Giveaway – The Algorithm Will See You Now by J L Lycette @partnersincr1me

The Algorithm Will See You Now by JL Lycette Banner

The Algorithm Will See You Now

by JL Lycette

October 16 -27, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Medical treatment determined by artificial intelligence could do more than make Hope Kestrel’s career. It could revolutionize healthcare.

What the Seattle surgeon doesn’t know is the AI has a hidden fatal flaw, and the people covering it up will stop at nothing to dominate the world’s healthcare-and its profits. Soon, Hope is made the scapegoat for a patient’s death, and only Jacie Stone, a gifted intern with a knack for computer science, is willing to help search for the truth.

But her patient’s death is only the tip of the conspiracy’s iceberg. The Director, Marah Maddox, is plotting a use for the AI far outside the ethical bounds of her physician’s oath. A staggering plan capable of reducing human lives to their DNA code, redefining the concepts of sickness and health, and delivering the power of life and death decisions into the hands of those behind the AI.

Even if the algorithm accidentally discards some who are treatable in order to make that happen…

Praise for The Algorithm Will See You Now:

“I’ve been waiting for a book like this: a full-frontal assault on the dangers of artificial intelligence and the failures of our mangled health care system, all wrapped up in a clever, ripping thriller. Jennifer Lycette is an author to watch.”
~ Rob Hart, author of The Paradox Hotel

The Algorithm Will See You Now Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Black Rose Writing
Publication Date: March 2, 2023
Number of Pages: 272
ISBN: 9781685131494 (ISBN10: 1685131492)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Black Rose Writing

Read an excerpt:

MONDAY 08 OCTOBER 2035
7:15 AM

PRIMA, Prognostic Intelligent Medical Algorithms
Main Campus, Seattle

Dr. Hope Kestrel was the only person who knew the patient in Room 132 wasn’t responding to the algorithm-selected treatment.

She shuffled forward in the hospital security line, wanting to get her day started already yet dreading how she’d tell her patient the unexpected and devastating news. The straps from her work bag dug into her right shoulder as she shifted the trays of coffee and scones in her arms, her usual Monday morning offering to the staff. From PRIMA’s lofty location at the top of “Pill Hill,” the floor-to-ceiling windows framed downtown Seattle’s skyline, lit up by the early morning sun—its first appearance in over a week. In the distance, a ribbon of pink sky silhouetted the Space Needle, the tip poking out of the murky blue of the cloud bank. She frowned down at her pale hands, unable to recall the last time her skin had seen the sun. Even her freckles were fading.

Her heart lifted when she spotted Bear, the Security Force service dog, rounding the corner. The German shepherd dashed for her, pulling Kyle, his Security Force guard, with him. The people next to her in line stepped back.

Bear nosed at her lab coat, and she lifted the pastry box in one hand higher while shielding the cardboard carrier of coffee in the other. Hot liquid sloshed onto her wrist, the sting on her skin not far off from the burn in her chest that had been present all morning, triggered by the impending meeting in Room 132. One where she’d need to engage on an interpersonal level without the usual buffering layer of technology.

Her gaze shifted from Bear to the familiar logo on the wall behind Kyle’s head—Prognostic Intelligent Medical Algorithms—and she shut out the searing pain in her chest. They were so close to the breakthrough to enhance the artificial intelligence even further. To render tumors like her mom’s curable. Because to rely on only hopefulness promised everything and got you nothing. No matter her damn name.

She had to focus on the big picture. All she needed was to maintain her top ranking for a few more months. Then the coveted post-residency position at PRIMA would be hers—complete with her own research lab. Soon, she’d work side-by-side with her mentor Cecilia, no longer an underling.

Bear gave a muffled woof and sat down obediently at her feet. Although Kyle would probably deny it if asked, she strongly suspected the guard went out of his way each morning to find her, knowing how much she loved Bear. It had been their unofficial routine for five years now.

Hope gestured with her elbow. “Kyle, could you take this for a sec?”

The burly, middle-aged man accepted the breakfast offerings with a flash of white teeth gleaming in contrast to his warm brown skin. “You got it, High Resident Kestrel.”

“For the millionth time, you can call me Hope.”

His eyes twinkled. “Whatever you say, oh most High One.”

Heat flamed Hope’s cheeks, and she tried to cover it with an eye roll. Three months into her final year, she still wasn’t used to her lofty title. She’d be called the Chief Resident—not the High Resident—at any other program, but PRIMA had its own language.

The loyal dog emitted another stifled woof from his barely contained seated position.

Hope fished in the front pocket of her white scrubs for one of the dog biscuits she always carried and tossed the treat to Bear, who snapped it up.

Kyle returned the pastries, then spoke in the deep, rumbling voice that Hope had come to learn only masked his kindly nature. “He sure loves you, Dr. K. He’d follow you anywhere. Have you reconsidered about one of the puppies?”

She shifted her grip and gave a wistful shake of her head. “It wouldn’t be fair. I’m never home.”

“So? You’d figure it out. Hire a dog walking service—and doggie daycare, too. You don’t have to do it on your own.”

“I’d be nothing more than a familiar stranger who provides shelter and food.”

Kyle bent down to rub Bear behind his ears, only to glance up and hastily straighten into a military posture, shoulders back. He tugged Bear to heel, his gaze fixed over Hope’s head.

The dog sensed his handler’s shift in mood, the fur on his neck bristling upward.

Hope swiveled, following the direction of Kyle’s eyes. More coffee dribbled on her hand, but she barely felt it this time. A man and woman in matching black suits and pressed white shirts were staring in their direction. Hope couldn’t help but stare back. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, mid-thirties, with angular cheekbones and deep-set eyes, his striking features set off by his onyx black hair. The woman appeared to be of similar age and height, equally imposing, with skin paler than Hope’s, commanding eyebrows, and white-blonde hair in an identical short haircut to her partner.

Hope’s eyes darted to Kyle, who flashed another smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Are those two—?”

“Not regular Security Forces. They’ll notice me deviating from my route.” Kyle grimaced. “And letting Bear interact with civilians.”

“But—”

Kyle dropped his voice. “Last week, another disgruntled non-responder tried to get in.”

A non-responder. A patient the algorithm had identified as refractory—resistant to all known therapeutics—and therefore wouldn’t be offered treatment at PRIMA. Or shouldn’t, at least.

Hope went cold all over. All patient volunteers agreed to abide by the algorithm’s determinations in exchange for free healthcare. What would the guards do if they discovered another non-responder already here, admitted by mistake? On Hope’s service, no less.

But that wasn’t her fault—

“You’re a busy doctor, and we shouldn’t be holding you up.” Kyle tugged Bear away before she could ask him anything more. “We’ll see you again soon, Dr. K.”

Before the dog was out of reach, Hope hurried to transfer the pastry box to the crook of her elbow, bracing it against her side enough to allow her to extend a hand to trail her fingers in Bear’s soft fur. The brief comfort the touch provided would have to last until tomorrow. She re-joined the line to watch the man and woman cut through the security checkpoint.

Her muscles tightened, and she forced them to relax. She needed to focus. At least medical training had made her a champion at putting extraneous thoughts out of her mind. Compartmentalization for the win.

A few moments later, she passed through the checkpoint and stepped onto OASIS—the Oncologic and Surgical Intervention Success Unit—and its familiar buzz of activity.

Patients strolled the oval hallway in the sunshine-yellow robes and plush slippers allocated upon admission. If not for the slim IV poles, they might be in a luxury hotel. The hidden panels in the walls and ceiling secured all medical equipment out of sight.

Abbie Fuentes, the charge nurse on OASIS for as long as Hope or anyone else could remember, spotted her arrival and trailed her into the break room. Hope wordlessly handed her one of the coffees, and she took a noisy sip while scanning Hope up and down, her impeccably bobbed hair not moving an inch. “What’s going on with you today? You’re late.”

Hope shrugged. The nurses hadn’t yet seen her patient’s latest test results, and the part of Hope that feared being perceived a failure planned to wait until the last possible moment to tell them. “Line at security. You know, it’s getting slower every day.”

***

Excerpt from The Algorithm Will See You Now by JL Lycette. Copyright 2023 by JL Lycette. Reproduced with permission from JL Lycette. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

JL Lycette

Jennifer / JL Lycette is a novelist, award-winning essayist, rural physician, wife, and mom. Mid-career, she discovered narrative medicine on her path back from physician burnout and has been writing ever since. She is an alumna of the 2019 Pitch Wars Novel Mentoring program. Her first novel, The Algorithm Will See You Now, was a 2023 SCREENCRAFT CINEMATIC BOOK COMPETITION FINALIST, 2023 READER’S FAVORITE BRONZE MEDAL WINNER in the Medical Thriller category, 2023 MAXY AWARD’S FINALIST – Thriller category, and 2023 PAGE TURNER AWARD’S FINALIST – Best Debut Novel category. The Committee Will Kill You Now is her second novel.

Connect with her, see more of her writing, and subscribe to receive the latest updates at:
JenniferLycette.com
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BookBub – @JL_Lycette
Instagram – @jl_lycette
Facebook – @Author.JL.Lycette

 

 

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Paper Targets: Art Can Be Murder by Steve S Saroff @stevesaroff

Amazon / Goodreads

MY REVIEW

What first drew me in was the second line of the blurb: Based on the buried events of one of the largest criminal frauds in history, Paper Targets digs into the motivation of criminals on the fringe.

I like a flawed character, and these characters are definitely flawed. Enzi was a stutterer. His mother died when he was twelve and his father hit the bottle. He was bullied at school and ignored by his teachers. He was removed from his fathers home, passed from school to school, bullies to bullies, until her ran away at fourteen. He roamed from job to job. He became enamored with patterns, which led to mathematics.

He becomes involved with Kaori, a woman he met at a party and she is a piece of work.

He does a little something for Tsai, and before he knows it he’s in over his head. Threats fly and he struggles to find a way out of the tangled web he has become involved in. I wondered how, or if, he would get out of the situation that threatens his life and those around him. We do have an elusive guy he goes to for a bit of peace and quiet, and he becomes a favorite of mine.

I flipped between a three and four rating, but the ending was worth that extra star. Many times I find the ending is what saves a book for me. Good job, Steve.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

GOODREADS BLURB

While breaking into a financial network, a hacker falls for a dangerous artist.

Based on the buried events of one of the largest criminal frauds in history, Paper Targets digs into the motivation of criminals on the fringe.

Critics and reviewers are calling it “Wonderfully written,” “A novel to read now,” and “A literary thriller with a soul.”

Set in Montana, Paper Targets simmers with greed and love before boiling over along the red-flagged path between lost and found.

From the publisher:

Paper Targets reads like a confession from someone double-cursed with the skills to make money and the sort of love that makes sorrow. It is a captivating story. What got me on the first read of the manuscript was the writing. Stark, yet emotional. Dark while still being relevant and heart-breakingly clear. For a few pages, I wondered to what genre the story belonged. Then I didn’t care because all I wanted to know was what would be revealed on each page turn. Paper Targets is a story of modern crime set in Montana with connections and events in the money world of New York, Seattle, and London. The descriptions of Montana rock and sky blend and flow easily — with only the slightest of wobbles — with the descriptions of technology and cityscapes of grey concrete.

  • Genre: Fiction, Mystery, Psychological, Suspense, Thriller
  • 249 pages, Kindle Edition
  • First published February 2, 2022 by Flooding Island

ABOUT STEVE S SAROFF

Steve Saroff is a well-known short-story writer, novelist, and entrepreneur. He published over 30 short stories, printed traditionally in Redbook and other national magazines, and is the author of Paper Targets; The Long Line of Elk; and the forthcoming Mixed Drinks. He also hosts the literary podcast Montana Voice.

Steve Saroff was a runaway who became an author and a computer coder. He has helped artists, writers, musicians, and a few good actors start careers. He helped launch Submittable, the submission system used by publishers, and he was the founder of FreeMail Inc, the first commercially successful web-based email system. FreeMail was acquired just before WorldCom and Enron’s multi-billion-dollar criminal fraud and collapse — still the world’s largest combined criminal frauds. His novel Paper Targets digs into a buried fringe from that corrupt time.

(Author’s photo was taken from the time of the oil-field events in Paper Targets)

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Review – Mermaid Beach by Sheila Roberts #sheilaroberts @pumpupyourbook

Amazon / Audiobook

Title: Mermaid Beach (Moonlight Harbor Series Book 7)

Author: Sheila Roberts

Publisher: MIRA

Pages: 384

Genre: Women’s Fiction/Romance

MY REVIEW

I must admit, it was the title for Mermaid Beach by Sheila Roberts that gave me pause. Mermaids are one of my favorite supernatural creatures, even though I know these mermaids won’t have fins and tails, and anything happening on the beach has to be a good thing….right?

This is a fantastic book to grab for your summer reading…or any time, really. My visit to Moonlight Harbor was wonderful. Though it is my first time, this is the seventh book in the series. We have three lovely ladies that cover three generations, singing in a band called the Mermaids. They are the house band at The Drunken Sailor. How much fun is that?

I found myself cracking up at some of the dialogue, especially once Bonnie meets a love interest and Team Estrogen urges her to go for it.

Nothing is smooth sailing for this fabulous trio. Like real life, there are plenty of bumps in the road when falling in love, making life choices for their future, and chasing their dreams. An old secret will be exposed, causing a rift in the family.

I find most, if not all, small town romances have unique characters that make a visit fun and exciting, as we get to know them. It will not be all sunshine and rainbows in Moonlight Harbor. Hearts will be broken, new love will blossom, other times wilting on the vine. Can there be a happy ever after for all three of them? Will their dreams come true? Or, will they find that sometimes what we seek the most is right in front of us?

Many times I am surprised by how much I can enjoy a novel, a clean story, that has no serial killers, murderers, or supernatural creatures out to kill us all. Mermaid Beach by Sheila Roberts is one of those. I was out of town, but could not stop reading. The more I read, the more I enjoyed it. Well done, Sheila! I hope to be back for another visit to Moonlight Harbor.

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Mermaid Beach by Sheila Roberts.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 stars

BOOK BLURB

Bonnie Brinks and her all-woman band, The Mermaids, are the pride of Moonlight Harbor. They’re the house band at The Drunken Sailor, and that’s just the right amount of fame for Bonnie. A lifetime ago, she went to Nashville to make it big, but she returned home with a broken heart and broken dreams. Now she’s got a comfortable life and a brilliant daughter, Avril, who plays for The Mermaids alongside Bonnie and Bonnie’s mother, Loretta.

Avril has big dreams of her own. Her life in Moonlight Harbor is good–she loves singing and playing guitar with The Mermaids, and she has the sweetest, most loyal boyfriend a girl could ask for–but it all feels so…small. She can’t help wondering if there’s something more out there for her. And she doesn’t understand why her mom won’t support her going to Nashville to find out.

Meanwhile, Bonnie threw in the towel on her love life long ago, but Loretta sure hasn’t. She’s determined to be swept off her feet, and she wants the same for her daughter. When the hunky new owner of The Drunken Sailor turns the tables on the band and Avril announces she’s leaving Moonlight Harbor, Bonnie’s comfortable life seems to be drifting away. Will these three generations of Mermaids find their happy endings on the Washington coast? Or will the change in the winds leave them all shipwrecked?

“Blooming with heartfelt charm and swoon-worthy moments…” Woman’s World Magazine

Release Date: April 25, 2023

 

EXCERPT

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? MEET J.J. AND BONNIE

It was a pleasant ride to the beach. Once he was off I-5 he was on highways that took him through stands of evergreens and logging towns with small houses, many of them forty years old, many of which were being refurbished.

Then he hit Moonlight Harbor with its crazy stone pillars at the entrance, still standing from when the town was first developed in the sixties. The place was a mixture of funky old and upbeat new, the buildings from both eras catering to visitors with restaurants, moped rentals, shops and a fun plex that offered bumper cars and go-carts for entertainment. A family of deer grazed on the grass in the meridian between the two one-way streets running through the town.

Another ten minutes and he was pulling into the driveway of Lee’s beach digs, a three-bedroom rambler with rock for lawn encased in a white picket fence. Lee and his wife were ready for him with a proper Thanksgiving leftover meal of turkey sandwiches, dressing and gravy, and cranberry sauce. Seeing the way they looked at each other about gave him heartburn.

His ex had looked at him like that about a million years ago. Stupid, fool him. He was a walking morality tale, an example of what happened when a man wound up married to his job instead of his woman. If only she’d given him a fair chance to right that ship.

“How’s your sandwich?” Glinda asked.

“Great,” he said. “Thanks. And thanks for inviting me down.”

“Sometimes a man’s gotta get some new scenery,” said Lee.

After they ate Glinda made them clean up the kitchen and left to check on things at the pub for Lee and hang out with some girlfriends.

“She’s a great woman,” J.J. said.

“That she is,” agreed Lee. “They’re still out there, dude.”

J.J. gave a cynical chuckle. “Yeah, I’m holding my breath.”

“While you’re holding your breath let’s play some cribbage. Tomorrow I’ll take you out to eat.”

They settled down with whiskey and cards and it was a pleasant evening. It sure beat sitting around the condo wondering if he ought to check out an internet dating site.

Saturday found him out on the beach in boots and a thick jacket with his buddy, working a clam gun to capture the elusive razor clam. A weak sun was out and the sand was damp and muddy and the air was crisp. A perfect day. They weren’t the only ones who thought so. The beach was thick with people, all in search of the same delight.

“You should move down here,” Lee said, as he tossed a clam in their bucket. He wasn’t much taller than J.J. and was built like a tank. In their college days he’d mowed down his opponents on the football field just like one. He’d gotten his education thanks to a college scholarship. J.J. had waited tables and worked in restaurant kitchens. Glinda had already informed him he would be in charge of making the clam chowder for lunch.

“Yeah? So I can grow moss like you? It’s always wet.”

“Not in the summer.”

“Yeah, well let me know when you figure out how to make it summer all year long,” J.J. said.

“Oh, come on. You know you loved it when we went over to Westhaven and went fishing.”

“Just thinking about that halibut we caught makes my mouth water,” J.J. said.

“Fishing, clamming, kayaking on the canals, golfing – it’s the life.”

J.J. brushed the sand off his hands and studied his friend. “Why do I feel like I’m sitting in on a time share pitch?”

Lee shrugged and chuckled. “Just sayin’ it’s a good life down here.”

“For you. You got a great wife and your daughters live nearby.”

Lee sobered. “It sucks that things went sideways with Eloise.”

“It’s been three years. I’m over it.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. My life’s good. I like my freedom. Got no woman nagging me, no obligations.”

“That bad, huh?”

J.J. gave a rueful smile and shook his head. “Okay, so it’s not perfect.”

“Maybe you need a change.”

“Okay, what’s the hidden agenda?”

“No hidden agenda,” Lee said and suddenly got busy checking to see if they’d reached their limit of clams.

Yep, there was a hidden agenda.

Glinda proved it when, after lunch she said, “Aren’t you tired of city living yet, J.J.?”

He set down his glass of beer and looked from one to the other. “Spill, you two. What’s up?”

They exchanged guilty looks. “Well,” Lee said, “Just thought you might be interested in a new business opportunity.”

“Oh, no. You got sucked into a pyramid scheme,” J.J. said in horror.

Lee made a face. “No.”

“The pub’s failing. You need a silent partner. No problem.” It would be the least he could do. He’d helped his buddy get into this mess.

J.J. had come down to Moonlight Harbor ten years earlier when his pal had told him about the little beach town pub he wanted to buy, had looked over the books with Lee and the owner, then given it a thumbs up, although he’d been concerned about Lee getting into the restaurant business.

“It’s a tough business,” he’d cautioned. “When you buy a restaurant, it owns you.” He knew that from personal experience.

“I can make a go of it,” Lee had said. “We want out of the city and Glinda’s up for it.”

“Okay, then,” J.J. had said.

He’d shared his expertise with his friend and Lee had done okay. But they hadn’t talked much in the last couple of years. Between getting divorced and getting his feet back under him J.J. had been a little distracted. Obviously, Lee’s investment had gone south.

“The pub’s doing great,” Lee said.

Well, so much for that conclusion. “Then what’s up?”

“What’s up is that it’s time to sell the business. The girls are grown and one’s had the nerve to move out of state. Glinda wants to start traveling.”

“You want your life back.”

Lee chuckled. “Something like that. I was thinking maybe you might want yours back, too.”

So this was where they were going. J.J. held up a hand. “Oh, no. No more restaurants. Too much work.”

“Yeah, and you’re so busy.”

“I’ll admit I’m kind of at loose ends, but I don’t think I want to work that hard.”

“I’ve already done all the hard work.”

“Yeah, right.” When you owned a business, it owned you. And restaurants …

“Never mind,” said Lee. “Let’s go play some pool. You can check out the house band.”

“You got a house band? What are they, a bunch of grungy kids in their twenties?”

Lee smiled at that. “Not quite. It’s a chick band.”

“A chick band. Interesting. So, three grungy chicks in their twenties.”

“Nope. Mother, daughter and granddaughter. They had another but she’s off to Nashville to try and become a star. They’re still good though, especially the lead singer. That woman sings like an angel, sometimes like a little devil. And she is something fine to look at. They’ve really been packing in the crowds on the weekend.”

“That’s good.”

“The place is doing well,” said Lee. “I know you shouldn’t do business with friends, but since you were in the restaurant business and since you’re the man with the business degree, I thought I’d give you first crack at it.” He suddenly looked wistful. “I kind of hate to let the place go. It’s like losing a part of me.”

J.J. nodded. “I know how you feel. I hated to let go of my places. Did it all for nothing,” he said bitterly.

His words brought on an awkward silence. He should have kept his shit to himself. He shook off the downer moment. “Let’s shoot some pool.”

“Good idea,” said Lee. “And, J.J., I get you not wanting to get sucked into this business again. I’d have liked you to be the one who takes over The Drunken Sailor, but no worries. The right owner will show up.”

Maybe the right owner had showed up, J.J. thought as they drank beer and waited their turn at one of the pool tables. The place was packed. Lots of out of towners, but Lee said he had a ton of regulars who came in during the week as well. Line dancing lessons were offered on Sunday afternoons followed by line dancing. A lot of the old guys came in mid-week to play darts and Lee had recently started a Ladies night, with half-off on drinks on Tuesdays and pool lessons taught by some of the better players, including a guy named Seth Waters, who had been regular before he got married. According to Lee, he still came in to play pool on Sundays while his wife and her girlfriends line danced.

“You’ve done a great job of making this the place to be,” J.J. said as they moved to take their turn at a table that had opened up.

“I like to think so,” said Lee. “Thank God I got lots of good free advice from a pro when I first started.

“What are friends for?” J. J. responded. He selected a cue stick and chalked it up.

“Go ahead and break,” Lee said.

J.J. took aim at the cue ball, sending it clacking into the others. He sunk one of the striped ones and then proceeded to clean the table.

“Save some for me,” Lee protested.

“Oh, yeah, I can’t let you lose. It would hurt your delicate feelings,” J.J. taunted.

“And then I’d hurt your delicate nose,” Lee shot back.

J.J. did miss the next ball. He stood back and let Lee take his turn.

It was the end of the game for him because he caught sight of a woman with long, red hair, a face that would launch a thousand ships, and legs that wouldn’t quit walking into the place. She wore a short black leather jacket, hanging open to reveal a lowcut green top cover a very nice rack. Those fine legs were encased in tight jeans. She wore black boots that made him think of pirates and was carrying a guitar case. Holy Moly! Was that a member of the band Lee had told him about?

Lee caught him staring. “That’s Bonnie Brinks, one of The Mermaids.”

“I wouldn’t mind hooking her on my line.”

“Fat chance. She’s a smiling ice maiden. Been single for years.”

“Maybe she’s tired of being single,” J.J. mused.

“Don’t hold your breath. But hey, she sure dresses up the place.”

“That was probably about all she did. Lee had a tin ear. He’d probably hired the woman for her looks.

Behind her came a younger woman, tall like Bonnie but with darker coloring. Also a looker. And next to her walked a woman who’d never gotten the memo that she was a senior citizen, also wearing tight jeans and heels high enough to trip Tina Turner. She sported spiky white hair and the tips of the spikes were colored green. The mother. His mother sure didn’t look like that. This woman probably had every old geezer in the place ready to take her out. With all three women being so striking maybe nobody cared what they sounded like.

“Had enough pool?” asked Lee.

“I think I’ll go over to the bar and get another drink,” J.J. said.

He snagged the last seat at the bar, one near the end next to a scruffy old dude in faded jeans and a peacoat, ordered another beer, and watched as the women tuned up. They couldn’t sound as good as they looked.

“The band’s good,” the old guy said. “They sing good, too,” he said and chortled over his crack.

“You know them?” J.J. asked.

“Of course. Everybody knows everybody here,” the old guy informed him.

“Looks like this is a popular place,” J.J. observed.

“Best burgers in town. Plus they have a senior menu.”

Lee came up behind J.J., hovering like a salesman in a used car lot. “Hey there, Pete. I see you’ve met my pal J.J. This is Pete,” Lee said to J.J. “He’s one of our regulars. He won our last darts tournament.”

“Beat out all the young pups,” Pete bragged. “You play darts?” he asked J.J.

“Don’t take the bait,” said Lee. “He’ll just sucker you into a friendly wager and take your shirt.”

“Aw, there you go, spoilin’ my fun,” Pete complained.

A full house and steady patrons. It would be kind of cool to own this pub. A lot of work and time consuming, but it wasn’t like he had much going on in his life anyway other than some day trading, hitting the gym and reading. In the last year he’d bought enough books to stock a small library. He needed something more to do. Lately, he felt like he was drifting with no purpose, no adventure on the horizon. What kind of adventures could he have here in Moonlight Harbor?

At nine on the dot the hot redhead stepped up to the mike and said, “Hey everyone, let’s get this party started.” She looked back at the granny on the drums, who began to bang her drumsticks together, counting off the beat, then the young girl hit the bass and the redhead began to bend those guitar strings all to hell. People rushed to the dance floor as she started to sing. “Get off your chair and get out here and shake your booty. You gotta start this party, so get out there and do your duty.”

J.J.’s heart went into overdrive. This place was a goldmine and Bonnie Brinks was the gold. What a voice! The woman was a super star. He wondered what she was doing buried in the sand of a small beach town.

“So whaddya think? The place is a good investment, right?”

“I’d say so,” said J.J. “Looks like the band is bringing in a lot of customers.”

“We had a lot of customers even before the band,” Lee said. “People want to eat at a casual place with lots of atmosphere when they’re at the beach.”

“You definitely got the atmosphere,” J.J. said. The goofy carved pirate statues were an obvious hit. He’d seen several people taking pictures with them. The pool tables had been in constant use since they’d walked in and the beer was flowing. Lee did have a going concern. The band and dance floor were a bonus. And what a bonus it was.

The women finally went on break, the older one stopping at a table to say hello to some people. The younger one went to plop down next to a super -sized young buck at a table near the band stand where a glass of pop was already waiting. A boyfriend, of course. The guitar queen headed for the bar, stopping for a quick word here and there, deflecting a fat lounge lizard, nodding and smiling at something another patron said.

She came up to the end of the bar next to J. J. and Lee. “Great job as always, Bonnie,” Lee said.

“Thanks,” she said. Then to the bartender, “Got my Diet Coke, Madison?”

“On its way,” the woman said and got busy getting her drink.

“You’ve got a great band,” J. J. said to Bonnie.

“Thanks, we try,” she said. Her smile was stop sign. Not Interested so don’t even try.

What did he look like? Some middle-aged, desperate horn toad? He was just being friendly. There was no need to give him the ice treatment.

He decided to turn the charm up a notch. “I always wanted to meet a mermaid.”

“Now you have,” she told him, still with the stop sign smile. The bartender set down her glass and Bonnie thanked her, the ice melting from her smile. But it was back again for J.J. “Try the garlic fries here,” she said to him. “They’re great.” Then she left before he could get in another word.

Mermaids were not so easy to catch.

“Don’t put her on the welcoming committee,” J.J. muttered.

“Told ya,” said Lee.

Slick and charming and no ring on his finger, which, considering his age which she figured to be somewhere around hers, probably had to mean he’d ditched a wife somewhere along the way, Bonnie decided as she walked to the band table. With those blue eyes and that red hair and matching, neatly trimmed beard, he looked like some kind of troubadour from the Elizabethan era. Add broad shoulders and a well sculpted chest and he was a regular pheromone factory.

And that stupid line about catching a mermaid. Oh, yes, he was a charmer.

Who did that remind her of? Rance Jackson, of course.

Let’s get to know him, urged her sex-starved hormones.

Not happening, she informed them. This was the kind of man who broke hearts – trouble in Levis. There would be no getting to know him.

Put a Mr. Yuck sticker on him and stay far away.

ABOUT SHEILA ROBERTS

USA Today and Publishers Weekly best-selling author Sheila Roberts has written over fifty books under various names, ranging from romance to self-improvement. Over three million books have been sold to date. Her humor and heart have won her a legion of fans and her novels have been turned into movies for both the Lifetime and Hallmark channels. When she’s not out dancing with her husband or hanging out with her girlfriends, she can be found writing about those things near and dear to women’s hearts: family, friends and chocolate.

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Giveaway – Fallout by Carrie Stuart Parks @partnersincr1me

Fallout

by Carrie Stuart Parks

September 12 – October 7, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Her carefully crafted life is about to be demolished.

After a difficult childhood, Samantha Williams craves simplicity: jigsaw puzzles, lectures at the library, and the students she adores in her role as an elementary art teacher in the dusty farming community of LaCrosse, Washington.

But when an SUV crashes into the school where she teaches, her entire world is upended. She manages to keep all of the children safe, but her car isn’t so lucky. Oddly, her purse—containing her driver’s license, credit cards, and other identification—is missing from the wreckage.

After authorities discover that the driver in the school accident was shot seconds before the crash, Samantha quickly becomes entangled in increasingly strange events that have her looking over her shoulder.

Samantha has long tried to forget the tragedy of her past, but the twisting maze she discovers between the murdered driver, a deadly secret government project, and an abandoned town can’t be ignored. Those involved are determined to keep these secrets buried, and they’ll use any means necessary to stop Samantha’s search for truth.

Praise for Fallout:

“An intriguing story based on events around a part of Washington. Tight timeline with tons of action. Twists and turns that will keep readers engaged and guessing. I enjoyed this book and recommend it to those who want a whisper of romance included with the mystery.”

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense
Published by: Thomas Nelson
Publication Date: September 13th 2022
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 0785239855 (ISBN13: 9780785239857)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | ChristianBook | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

Hanford, Washington
November 23, 1988

The November wind blew across the almost-barren plain, attempting to leach any warmth from the man’s black wool coat. He pulled the woolen balaclava higher on his nose and wished he’d worn goggles. The wind raised icy tears that blurred his vision.

Snow clung to the scant protection offered by basalt outcroppings and meager shrubs.

The moon provided weedy light, enough to avoid the sagebrush and tumbleweeds, but not enough to reveal the ground squirrels’ burrows. He’d fallen twice.

He paused for a moment to check his compass. He figured he’d covered about six of the eight miles. There was little chance he’d be detected. He’d approached the area by boat on the Columbia River, which flowed down the eastern side of the remote facility in South Central Washington State. Though the site was massive—570 square miles—the roads were heavily patrolled. After all, the Hanford Nuclear Reservation was the largest producer of postwar nuclear weapons.

Hanford’s creation of the bomb dropped on Nagasaki, Japan, had provided the turning point in World War II. Afterward, the plant morphed into a Cold War arsenal against the Soviet Union until the last nuclear reactor finally shut down just a year ago.

He’d chosen the date carefully—Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. All the staff and workers would have left early in preparation for the holidays. Only a minimal number of employees would be working, and they’d not be inclined to venture into the frigid night.

Though he’d been on the Hanford Site since he’d left the river, his goal was the Hanford Tank Farms. The tanks held 53 million gallons of the highest-level radioactive waste found in the United States. He would be targeting the SY Tank Farm, three double-shelled waste storage units built between 1974 and 1976, located at the 200 West site. The tanks at this location were each capable of holding 1.16 million gallons of nuclear waste.

He shifted the backpack slightly. The bomb, made with C-4, was safe enough from his jostling cross-country run. It took a detonator to set off the explosion, which he’d rig once the materials were in place.

The tanks themselves were built of one-foot-thick reinforced steel and concrete and had been buried under eight feet of dirt, but the hydrogen from the slurry had built up in these particular tanks to dangerous levels. He didn’t need to reach the tanks themselves, only disable the exhaust vent and the temperature thermocouple assembly. He knew no maintenance work was going on around the tanks that might create a spark or heat, so chance of discovery was extremely slim.

He paused for a moment to catch his breath. He’d paddled down the treacherous icy river, then jogged for miles, but his fury fueled his drive. In February of 1986, the Department of Energy had released nineteen thousand pages of documents describing the declassified history of the Hanford operations. Hints of a darker truth were written between the lines, and more evidence came out in the batch of documents released the following year. Everyone else would have missed it, but he’d been able to piece the sequence of events together.

They’d grown rich while he’d been discarded like so much trash.

Now was his time to get even.

He’d use the threat of the bomb to force the acknowledgment of their role and his own innocence. Anything less than the possibility of a Chernobyl-size disaster would lead to a governmental cover up.

A massive press conference. Facts and figures. Undeniable evidence.

In the meantime, he’d personally take care of those directly responsible.

He increased his pace. Soon now.

He knew this part of the facility well.

He found the location he’d identified before, knelt beside the various ports, detectors, and vents, and swiftly assembled the parts according to the bomb-maker’s directions. All that was left was the trigger mechanism. He’d placed it in a secure box inside his backpack.

The box was gone.

He ran his hands over the backpack again. Then again. Then a third time. It was gone. Did I forget to pack it? No. It was here in this backpack when he’d left home.

He broke out in a clammy sweat and rocked back on his heels. How could this have happened? Where had it dropped out? Could it be back in the boat? Somewhere on the ground between here and the river’s edge? Separated from him when he fell?

Calm down. He had a backup. Even if he didn’t find the trigger, all it would take is a reasonable-sized explosion on the surface to start the process.

If it took the rest of his miserable life, he’d carry out his plan. They wouldn’t get away with it. Not this time.

One

September 2015

Bam! Bam! An engine roared, growing louder, closer.

I glanced up from the shading technique I was demonstrating for my elementary-school art class.

A black Suburban was barreling across the parking lot directly at my classroom.

“Run!” I screamed.

The children didn’t hesitate, bolting for the door. I shoved the last boy outside toward the gym just as the Suburban smashed into the side of the building and plowed into the room. The portable classroom moved with a screech. Desks, chairs, books, glass, and chunks of the wall and ceiling exploded in a cacophony of sound and movement. Metal fragments, shattered glass, and hunks of wood pelted me. I found myself outside next to the gym doors, not knowing how I got there. I curled up and covered my head, praying nothing would crash down on me.

Hissssssssss. The stench of an overheated engine and hot rubber made me gag.

The crushed front of the Suburban had shoved the classroom into a covered storage shed before punching through the opposite wall. Fluids hissed and dripped from under the smashed hood, right beside me. The shed had collapsed onto the SUV.

I was shaking so hard I didn’t think I could get my legs to work. The children.

Don’t worry about the children. Someone will help them. Someone will help me. I just needed to stay put. I’m safe here.

But they wouldn’t respond to someone calling to them. I taught them to be cautious.

If I move, the roof will come down on me. I’ll be crushed. Stay put and be safe. Someone will come for me.

But my students are frightened. I need to help them. Heavenly Father, help me.

I placed my hands on the ground. White powder drifted down on my head. Carefully I crawled away from the SUV.

The beam shifted, sliding sideways.

My crawl became a scramble.

The beam shrieked as it slid across the metal desk holding it up.

I plunged, then rolled away.

The roof of the shed slammed against the ground, sending up more dust and powder.

Leaning against the school, I waited until I could catch my breath. The glass in the door to the gym beside me had shattered. I couldn’t see anything of the driver. I slipped through the frame, wincing at the stabs of pain from the hurtled projectiles.

Ahead of me was a second door leading to the front of the school. A quick glance into the gym showed it empty. I was pretty sure the children had raced through both sets of doors, scattered, and found safety. I’d trained my class of first-through-third graders on what to do in case of an emergency or active shooter. The school board had rolled their eyes at me, assuring me that this was covered in the student handbook and that school shootings wouldn’t happen in a sleepy farming community like LaCrosse, Washington, population 330.

I’d finally convinced them. They allowed the drills and the self-defense class I offered on Tuesday evenings.

Fortunately, my art class was an after-school event, and the rest of the school was essentially empty. We met in a portable building because some of the classrooms were under repair for water damage.

I staggered outside. Mr. Parsons, the school maintenance man, rushed over to me.

“Samantha? Sam? Miss Williams? Are you all right? You’re bleeding. What happened?”

“Help me find the children first.”

“They’re fine. They ran as you taught them.” We looked around the manicured lawns in front of the school buildings.

“Olly olly oxen free!” I called out, voice shaking. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Olly olly oxen free!”

Slowly my class emerged from their hiding places. I counted them as they appeared. Please, Lord . . . Five, six, seven, eight . . . nine. All present and accounted for. My stomach tightened on what could have happened, would have happened, if even one of them had paused to ask, Why run?

“Aren’t you supposed to just say ‘all clear’?” Mr. Parsons asked.

“I know the handbook says that, but anyone could access the emergency plans and use them against the children.”

Several of the children had tear streaks running down their faces, but as soon as they caught sight of me, they started to giggle.

“Miss Williams, you’re all white!”

“You have stuff all over you!”

“You should see yourself!”

I looked down. I was indeed covered in a white powder, probably from the recently installed smashed Sheetrock and insulation. “Oh my. It looks like I’ve turned into the magical snowman.”

“Nooo!” The giggles grew louder. “It’s not winter!”

I bent forward to be on eye level with most of them. “Maybe I’ve become Belle, the white Great Pyrenees from Belle and Sebastien?

“That’s a dog.” The giggles became high-pitched laughter.

I grinned at them. “How about Casper, the friendly ghost?”

The kids were now laughing so hard they couldn’t answer for a moment. Finally Bethany gasped out, “You’re not dead.”

Thank You, Lord. I straightened. “Well then, if I’m not a snowman, dog, or ghost, I must be Miss Williams, and you know what that means.” As they eagerly lined up, I said, “‘I am not afraid of storms . . .’”

“‘For I am learning how to sail my ship,’” the children finished.

Leave it to children’s books. As they approached me, each one gave me a sign as to what type of interaction they wanted. Hands out to the side, a hug. Hand held up in the air, a high five. Closed hand, a fist bump. Right hand sideways, a handshake.

They all wanted hugs.

So did I.

Bethany was the last in line. I tried not to hug her the longest. Teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites.

The school buildings rested on a hill facing the town park. The wail of sirens and stream of cars and trucks announced the arrival of help and parents. I moved my small huddle of children around to the front toward the parking lot so their folks could find them. The parents, once reunited with their son or daughter, peppered me with questions.

“What happened?”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Was that a drunk driver?”

“Are you okay?”

As I stumbled through various versions of “I don’t know,” a deputy from the Whitman County Sheriff’s Department strolled over. He had to be at least six foot three inches tall, with silver hair, thick black eyebrows, and dark brown eyes that looked like they’d ferret out the facts of any case. He smelled of cigarettes. His name tag said R. Adams. “Ma’am. Looks like you were in the building when the accident happened.”

“Yes. Is the driver—”

“Come with me.” He had a slight New York accent. We walked to the gym, then around to the back side where the accident happened. I had to trot to keep up with him.

“Do you know if the driver is okay?”

His long stride covered a lot of ground. “We don’t know yet.”

The raised gravel parking area near the gym was filling with the LaCrosse ambulance, volunteer fire department, and sheriff’s department vehicles. People were rushing around like ants in a disturbed mound. The Suburban was completely buried under the collapsed roof, and a large group of men and women were working to clear the debris.

Deputy Adams led me to the ambulance where an EMT waited. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think—”

“You have a cut on your head.” The EMT had me sit while he checked me over.

Deputy Adams kept an eye on the rescue efforts as he pulled out a small notebook. “You got all the children out safely?”

I winced as the EMT removed a sliver of glass from my hairline. “By the grace of God, yes. They’re all on their way home.”

He nodded and gave me a slight smile, softening his face. “Absolutely. How many people were in the SUV?”

“I don’t know.” I told him about what sounded like gunfire and the sound of an engine and getting the children clear of the room. I left out my cowering in the debris.

“Gunfire? Are you sure?”

“It could have been backfire.”

He looked around, then motioned for an officer to come over. They spoke for a few moments before the man left.

I glanced over at the gathered first responders, parents, and neighbors. What if—

“When did you first see the SUV?” Deputy Adams asked.

I pointed. “He, or whoever was driving, must have come up either First or Hill Avenue, crossed this lot, then shot straight into the building.”

A farmer drove up on a John Deere tractor and began lifting larger chunks of rubble with the bucket.

After the deputy took my name, address, and phone number, he handed me a business card. “I’ll be contacting you soon for your statement. You might want to head home as soon as possible. We want to clear the area.” He strolled away.

More people had arrived and pitched in to free the SUV and its occupants. A truck with a Miller Construction sign on the side parked next to us. Men in hard hats, work boots, and lime-green safety vests got out and set to work.

A pregnant woman in her thirties with long, dark hair pulled into a french braid drifted over and hovered nearby. When the EMT finished putting a bandage on my head and moved away, she approached me. “Hi. I’m Mary Thompson. I overheard you talking to that deputy. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“I guess. You’re a reporter?”

“No. Copywriter for a medical company in Spokane.” She rolled her eyes. “Boooooring. You’re Samantha Williams?”

I nodded.

“Well, Samantha—”

“Call me Sam.”

She grinned. “Sam then. You saved all those children. You’re so brave. I would have been scared out of my mind.”

Warmth burned up my neck and across my cheeks. “I . . . ah . . . so . . . um . . . what brought you to LaCrosse from Spokane?” I stood. “That’s 86.9 miles from here.”

“I was already here.”

An officer started herding the onlookers away from the crash. “Move on, folks. Nothing for you to do here.”

“Come on,” Mary grabbed my elbow and pulled me into the shade under a tree.

My brain was buzzing from the adrenaline and all the activity. “I’m sorry. I’m a little—”

“I bet you are. I guess I should start at the beginning. I’m following the story about the body they found last week. And the one they just found.” She waved her hand at the construction workers.

“Bodies?” I knew I was out of touch with the news. I didn’t own a television, computer, or phone. “What bodies? Wait . . . I’m not sure I want to know.” My legs started to buckle.

“Let me help you.” Mary grabbed my arm and helped me sit on a patch of grass. She sat next to me. “Can I get you something or—”

“No, I’ll be fine. Just a little woozy.”

“Take your time.”

Most of the onlookers had now moved around to the front of the school. With nothing to see, they started wandering back to their homes or cars.

She cleared her throat. “So do you want to talk about what just happened or—”

“No. You go ahead. You said there was a body . . . or was it two? Here at the school?”

“No, of course not. I followed someone to here and . . .” She paused at my expression. “I’m not weird or a stalker.” She twisted her lips. “As you can see, I’m pregnant. The baby’s father, my husband, Mike, disappeared two months ago. I reported it to the police but they’re not doing anything. I mean, he could be dead!”

I blinked at her. “Why would you think that?”

“Mike had—I guess you’d call it a wild streak. He had . . . questionable friends. Some issues with drugs in the past, stuff like that.” She absently rubbed her stomach. “I thought the baby would . . . redirect him.” She looked at me. “He’s a good man, just impulsive. And he’d never leave me. Not now. Not without telling me . . . something.”

I took a deep breath. The shaking threatened to start again. “So you thought one of the bodies—”

“Could be Mike.” She swiped a hand across her eyes. “That deputy.” She pointed to Deputy Adams. “I was told he was the investigator on the case. I’ve been following him around trying to get him to talk to me, but he says it’s an active case and won’t talk about it. I followed him here to the school earlier—he has kids here that he was picking up—and was giving it one last go around.”

“Did you find out anything?”

“No. Not yet.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. “I keep track of everything.” She flipped it open and fanned the pages, displaying a mass of tightly written notes. “I won’t give up until I know for sure.”

***

Excerpt from Fallout by Carrie Stuart Parks. Copyright 2022 by Carrie Stuart Parks. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Carrie Stuart Parks

Carrie Stuart Parks is a Christy, multiple Carol, and Inspy Award–winning author. She was a 2019 finalist in the Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence in mainstream mystery/suspense and has won numerous awards for her fine art as well. An internationally known forensic artist, she travels with her husband, Rick, across the US and Canada teaching courses in forensic art to law-enforcement professionals. The author/illustrator of numerous books on drawing and painting, Carrie continues to create dramatic watercolors from her studio in the mountains of Idaho.

Catch Up With Carrie Stuart Parks:
www.CarrieStuartParks.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @CarrieStuartParks
Instagram – @carriestuarparks
Facebook – @CarrieStuartParksAuthor

 

 

Tour Participants:

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GIVEAWAY:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Carrie Stuart Parks and Thomas Nelson. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

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Giveaway – Wild At Heart by Stacy Gold @XpressoTours @AuthorStacyGold

Wild at Heart
Stacy Gold
(Wild Love, #1)
Publication date: May 2nd 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

They each hit the trail solo in search of themselves…

Overworked entrepreneur Jules Martinez is sick and tired of men leaving her for their exes. Determined to wipe the giant, scarlet Rfor rebound off her forehead, she kicks off a yearlong vow of celibacy with five, blissful weeks backpacking her favorite trails through Washington State. Solo.

Out-of-work financial analyst Evan Davenport hasn’t been happy since camping in Scouts as a kid—before his wealthy parents and now ex-fiancé made all his major life decisions. Hoping to find joy and purpose, he buys all the latest ultralight backpacking gear, flies to Washington, and sets off alone on a weeklong speed hike through the wilderness.

Mother Nature has other plans, though, and keeps shoving Evan and Jules in each other’s paths. Usually naked. When sparks fly, can they find what they’re looking for in life together instead of apart?

Goodreads / Purchase

On sale for $1.99 for a limited time only!

EXCERPT:

Chapter 1

JULES

“I’m so jealous, Jules.” Bryn perched on the end of one of the beds in our hotel room at Cascade Locks, watching me pack gear. The thin, gray light of pre-dawn filtered through a crack in gold curtains that’d seen better days.

I tucked a bag of snacks and my rain jacket into the top of my backpack, cinched the drawcord, and buckled the lid with a solid click. “Of what, twelve guys dumping me for their exes in a row? I’m sure we could arrange that for you too. If you ever really start dating again.”

“Ha. Funny.” She toed my calf. “You’re taking five weeks off to go backpacking solo. Who cares why?”

Tingles of excitement zoomed around in my chest and I flashed her a grin. “Yeah. Dealing with zero assholes and zero clients for more than a month does sound pretty heavenly, doesn’t it?”

She grinned back. “Like I said, totally jealous. At least of your trip.” Her expression went serious. “I still can’t believe the next guy you date is gonna be unlucky number thirteen, though.”

“Yeah. I’ve thought about that. Probably too much. Definitely enough to jinx the next one for sure. So, I’m swearing off men for at least a year to restart the count.” I hesitated, the excitement buzz fading. “A year is enough time to consider it a clean dating slate, right?”

“Wait. You mean you’re swearing off dating, or swearing off sex too?”

The last eight years had been nothing but suckage on the relationship front. It’d probably take more than a year to fix my shit. But nothing would change if I didn’t change something. “Yes. Both. All of it.”

Bryn eyes widened. “You’re serious.”

“Dead.” Bending, I tugged the rough nylon laces of my left boot. The well-worn leather snugged around my foot. “I’m never gonna figure out anything buried in too much work plus too many bad dates.”

“When did you decide this?”

“Last night.” I shouldered my pack and adjusted the straps until the familiar weight settled on the tops of my hipbones. “What I’ve been doing isn’t working. It’s time to take a big step back and focus on myself for longer than just a few weeks.”

“I guess that’s one way to break the pattern.” Bryn opened the door, and we stepped outside into early morning stillness. “And yes, a year is definitely long enough to clean your dating slate.”

Fog tendrils drifted from the Columbia River across the half-empty parking lot. The air hung thick with moisture and cedar and the sweet mustiness of damp soil. The best smell in the world after too many days breathing city fumes.

“I sure as hell hope so. If not, at least maybe I can figure out what to do about my business. I can’t keep working this much.”

We strolled across the lot side-by-side, the chill air nipping my skin through my nylon hiking pants and shirt, waking me up. The sky glowed marigold behind the inky silhouettes of the mountains.

“You’ll come up with a plan. You always do.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” We crossed the empty highway, walked a few hundred yards, and turned off. Gravel crunched under our soles. “And thanks for driving me down here from Seattle. And picking me up at the other end.”

“Of course. That’s what best friends are for.” She wrapped a hand around my arm and leaned in, hugging one of my few body parts not covered by my backpack. “Though I still wish I was going with you. I could use a break from assholes and clients, too.”

The first golden rays of sunlight slanted through the tree branches, lighting the dirt road ahead. “We’ll have to plan a girlfriends’ trip once I get back.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Her warm hand tightened on my biceps. “Maybe we can convince Aly to come with us for once.”

I snorted. “We’ll get Aly on a backpacking trip when pigs fly. But I’m all for trying.”

A handful of parked cars and a dark brown trailhead kiosk appeared, marking the southern end of the Pacific Crest Trail through Washington. And my starting point. And the start of five weeks of solitary bliss in one of my favorite places in the whole world.

Bryn pulled out her phone. “Hey. Let me grab a shot of you in front of the sign, to commemorate the moment.”

“Okay.” I took a few steps back.

“Say, single life.”

I popped a hip and smiled for the camera. “Single life.”

“Perfect.” She slipped her phone into her pocket. “I love you, girlfriend. Stay safe out there and call me whenever you hit civilization.”

“I will.” My throat tightened. “I love you, too.”


Author Bio:

Award-winning adventure romance author Stacy Gold would rather be in the middle of nowhere than almost anywhere else. To that end, she’s run more than 50 rivers in three countries, been heli-dropped into remote ski huts multiple times (and made it into even more under her own steam), worked for the U.S.D.A. Forest Service as a backcountry ranger, river ranger, and naturalist, and spent fourteen years as a commercial river guide and kayak instructor. Her last “real job” was serving as Communications Director for a state-wide mountain biking non-profit.

When she’s not busy kayaking, skiing, mountain biking, or hiking, with her husband and happy dogs, Ms. Gold writes about independent, badass women finding love and adventure in the great outdoors. Her latest release, Wild at Heart, came out May 2nd, 2022.

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Giveaway – Toxic Soup by R R Rowley @partnersincr1me @rrrowleywrites

Toxic Soup

by RR Rowley

May 23 – June 17, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Toxic Soup by RR Rowley

Synopsis:

The Poisoning Must End

Toxic waste at the Hanford Nuclear Reservation has been poisoning the environment, human beings, and wildlife for more than six decades. When her brother dies a horrible death at Hanford, Casey Long, a kayaker and windsurfer by day and bartender by night in the Columbia River Gorge, Oregon/Washington, swears to put an end to the upriver contamination. But, how can she possibly take on the entrenched fortress of a facility?

After she confides in Little Bear, a bitter Native American fisherman, they contrive a dangerous plan. Joined by a peculiar mishmash of collaborators, they risk everything to save the environment and achieve justice for all injured parties, past and present.

Book Details:

Genre: Environmental Thriller
Published by: The Wild Rose Press
Publication Date: April 11, 2022
Number of Pages: 272
ISBN: 1509241167 (ISBN-13: 978-1509241163)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

When the abandoned reactor sites came into view, they swung their kayaks into a backwater eddy. Spooked ducks sprang into flight in front of them. Boats gliding, they studied the depth of the water, avoiding the chance of running aground. Before them, some sickly grasses appeared at the edge of the river. Was this it? Casey paddled closer, excitement rising. Pointing to a spot upon the bank, she called to Rex, “See that? See that? Is water trickling out of the ground over there?”

He removed his sunglasses and squinted. “You’re right. There is a wet spot over there.”

Straggly, yellowed grasses drooped away from the seeping water. They moved even closer to get a better view. A foam rose from the trickle of liquid and spread to a nasty orange and pink gunk smeared over exposed rocks. “I see it!” Rex cried out, a jolt of fear zapping through him. “Radioactivity!” he screamed, quickly backstroking. “You’ve got your evidence. Let’s get out of here! I don’t want to be anywhere near that stuff.”

She had her proof. Toxicity flowed into the river. How many other places existed? Perhaps beneath the water, the contamination was much worse. Untouchable Hanford is getting away with whatever they want. Something needed to be done, but what? Something not only for Charley but for the birds, the fish, and all the little creatures suffering at the hand of man’s dereliction of duty. She knew what she had to do.

***

Excerpt from Toxic Soup by RR Rowley. Copyright 2022 by RR Rowley. Reproduced with permission from RR Rowley. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

RR Rowley

R R Rowley has lived coast to coast in the USA, in London, UK, and has spent many years on his farm in Grenada, West Indies. He has owned and operated several companies and was involved in start-ups. Currently, he resides in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State.

Catch Up With RR Rowley:
RRRowley.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @robroyukusa
Twitter – @rrrowleywrites
Facebook – RR Rowley/Author

 

 

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A Spy Kitty Mystery – Potluck and Poison by Bailey Booth @dollycas

Potluck and Poison (Spy Kitty in the City) by Bailey Booth

About Potluck and Poison

Potluck and Poison (Spy Kitty in the City)
Cozy Mystery
5th in Series
Setting – Seattle
Independently Published (March 17, 2022)
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B09G1QN9B9

I always dreamed of being a part of my favorite show, Parking Lot Potluck, but I never expected them to ask me to help solve a murder.

Someone poisoned a dish on the popular cooking competition. The host is dead and my favorite judge is in critical condition. The only one who witnessed the crime was Great Dane, Chloe.

Persephone and I are off to Seattle to solve the crime, but things are much different behind the scenes. Have the cast and crew been working on a recipe for deception, or was it a contestant with a case of sour grapes who’s brought production to a halt?

Whatever I do, I have to keep my inner fangirl in check, or my favorite show could get eliminated for good.

About Bailey Booth

Bailey Booth is an animal lover, travel enthusiast, and avid reader. She drinks way too many soy lattes and will probably laugh at your jokes.

She also likes long walks on the beach and candlelit dinners…oh wait.

Wrong profile.

Bailey’s been writing and amateur sleuthing since she was a kid. Fun fact: Spy Kitty in the City came to her in a dream. Follow your dreams!

Author Links

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Giveaway – Body and Soul Food by Abby Collette @dollycas @AbbyVandiver

Body and Soul Food (A Books & Biscuits Mystery) by Abby Collette

About Body and Soul Food


Body and Soul Food (A Books & Biscuits Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Setting – Timber Lake, Washington (Near Seattle)
Berkley (November 9, 2021)
Mass Market Paperback ‏ : ‎ 336 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0593336178
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0593336175
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B08YWW1DCH

In this page-turning new mystery series, fraternal twins Keaton and Koby will pull double duty when they take down a killer while preparing to open their new bookstore and soul-food café, Books & Biscuits.

When Koby Hill and Keaton Rutledge were orphaned at age two, they were separated, but their unbreakable connection lingered. Years later, they reunite and decide to make up for lost time and capitalize on their shared interests by opening up a well-stocked bookstore and cozy soul-food café in the quaint Pacific Northwest town of Timber Lake. But this new chapter of their lives could end on a cliffhanger after Koby’s foster brother is found murdered.

The murder, which occurred in public between light-rail stops, seems impossible for the police to solve. But as Keaton and Koby know, two heads are always better than one, especially when it comes to mysteries. With just a week to go before the grand opening of their new café, the twins will use their revitalized connection with each other to make sure this is the killer’s final page.

About Abby Collette

Wall Street Journal bestselling author Abby Collette loves a good mystery. She was born and raised in Cleveland, and it’s a mystery even to her why she hasn’t yet moved to a warmer place. As Abby Collette, she is the author of the Ice Cream Parlor mystery series, about a millennial MBA-holding granddaughter running a family-owned ice cream shop in Chagrin Falls, Ohio, and the  Books & Biscuits mystery series, starring a set of fraternal twins who reunite and open a bookstore and soul food café. Writing as Abby L. Vandiver, she is the author of the Logan Dickerson Mysteries, featuring a second-generation archaeologist and a nonagenarian, as well as the Romaine Wilder Mysteries, pairing an East Texas medical examiner and her feisty, funeral-home-owning auntie as sleuths. Abby spends her time writing, facilitating writing workshops at local libraries and hanging out with her grandchildren, each of whom are her favorite.

Author Links – Facebook – Twitter – Instagram– Website – 

Purchase Links – AmazonB&NKoboGoogle PlayIndieBound –  AlibrisPenguin Random House

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Giveaway – All We Buried by Elena Taylor @Elena_TaylorAut @dollycas

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All We Buried: A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery by Elena Taylor

I absolutely loved All We Buried: A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery! If you love a good suspenseful mystery, you’ll love it too!
~CHRISTY’S COZY CORNERS

I haven’t read Elena Taylor before but after being thoroughly captivated by Bet Rivers, this is definitely not the last!
~TBR Book Blog

All We Buried by Elena Taylor was an exciting tale of mystery, crime, and carrying a family legacy.
~Baroness’ Book Trove

The story was well thought out, executed and gripping, I loved the small town setting and the characters and can’t wait to read from this series and author.
~eBook addicts

Taylor skillfully sets the pace to allow us to become acquainted with the town, the people, and the deep-rooted mysteries coming to the surface. A fabulous read from start to finish!
~Reading Is My SuperPower

A twisty little thriller set in the dark environs of Washington state with a lake that is so dead that fish can’t even live there.
~Diane Reviews Books

About All We Buried


All We Buried: A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Publisher: Crooked Lane Books (April 7, 2020)
Hardcover: 304 pages
ISBN-10: 1643852914
ISBN-13: 978-1643852911
Digital ASIN: B07RQH353V

For fans of Julia Keller and Sheena Kamal, All We Buried disturbs the long-sleeping secrets of a small Washington State mountain town.

Interim sheriff Elizabeth “Bet” Rivers has always had one repeat nightmare: a shadowy figure throwing a suspicious object into her hometown lake in Collier, Washington. For the longest time, she chalked it up to an overactive imagination as a kid. Then the report arrives. In the woods of the Cascade mountain range, right in her jurisdiction, a body floats to the surface of Lake Collier. When the body is extricated and revealed, no one can identify Jane Doe. But someone must know the woman, so why aren’t they coming forward?

Bet has been sitting as the interim sheriff of this tiny town in the ill-fitting shoes of her late father and predecessor. With the nightmare on her heels, Bet decided to build a life for herself in Los Angeles, but now it’s time to confront the tragic history of Collier. The more she learns, the more Bet realizes she doesn’t know the townspeople of Collier as well as she thought, and nothing can prepare her for what she is about to discover.

About the Author

CREDIT MARK PERLSTEIN

Elena Taylor spent several years working in theater as a playwright, director, designer, and educator before turning her storytelling skills to fiction. Her first series, the Eddie Shoes Mysteries, written under the name Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime-fighting duo. With All We Buried, Elena returns to her dramatic roots and brings readers a much more serious and atmospheric novel. Located in her beloved Washington State, Elena uses her connection to the environment to produce a forbidding story of small-town secrets and things that won’t stay buried. Elena is also a senior editor with Allegory Editing, a developmental editing house, where she works one-on-one with writers to shape and polish manuscripts, short stories, and plays. If you’d like to work with Elena, visit www.allegoryediting.com.When she’s not writing or coaching writing, her favorite place to be is at the farm with her horses, Jasper and Radar, or at her home, on the middle fork of the Snoqualmie River in North Bend, Washington, with her husband, their dog, Polar, and their cats, Coal Train and Cocoa. Elena holds a B.A. from the University of San Diego, a M.Ed. from the University of Washington, Tacoma, and a Ph.D. from the University of Georgia.

Author Links

Website:  https://www.elenataylorauthor.com/ Blog: https://www.elenataylorauthor.com/blog Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElenaTaylorAuthor/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/Elena_TaylorAut
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19494739.Elena_Taylor Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/elenataylorauthor

Purchase Links:

Amazon:   Barnes& Noble  Books-A-Million  IndieBound

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April 14 – eBook addicts – REVIEW

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April 18 – StoreyBook Reviews – GUEST POST

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April 19 – That’s What She’s Reading – REVIEW

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April 20 – Here’s How It Happened – SPOTLIGHT

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Currently Reading – If You Tell by Greg Olsen @Gregg_Olsen

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I won If You Tell by Greg Olsen on Freda Mans blog and I am excited to read it. I love crime novels, whether truth or fiction.

If You Tell: A True Story of Murder, Family Secrets, and the Unbreakable Bond of Sisterhood

Amazon / Audiobook / Goodreads

GOODREADS BLURB

#1 New York Times bestselling author Gregg Olsen’s shocking and empowering true-crime story of three sisters determined to survive their mother’s house of horrors.

After more than a decade, when sisters Nikki, Sami, and Tori Knotek hear the word mom, it claws like an eagle’s talons, triggering memories that have been their secret since childhood. Until now.

For years, behind the closed doors of their farmhouse in Raymond, Washington, their sadistic mother, Shelly, subjected her girls to unimaginable abuse, degradation, torture, and psychic terrors. Through it all, Nikki, Sami, and Tori developed a defiant bond that made them far less vulnerable than Shelly imagined. Even as others were drawn into their mother’s dark and perverse web, the sisters found the strength and courage to escape an escalating nightmare that culminated in multiple murders.

Harrowing and heartrending, If You Tell is a survivor’s story of absolute evil—and the freedom and justice that Nikki, Sami, and Tori risked their lives to fight for. Sisters forever, victims no more, they found a light in the darkness that made them the resilient women they are today—loving, loved, and moving on.

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