Monday, 21 May 2018

Saving Dabba: A #Mystery #Novel by Randy Rawls

Randy Rawls was born and reared in Williamston, North Carolina, a small town in the northeastern part of the state. From there, he says he inherited a sense of responsibility, a belief in fair play, and a love of country. As a career US Army officer, he had the opportunity to learn, travel, teach, and hone talents inherited from his parents. Following retirement, he worked in other ventures for the US Government. Every job has in some way been fun. Even the dark days of Vietnam had their light moments, and he cherishes the camaraderie that was an integral part of survival in that hostile world.

Today, he has short stories in several anthologies and a growing list of novels to his credit. As a prolific reader, the reads across several genres and takes that into his writing. He has written mysteries, thrillers, a historical, and two fantasy/mystery/thrillers featuring a Santa Elf. The count is now at fourteen and growing. He is a regular contributor to Happy Homicides, a twice-annual anthology of cozy short stories. He also has a series of short stories featuring a cattle-herding burro. Wherever his imagination will take him, he follows.

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About the Book


Beth Bowman is a PI in Coral Lakes, FL who works with a homeless group. When one of them turns up brutally beaten to death, Beth feels obligated to become involved. She learns there is a group in town to demonstrate, Friends Intent on The Environment (FITE) who could be involved. Another murder occurs and evidence points to Dabba, one of Beth's friends. Beth sets her sights on FITE as their demonstrations become more violent. Cloie Morales, the leader of FITE is a formidable adversary, causing Beth to reach deep inside herself.

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Keep reading for an excerpt:


CHAPTER ONE


The first blow killed him. If the attacker had looked, he’d have seen the side of his victim’s head caved in, pieces of the shattered skull exposed. A section of one-inch diameter Number 8 rebar, swung through a full arc, tended to do that to a human head. But the assailant did not notice. His adrenalin flow was too high, his mood too joyous. He swung again—and again. After a few more cranium-crushing blows, his partner grabbed his arm. “That’s enough. Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

Beth’s cell phone went through its standard number of chimes, then fell silent. A few seconds later, it repeated itself. The third time, Beth fumbled on the nightstand, pulled the phone to her ear, and mumbled, “Hello.”

“Beth, I need you to come into the station,” she heard. “How long before you can get here?”

“Huh? Who . . . who is this?” Through sleepy eyes, she saw the call was from the Chief of Police of Coral Lakes. While she had worked with him before, his contact had always been during normal working hours, or better said, after the sun came up. She shook her head, trying to throw the sleep out of it, then rose and stumbled toward the bathroom. “Chief, what are you doing up at this ungodly hour? It’s only five in the morning. One of the things I like about being a PI is that if I do anything at this hour, other than snooze, I get my full hourly rate. Are you hiring me?”

Beth’s experience with Chief Elston began on a negative note when defense attorney John Hammonds all but ordered the chief to stand down from investigating the kidnapping of his five-year-old daughter. Instead, he named Beth to lead the investigation and recover her—at any cost. Since Hammonds had extensive political contacts in the state capitol in Tallahassee, the chief had no choice but to back off and assume a supporting role. Beth’s success raised her profile in his estimation from poor to competent Private Investigator. Didn’t put her on his A-List, but did give her a high B List position.

“Simply another early morning, Beth. It’s the job. And, no, I’m not offering you a position.” The chief chuckled. “I need you to come in though. We have a situation that might affect you.”

She turned on the cold water and put the phone on speaker. “Tell me about it.”

“Not until you’re here. It’s too complicated to tackle over the phone. You might misunderstand and do something rash.”

She doused her face with water, then grabbed a towel to dry it. “Chief, you’re not making any sense. Tell me what’s up.”

“When you get here. I’m putting together a team, and I want you involved. Soon, Beth, please.”

Beth frowned and stopped her drying action, wondering what the hidden message was. What could have happened that would cause the chief to act so strange? Since when was she important enough to be included on a team of his? But, he sounded sincere.

“Alright, give me an hour, and I’ll be there. Make sure the coffee is fresh and hot—and I don’t mean that sludge you serve in the break room. Also, have some donuts brought in. Breakfast is on you.”

Friday, 18 May 2018

Avarice & Charity: A #Romance #Novel by Faye Hall

Come on a journey with me through 19th century North Queensland, Australia and explore the passions and hardships of unique characters.

There is corruption, deceit and murder, as well as cattle rustlers, slave traders and hellfire clubs. Explore townships of Jarvisfield and Inkerman, as well as Ravenswood and Bowen. One book even incorporates my great grandmother's cattle station 'Inkerman Downs Station'.

As well as an author, I am also the most spoilt wife in the world and a very contented mother.

Come and discover all the passion and drama of North Queensland history with me @ https://www.faye-hall.com



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About the Book


Would you risk everything to protect the one you love from relentless greed?


After the death of her mother, Charity Bohdan vowed to carry on her work—providing free treatment to those who are sick or injured. What started off as patching up wounds soon took a very different direction when she was being called to treat young women who'd been brutally raped and left pregnant. She knows the risks involved with treating and re-homing these women, but she can't turn them away.

When Charity is called to treat a drunk's wounded hand, she expects to find some elderly station hand. Instead, she finds a handsome, young man, who isn't drunk at all. As she tends to his injury, she can't ignore the feelings he stirs inside her when their skin touches.

Avarice Licciardi has spent his life working for his father—a greedy, loveless man who has destroyed everyone in his way. But when Avarice meets Charity, a woman with the touch of an angel, he discovers there's something he craves much more than his father's money. He wants this woman to be a part of his life.

As they spend time together, talking of Irish legends and going on picnics, Avarice begins to win the beautiful woman's heart. But then his father orders him to retrieve some hidden papers at Charity's estate. He refuses…until his father threatens to go get the papers himself. Avarice is determined to protect Charity from this brutal man—even if that means deceiving her.

What Avarice finds at her estate is a hidden tunnel with incriminating mysteries far greater than hidden papers. Together Avarice and Charity uncover secrets from the past that sicken their souls as an evil, greedy man threatens to tear them apart in his search for the evidence hidden at the Bohdan estate.

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Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo | Beachwalk Press






Keep reading for an interview with the author:


Why did you decide to be a writer?


I love telling stories and my parents always encouraged me to write them down so I didn't forget them. Eventually, those stories became longer and longer.

Where are you from?


I'm from a small sugarcane farming town in North Queensland, Australia that has a very limited writing community.

What genres do you write?


Australian Historical Romantic Suspense

How often do you write?


I try every day but as my husband is a shift worker and I have 5 young children at school this doesn't always happen. I write what I can when I can.

Does your family support you in your writing, or are you on your own?


My family is very supportive in so many ways from web designing, to plot ideas to just listening to me ramble.

Have you ever had a particularly harsh critique?


I think we all eventually get a harsh critique. It goes with the job. First time it happened it was like a knife in the heart, but now I just get up and go outside and walk around the garden for a bit to clear the mind.

What is the best writing advice you've ever received?


That a bad first draft is better than a blank page.

Are you a pantser or outliner?


I usually start outlining but then the story just takes itself wherever it's meant to go.

Do you write about real life experiences, or does everything come from your imagination?


A lot of my own family history goes into my books, but then I elaborate it for the story.

What was the hardest part about writing your latest book?


Given the theme of the series I'm currently working on, I have it harder than usual knowing that I have to stick to a certain subject line.

Wednesday, 16 May 2018

Kingdom of Embers: A #Fantasy #Novel by Tricia Copeland

Tricia Copeland grew up in Georgia and now lives in sunny Colorado with her family. In addition to the award-nominated Being Me series, her books include Best Book Award Fantasy Finalist series, The Kingdom Journals, Lovelock Ones, a post-apocalyptic dystopian adventure, and Drops of Sunshine, a YA paranormal novella. Find all of Tricia’s books on her website! Connect with Tricia and other readers on your favorite social media with the following links!







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About the Book


Seventeen-year-old vampire-hybrid Alena Scott can’t seem to catch a break. Not only does she fight her natural instincts with a controlling cheer captain, but she’s also the target of the school bully. These aren’t half her worries, when she finds her preschool imaginary friend at the library. Is he the key to uncovering her secret past? Or is his half-brother who she should be focusing on? As tensions escalate, time is of the essence. Will her mother’s kingdom be reduced to embers?

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Amazon | Goodreads






Keep reading for an excerpt:


“Morning.”

The curtains swooshed open and light poured into my room. I mashed the feather pillow into my face wishing she would disappear.

“Can’t I be homeschooled. Or at least try online high school. One year. I’ve only got one year left.” I extended my arm towards the ceiling and thrusted my index finger up.

“You know what your mother would say.”

“Does she remember what it’s like to be a teenager? Can I get a replacement for her? Or at least a refund?”

“Now Alena. You know you don’t mean that.”

“You’re wrong.” I sat up and let the pillow fall to my lap.

“I have fresh flowers for you and the ribbons for your hair all laid out.”

“Ugh! I can’t believe they are making us wear uniforms the first day of school.” I flung the white silk cover from my legs and swung my feet to the floor.

“It’s a ribbon.” Elizabeth held up the red satin piece. “At least it’s a good color. That bright orange at your last school was hideous.”

“Don’t remind me of Cal High please.” I crossed my room and took the ribbon from her tapping my phone to check for a message from Kylee. She’d come up from San Ramon the past weekend and we’d bought matching outfits. We’d made a pact to text a selfie when we got dressed for school.

“Do you have your outfit picked out?”

“Yes.” Opening the door to my closet I lifted the black pants and silk top off the bar.

“Your mother approved it?”

“Last night.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll make your breakfast. Orm will have the car ready to leave in—” Elizabeth lifted her wrist “—fifty-five minutes.”

My hand went to my hip. “The car? I thought I could ride the bus.”

“Mother’s orders. LA is not like San Ramon.”

“LA is not like San Ramon.” I mouthed as I retreated to my bathroom. Synching my hair back tight in the elastic, I started the water and washed my face. Switching schools senior year felt like torture. I’d had thought Mother would have learned from the debacle of my eighth-grade year, but hadn’t been so lucky. Patting my face dry, I applied my make up making sure to swipe my eyelids with the mandatory plum shadow.

Brushing my hair out, I parted it on the side and braided the front portion, weaving the red ribbon through the design. They could dictate what I wore but not how I incorporated it. Pulling on my pants and shirt, I stood in front of the mirror to check my look. Lifting my phone, I snapped an image and sent it to Kylee. I gathered my shoes and backpack and headed towards the kitchen.

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