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The Knowing    Author: David Graham

4/24/2017

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United by destiny, they must stand together to face an ancient evil.....

Ceri Edwards and two school friends lift the lid on an ancient book of recipes belonging to Betty Williams, a volunteer at the local hospital in Pontypridd, South Wales. Two Kansas City cops step off a flight at London Heathrow and one of them falls to the ground with a painful conviction that there's something evil in the air.

United in their destinies, Ceri and the police officers are drawn into a world where prophecies are pitted against invisible forces planning to raze London to the ground and bring down the Royal Family.

It all rests with Dai Williams, recently knighted MI5 agent and reluctant hero, to bring some order to the improbable events and to ensure that afternoon tea at The Ritz continues for another hundred years.

A great cross between Kim Newman and Ben Aaranovitch and a thrill for any fan of contemporary urban horror.


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EXCERPT
A decent, pot-bellied, cast iron cauldron usually sold for a hundred pounds. One that was antique and appropriately fire-tarnished doubled the sum. Use by an accredited witch—specifically a member of the Dynion Mwyn tradition—could nudge that figure into the stratosphere. That was because a well-used cauldron was believed to absorb spells into the metalwork, supposedly making incantations more effective. Debunking that idea was as fruitless as rubbishing homeopathy—particularly now that Welsh folklore remedies had royal approval and were being marketed under the Cymry Originals brand, with a crest of giant leeks crossed like swords under a flying harp.
None of that was of the slightest interest to the three girls peering into the bubbling contents of the vessel. Ceri, Dilys and Bronwen liked to imagine their Celtic magick delivered with Grimm determination and lashings of David Giuntoli whom they had already accorded the title of ‘Honorary Welshman’. He would know a good potion if he saw one and would have no time for fictional fripperies like wands. They were for stupid kids who knocked themselves out walking into the wall between platforms at railway stations. Owls were cool, though, although they were far too self-important to be used as posties.
All three would-be witches were outfitted courtesy of Georgio @ Asda. ‘Gold Witch’ was an absolute steal at three pounds—if zero carat bling rocks your cwch. They had also considered the ‘Mental Patient’ blood-spattered straitjacket costume, but Bronwen’s mum was a social worker and thought the mentally ill deserved more respect than a few pence-worth of garish polyester. A gorily-streaked, plastic meat cleaver was an optional extra and she thought it was very realistic.
It was all for show, of course. They had no need of such embellishments, but it kept their mothers happy—and, hopefully, ignorant of what they were up to. The fact that Halloween—or, more accurately, All Hallows’ Eve—was just around the corner, provided the perfect smokescreen for their activities. There was always the chance Ceri’s mum might enter the room while they were in the middle of adding an eye or two of newt, so they had the music system turned up loud and playing Super Furry Animals. Actually, newt eyes were so yesterday. They’d read that modern witchery had honed the ingredients down to essences of magic which could be bought over the internet if you knew where to look. Currently, they had no internet thanks to the stupid British government, so they’d had to improvise— after tossing salt over their left shoulders, crossing their fingers and reciting a hundred Hail Marys.


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New Kiss Horizon     Author: Thylias Moss

4/24/2017

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After 25 years, Thomas Robert Higginson and Vashti meet again, and Vashti must compete with the fantasy version of herself that Thomas has carried all those years. He makes good on everything he has promised Vashti who has the best intimacy, best sex of her life.

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UNLEASH     Author: Lauren Harris

4/14/2017

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Craving a gritty, kickass heroine? If you like guns, magic, & romance, you need this book!

A deadly price for freedom. A power she can't control.

Helena Martin doesn't know who she hates more, the sorcerers who fired the magic-laced bullet or the gang-lord master who used her mother as a shield. Both hunt the remnants of her pack and the only way Helena can protect them is using her newly-unleashed magic to lead the two factions away.

With a coveted book of spells as bait, she flees Miami and heads for her mother’s Minnesota hometown. There, salvation comes in the form of a dog rescue willing to take in a different kind of stray. The illusion of a peaceful life is seductive but with sorcerers and bounty hunters sniffing around every corner, Helena fights to keep her past, her pursuers, and her unstable power a secret.

Then she discovers it’s not the spell book her enemies are after, but Helena herself, and the strange power she can barely control. When her master’s bounty hunters threaten her new home, Helena realizes that protecting the people she’s grudgingly come to love leaves her with one option: join the sorcerers who killed her mother.


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Backhand      Author: Elise Faber

4/13/2017

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Mike Stewart is a bad boy.

Sleeping around. Boozing. Fighting with teammates.

Name a bad behavior and he’s done it—done it so well, in fact, that he almost tanked his career as a starting defensemen for the NHL’s San Francisco Gold.

But Mike is done with all that. He’s starting with a fresh foot forward and putting his past behind him.

That is, until his past quite literally reappears before his eyes.

Sara Jetty is just as beautiful as she was a decade before, but Mike hasn’t seen her since she left for her first Olympics and scored a gold medal in women’s figure skating. Now something has put shadows in her eyes, a familiar type of hurt he is all too well versed in.

This Sara wants nothing to do with him. Their easy friendship is gone and in its place is a hardened woman who’s nothing like the girl from his past.

Still, Mike hasn’t become a top defensemen in the NHL by being afraid of hard work, and he isn’t about to let Sara push him away. Come hell or high water, he’s going to crack her tough outer shell and find the sweet, innocent woman he’s lusted after and loved, in equal measure, for more than ten years.


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The Other La Bohème    Author: Yorker Keith

4/13/2017

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The Other La Bohème is literary fiction that depicts the lives and loves of four friends who pursue opera singers’ careers in present-day New York City. Jennifer (soprano), Stephanie (mezzo-soprano), Henry (tenor), and John (baritone) met in music school in Manhattan, where they performed Puccini’s famous opera La Bohème at their graduation concert. After graduation they banded together as a group called the Dolci Quattro, pledging to support one another in their professional pursuits. Several years later, they have landed the roles of Mimi, Musette, Marcello, and Rodolfo in the nearly forgotten opera La Bohème by Leoncavallo—known as “the other La Bohème”—which is to be produced by the New York Bel Canto Opera.

Alluding to the opera form, the novel opens with an Overture, a hymn that leads into Act I. Scene 1 begins with arias and a duet sung by Henry and Stephanie in the Café Momus. Jennifer and John come in, and they congratulate each other on their new roles. Immediately, though, the thoughts of the current state of their personal lives cool their enthusiasm.

Each Scene that follows is narrated alternately by one of the four members of the Dolci Quattro. As the story unfolds, Jennifer discovers that her fiancé, Richard, an investment banker and a fiction writer, is having an affair with another woman. Stephanie struggles to find a steady love, while perturbed by a strained relationship with her father, a billionaire hedge fund manager, who abandoned her late mother. Henry faces a pressure from his family to renounce his bohemian life for a more respectful career as he meets his new love, Christine, a poet. John receives a summons for divorce from the lawyer of his wife Michelle, a painter.

Set in the rich artistic backdrop of New York City, as the novel proceeds from Act I to Act II, Act III, Intermezzo, and Act IV, the Dolci Quattro’s lives and loves go through ups and downs in joy and despair, while true to their pledge they give one another much-needed moral support. As the opening night nears, the Dolci Quattro make their utmost efforts to perfect their singing for the opera that will determine their future. 


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Broken Condoms & Promises    Author: K.L. Hall

4/12/2017

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Nobody tells you how much your life will change right before you turn 30. They only tell you about the obvious things that you can Google, and not the heartbreak, addiction or even jail time that comes with it. Welcome to Broken Condoms and Promises, where best friends Siya, Eshari and Cassidy are all about to have their worlds turned upside down one year shy of their dirty thirties.

Meet Siya
At 29, Siya was used to living lavish and only having to worry about herself. She’s content with being a homeowner with no kids and living the single life. She was used to keeping to herself, because she was much more in love with her independence than the idea of actually loving another human being. When things in her professional life turn from sugar to…well, you know, she’s forced to rely on what she knows to keep her bills paid. In turn, she gives a whole new meaning to the term, promiscuous girl. In the midst of that, she reconnects with her ex, Dacarri Blackmon. He’s back with a mission to set her heart on fire and show her what a real emotional connection feels like the second time around. If he plays his cards right, he may be able to win her back if her new “profession” doesn’t get in the way.

Meet Eshari
Coming up, it wasn’t hard for Eshari to attract a man to take care of her so she wouldn’t have to lift a finger. To her friends, she has the perfect life. She’s always traveling and going on shopping sprees, but at what cost? Her husband Hassan is a wealthy businessman of Persian and African-American descent. After three years of marriage, she finds herself wanting the one thing his money can’t buy her; a baby. While desperate to conceive after a miscarriage, she learns of her husband’s infidelity. Blinded by her desires to relish in the joys of motherhood, she decides to take matters into her own hands by rewriting her fate. While in the thick of it with Hassan, will she learn that true love doesn’t cost a thing?

Meet Cassidy
Cassidy learned a long time ago that men were replaceable. Miss one, wait another 15 minutes and another will show up. She’s spent the last few years of her twenties never letting her feet hit the ground before she’s swept up into the arms of one new beau after the next. While her ex, Nasir, is serving time for a drug wrap, she finally decides to get her life together and settle down. She puts away her days of being just another trophy girlfriend to another street king. That’s when she meets a baller with a legitimate bank roll, Jonathan Welch, a prestigious figure on the Hill in Washington D.C. She quickly falls knee-deep in love with his charm and good looks, until he starts to send her on an emotional roller coaster with too many broken promises. Feeling played and hell bent on revenge, she accepts the help of an old flame to permanently extinguish a new one.

This spicy tale follows these three as their relationships are tested and all rules are broken. With the odds stacked up against them, will this small circle of friends make it through the storm or will their own personal drama consume them? After all, pressure creates diamonds.


​BUY HERE

Chapter One- The Beginning

Siya Thornton

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear, Siya. Happy birthday to you!”

I sat and watched as my two best friends Eshari and Cassidy sat on both sides of me, serenading me on my 29th birthday. I smiled as they sang and cheered, then leaned in to blow out the single birthday candle in the red velvet cupcake placed in front of me. It was a bittersweet moment for me. There I was, one year away from thirty, single, no children and struggling to keep a smile on my face.

Truth was, reality was setting in and everything was starting to hit me like a ton of bricks. I kept trying to think of reasons to keep the fake smile plastered across my face, but my cheeks felt like sandbags. I couldn’t eat any and everything I wanted any more without suffering severe consequences. (Why indigestion, why?) My body sounded like an old rocking chair the way it creaked and cracked in the morning. And did I mention bars are loud as fuck? I mean, really. Why the fuck do people holler at the bartender every 15 seconds to bring them another shot of that cheap ass house vodka? Eh, who am I kidding? Half of those things started happening to me the moment I turned 25, but it was four years later.

By the age of 26, I started realizing that my twenties were coming to a close faster than I’d expected. Yeah, on paper I looked like I was doing pretty good. I had two degrees, a full-time, salary paying job, and I even started putting a minimal dent in my student loan debt. However, being that I was on the threshold of turning thirty, I was having a serious problem grasping onto the way my life was going. Like, is this really it? Almost everybody I went to college with had a kid or three, and were either married or engaged. All the while, I was just sitting there twiddling my damn thumbs and trying to keep my cholesterol down.

And to top it all off, I’d just lost my fucking job.

Nobody but God and the assholes who fired me knew I was currently unemployed, and I planned to keep it that way. It wasn’t as if I thought my friends would judge me, but I just liked keeping some things to myself. I stopped caring about what “society” said was acceptable years ago. I knew shit happened, and I wasn’t nearly as insecure as I was when I was 21. I would say I stressed less, but that’s a total lie. I just stressed differently. It used to be about what am I gonna wear, how am I gonna do my hair, is Freaky Tay gonna be at the party? Now it was like, how the fuck am I gonna pay all these bills and eat too, all why trying to save face?

“Siya? Siya! Girl snap out of it!” Eshari said, nudging me in the arm.

“Sorry!” I said, snapping out of my trance.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Yeah, you’ve been quiet as a mouse all night,” Cassidy added.

I sighed and shook my head before taking a bite out of the cupcake in front of me.

“Nothing...it’s nothing.”

“It’s never nothing, so spill it,” Eshari said.

“I just don’t know where my life is headed lately, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?” Cassidy asked.

“I mean, I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I’m almost thirty, I’m single, no kids, nothing. I don’t even have a pet.”

“Oh shut up, Siya! You’re gorgeous, you have your head on straight, you got a banging ass job. The men will come when the time is right,” Eshari told me.

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re married!”

“She’s got a point there,” Cassidy nodded.

“Trust me; married life is not all that it’s cracked up to be.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Yeah, what the hell does that mean?” Cassidy chimed in.

“It means that marriage is hard work and some days I feel like putting in the hours and some days I don’t.”

“Damn, it’s like that?” Cassidy asked.

“Some days, yeah.”

“Well, at least you got somebody there to be sometimey with you. It’s hard being alone out here, so count your blessings,” I told her.

“Yeah, I guess,” Eshari shrugged.

I shook my head and took a sip of the glass of red wine in front of me. The three of us had our share of heartache in the past. We’d seen a lot and done a lot more.

“I’m just so tired of all this unrequited love. You let a nigga steal your heart, he plays with it for a while until you’re too deep to notice you can’t swim or fly or whatever and then bam, you fall and drown. And there’s no love lost on his part. The shit has to stop,” I said, shaking my head.

“Girl, that’s just how it is though. It’s been that way for centuries and it’ll be that way for eternity. Niggas ain’t shit and they ain’t never gonna be shit,” Cassidy said.

“Because they daddies ain’t shit,” Eshari chimed in.

“Their granddaddies neither!” Cassidy laughed.

I laughed at the three of us. Cassidy and Eshari were the only two people who could always put a smile on my face. For as long as I could remember, the three of us had been as thick as thieves. We told each other everything all the time. However, the way my life was set up, I couldn’t risk telling a soul about any of the shit I was going through. I couldn’t stand to be judged and given sympathetic looks. I snapped back to my thoughts when I heard Eshari speak up.

“Maybe you should make a dating profile, Siya. Ain’t that like the new thing nowadays?”

“Look at you sounding like a true old married woman,” Cassidy told her.

“Shut up! But seriously, Siya. Have you thought about it?”

“I have, just never acted on it.”

“Girl, you know the morning reporter at my job, Rebecca Jamison? She just did a story on that a few months ago, talking about all of the different new dating apps and everything. It really is the new wave,” Cassidy chimed in.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged.

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“I just don’t want to waste my time, you know? Niggas don’t want forever anymore. They just want some ‘in the meantime’ or ‘for the night’ type shit. Who has time for that? How can you even begin to build a foundation off that?”

“You can’t,” Cassidy said.

“And that’s exactly the point! It’s a setup from the beginning. Fuck it, let’s just all be lesbians,” I joked.

“Or join a convent,” Eshari said.

“Maybe we could be lesbians who join a convent,” Cassidy joked.

“Girl, shut up!” I laughed.

“I’m serious though, girl, face it. Freedom feels better, it tastes better and it damn sure looks better. Ain’t nobody in a rush to slap a ring on this finger,” Cassidy said, swinging her bare ring finger in the air like Beyoncé in her “Single Ladies” music video.

“It doesn’t even matter how much you’ve got going for you anymore either. We still gotta wait at the bottom with the rest of these bitches,” I said.

“It’s downright degrading,” Eshari added.

“Who you tellin? Hell, all my good years are damn near up and I’m still out here trying to find a man who wants to stick around for more than a few months at a time, that is, if I want him to. You know I get tired of people quick,” Cassidy admitted.

“You guys, I have a confession to make,” Eshari said, changing the subject.

“What?” I asked, giving her the side eye as I took another sip of wine.

“So y’all know I get a Brazilian wax faithfully every four weeks, right?”

“Yeah, and?” Cassidy asked.

“So my hair is starting to grow back and I….I found a gray hair!” she said, covering her face.

I looked at Cassidy, who looked at me at the same time and we burst out laughing.

“Girl, if you don’t shut your ass up!” Cassidy laughed.

“I’m seriously devastated! That must mean my coochie is getting old and tired!”

“Better tell Hassan to rejuvenate that thang,” I laughed.

“I have a confession too, y’all,” Cassidy added.

“What?” I asked.

“Look at my teeth!” she said as she smiled wide.

“I don’t get it…what’s wrong with them?” I asked.

“Yeah, I don’t see anything wrong.”

“What do you mean you don’t see anything wrong? I’m on TV damn near every day! Talking! The fact that my teeth are so far gone I doubt teeth whiteners from Wally World will be able to reverse the years I spent damaging them with red wine, meat and other shit that’s bad for your teeth! I’m going to have to get dentures before I’m forty!”

“Okay, all these insecure confessions are really killing me. Can we go back to man bashing? It’s what we’re best at,” I laughed.

“I’m so scared to even start getting dark spots and wrinkles! I swear Olay is my best friend, fuck you bitches!” Eshari said, ignoring me.

“Did you forget you’re black? You won’t start to crack or wrinkle until you’re like 78, so simmer down,” I told her.

“Did I mention I’m starting to thicken up? Like, a lot? Not in the face, but like, my ass and shit,” Cassidy added. “Have y’all noticed?”

“I didn’t,” I said, shaking my head.

“Me either. Stand up and let me see your ass,” Eshari told her.

Cassidy scooted her chair back against the hardwood restaurant floor, and did a 360 degree turn in front of us.

“See?” she said, pointing at her ass.

“I do, but that’s not weight that’s good dick, so you might as well go on and sit down and spill that tea,” Eshari told her.

“I am so here for the tea,” I told them.

“You know they say the older you get, the better your relationships start to go. Meaning, better sex,” Eshari said.

“That’s to be determined over here,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Well you have to find a man first,” Cassidy joked.

I rolled my eyes at the two of them as they shared a laugh at my expense. I glanced down at my phone and read the time across the screen. It was nearing 11pm and it was definitely past my bedtime for a Thursday night.

“Well would you look at the time? I’ve got to head home and get ready for bed.”

“It is Thursday, huh?” Cassidy asked. “I should be heading home too.”

“Why are you rushing? It’s your birthday, Siya. You’ve been at your job since you were 23, I’m sure you’ve got enough leave saved up to take a personal day tomorrow.”

I shook my head. Little did she know, I had a lot more personal days to myself than I wanted.

“You know my work is never done at that place, so thank you lovely ladies so much for my birthday dinner, and I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow,” I told them.

“Okay, bye girl. I’m headed right out after you,” Cassidy said as she pushed her chair away from the table and stood to her feet.

“Ugh, fine,” Eshari groaned. “Guess I’ll leave too.”

“Why are you acting like you don’t want to go home all of a sudden?” I asked as I flung my purse over my shoulder.

“Yeah. What’s up with that? Is he beating you girl?” Cassidy asked, sounding like she was partially joking and partially concerned.

“No he’s not fucking beating me, dummy!”

“Just checking,” Cassidy smirked.

“Bye, y’all,” I said and headed for the restaurant exit.

When I got home, I sat my keys down on the countertop and exhaled deeply. I needed to check my bank account and I was dreading just the thought of it. Up until I was fired, I never worried about how much money I had in the bank because I knew I was straight. I was an accountant for a Fortune 200 global power company out of the Washington D.C. office, making $80,000 a year after taxes.

“Fuck,” I groaned as I picked up my cell phone to open up my mobile banking app. Before I placed my thumbprint on the circle button, I tossed my phone on the couch and walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of liquid courage. I opened the refrigerator door and leaned my head inside. Amidst the leftovers from two weeks prior, a half-eaten cookie from Subway and a bottle of wine, I found the bottle of peach flavored vodka I’d been nursing since the day I’d been fired.

After pouring some in a glass, I headed back over to my cell phone to face the music. When my balance loaded, I took a sigh of relief. I still had over $10,000 in my savings, but my checking account was a little under $6,000. I knew I had at least one more check coming in from my job, but I was going to have to curb my expensive taste and spending habits if I was going to coast along until I found another job.

I still couldn’t believe I’d gotten fired. Before then, I’d never been fired from anything before in my life. If I ever left a job, it was because I decided to move onto something better, not because someone had taken it upon themselves to make the decision for me. The reason they let me go was a bullshit one, too.

“We’ve decided that we’re going to take the company in a different direction, Siya.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Jameson?” I asked as I sat across from him and Joann from our legal department.

“We’re being bought out by a larger company, and we are being forced to downsize,” he said.

“Downsize meaning what exactly?”

“I’m sorry, Siya, but we’re going to have to let you go.”

“Excuse me?” I squealed.

“This has nothing to do with your work performance or the way that you’ve carried yourself for the many years that you’ve been with us. You are an asset to this company, but this is just strictly business.”

“Business, huh?” I scoffed. “Wow.”

“I am happy to write you a stellar letter of recommendation,” he told me. “As well as send you off with a generous amount of severance pay.”

“Then what? Huh?”

“This is just how things go, Siya. I’m sure you’ll land on your feet. You’re a very ambitious woman, one of whom I’m glad to have had as an employee for as long as I have, but my hands are tied and the decision is final.”

“I understand,” I told him as I nodded slowly.

I gently pushed myself away from his desk and stood to my feet. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I turned to exit his office. I knew the look of shame was plastered all over my face, but I was only focused on not breaking down into tears before I made it to my car.

“I’ll have that letter typed up and sent to your personal email address by close of business today, Siya.”

“Thank you, sir,” I nodded, and then mumbled ‘fucking bitch’ under my breath.

It was the first time in my life that I didn’t know what I was going to do. There was no backup plan. There was no plan b. I was fucked. I turned the 750mL bottle in the upright position and chugged it, in hopes to forget all of my problems. I couldn’t deal and drowning my feelings in the bottom of the liquor bottle I was holding in my hand seemed like the best idea at the time. Before I knew it, tears were pouring out of my eyes and I found myself smack dab in the middle of my feelings. I felt so emotional. I was mentally and physically broken. I started to think pain is life. Like, we’re only here to be put through as much torture as one can take, and when we finally hit our breaking point, that’s when we die.

I laid there, listening to the sounds of my sniffles and erratic breathing as I cried. In an attempt to pull myself out of my funk, I grabbed my phone and went to the app store to download a few dating apps and started setting up my profiles. Setting them up was way more intense than I realized at first. For some of the questions I really had to think of creative answers.

“What am I doing with my life?” I read the profile question aloud. “What the fuck kind of question is that? I’m trying to find a man, that’s what I’m doing with my life!”

Knowing I couldn’t write that, I settled for “I’m a professional woman looking for a mate who can not only match my intelligence, but match my hustle.”

Once I finished that, I chose a couple photos of myself, uploaded them, and waited for the sea of men to roll in. I had been back on the market for over a year and the single life was exactly that; single. I hadn’t had sex, been on a date or even kissed another man since my ex, Dacarri and I broke up. There was a point in time where Dacarri was my everything. We were together all throughout our early-to-mid-twenties, and I just knew that we would make it to forever, but I was mistaken. You see, Dacarri had a thing for sticking his ‘thing’ in other women, and as much as I loved him, I’d had enough of the disrespect. He had dreams, he had ambition, but he just couldn’t be tamed, at least not by me.

My thoughts were transferred from Dacarri to the ‘ping’ my phone made, signaling that I’d gotten a message on one of the dating sites. I quickly scrambled to grab my phone and click the app. I rolled my eyes when I realized it was a generic message from the creator of the app. I shifted my eyes from left to right, reading the welcome and thanks for joining message, when something else caught my eye. It was a small ad in the corner for phone sex operators that read ‘NOW HIRING FEMALE PHONE SEX OPERATOR CLICK HERE FOR MORE.’ Against my better judgment, I clicked the ad and read the details. The pay consisted of three dollars for every ten minutes. Once I surpassed ten minutes, it went up to four dollars, and if somehow I made it up to thirty minutes, the pay would increase to eight dollars. The ad said that I had to be well versed in my imagination and be able to learn different fetishes that ranged from cross-dressing to domination. I continued to read all the FAQs until I scrolled to the bottom of the page and hit the ‘continue to application’ button.

“There’s no turning back now,” I mumbled and started filling out the application.

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EXOTIQA    Author: M. Black

4/12/2017

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ENTER TOMORROW with a 3 book YA Robot Cyberpunk Dystopia series

EXOTIQA - Book 1
THIRTY - Book 1.5
SPHERE - Book 2

When the nation is controlled by a popular online program, those that deviate risk their lives. But that never stopped Fione.

Read the second release by author M. Black, which fans of Divergent and The Glitch will enjoy. Filled with haunting questions of consciousness and artificial intelligence, identity and self-awareness, politics and love, life and death, the reader will be engaged in an entertaining story filled with futuristic technology.

Set in the cyberpunk year 2055 in British Columbia, Canada, where humans are part robotic and robots are becoming more humanlike, the line dividing the two is becoming less clear.

When sixteen-year-old Fione meets Maci, a twenty-one-year-old Flexbot who escapes from ImaTech located along the crust of the Coast Mountains, Fione’s life is taken on a roller-coaster ride of events that begins with trying to save Maci from ImaTech Corporation and ends with trying to save the country.

With Fione's best friend and love interest, a Flexbot named Pix, Fione and Maci must come face-to-face with the greatest dangers their country has ever seen and learn the disturbing secrets of the popular online program Exotiqa—which her friends, family, and most of the country has downloaded onto their Cerebral Slabs. This won’t be easy, since Maci’s only love and greatest enemy, nicknamed Thirty, is tracking her every move.

Fans of Divergent, iRobot, The Glitch, Blade Runner (Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?), artificial intelligence, robotics, and futuristic technology will enjoy this YA Robot Cyberpunk Dystopian about two young, but strong female heroines who must save the fragile system crumbling around them. 

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The Wounded Warriors Series                           Author: Patty Campbell

4/6/2017

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Book 1: Heart of a Marine 
Falling in love wasn’t part of the contract...

Single dad and wounded warrior, Dwayne Dempsey, has no idea what he’s bargained for when he signs a construction contract with the curvy Marla Danaher to honcho her condo conversion. The last thing he needs is a sexy property developer breathing down his neck every step of the project. Her strong-minded bossiness should turn him off, but oddly, only makes her more desirable to him.


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Excerpt

"The Beginning;

Big-boned, big girl, full-figured——how Marla hated those stupid metaphors. At five-foot-six she weighed one hundred sixty pounds. Size twelve, just like Marilyn Monroe, but unfortunately due to the nubile teenage models marketed by Victoria’s Secret, Marilyn’s charms were no longer fashionable. A man once told her, “Marla, your avoir is luciously dupois.”

Thanks a heap.

Her fraternal twin sister Charlene, on the other hand, was the same height, with one hundred twenty pounds of runway-model curves. Charlene wore her thick golden blond hair like a privileged princess. Rusty brown eye color was the only thing they had in common. Victoria’s Secret, eat your heart out.

Marla got the brains. She dearly loved Charlene, but there was little outward evidence that much was going on upstairs, except her insatiable appetite for men. The more variety the merrier. To give Charlene credit, she was very successful in her quest.

“Oh, lordy lord, Marla. How can you stand it? Is he here every day? That man makes my mouth water and my knees quake.”

“Give me a clue, Char. Is it the leer, or the tool belt?”

“Are you kidding me? You must be blind. He’s nothing but rippling muscles and he’s got the sexiest little hitch in his walk. Yum. He’s the spittin’ image of Gerard Butler. This guy is hot. Have you noticed how he looks at you? He likes you. I’m jealous. You should talk to him.”

Marla rolled her eyes and blew out a long sigh. “I do talk to him, much more than I care to. Dwayne Dempsey is a royal pain. It’s a new argument from him every day. Just because he’s the contractor he thinks he knows more about this project than I do.”

Charlene had that moony-eyed grin on her face. “Well, he is the contractor.”

“Oh, for the love of goats, Charlene!” What was the use? “I own this building. He’s supposed to follow my design, my blueprints, not argue about every little detail.” Marla wouldn’t admit it, but she did have eyes, she considered Dwayne Dempsey quite good-looking. Mouthwatering actually. She also knew how much he enjoyed flirting with the fat girl.

Dwayne looked up from his cell phone, hitched up his jeans, and winked at Charlene. He turned and waved when a man in the construction trailer yelled, “Yo, Gunny, over here!”

“Oh, lordy lord. I want him.”

“Take him, please. You’re welcome to him.”

Charlene scrunched her eyebrows. “Who’s Gunny?”

“Dwayne. He’s a retired marine. His men call him that. Now, what are you doing here?”

Charlene dragged her gaze from Dwayne’s back and shoulders as he walked away. Hand on her heart, she sighed. “Look at his perfect butt in those beat-up jeans. I don’t know how you stand it.”

Marla took the roll of blueprints and tapped her twin on the head. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

Marla rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh. I thought we’d go for lunch. We have to strategize for the singles dinner whatcha-ma-dodabber- thingy. Remember? You promised you’d go with me. It’s tomorrow night.” "

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Book 2: Love of a Marine
​

Wounded Marine veteran, Cluny McPherson, is ready to throw in the towel. Why are his PTSD nightmares worse now, more than ten years after the ambush outside Fallujah? He hates his growing feelings of hopelessness and doubts he’ll ever live a normal life. He loves women and kids, and he desires a loving woman in his life, one who wants a family as much as he does. But with the nightmares getting worse, the only female he dares spend an entire night with is his loyal service dog, Queen, a war vet herself. Until one day on a California beach, he meets a beautiful woman and her young boy and everything changes. For the first time in years, there’s a chance of healing...and a chance at love.

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Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

Thursday, Zuma Beach

Who is that man? Why is he here every day? Graciella Jefferson turned her attention to her nine-year-old son, Santos, chasing wavelets at the edge of the surf on Zuma Beach. They’d been here every morning since school let out two weeks ago. He loved the ocean, but hadn’t worked up the nerve to go in above his knees. She smiled, knowing he’d get there in his own good time. His father had been a genuine frogman.

“Santos, time for lunch!”

He smiled and waved, took a last flat-footed jump in the shallow water then ran to join her on the blanket under the big carnival striped umbrella. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“See that man and his dog over there?” He tilted his head in the direction of the rocks near Point Dume.

“Yes, I see him. Why?”

“They’ve been here every morning this week, and they’re still there when we leave. They must love the beach as much as I do.”

Graciella pushed up the brim of her wide hat to get a better look. Santos was right, the man was always there. He and the dog stared out to sea. Every now and then the man would reach down and rub the dog’s head.

“What is the dog wearing, Mom, a T-shirt?”

“I can’t be sure, but it looks like a vest, the kind service dogs wear.” She squinted to get a better look.

He took a big swallow of lemonade and wiped his mouth on his forearm. “What’s a service dog?”

“Use this.” She handed him a faded, old cloth napkin. “A service dog is a companion that is specially trained for certain tasks.”

“Like what?”

“You’ve seen seeing-eye dogs working with the blind.”

“But that man can see. He watches the ocean a lot. His dog just sits there next to him, not doing anything.” He pointed his skinny arm toward the rocks where the man sat on the sand with his hands dangling between his knees.

“It’s not polite to point, Santos.”

“He’s not looking at us.”

“It’s still not polite.”

“Why?”

She tousled his curly black hair. He looked so much like his late father it nearly broke her heart. “Enough questions. Eat. We have to head back in about an hour. I have a class to teach this afternoon.”

Santos tucked into the rest of his sandwich, guzzled the rest of his drink and mopped his mouth with the napkin. “I’m done.” He darted back to the water’s edge.

Graciella watched him for a bit, then picked up her book and got comfortable in the sand chair to read. After several minutes she looked up and her heart skipped a beat when she didn’t see him. She dropped her book and scanned the beach. He was walking toward the man and his dog, kicking his toes in the wet sand. He glanced back at her, a broad grin on his face, and waved. * * *

Cluny and Queen had had another bad night. There had been a lot of them this past six months. He didn’t understand why he could go months, even years, without the nightmares and the shaking, then they’d return. A year ago he’d gotten Queen, on the advice of his buddy, Dwayne Dempsey, and a therapist at the VA.

A skinny, dark-skinned kid about nine or ten walked in their direction. The boy and the woman had been about a quarter klik down the beach every morning. He figured it was only a matter of time before the kid got curious.

Queen stood. “Easy, girl.”

“Hi, mister.” The boy slowed to a stop about three yards away from him. He stood quietly, expression tentative.

“Hi.” Cluny smiled. He glanced down the beach and saw the woman stand. He waved at her.

“Why is your dog wearing a vest?” He shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun.

“She’s working this morning.” Cluny laid his hand on Queen’s back.

“I didn’t see her do anything.” He took a few steps closer. “What does she do?”

“Right now, she’s keeping me company.”

“Is she friendly? Can I pet her?”

“I’ll ask her.” He unbuckled Queen’s vest, and she stood, shook and stretched. “Want this good lookin’ boy to pet you, Queen?” She wagged her tail and took a step in the boy’s direction.

Cluny smiled at the woman strolling toward them. “What’s your name, son?”

The boy knelt in front of Queen. She sat on her haunches and lifted a paw. The kid giggled and grasped her foot. “Santos Jefferson, what’s your name, mister?”

Cluny stood and brushed sand from the seat of his shorts. “I’m Cluny McPherson.” He tilted his head toward the tall, willowy woman approaching them. “Is that your mother?”

“Yes.” The boy buried both his hands in the dog’s ruff and scratched vigorously. He laughed when Queen groaned with pleasure. “She likes it.”

“I think we should go meet your mother. She looks concerned. Come, Queen.” He stooped to pick up the dogs vest and stuffed it in his cargo pocket. The boy joined him, and they walked toward the woman.

“Mom! Isn’t she beautiful? Her name is Queen. She keeps him company.”

Cluny extended his hand. “Ma’am.” She was almost as tall as his six-one in bare feet, her skin a luscious golden honey-brown, with eyes to match. “Cluny McPherson.”

She hesitated and then took it. “Hello. Graciella Jefferson. My son was curious about your dog.”

Her deep voice had a slight, intriguing accent, her handshake as firm and strong as she appeared to be. Cluny was stunned by her beauty.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, Santos asked me what she did other than stare at the water.” He grinned and a thrill jolted through him when she returned his smile.

She appeared to size him up quickly, and then asked, “Would you like some lemonade? We’ll be leaving soon and it’ll be one less thing for me to carry back to the car.”

“Yes, thank you, ma’am, I would.” He followed her back down to their spot under the big umbrella, and knelt on the blanket. Queen and the boy followed close behind.

Graciella, she’d pronounced it grah-see-ay-la with an r roll, took a small bottle of lemonade from her cooler, shook the droplets off and handed it to him. He couldn’t help noticing long, tapered fingers with bright orange polish on her short nails.

“Thanks.” He opened the bottle and took a long drink. “I didn’t realize I was thirsty until just now.” He held the cold bottle to his forehead.

“Santos, the dog might be thirsty.” She opened a thermos, poured water from it into the cup-lid and set it in the sand.

Cluny gazed at the stunning woman as she gestured to her boy. Her thick dark brown, curly hair fluttered around her shoulders in the breeze, the brim of her straw hat flapped, and she set her hand on top to keep it from blowing away. She lowered her body to sit on the blanket across from him, as graceful as a swan.

“Where’d that breeze come from all of a sudden?” She laughed and held tight to her hat.

Queen trotted to the water cup and quickly lapped it up. “Queenie was thirsty,” Cluny said. “Thanks.”

She nodded. “You’re welcome.” She turned to her boy. “We have to leave soon, Santos.”

“Aw, gee, I just made friends with Queen.” He eyed Cluny. “What does she really do when she isn’t keeping you company?”

Cluny laughed. “She sleeps a lot, which is good, because her job is to help me fall asleep at night.”

“I watch TV until Mom yells at me.”

Cluny pressed his lips together. “That usually works for me too, but sometimes Queen helps me.”

“Where’d you get her?”

“She’s a genuine wounded warrior war hero. Queen is retired from the Navy SEALS. I got her from Wounded Warriors.”

Santos’ eyes got huge. “Are you a wounded warrior? Were you a SEAL? My dad was a SEAL. He got killed in Iraq by some bad guys. I wasn’t borned yet, so I never even got to meet him, but I know what he looked like because I have a picture of him. Want to see it?”

“Santos.” His mother put her hand on the excited boy’s arm.

“It’s OK.” Cluny smiled at her. “Yes, I’d like to see a picture of your dad.” Santos dug through a cloth carry bag and pulled out a jacket. He soon found a laminated photo, attached to a house key, and handed it to him. “Mom says I look like him. Do you think I look like him?”

“Cluny studied the photo of a very large, very fit black man wearing standard field-issue SEAL camos. The man grinned for the photographer, a sniper rifle resting casually on this shoulder. “Yes, I see the resemblance. What was your dad’s name?” He handed the photo back to the boy.

“Marvin Jefferson.”

A prickly sensation crawled over Cluny’s back and up his neck. The man looked familiar. He glanced at Graciella. “Where was the picture taken?”

“Fallujah. The day he was killed.” Pain flashed in her soulful eyes.

“Oh, God, ma’am, I’m so sorry.” His stomach twisted into a painful knot. For a moment he thought he might throw up the lemonade, but he gritted his teeth against the nausea. Queen nudged his hand.

She answered in a soft voice, “It was a long time ago.”

Santos apparently hadn’t noticed his discomfort. “Were you a SEAL too?”

He shook his head. “No, a Marine, but I knew some very brave SEALs in Iraq. I fought in Fallujah too.”

“What happened to you?”

Before answering the boy, Cluny glanced at his mother. He wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with the conversation. She nodded slightly.

“Me and some buddies were in an M-3 Bradley that got hit by an RPG one day when we were in a convoy heading to Baghdad. One of the bad guys found us first.” He swallowed and took a breath. This was something he rarely talked about, and never with a kid.

“Did any Marines get killed?” The boy’s rapt face stared steadily, waiting for an answer.

“Nope. Nobody got killed, except the bad guys. Some of my buddies got wounded real bad, and I took a hard knock on the head. We were lucky.”

“Is that why you can’t sleep?”

“Sometimes. I don’t think about it much.”

“Was your dog in Fallujah too?” Santos rested his hand on Queen’s back. “What happened to her?”

“I didn’t know Queen then. She was guarding Baghdad airport. She got shot by a sniper.” He smiled at his dog. “You’re fine now, aren’t you Queenie?” Her tail thumped the sand.

Graciella stood and folded the sand chair. “It’s time we got on home, Santos. Help me pack up.”

Cluny stood and pulled the umbrella stake from the sand and folded it for her. “I’ll help you carry your things to the car. We’re a long way from the parking area.”

“We can manage.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’d like to help.” He slapped his leg and Queen leapt to her feet. He took her vest from his pocket and buckled it around her chest. In an instant she was back in work mode. He rested the umbrella on his shoulder and took the handle of the cooler and pulled it on its big sand tires to the parking lot.

Graciella and Santos grabbed the rest of their things and walked alongside him. She pointed to a small blue SUV. “That’s our car.” The back window wore a SEAL Trident decal.

He loaded the umbrella and cooler in the back hatch. She shook sand from the blanket then tossed it in on top of the folding chair. “Thank you, Cluny McPherson.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome, Ms. Jefferson.” He put his hand on top of Santos head of tight black curls. “Nice meeting you Santos. You do look like your dad. Have a safe trip home.”

Cluny returned to the sand and waved as they climbed into the car, haunted by the eerie feeling from the photograph of the big Navy SEAL.

Queen leaned heavily against his leg, made a soft whimper, and stared into his eyes.

“I’m good, girl. I’m good.”

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Book 3: Soul of a Marine

​The one Marine MSgt Misty Beachy could not command is back.

She commanded Marines in a war zone. Because she didn’t look the part didn’t mean she couldn’t do the job. Her men took her orders and respected her. The only thorn in her side was Major Jack Hawk, close air support pilot. He didn’t like women in combat. But he had saved her unit from deadly ambush.

Wounded vet, MSgt Misty Beachy has found a niche in civilian life. Training sniffer dogs for Customs. Then prickly Hot Stick Hawk, combat pilot, returns.


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Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

Master Sgt. Misty Beachy, USMC (ret), pressed her fingers against her eyes and moaned. She looked forward to hosting the kids from the local continuation high school about as much as she longed for a root canal. Not that she’d ever had one thanks to her parents spending a fortune on her teeth while she was growing up, but she was best friends with a former Marine who’d recently undergone the gruesome procedure and was still whining about it.

“Continuation High School,” she sighed. Most of the kids there were one step away from juvie. She understood teenage rebellion. At thirty-three she wasn’t so far removed from that period of her life. She’d joined the Marines when her big brother got killed in Afghanistan, nearly destroying her parents. At the time she thought she was doing it to make them proud. How self-centered is that? She smirked at her young cluelessness.

What she’d accomplished was to make them sick with worry that they’d lose their only other child in the middle-east for no good reason. And she’d come pretty damn close to making their anxiety a self fulfilling prophesy in Iraq eleven years ago.

“Quit acting like a baby, Beachy,” she chided herself between clenched teeth. “If you can handle a bunch of testosterone loaded Marines at a forward operating base in a war zone, you can handle a half dozen sneering, self-destructive loser kids for an hour.”

“Talking to yourself again, boss?”

“Kiss my ass, Jeremy.”

“No fraternizing allowed. Says so right in the employment contract, but if we both quit our jobs, I’d be happy to oblige.” She couldn’t help smiling at her sunny young assistant. How he could remain cheerful day after day of working under her supervision was a mystery.

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a child molester.” He was barely twenty-one.

“I have this thing for older women.”

“You’re very annoying, Jeremy.”

Instead of answering her accusation he grinned bigger.

Beachy sighed and shook her head. This kid always looked liked he’d just opened up a Christmas gift and discovered Santa had left the exact thing he’d been asking for, right down to the brand name and model number. A happy boy in a rangy man’s body. He had an annoying habit of making her smile, when she was enjoying a moment of self indulgent funk.

“Your favorite high school kids are here, boss. Time to put a smile on your doll face, and a sparkle in those big brown eyes.

She rose from her desk with weary resignation, flashed an obscene and very un-ladylike gesture before grinding out, “You’re fired.”

Jeremy laughed. “Again? That’s the second time today.”

“Go line up the dogs. It’s a shame we’re teaching them to sniff explosive and contraband instead of attacking a pack of kids only their mother’s could love.”

“Don’t be too sure. I doubt some of them still have mothers.” He went toward the kennel and Misty took a deep breath, tucked a wisp of short blond hair behind her ears and pasted a smile of greeting on her face. Might as well get on with it.

An hour later

The snarly blonde girl whose face seemed eerily familiar asked, “What’s that one’s name?” She pointed to a flop-eared beagle bouncing with eagerness to get out of his kennel and join the teenagers.

Misty looked over shoulder. “Oh, that’s Happy.”

“So why’s he locked up? Did he break the rules?” Her comment was directed at a fellow student who cracked his first grin of the morning. Hands in the pockets of his low-slung tattered jeans, he slouched and lagged behind his schoolmates. Stringy hair hung over his eyes, but not far enough to hide the silver ring in the corner of his pierced right eyebrow.

She hoped somebody would help this young man with some good direction for his future.

A couple of these kids looked hopeless. She faced the girl. “Happy is being retired from the service. He has trouble concentrating on his job and would rather play with every human, adult or child, he encounters in the commission of his duties.”

The girl snorted. “So what’ll happen to him?” Her demeanor said…Like-I-care.

“He’ll go to a shelter. Hopefully he’ll get adopted before they have to euthanize him.”

Misty loved the little mutt, but he was hopeless as a sniffer. He belonged in a home filled with rambunctious children.

Like balloons filling with too much helium, the girl’s eyes expanded. Her sullen expression, the one she’d spent a lot of time perfecting, suddenly melted away, replaced by a look any normal teenager who’d just seen somebody run over a kitten. Her next question squeaked out on a high note, “They’ll kill him?”

Well, well, well. There’s a sweet little girl hiding under the façade of snarky boredom. “It’s a possibility. I hope it doesn’t happen.”

“I’ll adopt him.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

The teacher escorting the group stepped through the door. “Time to get on the bus, gang.”

“No! Wait!” Panicky as a bird caught in a net, the girl turned to Misty. “Why not?”

The teacher touched her shoulder. “Sorry, it’s time to go Ms. Hawk. We have to be back on campus before lunch.”

Misty pulled an official Customs Bureau business card from her shirt pocket and handed it to the girl named Hawk. She knew a man named Jack Hawk. Maybe this kid was related to him. Her eyes were the same odd color, and the shape of her jaw looked familiar. That’s what had been bothering her for the past hour, why the girl looked so familiar. “Take this. Call me later and I’ll try and explain the process to you. What’s your name?”

She grabbed the card. “Ellen Hawk.”

Unbelievable. This girl was Hot Stick Hawk’s daughter. Had to be. She was the right age. They lived in the area. Jack was currently stationed at Camp Pendleton.

The group cleared out. Misty checked her watch, picked up her office phone and entered a number from memory.

“Hello?”

“Santos? Misty Beachy here. Is Mac home?”

“Yeah. Hey, Dad! It’s the Marine lady on the phone.”

“Hey, Mis. What’s up?”

The sound of her best friend’s voice always warmed her to her bones. “So it’s Dad now, is it?”

“My sweet boy started calling me Dad when we all drove to Vegas the day I married his mother. He was my best man. Great, huh?”

Misty knew how much that meant to Mac, but didn’t comment. “You still at home whimpering about your root canal?”

A soft chuckle brushed her ear as if he were in the room. “Yep, but I’ve been informed by my gorgeous pregnant wife that I’ve used up my sympathy quota. I’ve been ordered to go back to work tomorrow. The better part of valor would be to follow her orders.”

“You’re right on that score, Mac.” Misty pictured McPherson’s wife, Graciella. He’d fallen like an anvil off the back of a bouncing pickup for that woman. Physically, Graciella couldn’t have been more different from Misty. Exotic, willowy, dark hair and eyes, nearly as tall as Mac. Cluny McPherson was Misty’s best pal. A fellow Marine who’d briefly been her lover so many years ago in Iraq. Misty had never been in love with Mac, but to this day she measured every man against him, and they all came up wanting. He was her best friend in the world, and probably knew her better than anyone.

“I know you didn’t call me to ask about my dental work, Sarge. Not that I don’t love hearing from you. How about heading up this way sometime soon?”

“Maybe. The reason I called was to ask you whether that woman who married the hot undertaker still has that no-kill animal shelter in town.”

“She does. They just put on a big expansion. Dempsey and I got the building and plumbing contracts.”

“Hey, didn’t Gunny Dempsey and his wife recently have another kid?”

“Marla had twin girls. They’ve got three girls and a boy now. Gunny’s of the opinion they should go for one more boy, to even the odds.”

Misty couldn’t imagine ever having one child let alone four. “I can’t imagine.”

“Why did you ask about the shelter?”

“I’ve got a dog who flunked out of the sniffer program. He’d make a great family pet and I don’t want to send him to one of the shelters down here. They only hold them for about thirty days. Do you think she’d take an out-of-town happy beagle?”

“Are you kidding? Why do you think she expanded the facility? She won’t turn away a single dog or cat. Do you want me to call her and ask?”

“Would you? If she’ll take him, I’ll drive up there next Saturday. I’ll check on you and Gunny and all your kids. It’s kind of hard when the men I used to boss around are now taking orders from different women. A blow to my overblown ego, especially when they’re able to do it without carrying a side arm.”

Mac’s laugh was like a swallow of good whiskey. Fiery and mellow at the same time. “I’ll give her a call and let you know, Mis.”

“Thanks. If I don’t answer, leave me a text, or Jeremy will take a message for me on the office phone. Gotta run.”

“Hope to see you next weekend, sugar-lips.”

“Careful, the wife might be listening.”

“She’s cool.” His voice was directed away from the phone briefly. “Aren’t you, baby?” He was back. “I’ll call you.”

It was time to grab a bite while she had the chance. Misty slung her bag over her shoulder and shouted. “Jeremy! I’ll be about an hour. You want me to bring you back anything?”

He walked in holding a sandwich and pointed at his full mouth. “I’m good,” he mumbled through tight lips. Deep dimples creased both cheeks.

He must have a dozen girlfriends, Misty thought and shook her head. If I were ten years younger, I’d be all over you, Jere. “Okay then, back around one.” She left the office and went to Jeep parked out back. When the dogs spotted her they broke into a chorus of happy barks. She’d never been a dog person until she’d seen Queen, Mac’s service dog, calm him out of a PTS episode. Her admiration for them took off like a hot rocket, and spurred her into her present job with the Customs Bureau.

She hoped she’d be driving her old Jeep north to Spring Grove and Simi Valley over the weekend with Happy on the seat next to her.

In spite of the coolness of the afternoon, Misty and Jeremy glowed heat and exhaustion by the time they called it a day. “Buy you a cold beer, boss?” Jeremy retrieved his keys from the drawer of the desk they shared. No frills, everything basic in their drab government office.

“Isn’t your girlfriend anxiously waiting for you to call?”

“You’re my only girlfriend, boss.” His dimples deepened when he grinned. “At the moment anyway.”

It only took a second for her to make up her mind. “I’ll meet you at Brazos, but we’re going Dutch as usual.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” Jeremy left through the rear door, turning off the back office lights as he went.

Misty took a minute to clear off her desk then go outside to check the kennel lights and gate locks. She waved at the night security guard as she drove past the kiosk on her way to the main road.

Brazos always had a healthy contingent of sailors and marines hanging on the bar and playing pool. She was very comfortable in the company of men. Especially military men. The more the better. Her with only one guy always turned out to be bad news.

The owner of Brazos, Jake McKillan, played nothing but Mexican music in his jukebox. On Saturday nights he had a Mariachi band to entertain his customers. A dance floor was cleared in the center of the rustic, noisy room and a full contingent of Mexican cooks cranked out the most delicious food this side of the border. Tonight he’d only have nachos and dips available, but the beer would flow cold and continuously from bottles and taps and cans.

She parked her car and went inside. Jeremy hailed her from across the room and pointed to a chair he was resting a foot on to keep anyone from taking it or sitting down. He’d already ordered two bottles of Corona, and Jake’s wife, Guadalupé set a large plate of nachos on the table.

Misty touched the woman’s arm. “Thanks, Lupe. Those look good. How about an order of guacamole and a bowl of your homemade salsa to go along with it?”

The short, plump, stunningly exotic beauty grinned, threw her long braid over her shoulder and nodded. “Pronto for you Missy.”

“Gracias.”

Jeremy lifted his foot off the chair and Misty plopped down with a grateful sigh. “I don’t know what it is about those loser-kids that wear me to the bone. Two hours with them and I’m ready to drop.”

“Loser kids?” The familiar deep voice came from behind. Without being asked, Hot Stick Hawk plopped in the chair next to her and put his sweating beer bottle on the table then helped himself to a handful of nachos. He tipped his head to Jeremy whose smirk oozed amusement, and then took a deep swallow of icy beer.

Very few things ever embarrassed Misty Beachy, but being caught bad-mouthing his daughter did the trick. The heat level in her chest shot up so fast her ears burned. “Sorry, Jack. I wasn’t talking about Ellen. It’s just…um…sometimes those kids…from that school…they…” Better to clam up before she jammed her foot down her throat any farther.

“I get it.” He tapped the neck of his beer bottle against her nose. “Relax.”

What was it about Jack Hawk that always set her teeth on edge? He was a stand-up guy, a fellow Marine. They went way back. Jack had been there to save their asses in Fallujah when it counted. One of the top A-10, close air-ground support pilots in Iraq at the time.

What was it? He never uttered an opinion, but she was sure he didn’t like women in the military. Mac said he was old school, but the guy couldn’t be more than forty-five at the most. How could that qualify for old-school?

“I hear you met Ellen today.” He stared at her with eyes not gray and not brown. They darkened when he discussed something strategic and serious and got lighter when shooting the bull in a mess hall. Jack had never made a move on her, but he had a way of making her feel soft and feminine when she needed her steel in the company of her Marines. As a major he’d outranked her by a mile, but he’d always maintained a professional military attitude at the FOB. He may not have been in favor of women in the military, but had always treated her like a fellow soldier.

“Look, Jack, I’m mortified you heard what I said. I wasn’t singling out Ellen. I have so little patience with slackers. Those kids drive me to the edge. Ellen isn’t as tough as she pretends to be. I didn’t know she was your daughter until a couple of minutes before they left this morning. I apologize. Let me buy you a beer.”

“You already did. I told McKillan to put this on your tab.” Hawk’s smile was special. He seldom flashed it, but when he did, it was dazzling and sincere.

Misty pointed an accusing finger at Jeremy. “If I find out you were in on this, you’re fired.”

“I gotta go.” Jeremy pushed back his chair. “Three firings is my quota for one day. My mother will be so disappointed in me. Again.” He snagged his denim jacket off the back of the chair and headed to the door. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

Hawk’s gaze followed his slim back. “Nice kid.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“Ellen thought he was ‘steaming hot.’ Her words.”

“Does she say stuff like that to annoy you?”

“Too often. She likes to test dear old dad.”

“I don’t know how parents do it. Cripes. My brother and I were the worst. I’m surprised my parents ever got any sleep, worrying about whether we’d end up in jail or not.” Misty pictured some of the stunts she and Bill had pulled. Bill was her hero. He’d pulled her ass out of the fire more times that she could count. When he’d been killed in Afghanistan all she wanted to do was join the Marines and get revenge on as many bad guys as possible before one of them got her first. * * *

Jack said, “I’m retiring.” Whoa, where’d that come from?

The surprise on her face couldn’t have been faked. He doubted she faked any emotion. Hide them, yes. Fake them, no. “When did you decide to retire?”

He picked up his beer and took a swallow, pressed the sweaty bottle to his forehead and chuckled. “Just this minute. I’m as bowled over as you are.”

“Jesus, Jack. You can’t make a decision as big as retiring from the military just like that.”

“Appears as if I did.”

It was time for him to put some distance between himself and Misty Beachy. He couldn’t be in her company for very long before getting that buzz, that tug. Silly. Dangerous. The last thing he needed was another female complicating his existence. Ellen was more than he could handle at the moment. He shoved back his chair with a loud scraping squeak. It mirrored the loud scraping squeak echoing deep down in his belly where it had no business being in the first place.

Time to haul ass.

“Jack,” she called to his retreating back.

He raised a hand and kept walking.

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Deadly Spirits: A Mac McClellan Mystery (#4)         Author: E. Michael Helms

4/5/2017

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Picture
When PI Mac McClellan's girlfriend convinces him to join the Palmetto Paranormal Society, he becomes embroiled in a case of whooodunnit. The society president, while investigating an old hotel, is found dead at the foot of the stairwell, his neck broken. The man's secretary and current squeeze stands horrified beside his body. Authorities rule the death an accident. Mac has doubts--no one heard the man tumbling down the stairs. Then the secretary dies in an apparent suicide. Two deaths in two paranormal investigations, and not a peep out of either victim. Mac suspects there's more going on than a vengeful spirit. Book 4 in the Mac McClellan Mystery series, which began with Deadly Catch.

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EXCERPT
I felt like a complete idiot following my girlfriend, Kate Bell, up the narrow dusty stairs to the attic above the third floor. I wiped another cobweb out of my face and beard as Kate turned the antique glass knob. The door creaked open. She shined the small flashlight around the room before stepping inside. At five-eight, plus her new jogging shoes, she barely cleared the top of the doorway.

“Well, are you coming?” she asked as I hesitated by the open door.

“I don’t know, there might be a ghooost in there!”

She fought back a smile. “Very funny, Mac. Get your butt in here, you big, bad, hunky Marine.”

What a man won’t do for love. Not needing a crack on the forehead, I ducked and followed Kate inside the cluttered old room. Dust rose and floorboards groaned with every step. “Sure as hell aren’t going to sneak up on any spooks in this place,” I said.

Kate huffed. “They are not spooks; they’re ghosts, or spirits. How about showing a little respect for the dead?”

“Pardon me. My apologies to the dearly departed.”

For the last month Kate had been driving me nuts bugging me to join the Palmetto Paranormal Society. To keep the peace I’d finally relented. The old Navarro Hotel on the northern outskirts of Parkersville was my first paranormal investigation, although I’ve been a licensed private investigator for about a year now. I was living comfortably on my monthly military retirement check until a long-dead boyfriend from Kate’s past showed up alive. You could say I was “drafted” into working for Hightower Investigations, a PI business owned and operated by Frank Hightower. Headquarters is in Destin, Florida, Kate’s hometown. Frank’s on the backside of sixty, and a lifelong friend of the Bell family. He’s “Uncle Frank” to Kate.

When I retired from the Marine Corps two-plus years ago after a twenty-four year career, I put down roots in St. George, a coastal village in the eastern Florida Panhandle. Meeting Kate, who worked at Gillman’s Marina, played a big part in my decision to stay. Her good looks, knockout figure, and feistiness grabbed me from the beginning. I had no clue then that I’d soon be working as a private eye. But that’s another story.

There was a light turnout for tonight’s investigation. Maybe the rest of the members were out drinking Margaritas in celebration of Cinco de Mayo. That beat chasing after ghosts in this ramshackle building. Kate and I were covering the third floor and attic of the dilapidated hotel which dated back to the early twentieth century. Len and Marsha Cavanaugh, a retired couple in their late sixties, were snooping around the second floor. The first floor was the responsibility of Dr. Ernest Bagwell, our fearless leader and professor of psychology at Parkersville University. The Prof was accompanied by his secretary and current squeeze, Stella Crawford, a pixieish redhead with a figure like Hollywood legend, Elizabeth Taylor.

“Check the room for cold spots,” Kate said as she placed some sort of ghost meter thing in the middle of the floor.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” I aimed the pistol-shaped infrared thermometer around the room, watching the red dot dancing on the walls.

“Well?” Kate said after a minute.

“Negative on the cold spots, but I wish there was. It’s hot as hell up here.”

Kate huffed and said, “All you’ve done is complain since we got here.”

“Well, the Braves are playing the Nationals tonight. They’re tied for first.”

Kate ignored my remark. “Let’s try an EVP session. You sit on the chest over by that wall,” she said, pointing the way across the room with her flashlight. “I’ll sit here. And make sure your recorder is turned on.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.” I creaked across the attic floor to the old chest and used my salty Braves cap to knock off layers of dust. “What’s that mean, again?”

Kate sighed. “Electronic voice phenomena. I see you’ve really been studying the book I gave you.”

“Oh yeah, this is where we get to talk to the spooks hanging out up here.”

Kate huffed again. “Why don’t you just go home and watch your stupid game?”

Oops. She was getting pissed. “I’m sorry. I know this stuff’s important to you. I’ll behave.”

“Thank you. Now, is your recorder turned on?”

“Roger, that.”

“Okay. Remember to talk as if you’re having a normal conversation,” Kate said. “I’ll go first.”

“Is there anybody with us here?”

No answer.

“We mean you no harm. We’d just like to communicate with you.”

I struggled to keep from laughing.

“Did you die in this hotel? Are you trapped here?”

Silence for a moment, and then Kate pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh . . . did you hear that?”

“What?”

“It sounded like a thump. Didn’t you hear it?”

“Nope.”

Kate looked disappointed. “You ask something. Maybe they’ll respond to a man’s voice.”

Some people never learn, but I couldn’t resist. I mustered up the most serious voice I could manage. “Whoooo’s winning the Braves’ game?”

Kate bounced up from the old chair. “Dang it, Mac, can’t you—”

A blood-curdling scream from below cut her off.
​
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Pokergeist     Author: Michael Phillip Cash

4/4/2017

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Picture
Sometimes life, as well as death, is about second chances. Luckless Telly Martin doesn't have a clue. An awful gambler trying to scrape by as a professional poker player, he becomes the protégé of world famous poker champion Clutch Henderson. The only catch…Clutch is a ghost. Telly and Clutch must navigate the seedy gambling underbelly of Las Vegas learning to trust each other in order to win the elusive International Series of Poker, repair their shattered personal relationships and find redemption in this life and the hereafter.

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