Blog Tour/Feature Post and Mini Book Reviews: Suddenly This Summer Anthology

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SUDDENLY THIS SUMMER Anthology featuring Susan Mallery, Synithia Williams, and Stefanie London on this HTP Books Romance Blog Tour.

Below you will find a book summary, my mini book reviews, an excerpt from the the book, and the author’s bios and social media links.

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Book Summary

Nothing is sweeter than the first kiss of summer…

SAY YOU’LL STAY by Susan Mallery. Shaye Harper has sworn off men for good. But when she meets army vet Lawson Easley during a pit stop on the road to a fresh start, she’s drawn in by the quirky town—and the handsome stranger she can’t resist. Lawson knows there’s no place better than Wishing Tree. Too bad the woman he’s certain is “the one” is just passing through…unless he can convince her to give him and his hometown a chance at forever.

THIS TIME FOR KEEPS  by Synithia Williams. Home to care for her ailing father, Michaela Spears is on a mission: reconcile with the one man she can’t forget. She broke his heart years ago, so when Khalil appears on her parents’ doorstep in his scrubs, she knows it’s her last chance. Khalil Davenport shouldn’t have taken the job as her dad’s home nurse, but he couldn’t resist her. Their timing was never right, but now can he trust that she’s home to stay?

BEST MAN NEXT DOOR by Stefanie London.  For Sage Nilsen, coming back to her small Massachusetts hometown for a family wedding feels like high school all over again. Except Jamie Hackett has gone from charming boy next door to handsome best man. And sparks are suddenly flying between the popular guy and the so-called outcast. As the wedding gets closer, Sage finds herself on the edge of something unexpected—a second chance in the town she left behind…with the guy she’s never forgotten.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/63205341-suddenly-this-summer?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=tIjlwt7U0u&rank=1

Suddenly This Summer

Authors: Susan Mallery, Synithia Williams, Stefanie London

ISBN: 9781335004871

Publication Date: August 22, 2023

Publisher: Canary Street Press

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My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

SUDDENLY THIS SUMMER Anthology featuring Susan Mallery, Synithia Williams, and Stefanie London is an enjoyable combination of three contemporary romances that are all great for a quick read and a heartfelt bit of romance. I started these stories and could not stop until I finished all three.

Say You’ll Stay by Susan Mallery is an introduction to the wonderful small-town of Wishing Tree. This story has Shaye Harper just passing through, but Lawson Easley knows she is “the one” and wants her to stay. I have read all the Wishing Tree books and they are just wonderful and always leave me with a smile on my face and a warm feeling in my heart.

This Time for Keeps by Synithia Williams has Michaela Spears returning home when her father gets a kidney transplant determined to convince Khalil Davenport she is home to stay and wants their relationship to be permanent. This is a new to me author who wrote about finding the balance that is important in life and love. This is a spicier romance than the other two.

Best Man Next Door by Stefanie London has Sage Nilsen returning home for her sister’s wedding to the hometown she could not wait to leave. Jamie Hackett is the best man and was the only man Sage had ever wanted but could not have. This wedding may be the second chance both are looking for if they can let go of the past. I loved this romance so much even though it reminded me why I hated high school.

Overall, three well written novella length, delightful contemporary romances that are relatable and satisfying on every level.

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Excerpt

Best Man Next Door by Stefanie London

CHAPTER ONE

Before today, Jamie Hackett had thought he’d already faced death.

Like the time he dove off a cliff on a dare, plunging into the ocean with the speed of a bullet. Or 

the time he’d come face-to-face with a territorial goose who’d gone apeshit at him for getting too 

close to her goslings. Or when his car skidded across a patch of black ice in the middle of winter 

and he’d narrowly missed crash- ing into a big oak tree.

He’d been cool as a cucumber, every single time.

But it turned out he hadn’t really faced death. Now that he’d confronted it for real, he understood 

what it felt like.

Jamie glanced around the sterile white hospital hall- way, feeling weirdly disconnected from it 

all. If some- one had told him he was floating in the air, watching everything happen from above, 

he would have believed it. Giving himself a shake, he reached one hand to his opposite arm and 

pinched himself. Hard. He winced from the pain.

Still alive.

But the quicker he was out of here the better.

His mom stood at the administration desk, her shoulders hunched. Exhaustion seeped into her posture and made her look even smaller than usual. When she turned to face him, he noticed her blouse was buttoned wrong and her curly ginger hair was sticking out in all directions like it always did when she didn’t have time to style it.

“Ready to go, hon?” She tried to smile, but her eyes were watery and the dark shadows circling underneath made her look hollowed out.

You did that to her.

He nodded.

“Your dad has gone to get the car so he can meet us out front.” She slipped her arm into his and held him close, her fingernails biting into his skin, as if she was worried he’d float away like a discarded balloon if she didn’t hold on tight enough. “No need to rush—we’ll walk slow.”

“You didn’t have to wait around. I could have gotten a cab,” he said quietly. He kept his gaze averted from the goings-on around him, not wanting to see the people being wheeled about and the elderly folk shuffling along, walking their fluid bags like strange, lifeless pets.

It freaked him out.

He was thirty-two for crying out loud. Thirty-two with his whole life ahead of him. With decades ahead of him.

“Jamie Hackett, if you think I would let my child come home from hospital in a cab then I don’t even know…” Her voice broke as she shook her head, still clutching him tightly. He could hear the tears she was holding back, companions of the ones she’d been shedding ever since she’d arrived at the hospital yesterday. “Of course we were going to take you home.”

There was no point arguing. Patty Hackett was an overprotective mama bear at the best of times, let alone when one of her own was hurt. Although really, aside from a few stitches in the back of his head and some chest pain that felt like a couple of boulders had been propped there, Jamie was walking away from this situation a lot better than he could have.

A lot better than what would have been if his best friend hadn’t saved him.

When they made it outside, Jamie sucked in as much air as his lungs would allow, and even though doing so burned, he had to clear the hospital smells from his nostrils. It was warm and sunny out, with a clear blue sky and not a cloud to be seen. The perfect early summer day.

Perfect like it had been the previous evening when he’d decided to get a good sweaty workout in. Perfect like when he’d jogged across the gym floor, warm sunshine streaming in through the windows and the high-quality shock-absorbent flooring cushioning his feet. Perfect like when his fists had sailed at the heavy punching bag, the repetitive pounding motion better than any form of therapy he’d found to date.

Perfect…until he’d almost died.

Jamie shook the dark thoughts from his head as his father pulled the family SUV up in front of the hospital’s pick-up area. His mom rushed forward to open the passenger side door for him.

“I can open the door myself, okay?” he said. He hated seeing her worry like this. Hated knowing that he caused it. “You don’t need to wait on me.”

“Just get in the car, James,” she sighed and shot him a look that told him there was no point arguing. It was easier to do what he was told. And if she was calling him by his full name, it meant she was a hair away from clipping his ear.

So he climbed into the car without another word.

“Son.” His father looked over to him with a crinkled brow. “Let your mother fuss. She needs it.”

Jamie nodded. “You’re right.”

His father turned to face the road as the back door opened and Patty climbed in, scrambling to hoist her small frame up into the giant SUV like she always did. The ride home was filled with rapid-fire questions from the back seat.

Why didn’t you tell us you were stressed out?

Should you be talking to a professional about your problems?

Is it happening again?

The last one made a weird acidic taste burn in the back of his throat. No matter how many years he put between himself and The Great Breakdown of his early twenties, he was frequently reminded that nobody would ever forget it happened.

Because when you were a world-class athlete, your failures didn’t only become gossip—they became lore.

“The doctor said you need to keep your stress levels down and take a break from work,” his mother relayed. “This could happen again. She said that panic attacks can be triggered by working too much and not getting enough rest, and—”

“I know, Mom. I was there.”

“We care about you, Jamie.” His father’s voice was gruff. “This isn’t about blame or trying to make you feel bad. You know that, right?”

Despite everything that had happened in the past, his parents had never once made him feel like he was to blame for what had happened…even if he himself had felt like a giant failure.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“And the doctor said we need to keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours to make sure there are no complications,” Patty continued. The car rolled smoothly along the highway, other vehicles passing them at a rapid pace thanks to his dad’s careful—read: slow—driving. “I got your sister to set up the spare bedroom at our place. And don’t bother protesting about going home by yourself because I won’t have it.”

Jamie glanced at his father, who simply shrugged as if to say, she’s the boss. Too right. Nobody was under any illusions about who was head of their household, that was for damn sure.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mom. But what about—”

“Flash is staying at Clay’s house,” she said without letting him finish. “He said we could leave him there until you were ready to go home.”

Whenever Jamie wasn’t feeling himself, the first thing he wanted to do was to hang out with his dog. They really were man’s best friend. No doubt Jamie’s business partner, Clay Harris, would spoil him rotten with treats and belly scratches, so it wasn’t like he’d be sad having a sleepover.

Jamie watched the scenery roll along outside the window. Soon they were approaching Reflection Bay, the town where he’d spent most of his life—a town that wasn’t even big enough for its own hospital.

He’d driven along this road so many times he’d lost count, watching the silvery blue of the ocean flicker between patches of green and rugged cliff faces, the tourist-favorite red-and-white lighthouse rising up in the distance. It was the same as it had always been and yet…it felt different now.

Everything felt different.

Forty-eight hours after returning home from the hospital, Jamie was “discharged” from the Hackett Family Hospital. But not without needing to pass a rigorous interrogation from his mother. If someone had overheard the conversation, they might mistake Patty Hackett for an actual doctor rather than the elementary school art teacher she was.

But now that Jamie could taste the sweet air of freedom, he was happier than ever to be alive. Especially since he had been reunited with his canine best friend.

“Isn’t it glorious? The sun is shining. The birds are singing.” Jamie glanced down at his dog, Flash, who ambled with the kind of gait that could only be described as “walking under duress.” “Oh, come on, bud. It’s not that bad.”

The chunky fawn-and-white bulldog looked up at him with imploring eyes as if to say, please make it stop. Flash, named in the most ironic fashion, hated working out as much as Jamie loved it. In fact, it was somewhat of a local joke that the two fittest guys in town had adopted the laziest dog ever as the mascot for their gym.

But Jamie loved Flash with everything he had. The dog might not be able to move faster than a drunk snail, but he had a heart of gold. Flash was always happy to see Jamie, never judged him for working too long or for stressing out too much about his business, and loved nothing more than just hanging out. No expectations, no bullshit.

That was love.

The pair ambled along the street. His business, Reflection Fitness, sat right at the end of the main strip, on a corner. It never failed to make pride surge through Jamie’s veins to see what he and Clay had built together. Their goal had been to create a gym that catered to all the people in their small town, leaving no one to feel like they didn’t belong. Reflection Fitness had clients who were training for big goals like marathons and fitness competitions, as well as clients like Jamie’s grandpa—who was combating osteoarthritis with regular, low-intensity workouts—and Jamie’s favorite personal training client—a bubbly woman in her forties who’d decided to try weight lifting after years of thinking cardio was the only option for women. They had a trainer on staff who specialized in pre- and post-natal fitness and another who ran classes for seniors aimed at improving joint mobility. They had built the gym to be accessible for clients with mobility needs. It was important to both Jamie and Clay that everyone who came to the gym felt welcomed and catered to.

“Let’s get you inside where there’s some air-conditioning, huh?” Jamie looked down at Flash, who was taking each plodding step with great effort. To be fair to the dog, it was unseasonably hot for so early in the summer. “We’re almost there.”

Jamie turned the corner to access the gym from the back door, which led directly into the office he and Clay shared. He tried not to take Flash through the front if he could help it, in case anyone working out had asthma or allergies. But when Jamie got to the door and tried to turn the handle, he found it locked.

“Weird,” he muttered.

The back was usually open if Clay was working, which he should be, given the hour. But perhaps he’d stepped out.

Jamie tried unlocking it. Only…the key wouldn’t fit.

“What the heck?” He tried again. No dice.

He stared at the key, wondering if the knock he’d taken to the back of his head had done more damage than he’d realized. But no, it was definitely the right key.

Befuddled, Jamie walked Flash around to the front of the gym, where a sleek set of glass doors opened to a small reception area. The space was light and welcoming, with a big potted plant and a white couch in one corner. An old black-and-white photo hung on the wall, showing Clay and Jamie in their high school days, arms around each other—a tennis racket in Jamie’s hand and a basketball in Clay’s.

“Jamie!” The receptionist, Sara, brightened when she saw him. She wore a blue Reflection Fitness uniform polo shirt and her long, dark brown hair hung over her shoulder in twin braids. “How are you feeling?”

“Never better,” he replied breezily. “And thank you for sending those flowers to Mom’s place. That wasn’t necessary.”

“Everyone was thinking about you.” Her brow wrinkled. “We were all so worried when Clay told us what happened!”

Ugh, Clay. The guy had a big mouth.

“I told him to keep it quiet,” Jamie muttered. “In any case, I appreciate the gesture. Mom commandeered the flowers right away for her living room.”

Sara laughed. “That’s why I picked tulips. I had a feeling she would end up with them.”

Mama Hackett was a favorite among the staff since she often made oatmeal cookies, energy balls and other healthy treats for everyone who worked at Reflection Fitness.

“Is Clay in?” Jamie asked. “I tried the back door, but I think something’s wrong with my key.”

“Uh…” Sara’s expression turned strange, and she reached for the phone on the desk. “Let me call him through.”

“It’s okay, I’ll head in.” Jamie had his swipe pass on hand, like always, and he tapped it against the electronic reader which activated the gate into the gym.

The screen flashed red and made an angry beep sound.

First his key didn’t fit the lock and now his pass wasn’t working. What the—

“Jamie.”

He looked up and saw Clay striding through the gym toward the foyer, a no-nonsense look on his face. At six foot five with shoulders that could bridge two cities, Clay had the perfect build for the sport he’d loved as a child—basketball. He had dark brown skin, warm eyes and close-cropped curly black hair. Usually, Clay would be flashing his signature charming smile—a smile that had won over just about every cheerleader the guy had ever encountered in his high school and college days. A smile that, now, was conspicuously absent.

“You locked me out.” Jamie shook his head in disbelief. “You changed the locks on the office without telling me?”

“Outside, now.” Clay pointed to the front doors as he strode through the gate. “We’re not doing this in front of the clients.”

Sara dropped her head and pretended to bury herself in work, ignoring Jamie’s gaze pleading for support.

He let out an irritated huff. “Fine.”

The two men walked back outside and Jamie felt a pang of guilt as Flash made a noise of protest about returning to the hot summer day. The trio rounded the corner away from the front of the gym so they could have it out.

“This is for your own good, Jamie.” Clay held up his hands, signaling he didn’t want a fight. Despite being strong enough to beat most men in anything physical, Clay was a gentle giant with a big heart.

He was also, however, stubborn as an ox.

“We’re partners, Clay. You can’t lock me out of my own damn business.” Jamie gestured with his free hand toward the building next to them. “That’s…that’s got to be illegal.”

Clay folded his arms across his chest. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t take this seriously. The doctor said you need to rest and your mom told me to keep an eye on you, because she’s worried, too.”

Typical Patty. Jamie made a sound of disbelief. “I rested.”

“For two days.” Clay shook his head. “That’s not enough.”

“Man, it was nothing. You’re overreacting.”

“I am not overreacting. Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk up on your best friend lying unconscious on the floor? I thought you’d had a heart attack or something. I thought you were dead.”

He felt terrible for putting Clay through that, but he was already feeling vulnerable about this whole thing. He couldn’t let his friend see how much it had shaken him.

“So dramatic.” Jamie rolled his eyes.

“See, this—” Clay circled a finger at his face just like his mom used to when they were naughty kids “—is why I know you’re not listening to what the doctor said. You came right here to go back to doin’ exactly what you were doin’ before.”

“Building our business?” he replied, biting back his frustration.

“Running yourself into the ground. Wake up, Jamie.” Clay shook his head. “You might not be so lucky next time.”

“It’s my call to determine whether I’m ready to come back, not yours.”

“It sure is, because I won’t give you a new key until I’m sure you’re actually taking this thing seriously.”

Jamie’s mouth popped open. “You can’t do that!”

“Sure I can. It’s my name on the lease, remember?”

Oh yeah. That. He’d been meaning to get that bit of paperwork updated for almost three years now, but it was one of those things that kept falling off his to-do list in favor of more impactful items. Besides, he’d always thought Clay would never do him dirty, so it didn’t seem like a big deal.

“It’s our business, no matter what the lease says.”

“Jamie, I’m doing this because you’re my best friend. I want you to take care of yourself.” Clay looked genuinely concerned. “Coach always used to say a heart that pumps too fast is no better than one that doesn’t pump at all. Rest is as important as work.”

Jamie let out a groan. “Sitting at a desk isn’t exactly strenuous. I just need to answer some emails—”

“And then you’ll just need to look at some spreadsheets and make some calls and then some new client will come to you with a sob story and you’ll squeeze them in even though you said you weren’t going to take on any more PT clients yourself.” Clay shook his head. “I know your tricks, man. Don’t try to play me.”

“But what about the clients I have—”

“I split them up between the other trainers. It’s already done.”

“You called everyone already?” Jamie scrubbed a hand over his face. “I told you I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I said you were helping me plan stuff for the wedding. Best man shit.” Clay grinned and Jamie found his anger withering away. It really was hard to hate the guy when he smiled. “You’re loyal like that.”

He let out a strangled noise of frustration. “I’ll call the locksmith myself.”

“Then he’s gonna have to get through me.”

Jamie considered his options. Anyone who didn’t know Clay might be too intimidated to try changing the locks against his wishes and anyone who did know him would be too charmed to want to try. Fact was, his best friend had him over a barrel.

“What am I supposed to do with myself, huh?” Jamie hated the panic in his voice. Who on earth felt panicked at the prospect of time off?

“I don’t know. Play ping-pong with your dad, go up to the Cape, sleep in. You’re a big boy—you’ll figure it out.”

Clay’s hand came down hard on Jamie’s shoulder, earning him a soft grunt. There was no reasoning with the guy, that much was clear.

Maybe Clay and his mom were right and this was serious. Jamie could have died. When he’d woken up in the ambulance, everything had flashed before his eyes—his whole life. His family. Work. His failed professional tennis career. His business. Long hours at his computer after longer days on the gym floor. Chasing the next thing, expanding the business, more clients, more money. Never satisfied. Always restless.

Was that all his life was about?

He’d always been hyper competitive, driven, and ambitious. But what if he had died the other day? What would he have left behind?

Jamie realized then that Clay was looking at him, as if waiting for him to speak. “No sweat. You want me to chill for a bit, fine. I can do that. You’ll see this isn’t a big deal.”

But even as he brushed off the severity of the incident, he knew the earth had shifted beneath his feet. What he’d thought was solid ground was now loose earth and uneven terrain. He needed to find his footing again. He needed to get himself straight. Most of all, he needed to prove to everyone that this was just a one-off. That he could handle pressure—unlike when he was younger.

Because he couldn’t ever go back to being Jamie Can’t-Hackett ever again.

Excerpted from Suddenly This Summer by Susan Mallery, Synithia Williams, Stefanie London. The Best Man Next Door by Stefanie London Copyright © 2023 by Stefanie Little. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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SUSAN MALLERY:  Susan Mallery is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of novels about the relationships that define women’s lives—family, friendship, romance. Library Journal says, “Mallery is the master of blending emotionally believable characters in realistic situations,” and readers seem to agree—40 million copies of her books have sold worldwide. Her warm, humorous stories make the world a happier place to live. Susan grew up in California and now lives in Seattle with her husband. She’s passionate about animal welfare, especially that of the ragdoll cat and adorable poodle who think of her as mom. Visit Susan online at www.susanmallery.com.

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SYNITHIA WILLIAMS:  Synithia Williams has loved romance novels since reading her first one at the age of 13. It was only natural that she would one day write her own romance. When she isn’t writing, Synithia works on water quality issues in the Midlands of South Carolina while taking care of her supportive husband and two sons. You can learn more about Synithia by visiting her website, www.synithiawilliams.com.

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STEFANIE LONDON:  Stefanie London is a USA TODAY bestselling author of contemporary romances and romantic comedies. Her books have been called “genuinely entertaining and memorable” by Booklist and have won multiple industry awards, including the HOLT Medallion and OKRWA National Readers’ Choice Award. Originally from Australia, Stefanie lives in Toronto with her very own hero and is doing her best to travel the world. She frequently indulges in her passions for good coffee, lipstick, romance novels and anything zombie related.  Visit Stefanie online at Stefanie-London.com.

Purchase Links

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Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Talulah’s Back in Town by Brenda Novak

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for TALULAH’S BACK IN TOWN by Brenda Novak on this HTP Books Romance Blog Tour.

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

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Book Description

Sometimes the past we leave behind leads us right where we belong.

Talulah Barclay doesn’t like complications. Unfortunately, they seem to love her. Fourteen years after leaving her fiancé at the altar, Talulah returns to her hometown of Coyote Canyon, Montana, to settle her great-aunt’s estate. As she’d feared, her “runaway bride” reputation is waiting right where she left it, and her ex’s best friend, Brant, isn’t about to let her slip by unnoticed.

Brant has always been a loyal friend, but Talulah’s decision to run isn’t the only thing he hasn’t forgotten. He remembers more about Talulah than he cares to admit. Vividly. And it’s increasingly difficult to ignore her now, especially when they find themselves in close quarters. Talulah has no plans to stay in town after she fixes up her aunt’s Victorian farmhouse, even if the unbridled sparks with Brant give her a good reason to linger. Besides, bailing on relationships is kind of her thing. But a lot has changed since Talulah last turned tail—maybe her heart has changed, too?

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62196699-talulah-s-back-in-town?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=fMjeUWpQ6x&rank=1

Tahlulah’s Back in Town

Author: Brenda Novak

ISBN: 9780778386179

Publication Date: August 22, 2023

Publisher: MIRA

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

TALULAH’S BACK IN TOWN (Coyote Canyon Book #1) by Brenda Novak is an enchanting small-town contemporary romance set in Montana featuring a runaway bride returning home after fourteen years. This is the first book in this small-town romance series, and I am looking forward to returning to Coyote Canyon again and again.

Talulah is now a successful partner in a bakery/café in Seattle since leaving her hometown boyfriend at the alter fourteen years ago. She has returned to settle her great aunt’s estate and attend the birth of her new niece only to discover her reputation has not improved. Talulah works hard on her relationship issues and tries to be honest with any man she is involved with, but she also hates confrontation and disappointing people, so her relationships get out of her control, she panics and runs.

Brant is Talulah’s ex-fiancé’s best friend and while he should be the last person to get involved with Talulah, there is now some sort of attraction that was not there before. As Brant and Talulah’s relationship grows it causes problems with not only those who never forgave her for leaving, but also with her business partner back in Seattle.

There are plenty of obstacles, but has Talulah finally found the one?

This is an entertaining romance with a hero and heroine who communicate honestly with each other throughout the story. They discuss feelings, friendships, careers, and finances which you do not normally find in a romance. Since this is the first book in the series, there are many character introductions and connections, but they flowed effortlessly onto the page and became a part of the group without slowing the pace of the story. There are explicit sex scenes, but they are not gratuitous or long. I really enjoyed Brant and Talulah’s romance and I am looking forward to seeing who Ms. Novak will bring together next in Coyote Canyon.

I recommend this small-town contemporary romance.

***

Excerpt

One

“Well, if it isn’t the runaway bride.”

Talulah Barclay glanced up to find the reason a shadow had just fallen across her plate. She’d been hoping to ease back into the small community of Coyote Canyon, Montana, without drawing any attention. But Brant Elway, of all people, had happened to come into the café where she was having breakfast and stopped at her booth.

“Of course you’d be the first to bring up my past sins,” she grumbled. They hadn’t seen each other for nearly fourteen years, and he’d certainly changed—filled out what had once been a spare frame, grown a couple of inches, even though he’d been tall to begin with, and taken on a rugged, slightly weathered look from spending so much time outdoors. But she would’ve recognized him anywhere.

The crooked smile that curved his lips suggested he was hardly repentant. “I’m not likely to forget that day. I was the best man, remember?”

She wasn’t likely to forget that day, either. Only bumping into her ex, Charlie Gerhart, would be more cringeworthy.

She felt terrible about what she’d done to Charlie. She also felt terrible that she’d repeated the same mistake with two other men since. Admittedly, jilting her fiancés at the altar hadn’t been among her finest moments, but she’d had every intention of following through—until the panic grew so powerful it simply took over and there was no other way to cope.

It said something that, while she regretted the pain she’d caused others, especially her prospective grooms, she didn’t regret walking out on those weddings. That clearly indicated she’d made the right choice—a little late, perhaps, but better not to make such a huge mistake than try to unravel it later.

She doubted Brant would ever view the situation from that perspective, however. He’d naturally feel defensive of Charlie. He and Charlie had been friends for as long as she could remember. She’d hung out with Charlie’s younger sister, Averil, since kindergarten and could remember seeing Brant over at the Gerhart house way back when she and Averil were in fifth grade, and he and Charlie were in seventh.

Dressed in a soft cotton Elway Ranch T-shirt that stretched slightly at the sleeves to accommodate his biceps, a pair of faded Wranglers and boots that were worn and dirty enough to prove they weren’t just for show, he rested his hands on his narrow hips as he studied her with the cornflower-blue eyes that’d been the subject of so much slumber-party talk when she was growing up. Those eyes were even more startling now that his face was so tanned. Had he lived in Seattle, like her, she’d assume he spent time cultivating that golden glow. But she knew he hadn’t put any effort into his appearance. According to Jane Tanner, another friend who’d hung out with her and Averil—the three of them had been inseparable—Brant’s parents had retired, and he and his three younger brothers had taken over the running of their two-thousand-acre cattle ranch.

“What brings you back to town?” he asked. “You’ve laid low for so long, I thought we’d seen the last of you.”

Pretending that running into him was no more remarkable to her than running into anyone else, she lifted her orange juice to take a sip before returning the glass to the heavily varnished table. “My aunt Phoebe died.”

“That’s the old lady who lived in the farmhouse on Mill Creek Road, right? The one with the blue hair?”

Her great-aunt had been a diminutive woman, only five feet tall and less than a hundred pounds. But she’d had her hair done once a week like clockwork—still used the blue rinse she’d grown fond of in her early twenties when platinum blond had been all the rage—and dressed in her Sunday best, including nylons, whenever she came to town. So she’d stood out. “That’s her.”

“What happened?”

Talulah got the impression he was assessing the changes in her, just as she was assessing the changes in him, and wished she’d put more effort into her appearance today. She didn’t want to come off the worse for wear after what she’d done. But when she’d rolled out of bed, pulled on her yoga pants and a sleeveless knit top and piled her long blond hair on top of her head before coming to the diner for breakfast, she’d assumed she’d be early enough to miss the younger crowd, which included the people she’d rather avoid.

That had proven mostly to be true; except for Brant, almost everyone else in the diner was over sixty. But he worked on a ranch, so he was probably up even before the birds that’d been chirping loudly outside her window, making it impossible for her to sleep another second. “She died of old age. Aunt Phoebe was almost a hundred.”

“I’m sorry to hear you lost her.” He sounded sincere, at least. “Were you close?”

“No, actually, we weren’t,” Talulah admitted. “She never liked me.” Phoebe hadn’t liked children in general—they were too loud, too unruly and too messy. And once Talulah had become a teenager, and her mother had allowed her to quit taking piano lessons from her great-aunt, they’d never really connected, other than seeing each other at various family functions during which Talulah and her sister, Debbie, had gone out of their way to avoid their mother’s crotchety aunt.

His teeth flashed in a wider smile. “Maybe she was a friend of the Gerharts.”

Talulah gave him a dirty look. “So were you. But unfortunately, you’re standing here talking to me.”

He chuckled instead of being offended, which soothed some of her ire. He was willing to take what he was dishing out; she had to respect that.

“I’m more generous than most,” he teased, pressing a hand to his muscular chest. “But if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one who struggled to get along with your aunt.”

“You knew her personally?” she asked in surprise.

“Not well, but I’ll never forget the day someone had the audacity to honk at her because she was driving at the speed of a horse and buggy down the middle of the highway, holding up traffic for miles.”

“What happened?”

“Once I got around her, I found she was capable of driving a lot faster. She tailgated me to the bank, where she climbed out and swung her purse at me while giving me a piece of her mind for scaring her while she was behind the wheel.”

Talulah had to laugh at the mental picture that created. “You’re the one who honked at her?”

“The bank was about to close.” He gave a low whistle as he rubbed the beard growth on his squarish chin. “But after that, I decided if I was ever in the same situation again, I’d skip the bank.”

Most people in Coyote Canyon probably had a similar story about Aunt Phoebe, maybe more than one. She might’ve been small, but she was mighty and wouldn’t “take any guff,” as she put it, from anyone. “Yeah, well, imagine being a little girl on the receiving end of that sharp tongue. I’d dread my weekly piano lesson and cry whenever my mother left me with her.”

“I’ll have to let Ellen know that,” he said.

Talulah didn’t remember anyone by that name in Coyote Canyon. “Who’s Ellen?”

“I assume you’re staying at your aunt’s place?”

She nodded. “My folks moved to Reno a couple of years after I embarrassed them at the wedding,” she said glumly.

He laughed at her response. “Ellen lives on the property next to you. She and I used to go out now and then, when she first moved to town, and she told me the old lady would knock on her door to complain about everything—the weeds near the fence, trees that were dropping leaves on her side of the property line, the barking of the dogs.”

“But they both live on several acres. How could those small things bother Aunt Phoebe?”

“Exactly Ellen’s point. Heaven forbid she ever decided to have a dinner party and someone parked too close to your aunt’s driveway.”

Talulah found herself more distracted by the mention of his relationship with this Ellen woman than she should’ve been, given that it wasn’t the point of the anecdote. Brant had always been so hard to attract. Most girls she knew had tried to gain his interest, including her own sister, and failed. So she couldn’t help being curious about how he’d come to date her new neighbor—and why and how their relationship had ended. “Sounds like Phoebe.”

A waitress called out to tell Brant hello, and he waved at her before returning his attention to Talulah. “How long will you be in town?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you running recognizance for my enemies?”

“Just curious.” He winked. “Word will spread fast enough without me.”

“You can assure everyone who cares that it’ll only be for a month or so,” she said. “Until I can clean out my great aunt’s house and put it on the market.”

“If you weren’t close to her, how come you were unlucky enough to get that job?” he asked.

“My parents are in Africa on a mission.”

“For the Church of the Good Shepherd?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t realize they sent people out on organized missions.”

“Sometimes they do, but this one is self-funded, something my dad has wanted to do ever since hearing a particularly rousing sermon.” Talulah wasn’t religious at all—much to the chagrin of her parents. But a good portion of the town belonged to her folks’ evangelical church or one of the other churches in the area.

“What about your sister?” Brant asked. “She can’t help?”

“Debbie’s married and living in Billings. She’s about to have her fourth child any day now.”

He feigned shock. “Married? Fear of commitment doesn’t run in the family, I guess.”

She scowled. “It’s a good thing I didn’t go through with it, Brant. I was only eighteen—way too young.”

“I never said I thought it was a good idea,” he responded.

“If you’ll remember, I made the same argument way back when.”

“How could I ever forget?” They’d always been adversaries. He’d hated the amount of time his best friend had devoted to her, and she’d resented that he was often trying to talk Charlie into playing pool or going hunting or something with him instead. “But let’s be fair. I doubt I’m the only one with commitment issues.” She glanced at his hand. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

“I’ve never left anyone standing at the altar.”

She could tell he was joking, but he’d hit a nerve. “Because you bail out before it even gets that far.”

He seemed to enjoy provoking her. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. I can teach you how, if you want me to.”

“Oh, leave me alone,” she muttered with a shooing motion.

He chuckled but didn’t go. “How much are you hoping to get for your aunt’s house?”

“I have no idea what it’s worth,” she replied. “I live in Washington these days, where prices are a lot different, and haven’t met with a real estate agent yet.”

“You know Charlie’s an agent, right?”

Slumping back against the booth, she sighed. “Here we go again…”

He widened those gorgeous blue eyes of his. “That wasn’t a jab! I just thought you should be aware of it.”

“I’m aware of it, okay? Jane Tanner told me.”

“You still in touch with Jane?”

“We’ve been friends since kindergarten,” she said as if he should’ve taken that for granted. But she’d been equally close to Charlie’s sister, and they hadn’t spoken since Talulah had tried to apologize for what she’d done at the wedding and Averil had told her she never wanted to see her again.

“Maybe it’d help patch things up if you listed your aunt’s house with him,” Brant suggested.

“You’re kidding. I can’t imagine he’d want to see me—not even to make a buck.”

His eyes flicked to the compass tattoo she’d gotten on the inside of her forearm shortly after she’d left Coyote Canyon. “Does he know you’re in town?”

She shrugged. “Jane might’ve told him I was coming. Why?”

He studied her for a long moment. “I have a feeling things are about to get interesting around here. Thanks for breaking the monotony,” he said, and that maddening grin reappeared as he nodded in parting and walked over to the bar, where he took a stool and ordered his breakfast.

Disgruntled, Talulah eyed his back. He’d removed his baseball cap—that was a bit old-fashioned, perhaps, but her parents would certainly approve of his manners—so his hair was matted in places, but he didn’t seem to care. He came off more comfortable in his own skin than any man she’d ever known, which sort of bugged her. She couldn’t say why. He’d always seemed to avoid the foibles that everyone else got caught up in. For a change, she wanted to see him unable to stop himself from falling in love, do something stupid because he couldn’t help it or make a mistake he later regretted.

“Would you like a refill?”

The waitress had approached with a pot of coffee.

Talulah shoved her cup away. “No, thanks. I’m finished.”

“Okay, hon. Let me put this down, and I’ll be right back with your check.”

Leaving twenty-five bucks on the table, more than enough to cover the bill, Talulah got up and walked out.

The last thing she wanted was to run into someone else she knew.

Most of the town had been at that wedding.

Aunt Phoebe’s house was going to take some work. Two stories tall, it was a Victorian farmhouse with a wide front porch, a drawing room/living room off the entry, a music room tucked to the left, a formal dining area in the middle and a tiny kitchen—tiny by today’s standards—at the back, with a mudroom where the “menfolk” could clean up before coming in from the fields at dinner. Probably 2,400 square feet in total, it was divided into thirteen small rooms that were packed with furniture, rugs, decorations, books, lamps and magazines. The attic held objects that’d been handed down for generations, as well as steamer trunks of old clothes, quilts and needlepoint—even a dressmaker’s dummy that’d given Talulah a fright when she first went up to take a look because she’d thought someone was in the attic with her.

The basement held shelf upon shelf of canned goods, a deep freezer full of meat that’d most likely been butchered at a local ranch, which meant there would be certain cuts—like tongue and liver—Talulah would have no idea what to do with, and stacks of old newspapers and various other flotsam Phoebe had collected throughout her long life.

Even if she started right away, it’d take a week or more to sort through everything, and the house wasn’t the most comfortable place to work. The windows, while beautiful with their old-fashioned casings and heavy panes, weren’t energy-efficient. There was hardly any insulation in the attic and no air-conditioning to combat the heat. Typically, summers in Coyote Canyon were quite mild, with temperatures ranging between fifty and ninety degrees, but they were in a heat wave. It was mid-August, the hottest part of the year to begin with, and they were setting records.

A bead of sweat rolled between Talulah’s breasts as she surveyed the basement. Even the coolest part of the house felt stifling. And it was only noon. She couldn’t imagine how Aunt Phoebe had managed in this heat. But her aunt could handle just about anything. She’d had a will of iron and more grit than anyone Talulah had ever met.

“How am I going to get through all this junk—and what am I going to do with it?” Talulah muttered, disheartened by the sheer volume of things her great-aunt had collected over the years.

Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her yoga pants. Pulling it out, she saw that her sister was calling. “Hey,” she answered.

“How’s Coyote Canyon?” Debbie asked.

“I just got in last night, but from what I’ve seen so far, it hasn’t changed much.” The town’s population had stayed at about three thousand since the end of the nineteenth century, when the railroad came to town and Coyote Canyon had its big boom.

She chuckled. “It never does. Bozeman is growing like crazy, though. I read somewhere that it’s the fastest growing town in America. You should see how much it’s changed.”

“No kidding? Who’s moving there?”

“Mostly families, I guess, but enough millennials and nature-lovers to change the whole vibe from Western to trendy.”

Only forty minutes away, Bozeman had been where their parents would take them to buy school clothes and other supplies. But she’d had no reason to go there since she’d left Coyote Canyon. Thanks to the stigma caused by the wedding, she’d tried to forget the whole area. “Did you guys come for Rodeo Days this year?” The week before the Fourth of July, Coyote Canyon held seven days of celebration that included rodeos, a 10K/5K run, a Mountain Man Rendezvous, parades, tractor pulls and bake-offs. Everything culminated in the fireworks of Independence Day.

“No. I wanted to,” Debbie said, “but Scott was under too much pressure at work to take the time, and I didn’t want to try to manage the kids on my own.”

“I’m sorry that Paul and I couldn’t make it.”

“Has something changed I’m not aware of? Are you two together now?”

He’d been trying to get with her since she met him, especially after they started the diner. But it was only recently that she’d gone on the pill and slept with him for the first time. “Not really. We’ve started dating. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” her sister echoed.

“You know how hard it is for me to know when I really like a guy. Anyway, how’ve you been feeling? Any news on the baby?” She asked because she was interested, but she was also eager to change the subject.

“I’m fine,” Debbie said. “Just tired.”

“It shouldn’t be much longer, right?”

“I’m due in a week, and the doctor won’t let me go more than a few days over.”

“Call me as soon as labor starts. I’ll come for the birth.” Billings was only a hundred miles to the east. Part of the reason Talulah had agreed to handle her aunt’s funeral and belongings was because it put her in closer proximity to Debbie. She wanted to be there for the arrival of the new addition, especially since their parents couldn’t be.

“I will. I can’t wait until this pregnancy is over.” She groaned. “I’m getting so uncomfortable.”

“You’ve done this three times before. I’m sure the birth will be routine.”

Maybe not strictly routine. Debbie had developed gestational diabetes, so there was a good chance this child would have to be delivered by Caesarean section. But they were pretending there’d be no complications. Neither of them cared to consider all the things that could go wrong.

“I feel bad that you’re having to take so much time away from the dessert diner,” she said. “Maybe I should drive over for the funeral, at least, and help while I can.”

“Don’t you dare!” Talulah said. “I don’t want you going into labor while you’re here. Your husband, your doctor, everyone and everything you need are there.”

“But I’m just sitting around with my swollen ankles while you deal with everything in that musty house.”

Musty, sweltering house. But Talulah didn’t want to make Debbie feel any guiltier. Besides, her sister wasn’t just sitting around. She was watching her other kids. Talulah could hear them, and the TV, in the background and knew that Debbie would have to bring her young nieces and nephew if she came here. Having them underfoot would only make it harder to get anything done. “The church is stepping in to organize the funeral. You set that up yourself. So you have been involved. Besides, much to our parents’ dismay, you’re the only one giving them grandkids. This is the least I can do for Mom and Dad.”

Debbie laughed. “Have you heard from them?”

“They called last night to make sure I got in okay.”

“How long did the drive take you?”

“Ten hours.”

“Ugh!”

“It wasn’t a big deal. I couldn’t fly—I knew I’d need a car while I was here.” She’d made the trip to Reno several times since her family moved from Coyote Canyon, so she was used to driving even farther. They’d only visited Seattle once, but Talulah had been so busy with college, then culinary school, then working in various restaurants before launching Talulah’s Dessert Diner with Paul, whom she’d met along the way, that she didn’t mind.

“I’m surprised they aren’t coming home for the funeral,” Debbie mused.

Not to mention the birth of their latest grandchild. Talulah thought she could hear the disappointment in her sister’s voice, but Debbie would never complain, especially to a defector like Talulah. Debbie remained as committed to their parents’ faith as they did. “I’m not surprised,” Talulah said. “Africa is so far away, and they’d only have to turn around and go right back. They want to remain focused on their mission, at least until they’re officially released.”

“Aunt Phoebe was so prickly, she and Mom were never very close, anyway,” Debbie added.

That wasn’t strictly true. Phoebe used to have them over for dinner every Sunday, and Carolyn brought Talulah and Debbie over for piano lessons. It was only later that they had a bit of a falling-out and quit talking. Despite that, Talulah guessed their mother felt conflicted about missing her aunt’s funeral. She also understood that Carolyn wasn’t going to change her mind. Choosing her mission over her family was almost a matter of pride; it showcased the level of her belief. “When we visited Aunt Phoebe, and we weren’t there for piano lessons, we had to sit on chairs in the cramped dining room or living room, and she’d snap at us to quit wiggling, remember?”

“That was if she’d let us in the house at all,” Debbie said drily. “She used to tell us to go out front and play.”

“With no toys.”

“She was the sternest person I’ve ever met.”

“She also never threw anything away.”

“She was a hoarder?”

“Kind of. She somehow managed to be fastidious and clean at the same time, so it’s not the type of hoarding you imagine when you hear the word, but it’s so cluttered in here I can barely move from room to room.”

“If it’s that bad, I should come over, after all.”

Talulah blew a wisp of hair that’d fallen from the clip on top of her head away from her mouth. “No, I’ve got it. Really.” There was no way Debbie would survive the heat, not in her condition.

“But you must be feeling some pressure to get back to Seattle,” Debbie said. “You told me you have a line of people every night trying to get into the diner.”

“We do, but Paul’s there.” She couldn’t have taken off for a whole month in any prior year. In the beginning, their business had required too much time, energy and focus—from both of them. She’d come up with the concept and had the name, the website, the logo, the location and the recipes figured out when Paul decided to come on board to help with the capital, credit and muscle required to get the rest of the way. It’d been touch and go for a while, but the place was running smoothly now, following a familiar routine. They had employees they could trust, and with her partner managing the day-to-day details, she wasn’t too worried.

“He doesn’t resent you being gone so long?” Debbie asked.

“He has a family reunion in Iowa at the end of September. Then he’ll be hiking in Europe for three weeks with a couple of friends. So I’ll be returning the favor soon enough.”

“He gets to go to Europe while you have to spend your vacation in Coyote Canyon, attending a funeral and cleaning out a house that was built in the 1800s?”

Talulah didn’t mind the work. It was facing the past and all the people she hadn’t seen or heard from in years that would be difficult. “It’s not a big deal,” she insisted.

“Okay.” There was a slight pause. Then her sister said, “I hate to bring up a sensitive subject, but…what are you going to do when you see Charlie?”

“I don’t know.” She certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.

“It’d be a lot easier if he was married.”

Talulah agreed. If he had a wife, he’d be able to believe she’d saved him for the woman he was really supposed to marry. His family and friends would then be more likely to forgive her, too. But according to Jane, he wasn’t even seeing anyone, so she had no idea how he’d feel toward her. “I ran into Brant,” she volunteered, simply because she knew her sister would be interested.

“How’d he look?”

Too good for the emotional well-being of the women around him. But such an admission would never pass Talulah’s lips. She preferred not to acknowledge his incredible good looks. “Haven’t you seen him fairly recently?” She knew her sister came back to Coyote Canyon occasionally.

“Four or five years ago.”

“He probably hasn’t changed much since then.”

“He married?”

“No.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. I doubt he’ll ever settle down. What’d he say when he saw you?”

“Just gave me a hard time about Charlie.”

“When I was in high school, I was so disappointed I couldn’t get his attention. Now I’m glad he had no interest in me. He would only have broken my heart.”

“Probably,” Talulah agreed. But, truth be told, she felt sort of bad talking about Brant that way. It was a case of “the pot calling the kettle black,” as her aunt would’ve said. She’d broken her share of hearts, too, and possibly in worse ways, as he’d intimated. But she couldn’t seem to settle down. No matter how hard she tried to force the issue and be more like her sister—to do what her parents expected of her—she wound up having such terrible anxiety attacks she literally had to flee. Maybe Brant had the same problem when it came to making a lifelong commitment. Maybe he was just better at accepting his limitations.

The doorbell rang as her sister finished telling her about little Casey, her three-year-old niece, who’d gotten hold of a pair of scissors and cut her bangs off at the scalp. “That’s probably the woman from the church now,” Talulah said. “I need to go over the funeral with her. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Her sister said goodbye, and Talulah disconnected as she hurried up the narrow, creaking stairs. There was a woman standing on the stoop, all right. But before she pushed open the screen door—the regular door was already standing open because she’d been trying to catch even the slightest breeze—Talulah could see enough to know it wasn’t anyone from the church.

This woman had a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

Excerpted from Talulah’s Back in Town by Brenda Novak. Copyright © 2023 by Brenda Novak, Inc. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

One

“Well, if it isn’t the runaway bride.”

Talulah Barclay glanced up to find the reason a shadow had just fallen across her plate. She’d been hoping to ease back into the small community of Coyote Canyon, Montana, without drawing any attention. But Brant Elway, of all people, had happened to come into the café where she was having breakfast and stopped at her booth.

“Of course you’d be the first to bring up my past sins,” she grumbled. They hadn’t seen each other for nearly fourteen years, and he’d certainly changed—filled out what had once been a spare frame, grown a couple of inches, even though he’d been tall to begin with, and taken on a rugged, slightly weathered look from spending so much time outdoors. But she would’ve recognized him anywhere.

The crooked smile that curved his lips suggested he was hardly repentant. “I’m not likely to forget that day. I was the best man, remember?”

She wasn’t likely to forget that day, either. Only bumping into her ex, Charlie Gerhart, would be more cringeworthy.

She felt terrible about what she’d done to Charlie. She also felt terrible that she’d repeated the same mistake with two other men since. Admittedly, jilting her fiancés at the altar hadn’t been among her finest moments, but she’d had every intention of following through—until the panic grew so powerful it simply took over and there was no other way to cope.

It said something that, while she regretted the pain she’d caused others, especially her prospective grooms, she didn’t regret walking out on those weddings. That clearly indicated she’d made the right choice—a little late, perhaps, but better not to make such a huge mistake than try to unravel it later.

She doubted Brant would ever view the situation from that perspective, however. He’d naturally feel defensive of Charlie. He and Charlie had been friends for as long as she could remember. She’d hung out with Charlie’s younger sister, Averil, since kindergarten and could remember seeing Brant over at the Gerhart house way back when she and Averil were in fifth grade, and he and Charlie were in seventh.

Dressed in a soft cotton Elway Ranch T-shirt that stretched slightly at the sleeves to accommodate his biceps, a pair of faded Wranglers and boots that were worn and dirty enough to prove they weren’t just for show, he rested his hands on his narrow hips as he studied her with the cornflower-blue eyes that’d been the subject of so much slumber-party talk when she was growing up. Those eyes were even more startling now that his face was so tanned. Had he lived in Seattle, like her, she’d assume he spent time cultivating that golden glow. But she knew he hadn’t put any effort into his appearance. According to Jane Tanner, another friend who’d hung out with her and Averil—the three of them had been inseparable—Brant’s parents had retired, and he and his three younger brothers had taken over the running of their two-thousand-acre cattle ranch.

“What brings you back to town?” he asked. “You’ve laid low for so long, I thought we’d seen the last of you.”

Pretending that running into him was no more remarkable to her than running into anyone else, she lifted her orange juice to take a sip before returning the glass to the heavily varnished table. “My aunt Phoebe died.”

“That’s the old lady who lived in the farmhouse on Mill Creek Road, right? The one with the blue hair?”

Her great-aunt had been a diminutive woman, only five feet tall and less than a hundred pounds. But she’d had her hair done once a week like clockwork—still used the blue rinse she’d grown fond of in her early twenties when platinum blond had been all the rage—and dressed in her Sunday best, including nylons, whenever she came to town. So she’d stood out. “That’s her.”

“What happened?”

Talulah got the impression he was assessing the changes in her, just as she was assessing the changes in him, and wished she’d put more effort into her appearance today. She didn’t want to come off the worse for wear after what she’d done. But when she’d rolled out of bed, pulled on her yoga pants and a sleeveless knit top and piled her long blond hair on top of her head before coming to the diner for breakfast, she’d assumed she’d be early enough to miss the younger crowd, which included the people she’d rather avoid.

That had proven mostly to be true; except for Brant, almost everyone else in the diner was over sixty. But he worked on a ranch, so he was probably up even before the birds that’d been chirping loudly outside her window, making it impossible for her to sleep another second. “She died of old age. Aunt Phoebe was almost a hundred.”

“I’m sorry to hear you lost her.” He sounded sincere, at least. “Were you close?”

“No, actually, we weren’t,” Talulah admitted. “She never liked me.” Phoebe hadn’t liked children in general—they were too loud, too unruly and too messy. And once Talulah had become a teenager, and her mother had allowed her to quit taking piano lessons from her great-aunt, they’d never really connected, other than seeing each other at various family functions during which Talulah and her sister, Debbie, had gone out of their way to avoid their mother’s crotchety aunt.

His teeth flashed in a wider smile. “Maybe she was a friend of the Gerharts.”

Talulah gave him a dirty look. “So were you. But unfortunately, you’re standing here talking to me.”

He chuckled instead of being offended, which soothed some of her ire. He was willing to take what he was dishing out; she had to respect that.

“I’m more generous than most,” he teased, pressing a hand to his muscular chest. “But if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one who struggled to get along with your aunt.”

“You knew her personally?” she asked in surprise.

“Not well, but I’ll never forget the day someone had the audacity to honk at her because she was driving at the speed of a horse and buggy down the middle of the highway, holding up traffic for miles.”

“What happened?”

“Once I got around her, I found she was capable of driving a lot faster. She tailgated me to the bank, where she climbed out and swung her purse at me while giving me a piece of her mind for scaring her while she was behind the wheel.”

Talulah had to laugh at the mental picture that created. “You’re the one who honked at her?”

“The bank was about to close.” He gave a low whistle as he rubbed the beard growth on his squarish chin. “But after that, I decided if I was ever in the same situation again, I’d skip the bank.”

Most people in Coyote Canyon probably had a similar story about Aunt Phoebe, maybe more than one. She might’ve been small, but she was mighty and wouldn’t “take any guff,” as she put it, from anyone. “Yeah, well, imagine being a little girl on the receiving end of that sharp tongue. I’d dread my weekly piano lesson and cry whenever my mother left me with her.”

“I’ll have to let Ellen know that,” he said.

Talulah didn’t remember anyone by that name in Coyote Canyon. “Who’s Ellen?”

“I assume you’re staying at your aunt’s place?”

She nodded. “My folks moved to Reno a couple of years after I embarrassed them at the wedding,” she said glumly.

He laughed at her response. “Ellen lives on the property next to you. She and I used to go out now and then, when she first moved to town, and she told me the old lady would knock on her door to complain about everything—the weeds near the fence, trees that were dropping leaves on her side of the property line, the barking of the dogs.”

“But they both live on several acres. How could those small things bother Aunt Phoebe?”

“Exactly Ellen’s point. Heaven forbid she ever decided to have a dinner party and someone parked too close to your aunt’s driveway.”

Talulah found herself more distracted by the mention of his relationship with this Ellen woman than she should’ve been, given that it wasn’t the point of the anecdote. Brant had always been so hard to attract. Most girls she knew had tried to gain his interest, including her own sister, and failed. So she couldn’t help being curious about how he’d come to date her new neighbor—and why and how their relationship had ended. “Sounds like Phoebe.”

A waitress called out to tell Brant hello, and he waved at her before returning his attention to Talulah. “How long will you be in town?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you running recognizance for my enemies?”

“Just curious.” He winked. “Word will spread fast enough without me.”

“You can assure everyone who cares that it’ll only be for a month or so,” she said. “Until I can clean out my great aunt’s house and put it on the market.”

“If you weren’t close to her, how come you were unlucky enough to get that job?” he asked.

“My parents are in Africa on a mission.”

“For the Church of the Good Shepherd?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t realize they sent people out on organized missions.”

“Sometimes they do, but this one is self-funded, something my dad has wanted to do ever since hearing a particularly rousing sermon.” Talulah wasn’t religious at all—much to the chagrin of her parents. But a good portion of the town belonged to her folks’ evangelical church or one of the other churches in the area.

“What about your sister?” Brant asked. “She can’t help?”

“Debbie’s married and living in Billings. She’s about to have her fourth child any day now.”

He feigned shock. “Married? Fear of commitment doesn’t run in the family, I guess.”

She scowled. “It’s a good thing I didn’t go through with it, Brant. I was only eighteen—way too young.”

“I never said I thought it was a good idea,” he responded.

“If you’ll remember, I made the same argument way back when.”

“How could I ever forget?” They’d always been adversaries. He’d hated the amount of time his best friend had devoted to her, and she’d resented that he was often trying to talk Charlie into playing pool or going hunting or something with him instead. “But let’s be fair. I doubt I’m the only one with commitment issues.” She glanced at his hand. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

“I’ve never left anyone standing at the altar.”

She could tell he was joking, but he’d hit a nerve. “Because you bail out before it even gets that far.”

He seemed to enjoy provoking her. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. I can teach you how, if you want me to.”

“Oh, leave me alone,” she muttered with a shooing motion.

He chuckled but didn’t go. “How much are you hoping to get for your aunt’s house?”

“I have no idea what it’s worth,” she replied. “I live in Washington these days, where prices are a lot different, and haven’t met with a real estate agent yet.”

“You know Charlie’s an agent, right?”

Slumping back against the booth, she sighed. “Here we go again…”

He widened those gorgeous blue eyes of his. “That wasn’t a jab! I just thought you should be aware of it.”

“I’m aware of it, okay? Jane Tanner told me.”

“You still in touch with Jane?”

“We’ve been friends since kindergarten,” she said as if he should’ve taken that for granted. But she’d been equally close to Charlie’s sister, and they hadn’t spoken since Talulah had tried to apologize for what she’d done at the wedding and Averil had told her she never wanted to see her again.

“Maybe it’d help patch things up if you listed your aunt’s house with him,” Brant suggested.

“You’re kidding. I can’t imagine he’d want to see me—not even to make a buck.”

His eyes flicked to the compass tattoo she’d gotten on the inside of her forearm shortly after she’d left Coyote Canyon. “Does he know you’re in town?”

She shrugged. “Jane might’ve told him I was coming. Why?”

He studied her for a long moment. “I have a feeling things are about to get interesting around here. Thanks for breaking the monotony,” he said, and that maddening grin reappeared as he nodded in parting and walked over to the bar, where he took a stool and ordered his breakfast.

Disgruntled, Talulah eyed his back. He’d removed his baseball cap—that was a bit old-fashioned, perhaps, but her parents would certainly approve of his manners—so his hair was matted in places, but he didn’t seem to care. He came off more comfortable in his own skin than any man she’d ever known, which sort of bugged her. She couldn’t say why. He’d always seemed to avoid the foibles that everyone else got caught up in. For a change, she wanted to see him unable to stop himself from falling in love, do something stupid because he couldn’t help it or make a mistake he later regretted.

“Would you like a refill?”

The waitress had approached with a pot of coffee.

Talulah shoved her cup away. “No, thanks. I’m finished.”

“Okay, hon. Let me put this down, and I’ll be right back with your check.”

Leaving twenty-five bucks on the table, more than enough to cover the bill, Talulah got up and walked out.

The last thing she wanted was to run into someone else she knew.

Most of the town had been at that wedding.

Excerpted from Talulah’s Back in Town by Brenda Novak. Copyright © 2023 by Brenda Novak, Inc. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

***

Author Bio

 New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak has written over 60 novels. An eight-time Rita nominee, she’s won The National Reader’s Choice, The Bookseller’s Best and other awards. She runs Brenda Novak for the Cure, a charity that has raised more than $2.5 million for diabetes research (her youngest son has this disease). She considers herself lucky to be a mother of five and married to the love of her life.

Social Media Links

Author Website

Facebook: @AuthorBrendaNovak

Twitter: @Brenda_Novak

Instagram: @authorbrendanovak

TikTok: @authorbrendanovak

Purchase Links

BookShop.org

Harlequin 

Barnes & Noble

Amazon

Books-A-Million

Powell’s

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Echo from a Bayou by J. Luke Bennecke

Echo from a Bayou

by J Luke Bennecke

July 31 – August 25, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for ECHO FROM A BAYOU: One Man’s Journey to Hunt Down His Murderer by J. Luke Bennecke on this Partner’s In Crime Virtual Book Tour.

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

***

Book Description

Murder. Treasure. A supernatural twist.

John Bastian is plunged into a dangerous journey to uncover the truth about his past life after a freak skiing accident unlocks hidden memories. With unshakable visions of a brutal attack, the cursed Lafayette treasure, and a captivating redhead, John searches to find answers and confront the man who murdered him. On a perilous path and with a hurricane fast approaching, John fights for his survival and the safety of those he loves, threats haunting him at every turn.

Will he find redemption, or be consumed by an unquenchable thirst for revenge?

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/149080098-echo-from-a-bayou?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=FMtARbSqjS&rank=1

Echo from a Bayou

Genre: Suspense Thriller
Published by: Jaytech Publishing
Publication Date: August 2023
Number of Pages: 400
ISBN: 9780965771559

***

My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

ECHO FROM A BAYOU: One Man’s Journey to Hunt Down His Murder by J. Luke Bennecke is an exciting mix of suspense/action thriller/treasure hunt adventure and reincarnation. This is a standalone story that kept me turning the pages well into the night.

John Bastian awakes after a three-day coma after a skiing accident with memories that are not his own. He learns the memories belong to Jack Bachman from Louisiana who was married to a red-headed beauty.

He is compelled to take a trip to Louisiana to follow his memories, find the red-headed beauty, and find the man who murdered him over a buried treasure. And then there is a hurricane.

This is an intriguing look into reincarnation, betrayal, murder, and true love all combined into an action-adventure thriller. All the characters are fully fleshed and the descriptions of all the locations throughout the story add to believability. I did have a bit of difficulty with the past and present differences if I did not pay attention to the chapter headings, but eventually it all came together. There are plenty of plot twists and surprises throughout.

This is an intriguing thriller and more.

***

Excerpt

Chapter 1

John Bastian 

November 8, 2016 – Mammoth Mountain, CA

Never had I seen so many angry trees in one place.

Through a gondola window covered with spider cracks, ominous mountains loomed in the darkened distance. One peak in particular, a white, snowcapped giant, laughed at me with his frozen face and pointed pines, pompous with knowledge he had risen to life, fallen, and rebirthed his dominance over countless millennia.

Ignoring the familiar tug to spiral down another rabbit hole of negativity, I instead envisioned myself racing down a crazy-steep, treeless, triple black diamond slope at the summit of Mammoth Mountain: Huevos Grande.

Passengers continued to pack inside the already-full car, oblivious to our collective need to breathe oxygen, already limited in the high-altitude air that smelled of sweaty gym socks. 

“And I don’t see you wearin’ no helmet,” Kevin said. 

“Enough about Sonny Bono already, that was a long time ago,” I said, glancing down at Kevin, who, at a foot shorter than me, sported matching black ski pants and jacket with a rainbowcolored voodoo doll embroidered on the back. The snowboarding boots boosted his height by two inches, bringing his height up to five feet five inches. 

My closest friend for the last two decades and best man at the wedding of my disaster of a marriage, we’d met at track practice during senior year of high school. 

With my last shred of patience wearing thin, I waited with Kevin in the front corner of the room-sized orange cube, near the sliding doors. Skis propped and steadied with one hand, I gave his down-insulated shoulder a friendly punch with the other and said, “Stay positive, man. We need as much optimism as we can handle.” 

“Glad you finally gettin’ your head outta them clouds,” Kevin said. “Sooner you forgive Margaret, sooner you can get on with your life, Johnny Jackass.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Exactly.”

Two months ago, he’d suggested this trip to some of California’s highest slopes in order to check off the last item on our mid-life crisis bucket list. 

One final group of skiers jammed inside, jerking the box that would soon glide us up to the peak of peaks. My heart flopped around inside my chest as I ignored the instinctive urge to go back to our room and down a double bourbon. Instead, I adjusted my black beanie, giving Kevin a forced smile. A tinge of alcohol withdrawal headache pinged my noggin. I dug out two Tylenol gel caps from my inner jacket pocket, popped them into my mouth and swallowed without water.

I tightened my lips and turned my head, glancing through a different gondola window, up to the 11,000-foot peak riddled with wide, white, invincible slopes.

But a shiver crawled up from my legs to my neck, deflating any remnants of confidence.

I tapped open a weather app on my phone. “This might be the last run. That huge storm front’s almost here.”

“Word.”

We both enjoyed the occasional humorous embellishment of stereotypical hip-hop culture, even though Kevin had two masters’ degrees from Berkeley, one in American history and another in theater arts.

After separating from Margaret three years ago, the entire divorce process continually marinated in my head, but I wanted—needed—to lick my mental wounds, get on with my life, and find a new purpose. Hence my agreeing to this trip.

Heads bobbed among the other snow enthusiasts, along with a colorful assortment of mirrored goggles and insulated garments. My height allowed me an unobstructed view of my fellow sardines.

“Think of all the times they said it was supposed to rain back home in Newport Beach,” I said. “Nothing. Just a few drops here and there. Damned drought’s horrible.”

A man with dark, heavy-lidded eyes stood five feet away from us in the rear of the gondola, wearing a baby blue sweater and black jeans. Then for no apparent reason, he started tapping his forehead repeatedly on the gondola wall.

Dude wore no ski jacket. 

No ski pants. 

Odd.

***

Author Bio

J. Luke Bennecke is a veteran civil engineer with a well-spent career helping people by improving Southern California roadways. He has a civil engineering degree, an MBA, a private pilot’s certificate, and is a partner in an engineering firm. He enjoys philanthropy and awards scholarships annually to high school seniors.

In addition to his debut novel, bestselling and award-winning thriller Civil Terror: Gridlock, Bennecke has written several other novels and screenplays, a creative process he thoroughly enjoys. His second Jake Bendel thriller, Waterborne, was published in 2021 by Black Rose Writing and received several awards. Echo from a Bayou is his latest suspense thriller with a supernatural twist, available now.

Bennecke resides in Southern California with his wife of 32+ years and three spunky cats. In his leisure time he enjoys traveling, playing golf, voiceover acting, and spending time with his grown daughters.

Social Media Links

www.JLukeBennecke.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @JLukeBennecke
Instagram – @JLukeBennecke
Twitter – @JLukeBennecke
Facebook – @JLukeBennecke

Purchase Links

Amazon – https://amzn.to/3IWbO2s
Goodreads – https://bit.ly/3oHbSwp

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Devil Within: A Nathan Parker Detective Novel by James L’Etoile

Devil Within

by James L’Etoile

July 24 – August 18, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for DEVIL WITHIN: A Nathan Parker Detective Novel by James L’Etoile 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 border is a hostile place with searing heat and venomous serpents. Yet the deadliest predator targets the innocent.

A sniper strikes in the Valley of the Sun and Detective Nathan Parker soon finds a connection between the victims—each of them had a role in an organization founded to help undocumented migrants make the dangerous crossing. Parker discovers no one is exactly who they seem.

There’s the devil you know and then there’s the devil within—when the two collide, no one is safe.

Devil Within is the sequel to the Anthony and Lefty Award nominated Dead Drop.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/150491854-devil-within?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=Ok6bKYU5Ig&rank=1

Devil Within

Genre: Procedural/Thriller
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: July 2023
Number of Pages: 310
Series: The Nathan Parker Detective Series, Book 2

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

DEVIL WITHIN: A Nathan Parker Detective Novel by James L’Etoile is an adrenaline rush of a thriller/ police procedural that is impossible to put down. I loved the first book, Dead Drop, in this series and this follow-up second book is just as gripping from start to finish. I feel that for the reader to really enjoy this book, they should read book one first because all the characters are carried over with continuing storylines.

Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office Detective Nathan Parker is assigned to investigate a series of shootings that are being labeled the Sun Valley Sniper murders. At first, the victims all seem random, but as he digs deeper, he discovers a disturbing connection between the Immigrant Coalition an organization that aides undocumented migrants, a Mexican gang, and the Aryan Nation. Nathan also must deal with the revelation that Estaban Castaneda, the gang leader who killed his partner is back on American soil and has kidnapped his foster son, Miguel.

This is another fantastic thriller/police procedural that kept me on the edge of my seat. All the characters we met in book one are back and just as dynamic and believably crafted. The mysterious Billie is once again integral to Nathan’s investigation and his education on immigrant problems. This multi-layered plot is intricately woven with varying hate groups, Mexican gangs, law enforcement, corrupt politicians, legal and illegal immigrants, human trafficking, and those fighting to aide the immigrants. I was completely surprised by the reveal of the sniper.

I highly recommend this thriller/police procedural and I am looking forward to many more in this series!

***

Excerpt

Chapter One

Nia Saldana didn’t think today would be the day she died. Why would she? She was careful and avoided situations which drew too much attention. She never wanted to be noticed. When you got noticed, it only led to trouble, or worse.

She cursed herself for snooping around her employer’s office as she tidied up. The big man wasn’t who he pretended to be. If others knew what she saw…

Nia fought off anxiety driving home after another twelve-hour day cleaning homes on Camelback Mountain, the upscale enclave in Central Phoenix. Commuter traffic on this section of the 101 loop was a field of brake lights and her hands gripped the wheel, knowing she’d be home after her two girls were asleep. Her sister Sofia never complained when she watched the girls and loved them as if they were her own. Nia regretted every minute away from them, and the envelope of cash on the seat next to her meant she could stop and pick up a little pink box of day-old Mexican pastries for the girls as a sweet surprise.

A job that didn’t require hours away from her girls was a dream. She didn’t dare look for a better-paying job. There was too much at risk for a single, undocumented mother. One wrong move, like getting caught in her employer’s office, and she would join her deported husband in Hermosillo. What would happen to the girls then?

She pushed a worn stuffed animal away from her leg when she caught a sudden blur from the right. A familiar black SUV cut across her path, nearly clipping the front end of her Nissan Sentra. She knew her boss was furious; in a way she’d never seen before. But to chase her on the freeway because of what she’d discovered? Reckless.

A pop caught her attention. Seconds later, the heavy SUV lurched and bumped Nia’s sedan into the left lane, pushing her into the gravel median. A second pop sounded moments before the wheel wrenched from Nia’s hands sending the Sentra into a hard spin to the left until it faced back into the oncoming traffic.

Rubber barked on the asphalt as a semi-truck slammed on its brakes and the trailer jackknifed, a wall of metal rushing toward Nia’s windshield. The Sentra crumpled from the impact of the heavy eighteen-wheeler. The thin metal roof folded in pinning her against the seat. The steering wheel crushed against the driver’s seat, and Nia with it. The pressure against her chest made breathing impossible. If her brother-in-law hadn’t sold the airbag for a few dollars…. Nia glanced at the blood-spattered stuffed animal and pulled it close to her.

Inside her broken passenger side window, Nia watched as the SUV plowed into the metal rails in the center divider without slowing down. The driver slumped over the wheel after his vehicle came to rest. Why? Why did he? The grip on the stuffed animal loosened as she grew cold. The faces of her two young girls were the last images she held while she slipped away.

Chapter Two

Detective Sergeant Nathan Parker weaved his way through the snarl of traffic on the freeway. Phoenix dwellers took it in stride because commute hours meant a sludge across the valley with a daily multi-car pile-up, or a disabled vehicle in the tunnel. None of the usual reasons for traffic meltdowns would justify a Major Crimes detective call out.

Parker’s Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office Ford Explorer was unmarked, but the antenna bristling on the roof and the flashing red and blue lights in the grill gave it away. As he approached, he wasn’t certain what warranted a major crimes investigator. Parker spotted the vehicles spun out in the median, the front end of a compact sedan crumpled under a big rig trailer. No one would survive this one.

Fire engines stopped traffic in the two lanes near the accident. A single lane of cars bled through the remaining gap in the freeway, going slow enough to glimpse the gruesome wreckage.

Deputy Marcus Stone called Parker on his cell phone rather than make the call over the department radio frequency. The call was quick on detail, other than Deputy Stone needed Parker at the scene. Parker’s mind shuffled through the possibilities as he pulled his Explorer to the far left median. He spotted the wrecked SUV on the center divider, twenty yards from the jackknifed semi-truck. A high-profile victim, or an influential Phoenix power player caught in a deadly drunk driving crash? Maybe. Politics was king, even in the desert. The twisted remains of the Nissan underneath the big rig, however, didn’t scream of valley nobility.

Parker spotted deputy Stone near the rear of the Phoenix Metro Fire Department engine. Stone looked gray.

“Marcus.” Stone didn’t take his gaze from the fire crew using an air powered extraction device, sometimes called the Jaws of Life, to peel back the exposed left front quarter panel of the gutted Nissan Sentra . “We’ve got two deceased.” Stone jutted his square jaw at the Nissan. “A young woman. In the SUV against the guardrail, our second victim, a middleaged white male.”

“Looks nasty. Any statements from witnesses about how it happened. Why’d you call me out, anyway? Traffic accidents aren’t usually our thing.” Stone started toward the SUV. “Come with me.” Stone didn’t wait for Parker and made a path around the littered wreckage toward the black SUV. Parker noticed the driver slumped over the wheel after the fire department opened the driver’s door and left him in place. From experience, Parker knew fire crews extracted accident victims from the vehicles and tried to administer lifesaving treatment.

The driver’s razor cut gray hair lay matted in crimson. His skull disappeared in a jagged mess of blood and bone behind his ear.

“He’s been shot. Dammit, this makes three in a month,” Parker said. “That’s why I called you.”

Instinctively, Parker glanced at his surroundings. The freeway sat in the bottom of a wash, with city streets twenty feet above on both sides. An unnatural valley, but a natural killing ground for the Sun Valley Sniper. “Get any ID on this guy?”

Stone held a plastic evidence bag in his hand. Parker hadn’t noticed the deputy gripping the plastic envelope since his arrival.

“Roger Jessup. Local attorney, according to the Arizona Bar card in his wallet.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard of him before. Gives us an angle to look at—you know, the whole disgruntled client thing.”

They both turned at the sound of ripping metal pulled from the Nissan Sentra. Two fire fighters crouched into the passenger compartment, cut the seatbelt, and pulled the driver from the car. They placed her gently on a yellow tarp spread on the gravel shoulder.

“I take it she wasn’t a shooting victim?” Parker said.

“No. The collision with the SUV spun her out and then the big rig finished it. Wrong place, wrong time, poor thing.”

“You call in the Medical Examiner?”

Stone shook his head. “Didn’t know how you would handle it.”

“No problem. While I call the M.E., could you ask the fire crews to set up some tarps to give our victims a bit of respect?”

“On it.” Stone strode off to the closest fire fighter and started pointing at the scene.

Parker approached the Nissan as the fire department crew draped a tarp over the dead woman. Parker saw she was olive skinned, young, perhaps in her early thirties, with dark black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was attractive, but even in death, she carried signs of stress, lines creasing her forehead, and dark bags under her eyes. Parker dropped to one knee and scanned the passenger compartment. The driver was crushed. If it wasn’t bad enough, Parker spotted a well-loved stuffed animal on the seat.

“Oh man. She’s got kids.”

He reached for her purse and pulled the inexpensive plastic and cardboard handbag from the floorboard. Parker had seen these knockoff items before, carried by women coming over the border. He fished through the purse for a wallet and ID. Nothing. No driver’s license, insurance cards, or credit cards. When he stood, he spotted a blood-stained envelope. When he lifted it from the seat, it held one hundred dollars. No note or message in with the five twenty-dollar bills. The face of the envelope bore a simple inscription: “Nia.”

“Nia, what happened?”

Parker thought deputy Stone might be right. He was about to write it off as another case of a random victim until he found the bullet hole in the Nissan’s front tire. The tire exploded outward on the opposite side of the path of entry. Likely sending the compact sedan into an uncontrolled skid, careening off any vehicles in the next lane.

What were the chances of two cars being shot at in evening commuter traffic?

***Excerpt from Devil Within by James L’Etoile. Copyright 2023 by James L’Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L’Etoile. All rights reserved.

***

Author Bio

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novel, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. Black Label earned the Silver Falchion for Best Book by an Attending Author at Killer Nashville and he was nominated for The Bill Crider Award for short fiction. His most recent novel is the Anthony and Lefty Award nominated Dead Drop. Look for Devil Within and Face of Greed, both coming in 2023.

Social Media Links

www.JamesLEtoile.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @crimewriter
Instagram – @authorjamesletoile
Twitter – @JamesLEtoile
Facebook – @AuthorJamesLetoile

Purchase Links

Amazon – https://amzn.to/3N3S0Nl
Goodreads – https://bit.ly/3oDCEFO

###

KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://kingsumo.com/g/p4xndr/devil-within-by-james-letoile-gift-card

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Deadly Depths by John F. Dobbyn

Deadly Depths

by John F Dobbyn

July 24 – August 18, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for DEADLY DEPTHS by John F. Dobbyn 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 death by bizarre means of his mentor, Professor Barrington Holmes, draws Mathew Shane into the quest of five archeologists, known to each other as “The Monkey’s Paws”, for an obscure object of unprecedented historic and financial value. The suspected murders of others of the Monkey’s Paws follow their pursuit of five clues found in a packet of five ancient parchments. Shane’s commitment to disprove the police theory of suicide by Professor Holmes carries him to the steamy bayous of New Orleans, the backstreets of Montreal, the sunken wreck of a pirate vessel off Barbados, and the city of Maroon descendants of escaped slaves in Jamaica.

By weaving a thread from the sacrificial rites of the Aztec kingdom before the Spanish conquest of Mexico through the African beliefs of Jamaican Maroons and finally to the ventures of Captain Henry Morgan during the Golden Era of Piracy in his conquest and sacking of Spanish cities on the Spanish Main, Shane reaches a conclusion he could never have anticipated.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62997373-deadly-depths?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=FMg5z1atdu&rank=1

Deadly Depths

Genre: Mystery, Crime Thriller
Published by: Oceanview Publishing
Publication Date: August 2023
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 9781608095483 (ISBN10: 1608095487)

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

DEADLY DEPTHS by John F. Dobbyn is an edge-of-your-seat treasure hunt thriller and intricate crime mystery mash-up novel that kept me turning the pages well into the night. This is a standalone novel that is a great mystery/thriller read and while the author is new to me, he does have other published books I will be checking out in the future.

Law professor Matthew Shane also has a love of archeology from his mentor, well known archeologist, Professor Barrington Holmes. Holmes is found dead at his office desk, and it is determined a suicide, but Matthew knows his mentor would never commit suicide.

His search for the truth leads him to a group of five archeologists, including the deceased Barrington, that call themselves “The Monkey’s Paw”. They were entangled in a mysterious expedition and since their return, they are being killed one by one.

Joining forces with the remaining members of “The Monkey’s Paw” and the help of an enigmatic Turkish antiquities dealer in France, Matthew is on a worldwide chase that may cost him his life, too.

I really loved this story. It is full of surprise twists, red herrings, and treachery. Matthew is determined to discover the truth, no matter the peril. He is an honorable, adventurous, and strong protagonist that is easy to cheer for throughout the hunt. The history of the Aztec artifact everyone wants, and the history of the Maroons of Jamaica were both interesting and well positioned throughout the plot to never interfere with the pace. The plot is well paced, fast and seldom lets up even when the plot goes back in time to the diary of a Welsh privateer. The climax was intense, and it leads to a very satisfying conclusion to both the mystery and the treasure hunt.

I highly recommend this high intensity action-adventure mystery/thriller!

***

Excerpt

We arrived at an area of private docks in a town called Oistins. The driver stopped at the base of a wharf that anchored power boats of every size, speed, and description. One power yacht stood out as the choice of the fleet. The Sun Catcher.  My guide hustled us both directly to the carpeted gangplank that led on board a vessel that could pass for a floating Ritz Carlton. 

The engines were already revving. I was escorted to a padded deck-lounge with maximum view on the foredeck. I had scarcely  settled in, when we were slicing through late-afternoon sea-swells that barely caused a rise and fall. 

My guide, still in suit and tie, brought me, without either of us asking, a tall, cool, planter’s punch with an ample kick of Mount Gay Rum. For the first moment since Mick O’Flynn told me that someone was asking for me, I made a fully-considered decision. This entire fantasy could easily turn into a disaster that could outstrip New Orleans and Montreal together, but to hell with it. It was just too elating not to accept it at face value – at least for the moment.

My mind was just settling into a comfortable neutral, when I heard footsteps from behind that had more heft than I imagined my guide could produce. I made a move to swing out of the padded deck-chair, when I felt  the touch of a hand with authoritative strength on my shoulder. The voice that went with it had the same commanding undertone.

“Stay where you are, Michael. I’ll join you.”

A matching deck-chair was set beside me. I found myself looking up at a shadow against the setting sun that appeared double my bulk and yet compact as an Olympic hammer-thrower. The voice came again. “You’re an interesting study, Michael. I may call you ‘Michael’, right? I should. I probably know more about you than anyone you know. You might have guessed that by now.”

An open hand reached down out of the shadow. I took it. The handshake fit the shaker. It took some seconds for the feeling to come back into mine.

Before I could answer, the voice was coming from the deck-lounge beside me. “No need for coy name games. You know that I’m Wayne Barnes. And you know that I’m one of the, shall we say, associates in that little clique we call the Monkey’s Paws. In fact, your escort here, Emile, tells me it was the mention of my name that swung your decision to get on that plane.”

He nodded to my nearly empty Planter’s Punch. “Another?”

Before I could answer, he gave a slight nod to someone behind us. Before I could say “Yes”, or possibly, but less likely, “No”, a native Bajan in a server’s uniform was at my left taking my empty and handing me a full glass.

I was three good sips into the second glass before I said my first word since coming aboard. I looked over at Wayne. I seemed to have his full focus. His engaging smile seemed to carry a full message of relaxed hospitality, and none of the threatening undercurrents I was scanning for. “You have an interesting way of delivering an invitation, Mr. Barnes”

He raised a hand. “Wayne.”

“’Wayne’ it is. You must have an interesting social life.”

“I do. Do you find it offensive?”

I looked over the bow, past the deepening blue crystal water to the reddening horizon. I felt the soothing caress of the slightly salted ocean breeze. I took one more sip of the most perfectly balanced planters punch of a lifetime, and looked back at Wayne. “Not in the slightest. Yet.”

“Ah yes, ‘yet’.”

“Right. I’m sure this won’t impress you, Wayne, and it’s not a complaint, but I’ve had a week full of enough tragedy to fill a lifetime. Hence the ‘yet’.”

His smile and focused attention remained. “I know more about your week, perhaps, than even you do. But go on.”

The second planter’s punch was having a definitely mollifying effect. “I have no idea what you mean by that last statement, Wayne, so I’ll just pass on. Given that week, and the abrupt transport from hell on earth to . . . paradise on earth, I’d have to be Mrs. Shane’s backward child not to listen for a second shoe to drop.”

The smile expanded. Still no alarms. “Or perhaps you’ve come into a sea-change of good luck, Michael. Why not go with that?”

“Why not indeed? For the moment. Just one question. ”

“Alright.  One question. For now. Make it a good one.”

“Oh it is. It’s a beaut. Ecstatic as I am with all this, why the hell am I here?”

That brought a bursting laugh. “I think I’m going to enjoy having you around for a couple of days, Michael. You have an instinct for the jugular.  No chipping around the edges. We won’t waste each other’s time.”

“Thank you. But that’s not an answer.”

“No it isn’t.” He looked out to the diminishing sunset. “The only answer I can give you at the moment that would do justice to the question is this. And you’ll just have to live with it for now. You’re here for a quick but depthful education. I think you’ll find it well worth two days of your life. Are you in?”

“Do I have a choice?”

We both looked back at the rapidly diminishing shore-line behind us. “None that comes to mind. Now are you in?”

That brought a smile from me, another healthy sip of the planter’s punch, and a deep breath of the ocean-fresh breeze. “I’m in.”

We chatted through the sunset on far-ranging subjects that had no association whatever with Monkeys Paws, Maroons, murder-suicides – in fact nothing that gave a clue as to why my gracious host had chosen my company over the undoubtedly vast range of his acquaintances. By then, the moon had risen.

At some point, I was aware that the engines had stopped.  The splash of two anchors could be heard on either side. The sun had set. The shift from twilight to a darkness, penetrated only by a quarter moon went unnoticed.

I was slowly sipping away at my third or possibly fourth Planter’s Punch, when I became aware of a bobbing light approaching from the port side. Without interrupting the flow of conversation, I noticed that Wayne was following its approach with more than the occasional glance until it reached the side of the yacht. 

Within a few minutes, my original guide, still in suit and tie, approached Wayne’s side with an inaudible whisper. I sensed that a bit of  steel crept into Wayne’s otherwise conversational tone. “I’ll see him.”

I began to get up to provide privacy. Wayne held my arm in position. “Stay, Michael. Let your education begin.” My guide nodded to someone behind us and lit his path with a small flashlight.

I settled back, as a fiftyish man with narrow, cautious eyes and thinning grey hair that might have last been combed by his mother came up along Wayne’s right side. The loose wrinkles in his ageless cotton suit indicated that he might have been close to six feet, but for a constant stoop as if to pass under an unseen beam. The stoop caused his head to bob and gave him the look of one asking for royal permission to approach.

Wayne’s eyes turned to him. I noticed the stoop of the back became more noticeable. Wayne’s voice was calm and soft, but it commanded his visitor’s full attention. “Do you have it?  I assume you wouldn’t be here without it, yes, Yusuf?” 

The thin mouth cracked into a smile that conveyed no humor. “Of course. Of course. But perhaps our business . . .”

Wayne nodded toward me. “No fear. Mr. Shayne is here for an education. We shouldn’t deprive him of that, should we?”

The smile on the man’s lips did not match the apprehension in the tiny eyes, but he nodded. “As you say.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

The man gave a slight glance to either side as if it were the habit of a lifetime. He reached into some deep pocket inside his suitcoat. I noticed a slight but tell-tale hesitation before he slipped out what appeared to be a hard, flat, roundish object, about seven inches across. It was wrapped in several layers of ragged cloth.

He held it until Wayne extended a hand and took it onto his lap.  He laid it on the small tray on his stomach. He looked back at the man, who simply forced a smile .

 “I assume it all went well?”

 “Oh yes, Mr. Barnes. No problems,”

 Wayne smiled back. “How I do love to hear those words.”

My eyes were glued to Wayne’s hands as he carefully peeled back one layer of cloth after another.  When he turned over the last layer, the object in the shape of a disc sent out instant glints of reflections of the rising moonlight.

I could see Wayne running the tips of his fingers over the entire jagged surface of the disc. He took a flip cigarette lighter out of his pocket, opened it, and lit the flame. When he held it close to the object, I could make out the resemblance of a human face, coarsely pieced together from chips of green stone.

Wayne held it up toward me and ran the flame in front of it.

“Do you recognize it Michael?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He nodded. “Most wouldn’t. Your friend, Professor Holmes, would spot it immediately. The Mayans made death masks to protect their important rulers in their journey to the afterlife. They go back to around 700 A.D.”

 “What stones are these? They look like jade.”

“Good spotting. The eyes were made of rare seashells.”

“And I assume valuable?”

He laughed again. “Right to the crux of the issue. Right, Michael.”

He turned the object over and ran his fingers over the back side of it. “One that apparently goes back as far as this, and belonged to the ruler we have in mind, the right collector will pay half a million. Isn’t that right, Yusuf?”

Yusuf’s grin was beginning to become genuine. “Oh yes. Oh yes. And more, as you would know, Mr. Barnes.”

Wayne swung his legs over the deck-lounge toward me. He sat up and very carefully replaced the wrapping that had covered the mask. He stood up and walked toward the man. “And the key to its value is that it is absolutely authentic.” 

Wayne looked down at the grinning eyes of Yusuf for several seconds. I think I let out a yell that came from the pit of my stomach when Wayne hurled the wrapped object over side of the yacht, into the pitch blackness that absorbed it with barely a splash.

I thought that the man would crumble to the deck. He barely held his balance. In the blackness of the night, I couldn’t make out his features, but I know to a certainty that every drop of blood left his face.  

Wayne called a uniformed attendant.

Before the man moved, Wayne took hold of his arm. I was almost as frozen to the spot as the man. I think we were both certain that he would be following the object into the blackness below. 

Wayne held him close enough to speak directly into his ear, but spoke loudly enough, I’m sure, so that I could hear. 

“It’s a fake, Yusuf. I’m sure you know that. But you’ll live to do me a service. You’re a delivery boy. Nothing more. I want you to take a message back to Istanbul. I want you to say just this. ‘You had my trust. I give it sparingly, and not twice. Rest assured, we’ll speak of this again.’ Do you have that Yusuf?”

The man had all he could do to nod.

Wayne signaled his attendant. “Take him back.”

The man was escorted, practically carried toward the back of the vessel. In a few minutes, I could see running lights heading away from the yacht.

Wayne sat back down. “What do you think, Michael? One more Planter’s Punch before dinner?”

I could only smile at the abrupt change of tone and subject. 

“No? Then shall we go in to dinner.  The chef should be prepared by now.”

When he stood up, I saw that he took something from under his deck-lounge. My mouth sprung open when a glint of light from an opening door of the yacht cabin lit up the death mask. I could see amusement in the smile of my host.

“What on earth did you throw overboard?”

“Oh that. I substituted my lap tray in the wrapping for the desk mask. I’ll keep the mask.”

“But if it’s a fake.”

“It is, but a fake by a well-respected forger of these antiquities. It has enough value for that reason alone to pay the expenses I’ve already incurred in acquiring it. Shall we go to dinner?”  

***

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Author Bio

Following graduation from Boston Latin School and Harvard College with a major in Latin and Linguistics, three years on active duty as fighter intercept director in the United States Air Force, graduation from Boston College Law School, three years of practice in civil and criminal trial work, and graduation from Harvard Law School with a Master of Laws degree, I began a career as a Professor of Law at Villanova Law School. Twenty-five years ago I began writing mystery/thriller fiction. I have so far had twenty-five short stories published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery magazine, and six mystery thriller novels, the Michael Knight/Lex Devlin series, published by Oceanview Publishing. The second novel, Frame Up, was selected as Foreword Review’s Book of the Year.

Social Media Links

JohnDobbyn.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @JohnFDobbyn
Instagram – #JohnFDobbyn
Twitter – @JohnDobbyn
Facebook – @JohnFDobbynAuthor

Purchase Links

Amazon https://amzn.to/3q4oPk4
Barnes & Noble https://bit.ly/43luYGZ
BookShop.org https://bit.ly/3WtWzn0
Goodreads https://bit.ly/43iKO58
Oceanview Publishing https://bit.ly/3q5m5D8

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Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Cold Pursuit by Nancy Mehl

Cold Pursuit

by Nancy Mehl

July 17 – August 4, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for COLD PURSUIT (Ryland & St. Clair Book #1) by Nancy Mehl 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. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!

***

Book Description

Ex-FBI profiler River Ryland still suffers from PTSD after a case went horribly wrong. Needing a fresh start, she moves to St. Louis to be near her ailing mother and opens a private investigation firm with her friend and former FBI partner, Tony St. Clair. They’re soon approached by a grieving mother who wants them to find out what happened to her teenaged son, who disappeared four years ago. River knows there’s almost no hope the boy is still alive, but his mother needs closure, and River and Tony need a case, no matter how cold it might be.

But as they follow the boy’s trail, which gets more complicated at every turn, they find themselves in the path of a murderer determined to punish anyone who gets in his way. As River and Tony race to stop him before he kills again, an even more dangerous threat emerges, stirring up the past that haunts River and plotting an end to her future.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62921692-cold-pursuit?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=rmkx3OaObn&rank=1

Cold Pursuit

Genre: Christian Suspense
Published by: Bethany House Publishers
Publication Date: July 2023
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 9780764240454 (ISBN10: 0764240455)
Series: Ryland & St. Clair (#1)

***

My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

COLD PURSUIT (Ryland & St. Clair Book #1) by Nancy Mehl is a fast paced and gripping Christian suspense and the first book in this new series. These stories feature ex-FBI profilers, River Ryland and Tony St. Clair who have left the FBI and are opening their own private investigation firm.

Watson Investigations is opened by River Ryland and Tony St. Clair in River’s hometown of St. Louis. River left the FBI with PTSD after her last horrific case and her mother needs her now after her Alzheimer’s diagnosis. Tony follows and has mild aphasia and some loss of feeling in his hand and feet after being shot four times by the same perp. The killer is now in prison, but the DNA is not only his and there may be a follower who wants to finish the job of killing River.

At the same time, they get their first P.I. case. A mother whose son has been missing for four years comes to them for help finding him. She knows he is probably dead, but she would like his remains to put him to rest. They begin the investigation and follow a convoluted series of clues and help from people in his life that lead them to a surprisingly close suspect who is determined to punish anyone who makes him mad.

This is an intense suspense read with well-drawn protagonists. Their introduction in the prologue starts you off with a bang and this is the over-arcing plot that will continue in the series and keeps you on the edge-of-your-seat even as you follow their first P.I. case from start to finish in this book. The evidence, clues and twists come at you quickly even as they intertwine so this book is difficult to put down. I read Christian suspense/fiction from other authors and do not mind religious dialogue, prayer, or religious references, but there is too much for me in this story. It pulled me out of the thrills and chills. Overall, I really did enjoy the cold case mystery, the potential of romance between the two protagonists, and the threatening serial killer in the background who we know will return in the future.

A great start to a new Christian suspense series.

***

Excerpt

Prologue

River Ryland was convinced that madness exists only a breath away from genius. The man who stood in front of her and Tony had proven this to be true. He’d kept his identity hidden from the FBI’s best. Now River and Tony’s lives were about to end, and there was no one to save them.

Moonlight caused the river to sparkle as if it were layered with precious jewels. But the image didn’t provoke a sense of beauty. It spawned a feeling of terror so deep and evil that her body betrayed her. She couldn’t move. Why were they even here? She and Tony were behavioral analysts for the FBI, not field agents. They wrote profiles for the agents who were trained to confront insanity. A call from another agent had brought them here. “Come and see,” she’d said. “It’s important. I think we got it wrong.”

This was someone they trusted. Someone whose opinion mattered. Jacki was so smart. So naturally intuitive. And so surely dead. Why hadn’t River been alerted by the quiver in her voice? Why hadn’t the profiler profiled her friend and realized she was in trouble? She’d failed Jacki, Tony, . . . and herself. And now, without a miracle, she and Tony were going to die on the bank of this killer river—with moonlight standing guard over their execution.

“Come closer,” the man said to River, his face resembling a Greek theater mask. Was it Comedy or Tragedy? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t think. Even though she willed her feet to move, she stayed where she was. It was as if her shoes had been glued to the ground. But that wasn’t possible, was it?

The man swung his gun toward Tony. “I said move. If you don’t, I’ll shoot your friend.”

River forced her feet from the spot where she stood. It took every ounce of strength and willpower she possessed. She locked her eyes with Tony’s. Slowly, she made her way toward the man in the moonlight, his gun glinting in the soft light as he pointed it at her. A line from Shakespeare’s Othello echoed in her mind. It is the very error of the moon; She comes more nearer earth than she is wont and makes men mad.

She turned her face toward the man who planned to take her life. She knew she shouldn’t panic. She knew how to fight. How to defend herself. She hated feeling so helpless. So afraid. This was the moment she desperately needed to summon the trained agent inside of her. The one who knew how to confront evil. Yet she was aware of how powerful this man was. How deadly. He’d killed eleven women that they knew of, not counting Jacki, but he’d teased authorities with letters claiming up to eighty. Although it sounded impossible, it wasn’t. Transient women went missing every day. Hookers. Teenagers living on the streets. The number could be right. The one truth that was indisputable? No one had ever survived him. No one.

When she was close enough to smell his sour breath, in one quick move, he swung the gun back toward Tony and fired four times. Tony fell to the ground.

River started to scream his name, but before she could make a sound, the killer’s hands were around her neck, squeezing. Choking the life out of her. Suddenly, something clicked on in her brain, like her alarm clock in the morning. She had to help Tony—if it wasn’t already too late. She struggled, hitting at this horror of a human being. This man full of death and destruction. Then she rolled her eyes back in her head and stopped breathing, holding her breath for dear life. And that’s exactly what it was. Life. Hers and Tony’s. She went limp, hoping the monster would think she was dead.

He finally dropped her on the ground and walked toward his car. She needed to gulp in air but was afraid he’d hear. Breathing in a little at a time hurt her chest, yet she had no choice. She began to crawl quietly toward the gun he’d taken from Tony. It lay only a few feet away. She had no idea where hers was, but that didn’t matter.

She heard him close the trunk. She scrambled as quickly as she could until her fingers closed around the barrel of the gun, but before she could pick it up, he was behind her. He hit her on the head, and she felt herself losing consciousness. She could only stare up at the moon and hate it for watching this happen.

The next sensation she experienced was throbbing pain in her head and neck. Her first reaction wasn’t relief, it was surprise. The pain was awful, but didn’t that mean she was alive? A flash of euphoria gave way to terror when she realized she couldn’t move. Where was she? Why was she wet? She couldn’t see anything, and her hands were bound in front of her. Her fingers reached out and touched something hard. What was it? When she realized she was trapped inside some kind of container—and that water was leaking in—she screamed out in horror. She was in a large chest. All of the Strangler’s victims had been found in the Salt River, and most of them were inside old trunks. But they’d been dead when they went into the water, and she was still alive. He’d done it on purpose because she’d come too close. He needed more than her death. He wanted her to experience the terror he knew his madness could create.

River struggled with all her might, but she couldn’t get free. She pulled her hands up to her mouth and tried to use her teeth to rip through the duct tape wrapped around her wrists. She realized immediately that there was too much of it. She couldn’t make enough progress to help herself before she was completely submerged. The river was seeping in, slowly but surely. She was on her side, and half of her head was already under water. She cried out in terror as she tried to push herself onto her back so she could clear her nose and mouth, but there wasn’t enough room. As hope faded, she did something she never thought she’d do again. Something she hadn’t done in many years. She prayed.

“God, please. If you’re real, if you care anything about me, save me. Get me out of here. I’m sorry I’ve been so angry at you. If you give me another chance . . .” She couldn’t get the rest of the words out because water filled her mouth and she began to choke. She’d swallowed some of it, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She was suffocating. Drowning. Just when she’d decided to give in to the inevitable and let death overtake her, something flashed in her mind. Right before the Strangler hit her . . . there was something. A movement on the hill behind them. Was someone watching? Had they gone for help? Was there a chance? As much as she wanted to believe it, another part of her thought it would be best to just relax and float away. Hope only brought disappointment, and she’d experienced too much of it. Still, she couldn’t help but grab onto a slim chance that . . .

That’s when she felt it. Movement. Something jostled the trunk. Was she being lifted out of the river? As the water level began to decrease inside the trunk, River began to cry. She was going to live. “Thank you, God,” she croaked. “Thank you.”

He was convinced he’d been born to be exceptional. He was certainly smarter than these weak, feckless creatures who revolved around his genius. Was he a god? Or was he a demon? Who was smarter, God or Lucifer? It seemed Lucifer had certainly ruined the plan of the Almighty. If God was really the Creator of all things, how was it that one of His creations was able to rebel and cause such havoc on Earth? Seemed to him that the devil was the winner of that particular contest.

So, on whose side was he working? Being honest about it, he didn’t really care. He only knew that the desire to rid the world of those who were unworthy of life burned in him like a fire. One that he had no power or will to quench. It was his destiny. His reason for living. His fate had been decided for him many years ago, and he’d accepted it gladly. Lucifer or Jehovah. It didn’t matter.

Some would call what he’d done sin. But what was sin anyway? Perhaps it was the road less traveled because of fear of retribution. He didn’t fear judgment. His god didn’t threaten him. Instead, he only fueled the glorious desire that clawed and scratched inside him, demanding release.

He especially enjoyed pitting himself against those who called themselves righteous because they had the ability to forgive. Forgiveness was for the feeble-minded. He would never forgive. He hated anyone who considered themselves moral or spiritually justified and had promised the voice that whispered in the darkness that he would never fail to respond to its unending song of reckoning against them.

He laughed suddenly, the sound echoing around him. These idiotic cattle thought they’d defeated him, but he had a surprise for them. All he had to do was wait. They would rue the day they’d tried to cage him.

The killing hadn’t stopped. It had only just begun.

Chapter One

Brian woke up shivering again, calling out for his mother and father. As he looked around the small room he rented in the rundown boarding house, reality sunk in. He had no idea where his parents were, and even if he could find them, they didn’t want him. They’d stuck him in that residential facility until he was eighteen, like some kind of unwanted dog left in the pound. They’d paid the hospital boatloads of money for all those years, yet when he’d been released there was no family waiting to take him home. So why was he still having the same nightmare? Would it ever leave him alone?

Before they’d kicked him out, the social worker at the hospital had found him a job, but if he wanted to keep it, he had to visit a therapist every week. He hated going, but he couldn’t walk away from his job. Although he didn’t make much, at least he could pay for this room. Fredric, a kind man who’d worked in the hospital cafeteria, had helped him find this rooming house and had even paid his rent for two months. Brian was grateful for Fredric’s help, but this place was really awful. Paint peeling off the walls. A shared bathroom for all three rooms on this floor, which was usually dirty. The guy who lived across the hall drank and didn’t flush the toilet. And at night the cockroaches came out. Brian didn’t blame Fredric. He’d done everything he could with his limited funds. Brian blamed his parents. They were rich. They could have helped him. Kept him safe. Brian hated them with every fiber of his being.

When he was very young, they were attentive—even loving. But as he grew older, and they realized he was different, everything changed. Although he’d never met his father’s father, he’d heard the whispers—that Brian was crazy, just like his grandfather had been. When he first began to tell his parents what he was experiencing, they seemed concerned. Then when doctors informed them he was hallucinating and that he needed professional help, the way they looked at him changed. The word schizophrenia became his enemy—and his identity.

At first, his father appeared to care for his broken son, but as his mother applied pressure, he began to distance himself—just as she had. It was clear he wasn’t the child they’d wanted. And then his brother was born. And his sister. They were perfect. As he grew older and his problems began to increase, it was obvious that his mother only saw him as an embarrassment. Something that interfered with their perfect lives. Thankfully, in their eyes, God had shown them mercy and given them the children they deserved, so sending him away solved their dilemma. He had a memory of his parents fighting one night. His father wanted Brian to stay with them, but his mother had threatened to leave him and take his ideal children away. Finally, his father gave in. Brian hated him even more than his mother for caving in to her demands. For turning his back on the son that needed him so desperately. After he went to live in that terrible hospital with its white walls, disinfectant smells, locked doors, and abusive staff, his parents began to visit him less and less. The more he begged them to take him home, the more uncomfortable they became, and by the time he was thirteen, they stopped coming altogether. As he remembered the anger he’d felt, bad words swirled around in the air, each letter a different color. As they turned red, he mouthed the words he saw, and rage built inside him. He would need to release it soon.

Suddenly his alarm clock went off, causing the air around him to pulsate. He hit the alarm and pushed himself up from the bed. It was an especially cold November. The blanket he’d purchased from Goodwill wasn’t enough to keep him warm, especially in this drafty room, but it was all he could afford if he wanted to pay his rent and eat. As his teeth chattered, the word cold floated in front of his eyes. He couldn’t hold back a sneeze that made his mouth feel funny. He swiped at the bad words that started flying around his head.

“Stop it!” he said loudly. Immediately, he put his hand over his mouth. What if someone complained because he was too loud? No matter what, he couldn’t lose this room. He had nowhere else to go, and he didn’t want to live on the streets. That was a nightmare he couldn’t face.

The afternoon sun shone through a gap in the curtains on his window, but it brought no warmth. He took off his sweatpants and sweatshirt and hurried over to the decrepit chest of drawers where he kept his clothes. He pulled out his work pants and some clean underwear. Then he went over to the hooks on the wall where he hung his three work shirts. There was only one clean shirt left. He’d have to go to the laundromat tomorrow. That could be a problem since he had to see his therapist in the morning. He’d have to wake up early to get everything done. He glanced at the clock on the top of his dresser. Four o’clock. He needed to leave by five-thirty to get to work on time. At least the cleaning company left him alone, since they trusted him and knew he would get the job done. As long as he had a place to live and he could keep his fifteen-year-old car running, he would keep showing up.

His supervisor usually only showed up once a week to collect Brian’s time sheet. He used to check his work, but he didn’t anymore. Most importantly, the man never gave him the look. Brian hated that look. The one he saw on his parents’ faces before they’d shipped him off. Rage burned inside him toward normal people who laughed at him and treated him as less than human. As he headed toward the bathroom, the word blood pulsated in front of his eyes, and he could almost taste its sugary aroma in his mouth.

***

Author Bio

Nancy Mehl (www.nancymehl.com) is the author of almost fifty books, a Parable bestseller, as well as the winner of an ACFW Book of the Year Award, a Carol Award, and the Daphne Du Maurier Award. She has also been a finalist for two Carol Awards, and the Christy Award. Nancy writes from her home in Missouri, where she lives with her husband, Norman, and their puggle, Watson. To learn more, visit nancymehl.com.

Social Media Links

NancyMehl.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @NancyMehl
Twitter – @NancyMehl1
Facebook – Nancy Mehl Fan Page

Purchase Links

Amazon 

Barnes & Noble 

BookShop.org  

ChristianBook.com  

Goodreads 

Baker Book House

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