Category: Showcase

Guest Author CAROL E. WYER

WELCOME BACK CAROL E. WYER

Carol E. Wyer

Carol E. Wyer is an award winning author whose humorous novels take a light-hearted look at getting older and encourage others to age disgracefully.

Her best-selling debut novel ‘Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines’ won five awards for humour.

‘Surfing in Stilettos’ which follows the further adventures of Amanda Wilson as she attempts to inject some fun into her life, was a Costa Award nominee.

Safkhet Publishing released ‘How Not to Murder Your Grumpy’ June 1st 2012, the first of three books in a ‘Grumpy’ series.

Carol has featured on numerous shows discussing ‘Irritable Male Syndrome’ and ‘Ageing Disgracefully’. She has had articles published in national magazines such as Woman’s Weekly’ and on-line magazines. She writes regularly for The Huffington Post and author website Indies Unlimited.

She is a signed author with ThornBerry Publishing and Safkhet Publishing.
Connect with Carol at these sites:

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ABOUT THE BOOK
Escape from reality comes in patent-leather Prada kneeboots
Dawn Ellis needs to escape from her painfully dull existence. Her unemployed husband spends all day complaining about life, moping around, or fixing lawnmowers on her kitchen table. The local writing class proves to be an adequate distraction with its eccentric collection of wannabe authors and, of course, the enigmatic Jason, who soon shows a romantic interest in her.
Dawn pours her inner frustrations into her first novel about the extraordinary exploits of Cinnamon Knight, an avenging angel — a woman who doesn’t believe in following the rules. Cinnamon is ruthless and wanton, inflicting suffering on any man who warrants it. Little does Dawn realise that soon the line between reality and fiction will blur. Her own life will be transformed, and those close to her will pay the price.
READ AN EXCERPT

Cinnamon Knight ground the stub of her Benson and Hedges’ cigarette into the pavement with the heel of her Prada leather motorcycle boot, where it now joined a small pile of tab ends. Strategically placed in a shop doorway, she watched the top left window of a block of flats opposite. She had been there almost two hours. Rain beat steadily on the pavement, drumming against the gutter with constant thuds, but this did not deter her. Her patience was rewarded as the light blazing from the window was finally extinguished. She sauntered across the road to the BMW parked in front of the block of flats along the kerbside, sandwiched between a Peugeot 205 and a C Class Mercedes.

Dressed completely in black, face partially obscured by her North Face hooded jacket; she was almost invisible next to the dark car. It took only a minute to fiddle with the lock, open the door, and slide into the car. She lowered herself down in the driver’s seat, casting a cursory glance out of the window. The streets were empty. The weather was on her side and no one was braving the downpour, not even the old man at the end of the road who rarely missed taking his dog out for an evening stroll.

She leant forward and pulled off the cover below the steering wheel with one deft movement. Extracting the screwdriver from a neat case, she stabbed it into the ignition lock. A quick fiddle, one sharp twist, and the car burst into life; the persistent thudding of the rain against the pavement hid the initial coughing of the engine. She pulled away from the kerb swiftly and headed up the road at speed.

Pushing the hood away from her head, she checked her face in the rear-view mirror. That’ll teach him to mess about with women, she thought. No one, but no one, messes about with Cinnamon—the rat!

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Romantic Comedy
Published by: Safkhet Soul
Publication Date: 25th July 2013
Number of Pages: 184
NOTE: Explicit sexual scenes

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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.

Guest Author J.M. SHORNEY ENDED

WELCOME J.M. SHORNEY

J.M. Shorney

J.M. Shorney lives in Thatcham in Berkshire working part-time in a care home for the elderly with dementia. Now semi-retired she has the time to fulfill her life long ambition to write. Although not Irish herself, she has an infatuation with the Irish culture, which provided the basis for Stalking Aidan and the two further books in the series Borrowed Time and The Irish Connection. Shorney has a passion for country music, in particular Irish country music, and she also collects old horror movies, westerns and gangster films. Shorney is currently working on her first western novel.
Connect with J.M. at these sites:

WEBSITE    TWITTER    

Q&A with J.M. Shorney

Writing and Reading:
Do you draw from personal experiences and/or current events?
Do I draw from real life/current affairs. Yes, some current affairs get mentioned(mostly in my next book’The Irish Connection.’ as that’s a political thriller). As Stalking Aidan deals mostly with crime,I would like to mention an affair I had with a young man, before I was married. We were both 17/18. He was a Hungarian. Very good looking. And I was instantly drawn. The first date we arranged he did’nt turn up. I angst the whole weekend that hehad someone else, the girl who lived opposite him in Newbury.She told why I’d been stood up. He’d been arrested.At least, thought my 17 year old brain, he didn’t have another girl. As things turned out. (This would make a story in itself)’ we dated, fell in love,planned to get engaged. Then he went to Chesterfield. I knew he worked on fairgrounds occasionally. I think that’s all he ever did. But when you date a guy who resembles a gypsy with no conventions, nothing else matters. Then, one evening my mother was reading the local paper, and she told me how they’d arrested the boy I’d planned my life with, for armed robbery and resisting arrest.(my mother thoughtI’d finished with him a longtime ago)As the years rolled on, I was married with children, I learned that my old boyfriend had died in police cells at the age of 46.

Do you start with the conclusion and plot in reverse or start from the beginning and see where the story line brings you?
I start at the beginning. Obviously I have a plot which I work out while I ‘m working or in bed at night. I sometimes live these plots. I once had a girl running through a wood. It had my husband worried, because he said I sounded breathless. I usually like to know the end before I start. Then just unleash the characters and off you go.

Is writing your full time job?  If not, may I ask what you do by day?
I work part-time. Come home, have lunch. Then 2-3 hours for writing. I like to listen to music while I write. But it has to be old country music, and Irish country music.
I work in a care home for the elderly with dementia. I’ve been there almost eight years.

Who are some of your favorite authors?
My favourite authors: Elliott O’Donnell, Algernon Blackwood, M.R James, Jack Higgins, Shaun Hutson, Dennis Wheatley and Graham Masterton.

What is your current read?
ack Higgins’Confessional.’ Because I like to get the feel of his Irish thrillers. I know they are old books, but I like to read them often. I like some old Gerald Seymour too.

Are you working on your next novel?  Can you tell us a little about it?
The Irish Connection. The final narrative of the Aidan McRaney trilogy. Although I like him so much, I’ll probably use himagain. He’s a bit of an anti-hero. But I prefer anti-heroes I say trilogy, but they are all self-contained stories in their own right. In the Irish Connection, briefly Aidan discovers that he might be the son of a dead IRA man. That his half-brother, so eaten up with revenge for the British, takes over the turf of a deceased London gangster, whose brother Aidan once worked for, and is plotting to what he calls’bringing the Brits down from the inside.’ Not with bombings, but paedophilia and prostitution. Using soft targets. It gets rather nasty. Trevelyan, the Agency boss, where Aidan now works, knows about the relationship. Thus Aidan is sent in to destroy the late IRA’s man son. But he doesn’t to the cost of the woman he loves.

Fun questions:
Your novel will be a movie.  Who would you cast?
Actors I would choose for the film of ‘Stalking Aidan.’: Aidan Turner is Aidan McRaney. Lara Pulver as Joanna.

Manuscript/Notes: hand written or keyboard?
Always handwritten to start. The story comes out so thick a and fast, it’s easier to write. Then I prune the gobbledegook. It’s like having a planchette, used in seances, where you sit in front of it with a pen, and write down what comes.

Favorite leisure activity/hobby?
I suppose writing is my hobby. But I do have a day off. I collect old movies, that is gangsters, supernatural and Westerns. I so love Gunsmoke, the old T.V series. I listen to my favourite old country Irish country, and I’m partial to Eighties rock music

Favorite meal?
Sea Bass Salad with new potatoes .

 

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

In a past life Irish-born Aidan was the minder to notorious gang boss Frankie Lamond. Aidan was thrown into prison when he shot Lamond’s intended assassin in a disastrous shooting that not only left Lamond with a fatal spinal injury but also his girlfriend, and Aidan’s mistress, gunned down. Now fresh out of prison after serving eight years for his involvement in the shooting, Aidan plans to get his life back on track; his priorities lay with making amends with his family and attempting to be reunited with his nine-year-old son. Unbeknown to Aidan, sinister forces have something altogether different in mind. As he begins to settle back into life outside of prison, Aidan becomes certain he’s being followed and he convinces himself that his fate lies in the hands of someone who knows all about his past life. Events begin to spiral out of control; his flat is robbed and then a bomb goes off in his car seriously harming Terry, the son of Verdi, a tenacious woman Aidan has begun a sordid affair with. His thoughts are confirmed – someone out there is after one thing; revenge. He is forced to return to gangland, the one part of his life he thought he had turned his back on. Aidan is offered the security of a safe house and a minder, but when his minder disappears his life is thrust back into the gangster underworld and his family are, against his wishes, dragged in amongst the drama. Events take a turn for the worse and a murder enquiry ensues. If Aidan learnt one thing from his time in gangland, it’s to handle things himself, but for a man living in fear of returning to prison, it’s a dangerous road to take. But one that is necessary. Set in modern day London, Stalking Aidan is the fast-paced gangster novel from J.M. Shorney. The book explores traditional themes of the gangster genre; violence, sex, revenge, family loyalties and psychological warfare. The story is told from the point of view of the bad guys as opposed to the good guys, and the story follows the life of Aidan, a man haunted by his past and living with guilt. The idea that mind-games can be just as damaging as physical violence is a powerful theme.

BOOK DETAILS:

Publisher: New Generation Publishing
Publication Date: September 18, 2013
Number of Pages: 384 pages
ISBN-10: 1909878669
ISBN-13: 978-1909878662

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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.

 

GUEST AUTHOR MURRAY T. HOLLAND ENDED

WELCOME MURRAY T. HOLLAND

Murray T. Holland

Murray T. Holland is a resident of Dallas, Texas. He graduated in 1975 from Washington and Lee University with a B.S. in Chemistry and Biology. He earned an M.B.A. from the University of Virginia in 1978 and a law degree from Washington and Lee University in 1980. During the 1980s, he practiced corporate and securities law with Akin, Gump, Strauss, Hauer and Feld in Dallas, Texas. In 1987, he became an investment banker in New York with First Boston and later moved to Kidder, Peabody & Co. where he was a Managing Director. In the early 1990s, he started the private equity firm of Convergent Associates, based in Dallas, Texas.
Connect with Murray at these sites:

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Guest post

Will The U.S. Go Bust?

Will the government go bust? This is the question that everyone would like answered. America is in very bad financial shape, maybe the worst it has ever experienced. Even after World War II, when the U.S. debt-to-GDP ratio was about 120 percent, the government was able to reduce its deficit to essentially zero without a massive depression, but it took 35 years to get that ratio down to a respectable 35 percent.

The United States is already caught in the first jaw of the Debt Trap because the economy is dependent on the deficit spending of the federal government. If the federal government instantly balanced the budget by either spending reductions or higher taxes, it would instantly reduce GDP by 4 percent, and this would put the United States in a severe recession.

When interest rates start to escalate, which they will as the debt continues to accumulate, the interest expense on the national debt will take up more and more of the budget, leaving less and less for other operating items such as military, medical care, and social security. Interest expense will become the largest budget item in the federal budget.

Debt Problem Not Created Overnight

The federal government debt problem did not happen overnight. It was not caused by some catastrophic event like a banking system meltdown, and no one stole all the money and ran off with it. The problem has been one of slow accumulation of more government regulation, spending, and commitment to do more things for people. The administrations and agencies referred to previously were not created in a single day. They were created one at a time over the last 80 years. The funding programs were also not created in a day. To normal citizens, the slow creep of more and more spending and regulation by the government has gone unnoticed. We each go about our everyday business and do not pay attention to the daily activities of Congress. This is simply human nature. Congressional actions are also human nature. U.S. citizens elected representatives to go to Washington and spend money…and that the congressmen and senators have done. Most people in government want to do something “for the country” and “for the people,” which inevitably leads to spending Other People’s Money.

ABOUT THE BOOK

Our government debt is rising every day. Our population is shifting as more people retire and fewer people are able to find work. Our social programs, including the Affordable Care Act, are only adding to our financial burden, and rising taxes are hindering economic growth. We are a nation in the red. “A Nation In The Red” by Murray T. Holland is a powerful wake-up call to leaders, investors, and citizens. Holland’s research reveals the surprising truth about our national debt – and what we can do about it.

“A Nation In The Red” presents a reasoned, straightforward approach to one of the most controversial issues of our time. You’ll also discover the fascinating psychological reasons that have led to the creation of our debt trap, you’ll learn about the 2,200 federal programs that we’re all paying for, and you’ll find five ways to reduce our nation’s debt, some of which stand as a viable solution to our country’s problems. In the book, Holland reveals:

· How large our debt really is – and is heading to be: It is far worse than previous calculations or projections – it is actually $19 trillion and may well be over $33 trillion in just ten years.

· How Congress and people on the street think “it can’t happen here,” but it can and will happen here.

· What the debt truly means to individuals, businesses, and the nation — and takes us through the doomsday devastation a debt out of control can unleash on us.

· How individuals and businesses can actually contribute to the solution – and how to best insulate themselves from a looming depression if Congress fails to act.

· Why just a small increase in the interest rate — which is bound to happen given the 50-year average is an annual rate of 6% — will more than double the amount of interest paid, and why that amount will swallow 25% of our tax revenue in the near future.

· Why the U.S. has, out of 183 largest economies, the 9th worst debt-to-GDP ratio – and why only two nations that have ever had a ratio worse than our 121% — averted a depression (but most experience a depression like Greece, Portugal, and Spain or long-term recessions like Japan, France and Italy).

· There are only five options for countries with our level of debt– and then recommends his strongest, viable solution – and even that will take 30 years to unfold in order to get us back to where we were five years ago.

· What the Federal Reserve must do – including its new chief – to steer the country properly.

· Why moms and dads, particularly with children in their teens, twenties and thirties, are the key to solving this mess.

Holland wrote the book as a call to action for the nation to take responsibility of this impending danger. He started to conduct research in wanting to know the impact of the national debt on his investments. He wrote it like he would an investment banking study. He ended up spending over three years researching the history of government defaults, what governments in the past and present do when they find themselves in this precarious position, how they got into the mess, what affect government debt has on the country’s economy and currency and how only two countries have ever gotten out of debt this high.

He He believes his book will:

· Educate the public and inform them of the debt trap the United States is in.

· Mobilize businesses, citizens and Congress to take action.

· Provide a complete analysis of the federal debt bomb and the implications for every American.

· Show why we are on the same path as Spain, Italy, Portugal and Ireland – all economic busts.

· Reveal why bailouts, printing money, borrowing more, reworking loan terms, or defaulting are not realistic options to avoid the debt meltdown.

· Explain how to grow the economy but not overheat it – and why coupling this with expense-cutting, avoiding tax increases, and slicing government regulations can put us back on a tract to growth.

 

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Finance, Free Enterprise, Economics-General
Publisher: McGraw-Hill; 1 edition
Publication Date: October 23, 2013
Number of Pages: 272 pages
ISBN-10: 0071829792
ISBN-13: 978-0071829793

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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.

 

WOW! Presents BONNIE MILANI showcase & giveaway ENDED

WELCOME BONNIE MILANI


BONNIE MILANI

Bonnie vividly recalls the book that helped her decide she could out-write another writer: it was a junior reader’s biography of Sir William Harvey, the 17th century English physician credited (in the West) with discovering how blood circulates. After about 30 pages of telling herself “I can write better than that!” she grabbed a crayon that just happened to be blue and started editing. She was all of seven years old at the time. Unfortunately for her juvenile bottom it was a library book. She followed the dream through college and after grad school, freelancing feature articles for newspapers along the East Coast. Milani even wrote a cover story for Science Digest! Alas life and grown up responsibilities caught up with her and by her late twenties she put writing away with so many other dreams while she followed a ‘career track’. After losing her entire family, she realized story telling just a want but a need and a gift God gave her. So here she is, a self-declared “middle-aged pudge” working on getting back into a writer’s kind of real life!
Connect with Bonnie at these sites:

WEBSITE    

GUEST POST

Where Do You Get Your Ideas?

I don’t think there’s any one answer to that question.  Story ideas pop out of conversations, observations, day dreams, or even just a flat out ‘what it’?  Or sometimes even from just a shuddery moment.  I’m working on a short story right now that grew out of an incident like that many years ago.  Back when I was young and thin and thoughtless, I walked into a pet shop just to ooh and aah and the puppies.  I noticed a fellow with a circle – a wide circle – around him over at the store counter, but didn’t pay him any attention.  After all, to a ‘tweener what’s a guy compared to a puppy?  I should’ve noticed, though.  Because I was still ogling the puppy cages when I started to walk out – and found myself face-to-fanged face with the tarantula sitting on the back of that fellow’s hand.  Now, I don’t know about the spider, but I’m reasonably sure I broke an Olympic record for standing side jump.  I know I woke up ever living creature within a couple of hundred yards.  I certainly annoyed the fellow; turns out tarantulas hate loud noises and that one was sitting on his hand.  I didn’t stay around to find out.  Now the reason I’m telling this story purpose of this story is that while I was shuddering my way home I got to wondering what the incident felt like from the tarantula’s perspective.  And suddenly a very put-upon arachnid popped his head out of a web at the back of my mind and introduced himself as Rahss.  Took many years and more questions to spin a story (sorry; couldn’t resist) around him, but Rahss is finally coming into his own.

By contrast, the idea for Home World grew out of a dream I had. In it a young woman in a highly decorated military dress uniform was chained to a dungeon wall.   The imagery was so disturbing it woke me up.  I am emphatically not into S & M or bondage.  Fifty Shades does NOT have a place on my bookshelf.  So the idea of a chained woman both puzzled and intrigued me.  Maybe that’s why it turned into a recurring dream; I just couldn’t let the idea go.  Gradually I worked out that she was Keiko Yakamoto, a Samurai-trained native Hawaiian from the wrong side of the gene pool.  What grew up around her was a love story of interstellar political intrigue as two young princes vie for Keiko’s love with the very existence of humanity at stake.

I think we all come up with story ideas every day.  Most of the time we just don’t realize it.  Do you have something that feels like a story idea?  An incident, maybe, in search of a plot?  Sometimes all you need to do to find a good story is take a simple, everyday incident and turn it around.  And voila!  A story!

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

Home World is a fast paced well written story about the power and the price of love. This story takes place amid the ruins of a post-apocalyptic Waikiki. Jezekiah Van Buren thinks he has found a way to restore Earth – Home World, to the other worlds of the human commonwealth. His goal is to restore his home to her lost glory.

Ingenious even by the standards of the genetically enhanced Great Family Van Buren, Jezekiah has achieved the impossible: he has arranged a treaty that will convert Earth’s ancient enemies, the Lupans, to her most powerful allies. Not only will the treaty terms make Earth rich again, it will let him escape the Ring that condemns him to be Earth’s next ruler. Best of all, the treaty leaves him free to marry Keiko Yakamoto, the Samurai-trained woman he loves. Everything’s set. All Jezekiah has to do is convince his xenophobic sister to accept the Lupan’s alpha warlord in marriage.

Before, that is, the assassin she’s put on his tail succeeds in killing him. Or the interstellar crime ring called Ho Tong succeed in raising another rebellion. Or before his ruling relatives on competing worlds manage to execute him for treason. But Jezekiah was bred for politics and trained to rule. He’s got it all under control. Until his Lupan warlord-partner reaches Earth. And suddenly these two most powerful men find themselves in love with the same woman. A woman who just may be the most deadly assassin of them all.

BOOK DETAILS:

Publisher: Promontory Press; 1ST edition
Publication Date: Aug. 22n 2013
Number of Pages: 423
ISBN-10: 1927559235
ISBN-13: 978-1927559239

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

 

Guest Author SUSAN WIGGS showcase & giveaway ENDED

WELCOME SUSAN WIGGS


SUSAN WIGGS

Susan Wiggs’s life is all about family, friends…and fiction. She’s been featured in the national media, including NPR’s Talk of the Nation, and is a popular speaker locally and nationally.

From the very start, her writings have illuminated the everyday dramas of ordinary people. At the age of eight, she self-published her first novel, entitled “A Book About Some Bad Kids.”

Today, she is an international best-selling, award-winning author, with millions of copies of her books in print in numerous countries. Her recent novel, Marrying Daisy Bellamy, took the #1 spot on the New York Times Bestseller List, and The Lakeshore Chronicles have won readers’ hearts around the globe. Her books celebrate the power of love, the timeless bonds of family and the fascinating nuances of human nature.

She lives with her husband and family at the water’s edge on an island in the Pacific Northwest, where she divides her time between sleeping and waking.
Connect with Susan at these sites:

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ABOUT THE BOOK

#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR SUSAN WIGGS INVITES YOU TO AN UNFORGETTABLE CHRISTMAS IN THE CATSKILLS

A single father who yearns to be a family man, Logan O’Donnell is determined to create the perfect Christmas for his son, Charlie. The entire O’Donnell clan arrives to spend the holidays in Avalon, a postcard-pretty town on the shores of Willow Lake, a place for the family to reconnect and rediscover the special gifts of the season.

One of the guests is a newcomer to Willow Lake— Darcy Fitzgerald. Sharp-witted, independent and intent on guarding her heart, she’s the last person Logan can see himself falling for. And Darcy is convinced that a relationship is the last thing she needs this Christmas.

Yet between the snowy silence of the winter woods, and toasty moments by a crackling fire, their two lonely hearts collide. The magic of the season brings them each a gift neither ever expected—a love to last a lifetime.

Read an excerpt

Summer’s End

Logan O’Donnell stood on a platform one hundred feet in the air, preparing to shove his ten-year-old son off the edge. A light breeze shimmered through the canopy of trees, scattering leaves on the forest floor far below. A zip line cable, slender as a thread in a spider’s web, hung between the tree platforms, waiting. Below, Meerskill Falls crashed down a rocky gorge.

“There’s no way I’m going off this.” Logan’s son, Charlie, drew his shoulders up until they practically touched the edge of his helmet.

“Come on,” Logan said. “You told me you’d do it. The other kids had a ball. They’re all waiting for you on the other side, and I heard a rumor about a bag of Cheetos being passed around.”

“I changed my mind.” Charlie set his jaw in a way that was all too familiar to Logan. “No way. No W-A-Y-F.”

Logan knew the shtick, but he went along with it. “There’s no F in way, dude.”

“That’s right. There’s no effin’ way I’m going off this thing.”

“Aw, Charlie. It’s almost like flying. You like to fly, right?” Of course he did. Charlie’s stepfather was a pilot, after all. Logan crushed the thought. There were few things more depressing than thinking about the fact that your kid had a stepfather, even if the stepfather was an okay guy. Fortunately for Charlie, he’d ended up with a good one. But it was still depressing.

Charlie spent every summer with Logan. During the school year, he lived with his mom and stepfather in Oklahoma, a million miles away from Logan’s home in upstate New York. It sucked, living that far from his kid. Being without Charlie was like missing a limb.

When he did have his son with him, Logan tried to make the most of their time together. He planned the entire season around Charlie, and that included working as a volunteer counselor at Camp Kioga, helping out with the summer program for local kids and inner-city kids on scholarship. The zip line over Meerskill Falls was a new installation, and had already become everyone’s favorite feature. Nearly everyone.

“Hey, it’s the last day of camp. Your last chance to try the zip line.”

Charlie dragged in a shaky breath. He eyed the harness, made of stout webbing and metal buckles. “It looked really fun until I started thinking about actually doing it.”

“Remember how you used to be scared to jump off the dock into Willow Lake? And then you did it and it was awesome.”

“Hel-Zo. The landing was a lot different,” Charlie pointed out.

“You’re going to love it. Trust me on this.” Logan patted the top of Charlie’s helmet. “Look at all the safety features on this thing. The harness, the clips, the secondary ropes. There’s not one thing that can go wrong.”

“Yo, Charlie,” shouted a kid on the opposite platform. “Go for it!”

The encouragement came from Andre, Charlie’s best friend. The two had been inseparable all summer long, and if anyone could talk Charlie into something, it was Andre. He was one of the city kids in the program. He lived in a low-income project in the Bronx, and for Andre, it had been a summer of firsts—his first train trip, his first visit upstate to Ulster County, where Camp Kioga nestled on the north shore of Willow Lake. His first time to sleep in a cabin, see wildlife up close, swim and paddle in a pristine lake…and tell ghost stories around a campfire with his buddies. Logan liked the fact that at camp, all the kids were equal, no matter what their background.

“I kind of want to do it,” Charlie said.

“Up to you, buddy. You saw how it’s done. You just stand on the edge and take one step forward.”

Charlie fell silent. He stared at the waterfall cascading down the rocky gorge. The fine spray from the rushing cataract cooled the air.

“Hey, buddy,” Logan said, wondering about his son’s faraway expression. “What’s on your mind?”

“I miss Blake,” he said, his voice barely audible over the rush of the falls. “When I go back to Mom’s, Blake won’t be there anymore.”

Logan’s heart went out to the kid. Blake had been Charlie’s beloved dog, a little brown terrier who had lived to a ripe old age. At the start of summer, she’d passed away. Apparently Charlie was dreading his return to his mom’s dogless house.

“I don’t blame you,” Logan said, “but you were lucky to have Blake as your best friend for a long time.”

Charlie stared at the planks of the platform. “Yeah.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“It sucks, losing a dog,” Logan admitted. “No way around it. That’s why we’re not getting one. Hurts too bad when you have to say goodbye.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said again. “But I still like having a dog.”

“Tell me something nice about Blake,” Logan said.

“I never needed an alarm to get up for school in the morning. She’d just come into my room and burrow under the covers, like a rabbit, and she’d squirm until I got up.” He smiled, just a little. “She got old and quiet and gentle. And then she couldn’t jump up on the bed anymore, so I had to lift her.”

“I bet you were really gentle with her.”

He nodded. After another silence, he said, “Dad?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“I kinda want another dog.”

Aw, jeez. Logan patted him on the shoulder. “You can talk to your mom about it tomorrow, when you see her.” Yeah,, he thought. Let Charlie’s mom deal with the mess and inconvenience of a dog.

“Okay,” said Charlie. “But, Dad?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Kids were telling ghost stories in the cabin last night,” he said, picking at a thread in the webbing of his harness.

“You’re at summer camp. Kids are supposed to tell ghost stories.”

“Andre told the one about these people who committed suicide by jumping off a cliff above the falls.”

“I’ve heard that story. Goes way back to the 1920s.”

“Yeah, well, the ghosts are still around.”

“They won’t mess with the zip line.”

“How do you know?”

Logan pointed to the group of kids and counselors on the distant platform. “They all got across, no problem. You saw them.” The other campers appeared to be having the time of their lives, eating Cheetos and acting like Tarzan.

“Show me again, Dad,” said Charlie. “I want to see you do it.”

“Sure, buddy.” Logan clipped Charlie to the safety cable and himself to the pulleys. “You’re gonna love it.” With a grin, he stepped off the platform into thin air, giving Charlie the thumbs-up sign with his free hand.

His son stood on the platform, his arms folded, his face screwed into an expression of skepticism. Logan tipped himself upside down, a crazy perspective for watching the waterfall below, crashing against the rocks. How could any kid not like this?

When Logan was young, he would have loved having a dad who would take him zip-lining, a dad who knew the difference between fun and frivolity, a dad who encouraged rather than demanded.

He landed with an exaggerated flourish on the opposite platform. Paige Albertson, cocounselor of the group, pointed at Charlie. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh yeah, my only son. Oops.”

“Why is he staying over there?” asked Rufus, one of the kids.

“I bet he’s scared,” said another kid.

Logan ignored them. On the opposite platform, Charlie looked very small and alone. Vulnerable.

“Everything all right?” Paige put her hand on Logan’s arm.

Paige had a crush on him. Logan knew this. He even wished he felt the same way, because she was great. She was a kindergarten teacher during the school year and a Camp Kioga volunteer during the summer. She had the all-American cheerleader looks, the bubbly, uncomplicated personality that most guys couldn’t resist. She was exactly the kind of girl his parents would want for him—pretty, stable, from a good family.

Could be that was the reason he wasn’t feeling it for her.

“He’s balking,” said Logan. “And he feels really bad about it. I thought he’d love zip-lining.”

“It’s not for everybody,” Paige pointed out. “And remember, if he doesn’t go for it, the world won’t come to an end.”

“Good point.” Logan saluted her and jumped off, crossing back to the platform on the other side, where Charlie waited. The zipping sound of the pulley and cable sang in his ears. Damn, this never got old.

“Just like Spider-Man,” he said as he came in for a landing. “I swear, it’s the coolest thing ever.”

Charlie shuffled across the wooden planks of the platform. Logan reached for the clips to attach him to the pulley. “That’s gonna be one small step for Charlie,” he intoned, “one giant leap for—”

“Dad, hang on a second,” Charlie said, shrinking back. “I changed my mind again.”

Logan studied his son’s posture: the hunched shoulders, the knees that were literally shaking. “Seriously?”

“Unhook me.” Beneath the helmet, Charlie’s face was pale, his green eyes haunted and wide.

“It’s okay to change your mind,” Logan said, “but I don’t want you to have any regrets. Remember, we talked about regrets.”

“When you have a chance to do something and then you don’t do it and later on you wish you had,” Charlie muttered.

Which pretty much summed up Logan’s assessment of his marriage. “Yep,” he said. “At the farewell dinner tonight, are you going to wish you’d done the zip line?”

Logan unhitched himself. Charlie studied the cables and pulleys with a look of yearning on his face. Okay, Logan admitted to himself, it bugged him that Charlie had conquered the jump off the dock with his mom, but Logan couldn’t get him to push past his fear of the zip line. He had a flashing urge to grab the kid, strap him in and shove him off the platform, just to get him past his hesitation.

Then he remembered his own pushy father: get in there and fight. Don’t be a chickenshit. Al O’Donnell had been a blustering, bossy, demanding dad. Logan had grown up resenting the hell out of him in a tense relationship that even now was full of turmoil.

The moment Charlie was born, Logan had made a vow. He would never be that dad.

“All right, buddy,” he said, forcing cheerfulness into his tone. “Maybe another time. Let’s climb down together.”

The final dinner of summer at Camp Kioga was served banquet-style in the massive dining hall of the main pavilion. There was a spaghetti feed with all the trimmings—garlic bread, a salad bar, watermelon, ice cream. Awards would be given, songs sung, jokes told, tributes offered and farewells spoken.

The families of the campers were invited to the event. Parents arrived, eager to reunite with their kids and hear about their summer.

A sense of tradition hung like the painted paddles and colorful woven blankets on the walls. The old Catskills camp had been in operation since the 1920s. People as far back as Logan’s grandparents remembered with nostalgia the childhood summers they’d spent in the draughty timber-and-stone cabins, swimming in the clear, cold waters of Willow Lake, boating in the summer sun each day, sitting around the campfire and telling stories at night. In a hundred years, the traditions had scarcely changed.

But the kids had. Back in the era of the Great Camps, places like Camp Kioga had been a playground for the ultrawealthy—Vanderbilts, Asters, Roosevelts. These days, the campers were a more diverse bunch. This summer’s group included kids of Hollywood power brokers and Manhattan tycoons, recording artists and star athletes, alongside kids from the projects of the inner city and downriver industrial towns.

The organizers of the city kids program, Sonnet and Zach Alger, pulled out all the stops for the end of summer party. In addition to the banquet, there would be a performance by Jezebel, a hip-hop artist who had starred in a hit reality TV series. The show had been filmed at Camp Kioga, chronicling the efforts of the outspoken star to work with youngsters in the program.

Tonight, the only cameras present belonged to proud parents and grandparents.

Charlie was practically bouncing up and down with excitement, because he knew he was getting a swimming award. Andre was next to him as they took their seats at their assigned banquet table.

Paige, who stood nearby, handing out table assignments, leaned over and said, “Those two are such a great pair. I bet they’re going to miss each other now that summer’s over.”

“Yeah, it’d be nice if they could stay in touch. Tricky, though, with Andre in the city and Charlie off to an air force base in Oklahoma.”

“Must be hard for you, too.”

“I can’t even tell you. But…we deal. I’ll see him at Thanksgiving, and he’s mine—all mine—for Christmas.”

At the moment, Christmas seemed light-years away. Logan wondered how the hell he’d keep himself busy after Charlie left. He had his work, a thriving insurance business he’d founded in the nearby town of Avalon. If he was being honest with himself, he was bored stiff with the work, even though he liked helping friends and neighbors and made a good living at it.

Initially, the whole point of setting up a business in Avalon had been to enable him to live close to Charlie.

Now that Charlie’s mom had remarried and moved away, Logan was starting to think about making a change. A big change.

His sister India arrived to join in the festivities, and Logan excused himself to say hi. Her twin boys, Fisher and Goose, had spent the summer here. Charlie had had a great time with his two cousins, who lived on Long Island, where India and her husband ran an art gallery.

Red-haired like Logan and Charlie both, and dressed in flowing silks unlike anybody, India rushed over to her twin sons, practically in tears.

“I missed you guys so much,” she said, gathering them against her. “Did you have a good time at camp?”

“The best,” said Fisher.

“We made you some stuff,” said Goose.

“Real ugly jewelry, and we’re gonna make you wear it,” Fisher told her.

“If you made it, then I’m sure it’s beautiful,” she said.

“Uncle Logan taught us how to light farts.”

“That’s my baby brother,” India said. “Now, you need no introduction, but I’ll introduce you, anyway.” She indicated the woman behind her. “Darcy, this is my brother, who probably needs to be sent to the naughty corner, but instead, he’s a volunteer counselor.”

“And head fart lighter,” said the woman, sticking out her hand. “I’m Darcy Fitzgerald.”

He took her hand, liking her straightforward expression. She had dark hair done in a messy ponytail and a direct, brown-eyed gaze. Her hand felt small but firm, and she had a quirky smile. For no reason Logan could name, he felt a subtle nudge of interest.

“Are you here to pick up a kid?” he asked her. “Which one belongs to you?”

“None, thank God,” she said with a shudder.

“Allergies?” Logan asked.

“Something like that.”

“Then you came to the wrong place.” He gestured around the dining hall, swarming with excited, hungry kids. To him, it was a vision of paradise. He liked kids. He liked big, loud, loving families. It was the tragedy of his life that he was restricted to summers and holidays with his only child.

“Except for one thing,” said Darcy, turning toward the dais where the band was setting up. “I’m a huge Jezebel fan.”

“You must be. We’re a long way from anywhere.”

She nodded. “I came along for the ride with India when she invited me to pick up her boys. Thought it would be nice to get out to the countryside for a weekend.”

“So you live in the city?” he asked.

“In SoHo. I didn’t have anything thing else going on this weekend. Yes, I’m that pathetic friend everybody feels sorry for, all alone and getting over a broken heart.” She spoke lightly, but he detected a serious note in her tone.

“Oh, sorry. About the broken heart. Glad to hear you’re getting over it.”

“Thanks,” she said. “It takes time. That’s what people keep telling me. I keep looking for distractions. But hearts are funny that way. They don’t let you lie, even to yourself.”

“Not for long, anyway. Anything I can do to help?” He instantly regretted the offer. He had no idea what to do about someone else’s broken heart.

“I’ll spare you the details.”

Good.

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Romance-Contemporary
Series: The Lakeshore Chronicles (Book 10)
Number of Pages: 336 pages
Publisher: Harlequin MIRA
Publication Date: October 29, 2013
ISBN-10: 077831474X
ISBN-13: 978-0778314745

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ADDENDUM
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Guest Authors LOU ARONICA and JULIAN IRAGORRI

Partners in Crime is pleased to present:

Differential Equations

by Julian Iragorri & Lou Aronica

on Tour Nov 1, 2013 – Jan 31, 2014

WELCOME LOU ARONICA AND JULIAN IRAGORRI


 

Julian Iragorri

Julian Iragorri lives in Manhattan. He has worked on Wall Street since the early nineties.
Connect with Julian at these sites:

Lou Aronica

Lou Aronica is the author of the USA Today bestseller THE FOREVER YEAR and the national bestseller BLUE. He also collaborated on the New York Times nonfiction bestsellers THE ELEMENT and FINDING YOUR ELEMENT (with Ken Robinson) and the national bestseller THE CULTURE CODE (with Clotaire Rapaille). Aronica is a long-term book publishing veteran. He is President and Publisher of the independent publishing house The Story Plant.
Connect with Lou at these sites:

WEBSITE        TWITTER   

ABOUT THE BOOK

This evocative, moving, and gorgeously detailed novel is the story of Alex Soberano, a contemporary man in crisis. A tremendously successful New York businessman, Alex finds it difficult to embrace joy and accept love. When his life threatens to boil over, he escapes for a brief respite on the West Coast. What waits for him there is something he never could have imagined.

Intertwined with Alex’s story are the stories of three people from different times and places whose lives affect him in surprising ways:

  • A woman from the South American city of Anhelo in 1928 that everyone knows as “Vidente.” For decades, Vidente, has been one of Anhelo’s most celebrated citizens because she has the ability to read colors that speak of a person’s fate. However, during one such reading, she sees her own future – a future that includes her imminent death.
  • A man named Khaled who left his home in Bethlehem in 1920 to seek fortune in the South American town of Joya de la Costa. He has barely begun to gain a foothold when he learns that the wife and three children he left behind have been murdered. When a magical woman enters his life, he believes that destiny has smiled on him. However, destiny has only just begun to deal with Khaled.
  • A nineteen-year-old student named Dro who flies from the South American country of Legado to Boston in 1985 and immediately walks onto the campus of MIT expecting instant admission. Dro’s skills at mastering complex, ever-changing differential equations intrigues the associate admissions director. However, the person he intrigues the most is the celebrated US ambassador from his country, and his relationship with her will define his life.

How the stories of these four people merge is the central mystery of this arresting work of imagination. DIFFERENTIAL EQUATIONS is a story that will sweep you up in its magic, enrich you with its wisdom, and compel you with its deep humanity.

READ AN EXCERPT

Anhelo, Legado, South America, 1928

With her eyes closed, all she could see were waves of brown. The woman sitting across the table from her wasn’t troubled or damaged in any particular way, as that color sometimes indicated; her spirit and her future simply seemed featureless.

“Vidente, you have been quiet for a long time,” the woman said tentatively. “If you see bad things, you must tell me. I must prepare.”

People had been calling her “Vidente” for so long that she couldn’t recall the last time she heard her real name spoken aloud. Some in the community preferred to call her “Tia Vidente” as a form of endearment. Even her sons called her “Madre Vidente” now, having long ago accepted their mother’s place in the lives of the townspeople. After these many years, she had even come to think of herself by that name.

She opened her eyes slowly and her vision began to fill again with color. The violet and red of the tapestry that hung on the far wall. The ochre and bronze of the pottery on the shelf. The cobalt and white of the figurines on the cupboard. The terra cotta of the antique cazuela and the copper of the chafing dish, both presents from a grateful recipient of her services, neither of which had felt fire in Vidente’s home. The saffron of the sash that billowed over the window. The crystals and pewters and golds and greens; the room was a rainbow visible nowhere else in the world – a Vidente rainbow. A rainbow for a woman who sensed color beyond her eyes and who liked those colors expressed in the finest things available. Vidente’s home was her palace, a testament to her station as one of Anhelo’s most prominent and prosperous citizens.

Finally, Vidente focused on Ana, the woman seeking her help who, in contrast to the brown that Vidente saw with eyes closed, wore a bright orange frock with lemon embroidery. Ana had called on Vidente several times in the past year and she’d encountered her at church and in the shops. At all times, Ana wore brilliant clothing. She wants color in her life, Vidente thought. How sad that she doesn’t seem able to hold any in her soul.

“I am not seeing bad things, Ana,” Vidente said, tipping her head toward the woman.

“But you have been so quiet.”

Vidente patted the woman’s hand. “Sometimes the images come very slowly. That doesn’t mean you have anything to fear.”

Vidente truly believed that Ana had nothing to worry about regarding her future – except that it was likely to be a life without incident. The brown was everywhere. Sometimes darker, sometimes lighter, but always brown. The color of inconsequentiality and an abundance of self-doubt. For reasons Vidente couldn’t discern, Ana wouldn’t absorb the colors she wore so boldly in her clothing, though she seemed entirely capable of doing so. There were places Vidente didn’t plumb, for the sake of Ana’s privacy, but she guessed that if she looked there she might find why the woman avoided what she so wanted.

Ana’s brow furrowed and she looked down at her hands. Vidente wanted to offer her something, some suggestion that days more vibrant lay ahead. Vidente never lied to anyone during a reading, even when she believed the person wanted to hear a lie. However, she had many times kept searching and searching until she found a way to offer something promising.

“I am not finished, Ana,” she said as the woman looked up at her. “I will use another technique with you today. I need to look farther with this technique. I may not open my eyes or speak with you for several minutes.”

“I will be patient, Vidente.”

Vidente closed her eyes again. Usually, what she saw in colors was enough to give her useful messages for those who requested readings from her. The colors had always been reliable to her. Sometimes, though, she needed to extend her vision. If she sent herself deeply enough into the space outside of herself, she could see actual images. Occasionally, entire scenes played out in front of her. Vidente had come to learn that these visions weren’t nearly as reliable as the colors; unlike the colors, they were mutable. Still, they sometimes offered direction when none other was available.

The waves of brown appeared again. Like molten chocolate wending its way through a sea of caramel. It was necessary for Vidente to look past the color. She focused intently on the darkest of the brown and in doing so made the message of the brown drop away. It was like stepping through the fog and coming to a clear space. Here, though, the space offered only shadow. She could see the faintest movement. Was that a man? Ana wanted a man so badly; one who would finally erase Oscar’s humiliation of her. The image Vidente saw here was so indistinct, though, that it could as easily be a deer, a sloth, or even a vegetable cart.

Vidente concentrated further, pushing her soul toward the shadow, encouraging her will to be in the same place as the shadow. Something was definitely moving around and she could now see that the shape was human. Male? Female? Young? Old? None of that was clear. Nor was it clear why there was such a veil over Ana’s future. This had nothing to do with the woman’s health. Vidente would have seen that in the colors. For some reason, the spirits did not want to offer the images they usually gave so generously.

She so didn’t want to disappoint Ana. Once a month Ana came to her, gaily dressed and bearing a tray of the delicious pastries she made, eyes gleaming with hope but shaded by desperation. Vidente always found a vision to encourage her; the visit of a favorite nephew, a celebration Ana would attend, the birth of a neighbor’s child. These visions were never what Ana truly wanted, but she always left Vidente’s house viewing the world with a little less desperation. And she always came back.

Several minutes passed, but the images remained indistinct. I must go beyond sight, Vidente thought. She rarely used the process she was considering, and she was not entirely comfortable with it, but she knew it was possible to close her eyes completely. To allow her other senses to tell her what her vision did not.

Vidente tipped her head slightly and felt herself falling backward. With this sensation of falling came absolute blackness. There were no colors here, no shadows, nothing nearly so brilliant as brown. It was as though she had never seen anything at all, ever in her life. The feeling of unease that always accompanied this technique rippled her skin. Vidente had never stayed long in this place and she knew she could not linger here now. However, there had to be a reason why the other techniques eluded her, and she would spend a few sightless moments here for Ana’s sake. She liked the woman too much to let her go away with nothing.

She felt cooler suddenly, as though someone had opened all the doors and windows of her home at once. The air was different. It was crisper and thinner. It smelled of loam and oak. Vidente knew, though she wasn’t sure how she knew, that she was somewhere very far away. Was Ana going on a trip?

Maybe to some distant mountains in Europe or even America? The only thing Vidente knew for sure was that no place in Anhelo or anywhere near it had air that felt this way.

Just on the edges of her hearing, Vidente found the sound of moaning. These were not moans of pleasure. Nor were they moans of pain or suffering. The moans held a sense of sadness and loss, but not the dissonance of true grief. As she extended herself to try to make more of this sound, Vidente felt a moist softness on her forehead followed by a silken brush across her face and then warm pressure. Moments passed and she felt the same series of sensations again. More moments passed and the experience repeated itself. Each iteration felt slightly different but materially the same.

As this happened for the fifth time, Vidente caught the scent of perfume. A floral and consciously unrefined smell, one that announced itself as its bearer entered a room and lingered for many minutes after the visit was over. It was unmistakably Ana’s latest perfume. No one else in Anhelo wore it. But the scent was not coming from the Ana who sat across the table from Vidente. It came instead from the scene Vidente sensed in her temporary blackness and it grew stronger as Vidente again felt the pressure on her body. Vidente heard a sob and then the pressure lessened. Soon the smell of Ana’s perfume diminished. It was then that Vidente realized that Ana was a part of this scene, but she was not the focus of it.

Vidente was.

Kisses on the forehead. Unreturned embraces. Repeated multiple times.

Vidente’s eyes opened involuntarily, causing the colors in the room to close on her vertiginously.

“Vidente, your expression; it frightens me.”

Vidente tried to stop the swirling of colors, tried to fix her eyes on Ana without scaring her further. “You have no reason to be frightened,” she said.

As her vision corrected, Vidente saw Ana’s hand go to the cross at her neck. “How can I believe that when you go into your trance for a long time and then come back looking like the devil was chasing you?”

Vidente took Ana’s free hand and clasped it with both of hers. “Believe me when I say that I didn’t see anything that should cause you fear. I just couldn’t get a clear image for you and this frustrated me.” Vidente stood abruptly, holding the side of the table to guarantee that she wouldn’t stumble. “I am sorry, Ana, that I could not do better. Maybe next month.”

Ana rose slowly, thanked Vidente, and left, her eyes more clouded and confused than when she entered. As soon as the woman was gone, Vidente sat down again, feeling the need to close her own eyes once more, but worried about what she would experience if she did so. If what she’d already felt was true – and it was important for her to remember that only the colors were always true – she would soon take a journey that would send her to a place of crisp, oaken air.

And then, before Ana changed her perfume again, Vidente would die.

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Literary Fiction
Published by: The Story Plant
Publication Date: 4/24/12
Number of Pages: 356
ISBN: Print: 978-1-61188-102-8
E-book: 978-1-61188-103-5
NOTE: Explicit sexual scenes

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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.

Guest Author KRISTEN ASHLEY showcase & giveaway ENDED

WELCOME KRISTEN ASHLEY


KRISTEN ASHLEY

Kristen Ashley was born in Gary, Indiana, USA. She nearly killed her mother and herself making it into the world, seeing as she had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck (already attempting to accessorise and she hadn’t taken her first breath!).

Kristen grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana but has lived in Denver, Colorado and the West Country of England. Thus she has been blessed to have friends and family around the globe. Her posse is loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write.

Kristen was raised in a house with a large and multi-generational family. They lived on a very small farm in a small town in the heartland and existed amongst the strains of Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon and Whitesnake (and the wardrobes that matched).
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ABOUT THE BOOK

Zara Cinders always knew Ham Reece was the one, but he wasn’t interested in settling down. When she found someone who was, Ham walked out of her life. Three years later, Zara’s lost her business, her marriage, and she’s barely getting by in a tiny apartment on the wrong side of the tracks. As soon as Ham hears about Zara’s plight, he’s on her doorstep offering her a lifeline. Now, it will take every ounce of will power she possesses to resist all that he offers.

Ham was always a traveling man, never one to settle down in one town, with one woman, for more time than absolutely necessary. But Ham’s faced his own demons, and he’s learned a lot. About himself, and about the life he knows he’s meant to live. So when he hears that Zara’s having a rough time, he wants to be the one to help. In fact, he wants to do more than that for Zara. A lot more. But first, he must prove to Zara that he’s a changed man.

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Forever/Hachette Book Group
Publication Date: November 5, 2013
Print Length: 345 pages
ASIN: B00BEK71Q6
                                                                               

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HAVE ONE (1) EBOOK TO GIVE AWAY.
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ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

 

Guest Author JOHN BURLEY

WELCOME JOHN BURLEY

JOHN BURLEY

John Burley attended medical school in Chicago and completed his emergency medicine residency training at University of Maryland Medical Center/Shock Trauma in Baltimore. He currently serves as an emergency medicine physician in northern California, where he lives with his wife, daughter, Great Dane, and English Bulldog. This is his first novel.
Connect with John at these sites:

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ABOUT THE BOOK

John Burley’s The Absence of Mercy is a harrowing tale of suspense involving a brutal murder and dark secrets that lie beneath the surface of a placid, tight-knit Midwestern town.

When a brutally murdered teenager is discovered in the woods surrounding a small Ohio town, Dr. Ben Stevenson—the town’s medical examiner—must decide if he’s willing to put his family’s life in danger to uncover the truth. Finding himself pulled deeper into an investigation with devastating consequences, he discovers shocking information that will shatter his quiet community, and force him to confront a haunting truth.

With its eerie portrait of suburban life and nerve-fraying plot twists, The Absence of Mercy is domestic drama at its best for fans of Harlan Coben, Laura Lippman, Jennifer McMahon, and Lisa Gardner.

READ AN EXCERPT
This is not the beginning.

Up ahead, a young man sporting jeans and a black T­shirt walks casually down the concrete sidewalk. He hums softly to himself as he ambles along, Nike­bound feet slapping rhythmi­cally on the serpentine path he weaves through the late afternoon foot traffic. He is perhaps fifteen—not truly a young man yet, but certainly well on his way—and he walks with the energy and indifference of one who possesses the luxury of youth but not yet the experience to appreciate its value, or its evanescence.

The predator watches the young man turn a corner, disap­pearing temporarily from view behind the brick exterior of an adjacent building. Still, he maintains a respectable distance, for although he has an instinct for how to proceed, he now relin­quishes control to something else entirely. For as long as he can remember he has sensed its presence, lurking behind the trans­lucent curtain of the insignificant daily activities of his life. The thing waits for him to join it, to embrace it—observes him with its dark and faithful eyes. But there are times—times like this—when it waits no longer, when the curtain is drawn aside and it emerges, demanding to be dealt with.

The young man in the black T­shirt reaches the end of the street and proceeds across a small clearing. On the other side of the clearing is a modest thatch of woods through which a dirt trail, overgrown with the foliage of an early spring, meanders for about two hundred yards until it reaches the neighborhood just beyond.

The predator picks up his pace, closing the distance between them. He can feel the staccato of his heart kick into third gear, where power wrestles fleetingly with speed. The thing that lives behind the curtain is with him now—has become him. Its breath, wet and heavy and gritty with dirt, slides in and out of his lungs, mixing with his own quick respirations. The incessant march of its pulse thrums along eagerly behind his temples, blanching his vision slightly with each beat. Ahead of him is the boy, his slender frame swinging slightly as he walks, almost dancing, as if his long muscles dangled delicately from a metal hanger. For a moment, watching from behind as he completes the remaining steps between them, the predator is struck by the sheer beauty of that movement, and an unconscious smile falls across his face.

The sound of his footsteps causes the boy to turn, to face him now, arms hanging limply at his sides. As he does, the predator’s left hand swings quickly upward from where it had remained hidden behind his leg a moment before. His hand is curled tightly around an object, its handle connected to a thin metal shaft, long and narrow and tapered at the end to a fine point. It reaches the pinnacle of its arcing swing and enters the boy’s neck, dead center, just below the jaw. A slight jolt reverberates through the predator’s arm as the tip of the rod strikes the underside of the boy’s skull. He can feel the warmth of the boy’s skin pressing up against the flesh of his own hand as the instrument comes to rest. The boy opens his mouth to scream, but the sound is choked off by the blood filling the back of his throat. The predator pulls his arm down and away, feeling the ease with which the instrument exits the neck.

He pauses a moment, watching the boy struggle, studying the shocked confusion in his eyes. The mouth in front of him opens and closes silently. The head shakes slowly back and forth in negation. He leans in closer now, holding the boy’s gaze. The hand gripping the instrument draws back slightly in preparation for the next blow; then he pistons it upward, the long metal tip punching its way through the boy’s diaphragm and into his chest. He watches the body go rigid, watches the lips form the circle of a silent scream, the eyes wide and distant.

The boy crumples to the ground, and the predator goes with him, cradling a shoulder with his right hand, his eyes fixed on that bewildered, pallid face. He can see that the boy’s consciousness is waning now, can feel the muscles going limp in his grasp. Still, he tries to connect with those eyes, wonders what they are seeing in these final moments. He imagines what it might feel like for the world to slide away at the end, to feel the stage go dark and to step blindly into that void between this world and the next, naked and alone, waiting for what comes after . . . if anything at all.

The cool earth shifts slightly beneath his fingers, and in the space of a second the boy is gone, leaving behind his useless, broken frame. “No,” the predator whispers to himself, for the moment has passed too quickly. He shakes the body, looking for signs of life. But there is nothing. He is alone now in the woods. The realization sends him into a rage. The instrument in his hand rises and falls again and again, wanting to punish, to admonish,to hurt. When the instrument no longer satisfies him, he casts it aside, using his hands, nails, and teeth to widen the wounds. The body yields impassively to the assault, the macerated flesh fall­ing away without conviction, the pooling blood already a lifeless thing. Eventually, the ferocity of the attack begins to taper. He rests on his hands and knees, drawing in quick, ragged breaths.

Next time, I will do better, he promises the thing that lives behind the curtain. But when he turns to look the thing is gone, the curtain drawn closed once again.

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Suspense
Published by: William Morrow Paperbacks
Publication Date: 11/19/2013
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 9780062227379
Note: Graphic violence

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