03 March, 2023

#Interview with Fiona Lucas, Author of Never Forget You - @fionalucasbooks #Contemporary #Romance




Fiona Lucas is an award-winning author of contemporary women’s fiction. The Last Goodbye is her first novel written under the pen name of Fiona Lucas, but she’s been writing heartwarming love stories and feel-good women’s fiction as Fiona Harper for more than a decade.
During that time she has published 27 books and has won numerous awards, including a Romantic Novel Award, and chalked up a no.1 Kindle bestseller.
Find Fiona on TikTok, where she talks about her books, her writing process and gives writing and publishing tips.


Fiona on the Web:
Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | TikTok | Youtube | Newsletter 


Interview with Author Fiona Lucas


The burning question that many aspiring authors would like to ask you is - how did you get started on this journey?

This is a bit of a long story! Back in 2004, I got an idea for a love story and I was desperate for something creative to do while looking after my two small children. Writing was something I’d loved at school and seemed like the perfect fit – most of it happened in my head and I didn’t need any special equipment or need to leave the house and hire babysitters – so I decided to give it a go. I quickly became addicted!
This was back in the days before Facebook or Twitter, but I found an online message board with other aspiring romance writers and learned about the Romantic Novelists’ Association in the UK, which had a scheme for new writers, where you could send your manuscript in and a published author would critique it for you. By that point, I’d ditched novel attempt number 1 and was ready to get some feedback on novel attempt number 2 so I decided to join up. I submitted my manuscript, terrified of what I would hear back – I hadn’t shown my writing to anyone up until that point. I just hoped that the verdict would be that my book didn’t totally stink and I that I shouldn’t give up and try knitting instead!
To cut a long story short, the authors who read my manuscript really liked it and the New Writers’ Scheme organiser sent it straight to her editor at Harlequin Mills & Boon. I was gobsmacked. I’d given myself a deadline of 5 years to get published and it all seemed to be moving much faster than I’d anticipated! A few weeks later, the editor phoned me an offered me a one-book deal. I was so shocked that I didn’t even scream with joy or cry on the phone, I must have been the most unexciting author ever to break the news to! So that was how my journey began. I’m still with Harlequin, although now they’ve been bought out by Harper Collins and I write for one of their commercial fiction imprints, HQ.

2) At this point of your career, what is the one advice you would give your younger self who was working on the first draft of her debut novel?

When it comes to writing, I’d say, “Don’t freak out when you get stuck or you think everything you’re writing is awful. It happens with every book. It happens with every writer. Just calm down and keeping going. You can fix it later.” When it comes to the publishing industry, I’d say, “Don’t expect your career to have a steady upward trajectory – it’s going to be a rollercoaster. There are going to be highs and there are going to be horrible lows. You’re going to have to be determined and just keep going if you want a long lasting career.”

3) You have over a decade of writing experience under the name of Fiona Harper. Why did you decide to debut under Fiona Lucas after all this time?

It’s actually a really boring answer to do with sales and distribution. While I had some phenomenal sales with some of my Fiona Harper books, there were a couple that didn’t sell as well as the others. I don’t know what it was, whether it was the cover, the title, or it just didn’t hit what readers were looking for at that time. But it meant that when the next book came out, retailers looked at the sales numbers of the couple of previous books and decided not to stock it, even if they loved the story and packaging! It's not unusual for authors to try a new pen name if this happens. We were very open about my writing history, but retailers (especially when it comes to the big supermarkets, where most books are sold in the UK) see you as a new entity - a  new product, if you like – with a new name. And it worked. My Fiona Lucas books have been stocked by retailers who wouldn’t stock my last few Fiona Harper books. But I also felt it worked creatively, as my Fiona Lucas books have been more emotional and dealt with darker subjects than most of my Fiona Harper novels.

4) Your profile on Instagram says ‘I write emotional, heartbreaking love stories’. Is that something you set out to do in the first place or is it something you discovered that you do best once you set upon your storytelling journey?

I definitely set out to write love stories, but I was probably drawn more to writing lighter, funnier stories when I first started. However, now when I look back at my very first attempt at writing a book, I can see it had both humour AND big emotion, which eventually became more obvious to me as my style developed. Strangely, it was both there in the beginning but has also been an evolution.

5) Both ’The Last Goodbye’ & ’Never Forget You’ have blurbs, if you do not mind my saying so, that tell a cliched outline. Yet the books are so much more. Do you want to lure readers in with familiarity? Do you worry that some readers might read the blurb and say ‘oh! I know this story already’?

I have to admit that because I’m traditionally published, it’s often not me who gets to write the blurbs! I have done a couple of times but usually my editor writes them and then I get to say what I think. It’s so tough with blurbs, because you have to say enough to intrigue readers but not so much that you give the story away!

6) In ’The Last Goodbye’ more than the central love story, what drew me in was the way you portrayed how different people experience and react to loss. What were you hoping to deliver with the book?

I really wanted to explore if it’s possible to move on after tragic loss. How do you find hope again when everything you hoped for has been shattered? I wanted to make Anna’s journey one of almost “waking up” after being in a fog of loss and grief and learning to embrace life with all its ups and downs again rather than hide away from it, trying to live in the past.

7) The book could have ended up being a very heavy read, but while it did make me tear up & even cry at places, there was this underlying sense of hope throughout. How did you balance it out without making it obvious?

It’s a tricky tightrope to walk! I think adding moments of warmth and humour in definitely helps, but also making sure the ends of each storylines held some hope for all the characters.

8) In 'Never Forget You’, did you plan out the amnesia theme from the beginning or did you let the characters tell you?

The amnesia element was there in the very first spark of the idea for that book! I was having a restless night a couple of years ago, and a couple of days earlier, I’d read a story about a man who had suddenly lost his memory – I mean, he woke up one morning and didn’t recognise his wife! And while I was tossing and turning, I must have been thinking about that story, because I ended up wondering, “What if you weren’t in your own bed when you woke up and discovered you’d lost your memory? What if you were far away from home and you had now idea where home was and how you’d got there?

9) As a writer, what is the most important thing for you? What do you want the readers to remember your books for? And as a reader, what’s the one thing you want to take away from books? Does the reader in you make it harder or easier to be a writer?

I think, first and foremost, I want readers to simply enjoy the book, enjoy the adventure that the story takes them on. If certain themes, ideas and emotions that resonated with me when I wrote the book also resonate with them, then I’m really pleased that we’ve made that connection together. I know not every book is every reader’s cup of tea, but I’d like to think my stories give people a sense of hope.
I’m really not sure if being a reader makes writing harder or easier – both I think! I do try and remember what makes me love a book or what irritates me when I write my own, but it can be hard to step back and get the perspective to see if I’m delivering what I plan to. I can never read my finished books the way a reader does, because I’m always aware of all the different versions and changes that happened along the way, and I know all the secrets and plot twists before I start the first page!

10) Please tell us what more we can expect from you in the next couple of years?

I’m currently working on my next book for Harper Collins, which will be out in November 2024 – long wait, I know! My working title is Always You, but that may change! I’m also planning to independently publish some of my backlist under my former pen name of Fiona Harper – shorter, lighter romances and rom coms. But that’s a whole new arena for me, so I’ve got a steep learning curve ahead of me!

Good Luck Fiona!


Check out these Books:

What if you met the right person at the wrong time?

When Lili meets Ben by chance one hot summer’s day, it feels like fate. But life is about to take them in different directions, and so they agree to meet next July, in the beautiful hidden garden where they first laid eyes on each other. But one of them never shows up…

 Five years later, Ben still wonders how he got things so wrong – he let the love of his life slip between his fingers. And then a stranger, Alice, arrives in his tiny Scottish hometown. Alice has no memory of how she got there: she can’t remember anything before that morning. The only clue to her past is the silver bee necklace she wears – the very same one Ben bought for Lili that magical summer’s day…

As Ben, Lili and Alice’s stories converge, so begins a beautiful and deeply emotional story of love, forgiveness and second chances.


Book Links:

How can you move on if you can’t let go?

Spencer was the love of Anna’s life: her husband, her best friend, her rock. She thought their love would last forever.

But three years ago, Spencer was tragically killed in an accident and Anna’s world was shattered. How can she ever move on, when she’s lost her soulmate?

On New Year’s Eve Anna calls Spencer’s phone number, just to hear his old voicemail greeting. But to her shock, someone answers…

Brody has inherited Spencer’s old number and is the first person who truly understands what Anna’s going through. As her and Brody’s phone calls become lengthier and more frequent, they begin opening up to each other—and slowly rediscover how to smile, how to laugh, even how to hope.

But Brody hasn’t been entirely honest with Anna. Will his secret threaten everything, just as it seems she might find the courage to love again?

Book Links:



28 February, 2023

February 28, 2023 0

Read an #Excerpt from Bad Girl Gone Wicked (Bad Girl #3) by Shilpa Suraj - #Contemporary #Romance @shilpaauthor @bookreviewtours

 



Everyone knew that when she stepped up to the crease, she always came out swinging…

Tara Wadhwa, Captain of the Indian Women’s Cricket team, was living the dream. She got to play the sport she loved and to live close to her friends, the family of her heart. But when her friends start to fall in love, a sliver of loneliness works its way into her heart pushing her to make a reckless mistake.
Nikhil Upadhyay, owner of a pristine reputation and the nation’s best fixer, is called in to save the day. Fix Tara’s reputation and babysit her till she brings home the World Cup. A dream assignment for a man who otherwise spent way too much time cleaning up far messier situations. Until he met his newest client and the dream turned into a nightmare…
Can Tara work past her childhood grooming to see that there could be a life beyond the game? Can Nikhil see the value of the girl behind the polished façade he was working on presenting to the world? And will the two of them ever stop fighting long enough to allow their simmering attraction a chance to come out and play?

For when the Bad Girl met the Good Boy, she realised, that just this once, she wanted to let her inner ‘wicked’ out to play. And we all know what happens when Tara Wadhwa steps up to the crease…

Book Links:
Goodreads | Amazon.in | Amazon.com



Reads an Excerpt from Bad Girl Gone Wicked


She slunk out, her face set in mutinous lines, accepting the plate with her omelette from me. I served myself, deliberately keeping conversation non-existent until a few morsels of egg hit her stomach.
I’d just sat down across from her when I saw her wince and massage her temples. A killer hangover, I was sure. Reaching for my laptop bag, I pulled out a strip of over-the-counter painkillers and slipped it to her.
She stared at it like I’d handled her a rattlesnake but took it without comment, swallowing a tablet without water. The pain must be truly intense.
I picked up my own plate, thinking maybe now would be a good time to discuss my game plan. “So-”
“You’re going to die of a heart attack,” she announced.
My fork froze halfway to my mouth. “Is that a wish or a prophecy or…?”
“You can’t eat like that.” She pointed her own fork at my plate.
I glanced down at my fried eggs sunny side up with their sides of mashed potatoes and bacon. I was a relatively calm and amiable sort, but this woman seemed to have only one setting; irritating.
“You’re going to die,” she announced again, finally managing to get on even my last nerve. “Don’t eat that.”
I should stay calm, I thought, reminding myself of the fat pay packet the hot mess sitting across from me was going to earn me.
“Don’t eat that,” she repeated loudly.
To hell with it. I picked up a sliver of bacon and popped it in my mouth, holding her irate gaze. Either I’d die of a heart attack, or she’d kill me with a stroke from high blood pressure. So be it.
At least I’d go with bacon in my mouth. I made it a point to chew extra hard and extra loudly when it came to the crunchy bits. 




About the Author:
A published author with Harlequin India – Mills & Boon India Collection and Juggernaut, Shilpa Suraj’s books have hit both the Hot New Releases and Bestseller lists on Amazon. Her next novel, tentatively titled ‘Wrong,’ has been contracted by Rupa Publications and will release later this year. She is also part of the Flipped Anthology by Harper Collins and had an audiobook book Insta Reddy release with Storytel.

She is, amongst other things, currently working on ‘Frazzled and Fabulous,’ a humorous, true-to-life parenting story that is part memoir and part nonfiction.

An avid reader with a passion for creative writing and storytelling saw her participating in writing competitions at school and dabbling in copy writing for an ad agency as a teenager. Twenty years in the corporate space, including a stint in Corporate Communications for Google, India, and a spell at entrepreneurship all hold her in good stead for her multiple current roles of author, mother and Head of Human Resources & Public Relations at an architecture and interior design firm.

Contact the Author:
Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Newsletter













23 February, 2023

February 23, 2023 0

#Interview with Homa Pourasgari, Author of The American Outsider - #WomensFiction #AnimalWelfare @HomaPourasgari





When a California veterinarian, a Japanese-American tour-guide and the son of a well-known Tokyoite businessman get together to help save the Taiji dolphins, trouble brews in a society where conformity is favored over individuality. Tessa Walker sticks out in Japan’s homogeneous society. Akira Nakano has to tread lightly if she wants to keep her job as a tour guide. And Toshiro Yokoyama needs to find a way to distance himself from his family in order to find himself. As the three join a demonstration to protest the slaughter of dolphins, the wealthy owner of global aquariums is alarmed and is determined to stop them. But Tessa and Akira are resolved to push forward and help protect these cetaceans from brutal slaughter, and Toshiro is determined to help them in order to escape his humdrum life. 




Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon.in * Amazon.com


Interview with Homa Pourasgari

When did you first realize that you wanted to be a writer/ a storyteller?

I always loved to tell a story, but I wanted to be an author in my twenties.

What inspires you to write?

I’m inspired by the truth. When I see a miscarriage of justice and coverup, I find myself wanting to write about it and exposing the perpetrators.

How did you come up with the idea for your current story?

Long ago, I was on twitter and everyone was talking about The Cove documentary and the abuse of dolphins. And then a few years ago, I was reading a newspaper article about the dolphins and how they are still mistreated. So, I decided to write a story about it and show people that animals do not like to live in captivity.

Are there some stories tucked away in some drawer that was written before and never saw the light of the day?

Yes, but I got rid of many of them when I moved into my new place several years ago. I think for me, the best time to write is when the idea is fresh in my head. If I put a story away for too long, there is less of a chance for me to go back and look at it or want to write about it.

Tell us about your writing process.

I read a lot, keep up with current events, socialize and do things. Then ideas start to come into my head and I write them down. Sometimes, I write several pages about something that interests me and if I find myself thinking about that idea often, I keep adding to it until a story starts to develop. After I have about 50 pages or so, I start to do a rough draft of an outline. I don’t worry about the ending and I let the characters tell me how the story should end.

What is your favorite scene in the book? Why?

My favorite scene is the scuba diving scene because the protagonist has to face her fear and come to terms with it in order to accomplish her goal. Also, there is something satisfying about what she does.

Did any of your characters inherit some of your own quirks?

All of my characters have different aspects of my quirks. For example, Tessa has a tendency to react emotionally and I am like that sometimes. Or Akira is into new age things and meditation and I am into that as well. Or Toshiro does things without thinking. I do that sometimes and it gets me into trouble.

What is your most interesting writing quirk?

I write out of order, and I put it all together later. Also, I am spontaneous. When I was writing my second book, The Dawn of Saudi, I was halfway through it and my cousin, Sahar, asked me to name one of my characters after her. I said sure; why not? Once I did that, my story took a whole new turn, and it ended completely different than what I expected.

Do you read? Who are your favourite authors and how have they influenced your writing style?

I don’t think one particular writer has influenced my writing style. I think reading books by various authors has helped shape my writing.  I like many authors such as Thrity Umrigar, Lisa See, Henry James, Edith Wharton, John Grisham, Harper Lee, and many others.

What is the best piece of advice you have received, as a writer, till date?

Things feel overwhelming before you start. But once you start, you will realize that it is not as bad as you thought it would be.

What is the best piece of advice you would give to someone that wants to get into writing?

Don’t wait for a perfect time to write. Just do it. The first draft is usually terrible, anyway. If you cannot afford to hire an editor and a proofreader, give your work to beta readers and make friends with English teachers because you will need to have your work edited by a professional.

What would be the Dream Cast for you book if it was to be turned into a movie?

Tessa – Katie Holmes
Toshiro – Tomohisa Yamashita
Akira – Tao Tsuchiya
Souji – Yamoto Yuma

How do you spend your free time? Do you have a favorite place to go and unwind?

There is a room in my house that I call my sanctuary. That’s where I meditate or take naps to rest my eyes. After I’m well rested, I talk on the phone with a friend or I meet up with them. If they’re busy, I go out on my own. Sometimes I go for a long walk or curl up with a good book.

Can you share with us something off your bucket list?

I like to spend the night at a glass Igloo and watch the northern lights.

Tell us three fun facts about yourself.

- When I was learning how to ride a bike, I fell into a swimming pool with my bike.
- I love making my hot fudge sundae with Nutella.
- When I was child, I used to grab the microphone at weddings and start singing.

What do you have in store next for your readers?

I have two revised editions of my books coming out in February and March. And I’m working on a new book.



About the Author:
Homa Pourasgari spent hours in her father’s home office, writing, reading and letting her imagination carry her to unseen worlds. She moved to Los Angeles, California, at a young age. After graduating from Loyola Marymount University with a degree in business, she went to Paris for a year to study literature at the Sorbonne. Before becoming a full-time writer, she ran her own boutique, worked at a bank and a CPA firm, was a personal trainer and even taught spinning and cardio kickboxing. When she is not writing, she is stumbling, miming and pointing to find her way in a foreign country. Her latest novel, The American Outsider, is based on her travels in Japan.


Homa on the Web:
Website * Facebook * Twitter 




18 February, 2023

February 18, 2023 0

Why we should always remember Ned Stark’s words. #FictionSavesLives
 #GameOfThrones #EpicFantasy


In my last post, Why I hated #KaladinStormblessed, & how he saves me every day!, I started on a journey to show that it is not just Non-Fiction or Self-Help books that you can learn life lessons from. If learning is your aim, you can learn life-lessons from every single book you pick up, including an epic fantasy!


Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, has only what one can call a cameo in that huge series that is A Song of Ice and Fire series. Though only 5 out of 7 books are out, it is still a whole load of material to bite into. Yet Eddard Stark lasts about a bit over 500 pages.

Eddard Stark is great father, a fair lord, an honourable father but the worst politician in the history of Westeros. In his defence, being an honourable man and being a politician doesn’t go hand in hand. Other than what we know of him from the books and screen, we get to know him a lot better by how his children cope in Westeros.

As a father, he taught his children honour and leadership. Even in a world where women are treated as nothing but, well for a lack of a better word, cattle, he treated Catelyn Stark better than some women are treated even today. He had respect for his wife {why he never told Katelyn about Jon is still being debated} and he did not stop his daughters (especially Arya) from anything. Infact, he did get Arya her ‘dancing master’!

While I did not like the ‘not questioning authority’ side of his personality, or how he treated Theon, but I think his quotes are some that we should all take to heart and follow.


"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

- Eddark Stark definitely meant this about family. In modern times, I believe blood family can be replaced with our own version of family - our tribe. We definitely should stick together - especially during tough times.

"The madman sees what he sees.”

- We often try to understand other people motives for what they do and never understand because a logical mind can never really understand what a ‘madman’ sees. It is futile and exhausting for the one who tries. Sometimes, it is just better to accept that we may not ever understand and in a way that is a good thing!

Jon Snow: What did father used to say? Everything before the word "but" is horse shit. {from TV Show}

- Use this a  Red Flag in your life. Seriously. How many times have we heard ‘I love you, but…’, ‘I want to help, but…’, I wish I could, but…’ I think, when someone says or feels or wants something, they make every effort. One only uses but in such scenarios for an excuse. Once or twice could be an exception, but a pattern is certainly a red flag that you should not ignore.


While I wouldn’t take any notes on how to navigate a political environment, or who to trust in general… I will never forget these quotes.



13 February, 2023

February 13, 2023 0

Read an #Excerpt from The American Outsider by Homa Pourasgari #ContemporaryFiction #Adventure @HomaPourasgari

 


"A charming read with characters who come to life on the page—and who live for a cause whose urgency shines through the story." – Booklife Review


Tessa Walker is a veterinarian with a strong, emotional connection to animals. As a teen, she witnessed the brutal slaughter of dolphins, and as an adult, she decides to do something about it. She leaves her home in Los Angeles and travels to Japan to speak out for them, but little does she know that she is embarking on an adventure that will change her life forever. From the urban metropolis of Tokyo to the historic Kyoto to the culinary city of Osaka, and the seaside town of Taiji, Tessa is determined to help Japanese activists stand up for her beloved mammals.

Along the way, the friendships and bonds that she builds with people in Japan, and the unconditional love of a stranger named Toshiro, open her eyes to a complicated society of conventions and traditions. Yet, her limited knowledge of the language and customs doesn't deter her from taking on a dangerous mission that could land her in jail.



Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon.in * Amazon.com


Read an Excerpt from The American Outsider

By the next afternoon, Tessa had already put the disastrous birthday party behind her. She realized that all her worries, concerns, and preparation for the dinner party—learning the proper things to say and do, choosing the right gift and gift wrap, dressing conservatively, and not expressing her true feelings—did not matter. The Yokoyamas had made up their minds to dislike her before they had even met her. Tessa had discussed this with Akira in the morning, and Akira reminded her that she had come to Tokyo to help save the dolphins, not worry about the opinions of others. “We are in this together for the long haul, and we both need to develop thicker skins if we want to survive adversity,” Akira told her. Tessa agreed and after Akira left for work, she went back to working on the Kyoto protest, promoting the cause on social media and making new contacts. Still in her pajamas, Tessa decided to take a nap and then do a bit of sightseeing before Akira got home. The doorbell buzzed as she laid down. She wasn’t expecting anyone. If they are looking for Akira, they’ll come back, she thought. It buzzed again and again. Tessa went to the balcony to take a quick look down at the persistent intruder. It was Toshiro. The guy doesn’t give up, she thought. Tessa was about to walk away before he could see her, but he lifted his head.


Homa Pourasgari spent hours in her father’s home office, writing, reading and letting her imagination carry her to unseen worlds. She moved to Los Angeles, California, at a young age. After graduating from Loyola Marymount University with a degree in business, she went to Paris for a year to study literature at the Sorbonne. Before becoming a full-time writer, she ran her own boutique, worked at a bank and a CPA firm, was a personal trainer and even taught spinning and cardio kickboxing. When she is not writing, she is stumbling, miming and pointing to find her way in a foreign country. Her latest novel, The American Outsider, is based on her travels in Japan.


Homa on the Web:
Website * Facebook * Twitter 





30 January, 2023

January 30, 2023 0

Read an Excerpt from Good Girl Gone Rogue by Andaleeb Wajid - #Contemporary #EnemiesToLovers @andaleebwajid @bookreviewtours



When Inaya Khan is told she’s meeting a boy for marriage, the last thing she expects is for beetroot juice to play spoilsport. As CEO of Ixora Skincare, Inaya has achieved money, fame and power all at the age of twenty-seven. But to her mother, the only labels that apply to her are overweight and unmarried.

A CEO himself, but of a struggling startup, Ayaz Ahmed has no time or energy to even think of marriage. Until his mother shows him Inaya’s picture and he’s instantly smitten. Despite a disastrous start that included beetroot juice spewage, multiple suitors for Inaya’s hand and judgy onlookers, Inaya and Ayaz are instinctively drawn to each other.

Until Ayaz finds out that his company is being taken over by none other than his prospective bride-to-be. Ayaz may be smitten but he isn’t stupid. And he most certainly isn’t letting Inaya take his precious company from him.

Can love find a way to survive in the heart of business deals, mergers and acquisitions? Or will this bad girl have to go rogue to bring her own ‘Ranveer Singh’ home? 

Book Links:
Goodreads | Amazon.in | Amazon.com

Read an Excerpt from Bad Girl Gone Rogue

Keeping my face as blank as possible, I sat down and tried my best not to sit too close to him. He sat down as well, a smile on his face, looking sheepish because my mother and his family were looking at us keenly.

‘Sameena, there’s someone I wanted you to meet,’ Ammi said to his mother and taking the hint, both his parents got up and walked away with Ammi, leaving the two of us alone at the table. We weren’t alone per se, because there were so many people around but I still felt my stomach tie up in knots.

Whenever I was in Bangalore, a part of me forgot that I was the CEO of a successful company and not just my parents’ daughter. I had spoken to thousands of men probably, men who worked for me, men whom I had interviewed for jobs at my company, vendors and marketers, and other CEOs. But here, all that was swept away as I became Naseem and Aftab Khan’s younger daughter. Their younger unmarried daughter.

Straightening my back, I turned to him, really hoping there wouldn’t be another disaster like the one that had nearly ruined my dress. I briefly wondered where Ayaz was. Maybe he’d been embarrassed enough to leave.

I put him out of my mind and turned to the man I was sitting with. He looked at me appraisingly, his eyes resting on my shoulders and then glancing down my bare arms. Women were wearing short, strapless dresses here at the party. This was nothing compared to that. I gritted my teeth, thinking that if he was going to shame me for my outfit, I was going to throw this…this…I picked up the glass of juice on the table and sniffed it slightly and then nearly gagged. It was beetroot juice.

About the Author:

Andaleeb Wajid is a hybrid author, having published 40 novels in the past 14 years. Andaleeb enjoys writing in a number of different genres such as young adult, romance, and horror. Andaleeb's recent novels All Drama No Queen and Mirror, Mirror were published by Penguin Random House and Duckbill respectively in 2021. Andaleeb's romance trilogy Jasmine Villa Series is being published by Westland in February 2023. She has an upcoming YA horror novel with Harper Collins later in 2023.

Andaleeb on the Web:
Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Newsletter



21 January, 2023

January 21, 2023 0

Read an #Excerpt from The Accidental Spy by David Gardner - #Humour #Thriller @partnersincr1me

 

The Accidental Spy by David Gardner Banner

The Accidental Spy

by David Gardner

January 9 - February 3, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Accidental Spy by David Gardner

Harvey Hudson is an emotionally scarred, fifty-six-year-old history professor who has lost his job, his wife and his self-respect. In desperation, Harvey takes a high-tech job for which he is totally unqualified.

So he outsources it to India.

Then Harvey discovers that a Russian intelligence agency owns the outsourcing company and are using him to launch a cyberattack on the U.S. petroleum industry.

Harvey now finds himself in a world of trouble with the Russians and the FBI, and he has fallen in love with the woman from New Delhi who’s doing the job he’s outsourced—who might be a Russian agent.



The Accidental Spy Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Humorous Thriller with Literary Pretensions
Published by: Encircle Publications, LLC
Publication Date: November 2, 2022
Number of Pages: 274
ISBN: 9781645994206
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Encircle Publications

Read an excerpt:

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both.”
Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken”

Spy: “A person employed by a governmental agency to obtain secret information on a hostile country.”
The Philips Dictionary of Espionage

Accidental Spy: “Some poor jerk dragged into a world of trouble.”
Harvey Hudson

Chapter 1: Bunny Ears

Summer, 2019

Harvey Hudson released the steering wheel and swatted at the blue balloon (“Congrats! You Did It!”) that was banging against the back of his head.

What was the ‘It’ for? Someone earned a law degree? Pulled off a bank heist? Successfully underwent potty training? All three?

One day before turning fifty-six, and here he was, delivering balloons. How had he let this happen to him?

He chewed on the last of the Skittles he’d swiped from a bulky candy basket attached to a red balloon shaped like a birthday cake. Too many sweets for some spoiled kid. He was doing the pudgy brat a favor. The Snickers bar was tempting. Maybe later.

Harvey reached across the front seat, grabbed a handful of candy bars from the Skittle-less basket ($149), and dropped them into its modest neighbor ($39). He often shifted candy from larger baskets to lesser ones. He thought of himself as the Robin Hood of balloon-delivery individuals.

He’d had just $87 in the bank a few weeks ago when he’d shambled past a help-wanted sign in the front window of the Rapid Rabbit Balloon Service. He paused and reread the sign. “Part-time Delivery Person Needed. Become a Rapid Rabbit!” Yeah, what the hell. He hurried inside before he came to his senses. He would have taken any gig—balloon-delivery specialist, male stripper, or get-away driver for a grizzled bank robber.

With his part-time job delivering balloons and his full-time work as a beginning technical writer, Harvey could just stay afloat. His ex-wife had cleaned him out.

He double-parked on a smart street of brick-front homes on Boston’s Beacon Hill. Hesitating, he clamped the hated bunny ears over his head and attached the spongy red nose. Sighing, he grabbed the $149 basket and, head down, ambled up the walkway and rang the bell. The balloon bobbed overhead, taunting him.

The woman who opened the door was a slim and pretty brunette in her fifties. She had a narrow face and large, dark eyes.

She was his boss at his day job.

Also his high school sweetheart.

Harvey wanted to disappear into the ground.

Margo took a step back. “Oh.”

Harvey pulled off the bulbous red nose and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. “Uh…this is where you live?”

Margo shook her head. “I’m here with my daughter for a birthday party.”

Harvey shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m…um…delivering balloons just for tonight to help out a buddy who had two wisdom teeth pulled this morning, a professor who lost his job the same time I did.”

Margo blinked twice.

“A sociologist,” Harvey added.

Margo gripped the edge of the door.

“Named Fred,” Harvey said.

Margo nodded.

“The guy took the job in desperation because he’s broke, recently divorced, and down on his luck,” Harvey said and realized he was describing himself.

He handed the basket to Margo.

Did she believe him? Probably not. Did the company have a rule against moonlighting? He’d soon find out.

Margo poked around inside the basket. “There’s too much candy in here.”

“At least there aren’t any Skittles.”

Margo selected a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. “I’ve moved tomorrow’s team meeting up to 10:00 A.M. Did you get my email?”

Harvey nodded.

Was that her way of telling him that moonlighters don’t get fired? He hoped so. He was pathetically unqualified as a technical writer, and his job was in jeopardy.

Harvey hated meetings. Sometimes he thought the software engineers asked him questions he couldn’t answer just to see him squirm. Many were kids in their twenties, making double his salary.

And he hated lying to Margo. At least he could be honest about one small thing. “Actually, this is my night gig. I’ve had it for a few weeks.”

Margo unwrapped the Reese’s, nipped off a corner, chewed and said, “Is that why I caught you asleep at your desk yesterday?”

No, it’s because the job is so goddamn boring. He shook his head. “I wasn’t sleeping. I have the habit of relaxing and closing my eyes whenever I’m searching for the perfect way to convey a particularly difficult concept to our worthy customers.”

“And snoring?”

Margo was smiling now. That same cute smile from high school. He remembered it from the time they’d sneaked a first kiss in the back row of calculus class. The girl he’d loved and lost.

She set the basket down and pulled a twenty from the side pocket of her slacks. “Um…would you…uh…accept a tip?”

“No.”

She shoved the bill into his shirt pocket. “Yes, you will.”

Harvey shifted his weight to his left foot. A liar doesn’t deserve a $20 tip. At most, a few dimes and nickels, couch-cushion change.

Margo finished the peanut butter cup in silence.

He didn’t quite know what to say now.

Yes, he did know. He should tell her the truth.

He’d outsourced his job to India.

Was that illegal? Probably not. But highly unethical. Would she protect him after he’d confessed? Unlikely, which meant he would lose his job. But living a lie was exhausting and just plain wrong. She’d hired him and trusted him. She deserved better. He cleared his throat, once, twice, a third time. “Margo, there’s something I have to tell you. It seems I—“

“Is that the balloon guy?” a young woman called from inside the house.

“That’s my daughter,” Margo said and picked up the basket. A blue balloon bobbed on a string attached to the handle. “I’ll be right back.”

Harvey stood at the open door, trying to think of some way to soften his upcoming confession. Or maybe just blurt it out and get it over with?

“Happy birthday, Dad!”

The daughter’s voice again from inside.

“Candy and a kid’s balloon again this year! Are you trying to tell me something?”

The daughter laughed.

Harvey recognized the man’s voice.

Tucker Aldrich was the CEO of the company where Harvey worked. He was also Margo’s ex-husband and a first-class dickhead.

So, it meant the balloon and candy basket were for Tucker and not some child. Harvey was sorry he’d passed on the Snickers bar.

The hell with telling the truth.

Margo came back out, holding a glass of white wine. She leaned against the door frame. “What were you going to say earlier?”

“Uh…that you’re an over-tipper.”

“Only when the delivery person is a cute, curly-haired guy with a spongy red nose,” she said and sipped her wine. “Did I mention that the meeting’s moved to 10:00?”

“Yes.”

Silence, then Margo said, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She closed the door behind her.

Harvey stared at the bronze horsehead knocker. He wanted to rip it off. The door too. He in fact wanted to tear the whole damn building down on Tucker’s head.

Margo hadn’t forgotten that she’d told him about the meeting. Margo was incapable of forgetting. She was warning him to show up.

Team meetings were a nightmare. The scruffy programmers spoke computerese, argued over stuff Harvey didn’t understand, and gleefully pointed out errors in his documentation.

But way off in New Delhi, lovely Amaya understood, and with luck she might save his job.

Tomorrow’s meeting would make or break him.

Harvey shuffled down the walkway, his head lowered, his bunny ears slipping down his forehead. He’d been so shocked to see Margo that he’d forgotten to take them off. One of life’s bad moments.

Still, she had called him cute.

Yeah, sure. He was just hours from turning fifty-six, had found addional gray hairs while shaving that morning, and was thickening around the waist from too many Skittles and Snickers.

Harvey climbed into his car and slumped in the driver’s seat. He was angry with Tucker for stealing Margo and angry at Margo for not offering him a glass of wine. But most of all, Harvey was angry with himself for letting her see him in bunny ears.

When he’d first started making deliveries a few weeks earlier, he’d refused to wear them, then thought, what the hell? Doesn’t everyone at some time want to play the fool? There was no pressure to succeed, to show off, to one-up a colleague.

What if everyone from a prisoner sitting out a life term to the President of the United States had to set aside one day a year and play the fool, to go out in public wearing a spongy red nose and bunny ears?

What-Ifs and Whys had obsessed Harvey as a child, who from morning to night had trailed behind his father and mother and pestered them with questions. (What if there was a ladder to the Moon? What if everyone had four arms? Why is cousin Alice getting those bumps on her chest?)

Later, he would turn his pestering curiosity into a profession. He thought of himself as a ‘speculative historian.’ (What if the Allies had lost the Second World War? What if Caesar hadn’t crossed the Rubicon? What if no one had invented the computer?)

Harvey started the engine, reached over to tap the next address into the GPS, then leaned back.

Why humiliate himself like this? His ex-wife had always insisted he was punishing himself in guilt over his younger brother. Harvey denied this, but he knew she was right.

Enough. He had reached his lifetime quota of humiliation.

Here’s another What-If: What if he quit this goddamn job?

Harvey shut off the engine, climbed out of the car, went around back, and popped the trunk.

A dozen balloons bobbed on basket handles, aching to go free.

Harvey tied the spongy red nose to a balloon that read “Get Well Soon!” He cut it loose. Next, he liberated a black balloon picturing a racecar (“Turning Ten!”). Finally, he tied his rabbit ears to a cluster of white orbs trailing a banner that read, “Congrats, New Parents!” and set the bunch free.

He watched until the last of the balloons caught the breeze and disappeared into the night sky.

He slammed the trunk closed, climbed into his car, and right away started to fret. What if a balloon floated to the harbor for some sea creature to swallow (Headline: “Reckless Ex-Professor Kills Orca!”).

Just one more reason to be angry with himself.

***

Excerpt from The Accidental Spy by David Gardner. Copyright 2022 by David Gardner. Reproduced with permission from David Gardner. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

David Gardner

David Gardner grew up on a Wisconsin dairy farm, served in Army Special Forces and earned a Ph.D. in French from the University of Wisconsin. He has taught college and worked as a reporter and in the computer industry.

He coauthored three programming books for Prentice Hall, wrote dozens of travel articles as well as too many mind-numbing computer manuals before happily turning to fiction: "The Journalist: A Paranormal Thriller," "The Last Speaker of Skalwegian," and "The Accidental Spy" (all with Encircle Publications, LLC).

He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Nancy, also a writer. He hikes, bikes, messes with astrophotography and plays the keyboard with no discernible talent whatsoever.

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14 January, 2023

January 14, 2023 0

Read an #Excerpt from Dark of Night by Colleen Coble - #Romantic #Suspense @colleencoble @partnersincr1me

 

Dark of Night

by Colleen Coble

January 9-February 3, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Dark of Night by Colleen Coble cover

The law is about justice—not grace. But perhaps ranger Annie Pederson can find a way to have both.

As if the last few months haven’t been hard enough—complete with threats on her life and the return of her first love, Jon—Annie has to figure out whether or not to believe a woman who claims to be her sister, Sarah, who was abducted twenty-four years ago at age five. Annie’s eight-year-old daughter, Kylie, has plenty of questions about what’s going on in her mother’s life—but there are some stones Annie doesn’t want uncovered.

As Annie grapples with how to heal the gulf between her and her would-be sister and make room in her daughter’s life for Jon, she’s professionally distracted by the case of yet another missing hiker in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. A woman named Michelle Fraser has now been abducted, and though the woman’s estranged husband is at the top of their suspect list, Annie and her colleagues will need to dig deeper and determine whether these recent mysteries are truly as unrelated as they seem.

In this second novel of bestselling author Colleen Coble’s latest romantic-suspense series, Annie and Jon must fight for the future—and the family—that could once more be theirs.

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Thomas Nelson
Publication Date: January 2023
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 0785253742 (ISBN13: 9780785253747)
Series: Annie Pederson #2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | ChristianBook | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Should she even be out here alone? Michigan’s U.P. was a whole lotta wilderness. Michelle Fraser’s shoulder blades gave a tingle and made her glance back to see if anyone was following her. No one there. But in spite of seeing no movement in the trees and bushes, she couldn’t discount her gut instinct. She’d been spooked ever since she left the safety of the women’s shelter.

Maybe it was just knowing she was out here with no backup that had her on edge.

The heavy scent of rain hung in the twilight air as she set the last of her wildlife cameras in the crook of a large sugar maple tree. A northern flying squirrel chattered a warning from its nest. The glaucomys sabrinus’s agitation made Michelle pull away in time to avoid being nipped.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a spooky mist blew through the forest. The sooner she was out of here, the better. Her last set of cameras hadn’t turned up the elusive mountain lions she’d been searching for, but a hunter in neighboring Ontonagon County had snapped a picture of a large male reclining on a rock. If she could acquire more data, it would aid her research for the magazine article proving mountain lions inhabited the area. And she had to have pictures.

She’d been obsessed with big cats for as long as she could remember. Even the various names held a fascinating mystique: catamount, puma, cougar, mountain lion, panther.

A mosquito landed on her arm, and she swatted it. Her hands came away with a drop of blood on her fingers. Yuck. She wiped the residue on her khaki shorts and turned to go back to her ATV. A sound erupted to her right, and it sounded like either a puma or a woman’s scream. The hair on her neck prickled, and she moved that way.

The scream pealed again, and she removed the lens cap on the camera slung around her neck. Her palms dampened, and her breath came fast. Walking toward danger might not be the smartest thing, but Michelle couldn’t help herself. She yearned to see a puma in the wild in all its power and beauty. Her knees shook as she pulled out a bullhorn from her backpack to frighten away the cat if it sensed her as prey.

Queen pumas would be protecting their litters in June, so she needed to be careful. Her lungs labored as she rushed in that direction. Her black belt in jujitsu wouldn’t do much against the speed and power of a puma. She seized a large branch to make herself seem bigger as she advanced through the forest. Evergreen needles clawed at her arms as she forced her way through a thick stand of white pine.

She paused on the other side and caught the glimmer of water. Lake Superior’s waves lapped at the rocky shore, and she spotted a yellow kayak riding the swells in the shallow surf. A discarded backpack bobbed beside it.

Her sense of unease grew as she observed the scene. Glancing around, she approached the water and snagged the backpack from the lake, then pulled the kayak onto the rocks. Her gut told her someone was in trouble.

Should she call out? If it was wildlife threatening the woman she thought she’d heard, Michelle could scare it off with a flare. But if the attacker was human, she didn’t want to give away her presence and put the woman in greater danger. She scanned the area for bear or cougar scat but found nothing.

The sound of oars slapping the water came from her left, and she ducked back into the shadow of the pines until she could tell the intent of the boaters. Two figures partially shrouded in mist paddled a large canoe around a rocky finger of the shore. The glimpse of broad shoulders through the fog indicated they were probably men. She strained to listen through the sound of the wind and water but couldn’t hear much.

She couldn’t put her finger on why she didn’t want them to see her. Maybe because they were men, and Brandon might have sent them after her.

“I know she ran this way. Trying to get to her kayak, eh.” The man’s heavy Yooper accent carried well over the water.

“Can’t see her through this mist,” the other man said. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. Your love life isn’t my business.”

“You owe me. Let’s try on down the shore. There’s a deer trail toward the road she might have tried to take.”

Their voices faded as their canoe moved past. She didn’t get a good look at their faces. Was a woman out there trying to escape an abusive ex? Michelle had seen plenty of that kind of trauma this past year and had experienced abuse personally.

Once they were out of sight, she stepped back into the clearing. “Hello,” she called softly. “Is anyone here? I can help you.”

She walked across the green mossy clearing, searching for a sign of an injured woman. The bushes to her left shivered and rustled, and she stepped closer. “Hello? Do you need help?”

The leaves parted as the mist swirled along the ground, and the pale oval of a woman’s face emerged. Long blonde hair hung in strings along her cheeks, and her eyelids fluttered as though she might faint. Michelle rushed forward and helped the young woman to her feet. She was in her early twenties with a slight build. Mud smeared her khaki shorts and red top, and she was barefoot.

She seemed familiar, and Michelle reached down to touch her forehead. She nearly recoiled at the heat radiating from the young woman. “Wait, aren’t you Grace Mitchell?”

They’d met when Grace first arrived at the shelter, but Michelle hadn’t immediately recognized her with the mud and dirt on her face and hair. The woman’s fever alarmed Michelle. “You’re burning up. We need to get you to a doctor.”

“I-I’ll be fine. Do you have some way out of here?”

“My ATV is this way.” Michelle put her right arm around the woman’s waist and helped her stumble toward the trail. “What are you doing out here?”

Grace paused and wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead. “I spotted my ex driving past the shelter, and I knew he’d found me. That day we met, you mentioned a remote area you liked with a great camping spot, and I decided to try to find it. You know, hide out until I figured out where to go to get away from Roy. But I stopped by to get camping gear from my parents, and he must have followed me here. He’s out there somewhere. He and a buddy.” Her blue eyes flashed with fear. “I can’t let him find me.”

They reached the ATV, and Michelle got Grace situated, but it was a tight squeeze on the vehicle meant for one person. Michelle got water out of her backpack and helped Grace drink some. She grabbed her phone, too, and took a quick photo of the traumatized girl before she dropped it back into the pack.

Michelle started the machine and pulled out onto the trail back to the cabin where she’d been hiding out. She should have gotten out of here earlier since the weather had caused darkness to fall sooner than expected. It would be slow going on the rough trail with only the headlamps pushing the darkness back a short distance.

After only a few minutes, Michelle realized she’d gotten off the trail. She stopped the machine and looked around. Which way should she go? She consulted her compass and decided to push due west. They’d only gone a few feet when the ground gave out under the machine, and they went flying into the air. When Michelle hit the ground, something in her right leg snapped, and the excruciating pain was instantaneous.

She bit back a scream but couldn’t stop the moan as she pulled her knee to her chest. The swelling was already starting four inches above her ankle, but at least it didn’t appear to be a compound fracture. “I-I’ve broken my leg. Are you all right, Grace?”

When Grace didn’t answer, Michelle felt along the ground until she touched her thigh. “Grace?” She felt up the young woman’s body to her face.

Grace wasn’t breathing. “Oh no,” Michelle whispered. She checked her out in the dark as best as she could. No pulse.

Michelle dragged herself to the machine but it was on its side, and she couldn’t right it with her broken leg. No one would be searching for her out here, so she had to find shelter. But how?

The pain made it hard to think. She froze at the sound of movement in the vegetation. Something big was crashing toward her. A deer? A mountain lion or bear?

A man’s shoulders moved into sight, and his expression sent shivers up her spine. When he reached down to lift her up, the pain intensified in her leg, and her vision went black.

///

Law enforcement ranger Annie Pederson sat at a table by herself in the small interrogation room at the Rock Harbor jail and waited for Taylor Moore to be brought in for questioning. Maybe it was Annie’s imagination, but it seemed as if the beige paint on the walls reeked with the guilt and despair of countless years of interrogations. Even the clean scent of the disinfectant used in the area didn’t dissipate the unpleasantness. She didn’t like this space and wished she could have talked to Taylor at the coffee shop or somewhere more pleasant.

But this meeting might be the end of her lifelong search, so she would have faced even tigers in this place.

The door opened and Taylor entered. Several weeks ago Annie had hired her to help out around the Tremolo Marina and Cabin Resort and with Annie’s eight-year-old daughter, but the woman had been picked up for questioning about the necklace found belonging to a murdered girl. Her claim to be Annie’s sister, Sarah—kidnapped from Tremolo Island twenty-four years ago—had turned Annie’s every thought on its head. According to Taylor’s ID, she was twenty-nine, three years younger than Annie, so that detail matched Sarah.

Annie’s heart squeezed at Taylor’s ducked head and stringy locks. The bright-red hair dye was fading, and glints of her natural blonde color showed through. Her jeans and tee looked like she’d slept in them for days, and the scent of stale perspiration wafted from her.

Taylor glanced up, and Annie bit back a gasp at the defiance gleaming in those vivid blue eyes that matched Annie’s eye color instead of the muddy brown Annie was used to. Jon Dunstan had claimed Taylor was wearing contacts to change her eye color, and it seemed he was right.

Annie had prided herself on her ability to read people in her line of work. She’d always thought she could detect a liar with no problem. Taylor had completely snowed her. After Taylor’s impeccable references, Annie had trusted the woman with her child.

Sheriff Mason Kaleva ambled in behind Taylor. He gestured to the chair across the table from Annie. “Have a seat, Ms. Moore.”

In his forties, his husky form brought solace to Annie. He’d always been there for her and his town, and his kind brown eyes swept over her in a questioning gaze. She gave him a little nod to let him know she was okay.

Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “It’s Ms. Vitanen. Sarah Vitanen.”

A wave of dizziness washed over Annie, and she bit her lip and eyed Taylor closely. “You claim to be my sister, but do you have any proof?”

The chair screeched on the tile floor as Taylor pulled it out before she plopped onto it. “I should have expected you wouldn’t welcome me with open arms. After all, you did nothing to stop my abduction.”

Heat swept up Annie’s neck and lodged in her cheeks. “What could an eight-year-old do to stop an adult? If you’re really Sarah, what was the name of your favorite stuffed animal?”

“Cocoa,” Taylor said without hesitation. “It was a brown kitten. I couldn’t have a real one because Mom was allergic.”

Annie’s eyes widened. She caught her breath as she studied the other woman across the table. “Let me see your left knee.”

Rebellion flashed in Taylor’s blue eyes, and she leaned down to yank up her baggy jeans, then stood with her tanned knee exposed. A faded two-inch scar just below her kneecap matched the one in Annie’s memory. Sarah had gotten snagged on a large metal hook under the dock at the marina. It had taken fifteen stitches to close the wound, and Annie had helped her sister hobble around for several weeks.

But was that proof? Kids had scars from all sorts of things. She wanted to believe her sister was still alive, but was Taylor really Sarah?

Her breath eased from her lips, and Annie couldn’t speak for a long moment. “You really believe you’re Sarah? Did you research all that and make sure the details matched?”

Taylor just stared back at her with that same defiance. In Annie’s dreams, finding Sarah meant a tight embrace and happy tears, but Taylor’s stance with her arms folded across her chest and her jutting chin warned Annie off any displays of affection. Not that she was feeling any warmth toward the other woman in this moment.

When the other woman plopped back in her chair and didn’t answer, Annie licked her lips. “Why didn’t you tell me when you first showed up looking for work? Why the fake name? I’ve been searching for my sister for years.”

“Have you? Have you really?”

Annie glanced at Mason. “Ask him if you don’t believe me.”

Mason shifted his bulky form and nodded. “I’ve been helping Annie search. We’ve sent DNA samples numerous times over the past ten years. Her parents searched for Sarah, and even hired investigators, until their deaths.”

Annie hadn’t known that. Her parents’ business, the Tremolo Marina and Cabin Resort, operated on a shoestring, so they must have taken much needed money to try to find Sarah.

Annie shifted her gaze back to the woman across the table. Taylor twisted a strand of hair around her finger in a coil. Sarah used to do that too. If this was a scam, it was an elaborate one. With all her heart Annie wanted to believe it, but she couldn’t quite accept it. It was so sudden, and the circumstances were bizarre.

Mason cleared his throat. “We’ll need a little more proof. We can get the DNA back in a week or so.”

“I have nothing to hide,” the other woman said.

Annie had spent twenty-four years agonizing over her failure to save Sarah. The guilt had nearly swallowed her alive, though everyone told her she couldn’t have done anything. Until a few days ago, she hadn’t been able to recall much about that awful night. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to remember how she froze in fear when the kidnapper grabbed Sarah.

Annie fingered the scar on her neck where the attacker had wounded her with a knife. She’d been left for dead in the cold waters of Lake Superior, and while logically she knew she was no match for the gruff woman who’d snatched her sister, Annie had struggled to believe it.

“Were any of the things you told me about your life true? Those things you said about your m-mother?”

“I had a rotten life, if that’s what you’re asking. All those things I said about my mother were true. And it was all your fault.”

There was nothing Annie could say to counter that when her own conscience condemned her too. She was only too glad when her boss, Kade Matthews, texted her with a new case. Mason could continue the questioning about the necklace.

***

Excerpt from Dark of Night by Colleen Coble. Copyright 2022 by Colleen Coble. Reproduced with permission from HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Colleen Coble

Colleen Coble is a USA TODAY bestselling author best known for her coastal romantic suspense novels, including The Inn at Ocean's Edge, Twilight at Blueberry Barrens, and the Lavender Tides, Sunset Cove, Hope Beach, and Rock Harbor series.

Connect with Colleen online at:
colleencoble.com
Goodreads
BookBub: @colleencoble
Instagram: @colleencoble
Twitter: @colleencoble
Facebook: colleencoblebooks

 

 

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12 January, 2023

January 12, 2023 0

Read an Excerpt from Once Upon a Kiss (Il Cuore #4) by Shilpa Suraj - #Contemporary #Romance #KaramAndShikha @shilpaauthor @BookReviewTours

 


 “Kissing you means I’m beyond redemption.”

Orphaned at a young age, scraping together a life below the poverty line, Karam Bakshi has only ever wanted one thing. Success. With unrelenting focus and backbreaking effort, he has carved out the life of his dreams. And then he saw her and forgot that he had goals or a plan or even something as basic as ideas.

Shikha Sachdev, only daughter to a mining magnate and jilted fiancée to one of the most powerful men in the country, has never wanted for anything. And then she met him and realised that until that moment, she never had wanted anything. Not like she wanted him.

When passion collides with reason, when the heart goes to war with the brain, and old scabs rip open under the onslaught of new wounds, there is nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, and only one option left; gamble with everything you’ve got. Win and reach for a lifetime of happiness or lose and you lose everything, including your very sense of self.

Can Karam and Shikha ever find common ground? Or are they destined to orbit each other like the most tortured star-crossed lovers of eternity?

Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon.in * Amazon.com


Read an Excerpt from Once Upon a Kiss


Karam stiffened at the sweet voice and the even sweeter sentiment it oozed. He didn’t do sweet. He turned slowly to face her. 

“Slumming again, Princess?”

Anger flared on those perfect features, but she composed herself a second later. You had to admire that level of control. She would have made the perfect politician’s wife. Kanak, on the other hand…a reluctant laugh huffed out of him. 

“Why are you like this?” she asked now, her tone bored but her eyes alive with something he recognised all too well. The same emotion thrummed through his veins, heating his blood and kickstarting his heart. 

He took a sip from his flask, a deliberately long one. He wanted to smack his lips, the gesture as pointed as it was obscene, when she stepped closer to him.

“You didn’t reply to my last message.” The soft words only stoked the heat.

“Didn’t have time.” The words were a low snarl in response. 

She cocked her head, those pretty hazel eyes seeing right through him and to the lonely, angry, always hungry boy he’d been and apparently, never outgrown. The boy who’d longed for a better life, for a full stomach, for a night without being whipped or beaten, for an affectionate touch, for someone, anyone really, to love him. 

A boy who’d thought he’d deserved better. A boy who’d wanted something pretty, something special in his life. A boy who’d dirtied and ruined everything he’d held in his hands. Including this woman.

He’d kissed her. And she’d lost everything. Her rich, powerful fiancé had ended their engagement, her family had shunned her, humiliated by her actions and her business had lost investors. Apparently, they’d been backing the woman who was going to marry Aakash Thakkar. Not someone who’d kiss an alley rat like him. 

“Go inside,” he told her softly.

But when did she ever listen to him?

“No,” she said, equally softly, stepping forward and into his space. 

“You really need to find a rich, pretty boy to practice this shit with, Princess.” The words were hoarse, his chest starting to heave. 

“But I don’t want to,” she murmured, her fingers pushing the hair back from his forehead, running through the strands. She gripped the back of his neck, the contact feeling like a brand on his skin.

“What do you want?” His hand fisted around his flask even as the other one gripped her hip, the skin soft and satiny under his callused palm. Her saree pallu whispered down one shoulder and slipped to the ground but neither of them noticed, their eyes only on each other.

“What. Do. You. Want?” The words were dragged from him. 

“You, Karam. Always you.” 

This time when she kissed him, he didn’t just go up in flames. He swore he’d burn the world down for a chance to do this again. And again.

About the Author:

A published author with Harlequin India – Mills & Boon India Collection and Juggernaut, Shilpa Suraj’s books have hit both the Hot New Releases and Bestseller lists on Amazon. Her next novel, tentatively titled ‘Wrong,’ has been contracted by Rupa Publications and will release later this year. She is also part of the Flipped Anthology by Harper Collins and had an audiobook book Insta Reddy release with Storytel.

She is, amongst other things, currently working on ‘Frazzled and Fabulous,’ a humorous, true-to-life parenting story that is part memoir and part nonfiction.

An avid reader with a passion for creative writing and storytelling saw her participating in writing competitions at school and dabbling in copy writing for an ad agency as a teenager. Twenty years in the corporate space, including a stint in Corporate Communications for Google, India, and a spell at entrepreneurship all hold her in good stead for her multiple current roles of author, mother and Head of Human Resources & Public Relations at an architecture and interior design firm.

Contact the Author:
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07 January, 2023

January 07, 2023 0

Read an #Excerpt from Under a Veiled Moon by Karen Odden - #Historical #Mystery @karen_odden @partnersincr1me

 

Under a Veiled Moon by Karen Odden Banner

Under a Veiled Moon

by Karen Odden

January 2-27, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Under a Veiled Moon by Karen Odden

In the tradition of C. S. Harris and Anne Perry, a fatal disaster on the Thames and a roiling political conflict set the stage for Karen Odden’s second Inspector Corravan historical mystery.

September 1878. One night, as the pleasure boat the Princess Alice makes her daily trip up the Thames, she collides with the Bywell Castle, a huge iron-hulled collier. The Princess Alice shears apart, throwing all 600 passengers into the river; only 130 survive. It is the worst maritime disaster London has ever seen, and early clues point to sabotage by the Irish Republican Brotherhood, who believe violence is the path to restoring Irish Home Rule.

For Scotland Yard Inspector Michael Corravan, born in Ireland and adopted by the Irish Doyle family, the case presents a challenge. Accused by the Home Office of willfully disregarding the obvious conclusion, and berated by his Irish friends for bowing to prejudice, Corravan doggedly pursues the truth, knowing that if the Princess Alice disaster is pinned on the IRB, hopes for Home Rule could be dashed forever.

Corrovan’s dilemma is compounded by Colin, the youngest Doyle, who has joined James McCabe’s Irish gang. As violence in Whitechapel rises, Corravan strikes a deal with McCabe to get Colin out of harm’s way. But unbeknownst to Corravan, Colin bears longstanding resentments against his adopted brother and scorns his help.

As the newspapers link the IRB to further accidents, London threatens to devolve into terror and chaos. With the help of his young colleague, the loyal Mr. Stiles, and his friend Belinda Gale, Corravan uncovers the harrowing truth—one that will shake his faith in his countrymen, the law, and himself.

Praise for Under a Veiled Moon:

"[An] exceptional sequel … Odden never strikes a false note, and she combines a sympathetic lead with a twisty plot grounded in the British politics of the day and peopled with fully fleshed-out characters. Fans of Lyndsay Faye’s Gods of Gotham trilogy will be enthralled."

Publishers Weekly, starred review

"Victorian skulduggery with a heaping side of Irish troubles."

Kirkus Reviews

"Will keep readers curious and guessing to the end."

Manhattan Book Review, 5-star review

"Damn fine historical crime fiction."

Bolo Books

"Rich in emotion and historical detail, Under a Veiled Moon is a brilliant tale of the dark, thorny places where the personal and the political intertwine."

Mariah Fredericks, Edgar award-nominated author of the Jane Prescott series

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Mystery
Published by: Crooked Lane Books
Publication Date: October 11, 2022
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 978-1639101191
Series: Inspector Corravan, #2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

London September 1878

Chapter 1

We all carry pieces of our past with us. Sometimes they’re shiny and worthy as new half crowns in our pockets. Sometimes they’re bits of lint or scraps of paper shredded beyond use. Plenty of my memories carry a stab of regret or a burn of shame with them, and honestly, there are times when I wonder how we all bloody well live with the fool things we’ve done.

I’ve made a fair number of mistakes since I first donned a Metropolitan Police uniform in Lambeth, over twelve years ago now. Investigating murders and missing people isn’t a task for those who aren’t willing to go down the wrong alley three or four times before finding the proper one. But those errors are a result of making a poor guess based on limited knowledge, and while they may cause a few sleepless nights, they can be set aside.

The mistakes that feel less forgivable are those that hurt someone you love. Worse still is when you discover your error only years later. Often, there’s nothing to be done. Too much time has passed to make amends. And those mistakes—ach, it’s bloody difficult to forgive yourself when you should’ve known better, should’ve known to pick your head up and cast about to see what might happen as a result of your actions. Perhaps there’s no easy way to learn that lesson, other than failing to do it once and discovering later just what it cost.

Sometimes, during the evenings we’re together, my Belinda reads aloud from whatever book is occupying her at the moment. One night she related a Greek myth about a man whose wife was killed by a snakebite. By virtue of his music, he weaseled his way into the underworld and convinced the king of Hades to release her. The king had one condition, however, of the rescue: neither the man nor his wife could look backward as they were leaving. And what did the fool do? He turned back to be sure his wife was still with him. He couldn’t help himself, poor bloke. So the mouth of hell opened up, and she vanished forever.

But perhaps we can’t always help what we do in a moment of crushing fear.

When I was nineteen, scared out of my wits and fleeing Whitechapel with only a bag of clothes and a small pouch of coins Ma Doyle thrust into my hand, I didn’t look back. Unlike the man in the myth, I should have, though.

Perhaps then hell would not have opened up around me thirteen years later.

***

On the first day of September, I woke to pale autumn sunlight and a feeling of well-being. It didn’t happen often, and it took a few moments to recall the cause. I lay still, listening to the Sunday quiet of my house, to a lone costermonger’s wheels creaking and rumbling over the cobbles outside, and the bells from St. Barnabas’s tolling from the next street over. I no longer attended church, but I did believe in God—a reasonable and just God, although sometimes the world twisted justice around, like a boat line hitched badly around a metal cleat so it emerged from the knot in a direction you didn’t expect.

As I stared at the ceiling, I collected my thoughts with some satisfaction. I’d been acting superintendent at Wapping River Police for three months now, and we’d just resolved a case involving smugglers who’d been bribing Custom House men to underweight the scales, to avoid paying proper taxes. It had occupied my every breath for the past four weeks, and now I felt a sense of relief, like a weighted yoke off the back of my neck, as I always did when an important case ended. The newspapers had even printed something good about the police yesterday as a result. God knows we needed it. Sometimes I still cringed at the memories of the corruption trial last autumn, with mobs cursing us plainclothes men for being frauds and cheats, and newspaper headlines proclaiming how London would be better off if we were all at the bottom of the Thames. But with the river murders of last April resolved and this smuggling case concluded, it seemed the police were slowly earning back public trust. Of course, the stories published about our successes were full of inaccuracies, and by omitting any reference to the tiresome inquiries, the endless walking, and the misleading clues, they were nowhere near the whole truth, but at least they painted the police in a satisfactory light.

The door to Harry’s bedroom, next to mine, opened and closed, and as I heard the boy start down the stairs, I slid out of bed. The coals in my bedroom stove had burnt to ash, and the room was cool, with a dampness that lingered after a rainy August.

Standing at the window in my nightshirt, I looked across the way at the two-story red-brick terraced houses, built cheek by jowl, mirror images of those on my side of the street. The sunlight, golden as a well-baked loaf of bread, inched down from the roofline and struck the upper windows, flashing a shine that made me squint. It was a pleasure to think I had no plan for the day but to visit the Doyles for Sunday tea. What with the smugglers and my new responsibilities at Wapping, it had been over a month since I’d seen Ma, Elsie, and Colin—longer than I liked.

From downstairs came the sound of our kettle shrieking.

Harry would be preparing tea for himself and coffee for me. My brew was a holdover from the tastes of the previous century, I knew, but I couldn’t abide weak liquids in the morning. I’d taught Harry how to make my coffee properly after he said he’d do whatever necessary to keep me from growling at him.

Harry Lish had come to live with me here in Soho six months ago, after his father died, his mother having passed away years before. Harry was Ma Doyle’s nephew, but as she’d told me when he arrived at her house in Whitechapel, he didn’t belong there. His speech was too well schooled and his manners more Mayfair than Merseyside. Although barely sixteen, Harry was determined to study medicine, and I’d found a place for him at St. Anne’s Hospital with my friend James Everett, a physician and surgeon who supervised the ward for brain injuries and mental disorders. Harry was leaving the next day to spend a fortnight or so observing in an Edinburgh hospital, a special opportunity arranged by James, who found in Harry an eager and intuitive student.

I pulled on my shirt and a pair of trousers with the special side pocket for my truncheon, a vestige of my days in uniform. It being Sunday, I was off duty, but the Doyles lived in the heart of Whitechapel, and there was no point in being foolhardy. I splashed water on my face and ran a comb through my hair before stowing my truncheon and heading down the stairs.

“Good morning, Mickey,” Harry said as I entered the kitchen.

“Morning.” I accepted the cup he pushed across the table. The pocketbook he always took to the hospital lay beside his saucer. “Are you not coming with me to the Doyles’s?”

He winced an apology. “I would, but there’s a special procedure.”

“On a Sunday?”

He nodded, his brown eyes keen. “Dr. Everett is performing a craniotomy on a woman with blood on the brain.”

The coffee suddenly tasted sour. But far be it from me to dampen his scientific ardor.

“You’ll only be watching, I assume?” I asked.

Regret flickered over his features. “Observing from the balcony.” Then he brightened. “Richard will be assisting, though.”

Richard was a second-year medical student at University College here in London, who worked at the hospital and had taken Harry under his wing.

“How did it happen?” I asked. “Blood on the brain?”

“She fell off a ladder,” he replied. “If Dr. Everett doesn’t operate, the blood will continue to press on the internal parts and organs.” He touched his fingertips to the side of his head. “She’s already having secondary symptoms—seizures, confusion, and the like.”

“Ah. What time is it? The operation?”

He upended his cup to drink the last of the tea. “Ten o’clock, but I want to be there for the anesthesia.”

“Of course.” What could be more entertaining? I thought as I raised my own cup to hide my smile.

He reached for his coat. “Besides, I doubt Aunt Mary will expect me. I saw them on Tuesday. My aunt and Elsie, I should say,” he amended as he thrust his arm into a sleeve. “Colin was out somewhere . . . as usual.”

In his voice was an undertone—hurt, strained, subdued—that could have served as a signal of something amiss. But it was one of those moments when you must be paying proper attention to take it in, when you must be standing quite still. And we weren’t. Harry was dashing up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Wait for me—I’ll be right down,” and I was rummaging on the table amid some newspapers for my pocketbook—where was the bloody thing?—and the warning went unheeded.

I swallowed down the last of my coffee. Harry did well by me, leaving no grounds in the bottom, meticulous in a way that boded well for his success in a profession that demanded precision. With my pocketbook found, I shrugged into my coat, and when Harry reappeared on the stairs, his boots sounding quick on the treads, I waved him outside and locked the front door. We walked to the corner, where we bid farewell and separated. I watched him, hatless, his lanky boyish frame hurrying along, not wanting to miss the thrills to be found in the medical amphitheater.

I found myself grinning as I turned away, for I liked the lad, and we’d come to understand each other. Belinda says that in our both being orphans and clever, as well as in some of our less desirable traits such as our prickly aversion to owing anyone anything, we’re more alike than I’m willing to admit. There’s part of me that agrees with her, though Harry and I have our differences. Sometimes I wonder where I’d be if I’d had Harry’s book learning or someone overseeing my education and guiding my professional progress the way James does for Harry. Oh, my real mother had taught me to read before I lost her, and working at Ma Doyle’s store had made me quick at my sums. But every so often Harry would let slip a phrase in French or Latin, or he’d mention some curious bit of history, much the way James or my former partner Stiles does, not to show off his learning but just because it floats around in his brain. And I’d think about how we can’t be more than our past permits us.

Then again, my advancement within the Metropolitan Police has been my own doing. There’s some satisfaction in that too.

Chapter 2

It was a fine day for a walk, and I headed to my favorite pub— the only one within a mile of my house that served a satisfying wedge of shepherd’s pie in a proper crust. It was where I usually spent part of my Sunday, with the papers, and I knew the Doyles wouldn’t expect me before two or three at the earliest.

My favorite table was occupied by two men, but I chose another near the window where a newspaper was lying, its ruffled pages evidence of it having already been read at least once. I flipped it over to find the Times masthead and the bold headline “Sittingbourne Disaster,” with a drawing below it of a railway train with the engine, tender, and two cars tipped over on their sides and the usual chaos of people and their belongings flung from carriages.

I let out a groan.

Sittingbourne was fifty miles east of London, on the south side of the Thames, not far from where the river let out to the North Sea. I scanned the article, but there weren’t many facts provided other than it had happened the previous night, August 31, on the London, Chatham and Dover line, when an express train bringing trippers back from Sheerness and elsewhere had run off the rails. It seemed to be the result of either eroded ground or a rotted railway tie that destabilized the iron rail above it—the same problem that had caused the disaster at Morpeth last March, as well as half a dozen other accidents that had occurred around England in the past few years. Early reports indicated three dead and sixty-two injured, with numbers expected to increase. The article closed with the usual gloomy declarations about how, until railways are held to a standard of safety by Parliament, accidents such as this would continue to plague travelers.

I stood and went to another table, where I found a second paper whose account included the additional facts that, for some unknown reason, the railway train had been on the ancillary line instead of the primary line, approximately one hundred yards from the station; and five passengers, not three, had been killed. This version also included, on an inside page, lurid descriptions and illustrations of mangled bodies and children’s toys strewn among the broken carriages.

Those poor families, I thought. What a wretched ending to a pleasant excursion.

As I refolded the paper, worry nicked at my nerves. Belinda would be traveling home from Edinburgh by train in a few days. She’d been visiting her cousin for a month, which was the longest I’d gone without seeing her these three years since a burglary had first brought me to her home. The thought of her in a railway disaster carved a cold, hollow space in my chest.

But even as I imagined it, I dismissed my worry as nonsensical. Belinda had made this trip dozens of times, and the line from Edinburgh was one of the newest and safest. Besides, the newspaper’s pessimism notwithstanding, parliament had mandated new safety devices and procedures. No doubt this Sittingbourne disaster would require yet another Parliamentary Commission, and the Railways Inspection Department would be saddled with the task of providing weeks of testimony and filing endless reports. I didn’t envy them.

After finishing my pie, I took my time reading the remainder of the papers, then rose, shrugged into my coat, and left the pub, strolling east until I crossed Leman Street into Whitechapel. Many of the narrow, pocked streets were without signs, but I’d grown up among these crooked alleys, with buildings whose upper floors overhung the unpaved passages and oddly shaped courtyards, and I tacked left and right, left and right, until I reached the street with Ma Doyle’s shop. It always opened at one o’clock on Sundays, after Roman mass, and as I anticipated, there was the usual bustle around the door.

What I didn’t expect were the wooden planks that covered one of the windows.

Alarm pinched at the top of my spine and spread across my shoulders.

***

Excerpt from Under a Veiled Moon by Karen Odden. Copyright 2022 by Karen Odden. Reproduced with permission from Karen Odden. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Karen Odden

Karen received her Ph.D. in English literature from New York University and subsequently taught at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. She has published numerous essays and articles on Victorian literature, written introductions for Victorian novels in the Barnes and Noble Classics Series, and edited for the journal Victorian Literature and Culture. Her first novel, A Lady in the Smoke, was a USA Today bestseller and A Dangerous Duet and A Trace of Deceit have won awards for historical mystery and historical fiction. Her fourth mystery, Down a Dark River, introduced readers to Michael Corravan, a former thief and bare-knuckles boxer from Whitechapel who serves as an inspector at Scotland Yard in 1870s London. The sequel, Under a Veiled Moon, is available in hardcover, e-book, and audiobook. A member of Mystery Writers of America and a national board member for Sisters in Crime, Karen lives in Arizona with her family.

Catch Up With Karen Odden:
KarenOdden.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @KarenOdden
Instagram - @karen_m_odden
Twitter - @karen_odden
Facebook - @karen.odden

 

 

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