Sweet Water by Cara Reinard

 

Sweet Water

by Cara Reinard

January 1-31, 2021 Tour

Synopsis:

What did her son do in the woods last night? Does a mother really want to know?

It’s what Sarah Ellsworth dreamed of. Marriage to her childhood sweetheart, Martin. Living in a historic mansion in Pennsylvania’s most exclusive borough. And Finn, a teenage son with so much promise. Until…A call for help in the middle of the night leads Sarah and Martin to the woods, where they find Finn, injured, dazed, and weeping near his girlfriend’s dead body. Convinced he’s innocent, Sarah and Martin agree to protect their son at any cost and not report the crime.

But there are things Sarah finds hard to reconcile: a cover-up by Martin’s family that’s so unnervingly cold-blooded. Finn’s lies to the authorities are too comfortable, too proficient, not to arouse her suspicions. Even the secrets of the old house she lives in seem to be connected to the incident. As each troubling event unfolds, Sarah must decide how far she’ll go to save her perfect life.

Sweet Water Reviews:

“An unsparing account of ‘rich people problems’ that goes on forever, like all the best nightmares." —Kirkus Reviews

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Thriller, Crime Fiction
Published by: Thomas & Mercer
Publication Date: January 1st 2021
Number of Pages: 364
ISBN: 1542024935 (ISBN13: 978-1542024938)
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

I reach for my phone inside my purse slung around my neck. It’s dangling behind my back because I had nowhere else to put it while examining the body.

“Sarah, is she breathing?” Martin asks. I turn my head to find him, but it’s too dark.

I stumble, disoriented under the canopy of trees. We’re somewhere off Fern Hollow Road, the closest turnoff to Finn’s pinned iPhone location.

“I d-don’t know,” I sputter, still shocked we found her and not Finn when we parked the car and hiked the rest of the way into Sewickley Heights Park.

“Check her—now. I need to find Finn.” Martin’s voice fades into the forest, and all I want to do is follow him, but I just spoke to my son on the phone. His speech was slurred, and his girlfriend is . . .

“Oh God.” I open my mouth and let out a strangled breath, so sick that I sway to the side.

My eyes water as I kneel beside Yazmin Veltri, a girl I’ve known for only the briefest period. The wetness soaks through the holes in my jeans, settling into my bare kneecaps, ice on bone.

“Yazmin?” I shine my phone’s light in her direction, but I’m stopped by the certain hint of marijuana.

Shit. All these years working with at-risk young women, and I couldn’t see that Finn was dating one.

“Please,” I beg the starlit sky peeking through the trees. “Let her be breathing.”

I sniffle and inhale the truth through the rotting leaves. Something terrible has happened here, and I’m too late. The autumn mist snakes in through my nose, out through my mouth, emitting tiny white puffs of air.

The forest ground is slippery, a feathered blanket beneath my knees, slathering the tops of my shoes.

I hear more hurried footsteps. Martin sounds like a mouse lost in a maze. Has he found Finn? I need to go to him, but my husband told me to stay here.

The branches scratch the tops of my feet as I move closer to her, the fallen leaves collecting between my knees. Yazmin could still be alive. A bitter taste rises in my mouth as I bite my tongue, and I’m close enough to touch her now.

My arm trembles as I place two fingers on the cold flesh of her neck. Not only cold—wet. I can’t see what I’m touching, but I can feel her absence. Right below her jawline, in the space beside her trachea where I know a steady drumbeat should exist, there’s nothing.

No pulse. My heartbeat quickens and plummets. Oh God.

My blood is rushing. Pounding. I’m sweating despite the near-thirty-degree temperature. I dip my head closer to Yazmin’s chest, careful not to tangle my hair with hers. I’ve checked on my kids enough times in the middle of the night to know this girl’s not breathing. I shut my eyes and listen anyway.

Sure enough, the steady rise and fall of Yazmin’s chest is absent along with her pulse.

“She’s dead. We have to call the police,” I announce, loud enough for Martin to hear, but not nearly as loud as the screaming in my head.

Call somebody! Help!

I hear Martin crunch closer, and I turn my back on the girl.

I scoot up on my legs and use my hands to push myself into a crouching position. My breath is heavy, and everything on my body—my hands, my knees—rattles with fear. I hear a cry in the distance.

My son’s cry. And then Martin’s rustling footsteps. Beside me again.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“He’s okay, but . . .” Martin nods to the right. “He’s injured. We need to get him out of here, Sarah.”

“Okay,” I say, but I close my eyes because my head is a ringing bell of stress even though this wooded area is one of the things that drew me to this town. The park is near the country club where we’re members, where Martin’s family have been members for years, and things like this just don’t happen here.

“Let’s go, Sarah!” Martin urges.

My eyes snap open, and I hold up my phone. “Wait. I’m calling 911. For her.”

“No.” Martin swats my hand away with the flick of his strong knuckles. The blood on my palms makes everything slick, and my cell phone goes flying across the forest like a bar of soap in the shower. I slip sideways into a bramble of branches and land on my left hip, staring at my husband’s garish face in the moonlight. He looks unfamiliar, that expression one reserved for when he loses business at work, a rare occurrence. Martin is an innovator, his causes noble. Sometimes I don’t approve of how he does things, but I usually approve of why.

“Damn it.” Martin scrambles to find my phone. Right now, I don’t approve at all.

“Why did you do that?” I ask, but I’m more surprised that he’s hit me than I am by the fact that he doesn’t agree with my decision to call the police.

“It will get reported tomorrow. We need to leave with Finn. Now.”

“What? That makes no sense.”

Martin retrieves my phone, and I’m trying to get his attention, but he’s looking right past me at the gas pipeline in the distance, a clear-cut, inclined path free of foliage about a thousand yards long in the mountainous terrain. Martin and I messed around with sleds one winter on a protected slope of land just like it, and I think maybe Finn and Yazmin planned their own adventure out here tonight and something went terribly wrong.

“Martin.” I try to get up, but my foot slips on a mossy rock.

He grabs my arm. Then drops it. “Watch yourself,” he says, but he doesn’t help me rise. He’s too busy texting.

It’s then that I hear water rushing nearby. The river rocks are indigenous to this area, like everything else woodsy and serene in Sewickley.

Sewickley, the Shawnee word for sweet water, derived from the tribe’s belief that the borough’s shores were a little sweeter on that stretch of the Ohio River, the maple trees that grow at its shores only part of the saccharine story.

“Who’re you texting?” I’m crying and my hands are still wet, but I can’t wipe them. There’s blood all over my palms, and I can’t remember how it got there; head wounds bleed the worst.

“Hold on!” Martin is standing with his back to me now, holding his phone in the air like he’s trying to decide what to do with it, a six-foot silhouette of trepidation. He scratches his dark hair and rubs his cell phone on his sweater-vest, but he doesn’t use it to call anyone, only texts.

“I’m getting legal advice from my father,” Martin says.

His father?

I picture William Sr. texting back from the comfort of one of his high-back chairs inside his home, one of the few estates that make up Sewickley Heights like a richly woven patchwork quilt—the expensive kind sewn together with colonials surrounded by alabaster columns and mile-long driveways.

“Martin?”

William’s house is a fat-thatched Tudor hiding behind manicured bushes, a peek of white here, a slip of brown there, but there’s no hiding from this.

“Of course you have to report it!” I look again—at her—and the blood is already congealing around her open head wound, her neck bent at an awkward angle, a matchstick snapped in half. The rushing water streams just behind her.

Martin’s tugging on my coat. “Get up, Sarah. We have to go.”

“We can’t leave her.” Yazmin’s long black hair is covering the expression on her face, although the one I imagine is stuck there will haunt me more than the one I cannot see. She rests on her back, and it would be an odd way to fall, backward instead of forward, her hands crossed over her chest as if she were thwarting an attack. It reminds me of a tae kwon do block from when Finn used to take classes. We’d enrolled him when he was a child because he was painfully shy, whereas Spencer, his older brother, was frequently mentioned by his teachers as boisterous or exuberant, adjectives used in private schools to describe disruptive overachievers. I might expect Spencer to get into trouble with a girl like this, but not my poor Finny.

I turn toward Martin. He’s speaking, but I’ve stopped listening.

His eyes are pleading. “She’s dead. We can’t help her. Finn was the last person with her.”

“But—”

“He’s on something, Sarah. Drugs.” Martin shakes his head furiously. “This looks bad.”

I can hear what he’s saying, but I’ve retreated into my own body, and I don’t even know who we are right now.

We used to be Martin and Sarah Ellsworth of Blackburn Road.

We were the couple sitting at a corner table at a fancy restaurant, splitting a bottle of wine. Laughing at each other’s jokes.

“We have to do something for her.” My voice is swallowed by the humming sounds of the forest and the flapping of the leaves on the trees, the river. She’s already dead, but we need to make sure she’s at least taken to the hospital so her parents can identify her. Bile rises in my mouth. My heart is beating so fast, drowning out everything else, but I faintly hear Finn’s voice again nearby.

“I’m sorry.” Martin extends his arm to help me up, but I waggle my finger in the air at him, pointing to my hands, reminding my brainy husband that I’m bloodied and pulling me up isn’t a good idea. I must’ve made the mistake of touching Yazmin in the wrong place.

“Right.” He draws his palms back.

My legs won’t work. I gaze up, silently praying. The large enveloping trees of Sewickley Heights tower above us like old wealthy gatekeepers winking in the night.

“I need your help. I can’t move him on my own, Sarah,” Martin reveals.

I close my eyes, wishing it all away. It’s all a bad dream.

“Can we just make an anonymous call from a pay phone or something? For her parents’ sake, at least?”

“You can’t. They’ll try to interview Finn, see the drug use, and assume the worst. He’ll go to jail.” His voice is thick with desperation. “Sarah, this will ruin Finn’s life. This isn’t his fault!” Martin kicks a stone with his worn loafer, a product from one of the posh boutiques that line downtown Sewickley, a mishmash of overpriced things people don’t really need displayed in windowed storefronts on cobblestone streets. There’s a place to reupholster old furniture with patterns better left to die with their original owners, a claw-foot-tub specialist, an herbal spa with enough fresh fruit remedies to double as a bakery, the imported-leather-shoe store.

I bought Martin the shoes he has on now, and he’s worn them down to the soles. He’s practical, a computer engineer and CEO of a robotics start-up in the Strip District. He does things that make sense.

But right now, he’s not making any.

“Maybe she slipped.” My voice is shallow like the night air sneaking away from my lips, but the idea of an accident fills my heart with hope. “We’ll leave an anonymous tip.” If I had my phone, I’d call myself.

I’d explain this is exactly how we found her. She wasn’t even near our son when we discovered her body.

Unless . . . we’ve messed with the scene of the crime so much that we’ve hurt Finn more than helped him. I look down at my bloody hands and cringe. As far as we know, Finn is the last one who saw Yazmin alive. This could be very bad for him. “Shit.”

Martin grabs me by the arm. “We have to go, Sarah. Get up.” I can’t see much of Martin’s face but the stringy blue vein in his forehead that only comes out when he’s upset.

It’s been only minutes, but we need to move—faster.

“We need to go to him,” I say.

“Yes.” Martin nods.

I’m in shock. That’s what’s wrong with me. I blindly follow Martin, adrenaline fueling my limbs. Finn is off the beaten path, and I feel as though I’ve already failed him for taking so long. He’s huddled over a pile of leaves, his knees tucked into his chest like he used to do when he was a little kid. He looks so small right now.

So young.

A little boy who fell off his scooter and skinned his knee. I wish this problem were as easy to fix.

I wipe my hands on my jeans and throw my arms around him.

“I’m here. Mom’s here.” Finn’s crying and I don’t know how to make it better for him. He obviously didn’t mean for the girl to get hurt, but this was no accident either. He’s made a terrible mistake, gotten himself into a horrible predicament. So Finn did what we always told him to do if he was ever in trouble—he called us.

***

Excerpt from Sweet Water by Cara Reinard. Copyright 2021 by Cara Reinard. Reproduced with permission from Cara Reinard. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Cara Reinard is an author of women’s fiction and domestic. She currently lives north of Pittsburgh with her husband, two children, and Bernese mountain dog.

For more information, visit:
www.carareinard.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @CaraReinard
Twitter - @carareinard
Instagram - @carareinard
Facebook - Cara Reinard, Author

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

 

 

Enter To Win!!:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Cara Reinard. There will be two (2) winners each receiving one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card. The giveaway begins on January 1, 2021 and runs through February 2, 2021. Void where prohibited.

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The Things That Last Forever by Peter W. J. Hayes

 

The Things That Last Forever

by Peter W. J. Hayes

On Tour: January 1 - February 28, 2021

Synopsis:

After a house fire hospitalizes his partner and forces him onto medical leave, Pittsburgh Bureau of Police detective Vic Lenoski starts a desperate search for the woman who set the blaze. She is the one person who knows what happened to his missing teenage daughter, but as a fugitive, she’s disappeared so thoroughly no one can find her.

Risking his job and the wrath of the district attorney, Vic resorts to bargaining with criminal suspects for new leads, many of which point to North Dakota. He flies there, only to discover he is far from everything he knows, and his long-cherished definitions of good and bad are fading as quickly as his leads. His only chance is one last audacious roll of the dice. Can he stay alive long enough to discover the whereabouts of his daughter and rebuild his life? Or is everything from his past lost forever?

"The mystery plot itself is riveting...a captivating and emotionally intelligent crime drama." — Kirkus Reviews

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery: Police Procedural
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: August 1, 2020
Number of Pages: 294
ISBN: 978-1-947915-56-5
Series: A Vic Lenoski Mystery; Pittsburgh Trilogy #3 || Each is a Stand Alone Mystery
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Sometimes you walk into a room and what’s inside changes your life forever. That sense stopped Vic just inside the doorway. A woman with skin the color of dark amber lay on the only bed, her bandaged arms shockingly white among the shadows. She was reflected in a large window in the far wall, the outside sky as black and still as the inside of a tomb. He smelled disinfectant and blood. Numbers and graph lines flared on grey-eyed medical monitors. Somewhere in the vast empty spaces of the hospital a voice echoed.

He’d never visited a burn ward.

Never had a partner so close to death.

Never thought a room could seem as hollow as he felt inside.

The feeling was so disembodying that when he reached the bed and looked into the woman’s face, he half expected to see himself. But it was Liz, her forehead and knobby cheekbones smeared with ointment, eyebrows and eyelashes burned away. A bandage covered her left earlobe where her favorite earring, a small gold star, usually sat. It seemed like every breath she took pained her.

He wanted to take her hand but the bandages made it impossible. “Liz,” he said softly, her name almost lost among the beeps and clicks of the monitors. Liquid dripped into a tangle of IV tubes at the back of her fist.

Her eyelids fluttered.

“Liz. Doctor told me I could talk to you.”

Her eyes opened. He watched her pupils widen and narrow as they absorbed the distance to the ceiling and distinguished shadows from feeble light.

“Vic?” A hoarse whisper.

“I’m here.”

She turned her face to him. “You got me out.”

Relief rose in Vic’s throat. “Yeah. But the house didn’t make it.”

“Cora Stills?”

Vic squeezed his eyelids shut and rocked on his heels. He didn’t know where to start. Cora Stills. The one person who knew something—anything—about his missing teenage daughter. Liz on her way to arrest her. Instead, Liz, handcuffed to a radiator pipe as flames lathered and stormed through Cora’s house. Cora’s burned-out car found two days later on a crumbling stone dock next to a deserted warehouse, the Allegheny River emptying westward.

Cora, alive and moving through that tomb of darkness outside the window. Free.

“Vic…” Liz said something more but he couldn’t make it out.

He bent closer.

She forced her words from somewhere deep inside, and as she spoke, he knew this was what she saved through all the fear and pain to tell him. “Someone told Cora I was coming.”

***

Excerpt from The Things That Last Forever by Peter W. J. Hayes. Copyright 2020 by Peter W. J. Hayes. Reproduced with permission from Peter W. J. Hayes. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Peter W. J. Hayes worked as a journalist, advertising copywriter and marketing executive before turning to mystery and crime writing. He is the author of the Silver Falchion-nominated Pittsburgh trilogy, a police procedural series, and is a Derringer-nominated author of more than a dozen short stories. His work has appeared in Black Cat Mystery Magazine, Mystery Weekly, Pulp Modern and various anthologies, including two Malice Domestic collections and The Best New England Crime Stories. He is also a past nominee for the Crime Writers Association (CWA) Debut Dagger Award.

Peter can be found at:
www.peterwjhayes.com
Goodreads
BookBub
Instagram
Twitter
Facebook

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

 

 

Giveaway!!:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Peter W.J. Hayes. There will be 4 winners for this giveaway. Two (2) winners will each receive one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card and two (2) winners will each receive one (1) physical copy of The Things That Last Forever by Peter W.J. Hayes (US Only). The giveaway begins on January 1, 2021 and runs through March 2, 2021. Void where prohibited.

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#BookReview Surge On Like a River

 Surge On Like a River

About The Book

Surge On Like a River is the English translation of the Tamil book titled ‘Nee Nadhi Pola Odikondiru’, originally written by Bharathy Bhaskar, a Chemical Engineer and an MBA, who is a banker by profession. She is also a popular columnist and speaker, and a household name in Tamil homes, thanks to the debates and shows she has spoken in.

The essays are written in a simple, engaging style, and filled with profound insights. These nuggets of wisdom primarily draw from the author’s life experiences and her empathetic observations of the people and situations around her.

This English translation by V. Shyamala captures the lively nature of the original, bringing it to a wider audience with the idea that the readers who do not know Tamil should not miss out on the wonderful collection.

Purchase Links

Amazon India | Amazon USA

My Thoughts

When I first come across this book, I had mixed feeling about it.

Personally, I love essay books which depict a various aspect of life. These called “Chutki Lekha” in Bengali, and are my absolute favorite. One of my most favorite book Bhorbela Parke by Sunil Gangopadhyay. I can’t tell you how much I love the book. And Surge On Like a River reminded me of this book.

 

Secondly, I don’t prefer translated books, as I feel, the soul of the book gets lost in translation. However, this is not the case for this book. The translation is simply brilliant and you won’t even feel like reading a translated book. 

My personal favorite essays from the book are Silent Blessings, Shut Up and Move On, Beauty… What Is It? and Inseparable Friendship- the Greatest Boon!

Overall, I can assure you, one will simply love this book. 

💗💗💗💗

About the Author

Bharathi Baskar is a Tamil Orator who is popular for her humorous debate talk shows called Pattimandram.com, telecasted on Sun TV. She is also an anchor for the daily talk show called Vaanga Peasalam at 7.15 a.m from Monday to Wednesday on Sun TV. Bharathi Baskar is also a Senior Vice President at Citi Bank, Chenna

About the Translator

V.Shyamala is a cost accountant, a homemaker, and a writer. She loves to weave stories and is on a continuous quest to seek new and creative ways to teach children. When not writing, reading, or thinking up stories, Shyamala mentors CIMA students, strives to workout, loves tweaking South Indian heritage recipes, and translates Tamil words to English. She is also a member of AWIC (Association of Writers and Illustrators for Children) and volunteers at a local library twice a week.

Catch with Up V.Shyamala on Social Media

Email | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

#BookReview From the garden into the glass: Preserving food - What every hobby gardener should know about planting, harvesting and preserving

About The Book

Successfully preserving food is something you can learn!

Home-preserved foods are treasure islands in a seemingly endless sea of supermarket produce. And just like treasure islands, good and proven recipes are hard to find and often require trial, error, and starting over. This book gives you proven methods and recipes to get you started right away!

Experience the joy of a well-stocked pantry - with fruits and vegetables from your own garden. With numerous recipes for every season, you'll have a lasting companion on hand and always a delicious jar of food in your pantry.

Purchase Link

Amazon India | Amazon USA

My Thoughts

I just love to cook. For as long as I can remember, I always loved to cook. It started with making omelets and now I can proudly say that I can cook Indian, Chinese, continental, and many more.

When I first came across this book, I knew I have to read it. However, I was not sure what to expect from the book. Me or any other home cooks, we cook from YouTube videos and or recipe book. However, I have never been to and culinary school, and basic knowledge is always lacking.

This book talks about the basis, all four types of sauces, syrup, spread, etc. It discusses basic gardening for day to day vegetables and fruit (I am an amateur gardener).

This is a perfect book for anyone who wants to learn basic concepts of cooking and simple recipes.

The only thing I felt is the book should have included some pictures. If there were pictures with every chapter, recipe, the book would have been much better. 

💗💗💗💗

About the Author

Mona Biberecke is a passionate mother and cook and has been interested in cooking and food since childhood. Even her grandmothers and her mother were passionate about preserving fans and Mona Biberecke has now incorporated these decades of experience into her debut work.

Professionally, she has been in the kitchen for over 10 years and provides her guests with the best regional dishes - even preserves are on her menu. In numerous cooking courses, she passes on her concentrated knowledge to hungry, inquisitive people.

Catch with Up Mona Biberecke on Social Media

Email | Facebook | Instagram

Pierre the Peacock by Jocelyn Mooneyhan Lacey

 

 

Children’s Book

Date Published: Dec. 11, 2017

Publisher: Jan-Carol Publishing, Inc.

Pierre the Peacock is delightfully illustrated with a valuable message. It is about acceptance, friendship and a valuable lesson in how we should treat people. Come with us as we meet Pierre, a peacock who thinks that he will get friends just from his pretty looks. When he meets Jerry, a colorblind little boy, he teaches Pierre that what matters is how you treat people, not what you look like. A lesson for all of us!

About the Author

Jocelyn Mooneyhan Lacey is a native of Johnson City, TN, where she graduated from Science Hill High School and East Tennessee State University with a B.A. in Mass Communications. She met her husband, Steven Lacey, at ETSU, and they have since lived in Maine, Rhode Island, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and now have settled in New Jersey for the time being. She also shares her home with two dogs, a cat, and three fish.

Contact Links

Goodreads

Instagram: @hapigirl10

GoFundMe

Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

The Ultimate Betrayal by Kat Martin

 

 

Maximum Security series book #3

Romantic Suspense, Action & Adventure

Date Published: paperback release date 12/29/20

Publisher: HQN

When investigative journalist Jessie Kegan’s father, a colonel in the army, is accused of treason, Jessie is determined to clear his name. Reluctantly, she turns to former Special Ops soldier, Brandon Garrett, her late brother’s best friend--a true heartbreaker, according to her brother.

With danger coming from every angle, time is running out and the game being played is deadly. Working together, Bran and Jessie must risk everything to solve the riddle and confront the threat--before it’s too late.

Excerpt

Too much downtime always made him nervous, kind of edgy as he waited for the other shoe to drop. It had been a week since his last client had headed back to Nashville, a week of peace and quiet he should have enjoyed.

Instead, he had this nagging feeling that something bad was coming down the line.

Lounging back in the chair behind his desk at Maximum Security, Brandon Garrett looked up at the sound of the front door swinging open. A gust of cool, late October winds swept in, along with a petite, whirlwind of a woman with the prettiest strawberry blond hair Bran had ever seen.

She had a sweet little body to match her fiery curls, he noticed, outlined by the dark blue stretch jeans curving over her sexy little ass and the peach knit top that hugged her breasts.

It wasn’t tough to read the anxiety in her big green eyes as she surveyed the room, but instead of heading for the receptionist’s desk, those big green eyes landed on Bran and as she started toward him, there was something about her that rang a distant bell. Interest piqued, he rose from his chair. “Can I help you?”

“You’re Brandon Garrett, right? You were a friend of my brother’s. Danny Kegan? I recognize you from the photos Danny sent home.”

The mention of his best friend’s name hit him like a blow, and the muscles across his stomach clenched. Daniel Kegan had been a member of his spec ops team, a brother, not just a friend. Danny had saved Bran’s life at the cost of his own. He was KIA in Afghanistan.

Bran stared down at the girl, who was maybe five-foot-four. “You’re Jessie,” he said, remembering the younger sister Daniel Kegan had talked so much about. “You look like him. Same color hair and eyes.”

She nervously wet her lips, which were plump and pink and fit her delicate features perfectly.

“My brother said if I ever needed help, I should come to you. He said you’d help me no matter what.” She glanced back toward the door and his mind shifted away from the physical jolt he felt as he looked at her to the worry in her eyes.

“I’ll help you. Danny was my closest friend. Whatever you need, I’ll help. Come on. Let’s go into the conference room and you can tell me what’s going on.” When her gaze shot back to the door, his senses went on alert.

“I didn’t mean I needed your help later,” Jessie said nervously. “I meant I need your help right now.”

Gunshots exploded through the windows. “Get down!” Bran shouted to the other guys in the office as he shoved Jessie down behind his desk and covered her with his body. Glass shattered and a stream of bullets sprayed across the room.

Jaxon Ryker popped up, gun drawn, and ran for the door. Hawk Maddox and Lissa Blayne were shuffling through their desks, arming themselves. Jonas Wolfe drew his ankle gun and ran for the rear entrance, ready for any threat that might come from there.

“Black SUV with tinted windows,” Ryker reported. Six feet of solid muscle, dark hair and eyes, Jax was a former Navy SEAL, currently a PI and occasional bounty hunter. “Couldn’t get a plate number.” Jax’s gaze swung to the front of the room. “Mindy, you okay?”

The little receptionist eased up from beneath her desk. “I-I’m okay. Should I call the police?” Around here, it was never good to jump to conclusions.

Bran hauled Jessie to her feet. He could feel her trembling. Her eyes looked even bigger and greener than they had before. “Are they coming back?” he asked.

“I-I don’t know. It could have just been a warning.”

Bran turned to Mindy. “Unless someone’s already phoned it in, let’s wait to call the cops till we know what’s going on.” His attention returned to Jessie. “We need to talk.”

She just nodded. Her face had gone pale, making a fine line of freckles stand out across her forehead and the bridge of her nose.

Bran took her arm and urged her toward the conference room. “Keep a sharp eye,” he said to The Max crew. “Just in case.”

Jessie sank unsteadily down in one of the rolling chairs around the long oak conference table. The man she had come to see, Brandon Garrett, sat down beside her.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” he said. “What’s going on?”

She thought of the men who had just shot up his office and her pulse started thumping again. “Danny said if I ever needed help--“

“Yeah, I get that. Your brother knew he could count on me. Like I said, I’ll help you any way I can, but I need to know what’s going on.”

Bran was taller than Danny, around six-three, with a soldier’s lean, hard body, vee-shaped, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Powerful biceps bulged beneath the sleeve of his dark blue T-shirt. With his slightly too-long mink brown hair, straight nose and masculine features, he was ridiculously handsome, except for the hard line of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes that contrasted sharply with their beautiful shade of cobalt blue.

“Start at the beginning,” he demanded.

Since she wasn’t sure exactly where to begin, Jessie dragged in a shaky breath and slowly released it.

“I’m here because of my father--Colonel James Kegan, Commander U.S. Army Alamo Chemical Depot. Just before he died a little over two months ago, my father was removed from active duty. He was charged with larceny--specifically the theft of chemical weapons stored at the Depot. Because the Army believed he was selling the weapons to a foreign entity, he was also charged with espionage and treason. I need you to help me prove his innocence.”

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Kat Martin is a graduate of the University of California at Santa Barbara where she majored in Anthropology and also studied History. Currently residing in Missoula, Montana with her Western-author husband, L. J. Martin, Kat has written sixty-five Historical and Contemporary Romantic Suspense novels. More than sixteen million copies of her books are in print and she has been published in twenty foreign countries. Kat is currently at work on her next Romantic Suspense.

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Path of Treasures by Gail Meath

 

 

Historical Western Romance, Historical Romance

Published: December 2020

On Sale for Only $.99 until January 1st!!

He was hired to kill her, but he’s not alone. Will he risk his life to save her instead?

Sara grew up on the Erie Canal with Jeremiah Streeter, owner of Streeter’s Ark, and Sam, the Ark’s bully. She never cared about who her parents were or where she came from, not until their helmsman is murdered and they hire a replacement.

Wolfe McKay and his partner have another job to do...kill the leader of the Canaller’s Coalition and his crew, then collect their bounty from the railroad magnate who hired them. But Wolfe soon discovers this job is far more complicated.

As Streeter’s Ark travels from Albany to Buffalo, Wolfe’s purpose takes a drastic turn when he and the crew find themselves the target of a deadly plot and a race against time to stop it.

A beautiful mule driver, the champion fighter who raised her, a half-breed Indian without a heart and an easy-going cowboy team up to track down outlaws and notoriously become known as Streeter’s Gang. This is their beginning...

Excerpt

Chapter One

Hudson Valley, 1852

Horace Vanderbrook sat at his desk with his green eyes planted on the door. At fifty-two years old, he was by far the wealthiest financier in the country. He thrived on a challenge and adored the kill. He had no patience for ignorance or drollery, felt no sympathy for the underdog, and never allowed any margin of error from anyone, not even himself. In all his life, he had made only one mistake. And it was that which had come back to haunt him now.

The butler announced the arrival of his guests and when they entered his study, Horace caught a frown. Both men looked more like desperados than professional gunmen. They wore buckskin pants, tall leather boots, and openly carried pistols about their waist. The blonde was medium built and covered with dirt from head to toe. The other stood over a foot taller with black hair and cold blue eyes. A half-breed, he surmised disdainfully.

“I’m Cole Anderson and this here’s my partner, Wolfe McKay,” the blonde man said as he slapped his gallon hat against his leg to get rid of the dust. “Rodman assured us if we came straight away, you’d make it worth our while.”

Horace remained silent. He wasn’t at all impressed with these men. This matter was an extremely delicate matter that needed to be handled both quickly and quietly, and they hardly seemed the type of men who would be discreet. And yet, he trusted Gunther Rodman. “You both come highly recommended for your efficiency as well as your discretion. This matter demands complete confidentiality.”

Cole glanced over at his partner. “That’s why we’re here.”

He wasn’t convinced, but he offered them a seat and folded his hands in front of him. “I will come right to the point. Jeremiah Streeter is the leader of the canal coalition. He owns a two-bit freighter called Streeter’s Ark and for the past year, he and his crew have used every devious tactic to destroy my railroad business. I want them stopped. Permanently. I am willing to pay you five hundred dollars for your trouble.”

Cole burst out laughing. “Hell, the only thing we’ll do for that pocket change is look for them in the nearest tavern.”

He stiffened. “What’s your price?”

“That depends.” Cole slid back in his seat and crossed his boots on top of his desk. “We usually charge a thousand bucks a head. That’s when we’re told their identity and location. Otherwise, we’ve got to tack on food and lodging expenses. We also need to know the details of their crime.”

“The details?” he asked indignantly. “I thought money was your only incentive.”

“You thought wrong,” Wolfe stated, still leaning against the doorway.

Horace shot to his feet. “For starters, they put three of my best railroad bosses in the hospital. They’ve disassembled portions of my tracks, threatened my workers and awaiting passengers, contaminated coal bins, and continually petition the State against my efforts for expansion.”

“Has the law been involved?” Cole asked.

“I reported a few of the incidences to local Marshalls, but they said they couldn’t find sufficient proof against them.”

Wolfe stepped forward. “Then how do you know they’re responsible?”

Horace glanced down at the small wood carving on his desk. He didn’t want to tell them the rest. He didn’t even want to think about it. But his sister was right in that he had no other recourse. Confiding in the law would merely re-open an investigation that needed to remain buried. If word got out, it would cause a huge public scandal, one that would ruin his business as well as their family’s reputation.

And the last thing he wanted was for the past to be stirred up.

“A blackmail note was delivered to me the other day, which adds extortion to their list of crimes,” he finally replied.

“What did it say?” Cole asked, but Horace continued staring at the wooden horse on his desk and remained silent. “Sir, what did the note say?”

“He claims to have proof that I sunk a riverboat killing twelve passengers and crew. He’s referring to an accident that happened nearly twenty years ago. That bastard is deliberately dredging up the past in another demented plot to stall my railway expansion and I’ll be damned if I let him drag my good family name through the mud.”

“What are his demands?”

“They want twenty thousand dollars placed on a freighter called the Jaybird at the canal docks in Albany two weeks from tomorrow. That’s when Streeter is scheduled to return to Albany, again proving he’s behind this.” Horace finally snapped out of his trance and looked up at them. “I want Streeter stopped. I want him and his damn crew dead and buried by this time next week. I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars for the lot. One thousand now for expenses and the rest will be delivered to you when the job is complete.”

Cole jumped to his feet. “Consider it done!”

“Hold on…” Wolfe said as he reached over and picked up the wooden horse to examine it. “We need to see the note.”

Horace snatched the carving out of his hand, reached into his top drawer, and handed him the note. “Do you want the job or not?”

After Wolfe read it, he nodded in agreement.

Horace tossed the bag of currency to Cole. “Contact Gunther Rodman when you’re finished. He’ll pay you the rest.”

Outside, Cole mounted his horse and hooted, “Now this is what I call easy money! Let’s get ourselves a room and have a night on the town.”

Wolfe stood there, still contemplating the conversation. “I don’t like it. He’s not telling us the whole story.”

“Aw, Wolfe, can’t we just take things at face value for once? Vanderbrook is damn sure Streeter’s behind this and I got a hankering to have some fun tonight.”

“First, we’re heading to Fultonville,” Wolfe told him.

“Fultonville? What for?”

“After we inquire about Streeter’s Ark, we’re going to ask around to see if anyone remembers a woman by the name of Molly O’Brian.”

Cole frowned. “Who the hell is she?”

“Her name and hometown were inscribed on that wooden carving. And there were several others displayed on the corner shelf.”

Cole shook his head. “Why the hell are you always trying to dig deeper?”

“Fultonville’s a small canal town. Why would a wealthy railroad baron have a dozen wood carvings on display by a canal girl and then pay to have the canal leader killed? Not having all the facts just complicates things.”

Cole followed Wolfe down the drive. “Well, I think you’re the only one complicating things.”

The two men reached the small town of Fultonville by dark. After tying their horses to a hitching post, they stopped at the Inn for a couple of rooms and a drink. There were only a few patrons inside the tavern. Cole, being the more social one, struck up a conversation with the barkeep. He told a few fibs about how he was looking for work on the canal. Pretty soon, Zach was buying them a round of drinks and giving them a wealth of information.

First, they learned that Jeremiah Streeter was the one to talk to about a job on the canal and that his boat passed through town the day before making its way to Buffalo. Next, they heard all about Streeter’s bully who had been a champion fighter in his day and wasn’t to be reckoned with. Lastly, they discovered that Zach had lived in this town his whole life, sixty-two years, so he knew everybody.

Wolfe nudged Cole, urging him to pry more information out of Zach. Cole thought for a second, then grinned. “I used to have kin living in these parts, Zach. I don’t know much about them, except that Ma talked all the time about her cousin, Molly O’Brian.”

Zach leaned against the bar. “That would be Patsy’s family. He died of the fever years ago and left his wife, Maureen, and his daughter, Molly, behind.”

“Do they still live around here? I’d sure like to meet them.” When the barkeep fell silent, Wolfe nudged Cole again. “I’d be obliged to know where I could find them, Zach. Ma thought the world of Molly and now that my folks are gone, they’d be the only kin I got left.”

“We all thought the world of her, too,” Zach said mindfully. “Molly was a tiny thing with bright red hair, freckles and the sweetest face. I owned the general store back then and once a week she came to visit. I got a real kick out of her. They didn’t have much money and the minute my back was turned her fingers dove straight into the licorice jar. I let her get away with it, too. Figured she earned that bit of pleasure.” His smile left him. “But she married that fella from downriver and that was the beginning of the end.”

“What happened to her?” Cole asked.

Zach poured himself a jigger of whiskey, obviously choked-up, then came around the bar and sat down next to Cole. “I loved that little girl like she was my own, but she was canal-bred and he was a rich fop. The two just don’t mix, not in my lifetime. Maureen told me that Molly was being snubbed by her sister-in-law and all those other socialites and having a rough time of it. She was on her way up here to visit her Ma when the riverboat went down just north of Albany in Saratoga County. She and her baby drowned. Everybody on the boat died.”

“That’s a real sad story,” Cole said. “How’d the boat sink?”

“No one knows for sure. They said the larboard boiler must’ve exploded and it was ruled it an accident, but there were a lot of rumors flitting around and people pointing fingers.”

“Do you think it was done on purpose?” Cole asked.

“I’d bet my life on it. It’s rare for a boiler to explode and sink a boat in seconds without any survivors. But that was a long time ago.”

“When did it happen?”

Zach let out a heavy sigh. “Nineteen years ago this past May. Molly’s babe was just a month old. Maureen died a year later from pneumonia…and heartache, I expect. Now, all I’ve got left are precious memories and Molly’s carvings.” He pointed toward the small display behind the bar. “That little darlin’ could whittle with the best of them and she always won first prize. She sure loved horses….”

“I hear a packet called the Jaybird needs a deckhand,” Wolfe mentioned, breaking the silence. “Has it been through here lately?”

Zach tore his eyes away from the display and went back behind the bar. “Never heard of it.”

About the Author

Gail Meath composes historical romance novels that grip your heart and imagination. With a refreshing and captivating writing-style, she creates amazing characters who instantly draw you into their world and keep you wanting more, long after the ending. And with her love of historical research, she paints the perfect ambiance to sweep you back in time.

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Mistletoe Fangs by Susan Blexrud

 

 

The Fang Series, Book 4

Vampires, Shape Shifters, Romantic Comedy, Thriller

Date Published: November 18, 2020

Publisher: DCL Publications

Dr. Lauren Marsh, a pregnant vampire, seeks therapy to overcome a recent trauma, but is her creepy doctor interested in more than her well-being? Will evil intercede, dashing the promise of a Christmas baby?

Excerpt

“What is stirring in that conniving mind of yours?” Ras squinted at his assistant.

“Hmm. I’m thinkin’. Your life mate’s supposed to be a virgin.”

“True, but I gave up on that notion long ago. She is also supposed to be a born vampire, not made.”

“So, if you could arrange for the mother to go into labor, we could disappear with her child. What’s time to you? The baby’d grow up soon enough. You’d have a virgin bride and a born vampire.”

Ras tapped an index finger to his lips. “Brilliant idea—so glad I thought of it.”

Teensy rolled her black eyes. “I’ll get to work. Let’s see, what prescriptions will we need? Pitocin to start her labor and morphine to knock her out? Of course, all this hinges on the child being a girl.”

“I’ll write the prescription for the meds.” Before Ras passed the smelling salts under Lauren’s nose, he eased his hand under her pink sweatshirt and placed his palm on her round belly. The baby pushed against his hand, and he closed his eyes, envisioning the tiny bundle in her mother’s womb. Ras smiled broadly. “She has violet eyes.”

About the Author

Inspired by her fascination with vampires, Susan Blexrud used her background in journalism and political speechwriting to pen a 5-book series on a pair of wedded vampires (she a dentist, he a lawyer) who have a penchant for getting into trouble. With their wacky sidekicks and a duo of best friends, they navigate the world as vigilantes while expanding their immediate family and maintaining a veneer of normal careers and PTA meetings.

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