Edie Ramer's Blog, page 25

Excerpt: The Deceived by Sandra K. Marshall

The games they play can lead them to love or ruin.

Melanie Dubois detests her family's casino business. The way this addiction destroys people has her on a tear of magnificent proportions. Then again, this young lady has been put through a train wreck of her own design. She distrusts everybody except for the people who are determined to use Melanie as a poster-child for zealots.

Mike Mercer has spent nearly a year in a deep cover mission for the FBI. The one fly in the ointment of completing his objective to take down a group of dangerous anti-gambling zealots is a fiery-tempered, blonde-haired woman named Melanie DuBois. Worse than that, she's got a passion brewing just beneath the surface that's an even deadlier attraction.

Fighting for your life is never easy when the odds are stacked against you.

October 17

Mike Mercer stood to the side watching Melanie Dubois talk to the news media. She was a piece of work, but he had to admit she had a hot body. He sighed crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against his dark blue sedan, trying to blend in with the crowd. He wasn't here to seduce her; even though her feistiness appealed to him, making him wonder what kind of lover she'd be. He was here to get her away from these people.

He would have to question her motives in front of the picketers and the media, so if she decided to go with The Opposition Group, Janet Batten and her followers, she wouldn't be suspected of collusion with him. The confrontation might be fun, but more than likely he was going to get a tongue lashing. His lips curled up at the thought.

Hopefully, his cover hadn't been discovered. He didn't need these fanatics knowing he was FBI. A sloppily dressed journalist glanced toward Mike. Here was his opening.

Mike heaved himself away from the fender and strode into the center of the crowd. Once he reached Melanie, he grasped her shoulder, saying, "What the hell are you doing here? This is no place for you."

Mel whirled around, jerking away from his touch. "Just who are you telling me what I can or can not do?"

He grinned down at the spitting feline image of tawny blonde hair swirling around her face. "Well, it sure looks like someone should take control of you," he said. Pausing, his gaze roamed down her body, before he added, "But for your information I'm not telling you how to behave, I'm asking a question." What he needed was an excuse to get her away from this bunch, but there wasn't one.

"What I'm doing here is none of your business."

"What is your connection to Melanie Dubois?" the journalist asked, sticking the microphone in front of Mike's face.

"The only link between us is that I'm on the board of the Odyssey casino." He glanced at Melanie. "There's no way your family would want you here."

"Why would I care about someone who doesn't love me?"

"I doubt that's true." What made her think that? Surely, she didn't believe all the crap her father told her about her mother having an affair and that she was the result of that fling. "Don't you even want to know what's happening with your sister?"

"It's all over the news, how can I miss it?"

Janet moved up beside them, putting her arm protectively around the young girl. "Stop harassing her, or I'll call the police."

Melanie didn't know everything that was going on because the FBI told the media only what they wanted them to know. What would the younger woman think if she knew the FBI had used her sister as bait to catch the serial killer terrorizing the area? Her hostility would be nothing compared to what it would be if she learned that detail.

There was nothing he could do right now, Batten would use Melanie for her own ends until the older woman had no further use for her. He glanced behind him, noticing people closing in on him. Even though he saw Dan Travis, the light brown-haired ATF agent, there wouldn't be any help there. He'd never break his cover either.

Hell, he'd better get out of here.

"You're a big girl; you can make your own decisions." He gazed into large blue eyes filled with distrust and shaded by long black mascara covered lashes. It saddened him to see her wasting her womanhood on their cause because they weren't after the same thing she was. She wanted to save people, and they wanted to destroy them. "‚I just hope you don't regret those decisions later."

With a nod at the journalist and one more glance at Melanie, he turned and leisurely walked toward his car. He kept an eye on the man with the scar. That guy was a bad ass, and he had a record as long as his arm to prove it. Al Slavery was the dangerous one in the bunch. The others were nothing but drones.

Buy the books: All Romance Books Eirelander Publishing Amazon Smashwords

You can find out more about Sandra K. Marshall and her books at her website.

DaSample: Meant To Be by Donna Marie Rogers

She's running from her past, he's unsure about his future. Maybe together they can figure out what was Meant To Be.

Witty and heartfelt, with an unforgettable cast of secondary characters. Meant To Be is a definite page-turner!"    ~ Lori Foster, NY Times bestselling author

Donna Marie Rogers has truly outdone herself with Meant To Be, a story that is as heartwarming as it is heartbreaking. This is the kind of book you crawl into bed with on a rainy night, with plenty of twists and turns along the way to keep you guessing and so much steamy chemistry between the protagonists you'll sport a silly grin on your face.  There is so much I want to say, and if I could, I would harp praise upon praise. The material is tightly written, well plotted and fast paced, and the characters are unforgettable. But I think Meant To Be is best entered into with the only the blurb provided as reference. I refuse to spoil this wonderful story by blabbing. It's so much better if you don't know, trust me. Meant To Be is a must read.    ~ Fern, Long and Short Reviews (LASR)

Officer Garrett Jamison is at the lowest point in his life. He's lost faith in his ability as a police officer after unwittingly setting his sister up with a dirty cop. Garrett ended up getting shot, and his sister's son kidnapped right out of his own bed. He takes a leave from the force, in need of some time to make a decision about his future. Too bad he can't get a decent night's sleep thanks to his sexy new neighbor and her howling cat.

Jessica McGovern moves halfway across the country to start a new life in Green Bay, Wisconsin after her ex-husband is convicted of involuntary manslaughter in the death of their young son. Her new neighbor is as infuriating as he is handsome, but when her ex is released from prison early and shows up in town, Jessica discovers she's never needed anyone more.

Standing there in nothing but a pair of black gym shorts, he was too hot for words. Damn him.

"So what can I do for you?" He leaned negligently against the doorframe, an almost pleasant smile curving his lips.

"I'm here to see Nick. Is he home?"

The smile disappeared. He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, which made those huge biceps bulge even more. Jessica realized for the first time he had a tattoo. Huh. She wouldn't have thought him the type. Frankly, she thought tattoos were sexy, if they weren't garish, which his wasn't. It looked to be some sort of Chinese symbols.

Probably means `He-with-head-too-big-for-hat.'

"You're barking up the wrong tree there, honey. Nicky's married to his computer."

"Not that it's any of your business, but that's exactly why I'm here. I'm having trouble with my online service and was hoping he could help." Now why did she feel the urge to explain herself? Double damn him.

He looked her up and down in an insultingly blatant manner. "I know a thing or two about computers."

"No kidding? Great, next time I need help surfing the porno sites, you'll be the first one I call."

His eyes went cold. "You think I'm just some big, dumb Neanderthal, don't you?"

Jessica gave him the same insulting once over he'd given her. "If the leopard toga fits…"

"I happen to have a BS in Computer Science."

Hands on hips, jaw working furiously, he looked so offended Jessica was hard-pressed not to laugh. "I don't understand. You could be making a lot more money in computers than you are as a cop. And you wouldn't be putting your life in danger on a daily basis." She glanced meaningfully at the scarred flesh visible just above the waistband of his shorts.

"This didn't happen in the line of duty. Besides, I love being a cop."

He said it as if she should've instinctually known it. Jessica sighed. Garrett Jamison was turning out to be much deeper than she'd imagined. "It's a noble profession. It's also a very dangerous one."

"True enough. But it's not as if I have a family who's dependent on me."

She reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "What about your uncle, or your sister and brothers? Or your nephew? I'm sure they'd all be devastated if something happened to you."

"What about you?"

His voice had taken on a deep, sexy timbre that turned Jessica's knees to mush. Garrett Jamison was entirely too gorgeous for his own good–or for hers. "What about me?"

Before she knew what he was about, he reached out and cupped the side of her face, tracing his thumb over her cheekbone. "Would you miss me if something happened?"

"What a thing to ask," she breathed, her gaze centered on his full lips. "I barely know you." Was he going to kiss her? Right there where any of the neighbors could see? Not that she'd mind…

"Uncle Garrett, the game's set up. Can we order pizza now?"

Garrett snatched back his hand, and Jessica's gaze dropped to the little boy leaning possessively against his leg.

Was it her imagination, or was the little stinker glaring daggers at her?

"Hi, Ethan, my name is Jessica."

"I know."

Nope, not her imagination. In fact, the scowl on his face was downright hostile. Now what in the world had she done to warrant such disfavor?

"Ethan, you watch your manners," Garrett growled.

"Yes, sir."

He cast her one last mutinous scowl, then turned and ran back into the house. Jessica had to resist the urge to laugh. She wouldn't take his behavior personally. The boy obviously adored his uncle and didn't care to share him. Another fascinating layer of Garrett Jamison–loving uncle.

"Sorry about that. Ethan's a good kid. I'm not sure what got into him."

"My guess would be old-fashioned jealousy. You two apparently have plans for the evening, and when he saw us…talking, his young mind assumed I was trying to lure you away."

A frown creased his forehead. "I don't know. Ethan knows I'd never abandon him. For anyone."

Ouch, point taken. She shrugged. "You know him better than I do. I'm just telling you what I saw. Well, this has been fun, but I need to get back. Mr. Louie doesn't like to watch TV alone."

Garrett chuckled. "Give His Highness a scratch behind the ears for me."

"What? Just this afternoon you suggested I have him euthanized."

"Good Lord, woman, can't you take a joke?" Garrett winked at her, then stepped back and closed the door.

Jessica shook her head. The man was crazy, no doubt about it. He was also so handsome it should be a crime. With a sigh of frustration, she headed back home to watch Wheel of Fortune.

Buy the book:   Amazon The Wild Rose Press

For news and info on Donna's other titles, please visit her web site.

DaSample: Beloved Captive by Melanie Atkins

Beloved Captive is the 4th book in Melanie Atkin's New Orleans Detective series published by Desert Breeze Publishing.

Detective Kevin Jacobs believes integrity is the most important trait a cop can possess, until a beautiful doctor accuses him of murder and he's forced to take her hostage in order to clear his name. Rebecca Daniels cooperates with Kevin, and soon finds herself in a fight for her very life — and also for her heart

He gritted his teeth. "We're going to get up together and you won't make a sound. Got that?"

She didn't answer. Didn't move, didn't breathe. Silence filled the space around them so completely Kevin forgot to breathe, too. When he did, he drew in the bitter tang of blood. The coppery scent caught in his throat.

He gripped the back of her neck and squeezed, careful to keep his fingernails from digging into her tender skin. "You hear me?"

She nodded slowly, and a lone tear dripped down her cheek. Her pulse skittered wildly beneath his hand.

He tamped down the urge to be gentle with her slender, quivering body. He needed her to fear him so she wouldn't cause a commotion as they left the courthouse. How he'd get away without leaving a trail of blood, he didn't know. But he had to try, and she was his best hope.

"Get up." He rose and pulled her with him.

She held herself rigid. He turned her around. The light hit her face and he reeled from the animosity written there. Her eyes were the color of a clear summer sky. They snapped with rage.

"You killed Judge Boykin." Her sharp words made him blanch.

He tightened his grip on her arm. "It wasn't me."

"Oh, no? I saw you." Her accusing gaze slid down his black-clad body and he suddenly realized he and Fowler could be mistaken for twins — except for the blood now soaking his clothes.

She tried to wriggle free, but he held her fast.

"I can't let you go. I need your help."

"Are you crazy?" She gaped at him.

He fought off a wave of dizziness. "I have to get out of here. I'm losing blood fast."

She looked at his side and her eyes widened. "Oh, my God."

"He stabbed me."

"Who did?" Her gaze jerked to his. "The judge?"

"No." There wasn't time to explain further. He eyed the window.

"There's no way out," she said "except the door."

"We'll see about that." He lifted the Glock to her head. "Walk over to the window. Now."

"Surely you're not planning to–"

He looked at her.

"You are." The blood drained from her face.

Buy the book: Desert Breeze Publishing, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Sony, All Romance E-books, Amazon, Borders

You can find out more about Melanie and her books at her website.

DaSample: A Killing Tide by P.J. Alderman

From RITA-nominated A Killing Tide by P.J. Alderman, an atmospheric romantic suspense set in the small, picturesque fishing town of Astoria, Oregon at the mouth of the Columbia River:

Newly appointed fire chief Michael Chapman, a recent transplant from Boston, tries to get a handle on brewing trouble and his reaction to the intriguing woman who appears to have placed herself in harm's way…

(An interruption from Edie. I read A Killing Tide and gave it a 5-star review. It's a page-turner and I kept saying Wow! as I read it. Now, back to the excerpt.)

Michael Chapman leaned back in his booth and watched the Jorgensen woman leave. Thick, waist-length, blond hair, a slim, athletic body, and soft, chocolate brown eyes. And attitude—tons of it.

He grimaced. He hadn't paid much attention to women the last couple of years—a sad fact his friends in the Boston Fire Department had pointed out repeatedly—but Kaz Jorgensen had caught his attention and held it. And after talking to her, he could sympathize with the reactions he'd seen on the faces of the other men when she'd arrived. A few had watched her with wistful expressions, a few with barely concealed irritation. But the rest had looked relieved, perhaps even exasperated—probably fishing buddies who'd been worried about her. He'd bet she drove them crazy on a good day, taking chances they privately labeled foolish. She'd certainly caused him a qualm or two when she'd waded into the middle of a brewing bar fight—one that looked as if it might get real ugly, real fast.

Most of the patrons were typical of any waterfront tavern—hard-working, decent people. He'd been looking for just that kind of place when he'd come through the door, and he hadn't been disappointed. He'd looked forward to relaxing, getting a handle on the locals.

The atmosphere in this place, though, was beyond tense. He'd already been sizing up a few hard-looking locals and monitoring the brewing fight when the blonde had jumped in. She was damn lucky, even if one of them was her brother—she easily could've gotten roughed up.

He grimaced, reaching down to rub Zeke's stomach. The dog moaned appreciatively in his sleep. Christ. He'd learned his lesson, hadn't he? He had no business wondering what secrets these people were hiding.

He'd moved out west to find some measure of peace in his life, not to take on someone else's troubles. All he had planned for the next few days was to move his belongings, which had finally shown up several days late, into the Victorian fixer-upper he'd purchased for Zeke and himself on the east side of town. To renew his acquaintance with a few carpentry tools.

Shoving aside his half-eaten burger, he pulled out his wallet, adding an extra five for tip. As he did, he glanced around the bar, noting the closed expressions. Felt the undercurrents. And, in spite of himself, was intrigued.

Those guys hadn't been fighting about anything as minor as Kaz Jorgensen had wanted him to believe. This town had secrets.

Too many secrets.

Purchase A Killing Tide for $2.99: Amazon Barnes&Noble Smashwords

Find out more about P.J. Alderman at her website.

DaSample: Second Chances by Valerie Maarten

The premise: After 20 years of the pain and suffering from the loss of a loved one, Dain and Kadi must confront the ghosts that haunt their past, present and future.  Will they, in turn, be able to embrace their Second Chances?

The set-up: With a heavy heart and a blackened soul, Dain McKnight lays-in-wait to finally confront the man that was convicted of murdering his sister, Hanna. He sits in the dank bar across the street pondering on the multitude of ways to torture a man as he bides his time.

Dain McKnight's jaw clenched and unclenched in a violent rhythm of madness.  His large hand cupped the glass he held, threatening to shatter it into a zillion shards.  Still, the low rumble of voices in the dimly lit bar couldn't drown out his fatalistic thoughts.  The primal instincts for blood had dwelled dormant inside him…until he heard the news.  He took another swig from his glass.  The burning sensation went down, slow.

The bartender broke into his thoughts, clearly intimidated by Dain's dark, mysterious behavior.  His eyes instinctively lowered in submission.  "Do you want another?"

Dain grunted.  He slid the empty glass over in the man's direction.  Yet, his eyes never left his line of sight.  The brown, two-story brick building held all his attention and the brunt of his wrath.  Inside that building lived the man that brutally and savagely murdered his sister Hanna, 20 years ago.  Now here he was, free and living amongst society as if nothing had ever happened.  Yet Hanna still lay cold in her grave with no such reprieve.

Dain clenched his teeth again, his jaws flexed violently as the muscles in his neck strained to break free from beneath his skin.

The bartender returned with another double shot of whiskey and placed it on the table in front of him.  His eyes wandered curiously at the window to try and glean what held his glare so intently.  All he could see was the normal comings and goings at the Trinity House, a half-way house that housed reformed drug addicts and paroled prisoners.

Dain ignored his presence and essentially dismissed him with a $50 bill that he slammed down on his tray.  The bartender shrugged and returned to his tasks.

An older gentleman that had been sitting at the bar since Dain's arrival appeared to have finally drunk enough to conjure up the courage to approach.  He staggered and side-stepped the whole way.  In an almost comical way, the drunken man gave a slight bow in a gesture that indicated that he had come in 'peace'.  Still, he swayed back and forth as he tried to maintain his equilibrium.

"If it's a young lady that's got you drowning your sorrows away, let an old man give you a word of advice…" he gave Dain a friendly, toothless grin.  "Get another one.  No woman is worth so much pain."

Pain.  What does he know about my pain?  He frowned and gave the man a menacing stare, though he didn't waiver.  He seemed too deadened by all the alcohol that he had consumed throughout the course of the day to be afraid.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Old Man," Dain said in a low grumble.  His voice was low, his tone even.  Which was the opposite emotion of what he felt inside.  Inside, he felt bold, brazen and on the verge of being unable to contain the 'Monster' that lived in his darkened soul.

The man was oblivious to Dain's contempt and sat down in the empty chair across from him.  Dain's eyebrow went up slightly.

"I've spent a lot of days in that chair," he pointed to a dark, lonely corner at the back end of the bar.  Dain stared for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room after having stared out at the glare of the street for hours on end.  "No woman is worth the sorrow I see in your eyes, boy."

"I assure you, she is worth it."  He leaned forward so the man could see the hatred that lurked behind his eyes.  "I am prepared to kill for her."

The man scotched back in his seat, feeling the power of Dain's declaration.  For a long while he was unable to speak.  There was a moment of clarity in his eyes.  In that instant, he was as sober as a Judge.  "You don't mean that, son."  He pleaded.  "You have a second chance, right here…right now.  All you have to do is take it.  Don't throw your life away.  There's nothing worth that."

Dain leaned back in his chair, pondering the words of the man before him.  He was a complete stranger to him and yet he had cared enough about him to warn him against the destructive thoughts that haunted his mind, knowing that it would ruin the rest of his life and destroy his family.  But the need to avenge the death of his beloved sister was too powerful.  He wanted nothing less than to make the man that was responsible, endure the same pain and suffering he had caused her.

Buy the book: Amazon US, AmazonUK, Barnes&Noble,

Diesel E-book Store, Smashwords, Sony E-book Store

Find out more about Valerie at her website.

Sample Sunday – Dead People excerpt

This book is filled with laughter, heartbreak, mystery, cranky ghosts, and most importantly, love. The depth of which Ramer is able to put into her characters is fantastic. It doesn't get much better than this." -Aimee -Coffee Table Press

Today's excerpt is from Dead People, Book 1 of the Haunted Hearts series. I loved the three main characters in this scene: Luke the former rocker; Cassie the ghost therapist; and Erin, the wounded 10-year-old daughter Luke recently discovered was his. I hope you enjoy it.

Luke followed the curvy ghost whisperer, hearing her sigh. Residues of energy touched his bare arms below his T-shirt sleeves. Cassie brushed her hands over her arms, and he knew she felt it too. The electric company must be sending out stray voltage surges.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he studied Erin as she stared at Cassie, her expression unreadable. A ten-year-old's eyes should be the windows to her pre-pubescent soul, but hers were flat, her eyes open but the shutters closed.

"Erin?" he asked.

Her face remained frozen. Something clenched inside his chest. The invisible wall around her was as thick and strong as the day the social worker dropped her off at his Carmel home.

He glanced at Cassie, prepared to hustle her out of the room if she scared his daughter. Although the ghost whisperer looked soft, her sharp gaze could stab holes in steel walls.

Until now. Cassie's expressive brown eyes warmed, her lips parted. Her posture changed, stiffness seeping from her shoulders.

When she took a step forward, Luke remained in the background. But his legs braced for action. Before he'd let someone hurt Erin again, he'd burn down the damn house.

Cassie's voice crooned like liquid sugar. "Hi, Erin. I'm Cassie."

"You're the lady who talks to ghosts?" Erin sounded more like an adult than a fifth grader.

"Yes. I enjoy it. Most ghosts are nice. Some are even funny."

"Ours isn't nice or funny." Erin glanced around, her expression wary, as if checking to make sure the ghost wasn't eavesdropping.

"What does she do?"

Erin shrugged. "She makes noises."

"Does she scare you?"

"She's not as scary as some movies I've seen, just noisier."

"She probably wants attention. You know how some people are bad to get attention?"

Erin nodded, casting her gaze toward the floor. Tension knotted Luke's shoulders. He knew Erin was thinking of her mother. Vanessa craved attention as much as she craved drugs.

"Well, ghosts were people first," Cassie said, "so that's how they act."

"That's stupid."

"People are stupid."

Luke stepped forward. You didn't tell children people were stupid. Even if it were true.

Cassie glanced at him, her eyes the same shiny brown as his first guitar, a third-hand Gibson his mother had picked up at a rummage sale. As she continued to hold his gaze, her pupils shrank to bullet points.

He stopped breathing. She seemed to look into his soul and see the howl inside him, waiting to roar out.

She turned back to Erin, the action dismissing him, and he breathed again. "I take that back," she said. "Not all people are stupid. Just some."

Luke halted, a step away from Cassie. Close enough to pounce if necessary.

"Are you going to send the ghost away?" Erin asked.

"That's my plan. I want to help her go to heaven. I want to help all of them go to heaven."

Erin bit her lower lip, her worried gaze not wavering from Cassie's face.

"How many times have you seen her?" Cassie asked.

"Seven," Erin replied promptly. "Her hair's the color of a pumpkin. And she's old."

"Am I old?"

Erin nodded.

"Is your dad old?"

Erin nodded. "But the ghost is older."

The corners of Cassie's mouth lifted. "Does she talk to you?"

"She tells me to go away or something bad will happen."

Cassie's smile wiped off, her mouth forming a straight line. "Does she say what this something bad will be?"

Erin shook her head. "I told her bad things already happened to me."

Cassie knelt, her face level with Erin's, her mouth parting, showing Erin her vulnerability. A curious mix of softness and hardness.

"I promise to get the ghost out of this house as soon as I can."

For the first time, Luke saw Erin flash a smile. Like the sun coming out from behind a storm cloud.

For an instant he couldn't breathe, his throat blocked by an eight-ball sized obstruction.

"I'll start tomorrow." Cassie's honeyed voice flowed over him. "Is that okay with you?"

Erin nodded. "Yes."

Cassie straightened, smiled at Erin, then brushed her gaze over him like he was dog shit. With a curt nod at him, she marched out of the room.

"I'm glad she came," Erin said.

The obstruction in Luke's throat cleared, and he breathed deeply. If Erin liked her, he wouldn't kick her out on her nicely rounded ass. But he'd keep an eye on her. Two eyes.

He'd learned the hard way that it was smart to be wary. To look for the knife aiming for his back.

Betrayal was an everyday part of the life he'd chosen. When you swam with sharks, you watched out for their teeth.

But it anyone tried to attack Erin, they'd have to swim through him first.

Buy the book : Amazon AmazonUK Barnes & Noble Smashwords

DaSample: Shades of Gray by Joleene Naylor

Today's excerpt is from SHADES OF GRAY by Joleene Naylor, Book 1 in the Amaranthine series: Where vampires live in the shadows and don't sparkle.

Joleene's been writing and drawing since she was a child, with a leaning towards fantasy, horror and paranormal. In her spare time she's a freelance artist and photographer.  Joleene does freelance book cover art, maintains blogs full of odd ramblings, illustrates a webcomic and hopes to win the lottery.  However, unless she starts buying tickets she may never actually win anything.

The sun was dropping rapidly and soon Katelina would be lost in darkness. She shivered, whether from chill or anxiety, and Sarah's words played through her mind, "That's how people get killed!"  The night was getting nearer and those words seemed wiser and wiser with each second. She should have just called the police and stayed home; safe and secure in her contented shoe box of plasterboard and wood.

Something crunched and her head snapped up in response. A lone figure walked slowly towards her from around the house. His hair and clothing were all black, as if he were a part of the night. He was like a shadow wraith formed from her fears, with only his pale face to give him the illusion of reality.

He came to a stop in front of her and gazed down. He was tall and broad shouldered with a slim waist. His long hair fell down his back and seemed to blend into the long sleeved pullover. His mouth remained a tight–lipped line, though his eyes, dark and warm, seemed to be smiling at her.

She scrambled to her feet and brushed uselessly at her clothes.  Her eyes hurried to meet his and assure him she was as much in control as he was, though she felt anything but.

When he spoke, it was the same voice she'd heard over the phone, deep and lyrical. "So you came?"

"Yes." Her tone was weak despite her efforts at dominance. "I came."

"I trust you are alone?" He stared her full in the face as if expecting to find the truth there rather than their surroundings.

"Yes, I'm alone," she answered reluctantly. She wadded her hands into useless fists to try and release her tension.  A vision swam before her eyes of black garbage bags in a ditch, filled with her own dismembered body parts and she wondered if it was too late to go home. "I'm alone, like you said."

"Good." His voice was low and his mouth barely moved, as if he feared someone might overhear him. "Follow me." He turned his back to her and walked towards the house.

Katelina didn't move. She stared at the old house and the blank windows stared back at her. She knew that following him wasn't a good idea. He'd just ascertained that she was alone and now he wanted her to go with him into an empty house that might have anyone or anything hiding inside – waiting, as she had been waiting? No.

He paused at the porch and turned back. "You think I'll hurt you?" He was smiling very slightly, though the dusky light made it hard to tell whether the expression looked sinister or appealing.

"You might," she said quietly, part of her afraid to verbally acknowledge the possibility. "I don't know you – I don't even know your name."

"It's Jorick. Does that make you feel better?" His tight smile stayed firmly in place and his dark eyes shone.

She could sense his amusement and waited for him to laugh, but when he didn't she answered truthfully, "Not really." His smile was almost a smirk, and in another desperate attempt to control the situation she added quickly, "People know I'm here."  Her heart hammered as she realized that truthfully no one did. She hadn't even told Sarah the location of the proposed meeting.

Jorick raised his eyebrows in mock surprise and the smile deepened at the corners of his mouth. "Good.  I'd hate to think you take such chances, Katelina."

She could feel him studying her through the gloom, silently dissecting her and it was time that he was dissected. "How do you know my name?"

His smile faded. "Enough of this. If you want to know who killed your lover, you'll have to follow me inside. If you don't, then you can leave." He shrugged as though it was of no consequence to him either way, then he opened the doors. He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. "It's your choice." With those words, he stepped over the threshold and disappeared inside.

Katelina bit her lip and kicked the foundation, for good measure, cursing silently. She was sure that she'd end up dead before the night was over, thanks to her stupidity. Why hadn't she stayed home? And why didn't she just leave now?

She took a deep breath and forced herself to walk onto the porch. Her mind echoed a question, "Are you willing to die for this?" but she ignored it.

Jorick appeared in the doorway holding a candle. The light reflected strangely on his skin and fully illuminated his impassive face. "Are you coming in or not?"

Her heart pounded and a thought, unbidden, appeared in her mind: he was beautiful. His eyes were the color of dark wood, fringed in heavy lashes and framed by thick, dramatic eyebrows that arched ever so slightly. His lips were full and his skin was flawless and pale, like chiseled marble.

Katelina could never explain what happened next. One minute she was standing on the porch, her mind tumbling in confusion. The next, she was inside the sad house with the door closing behind her.  The sound of the chirping crickets broke through her uncertainty and slowly the world came into focus. The room was small. Water–stained wallpaper sagged from the walls, a non–descript color. A mass of footprints marked the dust covered floor.  There was no furniture, only two grimy windows and a yawning doorway

"This way." He beckoned to her and ducked through the low doorframe – an elegant shadow cutting through the gloom.

And she followed.

Buy the book: Amazon US (paperback), Amazon US (kindle), Smashwords

Find out more about Joleene and her books at her website.

DaSample: Jingle Hells by Misty Evans

Enjoy an excerpt of JINGLE HELLS by Misty Evans:

5 Stars! "If you loved Witches Anonymous, you'll love this fun, sexy, romp with our favorite Charmed One." ~Nana Malone, author of GAME, SET, MATCH

5 Stars! "….a light and frothy confection as delicious and addictive and as one of Amy's premium ice-creams." ~Jud, Amazon Reviewer

Chapter One – On the First Day of Christmas

My name is Amy Atwood and I slept with the Devil.

Literally.

Two days before winter solstice, Christmas lights blinked red and green on the snow-covered sidewalks of my hometown of Eden. Bing Crosby's voice assured us he'd be home for Christmas. The air was brimming with anticipation.

Anticipation and, at least for me, lust. Deep yearning drove me to stare into the brooding, sexy-as-hell eyes of the Devil through the plate glass door of my ice cream shop. His evil energy beckoned to me like the Dove chocolate stored in the pocket of my orange and black, anti-Christmas apron. Blazing heat rose in my cheeks and spread through my veins, rich, tantalizing and blissfully delicious. A tiny wisp of magic unfurled in my chest, reaching for him.

Lucifer's magic seized on it. One corner of his mouth rose in a familiar, cocky grin. "Let me in, witch."

With every ounce of willpower I could summon, I shook my head. "I'm not a witch anymore. And we're closed."

"It's seven o'clock. You don't close 'til ten."

"Witches Anonymous meeting here tonight." I flipped the sign on the door and tapped it for good measure. "Now go away."

Drawing back my disobedient magic, I forced my hand to turn the key in the lock. The sound of the deadbolt snapping into place broke the enchantment Luc had on me. My body moaned in response. It wasn't going to rock around the Christmas tree with him that night.

One thing about the Devil, he's persistent. Luc could have shattered the glass or flipped the lock open without moving a muscle. Instead, as I turned my back on him, he invaded my personal space in a much less direct but equally strategic way. His voice now registered in my head, tingling the nerves at the base of my skull as if he were breathing on my bare neck. I know Adam left you.

"He didn't leave…" I stopped myself from finishing. Adam, my hunky heaven-sent boyfriend, had left me, but not the way Luc made it sound.

I glanced at Keisha, the shop's manager and my best friend, who was leaning against the stainless steel sink behind the counter. She was there the day I met Luc in Paris, at the base of the Venus di Milo, and she knew our torrid history together. Knew how he'd broken my heart. Still, her attention was riveted on him, her mouth open and her eyes glazed with merry lust.

Another tingling sensation lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. He's not coming back to you.

I whirled around and pinned Luc with the snake-eye look I practiced in the mirror for just such occasions. Get out of my head. Get out of my life.

For a single heartbeat he tried to enchant me again, but I can be as persistent and stubborn as he is. I braced the wall I'd built around my magic and stood my ground.

His face hardened, his eyes went cold, flat. My pulse kicked in reflexive fear, but in the next second, he shimmered out of sight without a sound.

Yep, Christmas was going to be hell this year.

BUY IT NOW: Amazon

Misty Evans is the author of the best-selling Super Agent and Witches Anonymous series. She's currently at work on the next books in both series as well as her upcoming release from Carina Press. She likes her coffee black, her conspiracy stories juicy, and her wicked characters dressed in couture. To learn more about Misty and her books, visit www.readMistyEvans.com or follow her on www.twitter.com/readmistyevans.

Excerpt: Death of a Dark Horse by Susan Schreyer

DEATH OF A DARK HORSE by Susan Schreyer is a cozy mystery with romance and a psychic horse. This is the first in the Thea Campbell Mystery Series. In it, Thea goes out for revenge when the one person who is the most likely candidate for thief–as well as the least likely–steals her horse. But Thea is wrong. As close to dead wrong as she ever wishes to get.

DEATH OF A DARK HORSE is only $2.99 and it's published digitally. Enjoy the excerpt!

I pulled into the parking lot at the Snohomish County Sheriff's Office just as a white Chevy pickup truck backed rapidly out of a parking place. I slammed on my breaks, narrowly avoiding a collision. The driver didn't even give me a courtesy shrug. How could she, unless she had eyes in the back of her head. She hadn't even bothered to look before throwing her truck into gear and didn't spare me a glance as she zipped past. But I saw her.

Melanie Rucker. Randy's wife. Alone.

"Ditsy woman," I growled.

Once inside, I checked in with a deputy at the sliding window, then looked around the sparsely furnished lobby. Just as I was about to lay claim on the solitary chair, an interior door flew open and crashed into the wall. I recoiled and tripped over the chair. Randy Rucker caught the door on its ricochet and shoved it again.

I turned to flee, tangled with the chair, and collided with the wall. It was all wasted effort. Randy galloped past me like one of his roping horses in pursuit of a frightened calf and flung open the exterior glass door before the interior one had time to slam. Miraculously, no glass shattered.

Randy hauled to a stop in the middle of the parking lot, snatched the cowboy hat off his head, slapped it against his thigh, and yelled, red-faced, before striding back into the building, flinging the door out of his way again. This time he made a bee-line for the sliding window, and pounded on the glass.

"Phone. I need a phone!"

The window slid open and one was set on the counter. Randy picked it up and hammered the buttons. He kept an eye on the door — my escape route — trying to pace, but the cord wouldn't let him.

"Hey," he said. "Get your goddamn ass in to the sheriff's office now … I don't care what you got going on … No, she was — No she thought I might enjoy the walk. Yes, she left me here. What do you think? … No, you moron, she's got the truck. We've got a car — Christ Almighty, you're an idiot … it probably is the one with the big H on it … just get your ass in here!" Randy slammed the receiver back in the cradle.

That's when he caught sight of me. His eyes narrowed.

"You."

I gulped and backed against the wall. "Hi, Randy."

He took his time walking across the lobby, crushing and re-crushing the brim of his hat with one hand. "You," he repeated. "Are you happy now? Feel like you've gotten even?"

Buy online: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords

You can find out more about Susan Schreyer and her books at her website.

Excerpt: Call of the Jaguar by Pamela S. Beason

Pamela S. Beason is a hybrid author. She's self-published, has been published by Wild Rose Press, and her Sam Westin mystery series will be published by Berkley Prime Crime in 2011.

CALL OF THE JAGUAR is on sale for $1.99. Here's the blurb:

On Rachel McCarthy's fortieth birthday, trading her cheating husband for a glamorous former lover seems like a brilliant idea. But her plane is shot down, the lover's a snake, and—barring a miracle—it looks like she and her intrepid pilot will not survive her mid-life crisis.

In the distance, the jungle resumed, green and dense, and beyond that, a reddish-colored mountain floated above the treetops.

"Is that El Castillo?" Alex asked.

"Yes, that's my mountain." Her heart lifted at the sight. At least that hadn't changed. The plane's shadow flitted over the green jungle below as they neared the peak. "Look," Rachel said. "There's a landing strip."

Alex flew lower, tilting the wings as he circled the strip of rough red dirt slashed out of the jungle. "I don't see any ruins."

Rachel peered across him, looking out his side window, searching for any sign of the archaeological site. Alex wheeled the plane again and they spiraled lower. As they neared the landing strip, several men stepped out of the jungle. They were dressed in camouflage fatigues and they carried automatic rifles.

Alex stiffened and gripped the yoke nervously. "Uh-oh. Was your professor expecting us?"

Oh shit, she had told him she had an urgent message for Dr. Kerby, hadn't she? "I doubt it," she said. "I couldn't call—no phone, no fax. No electricity."

The men on the ground raised their rifles to their shoulders. Alex jerked back the yoke. "Shit!"

Shots rang out around them as the plane climbed suddenly and steeply, leaving Rachel's stomach somewhere near her feet. She ducked her head beneath the window. Bullets pinged off the exterior of the plane.

"Goddamn it!" Alex shouted toward his side window. "Can't they see we're civilians?

The pinging of bullets stopped and Alex leveled off. Rachel pulled herself together, sat up straight, and chanced a look out the window. "We made it." She heaved a sigh of relief. "We're out of range."

Her brain was still flashing like a warning light. What the hell had just happened? The mountain was El Castillo; she knew they were in the right location. Patrick was down there somewhere. Why was the place crawling with armed soldiers? What was she supposed to do now?

"What's Plan B?" Alex asked, echoing her thoughts. "Back to Antigua?"

The engine sputtered. A warning light flashed red on the instrument panel. Damn. Rachel clutched for her armrests, realized she had none, and ended up wadding the denim above her knees in terrified fistfuls. Alex shot her a glance filled with anger. He tipped the plane on a wing again, his gaze raking over the terrain below.

"Shit!" he yelled again. He nodded toward the warning light, which seemed to glow redder with each passing second. "That's the oil gauge. The pan must be hit. I have to put her down."

Rachel couldn't stop the chant in her head. Oh god, oh god, oh god. This couldn't be happening. The sputtering of the failing engine grew louder. They wheeled in an ever descending spiral. Beneath them was a carpet of endless treetops; she couldn't even see the ground. Couldn't he see that? They'd die slamming into the trees. "Are you crazy?" she shouted. "We're over the jungle! There's no place to land."

His gaze locked on a spot ahead. "There, a cornfield."

She followed his gaze. Yes, a field loomed ahead. She'd been regretting the clearcutting and burning just a few minutes ago and now she was supremely thankful for it.

The engine sputtered out. All was silent for a second as they hung suspended in the air. Rachel stared at Alex, afraid to speak. Blue eyes, dark hair, weathered face, not a bad looking man. He might be the last human being she'd ever see. She really didn't want to say anything she'd regret at The Pearly Gates.

Then the plane began to fall. Air rushed by, louder and louder. Screaming would not help. She swallowed instead and said in a shaky voice, "Aren't we going down awfully fast?"

Alex was pulling back on the yoke for all he was worth. "Lady, this isn't a glider."

Follow Rachel through the wilds of Guatemala in her quest to find her former lover, archaeologist Patrick Kerby.

Buy online: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords

Discover more about Pamela on her website.