Tag Archives: mystery

THE LAST VALENTINE -BLITZ

the last valentine banner

The Last Valentine cover

Romance, Mystery
Date Published: February 2017
Only $0.99
 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png
The fate of two best friends and the secret love between them is known only to a mysterious figure who offers to aid one in hiding the truth from the other…lest their lives and love meet a tragic end.
When Olivia Villalobos finds a bloodstained love letter she endeavors to deliver it before Chief Inspector Sedeño finds it in her possession.
A city along the southern coast of Puerto Rico emerges in the aftermath of the Spanish-American War. Olivia, daughter of a drunkard police investigator who never knew the truth behind her mother’s disappearance, finds a bloodstained love letter in the hidden compartment of her father’s coat. Convinced it belonged to the man recently found dead she sets out to deliver it to the Labyrinth of Love Letters. A mysterious place believed to be an urban legend where the transients of forbidden love leave missives for one another. She enlists the help of Isaac Quintero to find the Labyrinth and they soon realize their quest has opened the door into Old Sienna’s darkest secrets—the perils, madness and depth of tragic love.
 
About the Author

Felix Alexander (1976-Present) is a Mexican-born, American-raised novelist, and poet of Mexican and Puerto Rican descent.
Acclaimed by readers for his poetic prose, his indie releases include: Dear Love: Diary of a Man’s Desire, a collection of love letters and poems; The Romantic: A Love Story; and most recently an epic historical fantasy Shadows of Time: The Amulet of Alamin along with a mystery-thriller The Secret of Heaven.
Being third-generation military, after a grandfather and uncle who served in the Korean War and Vietnam War, respectively, Alexander is proud of his service in the U.S. Army, and grateful for his experience.
After his honorable discharge from the U.S. Army, he embarked on the long and arduous journey of a writer. Having made a name for himself during his tenure, serving his country, he vowed to himself and his fellow soldiers that he would answer his true calling.
When not spending time with his children, a son and daughter, he journeys through the portals in his extensive, personal library. When he returns, he immerses himself in his writing, and pursues the scent of his muse.
Contact Links
Purchase Links
ONLY $0.99! 
Reading Addiction Blog Tours

Leave a Comment

Filed under BOOKS

REDEMPTION LAKE – BLITZ

redemption lake banner

redemption lake cover

Mystery
Date Published: May 17, 2017
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png
Tucson, Arizona – Eighteen-year-old Matt Garrison is harboring two terrible secrets: his involvement in the drowning death of his 12-year-old cousin, and a night of drunken sex with his best friend’s mother, Crystal, whom he finds dead the following morning. Guilt forces Matt to act on impulse and hide his involvement with Crystal.
Detective Winston Radhauser knows Matt is hiding something. But as the investigation progresses, Radhauser’s attention is focused on Matt’s father. Matt’s world closes in when his dad is arrested for Crystal’s murder and Travis breaks off their friendship. Despite his father’s guilty plea, Matt knows his dad is innocent and only trying to protect his son. Devastated and bent on self-destruction, Matt heads for the lake where his cousin died—the only place he believes can truly free him. Are some secrets better left buried?
            Redemption Lake is a novel of love and betrayal. It’s about truth and lies, friendship and redemption, about assuming responsibility, and the risks a father and son will take to protect each other.
Excerpt
For the next hour and a half, he drifted in and out of sleep. Cradled by the night sounds of the desert outside the open window, each time a memory emerged, his thoughts thickened and folded back into sleep. At one point he heard water running for a bath. A little later, he heard a car outside. Oh God, please don’t let it be Travis. He stumbled to the window and opened the curtains. In the street, two long rectangular taillights moved away, turning south onto Oracle Road.
Matt leaned against the wall, staring at the sunflower sheets on Crystal’s bed. The same bed he and Travis had jumped up and down on when they were eight. The digital clock read 10:38 p.m. His head throbbed. He needed to close his eyes. Crystal would wake him in time to leave before Travis got home. He fell back onto the bed.
When he woke up again, the room was very dark. He wore only his boxers and a white T-shirt his mother had insisted upon—claiming his usual dark one would show through his tuxedo shirt. As if the color of his T-shirt could ruin her perfect wedding. But he’d been ingenious and found another way to ruin things for his mother. He turned toward the empty space beside him. It took a few moments for him to realize where he was. He closed his eyes, shook his aching head to clear it. Crystal was his best friend’s mother. What the hell was he doing in her bed?
He thought he heard the sound of the front door open, then close again. Oh God, please don’t let it be Travis. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. One event at a time, he remembered everything.
Fully awake now, he shot from the bed, rocking for a few seconds before he achieved balance, then hurried to the window. The moon hung over the mountaintop, its light silver and unforgiving. Crystal’s driveway was empty. Whoever he’d heard, it wasn’t Travis. On the other side of the street, an engine started. This time the taillights were round. Definitely not Crystal’s Escort. The car turned north on Oracle Road.
Matt let out the breath he’d been holding and glanced at the digital clock—its red letters told him it was 11:20 p.m. He needed to get dressed and leave. The dance ended in forty minutes and Travis would head home. He grabbed his tuxedo pants and shirt from the chair. His hands shook so hard he could barely work the fly and the button on his trousers. He slipped into his shirt, then sat on the edge of the bed. As if he had the flu, his head throbbed and his stomach felt queasy.
He rushed down the hallway toward the bathroom. And when he did, he saw the puddle of blood on the floor beside the bathtub.
He hurried across the room, jerked open the pale green shower curtain.
Crystal lay naked in a bathtub filled with blood-colored water. Her hair, her beautiful blonde curls, had been chopped off, shorter in some places than others, as if a small child had done it. Some of the curls were floating on top of the water.
For a strange moment, everything remained calm and slow.
Her head was propped against one of those blow-up pillows attached to the back of the tub with suction cups. The tint of her skin was pale and slightly blue. Crystal’s eyes were open and staring straight ahead—looking at something he couldn’t see. Blood splattered the white tiles that surrounded the tub. It dripped down them like wet paint. One of her hands flopped over the side of the tub. A single thick drop fell from her index finger into the crimson pond congealing on the linoleum floor. It covered her neck and shoulders. Tiny bubbles of frothy blood still oozed from the gash in her neck.
An empty Smirnoff bottle sat in a puddle of blood on the tub’s rim beside a straight-edged razor blade.
The bathroom was so quiet. Nothing but the sound of his own breathing. He clenched and unclenched his hands. His body grew numb. “Oh no. Oh God, no,” he said, the words thickening in the air in front of him. His head filled with strange sounds—the drone of insects humming, violinists tuning their strings. “What have I done?”
The contents of his stomach rose. He crouched in front of the toilet and heaved until nothing more came up. Then he started to rock, back and forth, muttering what he already knew was a useless prayer. Please, just let her be okay. He said it over and over like an unstoppable mantra. If only he could keep saying the words, maybe he could reverse this unthinkable thing.
Maybe she was still alive. He straightened up and stepped over to the bathtub to check Crystal’s neck for a pulse. As he bent closer, he smelled the metallic scent of her blood as it mixed with her perfume and the stale, metabolized smell of alcohol seeping through her skin. He placed two fingers on her neck, searching for her carotid and pressed. His fingers slipped into the gaping hole. It felt wet and warm. He screamed and jerked them out. They were covered in blood.
He swiped his hand on the front of his shirt, then checked the other side of her neck for a pulse. Please, just let her be okay. Nothing. He shook her by the shoulders, then tried again. Still no pulse. At that moment, he stopped his mantra.
Though he knew she was dead, he held her hand—soft and still warm. It belonged to Crystal, who’d taught him to line dance, who liked hot buttered popcorn with cheddar cheese grated on top. Crystal, who was sometimes irresponsible and drank way too much. Crystal, who’d cheered for him at bat in Little League, cheered just as loud as she had for her own son. Crystal, who’d always be sitting in a bathtub of blood. “I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand, then let go. “And I swear to you, Travis will never know what happened between us.”
Struggling to his feet, he headed for the kitchen phone to call 911. Halfway to the bathroom door, he stopped. Blood smeared the front of his white shirt. And there was still blood on both his hands, drying beneath his fingernails. His body was slick with fear. He smelled it, tasted it, and felt it coming out of his pores like sweat. His mind told him to call the police, to tell the truth. His heart told him to keep his promise to Crystal. It was the last thing she’d ever ask of him.
He dropped his chin and stared at his shirt. Holy shit. If anyone saw him like this, they’d think he’d killed Crystal. The thought stopped him. Had he? Was he capable of doing something so heinous?
The bubble of panic in his throat got bigger. He hurried across the bathroom to wash his hands. There were more clumps of hair in the sink and a hardened blue streak of toothpaste. He used toilet paper to pick up the hair clumps and dropped them into the trashcan. Looking at the uncapped tube beside Crystal’s toothbrush, he felt as if something had been cut out of his chest.
He grabbed the sides of the sink, stared at himself in the mirror. The face staring back resembled no one he’d ever seen before. Was it the face of a murderer? Had he just pushed someone else to her death? He shook his head—breathing in short gasps, like a swimmer gearing up for a plunge. His lungs burned as if he were being swept away by a strong current.
When the memory of his cousin’s death surfaced, as it often did, Matt used his fists to hammer the stranger’s face he saw reflected in the medicine cabinet. The mirror fractured, sending out long cracks in every direction. The face split into interlocking parts like an abstract puzzle. One jagged sliver fell into the sink, breaking in half. It left a black and empty space in what had once been the mirror.
He held onto the sides of the sink again and rocked slowly in front of it, still staring at the blood on his hands and under his fingernails. “You’re all right,” he said, but could barely hear the words, the sounds inside his head were so loud.
In his mind he saw himself letting go of the sink and getting as far away from this nightmare as possible. But it would destroy Travis to come home and find his mother like this. Matt had to intercept him.
He washed his hands, then rinsed the blood from the sides and bowl of the sink, recapped the toothpaste and tucked it into the medicine cabinet. He wrapped the shards of mirror in toilet tissue, careful to avoid getting his fingerprints on the glass, and placed them in the trashcan, jagged sides down. There were no towels in the bathroom, so he wiped his wet hands on his pant legs. Panic rolled in, sucked him under.
What should he do? Call the police? His father? 911? If he did, there’d be a recording of his voice and he’d have a lot of explaining to do. The police often suspected 911 callers. They might take his DNA. What if they found semen inside of Crystal? What if they matched it to Matt’s DNA? If that happened, they’d know. It would be in the newspapers. It would hurt Travis. He couldn’t let that happen.
He hurried back into Crystal’s bedroom. Hands shaking, he sat on the edge of her bed and put on his socks and shoes. Then, as if he were someone else, running through an obstacle course, he went into the kitchen and gathered the empty beer bottles. He took them out into the garage and carefully placed them in their cardboard carriers. Next he wiped the kitchen table, closed the open drawers, loaded the dishwasher, emptied the ashtrays, then made Crystal’s bed with fresh sheets. He tossed the sunflower sheets into the washing machine and started the cycle, careful to wipe his prints from the lid and dial. With the same cloth, he wiped down the edge of the plastic shower curtain, then pulled it closed—the way he’d found it. For the most part, his fingerprints were easily explained. He’d spent almost as much time in Travis’ house as his own.
Matt stood in front of the coffee table. He heard the candles guttering, smelled the wax melting. He blew them out, then picked up the clothes Crystal had discarded in the hallway beside the bathroom door. Folding them neatly, he then placed them on the chair beside her window. He grabbed her red cowboy boots from the living room and set them beneath the chair. It was the least he could do for Travis.
The clock on the stove read 11:45 p.m. The Narrow Way didn’t allow opposite sex teenagers to spend unsupervised time together. Jennifer’s parents would pick her up from the dance. That meant Travis would be leaving for home soon.
If Matt hurried, he could intercept him, convince him to spend the night with Matt and his dad. He raced into Travis’ bedroom, jerked open the drawer where he kept his T-shirts. Surely he had a plain black or a dark blue one somewhere. Matt lifted the stacks of folded shirts until he found one, then ripped off the tuxedo and stained T-shirt, slipped Travis’ shirt over his head, then grabbed his jacket from the kitchen chair and hurried outside.
On the back deck, insects clustered around the light fixture, high-pitched, insistent and frantic. The sound reminded him of Crystal’s voice when she’d pleaded with him not to tell Travis. Why hadn’t he agreed?
In the carport, Matt unlocked the trunk of his Mustang, a restored nineteen sixty-seven Grande that had been his mom’s first car, and dropped both the jacket and the bloodstained shirt inside. Silence ballooned into the night air around him, a strange silence with a ticking heartbeat. Then he remembered the cufflinks. Crystal had tucked them into his shirt pocket. He checked. They weren’t there. He plunged his hands into his pants pockets and then the tuxedo jacket. No cufflinks. He didn’t have time to go back inside. He had to stop Travis from coming home.
When he climbed into the front seat, he looked out through the windshield, but the dome light inside the car and the darkness outside had changed the glass into a mirror. He turned away. His face was the last thing he wanted to see.
About the Author
Susan Clayton-Goldner was born in New Castle, Delaware and grew up with four brothers along the banks of the Delaware River. She is a graduate of the University of Arizona’s Creative Writing Program and has been writing most of her life. Her novels have been finalists for The Hemingway Award, the Heeken Foundation Fellowship, the Writers Foundation and the Publishing On-line Contest. Susan won the National Writers’ Association Novel Award twice for her novels and her poetry was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies including Animals as Teachers and Healers, published by Ballantine Books, Our Mothers/Ourselves, by the Greenwood Publishing Group, The Hawaii Pacific Review-Best of a Decade, and New Millennium Writings. A collection of her poems, A Question of Mortality was released in 2014 by Wellstone Press. Her novel, A Bend In The Willow, was published in January 2017. Redemption Lake, the first in a 3-book detective series, will be released May 17, 2017. Prior to writing full time, Susan worked as the Director of Corporate Relations for University Medical Center in Tucson, Arizona.
Susan shares a life in Grants Pass, Oregon with her husband, Andreas, her fictional characters, and more books than one person could count. In her spare time, Susan likes to make quilts and stained glass windows. She says it is a little bit like writing, telling stories with fabric and glass.
Contact Links
Purchase Links
Reading Addiction Blog Tours

Leave a Comment

Filed under BOOKS

AN ADVENTUROUS NIGHT – BLITZ

an adventurous night banner

an adventurous night cover
Mystery, Detective
Date Published: March 2017

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

When Sammy Shovel sinks his teeth into a case—he gets to the bottom of it— no matter how many bullets are flying at him.
Private Investigator, Sammy Shovel, is short, slightly overweight, balding, and he dresses like San Francisco’s most squalid street people.
When a supposed heist falls into his lap, Sammy jumps at the chance to make a few bucks, from an unknown victim, by stopping what appears to be a simple robbery. However, the case turns out to be different than anything he’s taken on since the death of his partner.
Sammy finds himself speeding through streets of San Francisco to head off another senseless murder. The events that follow are beyond his comprehension, and will change his perception of crime forever.
The victim may not be as evil as it seems, but rather—a casualty of circumstances.
About the Author

 

Ronald M. James was born during the great depression, and as a toddler watched WPA men build a new street, from his home’s big front window. His playmates were a red rider wagon, a small black satchel and rocks. By using his imagination he had conversations with mythical street workers that bloomed into fashioned fantasies by age four. He used cardboard boxes to create fun spaces for his neighborhood playmates to enjoy and he kept telling stories all through high school. In college he abandoned writing and studied architecture. James had a successful architectural career and retired, however he wanted to keep his creative juices fluent, so he returned to his childhood story telling days and joined a writers group. Like architecture, each day he couldn’t wait to create, finish, and start new stories—like this one, An Adventurous Night.
 
Contact Links
Purchase Links
 photo readingaddictionbutton_zps58fd99d6.png

Comments Off on AN ADVENTUROUS NIGHT – BLITZ

Filed under BOOKS

DAM WITHERSTON – BLITZ

dam witherston banner

dam witherston cover

Mystery, Cozy Murder Mystery
Date Published: January 2017

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

DAM WITHERSTON is a cozy murder mystery, the third in a series set in the fictive town of Witherston in the north Georgia mountains where Cherokees lived for a thousand years. This tale of blackmail and murder in the present involves interracial rape and pregnancy in the past, in 1977 and in 1828, when intercourse between Cherokees and whites was considered an abomination in the racist South.
The story takes place in March of 2017, when Mayor Rich Rather and attorney Grant Griggs receive blackmail messages from a “Donna Dam,” whose name they don’t recognize. Donna Dam threatens to expose their shameful activities of forty years ago if the two men do not take a paternity test and if Mayor Rather does not withdraw his proposal to build a dam. The dam would create a lake on top of sacred Cherokee burial ground. Donna Dam demands $9,900 in cash to keep their secret. The editor of the local online newspaper Witherston on the Web, who publishes Donna Dam’s letter to the editor, reports that forty years ago the Kelly Barnes Dam broke in Toccoa, Georgia, leaving thirty-nine people dead and many more homeless. What is the connection?
The teen-age twins Jaime and Jorge Arroyo, who helped solve the mysteries of Downstream and Fairfield’s Auction, have just discovered an ancient Cherokee burial site when they hear an explosion upstream. The twin’s mother, Detective Mev Arroyo, investigates the fire at the fishing shed, where Rather and Griggs had left their blackmail money, and discovers a body. DNA links the deceased to the twins’ friend Eric.
As in the earlier Witherston murder mysteries Mev is aided in her sleuthing by Jaime and Jorge, her husband Paco, and her aunt Lottie, who help her learn the truth of what happened in 2017 and in 1977 and 1828. DNA ancestry tests reveal kinship between the Cherokees and the present inhabitants of the north Georgia town that no one would have predicted and some would not have disclosed.
The reader participates in the detection by getting information from many different sources: the characters’ dialogue, email, text messages, deeds, and Witherston on the Web, which carries news reports, weather forecasts, announcements, obituaries, Jorge’s column about nature, Jorge’s cartoon, and Lottie’s column about Witherston’s history.
Excerpt 
PROLOGUE
                Mayor Rich Rather grabbed his cell phone when a beep signaled the arrival of an email.
                “Excuse me,” he said to Trevor Bennington, Jr., President of Bennington Financial Services and member of the Witherston Town Council. “I’m expecting an estimate from Appalachian Landscape Contractors.”
                He opened his email.
From:  Donna Dam (donotreply@xxx.com)
To: Rich Rather
PAYBACK TIME
Fri 03/10/2017 9:31 AM.
Dear Mayor Rather:
Do you remember what you were doing on the night of November 5-6, 1977? I bet you do.  You will pay for it.
There is a wooden shed 1/4 mile upstream from Withers Fork on east bank of Saloli Stream. It’s on the Zamora property. Bring $9,900 in cash at 5:00 pm tomorrow. Leave the money in an envelope inside on the table. If you do not show up on time, I will go public with your secret.
Donna Dam
Sent from my iPhone
                “Anything wrong, Rich?”
                “No, nothing, nothing at all. Thanks, Trevor.” Rich stood up. “But I’m afraid I’ve got other business to attend to. I’m sorry to be cutting our meeting short. So sorry.”
                The mayor showed him out of his office and deleted the email.
                Grant Griggs sat down for Friday morning coffee with Patrick Davis, President of Witherston Savings and Loan. As was their custom at the Witherston Inn Cafe they’d taken a back table.
                “Looks like Rich will give the contract to Appalachian Lakescape Contractors, Grant,” Patrick said. “I lobbied him hard.”
                “Thanks, Patrick. I promise that will work out for both of us.”
                Grant’s cell phone beeped.
                “Do you mind if I check my email, Patrick? I’m expecting a message from Phyllis Graph.”
From:  Donna Dam (donotreply@xxx.com)
To: Grant Griggs
PAYBACK TIME
Fri 03/10/2017 9:31 AM.
Dear Mr. Griggs:
Do you remember what you were doing on the night of November 5-6, 1977? I bet you do.  You will pay for it.
There is a wooden shed 1/4 mile upstream from Withers Fork on east bank of Saloli Stream. It’s on the Zamora property. Bring $9,900 in cash at 5:00 pm tomorrow. Leave the money in an envelope inside on the table. If you do not show up on time, I will go public with your secret.
Donna Dam
Sent from my iPhone
                “Shit,” Grant muttered. “Patrick, I’m sorry to have to leave you, but I’ve got to see a client. I must go now.” He deleted the email and walked out of the restaurant.
                Red Wilker was vacuuming the stuffed black bear the taxidermist had just delivered to Wilker’s Gun Shop when he got the email.
From: Donna Dam (donotreply@xxx.com)
To: Red Wilker
PAYBACK TIME
Fri 03/10/2017 9:31 AM.
Dear Mr. Wilker:
Would you like for the people of Witherston to know that you are buying up property in Saloli Valley with inside information about the proposed lake? I bet you wouldn’t.
There is a wooden shed 1/4 mile upstream from Withers Fork on east bank of Saloli Stream. It’s on the Zamora property. Bring $5,000 in cash at 5:00 pm tomorrow. Leave the money in an envelope inside on the table. If you do not show up on time, I will go public with your secret. And you could get jail time.
Donna Dam
Sent from my iPhone
                “‘What the duck is this? Look, Grace. Who in creation is Donna Dam?” He handed his cell phone to his wife.
                Grace read the email. “Is she referring to your land buy-outs in Saloli Valley?”
                “How could she find that out? How could anybody?”
                “Rich knows. Grant knows. Phyllis knows. Patrick knows.”
                “They all have a stake in the lake. They won’t be talking.”
                “What are you going to do?”
                “Don’t ask. You don’t need to know.”
                Red deleted the email.
About the Author
Dr. Betty Jean Craige is University Professor Emerita of Comparative Literature at the University of Georgia. She has lived in Athens, Georgia, since 1973.
Betty Jean is a teacher, scholar, translator, humorist, and writer. After retiring in 2011, she published a column about animal behavior in the local paper titled “Cosmo Talks” and began writing fiction. Her Witherston Murder Mystery series, set in north Georgia, includes DOWNSTREAM, FAIRFIELD’S AUCTION, and DAM WITHERSTON.
Contact Links
Purchase Links
 
 photo readingaddictionbutton_zps58fd99d6.png

Comments Off on DAM WITHERSTON – BLITZ

Filed under BOOKS

NOR THE BATTLE TO THE STRONG – SALE BLITZ

nor the battle to the strong banner

nor the battle to the strong cover
Historical Romance, Urban Fantasy, Mystery
Date Published:  January 21, 2017
 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png
On sale for $.99 March 12-17    Normally $3.99
Will Justice For One Have Life Threatening Repercussions For Many? Eva and Zoe return in the sixth novel of the award winning historical lesbian romance series imbued with urban fantasy and mystery.
On the night of November 9, 1938 in Berlin, Germany a teenager’s life was forever changed. Sent to the village of Aiden at the foothills of the Bavarian Alps, body and mind were shattered in the brutal Aiden Research Facility. Eighteen years later, Eva Lambros is no longer a teenager but a wealthy heiress. She is poised and confident with the family she has always wanted but there is one last obstacle she must overcome. Together with her partner, the formidable Zoe Lambros, they travel to Aiden to open a memorial to the hundreds of souls that lost their lives. Aiden left Eva with debilitating mental constraints that have taken years to overcome but is she ready to confront and overcome her greatest fear?
Zoe not only has to contend with Eva’s state of mind, but she is also pulled into a mystery that involves a woman’s search for justice amidst shocking revelations that reaches into the upper echelons of Aiden society.
The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong…
Excerpt

 

Zoe shivered as the wind picked up and swirled the fallen leaves around her feet. The tree branches above her head had started to sway in the wind and brushed against her head scarf. She looked around the grounds, which were cast in shadows. It was a moonless night and the smell of rain hung in the air adding to her growing annoyance. They were standing just outside their backdoor. Eva had one hand resting on the panel, and Zoe put her arms around her waist and rested her head against her back.
“It’s getting cold. Can we hurry up?”
Zoe heard Eva’s quiet chuckle as she went about unlocking the door. “You have the patience of a flea, and just so you know, the flea is probably deeply offended,” Eva whispered making both of them laugh. A soft click was all that was heard when Eva slid the bolt as quietly as she could make it. “All done.”
“What was that?”
“That was the bolt, love. I muffled the noise.”
It still amazed Zoe every time she saw Eva use one of her gifts.
Eva slowly pushed the door open only to hear a loud scraping noise. She turned around and stared wide eyed at Zoe.
“What is a chair doing there?”
Zoe sighed. “My fault. I told Berta to put a chair there.”
“You do know that if someone wanted to break in, they can go through those large windows?”
“It made sense at the time,” Zoe whispered as they entered the kitchen.
“I love you dearly but sometimes you just do the funniest things.”
“I know.” Zoe giggled. She pulled Eva’s shirt and Eva stopped and turned around. “Can you feel them?”
“Yes. Two humans.”
“At least they’re not demons, because that would require more than my gun.”
“I’m pretty sure even the demons fear you.”
“Ha ha, smarty pants. Let’s go scare the idiots inside. They are bound to have heard the chair.”
“Maybe they didn’t.”
A gentle thump-thump above their heads indicated whoever was up there was on the move. “Okay, let’s go.” Zoe took the safety lock off her gun. She was about to move forward when she felt Eva’s arms around her. They held each other for a moment and then Eva kissed her on the head. Without another word, Zoe edged forward with Eva behind her. Eva’s height was enough to warn Zoe if anything was coming and she had a clear line of sight to whatever was coming towards them.
Zoe came to the entrance of the living room and stopped. She looked up into the darkened ceiling. The intruders were up there and they were slowly heading their way.
About the Author
A geek with too many imaginary friends who speak different languages (knew those language classes would come in handy). Historical romance and urban fantasy storyteller and addicted to stories and song about strength and courage. I play well with others (for an introvert) but then retreat to talk and write about my imaginary friends.  Passionate about lots of things that inspire the mind (art/design, psychology, science and tech) that sets my muse on fire (she’s a busy lady!).
Contact Links
Purchase Links
 On sale for $.99 March 12-17 prefer during this time frame.     Normally $3.99
 photo readingaddictionbutton_zps58fd99d6.png

Comments Off on NOR THE BATTLE TO THE STRONG – SALE BLITZ

Filed under BOOKS