Fearing she carries her mother’s curse of marriage, nineteen-year-old Eleanor Mackenna swore never to vow herself into matrimonial bondage. Nuptials aren’t needed where true love is concerned. A concept she is sure a man like McCrea Coldiron would agree with. The town gossip has him pegged as a heart breaker, but Eleanor knows a different side to McCrea. And years of loving him without seeing his affection returned has made her desperate enough to ask him for advice on seducing a man. ??
McCrea isn’t proud of his reputation as a brawler and a womanizer. As a teenager the rumors were funny, now they may cost him the land he has worked so hard for. Chatty little Eleanor Mackenna has been chasing his spurs for years and ignoring her was easy to do until she grew up. A beautiful face and curves in all the right places made her hard to resist, and when his granddad lays down an ultimatum to make her his wife, McCrea offers her a first class lesson in seduction.?
Their date ending in more than good night kisses was everything McCrea promised it would be, but his sudden withdraw, and cold reaction to her confession of love reveal his true motives. A business arrangement with
benefits.
Excerpt
He looped both thumbs in the front pocket of his Wranglers as he gave the dress a keen look of interest. “Do you think they have it in a thirty- six?”
She fought a grin. “Maybe, but I think the color is wrong for your eyes.”
“Really?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Yeah, red is your color.”
With a finger and thumb to his chin, he considered her suggestion then heaved his size thirteen boot outward and twisted his leg in a feminine fashion. “I don’t know. With that split, I’d have to get my legs waxed, and it hardly seems worth the effort.”
A spew of giggles erupted from her. “Thank you, for that mental picture of you in drag.”
“You’re welcome.” Her laughter was like sunshine. He could never get enough of it, and right now, the only thing better than making her laugh at his own expense was seeing her in that sexy peach dress he knew she wanted. “Are you going to try it on?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“This is a dream dress, McCrea. Something I would have to save months for.” One arm shrugged. “Besides, spending that much money for something I’ll only wear once seems like a waste.”
“But it’s the prom.” He snatched her hand and with a light tug, jerked her towards the shop’s double doors. “It’s like your wedding dress. It’s special.”
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Bio
I’m a country girl, born in Tennessee and raised in Kentucky. I’m a roamer, but always come home because I love the small town atmosphere. It’s who I am. Life in my little corner of the world consists of long winter nights curled up by the fire, cheering on my favorite football teams in the fall, enduring March Madness in the spring and walking barefoot through my garden with a cold jar of sweet tea in the summer – fireflies at sunset accompanied by a serenade of crickets and frogs, and lazy summer nights in the porch swing with my beau.
When I’m not writing, I’m traveling, reading or finding a million other ways to express my creativity. My tastes in music range from classical to rock. I’m passionate about history, art and helping others find the courage to express themselves.
Social Media Links
Facebook / Twitter / Pinterest / Amazon Author Page
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Sienna Harris is a girl with a plan. Her days of slaving away at Carrie’s Classic Events and More are numbered as she is on the brink of launching her own event planning company. Her relationship with Luke Price is headed in the right direction and they are approaching their one-year mark. The future is looking bright and she knows that life could not get any better . . . That is until her perfectly planned world is thrown upside down by the unexpected arrival of someone from Luke’s past.
She receives the shock of her life on the night of the biggest event of her career. Sienna will now have to pull it all together without a list or a plan. The question is, can she do it?
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“Sienna, I want you to meet some of my co-workers. Ladies,
this is Sienna Harris. She is the genius behind all of this,” says Abby, coming
toward me.
“Do you have any business cards?” asks the first woman.
“Yes, I do! I am still with Carrie’s Classic Events and
More, but I am launching my own company very soon,” I say as I hand out a few
cards.
All of a sudden, I feel like I am being chased by the
paparazzi. They all start talking at once; questions are flying at me from
every direction.
“You work for the Carrie Anderstone?”
“Is it true what they say about her?”
“Does she still run that company?”
“I have heard some crazy stories.”
“I heard she had an affair with the mayor at his son’s
graduation party. Were you at that event? Did you see anything?”
“How much plastic surgery has she really had?”
“Do you get along with her?”
“Where does she travel to so much?”
I’m not sure how to answer their questions. This is not the
first time I’ve been asked all about the sordid details of Carrie’s life. I
quickly decide to handle it in the best way I know how . . . I lie and change
the subject.
Just released!!!!!!!!
The exquisite dress, the dazzling menu, the family drama . . . It’s the day every girl dreams of, and Madison Wales is no exception. Her wedding plans seem to be going perfectly thanks to her very talented wedding planner, Sienna Harris. That is, until her grandmother and her two overachieving, bullying cousins suddenly want to become very involved in her big day. But . . . why?
Madison’s perfect wedding dreams are dashed as things slowly start to unravel. With family drama in her midst, she wonders if her cousins are behind each disaster or if she has truly become a paranoid bridezilla.
Will Madison be able to withstand all of the pressure and finally stand up for herself? The idea of eloping with her fiancé, Cole, is looking better everyday, even if it means leaving her dream wedding behind. Will she make the right choice?
Buy now on Amazon
About the author:
Melissa graduated from the University of Central Florida with a Bachelor’s Degree in Communications; she has always had a love for writing. An avid journal keeper, she fulfilled her dream with her debut novel, An Event To Remember . . . Or Forget.
Melissa resides in Orlando, Florida, with her husband and young daughter. She is a master at organization and multi-tasking. Her daily jobs include mother, chauffeur, wife, PTA President, Fitness Trainer, and now Author.
When she has free time, she enjoys traveling, fitness, decorating, fashion, and taking a Disney Cruise every now and then.
Find Melissa on:
Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest
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Desperate to find her place in the world, Sara Beth dreams of applying for the Miss Wrangler Montana competition that tours with the rodeo circuit.
Riding horses has become her anchor until a near fatal accident takes more from her than she’d ever willingly sacrifice.
Determined to prove his business training, Johnny seeks out the Rourke family to call in an old favor. When he embroils himself in Sara Beth’s life, he has to prove they’re nothing more than friends.
Seeking independence, both Sara Beth and Johnny lean on each other more and more, until love threatens their friendship. Will they seek out each other or be confused by their dreams?
Can either of them leave their past and embrace their future?
Riding for Redemption Excerpt
Knock, knock, knock.
Sara Beth jerked her head up, fingers clenching her thin hospital gown.
Rosie walked in, carrying a duffel bag and Sara Beth’s box. She set them on the counter beside the in-room sink and cabinet. Facing Sara Beth, she plastered on a pleasant expression – for lack of a better term – and moved close enough to lean in for a brief hug. She squeezed lightly, before pulling back. “You look good.”
Uncomfortable with the entire situation, Sara Beth pulled her lips tight in what she hoped settled for a welcoming grimace. “Thanks, you do, too. You brought my box?”
“I brought you some books to read also and I know you like looking over those pictures and things, so I brought them along.” Rosie claimed the seat she’d been in before and crossed her legs, uncrossed them, then crossed them again.
Watching her, Sara Beth envied the ability to display discomfort so easily. She finally broke the silence. The erratic behavior wasn’t like her sister and her restlessness bred anxiety in Sara Beth’s stomach. “What’s going on, Rosie?”
Blonde hair loose around her shoulders, Rosie pushed a swath of it behind her. “The garden’s in. Michael set up the fence perfectly. I don’t see any deer getting in there easily, although, if a persistent moose tries, there goes the crop.” She clasped her fingers in her lap and chewed on her lip.
Sensing she wasn’t getting the entire story, Sara Beth tucked her chin to her chest, eyeing Rosie. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Um, well. There’s a couple things we need to talk about.” Rosie studied the railing of Sara Beth’s bed before lifting her gaze to her sister’s face.
“Okay, shoot.” Hopefully, Rosie didn’t want to talk about Sara Beth’s urine bag. A catheter had been installed shortly after she’d arrived and Sara Beth covered the bag every time someone came in. But she’d forgotten just before Rosie had come because she hadn’t been on time.
Nodding shortly, Rosie continued. “You’re right. Best just to spit it out.” She straightened her shoulders and smoothed her expression. “Okay. I talked to the doctor this morning on the phone before coming in. He said you most likely won’t walk again. It’s not guaranteed, but it’s something that you should be prepared for.”
The lights seemed to flicker as Sara Beth blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, what? That’s not what he said to me. I just saw him this morning. What?” How could it be true? She most likely wouldn’t walk again? And Rosie delivered the news so controlled, so blasé. “He’d been so optimistic that physical therapy and other treatment would be productive. I don’t understand.” Confused, she rubbed at her temple.
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Bonnie R. Paulson mixes her science and medical background with reality and possibilities to make even myths seem likely and give every 
romance the genetic strength to survive. Bonnie has discovered a dark and twisty turn in her writing that she hopes you enjoy as much as she has enjoyed uncovering it. Dirt biking with her family in the Northwest keeps her sane.
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Dan Lord is a forty-year-old private detective with a law degree working the blurred line between right and wrong in the Nation’s Capital. As a self-employed solutions broker and legal consultant, he works for a very select clientele. He doesn’t advertise and only takes cases on referral. But when two people close to him are murdered, Dan’s work becomes very personal.
With the assistance of a newly hired female intern, extracting clues from a ladder of acquaintances, Dan bounds through both the underbelly and elite of society, each step bringing more questions and yet ultimately taking him closer to the answer he seeks. A bail bondsman, a recluse hacker, a court clerk, a university student, an old-school barber, a high-class madam, an intelligence officer, a medical doctor, and a police detective are among the list of people Dan must cajole for help. His quest will lead him to discover things he never wanted to know, and put him in the position to reveal things that important people would prefer remain unrevealed.
Tense, ingenious, and filled with the unforgettable characters, Favors and Lies is Mark Gilleo’s most thrilling novel yet.
Buy on Amazon | Website
Read an excerpt from the book:
The cab pulled to the curb on one of the city’s myriad one-way streets and Dan spoke through the holes drilled in the security glass. “What’s the damage?”
“Nineteen even.”
Dan stepped from the back of the cab and slipped a twenty through the front passenger window. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, big spender,” the burly driver replied, shoving the cash into the front pocket of his sweaty shirt.
Dan bent at the waist, his manila folder in hand, and peered into the open window. The glare from Dan’s light-blue eyes melted the driver’s bravado, bringing long-sought momentary silence to the interior of the car. The cabbie muttered something unintelligible and the car pulled away from the curb into evening rush-hour traffic.
Dan straightened his dark blue suit and his red tie before heading down H Street. The business side of the White House sat just beyond Lafayette Square to his left. As a white male in a suit, within spitting distance of the White House, Dan was perfectly camouflaged. Despite the changing face of American society and the dual terms of President Obama, those making the rules remained largely as it always had been – lily white. An hour watching C-Span was the only proof needed.
Dan walked deliberately to the corner of H and 16th streets and silently mingled with a half-dozen likeminded suits waiting for the light. The pedestrian signal changed from an illuminated red hand to the depiction of a person walking. The crowd moved. Dan took three steps toward the street and then froze at the edge of the curb. He scanned his environment for a mirror reaction from anyone in the vicinity. Sometimes the best way to see if you are being followed is to stop. It was a standard counter-surveillance move, likely perfected a hundred thousand years ago by an animal on the Serengeti trying to avoid becoming dinner.
The sidewalk around Dan emptied as the pedestrian signal on the far side of the street began to count down. Dan swiveled his head slowly, finishing with a glance over each shoulder. No one, he thought. At least no one on foot. Walking against traffic on a one-way street mitigated most of the possibilities of being trailed by car.
He waited until the countdown on the pedestrian signal reached five and then crossed the street illegally in the opposite direction, dissecting a group of lawyers and think-tankers on their way to a local watering hole to finish their briefs and pontifications for the evening.
On the far side of the street Dan turned right and headed back in the direction from which he came. Once again he checked for surveillance. Nothing.
Near the end of the block, with a taxi queue ten yards ahead, Dan checked his watch with a casual glance and turned left down an alley without looking back.
He passed several dumpsters and looked up at the darkening sky framed by the buildings on both sides of the alley. A light scent of urine wafted through the air. Under a fire escape near the corner of the building Dan turned again. He followed a staircase downward, his hand running along a worn metal handrail, his shoes trampling cracked concrete steps. Three stories above the urban crevasse, room rates started at eight hundred a night.
Dan forced himself to relax. Feeling out of place was the single greatest contributor for being spotted in an area where one had no earthly business. But with the appropriate behavior and movement, a man in a suit in an alley was no more out of place than a man in overalls in the lobby of an office building. Properly portrayed, every appearance could be overlooked.
Dan reached the bottom of the stairs and admired the collection of discarded cigarette butts thrown half-heartedly at an empty coffee can resting just outside the door. He took one more calming breath and pushed through an unlocked metal door that read “Exit Only” in neat white print.
Unlocked doors were goldmines. Half the buildings in the Nation’s Capital were circumventing million-dollar security systems with propped open doors. A brick here. A doorstop there. If you knew where to look, an employee with a smoking habit could be better than a week of surveillance. Not to mention cheaper and less risky than paying off a doorman.
Inside the building, Dan entered an elbow-room-only foyer facing another door. He watched the light under the closed door and waited for the telltale movement of people on the other side to subside. When the timing was right and the movement ceased, he pulled the knob.
An attractive blonde in an off-the-shoulder red dress took a breath of surprise. Dan muted his response and without pausing pointed towards the men’s room with his chin. “Wrong door.”
The lady in red smiled and Dan followed through on his impromptu ruse and entered the restroom.
“Shit,” Dan whispered, looking into the mirror over a granite sink with gold fixtures. He had rules. One adjustment in the plan was standard. Two put him on notice. Three unforeseen adjustments to a plan and he aborted – immediately and without exception. There was little he could do about the woman in the hall so he pushed it aside. That’s one, he thought. A little early for an adjustment.
The lower level back door at the Hay Adams Hotel was a direct line into the living room of the elite. Off the Record – the appropriately named bar in the basement of the Hay Adams Hotel – boasted a history as long as its client list. It was where the rich blew off steam. People with faces too famous to enjoy a quiet drink in Georgetown or along Connecticut Avenue. Faces from the morning paper and evening news. Off the Record embraced customers who didn’t mind overpaying for drinks or the forty bucks it cost to valet their cars. Money was rapidly becoming the last legal barrier for keeping out the riffraff.
The Hay Adams Hotel, and its subterranean watering hole, was public. Dan could have chosen to walk through the lobby. He could have nodded at the bellhop and doorman as he strolled in unquestioned and unmolested. He could have slowly crossed the ornate wood-paneled entrance and past the polite scrutiny of the front desk as he made his way to the stairs. But why announce your arrival when you didn’t have to? Especially so close to payday.
In the mirror in the bathroom, Dan checked his watch, his hair, his face, his glasses, his teeth, his fingers. He peeked inside his manila folder. He exited the room and walked through the lone swinging door into the bar. He located his target before his first foot hit the deep burgundy carpet. He completed his room assessment by the time his second foot landed. Nine men and four women, he calculated, parsing his headcount before anyone noticed he was in the room. Five men at the bar, two of them seated together, most likely coworkers. Two women alone at a table on the far side of the room in similar black dresses. Waiting for dates, he thought. A table of three huddled in the opposite corner, far enough away to be out of most contingency scenarios. Dan added two more to the headcount for the bartender and waitress, and one more for the lady in red who was now in the bathroom.
Dan stepped from the dark corner near the bathroom and approached a man in his early fifties sitting alone at a table, his hand caressing a glass of Maker’s Mark.
“Judge McMichael,” Dan said, sitting quickly without invitation.
The judge tried not to look surprised but the corner of his eyes betrayed him as they danced towards the entrance of the bar.
“The back door?” the judge asked.
“Bathroom window,” Dan replied straight-faced.
“Am I at the correct table?”
“Yes. Thank you for following instructions.”
Dan didn’t take his eyes off the judge. The judge looked older than his pictures in the press. More stately. Fifty and fit with large hands and sharp eyes. The lighting at the table was romantic – enough light to see the judge, but dark enough to erase cosmetic imperfections from across the table. Perfect call-girl ambiance.
The judge stared back across the table at a short grey mop of curls and wild blue eyes dancing behind thick black-framed glasses. The judge’s eyes dropped to Dan’s hands and the manila folder on the table. Dan noticed the judge’s attention and he covered one hand with the other, both on top of the folder.
“Why don’t we both agree to keep our hands on the table,” Dan suggested before getting to work. “See the two guys at the far end of the bar?”
The judge turned his head slightly.
“They are with me.”
The judge nodded.
“I will make this short and sweet. Your wife has divorce papers for you to sign. She also has an agreement regarding alimony and the custody of your stepson and stepdaughter. She says you have been refusing to sign these documents and have threatened her and her children.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes. Judge Terrance J. McMichael. Born in Naperville, Illinois. Educated at Princeton. Law School at Dartmouth. Judge for the United States Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit… also known as the D.C. Circuit. Wife is named Cindy. Stepdaughter is Caroline. Stepson is Craig.”
“And you are?”
“Someone willing to ruin your life. Your wife hired me to make a request on her behalf. You are a highly intelligent man so I’m going to assume you heard my request the first time and that I don’t need to repeat myself.” Dan paused for effect. “You are going to sign the papers.”
“Do you have any idea what I can do to you?”
Dan slid the manila folder into the middle of the table and opened it. The first photograph showed the judge’s wife with raccoon eyes, her nose broken, swollen to…
About the author:
Mark Gilleo is the author of three award-winning novels. His books have won both the National Indie Excellence Award and the Readers’ Favorite Award. His two most recent novels were finalists in the 2014 International Book Awards. His latest novel, Favors and Lies, was named Runner-Up for fiction in both the 2014 San Francisco Book Festival and the 2014 New York Book Festival. Mark has a graduate degree in international business from the University of South Carolina and an undergraduate degree in business from George Mason University. He enjoys traveling, hiking and biking. He speaks Japanese. A fourth-generation Washingtonian, he currently resides in the DC area. Follow the author on Twitter | Goodreads
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Fighting to Forgive
by JB Salsbury
What do you do when everything you avoid, turns out to be exactly what you need?
Easy and predictable, just the way he likes it, Blake Daniels flies through life the way he burns through women: on his terms, no regrets.
With his fighting career in full swing, he’s on the threshold of title contention. But when his training is compromised by injury, the stakes grow impossibly higher. The rage that fuels his punches also chips away at his focus, and he risks losing everything he cares about.
He won’t let that happen. Not again.
Layla’s through with men. After a marriage that never should’ve happened, she hopes to reclaim the pieces of the woman she lost years ago.
Emotional abuse has left her insecure and terrified. A master at faking what she’s not feeling, she masks her self-doubt in false confidence.
She’ll never let another man hurt her. Not again.
Chased by shadows of the past, Blake and Layla know what they don’t want, but their hearts have a different plan. As a web of lies and betrayal threatens to destroy them, they’re forced to make a choice.
Is love enough to heal even the deepest wounds?
Excerpt:
Purchase:
Fighting For Flight (Book 1) on Amazon
Fighting to Forgive on Amazon
Author Bio:
Bestselling author JB Salsbury lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her husband and two kids. She spends the majority of her day as a domestic engineer. But while she works through her daily chores, a world of battling alphas, budding romance, and impossible obstacles claws away at her subconscious, begging to be released to the page.
Her love of good storytelling led her to earn a degree in Media Communications. With her journalistic background, writing has always been at the forefront, and her love of romance prompted her to sink her free time into novel writing.
Fighting for Flight is her first novel in the MMA romance series.
For more information on the series or just to say hello, visit JB on her Website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads.
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Crowdfunding for Social Good: Financing Your Mark on the World
by Devin D. Thorpe
Over the last year of writing my Forbes blog, I have had the opportunity to really dig deeply into the world of crowdfunding. I’ve just completed my first draft of my new book, Crowdfunding for Social Good: Financing Your Mark on the World.
The book is a guide to successful crowdfunding for people who want to change the world.
The book is not a sequel to my book, Your Mark On The World, but it is written in the same spirit. I’ve studied a dozens of successful crowdfunding campaigns, interviewing the people behind them to learn their secrets for success.
Devin’s Book, Your Mark on the World, was downloaded over 75,000 times and reached the #19 spot on Amazon’s free book list–among all free books. It remains on the top 50 free nonfiction books at Amazon.
Buy on Paperback
Excerpt:
Shaun King Brings Hope(Mob) to Crowdfunding
This article appeared on Forbes.com on March 28, 2013. It is included in Crowdfunding for Social Good by Devin Thorpe and is reprinted here as an excerpt from the book.
Shaun King, founder of the nonprofit HopeMob is revolutionizing crowdfunding for social good with his web site that, unlike most crowdfunding platforms, actually comes with a crowd.
Born in Kentucky in a working class family, as a fifteen-year-old he was beaten so badly in what was one of the first registered hate crimes in the state that he needed a series of surgeries that required two years. He notes, “When bad things happen to some people it hardens their heart, but for me it softened my heart.” He attended Morehouse College where Martin Luther King had attended and was required to do service.
While at Morehouse, using bulletin boards and chat rooms, King began using technology to rally people to volunteer for causes.
When he graduated, he took a job teaching civics and continued using technology to help nonprofit organizations. Eventually, his career morphed until he became a technology consultant for nonprofits.
In 2008, he became a pastor in Atlanta. He visited an inner-city school and promised that his church would provide each student a toy and a new uniform. He didn’t appreciate that it would cost $55,000—money the church didn’t have.
In the earliest days of Twitter, he used the social network to raise the money.
His work caught the attention of the media and in 2009 he raised $1 million for flood relief in Atlanta and organized 10,000 volunteers there. In January 2010, the earthquake in Haiti caught his attention and he raised $1 million for relief there.
He then created HopeMob, to make it easy for people to give to a cause or to people in need. HopeMob has now raised more than $5 million for causes of all sorts. HopeMob is different from other crowdfunding sites, he says.
“If you don’t have your own social network it’s almost impossible to raise money on other crowdfunding sites.” At HopeMob, Shaun and his team are actively involved in vetting the stories to validate the needs and then they help to write up the story and bring the money from the HopeMob.
HopeMob has over 450,000 followers on Twitter and 113,000 likes on Facebook. In addition, everyone who signs up at HopeMob.com will get email notifications of people in need. While many crowdfunding platforms are better described as peerfunding platforms where you bring your peers, HopeMob brings the crowd.
In addition, HopeMob doesn’t charge any fees to the fundraiser. Every dollar raised for a campaign on the site, goes to the campaign. At check out, donors are asked to volunteer to pay a little extra to help cover these costs. Corporations sometimes “sponsor” a campaign and cover the costs. HopeMob is also working with Dwolla to reduce transaction costs; Dwolla charges just $0.25 per bank transfer over $25 and waives the fee entirely for transfers under $25.
Shaun wants HopeMob to become all that crowdfunding promises to be for those in need.
About Devin:
Devin D. Thorpe thinks he is the luckiest person alive. After being “let go” from the best job he’d ever had—as the Chief Financial Officer of the multinational food and beverage company MonaVie—he and his wife ended up living in China for a year where he wrote Your Mark On The World and embarked on the career he’d always wanted yet hadn’t dared dream.
Now, as an author, a popular guest speaker and Forbes contributor, Devin is devoted full time to championing social good. His current life isn’t much like his past.
As an entrepreneur, Devin ran—at separate times—a boutique investment banking firm and a small mortgage company. He served as the Treasurer for the multinational vitamin manufacturer USANA Health Sciences years before becoming CFO for MonaVie. Over his career he led or advised on the successful completion of $500 million in transactions.
Devin squeezed in two brief stints in government, including two years working for Jake Garn on the U.S. Senate Banking Committee Staff and another year working for an independent state agency called USTAR, where he helped foster technology entrepreneurship during Governor Jon Huntsman’s administration.
Devin is proud to have graduated from the University of Utah David Eccles School of Business, which recognized him as a Distinguished Alum in 2006. He also earned an MBA at Cornell University where he ran the student newspaper, Cornell Business.
Today, Devin channels the idealism of his youth with the loving support of his wife, Gail. Their son Dayton is a PhD candidate in Physics at UC Berkeley (and Devin rarely misses an opportunity to mention that).
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Cache a Predator
by, M. Weidenbenner
Officer Brett Reed will do anything to gain custody of his five-year-old daughter, Quinn. But when the man-hating judge grants Brett’s drug-addicted ex-wife custody and slaps him with a protective order for losing his temper, he fears for Quinn’s safety. Who will protect her now?
When Quinn is found abandoned on the streets, Brett’s worse nightmares turn toward a dark path. His daughter is placed in a temporary foster home until Child Protective Services can complete an assessment. It should only take a few days.
But a lot can happen in a few days.
Especially when there’s a deranged psychopath on the loose, someone who’s attacking pedophiles, someone who wants to protect children like Quinn, and someone who’s planting body parts in geocaching sites.
Cache a Predator is a novel about a father’s love, justice, and the unhinged game of hide-the-cache.
EXCERPT:
All he had left was a stub.
I giggled and held the flesh up for the tombstone people to see. “Look!”
Smiling, I placed it in the bag and pinched my fingers along the top, sealing it shut.
After retracting the blade, I set it on the towel, opened the backpack and placed the supplies inside. I returned to the body, pulled up his pants, buttoned the top, and fastened his belt.
A laugh started low in my belly. It rose into a wail as memories came flooding back. Him touching me. Damaging me. He’d dragged me out of the toolshed that day and into the house. I’d kicked and curled into a ball, but still he came at me.
Now, grunting, I balled my hands into fists and beat his chest.
Thud.
Again.
Thud.
Again and again until my fists burned.
I inhaled and exhaled deeply, then released the hinges of the casket and dropped each lid with a bang.
Who’s the big man now?
After locking the coffin, I rolled it back into place, slid the granite face across the floor and lifted it to the opening. The anger gave me strength.
The casket clanked and clattered back into place. I scooped the rosette key from the towel and refastened the hardware. An opera sang in my head, the singers’ voices getting louder and louder, keeping rhythm with my heartbeat.
After gathering my supplies, I wheeled the lift back into the closet, took out the antibacterial wipes in my bag and wiped down the floor. I flung the pack over my shoulder and onto my back, then glanced around the room. No mess.
Once outside, I shone the flashlight on the lock and left it the same way I found it.
When that was complete, I flipped my flashlight off and began my trek to the cache site, counting the rows and stones. The drums of the concert played their final beats, and my mind went quiet. I glanced at my watch. I was on time.
There was much to do. I needed to keep to my schedule. I shuffled out of the cemetery, mumbling in rhythm. Find. The. Cache. Box. Bury. The. Stub. Find the cache box. Bury the stub. Find the cache box. Bury the stub.
About the Author
Michelle is a fulltime employee of God’s kingdom, writing and encouraging writers every day. She’s often a sucker for emotional stories, her sensitive side fueling the passion for her character’s plights, often giving her the ability to show readers the “other” side of the story.
She grew up in the burbs of Detroit with five brothers. No sisters. Each time her mom brought the boy bundle home from the hospital Michelle cried, certain her mom liked boys better than girls. But when her brothers pitched in with the cooking, cleaning, and babysitting—without drama, Michelle discovered having brothers wasn’t so bad. They even taught her how to take direct criticism without flinching, which might come in handy with book reviews.
Michelle is living her dream—writing every day and thanking God for the stories He puts in her path. When Michelle isn’t writing she’s winning ugly on the tennis court. She’s known as “Queen of the Rim Shots.” No joke. It’s ugly.
Follow Michelle: FaceBook | Twitter | Website | Goodreads
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Keeper of Reign
Books written in blood. Most are lost, their Keepers with them. A curse that befell a people. A Kingdom with no King. Life couldn’t get more harrowing for the Elfies, a blend of Elves and Fairies. Or for sixteen-year-old Jules Blaze. Or could it?
For Jules, the heir of a Keeper, no less, suspects his family hides a forgotten secret. It was bad enough that his people, the Elfies of Reign, triggered a curse which reduced the entire inhabitants to a mere inch centuries ago. All because of one Keeper who failed his purpose. Even the King’s Ancient Books, did not help ward off that anathema.
Now, Gehzurolle, the evil lord, and his armies of Scorpents, seem bent on destroying Jules and his family. Why? Gehzurolle’s agents hunt for Jules as he journeys into enemy land to find the truth. Truth that could save him and his family, and possibly even reverse the age-long curse. Provided Jules doesn’t get himself killed first.
Excerpt:
Is Ralston alive? Can I save him? Slowly, he stood and dashed in and out of the sweeping blades of grass toward the mossy plot. Quiet at first, his lips pressed into a determined line, he made sure not to snap a twig as he threaded through the tall grasses. He ran so fast that the edge of a blade cut his forehead. As he neared the fowls he yelled at the fourth crow in hoarse madness. The bird’s yellow eyes flitted to him. It squawked and in three big flaps its beak honed in on him, talons still clenched onto Ralston. Staring the bird in the eye, Jules flung the red stone at the black bird’s beak but the stone struck its eye instead. Better than he’d expected. “Yes!” Jules shouted and beat his fist in the air in triumph. The raven dropped Ralston, almost on top of Jules, who swerved away just in time. The other three birds swooped to the mossy spot and made a ruckus, as if scolding the fourth. Jules braced himself for another attack but something else caught his eye. A cloud of dark mass was flying in their direction. The droning hum the dark mass made reverberated and filled the air. Jules clapped his ears shut. What was happening? He’d heard of mutated insects the Handovers had experimented with, but they were supposed to only inhabit Handover. Not here in Reign. Could they be invading now? After all, the Scorpents had started coming. But when one from the mass broke away he saw he’d been mistaken. Fiesty! As Fiesty flew over Jules’s head the mass became identifiable: a swarm of dragonflies. More than a hundred of them whizzed in and out, targeting the ravens’ eyes and nostrils. In obvious fury the afflicted ravens thrashed their massive wings at each other. Kneeling beside Ralston, Jules sucked in his breath, hardly daring to breathe. “Ralston,” he whispered at last. Getting no response, he shook Ralston vigorously. “Hey, wake up!” But still, his brother didn’t stir. He pounded on Ralston’s chest, hard. “Breathe, Ralston! Breathe!”
About Emma:
Emma Right is a happy wife and homeschool mother of five living in the Pacific West Coast of the USA. Besides running a busy home, and looking after their five pets, which includes two cats, two bunnies and a Long-haired dachshund, she also writes stories for her children. She loves reading, and when she doesn’t have her nose in a book, she is telling her kids to get theirs in one.
Right worked as a copywriter for two major advertising agencies and won several awards, including the prestigious Clio Award for her ads, before children came along.
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Four long-estranged friends from London’s turbulent Sixties scene of sex, drugs and rock and roll are thrown together after seventeen years when one of them accidentally discovers the secret identity of their betrayer; a man they knew only as The Acid King, a charismatic figure who orchestrated a weekend of alluring drugs ending with a bust, jail time and death.
- What the friends don’t know is that a New York FBI Agent, another old enemy of the Acid King, has been on a long frustrating manhunt of his own, driven by the same rage for revenge. Until, by coincidence, he discovers the mystery man’s hidden Los Angeles location and tracks him to his lair. Resulting in a dangerous confrontation that puts lives, both guilty and innocent, on the line.
- The Acid King is the thinly veiled story of the famous Redlands drug bust of 1967; an event that put Mick Jagger and Keith Richards behind bars and nearly destroyed the world’s most famous rock band. All orchestrated by an unidentified man who set them up and then disappeared.
- By a strange twist of fate the Author (former film agent for Mick Jagger) met the Acid King in Los Angeles and became involved with him for several years, never knowing who he really was, until her friend Marianne Faithfull (former lover of Jagger) surprisingly identified him.
Excerpt:
Pete’s face registered the strain of remembering an image from that night he’d never forget. It was one of several horrors that burned in his mind when he opened the hatch on that particular subterranean area called sixties memories he had cut out of his biography. This one was King Leo sitting in Jeremy’s high-backed antique armchair, primly nursing his silver attache case while the local constabulary slowly felt inside all the pockets of every jacket, trouser and coat they could find in the house, looking for evidence of illegal substances.
The dealer had just glibly persuaded the cops to keep their hands off his case of precious unprocessed film. It was outrageous. “I’m a filmmaker, that’s my life’s work in there, my movie, exposed film that would be ruined if you touch it,” he’d purred and pleaded.
Everyone in the room knew what was really in those foil-wrapped packages, but couldn’t say anything without incriminating themselves.
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About Maggie:
The Acid King tells the fictionalized story of what she imagined could have happened afterwards.
Maggie Abbott started writing novels when she moved to Palm Springs after a long, successful show business career in Los Angeles, London, Rome, and New York.
A casual job as a secretary at the William Morris Agency in Rome introduced her to the exciting scene of Cleopatra, Fellini’s 8½ and The Pink Panther, with the city’s influx of big stars calling by the office every day, and triggered her lifelong love affair with movies.
Over the years, Maggie has enjoyed being in the most interesting places at the best of their times, while working as the movie agent for some exciting stars: Mick Jagger, David Bowie, Charlotte Rampling, Jacqueline Bisset, Martin Sheen, Raquel Welch, Christopher Plummer, Robert Redford, Mia Farrow, Peter Sellers, Richard Chamberlain, Peter O’Toole, Britt Ekland, Ken Russell, John Boorman, and many more.
Somewhere in between, Maggie was the production assistant on three Broadway plays, and a producer and studio executive at Columbia Pictures where she developed and got production credits on two movies.
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Cuspian
by DC Hall
Twins, Kendal and Kennedi Myles are the envy of their peers with: a second string spot on the varsity football team, smartass but loyal teammates, miniature pores, and a killer spray tan. They had big plans for sophomore year, until their mother is slaughtered during a botched robbery.
Forced to move with their estranged father, Kendal becomes fixated with finding their mother’s killer, while Kennedi tries to settle into life with their dad. After the discovering a trail of unsettling clues, the pair to believe their mother’s death was part of a conspiracy. As the teens’ investigation digs deeper into their mom’s enigmatic past, a mysterious agency stumbles upon them, and the twosome learns they are Cuspians—individuals gifted with supernatural abilities. Kendal and Kennedi are soon faced with the challenge of staying concealed from the shadowy organization hell-bent on enslaving powerful Cuspians while trying to solve a murder.
Family secrets, bloody breadcrumbs, and deadly obsessions guide the twins through tough decisions and awful mistakes. Desperate for their lives to return to normal, the pair found normal is not written in the stars for either one of them.
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Excerpt:
Dirty copper.
People say it’s hard to describe the scent of blood. But as I woke up clothed in the now-hardened substance, I knew the very essence of life smelled like…like a grimy penny forgotten at the bottom of a purse.
I pushed up on my elbows, not caring how I’d ended up on the floor or what that squishy sound in my torso meant. I dragged by body across the floor, determined to escape the awful smell. I stopped after a few feet, road blocked by Beau’s body. I didn’t need to push up higher on my elbows to see that the other bodies sprawled out across the room belonged to Savannah and Logan. I rolled to my side and poured my insides out. Vomit mixed with the blood that carpeted the floors.
Blood. Vomit.
Life. Shame.
I vomited and cried until my stomach ached from dry heaving and spasmed from overuse. When there was nothing left in me I curled into a ball and cried. I tried to take more shallow breaths to ease the sharp pains of breathing. I was lightheaded. Darkness came shortly after.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DC Hall is obsessed with argyle socks, the smell of books and believes he is the smartest person in the room. Granted he’s usually alone when he thinks this but it still feels good. When his nose isn’t stuck in a book, DC is usually writing or trying to teach his dog, Brooklyn, how to wash dishes (success remains elusive.) DC is from the south where the teas are sweet, distance is measured in minutes—not miles, and the skies are always Carolina blue.
If you are interested in learning more about DC:
Email: dchallauthor@gmail.com
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