Author: CMash

An avid reader for many years. Married for 31 years with 2 fantastic adult sons who I am so very proud of with great gfs. Am disabled. Found this wonderful community of book blogging in approximately December 2009 and have loved every minute of it. Am now a reviewer for authors, publishers, publicists, etc. And am also a partner in a Virtual PR tour company, Partners In Crime Tours for authors of novels of mystery, suspense and crime (www.Partnersincrimetours.net)

Mailbox Monday

Mailbox Monday

According to Marcia, “Mailbox Monday is the gathering place for readers to share the books that came into their house last week. Warning: Mailbox Monday can lead to envy, toppling TBR piles and humongous wish lists.

Click on title for synopsis via GoodReads.


Tuesday: (01/03/23)
The Senator’s Wife by Liv Constantine~ eBook from Random House-Ballentine via NetGalley
Wednesday: (01/04/23)
Her Father’s Daughter by T.M. Dunn~ eBook from Crooked Lane Books via NetGalley
The Revenge List by Hannah Mary McKinnon~ eBook from Harlequin via NetGalley
Night Angels by Weina Dai Randel ~ eBook via Amazon Prime
Someone Else’s Life by Lyn Liao Butle~ eBook from Amazon Prime
Saturday: (01/07/23)
The Block Party by Jamie Day~ eBook from St. Martin’s Press via NetGalley

2023!!!

Happy New Year!


From our home to yours wishes for a Healthy, Blessed, Happy New Year!!

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I’m Back!!!!…..And I hope to stay!!

Hi everyone!!!


Did you notice I was MIA? It’s been a rough 15 months and have been in and out of the hospital. Besides neck surgery, there were also major medical issues, which caused many hospitalizations. So many that I have lost count!!! I’m not going to bore you with the details.


Besides the medical issues, there was another issue that threw me for a loop and that was reading!!!!! I only read 7 books! this past year! I am mortified to say that number out loud and share that little nugget of info with this great book blogging community. It’s not like I didn’t have books to read, that wasn’t the problem, I just didn’t have the desire.

I need a jump start! If you know me, visit or follow my blog, then you know I’m a challenge addict! And it’s that time of the year! I am hoping that this is the kick in the butt that I need to get back on track. The funny thing is, I have only finished a few challenges in the past years that I had signed up for but I find the challenges to be fun so this year I’m only going to sign up for several that I have enjoyed in the past. My challenge page will be HERE where you can see which ones I plan on participating in. There will also be links if you want to join too!!

Holiday!!!

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From our house to yours, may you have a blessed and happy day, filled with love, peace, laughs, family, friends, and delicious food, especially desserts (wink, wink) 😉

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Mailbox Monday

Mailbox Monday

According to Marcia, “Mailbox Monday is the gathering place for readers to share the books that came into their house last week. Warning: Mailbox Monday can lead to envy, toppling TBR piles and humongous wish lists.

Click on title for synopsis via GoodReads.

Tuesday: (08/02/22)
Bleeding Heart Yard by Elly Griffiths~ eBook from Mariner Books via NetGalley
Wednesday: (08/03/22)
Wrong Place Wrong Time by Gillian McAllister ~ eBook from Harper Collins via NetGalley
The New Neighbor by Karen Cleveland~ eBook from Random House via NetGalley
A Harvest Of Secrets by Roland Merullo ~ eBook from Prime First Reads
Saturday: (08/06/22)
All He Has Left by Chad Zunker ~ eBook from Amazon Pub via NetGalley
Quarter To Midnight by Karen Rose ~ eBook from Berkley Pub via NetGalley

 

#Review | The Secrets We Share by Edwin Hill

The Secrets We Share by Edwin Hill

Genre: Psychological Thriller, Suspense Thriller
My Rating: 4

Publisher: Kensington Books
Publication Date: March 29, 2022
ISBN-10:‎ 1496735412
ISBN-13:
Pages: 304
Review Copy From: Publisher
Edition: HC

Synopsis (via GR)

A mesmerizing, twisty suspense novel perfect for fans of Mary Kubica and Riley Sager from an acclaimed author! Explore the deep bonds—and deadly secrets—between two very different sisters haunted by the crimes of their father murdered nearly twenty years earlier…

At first glance, Natalie Cavanaugh and Glenn Abbott hardly look like sisters. Even off-duty, Natalie dresses like a Boston cop, preferring practical clothes and unfussy, pinned-up hair. Her younger sister, Glenn, seems tailor-made for the spotlight, from her signature red mane to her camera-ready smile. Glenn has spent years cultivating her brand through her baking blog, and with the publication of her new book, that hard work seems about to pay off. But her fans have no idea about the nightmare in Glenn and Natalie’s past.

Twenty years ago, their father’s body was discovered in the woods behind their house. A trauma like that doesn’t fit with Glenn’s public image. Yet, maybe someone reading her blog does know something. There have been anonymous online messages, vague yet ominous, hinting that she’s being watched. And with unsettling coincidences hitting ever closer to home, both Glenn and Natalie soon have more pressing matters to worry about, especially when a dead body is found in an abandoned building . . .

Natalie is starting to wonder how much Glenn really knows about the people closest to her. But are there also secrets Natalie has yet to uncover about those she herself trusts? For two decades, she’s believed their father was murdered by their neighbor, with whom he was having an affair. But if those events are connected to what’s happening now, maybe there’s much more that Natalie doesn’t know. About their father. About their neighbors. About her friends. Maybe even about herself.

But there are no secrets between sisters . . . are there?

My Thoughts

Caveat

I have been in a major reading slump, and I mean MAJOR!! I hadn’t picked up a book since February of this year. It’s not that I didn’t have any books, or the books that I do have were not calling my name, I just didn’t have the desire to read. I’m guessing that the dry patch with my reading was due to months of me having to deal with multiple medical issues.

Then one day I received an email that I subscribe to and this email was definitely “talking” to me. There were a few titles mentioned that would help with reading slumps so I had nothing to lose at that point. I replied, explained my situation, and that The Secrets We Share by Edwin Hill sounded like my kind of book. Did it work? Did it end my reading slump?

Plot

As the synopsis asks, do the 2 Cavanaugh sisters have secrets, that you will need to read this exciting book to find out? But there are many secrets floating around among the characters, which kept this reader turning the pages as quickly as I could. The plot chilling at times and definitely thrilling.

Characters

I could easily picture the characters in my head and feel their emotions. Three-dimensional and relatable.

Setting

The setting took place in Massachusetts, which is the state right next door to me. It was very familiar to me as we have visited often, being only an hour away. While reading the book I felt that I was there. Matter of fact, one day, we had to drive into Boston for a doctor’s appointment and I read all the way there and back. Good thing my husband was driving. I was so engrossed that I had blocked out the loud music that my husband enjoys and that the hour drive flew by.

Negatives

For me, the number of characters being introduced in a short period of time was the only negative.

Before and after I choose a book to read, I will read some reviews of the book, which this time benefitted me. There were many characters, and some of the reviews mentioned this and people found it hard to keep track of them all which made them give up. Having known this from the reviews, I was prepared by making a little flow sheet as to the characters, their relatives, their relationships, etc. so that I could look at it while reading. I suggest future readers definitely do this so that one doesn’t miss out on a terrific read.

For me, the number of characters being introduced in a short period of time was the only negative.

Ending/Conclusion

The ending was definitely shocking. The suspect was on my list as to who it coiuld be, but then, I thought a lot of the characters could be the suspect. What impressed me, was that the “ending/conclusion” was wrapped up with only a few pages left in the story. Not only was it a Wait, What? moment in the end, there were many of those same thoughts several times throughout the book. This reader had to stop and reread what I had just read to make sure I read it correctly and at the same time, picking my jaw up off the floor

Overall opinion

This is the first book I read by this author but I will definitely be putting him on my radar. I enjoyed his writing style, whereas I could picture the story in my mind as if it was a movie.

I highly encourage you to look past other reviews that find the number of characters to be too much and confusing and make notes that I suggested earlier in this review. Don’t let that sway you because you will be missing out on a captivating read that grabs you from the start to the very last word.

An unremitting spine-chilling read!! It definitely ended my major reading slump!!! Thank you Alex!

I received a complimentary copy from Kensington Books in exchange for my honest review.

Purchase Links: Amazon 🔗 | Barnes & Noble 🔗 | Goodreads 🔗

REVIEW DISCLAIMER

  • This blog was founded on the premise to write honest reviews, to the best of my ability, no matter who from, where from and/or how the book was obtained, and will continue to do so, even if it is through PICT or PBP.
  • 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.
  • I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.
  •  

    The Wayward Assassin by Susan Ouellette | #Showcase #Interview #Giveaway

    The Wayward Assassin by Susan Ouellette Banner

    The Wayward Assassin

    by Susan Ouellette

    March 1-31, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

    Synopsis:

    The Wayward Assassin by Susan Ouellette

    Revenge knows no deadline.

    Although told to stand down now that the Chechen rebel who killed her fiancé is dead, CIA analyst Maggie Jenkins believes otherwise and goes rogue to track down the assassin. Soon it becomes clear that failure to find Zara will have repercussions far beyond the personal, as Maggie uncovers plans for a horrific attack on innocent Americans. Zara is the new face of terrorism–someone who doesn’t fit the profile, who can slip undetected from attack to attack, and who’s intent on pursuing a personal vendetta at any cost.

    Chasing Zara from Russia to the war-torn streets of Chechnya, to London, and finally, to the suburbs of Washington, D. C., Maggie risks her life to stop a deadly plot.

    Praise for The Wayward Assassin:

    “Ouellette, herself a former intelligence analyst for the CIA, imbues the exciting action with authenticity. Readers will want to see more of the wily Maggie . . .”
    Publishers Weekly

    “Every once in a decade you read a book like The Wayward Spy, which is thrilling, addictive, and sends you reading more thrillers, but you’ll go back to this stunning book by Susan Ouellette and reread this tour de force.”
    The Strand Magazine, a Top 12 Book of the Year

    Book Details:

    Genre: Thriller
    Published by: CamCat Books
    Publication Date: March 15, 2022
    Number of Pages: 416
    ISBN: 0744304784 (ISBN13: 9780744304787)
    Series: The Wayward Series, Book 2 || Each is a Stand Alone Book
    Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | IndieBound.Org | CamCat Books

    Read an excerpt:

    CHAPTER ONE

    CIA Headquarters, August 16, 2004

    Maggie Jenkins strode across the parking lot to the sidewalk that led her past the “Bubble,” the CIA’s white, dome-shaped auditorium. Just ahead, she paused at the bronze statue of Nathan Hale, the first American to be executed for spying for his country. A half dozen quarters lay scattered at his feet, left there by superstitious CIA employees hoping to garner good luck before deploying overseas. She fished around in her purse for a quarter, which she placed carefully atop Hale’s left shoe.

    In just a few minutes, Maggie would learn whether her six-month deployment to the US embassy in Moscow had been approved. Even though Warner Thompson, the CIA’s deputy director for operations, had advocated on her behalf, there were several others, including an Agency psychiatrist and a team of polygraphers who were not convinced that she should be stationed overseas. She’s not ready yet, the shrink had opined, as if she were a piece of fruit not quite ripe enough for picking.

    “Wish me luck,” she said to the statue as she turned for the entrance ahead. The CIA’s headquarters comprised two main buildings, both seven stories high, which were linked together by bright hallways with large windows overlooking a grassy courtyard. Maggie worked in the original headquarters building (OHB), which had been built some forty years earlier during the height of the Cold War. From the outside, OHB was a concrete monstrosity with no aesthetically redeeming value, at least in Maggie’s opinion. It reminded her of Soviet architecture—heavy on the concrete, light on the beauty.

    And other than the expansive marbled foyer and the posh seventh-floor executive offices, OHB’s interior also was nothing to write home about. Every floor between the first and the seventh looked exactly the same—drab, hushed, windowless hallways lined with vault doors. Behind those heavily fortified doors sat rows of cubicles, a few conference rooms, and cramped offices here and there for mid-level managers.

    Maggie pulled open the heavy glass entry door and ducked into a pristine lobby gleaming with white marble-clad walls. Ahead, the Agency’s bright blue logo covered a massive swath of the gray-and-white checked granite floor. To the right stood the Memorial Wall, which was emblazoned with black stars honoring dozens of Agency officers who’d perished in the line of duty. Maggie stopped and bit down on her lip.

    The wall was an awesome, solemn reminder of lives given in the defense of freedom. Every time she walked past it, the sharp points of the eighty-fourth star—Steve’s star—ripped another gash in her heart. He’d been working under cover, so no outside friends or relatives had been invited to the ceremony. Warner had sat with her, stoic, as she clutched his hand and stared at the parade of speakers, not hearing a word they said.

    She turned her gaze from the wall, slid her badge through the security turnstile, and offered a polite hello to the officer manning the front desk. She bypassed the elevator that she took every day to the fourth floor and made a beeline for the spacious employee cafeteria. In the far corner sat Warner Thompson, nose buried in the Washington Post.

    “Morning,” she offered.

    Warner rattled the paper and folded it lengthwise. “Coffee?” He pushed a Styrofoam cup across the quartz tabletop and smiled at her. His full head of hair had grayed considerably since last year, but it worked on him, enhancing his gray-flecked eyes and tanned complexion.

    “Thanks.” Maggie sat.

    “You ready?”

    “I guess.” She sipped the coffee, still piping hot and perfectly sweetened. Warner knew her well. “What do you think they’ll say?”

    “There’s no reason they should deny you the posting.”

    “The psychiatrist thinks I’m obsessed with Zara.”

    “He has a point.” Warner leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I told you not to bring her up in your evaluation sessions. If she’s still alive, we’ll find her, Maggie. I promise.”

    “There’s no ‘if’ about it.” She waited until a man with a breakfast tray settled at a nearby table, then lowered her voice. “I saw her fleeing the farmhouse in Georgia. Who do they think set fire to the place after I escaped with Peter?”

    Warner winced, obviously uncomfortable with the reminder of Peter, his former case officer, the one who’d been intimately involved in the murder of Steve, another case officer, and his protégé, nine short months ago. That Steve also had been Maggie’s fiancé made saying what he had to say all the more difficult. “The point is, the Agency needs to think that you’ve moved on from what happened in Georgia before they send you to such a sensitive overseas posting.”

    “Moved on? Warner—”

    He raised a hand to stop her. They’d had this discussion dozens of times since the previous November. Maggie had made it perfectly clear that there was no moving on, no closure, as people said these days, until she found Zara. “You know what I mean. You have to toe the party line and say you believe that everyone involved in Steve’s murder is dead. Period.”

    “I still don’t understand why they won’t at least consider the possibility that Zara got away.”

    Warner rubbed his forehead. “Because the Agency wants this to go away. A star operations officer was murdered by a terrorist and the terrorist is dead. It’s a simple, straightforward narrative. They don’t want the press finding out that another Agency employee and a senior US congressman were involved in Steve’s death. Everything is about the war on terror, Maggie. If the media found out that CIA and elected officials were mixed up with terrorists, there would be hell to pay.”

    Maggie quoted the Biblical phrase inscribed on a wall in the CIA’s lobby. “The truth shall make you free.” She snorted. “The truth, unless it’s too embarrassing?”

    Warner exhaled and shifted in his seat. “Both of us are lucky that the FBI investigation didn’t uncover . . . everything.”

    He was right, of course. Last year, Maggie had destroyed classified documents and withheld other evidence from the FBI to protect them both. And Warner had been entangled, albeit unwittingly, with a Russian who had ties to both Zara and the congressman. Had the FBI known any of this, neither of them would be CIA employees today.

    Maggie waved to a coworker who stared from the nearby coffee station. Warner didn’t frequent the employee cafeteria, so his appearance was sure to raise eyebrows. She’d grown accustomed to sidelong glances inside the Agency’s walls. Everyone recognized her. The media had splashed her face all over television and the internet after Congressman Carvelli’s death. There were some who whispered about her using her fiancé’s death to advance her career. Fortunately, they were in the minority. Most who knew about her role in uncovering the terrorist plot considered her a hero, a designation she refused to embrace. Her actions may have saved thousands of lives, but her motivation had been personal—to clear Steve’s name.

    He was no traitor, and she’d proven it.

    Maggie glanced at her watch. “We’d better go.”

    Warner nodded. They grabbed their coffees and headed for the elevator bank. “Remember, you believe Zara died in the fire at the farmhouse,” Warner reminded her on the way up to the fourth floor.

    “That’s what I told the shrink last session, but then he talked to the polygraph people.” Since leaving the House Intelligence Committee to return to the CIA earlier this year, she’d endured three marathon polygraph sessions. Every time, the stupid machine registered deception in her response to questions about whether she intended to violate government policies for her own benefit. “Now he thinks I’m up to something.”

    Warner shrugged. “Aren’t you?”

    Maggie laughed despite herself. “Always.”

    ***

    Excerpt from The Wayward Assassin by Susan Ouellette. Copyright 2022 by Susan Ouellette. Reproduced with permission from CamCat Books. All rights reserved.

     

     

    Author Bio:

    Susan Ouellette

    Susan Ouellette is the author of The Wayward Spy, a thriller that Publishers Weekly calls a “gripping debut and series launch.” She was born and raised in the suburbs of Boston, where she studied international relations and Russian as both an undergraduate and graduate student. As the Soviet Union teetered on the edge of collapse, she worked as a CIA intelligence analyst. Subsequently, Susan worked on Capitol Hill as a professional staff member for the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence (HPSCI). Since her stint on Capitol Hill, she has worked for several federal consulting firms. Susan lives on a farm outside of Washington, D.C. with her family.

    Q&A with Susan Ouellette

    What was the inspiration for this book?

    There were two inspirations for THE WAYWARD ASSASSIN. First, is my career in the intelligence world. After working as a CIA analyst in college and graduate school, I took a job on Capitol Hill working for the House Intelligence Committee. It was there, tucked away in a secure room in the attic of the U.S. Capitol Building, where I came up with my series’ protagonist, Maggie Jenkins, an intelligence analyst who uncovered threats to the United States and corruption at the highest levels of power. The second inspiration came from real world events. I hesitate to use the word “inspiration” for the real world event that anchored this story, so let’s just call it a “marker” in my life. In 2004, Chechen separatists in Russia killed hundreds of people in an attack on a school in Beslan, Russia. As a mother of school-aged children, this event captured my attention like no event since the September 11th attacks. I started writing fictionalized scenes about this school siege in an attempt to try to make sense of such a senseless loss of life.These scenes ended up in critical scenes in THE WAYWARD ASSASSIN.

    What has been the biggest challenge in your writing career?

    The biggest challenge in my writing career has been persevering through rejection. I wrote the first book in this series (THE WAYWARD SPY) in 2001 and wrote THE WAYWARD ASSASSIN in 2007. I secured agents for both books but didn’t land a book deal for either. For years, I put the manuscripts in a drawer. But even though I “gave up” on becoming an author, I never truly gave up. I’d revise the manuscripts, query new agents, and submit the manuscripts to contests. Eventually, I found an outstanding freelance editor who helped to untangle my overly complicated plots. Soon after, I signed with an agent and a publisher.

    What do you absolutely need while writing?

    I need my laptop (of course) and uninterrupted silence. Oh, and water or coffee and access to a bathroom.

    Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?

    I jot down ideas when they come to me, but I get the real work done when adhering to a strict routine. Otherwise, I find every reason in the world not to write–laundry, talking to the cat, organizing the pantry….

    Who is your favorite character from your book and why?

    Maggie, my protagonist, is my favorite character. She’s an every-woman, the girl next door who has to use her wits to get out of situations she never wanted in the first place.

    Tell us why we should read your book.

    If you like page-turning, realistic thrillers, you should read THE WAYWARD ASSASSIN. I’d like to apologize in advance for keeping you awake past your bedtime!

    Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book?

    I changed the ending of THE WAYWARD ASSASSIN more times than I can count. Most of the changes involved who lives and who dies.

    Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

    At the risk of sounding like a motivational speaker, I’ll say this: If you have a dream, don’t give up. Keep plugging away. It took me twenty years from Chapter One to publication. You’ll never know what’s possible if you give up.

    Tell us a little about yourself and your background?

    As a teenager, I was fascinated by the CIA but had no idea how to go about getting a job there. When I was in college, I went to a job fair where I met a CIA recruiter. It took almost a year from applying to walking into CIA headquarters. I loved my time at the Agency. But I also love writing. I’m so grateful that I was able to combine those two passions and entertain people in the process.

    What’s next that we can look forward to?

    The third book in the Maggie Jenkins series, THE WAYWARD TARGET, will be out in the spring of 2023.

    Catch Up With Susan Ouellette:
    www.SusanOuellette.com
    Goodreads
    BookBub – @susanobooks1
    Instagram – @susanobooks
    Twitter – @smobooks
    Facebook – @SusanOuelletteAuthor

     

     

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

     

     

    ENTER TO WIN:

    This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Susan Ouellette and CamCat Books. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

     

     

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    Trust Me by Kelly Irvin | #Showcase #GuestPost

    Trust Me

    by Kelly Irvin

    February 7 – March 4, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

    Synopsis:

    Trust Me by Kelly Irvin

    When her best friend is murdered the same way her brother was, who can she possibly trust?

    A decade ago, Delaney Broward discovered her brother’s murdered body at the San Antonio art co-op he founded with friends. Her artist boyfriend, Hunter Nash, went to prison for the murder, despite his not-guilty plea.

    This morning, Hunter walks out of prison a free man, having served his sentence.

    This afternoon, Delaney finds her best friend dead, murdered in the same fashion as her brother.

    Stay out of it or you’re next, the killer warns.

    Hunter never stopped loving Delaney, though he can’t blame her for not forgiving her. He knows he’ll get his life back one day at a time, one step at a time. But he’s blindsided to realize he’s a murder suspect. Again.

    When Hunter shows up on her doorstep asking her to help him find the real killer, Delaney’s head says to run away, yet her heart tells her there’s more to his story than what came out in the trial. An uneasy truce leads to their probe into a dark past that shatters Delaney’s image of her brother. She can’t stop and neither can Hunter—which lands them both in the crosshairs of a murderer growing more desperate by the hour.

    In this gripping romantic suspense, Kelly Irvin plumbs the complexity of broken trust in the people we love—and in God—and whether either can be mended.

    Book Details:

    Genre: Mystery, Suspense
    Published by: Thomas Nelson
    Publication Date: February 8th 2022
    Number of Pages: 384
    ISBN: 0785231935 (ISBN13: 9780785231936)
    Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Christianbook.com | Goodreads

    Read an excerpt:

    CHAPTER 1

    APRIL 22, 2010
    SAN ANTONIO ART CO-OP
    SOUTHTOWN, SAN ANTONIO

    The cloying stench of pot told the same old story.

    With an irritated sigh Delaney Broward quickened her pace through the warehouse-turned-art-co-op toward her brother’s studio at the far end of the cavernous hall. On his best days Corey had little sense of time. Add a joint to the mix and he lost his sense not only of time but of responsibility. It also explained why he didn’t answer his phone. When he got high and started painting, he wanted no interruptions. His lime-green VW van was parked cattywampus across two spaces in the lot that faced Alamo Street just south of downtown San Antonio. He might be physically present, but his THC-soaked mind had escaped its cell.

    Marijuana served as his muse and taskmaster. Or so he’d said.

    The soles of her huarache sandals clacking on the concrete floor sounded loud in Delaney’s ears. “Corey? Corey! You were supposed to pick us up at Ellie’s. Come on, dude. She’s waiting.”

    No answer.

    At this rate Delaney would never get to Night in Old San Antonio, affectionately known to most local folks as NIOSA. Everyone who was anyone knew it was pronounced NI-O-SA, long I and long O, the best party-slash-fundraiser during the mother of all parties where her boyfriend would be waiting for her. “Hey, bro, I’m starving. Let’s go.”

    Delaney’s phone rang. She slowed and dug it from the pocket of her stonewashed jeans. Speaking of Ellie. “I’m at the co-op now. He’s here.”

    Share as little info as possible.

    “He’s stoned again, isn’t he? I’m sick of this.” Ellie’s shrill voice rose even higher. “I swear if he stands me up again— ”

    Us. Stands us up.”

    “Stood us up again. That will be it. I’m done. I’m done waiting around for him. I’m done playing second fiddle to his self-destructive habits. I’m done with his starving-artist, free-spirit, pothead schtick. The man is a walking stereotype. I’m done with him, period.”

    Delaney mouthed the words along with her friend. She knew the lyrics of this lovesick song by heart. The childish rejoinder “It takes one to know one” stuck in her throat. “We’ll be there in twenty. You can tell him yourself.”

    Ellie would and then Corey would kiss her until she took it all back. With a final huff Ellie hung up.

    The door to his studio— the largest and with the best light because the co-op was Corey’s dream child— stood open. “Seriously, Corey. Think of someone besides yourself once in a while, please.” Delaney strode through the door, ready to ream her brother up one side and down the other. “You are so selfish.”

    Delaney halted. At first blush it didn’t make sense. Twisted and smashed canvases littered the floor. Along with paints, brushes, beer bottles, and Thai food take-out cartons.

    Wooden easels were broken like toothpicks and scattered on top of the canvases. Someone had splattered red paint over another finished piece— a woman eating a raspa in front of a vendor’s mobile cart, the Alamo in the background.

    Delaney’s hands went to her throat. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the odor of human waste gagged her. A fiery shiver started at her toes and raced like a lit fuse to her brain. Her mind took in detail after detail. That way she didn’t have to face the bigger picture staring her in the face. “Please, God, no.”

    Even He couldn’t fix this.

    She shot forward, stumbled, and fell to her knees. Her legs refused to work. She crawled the remainder of the distance to Corey across a floor marred by still-wet oil paint, beer, and other liquids she couldn’t bear to identify.

    He sat with his back against the wall. His long legs clad in paint-splattered jeans sprawled in front of him. His feet were bare. His hands with those thin, expressive fingers lay in his lap. Deep lacerations scored his palms and fingers.

    Her throat aching with the effort not to vomit, Delaney forced her gaze to move upward. His T-shirt, once white, now shone scarlet with blood. His blood. Rips in the shirt left his chest exposed, revealing stab wounds— too many to count.

    Delaney opened her mouth. Scream. Just scream. Let it out.

    No sound emerged.

    She crawled alongside her big brother until she could lean her shoulder and head against the wall. “Corey?” she whispered.

    His green eyes, fringed by thick, dark lashes that were the envy of every woman he’d ever dated, were open and startled. His skin, always pale and ethereal, had a blue tinge to it.

    Delaney drowned in a tsunami of nausea. “Come on, Corey, this isn’t funny. I need you.”

    Her teeth chattered. Hands shaking, she touched his throat. His skin was cold. So cold.

    Too late, too late, too late. The words screamed in her head. Stop it. Just stop it. “You can’t be dead. You’re not allowed to die.”

    Mom and Dad had died in a car wreck a week past her eighth birthday. Nana and Pops had taken their turns the year Delaney turned eighteen. Everybody she cared about died.

    Not Corey. Delaney punched in 9–1–1.

    The operator’s assurance that help was on the way did nothing to soothe Delaney. She sat cross-legged and dragged Corey’s shoulders and head into her lap. She had to warm him up. “Tell them to hurry. Tell them my brother needs help.”

    “Yes, ma’am. They’re en route.”

    “Tell them he’s all I’ve got.”

    CHAPTER 2

    TEN YEARS LATER
    NASH RESIDENCE, SAN ANTONIO

    Real men didn’t cry. Not even during a reunion with a beloved truck.

    Swallowing hard, Hunter Nash wrapped his fingers around the keys, concentrating on the feel of the metal pressing into his skin. He cleared his throat. “Thanks, Mom. For keeping it all these years.”

    His mom didn’t bother to try to hide her tears. She wiped her plump cheeks on a faded dish towel, offered him a tremulous smile, and bustled down the sidewalk that led from the house on San Antonio’s near west side where Hunter had grown up to the detached two-car garage in the back. It had housed his truck for the past eight years. Almost ten if he counted the two years it took for his case to go to trial. He had no place to go in those years when he’d allegedly been innocent until proven guilty. His friends no longer friends and his job gone, he had no need for transportation.

    The door to the garage was padlocked. Mom handed him the key. “My hands are shaking. You’d better do the honors.” She stepped back. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

    “I did my time, Ma.” As a model prisoner he’d earned time off for good behavior. It was easy for a guy to behave when he spent his days and nights scared spitless.

    “I know. All those nights I’ve lain in bed worrying about you in that place, whether you were safe, if you were hurt, if you were sick.” Her voice broke. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

    “Me neither.”

    It wasn’t over. In fact, it was just beginning, but she didn’t need to know that. His determination to prove his innocence would only worry her more. A divorced mother of four, she’d raised her kids on a teacher’s salary and an occasional child support check from the crud-for-brains ex-husband who showed up once every couple of years in an attempt to make nice with his kids. She deserved a break.

    The aging manual garage door squeaked and protested when Hunter yanked on the handle. He needed to do some work around here, starting with applying some WD-40. The smell of mold and old motor oil wafted from the dark interior. Hunter slipped inside and waited for his eyes to adjust. A layer of dust covered the 2002 midnight-blue Dodge RAM 1500, but otherwise it remained in the pristine condition in which he’d left it the night he said goodbye and promised he’d be back. “My baby.”

    More tears trickling down her face, Mom chuckled softly. “After you finish reintroducing yourself, come back inside. I’m making your favorite chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, pineapple coleslaw, and creamed corn. Your brother and sisters are coming over after work. Shawna’s bringing a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. Melissa’s contribution is three kinds of ice cream, including rocky road. She said it seemed appropriate. I hope you haven’t lost your sense of humor. And you know Curtis. He’s all about the beer.”

    The last thing Hunter wanted to do was celebrate with his sibs. Mel and Shawna had visited faithfully at first, but less as the years rolled by. Curtis never showed, even though Fabian Dominguez State Jail was only a few miles down the road from San Antonio.

    Nor did Hunter want to explain why he’d sworn off alcohol. The conditions of his parole included monthly pee tests— no alcohol or drugs, but that part of his life was over anyway. It had been easy to comply in prison, obviously. Whether he could maintain his sobriety in the beer drinking capital of the country remained to be seen. He’d do AA if necessary. “Mom— ”

    “No buts. They’re family. They love you. You need to live life, enjoy life, make up for all you’ve missed. You haven’t even met most of your nieces and nephews. Did you know Mel is expecting another baby in August?”

    “Yes, I— ”

    “Today we celebrate your new job and your new life.”

    His bachelor of fine arts with an emphasis in drawing and painting from Southwest School of Art might once have allowed him to teach art in one of the school districts, but not anymore.

    It didn’t matter. The prison chaplain had hooked him up with Pastor James. The preacher ran a faith-based community center that served at-risk youth. He’d hired Hunter to teach art to those who’d already had their first brush with the law. He figured Hunter could teach life lessons at the same time he introduced them to art as a way to channel their anger at the hand life had dealt them. Learning what happened when a guy got off track would be the lesson.

    Even though Hunter hadn’t gotten off the track. He’d been shoved off it. By an eager-beaver, newbie detective; a green-as-a-Granny-Smith-apple public defender; and an assembly-line justice system.

    He would get by in this world that had hung him out to dry. Especially knowing Mom had his back. She had that don’t-mess-with-me teacher look in her burnt-amber eyes. Like her sixth graders, Hunter knew better than to argue. It felt good to know she remained in his corner. When everyone else had hit the ground, scattering in opposite directions, she never budged in her belief that son number two could not be a murderer. She’d brought him up better than that.

    “You’re right. Give me a few minutes.”

    She patted his chest and stretched on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. Her lips were chapped, and the wrinkles had deepened around her mouth and eyes. Her long hair had gone pure white during his years away. “Take your time, sweetheart.”

    Hunter gritted his teeth. After years of looking over his shoulder, bobbing and weaving around hard-core convicts who’d as soon shank a guy in the shower as look at him, he didn’t know how to cope with nice. With sweet. With love tempered with wisdom and a hard life.

    “One day at a time.” That’s what the prison chaplain had told him. “Get through the next minute, the next hour, the next day.” That’s how he did eight years at Dominguez. This couldn’t be any harder. He opened the truck’s door and slid into the driver’s seat. The faint odor of pine air freshener greeted him. And citrus.

    More likely that was his imagination. Delaney’s perfume simply could not linger that long. Move on. She has. She did. To her credit Delaney held on as long as she could— until the guilty verdict. Then she was forced to move on. She couldn’t be blamed for that.

    Hunter picked up the sketch pad on the passenger seat. In those days he kept one everywhere. Just in case. The first page. The second. The third. All drawings of Delaney. Sweet Laney eating a slice of watermelon at a Fourth of July celebration. Laney rocking Hunter’s newborn nephew in a hickory rocker on the front porch. Laney in a bathing suit sitting on the dock at Medina Lake. Laney with her soulful eyes, long sandy-brown hair, and air of sad vulnerability worn like a pair of old jeans that fit perfectly. That too-big nose, wide mouth, and pointed chin. Corey might have been the angelic beauty— totally unfair— but Delaney’s face had character. She had a face Hunter never ceased to want to draw and paint.

    And kiss.

    He turned the pages slowly, allowing the memories to have their way with him. Meeting at a party Corey had thrown when Delaney was a senior in high school. Their first date, ribs and smoked chicken with heart-stopping creamed corn, potato salad, coleslaw, and jalapeños at Rudy’s Country Store and Bar-B-Q followed by dancing at Leon Springs Dance Hall.

    She had danced with the abandon of a small child. As if she didn’t care who watched. Her face glowed with perspiration. Her green eyes sparkled with happiness. His two left feet couldn’t keep up, but she didn’t mind. She twirled her peasant skirt as she flew around him, her hands in the air, her curves beckoning.

    Hunter closed his eyes. Her softness enveloped him. Her sweetness surrounded him.

    He needed to see her again. He needed to talk to her. Somehow he had to prove to her that she was wrong about him. Whatever it took. He laid the sketchbook aside. “Come on, dude, let’s take a ride.”

    He stuck the key in the ignition and turned it.

    Nothing. Not even a tick-tick-tick. He tried a second time. Nada. “I’m an idiot.” He patted the steering wheel. “Not your fault, man.”

    The truck hadn’t been driven in years. The battery was dead. He might be able to jump it, but more likely he’d need a new one. Batteries cost money.

    One thing at a time. He’d waited this long.

    Hunter slid from the truck and eased the door closed. “I’ll be back when I get my act together.”

    In the kitchen Hunter found his mom peeling potatoes. She pointed the peeler at him. “You can’t imagine how good it feels to have you home.”

    “You can’t imagine how good it feels to be here.” He landed a kiss on her soft hair. She smelled of Pond’s cold cream. The same old comforting scent. Life had changed but not her. “I’m gonna take a walk. I need to blow the prison stink off.”

    “Enjoy. They redid the walking trail at the lake and installed new outdoor fitness equipment.” She waved the paring knife in the air. “But don’t stay too long. You have company coming.”

    “Yes, ma’am.” He pantomimed a mock salute and headed for the front door.

    One thing at a time. One step at a time. That’s how he’d get his life back.

    ***

    Excerpt from Trust Me by Kelly Irvin. Copyright 2022 by Kelly Irvin. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved.

     

     

    Author Bio:

    Kelly Irvin

    Kelly Irvin is a bestselling, award-winning author of over twenty novels and stories. A retired public relations professional, Kelly lives with her husband, Tim, in San Antonio. They have two children, three grandchildren, and two ornery cats.

    Guest Post

    To Trust Or Not To Trust by Kelly Irvin

    Think about a time when you’ve trusted someone close to you. A boyfriend, girlfriend, sister, brother, parent. Then that person let you down—big time. How hard is it to trust him or her again? Remember that old saying: fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me? That’s the situation Delaney Broward finds herself facing in Trust Me. Ten years earlier she found her brother murdered in his art studio. Her boyfriend Hunter Nash—the love of her life—was convicted of his best friend’s murder. Delaney lost her only remaining family member and the man she loves.

    Delaney spends the next ten years fundamentally changing who she is so she never has to feel that pain of betrayal again. She leaves her chosen profession and opens a frame shop in San Antonio’s historic art district La Villita. She lives alone. She doesn’t even have a pet—after all they die and leave you, just like the people you love. She’s learned to box and the art of self-defense. Her only real relationships are with a few good friends from that era when her life orbited around the sun that was her brother, an extraordinarily talented artist who lived life like every day was his last—until it was. She doesn’t even trust God anymore. How could He allow this to happen to her? She’d already lost both parents in a car accident as a child. And then her grandparents, who raised her, died of old age when she was in high school. She has no one.

    Then another murder occurs, exactly like the one that turned her life upside down ten years earlier. She turns to her closest friends for comfort and help in discovering why this has happened again. How can she know who to trust? So, when Hunter shows up and insists he’s innocent of both murders, he’s asking her to trust him again. Would you? Do we give those we love second chances? Or do we protect ourselves from greater hurt.

    Exploring these themes while delivering a suspenseful whodunit is a challenge, but that’s one of the reasons I enjoy writing romantic suspense. Readers get the murder mystery, the romance, and a thought-provoking dilemma that I hope will remain with them after they finish the last page. After all, who can you really trust?

    Visit her online at:
    www.KellyIrvin.com
    Goodreads
    BookBub – @KellyIrvin
    Instagram – @kelly_irvin
    Twitter – @Kelly_TrustMe
    Facebook – @Kelly.Irvin.Author

     

     

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