30 May 2019

An Eye for a Lie by Cy Wyss

An Eye For A Lie by Cy Wyss Banner

An Eye for a Lie

by Cy Wyss

on Tour May 27 - July 27, 2019

Synopsis:

An Eye for a Lie by Cy Wyss
Lukas Richter is a San Francisco police detective with a cybernetic eye and heightened senses. He can detect the same autonomous responses as a polygraph machine, so he has a leg up in determining guilt.

In An Eye for a Lie, his first full-length novel, Richter is accused of murder and the evidence seems incontrovertible, including a bullet that was somehow fired from his gun when he claims he was nowhere near the crime scene. In the background, San Francisco is aflame over Richter's shooting of an unarmed Asian man, an incident some are calling "the Asian Ferguson."

Can Inspector Richter convince a plucky and suspicious FBI agent of his innocence in the face of overwhelming accusations and public persecution?

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Nighttime Dog Press, LLC
Publication Date: May 27, 2019
Number of Pages: 258
ISBN: 978-0-9965465-3-9
Purchase Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

"All units, active shooter in progress, be advised perp is SFPD . . ."
The police frequencies in Vessa's sedan couldn't get enough of the situation. She was hardly in her car before the address where Richter was came over the air. She headed there immediately, lights flashing, accelerator floored.
He was in a townhouse on ninth, near Tehama, only a handful of blocks from the Hall of Justice. The entire area was cordoned off and blanketed with police cars. Vessa badged her way through and got to Commander Bayes who stood with Deputy Chief Forrest several yards from the front door. The townhouse was painted lime green and the entrance stood ajar.
"Commander, what's the situation?" Vessa asked.
"He's holed up in there," Bayes shook his head toward the house. "Got a hostage."
"A hostage? You're kidding."
"Wish I was. Teenage girl, still up there. He let the rest of the family go."
Now, Bayes shook his head a different way, indicating Vessa should look near one of the ambulances. There was a man and a woman, firmly behind police lines. Both were slender with brown hair and the woman wore a red sweater. She was crying and the man and a paramedic were trying to comfort her.
"Commander, none of this makes sense. Can you imagine Richter taking a hostage? It doesn't feel right."
"C'mon, Agent Drake," Bayes said. "None of us can say we really know him now."
Vessa frowned up at the building. Between her and the front door lay perhaps twenty feet of tarmac and parked cars. Bayes turned to Forrest and they conferred. Before Vessa even knew what she was doing, she was off --crossing the street at a sprint.
"Hey!" Bayes yelled.
Forrest pointed. "Stop her!"
It was too late. She broke away from the lines and was at the door before anyone could grab her. She pushed the dark portal open and slipped inside, shutting it behind her, closing it fully so it locked. Inside, it took a couple of minutes for her eyes to adjust to the pale strobe lights coming through the front blinds and door windows. She was in an open living room. It was small and closely furnished with a dining room capping it off near the back of the building. She guessed the kitchen would be around the corner. To her right, a staircase led upward. The landing was dark.
Vessa had taken her gun out without consciously realizing it. Now, she stared at it in the undulating red and blue lights. What was she going to do with it? Shoot her lover when she found him?
She holstered the gun. "Oh, Luke," she said softly. As if in answer, something moved above her, making a dull thud on the floor. She startled.
Slowly, she made her way up the stairs. "Luke?" she called. "I'm coming upstairs."
There was no answer. At the top of the stairs were three doors. Two were dark and closed. Wan light traced the outline of the third door. She opened it cautiously.
"Luke?"
The door creaked on its hinges to reveal a seemingly empty bedroom. The air was stale although the room was tidy and sparsely furnished with a queen-sized bed and two nightstands. The fluorescent lights from the street diffused around the edges of a thick curtain drawn across a large window. The occluded light wasn't strong enough to dispel the rooms shadows.
"Luke?" Vessa noticed she was whispering. She cleared her throat and spoke with as normal a voice as she could muster. "Luke? Where are you?"
"Here," came a reply.
She was practically on top of him by that time. He sat with his back to a wall across from the foot of the bed.
Vessa jumped. "Oh! You startled me."
He was staring at her. She half expected his evil eye to glow in the dimness but instead, she saw only normal dark eyes glittering from his outlined face. He sat with his knees bent and his arms resting between his legs. In his hands was a mass of blackness-his gun. That ugly piece of metal was a cursed reminder of what was going on and why they were here, facing each other in this shadowed space.
Vessa craned her neck around but didn't see anyone else. "Where's the girl?"
Richter watched Vessa intently for several seconds before answering. "The couple's outside. I let them go."
"No, apparently there's still a teenager in here somewhere."
Richter's gaze dropped to the carpet in front of him. "That would explain why it's just you and not SWAT. They think I have a hostage. Well, I don't."
"You have me."
His head snapped up. "You're not a hostage. Why are you here, anyway?"
"I'm here to get you. I don't want them gunning you down."
"You're here to arrest me, Special Agent Vessa Belle Drake?"
"Oh, Luke. We'll figure this out."
Richter brought the gun up in his right hand and pressed it to the underside of his chin, angled back toward his brain.
Vessa gasped. "No!" She was rooted to the spot, eyes wide.
He stared at her. "I guess whether I do it or SWAT does it, it's still death by cop."
Tears burned her eyes. "No, Luke. No. Why would you even think it? There must be some mistake. There must be some reason why those bullets matched."
"I won't be locked up. I won't be put back in the cage and poked and prodded, and studied to death this time."
Vessa remembered the shaking man sweating beside her in his bed at night. Even though he didn't speak of them, she knew he was having nightmares. Was it possible he was actually capable of pulling that trigger? Her chin throbbed where he'd bitten her. She couldn't stand this. How could she have been so wrong? She was never wrong. She swallowed. Never before had she fallen for a guilty man. How was she so blinded by hubris that she could feel this way about Richter when he was a merciless killer?
He stared at her, gun in his hand. He didn't move. She shook slightly with the emotions flooding her. Here she was, at the cusp of what she felt was the most important moment in her life. The man she loved sat before her, ready to take his own life if she didn't do or say the right thing next. She was paralyzed-absolutely paralyzed. All her training, and here she was, a shaking, paralyzed ball of nerves.
She burst into tears. How utterly professional.
Richter frowned.
Vessa's nose and eyes ran uncontrollably and she heaved great sighs. She didn't dare wave her arms around and wipe her face. Instead, she simply stood there and let her emotions pour down her cheeks.
Richter sighed. He lowered the gun. He dropped it with a thud to the carpet and kicked it toward her.
"How am I supposed to kill myself with you crying like that?"
She rushed to pick up the weapon and tucked it into the small of her back, under her blazer. She faced Richter, this time allowing herself to wipe the fluids from her face with her hands and sleeves. She could only imagine how many shades of fired she would be if Bully Benson had seen her outburst. She almost felt like declaring herself unfit for duty on the spot.
"I can't stand it," she said. "I can't lose you this way."
He said nothing. What was there to say? They stared at each other. Tears fell from her eyes until the momentum of her outburst ran its course and she finally managed to get a grip on herself.
Richter sat, inordinately relaxed, leaning against the wall, hands folded innocently between his legs.
"What now?" he asked.
She glanced toward the thick curtains shielding them from the snipers across the street.
"I'll have to cuff you. Then you won't be seen as a threat. Keep your head down, and I'll stay between you and them."
He craned his neck and looked over the bed toward the window. He watched the dark cloth for several seconds.
"Is your eye working? What do you see?"
"It's working," he said. "And, I see only reflections. Your temperature is up, though."
She came over and stood beside him. "Stay low," she said softly.
He got up and they crossed the room with him crouched low. They entered the windowless landing. Vessa closed the bedroom door behind them. She looked at the other two doors. The girl was probably behind one of them, asleep or with her headphones on, completely oblivious. Vessa pulled her cuffs out. Richter stood tall.
"All right?" she asked. She needed him to cooperate. She wasn't about to subdue such a large man in such a small space.
"Just a second," he said.
He bent and kissed her. They embraced. Vessa wanted the floor to open up and swallow them so they could stay like this forever. Of course it did not, and the moment had to end.
He straightened up again, turned his back to her, and extended his arms behind him so she could easily cuff him.
"I didn't shoot him," he said.
Before she could even think about it, Vessa responded.
"I know. I believe you."
***
Excerpt from An Eye for a Lie by Cy Wyss. Copyright 2019 by Cy Wyss. Reproduced with permission from Cy Wyss. All rights reserved.



Author Bio:

Cy Wyss
Cy Wyss is a writer based in Indianapolis, Indiana. She has a Ph.D. in computer science and her day job involves wrangling and analyzing genetic data. Cy is the author of three full-length novels as well as a collection of short stories and the owner and chief editor of Nighttime Dog Press, LLC.
Before studying computer science, Cy obtained her undergraduate degree in mathematics and English literature as well as masters-level degrees in philosophy and artificial intelligence. She studied overseas for three years in the UK, although she never managed to develop a British accent.
Cy currently resides in Indianapolis with her husband, daughter, and two obstreperous but lovable felines. In addition to writing, she enjoys reading, cooking, and walking 5k races to benefit charity.

Catch Up With Cy Wyss On:
cywyss.com, Goodreads, BookBub, Twitter, & Facebook!




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26 May 2019

Chasing Quetzalcoatl to the American Dream by Garret Thomas Godwin




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War, Fiction
Publisher: Xlibris

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Set in the Southwest, this is a story of soul evolution - the story of a soldier who came back from Vietnam and knew he had to adapt to a rapidly changing world.  The story chronicles his transformation from a soldier to a man of God, but for him the process of change was not always kind.  Making his journey more difficult is the fact that he comes from a mixture of two cultures, Native American (Navajo) and white.  He encounters people who are further along the path in their soul evolution than he is, along with incredible obstacles to his education and business endeavors.  But most importantly, he must learn to reconcile his warrior nature with God's plan for him.



About the Author

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Garret Godwin received his BA in English from Indiana University of Pennsylvania and his MA in English literature from Temple University in Philadelphia.  He was the Robert Sterling Clark scholar in classics at St. John's College in Sante Fe, New Mexico, and he holds an MBA from the University of Pittsburgh.  He is the author of True Philadelphia Stories (aa collection of short stories and essays)< three novels - "Chasing Quetzalcoatl TO The American Dream:, :Down and Out in Philadelphia and New York:, and "Through THe Dark Looking Glass" and an anthology of poetry, "As You Sow".  He lives in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania.



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25 May 2019

The Last Van Gogh by Will Ottinger




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Mystery, Thriller
Date Published: March 2019
Publisher: Black Rose Writing

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"The Last Van Gogh" received the 2019 Maxy Award for Best Mystery-Detective Novel



A brilliant and troubled artist. A lost masterpiece. The desperate search for the truth.

An unknown Van Gogh painting disappears from France at the outbreak of World War Two. A notorious con man later claims he smuggled the immense painting to the U.S. where it is never seen again. Ninety years later, his two sons, Adam and Wesley Barrow, discover letters that supposedly confirm the painting's existence, now valued at $250 million if it exists.

Dogged by a dysfunctional childhood and skeptical of his father's tale, Adam at first dismisses the old letters.

The painting's possible existence also attracts the attention of three unscrupulous collectors, all  former associates of his  father, one of whom engages a professional killer to find the painting.

Doubtful of its existence, Adam teams with Katya Veranova, a beautiful KGB defector and ex-assassin, as they travel to Holland, Paris, California, and New York on a desperate mission, forming an intimate but tenuous bond. Tracked by the unseen contract killer and threatened at every turn, Adam and Kat face increasing danger in their quest to find the last Van Gogh.





Excerpt

Chapter Four



            The ambulance bearing Wes disappeared around the corner onto Wells Street, siren moaning as traffic pulled to the curb to let Chicago’s latest casualty pass. They’d removed Vasily’s body after a flurry of police photographs, Chicago’s finest dispersing the gawkers. The storm whipped gray curtains of rain off Lake Michigan, washing blood from the sidewalk as I surveyed the damage.

            Red and blue strobes atop the remaining police cars illuminated my gallery like a roadside strip club. Inside the shattered window, a desecrated painting hung askew on the nearest wall, its frame splintered, the canvas holed by bullets. Beneath the destroyed Expressionist nude, crumbled wallboard fragments littered my proud new carpet. None of it mattered so long as Wes was alive.

             I raised my coat collar and retreated beneath the awning followed by a bored Chicago police sergeant, glass crunching under our shoes. The cop was a street veteran down to a scarred chin and wary expression, his belly encroaching on his belt buckle. He removed his brimmed hat and brushed rainwater from the clear plastic covering, wiping the checkered band with a thick thumb before he tugged it back on with a street-weary sigh.

            “Looks like you and your brother dodged a bullet,” he said with a caustic half-smile. Discomfited by my expression, he said, “Well, he didn’t actually dodge it. The EMT’s said the bullet nicked the back of his calf without finding bone. Some blood loss but no permanent damage.”

            “I’ve got to call his wife,” I said.

            “Sure, in a minute. First, you wanna tell me what happened?”

            Across the rain-slicked street, the space sat empty where the Lincoln had waited for us. “We walked out and someone started shooting from a car parked across the street.”

            The cop contemplated my shattered window. “I don’t figure the boys from the projects, but you never know about those crazy bastards.” 

            I shook my head, recalling the tinted window sliding down. Maybe a loan shark fed up with Wes’s late payments? “The car was a black stretch Lincoln, the kind limo owners drive.”

            The cop took a cheap spiral notebook from his yellow raincoat and made a note. “But it could be gang bangers the projects. They like to cruise the streets at night,” he said. “Lot of random shootings. The worst call themselves the Deuce’s Disciples.” He kicked at the glass rubble around our feet. “I think tonight probably was a screw-up. Mistaken identity or drug deal gone bad.”

            I didn’t say so but the cop’s reasoning didn’t feel right, a bunch of brainless bangers shooting up an art gallery from a limousine. Glad to be out of the rain, the cop made another note and took on the jaded expression of investigating endless mayhem. Another Saturday night shooting and one more bewildered citizen he was supposed to protect.

           “The dead guy,” he asked. “Customer?”      

           “One of my artists.” I almost told him about Vasily’s uncle and decided against it. The police would find out soon enough, and a whole new avenue of investigation would begin, including my association with Viktor Krushenko. I didn’t want to think about it.

            The sergeant closed the notebook. “The detectives will want to talk with you tomorrow.” He frowned at the rain blowing through my broken window. “Lousy fucking weather. Better get something over that hole. We’ll keep a man here until you leave,”

            He ambled back to the circus parade of flashing lights and I went inside, wondering where in hell I’d find someone to board up a window on Saturday night. I’d lugged the exposed paintings to the work area, too disheartened to touch the ruined painting. I thought about Viktor and knew I should call him, but I put it off. Viktor would know about the attack soon enough and I tried not to think about what might follow. Vasily was dead and that would bring repercussions for someone. Possibly me.

            I called Barbara and got her calmed down after a few minutes, explaining Wes was basically okay. She kept asking me why Wes had been shot but I had no answer. I gave her the name of the hospital where they’d taken him and said I’d meet her there. Hanging up, I stared at the jagged hole where my front window once existed. I waved to the cop stationed at the door and went to my office. Thumbing my iPhone for repair companies I located one open 24/7. The answering service claimed they’d be on their way within the hour and I almost believed the voice. Bundled in a raincoat I walked outside and told the patrolman to go home, that I’d wait until the hole was boarded up.

            I pulled up a chair by the front door as the adrenaline ebbed, watching cars slow to ogle the destruction. Gusts of rain gleefully destroyed my new carpet and I tried not to calculate replacement cost, wondering if my insurance covered gunfire. To my surprise a panel truck arrived half an hour later. Two workmen hammered up plywood sheeting, the rough wooden patch blighting the front of my beautiful gallery.

            Not owning a car in a city where parking was a mixture of fate and voodoo, I called Uber to take me to the hospital. During the ride, it occurred to me the gunshots had been oddly muffled. I hadn’t told the cop, but the recollection increased my uneasiness. Why would underage gangsters or a shyster bother with a silencer?


                                                            ***


            Wes had been discharged by the time I reached the hospital. A young black intern assured me the injury wasn’t serious enough to keep him overnight. In the midst of usual Saturday night mayhem and need for beds, they’d bound the wound and released him with a supply of pain killers.

            It was still raining as I called Uber again and headed for Wes’s apartment. Barbara let me in and I found Wes with a glass in his hand, leg propped on an ottoman, his smile vacant.

            “Hey, this Vicodin is great stuff,” he said as if he’d discovered the solution to world peace.

Barbara sat on the arm of his chair and shook her head at me with less than fawning eyes. She inclined her head at the glass in his hand.

            “Water,” she informed me.

            Maybe the shooting would prove a respite for him. Provide an enforced vacation from his favorite lounges and liquor stores. Barbara sure as hell wasn’t going to let him mix painkillers with booze. I pulled up a straight-backed chair from the dining room and tried to smile.

            “You okay?” I asked.

            “Is Vasily dead?”

            I nodded.

            “Damn. He seemed like a great guy.”

“He was.”

            Wes shifted his weight and winced. I looked around. The apartment was sparser than I remembered, and Barbara appeared five years older. She was a lean woman who never worried about her weight, a great wife to Wes but not my biggest fan. She believed I enabled him with loans and bail money, short term solutions to his deeper issues. But what was I supposed to do? Leave him to the mercy of the drunk tank? She loved him in her own patient way that allowed me to look beyond her faults, mainly her dislike of me.

             She hovered over Wes, curly auburn hair and blouse still damp from the rain, her face wet with tears. “This is quite a night,” she snapped, her voice trembling as she brushed away a limp strand of hair. “Our home gets broken into, then you call to tell me Wes has been shot.”

            “You got robbed?” was all I could think to say.

            “Never imagined the art business was this violent,” Wes laughed, his eyes swimming with the Vicodin. “Russian gangsters and artists murdered in the street.”

            “You sure you’re alright?”

            He held up the glass of water. “I’m fine, but I never needed a drink more in my life. What the hell happened?”

            “The cops aren’t sure.”

            “Great location you picked, Adam” Barbara said over her shoulder as she strode to the kitchen. “A trendy neighborhood. You serve Sneaky Pete wine at your gala last night?”

            “C’mon, Barbara,” Wes croaked.

            I resented her criticism. I hadn’t envisioned a shooting gallery when I selected the location. “You’re clear on the other side of town and you got robbed,” I reminded her, although the sparse apartment didn’t appear a likely target.

            “We need to talk about what happened,” Wes said.

            “I’ll talk with detectives tomorrow. The cop told me...”

            “Not about the shooting,” Wes said. “The break-in.”

            “Wes,” Barbara called from the kitchen, “don’t start again.”

            “He needs to know.”

            “Know what?” I asked.

            Barbara sat on Wes’s chair arm again and lightly ran her fingers through his hair. “He’s not making a lot of sense, what with the pills and all,” she said. “Something about a Van Gogh painting your father claimed to have owned.”

            “He told me about that, but what am I missing here?”

            “The letters are gone,” Wes said. “We checked but they’re not here. Nothing else was taken.”

            “You sure the letters were here?”

            “I changed clothes before I came to the gallery. They were in my jacket.” He looked on the verge of bursting into tears. “Our one link to the painting.”

            “You’re sure they were stolen.”

            “I’m a recovering drunk, not a moron,” Wes snapped, slumping back in the chair as the pills worked their magic.

            Barbara shot me a warning look that hovered between ‘help me’ and ‘get the hell out of here.’ It was obvious they’d fought a war over a fictional masterpiece that would solve their problems.

            Wes bent forward and winced. “Dammit, Barbara, it’s real.”

            She searched his haggard face, her own reflecting defeat fostered by years of disappointment. She started to reply but looked away.

            “Okay, I’ll agree our old man was crazy,” Wes admitted, “but he had no reason to lie to us. No money in lying. If he owned a forgery, why didn’t he pawn it off on somebody years ago? God knows he always needed money.”

            “This is crazy,” Barbara said. “What about us? You’re putting this fantasy before everything we’re trying to do. You’re in no shape to traipse after some painting. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re almost broke. Where do you think we’ll find money to search for your Eldorado? You have a portfolio or bank account I don’t know about?”

            “Maybe we can find a backer.” Wes insisted. I’d heard the same desperation when he discovered a liquor bottle was empty. He looked up at me. “What about your gangster friend?”

            “Viktor Krushenko is not my friend.”

            “He was Vasily’s uncle. He could help us.”

            “Wes, do you have any idea who these people are? Where their money comes from? It’s possible Viktor was trying to get rid of me after our argument. The bastard’s crazy, you saw that. You heard how unhappy he was about the split Vasily was getting. Maybe he meant the shooting as an object lesson to me and he screwed up. Either way, he won’t be a happy Boy Scout when he finds out Vasily’s dead.”

            “We need to find a way,” Wes said, his optimism bolstered by the pain killers.

            Barbara turned away again and I was out of arguments. Our dead father was ripping our lives apart yet again, his sons lost in his dysfunctional shadow.


About the Author

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Will Ottinger spent his early life in Savannah, Georgia. A graduate of Emory University with a BA in history, he is also a graduate of Northwestern Graduate Trust School in Chicago.

His first novel, A Season for Ravens, published in 2014, was named by Reader Views as one of its top-three Historical Fiction works of 2014-2015.  The second novel, The Savannah Betrayals, was published in March, 2018.  His third novel, The Last Van Gogh, was released in March, 2019 by Black Rose Writing. Windrow and Greene Publishers in Great Britain earlier published his non-fiction work on the art of historical miniatures, an art form in which he gained international recognition as a Grand Master painter.  He authored a magazine column for seven years, trained and lectured extensively in the financial field, wrote articles for trust and investment publications, and has spoken to large and small audiences. He served as president of Scribbler's Ink, a Houston writers’ group.

Former founder and owner of a wealth management training/consulting firm, he and his wife also owned an art gallery in downtown Chicago. Both are inveterate fly fishermen and now live in Atlanta Georgia.


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24 May 2019

Warlord by Cyndi Friberg



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Outcasts Book 5
Sci-fi Romance
Date Published:  May 4, 2019
Publisher: Anything-but-Ordinary Books

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When Shivon Roxtin tries to incite a rebellion among the human females on the Outcast planet, she's sent to the Relentless. The ship's commander, Warlord Torak Payne, thrives on challenge, so he's looking forward to taming the fiery human. Still, war with the Sarronti is creeping ever closer, and the last thing he needs is an unruly mate. Tempers flare, and sparks fly from the moment they first meet. Their battle of wills is quickly surpassed by their consuming need for each other, but can they channel the emotional intensity into something constructive before they're consumed by the flames?



Other Books in the Outcasts Series




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Heretic
Outcasts, Book 1
Publisher: Anything-but-Ordinary Books
Published: April 2018

Restless and embittered by an abusive past, Arton the Heretic finds himself in a battle of wills with Lily, a gorgeous geneticist. She holds the key to the future of his people, but she was brought to this savage world against her will and that’s an insult she’ll not soon forget. Their attraction is instantaneous and intense, yet each has valid reasons for mistrusting the other. He wants her, is consumed with the need to claim her, but he can’t focus on the future until he deals with the past.





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Marauder
Outcasts, Book 2
Publisher: Anything-but-Ordinary Books
Published: June 28, 2018

Rex Dravon, a notorious smuggler, is one of the Outcasts’ most important allies. Many of the Outcasts’ philosophies and approaches to life in general appeal to him, but he’s hesitant to commit to any cause. Hoping to entice Rex into committing, Arton the Heretic, tells Rex that he is genetically compatible with one of the “captive brides”, a feisty blonde named Thea Cline.

Thea is still enraged that she was dragged from Earth without her permission, and she’s recovering from a horrendous tragedy. She sneaks aboard the Marauder hoping to steal a weapon. Instead she’s confronted by the ship’s handsome commander. She knows to be wary of Rex because of his reputation, but she’s instantly, and powerfully, drawn to him. His offer to help her escape comes a little too quickly and she fears he has ulterior motives. Is he simply hoping to lure her into his bed—a fate she’s not sure she’d mind—or is his motivation more nefarious?





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Tracker
Outcasts, Book 3
Publisher: Anything-but-Ordinary Books
Published: September 2018

Xorran, a famed tracker, is sent to find two human females kidnapped by the Outcasts’ enemy. His search seems futile until he encounters Sara and a feisty battle cat cub. He’s fascinated by the tiny animal, but feels an immediate and powerful connection with the wisecracking human.

Sara is still angry about being brought to the Outcasts’ planet without her permission, yet her stubbornness is no match for “the pull”. As they work together to rescue her friend, their passion flares ever hotter. Can Xorran prove to Sara that he wants more than a torrid affair? Now that he’s found a potential mate, he will settle for nothing less than forever.





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Assassin
Outcasts Book 4
Publisher: Anything-but-Ordinary Books
Published: January 2019

Torrin’s simple mission is seriously complicated when he finds Arrista, a lovely Sarronti female, in need of rescue. The Sarronti resent the Outcasts and continually sabotage their efforts to build a settlement on the primitive planet. But Arrista isn’t just any Sarronti. She’s the personal servant of one of the most powerful Sarronti. The information Arrista can provide would be vitally important to the Outcasts, so Torrin is ordered to use their mutual attraction to question her.

Arrista has been taught to fear and mistrust the savage Outcasts, so why does she find Torrin so fascinating, so desirable? It’s not just his muscular body and rugged features. He is kinder and more protective than any male she has ever known. She is drawn to him by a force so compelling it leaves her no choice but surrender. She wants him, needs him, but can she trust him not to break her heart?

Note to Readers: This book contains detailed descriptions of sizzling passion only suitable for mature readers. Certain plot elements carry on from book to book. Though Assassin can be read as a standalone, it’s more fun to read the series in order.




About the Author


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Passionate Sci-Fi with a touch of danger and a whole lot of sass. Cyndi has written about rock stars, vampires, and cat shifters, but she's currently focused on outer space. Her stories are fun, fast-paced, and seriously hot. She has made the USA Today Top 100, and every book in the Battle Born series landed on Amazon's Top 100. She is currently working on Outcasts, a spin-off series set in the Battle Born universe.



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23 May 2019

Mrs.Murray's Hidden Treasure by Emily-Jane Hills Orford



About the Book:


There is a hidden treasure in the grand old mansion on Piccadilly Street, in a place called London, but not the real London of English fame. There’s also a lot of mystery and a murder that’s been unsolved for decades. But it’s the treasure that captures Mary’s interest. 

Mary lives in this house along with her family, her Brownie friends and a ghost. When the ghost reveals her secret about the hidden treasure, there’s no stopping Mary, her Brownie friends, or her enemies from searching for this treasure. 

Why the intrigue? Apparently there’s a little bit of magic connected to this treasure. And so the adventure begins. Who will find the treasure first?





Top Ten List:
1 - I have a very special muse - my dog, Duke. I take pleasure in our daily walks and the inspiration he provides me on these walks.
2 - I love to cross-stitch. Mostly small projects, as I need the creative release after working on my long writing projects.
3 - I love to read - a day without reading is like a day without sunshine.
4 - I enjoy baking and browsing cookbooks. 
5 - I used to ride horses and will occasionally enjoy a trail ride with my daughter.
6 - When my children were young, we learned Highland dancing together.
7 - An ideal outing for me is either a bookstore (new or used) or a garden center - or, better yet, both.
8 - I spend most of the spring, summer and fall in my garden - at least, when I'm not writing.
9 - I enjoy sharing creative ideas with fellow writers and artists. Networking is always good for the soul as well as the creative muse.
10 - I really did grow up in a haunted house.


Snippet:
“Ah! So this is where it’s hidden.” It was the unmistakable voice of Miss Penelope. The girls shuddered as Mrs. Murray faded into the fireplace and disappeared. Brunny and Briddie turned around slowly to face their opponent. Mary hesitated before taking a cautious, timid look over her shoulder. Rosie moved closer to her friend and looked as well. There she was, in all her evil splendor, Elizabeth and Stocky standing on either side of her.
“And you thought I wouldn’t be watching.” She cackled loudly. Not the cackle that Mrs. Murray did when she tried to laugh, but a distinctly evil cackle that sent shivers up and down Mary’s spine.


About the Author:


Emily-Jane Hills Orford is an award-winning author of several books, including Gerlinda (CFA 2016) which received an Honorable Mention in the 2016 Readers’ Favorite Book Awards, To Be a Duke (CFA 2014) which was named Finalist and Silver Medalist in the 2015 Next Generation Indie Book Awards and received an Honorable Mention in the 2015 Readers’ Favorite Book Awards. She writes about the extra-ordinary in life and her books, short stories, and articles are receiving considerable attention. For more information on the author, check out her website at: http://emilyjanebooks.ca




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Giveaway:










Walking the Talk by Sheila Srna



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Christian Living
Date Published: August 2018
Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing

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Heaven or Hell?
Every person has that decision to make. Choosing Jesus as your Lord and Savior is the only way to Heaven. As believers, we have the opportunity every day to lead our lives in a way to impact those around us. We may be the only Bible some folks read.
Grab your Bible and join us. We’ll focus on the Lord and growing together. Our goal is leading a lifestyle that meets people where they are at daily. Where we can share Jesus and His love with them. Who are you bringing with you?




About the Author


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Sheila Srna grew up on a farm in a Christian home.  Her family attended church and Bible study each Sunday.  Her husband farms while she works as an accountant.  Over the years, she has served the Lord in youth ministry, stewardship, evangelism, and Strategic Ministry teams.  Sheila loves the Lord and always looks forward to worship services and Bible study.  Her day starts and ends with prayer and includes Bible study time in the evening.  Precious moments with the Lord.



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Stars on Ruby Mountain by Wendy C. Jorgensen




Wendy C. Jorgensen grew up in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, and began writing in second grade, furiously recording her hopes and dreams in a denim-covered diary. Besides hanging out at the library, she loved soaking up the rays—while reading a book, of course. During her sophomore year of high school, Wendy’s family moved to Carson City, Nevada, and she thought her life had ended. The desert, sagebrush, and cowboys were a far cry from the ocean, palm trees, and surfers of Florida. Fortunately, within six months, the family relocated to Lake Tahoe, and her outlook improved dramatically.
Wendy started college at the University of Colorado in Boulder, followed by a year at the University of Nevada in Reno and two years at Brigham Young University, where she worked as a reporter and copy editor for The Daily Universe. A decision to take a short break from school turned into a twelve-year college hiatus in Lake Tahoe. After a two-year stint in the civil engineering program at California State University in Sacramento, Wendy returned to Colorado and graduated from CU with a degree in English Writing. It was a long, but valuable, educational journey.
After twenty years in Colorado, Wendy recently moved back to Northern Nevada, close enough to Lake Tahoe to enjoy the beautiful scenery but far enough away to escape the heavy winters. She lives with a wonderful husband and a golden retriever who’s often mistaken for a sloth. Her two brainy and creative sons make her want to be smarter. Wendy hopes someday to journey to the stars.



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A teenage girl recovers in a Sacramento hospital, the sole survivor of a terrible accident that killed her parents—parents she can’t remember. All she knows for sure is she’s in danger. For the girl, known only as Angie, staying put is not an option.


After saving a friend from a vicious attack reveals she’s no ordinary human, Angie races to find a safe place. A chance encounter with the intriguing Michael Winter leads her over the Sierras to Lake Tahoe, where she’s nearly abducted. As she escapes to Colorado, she struggles to unravel who she is and where she came from; instead the mystery of her identity deepens.

Her only hope is to find the truth before it’s too late.



Snippet:

These thoughts swirled through my mind as the red gold flames licked the fragrant logs of the campfire. A hazy memory surfaced of sitting by a fire with my parents and gazing at the stars. Holding fast to the image from the past, I studied the moon and searched for constellations. For a brief moment, the heavens shifted, leaving me with the distinct impression that the sky was different. Suddenly, I realized what was missing. Where were the other moons?




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