tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66848277215214334112023-11-15T23:43:58.212-08:00All Bookish ThingsBookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.comBlogger1348125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-3744289943319436502023-02-12T13:00:00.001-08:002023-02-13T06:18:50.399-08:00The American Outsider by Homa Pourasgari<p> </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2023/02/bookblitz-american-outsider.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdwfnSHLAp4xTCuUPk1WqwI9WTQaRH7sImm_wY1YDZufeBxHkOZxPCRY4MiyrvdXgoflCNOfCBilb1uh4zpAvaXS8ejGiPITdsF84DV0AUXcgtSc_N640UtC2bTG9Ml9BcHIar_9yZqlY4u1Tp6yvdMEM_J1AqaqBTf0E-W61ViXFK0yhTnVK7sg7/w400-h200/Book%20Blitz.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><h4><span style="color: black;">"A charming read with characters who come to life on the page—and who live for a cause whose urgency shines through the story." – Booklife Review</span></h4><span style="color: black;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2023/02/bookblitz-american-outsider.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSmN0exnzFH3l4GdwSfYUnW1hpiHRm4_99iWwlyYi4W0pkBXOCTIImuvXXzSOv3cmL-eS4HJH9rPi0FEDjbryK3JjuKRmHhqg5zEAKAPv--WoM2Fim2yFjgS4-qru30yjed3UIw-1gooZsV-l2sY7A81Ec9y7Kj-QJDoQsdAQw31X4VJYjo-PRdHN/s320/eBookCover.jpg" width="200" /></a></div></div><p>Tessa Walker is a veterinarian with a strong, emotional connection to animals. As a teen, she witnessed the brutal slaughter of dolphins, and as an adult, she decides to do something about it. She leaves her home in Los Angeles and travels to Japan to speak out for them, but little does she know that she is embarking on an adventure that will change her life forever. From the urban metropolis of Tokyo to the historic Kyoto to the culinary city of Osaka, and the seaside town of Taiji, Tessa is determined to help Japanese activists stand up for her beloved mammals.</p><p>Along the way, the friendships and bonds that she builds with people in Japan, and the unconditional love of a stranger named Toshiro, open her eyes to a complicated society of conventions and traditions. Yet, her limited knowledge of the language and customs doesn't deter her from taking on a dangerous mission that could land her in jail.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Book Links:</u></b></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/361569.Homa_Pourasgari" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> * <a href="https://amzn.to/3YAPW2o" target="_blank">Amazon.in</a> * <a href="https://amzn.to/3HWpjhm" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a></b></span><br /><br /><br /></p><h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>Read an Excerpt from The American Outsider</u></span></h2><p></p><p>By the next afternoon, Tessa had already put the disastrous birthday party behind her. She realized that all her worries, concerns, and preparation for the dinner party—learning the proper things to say and do, choosing the right gift and gift wrap, dressing conservatively, and not expressing her true feelings—did not matter. The Yokoyamas had made up their minds to dislike her before they had even met her. Tessa had discussed this with Akira in the morning, and Akira reminded her that she had come to Tokyo to help save the dolphins, not worry about the opinions of others. “We are in this together for the long haul, and we both need to develop thicker skins if we want to survive adversity,” Akira told her. Tessa agreed and after Akira left for work, she went back to working on the Kyoto protest, promoting the cause on social media and making new contacts. Still in her pajamas, Tessa decided to take a nap and then do a bit of sightseeing before Akira got home. The doorbell buzzed as she laid down. She wasn’t expecting anyone. If they are looking for Akira, they’ll come back, she thought. It buzzed again and again. Tessa went to the balcony to take a quick look down at the persistent intruder. It was Toshiro. The guy doesn’t give up, she thought. Tessa was about to walk away before he could see her, but he lifted his head.<br /><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="303" data-original-width="193" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUH4H-mFvPU3bzEYwGzhCJrE_3-GQY-omiuZPbNpRkMBC8t4Qyb7WSRCUoEV6G-oOeipJCTTutYDnSun1tVzK7N9xQgKX4NjgUOhfrXMdS8-_MKDzSY63n0kRJUPoLKMbFJcCrun0-dc3s6zChXCAgftjJ0eMQJdupmmIQs081yM1Pqw7zbwOqHVH9/w127-h200/3.jpg" width="127" /></a></div><div><b>Homa Pourasgari</b> spent hours in her father’s home office, writing, reading and letting her imagination carry her to unseen worlds. She moved to Los Angeles, California, at a young age. After graduating from Loyola Marymount University with a degree in business, she went to Paris for a year to study literature at the Sorbonne. Before becoming a full-time writer, she ran her own boutique, worked at a bank and a CPA firm, was a personal trainer and even taught spinning and cardio kickboxing. When she is not writing, she is stumbling, miming and pointing to find her way in a foreign country. Her latest novel, The American Outsider, is based on her travels in Japan.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Homa on the Web:</u></b></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.homapourasgari.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> * <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100088472221231" target="_blank">Facebook</a> * <a href="https://twitter.com/homapourasgari" target="_blank">Twitter</a> </b></span></div><p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-60432395391992806362022-12-19T10:30:00.003-08:002022-12-20T00:31:20.744-08:00Bad Girl Gone Good by Alisha Kay <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/12/bad-girl-gone-good-by-alisha-kay.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyxJeUPOtmLsU0WPgvJqKJD15-7l93-FKyVdDHV6T5h6l7Vk6bQ_tecV9CwvXpcZBfMD-RtDe1psTwd_HRdrxEb16CqRqzahueh8UhjVqtwMM2K-xMmwdQqFyXFPS2V02Rl-AH7IpGWg-TPaUr3lqYzmQjg5p9W6swxNh6QY5BYlxijZGGnkpJDNQt/w400-h200/33.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_K9dgq4gGe4hca6S9iEmhbkd-WTTYlUDLRMDRxanTIa79ZcVaUCxWJ9NnKOwHGRHO602lUGLOfzDbFEAf7g5kgjIVKgArl8EfswmR613ZQ1DofPMB_Tl0XYdta_mQ09iHkrtT0ITYJ2ZtwVATlgS05KNrCf6XLso1BmTDVTWJkVkUdxlyiPf5KHG0/s320/Final-Bad%20Girl-Good.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div>When Aisha Rajput, the queen of raves and celebrity after-parties, is asked to plan a hospital fundraiser, she's convinced the sun finally rose from the west. And yet, she is determined to blow this brief out of the water for it is her one chance at redemption.<br /><br /></div><div>Seven years ago, she shattered Dr Kabir Pradhan's heart with a deliberate, conscious act of betrayal. The least she can do to make up for it is to save his hospital.</div><div><br /></div><div>Aisha is the woman who loved him and broke him. The last thing Kabir needs is for her to do it all over again with his hospital. He doesn't want her, he doesn't need her, and he certainly won't tolerate her. Or so he tells himself.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the hospital board leaves them with no choice but to work together, the stage is set for fireworks.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the heartache of the past collides with the irresistible desire of the present, the future looks to be in jeopardy. Unless the Bad Girl goes Good and saves the day.</div><div>But can she?</div><div>And does Kabir even want her to, for like it or not, his heart has always belonged to the Bad Girl, hasn't it?</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Book Links:</u></b></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/69175472-bad-girl-gone-good" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> | <a href="https://amzn.to/3Pyh3re" target="_blank">Amazon.in</a> | <a href="https://amzn.to/3WgMB7k" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a></b></span></div><div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/12/bad-girl-gone-good-by-alisha-kay.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3XeGCbo5kF4QqFOP_2CaUgPUNh90en8EyOmEzSvDmgWuXKHI90J6X7SkJn1-HLVIR_UCjg5ybaVbAKDKqnim_3_E058rd7nFNxEx0HZdTM5vgJE9HN3flP26VDG8_vJuNYV17ptJOx82JhyvDmPiswMB7LBVX7QUBmku6xA6H9rq05dZQG-cM9WH/s320/8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><h1 style="text-align: center;"><u>Read an Excerpt from Bad Girl Gone Good</u></h1><div><br /></div><div><div>KABIR<br /><br /></div><div>The Rajmata of Bannor looked positively hunted as she stared at me.<br />“She said she’s on her way, beta. I’m sure she will be here soon.”<br />My brow creased in confusion.<br />“Who is on her way? I thought we were meeting to discuss how to raise money for the new NICU.”<br />“We are! But you can’t raise funds without a proper fundraiser. And if anyone can organise a superhit, blockbuster event for you, it is she,” declared Her Highness.<br />What was the old lady smoking? We weren’t a Bollywood production house. Usha Kiran was a hospital with a reputation for quality healthcare. The manic gleam in her eyes made me very nervous, especially when she started throwing around words like superhit and blockbuster.<br />“She?” I asked carefully.<br />“Kabir, you can’t pull off such a big event all by yourself. You need an event manager.”<br />No. What I needed was for these old farts to get their heads out of their asses and come up with a plan to counter Her Highness’s schemes.<br />“Your Highness, we’re trying to collect funds, and I’m not sure how blowing up a huge chunk of money on a grand party is going to help us do that.”<br />The other members of the board nodded in agreement. The very thought of wasting money on a fundraiser made them turn ashen.<br />She shook her head in disappointment.<br />“Beta, sometimes you have to spend money to earn more.”<br />“Well, we don’t have much, to begin with, and I don’t think I can authorise such an expense when I could use the money to buy new ventilators,” I said apologetically.<br />I knew she meant well, but she needed a dose of reality. There was nothing glamorous about what we were trying to do here. We needed state-of-the-art incubators, ventilators with CPAP machines, as well as a well-trained NICU staff, all of which cost money.<br />“What if the board doesn’t have to spend a single penny? I will donate the money you need to organise the event,” she replied craftily.<br />“With due respect, Your Highness, why would you do that?"<br />She banged on the floor with the end of her walking stick.<br />“Because it is time to try something new. The world is full of people who have more money than they can spend in this lifetime. And some of them are even willing to share that wealth. You just need to know how to approach them. As for the ones that don’t want to part with their wealth, you need to know exactly how to lure and skin them,” said Her Highness, with relish.<br />Were we still talking about raising money? I had a feeling there was a ruthless serial killer lurking under that silk-clad grandmotherly exterior. I sighed as I resigned myself to an uncomfortable meeting with the event manager. But I would hear her out before I showed her the door. It was the least I could do.<br />I looked at my watch pointedly and nodded.<br />“Fine. Let’s see what this wizard of yours has in mind.”<br />There was a sharp knock at the door, and it swung open.<br />“I hope I’m not too old for one of your lollipops, Doctor Uncle,” called a voice that I hadn’t heard for years.<br />And yet, it hit me with the same force as it had seven years ago.<br />Her Highness rose to welcome her, but I stayed frozen in my seat, unable to do anything but stare at that familiar face. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck was Aisha Rajput doing here?<br />She walked into the room and greeted Her Highness with a warm hug.<br />“Now, where’s my favourite man?” she cooed, pulling away from the Rajmata of Bannor.<br />I clenched my jaw and stood up slowly to my full height as she turned towards me. When she spotted me, she swayed in place as if she had been dealt a body blow. I shot her a frosty smile that made her turn pale.<br />“Well, if it isn’t the OG Bad Girl,” I drawled.”<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/12/bad-girl-gone-good-by-alisha-kay.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8bIKIVkQztV0pWaTYLR50LB52QsSx9o1rZtFuUOThdYed2I9QM20n-5uNXp2OK_HTN424FLtopbHWG_0Qo9T3KajzgIMePaTDGy1AVdsswvw4IykC_2sOf_1ZTPtVGV2reKjBUkUEMAioMVAAfDGUwqfhe3MPJ4hA5h6snrHGttAnsfZky19gRPM5/s320/7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u><b>About the Author:</b><br /></u></span><b>Alisha Kay </b>writes funny, exciting and steamy stories, with spunky heroines who can rescue themselves, and hot, woke heroes who find such independence irresistible.<br />The first book in The Devgarh Royals series, The Maharaja’s Fake Fiancée, won the grand prize at the Amazon KDP Pen to Publish Contest 2020.<br /><br /></div><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u><b>Alisha on the Web:</b></u></span><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/alishakayauthor/" target="_blank">Instagram</a><span> * </span><a href="https://twitter.com/alishakayauthor" target="_blank">Twitter</a> </span></b></p></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/12/bad-girl-gone-good-by-alisha-kay.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjuTH4SeDtWEEYMAU84MFImoWrmBvpJOaV7KSWUQpkutyiRcpQdcMAvLMGxWkVBRLyfsNuu_HecHvjyam-HzvCHJFnF8uM6mYdbW3Eox8Sdb3yAbX0qRjj2al-pEJbbHA_1oeyWJh3KgZwdAa-oQv21nrh8qJEDP-oUUy2D2mtZQJUqJrAyJJq5fc/s320/9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><br /></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-13756044286484210022022-12-16T10:30:00.003-08:002022-12-20T00:28:52.449-08:00 Love Bait by Varun Pancholi<p> </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/12/love-bait-by-varun-pancholi.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAS9HhuKz9_Kq-7rmbVwJFwck5iopB6mjFJ9zU7fEN-8fSABAe5jN6eXfm5KeVH6UDtp_jXESGOho5s5hmHeM2ydlh9r7fijungkdzGJLlrrdnU1AqXXqf6usDCuCCiWeYexwaTBypqGpBw4csgepwDch8tLQPbV2Liwpd_I9GbWYwhEgA_JPoPr4l/w400-h200/Love%20Bait%203.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/12/love-bait-by-varun-pancholi.html" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKzse0jmXMIHS_Qjwy6CSqPUY7XsbntTFkXPHUpjxSgcG9KlmQCbaYa9syNu5_IjV-aba-czE9Vz-vM2k_GKsMcCIZUPk93Jw3-0sgNkPXP7AGI2xiwEaTGzg3v4cY3ZrogWJoKleVn9V_NHTSrFNwEfI844Rd_hyi3lAtyerI0e_uW1O5e4daQgY-/s320/Love%20Bait%201.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Pranay Oza is excited about his life’s new phase - COLLEGE. And soon enough, life offers him much more than he imagined. Falling in live with a college senior and the love being reciprocated through anonymous love notes was like a dreamy sequence from a romantic movie come true.</div><div><br /></div><div>But then was this love or bait?</div><div><br /></div><div>It is college election time too and stakes are high for all the aspirants for the President’s post. It is the last chance for all of them to prove themselves capable of moving into pro- fessional politics.</div><div><br /></div><div>But can a fresher Pranay Oza be critical to the elections?</div><div><br /></div><div>At this age, decisions are driven by passion and consequences can be life changing <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Book Links:</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://amzn.to/3j5Ch3M" target="_blank">Amazon.in</a> | <a href="https://amzn.to/3uSM7bL" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a></b></span><br /><br /><h1 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>Read an Excerpt from Love Bait</u></span></h1><br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">Prologue</h4></div><div><div>It was four minutes to midnight. Pranay climbed up the wall with the support of the tree trunk and took a pause to look around. There was no one to be seen, it was all silent and so he jumped on the other side as quietly as he could. He steadied himself and looked around again. Finding no sign of any movement, he quickly rushed towards the narrow pathway leading to the stairs, the one he had seen Amrita take the other night.<br /><br /></div><div>He quietly started climbing up the stairs. For once, he was happy the hostels rarely replaced a fused bulb on the stairways. It was not a dark night and the half-moon brightened the stairs enough for a cautious climb. His heart was racing fast, not knowing what to expect. He wanted to be quick but silent. “Why am I here? What do I want? Well, it’s a bit too late to think about it now.” But he firmly believed he was expected to be here at this hour.<br /><br /></div><div>As he reached the foyer, half way up to the first floor, he heard a creak. He froze in fear and almost stopped breathing to maintain absolute silence. The creak sounded like a door or window closed or maybe opened. He waited and tried to listen hard. But it was all very quiet apart from his drumming heart and his soft breath. The music from the common room remained faint. He concluded it should be one of the windows moving due to the wind.<br /><br /><div>He climbed up further and reached another small foyer.<br /><br /></div><div>There are two doors now, one to his left and one to his right. “It should be the one on the left,” he thought. It was a guess based on what he had seen the other night. He looked for room number but there was none, neither on the other door.<br /><br /></div><div>‘Left it is’ he decided. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Still not sure what to expect, he took a step forward to lightly knock on the door. But as his knuckle touched the door for the first tap, the door creaked.<br /><br /><div>The door was open. Indeed! He was expected! His breath was still shallow, his anxiety level still high and his heart still pounding. He slowly pushed the door open. It was dark inside and his eyes took a few moments to adjust. The window on the wall to his right was open, the curtains were drawn and the moonlight was filtering in from the borders. There was another glass window on the opposite wall the room which was closed. The light coming in from this window was just enough to create an outline of the bed underneath. It seemed there was no one on the bed. The rest of the room was dark.<br /><br /></div><div>He took a step into the room and straightened himself up.<br /><br /></div><div>The room was eerily quiet and he could not see Amrita around. Was she shy and hiding from him? On second thoughts he wondered ‘Am I even in the correct room?’</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/12/love-bait-by-varun-pancholi.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkiStGzvfecaeWB3Sw23SI6PYIxEFgNTnkJNTGogv-souejwVXQgvENmb0Yd73e_vDGEJ0gUuv-_iLmb15pw_9hbK_3kOSstJA6-2YTmpB0H1ydEzuqT2aRaPZdc7aP7L6ndYecNg83YQ-T9wkoUYnZiIE2T3W6yW8iSpG_IfwbQq_TJu6yEzJ-Xn/w400-h400/7.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtTeKCjKYaqLW-vbKML6TSKjL4Z5Aq3k-1Kx_vo_n1gEzLrh0GeDgAUGimvB9N4WgReXXhaSUvaoEx6hsaSgbVwWLdJOp_EUhwdTak_xi6xvWi0oUeyPUEeKYBmiSze43oZdYFaD4W-U5KXns3h5GdWhqmo8Yxx5Q_l_MgRKbfT7n8wl5KSRgkitQ/s1024/Varun%20Pancholi.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="828" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtTeKCjKYaqLW-vbKML6TSKjL4Z5Aq3k-1Kx_vo_n1gEzLrh0GeDgAUGimvB9N4WgReXXhaSUvaoEx6hsaSgbVwWLdJOp_EUhwdTak_xi6xvWi0oUeyPUEeKYBmiSze43oZdYFaD4W-U5KXns3h5GdWhqmo8Yxx5Q_l_MgRKbfT7n8wl5KSRgkitQ/w162-h200/Varun%20Pancholi.jpeg" width="162" /></a></div><div><br /><br />Varun holds a Bachelors degree in Engineering from MS university, Baroda. Additionally, he holds double Masters in Business from Symbiosis, Pune and HEC Paris.</div><div>After working in India & France, Varun currently lives in Bahrain with his wife and two daughters. He loves reading and this is his first rendezvous with writing.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div></div></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-29312593680656534072022-12-12T10:30:00.002-08:002022-12-20T00:36:58.143-08:00Holiday in Hiding by Lily Michaels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rockstarbooktours.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="615" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaURyl3rC2qh6LLqPxw24vrbCt5MTLi1BEIniOpHNmN_hHJFqWEj76nmG99al3NvmH3iRVNISci_Ufmyr8Xq4QKDIByX_-yfq4HQ0BEmtIZ0C9QHE0UWRV1DQN0emy_YBK_tvK-E88Uv9VELMouz3epYJrljNyRvtvLBAJEPBl_Bh3IJPeUOj5MykpOg/w400-h156/SECRET%20SANTA%20HOLIDAY%20IN%20HIDING.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I am so excited that HOLIDAY IN
HIDING by Lily Michaels is available now and that I get to share the news!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">If you haven’t yet heard about this
wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">This blitz also includes a giveaway
for a self-care box courtesy of Lily & <a href="http://www.rockstarbooktours.com/">Rockstar Book Tours</a>. So if you’d
like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About The Book:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="_Hlk121132943"></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://books2read.com/Holiday-in-Hiding-A-Secret-Santa-story" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizTDIcFFwGRo5ds3ctYuLXyXtX36lnJQVXYU6SVzRqPAQLS6sdHrkUfpAf6nwtfpJeg4n8FxNKNT-bW2cvQHtZr3cL0XZuKmMB5MFVt4MUp3mdGNT2TfhSHQhjmW4Rjol5pWGE3b0Ftdr6TdC-1OJ89kIg2KVHNtajyw8UeFVmgOBR_iPRgnoRNW6Qng/w250-h400/62354861.jpg" width="250" /></a></span></b></span></div><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Title:</span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> <a name="_Hlk121132821">HOLIDAY IN HIDING</a>: A Secret Santa story<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Author: </span></b></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Lily Michaels<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pub. Date:</span></b></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> December 6, 2022<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Publisher: </span></b></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Pride Publishing<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Formats:</span></b></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> eBook<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pages:</span></b></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> 181<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Find it:</span></b></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62354861-holiday-in-hiding"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Goodreads</span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, </span></span></span><a href="https://books2read.com/Holiday-in-Hiding-A-Secret-Santa-story"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">https://books2read.com/Holiday-in-Hiding-A-Secret-Santa-story</span></span></span></a></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119844230;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">FROM EXCITING AUTHOR OF LGBTQIA
ROMANCE LILY MICHAELS</span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A Secret Santa story</span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Hiding from his past may wind up
leading Liam to the merriest Christmas of his life.</span></i></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Constantly looking over his shoulder
has become Liam Carlson' s norm after five years in witness protection. Living
with his new identity has come with a major downgrade in lifestyle and a lack
of any meaningful connections. But when he loses his minimum-wage job and the
rundown apartment he called home, he finds himself in the middle of a Texas
state park waiting for the marshal in charge of his case to help with
relocation. A sudden, ferocious storm destroys many of his belongings,
including the tent that offered him some protection, but it also heralds in a
sexy-as-hell park ranger, Jax Gallagher, who taunts Liam' s long-neglected
libido.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Jax and his wife, Megan, have had an
unconventional relationship from the beginning, with a military romance that
blossomed into marriage. Their mutual desire to share their love with a third
member resulted in several blissful years with another man that ended when they
left the service and took on civilian careers. An unexpected visitor in the
form of a drenched Liam is the first glimmer of hope since then that they can
reclaim the happily-ever-after they thought they' d lost. Their attraction
grows with every second they spend together. While they become closer, another
lifesaving rescue also manages to open the door to a career Liam never
fathomed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But the truth of the criminal world
Liam grew up in threatens to destroy the still-tenuous bond the three are
forming and the bright future Liam never believed possible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk121132943;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Prologue<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Nate—Liam</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A perfect
circle of cold steel penetrated through my thin cotton dress shirt. I
closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and fought to keep my hands from
shaking. They’d found me…again. It was only a matter of
time. I’d known that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Fuck.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Don’t
move.” The gravelly voice behind me uttered the completely expected
command.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I rolled my
eyes toward the inky sky, barely noticing the full spectrum of
stars. “Exactly how predictable are we going here, Joe? Full-on
cartoon villain or just generic mobster? I want to make sure I keep my
expectations realistic.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A laugh,
roughened undoubtedly by decades of smoking, was the response. “Name ain’t
Joe, but I know exactly who you are, Nathaniel Cogliano.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Left off
the middle name there, Joe. That’s how you really strike fear into the
hearts of your prey. Take a tip from my ma, since she’s the one paying you
to be here.” I sucked in a lungful of air. “And I call all you guys
Joe. No need to learn your name, since you pass through soon enough.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The barrel
pressed harder into my back and the man behind me growled. “You think
you’re something special? I’ll have you back to the boss man, collect my
money and send your ass to the bottom of the river before breakfast.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">That was the
moment I knew I could smile. The banter had bought me enough time to
center myself and call my nerves under control—a sad fact for ole Joe. I
was exactly the protégé my mother had always hoped I’d be. “The
river? Really? Can’t we do something just a little more
creative? Maybe a warehouse in midtown or a cabin somewhere upstate that
you set on fire to cover the evidence? Work with me here, Joe. Bring
something to the table so I remember who the fuck you are five years from now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I’m about
done with your ‘Joe’ bullshit, and you ain’t gonna live to see another day,
much less another year.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My grin
widened. Irritating the latest thug who’d been hired to kill me was almost
too easy. Getting the other man frustrated and off his game was the first
step to controlling the situation. “Give me your real name or give me a
reason to remember you—otherwise I’m just gonna keep calling you Joe, right up
until I don’t need to call you anything anymore.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I wished to
every higher being I knew that I could see the man’s face. It was certain
to be mottled and reddened from frustration. Fucking with these guys—the
ones who were always hiding in the shadows waiting to deliver me into the hands
that would destroy me—was one of the few pleasures I could find in my world
these days.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Even a night
at a strip club didn’t hold the same allure as it once had, which was a damn
shame. But surgically enhanced tits shoved in my face weren’t enough to
hold my attention when I was looking over my shoulder, literally and
metaphorically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The goon pushed
the metal deeper against my spine and I counted to three in my head. As
soon as my internal voice whispered, ‘<i>one</i>’, I spun around, grabbing the
man’s wrist and twisting it behind his back until he let out a piercing scream
and the firearm clattered against the pavement. I might be trying to claw
my way out of the life of crime I’d been born into and live a more normal,
law-abiding life, but the insidious part of my soul relished his painful cry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The dark
beast within me threatened to trample over all my good intentions, and a list
of ways to break the hitman now kneeling before me in agony trickled through my
mind. I tightened my hold on his arm just a fraction more and wrenched it
back a little higher before I pulled my phone from my back pocket with my free
hand and hit the number one contact on my speed dial.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Another
anguished scream tore from the man’s mouth before I could utter a
greeting. “Quiet, Joe. This is important business.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Fuck, Nate,
what the hell did you get yourself into this time? You’re supposed to be
lying low until the trial.” Deputy Xavier Brower’s frustrated and
exhausted voice echoed across the line and managed to irritate my nerves that
were still pulsing with adrenaline at the latest attempt on my life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The nearly
animalistic howls ramped up another octave, and I sighed. He was going to
wind up attracting a hell of a lot of attention that I wasn’t in the mood to
deal with. I released his wrist, brought my knee up to his face and
slammed it into his nose. Once he was flat on his back, I lowered my hand
in a perfect slice against his carotid artery and he passed out before I’d even
straightened my stance, grabbing my phone from the ground where it had fallen
in the brief mêlée.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Still
there, Deputy X?” Although the assault had been brief, the events leading
up to it combined with the actions to make my breathing slightly
labored. It had been a long-ass time since I’d done any hand-to-hand
combat, either in training or out in the world. I was clearly getting too
soft.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">An annoyed
exhale was his first response, punctuated by a weighted silence. “Yeah,
I’m here. Send your location and restrain the guy. If you’re going to
live long enough to testify against your mother and her crew then we are going
to have to hide you away.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">They were
words I’d known were coming for a long time, but I’d deluded myself into
believing I wouldn’t have to hear them until after the trial came, right on the
heels of that statement. “Pack your bags, Nate. You’re going into
witness protection.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About Lily Michaels:</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://lilymichaels25.wordpress.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XEmKPqup1jlUsHlYPd7vg6ebs774yU5qiPoSqgPH1aI7NTpeNkB2ICikkmONI3E-ndHYz3GQpX148grgH42X70Qkt7cWSJFQbl6OT33g4qypSVA9LrhKru-iZkw6VKQmbjvOZfAQUXDXVjVUzQFea16wgZ8KQJsbJ9EYAWRxKQHboMOaygXZvGmgiQ/s320/Lily.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A medical professional by day and writer by night, Lily is a
huge believer in love being available for everyone. Her novels always include
an over the top happily every after for her characters.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">If you want
to connect with Lily, find her on Twitter or Facebook and check out her website
and book blog.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://lilymichaels25.wordpress.com/"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Website</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> | </span><a href="https://twitter.com/LilyMichaels25"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Twitter</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> | <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lilymichaelsauthor/">Instagram</a>
| <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@authorlilymichaels" target="_blank">TikTok</a> | </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19863593.Lily_Michaels"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Goodreads</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> | </span></span><a href="https://amzn.to/3F6JQOL"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Amazon</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> | </span></span><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lily-michaels"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">BookBub</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Giveaway Details: <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">1 winner
will receive a a mystery gift box of self-care items perfect for a "book
date night, US Only.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFEa3q8yfRSv-DteCdZdcm7ce2oeTneNCWqISyojKnyEvjBQ7oQ2FYAPVAaaCLXJyg9rzcxkALeaBVlsOPHsrk2T0tKOnyrGIXm7_QAT0DWHRqDIT86s7qSKF_j5ySNz8JhytVW0mz_t7KQGKC2hL4s9ssT-cD1D9D6hKvZjndle8ryTI1Cap3fcugQ/s940/With%20love%20from%20Lily%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFEa3q8yfRSv-DteCdZdcm7ce2oeTneNCWqISyojKnyEvjBQ7oQ2FYAPVAaaCLXJyg9rzcxkALeaBVlsOPHsrk2T0tKOnyrGIXm7_QAT0DWHRqDIT86s7qSKF_j5ySNz8JhytVW0mz_t7KQGKC2hL4s9ssT-cD1D9D6hKvZjndle8ryTI1Cap3fcugQ/w400-h335/With%20love%20from%20Lily%20(1).png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ends
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Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-2470031600448318722022-11-23T19:30:00.001-08:002022-11-24T03:20:24.562-08:00Me No Pause, Me Play by Manoj Kumar Sharma <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/11/me-no-pause-me-play-by-manoj-kumar-sharma.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUzuLBKofUoVYM26bvQSs0xaC2_d8vpnh9Sj_4vD_F1RtZY54w1RQK984a02mAWWIfyF3_RhuCpvsvqi1zImtcxRQaXdWI5MLOI5WqbpVrU1h375-LkSobwIph8Kgn9PFgfElGBq2kjVEwZdvAOYP-eoZum5D9_J2ruXza_oMQ0RJ1lCIpj467BCb/w400-h200/Mpnp%20Banners.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUuIP8ScnDYxykoyd-VkM0Lf45UIrSh_MTSfSAKeD3F1Cf_GW_u3OiA3x1A_5qVcItdEqz1dYjMcQSaVzbBv1q8CvS9A6KWnfKVTwAu3uDdemmcj-pRKCdncp394-axzHBsnR0MPWXl9Gn7f01sBPt-XMocoB9uc-1iRLIGY5UmKXnbXLLc373u_t/s320/Book%20Cover.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">This story revolves around Woman and Womanhood through lenses of Social Kaleidoscope.</h4><div style="text-align: left;">The essence of this story is overcoming the intricacy and complicacy of Womanhood through innovative measures with calculated risks.<br />Though since ages wise men never ever denied the unique importance of Women in their lives, but, at the same time couldn’t restrain from autocratic patriarchy and disguised misogyny.<br />Even Nature’s unworded Laws cruelly dumped Women after manipulating them to the fullest.<br />How long Woman will have to continue bearing the ongoing sufferings? <br />Nobody knows, even Woman herself…<br />But, there are exceptions as well sometimes…<br />One key protagonist takes the Woman sufferings as challenge, and, not only resolves the physical health and mental agony, but, unexpectedly raises the bar to the next level of inspirational excellences…</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After all its own belief system, which can create anything anywhere anytime…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Let incommunicado with our Ethos & Egos… </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Let the status quo of our Women should not PAUSE…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Let our Women PLAY ever and ever and ever and ever… for ever…<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Book Links:</u></b></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62893129-me-no-pause-me-play" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> * <a href="https://amzn.to/3GAdUoF" target="_blank">Amazon.in</a> * <a href="https://amzn.to/3Asc5pC" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Book Trailer:</u></b></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/11/me-no-pause-me-play-by-manoj-kumar-sharma.html" target="_blank"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="250" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HhgcGd3G5RU" title="YouTube video player" width="350"></iframe></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/11/me-no-pause-me-play-by-manoj-kumar-sharma.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="1200" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-iVwH4JCpFNd7lSDfpRcM_qftZga-TmCqs5pWQUGvU7xpXm3bwe9iUWY_ItyVi-q8oZdEll9LaL3EWVcZFTMfPPqvng6c4zxCUOUCYFF9_ulh4G1TWulh0gumdrbFzvqI33yJkx20eOtIzjwpMsei3-grm3S5JD6na8kjC909N777zmaqRYAkQhT4/w400-h209/MKS%20Banners%202.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/11/me-no-pause-me-play-by-manoj-kumar-sharma.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="1200" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijCyekgjmr_7rXqkQjnyCFdY4MfRHbx6l4tTlPiesh2l6zwW8d0gH5hm-nKb0491MUeDD3ETIx6pMpnJlTRdT9w8Py6DoDCFmPSuuDEyAnXLOXMst0S12xIKfO60nej7JK-1CZguaXhPu02s7uFSANLJWG5QPSLKilpe54tF19Ww8xe9t5NvbJdBYk/w400-h209/MKS%20Banners%201.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/11/me-no-pause-me-play-by-manoj-kumar-sharma.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="1200" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_lH6UY2coW7mOS-Q_Tb852bwxQfKMJb9p-rcS6XzaiCfLaVDCrA-7kA_PKpW0ZtbjgMehfg8HF4bYLFEs0a09bfvNItGbx-QpRB-16TXZopcMQDq52gwVhFAfwp7FW2e8KSP6PEzjeroUn1OqctGh-pQKVBe-q-jiLbRlt7ZY_vYcn9UQC0wqE4d/w400-h209/MKS%20Banners%204.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>About the Author:</u></b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="4898" data-original-width="3265" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAKqGReuxYxnYetFrc8AKlbsncbOwCp7PRCn4Ww9wu3czJOHk8T_JUtyn_0rJtG97kGC-TEWrSL1rd0AlXBeTRjXsEOAOBgbWHyewg6thvp9YcOVc6LYABQXXv0Apz8u0DmhjQuZ61Y8VevjJoBxwqXvsPjwBPc6RqDrRRA3JDeLed2eqBuy1djop/s320/MANOJ%20SHARMA%204.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>MIRRRO fame self-styled author Manoj Kumar Sharma has brought his next Novel from a different genre altogether ‘Woman Fiction’.</div><div>Delighted by the Best Seller status of MIRRRO in specific multiple timelines, Awards from renowned Literature Houses, moral boosting reviews by book lovers, and, guiding critics, the Author do feel more responsibility for continual inclusive excellences to next levels.</div><div>Feel blessed as ‘MIRRRO’ been adjudged for prestigious Awards from renowned Literary Houses…..</div><div>1. Best Debut Author Award 2020 from ‘ICMDR’</div><div>2. Best Debut Novel Award 2020 among Top 100 Debut Novels from ‘CRITICSPACE’.</div><div>3. Best Fiction (Thriller) Award 2020 from ‘The Indian Awaz Foundation’</div><div>4. Best Thriller Book of the Year 2020 by ‘Literary Mirror’ </div><div>5. Best Fiction Book of the Year 2020 by ‘AIY AGHAAZ’</div><div>6. Best Writer Award 2020 by ‘Yashassvi Awards’</div><div>The Story “Me No Pause Me Play” born out of day-to-day life in our society, where every now and then our Women are made to feel the pinch of Nature’s Laws and of Society’s hypocritical Patriarchy and Misogyny. </div><div>We talk a lot and even do a lot for Gender equality, Woman Liberation, Woman Empowerment…but, the practical realities are far far away from the truth and still painful. </div><div>Author is right now working on the sequel of MIRRRO and parallely working on few more Books of varied genres on various known issues of our day-to-day lives…but, in ways beyond innovativeness… </div><div>As an overview the Author believes that Writing is a Soulful Act, blessed by Maa Sarasvatiji & Muse... not by the Author.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Author on the Web:</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://authormanojkumarsharma.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> * <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AUTHORMANOJKUMARSHARMA/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> * <a href="https://twitter.com/ManojSharmma" target="_blank">Twitter</a> * <a href="https://www.instagram.com/manojkumarsharmma/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> </b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Giveaway:</u></b></span></div><div>1 Paperback Copy of Me No Pause, Me Play by Manoj Kumar Sharma (for Indian Residents)</div><div>1 Kindle Copy of Me No Pause, Me Play by Manoj Kumar Sharma (for International Residents)</div><div><br /></div></div></div><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="491d1d8b274" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/491d1d8b274/" id="rcwidget_t1ic5uli" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-74051957045776084752022-11-18T12:30:00.001-08:002022-11-24T03:18:25.330-08:001 Last Betrayal by Valerie J Brooks<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><a href="https://partnersincrimetours.com/1-last-betrayal-by-valerie-j-brooks/" title="1 Last Betrayal by Valerie J Brooks"><img class="aligncenter size-full" src="https://partnersincrimetours.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/09/1-last-betrayal-by-valerie-j-brooks-banner-.png" alt="1 Last Betrayal by Valerie J Brooks Banner" width="600" height="338"></a></h2>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>1 Last Betrayal</h2>
<h3>by Valerie J Brooks</h3>
<h4>November 14 - December 9, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h4>
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<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left;width:225px;margin-right: 15px;"><img src="https://partnersincrimetours.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/09/1-last-betrayal-by-valerie-j-brooks-cover.jpg" alt="1 Last Betrayal by Valerie Brooks" width="200" height="319" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px; float: left;" border="0"></div>
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<h4>A complicated history. A deadly future. Can one woman survive another deep dive into the rotten underbelly of crime?</h4>
<p>Angeline Porter craves a return to normalcy. But when the former criminal defense attorney receives an alarming text, she races in desperation to Florida only to find a ransacked apartment, a poisoned dog, and a missing half-sister. Determined to rescue her sibling, she follows a trail of shockingly incriminating clues and plunges into a life-or-death fight with the Boston mob.</p>
<p>Taking advantage of old ties with a charming FBI agent and trying to outsmart a violent syndicate boss with powerful federal connections, Angeline and dubious allies begin tracking down the kidnappers… until she uncovers a supposed protector’s crafty deception. And while a nefarious rogue agent, a long-lost relative, and a possibly corrupt cop close in, the gutsy woman makes the risky decision to go it alone.</p>
<p>Is her headlong race to save her sister about to zip her into a body bag?</p>
<h5><i>1 Last Betrayal</i> is the suspense-laden third book in the Angeline Porter Trilogy of femmes-noir thrillers. If you like bold heroines, riveting twists, and balancing on the knife’s edge, then you’ll love Valerie J. Brooks’ gritty descent into the underworld.</h5>
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<h3>Praise for <i>1 Last Betrayal</i>:</h3>
<p>"Steeped in suspense, chilling encounters, and shocking twists, Brooks drops us into the dark underbelly of organized crime, and we love her for it."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span >Heather Gudenkauf, <i>New York Times</i> bestselling author of <em>The Weight of Silence</em> and <em>The Over</em></span></p>
</div>
<p>"A twisty plot, great locations, and a gutsy protagonist you’ll root for all the way. A fabulous finale to a sophisticated series that can also be enjoyed as a stand-alone title."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span >Kaira Rouda, <i>USA Today</i> and Amazon Charts bestselling author</span></p>
</div>
<p>"A seductive, intricately twisted suspense-thriller that’s nearly impossible to put down... get ready for a wild ride with plenty of suspense, action, and shocking surprises"</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span >Kevin O'Brien, <i>New York Times</i> Bestselling Author of <em>The Night She Disappeared</em></span></p>
</div>
<h3>Don't Miss the Book Trailer for <i>1 Last Betrayal</i>:</h3>
<p><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SFLzAPkf-Vo" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></p>
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<blockquote class="details">
<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Crime Thriller<br>
<b>Published by:</b> Black Leather Jacket Press<br>
<b>Publication Date:</b> September 2022<br>
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 298<br>
<b>ISBN:</b> 9781732373242<br>
<b>Series:</b>The Angeline Porter Trilogy, Book 3<br>
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3qHmcli" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3TK1KwP" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://apple.co/3Vx4HSO" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Apple</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3MDIqPk" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">BookShop</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3D2Dpws" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">IndieBound</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3RINh3r" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Goodreads</a></p>
</blockquote>
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<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div class="excerpt" style="height:250px; overflow:auto; border-width:3px; border-color:800000; border-style:groove;">
<h4>Chapter 1</h4>
<p>If I ever get out of this alive, I’m going to have a tattoo needled on my arm like others of my generation. Of what I don’t know. But if I’m alive, I’ll be able to make a decision then. I’m throwing off the conservative persona I once had as a criminal defense lawyer. My sister Sophie would be saying, “It’s about time.”</p>
<p>From Portland, Oregon, I’d hopped a red-eye and was on my way to Hollywood, Florida. I was back in the game and in the right headspace, ready to bring down the Boston mob once and for all while protecting Bibi, my sister Sophie’s twin. Bibi needed me. She was tough, but this mob had a new and younger crime boss. Talia “Shawn” Diamandis. She didn’t play by the old-fashioned rules of mobsters. </p>
<p>Like the rest of the world, there was no honor anymore among thieves, whether they be members of gangs, political parties, or religious sects. There was no “one for all and all for one.” That only happened in the movies. So, to energize my fighting spirit, I put on my headphones, pulled up “Rebel Yell,” one of Sophie’s old favorites, and put it on repeat. We used to jump up and down to that song in her living room—but that was before the mob. </p>
<p>Yes, I was back in the game, but I wasn’t happy that I had to leave my dog Tempest again. How I’d ever come to love a dog that much, I’ll never know. Maybe I relate to her being a rescue. More probable is how much we’ve been through together.</p>
<p>The plane dropped and bumped, almost spilling my coffee. The pilot announced that we were hitting some turbulence and to keep our seatbelts fastened. I shook my head. What did he know about turbulence?</p>
<p>Then the plane bucked and dropped hard, causing a few people to swear and the flight attendant to grab onto a seat. A child cried. I took a deep breath. The plane continued to buck and weave back and forth. Finally, it leveled out and a collective sigh went up from the passengers. My phone was clutched in my hand. It remained silent. </p>
<p>I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Why hadn’t Bibi texted me? Maybe, hopefully, she’d fallen asleep. Bibi and I had been talking and texting for the past twenty-four hours about Shawn and what to do about her. But what did you do with a mob boss telling you that you were part of her “organization” whether you liked it or not? As my sweet, dead husband Hank would have said, Bibi was in “deep shit.” I knew what that deep shit was like. I’d been in it for a few years.</p>
<p>Shawn sure had cojones. She’d already broken into Bibi’s apartment—and in broad daylight. What I found frightening was how thoroughly Shawn had prepared. She knew about Otto, Bibi’s dog, a dog that should have scared the daylights out of her. But Shawn had fed him a treat while telling Bibi that there would be a meeting of the three partners, and Bibi was expected to join them. Join them, as in becoming one of the partners.</p>
<p>My main question was “Why?” Why would Shawn take such a risk as to get into Bibi’s apartment just to tell her that she was expected to make this meeting? She could have met her in the lobby. I had a hunch: Shawn needed to know the layout of the apartment and get friendly with the dog. She planned on breaking into the place again. Again, the question was <i>Why?</i></p>
<p>Bibi reported the “break-in” to management, a report was filed, and the police notified. Security camera footage was watched. But nothing seemed amiss. Shawn never showed her face and seemed to enter the apartment no problem, so she could have had a duplicate keycard. Nothing suspicious. Bibi was pissed because the police said she must have given Shawn a card. As I said to Bibi, a large wad of cash would have bought a duplicate from someone in the hotel or was there some type of master keycard?</p>
<p>My phone dinged, and I jumped. It dinged with two more messages. It was Bibi.</p>
<p>I’m in danger. I’m not paranoid! Otto keeps growling. There are footsteps outside my door and muffled voices.</p>
<p>I didn’t tell you this before, but I found incriminating evidence against the mob in Betty’s stuff. I created a safe place for it. You’ll figure it out.</p>
<p>If something happens to me, promise you’ll take care of Otto. You know what he’s like. He’s sweet and needs his ugly striped afghan. He also knows a lot.</p>
<p>I reread the texts. Fuck! It was 4:02 a.m., and we wouldn’t land for another two hours. I texted back.</p>
<p>Don’t answer the door, Bibi. Don’t let anyone in. Call the police. </p>
<p>I tried to stay calm. Footsteps and voices didn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe it was nothing more than late-night revelers or an assignation. Yet my heart raced. Shawn had been there once. Why not again? I texted another message and tried to convince myself that she would text back and say it was nothing. Had Otto barked at the noise? He wasn’t much of a barker, more of a growler. He was a big gentle brute the size of a Shetland pony, but there’s only so much a dog could do against greedy criminals who were willing to kill people, never mind dogs. But Shawn had already made friends with him. OK, what else? Bibi carried a gun. Good. But you had to be willing to shoot to kill. I knew very few good people capable of that, even in a life-or-death situation.</p>
<p>I sent another text.</p>
<p>Do you still have your gun? Load and keep it handy.</p>
<p>A text came in. I almost dropped my phone. </p>
<p>It was my lawyer. I ignored him.</p>
<p>I squirmed in my seat. Why hadn’t Bibi told me about the incriminating evidence before? What had she planned on doing with it? I chewed a cuticle. Maybe she didn’t really trust me.</p>
<p>Being trapped on a plane made it impossible to do anything. I had to keep my wits about me though. Did Shawn know about the incriminating evidence? I doubted it. My bet was on Shawn targeting Bibi’s inheritances—two huge estates and all the assets. What a rat’s nest of relationships! Bibi’s godmother, Betty Snayer, had been the crime boss of this mob until she died trying to kill me in Kauai. But before that, Betty had taken in a young, homeless, talented black girl, my half-sister Bibi, and given her a life in the arts. Then Betty had fallen for Shawn, at the time a streetwise, ragged, coke snorter who had addicted Betty to sex and white powder. That left Bibi adrift as to Betty’s affections. So, there I was with a new half-sister who didn’t know I’d killed her sainted godmother. What a mess.</p>
<p>The first-class flight attendant leaned over the empty seat next to me. “Anything I can get you, Ms. Porter?” She smiled with her bright red lips, her eyes sparkling behind her cat-eye glasses.</p>
<p>“Scotch, please. A double.” </p>
<p>I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. After sending another message to Bibi, I waited. Again, nothing. Finally, resigned, I set the cell on the empty seat next to me, and when my drink came, I tried not to knock it back, but that was impossible.</p>
<p>Maybe Bibi <i>had</i> called the cops, but I doubted it. I knew she didn’t trust the FBI. Being African American, she probably didn’t trust the cops either, especially after they did nothing to follow up on Shawn. I rubbed my chest, drew in some air, and let it go. Sophie often scolded me, saying I held my breath when stressed. Taking advice from my dead sister? Better late than never.</p>
<p>I pushed up the window cover. The bright light made me wince. Below, the ocean bordered the serpentine edge of land. Lakes littered the middle of the state. The pilot announced we were flying over Orlando and Disney World. People oohed and aahed. </p>
<p>On the seat next to me, I found my notebook and pen under the <i>New York Times</i>, and as I flipped open the notebook, my hand trembled. I’d always been pretty good at compartmentalizing, something I found necessary as a lawyer, but it was getting more difficult. I needed to keep my mind busy until I was off the plane and could make calls. I wondered where Gerard was. I figured from our conversations that he was back undercover with the mob. When I told him I was heading to Florida to help Bibi, he told me not to and was upset when I wouldn’t back down. When he realized I wouldn’t change my mind, he said he’d meet me there. Fine.</p>
<p>I made a fist, squeezed, then shook out my hand, needing to write something down, maybe work through what I knew and come up with a plan of sorts. Since my law school days, I’d written to-do lists, observations, even lists of conjectures and theories about people and cases. It kept me focused. It also helped me solve dilemmas, and even, at times, find something that wasn’t immediately apparent. Clients were told to keep a journal of every move they made, with dates and times, plus anything that could help their case. People were unaware of the evidentiary heft a written journal provided when entered into court records. I’d won several cases on the written word alone when the opposition had what I called a wormy case.</p>
<p>But what to write?</p>
<p>The scotch had warmed its way down to my body, and I could feel my nerves relaxing, my brain focusing. I tapped the pen against my lower teeth. Going back to the beginning with Shawn, I wondered why Betty had been interested in her? Bibi said it was cocaine-fueled sex. I believed that. Betty was older and not a looker, so it could have been the excitement and ego boost. I believed Bibi when she said Betty took Bibi in because she saw her talent and wanted to support her. Being a cynic at heart, I figured Betty had done that to make herself feel good. I’m sure it made her look good to her wealthy patron friends. Bibi was beautiful too—a dark version of Sophie—dizygotic twins from different fathers. So that would give Betty even more cred for being inclusive. A great way to get grants for her non-profit art ventures. </p>
<p>There I go again—the cynic.</p>
<p>The flight attendant swooped in and removed my cold coffee. I ordered another scotch, a single this time, thinking about Gerard, my FBI special agent pain-in-the-ass contact. In the beginning, he’d suspected Bibi was another one of Betty’s lovers. Men. They always think sex is involved. Sometimes it was. I could attest to that.</p>
<p>So how had Shawn become the crime boss of Betty’s mob? Maybe Betty had put her in charge when she went to Kauai. I know that Betty was using heavily by the time she came to the island. She was in Kauai, doing a godmotherly thing—setting up a hit on Bibi’s brother who hated Bibi. Bibi was adopted and the parents favored her over their flaky son. Her brother lived communally on Kauai and dressed as the grim reaper to get peoples’ attention about climate change. So, he didn’t fit his parents’ mold. Bibi, however, was the golden child, always thankful for everything they did for her. But they died before the will was changed, and the brother inherited the bulk. Hating Bibi, he gave her nothing. Betty figured she’d get rid of the brother so Bibi would inherit. At least Betty felt she was protecting Bibi. I wonder if Shawn had put that idea into Betty’s head, thinking Bibi would eventually bring in even more assets to the “organization.”</p>
<p>When I met Betty in Kauai, I didn’t know I had a sister named Bibi. I didn’t know a lot of things. I was hiding out from the mob. They wanted the millions my sister Sophie stole. But Betty knew who I was. I was the one who had killed one of her partners—in self-defense. But that didn’t matter to her. She must have been overjoyed to think she could take care of two marks on the same trip.</p>
<p>I had to assume that Shawn took over the crime boss position when Betty and her bodyguard never made it back to Boston. Gerard and I thought Shawn was a minor character, one of those people who target the wealthy to live luxuriously for a while, snort coke all day, then when things go dumpster, they disappear. She fooled us.</p>
<p>Plus, I had to remember she was a good actor. Shawn had gone from messed-up street urchin to high couture. What really bothered me was her telling Bibi that she laundered the money for the mob. True? Or was that a way to entrap Bibi? If Bibi knew that, she’d be vulnerable if she didn’t join the mob. Shawn was smart, no matter her motive.</p>
<p>I sipped my second scotch. If I kept in lawyer mode, I could keep my shit together. So, who was Shawn? Did she have a police record? What was her M.O.? I’d lost the connection with Snoop, my hacker, just as she was going to tell me what she found on Shawn. I haven’t heard from her since, and that’s not good.</p>
<p>Shawn might be a psychopath, but she had to be a strategist, someone with patience, someone who had planned her ascent with the crime group. This was conjecture, but her actions pointed to it. </p>
<p>This felt good, building a case, listing all the possibilities, hopefully tracing them to their logical conclusion either with evidence or what I’d discovered in the process.</p>
<p>I listed questions about “Shawn the Strategist”:</p>
<ul>
<li>Getting Betty hooked on cocaine: loosens the tongue, makes her vulnerable</li>
<li>Reason for admitting money laundering: trap Bibi into the gang; something else?</li>
<li>Need background check on her: laundering takes guts, know-how, and connections</li>
<li>Has Shawn already taken Bibi somewhere? Under guise of meeting?</li>
<li>How much does Bibi know about Betty?</li>
<li>Maybe Shawn knows more about Bibi than I do</li>
</ul>
<p>I suspected that Bibi couldn’t live in Betty’s house all that time and not notice any illegal activities. But Bibi seemed to have no idea, and as she said, she’d been fully engaged in school, her art, and her friends.</p>
<p>The plane’s engine noise changed. We were approaching Fort Lauderdale. I slipped on my shoes and buttoned my military-style jacket, readying myself for landing. I’d dressed with a casual elegance so people would take me seriously but not authoritatively as with a suit. Instead of perfume or aftershave, the cabin smelled like a locker room, and I hoped I didn’t smell that way. I thought of how Gerard would smell when I met him. As if reading my mind, Gerard sent me a message.</p>
<p>I’ll get to The Circ before you. Meet you in the residency lobby.</p>
<p>Between my teeth, I hissed, “Asshole.” He’d insisted on meeting me in Florida, but I told him to do <i>nothing</i> until I got there. That was like pissing in the wind with him.</p>
<p>I finished the scotch. I couldn’t get off the plane fast enough.</p>
<p>The pilot came on the intercom and gave the usual instructions, telling everyone to take their seats, buckle up, seats upright, tray in position. The flight attendant quickly gathered up all the bottles and glasses. I snapped my tray into place, gathered up everything on the empty seat, and threw them in my satchel, something I’d bought because it was more like a briefcase but not a briefcase. The flight attendant had just buckled herself in when the plane dropped like a trap door had opened. Someone squealed. A kid cried. Then the plane leveled off.</p>
<p>With my heart in my throat, I forced my mind back to Bibi and Betty. From everything I knew, Betty wanted Bibi to devote herself to being an artist. What if Betty had recognized Shawn’s killer instinct and started grooming her to take over the business?</p>
<p>I checked my cell one more time. Nothing from Bibi. </p>
<p>The plane headed toward the landing strip. I held the notebook against my chest. As a defense attorney, I’d met many criminals and could usually sniff out the liars. Bibi’s panicky text from Florida was not something easy to fake. But I had no body language to go with this to assure me she was being straight with me.</p>
<p>Far too many unknowns. </p>
<p>I sat back, closed my eyes, and prepared for landing.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>1 Last Betrayal</i> by Valerie J Brooks. Copyright 2022 by Valerie J Brooks. Reproduced with permission from Valerie J Brooks. All rights reserved.</p>
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<h2>Author Bio:</h2>
<div style="float: right;width:230px;margin-left: 15px;"><img src="https://partnersincrimetours.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/09/1-last-betrayal-by-valerie-j-brooks-author-scaled.jpg" alt="Valerie J Brooks" width="200" height="240" align="left" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px; float: right;" border="0"></div>
<p>Multi-award-winning author Valerie J. Brooks is the author of the Angeline Porter trilogy, femmes-noir thrillers starring a badass disbarred attorney. </p>
<p><i>NYTimes</i> bestselling author Kevin O’Brien called her second novel <i>TAINTED TIMES</i> 2 “… a real nail-biter from first page to the last.” Heather Gudenkauf, <i>NYT</i> bestselling author of <i>THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE</i> and <i>THE OVERNIGHT GUEST</i> calls Brooks the Queen of the Femmes-noir Thriller and says her upcoming 3rd novel <i>1 LAST BETRAYAL</i> is “explosive” and “Brooks drops us into the dark underbelly of organized crime, and we love her for it.”</p>
<p>Brooks is a member of Sisters in Crime. Her awards include an Elizabeth George Foundation grant and five writing residencies. She teaches workshops and classes on writing noir and creating plot twists. Brooks found her love of thrillers as a teen after turning in a hitman to the FBI.</p>
<p>She lives in Oregon with her husband, Dan Connors and their Havanese pooch Stevie Nicks.</p>
<h3>Catch Up With Valerie J Brooks:<br>
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<a href="https://bit.ly/3QNX5Ii" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">BookBub - @valeriejbrooks </a><br>
<a href="https://bit.ly/3DrrfOp" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Instagram - @valeriejbrooksauthor</a><br>
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<a href="https://bit.ly/3QXLsi4" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">TikTok - @ValerieBrooksAuthor</a></h3>
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Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-38818625729256390912022-11-14T10:30:00.001-08:002022-11-24T03:17:34.089-08:00Mistletoe and Holly by Judith Keim<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sites.google.com/rabtbooktoursandpr.com/fall-2022-blitzes/judith-keim-mistletoe-and-holly-release-blitz"><img height="200" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/49692fef9a4641a291768ffa9d00a5ce" width="500" /></a></div><p> </p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/9ac4c94625cb45d4851858842444d9c0" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="439" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/9ac4c94625cb45d4851858842444d9c0" width="292" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The Desert Sage Inn Series, Book 4</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contemporary Romantic Women's Fiction</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">11/15/2022</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><b> Publisher:</b> Wild Quail Publishing</span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60506441-the-desert-flowers---mistletoe-holly" target="_blank"><img alt="photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">A boy who doesn’t believe in Santa Claus and a woman eager to help
him discover the joy of giving to others.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">When Juanita Sanchez and the Desert Flowers—Willow Sanchez, Rose
Bowers, and Lily Walden —open Juanita’s Kitchen, the food
kitchen Alec Thurston and they formed as a charitable organization, a young
woman named Ivy Barrett and her seven-year-old son, Benjy come into their
lives. Ivy is appointed head of the kitchen staff and they all work together
to open the kitchen before the holidays. But when Christmas decorations are
hung and talk about Santa Claus begins, Ivy makes sure Benjy understands
that Santa Claus has never been in their lives and he shouldn’t dare
hope he ever would. Distressed, Juanita and her husband, Pedro, set out to
show them the spirit of giving is still alive and well, even for those who
don’t believe.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><i>Readers of the Desert Flower Series will delight in meeting young Benjy and
his mother. A sweet holiday story.</i></span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><i>Other Books in the The Desert Sage Inn Series</i></b></span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><div style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/46ff68e9ddbf42ae9fff9abbe8083fc4" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="471" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/46ff68e9ddbf42ae9fff9abbe8083fc4" width="471" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The Desert Flowers - Rose</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The Desert Sage Inn Series, Book 1</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The power of love and the strength of women working together are proved
once again.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The Desert Flowers – Lily</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The Desert Sage Inn Series, Book 2</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Three talented women brought together by a man’s love…</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The Desert Flowers - Willow</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The Desert Sage Inn Series, Book 3</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The power of love and the strength of women working together are proved
once again.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08Q3N1S9N">Available on Amazon</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><div style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/f3bff450a86f41dfb1b0e21b1a2d8bf1" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="463" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/f3bff450a86f41dfb1b0e21b1a2d8bf1" width="463" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>About the Author</b></span></p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/cd0f8bcff92d44649abc17cf5bcc4ca8" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/cd0f8bcff92d44649abc17cf5bcc4ca8" width="274" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Judith Keim, A USA Today Best Selling Author, is a hybrid author who both
has a publisher and self-publishes. Ms. Keim writes heart-warming novels
about women who face unexpected challenges, meet them with strength, and
find love and happiness along the way, stories with heart. Her best-selling
books are based, in part, on many of the places she's lived or visited and
on the interesting people she's met, creating believable characters and
realistic settings her many loyal readers love.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">She enjoyed her childhood and young-adult years in Elmira, New York, and
now makes her home in Boise, Idaho, with her husband and their two
dachshunds, Winston and Wally, and other members of her family.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">While growing up, she was drawn to the idea of writing stories from a young
age. Books were always present, being read, ready to go back to the library,
or about to be discovered. All in her family shared information from the
books in general conversation, giving them a wealth of knowledge and vivid
imaginations.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Ms. Keim loves to hear from her readers and appreciates their enthusiasm
for her stories.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contact Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://judithkeim.com/">Website</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://twitter.com/judithkeim">Twitter</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/judithkeim/">Instagram</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://bookbuzz.net/womens-romantic-fiction-the-desert-flowers-mistletoe-and-holly-by-judith-keim/">BookBuzz</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Purchase Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3O4C4t9">Amazon</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-desert-flowers-mistletoe-holly/id1608478959">Apple</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-desert-flowers-mistletoe-and-holly-judith-keim/1142550427?ean=2940161057971">Nook</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-desert-flowers-mistletoe-holly">Kobo</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Judith_Keim_The_Desert_Flowers_Mistletoe_Holly?id=tJ5cEAAAQBAJ">Google</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p>
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Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-86065058260177782302022-11-09T11:00:00.000-08:002022-11-24T03:16:43.177-08:00Sister! by Thomas A. Burns Jr.<p> </p><p> </p><div style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/6ce143367b964bb2ab213cca640cbc08" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/6ce143367b964bb2ab213cca640cbc08" width="362" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">A Natalie McMasters Mystery, Book 7</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Crime Fiction</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Date to be Published</b></span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">: Dec 5, 2022</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Publisher: </b>Tekrighter, LLC</span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/63237911-sister" target="_blank"><img alt="photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">What do you do when you find out your twin sister is a stone-cold killer?
Love her anyway!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Twentysomething detective Natalie McMasters comes face-to-face with the
awesome power of money and privilege in her latest adventure. After she
finds out that she has a twin sister who’s committed a heinous crime,
her son Eduardo falls into the clutches of a perverted billionaire who plays
with peoples lives for sport. Getting into his futuristic walled estate is a
piece of cake, but getting out again is another matter entirely. While her
friends and fam battle endless frustrations trying to convince the cops and
the courts that Nattie and Eduardo are in deadly danger, she plays a risky
game with a malignant narcissist, his venomous consort, and some unexpected
houseguests, fighting for the souls of her sister and her son. How can she
ever succeed against such impossible odds? The twisted ending packs a punch
you won’t soon forget!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Sister! is the perfect read for fans of Karin Slaughter, Ruth Ware and Mary
Kubica.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>About the Author</b></span></p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/005f7f28028b45f0a2d2d4f04f8b1ced" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/005f7f28028b45f0a2d2d4f04f8b1ced" width="240" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Thomas A. Burns Jr. writes the Natalie McMasters Mysteries from the small
town of Wendell, North Carolina, where he lives with his wife and son, four
cats and a Cardigan Welsh Corgi. He was born and grew up in New Jersey,
attended Xavier High School in Manhattan, earned B.S degrees in Zoology and
Microbiology at Michigan State University and a M.S. in Microbiology at
North Carolina State University. As a kid, Tom started reading boys’
mystery series with the Hardy Boys, Ken Holt and Rick Brant, then graduated
to the classic stories by authors such as A. Conan Doyle, Dorothy Sayers,
John Dickson Carr, Erle Stanley Gardner and Rex Stout, to name a few. Tom
has written fiction as a hobby all of his life, beginning with Man from
U.N.C.L.E. stories in marble-backed copybooks in grade school. He built a
career as technical, science and medical writer and editor for nearly thirty
years in industry and government. Now that he’s a full-time novelist,
he’s excited to publish his own mystery series, as well as writing
stories about his second most favorite detective, Sherlock Holmes.
Tom’s Holmes story, The Camberwell Poisoner, appeared in the
March–June issue of The Strand Magazine in 2021. The sixth book in the
Natalie McMasters Mysteries, Killers!, was released in September, 2021, and
won the Silver Falchion award for best action/adventure book of 2021 at the
Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference. Tom has also
written a Lovecraftian horror novel, The Legacy of the Unborn, under the pen
name of Silas K. Henderson</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">‒</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">a sequel to H.P. Lovecraft</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">’</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">s masterpiece At the Mountains of Madness. In addition to publishing the
seventh Natalie McMasters Mystery, Sister!, he is currently working on a
book of Sherlock Holmes stories.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contact Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.3mdetectiveagency.com">Website</a></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17956517.Thomas_A_Burns_Jr_">Goodreads</a></span></p>
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Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-42110931178563297102022-11-08T11:00:00.001-08:002022-11-08T11:00:00.182-08:00Nunzio's Way by Nick Chiarkas<p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/nunzios-way-by-nick-chiarkas/" title="Nunzio's Way by Nick Chiarkas"><img alt="Nunzio's Way by Nick Chiarkas Banner" class="aligncenter size-full" height="225" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/nunzios-way-by-nick-chiarkas-banner-.jpg" width="400" /></a></h2>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>Nunzio's Way</h2>
<h3>by Nick Chiarkas</h3>
<h4>October 24-November 18, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h4>
</div>
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<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left; margin-right: 15px; width: 225px;"><img alt="Nunzio's Way by Nick Chiarkas" border="0" height="292" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/nunzios-way-by-nick-chiarkas-cover-scaled.jpg" style="float: left; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin: 5px 15px 5px 0px;" width="200" /></div>
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<h4>"In this city, you can have anything you want if you kill the right four people." ~ Nunzio Sabino<br />
</h4>
<p>In <i>Weepers</i> (Book 1), Angelo and his gang, with a bit of help from his beloved "uncle" Nunzio Sabino, defeated the notorious Satan's Knights. Now, in this standalone sequel to Weepers, it's 1960 and Nunzio is still the most powerful organized crime boss in New York City, protecting what's his with political schemes and 'business' deals.</p>
<p>Against this backdrop of Mafia turf wars, local gang battles, and political power-plays in the mayoral election, the bodies begin stacking up. An unlikely assassin arrives fresh from Naples after killing a top member of the Camorra to avenge the murder of her family. She blends seamlessly into the neighborhood and with the focus on the threat from the Satan's Knights, no one suspects that Angelo's father and Nunzio are next on her hit list. Nunzio has lived his entire life by the mantra; <i>Be a fox when there are traps and a lion when there are wolves.</i> Will Nunzio be a lion in time?</p>
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<h3>Praise for Nick Chiarkas:</h3>
<p>"Writers are always told, 'Write what you know.' Nick Chiarkas knows New York, organized crime, and how to write an engaging story. <i>Nunzio’s Way</i> is gritty and thoroughly gripping."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span>John DeDakis, award-winning Novelist and former editor for CNN’s <em>“The Situation Room with Wolf Blitzer”</em></span></p>
</div>
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<blockquote class="details">
<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Crime Thriller / Historical <br />
<b>Published by:</b> HenschelHAUS Publishing<br />
<b>Publication Date:</b> October 2022<br />
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 261<br />
<b>ISBN:</b> 978159595-908-6<br />
<b>Series:</b> Weepers, #2<br />
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3C8jDQd" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3ppHpzv" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></p>
</blockquote>
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<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div class="excerpt" style="border-color: 800000; border-style: groove; border-width: 3px; height: 250px; overflow: auto;">
<h4>PROLOGUE</h4>
<p>For those who have read <i>Weepers</i> a while ago, and for those who have not read <i>Weepers</i>, here is a brief description of Nunzio Sabino, as told by Father Joe to Father Casimiro (Father Cas) in <i>Weepers</i>. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“In 1920... Caffè Fiora was the Baling Hook, a tough bar owned by an ex-longshoreman, Stanley Marco, and his wife Sylvia—who was every bit as tough as Stan. The place was decorated with nets, anchors, and baling hooks hanging all over the walls. It had a long bar and small tables.” </p>
<p>“Sounds charming,” Father Casimiro said sarcastically. </p>
<p>“In a strange way, it was. The booze was good. The food was tolerable. And the dancers were okay—that is, except for one. Fiora Ventosa was a delicate breeze in a cigar-filled room. And when she danced, the room dropped silent. She was sensational.” </p>
<p>“A stripper?” </p>
<p>“Not completely, more burlesque. The dancers would take off this or that but never stripped completely. Each night of the week featured a different dancer. Fiora danced on Tuesday nights. And Nunzio fell in love with her.” </p>
<p>“How old was he?” </p>
<p>“Thirteen. We were all kids about the same age. There were five of us—me, Nunzio, Pompeo—Anna’s father— </p>
<p>George, and Nick. We would sneak in every Tuesday night. Sylvia knew, but let it slide.” </p>
<p>“Did Fiora know how Nunzio—” </p>
<p>“Probably. She would sometimes sit with us after her show. Thinking back, she probably thought it was cute, and compared to the rest of the clientele, we were safe, adoring fans. We would sit there and Nunzio would be transfixed. She was seventeen and Nunzio figured a four-year difference wasn’t that much. So, after watching her dance every Tuesday for seven or eight months, on the third Tuesday in January 1920, Nunzio decided to tell Fiora he wanted to marry her. Seems silly now, but back then...what did we know? Anyway, Nunzio had to work late, so we waited for him and then we beat it over to the Hook.” </p>
<p>Father Casimiro loved these stories. They gave him a history, like he belonged to the neighborhood. “Did he tell her?” </p>
<p>“When we got to the Hook, Stan was shoving everyone out of the place, telling them to go home. Somebody, I don’t know who, said, ‘You kids better not go in there tonight.’ We pushed our way in against everybody leaving. There were several overturned tables and a couple of people standing around looking down.” </p>
<p>“Looking down?” Father Casimiro dodged several kids running along the sidewalk. </p>
<p>“Sylvia was sitting on the floor crying. Fiora was lying on the floor, covered by a large flannel shirt. Her head in Sylvia’s lap. Stan was arguing with a big guy they called the Bear. He was six- foot-six and must have weighed in at over three hundred pounds. He was a foreman on the docks and a neighborhood bully. The Bear stood there in a T-shirt and said to Stan, ‘Don’t you say nothing, you hear me? Nothing.’ Sylvia shouted up at the Bear, ‘You sonofabitch, you killed this little girl.’” </p>
<p>“What? She was dead? He killed her? Why?” </p>
<p>“The drunken Bear wanted to see more skin. He yanked her off the dance floor. She fought and he broke her neck.” Father Joe lit a cigarette and handed the pack to Father Casimiro. </p>
<p>Father Casimiro lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Poor girl.” Cigarette smoke escaped with the words. He handed the pack back to Father Joe. “Nunzio must have been devastated. You all, just kids, must have been—” </p>
<p>“It was the only time I ever saw Nunzio cry. Ever. It was the most heart-rending, profound sadness I ever witnessed. Nunzio dropped to his knees and touched her face. Meanwhile, the Bear was standing over Sylvia with his two buddies, one on either side of him, and he said to Stan, ‘The girl’s trash; nobody’s gonna miss her. So, you and your wife keep your mouths shut.’ He reached down and grabbed his shirt off Fiora and started to put it on. </p>
<p>He continued, “That was when I noticed that Nunzio was missing. And then I heard the scream. It didn’t sound human. It was pain and fury. It was Nunzio, and he was in midair—he jumped from the top of the bar behind the Bear. In each hand, he gripped a baling hook—he had taken them off the wall. He looked like an eagle screaming in for the kill. The Bear’s arms were halfway in his shirt sleeves when the points of the heavy hooks pierced his deltoid muscles from behind. The hooks hit both shoulders and sunk behind his collarbone.” </p>
<p>“Dear God,” Father Casimiro shivered as he imagined the pain of a thick steel hook sinking into his shoulder muscle. </p>
<p>“The Bear roared and swung from side to side. Nunzio held on tight to the hooks, his legs flying from left to right, back and forth. The Bear’s arms were pinned halfway in his shirt. He kept trying to grab Nunzio’s legs. But with each movement, the hooks sank deeper.” </p>
<p>Father Casimiro was no longer aware of the people pushing past him, some smiling and nodding. The musty beer and sawdust of the Baling Hook filled his senses. He imagined the blood spurting from the hooks, and a thirteen-year-old boy hanging on—fortified by rage. Father Casimiro smoked and listened. “What about the Bear’s friends?” </p>
<p>“The two of them grabbed at Nunzio, and that’s when we—all four of us—jumped in. I was a pretty good boxer by then, and Pompeo was always a strong kid. Nick pulled a knife, and George grabbed another baling hook off the wall. The Bear’s buddies ran out of the place; they weren’t up for the fight. After that, the only ones in the Hook were Stan, Sylvia, the Bear, Fiora, and us. The Bear started spinning and coughing up blood. Nunzio just held on. We were trying to get them apart. But the Bear kept spinning, knocking over tables. And Nunzio was like a cape flying from the Bear’s shoulders. </p>
<p>“Then, finally, the Bear dropped to his knees, straight down, his arms dead, draped at his sides. As the Bear fell forward, Nunzio pulled on the hooks. The Bear growled and then whimpered as his face cracked the wooden floor. All the time, Nunzio held onto the hooks—pulling. He let go when the Bear rolled over on his back—hooks still buried in his shoulders. He looked straight up at Nunzio.” </p>
<p>“He was still alive?” Father Casimiro gasped. </p>
<p>“Only for a moment or two. Nunzio wasn’t finished, but Stan grabbed him and said, ‘He’s gone. You kids get out of here so we can clean up.’ Nunzio never fell in love again.” </p>
<p>“Did she have any family?” Father Casimiro asked, flicking his cigarette into the gutter. “I mean, Fiora.” </p>
<p>“Fiora was fifteen and pregnant with Natale when she arrived in New York from Genoa. The Cherry Street Settlement took her in and after Natale was born, they got her a room with Sylvia and Stan, who hired Fiora to tend bar and dance on Tuesday nights. Fiora Ventosa was born on the third Tuesday in March and seventeen years later died on the third Tuesday in January, and her only family was two- year-old Natale Ventosa. No one ever knew who the father was. Natale was raised by Sylvia and Stan.” </p>
<p>“What about the police and the Bear’s friends?” </p>
<p>“No police—Stan fixed that. But the Bear’s pals came after Nunzio. The five of us were inseparable. Nunzio was, is, a born leader. Battle after battle, victory after victory, we quickly gained a reputation. Eventually other guys wanted to join our gang. By sixteen, Nunzio was the most powerful gang leader in the city. When he was twenty, he bought the Baling Hook.” </p>
<p>“He bought it?” </p>
<p>“Stan had passed away a couple of years earlier, so Nunzio turned it into a pretty good restaurant—no dancing—and re-named it Caffè Fiora. He sent Sylvia money every month to cover Natale’s financial needs. He paid Sylvia more than she ever dreamed to run the restaurant. When Sylvia died in ’51, Nunzio gave the restaurant to Natale.” </p>
<p>“So, you became a priest to ...” </p>
<p>“The battles we won were hard fought and people were killed. We all...I killed,” Father Joe confessed. “At nineteen, I decided to become a priest and devote my life to saving as many kids in these neighborhoods as I could in return for God’s forgiveness. We have an uneasy relationship—I’m certain God doesn’t always agree with my methods, and I have some questions for Him as well. But I’m sticking to the deal.” </p>
<p>“What about the other kids? Did they stay in the gang?” </p>
<p>“No. Pompeo is a foreman at the meat market, Nick became a cop, and George is a foreman on the docks. But on the third Tuesday of each month, the five of us go back there, just like when we were thirteen, but now it’s the Caffè Fiora—and we play poker in the back room and talk about how fast time passes.” </p>
<p>“Does Natale know?” </p>
<p>“Sylvia told her the whole story. Natale loves Nunzio like a father,” Father Joe said as he and Father Casimiro passed Columbus Park and made a left from Mulberry Street onto Worth Street. “This is the end of Little Italy.” </p>
<p>As they reached St. Joachim’s, Father Casimiro said, “I think I’ll walk over to the Settlement. You want to come with?” </p>
<p>“Come with?” Father Joe teased. “Sure, I can use the exercise.” </p>
<p>“Does Nunzio ever worry about some ambitious hooligan wanting to take over? Or is that just in the movies?” </p>
<p>“Hooligan?” Father Joe smiled. “Nunzio is the top lion. He is constantly watched by the ambitious and the aggrieved. He can’t show weakness. He can’t let a single insult—especially a public one—go unchecked. Continued leadership requires constant vigilance and no margin of error. None.” </p>
<p>“Sounds stressful.” </p>
<p>“It is. The only time Nunzio can relax—really be himself, joke around—is with us, the kids who grew up with him, on the third Tuesday of the month.” </p>
<h4>CHAPTER ONE</h4>
<h6>“The right four people”</h6>
<p>“Pal, in this city, you can have anything you want if you kill the right four people.” </p>
<p>“Nunzio, we don’t have to kill –” </p>
<p>“We? Me and you, De?” Nunzio leaned back, a gesture as intimidating as a knife to the throat when it came from Nunzio Sabino, the most powerful crime boss in the city. </p>
<p>Nunzio sat at his private table with his attorney, Declan Ardan, in the dusk-lit Caffè Fiora on Grand Street in Little Italy. On the walls, ropes, hooks, and paintings of Genoa’s seaport, honored the birthplace of the owner’s mother, Fiora, her dark eyes still vigilant from the portrait above Nunzio’s table. The Caffè was quiet on this rainy St. Patrick’s Day. Two of Nunzio’s men sat at a nearby table. The guy who had come with Declan sat hunched over coffee near the entrance. </p>
<p>“No, I mean, nobody has to get killed; talk to your guys at Tammany. They respect –” </p>
<p>“You still got that scar,” Nunzio said. It’s bad enough in court; there, I do what he says. But not at my table. Since we were kids, this mameluke was a bully. I can’t give him an inch. Not an inch. “What about my guys?” </p>
<p>De touched the scar above his left eye. “Doolin said the Italians run everything now. He said, ‘If anyone can pull strings...’” </p>
<p>“Before you start pinning medals on my ass,” Nunzio signaled to a waiter. “Arturo, bring me and ‘Deadshot’ here a couple of espressos and Natale’s little cakes.” </p>
<p>“All I’m saying is–”</p>
<p>“Marone, you’re still talkin’?”</p>
<p>“All I want – ”</p>
<p>“I know what you want. You wanna be mayor.” Nunzio lit a Camel and tossed the pack on the table while exhaling through his nose like a dragon. “Listen to me, Brian Doolin is a piantagrane, a troublemaker. For an upfront payment he sells you a dream. Then when it doesn’t come true it was always somebody else’s fault. Like you, that time when we were kids, and you told me Eddie Fialco sounded on my mother. It was bullshit, you just wanted me to beat him up. You’re a piantagrane, like Doolin. It works for you in court, but Doolin just likes to cause trouble. Look, you got a kid who wants to go to college for a grand, your kid’s in. But mayor, forse si forse no?” </p>
<p>“So, maybe a chance?”</p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p>De stroked his scar absentmindedly. “You gave me this when we were kids.”</p>
<p>“It makes you look like a tough guy.”</p>
<p>“I once asked Joe why you hit me with that rock.”</p>
<p>“It was a brick,” Nunzio said.</p>
<p>“Joe said it was to save my life. I still don’t get it.” “You don’t have to.”</p>
<p>“But Joe was there.”</p>
<p>“Joe was with Pompeo and me and a bunch of us. </p>
<p>What were we, ten years old? We were cutting through the empty lot to school, and you – ” </p>
<p>“Okay, so I was taking kid's lunch money. They all gave it up except you. You were the smallest kid, and you just said ‘No’.” </p>
<p>“And what did you say to me?” </p>
<p>“That’s what I don’t get; I just said, ‘okay, maybe next time’ and you hit me hard with a brick. I swear I was knocked out for a couple of minutes.” </p>
<p>“You said ‘maybe next time.’”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“But you never asked me again.”</p>
<p>“I thought you were crazy. I followed you home one day. I figured if I saw where you lived, I would get a better read on you. I trailed you into the cellar of 57 Canon Street. I saw a little bed in one corner and a pile of banana crates by the door – the only things in that dirt floor cavernous space. You were shoveling coal into the furnace, which explained why you always had soot on you. I was about to say something when a spider the size of my face jumped out at me from the crates, and I beat it the hell out of there.” </p>
<p>“You followed me?”</p>
<p>“How could you have lived in that cellar?”</p>
<p>“Instead of where?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. Maybe in...I don’t know. Didn’t some family take you in?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, the Sas family. Good people.”</p>
<p>“Anyway, I never asked you for money again.”</p>
<p>“If you had, I would’ve killed you. So, the brick saved your life.” </p>
<p>Declan nodded. “Yeah. Got it.”</p>
<p>Three years later, a hulking longshoreman people called “The Bear” wouldn’t be so lucky. He was the first man Nunzio killed. At the ripe age of 13, his life and the lives of four of his friends, changed forever. </p>
<p>Nunzio drifted back to his childhood. He was six years old when his mother and he moved from Naples to the Lower East Side. Alone after his mother died, he learned to survive in one of the most notorious neighborhoods in the city. Where the narrow, trash-lined streets and alleys weaved together decaying brownstone tenements with common toilets, one per floor. He shoveled coal and guarded the produce stored there by the ships docked off South Street, to pay for living in the cellar. </p>
<p>After school, Nunzio mostly walked the streets. He recalled the putrid smell of decomposing cats and dogs covered with a trembling blanket of insects, rats, and things he didn’t recognize. Lying in the gutter against the sidewalk on Pike Street was a horse, with old and fresh whip wounds, shrouded in a cloak of flying and crawling insects. Plenty of other horrors and hardships confronted him throughout his life, but when he closed his eyes, Nunzio saw the horse. </p>
<p>“I know you’re not here to talk about old times. Whadaya need?” </p>
<p>“Nunzio, no one is better than you with –”</p>
<p>“Christ, without the bullshit.”</p>
<p>De lowered his voice, “Tammany Hall is on the outs </p>
<p>with the mayor, and they’re scrambling to find a candidate to run against him. So, if you would tell them that you would be grateful if they would pick me...” </p>
<p>“You tellin’ me what to tell them? Forget about it. Anyway, I like the deputy mayor; he postponed the Brooklyn Bridge deal as a favor to me back in ’57.</p>
<p>“Nunzio, did I do something to piss you off? Is that why your guys searched us when we came in today?” </p>
<p>Chinatown was pushing towards Canal Street; the Russians were gaining a footprint in Brighten Beach. And Pepe, Nunzio’s driver, bodyguard, and right hand since forever, told him there were rumbles of a hit on Nunzio. Someone or some group was always waiting and watching. He knew, like bosses everywhere, that everyone under him thought they could do a better job and thought the boss never did enough for them. This felt different. Pepe had heard it from one of his spies in Satan’s Knights. Pepe would get more information. </p>
<p>But all Nunzio said was, “I’m a little cautious these days. You know how it is.” </p>
<p>“I’m your lawyer; you call me when you need help. Right?” </p>
<p>“I pay you top dollar. You complainin’?” </p>
<p>“No, I’m saying we help each other. We knew growing up here, the only choice was to be a gangster or a victim. No offense.” </p>
<p>“You believe that crap?” Nunzio shook his head. “What?”</p>
<p>“You can be whatever you wanna be.”</p>
<p>“I try to be straight, but you know – ” </p>
<p>“Who you kiddin‘?” </p>
<p>“The point is, we have to trust each other.” De took a long breath and looked wistful as his eyes landed on the painting of Fiora. “I came here with you to see her dance. She was 16 back then, with a two-year-old kid.” </p>
<p>“Seventeen,” Nunzio said, “and the kid’s name is Natale.” </p>
<p>“And you were 13 and asked Fiora to marry you in this Caffè. Am I right?” </p>
<p>“I never got the chance.” </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>NUNZIO’S WAY</i> by NICK CHIARKAS. Copyright 2022 by Nicholas L. Chiarkas. Reproduced with permission from Nicholas L. Chiarkas. All rights reserved.</p>
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<h2>Author Bio:</h2>
<div style="float: right; margin-left: 15px; width: 230px;"><img align="left" alt="Nicholas L. Chiarkas" border="0" height="300" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/nunzios-way-by-nick-chiarkas-author.jpeg" style="float: right; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin: 5px 15px 5px 0px;" width="200" /></div>
<p>Nick Chiarkas grew up in the Al Smith housing projects in the Two Bridges neighborhood on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.</p>
<p>When he was in the fourth grade, his mother was told by the principal of PS-1 that, “Nick was unlikely to ever complete high school, so you must steer him toward a simple and secure vocation.” Instead, Nick became a writer, with a few stops along the way: a U.S. Army Paratrooper; a New York City Police Officer; the Deputy Chief Counsel for the President’s Commission on Organized Crime; and the Director of the Wisconsin State Public Defender Agency.</p>
<p>On the way to becoming an author, he picked up a Doctorate from Columbia University; a Law Degree from Temple University; and was a Pickett Fellow at Harvard. How many mothers are told their children are hopeless? How many kids with potential simply surrender to despair? That’s why Nick wrote Weepers and Nunzio's Way— for them.</p>
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Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-80258849623633284582022-11-03T04:18:00.001-07:002022-11-24T03:19:21.969-08:00The Year of the Bear by Douglas J. Lanzo<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rockstarbooktours.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="615" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ybgTdOpcnwomcwaMzJ6YnIr_5_nvAjyRoABgozRsSXei0GAUGbaCDaCrnP4gk4czY2J69cXVij13dvIOvTGdlWPoqJ5A9ni1DkUMFdQ8vXCqBTorg8UBqQHAOcjW0VlaxriEVszaNxNPS7W7Vp0XCDGbnX5OaDzUQKSu3FeM9a7bYPp9_z1TSFeX4w/w400-h156/THE%20YEAR%20OF%20THE%20BEAR%20RDB.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I am so excited that THE YEAR OF THE BEAR by Douglas J. Lanzo & Ambassador
International is available now and that I get to share the news!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book, be sure to check out
all the details below. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">This blitz also includes a giveaway for a finished copy of the book
courtesy of Ambassador International & </span><a href="http://www.rockstarbooktours.com/"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Rockstar Book Tours</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">. So if
you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About The Book:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="_Hlk118111593"></a><a name="_Hlk78363837"></a><a name="_Hlk114229253"></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></b></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3FwKU0l" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2550" data-original-width="1650" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0LRl0Er6xMWEnh7DsYm7CeWYwkVB1flNMkj2SP_tRHV52bQtuQmfLN7_R6t2rWer7IwnQ-DmwkeYRcJC8X63HjHBEsfFJBS1taRVcfX3Hq7LkztSO3BhBVod7tRnx8QXisiInemWyefuhOpK8JcwR2xAwz0Ab7QvcQuigDSYAvucr_jvsGFqY6sm8g/w259-h400/9781649602107.jpg" width="259" /></a></span></b></span></span></span></div><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Title:</span></b></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> THE YEAR OF THE BEAR<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Author: </span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Douglas J.
Lanzo<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pub. Date:</span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> November 1, 2022<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Publisher: </span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Ambassador
International<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Formats:</span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> Hardcover, Paperback,
eBook<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pages:</span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> 316<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Find it:</span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62454731-the-glow"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Goodreads</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, </span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://amzn.to/3FwKU0l"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Amazon</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">, </span></span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-year-of-the-bear-douglas-j-lanzo/1142390466?ean=9781649602107"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">B&N</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">,</span></span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-year-of-the-bear/id6443621673?itsct=books_box_link&itscg=30200&ls=1&at=10l32yD"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> iBooks</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">, </span></span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://click.linksynergy.com/deeplink?id=5LPtjgetns4&mid=37217&murl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.kobo.com%2Fus%2Fen%2Febook%2Fthe-year-of-the-bear"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Kobo</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">, </span></span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://tidd.ly/3zww5Hv"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">TBD</span></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">, </span></span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://bookshop.org/a/1250/9781649602107"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Bookshop.org</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk116045065;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk114229253;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk78363837;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A remarkable story of a bear and the
coming-of-age journey of a teenage boy.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Thirteen-year-old Jason is on the
cusp of manhood, striving to fi nd his place at school and at home—especially
after his mother has abandoned them and his father is left to deal with his own
anger. When Jason and his father encounter a bear while out hunting, they shoot
and kill it, not realizing that they have left a cub without its mother. When
Sasquot of the Penobscot Tribe, a part of the Bear Family, discovers what they
have done, he decides that Jason needs a lesson in caring for God’s creatures.
Thus begins a year that Jason will never forget as he begins to care and train
the cub in order for it to survive. As Jason forms a bond with the bear, he, in
turn, learns valuable lessons for life.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Fans of classic, enthralling
adventure (and I’m one) are in for a rare treat.”-<b>Josh Lieb</b><br />
New York Times best-selling and Emmy Award-winning author of <i>I am a
Genius of Unspeakable Evil</i> and <i>I Want to Be Your Class
President</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118111593;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Excerpt<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The bright sunlight of a late August morning filtered through
the windows and slanted into Jason’s eyes, disturbing a deep sleep that had
passed into an agitated one. Jason’s dream had mirrored the reality of the
previous night, except that he had found himself transformed from the hunter
into the hunted. In his dream, Jason had stood alone in the center of a slowly
but steadily constricting circle of bears stalking their prey, not for hunger
but for revenge. He had killed one of their own, and Jason could discern from
the intense fire that burned in their eyes that they had sentenced him to
death. Jason shuddered for an instant in the nether world between sleep and
consciousness and then gratefully found himself in the waking world.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Jason’s first thought was for the welfare of his loyal dog,
who had nearly sacrificed his own life in defense of his threatened master. Max
lay fast asleep, wrapped in his blanket with a half-eaten bowl of dog food
beside him. Jason took this as an auspicious sign, recognizing that, beyond the
sustenance it brought, feeding evidenced a psychological will to live. For
Sasquot had ingrained in Jason an appreciation of the power of a being’s spirit
to overcome adversity and even death, telling Jason from childhood, “Spirit
inside is the fire of man. So long as the fire burns, death will have no power
to steal the body away.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Jason smiled with appreciation as he prepared a breakfast of
cereal covered with slices of freshly picked apples. Max had weathered four
Maine winters, a scrap with a Great Dane, and two raccoon bites. Max had not
cowered from the bear in fear, but rather had pounced on it to protect his
young master.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">What a spirit! </span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Jason beamed with admiration. <i>If only I could act so
bravely in the heat of such danger.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Engrossed in thought, Jason made his way from the main house
to the sheep pasture where Sasquot would be grazing the sheep, absent one
unfortunate lamb. Jason’s reflections centered on his family stock and whether
he could ever measure up to their bravery.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About Douglas J. Lanzo:</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://douglaslanzo.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqXzYN9jbEv3M3tXyMPojiSqmH-zzj4i5-7LTPoG9gIQ3c5Gpuy02LQa8g3qcrKOpnu2hM_uLvfleNKAsPbOFSWlhb6HecHGrhGUISvgbp_JWpcc9f_iSd1zZ9xXhn9u46Z0APBf0QebcxBaAv-ah-3BI6lVUxTtARA3cs9fWsoW1cwo69uAYbtvkEw/s320/Doug%20Lanzo.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">An award-winning and featured
inspirational author published in Vita Brevis Press’ bestselling 2021 poetry
anthology and Café Haiku’s upcoming 2021 Fifth Poetry Anthology and featured in
WestWard Quarterly’s Winter 2021 issue, since 2020 Douglas’ poetry has found
homes in thirty-eight literary publications across the U.S., Canada, England,
Wales, Austria, Mauritius, India, Australia, and The Caribbean. A graduate of
Harvard College and Law School, where Douglas enjoyed writing editorials for
The Harvard Crimson and articles for various other Harvard publications, he has
published professional legal articles throughout his career. A General Counsel
by day and writer by night, Douglas resides in Chevy Chase, Maryland, with his
wife and twelve-year old identical twin boys, fellow published poets, enjoying nature,
traveling, biking, tennis, and chess.</span> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://douglaslanzo.com/"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Website</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> | </span><a href="https://www.instagram.com/douglanzo/"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Instagram</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> | </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22990115.Douglas_J_Lanzo"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Goodreads</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> | </span><a href="https://amzn.to/3sOxzsN"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> | </span><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/douglas-j-lanzo"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">BookBub</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Giveaway Details:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">1 Winner will receive a finished
copy of THE YEAR OF THE BEAR, US Only.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Ends November 8th, midnight EST.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>
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Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-44186141402918456222022-10-29T04:15:00.001-07:002022-11-24T03:16:05.452-08:00A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens<p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/a-war-in-too-many-worlds-by-elizabeth-crowens/" title="A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens"><img alt="A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens Banner" class="aligncenter size-full" height="225" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/a-war-in-too-many-worlds-by-elizabeth-crowens-banner--2048x1152.jpg" width="400" /></a></h2>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>A War in Too Many Worlds</h2>
<h3>by Elizabeth Crowens</h3>
<h4>October 17 - November 11, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h4>
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<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left; margin-right: 15px; width: 225px;"><img alt="A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens" border="0" height="305" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/a-war-in-too-many-worlds-by-elizabeth-crowens-Cover.jpg" style="float: left; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin: 5px 15px 5px 0px;" width="200" /></div>
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<h4>The Time Traveler Professor</h4>
<p>The secret diaries of John Patrick Scott pick up at the close of 1917. British intelligence sends Scott to work undercover in Berlin with his old partner-in-crime, Wendell Mackenzie, as his outside contact in Paris. Back on the Western Front, Scott discovered his ability to see the ghosts of the dead. Unsure if that’s a blessing or a curse, he takes this one-step further, employing spirits in the world of deception and intrigue. As the Russian monarchy crumbles and the Red Baron meets his final match, for Scott, true love is always beyond arm’s reach. His long-lost patrons and paramours, Sophia and Francois Poincaré, resurface but as potential enemies of the Crown.</p>
<p>Arthur Conan Doyle vows to retrieve his stolen time machine from H.G. Wells. Scott is still at odds with Doyle, who still refuses to publicly acknowledge his contributions for ghostwriting Sherlock Holmes, and Doyle encounters Harry Houdini in the most unlikely of places. Get ready for a wild ride.</p>
<h4><i>Time Traveler Professor, Book Three: A War in Too Many Worlds</i>, pairs murder, mayhem and mysticism in a mashup where <i>The Lost World</i> meets <i>The Island of Doctor Moreau</i>. Stay tuned for Book Four, <i>The Story Beyond Time</i>, the final book in this epic series.</h4>
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<h3>Praise for <i>A War in Too Many Worlds</i>:</h3>
<p>"You'll find that time stands still as your turn the pages and enjoy the roller-coaster plot, the only disappointment arriving when you reach the final moments of this extraordinary story... and want more."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3985607204?book_show_action=true&from_review_page=1">Terry Shepherd</a></span></p>
</div>
<p>"Meticulously researched and wholly evocative of its time period; rich detail, immersive atmosphere and clever use of documented Victorian interests in the paranormal give Crowens’s latest novel distinct authenticity. The difficult task of channeling such bold and beloved icons as Doyle, Wells and Houdini is confidently and capably handled. Brimming with specificity, historic flavor and intriguing supernatural fancy, <i>A War in Too Many Worlds</i> is an impressive feat of fact weaving into fiction; sure to please history buffs as well as the more fantastical at heart in equal measure."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span>Leanna Renee Hieber, award-winning, bestselling author</span></p>
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<p>"Pack your best time-traveling attire, your sense of humor, and your open mind. <i>A War in Too Many Worlds</i> by Elizabeth Crowens, the third book in the Time Traveler Professor series, is a vibrant, explosive treatise on the intersection of magic, science, and spirituality. The book is both a loving nod to an era when magic and science were separated by a hairsbreadth, and a Jungian exploration of time, memory, and mysticism. Though the topics are erudite, the author’s wit and humor combined with karmic twists, musical accompaniment, and a historical who’s who, keep the book moving to its thrilling and unexpected climax. The entire series is highly recommended, and I can’t wait to see what happens next."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span>Kerry Adrienne, USA Today bestselling author</span></p>
</div>
<p>"This genre-bending trip through time and space offers the same delightfully loopy charm as a Doctor Who episode—but with its own irresistible allure, as if Douglas Adams and Jules Verne collaborated with a little help from Kafka. Crowens jumps effortlessly from the mournful haunts of Berlin during the Great War to the unpredictable travels of H.G. Wells and Arthur Conan Doyle. Exotic—and yet strangely familiar—characters keep popping up to entertain us. However, even among the amusements are laments of lost loves and lost opportunities—along with ghosts (both real and imagined)—all of which elevate the story. Indeed, together with the many fantastic elements, we are moved by the strivings and desires of the all-too-human characters, who will stick with you long after you get to the last page."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span>R.J. Koreto, author of the Lady Frances Ffolkes and <a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/tag/alice-roosevelt-mystery/" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Alice Roosevelt historical mysteries</a></span></p>
</div>
<p>"Take your favorite elements for a paranormal mystery adventure— from Victorian times into the 20th century, historical (and then some) characters like Conan Doyle, Jung, Houdini, and a few surprises. Add the MacGuffin of a mysterious red book, and you will understand the delights of Elizabeth Crowens’s series featuring the Time Traveling Professor. Things come to a head in the third book in this delightful series. If you need to escape this world for a bit, try the one she has so beautifully built for you."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span>Jim Freund, host of radio program Hour of the Wolf</span></p>
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<blockquote class="details">
<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Alternate History / Time Travel <br />
<b>Published by:</b> Atomic Alchemist Productions<br />
<b>Publication Date:</b> August 16th 2021<br />
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 293 <br />
<b>ISBN:</b> 9781950384075<br />
<b>Series:</b> Time Traveler Professor, #3<br />
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3JIRvVH" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3SGdIrg" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3JN2JbF" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3SGuQNJ" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">The Mysterious Bookshop</a></p>
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<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div class="excerpt" style="border-color: 800000; border-style: groove; border-width: 3px; height: 250px; overflow: auto;">
<h4>CHAPTER 2 CONFESS THE CRIME</h4>
<p>Arthur Conan Doyle made a reservation for H.G. Wells to dine with at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand, one of the poshest establishments London had to offer. Both Arthur’s and Wells’s cars pulled up to the curb at the same time. Dressed to the nines, each gentleman appeared as if he were bound for the opera with top hats and the finest of formal wear.</p>
<p>“I almost feel guilty dressing for the occasion.” Wells adjusted his dinner jacket and mumbled that they were tailored for men who were far less pudgy. “Like it’s anti-patriotic to be celebrating while others are in misery.”</p>
<p>“I thought <i>something nutritious at Simpson’s would not be out of place</i>,” Arthur said.</p>
<p>“Didn’t Sherlock Holmes say something like that?</p>
<p>“He mentioned Simpson’s in <i>The Adventure of the Dying Detective</i>. After feigning a fatal illness and starving himself for three days to look the part, he looked forward to breaking his fast by dining here. Rest assured, I planned this so we wouldn’t arrive on their mandatory meat-free day of the week.” </p>
<p>“Oh, how I hate wartime rationing.”</p>
<p>“Agreed. At the beginning of the war, Simpson’s managed to be exempt. In fact, an article in <i>The Times</i> said in an obituary of its head chef, ‘Thomas Davey was a culinary patriot. He commanded a brigade of 100 men, and under his supervision 1,400 pounds of English meat, 300 pounds of turbot, 100 pounds of Scotch salmon, and two wagons full of vegetables were prepared every day.” </p>
<p>Wells added, “P.G. Wodehouse once wrote, ‘The God of Fatted Plenty has the place under his protection.’” </p>
<p>“Come,” Arthur said. “They’re strict in enforcing penalties on latecomers. My hunger is talking, and I’d hate to be turned away due to a ridiculous rule. I’ve been so looking forward to their famed silver trolleys piled high with meats-a-plenty. <i>Allons-y!”</i></p>
<p>The maître d’ ushered them to a back table where the gentlemen settled in and got comfortable. He returned with menus and apologized for their abbreviated wartime menu. Although food was on his mind, Arthur’s main objective of the evening was to ferret out any information possible whether his theories held water that Wells was the prime suspect in the theft of his time machine. </p>
<p>“Bertie, besides whatever you’re tied up doing for the Ministry of Information, what have you been writing, especially in the realm of fiction?” </p>
<p>Wells took a sip of water and carefully placed his napkin on his lap, his words calculated and deliberate. “My publishers requested I steer clear of controversial politics. They suggested I try my hand at detective stories since yours have been so popular.” </p>
<p>Speechless, Arthur raised a brow. </p>
<p>“No need to worry.” Wells laughed. “You’ll find no competition in my corner. My brain has refused to wrap itself around such a concept divergent from my true nature. Try likening it to a fish trying to swing from trees with a simian’s prehensile tail.” </p>
<p>Arthur took a moment for the scientific analogy to sink in. “Or like Sherlock Holmes insisting on following the advice of a bunch of gypsy fortunetellers?”</p>
<p>Wells nodded. “Pretty much along the same lines. With this bloody war dominating everything in our daily lives, it’s impossible not to speculate about utopian futures and what life should be, or how it would turn out if certain actions were taken. What about you?” </p>
<p>“The political scene doesn’t seem to be my calling. You know... with my unsuccessful attempt at running for a Parliamentary seat in Edinburgh back at the turn of the century. Whether I like it or not, Holmes stocks the larders of my extended family. I have, however, been writing a series of non-fiction books on the history of the Great War. With so many members of my clan putting their lives at stake on the battle lines, I wonder how many more mouths I might have to feed. There’s my brother Innes, my brother-in-law, Malcolm Leckie, a few cousins and, of course, my oldest son, Kingsley, from my first marriage are all serving over there. Maybe Kingsley will make a success of his medical career as opposed to my failed practice in ophthalmology.” </p>
<p>“I’m surprised that your son Kingsley isn’t going to take up the pen like his famous papa.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been fortunate to have received an expositor’s blessing, but as you know, it can be a lonely, difficult, and penurious road.”</p>
<p>“But surely, he wouldn’t be going it alone. He’s got his father’s footsteps he can follow, not to mention his influence.”</p>
<p>“There are others who’d like to take advantage of those favors, and I’ve refrained.” </p>
<p>“Oh, there are?” </p>
<p>On that cue, Arthur changed the subject, not wanting to tread on an unwanted path. “Ah, here’s our waiter. How about a bottle of wine? It’s not often that anyone gets to forget a war is going on. Let’s pick a claret or a hearty pinot noir from Beaune for our carnivorous celebration!”</p>
<p>He looked around at the half-empty dining room in dismay, aware he needed to distract his dinner companion from further inquiry on a subject he wanted to keep secret.</p>
<p>“So few patrons...it’s sad. One would assume Simpson’s was shutting its doors and going out of business,” he said with a sigh and glanced around the room. “I don’t recognize a single soul.”</p>
<p>Wells laughed. “This place will survive after the Martian invasion has obliterated half the population of London.”</p>
<p>The men placed their orders and continued their conversation. As much as pleasantries and small talk were always welcome, Arthur knew he had to stick to an agenda.</p>
<p>“Bertie, have you ever considered writing any sequels to any of your successful pieces of fiction?”</p>
<p>“Surely you don’t expect me to follow up with a happily ever after to <i>Anna Veronica</i>, a story which has summoned nothing but controversy...not to mention my condemnation by the heads of the Fabian Society.” </p>
<p>“Over Amber Reeves, I presume.” </p>
<p>“And others. I’m lucky my wife Jane has the capability to turn off her sensitivity like a spigot. We might have our differences, but she is a good mother to our children, and the resulting firestorm could’ve been even more disastrous. I’m a staunch proponent of feminist free-will and liberation and wholeheartedly have supported the Suffragette Movement, but I resent being branded as a libertine. In the end, the Fabian Society was comprised of socialist idealists with their stuffy Victorian mores.</p>
<p>“Having the financial clout to speak my mind on the page has had its advantages, but I doubt if the full expression of sexual passions is in vogue when the <i>war to end all wars</i> takes precedence. Rebecca West, my darling, has written literary critiques in my defense, but others have not been so forgiving. Maybe it’s an attack —a class war of sorts—that I’ve achieved notoriety and success where others haven’t, and it’s always easier to cut another down than to improve upon one’s own shortcomings. I could come up with plenty of theories. However, with such scathing attacks on <i>Mr. Polly</i>, <i>Togo-Bungay</i>, and <i>The Research Magnificent</i> from several corners, I don’t think the public craves a sequel on the promotion of extramarital sex.”</p>
<p>Breaking out into a sweat, Wells started to grab a gravy-soaked napkin by accident but reached for his handkerchief to wipe off his damp forehead, instead. “Our unfolding history will dictate an encore to <i>Mr. Breitling Sees it Through</i>, and I mentioned it in one of our earlier conversations that I’m concerned my political and technological predictions will bode ill for mankind. Don’t consider it farfetched that our German enemies might’ve raided my garbage and invented weapons of doom and destruction from the outtakes of my manuscripts. We already have tank warfare to answer for after I wrote my story, <i>The Iron Clads</i>.” </p>
<p>“Bertie, you’re making this way too personal. Let’s appeal to the simple, Troglodyte mind and communicate in plain English.” Arthur took a moment to savor the smells of his special-prepared mutton curry. He’d have to choose his words with care—a sensitive topic, to say the least. “I was thinking more along the other end of the spectrum—of capitalizing upon the success of your scientific romances.”</p>
<p>“Like what you did with Professor Challenger in <i>The Poison Belt</i>?” Wells asked.</p>
<p>“Precisely. I’ve even considered writing a third novel in that series. Have one of your heroes go back to the scene of the crime. Ha! Here, I’m speaking in terms of Scotland Yard. Suppose you have Bert Smallways embark upon another aerial adventure in a follow up to <i>A War in the Air</i>. Jules Verne created the <i>Mysterious Island</i>, a sequel to <i>Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea</i>. Why don’t you have hapless Edward Penrick from <i>The Island of Doctor Moreau</i> shipwrecked again? Better yet, have your time traveler return from his journey and fire up his time machine one more time.” </p>
<p>Arthur gave a hard stare, convinced his friend was skirting the subject. His brief silence was broken by the waiter asking if they cared for any dessert. </p>
<p>Wells viewed Arthur with serious concern. “Please don’t be redundant about your friend who has invented a time machine, and you’re inviting me over to try it.”</p>
<p>Alarmed, Arthur gulped down his coffee. “You said the words, not I.” </p>
<p>“Good, because I have no interest,” Wells replied. </p>
<p>A street urchin, clutching a loaf of bread and followed by several irate members of Simpson’s kitchen staff, rushed toward their table just as Arthur was about to elaborate.</p>
<p>“Who do we have here?” Wells asked, surprised but amused at the unexpected interruption. </p>
<p>“He reminds me of one of the Baker Street Irregulars whom Holmes uses as confederates to get information on his suspects.” Arthur added. </p>
<p>The boy’s cap fell on the floor. Arthur bent over and picked it up. </p>
<p>“Alms for the poor?” the waif asked.</p>
<p>“Cute kid,” Arthur said, reaching in his pocket for spare change. The kitchen staff scolded the child and swiped back the bread, but when they noticed his grubby hands caked with grease and soot, they declared it ruined and unfit for their customers and gave it back with disdain. The maître d’ caught up with the gentlemen, accompanied by his security detail, who apologized and escorted the intruder pell-mell out the door.</p>
<p>In the end, Arthur was no further from his objective than whence he started. He still couldn’t prove Wells had stolen his time machine and, to make matters worse, he realized their diminutive beggar was also a sly pickpocket. His wallet, along with his cherished gold timepiece, which he hadn’t secured on a chain, was gone. Wells had to pick up the tab. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>A War in Too Many Worlds</i> by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2022 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.</p>
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<h2>Author Bio:</h2>
<div style="float: right; margin-left: 15px; width: 230px;"><img align="left" alt="Elizabeth Crowens" border="0" height="303" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/a-war-in-too-many-worlds-by-elizabeth-crowens-author-scaled.jpg" style="float: right; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin: 5px 15px 5px 0px;" width="200" /></div>
<p>Currently New York City-based, worked in the entertainment industry in NY and LA for over 25 years. Writing credits include Black Belt, Black Gate, and Sherlock Holmes Mystery magazines, stories in Hell’s Heart and the Bram Stoker Award-nominated A New York State of Fright, and three alternate history/SFF novels. Recipient of the MWA-NY Leo B. Burstein Scholarship, City Artists Corps / New York Foundation of the Arts grant, a Glimmer Train Honorable Mention, an Eric Hoffer First Prize, two Grand Prize and five First Prize Chanticleer Review awards, including a 2022 Grand Prize in the Chanticleer Review Cygnus Awards for Science Fiction for <i>A War in Too Many Worlds</i>.</p>
<h3>Catch Up With Elizabeth Crowens:<br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3Ae8Pi2" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">www.ElizabethCrowens.com</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3bNuaFK" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3PabJsx" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">BookBub - @ecrowens</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3HYzu4q" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Instagram - @crowens_author</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3zGkLYg" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Twitter - @ECrowens</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3pbJq2g" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Facebook - @thereel.elizabeth.crowens</a></h3>
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<h2>Tour Participants:</h2>
<p>Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaway entries! <script src="https://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=308214" type="text/javascript"></script></p>
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<h2>Giveaway:</h2>
<h5>This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Elizabeth Crowens. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.<br />
</h5>
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Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-23981307587734771892022-10-24T21:00:00.002-07:002022-10-24T21:00:00.221-07:00The Prince and the Runaway Bride by Alisha Kay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/10/the-prince-and-the-runaway-bride.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhohHFhOsHozoYHJreIoopuRrs35x6S5rzN9d4CS6FyjhjGuXyYZyZWHAvAzT2mv1pa4S938znRy_8fD74ahmf3iwB0lwCBIIkxDRVOQFAENv7TFec2WT7Dptk6JF7_5PGkScwSqSSGN_cK900LgqBj7RIYF8lG9UdRV1Vx2tzvhBkss80yy56z0Rum/w400-h200/TP&TRB%20Banners.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0fdK0BayV7Y2BEcfDpgFLc2BfRagGF_ko1WjqjKITGym1Fd8cO5F9eZ2BUqc2w0p3aP6UFyIeXzpGwla1l-47TyMYzUMYFImW5AVHWh2wn4vyzKTntdGqBWqQLKl1QS-4w8ma0ibRJFVSR3tXPgwd59tljC9ZKDTXRwBxYKUK0VVCIVTw1GvcKwA/s320/TP&TRB%20Cover.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><p>Faced with a loveless marriage, Ananya Rajput does what she always does when faced with a tough situation - she runs away!<br />Except, this time she runs right into the arms of the man she’s dreamed about for years - okay, fantasised about, to be completely honest.<br />His Highness Yashvardhan Rathore, Yuvarajkumar of Bannor, is so going to burn in hell.<br />Not only did he help his dead friend’s sister run away from her wedding mandap, he now has terribly inappropriate feelings for her.<br />All his life he’s lived by one truth - no one has ever loved him enough to stay. And he doesn’t think a known flight risk like Ananya will be the first.<br />As her restless feet get calmer, the walls around his heart get higher.<br />Will Yash ever come to trust in love?<br />And will Ananya let her reluctant Prince Charming claim a runaway bride?<br /><br /><b><i>To find out read the third book in the Devgarh Royal series.</i></b><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Book Links:</u></b></span><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3DhQIcC" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a> | <a href="https://amzn.to/3z5stf4" target="_blank">Amazon.in</a></span></b><br /><br /><br /></p><h1 style="text-align: center;"><u>Read an Excerpt from The Prince and the Runaway Bride</u></h1><br /><p></p><p>I braced myself for the explosion that was sure to follow once Ananya caught sight of my plane. She got out of the vehicle and stared around her in confusion.</p><p> “Where’s your aircraft?”</p><p> I pointed to the plane in question.</p><p> “That one, right there.”</p><p> She took one look at it and rolled her eyes.</p><p> “Oh, please! That rust bucket is not a jet,” she pointed out.</p><p> “I’m going to ignore the slur on my beautiful plane, and just point out that I never said I had a private jet. I said ‘plane’, and you assumed it was a jet. That’s not my fault.”</p><p> “Yashvardhan Rathore, do you seriously expect me to believe that you fly all over the world in that little tinpot? It looks like it will fall apart if you sneeze too loudly!”</p><p> “First of all, my plane is a she, not it. Secondly, can you please stop calling her names? She’s very sensitive,” I snapped.</p><p> “Fine! But she looks like she’s made of Lego and is held together with duct tape, and if you think I’m risking my neck in that toy plane, you’re crazier than I thought,” Ananya snapped back.</p><p> “Stop calling her names! She’s not a tinpot or a rust bucket. She’s a piece of art!”</p><p> She was. My Cessna 162 was in mint condition, with nary a scratch or dent. I couldn’t see why Ananya was calling her such nasty names.</p><p> She stomped up to the plane and walked around her slowly.</p><p> “Umm, Yash… There are only two seats.”</p><p> I sighed. I knew this was going to be a problem.</p><p> “I know.”</p><p> “Where do you propose to stow me? In the cargo hold?”</p><p> “That’s very tempting right now, but you will sit next to me.”</p><p> “And where will the pilot sit?”</p><p> “In the pilot’s lounge, back there,” I said, pointing to the building that we had just exited.</p><p> Ananya stared at me, denial and fear clouding her big brown eyes. A man could drown in those expressive eyes, I thought. Not right now, though. Any attempt to dive into those beauties would burn me to a crisp because her glare was hot enough to set me on fire.”</p><p> “Don’t fuck with me, Your Highness. If the pilot sits in the lounge, who’s going to fly the bloody plane?” she asked through gritted teeth.</p><p> It was so much fun to mess with her. I wondered if she’d spit at me when she found out.</p><p> “That would be me.”</p><p> “What?”</p><p> “I’m going to fly the plane,” I clarified, and she turned white.”<br /><br /></p><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u><b>About the Author:</b><br /></u></span><b>Alisha Kay </b>writes funny, exciting and steamy stories, with spunky heroines who can rescue themselves, and hot, woke heroes who find such independence irresistible.<br />The first book in The Devgarh Royals series, The Maharaja’s Fake Fiancée, won the grand prize at the Amazon KDP Pen to Publish Contest 2020.<br /><br /></div><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u><b>Alisha on the Web:</b></u></span><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/alishakayauthor/" target="_blank">Instagram</a><span> * </span><a href="https://twitter.com/alishakayauthor" target="_blank">Twitter</a> </span></b></p></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-72092594166679269762022-10-20T01:10:00.002-07:002022-10-24T01:12:04.597-07:00Beatniks, Tupperware, and Chiles en Nogada by Robert de Paola<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sites.google.com/rabtbooktoursandpr.com/fall-2022-blitzes/robert-de-paola-beatniks-tupperware-and-chiles-en-nogada-book-blitz"><img height="200" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/9996e48bb2a94b01ad91200df4ea8ea0" width="500" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/634fd4280542445c9c14a25ae1b69a5a" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="429" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/634fd4280542445c9c14a25ae1b69a5a" width="268" /></a>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Nonfiction / Memoir</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> September 18, 2022</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Publisher:</b> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">
Mindstir Media</span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62892259-beatniks-tupperware-and-chiles-en-nogada" target="_blank"><img alt="photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Wrenched at the age of five from his Mexican family in Baja California,
Robert lives with his unconventional birth mother who works as a traveling
Tupperware salesman in 1950s Southern California. Their many adventures
include living with a World War II veteran suffering from PTSD, reciting
poetry to the rhythm of bongo drums in a Beatnik Commune, and extended
periods of homelessness.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Robert, a former professor at an Ivy League college and founder of a
successful nationwide software company, emerges as a scholar searching for a
feeling of belonging and a family. His journey takes him to both coasts of
the US, to Europe, and finally, to a remote, mountainous region in Mexico.
There, he rediscovers love where he least expects it, and finds a place to
call home.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Beatniks, Tupperware and Chiles en Nogada is written with humor, heart, and
an understanding of how complex humanity can be. It is a celebration of the
human spirit that will captivate the reader with unforgettable characters
and exotic locales.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>About the Author</b></span></p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/5de3dfae8ef34faabcc485e1964f19c6" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/5de3dfae8ef34faabcc485e1964f19c6" width="221" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Robert spent his childhood in Ensenada, Mexico, and Southern California.
After serving in Vietnam he relocated to New York. He attended graduate
school at UPENN where he joined the staff as an Assistant Professor in the
School of Medicine after earning his Pd.D. in Physics. Robert left his
academic position to found PyraMed, Inc., a nationwide software
company serving academic medical clinics. Robert lived and traveled in
Mexico extensively after stepping down from his executive position at
PyraMed. He presently lives in Florida with his wife, Rosie, and his two
daughters, Danna and Sophie.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contact Link</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://robertdepaola.com/">Website</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Purchase Link</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3ENjtzc">Amazon</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rabtbooktoursandpr.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="RABT Book Tours & PR" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/wzukusers/user-32179697/images/0ef1e26fd5f04c99b11731d6d17c8a41/RABT-Tour-Host.png" width="400" /></a></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-35703749931727776322022-10-18T00:30:00.002-07:002022-10-24T01:20:40.079-07:00Exit Clause by Philip May<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sites.google.com/rabtbooktoursandpr.com/fall-2022-blitzes/philip-may-exit-clause-book-blitz"><img height="200" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/d5ac1478cb9347a79fba6475bf2cc8fe" width="500" /></a></div><p> </p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/7e0dab02746b4521bbd53c0c288821e6" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/7e0dab02746b4521bbd53c0c288821e6" width="267" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sharer Mystery, Book 2</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Historical Mystery</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Date Published:</b></span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> April 12, 2022</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Publisher:</b> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">MindStir Media
</span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61416716-exit-clause" target="_blank"><img alt="photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">Grant Sharer just solved the mystery of great entertainment</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Hollywood, 1948</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The Supreme Court is forcing Major Hollywood Studios to sell their movie
palaces marking the final curtain for filmdom's Golden Age. The
Department of Justice is threatening criminal prosecution for the Tinsel
Town´s most powerful Moguls. Backstage an international Egyptian
heroin ring threatens the future of the U.S.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Grant Sharer, the Studio system´s number one scandal fixer, fighting
to help a struggling actor battle discrimination, is caught in an undertow
of corruption that leads from the highest court in the land to the lowliest
studios on Poverty Row.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Take a thrill ride from Cairo to California. From a secret New York
Subway Station to the heights of LA´s iconic Planetarium. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">For Grantland Sharer, pitted against the most powerful men in America,
there´s only one way out.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">Exit Clause</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The greatest scandal is not reading it.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>About the Author</b></span></p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/42f94b3760f3445585fbc5f0cb42886d" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/42f94b3760f3445585fbc5f0cb42886d" width="260" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">As primetime Emmy nominated television producer, writer and director at
Walt Disney Studios, Phil May filmed on every major studio back lot in
Hollywood. He directed such Golden Era stars as Bette Davis, Helen
Hayes, Gregory Peck, Jimmie Stewart, many more and avidly garnered their
stories.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">In retirement Phil teaches College level film classes of his own
design; ¨The Moguls¨,¨ McCarthy in the Media¨,” Film
Noir¨, ¨America´s Great Mid-Century Directors¨
¨Film Language¨ ¨The Hollywood Style¨ ¨Hitler Vs.
Hollywood¨, and many others. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">As a film historian, teacher and a former insider, Phil devised this novel
to appeal to classic film lovers. "My audience, he says, is
the avid TCM fan, people who love movies and who read."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Every chapter is infused with obscure insights into the history of studios,
movie making and the inner workings of the Hollywood Golden Age.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">And the lead character, Grantland Sharer, is nuanced and likeable
enough to generate a lot of encores.
</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Purchase Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3EUQDwu">Amazon</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/exit-clause-philip-may/1141703938?ean=9798985673364">B&N</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contact Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.philmayproductions.com/">Website</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100067672272807">Facebook</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://twitter.com/PhilMay_Author">Twitter</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/philipmay_author/">Instagram</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rabtbooktoursandpr.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="RABT Book Tours & PR" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/wzukusers/user-32179697/images/0ef1e26fd5f04c99b11731d6d17c8a41/RABT-Tour-Host.png" width="400" /></a></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-69087934052613812462022-10-14T18:00:00.000-07:002022-10-24T01:35:26.123-07:00The Honeycomb Diamond by Sara Stamford<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sites.google.com/rabtbooktoursandpr.com/fall-2022-blitzes/sara-stamford-the-honeycomb-diamond-release-blitz"><img height="200" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/9e1999faee704537804a752057a77ac1" width="500" /></a></div><p> </p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/31ab809888d04dc28f0438629ba81c35" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="445" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/31ab809888d04dc28f0438629ba81c35" width="278" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Crime Thriller</span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> Oct 11, 2022</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Publisher</b>: Elite Online Publishing</span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62948839-the-honeycomb-diamond" target="_blank"><img alt="photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Perfect for fans of <b><i>Nine Perfect Strangers</i></b> and <b><i>The Club</i></b>.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Beautiful socialite Margarita is held captive in her London townhouse by a
brutal gang in search of her rare pink diamond. Yet, it's after her daring
escape that she encounters an even greater threat - a secret organization
called Honeycomb. Slowly she realizes that the <b>price for her freedom might
be far more than she can afford</b>.</span>
</p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Excerpt</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Twenty past four. It was a dark November night. The rain kept beating
against the window with a steady rhythm. Margarita opened her eyes, and the
shadows from the outside trees came into focus against the white ceiling.
She peered at the electronic clock on her nightstand. Sleep. Sleep. I need
to go back to sleep. Margarita adjusted her pillow, and as she did, she felt
a dampness. The pillow was wet with tears. Whimpering like a lost puppy, she
chewed on her blanket and continued to cry. She hadn’t cried that much
since her daughter Lily died. Not even after the disappearance of her
beloved husband. Was it the physical pain that conjured the tears to
continually run down her cheeks, turning her pillow into a puddle? Was it a
cry for help, despite knowing that help would never come? She wiped her eyes
with her hands. What will happen to me now? Death?</span></p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>About the Author</b></span></p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/25b32741ea394f688ecb1e0f640651f1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/25b32741ea394f688ecb1e0f640651f1" width="238" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sara Stamford is a fast-rising creative author who is full of great,
purpose-inspired stories. Her commitment to crafting novels that center on
often overlooked societal themes and characters with a keen focus on female
empowerment, inclusion, reversing stereotypes, and promoting deeper
understanding, sets Sara apart from other new authors.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">She currently spends her time between the United States and Europe.</span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contact Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.sarastamford.org">Website</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.Facebook.com/authorsarastamford">Facebook</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.Twitter.com/StamfordSara">Twitter</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.Instagram.com/sara_stamford">Instagram</a></span></p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Purchase Link</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3s3q80B">Amazon</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<a class="rcptr" data-raflid="408264011610" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/408264011610/" id="rcwidget_f91t34me" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a> <div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>
<a href="http://www.rabtbooktoursandpr.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="RABT Book Tours & PR" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/wzukusers/user-32179697/images/0ef1e26fd5f04c99b11731d6d17c8a41/RABT-Tour-Host.png" width="400" /></a></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-25811270799458831172022-10-10T17:30:00.002-07:002022-10-22T06:39:15.370-07:00The Midnight Call by Jodé Millman<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/the-midnight-call-by-jode-millman/" title="The Midnight Call by Jodé Millman"><img alt="The Midnight Call by Jodé Millman Banner" class="aligncenter size-full" height="225" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/the-midnight-call-by-jode-millman-banner-.png" width="400" /></a></h2>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>The Midnight Call</h2>
<h3>by Jodé Millman</h3>
<h4>October 3 - November 18th, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h4>
</div>
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<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left; margin-right: 15px; width: 225px;"><img alt="The Midnight Call by Jodé Millman" border="0" height="300" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/09/the-midnight-call-by-jode-millman-cover.jpg" style="float: left; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin: 5px 15px 5px 0px;" width="200" /></div>
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<h4>Who would ever suspect that their mentor, teacher, and friend was a cold-blooded killer? Jessie Martin didn’t—at least not until she answers the midnight call.<br />
</h4>
<p>Late one August night, Jessie’s lifelong mentor and friend–and presently a popular, charismatic, and handsome high school teacher–Terrence Butterfield calls. He utters a startling admission: he’s killed someone. He pleads for Jessie’s help, so out of loyalty she rushes to his aid completely unaware that she’s risking her relationship, her career, and her life–and that of her unborn child–to help Terrence.</p>
<p>Does Jessie’s presence at Terrence’s home implicate her in the gruesome murder of the teenage boy found in the basement? Why does Terrence betray Jessie when he has a chance to exonerate her of all charges? Has he been a monster in disguise for all these years?</p>
<p>To reclaim her life and prove her innocence, Jessie must untangle the web of lies and reveal the shocking truths behind the homicide. The quest turns out to be the fight of her life: to preserve everything and everyone she holds dear.</p>
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<h3>Praise for <i>The Midnight Call</i>:</h3>
<h4>WINNER OF THE 2020 BRONZE IPPY AWARD, 2020 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHER BOOK AWARD FOR SUSPENSE/THRILLER AND THE 2020 AMERICAN FICTION AWARD FOR LEGAL THRILLER.</h4>
<p>"A Must-Read"</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;"><em>USA Today Network</em></span></p>
</div>
<p>"The tricky legal maneuvering intrigues...Millman writes with verve."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;"><em>Publishers Weekly</em></span></p>
</div>
<p>"If you like courtroom battles, this legal thriller fits the bill!"</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;"><em>Chanticleer Reviews</em></span>, Four Star Review. The Midnight Call won First Place in the 2014 CIBAs in the CLUE Awards</p>
</div>
<p>"An intriguing courtroom thriller."</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;"><em>Top Shelf Magazine</em></span></p>
</div>
<p>"Friendship, insanity, the drama of a courtroom, with a touch of romance rounding out the narrative, will have readers struggling to answer the question: What happens after you answer that terrifying midnight call?"</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: orange;"><em>Booktrib.com</em></span></p>
</div>
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<blockquote class="details">
<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Suspense, Thriller, Romantic Suspense<br />
<b>Published by:</b> Level Best Books<br />
<b>Publication Date:</b> September 2022<br />
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 400<br />
<b>Series:</b> Queen City Crimes, Book 1<br />
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3fymvfM" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a></p>
</blockquote>
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<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div class="excerpt" style="border-color: 800000; border-style: groove; border-width: 3px; height: 250px; overflow: auto;">
<h4>Chapter One</h4>
<p>“I think I killed someone,” the man’s voice whispered across the phone lines.</p>
<p>“Terrence,” Jessie Martin’s voice croaked, husky with sleep. She’d know her mentor’s voice anywhere, anytime, even in the middle of the night. In the pitch darkness she bolted upright in bed and blinked the sleep out of her eyes. “What are you talking about?”</p>
<p> “I’ve done a terrible thing, committed a sin against God,” he said. </p>
<p>The anguish in his voice made the fine hairs on her skin prickle with fear, and her hand flew up with a desire to protect the baby tumbling around inside her swollen belly. Yet, it was the slow, quiet monotone of his voice that frightened Jessie even more than his confession. Her mentor usually had a confident, intense voice that commanded attention. Tonight, it was flat, as if he were no longer aware of reality. </p>
<p>“There’s blood everywhere.” Terrence’s hollow voice cracked. “He was just a boy... a boy. I don’t know how it happened. Oh my God, what have I done?” </p>
<p>Nothing was making any sense. Terrence Butterfield. Her mentor. Her teacher. Her friend. A killer? Impossible. But if what he said was true, the only way for her to help him was to remain cool and calm. She inhaled deeply to repress the panic crushing her chest and blew it out in a slow, cleansing breath as she’d learned in Lamaze class. </p>
<p>She turned toward Kyle’s side of the bed. Empty. She gripped his pillow in her fist. She’d find him in a moment. </p>
<p>“Terrence, how—what happened? Was there an accident?” She tried to control the tremor in her voice.</p>
<p>“No, it was not... an accident.” </p>
<p>Jessie tried to get him to talk, pushed him for more details. It wasn’t normal for Terrence to stay quiet for so long about anything. Ever. So his lengthy, heavy silence only intensified her unease over his vague confession about killing a kid. If she’d gone into criminal law instead of corporate law, the right questions would’ve rolled off her tongue. For now, she’d have to rely on the adrenaline rush and her instincts.</p>
<p> “Just tell me where you are,” Jessie demanded. “Whatever’s happened, I can help you.”</p>
<p>“I’m at home and… I have a gun. I can’t continue to live. I need to make peace with God.” </p>
<p>“Listen to me. Put the gun down.” Jessie’s mind raced. If Terrence had intended to kill himself he wouldn’t have called her. He wanted her to keep him alive. “There are people who love you. Your family, your students —we all love you.”</p>
<p> “I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused.” </p>
<p>“This is what you are going to do.” It felt odd commanding him, reversing the roles so that she was the mentor and he was the pupil. Hopefully, Terrence had enough wits about him to comply with her instructions, but there was no response except for the clicking of his tongue as he wheezed into the receiver. “Just put down the gun and call the police. Tell them there’s been an accident. Don’t say anything else. Are you with me? I’m on my way. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Please don’t do anything foolish. Promise me.”</p>
<p>The cell phone hung like a dead weight in Jessie’s hand as the line went dead. Moist palms stroked the curve of her child in a strong, circular motion. A tiny foot rose up to accept the caresses like a cat seeking to nuzzle, and once sated, the appendage receded into the depths of her womb. </p>
<p>Jessie thought there must be some mistake, but she knew what she’d heard. The stretched-thin quality of his voice convinced her that something was seriously wrong. </p>
<p>Kyle, her fiancé, hadn’t returned to their room, so she called out his name. No answer. Flinging back the covers, Jessie set her bare feet on the cold wood floor and ran toward the dresser. </p>
<p><em>Get dressed. Find Kyle. Go to Terrence. Before —</em> She didn’t want to consider the possibilities.</p>
<p>“Kyle,” Jessie called out again, rifling through the drawers. Three shirts spilled out onto her feet. She grabbed a striped t-shirt and wriggled into it. It was a bit snug over her belly, but there was no time. She had to go. “Kyle!”</p>
<p>The bedroom door flew open with a crash and Kyle burst into the room, wild-eyed. “Is it the baby?”</p>
<p>“No, no, it’s not me, I’m fine, but we’ve got to go,” Jessie said, yanking on her sweatpants. “Terrence said that he’s killed someone and he’s going to kill himself.” She gathered her flyaway hair into a ponytail and hurried toward the bathroom door, but Kyle stepped in front of her blocking her path. </p>
<p>“You scared me half to death… and this was, yet again, about that old—I mean, about Terrence.”</p>
<p>Jessie flinched and jerked back, glaring at him. </p>
<p>“Let’s a take a second before you do anything crazy and discuss this.” Kyle paused. “Babe, as odd as he is, you don’t believe that Terrence killed anyone, do you?” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. When she didn’t respond, he added, “Just in case, why don’t we call the police and let them handle it?” </p>
<p>Jessie shook her head adamantly. “Kyle, there’s no time to get into this right now so please, call my dad. Have him call Terrence.” She shivered uncontrollably from the tension ricocheting through her body, her teeth chattering so violently she believed they’d shatter. “Ma-make him stay on the phone until we g-get there.”</p>
<p>“Come ‘ere.” His tone softened. Kyle encircled her in his arms and a tender hand reached down to embrace their child. She trembled, immune to the warmth of his touch and his soft, cajoling whispers in her ear. “You shouldn’t be running around in the middle of the night.”</p>
<p> “Sweetie, look, I’ve got to go and I’d appreciate it if you came along,” she said, disguising her fear with determination.</p>
<p>After four years together, Jessie knew that Kyle knew better than to argue with her; after all, she was a lawyer. A damn good one, and once she set her mind on something there was no stopping her. It was all part of her job. Her clients demanded it. But this was the first time the call had come before the arrest. And it was the first time the late night call had been from Terrence. </p>
<p>Kyle growled and released her, shaking his head in resignation. “I guess I can’t stop you, can I?” He stepped into the crumpled jeans lying on the floor, then zipped them up and was tugging a Yankees sweatshirt over his head when she disappeared into the bathroom. When she returned to the bedroom, it was empty. </p>
<p>Jessie discovered Kyle downstairs in the kitchen. He shoved his phone into his jean’s pocket and fiddled with her car keys with his free hand. </p>
<p>“Did you call my dad?” </p>
<p>Kyle nodded. “Ready? Come on, let’s go.” </p>
<p>She reached into the pocket of her hoodie and discovered her phone wasn’t there. “Damn, I must have left my phone upstairs. I’ll be right back.”</p>
<p>He twisted his mouth in a soured expression. “Okay. I’ll meet you in the car.”</p>
<p>As she returned upstairs, she tried to remember where she’d last seen her phone. She’d been in such a rush to get ready that she could have set it down anywhere in the bedroom or bathroom. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid, especially with Terrence’s life at stake.</p>
<p>Jessie entered her bedroom and gave the room a quick once-over. Her phone was nowhere in sight.</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>Several minutes later, Jessie slipped into the Jeep that was idling in the driveway. Kyle was anxiously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. </p>
<p>“Sorry I took so long. My phone was under the nightstand. I must have knocked it there when I was getting dressed.”</p>
<p>Kyle grunted, threw the car into reverse, and backed out of the driveway.</p>
<p>Jessie’s eyes were drawn to the keychain dangling from her Jeep’s ignition. It contained the motley gray rabbit’s foot that Terrence had bagged on one of the many hunting trips with her father. They’d made an odd couple, her father and the younger teacher, but they had a lot in common, and they’d always come home with a kill or two. After one trip, Terrence had presented the token to her with great flourish on the night before she’d left for law school, attaching it to a Black’s Law Dictionary and a pound of Ethiopian coffee beans. Jessie had kept it with her always for good luck: during finals, the bar exam, and her job interviews. Whenever the fates needed an extra boost. </p>
<p>Now, the sight of the cherished charm made her shudder as it assumed a more grisly visage. She felt sorry for the little critter so brutally killed and felt a twinge of doubt as to whether she really knew the man who’d been on the other end of the line—the patient friend who’d spent his Saturday mornings laboring with her over her college admission essays, the charismatic bachelor who’d delivered yellow roses on her mother’s birthday, the popular high school teacher who’d brought history to life by dressing as Genghis Khan, George Washington, and Gandhi. And who, ever since she was a teenager, had been the keeper of her deepest secrets and dreams. </p>
<p>For Terrence’s sake, Jessie hoped that he’d been mistaken tonight. Otherwise, he’d need more than her rabbit’s foot to protect him.</p>
<p>Kyle screeched to a halt at the curb in front of Terrence’s home, and she glanced toward the small white clapboard ranch. While the neighboring houses were dark, Terrence’s house shone like a beacon among the Cape Cod cottages nestled along the quiet, tree-lined boulevard in Poughkeepsie, New York. In the humid August night, hazy lights blazed from every window, illuminating the well-manicured lawn and beds of roses and daylilies that she’d helped him plant more than a decade ago. </p>
<p>Terrence’s tall, lean silhouette was framed within the front bay window. He was speaking on the phone, presumably to her father. The front door stood ajar, inviting her to enter.</p>
<p>In the darkness, Jessie glimpsed two black and white cop cars creeping toward them from the opposite direction. With sirens silenced and headlights extinguished, the cars glided toward the far curb and parked. Bathed in the amber glow of the overhead street lamps, the officers were motionless inside their cars.</p>
<p>“Did you call the police?" Jessie asked.</p>
<p>Kyle didn't answer. “What are they doing?” he whispered, as though the cops could hear.</p>
<p>Jessie eyed Kyle, but there were more pressing matters. “They’re probably waiting for back up. Come on. Let’s go.” She cocked the door handle, but Kyle grabbed her arm and squeezed. She glanced over at him, confused. </p>
<p>“You’re not going out there, Jessie.”</p>
<p>“This is Terrence’s life, Kyle.” Her voice trembled with conviction, fear, and the desire to help the one man she trusted and revered almost as much as her own father. Kyle never understood that before Terrence entered her life, she’d floundered in school. At best, she’d been a B student. Terrence’s energy and enthusiasm had ignited a spark inside her, instilling knowledge, values, and moral lessons that had helped her achieve her goal of law school. She’d had many teachers and professors over the years, and recognized the rarity of such a man. She was deeply grateful to Terrence but Kyle insisted that the man was a fraud.</p>
<p>Jessie started at the sudden sound of the patrol cars’ doors banging open like cannon fire. She blinked rapidly to dispel the horrible image unfolding in slow motion. A pair of officers emerged from each vehicle. They drew their guns and strode in the direction of Terrence’s house. Her eyes tracked them through the pools of streetlight dotting the avenue, knowing they were on a collision course with Terrence. She felt paralyzed, like during the surreal seconds before an automobile accident, and the powerlessness of skidding toward the unavoidable impact. </p>
<p>“Come on, Kyle.” </p>
<p>“Please stay in the car, at least until we know it’s safe.” </p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous. Terrence won’t shoot us.” Instinctively, Jessie ran a hand over her belly, and in response to the baby’s sharp jab to her ribs, she yanked her arm free from Kyle’s hold. Opening the door, Jessie slid out of the Jeep and sprinted up the sidewalk toward the broad front steps with Kyle trailing on her heels.</p>
<p>“Stop! Police!” commanded a gravelly voice. “Hands up. Over your head, where we can see them.”</p>
<p>Jessie gasped, stopping in mid-stride. She froze in place, the toes of her sneakers flirting with the bottom step of the porch. Fumbling through the pitch darkness, she threaded her fingers in her fiancé’s. Kyle clasped them, tugged her close to his side, and slowly, they raised their joined hands into the air. </p>
<p>“Sir, I’m here to see Mr. Butterfield. I’m an attorney. He’s expecting me,” Jessie shouted. Judging from the cop’s voice, he was still a good fifty feet away. Far enough for her to make a mad dash for the front door. The door was so close, but Kyle’s grip tightened, digging her engagement ring into her flesh. </p>
<p>“Miss, don’t move,” the officer said. “Please remain where you are. For your own safety.”</p>
<p>“It’s all right, Jessica.” Terrence leaned against the doorjamb, swinging the screen door open to the night air. His voice sounded distant, otherworldly, and his fine-boned features were obscured by the night’s shadows. “Officers, please come in.”</p>
<p>The four police officers swarmed past them with their pistols aimed at the waiting figure. Two officers inched their way up the steps onto the front porch, while a few yards away, the other two covered them from the bottom step. As the team passed, Kyle stepped forward, shielding her from danger and obstructing her path to Terrence. </p>
<p>Terrence might need her, she thought, so she skirted around Kyle and waited and listened. She needed to be ready.</p>
<p>“Sir, are you Terrence Butterfield?” an officer asked.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Jessie had instructed him to keep quiet and sensed that he was about to break the golden rule—never admit anything.</p>
<p> “We’re investigating a report about the discharging of a firearm at this address. Sir, do you have a weapon? Please show me your hands,” said an older officer with a pockmarked face, as he edged another step closer.</p>
<p>Terrence raised his hands over his head. In his right hand, he gripped an old-fashioned revolver, like Jessie had seen in the Westerns. “I think I have killed someone.”</p>
<p>“Terrence, stop talking!” Jessie exclaimed.</p>
<p>As long as Terrence kept his mouth shut, maybe she could salvage the situation. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Maybe there had been some horrible accident. Maybe he’d stood his ground against an intruder. Maybe he was drunk or stoned or he was hallucinating. She needed to know. To hear the truth from him.</p>
<p>“Sir, I’m Sergeant Mike Rossi and this is my partner, Officer Jen Macy.” Rossi crossed the threshold, while Macy signaled for the other team to spread out around the back of the house. Cautiously, Rossi inched his way toward Terrence. “Mr. Butterfield, please set the gun on the floor.”</p>
<p>Terrence’s trembling hand offered him the weapon. </p>
<p>Rossi stepped backward, looking startled by the movement, but keeping his gun steady, trained on his target. “Just do as I say. Put the gun down and place your hands on top of your head.” </p>
<p> “Please take it. I don’t want it.” </p>
<p>On the bottom porch step, Jessie balanced on her tiptoes, craning her neck to spy on the action through the screen door and windows. She held her breath as Terrence and Rossi eyed each other across the barrel of the shiny gun aimed point-blank at Terrence’s chest. Tension seized Terrence’s muscles, accentuating the slight tic along his jaw that appeared only when he felt threatened. It was a sign that he could attack with little provocation, something she’d witnessed more than once when he’d fended off troublemakers in his classroom. </p>
<p>Locked in a stalemate, Terrence and Rossi continued to glare at each other. Time seemed to stand still, interrupted only by the echoes of the midnight freight trains snaking along the banks of the Hudson River. </p>
<p>Jessie’s pulse thrummed in her ears as she watched, too terrified to move.</p>
<p>The seconds ticked by and then, suddenly as if his nerve had drained away, Terrence’s jaw slackened. He lowered his hand and set the weapon on the coffee table to his right. Then, he hung his head and cradled his temples with his hands. </p>
<p>“Drop to your knees,” Rossi shouted, backing Terrence away from the window so that both men vanished from sight.</p>
<p>Jessie inhaled, inviting humid, sweet air into her lungs, and steadied herself against the steps’ banister. “I should really be in there.” She edged her way up to the next step. “He needs me.” </p>
<p>“Let the police do their job, babe.” Kyle’s fingers clamped around her wrist like a vice. His eyes darted to her baby bump, and then they shifted, staring directly into her eyes, concern crinkling his brow.</p>
<p>Jessie’s gaze swung back toward the house, consumed with the frustration that a bizarre tableau was being played out only a few yards away. Helplessly, she listened to doors slamming, footsteps thundering through rooms, and snippets of conversations and commands drifting outside into the night. As hard as Jessie tried, she couldn’t hear Terrence or see him, and she prayed that he was holding up under the pressure. At least Terrence knew that she and Kyle were there for him and had his back. </p>
<p>Relief flooded her when Rossi herded Terrence back into view in the front hallway, but her chest tightened when a voice crackled over the two-way radio dangling from the officer’s belt. </p>
<p>“Sarge, can you read me? You need to see this… down here in the basement. Copy?”</p>
<p>A scowl hardened on Kyle’s face, and his fingers turned to steel bands squeezing her wrist past the point of pain. Jessie flinched, and he released her.</p>
<p>“Keep your eye on Butterfield,” Rossi said to Macy. “I’ll be right back.”</p>
<p>Jessie massaged the shelf of her belly as the baby’s angular limb stabbed deep into her chest cavity. She lowered herself to the dew-covered steps to ease the wooziness engulfing her like fog. The hour. The heat. The rush. It was all catching up with her. </p>
<p>She needed to shake it off. Stay alert and focused for Terrence. He’d always been there for her—the proms, graduations, fender benders, and panic attacks before the bar exam. Now, it was Jessie’s turn. She owed it to him, and herself, to unearth the truth.</p>
<p>“Terrence, we’re still here. Just do as they say,” Jessie blurted, hoping that the sound of her voice would give him the strength to carry on, although her grit was circling the drain. </p>
<p> “Let’s go.” Kyle loomed over her, his mouth pinched at the corners. “You can’t even stay on your feet. You’re tired and there’s nothing more you can do for him. Not tonight.” He offered her a hand.</p>
<p>Jessie glared at him with an anger that recharged her depleted battery. Kyle knew better. Once she committed to a cause, she never budged. “I’ve got to help him get this mess cleared up. There’s been a mistake.”</p>
<p>“A mistake? It looks to me like Terrence finally flipped out and killed somebody. But I can’t expect you to be objective about him. You wanted him to be our kid’s godfather.” Kyle paused, clenching and unclenching his fists. “You know, sometimes Terrence seems like a third party to our relationship.” </p>
<p>Kyle had a way of believing the worst whenever it came to Terrence. It never bothered her when Terrence called to chat about the latest movies or books he’d read or stopped by to watch a football game with Kyle. He was Terrence being Terrence, and she knew that there was no ulterior motive on his part. Ever since she’d been a kid, she and Terrence had been close, and over the years he’d done plenty for her. And she for him. He’d worn many hats in her life—friend, confidante, teacher, mentor, even an uncle—and Kyle had known that from the beginning but Kyle insisted that Terrence was taking advantage of their friendship by calling and popping in uninvited. Why couldn’t he acknowledge that each man had a special place in her life?</p>
<p>Low voices discussed the need to secure the crime scene and call the paramedics, the forensic team, the district attorney, and the medical examiner. Although criminal law was outside her wheelhouse, Jessie knew the working parts of a homicide investigation, so these whisperings confirmed her worst suspicions. First, there was a dead body or bodies somewhere in the house —probably the basement. And second, Terrence was implicated in the homicide.</p>
<p>Suddenly, the screen door swung open, and the dark figure of Terrence Butterfield emerged from the house in handcuffs shepherded by Rossi and Macy. With his head drooped forward against his chest and his limp arms shackled at the wrist, he shuffled across the whitewashed porch and down the entry steps. </p>
<p>Terrence drew closer and the veil of night shadow enshrouding his face and body revealed something much more sinister. His handsome face was smeared with glossy red liquid and his dark brown hair was clumped into a tangled mess. A rank stench, like rotten cabbage boiled in sulfur, emanated from the tattered, bloody shirt clinging to his chest. The smell of death on him hit her like a slap and grew worse with every step he took toward her.</p>
<p>Stifling a gag, Jessie garnered her strength and stepped into their path. She double-checked the name on his silver badge. “Officer Rossi, I know that you’ve got a job to do, but I do, too. Before you take Mr. Butterfield anywhere, I’m putting you on notice that he is not to be interrogated without my being present.” She cleared her throat. “And has he been read his rights?” </p>
<p>Rossi eyed her with contempt, as though insinuating that she had no right to question his actions or authority. “We can discuss that after Mr. Butterfield has been booked.” </p>
<p>“I think that we should discuss it now.” Jessie’s tone was insistent, hard.</p>
<p>Before they could respond, Terrence spoke up, “I believe that I’m entitled to speak with my attorney.” </p>
<p>“You can speak with her down at the station. Move along, Mr. Butterfield,” Macy said, shoving the captive’s shoulder. “Ma'am, please move out of the way.”</p>
<p>For a long moment, Jessie remained stationary, considering how far she could push the cops before she crossed the line. Her heart urged her to defy Rossi and speak with Terrence right then and there, yet her head warned her to follow the protocol. Strategically, the latter would be best for both of them.</p>
<p>“Not a word,” Jessie counseled him as she stepped aside. Terrence stopped before her and gently rested his cuffed hands on the round of her belly. She smiled and cupped her hands over his in reassurance. “Don’t worry. We’ll be right behind you.”</p>
<p>Gazing into his eyes, she searched for the truth, but instead, found cold, dead-fish eyes, and his dry, cracked lips were curled in a crooked, haunting smile. She shrank away from him, huddling against Kyle to steady her buckling knees.</p>
<p>The officers grabbed Terrence’s shoulder, ushered him toward their patrol car, and loaded him into the back seat. The engine started and with lights flashing and sirens blaring, the police car sped off into the night.</p>
<p>Nothing in her thirty years of life had prepared her for this moment. This tragedy. </p>
<p>Terrence’s life was in her hands. And in that instant, Jessie realized that she must follow her heart. She knew the kind, caring friend, teacher, and confidante that he’d been to her. She needed to disregard the blood, the stench, and the nagging worry that he was a cold-blooded killer. She’d prove him innocent. She owed him that.</p>
<p>As the police car taillights disappeared into the darkness, an undeniable dampness seeped onto Jessie’s abdomen. Her eyes widened in horror as she looked down at her sweatshirt. Beneath the Syracuse University logo, a grisly tattoo of handprints smeared across her belly. Jessie flipped over her quivering hands and stared at her palms, black and sticky with blood. </p>
<p>“Oh, my God.” </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>The Midnight Call</i> by Jodé Millman. Copyright 2022 by Jodé Millman. Reproduced with permission from Jodé Millman. All rights reserved.</p>
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<h2>Author Bio:</h2>
<div style="float: right; margin-left: 15px; width: 230px;"><img align="left" alt="Jodé Millman" border="0" height="300" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/the-midnight-call-by-jode-millman-author.jpeg" style="float: right; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin: 5px 15px 5px 0px;" width="200" /></div>
<p>Jodé Millman is the acclaimed author of <em><a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/hooker-avenue-by-jode-millman/" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">HOOKER AVENUE</a></em> and <em>THE MIDNIGHT CALL</em>, which won the Independent Press, American Fiction, and Independent Publisher Bronze IPPY Awards for Legal Thriller. She’s an attorney, a reviewer for Booktrib.com, the host/producer of The Backstage with the Bardavon podcast, and creator of The Writer’s Law. Jodé lives with her family in the Hudson Valley, where she is at work on the next installment of her “Queen City Crimes” series —novels inspired by true crimes in the region she calls home. </p>
<h3>Discover more about Jodé, her work, and sign up for her newsletter at:<br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3Qf4GzB" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">www.JodeMillman.com</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3cSBdwU" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3oPAIGH" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3vBZIVU" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">BookBub - @JodeMillmanAuthor</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3rhghUJ" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Instagram - @jodewrites</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3cRBcJB" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Twitter - @worldseats</a><br />
<a href="https://bit.ly/3PVJvmd" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Facebook - @JodeSusanMillmanAuthor </a></h3>
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<h2>Tour Participants:</h2>
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<h2>Giveaway:</h2>
<h5>This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Jodé Millman. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.</h5>
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Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-45688800529070376772022-10-07T18:00:00.002-07:002022-10-24T02:44:51.923-07:00The Bush Clinic by Stella Atrium<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sites.google.com/rabtbooktoursandpr.com/fall-2022-blitzes/stella-atrium-the-bush-clinic-release-blitz"><img height="200" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/fbf8bf856e1b42e3969414a844a4b574" width="500" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/8eadec11b7df49828e45102d86f65226" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/8eadec11b7df49828e45102d86f65226" width="265" /></a><p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;">Book I of The Tribal Wars</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 107%;">Fantasy</span>
</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>D</b></span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">ate Published:</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> 10-08-2022</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62034817-the-bush-clinic" target="_blank"><img alt="photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">On Dolvia, Lt. Mike Shaw demands Dr. Greensboro’s doctoring skills at
the hospital, forcing the closure of her bush clinic. She witnesses forced
labor, forced migration, and the threat of an epidemic from bad water. She
sees how tribal women–often wearing burkas–find solutions for
saving the children in a conflict zone, and she commits to the their cause
for Home Rule.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Brianna Miller is an isolated girl–a mixed-blood orphan–among
the Dolviet tribes. With the lessons from Dr. Greensboro, the abuse from
soldiers, the sisterhood among victims, Brianna prepares for a future she
will choose for herself. But first she must travel offworld. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><b> High praise for THE BUSH CLINIC. </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><i>“thematically rich and character-driven, touching upon the role of women in a war-rooted society. I found myself invested from start to finish.” </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><i>“A heartrending tale of survival in a world made needlessly harsh by greed…” </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><i> “With diverse narrative voices and a strong coming-of-age theme.” </i></span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><i><br /></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>About the Author</b></span></p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/b7b1925d6dd348e19c0c264ad138b152" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/b7b1925d6dd348e19c0c264ad138b152" width="259" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Stella Atrium is a cynical septuagenarian. She has spent a lifetime
exploring female characters for real world reactions to obstacles.
Often pushed into submissive and non-verbal roles, women really live in a
world of networking among aunties, cousins, wives of husbands, convenient
friends and neighbors. This rich world is largely unexplored.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">“I grew up with all brothers, so I knew about women from stories and
from school. What I found at school wasn’t anything like in the
stories, so I set out to learn why.”</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contact Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://stellaatrium.com">Website</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Facebook: @SAtriumWrites</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Twitter @SAtriumWrites</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://stellaatrium.com/blog/">Blog</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Goodreads: Stella_Atrium</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Pinterest: @SAtrium</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Purchase Link</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3eDJaqI">Amazon</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-bush-clinic-stella-atrium/1142016698">Barnes and Noble</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-bush-clinic">Kobo</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-bush-clinic/id6443287773">iBooks</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.scribd.com/book/587402938/The-Bush-Clinic-The-Tribal-Wars-1">Scirbd</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="408264011606" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/408264011606/" id="rcwidget_xfbvhjm3" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rabtbooktoursandpr.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="RABT Book Tours & PR" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/wzukusers/user-32179697/images/0ef1e26fd5f04c99b11731d6d17c8a41/RABT-Tour-Host.png" width="400" /></a></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-10109323381810707302022-10-02T11:30:00.002-07:002022-10-24T02:42:33.658-07:00The Haunted House, Bubba Rouse, & the Mouse by L.G. Ingle<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sites.google.com/rabtbooktoursandpr.com/fall-2022-blitzes/l-g-ingle-the-haunted-house-bubba-rouse-the-mouse-book-blitz"><img height="200" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/4685e9283a3d4c72bfd761942eaa7551" width="500" /></a></div><p> </p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/cc7a4e9a6b3b4385a2a9b6d811cfef9c" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/cc7a4e9a6b3b4385a2a9b6d811cfef9c" width="320" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Children's & (young at heart) Short Story Rhyme Book</span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Publishing Date:</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> January 17th, 2022</span></span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59409578-the-haunted-house-bubba-rouse-the-mouse" target="_blank"><img alt="photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">A humorous short story Childrens Rhyme Book about a haunted house, a young
boy, ghosts and a mouse.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">This Halloween rhyme story was first written by Lawrence at an early age
who remembers always being curious at the appearances of large abandoned
houses around his hometown neighborhood. Lawrence's imagination would often
get the best of him and he often thought of how spooky those unoccupied
houses seemed to be and he then would ask himself, is there really such
things as ghosts and goblins lurking in the shadows of those large weird and
empty houses? Writing about such nonsense was a great way to share those
thoughts and to sometimes get lots of laughs from, not only himself, but
also from many of those who would listen to him recite such farfetched
rhyming stories, whereby it was always Lawrence's intentions to someday
publish the many rhyming stories he continued to write and share with others
from an early age and until this day.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>About the Author</b></span></p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/14201d00e146425fbc1777a1389b7a79" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/14201d00e146425fbc1777a1389b7a79" width="320" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">L.G. Ingle lives in New Pekin, Indiana and enjoys writing poetry, songs and
rhymes, both fictional and realistic ones. He has had numerous poems
published in various magazines and books since 1988, and is now publishing
his first children’s short story rhyme book: “Billy Amigo &
Lil’ Willy Wiggle”.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">L.G. has also another short story children’s rhyme books being
published soon after his above-mentioned publication and his second and next
one is called: “The Haunted House Bubba Rouse and The Halloween Mouse.
He contemplates many other short story rhymes on the horizon for all
ages.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contact Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.lgingleshortstoryrhymes.com">Website</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/CityCountryDude">Facebook</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Purchase Link</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3rlDuF6">Amazon</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rabtbooktoursandpr.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="RABT Book Tours & PR" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/wzukusers/user-32179697/images/0ef1e26fd5f04c99b11731d6d17c8a41/RABT-Tour-Host.png" width="400" /></a></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-7731822842073928162022-09-28T11:30:00.002-07:002022-10-24T02:08:20.491-07:00Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/sanctuary-by-c-l-tolbert/" title="Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert"><img class="aligncenter size-full" src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/pict/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/sanctuary-by-c-l-tolbert-banner-.jpg" alt="Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert Banner" width="600" height="338"></a></h2>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>Sanctuary</h2>
<h3>by C.L. Tolbert</h3>
<h4>September 12 - October 8, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h4>
</div>
<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left;width:225px;margin-right: 15px;"><img src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/pict/wp-content/uploads/2022/06/sanctuary-by-cl-tolbert-author-cover.jpg" alt="Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert" width="200" height="300" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px; float: left;" border="0"></div>
<h4>A Thornton Mystery</h4>
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<p>In SANCTUARY, the third book in the Thornton Mystery Series, Emma is back again. This time she’s agreed to represent a former client accused of killing the leader of a suspicious cult in New Orleans.</p>
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<p>James Crosby, the charismatic leader of the Japaprajnas, is found dead one late afternoon, his body draped over an iron fence in the courtyard of the nineteenth-century house where he and several cult members work and live. Although police initially presumed his fall was an accident, they quickly discover that James received a lethal dose of a drug before he was pushed from his office balcony.</p>
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<p>The next day the police discover a syringe and a substantial amount of the drug which killed James in Stacey Robert’s bedroom. The nineteen-year-old cult member is brought in for questioning, which leads to her arrest. Emma, who had represented Stacey when she was a sixteen-year-old runaway, agrees to take the case.</p>
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<p>Convinced she is innocent Emma begins an investigation into the cult and its members. Emma’s questions uncover dangerous secrets, illicit activities, and the exploitation of innocent victims. Emma’s suspicions lead her to the killer’s trail and the case’s final resolution.</p>
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<h3>Praise for <i>Sanctuary</i>:</h3>
<p>“Brace yourself. Deadly personalities, hidden agendas, and long-buried secrets threaten law professor Emma Thornton, after she agrees to defend a terrified young woman accused of murdering the charismatic leader of an oppressive cult. The dark heart of New Orleans has never felt so dangerous.”</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: ; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Roger Johns, Author of the Wallace Hartman Mysteries</span></p>
</div>
<blockquote class="details">
<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Mystery<br>
<b>Published by:</b> Level Best Books<br>
<b>Publication Date:</b> July 2022<br>
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 280<br>
<b>ISBN:</b> 9781685121464<br>
<b>Series:</b> The Thornton Mystery Series, Book 3 <br>
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://amzn.to/3c3Vu28" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3BQOyR4" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3SvB5UF" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Goodreads</a> </p>
</blockquote>
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<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div class="excerpt" style="height:250px; overflow:auto; border-width:3px; border-color:800000; border-style:groove;">
<h4>Chapter Twelve</h4>
<p>The French Quarter was home to Stacey. She could relax there. She loved the winding streets, the ancient buildings, the ironwork on the balconies, and the festival-like spirit of Jackson Square. Plus, it was easy to blend in. With at least as many tourists as native New Orleanians, no one stood out more than anyone else. The exceptions ˗ the homeless, the street performers, and artists ˗ were part of the scenery. They blended into the background in a multicolor splash.</p>
<p>She needed money and had been watching the tarot card readers in the square. They made thirty-five dollars a read, plus tips. She could do that. She’d been taught the Celtic spread years ago and still had her deck tucked away with the rest of her stuff. It had taken her a few days to get squared away. Yesterday, she’d found a discarded chair on the street in one of the residential areas of the Quarter. She knew someone who worked at a pizza place right off of Pirate’s Alley, a small street next to St. Louis Cathedral. She’d asked if she could stash the chair behind their dumpster, and he’d agreed to it. That was helpful since she could store her things close to the place where she’d be reading. Now she just needed a small table or a box and a second chair, and she’d be ready.</p>
<p>
Even though the city required a license and permit for the artists who painted in Jackson Square, there were no such requirements for card readers. But, every once in a while, the Jackson Square artists proposed an ordinance to the City Council to remove the fortune-tellers. So far, they’d been unsuccessful, and recently the readers had come back in full force. They added an ambiance to the area, especially when they burned their incense. She liked the way it smelled.</p>
<p>
Stacey glanced at her reflection as she walked by a shop with a large plate glass window. She still wasn’t accustomed to her new look. She’d used some of the money she’d saved to purchase hair color and had dyed her honey blonde hair a dark brown. She’d also cut it much shorter with a pair of cheap scissors in hopes of disguising her appearance. She’d done it herself, and not very well. She didn’t like the jagged ends. But overall, it worked. She had to admit she looked like a different person and thought it was possible to sit in full view in the middle of Jackson Square, conduct tarot card readings, and not be recognized. At least not by the likes of police officers or others who might be looking for her.</p>
<p>
She crammed her hand in her pocket, making sure that the wad of dollar bills she’d neatly folded and covered with several rubber bands was still there. One of the problems of not having a place with a door to lock was that you had to carry your valuables with you. She still had some of the money she’d saved from working at the Temple. She was frugal, eating only one meal a day, and that was a cheap one. But she’d been on her own for four days, and her money would run out soon. She hoped her plan to make more money in Jackson Square was a good one.</p>
<p>
Stacey avoided shelters. Emma knew everyone in the city who ran them and would look for her at women’s shelters before she’d look anywhere else. But Stacey had found the perfect place to stay about three miles away from the Quarter—a small chapel in the middle of a cemetery in the Bywater District. It was called St. Roch’s and was named after the patron saint of dogs, invalids, and the falsely accused. The cemetery, the street, and the surrounding community were all named after the saint. Locals mispronounced the chapel’s name, calling it St. Roach’s. Even though the structure was crumbling, it still provided the shelter Stacey needed.</p>
<p>
St. Roch’s had been built in 1867 by a priest who had prayed to St. Roch during the yellow fever pandemic in New Orleans, asking the saint to spare his community. Ten years later, when no one from his parish had succumbed to yellow fever, he made good on his promise, built the shrine, and dedicated it to the saint. It was a small chapel comprised of only two tiny rooms. One room contained a statue of St. Roch and his loyal dog, and the other room was filled with human prostheses, braces, glass eyeballs, glasses, false teeth, and praying hands, rosaries, and religious figurines, all offered to St. Roch as thanks for healing. Bricks on the ground in that room were inscribed with the word thanks and littered with coins. Over the years, a dusty haze had settled over the various prostheses at the shrine. The walls were crumbling, and a statue of Mary had started to disintegrate. Most people considered the chapel creepy, so creepy, that they avoided it at night, although tourists occasionally visited during the day. Rumor had it that voodoo ceremonies were carried out in the cemetery after dark, although Stacey never saw anything like that. She slept in the tiny room with St. Roch and his dog.</p>
<p>
It took between forty-five minutes and an hour to walk to the French Quarter from the chapel, depending on whether Stacey stopped for anything. She woke up early in the morning and left the chapel well before any tourists might arrive. She usually walked to Decatur Street, then down to the Riverwalk Mall, avoiding Esplanade Avenue entirely. She liked the restrooms at the mall. They were clean and usually unoccupied early in the morning. She washed up and brushed her teeth. Once, she’d even shampooed her hair. She carried her bag of dirty laundry with her and would occasionally rinse out her things in the sink. What little makeup and toiletries she needed were easily picked up from department store samples. She walked back to the chapel before dark. At night, the same laundry bag served as her pillow.</p>
<p>
By Friday, Stacey had found the second chair, a wooden box tall enough to use as a table, and an interesting scarf someone had stuffed in a Goodwill box along the side of the road. She’d decided to throw it over the makeshift table to give her fortune-telling booth some panache. She was ready for business.</p>
<p>
On Saturday morning, Stacey walked to the Quarter, freshened up, grabbed her table and chairs from behind the dumpster at the pizza place, and set up her tarot stand, all before ten o’clock. She was pleased with the location. Only five feet from the steps of the St. Louis Cathedral, it was a prime spot. Tourists swarmed to the cathedral at all hours of the day and were already beginning to mill about. Within fifteen minutes, a middle-aged woman wearing a baseball hat, a neon green bandana, and pink tennis shoes, approached Stacey.</p>
<p>
“How much do you charge?”</p>
<p>
Stacey stood, her hands behind her back, and smiled. “Thirty-five dollars.”</p>
<p>
“How long’s the reading?”</p>
<p>
“It’s for fifteen minutes.”</p>
<p>
“Okay.” She looked around the square. “Looks like that’s the going rate. But you need a sign. Let’s go.”</p>
<p>
She sat down across from Stacey, perched on the tiny seat, and waited for Stacey to shuffle the deck.</p>
<p>
Stacey mixed the cards a couple of times, then set the stack in front of the woman.</p>
<p>
“Cut the cards into three smaller decks.” She’d noticed a man staring at them from a distance. He was too far away to see clearly. Perhaps he was staring at someone else.</p>
<p>
The woman cut the cards.</p>
<p>
“Now pick one of the three decks.”</p>
<p>
The woman chose one.</p>
<p>
Stacey fanned the cards from the chosen deck out in front of the woman and removed the other cards. She thought the man looked familiar. He started to walk toward them. As he approached, she could tell who he was. Raphael. He stopped on the stairs of the cathedral to watch.</p>
<p>
“Choose fourteen cards.” Stacey glanced up at Raphael. He hadn’t budged.</p>
<p>
The woman carefully chose fourteen cards and handed them to Stacey, who began laying them out in the traditional Celtic cross. The woman had chosen the King of Pentacles as card one, crossed by the Tower. The King of Pentacles, which represented business acumen, was in the position of present influence. And the Tower, which was a card of catastrophic or shocking change, and chaos, crossed the King, indicating the nature of his obstacles. The third card, placed under the cross, was the Death card. Death also represented change, and even occasionally, but rarely, death. Stacey froze. Had the cards picked up on what had happened to James instead of the woman’s situation?</p>
<p>
Stacey sensed movement and glanced up. She flinched when she saw Raphael walking toward their table. Raphael stopped about a foot away from where she was reading, stopped, then crossed his arms.</p>
<p>
“This is a private reading.” Stacey stopped laying out cards. Her heart was pounding.</p>
<p>
“Interesting that you got the death card, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>
“Sir, please leave. This isn’t any of your concern.” She didn’t want him drawing attention to her. She just wanted him to go away.</p>
<p>
“I’ll leave. Sorry I interrupted.” He nodded toward Stacey’s client. “Thousand pardons, ma’am.”</p>
<p>
“If you haven’t cut into my fifteen minutes, I’m fine.”</p>
<p>
“Of course not.” Stacey smiled at the woman. “You’ll get your full reading.” She stood and turned toward Raphael. “We have nothing further to discuss.”</p>
<p>
Raphael shrugged. “I’ve been worried about you, and so are a couple of other people. And just in case you thought that new hair color was a disguise, let me just tell you it isn’t. If I know who you are, so will others. They’d be very interested in knowing where you are now and what you’re doing.” He nodded toward the cards in her hand. “Good luck with that.”</p>
<p>
“You need to leave immediately.”</p>
<p>
Raphael started backing away. “I’ll be back.” He put his hand to his forehead in a farewell salute. “You can count on that.”</p>
<p>
Stacey didn’t know if Raphael was threatening or warning her. But she knew she didn’t want him to come back to the Quarter to see her anytime soon.</p>
<p>
Stacey glanced back at her client. “I’m so sorry for the interruption. Where were we?” She sat back down. “Oh yes.” She examined the cards. “Has a man in your life undergone a significant change, the end of a relationship, or even a death?”</p>
<p>
“No, not that I know of.”</p>
<p>
“Alright, well, let’s proceed.” Stacey watched as Raphael retreated across the square and took a right at Pirate’s Alley.</p>
<p>
She continued to lay out cards for the woman.</p>
<p>
The fourth card, the card of past events, was the seven of swords, the card of deception. As far as she was concerned, that card certainly applied to James. He’d deceived her from the very beginning. She’d fallen for his tricks. She couldn’t see through his deception at first, but she caught on, finally. The fifth card, the card of the present, was the Chariot, the card of courage and movement. She smiled. She was hoping to do something about the mess she’d gotten herself in. At least she wasn’t sitting in jail like a scared rabbit. For the final card in the cross, the card of the near future, the woman had drawn Justice. She held the final card in her hand for a couple of seconds before laying it down in front of the woman. Even though she hadn’t drawn the cards, Stacey still believed they were telling her story, not the woman’s. Justice, the card of fair decisions, gave her comfort.</p>
<p>
“The final outcome, Justice, relates to karmic justice. It refers to legal matters as well, but generally, it’s telling you that all actions have consequences. Have your own actions contributed in any way to any of the circumstances you find yourself in today?”</p>
<p>
The woman nodded. “I can see that they have. I’m not sure that a man in my life has met any sort of catastrophic end, though. Maybe something’s coming up. I hope not.” She shook her head, reached into her pocket, and handed Stacey three tens and a five. “That was fun. I love getting tarot readings.”</p>
<p>
Stacey watched the woman walk off and thought about the consequences of her recent actions. She’d been trying to avoid that for months. It was so easy to blame others. It was also easy to turn a blind eye to what was going on in front of you. She was young, but she wasn’t stupid.</p>
<p>
That day she had four other readings, making a total of $175.00. She was stunned. She’d made money at the temple, but they held on to it for her rent and food. So, she’d never had much cash, even though the temple made seventy-five dollars per massage. She packed up for the night, brought her table and chairs back to the pizza restaurant, stashed them behind the dumpster again, and tipped the manager. She was glad she knew the guy. That was the thing about New Orleans. If you knew how to get around, you could make things work for you, even though it could be a dangerous place.</p>
<p>
She was starved and decided to treat herself to a shrimp po’ boy from Felix’s on Bourbon. She hadn’t had one in forever, and she felt like celebrating. And now that she had enough cash to last a few days, she could afford it. Plus, she wanted to walk by ETC to talk to the girl who was working in the back of the shop. She didn’t know who it was, and she didn’t care. But she hoped she could work out a deal with her. Pay her a little cash and get her to leave the back door open so she could start sleeping there at night instead of St. Roch’s. The chapel floor wasn’t comfortable, and the cemetery wasn’t safe at night. An option would be nice. It was worth a try.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Excerpt from <i>Sanctuary</i> by C.L. Tolbert. Copyright 2022 by C.L. Tolbert. Reproduced with permission from C.L. Tolbert. All rights reserved.</p>
</div>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<h2>Author Bio:</h2>
<div style="float: right;width:230px;margin-left: 15px;"><img src="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/pict/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/sanctuary-by-cl-tolbert-author.jpg" alt="C.L. Tolbert" width="200" height="267" align="left" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px; float: right;" border="0"></div>
<p>After winning the Georgia State Bar Journal's fiction contest in 2010, C.L. Tolbert developed the winning story into a full-scale novel. OUT FROM SILENCE was published in December of 2019, and is the first novel in the Thornton Mysteries series. Her second book, <a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/the-redemption-by-c-l-tolbert/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">THE REDEMPTION</a>, was published in February of 2021, and <a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/sanctuary-by-c-l-tolbert/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">SANCTUARY</a>, the third book in the series, was published in July of 2022.</p>
<p>Licensed in Mississippi, Louisiana, and Georgia, C.L. practiced law for thirty-five years before retiring to pursue writing. During her legal career she spent several years teaching at Loyola Law School in New Orleans, where she was the Director of the Homeless Clinic. She also has a Masters of Special Education, and taught in a public school prior to enrolling in law school.</p>
<p>C.L. has two children and three grandchildren, and lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and schnauzer.</p>
<h3>Catch Up With C.L. Tolbert:<br>
<a href="https://bit.ly/3KOu385" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">www.CLTolbert.com</a><br>
<a href="https://bit.ly/3KINuze" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Goodreads</a><br>
<a href="https://bit.ly/3xKrpeh" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Instagram - @cltolbertwrites </a><br>
<a href="https://bit.ly/382ogys" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Twitter - @cltolbertwrites</a><br>
<a href="https://bit.ly/38MUP3A" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Facebook - @cltolbertwriter </a></h3>
<p> </p>
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<h2>Tour Participants:</h2>
<p>Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and give away entries! <script src="https://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=307132" type="text/javascript"></script></p>
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<h2>Giveaway:</h2>
<h5>This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for C.L. Tolbert. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.</h5>
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<h2><a href="https://www.partnersincrimetours.net/">Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours</a></h2>
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Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-78135002494023627242022-09-26T12:00:00.002-07:002022-10-24T02:34:55.976-07:00Ghoster Heights by Corey Landsell, Kelly Mellings, Lisa Larose, Becca Carey, Rebecca Taylor (Editor)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rockstarbooktours.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="615" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpM7m4YIGyxU5O3qSG34wFXgjP-bnvRFOPiy_frVeOdXmvWGh34m-NZZa7zF5O_gGjKvGqxcuxsiWS8Aq_1GZe1IvFT2BZi70TCH_RCMBVNwnYtTBv628VlIuzQU8u3qvxTsViwRiKlF9lbAZAzlVUhTU7bdtV8ZBFjLnhkXmdKV4KDv9Oi4i10DP97Q/w400-h156/GHOSTER%20HEIGHTS%20RDB.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I am so excited that </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">GHOSTER HEIGHTS</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> by <a name="_Hlk113784261">Corey Landsell, Kelly
Mellings, & Lisa Larose </a>is available now and that I get to share the
news!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">If you haven’t yet heard about this
wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">This blitz also includes a giveaway
for 2 finished copies of the book courtesy of Wonderbound & <a href="http://www.rockstarbooktours.com/">Rockstar Book Tours</a>. So if you’d
like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About The Book:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3xhLB8R" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2101" data-original-width="1400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1O_0mZzrfgwMSUXO8z4Fj5y_dA-QkMM-vFKqsPuNSXvISd4Nxq7dapJwfkGsIcrnwDdQGVG4J4hLrwamHfZt-bn8FfcV-ckEoKex6inb1VzPRMA97hZeqedrdSzZaUIKfRNGuPTyOqjG2XSvxgRwFdg5XugQT8ap9MT7kQsVxQMTIE4LpU2VGUo_fFQ/w266-h400/ghoster-heights-9781638490739_hr.jpg" width="266" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Title:</span></b><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> GHOSTER HEIGHTS<o:p></o:p></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Author: </span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Corey Landsell, Kelly Mellings, Lisa Larose,
Becca Carey, Rebecca Taylor (Editor)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pub. Date:</span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> September 27, 2022<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Publisher: </span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Wonderbound<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Formats:</span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> Paperback, eBook<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pages:</span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> 208<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Find it:</span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60320686-ghoster-heights"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Goodreads</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, </span></span><a href="https://amzn.to/3xhLB8R"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Amazon</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, </span></span><a href="https://amzn.to/3xaE4J1"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Kindle</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">,</span> </span><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ghoster-heights-corey-lansdell/1141115585?ean=9781638490739"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">B&N</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, </span></span><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/ghoster-heights/id1614458304?itsct=books_box_link&itscg=30200&ls=1&at=10l32yD"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">iBooks</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, </span></span><a href="https://click.linksynergy.com/deeplink?id=5LPtjgetns4&mid=37217&murl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.kobo.com%2Fus%2Fen%2Febook%2Fghoster-heights"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Kobo</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, </span></span><a href="https://tidd.ly/3Qu3Xu4"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">TBD</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">, </span></span></span><a href="https://bookshop.org/a/1250/9781638490739"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Bookshop.org</span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk105839048;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A
haunting and hopeful Middle Grade graphic novel about a girl, ghosts, and
grief. For fans of <i>Sheets</i>, <i>Small Spaces</i>,
and <i>Ghosts.</i></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">
<br />
WELCOME TO THE NEIGH<b>BOO</b>HOOD!<br />
<br />
Eight-year-old Ona has lost just about everything: her home, her possessions,
her mother, and almost her life. When she and her father move into her Baba’s
apartment complex after these traumatic events, they had hoped for a clean
start. But a mysterious specter follows her, and Ona befriends the ghost she
discovers haunting the boiler room. When her new friendship starts allowing her
to see other ghosts—the ghosts who haunt the other residents of her
building—she decides to use her ability to help her new neighbors face
their troubles and free themselves from their specters. In doing so, however,
Ona must eventually come face to face with a much darker foe—her own
trauma and grief. The earnestness of Judy Bloom meets the raw emotion
of <i>I Kill Giants</i> in this beautifully hopeful story of
childhood tragedy.<br />
<br />
An original graphic novel for Middle Grade readers about grief, loss, and the
ghosts that haunt us all.<br />
<br />
For fans of Brenna Thummler’s <i>Sheets</i> and <i>Delicates</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Excerpts:</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUiZKZtIimuus7hyNCwAhEnjbRn1tqo9CSAZLgzEpWCxSxitPr22A3STgBZ1Y_Vd09kvTK9JP5hNzoeUx92vZSYRj-gvW5pJSJ4cPulr30q6wFb3TPHl9NX5K3G18KBEWbzp3NTA-0D_5FvJRyUkWMA0s401JBrK4GWTkrb4AF9PTdiWtLl7M3R_FhQ/s2700/PG1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUiZKZtIimuus7hyNCwAhEnjbRn1tqo9CSAZLgzEpWCxSxitPr22A3STgBZ1Y_Vd09kvTK9JP5hNzoeUx92vZSYRj-gvW5pJSJ4cPulr30q6wFb3TPHl9NX5K3G18KBEWbzp3NTA-0D_5FvJRyUkWMA0s401JBrK4GWTkrb4AF9PTdiWtLl7M3R_FhQ/w426-h640/PG1.jpg" width="426" /></a></b></div><b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYL_lTa8ITQojkezmVMUuDJLsIkYd7LI1MJkOZ5yUB6qanJqG1VfnlGK6WdQZAL6CI6FpJXTqb9cZL1Mu8a1ul8CHn0MxIYCRftLzWb_KWPCqeVcKDWG_bGWp0h4g_3qTqLo2WPYQC0Nv74K8QByBYaj7q-fq8Ztf4A5I7q0O8QxmU-RWmJ-qCpTv62Q/s2700/PG2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYL_lTa8ITQojkezmVMUuDJLsIkYd7LI1MJkOZ5yUB6qanJqG1VfnlGK6WdQZAL6CI6FpJXTqb9cZL1Mu8a1ul8CHn0MxIYCRftLzWb_KWPCqeVcKDWG_bGWp0h4g_3qTqLo2WPYQC0Nv74K8QByBYaj7q-fq8Ztf4A5I7q0O8QxmU-RWmJ-qCpTv62Q/w426-h640/PG2.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhp2lcl_tPvCiNk3iEVSLnzwwCVeapH-EaNPSGrt3xarYkXL7lkRYKTWEKtPb01ziDFNQfrOSPICk9QnFQrzOaU0bCZfoOnAn52PmT2AWlsyAYbpfRJeQnjiWwvxyaUEyo5AbDqcB1U-FKTvt2saaJ2anYIad0KYcg7vOHrB5a8l2xTfAeVsBj4qOew/s2700/PG3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhp2lcl_tPvCiNk3iEVSLnzwwCVeapH-EaNPSGrt3xarYkXL7lkRYKTWEKtPb01ziDFNQfrOSPICk9QnFQrzOaU0bCZfoOnAn52PmT2AWlsyAYbpfRJeQnjiWwvxyaUEyo5AbDqcB1U-FKTvt2saaJ2anYIad0KYcg7vOHrB5a8l2xTfAeVsBj4qOew/w426-h640/PG3.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAd5xTePr8O6j23jnmQOCpXPHxZ-xal308GFRjF3cIaLgNSyk0CUHjqWkJYknOT-zjw8ESuDURQGykOEnXkJ0L3SHW05xE0JY8ez_FzOocuNeYRiVmilKqJiR_pm5ESGJ_NOWghRyYRsuIvOJ8HLrUxufrO2ynB9L0svTbV5eKki8TGc78JpZDgMSwTA/s2700/PG4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAd5xTePr8O6j23jnmQOCpXPHxZ-xal308GFRjF3cIaLgNSyk0CUHjqWkJYknOT-zjw8ESuDURQGykOEnXkJ0L3SHW05xE0JY8ez_FzOocuNeYRiVmilKqJiR_pm5ESGJ_NOWghRyYRsuIvOJ8HLrUxufrO2ynB9L0svTbV5eKki8TGc78JpZDgMSwTA/w426-h640/PG4.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zy-Mx2Bnh7ulPLJttHIBHJG9ZL2Hwy4xcUOnOG6JU00pkXy2uPrhAHy5xZbi-jFZqyLCLDr6I6zqHWbC3o5wTwmupuD7X8vuWb5VkS02TUCKxZmUR1w0bhIIkDEwofW4L9Vt7IwfjOAulwqKzy4Yet7bgbDFVoBqfDYDOMnVsGZbik5SR9ngo9woIw/s2700/PG5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zy-Mx2Bnh7ulPLJttHIBHJG9ZL2Hwy4xcUOnOG6JU00pkXy2uPrhAHy5xZbi-jFZqyLCLDr6I6zqHWbC3o5wTwmupuD7X8vuWb5VkS02TUCKxZmUR1w0bhIIkDEwofW4L9Vt7IwfjOAulwqKzy4Yet7bgbDFVoBqfDYDOMnVsGZbik5SR9ngo9woIw/w426-h640/PG5.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_1UPogdPhLHpaIYZ0haKS2JIgethZrXJ-EXhv_jab-9LsyaqdxUTp48JxnN9GD3gnGq7KOzFTRrM4u4GxzzxG3IaaY1u3xp6RWunh14Aw7QpR63CzDuAS06BtG3D2hAilUpDgI4rJCEo3MghIB27RTFgJ2MhfJTqOB4HfP_HjOeFF8CvBSex8ttDvlg/s2700/PG6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_1UPogdPhLHpaIYZ0haKS2JIgethZrXJ-EXhv_jab-9LsyaqdxUTp48JxnN9GD3gnGq7KOzFTRrM4u4GxzzxG3IaaY1u3xp6RWunh14Aw7QpR63CzDuAS06BtG3D2hAilUpDgI4rJCEo3MghIB27RTFgJ2MhfJTqOB4HfP_HjOeFF8CvBSex8ttDvlg/w426-h640/PG6.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About Corey Landsell</span>:</b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.coreylansdell.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="3374" data-original-width="2939" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYU__z59sH4ccYjP_oZ4Jp4ShOhR3MD63sSnXWq7ywWgK2G7AnbyXoaT9Qx292WB2KR6k9mL__bBDI79G16FHDUu4Z1E86vtlwIuVPKRS7TkNSFLA4jMF0uHuAVH0TFiV9SeVUjhGCMKLuLljYc8Zzzxxo-xtrabGMRkf3FSwEKZZ3lupJhyg22xhLg/s320/Corey.jpg" width="279" /></a></b></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Corey Lansdell</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> is a multiple award-winning illustrator and animator.
He is a skilled communicator, expert storyteller and passionate collaborator.
Corey heads up a SCBWI illustrators group in Edmonton, Alberta.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.coreylansdell.com/"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Website</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> | </span><a href="https://twitter.com/coreylansdell"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Twitter</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> | </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/coreylansdellcreates"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Facebook</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> | </span><a href="https://www.instagram.com/coreylansdell/"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Instagram</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> | </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22209696.Corey_Landsell"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Goodreads</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> | </span></span><a href="https://amzn.to/3qsnTD1"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Amazon</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="_Hlk111719805"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="_Hlk111719805"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="_Hlk111719805"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="_Hlk111719805"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/kellymellings/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUkTp1Jhc7ZpZ1dJyASl0MOYFlm_3q7_O-OZfhC5ulqcSIOJ3yNTBumAu1ox5_Epcak0VikMSQVv2OAAFbnK-lDSowl8ZDX7n0xb0-HB-ML8DG9VIPvMxT5UXQhRfEO-ay_U2wJj5HK1kx_gxo0kroNW6msoYo9iFT7b5aX3qkjNY15HkO6x_ok_6-rQ/s320/Kelly.jpg" width="319" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About Kelly Mellings:</span></b><p></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk111719805;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Kelly Mellings</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> is an award-winning art director, illustrator, and
designer. His work has<br />
appeared in comic books, TV commercials, magazines, apps, museum exhibits, and
video<br />
games. He is the co-writer of <b>Ghoster Heights</b> and illustrator
of the Canadian best-selling<br />
graphic novel, <b>The Outside Circle</b>. He lives in Edmonton, Alberta.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://twitter.com/kellymellings"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Twitter</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> | </span><a href="https://www.instagram.com/kellymellings/"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Instagram</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> | </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14101476.Kelly_Mellings"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Goodreads</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About Lisa Larose:</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="C:\Users\arnol\Documents\Rockstar Stuff\Finished Tours\Colleen Coover & Paul Tobin\lisalaroseart.com" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="238" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguY-oUn46GeA7hlR0n5LGUSvr3E78YIp6tAbIABNCHk7dt4WO2h8a-3BFUv6zu4MyWLefGgIC8j3D2s7EBmPgfhCF1O5ldtuyXrsD31iWclul0qM9n3jG-qPVGGY1pntwgoqOFSQShrrqqWhI35bRYjqR6bVfbhYGYDwTdTA24R7o6PlcnRWQWSGhW8g/s1600/Lisa.jpg" width="238" /></a></span></b></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Lisa
LaRose</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> is a pop
surrealist painter, illustrator, and comics artist in Vancouver, Canada. She is
best known for her paintings: Bizarre and Colourful artworks. She creates
lively and exciting colour palettes and is always making something a little
weird. Lisa loves middle-grade fiction (books, comics, cartoons, you name it)
and so she also moonlights as a middle-grade comics artist.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-40781730264155797422022-09-21T11:30:00.002-07:002022-10-24T01:59:45.865-07:00Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><a href="https://www.providencebookpromotions.com/intergalactic-exterminators-inc-by-ash-bishop/" title="Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop"><img class="aligncenter size-full" src="https://www.providencebookpromotions.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/intergalactic-exterminators-inc-by-ash-bishop-banner-.png" alt="Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop Banner" width="600" height="338"></a></h2>
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<h2 align="center"><em>Intergalactic Exterminators Inc</em></h2>
<h3 style="text-align:center;padding-top:0px;padding-bottom:0px">by Ash Bishop</h3>
<h5 style="text-align:center;padding-top:0px;">September 1-30, 2022 Virtual Book Tour</h5>
<h3>Synopsis:</h3>
<h4>Finding work is easy. Staying alive is a little bit harder.</h4>
<div style="float: left;width:225px;margin-right: 15px;"><img align="left" style="margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px;" src="https://www.providencebookpromotions.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/intergalactic-exterminators-inc-by-ash-bishop-cover.png" alt="Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop" width="200" height="309"></div>
<div>When Russ Wesley finds an unusual artifact in his grandfather’s collection of rare antiquities, the last thing he expects is for it to draw the attention of a ferocious alien from a distant planet. Equally surprising is the adventurous team of intergalactic exterminators dispatched to deal with the alien threat. They’re a little wild, and a little reckless. Worse yet, they’re so impressed with Russ’s marksmanship that they insist he join their squad . . . whether he wants to or not.</div>
<h3>Praise for <i>Intergalactic Exterminators, Inc</i>:</h3>
"This book is so much fun it ought to be illegal in all known galaxies. Ash Bishop has written a wildly imagined, deeply felt, swashbuckling page turner. I loved it."
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="">Jesse Kellerman, <em>New York Times</em> bestselling author of <em>The Burning</em></span>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://videopress.com/embed/zAp3zWeq" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" allow="clipboard-write"></iframe>
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<div class="">
<h3>Book Details</h3>
<strong>Genre:</strong> Science Fiction
<strong>Published by:</strong> Camcat Books
<strong>Publication Date:</strong> September 6th 2022
<strong>Number of Pages:</strong> 416
<strong>ISBN:</strong> 0744305616 (ISBN13: 9780744305616)
<strong>Purchase Links:</strong> <a href="https://amzn.to/3uh0EOI" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3nxnXzY" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3ywkHv1" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Goodreads</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3aeKP42" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">IndieBound.Org</a> | <a href="https://bit.ly/3IaP3qe" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">CamCat Books</a>
</div>
<h3>Read an excerpt:</h3>
<div style="border-color: 000000; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px; height: 350px; overflow: auto; padding:10px;">
<h4>Chapter 1</h4>
<h6>RUSS</h6>
Russ woke up lying flat on the ground, his mind foggy as hell. He could smell blood. When he reached forward as gingerly as possible, his muscles screamed at the movement.
He was on his back. The forest trees waved down at him, blocking out the faint moonlight. He took a couple of deep breaths and reached forward again, groping around in the darkness. His hand came back slick with blood and fur and leaves.
And then he heard voices.
“. . . do you want to do this, then?”
“I just wouldn’t call this tracking, is all. The blood trail’s three feet across. A tiny baby could follow this trail.”
“Show me that baby.”
“Shhh. Both of you, quiet. Something’s registering on the heat index.”
The confusion and pain made it hard to think. <i>Are these locals . . .?</i> he thought. He fumbled in his pocket, looking for his flashlight but also testing for further damage. His hand found the light. It illuminated the small clearing.
The deer’s corpse was just a few feet away, right where he’d shot it, but it wasn’t whole. Something had torn off its back legs, shearing straight through the muscle and bone.
Russ took a deep breath but didn’t let his body or mind react to the sight of the carnage.
Seconds later, the strangers’ flashlights found him.
“He’s over here. To our left.”
Russ heard three or four people hurrying through the brush. A woman in all black stepped into the clearing. Her brown hair was tied back in a bun, and she had a long steel shotgun in her hands. An odd earring twinkled in her ear.
“You okay, son?” she asked, crouching down to place her hands on his chest. She stared into his eyes, examining him. “Looks like you’re going into shock. Just stay on your back and concentrate on breathing.”
A man followed shortly after her. He glanced around, holding up a funny-looking flashlight to cast out the darkness. “He’s alone,” the man confirmed. “Are you from around here?” he asked Russ.
“I’m from California,” Russ groaned.
“I don’t know what that means,” the man said.
“Just hold still,” the woman said. She pulled a gadget from her pack. The end telescoped out like an antenna.
Russ watched as an aqua blue light shone down from the device, running across his entire body. He flinched as it reached his face, and even that small movement caused his lungs to burst with pain.
“He’s got four broken ribs, a hairline fracture in the left wrist and a torn hamstring. Did you see what hit you?” the woman asked him.
Russ tried to think. “No.” The word was as much a groan as anything else.
“Tell us what you remember.”
Russ rolled over onto his side. It hurt badly. Now that she’d pointed out the injuries, everything was localized. His ribs throbbed. His wrist felt hollow. His left leg was pierced with pain. “I was driving down Route Eighty-Nine, and a deer . . .” Russ pointed to the half deer corpse beside him. “. . . this <i>deer</i> dashed in front of my car. I knew I’d injured it by the sound it made when it hit the bumper, but I didn’t think I’d have to chase it this far into the woods to put it out of its misery.”
Russ took a moment to swallow. “After I shot it, I—I was kneeling, jacking out the leftover rifle shells. But then . . . I was flipping through the air. I think I hit that tree right behind me.”
The woman looked back at the tree. “It’s pretty splintered up.”
“I was flying upside down. Backwards.”
“Can you walk?” the man asked.
Two more women, dressed in the same black combat gear, entered the clearing. They both had long rifles slung over their backs.
Russ glanced at the newcomers, his eyes lingering on the guns. They weren’t locals. He could tell that much. “Who are you guys?”
“Just local hunters,” one of the newcomers said.
“Sure,” Russ said.
“Tell me what hit you,” the first woman said firmly.
“’I don’t know. A meteor? A buffalo? Maybe . . . a . . . rig?”
The woman pulled a roll of pills from a MOLLE strap on her backpack. “Swallow two of these. They’re going to kill the pain.”
Russ chewed the pills. Their chalky taste filled his mouth and crept up his nose.
“They won’t cure any of the damage. You’re going to feel fine, but you’re not fine. Move carefully until you can get proper medical treatment. The road is two miles north. Can you reach it without help?”
Russ nodded. Whatever she gave him was blazing through his bloodstream, kicking the fog and ache off every organ that it passed.
“What’d I just eat?”
“Two miles north. Don’t stop for any reason.”
One of the newcomers, a well-muscled young woman with close-cropped brown hair, glanced at the half deer corpse lying next to Russ. Its blood had sprayed a pattern across the splintered tree. “Look at the animal, Kendren,” she said.
The guy, Kendren, shone his flashlight over the deer corpse. “Whoa,” he said. “We definitely found what we’re looking for.”
“You really chummed the water with this stag,” the short-haired woman told Russ.
“Kendren, Starland, mouths shut,” the first woman said, making a slashing gesture. She pulled Russ to his feet. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but it was gone.
Kendren and Starland stayed huddled around the deer, crouched low, inspecting where the hindquarters had been sheared off the bone. Kendren looked at the deer's head and saw where Russ had shot it.
“You make this shot?” he asked Russ. “In the dark?”
“Yeah.”
“Was the deer already dead? Were you a foot away? Point blank?”
“No. I was up on a ledge over by the river. Forty feet in that direction.” Russ pointed up the gradual incline.
Kendren was still looking at the dead deer. “You shot it between the eyes, from forty feet, in the dark?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Head on back to the highway,” the woman said firmly. “You should start now. It might be dangerous to stay here.”
The way she was looking at him, Russ kind of figured she meant that she was what was dangerous. If he didn’t do what she said.
“I just need to find my grandpa’s rifle first,” Russ told her.
She grabbed him by the arm. Her grip was incredibly strong. In the light from her flashlight her eyes seemed almost purple. “Start walking toward—”
Before she could finish her sentence, the third woman, who’d melted back into the darkness, stepped forward again. “Cut the light,” she hissed. “It’s here.”
Something came crashing through the brush, making a howling sound. It wasn’t a sound Russ had ever heard before. It was a deep rumbling growl, followed by a pitched screech that made the hair on his arms stand up. Branches were snapping, and he could hear claws scraping on rock. It was still thirty feet south, but it scared the hell out of him.
“‘El Toreador.’ You’re up,” the woman hissed.
The girl they called El Toreador had been on lookout. She was far enough into the darkness that Russ could barely see her, just a wisp of thick brown hair bobbing in the darkness—that is, until she pounded her chest with her fist. The vest lit up red, casting shadows across the trees. “My real name’s Atara,” she told Russ quickly. Then: “Don’t look so worried. We’re professionals.”
“Starland, hit her with the hormone.”
“The vest is enough,” Atara growled.
Starland slipped back into the light. She was carrying some kind of tube that looked like a pool toy. She pushed hard against the end, blasting thick goo all over the other woman.
“Hurry up. It’s almost here.”
Russ was scrambling around in the brush, looking everywhere for his rifle when the creature burst through the perimeter glow of his tiny flashlight. Atara’s vest reflected off its face, bathing it in red light. It was all fangs and claws, huge, twice the size of a grizzly bear and full of rippling muscles stretched out in terrifying feline grace. It leaped at Atara, but midflight it caught the scent of the goo and reoriented to the left, bumping her off her feet but not harming her.
The huge cat-thing landed softly, immediately turning toward the fallen woman, sniffing the air, growling, and bobbing its head.
“It’s got the scent. The big kitty’s feeling amorous,” Kendren yelled. He, Starland, and the other woman all had their rifles raised. They were tracking the cat, ready to fire. Atara looked pissed, sprawled on the ground with her legs splayed.
“Knock it down. We’re authorized for lethal. What are you waiting for?” she shouted.
The creature was fully in the light now. It looked a lot like a tiger, but it was at least six times the size, with wavy, shaggy hair.
“What the hell is it?” Russ shouted.
The feline was practically straddling Atara. “I don’t like how it’s looking at me. Come on, shoot!” she demanded.
The creature batted a paw, claws extended, and tore the glowing vest off her chest. It drew the vest up to its nose, sniffed, and started to growl again.
Then the huge beast paused, slowly turning away from Atara. It sniffed the air, shoulders hunched, fur on the scruff of its neck rising. As it turned, its deep onyx eyes looked squarely at Russ.
It growled and took a step toward him.
Russ thought his heart had been beating hard before, but as the huge cat glided toward him, the thudding in his chest was so loud it drowned out every other sound. He didn’t even hear the discharge of Starland’s shotgun, two feet away from the monster. The wad of pellets sprayed against the creature’s flank and it howled, tearing away into the darkness so fast Russ didn’t even see it move.
Atara scrambled to her feet and dropped her rifle. “Did you see that? A direct hit and no penetration. I told you Earth tech was garbage. What is this? The thirteenth century? I’m powering up.”
The first woman—the one with the purple eyes—glanced at Russ. She was short, wiry, with the powerful shoulders of a linebacker. Russ realized she was the leader of . . . whoever these people were.
“When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut?” she barked at Atara.
“You already used the CRC wand on him.”
“Two hours of mandatory training videos. The second this is over.”
“I’d rather be cat food than watch those again,” Atara said.
“You skip the videos and I’ll send you back through CERT training.”
Atara wasn’t really listening. She crashed off through the brush in the direction of the big cat.
Nodding toward Russ, the woman shouted, “Kendren, you’ve got containment.” Then she disappeared into the darkness. Starland drew a pistol from her belt and followed.
“Containment? More like babysitting,” Kendren grumbled. “I should be the one doing the good stuff.” He glanced in the direction they’d gone. Russ kind of agreed. Kendren was huge, at least six-five, and covered from head to toe with what Russ’s cousin had always called beach muscles. He had thick, wavy hair down to his shoulders.
Out in the darkness, Russ could see the others’ flashlights bobbing up and down. They were headed up an incline, probably straight toward the bank of the river.
“Was it my imagination, or was the cat more interested in you than the vest covered in mating hormone?” Kendren asked.
At first, Russ didn’t answer. Finally, he said, “What would make it do that?”
“No idea. It’s supposed to follow the hormone. What’s better than sex?” Kendren shook his head, seemingly unable to answer his own question. He frowned slightly. “The only thing I’ve seen them more interested in is an Obinz stone. You ever seen an Obinz stone? They’re about this big”—Kendren held his hands six inches apart—“usually green, with yellow veins running all along the edges? I don’t think they’re native to . . . this area.” Kendren looked around in distaste. “But I’ve seen these cats jump planets just to get near one if it’s in an unrefined state. An Obinz stone is basically intergalactic catnip.”
“I’ve never seen one,” Russ told him. His voice wavered slightly, but Kendren didn’t seem to notice.
“Then we better shut this vest down,” Kendren said. He stepped up onto a boulder and reached high into a tree, grabbing the vest from where the cat had tossed it. He folded the vest up and tucked it under his arm. “I’m not even sure how to turn it off,” he said.
“That was a saber-toothed tiger, right? You guys cloning stuff? Is this Jurassic World or something?” Russ rubbed his temple. His questions were coming so fast, they were jumbled in his mouth. Kendren had just said <i>intergalactic</i>, and something about <i>jumping planets</i>, but here in the dark Wyoming forest, six miles from his grandmother’s house, he wasn’t yet ready to face those pieces of information.
Kendren threw the vest on the ground and raised his rifle, pumping a slug into it. It kept glowing. “Damn. It’s pretty important I get this thing turned off.”
Starland’s discarded rifle was just a few feet away. While Kendren kicked at the vest with his boot heel, Russ inched toward it.
“Touch the weapon and I’ll shoot you in the face,” Kendren said. He stomped on the vest again.
The flashlights were way north now, probably on the other side of the river. Russ could hear the distant voices arguing about which way the big cat went.
The voices were so loud, neither Kendren nor Russ heard the cat until it was right in front of them, growling, hissing, and spitting. It stalked into the circumference of the faint red light from the vest.
Kendren was still standing on the vest, his rifle slung over his shoulder. Beside him, the cat was enormous, twice as tall as a man. It crouched down, looking him straight in the eye.
“I’m dead,” he said quietly.
The creature coiled back on its powerful flanks and threw itself forward like a bullet. Its wicked claws stretched out, razored edges slashing at Kendren’s neck and chest.
Russ kicked Starland’s gun off the ground, caught it, leveled it, and fired. The bullet split the cat’s eye socket, ripping through its optic nerve and straight into its brain.
Momentum carried the dead body forward on its trajectory, smashing into Kendren and pinning him to the earth.
A few moments later, the rest of the team returned, clambering through the thick brush. The leader approached the enormous beast and nudged it with her boot.
“Is it dead, Bah’ren?” Atara asked, her gun still pointed at the fallen creature.
“Sure is,” the leader, Bah’ren, responded.
The wind was starting to pick up, blowing the branches of the trees, shaking off a few dead leaves.
“How about Kendren?”
“Negative,” Bah’ren said.
“Get it off me,” Kendren demanded. “It’s gotta weigh nine hundred pounds.”
“How many intergalactic laws do you think we’ve broken here?” Atara asked. She moved next to Bah’ren, looking down at Kendren with an expression that was half pity and half amusement.
He had managed to sit up, but his legs were still wedged under the huge carcass.
“Including the law about referencing intergalactic law on a tier-nine planet?” Bah’ren asked.
“You guys are being a little careless,” Starland said.
“Not our fault this thing was a hundred miles off course. The MUPmap promised there wouldn’t be any tier-nine bios in the vicinity.”
“What are we supposed to do now?” Atara said, nodding toward Russ.
“Oh, we’re conscripting him, for sure.” Bah’ren said.
“Really?” Atara said. “We’re getting another human?”
“Who? Who do you mean?” Russ asked. He glanced back in the direction of the highway. His eyes were starting to adjust to the dark again, and he could make out a thick copse of trees just a dozen or so yards away.
“Get the huge beast off me,” Kendren insisted.
Bah’ren moved to one side of the big cat and dug her powerful shoulders into it. Starland ran over to join her, wedging one arm against the creature’s flank, but putting her other arm around the waist of the woman giving the orders. “Atara, come on. You, new guy, we could use your help too. It’s heavy as hell.”
Russ half ran over to them and dug his side into the creature. Its hairy skin sloshed around against the pressure, but the four of them eventually got it moving.
“Roll it the other way!” Kendren demanded. “Its penis is right next to my face.”
They kept rolling, and Kendren kept protesting, as the great shaggy cat slowly grinded over his shoulders and face. Gravity finally caught hold of its weight and the corpse flopped to the ground. The three in black all chuckled as Kendren spit out the taste of cat testicle.
“Oh, that’s what you meant. Sorry about that,” Starland said, laughing.
Kendren crawled onto his knees, still hacking and spitting. He stopped for a minute and looked at the cat’s face, poking a finger in the thing’s empty eye socket and wiggling it around. “Another hell of a shot.”
“The debriefing wasn’t just wrong about location,” Atara said. “The creature’s fur is like steel mesh. Our bullets were doing jackshit.”
Kendren rolled up onto his knees, both hands propped on his thighs. “You saved my life,” he told Russ.
“No problem,” Russ said.
It was the last thing Russ said before he dropped the rifle and sprinted full speed back toward the safety of the trees. He was running as fast as he could, pumping his arms, banging his shins on rocks, bumping past pines, carelessly plunging through the dark.
He’d only gotten about twenty yards, running full speed, when something metal slapped around his ankle. It tipped him off balance and, for the second time that night, he could feel himself careening head over heels.
He hit a tree, again, then slowly slipped out of consciousness.
---
Excerpt from <em>Intergalactic Exterminators Inc</em> by Ash Bishop. Copyright © 2022 by Ash Bishop. Reproduced with permission from Ash Bishop. All rights reserved.
</div>
<h3>Author Bio:</h3>
<div class="download"><img align="left" style="margin-right: 10px;" src="https://www.providencebookpromotions.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/intergalactic-exterminators-inc-by-ash-bishop-author.jpg" alt="Ash Bishop" width="200" height="294">Ash Bishop is a lifetime reader and a lifetime nerd, loving all things science fiction and fantasy. He has been a high school English teacher, and worked in the video game industry, as well as in educational app development. He even used to fetch coffee for Quentin Tarantino during the production of the film Jackie Brown. Bishop currently produces script coverage for a major Hollywood studio, but he spends his best days at home in Southern California with his wonderful wife and two wonderful children. He earned an MFA in Creative Writing from San Diego State University. This is his debut novel.
<h3>Find Our Ash Bishop Online:</h3>
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Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-47917574979096612762022-09-15T11:30:00.002-07:002022-09-15T11:30:00.178-07:00The Understudy by Elle Tovatt Leary<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sites.google.com/rabtbooktoursandpr.com/fall-2022-blitzes/ellen-tovatt-leary-the-understudy-book-blitz"><img height="200" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/de369e32a24544379ad6a4fe476bc66a" width="500" /></a></div><p> </p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/a3d4420b88f548b2aa6a6753157c1e1d" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/a3d4420b88f548b2aa6a6753157c1e1d" width="276" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Romance, Historical Romance</span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><b> Publisher:</b> Hansen Publishing Group</span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/54344882-the-understudy" target="_blank"><img alt="photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/spring-2016/home/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Young actress Nina Landau is living in New York City, trying to make it on
Broadway in the early ‘70s. Travel back in time with The
Understudy—a book actor Stacy Keach calls a “…must read
for all lovers of theater...” Follow Nina as she braves auditions and
eventually succeeds on the Broadway stage. Discover the backstage drama, how
Broadway actors brave the occasional mistakes and celebrate opening night at
Sardi’s! Although Nina's adventure is from another era, her love story
is timeless.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/d7b2334871404c8eaf1c578639020790" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="437" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/d7b2334871404c8eaf1c578639020790" width="437" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>About the Author</b></span></p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/ec2d070b7f234da19e1181c3b4b95d96" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/ec2d070b7f234da19e1181c3b4b95d96" width="235" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Ellen Tovatt Leary is an actor and writer born in New York City. She
performed in theaters across the country, including Broadway, off-Broadway,
and many regional theaters. She worked with Hal Prince, Maureen Stapleton,
James Hammerstein, and many others. After a life-long career in the theater,
Ellen started writing. For fourteen years, she was on the writing staff of
the Carnegie Hill News in New York. She has published short stories, poems,
and two widely acclaimed books: her memoir “Mother, Once
Removed” (2015) and her novel “The Understudy”
(2020).</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contact Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.ellentovattleary.com/">Website</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/EllenTovattLeary">Facebook</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://book-buzz.net/the-understudy/">BookBuzz</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Purchase Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3TY5Ge6">Amazon</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://bookshop.org/books/the-understudy-9781665040051/9781601823441">Bookshop.org</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08NLMV97Z/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_taud_p1_i0">Audible</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rabtbooktoursandpr.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="RABT Book Tours & PR" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/wzukusers/user-32179697/images/0ef1e26fd5f04c99b11731d6d17c8a41/RABT-Tour-Host.png" width="400" /></a></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-2691150203303131052022-09-14T11:30:00.002-07:002022-09-14T11:30:00.190-07:00All Kinds of Wrong by Shilpa Suraj <p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/2022/09/all-kinds-of-wrong.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNsqvH7BNBrSqaFMsqCjDayzNRqDm8yGAzFizQQFEtxrOYK91ElkxaNhPyPWLI4lVpixqJLZWR2Odmo6bCcYUOuDeqQN0xGmjB_2FeAwqZ9L0RKFdVa4xgd0LkMGrE-5CWtUmGsZnYII5FuZ_zjUpFhuzyCP_yHLhD2zKqebdXF1kGRaq1PYWecVU5/w400-h200/%20AKoW%20Banners%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><p></p><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What does a lifestyle guru do when her life starts to fall apart?</span></h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2396" data-original-width="1601" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9PwSIqoYqZEJLi8xK77vT7IYG0v_nYPIwysjwiny8v_NwGLpb485ZjPnqov_uOpbJf2tng8_GZyR6ESpbnlokC9EctGGx_cpGiRp-u_b4r8qZssOSOPBFon-juRQ-JaLvpST517faQXt5swRgpocXcmM1FWJo2JqZx2G7zV3BWlNGkPrDrfPf741i/s320/Final-%20All%20kinds%20of%20Wrong.jpg" width="214" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alia Dubey is being stalked. The problem is no one believes her. Not the cops, not her family…and well, she doesn’t really have any friends.<br />Until the day her sister calls in a favour and asks her friend from the Intelligence Bureau to check on Alia and the gifts she’s been receiving.<br />Officer Avinash Rathore has better things to do than babysit a spoilt socialite with delusions of danger. Until he walks in to find her home broken into and an innocuous bouquet of red roses placed there. While everything points to an obsessed lover, Avinash’s instincts are screaming that there is more at play.<br />The gifts keep arriving, escalating from roses to far more sinister things…each with an intimate note hinting at a personal agenda. But whose?<br />The police have a primary suspect – Alia herself. They’re convinced she’s mentally ill and the one planting the evidence that points to a stalker.<br />But Avinash knows there is more. Far from mentally ill, the ditzy socialite he’d expected to meet is incisively intelligent, staggeringly attractive and devastatingly dangerous to his otherwise sensible mind.<br />They find themselves in a race against an unknown opponent who has only one thing in their mind – to destroy Alia’s life and leave her standing in the ruins.<br />And then Alia goes missing. And Avinash realizes that he stands to lose not just the race but, everything. For the ditzy socialite, the one who is All Kinds of Wrong for him is suddenly the only one who can make his world Right again.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Book Links:</u></b></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62028304-all-kinds-of-wrong" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> * <a href="https://amzn.to/3QBntot" target="_blank">Amazon.in</a> * <a href="https://amzn.to/3RQenW2" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a></b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><h1 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><u>Read an Excerpt from All Kinds of Wrong</u></span></h1><div><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Why?” she asked her big sister, bewildered. “Why is this happening? I’m really not the sort to inspire grand passion.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Oh you inspire tons of passion, sweetheart,” Avinash said, humorously. “Just not the sort that you’d normally expect.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She glared at him. He smiled back, blandly. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I’m going to go meet the cops I know in the evening, but it would help if I had a little more to give them to go on.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Like what?” she asked, numbly. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Why don’t you give me a little information on the neighbours you’ve interacted with?” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She stared at him, blankly. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Right,” he muttered. “I forgot. You don’t do relationships.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“She does acquaintances though,” Aria butted in. “Don’t you, Als?” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Alia stared at her. “What does that even mean?” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“What do you know about your neighbours, Als?” Aria sighed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Well, there is dog guy on the second floor. He walks all four of his dogs every morning when I’m going for a jog,” Alia said. “Two Labradors, one Poodle and a mongrel.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Great,” Avinash sat down in front of her, nodding encouragingly. “What else did you notice?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“He looks a lot like his mongrel.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Avinash blinked. “Jeez, you’re a piece of work,” he said with a soft laugh. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“He does,” Alia insisted. “I’ll show you.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Okay.” He held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Who else did you notice?” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“The old lady who lives two doors down always smells of cheese.” Alia muttered. “Stinks up the lift every time. I think she lives alone because I’ve never seen anyone else come out of that flat.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Avinash was scribbling on a little notepad he’d produced out of thin air. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Oh and then there is the serial killer,” she said, snapping her fingers in the air. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Avinash froze. “Excuse me?” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Gotcha,” Alia giggled. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“There is a big, burly man with tattoos and dreadlocks who lives on the third floor. He uses the gym sometimes at the same time as I do. He’s very sweet and considerate. Always wipes his sweat off any equipment he uses.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“A real gem,” Avinash agreed drily. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Then there is the girl who always wants to be my friend, no matter how many times I tell her I’m not interested. She lives on this floor too. Oh and the couple on the first floor who invited me for dinner but I didn’t go because I think they’re swingers and I wasn’t looking forward to being proven right that night.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Aria stifled a smile when Avinash shot her a look. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Then, of course, there is the couple on the floor below us. They have a toddler who sounds like he’s being murdered most of the time. But, of course, that isn’t true. He’s clearly alive because I see him eating sand in the playground when I go for my jog.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“A very good clue,” Avinash said. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“And then there is the eighty-year-old man in the wheelchair who forced himself on me in the elevator.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“What?” Avinash snapped to attention. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Well,” Alia said, frowning. “He said he wanted to tell me something and when I leaned down to hear him more clearly, he kissed me on my lips. The dirty, old goat.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“And what did you do?” Aria asked, aghast.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Well, I pressed the button to stop the elevator and then I deflated the tyres of his wheelchair while he squawked at me. Once I got the elevator moving, I got off and left without helping him. From what I heard on the building whatsapp group, he was stuck there for the better part of an hour before someone found him.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Aria and Avinash just stared at her. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“What?” she demanded. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Nothing,” Avinash said, faintly. “I just finally understand why you don’t do relationships.” </div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><p><b style="font-size: xx-large;"><u><span style="font-family: inherit;">About the Author:</span></u></b></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.b00kr3vi3ws.in/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZsqPboVWvYQ2ECtbQpwNOY94rQahKP1Zr9xNxMrjazqen-8PnT67LHpMvpc4BLZGvJLEaVslU3IBcANA02rMhoEbBjGpz4zmd-1IccEtS3SU4q6z1dVccFwi5BBPZ2cYnuBots5N44e-3lwvHXBSsRQTNwcUuQEWTOkcPp_U31JF12FpE-K8wUT53/w200-h200/Shilpa.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><br />Shilpa Suraj wears many hats - corporate drone, homemaker, mother to a fabulous toddler and author.</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />An avid reader with an overactive imagination, Shilpa has weaved stories in her head since she was a child. Her previous stints at Google, in an ad agency and as an entrepreneur provide colour to her present day stories, both fiction and non-fiction.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Contact the Author:<br /></u></b></span></span><b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://shilpasuraj.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> * <a href="https://www.facebook.com/shilpasuraj/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> * <a href="https://twitter.com/shilpaauthor" target="_blank">Twitter</a> * <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shilpa.suraj/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> * <a href="http://eepurl.com/dt-Br9" target="_blank">Newsletter</a></span></b></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div></div></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-3730260785513732672022-09-11T23:30:00.002-07:002022-09-14T09:45:40.493-07:00Fate Do Us Part by Brady Truly<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sites.google.com/rabtbooktoursandpr.com/fall-2022-blitzes/brandy-truly-fate-do-us-part-week-blitz"><img height="200" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/d11ac9dd3e864ee7a074978d55a015c0" width="500" /></a></div><p> </p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/f89c9d3017eb4a308a8a20fe35b557f6" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/f89c9d3017eb4a308a8a20fe35b557f6" width="249" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">YA, Urban, Romantic Suspense</span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">08-02-2022</span></span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">To have or not to hold, from this day forth. How our story ends, teeters in
the balance, yet to be told. The door to my darkest secret was unlocked.
Through many struggles I learned that Justin is the key. But if a tragic
death occurs when you're supposed to say, "I do", is fate telling
me that we are doomed. After all, isn't our relationship a forbidden romance
that's not meant to be? Doubt, despair, and a devastating reality; only God
knows if it will be till fate do us part.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Kindle Vella Title</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Dive into the first 3 episodes of Fate Do Us Part for Free on Kindle
Vella</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Episode 1. - The Rising Tides</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Episode 2. - Hit and Run</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Episode 3. - Perception of Palms</span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Excerpt</b></span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The tremors begin lightly. Nothing concerning at first, but then they
increase more and more by the minute. Justin is sitting next to me, and his
head snaps in my direction. He’s not a fan of flying. “Just
turbulence,” I relay to him. He nods, although the creases on his
forehead linger.</span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> The plane jerks
violently, causing me and many other people to gasp. After another sharp
jolt, Justin grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly. I must admit, my concern
is growing. I’ve flown less than a handful of times in my life and
have never experienced turbulence this intense.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> The pilot comes on
overhead. “Everyone, please be seated and fasten your seatbelts.
We’ve entered a storm, and we need to fly above it.”</span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> The flight attendants
stop serving drinks and snacks, returning quickly toward the front to buckle
in.</span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> One man decides not to
listen. “I gotta take a leak,” he says, continuing to the
restroom.</span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> The plane takes a
nosedive. This rapid movement startles me. We’re supposed to fly above
the storm—not dive down. The guy who refused to sit regrets his
decision. He’s flung over a seat onto another passenger. The person
he’s on top of makes their unhappiness known, using a few choice
words. Unfortunately, the man can’t move much with the gravity
shift.</span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> The plane levels out for
a spell, only to yank swiftly downward again. My heart is pounding. Is the
plane struggling through the storm, or it is malfunctioning?</span>
</p>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> At this point, I’m
holding onto Justin’s hand as tightly as he’s clinging onto
mine. Flying is supposed to be safe. Planes rarely crash. With the way the
plane is shaking, I’m having a hard time convincing myself with the
statistics.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> Other passengers’
worry begins to show. “What’s happening?” a man
asks.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> “Are we going to
crash?” a lady gasps.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> “Are we going to
die!” another woman shouts.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> “It’s going
to be rough for few minutes while I maneuver through the storm,” the
pilot says overhead, trying to keep everyone calm.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> With the plane on its
chaotic course, his words aren’t reassuring. The plane jerks more
intently, causing several people to scream. The hardhead who didn’t
buckle up is holding onto the person he fell on top of for dear life. I
think they’re too frightened to complain. Mixed emotions echo around
me. Some passengers are swearing, others are freaking out. We’re all
terrified now.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> Justin and I glance at
each other, of one accord. I can understand the meaning in his eyes without
words. No matter the outcome—we’re in this to together. To have
and to hold, through sickness and in health. That’s what we are here
for.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> The plane attempts to
move upward, then it jolts viciously downward like a roller coaster
plummeting over the peak. My stomach shoots to my mouth—suspended in
mid-air.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> At this point, I close my
eyes and start to pray silently. I ask for forgiveness of my sins. I beg for
this not to be the end, because my life is only beginning. If it’s the
end—I pray for it to be quick.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> I don’t care what
anyone says—prayer works. The plane rises higher and higher. Finally,
it crests the storm. The turbulence ceases and it’s like we’re
in the calm of the eye. The pilot announces that we’ve cleared the
terrible weather and apologizes for the scare. Everyone cheers—relief
is circulating through the air.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> My chest begins to feel
lighter with each passing breath. I glance out the window in wonder. Where
we are, the sky is filled with fluffy, white clouds. Below us, I see
lightening flashing with grizzly, opaque clouds. It’s eerie watching
the storm from above as it manifests. Thankfully, we’re no longer
inside it.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> Justin finally releases
my hand. “That was a close call.”</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> “Yeah, it was
scary. But we always make it through together.”</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> “Till death do us
part.”</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>About the Author</b></span></p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/50654d4d31cb4e469feda28a9f4a8055" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/50654d4d31cb4e469feda28a9f4a8055" width="251" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">B. Truly has wanted to be an author since she was fifteen years old. She is
grateful to have accomplished this dream. B. Truly has very vivid dreams and
a wild imagination. She likes to read, watch tons of TV shows, and movies.
She’s addicted to romance and gets a thrill out of suspense and
sci-fi. She writes young adult, new adult, and adult romance, sci-fi,
dystopian, paranormal, and urban genres.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">B. Truly likes to explore conflicted plots of romance with thrilling
twists. She also loves creating impossible situations for her characters to
grow from and try to overcome.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">B. Truly has three wonderful children, and a husband who defines the person
that she is today. She works full-time as an Ultrasound technologist in
Houston, Texas.</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contact Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="b">Website</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/BTrulysFantasies">Facebook</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://twitter.com/BrandyTruly">Twitter</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7276631.B_Truly">Goodreads</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/brandytruly/">Instagram</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@authorbtruly?lang=en">TikTok</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Purchase Link</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/episode/B0B7GQSNTP">Episode 1: The Rising Tides</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/episode/B0B85H9KWG">Episode: Hit & Run</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/episode/B0B86QBHM9">Episode 3: Perception of Palms</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rabtbooktoursandpr.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="RABT Book Tours & PR" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/wzukusers/user-32179697/images/0ef1e26fd5f04c99b11731d6d17c8a41/RABT-Tour-Host.png" width="400" /></a></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6684827721521433411.post-12732022091798289402022-09-09T22:00:00.002-07:002022-09-14T09:48:49.795-07:00License to Loot by Pascale Batieufaye<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sites.google.com/rabtbooktoursandpr.com/fall-2022-blitzes/pascale-batieufaye-license-to-loot-book-blitz"><img height="200" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/99cc382f43f64e2986153d229ae9878c" width="500" /></a></div><p> </p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/2c2eb04521e5446b9fa09d03b5d8b2b4" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/2c2eb04521e5446b9fa09d03b5d8b2b4" width="301" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">How Racial Injustice, Able-bodied Americans, Illegal Immigration, and the
Opioid Epidemic Split</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Political Science, Economy</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">July 2022</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Publisher: </b>One Stop Books</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><i>'License to Loot!'</i> Takes Deep Dive Into America's Biggest Problems and How
We as a Society Can Begin to Solve Them.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Pascale Batieufaye witnessed these issues regularly and chose to confront
them in his new book License to Loot! It examines some of the biggest
hot-button issues being discussed in American politics today under a
microscope, including illegal immigration and ethnic prejudice, amongst many
other topics. The political climate in the U.S. and across the world has
never been more contentious than it is currently. Issues that are discussed
on the news easily become polarizing issues and debates.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">License to Loot! How Racial Injustice, Able-Bodied Americans, Illegal
Immigration, and the Opioid Epidemic Split America takes an intense look
into America's welfare system and those who take advantage of it, pulling
resources away from those who need it and furthering the national debt
crisis. Batieufaye seeks to have a conversation about the importance of not
relying entirely on the government and politicians to solve all of society's
problems, encouraging individuals to reach their own personal highest
potential.
</span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/057760ca7813412aaa0727c9c1e470ba" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/057760ca7813412aaa0727c9c1e470ba" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>About the Author</b></span></p><a 1="" href="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/28be731023274dcdaf0c14693438c49c" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/production-sitebuilder-v1-0-3/663/206663/rL88XEv2/28be731023274dcdaf0c14693438c49c" width="188" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Pascale Batieufaye attended Johnson & Wales University, where he
studied travel and tourism. He is technically an animal rights activist and
aspires to open an animal rehabilitation center for rescue animals. As an
independent contractor, he earned 1099 income by delivering financial
statement mails to various banks across state lines.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">He ran a video store which closed up at the hype of Netflix’s driven
internet power.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Contact Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.onestopbooks.com">Website</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://twitter.com/PBatieufaye">Twitter</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/pascale.batieufaye/">Facebook</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/pascalebathieufaye10/">Instagram</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/pascale-batieufaye-677b8981/">LinkedIn</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://book-buzz.net/license-to-loot-by-pascale-batieufaye/">BookBuzz</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><b>Purchase Links</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3wVtlSH">Amazon</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/license-to-loot-pascale-batieufaye/1141601303?ean=9781954647022">B&N</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/license-to-loot">Kobo</a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/license-to-loot/id6442930510">iBooks</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rabtbooktoursandpr.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="RABT Book Tours & PR" height="400" src="https://storage.googleapis.com/wzukusers/user-32179697/images/0ef1e26fd5f04c99b11731d6d17c8a41/RABT-Tour-Host.png" width="400" /></a></div>Bookworm Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04834948041634796788noreply@blogger.com0