Camy Tang's Blog, page 107

Guest blog and giveaway - Guarding the Witness by Margaret Daley

Today, I have a guest blog by Margaret Daley with a little "DVD extra" about her latest Love Inspired suspense, GUARDING THE WITNESS!

Margaret's bio:

Margaret Daley is an award winning, multi-published author in the romance genre. One of her romantic suspense books, Hearts on the Line, won the American Christian Fiction Writers’ Book of the Year Contest. Recently she has won the Golden Quill Contest, FHL’s Inspirational Readers’ Choice Contest, Winter Rose Contest, Holt Medallion and the Barclay Gold Contest. She wrote for various secular publishers before the Lord led her to the Christian romance market. She currently writes inspirational romance and romantic suspense books for the Steeple Hill Love Inspired lines, romantic suspense for Abingdon Press and historical romance for Summerside Press. She has sold eighty-four books to date.

Margaret was the President for American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), an organization of over 2600 members. She was one of the founding members of the first ACFW local chapter, WIN in Oklahoma. She has taught numerous classes for online groups, ACFW and RWA chapters. She enjoys mentoring other authors.

Until she retired a few years ago, she was a teacher of students with special needs for twenty-seven years and volunteered with Special Olympics as a coach. She currently is on the Outreach committee at her church, working on several projects in her community as well as serving on her church’s vestry.

On a more personal note, she has been married for over forty years to Mike and has one son and four granddaughters. She treasures her time with her family and friends.

And now, here's Margaret!

My Trip to Alaska
By Margaret Daley

Ten years ago I went to visit a good friend of mine in Alaska. I thought at that time I might write a book place in the state, but I didn't have an idea what kind. I finally did write one placed in Alaska, near Fairbanks and between Fairbanks and Anchorage and between Anchorage and Steward. I've been to Anchorage and Steward and parts sound of their, but not Fairbanks.

I love Alaska. I could imagine all kind of suspenseful action taking place there, not to mention pure adventure. For instance when we were driving from Anchorage to Steward, we stopped at a park between the two towns. We went to the restroom then to see the park. The park ranger mentioned that there had been a grizzly bear around recently. I'm so glad I found that out after I went to the bathroom. Needless to say, I didn't walk around a lot at the park after that.

What impressed me about Alaska were the rich history and heritage as well as the magnificence of the place. My husband collects handmade basket from different places and he couldn't pass up buying one at the gift shop at the hospital where my friend's daughter worked as an intern. Great bargains and beautiful works of art.

I got to see some beautiful animals. The highlight was seeing a killer whale not but about five feet off the bow of my small boat I was in. Then there was the time the whales traveling in a pod all came up around our boat. I felt like I was in the middle of the pod. There was so much to see and so little time, but I did get to fly in a helicopter over the mountains and valleys (amazing scenery) and to handle a dog sled on the glacier (early July and I was in a heavy coat in the midst of a snow field). Fun!

What vacation did you have fun on?

Guarding the Witness
by Margaret Daley

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."

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 a copy of Margaret Daley’s Love Inspired Suspense GUARDING THE WITNESS! http://is.gd/2BUduQ
(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/10151508498682620
(Be sure you share the post at the link above--go to the link and then click "share". Make sure you set the privacy of your share to “public” so I can see that you shared it and give you your extra entry even if I’m not on your friends list.)

Loading...

Guest blog and giveaway - THE GENERAL’S SECRETARY by Debby Giusti

Today I have a guest blog from Debby Giusti!

Debby’s bio:

Debby Giusti is a medical technologist who loves working with test tubes and petri dishes almost as much as she loves to write. Growing up as an army brat, Debby met and married her husband—then a captain in the army—at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled the world, raised three wonderful army brats of their own and now see the military tradition carried on in their son who's also in the army. Always busy with church, school and community activities, Debby knew it was time to settle down and write her first book when she and her family moved to Atlanta, GA. Despite occasional moments of wanderlust, Debby spends most of her time writing inspirational romantic suspense for the Steeple Hill line.

And now, here’s Debby!


Honoring the Stars and Stripes
Debby Giusti here!

I’m wearing red, white and blue and waving Old Glory in honor of Flag Day, held each year on June 14. While the Fourth of July is the celebration of our country’s birthday, The Stars and Stripes has her own special day established by a proclamation from President Woodrow Wilson in 1916 and signed as an Act of Congress by President Truman in 1949.

Hopefully, all citizens honor the flag, but no where is that respect more visible than on a military installation. Visit any Army post and you’ll be awakened by reveille, a bugle call that announces the raising of the flag by the post honor guard. At 5 P.M., a cannon fires and a bugler sounds retreat. Cars stop, passengers and passersby come to attention and salute the flag until the colors are retired.


The flag has special significance for the military. Not only does it lead our soldiers into battle, but it also covers them in death. No scene is more poignant than the flag-draped coffins of our fallen heroes returning home from war. The Stars and Stripes honors their sacrifice and is a visible reminder of our country’s pride in her brave men and women in uniform, both living and dead.

I’m proud of our military heroes and love writing stories about those who serve. God bless our military. God bless the USA.

Happy Flag Day!

Wishing you abundant blessings,
Debby Giusti
www.DebbyGiusti.com
www.seekerville.blogspot.com 
www.crossmyheartprayerteam.blogspot.com

Thanks, Camy, for inviting me to your blog!
Camy: Thanks for being here, Debby!

Debby's giving away a copy of her latest release, THE GENERAL'S SECRETARY!

The General’s Secretary
By Debby Giusti

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.
Order:
Print books:
Harlequin.com
Harlequin.com (Large Print)
Barnes and Noble
Barnes and Noble (Large Print)
Amazon.com
Amazon.com (Large Print)
Christianbook.com
Christianbook.com (Large Print)
Booksamillion.com
Booksamillion.com (Large Print)

Ebooks:
Harlequin.com
Nookbook
Kindle
Booksamillion.com
Kobobooks.com
iTunes

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: Kissed by a Vampire by Caridad Piñeiro (Nocturne)


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 Debby Giusti’s Christian romantic suspense novel THE GENERAL'S SECRETARY (Love Inspired Suspense) http://is.gd/6yJz1b
(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/10151509981397620
(Be sure you share the post at the link above--go to the link and then click "share". Make sure you set the privacy of your share to “public” so I can see that you shared it and give you your extra entry even if I’m not on your friends list.)

Loading...

Winner and excerpt - KEY WITNESS by Christy Barritt

The winner of
Key Witness
by Christy Barritt
is
Rose 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 beet borsch that you didn’t win. Cheer up! Order the book!

When Elle Philips witnesses an armed robbery while standing in line at the bank, she sets into motion a deadly game of cat and mouse. Mark Denton, a security contractor and former navy SEAL, also witnesses the robbery, and is hired by Elle's father to keep his daughter safe following the incident. And while Denton's desire to protect Elle goes beyond professional bounds, he cannot let personal desires cloud his judgment—judgment he'll have to rely on when the robbers' true motives are revealed…and Elle becomes a target in the ultimate plot of revenge.

Excerpt of chapter one:

"Everyone down! Any quick moves and we'll shoot. Understand?"

Elle Philips dropped onto the marble floor of the bank. The contents of her purse scattered everywhere as she hit the ground, but she didn't care. She remained frozen, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, her heart rate quickened. She raised her head, just enough to take a quick inventory of the situation. Two men. Black masks. Guns.

Elle knew that only two tellers were working right now, and that the manager had just left for a late lunch—Elle had passed him on her way in. Three other customers had also sunk to the floor. A frail-looking older woman, a college-aged girl and Denton. The dark-haired man had been in line behind her today. She knew Denton's name, only because they often came to the bank on the same days, same times. Over the weeks, they'd been flirtatious as they passed time in line.

Today, they'd only begun their casual teasing of each other when the robbers had burst through the doors of StoneCrest Bank on General Booth Blvd. in Virginia Beach, Virginia. At the moment, Elle glanced at Denton. He sat only a few feet away. His perceptive eyes met hers, silently communicating the urgency of the situation. Something about his calm gaze made her racing heart slow for a moment.

The shorter of the two robbers locked the glass doors at the front of the bank. He then stepped between the customers, the barrel of his gun bouncing against his black pants. The second robber, the one who'd ordered everyone to the ground, rushed toward the tellers, a bag in hand. "If you do what we say, no one will get hurt."

The first robber—Shortie, Elle nicknamed him—kicked Elle's purse back to her, sending more lipstick and pens rolling everywhere. "Give me your cell phones. If anyone even tries to call the police, I'll…I'll kill you."

A shudder ripped down Elle's spine, and her hands trembled as she riffled through her purse. Most of the contents lay askew, but her cell phone remained lodged in one of the deep pockets, refusing to budge. The device seemed to hang on tighter as Shortie loomed over her.

"Come on, lady!"

Finally, she jerked the phone from its hideout. Its metal burned in her hands, reminding her that this was her lifeline to the outside world. If only she could call the police…

No, let them get their money and get out of here, she told herself. Be compliant. That's what security experts always said. If only she weren't so bad at embracing compliance. Still, she was levelheaded enough to know when to back off.

She shoved her phone into Shortie's gloved hand. He grunted as he snatched it from her. Once all the phones were collected in a black bag, the man laid them on the counter at the center of the bank.

Julie, the young teller behind the counter, raised her hands in the air. Her eyes stretched wide with fear. "Whatever you want. Just don't hurt anyone."

The other robber, the ringleader, Elle thought, shoved his gun at the teller. "I want all of the money in your drawer. If the police show up right now, you'll be the first one I take out."

Just do what they say, Elle prayed. Then maybe they would leave. The police could come and get some fingerprints and take eyewitness accounts. The justice system would be the heroes when they tracked down the robbers. Elle prayed that no one would try to be heroic and end up making the situation worse for all of them.

"What are you doing?" Ringleader shouted at Julie.

Elle wanted nothing more than to lay a steady hand on the young woman's shoulder and encourage her to just do what the man said. Instead, Elle hunkered down on the cool floor, her back against the wall. The best thing she could do would be to remain quiet and unseen.

Shortie paced over to her, his job obviously to guard the customers as Ringleader grabbed the money.

Elle tried to remember each detail so she could tell the police when they arrived. She soaked in the robbers' demeanors, their clipped words, the color of their eyes. As a campaign manager for her father's senate reelection bid, she was paid to pay attention to details. Shortie's gaze darted toward Elle, and she sucked in a breath, waiting to see what he would do.

Don't make this any worse than it has to be, buddy.

He waved his gun at her, and Elle noticed his hand trembling. The man was a novice at this. Was that a good or bad thing? The other man, Ringleader, didn't seem nervous at all.

"I need more money than that. Open the other drawers!" Ringleader leaned toward Julie, his gun aimed at her temple.

Julie shook her head, tears glimmering in her eyes. "I can't. I don't have their keys!"

"What do you mean, you don't have their keys? Can't you get them?"

"Only the branch manager has access to all the keys. You have to have them to open the drawers." Tears glistened in her eyes.

"You're messing with me! Just get the keys, give me the money and nobody gets hurt."

Denton's strong, steady voice broke through the mayhem. "Can I see if I can help her?"

Shortie pointed his gun at him. "You know something about banks?"

Denton raised his hands. "No, but I want to help. You're making her nervous. Maybe I can help her open the drawer."

The gun trembled in Shortie's hands. "I want you to stay right where you are."

"I just don't want anyone to get hurt." Denton's gaze remained level and even.

Elle had to admire Denton's calm demeanor. She glanced at him again, at the chisel of his features, at the dark hair that formed the shadow of a beard across his face. Dark, thick hair. Tall, broad form. Put it all together, and he was the picture-perfect definition of a heartbreaker.

Elle noted that Denton wasn't wearing his customary suit and tie today. Instead, he'd donned a black jacket over a T-shirt and jeans. In all of their casual conversation, Elle had never thought to ask him what he did for a living. Perhaps he was in law enforcement of some sort? How else could he be so calm in this situation?

Ringleader pointed his gun at the other teller. "Put your money in now!" The teller filled his bag, but then he turned his attention back to Julie. "Figure out how I can get more money." He reached over and grabbed Elle's arm, pulling her to her feet. The gun went to her head. "Do it now or she dies."

Elle gasped and trembles overtook her.

"Calm down," Denton said. He still leaned against the wall, his knees propped up, his voice and movement as calm and controlled as if he were merely talking everyone else through a training exercise. "Let her go."

Ringleader paced over to him, Elle in tow. "Are you in charge here? I didn't think so. You're going to be next if you don't keep your mouth shut."

Elle's throat burned. She was acutely aware of the gun at her temple. One accidental jerk of the finger and she'd be dead, just like that.

There was so much she still wanted to do, needed to do. Life came into an odd and complete clarity when the end appeared close enough to touch. Her necklace, the one her grandmother gave her before she passed, seemed to sear into her skin at the moment. It reminded her that she'd made a promise to her grandmother that she still needed to fulfill.

"I'm telling you—I can't get into the other drawers or the vault. They're all locked, and I don't have the keys. The manager's out to lunch." Sweat glistened across Julie's forehead.

Something hard hit Elle in the face. She blanched before sinking to her knees. The robber quickly pulled her right back up. Her legs would hardly hold her. It didn't matter. Ringleader held her up by her coat collar.

Her cheek throbbed from where the man had pistol-whipped her. Tears rushed to her eyes as pain continued to send shocks through her.

"That's only the start of what's going to happen if you don't get me more money." The man's hot breath hit her cheek, along with a splattering of spittle.

"Boss, you said no one would get hurt," Shortie said.

"I've got this. You shut your mouth and keep the crowd under control."

"Let me—let me…let me search my manager's desk, see if I can find any keys," the second teller said.

Ringleader pushed Elle back to the ground. She stumbled until she hit the wall and sank to the floor. Her hand went to her cheek, and she felt moisture there. Blood? Tears? Both?

Denton looked over at her, his eyes full of concern. "Are you okay?" he mouthed.

She nodded, grateful to be alive. But how much longer would that be the case? The robbers were obviously losing it, getting out of control. This whole situation could spiral into something much bigger than even they had planned.

"Thank you," she whispered back.

The men were pacing now, as if trying to figure out what to do next.

"Good gravy, you didn't know the manager was gone for lunch?" Ringleader let out an expletive and stared at his partner in crime.

"He usually goes earlier."

"Usually isn't good enough." He turned back to Julie. "You need to figure out a plan B."

"Me? Me? How am I supposed to figure out a plan B?" Panic claimed her voice, her limbs.

"You have to know another way to get into that vault."

Julie's head swung back and forth. "Not without a key and a code."

Ringleader cocked the gun at her. "Think a little harder."

She half moaned, half screamed. "I've been trying. I have. There's nothing I can do!"

The gun fired. Elle screamed as Julie disappeared from sight, sinking below the counter.

Denton jumped to his feet. Elle slapped her hand over her mouth, disbelief filling her.

Julie. The robber had just shot Julie.

She lifted a prayer as tears rushed to her eyes. The seriousness of the situation hit her at full force. This was bad. Really bad.

"Stay down!" Ringleader swung around, his gun aimed at the crowd, as if telling them that any one of them could be next.

Elle's gaze flew to the potted plant beside her. She'd seen something fly from the man's belt when he swung around. Her eyes widened when she spotted a cell phone there. Had the robber's cell phone really just flown off his belt and into the plant?

Elle glanced back up at him. He didn't seem to notice the device had slipped off. If she reached her hand out just a little, she could grab it.

But if he caught her, what would he do? Slap her again? Something worse? The thought of Julie flashed through her mind.

She glanced over and saw Denton staring at her. He'd obviously noticed the phone also. What was he trying to tell her? To forget about it? To grab it? What was the right thing to do? She wrestled with her choice. Flexed her fingers. Glanced back up at the robbers. They all seemed distracted by the second teller fumbling through her boss's desk.

This was Elle's chance.

She willed herself to move quickly and without notice, for her motions to be as fluid as flowing water. Before she could second-guess herself, she extended her hand. She grabbed the phone and slipped it into her coat pocket.

Her gaze darted around the room. No one appeared to see her…except Denton. His furrowed eyebrows showed his apprehension.

At least she'd now have some proof of who these men were. Maybe it would help the police put them behind bars.

Elle reached into her pocket and opened the phone. She held her breath, afraid of making any noise or drawing attention to what she was doing. Her heart rate slowed a moment when no one seemed to notice her. She felt the buttons until she found 9-1-1. She prayed the man wouldn't notice his phone was gone, that he wouldn't realize Elle had taken it.

"Any of you want to be next?" Ringleader's voice didn't rise in pitch. He sounded so detached at the moment that Elle felt a chill race through her.

"She's dead. Is she dead? Did you kill her?" Shortie's voice, on the other hand, rose in panic. "What are you doing?"

"They're going to pay!"

As the minutes stretched on, Elle watched the two men pace and listened to them mutter. Every second Julie was without medical care put the woman more at risk. Elle wished more than anything she could go check on the teller, that she could give the robbers the money so they'd be gone.

The phone burned in her pocket.

Had the dispatcher heard what was going on? Had they sent help?

Elle prayed that the answer was yes.

Shortie looked at the front door. "Do you hear that? Sirens. We've got to run before they get here, man! The police are right around the corner."

Ringleader grabbed his bag of cash and darted to the door.

Elle breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't noticed his cell phone. No one else had been hurt.

Just as the robbers stepped out the front door, the Ringleader reached for his waistline. Felt the empty space where his phone was. Then he looked up. Looked at Elle. He knew she had his phone. She'd been closest to him. Certainly, her gaze held telltale guilt. The robber's eyes narrowed before he pulled his finger across his throat.

Elle sucked in a breath. He was going to find her. And when he did, he would kill her.

Mark Denton saw the robber make the throat-slitting motion as he ran from the bank.

He looked over at the raven-haired beauty and saw that her face had gone ghost-white.

What Elle had done had been incredibly risky, but she may have just saved all of their lives—at least the life of the bank teller.

With the men gone, Denton jumped from the floor and propelled himself over the counter. The bank teller had been shot in the stomach. Blood stained her shirt. Denton took off his jacket and placed it over the wound to stop the bleeding.

"Someone wave the ambulance inside. She needs help. Now!"

Elle rushed to the door. She paused momentarily at it, as if she were afraid the robbers might be waiting on the other side for her. But she stepped outside anyway.

Denton already admired her spunk and guts. Not everyone would have handled themselves so well in a situation like this. Denton, a former SEAL, now worked special operations for a Department of Defense contractor, and even he'd been thrown off-kilter some. He knew moves that could have taken down the robbers, but there were two of them and they had guns. Plus, there were too many people who could have been casualties if something went wrong. He'd taken the restrained approach. He hoped it had been the right one.

"It's going to be okay," he told the teller. Her eyes drifted shut, as if she were losing consciousness. He had to keep her lucid until the paramedics got in here.
Order:
Print books:
Harlequin.com
Harlequin.com (Large Print)
Barnes and Noble
Barnes and Noble (Large Print)
Amazon.com
Amazon.com (Large Print)
Christianbook.com
Christianbook.com (Large Print)
Booksamillion.com
Booksamillion.com (Large Print)

Ebooks:
Harlequin.com
Nookbook
Kindle
Booksamillion.com
Kobobooks.com
iTunes

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: Kissed by a Vampire by Caridad Piñeiro (Nocturne)

Guest blog and excerpt - TIES THAT BIND by C.J. Darlington

Today I have C.J. Darlington guest blogging!

C. J. is the award-winning authof of Thicker than Blood, Bound by Guilt, and Ties that Bind. She has been in the antiquarian bookselling business for over fifteen years, scouting for stores similar to the ones described in her novels before cofounding her own online bookstore. 

In 2006 C. J. started the Christian entertainment Web site TitleTrakk.com with her sister, Tracy, and has been actively promoting Christian fiction ever since. She is a regular contributor to Family Fiction Digital Magazineand NovelCrossing.com. A homeschool graduate, she makes her home in Pennsylvania with her family and their menagerie of dogs, a cat, and a Paint horse named Sky. Visit her Web site at www.cjdarlington.com. 




And now, here's C.J.!


There’s nothing like rare books. I’ve been fascinated with them for years, so when I began writing my first novel Thicker than Blood I had fun picking a few to include in the story. A first edition of For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway made the cut and played an important role in the plot of the story. For my second novel Bound by Guilt the rare book I chose was The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. First editions with their dust jackets can be worth $30,000, and in fact it’s this value that catches the eye of a family of book thieves… 

For my latest novel Ties that Bind I thought long and hard about what rare book to use in the story. I knew I wanted a book that would be integral to the storyline. I considered many, but when I discovered that the 1811 first edition of Jane Austen’s Sense & Sensibility was originally published in three volumes, like many novels of the time period, my wheels started turning. What if a father gave each of his daughters one of the volumes as a gift? What if the books were the catalyst to bring the sisters, one of which didn’t know about the others, together? 

It was such a fun twist to write about! All my main character Brynn Taylor knows about her father is his name and the fact that he gave her volume three of the set. It’s an address she finds in the back of the book that sets her down her path of discovery not only of her two sisters, but of the God she long ago turned her back on. 



Ties That Bind
By
C.J. Darlington

On a quest to find her father, a young woman discovers she has two sisters who have no idea she exists.

Newly released from prison, Brynn Taylor is determined to find her father, a man she's never met. Her only clue to his whereabouts is an address she finds in a rare volume of Jane Austen's “Sense & Sensibility” which he inscribed to her years ago. Armed with a bus ticket, a backpack, and her grandfather's gun, her search leads her to Elk Valley, Colorado where her plans and her life begin to unravel.

Excerpt of chapter one:


CHAPTER ONE:

When Brynn Taylor was released from prison, she didn’t expect anyone to be waiting for her.

“There she is!” a voice shrieked from across the parking lot, and a woman with a head full of tight, black corn rows and a toddler hugging her hip jogged toward Brynn. Following on her heels was what looked like a parade procession of extended family, all dressed in bright, starched clothes they could’ve just worn to church.

Brynn froze, a coyote in the headlights of a Hummer. Recognition flashed in the woman’s face, but Brynn didn’t have a clue who she was. The gal let out another squeal running toward her, the kid’s head bobbing.

But then the woman and her entourage whooshed past Brynn, and she swung around to see another inmate emerging from the doors of the Denver Women’s Correctional Facility. Within seconds, the whole crew swallowed their loved one in a group hug, and Brynn couldn’t see her through the mass of family.

She heard the cries of joy.

Brynn stuffed her hands into the pockets of her new jeans. They felt stiff and scratchy against her skin, and her t-shirt was a size too large. In at nineteen, out at twenty-four, and she’d gained less than five pounds. She probably could’ve still fit into the clothes she’d come in here with, but they’d no doubt been dumpstered years ago.

"Thank you, Lord!” Someone’s hand shot up to the sky, waving gratitude.

She wondered how long the other inmate had been inside and what crime she’d committed. Was she a druggie caught making a buy? A hooker who’d propositioned the wrong john? The majority of the women here were low-risk offenders, but many had been inside before. Most would be again.

For a second, the sea of family parted and Brynn caught sight of the newly released prisoner, her face streaked with glassy tear lines. She was clinging to an older woman.

“ I’ll do better, Mama. I promise,” she sobbed.

Brynn turned away, her second-hand sneakers silently carrying her across the parking lot away from the huddle. Their happiness swirled around her, a slicing reminder there were no welcoming arms for her.

She lifted her face to the sky where gray clouds threatened to dump much-needed June rain. She hadn’t expected to cry, but standing in the open air free of steel doors and walls, unwanted tears came. No more would her world be defined by gray cinder blocks scratched with obscene words. There’d be no more violating strip downs from guards searching for contraband, and exercise would no longer mean walking the perimeter of a pen topped with razor wire.

There also wouldn’t be anyone to keep her out of trouble. Everything was up to her now, which scared her more than anything. The last time she’d been on her own she’d ended up handcuffed in the back of a police car.

Brynn closed her eyes. Everyone assumed she’d refused parole and maxed out her sentence for the assurance of three squares a day. But really, fear was why she’d stayed. At least behind bars she knew what to expect and what was expected of her. Out here . . .

She blinked a couple times and pulled in a deep breath. Reaching into her pocket, she fingered the lone silver key they’d returned to her along with her empty wallet and expired driver’s license. Out here she was free all right—to wreck her life all over again.
# # #Brynn walked briskly through the gate of Ames Self Storage and made her way to the last unit with the green, garage-style door. She had no idea how her mother had managed to pre-pay for this spot years in advance, but Brynn was sure glad she did. She’d have nothing without it.

She unlocked the door and wrenched it open. When they’d moved from their country house into the smaller rental in town to be closer to the hospital, anything that didn’t fit had ended up here.

She pictured the unit as it had once been—crammed with treasures like the family-sized dining room table Mom hadn’t been able to part with, the decorative chairs that matched, Grams’ antique set of silverware she’d received as a wedding gift, and a carved wooden chest that had belonged to an ancestor who crossed the Atlantic from Germany.

They were all gone now. Years ago, Brynn had scattered those precious heirlooms her mother and grandmother had hoped to pass on to her across the city’s pawn shops. She tried not to think about that as she gathered up their old camping gear, some of the few items she’d managed to hang onto. It was no-name stuff, but it had served Mom and her well on their numerous hikes and weekend trips. Luckily, most of it was compact hike-in stuff they’d gotten cheap at a going-out-of-business sale. She’d pawned anything of real value, and what was left was the bare minimum—sleeping bag, two-person tent, and a few cooking utensils.

Kneeling on the cold cement, Brynn stuffed her hand into the sleeping bag’s pouch. Still tucked safely between the down layers, she found her grandfather’s Smith & Wesson .22. She’d pawned it twice but always went back for it.

Brynn ran her fingers across the tooled leather holster, then unsheathed the gun, flipped open the cylinder, and spun it. She could still smell the oil from the last time Mom cleaned it, and a wave of grief washed over her. If she’d kept her promise to her mother she would’ve avoided all the heartache of the last six years.

Slipping the gun back into its sleeping bag cocoon, she made sure the half-full box of bullets was with it. One more thing to grab, and she could escape from the memories this place entombed.

She found the old book inside a file box of ancient tax records. The boards were a blue/gray paper over something like thick cardboard, and the tan spine had a pinkish label that said: Sense and Sensibility, with the number “3” beneath that.

Brynn carefully slipped the volume into the folds of the sleeping bag with the gun. This book was all she had of her father, a man she couldn’t even remember.

It was also her only hope to find him.

Copyright 2013 C.J. Darlington
Published by Mountainview Books, LLC
Order:

Barnes and Noble
Nookbook

Amazon.com
Kindle

BooksaMillion.com

You can also purchase this book from any of the stores found at CBA Storefinder.

Giveaway - Key Witness By Christy Barritt

The lovely Christy Barritt has agreed to do a book giveaway of her Love Inspired Suspense, which releases this month!

Key Witness
By Christy Barritt

When Elle Philips witnesses an armed robbery while standing in line at the bank, she sets into motion a deadly game of cat and mouse. Mark Denton, a security contractor and former navy SEAL, also witnesses the robbery, and is hired by Elle's father to keep his daughter safe following the incident. And while Denton's desire to protect Elle goes beyond professional bounds, he cannot let personal desires cloud his judgment—judgment he'll have to rely on when the robbers' true motives are revealed…and Elle becomes a target in the ultimate plot of revenge.

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 a copy of Christy Barritt’s Love Inspired Suspense KEY WITNESS! http://is.gd/Yjuh36
(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/10151506539142620
(Be sure you share the post at the link above--go to the link and then click "share". Make sure you set the privacy of your share to “public” so I can see that you shared it and give you your extra entry even if I’m not on your friends list.)

Loading...

Excerpt - Defender for Hire by Shirlee McCoy

Defender for Hire
by
Shirlee McCoy

Someone was watching her…

No matter how many times Tessa Camry moves, her mysterious tormentor always finds her…and leaves a grim reminder of all she's lost. But this year, no longer content to deliver roses, her stalker wants her dead. When former soldier Seth Sinclair becomes her bodyguard, he encourages her to stand her ground, even if it means letting go of long-held secrets. Seth realizes that Tessa may be his second chance at love, but their future depends on finding the man determined that Tessa never forgets the past….

Excerpt of chapter one:

Black.

Not the color of love, friendship, admiration. The color of sorrow and death. Tessa Camry lifted the single long-stemmed rose from the hood of her car and tossed it into her yard. Five years. Five black roses.

She glanced around the quiet neighborhood and saw nothing out of place. She never did. One rose every year to remind her. That was it. As if she needed anything to keep the memories from dying.

She slid into her Ford Mustang, backing down the long driveway, her skin crawling. Five towns. Five states. And still the flower had found her. She'd come to expect that it would, but that didn't mean she was happy about it.

"It's not like you went to a lot of effort to hide," she muttered, her words echoing hollowly in the car.

True. She hadn't been hiding, but she hadn't announced her location, either. No Christmas cards or phone calls—no contact with anyone from the past. Nothing to tie her to her college years, her married years.

The mission trip.

She shoved the thought away, checking her mirror several times as she made her way along the winding country road. Not a car in sight, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the person who had left the rose was following her; that the past was running toward her and one day it might catch hold and refuse to let go.

She shuddered as she pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of Centennial Physical Therapy. The small white building gleamed in the early morning sunlight. Tessa had been working there part-time as a physical therapist for five months. She didn't need the money—she needed the distraction.

And today, she needed it more than ever.

She jumped out of the car and jogged to the small reception area, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. The memories were too close, and she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in her work. To forget what day it was, bury what had happened five years ago in flurry of activity that would exhaust her.

"Finally!" Dana Langtry looked up from the computer. Small and compact, her blond hair cropped short, Dana was energetic, efficient and friendly. She was also blunt and tough—a good combination for a physical therapist's assistant.

"I'm fifteen minutes early," Tessa pointed out as she went through the motions of shrugging out of her coat and pulling her hair into a ponytail, trying to pretend it was any other day rather than the day.

"Well, our first patient beat you by ten minutes." Dana handed Tessa a clipboard with the patient's chart.

"This is the new client that called last week, right?"

"Yes. I put him in room one." Dana glanced over her shoulder, then leaned close. "And, just between you and me, I think he looks like trouble."

"How so?" Tessa asked absently, her heart still thumping too hard, her pulse thrumming in the aftermath of her frantic drive from home.

"Just a vibe that I'm getting." Dana lowered her voice a notch. "Too bad Sam isn't here. I'd rather he deal with the guy."

"I'll be fine, Dana." The last thing she needed was Sam Marne coming to the office to take a patient that he'd assigned to her. Sam had opened Centennial Physical Therapy five years ago and had slowly been building his clientele since then. The fact that he'd needed help at the same time that Tessa had wanted a part-time job had worked out well for both of them, and Tessa had no intention of messing with the arrangement.

"Probably, but I could just call Sam and—"

"It's his day off. If we call him in, he won't have any use for me, and I'll be out of a job." Tessa forced a smile as she glanced through the chart. Seth Sinclair. 34. Recovering from shoulder surgery.

"I still think we should call him," Dana huffed.

"I've been a physical therapist for a long time, and I've dealt with a lot of patients who look like trouble. There's no reason to call for backup," Tessa responded. "Besides, Darius Osborne referred the guy. He wouldn't have done it if he thought the man was a serial killer."

Darius, a childhood friend, was the reason Tessa had moved to Pine Bluff, Washington. She'd attended his wedding the year before and fallen in love with the area. After so many years of wandering, it had seemed like the perfect place to settle for good.

Now, it just felt like another pit stop.

"I didn't say he was a serial killer. I said he was trouble," Dana protested, glancing over her shoulder again. Obviously, the guy had her spooked, but Tessa had dealt with a lot worse than troublesome patients in her life.

"I'll holler if I need help," she joked as she walked down the narrow hall.

Her smile fell away as soon as she was out of Dana's sight. She didn't feel like joking. She felt like going home, packing her things and leaving town. She was tired of moving, though. Too many places, too many faces, all of it fuzzy and muddied by her constant need to outrun the past.

She wanted to put down roots, but maybe that dream—the one she'd been holding on to since her parents had passed away when she was ten—had died with Daniel.

She knocked on the door to room one, pushing it open without waiting for a response.

"Good morning—" She glanced at the chart as she stepped into the room. "Seth. I'm Tessa Camry."

"Ma'am." One gruff word, tinged with a hint of Southern charm.

She looked up from the chart into the most amazingly blue eyes she'd ever seen.

Seth's face didn't match his voice. There was no charm there, not even a hint of a smile. Just dark blond hair, those blue, blue eyes and a faint scar that ran from his ear to under his chin. Another scar edged his hairline, deep purple and much newer than the first one.

Dana had been right. He looked like trouble, but Tessa couldn't pinpoint why. Aside from the scars and the unusual color of his eyes, he was average—average build, average features, nondescript hair. Better than average muscle tone, though. She could see that in the corded strength of his shoulders and biceps.

She looked at the chart again. Better to focus on that than her new patient's bulging muscles.

"You're a friend of Darius's, right?" she asked, hoping she'd get more out of him than another ma'am.

"We're coworkers," he explained.

"So, you're in the private security sector?" She met his eyes and was shocked again by the vivid color of his irises.

"That's right."

"You work as a bodyguard?"

"I work as whatever my boss asks me to be. Until my shoulder heals, that's desk duty."

He didn't smile, but she had the distinct impression that he was amused—by her or the conversation or whatever situation had put him on desk duty.

She took a seat in one of two chairs next to the exam table and motioned for him to do the same. "I take it you'd like to get back to a more active job. Let's come up with a plan to make that happen."

"The sooner the better," he murmured, dropping into the other chair, his legs stretched out so that his feet were almost touching Tessa's.

She didn't shift away, but she wanted to. At first glance, she'd thought Seth was average, but the more she studied him, the more obvious it became that he was anything but that.

Maybe Dana had been right. Maybe he was going to be trouble.

She frowned, thumbing through his paperwork and reading the information he'd provided. There wasn't much. A shoulder injury that had required extensive surgery and therapy. A concussion. He'd marked a level seven pain in the affected shoulder and shaded a painpoint indicator through the shoulder and up into the neck, but he hadn't specified a cause for the injury.

"Were you in a car accident?" she asked, glancing up and straight into his eyes. Blue flecked with silver and rimmed with thick gold lashes.

"No."

"Sports injury?"

"No."

"I could spend the rest of the day guessing, or you could just tell me what happened and save us both some time."

He smiled, amusement flashing in his eyes.

"You know, Tessa, I think we're going to get along just fine," he said, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. "Here's the deal. I was in Afghanistan. My convoy was attacked and my shoulder got blown to bits. I came back to the States, had surgery and then rehabbed for a year."

"How long ago was that?" Tessa asked, making a production of taking notes because she didn't want to look in his eyes again. He was way more than she'd thought when she'd first seen him. Way more…interesting. Today of all days, she didn't want to notice.

Shouldn't notice.

"The first injury? Two years ago. I completed rehab a year ago and started working for Personal Securities Incorporated six months after that."

"When did the reinjury occur?"

"A couple of weeks ago. One of my clients was attacked, and I stepped in." He shrugged as if it hadn't been a big deal, but Tessa had a feeling it had.

"Did you have an X-ray or MRI?"

"Both. Everything is clear. My doctor thinks it's just pulled muscles and inflammation from old scar tissue."

"Let's check your range of motion. Go ahead and sit on the table."

He nodded, moving silently and easily, his white T-shirt skimming firm muscles and a flat abdomen. He wore black gym shorts and running shoes, and his left knee was crisscrossed with scars and swollen above the patella.

"Looks like your knee is bothering you, too."

"If we tried to fix all my problems, we'd be here for the rest of the day. How about we just concentrate on the shoulder?" His tone was easy, but there was an edge of steel in it.

"It's all connected. If one thing is out of alignment, the rest of the body suffers." She put a hand on his elbow, maneuvering his arm in the damaged socket.

"Does this hurt?"

"Yes." He didn't wince, though, and there was no hint of pain in his voice or eyes.

"Mind if I take a look at the surgery scar?" She rolled up his sleeve, but could see only the edge of the scar, still deep purple and angry-looking.

"This doesn't look two years old."

"I've had two surgeries since the first one."

"You should have mentioned that before we started." She frowned and jotted a note in his file. "When was the last surgery?"

"Eight months ago."

"Your surgeon?"

"Guy on the East Coast." He offered the name, and she jotted that down, too.

"Okay. Let's work through a few exercises, see how far we can push things without making them worse."

"Sounds good." He flashed a smile.

Despite the quick grin, Tessa had the feeling that Seth was assessing her. Whatever conclusions he was coming to, he kept them well hidden as she worked him through a series of exercises.

Thirty minutes later, sweat beaded his brow and his muscles were taut with effort, but he didn't say a word about pain or discomfort. He seemed determined to push through whatever he was feeling.

"That's good." Tessa put a hand on his arm, stopping him before he could begin another rep. "We don't want to overstress the joint or cause more pain than you're already in."

"I'm good."

"No, you're not. You're pushing too hard. That's only going to lengthen the recovery process. Lie down." She patted the exam table. "I'll have Dana come in and start some heat and stimulation while I print out exercises you can do at home."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're bossy?" Seth asked, standing up and stretching despite her instructions.

His question surprised a laugh out of her.

"More than one person. I took it as a compliment every time."

"This should be an interesting relationship, then." He used the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat from his brow and, without a smile, aimed his blue eyes straight at her. "I need to run. We can try heat and stim next time."

She didn't argue. Seth had to make the commitment to his recovery, and he had to be the one to follow through on it. "That's fine. I'll want to see you twice a week for at least a month. Why don't you set that up with Dana? I'll print out the exercises and meet you up front."

She tossed the words over her shoulder as she walked into the hall.

"Tessa!" Dana hurried toward her, a small package in her hand. "Are you finished?"

"Yes. I want to see him twice a week for the next few weeks. Can you set that up?"

"No problem. But, before I do, this was sitting on the reception desk when I got back from bringing Ms. Edna to room 3." She held up the package as if she'd just won the lottery.

"What's in it?" Tessa asked, impatient to move on to the next client. Like Seth, Edna was early, and that suited Tessa just fine. Keeping busy would keep the memories at bay, and she needed that.

"I don't know. It's addressed to you. Why don't you open it and find out?" Dana thrust the package into Tessa's hands, the brown paper packaging cool and a little rough. A white envelope was taped to the top, Tessa's name scrawled across it in bold black letters.

"So…" Dana leaned close, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Who's it from? A boyfriend? A secret admirer?"

"No to both," Tessa responded, her gaze jumping to Seth's room. He stood in the open doorway, his good shoulder resting against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. Even his forearms were well muscled.

She pulled her gaze away, focusing on the package again. "I'll open it later. I need to print a couple of things for Seth. Set up his next few appointments, okay? Then run the sonogram on Edith's knee. We'll start her on the treadmill when you're finished."

She didn't wait for Dana's response, just hurried into Sam's oversize office. As a part-time employee, she didn't have her own space, but Sam had given her free use of his.

She set the package on his desk, doing her best to ignore it as she booted up the computer and found the exercises she wanted to print. No one sent her packages. Getting one on the fifth anniversary of Daniel's death seemed…ominous.

She shut the thought down, jotting a few notes in Seth's file as the printer ran. Crisp winter sun poured in through the window behind her. But it couldn't warm the chill that filled her heart.

Five years, but she could still hear the wails of terrified children, still feel the blazing African sun, still smell the blood.

She gagged, stepping away from the desk and the package, and wishing she could step away from the memories.

Just then, the package moved, something inside of it scratching against the box. Tessa jumped back, knocked into a rock-hard chest and swung around, a scream dying on her lips as she looked into Seth's vivid-blue eyes.

"Careful."

Seth held his newest physical therapist's arm and looked into her misty-green eyes. Her skin had gone three shades of pale, and she looked as if she was about to jump out of her skin. Based on the way she was eyeing the package Dana had handed her, he'd say it had something to do with whatever was in it.

"You're supposed to be setting up appointments with Dana," she snapped, her eyes flashing with irritation and something else. Something that looked an awful lot like fear.

Leave it alone, his brain warned, but he'd never been all that good at taking orders.

"I already did. Now I need the printouts so I can get on with my day." He touched the box, his curiosity piqued. "What's this?"

"A wrapped box," she responded dryly, grabbing a few pages from a printer and thrusting them toward him. "Here are the exercises. I'll see you next week."

Her dismissal couldn't have been more obvious, but Seth wasn't quite ready to go. Tessa and her mystery box were way more interesting than desk duty, and that's what he'd be heading for when he left her office.

He tucked the printouts into his coat pocket and lifted the box. It was light and just a little off balance, as if whatever was in it fit in one corner, leaving the rest of the space empty.

"Put that down," she said without looking away from her computer.
Order:
Harlequin.com
Harlequin.com (Large Print)
Harlequin.com (ebook)

Barnes and Noble
Barnes and Noble (Large Print)
Nookbook

Amazon.com
Amazon.com (Large Print)
Kindle

Christianbook.com

Booksamillion.com
Booksamillion.com (Large Print)
Booksamillion.com (ebook)

Kobobooks.com (ebook)

iTunes (ebook)

You can also purchase this book from any of the stores found at CBA Storefinder.

Excerpt - STOLEN IDENTITY by Lisa Harris

The winner of Stolen Identity
by
Lisa Harris
is:

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 TastyKakes that you didn’t win (I just found out what those are!). Cheer up! Order the book!

Who would want her life?

Danielle Corbett doesn't understand why someone would want to steal her identity. A single mother running a small business—nothing special, right? But after discovering a dead body on the Oregon coastline, she's attacked by a dangerous hacker who will stop at nothing to frame her. Only her former fiancé, Jason Ryan, is willing to help. Years ago she broke his heart, but he can't walk away from a woman in need. He'll do anything to protect her from their unseen adversary. But is there enough time to work together and untangle this twisted web of fraud and deception?

Excerpt of chapter one:

Jason Ryan snagged his cell phone from the kitchen table, then fumbled to answer before the caller hung up. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he checked the ID. Great. So the long lost prodigal had finally decided to check in.

He took the call, skipping any formalities with his best friend and business partner. "Where are you, Garrett?"

"Listen, I just have a minute. Some things have come up, and I…I need a few more days off."

"A few more days to do what?" Jason shoved the last file into his briefcase then slammed the lid shut. He didn't have time for more of Garrett's excuses. Not today.

"I can't tell you." His friend's voice faded in and out with the choppy connection.

"You can't or won't tell me? Come on, Garrett. I've put up with your excuses for weeks, and now you won't even answer my phone calls or respond to my emails. What am I supposed to do?"

"You don't understand—"

"No…" Jason let out a loud humph and started pacing the kitchen's mosaic tiled floor. "You're the one who doesn't understand, Garrett. I need you here. I just finished our final analysis of Simon's company and discovered another million dollars' worth of misappropriated funds. Do you realize how much work we have ahead of us?"

"I'm sorry, for everything, but I've gotten involved in something…something serious."

"Tell me what's wrong, and I'll help you fix it," he insisted, trying to reason with his friend.

"I don't think this can be fixed."

Jason rubbed the back of his neck. He could read the aggravation in his friend's voice, but he wasn't buying the excuses anymore. They might have become close friends over the past seven years, but even that didn't make up for Garrett's recent erratic behavior. Or the fact he'd been AWOL from his job the past two weeks. "Convince me why I shouldn't terminate you."

"Because I need you to trust me."

Jason frowned. As far as he was concerned, trust wasn't one of his friend's fortes at the moment. "It's a woman, isn't it?"

"Yes. No. It's not what you think."

Jason felt the last thread of patience snap. Garrett's record with women was worse than his own. While a fourth date always seemed one date too close to commitment for Jason, Garrett rarely got past a second date before he was playing the field again.

"Come on, Garrett…tell me what's going on." Jason rummaged through the kitchen cabinet for a bottle of aspirin to take the edge off the headache that had been brewing all morning. "Your mother called me yesterday, worried sick because she hadn't heard from you in over a week. Plus, I'm covering for you at work, even though I can't even tell anyone where you are or what you're doing because I don't know myself."

"Like I said, I can't tell you. Not yet, anyway."

"Then at least tell me where you are?"

There was a slight pause on the line. Jason downed the tablets with a glass of tap water. He set the empty glass in the sink, still awaiting an answer. "Garrett?"

"I'm in Pacific Cove, but nothing is secure…not on-line…not this call…."

Garrett's voice faded away.

"Garrett? Can you hear me?"

Even though the small coastal town was only twenty miles from his father's cabin, he hadn't been to Pacific Cove for years. What in the world was Garrett doing there?

"The connection is…bad." Garrett's voice returned. "I'll call you again in a few days. I've got to go."

"Garrett, wait—" The line went dead.

Jason braced his hands against the sides of the kitchen sink and stared off into the distance at Mt. Hood shimmering in the morning sunlight. If Garrett was involved with a woman, why all the secrecy? Nothing made sense. He grabbed his car keys and briefcase and headed out the front door of his downtown Portland condo. Knowing Garrett, he was sitting at a beachside cafe eating crab cakes and oyster shooters with some girl he'd fallen for.

Some dire emergency. More like another one of Gar-rett's romantic liaisons. Or at least it had better be.



Four days later

Four-year-old Lauryn tugged on her mother's hand, her mouth drawn into a deep frown.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Danielle Corbett followed her daughter's gaze past the foot-tall sandcastle wall they'd just finished. Another few minutes and the structure would completely disappear into the shoreline.

"Someone's out there."

Lauryn pointed to the swirling gray-blue waters of the Pacific Ocean dancing beneath the yellow sunlight that glistened off clusters of jagged rocks.

Something orange flashed in the water.

Danielle's gaze shifted to the right, and she squinted against the glare of the water. Another flash of color rose then disappeared. She scanned the deserted shoreline for help. Mr. Johnson walked his golden retriever most mornings. Reagan Garland jogged on the days he worked the night shift. Today, there was no one.

Grabbing Lauryn's hand, she ran toward her mother who had just finished gathering up their picnic supplies and handed her the beach bag. "Mom, there is a swimmer in distress. I need you to call 911 then take Lauryn with you up to the restaurant. Send someone for help, then wait for me there."

Not waiting for a response, Danielle hurried back into the surf, her tennis shoes soaking up the water and squishing beneath her sock-clad toes. Ignoring the Pacific Ocean's frigid temperature, she kept her focus on the figure as his head emerged gasping for air then vanished into the white foam.

A spray of water splashed her sun-chapped lips leaving behind its salty residue. Wiping the back of her hand against her mouth, Danielle trudged deeper into the ocean until she was only a few feet from the struggling body.

In an instant, he was gone.

Her toes barely touching the sandy bottom, Danielle searched the murky waters. Turning a full 360, her heart pounded frantically. Tufts of dark hair appeared at the surface. Diving into the water, she opened her eyes and aimed in the direction of the body. An eternity seemed to pass before the form appeared. This time he no longer struggled against the waves. An orange shirt hung off one shoulder. Heavy jeans hung like weights on his legs. Grabbing his shoulders, Danielle turned against the strengthening tide and headed for the surface.

Stay calm. Don'tpanic.

The emergency training course she'd taken last summer flashed before her. She took a deep breath and struggled to keep her head above the waves.

Pulling the man toward her, Danielle rested the back of his head against her chest. He lay limp in her arms. Please God, don't let me be too late. She checked the beach. It was empty.

One second at a time. One stroke at a time.

Pulling her free arm against the waves, Danielle pushed against the water until her feet touched the sand beneath her. The weight of the man grew heavy in her arms, but at least he wasn't fighting against her.

Danielle shivered, willing her body to keep swimming toward the shore, but even her training for this year's local triathlon hadn't prepared her for this. Underwater waves pushed against her legs. The sand sank beneath her feet making progress difficult. Ten more feet. She could see the edge of the water now. Five more feet.

Finally collapsing onto the wet sand, Danielle dragged the man far enough away from the incoming tide so that she could work unhindered. She looked to the deserted shoreline for help, worried that she didn't have time to wait for the paramedics to arrive, then gently shook his body. She felt for a pulse beneath his jawline and checked his breathing.

Nothing.

Danielle fought the alarm that rose in her chest as she placed the heel of her hand in the center of his chest and started chest compressions. A lock of dark hair rested against his forehead. Freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. A small scar crossed his left eyebrow. He was somebody's son, brother, husband….

Lord, I need a miracle.

Danielle glanced up and drew out a labored sigh of relief at the man running toward her. Athletic build, dark blond hair… Pale blue eyes met hers a moment later as he knelt on the sand across from her.

"What happened?"

Danielle heard the urgency in his voice as she tried to catch her breath. Surely she was seeing things. Jason Ryan?

His gaze shifted from her face, to the body, then back to her again. "Danielle? Tell me what happened," he said, his expression full of questions.

There was no time to process the familiar features…or the ten years that had passed since she'd last seen him. "I pulled him out of the water. I've tried CPR, but he doesn't have a pulse, and he's not breathing." Danielle felt her own heart pounding inside her chest. "My mother called 911 and has gone to the restaurant to get help."

He caught her gaze, then grabbed her hands, turning them over palms up. Danielle felt the air rush out of her lungs. They were covered with blood. "I don't think he drowned, Danielle. He's been shot."

Jason fought the panic as he tried to process the blood on Danielle's hands…and the fact that he'd just found Garrett. But if there was any chance of saving his friend, they both were going to have to keep their focus.

Needing to find the source of the injury, he turned his friend on to his side where the blood had seeped onto the sand. Two holes punctuated his back, leaving dark circles of blood behind. No pulse. No heartbeat. A sickening feeling flooded through him. Garrett was dead.

"We can still save him." Sirens wailed in the distance as Danielle knelt in front of Garrett's lifeless body and began the chest compressions again.

"It's too late." Jason grabbed her hands a second time and pulled them against his chest. "There isn't anything you could have done to save him. There isn't anything anyone can do. He's already gone, Danielle."

Already gone.

How had this happened? He stared at the lifeless body of his friend, then stood up, his legs shaking at the realization. His last conversation with Garrett raced through his mind as he walked a few paces toward the sea trying to process what had just occurred.

"Jason?"

"I knew him." He turned back toward her, guilt pounding through him. "I came to Pacific Cove to find him. He's a friend…my business partner."

"I'm so sorry." Danielle looked up at him with those achingly familiar, big brown eyes. "I can't imagine losing someone this way."

"I didn't take him seriously when he told me he was in trouble." Jason knelt back down onto the sand across from her. "Now he's dead."

Danielle stood twenty yards from the body—dead and lying in a body bag—she'd pulled from the ocean. The early afternoon tide swept back and forth across the rocky shoreline, sand flowers fluttered in the wind and seagulls fought for scraps of food beside her, but she barely saw any of it. Instead, her arms were crossed tightly against her chest as she answered the barrage of questions from one of the police officers, while another officer talked to Jason. Where had she found the body? Had he been alive when she first saw him? Had there been any other witnesses at the scene?

Danielle shivered in the cold, trying to get her mind to focus, while absorbing the shock that a man was dead. Yes, she'd found him floating in the water. She thought he'd been alive when she pulled him out, but then they'd found the blood. There had been no heartbeat, no sign of breathing. And no, she hadn't seen anyone else on the beach at the time of the rescue except for Jason.

The officer tapped his pen against his notes. "One last question. Had you ever seen the victim before today?"

Danielle shook her head, wanting the interview to be over. Wishing she could erase the blank stare of the dead man's eyes looking back at her, the dark red stains on his back and the fact that her hands had been covered with his blood.

"Mrs. Corbett?"

"I'm sorry. No…I've never seen him before."

She barely heard the officer's instructions through her deafening thoughts. One of the officers would be in touch if they needed any more information. If she thought of anything else in the meantime, she needed to call the precinct. She gave him her contact information, then started walking away from the shoreline, wanting to get as far away as she could from the crime scene.

"Danielle?" Jason caught up to her. "Are you okay?"

"No, not really." Her clothes and shoes were soaked and she was shivering from the cold, but none of that seemed to matter. A man was dead.

"Do you need a ride home?"

She paused along the sandy trail leading toward the restaurant. She hadn't even stopped to think that far ahead.

"One of the paramedics let me use his phone to call my mom while he checked me out. I told her to take Lauryn home. If they were to see me soaking wet and shaken up like this, they'd both worry."

Besides that, the last thing she wanted was for either of them to have witnessed today's tragedy.

"Who's Lauryn?"

Danielle looked up into his turbulent blue eyes. She'd almost forgotten he didn't know. How much time had passed since the night she'd handed him her engagement ring back? Nine…ten years ago. It seemed like a lifetime. "A lot can change in ten years. Lauryn's my daughter."

"So you're married?"

She bent down and picked up a white sand dollar half-buried in the ground and started brushing off the sand. "Quinton died in a motorcycle accident two years ago."

"I'm sorry."

She let her thumb rub across the broken edge of the shell. Some days she felt the same way. Broken…defeated. Other days she felt as if she'd finally found her way. Today she wasn't sure where she stood. "It's something I'm learning to live with."

"Listen, let me go with you up to the restaurant so you can dry off and get something warm to drink, then I'll drive you home. You've got to be chilled to the bone. They have a fireplace in the dining room."

A shiver spread through her as he spoke, and she nodded. Late October meant the average temperature on the coast barely rose above sixty degrees. Being wet in the wind made the cold even worse.

She turned around to take one last look at the body before they headed toward the restaurant. Officers and paramedics finished working the scene, along with the medical examiner who had recently arrived. The reality of what had just transpired hit her like a winter storm beating against the Pacific's rugged coastline. When her knees buckled beneath her, Jason caught her and drew her into his arms.

She let him hold her for a moment. Her head rested against his chest as she breathed in the smell of salt and seaweed, finding an unexpected security in his presence. He had been that for her once. Years before she'd even met Quinton.

"I'm sorry." She stepped back, suddenly self-conscious of her display of emotion to a man she'd purposely forgotten. "I just don't think I've ever been so scared. Everything happened so fast…. I thought I could save him. I wanted so badly to save him."

"Hey, you don't have any reason to be sorry." He brushed away the tear sliding down her cheek with the back of his hand. "What you experienced today was traumatic."
Order:
Harlequin.com
Harlequin.com (Large Print)
Harlequin.com (ebook)

Barnes and Noble
Barnes and Noble (Large Print)
Nookbook

Amazon.com
Amazon.com (Large Print)
Kindle

Christianbook.com

Booksamillion.com
Booksamillion.com (Large Print)
Booksamillion.com (ebook)

Kobobooks.com (ebook)

iTunes (ebook)

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: Carbon Copy Cowboy by Arlene James (Love Inspired)!!

Guest blog and excerpt - LONE STAR PROTECTOR by Lenora Worth

Today I have the lovely Lenora Worthy guest blogging!

Lenora's Bio

Lenora Worth has written more than thirty books, most of those for Steeple Hill. She also works freelance for a local magazine, where she had written monthly opinion columns, feature articles and social commentaries. She also wrote for five years for the local paper. Married to her high school sweetheart for thirty-three years, Lenora lives in Louisiana and has two grown children and a cat. She loves to read, take long walks, and sit in her garden.

And now, here's Lenora!

I have always admired and appreciated K-9 Officer dogs. So when I was asked to be a part of the Love Inspired Suspense Texas K-9 Unit continuity, I immediately said YES.

This is a six book series by six different authors and I got to write the last book. Tying up a series is never easy but I enjoyed the challenge of bringing the bad guy to justice and finding that happy ending for my hero and heroine. But the best part of writing this book was being able to delve into the daily workings of a K-9 Police Unit and learning more about how these amazing animals are trained and cared for when they’re off duty.

I’d written one other K-9 book (A Tender Touch)so I’d read a lot of stories on the dogs and their trainers and handlers. But I got my research back out and studied the stories again. One thing I learned is that these dogs are loyal and hardworking and hugely devoted to their human partners. Since they live with their partners, they become a part of the family and family members trust them with their lives. A loyal K-9 is the best guard dog a family can have and even after retirement they make good pets. Of course, this is because they are trained to listen to commands, to sniff out everything from drugs to cadavers (depending on their specialties) and to follow commands at a moment’s notice and without hesitation. They don’t learn by emotions but by what they see and hear and smell, but their human partners become emotionally attached to them and I believe the animals sense this and become very protective because of that “love.”

I hope I did these valiant animals justice in my book “Lone Star Protector”. I’m proud of this story and I loved working with my friends Shirley McCoy, Margaret Daley, Sharon Dunn, Valerie Hansen and Terri Reed. I wanted to see how readers feel about their own pets and hear stories you might want to share about the animals in your own lives. If you’d read the other books, let me know how you like them. We love talking to our readers about our books!

Camy here: Thanks for guest blogging today, Lenora!

Lone Star Protector
By
Lenora Worth

Keeping Watch

When dog trainer Kaitlin Mathers is attacked, Texas K-9 Unit captain Slade McNeal is determined to keep her—and what's left of his family—safe from harm. But soon Slade realizes nothing's safe, including his dogs, his son or the beautiful woman who's opening his heart. When Slade realizes the enemy might be closer than he ever dreamed possible, he vows to see justice served. But can he save Kaitlin before it's too late to tell her he loves her?

Excerpt of chapter one:

"Don't make a sound."

K-9 trainer Kaitlin Mathers felt the cold nozzle of the gun sticking into her rib cage, shock and fear pouring through her system like a hot, blowing wind. The man holding her had a raspy voice and wore silky black coveralls and a black ski mask, even though it was June in Southwest Texas. She could feel his sweat breaking through the lightweight material of his clothes, could smell a musky scent that probably came from the heat and high adrenaline. When she tried to squirm away, something cold and metal pressed against her backbone. A zipper, maybe? Determined to keep it together, Kaitlin didn't move or try to speak. She had to stay calm so she wouldn't be killed. So she could get away.

Across the K-9 training yard, Warrior barked and snarled from his vantage point inside his mesh kennel porch. Thankfully, she hadn't put the young trainee inside for the night yet. Someone would hear the barking and come around the corner, wouldn't they? Please, Lord, give me courage, she prayed, memories of her mother's death playing through her head.

That's what you get for working late all by yourself. You 're more like your mother than you realized. But it had never occurred to Kaitlin that someone would be hiding in the bushes right outside the doors of the Sagebrush K-9 Training Facility. Especially since the building and training yard were located inside a locked fence directly behind the Sagebrush Police Department.

The man holding her must have known the risks, but he'd somehow managed to get through that gate. He hurriedly shoved her toward a waiting van, the same dark van she'd only minutes before noticed parked underneath an old oak near the back parking lot.

"I need you to come with me," he said, his whisper like a knife slicing through her nerve endings.

"Why?" She had a right to ask.

"I'll explain that later, sweetheart."

Kaitlin looked at the van, then tried to look back at her attacker. She caught a glimpse of strange, black eyes, another shock wave jolting through her system. Before she could see anything else, he jerked her back around and pushed the gun hard against her side. "Let's go."

Kaitlin didn't think about being silent anymore. If she got in that van, the chances were very good that she'd be dead by nightfall. Just like Mom. But unlike her too-trusting mother, Kaitlin didn't intend to become a victim. She screamed and started fighting for her life.

K-9 captain Slade McNeal was halfway to his vehicle when he heard barking. Excited barking. Whirling toward the kennels, he wondered which dog had been left inside them.

Warrior.

He'd just watched trainer Kaitlin Mathers putting the newbie, a strong Belgian Malinois that reminded him of his own missing German shepherd, Rio, through his paces. They'd spoken briefly, and he'd gone back to his office.

But where was Kaitlin now? It wasn't like her to leave a dog unattended, even kenneled. Warrior was sure upset about something.

The dog kept on barking, the sounds growing more urgent. Something was up. Slade hurried toward the building, his weapon drawn. He passed the kennels but didn't see anyone. Since Warrior would have a close bond with Kaitlin, it made sense that the dog was trying to warn her about something. Or alert someone else.

"Good job," Slade said when he passed the pacing, snarling animal. He didn't try to stop Warrior's barking.

Then he heard a scream, followed by grunts and shouts.

Slade stood at the corner of the building, then pivoted around the side, his weapon still drawn. About twenty yards away, a man in a dark mask had Kaitlin by the arm, trying to drag her across the asphalt toward an open black van. And he had a gun pointed at her head.

Slade's heart rushed ahead, pumping adrenaline right along with realization. He recognized this man. The Ski Mask Man, they'd labeled him around headquarters. Slade had been gunning for this guy for five long months. This criminal had some nerve, trying to kidnap a trainer right out of the training yard.

A multitude of angry memories raced through Slade's head, followed by the taste of victory. Could this case finally get a break? He glanced back at Warrior, then turned his attention back to the scene in front of him. He'd never make it to the locked cage to let the dog out, and he didn't have time to dig for his keys or call for backup. He could shoot the lock, but what if he hit the dog?

He'd have to do this on his own. "Drop the weapon!" Slade shouted. "Now!"

Kaitlin gulped a breath of relief. Slade was here. She kept telling herself that over and over. She also kept telling herself that she could handle this because she'd been trained as a police officer. She might be a little rusty since becoming a full-time trainer, but she'd find a way out of this. Somehow. She wouldn't end up like her mother.

Surprised at Slade's command, the man holding her pivoted toward Slade, his gun still aimed at Kaitlin. She pulled away, but he held her tight against him, his low whisper a warning. "Do you want to live?"

She did want to live, but Kaitlin wasn't going without a fight. She'd rather take her chances right here in the training yard with Slade McNeal than go anywhere with this man. Captain McNeal knew his job, and he was good at that job. He'd get them both out of this, and she'd find a way to help him.

Slade advanced a few steps. "Drop the weapon and let her go."

The man tightened his hold, but Kaitlin could feel the apprehension and indecision in his actions. Did he know the captain? She used the brief distraction to dig in her heels, kicking and hitting and screaming. Taking a chance, she elbowed the man in his side, then wrapped her leg behind his to trip him, causing him to lose the grip on his weapon. The gun slipped out of his grasp and hit the hot pavement. He cursed and grabbed Kaitlin again, holding her like a shield in front of him, his strong grip twisting her shoulders back so hard she cried out in pain.

"I'm taking her with me," the man shouted.

Behind Slade, Warrior was going wild against the confines of his big wire-front cage, his barks frantic and snarling. Kaitlin watched, afraid for Slade. The K-9 captain held his gun on her attacker and kept advancing, inch by inch.

"Let her go," Slade shouted again over the barking dog, his finger on the trigger of his Glock 22 service revolver. "Don't make me shoot you!"

The man stopped tugging and glared at Slade. Holding Kaitlin with one hand, he tried to reach down and scoop up his gun with the other. He seemed to know Slade wouldn't take the shot with her shielding him.

Kaitlin glanced at Slade, then using all of her strength, kicked the weapon out of her abductor's reach and, with a grunt, yanked herself away. She fell, the concrete scraping through her khaki pants to tear at her knee. But she scrambled to her feet and did a quick run toward some shrubbery near the building. That left the culprit in full view and diving for his gun. Slade could take the shot and kill the man right where he stood. Kaitlin went on her knees behind the shrubbery, watching as Slade pulled off a round, hitting near where the gun lay, causing the perp to jump and roll.

"Don't move," Slade shouted as he starting walking. "I will hit the mark next time."

Kaitlin held her breath, praying Slade wouldn't get shot. She should have picked up the gun. But the attacker took his own chances. He grabbed for his weapon, then pivoted and rolled into a ragged hunched-over zigzag toward the van, firing behind himself as he ran.

Helpless, Kaitlin watched from the bushes, her heart caught in her throat. But while she watched, she tried to memorize everything she could about her attacker.

She held a hand to her mouth, watching as Slade dived to the ground to avoid being hit, but got off a couple of rounds before the man returned fire. One of Slade's shots hit the side of the van, but missed the moving target. The suspect did a nosedive into the open vehicle and the van spun around in Reverse and took off. Two of them. He'd had a getaway driver.

Slade took one more shot, but the van swerved and skidded out onto the side street, then the driver gunned it and disappeared into the burnt dusk. Slade squinted into the sunset, trying to see the tag numbers. All he saw was a temporary tag with smeared letters and numbers. He couldn't get a read on it.

Nothing to do there. He got on the radio and alerted the switchboard operator. "McNeal, K-9 Unit 601, 207-A averted, back parking lot behind the training yard. Suspect got away. All clear."

Holstering his weapon, he hurried to where Kaitlin still sat pressing her entire body in between the prickly shrubbery and the building bricks, her eyes bright with fear and relief. This whole event had lasted a couple of minutes, but it sure felt like a lifetime.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, placing a hand on one of her arms. With a gentle tug, he pulled her out of the shrubbery.

She jerked away, then looked up at him. "Slade?"

"Yeah, it's me. They're gone. You're safe now."

She nodded and then plowed into his arms and held on for dear life. "Thank you." Her voice was shaky but getting stronger with each inhale of breath. "Thank you."

Slade allowed her to hug him close, his fingers hovering in the air before he put his arms around her shoulders and patted her on the back. "You're all right now. It's over."

The woman in his arms clung to him for a while longer.

Slade didn't try to pry her away. Her whole body seemed to tremble against him. His own heart echoed that trembling, but maybe for an entirely different reason. It had been a long time since he'd held a woman so close. But it hadn't been so long that he could get past the image of his wife walking out the door and getting in that car.

He wanted to hold Kaitlin and comfort her, but bitter memories tinged with regret pulled him back.

Besides, he knew if anyone saw this, they'd both have some explaining to do. And with a K-9 dog barking and shots fired in the back of police headquarters, the entire department would be rushing around the building any moment now.

He backed up, took her by her arms and set her a few inches away. "Kaitlin, listen to me. You're okay. I need to ask you a few questions."

Her shock changed to embarrassment, her face blushing pink against the pale white of her skin. Shimmying out from under his grip, she bobbed her head. "Before I give a statement, I have to check on Warrior."

Slade stopped her from bolting by standing between her and the fussy dog. "Warrior will be fine for a few more minutes. Listen to me, okay?"

She exhaled, called a command to the animal, then glanced back at Slade. "You need a description?"

"Yes, but first what happened?" He scanned the perimeter of the practice yard and the parking lot. Nobody. But he heard doors opening in the distance and voices echoing out over the headquarters' parking lot. Maybe someone else had seen something.

Kaitlin glanced toward the sound of running feet. "I heard Warrior barking. He alerted me."

"I heard him, too," Slade said as he grasped her wrist. "Let's move toward the kennels so we don't get shot by one of our own."

She let him guide her until they were a few feet from Warrior's kennel. Then she pulled away and ran to the dog, her key ring jingling as she quickly opened the mesh-wire door.

Warrior bounded out, his frustrated whimpers echoing over the yard. The dog paced toward where Kaitlin had been snatched, then glanced up at his trainer.

"Sit. Stay."

The order wasn't as commanding as in the practice yard, but the dog did as Kaitlin said.

Slade saw two uniformed officers push around the building, guns drawn. He held up his hands. "Hey, over here. We had an intruder but…it's okay now."

As the officers gathered around, Slade explained what had gone down. "I exited my office and heard a K-9 officer barking. Someone tried to abduct Miss Mathers. He held a gun to her head, but she managed to get away. I pursued the attacker and called for him to halt. He refused and fired back. We both shot off a few rounds, but he managed to make it to the getaway car. Black, late-model van, old with a dent in the front passenger-side door. Temporary tag, smudged and unreadable. Vehicle headed west on Trapper Street. I got off a shot that hit the right back side of the van."

"We'll put out a BOLO."

Slade nodded on that.

"Get a good look at the attacker?" one of the officers asked.

Kaitlin spoke up. "He was wearing a dark mask like a ski mask. His eyes looked…so black, an eerie black. He must have been wearing special contacts because even the whites of his eyes looked dark."

Slade saw the shudder moving down her body. And felt the hair on his neck rising. This wasn't the first time he'd had a run-in with a man fitting that description. Last month, he'd glimpsed a masked gunman with blacked-out eyes fleeing Melody Zachary's hotel suite after a tense standoff that left K-9 detective Parker Adams with a gunshot wound. However, he didn't let on in front of Kaitlin that this suspect had to be the hooded man who'd been wreaking havoc on his entire department. The body count kept rising due to the heavy-handed work of a local crime syndicate run by a mastermind known as The Boss. And now someone within this criminal's organization had made a bold attempt right here on police grounds. Five months ago, his K-9 partner Rio had been stolen and now this. Someone was deliberately taunting him.

He wanted this case over and done with before someone else got killed.

Turning to the officer, he said, "That's an apt description. He was average height, maybe a hundred and seventy pounds, medium build. He wore black coveralls." Slade stopped, a shiver of familiarity moving down his spine. He shook it off, figuring things had happened so fast he still had a lot of images running through his head. Especially the one of Kaitlin being held a gunpoint.

"There was a wide silver zipper down the front," she added, her voice becoming stronger. "He had a…raspy voice. He kept telling me I had to go with him."

Kaitlin kept her hand on Warrior and petted the dog over and over. She was scared but was clearly putting on a brave front. Slade's heart still thumped against his chest. The image of that masked man holding her at gunpoint would stay with him for a long time.

After the officers took their statements and along with the crime scene unit, covered every inch of the area where the van had been idling, Slade finally told the others he needed to get Kaitlin home.

"I can drive myself," she insisted tersely, her pupils settling into a stubborn dark green. "Warrior always goes home with me. I'll be fine."

"I'm taking you home," Slade said in his best captain voice. "So don't argue with me."

She stared him down, then shrugged. "Then let's get out of here."
Order:

Harlequin.com
Harlequin.com (Large Print)
Harlequin.com (ebook)

Barnes and Noble
Barnes and Noble (Large Print)
Nookbook

Amazon.com
Amazon.com (Large Print)
Kindle

Christianbook.com

Booksamillion.com
Booksamillion.com (Large Print)
Booksamillion.com (ebook)

Kobobooks.com (ebook)

iTunes (ebook)

You can also purchase this book from any of the stores found at CBA Storefinder.

Also, don’t forget that TOMORROW 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: Carbon Copy Cowboy by Arlene James (Love Inspired)!!

Interview and giveaway - STOLEN IDENTITY by Lisa Harris

Today I have an interview with Love Inspired author Lisa Harris about her new release, STOLEN IDENTITY!

Lisa’s bio:

I’m a wife, mom,  teacher, author, dreamer, photographer, but most importantly a follower of Christ Jesus.

I currently live with my husband, Scott, and two of our children near the Indian Ocean in Mozambique as church-planting missionaries, while our oldest is loving his second year at a missionary boarding school.

As a homeschooling mom, life is never dull, but I see my writing as an extension of my ministry which also includes running a non-profit organization.

The ECHO Project works in southern Africa promoting Education, Compassion, Health, and Opportunity and is a way for us to “speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves…the poor and helpless, and see that they get justice.” (Proverbs 31:8)

When I’m not working l love hanging out with my family at the beach,  playing games, cooking different ethnic dishes, and heading into the African bush on safari.  

And now, here’s me and Lisa!

1) What inspired you to write the storyline/characters of STOLEN IDENTITY?

I had received a number of scam letters in my inbox and started researching how this worked. This led me to write Final Deposit for LIS several years ago, but I knew I wanted to delve into this topic again. Identity theft is on the rise with millions of people affected each year and criminals are making billions. I hope that in reading this story, people will be reminded that when life spins out of control, remind yourself that your identity isn’t tied to the securities of this world. Hold instead to the hope found in our Heavenly Father.   

In regards to identity theft, people need to be careful. Here are some practical ideas to avoid being a victim of identity theft from the US Department of Justice. (http://www.justice.gov/criminal/fraud...)
  

2) What's your heroine's favorite dessert and why?

Danielle has a young daughter and works full time, so everything she does, including cooking, needs to be fun and simple. So she loves desserts like jello with fruit and whipped cream and home made chocolate cookies.

3) Fill in the blanks:

My hero, Jason Ryan, has a real problem with needing to be in control of the situation but in the course of the story, he learns to rely on God.

4) What was the funnest part about writing STOLEN IDENTITY?

I love writing action scenes because I see everything as a movie in my head. While tough, I always find it fun to break those scenes down and have them come alive.

Camy here: Thanks for the interview, Lisa!

Lisa’s also giving away a copy of her book, STOLEN IDENTITY.

Stolen Identity
by
Lisa Harris

Who would want her life?

Danielle Corbett doesn't understand why someone would want to steal her identity. A single mother running a small business—nothing special, right? But after discovering a dead body on the Oregon coastline, she's attacked by a dangerous hacker who will stop at nothing to frame her. Only her former fiancé, Jason Ryan, is willing to help. Years ago she broke his heart, but he can't walk away from a woman in need. He'll do anything to protect her from their unseen adversary. But is there enough time to work together and untangle this twisted web of fraud and deception?

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 a copy of Lisa Harris’s Love Inspired Suspense STOLEN IDENTITY! http://is.gd/zPs0l5
(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/10151493757637620
(Be sure you share the post at the link above--go to the link and then click "share". Make sure you set the privacy of your share to “public” so I can see that you shared it and give you your extra entry even if I’m not on your friends list.)

Loading...

Excerpt - Midnight Shadows by Carol J. Post

Midnight Shadows
by Carol J. Post

With a relentless stalker after her, Melissa Langston flees Georgia for her small Florida hometown. Despite changing her name, she soon finds anonymous notes on her doorstep and a menacing figure lurking in the shadows. She's sure her stalker has tracked her down, but the police think she's overreacting. The only one who believes she's in danger is the former cop who broke her heart years ago. Melissa is afraid to get too close to ex-fiancé Chris Jamison, who is back in town to settle family business. Because the more she turns to the handsome man she's never forgotten, the more her stalker wants Chris gone—permanently.

Excerpt of chapter one:

It was the kind of day that made her wish she had kept hitting the snooze button.

One of the worst since returning to Harmony Grove four months ago. Nothing catastrophic—no earthquakes or hurricanes or even small house fires. Her escape-artist cat was recaptured and locked safely inside, she had plenty of bread to replace the two burnt slices, and her clothes had finally dried after her sprint into her office through pouring rain. Just lots of minor annoyances that had a way of ruining a person's day.

But it was almost over. One more deposition and she could go home, provided the roof didn't fall in.

Melissa took a seat at the end of the table and began to set up her steno machine. Then her gaze dropped to the deposition notice, and she froze, one hand on the tripod and the other sprawled across the top of the machine.

Christopher Jamison.

The roof could have fallen in at that moment. She probably wouldn't have noticed.

She stared at the name and wrestled in a breath through constricted airways. The vise that gripped her heart was painfully familiar. So was the bitterness gnawing a hole in her gut. But that was ancient history. She had conquered any stray feelings for Chris Jamison, beating them into submission until they retreated, cowering, to some dark, untouched corner of her heart. When that hadn't worked, she had shoved them aside with frenzied activity.

Her eyes swept over the name again. It couldn't be the same Chris Jamison. Hers had left Florida five years ago, with no intention of coming back. Of course, so had she. Life had a way of disrupting the best of plans.

Two attorneys entered, and when the buzzer on the conference room phone sounded, Attorney Daniels held the receiver to his ear. "Great. I'll meet him at the top of the stairs."

Her heart jumped to double time, and a sudden sheet of moisture coated her palms. There weren't many names on her People-I-Hope-to-Never-See-Again list, but Chris Jamison's was right near the top. She wiped her hands on her skirt, then brushed imaginary specks from the lacquered mahogany conference table. Moments later, voices drifted into the room.

"Mr. Jamison? I'm Jonathan Daniels."

"Chris Jamison. Sorry I'm late. The Friday afternoon traffic was worse than I expected."

Oh, no, it's him! That smooth, rich baritone was unmistakable. A bolt of panic shot through her, and she glanced wildly around the room, looking for a way of escape. There was the open door, with Mr. Daniels and his witness just outside, and the window directly behind her. An image sprang to mind—a heel-clad reporter climbing through the opening and plopping unceremoniously into the bushes below—and the panic threatened to give way to hysterical laughter. She struggled to compose herself. Any second he would walk through the door.

Her hands flew to her hair, which wasn't likely to go anywhere. It was pulled into a French braid and secured with a silver clip, an emergency purchase after her rain fiasco. And her skirt and jacket were fine. She resisted the urge to straighten them and willed her body to relax. If she couldn't feel confident, she could at least look it.

No amount of willpower, however, could prepare her for the moment he stepped inside. Five long years slipped away in an instant, and every sweet moment they had ever shared crashed back on her in one massive wave.

Little had changed. He had obviously kept up his gym membership—the pale blue sports shirt and dark dress jeans couldn't camouflage the rock-hard body beneath. And his sandy-blond hair was as thick as ever, an irresistible mix of styled good taste and windswept charm. He stood with one thumb hooked into his jeans pocket, the epitome of confidence, making her loss of composure feel that much more complete.

"And," Mr. Daniels continued, "this is Melissa Morris, our court reporter."

Chris started to nod, then froze midgreeting. His dark eyes registered recognition, then denial, realization and finally shock. His lower jaw went slack, and he stared at her in wide-eyed silence. Seeing him so befuddled boosted her own sagging confidence, and she was again struck with an irrational urge to laugh. She squelched the urge, but couldn't conquer the grin quivering at the corners of her mouth.

He recovered all too quickly. Hardness crept into his gaze, and he acknowledged her with a curt nod. "Pleased to meet you."

The lie rolled easily off his tongue. But a muscle twitched in his lower jaw, calling him out. He was anything but pleased.

Mr. Daniels indicated the chair next to her. "Have a seat, and we'll get this over with."

She jerked her gaze away from Chris to the attorney. His words seemed oddly out of place. How could life continue uninterrupted when her whole world had been turned upside down?

She nodded and gathered her scattered thoughts. Those eyes once again settled on her, dark and brooding. What was his problem? After all, he was the one who had withheld his trust and made ridiculous accusations. But she was the one who had walked in on every woman's worst nightmare. And the one left with the distasteful job of "uninviting" 175 guests to a wedding that would never take place.

"Raise your right hand, please." As soon as she began to administer the oath, she got tongue-tied. Her mouth didn't want to cooperate. The pleasant aroma of her after-lunch breath mint was long gone, replaced by a distinct flavor of metal, as if she had chewed and swallowed a box of nails. She shot a prayer heavenward and tried again, this time successful.

Mr. Daniels began his questioning. "State your name for the record, please."

"Christopher Wayne Jamison."

"What is your residence address?"

She stopped, fingers suspended over the keys. Lakeland! What was he doing in central Florida?

The deposition continued—question, answer, question, answer—and she skillfully recorded every word. He was in Florida temporarily running his father's marine store, on leave from the Memphis Police Department, which meant he wasn't going to stay. He had visited a year earlier and witnessed the defendant run a red light and slam into the plaintiff. And he remembered the defendant appeared intoxicated, an observation that drew an objection from Mr. Edwards, attorney for the defense.

But the answers she really wanted wouldn't come out in testimony. Namely, did his life turn out as he had hoped, or did he kick himself for the choices he had made? Had she invaded his thoughts as much as he had hers over the past five years? And why did he blame her for what went wrong between them, when he was the one who messed up?

Mr. Daniels finished his questioning, and Attorney Edwards began his cross-examination. Thank goodness, it was almost over. Sitting next to Chris for the past thirty minutes was like slowly tearing the scab from a wound, which made no sense. Any wounds he had inflicted had long since healed over. At least she thought they had. It was easy to convince herself she was over him when he was three hundred miles away.

"No further questions." Mr. Edwards laid down his pen.

A familiar uneasiness crept over her, that hollow-gut-compressed-chest sensation she used to get before a presentation or big test. Lord, please don't make me have to talk to him. She hauled in a stabilizing breath. If she took her time packing up her equipment, Chris would be gone before she reached the parking lot.

Or not. Mr. Daniels addressed him. "How's the marine business?"

"Pretty busy, actually, in spite of the poor economy."

"Glad to hear it. I'm a regular customer of yours. I've been restoring an old Chris-Craft, so Jamison Marine has become a regular entry on my credit card statements. You know the definition of a boat—a hole in the water you throw money into."

Chris laughed. "You got that right. 'Boat' is an acronym. It stands for 'break out another thousand.'" He leaned back in his chair, lips curved into a relaxed smile, warm and friendly. That smile wasn't for her. But her heart answered with an unexpected flutter anyway.

She dropped her gaze and slid her steno machine into its case. Keep talking. It didn't matter who left first, as long as they didn't leave together. If she got her equipment packed up quickly enough, he would still be knee-deep in boat talk.

That wasn't unusual for Chris—both the topic and the ease of conversation. He had that smooth, simple manner that encouraged openness, even from total strangers. And a smile that could charm the slippers right off an ice princess. But she wasn't going to think about that.

Soon her notice, pen and tape recorder were tucked away, along with the steno machine. And that was the moment the conversation died. Chris stood to leave, and because she had no other choice, she did, too.

He followed her into the hall. "I thought you were living in Atlanta."

"And I thought you were in Tennessee."

"I was till three weeks ago. My dad died suddenly, so I came back to wrap things up."

"I'm sorry." She really was. "I didn't know."

"It was unexpected. He was fine one minute, dead of a heart attack the next."

He swung open the heavy oak door and held it for her. The instant she stepped through, a wall of heat and humidity pressed into her, sucking the air from her lungs. The day's sporadic rain showers had finally stopped, and the sun was out full force, transforming the parking lot into a concrete sauna. She sucked in a steamy breath. Fall was less than two weeks away. But someone forgot to tell Florida.

He let the door swing shut. "I've taken a three-month leave of absence from the force, but hopefully it won't take that long to find a buyer for the house and store."

"I see." She unclipped her keys from the D-ring on the side of her purse and started across the parking lot. Azaleas blazed hot-fuchsia against a white vinyl fence, and palm trees stood at attention, fronds waving lazily in a gentle breeze, whispering that all was right with the world. The scene was deceptively serene. At the moment, her world was anything but.

"How long have you been back?" he asked.

"Four months." Plus one week and three days. And she still hadn't stopped looking over her shoulder. Eugene didn't know where she had gone. He had no idea where "home" was or that she had changed her name. She even got her mail at a post office box in another town. But none of those precautions took away the nightmares or brought back her former carefree life.

Chris cleared his throat and pulled his own keys from his pocket. "So when did you get married?" She looked at him sharply. "Huh?"

"Morris?"

"Oh, that." She shrugged. "I'm not married."

He arched one brow and tilted his head in silent question—one she left unanswered.

"So what brought you back?" he asked.

"Some friends got transferred and didn't want to leave the house vacant." Of course, there was more to it than that. Being given use of the Tylers' four-bedroom, three-bath house on five acres for nothing more than upkeep and utilities costs was tempting enough. But when the offer came right when she was planning her escape from Atlanta, that clinched it.

His brows again arched upward. "And you picked up and moved from another state just to help them out? That's pretty generous of you."

"It was time for a change." She opened her passenger door and put her equipment on the seat. When she turned back around, he stood studying her with those probing eyes. She closed her door and brushed past him. He could save his detective work for the Memphis P.D. She didn't need his help.

He followed her around to the driver's side. "Take it easy."

"You, too." She opened her door and slid into the seat. "I'm sorry about your father. I hope it all goes well for you, getting the store sold and everything."

"Thank you." He closed her door and dipped his head in farewell. His eyes glinted golden in the fading afternoon sun, stirring to life embers long since burned out, and she fought against the effect. After all that had happened between them, she shouldn't feel anything except bitterness.

As she started the car and put it in Reverse, a scene flashed into her mind, so vivid she wanted to retch—Chris in the arms of her best friend. Oh, yes, the bitterness was still there. One didn't easily forget that kind of betrayal.

Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.

The verse intruded unexpectedly, and she reached for the radio dial, pushing the thought aside. Soft rock filled the car, some seventies love song written long before she was born. She focused on the words, clinging to the distraction they offered. It didn't help.

Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.

After only three months in the faith, she was no scholar. But she had a nagging suspicion that "debtors" might somehow include Chris. What exactly did God expect?

I don't hate him. Isn't that good enough?

A gentle nudge told her it wasn't.

The traffic light ahead turned yellow, and she eased to a stop. Moments later, deep bass rattled her windows and reverberated in her chest. She glanced at the rusted Dodge next to her and reached for her own radio dial. Blaring music wasn't such a bad idea. Anything to drown out that nudge that wasn't so gentle anymore.

She didn't want to listen to that still, small voice. In fact, she wanted to leave God out of the whole situation. Because if she asked in earnest, He would probably give her an answer, one she didn't want to hear. He would likely demand that she let go of the past and forgive the unforgivable.

And she just wasn't ready.

Chris pulled from the parking lot, following the same route Melissa had taken. Except his would end a few blocks down, at the Lakeland home where he grew up. Since his return, he had avoided the little town of Harmony Grove, some thirty minutes away. And tonight was no exception. Even more so now that Melissa was back.

Walking into that attorney's office and seeing her sitting there had left him reeling. That was a part of his life he had neatly bundled up and locked away. Maybe if he could have had some warning, some time to prepare… Who was he kidding? Facing Melissa again would have knocked the foundation out from under him no matter how much advance notice he got.

Five years ago, she'd broken his heart. For two years he hated her. Then he found out how wrong he'd been.

And he'd spent the next two years hating himself.
Order:
Print books:
Harlequin.com
Harlequin.com (Large Print)
Barnes and Noble
Barnes and Noble (Large Print)
Amazon.com
Amazon.com (Large Print)
Christianbook.com
Christianbook.com (Large Print)
Booksamillion.com
Booksamillion.com (Large Print)

Ebooks:
Harlequin.com
Nookbook
Kindle
Booksamillion.com
Kobobooks.com
iTunes

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: Baby Breakout by Lisa Childs (Harlequin Intrigue)