Wednesday, 27 April 2016

Available Now: One Night in Charlotte by Daily Hollow

City Nights, #21
Daily Hollow

Length: Novella
Genre: Erotic Romance

Price: $2.99 (99c/99p special through Sunday 1 May)


Mark Jenson is a handsome, easy going man who enjoys drinking with his buddies and the occasional Myrtle Beach golf outing.

Gabriella is a beautiful, yet intimidating Jamaican assassin who has nearly fifty kills to her credit. Because Mark unknowingly insulted a mobster's daughter after they had a drunken night of sex, Gabriella is hired to end Mark's life. Gabriella had an unusual ritual – she would take souvenirs from her victims. Since this was her last job, and Mark being extremely good looking, his final gift to her is going to be a child.

After hooking up at a club in Charlotte, North Carolina, Gabriella finds herself attracted to Mark. The more she tries to convince herself she needs to complete her job, her feelings for Mark deepen.

• • •

It was just before midnight when Gabriella spotted him at the door paying the bouncer for the night's cover. The man was hard to miss; nearly six feet three and a solid two hundred and twenty pounds. It was his hair, though, that made him stand out among the others—long, blond, and wavy. In the photos, his eyes were blue enough to melt the coldest of hearts—perhaps even hers.

Not a fucking chance!

Then why are you here?

You know the answer to that.

Did she?

God, he was devourable!

He moved carefully through the sea of pathetic fools dancing pathetic dances to even more pathetic music. Gabriella tensed as he garnered several stares from the makeup hos in their skimpy outfits and tight-fitting tops.

His name was Marcus Leonard Jenson, but went by Mark. He was born in Billings, Montana on February 19th, 1987. He had graduated high school in 2005, worked as an assistant manager at a clothing store, and then later accepted an administrative job at the company's headquarters in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Gabriella had flown into Charlotte four days ago, spending most of her time making preparations, staking him out, and looking for secure places to dump the body.

Upon her arrival, it had taken Gabriella less than five minutes to hack into Mark's computer, and nearly ten to access his cell. Judging by his browsing history, he was into strong, dominant women. That pleased Gabriella. Very much.

She smiled, her eyes tracking him.

Mark took a seat at a table with three other guys—one she guessed was Kyle, who had called him yesterday evening, wanting to meet up at the club.

Gabriella took out her own mobile device, then typed in a code. Moments later the muffled conversation between Mark and his buddies transmitted from his Android to her iPhone. She tapped the screen, increasing his volume. Gabriella held her smartphone up to her ear so she could hear over the music and laughter.

She grunted, then glared at the bitch who had the nerve to bump into her. The little slut started to say something, then thought better of it. Gabriella grinned as the frightened little twat-rocket scurried away.

Motioning for a waitress, she placed her order. She kept an eye on Mark as he chatted away. A spark of jealousy flared when she caught him glancing at a table of young ladies. Her eyes narrowed when he nudged one of his buddies, then motioned toward the women. One was a blonde with really large breasts and likely an even larger opinion of herself.

Gabriella hated blonde women. Heidi had been a blonde.

Don't think about that crazy bitch!

She made you the person you are today.

Yeah, a fucking cold-blooded killer.

A very wealthy cold-blooded killer. Tomorrow night she would become over a million dollars wealthier.

She continued studying Mark as he laughed with his friends. The hired help returned with her Bacardi and coke. Gabriella handed her three twenties, then waved her off. The waitress stared at her wide-eyed, thanked her, and then left.

She may come in handy later on.

As Gabriella took another sip of her drink, some goofball with dreads and a goatee approached. She shot him a look that froze him in his tracks. Like the bitch moments ago, he wisely walked away. Heidi had taught her how to use her eyes to intimidate.

The eyes can freeze even the strongest man's soul, Heidi once said.

Gabriella weaved her way through the club, which was beginning to get crowded. When she was about twenty feet from Mark, Gabriella waited patiently for the right moment to send off the vibe, which was self-taught and highly effective.

• • •

Daily Hollow is an erotic romance writer residing in the Carolinas. He is married, has a young son, three dogs, two rats, and two cats. He has had a short story published in the anthology Tie Me Up. His short story, Eve's Daisy, spent a brief moment in Amazon's top 100 and Amazon UK's top 20. His other publications include A Night of Firsts and Leslie's Dilemma.

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Friday, 22 April 2016

Available Now: Practical Passion by Elizabeth Delisi

Elizabeth Delisi

Length: Novel
Genre: Erotic Romance
Digital Price: $2.99 (99c/99p through 28 March)

BUY HERE: Tirgearr Publishing

Julie Preston worked hard raising her younger sister, Emily, after their parents died, and creating a career. She gave up simple pleasures like love and relationships. So when a friend drags her to a singles bar, Julie’s ready for anything. She meets a gorgeous guy and they spend several passionate hours together. There’s real chemistry there, but Julie regretfully sticks to her promise: a one-night stand, no strings.

When Julie hires a tutor to help Emily pass English, she’s shocked to find Douglas Dean is the man from the bar. Seeing him in her house makes it hard to keep her hands off him, but he isn’t looking for a long-term relationship since he’s a singles bar patron. Right?

How many miles can Julie jog before she gives in and jumps him?

• • •

Tanya glanced over her shoulder in the direction Julie was staring, then turned back and kicked Julie’s shin under the table. “Close your mouth,” she hissed, tapping her chin with the back of her fingers for emphasis. “You look ridiculous.”

Julie snapped her mouth shut and swallowed, disgusted with herself. She was all but drooling, for heaven’s sake. Had it really been so long since she’d been paid any attention? She smoothed her long brunette hair with a trembling hand and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. He was just a man. A good-looking one, but just a man. A man she’d like to eat for breakfast…

“Hello, ladies,” the man said, smiling down on them. His voice was deep, resonant and luscious. “My name is Stephen. And you are?”

“Marie,” Tanya said, delivering another kick under the table. “I’m Marie, and my friend is Anne.”

Julie and Tanya had agreed to use only their middle names if they met anyone promising. “There’ll be no complications that way,” Tanya had assured her. “You can have a one-night stand if you want, and the next day it’ll be as if it never happened. No way for the guy to track you down and cause an embarrassing incident.”

“Hi, Marie,” Stephen said, shaking Tanya’s hand. Then he took Julie’s hand in both of his. “Pleased to meet you, Anne.”

Julie tried to stifle a gasp. Stephen’s hands were warm, comforting, and yet somehow erotic. His touch shot a lightning bolt of desire straight to her groin. She jerked her hand from his grasp and shook her head, puzzled. Was she really so desperate after a few years of celibacy? Or was there something between them, some instant connection?

“Won’t you have a seat?” Tanya said.

Julie tucked her legs under her chair to avoid the third kick she knew was coming.

“Yes, please do join us,” Julie added. She needed to get her mind back on track and remember her manners if she didn’t want to lose the opportunity to spend some time with the best-looking guy in the place.

“Thanks, I’d like that,” Stephen said, and dropped into a chair between the two of them. Julie shivered as she caught a whiff of his spicy aftershave. He smelled like heaven.

“Why don’t you two get to know each other?” Tanya said with a wave of her bangled arm. “I have to visit the little girls’ room and powder my nose.” She rose and left the table, winking at Julie when Stephen wasn’t looking. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Julie groaned. What wouldn’t Tanya do? She turned to Stephen. “So, Stephen…um…are you from around here?”

“Yup, I am.” He grinned at her and her heart pounded. “You?”

“Yes. No. Well, I’m from around here, but not right here. I live…over there.” She pointed west and floundered to a stop as warmth crept up her cheeks. Lord, she was babbling like a fool. “Would you…um…like a drink?”

He shook his head. “I’ve had one and I’m not ready for another. What I’d really like now is to dance with you. Shall we?” He gestured to the crowded dance floor.

Julie looked at the bar patrons moving to the music. The band was playing a fast-paced eighties disco number, and the couples were so far apart, it was hard to tell who was dancing with whom. “Sure,” she said. “Let’s dance.” It seemed harmless enough—safer than more alcohol. She was already making an idiot of herself.

She let Stephen take her hand, steeling herself to avoid reacting to his touch, and he led her out onto the dance floor.
No sooner had they reached a small open spot than the band began to play a slow, sensual love song. Stephen opened his arms and waited for her to step into them, a sexy smile on his handsome face.

Julie was stuck. She couldn’t very well back out of their dance now, after she’d accepted his invitation. That would be rude. She stepped closer, and he pulled her to him, moving in time to the music. She mirrored his moves. He was a fabulous dancer, no question about that.

Her resolve to maintain distance between them weakened, and she allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. He smelled wonderful. His warm, hard body, pressed against hers, felt better than anything she’d ever experienced, his strong arms holding her just tightly enough. He knew how to move, how to hold her, how much pressure to exert to lead her where he wanted her to go. They swayed to the music together, in sync, one. The rest of the world faded away.

Damn. Julie knew she was lost.

• • •

Elizabeth Delisi wanted to be a writer since she was in first grade, and probably would have written in the womb if she could have convinced her mother to swallow a pencil. But life hasn't always gone the way she planned, and on her road to publication she worked as a motel maid, waitress, secretary, administrative aide, substitute teacher, and newspaper reporter.

Elizabeth is a multi-published, award-winning author of romance, mystery and suspense. Her time-travel romance set in ancient Egypt, Lady of the Two Lands, won a Bloody Dagger Award and was a Golden Rose Award nominee. Her romantic suspense novel, Since All is Passing, was an EPPIE Award finalist and Bloody Dagger Award finalist. Fatal Fortune was a Word Museum Reviewer’s Choice Masterpiece. Elizabeth's contemporary romance novella The Heart of the Matter is featured in the Valentine's Day-themed anthology Cupid's Capers and was an EPPIE Award finalist. A Carol of Love is part of Holiday Hearts anthology and an EPPIE Award finalist. A Cup of Christmas Charm is part of Holiday Hearts 2 anthology and was also an EPPIE Award finalist. Elizabeth is also the author of the newly released speculative short fiction collection, The Midnight Zone.

Elizabeth is an instructor for Writer’s Digest University. She has taught Creative Writing at the community college level, has worked as a copyeditor for several small publishers, and edits for individuals. She holds a B.A. in English with a Creative Writing major from St. Leo University.

Elizabeth is currently at work on Deadly Destiny and Perilous Prediction, the sequels to Fatal Fortune, and Knit A Spell, a paranormal romance.

Elizabeth lives in New Hampshire with her husband and feisty parakeet. She enjoys hearing from her readers.

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Tuesday, 19 April 2016

Available Now: Going Back by Jenniger Young

The Lake Garda Series, #2
Jennifer Young

Length: Novel
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Price: $4.99 (99c/99p special through Sunday the 24th)


Feisty, redheaded, and fabulously rich student, Leona Castellano, is set upon returning to her Italian roots to put an old feud to bed. Her grandfather is dead, but his former enemy, Faustino Manfredi, seems determined the hostility should not die with him and turns his fury upon Leona.

When she becomes close to Faustino’s grandson, Nico, their romance strengthens Faustino’s vendetta and attracts the opposition of Leona’s parents, bringing Leona and Nico face to face with a terrible secret.

• • •

‘Leona. I take it you have not seen this?’

This was my mother’s iPad, in the case I bought her for her birthday in the days when iPads were fat. The gadgetry might have moved through several incarnations but the iPad case was still the same, except that she’d had to pad it with folded paper to stop the super-slender gizmo sliding around inside. Funny the things you notice when you’re trying your hardest to concentrate on being demure to head off a whole load of trouble.

I took the iPad, case and all, with due circumspection. I never thought of myself as a coward, but if there were two people in the world who could make me tremble they were my parents when they were united in purpose – and that purpose was bringing me to book. In the past few years that hadn’t happened often, because since they’d divorced the task of imposing discipline was one that they’d tossed from one to the other like a ticking bomb in a deadly game of pass-the-parcel. And anyway – I had to remind myself of this – as I was a grown adult, they had no control over me or what I did.

This last thought offered me neither consolation nor courage as I sat, head dutifully bowed making a detailed study of my shoes, in the bar of one of Edinburgh’s best hotels. I’d barely taken my seat before they’d started into me. I’d thought at least they’d have the decency to let me order a drink. ‘No.’

‘Read it,’ recommended my mother, in a voice cold enough to shatter steel.

I touched the screen with a cautious finger and it leapt into light to reproach me. An online edition of an Italian language magazine. That was no problem. I was a fluent Italian speaker. And anyway, the piece was very short.

A dramatic incident disturbed wealthy guests at an upmarket hotel in the resort of Sirmione, on Lake Garda, earlier this week, with the attempted kidnap of heiress Leona Castellano.

I lifted my eyes, an unladylike curse withering on my lips as I saw the look on her face. ‘Oh.’

‘Keep reading, Leona.’

‘Miss Castellano, 21, from Scotland, inherited €100m following the death of her grandfather, Marco Castellano, in August last year, and was visiting Sirmione on holiday with a friend. Her stay at the Hotel Villa Martino was rudely interrupted by an attempt to abduct her, thought to be for a ransom. The attempt was foiled by the prompt action of the hotel staff, and the police were not involved. The potential attackers left the premises before they could reach Miss Castellano, who was unhurt and has now returned to Edinburgh, where she is studying Italian.

‘We take our responsibility for protecting our guests very seriously indeed,’ hotel manager Nico Manfredi said, ‘but beyond that I don’t wish to comment.’

My eye lingered a little longer than necessary on the accompanying photo of Nico, pictured in front of the hotel. It was slightly out of focus and badly exposed, but even so it couldn’t hide how attractive he was. I read on.

Marco Castellano was born in the town of Desenzano, also on Lake Garda, and left Italy for London, where he made his fortune in building and other businesses.

That was it. I laid the iPad down on the table and cast around for some positives. ‘At least it doesn’t mention the feud.’

‘It does not,’ allowed Mum with extreme care, as if she were in court and giving testimony for her life, ‘mention that your grandfather and Faustino Manfredi had a disagreement. No. We should be thankful for that. And also thankful, I suppose, that there is no picture of you and that no other media outlet seems to find it newsworthy. But beyond that…’ She took the iPad, closed it, laid it back down on the table, and sat back, punishing me with silence.

‘It’s inaccurate,’ I said, in some desperation. ‘At so many levels. Really.’

My parents sat and waited.

‘It isn’t €100 million. It’s only around seventy million.’ Though that was enough; more than enough. ‘And I’m not from Scotland. I’m from Surrey. So they got that wrong.’ And the rest was pretty much all wrong, too.

‘Regardless,’ noted Dad, in the driest of tones which somehow hinted that he might be about to laugh, ‘I hope you understand the implications of what you’ve done.’

‘Yes, Mum. Yes, Dad.’ I kept one thought at the forefront of my mind for the moment when I might be brave enough to turn it into words. I’m twenty-one and I can do what I like.

No, this wasn’t the moment for anything other than humility. And anyway, there was something else that festered in my brain, and had done since the kidnap attempt which had come much closer to fruition than the website suggested. Nico Manfredi, how dare you?

It was just as well for him that he was over a thousand miles away.

• • •

Jennifer Young is an Edinburgh-based writer, editor and copywriter. She is interested in a wide range of subjects and writing media, perhaps reflecting the fact that she has both arts and science degrees. Jennifer has been writing fiction, including romantic fiction, for a number of years with several short stories already published. Thanks You For The Music, which is set on the Balearic island of Majorca, is her first published novel.

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Wednesday, 13 April 2016

Available Now: The Gift by Tegon Maus

The Chronicles of Tucker Littlefield, #1
Tegon Maus

Length: Novel
Genre: Fantasy

Price: $3.99 (99c/99p special through Sunday the 17th)


Tucker Littlefield is a lair, a thief, a con-man. In an attempt to take advantage of a party thrown by the King, he becomes involved in the kidnapping of the King’s niece, Elizabeth. Injured, he is saved by a shaman who turns Tucker into a Soul Bearer who is enslaved by its power, compelled to devour the souls of the dead.

"I am Tucker Littlefield. Know all that I say now is true-spoken.”

• • •

Transformed by a primitive magic beyond a civilized man’s understanding, I was given a horrible gift that no man should possess… It held me, twisted me, turning me at its bidding. I was enslaved by its power, compelled to devour the souls of the dead until I became the monster of my fears. I have seen things I wish never to see again. I have done things of which I wish never to speak. Yet I must if I am to find the answers to fulfill my hope.

I have walked upon blue ribbons of molten stone to peer into the depth of a man’s soul.

I watched as a promise made at birth brought my friend Enon to sacrifice everything to become whole again – all in an effort to save the life of his child.

I have cried without shame for the loss of all I hold dear and for fear that the future will hold more than I can bear.

I am Tucker Littlefield. Know all that I say now is true-spoken.

* * *

I pushed hard at the large wooden door. It swung open with a well-worn groan. Stepping inside, I drew a deep breath, my lungs filling with the pungent smells of wood smoke and ale, which hung in the air of all good taverns. Massive beams, rooted in the floor, rose high into the rafters, spreading their branches like outstretched arms and holding the roof as high as any basilica. The broad tables, wooden chairs, and wide plank floor, all scuffed with years of use, were like old friends to me.

“Evening, sir, I’m so happy to see you.”

“And I you, Toby,” I said, hanging up my coat.

“How is your wife this fine night?”

“It isn’t polite to ask about the welfare of the Devil in a house of worship,” I said sternly.

“Sorry, sir. I meant no offense,” he said wryly, just like always.

At fourteen, he played the game well.

“None taken, my boy, none taken,” I said, patting him on the shoulder before I headed to my usual table. “Now then, my young friend, big fish? Little fish? How large a net do we cast tonight?”

“A large one, to be sure. There are people here from seven townships for the telling,” he said with his usual enthusiasm.

“Seven, you say?” I asked playfully, secretly happy for the news.

“Aye, sir, seven,” he beamed.

“Alright then, a large one it is. Now go tell your father I’m here,” I said, pulling the chair out to make myself comfortable. On the table, a folded piece of paper with my name, Tucker Littlefield, written in bold red letters, held my place.

Shortly, the sound of heavy footsteps pounded their way out of the kitchen to greet me.

“Tucker,” Jack’s voice boomed before he reached my table.

“Jack,” I said, standing, offering my hand.

“Where’s the Devil hiding this night? Not far behind, I’ll wager,” he said, pumping my arm vigorously.

“Upon my very coattails, my friend, always but a few steps behind,” I joked.

“Well, let’s hope she doesn’t find you until after the telling,” he said, slapping me hard on the back.

“Toby said there are some from as far away as seven townships,” I said weakly.

“A few. Maybe one or two a little farther.”

“Well, we’ll see then, won’t we?”

“Who knows, my friend, maybe one of them will have news.”

“Stranger things, I suppose,” I said.

“Only good things tonight, huh? At least until the Devil catches you here,” he said, trying to change my mood.

I nodded in agreement. My mind spun with the thought.

“Something to eat?” he asked.

“Sure, a little something,” I replied.

“Big fish, little fish,” he said with a weak smile and returned to the kitchen.

“Big fish, little fish,” I called after him.

• • •

Married forty-three years to a woman he calls Dearheart, Tegon Maus lives a contented life in a small town of 8,200 in Southern California. By day, Tegon is a successful home remodeling contractor, but his passion is storytelling.

Tegon's progatonists are frequently wedged between a rock and a hard place, but manage to work things out through the story. Like most when pushed into a corner, it only brings out the best in his characters and become the unstoppable force of a reluctant hero. Tegon's signature style is creating characters who are driven and believable, and who strive to find happiness.

Tegon is the author of The Chronicles Of Tucker Littlefield series.

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Wednesday, 6 April 2016

Available Now: The Better Part of Valour by Rex Burns

Rex Burns

Length: Novel
Genre: Thriller

Price: $4.99 (99c/99p special through Sunday the 10th)


Caught up in a low budget revolution fought in the jungles of Colombia, Cornelius Mead faces the challenges of survival in the chaos and insanity of war while clinging to his dream of turning the Guyana massacre site of Jonestown into a theme park.

• • •

The Reception Room had not changed since I saw it that first time. Nor had Chief Resident Marlitt. The same plywood decking spread like an empty dance floor pinched under the Quonset’s curving metal. At one end, the Chief Resident’s desk surveyed the open space to judge those dances that took place on a floor worn shiny by sweating, tortured flesh. Above the desk, like a furry tail, hung the same curl of flypaper, black and soft with the captured wings of flies and moths. Beneath my spongy shoes, the plywood gave the same uneasy creak.

I waited in silence for the squat, thick-bodied man behind the desk to finish whatever he was writing. Probably the same thing he had been scratching on when I stood here six months ago, believing that things could get no worse.

Finally, he looked up, face as broad and unfeeling as a Mayan statue. And equally verbose. He reached into a small tray and without taking those flat, brown eyes off me, eyes that measured me with the cold appetite of an alligator, lifted out a stained and worn manila folder and flicked it to his desk like a dead moth.

“How much do you know about explosives, Guest Mead?”


“It says here,” he tapped a muscular finger on my file, “that you made bombs, and that one of your bombs was used by a member of the loyal opposition. If you made bombs and you are still alive, then you know something about explosives. It’s logical, Mead.”

“Bombs? What bombs? It’s your premise that’s wrong, Chief Resident! I’m a land broker—what in God’s holy name would I know about bombs?”

“The premise is not wrong,” he stated evenly. “It is in your official dossier, so it cannot be wrong. It says—in your official dossier—that you made bombs.”

“But I know nothing of bombs! I deal in real estate: choice plantation land only a short drive from all major services. I was negotiating with investors at the Crown Colony Tennis Club when the police …A major proposal for national greatness and jobs for the people …Look, these tennis shorts, that’s all I’ve had to wear for six months—and a jockey-strap that—”

He held up a strong hand, palm out. It was a hand, we had been told by admiring Camp Counselors, that all by itself had strangled a guest who had in some minor way irritated the Chief Resident. Now its mere motion strangled my explanation.

“One of these documents is signed by Prime Minister Burnley himself. It says that you made the bomb that killed Mr. Rodney, senior member of our nation’s parliament and a personal friend of the Prime Minister.”

A thick finger tapped another limp sheet. “This second document is signed by General Tobias, commander of our National Police. It tells of another bomb you made—the one that caused a civil disturbance at the Governor’s Palace. Are you calling the Prime Minister of our great nation a liar?”

His voice dropped to an almost gentle whisper, “Are you calling my respected commander, General Tobias, a liar?”

“But I never met Rodney! And I never heard of either of those bombs! The police, they—the prime minister’s son, he—”

The whisper sharpened. “You are?”

“Are what?”

“You are calling the Prime Minister a liar? And General Tobias?”

“No! Sir, dear God, no! But—”

“Then you must be the liar, Guest Mead.”

• • •

Rex Burns is the author of numerous books, articles, reviews and stories. The first in his series of police procedurals, The Alvarez Journal, won an Edgar for Best First Mystery and introduced the hard-boiled Denver homicide detective, Gabriel Villanueva Wager. Another, The Avenging Angel, was made into a feature movie starring Charles Bronson (retitled Messenger of Death, 1988). With Suicide Season, Burns introduced the Devlin Kirk series, a Denver private detective specializing in industrial security. Novels featuring the Father/Daughter detective team of James Raiford and Julie Campbell are published by Mysterious Press/Open Road.

Burns’ books are published in hardback, paperback, and audio, and have been translated into a number of foreign languages. He is also co-editor, with Mary Rose Sullivan, of an anthology of detective stories entitled Crime Classics, and has published under the pen name “Tom Sehler.” He has published short stories in several periodicals and anthologies, and his “Leonard Smith” series of Aboriginal police stories currently appears in “Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine.”

For several years Burns wrote a monthly mystery book review column for the Rocky Mountain News. Other of his reviews have appeared there and in the Denver Post, the Miami Herald, and the Washington Post. A number of his essays on craft have been published in The Writer and elsewhere. He was a contributor to Scribner’s Mystery and Suspense Writers, and an advisor and contributor to the Oxford Companion to Mystery.

He received his AB from Stanford University, and, after serving in the Marine Corps, his MA and Ph.D. from the University of Minnesota. He has published articles on American literature and culture, and a study of nineteenth century values entitled, Success in America: The Yeoman Dream and the Industrial Revolution. Retired from the University of Colorado, he lives and writes in Boulder, CO.

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