Posts Tagged ‘excerpt’

Point Last Seen by Christina Dodd ~ Enjoy the peek inside

Posted: July 27, 2022 in Excerpt, suspense
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POINT LAST SEEN

Author: Christina Dodd

ISBN: 9781335623973

Publication Date: June 21, 2022

Publisher: HQN Books

 

Synopsis

 From New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd comes a brand new, standalone suspense about a reclusive artist who retrieves a seemingly dead woman from the Pacific Ocean…only to have her come back to life with no memory of what happened to her. With a strong female protagonist, a chilling villain, and twisty secrets that will keep you turning the pages. Perfect for fans of Lisa Jewell, Karin Slaughter and Sandra Brown, POINT LAST SEEN, will have readers keeping the lights on all night.

LIFE LAST SEEN

When you’ve already died, there should be nothing left to fear… When Adam Ramsdell pulls Elle’s half-frozen body from the surf on a lonely California beach, she has no memory of what her full name is and how she got those bruises ringing her throat.

GIRL LAST SEEN

Elle finds refuge in Adam’s home on the edge of Gothic, a remote village located between the steep lonely mountains and the raging Pacific Ocean. As flashes of her memory return, Elle faces a terrible truth—buried in her mind lurks a secret so dark it could get her killed.

POINT LAST SEEN

Everyone in Gothic seems to hide a dark past. Even Adam knows more than he will admit. Until Elle can unravel the truth, she doesn’t know who to trust, when to run and who else might be hurt when the killer who stalks her nightmares appears to finish what he started…

Buy Links:

BookShop.org

Harlequin

Barnes & Noble

Amazon

Books-A-Million

Powell’s

 

Enjoy this peek inside:

A Morning in February

Gothic, California

The storm off the Pacific had been brutal, a relentless night of cold rain and shrieking wind. Adam Ramsdell had spent the hours working, welding and polishing a tall, heavy, massive piece of sculpture, not hearing the wailing voices that lamented their own passing, not shuddering when he caught sight of his own face in the polished stainless steel. He sweated as he moved swiftly to capture the image he saw in his mind, a clawed monster rising from the deep: beautiful, deadly, dangerous.

And as always, when dawn broke, the storm moved on and he stepped away, he realized he had failed.

Impatient, he shoved the trolley that held the sculpture toward the wall. One of claws swiped his bare chest and proved to him he’d done one thing right: razor-sharp, it opened a long, thin gash in his skin. Blood oozed to the surface. He used his toe to lock the wheels on the trolley, securing the sculpture in case of the occasional California earth tremor.

Then with the swift efficiency of someone who had dealt with minor wounds, his own and others’, he found a clean towel and stanched the flow. Going into the tiny bathroom, he washed the site and used superglue to close the gash. The cut wasn’t deep; it would hold.

He tied on his running shoes and stepped outside into the short, bent, wet grass that covered his acreage. The rosemary hedge that grew at the edge of his front porch released its woody scent. The newly washed sunlight had burned away the fog, and Adam started running uphill toward town, determined to get breakfast, then come home to bed. Now that the sculpture was done and the storm had passed, he needed the bliss of oblivion, the moments of peace sleep could give him.

Yet every year as the Ides of March and the anniversary of his failure approached, nightmares tracked through his sleep and followed him into the light. They were never the same but always a variation on a theme: he had failed, and in two separate incidents, people had died…

The route was all uphill; nevertheless, each step was swift and precise. The sodden grasses bent beneath his running shoes. He never slipped; a man could die from a single slip. He’d always known that, but now, five years later, he knew it in ways he could never forget.

As he ran, he shed the weariness of a long night of cutting, grinding, hammering, polishing. He reached the asphalt and he lengthened his stride, increased his pace.

He ran past the cemetery where a woman knelt to take a chalk etching of a crumbling headstone, past the Gothic Museum run by local historian Freya Goodnight.

The Gothic General Store stood on the outside of the lowest curve of the road. Today the parking lot was empty, the rockers were unoccupied, and the store’s sixteen-year-old clerk lounged in the open door. “How you doing, Mr. Ramsdell?” she called.

He lifted his hand. “Hi, Tamalyn.”

She giggled.

Somehow, on the basis of him waving and remembering her name, she had fallen in love with him. He reminded himself that the dearth of male teens in the area left him little competition, but he could feel her watching him as he ran past the tiny hair salon where Daphne was cutting a local rancher’s hair in the outdoor barber chair.

His body urged him to slow to a walk, but he deliberately pushed himself.

Every time he took a turn, he looked up at Widow’s Peak, the rocky ridge that overshadowed the town, and the Tower, the edifice built by the Swedish silent-film star who in the early 1930s had bought land and created the town to her specifications.

At last he saw his destination, the Live Oak, a four-star restaurant in a one-star town. The three-story building stood at the corner of the highest hairpin turn and housed the eatery and three exclusive suites available for rent.

When Adam arrived he was gasping, sweating, holding his side. Since his return from the Amazon basin, he had never completely recovered his stamina.

Irksome.

At the corner of the building, he turned to look out at the view.

The vista was magnificent: spring-green slopes, wave-battered sea stacks, the ocean’s endless surges, and the horizon that stretched to eternity. During the Gothic jeep tour, Freya always told the tourists that from this point, if a person tripped and fell, that person could tumble all the way to the beach. Which was an exaggeration. Mostly.

Adam used the small towel hooked into his waistband to wipe the sweat off his face. Then disquiet began its slow crawl up his spine.

Someone had him under observation.

He glanced up the grassy hill toward the olive grove and stared. A glint, like someone stood in the trees’ shadows watching with binoculars. Watching him.

No. Not him. A peregrine falcon glided through the shredded clouds, and seagulls cawed and circled. Birders came from all over the word to view the richness of the Big Sur aviary life. As he watched, the glint disappeared. Perhaps the birder had spotted a tufted puffin. Adam felt an uncomfortable amount of relief in that: it showed a level of paranoia to imagine someone was watching him, but…

But. He had learned never to ignore his instincts. The hard way, of course.

He stepped into the restaurant doorway, and from across the restaurant he heard the loud snap of the continental waiter’s fingers and saw the properly suited Ludwig point at a small, isolated table in the back corner. Adam’s usual table.

Before Adam took a second step, he made an inventory of all possible entrances and exits, counted the number of occupants and assessed them as possible threats, and evaluated any available weapons. An old habit, it gave him peace of mind.

Three exits: front door, door to kitchen, door to the upper suites.

Mr. Kulshan sat by the windows, as was his wont. He liked the sun, and he lived to people-watch. Why not? He was in his midnineties. What else had he to do?

In the conference room, behind an open door, reserved for a business breakfast, was a long table with places set for twenty people.

A young couple, tourists by the look of them, held hands on the table and smiled into each other’s eyes.

Nice. Really nice to know young love still existed.

There, her back against the opposite wall, was an actress. Obviously an actress. She had possibly arrived for breakfast, or to stay in one of the suites. Celebrities visits happened often enough that most of the town was blasé, although the occasional scuffle with the paparazzi did lend interest to the village’s tranquil days.

She wasn’t pretty. Her face was too angular, her mouth too wide, her chin too determined. She was reading through a stack of papers and using a marker to highlight and a ballpoint to make notes… And she wore glasses. Not casual I need a little visual assistance glasses. These were Coke-bottle bottoms set in lime-green frames.

Interesting: Why had an actress not had laser surgery? Not that it mattered. Behind those glasses her brown eyes sparked with life, interest and humor, although he didn’t understand how someone could convey all that while never looking up. She had shampoo-commercial hair—long, dark, wavy, shining—and when she caught it in her hand and shoved it over one shoulder, he felt his breath catch.

A gravelly voice interrupted a moment that had gone on too long and revealed too clearly how Adam’s isolation had affected him. “Hey, you. Boy! Come here.” Mr. Kulshan beckoned. Mr. Kulshan, who had once been tall, sturdy and handsome. Then the jaws of old age had seized him, gnawed him down to a bent-shouldered, skinny old man.

Adam lifted a finger to Ludwig, indicating breakfast would have to wait.

Ludwig glowered. Maybe his name was suggestive, but the man looked like Ludwig van Beethoven: rough, wild, wavy hair, dark brooding eyes under bushy eyebrows, pouty lips, cleft in the chin. He seldom talked and never smiled. Most people were afraid of him.

Adam was not. He walked to Mr. Kulshan’s table and took a seat opposite the old man. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Don’t call me sir. I told you, call me K.H.”

Adam didn’t call people by their first names. That encouraged friendliness.

“If you can’t do that, call me Kulshan.” With his fork, the old guy stabbed a lump of breaded something and handed it to Adam. “What do you think this is?”

Adam had traveled the world, learned to eat what was offered, so he took the fork, sniffed the lump and nibbled a corner. “I believe it’s fried sweetbread.”

Mr. Kulshan made a gagging noise. “My grandmother made us eat sweetbread.” He bit it off the end of the fork. “This isn’t as awful as hers.” With loathing, he said, “This is Frenchie food.”

“Señor Alfonso is Spanish.”

Mr. Kulshan ignored Adam for all he was worth. “Next thing you know, this Alfonso will be scraping snails off the sidewalk and calling it escargots.”

“Actually…” Adam caught the twinkle in Mr. Kulshan’s eyes and stood. “Fine. Pull my chain. I’m going to have breakfast.”

Mr. Kulshan caught his wrist. “Have you heard what Caltrans is doing about the washout?” He referred to the California Department of Transportation and their attempts to repair the Pacific Coast Highway and open it to traffic.

“No. What?”

“Nothing!” Mr. Kulshan cackled wildly, then nodded at the actress. “The girl. Isn’t she something? Built like a brick shithouse.”

Interested, Adam settled back into the chair. “Who is she?”

“Don’t you ever read People magazine? That’s Clarice Burbage. She’s set to star in the modern adaptation of Shakespeare’s…um…one of Shakespeare’s plays. Who cares? She’ll play a king. Or something. That’s the script she’s reading.”

Clarice looked up as if she’d heard them—which she had, because Mr. Kulshan wore hearing aids that didn’t work well enough to compensate for his hearing loss—and smiled and nodded genially.

Mr. Kulshan grinned at her. “Hi, Clarice. Loved you in Inferno!”

“Thank you, K.H.” She projected her voice so he could hear her.

Mr. Kulshan shot Adam a triumphant look that clearly said See? Clarice Burbage calls me by my first name.

The actress-distraction was why the two men were surprised when the door opened and a middle-aged, handsome, casually dressed woman with cropped red hair walked in.

Mr. Kulshan made a sound of disgust. “Her.”

Excerpted from Point Last Seen by Christina Dodd. Copyright © 2022 by Christina Dodd. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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About Author Christina Dodd

Christina Dodd

New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd writes “edge-of-the-seat suspense” (Iris Johansen) with “brilliantly etched characters, polished writing, and unexpected flashes of sharp humor that are pure Dodd” (ALA Booklist). Her fifty-eight books have been called “scary, sexy, and smartly written” by Booklist and, much to her mother’s delight, Dodd was once a clue in the Los Angeles Times crossword puzzle. Enter Christina’s worlds and join her mailing list at www.christinadodd.com.

Social Links:

Author Website

Twitter: @ChristinaDodd

Facebook: Christina Dodd

Instagram: @christinadoddbooks

Goodreads

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Caper Crush ~ A Slow Burn Romantic Comedy by Kathy Strobos

Posted: July 26, 2022 in comedy, Romance
Tags: ,
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Caper Crush

by Kathy Strobos

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61375283. sy475

A feel-good, opposites-attract, slow burn romantic comedy

Somebody stole my painting! The one I need for the career-defining Vertex Art Exhibit.This upcoming art show is my chance tofinally be recognized as an artist—after ten years of waitressing and being asked if I still have that “lovely painting hobby.”

I have mere weeks to find my painting or lose my artist dream forever—but it’s going to mean working with William.

William Haruki Matsumura. Good-looking, if you like the Secret Service type. You know, law-abiding, protector of women and children. That’s all fine, but I can never tell what he’s thinking. Which drives me crazy.

He insists on coming along to do “damage control.” As if “accidentally” wandering into certain areas is “breaking and entering.” I may be an emotional artist, but William shouldn’t dismiss my investigative skills yet.

William is definitely my opposite, and, if there’s one takeaway from my parents’ divorce, it’s that opposites might attract, but it doesn’t last. But detecting with William is kind of fun—and fluttery. I definitely can’t trust these feelings, or can I? However this caper ends, I think this may be more than a crush.

Purchase Links – Amazon UK / Amazon US

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Enjoy this peek inside:

 

Chapter One

Pushing up my fake glasses on my nose,I shuffle closer to the twoother women to listen in on their conversation about the ultramarine abstract painting in front of them. I resist the urge to touch my straight, gray hair. I’ve learned that once I put on a wig, I shouldn’t touch it.This art gallery is a square, white-walled room in Tribeca with paintings hung a foot apart, abouttwenty colorful pieces in total. Between the cold air-conditioning and the pops of color, I feel like I’ve steppedinto the middle of a vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. Next to the entrance, the gallery owner sits behind a shiny, white-laminate counter, typing on her laptop. Two large paintings are spotlighted in the storefront windows. My ultramarine painting, unfortunately, didn’t merit that prime real estate.These two women are a mismatched pair. One looks like an Upper East Side matron, immaculate, brown hair, clearly professionally blow-dried that morning, armored in a crisp, two-piece skirt suit. The other woman has wild, gray hair and is wearing a long, flowing skirt, turquoise and gold bangles covering her wrists.“Is this the one Jade recommended that we look at?” Coiffed Woman asks.Bangles Woman peers at the label. “I think so. She said to look at the works by artist Miranda Langbroek.” She steps back, her multiple bracelets jangling as she puts her hands on her hips and stares at the painting.“I don’t see what’s so special about it,” Coiffed Woman says. “Doesn’t it look like every other abstract painting out there?”

I cough. And that’s why people sa no good ever comes of eavesdropping about oneself. I need to armor up, but I still take criticism about my work personally.The two women look over at me in concern.“Are you okay?” Bangles Woman asks.“I’m fine. Got something lodged in my throat.” I clear my throat. “I think what makes this painting unique are the brushstrokes here building up the paint, almost like waves of color washing over you.”“Oh, interesting,” Bangles Woman says. “I see that now.”“Are you thinking of buying it?” Coiffed Woman asks me. Her perfume smells of honeysuckle.That’s a tough question to answer. Some buyers like competition and, if someone else is interested, will buy it immediately to scoop it up. But others back off. Plus, I don’t want to actually lie and say I’m going to buy it when I’m the artist trying to sell it. I never know if my disguise will actually work. But I really do need to sell this painting. I need the money. And my agent, Jade, will stop representing meif I don’t take off soon. I didn’t sell anything at the last little show she got me into.“No,” I say. “I love it, but I don’t have the budget to buy it.”“Our dealer said we should get in now before this artist becomes popular after the Vertex show,” Coiffed Woman says.“But I don’t know.” Bangles Woman frowns.This is torture. Why didI think covertly persuading art patrons to buy my work was a brilliant idea?“You should only buy it if you love it.” I don’t want my painting abandoned in a closet.

“I love the colors,” says a male voice to my left. “Do you know the price?”A tall, lean guy with thick, ruffled,black hair glances over at me.William Haruki Matsumura.William is the nephew of my uncle Tony’s partner, Takashi Matsumura. What is he doing here?Our glances meet.He’s good-looking,if you like the Secret Service type. I don’t. I never know what he’s thinking, which bothers me. He’s quiet, so he could be full of deep thoughts. Or not.Don’t let him recognize me.He’ll probably give the game away if he does. But there’s no way he could. I’ve aged my skin with shadows and highlights to look like a sixty-five-year-old woman, even adding a bump to my nose. Straight, silvery locks hide my wavy, red hair, and I’m wearing glasses.It’s not like we see each other that often. Once a year, if even, at Uncle Tony’s parties.Bangles Woman looks at him, and her eyes widen in appreciation. She steps closer.“Do you like it?” She puts her hand on his arm suggestively.He smiles, looking down at her hand. “Yes, very much.”Ugh. He’d better still be talking about the painting. Keep your attention on my painting. That’s what’s important here.

 

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Author Bio

Kathy Strobos is a writer living in New York City with her husband and two children, amid a growing collection of books, toys and dollhouses. She grew up in New York City and graduated from Stuyvesant High School, Harvard-Radcliffe University magna cum laude, and Columbia Law School. She spent two semesters abroad at the Universiteit van Amsterdam. She previously worked as a lawyer. She left law to pursue her dream of writing fiction full-time and getting in shape. She is the author of Partner Pursuit, Is This for Real?, A Scavenger Hunt for Hearts, andCaper Crush. She is still working on getting in shape.

Social Media Links – Twitter / Instagram / Facebook

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The Sign Of The Calico Quartz ~ The Sweetbriar Inn Mysteries by Jan Drexler

Posted: July 24, 2022 in Cozy Mystery, giveaways
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The Sign Of The Calico Quartz

The Sweetbriar Inn Mysteries

by Jan Drexler

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The Sign of the Calico Quartz (The Sweetbrier Inn Mysteries)
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Setting – South Dakota
Swift Wings Press (May 20, 2022)
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 276 pages
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 979-8986137803
Digital Swift Wings Press (May 25, 2022)
Print length ‏ : ‎ 242 pages
ASIN ‏ : ‎ B09ZNDM1VL

Emma Blackwood’s favorite pastime is solving literary murder mysteries…until the body in her living room makes everything a little too real.

 

When Emma comes to the Black Hills to work at her Aunt Rose’s B&B, the Sweetbrier Inn, she is hoping for a quiet break from the corporate treadmill. But she hadn’t expected murder and intrigue to mar this peaceful setting.

 

As she wades through too many clues to identify the murderer, she soon finds that the culprit isn’t stopping at only one homicide and may even have placed Emma herself on the list of targets. With the help of her friend Becky, and a deputy sheriff who grudgingly lets them join in on the investigation, Emma tracks down the killer. But will it be in time to save the next victim?

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Enjoy this peek inside:

She grinned as if it wasn’t o’dark-thirty on a chilly spring morning.

“Oh, wow, you must be Emma.” She stuck out a hand. “Hi. I’m Becky Graves. I deliver the baked goods for the inn every morning.” I shook her hand as she kept talking without seeming to take a breath. “Although it seems Wil could bake, you know, with all his chef’s credentials, but he says it’s beneath him. He’s a chef-” she punctuated the word with air quotes – “not a baker. But hey, it’s business for our café, so I’m not knocking it. Anyway, I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since Rose said you were coming. Don’t you just love this place?”

“Yes.” I jumped in before she could go on. “Wil, do you have any coffee?”

He poured a cup and stuck it in my hand, then pushed Becky and I into the hall without a word. The door swung on its two-way hinges.

I held the cup up to my nose and took a deep breath. Hot. Strong. No sugar. No cream. I closed my eyes. Heaven. My day could start now.

“Cal told me what happened up here last night.”

My eyes popped open. “You know Cal?”

“He’s my cousin. He came by the café for supper last night and told us what happened.” My face must have shown my shock. “Oh, we won’t tell anyone else, don’t worry.”

“So, who knows?”

“Only me, Gran, my sister Josie and her husband, and their kids. And old Sadie, but she doesn’t talk to anyone except her cats.”

“You’re telling me that he told the entire town of Paragon.”

She nodded and led the way toward the dining room. “But we won’t spread the word, so don’t worry. We’re as silent as the grave.” She grinned. “Grave? Get it? Our last name is Graves.”

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About Jan Drexler 

Jan Drexler lives in the Black Hills of South Dakota with her husband, where she enjoys hiking and spending time with her expanding family. She is the author of several historical romance novels, including the award-winning Mattie’s Pledge, and is pleased to be starting a new adventure with a cozy mystery series, The Sweetbrier Inn Mysteries. You can find out more about Jan on her website: www.JanDrexler.com.

Author Links : Website / Facebook / Goodreads / Amazon

Purchase Link – Amazon 

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TOUR PARTICIPANTS

July 18 – The Avid Reader – REVIEW, EXCERPT

July 18 – Literary Gold – AUTHOR INTERVIEW

July 19 – Mysteries with Character – AUTHOR INTERVIEW

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July 20 – ebookaddicts – SPOTLIGHT WITH EXCERPT

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July 22 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW, AUTHOR INTERVIEW

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July 23 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog – SPOTLIGHT

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Sneaky’s Supernatural Mystery And Other Cobble Cove Stories by Debbie De Louise

Posted: July 23, 2022 in Cozy Mystery, giveaways
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Sneaky’s Supernatural Mystery And Other Cobble Cove Stories

by Debbie De Louise

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Sneaky’s Supernatural Mystery and Other Cobble Cove Stories
Cozy Mystery Collection
Setting – New York
Solstice Publishing
Number of Pages ~260

This collection of short stories includes four previously published Cobble Cove mysteries that appeared exclusively as ebooks along with a new story. The collection features the award-winning Sneaky’s Christmas Mystery, Sneaky’s Summer Mystery, KittyKai’s Easter Mystery, Barking Up the Wrong Tree, and the new title story, Sneaky’s Supernatural Mystery.

 

Each of these stories includes a note from the author explaining her inspiration for it and a cover image. If you’re a fan of the series, a cozy mystery lover, and/or a feline fancier, you’ll enjoy these mysteries that feature the pets in starring roles with Alicia, the librarian.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

“Have you ever heard of Starlight?”

“Star light? Sure. Is it an astronomy program?”

Nancy smiled and laughed lightly. “No. Starlight[ is a psychic. She has a very popular podcast and has appeared at several libraries. She’s also worked with the police finding missing persons. Ramsay’s acquainted with her.”

Ron Ramsay, the town’s sheriff, was a long-time friend of Alicia’s. He was also married to Alicia’s best friend, Gilly, who ran the Cobble Inn and worked part-time at the library.

“Does Gilly know her, too?”

“Probably. You can ask her when she comes in today. Anyway,” Nancy pushed back a dark curl, “I can start advertising for her appearance. I’ve added the date to our program calendar and will send out an eblast to our newsletter list.”

Alicia didn’t know how she felt about having a psychic hold a program at the library, but she trusted Nancy’s judgment. “Sounds good. Will she be doing any predictions?”

“That’s part of her, uh, act, Alicia. She takes random people from the audience and does a reading for them.”

“Does she use tarot cards or a crystal ball?”

Nancy shook her head. “She only uses their aura and vibrations she gets from it to make predictions about them.”

Alicia was open to new ideas and things that couldn’t be explained by science.  but she was also skeptical about psychics who used tricks as deftly as magicians to con people into believing their extraordinary talents.

“I guess that could be fun if it isn’t taken too seriously. It might be a nice way to get people back into the library, but please make sure that you include a disclaimer that this is an entertainment program and the library isn’t responsible for the accuracy of any predictions the psychic makes.”

Nancy nodded, sending her curls jumping again. “Got it, Alicia. Thank you.” She stood up from her seat.

After she left, Alicia finished her coffee and paper. Then she turned to Sneaky. “Did you hear that, Sneak? A psychic is coming to the library. I’ve got to see what Gilly knows about this Starlight.” Alicia glanced at the pendulum-like, tail-swishing, google-eyed black and white cat clock on her wall. “She should be coming in right about now.”

Sneaky, awakened from his dream of KittyKai, his pretty calico friend and fellow cat sleuth from the inn, followed Alicia as she went downstairs to speak with her friend.

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About Debbie De Louise

Debbie De Louise is a reference librarian at a public library. She’s the author of the Cobble Cove cozy mystery series featuring Alicia, the librarian, and Sneaky, the library cat. She’s also published three standalone mysteries, a paranormal romance, a time-travel novel, a romantic comedy novella, and a collection of cat poems. Her stories and poetry appear in over a dozen anthologies. Debbie also writes articles for Catster.com. She lives on Long Island with her husband, daughter, and three cats.

Author Links: Website/Blog/Newsletter / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads

Amazon /  All Author / Instagram / LinkedIn / BookBub 

Debbie’s Character’s Chat Group / Sneaky The Library Cat’s Blog

Purchase Link: Amazon

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July 18 – Maureen’s Musings – REVIEW  

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A Little Wilder by Serena Bell ~ Excerpt and Giveaway

Posted: July 22, 2022 in Contemporary Romance, giveaways
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A Little Wilder
by Serena Bell

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(Wilder Adventures, #4)
Publication date: July 19th 2022
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

What happened in Vegas? Definitely didn’t stay in Vegas.

Gabe’s the oldest. Brody’s the bad boy. Clark’s the strong, silent warrior. Amanda’s the girl. And Easton—well, Easton’s the panty melter.

I’m Kane.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a bad job. But usually, I’m not the one people are talking about.

That’s about to change. Because the woman I had a smoking hot one-night stand with in Vegas? The one I should have stayed far, far away from, since women like her are my kryptonite?

She’s the same woman my brother just hired to redesign his fancy new glamping RVs.

I haven’t seen her since Vegas, but the instant I lay eyes on her, I can tell my quiet role as the boy-next-door brother is about to change.

She’s pregnant.

And it’s mine.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play

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Enjoy this peek inside:

There’s a knock on Bernadette’s door.

It pulls me out of deep concentration on the trailer project and sends a small thrill of anticipation up my spine.

Kane.

It’s gotta be Kane. It’s not like I get visitors.

I haul myself off the couch—an increasingly challenging undertaking. Even though I know it has to be him, I peep out. One of the awesome mods on Bernadette, courtesy of her previous owner, is a peephole, which is super useful when you’re a single woman on the road alone.

And even though I know it has to be him, I still feel a surge of pleased surprise when I see his face.

“Delivery,” he says, holding out a big, round Tupperware… cake holder? “Boston cream pie.”

Holy shit, he found it.

I yank open the door and have to stop myself from snatching the cake out of his hands. Or throwing my arms around him and hugging the crap out of him. “Where did you find it?”

“I—”

He stops, appearing to think better of whatever he was about to say, but it’s too late. I know where that sentence was going.

“You made it?”

“Amanda helped,” he says, like that’s going to take anything away from a six-foot-something built-like-a-God man who bakes Boston cream pies.

“Aaaaahhhh!” I cry, overcome. “You are a saint and a genius.”

He tries to bite back a smile. “I think you’re overstating things a little.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I have been fantasizing about yellow custard, soft yellow cake, and chocolate ganache nonstop since before I knew Kane had planted this baby in me. “Come in. You have to have some, too.”

“It’s all for you,” he says. “I wouldn’t take any of your special treat. Your presentation was fantastic. You deserve all the cake.”

This guy. I swear. He was too much in Vegas, when all I knew about him was that he asked real questions and knew how to use his body for both good and evil. Now…
“Well, come in anyway.”

He hesitates again, then follows me in, setting the cake on the counter. I wash my hands and take two small plates down from the cabinets. I grab two forks from the utensil drawer and two mugs from the overhead hooks. “I don’t have coffee—” I gesture at my belly, “—but I have tea, milk, or water.”

“Water would be great,” he says. “And no cake. I’m serious. It’s yours.”

I wrestle the cake carrier open and cut into my prize. My mouth waters as I do. It’s so—
Not gonna say moist, but holy shit, it soooo is.

We sit at Bernadette’s little pink dinette table. I’d forgotten how small this table is with two people at it. Or maybe it’s how big Kane is; his knees touch mine, and his arms cover so much territory, even with his hands folded. I force myself to look away because staring at close range is both rude and dangerous.

His eyes are very, very blue.

I dig in. “Oh, wow,” I say. “Wow.”

It’s soft. Moist (again, sorry!). Tender, springy. The custard is cool and smooth on my tongue, the ganache dark and flavorful.

“Mmm. Just. Thank you.”

Kane grins at me, like he’s pleased, though there’s something else in his expression I can’t quite read. “I did good?”

“You did amazing. So good I could kiss you.”

One eyebrow goes up, but he only says, “How does it rate among the Boston cream pies of the world?”

“It’s up there. Although pregnancy might be biasing me.” I lick a bite that’s mostly custard from my fork, and catch a glimpse of Kane’s face. His eyes are… interested. I lick again, for good measure, and notice the muscle in his jaw tense.

A ripple of tension slides down the lower slope of my belly and lodges itself in my internal muscles. In their constantly primed state, they… quiver dangerously.

The next time I look at him, Kane’s eyes are on my chest. I’m wearing a flowy green maternity dress with a low scoop neck, and, why, yes, it does show off my newly ridiculously huge boobs to excellent advan—

“You have—“

He reaches out. “Some cake—”

His finger almost touches the upper curve of my breast, and, oh, whoops, yes, that is cake on my boob. I use my own finger to scoop it up, then lick it clean.

I hear the moment the breath leaves Kane’s lungs.

I see the moment his gaze travels from my chest to my mouth, when it fixes on my finger, sliding between my lips. The moment it sticks, and stays, right there on my mouth, even as my hand drops away.

“Mari—”

His voice is hoarse.

“Do it. Just—do it,” I order him.

Then he’s leaning over the table, setting his mouth over mine, hot and unhesitating and so, so good.

 

Author Serena Bell:

USA Today bestselling author Serena Bell writes contemporary romance with heat, heart, and humor. A former journalist, Serena has always believed that everyone has an amazing story to tell if you listen carefully, and you can often find her scribbling in her tiny garret office, mainlining chocolate and bringing to life the tales in her head.

Serena’s books have earned many honors, including an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, Apple Books Best Book of the Month, and Amazon Best Book of the Year for Romance.

When not writing, Serena loves to spend time with her college-sweetheart husband and two hilarious kiddos—all of whom are incredibly tolerant not just of Serena’s imaginary friends but also of how often she changes her hobbies and how passionately she embraces the new ones. These days, it’s stand-up paddle boarding, board-gaming, meditation, and long walks with good friends.

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Silent Little Angels by Jennifer Chase ~ Enjoy a peek inside!

Posted: July 21, 2022 in Excerpt, thriller
Tags: ,
1

 

 

The water ripples as the girl’s body escapes the reeds and floats silently upwards. Her beautiful face—blue eyes frozen open, skin as white as snow—breaks the surface. But it’s too late, this innocent soul has taken her final breath…

 

By Jennifer Chase

 

 

 

 

 
 
 

The water ripples as the girl’s body escapes the reeds and floats silently upwards. Her beautiful face—blue eyes frozen open, skin as white as snow—breaks the surface. But it’s too late, this innocent soul has taken her final breath…

When camp counselor Carolyn Sable’s body is found floating in a lake beside Eagle Ridge Summer Camp, Detective Katie Scott must dig deep to stay focused. As a child, Katie spent many happy weeks at that camp toasting marshmallows on the fire with her best friend Jenny… until the day Jenny disappeared. The loss will always haunt Katie, but Carolyn’s inconsolable family need answers.

Searching the area, the devastating discovery of two more bodies sends the case into a tailspin. Suddenly on the hunt for a serial killer, Katie’s blood turns to ice when she finds newspaper clippings about her own past cases planted near one of the bodies. Was this twisted killer banking on Katie taking the lead? And why?

Carolyn was adored by children and staff at the camp, so Katie thinks her sudden resignation is key to cracking the case. Uncovering a tragic accident involving a group of children in the weeks before Carolyn left, Katie knows she’s getting close.

But when the carefully laid trap Katie sets to catch Carolyn’s killer backfires, Katie finds herself in unthinkable danger and unable to even trust her own team. Can she stay alive long enough to crack the toughest case of her career, and how many more innocent lives will be lost before she does?

An absolutely unputdownable crime thriller from a USA Today and Amazon bestselling author. Fans of of Lisa Regan, Rachel Caine and Melinda Leigh will be sleeping with the lights on!

Everyone is talking about Silent Little Angels:

“I still have goosebumps! Omg……… amazing…I flew through the pages with Olympic speed. I was hooked from the very first page.” NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars

“One hell of an unpredictable rollercoaster ride with several twists and turns along the way… I almost had to read through my fingers… A brilliant, and highly recommended read.” Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars

“It kept me guessing right until the end. There is plenty of action, suspense, and tension. I’ve become so invested in these characters. I was glued to this one and up way past my bedtime. I couldn’t put it down.” Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars

“I read this in one very short sitting, I couldn’t put it down. It was well written with well-developed characters and a gripping storyline that was full of mystery, tension and twists… a thrilling read.” NetGalley reviewer

“All-time favorite… I was shouting in my head, don’t go back there… wow!” I Spooky’s Maze Of Books, 5 stars

“There was no way I was putting this book down!!!!!… I was literally holding my breath… I HAD TO KNOW!!!!! As for the explosive ending: WOW definitely not what, or who I was expecting.” Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars

Book Information

Release Date: April 19 2022

Publisher:  Bookouture

Soft Cover: ISBN: 978-1803142319; 402 pages; $11.99; E-Book, $3.99; FREE Audiobook with Audible Trial; eBook FREE with Kindle Unlimited Membership

Amazon: https://amzn.to/38HWeJ2

 

   
 
 
 
 
The luxurious dark-gray sedan crept along the rural road that led up to where Eagle Ridge Camp was nestled in the beautiful, wooded hills of Sequoia County, California. In places along the track, large pine tree branches arched downward creating makeshift tunnels. As the car climbed, the views of the rolling hills and the picturesque town of Pine Valley became even more spectacular. William and Jane Faulkner grew increasingly uncomfortable the closer they approached the property. They watched from the car as the beautiful forestry hills turned into a heavily wooded area that was almost impassable. The attraction of the potential investment property seemed to become less valuable the closer they got to Eagle Ridge Camp. Mr. Faulkner glanced at the real estate agent Daniel Green, who had been highly recommended, and watched him grip the steering wheel tighter as he navigated around road hazards. He turned to the backseat and observed his wife as she strummed her long, polished nails on the door handle: sour expression with a downturned mouth. It was clear that she was not happy about being dragged this far out of town. He had second thoughts too. “We’re just about there,” Daniel said, forcing a smile. “The road is… barely passable,” said Mr. Faulkner. He gripped the handle of the door to steady himself. “It’s nothing that couldn’t be easily cleared in a few hours with some bulldozers. It would be a cinch to clear the heavy brush—maybe remove a tree or two. The road itself is in pretty good condition, so it wouldn’t be difficult to scrape and level with a good construction company. There’s also another utility road that comes into the property from the other side. But…” he continued, mustering some zeal, “this road gives you the best view of the most beautiful fifty acres in the county. It’s an amazing investment opportunity.” The couple stared silently out the windows—seemingly not convinced. Daniel pushed the high-performance car up the last incline to where the land then leveled out and opened into spectacular views of stunning meadows and groupings of trees. “Wow,” Mr. Faulkner said under his breath. Finally, he could see past the overgrowth and grasp the potential. “This is amazing. And thank you for making time for us today. We’re on a flight to France tomorrow.” His wife leaned forward to get a better look through the windshield. Her face softened in wonder as she gazed at the rolling countryside unfolding around them. Daniel pulled to the left and parked. “You ready for a bit of a walk? You brought your hiking shoes, right?” The couple nodded. “Great,” he replied and opened the car door while the couple changed their shoes. He checked his pockets to make sure he had the keys that opened the main buildings. Filled with nervous energy, he jingled his own car keys against them as he paced in front of the car, surveying the area. The pines arched and swayed around them in the breeze, blowing their sweet scent through the air. Daniel turned to look down the valley at the various towns he could see in the distance: pretty as a postcard. Fresh air, birds fluttering in the trees, and the warmth of the gentle rays of sun upon his face. Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner emerged from the car and slowly closed the doors. “How about we check out the main buildings and then have a look at the lake?” Daniel said. “Sounds good,” Mr. Faulkner said, still surveying the area. “So, how long has this camp been closed? It’s been on the market, for what, almost two years?” They began walking along a narrow trail. Before them were some large buildings, clustered around the main clearing, the gentle rolling hills visible behind them. Weeds crunched underneath their shoes as they weaved along the unkempt path. “It closed about five years ago,” said Daniel. “I see.” “We’ve had several interested parties, but something always went wrong with the escrow. Investors pulled out. Money didn’t get transferred. Things like that. We’ve even had a foreign investor wanting to turn it into a family theme park for a while now, but it’s moving slowly.” As they walked around the area, Mr. Faulkner felt his enthusiasm grow. He glanced at his wife, and she, too, smiled and raised her eyebrows in growing expectation. Daniel made an abrupt left turn on the path and began to move downward. The trees clustered closely again around them, before the huge trunks opened into another serene clearing surrounded by gently rolling hills. “This is the south end of Echo Valley, where the lake begins.” “Echo Valley?” Mrs. Faulkner asked. “Hello, hello,” he called out, letting his voice resonate around them before fading away. All three of them stood for a moment and listened. The calmness and beauty of the area was worth a moment of silence. “C’mon. You’re in for a real treat,” Daniel said. He quickened his pace around two large trees. An enormous lake glistened before them, surrounded by the hills. There was not a ripple across the surface, and the reflections of the nearby trees, grasses, and the partly cloudy sky were cast back at them like a visual echo. Just to Daniel’s left, a little boathouse and wharf sat at the lake’s edge. “I told you,” said Daniel. “This is only one of many amazing views on the plot. Can you imagine taking a kayak out at sunset? Or building a dream house here? Just breathtaking.” He paused and took a gentle deep breath. The Faulkners walked over to the dock to get a closer look at the birds swooping and diving around the lake. Daniel followed silently behind them, as the weathered boards creaked gently underfoot. A soft bumping sound could be heard from within the boathouse at the end of the jetty, and curious, Daniel took a detour to take a quick look. He pushed open the door, which hung cockeyed off its hinges. They gave way with a prickling screech. Inside was revealed a long wooden deck along with several well-worn hooks, used to secure canoes and kayaks. Hearing the couple behind him, he called out, “Watch your footing, one of the planks is missing.” The couple followed him inside. Mr. Faulkner looked closely at the structure. He wondered how much it would cost to build a proper boathouse. He saw Daniel looking down into the water at something dark, something that bumped against the underneath side of the deck with the lapping of the wavelets created from the mountain breeze. “What is that?” asked Mr. Faulkner, straining to see. Mr. Faulkner watched Daniel awkwardly kneel down to grasp the end of a piece of rope that was floating nearby. It appeared to be clean and new, totally out of place in a boathouse that had been abandoned for years. The agent pulled at it until there was a resistance. The dark mass came closer into view with every tug of the rope. As it broke the surface, it rolled to one side and, to Mr. Faulkner’s horror, they stared at a woman’s face; dark eyes fixed open, skin opaque and shiny like artificial rubber. Brown hair swirled in the water around her pale cheeks, framing her face.
 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Jennifer Chase is a multi award-winning and USA Today BestSelling crime fiction author, as well as a consulting criminologist. Jennifer holds a bachelor degree in police forensics and a master’s degree in criminology & criminal justice. These academic pursuits developed out of her curiosity about the criminal mind as well as from her own experience with a violent psychopath, providing Jennifer with deep personal investment in every story she tells. In addition, she holds certifications in serial crime and criminal profiling.  She is an affiliate member of the International Association of Forensic Criminologists, and member of the International Thriller Writers.

Her latest book is the crime thriller, Silent Little Angels.

You can visit her website at www.AuthorJenniferChase.com or connect with her on Twitter, Facebook and Goodreads.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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The Lady And Her Duke by Ruth A. Casey ~ Excerpt and Giveaway

Posted: July 15, 2022 in giveaways, Romance
Tags: , ,
16

 

 

Today I am excited to join in the celebration of USA Today Bestselling Author Ruth A. Casie’s newest release, The Lady and Her Duke. This is the third standalone regency romance novel in the Ladies of Sommer by the Sea.

The Lady and Her Duke

 

Amazon | Goodreads

Could she use her skills as a lockpick to crack open the secrets to the murder as well as unlock his heart?

Lady Katherine Thornton has no interest in men after an indiscretion at her disastrous Season in London. No man can be trusted. Instead, she indulges in her fascination for gears and all things mechanical. Her unique drafting skill is an asset to her uncle Bennett Sutton, who is automating his textile factory. She doesn’t need anything else.

Lord Ian Wallace, the 4th Duke of Blackhall, is a retired military officer. An accidental duke after the deaths of his father and brother, he retreats from society and the clawing mothers and debutantes who stalk him. He’s focused all his energy on his partnership with Sutton. He’s satisfied and needs nothing else.

An oath to marry, a family legend to preserve, an uprising of the factory workers, and Sutton’s murder, throw Katherine and Wallace together to find a blackmailer and murderer.

They also will find two things neither knew they were missing…each other and their happily ever after.

Read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

The Ladies of Sommer by the Sea

About the Author

 

RUTH A. CASIE is a USA Today bestselling author of historical swashbuckling action-adventures and contemporary romance with enough action to keep you turning pages. Her stories feature strong women and the men who deserve them, endearing flaws and all. She lives in New Jersey with her hero, three empty bedrooms and a growing number of incomplete counted cross-stitch projects. Before she found her voice, she was a speech therapist (pun intended), client liaison for a corrugated manufacturer, and vice president at an international bank where she was a product/marketing manager, but her favorite job is the one she’s doing now-writing romance. She hopes her stories become your favorite adventures.


Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Newsletter

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Enjoy this peek inside:

 

“We thought we were close, no secrets between us. We understand you’re under a great deal of strain with your uncle’s death. But this?”

Katherine took a breath, then began to get angry. “I clearly have no idea what the three of you are talking about. I do not keep secrets from you, just as you do not keep them from me.”

Effie got to her feet so quickly Katherine stepped back. Her friend handed her the London Gazette, a circle drawn around an article.

She took the newspaper and read the noted item.

“The very eligible and handsome Lord Wallace, 4th Duke of Blackhall, is finally off the market. He’s made his vow. Does Lady Ivy-Rose T. even know she snagged the wealthiest and handsomest man in London? And does Lady RH realize she’s missed her opportunity? This should be something to watch unfold. All the best to the happy (?) couple. No matter who becomes the next Duchess of Blackhall.”

Katherine slowly sank down into the chair. Her friends looked at each other than at her.

“You’re the only Lady Ivy-Rose T. we know. And Lord Wallace is mentioned.”

“Hush,” Hattie snapped and elbowed Effie. “Eat a biscuit.”

Katherine re-read the article a second, then a third time. Who is Lady RH? Did someone else have his heart? Her breath came in spurts.

“Are you all right? You haven’t said a word.” Anna knelt next to her.

Katherine clenched her hands, her fingernails digging into her palms. She turned and stared at her close friend.

Anna studied Katherine’s face.

“You had no idea, did you?” Anna’s voice faded to a hushed silence. Her expression changed from hurt to horror.

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Accidentally Working Class by Karly Lane

Posted: July 14, 2022 in Adult Fiction, Chick Lit
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0

Accidentally Working Class
Karly Lane
Publication date: July 1st 2022
Genres: Adult, Chick-lit, Women’s Fiction

Socialite Quinn Appleton knows how to live life—at full speed and with no limits. She has the perfect life, an amazing boyfriend, friends by the bucketload and an eye for fashion. Life is good.

The Appletons are a household name, their eponymous biscuit empire having been in the family for over one hundred and fifty years, making them one of the country’s richest families. They are no strangers to controversy either, constantly gracing the covers of gossip magazines, caught in compromising positions at outrageous parties.

But CEO and matriarch Lady Elizabeth Appleton has had enough. Tired of her children and grandchildren not pulling their weight and dragging the once respectable Appleton name through the mud, she decides to cut them all off financially.

With her life in ruins, Quinn is just one Jimmy Choo heel away from living in a cardboard box when Gran gives her an ultimatum: take a job at the company for six months and her trust fund will be reinstated. The catch? She must do it under a false identity and work her way up—no one can know she’s an Appleton.

Surely it can’t be that hard to hold down a lousy job? After all, millions of other people seem to do it. But Quinn is about to learn just how different the world is when you find yourself suddenly working class.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

‘The company has always been the heart of this family—for generations. The Appletons were synonymous with the products we made, that’s what made it special—we had wholesome, family values. But now the only way anyone hears anything about the Appletons is in the gossip magazines.’ Gran nodded at ever-faithful Lionel, who stepped forward on cue, turning to gather a stack of magazines from the sideboard to spread out on the table.

Her brother was on some of them; his arm draped across the shoulders of a topless woman on a beach somewhere exotic on one, and standing naked in the doorway of a luxury villa on another, a huge yellow star hiding his groin (which, personally, Quinn thought was probably twice the size of whatever it was supposed to be covering).

On the other covers, Greta was captured at various parties, kissing multiple men and women on different occasions; on another, she was holding up a bottle of Scotch with one hand and flipping the bird to a photographer with the other.

Then there were the ones which featured her. Quinn grimaced slightly at the cover closest to her, having been taken after a heavy night of drinking. Of all the photos Gran could have used. She was sitting in the gutter out the front of a prominent nightclub, her top sliding off one shoulder, her skirt hitched up to an indecent level and her makeup smudged and hideous. It was unfair that even in drunken debauchery, Greta had never been caught on camera looking that horrific. Cow.

Quinn had been featured in way more magazines than that, and had actually looked fricking amazing. Typical that it would be that cover they used to highlight her wayward behaviour.

‘This is what a once respectable family name has become,’ Gran said as her gaze moved around the table.

‘Mother, I hardly—’ her father started before he was cut off by a glacial glare.

‘I blame all of you for raising such delinquent children.’

‘Just pointing out that I have no children,’ Tobias said, with a doleful glance towards his mother, ‘and can honestly say, looking at this, that I’m bitterly disappointed in my siblings and their offspring.’ He shook his head sadly at the offending magazines.

‘Oh, shut up, Tobias,’ Gran snapped, and without even needing to look at Lionel, the man dropped another three magazines on the pile, featuring her uncle in varying displays of undress at some questionable-looking parties.

‘Oh. Yes,’ Tobias murmured with a devilish grin, reaching over to snag the top one. ‘I remember that night.’ The self-satisfied smile vanished from his face when Gran reached over and snatched the magazine from his hands.

‘I will not have this family’s name dragged through any more mud. All of this nonsense stops right now. Until I’m confident that we’ve rebuilt our reputation back up to a standard we can be proud of, none of you will be getting a single cent out of this company.’

‘Mother, I think you’re blowing this all out of proportion,’ her father tried once more, but bit back a frustrated sigh when she waved off his protest.

‘You’ll be noticing several changes that will start immediately,’ she continued, just as a rumble sounded outside.

‘What on earth is that?’ Quinn’s mother asked, frowning, or what would be frowning if her recently administered Botox had allowed her forehead to crease.

Tobias dropped his linen serviette onto the table as he rose from his seat and went to the window, curiosity getting too much for him. ‘Mother, you wouldn’t,’ Tobias gasped, turning a disbelieving stare on Gran.

‘Yes, son. I would and I have.’

Author Karly Lane:

Karly Lane lives on the beautiful Mid North Coast of NSW in Australia. A certified small town girl, she is most happy in a little town where everyone knows who your grand parents were. She writes women’s fiction – everything from romantic suspense to family sagas and life in rural Australia. She has romantic suspense titles published under Karlene Blakemore-Mowle and her latest release, Third Time Lucky is available now.

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The Boardwalk Shop by Susan Mallery ~ Check out the peek inside!

Posted: June 1, 2022 in Contemporary Romance, Excerpt
Tags: ,
1

The Boardwalk Bookshop : A Novel 

Susan Mallery

On Sale Date: May 31, 2022

9780778386087

Trade Paperback

$16.99 USD

 

ABOUT THE BOOK:

With her unique brand of witty, emotional storytelling, Susan Mallery’s latest is a heartfelt tale of friendship between three women brought together by chance who open a bookshop together on the boardwalk of the California beaches and ultimately become one another’s family. Fans of Elin Hilderbrand, Robyn Carr and Susan Wiggs will love The Boardwalk Bookshop!

 

Brought together by chance, Bree, Mikki, and Ashley become fast friends and open up a beachfront bookshop together, bringing together their three different businesses. To celebrate, each Friday at sunset they pop open champagne on the beach and enjoy the sunset together. Little did they know that that chance meeting and this simple ritual would make them one another’s family.

 

Bree owns the bookshop. Funny that she can’t stand authors. They’re far too demanding. But when NYT bestselling author Harding Burton, the memoirist who wrote about being paralyzed as a teenager and how he fought his way back, comes in, Bree never expected to actually like him. But anything beyond casual sex is out of the question for her. She trusts no one—a brutal first marriage and a painful childhood taught her well. Still as much as she wants to walk away, she can’t quite do it…

 

Ashley, Harding’s brother, owns the muffin shop and she has her own problems. She’s been happily in love with her boyfriend, Seth, for eight years. He’s thoughtful, supportive, kind, generous…but he hasn’t proposed and, she can’t hold it in any longer. When he announces that marriage isn’t for him, she’s shocked. And as much as she wishes this was enough, the truth is that she wants to be married. But what now?

 

And Mikki, the gift shop owner, is getting a second chance. She married her high school sweetheart, but three kids and completely different interests made them drift apart until they divorced a few years ago. They’re still close for the kids, but when someone new enters her life, he makes her feel appreciated and alive. Suddenly Mikki’s ex is making her dinner and asking her advice and Mikki must choose between the man she loved and let go of—and a chance for a brand new beginning.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Chapter One

“I thought there’d be more sex.”

Bree Larton stared at her seventy-something-year-old customer, not sure how to respond. Bursting out laughing would be inappropriate and Ruth would take offense. “You need to tell me what you want so I can get you the right book,” Bree said with a gentle smile. “You wanted a political thriller. Most of them aren’t sexy.”

Ruth, barely five feet tall but feisty as a badger, pursed her lips. “Not true. James Bond has sex all the time and he spends his day saving the world. I want a book like that. Ticking bombs, financial collapse, kidnappings and then everyone jumps into bed.” She winked. “That would be a good book.”

“I can do a sexy thriller. Maybe international?” Bree started walking toward that section of the bookstore. “A couple of options come to mind. Now, on the sexy part—do you want monogamy or can the partners play around?”

Ruth’s eyes brightened. “I’d like them to play around, but nothing too kinky. And no groups. That’s just too hard to keep track of.”

Bree held in a chuckle. “All right. We’ll limit the body parts, add a little European flair.” She held out a book with a hunky guy on the cover. “If you like this one, the author has five more stories waiting for you.”

Ruth, an unnaturally yellow blonde wearing cherry-red lipstick, clutched the book to her narrow chest. “I’ll take it.”

Bree suggested several additional authors. Ruth browsed for a few more minutes, then carried a stack of books to the register.

“I think I would have been a good sidekick for James Bond.” Ruth passed over her credit card. “Back in the day, I was quite the looker.”

“You still are,” Bree told her.

Ruth waved away the comment. “I’m too old for espionage, but I wouldn’t say no to dinner with a charming man.” Her smile turned sly. “I’ll just have to keep living vicariously through you.”

“Sadly, I’m lacking a man these days.”

Ruth leaned close. “What I admire about you, Bree, is that you’re not holding out for love. You go after what you want. When I was your age, that wasn’t an option. Not in polite society anyway. I was born in the wrong time.”

Bree honest to God had no idea what to say. “I guess we have to work with what we have.” She tucked a flyer into the shopping bag. “Harding Burton is signing here in a couple of weeks.”

Ruth looked at the poster next to the counter. Her bright red lips curved into a smile. “He’s a good-looking man.”

Bree mentally shrugged. “I suppose.”

“You don’t think he’s exceptionally handsome? Those eyes, that smile. Isn’t he the one who was hit by a car and left for dead on the side of the road when he was just a teenager?” Ruth clucked her tongue. “So tragic. But he pulled through and walked again and now look at him.” Her gaze darted to Bree. “You should have your way with him and then tell me all about it.”

Bree held in a wince. “First, I’d never tell you about it and second, I don’t date authors.”

Between her late husband and her parents, she knew enough about the type to want to avoid them forever. At least on a personal basis. Work-wise, she was stuck. What with owning a bookstore and all.

“Harding seems exception-worthy,” Ruth told her. “He might have some interesting scars you could trace and—”

Bree held up her hands in the shape of a T. “Stop right there. If you’re interested in Harding’s scars, go for him. How could he resist you?”

“I’m old enough to be his mother.”

Grandmother, Bree mentally corrected, but kept silent. She had a soft spot for the ever-outspoken Ruth.

“Maybe he’s into older women,” she said instead.

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

Ruth was still laughing when Bree walked her out of the store. Anson, Ruth’s driver, was waiting in the no-parking fire lane. Anson helped Ruth into the Mercedes. Bree stayed outside until the car drove away.

Early evening on the beach in Los Angeles was nearly always magical but in June, if the skies cleared, it was the stuff of dreams. Warm air, palm trees, sand and surf. Honestly, she shouldn’t admit to having any real problems in her life. Even Ruth’s impossible book requests were insignificant when compared with the view outside the front door of her store.

Until six months ago, Driftaway Books had been located about two miles north and a good three blocks inland from the actual beach. Last fall, when the current space had come up on the market, Bree had stopped in to drool and dream. But beachfront came at a premium, and the square footage had been nearly double what she’d needed.

In one of those rare moments when fate stepped in and offered an unexpected opportunity, that very day two other women business owners had also been swooning over the same retail space. They’d agreed it was an unbelievable location, right there on the sand, but it had also been too big and expensive for each of them.

Impulsively, Bree had suggested they go get coffee together. Over the next hour they’d discussed the possibility of sharing the lease. Bree generally didn’t trust people until she got to know them, but there had been something about Mikki and Ashley that had made her want to take a chance. By the end of the week Driftaway Books, The Gift Shop and Muffins to the Max had signed a ten-year lease and hired a contractor to remodel. Bree had changed the name of Driftaway Books to The Boardwalk Bookshop, the final step in fully claiming the business as her own. The first Monday after the holidays, they’d moved in together.

Bree looked at the long, low building. Huge display windows were shaded by blue-and-white-striped awnings. The large glass doors could slide completely open, blurring the line between retail and sand. She and Mikki, the gift-store owner, had their stores on either side, with Ashley’s muffin selection taking up the middle space.

Big, bright displays showcased books, gifts and muffins, grouped together in seasonal themes. An array of beach books, sunscreen, flip-flops and wide-brimmed hats enticed tourists who had shown up to the beach unprepared.

Bree headed back inside, aware of the approaching sunset. She collected blankets and champagne glasses, then paused to straighten the poster announcing a book signing by Jairus Sterenberg, author of the popular Brad the Dragon children’s books. Jairus lived in next-door Mischief Bay and was always a pleasure at signings. He was one of the few authors Bree liked. He arrived early, stayed late and asked only for a desk and a glass of water. The man even brought his own pens.

At the other end of the spectrum was a not-to-be-named famous mystery author who was a total nightmare. Demanding, slightly drunk and very handsy, he’d patted her butt one too many times at his last signing and had been banned from the store. Despite pleas from his publicist and a written apology from the author himself, Bree had stood firm. She owned The Boardwalk Bookshop and she made the rules. No literary books, no existential anything and no guys touching women without their permission. Not exactly earth-shattering, but she could only control her little corner of the world.

Mikki saw her and smiled.

“Once again, we’re waiting for Ashley. Have you noticed that?”

“Young people today,” Bree teased.

Mikki, a generally upbeat kind of person, with thick blond hair and more curves than Bree and Ashley combined, laughed. “I like that. I’m only ten years older than her, so if she’s young, then I’m less old than I thought. Maybe I won’t mind turning forty this fall.”

“You’re not seriously worried about it, are you?”

Mikki wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. Sometimes. Maybe. Forty sounds a lot worse than thirty-something.”

“Forty is the new twenty-five.”

Mikki’s humor returned. “If I’m twenty-five, then Ashley’s barely eleven. That could create some legal issues with our lease.” She waved the bottle of champagne she held. “Come on. This needs our attention. When Ashley’s done texting love notes to Seth, she knows where to find us.”

They left the store and walked out onto the sand. With the approach of sunset, the temperature had cooled and the Friday crowd had cleared. The sky had started to darken, while the part that kissed the ocean still glowed bright blue with a hint of yellow.

To their left were a grove of palm trees, a handful of kiosks and a boardwalk that went all the way to Redondo Beach. To the right were more shops and restaurants, benches, parking and hotels. In front of them was the Pacific Ocean. Big, blue and tonight, unexpectedly calm.

They stopped about thirty feet from the shore and sat on the blankets. Mikki held up the champagne.

“Perrier-Jouët Blason Rosé,” she said proudly. “Ladies Know Wine gave it 93 points and said it had ‘delicious hints of sweet earthiness that complement fruit flavors including strawberry and peach with a hint of spice in this perfectly balanced rosé champagne.’”

Bree grinned. “I don’t know which is more impressive. That you’re branching out from traditional champagne or that you can quote a Ladies Know Wine review that well.”

“I love Ladies Know Wine. I savor every issue. If Ladies Know Wine were a man, I would make him fall in love with me. Then we’d have sex.”

“Earl would be crushed.”

Mikki unwrapped the pink foil and tucked it into her khaki pants pocket. “Earl would need to get over it.” She held up the bottle. “Look at the shape of that. It’s beautiful. And the label. Kudos to the design team.”

She held the cork in her left hand and used her right to grip the bottom of the bottle. Instead of pulling on the cork, as often happened in movies, she rotated the bottle several turns until the bottle and cork separated without a hint of a pop.

Last fall the three of them had signed the lease late on a Friday. They’d been so excited, they’d driven out to their new location. The sunny, warm day had promised a beautiful sunset. Bree happened to have a bottle of champagne in her car and had suggested they share it to celebrate their new venture. The following Friday they’d done the same and a tradition had been born.

The first time Bree had opened a bottle of champagne with her business associates, she’d popped the cork and the frothy liquid had spilled over. Mikki’s expression of horror had been so clear as to be comical.

“You’re letting out all the bubbles,” she’d explained. “It changes the essence of the champagne and ruins the experience.”

“Ruins is kind of strong,” Ashley had pointed out. “It’s still really good champagne. Better than what I usually have. Of course most of my champagne drinking is done at weddings where they’re buying for two hundred, so price is a concern.”

“Champagne needs to be treated with reverence,” Mikki had told her. “Don’t drink bad champagne.”

From then on they’d alternated providing the Friday night sunset champagne. Ashley always ran her selection past Mikki, but Bree took her chances by picking it herself.

Mikki poured them each a glass, then put the bottle into the sand, pushing down a little to keep it upright.

“To us,” she said, touching her glass to Bree’s. “And to perfect sunsets.”

Bree smiled and then took a sip. She closed her eyes as she let the bubbly liquid sit on her tongue for a second before swallowing. Mikki was going to ask her how she liked it, and saying it was fine was never an option.

“Delicious,” she said, holding in her smile. “I taste a lot of berry with a hint of citrus. It’s surprisingly creamy.”

Mikki looked at her with approval. “That’s what I get, too. It’s really drinkable. I like it.”

“Noooo! You started without me!”

The shriek came from behind them. Neither of them turned around. Instead, Bree held out the third glass and Mikki filled it. Ashley, a tall, slim redhead with big blue eyes and a full mouth, plopped down next to Mikki. Her lips formed a pout.

“You didn’t wait,” she accused. “You’re supposed to wait.”

“You’re supposed to be on time,” Mikki reminded her. “Every Friday you text with Seth and run late. You agreed either you show up on time or we’re starting without you.”

Ashley ducked her head. “I thought the pressure would help. Instead, I just feel guilty.”

Mikki sipped her champagne. “I’m sure your chronic tardiness has to do with your mother.”

Ashley laughed. “My mom can take your mom anytime.”

Mikki grinned. “I don’t know. Rita would bring her Eeyore self to the party and then talk about how everyone’s good time depressed her.”

“I can see that happening,” Ashley admitted. “Then I’ll toast to both our mothers. And Seth, who is amazing. I in no way feel guilty about texting with him. He loves me and I love him.”

Bree held in a groan. “Yes, we know. It’s all so wonderful.”

Mikki bumped shoulders with Ashley. “She’s jealous.”

“No, no.” Bree held up her glass. “You are welcome to your cooing and clucking relationship.”

“We don’t cluck. What does that even mean?”

“I have no idea,” Mikki admitted. “Bree?”

“It’s just an expression.”

“Clucking is an expression?”

Bree chuckled, then glanced out at the sinking sun. Light reflected on the moving water. A family walked along, close to the waves. An older boy ran ahead, while the parents held hands with a younger child.

They looked happy, she thought, studying them the way she would an unfamiliar species. No doubt the mom and dad loved their children, took care of them. Mikki did that, too, with her two kids. And Ashley’s parents were wonderful. But not all parents were good.

Mikki refilled their glasses. “Ashley, a lot of customers are talking about your brother’s book signing. When are we going to meet him?”

“Monday,” Ashley said. “He’s moving into his new place.”

Harding, Ashley’s brother, after several months on the road for book signings and research, had returned to Los Angeles. He’d leased a house and was supposedly hard at work on book number three. In the meantime, he would be signing at The Boardwalk Bookshop where he would, no doubt, pull in a crowd.

Authors, Bree thought with a silent sigh. An annoying but necessary species. Customers liked book signings, so she had authors come in.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Mikki said. “Such an interesting story. Bree, are you excited about the signing?”

“More than words can say.”

Mikki studied her. “That’s sarcasm, right?”

Bree laughed. “Yes. That’s sarcasm.”

“How can you own a bookstore, love books and hate writers?”

“I don’t hate them. I just don’t want them in my life.”

“You’re so weird.” Mikki turned to Ashley. “Help me out here. Tell her how weird she is.”

Instead of joining in the teasing, Ashley dropped her gaze. “Yes, well, we should talk about Harding. Or more specifically, him and you.”

Bree shifted back so she could angle toward Ashley. “I’ve never met the guy.” Which meant there shouldn’t be a problem. Unless…

 

Excerpted from The Boardwalk Bookshop by Susan Mallery, Copyright © 2022 by Susan Mallery Inc. Published by MIRA Books. 

~~~~~

 

About Author Susan Mallery:

SUSAN MALLERY is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of novels about the relationships that define women’s lives—family, friendship and romance. Library Journal says, “Mallery is the master of blending emotionally believable characters in realistic situations,” and readers seem to agree—forty million copies of her books have been sold worldwide. Her warm, humorous stories make the world a happier place to live.

 

Susan grew up in California and now lives in Seattle with her husband. She’s passionate about animal welfare, especially that of the two Ragdoll cats and adorable poodle who think of her as Mom.

 

SOCIAL LINKS: Twitter / Facebook / Instagram / Website

 

BUY LINKS: Bookshop / Amazon / B&N / Books-A-Million / Kindle / Nook

Google Play / Apple / Kobo / Walmart / Target

~~~~~

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The Wrong Victim by Allison Brennan

Posted: April 29, 2022 in Author Interview, Excerpt, thriller
Tags: , ,
0

The Wrong Victim : A Novel 

by Allison Brennan

On Sale Date: April 26, 2022

9780778312307

Hardcover

$26.99 USD

464 pages

 

ABOUT THE BOOK:

A bomb explodes on a sunset charter cruise out of Friday Harbor at the height of tourist season and kills everyone on board. Now this fishing and boating community is in shock and asking who would commit such a heinous crime—the largest act of mass murder in the history of the San Juan Islands.

 

Was the explosion an act of domestic terrorism, or was one of the dead the primary target? That is the first question Special Agent Matt Costa, Detective Kara Quinn, and the rest of the FBI team need to answer, but they have few clues and no witnesses.

 

Accused of putting profits before people after leaking fuel endangered an environmentally sensitive preserve, the West End Charter company may itself have been the target. As Matt and his team get closer to answers, they find one of their own caught in the crosshairs of a determined killer.

~~~~~

Enjoy this peek inside:

CHAPTER ONE

A killer walked among the peaceful community of Friday Harbor and retired FBI Agent Neil Devereaux couldn’t do one damn thing about it because he had no evidence.

Most cops had at least one case that haunted them long after the day they turned in their badge and retired. For Neil, that obsession was a cold case that his former law enforcement colleagues believed was closed. Not only closed, but not a double homicide at all—simply a tragic accident.

Neil knew they’d got it wrong; he just couldn’t prove it. He hadn’t been able to prove it thirteen years ago, and he couldn’t prove it now.

But he was close.

He knew that the two college boys didn’t drown “by accident;” they were murdered. He had a suspect and he’d even figured out why the boys had been targeted.

Knowing who and why meant nothing. He needed hard evidence. Hell, he’d settle for any evidence. All his theory got him was the FBI file on the deaths sent by an old friend, and the ear of a detective on the mainland who would be willing to investigate if Neil found more.

“I can’t open a closed death investigation without evidence, buddy.”

He would have said the same thing if he was in the same position.

Confronting the suspected killer would be dangerous, even for an experienced investigator like him. This wasn’t an Agatha Christie novel like his mother used to read, where he could bring the suspect and others into a room and run through the facts—only to have the killer jump up and confess.

Neil couldn’t stand to think that anyone might get away with such a brazen murder spree, sparked by revenge and deep bitterness. It’s why he couldn’t let it go, and why he felt for the first time that he was close…close to hard evidence that would compel a new investigation.

He was tired of being placated by the people he used to work with.

He’d spent so long following dead ends that he’d lost valuable time—and with time, the detailed memories of those who might still remember something about that fateful weekend. It was only the last year that Neil had turned his attention to other students at the university and realized the most likely suspect was living here, on San Juan Island, right under his nose.

All this was on his mind when he boarded the Water Lily, his favorite yacht in the West End Charter fleet. He went through his safety checklist, wondering why Cal McKinnon, the deckhand assigned to this sunset cruise, wasn’t already there.

If he wasn’t preoccupied with murder and irritated at Cal, Neil may have noticed the small hole in the bow of the ship, right above the water line, with fishing line coming out of it, taut in the water.

*

“I’m sorry. It’s last minute, I know,” Cal said to Kyle Richards in the clubhouse of West End Charter. “But I really need to talk to Jamie right away.”

“It’s that serious?” asked his longtime friend Kyle.

“I cannot lose her over this. I just can’t. I love her. We’re getting married.”

At least he hoped they were still getting married. Two months ago Jamie finally set a wedding date for the last Saturday in September—the fifth anniversary of their first date. And now this whole thing was a mess, and if Cal didn’t fix it now, he’d never be able to fix it.

You already blew it. You blew it five years ago. You should have told her the truth then!

“Alright then, go,” Kyle said. “I’ll take the cruise. I need the extra money, anyway. But you owe me—it’s Friday night. I had a date.”

Cal clapped Kyle on the back. “I definitely owe you, I’ll take your next crappy shift.”

“Better, give me your next corporate party boat.” Corporate parties on the largest yacht in their fleet had automatic eighteen percent tips added to the bill, which was split between a typical four-man crew in addition to salary. Plus, high-end parties often paid extra. Drunk rich people could become very generous with their pocket cash.

“You got it—it’s next Saturday night, the Fourth of July—so we good?”

Kyle gave him a high five, then left for the dock.

Cal clocked out and started for home. He passed a group of sign-carrying protesters and rolled his eyes.

West End Charter: Profit Over Protection

Protect Fish Not Profits!

Hey Hey Ho Ho Ted Colfax has to go!

Jeez, when would these people just stop? West End Charter had done nearly everything they wanted over the last two years—and then some—but it was never good enough.

Fortunately, the large crowds of protesters that started after the West End accident had dwindled over the last two years from hundreds to a half dozen. Maybe because they got bored, or maybe because West End fixed the problem with their older fleet, Cal didn’t know. But these few remaining were truly radical, and Cal hoped they didn’t cause any problems for the company over the lucrative Fourth of July holiday weekend.

He drove around them and headed home. He had more important things to deal with than this group of misfits.

Cal lived just outside of Friday Harbor with Jamie and their daughter. It was a small house, but all his, his savings covering the down payment after he left the Coast Guard six years ago. But it was Jamie who made the two-bedroom cottage a real home. She’d made curtains for the windows; put up cheery pictures that brightened even the grayest Washington day; and most recently, she’d framed some of Hazel’s colorful artwork for the kitchen nook he’d added on with Kyle’s help last summer.

He’d wanted to put Jamie on the deed when she moved in with him, but she wanted to go slower than that. He wanted to marry her, but she’d had a bad breakup with her longtime boyfriend before they met and was still struggling with the mind games her ex used to play on her. If that bastard ever set foot back on the island, Cal would beat him senseless.

But the ex was far out of the picture, living down in California, and Cal loved Jamie, so he respected her wishes not to pressure her into marriage. When she found out she was pregnant, he asked her to marry him again—she said yes but wanted to wait.

“There’s no rush. I love you, Cal, but I don’t want to get married just because I’m pregnant.”

He would move heaven and earth for Jamie and Hazel—why didn’t she know that?

That’s why when she finally settled on a date, confirmed it with invitations and an announcement in the San Juan Island newspaper, that he thought it would be smooth sailing.

And then she left.

As soon as he got home, he packed an overnight bag while trying to reach Jamie. She didn’t answer her cell phone. More than likely, there was no reception. Service was sketchy on the west side of the island.

He left another message.

“Jamie, we need to talk. I’m sorry, believe me I’m sorry. I love you. I love Hazel. I just want to talk and work this out. I’m coming to see you tonight, okay? Please call me.”

He was so frustrated. Not at Jamie—well, maybe a little because she’d taken off this morning for her dad’s place without even telling him. Just left him a note on the bathroom mirror.

Cal,

I need time to think. Give me a couple days, okay? I love you, but right now I just need a little perspective.

Jamie.

Cal didn’t like the “but” part. What was there to think about? He loved her. They had a life together. Jamie and their little girl Hazel meant everything to him. They were getting married in three months!

He’d given her all day to think and now they needed to talk. Jamie had a bad habit of remaining silent when she was upset, thanks to that prick she’d dated before Cal. Cal much preferred her to get angry, to yell at him, to say exactly how she felt, then they could move on.

He jumped in his old pickup truck and headed west, praying he could salvage his family, the only thing he truly cared about. Failure was not an option.

*

That night Kyle clocked in and told the staff supervisor, Gloria, that Cal was sick, and he was taking the sunset cruise for him.

“Are you lying to me?” Gloria asked, looking over the top of her glasses at him.

“No, well, I mean, he’s not sick sick.” Dammit, Kyle had always been a piss-poor liar. “But he and Jamie had a fight, I guess, and he wants to fix it.”

“Alright, I’ll talk to Cal tomorrow. Don’t you go lying for him.”

“Don’t get him in trouble, Gloria.”

She sighed, took off her large glasses and cleaned them on her cotton shirt. “I like Cal as much as everyone, I’m not going to jam him up, but he should have come to me. I’ll bet he gave you his slot on the Fourth, didn’t he?”

Kyle grinned. Gloria had worked for West End longer than Kyle had been alive. They couldn’t operate without her.

“Eight people total. A party of four and two parties of two.” Gloria handed him the clipboard with the information of those who had registered for tonight’s sunset cruise. “Four bottles of champagne, a case of water, and cheese and fruit trays are onboard. You have one minute.”

“Thanks Gloria!” He ran down the dock to the Water Lily. He texted his boyfriend as he ran.

Hey, taking Cal’s shift, docking at 10—want to meet up then?

He sent the message and almost ran into a group who were already standing at the docks. Two men, two women, drinks in hand from the West End Club bar, in to-go cups.

“Can we board?” the tallest of the four asked.

“Give me one minute. What group are you with?”

“Nava Software.”

Kyle looked at his watch. Technically boarding started in five minutes; they’d be pushing off in twenty.

“I need to get approval from the captain.” He smiled and jumped over the gate. He found Neil Devereaux on the bridge, reading weather reports.

“You’re late,” Neil said without looking up.

“Sorry, Skipper. Cal called in sick.”

Neil looked at him. “Oh, Kyle, I didn’t know it was you. I was expecting Cal.”

“He called out. Everything okay?” Neil didn’t look like his usual chipper self.

“I had a rough day.”

Rough day? Neil was a retired federal agent and got to pick any shift he wanted. Everyone liked him. If he didn’t want to work, he didn’t. He had a pension and didn’t even have to work but said once that he’d be bored if he didn’t have something to do. He spent most of his free time fishing or hanging out at the Fish & Brew. Kyle thought he was pretty cool for a Boomer.

“Your kids okay?” he asked.

Neil looked surprised at the question. “Yes, of course. Why?”

“You said you had a rough day—I just remember you talking about how one of your kids was deployed or something.”

He nodded with a half smile. “Good memory. Jill is doing great. She’s on base in Japan, a mechanic. She loves it. And Eric is good, just works too much at the hospital. Thanks for asking.”

“Four guests are waiting to board—is it okay?”

“There’s always someone early, isn’t there?”

“Better early than late,” Kyle said, parroting something that Neil often said to the crew.

Neil laughed, and Kyle was glad he was able to take the skipper’s mind off whatever was bothering him.

“Go ahead, let them on—rear deck only. Check the lines, supplies, and emergency gear, okay? No food or drink until we pass the marker.”

“Got it.”

Kyle slid down the ladder as his phone vibrated. It was Adam.

 

F&B only place open that late—meet at the club and we’ll walk over, k?

 

He responded with a thumbs-up emoji and a heart, then smiled at the group of four. “Come aboard!”

*

Madelyn Jeffries sat on the toilet—not because she had to pee, but because she didn’t want to go on this cruise, not even for only three hours. She didn’t want to smile and play nice with Tina Marshall just because Pierce wanted to discuss business with Tina’s husband Vince.

She hated Tina. That woman would do anything to make her miserable. All because Pierce had fallen in love with her, Madelyn Cordell, a smart girl from the wrong side of the tracks in Tacoma.

Pierce didn’t understand. He tried, God bless him, but he didn’t. He was from another generation. He understood sex and chivalry and generosity and respect. He was the sweetest man she’d ever met. But he didn’t understand female interactions.

“I know you and Tina had somewhat of a rivalry when we met. But sweetheart, I fell in love with you. There’s no reason for you to be insecure.”

She wasn’t insecure. She and Pierce had something special, something that no one else could understand. Even she didn’t completely understand how she fell so head over heels for a man older than her deadbeat father. Oh, there was probably some psychologist out there who had any number of theories, but all Madelyn knew was that she and Pierce were right.

But Tina made her see red.

Tina, on top of this pregnancy—a pregnancy Madelyn had wanted to keep quiet, between her and Pierce, until she was showing. But somehow Pierce’s kids had found out last week, and they went ballistic.

They were the reason she and Pierce decided to get away for a long weekend. Last night had been wonderful and romantic and exactly what she needed. Then at brunch this morning they ran into Tina and Vince who were on a “vacation” after their honeymoon.

Madelyn didn’t doubt that Tina had found out she was here and planned this. There was no doubt in her mind that Tina had come to put a wedge between her and Pierce. After five years, why couldn’t she just leave her alone?

Just seeing Tina brought back the fearful, insecure girl Madelyn used to be, and she didn’t want that. She loved her life, she loved her husband, and above all she loved the baby inside her.

She flushed the toilet and stepped out of the stall.

Tina stood there by the sink, lips freshly coated with bloodred.

Madelyn stepped around her and washed her hands.

“Vince took me to Paris for our honeymoon for two glorious weeks,” said Tina.

Madelyn didn’t respond.

“I heard that you went to Montana.” Tina giggled a fake, frivolous laugh.

It was true. They’d spent a month in the Centennial Valley for their honeymoon, in a beautiful lodge owned by Pierce. They went horseback riding, hiking, had picnics, and she even learned how to fish—Pierce wanted to teach her, and she found that she enjoyed it. Fishing was relaxing and wholesome, something she’d never considered before. It had been the best month of her life.

But she wasn’t sharing that with Madelyn. Her time with Pierce was private. It was sacred.

She dried her hands and said, “Excuse me.”

“You think you’ve changed, but you haven’t. You’re still the little bug-eyed girl who followed me around for years. I taught you how to walk, I taught you how to attract men, I taught you how to dress and talk and act like you were somebody. If it wasn’t for me, you would never have met Pierce Jeffries. And you took him from me.”

“The boat leaves in five minutes.” Madelyn desperately wanted to get away from Tina.

“Vince and Pierce are going into business together. We’ll be spending a lot of time together, you and me. You would do well to drop the holier-than-thou act and accept the fact that I am back in your life and I’m not going anywhere.”

Madelyn stared at Tina. Once she’d been in awe of the girl, a year older than she was, who always seemed to get what she wanted. Tina was bold, she was beautiful, she was driven.

But she would never be satisfied. Did she even love Vince Marshall? Or had she married him because of the money and status he could give her?

Madelyn hated that when she first met Pierce she had thought he was her ticket out of poverty and menial jobs. She hated that she had followed Tina’s advice on how to seduce an older man.

Madelyn had fallen in love with Pierce, not because he was rich or powerful or for what he could give her. She loved him because he was kind and compassionate. She loved him because he saw her as she was and loved her anyway. But when he proposed to her, she’d fallen apart. She’d told him that she loved him, but she could never marry him because everything she was had been built on a lie—how she got her job at the country club, now they first met, how she had targeted him because he was wealthy and single. She would never forgive herself; how could he? His marriage proposal had been romantic and beautiful—he’d taken her to the bench where they first had a conversation, along the water of Puget Sound. But she ran away, ashamed.

He’d found her, she’d told him everything, the entire truth about who she was—a poor girl from a poor neighborhood who pretended to be worldly and sophisticated to attract men.

He said he loved her even more.

“I knew, Madelyn, from the beginning. But more, I see you, inside and out, and that’s the woman I love.”

Madelyn stared at her onetime friend. “Tina, you would do well to mind your p’s and q’s, because if I tell Pierce to back off, he’ll back off.”

She sounded a lot more confident than she felt. When it came to business, Pierce would listen to her, but he deferred to his oldest son, who worked closely with him. And Madelyn had never given him an ultimatum. She’d never told him what to do about business. She’d never have considered it, except for Tina.

Tina scowled.

Madelyn passed by her, then snipped, “By the way, nice boob job.”

She left, the confrontation draining her. She didn’t want to do this cruise. She didn’t want to go head-to-head with Tina for the next three hours.

She didn’t want to use the baby as an excuse…but desperate times and all that.

Pierce was waiting for her on the dock, talking to Vince Marshall.

“Would you excuse us for one moment, Vince?” she said politely.

“Of course, I’ll catch up with Tina and meet you on the boat.”

She smiled and nodded as he walked back to the harbormaster’s building.

“What is it, love?” Concerned, worried, about her.

“I thought morning sickness was only in the morning. I’m sorry—I fear if I get on that boat, I’ll be ill again. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“Nonsense,” he said. He took her hand, kissed it. “You will never embarrass me.” He put their joined hands on her stomach. The warmth and affection in his eyes made her fall in love with him again. She felt like she loved Pierce a little more every day. “I can meet with Vince tomorrow. I’ll go back to the house with you.”

“This business meeting is important to you, isn’t it?”

“It might be.”

“Then go. Enjoy it. I can get home myself. Isn’t that what Ubers are for?”

“A sunset is not as pretty without the woman I love holding my hand.”

She wanted him home with her, but this was best. They had separate lives, at least in business; she didn’t want to pressure him in any way, just because she detested Tina. “I will wait up for you.”

He leaned over and kissed her. Gently. As if she would break. “Take good care of the woman I love, Bump,” he said to her stomach.

She melted, kissed him again, then turned and walked back down the dock, fighting an overwhelming urge to go back and ask Pierce to come home with her.

But she wouldn’t do it. It was silly and childish. Instead, she would go home, read a good book, and prepare a light meal for when Pierce came home. Then she would make love to her husband and put her past—and that hideous leech Tina Marshall—firmly out of her mind.

*

Jamie already regretted leaving Friday Harbor.

She listened to Cal’s message twice, then deleted it and cleaned up after dinner. Hazel was watching her half hour of PAW Patrol before bath, books, and bed.

Her dad’s remote house near Rogue Harbor was on the opposite side of the island from where they lived. Peaceful, quiet, what she thought she needed, especially since her dad wasn’t here. He was an airline pilot and had a condo in Seattle that he lived in more often than not, coming up here only when he had more than two days off in a row.

She left because she was hurt. She had every right to be hurt, dammit! But now that she was here, she wondered if she’d made a mistake.

Cal hadn’t technically cheated on her. But he also hadn’t told her that his ex-girlfriend was living on the island, not until the woman befriended her. She wouldn’t have thought twice about it except for the fact that Cal had hidden it from her.

She had a bad habit of running away from any hint of approaching drama. She hated conflict and would avoid it at all costs. Her mother was drama personified. How many times had young Jamie run to her dad’s house to get away from her mother’s bullshit? Finally when she was fifteen she permanently moved in with her dad, changed schools, and her mother didn’t say squat.

“You should have stayed and talked it out,” she mumbled to herself as she dried the dishes. The only bad thing about her dad’s place was that there was no dishwasher.

But Cal was coming to see her tonight. He didn’t run away from conflict. She wanted to fix this but didn’t know how because she was hurt. But he had to work, so she figured she had a few hours to think everything through. To know the right thing to do.

“Just tell him. Tell him how you feel.”

Her phone buzzed and at first she thought it was an Amber Alert, because it was an odd sound.

Instead, it was an emergency alert from the San Juan Island Sheriff’s Office.

 

19:07 SJSO ALERT! VESSEL EXPLOSION ONE MILE OUT FROM FRIDAY HARBOR, INJURIES UNKNOWN. ALL VESSELS AVOID FRIDAY HARBOR UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

Her stomach flipped and she grabbed the counter when a wave of dizziness washed over her.

She turned on the small television in the kitchen and switched to the local news. She watched in horror as the news anchor reported that a West End Charter yacht had exploded after leaving for a sunset cruise. He confirmed that it was the Water Lily and did not know at this time if there were survivors. Search and rescue crews were already out on the water, and authorities advised all vessels to dock immediately.

Cal had been scheduled to work the Water Lily tonight.

Hazel laughed at something silly on PAW Patrol. Jamie caught her breath, then suddenly tears fell. How could—? No. Not Cal. She loved him and even if they had problems, he loved Hazel more than anything in the world. He was the best father she could have hoped for. Hazel wasn’t planned, but she was loved so much, and Cal had made it clear that he was sticking, from the very beginning. How could she forget that? How could she have forgotten that Cal had never made her feel inadequate, he’d never hurt her, he always told her she could do anything she wanted? He was always there for her…when she was bedridden with Hazel for two months. When she broke her wrist and Hazel was still nursing, he held the baby to her breast every four hours. Changed every diaper. He sang to Hazel, read her books, giggled with her in makeshift blanket forts when thunder scared her.

And now he was gone.

There could be survivors. You have to go.

She couldn’t bring Hazel to the dock. The search, the sirens, the fear that filled the town. It would terrify the three-year-old.

But she couldn’t stay here. Cal needed her—injured or not, he needed her and she loved him. It was as simple as that. Rena would watch Hazel so Jamie could find Cal, make sure he was okay.

“Hazel, we’re going home.”

“I wanna sleep at Grandpa’s!”

“I forgot to feed Tabby.” Tabby was a stray cat who had adopted their carport on cold or rainy nights. He wouldn’t come into the house, and only on rare occasions would let Jamie pet him, but she’d started feeding him. Hazel had of course named him after a cat on her favorite show.

“Oh, Mommy! We gotta go rescue Tabby!”

And just like that, Hazel was ready.

Please, God, please please please please make Cal okay.

*

Ashley Dunlap didn’t like lying to her sister, but Whitney couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, and if Whitney said one word to their dad about Ashley’s involvement with Island Protectors, she’d be grounded until she graduated—and maybe even longer.

“We’re going to be late,” Whitney said.

“Dad will understand,” Ashley said, looking through the long lens of her camera at the West End Charter boat leaving port. She snapped a couple pictures, though they were too far away to see anything.

She was just one of several monitors who were keeping close tabs on West End boats in the hopes that they would catch them breaking the law. West End may have been able to convince most people in town that they had cleaned up their act, and some even believed their claims that the leakage two years ago was an accident, but as the founder of IP Donna Bell said time and time again, companies always put profit over people. And just because they hadn’t caught them breaking the law didn’t mean that they weren’t breaking the law. It was IP who documented the faulty fuel tanks two years ago that leaked their nasty fuel all over the coast. Who knows how many fish died because of their crimes? How long it would take the ecosystem to recover?

“Ash, Dad said not a minute past eight, and it’s already seven thirty. It’s going to take us thirty minutes just to dock and secure the boat.”

“It’s a beautiful evening,” Ashley said, turning her camera away from the Water Lily and toward the shore. Another boat was preparing to leave, but the largest yacht in the fleet—The Tempest—was already out with a group of fifty whale watching west of the island in the Haro Strait. Bobby and his brother were out that way, monitoring The Tempest.

Ashley was frustrated. They just didn’t have people who cared enough to take the time to monitor West End. There were only about eight or nine of them who were willing to spend all their free time standing up to West End, tracking their boats, making sure they were obeying the rules.

Everyone else just took West End’s word for it.

Whitney sighed. “I could tell Dad the sail snagged.”

“You can’t lie to save your life, sis,” Ashley said. “We’ll just tell him the truth. It’s a beautiful night and we got distracted by the beauty of the islands.”

Whitney laughed, then smiled. “It is pretty, isn’t it? Think those pictures are going to turn out? It’s getting a little choppy.”

“Some of them might,” she said.

Ashley turned her camera back to the Water Lily. The charter was still going only five knots as they left the harbor. She snapped a few pictures, saw that Neil Devereaux was piloting today. She liked Neil—he spent a lot of time at the Fish & Brew talking to her dad and anyone else who came in. He’d only lived here for a couple years, but he seemed like a native of the small community. She’d talked to him about the pollution problem from West End, and he kept saying that West End fixed the problem with the old tanks and he’d seen nothing to suggest that they had other problems or cut corners on the repairs. He told her he would look around, and if anything was wrong, he’d bring it to the Colfax family’s attention.

But could she believe him? Did he really care or was he just trying to get her to go away and leave West End alone?

Neil looked over at their sailboat, and both she and Whitney waved. He blew the horn and waved back.

A breeze rattled the sail, and Whitney grabbed the beam. “Shit!” she said.

Ashley put her camera back in its case and caught the rope dangling from the mast. “You good, Whit?”

“Yeah, it just slipped. Beautiful scenery is distracting. I got it.”

Whitney bent down to secure the line, and Ashley turned back toward the Water Lily as it passed the one-mile marker and picked up speed.

The bow shook so hard she thought they might have hit something, then a fireball erupted, shot into the air along with wood and—oh, God, people!—bright orange, then black smoke billowed from the Water Lily. The stern kept moving forward, the boat in two pieces—the front destroyed, the back collapsing.

Whitney screamed and Ashley stared. She saw a body in the water among the debris. The flames went out almost immediately, but the smoke filled the area.

“We have to help them,” Ashley said. “Whitney—”

Then a second explosion sent a shock wave toward their sailboat and it was all they could do to keep from going under themselves. Sirens on the shore sounded the alarm, and Ashley and Whitney headed back to the harbor as the sheriff’s rescue boats went toward the disaster.

Taking a final look back, Ashley pulled out her camera and took more pictures. If West End was to blame for this, Ashley would make sure they paid. Neil was a friend, a good man, like a grandfather to her. He…he couldn’t have survived. Could he?

She stared at the smoking boat, split in two.

No. She didn’t see how anyone survived that.

Tears streamed down her face and as soon as she and Whitney were docked, she hugged her sister tight.

I’ll get them, Neil. I promise you, I’ll prove that West End cut corners and killed you and everyone else.

Excerpted from The Wrong Victim by Allison Brennan, Copyright © 2022 by Allison Brennan. Published by MIRA Books. 

~~~~~

Q&A with Allison Brennan

1.What type of research do you do when thinking of and writing your novel? The Wrong Victim uses both the FBI and local police department, do you speak with individuals who actually work in these fields?

I love research. It started long before I published my first book — I read true crime, watched true crime documentaries, read about current events. Once I was published, I found experts willing to talk to me! In 2008, I participated in the FBI Citizens Academy, and to this day the Public Information Officer (now retired) is happy to answer my questions. I’ve toured Quantico, visited the morgue (twice!) and viewed an autopsy, been on several ride-alongs with local police and sheriff, and have several people across all areas of law enforcement to ask questions. In fact, my oldest daughter is now a police officer, and she’s working on getting me a ride along in a specific precinct where I plan to set a future book. She also connected me with a K-9 officer when I was writing a short story about a retired K-9.

For THE WRONG VICTIM, I reached out to a writer friend of mine who is a retired ATF agent — he was instrumental in helping me with the explosives.

I write fiction and take a lot of liberties with the information I learn. However, I want to be as realistic as possible. To me, as long as what I’m writing is plausible, then I’ll go with it. I write to entertain first and foremost, and sometimes too many forensic details or investigative facts can slow down a story. I’m always seeking to find the right balance.

  1. How do you decide where to base your story? This book is based in the San Juan islands and I know Matt Costa’s special team travels.

The premise of the Quinn & Costa mobile response team series is that they are a well-trained group of FBI agents who travel to small, rural, and underserved communities — places where local police may not have the resources to handle a complex investigation such as a serial killer or, in the case of THE WRONG VICTIM, an explosion. So I look for places where setting fits the story. For this book, I had the idea first — a charter boat explodes, who was the intended victim? So that told me I needed a remote, water-based community and looked on a map. The San Juan Islands immediately drew me in, and after reading about the area, I quickly made the decision. I had planned to visit before I wrote the book, but alas, 2020 was not a year for travel, and so I relied on interviews and the internet for information.

  1. Do you travel or visit the places you write about first?

If I can, but unfortunately, sometimes that isn’t possible. That’s when research and interviews come in handy!

One of my earlier books, I thought I had researched very well — even talking to people who lived in the region (Seattle) and looking extensively on maps. But I made a mistake about how to get from Point A to Point B and a reader pointed it out. Now I take much more care in making sure I get these details right if I’m writing about a place I don’t know well.

I had wanted to visit the San Juan Islands before writing THE WRONG VICTIM — not just for the book, but because I’d always wanted to go there. Unfortunately, 2020 happened and that wasn’t possible. The book I recently finished writing, the currently untitled fourth Quinn & Costa book, takes place in the bayou in Louisiana. I’ve been to Louisiana many times, and my best friend lives there. While I created a fictional town, I drew upon my personal knowledge and the help of my bestie!

  1. How did you come up with your idea for a loaned LA officer who cannot return due to her undercover work?

When I was writing the first Quinn & Costa book, Kara Quinn — the Los Angeles detective on leave — wasn’t going to be a series character. She was going to be a catalyst of sorts for Matt Costa, the team leader. So creating her character, I thought it would be fun to have her as an undercover detective, someone has a unique skill set that would be valuable in Matt’s current investigation.

Well, by the time I finished writing the book, I knew Kara had to return. I just loved her character and felt she had the most growth to do in the series, plus would provide a different perspective to the crimes because of her background. I didn’t know even after I finished writing the book how or why she was going to be on loan to the FBI, I had to sit on that for a few days until I worked out something that made sense to me.

  1. How do you decide which books become a series versus a stand alone story?

This is a great question!

For me, all stories — stand alone or series — start with character. Without compelling, interesting, and complex characters, the story falls flat.

In a series, the characters must be interesting enough that readers will want to revisit them and see them in different situations. This is why police procedurals and amateur sleuths truly lend themselves to series books. You like the world, the characters, how they grow over time and want to revisit them over and over and see what’s going on in that world. The same way, I think, television viewers like favorite shows. The plots are interesting and often twisty, but readers (or viewers) really return to find out what happens to the people we’ve grown to love and hate and worry about.

So when I have an idea that is predominately character based — a team of FBI agents, for example — I focus on making those people as real and authentic as possible with an eye toward how they are going to grow and develop over multiple stories. I still want to have a strong plot — so I put them in situations or solving cases that are dangerous or interesting. By the end of the book, I want my characters to learn something about the team or themselves, to grow in some way, however small it might be. I want the series books to stand alone — so new readers can find the books in the middle of the series — while also giving regular readers a character growth arc from book to book.

For a stand alone, while characters are ALWAYS going to be important, they are there for one story only. They need to have a complete character arc from beginning to end so that the reader is fully satisfied at the story conclusion. Plot is important in both types of stories, but in a stand alone the situation/plot provides a stronger framework and backbone than in a series. There is often a universal theme that resonates, that is in some ways bigger than the story itself. Stand alones, at least for me, are about ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances — so readers wouldn’t expect those characters to return in a different story.

~~~~~

 

ABOUT AUTHOR ALLISON BRENNAN:

ALLISON BRENNAN is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of over thirty novels. She has been nominated for Best Paperback Original Thriller by International Thriller Writers and the Daphne du Maurier Award. A former consultant in the California State Legislature, Allison lives in Arizona with her husband, five kids and assorted pets.

 

Social Links: Website / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Goodreads

 

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Bookshop / Indie Bound / B&N / Amazon / Books A Million / Kindle 

Nook / Kobo / Google Play / Ibooks

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