Camy Tang's Blog, page 153

Street Team Book List excerpt - An Unlikely Suitor by Nancy Moser

Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!





This week, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance is introducing An Unlikely Suitor Bethany House (May 1, 2011) by Nancy Moser



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Nancy Moser is the award-winning author of over twenty inspirational novels. Her genres include contemporary stories including John 3:16 and Time Lottery a Christy Award winner, and historical novels of real women-of-history including Just Jane (Jane Austen) and Washington's Lady (Martha Washington). Her newest historical novels are Masquerade and An Unlikely Suitor. Nancy and her husband Mark live in the

Midwest. She's earned a degree in architecture, traveled extensively in Europe, and has performed in numerous theaters, symphonies, and choirs. She gives Sister Circle Seminars around the country, helping women identify their gifts as they celebrate their sisterhood. She is a fan of anything antique—humans included. Find out more at www.nancymoser.com and www.sistercircles.com and her historical blog: http://footnotesfromhistory.blogspot.com/





ABOUT THE BOOK



New York dressmaker Lucy Scarpelli befriends socialite Rowena Langdon as she's designing her 1895 summer wardrobe. Grateful for Lucy's skill in creating fashions that hide her physical injury, Rowena invites Lucy to the family mansion in Newport, Rhode Island, encouraging the unusual friendship.



One day Lucy encounters an intriguing man on the Cliff Walk, and love begins to blossom. Yet Lucy resists, for what Newport man would want to marry an Italian dressmaker working to support her family?



Rowena faces an arranged marriage to a wealthy heir she doesn't love, but dare a crippled girl hope for anything better?



And Lucy's teenage sister, Sofia, falls for a man well above her social class--but is he willing to give up everything to marry a woman below his station?

As the lives of three young woman--and their unlikely suitors--become entangled in a web of secrets and sacrifice, will the season end with any of them finding true happiness?



Excerpt of Chapter One:



An Unlikely Suitor

Excerpt - The Officer's Secret by Debby Giusti

The Officer's Secret

by

Debby Giusti



In the middle of the night, Maggie Bennett finds her army officer sister dead in her military housing. She's devastated by the loss of the estranged sibling with whom she was trying to reconnect. But as U.S. Army criminal investigations agent Nate Patterson begins asking questions about the officer's suspicious death, Maggie can't tell the handsome man everything she knows. Except that her sister was definitely murdered—for a secret Maggie can't share. Then she walks into the killer's trap and has to trust Nate with the truth…and her heart.



Excerpt of chapter one:



Chief Warrant Officer Nathaniel Patterson, U.S. Army Criminal Investigation Division, got the call at 0315. Possible suicide at Quarters 1448 Hunter Road.



Arriving fifteen minutes later, he parked behind two MP sedans and stepped from his car, adjusting his weapon on his hip. Although Nate hadn't known Major Bennett, the death of an officer was significant, and tonight, the combined resources of the military police and the army's major crime unit, the CID, had been called in to investigate the case.



Headlights signaled an approaching vehicle. Nate waited as his friend and fellow agent, Jamison Steele, crawled from his late-model sports car. Dressed in a tweed sports coat and gray trousers, he looked like a fashionable young executive in contrast to Nate's run-of-the-mill navy blazer and khaki slacks.



With a hasty nod, Jamison fell into step beside Nate and followed him up the front steps in silence. Before either man could knock, Corporal Robert Mills opened the door. The young MP had the makings of a future CID special agent if he learned to keep his somewhat self-centered ego in check. Nate chalked it up to youth.



Hopefully over time, his impetuous nature would mellow.



Raising his right hand to his forehead, Mills saluted the two warrant officers. "Evening, Mr. Patterson. Mr. Steele."



The agents returned the salute and stepped into the brightly lit foyer. Nate glanced into the living room where a woman sat huddled in a high-backed chair. Blue-green eyes looked up with the hollow stare of shock he'd seen too many times at crime scenes. The raw emotion written so clearly on her face brought home the tragic reality of what had happened tonight.



Their eyes met and held for an instant, causing an unexpected warmth to curl through Nate's gut. Then, tugging on a strand of her auburn hair, she dropped her gaze, breaking their momentary connection and leaving Nate with an emptiness he couldn't explain. Probably the middle-of-the-night phone call and his attempt to respond as quickly as possible that had thrown him slightly out of sync.



Or maybe it was the woman—a family member, perhaps.



Putting a human face on the tragedy—a very pretty face—intensified his desire to learn the truth about what had happened tonight. Nate was good at what he did. Tonight he wanted to be even better. The woman deserved as much. So did the victim waiting for him upstairs.



Bottom line, the army took care of its own in life and especially so in death. He motioned Corporal Mills into the kitchen as Jamison headed upstairs. Nate pulled out a small notebook and ballpoint pen from his breast pocket then, lowering his voice, he nodded toward the living room. "So who's the woman?"



"She's the sister of the deceased, sir. Name's Margaret Bennett, but she goes by Maggie. She found the major's body in the attic."



Nate knew how tough it was to lose a sibling. He thought of his own brother. Although eight years had separated them in age, they'd always been close.



He scribbled Maggie's name on a blank page of his notebook. "Apparent suicide?"



"Roger that, sir. Major Bennett hung herself from a rafter. Sergeant Thorndike's upstairs. He wanted me to check for prints."



A half-empty bottle of cabernet sat on the counter. Nate pointed to a wineglass, stained with residue. "Be sure to send off a toxicology sample on whatever's in the bottom of that glass."



"Yes, sir."



Opening the dishwasher, Nate used a latex glove he pulled from his pocket and lifted a second wineglass onto the counter. "Check the bottle and both glasses for prints. Let me know what you find."



"Will do, sir."



Nate nodded his thanks to Mills, returned the notebook to his pocket and grabbed a water glass from the cabinet, which he filled from the tap. Leaving the kitchen, he approached the woman in the living room.



"Excuse me, ma'am. I thought you might be thirsty."



Maggie Bennett glanced up with tear-filled eyes and a drawn face that expressed the heartbreak of a deeply personal loss. The two sisters must have been close. His heart went out to her, understanding all too well the pain she must be feeling.



"I'm Special Agent Nate Patterson, U.S. Army Criminal Investigation Division." With his free hand, he pulled out his CID identification, although he doubted Ms. Bennett would question his credentials. At the moment, she looked like a frightened stray caught in a trap. A beautiful stray, he decided, noting her high cheekbones, arched brows and full lips. But her strikingly good looks were overshadowed by a blanket of grief that lay like a black veil over her alabaster skin.



"I'm the lead investigator on this case, ma'am. Please accept my condolences as well as the heartfelt sympathy of the CID and the Military Police Corps here at Fort Rickman."



She bit her lip, then mumbled a broken, "Thank…thank you."



"I'll be upstairs for a few minutes. When I return I'd like to talk to you about your sister." He placed the water on the end table.



She gave a brief, pained smile of thanks at the offered glass and then looked back at him. "Yes, of course. Whatever you need to know."



Nate climbed the stairs to the second floor, feeling the weight of Maggie's grief resting on his shoulders. He'd give her a few minutes to gather strength before he saddled her with the endless questions that any death investigation required.



Reaching the second landing, Nate glanced into the home office on the right where Corporal Raynard Otis attempted to access the victim's laptop computer files. The soldier looked up, a full smile spreading across his honey-brown face. "Hey, sir. How's it going?"



"You tell me, Ray."



"Should have something for you shortly."



"That's what I like to hear."



Nate continued on to the open attic door. Rapid flashes of light confirmed the military photographer was already on the job. Within the hour, photos would appear on Nate's computer, systematically capturing every detail of the attic scene.



On the opposite side of the hallway, Jamison questioned a military policewoman and jotted down pertinent information she shared, information the CID team would review over and over again until all the facts were in and a determination could be made about the actual cause of death. Foul play needed to be ruled out. Hopefully, the case would be open and shut.



Climbing the stairs to the attic, Nate eyed the rafter and the thick hemp rope wrapped around the sturdy crossbeam. Without forethought, he touched his breast pocket where he had tucked the notebook, containing Maggie's name, as if to shield her from the grim reality of her sister's death. Lowering his gaze, he took in the victim's black hair and swollen face.



God rest her soul. The prayer surfaced from his past. His mother's influence, no doubt. She had raised him to be a believer, although his faith had never been strong, and for the past eight months, he had tuned God out of his life completely.



Once again, his hand sought the notebook as his eyes refocused on the body.



Death by strangulation was never pretty, yet despite the victim's contorted features, he recognized the same classic beauty that the very much alive sister sitting downstairs possessed. The deceased, with her low-cut silk blouse and snug-fitting leggings, appeared to be the more flamboyant sibling in contrast to Maggie's modest jeans and sweater, but appearances could lie, and more than anything else, Nate needed the truth.



A chair lay at Major Bennett's feet. Classic suicide scenario. In all probability, the victim had stood on the chair to secure the rope around the crossbeam and the noose around her neck. Kicking over the chair would leave her hanging and preclude the major from saving herself, should she have second thoughts about taking her own life.



Staff Sergeant Larry Thorndike stepped forward. The military policeman was mid-fifties with a receding hairline and an extra twenty pounds of weight around his middle.



"The victim worked in Headquarters Company of the 2nd Transportation Battalion," Staff Sergeant Thorndike offered as Nate glanced his way. "The major redeployed home from Afghanistan fourteen days ago as part of the advance party."



"Same unit that had two casualties in Afghanistan this week? " Nate asked.



"That's right, sir. Captain York—the company commander—and his driver hit an improvised explosive device. Now this. It's hard on the unit. Hard on everyone."



Nate knew all too well the tragic consequences an IED could cause. Was that what had led to the major's suicide? Had she felt in any way responsible for the captain's death? "How long before the medical examiner gets here?"



"The ME should be here any minute."



"Did you talk to the sister?"



The sergeant nodded. "But only briefly. She's pretty shook up."



An understatement from what Nate had seen.



"Ms. Bennett had enough sense to call for help," Sergeant Thorndike continued. "When I arrived she was white as a sheet and hyperventilating. Said she lives in Independence, Alabama. Received a phone call at approximately 2330 hours from the deceased. The victim sounded anxious, according to the sister. Major Bennett had fought with her estranged husband, Graham Hughes, shortly before the phone call."



"The major used her maiden name?"



"Roger that, sir."



"Has the husband been notified?"



"Negative. We're trying to track him down. Evidently he moved out a few days after Major Bennett arrived stateside."



"Alert the post chaplain to a possible notification of next of kin. I'll want to talk to the husband. Let me know when you find out where he's staying."



"Will do, sir." The sergeant unclipped his cell phone from his belt and stepped to the corner of the attic to call the chaplain.



Nate neared the body. He examined the knots that formed the noose and then the victim's neck and hands, noting her intact skin. No signs of struggle. Blood had pooled in her extremities, consistent with death by hanging and the beginnings of rigor mortis. It all looked like a textbook suicide, and yet…Something about it bothered him, and it took a minute to put his finger on it.



The sergeant closed his cell. "Chaplain Grant will be here shortly, sir."



Nate pointed to the victim's bare feet. "Where are her shoes?"



"Main floor, sir. Under a table by the door."



"It's a cold night. Why would Major Bennett walk around her house without shoes?"



The sergeant shrugged. "You got me there, sir."



Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Nate turned as Major Brett Hansen, the pathologist and medical examiner on post stepped into the attic. "Good to see you, Nate."



"Sir."



The major nodded to the sergeant and photographer. "What do we have here, gentlemen?"



Nate filled him in on the somewhat limited information accumulated so far. Wasting no time, the doc slipped on latex gloves and began his visual exam of the victim's body. Once complete, Sergeant Thorndike would lower her to the floor so additional forensic evidence could be gathered.



Knowing the procedure would take time, Nate descended the stairs to the first floor where the bereaved sister sat, legs crossed and head resting in her hands.



Peering into the kitchen, he saw Mills bent over the wine bottle. "Find anything yet?"



The MP looked up. "The glass you pulled from the dishwasher had been wiped clean, sir. We might get lucky on the bottle."



"Good man."



Entering the living room, Nate glanced, once again, at the grief-stricken woman. She appeared fragile as a butterfly and, no doubt, was devastated by what she'd discovered tonight. As much as he hated to disturb her, Nate needed information.



Moving closer, he touched her shoulder. The knit of her sweater was soft to his fingertips. "Ms. Bennett? Maggie?"



She looked up, startled. The pain in her eyes cut through him like a well-aimed laser beam.



"If I could have a few minutes of your time, ma'am."



Fatigue lined her oval face, but her ashen coloring concerned him more. She had found her sister's body and was surrounded by law enforcement personnel trying to make sense of a tragic death. No one had time to offer her more than a perfunctory word of compassion or support.



He glanced at the empty glass on the end table. "Would you like more water?"



She shook her head and rubbed her hands over her arms. "Thank you, no."



"If you're cold, I could raise the thermostat?"



"I…I'm just tired."



"Of course." He pulled up a chair. "Could you tell me what happened tonight?"



When she didn't answer, he scooted closer. "I know it's difficult."



She nodded. "Dani called me. She was upset…almost hysterical. She had told her husband she wanted a divorce."



Nate removed the notebook and pen from his pocket. He needed to put aside the fact that this woman ignited a spark of interest deep within him and focus instead on the questions he had to ask and she, hopefully, would be able to answer.



"Graham…" Maggie hesitated. "My sister's husband wanted them to reconcile."



"Go on." Painfully aware of the heat that continued to warm his gut, Nate swallowed hard and concentrated on the information Maggie began to recount.



"They…they had argued. Graham was upset. But then so was my sister. Dani told him to leave. Obviously, he…he came back later and—"



When she failed to complete the statement, Nate asked, "When did your sister and Mr. Hughes marry?"



"Dani ran into him shortly after she transferred here to Rickman. That was two years ago. They dated a few months. She sent me a wedding announcement after they were married."



"You attended the ceremony?"



"I wasn't invited."



Could Maggie's dislike of her brother-in-law stem from being excluded from their wedding? Nate drew a question mark on his tablet before asking, "Did you know Graham?"



"Yes."



"Had infidelity been an issue?"



She wiped her hand over her cheek and sniffed. "Not that Dani mentioned. But when we met for lunch last week, she told me that their marriage was over."



Nate nodded as he continued writing. "When you entered the house, did anything indicate Graham had been here?"



"A bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. Dani never drank red wine."



"What about her husband?"



"I…I don't know. When I was upstairs, I heard footsteps on the first floor." Maggie bit her lip and shook her head ever so slightly, her eyes widening with realization. "Graham must have been in the house the whole time I was searching for my sister."

Print book:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Barnes and Noble

Amazon

Christianbook.com

BooksaMillion.com

Borders.com



Ebook:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Nookbook

Kindle

BooksaMillion.com

Borders.com

Excerpt - Witness on the Run by Hope White

Witness on the Run

by

Hope White



A gun firing. A man killed. Running for her life. That's all Robin Strand remembers of the shooting she saw. With fear-induced amnesia, she can't identify the killer, no matter what the police say. The only one who believes her is private investigator Jake Walters. And he's the one who steps in to rescue her when her safe house is discovered. As they struggle to stay one step ahead of danger, Robin needs Jake more than ever. With his faith and training as a guide, they work together to bring back her memory. Before the killer can ensure that she never remembers.



Excerpt of chapter one:



Monday couldn't come fast enough for Robin Strand.



As she packed her briefcase with the printouts of checklists and sign-up sheets for tomorrow's pediatric cancer walkathon, she took a deep breath and reminded herself she loved her job as a special events coordinator. And she really did, but sometimes having alternate hours than the rest of the world was a drag.



On cue, her cell rang. She eyed the caller ID. Jenn.



"Hey, Jenn, what's up?" Robin said.



"We're waiting for you at the Five Spot."



"What time is it?" She swung her briefcase over her shoulder and flicked off the desk lamp.



"Nearly nine."



"I don't know, Jenn. I've got so much work to do before the walkathon Sunday."



"You're not at work, are you?" she scolded. "Uh…"



"You so shouldn't be there, Robin. Come on, swing by the Five Spot. Right now. I'm ordering you a longhorn burger as we speak," Jenn said.



Robin's mouth watered. "You're cruel, you know that?" She locked up the office and headed to the elevators. Being a part-time receptionist, Jenn didn't have the same level of commitment that Robin had for her work.



"You really need to come join us," Jenn added. "I got us a two-for-one deal on dinner."



Robin noticed light streaming through an office down the hall. She thought she was the only one dumb enough, or most lacking a social life, to be at the office on a Friday night. Then again the building was home to its share of overachievers like Destiny Software Design, Remmington Imports and Vashon Financial.



Then there was Robin, whose job was her life. Since she was in charge of Sunday's walkathon for the Anna Marsh Pediatric Cancer Foundation, she would probably be back here tomorrow working on volunteer rosters and donation lists.



"Hey, Trevor just showed up," Jenn announced.



"Great. My hair's a mess, my make-up is nonexistent, and I'm exhausted."



"Tough. Get your fanny down here."



"Thanks, but…" Her voice trailed off as movement caught the corner of her eye. Robin glanced into the Remmington Imports office on her right.



And froze at the sight of a tall, bald man aiming a gun at a second man who slowly raised his hands. Shocked and unable to process what she was seeing, Robin couldn't move.



A resounding bang made her shriek. Every cell in her body screamed run! But for half a second her legs were paralyzed.



"What was that?" Jenn's voice cried through the phone.



Robin stared through the window at the limp body on the floor. Blood spread across his crisp white shirt and seeped into the carpeting.



"He shot him." Then her gaze drifted up from the wounded man to the shooter.



Cold, black eyes stared back at her. Death eyes.



He stepped toward Robin, pointed his gun.



She took off like the eighth-grade, track-and-field champ that she once was. Do it for your brother. Make him proud.



Her brother, Kyle. Looks like she'd be joining him soon.



In heaven.



"No," she groaned, turning a corner. She had more to do. She wasn't ready to leave. She had to raise money for children's cancer research. And, she wanted to raise a few kids herself someday.



Swiping her card, she ducked into the break room, flipped the lights off and crouched low to keep out of sight. She'd hide in here and call the police. Her phone, where was it?



The door beeped, and her heart jumped into her throat. The shooter had a passkey? She dropped to the floor, crawling through the darkened break room away from the killer.



Killer. She'd just seen a man murdered. In cold blood.



"No use running," a male voice called out.



Robin took a slow deep breath and continued her crawl toward the exit. Think! Pull the fire alarm. That would bring help. But they wouldn't show up fast enough to save Robin from this monster.



"I like the dark, too," he taunted.



In the window's reflection she spied the guy pointing his gun under tables, ready to pop off another round. Into her.



She whipped open the door at the other end of the room, lunged into the hallway and pulled the fire alarm. Water sprayed from the ceiling as she scrambled to the stairs and hurled herself toward the ground level.



Pfft!



A bullet ricocheted off the wall mere inches from her head.



Focus, girl!



"Get back here!" the man called. "A witness is on her way down. North stairs," he said in a calm voice. "Take her out."



Hoping to throw him off, Robin flew down three flights, whipped open the door and raced to the south stairwell. She couldn't die tonight. There were a thousand people depending on her to run the cancer walk Sunday.



Strange, the odd things that rush through your brain when you're being chased by a killer.



She practically tumbled down the last two flights of stairs to the street level and threw open the door. Now that she was outside, she couldn't get to her car in the basement garage.



"Hey!" a tall, broad-shouldered man called, crossing the street.



"Take her out," the killer had ordered.



She spun around and sprinted in the opposite direction, braced for the bullet that would surely hit her square in the back.



But he didn't shoot her. She sensed he chased her, but she was fast, fueled by adrenaline.



For Kyle, Robin had said, as she'd placed her medal on her brother's trophy. His one trophy. He hadn't had time to win more.



"Stop!" the man called out. Closer. He sounded too close. She glanced over her shoulder—



A car horn snapped her attention to an SUV careening toward her, brakes screeching. Before she could react, it hit her, slamming her to the pavement and knocking the wind out of her lungs. As she struggled to breathe, all she could think about was how disappointed Mom would be. After all, it was Robin's job to make her parents doubly proud in order to ease the pain of losing a child.



Robin glanced up at the dark sky, hoping her brother would be the one to take her to heaven. Suddenly, her view was blocked by a man's blue-green, intense eyes.



"Don't move," he said. "Everything will be okay."



She closed her eyes, and a tear trailed down her cheek. I'm coming, Kyle, I'm coming.



Jake Walters paced the emergency room like a man waiting on the birth of his first child—only the woman he worried about was a complete stranger.



He couldn't shake the terrified look he'd seen in her eyes.



Or the look of surrender before she'd closed them.



He'd thought for sure she was dead, killed running away from him and into the path of a moving vehicle.



But he'd meant her no harm. He'd been on a stakeout for his cop buddy Ethan Beck when he'd seen the petite woman flee the building as if she'd just seen a ghost.



Or a murder.



Minutes after the ambulance arrived at the scene, Ethan, a detective with the Seattle P.D., had called Jake to let him know a report of shots fired at the Chambers Building had been called in by a cleaning crew, and Ethan was on his way with backup.



Jake had told Ethan about the woman fleeing the building, and Ethan had asked Jake to stay with her until the ambulance arrived. Yeah, like anything could have ripped Jake away from the woman's side? He'd felt responsible for her condition.



Now, an hour later at the hospital, Jake paced the E.R. waiting area and fisted his hand. The brunette was a stranger, and Jake had no legitimate reason to be here, but he'd stay close until he knew she was okay.



He leaned against the wall next to the E.R. doors and waited. He'd done his share of waiting with Mom as she'd fought the cancer that had taken her life.



Waiting drove him nuts.



"Jake?" Ethan said, walking toward him. Two of his men trailed close behind. "Hey, man, thanks for hanging around."



They shook hands. Ethan and Jake had grown up together, fought off bullies in their Seattle neighborhood together, and joined the army together. Although they'd been split up in Iraq, they'd reconnected after they'd shipped home and had ended up in similar fields: Ethan, a detective for the Seattle P.D., and Jake, a Homeland Security agent, recently turned private investigator.



"How is she?" Ethan asked.



"They're not telling me anything. I'm not family."



Realization colored Ethan's eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to hang around a hospital. Go on. Take off."



"I'd rather stay, thanks. I feel responsible for this woman."



"Yeah?"



"She was running from me when she got hit."



Ethan eyed him. "Was she running from you or someone else?"



"She tore out of the building like it was on fire."



"I'll bet she witnessed it," Ethan said, his voice low. "Detective Cole Edwards was shot and killed tonight."



"Man, I'm sorry."



"Did she say anything, give you any indication she saw what happened?" Ethan pressed.



"She whispered a name—Kyle, I think—then fell unconscious."



"Thanks, buddy." Ethan slapped Jake's shoulder. "I'll take it from here."



"I don't think she's in any shape to talk to you."



"Oh, she'll talk."



Ethan nodded to his men to stay in the hall and pushed open the E.R. door.



"E," Jake called after him, but Ethan had disappeared. Jake didn't like that Ethan might plan to pressure a fragile woman.



Robin Strand. Jake had looked at her ID in her wallet so he'd be able to give the hospital a name to go with that adorable face. There, he'd admitted it. The woman was adorable with her round face and subtle freckles dotting her nose. He glanced at the E.R. door. He hoped Ethan was being gentle with her, but considering a cop had been murdered, Jake wouldn't be surprised if Ethan had a hard time being sensitive to her condition.



"You're Beck's army buddy?" asked a tall cop with a crew cut. He had a scar running across his right eyebrow.



"Actually, we've been friends since grade school."



"Long time."



"Yep."



"I'm Detective Henry Monroe." They shook hands. "This is Gabe Dunn."



Gabe nodded and shook hands with Jake.



"You were with Homeland Security?" Monroe asked.



"Yep. Took a leave of absence and decided to go into business on my own."



"How's that working out?"



"Long hours, but it pays the bills."



"Your connection to the girl?" He nodded toward the examining area.



"Don't know her. ID says Robin Strand. Lives in Seattle, Greenlake, I think. I'm guessing she works in the Chambers Tower. She had a building pass."



Detective Monroe pulled out a small notebook. "What were you doing at the Chambers Building?"



"Stakeout for a client."



Jake suspected that Ethan hadn't told his men that he had enlisted Jake's help. Ethan had called last week asking if Jake had time to keep an eye on the after-hours activity at the Chambers Building, keep track of who came and went and at what times. Ethan knew something was going on in that building after hours, he just didn't know what.



"What client?" Monroe asked.



"Confidential." Jake wasn't giving that up until E gave him permission to do so. When he'd called Jake, he'd said he suspected some kind of police corruption and needed to keep Jake's involvement on the q.t.



Monroe narrowed his eyes at Jake. "Uh-huh. What time did you see her leave the building?"



"At 9:07."



"Was she alone?"



"Yes."



"And she was running?"



"She was. I got out of the car and called out to her. That freaked her out even more, and she took off down Seneca. She didn't get more than a block when the SUV nailed her."



"We've got officers at the scene questioning the driver."



"It wasn't his fault."



"Perhaps, but there's a good chance Ms. Strand witnessed the shooting of Detective Edwards and needed to be silenced."



"Was Edwards working a case?"



"That's confidential."



"Where did you find the body?" Jake asked. "I'm supposed to be asking the questions," Monroe said. The E.R. doors swung open and Ethan marched out, worry lines creasing his forehead.



"Well?" Detective Monroe asked. "She doesn't remember anything."



"About the shooting?" Jake asked.



Ethan pinned him with angry eyes. "Anything. As in, she can't remember her name, where she's from, what day it is."



"That's convenient," Detective Monroe said, snapping his notebook shut.



Jake eyed the detective. "Convenient?"



"Sure, if she's involved."



Not in a million years, Jake thought. Fragile Robin Strand was no more a criminal than Jake was good father material.



"Doctor is calling it traumatic amnesia due to the blow to her head," Ethan explained. "It's temporary."



"How temporary?" Monroe pushed.



"They don't know," Ethan said. "We all want this guy, Monroe. We're just going to have to be patient or find him another way."



"If the perp thinks she's a witness and doesn't know about this amnesia thing, then she's still in danger," Jake said.



"Then she should remember quick so we can put the guy away," Detective Monroe snapped.



"It's not like she's choosing to forget," Jake said.



"No?" Monroe challenged.



Ethan stepped between Jake and Detective Monroe. "Dunn, you stay and watch over Ms. Strand. Monroe and I will get with the crime scene investigator."



Detective Monroe didn't move at first. He stared at the E.R. doors.



It was devastating to lose a brother in blue and frustrating to know the eyewitness was unable to help. Or unwilling?



"Thanks, buddy," Ethan said, shaking Jake's hand again. "You've done more than enough."



"Hey, E, I need to—"



"Later, okay?" He started down the hall with Monroe, turned and said, "Go home, Jake. Get some sleep."



"Hey, I don't take orders from you anymore," Jake said in reference to their childhood roles. Ethan had played an army major and Jake a sergeant. Even then, they'd dreamed of serving their country.



Ethan waved him off and disappeared outside.



Jake glanced at Detective Dunn, who stood rigidly beside the E.R. doors pressing buttons on his cell phone. Dunn was tall, husky and angry-looking. Sure he was. A brother had just been killed, possibly a friend. Jake had lost his share of those in Iraq.



"How long have you been a cop?" Jake asked. "Ten years," Dunn said, not looking up. "Before that?"



"Military."



"Yeah. Me, too. Which branch?"



The E.R. doors burst open and a young nurse glanced at Jake, then Detective Dunn. "Who came in with Miss Strand?"



"That would be me," Jake said. "Jake Walters."



"She's asking for you." Detective Dunn raised a brow.



Jake shrugged and followed the nurse. Dunn shadowed Jake—a bit too close, in Jake's opinion.



The nurse hesitated beside a curtain and turned to Jake. "We had a hard time calming her down and didn't want to oversedate her because of the head injury, so please don't upset her."



"Yes, ma'am."



The nurse slid the curtain open. "Robin? This is Detective Dunn and Jake, the man who brought you in."



Robin slowly opened her eyes.



"I'm Detective Dunn." Dunn identified himself.



"You wanted to see me?" Jake said.



She looked at Jake and furrowed her eyebrows as if she struggled to focus. Then she frowned. "You. You were in the street. When I was…I was running…." Her breathing quickened and she looked like she was going to hyperventilate.



The nurse eyed the blood pressure monitor. "It's okay, Robin." She motioned to Jake. "Please leave."



He hesitated, not sure what had just happened or how to fix it. "Sure. Okay." Then he shot Robin a comforting smile. "I'll be right outside."

Print book:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Barnes and Noble

Amazon

BooksaMillion.com

Borders.com



Ebook:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Nookbook

Kindle

BooksaMillion.com

Borders.com

Excerpt - Threat of Exposure by Lynette Eason

Threat of Exposure

by

Lynette Eason



Pages full of indecipherable codes are all that stand between DEA agent Brock Martin and drugs crossing the border. But if he wants to crack the case, he'll have to work with Texas Ranger Gisella Hernandez. Brock feels the case is way too dangerous for a female agent—especially one who refuses to admit she needs protection. Yet as they work together under the most dangerous threat of exposure, Brock discovers Gisella is stronger than she seems. And that his cowboy heart isn't so tough, after all.



Excerpt of chapter one:



DEA agent Brock Martin stared at the man behind the gun. The man who was supposed to be his informant. The man who'd sold accurate information to him over the last year. A man who Brock hadn't come to trust, but had come to rely on.



The cold January wind blew across his face, but that wasn't what caused his violent shudder. "What are you doing, Lenny?"



One minute they were talking like always, the next, the weapon had appeared in Lenny's hand almost before Brock could blink. The move had been totally unexpected and Brock drew in a deep breath, ready to draw on all of his hostage negotiation training.



Then Lenny gave a smile that chilled his blood. "I got a better offer from Harry Lowe. He decided you've caused him enough grief and lost profit."



Harry Lowe. A big-time drug dealer along the Mexico-Texas border. Brock had been working this area between Juarez, Mexico, and El Paso, Texas, a long time. But one small slipup and he could die.



Lenny's cold eyes and steady hand holding the weapon said Brock had slipped up.



In a major way.



Dread and fear clawed its way into his chest. He swallowed hard trying to figure out how he'd ended up in this predicament. "Lenny, come on, man, you don't want to do this. Everyone at the station knows I'm meeting with you. And they're waiting for me to get back with whatever you have for me."



A nervous twitch of Lenny's left eye told Brock that it didn't matter. The man's hand trembled as he stared down the barrel.



Right now Lenny was more scared of not doing what Harry Lowe wanted than he was of going to jail for murder. Not a good situation for Brock.



More fear and no small amount of self-disgust curled through his gut. He'd gotten careless. Now, it seemed it might be his night to die. He'd always wondered how it would happen. How he would go. If he'd be ready.



He wasn't.



But now it seemed in this small church parking lot, hidden in the shadows of the trees, he was going to face his maker. God, please…



His mind formed the prayer even as he calculated the odds of successfully jumping Lenny. He realized he would have no chance of tackling the man or reaching for his own weapon, now on the ground to his left, before Lenny pulled the trigger.



So he had to make a choice. Jump Lenny and take his chances or bolt for cover and hope Lenny's aim was off. Bad odds all around.



Lenny sniffed and aimed the gun point-blank at Brock's head. "Sorry, dude, but a man's gotta do what a…"



"Put the gun down, Lenny!" the voice came from Brock's left behind the trees. Lenny jerked, whipped the gun toward the voice, and pulled the trigger.



Brock darted to the bumper of his vehicle, wishing he hadn't kicked his weapon quite so hard when Lenny had demanded he drop it. It glinted under the streetlamp ten yards away, mocking his incompetence.



Then he heard the pop of another bullet and felt the buzz as it careened past his cheek to plant itself in the asphalt beside him. God, get me out of this, please. I'm not ready to face You yet.



Adrenaline pumping, he rolled for cover even as he heard the discharge of another weapon, the howl of pain and the thud of a body hitting the asphalt.



Running footsteps echoed behind him as he lunged for Lenny, who now lay face down, and kicked his gun from his outstretched hand. Brock flipped the man, then planted a knee in his would-be killer's back as he swiped the cuffs from his belt.



Through gritted teeth, Brock muttered, "You're under arrest for the attempted murder of a law enforcement officer. You have the right to remain…" He broke off as a pair of boots stepped into his line of vision.



With Lenny's hands securely fastened behind his back, Brock allowed his eyes to travel north from the boots, up a pair of jean-clad legs to a belt fastened around a slim waist he could probably span with his hands. He let his gaze wander on up to the white shirt with a badge.



A badge with a star inside it. Right over the wearer's heart. She held her weapon ready and steady.



When he finally reached his rescuer's face, he knew in his gut exactly who'd saved his life.



"Hello, Ranger Hernandez." Brock hauled his now-subdued prisoner to his feet and stared at one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Tall, lean and fit, she kept steady brown eyes glued to his. He swiped an arm across his forehead. "I'll say this for you. You have impeccable timing."* * *Ranger Gisella Hernandez flipped her braid over her shoulder and stared at the man she'd already decided she didn't like very much.



Number one, he'd stood her up.



Number two, he'd met with a known drug runner without any backup.



Number three, he hadn't said "thank you" for her saving his life.



And she was supposed to work with him. As if she needed life to get any more interesting.



Give him a chance, she ordered herself.



She gave her hat a shove back on her head and addressed his timing comment. "You were supposed to meet me over two hours ago. I don't like to be kept waiting."



The man before her blew out a short laugh. "And I don't like to look death in the face. Looks like neither one of us was meant to be happy tonight."



For some reason, that comment amused her. She appreciated the fact that she didn't seem to intimidate him, as her badge seemed to scare off more men than it attracted. Gisella fought to keep the smile from curving her lips, but wasn't sure she succeeded when he raised a knowing brow. She gestured toward Lenny. "How's he?"



Brock shot the man a disgusted frown. "It's a shoulder wound. He'll live." Gisella thought she heard a silent "unfortunately" on the end of that last sentence.



"I wasn't gonna kill you. You got this all wrong," Lenny whined. He looked at Gisella. "I can't believe you shot me."



She turned to the dealer and gave him a stare that made him cringe. "I wouldn't have given you any warning if I'd had a choice." She looked at Brock. "You were right in my line of fire. I had to do a little maneuvering."



So that was why she'd yelled. Typically, in that kind of volatile situation, a cop shot first, two lethal pops to the chest, and it was over. Her eyes frosted even more as she said to Lenny, "You're lucky I always hit what I'm aiming for."



"And you were going to kill me," Brock ground out. "A fact I'll be happy to testify to," he said as he pulled the man to the car. As mad as he was at the man, he wouldn't make him wait in the cold for the EMS. He wasn't giving Lenny anything else to complain about that would prolong their night.



"And I make a pretty good witness," Gisella offered. Then she sighed. "I'll meet you at the station. I guess I'm going to have a lot of paperwork to fill out tonight. Not to mention calling my captain and getting him to do some fancy talking so I'm not assigned a desk job while this is investigated."



Brock grimaced. "I'll have to wait on the EMS to get here. I'd transport him, but don't want to have to clean out my car. Speaking of which, there's a videotaped recording of everything that just happened. Your boss shouldn't have any trouble getting this cleared up ASAP."



A glimmer of respect finally reared its head. "That'll help a lot."



He nodded. "I'll get someone to take over for me and meet you in half an hour."



"I'll be waiting." She shot him a pointed look. "Again."



He gave her a slow smile and Gisella felt her heart tremble at his low, "I'll be there."



A little unnerved by the attraction she felt for a man she'd just met, she shook her head and headed for the vehicle she'd left parked on the other side of the trees.



Gisella had flown down from San Antonio, grabbed a cab and rushed to meet Brock Martin, one of the drug enforcement agents assigned to the El Paso area of the border.



El Paso was a twenty-minute drive from Boot Hill, which was a five-minute drive from Juarez, Mexico. Her objective was to pick Brock up and head straight to Boot Hill. She hadn't planned on getting sidetracked saving his life along the way.



But I guess You weren't ready for him to die yet, were You, Lord? Thanks for using me in this situation. Now, please, please help me find the ones responsible for the drug smuggling and the murder of Captain Pike.



For the past four months, Gisella and her company of Rangers had worked hard trying to gather the evidence needed to take down the organization responsible for their leader's murder. Just recently, she and her fellow Rangers had taken the information contained on the flash drive they'd found on Melora Hudson's estate a few weeks ago and narrowed down the possibilities of where the drugs could be entering the country from across the border.



Melora's husband had been killed because of his association with the Lions of Texas, an elite group responsible for millions of dollars worth of drugs coming over the border, and Melora had almost been killed herself. Fortunately, they'd found what the killers were after and now the Lions had no reason to go after her anymore.



And thanks to the information on the flash drive, Boot Hill seemed to be the next logical choice in their hunt for the top members of the criminal organization. Gisella and the other Rangers believed the drugs coming into San Antonio, and all parts of Texas, were originating from that tiny, almost nonexistent blip on the map.



When Brock had failed to show up for their scheduled meeting a few hours earlier, she'd gotten tired of waiting around, did a little snooping and found out from one of the other agents where he was.



She'd punched in the location of the church in her GPS and driven straight there.



Not wanting to give herself away, she'd circled the building twice, then found a suitable parking spot that would enable her to be of some help should Brock need it, yet far enough away not to tip off the informant.



When she saw how Lenny had been acting, the hairs on her neck stood straight up. When that happened, she knew to pay attention. She'd pulled her weapon. Creeping in closer hadn't been a problem underneath the shelter of the trees.



Now, the ordeal was coming to a close. As she reached her vehicle, she heard the scream of sirens and saw the flashing lights of the approaching ambulance.



Help had arrived and she could get back to the office. Anxious to get on with her reason for being in El Paso, she drove with a single-minded purpose and thought about the man she would be working with.



A very good-looking—in a Brad Pitt sort of way—man. From the sandy blond hair and flashing blue eyes to the perfect smile. Her heart trembled at the memory of the smile that flashed white teeth and deep dimples. The fact that he probably hadn't shaved in two days didn't detract from his attractiveness at all. On the contrary, she liked the rugged look.



Gisella blinked at her thoughts. What in the world was she doing? She didn't think she even liked the man and she was daydreaming about how good-looking he was. When was the last time she'd done that?



She couldn't remember.



You're here for a reason, she reminded herself sternly. The mental admonishment brought her up short.



She was here to find a way to bring down the Lions of Texas, a group responsible for the death of her boss, Captain Gregory Pike. The Lions had already made millions of dollars smuggling their drugs over the border from Mexico. Her desperate hope was that Brock Martin might have some answers for her on where their entry point was.



When she'd learned she was to be paired up with the drug enforcement agent, she'd done her homework and researched everything she could find on him. Which wasn't much.



But she had learned that he'd been working the border for more than 10 years, was experienced and well-liked in his department. She hoped together they could pool their resources and bring down the Lions.



She parked at the entrance to EPIC—the El Paso Intelligence Center. Agencies currently represented in the building included the Drug Enforcement Agency and almost every division of law enforcement one could think of. Their job was to keep the border—and the citizens in the surrounding small towns and cities—safe.



And she was going to have a hand in that.



Climbing out of her car, she headed inside and made her way to the department she'd left only a couple of hours ago in order to rescue her temporary partner.



Sitting at her desk in the office she'd been assigned upon her arrival, she stared at the desk opposite hers.



Brock Martin. DEA agent. One who sometimes acted as the Lone Ranger. Sometimes followed the rules, sometimes not. But still, from all appearances, a good man who got the job done.



"Lord, I hope You'll let me in on this plan of Yours that seems to be unfolding."



"Talking to yourself?"



Gisella jerked at the deep voice and whirled to find Brock standing in the doorway looking at her. She felt the heat crawl into her neck and knew within seconds her cheeks would be fiery in spite of her olive skin. "Something like that. You got here fast."



He pulled off his gloves then shrugged out of his heavy coat to drape it over the back of his chair. As he lowered himself into the seat, he said, "Backup got there pretty quick. I didn't have to hang around much longer." He steepled his fingers under his chin. "So. We're going to be partners for a while, huh?"



"Looks that way." She tried to ignore how well he filled out his pullover gray sweatshirt and how his blue eyes regarded her with an intensity that seemed to reach into her very soul. She cleared her throat. "So…why didn't you have any backup tonight?"



"Not everybody takes backup with them when they meet an informant."



She eyed him. "The smart ones do."



He blinked. Then barked a laugh. "Right. Well, it just so happens that I had backup with me, but he got a call that his wife was in labor. Needless to say, I sent him on his way." He rubbed a hand across his lips then frowned. "I'll admit, Lenny surprised me. For over a year, the man has provided solid information—and made a small fortune off of me." He shrugged. "I had no reason to suspect tonight would be any different." Another pause as he looked at her. "I'm glad you tracked me down."

Print book:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Barnes and Noble

Amazon

Christianbook.com

BooksaMillion.com

Borders.com



Ebook:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Nookbook

Kindle

BooksaMillion.com

Borders.com

Street Team Book List excerpt - To Win Her Heart by Karen Witemeyer

Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!



This week, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance is introducing To Win Her Heart Bethany House (May 1, 2011) by Karen Witemeyer



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Karen Witemeyer is a deacon's wife and mother of three who believes the world needs more happily-ever-afters. To that end, she combines her love of bygone eras with her passion for helping women mature in Christ to craft historical romance novels that lift the spirit and nurture the soul.



After growing up in California, Karen moved to Texas to attend Abilene Christian University where she earned bachelor and master's degrees in Psychology. It was also there that she met and married her own Texas hero. He roped her in good, for she has lived in Texas ever since. In fact, she fell so in love with this rugged land of sweeping sunsets and enduring pioneer spirit, that she incorporates it into the pages of her novels, setting her stories in the small towns of a state that burgeoned into greatness in the mid- to late1800s.



Karen is living her dream by writing Christian historical romance novels for Bethany House. When she visited her publisher back in January of 2010, she was interviewed by the staff. If you'd like a behind-the-scenes glimpse into how she develops her story ideas and a description of her bumpy journey to publication, click here to listen to a podcast of that interview.



ABOUT THE BOOK



After completing his sentence for the unintentional crime that derailed his youthful plans for fame and fortune, Levi Grant looks to start over in the town of Spencer, Texas. Spencer needs a blacksmith, a trade he learned at his father's knee, and he needs a place where no one knows his past.



Eden Spencer has sworn off men, choosing instead to devote her time to the lending library she runs in the town her father founded. When a mountain-sized stranger walks through her door and asks to borrow a book, she's reluctant to trust him. Yet as the mysteries of the town's new blacksmith unfold, Eden discovers hidden depths in him that tempt her heart.



Eden believes she's finally found a man of honor and integrity. But when the truth about Levi's prodigal past comes to light, can this tarnished hero find a way to win back the librarian's affections?



Excerpt of chapter one:



To Win Her Heart

My latest newsletter and my cool auction item!

Captain's Log, Stardate 05.03.2011



Okay, yeah, my quarterly newsletter was a teeny bit late, but at least I got it out before NEXT quarter, right??? I'm using VerticalResponse.com and so far it's pretty good. My only complaint is that I don't know how to automatically delete any emails on my mailing list that bounce. :( But I get to use lots of pretty pictures. :)



I gave an update on my 4th Sushi book, Weddings and Wasabi, and my next books with Zondervan and Love Inspired Suspense, and I posted a new contest.



If you're not on my newsletter list but want to be, just head over to my website and fill out the form on the bottom left of the screen (with the cool purple chair!). I only send out 4 emails a year, so you won't have to worry about a lot of emails in your Inbox.



And if you want my latest newsletter, just email me (through my website) and I'll forward you a copy of it.



In the meantime, go to my Brenda Novak auction and bid! I'm auctioning off Sushi for One?, Only Uni, Single Sashimi, and Formula for Danger, as well as the fuzzy blue scarf Stephanie is wearing in Formula for Danger, and a 30-minute phone call with me for writers or readers!

Excerpt - Point Blank Protector by Stephanie Newton

Point Blank Protector

by

Stephanie Newton



With his cover blown, former DEA Agent Tyler Clark has nothing but time on his hands. Time—and orders—to see the police psychologist before taking a new case. Gracie VanDoren's cheerful determination to help him drives Tyler up the wall…right up until a threatening letter has Gracie's sunshiny demeanor giving way to fear. As the threats escalate, both realize someone has an unusually personal vendetta against Gracie. Now Tyler's cover is blown again. Because he's committed to being her point-blank protector—even if it means exposing his heart.



Excerpt of chapter one:



Tyler Clark hated seeing the shrink. Hated having his motives questioned, his mind probed. He pulled open the door to the Sea Breeze Police Department and showed his ID.



The watch officer took one brief look at Tyler's face and slid the visitor's pass across the desk. "Have a nice day."



Tyler resented jumping through hoops for bureaucratic nonsense, and he really couldn't stand being jerked out of the field until the crazy task had been completed. Crazy because any undercover agent worth his salt could fool a shrink.



But regular evals were part of his job as an undercover agent—at least, they had been part of his job until he'd been exposed by the press after his last case closed. As a bonus, his new job—interim job, he reminded himself—also required a visit to the shrink. Lucky him.



In his experience, shrinks came in two varieties, the cheerful and sympathetic wanna-be-your-friend type and the slice-and-dice, cut-out-the-cancer type. He didn't like either one, preferring to deal with things on his own time. Or not.



The utilitarian gray halls of the Sea Breeze, Florida, Police Department weren't complicated, and within minutes of entering the building he found Dr. VanDoren's second-floor office.



The doctor had a white message board on the outside of the door. Someone had drawn a smiley face on it. Great. VanDoren was one of those.



He pushed the cracked door all the way open, knocking on it with two knuckles.



The woman at the desk was on the phone. Lake-blue eyes widened as he entered the room. She pulled an appointment book from a teetering pile on her desk and ran a finger down it, still speaking softly into the phone.



When her finger reached his name, she looked up, giving him a bright smile. She motioned to a chair and raised a finger for him to wait.



He eyed the club chairs. In one she'd left her purse and computer bag. In the other a neat stack of papers and assorted files. He picked up the stack and laid it on the corner of her desk.



Tyler relaxed into the soft leather and watched her as she talked on the phone. She'd turned slightly away from him toward the window. As she spoke, her hands moved in animated gestures. Bright April sunlight streamed in, gilding the corkscrew blond curls.



"All right, then. Talk to you later." She placed the phone on its cradle. "What can I do for you?"



"I'm here to see the doctor."



"About?" She picked what looked like a random envelope from a stack of mail and sliced into it with a wicked letter opener sporting the police seal on its handle.



He stared unblinking, waiting while she glanced over the sheet of paper before tossing it into the trash can. When she lifted her eyes to meet his again, he said, "I think I'll just talk to the doctor—"



She raised one slim eyebrow, a private joke sparkling in her eyes.



Right. "You're Dr. VanDoren."



"Yep." The doc picked up another envelope and cut it open, giving the contents a cursory glance before it followed the last one into the trash can.



"I bet you're killer on the witness stand." He didn't stop to think that his words weren't exactly complimentary.



The psychologist tilted her head. "Defense attorneys do tend to underestimate me."



Another envelope lost its fight with the slick blade in her hand. This one she filed on top of a lopsided pile on her desk before she met his eyes again with a faintly perplexed look, as if surprised to find he was still sitting there. "So why are you here, Mr. Clark?"



"Tyler." He forced himself to sit still. He'd done the same thousands of times before when he'd been undercover and under the close scrutiny of everyone from drug lords to mafia kingpins.



The doc laid the letter opener on top of a stack of unopened envelopes and turned her full attention to him. "Tyler, then. What brings you to my office this morning?"



She surely had to have been briefed by Captain Conyers, but the rule with shrinks, if there was one, was to play along. With practiced ease, he relaxed into the moment, showing her the person she wanted to see.



"I've worked undercover for the DEA for the past several years, mostly in Chicago. My cover was blown nationwide during that big bust the SBPD made a few weeks ago. Basically I had two choices. I could work a desk for the DEA or I could go out on my own."



She laced her fingers, leaning forward on her elbows. "So you decided to go out on your own. What brings you back to Sea Breeze?"



"The personal reason—my family is here. Professionally, I know how drug dealers think. I'm here to teach certain techniques to your police force so that they can spot an infiltration into your community before it gets out of control."



"Your consulting job isn't what brought you to my office." Doc VanDoren's wide blue eyes made him want to tell her everything. His life story. His past.



She had some kind of weapon in those eyes. They looked all innocent, making him want to believe she was easily led. She wasn't.



"I'm here because Conyers wants to make sure I haven't gone over the edge." The blunt words lay heavy in the air.



"And have you?" Her question was equally blunt, unsurprised.



Was the fact that he had to think about it bad?



The doc stood and rounded her desk, her navy-blue skirt swishing as she walked. She sat on the edge of the chair beside him, but didn't touch him. "Tyler, whatever you say here won't go any further. One of the reasons I have a job is to make sure that our law-enforcement personnel have a safe place to talk about the things that happen to them."



Tyler cleared his throat and made himself lift his eyes from where her skirt slid to show her knees. The words came with some difficulty. "I never crossed the line."



Something in his voice must've given him away. She narrowed her eyes. "Okay."



He fought the urge to elaborate. More words just meant more chances to get himself in trouble. He'd learned that early on in undercover work. The less said, the better. People either believed you or they didn't.



She smiled and a dimple winked just under the left corner of her lips. Cute, that was the word for her. He might've asked her out if things were different.



But, he reminded himself, things were different. And real life harder to slip back into every time he came out from under cover.



The doc rubbed one pink-tipped finger across her bottom lip. "I think I can clear you for work with the department."



Tyler took a deep breath. He could hear the hesitation in her voice. "But…"



"But if you'd like to come in again, the door is always open. Even with breaks, three years is a long time to be undercover."



He had to make a serious effort to calm the resentment that surged at her words and remind himself that he would do what it took because he needed the job.



He needed the time to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his life. His mother said God had plans for him.



Tyler could just imagine those plans. "I'm fine."



"I'm sure that's true. Let's just make a note to check in while you're readjusting to life on the outside."



He gritted his teeth into a smile. "Sure thing, Doc."



Gracie VanDoren stood. "I'll see you in a day or two?"



She held out a hand to the ex-special agent. He didn't think he'd crossed the line. Between her quick eval and the glowing letters of commendation from his superiors at the DEA, she had no reason to suspect he wouldn't be fine in the field. She just wondered what his definition of "the line" was.



He got to his feet. His hand swallowed hers as he held it. Dark eyes studied hers. "Why wait? Have dinner with me tonight."



She slid her hand from his grasp with a quick smile. "Thank you for the sweet offer, but I don't date."



He leaned a shoulder on the door frame, lady-killer smile spread across his face. "If you don't date cops, that's no problem. I'm not a cop."



"It's not that. I don't date, period." She rounded her desk, putting it between them. The more space the better. She smiled again and picked up the letter opener.



"You don't…really?"



The disbelief on his face would have made her laugh if she hadn't seen dozens of variations of the same look over the past ten years. She chose not to date. Period.



She had lots of reasons, but the biggest was that she wanted a real relationship, one built on friendship and trust. Mutual faith.



She ignored the little voice inside that whispered, "Yeah, how's that been working out for you?"



"Let me know if you'd like another appointment." Gracie reached for the stack of mail on her desk yet to be opened. She knew when he left because the room just felt empty. He was something.



He hadn't said anything inconsistent, exactly. No huge waving red flags. He seemed remarkably secure, but there was something in his eyes. It was instinct, really, more than anything concrete that made her think he might want to talk. Just something.



Gracie sighed and picked up another envelope from the precarious stack on her desk. She sliced into it and slid out a single sheet of paper.



Block letters shouted the message: I CAN'T WAIT UNTIL YOU DIE.



Her pulse thudded over the roar in her ears, her breathing short and shallow. Her fingers tightened unconsciously to grip the paper.



"What does it say?" The deep voice came from the door.



She dropped the thing on her desk. Looking up, she met Tyler Clark's too-shrewd brown eyes. She gave herself a second for her heart rate to return to something resembling normal and said, "Nothing. It's just a bill I forgot about. Already back for another appointment?"



He walked closer. "Whatever that is, it isn't 'nothing.'



Something in that note scared the daylights out of you.



What did it say?"



Gracie pushed the paper toward him. He didn't pick it up, but he scrutinized it. "Is this the first one you've gotten like this?"



She laughed—a quick, non-humorous burst. Without saying a word, she opened a file drawer, pulled out a file and tossed it on her desk. About an inch thick, it held the letters. The phone calls, those were just in her memory.



He flipped through the pages like a deck of cards.



"All these?"



"I've testified in the majority of felony cases in this county in the past four years. Most of the offenders think they wouldn't be serving time if it wasn't for me," She shrugged. "I'm a convenient scapegoat. And they send me love letters."



He dropped the stack on the desk. "Is that what they're calling them these days?"



Gracie pursed her lips, giving the file the stink eye. In one way, it was a testimony to the fact that she did her job. In another, it just showed that some people weren't willing to take responsibility for their own actions. Mostly she tended to file the letters and forget them. Yet something about this one sent a shiver of premonition up her spine.



"I need tea."



"What?" Tyler Clark's dark eyebrows drew together.



She hadn't realized that she'd said it out loud. What did that say about her mental health? "Don't you know that a good cup of tea cures everything?"



"Didn't know that, but duly noted. Are you going to give that letter to your CSI team, see if they can figure out where it came from?" He eased a hip onto the corner of her desk. He towered over her, but she was used to that, working in what was still generally a man's world.



"No. It's not necessary."



"You really think that's smart?"



She lifted one shoulder. "I almost always file the letters and never hear from them again. Writing the letter is the play for them. Most of them are in prison anyway."



"What about the ones that just got paroled?" Tyler crossed his arms, the fabric of his dress shirt taut against his biceps.



Gracie swallowed hard and leaned back in her chair. "In cases I testified in, I get a courtesy call from the warden before the inmates are released from custody."



He nodded. "Any calls recently?"



"One or two." Answering his questions, she felt a little like the patient instead of the doctor.



The former agent stood and tucked his hands into the pockets of his boot-cut jeans, his shirt tails hanging loose. Did he know what his attire said about him?



The dress shirt would be considered required, but the jeans and untucked shirt said he wasn't a rule follower. So, she would guess, yes. She smiled up at him.



His face held a toughness, his demeanor an edginess that came from years of living a dangerous double life. But his eyelashes were a black, sooty smudge as he blinked at her. Pretty.



She smiled wider.



"It looks like you have two options, Doc. You can report it to one of the very skilled detectives in the SBPD. Or you can put the paper in your file and forget about it."



Gracie opened her mouth to say she planned to forget it as he said, "I highly suggest option one."



She closed her mouth and scowled. For the first time, she saw a real hint of amusement in Tyler Clark's eyes.



He tilted his head and a dark curl fell across his forehead. "There could be one more option."



"What would that be?" She leaned back in her desk chair and crossed her legs.



"Consulting for the SBPD doesn't exactly fill my day planner. If you'd like to give me the note and the names, I can check it out for you. I have some investigative experience."



Tyler was being modest. The letters she'd read from his superiors at the DEA had been glowing with praise for Tyler's talent as an agent.



She didn't want to be the person who ignored the thing that could've saved her life. She also didn't want to give credence to something she knew from experience was most likely an empty threat. If they followed up on every letter she got, it would be a massive waste of manpower.



Tyler picked up one of Gracie's cards from the holder on her desk. "Gracie? As in 'Amazing'?"

Print book:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Barnes and Noble

Amazon

Christianbook.com

BooksAMillion.com

Borders.com



Ebook:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Nookbook

Kindle

BooksaMillion.com

Borders.com

The Hormone Hostage

Captain's Log, Stardate 05.02.2011



I was looking through some of my old posts that I never actually posted and came across this piece of genius, which I got a loooooong time ago from my friend Winter Peck. Winter just got contracted!!! Woohoo!!! so I figured this was as good a time as any to finally post this. Many of you have probably seen this already, but it always makes me smile when I read it.



THE HORMONE HOSTAGE



The Hormone Hostage knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his life into his own hands. This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver's license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend, coworker, or significant other.



Alternatives to the questions listed below:



SAFER: The 1st alternative question listed below

SAFEST: The 2nd alternative question below

ULTRA SAFE: The 3rd alternative question below



What's for dinner?



Answers:

Can I help you with dinner?

Where would you like to go for dinner?

Here, have some wine.



Are you wearing that?



Answers:

Wow, you sure look good in brown!

Wow!

Look at you! Here, have some wine.



What are you so worked up about?



Answers:

Could we be overreacting?

Here's my paycheck.

Here, have some wine.



Should you be eating that:



Answers:

You know, there are a lot of apples left.

Can I get you a piece of chocolate with that?

Here, have some wine.



What did you do all day?



Answers:

I hope you didn't over-do it today.

I've always loved you in that robe.

Here, have some wine.

Excerpt - Murder at Granite Falls by Roxanne Rustand

Murder at Granite Falls

by

Roxanne Rustand



"Just let it go…"



Everyone in Granite Falls tells Carrie Randall the same thing. Is it a threat, or a warning? Yet even if it endangers her fresh start, Carrie needs to know what secret the town's hiding. There's her troubled student and his disturbing drawings. His fiercely protective father, and the mysterious death of his mother. And Carrie definitely has to find out more about the bad reputation of her standoffish new landlord, Logan Bradley. She wants to trust him, but she's been fooled by charm before. Is the town wrong about him—or is she?



Excerpt of chapter one:



Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, Carrie Randall glanced again in her rearview mirror. The vehicle was still behind her. Billy? It couldn't be. She'd been so very, very careful.



She'd caught a better glimpse of the car while negotiating a set of hairpin turns at a higher elevation. Not close enough to identify the make and model. But close enough to be fairly certain it was the same one that had tailed her for the past two hours.



She palmed her cell phone, checking the number of reception bars on the screen. Zero. No surprise in this isolated part of the Montana Rockies, where bears probably outnumbered the two-footed residents three-to-one.



She frowned at the odometer. Ten miles to the town of Granite Falls. The lane leading to her new home should be coming up in less than a mile. But if her ex-husband was following her, the last thing she wanted was to lead him right to her door.



An earsplitting yowl erupted from the cage on the seat behind her, followed by the frantic scrabbling of paws. "It's okay, Harley. Just hang on."



She stepped on the gas and rocketed past the little gravel lane that wound into the pines off to the left. Then she headed straight for town.

* * *Granite Falls was as picturesque as its tourism website claimed.



The mountain highway widened into a charming six-block-long main street flanked on both sides by historic storefronts, boardwalks and hitching rails straight out of an old Western movie. The center of town was filled with upscale shops and quaint restaurants geared to the tourist trade, while the dusty pickups nosed up to the feed store and cafe on the far edge of town revealed where the locals gathered. Would that be a safe place to stop?



A maroon Lawler County sheriff's deputy patrol car parked face-out in front of the cafe made her decision easy.



She checked in her rearview mirror once more, turned sharply into the parking lot and pulled up along the cruiser. Over her shoulder, she saw the dark sedan slow down, then speed past. Good riddance.



If she lingered in town long enough, the driver might give up, or get careless and not see her leave. Though if it was Billy, he'd be back, restraining order or not.



"Howdy, ma'am."



She turned to find a burly deputy behind her, a foam coffee cup in his hand, waiting to get into his car. The silver name badge pinned to his khaki uniform breast pocket identified him as Vance Munson.



Perhaps in his late thirties, he'd probably been hot stuff in high school in an Elvis sort of way, until he'd put on some years and packed on an extra fifty pounds. With an affable smile on his face, a rumpled uniform and a cellophane bag of cookies in his hand, he reminded her of a genial teddy bear.



"Sorry." She stepped back to give him space. "I…was a little distracted. I thought someone was following me on the highway."



The deputy's full lips quirked into a smile. "You'll find a lot of tourists in these parts, headin' into town just like yourself. No cause for worry."



"I'm actually moving here." She extended her arm, and he juggled his coffee cup into his other hand to accept the handshake. "Carrie Randall."



He rocked back on his heels, taking her measure. "Welcome, then."



"A dark sedan followed me for the past hundred miles then right into town." She looked up the empty Main Street. "Though I couldn't tell you the license plate or even the make of the car."



"Like I said, you'll find a lot of travelers out here on long trips. Destinations are few and far between. People go sightseeing, and you might run into the same folks time and again. No call for worry."



She eyed a family coming out of the cafe and lowered her voice. "I had to file a restraining order against my ex-husband last year."



Munson's gaze sharpened. "Well, now," he drawled. "That might be a calf of a different color. He knows you're moving here?"



"I certainly didn't tell him. I hear he's following a rodeo circuit down in the Southwest this summer. But…"



"But you aren't sure." Munson tipped his head toward the center of town. "Ma'am, you can find the county courthouse just four blocks west of here. You might want to file here, as well."



"Well…"



"It's for your own good." He gave her a warm, encouraging smile. "Where are you staying? I can pass the word along. We like to keep an eye on things around here."



Billy had dropped out of sight during the past year, while she stayed with her protective brother, Trace. During that time, she'd felt safe from Billy's volatile temper, which had escalated ever since their divorce.



Now, she just wanted to start life fresh, with none of those old reminders. No looking over her shoulder. And no rumors filtering out about her being another one of those women who had fallen for charm and flash and ended up in an abusive relationship with an unfaithful man. In small towns like this one, idle talk by one of Lawler County's finest would reach the local grapevine and she'd be branded forever. "I—I'll be fine."



A flicker of annoyance crossed Munson's expression. "Too many women fail to ask for help, ma'am, and the results can be mighty sad. Our sheriff's department will do whatever it can to assist you, but you have to cooperate."



She sighed. "I have a summer lease on an upstairs apartment out at Wolf River Rafting Company."



"The Bradleys," he said, his mouth twisting with a hint of distaste.



He'd settled his aviator shades into place, but from his long silence and the muscle ticking along his jaw, she guessed that the deputy didn't approve. "Is there something I should know?"



"Just.watch your step out there." He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but then he shook his head. "And don't ever forget to lock your doors."



With Vance Munson's words still playing through her thoughts, Carrie felt a shiver of unease as she stepped out of her aging silver Tahoe and shielded her eyes against the setting sun.



Sure enough, Wolf River Rafting Company was emblazoned in gilt letters on a sign over the door of the two-story log building overlooking the river and on the smaller, matching building next to the riverbank.



This would be her home for the next three months, and she'd been lucky to find it through a chance discovery on the internet, though as she surveyed the area, a chill worked its way down her spine. The small clearing was bounded on one side by river, on the other three by impenetrable pine forest, and to the west the massive, snowcapped Rockies loomed high along the horizon.



She should've expected a Montana Rockies rafting company would be located in an isolated place offering good access to a river, but she could see nothing else close by. Not a store, not a resort. Not even a cabin. And it was a good half mile off the highway, well out of sight of any passing traffic.



Which meant she'd probably be totally alone come nightfall. Vulnerable.



Was that why the deputy had seemed hesitant about her moving out here? The tense knot in her stomach started to relax. Maybe that was it—he hadn't been hinting at any concern about the Bradleys. He just thought this place would be terribly isolated for a woman living by herself.



Though right now, cheerful pandemonium reigned. A jumble of dirt bikes had been ditched against the trees by a group of mud-streaked boys fishing along the shore. They were fairly bursting with energy, jostling each other and teasing, and then one fell in the water and the rest laughed uproariously when he emerged.



Carrie smiled, remembering the exquisite patience and silence of fly-fishing with Trace. Any fish within a hundred yards of these kids had probably long since skedaddled.



To the right, a couple of eight-man white-water rafts were pulled up on the grass. Down at the river's edge, a dozen silver-haired women chattered on the rocky bank next to a massive rubber raft—a twenty-footer, probably—with inflated tubular sides. The customers were fumbling with the fastenings of their bulky orange life vests while a tall, younger woman moved



among them, redirecting wayward straps and snugging the vests into position. Occasionally, she darted into the log boathouse to fetch a different size.



The scene brought back happy memories of the river guiding job Carrie had held through college. It all seemed so normal. So safe.



The woman in charge studied her for a split second, then hiked her thumb toward the building. "Logan's inside," she shouted.



Carrie nodded, hit the lock button on her key chain out of habit, and picked her way across the river rock.



At the corner of the building she abruptly came face-to-chest with a man in a faded Denver Broncos T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts.



He caught her upper arms with his strong hands, steadied her, then released his grip. "Kayak rental?"



At his touch, an expected sense of awareness warmed her heart, and she quelled a sudden flash of panic. Her immediate instinct was to run.



After a heartbeat, she managed a smile and looked up into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen this side of Paul Newman on the silver screen. Oh, my.



"Sorry," she mumbled, catching her breath.



"My fault."



"I—I'm Carrie Randall. I'm here about the apartment."



His face registered a flash of surprise, and from his quick, searching look, she knew he was probably thinking she was some harebrained city gal, way out of her element.



"Well, then," he drawled as he tipped his head toward an open staircase on the side of the building. "Let's do the tour. I'm Logan Bradley, by the way."



His face was lean and tan, with a strong jaw and a shock of near-black hair tumbling over his forehead that made him look



as though he belonged on some back lot in Hollywood, not here in the middle of nowhere.



He offered his hand for a brief shake, the warmth of his fingers settling in the vicinity of her heart and setting off alarm bells that she would not ignore. Charmer…charmer…



She blinked and abruptly jerked her hand back.



This instant, blinding reaction was exactly what had drawn her to Billy, and the emotional wreckage from their divorce was still too painful to bear.



Though fortunately, her concerns about that dark sedan appeared to be unfounded. Deputy Munson had probably been right about it belonging to some vacationer following the same long, long highway on the way to Granite Falls. No one had been lying in wait when she left town. No one had followed her here. Thank You, Lord.



Logan frowned at her. By now, he had to figure she was not only a city slicker, but a fruitcake to boot, if she could barely shake his hand. He was probably even having serious second thoughts about accepting his new lodger.



Not a good thing.



If he changed his mind, the newest teacher in Granite Falls would be sleeping in her Tahoe during summer term, because there was literally nowhere else in the area that wasn't priced for the affluent tourist trade. Isolated or not, this was her one shot for a roof over her head this summer, and she had no other choice.



"The apartment?" she prodded, pinning on her brightest smile.



He seemed to shake off his thoughts, and with a long sigh he led the way up a rustic outside stairway to a balcony that ran the length of the building.



Two doors, one at either end, stood open to the warm afternoon sun reflecting off the river. Between them, six double-hung windows were raised to catch the soft, pine-scented breeze.



He tipped his head toward the woman now shepherding the flock of older women into the raft. "My sister, Penny, is the assistant manager here. She lives in town, but she's out here almost every day." He cracked a lopsided smile. "She came up and aired your place out this morning and checked for spiders and mice, just so you wouldn't have any surprises."



Given the intent gleam in his eyes, she wondered if he was hoping she'd just head straight back to town. He couldn't know that a few little guests were the least of her worries.



She lifted a shoulder. "Not a problem. I've got Harley with



me."



His thick, dark lashes—it was so unfair, when a guy was blessed with what she couldn't even manage with mascara—lowered as he gave her a narrowed look. "Harley?"



She waved an airy hand at him as she passed and stepped into the apartment. "He'll dispatch anything that moves, believe



me."



At least it was true for small vermin. If her raggedy old tomcat could handle the two-legged kind, she'd feel a whole lot safer.



Logan ushered her into the apartment and she caught her breath in delight as she stepped inside.



The photos on the internet realty listing hadn't done justice to the feeling of being up in the treetops, with the pine paneled walls and abundance of sunshine pouring in the windows.



A bright crazy quilt hung on the wall above a ruby plush sofa and two matching upholstered chairs perfect for curling up with a good book. The L-shaped kitchen offered ample counter space with gleaming stainless-steel appliances that looked almost new. A gold, ruby and forest-green area rug warmed the hardwood floors.



"This is absolutely lovely. I wasn't expecting it to be so nice."



A half smile briefly touched Logan's mouth. "Penny probably



had a little too much fun with this. You have it for the summer, then a group of skiers has reserved it for over the winter. After that, she plans to live here during the tourist season every summer."



Again, that little frisson of worry started to tie Carrie's stomach into a knot. "So you don't live on the property, either?"



"Penny stays with our great-aunt in town and I have an old cabin a quarter mile upriver. At least one of us is here from sunrise until dark…most days. Though I'm on the road at times, as well."



"Sounds like a busy schedule."



He lifted a shoulder. "Penny and I are just getting the raft business going again after a few…setbacks last year. Eventually, she'll manage it and I'll start adding an outfitting business for trips up into the mountains."



She nodded, hiding her dismay at his words. She would be alone here.



Though no one knew exactly where she'd moved, except for her brother and his fiancee, and she'd carefully kept his ranch as her cell phone and credit card billing address since she could pay her bills online. With that and no home ownership records to trace, it would be hard for Billy or anyone else from her past to find her.



Surely everything would be fine.



But still, as she followed Logan down the stairs to go after her luggage, she started to pray.

Print book:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Barnes and Noble

Amazon

Christianbook.combooksamillion.com

Borders.com



Ebook:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Nookbook

Kindle

BooksaMillion.com

Borders.com

Excerpt - House of Secrets by Ramona Richard

House of Secrets

by

Ramona Richards



Sheriff Ray Taylor always had a soft spot for the former minister's widow, June Eaton...until he found her standing over the current minister's dead body. She claims she's innocent—and after a string of attacks against Ray and June, he's inclined to believe her. So who is the real killer, and what is he after? Ray knows that the parsonage has to be the key. The old house is hiding a dark secret, something the pastor's murderer is convinced June knows. Something that murderer will do anything to keep buried.



Excerpt of chapter one:



"I did not kill Pastor David." June Presley Eaton tried to swallow her fear as well as the lump of grief in her throat. Her upraised hands trembled, and she felt the phone clutched in her left hand slip slightly. I have to maintain control. June lifted both hands a bit higher and forced her voice lower. "I found him. I wanted to help," she said to the man standing behind her.

Please, Lord, let him believe me. It was a desperate prayer, and June fought a tightening sense of panic. She had a dead pastor lying at her feet and, she was pretty certain, Sheriff Ray Taylor and his deputies at her back, guns drawn. Without turning, June wagged the cordless phone in her hand. From it, the flattened and tinny screeches of the Bell County dispatcher bounced off the kitchen walls of the Victorian parsonage.

"June Presley Eaton! Is that you? Don't tell me you decided to upset Pastor David right before his big event! Someone already heard the fight and called us and Ray is on his way right now, and—"

June hit the off button with her thumb. "I just got here, Ray. I wasn't the one fighting with him. There are footprints leading farther into the house. See them? And when I got here, I could still hear someone back there." The lump in her throat had eased, but the fear still bore into her, tensing every muscle in her lower back and sending a shudder up her spine. Please, Lord.

No response came from the sheriff, however, and in the silence that followed, June knew that all of Ray's instincts had kicked into gear. His brown eyes scanning the room, he'd assess the scene in front of him with that precise, military-trained way he had of observing everything quickly before making a judgment. He would calmly evaluate the crime scene while she stood over a dead body, covered in blood, hands raised, cops clustered at her back with their guns pointing at her. June knew that only the phone in her hand kept her from looking like a suspect. She closed her eyes, praying that Ray would see the same thing she had as she'd approached the broad back porch of the White Hills Gospel Immanuel Chapel's parsonage: bloody footprints leading away from the door and out into the yard.

That had been her cue to fly into the house, calling David Gallagher's name. June had entered the kitchen, moving fast, and her sneakers had hit the red pool gathering around David's body before she could stop. She'd skidded and fallen forward, hitting the floor with a painful thud, her hands splashing down on either side of the butcher knife protruding from David's ribs.

Even during her years as a street kid, she'd never come face-to-face with violence like this.

Once June had stopped screaming, she'd scrambled to her feet and lunged for the phone, barely having time to dial 911 before the screen door had banged open and Ray's command to "Freeze!" had brought everything to a standstill.

In the silence, a fly buzzed around her blood-coated right hand. Trying to look over her shoulder, June struggled to speak in a quieter tone. Control. Stay in control. "Please, Ray. I'm a witness, not a suspect." She took another deep breath, working to sound much more dignified than she felt. "And please close that door. You're letting the flies into the house."

No one moved. Then, after a few seconds that felt like at least a decade, Ray spoke, his baritone voice even and thoroughly professional. "Rivers. Gage. Clear the house."

Silently, Ray's deputies, Daniel Rivers and Jeff Gage, moved through the kitchen and past June and the pastor's body into the main areas of the grand old Victorian. Over the next few minutes, their calls of "Clear!" echoed through the rooms.

"Can I at least put my...

Print book:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Barnes and Noble

Amazon

Christianbook.com

BooksaMillion.com

Borders.com



Ebook:

eHarlequin.com (Save an extra 10% with code SAVE10EHQN at checkout!)

Nookbook

Kindle

BooksaMillion.com

Borders.com