Forever (Hachette Book Group), GCP/Forever, Giveaway, Guest Author, Showcase

Guest Author DEBRA WEBB showcase & giveaway ENDED

CMash August 6, 2013 1 Comment

WELCOME BACK DEBRA WEBB

DEBRA WEBB

Debra Webb, born in Alabama, wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain—and a five-year stint with NASA—that she realized her true calling. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Since then she has penned nearly 100 novels, including her internationally bestselling Colby Agency series. Debra’s debut romantic thriller series, Faces of Evil, propelled her to the top of the bestselling charts for an unparalleled twenty-four weeks.
Connect with Debra at these sites:

Q&A with Debra Webb

On Writing and Reading:
-Do you draw from personal experiences and/or current events?
A little of both. Since my husband was in the military we spent a lot of years living in different locations and meeting different folks. I spend a lot of time reading newspapers, magazines and online news feeds.

-Do you start with the conclusion and plot in reverse or start from the beginning and see where the story line brings you?
With the Faces of Evil the motive is key since the series explores the levels of evil. Once I have the motive in place I decide who the killer will be and then the victims. Once those elements are fleshed out the story begins!

-Your routine when writing? Any idiosyncrasies?
I have my coffee and wander to my office. First thing I do is turn on the music and get comfortable.

-Is writing your full time job? If not, may I ask what you do by day?
Writing has been my full time job for 15 years. Before that I worked on the Shuttle Project with NASA.

-Who are some of your favorite authors?
Too many to name! But I never miss anything by Regan Black,Allison Brennan, Robert Gregory Browne, Brett Battles, Kathy Carmichael, Cindy Gerard, Rita Herron, Vicki Hinze, CJ Lyons, VR Marks, Karen Rose, and Peggy Webb!

-What are you reading now?
I am really lucky! I’m reading an advance copy of a Lucy Guardino novella by CJ Lyons.

-Are you working on your next novel? Can you tell us a little about it?
I am! I’m working on Book 7, VICIOUS, of the Faces of Evil series and a Christmas novella that’s a prequel for the series.

Fun questions:
-Your novel will be a movie. Who would you cast?
I think I’d have to leave that up to the experts!

-Would you rather read or watch TV/movie?
Most of the time the answer would be read but I do love a great movie!

-Favorite food? Good bread.

-Favorite beverage? Coca Cola
Thank you for stopping by CMash Reads and spending time with us.

THE BOOKS

When her beloved high school teacher appears on her doorstep, Deputy Chief Jess Harris is flooded with fond memories—until the woman says she’s about to be charged with murder.

The victim was a member of Birmingham’s famed “Five.” Twelve years ago, the Five were rich, popular seniors who threw one last wild party. Two social outcasts were invited, and the next morning one of them was dead. Now Jess fears the invitation to an upcoming class reunion may have forced the Five to play a deadly new game. A vicious cycle of vengeance has begun, and the killer is far from finished…

Publisher: Forever Mass Market
Publication Date: July 30, 2013
ISBN-13: 978-1-4555-2758-8

PURCHASE LINKS:

Three photos of three unknown women. Sent to Deputy Chief Jess Harris by the Player, one of the world’s most sadistic killers. The Player is taunting her, and Jess is more than ready to take on his challenge.

Only one thing could distract her from the Player’s deadly game: the appearance of a clue to long-unsolved cases. For years Birmingham’s children were vanishing—one per year, always on a full moon—until the disappearances stopped and the Man in the Moon case went cold. No leads on the children were ever found—until now.

Jess has no choice but to pursue the case. Someone is reaching out to her, sending her mementos of the missing children, and the citizens of Birmingham deserve justice. But after years of silence, has the Man in the Moon really resurfaced? Or is he just another pawn in the Player’s game?

Publisher: Forever Mass Market
Publication Date: August 27, 2013
ISBN-13: 978-1-4555-2760-1

PURCHASE LINKS:

THANKS TO MARISSA AT GCP/FOREVER,
I HAVE TWO (2) SETS TO GIVE AWAY.
OPEN TO U.S. and CANADA RESIDENTS

FILL OUT RAFFLECOPTER ENTRY FORM BELOW

GIVEAWAY ENDS AUGUST 20th AT 6PM EST

WINNER WILL BE CHOSEN BY RAFFLECOPTER AND NOTIFIED
VIA EMAIL AND WILL HAVE 48 HOURS TO RESPOND
OR ANOTHER NAME WILL BE CHOSEN

a Rafflecopter giveaway

YOUR JAVA SCRIPT MAY NEED TO BE UPDATED
IF YOU AR EXPERIENCING DIFFICULTY
USING THE RAFFLECOPTER ENTRY FORM

DISCLAIMER

I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in exchange for my honest review. No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.

ADDENDUM

I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author, Partners In Crime Tours, Showcase

Guest Author DARCY SCOTT

CMash August 5, 2013 Leave a Comment

WELCOME DARCY SCOTT

DARCY SCOTT

DARCY SCOTT is a live-aboard sailor and experienced ocean cruiser who’s sailed to Grenada and back on a whim, island-hopped through the Caribbean, and been struck by lightning in the middle of the Gulf Stream. Her favorite cruising ground remains the coast of Maine, however, and her appreciation of the history and rugged beauty of its sparsely populated out-islands serves as inspiration for her Maine Island Mystery Series, which includes 2012’s award-winning “Matinicus” and the newly released “Reese’s Leap.” Book three, “Ragged Island,” is currently in the works. Her debut novel, “Hunter Huntress,” was published in June, 2010 by Snowbooks, Ltd., UK.
Connect with Darcy at these sites:

ABOUT THE BOOK

In this much-anticipated sequel to the award-winning “Matinicus,” five longtime friends—briefly freed from their complex lives for an annual, all-female retreat on Adria Jackman’s remote, 200-acre enclave of Mistake Island, Maine—are forced to put the partying on hold to host the hard-drinking, bachelor botanist, Gil Hodges, stranded there for what could be days.

A hopeless womanizer, Gil is secretly pleased at the layover, but soon finds Mistake’s deeply forested interior deceptively bucolic and the women a bit too intriguing for comfort, stirring both glorious memory and profound regret. When a diabolical stranger appears out of nowhere, insinuating himself into the fold to exact a twisted kind of revenge, it falls to Gil to keep the women safe, despite a dawning awareness that not everyone will make it off the island alive.

READ AN EXCERPT

I’m slow coming to in the early-morning stillness—arm slung over my eyes, something lumpy under my butt I only now realize has been digging in for some time. It seems I slept fully clothed, too—something I never do—but the damp chill beneath me makes even less sense, the fusty smell wafting from my bedclothes not quite the permeating fug of the hammock I’ve grown used to. I could crack my eyes and get a visual, I suppose, but that would involve prying the pasty things apart first—something that’s beyond me just now.

The shamelessly chipper bird sounding off just above me and the dry whisper of field grass are what tip me off. The meadow. I spent the night in the fucking meadow.

My groan is of the just-how-big-an-asshole-did-I-make-of-myself variety, chased by the kind of creeping, morning-after dread I’ve come to know so well. I vaguely recall a bottle of tawny Port, unearthed by Adria from some secret stash of her father’s after everyone else had gone to bed—which was earlier than usual, thanks to the pall Brit and Pete cast over the evening. Just the two of us, then—well, three, if you count the bottle. Pure liquid ambrosia, if memory serves. No doubt I went a bit overboard. But it wasn’t the booze or the thought of another night crammed onto that miserable hammock that got me out here, I recall now, but the fear of what I might do about Nora’s tempting proximity while I lay in such a weakened and vulnerable state. Still, I’ve no clue how I managed it. Could have walked, could have flown, could have been wheeled in a barrow. But however I did it, I slept like the proverbial rock.

No reason to get up now either, I figure—at least not ’til the mosquitoes find me. Another hour, I plead, rolling over, which is when I see Pete down on his haunches studying me, face not a foot from mine.

“Jesus!” I bark, adrenaline powering my scramble to clear the sleeping bag I apparently dragged out here with me. “Don’t do that!”

He cocks his head, rising to meet me as I stand. Not a good idea as it turns out, this standing business, considering the explosion of pain at the top of my head. At six-two, I’m five or six inches taller than this guy—something that would normally make me feel pretty good, only nothing feels good just now. My legs are so wobbly, it’s all I can do to remain vertical. I glance down at the cool breeze running over my left foot.

My sore, bare left foot.

Where the fuck is my shoe?

“Piece of advice,” Pete says, glancing toward the mountain, gaze flat and unreadable as he swings it back my way. Think Clint Eastwood’s slow burn, but with none of his style. “Right now we got no real beef, you and me. Keep out of this and it’ll stay that way.”

What this? There’s a this?

“Let me guess,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose against the vise slowly tightening at the top of my head, the forks carving out the backs of my eyeballs. The things I do to myself. “This is about your brother, right? What—you were too busy lobbing the n-word at Adria to hear her say she wasn’t around? That none of these chicks know anything about this?”

“They know,” he assures me. “Just not sayin’.”

“They—as in…”

“All of ’em, probably.”

Of course. Conspiracy among the conifers. I’ll have to remember to suggest this to Duggan for the title of whatever mystery or thriller he’s hoping to eke out of all this.

“Come on, man. You saw the looks on their faces—total fucking surprise.”

“Brit said they come out here every year—same women, same week in July.”

Good old Brit. “I wouldn’t know.” Nor do I care. Once around with this shit’s more than enough for me; besides, I desperately need to keep the sun from hitting my retinas just now. Shades, I think. I pat my pockets.

“Earl was killed the week they were here. July 21st.”

“July 21st what?”

“Day he died.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” I say, carefully lowering myself to rummage in my

rucksack for those miserable Maui Jims. Sliding them on makes things marginally better, but mincing my way back to my feet brings stabbing pains from the sole of the shoeless one. Man, it hurts. What the hell did I step on, anyway? Glass, rock—what?

“So, okay,” I say, cranking the foot up stork-like to peer at the dried brown goo stuck to the bottom. Mud? I wonder, hopping awkwardly to stay upright. Blood? “Say you’re right, and he was here. Doesn’t mean they knew he was here.” Gently probing the most tender places for lacerations, protruding foreign objects. “If Adria even suspected he was camping on the island, she’d have booted his ass off. You’ve seen the way she is about this place.”

“Earl don’t listen to nobody when his mind’s set. Kind of his trademark.”

More of that unremitting Eastwood gaze, which is frankly starting to piss me off. Out of nowhere, another piece of yesterday slips along the edge of my mind—something weird about the timing of all this. And then it hits me. If Earl died two years ago, why’s this guy just turning up now?

“You were in prison when it happened.” Pure hunch, of course, but it fits. Explains why he seemed so hinky from the start, that vague whiff of what I now recognize as recent and intimate acquaintance with Maine State Corrections. I do the mental math, take a stab. “You and Earl were sent up together; only he got out early. Drugs would be my bet. That or a juicy little B&E.”

“Fuck them bastards. Bullshit’s what it was. Lousy pot bust. My second time, so the judge bumped me a couple extra years.”

“So Earl gets out, comes here to revisit the old stomping grounds, and ends up dead.”

“I knew there’d be trouble, what with me not around to keep him in line. It was me always looked out for him.”

“Plus, you landed him in jail. What a bro. But hey, at least you knew where he was; there’s that.” Screwing with him like this probably isn’t smart, but I’m still kinda punchy, and I need to piss. Besides; I really, really, really don’t like this guy.

Pete cocks his head.

“This funny to you?”

Fucking hilarious, actually, only it’s fast becoming clear that leaving Adria et al alone while a deluded nut like this is wandering the island wouldn’t be smart. There’s my conscience to consider, what’s left of it anyway. “So you got sprung—what—a month ago? Two?”

“Sat in that shitty jail two years knowin’ he’d been murdered, countin’ the days ’til I got out.”

“Accidents happen, pal. You’ve seen the cliffs out here—dangerous as hell in the wrong conditions.”

“Earl never went near them cliffs. Hated heights. No, somethin’ happened out here. I’m gonna know what and I’m gonna know why. I owe him that. You bein’ here just complicates things.”

“Yeah, well, only person leaving the island is you,” I say, trying to sound all bad-ass as I fight the urge to toss my cookies. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He considers. “Your decision. Things been put in motion. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” A smirk as he nods toward the sleeping bag. “Nice.”

I glance down, following his gaze. A faded field of blue dotted with yellow and pink flowers, the darker hue of a minimally sullied ball gown and white-gloved hands—all this capped with the lemon yellow orb of Cinderella’s hair, her face lit with a saccharine smile. A little girl’s sleeping bag, I realize. Swell.

“So here’s what you do,” he says. “You and the other girls have a meetin’. You explain how things are gonna get really ugly, really fast, if I don’t find out what went down.”

With that he trots back into the brush like something out of The Last of the Mohicans—all that bouncy action enough to set my eyeballs aching. What the fuck was in that bottle, anyway?

Nothing for it but to head to the house and fill Adria in, come up with some kind of plan.

After I find that fucking shoe.

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Maine Authors Publishing
Publication Date: March 23, 2013
Number of Pages: 216
ISBN: 978-1938883347
Series: Island Mystery Series #2

PURCHASE LINKS:

Awards

Recently, Matinicus (prequel to Reese’s Leap) has won both the “Best Mystery,” 2013 Indie Book Awards and the Bronze Prize for Regional Fiction from the 2013 IPPY Awards

If you’d like to join in on an upcoming tour just stop by our sites and sign up today!

Follow the Tour:

DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in exchange for my honest review. No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Giveaway, Winners

And the winner is……

CMash August 3, 2013 1 Comment

**…..of Saving Paradise by Mike Bond**

CONGRATULATIONS!!

41 Karen Gonyea Leave a Blog Post Comment
An email has been sent and the winner has 48 hours to respond or another winner will be chosen. Thank you to all that entered.

Giveaway, Guest Author, Showcase, WOW, WOW Tours

Guest Author ERIC TRANT showcase & giveaway ENDED

CMash August 2, 2013 1 Comment

WELCOME ERIC TRANT

ERIC TRANT

Eric Trant is a fantasy-thriller author who lives in North Dallas with his wife and family. His work blends believable stories into a mixture of realism and supernatural elements, while always keeping the reader engaged with deeply-drawn characters, stunning visuals and constant motion. His goal is to create stories which linger with the reader long after the book is read. Wink is Eric’s second novel.
Connect with Eric at these sites:

GUEST POST

Why You Should Be Yourself in Writing and Marketing

I used to have this story in my head, and I guess it’s still there, called A Day in the Life of Someone More Interesting. I have no idea what the story is about, other than it is not about me. I don’t find that I’m all that interesting or impressive or conversational or mysterious or brilliant or any of those things you want your characters to be. I want to be someone different, and that can get you into trouble.

First of all, everyone is interesting if you dig deep enough. We all have backstories and a neat history and worthwhile beliefs and opinions. Just because someone is popular does not mean they are more important or smarter, it just means they are more obvious to a greater number of people.

I now bring the topic to the art of writing and to the business of marketing your writing. There is a (or an? help!) ubiquitous belief among non-megalomaniacs and non-Narcissists that we are uninteresting to ourselves. There is also a pervasive fact of human nature that we are interesting to everyone else. There is the nosy neighbor peeking through the blinds, here the gossip whispering, down in the basement the Facebook addict posting up juicy tidbits, and all around you the flitter-flatter of chitter-chatter about other peoples’ (or people’s? peoples? oh man where is my editor!) business.

Be true to yourself when you write and your readers will be true to you. This means creating stories that you find interesting, and that draw on your experiences. If you want a different experience, get one! Go on a cruise before you write the boat-book, on a hike before you write the mountain-book, on a date before you write the date-book, and so on. You do not have to fake interesting to find great pieces of yourself to inject into your stories.

Even more of this is true for the marketing. As a society of consumers, raised in the Golden Age of Advertising, subject to tweets and posts and sidebar ads and billboards and commercials and little signs above the urinal, we are adept at picking out the BS from these ads. While some ads are tricky, we can usually spot the stinky-stuff and avoid it with a fair degree of success.

So avoid the stinky-stuff in your marketing. Do what you are comfortable doing, and become good at those things. Find a marketing path that marries your personality with your skillset, and that caters to the crowd who is going to read the stories you wrote. Public signings and speeches come first to mind, since that is a big deal to authors, especially new ones. If you are uncomfortable and insecure and untrained in public speaking, it is best to be silent and thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

Me, I prefer to keep my blog and FB and one-on-one marketing very personal and personable with a smidge of commerciality. In other words, I want to be known first as Eric, and then as Eric Trant the Author. Still, going full-on commercial works for many authors and entertainers, but not for me. I prefer to wait on the book signings and speaking until I have a few books to sign and speak about. Wink is my second novel, and I have several short stories under my belt. I am just now comfortable doing things like blog tours and open promotions, and speaking in personal circles about my writing, and hope on future pieces to be comfortable doing public signings and speaking. Many authors tour their first book, or even their first short story, but that’s not for me.

Do you see where I’m going with this? While I do step out of my comfort zone — you must do that — I stay close enough to home that I don’t become someone unrecognizable as Eric. I am true to myself, and I believe that will make all the difference.

How about you? Have you done or been asked to do anything you did not believe in? What are your comfort zones for marketing and writing?

ABOUT THE BOOK

In this thriller set in a rural Gulf Coast town, twelve-year-old Marty Jameson finds refuge in the attic from his mother’s abusive rages. But only during the day. At night the attic holds terrors even beyond what he witnesses in his home. With a family made up of a psychotic mother, a drug-dealing father and a comatose older brother withering away in the spare bedroom, Marty feels trapped.Next door, wheel-chair bound Sadie Marsh obsessively watches Marty’s comings and goings from her bedroom window, despite her mother’s warning about the evil in that house. Evil which appears to Sadie as huge black-winged creatures.Marty, emotionally torn by the violence and dysfunction in his family, is drawn to Sadie and her kindly mother. But if he is to save his new friend from the supernatural horror threatening them all, Marty must transform himself from victim to hero. And to do so, he must first confront what lurks hidden in the shadows of his attic.

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Thriller
Publisher: WiDo Publishing
Publication date: 3/27/2013
Pages: 282
ISBN-13: 9781937178345

PURCHASE LINKS:

THANKS TO CRYSTAL AT WOW!,
I HAVE ONE (1) COPY TO GIVE AWAY.
PRINT-OPEN TO U.S. & CANADA RESIDENTS or EBOOK-OPEN TO ALL

FILL OUT RAFFLECOPTER ENTRY FORM BELOW

GIVEAWAY ENDS AUGUST 16th AT 6PM EST

WINNER WILL BE CHOSEN BY RAFFLECOPTER AND NOTIFIED
VIA EMAIL AND WILL HAVE 48 HOURS TO RESPOND
OR ANOTHER NAME WILL BE CHOSEN

a Rafflecopter giveaway

YOUR JAVA SCRIPT MAY NEED TO BE UPDATED
IF YOU AR EXPERIENCING DIFFICULTY
USING THE RAFFLECOPTER ENTRY FORM

DISCLAIMER

No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.

ADDENDUM

I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Giveaway, Winners

And the winners are…..

CMash August 1, 2013 1 Comment

**…..of Marilyn’s Red Diary by E.Z. Friedel**

CONGRATULATIONS!!

5 Charlotte Reviews Follow @CherylMash on Twitter7 Jeffrey Tretin Be a Public Follower of ‘CMASH Loves to Read’
An email has been sent to the winners and they have 48 hours to respond or another winner will be chosen. Thank you to all that entered.

Guest Author, Harper Collins/William Morrow, Partners In Crime Tours, Showcase

Partners In Crime Tours Presents: FAYE KELLERMAN

CMash August 1, 2013 Leave a Comment

WELCOME FAYE KELLERMAN

FAYE KELLERMAN

Faye Kellerman lives with her husband, New York Times bestselling author Jonathan Kellerman, in Los Angeles, California, and Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Connect with Ms. Kellerman at these sites:

ABOUT THE BOOK

Over his years with the LAPD, Peter Decker has handled a number of tough cases and strange killers. Few of his previous assignments compare to his latest case—the most bizarre of his storied career.

When Hobart Penny is found dead in his apartment, the cops think that his pet cat—an adult female tiger—attacked the reclusive elderly billionaire. But it soon becomes clear that the beast that killed the eccentric inventor is all too human. Digging into the victim’s life, Decker and his colleagues, Detectives Marge Dunn and Scott Oliver, discover that Penny was an exceptionally peculiar man with exotic tastes, including kinky sex with call girls.

Following a trail of clues that leads from a wildlife sanctuary in the San Bernardino Mountains to the wild nightlife of Las Vegas, the LAPD detectives are left juggling too many suspects and too few answers. To break open a case involving the two most primal instincts—sex and murder—Decker wrestles with a difficult choice: turning to a man with expert knowledge of both—Chris Donatti, the dangerous man who also happens to be the father of Decker’s foster son Gabriel Whitman, a boy not without his own problems.

As their work and intimate worlds collide, Decker and his wife, Rina, find themselves facing tough questions. It just might be that family crises and work-related responsibilities prove too much for Decker’s career. A confluence of ordeals can stress even the most intact of families. And when all these shocking truths comes out, exactly how well will Decker and Rina cope as well as survive?

READ AN EXCERPT

THE BEAST By Faye Kellerman

It was the stuff of nightmares, starting with the slow walk down the courtroom aisle: as if his stall tactics had the power to stop the inevitable. Seven hours of testimony, but it wasn’t the length of time that was horrific. When practicing the piano, Gabe had done marathon sessions twice as long as that. But he had always used his music to zone out, and that was impossible to do when being grilled on the witness stand. It had required concentrating on things he was trying so hard to forget: how that day had started out so normal and within minutes had turned into something almost deadly. By four in the afternoon, the trial had finally recessed and the prosecution was essentially done, although Gabe knew the lawyers would have more questions on redirect. He walked out of the courtroom with his foster mother, Rina Decker, on one side and his foster dad, the lieutenant, on the other. They guided him into a waiting car. Sergeant Marge Dunn was behind the wheel. She maneuvered the silent group through the streets of the San Fernando Valley—a suburb of L.A.—until they reached the driveway of the Decker house. Once inside, Gabe collapsed on the living room couch, took off his glasses, and closed his eyes. Rina took off her tam, liberating a sheet of black, shoulder-length hair, and regarded the boy. He was nearly bald—courtesy of an indie film he had starred in—and his complexion was pale and pasty. Little red bumps covered his forehead. She said, “I’m going to change and get dinner ready.” At the sound of her voice, Gabe opened his eyes. “You must be starving.”

“Actually I feel queasy.” He rubbed his green orbs and put his specs back on. “Once I start eating, I’m sure I’ll be okay.” Decker and Marge came in a moment later, chatting about business. The lieutenant loosened his tie, and then took a seat next to the boy. The poor kid was constantly jockeying back and forth between the teen and adult worlds. For the last year, his foster son had been at Juilliard, finishing almost two years in one. Decker threw his arm around the kid’s shoulder and kissed the top of his peach fuzz head. Gabe wasn’t totally bald, but what was growing in was blondish. Gabe asked, “How’d I do?” “Phenomenal,” Decker said. “I wish every witness I had was half as good as you.” Marge sat opposite the boys. “You were a dream for the prosecution: completely credible, plainspoken, and damn cute.” When Gabe smiled, she said, “Plus being a movie star doesn’t hurt.” “Oh Jeez. It was barely above a student film on a shoestring budget. It’ll never go anywhere.” Decker smiled. “You never know.” “Believe me, I know. Did I ever tell you about my breakdown scene? I’m running down this long hallway of the sanitarium buck naked with my hair flying in back as attendants in white coats try to catch me. When they catch me, they start to shave my head and I’m screaming, ‘not my hair, not my hair.’ I haven’t seen the movie, so I’ll have to take the director’s word that it was a great scene.” “You haven’t watched your own movie?” Marge asked. “No. Too embarrassed. Not at me being naked, but I’m pretty sure I’m a dreadful actor.”

Marge smiled, stood up, and picked a piece of pilled wool off of her beige sweater. “Well, gentlemen, I’ve got to go back to the station house. I left a pile of paperwork on my desk.” “Not to mention everything dropped in your lap,” Decker said. “Thanks for picking up the slack.” Rina walked in. She had donned a long-sleeved black T-shirt, a jean skirt, and slippers. “You’re not staying for dinner, Marge?” “Can’t. Too much work to do.” Decker looked at his watch. “I’ll come join you in about an hour if you’re still around. I’ll bring you a care package from tonight’s dinner.” “In that case, I’ll make sure I’m around.” Marge waved and left. Decker said to his wife, “You need any help?” “I’m fine. It’s been a long day and a little quiet is okay with me.” She disappeared into the kitchen. Gabe said, “I should shower. I smell pretty bad. I was sweating a lot.” “Normal.” “I suppose this is only a warm-up for tomorrow. Defense is going to have a field day with me.” “You’ll be fine. Just stick to who you are and tell the truth.” “That I’m the son of a hit man?” “Gabe—” “I mean who are we kidding? You know they’re gonna bring him up.” “Probably. And if they do, your lawyer will object, because Christopher Donatti is irrelevant.”

“He’s a criminal.” “He is, but you aren’t.” “He runs whorehouses.” “Whorehouses are legal in Nevada.” “He cut up Dylan Lashay and turned him into a mass of jelly.” “Now you’re speculating.” Decker looked at the boy. “Okay. I’m the defense and cross direct, okay.” He cleared his throat and tried to act like a lawyer. “Have you ever participated in anything criminal? And be careful what you answer.” Gabe thought a moment. “I smoked pot.” “Ever take pills?” “Prescription medication.” “Such as.” “Paxil, Xanax, Zoloft, Prozac … a cornucopia of pharmaceuticals. My doctors rotate around to see what’s affective. And the answer to that is—nothing.” “It is sufficient to just list the medications, Gabriel.” “I know.” “Are you anxious now?” “I’m very anxious.” “Good answer,” Decker said. “Who wouldn’t be anxious during this process? The prosecution has presented you today as a gifted teen that has gone through a very traumatic experience. On cross, defense will try to trip you up. They’ll ask you about your dad, they’ll ask you about me. Always pause before you answer to give the prosecution time to object. And whatever you do, don’t speculate. On redirect, the lawyers will make sure that the jury knows that you are not your father’s son.” Gabe said, “I don’t really care about myself. I’m worried about Yasmine. It kills me to picture her being hammered at by some jerk lawyer.” “She’s sixteen, sheltered, an A student, and physically, she’s small and delicate. She’ll probably cry. Everyone will go lightly on her. What they’ll do is ask her to repeat verbatim what Dylan and the others said to her and argue about the meaning of their statements. I’m sure the defense will say something like they were just kidding around. Bad taste, but no serious intent.” “Dylan was going to rape her.” “He might have even killed her if you didn’t step in.” Decker paused. “It could be she won’t make it to the witness box. After your testimony, they may try again for a plea bargain.” “Dylan’s completely physically messed up. Why didn’t they plea bargain in the first place?” “The Lashays wouldn’t agree to jail time. We offered them a prison hospital, but the parents wouldn’t take it, claiming the prison hospital doesn’t have the wherewithal to care for Dylan in his current state.” “Surely someone can wipe his drool,” Gabe muttered. “I hope he dies a terrible death.” “He probably will,” Decker said. “In the meantime, he’s living a terrible life.”

Riding with the windows down, Decker enjoyed the air after being locked away in a stuffy and tense courtroom. He wasn’t anticipating anything more than a mountain of paperwork to deal with, but then his cell went off just as he was parking in the station house’s lot. Bluetooth told him Marge Dunn was on the line. “Yo, Sergeant, I’m right outside.” “Stay there. I’m coming down.” The phone disconnected. A few minutes later, she came out of the building and jogged over to the car. Sliding onto the passenger seat, she closed the door. The night was cool, and she wrapped her hands in the sleeves of her knitted hoodie. She gave him the address, which was fifteen minutes away. There was a tense look on her face. “We have an issue.” “Yeah, I ascertained that.” “Do you remember an eccentric millionaire named Hobart Penny?” “Some kind of engineer-inventor. Made his money in aerospace I want to say?” “That was Howard Hughes. But you’re not too far off. He holds about fifty different patents for high-heat polymers including glues and plastics used in aerospace. The consensus on the Internet says he’s worth around a half-billion dollars.” “Sizeable chunk of change.” “Exactly. And like Hughes, he became a recluse. He’s now either eighty-eight or eightynine, depending on what site you’re at. Did you know he lived in our district?” “Lived?” “Or maybe it’s still the present tense, but I don’t think so. He rents an apartment in the Glencove district and has resided there for the past twenty-five years.” “I had no idea.” “Neither did anyone in the complex. We got a call about a half-hour ago from a unit adjacent to his. Something stinks inside Penny’s apartment.” “That’s not good.”

“Not good but not unusual, considering his age. Okay. So he’s been dead for a couple of days. We can deal with that. But here’s the problem. The complainant has been hearing strange sounds coming from his apartment.” “Like?” “Clicking, scratching, and an unmistakable roaring.” “Roaring? As in a lion roaring?” “Or it could be some other big cat. The complainant had gathered up some of his fellow apartment dwellers along with the building’s manager whose name is George Paxton. I talked to the manager, told him I was sending some people down to get everyone out of the apartment building—as in immediately.” “God yes! We need a total evacuation of the structure.” “If you want the apartment buildings adjacent to be evacuated for good measure, I’ll radio for more units.” “Yeah, go ahead. Better to be safe, right. You’ve called animal control?” “Of course. I’ve requested people with experience working with big cats. That might take awhile.” Decker shook his head. “This is crazy.” “It’s a first for me.” Silence. Decker said, “How did you end up with the call?” “Someone in-house transferred the call to Homicide. Not a bad decision, considering we’ve got an old recluse, a rotten smell, and a roaring animal. I’d say the chance for finding a dead body is very high.”

The area was largely residential: a mix of apartments, condos, and single-family homes, but there was a small strip mall of businesses located across the street from the address. The black night mixed with floodlights and with blinking lights from the bars on the cruisers. Several ambulances had been called and were standing by, just in case. After double parking, Decker and Marge got out, flashed their badges, and were allowed entry into the activity. About fifty yards up was a huddle of animal control agents in tan uniforms. He and Marge fast walked over to the circle and displayed their badges. At that specific moment, something bestial let out a ferocious bellow. Decker jumped back. The roar was especially eerie because it was a foggy and moonless night. He held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “What the hey?” A sandy-haired, muscular man in his thirties stuck out his hand, first to Marge, then to Decker. Introductions were made all around—three men and a woman roughly ranging in age from midtwenties to midforties. “Ryan Wilner.” Decker said, “I thought it was going to take a while for you guys to get here.” “Me and Hathaway were in GLAZA, teaching a seminar on big cats. Zoo is a straight shot to here if there’s no traffic.” Hathaway was tall and bald. His first name was Paul. He said, “We’re usually the big cat guys, but we do everything.” Marge said, “How often do you deal with wild animals?” “Wild animals all the time—raccoons, skunks, possum … even bears coming in from Angeles Crest. Exotics are another bag of tricks. We deal with a big cat maybe once a year,

mostly lions or tigers, but I’ve done jaguars and leopards. Couple times I’ve been asked to help out with wolf hybrid packs that had turned on their owner.” Wilner said, “I just did a chimp about a month ago.” “Lots of reptiles.” The woman who spoke had close-cropped blond hair and gray eyes and stood about six feet. Her name tag said ANDREA JULLIUS. “Local poisonous snakes like California rattlers or sidewinders. But like Ryan said, we get the exotics. Just recently, me and Jake pulled out a Gaboon viper and a monitor lizard from a trailer in Saugus.” Jake was Jake Richey. He was in his twenties with yellow hair. He looked like a surfer dude. “I’ve done lots of snake captures, but that was my first Gaboon viper.” Andrea said, “You wouldn’t believe the things people keep as pets—snakes, monitor lizards, crocs and alligators.” “What about that grizzly about a year ago?” Hathaway said. “That was a trick.” Wilner said, “And how about that female Asian elephant two years ago? In the same month, we captured a runaway male bison that was the family pet until it went into puberty and nearly took down the entire house.” But Decker was concentrating on the problem at hand. “How on earth do you get a big cat into Los Angeles?” “Mail order. You acquire some land and a license and say you’re going to set up a breeding program or a for-profit zoo or circus.” “That is crazy!” Marge said. “Not as crazy as the people who keep them as pets,” Andrea Jullius said. Wilner said, “People are delusional; always think that they have magical powers over the beast. Inevitably a wild animal lives up to its name. That’s where we come in. If everything

works out well, the animal winds up in a sanctuary. It’s no fun putting down an animal that isn’t doing anything wrong except being what it is.” Another fierce roar pierced the miasma. Decker and Marge exchanged glances. She said, “That animal sounds pissed.” “It’s very pissed,” Wilner said. “We’re going over our next step.” “Which is?” Decker said. “Drill some peepholes and see what we’re dealing with.” “My bet’s on a Bengal female tiger ,” Hathaway said. “I agree,” Wilner said. “A male lion would be five times as loud. When the area is cleared out, we’ll put on some protective gear and drill some holes. Once we see what we’re working with, we figure out how to tranquilize it and get it out of here before we have a major problem.” Another howl echoed through the dripping fog. It was engulfing, as if being swallowed alive. Decker spoke to Marge. “We should assign some agents to the apartment doorway, just in case our friend feels like busting loose.” “One step ahead of you. It’s already done,” Wilner said. “I got one with a tranquilizing gun, one with a hunting gun. We aren’t taking any chances.” He turned to Agent Andrea Jullius. “What’s going on with the equipment from the zoo?” “Twenty more minutes.” Wilner tossed keys to Hathaway. “You wanna go get the protective gear?” “Sure,” Hathaway said. “Do you have a vest for me?” Decker said. “I want to take a look through the peepholes. Homicide was called because the apartment was rented to an old man.”

“Our policy is no civilians,” Wilner told him. “And what are the chances that the old man inside is still alive?” Decker said, “This is my community, and I feel responsible for everything that goes on here. I want to see the layout of the apartment so I know what I’m dealing with.” “It’s gonna be grisly.” “I’ve done grisly before. Once I saw a dead guy being gnawed on by a wild mountain lion. It bothered me, but that’s okay. When things stop bothering me, I’ll know it’s time to quit.”

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Mystery/Thriller
Published by: Harper Collins/ William Morrow
Publication Date: August 6, 2013
Number of Pages: 384
ISBN: 9780062121752

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Guest Author BELLA ANDRE showcase & giveaway ENDED

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WELCOME BACK BELLA ANDRE

BELLA ANDRE

Bella Andre is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, and has sold more than 1.5 million books. Her books have appeared on Top 5 lists at Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble and Kobo. After signing a groundbreaking seven-figure print only deal with Harlequin MIRA, Bella’s Sullivan series will be released in paperback in a major global English language launch in the US, Canada, the UK, and Australia in continuous back-to-back releases from June 2013 through April 2014.

Known for “sensual empowered stories enveloped in heady romance” (Publishers Weekly), her books have been Cosmopolitan Magazine “Red Hot Reads” twice and have been translated into nine languages, and her Sullivan books are already Top 20 sellers in Brazil. Winner of the Award of Excellence, The Washington Post called her “One of the top digital writers in America” and she has been featured by NPR, USA Today, Forbes, The Wall Street Journal, and most recently in TIME magazine. She has given keynote speeches at publishing conferences from Copenhagen to Berlin to San Francisco.

If not behind her computer, you can find her reading her favorite authors, hiking, swimming or laughing. Married with two children, Bella splits her time between the Northern California wine country and a 100-year-old log cabin in the Adirondacks.
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ABOUT THE BOOK

Gabe Sullivan risks his life every day as a firefighter in San Francisco, but he knows better than to risk giving his heart again. Especially not to the woman he saved from a deadly apartment fire…and can’t stop thinking about.

Megan Harris owes everything to the heroic firefighter who saved her and her daughter. Everything except her heart. Because after losing her pilot husband, she has vowed to never suffer through loving –and losing—another man with a dangerous job.

But when Gabe and Megan meet again, how can he possibly ignore her courage, determination and beauty? And how can she deny not only his strong bond with her daughter…but also his sensual kisses, challenging her to jeopardize everything she’s been guarding for so long?

If one –or both – of them aren’t careful, they just might end up falling in love.

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Romance Contemporoary
Publisher: Harlequin
Publication date: 7/30/2013
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN-13: 9780778315582

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