Welcome to the last post for the month of May. How time flies! This weeks word prompt is PICNIC. In the past we often at picnics at this time of year. Not sure when those activities will happen again. I’m continuing with Make Mine a Manhattan
“Good Lord, don’t tell me you’re watching porn or chatting with some stranger who could well be a serial killer.”
“Mother! I don’t know where you get your ideas, but no!”
I shook my head, rolled my eyes, and reached for my cappuccino. And here I thought I was the one with the wild imagination. It was perfectly acceptable to send me on a blind date with a stranger who had money and might invest it in the town, but if I were to meet anyone online, he would be the next Jeffrey Dahmer.
“Forget it. You wouldn’t understand. You never have.” I stepped back. “I have to get home and feed Shakespeare.”
My mother turned and glared at me.
“You treat that cat better than you treat the members of your own family. Fine. I’ll call Franklin and make some excuse, but you’ll regret not helping out when the town needed you. If Stargazer Enterprise does reopen the mountain, having a close personal relationship with the CEO would be quite advantageous.”
Would she never give up? On the defensive now, I harrumphed.
“Since when does a blind date barbecue picnic I have no intention of attending morph into a close personal relationship? Forget it, Mom. I’m not the sacrificial virgin ready to be tossed into the volcano to save the town. Unless you agree not to harp on this again, I’m not coming back for lunch with Callie and Mickey.”
The bell rang announcing the arrival of another customer.
Thank you, Lord.
“Fine,” Mom agreed, but her tone made it clear she wasn’t happy about it. “Maybe he doesn’t need a date per se. There will be plenty of single women there. I’ll see you at one thirty sharp.”
She frowned, her mask moving up her face almost obliterating her eyes.
I sighed, knowing full well that this wouldn’t be the end of it, but if I didn’t make lunch, I wouldn’t survive the lecture that was sure to follow.
“I’ll be here.”
Turning abruptly, I collided with the mountain behind me, splashing my iced capp all over both of us, the beige froth settling and melting on top of his loafers.
A collective gasp filled the room, and I was suddenly aware of the dozens of gazes fixed on me. There was Frank, the town mechanic and Sylvia who ran the dry cleaners. Was that Mayor Loucks?
Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Brazen – Daring – in both their dedication to Love and Service.
Seven stories of men and women who have pledged their lives to help others. Their hearts are reserved – held in check and on pause – while working. When that certain someone comes into their lives, passions flare no matter where they are.
BRAZEN PROTECTORS: PROTECT AND DESIRE Volume 4 continues the Romantic Suspense Series with more engaging tales of heroes and heroines taking command in unlikely situations, these champions just as provocative as they are brave.
Stacy Eaton: Kayley, Loving a Young Series, Book 5 (NEW) What will her family think when she brings home a younger man?USA Today Bestselling Author
Callie Bardot: The One-Thirty Fighting fires is easy–it’s in Griffin’s blood. But yielding to intimacy is a fire that might prove too hot. USA Today & NY Times Bestselling Author
Rachelle Ayala: Hold My Love, Desiring Danger #5 (NEW) Framed for the murder of a congressional aide, Kevin Colson aims out to take down the real killers—with a little help from loud-mouthed drama queen, Virgie Rivera. USA Today Bestselling Author
Patricia Rosemoor: Deception Deception clashes with desire when an undercover bodyguard gets too close to the woman he’s sworn to protect. NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
Mimi Barbour: Special Agent Maximilian Identical twins but different men – she loves both! NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
Taylor Lee: Line of Fire Discover how challenging elections can be when sex and violence are in the mix. USA Today Bestselling Author
Susanne Matthews: Secrets and Lies Graduating from school is easy, getting out alive may be a whole lot harder. International Bestselling Author
Here’s a peek at Secrets and Lies:
El Paso, Texas
May 1
“How could you do it, Kyle?” Emily Jacobson Shepherd, her cheeks burning, fought to maintain some semblance of her dignity, but it was a losing battle. “How could you lie to me? I know you’re my boss, but damn it, I thought you were my friend. I needed to know the truth. I had a right to honesty, not secrets and lies.”
She sat on one of the hard wooden chairs across from Kyle Kavanagh’s desk, fervently wishing she’d opted to stand, although by now that too would’ve been decidedly uncomfortable. She’d run the gamut of emotions these past eighteen months, but nothing matched her current fury.
“Be reasonable, Emily. I didn’t know for sure until they recovered those bodies in Mexico. Like you, I believed he’d died in that blast.” He ran his hand through his sparse ginger hair. “Contradictory information started trickling in about a year ago, but it was just speculation. Not even my source inside the cartel was positive. It could’ve been nothing more than a copycat, a wanna-be distributor in the organization, trying to capitalize on the Chef’s reputation. At the time, I wasn’t sure you would be able to come back, let alone want to. I figured it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. You didn’t need to know about conflicting rumors, not when you were in such pain. I assumed that if you continued to think he was dead, you would be able to heal and move on.”
“Assumed? Nothing good has ever come from assumptions,” she scoffed. “There are some things you can’t forget, and moving on? Well, that’s another matter. You didn’t have the right to decide what I needed or didn’t need. It was my life he ruined. I demand justice. I deserve it.”
“Justice? Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Of course it is. I’m a DEA agent. It’s what I do—what I need.”
The Chef was alive! She tried to get her head around it, still too stunned to appreciate what those four words implied. The bastard wasn’t one of the unidentified corpses they’d found in the warehouse.
Kyle had suspected the truth for almost a year, and yet he’d let her go on believing her enemy was gone. Knowing that monster was still out there, praying on the innocent and luckless, would’ve helped her get back on her feet sooner. Instead, she’d wallowed in months of self-pity, regretting the losses she’d suffered, and feeling cheated because her nemesis would never pay for the crimes he’d committed. Death in that explosion would’ve been the easy way out.
She wanted justice, but she also wanted him to suffer, like she had, like she still did. Not a day went by that didn’t bring the pain and loss back to the forefront. Not a night went by when she didn’t cry herself to sleep in her big empty bed in the mausoleum that was her home.
The Chef had forfeited his men the way a chess player sacrificed his pawns. Those poor buggers probably hadn’t realized they were the equivalent of the guys in the red shirts on Star Trek. Alex had loved the sci-fi series and always joked that the extras in the red shirts should get danger pay since they were sure to die within the first few minutes of the episode—that was unless of course they were engineers. Like the Enterprise’s Montgomery Scott, the Chef always managed to make it out in one piece. Despite his age and educational background, Alex had been superstitious and had refused to wear red shirts, citing the precedent, and yet wearing a blue shirt hadn’t saved him or the others who’d walked into the trap with him.
By some miracle, she’d survived, but look at the price she’d paid.
“This is my case, has always been my case, and now that I’m back, I should be the one to follow through on it.”
She was so angry with the agent-in-charge of the El Paso Division of the DEA that she was shaking and gripped her hands together to hide it. How dare he presume she could ever go on not knowing the truth?
A slip of the tongue from a visiting agent and friend had changed everything and given her a reason to live once more. Badgering her doctor, she’d convinced him to let her return to full duties. The days and nights of feeling sorry for herself were over. Her life had purpose again, and that goal was to put the Chef out of business once and for all.
“Despite what you’ve heard, we don’t know exactly where he is, but we know where he’s been. We’ve got someone on the inside now, and our informant says he’s on the move. I’ll see what I can do about getting you reassigned to the case, but Emily, it isn’t up to me alone. The brass has to sign off on this, and given the situation, I’m not sure they will.”
Kyle was vacillating, passing the buck as it were, and she didn’t like it one damn bit. He owed her.
“Then you need to convince them I’m the best person for the job. I’m not an idiot, Kyle,” she argued, frustration giving her voice an unnecessary edge. “I’m a frigging bionic woman now. People with artificial limbs like mine return to their regular jobs every day. Soldiers go back into the field, and it’s time I did, too. It’s taken me more than a year to accept what happened to me, and I’ll be damned if I let him steal any more of my life. I’m either a DEA agent returned to full duty, or I’m not, and you’ll have my resignation on your desk as fast as I can print and sign it. But one thing is certain, I will find him even if I have to do it on my own and spend every last cent I have tracking him down.”
“Don’t be stupid. Going after him without the resources of this office to back you up would be suicide. You’re smarter than that. You’ve gone through hell to get where you are today. Why would you chance throwing it all away?” he asked, calling her bluff.
She shrugged and smiled. “Because I have nothing left to lose. Suicide or not, he’s mine, and I’ll see he pays for what he did to me and to Alex. You’ve always said any of the undercover operations we handle can turn deadly in the blink of an eye. While I never really believed that before, I do now. I was there the last time we almost had the Chef, remember? I have the internal and external scars to prove it.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do. I’m asking to finish the job that got my husband and my son killed and left me like this.”
Get this book and six other great novels for only 99 cents USD or free in Kindle Unlimited.
Welcome to this week’ edition of Tuesday Tales. I’m continuing with Make Mine a Manhattan. Picture prompt posts are limited to 300 words.
Here is the picture I chose.
“Take one for the town? Just what are you suggesting, Mother? I’m perfectly happy without a prick between my legs or anywhere else,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“Sydney Robin Langford, you watch your mouth. I didn’t raise you to speak like that and you know it. That is most definitely not what I meant. There are decent folks in here who want to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee without listening to your foul language. The way you’re behaving these days, I swear you’ve become anti-social. Maybe you should see Doctor Edwards. You could’ve started premature menopause.”
I exhaled forcefully. I couldn’t say prick, but my mother, in the same quiet tone a five-year-old uses to whisper, could inform the town that her thirty-three year old daughter was menopausal.
“Mom, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to play nice-nice with some rich carpetbagger who’ll probably walk away from the deal anyway.”
“You’re too busy? I doubt that. You’re the only person I know who actually enjoyed all those months of quarantine. If I hadn’t insisted you come to dinner last night, you would’ve brushed off your sister and your nephew as well as your dad and me. So tell me, Miss Too-Good-to-Do-The-Town-A-Simple-Favor, what is it that you’re working on? And don’t say school work because you started summer vacation last week.”
“I’m … I’m working on a special course—something online,” I stammered, the half-lie slipping out of my mouth. “You’re always working on something online. The governor says that the kids will be going back to in-classroom learning this fall, so you can quit trying to develop those—what did you call them? Oh yes—innovative and exciting online lessons.” Her eyes narrowed. “I was reading about screen time dependency. Are you addicted to video games?
Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Great News! My good friend and fellow author has a new book out and here’s a taste of it.
Touch Me Alinta Bay #4
by Iris Blobel
Blurb:
She loves the feel of his skin beneath her hands …
Lexie Marshall packs up and moves 3,000 km east with her daughter Zoe, to forget and move on. Now, all that matters is her daughter and her new job. She tries hard to stay focussed, but the sexy and extremely kind park ranger, Jesse, is not making it easy. And when her husband shows up in the small coastal town creating chaos, all she can do is hang on and trust her new friends.
After his last girlfriend walked out on him, Jesse Parker is doing just fine on his own. Until his accidental meeting with single mother Lexie, when he rescues her and her daughter from getting lost in the forest. But when her past catches up with her, he is right in the middle of it all and it might ruin his career.
Will returning to her old life be the only chance to save his career?
Lexie Marshall looked around, seeing nothing but trees. Worry crept into her mind. It’d been a while since they’d seen another soul. The old farmer on the tractor had warned them, but she’d been certain she had known the way back to the car.
“Mum, are you sure you know where you’re going?” Zoe asked.
Loosely circling her shoulders to rid herself of the kink in them, Lexie replied, “Sweetie, I’m sure we’re almost there. It can’t be far.”
“Such a stupid idea to go for a bushwalk.”
Lexie stopped and turned, looking at her daughter, undecided whether to be annoyed or feel guilty. “I thought it was a great idea. We’re stuck in that small house seven days a week with the walls closing in on us.”
Zoe met her gaze, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Not my fault we moved here.”
Massaging the temples, she took a deep breath. “I hope we’re not going through the separation discussion again. Your dad and I drifted apart. Nothing I can do about it.”
The girl lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “That didn’t mean you have to drift all the way to this godforsaken place.”
“This godforsaken place is giving me a chance to work in my profession as a lawyer during school hours only so you’re not on your own at home.”
Zoe shrugged again. “I miss my friends.”
“Well, so do I, but I am trying to do the best in a bad situation. How about we try to get out of this jungle of trees and next weekend we’ll check the real estate agent for a bigger house?”
“We had a big house in Perth—”
Lexie looked into the distance and then back at her daughter. “Look, I get it that you’re not happy with the current situation. But I’m trying my best here.” She inhaled a long breath to calm herself. “I don’t really think this is the right place to have this discussion, but maybe the right time for you to ponder about the alternatives. Perth, big house, your mother working massive hours to afford it, which would mean you’re in after care, or Alinta Bay, small house, hopefully we’ll find something bigger soon, and I can drop you off and pick you up from school, plus we will have enough money for two holidays a year.”
Without waiting for an answer, Lexie turned again, but didn’t move. Cursing under her breath, she conceded that they were lost. And it scared her. A lot.
“Mum?”
Lexie whirled around again. “What?” But as soon as she saw her daughter’s timid look in her eyes, she apologised straight away. “I’m sorry, sweetie. But—”
Zoe shook her head. “Mum, listen,” she said just above a whisper.
Lexie focussed and followed the girl’s gaze.
“Look! A car.”
“Hallelujah,” Lexie murmured.
“Can you run?”
Hands on hips, Lexie said, “I’m old, but I’m no geriatric.”
“Well, duh, Mum. Run.”
“Wait,” she almost shouted. “We can’t just—”
“Mum, just run. You’re not wearing your glasses, are you? It’s the Park Ranger vehicle.”
Shaking her head at her own embarrassment, but also at her clever daughter, she rushed after Zoe through the forest, literally over sticks and stones. Worried about her daughter stopping a stranger’s car, Park Ranger or not, she screamed, “Wait, Zoe. Wait for me!”
Without looking back, her daughter replied, “No way I’m letting this guy drive off.”
When Lexie stopped a couple of minutes later in front of the Ranger’s truck, she placed her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
“Mum got us lost.”
The Ranger came around the car and placed his hand on Lexie’s arm, “Ma’am, are you okay?”
She straightened. “I’m okay. Embarrassed, my ego dinted, and having aged by about ten years, but I’m okay.”
His deep chuckle invaded her senses with its warmth and did something to her. And it’d been a while since a man had stirred something inside her, not since … she pushed the thought of her husband away, as well as the flutter in her stomach, trying to deal with the problem at hand.
Brazen – Daring – in both their dedication to Love and Service.
Seven stories of men and women who have pledged their lives to help others. Their hearts are reserved – held in check and on pause – while working. When that certain someone comes into their lives, passions flare no matter where they are.
BRAZEN PROTECTORS: PROTECT AND DESIRE Volume 4 continues the Romantic Suspense Series with more engaging tales of heroes and heroines taking command in unlikely situations, these champions just as provocative as they are brave.
Stacy Eaton: Kayley, Loving a Young Series, Book 5 (NEW) What will her family think when she brings home a younger man?USA Today Bestselling Author
Callie Bardot: The One-Thirty Fighting fires is easy–it’s in Griffin’s blood. But yielding to intimacy is a fire that might prove too hot. USA Today & NY Times Bestselling Author
Rachelle Ayala: Hold My Love, Desiring Danger #5 (NEW) Framed for the murder of a congressional aide, Kevin Colson aims out to take down the real killers—with a little help from loud-mouthed drama queen, Virgie Rivera. USA Today Bestselling Author
Patricia Rosemoor: Deception Deception clashes with desire when an undercover bodyguard gets too close to the woman he’s sworn to protect. NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
Mimi Barbour: Special Agent Maximilian Identical twins but different men – she loves both! NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author</i
Taylor Lee: Line of Fire Discover how challenging elections can be when sex and violence are in the mix. USA Today Bestselling Author
Susanne Matthews: Secrets and Lies Graduating from school is easy, getting out alive may be a whole lot harder. International Bestselling Author
USA Today Bestselling author and publisher, Dani Haviland has bounced from New Haven, Connecticut to the Valley of the Sun in Arizona, to Alaska, and the Willamette Valley in Oregon, soaking up life along the way, processing the experiences into works of fantasy and romance, packaging them as singles, series, and box sets with other authors via Chill Out! Books, the company she established as a vehicle to share the works with readers around the world.
May 12 and may 13, 2021, you can get Naked in the Winter Wind, Book One of her Fairies Saga FREE!!!
Don’t miss this great deal! Get your copy today! I got mine!
Where…and when…was she? Come along with a plump and perky older woman as she is transformed into a young beauty with amnesia. When our heroine awakens in the middle of the Revolutionary War, in peril from Red Coats and renegades, all she knows is that her new friends are the fictional characters from a popular romance novel. What happened to her? Will she ever get back to her own time? And now that she’s met some very special people, does she want to return?
A mix of mystery, history, and fantasy, with a tad of romance, a dash of violence, and a pinch of humor.
‘These characters will live in your head long after you’ve read the books.’ (common remark by readers) Imagine falling right into the middle of your favorite historical romance story…and getting a thinner, rejuvenated body at the same time. That might sound ideal, but dealing with cougars, creeps, and kidnappers isn’t. Join 20th century-born Evie as she deals with the hardships of living in the backwoods or Revolutionary War era North Carolina while dealing with a severe case of AMNESIA, being ABANDONED by the man who claimed her as his wife, and ADOPTIONS, using nothing but her wit and grit, give or take a knife or two…and the smartphone that hitched a ride with her from the 21st century!
Contains adult content{
THE FAIRIES SAGA ~ Time travelers: fairies, according to the auld folk, people who suddenly showed up in strange clothes, confused about where they were, and without friends or family. Fairies either kept quiet and adapted to their new time period…or went insane. **The books in The Fairies Saga are numbered for historical sequence only. Each is a stand alone story. If you decide you want to know more about a character– where they came from or where they eventually wound up– check out your book’s number and go from there! (Much like the Star Wars movies) THIS IS THE COMPLETE EDITION OF THE THREE PREVIOUSLY RELEASED ‘PARTS’ OF NAKED IN THE WINTER WIND (no longer available in digital form): AMNESIA: part one ABANDONED: part two ADOPTIONS: part three
“In 1736, I lost one of my sons, a fine boy of four years old, by the smallpox, taken in the common way. I long regretted bitterly, and still regret that I had not given it to him by inoculation. This I mention for the sake of parents who omit that operation, on the supposition that they should never forgive themselves if a child died under it; my example showing that the regret may be the same either way, and that, therefore, the safer should be chosen.”
Benjamin Franklin
Good news is always great to share, and today, I have great news. Yesterday, I received my second dose of the Pfizer vaccine. I had to wait 12 weeks for it since Canada is trying hard to get a first dose into as many people as they can, but there were extra doses available, and I was able to get one. May 11th will go into the annals of great days in my life, which means that on June 1st, I will be as protected as my immune system can make me.
I can’t begin to describe the incredible joy and confidence I’ve gotten knowing that while I am not 100% immune to COVID 19, if I do get it because it is still out there and will be as long as procrastinators continue to refuse the vaccine, it will not kill me. As an overweight, elderly, asthmatic person, my odds of survival weren’t great without the vaccine, but now, they are much better. I thank God for giving the necessary skills and wisdom to those who created this life saving vaccine.
I realize that not everyone believes the pandemic is real, that masks, social distancing, and vaccines are necessary, but I do. There are some people out there with wild, unusual, and downright hilarious reasons why getting the vaccine isn’t good, but I trust the science.
I trust the science that dragged us kicking an screaming out of the dark ages. The science that taught doctors to wash their hands before performing surgery. The science that developed antibiotics and analgesics to help us fight pain and infection. The science that discovered the different blood types and the Rhesus factor so that safe, life-saving transfusions could be given when necessary. The science that developed treatments for cancer, leukaemia, heart disease, diabetes, allergies, and asthma and gave us a fighting chance to survive. The science that created vaccines for rabies, tetanus, polio, diphtheria, whopping cough, measles, mumps, rubella, pneumonia, chicken pox, shingles and countless other illnesses that caused enormous pain, discomfort and eventually death. Now, thanks to advances in science, we can add the Coronavirus vaccine to that impressive list.
It’s strange how people will accept that science is real only when it develops things like gunpowder, the internal combustion engine, microwave ovens, or a better strain of coffee bean for their coffeemakers.
So far, the only side effect I have is a slightly sore arm. I am anxious now for the light at the end of the tunnel to be the sign of an exit, not an oncoming train. I look forward to seeing the rest of my family–not in the near future, but maybe before the year is out. Yes, I still need to wear a mask and socially distance. Yes, I still need to be rapid tested each time I see my mother, and yes, we can’t travel or go anywhere yet, but the day is coming when I can flash my proof of vaccine and pick up the pieces of what’s left of normal life again.
So trust the science. Get your shots, and lets try to salvage some of 2021.
Welcome to this week’s edition of Tuesday Tales. The White Dahlia is now published and I’m focussing on a different type of book, something lighter. Make Mine a Manhattan will be the fifth book in my Cocktails for You series.
The blurb to date:
What’s an author to do when, thanks to writer’s block, she’s hopelessly stuck?
With only eight weeks left to finish her newest novel, bestselling author Sydney Sanders, aka Robin Langford, is stumped. On impulse, the thirty-three-year old introvert decides to take her agent’s advice and shift gears, but instead of going on a short vacation, she decides on hands-on research. Immersing herself in her story and assuming her heroine’s identity, she heads to Manhattan to live out the plot. What could possibly go wrong?
As Savanna Long, she boards the train, expecting a quiet ride and time to refresh her muse for the chore ahead. But a lot can happen during the thirty-eight hour trip, especially with her imagination and the drop-dead gorgeous passenger in the next car.
This week’s word prompt is MOTHER.
“Please, Mom, can’t you just let it go?” I begged, regretting my decision to stop in for a cold drink after my morning run. “You asked and I said no, and I mean it. I’m not interested. Nyet, nada, nein, non.”
The most annoying thing about wearing a mask to protect myself and others from COVID-19 was the inability to see someone’s lower facial expressions, but the eyes never lied. From the storm clouds in my mother’s gray ones, I knew she was angry with me, but I was just as mad at her—well, maybe not at her exactly—but I was frustrated, and this scheme of hers was just one more complication I didn’t need. At the moment, I was hot and sweaty. I just wanted my iced capp and then a shower.
“It’s not as if Mayor Loucks asks you for favors every day,” Mom continued with another volley in an argument I was determined she would never win.
“For the last time, Mom, I refuse to go out with every eligible Tom, Dick, or Harry someone throws in my path,” I stated, my teeth gritted so tightly, they ached. “Besides. We’re still supposed to be staying socially distant. I’m perfectly content in my own bubble. I like my life here as it is, without a lot of fanfare. Shakespeare and I are just fine.”
Mom harrumphed as she finished putting the final touches on my iced cappuccino. The good thing about having a parent who owned a coffee shop was the free drinks, the bad thing was the unsolicited advice.
“I don’t understand why you’re being so obstinate and selfish,” she continued. “The pandemic is winding down, and this is just one little dinner—a barbecue, for heaven’s sake. You’ll be outside. The man is in Flowerfield to look over the old Dog Mountain ski area. If he agrees to invest in it, it’ll be a shot in the arm for the town, and Lord knows, we can use it. Franklin assures me the man has had his Coronavirus vaccine and has a negative test. You can’t get any safer than that these days, and you know it. Besides, Lacey says he’s gorgeous, cultured, and filthy rich. You aren’t getting any younger and quality husband material isn’t easy to find around here. I would think you would be happy to take one for the town.”
Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Well, I got the final manuscript for The White Dahlia, the last book in the Harvester Files, uploaded and on time just by the skin of my teeth. Why? The story was essentially finished when I put it up for pre-order, but I’m a perfectionist, and that means I’m never satisfied–not with everything, just with my own work.
When I picked the release date, May 10th, I got a message from Amazon that it had to be loaded by May 6, 11:59 GMT. Suddenly the time I had was shortened by three days and eight hours because GMT is ahead of DST here in Eastern Canada!
So, I got to work. I can do this. Back to chapter one of twenty-nine plus and an epilogue, and I began tweeting word choices, sentence structure, paragraph location. Would this be better here or there? Should there be a prologue? Have I planted all the seeds for the complex plot I’ve created? Did I bring in enough but not too much from the previous books to make the reading experience pleasant for all of the readers, both those who had read the first three books and those who’d just picked up this one?
Of all the books I’ve written, MY Harvester Files series was my most popular. This book had to shine. It had to live up reader expectations.
Page by page, I tweaked and applied all of the tricks I’d learned from my editors, making sure to help the reader recall who secondary characters were with a word of explanation here and there. I sought out the plot threads, pulling on them here and there to tighten the plot, to feed the suspense. I dealt with Beth’s fears, hopes, and asperations. I worked on Al’s guilt and attraction to Beth, and I kept the action coming. In any police procedural, solving a crime involves a lot of working things through, getting reports, gathering evidence, and presenting it. I worked to make the process flow smoothly, allowing the reader to use his or her imagination to make intuitive leaps that were later confirmed.
As I got closer and closer to the ending, I started to worry. Was the book too long? Too complicated? Were there too many characters? Had a lost a reader down a plot hole? And in the background, the clock was ticking, the deadline looming, the killer gaining the upper hand.
Finally, after a gruelling marathon effort. I typed the last period. It was over. It was done, It was the best it could be.
And now, we wait for the reviews. Be kind.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Michael and Rafe Colchester escaped death in Alaska and eluded the FBI in Reno when the Harvester Task Force took down the Prophet and his son Adam, putting an end to the threat of the Great Burning. Beth Reynolds, a member of the task force vowed to get them all, but with a trail as cold as the one they had, she had no choice but to go back to Boston. Unable to pick up the pieces of her life there, constantly on the lookout for those who’d served the Prophet, she joined NYPD, hoping the change would help her heal. Called a hero after stopping a crazed shooter in Central Park, she’s slowly getting it together again … until a vicious murder brings it all back. Recognizing the victim whose organs and blood are missing as a Missing Person, she calls for help.
Al Foster moved from St. Louis and joined the NYPD after his ex-wife went missing. He recognizes the body as one of his cold cases. With Beth’s insight, he begins to see things from her point of view and realizes his ex-wife could well have been one of this serial killer’s victims, making solving the case a joint FBI-NYPD operation. But where does the stalker find his prey with its specific blood type?
When forensic evidence points to the fact that this killer may be one of the Colchesters, the case becomes personal for both of them. As he works with her, Al must fight his growing attraction for the woman determined to bring down the Colchesters at all costs, but with Beth possessing all of the qualities they require in a woman, will she get them before they get her?
Here’s a peek at Chapter One.
Reno, Nevada,
FBI Field Office
Beth Reynolds stiffened her spine and opened the door to Larson’s outer office. She should’ve gone back to the hotel, showered, and tried to rest after working more than thirty-six hours, but this couldn’t wait. Her heart pounded, and her hands trembled, proof that her nerves—and maybe the caffeine she’d ingested—were getting the best of her.
They’d missed one, damn it. An enforcer? It had to be. Other than Adam, all of the Chosen were in Paradise, dead now thanks to a design flaw. Still, an enforcer on the loose was one too many, and whoever he was, he had a two-week lead on them. He could be anywhere.
She glanced around. Ida Reed, Larson’s secretary, usually one step ahead of her boss, always seemed to be underfoot, and yet now, when she needed her, the personal assistant was nowhere to be found. Beth looked at the printer, searching for the documents she’d sent to be printed late last night. She’d drawn up a time line, a flow chart, and a cause and results diagram, knowing as his wife Faye had maintained, that it was sometimes hard to get Rob to think outside the box. But by God she was right. There could be no other explanation. Now, the file she needed was stuck in some phantom queue awaiting the secretary’s magic touch. So where was she?
Since Beth had been unable to accompany them to Freemont as planned, given their almost symbiotic relationship, had Larson taken Ida with him instead? While Beth deplored office romances, they were a common occurrence.
And what about her own budding relationship with Tony Hamilton? She’d prided herself on maintaining a professional façade, but Tony was different. He needed a friend, especially now when his entire world had crumbled. She knew what that felt like. Helping him through this would help her—at least that was what the therapist back in Boston alleged.
Did a couple of goodnight kisses constitute a relationship? Probably not. Besides, how could it be considered an office romance when he didn’t work for BPD or the FBI? He was a multimillionaire currently helping them with the case, a lot like Jacob Andrews had done. It was true that they’d enjoyed a few dinners together, and their photograph had been in a national newspaper, but that was probably as far as it would go. Her mother had sent her an image of the picture. The caption had read, Consoling the Grieving Heir? Of course, nothing would come of this. As soon as everything was wrapped up here, he would return to Washington. It wasn’t as if they moved in the same social circles, but if her mother wanted to dream, who was she to stop her?
In the three weeks since they’d taken down the Prophet, the extent of his power, influence, and insanity had come to light, but there were still too many secrets, mysteries that haunted her dreams and made sleep impossible. For example, what had been going on at the research facility in Freemont?
By the time they’d raided the place following the Prophet’s capture, the area had been deserted. It was a lab worthy of Doctor Frankenstein. While the Prophet might not have done the experimentation himself, he’d condoned it, and that was bad enough. The illegal research into his vaccine that Adam had carried out on living patients paled in comparison. Tony had given them permission to fully dismantle whatever they found there. His heartfelt, “Destroy it all,” still resonated inside her head.
While she hadn’t seen it herself, she’d heard about the hidden section in the lower level of the facility where they’d discovered more than a dozen human cadavers in freezers, bags of frozen blood, and special containers with viruses and bacteria that had made even the virologists from the CDC shudder. Had these people been the failures from Adam’s experiments, or had something else been going on there? All she could hope was that the victims hadn’t suffered.
In other sections of the lab, they’d discovered several different drugs in various stages of development, some based on plants like foxglove, nightshade, henbane, jimson weed, and oleander. Others synthetically produced from God alone knew what. Many of the street drugs currently available were born in labs like that one. She was by no means an expert, but she’d heard Dr. Smith discussing the matter with Rob and Glenn—something about psychotropic and antipsychotic drugs, and known medications altered in some way. The CDC would handle the work of identifying the drugs and disposing of them in a safe manner, but she’d heard Mitch discussing the need to destroy everything they’d found—even the bodies which could contain pathogens. The doctor’s greatest fear was that some of the drugs created here had been removed. The DEA would be monitoring the streets closely, all of them praying these potentially lethal drugs wouldn’t surface.
Poor Tony. All of this was crushing him, and she’d seen fear and despair in his unusual green eyes. If any of those biological agents got out … he would blame himself, even though none of it was his fault. He hadn’t married the man—his mother had.
Beth blinked. No need to go there now. The woman was an absolute mess, and she didn’t even know the whole truth. As far as the Freemont facility was concerned, things were under control. No one went in or out who wasn’t supposed to since the FBI had taken over. Whoever had slipped past them wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on anything from there. No money, no power, but they needed to find him and stop him before he acquired both. There were too many followers still missing. Too many acolytes looking for a savior, and while an enforcer wasn’t a Chosen, he might command enough respect to set himself up as the next prophet. She shuddered. And if that happened, what came next might be far worse than what they’d seen.
She stared at the closed office door. No doubt Rob, as big a workaholic as she was, was in there drowning in paperwork. The last thing she wanted to do was deliver more bad news, but what choice did she have? Chad Markell, the Deputy-Director of the FBI, had given her a job to do. When she’d realized the implications of what she’d discovered, she’d repeated the analysis three times. Steeling herself, Beth knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Rob Halliday called.
Opening the door, she stepped into the small office.
“Beth!” His face split into a huge grin. “You must be psychic. The Reno police just called. Acting on a tip early this morning, they sent the explosive detection K-9 unit into the Reno airport and found explosive residue in a mechanic’s locker. Unfortunately, the man in his forties, known to his employers as Sam Hill, an obvious alias since he doesn’t seem to exist before he started working there six months ago, wasn’t prepared to go peacefully. He pulled out a gun and fired. Suicide by cop. I wish it could’ve been different, but…”
Beth frowned. Here she was about to suggest an all-out manhunt, and suddenly the bomber had been delivered to them all wrapped up in a neat and tidy package. A sacrificial lamb provided by a mole who could’ve read the missing report she’d sent to the printer last night? If she suggested there was another one here, Rob would think her paranoid. They’d already run background checks on everyone employed by the Reno Police Department and the FBI.
Rob didn’t seem to notice her preoccupation since he’d continued speaking, and she forced herself to concentrate.
“I’m expecting a call from Trevor. They’ve finished sequencing and matching all the DNA on the bodies in the sanctuary. As well, last night, the coroner finally sent over the prophet’s toxicology report. Somehow, it got misfiled. They’re still looking for the full autopsy one, but with a little luck, we’ll be home by this time next week.”
She doubted that, especially once she told him what she’d learned.
“Misfiled? My aunt’s patootie,” she grumbled. “More likely someone on the inside made those reports temporarily disappear for some reason—maybe to alter the findings.”
The Prophet might be dead, but his deep cover followers could be anywhere. Why not in the hospital?
“Maybe, but it doesn’t look as if anything has been tampered with. The papers were probably misfiled by accident. It does happen. People lose things all the time, especially in a crisis. There was a hell of a lot going on and so many bodies to deal with.”
Did he really believe that? How could he be that naïve? Rob continued his briefing, and she tried to focus, hoping she hadn’t missed anything critical.
“Dr. Smith has been a godsend. I don’t know what we would’ve done without her. Now, according to the report, the Prophet had a number of strange drugs in his system—some they’ve found in Freemont—as well as the vaccine antibodies Julie Swift provided. I’m actually looking forward to reading that autopsy report to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. You heard about all of the frozen blood? Hard to believe a man who saw illness as a fatal flaw would have a blood disorder, but that’s the only thing that makes sense. Whatever his problem was, he hid it well, and of course with Adam as his physician … The man had to be a walking time bomb.”
“Speaking of bombs,” she jumped on the opening. Once he knew what she did, he would reconsider his laissez-faire attitude. “I’ve got the report on the explosives used in the motel bombing, the ranch explosion, and the plane’s sabotage.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know why Chad insisted we look at those. It isn’t as if we have nothing to do. So, did you verify that the motel bombing and the one in Unionville had nothing to do with our case?” He leaned forward in anticipation. “That it was just an escalation between the Sons of Darkness and the Dark Nights? Those two local biker gangs have been at one another’s throats for years.”
She shook her head. “I wish I could. It would save us all a lot of grief. You aren’t going to like this, but the bombs used to blow up the tunnels at the White Iris Clinic, the Desert Moon Motel, the Lewiston ranch near Unionville, and the private jet carrying the Prophet’s body were identical to the one planted in the bar in Boston last year.”
“Son of a bitch!” Rob slammed his fist on the desk. “How is that possible?”
Beth swallowed. She’d been one of the bomb techs who’d investigated the Quincy Market bombing. She’d escaped by the skin of her teeth, an upset stomach sending her home early, leaving her colleagues behind—behind to die or be maimed. Taking a deep breath, she explained about piping, fuses, timers, black powder, and signatures—all the knowledge she possessed that made her an authority on the matter. When she finished, she exhaled heavily, the lack of sleep finally getting to her.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his shoulders slumped.
She nodded. “I am. The bikers killed at the motel along with the tourists and those who died at the ranch were simply collateral damage. Someone lured them there—don’t ask me how, I don’t know—but whoever designed and possibly planted those bombs must’ve escaped from the training facility last spring because there’s no doubt Pierce trained him.” Fury raged within her. “So, we’re looking for another enforcer. How many of them did we miss, Rob? How many are out there just waiting for the Prophet to rise from the ashes like some goddamn Phoenix?” Her voice shook with the strength of her emotions.
“Calm down, Beth. That won’t happen. He’s dead, and that bastard wasn’t Christ. But Pierce? That monster may be dead and buried but the ramifications of his actions just won’t go away. We suspected some had gotten away before the raid. There was space for two dozen trainees, and we could only account for eighteen. The ones were holding still won’t talk, and it’s been more than four months. So you’re 100 percent positive that whoever made those bombs learned from the master?”
“Yes. I triple checked everything myself.”
Rob ran his hands through his close-cropped hair.
“Is it possible these weren’t new? Could Pierce had moved them out of the training facility before we raided it. You know how they keep finding unexploded World War II bombs, landmines, and grenades.”
Beth closed her eyes and prayed for patience.
“It doesn’t quite work that way,” she said, drawing on what little strength she had left. “These aren’t relatively stable ordinance. With the right parts, our bomber could’ve put them together, but he had to know how. A pipe bomb isn’t like a savings’ bond you can put away for a rainy day. Black powder deteriorates, gets unstable.”
“Okay. I’ll give you that since you’re the expert, but it’s a moot point. The man who planted the bomb in the plane is dead now. It stands to reason that if the bombs were all the same—and you say they are—then he must’ve planted those, too. It’s over, and I for one am glad it is.”
“But…” she started, but his attention had shifted from her to his desk.
Like Chad, he was old-school, needing everything in black and white.
“Here it is.” He pulled out a pile of papers stapled together. “They’ve finished the inventory of the mine. Dr. Swift didn’t want anyone in certain areas until the virus and vaccine were neutralized, so it took a little longer than I’d hoped. They’ve found explosive materials there, possibly left over from the construction. Can the techs check to see if it’s the same kind used in your bombs?”
“Yes.” She huffed out a breath. “My samples are down in the lab.”
“Good.” He nodded satisfied and turned back to the papers on his desk.
But she was far from convinced. He had to listen. Her gut was never wrong.
Beth licked her lips. “Rob, I know you think this is over, but I’ve been able to piece together a timeline of all the explosions. I’d hoped to have a hard copy for you and sent it to the printer, but it isn’t there, and I can’t find Ida.”
“She went with Larson. He needed her to take notes or something.”
“I see.” Beth frowned. “Well, maybe she can get the paperwork for you when she gets back. Rob, I’m not convinced this mechanic is the bombmaker or rather the only bombmaker. We assumed the prophet’s followers didn’t want his body used for research, so blowing him to kingdom come was a way to prevent that, but why would the mechanic blow up the motel or that ranch? I’m convinced there was someone else. Someone who got away—and left a trail of bodies in his wake.”
He steepled his hands under his chin as if praying.
“You seem very sure of this.”
“I am. Now that we know the motel and the ranch are involved, ask yourself why someone bothered to blow up those particular places. They weren’t high value targets.”
“And you’ve figured out why they did.” He leaned forward.
She nodded. “Obviously, it was to cover up any traces of whoever was staying there. The Lewistons raised horses. The Chosen ran a stud farm and often used enforcers as messengers. What better place than to hide with someone he knew, someone he’d worked with?”
“Someone who could identify him and had to die,” Rob finished. “That might explain the ranch, but why the motel?”
“I suspect to stay close to the hospital and the Prophet. My guess would be that he was on his way to the mine when news of the Prophet’s capture got out—either privately to him, courtesy of a mole we’ve yet to find, or from the Press. Maybe he was hoping to rescue his mentor once he improved, but after Mrs. Hamilton requested we turn off the machines, there was nothing he could do except get out of town and find a safe place to hide. So, he destroyed the motel and any trace of his presence there and then moved on to the ranch.”
“As much as I admire your deductive reasoning, I hope to hell you’re wrong. Do you have any proof?”
Talking to a brick wall was easy; getting it to listen and understand was a hell of a lot harder. That was the way she felt at the moment. “Other than bomb fragments? How much more proof do you need?”
The White Dahlia is available for preorder and goes live in Monday, May 10, at the introductory price of $2.99 USD It will be free to read on KU. Don’t have a kindle? You can download the app to your phone, tablet, or computer free.
Living the Dream 