Camy Tang's Blog, page 101

While helping to put insulation on the whole house fan co...

While helping to put insulation on the whole house fan cover, Captain Caffein clocked me in the chin with the edge of the cover. He felt very bad. It was at this point that I told him how much I spent on Black Friday sales. :)

Super low Nook sale at BarnesandNoble.com!

If I didn't already have both a Nook Simple Touch and Nook HD, I'd be in serious trouble. :)


$50 off NOOK HD Tablets(8GB/16GB), Originally starting at $129 Now Only $79/99 on Black Friday at BN.com or at our local BN stores
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Surprise Box of Christian books giveaway - the winner is ...

The winner of my Surprise Box of Christian Books giveaway is:
Naomi S.!
Congratulations!
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Excerpt - The Reluctant Witness by Kathleen Tailer

The Reluctant Witness
by Kathleen Tailer

LEFT FOR DEAD When his partner turns on him and tries to kill him, FBI agent Jack Mitchell is framed for murder and abandoned…until a blue-eyed beauty saves his life. Even in his wounded haze Jack sees Casey Johnson is hiding a secret. As the only witness to his innocence, Jack needs her. But Casey doesn't know who's more dangerous—the man who wants Jack dead or the handsome agent himself. For if Jack knew the reason she escaped to the wilderness with her niece, he'd have to arrest her. But on the run with Jack, Casey realizes that more than her secret is at stake now. So is her heart….
Excerpt of chapter one:

The first bullet whizzed by his head and ricocheted off the rock behind him. The second caught him square in the shoulder and burned like fire immediately upon impact. Pain shot down his arm, and he could feel the blood dampening his shirt as it pooled around the wound.

FBI agent Jack Mitchell took a fortifying breath, then cast a quick look around the tree and returned fire. A shootout was the last thing he'd expected when he'd come to the isolated cabin looking for a lead in his current case. But while he hadn't been expecting the gunmen, they had clearly been expecting him.

As best he could tell, there were at least two men out there shooting at him. He fired again and heard a moan as one of his bullets struck home, eliminating one of his enemies. He took cover again behind the tree and patted his pocket to assess his ammunition stock. He still had one full clip of fifteen cartridges left. He hoped it was enough. The remaining gunman was still shooting at him, and bits of bark and leaves f lew like fireworks as the bullets decimated the surrounding forest.

The shooting stopped abruptly, and Jack guessed that his opponent was reloading or changing his position. He looked quickly around the tree and saw no movement, but he knew the remaining shooter was still out there somewhere. He bent and looked carefully around the surrounding area. It was time for him to move, too—he just needed to decide which direction was safest. He grimaced as pain from his shoulder intensified and he shifted to ease the throbbing. With a short prayer, he headed up toward a boulder to his right. He never made it.

Another bullet caught him in the thigh and he fell hard, way short of his destination. He struggled to stand again and make it to cover as agonizing pain radiated through his leg, but he could barely do more than shift himself forward. The pain on its own was nearly debilitating, and it didn't help that he was losing blood fast.

Suddenly he heard a noise from directly in front of him and realized there was a weapon pointed straight at his chest. He glanced up to lock eyes with the man holding the gun and saw a coldness there that chilled him right to the bone. He'd known Brett Stevens since they'd gone to the academy together. They had been partners for almost five years, yet he had never suspected the man of being dirty. Stevens had hid it well. And the gun he held on Jack with no hint of regret made it clear that he planned to hide it awhile longer.

Dread washed over him. He was going to die, right here on the forest floor. Regrets flashed through his head. He wasn't ready to die. He was only thirty years old, and the rising star in the Bureau's local field office. There were still plenty of things he was planning to do with his life. Apparently, he wasn't going to get the chance.

"You shouldn't have come out here, Mitchell," Stevens said, his voice grating like gravel. "Put your gun down now."

Another gunman joined them in the clearing and Jack realized that there had been more men out in the woods than he had originally thought. With three guns against him he had been outmaneuvered from the beginning. He glanced at the new man, but once he realized that the guy was a stranger, Jack ignored him and focused on Stevens. Maybe he had a chance of convincing his partner that murder wasn't the answer.

"This can all be worked out, Brett. If you give yourself up now, we can still fix this. Don't throw your life away."

"My life? My life has been over ever since my team lost the Super Bowl. I have debts, Jack. Colby offered me a chance to make the cash to pay what I owe. It was all working out just fine…until you decided to start digging. You brought this on yourself." He motioned slightly with his gun, then brought it back to point at Jack's midriff. "Besides, Jack, out of all the lives out here, the one you should be worried about is your own."

"Don't do this," Jack said, shaking his head, his hands up in a motion of surrender. "I'll help you get back on the right track. I'll do whatever it takes."

Stevens laughed, but it was filled with bitterness. "Nobody can help me. I'm too far down the road to turn back now." He motioned with his pistol again. "What's in the bag?"

Jack glanced down at the satchel he had dropped on the ground. He had found a laptop and quite a few papers in the private investigator's cabin that he had just searched, but he needed time to analyze everything before he would know the true value of what he had discovered.

Earlier he'd hoped the laptop and papers would contain the evidence he had been hunting for that would implicate a ring of conspirators operating out of the federal courthouse. Apparently Stevens was also one of the conspirators. The knowledge was a bitter pill for Jack to swallow. He had considered that maybe someone on the FBI payroll was involved, but it had never occurred to him that Stevens would turn on his own. How had he missed that? Why hadn't he seen the evil lurking right below the surface in this man he had worked with every day for the past five years?

He glanced up at Stevens, whose familiar eyes now looked dark and sinister. "Just a laptop and some papers," Jack hedged, hoping that if he somehow survived this encounter he could still use the evidence to break the case.

Stevens aimed and shook his head. "Goodbye, Mitchell."

Jack tried to dive behind a tree to escape, but it was an exercise in futility. The impact from the bullet caught him hard and spun his body around as it ripped into the flesh on his side. He was still falling when the second shot caught him in the head. For the moment, gravity had saved his life, giving him enough momentum that the bullet sliced a trail across his forehead rather than passing straight through to his brain. But how long would it take before blood loss—or another bullet from Stevens—finished the job?

His body hit the ground hard. Pain enveloped him and he struggled to stay conscious. He felt Stevens kick his ribs, but he had enough presence of mind to try to remain as still as possible. He felt another kick, and it took everything inside him not to react to the agony that radiated up his side and around the assortment of bullet wounds. He heard the other man take a few steps toward him and holster his weapon.

"Now what? This partner of yours was a pretty good shot. He managed to kill Milo down on the ridge. Now we've got two bodies to dispose of."

"Let's take care of Milo's body first." Stevens shifted and Jack could hear his partner's shoes rustling the leaves as he started to pace.

His partner had always had a creative side. Jack guessed Stevens was already devising a plan in his mind to explain what had happened this afternoon. The man would probably tell just enough truth to keep him from mixing up the story if he ever got interrogated, but he would name Jack as the criminal and would try to get the conspiracy investigation closed as soon as possible. The thought made Jack sick inside.

A moment passed, then another. Suddenly Stevens stopped and a laugh erupted.

"What's so funny?" the other gunman snarled, his voice gruff. "I don't see anything to laugh about in two dead bodies that might somehow come back and bite me."

Stevens secured his weapon and snapped the holster shut. "Let's put Milo in Jack's trunk and park his car back at his apartment. It'll throw the local cops off our trail, and Jack won't be around to defend himself or point the finger at us. That should keep the heat off and make such a huge stink that nobody will even think to look in our direction. After we dump Milo, we can come back up here, clean up the scene and bury Jack. My uncle has some property near here that'll be the perfect place to hide the body. Nobody ever goes over there."

"You're the boss. I've got some plastic in my trunk for just such an occasion. We can make it look like he was about to dispose of the body but got interrupted."

"Perfect."

A wave of nausea swept over Jack as he fought to keep in the here and now. Still, he struggled through the pain and tried to concentrate on their words. He heard Stevens reach down, grab the satchel and sift through the contents. A few seconds passed and then the bag closed with a snap.

"See anything in there that's a problem?"

"I don't know. It's going to take me some time to sort through it all. I'll take it along just in case."

Jack tried not to tense as he felt Stevens reach over, pat his pockets and pull out his car keys.

"Aren't you even gonna check the guy's pulse? There's an awful lot of blood, but I'm telling you I don't want to take any chances."

Stevens's voice took on a menacing tone. "Relax. You worry too much. I know killing Jack wasn't part of the plan, but I think it can actually work to our advantage if we play our cards right." He paused. "All right. If it makes you feel better, I'll check." Jack felt Stevens reach toward his neck, but suddenly a cell phone ring broke the silence.

Stevens pulled back and answered the phone. "What? Okay. I'm on my way. Don't move without me." The cell phone snapped shut with a click and Stevens stood abruptly.

"We have to go. Now. Colby has an emergency and needs us downtown. Let's get Milo's body and get out of here. We'll come back and take care of Jack later."

Jack heard them retreat and breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive—for now. But his thoughts were getting fuzzy and he could feel the life ebbing from him as his blood soaked into the ground. He tried to move and groaned as another wave of pain swept over him. He paused a moment, then tried again. His limbs felt heavy and nothing seemed to work right. With another groan he succumbed to the blackness, wondering if he would ever see the light of day again.

Casey Johnson gasped and shrank back against the bushes. From her position on the cliff she had clearly seen the entire scene play out, and her heart was beating overtime as fear washed over her. They had just killed that man in cold blood!

She'd been out taking her daily run when she'd heard the first shot and had quickly made her way toward the edge of the cliff to see the valley below. Seconds later she had crouched behind some shrubbery, hoping the plant and her green shirt would camouflage her from the murderers' sight as the horrible scene had played out in front of her. What were they doing up here? Why had they killed that man? Her heart felt as if it was about to come right out of her chest and her limbs felt frozen and numb.

A movement caught her eye and she saw the two men get into a blue two-door vehicle, drive down the road a short distance and pull onto the grass before exiting the car again. A few seconds later the two men returned, carrying a body out of the woods. Casey swallowed hard as realization swept over her. Two men were dead, not just one. She watched, horrified, as they wrapped the body in a large sheet of plastic and threw it into the trunk of the car. Seconds later, the blue car and a brown sedan, each driven by one of the shooters, sped down the road, leaving a plume of dirt and a dead man behind them.

Questions and trepidation spun through Casey's head. What had happened? Why had there been a gun battle out here only a short distance from her cabin? She sat back and tried to keep her hands from shaking. Did the gunshots have anything to do with her situation? Various scenarios abounded in her mind, and she stayed hidden a few moments, mulling over the possibilities. She'd thought she was still safe, but she should have known better than to have assumed anything. Still, the idea that her brother-in-law had sent them didn't quite fit. If the men had been looking for her, they wouldn't have ended up shooting each other, or left so quickly without finding their quarry. No, it seemed clear that their target had been the man that was still lying on the ground below.

She quickly raced down the mountainside, anxious to see if the man who had been left on the forest floor was indeed dead or had somehow survived. Even as she approached, two questions rang through her head. Why hadn't the murderers taken his body, as well? Would they be back? She'd seen the men talking from her spot on the ridge but she hadn't been able to overhear their words, so she couldn't be sure about their plans.

Nothing about this scenario made sense. They were pretty high up in the mountains, and it was rare for Casey to have any human company other than her niece, who lived with her. Only a few cabins dotted the mountainside, and most were empty except during the summer months. She had picked this location for that very reason. She didn't want any visitors. In fact, keeping her location a secret was vital. Still, she couldn't just walk away without at least checking on the fallen man.

She tripped on a root but righted herself quickly and continued down the mountain, slowing her pace to make sure she didn't reveal her presence in case there were others still in the woods. It didn't take long for her to find a blood trail, and she gasped at the red stains that painted the ground. Surely the man was dead, or there wouldn't have been so much blood. She followed it back to where it had probably started with the man's first injury, before the final confrontation. A large pool of blood had soaked into the ground, and even more droplets of blood painted the leaves of the nearby bushes. She looked around carefully, searching for any other clues that might explain what had happened and why the men were in the woods in the first place, but she found nothing.

"Help me." The voice was soft, so soft that at first, Casey thought she'd imagined it. She quickly headed up to where she had seen the shooting and heard a soft moan as she approached. She stepped over a fallen log, her eyes warily searching the area around her. She heard another moan and moved cautiously toward the sound, constantly looking over her shoulder, just in case.
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Giveaway - Another Surprise Box of Christian Books

My giveaway on the Love Inspired Authors blog for a Surprise box of Christian books was such a huge hit that I’ve decided to do another one! This one will end on Thanksgiving day, so the winner will have a nice prize to thank God for. :) The Surprise box will include non-fiction and fiction, a mix of genres. There’ll be something in there for every taste!

To enter:

You must join my email newsletter to be eligible for this contest (go to my website and look for the purple chair to sign up for my newsletter). Fill out the form below. Be sure to read the rules.

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Excerpt - Warning Signs by Katy Lee

Warning Signs
by Katy Lee

GUILTY UNTIL PROVEN INNOCENT When a drug-smuggling ring rocks a small coastal town, the DEA sends Agent Owen Matthews to shut it down. A single father with a deaf son, Owen senses that the town's number one suspect—the high school's new principal—doesn't fit the profile. Miriam Hunter hoped to shrug off the stigma of her hearing impairment when she returned to Stepping Stones, Maine. But her recurring nightmares dredge up old memories that could prove her innocence—and uncover the truth behind a decades-old murder. Yet Owen's help may not be enough when someone decides to keep Miriam silenced—permanently.
Excerpt of chapter one:

Drug Enforcement agent Owen Matthews gripped the wheel of his rented sports boat as he coasted through the North Atlantic at barely half throttle. The Maine island town of Stepping Stones urged Owen to rush forward to the safety of its shores, but his newly acquired phobia of boats wouldn't let him speed up even one knot. At this rate the sun would be gone before he arrived at his next assignment.

"What we do for friends," Owen mumbled through clenched teeth, thinking about his old academy roommate, and the island's sheriff, Wesley Grant. Even though Wes had chosen small-town law enforcement and Owen had taken the federal route with the DEA down to the Mexican border, the two kept in touch.

Wes had called, needing Owen's undercover expertise to take down a recent marijuana problem at Stepping Stones High School. No job was too dangerous or too far for Owen when it came to extinguishing the distribution of illegal mind-altering substances. Even if the job brought him back to these Maine waters, where his guilt ran deep and he'd vowed never to go again.

Owen inhaled the old and familiar salty air…and cringed. He needed to get off this boat. He needed to get this job done and get back to Texas where he belonged.

He steered his focus to the few facts Wes had given him about the case, specifically on how the drugs had appeared about six months ago, soon after two new residents had moved to Stepping Stones.

Wes was a good cop, but he probably didn't want to believe a fellow islander could ever bring such harm down on one of his own. Since Owen grew up on the mainland and not with these people, he could offer a more unbiased investigation of all the inhabitants, new and old.

Plus, Owen knew firsthand how the ones closest to us had the power to destroy us. And he knew this not because he'd been on the receiving end, but because of the people he'd destroyed. His past offenses convinced him that anyone could be a suspect—including the owner of the fishing boat coming at him.

At first, the vessel bobbed alongside a huge rock and lighthouse up ahead. When it shot off like a bullet, Owen questioned its hurry. Was its retreat an innocent maneuver, or had Owen intruded on an illegal happening of some kind?

He kept his undercover status in mind and prepared to make all neighborly with the captain of the… He strained to read the name of the fishing boat scrawled on its hull.

The Rita Ann.

A harmless enough name. Although typically a drug trafficker wouldn't be advertising its wares on its exterior for the world to see. Owen observed more of the rusty, white fishing boat with its tall, lit masthead. A rule follower, it would seem, with his adequate safety equipment. But if one were carrying illegal cargo, it would be in his best interest to keep the lightbulbs in working order. Why risk the chance of being pulled over?

Owen searched the tinted pilothouse windows for the captain, but only the reflection of the setting sun glinted back at him. He closed in, waving his hand high, then slowed to an idle to wait for a response.

Instead, the Rita Ann increased its speed and changed its course—directly at him.

Stunned, Owen felt his hand slip off the gearshift. This couldn't be happening. Not again. The sun was setting, but he could still be seen. The last time it had been pitch-dark. This didn't make sense.

Snap out of it, Matthews! He ordered himself to reengage, but his stiff hands might as well have been petrified wood. He had to move, but past visions of a splintering boat flying sky-high immobilized his reflexes. Six years of time dissolved into this moment as he relived his first crash.

No. He wouldn't let history repeat itself. Move! Now!

A surge of adrenaline pushed him to hit Reverse. He blasted back out of the Rita Ann's path. The fishing boat jetted past him without an acknowledgment.

Owen questioned whether the driver had seen him or not. How could he not, though? He watched the Rita Ann chug out to sea. Owen forced his hand to turn the wheel to follow. He would flag it down to find out, but first he would need to speed up to catch it.

Duty called, and Owen's previous driving-with-caution vaulted to the wind. He kicked up his speed a notch, then another and another. The front bow parted the rolling waves into a frothy wake as he set his sights on the Rita Ann.

With his attention drilled straight ahead, he nearly missed a gray object flying past him on his starboard side. Immediately another followed. Owen's head whipped from side to side while his mind registered what they were.

He slowed a bit to identify them as flat rocks, smaller, less visible than the large one with the lighthouse on it. Some even submerged. The sight of the solid, unmovable masses caused him to slam back the throttle, jolting the craft to a rumbling crawl.

The Rita Ann raced on ahead without him.

It wasn't the fact that he let her go that choked him, but rather that he could have had a disastrous collision if he had been a few scant feet more to his left.

At least no one was in the boat with me this time. Owen blew out a breath of anger at his stupidity. I have no business being out on these waters. Not even for a job.

With tighter fists than before, he gripped the steering wheel again. In an anxious cold sweat, Owen drifted with the tiniest bit of gas sent to the engine. In such a slow motion, he realized more and more of the rocks protruded up from the ocean floor around him, leading up to the island of Stepping Stones.

The island apparently got its name from these rocks. The lighthouse was built on the largest of them, while the others dotted a sporadic path. A beautiful scene for a painting, but in reality the rocks posed a deadly threat to boats cruising their way up the coast of New England. How the ferry could dock here was beyond him. Maybe that's why it only came in once a week. Too risky with these formidable pieces of stone that required a wide berth.

Owen slowly made his way back to the lighthouse. As he approached, something red and gold caught his attention. It looked like a person's hair fluttering on the sea breeze. Upon closer inspection he saw the strands belonged to a woman.

She lay motionless on the rock. His mind reeled with concern. Was she injured?

Owen swung his gaze back at the departing Rita Ann. Perhaps the woman had been hurt by the same hands that piloted the boat. That would explain the hasty departure. Had someone on the Rita Ann dumped her there? Thrown her overboard? Owen's stomach twisted at the thought. Time was critical if that was the case.

He steadied his gaze on her, but from his vantage point all he could make out was her shock of long red hair, glinting with gold in the sun's rays. The tresses fanned out against the rock like the rays themselves. He leaned over the steering wheel as if that would get him closer faster.

With the engine of his boat chugging, he hoped she would hear him approach and lift her head or wave a hand, but she didn't. Not even when his boat sidled up to the rock and bobbed idly in the waves.

"Miss?" he called out over the rattling engine. "Miss, do you need help?"

No answer. No movement, either.

Owen cleared his throat and tried again louder. When that turned out the same, the words deathly still crossed his mind. Apprehension niggled at the back of his neck. He rubbed it and the horrid thought away and called out again. "Miss?" he yelled forcefully, but he couldn't deny the waver of uncertainty in his voice.

He hadn't seen someone this still since his wife, Rebecca, lay in the sand, paramedics going through the motions of saving her only because he begged them not to stop. Owen's throat filled with a golf ball-size blockage. He shot a jittery gaze toward the island, willing someone else to come help this woman.

The docks glimmered in the sunlight, waiting for his boat to find its place beside them for the night. Oh, how he wanted to do just that. To allow someone else better qualified to help her. He was good at chasing bad guys, not rescuing women. But not one person came into his view. Not one fisherman. Not one loitering teenager. No one at all stood on the pier for him to wave at for assistance.

Owen cut the engine. It has to be me. He dropped his shoulders as he dropped anchor.

He thought about radioing for help, but maybe the woman was just in a deep sleep. Just in case she was hurt, though, Owen grabbed the lifesaving equipment stored in the rear stern under the padded seats. He yanked open the compartment to find a first-aid kit and blanket, along with life vests. He scooped up the blanket and kit and went port side, reaching out to grab at the crusty barnacle-covered stone.

Swells rocked the woman in and out of his view. With every rise and sway of his boat, he caught sight of her one-piece red-and-blue bathing suit. He thought it was a mishmash of flowers or something but didn't concentrate enough on it to be sure. His full attention was given to the state of the woman's wellness. In a quick scan, his eyes followed from her bathing suit down her long, muscular limbs of milky white to a set of small feet sprawled motionless.

"I'm coming, okay?" he assured her loudly as he threw his load up on the rock and hoisted his body to follow. Please be sleeping. "Don't move. You may have a neck injury." Like Rebecca when she was thrown.

The woman didn't move. Not even to acknowledge his presence. He watched for any sign of a twitch or breathing as he scraped along the sharp barnacles. Pain sliced through his palms and bare forearms. He used the discomfort to propel him up and forward, but was glad for the protection of his denim jeans. Lying flat, he came face-to-face with the still, delicate features of the woman. Long, light lashes rested on pale freckled cheeks. He hesitated to touch her. Would he find her asleep? Dead? Had his rescue not come in time?

"Miss, can you hear me? Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

Nothing.

His hand reached for the curve of her neck and gently felt for her pulse on icy-cold skin. She moaned, and her heart's life-beating sound brought Owen a mix of relief and elation. She might be hurt, but at least she was alive. Thank you, Lord, Owen's reflexive prayer of thanksgiving had him wiping an old bitter aftertaste from his salty lips.

"God had nothing to do with saving this girl," he muttered. "God's not here. I'm here."

Owen reached for the scratchy wool blanket behind him and stretched it over her arms and chest to warm her. Instantly, her eyes flashed open wide and another short sound deep in her throat escaped her pale lips. A moan of pain? A quick jerk of her head triggered him to brace her in case.

"Miss?" He gripped both sides of her face and peered into stark gray eyes, as gray as the stone she lay on. Fear shone up at him. "Don't move. You could have a spinal injury. Can you tell me if you hurt anywhere?"

She struggled beneath the blanket, arms fumbling and pushing with a strength that caught him off guard. Owen pressed her arms down and shushed her. He couldn't safely move her to the boat like this.

She moaned again, more forcefully, louder. It didn't sound like a moan of pain now, but rather anger. She was mad at him? For helping her? She shoved harder at the blanket between them. Her lips parted for the loudest, most forceful sound yet. It sounded like the word "off" without the pronunciation of the Fs. It took him a second before her word hit him like a left hook to his gut.

Owen jumped away from the muffled sounds he would recognize anywhere. They were the same kind of sounds his son made when he tried to speak—ever since he'd lost his hearing the night he'd nearly drowned in the crash.

This woman wasn't injured at all. She didn't answer him because, like his son, she was deaf.



Miriam Hunter fumbled under the attack of a strong-armed man. The scare tactics to get rid of her had turned physical. Ever since she'd arrived, the islanders had made it known she wasn't wanted. First, the nasty notes and emails, then the late-night crank calls. And now this…this assault.

How dare this guy sneak up on her in this secluded place? The one place she could fully get away from their angry stares. As though it was her fault drugs had come to their precious island.

Just because the marijuana showed up after she arrived didn't mean she'd brought it with her. The bag of marijuana found in her office had been placed there by one of the very townspeople who wanted her gone—perhaps even by this guy leaning over her.

Angrily, Miriam heaved at the heavy material scratching her skin. She didn't have to think twice as to why he'd covered her with it. He might as well have sealed her lips with duct tape. She strained against him to free her hands—her voice. He wouldn't understand a word she signed, but it would make her feel better to put him in his place. She wouldn't sit here and allow him to silence her. She pushed at him again, but his strength wouldn't relent.

Who is this guy? Miriam didn't recognize him as a parent. He seemed too young to have a child in high school. Thirty-two, tops. His dark cropped hair screamed military, not shaggy, salt-drenched fisherman.

But the eyes.

She stilled to study the rich black-currant irises inches from her face. Sharp and assessing eyes, not accusing and vindictive. She thought they held a message of caring, but before she could decipher it clearly, all emotion dipped behind their onyx surface like the secrets of the sea, safely hidden beneath murky depths.

His tensed lips moved, too close for her to read. Then as much as she abhorred talking, Miriam broke her vow and opened her mouth to tell him to get off.

The look on his clean-shaven face abruptly changed from determination to…shock? Her deafness surprised him? If he didn't know she was deaf, then he wasn't from Stepping Stones. He was a stranger—and she was alone on a rock in the ocean with him.

Every self-defense move Miriam had learned in college jumped to attention in her head. She tried to recall if there was a maneuver for when someone had you pinned under a blanket. Never did she think those tactics would be used, but perhaps this was the moment God had prepared her for through all those classes. Stay with me, Father, she signed her prayer of petition in her head because her hands were still secured under the blanket. Give me strength and the knowledge to break away. She mindfully pulled out the scripture tucked in her heart for times of darkness.

Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Miriam used the words from Isaiah 41 to hurl all her strength at the man again. This time, he jolted back as though she'd burned him. Without waiting another second, she sat up, flung off the blanket and scooted back.
Order:
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Barnes and Noble
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Nookbook

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Amazon.com (Large Print)
Kindle

Christianbook.com

Booksamillion.com
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Booksamillion.com (ebook)

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Review: The Mysterious Heir

The Mysterious Heir by Edith Layton

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



This looks like it was the author's second book, and the writing is very elegant. She drew me in to the story and made the hero very sympathetic right off the bat.

There were a few things that bothered me enough to pull me out of the story a few times, but on a whole, an entertaining story. By the end, I didn't want to stop because I wanted to find out how it ended.



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Excerpt - Thread of Suspicion by Susan Sleeman

Thread of Suspicion
by Susan Sleeman

FALSELY ACCUSED! When someone sabotages former navy SEAL Luke Baldwin's "unhackable" software, there's more than his reputation at stake. Faced with treason charges, Luke turns to Dani Justice, a computer expert and skilled investigator. She's eager to dive into the challenging case…until she uncovers a devastating connection. The hacker framing Luke has a personal, deadly history with Dani. Luke's code of honor and his growing feelings make him resolved to protect the sweet, strong woman he knows is more vulnerable than she'd admit. But what good is his training or determination against an enemy who can hack into any system and find them wherever they hide?  The Justice Agency: Family and law enforcement go hand in hand

Excerpt of chapter one:

Luke Baldwin's training as a Navy SEAL warned him he was in trouble. To pay attention, be still and take precautions. But darkness clawed at his senses, keeping him from fully waking and heeding the warning.

Hoping to get his bearings, he concentrated on the sounds unfolding around him. Cars whizzed by. Horns honked. If he were home in bed where he should be, he'd hear the quiet of suburban life, not Portland's bustling traffic.

Digging deeper, he managed to pry his eyes open and look around. He sat behind the wheel of his battered Jeep Wrangler tipped at an angle in the ditch with the hood pressed against an enormous Oregon pine. Thick underbrush had swallowed up his car and spindly pines swayed overhead in icy winds.

"What in the world?" He shook his head to clear his mind. Razor-sharp pain stabbed between his eyes. He let the lids fall, hoping to end the blinding intensity. Nausea curled his stomach and burned up his throat as the damp cold of winter seeped to his bones.

How had he ended up in the ditch?

C'mon, Baldwin, think.

He breathed deeply, letting oxygen rush to his brain and stem the nausea. Clarity tugged the edges of his mind, then suddenly it all came flooding back.

He'd been driving home in the wee hours of the morning to grab a quick shower before today's demonstration of his company's software. The roads were slick with rain, and fog hovered over the pavement. Driving too fast for the conditions, he'd felt his car start to slide. He'd pumped the brakes. The pedal had sunk to the floor with no resistance. His car had left the pavement, slipping into the ditch and ramming the tree. With no airbags, his head had slammed into the wheel and everything had gone black.

His ancient Jeep had failed him again. Of course it had. It was on its last legs and needed replacing. He should get a better car. One with reliable brakes and airbags. Not happening, though. He'd poured all of his money into his company.

Wait. Company. What time is it?

He glanced at his watch: 1030 hours.

No! Couldn't be. He'd be late for the demonstration.

He released his belt and dug out his cell phone. Dead.

"No, no, no!" He pounded the wheel, the lancing pain slicing up his arm and into his already throbbing head.

Just what he deserved for failing his staff. His software company vied for a multimillion-dollar military contract today at 1100 hours. He could kiss the money and his company goodbye if he didn't show up.

Not an option for a SEAL, even a former one.

He forced open his door, the bent metal groaning and creaking. He stumbled out. Rain spit from the gray winter skies, dampening his mood even more. He grabbed fistfuls of grass and pulled his aching body up to the winding road leading into Portland. He waved at cars, hoping to flag one down, but they sped past as if he were invisible. He'd have to hoof it down the hill to the coffee shop where he got his caffeine fix every morning. They knew him and would let him use their phone.

He hunched into his jacket to fight the wind whistling down the hill and jogged down the road. Ignoring the pain pulsing through his body, he settled into the zone he'd often found as a SEAL after silently dropping behind enemy lines. His mind floated free, and oddly, his father's voice rang in his head.

So you screwed up again. I knew you'd never amount to anything.

Maybe his father was right. He was a screwup. He'd failed most everyone who mattered in his thirty-four years on this earth. His mother, his older sister—both of them killed in a fire set by his crazed father. His fiancée, Wendy, who'd wanted more from him and had every right to expect it before she'd bailed two years ago. And Hawk. Poor Hawk.

Luke flashed back to Afghanistan, to before he'd left the SEALs to be close to his only living sister, Natalie. Insurgents had rushed his SEAL team—guns blazing in the night, his buddy Hawk falling and never getting up again. All courtesy of an intercepted satellite phone call. Luke had held Hawk as he took his dying breath and made a promise to prevent other soldiers' deaths because of satphone security issues. So he'd founded SatCom with Hawk's little brother, Timothy Rev-ello, and their dream was moments from becoming a reality.

If Luke made it to the office before he broke that promise.

He upped his speed and soon swung into the coffee shop, heat instantly cocooning him as the scent of aromatic java perked him up. The owner stood behind the long mahogany bar, a line of customers waiting for their drinks. With no time to wait in line, Luke approached Earl.

Earl placed a cup in front of a young woman, then looked up. "Man, Baldwin. You look rough."

Luke's chest burned from exertion, but he managed to say, "Need your phone, Earl. Car and cell dead. Need to call a cab."

Earl grabbed a cordless phone and a laminated cardstock listing local phone numbers, then slapped them on the counter with a solid whack. "Want your usual when the line gets down?"

Luke nodded, and as he worked to bring his breathing under control he requested a cab, then dialed his partner, Tim's, direct line at SatCom.

He tapped his foot on the floor as he waited, and caught sight of his scruffy appearance in the front window. A lump, swollen and purple, stuck out on his forehead. A cut on his cheek gaped open and blood saturated his wrinkled pants and shirt. No wonder people were staring at him. He might need to go home and change before the demonstration. If Tim thought he could handle it. A big if for the introverted geek who'd rather walk on a bed of nails than speak in public.

"Revello," Tim finally answered, sounding out of breath.

"It's Luke."

"Where are you?" Tim demanded. "I've been going crazy here."

"I'm sorry." Luke took a quick moment to regroup and not let Tim's frantic tone up his own anxiety. "I ran my car off the road on my way home last night and knocked myself out. I called a cab and should be there in forty minutes tops."

"Forty minutes?" Tim shouted. "You better hope we're still in business by then."

So much for changing clothes.

"Can you stall with General Wilder? Just until I get in."

"Probably, but Wilder's not our biggest problem right now."

"What's going on?" Luke asked calmly, though his heart had kicked into high gear again.

"The procurement committee got an anonymous call late yesterday afternoon claiming our software has been sabotaged."

"What?" Luke barked out.

"Yeah," Tim said. "Wilder sent over a consultant to validate the program. She was waiting at the door when I got here. She's been evaluating the software and our network logs all morning."

"This is a joke, right? To get back at me for being out-of-pocket and making you worry."

"Nah, man, it's no joke.

"So let me get this straight," Luke said, dread settling over him. "We're minutes from demonstrating our software for the military brass and they send an independent consultant to validate it? Just because some crackpot calls and says it's corrupt?"

"Not just any consultant, but Dani Justice." A waver of uncertainty threaded through Tim's voice.

"You make it sound like she's well-known in the computer world."

"Tops in our field."

"And we're sure the general contracted with her?"

"Yep. Confirmed it with his aide before I let her in the building." Tim paused and a long sigh filtered through the phone.

This can't be happening. "You know anything about this Dani Justice?"

"Yeah, she's legendary in the Portland computer world. She once worked for the FBI in cyber crimes. Now she and her siblings own a private investigation company." Tim snorted. "Working in a mom-and-pop agency seems like a waste of all that talent, but what do I know."

"I should've known Wilder would hire the best."

Earl called out Luke's coffee order, his face creased with his usual easygoing smile.

Luke held up a finger and smiled back despite his inner turmoil. "Too bad Wilder didn't give us a heads-up."

"He said they couldn't warn us she was coming or we might try to cover up the software's vulnerability."

"We'd never do that. If there was a vulnerability, that is." Luke craned his neck, hoping to see his cab pulling up.

"I know, but Wilder thinks someone at SatCom is guilty.

The aide said if they find even a hint of sabotage, Wilder would pursue prosecuting the guilty party for treason."

"Treason!" Luke shouted, the entire coffee shop stilling. He lowered his voice. "That's a pretty serious charge for tampering with software."

"I know, right, but we both know if someone sabotaged it, they could listen in on the military's satellite phone conversations."

"And lives would be lost," Luke added. His gut clamped down as he imagined how the information gained by altering their software could give the enemy an upper hand. Field operations would be vulnerable. Locations known. Soldiers under fire. A shudder claimed Luke's body.

He had to get to the office. Where was his cab? "Before I go, please assure me that Ms. Justice won't find anything wrong with our software."

"We should be good. We've done our due diligence and hired people to validate it. We got a clean bill of health."

Unease niggled at Luke's gut. "But we didn't hire Ms. Justice like the general, did we?"

"Are you kidding? We could never have afforded her."

"If you'd come to me I would've found the money somewhere, Tim. You know that."

"Where? You're completely tapped out. You've already sold your house and moved in with your sister. You've even maxed out your credit cards and company loans. So where would this cash come from?"

"Still—"

"I know, I know," Tim interrupted. "If you've told me once you've told me a thousand times. You'd rather our company fails than deploy anything that could put service personnel in danger."

"It's not just talk, you know. I mean every word of it."

"Believe me, I got it." Tim sighed as he usually did when they talked about commitment to honor and sacrifice that soldiers lived and breathed, but Tim had no clue about.

If a SatCom employee had actually tampered with the software and planned to put soldiers at risk, Tim wouldn't believe they deserved to be charged with treason, but Luke did. Even if the lost contract forced SatCom into bankruptcy or if, as the owner of the company, his name and reputation would be tainted for life.

If they don't bring you up on charges, too, and you don't end up in a prison cell of your own.

Espionage, Dani Justice thought as she stared at her monitor in the minuscule SatCom office.

Someone had remotely hacked into SatCom's network last week and left a gaping hole in the software. After the military deployed this software to their satphones, the hacker could access their calls and sell information to the highest bidder. And that was unacceptable.

Question was, who would do such a thing? Was it one of the owners, Timothy Revello or the conspicuously absent Luke Baldwin? She was hired to locate the problem, not prove who perpetrated it, but she couldn't let a traitor go free.

She could track the transmission through the internet service provider, and that meant she needed Derrick's help. She dug out her phone and dialed her twin brother.

"Do you still have that friend at Northwest Internet?" she asked the minute he answered.

"Yeah," he replied skeptically.

"I need an address for one of their clients."

He didn't respond right away, and she was tempted to ask again. But while she made snap decisions, he often needed to process information first, so she waited, tapping her foot on the floor and feeling as if time physically ticked away. She glanced at the clock on her computer. The demonstration would start any minute now, and she needed to get to the conference room to tell General Wilder and his joint military committee about her findings.

"I don't know, sis," Derrick finally said. "Stan's a contact you don't want to burn. He's helped me a lot lately, and I don't want him to get into trouble."

"This is important, Derrick."

He snorted. "You always say that."

"This time I mean it." He'd agree if she offered details of her discovery, but she wouldn't do that until she'd put together a comprehensive report for their family's private investigations agency.

"You promise you won't ask me to talk to Stan again after this?"

"Promise," she said, but her response didn't ring true even in her own ears.

"That didn't sound real convincing."

"It's hard to make a promise like that. What if we faced a lifeor-death situation and Stan could save someone's life? I'd go back on the promise then. Or what if—"

"Enough." He laughed good-naturedly. "I got it. I'll call Stan."

She rattled off the network login information Stan would need. "This is urgent. As in, I need the information now."

"Don't worry. I got it. I'll get back to you as soon as I can." He disconnected.

She went back to the software and started her written report for the general. In less than ten minutes, her phone chimed a text. She grabbed it from the desk and smiled when she saw Derrick had come through with the address she needed. She plugged it into a database they often used to locate people, and a name flashed on the screen in front of her.

"Really?" she whispered in surprise as she spotted the name of a SatCom associate, then sat back with a satisfied sigh.

God was smiling on her today. She'd located her first ever traitor, possessed the evidence to prove it and was only moments away from exposing him at the demonstration.

Inside SatCom's modern two-story building, Luke rounded the corner to the conference room. The three-member military procurement committee and two of his staff members sat around a long table. Tim, wearing his usual jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, paced at the head of the table. A tall, slender woman with softly waving blond hair stood at the side. Her back was to Luke, but he could still see her hands in motion as she spoke.

The infamous consultant Dani Justice, he assumed. And if she was attending the demonstration, their software was most likely corrupt as the anonymous caller had claimed.

Could this be the end of his company? Of his reputation? Of everything he'd worked for?

He dragged in a breath but came up thirsting for more, his heart racing.

Breathe, he told himself. Just slow down and breathe. Your team needs you. Fight the problem, but do it the right way.

Calm. Respectful. Befitting a former SEAL.

He slowed to compose himself. No point in barging in the room with a crazed glare as if he'd crawled out of a combat zone.

"Your software has been altered, Mr. Revello." Ms. Justice's voice, filled with passion, carried out the door. "I found a backdoor, fully compromising it."

Luke's feet completely faltered for a moment as shock from her confirmation washed over him. A surprised murmur traveled through the committee and several mouths dropped open. Luke had no clue what a backdoor was, but he clearly understood someone had compromised Crypton as the anonymous caller had claimed.

"Is this possible, Mr. Revello?" General Wilder asked, though his expression said he'd already decided it was true.

He thinks we sabotaged the software on purpose. Luke's heart sank.
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