gatekeeper’s Descendants, a standalone family drama involving bullying and grief

Jophiel’s Secret, a standalone adventure involving unforgiveness and grief

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Anger tucked aside, she scurried up without bothering to read the inscriptions on the risers. Needing the strength of both arms, she pulled the door open wide. The haunting drawn-out creak confirmed a renewal of focus on her single priority. Find my lineage, my true father. Then new life is certain to follow.

An entrance hall revealed itself, though dark with looming shadows. Unable to avoid inhaling the displeasing odor, a mixture of lingering day-old incense and strong lye soap, her throat did a gaggle. Nothing like the sweet-pine pews inside her white-stucco church.

Attempting to step quiet-like, she still clicked her shoes against the marble floor, her feet inside all that lavish commenced to swell and pine for attention. Huh, stomping through town in modish spikes, ’tis not wise.

A figure across the room sat up on its knees and twisted a neck to inspect the visitor. Even in the darkness, the woman appeared maturely aged.

Unfolding with a painful slowness, the woman stood and rubbed her hands into her apron. With such a crippling figure, she couldn’t have had an easy go at life. Her head, a weighty slump, her neck, cranked to one side. Had she eaten in a while? So thin. And dressed in all black. Scrubbing a floor that already shone—preparing for a wedding or cleaning after the ceremony of a disposed corpse perhaps?

“State yer business,” the woman gnarled.

The plucky tone surprised. “Guten morgen, I’m, ah, here to examine the registers for births and deaths—if I may.” Politeness best protect her from being turned away. Harmon always said one achieved more with kindness than with harshness.

“Yer a stranger.” The woman’s shaking middle finger accused.

Huh. This woman the epitome of the latter.

“Madam, ’tis that I am. Please be, I intend no harm. I assure you. Just seeking. I shan’t be long.” Should be easy to check births around the time of her own, though this woman need not know that specific detail.

“Seeking? Huh, seeking ye what?”

Was it so wrong to seek? Lexxie sucked in a full breath. Her throat irritated by resins, she stifled a cough. But nay, she hadn’t come all this way to permit some grumpy old spinster to blockade her. Forget the kindness of honey, Harmon. Time for some harsh vinegar.

“Are ye cloaking history? Is that what you are saying, madam?”

The old woman shot an indication to a wooden door hidden beside the nave.

Lexxie jockeyed between pews in the direction the bony finger specified, stifling the clicks of her shoes as much as possible.

Whew. She knocked.

“We don’t lock history.” The old woman’s crusty voice echoed, having the last word.

This door, not nearly the heft nor clangor as the one fronting the church, Lexxie nudged and invited herself in. Larger than one might expect, the narrow room hosted wooden shelving loaded with books up to the ceiling sidelong. A movable ladder rested against the end wall, and an unlit kerosene lamp awaited on the single high table.

Help would be nice, some guidance as to the order of records. Lexxie glanced back where the scowling woman gave her a second glance. Then again, Lexxie could figure it out herself. After lighting the lamp, she shut the door for privacy.

A musty flavor and layers of dust from decades past awoke and scurried about. No window to allow a breeze of any sort. Once her sneezes settled, she walked the length of the room, thankful now for those daylong lessons in reading and writing with Grossmutter. ’Twas the age of enlightenment, Grossmutter would say. She kept at least one lesson ahead of Lexxie, so as to in turn share the blessing.

A thin cotton curtain covered one section of shelving beside a nailed sign—Prohibited Books. She edged closer to shelving with books of various sizes, difficult to distinguish due to caging, each row with its own locked latch. Huh, don’t lock history, say you?

She wandered to a series of consistent volumes laying heavy on their own, their leathery pasteboard covers bound with cord and red edging their pages. Numbers stitched atop.

Years, yes! Those ones were organized by years. They had to be the records she sought.

All she possessed now was her birth year. Harmon wouldn’t have lied about her age, would he?

A shiver ran through her veins. There had to be over seventy books, each covering a year, each varying in thickness.

Here it be: 1671. Energizing another dust cloud with a loud exhale, she heaved the book off the shelf and clutched it tight to her bosom. Her heartbeat thumped against the pasteboard cover. The registry for the year she was born must speak to her, reveal information she was desperate for. Vital to get on with any way of future.

She released her gripping hug, placed the heavy book on the table, and wiped dry her sweaty palms down the skirt of her new frock.

Overwhelm assaulted her. Harmon, the loving father she adored all those years. Grossmutter, the wise, gentle, and kind grandmother, her only female influencer. Was it true they be not her family? Would opening this book mean turning her back on them?

’Course, she’d already done so, hadn’t she?

If only they were cruel or unloving. Made her work like a slave. Cussed and cursed her day in and day out. This then would be so much easier. Her fingers twitched to shove the book back onto its shelf. Her legs urged her to take flight, run all the way back to Avondale, and bury this outlandish nonsense.

But nonsense, it weren’t.

The pounding in her chest begged to keep going, threatening to explode if she stopped now. She almost missed the rubbing of hinges, the only door to this library tomb opening, a male figure entering, the unwelcoming floor-polishing ogre poking her head around him to catch a glimpse.

“Searching, are we?” The man’s monotoned query struck an unexplainable chord.

Author Bio:

Not proud to admit, I’ve struggled with authority and routine since I can remember. A feisty red-headed child, I’ve barrelled my fist through windowpanes, ran away numerous times (to a bowling alley of all places), and even once, used a water pistol on my high school science teacher (right in his face, it was a dare). I actually managed to attain a master’s degree in business (though, really didn’t use it much). Instead, I preferred weekday evening classes in theology and weekend scribbling sessions of fantasy fiction. Losing a beloved teenage daughter to cancer snapped me to attention, then another (the second, a dear step-daughter) really did me in. Besides relishing the dearness of my husband and our other three children and their families, I write fantasy fiction with meaning. My mantra (which I made up of course) …because even a little heavenly imagination can loosen the chains of life. – Johanna Frank

“Frank, one of Canada’s emerging authors in spiritual fantasy, walks a fine line between general fantasy and faith-based fiction. Her work aims to innovate and transcend traditional boundaries, catering to a hungry market of curious readers who don’t want to be preached to but are open to exploring spiritual themes through fantasy.” – Sheri Hoyte, Reader Views

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / Facebook


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Giveaway – If You Lie by Caleb Stephens @xpressotours

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If You Lie: A Thriller
Caleb Stephens
Publication date: November 1st 2024
Genres: Adult, Thriller

A buried past. A new-age cult. A floating prison with no way off.

Seven years ago, Olivia woke up in the trunk of a stranger’s car—and barely escaped with her life. She’s been looking over her shoulder ever since.

Now, Olivia is a true-crime podcaster on a mission to help other women avoid her fate. But years spent covering violence and crime have left her burned out. So when Olivia’s estranged sister Quinn invites her to reconnect on an exclusive cruise, she jumps at the chance for a break…only this trip won’t be the relaxing vacation she’s hoping for.

The ship is elegant, the meals are divine, and the people are friendly—maybe too friendly. But Quinn isn’t the sister Olivia remembers. And strange things are starting to happen that echo Olivia’s past in unsettling ways.

When someone on the ship goes missing, Olivia realizes she’s playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Only this time, she might not survive.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Sounds came.

The steady ping of rain drumming against steel.

The muted whoosh of wind. The high whine of rubber kissing asphalt.

I was moving.

Why am I moving?

Air clawed up my throat and slid back down again—slowly, painfully—my lungs pulling harder than my esophagus would allow, my chest rising and falling in uneven shifts. I couldn’t breathe.

I should be able to—

My eyelids snapped open to darkness. Pure black. I tried to scream and couldn’t. My voice was gone, lost in my burning throat. Another sound came instead—this one closer, directly overhead.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

I raised my hands and brushed a loose rod, then pushed past it and felt cool metal press against my palm. I followed it lower, the metal curving behind my head until it terminated in a rubber seal.

A car, I thought. I’m in a trunk.

Oh, God …

Oh, fuck.

It’s why my knees were jammed in a fetal position, why a rough pad of carpet burned against my cheek and scratched my neck. A shot of cold panic swam down my spine. Time stuttered, and I wheezed for oxygen. It felt like I was breathing through a straw. I was going to pass out if I didn’t get it together and fast.

Focus, Olivia. Stay calm.

And then: He thinks I’m dead.

It’s why my hands weren’t bound, why my mouth wasn’t gagged. It’s why my ankles weren’t slung in an interstate of knots. The man who’d done this to me thought I was dead. I could still feel his fingers squeezing, digging into my neck, could still hear his voice burning hot in my ear.

Fucking die, already!

Those words pouring over me in a shower of sour breath.

Clack. C-Clack. Clack.

Think, Olivia! You have to think!

I slowed my breathing and forced my mind to calm. There had to be a way to open the trunk or signal another car. A wire to rip free from the brake lights or a latch to pop. Didn’t all the newer cars have those specifically for situations like this? For women who, like me, simply disappeared?

And I would disappear if I didn’t find a way to get out.

My heart sloshed in my chest, and I rolled to my right, toward the sidewall of the trunk, and extended an arm. My fingers brushed over objects I recognized. Jumper cables, and a can of gas. Coiled rope and boxes. A hard plastic case. Duct tape. Nothing else.

Jesus, no latch.

I tried the other side, muttering a prayer as my hands crawled through a graveyard of clinking bottles, my fingers scraping over the dry brush of cardboard and through the crinkle of plastic sacks. Dust tickled the back of my nose, and I nearly unleashed a sneeze before I bit it off. Don’t! He’ll hear you. Then I tried again, moving slower this time, feeling for what had to be there.

And it was—nestled a few inches above the floor of the trunk.

A trunk release. A lever to pull.

Reality wobbled. My heart fluttered and crashed.

Work, I thought. Please, God, work.

I pulled.

There came a click, and the world exploded into a fireball of light. A gray sky moved above me, swollen with thunderheads, trees sweeping past on either side. Headlights coasted behind the car in a sea of rushing metal. Cold rain lashed against my neck. I forced myself upright, and the brakes slammed and sent me hurtling backward as the car screeched to a stop.

Move! Move! Move!

I scrambled from the trunk.

One foot connected with the ground. The other slipped. I crashed to the road, and the sound of rain filled my ears along with the heavy thunk of a door opening. Two boots hit asphalt.

His boots.

Air scabbed over my lips. The world swam.

Go! I pushed myself upright—and I ran. Across the white line on the shoulder of the road and into traffic with brakes shrieking all around me. Horns tearing past. Rain pelting my face. Wind hissing in my ears. Behind me came a full-throat roar.

“Stop, you fucking bitch!”

My lungs burned for air, everything smearing to a blur.

“I said, stop!” Louder this time. Closer.

But I didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. I kept running—pushing through the fire in my chest, ignoring the pain in my throat—until I stumbled off the road and tumbled down a grass-slicked descent.

Rolling now. Everything spinning. Gasping for air.

I splashed into a pool of muddy water and came up coughing, wiping my eyes to a sight that filled me with terror. The man stood above me on the hill, looking down with one hand balled into a fist and the other holding a knife.

You’re dead, I thought. He’s going to kill you.

A cloud of blue and red light rose behind him followed by a voice. “Remain where you are! Drop the knife!”

But the man didn’t. He just stared down at me with his breath turning to mist.

And took a step. Took another.

Then the gunshots rang out.


Author Bio:

Caleb Stephens is an award-winning author writing from Denver, Colorado. His novels include the thrillers If You Lie, The Girls in the Cabin, and Feeders, as well as the darkly humorous urban fantasy novel, Soul Couriers, which is forthcoming in 2025. His fiction collection If Only a Heart and Other Tales of Terror includes the short story “The Wallpaper Man,” which was adapted to film by Falconer Film & Media in 2022. He’s hard at work writing his next thriller.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / TikTok


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$25 GC Giveaway – Dying For Monet by Claudia Riess @goddessfish @ClaudiaRiess

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DYING FOR MONET Claudia Riess

GENRE:  Mystery

BLURB:

Dying for Monet, book 5 of Riess’s art history mystery series, opens on a gala evening auction at Laszlo’s, an upstart auction house in New York City. After a much sought-after Impressionist still life painting is without notice withdrawn from the auction block, its broker is found dead at the foot of an imposing statue in Laszlo’s courtyard. Amateur sleuths Erika Shawn and Harrison Wheatley are once again drawn into an investigation involving an art-related homicide, this time with one sharing an unnerving coincidence with violent crimes occurring abroad.

EXCERPT

Greenwich, Connecticut  January 5, 1927

It was time. The mavericks, all thirty of them represented at the first Impressionist Exhibition in Paris, 1874, had passed away. Not that a clean sweep was essential to the plan, but there was a sense of closure about it, as useless yet gratifying as an account ledger balanced to the penny.

The framed canvases were propped up against the far wall of the living room like hostages awaiting their release. The overstuffed couch with its mesmerizing pattern of exotic birds had been moved into the dining room to clear the wall space for them. The drapes were drawn and the room was bathed in artificial light, yet the paintings seemed to be standing out in the open, beneath the sky. It was the sheer vibrancy of color that created the illusion, Elizabeth Barden thought, as she surveyed the display, guilt creeping into her enjoyment of it. Though there’d been no law against it, it had been criminal to have kept these luminous visions in the dark all these years. If only she hadn’t been bound by a promise!

She remembered her parents sitting her down at the kitchen table in this very home, thirty-three years ago it was, the two of them planting themselves opposite her, looking more grimly serious than she’d ever seen them. She was fourteen years old at the time and not yet settled on what to make of herself, looks and intelligence ratings still torturously pending. She imagined she was about to hear that she’d been adopted or had three months to live. What they told her was less dire, but required a more sustained focus to take in. The paintings would be her legacy, they said, but in order for this to be the case, she must follow their instructions down to the letter. She had to clasp their hands in hers—as good as swearing on the bible—and promise to do so. The mood lightened only once during the interview, and that was when she’d pronounced the artist’s name as if it rhymed with “bonnet.” “Monet,” her mother had corrected, grinning. “Mow the grass. Neigh says the horse.”

The memory did not draw a smile. How could it, when these prisoners stood before her in dutiful formation? How brilliantly they’d persevered without a trace of reproach marring their freshness! And wasn’t it curious, how her gaze seemed to be drawn—and return when it wandered elsewhere— to the still life of a Wedgewood vase teeming with flowers—gladioli, lilies, wildflowers; a riot of color she would hardly call “still.” Not her favorite genre, still life, but she’d felt the same sort of instant affinity to this painting as she’d had with her lover, Jacob, not at all her type, but upon an exchanged look, bound to him body and soul. And of course, in a manner of speaking he, too, like the painting, had been hidden for far too long from the embrace of natural light. She must free him, too, from the dark. She had been intending for a year—what was she thinking, more than a year—to tell her most dear but tiresome husband of her affair and the necessity for a divorce. The imminence of the afternoon’s scheduled eve

nt strengthened her resolve. She would end the secrecy tonight.

Hard to believe that barely one hour from now, unless God or chance intervened, the transaction would be under way. The wealthy young art collector, Lewis Keller, along with the gallery owner who had used his networking skills to nose him out and was serving as broker in the deal, would soon be rapping at the door of the sprawling old ranch-house where Elizabeth had lived all her life, half of it with her husband, Wallace. The gallery owner’s entourage of packers and transporters would be on hand as well. The collector, a bit wet behind the ears, she’d discovered when he’d first come to look over the paintings, had seemed to rely more on the gallery owner’s aesthetic judgment than on his own. Like a pet owner forced by circumstances to give up her precious charge, she hoped that the man to whom she was relinquishing the paintings would treat them with the care they deserved.

Before withdrawing to her room to freshen up, Elizabeth stepped into the kitchen to see how her husband was coming along with the needless crudité platter he was arranging for their guests.

“Ah, Wally,” she said rather sadly, thinking of what was ahead for the poor man tonight, “an unaccompanied champagne toast would have been quite sufficient.”

“I know, Liz, I know,” Wallace said, putting down the knife with which he had been slicing carrots into sticks. “But you must admit, a little gesture of thoughtfulness goes a long away.” He tapped his apron-bibbed chest for emphasis.

“You’re right, dear,” Elizabeth agreed, gritting her teeth at his habit of speaking in aphorisms. The knife was lying on the counter unattended, and she imagined, for an instant as fleeting and pleasant as a sunny landscape striking an Impressionist’s eye, of stabbing him with it.

AUTHOR Bio and Links

Claudia Riess has worked in the editorial departments of The New Yorker and Holt, Rinehart and Winston, and has edited several art history monographs. Stolen Light, the first book in her art history mystery series, was chosen by Vassar’s Latin American history professor for distribution to the college’s people-to-people trips to Cuba.  To Kingdom Come, the fourth, will be added to the syllabus of a survey course on West and Central African Art at a prominent Midwestern university.  Claudia has written a number of articles for Mystery Readers Journal, Women’s National Book Association, the Sisters in Crime Bloodletter, and Mystery Scene magazine.  To read more about Claudia and her work, visit the author’s website.

  • Website: http://www.claudiariessbooks.com
  • Twitter: http://twitter.com/ClaudiaRiess
  • Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ClaudiaRiessBooks
  • Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/claudiariessbooks/
  • Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/claudiariessbooks/
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