Posts Tagged ‘suspense’

Doolittle
Harley Wylde
(Devil’s Fury MC)
Published by: Changeling Press
Publication date: January 21st 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

Minnie — The Reckless Kings told me it was pointless to pine after Satyr. I kept offering myself to him, hoping he’d see me as something more. I was a fool. All that man will ever see when he looks at me is a club girl. I’ll always be trash in his eyes. So when the President offers me a chance at a new life, I grab on with both hands. It might mean living with yet another club — the Devil’s Fury — but once I meet Doolittle, my entire world turns upside down. I’d thought myself in love with Satyr, but I was so very wrong. Doesn’t matter. Same situation, different man. I might be starting my life over, but Doolittle knows what I am, what I’ve been… and he’ll never want someone like me as his old lady.

Doolittle — Beast asked a favor and I gladly agreed. I have no problem with a woman who wants a fresh start. Before I even met Minnie, I’d offered to let her work at my clinic. I don’t know what I expected. But the stunning woman who shows up leaves me tripping over myself. I’ve never met anyone like her before, and the instant connection between us is startling. Just one problem. Well, three. The first is Meredith. The girl won’t take no for an answer and is determined I’ll be hers. The second is that Minnie feels unworthy of being mine. I’ll just have to prove her wrong. The third I never saw coming, and it just might change everything.

WARNING: Doolittle is part of the Devil’s Fury MC romance series and contains bad language, violence, and adult situations. You’ll also find entirely too many adorable animals, no cheating, and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

In the last three months, I’d been with Satyr a handful of times. I’d been coming here less and less. If it weren’t for Brick requesting my presence tonight, I probably wouldn’t have come. When he’d asked me to join him for a drink, I hadn’t been able to say no.

Brick reached out and grabbed my hand. “I know this isn’t how you wanted things to end. We were all hoping Satyr would pull his head out of his ass.”

“You’ve all been warning me for a while now. Everyone knew he’d never want me as more than easy pussy. It was stupid for me to think he might change his mind.”

“Minnie, he’s my brother and I have to side with him, but… I think he’s missing out on something special with you. It’s been clear from the beginning you’re different from most of the women who come here.” Brick patted my hand. “Which is why Beast would like to run an idea by you. Head on back to his office. He’s expecting you.”

I stood and went down the back hall and knocked on the President’s door. I’d wondered why he was here on a party night. Ever since he’d claimed Lyssa, he’d started heading home when things heated up at the clubhouse. I couldn’t blame him. His wife was wonderful.

“Come in,” he barked.

I opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it open so no one would get the wrong idea. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“Brick said you wanted to see me,” I said.

He nodded. “I know things haven’t worked out well for you here. You plan on staying in town?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I have a job and an apartment, but… I really don’t want to see Satyr around town if I can avoid it. There’s nothing holding me here. My job isn’t exactly fabulous.”

“I heard you have some experience with animals,” he said.

“The human variety or the furred type?” I asked.

He smirked. “Probably both, but I meant the kind with feathers, fur, or scales.”

“I do. I worked in the kennels at a boarding place during high school. I mostly dealt with dogs and cats though.”

“There’s someone with the Devil’s Fury arriving here tonight. He’s bringing a puppy for the kids. Someone tossed it into a sack and tried to drown it. Goes by the name of Doolittle.” I wasn’t sure what that had to do with me. Was he asking me to pet sit whenever he went out of town? I must have looked as confused as I felt because he smiled and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his desk. “The Devil’s Fury are down in Georgia. Doolittle isn’t just one of their patched members, but he’s also a veterinarian. Owns a local practice. I mentioned your situation to him, and he’d like to help.”

“Help how?” I asked.

“Meet with him and hear him out. He’d like to hire you to work in the kennels at his clinic, but also to help with the animals he takes home. He has an entire sunroom filled with all sorts of critters that need attention. Sound like something that might interest you?”

I nodded. “It does. Not sure trading one club for another is the smartest idea though.”

“You wouldn’t be a club whore there, Minnie. It’s a fresh start for you. No one in town will know your past, except the Devil’s Fury officers and Doolittle. None of them are going to say a damn word to anyone. Even though some of their other members have been here a time or two, I know you didn’t spend time with them. I doubt they’d remember seeing you here. Just think about it.”

Author Harley Wylde:

Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil’s Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series.
When Harley’s writing, her motto is the hotter the better — off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place. She doesn’t shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve.

The times Harley isn’t writing, she’s thinking up naughty things to do to her husband, drinking copious amounts of Starbucks, and reading. She loves to read and devours a book a day, sometimes more. She’s also fond of TV shows and movies from the 1980’s, as well as paranormal shows from the 1990’s to today, even though she’d much rather be reading or writing.

You can find out more about Harley or enter her monthly giveaway on her website. Be sure to join her newsletter while you’re there to learn more about discounts, signing events, and other goodies!

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The Legend of the Dogman

by David C. Posthumus

Genre: Horror, Thriller, Suspense

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Something dark and malevolent stalks the majestic Northwoods of Michigan, and each corpse sends a new wave of terror through the small town of LeRoy. Anthropology professor Jack Allen uncovers a pattern of strange encounters, disappearances, and unsolved murders that shake him to his core. The deeper Jack delves into the horror in the woods, the more his life falls apart around him. With his family and all of Northern Michigan hanging in the balance, Jack must find a way to stop the cycle or risk losing everything to the ultimate predator. Meet a new kind of monster in David C. Posthumus’s bone-chilling suspenseful thriller, The Legend of the Dogman!

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Get it discounted from Timber Ghost Press !

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What are your top 10 favorite books/authors?

When it comes to fiction, I love horror and action and adventure. Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Edgar Allen Poe, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Peter Benchley, Michael Crichton, etc. I read a lot of westerns growing up, like Louis L’Amour, Zane Grey, and Larry McMurtry. I love the classics too, Hesse, Hemingway, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, Salinger, Orwell, et al. I love Ken Kesey and the whole beat and psychedelic movement. But I also read a lot of nonfiction. I’m somewhat of a history buff, and I’m endlessly fascinated by World War II and Native American history and cultures. I also love reading about classic rock bands like The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Neil Young, etc. and am really interested in religion and the occult or Western esoteric traditions. There are so many similarities when you get down to the bedrock of religious traditions around the world, and that really fascinates me.

 

What book do you think everyone should read?

Man, that’s a really tough one. The Bible? Siddhartha? The Bhagavad Gita? East of Eden? 1984? I guess my grownup self would suggest things that are quite different from my 18-year-old self.

 

How long have you been writing?

I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. I guess I really got going on it in first grade. I’d write books about my favorite athletes, and I’d also do these movie adaptations. Then I started writing about cops and robbers. Then I started writing my own Indiana Jones stories. Then later I started writing horror fiction. I wrote fiction from about first grade through early high school. I remember in seventh grade English class I was writing a western novel about a gunslinger based on Doc Holliday. As I’d finish each chapter, the other kids in the class would pass the manuscript around and read it, like a serial or something. That was really cool. Then in college I started writing more nonfiction, things for school, history, anthropology, etc., and I didn’t really come back to writing fiction until quite recently. I am also a songwriter and have been doing that off and on since I was in fourth or fifth grade.

 

Do the characters all come to you at the same time or do some of them come to you as you write?

Both. I usually have some idea of who my characters are, but then they develop as the writing and the story progress and take on a mind of their own. They dictate a lot of the plot, and I’m always learning new things about my characters. They keep me on my toes. I uncover their true selves a little at a time, like an archaeologist excavating an ancient site or something.

 

What kind of research do you do before you begin writing a book?

Usually it’s pretty minimal. I try to write about what I know and am passionate about. I do some research as I go, but usually not a whole lot up front. I start with what-if scenarios and try to let the story grow and unfold as organically as possible.

 

Do you see writing as a career?

Unfortunately, I guess not. I wish it was my career, and that’d be a dream come true, but right now it’s not paying the bills. Ha! So, I guess I see writing as a hobby, a passion, something that I love and need to do. But not a career. I feel like a career has to be a job that produces enough money for you and your family to live on, and so far writing hasn’t done that for me. But I have a deep drive and need to express myself creatively in one form or another, whether it’s music or writing or whatever. It’s very cathartic and therapeutic for me. It’s often how I work things out and feel. It’s also something I really love doing and have always loved doing, so it’s a very deep, essential part of me, very central to who I am.

 

What do you think about the current publishing market?

Well, I don’t know a whole lot about it, but it seems pretty tough. It’s kind of strange, there are so many smaller presses out there now and new ways to get your work in print, and yet it’s still extremely hard to get published (outside of self-publishing) and even harder to find an agent to represent you and help you succeed in the industry. It seems like a needle in a haystack scenario. Those agents must have very specific ideas about exactly who and what they want in their clientele. They have a lot of power as gatekeepers. I think I got really lucky finding Cody and Timber Ghost Press, and they’ve been a dream to work with.

 

Do you read yourself and if so what is your favorite genre?

Of course I read! I’ve always been an avid and voracious reader of many genres, both fiction and nonfiction. I like horror, thriller/suspense, action/adventure, sci-fi, fantasy, you name it. I also love history, anthropology, and religious studies, and I’m a real sucker for rock and roll biographies and memoirs.

 

Do you prefer to write in silence or with noise? Why?

In silence. That way I can hear my train of thought a comin’. I’ve always found it easier to tap into my subconscious in a quiet room with few distractions and the door closed. Everything just seems to flow better for me that way. It evokes (or invokes?) my muse and stimulates my creativity and imagination.

 

Do you write one book at a time or do you have several going at a time?

One at a time. Serious writing projects take over my life, so I can only handle one at a time. It’s kind of like a marriage or having a kid you have to tend to. Hahaha.

 

If you could have been the author of any book ever written, which book would you choose?

The Bible. It’s been a bestseller for quite some time now.

 

Pen or type writer or computer?

Computer. Sometimes I’ll take notes or do some outlining on a pad of paper, but when it comes time to get down to business, it’s computer all the way.

 

Tell us about a favorite character from a book.

I really like Gandalf. That guy is the shit. I wish I could do all that magical stuff like he does. Aragorn is pretty cool too. Hermann Hesse’s characters in Demian and Narcissus and Goldmund are great. I also love every character in The Losers’ Club from IT. It’s hard not to love them. They all seem very familiar, too, like they’re all based on people you know or even yourself. Robert Jordan in For Whom the Bell Tolls is also a great character. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are also wonderful.

 

What made you want to become an author and do you feel it was the right decision?

I always liked expressing myself with the written or spoken (or sung) word. So, I guess there was no decision there. It’s just a part of who I am. It’s something that I naturally do. I have no choice! I’m a prisoner to the word!

 

Advice they would give new authors?

Writing is good for the soul.

 

Describe your writing style.

It’s like how Led Zeppelin played live: tight but loose. When I’m working on a novel, I’m very disciplined about getting a set number of words down each day. But at the same time, I’m very loose or freeform, almost like stream of consciousness. I hardly ever plot things out in much detail, I unleash my subconscious mind and let it roam freely, and I let my characters dictate a lot of the story.

 

What makes a good story?

Tension, emotion, good and evil, some likeable characters and others you love to hate or are terrified of, some lofty principles or values maybe. A good story has to be able to transport you out of your mundane life or headspace and into another dimension, into the world of the story, where things are fresh and exciting and the stakes are really high.

 

What are they currently reading?

Bob Spitz’s new Led Zeppelin biography.

 

What is your writing process? For instance do you do an outline first? Do you do the chapters first? 

I usually start with a what-if scenario. I have a Google doc full of basic what-if scenarios that are the little seeds of my writing projects, like little story larvae. They’re just the weird good ideas that come to all of us randomly that we usually neglect to write down and forget. Then once I have the what-if scenario, I’ll think through a rough plot outline sometimes, and there have to be characters involved to do that, but then I just like to get going and see where the characters and story take me. I find that the best and most original plot twists come out of the blue when you least expect them when you’re fully immersed in the process and living in the world of the story. They just hit you in the shower or when you’re walking the dog, and you’re like, “YESSSSSSS! That’s perfect!” It’s really quite magical in every sense of the term.

 

What are common traps for aspiring writers?

Worrying too much about plot. Being afraid to start. Losing steam and not being able to follow through and finish. General insecurity about writing or being able to tell a good story. Second-guessing yourself.

 

What is your writing Kryptonite?

Distractions of any kind.

 

Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?

I guess I try to be more original, because I let the story flow and mutate on its own as much as possible. But at the same time, I think I’m still able to deliver the goods in terms of what readers want, and there are some good innovative twists on some classic horror tropes.

 

If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

Try to make a career out of writing right away, in your teens or twenties. Don’t wait.

 

How long on average does it take you to write a book?

It depends on how dedicated I am to it. Sometimes two or three months to write a good first draft. Other times I start and stop and take weeks or months or even years off. Then it could take a good long while. But when I’m really in the zone and being really good and disciplined about it, it usually takes two to three months. And those tend to be the best projects.

 

Do you believe in writer’s block?

No. I have no reason to so far. *Knocks on wood*

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David C. Posthumus began his writing career at age six, when his grandfather read one of his first-grade publications and labeled him “Ernie (Hemingway) Jr.” Posthumus is a voracious reader of many genres, fiction and nonfiction, and an avid horror fan and fiction writer. He has published extensively in the fields of anthropology and Native American studies, including one published book (All My Relatives: Exploring Lakota Ontology, Belief, and Ritual, University of Nebraska Press, 2018), one book forthcoming (Lakota: Culture, History, and Modernities, University of Oklahoma Press, 2022), as well as several journal articles, book chapters, and reviews. Aside from having the perfect surname for horror, Posthumus loves dogs, the great outdoors, and is also a musician and lifelong music lover.

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THE GOOD SON

Author: Jacquelyn Mitchard

ISBN: 9780778311799

Publication Date: January 18, 2022

Publisher: MIRA Books

 

Synopsis

From one of America’s most beloved storytellers, #1 New York Times and #1 USA Today bestselling author Jacquelyn Mitchard, comes the gripping novel of a mother who must help her son after he is convicted of a devastating crime. Perfect for book clubs and fans of Mary Beth Keane and Jodi Picoult—this novel asks the question, how well does any mother know her child?

For Thea, understanding how her sweet son Stefan could be responsible for a heinous crime is unfathomable. Stefan was only 17 when he went to prison for the negligent homicide of girlfriend, college freshman Belinda McCormack—a crime he was too strung out on drugs even to remember. Released at 21, he is seen as a symbol of white privilege and differential justice by his local community, and Belinda’s mother, Jill McCormack, who also happens to be Thea’s neighbor, organizes protests against dating violence in her daughter’s memory.

Stefan is sincere in his desire to start over and make amends, and Thea is committed to helping him.  But each of their attempts seems to hit a roadblock, both emotionally and psychologically, from the ever-present pressure of local protestors, the media, and even their own family.

But when the attacks on them turn more sinister, Thea suspects that there is more to the backlash than community outrage. She will risk her life to find out what forces are at work to destroy her son and her family…and discover what those who are threatening them are trying to hide.

This is a story in which everything known to be true is turned inside out and love is the only constant that remains.

Buy Links: 

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Barnes & Noble

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Books-A-Million

Powell’s

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Enjoy this glimpse inside:

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I was picking my son up at the prison gates when I spotted the mother of the girl he had murdered.

Two independent clauses, ten words each, joined by an adverb, made up entirely of words that would once have been unimaginable to think, much less say.

She pulled in—not next to me, but four spaces over—in the half circle of fifteen-minute spots directly in front of the main building. It was not where Stefan would walk out. That would be over at the gatehouse. She got out of her car, and for a moment I thought she would come toward me. I wanted to talk to her, to offer something, to reach out and hold her, for we had not even been able to attend Belinda’s funeral. But what would I say? What would she? This was an unwonted crease in an already unaccustomed day. I slid deep into my down coat, and wished I could lock the car doors, although I feared that the sound would crack the predawn darkness like a rifle shot. All that Jill McCormack did, however, was shove her hands into the pockets of her jacket and lean against the back bumper of her car. She wore the heavy maroon leather varsity jacket that her daughter Belinda, captain of the high school cheer team in senior year, had given to her, to Stefan, and to me, with our names embroidered in gold on the back, just like hers.

I hadn’t seen Jill McCormack up close for years, though she lived literally around the corner. Once, I used to stop there to sit on her porch, but now I avoided even driving past the place.

Jill seemed smaller, diminished, the tumult of ash-blond hair I remembered cropped short and seemingly mostly white, though I knew she was young when Belinda was born, and now couldn’t be much past forty. Yet, even just to stand in the watery, slow-rising light in front of a prison, she was tossed together fashionably, in gold-colored jeans and boots, with a black turtleneck, a look I would have had to plan for days. She looked right at my car, but gave no sign that she recognized it, though she’d been in it dozens of times years ago. Once she had even changed her clothes in my car. I remember how I stood outside it holding a blanket up over the windows as she peeled off a soaking-wet, floor-length, jonquil-yellow crystal-beaded evening gown that must, at that point, have weighed about thirty pounds, then slipped into a clean football warm-up kit. After she changed, we linked arms with my husband and we all went to a ball.

But I would not think of that now.

I had spent years assiduously not thinking of any of that.

A friendship, like a crime, is not one thing, or even two people. It’s two people and their shared environs and their histories, their common memories, their words, their weaknesses and fears, their virtues and vanities, and sometimes their shame.

Jill was not my closest friend. Some craven times, I blessed myself with that—at least I was spared that. There had always been Julie, since fifth grade my heart, my sharer. But Jill was my good friend. We had been soccer moms together, and walking buddies, although Jill’s swift, balanced walk was my jog. I once kept Belinda at my house while Jill went to the bedside of her beloved father who’d suffered a stroke, just as she kept Stefan at her house with Belinda when they were seven and both had chicken pox, which somehow neither I nor my husband, Jep, ever caught. And on the hot night of that fundraising ball for the zoo, so long ago, she had saved Stefan’s life.

Since Jill was a widow when we first met, recently arrived in the Midwest from her native North Carolina, I was always talking her into coming to events with Jep and me, introducing her to single guys who immediately turned out to be hopeless. That hot evening, along with the babysitter, the two kids raced toward the new pool, wildly decorated with flashing green lights, vines and temporary waterfalls for a “night jungle swim.” Suddenly, the sitter screamed. When Jill was growing up, she had been state champion in the 200-meter backstroke before her devout parents implored her to switch to the more modest sport of golf, and Belinda, at five, was already a proficient swimmer. My Stefan, on the other hand, sank to the bottom like a rock and never came up. Jill didn’t stop to ask questions. Kicking off her gold sandals, in she went, an elegant flat race dive that barely creased the surface; seconds later she hauled up a gasping Stefan. Stefan owed his life to her as surely as Belinda owed her death to Stefan.

In seconds, life reverses.

Jill and I once talked every week. It even seemed we once might have been machatunim, as they say in Yiddish, parents joined by the marriage of their son and daughter. Now, the circumstances under which we might ever exchange a single word seemed as distant as the bony hood of moon above us in the melting darkness.

What did she want here now? Would she leave once Stefan came through the gates? In fact, she left before that. She got back into her car, and, looking straight ahead, drove off.

I watched until her car was out of sight.

Just after dawn, a guard walked Stefan to the edge of the enclosure. I looked up at the razor wire. Then, opening the window slightly, I heard the guard say, “Do good, kid. I hope I never see you again.” Stefan stepped out, and then put his palm up to a sky that had just begun to spit snow. He was twenty, and he had served two years, nine months and three days of a five-year sentence, one year of which the judge had suspended, noting Stefan’s unblemished record. Still, it seemed like a week; it seemed like my entire life; it seemed like a length of time too paltry for the monstrous thing he had done. I could not help but reckon it this way: For each of the sixty or seventy years Belinda would have had left to live, Stefan spent only a week behind bars, not even a season. No matter how much he despaired, he could always see the end. Was I grateful? Was I ashamed? I was both. Yet relief rippled through me like the sweet breeze that stirs the curtains on a summer night.

I got out and walked over to my son. I reached up and put my hand on his head. I said, “My kid.”

Stefan placed his huge warm palm on the top of my head. “My mom,” he said. It was an old ritual, a thing I would not have dared to do in the prison visiting room. My eyes stung with curated tears. Then I glanced around me, furtively. Was I still permitted such tender old deeds? This new universe was not showing its hand. “I can stand here as long as I want,” he said, shivering in wonderment. Then he said, “Where’s Dad?”

“He told you about it. He had to see that kid in Louisville one more time,” I told him reluctantly. “The running back with the very protective grandmother. He couldn’t get out of it. But he cut it short and he’ll be home when we get back, if he beats the weather out of Kentucky this morning, that is.” Jep was in only his second season as football coach at the University of Wisconsin–Whitewater, a Division II team with significant chops and national esteem. We didn’t really think he would get the job, given our troubles, but the athletic director had watched Jep’s career and believed deeply in his integrity. Now he was never at rest: His postseason recruiting trips webbed the country. Yet it was also true that while Stefan’s father longed equally for his son to be free, if Jep had been able to summon the words to tell the people who mattered that he wanted to skip this trip altogether, he would have. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it’s a big day, our son’s getting out of prison.

Now, it seemed important to hurry Stefan to the car, to get out of there before this new universe recanted. We had a long drive back from Black Creek, where the ironically named Belle Colline Correctional Facility squatted not far from the campus of the University of Wisconsin–Black Creek. Stefan’s terrible journey had taken him from college to prison, a distance of just two miles as the crow flies. I felt like the guard: I never wanted to see the place again. I had no time to think about Jill or anything else except the weather. We’d hoped that the early-daylight release would keep protestors away from the prison gates, and that seemed to have worked: Prisoners usually didn’t walk out until just before midday. There was not a single reporter here, which surprised me as Jill was tireless in keeping her daughter Belinda’s death a national story, a symbol for young women in abusive relationships. Many of the half dozen or so stalwarts who still picketed in front of our house nearly every day were local college and high-school girls, passionate about Jill’s work. As Stefan’s release grew near, their numbers rose, even as the outdoor temperatures fell. A few news organizations put in appearances again lately as well. I knew they would be on alert today and was hoping we could beat some of the attention by getting back home early. In the meantime, a snowstorm was in the forecast: I never minded driving in snow, but the air smelled of water running over iron ore—a smell that always portended worse weather.

 

Excerpted from The Good Son by Jacquelyn Mitchard. Copyright © 2022 by Jacquelyn Mitchard. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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Author Jacquelyn Mitchard:

#1 New York Times bestselling author Jacquelyn Mitchard has written nine previous novels for adults; six young adult novels; four children’s books; a memoir, Mother Less Child; and a collection of essays, The Rest of Us: Dispatches from the Mother Ship. Her first novel, The Deep End of the Ocean, was the inaugural selection of the Oprah Winfrey Book Club, and  later adapted for a feature film. Mitchard is a frequent lecturer and a professor of fiction and creative nonfiction at Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier. She lives on Cape Cod with her husband and their nine children.

Social Links:

Author Website

Facebook: Jacquelyn Mitchard

Twitter: @JackieMitchard

Instagram: @jacquelynmitchard

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If you’re like me, you have a pile of books beckoning to you from your lists. Carole hosts this fun feature where you can share some of those older books and perhaps nudge you to finally read them. If you want to join in on the fun, head over to Carole’s Random Life In Books and leave a link to your post.
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Extreme Honor

True Heroes #1

by Piper J. Drake

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Genre: Military / Suspense / Romance

Synopsis

Hot military heroes, the women who love them, and the dogs that always have their backs. EXTREME HONOR is the first book in a high adrenaline contemporary suspense series from Piper J. Drake.

HONOR, LOYALTY, LOVE

David Cruz is good at two things: war and training dogs. The ex-soldier’s toughest case is Atlas, a Belgian Malinois whose handler died in combat. Nobody at Hope’s Crossing Kennel can break through the animal’s grief. That is, until dog whisperer Evelyn Jones walks into the facility . . . and into Atlas’s heart. David hates to admit that the curvy blonde’s mesmerizing effect isn’t limited to canines. But when Lyn’s work with Atlas puts her in danger, David will do anything to protect her.

Lyn realizes that David’s own battle scars make him uniquely qualified for his job as a trainer. Tough as nails yet gentle when it counts, he’s gotten closer to Atlas than anyone else-and he’s willing to put his hard-wired suspicion aside to let her do the same. But someone desperate enough to kill doesn’t want Lyn working with Atlas. Now only teamwork, trust, and courage can save two troubled hearts and the dog who loves them both . . .

Amazon

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I added this back in 2016.

I’ve been on a kick with dogs as character’s and heroes and discovered I have the first two books in this series. They were hidden behind some other books on one of my shelves. Picture me rubbing my hands together in anticipation!

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Deadly Target

by Elizabeth Goddard

November 1-30, 2021 Virtual Book Tour

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Synopsis:
Deadly Target by Elizabeth Goddard

Criminal psychologist Erin Larson’s dreams of a successful career come to a screeching halt when she nearly loses her own life in a boating accident on Puget Sound and then learns that her mother tried to commit suicide. She leaves her job as a criminal psychologist to care for her mother in Montana. At least she is able to produce her podcast, which focuses on solving missing persons cold cases.

Nathan Campbell’s father was investigating such a case when he was shot, and now Nathan needs to enlist Erin’s help to solve the case. She’s good at what she does. The only problem? She’s his ex.

As the two dig deeper, it becomes clear that they, too, are being targeted–and that the answers to their questions are buried deep within the past Erin struggles to explain and longs to forget.

The race is on for the truth in this gripping and complex tale of suspense, intrigue, and murder from USA Today bestselling author Elizabeth Goddard.

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Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Suspense

Published by: Revell Publication Date: November 2nd 2021 Number of Pages: 336 ISBN: 0800737997 (ISBN13: 9780800737993) Series: Rocky Mountain Courage #2 || This is a Stand-Alone Novel

Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | ChristianBook.com | IndieBound.Org

Read an excerpt:
1 Puget Sound For a few hours every Saturday morning, Erin Larson could forget that evil existed. And usually, only on the water. She dipped the double-bladed paddle into the sea, then again on the other side—left, right, left, right, left, right—alternating strokes in a fluid motion to propel her kayak across the blue depths. Her friend Carissa Edwards paddled close behind. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. On the water she was close to nature and far from the chaos and noise of the city even though she and Carissa paddled along the shoreline and could see the cityscape in the distance. The quiet calmed her mind and heart. The rhythmic paddling mesmerized her. The exertion exhilarated her. Cleansed her of the stress and anxiety acquired after a week of forced labor. Okay, that wasn’t fair. Her suffering certainly wasn’t physical in nature. Water. Mountains. Sky. She took in the sights and once again . . . forgot. Beautiful snowcapped Mount Baker—the Great White Watcher—loomed large in the distance to the east. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. The slosh of paddles along with the small waves lapping against her boat soothed her and were the only sounds except for seagulls laughing above her—ha, ha, ha. To the west, the impressive Olympic Mountains begged for attention. Erin couldn’t wait for Mom to join her out here, when she finally convinced her to move. A salty ocean breeze wafted over her as peace and beauty surrounded her. She couldn’t ask for more. She shouldn’t ask for more. But God . . . I need answers. Carissa caught up with Erin and paddled next to her kayak. “Thanks for coming with me today. I needed this.” “The exercise or the scenery?” Erin had just broken a sweat despite the early morning cool. “How about a little of both. And the company makes all the difference, I’m not going to lie.” “Yeah,” Erin answered with reluctance. She and Carissa had an understanding between them. On their kayaking excursions, peace and quiet were supposed to reign. “By the way, I listened to your podcast last night,” Carissa said. Maybe she’d forgotten their unspoken pact. “Oh?” Erin wanted to know Carissa’s thoughts, but at the same time, she didn’t want to hear the criticism. Nor would she trust any praise. “Why keep it anonymous?” “It could get complicated.” Carissa’s laugh echoed across the water. “In my case, I’d probably want the dean of the college and my students to know. But then again, I wouldn’t be talking about crime or missing people. I’d be talking about history. So, what took you so long to tell me?” Erin lifted a shoulder, opting for silence. Maybe it would be contagious. Now she wished she hadn’t told Carissa, but letting her friend in on her secret was a step toward opening up. She kept too much hidden inside. Erin had never been good at letting others in. Although as a psychologist, she was all about learning what made people tick on the inside. Erin breathed in the fresh air, listened to the mesmerizing ripple of the water, felt the warm sun against her cheeks, and chased away thoughts of crime and work. “Cold cases. Do they ever get solved?” Carissa asked. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. “Some do.” Few. “Why do you do it?” “I need a hobby, I guess.” Erin couldn’t begin to explain the complex events that drove her to talk about missing person cold cases in hopes that answers could still be found. “I’ve been thinking.” Carissa’s kayak inched ahead. Erin remained silent. “We do this every Saturday,” Carissa continued. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. “It’s been a lifesaver,” Erin said. “Thanks for inviting me along.” After a week working for the State of Washington, the endless hours spent researching and writing reports for forensic evaluations, she needed the break. The job wasn’t what she had dreamed about when she’d become a criminal psychologist. Still, she hoped it was a means to an end. In the meantime, she’d started the cold case crime podcast. “How about we switch it up? Go hiking. Mountain trails and lush forests all around us.” “This is close. We don’t have to drive far. Plus, I really love the water.” And have an aversion to dense forests. Carissa didn’t need to know that, as a psychologist, Erin was a walking oxymoron. “I thought you might enjoy a change.” “No, I’m good with this.” Erin’s shoulders and biceps started burning. She was relieved they would soon turn around and head back. “I hope you’ll think about it. I’d love for you to join me next weekend. I’m hiking in Mount Baker National Forest, and I’m inviting you to join the group.” “What? You’re ditching me to go hiking?” “Um . . . Is it just me, or is that boat heading directly for us?” Panic edged Carissa’s voice. Erin glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Carissa’s wide-eyed stare. A thirty-foot cruiser sped toward them. She and Carissa had strayed a bit from the shoreline. Regardless, that boat shouldn’t be approaching them in this area or at that speed. “Hurry.” Erin quickened her pace. “We can get out of its path.” “We won’t make it.” Carissa stopped and raised her paddle, waving to get the boater’s attention. “Hey, watch where you’re going! Kayakers on the water!” Arms straining, Erin paddled faster and propelled the kayak forward. Her friend hadn’t kept up. “Carissa, let’s go! Just angle out of the path.” Carissa renewed her efforts and joined Erin. Together they paddled toward the shoreline that had seemed so much closer moments before. Carissa screamed. Heart pounding, Erin glanced over her shoulder. The boat had changed course and was once again headed straight for them. Fear stole her breath. “Jump! Get out of the boat and dive!” It was all she could think to do. “Now, now, now!” She sucked in a breath and leaned forward to flip the kayak until she was upside down in the water for a wet exit. Holding her breath, she found the grab loop and peeled off the skirt. Then she gripped the sides and pushed the kayak away from her body as she slid out. Instead of heading for the surface, she kicked and dove deeper. She was grateful she was wearing a manually inflatable life vest over her wetsuit or it would drag her back to the surface, which was normally a good thing. But today that could get her killed. She pushed deeper, deeper, deeper . . . away from the surface. We’re going to make it. Erin twisted around to glance upward. The water was murky and visibility was only about ten feet, but she could still see her friend struggling to get free of her kayak. Terror stabbed through her. Erin swam back to Carissa to help her, even as the boat raced toward the kayaks and was almost on them. Her eyes wide, Carissa pushed forward, freeing herself. The hull of the speeding boat sped right over the top of the kayaks, breaking Carissa’s in half—the stern of her broken kayak propelled toward Carissa. Her head jerked forward. All the bubbles of air burst from her lungs, then her form floated—unmoving. Unconscious? Or was she lifeless? Her pulse thundering in her ears, Erin swam toward Carissa, grabbed her, and inflated their life vests. They rose quickly to the surface. Erin broke the water and gasped for breath as she held Carissa. The water remained disturbed from the speeding boat’s wake and crashed over them. Erin confirmed what she already feared. Carissa wasn’t breathing. Adrenaline surged through her. She had to keep moving. Holding on to Carissa, Erin started swimming them back to shore. She spotted the errant boat making a big circle. Coming back? Had someone lost control? She had to make it to shore to give Carissa CPR. And maybe even to save them both. Stay calm. Panic wouldn’t help either of them. The water was cold, but not so cold that she needed to worry about hypothermia. At least not yet. The whir of a boat from her left drew her attention, kicking up her already rapid heartbeat. As she took in the slowly approaching trawler—a far different boat from the speeding cruiser—relief eased the tension in her shoulders. Three men and a couple of women waved. A silver-haired man in a Seahawks cap shouted, “Do you need help?” “Yes! Hurry!” The boat edged slowly toward her, and she swam to meet it. The men reached down and pulled Carissa up into the boat. Erin used the ladder on the side. “She needs CPR. She’s not breathing!” When she hopped onto the deck, she saw that one of the men had started administering CPR. A redheaded woman wrapped a blanket around Erin. “Oh, honey, are you okay?” Hot tears burned down her cold, wet cheeks. “No . . . no, I’m not okay.” She dropped to her knees next to her friend. Carissa coughed up water and rolled onto her side. When she’d finished expelling seawater, she sat up and looked around. Erin hugged her and spoke against her short, wet hair. “I thought you were done for.” Carissa held on to Erin tightly, then released her to cough more. Erin took in the group standing around them, their watchful eyes filled with concern. “I’m Vince. And this is my wife, Jessie.” The man with the Seahawks cap gestured to the redhead, then made introductions. John, his son, and Terry, John’s friend, and Mavis, John’s girlfriend. A family affair. “I’m Erin, and this is Carissa.” Jessie placed a blanket around Carissa. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll get you something warm to drink.” “Thank you.” Erin sat with Carissa on the cushioned bench and took in her friend. She looked shell-shocked, and why shouldn’t she? Was she going to be okay? Carissa closed her eyes. Was she in pain or thinking back to what happened? Jessie had disappeared below deck to grab warm drinks. Mavis, Terry, and John were trying to recover the kayaks and bring them onto the trawler. Vince remained standing, his arms crossed as if he were a sentinel sent to protect them. And at this moment, Erin needed that reassurance. “If you hadn’t come when you did,” she said, “I don’t know what would have happened. I can’t thank you enough.” She searched the waters around them. “Is that boat . . . Is it gone?” “What boat?” Mavis approached and glanced at Vince. “You didn’t see that?” Erin got to her feet and pulled Carissa with her. She searched the waters. “A boat came right for us. Ran over our kayaks and almost killed us. They must have lost control. Maybe they were drunk or something.” “I saw a boat heading west,” Vince said, “but I didn’t connect that to seeing you in the water swimming to shore. Kayaks and canoes are hard to spot sometimes. I’m sorry that happened. But I’ll contact the Seattle Police Harbor Patrol and let them know. In the meantime, is there somewhere we can take you?” “Back to the marina at Port of Edmonds. We could talk to the police there and tell them what happened,” Erin said. Vince eyed Carissa. “I’ll let SPHP know we’re on the way and to meet us there. Should we get you to the hospital?” Erin shared a look with her friend. “She sustained a hit to the head. Maybe an ambulance could be waiting for us when we get to the harbor.” Carissa nodded but said nothing. Erin ached inside. She’d almost lost Carissa. She was grateful that her friend had survived. They had both survived. Erin replayed the events in her mind. Had the boat deliberately veered toward them or had she imagined it? These boaters who’d helped them had simply been out enjoying the day when they spotted Erin and Carissa in the water, their kayaks floating, Carissa’s in two pieces. I can’t believe this happened. The water had been her place of peace and tranquility. But no more. Erin pulled her ringing cell from the plastic bag tucked in a pocket on her suit. She didn’t recognize the number, but it was a Montana prefix. Her heart jackhammered as she answered, “Erin.” “Dr. Larson . . . Erin.” The familiar male voice hesitated. “This is Detective Nathan Campbell.” Dread crawled up her spine. Nathan would never call her without a good reason. “Nathan . . . what’s going on?” “It’s . . . your mom. She’s okay. But she tried to commit suicide. I’m so sorry.” A few heartbeats passed before she could answer. “Wha . . . What?” Nathan apologized again and repeated the words. The air rushed from Erin. She couldn’t breathe and stood. She headed for the rail and hung her head over the water, gasping for breath. “Erin! Erin, are you there?” Nathan’s concerned voice shouted over the cell loud enough she could hear him despite the boat’s rumbling engine and rushing water. Carissa joined her at the rail. “Erin, what’s happened?” The darkness closed in on her all over again, but this was different from before. Why hadn’t she seen the warning signs? She had to fix this. Squeezing her eyes shut, she lifted the cell to her ear again. “I need details.” Nathan relayed that her mother was in the hospital and in stable condition. Ending the call, she stared at the cell. Mom was in trouble. The fact that the awful news had come from the man she’d left behind compounded the pain in her chest. This, after she and Carissa had barely survived a boating accident. Evil wouldn’t let her forget that it existed, even for a few hours. *** Excerpt from Deadly Target by Elizabeth Goddard. Copyright 2021 by Elizabeth Goddard. Reproduced with permission from Baker Publishing Group. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Elizabeth Goddard:
Elizabeth Goddard

Elizabeth Goddard is the USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of more than fifty novels, including Present Danger and the Uncommon Justice series. Her books have sold over one million copies. She is a Carol Award winner and a Daphne du Maurier Award finalist. When she’s not writing, she loves spending time with her family, traveling to find inspiration for her next book, and serving with her husband in ministry.

For more information about Elizabeth Goddard, visit her website at: www.ElizabethGoddard.com Goodreads BookBub – @ElizabethGoddard Instagram – @elizabethgoddardauthor Twitter – @bethgoddard Facebook – @ElizabethGoddardAuthor

 

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Beneath Blackwater River

Detective Kay Sharp Book 2

by Leslie Wolfe

Genre: Thriller, Suspense

Have you ever read a book that was so suspenseful and intriguing that you didn’t do anything but read it till you were finished? This is that book. I started it and finished in 2 days. I couldn’t put it down!!… SO thrilling and kept me on the edge of my seat! Loved it!!!” NetGalley Reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

She looked beautiful, her hair drifting freely in the water, a small locket floating by her face, attached to her neck with a silver chain. Her red lips were gently parted, as if to let her final breath escape…

When Detective Kay Sharp first left Mount Chester—population 3,823—in her rear-view mirror, she promised never to look back. The town only contained bad memories and dark secrets. But when a brutal crime surfaces, she finds herself home once more, and this time she’s not going anywhere.

Kay is called to Blackwater River, where the body of a seventeen-year-old girl has been found. Surrounded by snowy peaks and a forest alive with the colors of fall, the victim floats in the water, a hand-carved locket around her neck.

The locket seems strangely familiar. Digging into cold cases, Kay discovers that three-year-old Rose Harrelson was wearing it when she vanished fourteen years ago. In the middle of the night, the little girl’s bedroom—with Mickey Mouse on the wall and a hanging baby mobile—was suddenly empty. The unsolved case still haunts the town.

But the teenager they have found has been dead for only a few hours. If the girl in the river is Rose, where has she been, and who has been hiding her all this time? If she is someone else, why is she wearing the locket, and what happened to the missing child from all those years ago?

Kay knows she must solve the kidnapping in order to untangle the mystery of the dead body. As she unearths a web of lies and deceit spun for decades, the close-knit community will never be the same. And Kay will find herself facing a truly terrifying killer…

A totally gripping page-turner that should come with a health warning! Be warned: you’ll lose sleep and your heart will race like crazy as you read twist after twist. Perfect for fans of Lisa Regan, Robert Dugoni and Kendra Elliot.

Goodreads * Amazon

FALLS

Malia wore a flower in her hair.

Not just any kind of flower; she’d gone through online shopping hell to get the plumeria blossom delivered to the hotel that morning, just in time for her planned trip to Blackwater River Falls. She’d paid a fortune for it, worth every cent.

She wore the scented bloom over her left ear, a Hawaiian custom that told the entire world her heart was taken. By a twenty-seven-year-old, good-looking, and slightly awkward computer nerd from San Francisco named Tobias Grabowsky, who’d probably miss the symbolic meaning of the plumeria, and that was if he even noticed it in the first place.

She didn’t care. She still wanted the flower to be just right, her hair perfectly shiny, the scent of the petals surrounding her like a mist from heaven, bringer of love and good fortune. But she wished she could’ve worn something else for that special occasion. She cringed at the thought of being proposed to in cream-colored stretch shorts and a red tank top instead of a breezy, white, ruffled gown that bared her shoulders. But if Toby wanted to take her to Blackwater River Falls that morning, she had to pretend she didn’t know why and wear the appropriate attire for hiking.

But she knew, and the excitement had overwhelmed her since she’d first found the diamond ring in his jacket pocket.

She’d been worried about his strange behavior the night they’d arrived in Mount Chester. Soon after dinner, expertly served by a blond with cleavage so deep it should’ve been restricted to adult audiences only, she’d noticed that Toby kept touching his right pocket as if to make sure something precious was still in there, tucked safely. That pocket was where he’d shoved the change and check from dinner, and Malia feared that Miss Cleavage might’ve sneaked in her phone number. Anxious for the rest of the evening, Malia could barely wait to get back to their hotel room. There, she lingered with the patience of a hungry spider for Toby to get into the shower, then plunged her hand into the pocket and found it.

That 1-carat beauty was definitely not for Miss Boobs.

Before Toby had come out of the shower, she had her plan in place. She’d make sure it was one to remember, and even if she had to wear shorts, at least everything else would be perfect.

Blackwater River Falls was a one-hour hike from their hotel, climbing at a gentle rate on the western versant of Mount Chester through a stunningly beautiful, fall-tinged forest. As they gained elevation, oaks and maples gave way to a variety of pines and firs, their cones littering the paths. They held hands and hiked with enthusiasm, her impatience causing Toby to ask, “Why the rush?” a couple of times. She’d just smiled in response and slowed down a little, even stopped to press her lips against his for a quick moment, before rushing uphill again.

They were a good ten minutes away when the whooshing sound of the falls started to be heard, faint and distant, yet precise, melodious, echoing against the rocky slopes of the mountain.

“I can see it,” Malia announced cheerfully, letting go of Toby’s hand and sprinting ahead. “We’re there.”

“All right,” Toby replied, panting heavily. “It will still be there in a few minutes, you know,” he quipped, stopping for a moment and looking around.

She rushed back to him and grabbed his hand, then pulled him ahead on the trail.

“Come on, you’ll rest when we get there,” she said, and he followed her with a resigned sigh. “You need to work out more,” she added. She was barely out of breath, the fresh air filling her lungs with pure energy. “All day long you sit in front of a screen,” she started, then bit her lip. Maybe she should wait until after the wedding to start criticizing him. She burst into laughter instead, imagining herself as a nagging wife, hands propped on her hips, tapping the tip of her slipper against the gleaming hardwood floors in their future home.

“What?” he asked.

“Ah, nothing, I’m just happy,” she replied, lifting her arms in the air and turning in place like a dervish. “Whoo-hoo,” she cried, and the mountain promptly echoed back. “Did you hear it?”

“Yeah, and so did half the state of California.”

A punch to his side was quick to follow, and she burst into crystalline laughter as he feigned injury and collapsed to the ground, holding his side and groaning as if he were about to die a wretched death. Now he would have dirt and pine needles on the white T-shirt he was going to propose in, but she didn’t care as much as she thought she would. She just loved hearing him laugh.

When he stood, he touched his pocket briefly, and then brushed some dirt off his shoulders. She ran her hands over his back, wiping away whatever stuck to the cotton fabric, then they joined hands again and sprinted ahead.

In a few minutes, they cleared the forest and stopped, hand in hand, to admire the tall, narrow falls against the blue sky, flanked by rocks tinged rusty red. Still panting, Toby gave her a long, loving look, as if trying to figure out what to do next, and then crouched to undo his laces and remove his shoes.

“What are you doing?” Malia asked, her voice filled with disappointment, after her heart had promptly stopped thinking he was going to take a knee and propose in front of the majestic falls, only to see him preoccupied with the entangled shoelaces on his left sneaker.

He kicked off both his shoes, then invited her to do the same. “Let’s go in there,” he pointed at the waterfall, “behind that water curtain. I read there’s a cave, not too big, and the water’s only a few inches deep.”

She hesitated as she imagined dipping her bare feet into the freezing water. She forced a smile and took off her shoes and socks, then tiptoed, faltering on the sharp-edged gravel that littered the path to the fall’s basin.

He jumped in first, without hesitation. “Yup, it’s freezing, but you won’t feel it,” he reassured her, once he had caught his breath. “Come on.” He tugged gently at her hand. “Take the leap with me.”

Her face lit up in a beaming smile. She was ready to take a leap with him, the biggest leap of all, for the rest of her life. She put one hesitant foot into the icy water, then the next. He was right. After a few moments, she stopped feeling the cold as badly.

They splashed toward the water curtain, and she winced at the thought of wading through a shower of freezing water to get to the cave, but that wasn’t the case. There was a narrow opening to the side, enough to allow them to sneak in. Inside the almost dark space, the loud sound of the waterfall was dimmed and seemed distant, as if the silence of the cave absorbed the screams of the crashing cascade. Filtered and powerless, the light that came through the torrent barely touched the glistening walls.

She studied her surroundings for a quick moment. The walls were stained in hues of green and rusty red, with off-white blotches here and there, where calcareous stone interlaced with the granite. She dipped her hand in the freezing water, and cupped her palm to collect some. She wanted to taste it, but Toby stopped her hand before it reached her lips.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “You never know what’s in it.”

She looked at the water still pooled in the cup of her hand. “It looks like it has a pink hue, or is that just the light?”

“Could be what stained these walls.” He looked around briefly, then smiled widely, visibly nervous. “But I’m not here for spelunking.” He lowered himself on a bent knee, dipping it in the freezing water, while his hand revealed the ring nestled in its black velvet box. “I wanted it to be just you and me, my lovely Malia, when I ask you, will you marry me?”

Her eyes widened in feigned surprise and sincere delight, while her smile broadened. She clasped her hands together in excitement, then extended her left hand toward Toby. He took out the ring from its box and slid it onto her finger. She looked at him grinning, sealing every detail of the image in her memory, to always remember, till death did them part.

Then she screamed, a long, searing shriek of pure terror.

A pale hand with long, narrow fingers grazed Toby’s calf, shifting slowly into the rippling water.

Toby jumped to his feet and rushed to her, grabbing her shoulders. “What? What is it?”

Speechless, she pointed at the body moving slowly back and forth under the water surface, barely visible in the dim light.

In the flashlight coming from Toby’s phone, she saw a large boulder held the girl’s body in place, pinning it to the bottom of the cave. Her long black hair and her right arm had surfaced, the water only a foot deep, brought forward by the constant pounding of the cascade.

She looked alive, her hair drifting freely in the water as if flowing in the wind, her beautiful face pristine, her red lips gently parted, as if to let her final breath escape. Her eyes seemed to stare at them, surprised, aghast, the terror of her last moments still alive in her irises. A small red locket floated right by her face, still attached to her neck with a silver chain.

She couldn’t’ve been more than seventeen years old.

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Don’t miss the first Detective Kay Sharp book, The Girl From Silent Lake!

Goodreads * Amazon

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Q&A with Leslie Wolfe 

 

  1. What is Beneath Blackwater River about?

When the body of a teenage girl is found under the water curtains of the Blackwater River Falls, Detective Kay Sharp is called to the scene. Surrounded by snowy peaks and a forest alive with the colors of fall, the victim floats in the water, a hand-carved locket around her neck.

 

The locket seems strangely familiar. Digging into cold cases, Kay discovers that three-year-old Rose Harrelson was wearing it when she vanished fourteen years ago. In the middle of the night, the little girl’s bedroom—with Mickey Mouse on the wall and a hanging baby mobile—was suddenly empty. The unsolved case still haunts the town.

But the teenager they have found has been dead for only a few hours. If the girl in the river is Rose, where has she been, and who has been hiding her all this time? If she is someone else, why is she wearing the locket, and what happened to the missing child from all those years ago?

Kay knows she must solve the kidnapping in order to untangle the mystery of the dead body. As she unearths a web of lies and deceit spun for decades, the close-knit community will never be the same. And Kay will find herself facing a truly terrifying killer…

 

Beneath Blackwater River  shines a light on the staggering implications of parental abuse and its life-long consequences in the lives of the abused. Sometimes, the abused turns into the abuser and such the cycle of abuse continues. In many known cases of serial homicide in the United States, the killer’s early life was one of appalling abuse endured at the hands of a parent or immediate family member.

 

  1. What would readers remember after they finish reading the book?

They will remember that many times, appearances can be deceiving. Sometimes, refusing to dig deeper under the ornate masks worn by predators in our midst could lead to lives being threatened and lost. I also hope readers will regard parental abuse with a renewed interest, given its long-term, potentially deadly consequences. As my readers have grown accustomed to, the parental abuse in my book isn’t physical. It’s entirely psychological, but even if the scars aren’t visible to the naked eye it doesn’t mean they’re not there.

 

  1. Your writing style is fast, filled with dialogue, almost at the expense of descriptives and narratives. Why is that?

This is how human beings interact, especially when under pressure or stress. We stop paying attention to our surroundings, and focus on the task at hand. People interact with one another, talk to one another, and have feelings for one another and for everything we do. That’s what I’m focused on, rather than specifying each article of clothing someone wears, or the color of the flower vase in an office somewhere. This technique isn’t necessarily good or bad; just somewhat different from mainstream.

 

  1.  What’s the biggest compliment you received from a fan?

It’s when readers tell me they stay up all night to finish the book, because they couldn’t put it down. That’s music to my ears ☺ Like any other artist and entertainer, I thrive knowing that I deliver that escape into the fictional world in a grasping, gritty, and memorable way.

  1. You mentioned science, technology, psychology. How do you keep it real?

I do extensive amounts of research for my work, and I’m fascinated by what I have the opportunity to learn. Additionally, sections of my books go through a process of validation at the hands of several fantastic partners who are law enforcement officers, attorneys, scientists, doctors in medicine. In Dawn Girl, for example, there are sections that speak about using certain plant extracts and animal venoms to achieve certain goals. Despite the extensive research, my hands were shaking a little as I wrote them, metaphorically speaking, and I was relieved when my research “passed scientific review.”

 

  1. Do you do any book signings, interviews, speaking and personal appearances? If so, when and where is the next place where your readers can see you? Where can they keep up with your personal contacts online?

Apart from social media and email interactions, I’m a veritable recluse. Email is the best and quickest way to reach me, and I was fortunate to build true friendships with readers over email. The majority of my readers ask me when’s the next book coming out, not when I’m getting out of the house, so I get the hint and keep on writing.

 

  1. Is this book a first in a series and going to be continued?

This book is the second in the Kay Sharp Series, a story centered on a certain family and its layered dysfunction. There are two other books published in the series. So far, this series has been very well received by the readers, and my fans have been adamant: they want more. Therefore, in the future there will be more books to enjoy in the Kay Sharp Series.

 

Until then, the Tess Winnett Series features FBI Special Agent Tess Winnett in a series of eight (so far) gripping crime thrillers you won’t be able to put down. The first title in that series is Dawn Girl, but all books can be read as standalones.

Baxter & Holt is a three-book series featuring two Las Vegas detectives who trust each other with their lives, only not with their deepest, darkest secrets. Start this engrossing series with Las Vegas Girl.

Alex Hoffmann is an action-adventure series featuring a young and smart heroine and her team of private investigators. They follow their cases wherever those might take them, even if that means behind enemy lines, in five engrossing thrillers that will remind you of James Bond and Jack Reacher. The book that will get you started on this adventure is Executive.

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Leslie Wolfe is a bestselling author whose novels break the mold of traditional thrillers. She creates unforgettable, brilliant, strong women heroes who deliver fast-paced, satisfying suspense, backed up by extensive background research in technology and psychology.

Leslie released the first novel, Executive, in October 2011. Since then, she has written many more, continuing to break down barriers of traditional thrillers. Her style of fast-paced suspense, backed up by extensive background research in technology and psychology, has made Leslie one of the most read authors in the genre and she has created an array of unforgettable, brilliant and strong women heroes along the way.

A recently released standalone and an addictive, heart-stopping psychological thriller, The Girl You Killed will appeal to fans of The Undoing, The Silent Patient, or Little Fires Everywhere. Reminiscent of the television drama Criminal Minds, her series of books featuring the fierce and relentless FBI Agent Tess Winnett would be of great interest to readers of James Patterson, Melinda Leigh, and David Baldacci crime thrillers. Fans of Kendra Elliot and Robert Dugoni suspenseful mysteries would love the Las Vegas Crime series, featuring the tension-filled relationship between Baxter and Holt. Finally, her Alex Hoffmann series of political and espionage action adventure will enthrall readers of Tom Clancy, Brad Thor, and Lee Child.

Leslie has received much acclaim for her work, including inquiries from Hollywood, and her books offer something that is different and tangible, with readers becoming invested in not only the main characters and plot but also with the ruthless minds of the killers she creates.

A complete list of Leslie’s titles is available at LeslieWolfe.com/books.

Leslie enjoys engaging with readers every day and would love to hear from you. Become an insider: gain early access to previews of Leslie’s new novels.

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Black Canvas
Laura Rossi
Publication date: February 14th 2021
Genres: Adult, Dark Romance, Psychological Thriller, Suspense

“I dream of waking up and being someone else—my hair, my eyes, even my voice, completely different—and each time I go to the mirror to check my reflection, to see what I look like, I’m her. Every time. Her. It’s her reflection that stares back at me, but I’m the one who controls it. I’m in control, and that’s exactly why it feels so good. I control her and what happens to me; I control both lives—mine and hers—and I have what I want the most: her looks, her status, her marriage. There’s nothing left of me, and only I know the secret. Only I know it’s me inside, it’s me under that perfect porcelain skin, it’s me behind those sweet, smart deep brown eyes.
And I have him. He’s mine—just mine now. I’m not the other woman anymore. I’m everything he needs.”

“A story of mystery and intrigue weaved together with prose so delectable, so sublime. A must-read. A masterpiece. A thrill.”
Eleanor Lloyd-Jones

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Enjoy this peek inside:

“I dream of waking up and being someone else—my hair, my eyes, even my voice, completely different—and each time I go to the mirror to check my reflection, to see what I look like, I’m her. Every time. Her. It’s her reflection that stares back at me, but I’m the one who controls it. I’m in control, and that’s exactly why it feels so good. I control her and what happens to me; I control both lives—mine and hers—and I have what I want the most: her looks, her status, her marriage. There’s nothing left of me, and only I know the secret. Only I know it’s me inside, it’s me under that perfect porcelain skin, it’s me behind those sweet, smart deep brown eyes.

And I have him. He’s mine—just mine now. I’m not the other woman anymore. I’m everything he needs. I can be both the wife and the whore. I’m a better version of myself and a better version of Miss Perfection.

But most importantly I have control.

I’ve never had control.

Then, my eyes open to the real world—right when he’s kissing me in the dream, before he can tell me I’m the love of his life and that he only thinks of me.

I wonder if he lies to her like he lies to me every time we see each other. Does he tell her he loves her? And why? Why does he love her?

She does nothing for him, besides being her.

‘I love you for what you do for me’

Those are his words of love for me. In the moment, they mean everything, but they don’t stay long. They vanish with him—with my dream.

I’m jealous of what he says to her; I hate the way he looks at her.

No secret meetings, no hiding, no masks to disguise ourselves… Everything is out in the open in my dream. I wonder what that would feel like, to live our love out in the open.

Before I wake up completely, I feel this resentment; the rage resurfaces.

Would he be mine if it weren’t for her? Would he have married me, if it weren’t for her? I start to lose control again. I want what she has. I want him.

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. I have no reason to get out of bed so early. I’m alone, and I spend the first moments of my day—of each single day of my life—wondering if he’s sleeping close to her, if he’s breathing her scent… Wondering if and when he’ll call me.

I have no control. He decides. He sets up our meetings. He tells me where and when. My role is to be there on time and the way he wants it. Possibly naked.

It’s only when I get his text that I have the incentive to get up. It changes my day. I work around our meeting, I do what I have to do and I hope time flies to the moment when I’ll see him again.

My whole existence revolves around him.

And is focused on how I can be more like her.

I would do anything, anything, Doctor. Anything to be her.”

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About Author Laura Rossi:

My name is Laura and I am dreamer, the kind that walks around all day and likes to go back and forth, from the real world to her own little world.

I have two kids and a fantastic partner. We work together in our little shop in Italy, near the beach.

When I am not busy working or being a mommy, I like to fantasize about new characters and new stories I’d like to write.

Counterpoints is my first book.

Follow the story @laurarossiauthor on facebook

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Welcome to  my stop on the virtual book tour for All Is Set Now organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Jim Cheney will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Don’t forget to enter.

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour and for more chances to win.

All Is Set Anew

by Jim Cheney

Genre: Suspense/ Thriller / Supernatural

Synopsis

A fast-paced examination of loss, survival, and ultimately acceptance of those things we do not understand but must contend with as if our lives depend upon it.

From deep in the rural Tennessee woods, two brothers flee their murderous father only to find that a violent, supernatural force has followed their escape and will haunt their family for multiple generations.

All Is Set Anew is the story of abandonment and its subsequent revenge, set against a backdrop of characters imprisoned by poverty and self-doubt and their struggle to outrun the evil and illness that relentlessly pursues them.

 

Check out this peek inside:

That afternoon Mary found Edgar at the hog pens and she told him that she wanted to speak with him after supper. She spent the rest of the day packing suitcases for her husband and tidying things around the house. LoLo moved about the rooms silently and Mary worried that her decision was poorly chosen each time the woman’s eyes met hers. It was not a critical exchange of glance, but the way that LoLo diverted her eyes too quickly gave Mary a sinking sensation that made her want to ask her what she would do if the decision was hers. Mary’s upbringing had been as pragmatic as it was cultured, so she looked to facts when challenged. They had let a man like Hicks onto the place. Logic told her that he had raped Katherine, although she could not prove it. Her daughter Renee had left with him, although she could not prove that either. Katherine was alive, and while traumatized, Mary believed that she could guide her back to health. If it got out that Katherine had been raped by a man that Renee had run off with, the impact to the family and its reputation would be devastating. And when she imagined her husband’s reaction to any of this, she felt as helpless as someone looking out over an arid field, begging the merciless, baking sky for relief. Katherine will recover, she told herself. She has enough of me in her that she’ll find her way through.

About the Author:

Jim Cheney was raised in North Georgia and has written professionally for more than 25 years. He has been published in media outlets throughout the United States. This is his first novel. He lives in Franklin, Tennessee with his wife, two boys and three dogs.

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Savage
Harley Wylde
(Devil’s Fury MC)
Publication date: September 24th 2021
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

Mariah — I knew my dad, a Dixie Reaper, wouldn’t understand why I wanted to date a cop. It’s why I’d planned to elope with Ty, until it all went so very wrong. My dad caught me, tossed me into the car, and drove me hours away to the Devil’s Fury. I didn’t know he’d already promised me to someone else. Savage. The Devil’s Fury MC Treasurer. A man who set butterflies loose in my stomach at first sight.

The man might have claimed me as his, but he runs every time we’re in the same room together. I can’t tell if he’s just that turned off by me, or if there’s another woman. Whatever it is, he either needs to let me go, or make me his — in all ways. I just never expected the surprise left at the gates, and the way it would make my heart break, or the fact my ex would be a lunatic. I should have known life would throw me a curveball. Or two. Nothing is ever easy.

Savage — Claiming a woman sight unseen didn’t seem like such a bad thing. It wasn’t like I had anyone I wanted to settle down with. The fact she’s two decades younger than me might have given me pause at one point, but not anymore. Then she arrives, spitting and hissing like an angry kitten. I try to do the right thing and give her time. Except clearly that was the wrong thing to do.

I’ll make her realize she’s the only one I want, claim her in every way possible, but first… I need to take care of business. The dirty cop who preys on women and children will be taught a lesson he won’t soon forget. Should have known the daughter of Dixie Reaper wouldn’t shy away from getting her hands dirty and wouldn’t need saving. Not sure how I got so lucky to call her mine, but I’m holding on tight to Mariah. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me.

WARNING: Savage is part of the Devil’s Fury MC and contains bad language, adult situations, dark content, and violence some may find difficult to read. But there’s a guaranteed happily-ever-after, no cliffhanger, no cheating, a super cute little girl, and some adorable kittens.

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Check out this glimpse inside:

My jaw ached from grinding my teeth. I stared out the window, refusing to even look at my dad. I couldn’t believe he’d hauled me away from Tyson. Another few minutes, and we’d have been gone. I wondered who’d told. Could have been the Prospect at the gate, or any of my dad’s spies around town. I should have waited until dark. Even though I’d begged Ty to wait, he hadn’t listened.

“Can’t ignore me forever,” my dad said.

Want to bet?

We crossed the Alabama state line and entered Florida. He hadn’t said exactly where we were going. Devil’s Boneyard? They weren’t far from our current location. I wanted to ask. Pressing my lips together, I forced myself to remain silent.

“Fine. Pout like a damn kid, Mariah, but it’s not going to change anything. Settle in. We still have a bit of a drive.”

I looked over at him. What the hell did that mean? The Devil’s Boneyard was only another hour, if that. So where were we going? When he took the ramp to head north into Georgia, my stomach knotted. Oh, shit.

“We’re going to see Farrah?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Nope, but same location.”

Shit. If we weren’t going to see Farrah, then who? Did my dad want my brother-in-law, Demon, to scare the hell out of me? Because it wouldn’t be hard. Just being in his presence was enough to make me pee myself. I knew he doted on my sister, but it didn’t change his scare factor. I’d heard the stories of what he’d done when people crossed him or the Devil’s Fury.

I tried not to fidget as the truck ate up the miles. My nerves were shot by the time we arrived. Expecting my dad to stop at Farrah’s or even the clubhouse, I couldn’t hold back my gasp as he kept going. Bile rose in my throat, and I scanned the area, not having a damn clue whose house we’d be visiting. The fact he’d packed my clothes and a box of my books didn’t bode well for this being a quick stop.

Since my dad had taken my phone, I couldn’t even text Ty to let him know my current location. I knew he’d have come for me. We may not have made our flight today, but we could have gotten another one.

We came to a stop outside a sprawling home. It might have only been one-story, but I could tell it was far from small inside. I got out and stood by the truck, not knowing what to expect. The front door opened and when I saw the large man who strolled out to meet us, my stomach flipped.

“You made good time,” Savage said, holding his hand out to my dad.

“Needed to get her out of there immediately. Caught her trying to run off with the cop.” My dad glared at me. “Nothing to say, Mariah?”

“Why am I here?” I asked.

Savage’s eyebrows rose and he rocked back on his feet. “Damn. I’m guessing this is a conversation we should have inside. Y’all come in. Need me to get anything from the truck?”

“I threw a box of her books in the back seat, and she has a bag of clothes. I can send the rest in a few days.” My dad started walking to the house. “Getting old’s a bitch. I’m using your bathroom.”

Savage snickered.

My dad tossed a phone at him. “That’s hers. She can have it back, but I’m not giving it to her. She may call that shithead cop.”

Savage caught the phone, looked at it a moment, then handed it to me. “No calls or texts until we talk. Don’t make me regret letting you have that back.”

He opened the back door of the truck and hauled my stuff out like it didn’t weigh anything. I had no choice but to follow him into the house. He set my things down inside the door and motioned for me to have a seat in the living room. Gray slate floors stretched in every direction, and the light gray walls added to the drab color scheme.

I sank onto a black leather sofa and eyed the unusual coffee table. It had to be custom-made. The base looked like a large cut tree trunk. Etched into the top were the colors for the Devil’s Fury, and a piece of glass set over the top, cut to match the edges. I hadn’t ever seen anything like it. The wood had been distressed or stained to a dark charcoal.

To my left, a flat screen TV hung from the wall. It had to be at least sixty inches or more. Across from the couch and table were two chairs, and a smaller table set between the two. An ottoman sat catty-corner to one of them, and I figured it must be where Savage usually sat. The chair looked more worn than the other one.

My dad entered the room, his arms folded, and he glared at me. I narrowed my eyes right back and waited to see why he’d brought me here.

“What did you mean you caught her trying to leave with the cop?” Savage asked, sinking into one of two leather chairs, the one I’d thought would be his. He sprawled, reminding me of a big jungle cat.

“Ty and I are getting married,” I said.

Savage tensed. “That right?”

“I didn’t tell her,” Dad said. “I should have, but I was biding my time.”

Savage arched an eyebrow. “That worked out well, didn’t it?”

The look they shared told me something was up. Why had my dad brought me here? What had he kept from me?

“Tell me what?” I asked.

“Casper VanHorne arranged for Savage to claim you as his old lady. You’re already promised to him, Mariah, so you can’t marry the damn cop.”

Author Harley Wylde:

Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil’s Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series.
When Harley’s writing, her motto is the hotter the better — off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place. She doesn’t shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve.

The times Harley isn’t writing, she’s thinking up naughty things to do to her husband, drinking copious amounts of Starbucks, and reading. She loves to read and devours a book a day, sometimes more. She’s also fond of TV shows and movies from the 1980’s, as well as paranormal shows from the 1990’s to today, even though she’d much rather be reading or writing.

You can find out more about Harley or enter her monthly giveaway on her website. Be sure to join her newsletter while you’re there to learn more about discounts, signing events, and other goodies!

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

 

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Trace of Doubt
by DiAnn Mills
September 1-30, 2021 Tour

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57239695

Synopsis:
 

Bestselling and award-winning author DiAnn Mills delivers a heart-stopping story of dark secrets, desperate enemies, and dangerous lies.

Fifteen years ago, Shelby Pearce confessed to murdering her brother-in-law and was sent to prison. Now she’s out on parole and looking for a fresh start in the small town of Valleysburg, Texas. But starting over won’t be easy for an ex-con.

FBI Special Agent Denton McClure was a rookie fresh out of Quantico when he was first assigned the Pearce case. He’s always believed Shelby embezzled five hundred thousand dollars from her brother-in-law’s account. So he’s going undercover to befriend Shelby, track down the missing money, and finally crack this case.

But as Denton gets closer to Shelby, he begins to have a trace of doubt about her guilt. Someone has Shelby in their crosshairs. It’s up to Denton to stop them before they silence Shelby—and the truth—forever.

Praise for Trace of Doubt:

“Well-researched… with some surprising twists along the way. In Trace of Doubt, Mills weaves together a tale of faith, intrigue, and suspense that her fans are sure to enjoy.” – STEVEN JAMES, award-winning author of SYNAPSE and EVERY WICKED MAN

Trace of Doubt is a suspense reader’s best friend. From page one until the end, the action is intense and the storyline keeps you guessing.” – EVA MARIE EVERSON, bestselling author of FIVE BRIDES and DUST

“DiAnn Mills serves up a perfect blend of action, grit, and heart… Trace of Doubt takes romantic suspense to a whole new level.” – JAMES R. HANNIBAL, award-winning author of THE PARIS BETRAYAL

“Filled with high stakes, high emotion, and high intrigue.” – JLYNN H. BLACKBURN, award-winning author of UNKNOWN THREATand ONE FINAL BREATH

 

Genre: Mystery & Thrillers, Romance, Romantic Suspense

Published by: Tyndale House Publishers Publication Date: September 7th 2021 Number of Pages: 432 ISBN: 1496451856 (ISBN13: 9781496451859)

Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | ChristianBook.com | Tyndale | Books-A-Million | Murder By The Book | Goodreads

Check out this excerpt:

PROLOGUE

SHELBY

Would I ever learn? I’d spent too many years looking out for someone else, and here I was doing the same thing again. Holly had disappeared after I sent her to the rear pantry for potatoes. She’d been gone long enough to plant and dig them up. I needed to get those potatoes boiling to feed hungry stomachs. I left the kitchen to find her. The hallway to the pantry needed better lighting or maybe fewer corners. In any event, uneasiness swirled around me like a dust storm. A plea to stop met my ears. I raced to the rear pantry fearing what I’d find. Four women circled Holly. One held her arms behind her back, and the other three took turns punching her small body. My stomach tightened. I’d been in her shoes, and I’d do anything to stop the women from beating her. “Please, stop,” Holly said through a raspy breath. For one who was eighteen years old, she looked fifteen. “Hey, what’s going on?” I forced my voice to rise above my fear of them. “Stay out of it, freak.” I’d run into this woman before, and she had a mean streak. “What’s she done to you?” I eyed the woman. “None of your business unless you want the same.” “It’s okay, Shelby. I can handle this.” Holly’s courageous words would only earn her another fist to her battered face. And it did. “Enough!” I drew my fists and stepped nose to nose with the leader. The four turned on me. I’d lived through their beatings before, and I would again. I fell and the kicks to my ribs told me a few would be broken. A whistle blew, and prison guards stopped the gang from delivering any more blows to Holly or me. They clamped cuffs on the four and left Holly and me on the floor with reassurance help was on its way. I’d been her age once and forced to grow up fast. No one had counseled me but hard knocks, securing an education, and letting Jesus pave the way. I’d vowed to keep my eyes and ears open for others less fortunate. Holly’s lip dripped blood and a huge lump formed on the side of her head. I crawled to her. “Are you okay?” “Not sure. Thank you for standing up for me. I thought they would kill me. Why do they do this? I’ve never done a thing to them.” “Because they can. They want to exert power, control. Stick by me, and I’ll do my best to keep you safe.”

CHAPTER 1

I tightened my grip on the black trash bag slung over my shoulder containing my personal belongings—parole papers, a denim shoulder bag from high school, a ragged backpack, fifty dollars gate money, my driver’s license at age sixteen, and the clothes I’d worn to prison fifteen years ago. The bus slowed to pick me up outside the prison gates, its windshield wipers keeping pace with the downpour. The rain splattered the flat ground in a steady cadence like a drum leading a prisoner to execution. I stepped back to avoid the splash of muddy water from the front tires dipping into a pothole. Air brakes breathed in and out, a massive beast taking respite from its life labors. The door hissed open. At the top of the steps, a balding driver took my ticket, no doubt recognizing the prison’s release of a for- mer inmate. He must have been accustomed to weary souls who’d paid their debts to society. The coldness glaring from his graphite eyes told me he wagered I’d be locked up again within a year. Maybe less. I couldn’t blame him. The reoffend stats for female convicts like me soared high. For too many years, I imagined the day I left prison would be bathed in sunlight. I’d be enveloped in welcoming arms and hear encouraging words from my family. Reality hosted neither. I moved to the rear of the bus, past a handful of people, and found a seat by myself. All around me were those engrossed in their devices. My life had been frozen in time, and now that I had permission to thaw, the world had changed. Was I ready for the fear digging its claws into my heart? The cloudy view through the water-streaked window added to my doubts about the future. I’d memorized the prison rules, even prayed through them, and now I feared breaking one unknowingly. The last time I’d breathed free air, riding the bus was a social gathering—in my case, a school bus. Kids chatted and laughter rose above the hum of tires. Now an eerie silence had descended. I hadn’t been alone then. My mind drifted back to high school days, when the future rested on maintaining a 4.0 average and planning the next party. Maintaining my grades took a fraction of time, while my mind schemed forbidden fun. I’d dreamed of attending college and exploring the world on my terms. Rebellion held bold colors, like a kaleidoscope shrouded in black light. The more I shocked others, the more I plotted something darker. My choices often seemed a means of expressing my creativity. While in my youth I viewed life as a cynic. By the time I was able to see a reflection of my brokenness and vowed to change, no one trusted me. All that happened . . . Before I took the blame for murdering my brother-in-law. Before I traded my high school diploma and a career in interior design for a locked cell. Before I spent years searching for answers. Before I found new meaning and purpose. How easy it would be to give in to a dismal, gray future when I longed for blue skies. I had to prove the odds against me were wrong. *** Excerpt from Trace of Doubt by DiAnn Mills. Copyright 2021 by DiAnn Mills. Reproduced with permission from DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved.

 

Check Out This Fab Trailer for Trace of Doubt:

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Author DiAnn Mills:
DiAnn Mills

DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She combines unforgettable characters with unpredictable plots to create action-packed, suspense-filled novels. DiAnn believes every breath of life is someone’s story, so why not capture those moments and create a thrilling adventure? Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards; and been finalists for the RITA, Daphne Du Maurier, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests. DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, a former director of Blue Ridge Christian Writers, and a member of Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. She shares her passion for helping other writers be successful by teaching writing workshops around the country.

DiAnn has been termed a coffee snob and roasts her own coffee beans. She’s an avid reader, loves to cook, and believes her grandchildren are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband live in sunny Houston, Texas.

DiAnn is very active online and would love to connect with readers on any of the social media platforms listed:

DiAnnMills.com Goodreads BookBub – @DiAnnMills Instagram – @DiAnnMillsAuthor Twitter – @DiAnnMills Facebook – @DiAnnMills

 

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