Camy Tang's Blog, page 106

Winner and excerpt - PLAIN PURSUIT by Alison Stone

The winner of
Plain Pursuit
by Alison Stone
is
Rhonda M.

Congratulations! (I've emailed you. Please email me at camy {at] camytang[dot}com if you didn’t get the email message.)

I know the rest of you are crying in your BBQ pork ribs that you didn’t win. Cheer up! Order the book!


Danger in Amish Country

When her brother is killed in a small Amish town, Anna Quinn discovers she's an unwelcome outsider. But the FBI agent investigating the case is right at home—because Eli Miller was born and raised in Apple Creek's Plain community. Eli left his Amish faith behind long ago, but his heart is rooted in a local cold case he can't forget—a mystery with strange connections to Anna's loss. Desperate to uncover the truth, Anna and Eli are faced with stony silences and secrets…secrets that someone wants to keep buried in the past.

Excerpt of chapter one:

The pungent odor of manure and smoldering wreckage clogged Anna's throat. As she coughed, she tented her hand over her eyes to shield them from the lowering sun. Stalks and stalks of corn swayed under brisk winds, masking the point of impact where the singleengine plane plummeted into the earth. An unmistakable desire to scream overwhelmed her. She clamped her jaw to quell her emotions. She had to hold it together for now. Swallowing hard, she tried to rid her mouth of the horrible taste floating in the air. Across the country road from her parked vehicle, first responders fastened the straps to secure the crumpled plane to a flatbed truck.

Turning her back, she flattened her palms against the window of her car. She closed her eyes as the world seemed to slow to a crawl. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. Her brother was dead. She was alone.

Anna turned around and leaned back against her car. She ran a hand across her damp forehead. It was unusually hot for early October in western New York. The heat rolled off the asphalt, scorching her cheeks. The bold blue numbers 977 stood out on the tail of the plane, remarkably unscathed among the heap of metal. Her brother had sent her a photo of the plane a few weeks ago. He had been so proud of his purchase. She had thought he was crazy. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she realized she had never responded to his email. She had been so wrapped up in her job as a high school counselor at the start of a new school year. Now it was too late to tell him anything.

Her brother had always been there for her when it truly counted. Now only one thing remained for her to do. She closed her eyes. Dear Lord, please welcome my brother into Your arms. A tear tracked down her warm cheek.

"Anna Quinn." A male voice sounded from behind her. Swiping at her wet cheeks, she glanced over the hood of her car, surprised to see a tall gentleman striding toward her with a confidence normally reserved for those in law enforcement. Her legs felt weak and she took a deep breath to tamp down her initial trepidation. His dark suit fit his broad shoulders impeccably but seemed out of place among the uniformed first responders dotting the countryside. The intensity in his brown eyes unnerved her.

"Yes, I'm Anna." Dread whispered across the fine hairs on the back of her neck, but she kept her voice even. Her brother was dead. How much worse could it get? Foreboding gnawed at her insides. Past experience told her it could always get worse.

"I'm Special Agent Eli Miller." She accepted his outstretched hand. Warmth spread through her palm. Self-aware, she reclaimed her hand and crossed her arms tightly against her body. Thrusting her chin upward, she met his gaze. The compassion in his brown eyes almost crumbled her composure. She wondered fleetingly what it would be like to take comfort in his strong arms. To rely on someone besides herself.

Heat crept up her cheeks when she realized he was waiting for some kind of response. "You called me about the crash," she said.

The call was a blur, yet she had recognized the soothing timbre of his voice. She had barely gotten the name of the town before she hit End and sat dumbfounded in the guidance office where she worked sixty miles away in Buffalo. She had left without explaining her emergency to anyone in the office.

Anna's chest tightened. "How did you know to call me?"

The deep rumble of the flatbed truck's diesel engine fired to life, drawing the man's attention. The corners of his mouth tugged down. "Your brother asked me to call you."

Anna wasn't sure she had heard him correctly over the noise of the truck as it eased onto the narrow country road. She tracked the twisted metal of her brother's plane on top of the flatbed truck until it reached the crest of the hill. Then she turned to face him. Goose bumps swept over her as the significance of his words took shape.

"When…?" She hesitated, her pulse whooshing in her ears. Had she misunderstood? Was her brother in a hospital somewhere? A flicker of hope sparked deep within her. "When did Daniel ask you to call me? My brother's…dead?" Rubbing her temples, her scrutiny fell to his suit, his authoritative stance. The world seemed to sway with the cornstalks. "You told me he had been killed."

Concern flashing in his eyes, the man caught her arm. "Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mislead you. Your brother died in the crash." He guided her to the driver's side of her vehicle and opened the door. "Here. Sit down."

Anna sat sideways on the seat, her feet resting on the door frame. "When did you talk to my brother?" She stared at the agent's polished shoes, trying to puzzle it all out. Finally, she met his eyes. "Was he in trouble?"

"Your brother and I talked last week." Special Agent Eli Miller rested his elbow on the open door. "Daniel told me to call you if anything should happen to him." He seemed to be gauging her expression for a reaction.

Anna scrunched up her face. "If anything happened?" She pointed to the field. "Like if he was killed in a plane crash?"

"I don't think he could have predicted that, but yes, he asked me to call you." He reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a worn business card with a familiar logo on it. She straightened her back. Years ago, after she had landed her first job as a high school counselor, she had dropped the card into a care package for her brother stationed in Iraq.

"Daniel gave you that? I don't understand." She rubbed her forehead, wishing she could fill her lungs with fresh air—air without this horrible smell.

"He wasn't only worried about his own safety." He never lifted his pensive gaze from her face. "He was worried about yours."

"My safety?"

"Has anything out of the ordinary happened lately?"

Anna bit her bottom lip. Her mind's eye drifted to the strange note she had found on her car after school last week. She shrugged. "Someone left a note on my car. It was nothing." She struggled to recall the exact words on the note. "I think it said, 'You're next.'"

"Did you report it?"

Anna laughed, the mirthless sound grating her nerves. "No…I'm a high school counselor. A few faculty cars had been egged the week before. That's all it was." She scooted out of the car and brushed past him, turning her back to the crash site. "I took the job to help kids. If I ratted them out every time they looked at me sideways, they wouldn't trust me." Goodness knew where she'd be if her high school counselor hadn't reached out to her.

"Anything strange besides the note?" The concern in his voice melted her composure.

Tears blurred her vision and she quickly blinked them away. "Other than the occasional disgruntled student—who is harmless, I can assure you—I live a pretty boring life."

"Is there anyone you want me to call for you?"

"No," she whispered, staring over the cornfields. An uneasiness seeped into her bones. Her brother tended to be the paranoid one, not her. But she couldn't dismiss it. History told her things weren't always what they seemed. "Can I see your credentials?" Anna met his assessing gaze; flecks of yellow accented his brown eyes. She turned the leather ID holder over in her hands. Special Agent Eli R. Miller. It seemed legitimate.

"You met my brother in person?" She studied him, eager to read any clues from the smooth planes of his handsome face. She wanted to ask: Did Daniel seem okay? Was he thin? Dragging a hand over her hair to smooth the few strands that had fallen out of her ponytail, she was ashamed she didn't know the answers. Ashamed she had grown estranged from her big brother. Dear Lord, please forgive me. Let me find peace through this nightmare.

Special Agent Miller hiked a dark eyebrow. "Yes. We talked briefly a week ago. I had some questions concerning his return to Apple Creek."

Anna jerked her head back. "I don't understand. He was in Apple Creek working on his photography. Why would the FBI be concerned about my brother's whereabouts?" Foreboding mingled with the acrid fumes hanging in the air.

"Your brother went to Genwego State University, right?"

"Yes." She furrowed her brow. "He dropped out his senior year. What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm working a cold case. I've been re-interviewing people who lived in the area ten years ago."

"Was my brother able to help you?"

"No. But when I met with him, he was worried about his safety and yours. I had a sense he was somewhat relieved I had contacted him."

"Do you think I'm in danger?"

They locked eyes. He seemed to hesitate a moment before saying no.

She reached into her car and pulled out her purse. She dug out a new business card. Holding it between two fingers, she offered it to him. "May I trade you?"

He accepted the new card and handed her the old one. She flipped it over. In her handwriting on the back she had written: I'm only a phone call away. The faded ink was water-stained, but the message was clear. Yet the phone calls between her and her brother had become few and far between.

As she slipped the old business card into a pocket of her purse, the clip clop clip of what sounded like a horse reached her ears. She froze as a horse and buggy made its way along the country road. A man in a brimmed straw hat gently flicked the reins, urging the horse on. Tipping his hat, he seemed to make direct eye contact with the FBI agent as he passed.

Outlined against the purple and pink hues of the evening sky, the buggy maintained its steady progress until it crested the hill and disappeared. Anna made a full circle, taking in her surroundings, including the vast cornfield that greeted her brother's demise. She had been so focused on the crash site—on her distress—she hadn't noticed a neat farmhouse at the top of a long driveway across from the cornfields. A white split-rail fence ran the length of the property. A buggy, the same style as the one that had passed, sat next to the barn a hundred feet or so from the house. The early-evening shadows muted the details, but she realized something she had missed in her distracted state. "An Amish family lives here."

Special Agent Miller nodded, seemingly unfazed. Obviously he wasn't likely to miss such specifics. Besides, he had been in Apple Creek before now.

"My brother's plane crashed on an Amish farm? Ironic." A nervous giggle escaped her lips. "The very community that shuns most technology has one of man's modern marvels plummeting to earth on their soil."

Awareness heated her face when she found him regarding her with a quizzical look. "I'm sorry. I tend to talk too much when I'm upset." Her gaze drifted back toward the crash site, hidden by the tall cornstalks. "Thank God no one on the ground was hurt."

Special Agent Miller nodded but didn't say anything. His economy of words wore on her patience. Fisting her hands, she resisted the urge to slug the information out of him.

Crossing her arms, Anna narrowed her gaze. It wasn't beyond a law enforcement officer to lie to get what he wanted. She had learned that the hard way. "Why are you really here, Special Agent Eli Miller?"

The pain in Anna's eyes spoke volumes despite her display of false bravado. Eli refused to add to her burden, but his conscience didn't allow him to flat-out lie, either. "As I said, your brother's name came up in regard to a ten-year-old cold case." The words rang oddly distant in his ears. This wasn't exactly any case.

"Is…was—" she quickly changed tense "—Daniel in some kind of trouble?" Her pink-rimmed hazel eyes pleaded for the truth.

"Ma'am." A baby-faced police officer emerged from the cornfield carrying a green garment. "I understand you're the deceased's sister." Nodding, Anna's eyes widened. "This was in the plane." He held out what looked to be an army jacket.

She grabbed the garment and hugged it to her chest. "Thank you." The officer tipped his hat, respectful of her loss.

"We need someone to identify the body." The officer tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh.

Anna dropped her head and covered her mouth with her hands. "I don't know…."

"Where's the sheriff?" Eli asked. "I thought he'd be out here."

"No, sir, I'm handling this one." The officer tucked his thumbs into his belt and looked at Anna. "We really need you to identify the body, Miss Quinn."

Growing impatient with the officer's insistence, Eli stepped forward, partially blocking Anna in a protective gesture. "I knew the deceased. I'll do it."

Anna lifted her head. "This is something I need to do." Her voice broke over the last few words. "Where.?" Her gaze drifted toward the cornstalks as if she imagined traipsing through the field and finding her brother's bruised and battered body on the ground.

The officer's wary gaze moved to Eli, then back to her. "The morgue is at Apple Creek Hospital. I can take you. It's getting dark and it's easy to get turned around on these country roads."

"Let me drive you." Eli placed his hand on her trembling arm.

Anna nodded, the corners of her mouth pulling down. "Is it okay if I leave my car parked on the main road?"

Eli took her keys, their fingers brushing in the exchange. Anna's eyes snapped to his and he smiled reassuringly. "Let me move your car off the road."

After he moved her vehicle, he guided her with a hand at the small of her back to his SUV parked in the Amish family's yard. No one was outside the neat farmhouse. Just as well. He had all the information he needed for now. The officer in charge had informed him no one on the ground had been hurt in the crash. Thank God.

Eli opened the car door for Anna. Her long lashes brushed her porcelain skin as she ducked into the vehicle. With his hand still on the door handle, his focus drifted to the familiar farmhouse. A young girl emerged from the house, her pale blue gown rustling around her ankles as she sprinted across the grass toward the building next door. The Amish girl reached the neighboring house without so much as turning her bonneted head. Longing for a simpler life filled him.

Squaring his shoulders, Eli strode around the front of the vehicle. The case he was working on had never been easy. The death of Daniel Quinn was an unexpected complication. But even though he was dead, Eli still had to get answers. For the family. For himself.
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You can also purchase this book from any of the stores found at CBA Storefinder.

Also, don’t forget that it’s Free Book Friday over at Harlequin.com--if you order two or more books, you’ll get their weekly featured book for free!

This week, the featured book is: The Prince She Had to Marry by Christine Rimmer (Harlequin Special Edition)

Excerpt - DETECTION MISSION by Margaret Daley

Detection Mission
By Margaret Daley

Who is she?

While looking for a missing child in Sagebrush, Texas, K-9 detective Lee Calloway and his border-collie partner find someone else. A mystery woman running for her life, scared and injured. But she has no idea who she is—or why someone is after her. Lee's unit suspects "Heidi" is a criminal who knows more than she's saying, yet his gut instinct says she's innocent. Lee vows to protect her until her memory returns, but now someone is desperate to ensure that never happens.

Excerpt of chapter one:

Who am I?

She bent over the bathroom sink in her hospital room, cupped her hands and splashed some cold water on her face. As though that would suddenly make her remember who she was. She studied herself in the mirror and didn't recognize the person looking back at her. That revelation only intensified the panic she'd been struggling with ever since she woke up from a coma yesterday. Her fingers clenched the countertop.

Earlier, the nurse had brought her a few toiletries since she didn't have any. After brushing her hair and putting it into a ponytail, she stared at the red gash, recently healed, above her eyebrow. She closed her eyes and tried to recall how it had happened. The screech of tires echoed through her mind. The sensation of gripping a steering wheel made her hands ache. She looked down at them, her knuckles white.

A car wreck?

A sound coming from the other room invaded the quiet. The sudden intrusion kicked up her heartbeat. She moved toward the door, putting her hand around the knob. But when two deep male voices drifted to her, she stopped and pressed her ear against the wood to listen.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"The patient who belongs in this room."

"I don't know. I'm here to clean her room. She wasn't in here when I arrived."

The sound of the two men talking about her sent her pulse racing even more. Why? It seemed innocent enough. But she couldn't calm the pounding against her chest. Her breathing shortened. One of the voices was familiar. But how could that be? The only interactions she'd had since she'd regained consciousness were with women. She eased the door open an inch and had a pencil-narrow view into the room.

"I can come back another time. You'll have to ask the nurse where the patient is." The guy who was there to clean her room shifted back and forth while holding a plastic bag in one hand and a dry mop in the other.

The other man, just out of sight to the left, said, "I will." That was the voice she'd heard somewhere before this. She wished she could see him.

Instead, she examined the features of the custodian with a beard and dark-slashing eyebrows over a piercing gray gaze. Although he was a complete stranger there was something about his frosty eyes that scared her. She eased the door shut and leaned against it.

Fear from somewhere deep inside her swelled to the surface. She couldn't get a decent breath. She tried to search her mind for any clue to who she was, to the man with the familiar-sounding voice. A voice with a rough edge to it.

But what bothered her the most were the custodian's gray eyes. Why? Did she know him? Someone from her past? Then why couldn't she muster the strength to go out there and demand to know who she was?

Of course that conundrum led to lots of other baffling questions.

Like…how did she end up in the hospital?

And were the police interested in her? The nurse last night had told her they would be glad she had awakened, that they needed to talk to her. Why? She knew nothing. At all. Her mind was a blank.

A suffocating pressure in her chest made it difficult to breathe. A sense of danger pressed in on her. According to Nurse Gail, the police had found her in the Lost Woods several weeks ago. She'd been hurt and disoriented. After she was brought here to the hospital she'd slipped into a coma from a head injury. No one knew how she'd received that wound.

But why hadn't anyone reported her missing? Come forward to identify her?

Tears flooded her eyes. She squeezed them shut, refusing to give in to crying. From somewhere she sensed she'd given up doing that a long time ago.

A knock at the bathroom door caught her by surprise. She gasped, then went still, hoping the person went away.

"Are you all right in there?"

She stiffened at the sound of that familiar voice. Words jammed her throat.

"Ma'am? Are you okay? Should I call the nurse?"

"Who are you?" she finally managed to ask, her voice wobbly.

"I'm Lee Calloway with the K-9 Unit of the Sagebrush Police Department." Something in his tone conveyed a concern, urging her to leave the relative safety of the bathroom. Was he the cop who found her? Was that why he sounded familiar to her?

Laying her trembling hand on the knob, she turned it and opened the door a few inches. "Sagebrush? Where is that?" The large muscular man, resplendent in a dark navy blue police uniform, stepped back. The sight of his badge riveted her attention. Sweat coated her forehead.

"In Texas, southwest of San Antonio."

Texas? Did she live here? Maybe someone knew her, had come forward to identify her after all. "Who am I?"

The corner of his mouth hiked into a lopsided grin. "That, ma'am, is one of the questions I'm here to ask you."

"One?" Again she stared at the badge for a long moment before she lifted her gaze to take in his face. For a few seconds, she lingered on his mouth curved in that smile. She tore her attention from his lips and tracked upward until she connected with his dark brown eyes. "You don't know who I am, then?" She'd hoped that was why he was there.

"No, ma'am. When we apprehended you, you didn't have any ID on you. At the time you kept babbling you didn't know your name."

"I still don't," she whispered more to herself, but he heard her.

"We ran your fingerprints, but there wasn't a match in the database. And from our inquiries around Sagebrush, no one knows you here…and you weren't reported missing."

She moved into her hospital room. Aware of its suddenly small dimensions, she kept herself near the door to the corridor. "You said you apprehended me. Am I under arrest?" As she asked that question, she couldn't believe she would be. It didn't feel right—in her gut. She couldn't be a criminal, could she?

"As far as we know, you have done nothing wrong, but we found you in the Lost Woods running from someone or something. You couldn't tell us anything about that. You were scared, had a nasty gash on your head, cuts and bruises all over you. You lost consciousness shortly after I found you. Do you remember anything about that?"

She took in his features—short, sandy-brown hair, piercing dark eyes with long lashes, a dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. A vague memory tugged at her. His face looming over her. "Did you chase me?" Behind her eyes a hammering sensation grew as if the stress of trying to remember was taking its toll on her.

"When you saw me, you ran, and I went after you."

"Why did you chase me?" she asked.

"We believe you might be a witness to a crime that occurred in the Lost Woods."

"I am?" Trying to think overloaded her mind, a blank one with only shadowy figures wavering, never staying long enough for her to really see them.

"We were looking for a seven-year-old, Brady Billows, who went missing."

"I don't know him. Did you find him?" The thought of a child in danger pushed all her problems into the background.

"Yes, he's safely home with his mother now. That ended well."

"That's good," she said with a sigh.

Exhaustion spread through her the longer she stood. The officer was between her and the bed. But if she didn't sit down soon, she would collapse. She moved to the side, intending to skirt around him, when his cell phone rang.

He answered. "Calloway here." His calm expression evolved into a frown that grooved lines into his forehead. "I'm on my way. I'll meet you there." He returned his cell to his pocket. "Sorry, there's been a development in the Lost Woods. I'll come back later."

She flattened herself against the wall to allow him to pass her in the short hallway to the door. "A development? What?"

"Nothing you need to be worried about," he said, and left the room.

Then why was she worried?

Lee Calloway drove toward the west end of the Lost Woods where the patrol officer and witness were waiting. From what the dispatcher had told him, there might be another crime committed in the woods on the outskirts of Sagebrush.

The same area where he found the woman in the hospital room several weeks ago, running as though someone was after her. As far as the police were concerned she was a Jane Doe. What had happened to her? Why was she running in the woods? Who was she running from? Did she know anything about the boy's kidnapping?

He didn't like mysteries. Probably why he became a cop in the first place. He was always trying to get to the bottom of things. Would he be able to with this beautiful, mysterious woman or would she remain an enigma? The doctor had said she could have amnesia when she woke up, and that certainly seemed to be the case. She might recover all her memory or part of it, but some people never did.

Had her head injury been the sole reason she couldn't remember, or was it more than that? Some kind of psychological or physical trauma beyond the obvious wound she had sustained? The coma she slipped into was caused by the head injury, according to the doctor. But how and why did she receive it? Still no answer to that question.

Lee parked near the trailhead into the Lost Woods where the police officer and a young man dressed in a jogging suit waited. When Lee climbed from his SUV, he went to the back and lifted the door. Kip, his black-and-white border collie who worked as a cadaver dog, sat with his tail sweeping back and forth.

Lee rubbed him behind his ears, one of his favorite places to be scratched. "You ready to work?"

Kip barked.

Lee hooked the leash to his dog's halter. "Then let's go."

Kip jumped from the back of the vehicle and trotted next to Lee as he covered the distance to the patrol officer.

"What do we have here?" Lee asked, assessing the young man who kept darting glances toward the woods a few yards away.

The patrol officer started to say something, but the jogger interjected, "I decided to run in a different part of the forest today. I won't do that again. In fact, I may never run here again."

"What did you find?"

"Blood, lots of it. I tripped on a root, stumbled and fell. That's when I saw it."

"Show me."

The jogger shuffled his feet nervously. "It's a ways in."

"Fine."

"I'll stay back. Another K-9 team is coming to help in a search if it's needed," the patrol officer said.

Lee nodded in agreement and then followed the young man on the path.

"These woods used to be safe. There was a shooting here not long ago. A kidnapped boy found here. What's happening in Sagebrush?"

"That's what I aim to find out." As well as the whole Sagebrush special operations K-9 Unit. Their captain's father had been beaten and was still in the hospital, unresponsive. On top of that, Captain Slade McNeal's dog, Rio, was stolen at the same time and hadn't turned up.

Something big was going down in here. According to Pauly Keevers, a snitch, a major crime syndicate was operating in town so low under the radar that no one knew who The Boss was or the second-in-command. Both used ruthless tactics to get their way.

"I fell over there." The young man stopped on the path and stepped around some brush. "There's the blood."

Lee stooped to examine a pile of dead leaves caught against the trunk of a tree. Dried blood caked them. He peered up at the man. "Thanks. I'll take it from here."

"Do I have to stay? I need to get to work soon."

"Does the officer have all your contact information?" Lee asked.

"Yes, he does."

"Okay, then…you're free to go. Just let the officer know I'm setting up a search."

As the young man jogged away, Lee rose and took Kip off his leash. If there was a body to be found, his cadaver dog would find it. And from the indication of the amount of blood loss, there very likely was a body somewhere. Kip put his nose to the ground and set out. Lee kept him in sight as his border collie went to work.

Ten minutes later, Kip stopped and barked. When Lee approached his dog, he stood next to a spot of disturbed ground, his head down, staring at the churned earth.

"What have you found?"

Kip barked again, his gaze still trained on the dirt.

Lee put on some latex gloves, stooped and began to dig carefully. From his dog's behavior, something dead was buried here. When he saw a piece of blue fabric, he ceased.

"Good boy," Lee said, as he always did whenever his cadaver dog found a body, then he scratched Kip's favorite place before rising. "I'm calling this in." He rotated in a slow circle, searching the area for any other signs of another grave.

Pulling out his cell, he placed a call to the station to report a body being found. Then while he waited for the crime-scene techs to show up, he checked the surrounding area in case there was another body. There were several low-level criminals missing, including Pauly Keevers who had assisted them recently. Was the body Kip discovered one of them? And could there be other graves in the woods?
Order:
Print books:
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Ebooks:
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You can also purchase this book from any of the stores found at CBA Storefinder.

Also, don’t forget that it’s Free Book Friday over at Harlequin.com--if you order two or more books, you’ll get their weekly featured book for free!

This week, the featured book is: The Prince She Had to Marry by Christine Rimmer (Harlequin Special Edition)

Camy’s Black Thumb and FORMULA FOR DANGER giveaway

I blogged at the Love Inspired Authors blog last week about my basil plants, and my giveaway is still going on! Click here to read the post and enter the giveaway!

The "real" Steven Nishimoto from A DANGEROUS STAGE

Those of you who’ve read A Dangerous Stage will recognize a new character I introduced in that book, Steven Nishimoto, who interacts with Charles a bit.

My character Steven created the company Neesh, the most high-profile computer company in San Francisco. The profits from Neesh rival Apple.

Steven is half-Asian (half Japanese), tall with the regal bearing of a prince. He’s lean, muscular, and athletic, with a shaved head and hazel eyes. He’s 55 years old, but he’s run 10 marathons and is in training for a new one after taking a hiatus from running for several years.

When I was writing the book, I was groping for a name for this character and that’s when I decided to use the name of a young man I know from church, the “real” Steven Nishimoto!

Captain Caffeine and I were youth leaders for the real Steven Nishimoto when he was in high school, and now that he’s out of college, he has taken over as youth director for our church youth group. (So basically, after we were his youth leaders, now he’s sort of our boss. :)

The real Steve is quite a bit younger but just as athletic. The real Steve is also full Japanese rather than half-Japanese, like my character is.

I cannibalized Steve’s name because at the time he was training for his first marathon, and in my book, my character was also training for a marathon. It was fun to write about my character Steven when the character is so different from the actual young man I know. :)

Steve has a clip that was filmed by Nike so you can see him in action!

Interview and ebook giveaway - PLAIN PURSUIT by Alison Stone

Today, I have an interview with Love Inspired Suspense author Alison Stone!

Alison's Bio

Alison Stone left snowy Buffalo, New York and headed a thousand miles south to earn an industrial engineering degree at Georgia Tech in Hotlanta. Go Yellow Jackets! She loved the South, but true love brought her back North.

After the birth of her second child, Alison left Corporate America for full-time motherhood. She credits an advertisement for writing children's books for sparking her interest in writing. She never did complete a children's book, but she did have success writing articles for local publications before finding her true calling, writing romantic suspense.

Alison lives in Western New York with her husband of twenty years and their four children where the summers are absolutely gorgeous and the winters are perfect for curling up with a good book--or writing one.

Random Acts and Too Close to Home were released by Samhain Publishing in 2012. Plain Pursuit, a Harlequin Love inspired Suspense, is available now.

Besides writing, Alison keeps busy volunteering at her children's schools, driving her girls to dance, and watching her boys race motocross.

She’s always at the following locations:
Website: http://www.alisonstone.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AlisonStoneA...
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Alison_Stone
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And now, here’s me and Alison!

What inspired you to write the storyline/characters of PLAIN PURSUIT?

In 2011, I attended the RWA conference in NYC. An editor from Harlequin said she would love to see more Amish suspense. I had long been fascinated with the Amish and figured this was my chance to learn more about the Amish and break into Harlequin. Before I even checked out of the hotel in NYC, I had an idea. What if a plane crashed in Amish country? Less than a year later, I had sold Plain Pursuit to Love Inspired Suspense.


If your heroine were in an ice cream shop, what flavor would she get and why?

I believe Anna would choose vanilla. She had a very traumatic childhood and she prefers a life that’s somewhat predicable and free of conflict. Of course, that all changes when she crosses paths with Eli Miller, former Amish turned FBI agent.

What actor would you choose to portray your hero?

Great question. When I tell people my latest release is set in an Amish community, they all rave about Harrison Ford in the 1985 movie Witness. Since that movie came out more than twenty-five years ago, I suppose I should pick a, shall I say, younger actor? How about Bradley Cooper? He’d made a nice FBI agent.

What was the funnest part in writing PLAIN PURSUIT?

Believe it or not, the research provided some of the more fun moments in writing PLAIN PURSUIT. There is an Amish community about 60 miles south of Buffalo where I live. My daughters were fascinated with the young children in the Amish clothes riding in the back of a buggy. We live in world of car seats, seatbelts and air bags. Wow! Parents actually let their kids nearly hang off the back of a wagon? The Amish-made chocolate was a real treat, too.

On the drive home, I was pulled over for speeding in a small farming community. I have never been pulled over. Ever. After the nice police officer let me off with a parking ticket (phew!), my young daughters and I laughed. I guess if you’re going faster than the horse and buggies, you’re going too fast.

Thank you for hosting me, Camy!

Camy: Thanks for being here, Alison!

Today I’m giving away an EBOOK copy of
Plain Pursuit
by Alison Stone

Danger in Amish Country

When her brother is killed in a small Amish town, Anna Quinn discovers she's an unwelcome outsider. But the FBI agent investigating the case is right at home—because Eli Miller was born and raised in Apple Creek's Plain community. Eli left his Amish faith behind long ago, but his heart is rooted in a local cold case he can't forget—a mystery with strange connections to Anna's loss. Desperate to uncover the truth, Anna and Eli are faced with stony silences and secrets…secrets that someone wants to keep buried in the past.

To enter:

You must join my email newsletter to be eligible for this contest. Fill out the form below. Be sure to read the rules.

Extra Twitter entries: Get one extra entry per day if you tweet about this giveaway:
@camytang is giving away Christian romantic suspense ebook Alison Stone’s Love Inspired Suspense PLAIN PURSUIT! http://is.gd/4G9AiX
(Be sure to include @camytang so I can see your tweet and give you your extra entry.)

Extra Facebook entries: Get one extra entry per day if you share this Facebook post on your own Facebook profile and/or page: https://www.facebook.com/CamyTangAuthor/posts/10151531315867620
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Winner and excerpt - GUARDING THE WITNESS by Margaret Daley

The winner of
Guarding the Witness
by Margaret Daley
is
Rachel K.!

Congratulations! (I've emailed you. Please email me at camy {at] camytang[dot}com if you didn’t get the email message.)

I know the rest of you are crying in your pesto pasta that you didn’t win. Cheer up! Order the book!

Running out of time…

After two months of protective custody, bodyguard Arianna Jackson is days away from testifying at a murder trial when the unthinkable happens. Her Alaska safe house is attacked, and Arianna is forced to go on the run with U.S. Marshal Brody Callahan. Arianna is used to issuing orders, not taking them, but now, out in the wild, with a bounty on her head and a killer on her heels, she has only one hope of making it to testify—the handsome protector at her side.

Excerpt of chapter one:

Two months later, a helicopter banked to the left and descended toward the clearing where Deputy U.S. Marshal Brody Callahan's new assignment, Arianna Jackson, was being guarded by three marshals. His team would relieve them, so he used his vantage point above the forest to check out the area. Knowing the terrain that surrounded the safe house had saved his life several times. The cabin backed up against a medium-size mountain range on the north and west while the other two sides were made up of a wall of spruces, pines, hemlocks and other varieties of trees that stretched out for miles. A rugged land—manageable only as long as the weather cooperated. It was the end of July, but it had been known to snow at that time in Alaska near the Artic Circle. He had to be prepared for all contingencies.

As they dropped toward the clearing, Deputy U.S. Marshal Ted Banks came out of the cabin, staying back by the door, his hand hovering near his gun in his holster. Alert. Ted was a good marshal Brody had worked with before.

The helicopter's landing skids connected with the ground, jolting Brody slightly. Over the whirring noise of the rotors, he yelled to the pilot, "This shouldn't take long."

With duffel bags in hand, Brody jumped to the rocky earth closest to the cabin while his two partners exited from the other side. Brody ran toward Ted, who held out his hand and said in a booming voice, "Glad to see you."

"Ready to see your wife, are you?"

"Yep. I hope you've honed your Scrabble skills. This one is ruthless when it comes to the game. I'm going to brush up on my vocabulary with a dictionary before I play her again."

"I've read her file." Arianna Jackson was the star witness for the trial of Joseph Rainwater, the head of a large crime syndicate in Alaska, because she'd witnessed Rainwater killing Thomas Perkins. The man had bled out before the EMTs arrived.

"Doesn't do her justice. I don't have anything to add to my earlier phone report this morning. C'mon. I'll introduce you two." Ted peered over Brody's shoulder at his partners, Kevin Laird and Mark Baylor, approaching them while carrying a bag and three boxes of provisions. Ted nodded to them before turning to open the door.

As Brody entered, he panned the rustic interior with a high ceiling, noting where the few windows were located, the large fireplace against the back wall, the hallway that led to the two bedrooms and the kitchen area off the living room. Three duffel bags sat by the door. Then his gaze connected with the witness he was to protect.

Arianna Jackson.

Tall, with white-blond hair and cool gray eyes, she resembled a Nordic princess. Still, he could tell she was very capable of taking care of herself from the way she carried herself, right down to the sharp perusal she gave him. From what he'd read, Ms. Jackson had been a good bodyguard caught in a bad situation. Her life would never be the same after this.

She tossed the dish towel she held onto the kitchen counter, never taking her gaze off him. She assessed and catalogued him, not one emotion on her face to indicate what she had decided about him. That piqued his interest.

"These three are our replacements—Brody Callahan, Kevin Laird and Mark Baylor. This is Arianna Jackson," Ted said. Then he headed toward the door, the tension from his body fading with each step. "It's been quiet this past week except for a pesky mama bear and her cubs." He shoved into Brody's hand a sheet of paper with instructions on how to avoid a bear encounter.

"Good. Have you seen anyone in the area?"

"Nope, just the wildlife. We are, even for Alaska, out in the boonies," Ted said, giving him a salute. "Hope the next time I see you is in Anchorage. Goodbye, Ari-anna."

Brody looked from Ted, almost fleeing, to Carla Matthews not far behind him, to Dan Mitchell, the third Deputy U.S. Marshal on team number one, who would be on vacation on a beach in Hawaii. Brody clenched his jaw, curling his fingers around the handle of his bag so tightly his skin stretched taut over his knuckles. Carla shot him a piercing glance before disappearing outside. Slowly, Brody released his grip on his duffel bag, and it dropped to the floor with a thud.

Good thing Ted and Dan worked with Carla. He had once and wouldn't again. He'd learned the hard way to never get involved with a colleague. In fact, she'd been one of the reasons he'd transferred to Alaska from Los Angeles. It had been a hard shock to find out she'd been recruited to be on the detail protecting Arianna Jackson. At least she would return to L.A. when this trial was over.

Brody swung his attention to his witness, who watched team one leave. These assignments were never easy on anyone involved. The pressure was intense. Never able to let down your guard. And with Ms. Jackson the stakes were even higher because Joseph Rainwater was determined his crime syndicate would find her and take her out, along with anyone else in their way. And the man had the resources and money to carry out that threat.

Her gaze linked with his. "The bedroom on the right is where you all can bunk," Ms. Jackson said in a no-nonsense voice as she rotated back to finish drying the few dishes in the drain board.

Patience, Lord. I'm pretty sure I'm going to need every ounce of it this next week. He was guarding a woman who was used to guarding others. He doubted she would like to follow orders when she was used to giving them.

Brody nodded to Kevin and Mark to go ahead and take their duffel bags into the room assigned to them by their witness. Then Brody covered the distance between him and Ms. Jackson. "We need to talk."

She turned her head and tilted it. One eyebrow rose. "We do? Am I going to get the lecture about not going outside, to follow all your ord—directions?"

"No, because you guard people for a living and you know what to do. But I do have some news I thought you deserved to know."

Her body stiffening, she faced him fully, her shoulders thrust back as though she were at attention.

"What?"

"Esther Perkins is missing."

Arianna clenched her hands. "No one would tell me anything about Esther other than she was being taken care of. She didn't witness the murder. She couldn't testify about it. What happened?"

"Rainwater thought she might know something concerning the ledger and went after her. Or rather he sent a couple of his men since Rainwater is sitting in jail. We moved her out of state while she tried to help us find that ledger even from long distance."

"So the police never could locate it?"

"No. They figure it has to be important since Rainwater personally killed a man over it. Usually others do his dirty work. The ledger probably details his contacts and operation. Thomas Perkins was in a position to know that information."

"So how did Esther go missing? Maybe she just left the program." She knew that was wishful thinking. When she'd stressed the importance of staying put, the woman always did. She'd been scared of her husband and now knowing who he'd worked for she was even more afraid.

"No, the Deputy U.S. Marshal running the case said it didn't look like she had. It had been obvious there had been a fight. There was blood found on the carpet. It was her type."

Her fingernails dug into her palms. Anger tangled with sadness and won. "She didn't have a detail on her?"

"She was relocated with a new identity thousands of miles away."

"Then maybe you have a leak somewhere." She pivoted back to the sink, her stomach roiling with rage that a good woman was probably dead. This all wouldn't have happened if they had stayed at Esther lawyer's office for another hour or so. Why, God? It had tested her faith; and now with the Rainwater situation her doubts concerning the Lord had multiplied. As had her doubts about herself.

For the past four years she'd worked for Guardians, Inc., a group of female bodyguards run by Kyra Hunt. In that time, she had seen some vile people who would hurt others without hesitation. She'd thought she had been tough enough for the job, especially with all she'd seen in the military in the Middle East during several tours. Now she was wondering if this was a good time to change jobs.

The continual silence from Brody after her accusation made her slant a look over her shoulder. A frown slashed across his face, the first sign of emotion from him.

His gaze roped hers. "It's more likely Esther contacted someone when she shouldn't. Let slip where she was. We've never lost a witness if they followed the rules."

"Take it from me—this isn't easy to do. Walk away from everyone you know and start a new life. I can't even call my mother or anyone else from my past." Ari-anna had always called her mom at least once a week, even when she was on a job, to make sure everything was going all right, wishfully hoping one of those times her father would talk with her. He never had, which broke her heart each time. Not being able to at least talk with her mom, except that one time right after the incident in the Perkinses' library, added family heartache on top of everything else.

"All I can tell you is that the U.S. Marshals Service is doing everything they can to locate Mrs. Perkins."

Left unsaid was "dead or alive." She closed her eyes, weariness attacking her from all sides. Since coming to the cabin, she hadn't slept more than a few hours here and there. The marshals had moved her from Anchorage because they'd worried the safe house had been compromised. If that place had been, why not this one?

That question plagued her every waking moment. It was hard to rest when she didn't know the people involved in her protection. When she did lie down, she'd managed to catch some sleep because she had her gun with her. She'd brought extra money, a switchblade and her gun without the marshals' knowledge. In case something went down, she wanted to be prepared. That was the only way she would agree to all of this. She would see to her own protection. She didn't trust anyone but herself to keep her alive.

Not even God anymore. That thought crept into her mind and prodded her memories. She wouldn't think about the reason she'd left the army, much to her brothers' and father's dismay. But how could she trust again when one of her team had sold her out? In the end it wasn't the Lord who had saved her. She'd saved herself.

That was when she'd vowed to protect others. She never wanted another to live in fear the way she had—scared she would go to prison for a crime she hadn't committed.

She turned toward the marshal, appreciating what her clients must have felt when she'd guarded them and told them what to do. "Promise me you'll let me know if you all find Esther. She was my client. I feel responsible for her."

"You did everything you could. If you hadn't been there, she would have been dead next to her husband."

"And now she may be dead, her body somewhere no one has found yet. May never find."

"Yes," Deputy U.S. Marshal Brody Callahan said over the sound of the helicopter taking off.

The blunt reality of what might have happened to Esther, and still could happen, hung in the air between Arianna and the marshal. She went back to drying the lunch dishes. Anything to keep her occupied. If this inactivity didn't end soon, she might go running through the woods screaming.

Mark Baylor, the oldest of the three marshals, with a touch of gray at his temples, strode to the door. "I'm gonna take a stroll around the perimeter."

Usually one marshal stayed outside while two were inside—often one of them taking his turn sleeping. That was the way it had been set up with Ted and his team.

"Do you need any help?" The deep, husky voice of Brody Callahan, the marshal who seemed to be in charge, broke into her thoughts.

"With cleaning up?" she asked, surprised by the question.

"Yes."

She glanced back at him. Six inches taller than her five-feet-eleven frame, Brody carried himself with confidence, which in its own way did ease her anxiety about her situation. His figure, with not an ounce of fat on him and a broad, muscular chest, spoke of a man that kept himself in shape. "I've got it under control." About the only thing in my life that is.

"We equally share the duties while we're here."

"That's good to know. I don't cook."

"You don't?"

She finished drying the last plate. "Never had a reason to learn. I went from living at home with my family to the army. Then when I started working for Guardians, Inc., I found myself on assignment most of the time with wealthy clients who had cooks." She shrugged. "The short amount of time I was in Dallas I ate out or ate frozen dinners."

"That's okay. I love to cook," Kevin Laird, the youngest of the marshals, announced as he came into the living room.

Brody chuckled. "That's why I like to team up with Kevin when I can. He can make the most boring food taste decent."

"Good. I'm not averse to edible food." Arianna moved out of the kitchen area, trying to decide what she should do next. Let's see…maybe a crossword puzzle. Or better yet, solitaire. She still had at least fifty varieties to work her way through. The thought of more days like the past week heightened her boredom level to critical.

She began to pace from one of the few windows, drapes pulled, to the hearth. It was empty and cold. They couldn't have a fire even at night when it did get chilly since it indicated someone was at the place. She counted her steps, mentally mapping out an escape route if she needed it. Her thoughts were interrupted when Kevin spoke up from the kitchen.

"This is a park ranger's cabin. Where's the guy that usually stays here?"

"On an extended vacation." Brody prowled the living room in a different direction from her.

"Does he know we're using it?" Arianna asked as she peeked out the window. The previous set of marshals had told her about the cabin, but only now had she started to wonder what the tenant had been told.

"No, the cabin belongs to the park service. No one knows you're here or that the U.S. Marshals Service is using it to protect a witness. A bogus agency has rented it while the park ranger is gone. They think we're here on vacation." Brody parted the drapes and looked out the only other window in the room.

"When's he due back?" Arianna spied a bull moose in the thick of the trees. Seeing the beautiful animals was the one thrill she got being where she was. She loved animals, but because of her job, she hadn't been able to have any—not even a goldfish.

"Not for two more weeks. Do you see it?" Brody's gaze captured hers, nodding in the direction of the moose.

"He's beautiful. I wish I could go outside and take a picture. I took the Perkins assignment because it was in Alaska. After I finished guarding her, I was going to take a long overdue vacation and do some touring of the countryside up here. The most exciting thing that's happened to me this week was the helicopter ride to this cabin. Breathtaking scenery."

"Don't even think about going outside to snap a picture."
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Excerpt - TRACKING JUSTICE by Shirlee McCoy

Tracking Justice
By Shirlee McCoy

In the night, a young boy goes missing from his bedroom. Police detective Austin Black assures desperate single mother Eva Billows that he'll find her son. He has to, so he can put to rest his own harrowing memories. With his search-and-rescue bloodhound, Justice, Austin searches every inch of Sagebrush, Texas. And when Eva insists on helping, Austin can't turn her away. Eva trusts no one, especially police, but this time, Austin—and Justice—won't let her down.

Excerpt of chapter one:

Police detective Austin Black glanced at the illuminated numbers on the dashboard clock as he raced up Oak Drive. Two in the morning. Not a good time to get a call about a missing child.

Then again, there was never a good time for that; never a good time to look in the eyes of a mother or father and see terror and worry or to follow a scent trail and know that it might lead to a joyful reunion or a sorrowful goodbye.

If it led anywhere.

Sometimes trails went cold, scents were lost and the missing were never found.

Knowing that didn't make it any easier to accept.

Austin wanted to find them all. Bring them all home safe.

Hopefully, this time, he would.

He pulled into the driveway of a small, bungalow-style house, its white porch gleaming in exterior lights that glowed on either side of the door. Just four houses down from the scene of a violent crime and the theft of a trained police dog the previous afternoon. An odd coincidence.

Or maybe not.

Two calls to the same street within nine hours? Not something that happened often in a place like Sagebrush, Texas.

Justice whined, his dark nose pressed against the grate that separated him from the SUV's backseat. A three-year-old bloodhound, he was trained in search and rescue and knew when it was time to work. Knew and was ready, even after the eight-hour search they'd been on earlier.

Austin jumped out of the vehicle and started up the driveway, filing away information as he went. Lights on in the front of the house. An old station wagon parked on the curb. Windows closed. Locked?

A woman darted out the front door, pale hair flowing behind her, a loose robe flapping in the cold night air as she ran toward him. "Thank God you got here so quickly. I don't know where he could have gone."

"You called about a missing child?"

"Yes. My son."

"The dispatcher said that you don't know how long he's been gone?" Austin had heard the call go out shortly after he'd left his captain's place. Hours of searching for Slade's stolen police dog, Rio, had turned up nothing but a deadend scent trail and mounting frustration. Austin had been exhausted and ready to go home. Now he felt wired and ready to hit the trail again.

"I thought that I heard Brady call for me, and when I walked into his room, he was gone. That was about ten minutes ago."

"Has he ever run away?"

"No."

"Ever talked about it?"

"No! Now, please, can you help me find him?" She ran back up the porch stairs, her bare feet padding on the whitewashed wood.

Austin jogged after her, stepping into a small living room. Neat as a pin except for a small pile of Legos on a light oak coffee table and a college textbook abandoned on a threadbare sofa. No sign of the woman.

"Ma'am?" he called, moving toward a narrow hallway that led toward the back of the house.

"Here." She waved from a doorway at the end of the hall. "This is my son's room."

Austin followed her into the tiny room. Blue walls. Blue bedding tangled and dripping over the side of the twin mattress. Crisp white curtains. A blanket lay on the floor near the open window, the frayed edges ruffled by the wind.

"How old is your son, Ms…?"

"Billows. Eva. He's seven."

Billows?

The name sparked a memory, but Austin couldn't quite grab hold of it. "Did you and your son have an argument about something? Maybe a missed curfew or—"

"He's seven. He's not even allowed to be outside by himself." Her voice broke, but her eyes were dry, her face pale and pinched with worry. A pretty face. A young one, too. Maybe twenty-three or four. Too young, it seemed, to have a seven-year-old.

"Did you argue about homework? Grades?"

"We didn't argue about anything, Officer—?"

"Detective Austin Black. I'm with Sagebrush Police Department's Special Operations K-9 Unit."

"You have a search-and-rescue dog with you?" Her face brightened, hope gleaming in her emerald eyes. "I can give you something of his. A shirt or—"

"Hold on." He grabbed her arm as she tried to move past. "I need to get a little more information first."

"Find my son. Then I'll give you whatever information you want."

"Unfortunately, without the information, I won't know where to begin searching for your son."

"How about you start out there?" She gestured out the window.

"Was it open when you came in the room?"

"Yes. And the curtains were just like that. One hanging outside. Like, maybe…" She pressed her lips together.

"What?"

"It looks like someone carried Brady out the window, and Brady grabbed the curtain to try to keep from being taken. But I don't know how anyone could have gotten into his room. The window was locked.All the doors and windows were locked."

He nodded. He could see the scenario she'd outlined playing out. The little boy woken from a sound sleep, dragged from his bed and out the window, grabbing on to whatever he could to keep from being kidnapped.

He could see it, but that didn't mean it had happened that way. Most children were abducted by family or friends, and most didn't even know they were being abducted when it happened.

"You're sure everything was locked?"

"Of course." She frowned. "I always double-check. I have ever since."

"What?"

"Nothing that matters. I just need to find my son." Hiding something?

Maybe. She seemed more terrified than nervous, but that didn't mean she didn't know something about what had happened to her son.

"Everything matters when a child is missing, Eva."

Missing.

Gone.

Disappeared.

The words just kept coming. Kept filling Eva's head and her heart and her lungs until she wasn't sure she could breathe.

"Do you need to sit down?" Detective Black touched her elbow, his dark blue eyes staring straight into hers.

"I need to find my son." The words stuck in her throat, caught on the roof of her mouth, and she didn't know if they even made a sound when they escaped through her lips.

"I'm going to help you do that. I promise. But I need to know if there's some reason why you were careful to keep your doors and windows locked. Someone you were afraid of." His voice was warm and smooth as honey straight from the hive, and Eva might actually believe every word he was saying if she weren't so terrified.

"My parents were killed two years ago, but it had nothing to do with me or my son."

"The killer was caught?"

"No."

"Is it possible—"

"It's not possible!" She nearly shouted, and Detective Black frowned. "I was estranged from my father when the murders occurred. There's no connection between my life now and what happened to my parents." She tried again. Tried to sound reasonable and responsible because she was afraid if she didn't, the detective would linger in Brady's room for hours instead of going to look for him.

"Is Brady's father around?" He leaned out the window without touching it, eyeing the packed earth beneath.

Did he see anything there?

She wanted to ask, wanted to beg him to get his dog and go after her son, wanted to go after Brady herself, run into the darkness and scream his name over and over again until she found him.

"No," she answered a little too sharply, and Detective Black raised a raven-black eyebrow. "You're not on good terms?"

"We're not on any terms."

"When was the last time you and Brady saw him?"

"Brady has never seen him," she retorted. "The last time I saw Rick was six months before my son was born."

"Have you spoken to him on th—"

"I haven't had any contact with him since the day I told him I was pregnant. He's not in my life. He's not in Brady's life. He didn't want to be. He was married, okay? He and his wife moved to Las Vegas two months before Brady's birth. That's it. The whole story." She'd been nineteen and foolish enough to believe every lie Rick had told. It didn't hurt like it used to, but admitting it to the detective still made her blush.

"Is there anyone else? A boyfriend? Fiance?"

"No. Just me and Brady. That's all there's ever been." She swallowed hard and turned away. Holding back tears because crying wouldn't solve her problems. Wouldn't help her son.

"When did you last see Brady?"

"I checked on him at midnight. Right before I went to bed. He was sleeping."

"You went to bed after that?"

"Yes! I went to bed. I fell asleep. I thought I heard Brady call for me, and I went to his room. He was gone. Now, will you please go find him?"

"I will. A soon as—"

The doorbell rang and Eva jumped, her heart soaring with wild hope.

Brady.

Please, God, let it be him.

She shoved past Detective Black, not caring about niceties. Not caring about anything but getting to the door, opening it, seeing Brady's face. Only it wasn't him.

Her heart sank as she looked into the eyes of a uniformed officer.

"Ms. Billows? I'm Officer Desmond Cunningham. We have a report of a missing child?"

"My son. There's already a detective here."

"He's with our K-9 Unit. He'll start searching for your son while I interview you."

Thank You, God. Thank You, thank You, thank You.

She stepped back so he could enter the house, wishing she'd had time to straighten up the living room, put the sofa cover over her threadbare couch. A twenty-dollar Goodwill find that worked fine for her and Brady but wasn't great for company.

Such a silly thing to think about.

Such a stupid thing when her son was missing.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, sick with dread and fear.

"He's been gone for twenty minutes already," she said, the horror of the words filling her mouth with the coppery taste of blood.

"It takes a little time to get a search team mobilized, ma'am, but we'll have plenty of people out here before you know it." Officer Cunningham offered a reassuring smile, his dark eyes filled with sympathy.

Seeing it there in the depth of his gaze was too difficult, made the tears she'd been holding back too tempting. She turned away, met Detective Black's steady gaze.

Deep blue. Bottomless. Unreadable.

"Were you home this afternoon, Eva?" he asked, and she shook her head because she wasn't sure she could speak without tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Was Brady?"

"He was with his babysitter. Mrs. Daphne lives two doors down," she managed to say past the lump in her throat.

"Is that close to Slade McNeal's place?" he asked. And odd question, but she'd answer whatever he asked if it meant getting him outside searching for Brady.

"Yes."

Detective Black and Officer Cunningham exchanged a look she couldn't read. One that excluded her, made her even more terrified than she already was.

"What's going on?"

"Captain McNeal's father was attacked today. His dog, Rio, was stolen. The person responsible is still on the loose."

"What does that have to do with Brady?" she asked, but she knew, the cold icy feeling in her heart making her shake.

"It's going to be okay." Detective Black walked across the room and opened the front door. "I'm going to get Justice. Eva, if you want to get a photo of your son and an article of his clothing. Something that he wore today, preferably. I'll be back in a minute."

She ran into Brady's room, trying not to think about Slade's father, his missing K-9 partner. Trying not to think about how pale and quiet Brady had been when she'd picked him up from Mrs. Daphne's house.

He hadn't eaten much for dinner.

Maybe he'd just been sick. A stomach virus. Kids got those all the time.

She wanted to believe that accounted for his silence at the dinner table, his desire to go to bed early.

Check the window again, Momma. Did you check it?

The words seemed to echo in Brady's empty room.

She should have asked him why he was worried about the window lock. Should have pressed him about his day, asked just one more time if everything was okay.

If she had—

"Did you find something?" Detective Black walked into the room, a bloodhound padding along beside him. Orange vest and droopy ears, a wet nose and big, dark eyes. Brady would have loved to see him.

The thought burned behind Eva's eyes, and she ran to the closet, yanked out the T-shirt Brady had worn to school.

Blue today. Orange tomorrow!

"This is the shirt he wore today." She handed the detective Brady's T-shirt before she gave into temptation and pressed it to her face, inhaled her son's little-boy scent.

Please, God. Please.

"He asked me to check the window lock twice. He seemed quiet at dinner. I thought he might be getting sick, but maybe…" Her guilt spilled out, and she had to stop the words so that the tears didn't spill out, too.

"Your son's disappearance might not have anything to do with what happened at Slade's house."

"But you think that it does?"

"Do you have a recent photo?" He didn't respond to her comment, and she knew that he did.

She hadn't realized she could be any more petrified than she'd been when she'd walked into Brady's room and seen his open window.

She could be.

She was.

Cold air blew in, carrying a hint of rain or snow. And, somewhere out in the darkness, Brady was scared and probably calling for her. A tear dripped down her cheek.

"Eva, I need that photo," Detective Black said gently, and she ran from the room, ran into hers. So close to Brady's.

She'd planned it that way when she'd decided which of the three bedrooms she'd take and which Brady would have.

So close, but she hadn't heard a sound until he'd cried for her.

She grabbed the framed school photo from her night-stand, pressed it to her chest.

"Got it?" Detective Black walked into the room with his bloodhound, and Eva didn't care that she'd left her wait-ressing uniform in a stack on a chair. She didn't care that a pile of college books and papers lay beside her bed. She didn't care about anything but handing him the photo and watching him walk out the door to find her son.

"This was taken a few months ago." She handed him the photo, and he studied it for a moment.

"Cute kid," he said with a small smile, and she nodded because she couldn't speak past the tears that clogged her throat.

The doorbell rang again. This time she didn't run to answer it. Didn't believe that somehow Brady would magically appear on the porch, tired and scared but with some explanation that would make sense. Maybe some story about sleepwalking or thinking that Mrs. Daphne's dog was outside whining for his attention.

She walked into the living room, her heart heavy and aching, her chest tight.

Captain Slade McNeal stood near the front door, his dark hair mussed, his face drawn and weary. "Eva, I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. I had to wait for my son's babysitter to arrive."

"It's okay." Her voice sounded hollow and old.

"Have you found any evidence, Cunningham?" Slade turned to the patrol officer.

"I checked the back window. It looks like someone popped the lock on it. I've already called for an evidence team."

"Good. Are you going to take Justice out to track Brady, Austin?"

"Yes. We'll start around back and work our way from there."

"I'll come with you." Eva pulled her old wool coat from the closet near the door. There was no way she could put Brady's life in someone else's hands. No way she could trust that anyone else would look as hard or as long as she would. He was her son, after all. Her responsibility.

"The best thing you can do for your son is stay here and answer the captain's questions. The more information you provide, the faster we can narrow down our search." Austin walked onto the porch, and she followed.

He might not want her to help with the search, but she had no intention of staying behind. Brady needed her, and she needed to be there for him. That was the way it had been from the moment he was born, the bond between them so strong that she'd thought that nothing would ever tear them apart.

Something had.

Someone had.

She clenched her fist.

Brady was okay. He had to be.
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Camy’s Running Cam-y-ra

I’ve had a lot of guest blogs and giveaways lately and I haven’t been blogging anything personal, so I thought I’d devote some time today just to say hi to everyone.

I don’t remember if I mentioned this already, but I’m training to run the Honolulu Marathon in December. I already registered so there’s no going back! This past Saturday I ran 10 miles! Woot! Pretty good for an old lady!

I’ve also started posting on my Facebook page what I call my “Running Cam-y-ra,” pictures I take when I’m running. (Get it? Running Camy-ra/camera? … {crickets chirp}) I’ve been posting them on Facebook. So far a lot of what I post are pretty flowers I don’t know the names of, and people have been really great about identifying them. Facebook is better than Google!

Here’s one I just posted on Saturday. I didn’t know until people started commenting on Facebook that they’re cannas. Aren’t they pretty?



So what do you think of the Running Cam-y-ra? And while I’m at it, what do you think of the giveaways and guest blogs I’ve been doing? Likey or no likey?

Winner and excerpt - THE GENERAL’S SECRETARY by Debby Giusti

The winner of
The General’s Secretary
By Debby Giusti
is
Mara M.
Congratulations! (I've emailed you. Please email me at camy {at] camytang[dot}com if you didn’t get the email message.)

I know the rest of you are crying in your chocolate croissants that you didn’t win. Cheer up! Order the book!

Lillie Beaumont's dark past has just turned up on her porch—fatally wounded. The dying words of the man imprisoned for killing Lillie's mother suggest hidden secrets. Criminal Investigations Division special agent Dawson Timmons agrees. He has his own motive for seeking the truth, and it gives Lillie every reason to doubt him. But even as they reluctantly begin to face painful secrets together, Dawson fears that a murderer is waiting to strike again. And this time, Lillie is right in the line of fire.…

Each stand-along book in the series is available in print or e-book and can be found at Amazon.com: The Officer’s Secret, The Captain’s Mission, The Colonel’s Daughter, and The General’s Secretary. Watch for The Soldier’s Secret, to be released in September. 

Excerpt of chapter one:

Lillie Beaumont gasped for air and fought her way through the dream that came too often. Her heart pounded a warning as she blinked open her eyes, allowing the dark outline of her bedroom to sweep into focus. She lifted her head off the pillow and anticipated the distant thunder before the sound reached her ears.

Low. Rumbling. Menacing, like cannon fire at nearby Fort Rickman, Georgia.

Weeding her fingers through the sheets, she grasped for anything that would calm her spinning stomach and racing pulse.

Another rumble, this time closer.

Then another and another in rapid succession, each encroaching on her space, her air, her life.

The thunder escalated, its cadence steady like the giant footfalls of an evil predator, stalking an unsuspecting prey. Only Lillie wasn't oblivious to its approach. She knew the storm, felt it in her inner being, breathed it into her soul where she battled the terror and torment of a thousand deaths.

Another volley. Her airway constricted. She touched her throat, yearning to be free of the stranglehold of fear that wrapped around her neck.

Don't cower. Face your phobia. The words of reason echoed in her head.

"Something happened before she came to us," her foster parents had told concerned friends after taking Lillie into their home when she was a child. "Our little girl is terrified of storms."

She wanted to laugh at the understatement. Instead, tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

The musky scent of wet earth and damp air seeped through the partially open window and filled her nostrils, like the cloying odor of that night so long ago. Eyes wide, she stared into the darkness, anticipating the next bright burst of lightning.

A blast of thunder rocked her world, hurling her from the bed. She ran, as she always did, her footfalls echoing on the hardwood floor. No matter how much she longed to ignore the gathering storm, she had no control over the memories that made her relive the terror of that night so long ago.

In her mind's eye, she was once again four years old.

"Mama," young Lillie had cried, longing to be swooped into her mother's outstretched arms.

Instead, he had opened the bedroom door.

"Go back to bed, child."

The door had closed, leaving Lillie alone in the hallway, huddled in a ball, shivering with fear, tears streaking her face and trembling body.

Another round of thunder, followed by a kaleidoscope of light that blinded her eyes and made the past fade and the present come back into focus.

Finding the corner, the twenty-nine-year-old Lillie crouched, knees to her chest, heart on a marathon race as thunder continued to bellow. Rain pummeled her copper roof, the incessant pings reminding her of the gossip of the townspeople after her mother's remains had been found fifteen years ago.

Murdered. Sealed in a steel drum. Buried beneath the earth.

"Mama," she whimpered, trying to be strong enough to fight off the memories.

Outside, the storm raged as if good and evil battled for her soul, only she was too weak, too crazed, to fight off the attacks.

A pounding.

Close, persistent. Rap, rap, rap. "Lillie?"

Someone called her name. "Lillie, open the door."

"Mama?"

She ran to the front of the house, undid the lock and flung open the door. Frigid rain stung her face, soaking her pajamas and mixing with her tears.

"Help me, Lillie."

A man she knew only from newspaper photos stood before her. Mid-fifties, with gray, rumpled hair and weatherworn skin stretched across a bruised and bloodied face. Doleful eyes, swollen, suffering, seemingly entreated her to forget the past and think only of his need. "They…they found me…beat me."

His hand stretched to hers. A small metal key dropped into her palm.

"I uncovered information. The…the answers I've been looking for," he said. She took a step back.

"I never—" He shook his head. "Your mother—" A shot rang out.

He gasped, his face awash with pain. "Free us…" He reached for her. "Free us from the past."

Slipping through her fingers, he collapsed onto the rain-drenched step. She screamed, seeing not only her own bloodied hands but also the battered body of her mother's killer.

The phone call dragged Dawson Timmons from a dead sleep. Flipping on the bedside lamp, he rubbed his hand over his face and raised the receiver. "Special Agent Timmons."

"Sorry to wake you, sir." Corporal Raynard Otis from the Criminal Investigation Division.

"What's the problem, Ray?"

"Agent Steele is on duty tonight, sir, but he's tied up, handling a possible overdose, and we're short-staffed since Agents Patterson and McQueen were transferred."

With the recent reduction in force, the whole army was short-staffed. "I'm aware of the situation, Ray. Plus, the chief's on leave until Monday."

"Yes, sir. That's why Agent Steele asked that I contact you." The corporal's voice was strained. "The Freemont police just notified us about a shooting."

"Military personnel?"

"Negative, sir. But the location has bearing."

"Fort Rickman?"

"No, sir. Freemont."

"What's the tie-in?"

"The house where the shooting took place belongs to the general's secretary."

Dawson groaned inwardly, dropped his feet to the floor and stood. "General Cameron's secretary? The commanding general?"

"Yes, sir. The deceased pounded on the secretary's door in the middle of the storm. She answered the knock just before the victim was shot."

"A drive-by shooting?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

"We're talking about Lillie Beaumont?"

"Affirmative."

"Was she hurt?"

"Negative, sir."

"The victim.. " Dawson swallowed, hoping to keep his voice level and free of inflection. "Do you have a positive ID?"

"Granger Ford. The guy was serving time for the murder of Ms. Beaumont's mother. Fifteen years ago he was tried and found guilty. His case was recently reviewed, and new DNA testing exonerated him. Ten days have passed since he got out of prison in Atlanta. Now he's dead."

Dawson hung his head. Ringing filled his ears. His stomach soured, and for an instant, his world went dark. Granger had called him three nights ago. Not that Dawson had expected or wanted the phone call from his past.

"Shall I notify the staff duty officer at post headquarters?" Ray asked.

"Let headquarters know, and call General Cameron's aide as well. Tell him I'll check out the situation and report back to the general when I return to post."

Dawson would tell the commanding general what the Freemont police had determined about the shooting and Lillie Beaumont's involvement in the case. He wouldn't reveal the truth about Granger Ford and the child he had fathered thirty-one years ago. A little boy raised by an unwed mother who had hardened her son's heart to his drifter dad.

Dawson could forgive his mother's bitterness, but he never forgave his father's rejection. Now, with his death, the truth would come out. The last thing Dawson wanted was for the military to know his father was a murderer.

The storm had subsided by the time Dawson climbed behind the wheel of his Camry. Twigs and leaves cluttered the roadway as he left post and headed to the far side of Freemont, where Lillie lived. Turning his headlights to high beam, he pressed down on the accelerator and reached for his cell phone.

"I'm on my way into town," Dawson said when Jamison Steele answered. Working together, the two agents had formed a strong friendship. Trust ran deep, and just days earlier Dawson had told Jamison about his past and the father he had never met.

"Otis said you agreed to handle the shooting." Jamison let out a breath. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened and that you have to be the one to handle the case."

"It's not like Granger and I had a relationship. The last thing he wanted was a kid. My mother said he hightailed it out of town as soon as she told him she was pregnant. I never met him."

"Still, it puts you in a difficult spot. I'll explain the situation to Chief Wilson when he gets back to work on Monday."

Dawson pursed his lips. "No need. I can fight my own battles. Besides, tonight should be fairly straightforward. I'll ensure the Freemont cops handle the case appropriately. Once I share the information with General Cameron concerning his secretary, I'll file my report and move on to the next case."

"It's Friday, Dawson. I'm hoping the weekend is crimefree."

"Which might be wishful thinking."

Jamison hesitated. "Have…have you told anyone else about your dad?"

"I didn't see the need." Dawson stared into the roadway ahead. "Of course, his death changes everything."

"We'll talk at the office."

"Roger that."

Dawson disconnected and shook his head with frustration. Granger had made a huge mistake visiting the daughter of the woman he was supposed to have murdered. From what Dawson had pieced together about his wayward father, Granger's life had been as littered as the pavement with a series of wrong places, wrong times. Exactly what tonight felt like—a wrong turn that could end up detouring Dawson off the straight course he had chosen for his career in the army.

When he saw the secretary's house in the distance, his gut tightened. Police lights flashed from the driveway. The crime-scene crew hovered around the front porch, where a man's body lay spotlighted in the rain. Maybe this homicide wouldn't be as cut-and-dried as he had first imagined.

Pulling to a stop, Dawson sucked in a deep breath before he stepped into the wet night. His left leg ached. More than a year had passed since he'd taken a bullet, but the pain remained and grew more insistent with the cold weather.

He rubbed his hands together and grabbed the keys from the ignition, his mouth dry. Steeling himself against any unwanted rush of emotion, he approached the crime-scene tape and held up his identification to the closest cop.

"CID, from Fort Rickman. Who's in charge?"

The guy pointed to the house. "Head through the kitchen. Sergeant Ron Pritchard's inside with Ms. Beaumont."

"Is she a suspect?"

The cop shrugged. "All I know is that we found her huddled in the hallway, crying like a baby."

Dawson hesitated for a moment and then glanced down at the victim's twisted body. Regret washed over him. This wasn't the way life should end. Granger had been shot in the back, probably with a forty-five caliber hollow point from the appearance of the wound.

In stark contrast to the grisly death scene, beds of yellow pansies edged the small front stoop. Ignoring the flowers, Dawson circled the house, picking his way through the wet grass. The back porch, trimmed in white latticework, was graced with more winter blooms that danced in the wind, oblivious to the crime that had recently been committed.

Stepping into the kitchen, he opened his navy wind-breaker and wiped his shoes on the small entry rug. The smell of the wet outdoors followed him inside and mixed with the homey scent of pumpkin and spice. A large melon-colored candle sat on the counter near a bouquet of yellow mums and a plaque that read, God bless this home and all those who enter.

The irony wasn't lost on Dawson, yet surely death hadn't been Granger's just reward. The estranged son might have argued the point before the phone call, before Granger had asked forgiveness. Something Dawson hadn't been able to give. Now he wasn't sure how he felt. A little numb, a bit confused, even angry. Long ago, he had realized it was better not to feel anything than to feel too much.

Entering the living area, he signaled to the officer in charge, held up his badge and nodded as the local cop continued to question the woman huddled on the couch.

Lillie's life had been inexplicably intertwined with Dawson's, although he doubted she was aware her mother's killer had a son. They'd never been introduced, but Dawson had seen her on post. It was hard not to notice the tall and slender secretary. Usually she was stylishly dressed and perfectly coiffed. Tonight wild, honey-brown tresses fell across the collar of what appeared to be flannel pajamas. Even from where he stood, Dawson noticed the blood spatters on the thick fabric.

She turned, hearing him behind her.

He hadn't expected her eyes to be so green or so lucid. She wore her pain in the knit of her brow, in the downward tug on her full lips, in the tear-streaked eyes whose sadness wrapped around his heart. His breath hitched, and time stood still for one long moment.

Pritchard asked another question. She turned back to the lead cop, leaving Dawson dangling. He straightened his neck, trying to work his way back to reality.

Long ago, Dawson had learned to weigh everything, never to take a chance. He put his faith in what he could do and affect and impact, not on emotions that left him hanging in thin air.

"The middle of a stormy night." Pritchard restated the last question. "Yet you opened your door when Mr. Ford knocked?"

"I.ah." She searched for an answer.

"Do you always open your door to strangers, Ms. Beaumont?" Pritchard pressed.

She shook her head. "Of course not, but—"

Once again, she glanced at Dawson, as if asking him to clear the confusion written on her oval face.

"Had you been asleep?" Dawson knew better than to prompt a witness, yet the question sprang from his lips before he could weigh the consequences.

She nodded, her brow raised and lips upturned for the briefest of moments. "I was dreaming. The knock sounded. Before I realized what I was doing, I was staring at him through the open doorway."

Pritchard cleared his throat and jotted her answer in a notebook. After recording the statement, he glared at Dawson. "I'm finished questioning Ms. Beaumont. If there's anything you want to ask her, go right ahead. I'll be outside."

Dawson read between the lines. Pritchard didn't want his interrogation compromised by a newcomer from post. A subtle reprimand, perhaps? Not that Dawson would be intimidated by a small-town cop.

As Pritchard left through the kitchen, Dawson took a seat on the chair next to Lillie and held up his identification.

"Special Agent Dawson Timmons, ma'am. I'm with the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Rickman. The Freemont Police Department is handling the murder investigation, but the CID was called in because you work on post. I'm here as a liaison between the local police and the military."

"Does…does General Cameron know what happened?" Lillie asked.

"He's being notified."

"I don't want anything to—"

"To jeopardize your job? I don't see how that could happen. Unless your position as the general's secretary has a bearing on this crime."

"No, no." She held up her hand. "This has nothing to do with General Cameron."

"What does it involve, Ms. Beaumont?" He leaned closer.

"May I call you Lillie?"

She nodded. "You're not from around here?"

"Georgia born and raised, but my home's in Cotton Grove, close to the Florida border."

She swallowed, the tendons in her graceful neck tight. "I don't know where to start."

"How 'bout at the beginning."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was born in Atlanta and moved to Freemont with my mother when I was a baby. We lived in a remote area, not far from the highway."

Dawson pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket.

"My…my mother disappeared when I was four." Lillie's voice was weak. She cleared her throat. "Most folks thought she had abandoned me and returned to Atlanta with a man." She shrugged. "Her lover. Sugar daddy. Whatever you want to call him."

"Granger Ford?"

"No. The man she was seeing at the time."

"How can you be sure it wasn't Granger?"

"There was a storm the night she disappeared. The thunder awakened me. I was frightened and ran to my mother's bedroom."

Dawson's could envision young Lillie, green eyes wide with fear, golden-brown hair tumbling around her sweet face, scurrying down a darkened hallway.
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You can also purchase this book from any of the stores found at CBA Storefinder.