Hacienda Moon Expanded Edition KaSonndra Leigh Genres: February 21st 2023
Tandie Harrison is a police medium struggling to pick up the pieces of her life after a devastating divorce that left her without her precious daughter and her psychic visions. With a heavy heart, she escapes the hustle and bustle of New York City and moves into the alluring plantation house, Chelby Rose. Here, she meets Eric, the home’s charismatic caretaker. Despite the ghostly warnings, Tandie finds herself drawn to him, and as their affair intensifies, so does the centuries-old curse haunting them both.
Suddenly, Tandie finds herself at the center of a dark and dangerous web full of deceit and intrigue. As fear begins to consume her, she must find the courage to face the demons of her past if she is to have any chance at a future. Hacienda Moon is a captivating story full of suspense and romance that will ensnare you from start to finish.
Note to readers and bookclubs:
This is the expanded and revamped edition of the Hacienda Moon that was originally published in 2012. Please be sure to add this version to your to-read list as this edition contains more gothic suspense, intrigue, and of course romance.
The results of Eric’s handyman skills were beautiful. The final perk was the light rose-colored exterior paint, a shade considered original to the house. Eric didn’t say a word about my upgraded paintbrushes. He was too busy making sure I didn’t catch him watching me as I bent over to paint the lowest boards on the house. However, I turned around at the perfect moment on paint day and caught him staring. His face flushed so badly, I couldn’t resist doing something to celebrate my small victory.
“Wow, it’s so hot out here today.” I stretched my arms, lifting my tee-shirt up until my belly button was exposed, basking in the warmth of the late summer sun. Eric’s mouth fell open. Success! That move totally stole Mr. Intense’s attention. Tucking my lips, I made a move toward an even more creative tease, bending over to pick up one of the three paint brushes I’d dropped.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“What does it look like? I dropped my paintbrushes.” I shrugged and waved the brush between us. “Did I not use the proper technique for bending over and picking it up?”
He gave me a dimpled grin and moved closer to where I stood beside the house. Glancing down at the brushes beside my feet, he said, “They do look somewhat dirty. You sure you can handle that task? You strike me as somewhat of a nice girl. With that much paint and dirt all in the heads, you have to get a little rough with cleaning them.” His gaze bore into mine, smoldering me under a hazel brown sugary-colored look this time.
I held his gaze. “Oh, believe me. I have plenty of ways to clean dirty things.”
There was about a foot of space between us now. “Is that right?”
“Oh yeah,” I answered, hoping that the pulse line on my neck didn’t show the way my heart thumped inside my chest.
His gaze drifted from my eyes down to my lips and finally ended at my left shoulder. “Then why don’t you start by cleaning that big red spider off your shoulder?” An amused smile spread across his lips, but a scream shrilled out of mine.
Eric slammed his hands over his ears. “Damn it, Tandie.”
Adrenaline spiked through me. He might as well have said my breasts were hanging out. He would’ve gotten less of a response than he did with the spider statement. “Get it off me! Do you see it? Is it still there? Get it!” I shrieked, jumping around and spinning in half circles.
“I won’t help you until you stop trying to burst my eardrums,” he said, still half-way smiling. He came over and put his arms around me, pulling me into his embrace. “Calm down, Tandie. It’s gone, all right?”
Vowing to never tease Eric ever again, I waited for my breathing to normalize and for my trembling limbs to steady as I was pressed against Eric’s chest.
Author Bio:
Meet your word sculptress…
Author of the International bestselling novels, the Prelude and the Lost Immortals Saga, KaSonndra is also a mother, designer, reader, gardener, home renovator, and a slayer of undead Egyptian mummies in Tomb Raider. She believes in karma, coffee, and seriously wishes that the producers of Xena would bring her favorite show back.
KaSonndra was born in the race-car city of Charlotte, NC, and now lives in the City of Alchemy and Medicine, NC, when she’s not hanging out in Bardonia (Lost Immortals Saga setting). Most of her characters are based on people that she has met throughout her travels and adventures.
People tend to stop and start conversations with KaSonndra as if she has known them her entire life. Does this freak her out? Not really. Her mom says that one day she’ll get kidnapped by one of these folks. KaSonndra’s response? She told her mom that if it weren’t for these lovely people, then she wouldn’t be able to create such fabulously romantic stories!
Would the assassins plotting to kill Theodore Roosevelt on his visit to the Panama Canal succeed?
Until this trip, no president while in office had ever traveled abroad. White House secretary Maurice Latta, thrilled to accompany the President, could not anticipate the adventures and dangers ahead. Latta befriends watchful secret service agents, ambitious journalists, and anxious First Lady Edith Roosevelt on their hot and humid trip, where he observes a country teeming with inequalities and abounding in opportunities. Along the way he learns about his own strengths—what he never imagined he could do, and what he discovers he can’t do.
Theodore Roosevelt did visit Panama in 1906, accompanied by White House staffer Maurice Latta. Interweaving the stories of real-life characters with fictional ones, Path of Peril imagines what the newspapers feared to report and what historians never discovered about Roosevelt’s risky trip.
Praise for Path of Peril:
“Nothing better than settling down with a good, crisp, detail-rich assassination thriller. Someone is after Theodore Roosevelt, and author Marlie Wasserman tightens the screws, ratchets the tension, and twists the plot again and again. Read it.”
William Martin, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Lincoln Letter and December ’41
“A feast of characters, scenery and history, Wasserman sets the table for a tremendous read. Path of Peril is a privileged walk with TR, his wife, his staff and dozens of characters struggling to create one of the “greatest engineering feats of the century.”
Chris Keefer, author of No Comfort for the Undertaker, a Carrie Lisbon Mystery
“Path of Peril is enjoyable and engaging and places the reader at the center of a fast, explosive and intriguing plot—making this new book one that should not be missed.”
Mel Ayton, author of Plotting to Kill the President
“Wasserman’s Path of Peril gives readers an exciting leap back in time… Buy this book—you’ll love it!”
Michael Conniff, historian of Panama
Book Details:
Genre: Historical Crime Fiction Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: January 2023 Number of Pages: 320 Series: This is a Stand Alone Novel Book Links:Amazon
Read an excerpt:
Maurice Latta
Sunday, January 19, 1947
For forty-one years I honored my oath to President Theodore Roosevelt and his bodyguard to conceal the events of November 15th and November 17th, 1906. On each of those days I agreed to a conspiracy of silence. Last year, that bodyguard died, and TR is long dead. Before I follow them to the grave, I will disclose the perils we faced during the President’s historic trip to Panama, to clarify the record and to unburden myself.
My tale begins in the White House clerk’s office, where I served as a stenographer during the McKinley administration and where I serve now, with a higher title, fifty years later. At first, I felt no connection with the other fifteen fellows in the clerk’s office. I suppose I looked the part, with my regular features and unremarkable bearing. If my appearance fit in, my background did not. Most men working for the President, even at the turn of the century, were college boys. Some had taken the grand tour of Europe. A few had gone to universities in New England. Three, fancying themselves adventurers, had traveled to the West with President Roosevelt, that is, President Theodore Roosevelt. Two of the older gentlemen had been heroes in battles in the South during the Civil War. Most of the White House office workers had nothing to prove, to the President or to themselves.
I followed a different path to Washington. After an unmemorable youth on a Pennsylvania farm, I moved to Oklahoma, where I took my first job as a junior clerk. I filled in paperwork for the more memorable 1893 land rush. Over time my responsibilities and the commands of the head clerk grew distasteful. A friend back in Pennsylvania recommended me for a position as a clerk for a state senator in Harrisburg. I worked for that state senator for one year and two months. Forgive the precision—I like to be accurate with details. Then the legislator was elected to Congress and took me to Washington. Three years later, almost to the day, word spread across town that President William McKinley’s office needed a stenographer. By that time I had married Clara Hays Bullen and had two sons. I aimed to improve my lowly position and my meager salary.
I moved down Pennsylvania Avenue from the Capitol to the White House. My official duties, those that were known, started on August 8, 1898. Three years and one month after I started, all hell broke loose in the office. Of course I wouldn’t have used such language then. Leon Czolgosz, an anarchist, assassinated President McKinley. Like other Americans, I felt sorrowful. I had seen McKinley pass down the hall daily, but I had never been introduced to him and he never spoke to me.
My clerk’s job continued. Theodore Roosevelt became President. Little changed in the routines of our office, except now the President knew me by my first and last name. Maurice Latta. To be precise, Maurice Cooper Latta.
When the President’s Secretary, William Loeb, promoted me from Stenographic Clerk to Assistant Secretary on June 4, 1906, I hoped I might have the opportunity to travel, at least up and down the East Coast. Two months later, I heard rumors that TR wanted to assess progress on his canal. Oh, let me interrupt myself for a moment. While conducting my official capacities, I called the President President Roosevelt. Informally I called him TR. By the way, he was the first president to be known by his initials. And some called him Teddy, though I never did so. I am told his relatives called him Teedie. You will hear all these names in my tale.
This trip would be the first time a president, while in office, had ever left the United States. Many Americans thought a president should not travel to foreign soil. That seems odd to us now, after Versailles and Yalta. But in 1906 most Americans didn’t give much thought to the rest of the world, not until TR changed that.
I assumed Secretary Loeb, always interested in the press, would accompany the President to the canal. Mr. Loeb would want to shape the stories in the dailies and weeklies. Reporters called him Stonewall Loeb because of the way he controlled their access to the President. To my shock, Mr. Loeb asked me to go in his place.
Today, even after working in the executive offices of nine administrations, now for President Truman (no, I never call him Give ‘Em Hell Harry), and managing a staff of 204 clerks, my title, a rather misleading title, is only Executive Clerk. I am proud, though, that the New York Times has acknowledged my worth. Four years ago, in a Christmas day article my family framed, the reporter wrote, “The actual ‘assistant president’. . . is an official who has been in the White House since 1898 and knows more about its procedure than anyone else. He is Maurice C. Latta, now seventy-four and known as ‘Judge’ Latta to the White House staff.” In truth I know more about what is happening, and what did happen, than most of the presidents I served. That statement is for this memoir only.
I won’t dwell on my years in the White House after Panama, but rather on four days in 1906, in and around the Canal Zone. For the public, I want to add to the historical record, which is silent on certain momentous events. For me and my family, I want to remember the turning point, when I came to realize both my limitations and my strengths. I am writing the tale of what I know, what I saw myself. If you wish, you can fill in gaps with stories you gather from the others present that November, the stories I couldn’t see.
William Loeb
Monday, October 15, 1906
“I’m tired, Maurice. I followed that wild man to Yellowstone and Yosemite three years ago. Still haven’t recovered. None of us could keep up with him.” Mr. Loeb, Secretary to the President, was talking to me about Theodore Roosevelt’s two-month long trip to the West. “Now he’s sailing to Panama. He’ll itch for another frenzied schedule. I can’t do it this time. Here’s the question. Are ready for that kind of a trip? Interested in going in my place? I’m forty, you’re thirty-six. Those four extra years make a difference, right?
William Loeb sat three feet away from my face, at his desk in the White House. When he questioned me he leaned forward, putting his square jaw one foot from my weaker jaw. What answer did he expect? Modesty? Confidence?
“You surprise me, sir. I have never traveled beyond Oklahoma. I have never sailed, and I’ve never been responsible for a presidential trip. But I have watched you. I assisted you from afar when you traveled with the President. I will be honest, it would be a big step for me. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”
Mr. Loeb sat back, slouched. I had disappointed him already.
“Sir, if you will walk me through the responsibilities, I would be honored to accompany the President.”
I will never know if Mr. Loeb truly believed I could handle the job, or if he had no one else in reserve. He shook my hand, sealing the arrangement. A day later he called me back to his office for instructions.
“Above all, Maurice, keep to the schedule. I’ll help you prepare it. We start with essential meetings. Officials of Panama and representatives from other countries. Then we fill in as needed.” Mr. Loeb was in his element, flaunting his expertise. “Second, control the access of journalists. Give priority to Frederick Palmer, he’s a favorite of Teddy’s. And I’ve been asked to add in a local journalist named Herbert de Lisser. Limit access to those two. Manage the press like I do. Third, names. Keep on you, in your pocket, the identities of the people Teddy is to meet. Whisper him reminders. He’s smart, but that makes him seem even smarter. Fourth, keep notes. You’ll need them later for Teddy’s reports. Last, prioritize telegrams. The pundits are worried that the President, abroad for the first time, won’t be in charge of the business of the country. I’ve reminded them that telegrams will reach his ship and will reach Panama. Sort through dispatches when they arrive and make sure he deals with them.”
I feared Mr. Loeb would notice my twitching right leg. Instead, he looked down and hesitated. For more than a second.
“I need to be frank with you about another matter. There could be danger. Jimmy Sloan, the Secret Service agent who heads Teddy’s protection detail, he tells me he hears rumors of anarchist plots against the President. He has people checking ships arriving in Panama, looking for suspicious travelers. May not matter. Hunting for an assassin is like finding a needle in a haystack. And there’s more. Mrs. R. is frantic. Jimmy—fine to call him Jimmy—won’t talk to her. Teddy tells him not to. She tries to get information from me and I won’t talk to her either. She’ll see you as easy prey and try you too. A word to the wise—be wary of that elegant lady. She’s lived through three assassinations and she’s no fool.”
I could think of nothing to say. I was so anxious about my coming secretarial duties that I had forgotten about the President’s safety.
“Enough of the serious stuff,” Mr. Loeb said. Get yourself new clothing for the trip. Two suits and evening wear. Can’t have you looking like a farmer.” He must have seen me widen my eyes in a question.
“No extra allowance for that. Hope your Assistant Secretary’s salary will stretch.
Edith Roosevelt
November 1906
Edith Kermit Carow Roosevelt married late, at age twenty-five, pleased to be Theodore’s second wife. His first, empty-headed Alice Lee, had been prettier, but only her memory was competition. Society column reporters called Edith an elegant, good-looking woman. Even the carpers acknowledged that her sharp nose and chin didn’t mar the impression. Those reporters never called her intelligent, but she knew she was that, and Theodore knew too. At age forty-five, after five children and two miscarriages, the last just three years earlier, she remained slender and attractive.
In the White House Edith stayed busy, watching over sons Ted, Kermit, Archibald, and Quentin, her daughter Ethel, and her rambunctious stepdaughter Alice. Thank goodness Alice had just married, even if it was to Nicholas Longworth III, a bald politician, much older than Alice, with a reputation as a playboy. The wedding nine months earlier had been the social event of the season in Washington. With that extravaganza over, Edith’s burdens did not disappear, but she could begin to reorder them. The stepdaughter now moved from second place to third. Worries about Quentin, her youngest, and his mischievous antics rose to second.
Fear for Theodore remained first in Edith’s list of worries. The year before, she convinced her husband to buy a rustic house, known as Pine Knot, in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. A private retreat. Almost private. Always watchful, she arranged for two Secret Service agents to protect the house every evening, without the President’s knowledge.
Sounds. They drove her crazy. The pulsating wind and the rattle of cedar shingles at Pine Knot. The scraping sounds of old window frames and squeaky plumbing at the White House. With each sound Edith heard an alarm. She had trusted Theodore’s first bodyguard, “Big Bill” Craig. In a carriage accident four years earlier Bill died and Theodore was injured. Now Jimmy Sloan oversaw protection. Jimmy was a good agent. Could even a good agent handle the task ahead? The trip to Panama would attract an international cast of cranks. Edith hoped they were cranks, not trained assassins. After each attempt on Theodore’s life, a reporter invariably mentioned the statistics. Three of the last ten presidents had been assassinated, three in about forty years, all in her lifetime. She imagined these numbers branded on her forehead.
Edith needed to identify a member of the trip’s entourage who might keep her informed about threats. Jimmy Sloan and his agents had pledged secrecy. Or they dismissed a woman’s worries. Thought her hysterical. They would be no help. And Theodore refused to acknowledge her fears, refused to listen. Thought she didn’t notice he carried a pistol in his pocket when he mingled with crowds. She would think creatively. She would curry favor with someone else on the trip, someone with knowledge. Maybe that Assistant Secretary who was taking the place of Secretary Loeb. Maurice Latta. He might know and he might share. She would keep an eye out for him aboard ship.
***
Excerpt from Path of Peril by Marlie Parker Wasserman. Copyright 2023 by Marlie Parker Wasserman. Reproduced with permission from Marlie Parker Wasserman. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Marlie Parker Wasserman continues to write historical crime fiction. Her first book, The Murderess Must Die, was published in 2021. After spending many years in New Jersey, she now lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. She is a member of Sisters in Crime and the Historical Novel Society.
Expiry Dating Isobel Reed (Bluestone Series, #2) Publication date: February 21st 2023 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Sparks start more than a fire… They start an explosion.
Alice is not happy. Her ex screwed her over, literally. One day her mother is dreaming of a white wedding, the next, Alice is hurling hardbacks at a naked boyfriend caught in bed with her best friend. So she did the only logical thing she could think of. She got the hell out of there. In fact, she left the country.
It’s not long before she discovers the perks of small-town living, and she even finds herself a job. There is just one thing stopping this all from being perfect though. One infuriating person she just can’t seem to shake. Brady Mitchell. It figures that the hottest man she’s ever seen also just so happens to be the most annoying one on the planet.
Brady is back home and trying to come to terms with life outside the military. Adjusting to a new job and new limitations from his injury, he expected to settle into a slower pace of life, maybe even a quiet one. That was until Alice Hart came bulldozing into his world. The woman was anything but quiet. Loud, angry and sexy as hell, yes. But definitely not quiet.
Alice and Brady ignite inside and outside the bedroom. But will they survive the burn?
“No, no, no. This cannot be happening. Goddamn lying, cheating, son of a b***h.”
Her phone was never going to survive this. A loud thud echoed around the room after it went flying through the air and crashed against the dark wood walls of her cabin. Truthfully, as soon as she clicked on the picture, her cell phone never had a chance.
It had been three months since she’d caught her ex-boyfriend in bed with her best friend, two months since she had quit her job, and one month since she’d begged her sister, Lily, to let her come stay with her on her ranch in Bluestone County. Alice had enough self-awareness to admit she was running away from her problems, but being in London right now wasn’t an option. And after just seeing her ex-best friend’s latest social media post, it was a good thing Alice was in another country, otherwise there was a strong possibility she would’ve been locked up for grievous bodily harm by now.
“Oh my God, Ali, what the hell did you do to your phone? The screen is all cracked!” Lily gasped.
Alice hadn’t even heard Lily come in. She was checking on her again; she’d been doing that a lot.
“Um … yeah, it fell. Don’t worry, I’m sure I can get it fixed in town.”
Lily’s jade eyes narrowed. “Oh, really? And where exactly did it fall from, Ali? The sky? ’Cos from where I’m standing, it looks like it either magically fell from the ceiling, or you threw it across the room in a fit of rage?”
This is the problem with being so close to your sister. She knows me too damn well.
Letting out a sigh, Alice slumped further down into the leather armchair that had been cocooning her for the past hour.
“F**king Becky.” She grumbled. “Apparently, she’s pregnant. I’ll give you three guesses as to who the father is.”
And there it was, pity, all over her big sister’s face.
“Oh, Ali. I’m so sorry. How did you find out?”
“My friend forwarded me a post Becky made.”
Lily closed the distance between them and took a hold of Alice’s hand, quickly pulling her up from the chair. “Come on. Let’s go up to the main house. We can drink some wine, eat a f**kload of chocolate, and plot revenge.”
Alice reluctantly followed. Wine and chocolate were probably the only things that could possibly salvage today.
They were just a two-minute walk from the main house where Lily and her husband, Jake, lived. Jake’s sister, Sam, used to live there too but had recently moved in with her boyfriend, Duke.
Lily had initially wanted Alice to stay in the house with them, but she wanted the newlyweds to have some privacy. After all, it had only been two weeks since they’d gotten hitched in Vegas. Not to mention, Alice needed her own space. Luckily, the ranch had guest cabins, so she was able to take up residence in one of them until she figured out her next move.
As they walked into the house and made their way into the spotless stainless-steel kitchen, a familiar voice pricked up the hair on the back of her neck.
No. Please don’t be here right now. Please, not today of all days.
Damnit. There he was—Brady—all six foot two of him. The new bane of her existence. He was wearing a fitted, tan, cop uniform so sexy it should be illegal. If she didn’t already know he was the devil, she could easily be fooled by his dark, brooding good looks. Even his damn caramel-coloured eyes were mesmerizing.
Mesmerizing eyes? Get a frigging grip, Alice. He’s the devil, remember?
It had been two weeks since they’d met in Vegas at Lily and Jake’s impromptu wedding, and despite trying to avoid Brady like the plague since then, he just kept showing up. Yes, Bluestone was small, and Alice was staying at his best friend’s ranch, but it was actually getting ridiculous. He was everywhere. Whenever she ventured out, whether it was to get coffee or go shopping, he was there, waiting in the shadows, ready to make her life miserable.
“Looking good, sweetness.” Brady smirked as he purposely knocked her on the way over to the fridge, where he swiftly removed a beer bottle.
Alice shot him a glare over her shoulder. “Wish I could say the same to you, Brady, but it appears as if the rumours really are true and beer does go straight to a man’s gut.”
She was lying, of course. There was no beer belly in sight. The man was a wall of solid muscle, but something about him drove her absolutely insane. It apparently also meant she couldn’t control her mouth whenever he was in the vicinity. He’d somehow managed to crawl under her skin in a matter of minutes of them meeting, and insults had been hurled between them ever since.
Brady’s silky laughter bellowed behind her. “You offering to help me work it off, sweetness?”
Author Bio:
Isobel was born and raised in London. She still lives along the River Thames with her husband and her substantial book collection. Ever the hopeless romantic, she fell in love with the genre from a young age and was inspired to write her own stories. When she’s not feasting on romantic comedies or binge reading her hoard of contemporary romance novels, Isobel is writing.
Then Came You Dylan Allen Publication date: February 23rd 2023 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Most people dream of falling in love.
But all I know of love is that it turns smart people into fools.
So, I don’t dream, I work.
And put distance between myself and the stain my father’s betrayal left on my family.
When I land a high powered job in London,
It feels like I finally have everything I want.
Then comes Simon, the gorgeous architect with a filthy mouth
who sets my body and my mind on fire.
I surrender to the pull of attraction and the promise of pleasure in his heated gaze.
But those smoldering dark eyes of his are also full of secrets.
Playing with that kind of fire is a fool’s game. And I am no fool.
So, when our night together ends on less than happy terms, I’m sure it’s for the best.
When a work project brings us back together,
I’m determined to keep Simon where he belongs – in my rearview.
Fate, however, has a different plan.
Simon breaks down my walls one sexy, wicked smile at a time.
And I discover that behind his brooding, secretive facade, lies a heart of pure gold.
Soon, all I do is dream…of his touch, his kisses,
and of a love good enough and strong enough to last forever.
But I’ve got secrets of my own.
And when they rear their heads,
nothing will be the same again.
I look at Simon, ready to make a quip about how they look like two kids sneaking off together. My words die in my throat at the unabashed desire in his eyes.
He doesn’t say a word. There’s no need when that look says everything.
He puts his hand out and I take it. As soon as our palms touch, I know I made the right decision. If this benign touch sends my senses into a tailspin, what’s he going to do to the rest of me?
He links our fingers and brings my hand to his mouth. I shiver at the press of his warm lips and the heated promise in his eyes. I let him lead me out of the restaurant, across the street to catch the tube. But just when I dig out my fare card, he sticks his hand out to hail a black cab.
We get in, and despite the roomy back seats, we sit next to each other, thigh to thigh, both facing forward but if the way the air in the cab cracks with chemistry and attraction is anything to go by, he’s as aware of me as I am of him.
“Where to?” The cabbie’s barked question breaks our spell momentarily and we turn to look at each other. “Is my place okay?” I ask absently, my eyes glued to his mouth.
He nods as if unable to speak. I rattle off my address to the cabbie, and he pulls away from the curb.
“Addie,” Simon’s husky voice is tinged with urgency. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
When I turn to him, his eyes are on my mouth. I lick my lower lip and he bites his.
“So are you,” I confess in a whisper and the rush of anticipation makes my whole body tingle.
“Princess, you’re killing me.” He lets out a soft groan and his head moves toward mine, and my eyes flutter closed.
Time slows making me aware of every single fraction of every single second that passes before his lips finally touch me.
They softly press to the corner of my mouth and every thought flees my mind. The touch is as light as a whisper, and yet I feel it all the way to the tips of my toes. He moves his lips across mine—brushing back and forth—and with every single touch, I am unraveling. And for once, the idea of coming apart doesn’t scare me.
Author Bio:
Dylan Allen is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling author.
She’s a Texas girl, with a serious case of wanderlust, Dylan’s travels influence her writing and she loves being able to take her readers on adventures from the comfort and safety of their favorite reading nook.
A self-proclaimed happily ever junkie, Dylan creates stories where her characters unapologetically chase their own happy endings.
When she isn’t writing or reading, eating or cooking, she and her family are planning their next adventure.
In Too Deep L.K. Shaw (To Love and Protect Series, #1) Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
In search of my missing brother, I cross paths with a sexy, but dangerous man. Everywhere I go, he watches me with a heated gaze that sets my body on fire. I’m helpless against the forbidden attraction.
But a vicious crime lord wants us both dead, and soon we’re in a fight for our lives. When the battle ends, secrets are revealed, and I discover the man I’m falling in love with isn’t who he says he is. Will I ever be able to trust him again?
“Will you stay with me tonight? I don’t think I can be alone.” My words were barely above a whisper.
Tomás’ look was pained. He shook his head. “It’s not a good idea, Ines.”
I clasped his hand between mine and squeezed it against my chest. “Please.”
He warred with indecision, but I knew the moment he made his choice. He took the keys from my hand and led me inside, closing and locking the door behind us. I flipped on the light and removed my hat, laying it on the side table. Next, I slipped out of my heels, leaving them at the door. I padded barefoot across the living room until I reached the kitchen, my body humming with awareness of the man following behind me. Tension radiated off him, and I could hear his soft footsteps. I grabbed two beers out of the fridge and popped the top off both before turning and handing him one.
Our eyes connected, and neither of us broke contact. Tomás continued his white-knuckled hold on his at the same time I took a long pull from mine. My body thrummed, and my core pulsed. A spark lit my fingers when he slipped the bottle from them, our skin grazing, and set both mine and his on the counter. In one long stride, he was almost pressed up against me. We were so close, we practically breathed in each other’s air. My nipples hardened with arousal, and when he reached up and brushed a strand of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear, my breath hitched.
“You’re so beautiful and far too good for me.” Tomás’ voice was husky.
Slowly, he backed me up until I ran up against the counter, out of room, his arms caging my body. Not that I wanted to go anywhere. With infinite care, like he was waiting for me to stop him, Tomás dipped his head, our gazes still colliding, and brushed a kiss across my lips. His touch was featherlight, and I wanted more.
Author Bio:
LK Shaw is the bestselling author of the sexy, sinful suspense. She resides in South Carolina with her high maintenance beagle mix dog, Miss P. An avid reader since childhood, she became hooked on historical romance novels in high school. She now reads, and loves, all romance sub-genres, with dark romance and romantic suspense being her favorite. LK enjoys traveling and chocolate. Her books feature hot alpha heroes and the strong women they love.
Want a FREE short story? Be sure to sign up for her newsletter and download your copy of A Birthday Spanking, a short story set in the Doms of Club Eden world! http://bit.ly/LKShawNewsletter
This is no ordinary book club! When the group chooses a book, they are whisked away from reality to find themselves totally immersed in the story. The characters, the setting, and the murder all come to life. In order to exit the book, they’ll need to solve the mystery and reach The End.
This time, the club chooses a mystery that takes place in a quaint western town – in the old Wild West. That sounds like great fun, until they arrive in the dusty old town in the Arizona desert, among cowboys and saloons. They discover that the outhouse isn’t the worse thing about this trip.
The good news is that Paige, Glo, Zell, Frank, and the other members of the club discover plenty of surprises here, and they have a great time visiting a piece of history. They’ll get to live through many exciting moments as they unravel this cozy mystery story.
Book Details:
Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery Published by: Better Beginnings, Inc. Publication Date: November 2022 Number of Pages: 250 ASIN: B0BB1HS7XL Series: Magical Mystery Book Club #3 Book Links:Amazon | Goodreads
Read an excerpt from Chapter 2 of Cowboys and Chaos:
“Hey,” said Forrest. “Who’s that guy in the backyard?”
Everyone shuffled over to the window. A man was roaming around the property with what appeared to be a metal detector in his hands.
He removed his brown fedora, and his wild brown hair joined his golden scarf to blow wildly in the wind. He methodically ran the device back and forth over the lawn. Every few minutes he would stop and kneel on the grass, leaving wet spots on the knees of his khaki cargo pants. He’d put his ear to the ground, then pop up with a gleeful look on his face and continue scanning the lawn. He reached into one of the pockets of his brown safari jacket and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He aimed them around the yard and then up into the sky.
I opened the back door and stepped outside.
“Hello? Excuse me?” I called. “Can I help you?”
The man walked briskly over to us. He thrust out his hand toward me. “Dr. Atticus Papadopoulos. A pleasure.”
“Paige Erickson. Nice to meet you.” Even in shock, my manners prevailed.
The group had followed me outside and were standing in a circle gawking at him. The man put down his device and efficiently went from person to person. He reached out and shook each person’s hand. He looked each one in the eye and listened intently to their name as if he were memorizing it. He even reached down and shook Frank’s paw.
Frank looked him up and down and examined his archaeological professor-like outfit. “Hello Dr. Jones. Welcome to the Snapdragon Inn.”
“Ah! Wonderful, wonderful. The cat speaks! Marvelous!” He clapped his hands. “Actually, it’s Dr. Papadopoulos, but you can call me Atticus,” he said, totally missing Frank’s reference to Dr. Indiana Jones from Raiders of the Lost Ark. “Your ability to communicate is one more sign that the crossover exists at this point! Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!”
When he completed the circle, he verified my suspicion that he’d been memorizing our names by pointing at each person in turn. “Paige. Glo. Zell, Sebastian, Vee, Moonbeam, Forrest. And of course, the fascinating, remarkable Frank.”
The cat stood taller, and I could just about see his head growing in size. Exactly what we needed, a person to boost Frank’s already bursting ego.
“Sooo, Atticus. What are you doing here?” Glo asked as she came to stand beside me, hands on her hips, looking the stranger in the eye.
“Yeah,” said Zell, charging to the front of the group and standing nearly toe to toe with him. She looked up into his face, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. With her diminutive size and cotton ball-like hair she looked anything but intimidating. “And what’s with the metal detector? Looking for buried treasure?”
“Ah, good question, Zell. This is not a meager metal detector. It alerts me to points of extraterrestrial energy.”
“Are you a kook, then?”
Atticus threw back his head and laughed, his wild hair flopping back and forth with the movement. “No, madam, not a kook. I am a doctor of astrobiology; my major area of interest is extraterrestrial technology and travel.”
“What the heck is astrobiology?” Zell squinted her eyes at him.
“A woman with a curious mind. I like it.” He nodded in approval.
I glanced at Glo and rolled my eyes. Great. Now another ego being stroked. Zell and Frank were already impossible to live with, this would boost their annoy-ability level.
“Astrobiology is the academic field that studies the origins of life on our Earth and the existence of life elsewhere in our universe. The study of extraterrestrial visits is my main area of interest. Your inn happens to be at a key crossover point for a confluence of energy.” He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels looking pleased with his discovery.
Zell had an abnormally studious look on her face. “What do you mean by a confluence of energy, Doctor?”
Glo and I chuckled, since Zell’s normal response to him would have been, “Huh? Whatcha talking about?”
“Excellent question, again.” He pointed at Zell with a snappy movement. “Energy encircles our planet both horizontally and vertically.” His arms flailed about as he demonstrated the circles, then he crossed his arms, one atop the other. “At certain points the lines join and there is a high level of intra-space energy. These locations are an ideal landing spot for extraterrestrials, or for the creation of a time/space portal. This inn sits directly atop a high energy confluence crossover point.”
“Well, that’s not a surprise,” said Zell. “We do have an enchanted library with magical books that take us inside them for adventures.”
“Zell!” We all yelled as one.
“Yes! I knew it!” Atticus pumped his arm. “I want in. Can you take me on one of your adventures?”
***
Excerpt from Cowboys and Chaos by Elizabeth Pantley. Copyright 2022 by Elizabeth Pantley. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Pantley. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Elizabeth Pantley says that writing her Mystery and Magic book series is the most fun she’s ever had at work. Fans of the series say her joy is evident through the engaging stories she tells. Elizabeth is also the international bestselling author of The No-Cry Sleep Solution and twelve other books for parents. Her books have been published in over twenty languages. She lives in the Pacific Northwest, a beautiful inspiration for her enchanted worlds.
Maggie’s Mark Michelle Cornish (Ceiba Cartel, #1) Publication date: January 31st 2021 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense
The CIA told me to hunt him down. Instead, I fell in love with him.
It’s 1987 and CIA officer Maggie Barnes has the opportunity of her life—take down Ricardo Ceiba Colombia’s most prominent drug lord.
But the more Maggie learns about Ricardo and the deeper she goes undercover, the more she sees Ricardo for who he really is. Her mission becomes an impossible choice—take down the man she loves or betray her country.
Ricardo leaned in close to Maggie and Garcia. “Why don’t we talk outside?” he asked. “It’s a little quieter out there. Not much . . .” he glanced at the band “. . . but a little.” He shrugged and offered his hand to her again, and she accepted, following him out onto the balcony.
When they arrived on the balcony, she was surprised Garcia and Carlos hadn’t followed them. She tried to peer inside to see if they’d sat back down on the couch, but there were too many people dancing to the salsa band to see through the crowd. She knew the brothers didn’t make decisions without consulting each other. This was likely a ploy to get her away from Garcia.
A waiter arrived at their side, holding a tray of drinks, and Ricardo lifted a flute of champagne off the tray and handed it to Maggie. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had champagne, but of course, Magdalena Sanchez would not have refused the glass.
“Thank you,” she said, meeting Ricardo’s gaze. He was a sophisticatedly handsome man. His warm brown eyes were almost intimidating. She could see why he was so respected. If she didn’t know he was a cartel boss, she’d think he was another type of businessman, maybe an investment banker. Although he was dressed much more casually than an investment banker might dress. He wore a powder blue polo shirt, beige khakis, and dark brown loafers.
He grabbed a champagne flute of his own then clinked it against her glass. “Welcome to Bogota.”
She smiled and sipped the champagne, keeping her eyes locked on his the whole time. There was something about him. She swallowed her champagne then inhaled deeply, catching a waft of his woodsy cologne.
“Shall we sit?” He gestured to a seating area where white wicker furniture with bright yellow cushions welcomed them. A yellow orchid perched on an end table next to one of the chairs. “Magdalena,” he said once they were seated. “Such a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.” She took another sip of her champagne, surprised that her glass was almost empty. Why did this man make her so nervous? Where she would have expected to feel the same disgust she felt for his brother, there was only intrigue.
Maggie eyed the orchid next to Ricardo. She had never seen one with so many blooms. He turned to the plant and plucked one of its flowers then leaned closer to her and tucked it behind her ear.
She lightly touched it with her fingers, not wanting to disrupt it. Ricardo trailed a finger along her jawline and her skin tingled beneath his touch. She closed her eyes briefly, then stood and walked to the balcony railing.
Beyond the floodlights of the mansion was the vast jungle. It was under darkness now, and she sensed danger could easily lurk there. No wonder there were so many armed men out front. To the right of where the stone patio led into the jungle was a pool lit from underwater. The aquamarine water was peaceful and still it resembled glass.
Palm trees rustled in the jungle below, and alarm bells rang in her head. As she turned to warn Ricardo, somebody yelled, and the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun blared through the air.
Author Bio:
Michelle strives to write the kinds of books she enjoys reading–complicated characters, a little romance, and a lot of mystery and intrigue. Strong women in sticky situations is her specialty!
You can find Michelle at www.michellecornishauthor.com. She also writes children’s books with her kids as A.J. Kormon.
Hearthstone Alpha A.C. Melody (Midgard Úlfrinn, #1) Publication date: February 15th 2023 Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
Úlfr.
It’s the one thing they told her never to be, but can she keep that vow when it’s more than just her heart at stake?
Returning to Pine Grove should’ve been a golden opportunity, but things have changed in Reyna’s absence. Her childhood home is full of gorgeous men led by the magnetizing and infuriating Corbyn Bruschard. He threatens to unravel everything she believes is right, triggering her defenses. She’s determined to uphold the promises made to her parents. But the connection she feels to Corbyn makes her yearn for things they warned were too dangerous.
Corbyn walks a precarious line between animal instincts and human sensibilities. He knew Reyna was his the moment he scented her, luring him into a battle he hadn’t foreseen. His beautiful mate is a Valkyrie in Úlfr clothing, her proverbial shield deflecting him at every turn. But Corbyn knows the dangers that lurk in her denial. Their enemies are circling, rising from every direction, and there’s no bigger target than an Alpha’s Mate.
Corbyn will have to use every means necessary to keep Reyna safe, even those she fears the most.
“I’m not going to stay locked up in that house forever, Corbyn,” she stated firmly.
He actually snarled at her. Like she’d seen Breton do to Shayd her first night back. To her surprise, it did nothing but heighten the lust still churning wildly in her gut.
“Do you have any idea the things that went through my head when your brother called, scared to death to find you gone?” he demanded.
Okay. That snuffed the lust like a lid slamming down on a flame. Reyna swallowed hard, but she wasn’t about to back down.
“I know how to handle myself,” she stated stubbornly. “I’m from Chicago—”
“This isn’t the same, Reyna, and you know it,” he cut her off viciously.
“How am I supposed to know anything?” she shot back. “No one will talk to me. You all keep your mouths shut, expecting Serena and me to just follow orders without question yet never give us a reason why. I’m not going to stop, Corbyn. I haven’t answered to anyone in over seven years. I’m certainly not going to start now. So, if you’re going to sit there and tell me that I’m going to be treated like a damn prisoner, I will pack my things today and be done with it.”
Corbyn tensed, his gaze boring into hers as if he wanted nothing more than to call her bluff. But Reyna wasn’t bluffing. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and glowered out the windshield. His knuckles whitened before he grabbed the gear shift and put it in first. Just as quickly, he changed his mind and put it back into neutral, spinning on her.
“Dammit, Reyna, there’s got to be a compromise here, somewhere.”
Crap, really?
“What kind of compromise?” she asked suspiciously.
“No sneaking out at five in the morning for starters,” he stated heatedly, obviously needing to highlight that little tidbit first.
“I like to jog.”
He didn’t budge.
She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll wait until after breakfast, happy?”
“No. Sneaking. Out. Period,” he reiterated. “Tell someone. You’ll also be exchanging numbers with everyone today, and start carrying your phone with you at all times.”
Reasonable. It’s reasonable. There’s no need to throw a tantrum.
“Is that all?” she ground out.
“Hardly,” he answered. “Starting today, we will be taking turns staying with you, Serena, and Justin until we feel it’s safe enough not to.”
“And how is that not making us feel like prisoners, again?” Reyna balked.
Forget tantrum; she was going to deck him right in that perfectly sculpted jaw!
“It’s going to happen whether you like it or not,” he informed her. “We can’t focus on what needs to be done if we’re worried about the three of you. Even you pointed that out yesterday while avoiding the real subject.”
Reyna fumed. Damn him for turning her words against her and knowing why she’d used them.
“Sounds to me like your idea of compromising is all one-sided,” she pointed out heatedly. “I have things to do. Can I go now?”
The automatic locks engaged as he continued staring at her. “You’re on vacation—”
“Not anymore,” she cut him off. “My boss is expecting me downtown this morning, and I have to go unless I want to lose my job—which I don’t.”
“Then, Breton will take you,” Corbyn replied, his tone strained as if he were holding back a completely different reply. “And pick you up when you’re finished.”
Reyna’s jaw dropped as she glared holes into his profile. “You can’t be serious.”
“Very,” he deadpanned, though his tone was somewhat calmer.
He looked at her, his eyes roaming her freely again rather than trying to penetrate her bones.
“Won’t that leave Serena and Justin alone?”
“No,” he answered, leveling her with a stern look. “You’re not going to win this argument, Reyna. There’s no way in hell we’re leaving anything to chance, not with those who matter most to us. Now, get over here.”
She scoffed. As if.
“Please?” he added gently.
It took Reyna about ten seconds to reluctantly scoot across the bench seat, leaving a good arm’s length between them because it appeared he wasn’t going to drive anywhere until she did. If Corbyn thought she was done with her side of their little compromising barter, though, he was in for a big surprise.
Reyna inhaled sharply when he hooked his arm around her waist, lifted her, and set her down across his lap. With her feet facing the passenger door across the bench seat, her back was cradled in the crook of Corbyn’s left arm, though he still clutched the steering wheel.
Desire unraveled in Reyna’s veins, starting in her toes and working up to the roots of her hair. Every inch of her was once again hyper-aware of every inch of him, and she fought hard to keep her composure intact.
“Do you really think distance keeps you safe, falleg?” Corbyn asked softly, tugging her ponytail out from between the back of her head and his shoulder.
Fawk…what?
“Did you just call me fugly?” she snapped.
“Not even close,” he replied. “Answer the question, Reyna. I’m on to your evasion tactics.”
Well, aren’t we clever?
Author Bio:
A.C. Melody is a hybrid author of Erotic Romance and all its savory sub-genres. Confessed javaholic, introverted geeky girl with a twisted sense of humor and a wretched muse. She has a weakness for hard ass Alphas and the strong women who capture their hearts, without damaging their rough edges.
A lifetime lover of fairytales, myths, legends, and ancient pantheons, A.C. spends more time researching than writing. Her biggest goal is to provide new, captivating angles on old, favorite tales with enticing twists and characters that redefine preset expectations.
She’s 100% guilty of placing all her money on the underdogs, anti-heroes and shameless whores.
I LOVE THE COVER! After reading the first book, River Of Ashes by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor, there was no way I was going to let the chance to read River Of Wrath go by. I enjoyed the illustrations inside too.
After the first few chapters, it all came back to me. That is a sign of a good book to me, that the author includes a recap to refresh our minds of what has happened in the past.
“Come not within the measure of my wrath.” William Shakespeare
Louisiana Sheriff Kent Davis…I can see him in his Stetson. Kent had moved to Tammany Parrish to get away from all the murders he had to deal with in New Orleans. Looks like they followed him. I am bracing myself for more horrific events, after what happened in River Of Ashes and I wasn’t disappointed. We start with receding flood waters and a dead body. There were already three unsolved murders.The deaths have all taken place around the river and St Benedict, a burned out abbey where the kids used to hang out.
A legend surrounds St Benedict of a lady in white and her wild dogs.
‘When the dogs appear, death is near.’
Leslie Moore’s sister, Dawn, had been murdered. A deal was struck…to make the murderer pay. But, be careful. When you make a deal with the devil, it can come with a very high cost. Would the cost be too much? Would the secrets come out regardless of those involved wanting them to stay hidden? Leslie can’t let it go. Her regrets and guilt haunt her. The murdered are gone, it’s the families that are left trying to cope, unable to move on with their lives, needing answers.
We meet a new character, Luke Cross. What’s up with him? I love when my spidey senses tingle, telling me to beware, to keep my eye on him. Sometimes they are good people, sometimes not. New people rarely come to town, so anyone that does deserves a look see.
One family, more or less, runs the town. The Devereauxs. Their history is cloudy and the entire town is affected by their past, present and future.
Does Leslie have some paranormal ability? Her dreams/nightmares show her the truth. Are they premonitions, or is it her intuition putting the pieces together. Leslie had always been the strong one. Now, she stumbles. She was lost when her other half, her twin Dawn, was murdered. She is growing stronger, preparing herself to face what is to come.
I almost need a playbook to track the players and their motivations.
River of Wrath has plenty of intrigue and suspense, with a gothic feel. Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Aster have some twists and turns to keep us on our toes. At times, my mind was spinning, trying to figure out who did what to who. If you are looking for ONE villain, you will have to look again.
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of River Of Wrath by Alexandrea Weis.
4 Stars
Synopsis:
More secrets are about to be uncovered, beginning with the arrival of a handsome stranger, and the discovery of bones long buried beneath the river …
Leslie Moore is struggling to get through her last semester at St. Benedict High. Even her relationship with her boyfriend Derek is falling apart. But after receding floodwaters from the Bogue Falaya River expose the bones of a woman, Leslie becomes obsessed with tracking down the killer.
Sightings of an apparition haunting The Abbey send Leslie and her friends back to the scene of the horrors from last Halloween, but no one is prepared for what they find.
After a stranger—the handsome Luke Cross—arrives in town, another girl goes missing, and the sheriff suspects the newcomer is hiding something. Leslie believes the Devereaux family is connected to everything going wrong in St. Benedict. And she means to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.
Not all secrets can be kept silent. Some eventually find their way home.
Book Details:
Genre: Mystery/Thriller/Suspense/Horror Published by: Vesuvian Books Publication Date: January 2023 Number of Pages: 270 ISBN: 9781645480174 Series: St. Benedict series, Book 2 Book Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Vesuvian Media Group
Read an excerpt:
“Come not within the measure of my wrath.”
~William Shakespeare
CHAPTER ONE
Sweat gathered under the brim of Kent Davis’s Stetson as he walked the sandy beach along the Bogue Falaya River. He didn’t feel the brisk January breeze or pay attention to the mutterings of the forensic team. The unease burning in his gut shut out all distractions. He rested his hand on his belt, brushing against his Louisiana sheriff’s badge. The rub of metal reminded him of the oath he’d sworn to protect and serve, but on days like this, he hated his job.
Dispatch had initially deemed the early morning call from a frantic jogger a hoax. After an officer confirmed there was a body, Kent arrived at the scene to confront his worst nightmare—another murder. He already had three unsolved deaths weighing heavily on his department. Two high school students and a woman from out of town had died there in a matter of months. City leaders had been breathing down his neck for answers.
Kent studied the black body bag the technicians carried. This was only going to make his job harder.
His crew combed the beach, where receding floodwaters had exposed a young woman’s grave. From the looks of her bleached bones, partially covered in the remnants of a red dress, she’d been there for quite some time. He doubted they’d find anything admissible. There would be trace evidence, but no footprints, no debris, no blood, and no signs of struggle.
He climbed the steep hill from the beach to the parking area, scanning for any clues. Everywhere was a potential crime scene. After years of being in law enforcement, he doubted he could see the world in any other way.
“I don’t like this one bit, Bill,” Kent said, approaching the heavyset coroner waiting by the open doors of his van.
“What’s there to like. We got a dead girl who’s been buried here a long time.” Dr. Bill Broussard removed a pair of black-framed glasses from his egg-shaped head. “You might find a lead in old missing persons reports.”
“I’ll access the St. Tammany Parish database when I get to the station. Until then, she’s a Jane Doe.” Kent eyed the coroner’s van. “How long will it take to know something?”
Bill cleaned his glasses and moved out of the way while a technician slammed the doors closed. He waited until the man climbed into the driver’s side before responding. “You realize workin’ with old bones makes it harder to identify the cause of death. Let me get her to the lab, then we’ll see.”
“I got enough going on with Beau Devereaux, Dawn Moore, and Andrea Harrison.” Kent tipped back his hat. “This makes four bodies and no leads.”
“As soon as people catch wind of this, the gossip mill will run wild.” Bill motioned to the van. “We already got enough rumors flying around about serial killers and rapists on the loose.”
“But at least we know this isn’t a serial killer.”
“Do we?” Bill flipped through a few pictures on his phone and showed Kent the screen.
Kent looked at the bloody mess that had comprised the remains of Beau Devereaux. The golden boy of St. Benedict had been a football star and heir to the Devereaux fortune. The day Kent found his mutilated body along the river had been one of the worst of his career. Beau’s death, on the heels of the rape and grisly murder of Dawn Moore, had shattered his faith in their small town.
He squinted at the picture. “What am I missing?”
Bill pointed at Beau’s bruised and bloody neck. “Trachea isn’t midline. It’s in two pieces. In the autopsy, I discovered his neck had been broken.”
Kent thought of the murder cases that cluttered his desk. “Same as the Harrison girl. Her neck was broken. Any chance wild dogs could have done this?”
Bill’s meaty lips thinned into a line. “Harrison had no bite marks. Only Beau suffered extensive puncture wounds. For a dog to snap someone’s neck, it would have to be big and have impressive jaw strength. Until your men find me an animal like that, I’m leaving Beau’s death a homicide.” He wiped his damp brow. “What worries me is this woman’s bones show there might be a break in her neck, too. If that’s the case, someone around here could have a long history of murder.”
Kent grew irate. He’d left the turmoil of working for the New Orleans Police Department to get away from the steady dose of homicides. Ten years ago, St. Benedict had been the answer to a prayer for him, his wife, and their two boys. He didn’t want to think such horror could have remained hidden for so long in the idyllic town.
“Send me the preliminary results of the autopsy as soon as you get them.” Kent pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache. “I want it in my hand when I tell Gage Devereaux what we found. He might recall someone who went missing. He’s lived here all his life and is bound to have heard something.”
Bill swatted at a passing fly. “He won’t be happy to hear about another body. You know how protective he is of St. Benedict.”
“Yep. I expect this will piss him off.”
The patriarch and owner of the biggest employer, Benedict Brewery, Gage oversaw everything in the town. Some called him a control freak—a trait many had seen in his son, Beau—but to Kent, Gage was thorough, detail-oriented, and would have made a great detective if he hadn’t taken over the family business.
“He’s gonna ask you if this has anything to do with the investigation into Beau’s death.” Bill frowned. “What’re you gonna tell him?”
Kent clenched his jaw. “We don’t know if any of these deaths are related.”
“Yet,” Bill added. “Seems like an awfully big coincidence to me.”
Kent pulled keys from the front pocket of his jeans. “There’re too many coincidences going on around here, and they all seem to center on this damned river. When can you get me a DNA report?”
“Might take a while.” Bill scratched his head. “Budget constraints and the backlog of cases clogging the system have slowed everything down.”
“How long are we talking? A week?”
Bill snorted. “More like weeks. A long-dead Jane Doe isn’t exactly a priority. Otherwise, we could get a rush on it.”
“Then we’ll just have to wait and see what we get back,” Kent grumbled.
Bill went to the driver’s side of the van and spoke to the technician. He then waved at Kent before walking away.
The sheriff waited as the van slowly eased onto the main road, with Bill’s black SUV following close behind.
Alone, Kent removed his hat and gazed up at the tall pines rimming the parking lot. Cresting above the tallest of the trees was The Abbey’s single charred limestone spire—its twin lost in the fire.
The serene place had witnessed so many atrocities—suicide, fire, and Dawn Moore’s murder. Kent would never understand what the Benedictine monks who founded the seminary ever saw in that cursed land. Legends about the abandoned abbey and its wild dogs had floated around the community for as long as anyone could remember.
When the dogs appear, death is near.
He’d never believed any of the stories until now. Kent feared there might be some truth to the legend, after all.
And the worst was yet to come.
***
Excerpt from River of Wrath by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor. Copyright 2023 by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor. Reproduced with permission from Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor. All rights reserved.
Author Bios:
Alexandrea Weis:
Author Alexandrea Weis, RN-CS, PhD, is an award-winning author, advanced practice registered nurse, and wildlife rehabber who was born and raised in the French Quarter. She has taught at major universities and worked with victims of sexual assault, abuse, and mental illness in a clinical setting at many New Orleans area hospitals. She is a member of the International Thriller Writers Organization and Horror Writers Association.
Co-author Lucas Astor is an award-winning author and poet with a penchant for telling stories that delve into the dark side of the human psyche. He likes to explore the evil that exists, not just in the world, but next door behind a smiling face. Astor currently lives outside of Nashville, TN.
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Teach Me L. L. Ash Publication date: February 14th 2023 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
From the Bestselling Author of HIM.
Mia
I’ve been trying to get that TA job ever since my senior year at college. I’m in my last semester of my Master’s degree and finally got the job. Only problem is our new professor is a sexy, middle aged, brilliant writer and an even better teacher. He runs the English department and now he’s my boss, my professor, and the center of every last one of my fantasies. There’s no way I should want him this much, but it’s those dang glasses and that smile and that little dimple in his chin. I was swooning the moment I met Professor Harlo, but the moment he opened his mouth, I fell in love.
Owen
This is the last thing I wanted. I’m fresh off a divorce and with two kids and two demanding careers, I don’t have the time or energy for this. Except, this girl sticks inside my brain like ABC gum and I can’t shake her. Doesn’t help that we’re crammed in my office grading papers several days a week for hours at a time. The whole innocent thing she has going on kept me away, but she’s a writer too, and I made the mistake of reading her half finished romance book. Unfortunately for me, the things I love about this girl are her mind and spirit, and those are the two things I can’t say no to.
And I’m not joking about that. If I couldn’t write, I would be absolutely useless to society. Some people take antidepressants, or do yoga or hike, or eat really good chocolate ice cream. For me, I write. It’s my therapy, if you will.
So, to say that my creative writing class was my favorite my first year of college was a bit of an understatement. I mean, I’d taken it every year since I started college. When I became knowledgeable enough to become the class’s TA, oh my God, it was like a dream come true.
Sure, being a teaching assistant was mostly just correcting tests, reading papers and doing the grunt work that my professor didn’t have time to do, but I didn’t care. I was going to be learning from some of the best, and my writing was going to benefit. Hell, maybe I’d even try to publish!
Now, the big obstacle ahead of me was getting the job.
I stood outside my professor’s office door, waiting for time to tick by because I was ten minutes early.
“Goddamnit!” I heard from behind the office door and my eyes widened.
Professor Harlo was new, replacing my recently retired professor. A spike of worry shot through me, wondering if the man had a temper.
The door swung open and there Professor Harlo was, over six feet tall, in slacks and a white shirt, deft fingers ripping off his tie.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered, jumping a little when he saw me there outside his door. “You here for the TA job?”
I nodded dumbly, my head bobbing up and down while he dabbed at his shirt. The big brown coffee stain on the front of his shirt finally grabbed my attention.
“Are you ok?” I finally bumbled, grabbing the tissue out of his hand so I could vigorously rub at the stain. “Did it burn you?”
Professor Harlo raised an eyebrow at me and watched me make a bloody fool of myself while I cleaned off my professor.
Oh God…
I finally blinked, realizing what I was doing, and shoved the napkin back at him.
“Sorry, I don’t know what I was…”
“Know how to get this out?” he asked, pointing to the spot and interrupting my apology.
I nodded.
“Good,” he said, waving me into his office as he wandered back in himself.
Those fingers, long and dexterous, started unbuttoning his shirt, starting from the neck down. I watched slack-jawed while he didn’t even bother glancing at me.
“Consider this a trial run,” he said finally, sliding his shirt off his arms before he bunched it against his bare chest.
Uh, yes, bare chest. And what a chest it was! His skin was pale, but there were muscles there that many academic men never bothered to develop. A dusting of freckles sprinkled across his pecs, and a peppering of dark hair trailed down into the band of his slacks.
“Hey,” he called, making the ‘I’m watching you’ motion with his fingers and eyes. “Get this all cleaned up and you’ve got the job.”
I blinked, clearing my mind as he shoved the shirt at me and pulled on an old man cardigan that fit him so well; the horn rimmed glasses on his face accentuating his dark, carmel colored eyes.
“What’s your name, by the way?” he asked once he was dressed again.
I drew my eyes away from the little triangle of chest and neck I was staring at and looked him in the face.
“Mia,” I stammered. “Mia Miller.”
“That’s fun enunciation,” he said with a grunt. “Ok, Miss Mia Miller. I want that back by tomorrow. Can you handle it?”
I lifted my eyebrows and nodded.
“Good,” was all he said before grabbing his leather briefcase bag and moving past me through the door, locking it on the way out. “By lunch tomorrow!”
I watched him saunter off after locking his office door behind us, and felt like my entire world had just imploded in that tiny room.
Once he was gone though, it was easier to breathe, and when I got some oxygen into my brain, I was able to finally convince myself of how idiotic my little instant crush was. Not only was my professor likely ‘over the hill’ and in his forties, but he was going to be my boss. Because yeah, I was getting the darn job, and no amount of coffee stained shirts were going to get in my way.
Shutting off the blood flow to my little love button, I stuffed the shirt into my backpack and hurried to my next class. Math. Yuck.
Author Bio:
L.L. Ash is a Washington-born writer who has traveled and lived across the western coast of the US. Ash has been writing fiction since she was a pre-teen, and while her writing has improved since then, her love for literature has not changed.
Oftentimes you can find Ash reading an indie romance or enjoying a historical fiction. Dabbling in culinary arts and music, Ash has been an artist for decades but found her true love and passion in romances.
