Tuesday, 23 February 2016
Friday, 19 February 2016
The Watcher Rising Series, #1
Genre: Contemporary Fantasy
Digital Price: $3.99 (99c/99p through 21 Feb)
BUY HERE: TIRGEARR PUBLISHING
There is magic beneath the mundane and in The Dragon in the Garden, Siobhan Orsini witnesses it all. No lie can fool her, no glamour or illusion can cloud her Sight. She sees through them all and wishes she could close her eyes. Returning to face her past, Siobhan inherits her grandparents’ house in California’s wine country. She encounters a talking dragon, a hot fallen angel, a demon lord, a Valkyrie, and, oh yes, her ex-boyfriend. And that is just in the first twenty-four hours.
It’s time to find out why she has this power.
Siobhan seeks out the Oracle and learns that only her Sight can help mankind navigate the travails of an ancient war. Our world is the prize in a battle between the dragons, who would defend us, and Lucifer’s fallen angels, who seek to take the Earth for themselves. Using her gift, she will have to make a choice that will decide humanity’s future.
• • •
The memory has haunted me for years.
In the middle of a bright California summer, dark days came. My mother and grandparents spoke in hushed, serious voices, arguing about my absent father. Was it my fault he left?
A soft whimper escaped my throat and my eyes burned. I needed a hug, but no one paid any attention to me that day. So I ran away to the refuge of my grandparents’ garden where I could hide among its statues and flowers.
My eyes lingered over the familiar garden ornaments. I passed the old birdbath, the statues of gnomes, and a cheerful squirrel. I ran one hand over the stone deer. Its brown paint had faded from years under the sun. Walking with quick steps down the gravel path, I made my way to the center of the garden, my special spot where my favorite statue waited.
A gnarled apricot tree grew there. Right now it was covered with tiny green apricots. Later in the summer the sweet fruit I loved would ripen. I would get to pick them with my parents, no, just with my mother. My lip trembled. My father wouldn’t be here.
The bright-green dragon lay curled at the foot of the apricot tree, partially covered by vines. My mother called the color jade green—the same shade as my eyes. As a child she talked to all the statues, but I only spoke to the dragon. I named her Daisy. Sitting down next to her now, the tears welled up at last, spilling over my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around my legs, making myself into a little ball of five-year-old misery.
“Child, why are you sad?” said a woman’s voice.
“Who said that?” I asked, wiping my cheek.
“Where are you?” I stood and peered at the plants and statues around me.
“Are not,” I retorted.
A soft laugh filled the air and the woman spoke again. “Perhaps you are right. Easy enough to fix, I suppose.”
The breeze picked up. The space beneath the apricot tree shimmered. Ripples warped the air like the heat over the barbecue when my father cooked. The sweet notes of wind chimes filled the yard. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t have any wind chimes. I whirled around to find the noise.
Under the branches appeared an enormous green dragon’s head. My mouth opened in a silent O and I held my breath.
• • •
Erika is a sixth generation San Franciscan of Irish descent. She attended the University of California at Davis and completed degrees in Medieval History and Biological Sciences. A lifelong lover of books and a scribbler of many tales from a young age (her first story was completed at age five) she turned to writing full-time in 2011.
Erika resides in Northern California with her incredibly hot husband, their three amazing kids, and their chocolate Labrador named Selkie. To reach Erika regarding her books, wine recommendations, or to debate which Iron Maiden album is the best (clearly, it’s Brave New World), you can find her online at www.erikagardner.com.
Find Erika online:
Tuesday, 16 February 2016
An American Detective Series, #3
Genre: Romantic Mystery
Digital Price: $1.99 (99c/99p through 19 Feb)
BUY HERE: TIRGEARR PUBLISHING
Kelly Sanders and Michel Phillipe once again find themselves embroiled in crime, mystery, and romance. This time, the action is set amongst the exotic backdrop of the sizzling city of Rio de Janeiro. Feisty PI, Kelly, and her partner, Michel, are engaged to find a kidnapped girl, and, as the action shifts between Rio's notorious Favela district and the high-flying world of a top hotel, they are soon tipped into a whirlwind of thrills, spills, and mayhem.
• • •
“Michel, we haven’t had a meaty case in weeks.”
My chair was like rock underneath me, so I rose from my desk and restlessly prowled the room. I took out my compact from my bag and studied my reflection. Blonde hair, check. Pink lips, check. White teeth, also check. But my blue eyes were dull and my complexion, pallid. Even allowing for the wintry weather.
“If I have to find one more lost dog or cat,” I said, eyeing my own cat, Yankee, sourly, “I’m going to set up my own fur coat business!”
Yankee, as if aware of this threat to his fluffy ginger fur, leapt on to my desk and meowed plaintively.
“Oh, OK, not you, I suppose. You want some Pussy Galore?” I asked, referring to his favourite food. “Come on then.”
Michel, who had kept busy by re-designing the filing system, agreed. “Oui. It must be the time of year.”
“Bless you, Michel. But you and I both know it’s that blasted new agency that’s taking all our business. Just because their whizz-kid boss struck gold with their first case.”
Right across town, a new detective agency had opened up, and they’d been whipping the cases right out from under our noses. I reckoned they’d gotten lucky with their very first assignment, a high-profile politician who’d been caught taking bribes. The doorbell rang into the stillness. Michel jumped up. “A client at last.”
It was the opposition. Speak of the devil. Réne Réydoine approached my desk, his oily smile prominent. “Ah, Kelly. How is business?”
“Great.” I lied. “You?”
His smirk irked me.
He bent to stroke Yankee but that smart cat hissed and scratched his hand.
“I have got a jewel robbery to solve,” he said, when he’d stopped cursing. “So, I was wondering who that contact was who helped you in that Eiffel Tower business?”
“Sorry,” I said. “That’s confidential.”
He looked a bit miffed, but hey, that’s life. Michel had no sympathy for him either. He stood with folded arms till Réydoine, getting the message at last, said, “OK. Well, I will let you know when I have caught the crook, then!” He took off, rubbing his sore hand.
I kicked the desk, wishing it was my rival. “That man really bugs me. There’s something so smarmy about him, and it sets my nose twitching everytime he comes near. I’m sure he’d stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
“I agree,” said Michel, my ever-loyal sidekick and, I’m happy to say, my lover too. “He wants taking down some pegs, that one.”
My gaze travelled down my partner’s wiry body as he bent over the filing cabinet, engrossed in the intricacies of G to L, and my mood lightened. Michel and I had been a couple for over a year now, and life was more or less idyllic. I got up from my desk, startling Yankee, and strolled over to the window. OK, so business wasn’t grand at the moment, but there were worse places to be a failed detective.
I leaned out and breathed in the unique Parisian air on this perfect, crisp winter day. It was February, and the sights, sounds, and smells of my adopted city struck my senses. I could hear the ever-moving throb of traffic, Paris being one of the busiest cities in Europe. Mingled with this were noises of people passing underneath: laughing, chattering, and full of the sounds of life. The delicious smells of the street carts wafted upwards; they sold practically everything from crepes and frites to sandwiches and pizza.
The view was pretty good too. Higgledy-piggledy rooftops stretched as far as I could see. In the background the huge bulk of the Eiffel Tower soared into a pale blue sky. It sure was breath taking.
The sound of a second doorbell chime interrupted my reverie, and I jumped up, narrowly avoiding banging my head on the window frame. “Ah, Watson, a client, if I mistake not,” I misquoted.
Michel hurried to the door.
Next minute, you could have knocked me over with a puff of pipe tobacco, because who should walk in but my ex-boyfriend, Dan Boreszto.
There had been no warning, and the shock was severe. Check it out. I had supposed him to be several thousand miles away in the good old US of A, but now he had materialised in my office.
Michel looked at me with raised eyebrows, seemingly surprised at this informal method of address by a client.
I was gawping, but finally managed to let out a squeak. “H-hi, Dan.” Then, more strongly, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Michel was in the act of pulling out a chair for my ex, but at the mention of his name he scowled darkly, as if he’d like to pull it right out from under him. Dan, thankfully oblivious to the daggers emanating from Michel’s eyes, said, “I’ve come to hire your services. How do you feel about going to Rio de Janeiro?”
• • •
Marie Maher has written for a number of magazines. She also has two books published on Amazon Kindle, Thirteen Days in Spain, and Ciao! Amore. These are light-hearted romantic mysteries set in various locations on the sunny Mediterranean, and are part of a series entitled 'Mediterranean Mysteries'.
Marie lives in South Yorkshire, England, with her husband, Patrick, and daughter, Sarah. She has another daughter, Helen, and a son, Karl, who have four lovely children between them! She also has to find time to keep up with her rescue dog, Poppy.
Find Marie online:
Friday, 12 February 2016
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Digital Price: $3.99 (99c/99p through 14 Feb)
BUY HERE: TIRGEARR PUBLISHING
Following the recent death of her father, and in need of both a job and somewhere to live, Kiya takes a housekeeping job on the spur of the moment. She soon finds herself living in a beautiful but neglected mansion, working for a strange and reclusive man.
St. John is a man scarred by the past, both physically and emotionally, and is determined to live out his life alone. They are two very different people, drawn to each other almost against their will, but can Kiya convince St. John that he is not the monster he believes himself to be?
• • •
Eventually the taxi pulled up outside an impressive set of wrought iron gates, through which could be seen a sweeping driveway disappearing into thick foliage. Only a couple of miles from the village she had visited yesterday, the grounds were obviously large, although nothing could be seen of the house by virtue of the high stone wall surrounding the property.
‘Will you be all right here, love?’ enquired the taxi driver, placing her suitcases on the ground beside her.
‘Yes, this is fine, thank you.’ Kiya paid the rather considerable fare, wincing slightly at the expense, and watched as he drove away down the narrow lane. She turned back to the huge gates, wondering how on earth she was supposed to get in, then noticed the electronic box set into the wall at one side. Moving closer, she pressed the button hesitantly.
‘Yes?’ Despite the crackle of static, the deep voice managed to convey irritation.
‘Hi, it’s Kiya Williams, I…’
With a click, the intercom abruptly switched off and the gates swung slowly open. Kiya stared down the driveway in exasperation; during the limited conversation she had had with the man, she had not yet managed to complete a single sentence. Realising that the gates were beginning to close again, she snatched up her suitcases and hurried through.
Kiya followed the curving driveway with more than a fair amount of trepidation, the less than reassuring words of the two shopkeepers she had met yesterday flying around her head. She came to an abrupt halt when the house came into view, her breath quite taken away. It was a beautiful, rambling, ivy-covered mansion – the kind that, as a young girl, she had dreamt of owning. She walked towards the house, noting as she got closer that although the circular lawn in front had been mown recently, the flowerbeds were overgrown and choked with weeds. Looking more critically at the house, she noticed that the whole building had a slightly forlorn air of neglect, as if it were empty.
Just as Kiya lifted her hand to knock on the enormous double front door, she saw the envelope taped to one side of the brass doorknocker; her name scrawled on it in large, bold handwriting. Opening the envelope, she took out a letter and a set of keys.
Please find enclosed a set of house keys for your convenience. We did not discuss remuneration on the telephone yesterday, but I have made enquiries regarding the current rate of pay and trust that monthly payment will be satisfactory. As this is to be your home as well as your place of employment, you may have free access to all rooms, excluding my bedroom (first floor, last door on the left) and my study, which is the second room to the right of the hall. I expressly ask that you do not disturb me here. A bed has been made up for you in the first room on your left at the top of the stairs, however you are free to choose any room you wish. The only other proviso I have is that you do not use the kitchen between the hours of 7am-8am, 1pm-2pm, and 6pm-7pm, when I shall prepare my own meals.
St. John O’Neill
Kiya read the note in disbelief. Don’t use the kitchen between certain hours? She had thought the two women in the shop were exaggerating when they’d told her he was strange, but now she was beginning to wonder.
• • •
Ellie loves to write sweet romance and YA fiction, and is very proud to be a member of the Romantic Novelist Association. She lives in the beautiful East Riding of Yorkshire with her partner, David, two children, two cats and a chinchilla.
Currently working full-time in public services and studying for an MSc in Public Management, Ellie one day hopes to achieve her ambition of writing full time.
Find Ellie online:
Tuesday, 9 February 2016
The Element of Love Series, #1
Gloria C. Bishop
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Digital Price: $3.99 (99c/99p through 12 Feb)
BUY HERE: TIRGEARR PUBLISHING
Everyone remembers their childhood as being magical. Lee just found out hers really was.
After suffering a run of bad luck, Lee wants nothing more than to lick the wounds of her past and bury herself away from reality, but she discovers a world of magic, a history she never realized existed. Her destined elementals are being held against their will and the only way to find them is to align with the incredibly delectable, unbelievably stubborn Jeremy. They wind down pathways that will take their undeniable chemistry even higher as they move closer to the sinister plot that has stolen her birthright. Together they will find the villain and learn that sometimes fire and water can mix with steamy, hot results.
A spark of flame glows. A sprinkle of rains slows.
• • •
Bill excused himself and stood, forcing Lee to lean away so that he would have space to leave the table, her hand reached behind her to steady herself and brushed against a hard male muscular thigh. She whipped her head around to stare into Jeremy’s eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She smiled and moved her hand away from the hard muscles she had touched. Her fingertips still tingled.
“No problem.” Jeremy spoke for the first time; his voice low with a distinct growl to it. “So what is Lee short for?” He asked.
“I prefer just Lee. But my full name is Leandra.” Lee found herself turning towards Jeremy, wanting to talk to him.
“Leandra suits you.” His voice brooked no argument, as though he stated a fact. “So little Leandra, full of fire, what brings you to Toronto?”
Lee watched his eyes, trying to suss out if she was being made fun of. Finding nothing but serious enquiry on his face, she answered. “My father died six months ago, and then our home burnt down last month. I decided the time had come to try my luck in the big city.”
“You’re around the same age as the rest of us, I’d say. Mid-twenties? Why did you stay home so long?” His eyes narrowed as he watched her, and he leaned out of the shadows so that Lee could see the slight scruff that marred his perfect jaw line. Total bad ass screamed into Lee’s mind as she watched him.
Jeremy nodded as though agreeing with her.
“My dad got sick just before I graduated from high school. I stayed home and took care of him.”
“What did he get sick from?” Jeremy asked.
“He had a massive stroke. It left him unable to speak, or move easily. He suffered for nearly six years. As much as I grieved for him, it was a blessing for him.” Lee tore her gaze away, stifling the emotions that threatened her when she thought of her strong, capable dad reduced to relying on her to feed him.
“I’m sorry for your loss. Where was your mother?” Jeremy showed a genuine interest; he leaned towards her, and cocked his head listening while she spoke.
“My mom died a long time ago.” Lee gazed at him, confused as to why she answered all his questions while she knew little more about him besides he looked divine in the black, fitted, long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans he wore to perfection. He was a hell of a specimen of manliness. Lee wanted to reach up to confirm that any drool existed only in her lust-addled brain and didn’t actually drip down her chin.
Lee shook her head. Jeremy looked at her for quite some time, until the silence became uncomfortable, and Lee was filled with self-consciousness. His eyes lightened; they went from a sapphire ringed with green to an aqua almost blue-green. His gaze wandered over her face and his jaw tightened.
After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. “So little Leandra, all alone in the big bad world. Thinking her tattoos and bad ass attitude along with her charms,” he smirked the word, “will help her get by.”
“Excuse me?” Lee shook her head, taken aback by what he said.
“Just making an observation. You seem to be one of those 'woe is me' kind of girls. You come here talking big, telling everyone your sob story. You’re looking for someone to take care of you.”
“Really?” Lee’s voice rang out like a whip. “And you appear, to me, to be a dick for brains who makes assumptions based on a snap judgment. You asked me questions, I answered and now after an entire five-minute conversation you think you know me? Please. Get over yourself.” She turned around to face the group, determined to ignore the ass hat sitting beside her.
Unable to focus on the conversation she stood and moved to the bar, definitely ready for another drink and unwilling to wait until the waitress returned.
As she stood at the long gleaming wooden counter, she took several long breaths. The bartender took her order and then moved away to retrieve her drink.
A sixth sense came over her and she knew someone stood behind her, she turned to see Jeremy, his six foot four inch frame towering over her. The top of her head came up to his chin. Nonetheless, determined not to let him intimidate her, she put her hands on her hips and glared up at him.
“What? Come to try to make me feel bad? Listen buddy, that’s not gonna work. I’ve dealt with apes like you for a hell of a long time, and no one is going to make me uncomfortable. I don’t have any idea what I did to make you think so low of me, and frankly I don’t give a shit. It could be as simple as you man-struating but whatever, it doesn’t matter. Men like you are a dime a dozen.” She went to turn around until Jeremy spoke.
• • •
Gloria was born and raised in small town southwestern Ontario Canada in a family of epic proportions. She grew up with seven sets of grandparents, two dads, one mom, four siblings and so many aunts and uncles her hubby still can’t keep track of them.
She is an avid reader, gobbling up four books a week. She reads everything from romance, to fantasy to paranormal. More than anything Gloria loves a happy ending. She started writing early and never stopped, although she was in her thirties before she believed she had something anyone else might want to read. So after thirty years of writing she finally stopped throwing pages out and decided to send a novel off to a publisher.
Also a self-professed geek, she can often be found at conventions (although you might not recognize her as she loves doing make up and cosplaying). Her fandoms include The Princess Bride, Firefly (well anything Joss Whedon), zombies and more.
She is happily married to the man of her dreams, whom she met at the only toga party she ever attended at college. They live together with their two teenage kids and a slightly overweight cockapoo named Spike.
She loves to hear from readers and promises to respond! Shoot her a friend request on social media.
Find Gloria online:
Friday, 5 February 2016
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Digital Price: $4.99 (99c/99p through 7 Feb)
BUY HERE: TIRGEARR PUBLISHING
On her deathbed, Aileen’s mother reveals a secret she has kept for eighteen years, and pleads with her daughter to fulfill a last wish. Torn by grief, Aileen leaves Dublin, the Fair City, and Dermot, the man she has grown to love.
Lonely and vulnerable, she unwittingly befriends a salesman at the seed mill where she has found work. Suddenly, her life becomes entrenched with danger.
On a visit back to Dublin, Aileen discovers a devastating truth, but her mother’s last request is still shrouded in a mystery she is determined to unravel. When she finally decides to return to Dermot, and the family she loves, will the secret she too is now hiding tear her and Dermot apart?
• • •
Aileen Maguire stood up to stretch her back and looked out the bedroom window overlooking the busy Dublin street. Business went on as usual. England had won the World Cup, and men walked out of the newsagents with rolled-up copies of the morning’s newspaper stuffed into their jacket pockets. But, in the bedroom above the haberdashery on the corner of upper Dorset Street, eighteen-year-old Aileen’s mother lay dying.
With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the bedroom where her father was slumped in a chair by the side of the bed, his head in his hands. She picked up a cup of beef tea and held it out to him. ‘Come on now, Da. You’ve got to stay strong.’
He glanced up, exhaustion on his pale face. ‘Your mother’s been rambling again,’ he said. ‘For the life of me, I don’t know what she’s on about.’
‘Look, Da, you go and get your head down. I’ll sit with Ma.’
Jonny Maguire stretched his tall, lean frame and stood up. His hair, the colour of gunmetal, hung limply below his ears and across his forehead. Aileen had given up nagging him to have it cut. Since Ma had taken ill three weeks ago, he had dug in his heels. He cupped his hands around the mug as if he was cold. ‘You’ll call me if…’
‘I will, Da. Now, go on! I’ll nip down and check the shop later.’
Her ma’s eyes were closed but she appeared agitated, as if she was having a bad dream. Aileen pulled a chair closer to the bed and held her hand.
‘Jonny. Is that you, Jonny?’ Jessie Maguire’s voice was but a whisper.
‘It’s me, Ma. Da’s having a kip.’
Jessie turned her head towards her daughter. ‘Aileen! My perfect little girl!’
‘Not little any more, Ma, and not perfect either.’
As her mother gripped Aileen’s hand, the doorbell jingled in the shop below. Her mother tightened her grip and struggled to sit up ‘Is…someone looking after the shop?’
‘Everything is fine, Ma. No need for you to fret.’ Her mother appeared to have forgotten she had recently employed a woman part-time.
‘You’ll look after things. Your da won’t…cope well without me. And watch out for Lizzy. I don’t have long, so…listen to me.’ Her mother’s voice rasped as she struggled to breathe. Aileen stood up, dipped a cloth in a bowl of cool water, wrung it out, and gently bathed her ma’s brow.
‘Don’t try and talk,’ Aileen said, concealing her distress. ‘Da will be fine, Ma, and so will you. So, please, no more of that talk.’
Her mother’s face looked grey against the white cotton pillowcase. Aileen gently lifted her ma’s head and helped her to suck through a straw the nourishing drink recommended by the doctor.
‘I need to confess. Ask…the priest…to call in.’
Aileen placed the glass back on the side table. ‘But it’s only a week since he was here, Ma. What do you need forgiveness for?’ Aileen kissed the side of her mother’s face.
• • •
Cathy Mansell writes romantic fiction. Her recently written family sagas are set in her home country of Ireland. One of these sagas closely explores her affinities with Dublin and Leicester. Her children's stories are frequently broadcast on local radio and she also writes newspaper and magazine articles. Cathy has lived in Leicester for fifty years. She belongs to Leicester Writers' Club and edited an Arts Council-funded anthology of work by Lutterworth Writers, of which she is president.
Find Cathy online:
Tuesday, 2 February 2016
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Digital Price: $3.99 (99c/99p through 5 Feb)
BUY HERE: TIRGEARR PUBLISHING
Finbar Donahue, former Army Ranger, walked on the wild side in Iraq, but now he lives in the shadows. After his evasive partner, Les, was shot in a random drive-by, Finn discovers cash is siphoned monthly. He fights to keep his investment company afloat. When the late partner’s girlfriend, Amy Kintyre, applies for his bookkeeping job, Finn suspects she knows about his company drain and hires her.
Amy needs a nine-to-five with free evenings and weekends to get her fashion design business back on track. She unearths Les’ s secret bank account and alerts Finn. Freezing of the money laundering account sets off havoc within an Irish gang. Amy witnesses a gang fight between a brutal ISIS fundraising organization and the Irish. Desperate to escape a stalker’s crosshairs, she seeks refuge with Finn. As danger heats up, sparks fly hotter.
Les is alive. After cheating the Irish mob, he became their target. Mistaken identity took the life of his disabled twin brother. Now Les makes another deal—trading Amy and stolen drugs for their forgiveness. Stakes are high as Finn tracks assassins across the San Bernardino Mountains. If he gets her back, can he trust her?
• • •
The front door opened. “Sorry, we’re closed.” Holding a broom, Burlie swept behind the bar.
Finn stepped closer. Drunken merrymakers, they were not. His heart hammered like it was stuck in overdrive.
“We offer protection.” Speaking with a Spanish accent, the shortest of the trio dressed like the others, donned the ISIS-style full face black mask.
“I have protection.” Burlie’s big mouth nailed his coffin.
A second thug grabbed the bartender’s hand and pulled out clippers. “You’ll change your mind, one finger at a time.”
“I just paid the Irish.” Panic burrowed into Burlie’s high-pitched cry. He thrashed his arms as he tried to pull his hand back.
“Us you pay”. His utterance with the object in the first position identified him as an Arab speaker. Light glinted off shiny metal. The thug pulled a combat knife, grabbed Burlie’s arms, spun him, put the blade to his neck. Finn dialed 911 and then shouted, “Finn Donahue here. Gang trouble. Burlie’s Jazz Club,” To grab their attention even more, he heaved in a breath and released a long whistle. His distraction worked.
Burlie broke from the hold, and Finn thanked God for the curious.
“Where are you?” Heavy boots pounded toward him.
Finn’s phone vibrated, but he killed the call and darted into the first door he saw, the one with the frosted pink window. He spotted Amy at the sink and pointed his index finger up.
He took off his coat and wrapped it around his fist. After rapping on the glass, he wound up and threw a hard punch through the window. Glass splintered as he connected with the thug’s nose. Prepared to jump aside, he opened the door.
Amy followed and jumped over the guy spread on the floor, holding a hand over his bleeding nose.
He struggled to stand. Finn patted him down, took his gun, and pointed it at him. After the guy stood, Finn walked him to a chair. “Don’t move.”
“I’ll phone the police.” A high-pitched squeal came from the back of her throat. “Never mind. Police are here.”
From the street, the blue light of a cop car radiated across the club’s interior like a strobe. Uniforms burst through the door.
The first officer made radio contact with homicide, and the second, much younger, rushed to the nearest thug and pulled out flex-cuffs.
“Stand over there, Amy.” Finn motioned toward a corner.
She rolled her eyes and dashed toward Burlie who wrestled with the Arab and tried to keep him from moving toward the young rookie. Amy pulled an item from her purse. A Swiss army knife? Out came a miniature cork screw.
The rookie cop turned the Arab around to be handcuffed and leaned him against a wall. The thug used the hard surface as leverage to throw himself against him.
Finn saw it coming. A switchblade . . .
• • •
Book Buyers Best finalist, Kathleen Rowland, is devoted to giving her readers fast-paced, high-stakes suspense with a sizzling love story sure to melt their hearts. Kathleen used to write computer
programs but now writes novels.She grew up in Iowa, where she caught lightning bugs, ran barefoot, and raced her sailboat on Lake Okoboji. Kathleen now happily exists with her witty CPA husband, Gerry, in their 70’s poolside retreat in Southern California, where she adores time spent with visiting grandchildren, dogs, one bunny, and noisy neighbors. While proud of their five children who’ve flown the coop, she appreciates the luxury of time to write while listening to characters’ demanding voices in her head.
Find Kathleen online: