Pssst…Here’s a sneak peek into the Witness Protection Program

Hi everyone,

The fabulous Carolyn LaRoche is here today to tell us about her brand new release from http://www.breathlesspress.com

So what is the book about?

From Witness Protection:

Someone wants NYPD detective Angelina Ferrara dead…again. Following her heart instead of her mind landed her in Witness Protection. Can she trust it and handsome detective Logan James to keep her alive this time?

As far as the world knows, NYPD detective Angelina Ferrara died in a violent firefight on Chelsea piers over a year ago. Living in the witness protection program as history teacher Lucy Taylor was supposed to save her life but being alive and living were two very different things. Until she meets detective Logan James when he goes undercover in the same private school where she works. Something about the handsome man with the gorgeous blue eyes piques her interest. There’s no doubt he has secrets… but then so does she. When the Ricci crime family discovers she’s still alive, can she trust the same heart that landed her in the witness protection program in the first place to let Logan to help her survive it?

Sounds amazing. Let’s have a look at the excerpt.

Her little car had an engine about as powerful as a hamster wheel. There was no way she was going to outrun the truck that was accelerating with lightning speed. On one side of her was a deep ravine, the other the steep slope of a mountain towered high and tree covered. The steering wheel shook violently as she pushed her little car to its limits, sheer adrenaline keeping her focused on the winding road. As she rounded a sharp curve, the back tires spun and fishtailed out from behind her. The tiny car shook violently as Lucy struggled to maintain control. The SUV caught up with her then, ramming into her rear bumper. The car groaned but held on. Lucy spun the wheel to make the next sharp curve, all the while her eyes searched for a way off the dangerous mountain highway. Another crash from behind jolted her car forward with such force Lucy lost her grip on the steering wheel. The car veered right but she managed to straighten it out before hitting the tree line.

“What the hell do you want with me?” she screamed at the truck in her rearview mirror.

The driver responded by slamming into the back of her car again. Metal ground against metal, gravel flew everywhere, and the car careened toward a thick bank of trees to her left. Straightening the car once more, Lucy crushed the gas pedal to the floor and watched as the speedometer climbed quickly. Lucy felt the little rush of excitement she always got in a good pursuit despite the fact that she was the one being pursued.

She whipped around yet another curve, and the SUV caught up with her. Just as she managed to get her little car under control again, the SUV crashed into her back end again with such force Lucy thought her car might shatter there in the middle of the road. The little car veered to the right, aiming straight for the side of the road and the ravine beyond. Lucy tried to regain control but the effort was in vain. She braced herself as the car plowed through thick vegetation, hit something, and started to slide down the steep embankment.

She heard the growl of the SUV’s engine roaring away over the revving of her own engine as the tiny car crashed through the underbrush. The car flew over a log and landed on the slick vegetation covering the incline. The car lost its hold on the ground and rolled its way down the slope, finally landing up against the trunk of a large pine tree where the engine died. Lucy’s head smacked against the steering wheel knocking her near to senseless. Everything fell deathly silent as she fought to remain conscious.

A loud crack broke the silence. As she watched through the broken windshield, the tree in front of her began to wobble. Blood trailed from her forehead into her left eye blurring her already shaky vision. Rubbing at it with the back of her arm, she used her other hand to desperately claw at the seat belt release.

If she didn’t get out of the car, the tree was going to fall right on top of her.

The giant pine swayed once and then began its descent toward Lucy and her crumpled car. Yanking hard at the jammed seat belt, her head swimming and her stomach churning, Lucy finally freed herself. Just as the tree crushed the roof of her car, like it were nothing more than a tin can, Lucy pulled her body through the opening that used to be the driver’s side window.

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About the Author:

Carolyn LaRoche grew up in snow country but fled the cold and ice several years ago. She now lives near the beach with her husband, their two boys, two finicky cats and one old dog. When she is not at the baseball field cheering on big hits and home runs, she is busy teaching science to unwilling teenagers. You can stop by and say hello at http://carolynlarocheauthor.blogspot.com/ or https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCarolynLaRoche?ref=hl.

To get your copy:

http://www.breathlesspress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=22&products_id=712

http://www.amazon.com/Witness-Protection-Defenders-Love-Book-ebook/dp/B00P5N8MRU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1421119457&sr=8-1&keywords=witness+protection+laroche

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Twelve Days of Christmas @BreathlessPress

My awesome publisher has a fab 12 days of Christmas promo. All you have to do is sign up for the newsletter and claim your free ebook. Check it out here:

http://us1.campaign-archive2.com/?u=e62c795a9d6acd7d4b7927d1b&id=8f24c79e36&e=23fb3fe28a

My book, Moving In, is free on Day 12 🙂

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Rachel Valentine is Back

Thanks for having me on your blog today to talk about my first release under the name Samantha Allard. The Dark of the Moon started life as a short story series under the name Ella Grey. When I got the rights back the story was expanded and heavily revised. I believe it’s stronger for it. Rachel Valentine has always been one of my favourite characters, a snarky teenager who is willing to go above and beyond to save her brother and bring her family back together. Throw in wolves and a boy who annoys and intrigues her in equal measures and you get a story of accepting your past and growing as a person.
I’ll be taking part in a bigger blog tour next month, so keep an eye out for that to be in for a chance to win eBooks. Join my page on Facebook to keep updated. https://www.facebook.com/samanthaallard83

Here’s what the book is about. . .

A missing brother, werewolves at war, and she’s stuck in the middle. Rachel might not be your average girl, but even she has her limits. Three years ago her brother disappeared, and Rachel went off the rails quite spectacularly. Now she is trapped in a nunnery because she accidently blew up half the science department at her old school. One night she sees her long-lost brother in the crowd behind a reporter on television. There’s no mistaking who he is, but getting her parents to believe her is a different matter. It leaves her one option: break out of the nunnery and travel to London to track him down.
She’s about to find out that things are never that simple and there are some secrets that are impossible to believe.

Excerpt
I drop the box at my feet, then rummage through it. The book I need is wedged in deep.
Thank God the nuns hadn’t searched through any of the books I brought. I specifically chose the Stephen King, figuring it was the safest one. It took me ages to hollow it out. There’s enough money in here that no one would notice the slight difference in weight. I flick through the wad of money, stopping when I catch sight of the fake ID, which adds a few years to my age. I use the blue rucksack stuffed into the box. I add the things I need inside. First the book, the money and ID still hidden away. A few items of clothes follow them, a skirt, a dress, T-shirts, and jeans. I’m looking forward to getting out of this stupid uniform. Hell, I’d burn it if I had time.
Just leaving the cupboard, I notice a name on one of the boxes. Susan Towers. What had she told me about herself? Pausing at the door, I think. Come on, Rachel, think. She said something about makeup. She’s a makeup student. There might be something I can use in her box. I slide the box down. One quick search through it and then I’ll go. I nearly jump when I brush my hand against something soft and brown.
What the hell is that?
A smile unfolds on my face when I realize what it is, hair. A wig. I fight against the urge to break out in a dance.
This is perfect. I can definitely use this.

A little about me. . .

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far away, passed the farthest star in the sky and where the horizon meets for its kiss with the land, Samantha battled evil drones. The drones were six feet tall, had three sets of hands, and it was best if you didn’t mention the third eye. (They don’t like it when you bring it up.) She wields words like a sword in her hand and cuts down her foes with the skill of a ballerina wearing flip-flops and juggling chainsaws. (She knows how to multitask.)
Take a trip into her worlds (yep, plural) as she writes young adult with a touch of wolves and anything else that takes her fancy.
Buy Links
http://www.lycaonpress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=1&products_id=42&zenid=7b1d01e72a9cd74973f16cf48ed8bcbd
http://www.bookstrand.com/the-dark-of-the-moon
https://www.omnilit.com/product-thedarkofthemoon-1634024-140.html

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Chapter One, Rescue Me

Hi Everyone,

 

I’m looking for opinions on my revised chapter.

 

RESCUE ME

SHERITHA SINGH

CHAPTER ONE (Lana)

 

“You did what?” Bree,  my best friend stares at me, stunned. Her brown irises remind of little chocolate buttons against the white of her eyes. A strand of spaghetti dotted with chilli sauce hangs out her fuchsia pink lips.

“I told my parents I want my trust fund,” I tell her calmly. “They offered it to me after I graduated and I told them I’d let them know when I needed it.”

Bree shakes her head and glares at me as if I’ve committed the ultimate sin. She sucks in the spaghetti. “You shouldn’t have been so hasty, Lana.”

We’re at a tiny Italian restaurant in Ballito – Pavarotti’s – Bree’s favorite eatery on the Kwa-Zulu Natal North coast. I haven’t told Bree the rest of my news yet. God only knows how she’ll react.

“I wasn’t hasty. I felt the time was right to use the money to live the life I’ve always wanted.”

“I don’t believe you. Anyway tell me what you’re going to do with so much money?” Her wild, red curls tremble when she mock shudders at what I could possibly have in mind.

I shrug.  “Settle down.”

She twirls spaghetti around her fork and eyes me surreptitiously. “Settle down? You’re only twenty. Whatever happened to the plans we had to travel the world?”

 “I’ve decided I prefer stability.”

“Stability? What the fuck’s gotten into you?” Spots of color appear on Bree’s cheeks. She points her sauce tipped fork at me. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Did you and parents fall out?”

“No.” I shake my head. “This is something I’ve been thinking about doing for a while.”

Bree pours herself more wine. “I swear you’ve been kidnapped by aliens or something.”

“We were supposed to take a gap year, remember?”

“I’m taking my gap year now.” I look away from her when emotion threatens to fill my eyes with tears.

“Now?” Bree stops eating. “Why? I know you love attending school full time.”

“I need a cha –” a sharp jolt of pain paralyzes me. Shit. Why now? I hold my head between my hands and concentrate on my breathing for a while.

“Lana?” Panic rises in her voice. “I’m calling a doctor,” she screams when I don’t respond immediately to her.

“No,” I gasp, “It’s nothing –” Please let her buy my lie, I pray. The blinding spasms cease after a few minutes leaving me weak and nauseous.

“Have you even been to a doctor?”

“Yes,” I nod.

“And?”

“He ran some tests.”

“Shit, you’re shaking like a fucking leaf.” She holds a glass of water to my lips. “Drink.”

I manage to take a few sips. The headaches strike when I least expect it. There’s no particular pattern, warning or interval. They just happen spontaneously.

Bree calls for the bill. “I’m going to drop you off at home,” she insists after she’s paid. She stands up and holds my hand, ready to catch me if I fall.

“No. I…” Bree doesn’t know I moved out last weekend. She wants to drive me to my parent’s place.

She narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

I might as well tell Bree the truth and get it over with. The nausea fades away and most of my strength returns. “I moved out.”

She sits in her chair with a heavy thud. “What the fuck did you that for?”

“I needed space and time to focus on my writing –” it’s partly true. My freelance writing career’s really kicked off in the last few months. “And since Beauty Bulletin decided to make my column a permanent fixture, I decided I needed more space to focus on my career…” Beauty Bulletin is one of the most popular magazines in South Africa.

Bree sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re not telling me but I can promise you one thing, Lana. Whatever it is you’re hiding– I’ll find out sooner or later,” she vows. She watches me closely as I wake up. “You could tell me now and get it over with,” she pleads.

“I’ve told you everything.” Bree’s a tough cookie to convince. “My parents have been really supportive of my decision. Dad even bought me a car so I could be more independent.” The car was a gift from Dad when Beauty Bulletin told me they’d decided to make my column a permanent part of their magazine but Bree doesn’t have to know that.

Bree eyes my Ford hatchback. “What? Damn, you’re lucky.” Bree borrows her brother’s VW Golf to move around.

“Yeah.” My dad and I have always been close. I’m grateful he didn’t ask me too many questions when I told him and Mom I wanted to move out. Dad’s always been supportive of my decisions.

She shakes her head. “There’s more to this. I feel it in my bones.”

“Your bones are wrong,” I insist even though I know Bree’s bones have never lied. Bree and I have been close since fifth grade. We’ve cried with each other over failed crushes, shared fashion disasters and each other’s happiness. Lying to Bree is more difficult than lying to my family.

“My bones have never been wrong.” She looks up sharply. “Are you sure this isn’t about Zane?” Her brown eyes darken.

“Positive,” I assure Bree on our way to the parking lot. Zane and I dated briefly. He’s a model and fitness fanatic with a heart of gold. After two dates both of us agreed we were better off as friends.  

Bree sighs. “I’m happy things are working out your way, Lana, but I know you’re hiding something from me. She places her hands on either side of my shoulders. “Just because I’m dropping the topic now doesn’t mean I’ll forget.”

Our eyes meet.

“So where did you move to?”

“Blythedale.”

She stares at me blankly. “Where the fuck is that?”

“About twenty minutes from here.”

Bree still has no clue what I’m talking about. “North or south?”

“North.” She’s going to freak out in five seconds. I count down mentally in my mind. Five, four, three, two, one…

“Are you kidding me?” She’s about a head shorter than me. Bree stands on tip toes to look me straight in the eyes. “You moved to the fucking heart of a sugar cane farm. I don’t believe this. You’re twenty. Not sixty. Sugar cane farms are for retirement – not starting out.”

“There’s barely any sugar cane farms left. Besides it’s on the beach. I love it there.” I try and sound as convincing as possible. “It’s quiet and peaceful and good for my writing.”

“Don’t use your writing to cover up. You’re going there to hide.” She leans against my car. “Are you pregnant?” she asks suddenly.

“What?” I laugh. “By who?”

“Zane,” she whispers. “I wouldn’t blame you for messing around with him. He’s got a great body and personality.”

I shake my head. “Zane prefers messing around with guys.”

“Shit. I’d have never guessed he was gay.” She shakes her head. Her phone rings then cutting our conversation short. “Fuck. I forgot I have to pick Mom up from the mall.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll call you later.” She promises before she gets into her car and takes off.

Thank God I didn’t get caught this time. I sigh in relief before driving to my new home.

***

My rented house overlooks Blythedale Beach. Lucky for me this section of beach isn’t busy and I have a clear, uninterrupted view of the Indian Ocean. The natural vegetation on the shoreline hasn’t been touched and provides a stark, green contrast to the golden beach sand. The standard, two bedroomed house has an open plan kitchen and lounge and a decent sized bathroom. I had my stuff moved here a few days ago and unpacked most of it yesterday. I sink onto the double bed and stare at the ceiling.

My own place. Tears burn my eyes. I always imagined moving into my first house would be a wonderful, joyous celebration – dinner followed by drinks with my closest friends and family. Instead here I am alone with the sound of the Indian Ocean for company. I lie on the bed and doze off for about two hours before my stomach growls. The fridge and cupboards are empty because I haven’t had a chance to do any grocery shopping yet. The joys of independence. My stomach rumbles louder. I have to eat before hunger makes me insane. There’s a restaurant on the beach – I recall seeing it on my way to my new home. I grab my car keys and move so fast I’m dizzy by the time I’m in the driver’s seat. I take a moment to calm down before driving.

The restaurant is quiet – it’s nearly nine p.m. and the sun’s last rays cast a dim glow over Blythedale. I rush inside Nando’s as if there’s a crowd behind me – I’m that hungry. Thankfully the restaurant isn’t busy. The smell of freshly grilled chicken permeates the air. My mouth water. I make my way to the cashier to place my order first.

“I’d like a regular chicken burger.”

“Anything to drink?” The waitress asks me.

“Yeah. Lemon water please. And could you please make that a take out?”

“Sure.” She smiles and confirms my order.

“Your order will be ready in about ten minutes,” she tells me.

“Thanks.” I take a seat in one of the vacant booths while I wait.

The atmosphere here is incredibly laid back – even the beach is quiet at this time although it’s the heart of summer. I plan to eat alone on the shore while watching night fall. Although there aren’t any signs of security guards or police fear is the last thing on my mind when I walk to the shore. I clean my hands with a wet wipe and dig into my burger. Eating alone isn’t so bad after all. Anyway I have to get used to it.

I’ve never eaten a burger that fast in my life. Something rustles behind me on my way to the bin.

“Who’s there?”

The parking lot is lit but the thick clusters of trees forming a part of the natural riverine forest casts a dark shadow over almost everything in front of me. Night falls in five seconds flat and my heart sprints. Holy honey coated crap. Suddenly being out on the beach in the dark doesn’t seem like a good idea at all. I’m shaking so badly the paper bag falls on the ground instead of inside the bin. I’m too scared to pick it up. My car’s parked a few meters away from me. I count to five and prepare to run just as someone steps in my path.

“Going somewhere?” It’s too dark for me to make out his face but I can see he’s heavy set and he’s not alone.

“Home,” I whisper and step backwards when he advances towards me.

“Aw. So soon? I thought you’d stay and keep me company.” He sounds like he’s smiling. Evil smiling. Fecal eating fuck nugget.

 The guy turns away from me when he hears a car. I contemplate running to my car while he’s distracted.  

Okay, Lana, run on the count of three, I tell myself, one . . . two . . . three . . . I brace myself for my getaway from this thug and his friends. They’re quicker than me though. Before I have a chance to suck in a deep breath they surround me. There are four of them and they’re just as heavy as the first guy.

“Are you new here?” One of the others wants to know.

I read somewhere that not responding to would be attackers makes them more aggressive.  

“No.” Fucktard, I add silently.

“We haven’t seen you around before,” another one sneers, “where were you hiding?”

“Um…I was away at college for a while.” How the hell am I going to get out of here? I’m outnumbered four to one. There’ll be no more dinners on the beach for me – if I make it out here alive. You and your free spirited ideas, I tell myself.

“So what’s a pretty girl doing here all alone?” The leader asks. They move around me as if they’re animals circling their prey.

“Dinner,” I whisper. These assbags aren’t going to leave me alone anytime soon.

“And you didn’t invite us,” the third one says.

“You will make up for that, won’t you?” the leader half – whispers. It’s more of a statement than a question.

I wish I’d taken self-defense classes or something. I contemplate kicking one of these douche bags in the balls but what good will that do when there are three others? Crap. Now what? I catch a brief glimpse of star splattered sky and wish Superman would soar out of the atmosphere and to my rescue. If only Superman were real.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The leader asks.” Are you afraid of me?”

The others snicker.

“I’m thinking.” There I go again – speaking out the first thing popping into my head.

“About what?” He asks in a low voice as if he’s suddenly taken a keen interest in me.

At least my spur of the moment responses bought me some time. If I can keep him talking and carry on walking backwards I’ll reach my car in about thirty seconds. The keys are in the right hand pocket of my jeans. They’ll need excellent night vision to see my every movement.

“Dinner,” I reply when I realize he’s waiting for my answer.” I could buy you something to eat –”

“How about we skip dinner and go straight to dessert?” The Leader of the Fucktards suggests.

My butt grazes my car door. I slip my hands inside my pocket and press the button. The car unlocks silently. I reach slowly for the door handle. My hear picks up speed. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and my throat dries up. Leader’s hand grabs mine just as I press the lever to unlock the door.

“Going somewhere? Or do you enjoy it in the backseat?” The leader presses his body against mine. He reeks of alcohol and sweat. Nausea races upwards and pauses in my throat.

Oh fuck. This is the end of me. I close my eyes and pretend this isn’t happening. Oh God why couldn’t Superman be real – just this once.  If only he’d appear out of nowhere and pull this smelly bastard off me. A bike roars in the distance. I focus on its sound and imagine Superman is on that bike. Within seconds the sound of the bike is the only thing my mind holds onto. Leader’s hands tighten around my waist. His ugly breath clogs my nostrils.

Forget him. Superman will rescue me. Where do I come up with candy floss shit for dreams? Hello? I’m about to be eaten by a bunch of twat waffles.

Crazy thoughts race through my head as I squeeze my eyes tight and clench my hands into fists bracing myself for the impact of his mouth on mine while at the same time trying to shut him out altogether. Somehow the shutting out part works. The leader’s hands loosen on my waist and his pungent alcohol breath gives way to fresh sea air.

“Fuck!” He gasps suddenly before the sound of bones breaking sickens me to the pit of my tummy.

Instinct forces my eyes open. We’re surrounded by a group of bikers with bikes so shiny the moonlight reflecting off of them blinds me temporarily. One of the bikers punches the leader on his jaw. The others circle the remaining would-be attackers.

“I didn’t touch her.” Leader winces.

“Liar,” mysterious Biker says in a deep voice, “Didn’t your mama teach you to always tell the truth?”

My spine tingles at the sound of his voice.

“I warned you about stepping on my ground, Skull.”

My ground? This sounds like a movie script gone real life. To mean it means one thing. I found Superman. Unless this is a dream. And none of this is really happening., Shock probably stupefied me. Or I’m dead and I’ve stepped away from my body…I shut my eyes and pinch myself. Fuck. That hurt. No, I’m not imagining any of this. The bikers are really here and one of them is teaching Skull a lesson he’ll never forget.

“I want you to take your pack of vermin rats and get the hell out of here.” Superbiker  says.

Skull and his gang don’t need to be told twice. They disappear into the shadows so fast nobody would have guessed they were really here.

“Did he hurt you?” I’m stunned at how quickly my wish was granted. I asked for Superman and I got a Superbiker. My chest tightens. If only all my wishes were granted so easily…

Warm hands cup my face. I catch a glimpse of a shiny bracelet on his right hand. His left thumb is partially covered with a band aid.

 “Hey? Are you okay?”

Superbiker’s talking to me. Say something, Lana. “Yeah…I’m fine.”

He’s standing so close to me I smell his aftershave and cologne – the scent is woodsy, earthy and incredibly sexy. He’s pushed the visor of his helmet up but a clump of clouds block out the moonlight making it impossible for me to even catch a glimpse of my savior.

“You’re new here,” he says.

“You can tell just by looking at me?” Damn he’s got skills.

“No. The license plates on your car.”

Hmm. He’s an observant guy.

He steps away from me. “You shouldn’t hang out here this part of night,” he says, “tell me where you live and we’ll escort you home.” He opens the car door for me.

“What’s your name?” I blurt.

He pauses. Perhaps my question’s caught him off guard. “Why?”

I shrug. “It’d be nice to know.”

He leaves me standing outside my car and jumps on his bike. “Get in the car. My boys and I don’t have all night to wait on spoilt little rich girls who have nothing better to do than invite trouble upon themselves.”

Strangely his words sting. “I’m not a …” Oh why bother. I get inside my car and roll down the window. For a moment there I’d assumed he’d really cared when he’d asked if I’d been hurt. I guess whoever my mysterious biker rescuer is – he’s just doing his job. Hope and romance take a back seat.

They follow me home. Superbiker  pulls up beside me when I stop outside the gate and gestures for me to give him my keys. He unlocks the gate and waits for me to park. I roll down the window and wait for him to leave before jumping off. He pauses next to me while reversing out the driveway and lifts up the visor. Invisible waves of his seductive cologne and aftershave engulf me. It’s still too dark for me to see him properly.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“For roughing up your haters?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re welcome.” A brief silence follows. “Tell you what, princess. If you can find me in the daylight I’ll tell you my name.”

“Deal,” I reply. Challenges are definitely my thing. I’ll find him all right even if the sound of his voice is all I have to go only have more though – his smell, the bracelet on his right hand and his built. Superbiker’s tall, broad shouldered and not even the darkness can hide his pert ass. I take in his silhouetted and hope he sticks around a few more seconds so I absorb more details about him. . Lucky I have an excellent memory.

“Good.” He sounds like he’s smiling as he reverses and roars away into the night.

***

Review of Eyes Only by HK Sterling

Eyes only is an excellent short read high on suspense. This Flirt available from Breathless Press http://www.breathlesspress.com and has huge potential for a full length book. I can’t say too much without spoiling the book. Ike is a wet behind the ears marine who learns bitter lesson after indulging in a sordid affair. I enjoyed Eyes Only and I recommend it to readers who don’t have time to indulge in a full length novel. H.K. Sterling doesn’t disappoint.

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New Release Alert!!!

Hi Everyone,

Let’s show some love for my super fab BP buddy, H.K. Sterling.

H.K. Sterling’s awesome mystery romance released Friday 21 February 2014.

Here’s a little background info ( and a pic) on Ms. Sterling:

H.K. Sterling is an author with Breathless Press known for stories with imagination, intelligence, a kick, and twist endings. H.K. likes to focus her writing on suspense, science-fiction, shorts, and anything that is spicy and unexpected. Sometimes her writing may even go dark. H.K. lives in Virginia with her husband who graciously puts up with her passion for writing. H.K. currently has a Mystery/Thriller out: A Taste For Killing; and two short stories in the Breathless Press Anthology: My Bloody Valentine. Her new book, A Taste For Danger has just been accepted for publication and H.K will also soon publish a short-short titled Eyes Only. H.K.’s books are suitable for 18+. You can contact H.K. on the following social media:

Catch up with H.K. Sterling on the following media:

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/hksterling

Twitter: @HKSterling

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/HK-Sterling/426989014069244?ref=hl

Email: HK.Sterling@aol.com

HK Sterling “Undercover Blog”: http://hksterling1.blogspot.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/HKSterling

Check out this exclusive excerpt:

A Taste For Killing

By H.K. Sterling

Excerpt

He had six-pack abs, and I wanted to feel the carbonation. This one dressed like the stereotype of a construction worker, down to the handkerchief he used to wipe sweat off his forehead. I don’t know if he or the hot day brought it out, but sweat poured off of me too. He had no interest in me as a person, though. I was invading his territory. Still, I enjoyed the view. For my part, I knew my clothes looked crappy. I didn’t have to wear uniforms anymore, but my street clothes, well they were very—street. So there I stood, a turd in the sun in front of this Adonis. Oh well.
He pointed to a small trailer up a muddy hill. The supervisor I asked to see apparently stayed in there. Stayed, as in never left. Great. Mud. Now I’d be a dried turd in the sun. Adonis went back to digging and I started the trek up the hill. At least I came with boots. Steel toed.
Once I made it to the trailer, I heard an argument going on inside.
“Look, I don’t care who you are. The plans are publically filed. Go get them yourself!” yelled someone.
Then I heard a voice I knew. Calm, cool, subversive. “Is there any reason you’re being so difficult? A man did die on your watch.”
An encounter I hadn’t planned on. Well, at least not until later tonight. I knocked loudly on the door and with my sweetest voice said, “Hello, boys. Am I interrupting something?”
“Great,” groused the supervisor. “A party.” He appeared to me like another stereotype, puffing on a cigar over a fat jowl line and rotund stomach that threatened to overturn the small desk he was behind. I guess there’s a reason for stereotypes. He looked about four hamburgers away from a heart attack.
On a wooden chair in front of the supervisor sat Jack. A fellow independent detective, an ally at times, a competitor…and my on and off lover.
“Well, well, well,” he said smiling, but I could tell he wasn’t happy to see me. Not here. It meant we were both working the same case. “Hello, Carolyn. Who hired you?”
“Parents.”
“Girlfriend,” he answered back.
We stared at each other. Complications.
The supervisor didn’t give a damn and said to me, “Well, missy, I’ll tell you the same thing I told this guy.” He jerked his thumb around to Jack. “The plans are publically filed and that’s all I have to say about it.”
I tried a different tactic. “That’s fine with me. I have no problem going downtown for a copy.” I wore my practiced, saccharine smile. “But I wonder, could you tell me the name of the architect? Please?” I smiled again. God, this job sucks at times.
The supervisor sighed. “Jones, Evan Jones.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, smiling my best smile again. “I’ll get out of the way and leave you two boys to…whatever you were doing.”
I opened the door to go and started to shut it only to find Jack following me out.
“Sure, flash your tits and get what you want.” Boy was he in a bad mood.
“There was no tit flashing in there. Face it, testosterone was not a good choice in that situation.”
Jack’s response: a grunt.
“Besides,” I tried to placate him, “I didn’t get the plans either.”
“No, you did one better.”
“That’s assuming the architect will have anything to do with me and cooperate.” A thought occurred to me. “So are you going there too?”
“No, I might as well wait and see what you turn up. Besides, I have my own leads.”
“Are you planning to share?” Just call me hopeful. As in full of shit, because that’s where hope always seemed to lead.
“No,” he said, still grumpy.
“I see. So it’s gonna be like that.”
“I guess so.”
I felt like such a female. Damn. But I had to ask.
“Are we still on for tonight?”
“Yeah.”
I wasn’t convinced but didn’t push it. God, sometimes I hated myself. But we were good together—when it was good—when his competitive edge didn’t get the better of him. Though I was one to talk. I did the same thing at times. Hence our on and off status. But currently we were supposed to be on. So, I kept it light in the spirit of things to come.
“Okay, master detective, I’ll leave you to your leads. See ya.”
“See ya,” he replied, already preoccupied, pondering a piece of paper he’d taken from his pocket.
I made my way down the hill in my muddy boots.

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HK Sterling Cover Reveal

Hi Everyone,

“Mystery and Romance blend together when competing detectives Carolyn Woods and Jack Heart find they are surrounded by murder on every side.”

The fabulous HK Sterling has allowed me the honor of her cover reveal. Before we have a look at the awesome cover let’s have a look at what this fabulous book is about:

“Mystery and Romance blend together when competing detectives Carolyn Woods and Jack Heart are both hired to solve the murder of Pete Wallace, only to realize they are working the same case. To complicate things, Carolyn and Jack have an on again-off again relationship. Then there is Evan Jones, a handsome architect— but he’s also a suspect. Can Carolyn manage to solve the case as more and more murders pile up? Will her relationship with Jack hinder their investigations? And what about Evan Jones? He seems like the perfect man, but could he actually be the murderer? One thing is for sure: someone close to both Carolyn and Jack has A Taste For Killing.”

And here’s a little about HK Sterling as well as some deets on how you can contact her:

H.K. Sterling is an author with Breathless Press known for stories with a kick and twist endings. H.K. likes to focus her writing on suspense, science-fiction, shorts, and anything that is spicy and unexpected. H.K. lives in Virginia with her husband who graciously puts up with her passion for writing. H.K. currently has a Mystery Thriller out: A Taste For Killing; and two short stories in the Breathless Press Anthology: My Bloody Valentine. H.K is currently working on a sequel to A Taste For Killing and a Science Fiction book of short twists. You can contact H.K. on the following social media:

Twitter: @HKSterling

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/HK-Sterling/426989014069244?ref=hl

Email: HK.Sterling@aol.com

HK Sterling “Undercover Blog”: http://hksterling1.blogspot.com/

And here’s the cover.

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Check out the excerpt from A Taste for Killing:

He had six-pack abs, and I wanted to feel the carbonation. This one dressed like the stereotype of a construction worker, down to the handkerchief he used to wipe sweat off his forehead. I don’t know if he or the hot day brought it out, but sweat poured off of me too. He had no interest in me as a person, though. I was invading his territory. Still, I enjoyed the view. For my part, I knew my clothes looked crappy. I didn’t have to wear uniforms anymore, but my street clothes, well they were very—street. So there I stood, a turd in the sun in front of this Adonis. Oh well.
He pointed to a small trailer up a muddy hill. The supervisor I asked to see apparently stayed in there. Stayed, as in never left. Great. Mud. Now I’d be a dried turd in the sun. Adonis went back to digging and I started the trek up the hill. At least I came with boots. Steel toed.
Once I made it to the trailer, I heard an argument going on inside.
“Look, I don’t care who you are. The plans are publically filed. Go get them yourself!” yelled someone.
Then I heard a voice I knew. Calm, cool, subversive. “Is there any reason you’re being so difficult? A man did die on your watch.”
An encounter I hadn’t planned on. Well, at least not until later tonight. I knocked loudly on the door and with my sweetest voice said, “Hello, boys. Am I interrupting something?”
“Great,” groused the supervisor. “A party.” He appeared to me like another stereotype, puffing on a cigar over a fat jowl line and rotund stomach that threatened to overturn the small desk he was behind. I guess there’s a reason for stereotypes. He looked about four hamburgers away from a heart attack.
On a wooden chair in front of the supervisor sat Jack. A fellow independent detective, an ally at times, a competitor…and my on and off lover.
“Well, well, well,” he said smiling, but I could tell he wasn’t happy to see me. Not here. It meant we were both working the same case. “Hello, Carolyn. Who hired you?”
“Parents.”
“Girlfriend,” he answered back.
We stared at each other. Complications.
The supervisor didn’t give a damn and said to me, “Well, missy, I’ll tell you the same thing I told this guy.” He jerked his thumb around to Jack. “The plans are publically filed and that’s all I have to say about it.”
I tried a different tactic. “That’s fine with me. I have no problem going downtown for a copy.” I wore my practiced, saccharine smile. “But I wonder, could you tell me the name of the architect? Please?” I smiled again. God, this job sucks at times.
The supervisor sighed. “Jones, Evan Jones.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, smiling my best smile again. “I’ll get out of the way and leave you two boys to…whatever you were doing.”
I opened the door to go and started to shut it only to find Jack following me out.
“Sure, flash your tits and get what you want.” Boy was he in a bad mood.
“There was no tit flashing in there. Face it, testosterone was not a good choice in that situation.”
Jack’s response: a grunt.
“Besides,” I tried to placate him, “I didn’t get the plans either.”
“No, you did one better.”
“That’s assuming the architect will have anything to do with me and cooperate.” A thought occurred to me. “So are you going there too?”
“No, I might as well wait and see what you turn up. Besides, I have my own leads.”
“Are you planning to share?” Just call me hopeful. As in full of shit, because that’s where hope always seemed to lead.
“No,” he said, still grumpy.
“I see. So it’s gonna be like that.”
“I guess so.”
I felt like such a female. Damn. But I had to ask.
“Are we still on for tonight?”
“Yeah.”
I wasn’t convinced but didn’t push it. God, sometimes I hated myself. But we were good together—when it was good—when his competitive edge didn’t get the better of him. Though I was one to talk. I did the same thing at times. Hence our on and off status. But currently we were supposed to be on. So, I kept it light in the spirit of things to come.
“Okay, master detective, I’ll leave you to your leads. See ya.”
“See ya,” he replied, already preoccupied, pondering a piece of paper he’d taken from his pocket.
I made my way down the hill in my muddy boots.