Great new release! Heart of a Hero

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Matt Carrington escapes a terrorists’ prison while in the Army, but he has difficulty escaping the trappings of a demanding fiancé and his own parents. To get away to think, he meets pretty,girl-next-door Lauren Delaney, the kind of woman he desires. But his fiancé and his parents have other plans. They determine to have their way—no matter what Matt wants.

Lauren Delaney is an independent young woman who quickly befriends the soldier hero who comes to town. Knowing he has another life in Dallas, she holds a secret, too. But she pretends neither have a problem in order to have the summer with him.

During the long hot months, a hurricane almost destroys the town. Matt and Lauren work with a team to save as many residents as they can, and in the process fall deeply in love. When the danger is past, the two lovers suffer from their own lies and misunderstandings. Can they find peace and happiness without hurting others?

EXCERPT:

By eleven-thirty, Matt entered the River Café. He smiled when he saw his table with a reserved sign on it. He chuckled to himself, thinking she was going a little over-board, but it made him happy.

Lauren spotted him immediately and walked quickly to him, as though she had been waiting and feared another waitress would get to him first.

“Hello. Would a small table by the window be all right, sir?” she asked formally with the menu clutched to her chest.

Matt grinned. “I see it’s reserved for someone. Maybe I could just sit at the bar.”

“Oh, I think I can pull some strings and let you have it. The person who reserved it is so good-looking he’s probably out beating off the girls. May I seat you?”

Now, he laughed. “Yes, ma’am, pretty lady, you may,” he said in a whisper as he leaned toward her.He heard her suck in her breath a tiny bit. Maybe his nearness made her nervous, because she stumbled slightly as she turned toward the table.

“Would you like tea with lemon?” she asked with mock politeness.

He only nodded slowly at her, while he gazed into her eyes.

Lauren stared back and didn’t move for a moment.

“Be right back,” she said, but paused a beat before she walked away.

As soon as she left, a paunchy middle-aged man approached his table. “Hello, there, son. Name’s Leonard Elkins. You are Matthew Carrington, are you not?” He rocked back on the heels of his highly
polished dress shoes.

Warily, Matt studied the man in the striped dress shirt and blue pants held up by bright red suspenders. Without standing, he replied, “Yes, sir, I am.”

“May I sit for a moment while you wait for your drink?”

“Be my guest.” He didn’t want to be impolite, but he thought the man acted a little too impertinent.

“I’ll get right to the point, seeing as how I have a short lunch time today. Bonner has an Old Settler’s Day every year at the end of August. You know. Carnival, food booths, bands, and speeches. The Chamber of Commerce would like it if you would be part of our celebration and allow us to introduce you as a gen-u-ine hero. The introduction would come between...”

“Hold on, sir. I must decline. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t do speeches, or...”

“You needn’t speak,” he interrupted, “if you don’t want to. Just let ’em see you. But we’d really like a speech. It would...”

“Here’s your tea.” Lauren stood so that her back turned slightly to Mr. Elkins. She gave Matt a regretful look and walked away.

“No,” Matt said firmly but politely. “I cannot. I will not. Please understand.”

“Well, I’m just not going to take ‘no’ for an answer,” he said, as he snapped his suspenders with his thumbs. “Consider this. As I see it, you’re somewhat obligated to help us out here. We paid your salary,
you know, when you were in the U.S. Army. Look at it that way. Taxpayers pick up the tab, so we’d appreciate it if you would give us a little in re-turn. We’re not asking much, mind you, only about fifteen minutes or so of your time. I’ll give you a couple of days to think it over. You’re staying out at Eleanor Carrington’s place, aren’t you?”

Matt stood and placed a twenty on the table, retrieved his ball cap, placed it on his head, and began to walk out.

“Now, see here, young man,” Leonard called after him. “I was only being neighborly, welcoming you to town. No need to get all riled up.”

Hearing this statement, Matt turned back around and towered over the short, stocky man.

“Sir, good day,” he said in a low voice. “And don’t ask me again. The answer is ‘no.’ It will remain no until hell freezes over.”

In an attempt to keep his emotions under control, he walked as sedately as he could out the door. “Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered as he moved down the sidewalk a few feet. His lunch with Lauren as his waitress was ruined. Not only did he not get to eat, the man prevented him from speaking with her. No way could he stay in there. “Damn!” he said once more for good measure.

After- A Journey of the Twins novel

After- A Journey of the Twins novel
By Janet Durbin



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Have you ever wondered what the world would be like if something created by the government escaped? What if it was a virus, a virus so deadly it killed incredibly fast? So fast that a cure was out of the question. What would you do?

Journey with me to find out how the twins, Shyanne and Drayco, handle the outcome of just such a virus, and how the world around them seems to have fallen back in time to an era before technology, an era where the sword rules.

The twins become separated shortly after the deaths stop. Over time, they begin looking for one another when the longing for family fills them. After they find each other, they learn that someone else is looking for them, as well. The Boss wants Shyanne badly. Why—they don't know—but they're going to find out.

With their animal companion, a genetically altered mountain lion named Drizzle, the twins embark on a cross-country journey. They encounter many obstacles along the way, but the worst is a mercenary named Ruben. He will stop at nothing to accomplish what he is paid to do, even if it involves killing his own men. Unfortunately, he succeeds in getting Shyanne.

Now Drayco must survive his biggest challenge, a challenge filled with pain and suffering, if he is to help his sister survive the Boss.

EXCERPT:

It took the trio six long days to cross the vast open plains. In that time, they saw no other living being except for some birds flying high in the sky. A few glided lazily on the air currents while others accompanied the riders in shifts, as if giving them an escort. None flew close enough to replenish the dwindling food supplies.
The big animals seen at the beginning of the journey had long since gone. It appeared as if the trio and the flying escorts above were the only living things left on the planet.

Very little conversation transpired throughout most of the travel. Drayco tried on several occasions to get his sister to talk. She refused to say more than a few words, which was just as well since he wasn't in the mood to talk either. Joseph chatted on those occasions he was spoken to, but he also remained silent.

Shyanne avoided the fair-haired man for most of the journey, keeping Drayco between them, or riding ahead. On those occasions where they were forced together, like when they camped for the night, she kept mostly to herself. Drayco felt the steadily worsening effects of needing blood increase when the plains finally surrendered its hold on the world to the trees growing visible on the horizon. He had been feeling the weakness and ache for the last two days, but said nothing to the pair riding with him. They could not resolve the issue. Moreover, he had not wanted to weigh them down with any more worries than they already had.

"Finally!" Shyanne yelled when she sighted the trees. Her mood picked up substantially, as did Joseph's. Drayco wanted to share in their excitement. His body hurt too much to let him.

The waterskins hung limp from the saddles with only a few drops remaining. Because of the shortage, the horses had been rationed along with the people on them. Some kind of water must have been close because they picked up speed as the scent of the badly needed moisture reached their nostrils.

Joseph and Shyanne could barely keep their animals from breaking away. They grinned, winked at each other, and finally gave in, letting the animals run.

Drayco smiled as he watched the others bridge the gap between the open field and the trees ahead. With a slight prod, Bravaro leapt to follow. A few feet into the run, however, Drayco was hit with an intense pain in his abdominal region. It forced him to double over and grasp a handful of mane to stay in the saddle. Sweat broke out on his forehead; it ran into his eyes, causing them to sting, adding more insult to an already abused body. He grimaced as another wave more intense than the first hit him. This time, he wasn't able to stay in the saddle.

Bravaro was running at a brisk pace when Drayco's grip finally gave way. He fell sideways off the horse and hit the ground, hard. His right shoulder dislocated with the impact, and the back of his head bounced a couple of times while he rolled like a broken rag doll on the grassy plain. He vaguely noticed the new pains due to the other pain still holding him in a vice grip, refusing to give up its hold. When he finally stopped rolling, he was face down on the ground. His right shoulder was at an awkward angle and he couldn't catch
his breath.

* * * *

Shyanne made it to the edge of the woods and pulled Jack around, halting his mad dash across the open area. A wide smile covered her face; it was the first one in many days. Joseph pulled his horse up beside her, laughing. "You should see yourself. It's hilarious the way your hair is sticking out. It makes you look like a giant sunflower."

Shyanne laughed. "You should see yourself, mister." Pushing her hair down, she glanced back to see how her brother fared. Her face changed in an instant. Where joy and pleasure had glowed over every inch of her, fear and dread replaced it.

"Drayco!"

She was looking over Joseph's shoulder in the direction they had just come. He turned in the saddle and saw Bravaro running their way, riderless. A dark patch lay sprawled on the ground in the distance, half buried by the waving sea of greens and yellows. His smile faded as quickly as hers had. Shyanne spurred Jack toward her brother's still form. Joseph jerked his horse around and kicked it in the sides. At first, the animal fought, its thirst strong, but the will of the man on its back was stronger.

In seconds, they raced back to where Drayco lay.

New Release: Stage Presents

Serendipity Book 5: Stage Presents
By Brieanna Robertson



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Maxim is suffering from horrendous writer's block and has a deadline for a new novel looming ominously on the horizon. When a friend tells him she is planning on writing she and her husband's love story in script form, and then performing it as a play for his anniversary gift, he is intrigued. When she asks him to write the script, he is elated.

Nasarra takes Maxim back to the world of theatre in 1997-1998 as she tells him the detailed story of how she and her husband met and fell in love, and about what it really means to have your dreams come true. Along the way, she teaches him a little something about his own life, dreams, and falling in love all over again.


EXCERPT:

She frowned. He looked slightly familiar… Yes! Holy cow! It was the hottie who had run into her on the street earlier that week! But, that wasn't all. Something else called to Nasarra. Something deeper. Where else had she seen him before? He mesmerized her. She couldn't tear her gaze from him. It was like he was hypnotizing her with his unusual green-gold eyes and his wonderful voice. Suddenly, he stopped singing and Nasarra blinked. Two other people replaced him on the stage and she shook her head. Okay, that had been bizarre. She shook her head again and resumed her search for her purse.

For the rest of the night, Nasarra waited in anticipation for any scene that man was in. She had given up searching for her purse and had finally managed to find it at intermission lodged in the next person's seat. After making the mad race to the bathroom, she looked in her program to see who that magnificent actor was. He stared up at her in beautiful black and white, beside his character's name, Raoul Vicomte deChagny. He wore a mischievous smile and the lighting used in the photo highlighted his finely sculpted facial features. She glanced down at the name. Caleb Makepeace. She frowned. Even his name sounded familiar!

Act II seemed to fly by, and when the last song was sung, Nasarra was extremely disappointed. She had waited to see this musical for so long, and now, all too soon, it was over like some fantastic fantasy. When the performers came out to take their bows, she stood up and was quite certain that she clapped the loudest. Especially for that magnificent performer, Caleb Makepeace.

When the curtain closed and people started to file out of the theatre, Nasarra walked as slow as possible, trying to take in all of the sights and lock them away in her memory. There was no telling when she would be in a theatre like The Curran again.

It was pelting rain when she finally managed to wander her way to the door. It cloaked everything in mist and the steam from the manhole coverings on the street wisped and weaved in a slow, beguiling dance of mystery. She smiled. She had found the rain annoying the other day, but now she found it magical. It seemed to make the night complete.

She stepped outside and turned the collar of her jacket up to protect her neck from the dampness. Pivoting on her heel, she started up the street, but rammed into a person who was walking in the opposite direction with such a force that it knocked the air from her. She staggered back, trying to regain her senses, and looked up at the poor person she had just run over. Her eyes nearly bulged clear out of her skull. She had just mowed over the handsome actor with the beautiful voice! She squeezed her eyes shut in humiliation. This was great. Just great.

"Excuse me," she whispered. She stepped aside to let him by and averted her eyes to the pavement. He did the same, in the same direction, and they were right back to where they had started. She swallowed, feeling really dumb. Things just kept getting better and better. She stepped to her left; he stepped to his right. She stifled a groan. She stepped to her right; he stepped to his left.

A beautifully rich and masculine chuckle escaped the man's throat and he stepped back. "Did you want to dance?" he teased. "Is that what you're going for? You want to dance a minuet?"

Nasarra blushed. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

He flashed her a dazzling smile. "That's all right," he assured. He frowned slightly, looking her over, and some small bit of recognition came to life in his eyes. He pointed to the program she clutched to her chest. "You were at the show tonight?"

Nasarra nodded, attempting to swallow the lump in her throat.

"You were in the front row, weren't you?"

She stole a glance at him and nodded again.

He grinned. "I thought so. I always look out into the audience when I'm on stage, and I happened to glance over at you. I saw your fiery red hair and thought to myself, `that can't be the woman I ran down in the street the other day.'"

She gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah, that was a crazy day."

His grin broadened. "My name's Caleb," he said, extending his hand.

Nasarra stared at him. This was incredible. She held her hand out numbly and shook his, amazed by the power of his grip. "Nasarra." Her voice came out like the croak of a dying frog and she cleared her throat. "Nasarra," she stated.

His eyes swept over her again. "Nasarra. That's a very pretty name."

She smiled shyly. "Thank you." She braved a glance up at him and couldn't help but feel heat course through her body at his stunning smile. It was mischievous, playful, and the small dimple it created in his cheek made her heart falter.

"So, I guess we're even," he said.

She frowned.

"I ran you over. You repaid me in like kind." He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Where should we go from here?"

New Release: Single Status

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B.J. and Dana, through a stateside headquarters error, find themselves sharing a villa when they come to start up a St. Croix power plant. The job is single status, which suits them in every way.

B.J. is still smarting from the end of her ten year marriage and Dana carries hurt and guilt for the death of his wife and young son in a plane crash. When B.J. becomes the scapegoat for everything that goes wrong on the job, Dana attempts to defend her, when he is not defending himself from her mistrust. Despite their denial, the attraction between them grows.

Can the torrid Caribbean nights melt their firm resolve and the power of love overcome their fear of
commitment?

EXCERPT:

A deeply tanned man of indeterminate origin rushed in and seeing the group, came to stand in their midst. "Are you guys here with IPPS?" he inquired, and when they nodded, he went on. "Good. I'm Albert Zurow, your operations supervisor." He glanced at each of them in turn, then reached into his shirt pocket for a crumpled piece of paper. "We'll get started and hope the other plane arrives be-fore long." He nodded toward the first person to his left. "And you are?"

"Carl Evans." The man was short, had a protruding paunch and a receding hairline. B.J. guessed him to be over forty.

"Pete Marshall here." This one looked younger and in health club workout condition.

The introductions continued around the circle. "I'm Frank Kelly." Only three words but said in a tone of self-importance that was irksome.

"Yancy Webb." Adjusting his glasses, he straightened his lanky frame.

"Next, please." Albert Zurow looked impatiently at the man to his immediate right.

"Oh, sorry. Dana Thomas." Tall, dark and handsome, and he was probably well aware of it, B.J. observed
silently.

Zurow consulted his list. "Sutherland's plane must be late. I'll just—"

"I'm here." B.J. took a reluctant step toward the group. Six heads turned at the sound of B.J.'s voice. Six pairs of eyes stared in silence. Then Zurow recovered enough to speak.

"You're a woman," he said accusingly.

"Well, so I am." She gave the astonished man a wry smile and waited expectantly.

"There must have been some mix-up at the stateside headquarters. Nobody mentioned this, and the resumes haven't been received yet so—"

"Is there some restriction against female employees here?" B.J. asked with a delicate lift of one eyebrow.

Zurow blanched as though he envisioned an army of feminists already marching in picket lines around the plant site. "No. No, of course not. ChemCorp is an equal opportunity employer. It's just that we have arranged for the men, uh, employees to share housing and transportation in pairs. We've already leased every available villa in the area and now…" He looked at B.J. and shrugged.

"I have no problem with this," she told him calmly.

"I don't have a problem with it either," Carl Evans commented with a worried frown, "but I think my wife would."

"Anyone else here married?" Zurow asked.

"Guilty." Yancy Webb shook his head regretfully.

Zurow cleared his throat and looked back toward the circle of men surrounding him. "Each villa has two bedrooms," he said in a placating tone, "so only the bath would be jointly shared."

"We could draw straws." Frank Kelly smirked as he looked at the other two men.

"Or somebody could volunteer," Pete Marshall said with a meaningful look at Kelly.

"We're assigning pairs to alternate shifts," Zurow continued after an awkward silence, "so there would be plenty of privacy." He looked from one man to the other, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Come on, fellas," B.J. chided, "this is the twenty-first century. I don't have anything contagious. I won't hang pantyhose in the shower. Actually, I don't even wear pantyhose. And I promise not to make a pass at whoever is brave enough to share quarters with me."

Kelly rolled his eyes, and Marshall nudged him. "Want to flip for it?"

Dana looked from the two men to the woman who stood waiting in her neatly creased tan slacks and white tailored shirt. Her hair was the color of ripe wheat, and she wore it in a short, boyish cut which made it hard to miss the bright splotches of color on her high cheek bones. She was obviously embarrassed by the situation but determinedly holding her ground and keeping it light. At the rate things were going they'd still be here tonight arguing about who had to make the supreme sacrifice of bunking with a good-looking
woman. If he solved the problem, they could move on to the business of settling in.

"I'll do it."

Six pairs of eyes turned toward him, four registering surprise and the other two gratitude. Dana felt himself turn red as he reached down and picked up his briefcase. "So let's get on with it."

She could be his greatest downfall...or his greatest treasure

Amaranth of the Wild Things
by Brieanna Robertson



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He was hewn from cruelty and violence.

He felt nothing, he was nothing. He was wild, untamed, a shadow, a hand of death, a law unto himself. He had never known love. He had never felt love.

Except…

For the amaranth flower. Perfect, undying, beautiful. The only soft thing in his hardened world. The only thing he had ever held in reverence, and the only thing to ever offer him solace.

He had never faltered in his assignments. His hand had never wavered. But that was before he'd been ordered to kidnap her. A woman of unique disposition, undaunted in the face of her adversity. A woman bearing the same name as the immortal flower he so cherished.

She could be his greatest downfall…or his greatest treasure.

EXCERPT:

An owl hooted outside, it's call low and mournful. For some reason, that made her shiver also.She frowned, wondering where her jitters were coming from. She hadn't been scared of the dark since she'd
been five, and she usually found the sounds of the night calming and peaceful. She shook her head. She was probably just on edge because of her worrisome thoughts. It would do her well to get a good night's
rest.

Turning away from her vanity mirror, she moved toward her bed, but stopped with a gasp when she saw a shadow pass across her window. Her heart stuttered in her chest, then thumped hard against her rib cage. She blinked and kept her eyes on the window for several seconds. No other movement came.

She debated on her course of action and knew she should leave her room to go find a servant or a guard, but she was no cowering child. Besides, she didn't even know if she had actually seen anything at
all. She was exhausted and there was a very good possibility that that, coupled with all the worrying she had been doing all day, had made her eyes play tricks on her.

Taking a quick glance around her room, she snatched up a heavy, silver candlestick. It wasn't the best weapon, but it was better than nothing. Clutching it tightly in her hand, she approached her window, which lead out onto a balcony.

Tentatively, she poked her head out and scanned the area. Nothing.

She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out onto the balcony,letting her eyes gaze across the moonlit gardens of the castle. She smiled and turned to go back inside, but in-stead of finding the open window
granting her access into her chambers, she bumped into a solid object that caused her to gasp and stagger backwards.

She grasped the candlestick tight and raised it, ready to swing away, but her hand stopped in mid-air as
her eyes fell upon the face of the stranger before her.

He was very tall and dressed all in black, almost as if the night itself was cloaking him, and his face… It was wicked. Demonic almost in its darkness with green eyes that seared her…like jade fire. His black hair framed a face harshly and cruelly beautiful and shivers broke out all over her body. Shivers of fear.

The menace that radiated off of him was almost nauseating in its intensity and her shock abated into horror. Something clicked back into place in her mind and she swung her arm at him in an attempt to hit him with her weapon.

He shackled her wrist easily with his own large, gloved hand, and he squeezed until she was forced to drop the candlestick. It fell to the ground with an echoing thump. His burning eyes never left her face,
causing her heart to hammer in fear as his sculpted lips broke into a malevolent sneer. He stepped up close to her, trapping her with his presence alone, and she felt a scream boil up her throat. She opened
her mouth to release it, but no sound emerged.

He grasped the back of her head and pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth, restricting her air supply and replacing it with something noxious, something that made her stomach turn and her vision go blurry.

She squeezed her eyes shut, vaguely aware of the fact that she was fighting against him, not that it did any amount of good. The stranger was as solid and unmovable as an oak tree. Slowly, her consciousness slipped into dim confusion. Then…darkness…

Who would hurt the good doctor?

Find out in Lethal Dreams by Anne Patrick




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Dr. Erin Jacobs is making a name for herself in the sports world. Drawing on her own life
experiences, she encourages and inspires athletes to recover from career ending injuries. So why would someone want to hurt the good doctor?

Detective Logan Sinclair is determined to find that answer. He's been mesmerized by Erin from the moment she found him and his partner shot in an alleyway. Since that night their lives have never been the same. Will Logan be able to solve the puzzle of who wants Erin out of the way before it's too late? And if so, what impact will those answers have on their lives?

EXCERPT:

Erin was within a few blocks of Safe Harbor Homeless Shelter when the first drops of rain began to fall. She inhaled the delicious scent and blinked as droplets peppered her face. She loved thunderstorms. Shifting gears, she started down the hill, figuring to take the alley as a shortcut.

Two loud pops echoed from the surrounding buildings.

Gunshots!

They sounded close, but in the maze of tall buildings, she couldn't tell what direction they'd come from. She slowed down in order to make the left turn into the alleyway and heard the squeal of tires coming from the alley to her right.

A pair of headlights sped toward her.

She hit the brakes hard, hoping to avoid a collision. Aw man, this is going to hurt.
The bike skidded on the wet pavement and she leaned sideways to lay it down. She winced as her left side made contact with the concrete, gravel and dirt penetrating the tender skin of her thigh and forearm.

The black SUV crossed underneath the streetlight. The driver looked down at her and his dark eyes widened. Both irritated and angry, she stared at the guy. "Jerk," she hollered as the SUV sped away.

A second pair of headlights in the alley caught her attention. The car was just sitting there. Its
passenger door opened. She immediately recalled the gunshots just prior to the SUV exiting the alley.

Oh no!

Erin jerked her backpack off and ran to the car. She spotted the passenger on the ground, saw a leg move, then looked at the driver who was completely still. Going for the driver, she jerked open the door and froze at the sight of the gun and badge pinned to his belt.

Cops.

Erin stared at the crimson stain spreading across his chest. A wave of nausea washed over her. She shook off the reaction and checked for a pulse with one hand while unbuttoning his shirt with the other. He had a chest wound, but his pulse was strong.
She got on the car radio, gave their location, and reported officers down and in need of immediate medical attention. She then gave a description of the SUV and driver.

"Can you repeat the description, ma'am?" the female dispatcher asked.

"Early to mid-twenties, tall, stocky build…athletic, black hair, mustache, black t-shirt, diamond stud in his left ear. There was a passenger, but I couldn't see them. I don't know if it was a male or female."

"Can I get your name, please?"

"Addison," a male voice spoke from the other side of the car.

Erin hung up. The voice sounded weak. She ran around to the passenger side of the car. He'd
managed to sit up and was leaning against the front wheel. She opened his shirt. He had a bad
shoulder wound, but would live. "Sir, I need you to lie back down."

"My partner, is he…"

"He's going to be fine. So are you." She looked around for something she could use to elevate his feet. She spotted a wooden crate near a dumpster and dragged it over. With her arms wrapped around him, she eased him back down, then lifted his legs onto the crate. He started to stir again. "Please, you must lay still." Grabbing the keys from the ignition, she went to search the trunk for a first aid kit and blanket.

***

Logan drifted in and out of consciousness. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. He never imagined getting shot would hurt this bad.

"It's not a serious wound. You…you're going to be fine."

He looked up at his rescuer. Moments ago, she'd sounded so calm and collected as she'd given a
detailed description of the driver over his police radio. She was far from that now. Even her hands shook as she applied pressure to his wound. Though she avoided looking at him, he had seen the tears glistening in her eyes.

She had a gentle touch, soothing even. And she was beautiful. The rain had drenched her green
scrubs, and her dark, shoulder-length hair was matted to the sides of her face and neck. She was wearing credentials. The photo ID turned so that only Mercy General Hospital could be seen. "Are you a nurse?"

"No."

He heard sirens drawing near. "A doctor?"

She started to stand, but he tightened his grip on her hand. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry. I've gotta go." The words seemed ripped from her lips. As if she had no choice.

Logan watched her run awkwardly the length of the alley. She was hurt. Had she been shot too? She stooped over, picked up a backpack, then slipped it over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed. He saw a bike lying on its side. Relief swept over him. She hadn't been shot, only wrecked her bike. He recalled the description she'd given of the shooter—so much detail. If she'd gotten that good a look at the shooters, then they had gotten an even better look at her. As he watched her disappear into the darkness, he prayed the Lord would watch over her until he was back on his feet and could find out who she was.

New Release: Crossed Lines

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*Warnings: Graphic violence and sexual content*

Baby Jane should have been just another statistic in the annals of New Orleans history, but the infant survived abandonment. A few years later she should have been a basket case after years of sexual abuse at the hands of a foster father, but she found a way to get free of him without losing her sanity.

Or did she?

Set in the charming hospitality of northern Mississippi, CROSSED LINES is a most inhospitable story of seduction, mystery, and revenge.

EXCERPT:

Jane had paced the floor for almost an hour waiting for her husband to return. When he finally arrived, she said nothing at all, but stomped into the kitchen and dished out his food. He avoided looking her in the eye as they ate in silence.

He attempted small talk several times, but each effort sputtered into nothingness when she glared silently at him. Finally, after dessert, he got up his courage and asked, “Janie, why are you being so hostile?”

“Hostile? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Little ol’ me, hostile? I think not.” She cleared her throat. “Why should I be hostile? Just because you were an hour late for dinner and came home with the overpowering smell of some female on your clothes? Why, indeed?” Her dark eyes were smoldering embers.

He blushed, avoiding her cold stare. “Smell of some female?” He sniffed his shirtsleeve. “Oh, that. That’s no female; that’s, uh, Samantha.”

“No female? Samantha’s about as female as any female ever I saw.”

“Uh—I mean, well, I got me some help with my homework, Janie. Sam was still at school and offered to help me grade papers. She always wears a lot of perfume. I guess I didn’t notice it on me.”

“I guess not. Dogs usually don’t sense the smell of the bitch they’re laying with.”

He stiffened. “Hold on there, darling. Don’t you go accusing me of improprieties with Sam.”

“I didn’t accuse you of anything, sugar. I was simply using a metaphor, one that you use regularly, if my memory serves me correctly.”

When he didn’t rise to the bait, she smiled coldly, adding, “So now you’re calling her Sam?”

“Sam’s her pen name. Sam Lowes.”

As he turned to go to the drawing room, she remarked, “Oh, I almost forgot. I have a new student writer. Remember the inquiry I received last spring? That Martin Spieller fellow from Memphis? I got his bio sheet and cover letter today. Nice-looking young man from his picture, maybe twenty-five. Do you suppose maybe he’d like to come down and visit, maybe help take care of my personal needs around the house while you’re busy grading papers with Miss America?”

“Now I know you’re teasing me.” He smiled, but looked down as his expression wavered.

“Surely I am, sure as the world. Don’t need any help around here. Lord knows it’d be too bad if I did.”

Like a switch being flipped, he turned on the charm. “Janie, speaking of help, don’t suppose you’d reconsider sending my new manuscript to your editor? I wish you’d help me even half as much as those so-called students of yours.”

“Sorry, John. You know my feelings on that subject. If you’d listen to me and do some rewriting, maybe a little editing, I might be inclined to help. But your epoch, what’s it called, ‘Tale of Two Tarts’, needs way too much work. I can’t risk turning my editor off just because you won’t pay attention to my advice.”

He slammed his fist on the table. “That’s just fine! Help a damn stranger, some kid who needs a mama to clean his nose. But don’t help me. That sure is a hell of a way to treat your loving husband.”

“John Rivers! Don’t you dare go shoutin’ and swearin’ at me!”

“I need some fresh air!” He turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him. A moment later, she heard the station wagon as he spun out of the drive and onto the road.

~~~

Sam heard the knock on her door as she was headed for a glass of wine. John was standing there when she looked out the tiny peephole. She swung the door wide open.

“John, what a pleasant surprise. Did you leave something behind?”

“No.” He hesitated, then uttered in a hoarse voice, “Well, in a way, I did. Yes, darling, I surely did!”

Without another word, he pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely on the lips. She accepted his kiss passively for a moment, letting him set the pace. Then, she melted into his passion with her own as her arms folded around his shoulders. She opened her lips to accept his exploring tongue, meeting and dominating it with hers.

After several seconds, she pushed him away and he watched her emerald eyes sparkle. “John Rivers! My goodness, you surely do have a way of sweeping a girl off her feet! What in the world’s got into you?” She stepped back to let him into the room.

“I think you know, Samantha, but I need you to tell me one thing. If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize and leave. This evening, when you were in the bedroom changing clothes, did you leave that door open on purpose so I’d see you naked?”

She feigned a surprised look. “John? Indeed! Why would a lady do something like that? With a married man, of all things.”

Her eyes teased him as she spoke, confirming that he was right. “Sam, damn it! Don’t toy with me. Tell me the truth. Did you want me to come back here tonight?”

“Yes, John. I truly hoped you’d come back.”

As she spoke, she opened her arms for him again. Beyond words, he pulled her close and kissed her. His lower body responded instantly, pressing the growing intensity of his passion against her body. As their hands began mutual exploration, she unzipped his trousers and reached in to expose the part of him she was most interested in.

“Oh goody! You really are long, John! I just love a long, tall man, don’t you know? Are you going to be my Long John lover?”

He only grunted, releasing her long enough to pull her sweatshirt over her head and toss it aside. Like a kid in a candy store, he sampled her charms, treat after treat. Time slipped by as they advanced, retreated, parried and thrust into a soaring cataclysmic cadence of lust. On the floor, on the sofa—on the kitchen table.

Next verse, same as the first.

He went home late, well sated and unabashed, resplendent in the smell of his female. But he was no fool. John slept on the sofa—the one Jane had made up for him after his hateful exit.

A practice that would soon become a daily habit.