P.I. Duke Rogers finds himself in a combustible situation in this racially charged thriller. His case might have to wait…
The immediate problem: getting out of South Central Los Angeles in one piece during the 1992 “Rodney King” riots and that’s just the beginning of his problems.
Duke finds an old “friend” for a client. The client’s “friend,” an up and coming African-American actress, ends up dead. Duke knows his client did it. Feeling guilty that he inadvertently helped the killer find the victim, he wants to track down the client/killer. He starts his mission by going to the dead actress’ family in South Central L.A.—and while there the “Rodney King” riots ignite.
While Duke searches for the killer he must also deal with the racism of his partner, Jack, and from Warren, the murder victim’s brother, who is a mirror image of Jack in that department. He must also confront his own possible latent racism—even as he’s in an interracial relationship with the dead woman’s sister.
Book Details:
Genre: Mystery, Crime, Thriller Published by: Down & Out Books Publication Date: May 21st 2018 Number of Pages: 340 ISBN: 9781370062423 Series: Duke Rogers #1 Purchase Links: Amazon 🔗 | Barnes & Noble 🔗 | Google 🔗 | Goodreads 🔗
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Read an excerpt:
We came to Florence and Normandie. Half a block away the cops were regrouping. Or retreating. Or hiding out. It was hard to tell. There was a swarm of them, but they weren’t doing much of anything. People were looting, throwing rocks, bottles and the like right under their noses. As we left the intersection, I glanced back. A large semi was pulling into the intersection. We continued away from the intersection. Later I learned that this was where Reginald Denny, the driver of the semi, was pulled from the truck. Beaten within an inch of his life. We were gone before it happened. But I still have pangs of guilt for having been so close and having done so little. Now I know how lucky we were.
In a sense it was a quid pro quo situation. Tiny’s black face was my passport among his people. My white face was his insurance that the cops might just leave him alone—if they knew he was with me. That might have been why he wanted to help me out. Protection. But it wasn’t an uneasy truce. I felt comfortable with him. Like we’d known each other all our lives. Maybe we had. The last thirty minutes had been a lifetime.
We crouched behind a low wall at a service station, surveying the situation. He watched two sides. I watched the other two, covering each other’s backs. We were both armed; neither of us wanted to use our guns.
Noise barked from every direction. Sirens. Shouts. Choppers hovering. Shots. Too many shots. It all blended into a cacophony of confusion. The din was ear-shattering and lifeless, inert, all at the same time.
“Why’re you helping me?” I asked Tiny as we scoped the street out. He never answered my question, though I asked several more times.
There was an explosion in the distance, then the shock wave. A new column of black smoke appeared every few minutes. Slow-motion funnel clouds.
“Man, don’t they know they’re tearing down their own goddamn neighborhoods,” he said, scanning the horizon. “Where’re they gonna get food and clothes when all this burns to the ground?
~~~~~
About the Author:
Paul D. Marks is the author of the Shamus Award-Winning mystery-thriller White Heat. Publishers Weekly calls White Heat a “taut crime yarn.” His story Ghosts of Bunker Hill was voted #1 in the 2016 Ellery Queen Readers Poll. Howling at the Moon (EQMM 11/14) was short-listed for both the 2015 Anthony and Macavity Awards. Midwest Review calls his novella Vortex “…a nonstop staccato action noir.” Marks’ story Windward, from the Coast to Coast: Private Eyes from Sea to Shining Sea anthology, has been selected for the 2018 Best American Mystery Stories (fall 2018), edited by Louise Penny & Otto Penzler.
Passion Rising JA Huss & Johnathan McClain
(Original Sin #3)
Publication date: May 8th 2018
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
Old demons are back.
Maddie’s dealing with the fallout of her choices. Safety and happiness are relative, elusive things she’s desperate to have. But they will forever remain out of reach until the demons of her past are laid to rest.
Tyler’s mistakes resurface to haunt him and he’s just beginning to understand that money can’t fix a broken relationship. He must open his heart and search for answers he’d rather not find.
She wants peace in a world made of chaos.
He wants to rid himself of a lifetime of guilt.
They’re soul mates, but that’s no guarantee.
They’ll need to rely on each other to find their happily ever after.
Because the fight never ends—it just gets easier with someone at your side.
Two accomplished writers come together to create unforgettable sexy romance. JA Huss is the New York Times bestselling author of 321 and has been on the USA Today bestsellers list eighteen times. Johnathan McClain is a veteran actor and writer whose work, either performed or written, is probably airing on at least one of the channels on your television right now. You can contact them on their website www.hussmcclain.com or find them at their social links below.
Maymee Bell has whisked a confection of mystery in her debut novel that will have readers savoring every word. ~Bibliophile Reviews
This cozy mystery has a little bit of everything that makes this book genre one of my favorites: Humor, mystery, romance, and likable characters. ~Ms. Cat’s Honest World
When reading anything written by this author, there are a few things you can be certain of exceptional characters, a homey setting, humor, and a great mystery. And of course, all of those things are found in this book. ~MJB Reviewers
Delightful characters, delectable southern banter, I guarantee you’ll pick up a few new phrases for your own use, and an unpredictable future for Sophia are all on the menu. ~Laura’s Interests
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Cake and Punishment: A Southern Cake Baker Mystery Cozy Mystery 1st in Series Setting – Kentucky Crooked Lane Books (May 8, 2018) Hardcover 257 Pages ISBN-13: 978-1683315711 Digital ASIN: B075QJM2W8
My Review
I’m a big cozy fan and, being, a southern gal, I enjoy books set in my neck of the woods. The icing on the cake for me was. literally, the dessert. The author described some sweet concoctions that had me craving something sweet. And there’s more than one kind. The possible romance between Sophia and Sherriff Carter of the adorable dimples added to the flavor.
I like a story about starting over too. Been there. Done that. And with loads of humorous scenes and eccentric character’s I couldn’t help but laugh and relate. Sophie might have begun the story in emotional shock from a cheating boyfriend, but after returning to her roots, her sassy mother shows her she’s tough and smart enough to begin anew and her friends lend charming and funny support.
The mystery wasn’t easy to solve either. I couldn’t pick any obvious suspects. And the thing with the new frying pan kept me especially intrigued.
The author mixed together all the right ingredients for a fun cozy mystery.
~~~~~
Synopsis
In the first of a delectable new Southern-set baking cozy series, Sophia Cummings, pastry chef extraordinaire, must craft the perfect cake for an old friend’s wedding while sifting through the suspects in a murder.
Bucolic Rumford, Kentucky has glowing fields of bluegrass, a fine selection of bourbons, and now a professional pastry chef. Broken-hearted Sophia Cummings has come home from New York City. She’s not there a minute before she’s charmed into making her high school friend Charlotte’s wedding cake. The kitchen at the Rumford Country Club seems perfect until Chef Emile’s body is discovered, sprawled near the stove, a cast iron skillet on the floor close by.
With one look at the shiny, new frying pan, Sophia knows it’s not Emile’s. She offers her knowledge to Sheriff Carter and her talents to Evelyn, the manager, who needs an interim chef. The mood in the country club is grim: Emile’s peppery personality had burned members and staff alike. Sophia wonders which one of them burned him?
~~~~~
Author Maymee Bell
.
Maymee Bell is the pen name of USA Today Bestselling author Tonya Kappes. She lives in Kentucky with her family and her two schnauzers. She likes strong coffee, slow-country days, and fresh-baked cookies – but she like telling stores best of all. This is her first SOUTHERN BAKER MYSTERY.
I thought it was so funny that I just recovered from pink eye and then watched this week’s episode of Big Bang Theory. They all came down with it. LOL It was back to work after a long weekend off and I actually felt better for it physically. I get these muscle spasms in my back and the physical work helps alleviate them. Weird? Guess that means I can’t quit my job. Too many days off in a row and they start coming back, so I’m going to try getting back into Yoga. It sucks when you get older.
Look at this pretty! There’s another ring of pink blossom. See those yellow ones below. By next week they will be pink and so on and so on.
I wanted to share how big they actually are. Quigley helped with that. He’s saying, “My how you’ve grown.”
And I also wanted to share a picture showing how big Flora’s leaves are getting. They will actually get much bigger than this. Quigley had to get in on it too. LOL
I think you get a better idea of size from using my hand.
That’s all folks.
Have a fabulous Sunday!
*****
My new books this week.
*****
And here are some FREEBIES for ya.
Click on the covers to get your copies. Remember to make sure they’re still free before you hit that buy button.
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Books reviewed this week. Click on the covers to view them.
I’m always in when Jeff releases a new book. Gypsy Blood sounds thrilling. Due to a mix up, I didn’t receive the book in time to get it read. I will be sharing my review as soon as possible.
Check out Gypsy Blood.
And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!
~~~~~
Gypsy Blood Jeff Gunhus
Publication date: May 1st 2018
Genres: Adult, Horror
Synopsis
When Corbin Stewart, a down-on-his-luck writer living in Paris, witnesses the brutal attack of an old gypsy, he rushes to help. He chases off the attackers, three albinos wearing porcelain tragedy masks, but not before they stab the old man repeatedly. While Corbin tries to keep the man alive until help arrives, blood gets on his skin, in his eyes, into his mouth. The old man dies, but Corbin soon discovers that death isn’t the end for the powerful gypsy, and that the blood in his body carries part of the man’s tortured soul with it.
A pang of guilt worked its way into the dread he felt in his gut. This was just some old man who’d seen better days. Probably a panhandler whose greatest threat to them was to ask to relieve them of their loose change.
“C’mon, we’re almost there,” he said.
But she was planted in place. “Let’s go back,” she said, a tremble in her voice. “I don’t like––”
“Chey,” the old man called out, his voice stronger than Corbin had imagined it would be. Deep and resonant with an accent he didn’t recognize. “So keres, Chey?”
Corbin searched his limited command of French for the words but found nothing. The way the man said Chey made him think it was a name. “Does he think he knows you?”
She pulled his arm backward. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Does he think you’re someone else maybe?” he said.
“Don’t go,” the man said, still looking only at Margot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you here. Tell this gaujo to leave so we can talk.”
The man’s English was perfect, but still laced with an accent he couldn’t place. Still, the inherent bias of human nature worked its magic and hearing English made Corbin relax. As if the shared language somehow made them part of the same tribe. “He’s harmless,” Corbin said, digging into his pocket. “He just wants some money.”
Margot turned and looked behind them. Corbin knew exactly what she was looking at. The alley curved in a half-moon shape and they were at the apex of the arc. The busier streets at either end were cut off from sight. Good place for a mugging. But the man had to be eighty years old. Hell, he could have been a hundred. Then again, if he had a gun, it wouldn’t matter how old he was.
The man turned to Corbin as he approached and smiled. It wasn’t the most genuine smile he’d ever seen. In fact, it looked like the effort pained him, as if Corbin were a thing to be barely tolerated. The man licked his lips, and Corbin could have sworn his tongue was purple, although he reasoned it was just the shadows and odd light in the alley.
“C’mon, it’s fine,” he said, hearing the uncertainty in his own voice.
~~~~~
Author Jeff Gunhus
Jeff Gunhus is the USA TODAY bestselling author of thriller and horror novels for adults and the middle grade/YA series, The Templar Chronicles. The first book, Jack Templar Monster Hunter, was written in an effort to get his reluctant reader eleven-year-old son excited about reading. It worked and a new series was born. His books for adults have reached the Top 30 on Amazon, have been recognized as Foreword Reviews Book of the Year Finalists and reached the USA TODAY bestseller list.
After his experience with his son, he is passionate about helping parents reach young reluctant readers and is active in child literacy issues. As a father of five, he leads an active life in Maryland with his wife Nicole by trying to constantly keep up with their kids. In rare moments of quiet, he can be found in the back of the City Dock Cafe in Annapolis working on his next novel or on JeffGunhus.com.
Everyone has read the tale of Little Red Riding Hood… Such a carefree, naïve
girl who fell victim to the wolf and had to be saved by the Huntsman.
I’d like to set that story straight. It all began with a girl, a
curse, and wolf. We all have a hero inside. All it takes is to
believe. Cara knew the legends of her village but she never thought
she’d become one.
Hi all, I’m JessiMcpherson.
I live in a small town in Iowa right on the banks of The Mighty
Mississippi. I started writing when I was about 10 years old. Almost
every girl has a journal but I not only had fun stories of the day
but poems and short stories that popped in my head. I love fantasy
and romance novels and read almost daily. I like to find my
inspiration in everyday life. That’s one of my goals is to find one
thing every day that inspires me. I grew up an army brats so I have
traveled to a few places over the years. I have two amazing children
and a very amazing husband. They thankfully put up with crazy work
schedules because being a mom and a writer isn’t enough but I am also
the general manager of Sidelines Sports bar in my home town. No
matter how busy I find time for it all. I do hope you enjoy my books
and I look forward to writing more.
After Monsterland has been destroyed, the entire world is thrown into chaos. Wyatt Baldwin and his friends must go beyond the boundaries of their small town to reestablish contact with the outside world. During their journey they discover a new threat released from the bowels of the defunct theme park. The danger of werewolves, vampires and zombies pale in comparison to an army of relentless mummies, Vincent Conrad’s reanimated monster and the menace of a life-sucking ooze they call The Glob. Wil Wyatt and his friends survive when they reenter the scariest place on earth?
Welcome to Monsterland, the scariest place on earth.
When world markets are decimated by a crippling plague, philanthropist, and billionaire businessman, Vincent Konrad decides to place monsters in a theme park setting to promote education and tolerance. Copper Valley is chosen as the primary site for the park in the United States.
Wyatt Baldwin, a high school senior is dying to go to the opening and when he lands special passes to the park, he and his friends are expecting the experience of a lifetime.
After all, in a theme park where real zombies, werewolves, and vampires are the main attractions, what could possibly go wrong?
~~~~~
Monsterland Reanimated Book Trailer
~~~~~
Enjoy this glimpse inside Monsterland Reanimated:
Front page of the Copper Valley Sun
President of the US, World Leaders,and Thousands Dead
Many still missing as the world reels from the impact
of the Monsterland disaster
Multitudes are still unaccounted for and presumed dead. Escaping werewolves, vampires, and zombies of Dr. Vincent Konrad’s theme parks inexplicably escaped en masse and massacred unwitting parkgoers … Massive government shutdowns as the world teeters on the brink of chaos.
Chapter 1
The Night After the Monsterland Catastrophe
A bright moon painted the desert’s surface pewter. Here and there, dark spots soiled the landscape like oil spills. Most of the bodies had been taken before the troops were ordered to leave. They carted away the corpses, bulldozing the zombies into mass graves, until radios chirped with urgent orders deploying the soldiers to the bigger threats that erupted in the main cities like a chain of angry volcanos.
Monsterland was extinguished, its carcass left for the vultures to pick, the exhibits silent as a tomb.
The dead president and his equally dead entourage were whisked away on Air Force One, along with the dark-clad special operatives that came and left like the brisk desert wind that now howled through the empty streets.
A gate screamed in the silence, slamming with a reverberating smash. The uneven gait of someone with a physical challenge filled the void. The scrape and plod of his limp echoed against the wall of mountains framing the theme park. His labored breathing huffed as he made his way down the streets.
A door creaked loudly as it was blown by the wind. He stopped, his distorted figure silhouetted in the pale moonlight, his body turning silver. He looked at the broken glass littering the pavement like diamonds, then up to the still, pre-dawn sky. He considered the sun peeking over the jagged horizon in the east, its golden light painting the dips and hollows of the hills. Soon the coming day would chase the darkness away.
Time was the enemy now. He had to move faster, or it would be too late. He picked up his pace, lurching along the winding road. A keening howl ricocheted through the streets, bouncing off the walls. It sounded like a … no, he thought, it couldn’t be. The werewolves were all dead. Destroyed by Vincent Konrad when he made their heads explode.
The old man paused, listening for it again, and was not disappointed when the animal whimpered. He gauged it to be inside the defunct vampire exhibit. He moved toward the entrance. The storefronts had been destroyed. A few body parts lay on the pavement, as if people had discarded them in a rush. He heard the scraping of paws on the street and a shiver went down his crooked spine.
He knew the werewolves were dead; he had seen it with his own eyes. A figure detached from the shadows. Igor flattened himself against the wall. He watched it move stealthily down the street, stopping when it scavenged a morsel of rotting flesh. It looked up to stare at Igor, its eyes glowing in the darkness.
A coyote? He waved a hand, dismissing it. It had to be a coyote; it was too small to be a wolf, too big to be a dog. The beast twitched its ears, then resumed its meal.
Igor knew the coyote was not a threat, and he continued his mission. His lame foot hit a can, sending a cacophony of sound like an explosion in the deserted park. The beast dropped the bone it was gnawing on, sniffing the area. Its iridescent eyes searched the streets.
It could be a baby wolf, Igor thought, keeping himself as still as possible. He felt it watching him, even from this distance. It was not a threat, yet.
Igor skittered away, hugging the walls of Monsterland, putting as much distance as he could between them. Not an easy feat, considering his distorted hips. He muttered to himself about carrion and the wind. His eyes darted nervously, scouring the hills, not exactly sure what he was looking for. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. His heart pounded so loudly he was certain that the creature watching him could hear it too.
His feet stumbling to a halt, he bent over, gasping for air, cursing Vincent and those meddlesome teenagers, as well as the rest of the world.
The beast gave another mournful howl that went right through him. Igor glanced at his empty hands, berating himself for not bringing a weapon. He searched his surroundings for anything to protect himself.
Then he saw it, one of the axes they had on almost every corner. All of them had been pulled from their protective cases. One was lying in a pool of coagulating blood, the blade long gone. He picked up the broken axe handle, turning in a semicircle. He was ready for an attacker.
A new, larger outline made his heart quiver with fear. It crouched in a corner, its snout covered with blood. This one was bigger, not a coyote, a wild wolf. Wait, he thought. Weren’t the gray wolves of California all but extinct?
Igor narrowed his eyes. The beast was a light reddish brown and not the silver gray of a wolf ’s pelt. A chain hung from its neck, the pendant of a werewolf ’s head dangling, emerald eyes flashing. What was it? Was it a mutant coyote? A wolf ? Some weird hybrid, he wondered for a minute, his breath harsh in his ears. They watched each other soundlessly.
A hybrid then. He’d heard about them, a rare mixture of wolf and coyote. What did they call them? Coywolves …? or was it Woyotes? He shrugged indifferently. Perhaps someone’s pet, he decided. Igor’s mirthless laugh came out like a snort.
The coywolf stood still, its ears alert, its head cocked as if it was observing him.
Igor dropped the makeshift weapon, calling out, “Eat the rest of your meal, you dumb beast.”
The animal continued to watch him, its two front paws on the remains of a zombie’s chest.
Igor wiped his forehead, waiting, his eyes coming back to search the village, confirming it was empty, except for the carrion eaters like the coyotes and vultures. He looked up, noting the circling predators waiting for him to move on.
“Interrupted your meal,” he chuckled. Just the local scavengers looking for food. That was all; the shadows revealed nothing else. Satisfied he was alone, he moved on. He had work to do.
A paper flew past him, hitting a kiosk as the wind plastered it against its surface. It flapped like a dying bird. Igor reached over, taking the fluttering paper, peering at the map of the park, the one they gave people as they entered Monsterland. A bark of laughter escaped his mouth.
He looked up at the giant monolith that was once the Werewolf River Run, its hulking shape obscuring the horizon. “You are here,” he giggled, pointing a grimy finger on the paper’s surface. He dragged his deformed body further down the pavement. The storefronts that used to be Monsterland’s Main Street yawned vacantly, the wind whistling through the narrow alleyways. “Now, you are here,” he laughed. Shouting, he listened to the sound of his voice bouncing off the blood-splattered walls.
He made his way to the back end of the zombie village, feeling like the last man on earth. He glanced around at the desolate landscape. His home, the beautiful theme park, was little more than ruins destroyed by the army.
His nose twitched from the fetid smell of rot. The US Army had massacred the zombies. The troops came like a force of nature wiping out everything in its path, every last one of them blown away by the troops.
They were black ops, special forces, he knew from their uniforms. He wondered if things were indeed going as planned. He shrugged, knowing right now nothing mattered except for what he had to do. The irony that he was just about the most important man on earth brought more amusement to his smile.
The local police force was gone, as were the leaders of most countries in the world. He knew all was chaos outside, perhaps even war, each nation blaming the next for the loss of their leadership. Not to worry, he thought. Vincent left America in capable hands.
Dreams do come true, he snickered. Nightmares too, he finished the thought. A long line of drool pulled at his lower lip. He paused at a pothole in the road, decomposing body parts glistening, the disappearing moon turning the bits of bone and brains pearly.
Anxiety bloomed in his chest as he passed the opaque windows of Vincent’s derelict Monsterland hotel, the Copper Valley Inn. He hated that place. Abandoned construction vehicles were frozen in their spots, testimony to the hotel’s unfinished business.
Despite the pastel colors of its exterior, it sat like an ominous crypt to the part of the theme park that Vincent could never control. Told Vincent it was a money pit. Crews couldn’t work because … well, it didn’t matter anymore. The help was all dead. He thought he saw a light flicker in the window, but when he turned, he realized it was nothing more than a sputtering gas lamp that had never been disconnected.
He stood for a while, staring for more activity, and then jerked with the realization that he waited too long and wasted precious time. Surely no one expected him to go searching during the heat of battle.
Vincent said it was enough time to set up the timetable. Vincent knew everything, and Igor felt his panic ebb. It had been barely twenty-four hours since the attack. For all he knew, he could be on a fool’s errand.
He pressed his hand on his hip, his back screaming with resentment at so much movement. He was not used to any exercise. He sighed, wiping his brow with the ragged end of his costume, the lace scratching his skin. He caught the cuff, snagging the material with his teeth, tugging it free from his velvet jacket. He loathed the show and was glad he’d never have to endure the humiliation of performing again, especially with the vamps. Those condescending, blood-sucking parasites. He wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore, he thought with satisfaction. Vincent had promised he’d not have to endure them for long, living up to his part of the bargain quite nicely. They were gone, torn apart by the werewolves or transformed into a tasty dinner by the zombies. Either way, they wouldn’t be bullying him with their nasty insults. Something buzzed around him, and he swiped at it.
It felt as though he walked to the other side of the earth. Why Vincent had to pick Zombieville to make his last stand, he’d never know. The Werewolf River Run would have been much more convenient. It was getting lighter now, and he could easily make out the smoking devastation.
He searched the horizon, his eyes resting on the burnt wreckage of a golf cart, the torched skeleton listing at an odd angle.
Pulling his lame foot, he pushed himself as fast as his body could travel, his breath hitching with the effort.
The corpse was gone. He knew they would have taken that for DNA testing, proof that the enemy was vanquished. The only things left were the putrid carcasses from Monsterland, the decaying zombies, massacred vampires, and what was left of the werewolves after Vincent had exterminated them.
He climbed a small hill, his bad leg screaming with pain. Igor crowed with triumph when he saw it, the discarded lump of flesh, lying forgotten in a ditch, face down. He shivered as the desert wind stirred and eddied around him. Damn, but it was desolate here.
He hunkered down, forcing himself to skitter on the hardpacked earth. He wondered what his son, the vice president—no, he corrected himself, the new president of the United States, Mr. Nate Owens—would think of his father now, scrambling like a dung beetle in the dirt.
He cursed. The drool was back, dripping from his mouth like a sparkling spider web. Instead of rising—it was beyond him at this point—he shimmied over to the severed head, reaching forward, reverently, grabbing it by the matted hair, and grasping it to his chest.
The black eyes stared back dully, the dark depths reflecting the hunchback’s twisted smile.
Vincent Konrad’s lifeless face lay in his hands, the pale lips open in a soundless scream.
“I’m so happy I could kiss you, Vincent!” he told the decapitated head. He cradled the face of his friend. “We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
The moon bathed the face a pale blue. The hunchback jiggled the dead weight, cackling with delight as the one papery eyelid drooped as if it were winking.
In the distance, that coywolf howled, making Igor suck in his breath with fear. He tucked the head under his arm as he struggled back up the small hill, mumbling something about Plan B.
~~~~~
About Michael:
Michael Okon is an award-winning and best-selling author of multiple genres including paranormal, thriller, horror, action/adventure and self-help. He graduated from Long Island University with a degree in English, and then later received his MBA in business and finance. Coming from a family of writers, he has storytelling in his DNA. Michael has been writing from as far back as he can remember, his inspiration being his love for films and their impact on his life. From the time he saw The Goonies, he was hooked on the idea of entertaining people through unforgettable characters.
Michael is a lifelong movie buff, a music playlist aficionado, and a sucker for self-help books. He lives on the North Shore of Long Island with his wife and children.
I am so excited that POWER OR FIVE by Alex Lidell is available now and that I get to share the news!
If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book by Author Alex Lidell, be sure to check out all the details below.
This blitz also includes a giveaway for a $25 Amazon Gift Card, International, courtesy of Alex and Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, enter in the Rafflecopter at the bottom of this post.
Four elite fae warriors. One mortal female. A magical bond they can’t allow—or resist.
Orphaned and sold to a harsh master, Lera’s life is about mucking stalls, avoiding her master’s advances, and steering clear of the mystical forest separating the mortal and fae worlds. Only fools venture into the immortal realms, and only dark rumors come out… Until four powerful fae warriors appear at Lera’s barn.
River, Coal, Tye, and Shade have waited a decade for their new fifth to be chosen, the wounds from their quint brother’s loss still raw. But the magic has played a cruel trick, bonding the four immortal warriors to… a female. A mortal female.
Distractingly beautiful and dangerously frail, Lera can only be one thing—a mistake. Yet as the males bring Lera back to the fae lands to sever the bond, they discover that she holds more power over their souls than is safe for anyone… especially for Lera herself. Power of Five is a full-length reverse-harem fantasy novel.
Check out the Excerpt:
Shade’s neck bobs and he catches my wrist, the few inches of air between us suddenly thick. Crackling. His mouth opens slightly, the elongated canines near and sharp and glistening with danger. My chest tightens, my breath suddenly gone from my lungs.
“You . . . have long lashes,” I say, leaning closer. “Girls would kill for those.”
“I have many long things,” Shade breathes, his hand cupping the back of my head, tangling in my hair. “Patience, it seems, is not one of them.”
I open my lips to respond, only to find Shade’s mouth covering mine, his lips soft and warm enough to heat a whole palace. My own mouth yields in answer, and Shade’s kiss deepens, the hand in my hair tightening until my whole scalp tingles. Sings. Stars.
Shade pulls away slowly, his canines gently scraping my lower lip as I moan softly into him.
My heart pounds, the warmth between my legs a downright flame, and I try to catch my breath. “Did you plan that?” I demand.
Shade grins, makes a noncommittal sound, and turns back into his wolf, demonstratively making a circle on my bed before curling up with his tail over his nose. His body manages to press against my back, his rhythmic breathing soothing and steady.
“Why do you do that?” I ask when I can speak again. “Stay in your wolf form so much?”
No answer.
“Being a wolf to avoid talking to me while lounging around on my bedding is a dirty, cowardly trick.”
Shade snorts, buries his head deeper beneath his paws, and settles into a calm sleep punctuated by soft snores that turn into whimpers when I shift out of reach. Frowning, I move closer, resting my hand on the sleeping wolf’s flank. The whimpering stops, the rhythmic rise of his chest and his twitching eyelids speaking of a dream-filled slumber.
~~~~~
About Alex:
Alex Lidell is the Amazon Breakout Novel Awards finalist author of THE CADET OF TILDOR (Penguin, 2013). She is an avid horseback rider, a (bad) hockey player, and an ice-cream addict. Born in Russia, Alex learned English in elementary school, where a thoughtful librarian placed a copy of Tamora Pierce’s ALANNA in Alex’s hands. In addition to becoming the first English book Alex read for fun, ALANNA started Alex’s life long love for YA fantasy books. Alex is represented by Leigh Feldman of Leigh Feldman Literary. She lives in Washington, DC.
WHITE WITCH by Larry D. Thompson Publisher: Story Merchant Books Pages: 291 Genre: Thriller
My Review
When I read the synopsis I was a bit worried that there was so much going on things would be confusing. Not the case at all. The author starts you off by taking you back to Jamaica in 1817. You get a brief history of the White Witch, a nasty woman, and the Maroons, the poor slaves that were at her mercy. Then he drops you in modern day Jamaica and the White Witch may still be up to some of her tricks and the Maroons are still fighting for freedom and what is rightfully theirs.
An American company comes in to strip mine on land supposedly owned by the Maroons. One side attacks, the other returns the favor. The bodies keep piling up. A few brave people band together to settle the conflict once and for all. But will they survive to get their day in court?
I loved the mix of mysticism and modern culture clashing. I was kept guessing whether the Obeah priestess had a hand in certain events. There were some weird things happening at her old plantation. It lent a heavy atmosphere to the story. And it had many of the characters wondering too. Not all of the attacks could be explained away and with people switching sides and having their own agendas and beliefs, nothing was certain.
I’ve acquired a taste for the author’s writing and plan on reading more. White Witch is a fast read. The story flows smoothly. And the mystery and suspense gradually build, leading to a thrilling conclusion.
~~~~~
BOOK BLURB:
Jamaica is a place where the surreal is simply everyday reality. When a ruthless American aluminum company plans to strip mine the Jamaican rainforest, they send former Navy SEAL Will Taylor to Montego Bay to deal with local resistance on their behalf. But he’s unaware that the British had signed a treaty deeding the rainforest to the Jamaican Maroons, descendants of escaped slaves, over 300 years ago. The Maroons fought and died for their land then, and are more than willing to do so now, whether it’s the British or the Americans who threaten them this time around.
Upon Will’s arrival, a series of inexplicable murders begin, some carried out with deadly snake daggers that were owned and used by Annie Palmer, a voodoo priestess better known as the White Witch. She was killed 200 years prior, but is said to still haunt the island at night, and the local Jamaicans are certain she’s responsible for the gruesome murders, her form of retaliation against the new turmoil taking place in the rainforest.
And Will has been forced directly into the middle of it. After a few close calls, he’s finally convinced to leave his company and join forces with the Maroons, headed by Vertise Broderick, a Maroon who resigned from her position at the New York Times to return to Jamaica to stop the mining. Together they hire a Jamaican attorney to prove that the Maroon/British treaty is still valid to stop the mining, and they take it upon themselves to solve the White Witch murders, because the legend of the White Witch can’t possibly be true…
Will returned to his room, too wound up to sleep. He stripped to his underwear and flipped channels on a large screen HD television until he ran across First Blood with Sylvester Stallone. Having lived that life for a few years, he never passed up the opportunity to watch it again. He settled back and had drifted off to sleep when his cell chimed. He glanced at the television to make sure it was not coming from there and found Fred Astaire waltzing Ginger Rogers around a ballroom. He turned off the television and reached for his phone.
“Taylor.”
“Will, Alexa here.” It was nearly three in the morning and Alexa was still at her desk. Smoke drifted from a cigarette in her ashtray while she sucked on a Tootsie Pop. She was on the speaker phone. When Will answered, she walked to her window and stared at the lights of Baltimore.
Will turned on the nightstand light, glanced at the clock, and swung his feet into a sitting position on the side of the bed. “Yes, ma’am. Little late for a booty call.”
“Cut the crap. Kaven was just found at Rose Hall. He’s dead.”
“What? Are you sure? I just saw him a few hours ago.” Will got to his feet and began pacing the room. “Shit.”
“Must be those goddamn Maroons. He called me last night once he got back from Accompong. He told me about what happened up there. By the way, they let the pilot go. They said they had no beef with him.”
“So I heard. What was Kaven doing at Rose Hall? When I saw him, he was going to his room.”
“How the hell should I know? I got a call from some local detective. They found his employee identification in his wallet. When the detective called here, the operator knew I was still in my office and put the call through to me. You need to get to Rose Hall now.
“Yes, ma’am,” Will agreed.
“And I’m flying down there tomorrow before this gets any more out of hand. See if you can keep anybody else from being killed until I get there.”
Will’s cell went dead. He put it on the nightstand and picked up the hotel phone. Pleased to find it working, he punched the key for valet parking.
“Good evening, Mr. Taylor. How can I be of assistance?”
“Bring my company Land Rover to the front as quickly as possible.”
Getting assurance that it would be there when he got downstairs, Will hung up and walked to the bathroom. Five minutes later he was met at the hotel entrance by a valet.
“Can I give you directions, Mr. Taylor? It’s a little late at night.”
“No thanks. I know exactly where I’m going.” Will got in the car, fastened his seat belt, and left the hotel.
When Will got to Rose Hall, he turned onto the road they had just come down the evening before. At the top of the hill he could see the mansion, now well lighted. He dodged tree limbs and utility wires and parked among several other vehicles. Police cars were positioned so that their headlights focused on the steps of the mansion where Will could see the yellow police crime scene tape. He walked up a path from the parking lot between the police cars that faced the mansion to the yellow tape where an officer stood watch. The officer came to attention as Will approached.
“Sorry, mon. I can’t let you past here. We’re investigating a murder.”
Will kept his voice even but controlling. “I know, officer. That’s why I’m here. Name’s William Taylor. I’m head of security for Global American Metals. Here’s my identification.” Will tried to hand him an ID. The officer just shook his head. “Officer, the dead man is one of Global’s employees. Can you get someone in authority to let me up there?”
Before the officer could reply, Miles Harper, the St. James Parish Chief of Detectives, approached. Harper was a lean, fit man with a shaved head and a no nonsense manner. He was dressed in a brown suit, yellow shirt, and matching tie. He looked like he just stepped out of GQ Magazine, even at three in the morning.
“Mr. Taylor, I’m Miles Harper, Chief of Detectives in this parish. I was told by your company to expect you.”
Will extended his right hand. Harper ignored it. Instead, he nodded at the officer and motioned for Will to follow him. Harper went up a dozen steps and turned to Will as he stood beside Kaven’s body, sprawled on his back with dagger in his chest. Will bent over for a closer look and found that the handle of the dagger was in the shape of a snake. At the top of the handle was the snake’s head. The snake’s eyes were two bright rubies.
“Shit,” Will muttered, “He was almost killed because of one snake on the road today and now someone finished the job with a, what would you call this, a snake dagger?”
“That’s as good a name as any, Mr. Taylor. My officers reported what went on up in Accompong and the incident with the boa.”
Will continued to study the body. “Looks like he’s been dead a couple of hours. I last saw him about ten last night. Who found him?”
“The hotel has a security guard that roams the mansion grounds and up to the club house in a golf cart. He spotted the body.”
“Where’s your coroner?”
“He’s a local Justice of the Peace, not a medical doctor. He won’t set foot on these steps until morning. My men here won’t go past the tape either. They believe the White Witch did it.”
Will shook his head in disbelief. “Come on, Chief, this is the twenty-first century.”
“Old beliefs die hard, Mr. Taylor. Come on. Let me show you something.”
Harper stepped around the body and climbed the steps with Will behind him. Entering the ballroom, Will said, “I was just in this room yesterday evening during the storm.”
Harper turned to study Will. “Would you care to explain?”
Will covered the details of the previous day and their time in the mansion while they waited out the storm. “You know a woman named Vertise?”
Harper nodded his head. “She’s a local. Works for the paper and tends bar for the hotel. Since you were in this room a few hours ago, come over here.”
Harper led Will to a glass display against one wall with pictures of two snake daggers above it along with the history of the daggers. The glass had been broken and the daggers were gone.
“You see this case when you were up here?”
Will studied it and thought back to the day before. “Can’t say I did, Chief.
It was pretty dark in here, lit only by candles since the storm knocked out power. I wandered around the room but never glanced toward this case. And I don’t believe anyone else mentioned it. Now that I think about it, Vertise told us the legend of Annie Palmer and her using a snake dagger to kill an overseer. evening during the storm.”
Harper turned to study Will. “Would you care to explain?” Will covered the details of the previous day and their time in the mansion while they waited out the storm. “You know a woman named Vertise?” Harper nodded his head. “She’s a local. Works for the paper and tends bar for the hotel. Since you were in this room a few hours ago, come over here.” Harper led Will to a glass display against one wall with pictures of two snake daggers above it along with the history of the daggers. The glass had been broken and the daggers were gone.
“You see this case when you were up here?”
Will studied it and thought back to the day before. “Can’t say I did, Chief.
It was pretty dark in here, lit only by candles since the storm knocked out power. I wandered around the room but never glanced toward this case. And I don’t believe anyone else mentioned it. Now that I think about it, Vertise told us the legend of Annie Palmer and her using a snake dagger to kill an overseer. Surprising that she didn’t show us these daggers when she was telling the story.”
“Interesting,” mused Harper. “You have any idea why your man would come up here in the middle of the night?”
“Not a clue. Have you checked his cell phone? He always carried it.”
“Yeah. The last calls were with you yesterday afternoon and one with Ms. Pritchard later in the evening.”
Will nodded. “He called me from Accompong, warning me of trouble up there. I should have gone with him.”
Harper shook his head. “Whether you were there or not wouldn’t have made any difference. Just would have been one more person that was in my police car that rolled, assuming, of course, you didn’t take a bullet up on the mountain.”
“Understood.”
“How did you get in the mansion?”
“Vertise said she knew where a key was hidden and let us in.”
“Strange that she could get into the locked mansion. It was my understanding that only the manager of Rose Hall had a key. He locked it and left when the storm was hitting. The hotel spent a fortune on period pieces to recreate how it looked two hundred years ago. One of his jobs is to make sure they are not stolen.”
“Any signs of a break-in?” Will asked.
“This is not for publication, you understand, but when I got here the mansion was locked and the lights were off.”
“So, you’re saying that someone got into the mansion, stole two daggers, let themselves back out, killed Kaven, and left no trace.” Will paused to absorb all that he had just said. “Wait a minute. If someone wanted to kill Kaven, why not just use a gun? Why go to all the trouble of getting that dagger to do it?”
“I’ve been wrestling with that very question,” Harper said. “It’s illegal for a private citizen to own a gun in Jamaica, but that doesn’t mean they are not available if you know the right people. My working hypothesis is that the killer or killers wanted the public to think voodoo was involved, or maybe even the White Witch. The only other possibility that comes to mind is that the Maroons are trying to send a message to Global. They tried to kill Tillman in Accompong and failed. Maybe the message is that they finish what they start. Either way, someone is trying to make trouble for your company. I have another problem that may not be apparent.”
Will looked quizzically at the detective.
“As you can see, there were two snake daggers in this case. One’s accounted for out on the steps. The other is gone. Nearly everyone around here thinks that they are voodoo daggers with magical powers. They were found in an overseer’s grave during the restoration of the mansion thirty years ago.”
“Does ‘everyone’ include you? Looks to me like the killer or killers are just trying to mess with the minds of my co-workers, maybe keep some locals from hiring on with us.”
Harper stuck his hands in his pockets. “Not up to me to decide if they’re magic or not. I’ve got a murder with one of those daggers. My job is to solve the murder and along the way, find that other dagger before someone uses it.” Will’s eyes searched the room in a futile effort to see any clues to the crime.
Then he focused on the chief. “Look, I’m going to need a gun. My company is obviously under attack. I’m licensed to carry back home.”
“No way, Mr. Taylor,” Harper exploded. “Foreigners are not permitted to have guns in Jamaica. For that matter, as I just told you, neither are Jamaicans. And I want you to stay the hell out of my investigation. We don’t need your help. Understand?”
“Yeah, I understand. You know that each of our mines on this island is permitted a certain number of guns for our guards. I’ll just get one of those.”
“The hell you will. Don’t you dare go behind my back. Those guns never leave mine property. I have an officer that inventories them. If one turns up missing, I’ll confiscate every damn weapon that Global has and put you under house arrest. Clear, Mr. Taylor?”
Will clinched his fists and tried to hold back the anger that was apparent in his face. Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the mansion, pausing only to gaze at Kaven and say a prayer for him and his family. At the bottom of the steps, he got in his car and glanced toward the mansion. The lights from his car somehow caught the ruby eyes of the snake, making them appear briefly to be alive. Will shook his head, put the car in reverse, and returned to the hotel.
~~~~~
Author Larry D. Thompson
After graduating from the University of Texas School of Law, Larry spent the first half of his professional life as a trial lawyer. He tried well over 300 cases and won more than 95% of them. Although he had not taken a writing class since freshman English (back when they wrote on stone tablets), he figured that he had read enough novels and knew enough about trials, lawyers, judges, and courtrooms that he could do it. Besides, his late, older brother, Thomas Thompson, was one of the best true crime writers to ever set a pen to paper; so, just maybe, there was something in the Thompson gene pool that would guide him into this new career. He started writing his first novel about a dozen years ago and published it a couple of years thereafter. He has now written five highly acclaimed legal thrillers. White Witch is number six with many more to come.
Larry is married to his wife, Vicki. He has three children scattered from Colorado to Austin to Boca Raton, and four grandchildren. He has been trying to retire from the law practice to devote full time to writing. Hopefully, that will occur by the end of 2018. He still lives in Houston, but spends his summers in Vail CO, high on a mountain where he is inspired by the beauty of the Rocky Mountains.
His latest book is the captivating thriller, WHITE WITCH.
Anthony Renfro has just released a new batch of short horror stories all in one book!
Check out Nightlight Tales #2.
This is FREE right now on Amazon.
Click on the cover to grab your copy!
Description
The Headless Fountain Man: A simple photo. A quick snap shot. One woman’s perfect picture is about to become her scariest nightmare.
Fear of the Scarecrow: This short story is about a desperate man hungry for revenge. Sometimes revenge comes with a price.
It Sleeps at Dawn: A short story about a Vampire who stalks the Appalachian Mountains. A traditional Vampire who uses fangs instead of guns. He hunts. He kills. He sleeps at Dawn.
The Dead of Winter: This short story is about an apocalyptic nightmare in a crisp frozen landscape filled with winter and living corpses.Two men try to find safety in this dead world. Hoping to ride out the night. Hoping to find warmth and shelter. Hoping not to become food for the zombies.
Gluten-Free: Death by Gluten? One man commits suicide in a most unusual way.
The Lot: A Christmas Tree lot isn’t all it seems to be. It hides evil deadly secrets.
The Dragon: A simple machine. Able to answer requests. Able to play music. Able to turn on lights and answer questions. Fun and enjoyable technology, but what happens when this machine is able to manifest actual things. In this short story two guys worst fears will come to life.
Webs: A pyramid in the deep dry desert. What secrets lie within its walls? One explorer is about to find his greatest desire and his worst nightmare inside this ancient artifact.
Gas Station of the Dead: This short story is about a former tanker truck driver who decides to use his skills to deliver gas to those in need during the Zombie Apocalypse.
A Zombie Christmas: This short story is about three men who risk life and limb in a Zombie Apocalypse in order to bring happiness to surviving kids on Christmas Morning.
A Zombie Christmas 2: A boy lost. A family desperate. It’s Christmas in a Zombie Apocalypse and Mike Beem is once again aiming for another Holiday miracle. His goal this year isn’t toys for the kids in the neighborhood. His goal this time is trying to save one small life so another family doesn’t have to suffer the way he suffered.
Flesh for the Zombies: When Mike Beem’s community is savagely attacked, he must exact revenge on those who wronged him. He must put aside all the good he has ever accomplished in order to become someone else. A man without a moral compass. A man without right or wrong. A man who is a cold blooded killer. Will he get his justice or will he die trying? The answers lie within the pages of this short story.
Zombie Beach: Mike Beem has given it all up and run off to live by the beach. Life down on the coast isn’t all that it should be. Days of lying in the sun are replaced with brutal survival. Mike does his best to not only survive, but to rebuild a life among the ruins of these beach side towns.
Excerpt from The Headless Fountain Man
Kim was approaching the annual Canadian Comicon when she was startled by a headless statue sitting inside a large silver fountain. This statue had black Chuck Taylor’s on its feet, red socks on its bare ankles, blue jeans, and was wearing a tee-shirt that read “Water you looking at.” She took out her camera and instead of taking pictures of the various people in cos play costumes (Star Trek, Star Wars, and Frozen seemed to be the lead choices, Frozen, weird, I know, but hey it is a Comicon), she decided to take a picture of this statue, sitting there on its butt, dressed like it was heading for a skateboarding convention, with no head on top of its body. Its head had been replaced with a large white geyser of water that sailed into the air and splashed all over the headless figure and the ground around it.
Her finger froze before she took the shot, something about this statue felt all wrong, something about it didn’t seem right. She focused the lens, and thought she saw the statue raise an arm and wave at her. She paused, and pulled the camera away from her face, opening both eyes. She looked at the statue in the dusky light. It was still sitting there spewing water from its neck, arms and legs unmoving. She shook off the goose bumps, raised the camera to her eye, and snapped the shot. Then she snapped a couple more because you didn’t know which one would be the money shot, best to have backups.
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