A Ghostly Mortality
by Tonya Kappes
on Tour February 28 – March 30, 2017
That ghost sure looks . . . familiar
Runes Series Book 1
by Ednah Walters
Genre: YA Fantasy, Paranormal Romance
Seventeen-year-old Raine Cooper has enough on her plate dealing with her father’s
disappearance, her mother’s erratic behavior and the possibility of
her boyfriend relocating. The last thing she needs is Torin St.
James—a mysterious new neighbor with a wicked smile and uncanny way
of reading her.
Raine is drawn to Torin’s dark sexiness against her better judgment,
until he saves her life with weird marks and she realizes he is
different. But by healing her, Torin changes something inside Raine.
Now she can’t stop thinking about him. Half the time, she’s not
sure whether to fall into his arms or run.
Scared, she sets out to find out what Torin is. But the closer she gets to
the truth the more she uncovers something sinister about him. What
Torin is goes back to an ancient mythology and Raine is somehow part
of it. Not only is she and her friends in danger, she must choose a
side, but the wrong choice will cost Raine her life.
USA Today Bestselling Author Ednah Walters is a multi-published author of
four different series–her Norse-mythology-based bestselling YA
Paranormal romance series, RUNES(YA-Paranormal Romance) and Nephilim
THE GUARDIAN LEGACY-(YA fantasy romance).
She also writes contemporary romance under E. B. Walters. The Fitzgerald
Family series started with SLOW BURN. There are six books in this
series. Her new USA Today bestselling series, INFINITUS BILLIONAIRES.
Impulse (book 1) was published in January 2015. Indulge (Aug 4th).
Contemporary Women’s Fiction
Date Published: 04.11.2017
Mara Goodwin is a professional keeper of secrets, or that is what she intends to be. As a counseling psychology student at Northwestern, Mara’s ambition is unrivaled. She has the grades, the compassion, and the dedication, everything she needs to gain entry into the clinical psychology program.
However, after a traumatic experience leaves Mara in a state of mental distress, she finds herself keeping more secrets than she intended, most of them her own. Finding herself in trouble with the law, her dreams of being a therapist are jeopardized and as a consequence, Mara is ultimately forced into group therapy. While in therapy, Mara holds on to her secrets with a death grip, but when life comes full circle, her past is revealed and with it the potential to destroy her future career, her friendships, and ultimately herself.
Mara is a fighter, even if she doesn’t know it yet, but with each attempt to salvage what she can of her broken life, she is met with a consistent punch to the gut. After being pushed to the edge by meddling roommates, a persistent ex-boyfriend, and a potential new boyfriend, Mara comes to the precipice of her destruction. Yet with her destruction also comes her rebirth, and revelations of love, pain, and growth.
I lay in the closet naked, buried in a heap of dirty T-shirts and sweatpants that smelled like a combination of sour milk and sweat. If they could only talk, I thought. But if they could, I knew that my ears would be filled with expletive-filled rants for not having washed them a week ago.
I rolled over and my back smacked the floor, shooting pain up the back of my neck and into my head. My skin was hot but the coolness of the wooden floor surged through my body like an electrical current. I stretched my legs out, reveling in how good it felt to straighten them. I let them rest outside of the closet door, one tingling from being coiled like a scrunchie and the other freezing, attacked by the cold air gusting from the ceiling vent. Rosalina was home. Her inconsiderate tendencies had me beyond pissed and the day hadn’t even started. Always setting the thermostat to frigid, not caring if the rest of us suffered from hypothermia.
Sleep fogged my eyes and the smell of morning breath funk on my upper lip made my nose curl. What the hell was I doing in the closet? A thought I should have had earlier. I sat up fast, head spinning as the fringes of a dress swayed before me. I remembered that dress. It took me forever to get into but Frankie had needed no time to get it off. I didn’t know why, but the thought made me cringe and feel weak in the knees at the same time. It was on the left side of the closet, the untouched side. The side where my cute clothes went to die and collect dust after my sweat suits conquered the rest of the space.
It had happened again, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Before, I was only losing moments. Seconds of time. Small pieces of conversation here and there, but now I was missing the last several hours. I assumed that I had lost most to sleep but there were at least three or four that weren’t accounted for. I feared standing, certain that it would make my headache worse, so I crawled, skin brushing against the clothes that lay in my path. I felt like a worm dying in the sun as I crept out into the light and into the heart of my room. I got to my feet and a couple pairs of dirty underwear fell from my back to the floor. I looked around my room, rubbing my eyes in disbelief.
Sweat pants, shirts, bras, and all other manner of dirty clothing were scattered across the room. My bed was covered in research articles and books, as was my desk, which sat in the corner near the window. Several pairs of Chuck Taylors were askew against the wall, and the sun shining in made the dust particles dancing about more evident. I was not a slob by nature, but my room was now a disaster, a landfill. Everything that once had a place had none. This was not how I left my room yesterday.
The house was quiet, but I knew that my peace wouldn’t last long. I jumped at the sound of my phone ringing, chiming from an undisclosed location in my mess of a room. I kicked up clothes and moved books and papers from bed to floor with one smooth brush of an arm, but the damn thing stopped before I could find it. I still wasn’t completely awake, and the thought of having to search everything made my head hurt even more. I stormed around the room, tossing everything to an area of less clutter, until I caught a glimpse of myself in the floor mirror next to my desk and realized that I was still naked.
Why am I naked?
I reached down to the floor and rummaged through a pile of clothes, looking for a long T-shirt to put on. Maybe Frankie had been there, or maybe it was someone else. My heart stopped. Could it have been someone else? I crouched down to the floor.
“Hello…” I called out, still hearing the sleep in my voice. I pulled a dirty clothes pile up to my naked body. There was no response, so in relief I let the bundle fall back to the floor, keeping only a semi-clean tee, and resumed my search.
I held the T-shirt in my hand and viewed my naked form in the mirror, still not seeing the beauty that people tended to babble on about. I never thought that I was beautiful, but I didn’t think I was ugly either. The sunlight blessed my body, and I admired the brownness of my skin and the slenderness of my face, but I still found myself wishing I looked like my mother. The Jamaican goddess whose curves could rival any racetrack. Unfortunately I took after my scrawny father, whose leanness left me small-chested and ass-less.
After I had scrutinized myself enough, I finally put on the shirt and kept searching for my phone. Moments later I found it blinking in the trash can. I dusted it off and examined it, hoping that none of the gunk from the trash had attached itself. I had three missed calls from Frankie, two from my mother, and an array of text messages I had no intention of responding to. But Frankie I couldn’t ignore, so I called him.
“Where the hell are you?”
I could hear the fright in his voice but it was overpowered by condescension. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Why didn’t you call when you got home?”
My heart raced. “Jesus, Frankie, you don’t have to interrogate me. What is it? What’s wrong?” I reached down to collect the pile of books I had swept from bed to floor. My hand sweat lingered on the book covers as I tried to organize them on the shelf. I was shaking, waiting for him to tell me something horrible. To tell me I had hurt someone, or even worse, to tell me that we had sex.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“I don’t know!” I took a book in my hand and threw it across the room. “That’s why I’m calling you!”
“Well, you don’t have to be a—”
“Be what, Frankie? A bitch? I don’t remember coming home last night.”
“Yea, shit.” I sat on the edge of my bed, feeling research papers crumpling under the weight of my body. The sound was excruciating to my ears but so was the sound of Frankie’s paternal voice so early in the morning.
“The last thing I remember is your apartment. I called you hoping you could shed some light, but you’re obviously no help.”
He took a deep breath. “Yea, Mara. That’s me. Mr. No Fucking Help.”
His sarcasm wasn’t helping.
“Don’t be a smartass, Frankie,” I said. “Now do you have anything important to tell me? Otherwise you’re wasting my time.”
“You said you had to go home and work on your thesis so you could get to bed early to get to that meet—”
“Son of a bitch.” I took my thumb and index finger, rubbed my eyes, then squeezed the bridge of my nose to relieve the pressure that had been building up in my head. “I almost forgot about the meeting. What time is it?”
“You did forget, and it’s 8:15.”
I hated him for calling me out.
“I got to go… and don’t call me back. I’ll call you if I want to be bothered, so find someone else to harass today.”
He laughed. “Whatever, Mara. Besides, probation officers don’t like to be kept waiting. I shouldn’t even be associating with people like you anyway.”
“What do you mean people like me?” I asked.
“You know… delinquents. Menaces to society.”
“That’s not funny. Not even a little bit,” I said. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t do it. I wasn’t going to open that can of worms. Not today.
“Come on. I’m only messing with you. Good luck, and let me know how it goes,” he said.
“Yea, whatever.” I hung up the phone.
I darted to my closet to find something suitable to wear. I had sweat pants hanging there, but I knew those weren’t going to work, not for a meeting so important, but I couldn’t be without them, so I pulled some out. I fingered through the clothes on the forbidden side and pulled out the longest, plainest skirt and blouse I could find along with a pair of dress flats and threw them on top of my bed. I grabbed a tote bag from the closet shelf and threw in a gray sweat suit, a shirt, and some Chucks and dashed to the bathroom. I tried to let myself in but the door was locked. I didn’t have time for this. I balled up my fist and banged on the door so hard it made my hand sting.
“Who’s in there?” I asked. I listened for movement. “I have to be on campus in thirty minutes!”
There was no response.
I banged again.
“I need in!”
The lock jiggled, and the door cracked open. Kate stood there wrapped in a towel, her face engulfed by her wet blonde hair. She was pretty, if having keen facial features was the current beauty standard, but her personality was just as sharp as her face.
“You can have the bathroom when I am done,” she said, her face stoic as she peered at me from behind the door.
I stared at her and wondered what it would feel like to plunge my fist into her face. She was trying to be a smartass. She closed the door and locked it, as if I planned on barging in on her. I could see her in there now, wasting time, sitting on the toilet wrapped in her towel reading a Cosmo, Glamour, or whatever magazines women like her had an affinity for. It was May, I’d moved into the house in February, and I could count on one hand the number times we’ve spoken to each other. I walked away and was only a few steps gone when I heard her yell through the door.
“Next time get up earlier!”
I dug my nails into the palm of my hand so hard I thought I would draw blood. I stared at the door waiting for her to say something else, wanting her to say something else. It wouldn’t take much for me take it down and do it, punch her square in the nose, but I opted against it. I didn’t need to create another problem for myself. I’d hired her father as my attorney out of an act of desperation and I needed him on my side, so punching and drowning his daughter in the toilet didn’t seem like the right decision to make at the moment.
When my eyes stopped seeing red, Rosalina stood in the kitchen, staring at me with her disapproving little beady brown eyes. Rosalina wasn’t fat, but she was thicker than the rest of us, and every time I ran into her she was in the kitchen drinking something, cooking something, or eating something. I don’t think I ever saw her in street clothes, either. She was always in scrubs with her hair pulled tight away from her face, sterile and unwelcoming. I stopped worrying about Kate and walked through the living room.
Our house was aesthetically pleasing, but it was not a house full of warmth and love. It had an open floor plan with rich-colored hardwood floors, soft blue paint on the walls, and a cream-colored sectional that sat in the middle of the living room with an assortment of throws and pillows. It appeared that everyone but me brought something to make it homey. Rosalina had her Wizard of Oz trinkets on display, Kate liked flowers, and Melanie had hung up wall pieces with happy home quotes. Melanie was the only one that I didn’t hate, but she was always at her boyfriend’s so I didn’t understand why she still claimed to live here.
I walked toward the kitchen but stopped by the thermostat to turn the air up just to piss Rosalina off, the whole time feeling those beady eyes searing through me.
“Can you not mess with that, please?” she asked, clearly irritated that I had the audacity to even touch it in her presence.
“It’s at sixty-five and it’s freezing in here. It’s not even eighty degrees outside,” I said.
I didn’t know the real temp, but I knew it wasn’t hot enough to have it blaring. It was May in Evanston, and even in August there would be no temp that could justify it being that cold.
“Well, maybe you should put some clothes on,” she said, looking me up and down, analyzing my bare legs and my frozen nipples on full display through my shirt.
“Maybe you should get a fan.”
That was it. I didn’t have a better comeback than that.
She gave me such a look I thought that the butter knife in her hand was going to fly across the room and plunge into my heart, but she waved me off and continued chewing on her toast. I didn’t let my eyes leave hers until my foot got caught. I looked down and saw my ankle was tangled up in Kate’s purse straps. I shook my foot in hopes of freeing myself from that hideous thing, taking note of how ugly it was. It was one of those name brand purses that had the company logo printed all across it that screamed, “Look, I have money!” And to make it worse, a tacky, glittery, yellow toad keychain dangled from the zipper. The girl had no taste. Rosalina watched me as I struggled. Her face was expressionless, but I knew she was amused. Once freed, I walked past her to the fridge to grab the orange juice, listening to her crunch on her food with every step I took, never out of her line of sight.
“You left that out on the counter yesterday. Put it back when you’re done, please,” she said.
Was she my mother now?
“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes.
I opened the cabinet next to the stove where we kept the glasses, but it was empty.
“Where are the clean glasses?”
She spread butter on another piece of toast.
“Sorry, they’re dirty,” she said as she picked up her glass of water. “I took the last one.”
I shut the cabinet and crossed over to the other side of the kitchen and looked in the dishwasher. It was full of bowls with soggy fruit loops stuck to them, plates with last week’s spaghetti, and glasses with an assortment of lipstick colors and lip glosses painted on the rims. I grabbed a dirty glass out of the top rack, put the detergent in, and slammed the door. Four people lived in this house and nothing ever got done. The trash would never get taken out unless I took it. The dishes would never get washed unless I started a load. This was adulting at its worst. I washed out the glass and poured some juice, then leaned against the dishwasher sipping, waiting for Kate to get out of the bathroom.
I thought about my meeting and read one of Melanie’s homey house sayings that hung next to the TV.
A house is made of bricks and beams; a home is made of love and dreams.
What bullshit. I turned my attention elsewhere, but caught Rosalina still staring at me, so I stared back. I assumed that she had just finished her shift at the hospital when I found her in her sanctuary. She had a career job, a nurse on the psych ward at some hospital, and on occasion it was nice to have someone to chat with about psychology, but she worked the night shift so we only saw each other in passing, which was fine with me. After a moment of staring I felt the tension subside a bit, so I caved and decided to initiate conversation.
“Long work night?” I asked.
“It wasn’t too bad,” she said as she slowly turned her body to face mine. “What about you? Looks like you had a rough one. Again.” I could hear the cheekiness in her tone.
I cut my eye at her.
“No, it wasn’t a rough one. I just spent some time reorganizing.”
“How’s that coming?” she took a sip of her water.
“Good.” I put glass in the sink, ready to return to my room and wait it out there before I continued this conversation.
“Can you please put your glass on the other side of the sink? I can’t use the sink if both sides are full,” Rosalina said.
I looked at her, then looked back at the sink in disgust. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but one side overflowed with dirty dishes, none of which were mine. I rested my hands on the edge of the sink and squeezed. I could see the pink leave my fingertips as I pressed in. “I would put it on the other side of the sink but someone else has filled the other side to capacity, so what would you like me to do about it? Better yet—”
“I’m done,” Kate said as she stormed out to of the bathroom into the living room. She grabbed her books and her ugly purse before walking over towards Rosalina.
“Jesus take the wheel.” I rushed out of the kitchen toward the bathroom. When I looked back before shutting the door, Kate whispered something to Rosalina, and I could read my name on her lips. I wasn’t sure what they thought of me, but I didn’t care. When the lease was up, they could kick rocks.
“Mara,” Kate said.
The bathroom door was shut so I pretended not to hear.
“Mara.” She was right outside the door.
I cracked it open to see what she wanted, and her icy blue eyes were so close it made me jump.
“Don’t forget about the lunch today,” she said.
“What lunch?” I threw my arms up. She was wasting my time.
She stepped back away from the door.
“The lunch,” she said as she continued to move farther back into the living room.
“You better not be trying to get out of it!” Rosalina yelled from the kitchen.
“Yeah, we suffer, you suffer,” Kate said, walking towards the entryway.
I let out a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
I closed the door to the bathroom and took a deep breath. The meeting. That’s where my focus needed to be. I kept telling myself to stay positive, but I knew I was toast. Everything over before it even started. I had this one opportunity to try and make it right.
I just hoped I didn’t blow it.
Harlow Hayes was born and raised in Indianapolis, Indiana. She has always had a passion for writing and storytelling in its many forms, and when she’s not immersed in her writing, she enjoys reading both fiction and non-fiction, watching movies, and listening to music. She currently lives in Chattanooga, TN. 27 Revelations is her first novel.
Facebook: Harlow Hayes @harlowhayesbooks
Twitter: Harlow Hayes @harlow_hayes
Goodreads: Harlow Hayes
By Zola Blue
Genre: Adventure, Thriller, Mystery
In the Yukon, nothing is more important than family. Loyalty to her
family is what Mona must face when her Grandfather, who rescued her
from death as a child and raised her as his own tells her she must
return to the Yukon from New York to go into the mountains and search
for the ancient village of gold that is her legacy.
Convinced that the ancient village exists, her grandfather sent his team on
ATV’s to find it while commissioning his adopted son Jonas to lead
the others, including his cherished granddaughter.
Jonas is happy to lead the expedition while planning on somehow getting Mona alone. His plan goes astray when they are forced to team with four other unexpected
seekers, including Bryan, a geologist who immediately falls for Mona
and becomes an interference for Jonas. The team overcomes severe
obstacles, setbacks, and loss of lives while traveling through water
filled caves and treacherous mountain passages.
When I allowed God to take over my life, over the years, he healed my
heart and with the guidance of his Holy Spirit, a new life developed
within me. God put a new dream in my heart. Over the years, I spent
several years in the US Air Force, and later achieved a BA in
Psychology and the academic level of Master’s Degree in Business
and currently work as a professional in the insurance industry.
Married, I live with my husband and sweet puppy Tomasina. I have two
books currently published, Porcelain Doll and Treacherous Deceit and
I am currently finishing my third, a fantasy series called “The
Kingdom of the Mejuar.”
The Truth Will Out
by Karen J Mossman
Genre: Thriller, Suspense
Kelly needs to escape from her abusive and controlling boyfriend, but she’s
terrified to leave. She’s then given a chance to start a fresh, but
is the cost for her freedom too high?
Sarah is happy in her life. She has a dream job and a perfect roommate. But
when a brick is thrown through the window, followed by a letter
containing razor blades, her life starts to spin out of control.
Detective Ryan Andrews is on the case and the two quickly form a
Will Kelly pay that price for freedom? Can Sarah’s secret past be kept
In the end The Truth Will Out.
Karen J Mossman comes from a family of journalists with her grandfather and
uncle having been newspaper editors. Further back a 2x grandfather
wrote for his local paper and also published a book based on those
articles. Karen is the only one to go into fiction.
Two of her novels are romantic suspense and one is a thriller. She also
has three themed short story collections.
Karen is also an avid blogger and book reviewer, “It’s especially
important to me to have feedback from my readers, so please leave a
review when you have read one of my books.”
Karen lives on the beautiful Isle of Anglesey off the North Wales coast
with her husband and elderly Yorkshire terrier. She has two grown up
children, who were both born on the same day, two years apart.
“I enjoy writing in different genres and you can see some of my shorter
stories on my website.”
It is fall in Philadelphia and the mutilated body of a man has been found in one of the poorest neighborhoods of the city. The victim’s forehead and eyes are wrapped in a band of white paper, sealed on one side with red sealing wax. On the other side is a smear of blood in the shape of a figure eight. The victim has been roughly and violently shaved clean — head to toe — a temporary tattoo on his finger.
As another brutalized body appears, then another, it becomes horrifyingly clear that someone is re-creating unsolved murders from Philadelphia’s past in the most sinister of ways.
And, for homicide detectives Kevin Byrne and Jessica Balzano, the killer is closer than they think…
“This tale had me gripped by the throat, unwilling to do anything but anxiously turn the pages. Richard Montanari’s writing is both terrifying and lyrical, a killer combination that makes him a true stand-out in the crowded thriller market. The Echo Man showcases a master storyteller at his very best.” -Tess Gerritsen, bestselling author of The Silent Girl
“Richard Montanari’s The Echo Man continues his work as a writer whose prose can capture quite extraordinary subtleties. When a man’s facial expression is described as “not the look of someone with nothing to hide, but rather of one who has very carefully hidden everything,” we know we are in good hands, and with The Echo Man, we are in the hands of one of the best in the business”. – Thomas H. Cook, bestselling author of Red Leaves
Genre: Mystery, Thriller
Published by: Witness Impulse
Publication Date: February 7th 2017 (first published January 1st 2011)
Number of Pages: 400
ISBN: 0062467425 (ISBN13: 9780062467423)
Series: Jessica Balzano & Kevin Byrne #5
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
For every light there is shadow. For every sound, silence. From the moment he got the call Detective Kevin Francis Byrne had a premonition this night would forever change his life, that he was headed to a place marked by a profound evil, leaving only darkness in its wake.
Byrne glanced at Jimmy. Detective Jimmy Purify sat in the passenger seat of the bashed and battered department- issue Ford. He was just a few years older than Byrne, but something in the man’s eyes held deep wisdom, a hard- won experience that transcended time spent on the job and spoke instead of time earned. They’d known each other a long time, but this was their first full tour as partners.
“I’m ready,” Byrne said.
They got out of the car and walked to the front entrance of the sprawling, well- tended Chestnut Hill mansion. Here, in this exclusive section of the northwest part of the city, there was history at every turn, a neighborhood designed at a time when Philadelphia was second only to London as the largest English- speaking city in the world. The first officer on the scene, a rookie named Timothy Meehan, stood inside the foyer, cloistered by coats and hats and scarves perfumed with age, just beyond the reach of the cold autumn wind cutting across the grounds.
Byrne had been in Officer Meehan’s shoes a handful of years earlier and remembered well how he’d felt when detectives arrived, the tangle of envy and relief and admiration. Chances were slight that Meehan would one day do the job Byrne was about to do. It took a certain breed to stay in the trenches, especially in a city like Philly, and most uniformed cops, at least the smart ones, moved on.
Byrne signed the crime- scene log and stepped into the warmth of the atrium, taking in the sights, the sounds, the smells. He would never again enter this scene for the first time, never again breathe an air so red with violence. Looking into the kitchen, he saw a blood splattered killing room, scarlet murals on pebbled white tile, the torn flesh of the victim jigsawed on the floor.
While Jimmy called for the medical examiner and crime- scene unit, Byrne walked to the end of the entrance hall. The officer standing there was a veteran patrolman, a man of fifty, a man content to live without ambition. At that moment Byrne envied him. The cop nodded toward the room on the other side of the corridor.
And that was when Kevin Byrne heard the music.
She sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room. The walls were covered with a forest-green silk; the floor with an exquisite burgundy Persian. The furniture was sturdy, in the Queen Anne style. The air smelled of jasmine and leather.
Byrne knew the room had been cleared, but he scanned every inch of it anyway. In one corner stood an antique curio case with beveled glass doors, its shelves arrayed with small porcelain figurines. In another corner leaned a beautiful cello. Candlelight shimmered on its golden surface.
The woman was slender and elegant, in her late twenties. She had burnished russet hair down to her shoulders, eyes the color of soft copper. She wore a long black gown, sling-back heels, pearls. Her makeup was a bit garish—theatrical, some might say—but it flattered her delicate features, her lucent skin.
When Byrne stepped fully into the room the woman looked his way, as if she had been expecting him, as if he might be a guest for Thanksgiving dinner, some discomfited cousin just in from Allentown or Ashtabula. But he was neither. He was there to arrest her.
“Can you hear it?” the woman asked. Her voice was almost adolescent in its pitch and resonance.
Byrne glanced at the crystal CD case resting on a small wooden easel atop the expensive stereo component. Chopin: Nocturne in G Major. Then he looked more closely at the cello. There was fresh blood on the strings and fingerboard, as well as on the bow lying on the floor. Afterward, she had played.
The woman closed her eyes. “Listen,” she said. “The blue notes.”
Byrne listened. He has never forgotten the melody, the way it both lifted and shattered his heart.
Moments later the music stopped. Byrne waited for the last note to feather into silence. “I’m going to need you to stand up now, ma’am,” he said.
When the woman opened her eyes Byrne felt something flicker in his chest. In his time on the streets of Philadelphia he had met all types of people, from soulless drug dealers, to oily con men, to smash-and-grab artists, to hopped-up joyriding kids. But never before had he encountered anyone so detached from the crime they had just committed. In her light-brown eyes Byrne saw demons caper from shadow to shadow.
The woman rose, turned to the side, put her hands behind her back. Byrne took out his handcuffs, slipped them over her slender white wrists, and clicked them shut.
She turned to face him. They stood in silence now, just a few inches apart, strangers not only to each other, but to this grim pageant and all that was to come.
“I’m scared,” she said.
Byrne wanted to tell her that he understood. He wanted to say that we all have moments of rage, moments when the walls of sanity tremble and crack. He wanted to tell her that she would pay for her crime, probably for the rest of her life—perhaps even with her life—but that while she was in his care she would be treated with dignity and respect.
He did not say these things. “My name is Detective Kevin Byrne,” he said. “It’s going to be all right.” It was November 1, 1990. Nothing has been right since.
Excerpt from The Echo Man by Richard Montanari. Copyright © 2017 by Richard Montanari. Reproduced with permission from Witness Impulse. All rights reserved.
Richard Montanari is the internationally bestselling author of numerous novels, including the nine titles in the Byrne & Balzano series.
He lives in Cleveland, Ohio.
Don’t forget to check out these other stops – they’ll be featuring reviews, interviews & More giveaways!
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This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Richard Montanari and Harper Collins. There will be 5 winners of one (1) eBook copy of The Echo Man by Richard Montanari. The giveaway begins on March 20th and runs through April 9th, 2017.
Facts That Can Change Your Life
Contemporary Fiction, Short Stories
this stirring new collection, Ronna Wineberg explores our essential
bonds to partners, children, parents, and friends. Intimacy,
marriage, parenthood, adultery, divorce, and the legacies left by the
past unfold in these beautifully written stories. Men and women
search for happiness and love, yet face longing, disappointment, and
loss. The characters in Nine Facts That Can Change Your Life struggle
with unexpected changes in their own lives but discover the power of
kindness, the joy of connection, and the ways in which we can be
Wineberg is the author of NINE FACTS THAT CAN CHANGE YOUR LIFE, a
collection of short stories, ON BITTERSWEET PLACE, a novel, and a
debut collection, SECOND LANGUAGE, which won the New Rivers Press
Many Voices Project Literary Competition, and was the runner-up for
the Reform Judaism Prize for Jewish Fiction. Her stories have
appeared in American Way, Colorado Review, Michigan Quarterly Review,
South Dakota Review and elsewhere, and have been broadcast on
National Public Radio. She is the recipient of a scholarship in
fiction from the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, a fellowship in
fiction from the New York Foundation for the Arts, and residencies to
the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and the Ragdale Foundation.
She is the founding fiction editor of the Bellevue Literary Review.
Ballantine Group; Alibi | On Sale: March 21st, 2017 | ISBN: 9780399179051| 300 Pages | Price: $4.99
When Abi inherits her uncle’s quaint and storied single malt distillery, she finds herself immersed in a competitive high-stakes business that elicits deep passions and prejudices. An award-winning photojournalist, Abi has no trouble capturing the perfect shot—but making the perfect shot is another matter. When she starts to receive disturbing, anonymous threats, it’s clear that someone wants her out of the picture. But Abi’s never been one to back down from a fight.
Arriving on the scene with her whisky-loving best friend, Patrick, and an oversized wheaten terrier named Liam, Abi seems to put everyone in the bucolic village on edge—especially her dour but disturbingly attractive head distiller. Acts of sabotage and increasingly personal threats against Abi make it clear that she is not welcome. When one of Abi’s new employees is found floating facedown in a vat of whisky, Abi is determined to use her skills as an investigative journalist to identify the cold-blooded killer and dispense a dram of justice before he strikes again. But distilling truth from lies is tricky, especially when everyone seems to have something to hide.
Melinda Mullet was born in Dallas and attended school in Texas, Washington D.C., England, and Austria. She spent many years as a practicing attorney before pursuing a career as a writer. Author of the Whisky Business Mystery series, Mullet is a passionate supporter of childhood literacy. She works with numerous domestic and international charities striving to promote functional literacy for all children. She lives in Washington, D.C., with her family.
Webpage – http://melindamullet.com/
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/mulletmysteries/
Twitter – https://twitter.com/mulletmysteries
March 20 – MysteriesEtc – REVIEW
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March 21 – Books,Dreams,Life – SPOTLIGHT
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March 23 – Rainy Day Reviews – REVIEW
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March 24 – Shelley’s Book Case – REVIEW
March 24 – A Holland Reads – GUEST POST
March 25 – The Pulp and Mystery Shelf – INTERVIEW
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March 27 – Celticlady’s Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
March 28 – Back Porchervations – REVIEW
March 28 – A Blue Million Books – INTERVIEW
March 29 – StoreyBook Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
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March 30 – Dee-Scoveries – SPOTLIGHT
March 30 – Mystery Thrillers and Romantic Suspense Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
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April 1 – Bibliophile Reviews – REVIEW, GUEST POST
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Date Published: February 27th
There are moments in time that stand out more than others: your first kiss, a special birthday party, seeing your baby for the first time, an intimate conversation, a first date, even something as little as sitting around a dining room table with friends. This is the story of the moments that stood out after I first laid eyes on Noah Gish. ~ Claire Sawyer
The city, it used to be a place I loved and missed with an ache in my gut. It was home. The place where I grew up, where I had fun, where I had my friends, where life was as good as I knew it to be. Then I was shipped off to a place that begins the story of how I fell in love, just to screw everything up. ~ Noah Gish
That thought is halted the minute she walks in. Long, soft waves of brown swish inside the doorway. Below that hair is a petite, very petite, package full of curves. flawless ass wrapped in some tight jeans, tiny waist, full breasts seen at a side profile, outlined in a gray V-neck shirt. Those soft globes peeking out as she inhales. The ideal hourglass figure.
I haven’t even seen her face and I’m already picturing what I would do to her. I want to feel her skin. I can imagine how silky it would feel, how soft and conforming to my grip. How it would feel under my lips. Taste on my tongue. I want to lick her back. Every curve of …
Again my thoughts come to a halt. My erection stops mid-growth. Her face. Those eyes. My heart stops. It literally. Fucking. Stops. I don’t even think I breathe.
I’m not a fan of clichés, but from my reactions—my stopped breath, my stopped heart, the jaw dropping, eyes devouring, not to mention sexual thoughts paused … and now my heart is beating like I just ran a marathon, quick breathes, heart attack approaching. If I believed in it, I think I am experiencing love at first sight. And from the looks of her—paused mid-step, eyes locked on mine, rapid breathing, mouth parted, now trying not to look at me—I would say she is experiencing the same dubious phenomena.
Her face, if it had to be described in one word, it would be angelic. Her skin is impeccably fair, with a pretty blush to her cheeks. Her eyes are big and doe-like, so sweet, innocent, and the most beautiful shade of blue I have ever seen. They are fanned by the thickest lashes, and the arch of her brow just begs to be outlined by a finger. Her lips are the closest to natural red I have ever seen on a girl. And I know it’s not makeup; there isn’t a stitch of it on her pretty fresh face. Her nose … I want to press a kiss to that little nose.
What the hell am I saying? One look at this girl, and I am a puddle of mush.
Literature is my passion. I like to challenge myself and grow in my writings. I have many unfinished books and some that have been published under a different name.
My passions include the arts: music, photography, writing, dance, painting, films, architecture—anything that is creation. There is not much I don’t like; and if I don’t like it, I at least appreciate the process it took place to create it. This is something incorporated in all my books.
In my spare time, I enjoy being out in nature, travelling, spending time with family, and reading. I read everything, from contemporary to paranormal, and history to science. Learning is something very important to me.
$50 Amazon gift card and signed copy of Looking Back on Forever.