Category: Book Blast/Blitz

MERRY-GO-ROUND BROKE DOWN by David Woo & Margalit Shinar #AuthorInterview

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MERRY-GO-ROUND BROKE DOWN

by David Woo & Margalit Shinar

July 20 – August 14, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down by David Woo & Margalit Shinar

A novel of nine linked parables about globalization, ambition, hope, love, and greed spanning two decades and eight countries.

Fall 2008. The Waldorf Astoria New York. Two armed men storm the hotel’s famed bar and hold the occupants hostage: an American corporate raider, a Chinese tycoon, a British hedge fund manager, a Japanese housewife-turned-celebrity, a Mexican undocumented worker, a Wall Street bond salesman, and a Norwegian environmentalist.

Who are these terrorists? What do they want? And what ties them to their captives?

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down is a genre-breaking novel that explores globalization’s “butterfly effect”: how choices made in one corner of the world ignited an unstoppable chain of consequences that upended lives across continents.

Praise for Merry-Go-Round Broke Down:

“What a fantastic tapestry of wordsmithing and storytelling! It left me with a much better understanding of how the world was woven so tightly by globalization, all through the dramatic stories of fascinating cultures and characters that are relevant to this day.”
~ Paul Tudor Jones, Chief Investment Officer of Tudor Investment Corporation

“You might think that it would be impossible to write a novel that helps the reader put her arms around the complex issues raised by globalization. Yet, David Woo and Margalit Shinar have done precisely this. The result is most engaging and insightful. It is also one that even globalization experts such as myself can profit from.”
~ Jagdish Bhagwati, University Professor of economics and law at Columbia University, author of In Defense of Globalization

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down depicts the key socio-economic developments of the last quarter-century. It brings to life the people who put them into effect, as well as those who were affected by them. Few were untouched.”
~ Howard Marks, the co-founder and co-CEO of Oaktree Capital and international best-selling author of The Most Important Thing

“A timely portrait of a world bound together by the pursuit of profit.”
~ Kirkus Reviews

“An ambitious thriller with rich characterizations and a heart-pounding pace, Merry-Go-Round Broke Down also offers a stark, on-the-ground vision of globalization’s devastation.”
~ Booklife by Publishers Weekly

“David Woo and Margalit Shinar have perfectly illustrated how even a tenuous connection between individuals can have a profound, far-reaching effect across the world that could never have been predicted.”
~ Reader’s Favorite

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down is a contemporary fiction novel with the propulsion of a financial thriller. It’s fiction, but it wants to explain the world while it entertains you… If you want a story that makes you look up from the page and think, “Wait, is this how it really works?,” then it delivers.”
~ Literary Titan

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Financial Thriller
Published by: Regalo Press
Publication Date: March 31, 2026
Number of Pages: 288
ISBN: 9798895655801
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Simon & Schuster

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 4

TOMOKO WATANABE
Tokyo, Japan, January–July 2005

“Low interest rates punish savers.” —Bill Gross

THE HOUSE IN KASHIWA, CHIBA Prefecture, southeast of Tokyo, was a two-storied box with aluminum windows and clad in white mosaics. It had a grey-tiled roof and a tiny front garden. The wind was howling outside as Tomoko struggled to get up from her bed. It was six o’clock in the morning and still dark, and everybody in the house was asleep. She was loath to abandon the warmth of the heavy duvet, but today was her husband Akihiro Watanabe’s birthday, and she wanted to surprise him with a special breakfast.

Tomoko shivered as her feet, encased in thick white socks, trod silently on the tatami mat covering the floor. It was cold, even for January, and this was one time she wished there was heating in the bedroom upstairs. She put on her slippers, pulled on a heavy cardigan over her fleece pajamas, and went down to the kitchen.

The kitchen, Tomoko’s kingdom, was small, but she ran it like a tight ship, every utensil and small appliance kept in its assigned place.

She began to prepare her husband’s favorite menu: clam miso soup and omelet rolls. There was smoked fish left over from the previous night, as well as cooked rice.

After turning on the small heater and quickly swallowing a cup of hot tea, she put on her old blue-checked apron and set to work.

Poor Aki, she was thinking, as she removed from the fridge the asari clams she had bought the previous afternoon; he really deserved some cheering up. Only eight months ago he had lost his lifelong employment, the first serious crisis in their marriage of twenty-two years. The electronics company he had given his all to for over thirty years had gone bankrupt after its main customer decided to outsource to China.

She rinsed the clams in cold water, rubbed them clean with a dishcloth, and set them aside to soak in salt water. She then filled a pot with water from the sink and blanched a leaf of kelp. When it had softened, she removed it with chopsticks and then put it back in the pot to boil for a minute or two before taking it out again.

Though Aki had found a new job quickly enough, Tomoko was worried. It not only paid a third less than his previous salary, it was a temporary job, with a contract that had to be renewed every six months. While Tomoko was, by nature, someone who took life’s setbacks with a pragmatic optimism, she felt helpless in the face of the loss of their financial security. As she added dried bonito flakes to the boiling water, she shook her head and pursed her lips at the injustice of it.

When the fish was cooked, she passed the broth through a fine sieve lined with a cloth. Discarding the scum, she sieved it again. And again. Inspecting the liquid for any telltale specks, she repeated the process until she was satisfied the broth was perfectly clear. She now reached out for the clams, soaking in their bath of brine.

Usually, Tomoko loved the ritual fuss of birthdays, especially her husband’s—the shopping for presents, the paper decorations and cards, the candles on the cake—but this year there wasn’t much cause for celebration.

She rinsed the clams and tipped them into the broth. Bringing the liquid to a boil, she skimmed it patiently. Once the clams had opened, she mixed in the miso paste, squeezing it through a small sieve with a spoon. The soup was ready.

Now for the omelets. What was more worrying, she thought, breaking eggs into a bowl with a deft flick of her wrist, was that his pension was gone. And the new job offered no pension at all. The bleakness of their future agitated her as she whisked the eggs with more vigor than necessary and poured them into the frying pan.

The omelets were done. When they had cooled a bit, she rolled them up into narrow, finger-shaped wraps and put them aside. Then she arranged the fillets of cold smoked fish in the middle of a long rectangular plate, which she decorated in one corner with a dollop of daikon radish infused with ponzu sauce. Finally, she heated up the rice and took out some nattō, fermented soybeans, everyone’s favorite.

She looked out the window above the sink. The heavy night darkness was lifting, and she could make out the falling snowflakes and the leafless branches of the cherry tree in their garden bending in the wind. A cold grey light was beginning to infiltrate the kitchen. She switched off the overhead lamp, figuring she could do without it now.

A brown Formica-top table with six chairs stood in a nook just off the kitchen. Poor Aki, she repeated to herself as she began to set it. At the age of fifty-three, there was little chance of his finding steady employment again. Although they never talked about it, she knew that, ashamed and frustrated, her husband was unraveling. His drinking binges had become more frequent, and he had taken to coming home at all hours. He was also becoming moody and short-tempered.

Only last week he had flown off the handle when she told him she was thinking about looking for a part-time job. He wouldn’t hear of it, he had responded angrily. Their son was still at school and needed her. Besides, what would their neighbors think? It was out of the question.

Though Tomoko knew his objections had more to do with his pride, she didn’t bring up the subject again. She vowed to herself she would find another way to help. But how?

Tomoko put down a small flower arrangement, teacups, bowls, and chopstick supports on the table. She had to find a way to help Aki. Whereas she could still take comfort in little things, he had just lost his entire world. She took a moment to align the chopsticks just so. Taking a step back from the table, she viewed the result with satisfaction.

Tomoko glanced at the kitchen clock squeezed between the toaster oven and a shelf. It was seven-thirty and all was ready. Plenty of time left for a leisurely meal before Aki left for the office and their son, Nishio, left for school. What a pity her daughter, Keiko, wasn’t there.

Tomoko brushed that regret away, together with a lock of her permed black hair that had strayed onto her forehead, and stood meekly at the entrance of the kitchen, waiting. She could hear her family coming down the narrow wooden stairs.

She bowed to her husband and her mother-in-law as they appeared, her face faintly flushed from her efforts, her shoulders hunched forward ever so slightly. “Ohayō gozaimasu,” she said, with the politest of greetings.

But Aki only grunted a barely discernible thank-you as he viewed the mini-feast she had prepared and sat down, noisily pushing back his chair.

Then he buried his face in the morning newspaper that Tomoko had laid, neatly folded, to the right of his chopsticks.

He was followed by Nishio. At fifteen, he was a tall and gawky youth, with a few wisps of dark downy hair on his upper lip and chin. He advanced towards the table and sat down in silence. He sat there sullenly, looking down under lowered eyelids, not once making eye contact with his mother. He consumed his soup in a few rapid gulps and hurriedly shoved some rice into his mouth. Then with a curt, barely mumbled good-bye, he got up and was gone.

“Don’t forget your bento box,” Tomoko’s voice rang out after him, “you must eat lunch!”

The third person at the table was Mishimo, Tomoko’s mother-in-law. It was she who owned the house, and after the death of Akihiro’s father some ten years before had given over most of the space to her son’s family, keeping only one room for herself. It was a situation not without friction. She had never liked Tomoko and was of the opinion that her handsome son could have found a better match than the daughter of a taxi driver. Or, at the very least, a prettier one. Though their exchanges were invariably on the right side of civil, Mishimo inevitably found fault with everything Tomoko did. But this morning was different. She spooned down the soup slowly, savoring every sip. “Excellent, Tomoko,” she remarked loudly. “Well done.” A compliment! Tomoko was touched to the bottom of her heart.

She then turned to her husband.

Anata,” he said, using a Japanese term of endearment. “I hope you’ll be home on time for dinner. I bought a cake for tonight. And there will be eel as a main course.”

Aki didn’t shift his eyes from the newspaper. “No. I’m eating out.

Client dinner. Don’t wait up for me. I’ll be back late.”

If Tomoko was disappointed, she showed no sign of it.

“Akihiro-san. I also bought you a small gift,” she announced timidly. She had bought it out of her personal savings and had hoped to give it to him at the evening meal. She would have to give it to him now instead.

She went to the living room where she had hidden it. Coming back, she bowed respectfully and held out the package in her two open palms like an offering, saying “Happy birthday” in English.

Aki finally deigned to lower the newspaper and stared at the box wrapped in delicately folded bright blue paper, tied with a slender red-and-gold string. He reached out to take it. But instead of opening it, he put it in the pocket of his suit jacket.

“Have to rush now,” he said dismissively.

“It’s the lighter you always wanted,” said Tomoko. But Aki responded with a dead gaze of bitterness at the wall behind her. Suddenly, he jumped up from his chair with such violence that it crashed to the floor.

Baka! You stupid woman! Kono ama, you bitch!” He exploded in an inexplicable fit of rage.

Tomoko shrank back.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to waste money?” he yelled. “Don’t you see the situation we’re in?”

Without warning, he grabbed the cast-iron teapot from the table. He seemed ready to hurl it straight at her. Tomoko raised her arm to defend herself. He had hit her before, and she thought she knew what to expect.

At the last moment, however, perhaps in response to a whispered word from Mishimo that never reached Tomoko’s ears, he changed the direction of his aim and the heavy pot went flying toward the kitchen. Spurting tea, it smashed loudly into one of the kitchen cabinets.

In the silence that followed, Tomoko couldn’t move. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. But she didn’t say a word. Out of the corner of her eye, she was just in time to catch the expression of icy disapproval on Mishimo’s face.

***

Excerpt from MERRY-GO-ROUND BROKE DOWN by David Woo & Margalit Shinar. Copyright 2026 by David Woo & Margalit Shinar. Reproduced with permission from David Woo & Margalit Shinar. All rights reserved.

 

 

David Woo & Margalit Shinar

David Woo:

David Woo is a renowned global macro strategist, widely recognized for his bold and prescient calls on some of the biggest economic, political, and geopolitical stories over the past quarter century. Bloomberg called him “one of the most outspoken voices on Wall Street,” while Business Insider named him among “the twelve smartest people on Wall Street.” His views have shaped debates across markets, policy circles, and the global media. David began his career at the International Monetary Fund before going on to hold senior positions at Bank of America, Barclays Capital, and Citigroup. He earned a PhD in economics from Columbia University and a bachelor of arts in mathematics from Tufts University. A true product of globalization, David was born in Pittsburgh, raised in Taiwan, and educated in the United States. His career has taken him from Washington DC to London and New York. He is fluent in English, Chinese, and French.

Catch Up With David Woo:

www.davidwoounbound.com
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Margalit Shinar:

Margalit Shinar is an architect. Margalit was born in New York, the daughter of French émigrés. She has a master’s degree in art history from Tufts University and a bachelor of arts in architecture from the Technion, Israel Institute of Technology. She has edited a history book on ancient Israel. She is fluent in English, French, Hebrew, and Italian.

Catch Up With Margalit Shinar:

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Q&A with DAVID WOO & MARGALIT SHINAR

Can you tell us a little about yourself and your background?
David: I am an economist by training. I spent most of my career on Wall Street, where I became known for my out-of-consensus calls on some of the biggest stories over the past 20 years. For what it’s worth, Bloomberg calls me as “one of the most outspoken voices on Wall Street.” Born in Pittsburgh, raised in Taiwan, and now living in Israel, I am a product of globalization, and that experience shapes the way I see the world. I’ve always been drawn to big, ambitious novels about sweeping societal change. It was only after 25 years of researching international finance and economics that I understood the world well enough to embark on my first novel. Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa didn’t start working on The Leopard until he was fifty-eight. Some novels only arrive after you’ve lived them. That’s how I feel about Merry-Go-Round Broke Down. Margalit: I am an architect by training and a mother of two daughters. Instead of pursuing a career in architecture however, I pursued further study and graduated with an MA in Art History from Tufts University. That is where I met my second husband. I was born in New York to European émigré parents, both intellectuals. What I learned around the dinner table about Western culture was the equivalent of another university degree! French was the language spoken in my home. David and I have been married for 20 years and we live in the foothills of Jerusalem with our 2 standard poodles. I speak fluent English, Hebrew and French, and some Italian

What was the inspiration for this book?
David: Globalization has become one of the most divisive ideas of our time. In many circles, it has become a political scapegoat for rising inequality, economic insecurity, and the resurgence of protectionism. Yet behind these debates are the lives of millions of people whose stories are rarely told.
Merry-Go-Round Broke Down grew out of a desire to tell the story of globalization in a way that anyone could understand and, more importantly, relate to. We chose to write a novel because globalization is ultimately a web of human stories about ambition, hope, greed, luck, and fear. We wanted to show how individual lives, separated by continents and cultures, become bound by forces far beyond their control.
In The Plague, Camus examines how people respond when the world around them begins to break down. We wanted to ask a similar question in the context of globalization: how it shapes our lives, draws us together across borders, and, at times, pulls us apart. Ultimately, the novel is about how ordinary people, each pursuing a better life, unknowingly set in motion a chain reaction that transforms one another’s lives—and, ultimately, the world they share.

How did you come up with the title?
Merry-Go-Round Broke Down was the theme song of the Looney Tunes cartoon series. Written in 1937, during the Great Depression, it evokes a world that has spun out of control—a feeling that resonates strongly today.
When our daughter, Adi, suggested it as the title of our novel, we immediately knew it was the perfect fit. The phrase “Merry-Go-Round” also echoes the 1950 French film La Ronde, based on Arthur Schnitzler’s play, whose circular narrative structure inspired the architecture of our book.
Above all, the title reflects our deepest concern: the world we are leaving to our children and grandchildren. Through this novel, we wanted to explore how the forces that shaped globalization also created many of the challenges they will inherit. To navigate the future, they first need to understand how the world became what it is today.

Can you give us a glimpse into the research that went into writing this story?
There is a reason Merry-Go-Round Broke Down took ten years to write. We devoted the first five years to research, including traveling to every location where the story unfolds. The novel spans ten cities across eight countries, and we wanted each setting to feel as authentic as possible. From the very beginning, we knew we were attempting something ambitious. We also knew that readers would hold us to a high standard. Our goal was simple: to ensure that every character, every setting, and every moment felt real. We wanted readers to feel as though they were truly there—whether in a factory town in China, on a trading floor in London, or walking the streets of Havana.

Excluding the main character, who is your favorite character from the book, and why?
Margalit: my favorite character is Tyler. He represents the tragic outcome of globalization. I feel for him. He is a decent person who suffers misfortune after misfortune and is helplessly buffeted by huge forces that are beyond his control.

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MAYBE YOU LIED by Jennifer Sadera #CoverReveal

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MAYBE YOU LIED

by Jennifer Sadera

June 9 – 12, 2026 Cover Reveal

Synopsis:

MAYBE YOU LIED by Jennifer Sadera

Everything he knows about his life is. . . a lie.

Blindsided by the sudden death of his mother, 21-year-old Will Lockhart can no longer afford the rent or bear the haunting memories of their shared Massachusetts apartment. While packing up his mother’s belongings, he discovers his long-dead father’s deed to a house in upstate New York. With nowhere else to go, he settles there, intent on making a fresh start. But odd things happen as soon as Will moves in. He’s unnerved by evidence of fire damage in the cottage, and alarmed by the seizure his elderly next-door neighbor suffers upon meeting him. Most shocking of all are the rumors of a long-ago murder in his house. Now, trapped in a town full of strangers, unsure of whether local murmurings are true or simply small-town gossip, he’s determined to discover what really happened all those years ago, and how he’s connected to the chaos. The truth will set him free. Or get him killed.

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense, Domestic Suspense
Published by: Creative James Media
Publication Date: September 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 344
ISBN: 9781965648919 (ISBN10: 1965648916)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

 

Author Bio:

Jennifer Sadera

Jennifer Sadera first worked in the publishing industry as a junior copywriter for NAL/Penguin. She has written and edited for newspapers and magazines as a freelancer and on the staffs of major women’s publications, Woman’s World and Redbook.

Catch Up With Jennifer Sadera:

JenniferSadera.com
Amazon Author Profile
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BookBub – @jennifersadera
Instagram – @jensaderaauthor
X – @jennifersadera
Facebook – @jennifer.sadera
LinkedIn
YouTube – @AuthorJenniferSadera

 

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The Truth Might Be Deadly… This Giveaway Isn’t

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Witness in the Shadows by Blaire Morgan

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WITNESS IN THE SHADOWS

by Blaire Morgan

March 16, 2026 Book Blast

Synopsis:

Witness in the Shadows by Blaire Morgan

Kyndall Family Suspense

 

In this gripping romantic suspense set in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, danger closes in and trust may be the only way to survive.

A woman tormented by her past.

For eight years, FBI Agent Alexa Kyndall relentlessly pursued justice, leaving no room for the guilty to escape. In Witness in the Shadows, her dedication draws her into a deadly hunt for a serial killer—and into the path of the most unexpected criminal of her career.

A man willing to do whatever it takes to save her.

When a child witnesses a brutal slaying, Alexa’s life becomes intertwined with Craig Pierson’s, a man with his own haunted past. They join forces, only to discover they must put everything on the line in a pulse-pounding struggle to protect and survive.

A killer closing in.

As the shadows deepen and danger tightens its grip, Alexa and Craig must risk everything to survive.

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Blaire Morgan Books
Publication Date: March 16, 2026
Number of Pages: 255
Series: Kyndall Family Suspense Series, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Goodreads | BookBub

 

Author Bio:

Blaire Morgan

Blaire Morgan is a pseudonymous American author blending danger, emotion, and high-stakes storytelling into gripping romantic suspense. She lives wherever the next adventure takes her—usually somewhere with a lot of trees, or a place that exists only in her imagination.

Catch Up With Blaire Morgan:

www.blairemorgan.com
Amazon Author Profile
BookBub – @blairemorganbooks1

 

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In The Shadows Of Suspense: Giveaway

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Yes-YOU Matter, YOU Are Enough by Karin J. Lund

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Yes-YOU Matter, YOU Are Enough

by Karin J. Lund

Synopsis:

Yes-YOU Matter, YOU Are Enough by Karin J. Lund

The Power of You Series

 

Yes-YOU Matter, YOU Are Enough is about celebrating your life, understanding and creating your value, while building confidence and resiliency.

The cover was designed with interlocking and layering lines to illustrate the many interrelated paths in our lives that give us the opportunity to change our direction at any time. This design reflects a journey toward self-reliance and resilience, encouraging us to embrace our true selves and build a strong inner foundation.

This is the book that will always remind you that:

YES-I MATTER, I AM ENOUGH.

Book Details:

Genre: YA Self-Help
Published by: G-Power Global Publishing
Publication Date: September 23, 2025
Number of Pages: 241
ISBN: 9781949955125 (ISBN10: 1949955125)
Series:The Power of You Series
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | BookBub | Goodreads

 

Author Bio:

Karin J. Lund

Karin J. Lund, Founder of G-Power Global Enterprises, works with corporations, universities, and non-profit groups, that want to embrace a compassionate, culture empowered, workplace environment. A culture that employees, and management, actively support, because the culture acknowledges personal and professional values, understands the importance of an inclusive work environment, and includes a corporate dedication to improving the local, and/or global community.
Karin was only the 3rd woman to be hired in Central Operation Sales for J & L Steel, in Pittsburgh, Pa. She later accepted a position with a Canadian steel company who was expanding operations into the United States. As a regional sales manager with an international territory, Karin managed a $140M sales territory, and saw firsthand how various steel mills, and manufacturer’s work culture and environments, impacted morale, productivity, and profits.
As an author, speaker, and facilitator, Karin was a civilian responder directly after 9/11, and Hurricane Katrina. Working with the children and families from Bay St. Louis, MS after Katrina showed her the expansiveness of loss, life events, and the resilience of this special community. Karin is an adult facilitator for Caring Place, where families can receive help after the loss of a spouse, parent, child, or extended family member.
Through these experiences she has witnessed how life events impact employees, and what employees need from management to help them adjust and move through these life events. Productivity and morale need not suffer if embraced appropriately.
Her online program, “Your Journey through the Islands of Grief and Loss,” encourages individuals and employees to confront issues related to their personal journeys around different aspects of life events and loss. Corporate comfort gifts, journals, and other products support this effort.

Catch Up With Our Author:

g-powerglobal.com
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Instagram – @lundkarinj
YouTube – @g-powerglobal
X – @GPowerGlobal
Facebook – @GPowerGlobal

 

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Yes-YOU Matter, YOU Are Enough by Karin J. Lund

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Sangrita by Kathryn Dodson

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SANGRITA

by Kathryn Dodson

November 17 – December 12, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

SANGRITA by Kathryn Dodson

Jessica Watts Southwest Suspense Series

 

A kidnapping scheme turns deadly when private investigator Jessica Watts becomes the hunted instead of the hunter.

Jessica Watts refuses to work with her nemesis Tomas Garcia—until his desperate wife arrives with their baby, begging Jessica to find Tomas’s missing father. Tres Garcia vanished after marrying his late wife’s cousin Letty in a secret ceremony, and now Letty claims he’s too sick for visitors. When Jessica discovers bloody medical supplies in Letty’s trash, someone knocks her unconscious and she awakens trapped in a nightmare.

Held prisoner for days with Tres’s life-support machine beeping nearby, Jessica realizes Letty is running a deadly operation with border coyotes—ruthless smugglers who eliminate witnesses. The kidnapping is part of an elaborate scheme to steal Tres’s fortune, and with the coyotes closing in with orders to kill everyone, Jessica must overcome her terror and escape before Letty’s greed destroys them all—but will the tough investigator she’s always been survive becoming the prey?

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Fiction, Women’s Detective Fiction
Published by: Renegade Reads
Publication Date: November 21, 2025
Number of Pages: 220
ISBN: 979-8-9903577-7-8
Series: Jessica Watts Southwest Suspense Series, Book 4 | Each is a Stand-Alone
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Jessica let the mental exhaustion take hold for a minute, then shook it off. Eighteen months to go. If she survived that, she’d be a lawyer and hopefully move from the reception desk to the courtroom.

She settled into her chair. “I’m back,” she called to her boss. Linda owned the one person firm housed in a quaint old home turned law office in downtown El Paso. Jessica ran her fingers across the antique, inlaid cherry desk. She’d started here less than a year ago, but she already loved this place.

“Hey, how was the test?” Linda strode into the room and plopped down in front of her. A perfect-fitting Armani suit and a blonde blowout softened the toughness shining through Linda’s blue eyes. The creases in her face told the world she’d faced a few battles.

“Tough, but I’m pretty sure I passed,” Jessica said.

Linda smiled, then cocked her head, a question appearing in her eyes. “I bet your father would be proud.”

Jessica bristled, the ache returning to her shoulders and prickles of tension running across her skin. Linda hadn’t brought up Jessica’s dad since the first time they met.

Jessica hated how her father’s conviction for destroying evidence in a drug case shaded her pending law career. He’d been El Paso’s district attorney at the time. That embarrassment held Jessica back for too many years. She’d gotten past it, mostly, especially since her father’s passing.

She shrugged her shoulders in response then willfully changed the subject. “Has it been quiet here?”

“Surprisingly so. But who knows what will walk in the door next?” Linda glanced out the large window as if she expected to see someone trotting up the steps. She turned back to Jessica. “Do you have any new projects on the horizon? You know, human remains under a pecan tree or a missing heiress?”

Jessica’s reputation for finding things, missing people, murderers, had ratcheted up since she started working with Linda. She shook her head. “No more wild cases for me. I need to keep my head down and finish school. I keep getting waylaid by these other projects. It’s too hard to focus on law school and my work here when I’m off solving someone else’s mystery.”

Linda studied Jessica. “Maybe, but I think you like striking out on your own, solving someone’s problem, and coming back a hero. Practicing law is so different than that. It’s tedious and requires an extraordinary amount of patience while the wheels of justice turn.”

Did Linda doubt her aspirations? Not every case would be exciting, but lately, she could use a little less excitement in her life.

“Perhaps,” Jessica said. “But you’re a lot less likely to be confronted by people pointing guns at you or burning down the house you’re trapped in.”

“True. At least most of the time.”

Jessica wondered about her answer. “Is that why you left the police force and became an attorney?” She had heard about Linda’s first career from Jaime Castro, a lieutenant on the El Paso police force and one of her oldest friends. Based on the admiration in his voice, Linda had excelled as a police officer.

“Not really.” Linda’s gaze softened, as if remembering something from long ago. “The problem with police work is that you don’t get to choose your cases. When they don’t seem fair, it becomes hard to put your heart into the job.”

Jessica waited for an explanation. What kind of case would make someone as tough as Linda walk away? For a minute, Jessica thought she would say more. But instead, her boss changed the subject. “Why don’t we go over the upcoming cases?”

When they finished, Linda headed back to her office. Jessica had just turned to her computer when she spied someone coming toward the door. Someone she did not want to see.

Tomás Garcia loped up the steps and opened the door before Jessica could escape. If only her test had taken longer.

“Hi, Jessica. It’s good to see you.” He sat in the chair Linda had just vacated as if he owned the place.

He didn’t. And when he’d tracked her down at a party a few weeks ago, she’d told him she didn’t want to see him again. Yet here he sat. The audacity of rich men never failed to surprise her.

“Why are you here?” She threw all the surliness she could muster into her voice.

“Is that any way to treat a potential client?”

“Tomás, I made it clear that I would never work with you again. You do remember you tried to kill me the last time.” And the time before that, she’d almost died at the hands of someone he’d forgotten to tell her dealt drugs.

“I wouldn’t have killed you. I am not a murderer. I was just angry. I thought you had taken something I considered mine.”

“That something was a human being, and she didn’t want to be with you. You’ve lost your chance with me.”

He steepled his fingers and stared across the desk. “We have a long history, and we’ve worked well together in the past.” Arrogance wafted off him like a bad smell.

Jessica scanned her desk for something to throw at him or stab him with. Life was way too short to tolerate assholes like this.

He held his hands up in surrender, as if he could read her mind. “You’re right. That last time was horrible. I shouldn’t have done so many of the things I did then. I’m sorry. I promise I’m a different man now. And I need your help.”

Fire lit in her veins. She had already taken too many chances with Tomás. Jessica took a deep breath and tried to keep from spitting at him. “You need to leave. There is no way in hell you’ve changed enough in the last few years for me to consider working for you.” She wouldn’t physically attack him, but she tried her best to stare daggers into his soul.

“Please. Let me explain. I’m married to a wonderful woman now. We have a son, and he’s the most important thing in my life. Becoming a father changes a person. I’m a much better man today. Also, I lost my mother a year ago, and I’m worried about losing my father. That’s what I need to talk to you about.”

Of course, curiosity gnawed at her, but it wasn’t enough. She loathed this man.

“You do realize that waltzing in here expecting me to listen to you after I’ve already told you no means you’re still the entitled jerk you’ve always been.”

“I’m not. I swear. Please, just hear me out. I think someone is trying to kill my father.”

“So. Go to the police.”

“I have, but I can’t get anywhere with them. My dad remarried just a few months after my mom died. His new wife has completely denied me access to him.”

“Didn’t you hate your dad? How many times have you told me you wanted to build an empire even bigger than his? Maybe he just doesn’t want to see you.”

“Things are different now. After…after what happened with Doraliz, I had to change. I wasn’t a man I could be proud of, and I certainly wasn’t a son my mother could respect. But she didn’t give up on me. Instead, she helped me see what a terrible person I’d become and gave me a way to recover.”

“Whatever. I don’t care, and I want you to leave.” Jessica refused to buy his rich boy sob story. He should have ended up in jail.

He leaned forward, hands on his knees, blue eyes staring her down, probably his attempt at acting earnest. “I know how selfish and hurtful and conceited I was. I know, and I hate that version of myself. I understand why you don’t want to work with me, but my father’s life is on the line. You have a knack for solving mysteries. I’ve seen you do it. I need your help to save my father.”

“It’s not going to happen. And if you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops.” Jessica picked up her phone and hit the timer, then turned it to face him. “You’ve got sixty seconds to get out of this office.”

Exasperation crossed Tomás’s features. He sighed and started to say something. Then he shut his mouth, rose, and walked out the door. She hoped she’d never see him again.

Linda emerged the minute he left. From the look on her face, she’d heard the conversation.

“I didn’t know you had such a long, involved relationship with Mr. Garcia.” Linda sat in the probably still warm chair.

“Yeah. Unfortunately.” Jessica said nothing more, hoping Linda would drop it. She preferred to avoid the whole sordid tale.

Linda watched Jessica for a long moment but didn’t press her for more information. “You do know that you’re always welcome to work on outside cases. Soon enough you’ll have your own legal cases.”

“I look forward to that, but not with him.”

“Fine. You should head home early tonight. Go celebrate finishing midterms with that handsome husband of yours.”

“Thanks.” She did want to celebrate, although she’d stayed up so late cramming, she’d require a second wind to do anything other than crawl into bed. Or maybe a shot or two of tequila to help her forget torts. And Tomás’s visit.

***

Excerpt from Sangrita by Kathryn Dodson. Copyright 2025 by Kathryn Dodson. Reproduced with permission from Kathryn Dodson. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Kathryn Dodson

Kathryn writes about women who have to become their own heroes – whether they’re solving a crime or figuring out the next phase of their lives.

She grew up writing and riding horses in far West Texas. She graduated from SMU in English/Creative Writing and went on to get an MBA from Thunderbird and a PhD from Clemson. Now she spends her days writing about women who become their own heroes.

She has worked on both sides of the US/Mexico border and has held jobs with governments, chambers of commerce, and other businesses. Kathryn loves to travel and has visited 30 countries and 44 states. This inspires her novels about interesting women in fascinating places.

Originally from Texas, Kathryn had the good fortune to live in Spain, Mexico, Tanzania, and several U.S. states, and the good sense to end up in Carlsbad, California. She loves travel, fiery food, hanging out with the neighbors in the front yard on Friday evenings, and reading.

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Facebook – @kathy.dodson.31

 

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SANGRITA by Kathryn Dodson [Gift Card]

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The Organ Broker by Deven Greene

The Organ Broker by Deven Greene Banner

THE ORGAN BROKER

by Deven Greene

August 25-29, 2025 AudioBook Release Blast

Synopsis:

The Organ Broker by Deven Greene

A devoted wife and mother faces the unimaginable as her life crumbles.

Crystal Rigler seems to have a perfect marriage. Derek, her handsome and charismatic husband, and their adult daughter, Cordelia, are her whole world. In addition to her already busy life, Crystal supports the volunteer organization she and Derek started: STOP (Stop Transplants of Organs from Prisoners).

STOP aims to end a new government policy of harvesting organs from executed prisoners. They learn that these organs are not distributed by the national transplant list, established to allocate organs fairly. Instead, a shadowy figure known as Broker Al pulls the strings. He expedites the execution of young and healthy prisoners and sells their organs at a high price to the rich and well-connected.

After Crystal learns a disturbing secret, events are set in motion that will potentially dismantle STOP, change her life, and cost her everything. Unless she is willing to do the unthinkable…

Praise for The Organ Broker:

The Organ Broker by Deven Greene was intricate and captivated my attention from the first page. The story was fast-paced with not a single dull moment.”
~ Readers’ Favorite

“If you enjoy moral dilemmas, complex characters, and a plot that feels uncomfortably plausible, this book will leave you thinking long after the ending.”
~ Literary Titan

“…electrifyingly intense… Introspective and entertaining, The Organ Broker navigates the delicate balance between principles and priorities.”
~ Indies Today

The Organ Broker … teeters between thriller, novel, a story of medical and social challenge, and more. It stands out from others about organ harvesting simply because it evolves a complex plot that engages characters and readers in a moral and ethical dance spiced with intrigue and the unexpected.”
~ D. Donovan, Sr. Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

THE ORGAN BROKER Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense
Published by: Panthera Publishing
Publication Date: April 2025
Number of Pages: 321
ISBN: 9781964620060 (ISBN10: 1964620066)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Google Books | Apple Books | Kobo | Goodreads
Audiobook Links: Apple | Audible Audiobook | Audiobooks.com | Barnes & Noble | Chirp | Google Play | LibroFM | Spotify

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

The East Texas sun was hotter than usual for September, the few clouds high above providing no relief. A half-hour earlier, overcome by heat and exhaustion, Crystal had let her sign reading “Save Kwami” slip to the ground. Standing near the front of the crowd, Crystal pushed up the visor on her baseball cap to get a better look at her surroundings. She was pleased with the impressive turnout which she estimated to be close to one thousand people. It was the largest they’d ever had. Most of the other protestors continue to hold their placards high, displaying myriad slogans such as “Justice for Kwami,” “Let Kwami Live,” “Impeach Gov. Percy,” and the most popular, “STOP.” She took a deep breath and lifted her sign again, fighting the pain in her fingers as she held it as high as she could.

The crowd of protestors was comprised of a cross-section of the community— young, old, couples, families, Black, White, Hispanic, and Asian. A colorful array of baseball caps, bucket hats, visors, straw hats, and cowboy hats protected most of the heads from the constant flood of the sun’s rays.

The makeshift podium and public address system were rudimentary, and there was the usual milling around often seen in large gatherings, but the audience, for the most part, was paying attention to the pudgy young man with a man bun speaking to them. At times, the crowd burst out in synchronous claps and hoots of approval. The assembly was peaceful, with only a few skirmishes breaking out at the edges where police stood watch.

Still thirsty after having finished her bottle of water, Crystal let her mind wander as the speaker droned on about the immorality of what was about to take place. Her clothes clung to her sweaty body, and despite wearing sunglasses with polarized lenses, the bright sun hurt her eyes. Looking down, she swatted away a bug that landed on her arm. Uncomfortable and impatient, she was eagerly awaiting the next speaker.

Finally, the man at the podium looked up and announced, “And now, the man you’ve all been waiting to hear, the leader of our organization, Mr. Derek Rigler.”

The mood of the crowd changed, and participants started chanting “STOP” in unison as they raised and lowered their signs. A tall, muscular man with tan skin and wavy blond hair, took to the stage next to the previous speaker and scanned the crowd with his magnetic blue eyes. Crystal looked up and smiled. His handsome, chiseled features gave him the look of a confident leader. Although he was nearly fifty years old, he looked at least ten years younger. He hasn’t lost the ability to attract attention whenever he enters a room.

Derek took his place on the podium and held out his arms as if to give a benediction. After almost a full minute of roaring applause, he raised and lowered his hands several times to quiet the crowd.

Crystal looked around, energized by the enthusiasm bubbling over. She noted more press vans set up around the perimeter than in the previous protest. Their organization, STOP, was gaining traction.

She wondered if Derek had picked her out of the crowd. If she were taller, he’d probably see her—she wasn’t far from the front—but she imagined her five-foot two-inch frame made her visage difficult to identify in the sea of people. From what she could glean, Derek hadn’t spotted her. After all, she was just another brunette under a baseball cap, surrounded by many others. Even so, Crystal smiled widely, wondering if anyone nearby recognized her. After all, she was notable as Derek’s wife and the mother of his child, Cordelia.

As Derek started his familiar diatribe against the Texas death penalty laws, Crystal tried to lock eyes with him, but his eyes never found her. Instead, he focused on members of the audience near and far, concentrating his gaze on one person for several seconds before moving on to the next pair of waiting eyes.

Crystal recognized the usual arguments against the event that was scheduled to take place momentarily—the uneven death penalty sentencing, the ugliness of exacting revenge, and the irreversibility of the punishment once meted out. The speech was powerful, and she agreed with everything Derek said. She could recite the words by heart, not only because she had heard them during Derek’s practice sessions, but because she had written them herself. Every time the crowd reacted with hollers and claps, she felt taller, each breath a bit more satisfying. She’d been to over six of these rallies in the past year, each protesting the execution of a prisoner found guilty of a crime deemed fitting for capital punishment.

The death penalty had never sat well with Crystal, but over the past two years, the practice had escalated, with four more executions scheduled over the next six months in Texas alone. Not only was the ultimate punishment meted out more often, but the evidence leading to convictions was frequently less convincing. She’d made up her mind to do something to stop the injustice and had established STOP almost a year earlier. A small, grass-roots collection of like-minded people, it was taking hold, thanks to her speech writing, community outreach, and organizational skills, bolstered by her husband’s charisma. He was the face of the organization.

Derek’s address was interrupted by a loud commotion as the officers stationed around the perimeter began to forcefully clear a path through the protestors to the entryway of the large building looming behind the speaker. Despite shouting and resistance from the crowd, with the most passionate demonstrators being handcuffed and dragged away, the police were able to open a wide berth.

“We are nearing the time,” Derek shouted above the commotion, “the time when our brother Kwami will be taken from us in an act that can only be described as state-sponsored murder. Let all those who have participated in this mockery of justice one day pay for their crimes, and let all those who directly benefit from this violent act realize the wrong they have participated in.”

A police transport moved through the clearing in the crowd as demonstrators chanted “Kwami, Kwami” in unison. Although the windows of the vehicle were covered, all knew who was inside—Kwami McKinney, sentenced to be executed that day. The van didn’t stop until it was a mere five feet from the door to the building. A massive construction of cement and glass six stories high, the structure dwarfed the trees and other buildings nearby. Derek was silent as he turned to watch the Black prisoner, his head shaved, exit the van’s side door.

Dressed in an orange jumpsuit accessorized with ankle and wrist shackles, Kwami was escorted by two armed guards, each holding onto one of his arms. Two more prison officers took up the rear. As the party of five walked towards the glass doors of the building, a Black woman around fifty years old ran towards them screaming. She was forcibly stopped by police, who grabbed onto her arms long before she could interfere.

Everyone there knew the woman was Sally McKinney, Kwami’s mother. She yelled and cried hysterically, flailing against those restraining her as her son was led through the automated doors that opened before him and the guards. They disappeared inside the structure as the glass doors shut.

People in the crowd yelled and cried, drowning out Ms. McKinney’s wails. Frustrated tears filled Crystal’s eyes; their protest had done nothing to dissuade the authorities from carrying out their sentence. She hadn’t expected the proceedings to be halted, but held onto a glimmer of hope until now, irrational as it was.

She looked to Derek for comfort, hoping they might finally lock gazes and convey their sadness to each other, but Crystal’s thoughts were interrupted by a female acquaintance. “Fantastic speech,” the woman said.

“I can’t disagree,” Crystal answered, buoyed momentarily by the woman’s words.

“You must be very proud, being his wife. He’s so handsome, and brilliant to boot. You two are the perfect couple. I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall at your dinner table to hear about all his great ideas.”

The words stung slightly, as Crystal chuckled politely. She was accustomed to being thought of as a mere appendage of her charismatic husband, but, she’d tried to convince herself that a successful protest, with Derek delivering a resounding speech, was all that was important. She didn’t need the admiration of others like he did. “Our dinners aren’t as interesting as you might think. Mostly, we talk about how we’re going to pay our bills.”

Members of the press, who until now had been scattered amongst the protestors while taking notes and silently recording videos, were now talking and interviewing people on camera. The crowd thinned, but Crystal didn’t want to leave. She’d have liked to remain until she knew Kwami had taken his last breath, but that moment was hours away.

She listened as a nearby male telecaster spoke into a camera. “Emotions are again high as another execution is about to take place. While many people feel that the crimes Kwami McKinney was convicted of, armed robbery and hostage-taking, justify the death sentence, some feel the punishment is too severe for the crimes the prisoner was convicted of. Still others believe he is innocent of the charges against him.”

The reporter turned to a middle-aged female bystander and asked, “What do you think of today’s events? Do you think justice is being carried out today?” After posing the question, he shoved the microphone close to the woman’s mouth.

“This is a travesty of justice,” she answered. “The real criminal was wearing a ski mask during the robbery, and escaped capture immediately following the crime. That was made clear during the trial. We also learned that Mr. McKinney was picked out in a lineup by two unreliable witnesses days later. There was a boatload of evidence that the so-called witnesses had drug charges against them dropped shortly after identifying Mr. McKinney. What kind of justice is that?”

The telecaster quickly turned to the camera and continued his reporting. “Despite the controversy, Kwami McKinney is still scheduled to be executed here and now at New Lake Hospital. While we are happy for the families of the six unnamed individuals who will be the recipients of much-needed organs, many are questioning the legality and morality of what is now becoming a common method of organ procurement. The objections are being led by the organization STOP, which stands for Stop Transplants of Organs from Prisoners.”

***

Excerpt from The Organ Broker by Deven Greene. Copyright 2025 by Deven Greene. Reproduced with permission from Deven Greene. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Deven Greene lives in Northern California, where she enjoys writing fiction, most of which involves science or medicine. She has degrees in biochemistry (PhD) and medicine (MD), and practiced pathology for over twenty years.

She has previously published the The Erica Rosen MD Trilogy (Unnatural, Unwitting, and Unforeseen), and Ties That Kill, as well as several short stories. Her technothriller Happy Sun Farm: Behind the Facade will be released later this year.

Catch Up With Deven Greene:

www.DevenGreene.com
Subscribe to Deven’s Blog
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub @Deven_G1
Facebook @DevenGreeneFiction

 

Tour Participant Reviews:

‘What an interesting and thought provoking novel. The character development was good, especially with the villain. He is the most self centered and disgusting villain I have encountered in a long time. Well done.’
~ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader

‘This book is a rollercoaster of emotions and the plot is masterful. This book was so much more than I expected it to be and I loved every page!’
~ Catreader18

‘Provocative and haunting! I couldn’t look away, nor could I put this riveting book down. With its engaging, sympathetic female main character, despicable, morally bankrupt villain, and desperate choices, I recommend THE ORGAN BROKER to thriller readers.’
~ Guatemala Paula Loves to Read

‘The Organ Broker is a story of corruption, moral, ethical issues and is highly debatable. From the beginning I was intrigued by this plot which I don’t think has ever been explored before because of the highly anticipated controversy. I think the author has done a masterful job.’
~ leannebookstagram

‘Overall, I liked all the backstories, the animosity between characters, the good guys, the bad guys, Cordelia’s story, Derek’s unraveling (he’s just not a nice guy). All of these combined kept me turning the pages to see how things turned out. It really made me stop and think – what would I do?’
~ Melissa A’s Blog

‘The Organ Broker serves up a moral dilemma full of twists and turns. Ultimately, unexpected events transpire, delivering a satisfying ending.’
~ Novels Alive

‘This has been one of my favorite books this year. Simply a phenomenal story. I loved everything about this book. This book grabbed my attention and simply didn’t let go.’
~ elaine_sapp65

‘THE ORGAN BROKER by Deven Greene is a dark thriller which poses many ethical questions surrounding the morality of organ donation from death row prisoners… so many thought-provoking situations that I could not put it down. I recommend this dark thriller for its ability to keep me engrossed with its intriguing concept.’
~ Avonna Loves Genres

‘The book was so good and realistic. I am definitely going to be looking out for Deven’s next book. Dark, intriguing, and emotionally gripping this was a fantastic read!’
~ The AR Critique

‘I think the writing is very engaging and overall a interesting read’
~ Country Mamas With Kids

‘An A+ for originality of this daring storyline. I don’t remember reading anything else with a similar plot. Anticipate the MOST negative outcome- think of the worst that could happen with transplant assignments. Now multiply that by ten!’
~ bookwormbecky1969

‘Read this if you enjoy: – nuanced narratives – seamless writing ✍️ – complex characters – emotional read (at times) – secret dealings. The Organ Broker is the first book I’ve read by author Deven Greene. I’m definitely going to be looking into her backlist now!’
~ books_and_biewers

 

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THE ORGAN BROKER by Deven Greene {series}

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African Vengeance by Steve Braker | #Giveaway #BookBlast #AfricanOceanAdventures

African Vengeance Banner by Steve Braker

African Vengeance

by Steve Braker

December 14, 2021 Virtual Book Blast

Synopsis:

African Vengeance by Steve Braker

He didn’t go looking for trouble. It found him anyway…

Kenyan coast. William Brody longs for a quiet life. Although he’s still recovering from a recent bout of malaria, the former Special Forces major agrees to help some locals retrieve cargo lost in the ocean depths. But when he dives and discovers ten million dollars of drug money on a sunken plane, the simple favor turns into deadly stakes as vicious thugs hijack his vessel.

Trapped and fearing for his friends, Brody botches his escape attempt and accidentally destroys every cent of the dirty cash. And with the entire crew imprisoned, the grizzled ex-soldier is handed a sinister ultimatum: replace the illicit fortune or watch everyone he’s sworn to protect die.

Will Brody find a bounty big enough to save all their lives?

African Vengeance is the fast-paced fifth book in the William Brody African Ocean Adventure Series. If you like intriguing plots, vividly detailed settings, and nail-biting suspense, then you’ll love Steve Braker’s edge-of-your-seat thriller.

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Indie
Publication Date: December 1, 2021
Number of Pages: 275
Series:William Brody African Ocean Adventure Series, #5
Purchase Links: Amazon

Read an excerpt:

Mtwappa, Kenya, East Africa

The insane rattle on the corrugated roof sounded like machine gun fire. It was hopeless. All the patrons of the bar could do was wait for the onslaught to end.

It was the Kusi, or the Southern Monsoon, when storms crashed in off the Indian Ocean like tsunamis hitting a beach. Full of force and violence, nothing could stand in their way. The squalls came in gangs, sitting off in the ocean malevolently waiting until their numbers grew, then marching towards the enemy relentlessly, striking with impunity. Roads flooded, roofs leaked, people went home hungry and wet. Unable to dry their clothes, they worked the next day and got even wetter.

The monsoon killed the weak and the old. If you could not get warm or dry, then the coughs and colds crept into your bones. Pneumonia took many. With no dry kindling, and rivers running in the streets. Life became even tougher.

When the rain stopped, like a relay team passing the baton, the sun would break through. Another wave of purgatory would follow. Swarms of sand flies and rain ants emerged from the bush, flowing like the rivers below them into homes and the mouths of babes. The climate created a heaven for mosquitoes of all shapes and sizes. The death-giving female anopheles mosquito lived in the houses and streets. All she needed was a drop of sitting water. No more than a spoonful would be ample to give her larvae life. She waited for her prey to sit, just for a moment, long enough to push the needle-sharp proboscis into an uncovered arm or leg and suck some blood, at the same time passing a microscopic parasite into the unsuspecting host. After two weeks, the chills would arrive, then the sweating and headaches. Soon the poor unsuspecting victim would be bed-ridden, delirious one minute and hot to the touch, the next freezing and shivering in misery. The local mganga, or witch doctor, would pass by, leaving leaves and bark from the neem tree, or Arobaini as it was locally named. Arobaini means forty in Kiswahili. The tree was known to cure forty different diseases from diarrhea to malaria or even the dreaded dengue fever.

Grandmothers boiled the bark with water to make a tea that tasted almost too bad to drink. The old lady held her child’s nose and poured the foul liquid down the screaming infant’s throat. The child would gag and vomit as the brew burned its way down. Village life was hard on everyone during the rains, and only the fittest survived.

The Full Moon Bar sat on the edge of Mtwappa Creek, its few stalwart residents finding a haven from the torrential rain. Everyone watched each batch march in from the ocean, day after day. Brody had decided to sit out the Kusi with his old friend Barry, the manager of the bar. Barry was a cheery Kiwi who had washed up on the shores of East Africa many years ago and decided to stay.

He was a larger-than-life chap in every way at 6’6’’ tall and roughly the same around the waist. A happier, drunker, friendlier man was hard to find in Mtwappa. He had a mop of dark thinning hair showing his obvious Italian roots, and normally, two or three days’ growth of pepper and salt whiskers. His piercing blue eyes always held a faraway gaze as if he was looking at the horizon, planning a day’s sailing. In the monsoon, clothes were difficult. One minute it was blowing a gale, the next one hundred percent humidity. Barry went for what used to be a pale blue button-down shirt that had been washed and ironed so many times it was just off-white, black board shorts, and a pair of ever-faithful leather deck shoes that were so old they fit like gloves.

Barry shouted to Brody over the machine gun fire. “Mate, how do ya feel? You look like shit.”

Brody had succumbed to malaria. Being a white guy, or Muzungu as they were known in East Africa, he had no resistance to the parasite. “My God, Barry, that malaria really hits you, like a sledgehammer in the chest. I didn’t know what the hell happened. One minute I just had a bad headache like the flu back home, the next I was in a hospital bed thinking I was going to die.”

Barry lifted his tumbler full of dark sugarcane rum off the table. “Mate, you need to take a few snifters of this every day. Keeps the buggers away. Or when she sticks that thing in you, she just gets pissed and buggers off.” His deep baritone laugh filled the room.

Brody took a long pull from his cold Tusker lager, locally made and about the only lager you could buy in this part of Kenya. “That sounds like a bloody good idea. I think I’ll start that habit.” He looked across at the head waiter polishing the wide driftwood bar. “Joshua, can you get Barry a refill, and bring me a double, no ice. I’m still recovering from this bloody malaria.”

Brody had arrived a month ago at the small inlet on the East African coast known as Mtwappa Creek. After tying up Shukran, his forty-foot wooden dhow, to the reclaimed stone wharf jutting out from the bar, he had quickly settled into a quiet life of drinking, fishing, and diving.

His first week had been full of great sun, sea, and sand, but during the second week, the dreaded bug had caught him. He found himself in hospital for ten days, one minute hot to the touch, the next freezing, tossing and turning in the sweat-filled bed. The parasite had infected his blood system, giving him terrible nightmares. Suddenly, he was back to his army days fighting in the fetid jungles of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, rain pouring twenty-four hours a day, trails flowing like rivers. In his dreams he could feel the red welts from the deadly insect bites. As the malaria parasite infected his brain, the dreams became so real. His team came across a band of drug smugglers moving contraband into Kenya and Tanzania through the porous borders. He jolted awake as the bullets flew through the air, splintering tree bark, sending deadly six-inch-long, razor-sharp slivers of wood in all directions. Night turned to day as flares went up and grenades were thrown.

Next, after falling back into a restless sleep. He found himself back in the remote deserts of Somalia facing child soldiers with Coke bottles full of glue seemingly attached to their noses. The children’s pupils were constantly dilated, looking like saucers in his dreams. They were kids, dressed in ragged T-shirts, torn jeans shorts, no shoes, and red bandanas on their bristly heads. Most were no older than twelve or thirteen years. They should have been kicking a ball around. In his delirious state, they raised their AK-47s and pulled the triggers. Sometimes he saw the bullets coming at him, watching the hollow points of lead rip open his chest and tear his stomach open. Other times he was the one to shoot the youngsters. There seemed to be more and more of them. He kept firing. They kept coming, hundreds of them, then thousands. He was killing children. The H.K. just kept shaking in his hands, like the movies. Endless bullets for endless children. As the battle-hardened kids charged, he would kill them, tearing each child’s body to pieces. Blood spurted in all directions. He could taste it in his mouth. He slipped on the thick red liquid and fell into a long tunnel with all the faces of the children he had shot, like a house of horrors at the fairgrounds, only to be brought back to reality with a jolt.

He had opened his eyes and seen Wanjiku staring at him. “Man, what the hell was that all about!”

Brody had looked at her frightened face. “It was a bad dream, that’s all.”

“I don’t want any of your dreams. I can tell you that. You were thrashing about shouting for the kids to stop.”

Brody had laid quietly on the ruined soaking-wet bedsheets, the haunting memories still flooding through his brain.

Wanjiku was a good friend. He had met her the last time he was in Mtwappa. Her family owned a bar-restaurant and hair salon in the town. He had instantly enjoyed the company of her family, especially Wanjiku’s father. Mwangi was a wheeler-dealer-cum-bar owner and knew everyone and everything that went on. If you wanted something, he was the man to ask. Wanjiku was eagerly following in his footsteps.

She had sat by his bedside for what seemed like the whole ten days. When the release day came, Wanjiku was on hand with a local taxi driver to take them the twenty miles back to the Full Moon Bar. On his arrival, Barry had insisted he take one of the rooms available on the waterfront.

Since then, Brody had been concentrating on getting his strength back, like Popeye Doyle in The French Connection where Gene Hackman fights to recover from an enforced heroin addiction. Brody struggled each day, putting on his running shorts and shoes then half-walking, half-jogging along the beach. A little further each day.

It had been a week since his return from Mombasa Hospital, and he was beginning to feel like his old self again. The jog was turning into a run, and the sit-ups and push-ups done at each end of the journey were getting easier. Life was coming back, flowing through his veins.

Wanjiku was a constant visitor. He could tell she wanted more than just a friendship, but Brody wanted his freedom right now. And he knew she would want more than he could offer. Sometimes he felt stupid, as she was probably the most beautiful girl he had ever met. In her mid-twenties, she stood 5’6” in her pretty bare feet. She had long, firm, shapely legs, ending in a round solid butt, a thin muscular waist and an ample bust. Her skin was golden-brown and blemish-free. To top it off, her dazzling smile just took his breath away. In London or New York, he was sure she would be a catwalk model. But here in Mtwappa, she was just another African girl scraping a living buying and selling clothes or serving in her father’s bar.

Brody took a sip of his sugarcane rum and looked out through the fringe of raindrops pouring off the metal roof. Fifty feet away, but hardly visible, sat Shukran, looking miserable and forgotten, her bilge pump valiantly pumping gallons of water flowing from the deck. Barry saw his gaze and said, “Mate, you must be missing the life of the ocean waves stuck here in this place.”

Brody nodded his agreement. He longed to be back aboard Shukran with his crew, heading out to fish or dive, or maybe just to sail for a week and see where the wind took them.

Shukran was a forty-foot, fat-bellied dhow and was home for Brody since he had arrived in East Africa, after leaving the Special Boat Service several years ago. She was his pride and joy. Over the last few years, the dhow had been lovingly restored. Shukran, which means “‘thank you” in Kiswahili, was normally polished to a shine and could moor up proudly in any marina in the world. The deck planks shone in the sun, along with the stainless-steel and brass fittings. She was fitted with a 120hp Yanmar inboard engine for when the wind didn’t blow. Otherwise, they used the triangular lateen sail to get around. Over the last few years, he had become an expert sailor, but even with his skills, he needed his crew of Hassan and Gumbao to sail her safely.

Brody asked Barry, “You’ve been here for a while. How long does this rain last?”

“Well, mate, it kind of comes and goes. We can have this for a week or so, then the sun comes out for a while. It’s nature, mate. You just can’t tell.”

They sat in the early afternoon gloom with nothing better to do than have another rum and wait for the better weather.

The following day, Brody woke as the dawn light hit the fast-running water of the tidal creek, no more than ten feet from the end of his bed. After jumping in the shower to get rid of the nighttime sweat, he headed over to the bar for breakfast. The apartments were designed to enhance the bar’s turnover. To say they were basic was stretching it. You got a living room, bedroom, shower, and balcony to sit on and drink while the creek wandered past.

If Brody was on Shukran, he would get fresh coffee from Hassan as he waited for his Mahamry—small, deep-fried cake the Swahilis loved to eat for breakfast. Currently, Joshua, who Brody was sure slept at the bar, managed to at least get the coffee sorted out.

Brody gave the bar man the traditional Swahili greeting for the morning: “Habari asubuhi, Joshua.”

Joshua looked like he had just stepped out of an African fashion show. He was wearing a bright yellow collarless shirt called a dashiki, with elephants marching around his ample stomach. “Habari asubuhi, Mr. Brody. Coffee as usual?”

“Great, Joshua. I need it before my run.”

“I hope you are recovering, Mr. Brody. That malaria is bad for you Muzungus.”

“Tell me about it, friend. I thought my days were up in the hospital I can tell you.”

He gulped down a mug of strong black Arabic coffee with two sugars, then stretched for a couple of minutes before setting off on his morning routine.

Each day felt better. The soft golden sand of the beach felt like it was pulling him towards the ocean. Every pace felt easier. The energy came flooding back into the wasted muscles of his arms and legs.

The run was two and a half miles out and the same back. As he ran, the early morning sun burned his scalp through the baseball cap. Moisture from the downpour of the previous day was being sucked back up into the atmosphere. It was like running through an invisible cloud which clung to your skin and slowed you like moving through thick maple syrup.

He reached the gnarled old mangrove tree at the halfway mark and started the thirty press-ups followed by fifty sit-ups. The blood was pumping, and his lungs heaving, chasing the oxygen, but it all felt good. For the first time in a while, the exercise was enjoyable. He was on the mend.

The torture was changing to pleasure again. The last ten sit-ups passed in an instant, then he charged off down the beach. A full breakfast would be waiting for him and some more of that thick, sweet aromatic coffee.

On his third cup of coffee, Brody sat watching the morning start. The creek was busy as the fishermen took advantage of the sunshine heading out in “Ingalawas,” short canoes carved from tree trunks. The pied kingfishers flitted above the water, hovering then suddenly diving to pluck an unsuspecting fry from the water. Yellow-billed storks lined the riverbank wading in the shallows on the lookout for anything tasty. Their smart black and white plumage made them look like traffic cops directing the rush hour. But their nine-inch-long, razor-sharp, bright yellow beaks, which hovered just above the water, meant business. It was odd as they also had a ludicrous orange feathery crest which shaded their eyes from the sun. All in all, it made for a very strange ensemble. The birds stood statue-like still with large black eyes studying the depths. Then they moved faster than the eye could follow—master fishermen snapping up young red snappers or skipjack tuna from the mangroves.

Brody was enjoying the view, relaxing in the warmth of the sun when he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, boss. You back from the dead?”

His good friend and crew member Hassan came walking from the restaurant kitchen. “Hi, Hassan. Habari asubuhi. Where have you been for the last seven days? I’ve been looking after Shukran all alone.”

Hassan was in his late twenties and had been with Brody since he arrived in East Africa. He was a typical Swahili from Pemba Island off Tanzania. As a Swahili, he was devoutly Muslim, but he had dealt with Muzungu tourists over the years so had become lenient about being around bars and alcohol. He wore his usual bright-white kanzu, a full-length robe traditionally worn on the coast. On his head was a kofir, a brimless cylindrical cap with a flat crown covered in bright embroidery. His nut-brown face creased into a broad mischievous smile. “But boss, I left you with that Kikuyu girl. She seemed to be doing a good job, and you weren’t complaining.”

Brody laughed. “Ah, but Wanjiku can’t make coffee like you, my friend. So where did you go?”

“Boss, I headed off to Pemba to see my mum and dad. Everyone sends their salaams back to you. My sister is so happy to be on the mainland in uni. My dad wants her to be an engineer, but Mum says no. She wants her to be a doctor. There is none on the island right now.”

Hassan made himself comfortable at the table and told the story of his journey some one hundred miles to the south. When he had finished his story and drunk a soda, Brody asked, “What do you think of this weather? The sky is clear today. Maybe we have a break and could do some free diving or fishing. I’m much better and would love to get wet.”

“Boss, you never know with the monsoon. Especially the Kusi. She comes and goes. But it looks good.

Perhaps we wait a couple more days and then pop out and have a look. Where is Gumbao? Have you seen him?”

“I haven’t seen him for days. We’ll have to ask around town and the jail.”

Brody said, “O.K., you go look for him. I’ll check over Shukran to see if we have any maintenance to do before setting out.

***

Excerpt from African Vengeance by Steve Braker. Copyright 2021 by Steve Braker. Reproduced with permission from Steve Braker. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Steve Braker

In 2000 Steve Braker moved his young family from his native UK to Mtwapa, Kilifi in Kenya within the coast of East Africa. He has sailed the coast in a multitude of different sailing boats, working as a captain and taking diving clients to out of the way places along the coast and to the Tanzanian islands of Pemba, Mafia, and Jewe and up to the borders of Somalia. As an avid diver, Steve trained to become a P.A.D.I. open water dive instructor and has taught many students over the years. He has over 1,000 dives under his belt.

Steve loves to pull on his experiences and develop them into fast-paced action thrillers. He speaks several of the languages spoken along the coast of East Africa and loves to barter in the markets in Swahili. He lives to explore areas he has never been and to bring the adventures to life through the characters in his books. Steve currently reside in Mombasa, Kenya.

Catch Up With Steve Braker:
SteveBrakerBooks.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @steve1697
Instagram – @africanoceanadventures
Twitter – @steve_braker (#AfricanOceanAdventures)
Facebook – @AfricanOceanAdventures

 

 

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STRANGERS SHE KNOWS by Christina Dodd ~ Book Blast

Strangers She Knows

by Christina Dodd

September 17, 2019

on Tour September 17 – October 1, 2019

Synopsis:

Strangers She Knows by Christina Dodd

Perfect for fans of Nora Roberts, Sandra Brown, Linda Howard, and Jayne Ann Krentz, New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd returns with the chilling finale to the Cape Charade trilogy.

I have three deadly problems:

  1. I’ve seriously offended a maniacal killer.
  2. I just had a bullet removed from my brain.
  3. My new daughter is growing up too fast—and she’s in the line of fire.
  4. Living on an obscure, technology-free island off California means safety from the murderer who hunts Kellen Adams and her new family…or does it? Family time becomes terror time, until Kellen finds herself alone and facing an all-too-familiar psychopath. Only one can survive, and Kellen knows who must win…and who must die.

    Be sure to also check-out the rest of the Cape Charade series, starting with DEAD GIRL RUNNING and WHAT DOESN’T KILL HER, available now wherever books are sold.

    Series STARRED reviews from Booklist

    “From the unforgettable heroine with a past to the incisively etched cast of secondary characters to the brilliantly imaginative plot, Dodd is at her most wildly entertaining, wickedly witty best.” -Booklist STARRED review on DEAD GIRL RUNNING

    “Featuring an unforgettable protagonist…who makes Jack Reacher look like a slacker when it comes to dispatching trouble, and an ingenious plot that includes plenty of white-knuckle twists and turns as well as some touching moments of mother-daughter bonding.” -Booklist STARRED review on WHAT DOESN’T KILL HER

    “Dodd continues her addictively readable Cape Charade series featuring Kellen Adams with another white-knuckle tale that simply begs to be inhaled in one sitting. With a fascinating island setting that includes a spooky old mansion, a secondary storyline involving World War II, and an antagonist who could give Villanelle from Killing Eve a pointer or two, this is Dodd at her brilliant best.” -Booklist STARRED review on STRANGERS SHE KNOWS

    Book Details:

    Genre: Mystery/Suspense
    Published by: HQN Books
    Publication Date: September 17, 2019
    Number of Pages: 352
    ISBN: 1335468331 (ISBN13: 9781335468338)
    Series: Cape Charade #3
    Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

    Read an excerpt:

    Yearning Sands Resort Washington’s Pacific Coast This Spring

    Rae Di Luca stacked up her Level Three lesson books, opened the piano bench and put them away. She got out the Adult Course Level 1A book, opened it to “Silver Bells,” and put it on the music rack. “Mom, you have to practice.”

    Kellen didn’t look up from her book. “I know.”

    “When?”

    “When what?”

    “When are you going to do it?”

    “I’m at the good part. Let me finish this chapter.”

    “No, you have to practice now. You know it helps with your finger dexterity.”

    When had their roles reversed, Kellen wondered? When had ten-year-old Rae become the sensible adult and Kellen become the balky child?

    Oh yeah. When she had the brain surgery, her right hand refused to regain its former abilities, and the physical therapist suggested learning the piano. But there was a reason Kellen hadn’t learned to play the piano earlier in her life. She loved music—and she had no musical talent. That, added to the terrible atrophy that afflicted her fingers, made her lessons and practices an unsurpassed agony…for everyone.

    She looked up, saw Rae standing, poised between coaxing and impatience, and the Rolodex in Kellen’s punctured, operated-on and much-abused brain clicked in:

    RAE DI LUCA:

    FEMALE, 10YO, 5‘0″, 95LBS. KELLEN’S DAUGHTER. HER MIRACLE. IN TRANSITION: GIRL TO WOMAN, BLOND HAIR TO BROWN, BROWN EYES LIGHTENING TO HAZEL. LONG LEGS; GAWKY. SKIN A COMBINATION OF HER ITALIAN HERITAGE FROM HER FATHER AND THE NATIVE AMERICAN BLOOD FROM KELLEN; FIRST PIMPLE ON HER CHIN. NEVER TEMPERAMENTAL. KIND, STRONG, INDEPENDENT.

    Kellen loved this kid. The feeling was more than human. It was feral, too, and Kellen would do anything to protect Rae from threat—and had. “I know. I’m coming. It’s so much more fun to listen to you play than practice myself. You’re good and I’m…awful.”

    “I’m not good. I’m just better than you.” Rae came over and wrapped her arms around Kellen’s neck, hugged and laughed. “But Luna is better than you.”

    “Don’t talk to me about that dog. She howls every time I sit down at the piano. Sometimes she doesn’t even wait until I start playing. The traitor.” Kellen glared at the dog, and once again her brain—which had developed this ability after that shot to the head—sorted through the files of identity cards to read:

    LUNA:

    FEMALE, FULL-SIZED POODLE/AUSTRALIAN CATTLE DOG/AT LEAST ONE OTHER BREED, 50LBS, RED COAT, BROWN EYES, STRONGLY MUSCLED. RESCUED BY RAE AND MAX WHILE KELLEN RECOVERED FROM SURGERY. FAMILY MEMBER. RAE’S FRIEND, COMPANION, PROTECTOR. MUSIC LOVER.

    Luna watched Kellen in return, head resting on her paws, waiting for her chance to sing a solo protest to Kellen’s inept rendition of “Silver Bells.”

    “Everybody’s a critic.” Rae set the timer. “Come on. Ten minutes of scales, then you only have to practice for thirty minutes.”

    “Why do I have to practice ‘Silver Bells’? Christmas isn’t for seven months.”

    “So you’ll have mastered it by the time the season rolls around.”

    “I used to like that song.”

    “We all used to like that song.” Rae took Kellen’s left hand and tugged. “Mom, come on. You know you feel better afterward.”

    Kellen allowed herself to be brought to her feet. “I’m going to do something wild and crazy. I’m going to start learning ‘When the Saints Go Marching In.’ It’s the next song in the book, and I like it.”

    “You can learn anything you want after you practice your scales and work on ‘Silver Bells’ for fifteen minutes.”

    No one wanted to be inside today, certainly not Rae Di Luca, certainly not Kellen Adams Di Luca, certainly not upstairs in their private quarters in the Yearning Sands Resort. Not when spring had come to the Washington state Pacific Coast. April and May’s drenching rains turned the world a soggy brown. Then, on the first of June, one day of blazing sunshine created green that spread across the coastal plain.

    Kellen made her way through the ten minutes of scales—the dog remained quiescent for those—then began plunking out “Silver Bells.” 

    As she struggled with the same passage, her right hand fingers responding only sporadically, Luna started with a slight whine that grew in intensity. At the first high howl, Kellen turned to the dog. 

    “Look, this isn’t easy for me, either.”

    Luna sat, head cocked, one ear up, one ear down, brown eyes pleading with her.

    “I would love to stop,” Kellen told her and turned back to the piano. “How about a different tune? Let’s try ‘When the Saints Go Marching In.’”

    She played the first few notes and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dog subside. Then, as she worked on a tricky passage, made the same mistake, time after time, the dog sat up again, lifted her nose and howled in mourning for the slaughter of the song.

    Rae giggled, and when her mother glowered, the child controlled herself. “Come on, Luna, I’ll take you outside.”

    The dog didn’t budge.

    “She thinks she’s helping you,” Rae explained. “Come on, Luna. Come on!” She coaxed her out the door, turned back to Kellen and said sternly, “Twenty more minutes!”

    “Yeah, yeah.” Kellen struggled on, trying to make her recalcitrant fingers do her bidding. Even when she finally got the notes right, it wasn’t a piano tune so much as jack-in-the-box music. When at last the timer went off, she slumped over the keyboard and stared at the fingers of her right hand.

    They were trying to atrophy, to curl in and refuse to do her bidding ever again. But the physical therapists assured her she could combat this. She had to create new nerve ways, train another part of her brain to handle the work, and since two hands were better than one and her right hand was her dominant hand, the battle was worth fighting. But every day, the forty minutes at the keyboard left her drained and discouraged. 

    Behind her, Max said, “Turn around and let me rub your hands.”

    She noticed he did not say, That was good. Or even, That was better.

    Max didn’t tell lies.

    Kellen sighed and swiveled on the piano bench. Again that Rolodex in her brain clicked in:

    MAX DI LUCA:

    MALE, 38YO, 6’5″, 220LBS, ITALIAN-AMERICAN, FORMER FOOTBALL PLAYER. HANDSOME, TANNED, CURLY BLACK HAIR, BROWN EYES SURROUNDED BY LONG BLACK LASHES. ONCE HIGH UP IN THE DI LUCA FAMILY CORPORATION, STEPPED DOWN TO RAISE HIS DAUGHTER, NOW DIRECTOR OF THE FAMILY’S YEARNING SANDS RESORT ON THE WASHINGTON COAST. KIND, GENEROUS, RESPONSIBLE, LOVING. A STICKLER FOR DUTY. FAR TOO MUCH WILLPOWER, WHICH WAS IRRITATING TO KELLEN IN MATTERS RELATING TO THEIR MARITAL STATE.

    He took her right hand gently in both of his and, starting at the wrist, he massaged her palm, her thumb, her fingers. He used a lavender-scented oil, and stretched and worked the muscles and bones while she moaned with pleasure.

    He listened with a slight smile, and when she looked into his face, she realized his lips looked fuller, he had a dark flush over his cheekbones and his nostrils flared as he breathed. She looked down at his jeans, leaned close and whispered, “Max, I’m done with practice. Why don’t we wander up to our bedroom and I’ll rub your…hand, too.”

    He met her eyes. He stopped his massage. Except for the rise and fall of his chest, he was frozen in that pose of incipient passion.

    Then he sat back and sighed. “Doctor says no.”

    “Doctor said be careful.” 

    “Woman, if I could be careful, I would. As it is, nothing is best.”

    “I am torn between being flattered and frustrated.” She thought about it. “Mostly frustrated.”

    I’m just fine.” Max didn’t usually resort to sarcasm, so that told her a lot. Married almost two years and no sex. He was a good man, but he was coming to the end of his patience.

    “If we’re refraining because we’re worried I’m going to pop a blood vessel while in the throes of passion, I’d like to point out there are solutions that you might enjoy.”

    “That isn’t fair to you.”

    “You’re massaging my hand. That’s pretty wonderful.”

    “Not the same.” Again he took her tired hand and went to work.

    Bitterly she said, “Kellen’s Brain. It’s like a bad sci-fi fantasy.”

    He laughed. “It’s improving all the time.” When he had made her hand relax and Kellen relax with it, he said, “I’ve been thinking—the Di Luca family owns Isla Paraíso off the coast of Northern California. The family bought the island seventy years ago with the idea of placing a resort on the island, but now that doesn’t seem likely. Someone needs to go there, look things over, make decisions about its fate.”

    Kellen nodded. “You want to go there? See what you think?”

    “Actually, I thought we should all go there.”

    He was still working her hand, but with a little too much forcefulness and concentration.

    “Ouch,” she said softly.

    He pulled away, horrified. “Did I hurt you?”

    “Not at all. Except that you’re treating me like a child.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “You’re not telling me what’s really going on. Why do you want to go to this island?”

    “I told you—”

    “I don’t doubt that what you told me is the truth. But it’s not all the truth. Max, what’s wrong?”

    Max sighed, an understatement of a sigh, as if he dreaded what he was about to say. “You’re not going to like it.”

    “I gathered that.”

    “Mitch Nyugen.”

    “What about him? He’s dead.” She remembered she couldn’t always trust Kellen’s Brain. “Isn’t he?”

    “Yes. He was buried in the Cape Charade cemetery.”

    Was buried?” Unease stirred in her belly.

    “This week, his widow arrived from Wyoming.”

    “He wasn’t married.” That brain thing. “Was he?”

    “No.” Max was as sure as Kellen was not. “Yet the woman who claimed to be his widow had all the necessary paperwork to have his body exhumed.”

    “Oh, no.”

    “She had the coffin placed in the chapel. Last night, the undertaker, Arthur Earthman, found her there, with the coffin open. She murdered him, and almost killed his wife, Cynthia. The widow escaped ahead of the sheriff, and she left her calling card.”

    Kellen knew. She knew what Max was going to say. “She cut off Mitch’s hands.”

    “And took them.” Max looked up at her, his brown eyes wretched with fear. “Mara Philippi is back. And she’s here.”

    ***

    Excerpt from Strangers She Knows by Christina Dodd. Copyright 2019 by Christina Dodd. Reproduced with permission from HQN Books. All rights reserved.

     

     

    Author Bio:

    Christina Dodd

    New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd writes “edge-of-the-seat suspense” (Iris Johansen) with “brilliantly etched characters, polished writing, and unexpected flashes of sharp humor that are pure Dodd” (ALA Booklist). Her fifty-eight books have been called “scary, sexy, and smartly written” by Booklist and, much to her mother’s delight, Dodd was once a clue in the Los Angeles Times crossword puzzle.

    Enter Christina’s worlds and join her mailing list at:
    christinadodd.com, Goodreads, BookBub, Twitter, Instagram, & Facebook!

     

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    Book Blast Giveaway:

    This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Christina Dodd and HQN Books. There will be one (1) winner. The winner will receive an Amazon.com Gift Card. The giveaway begins on September 17, 2019 and runs through September 26, 2019. Void where prohibited.

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