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Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Knife River by Baron R. Birtcher

KNIFE RIVER

by Baron R Birtcher

April 15 – May 10, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for KNIFE RIVER (The Sheriff Ty Dawson Crime Thriller Series) by Baron R. Birtcher on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!

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Book Description

A sheriff fighting to keep the peace in 1970s Oregon faces a shocking secret from his town’s past, in this crime thriller from the author of Reckoning.

There are rules in the West no matter what era you were born in, and it’s up to lawman Ty Dawson to make sure they’re followed in the valley he calls home. The people living on this unforgiving land keep to themselves and are wary of the modern world’s encroachment into their quiet lives.

So it’s not without some suspicion that Dawson confronts a newcomer to the region: a record producer who has built a music studio in an isolated compound. His latest project is a collaboration with a famous young rock star named Ian Swann, recording and filming his sessions for a movie. An amphitheater for a live show is being built on the land, giving Dawson flashbacks to the violent Altamont concert. Not on his watch.

But even beefed up security can’t stop a disaster that’s been over a decade in the making. All it takes is one horrific case bleeding its way into the present to prove that the good ol’ days spawned a brand of evil no one wants to revisit . . .

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/193780754-knife-river?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=XLHHlK7kWu&rank=2

KNIFE RIVER

Genre: Crime Thriller
Published by: Open Road Media
Publication Date: April 23, 2024
Number of Pages: 338
ISBN: 9781504086523 (ISBN10: 150408652X)
Series: The Sheriff Ty Dawson Crime Thriller Series

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My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

KNIFE RIVER (The Sheriff Ty Dawson Crime Thriller Series) by Baron Birtcher is an intricately plotted crime thriller with buried appalling crimes and secrets from the sheriff’s small town’s past that are about to be revealed and become the cause of a horrific crime in the present. This is the fourth book in the Ty Dawson series, but each is easily read as a standalone story.

Sheriff Ty Dawson is a Korean War veteran, rancher, and sheriff in the 1970’s small town of Meridian, Oregon. Ty discovers a new music studio compound has been built outside town. A famous young rock star is recording a new album and filming his sessions. It will culminate in the filming of a live concert built in a new outdoor amphitheater. Ty does not want the headaches and crimes related to a large intrusion of outsiders, but he has no choice.

What Ty does not know is the singer has ulterior motives for picking this location and is in danger from someone who does not want crimes from the past to resurface.

This is a story that pulled me in, and I did not put the book down until the end. I enjoy that it is set in the 1970’s and I especially like the references regarding the music scene and musicians. The flashback scenes to the buried secrets were interwoven throughout the present in the story and just kept ratcheting up the tension to the climax when the two collide. Sheriff Ty Dawson is a fully developed character of moral conviction with a love of his family, friends, and town, but he is not blind to the changes happening in the world. There is just something in Mr. Birtcher’s writing style that pulls me into each book in this series and makes me believe Ty is real and could walk right off the page.

I highly recommend this exceptional crime thriller addition to the series, the entire series, and this author!

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Excerpt

Prelude:

FACING WEST

SOME SAY THAT to be born into a thing is to be blind to half of it. Oftentimes, the things we seek and discover for ourselves are those we hold most dear.

Any cattleman will tell you that a ranch is a living thing. Not only the livestock that graze the meadowland, but the blood that nourishes the hungry soil, the trees that inhale the wind, and the rain that carves runnels into the hardpan that, in time, grow into rivers. The Diamond D is no different in that respect, some would even say it was the beating heart of Meriwether County, Oregon.

As both a stockman and the sheriff of this county, I believe this to be true.

But the events that unfolded in the autumn of 1964 cast a cloud across that land. Not just across my ranch, but the entire valley, though they didn’t bear their terrible fruit until nearly a dozen years later, in the spring of 1976. The incidents still haunt me, though others paid a steeper price than I; some with their lives, or the lives of their loved ones, while some forfeit their sanity, and still others with their souls.

That is where this story begins.

CHAPTER ONE

LAMBS AND LIONS hold no sway over the springtime here in Meriwether County. Some years it will snow through mid-May, other times the golden sun rides high and bright, and the river flows fast, clear and deep with high-country melt on the first day of March. Most years, it’s both, with Mother Nature keeping her whims to herself until she alone decides to turn them loose upon us.

But this particular Saturday morning was unusually quiet, not even a breath of breeze stirring the leaves of the cottonwoods that grew thick and untamed along the creekbank. I was standing outside on the gallery, sipping my coffee as I leaned on the porch rail, watching my wife, Jesse, hammer the last nail into a birdbox she had made. She must have felt my eyes on her, as she looked up from her work and smiled. A few moments later, she stepped up the stairs to where I stood and kissed me on the cheek, smelling of sawdust and lemongrass tea.

“The bluebirds are back,” she said. “I just saw them.”

“You haven’t lost your knack for building those things.”

“Plenty of practice. You got home late last night.”

I had spent the previous day transporting a man all the way from Lewiston up to the Portland lockup to await his trial. He stood accused of murdering his own wife and young child. It had been a long, depressing day, and by the time I completed the intake paperwork, locked up the substation in Meridian, and finally drove home to the ranch, Jesse was already asleep.

But this morning, everything in her expression seemed overflowing with hope and expectation. Springtime was her season and always had been.

“Want a hand putting that thing up?” I asked.

She replied by handing it to me, together with the hammer.

She watched me hang the birdbox on a post beside the vegetable garden, outside the kitchen window where I knew she’d spend her quiet mornings secretly observing the bluebirds as they built their nest and reared their brood.

“You plan on helping Caleb pick the new cowboys today?” She asked me when I came back inside.

It was the time of year when we hired a few temporary hands for Spring Works, when we’d round-up the cattle and calves from every corner of the ranch; we’d vet, brand and sort the livestock, and mend a perpetual string of breaks in the wire along miles of fenceline before we turned the herd out to the pastures for summer grazing. The Diamond D employed three permanent cowboys in addition to me and old Caleb Wheeler—our foreman for more than three decades—but with 63,000 deeded acres and another 14,000 under a Land Management lease, Spring Works was more work than the five of us could handle in the short span of time required to get it done. Every year a couple dozen hopeful itinerant riders, ropers, rodeo bums and saddle-tramps would answer the call for a temporary employment opportunity, and every year Caleb Wheeler got more riled up about what he viewed as the eroding quality of the contemporary American cowboy. He’d cuss and grump and holler about it, but he’d end up settling on three or four hands he reckoned could help us get the job done with a minimum of aggravation.

“I’m staying out of it this year,” I said, and Jesse grinned. “Figured I’d lay in a cord or two for the woodshed instead, before the weather gets too hot.”

“I saw some deadfall down by Corcoran’s,” she said.

“That’s where I was headed.”

“Make you some lunch to take with you?”

“I don’t intend to be out that long.”

“Good to hear,” she said, and winked at me before she turned, and stepped inside the house.

* * *

HALF AN HOUR later I was straddling a fallen spruce, angling the chainsaw to buck the trunk into three-foot rounds that I’d later split into quarters with the long-handled axe. The solitary labor, the sweat staining my shirt, and the burn down deep inside my muscles were a welcome balm after the week I’d had, and the air was rife with the smell of pine tar, sap and chain oil. I looked up and caught some movement in the distance, where the BLM forest gave onto an open range already knee deep with wildflowers and whipgrass. I recognized Tom Jenkins’ roping horse moving hellbent-for-leather across the flats, with young Tom leaning across her withers, one hand on the reins and the other holding his hat in place on top of his head. His mount was an admirable animal, a grullo Quarter Horse that stood nearly seventeen hands, fast and thick through the chest. Tom Jenkins handled her well, and he was beelining in my direction like he had something on his mind.

I killed the power on the chainsaw and set it in the bed of the military surplus jeep I use when I do ranch work, stepped over to the fence and took a splash of water from the canteen I’d hung in the shade of a young cedar. I didn’t have to wait long before Tom pulled up in a skidding stop inside a cloud of dust, throwing a cascade of torn earth and pebbles through the barbed strands of the wire.

“Mr. Dawson,” he said and touched a finger to his hat brim, sounding nearly as breathless as his horse. “I was hoping that was you.”

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” I asked, but suspected I already knew the answer.

When I’d first met Tom Jenkins, he was nothing but a kid with a limp handshake, no eye-contact, and the familiar slope-shouldered gait and posture of the typical aimless teenaged slacker. At that time, he’d been well on his way to serious trouble, the variety and scope of which would have landed him in a six-by-eight jail cell where the other inmates would have eaten him alive.

He is the nephew of my neighbor to the south of me, Snoose Corcoran, whose sister had sent the kid up here from California’s central valley to his uncle’s ranch in southeastern Oregon in hopes of putting some distance between young Tom and his unquestionably poor choices of acquaintances. Ill-equipped to deal with the boy himself, Snoose begged me to take the kid on as a maverick, and I’d reluctantly agreed. After six months working side by side with trail hardened cowboys on the Diamond D young Tom Jenkins’ attitude had been readjusted, straightening both his spine and fortitude. Now, at barely 18 years of age, Tom had assumed the reins of the floundering Corcoran cattle operation from his uncle Snoose, who had been gradually disappearing into a bottle.

“Cow and a calf went missing from my place,” Tom answered. “Fence busted by the westward line, and I figured them two mighta headed for the water.”

My ranch hands ended up nicknaming the kid “Silver,” after he’d astonished us all by stepping up and winning a silver buckle for the Diamond D in the team roping event at the annual rodeo. I knew Tom secretly treasured the handle they’d bestowed, wore it like a medal, but I never spoke it; that was between my men and him.

“Where’s your uncle?” I asked.

His shrug spoke sorrowful volumes.

“So, what set you hightailing over here to see me, son?” I asked. “What’s the trouble? Besides the missing beeves.”

“I was up there on the other side of the tree line,” he said. He twisted sideways in his saddle, took off his hat and gestured with it toward a distant stretch of blue sky. “There was an eagle making low passes over the meadow, so I stopped to watch it for a minute. It was so still and quiet out there, I could hear the eagle calling out while it was gliding on the thermals.”

“You don’t see something like that every day,” I said. “Not even out here in the boondocks.”

“No sir, that’s a fact,” Tom said. “But, while I sat there watching that creature flying, all of a sudden and out of nowhere, a helicopter come buzzing across the ridge, you know the one…”

“Big stone bluff, looks like somebody cut it down the middle with a KA-BAR knife.”

“That’s the one,” he said. “Well, that chopper came in fast, and went straight toward that bird…” The young man’s voice trailed off, his face contorted like he’d encountered a foul odor. “They circled it as it flew, like they were teasing it. Two men inside the—whattaya call it?”

“Cockpit.”

“Yeah, the cockpit. Then they started closing in on him, chasing it. The guy in the passenger seat had a rifle in his hands. I could see the barrel sticking out.”

What Tom was describing to me was not only a despicable and loathsome act, it was a serious crime. The mere harassment of a protected species is a federal offense; hunting and killing one merely for the sick thrill of it was another matter entirely.

“What happened, Tom?”

He swallowed drily, shook his head and looked down at the ground between us.

“He shot that bird right out of the sky, sir,” he said. “That eagle wasn’t even doing nothing, just gliding circles on the wind, and those assholes—sorry, sir—they shot him cold dead.”

I could imagine the creature’s confused and lonely cry as it spiraled down, bleeding, terrified and helpless, to the earth.

“You pretty sure about the location, Tom?”

“About four, five miles thataway, near the bluff, where the river makes that sharp bend to the south.”

“Did you get a look at either of the men?”

“Naw, they were too far away and moving pretty fast. But I got a good look at the whirlybird.”

I asked him for a description of the helicopter, and I knew right away he was referring to a Bell H-13, known to soldiers as a “Sioux.” They’d been in common use as scouting and medical evacuation aircraft by the military. I’d seen them every day when I was stationed in Korea.

“Like the choppers on that TV show?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. Exactly like on M*A*S*H.”

“Big glass bubble on the front? No doors? Looks kinda like a dragonfly?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you see any numbers written on it? On the tail? Or maybe on the underside?”

Tom Jenkins pressed his hat back on his head and gazed up at the empty sky beyond the forest, like he could return that beautiful animal to where it rightfully belonged through sheer force of his will. The high peaks beyond the meadow were streaked with deep blue shadows in the sunlight, their cloughs and gorges washed in purple and topped with snow so white it hurt your eyes.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I don’t remember seeing numbers or anything like that.”

His face took on the aspect of defeat, as though some personal failure had cost the animal its life.

“You did good, Tom. You did the right thing coming to me straight away. There was nothing else you could have done.”

He nodded once, his lips pressed tight, and he leaned down to adjust a stirrup that needed no adjustment.

“You want some help finding your cows?” I asked, thinking he might appreciate the company.

“I can do it, sir, but thank you. I can haze ’em back home on my own.”

“You gotta get eyeballs on the critters first. I can help you, son.”

“Thank you just the same, Mr. Dawson… Sheriff… Hell, I don’t even know what to call you.”

His expression softened for the first time since he’d showed up, a brief and fleeting smile, then his focus drifted far away again.

“Something else, Tom?”

“Just wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“Do you think you can catch those guys who shot that bird?”

“I’m going to try my damndest.”

His eyes remained fixed on the horizon.

“What’ll happen to ’em if you do?”

I drew a bandana from the back pocket of my jeans, removed my hat, and dried the sweat that had been leaking from beneath the band.

“It’s been against the law to kill an eagle since the 1940s. If you’re not an Indian, you can’t even possess a single feather. If you get caught, you pay a steep fine and then they send you off to jail. If you’re a rancher, you could lose the leases on your land.”

Tom turned his gaze back on me, and I noted for the hundredth time that this young man no longer bore any resemblance to the person he had been on the day he first arrived here from California.

“That punishment don’t seem tough enough,” Tom said. “Not for what I seen ’em do.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

He clucked softly to his horse, and reined her back in the direction from which they’d come.

“I’d better get a move on,” he said.

“Be careful out there, son,” I said to his retreating back, but my words were lost in the distance.

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Author Bio

Baron Birtcher is the LA TIMES and IMBA BESTSELLING author of the hardboiled Mike Travis series (Roadhouse Blues, Ruby Tuesday, Angels Fall, and Hard Latitudes), the award-winning Ty Dawson series (South California Purples, Fistful Of Rain, Reckoning, and Knife River), as well as the critically-lauded stand-alone, RAIN DOGS.

Baron is a winner of the SILVER FALCHION AWARD, and the WINNER of 2018’s Killer Nashville READERS CHOICE AWARD, as well as 2019’s BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR for Fistful Of Rain.

He has also had the honor of having been named a finalist for the NERO AWARD, the LEFTY AWARD, the FOREWORD INDIE AWARD, the 2016 BEST BOOK AWARD, the Pacific Northwest’s regional SPOTTED OWL AWARD, and the CLAYMORE AWARD.

Social Media Links

Facebook – @BaronRBirtcher
Goodreads
BookBub
Instagram – @baronbirtcher_author
Twitter/X – @BaronBirtcher22

Purchase Links

Amazon – https://pictbooks.tours/hSlGa
BN – https://pictbooks.tours/kwF9C
Goodreads – https://pictbooks.tours/aOUPM
Open Road: – https://pictbooks.tours/l1TFy
BookShop.org – https://pictbooks.tours/B2W9Q

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KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://kingsumo.com/g/vuil0q/knife-river-by-baron-r-birtcher-amazoncom-gift-card

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Leopard of Cairo by Bayard and Holmes

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE LEOPARD OF CAIRO (Apex Predator Espionage Thrillers Book #1) by Bayard and Holmes on this Author Marketing Experts Blog Tour.

Below you will find a guest post from the authors, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, and the authors’ bios and social media links. Enjoy!

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Guest Post from the Authors

As Bayard & Holmes, we are known for accuracy in our espionage tradecraft. This is due to Jay Holmes’s fifty years of military and intelligence experience fighting against the Soviets and the terrorist groups they sponsored during the Cold War, straight through to the current Global War on Terror. As a result of our experience and authenticity, people like to ask us questions about the shadow world.

One of the common questions we receive is, “What are some of the most common mistakes writers make about the CIA?” The answer to that would be vocabulary.

Our espionage professionals at the CIA do not refer to themselves as spies. The word “spy” is considered a bit derogatory. As Holmes says, “Spying is seamy. It’s what the Russians do.” Technically, spies are foreigners who are spying on us, or they are foreigners who are spying on other countries for us.

Also, and this is a big one for the folks at the CIA, the intelligence personnel at the Agency are not “CIA agents.” In the world of the CIA, agents are people, most often foreigners, who are spying for our behalf on their own or other foreign governments.

The exceptions to that rule are the actual guards at the physical facilities. For example, if you were to go to headquarters, the personnel in security who would greet you at the gate are “CIA agents.” An easy rule of thumb is that if the position someone holds regards law enforcement, physical protection, or facilities security, they are agents.

In other words, Jack Ryan is not a CIA agent, but the guard he talks to at the front gate of headquarters is an agent, and the foreign spy who gives him information is an agent.

Instead of being spies or agents, our intelligence personnel are referred to as “officers” and “operatives.” Intelligence personnel at the CIA are technically called officers, which is a label particular to the CIA. CIA officers are actual employees of the CIA rather than contractors, and they get pretty touchy when you call them agents.

The term operative can apply to CIA officers and contractors, as well as to personnel from other civilian and military intelligence organizations. The term is rather vague and has no official definition, but it generally refers to men and women who work in field operations.

So to sum things up, Jack Ryan is not a spy or an agent, he is a CIA officer who must guard against foreign spies, collect intelligence from foreign agents, and sometimes goes into the field with operatives.

This is just one example of the accuracy that is the hallmark of our Bayard & Holmes fiction. To supplement, we have a Truth & Fiction section at the end of The Leopard of Cairo and all our novels, and we are happy to take your questions about the shadow world at the Contact page at our website, BayardandHolmes.com.

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Book Summary

John Viera left his CIA fieldwork hoping for a “normal” occupation and a long-awaited family, but when a Pakistani engineer is kidnapped from a top-secret US project and diplomatic entanglements tie the government’s hands, the Intelligence Community turns to John and his team of ex-operatives to investigate — strictly off the books. They uncover a plot of unprecedented magnitude that will precipitate the slaughter of millions.

From the corporate skyscrapers of Montreal to the treacherous alleys of Baluchistan, these formidable enemies strike, determined to create a regional apocalypse and permanently alter the balance of world power. Isolated in their knowledge of the impending devastation, John and his network stand alone between total destruction and the Leopard of Cairo.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/71953522-the-leopard-of-cairo?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=Kw9Ey7OAgH&rank=1

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My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

THE LEOPARD OF CAIRO (Apex Predator Espionage Thrillers Book #1) by Bayard and Holmes is an edge-of-your-seat international espionage thriller with storytelling that pulls you into exotic locations and takes you on a thrilling adventure to stop a plot to change the world’s governments balance of power. This is the first book in the series, and I cannot wait to get started on book #2, The Panther of Baracoa.

John Viera has left the CIA to start a “normal” life, but occasionally gets called back into off-the-book operations with a team of other ex-operatives who are able to accomplish jobs the government legally or politically cannot. John and the team are sent to discover why an engineer and his young daughter have been kidnapped, but what they discover is just the tip of the iceberg in a conspiracy that could end up killing millions.

This plot never lets up on the action and peril. The authors are able to introduce you to many characters, both good and bad, while never losing the fast pace of the story and also surprising you with the many plot twists throughout. John Viera and the rest of the team are fully developed both in their personal lives and their contributions to the team. The intrigue and mystery of the shadow cabal is a great way to keep me hooked and ready to grab the next book in the series.

I highly recommend this exciting start to this international espionage thriller!

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Excerpt

THE LEOPARD OF CAIRO

John Viera jumped back from the swirl of soot. The bright green-and-blue Quetta city bus choked out another cloud, and a donkey beside it snorted, rattling its cart full of secondhand housewares. The vendor in the driver’s seat searched the crowd for one last customer. John ignored his hopeful glance and watched the bus chug deeper into the bowels of the Hazara Town market district.

The aroma of fresh bread sweetened the stench of exhaust that hung over the rush-hour crunch. John ducked into the bakeshop’s recessed doorway and scanned the street.

Bright paints battled vainly to beautify cement walls between dirty gray roll-down metal shop doors. Signs above the portals broadcast goods and trades in Urdu and English, revealing the creep of Westernization into the Islamic stronghold. Above John’s head, electrical wires crisscrossed, tying the one- and two-story structures together.

Vendors bustled to secure their wares in time for evening prayers. Mothers gripping plain cloth shopping bags herded children down sidewalks while bicycles competed with cars and donkey carts for street rights. None of them appeared to notice John. Western influence was widespread enough that he did not stand out with his collar-length umber hair, reddish beard, blue jeans, and khaki jacket.

Satisfied there were no immediate threats from the street, he glanced at his watch: 5:45. Martin would be waiting. John exited the bakery doorway and continued in the bus’s wake.

A bicyclist veered into traffic, and a truck swerved and jerked, cutting off a rusty sedan. The sedan’s horn blared. John flinched and pressed his hand to his ear.

¡Hostias! ¡Qué idiotas! He wished for a split second that he was still crouched in the mountains of Afghanistan, where he was sanctioned by the US government to capture or kill hostile actors, or at least to slam their heads in their car doors. In the city, though, he was constrained by rules of law and discretion. John quelled his irritation and strode to the corner.

He crossed with the light and visualized the remainder of his route to Martin’s. His MI6 counterpart had said his good-byes only a few weeks before, anticipating the welcoming women and rich cigars he would explore at his new post in Cuba. What ill wind could have blown the man from paradise back to hell so soon? Had he identified the mole in MI6? John picked up his pace.

An open truck shoved past, its load of sheep bleating protests through warped wooden slats, stinking of mud and hay. John wrinkled his nose. A block up the street, the truck spun a U-turn through an unlikely gap in the traffic and parked in front of a restaurant.

The bus ahead of John stopped at the corner across from the sheep. Passengers crowded on. Then a shopkeeper stepped from his corner store and threw his arms wide. The bus driver sprang to the sidewalk. The men clasped in a hug and submerged into conversation.

A fresh-faced woman in a pink hijab and sky-blue kameez veered around the talking driver, a little boy in tow. The child hugged a toy blow-up horse and grinned as if he clutched the Koh-i-Noor diamond. John gave the boy a smile when he passed.

Suddenly, three men in gray kameez tunics and salwar trousers burst around the opposite street corner. John’s head snapped up, drawn by their speed and focus. They stopped and scanned the crowd. One pointed toward the truckload of sheep and then pulled a pistol and fired.

John dove behind a parked car and drew his Makarov pistol from his waistband. Fight or flight? He stilled his urge to fire back. The last thing he needed was to become embroiled in a local turf war, particularly so near Martin’s. He only hoped his friend was not involved. He had to get to Martin.

More shots. Horns blared, and cars crowded one another to escape. The bus driver levitated into his vehicle. He threw it into gear and bullied his way around the corner. People who had sheltered behind the bus scrambled toward shops, even as shopkeepers slammed down their corrugated metal doors. Only two people weren’t moving—the child with the toy horse kneeling beside the woman in the pink hijab.

Blood seeped across her shoulder and rib cage. She gestured toward a shop with her good arm and shouted in Urdu. “Run. Now. Run.” The child burrowed closer.

John shoved his pistol in his waistband and charged to the woman. He swept her up and spoke to the boy in Urdu. “Follow us.” He sprinted toward a spice stall. The child dropped the horse and dogged John’s heels. The shopkeeper met John’s eyes, shook his head, and crashed down his metal door.

A bullet whizzed past and shattered a divot from the cement wall. John ducked away from the flying chips. The woman in his arms screamed, and her gaze sought her son. The boy tugged the end of her kameez and let go.

“Here,” cried a voice.

The bus driver’s friend crouched, holding open a slice of doorway at his corner shop. John ran, the boy beside him. The man rolled up the door to let them in and then slammed it down behind them.

Frightened people shuffled aside, and John laid the woman on the floor. Bright red oozed from her shoulder, shading her blue kameez a deep purple. She gripped her arm close and grimaced. John whipped off his jacket, peeled out of his T-shirt, and pressed the cotton against the wound.

The woman groaned. “Hakeem. Where is Hakeem?”

“I have him.” A man pushed forward and showed her the child in his arms. “He is unharmed.”

John spotted the shopkeeper. “Call an ambulance, and bring some towels.”

“We don’t have towels,” the man said. A woman with her hands full of T-shirts pushed past him.

“We can use these. I’m a nurse.” She knelt beside John. “I will care for her.”

“Thank you.” John moved out of the woman’s way and turned to the store owner. “Where is your bathroom?”

The man pointed to a door at the back of the store. John wedged through the people and opened it onto a reeking closet where a window gaped wide above a hole in the ground with a footprint on each side. He pulled himself through the window into an alley, and he landed on his feet and ran.

Three blocks later, he slowed to a walk. A knife vendor gawked and John glanced down. His blood-smeared jacket hung open, revealing his bare six-pack. He zipped up the coat.

A block away, a sign reading Changezi’s tilted across the street front of a three-story cement apartment building. In front, a white panel van purred to life and whisked away as John crossed the street. John circled toward Changezi’s dwelling at the back of the building. He turned the corner and froze.

Changezi’s goat pen hung open, and his three nannies clustered at his front door. John’s skin prickled. Even Changezi’s youngest child would not be so careless with such valuable property. He drew his pistol and shooedthe goats the five steps into the pen. Then he knocked at the manager’s door. Silence answered—a sound unprecedented from a home with two wives and five young children.

John bounded up the steps to Martin’s old apartment door. A bullet hole gaped next to the doorknob, and splinters littered the ground. His heart racing, he hugged the wall, pistol in hand, and tried the knob. The door swung wide. More silence.

He ducked low and peeked around the corner into the apartment’s shadowed hallway. Nothing. He crept up the passage to the living room.

A threadbare divan squatted under a window next to a weathered table that had been tipped sideways. Two straight-backed chairs stood by an upended bowl with two apples on the floor.

“Come out,” John said.

A man rose, his hands up. His gaze riveted to the bloodstains on John’s jacket, and his knees quivered. “Don’t shoot. I have a wife and child. Please.” A woman in a navy-blue headscarf peered from behind him. She clutched a bundle in her arms.

John lowered his weapon slightly. “I’m looking for a man named Martin. He’s English. My height and build. Blond hair and blue eyes. Have you seen him?”

The man’s eyes grew wide. He shook his head. “I saw nothing.”

John dropped his pistol to his side. “I don’t even need to know your name. What happened, and did you see him?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened.”

The woman’s glance darted from John to her husband and back. Then she lowered her eyes and stared at the child in her arms.

“It’s clear a bullet came through that door recently. I’m not with whoever did that. I only want to find my friend.” John retrieved an apple from the floor and settled into a chair with the manner of an overlord. “I can see something happened here, and I’m not leaving until you tell me.” He raised the apple to take a bite.

“Wait,” the man said.

John moved the apple away from his mouth and cocked his head.

“I saw a blond man in the hallway. I was taking out my trash, and he ran out of the flat next door. He jumped down the rubbish chute. Then three men ran up the stairs and started shooting. I barely made it back inside.”

John stood. “Have you seen these men before?”

“Never.”

“What did they look like?”

The man shifted and glanced toward the door, as if expecting the men to reappear. His voice was barely audible. “Black hair and gray clothing. That is all I saw.”

John’s mind flashed on the shooters at the market, and dark fear unfolded. He tossed the unbitten apple to the man. “Thank you.”

He readied his Makarov and stole from the apartment. The next door slanted ajar. Standing against the wall, John reached out and tapped it. It creaked open. A sharp whiff of bleach wafted into the hallway. He peered inside.

Chaos. A table skewed sideways, kitchen drawers dangled, and stuffing sprouted from chair cushions. No sign of Martin. John scanned the debris and noticed a minute red spot on the carpet. He knelt down and touched it. Then he sniffed. The iron tang of blood filled his nostrils.

John bolted down the stairs to the trash room. A red trail spotted from the Dumpster to the back door and stopped. A chill ran up his spine. He combed the alley. It was empty—no one and no clues. Martin was gone.

***

Author Bios

Piper Bayard is an author and a recovering attorney with a college degree or two. She is also a belly dancer and a former hospice volunteer. She has been working daily with her good friend Jay Holmes for the past decade, learning about foreign affairs, espionage history, and field techniques for the purpose of writing fiction and nonfiction. She currently pens espionage nonfiction and international spy thrillers with Jay Holmes, as well as post-apocalyptic fiction of her own.

Jay Holmes is a forty-five-year veteran of field espionage operations with experience spanning from the Cold War fight against the Soviets, the East Germans, and the various terrorist organizations they sponsored to the present Global War on Terror. He is unwilling to admit to much more than that. Piper is the public face of their partnership.

Together, Bayard & Holmes author non-fiction articles and books on espionage and foreign affairs, as well as fictional international spy thrillers. They are also the bestselling authors of The Spy Bride from the Risky Brides Bestsellers Collection and were featured contributors for Social In Worldwide, Inc.

When they aren’t writing or, in Jay’s case, busy with “other work,” Piper and Jay are enjoying time with their families, hiking, exploring back roads of America, talking foreign affairs, laughing at their own rude jokes until the wee hours, and questing for the perfect chocolate cake recipe.

Social Media Links

Website: https://bayardandholmes.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/piper.bayard

Twitter: https://twitter.com/PiperBayard

Purchase Links

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3UVvUkr

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/71953522-the-leopard-of-cairo

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Never Fall Again by Lynn H. Blackburn

Never Fall Again

by Lynn H Blackburn

March 4-29, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for NEVER FALL AGAIN (Gossamer Falls Book #1) by Lynn H. Blackburn on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

Landry Hutton has spent three years rebuilding her life behind the secure gates of The Haven, an exclusive resort on the outskirts of Gossamer Falls, North Carolina. As the artist-in-residence, and with her pottery prized by The Haven’s guests, Landry is finally ready to settle in permanently. She wants to give her daughter, Eliza, a safe home to grow up in and hires former Marine Callum Shaw to handle the construction.

Cal grew up in Gossamer Falls and always knew he would someday join his family’s business. He longs for a family of his own but has almost given up on that ever happening. Landry is funny, gifted, and everything Cal could ever want in a partner, but he vows to keep his distance. Landry has a daughter and a past. Cal has been down that road before and barely survived when the woman he loved left, taking her two sons with her. He can’t bear to lose like that again.

Before construction on the house can begin, Landry’s pottery is destroyed in a suspicious fire. It soon becomes clear that Landry and Eliza are in grave danger–but because of whom? But, after losing one relationship, he is hesitant to try again.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/182092951-never-fall-again?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=3FD0Jk1kTH&rank=1

Never Fall Again

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Revell
Publication Date: March 12, 2024
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 9780800745363 (ISBN10: 0800745361)
Series: Gossamer Falls, Book 1

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

NEVER FALL AGAIN (Gossamer Falls Book #1) by Lynn H. Blackburn is a wonderful start to a new Christian romantic suspense series. Set in small-town Gossamer Falls, North Carolina, this story features a slow burn romance with a focus on second chances, trust, and personal peril. This is a new-to-me author, and I am definitely going to check out her other books.

Landry Hutton is determined to give her five-year-old daughter, Eliza, a safe life after a not so happy marriage where she learns to be very hesitant around religious men. She has rebuilt her life as an artist -in-residence for the last three years at The Haven, an exclusive resort, and her pottery is prized by all. Landry is ready to have a home built for her and Eliza when her pottery shop goes up in flames. It is arson.

Callum “Cal” Shaw is a former Marine and now works with his two brothers in their construction company. When he is hired by Landry to build her home, he discovers Landry is everything he wants, but he keeps his distance due to his past. Before he starts work on her home, the pottery shop is destroyed. It becomes clear that Landry and Eliza are in danger, but from whom? Can Callum protect Landry and Eliza without becoming even more involved in their lives?

This is a fantastic Christian romantic suspense that has a slow burn romance, two individuals trying to fight their attraction due to their pasts, a suspense plot that builds to an exciting resolution, and a faith focus that does not overpower. The author does an excellent job of introducing us to the main characters in Gossamer Falls that will be the focus of future books without going to in depth and losing focus from this book’s plot line. I was also very happy with the inclusion of Cal’s golden retriever, Maisey, who is instinctively an emotional support dog without formal training. This story exceeded every one of my expectations and I cannot wait for the next in the series.

I highly recommend this Christian romantic suspense!

***

Excerpt

They passed several offices before they reached an open door.

“Maisy. Stay.” That same deep voice from the intercom floated to the hallway.

“Oooh! A dog!” Eliza dashed into the room.

Her little sprite was fast and already halfway across the office before Landry realized what was happening. “Eliza, wait!” Fortunately, she stopped at Landry’s words.

“I know, Mommy. Never touch a dog without permission. I just want to see.”

Eliza turned her big brown eyes toward the man who had come around his desk and knelt beside a dog now quivering with excitement.

The man—Callum Shaw, she assumed—met her daughter’s eyes and said, “Your mom’s right. You can’t ever rush at a dog, even dogs as gentle as this big baby. But if it’s okay with your mom . . .”

His eyes, which were as blue as the Carolina sky, now met hers. There was humor and gentleness. And shadows. Something dark flitted across his gaze. But then he blinked and it was gone.

Landry nodded her permission, and he turned all his attention back to her daughter. “This is Maisy. She’s a golden retriever. She’s three years old. She loves long walks in the woods, sunbathing, peanut butter, and belly rubs.” He demonstrated the belly rub. Maisy melted under his touch, and Eliza crept closer. “You can pet her. Maisy doesn’t bite my friends.”

Eliza dropped to her knees beside Callum and held out her hand toward Maisy’s nose.

Maisy took a quick sniff and rewarded Eliza’s good behavior with a lick. Callum stayed where he was until it was clear to everyone that Eliza and Maisy were set, then he rose to his feet and extended a hand. “Ms. Hutton.”

“Landry. Please.”

“Landry. A pleasure.”

Landry kept the contact brief. “Sorry, my hands are rough.” She turned them palms up. “Hazards of the job.”

Why had she said that? What did it matter if her hands were a bit on the crispy side? She didn’t have to prove anything to this man. Embarrassment crept across her and burst through her pores, heating her neck and face, and now she had no idea what to do with her hands. Should she put them down? Tuck them behind her back?

Callum glanced at her hands and turned his own up. “Same here.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “It’s to my eternal despair that I’ll never land that hand modeling contract I’ve always hoped for.”

His easy humor made it automatic to tease him back. “Well, there’s always ditch digging.”

“Good point. If this construction gig doesn’t work out, I’ll have something to fall back on.” Callum turned his attention to Eliza. “And I gather your name is Eliza?”

She giggled with the abandon unique to happy children. “That’s right, but sometimes Mommy calls me Liza or ZaZa, but never Lizzy because that’s too close to Landry, and it gets confusing.”

Landry tried to keep a straight face as Eliza parroted what she’d heard Landry say too many times to count.

“It’s a pleasure, Ms. Eliza.” Callum pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m Cal Shaw. I’ll answer to Callum, but not LumLum because”— he dropped his voice to a stage whisper—“that’s just not dignified.”

Eliza’s laughter filled the room. Bronwyn hadn’t been wrong about Cal Shaw. He was very good with children. Even now, he kept his attention on Eliza. “Are you good here with Maisy while your mom and I talk?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cal grabbed a legal pad and pen from his desk and took the chair opposite the one he directed Landry to sit in. From their seats, they could both see Eliza and Maisy.

She waited for him to start the conversation, but maybe she was supposed to go first?

“She’s a beau—”

“Land—”

They both stopped talking, and his smile seemed genuine as he nodded to her. “Please. Go ahead.”

“I was going to say your dog is beautiful.” She willed her body to stop flushing scarlet, but it refused to cooperate. She didn’t have to see herself to know that her face, neck, chest, and even her feet were on fire. This was why she did best behind the walls of The Haven. She could interact with the patrons there with minimal difficulty. But put her out in public, and she became a tongue-tied, socially inept disaster.

Cal’s grin held mischief, and he leaned toward her. “If all goes as planned, she’ll be pregnant soon. I bet Eliza would love a puppy for Christmas.” His voice was cajoling and teasing, but at least he had the good sense to keep it too low for Eliza to hear.

He winked in a way that was friendly and not flirtatious, and Landry understood why Bronwyn liked him so much. He leaned back and in a normal voice said, “I gathered from your conversation with Carla that you’re going to build nearby.”

“Yes. I have three acres on the edge of Pierce land.” She watched him carefully as she spoke and was unsurprised when his grip tightened on the pen at her words.

“How long have you lived in Gossamer Falls?”

“Long enough to know the Pierce and Quinn families don’t get along.”

***

Author Bio

Lynn H. Blackburn is the award-winning author of Unknown Threat, Malicious Intent, and Under Fire, as well as the Dive Team Investigations series. She loves writing swoon-worthy Southern suspense because her childhood fantasy was to become a spy, but her grown-up reality is that she’s a huge chicken and would have been caught on her first mission. She prefers to live vicariously through her characters by putting them into terrifying situations while she sits at home in her pajamas. She lives in Simpsonville, South Carolina, with her true love, Brian, and their three children.

Social Media Links

www.LynnHBlackburn.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @LynnHBlackburn
Instagram – @lynnhblackburn
Twitter/X – @LynnHBlackburn
Facebook – @LynnHBlackburn

Purchase Links

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Baker Book House

###

KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://kingsumo.com/g/h2ihtj/never-fall-again-by-lynn-h-blackburn/22yze56?

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Struck Dead by Andrea Kane

Struck Dead

by Andrea Kane

March 4 – 29, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for STRUCK DEAD (A Forensic Instincts Novel Book #10) by Andrea Kane on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

The fragile line between life and death… Families that will never be the same…

When a tragic hit-and-run takes the life of a hardworking family man, multi-millionaire Christopher Hillington becomes the prime suspect, and the whole city of New York alights with speculation as to what happened.

But before the NYPD can establish Hillington’s guilt, he himself is brutally murdered in his own home. As he lays dying, he scrawls the name Casey Woods with his own blood, and the Forensic Instincts team is drawn into a complex mystery that has placed its president in the sights of a desperate killer.

A millionaire’s life is full of secrets and suspects. So as the baffled NYPD investigates Casey for the murder, and the body-count ratchets up, Casey herself becomes another potential victim. The FI team’s hardcore investigation has them twisting and turning through suspects and secrets, where the stakes intensify―and so does the collateral damage. As Casey and the team get closer to finding the killer, the unthinkable happens, and the life of one of FI’s own hangs in the blood-stained balance.

They say dead men tell no tales, but blood doesn’t lie. Peeling back layer after layer of deception, the team will cross whatever lines are necessary to solve the case, get justice for the families, and make their team whole again…unless the relentless killer gets to them first.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/189082177-struck-dead?ref=nav_sb_ss_2_11

Struck Dead

Genre: Suspense Thriller
Published by: Bonnie Meadow Publishing
Publication Date: March 2024
Number of Pages: 384
ISBN: 9781682320631 (ISBN10: 1682320634)
Series: Forensic Instincts (#10)

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

STRUCK DEAD (A Forensic Instincts Mystery Book #10) by Andrea Kane is another suspenseful mystery story featuring the brilliant team from Forensic Instincts. While each book in the series has a unique crime/mystery to solve that can be read as a complete standalone crime plot, each book also continues to further develop the main characters’ personal lives over time, and I personally enjoy reading them in order.

A multi-millionaire, Christopher Hillington is the prime suspect in a hit-skip that kills a man. All of New York is speculating about his guilt or innocence when Casey Woods gets a call from his lawyer to come immediately to the Hillington home. Casey is shown the bludgeoned body of Hillington and on the desk written in his blood is “Casey Woods”.

With a multitude of suspects and secrets, but few leads, Forensic Instincts is working to unravel all the threads of this case. The stakes increase when Casey is threatened. The team is fighting to uncover layer upon layer of deceit as the killer gets to one of the team first.

I always enjoy revisiting the team at Forensic Instincts and this addition to the series is one of my favorites. The mystery plot is intricately woven between two crimes and three families. I liked that the two crimes kept me guessing and were solved at different times in the book. The most intense part of the book for me was when I might lose one of the main characters. The plot is fast paced with the investigations, and it is not predictable. The twist at the end should bring an entertaining new dynamic to the team that I am looking forward to reading.

I highly recommend this addition to the Forensic Instincts series.

***

Excerpt

Offices of Forensic Instincts

Tribeca, New York

Main conference room

Monday, 9:40 a.m.

Casey Woods, the president of Forensic Instincts, stood at the head of the oval table, her jaw having dropped. She pressed her iPhone closer to her ear, and tried to reconcile herself, both to who the caller was, and the reason for her call.

She certainly didn’t sound like the Angela King that Casey knew. And why in the name of heaven was she reaching out to Casey, of all people?

Angela repeated her original demand: “I need you to meet me now—as in drop everything and get over here.” This time her voice was commanding but shaken.

Shaken? Angela King?

Casey’s mind raced.

Angela was a high-powered and aggressive criminal defense attorney at Harris, Porter, & Donnelly. A virtual barracuda. Rumor had it that she was next up to make partner. No surprise. She successfully defended the richest of the rich, from corporate executives, to wealthy entrepreneurs, to “businessmen” with rumored links to Organized Crime—a fact she chose to overlook since they were affluent enough to pay her fees. She and Forensic Instincts were on opposite sides of law enforcement. They’d battled it out more than once the criminals that FI had helped catch becoming the very criminals Angela would defend.

Needless to say, the FI team and Angela weren’t friends.

And yet, here she was, calling Casey on an urgent, time-is-of-the-essence matter—one she seemed incredibly high-strung about.

“Casey?” Angela repeated. “Did you hear me?”

Casey lowered herself into a chair. “I heard you. What is this about? And why me, of all people?”

“You’ll see for yourself,” Angela replied. She rattled off the address of a luxury skyscraper on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. “Hurry. I’m jeopardizing my career by waiting to call 9-1-1. I can’t wait much longer. But you have to view the scene first and later provide me with some answers. No more questions. Just come. I have a key to the building’s back door. I’ll let you in. We’ll use the freight elevator.”

Casey’s common sense was urging her to refuse. 9-1-1 meant a crime scene, and questions meant involving her. Both those things were screaming for her to stay away. She pushed aside that inner voice. She was too intrigued to refuse. “I’m on my way.”

She shrugged into her wool winter coat as she called John Nickels, Forensic Instincts’ number one on their security team. Then, she blew out the front door, not waiting to fill the FI team in on where she was going. There was no time. Plus, they’d only try to talk her out of it.

Holiday decorations were glistening everywhere, and tiny snowflakes danced in the air.

Casey didn’t notice any of it.

John pulled around a few minutes later, and Casey hopped into the car, gave him the address, and urged him to hurry.

With a brief nod, John was on his way, navigating the FDR Drive in record time. He got Casey to her destination in thirteen minutes. He dropped her off around back, far from the doorman’s view. Then, he waited to return her to the brownstone once her meeting was over, as per her instructions.

Angela was pacing inside the building, and opened the door to let Casey in the moment she saw her. No matter how dire the occasion, Angela always looked stunning. An Armani cobalt blue pants suit that set off her dark skin, matching four-inch Louboutin heels, and long wavy black hair styled at the highest end salon. She carried herself like a queen. In short, she was a knock-out.

Now she looked more rattled than Casey had ever seen her.

“Let’s go,” she said. She led the way to the freight elevator, where she and Casey rode up.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Casey stated flatly.

Angela didn’t answer. She glanced at her Apple Watch, her gaze snapping up as the elevator stopped on the twenty-first floor.

The doors slid open.

Angela paused only long enough to ensure that Casey was right behind her. Then, she strode down the hall, made a turn, and halted in front of Apartment Twenty-One B. She unlocked the door, pulled Casey inside, and faced her to offer the first few words of an explanation.

“This is the home of my client, Christopher Hillington. We had a nine-thirty AM meeting scheduled to be held here.”

Casey’s brows rose. Christopher Hillington was a renowned and phenomenally wealthy managing director of the private equity firm YNE. He was also a major suspect in a vehicular homicide, and Casey knew through various news sources that he’d been questioned several times by the NYPD and was on the verge of arrest.

“I see you know of him,” Angela said. “Given the circumstances, I’m not surprised.” She gestured toward a breathtaking sunken living room. “In here.”

Casey bit back her question about what Angela had just said. She sensed she was about to get her answers. So she remained silent.

The two women stepped down and Angela stood to a side and waited.

Casey got the full view immediately.

Christopher Hillington’s body was crumpled on the Oriental carpet beside his desk, blood pooling out around him. His head was bashed in, clearly having been struck multiple times by a heavy object. The bloodied sledge hammer lying next to the body was obviously the murder weapon. Judging from the damage done, the killer had been, not only determined, but brutal.

Casey eyeballed the scene, feeling sickened as well as confused. She was about to ask Angela what this horrific scene had to do with her when she spotted the letters, written in blood, on the lower edge of the desk, right beside Hillington’s outstretched arm.

She walked over, careful not to touch anything, squatted down, and squinted. The two words were completely legible, and they made Casey’s blood run cold.

Casey Woods.

***

Photographr Information Stevenson/Lupke 1924 Rittenhouse Square Philadelphia, Pa 19103 215-627-3777 amandastudio@yahoo.com

Author Bio

Andrea Kane is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty-two novels, including eighteen psychological thrillers and fourteen historical romantic suspense titles. With her signature style, Kane creates unforgettable characters and confronts them with life-threatening danger. As a master of suspense, she weaves them into exciting, carefully-researched stories, pushing them to the edge—and keeping her readers up all night.
Kane’s first contemporary suspense thriller, Run for Your Life, became an instant New York Times bestseller.
She followed with a string of bestselling psychological thrillers including No Way Out, Twisted and Drawn in Blood.
Her latest in the highly successful Forensic Instincts series, Struck Dead, showcases the dynamic, eclectic team of investigators as they hunt down a desperate killer who’s threatened one of their own. The first showcase of Forensic Instincts’ talents came with the New York Times bestseller, The Girl Who Disappeared Twice, followed by The Line Between Here and Gone, The Stranger You Know, The Silence That Speaks, The Murder That Never Was, A Face To Die For, Dead In A Week, No Stone Unturned, At Any Cost, and Struck Dead.
Kane’s beloved historical romantic suspense novels include My Heart’s Desire, Samantha, Echoes in the Mist, and Wishes in the Wind.
With a worldwide following of passionate readers, her books have been published in more than twenty languages.
Kane lives in New Jersey with her family. She’s an avid crossword puzzle solver and a diehard Yankees fan.
Author Hometown – Warren, New Jersey

Social Media Links

www.AndreaKane.com
Goodreads
BookBub
Instagram – @authorandreakane
Twitter/X – @andrea_kane
Facebook – @AuthorAndreaKane

Purchase Links

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

###

Giveaway

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Andrea Kane. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

The giveaway is for: 1 – $20 Amazon.com Gift Card, US Only

https://kingsumo.com/g/tysf4b/struck-dead-by-andrea-kane

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Always Remember by Mary Balogh

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for ALWAYS REMEMBER (Ravenswood Book #3) by Mary Balogh on this Berkley Blog Tour.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section, and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

Left unable to walk by a childhood illness, Lady Jennifer, sister of the Duke of Wilby, has grown up to make a happy place for herself in society. Outgoing and cheerful, she has many friends and enjoys the pleasures of high society—even if she cannot dance at balls or stroll in Hyde Park. She is blessed with a large, loving, and protective family. But she secretly dreams of marriage and children, and of walking—and dancing.

When Ben Ellis comes across Lady Jennifer as she struggles to walk with the aid of primitive crutches, he instantly understands her yearning. He is a fixer. It is often said of him that he never saw a practical problem he did not have to solve. He wants to help her discover independence and motion—driving a carriage, swimming, even walking a different way. But he must be careful. He is the bastard son of the late Earl of Stratton. Though he was raised with the earl’s family, he knows he does not really belong in the world of the ton.

Jennifer is shocked—and intrigued—by Ben’s ideas, and both families are alarmed by the growing friendship and perhaps more that they sense developing between the two. A duke’s sister certainly cannot marry the bastard son of an earl. Except sometimes, love can find a way.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/134116829-always-remember?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=qgKD7edTXW&rank=2

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

ALWAYS REMEMBER (A Ravenswood Novel Book #3) by Mary Balogh is a beautiful heartwarming historical romance featuring Ben’s story. This is the third romance in the series and while I really enjoyed the first two, this one was special. This series consists of complete HEAs in each book, but I feel they are best read in order because there is a continuously evolving family story.

Ben Ellis and his daughter, Joy, have returned to Ravenswood for the summer fete and to decide what he will do about a very personal situation. Ben accidentally observes Lady Jennifer Arden, who he believed only moved about in her wheeled chair attempting to take a few steps on crutches. Ben always needs to fix problems and sets about finding better and easier ways for Lady Jennifer to have more independence of movement.

Lady Jennifer is shocked and yet intrigued by Ben’s ideas. The two soon have a growing friendship and discuss personal intimacies and fears they share with no one else. Both families are alarmed by the growing friendship even though Jennifer and Ben are adults because they cannot see a happy ending with a duke’s sister marrying the bastard son of an earl. Can friendship grow into a love that can overcome societal barriers?

I love Ben, Jennifer, and Joy! Ben was such a fine man and brother that all the Wares relied on and yet also unknowingly treated differently. He always felt incomplete because of his lack of maternal family knowledge. Jennifer was the coddled invalid who always had a smile on her face but longed for more. Ben helped free her from her self-imposed cage and made her dream again. Joy was always just a bundle of joy. Put the three of them together and it is a wonderful story of hope and romance. There is one sex scene close to the end which is romantic and not explicit. It is great to catch up with the rest of the Ware family and all the new relatives, children, and friends from the previous books, also. This romance pulled all my emotional heartstrings and is my favorite of this series to date.

I highly recommend this uplifting and emotional Regency historical romance!

***

Excerpt

“I beg your pardon if you have found my daughter’s behavior offensive,” he said. “I have tried to explain to her that your chair is not a novelty vehicle invented to give rides to a child. But . . . Well, she is three years old and—”

She surprised him by laughing and holding up a staying hand. “Mr. Ellis,” she said. “I have two nephews and a niece in addition to Luc’s babies—my sister’s children. Each of them in turn had to have rides on my chariot when they were infants. Sometimes I had more than one of them at a time on my lap. Once, I can re- member, all three of them climbed aboard until my brother-in-law took pity on me. But I was never offended. Quite the contrary, in fact. It feels good to be a favored aunt when I cannot actually romp with the children. I have been charmed by your daughter’s requests for a ride. She is as light as a feather on my lap, you know, and sits very still. She has the prettiest curls. Please do not forbid her to ask again.”

“It is kind of you to call her demands requests,” he said. “She inherited the curls from her mother, who always hid her own in a ruthlessly tight bun.”

“That must have been a shame,” she said.

“It made practical good sense,” he told her. “She needed to keep it out of her face. The weather was often very hot in the Peninsula, and she was a washerwoman.”

There was a brief, startled silence. Or so it seemed to Ben. She was too well-bred to show it openly.

“She went to war with her first husband,” he told her. “He was a private soldier with the foot regiment in which Devlin was an of- ficer. The wives of the enlisted men had to compete in a lottery to

be permitted to go, but those who won a place were expected to make themselves useful. There was always a great need for washer- women.”

“You were her second husband, then?” she said.

“Third,” he said. “The other two died in battle. It was a common thing during the wars. Most of the women stayed with the army once they were there, and many married multiple times. Mar- jorie died when the regiment was fighting and slogging its way over the Pyrenees into France with the rest of the army. The conditions in the mountains were appalling and the weather was brutal. Win- ter was coming on. She was tough but not tough enough after she took a chill.”

Why the devil was he telling her all this? They were not the sorts of things one told a lady. He had not talked much of his years in the Peninsula even with his own family, and he was sure Devlin had not either. Or Nicholas. Was there a sort of defiance in his telling, as though he were thumbing his nose at any preconceived ideas she might have of him? As though he were telling her he was not ashamed of who he was or whom he had married? It had never occurred to him to be ashamed. It had never occurred to him either that he might be carrying a grudge against the world or some part of it. It was not a pleasant thought that perhaps he was. He ought to be making light conversation about the roses and the sunshine. How had this started anyway? With her comment on Joy’s curly hair?

“I am sorry about that,” she said. “Did she leave a family behind in England?”

“None,” he said—and his thoughts touched by natural association upon the letter in his pocket. “She never knew either of her parents or anything about them. She grew up in an orphanage in London. She married a fellow orphan when she was about sixteen.”

“I believe, Mr. Ellis,” she said, “she must have been very fortunate to meet you after being widowed for the second time. You did not put her child in an orphanage.”

He gazed at her in some shock. “She is my child too,” he said. “She is ours. She was the joy of our lives.”

“Joy,” she said, and smiled. “How lovely. You chose the name quite deliberately.”

And that was it for that topic. Unsurprisingly, he was not feeling any more comfortable with her despite the beauty of their surroundings and the normally soothing sound of the water gushing from the fountain and the heady summer scent of the roses. Perhaps the only thing to do was confront his discomfort head-on.

“Do you walk every day?” he asked her.

“I try,” she said. “I made the resolution soon after the passing of my grandparents earlier this year that I would make the effort, that I would boost my energy and spirits by doing something each day to make myself stronger and more healthy. More active. More . . . cheerful.”

She was always cheerful. It was something he had noticed about her when he met her last year—though there had been the exception of the days following the death of her grandparents this year, of course. He had noticed her cheerfulness again after her arrival here with her aunt. She almost always spoke with smiling animation. Her eyes frequently sparkled. She gave the impression of perpetual happiness. But it had occurred to him more than once that surely no one could be that cheerful all the time. She least of all. The dreadful and crippling illness she had suffered early in her life continued to affect her. She was more or less confined to a chair. She was unmarried, probably as a result of that fact. He estimated that she must be in her early to mid-twenties. He believed she spent

most of her life at a country home with only her aunt for company. She might have legions of friends in the neighborhood, of course. Lady Catherine Emmett was certainly a sociable woman and was always cheerful herself. Yet . . .

Well, he had found himself wondering if Lady Jennifer Arden’s habitual brightness of manner was something of a mask behind which the real person hid. It was none of his business, of course. Besides, did not all people wear masks to varying degrees? Were there any people who opened themselves up fully to the scrutiny of the whole wide world without keeping at least bits of themselves hidden safely away inside?

Excerpted from Always Remember by Mary Balogh Copyright © 2024 by Mary Balogh. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

***

About the Author

Mary Balogh has written more than one hundred historical novels and novellas, more than forty of which have been New York Times bestsellers. They include the Bedwyn saga, the Simply quartet, the Huxtable quintet, the seven-part Survivors’ Club series, and the Westcott series.

Social Media Links

Website: https://marybalogh.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMaryBalogh/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mary-balogh

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Fearless One by Lori Foster

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE FEARLESS ONE (Osborn Brothers Book #2) by Lori Foster on this HTP Books Romance Blog Tour.

Below you will find 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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Book Summary

He had it all planned…until she showed up.

Jedidiah Stephens came to the Colorado Rockies for one reason: to uncover the truth behind the fire that killed her family. She’s been chasing down clues, and everything has led her to an isolated campground. Her plan is to get a job there so she can investigate who comes and goes. Getting involved with her boss, Memphis Osborn, the ruggedly handsome groundskeeper, is definitely not part of the plan.

When Jedidiah arrives on the scene, Memphis just knows she’s up to something. He can see the desperation in her eyes and warily agrees to hire her. As they work side by side, Diah triggers his deepest protective instincts—and the chemistry between them ignites.

But the more Diah digs into her family’s past, the more secrets she unravels…and the more afraid she becomes. She lost everything once before. She’ll never forgive herself if now she loses Memphis, too.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/75339233-the-fearless-one?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=Zsno8wFaqU&rank=1

The Fearless One

Author: Lori Foster

ISBN: 9781335517135

Publication Date: December 26, 2023

Publisher: Canary Street Press

***

My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

THE FEARLESS ONE (Osborne Brothers Book #2) by Lori Foster is a gripping, fast paced romantic suspense featuring another Osborne brother fighting injustice. While this story can easily be read as a standalone, there are carryover characters from the first book, and I enjoyed it more by reading The Dangerous One first.

Jedidiah “Diah” Osborne and her dog, Tuff arrive at the Colorado campgrounds Memphis Osborne has purchased to rehab and use in his plans. Diah is qualified in all the trades and really needs the job, but she also has her own reasons for showing up at this particular campground. When Diah begins sneaking around, she does not realize Memphis knows her every move.

Diah and Memphis feel a powerful attraction to each other, but they are both hiding secrets. When they warily agree to work together, Memphis’ protective instincts are on full alert, but Diah begins to fear her past may come back to take Memphis from her, too.

I have enjoyed this entire fictional world of vigilante characters from The McKenzie Series and then this offshoot of books with The Osborne Brothers. Diah’s past was heartbreaking and yet she was so strong and determined through it all even when she believed she was always afraid. Memphis was an excellent hero who was protective, smart, and sexy. I loved the witty back and forth dialogue between them before and after their secrets are revealed. The sex scenes are super-hot and explicit, but not gratuitous. The suspense plot in this book has a lot of set-up and you do not find out Diah’s background until half way through which made it drag a bit for me in the first half, but the second half takes off at a fast pace to the climax.

Overall, an exciting romantic suspense with wonderful main characters.

***

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

For early April, the Colorado weather was unseasonably warm. Probably in the low sixties with enough sunshine to make it feel warmer. Jedidiah Stephens, who went by Diah for short, loosely held Tuff’s leash in the only available finger she had. Loaded down with supplies, she made her way along the rutted, occasionally muddy road leading to the budget campground.

Hard to call the miserable path an entry, though. Surely the guy who’d bought the place planned to fix it up a little before he opened in mid-May. If not, she’d see what she could do about it. At the very least, the potholes needed to be filled and everything regraveled. Otherwise, anyone pulling a camper was in for a really bumpy ride, possible damage to the undercarriage of their travel trailer, and there was a good chance they’d get stuck.

Checking the time on her phone, she saw that she was thirty minutes early. Hey, it wasn’t easy to be timely when she relied on others for her transportation. Good thing she’d found a nice woman who’d let her, her number-one guy, Tuff, and her luggage hitch a ride in the back of her pickup. Talk about getting jostled, and now she was more windblown than ever.

Not that she cared. This was the chance she needed to solve the mystery, rid herself of nagging questions and finally get on with a new, better life. Free.

Oh, how she wanted to be free.

She couldn’t change the past or stop the occasional nightmare; she understood that. But by God, she could put an end to running, and in the process forge a new future.

If she let it, excitement and even a little nervousness would take over. Ruthlessly, she tamped down those two disagreeable emotions. The owner’s brother had sent her here, so her early arrival shouldn’t be a big deal. Supposedly, she was a shoo-in for the job.

“Can’t be too much farther,” she said to Tuff, who looked up at her with a frown of concern. For real, her dog was a world-class worrier, but this time Diah had to agree with him. It was starting to feel creepy. The long road in, lined by tall aspens and pines, was plenty isolated. Other than the sounds of critters in the trees, the area was dead silent.

Don’t be such a chickenshit… You gotta toughen up… Jesus, you’re a scaredy-cat.

She’d heard those comments too many times to count. Worse than hearing them?

Knowing they were true.

To the right of her, something rustled in the underbrush—and effectively stalled her breathing. Tuff went alert, staring in that direction, then dismissed it. Almost immediately to her left, a flock of birds took flight, stripping a year off her life. Tuff sidled closer.

Automatically, she sought to reassure him, and in the process reassure herself as well because Tuff’s nervousness always became her own, and vice versa.

Putting a hand on his neck, appreciating the contact with another living creature, she gently rubbed. “Yeah, maybe I should have asked that lady to drive us right up to the campground, huh? I hadn’t figured on it being such a hike, though. His street sign should give a damn clue, right?”

Tuff looked forward and perked his ears.

“Squirrel?” she asked, because she could handle a critter. “Rabbit?” But no. She heard it now, too. Singing. And there up ahead, finally, the winding road opened to a clearing, with a small parking lot on the right and a wooden shed that served as a gatehouse and check-in station on the left. Right now the shed was empty, but it had been recently painted and looked big enough to accommodate a few people. Nearest the road was a drive-through window, so visitors wouldn’t have to get out to check in for their stay.

Thank God they’d finally reached the campgrounds. With a duffel bag hanging from one shoulder, her packed tent slung over the other, and a suitcase in her hand, her shoulders were killing her. The soft suitcase was a roller, but not on this pitted, bumpy path.

Seriously, she wished she were stronger. Wished she were braver, too.

Sometimes she wished she were someone else entirely.

As Tuff strained against the leash, he almost got away from her. Quickly readjusting her free hand, not just a few fingers, Diah said, “Quiet,” in her low command voice, and although Tuff’s furry lips rippled, he didn’t make a sound. Such a smart boy. So many times over the past two grueling years, she’d given thanks that Tuff had come into her life. He was her best friend, her protector and pretty much the only reason she ever smiled. “We’ll sort of sneak in, okay?”

A muffled, “Fft,” was Tuff’s reply. And yup, she grinned.

When she got to the check-in, Diah unloaded her belongings beside it. Looking around, she took in several small cabins that appeared newly repaired. Some trees had been trimmed, RV and tent lots were mostly cleared, but overall the grounds were a work in progress.

Straight ahead, not too far from the entry, a larger cabin—which by no means made it large—appeared to be the source of the singing. She heard, “Love me, love me, saaaay that you love me,” in a high falsetto and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, man, Tuff, do you hear that?”

“Lovefool” by The Cardigans. If she hadn’t heard it in a bar during karaoke night, she’d have no idea. The drunken chick who’d sung it then hadn’t done as good of a job as this guy. He really belted it out with gusto.

Snickering, she said to Tuff, “No time like the present,” and led him along to the cabin, around to the side and there… Ho boy.

Naked.

Using an outside shower.

Forget the warmth of the sunshine. It was freaking April in Colorado.

Thank God a concrete block half wall kept her from seeing him in all his glory, but holy moly, what he showed was enough to keep her gawking. Dude had seriously hot, muscular shoulders and flat abs… Heck, she could see the tops of his hip bones, too. It was a mighty fine display, one she hadn’t been prepared for.

Tuff sat down, maybe mesmerized. Diah’s legs were suddenly shaky enough that she wouldn’t mind sitting, too.

Lounge back and watch the show? Would’ve been nice.

Unfortunately, she was a human adult, not a dog, so she had to announce herself. She tried loudly clearing her throat, followed by a sharp “Ahem.”

Nothing.

Face turned up, he sang out another verse while rinsing shampoo from dark brown hair a few inches too long. When was the last time she’d seen anyone built like him, all firm, ropy muscles on a tall frame?

Yeah, that’d be never.

Not once in her twenty-four years had she ever encountered any guy, anywhere, who looked like this one.

Shameful to admit, but she eyeballed him a little longer before saying again, louder this time, “Ahem.”

Pausing in midverse, he cocked open one dark blue eye, framed by spiked lashes. He spotted her and at his leisure, without a hint of haste—or modesty—pushed back his wet hair and got both eyes open.

Intently watching her now, no longer singing, he…continued his shower.

What. The. Hell.

A big soapy hand went over his throat, the back of his neck, across his chest and beneath one arm.

He was so damn attractive, her heart ping-ponged around in her chest. Since he didn’t speak, she assumed she’d have to. “Hi, I’m, um…” Who was she? Oh, yeah. “Jedidiah Stephens. Appointment at three.”

Turning his back to the water, not at all put off by being caught in the buff outside, his gaze moved over her body, but quickly came back to her eyes. “I don’t have any appointments.”

She went blank for a moment before the obvious answer came to her. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry for disturbing you.” Belatedly remembering that people were usually put off by her intent stare, she turned to give him privacy. But yeah, she wasn’t comfortable with anyone at her back so she shifted again, facing to the side. If he tried to leave the shower to approach her she’d catch him in her peripheral vision, but at least her gaze wasn’t directly on him. “I’m looking for Memphis Osborn.”

“He’s busy showering.”

Confusion hit her. “You’re both showering?” How… Why…? Thoughts of mud wrestling or some other sexy activity flashed through her mind. Two sweaty guys. Muscles straining…

Sucked that she’d missed it.

A gruff, short laugh came from him and he said, “You’re not seeing the big picture. I’m Memphis, I’m showering and I don’t have any appointments.”

Chagrin brought her around so that she fully faced him again. Yup, still gloriously naked. How could she not stare? “You own this place?”

Beside her, Tuff stirred. The poor dog was as tired as she was and no doubt ready to bed down somewhere for a nap.

“Guilty. As you can see, I haven’t opened yet.”

“I know the place isn’t open.” She resisted adding “Duh.” As if explaining to a little kid, she spoke slowly. “I have an appointment about a job.”

His gaze dipped over her bare legs, making her wish she’d worn jeans instead of shorts. Yeah, if only she’d had a chance to do laundry, but it wasn’t always possible on the road. His attention lingered for a mere heartbeat before returning to her face…and roaming over her every feature as if figuring out who—or what—she was. Rude!

Because she’d ogled him, too, she couldn’t really get huffy about it… The hell she couldn’t! She was fully dressed, not prancing around outside bare-assed. “Take a picture, why doncha?”

“You wouldn’t mind?” He reached for the cell phone he’d left on the top of the half wall near a folded towel. As he lifted the phone, the music that came from it abruptly died.

The sudden quiet was jarring.

He pretended to take aim.

Belatedly, she found her voice, which erupted with irritation. “Look, I was told to be here and that you’d hire me.”

“Sight unseen?” Shaking his head to deny that, he set the phone aside, turned off the water and reached for the towel—which he only slung around his neck. “I don’t think so.”

Swear to God, she could see steam rising off those impressive shoulders. Her palms tingled at the idea of touching him, maybe coasting her fingers over the swells of muscle. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“Little bit.”

Yet, he didn’t dry off. “Is there a reason you’re showering out here instead of inside somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. Fine, she could play this game. “Wanna share?”

Amusement tugged at one corner of his very sexy mouth. “Might as well, since you’re still here.” He made a halfhearted effort at drying himself. “I’ve been living in this cabin, which is the biggest on the grounds, but still not big enough for me.”

“Seriously?” It looked great to her.

“The shower was especially small,” he explained, “so I’m extending the back end with a larger bedroom and bathroom. It’s not quite done and until it is, I have more room out here.” He eyed her again. “Used to have plenty of privacy, too, until some girl and her dog just showed up out of the blue.”

Odd that the words were disgruntled, but the tone not so much. If anything, he seemed amused. Maybe she was going about this all wrong. After adjusting her tinted glasses, she tried on a congenial smile. “This is Tuff.”

“What is?”

“My dog. His name is Tuff.”

Glancing down, he gave a short laugh at the dog’s sleepy expression. “Hey, boy. Are you really that tough?”

“T-u-f-f,” she explained. “He came with the name when I adopted him. He’s fast, smart and super protective.” She tacked on the last just in case he wasn’t as easygoing as he seemed and had any thoughts of hassling her.

Disinterested in all the human chitchat, Tuff yawned.

“He’s also tired.” Memphis searched the area. “Where’s your car? I didn’t hear you drive in.”

“I walked.”

Skeptical, he asked, “From where?”

Right. Nowhere was near so the question made sense. “We hitched a ride in the back of a woman’s truck. She dropped us off by the camp sign.”

“The camp sign that’s a little over a mile away?”

That far? Hmm. Maybe she could garner some sympathy and that’d soften him up. “Only a mile?” To add an edge of drama, she put a hand to her back. “Felt longer with me carrying all my gear and leading the dog. I think it took me a good forty minutes.”

Lacking even an ounce of pity, he grinned. “Great exercise, right?” He turned a finger in the air. “I’m stepping out now, so unless you want your feelings hurt, you might want to turn around.”

“Why would it hurt my feelings?”

He hitched one of those big shoulders. “No idea, but you’re acting all affronted that I’m out here naked, on my own property where you shouldn’t be, showering in a place that’s none of your business, so I assumed you’d object.” After spewing that mix of nonsense and censure, he waited.

Left with no choice, she gave him the truth. “Eh, since you’re a stranger and everything, I’d prefer to keep an eye on you.”

“What a weak excuse. Admit you want to see me.”

Of all the… She folded her arms and tried to glance away. Couldn’t quite do it, though. “I won’t stare.” She wouldn’t. Her stare had gotten her into trouble too many times.

Had gotten her hurt as well. A long time ago, she reminded herself, and yet it was a lesson she’d never forget.

“Suit yourself.” The towel wasn’t nearly big enough to adequately wrap around his lean hips, but he came out from behind the block wall anyway.

And strolled away.

“Hey.” Diah hustled after him. “Where are we going?”

“I’m going for clothes, and you aren’t invited.” He glanced back. “Much as you’d apparently love to watch.”

Damn it. She had to do better about staring—and usually she did. Given how good he looked, she’d cut herself a little slack for the lapse.

Ignoring his jibe, she aimed for a marginally reasonable comment. “I’ll wait out here.”

Keeping his back to her, he said, “No reason. I’m not hiring you.”

Unacceptable, so she stalled with a question. “You don’t have a shower room here for guests?”

Idly, he pointed in the direction of a concrete building farther out. “Right there, but it’s still loaded with spiders.”

Even as she shuddered, she prodded him by asking, “Squeamish about bugs?”

“Not particularly, but I’d as soon not shower with them.” He went up a few wooden steps to his front door.

Rather than keep chasing him, Diah acted like everything was on track. “Go ahead and get dressed, then I’ll explain.”

At that, he dropped his head forward and laughed.

She waited to see what he’d say, but with another shrug, he opened his door and went inside.

Damn. Now what?

Pacing away, her every step kicking up debris in the gravel walkway, Diah tried to plan. She came up blank. He had to hire her, period. In fact, thanks to Memphis’s brother and his wife, she’d already considered herself hired. They’d offered her assurances.

Could she use that to her advantage?

Twenty minutes later, he still hadn’t returned. People didn’t take that long to get dressed. It was a nice day. Underwear, shorts, a shirt…presto. He’d be done in under a minute.

So he was dodging her. Did he think she’d give up and leave? Fat chance.

She considered knocking on his door, but that wasn’t a great way to make a good impression on a job interview.

If she could turn this into an interview.

If she hadn’t just been completely dismissed.

Crap, what if he was calling the police or something?

Tuff whined, and that helped strengthen her resolve. She hadn’t come this far just to give up. True, she wasn’t the bravest person. So what? She had perseverance and initiative. “Come on, buddy. We both need a rest and Mr. Naked can just do whatever the hell he’s in there doing. I’m not budging unless I’m dragged away.”

***

Author Bio

Lori Foster is a New York Times, USA TODAY and Publishers Weekly bestselling author and a recipient of the prestigious RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in Central Ohio, where coffee helps her keep up with her cats and grandkids between writing books.

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Facebook: @Lori Foster

Twitter: @LoriLFoster

Instagram: @lorilfoster

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