Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour for HER EVERY MOVE by Kelly Irvin.
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, and excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Good luck and enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
He’s a cop trying to stop a serial bomber. And she’ll stop at nothing to clear her own name.
When a deadly bomb goes off during a climate change debate, librarian and event coordinator Jackie Santoro becomes the prime suspect. Her motive, according to Detective Avery Wick: to avenge the suicide of her prominent father, who was accused of crimes by a city councilman attending the event.
Though Avery has doubts about Jackie’s guilt, he can’t exonerate her even after an extremist group takes responsibility for the bombing and continues to attack San Antonio’s treasured public spaces.
As Jackie tries to hold her shattered family together, she has no choice but to proceed with plans for the Caterina Ball, the library system’s biggest annual fundraiser. But she also fears the event provides the perfect opportunity for the bomber to strike again.
Despite their mistrust, Jackie and Avery join forces to unmask the truth—before the death toll mounts even higher.
Genre: Suspense Published by: Thomas Nelson Publication Date: February 9, 2021 Number of Pages: 352 ISBN: 0785231900 (ISBN13: 9780785231905)
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My Book Review
RATING: 4.5 out of 5 Stars
HER EVERY MOVE by Kelly Irvin is an edge-of-your-seat Christian romantic suspense by a new to me author that I could not put down.
A bomb goes off at a library sponsored climate change debate in San Antonio.
Jackie Santoro, librarian and event coordinator loses her best friend in the bombing and yet still becomes a prime suspect due to her family’s past. Detective Avery Wick has doubts about Jackie’s guilt, but he also cannot exonerate her.
As the bombings continue around the city, Jackie is forced to continue with the plans for the annual Caterina Ball which funds the cities’ libraries for the year. Avery and Jackie know this event could be the next target for the bomber and they must work together to unmask the bomber before the death toll rises even further.
I was completely wrapped up in the chase for the bomber. Ms. Irvin’s pacing and plot development kept me on the edge-of-my-seat as each twist and new suspect emerged. While the bomber was on my list of suspects, the ending was still handled well and was satisfying. Avery’s handling of his long-time friend’s mental health decline added not just suspense, but also empathy to the story.
I loved that the protagonist, Jackie Santoro is a librarian and all the references to her life-long love of books and libraries. She is a strong heroine protagonist who follows her beliefs and feelings in her personal life as well as her professional one. Avery Wick is a detective, who while hardened by his years of seeing the worst of humanity on his job still has empathy for others. Their relationship evolves over the investigation and chase for the bomber at a realistic pace. The secondary characters are fully fleshed and add to the depth of the story without being just placeholders.
This is a Christian romantic suspense so there are no sex scenes in this romance, but the romance between Jackie and Avery grows realistically throughout. This book did have more inclusion of religious beliefs and prayer than other Christian romantic suspense books I have read, but the inclusions are not gratuitous.
I recommend this book for an exciting romantic suspense read and I will be checking out more of this new-to-me author’s work.
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Excerpt
A steady stream of patrons stood and edged toward the center aisle. A low murmur swelled to the sound of hundreds of people all talking at once. Soon they’d be in front of Jackie, impeding her progress from the parking garage and on the narrow, one-way downtown streets of San Antonio.
“Great job, Jackie. Looks like your boss was wrong.” Sandoval’s constituent services director, Tony Guerra, sauntered up the aisle toward her. “Climate change opponents can coexist amicably in the same space. And so can city manager and city council staff.”
“Thanks, but it took a whole host of partners to make this happen. And it’s not over yet.” Jackie stuck her hand on the door lever that would release her to the Tobin’s massive lobby.
She liked Tony, which was a good thing since he’d asked Estrella to marry him. However, he wore his political ambitions like an obnoxious neon-pink tie.
“I have to go. I want to make sure there are no last-minute snags with the reception. Then it’s back to fine-tuning the altars for the Catrina Ball. It’s only a week away, and I’m behind because of the debate.”
“You never let up, do you? Are we still on for the Spurs game tomorrow—”
A powerful force knocked Jackie from her feet.
Her skull banged on the hardwood floor.
Sharp projectiles pelted her face in a painful ping-ping.
What’s happening?
Estrella? Tony? Bella?
Muffled screams and even her own moaning seemed strangely distant. “Estrella? Tony? Bella?”
If they answered, Jackie couldn’t hear them. She dragged herself onto her hands and knees. Glass and sharp metal pierced both. She forced open burning eyes.
Heavy black smoke shrouded the hall. Metal and debris like deadly confetti showered her. She raised her arm to her forehead to protect her face from the remnants of folding chairs and electronics.
Warm blood dripped from her nose. The acrid taste of smoke and fear collected in her mouth. Her stomach heaved. Her pulse pounded so hard dizziness threatened to overcome her.
No, no, no. Do not pass out. People need help.
Shrieking alarms bellowed.
Water, like torrential rain, poured from above. Rain, inside? Her ricocheting thoughts made no sense. Jackie shook her head. Neither the smoke nor the clanging in her brain subsided.
Sprinkler system.
The smoke had triggered the sprinklers.
Where there’s smoke there’s fire.
The old cliché ran circles in her mind like a children’s nursery rhyme.
Estrella’s mama and papa would never forgive Jackie if something happened to their sweet daughter. Mercedes and Mateo always saw Jackie as the instigator of trouble. And they were usually right.
Ignoring pain and panic, she crawled forward. Sharp metal bit into her skin. Where were her shoes?
Finally she encountered a warm, writhing body. “Tony?”
“What happened?” He struggled to sit up. Blood poured from an open wound on his scalp, his nose, and a cut on his lip. “I have to get to Estrella and Diego.”
He might have yelled, but Jackie could barely make out the words. She leaned back on her haunches. “You’re hurt. Does anything feel broken?”
“No, but I can’t hear anything.” He wiped at his face. Blood streaked his once crisply starched white shirt. “Why can’t I hear?”
“It’ll pass. We have to get everyone out.”
With a groan, Tony leaned over and vomited on the floor. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Everyone out. If you can walk on your own, evacuate.” One of the contract security guards hired for the debate loomed over them. “The bomb squad is on the way. Go, go.”
“We’re fine. We’ll help get the others out.”
“Negative. Get out, there could be more bombs.”
Bombs.
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Author Bio
Bestseller Kelly Irvin is the author of 19 books, including romantic suspense and Amish romance. Publishers Weekly called Closer Than She Knows “a briskly written thriller.”The Library Journal said of her novel Tell Her No Lies, “a complex web with enough twists and turns to keep even the most savvy romantic suspense readers guessing until the end.”
The two-time ACFW Carol Award finalist worked as a newspaper reporter for six years on the Texas-Mexico border. Those experiences fuel her romantic suspense novels set in Texas. A retired public relations professional, Kelly now writes fiction full-time. She lives with her husband professional photographer Tim Irvin in San Antonio. They have two children, three grandchildren, and two ornery cats.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tour for the first cozy mystery in this fun amateur sleuth series featuring a female bartender as the protagonist – DEATH IN TRANQUILITY (The Bartender’s Guide to Murder Book #1) by Sharon Linnea.
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
No one talks to the cops. Everyone talks to the bartender. And Avalon Nash is one hell of a bartender.
Avalon is on the run from her life in Los Angeles. Having a drink while waiting to change trains in the former Olympic town of Tranquility, New York, she discovers the freshly murdered bartender at MacTavish’s. A bartender herself, she’s offered the position with the warning he wasn’t the first MacTavish’s bartender to meet a violent end.
Avalon’s superpower is collecting people’s stories, and she’s soon embroiled in the lives of artists, politicians, ghost hunters and descendants of Old Hollywood.
Can Avalon outrun the ghosts of her past, catch the ghosts of Tranquility’s past and outsmart a murderer?
The first book in the Bartender’s Guide to Murder series offers chills, laughs, and 30 of the best drink recipes ever imbibed.
Genre: Mystery Published by: Arundel Publishing Publication Date: September 29th 2020 Number of Pages: 323 ISBN: 9781933608 (ISBN13: 9781933608150) Series: Bartender’s Guide to Murder, 1
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My Book Review
RATING: 4.5 out of 5 Stars
DEATH IN TRANQUILITY (The Bartender’s Guide to Murder Book #1) by Sharon Linnea is the first cozy mystery in this fun amateur sleuth series featuring a female bartender as the protagonist. Besides the introduction to a new small town full of interesting characters the reader also gets thirty drink recipes related to the story.
Avalon Nash is running from her life in Los Angeles and is presently waiting to change trains in the small former Olympic town of Tranquility, NY. As she waits, she is having a drink in a quaint bar called MacTavish’s. As the orders back up, Avalon tells the waitress she will look for the missing bartender only to find his dead body on a balcony off the back of the bar.
Avalon is a great bartender and collector of stories. She is offered the now open bartending position on a trial basis, delays her departure and soon finds herself embroiled in the lives and secrets of the residents of Tranquility. Avalon learns that this was the second bartender at MacTavish’s to be murdered. Can she help the local state police officer find a killer before she becomes the next bartender to die?
Avalon is a wonderful protagonist. Her talent as a bartender and her insight into people makes her an impressive amateur sleuth. Her love of old movies and the tie in with Old Hollywood in Tranquility added depth to the plot and added many more twists and red herrings. While a portion of Avalon’s personal story was revealed in this book, there is still so much more to learn about her and her secrets. All the secondary characters were interesting and quirky once you get them all sorted out and I am looking forward to seeing them again in future books. There is also a touch of paranormal which is yet to be fully explored.
Overall, an entertaining and well written start to a new series with a wonderful protagonist that I am looking forward to revisiting.
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Excerpt
Chapter 1
Death in the Afternoon
“Whenever you see the bartender, I’d like another drink,” I said, lifting my empty martini glass and tipping it to Marta, the waitress with teal hair.
“Everyone wants another drink,” she said, “but Joseph’s missing. I can’t find him. Anywhere.”
“How long has he been gone?” I asked.
“About ten minutes. It’s not like him. Joseph would never just go off without telling me.”
That’s when I should have done it. I should have put down forty bucks to cover my drink and my meal and left that magical, moody, dark-wood paneled Scottish bar and sauntered back across the street to the train station to continue on my way.
If I had, everything would be different.
Instead I nodded, grateful for a reason to stand up. A glance at my watch told me over half an hour remained until my connecting train chugged in across the street. I could do Marta a solid by finding the bartender and telling him drink orders were stacking up.
Travelling from Los Angeles to New York City by rail, I had taken the northern route, which required me to change trains in the storied village of Tranquility, New York. Once detrained, the posted schedule had informed me should I decide to bolt and head north for Montreal, I could leave within the hour. The train heading south for New York City, however, would not be along until 4 p.m.
Sometimes in life you think it’s about where you’re going, but it turns out to be about where you change trains.
It was an April afternoon; the colors on the trees and bushes were still painting from the watery palate of spring. Here and there, forsythia unfurled in insistent bursts of golden glory.
I needed a drink.
Tranquility has been famous for a long time. Best known for hosting the Winter Olympics back in 19-whatever, it was an eclectic blend of small village, arts community, ski mecca, gigantic hotels and Olympic facilities. Certainly there was somewhere a person could get lunch.
Perched on a hill across the street from the station sat a shiny, modern hotel of the upscale chain variety. Just down the road, father south, was a large, meandering, one-of-a-kind establishment called MacTavish’s Seaside Cottage. It looked nothing like a cottage, and, as we were inland, there were no seas. I doubted the existence of a MacTavish.
I headed over at once.
The place evoked a lost inn in Brigadoon. A square main building of a single story sent wings jutting off at various angles into the rolling hills beyond. Floor-to-ceiling windows made the lobby bright and airy. A full suit of armor stood guard over the check-in counter, while a sculpture of two downhill skiers whooshed under a skylight in the middle of the room.
Behind the statue was the Breezy, a sleek restaurant overlooking Lake Serenity (Lake Tranquility was in the next town over, go figure). The restaurant’s outdoor deck was packed with tourists on this balmy day, eating and holding tight to their napkins, lest they be lost to the murky depths.
Off to the right—huddled in the vast common area’s only dark corner—was a small door with a carved, hand-painted wooden sign which featured a large seagoing vessel plowing through tumultuous waves. That Ship Has Sailed, it read. A tavern name if I ever heard one.
Beyond the heavy door, down a short dark-wood hallway, in a tall room lined with chestnut paneling, I paused to let my eyes adjust to the change in light, atmosphere, and, possibly, century.
The bar was at a right angle as you entered, running the length of the wall. It was hand-carved and matched the back bar, which held 200 bottles, easily.
A bartender’s dream, or her undoing.
Two of the booths against the far wall were occupied, as were two of the center tables.
I sat at the bar.
Only one other person claimed a seat there during this low time between meal services. He was a tall gentleman with a square face, weathered skin, and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. I felt his cold stare as I perused the menu trying to keep to myself. I finally gave up and stared back.
“Flying Crow,” he said. “Mohawk Clan.”
“Avalon,” I said. “Train changer.”
I went back to my menu, surprised to find oysters were a featured dish.
“Avalon?” he finally said. “That’s—”
“An odd name,” I answered. “I know. Flying Crow? You’re in a Scottish pub.”
“Ask him what Oswego means.” This was from the bartender, a lanky man with salt-and-pepper hair. “Oh, but place your order first.”
“Are the oysters good?” I asked.
“Oddly, yes. One of the best things on the menu. Us being seaside, and all.”
“All right, then. Oysters it is. And a really dry vodka martini, olives.”
“Pimento, jalapeño, or bleu cheese?”
“Ooh, bleu cheese, please.” I turned to Flying Crow. “So what does Oswego mean?”
“It means, ‘Nothing Here, Give It to the Crazy White Folks.’ Owego, on the other hand means, ‘Nothing Here Either.’”
“How about Otego? And Otsego and Otisco?”
His eyebrow raised. He was impressed by my knowledge of obscure town names in New York State. “They all mean, ‘We’re Just Messing with You Now.’”
“Hey,” I said, raising my newly delivered martini. “Thanks for coming clean.”
He raised his own glass of firewater in return.
“Coming clean?” asked the bartender, and he chuckled, then dropped his voice. “If he’s coming clean, his name is Lesley.”
“And you are?” I asked. He wasn’t wearing a name tag.
“Joseph.”
“Skål,” I said, raising my glass. “Glad I found That Ship Has Sailed.”
“That’s too much of a mouthful,” he said, flipping over the menu. “Everyone calls it the Battened Hatch.”
“But the Battened Hatch isn’t shorter. Still four syllables.”
“Fewer words,” said Joseph with a smile that included crinkles by his eyes. “Fewer capital letters over which to trip.”
As he spoke, the leaded door banged open and two men in chinos and shirtsleeves arrived, talking loudly to each other. The door swung again, just behind them, admitting a stream of ten more folks—both women and men, all clad in business casual. Some were more casual than others. One man with silvering hair actually wore a suit and tie; another, a white artist’s shirt, his blonde hair shoulder-length. The women’s garments, too, ran the gamut from tailored to flowing. One, of medium height, even wore a white blouse, navy blue skirt and jacket, finished with hose and pumps. And a priest’s collar.
“Conventioneers?” I asked Joseph. Even as I asked, I knew it didn’t make sense. No specific corporate culture was in evidence.
He laughed. “Nah. Conference people eat at the Blowy. Er, Breezy. Tranquility’s Chamber of Commerce meeting just let out.” His grey eyes danced. “They can never agree on anything, but their entertainment quotient is fairly high. And they drive each other to drink.”
Flying Crow Lesley shook his head.
Most of the new arrivals found tables in the center of the room. Seven of them scooted smaller tables together, others continued their conversations or arguments in pairs.
“Marta!” Joseph called, leaning through a door in the back wall beside the bar.
The curvy girl with the teal hair, nose and eyebrow rings and mega eye shadow clumped through. Her eyes widened when she saw the influx of patrons.
Joseph slid the grilled oysters with fennel butter in front of me. “Want anything else before the rush?” He indicated the well-stocked back bar.
“I’d better hold off. Just in case there’s a disaster and I end up having to drive the train.”
He nodded knowingly. “Good luck with that.”
I took out my phone, then re-pocketed it. I wanted a few more uncomplicated hours before re-entering the real world. Turning to my right, I found that Flying Crow had vanished. In his stead, several barstools down, sat a Scotsman in full regalia: kilt, Bonnie Prince Charlie jacket and a fly plaid. It was predominantly red with blue stripes.
Wow. Mohawk clan members, Scotsmen, and women priests in pantyhose. This was quite a town.
Joseph was looking at an order screen, and five drinks in different glasses were already lined up ready for Marta to deliver.
My phone buzzed. I checked caller i.d. Fought with myself. Answered.
Was grabbed by tentacles of the past.
When I looked up, filled with emotions I didn’t care to have, I decided I did need another drink; forget driving the train.
The line of waiting drink glasses was gone, as were Marta and Joseph.
I checked the time. I’d been in Underland for fifteen minutes, twenty at the most. It was just past three. I had maybe forty-five minutes before I should move on.
That was when Marta swung through the kitchen door, her head down to stave off the multiple calls from the center tables. She stood in front of me, punching information into the point of sale station, employing the NECTM—No Eye Contact Tactical Maneuver.
That’s when she told me Joseph was missing.
“Could he be in the restroom?”
“I asked Arthur when he came out, but he said there was nobody else.”
I nodded at Marta and started by going out through the front hall, to see if perhaps he’d met someone in the lobby. As I did a lap, I overheard a man at check-in ask, “Is it true the inn is haunted?”
“Do you want it to be?” asked the clerk, nonplussed.
But no sign of the bartender.
I swung back through into the woodsy-smelling darkness of the Battened Hatch, shook my head at the troubled waitress, then walked to the circular window in the door. The industrial kitchen was white and well-lit, and as large as it was, I could see straight through the shared kitchen to the Breezy. No sign of Joseph. I turned my attention back to the bar.
Beyond the bar, there was a hallway to the restrooms, and another wooden door that led outside. I looked back at Marta and nodded to the door.
“It doesn’t go anywhere,” she said. “It’s only a little smoker’s deck.”
I wondered if Joseph smoked, tobacco or otherwise. Certainly the arrival of most of a Chamber of Commerce would suggest it to me. I pushed on the wooden door. It seemed locked. I gave it one more try, and, though it didn’t open, it did budge a little bit.
This time I went at it with my full shoulder. There was a thud, and it wedged open enough that I could slip through.
It could hardly be called a deck. You couldn’t put a table—or even a lounge chair—out there.
Especially with the body taking up so much of the space.
It was Joseph. I knelt quickly and felt for a pulse at his neck, but it was clear he was inanimate. He was sitting up, although my pushing the door open had made him lean at an angle. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was one of pain or surprise. There was some vomit beside him on the deck, and a rivulet down his chin. I felt embarrassed to be seeing him this way.
Crap. He was always nice to me. Well, during the half an hour I’d known him, he had been nice to me.
What was it with me discovering corpses? It was certainly a habit of which I had to break myself.
Meanwhile, what to do? Should I call in the priest? But she was within a group, and it would certainly start a panic. Call 911?
Yes, that would be good. That way they could decide to call the hospital or the police or both.
My phone was back in my purse.
And, you know what? I didn’t want the call to come from me. I was just passing through.
I pulled the door back open and walked to Marta behind the bar. “Call 911,” I said softly. “I found Joseph.”
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Author Bio
Sharon Linnéa wrote the bestselling Eden Series (Chasing Eden, Beyond Eden, Treasure of Eden and Plagues of Eden) with B.K. Sherer, as well as the standalone These Violent Delights, a movie murder series. She enjoyed working with Axel Avian on Colt Shore: Domino 29, a middle-grade spy thriller. She is also the author of Princess Ka’iulani: Hope of a Nation, Heart of a People about the last crown princess of Hawaii which won the prestigious Carter Woodson Award, and Raoul Wallenberg: the Man Who Stopped Death. She was a staff writer for five national magazines, a book editor at three publishers, and a celebrity ghost. She lives outside New York City with her family. In Orange County, she teaches The Book Inside You workshops with Thomas Mattingly.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tour for UP THE CREEK (Culver Creek Book #1) by Alissa Grosso.
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section, the author’s social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Good luck and enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
An unsolved murder. Disturbing dreams. A missing child.
Caitlin Walker hasn’t had a dream in nine years. But now nightmares torture her son Adam and awaken in Caitlin buried memories and a dark secret. Her husband Lance has a secret of his own, one that his son’s nightmares threaten to reveal.
In Culver Creek newly hired detective Sage Dorian works to unravel the small town’s notorious cold case, the grisly murder of a young girl.
How are Caitlin and Lance connected to the horrific crime? And how far will they go to make sure their secrets stay hidden? Find out in this riveting thriller.
Genre: Mystery Thriller Published by: Glitter Pigeon Press Publication Date: January 12, 2021 Number of Pages: 356 ISBN: 9781949852080 Series: Culver Creek Series, Book 1
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My Book Review
RATING: 3 out of 5 Stars
UP THE CREEK (Culver Creek Book #1) by Alissa Grosso is the start of a new crime fiction/mystery series. This introduction to the series intertwines past mysteries and crimes to the present lives of the three characters focused on in this story.
Detective Sage Dorian is recently hired by the Culver Creek PD and he has a specific reason for seeking employment in Culver City. He wants to work on the small town’s notorious cold case.
Caitlin and Lance Walker are a couple with secrets. Caitlin and now her young son, Adam have prophetic dreams of violent crimes. Lance has a nighttime secret of his own.
How is this couple connected to a horrific cold case?
The author does a good job of not dropping any threads of this intricate mystery in the past and present, but there are times I was confused because there are so many. I also felt there was a lot of set up with the Walker’s and their secrets which distracts from Sage, who I assume will be the main character in future books and makes the start of the book slow. I did not like that the Walker’s were married for so long with major secrets they did not share. That lack of communication from both did not feel realistic or believable. If you can overlook this, and get through the back story, the mystery does have a satisfying conclusion.
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Excerpt
Caitlin emerged from a black, dreamless sleep to screams. Adam’s tortured cries sounded almost otherworldly. They turned her blood to ice and made her heart race. She sat straight up, then bolted from bed, blinking sleep from her eyes as she raced toward the door, banging her shin on the dresser as she went. She yanked on the doorknob and almost toppled over when it didn’t yield as she expected. Goddammit. Lance had locked the door again.
She spared a glance toward the bed, but her husband wasn’t there. Instead he was standing, looking out the window. For a moment she thought she was mistaken. Were the screams coming from outside?
“Lance?” she asked.
He turned to her, but his eyes looked past her at some point on the wall.
“What’s going on?” he mumbled, barely awake.
“Adam’s having a nightmare,” she said.
“Again?” he asked. “Maybe we should just let him sleep it off.”
The screams had subsided now, but she could still hear her son’s whimpers from down the hall. Sleep it off? Could Lance really be that clueless? She unlocked the door and flung it open. It bounced almost silently off the rubber doorstopper, which didn’t really give her the dramatic exit she was hoping for.
She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around her husband just standing there looking out the window while Adam cried for them. Usually Lance was the one who woke up first. Maybe he had already gone to comfort Adam and came back to their bedroom by the time she awoke. He seemed so out of it, though. Well, that’s what a lack of sleep could do to a person.
Adam sat on his bed in a nest of tangled sheets. His face was damp with tears and sweat, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. The hippo nightlight cast large, ominous shadows when she stepped into his room. He looked up with a start, then relaxed when he saw it was her.
She sat down beside him and pulled his small body to her, wrapping her arms around him and rocking him gently back and forth. The tears subsided, but he still felt tense.
“Mommy, I’m scared of the bad boy,” he said. “The bad boy’s going to hurt me.”
“Nobody’s going to hurt you,” she assured him. “You’re safe. It was just a dream. Look, you’re safe in your bedroom.”
At this, Adam pulled away from her a little to study the dimly lit bedroom. Maybe they should get a different nightlight. She had never realized how spooky that hippo light made everything look.
“There were trees,” Adam said, “and a river. She was playing in the river.”
Caitlin stiffened. Adam noticed it and looked up at her. She smiled at him.
“It was just a dream,” she said, as much to reassure herself as him. “It wasn’t real.”
There were lots of rivers out there, and wasn’t Adam just watching a cartoon show with cute animals that had to get across a river? That was probably where that detail came from. Plus, she reminded herself, it hadn’t been a river. It had been a creek. She wasn’t sure Adam knew the difference between a river and a creek, though. But a little girl playing in a river? No, wait, was that what he had said? He said only “she.” For all Caitlin knew, this she could have been a girl river otter. Maybe he had been having a cute dream about river creatures.
And a “bad boy,” she reminded herself. She remembered his bloodcurdling screams. There was nothing cute about the dream he had. Still, she clung to the “bad boy” detail. Was he talking about a child? If so, then the river was just a coincidence. She wanted to ask him more about the bad boy, but this was the worst thing she could do. He was already starting to calm down, starting to forget the details of his nightmare. She couldn’t go dredging things back up again.
“Mommy, can I sleep in your room?” Adam asked.
#
Lance was fully awake and in bed when Caitlin returned with Adam in her arms.
“Hey there, champ,” Lance said. “Have a bad dream?”
“Daddy, he hurt her,” Adam said. “He hurt her head. She was bleeding.”
Her son’s tiny body stiffened again in Caitlin’s arms, and she gave Lance an exasperated look as she set Adam down in the middle of the bed.
“We’d already gotten past that,” she said in a whispered hiss.
“Obviously,” Lance said with a roll of his eyes, “which is why he’s sleeping in our bed. Again.”
She slid into the bed beside Adam and adjusted the covers, ignoring her husband. She petted Adam’s head and made soft, soothing noises.
“Remember, that wasn’t real, just make believe, like a movie.” She didn’t want him to get himself worked up again talking about the dream, but it wasn’t just that. She didn’t want to hear any more details from the nightmare because the bit about the bad boy hurting the girl’s head and the blood felt a touch too familiar.
She stroked his face, and his eyelids slowly drooped closed. He looked so calm and peaceful when he slept.
“I thought we said we weren’t going to do this anymore,” Lance said. Even whispering, his voice was too loud. She held her finger to her lips. He continued more quietly, “I’m just saying, I think it would be better for him if he sleeps in his own bed.”
“It’s already after three,” she said. “It’s only for a few hours.”
“That’s not the point,” Lance said. “He’s nearly five years old. We can’t keep babying him.”
It was like the school argument all over again, and Caitlin didn’t want to get into it. Not now. She was still tired and groggy and needed more sleep.
“I want to get him a new nightlight,” she said to change the subject. “The one he has makes these creepy shadows.”
“A new nightlight,” Lance repeated in a skeptical voice. “Sure, that will solve everything.”
“The important thing,” she said, “is that we have to remind him that his dreams are not real. That they’re make believe. We have to be united on this.”
Lance made a dismissive noise and lay back down on his pillow, turning his body away from her and Adam. He muttered something, but his voice was muffled by the pillow.
“Lance, this is important,” she said. “We have to make it clear that his dreams are not real. He has to know they aren’t true.”
He sighed. “What kind of moron do you think I am? Do you really think I’m going to start telling him his dreams about boogeymen are real?” He squirmed around and pulled the covers up in an attempt to get comfortable. She thought he was done, but he stopped shifting around long enough to add, “It’s not exactly like you’re the foremost expert in dreams.”
***
About the Author
Alissa Grosso is the author of several books for adults and teens. Originally from New Jersey, she now resides in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.
Today is my turn on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour for the new Christian Romantic Suspense LETHAL INTENT by Cara C. Putnam. This is a legal/medical romantic suspense mash-up that kept me turning the pages.
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
If they expected silence, they hired the wrong woman.
Caroline Bragg’s life has never been better. She and Brandon Lancaster are taking their relationship to the next level, and she has a new dream job as legal counsel for Praecursoria—a research lab that is making waves with its cutting-edge genetic therapies. The company’s leukemia treatments even promise to save desperately sick kids—kids like eleven-year-old Bethany, a critically ill foster child at Brandon’s foster home.
When Caroline’s enthusiastic boss wants to enroll Bethany in experimental trials prematurely, Caroline objects, putting her at odds with her colleagues. They claim the only goal at Praecursoria is to save lives. But does someone have another agenda?
Brandon faces his own crisis. As laws governing foster homes shift, he’s on the brink of losing the group home he’s worked so hard to build. When Caroline learns he’s a Praecursoria investor, it becomes legally impossible to confide in him. Will the secrets she keeps become a wedge that separates them forever? And can she save Bethany from the very treatments designed to heal her?
This latest romantic legal thriller by bestseller Cara Putman shines a light on the shadowy world of scientific secrets and corporate vendettas—and the ethical dilemmas that plague the place where science and commerce meet.
Genre: Mystery/Suspense Published by: Thomas Nelson Publication Date: January 12, 2021 Number of Pages: 336 ISBN: 0785233318 (ISBN13: 9780785233312)
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My Book Review:
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
LETHAL INTENT by Cara C. Putnam is a new legal/medical romantic suspense mash-up. This book is a listed as a Christian romantic suspense, but it has only subtle references to belief and prayers and the romance subplot is what I call a cozy romance due to the fact that there are no sex scenes. The story is easily read as a standalone and only loosely tied to other female heroines in Ms. Putnam’s legal romantic suspense books.
Caroline Bragg has landed a new job as the legal counsel for a new medical start-up, Praecursoria. They are in FDA human testing for a cutting-edge genetic therapy, CAR T to save children with leukemia which has reoccurred or not responding to previous treatments. While learning the new technology for her job, people tied to the company begin to die in what are believed to be accidents, but Caroline receives an email from one of the dead that has her starting to investigate and places her in the sights of a killer who refuses to be stopped.
Brandon Lancaster is facing his own problems when the government changes the laws regarding is group foster home, Almost Home. As he works to come up with a new plan, his feelings for Caroline become deeper, but she has learned he is a major investor in Praecursoria and appears to be backing away. When Brandon needs Caroline the most will the secrets she keeps break them apart?
I loved the suspense in this story and was riveted to the pages. The legal questions of experimental technology, the ethics of having a loved one be a major investor in a company you work for and the large amount of money and potential profit involved in this type of company. The technology and legal aspects of the story were clearly written and did not slow the story. The twists and turns kept me guessing throughout.
Caroline and Brandon were both strong, intelligent and committed main characters and Ms. Putnam brought the intersections of their different problems together nicely. This is a couple just starting to commit and the romance is a cozy romance with no sex scenes even behind closed doors. I also enjoyed the scenes where Caroline turned to her friends for support and advice, who are characters from other books.
I highly recommend this Christian romantic suspense and author!
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Excerpt
Caroline shifted in the high-backed chair. The massive conference room table made her feel more petite than usual. Quentin Jackson, the man propelling Praecursoria through its rapid growth, vibrated with energy as he studied her.
“We are on the cusp of amazing developments and a transition from the lab to trials. We have a few CAR T-cell therapies in early stages now with more in our pipeline.”
She racked her mind for the importance of T cells, and he gave a hearty laugh.
“Don’t worry if the science overwhelms you. We’ll have you up to speed in no time. All you need to know right now is that T cells are one of the two cells that make up white blood cells. The treatments we’re working on could be the difference between life and death for young cancer patients. We need your legal expertise and quick mind to synthesize the science with the map to market.”
“I’ve overseen several court trials related to patents, which should help with that process.” It had been an unforeseen aspect of her days clerking for Judge Loren. She swallowed against the lump in her throat that still welled up when she thought about his untimely death from pneumonia. A month ago she couldn’t imagine interviewing for a job somewhere else, even if a part of her knew that she should stretch her wings.
“When can you start? Today?”
She felt rooted to the chair. Everything was moving so fast. Could she really transition her experience managing clerks for a judge into managing patents and contracts for a start-up? While Praecursoria had been around for a decade as a cancer research lab, about eighteen months ago Quentin sold off its lucrative genetic testing branch to focus exclusively on the development of cutting-edge CAR T-cell therapies. Starting over that way was a bold if risky move.
She lifted her chin and forced a smile that didn’t waver. “If that’s what you need. First we have a few details to work out.”
He laughed. “I like the way you tackle issues head-on. That will be key in this role. I know how to steer the ship, and my chief scientist can navigate the research, but you’ll keep us on the legal straight and narrow.” He tapped his pen against the legal pad in front of him. Then he picked up her résumé and named a salary that pressed her against the chair. “There will be performance bonuses tied to the successful conclusion of trials. We want to look into stock options as well. That will be one of your assignments in conjunction with HR.” He slapped his hands on the table and she jumped. “My enthusiasm gets away from me sometimes.” He shrugged but never wavered as he examined her. “Let’s start with a field trip. The best way for you to understand why we’re doing this work and research is to show you.”
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Author Bio
Cara Putman is the author of more than twenty-five legal thrillers, historical romances, and romantic suspense novels. She has won or been a finalist for honors including the ACFW Book of the Year and the Christian Retailing’s BEST Award. Cara graduated high school at sixteen, college at twenty, completed her law degree at twenty-seven, and recently received her MBA. She is a practicing attorney, teaches undergraduate and graduate law courses at a Big Ten business school, and is a homeschooling mom of four. She lives with her husband and children in Indiana.
Today is my turn on the Harlequin Trade Publishing Mystery and Thriller Winter 2021 Blog Tour. I am very excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for AFTERSHOCK (Dr. Jessie Teska Mystery #2) by Judy Melinek & T.J. Mitchell. This is a thrilling follow-up to the first book in the series, First Cut and I could not put either down.
Below you will find an author Q&A, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Author Q&A
Q: Please give the elevator pitch for Aftershock.
A: San Francisco medical examiner Dr. Jessie Teska can’t let a famous architect found on a construction site be quietly laid in his grave. She digs deep, both in the morgue and outside it, to find out what really happened to him. When she does, the shock waves could be worse than the earthquake that has just shaken up the city and her own life.
Q: Which came first: the characters or plot line?
A: The characters. We introduced Jessie Teska and much of the supporting cast in our debut thriller, First Cut, when Jessie was a rookie at the San Francisco medical examiner’s office. All of our plot lines come from the what-if storytelling toolkit, applying our imaginations and a noir detective story’s narrative structure to Judy’s actual experience as a San Francisco medical examiner, a job she worked for nine years—going to death scenes, performing autopsies, interviewing witnesses, and testifying in murder trials as an expert witness.
Q: Why do you love Jessie and why should readers root for her?
A: We love Jessie because she is smart, uncompromising, fearless—and, good Lord but she gets in her own way sometimes, like we all do. She is a reliable narrator and she calls it like she sees it, and our books are written from her point of view as a first-person narrator. But Jessie is human and impetuous and inexperienced in her job, so she makes mistakes. She is impolitic and blunt, and maybe a little too literal-minded, with a scientist’s naïveté about people and their secrets and their motives. It can get her into trouble. You get into it with her, and she’s the only one who can get you out. It’s just one of the things we love about the privilege of being allowed inside your skull! Metaphorically, that is.
Q: How much research do you do before beginning to write a book? Do you go to locations, ride with police, go to see an autopsy, etc.
A: Judy’s job is her day-to-day research. As a forensic pathologist, she gets called out to death scenes, investigating deaths that are sudden, unexpected and violent. She’s done more than three thousand autopsies. She is the expert the police detectives call upon when they don’t know whether a suspicious death is an accident, a suicide or a homicide. The tasks that Jessie performs in investigating her cases are the same that Judy does in investigating hers, though Jessie has a lot less experience than Judy and is much more willing to break the rules! We do additional research by consulting and interviewing other experts in areas we don’t know about. In Aftershock, this included seasoned building contractors and construction professionals, retired police, DNA laboratory scientists, and lawyers with specific areas of specialization we can’t reveal without plot spoilers. We certainly know what we don’t know, and we’re extremely lucky to have access through collegial networks to many and sundry forensic professionals who can help us work real science into our imagined stories.
Q: What hobbies do you enjoy?
A: Judy loves to paint, craft (embroidery, sewing, jewelry-craft), and hike. T.J. is an avid bicyclist. We also love to travel and discover new foods. T.J. is the cook in the family, while Judy is the baker.
Q: Do you write under one name for all books across genres or do you have other AKA’s?
A: We write under our own names in both nonfiction (Working Stiff: Two Years, 262 Bodies, and the Making of a Medical Examiner) and fiction (First Cut, Aftershock). Together we also write a column called “Working Stiff” for MedPage Today, but that is published under Judy’s solo byline.
Q: Do you have pets?
A: We have a youngish mutt named Winston, a Chihuahua/wirehaired terrier mix, we think. We didn’t choose the name; he’s a rescue from Pets in Need in Redwood City, California, and came with it. T.J., who comes from a New England fishing town, figured that, like with a boat, it was bad luck to change the dog’s given name. We try to get him to model next to our books for online photos and whatnot, if he can manage to sit still long enough—which, generally, he can’t. He’s a very good boy.
Q: What’s your favorite part of writing suspense?
A: Judy’s favorite parts are going for hikes together where we work out our plot lines, our subplots, our feints and reveals. She also enjoys the serendipity of discovering things in the newspaper or on her real-life autopsy case list that can spark ideas. T.J.’s favorite part is sitting alone in a room, wrestling with commas. We both enjoy getting together after T.J. has had a full day of doing just that. Judy will read back what he has written, usually as T.J. is preparing dinner for the family, and we will make edits together along the way. We also have opposite body clocks, and T.J. will often burn the midnight oil writing so that Judy can suggest edits and revisions in the early morning, when she’s up and alert and getting ready to go to the morgue for the new day’s autopsies.
Q: Do you prefer reading and/or writing suspense with elements of romance? Why or why not?
A: Romance? Maybe. But sex—? For sure. Sex and humor, both. Noir doesn’t mean dour. We really enjoy giving Jessie a love life, or at least a sex life. That said, in our detective stories, sex can often turn into one more way for characters to lie to and manipulate one another. It also makes for great red-herring territory! Get your characters panting a little, and you can lead your readers around by the…nose. It’s tricky, but if you do it right, it can be a lot of fun. Just like—well, romance.
Q: From the books you’ve written or read, who has been your favorite villain and why?
A: A favorite villain for Judy is Sherlock Holmes’s nemesis Moriarty as written by Arthur Conan Doyle—someone who is smart and Machiavellian, not just evil or crazy. One of T.J.’s favorite villains is Pinkie in Graham Greene’s Brighton Rock—though Pinkie isn’t really the villain of that book, is he? We both tend to gravitate to stories in which the killer is not necessarily the true villain, and in which that villainy isn’t straightforward or single-sided.
Q: What was your last 5 star read?
A: Judy’s latest favorite is the nonfiction Invisible Women: Data Bias in a World Designed for Men by Caroline Criado-Perez. It’s one of those books that makes you re-examine the world as we perceive it—and how we have built it. T.J.’s last five-star read is Your House Will Pay by Steph Cha. It’s hard to add a new great novel to the pantheon of Los Angeles noir, but she has done it magnificently.
Q: What is one thing about publishing you wish someone would have told you?
A: That it’s a sales job, and a lifetime one. You can write the best book ever, but if nobody reads it, then they will never know. You have to be just as proficient at marketing and selling your book as you have to be in crafting the plot and characters.
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Book Summary
When an earthquake strikes San Francisco, forensics expert Jessie Teska faces her biggest threat yet in this explosive new mystery from the New York Times bestselling authors of Working Stiff and First Cut.
At first glance, the death appears to be an accident. The body is located on a construction site under what looks like a collapse beam. But when Dr. Jessie Teska arrives on the scene, she notices the tell-tale signs of a staged death. The victim has been murdered. A rising star in the San Francisco forensics world, Jessie is ready to unravel the case, help bring the murderer to justice, and prevent him from potentially striking again.
But when a major earthquake strikes San Francisco right at Halloween, Jessie and the rest of the city are left reeling. And even if she emerges from the rubble, there’s no guaranteeing she’ll make it out alive.
With their trademark blend of propulsive prose, deft plotting and mordant humor, this electrifying new installment in the Jessie Teska Mystery series offers the highest stakes yet.
AFTERSHOCK (Dr. Jessie Teska Mystery Book #2) by Judy Melinek & T.J. Mitchell is a thrilling second book in this mystery series. I love that the intelligent and persistent Deputy Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Jessie Teska can never stop questioning with just the autopsy. Even though this is the second book in the series it can easily be read as a standalone.
Deputy Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Jessie Teska gets an early morning call for a dead body that appears to be the result of a terrible construction accident. The deceased is a famous architect who appears daily on the construction site and causes problems with the workers. On further inspection at the construction site and at autopsy, Dr. Jessie Teska discovers the accident is a cover-up for a murder.
As Jessie investigates, an earthquake rocks San Francisco and derails her investigation. When she is able to look into the murder once again, an innocent man is being framed. Will Jessie be able to unearth the truth before she becomes another construction site casualty?
I love this series and protagonist! The authors bring you into medical examiners autopsy rooms and lives with writing that brings them to life on the page. Jessie is an intelligent, determined and dogged seeker of truth with a messy personal life that I love to follow and cheer on. The plot of this book throws plenty of twists and red herrings at the reader which keeps the pages turning. While I suspected the guilty individual, it was the “How” that kept me guessing. This is an excellent addition to this mystery series and I am looking forward to many more.
I highly recommend this mystery, protagonist and authors!
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Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
A steel band cover of “Don’t Fear the Reaper” makes for a lousy way to lurch awake. Couple of months back, some clown of a coworker got ahold of my cell phone while I was busy in the autopsy suite, and reprogrammed the ringtone for incoming calls from the Medical Examiner Operations and Investigation Dispatch Communications Center. I keep forgetting to fix it.
I reached across my bedmate to the only table in the tiny room and managed to squelch it before the plinking got past five or six bars, but that was more than enough to wake him.
“Time is it?” Anup slurred.
“Four thirty.”
“God, Jessie,” he said, and pulled a pillow over his head. I planted a nice warm kiss on the back of his neck.
Donna Griello from the night shift was on the phone. “Good morning, Dr. Teska,” she said.
“Okay, Donna,” I whispered. “What do we got and where are we going?”
I didn’t need the GPS navigation from my one extravagance in this world, the BMW 235i that I had brought along when I moved from Los Angeles to San Francisco, because muscle memory took me there. The death scene was right on my old commute—a straight shot from the Outer Richmond District, along the edge of Golden Gate Park, then the wiggle down to SoMa, the broad, flat neighborhood south of Market Street. The blue lights were flashing on the corner of Sixth Street and Folsom, just a couple of blocks shy of the Hall of Justice. I used to perform autopsies in the bowels of the Hall, before the boss, Chief Medical Examiner Dr. James Howe, moved the whole operation to his purpose-built dream morgue, way out in Hunters Point. Along the way, Howe made me his deputy chief. The promotion came with a raise, an office, and a ficus, but I hadn’t sought it and it wasn’t welcome—I was only a year and change on the job and didn’t have the experience to be deputy chief in a big city. Howe needed someone to do it, though. So the gold badge and all its headaches went to me.
The death scene address Donna had given me over the phone was a construction site. From the outside, I couldn’t tell how big. They’d built a temporary sidewalk covered in plywood, and posted an artist’s rendition of a gleaming glass tower, crusted in niches and crenellations and funky angles, dubbed SoMa Centre.
I double-parked behind a police car and walked the plankway between a blind fence and a line of pickup trucks with union bumper stickers. The men in them eyed me with either suspicion or practiced blankness while they waited for their job site to reopen. A beat cop kept vigil at the head of the line. He took my name and badge number, logged me in, and lifted the yellow tape. He pointed to a wooden crate. It was full of construction hard hats.
“Mandatory,” he said.
“You aren’t wearing one,” I griped.
“I’m not going in there, either.”
“Good for you. Give me a light over here.”
I sorted through the helmets under the cop’s flashlight beam. Sizes large, extra large, medium. I am a woman, five feet five inches, a hundred thirty-four pounds, and not especially husky of skull. I certainly wasn’t husky enough to fill out a helmet spec’d for your average male ironworker, which seemed to be all that was on offer.
I tried out a medium. Even when I cinched the plastic headband all the way, the hard hat swallowed my sorry little blond noggin.
“Yeah, laugh it up, Officer,” I said, while he did.
“Sorry, Doc. You look like a kid playing soldier!”
“Laugh it up,” I said again, because I wasn’t equipped, at that hour, to be clever.
Not all the workers were stuck outside in their pickups. A few men in hard hats stood around, waiting for work to get going. They shied away from me, in my medical examiner windbreaker, polyester slacks, and sensible shoes, like I was the angel of death collecting on a debt.
I found Donna. She’s hard to miss: more than six feet tall, eyes and beak like a hawk. Her hard hat fit just fine. She was leaning against the medical examiner removals van with Cameron Blake, her partner 2578—our bureaucratic shorthand for death scene investigators—on the night shift. Cam is round-faced and ruddy, half a foot shorter than Donna but just as brawny. He greeted me.
“Any coffee?” I said.
“The site superintendent says it’s brewing. First shift is just getting here. That’s how come they found the body. You want to talk to him?”
“The body?”
“The superintendent.”
“Let’s find out what the dead guy has to say first.”
Donna chuckled in a dark way. “Just you wait and see, Doc.”
The pair of 2578s led me across the construction site by flashlight. Work lights were coming on, but they left big dark gaps.
“Who found the body?”
Donna consulted her clipboard. “Dispatch says a worker named Samuel Urias, opening up after the night shift.”
The construction site by flashlight was a spooky place, even by my standards. Dirty yellow machines loomed in the beams, and plastic sheeting fluttered from the shadows. Our feet crunched on gravel, then whispered over packed dirt. The only thing that was well lit was a mobile office trailer, on a rise to our left, surrounded by silhouettes in hard hats.
Donna led us toward a detached flatbed trailer, parked with its landing-gear feet pressing into the dirt. It was loaded with long metal pipes, six or eight inches in diameter, in bundles of twenty or so. The bundles were bound together with tight black bands at either end and had been stacked four high on the flatbed. One of the bands securing the top bundle had snapped. It waved drunkenly in the air—and half a dozen pipes lay tumbled in the dirt.
Underneath them was a body.
It was a man. He was on his back. His head and shoulders were crushed under the pipes. He wore a business suit and black wingtip shoes, the left one coming off at the heel. His arms were flung out. I determined his race to be white from his hands, which offered the only visible skin. They were clean and uncalloused, fingernails manicured, wedding band on the left ring finger, a college ring on the right.
I shined my flashlight at the pipes. They had done a job on him. We walked around the body, looking for a pool of blood. There wasn’t one.
When I pointed this out, Donna elbowed Cameron and smirked. He scowled back.
“What?” I said.
“I noticed that too,” Donna said. “Cam thinks it’s no big deal.”
“Can we just get this guy out of here?” Cameron said. “The superintendent is antsy. He’s worried about press, and I don’t blame him.”
I crouched to take a closer look at that left shoe. The leather above the heel was badly scuffed. Same for the right one. The dead man’s pricey wool dress pants were torn at the hems. My flashlight picked up a faint trail in the dirt running away from his feet. I warned the 2578s to watch their step until the police crime scene unit had photographed the area.
“What—?” said Cam. “CSI isn’t here. This is an accident scene.”
“Get them. This is a suspicious death.”
“Oh, come on…”
“It’s fishy.” I pointed my flashlight around. “Where’s all the blood from that crush injury? There’s drag marks and damage to the clothing to match. Soft hands, expensive suit. Where’s his hard hat?”
“Maybe it’s under the pipes.”
“Maybe. But does this guy look like he belongs on a construction site, after hours? No way I’m assuming this was an accident.”
“Told you it was staged,” Donna said to Cam.
“Whatever,” he muttered back. He pulled out his phone, said good morning to the police dispatcher, and asked for the crime scene unit.
The sky was lightening behind the downtown towers a few blocks away, and more construction workers were starting to trickle in. “We need a perimeter,” I said. “And I want to talk to the man who found the body. Do we have a presumptive ID?”
“We found this just like you see it, and didn’t run his pockets yet,” Donna said.
“Let’s wait till crime scene documents everything before we touch him.”
Donna smiled. “Because this is fishy, right?”
I couldn’t help smiling back. “You won the bet. Leave Cam alone.” I started toward the lit-up office trailer.
“Where you going?” Donna said.
“Coffee.”
A figure in the small crowd huddling at the trailer saw me coming and met me halfway. He was a late-middle-aged white man with a gray mustache, dressed like a soccer dad in blue jeans and a collared shirt. No tie, no jacket, heavy work boots. He had a fancy hard hat. It said site super.
“Where’s the hearse?” the construction superintendent demanded.
I introduced myself and told him we were waiting for the police crime scene unit to arrive and document the scene.
“How long will that take?”
Fuck if I know, I thought. “It could be a while,” I said.
“What’s a while? We have work to do here.”
Bałwan. I grew up outside of Boston, but Polish is my first language. Sort of. My mother is from Poland and my father is a son of a bitch. Mamusia taught me and my brother Tomasz the mother tongue—which Dad doesn’t speak—and the three of us stuck with it inside the four walls of our three-decker flat on Pinkham Street in East Lynn. Mamusia said it was to preserve our heritage. It was also useful for hiding things from the old man.
Polish has a lot of terms for a son of a bitch. Bałwan was Mamusia’s word for her husband Arthur Teska on a good day. If he had been drinking, he was a sukinsyn. So far, the site superintendent was turning out to be a bałwan, but the day was young.
“First the police will do their job, then my colleagues and I will do our job, and then you can get back to yours.”
“But the police are already here, and they aren’t doing anything!”
“We’re waiting for the homicide division.”
The superintendent went pale and stammery. “Homicide—? But this isn’t… This is…”
“This is a death scene. It might be a crime scene. That’s for the police to determine before I can continue my investigation as the medical examiner, and certainly before we can remove or even touch that body.”
The superintendent said nothing. He dug into his pocket for a phone and walked away, dialing. Not an unusual reaction. People freak out when they hear homicide is coming.
Judy Melinek & T.J. Mitchell are the New York Times bestselling co-authors of Working Stiff: Two Years, 262 Bodies, and the Making of a Medical Examiner, and the novel First Cut. Dr. Melinek studied at Harvard and UCLA, was a medical examiner in San Francisco for nine years, and today works as a forensic pathologist in Oakland and as CEO of PathologyExpert Inc. T.J. Mitchell, her husband, is a writer with an English degree from Harvard, and worked in the film industry before becoming a full-time stay-at-home dad to their children.
Today I am very excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for the Release Blitz of THE PATRIOT (Hayden Family Book #1) by Jennifer Millikin. This is the first book in a new contemporary cowboy romance series that has everything I am looking for in an emotional romance read.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section and social media links and an author giveaway. Good luck on the giveaway and I know you are going to love Wes and Dakota’s story!
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Book Description
I’m a soldier.
A cattle rancher.
A Hayden.
My family’s legacy is spread out in front of me, just waiting for me to seize it. If it weren’t for one outdated rule, I’d be the owner of the Hayden Cattle Company and my aging father could retire.
When Dakota Wright shows up to buy and develop twenty acres of Hayden land, I see more than a pretty mouth and strawberry blonde hair. I see a way around the decree keeping me from getting what I want.
And, as luck would have it, Dakota has a big problem of her own. We strike two deals: one for the land, and a second that’ll make both our problems a distant memory.
It isn’t too long before I realize I’m in over my head. I’ve convinced myself the ends should justify the means, but everything begins to fall apart when my birthright is no longer all that I’m after.
I never thought there’d be anything I could love more than my ranch and my country.
THE PATRIOT (Hayden Family Book #1) by Jennifer Millikin is the start of a new contemporary cowboy romance series that has everything I am looking for in an emotional romance read.
Hayden Cattle Company is the largest spread in Sierra Grande and was established and run by four generations of Hayden men. Beau Hayden and his wife have three grown sons and one teenage daughter.
Wes Hayden is the oldest son and after serving three tours in the Army overseas has returned to take his place on the ranch. But the Wes who went to war is not the same Wes who has returned. Beau has decided to sell of a small portion of land next to the town and he wants Wes to decide between the prospective buyers and their plans for the land.
Dakota Wright has returned home and gone to work in her father’s company Wright Build + Design. He has decided to bid on the Sierra Grande land and development and he tells Dakota that he wants her to design and lead the project.
When Wes and Dakota come together, they not only realize they have already met and more, but they may be able to help each other with the other’s problem. They discover that what drew them together five years ago is still there. What started out as a business deal just may turn into something much more permanent.
I absolutely love Wes and Dakota! Wes has a big loving family, but after a terrible incident in his third deployment, he comes back to the ranch and closes himself off from family and friends while suffering with PTSD. Dakota has a lot of guilt going on in her own life which may be why she can see it in Wes and she can get through to Wes unlike others. The H/h tell the story in alternating chapters and even when it is difficult, they maturely handle problems with communication or action. These two characters work through a lot of heart wrenching emotions, but it is all worth it for the satisfying HEA. The sex scenes are brief and not extremely explicit, but not G-rated either. All the secondary characters are fully fleshed and bring the family and the other small town citizens to life. I am looking forward to reading the siblings’ stories in future books.
I can highly recommend this contemporary cowboy romance!
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Excerpt
She’s late.
Dakota was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago and I feel like a dumbass for being so keenly aware of that. Watching the clock like a whipped schoolboy. Pathetic.
I walk away from the window that faces the road, and go to the kitchen to rinse out my coffee cup and set it on the drying rack. Somewhere in the distance, a car door slams shut.
Before I open the front door, I’m careful to rearrange my features. Cool indifference is what I’m going for, maybe with a side of I forgot you and everything about that night.
I pull open the door just in time to watch Dakota falter on the second step. She regains her footing and keeps going. When she notices me standing in the open door, she stops short, her eyes wide, and she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth.
Jesus… this girl. How am I going to spend a morning with her in my truck? From three feet away I can smell her sweet, mouthwatering scent, the same one I couldn’t define that night at the lake and don’t have a prayer of defining now.
Her jeans are so tight she might as well have them painted on, and they’re tucked into cowboy boots. I draw in a shaky breath, but it doesn’t quite fill my lungs.
“You’re late,” I say, and it sounds angry even though I don’t mean it to be. I don’t like the way she puts me off-kilter.
“My apologies,” she says tartly, in a way that conveys she isn’t sorry in the least.
A throat clears and we both follow the noise with our eyes. Gramps sits in a chair, watching us. I must not have noticed him when I was looking out the window. I was too busy watching for Dakota.
He stares at me, waiting for me to introduce him. “Dakota, this is Leroy Hayden, my grandpa. Gramps, this is Dakota.”
Dakota walks over and shakes his hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” she tells him, smiling down at him.
I can already tell he is dazzled by her. “You can just call me Gramps. Are you a friend of Wes’s?” The excitement in his voice at me possibly having a friend is mortifying.
“Uh, no.” Dakota shakes her head. “I’m here on business.”
Gramps turns a confused look to me. “We need to get going, Gramps, but Dad is inside. He can explain the business that Dakota is here for.” To Dakota, I say, “Ready?”
“It was nice to meet you, Gramps.” She winks at him and turns, going back down the steps.
For a moment I’m frozen, struck dumb by the sway of her hips and remembering the night she was swinging them on the dance floor.
I hurry after her. “This way,” I tell her, chucking my chin sideways toward the side of the house where I park my truck.
She keeps three feet between us as we walk, and I can feel her silent questions coming at me through the separation.
***
About the Author
Jennifer Millikin is a contemporary romance and women’s fiction author. She lives in the Arizona desert with her husband, two children, and Liberty, her Lab who thinks she’s human. Jennifer craves vegetables and refuses to apologize for it, can probably beat you in Spot It, and believes chips and salsa should be a food group.
