Book Spotlight: A Senseless Act of Beauty by John B. Rosenman

An epic African Science-Fiction novel featuring an exotic world in space filled with wonders and a hero ensnared by the delectable beauty of an enchanting alien female.

Aaron Okonkwo, a Nigerian scientist, travels with a crew in the 24th century to evaluate Viridis, which proves to be a beautiful and fabulous world. There, Aaron discovers a strange, alien species and amazing machines and technology left in a vast underground complex by a mysterious race called the Creators.

Aaron soon falls under the irresistible, seductive spell of Nightsong, a green alien female with ominous and bewitching powers. However, an even greater danger rises. He will be forced to fight for the planet’s survival against a ruthless invasion of many ships to conquer and enslave the planet – just as Africa itself was once enslaved. Aaron knows it’s A Senseless Act of Beauty to try to reclaim his ancient warrior heritage and fight back against such overwhelming odds, but he knows he must try.

Read an excerpt!

Peering through the shining leaves of a sarberry bush, Aaron Okonkwo watched the naked alien girl dive into the pond. Her green body lithe, and breasts full and firm in the sun. He wet his lips, feeling his blood course as her delicate, sinuous form glided through the water faster than any human could swim. She moved smoothly, with barely a ripple, her webbed hands flowing with graceful precision. Watching the water caress her long, slender limbs, he felt his body respond.

Aaron rubbed a muscular arm and took out his recorder. He tried to focus on dictating some field notes concerning the sixty species of moss he had so far catalogued, but soon found himself watching the girl again. This, of course, was not right. Their survey team had come to Viridis for a month to evaluate the planet for possible colonization and commercial exploitation. Indigenous, sentient life forms were officially off-limits to Confederation—’Fed—personnel because of the danger of cultural and biological contamination. Since they had landed two weeks ago and first met the gentle, humanoid creatures, he had constantly reminded himself of this fact.

Still, he desired her.

He knew it was more than just the exquisite molding of her form or her quick, light animal movements no human female could match. The clear, liquid trill of her laughter, seemingly so innocent, had ensnared his senses too. Then there was the strange way she would suddenly freeze and stand motionless. At such times, he felt as if she had not only caught his scent, but was listening to his heartbeat.

AVAILABLE AT CROSSROADS PRESS!

John is an English professor at Norfolk State University where he designed and teaches a course in how to write Science Fiction and Fantasy. He is a former Chairman of the Board of the Horror Writers Association and has published approximately 350 stories in places such as Weird Tales, Whitley Strieber's Aliens, Fangoria, Galaxy, The Age of Wonders, and the Hot Blood anthology series. John has published over a dozen books, including SF action-adventure novels such as Beyond Those Distant Stars (which won 2010 Allbooks Review Editor's Choice Award) and Speaker of the Shakk (Mundania Press), A Senseless Act of Beauty (Crossroad Press), and Alien Dreams (Drollerie Press) Shorter books include A Mingling of Souls and Music Man (XoXo Publishing), Here Be Dragons (Eternal Press), The Voice of Many Waters (Blue Leaf Publications), Green in Our Souls (Damnation Books), and Bagonoun’s Wonderful Songbird and Childhood’s Day (Gypsy Shadow Publishing). Recent developments: MuseItUp Publishing recently contracted for three novels, Dark Wizard; Dax Rigby, War Correspondent; and Inspector of the Cross, and two stories, More Stately Mansions and The Blue of Her Hair, the Gold of Her Eyes.


Visit John on the web at his website www.johnrosenman.com  


He has also posted three dozen blogs on writing at http://storytellersunplugged.com/


at http://home.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user  


http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?ref=profile&id=1164323809


https://twitter.com/#!/Writerman1  


http://s631.photobucket.com/albums/uu31/jrosenman/


One of his interviews can be found at http://www.milscifi.com/files/inter-JBR-BS.htm.

Book Spotlight: Light the Fire by Mary Manners

Rena--a choice, a tragedy, and life-altering consequences.

Cody--a loss so devastating he questions, "Where is God?"

Can the two overcome a past riddled with hurt and distrust to open their hearts to hope…and love?


A choice, a tragedy, and life-altering consequences…

When Rena Dunigan flees New York City and her dream of becoming a Broadway performer, she returns to her hometown of Knoxville harboring a life-altering secret and the shame of a shattered past. When her friend, Kelsie, talks her into helping build a house through the local Shelter the Homeless program, she meets Cody and his mischievous Saint Bernard, Sammy. Cody is dealing with a devastating loss of his own, yet his gentleness and patience melt Rena's resolve to never trust--or love--again. But what will Cody think when he learns the consequences of Rena's past? And can Cody begin to hope--and to trust--that love can bind and heal their hurting hearts?

Read an excerpt!

"Where’s the party?” Rena asked. “This place looks like a war zone with no survivors.” Empty concrete bags and torn nail boxes littered the muddy ground.

“Kyle’s working with the others over there.”

At the far side of the concrete-block foundation, Kyle lifted a two-by-four into place, but it was the guy hammering beside him that caused Rena’s breath to catch. Dark, unruly hair kissed broad shoulders. The thin fabric of his navy T-shirt strained over a terrain of muscles as he struck each nail neatly into place with a single, confident blow.

Rena tore her gaze away. She’d seen enough guys like him in New York City—handsome guys convinced they were a gift to every woman within a five-hundred mile radius—when all they really excelled at was breaking hearts.

Rena tightened the tool belt around her hips and strode toward the two-by-four frame, ready to drive a nail. Suddenly the thunderous crash of a stampede filled the air, and she was tackled by what felt like a runaway freight train. She flew airborne, then slammed to the ground. A finale of fireworks exploded in her head.

“Sammy, no. Bad dog. Sit!” Footsteps pounded as someone sprinted over gravel and leaped pallets of brick.

Stunned, Rena shook her head to clear the fireworks and came face to face with a massive, drooling dog. Jowls drew to expose spiked teeth; he loomed as if he intended to devour her for breakfast.

Her cries ripped the air. “Help! Kelsie!”

“It’s OK.” A husky voice slid over her like warm molasses as the guy who’d been helping Kyle dropped to his knees beside her. She breathed the clean, woodsy scent of his aftershave. “It’s just Sammy. He’s harmless.”

“Yeah, right.” Rena dipped her head and shielded her face with the collar of her windbreaker as the dog nudged his meaty snout in her tangled hair. “Just get him away from me.”

“Sammy, no.” He gave the dog’s collar a yank. “Bad dog. Sit. Stay.”

“That’s not a dog. It’s a bear.” Rena scooted through damp grass to put distance between them. As if to mock her, Sammy followed. He sniffed her hair, and then lazily licked her face, leaving a trail of warm, sloppy saliva across one cheek.

“Yuck, I’ve been slimed.” She swiped a forearm across the gooey moisture and tilted her head to stare into the most soulful pair of doggy eyes she’d ever seen. “What’s your name, big boy?”

“My name’s Cody.”

A giggle erupted, and she covered her mouth. “I meant the dog.”

“Oh, right. Meet Sammy.” Cody offered a hand. Calluses mingled with the warmth that brushed her palm. She sat up cross-legged, brushing hair from her eyes while she waited for the dizziness to pass. “He’s a Saint Bernard who thinks he’s a toy poodle. He forgets he weighs as much as a truck.”

She let go of Cody’s hand. “Haven’t you heard of obedience school?”

“For me or the dog?”

“Maybe you should check into a buy-one-get-one-free program.”

AVAILABLE MARCH 11TH FROM WHITEROSEPUBLISHING.COM IN A SOFTCOVER AND ELECTRONIC VERSION!

Mary Manners was born in Chicago, Illinois, the second of five children. She knew she wanted to write from a very early age. Most of her earliest childhood memories are centered around writing (or ‘pretending’ to write). She attended the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana and received a teaching degree in Special Education. Mary moved to East Tennessee following her college graduation and she has taught middle-school students for the past 25 years. She continued to write and enter contests (and her sweet daughter offered to kiss the envelope of each submission for good luck J). Mary is married to Tim, the most supportive and patient man on the face of the earth. She has one daughter, Danni, and two sons named Tyler and Brad, who are both serving in the air force.

Light the Fire is Mary's latest release from White Rose Publishing.

Visit Mary online at http://www.marymannersromance.com/.

Book Spotlight: Love You More by Lisa Gardner

WHO DO YOU LOVE?

One question, a split-second decision, and Brian Darby lies dead on the kitchen floor. His wife, state police trooper Tessa Leoni, claims to have shot him in self-defense, and bears the bruises to back up her tale. For veteran detective D. D. Warren it should be an open-and-shut case. But where is their six-year-old daughter?

AND HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO . . .

As the homicide investigation ratchets into a frantic statewide search for a missing child, D. D. Warren must partner with former lover Bobby Dodge to break through the blue wall of police brotherhood, seeking to understand the inner workings of a trooper’s mind while also unearthing family secrets. Would a trained police officer truly shoot her own husband? And would a mother harm her own child?

. . . TO SAVE HER?

For Tessa Leoni, the worst has not yet happened. She is walking a tightrope, with nowhere to turn, no one to trust, as the clock ticks down to a terrifying deadline. She has one goal in sight, and she will use every ounce of her training, every trick at her disposal, to do what must be done. No sacrifice is too great, no action unthinkable. A mother knows who she loves. And all others will be made to pay.

Love you more . . .

Read an excerpt!

1

Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren prided herself on her excellent investigative skills. Having served over a dozen years with the Boston PD, she believed working a homicide scene wasn't simply a matter of walking the walk or talking the talk, but rather of total sensory immersion. She felt the smooth hole bored into Sheetrock by a hot spiraling twenty-two. She listened for the sound of neighbors gossiping on the other side of thin walls because if she could hear them, then they'd definitely heard the big bad that had just happened here.

D.D. always noted how a body had fallen, whether it was forward or backward or slightly to one side. She tasted the air for the acrid flavor of gunpowder, which could linger for a good twenty to thirty minutes after the final shot. And, on more than one occasion, she had estimated time of death based on the scent of blood--which, like fresh meat, started out relatively mild but took on heavier, earthier tones with each passing hour.

Today, however, she wasn't going to do any of those things. Today, she was spending a lazy Sunday morning dressed in gray sweats and Alex's oversized red flannel shirt. She was camped at his kitchen table, clutching a thick clay coffee mug while counting slowly to twenty.

She'd hit thirteen. Alex had finally made it to the front door. Now he paused to wind a deep blue scarf around his neck.

She counted to fifteen.

He finished with the scarf. Moved on to a black wool hat and lined leather gloves. The temperature outside had just crept above twenty. Eight inches of snow on the ground and six more forecasted to arrive by end of the week. March didn't mean spring in New England.

Alex taught crime-scene analysis, among other things, at the Police Academy. Today was a full slate of classes. Tomorrow, they both had the day off, which didn't happen much and warranted some kind of fun activity yet to be determined. Maybe ice skating in the Boston Commons. Or a trip to the Isabelle Stewart Gardner Museum. Or a lazy day where they snuggled on the sofa and watched old movies with a big bowl of buttered popcorn.

D.D.'s hands spasmed on the coffee mug. Okay, no popcorn.

D.D. counted to eighteen, nineteen, twent--

Alex finished with his gloves, picked up his battered black leather tote, and crossed to her.

"Don't miss me too much," he said.

He kissed her on the forehead. D.D. closed her eyes, mentally recited the number twenty, then started counting back down to zero.
"I'll write you love letters all day, with little hearts over the 'i's," she said.

"In your high school binder?"

"Something like that."

Alex stepped back. D.D. hit fourteen. Her mug trembled, but Alex didn't seem to notice. She took a deep breath and soldiered on. Thirteen, twelve, eleven . . .

She and Alex had been dating a little over six months. At that point where she had a whole drawer to call her own in his tiny ranch, and he had a sliver of closet space in her North End condo. When he was teaching, it was easier for them to be here. When she was working, it was easier to be in Boston. They didn't have a set schedule. That would imply planning and further solidify a relationship they were both careful to not overly define.

They enjoyed each other's company. Alex respected her crazy schedule as a homicide detective. She respected his culinary skills as a third-generation Italian. From what she could tell, they looked forward to the nights when they could get together, but survived the nights when they didn't. They were two independent-minded adults. She'd just hit forty, Alex had crossed that line a few years back. Hardly blushing teens whose every waking moment was consumed with thoughts of each other. Alex had been married before. D.D. simply knew better.

She lived to work, which other people found unhealthy, but what the hell. It had gotten her this far.
Nine, eight, seven . . .

Alex opened the front door, squaring his shoulders against the bitter morning. A blast of chilled air shot across the small foyer, hitting D.D.'s cheeks. She shivered, clutched the mug more tightly.

"Love you," Alex said, stepping across the threshold.

"Love you, too."

Alex closed the door. D.D. made it down the hall just in time to vomit.

Ten minutes later, she remained sprawled on the bathroom floor. The decorative tiles were from the seventies, dozens and dozens of tiny beige, brown, and harvest gold squares. Looking at them made her want to puke all over again. Counting them, however, was a pretty decent meditative exercise. She inventoried tiles while she waited for her flushed cheeks to cool and her cramped stomach to untangle.

Her cellphone rang. She eyed it on the floor, not terribly interested, given the circumstances. But then she noted the caller and decided to take pity on him.

"What?" she demanded, her usual greeting for former lover and currently married Massachusetts State Police Detective Bobby Dodge.

"I don't have much time. Listen sharp."

"I'm not on deck," she said automatically. "New cases go to Jim Dunwell. Pester him." Then she frowned. Bobby couldn't be calling her about a case. As a city cop, she took her orders from the Boston turret, not state police detectives.

Bobby continued as if she'd never spoken: "It's a fuckup, but I'm pretty sure it's our fuckup, so I need you to listen. Stars and stripes are next door, media across the street. Come in from the back street. Take your time, notice everything. I've already lost vantage point, and trust me, D.D., on this one, you and I can't afford to miss a thing."

D.D.'s frown deepened. "What the hell, Bobby? I have no idea what you're talking about, not to mention it's my day off."

"Not anymore. BPD is gonna want a woman to front this one, while the state is gonna demand their own skin in the game, preferably a former trooper. The brass's call, our heads on the block."

She heard a fresh noise now, from the bedroom. Her pager, chiming away. Crap. She was being called in, meaning whatever Bobby was babbling about had merit. She pulled herself to standing, though her legs trembled and she thought she might puke again. She took the first step through sheer force of will and the rest was easier after that. She headed for the bedroom, a detective who'd lost days off before and would again.

"What do I need to know?" she asked, voice crisper now, phone tucked against her shoulder.

"Snow," Bobby muttered. "On the ground, trees, windows . . . hell. We got cops tramping everywhere--"

"Get 'em out! If it's my fucking scene, get 'em all out."

She found her pager on the bedside table--yep, call out from Boston operations--and began shucking her gray sweatpants.

"They're out of the house. Trust me, even the bosses know better than to contaminate a homicide scene. But we didn't know the girl was missing. The uniforms sealed off the house, but left the yard fair play. And now the grounds are trampled, and I can't get vantage point. We need vantage point."

D.D. had sweats off, went to work on Alex's flannel shirt.

"Who's dead?"

"Forty-two-year-old white male."

"Who's missing?"

"Six-year-old white female."

"Got a suspect?"

Long, long pause now.

"Get here," Bobby said curtly. "You and me, D.D. Our case. Our headache. We gotta work this one quick."

He clicked off. D.D. scowled at the phone, then tossed it on the bed to finish pulling on her white dress shirt.

Okay. Homicide with a missing child. State police already on-site, but Boston jurisdiction. Why the hell would the state police--
Then, fine detective that she was, D.D. finally connected the dots.

"Ah shit!"

D.D. wasn't nauseous anymore. She was pissed off.

She grabbed her pager, her creds, and her winter jacket. Then, Bobby's instructions ringing in her head, she prepared to ambush her own crime scene.

Read the reviews!

“This book had me at the author’s name. Lisa Gardner…no one owns this corner of the genre the way she does—And Love You More might be her best ever.”
—Lee Child

“Crisp prose, crackling plots, layered characters. A stickler for detail. Lisa Gardner is the best female thriller writer working today.”

—Steve Berry

“Lisa Gardner’s books come with a built-in set of hands. They reach up out of the pages, grab you by the lapels, and hold you until you’ve read to the final, suspense-filled sentence. And Love You More is no exception.”

—Linwood Barclay

"I would recommend this book if you like thrilling edge of your seat suspense."

--A Room without Books is Empty

"I highly recommend this murder/mystery!"

--Black Diamond's Book Reviews

"Are you ready for page-turning suspense, then read Love You More by Lisa Gardner."

--My Reading Room

"...take the time to read this emotionally complex, more than 5 star worthy, WOWtastic suspense novel."

--Book Reviews by Molly

"The writing is phenomenal and the story line is superb! You will be hooked from the very first page and once you're hooked, be prepared, because you won't be able to put this book down!"

--Life in Review

Lisa Gardner is the New York Times bestselling author of thirteen novels. Her Detective D. D. Warren novels include Live to Tell, Hide, Alone, and the International Thriller Writers’ Award-winning novel The Neighbor. Her FBI Profiler novels include Say Goodbye, Gone, The Killing Hour, The Next Accident, and The Third Victim. She lives with her family in New England.


Lisa’s latest book is Love You More. Visit her online at http://lisagardner.com/.

Book Spotlight: Angel Lost by F.M. Meredith

As plans for her perfect wedding fill her mind, Officer Stacey Wilbur is sent out to trap a flasher, the new hire realizes Rocky Bluff P.D. is not the answer to his problems, Abel Navarro’s can’t concentrate on the job because of worry about his mother, Officer Gordon Butler has his usual upsets, the sudden appearance of an angel in the window of a furniture store captures everyone’s imagination and causes problems for RBPD, and then the worst possible happens—will Stacey and Doug’s wedding take place?

Read an excerpt!

Chapter 1

“Officer Wilbur, are you listening?” Detective Doug Milligan fixed his blue eyes on Stacey.

She squirmed in her seat and felt the heat rise up her neck to her cheeks. The honest answer was “no” because she’d been thinking about plans for their coming wedding, certainly not the topic being discussed at the shift change briefing. She quickly back-tracked to what she last remembered—the man who exposed himself to female joggers on the beach. Since she figured they might have gone onto another subject without her realizing, she decided to be honest. “Sorry.”

The others in the room stared at her. Doug’s partner, the nearly bald Frank Marshall had a bemused expression on his face. He unwrapped a stick of gum, folded it, and put it in his mouth. Chewing gum had replaced a smoking habit. He winked at her.

Stacey figured he guessed what she’d been thinking about. Having everyone speculating about her private life had been one of the reasons Stacey vowed never to date anyone on the Rocky Bluff P.D.—a vow she’d broken when she and Doug had been mutually attracted to one another.

Handsome Ryan Strickland, the public relations officer for Rocky Bluff P.D., reached over and patted her hand. “We know you have more important things on your mind with your wedding less than two weeks away—but since there’s a pervert who decided to make jogging on the beach an unpleasant experience for females, maybe you ought to pay attention, since it does fall under your job description.”

Shrugging and grinning, Stacey said, “What can I say? You’re absolutely right, my mind was elsewhere. Sorry. I’m listening now, but I did hear most of it.” She absently caressed the tear drop diamond in her engagement ring.

The group around her murmured and she heard a few chuckles. In attendance besides Doug, Frank and Ryan, were most of the patrol officers on the daytime shift, including Gordon Butler. Sergeant Abel Navarro and the men who worked the evening hours were still there too.

Stacey was thankful Chief McKenzie was absent. He might regret making her head of the Vice team—a team that so far consisted only of her.

“We’ve had our third complaint in the last two weeks about a man on the beach exposing himself to unsuspecting female joggers.” Doug glanced at the notes on his desk. “It’s probable that the same thing has happened to others, but they haven’t bothered to report it.”

He looked so much younger since he’d shaved his mustache. Stacey remembered when she first came on the department almost every officer had a mustache; now most were clean-shaven. Without the mustache, Doug’s dimples were even more prominent. She shook her head, time to pay attention and stop admiring her future husband.

Doug continued. “This guy is a real scumbag. He usually fondles himself and talks nasty to the victims. None of them could remember exactly what he said because they immediately ran away. The last young woman, a Claudine Graham, reported that the man started following her. I think this pervert is getting braver and may attack a woman.”

“Is there a pattern? Does he do this at any particular time?” Stacey asked. “Do you have an accurate description?”

“That’s what I was talking about when you spaced out on us.” Doug’s grin softened the sting of his words. “This has always happened early in the morning, between 6:30 and 8 a.m. Seems all three victims like to jog before going to work. Yes, we do have a description, a white male, anywhere from late twenties to early forties, close to six foot tall and around 200 pounds. Wears a watch cap so don’t know his hair color.”

“What do you want to do about the suspect? Put someone on beach patrol? Maybe I could start jogging during that time period and catch the pervert in the act.” Stacey knew if anyone but Doug was in charge he would jump at the chance to use her as a decoy. She could tell by Doug’s hesitation that he wasn’t thrilled by the idea.

Abel Navarro spoke. “That’s a great idea, Wilbur.”

“I suppose it is,” Doug smoothed back his dark hair and tapped on the desk with his pen. “We’ll provide you with back-up.”

“Probably won’t be necessary. It’s cool in the morning. I can carry my gun and cuffs in my jacket.” Though Stacey was small, five foot four and one-hundred five pounds, people still talked about the time she took down a nearly three-hundred pound would-be bank robber. Luck had played a big part in the arrest, plus the suspect had been shocked by a petite female having the guts to confront him. All the men in the bank, including the security guard, had cowered. No matter, the incident had given her a status in the department she was quite happy to have.

“At least call in before you head out. That way, a unit can be close by if the suspect crosses your path.” The scowl on Doug’s face made it obvious he wasn’t pleased with the idea.

One of the uniformed officers, a recent transfer from LAPD, raised his hand. Stacey had to think a moment to remember his name. Vaughn Aragon, that was it. She didn’t know much about him except that he’d told a couple of guys that he wanted to get away from big city crime. Sandy-haired and lightly-freckled, he wasn’t as short as Abel Navarro, but was at least three inches under six-foot. She guessed he was at least thirty, maybe older. She’d heard he was recently divorced. Although he didn’t look Hispanic, he could speak Spanish, the main reason he’d been hired.
When he was acknowledged by Doug, Aragon said, “I worked a similar case in L.A. at Venice beach.”
Doug nodded. “Why don’t you and Wilbur work on this together.”

Swell, she was going to be saddled with someone she didn’t even know. Aragon turned in his seat and grinned. Without any enthusiasm, she smiled back.

The meeting continued as a rash of burglaries in the wealthiest part of Rocky Bluff were discussed. In each case, the thief had found easy access to the expensive homes. Possibly the owners felt unwisely secure because of the location.

Some of the oddest happenings of the day were also brought up, from the report of a poisoned squirrel dying on a front lawn, two peacocks strutting down a residential street interfering with traffic, and a woman who thought her boyfriend was missing but was found asleep in their bed.

When the meeting was over and those on the late shift headed toward their police units,

Aragon approached Stacey. “How should we go about this?” He seemed nervous.

Stacey motioned to the chair near hers. “Why don’t you tell me how the similar case you were on was handled.”

He turned the chair around and straddled it. “It was a lot like this one. Pervert approached from the opposite direction on the beach like he was taking an early morning stroll. When he neared the female jogger, he’d open his coat and grab himself. Usually made some kind of nasty suggestions, though most of his victims didn’t hang around long enough to hear what he said.”

“Did your guy ever try to attack any of these women?”

“No, we caught him right away.”

“How did you do it?”

“Pretty much like you suggested. One of the female cops jogged along the same stretch of beach and the very first time she did it, the guy approached her. I’d been sitting farther up the beach watching with binoculars. She exchanged words with him and I got there in time to help with the arrest.”

Stacey nodded. “Hopefully, it’ll go that way for us too. Tomorrow’s my day off and I have too much to do to give it up.”

“Stuff for the big wedding day, right?” Aragon displayed his full set of slightly crooked teeth in an enormous grin.

She decided to ignore his question. He didn’t know her well enough to tease her, but the police department was like a small town, everyone liked to gossip. Right now, her upcoming wedding to Doug was the hottest topic. Too bad there wasn’t a gruesome murder to grab everyone’s interest. She couldn’t believe such a thought popped into her mind. She shook her head.

“We’ll start day after tomorrow. Meet me at the condemned pier at seven a.m. I’ll point out the places where each of victim had her encounter with this jerk. That should help us choose the best spot for you to watch while I jog. If nothing else, I’ll get some exercise.”

* * *

Doug caught up with Stacey in the parking lot. “How about coming back to the house for awhile?”
Stacey grinned at him. “As much as I’d like to, I think I better get home. I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“I know, but do you have time for a cup of coffee at least? We could stop at the diner. I wanted to talk to you about this pervert. I’m not so sure I want you to be a decoy.”

“Okay. A cup of coffee.”

Though Doug suggested she ride with him, she declined. Driving her yellow VW, she followed his black SUV. When they’d met, Doug drove a red vintage MG he’d restored. The SUV didn’t seem like the right vehicle for him. Unfortunately his pride and joy had been sunk in a lagoon by a suspect. Though it had been fully insured, he’d replaced it with the SUV, reasoning it was more suitable for a family man. Perhaps he was right as there was plenty of room, even for the times his two children might visit.

They parked in front of the diner located on Valley Drive, the main street of Rocky Bluff. A favorite with cops and civilians alike, the diner, aptly called The Gathering Place, stayed open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. According to the newspaper clipping framed on the wall, the establishment opened its doors in 1939. It was laid out like many diners of an older era, with a counter down one side and booths on the other. Through the years, each new owner had rejuvenated it with a paint job, new curtains and decorations. Though everything was fresh and clean, the latest version reflected an earlier time with blue and white gingham curtains and shelves filled with old-fashioned kitchen equipment like old toasters, mixers, bread boxes and cheese graters. The waitresses wore blue and white gingham aprons, though underneath most wore white blouses and dark slacks.

Once Doug and Stacey settled in their favorite booth at the back of the room, with steaming cups of coffee in front of them, she said, “Don’t say anything about the pervert on the beach. It’s my job to take care of these kinds of cases now.”

Reaching across the blue and white speckled Formica table-top, Doug took one of her hands. “That’s not what’s bothering me. We really don’t know much about this new guy, Aragon. I’d be much happier if someone else was going to back you up.”

“Like who? Gordon?” Stacey’s blue eyes twinkled.

“No, as much as I like Butler, he’d probably botch the whole thing.”

“Sounds like Aragon has a lot more experience than Gordon. I really don’t see how anything can go wrong.”

“Something can always go wrong.”

Nodding, Stacey squeezed his hand. “Yes, and it can go wrong with weddings too. That’s why I have to go home early tonight and really concentrate on everything that I still have to do. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”

Doug sipped some coffee. He’d be so happy when he and Stacey were finally married and she and her son Davey lived with him. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t agreed to a big wedding.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t and we aren’t having one. This is a small ceremony in the church with only our relatives and close friends.”

“Close friends meaning all the police officers who don’t have to work along with their wives and kids.”

“And my mom and dad and Davey.”

“Of course.” He sipped his coffee and swallowed hard. “It just seems the plans keep expanding.”

Stacey raised her eyebrows and tipped her head. “Sounds like you’re getting nervous. You aren’t having second thoughts are you?”

“Absolutely not. I can hardly wait.” They’d already picked out matching wedding rings and gotten their marriage license. He wished they could have a simple ceremony at the court house, but Stacey and her parents were adamant that their wedding be performed by their minister and in the church.

He studied Stacey. Her short honey colored hair curled slightly around her elfin face that was nearly devoid of make-up. She was so different than his first wife. Though beautiful, Kerrie couldn’t stand the fact that he was a policeman. When one of their best friends was killed on the job, that was the end of the marriage. Stacey filled the void left by his divorce. Of course he missed his kids, but Stacey’s six-year-old son, Davey, helped ease that pain. He was eager to be a full-time father again.

She frowned. “That’s good because I’ve spent a lot of time and money trying to make everything perfect.” When she broke into giggles, Doug knew she was teasing.

“I thought we weren’t planning anything extravagant.” Every time she started talking about what she was doing, it made him nervous. No doubt their ideas of a small wedding weren’t the same. He hadn’t been asked to foot the bill for anything and, so far, had only paid for the rings. It wasn’t the expense that was bothering him. He’d already experienced one big wedding and the outcome wasn’t good. He was hoping a much smaller event and their love would result in a lasting commitment.

“Trust me, sweetheart.” A smile lingered on her full lips. “It will be far from extravagant, but I do want it to be nice. My plan is to make our special day something we’ll both remember.”

Read the reviews!

“This is a suspenseful story with a bit of religious mysticism thrown into the mix—just enough to broaden the plot and provide added depth to the characterizations. It should appeal to a wide range of readers and will provide a satisfying reading experience thanks to the author’s smooth and fluid writing style.”

–Kit Sloane

"With Angel Lost, Meredith continues to do what she does best:  provide an entertaining story that draws you in and takes hold of you until the very last word. In addition, all these books, while part of a series, are excellent stand-alone novels. This book, like the others, left me eager for more of the members of the Rocky Bluff P.D."

--The Book Connection

F.M. Meredith, also known as Marilyn Meredith, is the author of nearly thirty published novels. Her latest in the Rocky Bluff P.D. crime series, from Oak Tree Press, is Angel Lost. Marilyn is a member of EPIC, Four chapters of Sisters in Crime, including the Internet chapter, Mystery Writers of America, and on the board of the Public Safety Writers of America. Visit her at http://fictionforyou.com and her blog at http://marilymeredith.blogspot.com.


You can like Marilyn on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Marilyn-Meredith/276444167416.

Book Spotlight: The Homecoming of Reece Flynn by Mallary Mitchell

Having escaped from a bad marriage Molly has no plans to venture back into the dating world. But when Reece Flynn drives through her father’s church—literally, that is—he crashes into her life like no other man ever has. It’s crazy to think a man like Reece would be interested in a woman like her, but why would God allow her to meet him if Reece wasn’t meant for her?


With his singing career in shambles, Reece Flynn relocates to Piney Mountain, North Carolina where he’s assigned a long hitch of community service. Reece is restless, always searching, but no matter what he gets, it’s not enough. He hopes to find some peace and quiet in Piney Mountain, but instead he finds Molly Harmon.

Could what he feels be love?

Read an excerpt!

“Guilty as charged.” The judge’s gavel came down hard on the bench, punctuating the finality of the statement.

Reece Flynn gave a sidelong glare over to his lawyer and tried to ignore the overwhelming aftershave the man was wearing. Which was impossible. What was the last thing Ty had said before they’d entered the courtroom? Reece was certain it had involved something about rural counties and lenient judges.

The judge began to speak again, his eyes narrow slits of doom. “I sentence you, Mr. Flynn, to a fine of sixty thousand dollars and forty hours community service.”

He had been waiting for this sentence for six months now. Six months since the accident. Six months since he was charged with careless and reckless driving. Six months since his career had ended on a low, discordant note. It was unbelievable that no one in that church had been injured. He pondered the miracle a moment, then let out a deeply held breath.

It was finally over. He had some closure. At least he hadn’t gotten any jail time. At least the teacher and the little girls at the church sleep-over hadn’t been in the fellowship hall. Still, the fact that he’d plowed through a church full of sleeping little girls wasn’t good. What could have happened was unthinkable. Reece shook his head and rubbed a tired hand over his eyes.

His lawyer had been sure he’d get off with just a fine, but the judge had seen his record. While he hadn’t been in trouble since he was twenty-one, there were three years when he’d managed to accrue a long list of offenses.

Reece’s brain worked rapidly. He would arrange to pay the fine today—money wasn’t a problem—and the community service would be a breeze. He could work in a Nashville soup kitchen; that would be good publicity, or…

A sharp voice shattered the plans in his mind. “You will perform your community service in Dillard County,” the judge stated.

“But, sir, I don’t have the time,” Reece objected.

“Mr. Flynn, you may think that your celebrity gives you certain rights in this court. It doesn’t. Here, you are just like everyone else. Now, I do not recall giving you permission to speak.”

“But I’m really busy. People are counting on me. I have a schedule. I tour. Can’t I just do the time where I actually live?”

“What about my last statement made you think you had permission to speak?”

The judge’s warning didn’t reach his brain before he spoke again. “I have a career. It was an accident. I went to sleep at the wheel. No one was injured. I wasn’t drinking or…”

“Mr. Flynn.” The judge gave him a look he hadn’t seen in years. It sent him right back to the principal’s office in grade school.

“Can’t you give me a break here?” Reece realized he should have remained silent by the judge’s angry gaze.

“Make that fifty hours, and you’re still serving the time in Dillard County.”

“Can’t I just pay an extra fine?” Reece offered.

“Mr. Rollins, are you going to advise your client he can’t just speak out in my courtroom?” The judge banged the gavel. “Sixty hours.”

“Your Honor, Mr. Flynn is more than willing to pay for punitive damages, but sixty hours of community service may interfere with his upcoming tour schedule.”

Great. Ty Rollins finally found his tongue. Some lawyer he was.

The Honorable Zee Dixon leaned over his bench and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. That wasn’t a good sign. Reece looked at the floor. That was the same look he’d seen right before he’d been expelled.

“I know quite well Mr. Flynn is a singer. I also know community service is not convenient. If it were, it wouldn’t be much of a punishment.”

The judge had a point there.

Reece looked up at the man’s steely expression.

Judge Dixon leaned on his elbows. “This is a court of law, and you do what I say. While Mr. Flynn here may not wish to serve his time in this county, this is where he committed his crime. And if he doesn’t show up when ordered he will be thrown into jail so fast his head will spin. Is that clear, or do I need to write that down for the two of you?

“You, Mr. Flynn, took the fellowship hall clean off Piney Mountain Community Church. It took you less than five minutes to destroy what it took that community fifteen years to build. So, Mr. Flynn, you, will recompense these good folk for the damage you have done, but that is the easy part. What is sixty thousand dollars to a man like you?” Judge Dixon paused a moment to glare at him.

Reece wanted to squirm as he felt the blistering heat of the old man’s gaze, but he didn’t move a muscle as the judge appraised his intentionally messy-looking hair, leather jacket and pants with obvious disdain.

The judge gave a sniff of a laugh and shook his head. “Paying a fine is hardly punishment, but it will do you a world of good to see how real people live. Therefore, on September twenty-first at eight a.m., you will report to Reverend Paul Harmon, who is the director of the program in Piney Mountain, and you will perform your community service. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.” Reece rolled his eyes. “You have a problem with me.” He muttered the last part under his breath. And of course the judge had remarkable hearing.

“Make that eighty hours.”

Reece opened his mouth to protest, and the judge’s eyes narrowed. The old man inclined his head and like an auctioneer rang out, “Do I hear one hundred sixty hours?”

“Shut up, Flynn!” The lawyer hissed. “You want to move to Dillard County permanently?”

“Going once, going twice…eighty hours for the man in black.” His gavel came down hard.

Eighty hours in Dillard County. Oh boy, Reece could hardly wait.


Read the reviews!
 
"Ms. Mallary Mitchell has written a book with all the elements necessary to provide the maximum enjoyment. It was easy to get involved with the plot and hard to find a stopping place. Her characters were so realistic, with so many different areas to explore, that I found myself feeling as if I was living within the confines of the book.... This inspirational novel gave us a look at spiritual commitment without being “preachy.” It will be enjoyed by all who read it, I’m sure. I am thrilled to have read it and recommend it to others regardless of age or preferred genre."
 
--The Romance Studio
 
"This is one book that will definitely leave readers sighing happily at the end."
 
--KnowABit.com
 
"The Homecoming of Reece Flynn is one of the most delightful inspirational romances I’ve read in a long time."
 
--Nightsandweekends.com

PURCHASE FROM WHITE ROSE PUBLISHING!

 
Mallary Mitchell fell in love with writing at age ten. Two years later she became hooked on romance while staying with her grandmother who always had a big stash of “happily-ever-afters”. When not writing, she spends time with her children who also share her love of writing.

Linda Weaver Clarke: Interview and Giveaway with Fantasy Author Laura Sepesi

Linda Weaver Clarke: Interview with Fantasy Author Laura Sepesi: "Book Give-Away March 7 - 14: To win The Guardian of Kelmar, leave a comment about this interview with your e-mail. U.S. and Canada.

March Paranormal and Fantasy Event: Princess for Hire by Jamie Grey

After winning his kingdom in a legendary poker game twenty years ago, Princess Mina’s father loses the kingdom just as easily. Now alone and penniless, Mina must rely on her swords to support them both.


When the princess-turned-mercenary is offered a contract to save a prince that will pay enough to keep her father laid up in luxury for yet another year, she and her business partner snap up the deal. Dragons and all.

But when she’s faced with a seedy mage and a prince who doesn’t want any woman to rescue him, Mina quickly learns the so-far-unseen dragon is the least of her worries.

Read an excerpt!
 
We made our way down a long, empty hall. It was eerily quiet, dust motes circling in the air as we passed. Though I tried to be silent, my boots still rang loudly on the bare floor.


“What now, boss?” Galt asked, eyeing the set of stairs at the end of the hall.

“We keep looking. He’s got to be here somewhere.” I sounded braver than I felt. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to fighting a fire-breathing dragon; they were notoriously hard to kill. I forced myself upward, creeping around the corner of the staircase only to stop in astonishment. Instead of another long hallway, we stood at the edge of a great library. The roaring fire in the hearth cast a golden glow over the leather bound books lining the room.

At the far end sat a huge, soft chair with a young man lounging in it, a book propped open on his knee. He looked up as we moved out of the shadows and then jumped to his feet, dropping the book with a thud. “Dammit! Not another princess!” He shoved his hands into his pockets

and glared at me. “I told my father what it would take to get me home. So he sends another blasted beauty queen? I am sick and tired of this.”

Galt and I exchanged confused glances. I bit back a slightly hysterical giggle. I could hardly be called a beauty queen in my stained cloak and tattered tunic. “Are you King Randalf’s son? We were told you needed rescuing.”

The man sighed as he tugged a hand through his perfect blonde hair. Fine wrinkles webbed his eyes as he frowned. “Why do women always think men need rescuing?”

“Because they haven’t the sense the Maker granted a horse’s ass?” Galt flashed me a warning look as my temper began to rise. If this was the prince, then he obviously wasn’t in any danger. So why was King Randalf paying me to bring him home? And where was the dragon that guarded him?

PURCHASE PRINCESS FOR HIRE AT MUSEITUPPUBLISHING.COM! ALSO AVAILABLE IN A KINDLE EDITION!

Writer. Geek. Tech enthusiast. Tea diva. Jamie Grey is either a multi-faceted young-adult author or a commitment-phobic escapist. Probably a little of both.


Residing near Ann Arbor, Michigan, Jamie spends her days writing as an instructional designer. At night, she tries to create fantastic worlds populated with remarkable characters. Some days are better than others.


You can reach Jamie via email at greyjamie1 (at) gmail (dot) com


Her website is: http://www.jamiegreybooks.com/
Her blog is: www.jamiegreybooks.com/blog
Follow her on Twitter: www.twitter.com/jamie_grey