#excerpt – Page 35 – Avonna Loves Genres

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: If You Must Know by Jamie Beck

Hi, everyone!

Today I am very excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for Jamie Beck’s new novel – IF YOU MUST KNOW (Potomac Point Book #1).

Below you will find an author Q&A, a book summary, 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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Author Q&A

How do you describe your newest novel If You Must Know?

This book is a “beach book” in the best sense. It’s not angsty, yet it has a page-turning plot and a bunch of interesting, relatable characters. I think it’s entertaining and heartfelt at the same time, which is exactly what many enjoy reading while on vacation.

What inspired the novel?

The external plot came to me as a result of the influence of two people in my life. My dear friend’s husband is a forensic accountant, so some of his stories about how people hide money and flee their families provided one point of inspiration. The second is my mother’s best friend who, in her seventies, sold her house and bought a boat, which she and her husband live on full-time. The impetus for the oil-and-water sisters was to provide myself an opportunity to explore the sibling-rivalry dynamic.

Tell us about the two main characters in the story—sisters Amanda and Erin.

Amanda is the middle child. She’s diligent, earnest, hard-working, and generous. She wants the people she loves to be happy and feel her love. Her weakness is a deep-seated insecurity—a sense that she is not interesting enough to be lovable. This leads her to overlook when she is being taken for granted because her need to be pleasing is omnipresent.

Erin is the baby of the family and her late-father’s pet. She is outgoing, fun-loving, and views her average intelligence as a blessing (rather than lamenting that her siblings are smarter). She is willful and has her own way of moving through the world. The big weakness she has is her impulsiveness, whether with jobs or relationships. As she approaches her 30th birthday, she’s looking to mature and create a more stable life for herself.

What kind of relationship do the sisters have?

I think they share a typical relationship insofar as their differences cause many misunderstandings and instill in each a sense of being judged by the other, and yet they do care about and love each other, too. They simply do not know how to be true friends and trust the other—at least not at the outset of this tale.

This book focused on the main female characters growing and learning about themselves. What prompted this ‘women’s fiction’ approach to the story?

Partly market forces and partly my own need to stretch. At 53, it was becoming more difficult to write a 20-something woman facing the challenges of dating. The shift to women’s fiction allows me to write late-30 and early 40-something characters, which comes more naturally to me. I also enjoy exploring family and friendship dynamics, and absolutely love having endless options for story arcs (as opposed to having to follow a traditional romance arc).

What does your new Potomac Point series have in common with your previous books?

All my books to date have focused on critical relationships and some type of redemption theme. I find damaged people to be very interesting and believe that there is good in most everyone, so I prefer to populate my stories with flawed people who must confront their inner demons in order to be happy. My new books will also focus on relationships and redemption, but the non-romantic relationships (or even the relationship with one’s self) will be more central.

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Book Summary

Sisters Amanda Foster and Erin Turner have little in common except the childhood bedroom they once shared and the certainty each feels that her way of life is best. Amanda follows the rules—at the school where she works; in her community; and as a picture-perfect daughter, wife, and mother-to-be. Erin follows her heart—in love and otherwise—living a bohemian lifestyle on a shoestring budget and honoring her late father’s memory with a passion for music and her fledgling bath-products business.

The sisters are content leading separate but happy lives in their hometown of Potomac Point until everything is upended by lies that force them to confront unsettling truths about their family, themselves, and each other. For sisters as different as these two, building trust doesn’t come easily—especially with one secret still between them—but it may be the only way to save their family.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49372065-if-you-must-know

Title: If You Must Know

Author: Jamie Beck

Release Date: June 1, 2020

Publisher: Montlake

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

IF YOU MUST KNOW (Potomac Point Book #1) by Jamie Beck is her latest contemporary Women’s fiction and the start of a new series. Ms. Beck has written an emotional and realistic story with dysfunctional family members in upheaval that I found difficult to put down.

Amanda and Erin Turner are sisters that have gone about life differently and have never felt close. They lead separate lives as adults. Amanda was the middle child and always wanted to please by being perfect and was closest with her mother. Amanda followed her plan and went to college, got married and is now expecting her first child. While Erin was the baby of the family and always felt different and was closest to her father. Erin has always led a bohemian life and while she teaches yoga and makes her own soaps and scrubs has never really worried beyond the current day.

Suddenly everything changes.

Amanda finds out her marriage is not as perfect as she believed. Amanda’s mother loaned her husband the majority of her dad’s death benefits for a business deal and he has taken off. As these secrets are being kept, Erin moves home to help with her mother’s inability to take care of herself. Erin does not know if it is because of her mother’s continued grief over losing her husband a year ago or the stress of the missing money. Suddenly all three women are together again and must deal with unsettling truths about themselves and their family.

I loved the different and difficult family relationships. The characters and emotions were to me believable because having grown up in a large family I could relate to all their character traits. Ms. Beck has written a complex and fully fleshed sister-to-sister relationship that had to evolve from childhood hurts and misunderstandings to grow and help each other in the present. Amanda and Erin’s mother’s past also played a large role in the present family dynamics.

I enjoyed this first book in the series and I will be looking forward to more.

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Excerpt

I rolled onto my side with a groan, coming face-to-face with one of my favorite family photos. We’d taken our annual family summer trip to Hilton Head—the one real splurge my dad had made sure we enjoyed every year. We had a tradition of having lunch at a little open-air cabana bar and restaurant called Coco’s on the Beach.

Between the deck and the volleyball court in the sand stood a tall pole with colorful arrow-shaped signs pointing in different directions. Each one was painted with the name of a different city somewhere on the globe, along with the mileage to get there. We’d dream about all the places we might go, and after high school I’d had the chance to see many. In this picture, our whole family is standing around that sign, smiling at the camera. My dad has his hand on my shoulder, and if you look closely, you can see Amanda holding my hand. I must’ve been only five or six—young enough that she hadn’t given up trying to be my second mother. At the time, I’d felt smothered by her attention, but looking back, I’d also felt loved.

I grabbed my phone and called my sister, but it went to voice mail. A heaviness pressed on me, but I couldn’t tell if it was from looking at that picture of our family that would never again be whole or from the fact that I’d disappointed my mom and sister today.

They loved me in their way even if they couldn’t love and accept me as I am. My dad had, though, and to honor his memory and wishes for our family, I couldn’t continue to drift out of their lives as I’d been doing.

After the beep, I said, “Hey, it’s moi. Surprise! My plans have changed and I’ve got a little time. If you get this message, let me know where you are and I’ll try to catch up.”

I hit “End,” my feet restlessly kicking the foot of my bed. The small bedroom seemed claustrophobic, but I didn’t want to talk to Max. Not that I could avoid him in here, either, where his dirty laundry, sandals, and other items lay about. Rather than take a match to it all, I decided to organize some of his things to help with his packing. Hauling myself off the bed, I then went to the armoire to get to the vintage albums my dad had left me in his will.

Some were fairly valuable, like the Beatles collection box set from 1982, valued at roughly a thousand bucks. Or the Led Zeppelin first pressing with the turquoise label, which should net around eight hundred or so dollars. U2’s Joshua Tree collection box set from 1987—maybe worth six or seven hundred. Then there were others worth less than one hundred dollars. But each one had infinite sentimental value.

Every song resurrected a specific memory of time spent with my father playing cards, washing cars, grilling hot dogs … anything. Whatever he’d wanted to do, I’d done with him, and he’d always chosen the perfect background soundtrack for every activity. Those stolen moments had also been a great way to escape my mom’s endless lectures and demands. She’d never yelled at me for skipping out on chores or being messy when I’d been spending that time with him. Probably because he wouldn’t let her.

At present, my restlessness matched the mood of a typical Bob Seger song, so I grabbed Beautiful Loser and slipped the record from its sleeve, resisting the urge to hug it as if it were my dad. I set it on the old turntable he’d also left me. As the few first drumbeats clangored, my heart kicked an extra beat or two—partly happy, partly sad. I glanced toward the bedroom door, picturing Max on the sofa, and then got to work.

It didn’t matter where life led me next. I had faith because my own personal angel was looking out for me now.

Que será, será.

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Author Bio

Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author Jamie Beck’s realistic and heartwarming stories have sold more than two million copies. She is a two-time Booksellers’ Best Award finalist and a National Readers’ Choice Award winner, and critics at Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, and Booklist have respectively called her work “smart,” “uplifting,” and “entertaining.” In addition to writing novels, she enjoys hitting the slopes in Vermont and Utah and dancing around the kitchen while cooking. Above all, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family. Fans can get exclusive excerpts, inside scoops, and be eligible for birthday gift drawings by subscribing to her newsletter at http://eepurl.com/b7k7G5. She also loves interacting with everyone on Facebook at www.facebook.com/JamieBeckBooks.

Social Media Links

Website – https://jamiebeck.com/

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/JamieBeckBooks/

Twitter – https://twitter.com/writerjamiebeck

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8020971.Jamie_Beck

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Rafflecopter Giveaway

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/07c2363f261

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Sister Dear by Hannah Mary McKinnon

Hi, everyone!

Today is my turn to share my Feature Post and Book Review on the Mira Trade Blog Tour for SISTER DEAR by Hannah Mary McKinnon.

Below you will find an author Q&A, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!

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Author Q&A

1. How did publishing your first book change your process of writing, if at all?

With each book my process has become more streamlined, but the biggest change is that, five books in, I feel more in control. That doesn’t necessarily mean it gets easier. Self-doubt always, always creeps in, particularly when I’m writing my first “skeleton draft,” which is a first, very loose version nobody will ever see. It’s rough, dirty and…terrible—my skeleton drafts always have been. However, I’ve learned to trust my writing process. If I can get the bones of the story on paper, I’ll add layers and complexity as I go over the novel again and again in preparation for my editor’s eyes. I accept the finer details will come as I work through the story. Just like most people who draw, paint, or write music or books, the first draft will never be my best work. I’m glad I’ve accepted that because it stops me from being overly self-critical when I start a project. I’m also more disciplined than in the past because I have deadlines. And I’ve always loved deadlines—especially beating them.

2. What kind of research do you do, and how long do you spend researching before beginning a book?

It depends on the novel. For Time After Time (my debut, a rom com) there were geographical considerations, and, as the novel took place from the 1980s to the 2010s, I had to ensure my references to pop culture were accurate. In The Neighbors, Her Secret Son and Sister Dear (suspense / psychological thrillers) there were similar geographical issues to consider, but I also had to research legal details. I sought the help from an advisor from child services, a lawyer, a medical examiner, and a police detective, to name but a few. I’m continually amazed how people are so incredibly generous with their time, knowledge and expertise when I call and say, “I’m an author, honest, and I have a few weird questions.” For example, fellow author Bruce Robert Coffin is a retired police detective, and he’s helped me get away with fictional murder multiple times. His input is incredible!

I don’t do a lot of research before I start writing but tend to put placeholders for areas that need fleshing out, and go back to them after I’ve finished my first draft. That way I’m not spending hours on facts that don’t make the cut, or getting sidetracked by facts which are interesting, but potentially irrelevant to the story.

3. Which thriller author inspired you to get into this genre?

Jennifer Hillier. I was waiting for my son at our local library when I spotted her debut, Creep, on a shelf. Intrigued by the cover, I picked it up, read the blurb and took it home. I devoured it in a matter of days and it was career changing.

When I was younger, I mainly read thrillers, but after a personal tragedy in my early 20s, the only thing I could stomach was light-hearted reads. Creep reminded me of my love of thrillers, and I realized the second book I was working on, The Neighbors, was far grittier than my debut. Jennifer’s book gave me that final push I needed to cross over to the dark side. Fun fact: we live in the same town and have become great friends. Jennifer is an inspiration and fiercely talented, and I have all her books. I’ll read anything she writes!

4. What’s the one element of a thriller novel that is a MUST?

Plot twists and secrets. I want to be surprised when I’m reading a thriller, although that can be said for any genre, so I guess you need to throw in a dead body or two somewhere as well.

5. Where do you get your ideas?

So far, I can pinpoint exactly how each book started. Time After Time is a story about a woman who’s unhappy with her life, which was me when we moved to Canada and my HR company crashed and burned, although the rest of the novel is fictional. The idea for The Neighbors came to me when two houses on our courtyard went up for sale, and I wondered who might move in. Her Secret Son stemmed from a news segment I saw while I was at the gym (probably wishing I were eating cake instead).

I’ll elaborate a little more for Sister Dear: I heard a radio segment about a woman who’d found a wedding ring at a playground and was trying to locate the owner through social media. It got me thinking—what if the woman found out the ring’s owner had a dream life, and felt jealous? The more I thought about it, the more twisted things became. I realized the individuals had to be related somehow, and if I made them half-sisters it would add to the drama and intrigue. It seems some of the most despicable acts are carried out within families. That was something I wanted to explore.

6. Has there ever been a moment in your life that inspired one of your thriller novels?

No, I can honestly say that, thankfully, my books aren’t true crime! I do sprinkle little details here and there my family might recognize. Superman pajamas, a stuffed toy, those kinds of things, but otherwise I don’t pull from my life.

7. What is your writing process like?

Very structured, and the more I write, the more I plan. My novels start with an idea—something that pops into my head such as the radio segment for Sister Dear, or a newspaper article or a discussion I overheard. I noodle the thoughts around for a while as the main characters take shape. The next step is to write an outline. I start by jotting down the big picture plot points, which I then use as stepping-stones to build and write the rest of the outline. I fill out personality questionnaires for my main characters to understand them better, and search for photos on the internet to build a gallery I stick on my pin-board. By this point I’m raring to go.

At first, I write a basic, largely unedited manuscript that’s about two-thirds of the final word count, then layer and develop until I’m happy calling it a first draft, and send it to my wonderful editor, Emily. That’s when the real editing work begins, which is incredibly exciting because I know the story will become a thousand times better with her expert input.

8. Do you find it easier to write character and dialogue for the opposite sex because you are the opposite sex? (A woman writing a man’s part and dialogue for example).

I love writing men and women equally, dialogue, and otherwise. My first experience of writing a male point of view character was in The Neighbors, and I adored working on Nate’s chapters. In Her Secret Son, the entire book is written from Josh’s point of view, and it was such a great challenge to do so. Sister Dear is exclusively told by my protagonist Eleanor, but next year’s book features three characters, two women and one man. The one after that will be a man’s point of view and I’m itching to get started because I can hear his very distinctive voice in my head.

To be honest, I try not to overthink whether I’m writing a man or a woman. The important thing is to give them a voice, develop their character, and make them seem as real to the reader as they are to me.

9. When you’re not working on your latest novel, what do you like to do for fun?

I love getting outdoors for a hike, I’m a huge fan of the movies (I love the trailers!), I go to the gym and participate in a few obstacle runs in the summer (I live for the mud and obstacles, I’m rubbish at the running part). We have three teenage boys, so my husband and I spend time with them as often as they’ll let us. Watching films as a family is one of my favourite things. There’s something deeply comforting about us having a laugh together and just hanging out.

10. What kind of advice would you give to aspiring thriller READERS?

Try different sub-genres, of which there are many. Perhaps you love police procedurals, or psychological thrillers may fascinate you. Maybe you don’t want something overly graphic, so cozies might be to your taste, or alternatively you could go hard-boiled noir. I think some people have the impression thrillers are all blood, guts and gore, but that’s not the case. There’s something for everyone. Take Jill Orr, author of the Riley Ellison Mystery series. Sure, people die in her books, but her novels are laugh-out-loud funny. She’s a comedic genius.

11. What advice do you have for writers?

Read as much and often as you can and listen to audio books. I wrote an article about how the latter make you a better author here. Write, even if you think it’s rubbish, because an empty page is impossible to edit. Another tip someone once suggested was to skip ahead if I couldn’t get a grasp on a chapter or scene, that I should focus on another part of the manuscript and trust myself enough to backfill later. It was revolutionary to me, and it beats the heck out of staring at a blank page or shoving my hand in the cookie jar. Also, I was advised to read my manuscript out loud. Every. Single. Word. Doing so helps avoid repetition, improves cadence, and zaps stilted dialogue. And, finally, share your work. It can be scary, but it’s the only way you’ll get feedback and improve your craft.

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Book Summary

In Hannah Mary McKinnon’s psychological thriller, SISTER DEAR (MIRA Trade; May 26, 2020; $17.99), the obsession of Single White Female meets the insidiousness of You, in a twisted fable about the ease of letting in those who wish us harm, and that mistake’s dire consequences.

The day he dies, Eleanor Hardwicke discovers her father – the only person who has ever loved her – is not her father. Instead, her biological father is a wealthy Portland businessman who wants nothing to do with her and to continue his life as if she doesn’t exist. That isn’t going to work for Eleanor.

Eleanor decides to settle the score. So, she befriends his daughter Victoria, her perfect, beautiful, carefree half-sister who has gotten all of life’s advantages while Eleanor has gotten none.

As she grows closer to Victoria, Eleanor’s obsession begins to deepen. Maybe she can have the life she wants, Victoria’s life, if only she can get close enough.

SISTER DEAR

Author: Hannah Mary McKinnon

ISBN: 9780778309550

Publication Date: May 26, 2020

Publisher: MIRA Books

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49932568-sister-dear

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

SISTER DEAR by Hannah Mary McKinnon is a new psychological thriller that starts out more like a general women’s fiction story, but it is a slow burn that builds to a definite twisted thriller ending.

Eleanor Hardwick’s parents divorced when she was young. She was the apple of her father’s eye, but her mother constantly criticized her weight and looks which leads to extreme self-esteem issues and binge eating. Her father is dying of cancer and when she goes to visit her father in hospice, she overhears her mother and father arguing. She is shocked to learn the father who loved her is not her biological father.

Eleanor’s biological father is a multi-millionaire property mogul with a beautiful wife and beautiful daughter the same age as Eleanor. When her biological father rejects her, she is determined to become a part of her half-sister’s life. Victoria is not everything she appears to be and Eleanor is drawn into wanting to befriend her as much as wanting to take what she has.

I really felt for Eleanor. I felt Ms. McKinnon did a good job of portraying a woman with extremely low self-esteem and an eating disorder. The family dynamics in this story are dysfunctional and there are few likable characters, but they are all interesting. I especially felt for Eleanor when her father died and yet even as I empathized with her, she made some poor decisions that had me wondering about her overall character arc because she was more flawed than vindictive which was not what I was expecting. The plot is dark with some unexpected twists. The pace does not pick up speed until the last half of the book, but the shocking ending was worth the wait.

I can recommend this book as a different and dark women’s fiction story with a thriller’s ending.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

The police didn’t believe me.

A jury wouldn’t have, either, if I’d gone on trial, and most definitely not the judge. My attorney had more than a few reservations about my story. Ms. Allerton hadn’t said as much. She didn’t need to. I saw it in her eyes, could tell by the way she shuffled and reshuffled her papers, as if doing so might shake my lies clean off the pages, leaving only the truth behind in her inky, royal blue swirls.

After our first meeting I’d concluded she must’ve known early on—before she shook my hand with her icy fingers—that I was a liar. Before she’d walked into the room in shiny, four-inch heels, she’d no doubt decided she’d heard my excuses, or a variation thereof, from countless clients already. I was yet another person claiming to be innocent. Another criminal who’d remained adamant they’d done nothing wrong, it wasn’t their fault, honest, despite the overwhelming amount of evidence to the contrary, a wall of impending doom surrounding me.

And still, at the time I’d believed the only reason Ms. Allerton had taken on my case pro-bono was because of the amount of publicity it gave her firm. Reducing my sentence—for there would be one—would amplify her legacy as a hot-shot lawyer. I’d accepted her help. There was no other option. I needed her knowledge, her expertise, saw her as my final hope. I now know her motivations were something else I’d miscalculated. All hope extinguished. Game over.

If I’m being fair, the judgements Ms. Allerton and other people had made about me weren’t completely wrong. I had told lies, some, anyway. While that stripped away part of my claim to innocence, it didn’t mean I was entirely guilty. Not of the things everybody said I’d done. Things I’d had no choice but to confess to, despite that being my biggest lie of all.

But I’ll tell you the truth. The whole truth and nothing but. I’ll start at the beginning, and share everything that happened. Every last detail leading up to one fateful night. The night someone died because of me. The night I lost you, too.

I won’t expect your forgiveness. Our relationship—or lack thereof—will have gone way beyond that point. No. All I can hope for, is that my side of the story will one day help you understand why I did the things I did.

And why I have to do the things I’ve not yet done.

Published by MIRA Books

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Author Bio

Hannah Mary McKinnon was born in the UK, grew up in Switzerland and moved to Canada in 2010. After a successful career in recruitment, she quit the corporate world in favor of writing, and is now the author of The Neighbors and Her Secret Son. She lives in Oakville, Ontario, with her husband and three sons, and is delighted by her twenty-second commute.

Social Links

Author Website

Twitter: @HannahMMcKinnon

Instagram: @hannahmarymckinnon

Facebook: @HannahMaryMcKinnon

Buy Links

Feature Post and Book Review: Midnight Abduction by Nichole Severn

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for Nichole Severn’s new Harlequin Intrigue – MIDNIGHT ABDUCTION (Tactical Crime Division Book #3).

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section with book purchase links. Enjoy!

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Book Description

Welcome to the Tactical Crime Division, a rapid-deployment joint team of FBI agents specializing in hostage negotiation, missing persons, IT, profiling, shootings and terrorism, with Director Jill Pembrook at the head.

For the Tactical Crime Division, no case is left cold.

When Benning Reeves’s twins are kidnapped, the frantic father knows who can help: the Tactical Crime Division and Ana Ramirez. Even though Ana once shattered Benning’s heart, the special agent is the only one he can trust. But Ana is still tormented by the unresolved case that brought them together years before—a case somehow entangled with Benning’s children. It’s up to the TCD and Ana to discover why…before it’s too late.

Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48829282-midnight-abduction

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

MIDNIGHT ABDUCTION (Tactical Crime Division Book #3) by Nichole Severn is the third book in the Harlequin Intrigue multi-author series featuring members of the FBIs Tactical Crime Division. This is a specialized unit of the FBI formed to handle the toughest cases at a moment’s notice anywhere in the country.

Benning Reeves is a structural inspector who discovers a skull hidden behind drywall on his current inspection site. He hides it at his home, which leads to the kidnapping of his six-year-old twins. His daughter escapes from the vehicle, but his son is now a bargaining chip in exchange for the skull.

Ava Rameriez is told by her supervisor that she has been specifically requested by Benning to work the case to find and save his son. Seven years ago, the two parted when the case she was working ended tragically. She blamed herself and vowed to never become emotionally involved again, but she cannot turn down Benning’s request.

Ava and Benning find it difficult to fight the feelings that have been dormant during their seven year separation, but they are working against the clock to save Benning’s son and discover why the skull is so important to the mysterious kidnapper.

I loved both Ava and Benning’s backstories and how the author brought their feelings for each other out again during this case and the resolution. Olivia was adorable with her love of mysteries and crime solving. There is only peripheral involvement with other members of the TCD team, so while it is still tied into the series, it is easily read as a standalone. The sex scenes are not described even as you follow them into the shower and bedroom. Though the sex is behind closed doors, the violence is not. There are several scenes of Ava and Benning being stabbed, shot and beaten to a pulp.

The plot was very fast-paced, but because of all the physical damage taken by the H/h and they just kept going, the realism and believability become strained. It was like I was reading about an action hero and not a romantic suspense. The resolution to the kidnapping and mystery also felt rushed with a character that surprised me, but who also popped up out of the blue.

I did love the H/h and the crime story and can recommend it for a fast-paced suspense addition to this series.

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Excerpt

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Ana Sofia Ramirez—She’s out for redemption. Recruited by the Tactical Crime Division’s director from the Bureau’s missing-persons’ division after her last case ended with a dead victim, she’s more determined than ever to recover Benning Reeves’s son.

Benning Reeves—Single father and small-town building inspector who’s come across evidence of a murder hidden on one of his construction sites; the cost of discovery has led to the kidnapping of his six-year-old twins.

Olivia and Owen Reeves—Benning’s six-year-old twins.

Evan Duran—Tactical Crime Division’s hostage negotiator, who’s fully invested in recovering Benning Reeves’s son due to his own dark past of losing his sister as a child.

JC Cantrell—Tactical Crime Division’s tactical-operations specialist, who’s good at planting bugs, leading surveillance ops or coming up with a ruse to distract someone.

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“Well, maybe I can give her a tour of TCD head-quarters in Knoxville one day. You know, give her a chance to see what federal agents really do on the job.”Ana stilled, the weight of her attention pressurizing the air in his chest, but he didn’t miss the assumption there would be a one day for them. That she wouldn’t disappear from their lives after Owen came home, and his blood pressure spiked. She cleared her throat as though she’d caught herself making promises she might not be able to keep. Just as she had with Samantha Perry’s family. “You must be proud. She’s going to make a hell of an agent one day.”

“That’s her plan, and probably why she opened up to you the way she did. I can tell she admires you, what you do.”Benning straightened, echoes of their earlier conversation replaying in his head on a nonstop loop. He tossed the paper towel he’d used to clean his foot in the trash beside the island. “So do I, to be honest. The work you and your team do saves lives. I know I already said thank you, but I meant it.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to thank me.” She dropped that mesmerizing gaze to the counter, sweeping the spread of flour into the sink set into the island with one hand and swiped beneath her nose with the other. Toughing her face had always been a nervous habit. “All part of the job.”

“Is that what this is for you, Ana? Just another job? Because this case is definitely a lot more personal to me.” Benning maneuvered around the counter, his bare chest nearly pressed against the exposed skin of her arm. He set his hand over hers on the granite, her quick gasp searing through him. Her warmth penetrated past skin and muscle, deep into his bones. “After what you told me about the Samantha Perry case, I realize now how hard it must’ve been for you to come back here, and you’re standing there as if none of it affects you. But is that how you really feel?”

He wanted—no, needed—to know. Was this going to play out exactly as it had between them the last time? Had he made a mistake requesting her to work this case?

Her mouth parted. “I…”

Skimming his fingers along the back of her hand, he trailed a path up her arm to her jaw, and all of his thoughts burned away. There was only the two of them. The softness of her flawless skin and hardness in her invisible guard. After everything that’d happened, after everything they’d already been through in the short span of time she’d walked back into his life, he’d struggled to keep the uncertainty, the rage, the fear, at bay so he could stay strong for Olivia. To prove that he could protect her from any threat, be the father she and her brother deserved. But Ana…stripped him of all of that. With her, Benning felt raw, exposed, bare. She was real. She was here. Not a memory—a fantasy—anymore, and it took every-thing inside him to pull himself away from her. “You had some cookie dough on your chin.”

She’d left because she believed her emotions clouded her judgment on the Samantha Perry case, and he wasn’t about to complicate anything else be- tween them. Not when it was his son’s life at risk this time. Ana turned her gaze up to his, a small tremor crossing her shoulders, and an invisible anchor set-tled inside his chest in the dark, watery landscape of this case. No matter what happened, Ana would bring his son home alive. He had to believe that. He had to believe in her. Otherwise, he’d have nothing left. “Thanks.”

A soft trill broke the silence spreading between them, but she didn’t move.

“I think your phone is ringing.” He cleared his throat, trying to drown the surge of awareness burning through him, and stepped away. It was for the best. Because anything that happened between them would only take away from their focus on finding his son, and that wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

***

About Nichole Severn

Nichole Severn writes romantic suspense with strong heroines, heroes who dare challenge them, and a hell of a lot of guns. When she’s not writing, she’s injuring herself running and practicing yoga.

Purchase links

Harlequin.com: https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335136527_midnight-abduction.html

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Pinebox Vendetta by Jeff Bond

Hi, everyone!

Today is my turn on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour for the first book in this new suspense/thriller saga – THE PINEBOX VENDETTA (Pruitt-Gallagher Saga Book #1) by Jeff Bond. This is a political “Hatfield vs. McCoy” thriller with hidden agendas, dirty tricks and memorable but not so nice characters.

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

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Book Description

From the author of The Winner Maker and Blackquest 40 comes The Pinebox Vendetta: a genre-bending thriller that combines a love story, cold-case murder mystery, and political blood feud – told over the course of a single breathless weekend.

The Gallaghers and Pruitts have dominated the American political landscape dating back to Revolutionary times. The Yale University class of 1996 had one of each, and as the twenty-year reunion approaches, the families are on a collision course.

Owen Gallagher is coasting to the Democratic nomination for president.

Rock Pruitt – the brash maverick whose career was derailed two decades ago by his association to a tragic death – is back, ready to reclaim the mantle of clan leader.

And fatefully in between lies Samantha Lessing. Sam arrives at reunion weekend lugging a rotten marriage, dumb hope, and a portable audio recorder she’ll use for a public radio-style documentary on the Pruitt-Gallagher rivalry – widely known as the pinebox vendetta. What Sam uncovers will thrust her into the middle of the ancient feud, upending presidential politics and changing the trajectory of one clan forever.

The Pinebox Vendetta is the first entry in the Pruitt-Gallagher saga: a series that promises cutthroat plots, power grabs, and unforgettable characters stretched to their very limits by the same ideological forces that roil America today.

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Jeff Bond Books
Publication Date: February 19th 2020
Number of Pages: 264
ISBN: 1732255253 (ISBN13: 9781732255258)
Series: Pruitt-Gallagher Saga, #1
Purchase Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

THE PINEBOX VENDETTA (Pruitt-Gallagher Saga Book #1) by Jeff Bond is the start of a new thriller series. This is a political “Hatfield vs. McCoy” thriller with hidden agendas, dirty tricks and memorable but not so nice characters.

The Pruitts and Gallaghers have battled for political dominance since the Revolutionary War.

Rock Pruitt left Yale under suspicion of murdering his roommate and even as his powerful family helped him then, they never publicly backed him in his future to claim political power.

Jamie Gallagher was an idealist who left Yale and joined the Peace Corp in Africa. Everyone believes he died assassinating an evil warlord.

Yale University class of 1996 is gathered for the weekend for their twenty-year class reunion. Samantha Lessing is attending with her teenage daughter. She wants her to love Yale as much as she did when she attended. Sam has come with an agenda though besides seeing old friends. She wants to interview her classmates about the Pruitt-Gallagher rivalry, also known as the pinebox vendetta to use as a radio-style documentary for her work.

This reunion weekend once again brings all the families together. Secrets will be uncovered, plots revealed and the vendetta continues on.

At the beginning I was not sure where this story was going. It has a time and scene jumping start that had me confused at first, but once the reunion starts and the characters get sorted, the plot started to intrigue me and then I could not put it down. The author’s writing style is lean and the plot moves quickly. I was not very happy when the book ended, but I did feel the author did not cheat and leave a cliffhanger because he did reveal the solution of the mystery from twenty-years-ago before the ending.

Samantha started out so beaten down and stagnant in her life and marriage, but in just this weekend she takes control of her life and I loved her life decisions at the end. All of the Pruitts and Gallaghers are twisted, corrupt, manipulative and just plain unlikable, but they were also memorable and sadly realistic.

This is a unique thriller and even though I did not like the main characters, I do want to continue reading more of this saga to find out what else Mr. Bond has planned for them.

***

Excerpt

The meeting was to take place twenty minutes after sunrise. Jamie woke, having finally fallen asleep around four a.m., to the Somalis chatting in their native tongue over pieces of flatbread. He dragged himself aboveboard, feeling at once languid and jittery.

“Bread?” Abdi offered, tearing a piece from a slab.

“Thanks, no.” Jamie reached into his rucksack instead for a piece of biltong, the wildebeest jerky he’d grown fond of. “Has the general been about?”

“Yes, Josef saw him. The hat.” Abdi made a sifting gesture above his head to indicate the general’s beret.

The day was already scorching, the sky’s blue brilliance broken only by the boiling disk of the sun. The general’s yacht rocked softly in the west, appearing quite large now, its bow sleek and spear-like.

“They’re within gun range,” Jamie observed.

“Oh yes. We are in their scopes.”

As if to prove the point, Abdi raised a hand in the yacht’s direction and laughed. Nobody joined him.

The pirate named Josef, taller and broader in the chest than Abdi, loaded the ten-million-dollar briefcase into the first of three skiffs. Jamie stepped in after, fitting his rucksack into the hull—careful of the Akpeteshie inside—and tying back his hair.

Abdi took a minute instructing the two men staying back on the mothership. Was he arranging a distress signal? Telling them what to do if shots were fired?

Coordinating a double-cross?

There was no use worrying. Jamie had placed himself between dangerous people, but dangerous people performed the same calculations benign ones did. The pirates would keep up their end so long as the benefits remained clear: not only cash, but stronger ties with the general and the establishment of a new back-channel to the powerful Gallaghers.

The skiff loaded, Adbi yanked the outboard motor’s cord. The engine sputtered alive and settled to a rumbling purr. Josef untied them, flashing a grim thumbs-up to the men staying behind.

They charted a course for the general’s yacht. The sea felt choppier on the smaller craft, which didn’t bother Jamie—a lifelong boater and varsity swimmer in college—but did compel him to pull the rucksack protectively into his lap. If the Akpeteshie somehow ruptured against the hull, the mission would be lost.

As they neared the general’s yacht, the faces of his guards became visible—wary, textured faces. The carry-straps of AK-47s sawed their necks.

Abdi cut the motor and drifted in.

A section of railing was unclipped, and a ramp extended from the yacht’s stern. After helping Josef tie up, Jamie slipped the rucksack onto his back and boarded. The Somalis trailed him with the briefcase.

“Halkan, ku siin!” said one of the general’s men.

Abdi shook his head forcefully at the request—to hand over the briefcase. The guards backpedaled, their formation hemming Jamie and the pirates into a corner of the aft deck. Abdi and Josef walked with their bodies shielding the case as if it contained plutonium.

With these uneasy field positions established, the general’s men conferred briefly and parted to form an aisle to the pilothouse. General Mahad emerged.

The general wore his full dress uniform: navy blue, epaulets, ribboned medals. He lumbered forward with a mild limp, said to have originated during the Simba rebellion of 1964.

He raised his chin to Abdi, then spoke to Jamie. “Welcome to the one and true seat of Puntland, Mr. Gallagher.”

Jamie felt the man’s deep, scarred voice in his bowels. “That’s none of my concern. I’m here for Renée.”

The general smiled, his lips fat and sly. “How fortunate she is. You are the white knight, eh? Sir Jamie?”

The characterization stung, but Jamie pushed on. “I’ve been in touch with Humanitarian Dialogue—their helicopter is ready. Give me a latitude and longitude for the exchange and let’s get this over.”

“Your friends have the money?”

Every eye on the yacht turned to Abdi, whose knuckles tightened on the briefcase handle.

“Ten million,” Jamie said. “Count it if you like.”

The general crooked a finger at one of his men, who disappeared to the pilothouse. The man returned with a machine resembling a fax with bill-sized trays.

Abdi stepped forward with the briefcase. The man with the counting machine passed a handheld X-ray scanner around the case and swabbed a cloth along each edge.

He started for the pilothouse with the cloth, likely to perform a residue test for explosives, but the general stopped him. Then gestured for Abdi to go ahead.

When Abdi undid the clasp, the lip snapped open—ten million was a squeeze, even with an oversize case—and a few packets spilled out.

The counting began.

Now Jamie reached into his rucksack for the Akpeteshie.

“I’ve heard tell around campfires,” he began, gathering himself, “that you enjoy a certain Ghanaian beverage.”

The general grinned when he saw the bottle, squat, the neck’s glass bowed in the distinctive shape of a baobab tree.

“This is true.”

“Shall we drink together?” Jamie said. “It’s early, but I find a day started well nearly always ends well.”

The general palmed his jaw. There was a risk he would set the gift aside, but Jamie was counting on this subtle challenge to his manhood—in front of his crew, in front of Abdi and Josef. People like the general didn’t back down from such dares.

Jamie thought of his old classmate Rock Pruitt who’d downed a fifth of whiskey disproving a frat brother’s claim that prep-schoolers only drank martinis and smoked reefer.

“I would quite enjoy that,” the general said. “After the bottle is checked.”

Jamie raised a shoulder, feigning indifference as two men seized the Akpeteshie and held it sideways up to the sun, testing its feel in their hands, poking fingernails along the dripped-wax seal.

They would find nothing. Jamie’s sister Charlotte Gallagher, founder of internet-of-things giant SmartWidget and the eighteenth-richest person in the world, owned 45 percent of the local distillery that produced Akpeteshie. She had allowed Jamie to follow this lone bottle through the factory. At the final step, just before corking, he’d poured out 150 milliliters of liquor and replaced it with an equal amount of king cobra venom.

For fifteen months, Jamie had been inoculating himself with increasingly larger doses of the venom. He had started, after discussing the strategy at length with a Sudanese shaman, with a pinprick diluted in a pint of water. Last week, he had managed eight milliliters of venom—the amount a shot from the spiked Akpeteshie would deliver, depending on the pour—and suffered only dizziness, blurred vision, and severe cottonmouth.

When his men were satisfied the bottle was unaltered, the general took a pair of tumblers from the yacht’s fiberglass sideboard.

Tumblers, not shot glasses. Eight ounces at least.

“To finding a middle, eh?” The general poured each tumbler to the brim. “Two parties can start from opposite ends and, with good sense, find a common understanding.”

Jamie’s teeth pulverized each other in the back of his mouth. He’d always found the rhetoric of compromise disingenuous, whether it came from television pundits or the North Carolina Gallaghers exhorting the clan to give ground at the fringes of the abortion debate.

To hear it from the mouth of a man like Mahad? Revolting.

“To the middle,” he spat.

He raised the tumbler to his lips. Calculations whipped around his brain. Eight ounces divided by one point five…

Equaled six times the amount of venom his body had previously endured.

The liquid was amber, almost orange. As the glass tilted, Jamie imagined he saw currents of venom slithering among the palm wine. His fingers trembled. Some sloshed over the side, but not nearly enough.

In his periphery, Jamie became aware of Abdi and Josef arguing with the general’s men. Abdi slapped one empty well of the briefcase. The general’s men shouted. More rushed to the deck from below board.

The general balked at Jamie’s tone. “You do not like my toast. That is your right. You are the guest, so make your own.” He smirked about. “We are democratic here, aren’t we?”

Jamie ignored the low hoots. “To justice.” He regripped his tumbler. “To justice, and fair treatment for all living things.”

The general guffawed, big and toothy. “For ten million, yes. Why in hell not?”

Their eyes locked over the tumblers’ rims. Jamie perceived something in the man’s look, some hustler’s instinct, and knew if he faltered now—even for a moment—the trap would be blown.

Jamie stared into the lethal brew, waited for bright madness to rise, and drank. The Akpeteshie burned his throat. His jaw felt weak and daggers pressed into his eardrums from inside. Still, he kept his head tipped back and drank it all.

The general and several of his men goggled at the feat. When their eyes turned to him, the war criminal downed his, too.

“…no, the release!” Jamie heard behind him. “No money before release!”

“We will keep it.”

“No, us! We will hold the money.”

A guard wearing ripped denim leveled his rifle at Abdi. Josef stepped forward to push aside the muzzle. Another guard drove the butt of his rifle into Josef’s back, crumpling the pirate.

Jamie didn’t know how long he and the general had. During his inoculation, the symptoms would begin in about a minute, but he’d never ingested this large a dose.

His heartrate zoomed and breath pumped through his chest like air from a bellows—still, this could be the effects of anticipation.

“So, um…the release,” he said, feeling a vague duty toward Abdi. “If you…so I’ll call HD and be sure Renée, er…s’all okay with the money…”

Words were deserting him. The scuffle on deck was intensifying. Josef had recovered to pounce on the man in denim. Abdi was buried in a furious tangle of fists and churning hips.

Jamie didn’t understand the fight. Let them have the money—who cared?

He began to feel disconnected from his body, Abdi and Josef blending into other people he’d known in life, Gallaghers and Pruitts, senators and reporters, grad students and business titans, all fighting without reason, finding joy and enemies, grinding their life into the larger sausage.

The general unleashed a thunderous whistle and raised his hand for calm. The struggle paused. Every eye turned his way. He began to lower his hand but suddenly couldn’t.

His arm convulsed and became some bucking stick-animal beyond his control. His fingers twitched unnaturally. He grasped his throat, staggering back. Froth bubbled in his nostrils.

The man who’d retrieved the money scale from the pilothouse pointed at Jamie.

“What is this?”

Jamie tried answering, but his tongue would not obey, dead and heavy in his mouth. Pain gored his brain. Sweat screamed from his pores, a thousand beads altogether.

This wasn’t the outcome Jamie had wanted, but neither was it wholly unexpected. He thought now of life’s best moments. In Burundi, feeling that boy’s skeletal hand squeeze as he sucked a tab of enriched peanut butter. On the vineyard, fourteen years old, swinging his cousins round and round in celebration after his mother—the senior senator from Connecticut and Democratic National Committee chairperson—had succeeded in her long-shot campaign to retake majority control of the Senate.

Above all, though, he remembered kissing Sam. Seniors on their last night at Yale, about to go conquer the world, standing together in an entryway. Emotions spiked to the heavens. Their mouths came together in the gentlest, deepest touch he’d known before or since.

Samantha Lessing. God, she was it. The life he missed.

Half the general’s men were swarming the Somali pirates while the other half moved on Jamie. There was a gap between the two, but it was closing.

Jamie willed his tongue back into service.

“This was right,” he croaked. “Here, today. This was not a waste.”

And he believed this—dashing across the deck through grasping hands, over the gunwale, into the black ocean.

***

About the Author

Jeff Bond is an American author of popular fiction. He lives in Michigan with his wife and two daughters, and belongs to the International Thriller Writers association.

Social Media Links

JeffBondBooks.com
BookBub
Goodreads
Instagram
Twitter
Facebook

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Heirloom Garden by Viola Shipman

Hi, everyone!

Today I am excited to once again be featuring a book on the Harlequin Trade Publishing Spring 2020 Blog Tour. I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for Viola Shipman’s new book – THE HEIRLOOM GARDEN.

Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book and the author’s bio and social media links. This will definitely be one of my favorite books this year. Enjoy!

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Book Summary

In this heartwarming and feel-good novel filled with echoes of Dorothea Benton Frank, Debbie Macomber and Elizabeth Berg, two women separated by a generation but equally scarred by war find hope, meaning – and each other – through a garden of heirloom flowers.

Iris Maynard lost her husband in World War II, her daughter to loneliness and, finally, her reason to live. Walled off from the world for decades behind a towering fence surrounding her home and gardens, the former botanist has built a new family…of flowers. Iris propagates her own daylilies and roses while tending to an heirloom garden filled with starts – and memories – of her own mother, grandmother, husband and daughter.

When Abby Peterson moves to Grand Haven, Michigan, with her family – a husband traumatized during his service in the Iraq War and a young daughter searching for stability – they find themselves next door to Iris, and are slowly drawn into her reclusive neighbour’s life where, united by loss and a love of flowers, Iris and Abby slowly unearth their secrets to each other. Eventually, the two teach one another that the earth grounds us all, gardens are a grand healer, and as flowers bloom so do our hopes and dreams.

THE HEIRLOOM GARDEN

Author: Viola Shipman

ISBN: 9781525804618

Publication Date: April 28, 2020

Publisher: Graydon House

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14056193.Viola_Shipman

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My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

THE HEIRLOOM GARDEN: A NOVEL by Viola Shipman is a Women’s fiction novel that is one of the most beautifully written and emotional books that I have had the pleasure to read. This book and characters will be in my mind for a long time to come and it will definitely be one of my favorites this year!

Iris Maynard lives for her beautiful heirloom garden hidden behind a towering fence that keeps everyone out. Having lost her husband in WWII and her daughter to illness, Iris continues on with her heirloom flowers who have always been there for her. She is a talented botanist who shared her gift with the world, until that world turned on her.

Abby Peterson finds the perfect home to rent to be close to her new job. She is hoping this fresh start will be the change her struggling family needs. Traumatized by his service in Iraq, Abby’s husband, Cory is not the man she married and her small daughter is paying the price. She is curious about the high fence separating her property from the house next door and her reclusive landlady.

Iris is drawn to the family next door. Lily, Abby’s daughter is intrigued by the beautiful flowers next door behind the fence and begins to pull Iris into their lives. Iris and Abby realize how much they have in common and slowly each reveals their secrets as they work together in the garden. Iris and Abby both have a lot of life yet to live.

This book follows the growing season in Iris’ garden as the timeline of the story. I have to admit that I have a black thumb and could kill a silk plant in my home and yet this book with all its flower and garden facts and allegories pulled me in and I could not put it down. I had watery eyes more times than I care to admit and the tissue box was by my side and yet it is more about the power of family, love and resilience even through the sadness and tragedy than just being a sad book. The author brings not only the characters to vivid life, but also all the beautiful heirloom flowers.

I HIGHLY recommend this beautiful book! I have already downloaded more books by this author and will be looking for every single one in the future.

***

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

Iris

LATE SUMMER 1944

We are an army, too.

I stop, lean against my hoe and watch the other women working the earth. We are all dressed in the same outfits—overalls and sunhats—all in uniforms just like our husbands and sons overseas.

Fighting for the same cause, just in different ways.

A soft summer breeze wafts down Lake Avenue in Grand Haven, Michigan, gently rustling rows of tomatoes, carrots, lettuce, beets and peas. I analyze my tiny plot of earth at the end of my boots in our neighborhood’s little Victory Garden, admiring the simple beauty of the red arteries running through the Swiss chard’s bright green leaves and the kale-like leaves sprouting from the bulbs of kohlrabi. I smile with satisfaction at their bounty and my own ingenuity. I had suggested our little Victory Garden utilize these vegetables, since they are easy-to-grow staples.

“Easier to grow without weeds.”

I look up, and Betty Wiggins is standing before me.

If you put a gray wig on Winston Churchill, I think, you’d have Betty Wiggins, the self-appointed commander of our Victory Garden.

“Just thinking,” I say.

“You can do that at home,” she says with a frown.

I pick up my hoe and dig at a weed. “Yes, Betty.”

She stares at me, before eyeing the front of my overalls. “Nice rose,” Betty says, her frown drooping even farther. “Do we think we’re Vivien Leigh today?”

“No, ma’am,” I say. “Just wanted to lift my spirits.”

“Lift them at home,” she says, a glower on her face. Her eyes stop on the hyacinth brooch I have pinned on my overalls and then move ever so slowly to the Bakelite daisy earrings on my earlobes.

I look at Betty, hoping she might understand I need to be enveloped by things that make me feel safe, happy and warm, but she walks away with a “Hrumph!”

I hear stifled laughter. I look over to see my friend Shirley mimicking Betty’s ample behind and lumbering gait. The women around her titter.

“Do we think we’re Vivien Leigh today?” Shirley mimics in Betty’s baritone. “She wishes.”

“Stop it,” I say.

“It’s true, Iris,” Shirley continues in a Shakespearian whisper. “The back ends of the horses in Gone with the Wind are prettier than Betty.”

“She’s right,” I say. “I’m not paying enough attention today.”

I suddenly grab the rose I had plucked from my garden this morning and tucked into the front pocket of my overalls, and I toss it into the air. Shirley leaps, stomping a tomato plant in front of her, and grabs the rose midair.

“Stop it,” she says. “Don’t you listen to her.”

She sniffs the rose before tucking the peach-colored petals into my pocket again.

“Nice catch,” I say.

“Remember?” Shirley asks with a wink.

The sunlight glints through leaves and limbs of the thick oaks and pretty sugar maples that line the small plot that once served as our cottage association’s baseball diamond in our beachfront park. I am standing roughly where third base used to be, the place I first locked eyes with my husband, Jonathan. He had caught a towering pop fly right in front of the makeshift bleachers and tossed it to me after making the catch.

“Wasn’t the sunlight that blinded me,” he had said with a wink. “It was your beauty.”

I thought he was full of beans, but Shirley gave him my number. I was home from college at Michigan State for the summer, he was still in high school, and the last thing I needed was a boyfriend, much less one younger than I was. But I can still remember his face in the sunlight, his perfect skin and a light fuzz on his cheeks that were the color of a summer peach.

In the light, soft white floaties dance in the air like miniature clouds. I follow their flight. My daughter, Mary, is holding a handful of dandelions and blowing their seeds into the air.

For one brief moment, my mind is as clear as the sky. There is no war, only summer, and a little girl playing.

“You know more about plants than anybody here,” Shirley continues, knocking me from my thoughts. “You should be in charge here, not Betty. You’re the one that had us grow all these strange plants.”

“Flowers,” I say. “Not plants. My specialty is really flowers.”

“Oh, don’t be such a fuddy-duddy, Iris,” Shirley says. “You’re the only woman I know who went to college. You should be using that flower degree.”

“It’s botany. Actually, plant biology with a specialty in botanical gardens and nurseries,” I say. I stop, feeling guilty. “I need to be at home,” I say, changing course. “I need to be here.”

Shirley stops hoeing and looks at me, her eyes blazing. She

glances around to ensure the coast is clear and then whispers, “Snap your cap, Iris. I know you think that’s what you should be saying and doing, but we all know better.” She stares at me for a long time. “The war will be over soon. These war gardens will go away, too. What are you going to do with the rest of your life? Use your brain. That’s why God gave it to you.” She grins. “I mean, your own garden looks like a lab experiment.” She stops and laughs. “You’re not only wearing one of your own flowers, you’re even named after one! It’s in your genes.”

I smile. Shirley is right. I have been obsessed with flowers for as long as I can remember. My Grandma Myrtle was a gifted gardener as was my mom, Violet. I had wanted to name my own daughter after a flower to keep that legacy, but that seemed downright crazy to most folks. We lived next door to Grandma in cottages with adjoining gardens for years, houses my grandfather and father worked themselves to an early grave to pay off, and now they were all gone, and I rented my grandma’s house to a family whose son was in the coast guard.

But my garden was now filled with their legacy. Nearly every perennial I possessed originally began in my mom and grandma’s gardens. My grandma taught me to garden on her little piece of heaven in Highland Park overlooking Lake Michigan. And much of my childhood was spent with my mom and grandma in their cottage gardens, the daylilies and bee balm towering over my head. When it got too hot, I would lie on the cool ground in the middle of my grandma’s woodland hydrangeas, my back pressed against her old black mutt, Midnight, and we’d listen to the bees and hummingbirds buzzing overhead. My grandma would grab my leg when I was fast asleep and pretend that I was a weed she was plucking. “That’s why you have to weed,” she’d say with a laugh, tugging on my ankle as I giggled. “They’ll pop up anywhere.”

My mom and I would walk her gardens, and she’d always say the same thing as she watered and weeded, deadheaded and cut

flowers for arrangements. “The world is filled with too much ugliness—death, war, poverty, people just being plain mean to one another. But these flowers remind us there’s beauty all around us, if we just slow down to nurture and appreciate it.”

Grandma Myrtle would take her pruners and point around her gardens. “Just look around, Iris. The daisies remind you to be happy. The hydrangeas inspire us to be colorful. The lilacs urge us to breathe deeply. The pansies reflect our own images back at us. The hollyhocks show us how to stand tall in this world. And the roses—oh, the roses!—they prove that beauty is always present even amongst the thorns.”

The perfumed scent of the rose in my pocket lingers in front of my nose, and I pluck it free and raise it to my eyes.

My beautiful Jonathan rose.

I’d been unable to sleep the past few years or so, and—to keep my mind occupied—I’d been hybridizing roses and daylilies, cross-pollinating different varieties, experimenting to get new colors or lusher foliage. I had read about a peace rose that was to be introduced in America—a rose to celebrate the Nazis leaving France, which was just occurring—and I sought to re-create my own version to celebrate my husband’s return home. It was a beautiful mix of white, pink, yellow and red roses, which had resulted in a perfect peach.

I remember Jon again, as a young man, before war, and I try to refocus my mind on the little patch of Victory Garden before me, willing myself not to cry. My mind wanders yet again to my own.

My home garden is marked by stakes of my experiments, flags denoting what flowers I have mixed with others. And Shirley says my dining room looks like the hosiery aisle at Woolworths. Since the war, no one throws anything away, so I use my old nylons to capture my flowers’ seeds. I tie them around my daylily stalks and after they bloom, I break off the stem, capture and count the seeds, which I plant in my little greenhouse. I track how many grow. If I’m pleased with a result, I continue. If I’m not, I give them away to my neighbors.

I fill my Big Chief tablets like a banker fills his ledger:

1943-Yellow Crosses

Little Bo Beep = June Bug x Beautiful Morning

(12 seeds/5 planted)

Purple Plum = Magnifique x Moon over Zanadu

(8 seeds/4 planted)

I shut my eyes and can see my daylilies and roses in bloom. Shirley once asked me how I had the patience to wait three years to see how many of my lilies actually bloomed. I looked at her and said, “Hope.”

And it’s true: we have no idea how things are going to turn out. All we can do is hope that something beautiful will spring to life at any time.

I open my eyes and look at Shirley. She is right about the war. She is right about my life. But that life seems like a world away, just like my husband.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

Mary races up, holding her handful of dandelions with white tops.

“What do you have?” I ask.

“Just a bunch of weeds.”

I stop, lean against my hoe and look at my daughter. In the summer sunlight, her eyes are the same violet color as Elizabeth Taylor’s in National Velvet.

“Those aren’t weeds,” I say.

“Yes, they are!” Mary says. She puts her hands on her hips. With her father gone, she has become a different person. She is openly defiant and much too independent for a girl of six. “Teacher said so.”

I lean down until I’m in front of her face. “Technically, yes,

but we can’t just label something that easily.” I take a dandelion from her hand. “What color are these when they bloom?”

“Yellow,” she says.

“And what do you do with them?” I ask.

“I make chains out of them, I put them in my hair, I tuck them behind my ears…” she says, her excitement making her sound out of breath.

“Exactly,” I say. “And what do we do with them now, after they’ve bloomed?”

“Make wishes,” she says. Mary holds up her bouquet of dandelions and blows as hard as she can, sending white floaties into the air.

“What did you wish for?” I ask.

“That Daddy would come home today,” she says.

“Good wish,” I say. “Want to help me garden?”

“I don’t want to get my hands dirty!”

“But you were just on the ground playing with your friends,” I say. “Ring-around-the-rosy.”

Mary puts her hands on her hips.

“Mrs. Roosevelt has a Victory Garden,” I say.

She looks at me and stands even taller, hooking her thumbs behind the straps of her overalls, which are just like mine.

“I don’t want to get dirty,” she says again.

“Don’t you want to do it for your father?” I ask. “He’s at war, keeping us safe. This Victory Garden is helping to feed our neighbors.”

Mary leans toward me, her eyes blazing. “War is dumb.” She stops. “Gardens are dumb.” She stops. I know she wants to say something she will regret, but she is considering her options. Then she glares at me and yells, “Fathead!”

Before I can react, Mary takes off, sprinting across the lot, jumping over plants as if she’s a hurdler. “Mary!” I yell. “Come back here!”

“She’s a handful,” Shirley clucks. “Reminds me of someone.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say.

Mary rejoins her friends, jumping back into the circle to play ring-around-the-rosy, turning around to look at me on occasion, her violet eyes already filled with remorse.

Ring-around-the-rosy,

A pocket full of posies,

Ashes! Ashes!

We all fall down.

“I hate that game,” I say to Shirley. “It’s about the plague.”

I return to hoeing, lost in the dirt, moving in sync with my army of gardeners, when I hear, “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

I look up, and Mary is before me, her chin quivering, lashes wet, fat tears vibrating in the rims of her eyes. “I didn’t mean to call you a fathead. I didn’t mean to get into a rhubarb with you.”

Fathead. Rhubarb. Where is she picking up this language already?

From behind her back, she produces another bouquet of dandelions that have gone to seed.

“I accept your apology,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Make a wish,” she says.

I shut my eyes and blow. As I inhale, the scent of my Jonathan rose fills my senses. The rumble of a car engine shatters the silence. A door slams, followed by another, and I open my eyes. The silhouettes of two men appear on the perimeter of the field, as foreboding as the old oaks. I notice the wind suddenly calm and the plants stop rustling at the exact same moment all of the women stop working. A curious hum begins to build as the men walk with a purpose between the rows of plants. The women lean away from the men as they approach, almost as if the wind had regained momentum. Row by row, each woman drops her hoe and shuts her eyes, mouthing a silent prayer.

Please not me. Please not me.

The footsteps grow closer. I shut my eyes.

Please not me. Please not me.

When I open them, our minister is standing before me, a man beside him, both of their faces solemn.

“Iris,” Rev. Doolan says softly.

“Ma’am,” the other man says, holding out a Western Union telegram.

The world begins to spin. Shirley appears at my side, and she wraps her arms around me.

Mrs. Maynard,

The Secretary of War desires me to express his deepest regrets that your husband, First Lieutenant Jonathan Maynard, has been killed…

“No!” Shirley shouts. “Iris! Somebody help!”

The last thing I see before I fall to the ground are a million white puffs of dandelion floating in the air, the wind carrying them toward heaven.

***

Author Bio

Viola Shipman is the pen name for Wade Rouse, a popular, award-winning memoirist. Rouse chose his grandmother’s name, Viola Shipman, to honor the woman whose heirlooms and family stories inspire his writing. Rouse is the author of The Summer Cottage, as well as The Charm Bracelet and The Hope Chest which have been translated into more than a dozen languages and become international bestsellers. He lives in Saugatuck, Michigan and Palm Springs, California, and has written for People, Coastal Living, Good Housekeeping, and Taste of Home, along with other publications, and is a contributor to All Things Considered.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS

Author Website: https://www.violashipman.com/

TWITTER: @viola_shipman

FB: @authorviolashipman

Insta: @viola_shipman

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14056193.Viola_Shipman

BUY LINKS

Feature Post and Book Review: To Catch A RAT by S.J. Grey

#Darknet #ToCatchaRAT #PsychologicalSuspense #TechnoThriller

Hi, everyone!

Today I am very excited to share my Feature Post and Book Review for S.J. Grey’s TO CATCH A RAT (Darknet Series Book #1). This is the start of a new techno-thriller series that had me on the edge-of-my-seat from the start!

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

***

A Note From The Author

It was eighteen months ago when my husband told me about a weird and unsettling post on our local Neighbourly forum. A woman had posted that she felt unsafe in her home, that she was being watched, and listened to. She wanted recommendations for a good private investigator. This, I might add, was in suburban New Zealand, not the centre of London. It got me thinking. Was she paranoid? Or was she genuinely being spied upon—and why?

Tangents like these sit at the back of my brain for days or even weeks, fermenting into a fully-fledged plotline.

I was also playing around with the idea of a thriller series that would centre around the Dark Web, and the two ideas merged. The result is the Darknet series.

It’s part psychological suspense, part techno-thriller, part crime, part mystery. Whatever category you want to place it in, the early reviewers are loving it, and that’s good enough for me.

***

Book Blurb

She said she was being spied on. No one believed her. Now, she’s dead.

Emma’s best friend Joss had a wild story to tell. She’d been hacked. She was being watched. She was in danger. No one believed her. Not even Emma.

Now she’s dead. The police write it off as accidental death, but Emma’s not so sure.

The more she learns, the deeper she’s drawn into a web of deceit and dark motives. Turns out Joss’s brother developed a revolutionary dark web application, one that people will kill to get their hands on. He’s now in jail on a dodgy manslaughter charge. And then there’s Emma’s boyfriend, who she discovers is lying about his identity.

Now Emma’s the one in danger, and she’s not sure who will believe her or who she can trust. Joss’s murder was only the start.

Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/50546076-to-catch-a-rat

Title: To Catch a RAT

Series: Darknet, #1

Genre: Psychological tech-suspense

Heat level: Light

Author: SJ Grey

Release date: 30 March 2020

Publisher: Acelette Press

Pricing: $4.99

Available exclusively on Amazon Kindle Unlimited

Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0841NT1LF

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

TO CATCH A RAT (Darknet Series Book #1) by S.J. Grey is the start of a new techno-thriller series that took off like a shot and had me engaged from the start. This thriller, even though it is based around computer hackers, the darknet and spies, is full of action and easy to read.

Emma’s best friend from childhood, Joss shows up on her doorstep talking about be spied on and followed. She begs Emma before she runs away if anything happens to her to please take care of her and her brother’s cat. Emma finds her fears difficult believe so after work she goes to check on her friend and finds her dead.

Emma gets drawn into nightmare of lies and deceit. Joss’ twin brother, Caleb escapes from prison where he has been set-up on a charge of manslaughter and he swears he is innocent, but can Emma trust he has not changed? He believes Joss was killed for a software program he wrote before prison and he wants to find her killer.

Emma also discovers her boyfriend, Mark has been lying to her about his identity and he has plans for Caleb. Can Emma and Caleb trust him? Who is he working for?

This story pulls you in right from the start with fast and furious action and hidden agendas. You never know who to believe, good or bad. I was surprised that I could be so engrossed in a techno-thriller. I was afraid it would be too jargon centric, but the few things I did not know were explained easily without interrupting the flow of the story. This book is set in New Zealand which was unique for me.

I loved Emma’s ability to overcome her fears and doubts to continually come through for those around her. I did have some difficulty accepting how many times Emma trusted Mark in spite of all of his lies. Emma’s parents were original and entertaining in their responses to her problems. I am looking forward to following all these characters into future books in this series.

I recommend this fast-paced new techno-thriller and I am looking forward to reading the next book in the Darknet series, #Red Team Attack.

***

Excerpt

“What’s that?” Emma wasn’t sure if she spoke aloud, until Mark answered.

“What? Where?”

“There.” She pointed.

Adrenaline lent her speed, and she ran, her pumps slip-slopping on the wet grass. It had rained all day. The river roared, the water level high. She might be mistaken. It might be a plastic bag, caught on the rocks. Or a piece of clothing.

Mark caught up a few steps later. “Fuck,” he said, his voice harsh. He skidded to a halt and grabbed Emma. “Stop. Stop.”

She struggled against him. They were close enough to see it—a person, face down in the water.

“It might be Joss. We need to help her.” She had to force the words out. Her lungs were rasping.

“I’ll go.” His grip tightened. “Wait here. Here. Okay?”

“Hurry.”

He nodded, then strode to the river’s edge and bent over, as though checking the depth. Next thing, he sat on the bank and dropped into the water. It came to his middle. Not deep enough to drown in. Not for Joss. Like Caleb, she was a strong swimmer and always had been. Maybe it was someone else. An unlucky walker, swept down from the hills.

Emma clutching at straws. She couldn’t stand and watch. She crept to the bank, ready to help Mark climb out. Fear was now a drumbeat in her blood, booming in her ears.

He hauled at the body, rolling it over in the water.

Christ. It was Joss. Seeing her face, eyes wide open, was shocking. Nausea rose in Emma’s throat, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Mark held his fingers against Joss’s throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “She’s gone. There’s no pulse.” With Joss in his arms, he made his way to the edge, where he laid her with care on the grass, before hauling himself out.

For some reason, Emma sat on her ass. She didn’t recall doing that. Or maybe her knees gave way.

She gazed at her one-time friend. No words would come.

“Looks like her jeans snagged on something,” said Mark.

Tears pressed against the backs of Emma’s eyes, but she was frozen. “How did this happen?”

Mark crouched beside Joss, his forehead creased in a frown. “There’s a bump on her forehead, but she might have hit the rocks when she went into the water.” He looked up at Emma. “Fuck, Em. I’m sorry. She was your friend.” He straightened. “At last. The police are here. You going to come with me, to tell them?”

That meant standing up and walking and talking, none of which Emma was ready for. “I’ll wait with her.”

“I’ll be right back.” Mark jogged toward the cops.

She was alone, with what was left of Jocelyn. Emma shuffled across the grass, to sit beside her friend. It was freaking her out, the way Joss stared up at the sky with those sightless eyes. Who would tell Caleb? He’d be devastated; the last of his family was gone.

It was up to Emma to tell the police what Joss had been saying. Someone had to speak up for her, now she couldn’t do it herself.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll find out what happened, I promise.”

***

Author Bio

SJ Grey is the author of the Darknet suspense series. She studied at Manchester University, graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree, and has worked in IT for over twenty years, before settling in New Zealand. When she’s not writing, you’ll find her with her nose in a book and a coffee at her side. She’s also written a number of romantic suspense novels under a different name, before returning to her first love – high tech thrillers.

Music is interwoven so tightly into my writing that I can’t untangle the two. Either I’m listening to a playlist on my iPod, have music seeping from my laptop speakers, or there’s a song playing in my head – sometimes on auto-repeat.

Social Media Links

Website: https://sjgrey.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19941640.S_J_Grey

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SJGrey.Author

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Twitter: @SJGrey1 https://twitter.com/SJGrey1

Amazon author profile page: https://www.amazon.com/SJ-Grey/e/B0841R1561