WELCOME CHRISTOPHER ZENOS

CHRISTOPHER ZENOS

Christopher Zenos is a pseudonym. The author is a well-published university professor who has contended with mental illness all his life. Autumn in Carthage developed, in large part, from his need to narrate this world he inhabits: The man standing at the window, bracing against the wind as he gazes in wonder at the light and comfort on the other side.
Connect with Christopher at his blog on GR:

ABOUT THE BOOK

The nether side of passion is madness.

Nathan Price is a college professor with crippling impairments, seeking escape from his prison of necessity. One day, in a package of seventeenth-century documents from Salem Village, he stumbles across a letter by his best friend, Jamie, who had disappeared six months before. The document is dated 1692–the height of the Witch Trials. The only potential lead: a single mention of Carthage, a tiny town in the Wisconsin northern highland.

The mystery catapults Nathan from Chicago to the Wisconsin wilderness. There, he meets Alanna, heir to an astonishing Mittel-European legacy of power and sacrifice. In her, and in the gentle townsfolk of Carthage, Nathan finds the refuge for which he has long yearned. But Simon, the town elder, is driven by demons of his own, and may well be entangled in Jamie’s disappearance and that of several Carthaginians. As darkness stretches toward Alanna, Nathan may have no choice but to risk it all…

Moving from the grimness of Chicago’s South Side to the Wisconsin hinterlands to seventeenth-century Salem, this is a story of love, of sacrifice, of terrible passions–and of two wounded souls quietly reaching for the deep peace of sanctuary.

BOOK DETAILS:

Number of Pages: 332 pages
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Publication Date: March 5, 2014
ISBN-10: 1496043022
ISBN-13: 978-1496043023

PURCHASE LINKS:

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

WELCOME SCOTT BERGSTROM

SCOTT BERGSTROM

Scott Bergstrom is a writer and traveler fascinated by the darker, unloved corners of the world’s great cities. His books and articles on architecture and urbanism have been widely published both in the United States and Europe. The Cruelty is his first novel.
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ABOUT THE BOOK

When her diplomat father is kidnapped and the U.S. Government is unable to help, 17 year-old Gwendolyn Bloom sets off across the sordid underbelly of Europe to rescue him. Following the only lead she has—the name of a Palestinian informer living in France—she plunges into a brutal world of arms smuggling and human trafficking. As she journeys from the slums of Paris, to the nightclubs of Berlin, to the heart of the most feared crime family in Prague, Gwendolyn discovers that to survive in this new world she must become every bit as cruel as the men she’s hunting.

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BOOK DETAILS:

Number of Pages: 322 pages
Publisher: NuCodex Publishing
Publication Date: February 26, 2014
ASIN: B00IODZ8U2

PURCHASE LINKS:

   

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WELCOME ANDERSON HARP

ANDERSON HARP

Anderson Harp served 30 years in the U.S. Marine Corps, rising through the ranks to become a Colonel. His stations included: the Pentagon, South Korea, Central America, the Persian Gulf, Europe, Camp Pendleton, the Marine Mountain Training Center, Fort Benning, Fort Sill, and Camp LeJeune. He has served as the Officer in Charge of Crisis Action Team for Marine Forces Central Command. His decorations include the Defense Meritorious Service Medal, Meritorious Service Medal and Navy Commendation Medal. As an officer in the Marine Corps Reserve, he was mobilized for Operation Enduring Freedom and served with MarCent’s Crisis Action Team. Anderson Harp lives with his family in Columbus, Georgia.
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ABOUT THE BOOK

Anderson Harp served 30 years in the U.S. Marine Corps, rising through the ranks to become a Colonel. He has served as the Officer in Charge of the Crisis Action Team for Marin Forces Central Command. His decorations include the Defense Meritorious Service Medal, Meritorious Service Medal, and Navy Commendation Medal. As an officer in the Marine Corps Reserve, he was mobilized for Operation Enduring Freedom and served with MarCent’s Crisis Action Team. Using his up-to-date knowledge of cutting edge technology, and the kind of military experience that a make for great thriller writing, Harp has created a fast-moving and totally riveting thriller that will make Anderson Harp a leading name, like Ludlam and Brad Thor, in the military/political thriller. RETRIBUTION (Pinnacle Books, March 2014; $9.99) by Anderson Harp, a book in the Will Parker thriller series will be published in mass market by Pinnacle Books this March, now with full national distribution.

The remote and impenetrable Pakistani mountains have offered refuge to the worst

enemies of civilization since the time of Alexander. Now, the world faces a new challenge. Reared from birth to harbor a seething hatred, a lone man is about to unleash a firestorm that will rage for centuries. And the window of opportunity to stop him is shutting much faster than Washington D.C. can hope to deal with.

A top operator, Will Parker is embedded within the terrorists’ ranks to stop this catastrophic disaster. But with a nuclear core on its way to the U.S., Parker will go to any length to stop a devastating threat to the homeland, more lethal than anything the USA—and the world—has ever faced.

BOOK DETAILS:

Published by:Pinnacle, an imprint of Kensington
Publication Date: March, 2014
Number of Pages: 528 pages
ISBN: 978-0-7860-3421-5

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WELCOME JENNY SAUER

JENNY SAUER

Jenny Sauer is a SAG-AFTRA television and film actress whose credits include Water For Elephants, Project X, The Hangover: Part II, Millionaire Matchmaker, The Mentalist and more. She has also appeared in commercials for Old Navy, Sun Chips, 901 Tequila and Swiffer. Born in Jacksonville, Ill. and raised in Winchester, Ill., Sauer is also a third generation farm girl. Sauer has also modeled for a national Corning Ware advertisement, now featured in the new spring issue of The Knot Magazine, and Chicago designers Boris Powell Designs and Anna Hovet.
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Q&A with Jenny Sauer

As readers will learn in your new book, you grew up on a farm, worked in a lab, modeled, and have acted in numerous films and commercials. How did you come to write a book?
Those various experiences took me across the country to live in different places and subsequently threw me into different cultures where I met so many types of people. It made for a collection of interesting stories, especially from during my “serial dating” stage in L.A., I wanted to share for people to connect with and hopefully even learn from my mistakes and many adventures.

How are you so unapologetic? You say things most people probably want to say but for some reason or another don’t.
My whole family is very quick-witted, so growing up I learned a lot from my older brother and sister concerning comebacks and how they dealt with things. From that I created my own effective way of dealing with people. I won’t say I’m completely unapologetic, but I am brutally honest. I’m not a drama fiend and much prefer being straight up and real about something. I believe honesty makes life easier. That being said, I don’t enjoy hurting someone on purpose. I do actually feel bad if my honesty unintentionally hurts a person’s feelings.

I think the people who come to me for advice ask because they know I will tell them the truth and not sugar coat things. And I respect others who are just as honest with me. If someone tells me I’m wrong about something, great! I want to know my faults, and I know that I can be wrong. You won’t get anywhere in life just thinking you’re better than everyone else.

While you do give many of your exes a tough review, the good guys definitely get a nice pat on the back and you’re honest about your own faults, too. Is it hard to open up about such a personal topic as dating?
It really wasn’t hard to open up about my dating experiences; I’m essentially an open book anyway. I tell stories and argue with facts. So if the guys represented don’t like how they are viewed, tough noogies because it’s the truth.

You say you’re really close to your mom – is she going to gawk at any of these stories about her little girl in the dating scene?
She has read the book and thinks it’s funny. She has known all of the stories along the way; so there weren’t any surprises to her. I really do tell her EVERYTHING.

The nicknames for your Match.com encounters are hilarious. What do you think you ex-dates would call you?
Hmmm, that’s a good one. “Smartass McDoogle,” “Eyes”…I’ve had a lot of different experiences with guys so I’m really not sure. I’ll be frank, I really don’t want to know. 😉 I’m usually just known as “Jen” or “Jenny,” in their phones anyway. For the record, I hate the nickname “Jen,” especially on a first date. Don’t shorten a person’s name when you just met them, for crying out loud! You don’t hear me shortening your name because I’m feeling lazy and don’t want to speak an extra syllable.

You’ve written a book on dating, but you’re not married?
You don’t have to be married, or an expert, to date. And these are real, actual experiences. That’s what I’m sharing. The good, bad and ugly. I’ll find that person someday, but I’m in no rush. I’d rather take my time to make sure. I don’t feel like pulling an Elizabeth Taylor and having more than seven or eight weddings. Plus, weddings are expensive and stressful, not my cup of tea to do more than one.

Do you stay in touch with any of your exes in the book?
Yes I do, and it’s probably obvious to the reader which ones. The guys I don’t speak ill about, I still like and we left everything on good terms, so why not stay in touch as friends?

There are actually a few where I talk to them about who they are dating now and give them advice. Not every day, but every couple of months here and there. It’s nice.

From text hoarding, to stiletto porn, to old people’s toenails, you draw quite a few laughs in your book. But there is a mix of funny and serious, as you also offer some real advice. What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever personally received about dating?
“Stop looking, it’ll happen.”

ABOUT THE BOOK

Model and SAG-AFTRA television and film actress Jenny Sauer adds author to her resume as she sets to release her first book on March 1. “Snickering Out Loud” is an autobiographical look into Sauer’s own dating life, showcasing her experiences from growing up on a small Illinois farm to her serial dating escapades in the big city of Los Angeles.

The book opens with an introduction into Sauer’s not-so-normal life – she’s gone from herding cattle on the family farm to publishing scientific research to modeling and acting in national films, commercials and magazines. And the dating adventures she shares next show how her various suitors have been just as much a mixed bag. College, work and love brought Sauer across the country to make lasting memories in Los Angeles, Chicago, Dallas, Little Rock, Oklahoma City and other small towns in-between.

The tall, funny and brutally honest female provides refreshingly unapologetic commentary on everything – yes everything – a gal or guy has wanted to say about those horrible dates, questioning a relationships status and waiting for “the one” to finally come around.

Tying everything up at the end of the book, Sauer includes a list of helpful advice on love and dating she’s gathered throughout her time in the field.

“The book is a nice heaping dose of Irish sarcasm, wit and humor for the dating impaired,” Sauer explained. “Let’s face it, dating isn’t always enjoyable, so I have taken my unexpected, yet surprising, experiences and made them into a big ball of side-splitting material for your reading pleasure. It’s okay not to be good at dating, just make sure you laugh about it.”

BOOK DETAILS:

Number of Pages: 168 pages
Publisher: Grinding Gears Publishing
Publication Date: February 15, 2014
ISBN-10: 0578137887
ISBN-13: 978-0578137889

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WELCOME BACK PETER MURPHY

PETER MURPHY

Peter Murphy was born in Killarney where he spent his first three years before his family was deported to Dublin, the Strumpet City.

Growing up in the verdant braes of Templeogue, Peter was schooled by the De La Salle brothers in Churchtown where he played rugby for ‘The Wine and Gold’. He also played football (soccer) in secret!

After that, he graduated and studied the Humanities in Grogan’s under the guidance of Scot’s corner and the bar staff; Paddy, Tommy and Sean.

Murphy financed his education by working summers on the buildings sites of London in such places as Cricklewood, Camden Town and Kilburn.

Murphy also tramped the roads of Europe playing music and living without a care in the world.
But his move to Canada changed all of that. He only came over for a while – thirty years ago.
He took a day job and played music in the bars at night until the demands of family life intervened.
Having raised his children and packed them off to University, Murphy answered the long ignored internal voice and began to write.

He has no plans to make plans for the future and is happy to let things unfold as they do anyway.
Connect with Peter at these sites:

ABOUT THE BOOK

BORN & BRED is the first novel in the Life & Times Trilogy, a cycle of three books that will chart the course of one star-crossed life. It is a work of vibrant imagination from a poetic novelist of the first order.

Danny Boyle was a born angel.

At least that’s what his granny used to say, and she should know – she raised him after his parents proved incapable. When she becomes ill, Danny is reunited with his parents but they do not get to live happily ever after, as the ghosts of the past haunt their days. And when the old woman dies, all of her secrets come to light and shatter everything Danny believes in.

In the turmoil of 1970’s Ireland, an alienated Danny gets into drugs and is involved in a gangland killing. Duped by the killers into leaving his prints on the gun, Danny needs all the help his friends and family can muster. Calling in favors from bishops and priests, police and paramilitaries, God and the devil, the living and the dead, they do all that they can. But even that might not be enough.

READ AN EXCERPT

BOOK DETAILS:

Number of Pages: 395 pages
Publisher: The Story Plant
Publication Date: March 11, 2014
ISBN-10: 1611881161
ISBN-13: 978-1611881165

PURCHASE LINKS:

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

 

WELCOME TANNER McELROY

 

TANNER McELROY

McElroy lives in Dallas, Texas where he is already working on the second novel in the series, “War of Wings: The Reign,” and finishing up a non-fiction debut “The Stitches,” about his experience with baseball and heartbreak.   A former professional baseball player with the Texas Rangers, McElroy is a member of the Screen Actors Guild, Romance Writers of America and the Writers’ League of Texas.
Connect with TANNER at these sites:

           

ABOUT THE BOOK

In the beginning Heaven was perfect. All of the angels lived in complete harmony and bliss. Gabriel skated through existence on the many simple pleasures Heaven had to offer, Michael led the worker angels proudly, and Lucifer was the highest of the cherubim as well as the minister of music right under God. With one question everything changed. When God’s highest angel placed reason over faith to corrupt Heaven, a secret movement separated loved ones into two sides. After Lucifer discovered the power of the seven deadly sins and used them to empower angels, the two sides violently collided in the first war of all time, The War of Wings.

BOOK DETAILS:

Number of Pages: 384 pages
Publisher: Brown Books Publishing Group; 1 edition
Publication Date: March 21, 2014
ISBN-10: 1612541542
ISBN-13: 978-1612541549

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

 CMash  March 11, 2014  1 Comment on Guest Author LANDON PARHAM

BANNER

WELCOME IMAGE

LANDON PARHAM

LANDON PARHAM is a bestselling author who lives in the suburbs of Dallas, Texas. His goal as a writer is to raise awareness on everyday issues through fiction, and expose taboo realities that the masses give precious little attention to. The wild, majestic expanses of America inspire his visions and will continue to show up as integral parts of his work. Parham’s debut novel, First Night of Summer, became a bestseller in August 2013 when it hit #21 on Amazon’s Top 100 overall paid chart, and #2 on Barnes & Noble. It has garnered attention from FOX News, NBC, numerous law enforcement personnel, social workers, child-care advocates, and parents around the globe, as an emotional and true-to-life story. ”If we choose not to recognize the evil in our world, we will never stand up to it.” He is currently working on his next suspense novel following his debut. It will tackle a different, but no less suspenseful issue. Award-winning 2013 Readers’ Favorite International Award Finalist- Suspense/ Fiction Sony e-reader and #1 NYT Bestselling Author, Sandra Brown’s Debut Author Pick 2013 Become a fan and “like” my author page on Facebook to find out more. Get social with me on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Goodreads.
Connect with Landon at these sites:

           

Q&A with Landon Parham

Writing and Reading: 
Do you draw from personal experiences and/or current events?
Both. The fingers can only write what the mind can comprehend. My current projects take place in the here and now, so I have to make sure the details reflect today’s reality. The number one question I am asked as a thriller writer is this: “How can you write about such horrible things?” If you read my debut novel, First Night of Summer, you don’t have to go far before realizing that I am going to confront an exceedingly taboo subject. Having said that, you don’t have to read much further to understand that the deplorable subject matter is balanced by the deep love of family, the indelible gumption of the human spirit, and the profound power of forgiveness that has the ability to soothe the evilest of wrongdoings. All the raw human emotion is created by real human experiences.

Do you start with the conclusion and plot in reverse or start from the beginning and see where the story line brings you?
Neither. All of my plots begin with a single snapshot that is conjured in my imagination. Sometimes it comes in a dream. Sometimes it just pops into my head. Once I have a picture in full imaginative color, I start asking questions and running down rabbit holes. Kind of weird, but that way the story becomes what it is, not what I try and make it.

Your routine when writing?  Any idiosyncrasies?
Tough question. I am not really a routine kind of guy. I suppose the main cause of my success – the success of completing projects – is that I just keep plugging away. Each day requires something different. If there’s a day that I feel particularly melancholy, I’ll skip to a scene that calls for sorrow or hardship. If I’m pumped up, I’ll work on action sequences. And if someone has ticked me off…well, you get the point.

As far as ticks or habits…my wife would probably have a better response than I. I’m not a great multi-tasker. Let me correct; I’m a terrible multi-tasker. Nope, still not right. Actually, I’m flat-out incapable of multitasking. The affect is that when I get in my head, I may be there for days and otherwise completely useless for anything other than writing. God bless her for it. She’s very patient with me. I guess it’s because I’m pretty handy the other half of the time.

Is writing your full time job?  If not, may I ask what you do by day?
Unfortunately, no. First Night of Summer is my debut novel. Although it’s doing well, I still gotta pay them bills. My wife and I own and operate an e-retail business. That is the day job.

Who are some of your favorite authors?
Dean Koontz. Vince Flynn. James Patterson. J.K. Rowling. Christopher Paolini. Laura Hillenbrand. Lots of others, but those are my top few. The first three are also big influences in my style and motivation. Vince played a huge part in my writing career before he died of cancer. If not for him, I would not be writing this. R.I.P.

What are you reading now?
Odd Interlude by Dean Koontz. A Feast for Crows by George R.R. Martin.

Are you working on your next novel?  Can you tell us a little about it?
My next release will confront another prominent, but slightly less controversial, domestic issue. The storyline follows a mother and father as they struggle to raise their children through bouts of poverty, issues with alcohol, and domestic violence. Lines between antagonist and protagonist are blurred, the affects of a poor home life reach beyond the home, and the almost certain cause and effect that hurt people hurt people is undeniable. Humans are infinitely complex and I never get tired of exploring our capacity for construction—and destruction.

Fun questions:
Your novel will be a movie.  Who would you cast?
Isaac: Josh Duhamel. I’d love to see him play a serious, kind of rugged role.

Sarah: Hmmm. Need a good-looking, youngish blonde mom. Classic, but someone who can play a damaged past. Someone who has overcome hardship once, and can do it again. Michelle Williams, perhaps.

Ricky: Jim Caviezel. He would probably hate the role, but I’ve pictured him since I created Ricky. I think he’s a dynamic enough actor to pull it off. Plus he has those piercing light eyes.

ABOUT THE BOOK

WHEN TRAGEDY STRIKES, a father discovers that a journey of misfortune is sometimes the path to deliverance. The quaint mountain town of Ruidoso, New Mexico, is the perfect place for Isaac Snow to raise his family. But when eight-year-old daughters, Caroline and Josie, commit an innocent act of heroism, media coverage attracts the wrong kind of attention. Soon, their life unravels, leading them to the crossroads of love and hate, forgiveness and retribution.

In the dark hours of a drizzly morning, Isaac, an ex-air force pilot, wakes to find a masked intruder cradling one of the twins in his arms. Before he can react, the man in black leaps through the nearest window, plummeting in a tangle of body parts and glass. Isaac charges in pursuit, but is suddenly faced with a new dilemma. Caroline is unconscious, lying facedown in the lawn, cuts from the shattered window saturating her pajamas. If he gives chase, his little girl will surely bleed to death.

From a secretive loner with a pension for unrestrained violence to the pristine granite peaks of the Rocky Mountains–from laughter filled family dinners to a string of cross-country abductions, LANDON PARHAM’S debut novel relentlessly explores the horrific realities of unnatural lust and obsession. Taken well beyond the investigation and law-enforcement tactics, you’ll find yourself steeped in journey of evil and torment, and the power of family that overcomes it all. Suspenseful, bold and meticulously researched; a true psychological thriller that captures the heart.

READ AN EXCERPT

“Thoroughly engaging from start to finish…Overwhelming love, fear, self-doubt, and rage…emotions any parent could relate to. A foe that readers will want to see defeated, abolished, ground to dust.”
–Sandra Brown, #1 New York Times bestselling author of LETHAL

“FIRST NIGHT OF SUMMER is a wonderfully written tale of secrets, subterfuge and their effects on one family. Landon Parham’s debut thriller is a smooth mix of C.J. Box with Harlan Coben in an angst-riddled novel staged in the murky half-light of moral complexity. The book’s simple, ironic title belies its fully realized characterizations and multi-layered plot, serving up a superb cat-and-mouse game where very little is what it first appears to be.”
–Jon Land, bestselling author of STRONG RAIN FALLING

“First Night of Summer” Excerpt- Chapter Six

There was calm before the storm. Like fire and water, the inferno in Isaac’s eyes reached across the room and lit the violent waves dwelling in Ricky’s baby blues.

Not a split second lapsed between realization and reaction. There was never fear or hesitation, only a primal urge to protect his family. A threat cannot be posed if it does not exist, and he fully intended to eliminate the threat completely.

He raced to the window and noticed that both beds were empty. That was what training at speeds well beyond the sound barrier did. It honed an ability to think and work at the same time, in the blink of an eye, blending thoughts and actions into instinct.

The man in black must have known what was going to happen. He dropped the girl from his arms and simultaneously sprang in the opposite direction. The window was open, but not enough to accommodate the violent exit.

The child’s body hit the floor, followed by a crashing of glass. Like it was nothing more than a soap bubble, the window shattered, taking half the frame with it. The masked man fell to the lawn in a storm of debris.

Isaac was in hot pursuit, about to jump out the mangled opening. But the body, which he recognized as Josie’s, was in the way. Where is Caroline? He put his palms on the windowsill, broken glass lacerating them, and looked out. Not three feet away was the intruder. As quickly as he had flown through the window, he got to his feet and ran. And there, lying motionless on the rain-soaked lawn, Isaac found the answer to his question.

Shards of glass covered Caroline’s body. The bastard had landed right on top of her, smashing jagged pieces between their bodies.

Isaac was prepared to hurl himself out the window and give chase. Backing down was not in his nature. He had killed before and knew he was capable of doing it again. And this time, he really wanted to. He was about to do so when the bedroom lights turned on.

“What’s going on in here?” Sarah demanded. She stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of his boxers and a baggy shirt. “I heard glass—”

“Call nine one one!” he barked.

“Josie!” Her face was stricken with horror as she rushed forward. “What the hell happened?”

“Call the police. Now! Someone tried to kidnap them. She’s fine,” he said, meaning Josie.

In fact, he didn’t know for certain that she was fine. He had, however, noticed the strip of tape over her mouth. Dead people didn’t scream, so he assumed the best. She was alive but knocked out or drugged. There was no time to stop and see.

Sarah was frantic. Her eyes searched the room for Caroline. “Where’s Caroline? Where is she?”

“She’s out the window.” He watched the masked man run away. “Now please, honey. Get the phone, call nine one one, and come back.”

With his hands still on the windowsill, disregarding the little cuts and stabs, he vaulted through the open space. He landed over Caroline with one foot planted on either side of her. The blades of grass were soft. The fragments of glass, however, were not. They drove into his feet like nails, but he put the pain aside. His focus was too solitary to allow interference.

The bedroom lights lit the small patch of lawn where she laid, and he knelt. Outside of their island, the night consumed everything. He was about to run after the son of a bitch who had just disappeared behind the Howard’s home, but he stopped short. Caroline’s white sleeping shirt was stained crimson all around the neckline and chest. Had Sarah not flipped on the lights, he never would have seen it. She was hurt badly.

He heard Sarah’s feet pound down the hall and into the kitchen. In a few seconds, she was giving the operator an address and explaining the situation.

In the back of his mind, Isaac thought, I should go after him. But he couldn’t force himself to leave his little girl. Even if I catch him, what good would it do if Caroline bleeds to death? His world had shrunk to a tiny space in the great big mountain night. Outside of that, nothing mattered. Everything else was diminished. He could faintly hear Sarah asking Josie to wake up and the distant sound of an engine revving to life.

Caroline wore a pair of cotton pajama pants with different-colored hearts. The fabric was pulled up around her knees and exposed several scratches. A bead of blood ran down one calf. It was nothing compared to the stain growing around the collar of her shirt.

Moving someone who had just suffered a trauma injury was the last thing you were supposed to do. But Isaac had no choice. The way she was laying, he couldn’t see where all the blood was coming from. He gingerly rolled her flat and almost vomited at what he saw.

The side of her neck was completely sliced open. Blood literally poured from the flesh. The flow was constant and unrelenting. The gruesomeness of the laceration was not the cause for Isaac’s sickness. He had seen much worse. The gut-wrenching heave came from a sobering realization that she might be broken beyond repair. The cut was too deep, too wide, and in the wrong spot. A pool of red was already spread beneath her. The essence of her life slowly covered the green grass. He clenched his teeth and shut off emotions. His baby was dying. He had to do something.

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Suspense / Crime
Published by: Valiant Books
Publication Date: 02/15/2013
Number of Pages: 315
ISBN:
0988802503 ebook
978-0988802506 hardcover
978-0988802513 paperback

PURCHASE LINKS:

           

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

 

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 Posted in Book Blast, Guest Author, Harper Collins/William Morrow, Partners In Crime Tours

Witness Impulse Presents: CONFESSION

 CMash  March 11, 2014  Leave a Comment on Witness Impulse Presents: CONFESSION

Confession

by Carey Baldwin

BOOK BLAST on March 11th

on Tour April 2014

 

CAREY BALDWIN

Carey Baldwin is a mild-mannered doctor by day and an award-winning author of edgy suspense by night. She holds two doctoral degrees, one in medicine and one in psychology. She loves reading and writing stories that keep you off balance and on the edge of your seat. Carey lives in the southwestern United States with her amazing family. In her spare time she enjoys hiking and chasing wildflowers.
Connect with Carey at these sites:

           

ABOUT THE BOOK

For fans of Allison Brennan and Karen Rose comes Carey Baldwin, a daring new name in suspense, with the story of a serial killer out for blood—and the only woman who can stop his reign of terror.
They say the Santa Fe Saint comes to save your soul—by taking your life.
Newly minted psychiatrist Faith Clancy gets the shock of her life when her first patient confesses to the grisly Saint murders. By law she’s compelled to notify the authorities, but is her patient really The Saint? Or will she contribute to more death by turning the wrong man over to the police? Faith is going to need all her wits and the help of a powerful adversary, Luke Jericho, if she’s to unravel the truth. But she doesn’t realize she’s about to become an unwitting pawn in a serial killer’s diabolical game: For once he’s finished with Faith, she’ll become his next victim.

READ AN EXCERPT

Prologue

Saint Catherine’s School for Boys
Near Santa Fe, New Mexico
Ten years ago—Friday, August 15, 11:00 P.M.
I’M NOT afraid of going to hell. Not one damn bit.

We’re deep in the woods, miles from the boys’ dormitory, and my thighs are burning because I walked all this way with Sister Bernadette on my back. Now I’ve got her laid out on the soggy ground underneath a hulking ponderosa pine. A bright rim of moonlight encircles her face. Black robes flow around her, engulfing her small body and blending with the night. Her face, floating on top of all that darkness, reminds me of a ghost-head in a haunted house—but she’s not dead.

Not yet.

My cheek stings where Sister scratched me. I wipe the spot with my sleeve and sniff the air soaked with rotting moss, sickly-sweet pine sap and fresh piss. I pissed myself when I clubbed her on the head with that croquet mallet. Ironic, since my pissing problem is why I picked Sister Bernadette in the first place. She ought to have left that alone.

I hear a gurgling noise.

Good.

Sister Bernadette is starting to come around.

This is what I’ve been waiting for.

With her rosary wound tightly around my forearm, the grooves of the carved sandalwood beads cutting deep into the flesh of my wrist, I squat down on rubber legs, shove my hands under her armpits and drag her into a sitting position against the fat tree trunk. Her head slumps forward, but I yank her by the hair until her face tilts up, and her cloudy eyes open to meet mine. Her lips are moving. Syllables form within the bubbles coming out of her mouth. I press my stinging cheek against her cold, sticky one.

Like a lover, she whispers in my ear, “God is merciful.”

The nuns have got one fucked-up idea of mercy.

“Repent.” She’s gasping. “Heaven…”

“I’m too far gone for heaven.”

The God I know is just and fierce and is never going to let a creep like me through the pearly gates because I say a few Hail Marys. “God metes out justice, and that’s how I know I will not be going to heaven.”

To prove my point, I draw back, pull out my pocketknife, and press the silver blade against her throat. Tonight, I am more than a shadow. A shadow can’t feel the weight of the knife in his palm. A shadow can’t shiver in anticipation. A shadow is not to be feared, but I am not a shadow. Not in this moment.

She moves her lips some more, but this time, no sound comes out. I can see in her eyes what she wants to say to me. Don’t do it. You’ll go to hell.

I twist the knife so that the tip bites into the sweet hollow of her throat. “I’m not afraid of going to hell.”

It’s the idea of purgatory that makes my teeth hurt and my stomach cramp and my shit go to water. I mean what if my heart isn’t black enough to guarantee me a passage straight to hell? What if God slams down his gavel and says, Son, you’re a sinner, but I have to take your family situation into account. That’s a mitigating circumstance.

A single drop of blood drips off my blade like a tear.

“What if God sends me to purgatory?” My words taste like puke on my tongue. “I’d rather dangle over a fiery pit for eternity than spend a single day of the afterlife in a place like this one.”

I watch a spider crawl across her face.

My thoughts crawl around my brain like that spider.

You could make a pretty good case, I think, that St. Catherine’s School for Boys is earth’s version of purgatory. I mean, it’s a place where you don’t exist. A place where no one curses you, but no one loves you either. Sure, back home, your father hits you and calls you a bastard, but you are a bastard, so its okay he calls you one. Behind me, I hear the sound of rustling leaves and cast a glance over my shoulder.

Do it! You want to get into hell, don’t you?

I turn back to sister and flick the spider off her cheek.

The spider disappears, but I’m still here.

At St. Catherine’s no one notices you enough to knock you around. Every day is the same as the one that came before it, and the one that’s coming after. At St. Catherine’s you wait and wait for your turn to leave, only guess what, you dumb-ass bastard, your turn is never going to come, because you, my friend, are in purgatory, and you can’t get out until you repent.

Sister Bernadette lets out another gurgle.

I spit right in her face.

I won’t repent, and I can’t bear to spend eternity in purgatory, which is I why I came up with a plan. A plan that’ll rocket me straight past purgatory, directly to hell.

Sister Bernadette is the first page of my blueprint. I have the book to guide me the rest of the way. For her sake, not mine, I make the sign of the cross.

She’s not moving, but her eyes are open, and I hear her breathing. I want her to know she is going to die. “You are going to help me get into hell. In return, I will help you get into heaven.”

I shake my arm and loosen the rosary. The strand slithers down my wrist. One bead after another drops into my open palm, electrifying my skin at the point of contact. My blood zings through me, like a high-voltage current. I am not a shadow.

A branch snaps, making my hands shake with the need to hurry.

What are you waiting for my friend?

Is Sister Bernadette afraid?

She has to be. Hungry for her fear, I squeeze my thighs together, and then I push my face close and look deep in her eyes.

“The blood of the lamb will wash away your sins.” She gasps, and her eyes roll back. “Repent.”

My heart slams shut.

I begin the prayers.
Chapter One

Santa Fe, New Mexico

Present Day—Saturday, July 20, 1:00 P.M.

Man, she’s something.

Luke Jericho halted mid-stride, and the sophisticated chatter around him dimmed to an indistinct buzz. Customers jamming the art gallery had turned the air hot, and the aromas of perfume and perspiration clashed. His gaze sketched the cut muscles of the woman’s shoulders before swerving to the tantalizing V of her low-back dress. There, slick fabric met soft skin just in time to hide the thong she must be wearing. His fingers found the cold silk knot of his tie and worked it loose. He let his glance dot down the line of her spine, then swoop over the arc of her ass. It was the shimmer of Mediterranean-blue satin, illuminated beneath art lights, that had first drawn his eye, her seductive shape that had pulled him up short, but it was her stance—her pose—that had his blood expanding like hot mercury under glass.

Head tilted, front foot cocked back on its stiletto, the woman studied one of Luke’s favorite pieces—his brother Dante’s mixed-media. A piece Luke had hand-selected and quietly inserted into this show of local artists in the hopes a positive response might bolster his brother’s beleaguered self-esteem.

The woman couldn’t take her eyes off the piece, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman. Her right arm floated, as if she were battling the urge to reach out and touch the multi-textured painting. Though her back was to him, he could picture her face, pensive, enraptured. Her lips would be parted and sensual. He savored the swell of her bottom beneath the blue dress. Given the way the fabric clung to her curves, he’d obviously guessed right about the thong. She smoothed the satin with her hand, and he rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. Ha. Any minute now she’d turn and ruin his fantasy with what was sure to turn out to be the most ordinary mug in the room.

And then she did turn, and damned if her mug wasn’t ordinary at all, but she didn’t appear enraptured. Inquisitive eyes, with a distinct undercurrent of melancholy, searched the room and found him. Then, delicate brows raised high, her mouth firmed into a hard line—even thinned, her blood-red lips were temptation itself—she jerked to a rigid posture and marched, yeah, marched, straight at him.

Hot ass. Great mouth. Damn lot of nerve.

“I could feel your stare,” she said.

“Kind of full of yourself, honey.”

A flush of scarlet flared across her chest, leading his attention to her lovely, natural breasts, mostly, but not entirely, concealed by a classic neckline. With effort, he raised his eyes to meet hers. Green. Skin, porcelain. Hair, fiery—like her cheeks—and flowing. She looked like a mermaid. Not the soft kind, the kind with teeth.

“I don’t like to be ogled.” Apparently she intended to stand her ground.

He decided to stand his as well. That low-back number she had on might be considered relatively tame in a room with more breasts on display than a Picasso exhibit, but there was something about the way she wore it. “Then you shouldn’t have worn that dress, darlin’.”

Her brow arched higher in challenge. “Which is it? Honey or darlin’?”

“Let’s go with honey. You look sweet.” Not at the moment she didn’t, but he’d sure like to try and draw the sugar out of her. This woman was easily as interesting and no less beautiful than his best gallery piece, and she didn’t seem to be reacting to him per the usual script. He noticed his hand floating up, reaching out, just as her hand had reached for the painting. Like his mesmerizing customer, he knew better than to touch the display, but it was hard to resist the urge.

Her body drew back, and her shoulders hunched. “You’re aware there’s a serial killer on the loose?”

Luke, you incredible ass.

No wonder she didn’t appreciate his lingering looks. Every woman he knew was on full alert. The Jericho charm might or might not be able to get him out of this one, but he figured she was worth a shot. “Here, in this gallery? In broad daylight?” He searched the room with his gaze and made his tone light. “Or are you saying you don’t like being sized up for the kill?” He patted his suit pockets, made a big show of it and then stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I seem to have misplaced my rosary somewhere, I don’t suppose you’ve seen it?”

Her shoulders eased back to a natural position.

“Seriously, do I look like someone who’d be called The Saint?”

If the glove doesn’t fit…

Her lips threatened to curve up at the corners. “No. I don’t suppose you do.” Another beat, and then her smile bloomed in earnest. “Looking a little is one thing, maybe it’s even flattering…but you seem to have exceeded your credit line.”

He turned his palms up. “Then I’d like to apply for an increase.”

At that, her pretty head tipped back, and she laughed, a big genuine laugh. It was the kind of laugh that was a touch too hearty for a polished society girl, which perhaps she wasn’t after all. It was also the kind of laugh he’d like to hear again. Of its own accord, his hand found his heart. “Listen, I’m honest-to-God sorry if I spooked you. That wasn’t my intention.”

Her expression was all softness now.

“Do you like the painting?” he asked, realizing that he cared more than he should about the answer.

“It’s quite…dark.” Her bottom lip shivered with the last word, and he could sense she found Dante’s painting disturbing.

Always on the defensive where his brother was concerned, his back stiffened. He tugged at his already loosened tie. “Artists are like that. I don’t judge them.”

“Of course. I-I wasn’t judging the artist. I was merely making an observation about the painting. It’s expressive, beautiful.”

Relaxing his stance, he pushed a hand through his hair.

She pushed a hand through her hair, and then her glance found her fancy-toed shoes. “Maybe I overreacted, maybe you weren’t even staring.”

Giving in to the urge to touch, he reached out and tilted her chin up until their eyes met. “I’m Luke Jericho, and you had it right the first time. I was staring. I was staring at—” He barely had time to register a startled flash of her green eyes before she turned on her heel and disappeared into the throng of gallery patrons.

He shrugged and said to the space where her scent still sweetened the air, “I was staring at your fascination. Your fascination fascinates me.”

Saturday, July 20, 1:30 P.M.

Faith Clancy strode across her nearly naked office and tossed her favorite firelight macaron clutch onto her desk. After rushing out of the gallery, she’d come to her office to regroup, mainly because it was nearby.

She could hear Ma’s voice now, see her wagging finger. “Luke Jericho? Sure’an you’ve gone and put your wee Irish foot in the stewpot now, Faith.”

Well, it was only a tiny misstep—what harm could possibly come of it? She braced her palms against the windowsill. Teeth clenched, she heaved with all her might until wood screeched against wood and the window lurched open.

A full inch.

Swell.

Summers in Santa Fe were supposed to be temperate, and she hadn’t invested in an air conditioner for her new office. She sucked in a deep breath, but the currentless summer air brought little relief from the heat. Lifting her hair off the back of her damp neck with one hand, she reached over and dialed on the big standing fan next to the desk with the other. The dinosaur whirred to life without a hiccup.

That made one thing gone right today.

The relaxing Saturday afternoon she’d been looking forward to all week had been derailed, thanks to Luke Jericho. Okay, that wasn’t even half fair. In reality, the wheels of her day had never touched down on the track to begin with. She’d awakened this morning with a knot in her stomach and an ache in her heart—missing Danny and Katie.

Walk it off, she’d thought. Dress up. Take in the sights. Act like you’re part of the Santa Fe scene and soon enough you will be. Determined to forget the homesick rumbling in her chest, Faith had plucked a confidence boosting little number from her closet, slipped on a pair of heels and headed out to mingle with polite society. Even if she didn’t feel like she fit in, at least she would look the part. But the first gallery she’d entered, she’d dunked her foot in the stewpot—crossing swords with, and then, even worse, flirting with the brother of a patient.

Rather bad luck considering she had just one patient.

Her toe started to tap.

Her gaze swept the office and landed on the only adornment of the freshly-painted walls—her diplomas and certificates, arranged in an impressive display with her psychiatric board certification center stage. A Yale-educated doctor. Ma and Da would’ve been proud, even if they might’ve clucked their tongues at the psychiatrist part. She blinked until her vision cleared. It wasn’t only Danny and Katie she was missing today.

She kicked off her blasted shoes and shook off her homesick blues…only to find her mind returning to the gallery and her encounter with a man who was strictly off limits.

There was no point chastising herself for walking into the art gallery in the first place, or for refusing to pretend she didn’t notice the man who was eyeing her like she was high tea in a whorehouse, and he a starving sailor.

Care for a macaron, sir?

Had she realized her admirer was Luke Jericho, she would’ve walked away without confronting him, but how was she to know him by sight? It wasn’t as if she spent her spare time flipping through photos of town royalty in the society pages.

She’d recognized his name instantly, however, and not only because she was treating his half-brother, Dante. The Jericho family had a sprawling ranch outside town and an interest in a number of local businesses. But most of their wealth, she’d heard, came from oil. The Jerichos, at least the legitimate ones, had money. Barrels and barrels of it.

Luke’s name was on the lips of every unattached female in town—from the clerk at the local Shop and Save to the debutant docent at the Georgia O’Keeffe museum:

Single.

Handsome.

Criminally rich.

Luke Jericho, they whispered.

When she’d turned to find him watching her, his heated gaze had caused her very bones to sizzle. Luke had stood formidably tall, dressed in an Armani suit that couldn’t hide his rancher’s physique. The gallery lights seemed to spin his straw-colored hair into gold and ignite blue fire in his eyes. She could still feel his gaze raking over her in that casual way, as if he didn’t wish to conceal his appetites. It was easy to see how some women might become undone in his presence. She eased closer to the fan.

“Dr. Clancy.”

That low male voice gave her a fizzy, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she’d just downed an Alka-Seltzer on top of the flu. When you’re all alone in a room, and someone else speaks, it’s just plain creepy.

It only took a millisecond to recognize the voice, but at a time when someone dubbed The Santa Fe Saint was on a killing spree, that was one millisecond too long. Icy tendrils of fear wrapped themselves around her chest, squeezing until it hurt her heart to go on beating. The cold certainty that things were not as they should be made the backs of her knees quiver. Then recognition kicked in, and her breath released in a whoosh.

It’s only Dante.

She pasted on a neutral expression and turned to face him. How’d he gotten in? The entrance was locked; she was certain of it.

“Did I frighten you?”

She inclined her head toward the front door to her office, which was indeed locked, and said, “Next time, Dante, I’d prefer you use the main entrance…and knock.”

“I came in the back.”

That much was obvious now that she’d regained her wits. “That’s my private entrance. It’s not intended for use by patients.” Stupid of her to leave it unlocked, but it was midday and she hadn’t expected an ambush.

To buy another moment to compose herself, she went to her bookcase and inspected its contents. Toward the middle, Freud’s “Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis” leaned haphazardly in the direction of its opponent, Skinner’s “Behavior Therapy”. A paperback version of “A Systems Approach to Family Therapy” had fallen flat, not quite bridging the gap between the warring classics.

Dante crossed the distance between them, finishing directly in front of her, invading her personal space. “Quite right. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She caught a blast of breath, pungent and wrong—a Listerine candle floating in a jar of whiskey. In self-defense, she took a step back before looking up at her patient’s face. Dante possessed his brother’s intimidating height, but unlike Luke, his hair was jet black, and his coal-colored eyes were so dark it was hard to distinguish the pupil from the iris. Despite Dante’s dark complexion and the roughness of his features—he had a previously broken nose and a shiny pink scar that gashed across his cheekbone into his upper lip—there was a distinct family resemblance between the Jericho brothers. Luke was the fair-haired son to Dante’s black sheep, and even their respective phenotypes fit the cliche.

Dante took a step forward.

She took another deep step back, bumping her rear-end against wood. With one hand she reached behind her and felt for the smooth rim of her desktop. With the other hand, she put up a stop sign. “Stay right where you are.”

He halted, and she edged her way behind her desk, using it as a barrier between herself and Dante. Maybe she should advise him to enroll in a social skills class since he didn’t seem to realize how uncomfortable he was making her. Though she knew full well Dante wasn’t on her schedule today—no one was on her schedule today—she powered on her computer. “Hang on a second while I check my calendar.”

“All right.” At least he had the courtesy to play along.

When he rested his hand on her desk, she noticed he was carrying a folded newspaper. She’d already seen today’s headline, and it had given her the shivers. “Any minute now.” She signaled to Dante with an upheld index finger.

He nodded, and, in what seemed an eternity of time, her computer finished booting. She navigated from the welcome screen to her schedule, and then in a firm, matter-of-fact voice, she told him, “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. Your appointment isn’t until Monday at four pm.”

As he took another step closer, a muscle twitched in his jaw. He didn’t seem to care when his appointment was. Gesturing toward the leather armchair on the patient side of her desk, she fended him off. “Have a seat right there.” If she could get him to sit down, maybe she could gain control of the situation; she really ought to hear him out long enough to make sure this wasn’t some sort of emergency.

Dante didn’t sit. Instead, from across the desk, his body inclined forward. Her throat went dry, and her speeding pulse signaled a warning. If this were an emergency, he most likely would have tried to contact her through her answering service, besides which, he’d had plenty of time already to mention anything urgent. He must’ve known he didn’t have an appointment today, so what the hell was he doing here on a Saturday?

Dante had no reason at all to expect her to be here. In fact, the more she thought about it, the less sense his presence made. Pulling her shoulders back, she said, “I am sorry, but you need to leave. You’ll have to come back on Monday at four.”

The scar tissue above his mouth tugged his features into a menacing snarl. “I saw you talking to my brother.”

He’d followed her from the art gallery.

Even though Dante’s primary diagnosis was schizotypal personality disorder, there was a paranoid component present, exacerbated by a sense of guilt and a need to compensate for feelings of inferiority. His slip and slide grip on reality occasionally propelled him into a near delusional state. She could see him careening into a dark well of anxiety now, and she realized she needed to reassure him she wasn’t colluding with his half-brother against him. “I wasn’t talking to your brother about you. In fact, I didn’t have any idea I had wandered into your brother’s art gallery until he…introduced himself.”

“I don’t believe you.”

As fast as her heart was galloping, she managed a controlled reply. “That hardly bodes well for our relationship as doctor and patient, does it? But the truth is, we were discussing a painting.”

“Discussing my painting, discussing me, same difference.”

His painting?

That bit of information did nothing to diminish her growing sense of apprehension. That painting had had a darkness in it like nothing she’d ever seen before. A darkness that had captivated her attention, daring her to unravel its mysterious secrets.

Then Dante dropped into the kind of predatory crouch that would’ve made a kitten roll over and play dead.

But she wasn’t a kitten.

Defiantly, she exhaled slow and easy. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Dante was intentionally trying to frighten her. “I’m happy to see you during your regular hour, and we can schedule more frequent sessions if need be, but for now, I’m afraid it’s time for you to go.”

He returned to a stand. “You’re here all alone today.”

A shudder swept across her shoulders. He was right. No one else was in the building. She shared a secretary with an aesthetician down the hall, and today Stacy hadn’t been at her post. The aesthetician usually worked Saturday mornings, but she must’ve finished for the day and gone home. Home was where Faith wanted to go right now. She wished she’d kept her clutch in hand. Her phone was in that clutch. “We’ll work on that trust issue on Monday.”

With Dante’s gaze tracking hers, her eyes fell on her lovely macaron bag, lying on the desktop near his fingertips. He lifted the clutch as if to offer it to her, but then drew his hand back and stroked the satin shell against his face.

The room suddenly seemed too small. “I don’t mean to be unkind. We’ve been working hard these past few weeks and making good progress up to this point, and I’d hate to have to refer you to another psychiatrist, but I will if I have to.” She paused for breath.

“You’re barefoot.” Slowly, he licked his lower lip.

Feeling as vulnerable as if she were standing before him bare-naked instead of bare-footed, she slipped back into her shoes. Jerking a glance around the room, she cursed herself for furnishing the place so sparsely, as if she didn’t plan on staying in Santa Fe long. It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to call home anymore, and now here she stood without so much as a paperweight to conk someone on the head with if…The window was open, at least she could scream for help if necessary. “We’re done here.”

“I’m not leaving, Dr. Clancy.” He opened her purse, removed her cell and slid it into his pants pocket, then dropped her purse on the floor.

Her stomach got fizzy again, and she gripped the edge of her desk. Screaming didn’t seem like the most effective plan. It might destabilize him and cause him to do something they’d both regret. For now at least, a better plan was to stay calm and listen. If she could figure out what was going on inside his head, maybe she could stay a step ahead of him and diffuse the situation before it erupted into a full-scale nightmare. “Give me back my phone, and then we can talk.”

Here came that involuntary snarl of his. “No phone. And I’m not leaving until I’ve done what I came here to do.” Carefully unfolding the newspaper he’d brought with him, he showed her the headline:
Santa Fe Saint Claims Fourth Victim.

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Psychological Thrillers, Suspense
Published by: Witness Impulse
Publication Date: March 11, 2014
Number of Pages: 384
ISBN: 9780062314109 / 0062314106

PURCHASE LINKS:

       

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

Follow the Tour:

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

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