The cover for Final Mend by Angela Smith is so tranquil and serene, I could not help but be captured by it.

What do you think of when gazing at the beautiful cover?

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SYNOPSIS

A recovering alcoholic, Jake Inman has found a new, healthier addiction: training for his successful triathlon career. But when his manager is murdered and beloved goddaughter kidnapped, another obsession takes hold: doing whatever it takes to find Brandon’s killer and keep Amy safe. Jake turns to a private investigator for help in solving the case, and though he finds temptation in her whiskey-colored eyes, he knows he must resist his attraction, or risk losing his heart.

After a devastating case, Winona Wall has turned her back on her skills as a private investigator, preferring a quiet life as a part-time bartender. That is, until Jake storms into the bar, demanding her help in tracking his missing godchild. Unable to resist Jake’s charm, she reluctantly agrees. But even after Amy is found unharmed, Jake insists Amy’s mother was more involved with her kidnapping than the police suspect. When the situation takes a turn for the worse, Winona must trust her instincts in order to save them all – and avoid falling in love.

AMAZON

EXCERPT

Tanyon, Montana, was a small jewel of a town towered by mountains and tucked into a corner of heaven. The sun descended, bruising the sky with dew-covered gold and plum. Green pines rose steadily upward, reaching for an eternity they’d never see.

Brandon had owned a cabin in the woods about an hour away. Though he and Jake had never driven into this town, they’d visited the cabin often to hunt and fish. The colors in this part of the world seemed more vibrant than any other place Jake had ever visited, but now that vibrancy only pissed him off.

They’d never fish at that old cabin again. Brandon was dead. His fishing days over.

Jake drove into 301 Torrey Lane and parked, eyeing a beer sign with cold dread. He’d left home this morning at two a.m. and driven half a day to reach Tanyon. He’d spent the next two hours searching for a woman named Winona and hadn’t even thought to ask where he was headed when he’d finally gotten an address for her. All he knew was that Winona had been recommended by several private investigators who couldn’t take his case. She was supposed to be the best.

She worked in a bar. When he’d heard the place’s name—Air Dog—he’d thought it might be a ski shop or something.

“Fuck.” Jake slammed his palms into the steering wheel and listened as the engine rumbled in his gut.

His pulse pounded as the beer sign blinked, taunting him. He sat a moment, his hands gripping the wheel. Breathing in and out and daring the tears to leave. He hadn’t needed adrink in several years, but the ache razed through him. Just one shot to burn his throat and channel his adrenaline into a steady stream of unconsciousness.

It was a twisted, fucked up fate. An omen. The universe was hell-bent on destroying him and this time it might win. All along Brandon had been his advocate for giving up the drink, but Brandon was dead and the one woman who might help him worked in a bar.

Thirst for an icy cold drink overtook common sense. His head spun as he fought off the need for the stimulant that could drown his sorrows.

He couldn’t go in there. Not without caving.

Fuck it. His cousin, the one who’d pulled him out of the alcoholic funk he’d been in half his adult life, had been murdered in his own home. What good had fancy living gotten him? Jake deserved a drink.

No, Brandon wouldn’t approve. So he’d go in, sit at the bar, and have a glass of water, proving he could do it without giving in. Or tonic water. That held a bite that would mimic alcohol’s sting.

He had to talk to Winona and since he wanted to rest his road-weary body, this would provide the perfect backdrop for both. And sitting in a dark bar with low music and alcohol bottles would confirm his strength. Strength Brandon had insisted he had if he’d steer clear of temptation. They’d even visited bars—several times, to prove he had the strength—but Brandon had always been with him.

Brandon had looked up to Jake in his younger days, and once Jake’s parents had died and Jake had crashed into a headlong flurry of destruction, Brandon admitted he had to do something. He’d coaxed him, dared him, persuaded him, bribed him, but the thing that finally worked for Jake was his near death and respect for his remaining family. Brandon was about to be a father, and Jake didn’t want his new godchild to see him destroy himself. For once in his life, he wanted to be a good influence on someone. He traded one addiction for another: triathlons. A journey that had saved him. He opened the truck and jumped down, slamming the door behind him in a crash of nerves and uncertainty. Could he do this?

He opened the door. The bar didn’t greet him with smoke and dreariness. Instead, it was muted and pleasant, with sounds of chatter and low music. It wasn’t crowded. Neither was it too high-end to feel unwelcome or too trashy to feel uncomfortable.

It was perfect, actually, and so was the woman standing behind the bar.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

During her senior year in high school, Angela Smith was dubbed most likely to write a novel, and that has been her dream ever since her mother read ‘Brer Rabbit’ to her and her sister so often that they were able to recite it back to each other before they learned to read. Ever since then, she hasn’t stopped reading or writing. A certified paralegal, work gives her perfect fodder for her romantic suspense stories. When not caring for her small farm or spending time with her husband of two decades, she enjoys creating, reading, and dreaming of the places she’ll visit one day.

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