Book Spotlight & Guest Post! Asylum: A Mistery by Jeannette De Beauvoir

Martine LeDuc is the director of PR for the mayor's office in Montreal. When four women are found brutally murdered and shockingly posed on park benches throughout the city over several months, Martine's boss fears a PR disaster for the still busy tourist season, and Martine is now also tasked with acting as liaison between the mayor and the police department. The women were of varying ages, backgrounds and bodytypes and seemed to have nothing in common. Yet the macabre presentation of their bodies hints at a connection. Martine is paired with a young detective, Julian Fletcher, and together they dig deep into the city's and the country's past, only to uncover a dark secret dating back to the 1950s, when orphanages in Montreal and elsewhere were converted to asylums in order to gain more funding. The children were subjected to horrific experiments such as lobotomies, electroshock therapy, and psychotropic medication, and many of them died in the process. The survivors were supposedly compensated for their trauma by the government and the cases seem to have been settled. So who is bearing a grudge now, and why did these four women have to die?

Not until Martine finds herself imprisoned in the terrifying steam tunnels underneath the old asylum does she put the pieces together. And it is almost too late for her...in Jeannette de Beauvoir's Asylum.

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Why Read About Murder?

My mother was a voracious mystery reader, and it is thanks to her that I “met” many of the authors who are still among my favorites: Mary Stewart, Josephine Tey, Mignon G. Eberhart, Rex Stout, Michael Innes, and many, many more. Her side of my parents’ bedroom was always heaped up with books: books sliding onto the floor, books placed in precarious and untidy piles, books tucked under tissue boxes and bedside lamps.

And a few of them, it has to be said, had some pretty lurid covers. This was the 1960s, and it was a time of realism. Women in tight sheath dresses being menaced by suit-wearing gunmen. Blood spilling out across a bright book jacket. A frightened figure running through the woods. And I can remember, too, visiting her bedroom (in her absence, of course) and being just a little distressed that she seemed to welcome so much violence into her world.

I was reminded of that recently when I was watching a TV program with a friend—one of the death-porn shows like Criminal Minds, I think—and there was a moment of particular gruesomeness. My friend turned to me and said, “Tell me again, what it is you like about this show?”

Right. There it is. Death as entertainment. On the surface of it, we mystery readers really, really like to read about death. Suspicious deaths, orchestrated deaths, clever deaths, carefully planned deaths. What is up with that?

Not to sound too trite, but I think that part of the answer at least is that murder ups the ante. Sure, there are mysteries that are about embezzlement, stolen treasures, and missing pets; but nothing holds our attention the way a murder mystery does.

Part of it, no doubt, is the escapism it offers. After all, stolen items and runaway pets are, unhappily, part of our normal lives. You read about someone embezzling retirement funds, and you start worrying about your own. You read about someone not clicking the lock so the dog got out, and you find yourself checking your own door. But the reality is that even when someone is killed and we read about it in the papers, it’s quite different from something investigated by Miss Marple or Lord Peter Wimsey. Most murders—at least the ones we know about—are shabby affairs, not particularly clever and not particularly interesting: they have more to do with drug deals, turf wars, or robberies gone bad than they do with intricate planning and hidden motives. 

So to read about diabolical motives and careful plotting takes us somewhere we’re not likely to ever go in Real Life. And that’s one of the functions of fiction, isn’t it? To transport readers to a different world?

But there’s more to it than simple escapism: other popular genres, like science fiction and romance, do the same: they also offer a few hours’ respite from our daily stresses. No; I think I need to go back to my original thought, which was that murder ups the ante. It’s the one thing that we have in common, after all: the certainty of death—and our fear of it.

It’s a truism that being exposed in a benign way to something we fear allows us to vicariously experience—and deal with our terror of—things that go bump in the night. It explains the popularity of horror flicks … and it also contributes to our love of murder mysteries. They provide an intellectual exercise as well as giving us that frisson, that ability to dip our toes into the cold water and squeal and then go back to Real Life... even as we confront our fears of death actually ever happening to us. 

Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps reading—and writing!—murder mysteries is simply a more genteel way of tapping into the apparent need for violence that humans experience: a kinder, gentler Coliseum. It’s possible, but I don’t think so; our violence comes to us wrapped in velvet shawls and locked rooms, in perfume wafting on the air and clever sarcastic protagonists outsmarting the police. We’re intellectual voyeurs rather than sadists.

And now, as my own side of the bed has come very much to look like my mother’s, I too pick up tales of death on the high seas, death in discreet drawing-rooms, death hidden in a poison cup, and these stories lull me to sleep just as they did her. Why read about murder? It sure beats sleeping pills!

Jeannette de Beauvoir is the author of ASYLUM, available from St. Martin’s/Minotaur. Read more about her at www.JeannetteAuthor.com.

JEANNETTE DE BEAUVOIR is an award-winning author, novelist, and poet whose work has been translated into 12 languages and has appeared in 15 countries. She explores personal and moral questions through historical fiction, mysteries, and mainstream fiction. She grew up in Angers, France, but now divides her time between Cape Cod and Montréal. Read more at www.jeannetteauthor.com

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In The Spotlight! The Murder Road, A Cooper & Fry Mystery by Stephen Booth

For fans of Broadchurch, Louise Penny, and Peter Robinson comes a spellbinding new novel from internationally bestselling author Stephen Booth

Welcome to the picturesque English village of Shawhead, where there’s one road in and one road out. And on that road this morning is an abandoned vehicle…with an ominous bloodstain inside.

It’s a mystery. It could be a murder. Where—and who—is the driver? Whose blood has been discovered? Why are the people of Shawhead so hostile toward Detective Ben Cooper, sent in to take charge of the investigation?

As Cooper peels back layers of lies and exposes dark secrets to the light, he draws ever closer to a killer hiding in plain sight. Packed with atmosphere, suspense, and surprises, The Murder Road is Stephen Booth’s most unforgettable novel yet.

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A newspaper and magazine journalist for over 25 years, Stephen Booth was born in the English Pennine mill town of Burnley. He was brought up on the Lancashire coast at Blackpool, where he attended Arnold School. He began his career in journalism by editing his school magazine, and wrote his first novel at the age of 12.

After graduating from City of Birmingham Polytechnic (now Birmingham City University), Stephen moved to Manchester to train as a teacher, but escaped from the profession after a terrifying spell as a trainee teacher in a big city comprehensive school.

Starting work on his first newspaper in Wilmslow, Cheshire, in 1974, Stephen was a specialist rugby union reporter, as well as working night shifts as a sub-editor on the Daily Express and The Guardian. This was followed by periods with local newspapers in Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire. He was at various times Production Editor of the Farming Guardian magazine, Regional Secretary of the British Guild of Editors, and one of the UK’s first qualified assessors for the NVQ in Production Journalism.

Freelance work began with rugby reports for national newspapers and local radio stations. Stephen has also had articles and photographs published in a wide range of specialist magazines, from Scottish Memories to Countrylovers Magazine, from Cat World to Canal and Riverboat, and one short story broadcast on BBC radio. In 1999, his writing career changed direction when, in rapid succession, he was shortlisted for the Dundee Book Prize and the Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger competition for new writers, then won the £5,000 Lichfield Prize for his unpublished novel The Only Dead Thing, and signed a two-book contract with HarperCollins for a series of crime novels.

In 2000, Stephen’s first published novel, Black Dog, marked the arrival in print of his best known creations – two young Derbyshire police detectives, DC Ben Cooper and DS Diane Fry. Black Dog was the named by the London Evening Standard as one of the six best crime novels of the year – the only book on their list written by a British author. In the USA, it won the Barry Award for Best British Crime Novel and was nominated for an Anthony Award for Best First Mystery. The second Cooper & Fry novel, Dancing with the Virgins, was shortlisted for the UK’s top crime writing award, the Gold Dagger, and went on to win Stephen a Barry Award for the second year running.

In 2003, Detective Constable Ben Cooper was a finalist for the Sherlock Award for the Best Detective created by a British author, thanks to his exploits in the third book of the series, Blood on the Tongue. The publication of Blind to the Bones that year resulted in Stephen winning the Crime Writers’ Association’s ‘Dagger in the Library’ Award, presented to the author whose books have given readers most pleasure. The same book was nominated for the Theakston’s UK Crime Novel of the Year award in 2005. Subsequent titles have been One Last Breath, The Dead Place (both finalists for the UK Crime Novel of the Year in 2006 and 2007), Scared to Live, Dying to Sin, The Kill Call, Lost River, The Devil’s Edge, Dead and Buried and Already Dead. The 14th Cooper & Fry novel, The Corpse Bridge, was published in the UK in June 2014 and will be followed by The Murder Road in 2015. A special Ben Cooper story, Claws, was released in 2007 to launch the new ‘Crime Express’ imprint, and was re-issued in April 2011.

All the books are set in England’s beautiful and atmospheric Peak District. At the end of 2006, the Peak District National Park Authority featured locations from the Cooper & Fry series in their new Peak Experience visitors’ guides, recognising the interest in the area inspired by the books.

The Cooper & Fry series is now published by Little, Brown in the UK and by the Witness Impulse imprint of HarperCollins in the USA. In addition to publication in the US, Canada, Australia and New Zealand, translation rights in the series have so far been sold in fifteen languages – French, German, Dutch, Italian, Swedish, Danish, Finnish, Norwegian, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, Czech, Romanian, Bulgarian and Japanese.

While living on a smallholding in Yorkshire, Stephen began breeding pedigree dairy goats as a hobby (and as an extreme contrast to working in busy news rooms!). He later served on the British Goat Society’s governing body and judged at shows all over Britain. He has been chairman of several clubs, including the charity fund-raising Just Kidding Goat Society, and probably his most unusual role was as a director of an artificial insemination company. Specialist publications he’s been responsible for include a book on one of the country’s oldest goat breeds, The Toggenburg. He is a former President of the Toggenburg Breeders Society.

Stephen left journalism in 2001 to write novels full time. He and his wife Lesley live in a village in rural Nottinghamshire, England (home of Robin Hood and the Pilgrim Fathers). They have three cats.

In recent years, Stephen Booth has become a Library Champion in support of the UK’s ‘Love Libraries’ campaign, and a Reading Champion to support the National Year of Reading. He has also represented British literature at the Helsinki Book Fair in Finland, filmed a documentary for 20th Century Fox on the French detective Vidocq, taken part in online chats for World Book Day, and given talks at many conferences, conventions, libraries, bookshops and festivals around the world.

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Excerpt & Giveaway! The Tempest, Bowers and Hunter Mysteries by James Lilliefors

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James Lilliefors's unlikely detective duo, Pastor Luke Bowers and homicide investigator Amy Hunter, return in a new murder mystery set in Maryland's picturesque Tidewater County

Tourists like Susan Champlain pass through the Chesapeake Bay region every year. But when Susan pays Pastor Luke Bowers a visit, he's disturbed by what she shares with him. Her husband has a short temper, she says, and recently threatened to make her "disappear" because of a photo Susan took on her phone.

Luke is concerned enough to tip off Tidewater County's chief homicide investigator, Amy Hunter. That night, Susan's body is found at the foot of the Widow's Point bluff. Hunter soon discovers Susan left behind clues that may connect her fate to a series of killings in the Northeast, a powerful criminal enterprise, and to a missing Rembrandt masterpiece, The Storm on the Sea of Galilee.

Whoever is behind the killings has created a storm of deception and betrayal, a deliberate "tempest" designed to obscure the truth. Now Hunter and Bowers must join forces to trace the dangerous secret glimpsed in Susan's photo. But will they be the next targets on a killer's deadly agenda . . . ?

Prologue

Spring

“Miracles. What can I tell you? In a skeptical world, if a real miracle occurred, it wouldn’t even make the evening news. Who would believe it? This one, though, will be different. This one, the skeptics won’t be able to explain. People will want to see for themselves; they’ll line up around the block to have a look. That’s what we need to talk about.”

Walter Kepler watched his attorney’s own skepticism harden slightly as he waited on the details of Kepler’s plan. Jacob Weber was used to this, to Kepler’s Barnum-like enthusiasms as he introduced a new idea. Weber had precise, dark eyes, a narrow face, bristly white hair cut close to the scalp. Seen from behind, he could appear as small and fragile as a child. But he also possessed that rarest of human qualities—consistent good judgment; unerringly good, in Kepler’s estimation.

As presented, Kepler’s plan consisted of three parts: A sells a painting to B; B sells the painting to C; and C (who was Kepler) uses the painting to bring about a “miracle.” The first two parts of the plan he would handle himself, with the assistance of Nicholas Champlain and, of course, Belasco. It was for third part that he needed Jacob Weber’s help—needed his judgment, and, ultimately, his skills as a negotiator.

Kepler had been formulating versions of this plan in his head since he was a boy, trailing his father through the great art museums of the Northeast and Europe, stopping to stare at some painting or sculpture that, his father insisted, was not only an important work but also a masterpiece. With time, Kepler had learned to tell the difference, to understand why certain paintings—like certain people, and ideas—held greater intrinsic value than others. He had spent much of his adult life refining that understanding, through the storms of sudden wealth, divorce and the more mundane trials of daily living.

When he finished telling Weber his plan, Kepler turned the conversation to the painting. He watched Weber’s face flush with a new interest as he described the masterpiece that had dominated his thoughts for the past three weeks, ever since he’d ascertained that it was the real thing. The tempest. Fourteen men trapped on a boat. Each responds differently to a life-threatening storm: one trying valiantly to fix the main sail, another cowering in terror from the waves, one calmly steering the rudder. Fourteen men, fourteen reactions. Kepler imagined how his attorney would react once the waters began to churn in another several months.

Then Kepler sat back and let Jacob Weber voice his concerns. They were much as he had expected—candid, well-reasoned, occasionally surprising. Kepler managed to fend off most; those he couldn’t, he stored away.

“So what are we looking at?” his attorney asked. “When would it need to happen?”

Kepler glanced at Weber’s right hand, absently tracing the stem of the coffee cup. It was a pleasant April morning, the bay shivering with whitecaps.

“Late summer,” he said. “August, I’m thinking.”

His attorney thought about that, showing no expression. Calculating how the plan would interrupt and impact his own life, no doubt. Jacob Weber finally closed and opened his eyes. He nodded. “It’s do-able,” he said. After a thoughtful pause, he added, “Actually, I kind of like it.”

Weber’s response would have sounded lukewarm to an outsider. To Kepler, it was a hearty endorsement. In fact, he had never known Jacob Weber to be quite so enthusiastic about one of his ideas. All in all, it was a very good start.

James Lilliefors is the author of the geopolitical thriller novels The Levianthan Effect and Viral. A journalist and novelist who grew up near Washington DC, Lilliefors is also the author of three nonfiction books. He writes the Luke Bowers and Amy Hunter series for Witness.

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Cover Reveal, Excerpt & Giveaway! Redemption (Diversion #5) by Eden Winters

Rocky Ridge Books

Living is the easy part.

Agent Lucky Lucklighter and his partner escaped Mexico alive, only to plunge into bureaucratic fallout from their mission. Hell, maybe Lucky should have stayed south of the border. Especially when the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau places Bo into rehab, and Lucky’s facing both therapy and an inquiry into a fatal shooting. Watching over his shoulder for a vengeful drug lord or a cartel don calling in favors leaves him scarcely able to imagine a future for them as agents, or as a couple.

Bo Schollenberger once had a vision for their life together, but he’s bowed beneath the weight of his undercover work. Lucky’s hanging on by his deeply chewed fingernails, clinging to hope by making Bo’s dreams of a home into reality. The last thing he needs is a phone call from a dangerous man who knows too much, summoning him back to Mexico for “an early Christmas present.”

Not when the SNB brass asks tough questions, like “How well do you know your partner?”

“What’s your current credit rating?” 

Lucky didn’t often use credit. After getting out of prison to work for Walter, he’d bought his car from a police auction for cash, and lived a low-key lifestyle. Before that, Victor Mangiardi had taken care of him. A nice way to live, but other than a car stereo in his teens, he’d never made payments on anything. And he’d been Richmond Lucklighter then. He’d only been Simon Harrison for a short time, and although he’d used credit cards to make expense reporting easier when on assignment, he paid them off every month. “I’m not sure.” 

“Then let’s see.” The woman tapped on her laptop and whistled. “Mr. Harrison, I don’t think we’ll have a problem getting you the loan.”

He owed Walter one hell of a lot of those frou-frou coffee drinks from Starbucks for giving him a credit score to make a loan officer whistle. 

An hour later Lucky fought to hide a grin from a woman who’d put the Energizer Bunny to shame. “Now, I’m familiar with the house you’re considering. Offer 180. Trust me.” She winked and handed him the phone. 

He pulled a dog-eared card from his wallet and dialed. 

“Mr. Harrison?” The Realtor didn’t sound too happy to hear from him, not that he blamed her. She’d been working hard for her commission. That’s why she got commission.

“Is that house still available? The fixer-upper in the gated neighborhood?”

“Y… yes.”

“I want to make an offer.”

Now what was he gonna tell Bo?

Captivated young by story-telling, Eden Winters’ earliest memories include spinning tales for the family’s pets. Her dreams of writing professionally took a sojourn into non-fiction, with a twelve-year stint in technical documentation.

She began reading GLBT novels as a way to better understand the issues faced by a dear friend and fell in love with the M/M romance genre. During a discussion of a favorite book, a fellow aficionado said, “We could do this, you know.” Good-bye gears, motors, and other authors’ characters; hello plots and sex scenes.

Somewhat of a nomad, Eden has visited seven countries so far. She currently calls the southern US home, and many of her stories take place in the rural South. Having successfully raised two children, she now balances the day job with hiking, rafting, spoiling her grandchildren, and stalking the wily falafel or elusive tofu pad Thai at her favorite restaurants. Her musical tastes run from Ambient to Zydeco, and she’s a firm believer that life is better with fur kids and Harley Davidsons.

Find Eden’s other works at http://edenwinters.com or contact her at edenwinters@gmail.com

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Character Interview & Giveaway! Shadow Dancer by Addison Kline

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Some secrets should just stay buried. On the day Tristan Morrow is born her mother goes missing, prompting an investigation that produces no solid leads. Fast forward 15 years, and the Morrow family still doesn't know the truth behind Catherine Morrow’s disappearance. When 15 year old Tristan is required to write a biography on her mother for a school assignment, she learns the truth about her mother’s fate, and is hell-bent upon finding out who was responsible for her death. But when Tristan herself goes missing too, everyone is suspect, even her own father and boyfriend. Set in rural Fox Hollow, PA, Shadow Dancer unravels a web of lies, deceit, madness and corruption. Can investigators crack the case before Tristan meets the same fate as her mother? And who is responsible for the disappearances? There is much uncertainty as the investigation unfolds, but there is one thing that is certain: Tristan Morrow holds the master key to the entire riddle.

Here is Episode Two: JJ Meets Jack.

Good Afternoon Folks! This is JJ Penn from Elkhart Radio 104.9 and I am back on the scene in Fox Hollow and we’re going to see if Jack Morrow, the lead male character from the new mystery novel, Shadows of Morrow is willing to talk to us and answer some of our questions. It looks like he’s in the pasture over there with some of his workers tending to an injured cow. I’m just going to mozy on over there, and see what’s up.

JJ: Hello Jack… Mr. Morrow?

Jack turns from the injured sow on the ground, and gives JJ a glaring look.

Jack: Didn’t you see the sign? No trespassing! Now get gone…

JJ: Jack, I’m JJ Penn from…

Jack gives JJ an incredulous look, and he looks back at Frank who is gently stroking the cow’s side.

Jack: Hey Frank, this guy thinks I care who he is!

Frank growls in a Scottish brogue at JJ.

Frank: You better get going, boy… This is private property, and we don’t take kindly to visits from strangers.

JJ: I don’t mean no harm, but people in town….

Jack: People in town talk a lot of crap about stuff they know nothing about. Now son, I believe I asked you to leave.

JJ tried to step forward, but the path was blocked by several other cows, grazing in the pasture. They lazily chewed their grass and stared at JJ. Whenever JJ moved, the cows move closer, effectively creating a barrier between Jack and JJ. It was as if Jack had paid off his cows.

JJ: Jack, if I could just get a moment of your time!

The cows encroached further mooing loudly. One even went so far as to lick JJ’s leather jacket. JJ retreated in disgust.

JJ: It licked me!

Jack and Frank stared at JJ as if he had lost his mind.

Jack: Am I seeing things? This joker is still here.

Frank: Maybe we should find out what he wants…

Jack: I have a sick cow to deal with. Forget him. If he’s not gone in 10 seconds, I’ll have Adam release Ziggy. JJ, still listening intently heard the name Ziggy, and became more nervous.

JJ: What’s Ziggy?

Jack: Never you mind!

Frank stared at JJ who was still trying to get the licking cow away, but wasn’t having any luck as he was pinned between an old wooden fence and the herd of heifers. Frank smacked his tongue over his teeth and gave Jack a mischievous smirk.

Frank: Want me to take care of him?

JJ’s eyes bugged out of his head.

JJ: I just wanted to ask a few questions. Friendly questions!!

The cow was now licking the side of JJ’s face. JJ’s cringed in disgust. Jack looked at Frank with a serious face.

Jack: Yeah Frank. You better. I don’t want to have to release Ziggy.

JJ: No! Don’t release Ziggy! I mean, I don’t know what Ziggy is, but-

Frank started walking towards JJ. As he did the cows lazily dispersed, except for the one who had taken a liking to JJ. Frank had a menacing look on his face; his burly hands curled into massive fists. As JJ was sure that he was about to get the tar beat out of him, Frank slapped him on the back forcefully, but playfully.

Frank: We’re only messin’ with ya! We figured you were gonna come back up here. Tristan told us you was from the radio station.

JJ, eyes wide, all colored removed from his skin, stared at Frank in disbelief. His back still seared from where Frank had pummeled him. Jack, who was leaning over the beleaguered sow on the ground, was nearly in tears from laughing so hard.

Frank: What’s the matter? You can’t take a joke?!

On the horizon, JJ could see someone and something coming towards them. Frank looked behind him to see who it was.

Frank: Oy! It’s about time. Poor Oscar was seeing angels.

JJ: Oscar?

Frank: The poor beast on the ground. That be Oscar.

Tristan, who was leading an enormous pot belly pig on a leash towards her father, handed him a syringe as she looked at the cow on the ground.

Tristan- Poor Oscar….

Jack took the needle and jammed it hard into the cow’s hind quarter, causing it to groan in protest.

JJ- What did you do that for?! Is it going to die?

Frank looked at JJ as if he had lost his mind entirely.

Frank- Die?! What’s the matter with ye?! He got into the corn field again, and he’s allergic! That shot saved Oscar’s life!

Tristan and her pot belly pig approached JJ to say hello.

Tristan- JJ! Nice to see you again.

JJ nodded, not in the mood for social interaction any more after his encounter with Jack and Frank.

Tristan- This here is Ziggy. Say hi, Ziggy.

Ziggy looked up at JJ and snorted loudly. JJ thought the pig must’ve weighed more than he did; it’s belly scraped the ground as it walked, and he waddled from side to side.

Tristan- Don’t be afraid, he wouldn’t hurt a fly! He’s just old and grouchy… and probably hungry.

Suddenly, Ziggy was sniffing at JJ’s feet and digging his teeth into the laces of his suede Oxfords.

JJ- Hey!

JJ jumped up onto the old wooden fence to get away from the hungry pig who had chewed right through his laces.

JJ- Oh, no! That’s it! I’m going home. I’ll come back another day… When you’re back at the house!

Frank and Jack stared at each other as JJ ran back to his car.

Jack- I was just about to answer his questions, too.

Frank- What a feather weight.

Tristan, who was still standing with Ziggy, waved as JJ’s Subaru kicked up dirt as it sped down the road towards Cavegat Pass.

Tristan- Now look what you did, Ziggy. You scared him off… And you Daisy (talking to the cow that had taken a liking to JJ)… You nearly licked his jacket off.

Frank- Think he’ll actually come back?

Jack- Not if Ziggy and Daisy have anything to do with it.

Poor JJ! But don’t worry, he’ll be back next week, and he’ll be in the kitchen with the feisty and vivacious Bridgette Kilpatrick!

Addison Kline is an International Best-Selling Author who resides in Philadelphia with her husband, their children and their two dogs. When she is not writing, she enjoys watching reruns of Downton Abbey, The Walking Dead and Sons on Anarchy, traveling with her family and reading to her heart's content. 

Addison is a member of the International Thriller Writers Association and while she loves to write in a variety of genres, Addison always says "mystery is her game." Her favorite genres to write include romantic suspense, psychological thrillers, mystery and thrillers.

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Excerpt, Interview & Giveaway! The Minder by Catherine L. Byrne

Amazon Extasy Books

When down-on-his-luck minder Chase takes on a job for a fading gangster, the job and his charge both turn out to be very different to what he expected. Someone is trying to sabotage the mobster’s business and doesn’t care who they hurt in the process. Soon Chase finds himself on the run with his charge, trying to carry out a friend’s last wishes before their pursuers catch up with them.

They sneaked down the stairs and along the corridor like ghosts, the voices of the killers shouting in the distance. Chase went first and they reached the long, white kitchen. The spare sets of car keys were in a box by the back door so people could take or return them on the way out. He had just grabbed one when Jody clutched his arm.

“I have to go back for my phone,” he hissed.

“Really? You little—” But Jody had a point. They needed phones to communicate. “I’ll come with you. Just a sec.” He pointed the key through the window blinds at the parked cars lining the driveway by the garage and the red Ferrari 458 flashed its lights. “Nice.”

“Come on.” Jody pulled his arm again and they crept out of the kitchen towards the stairs and Jody’s bedroom. 

They reached Jody’s room and it only took him a few minutes to locate the phone and shove it in his pocket. Then Chase remembered something.

“Quick, come with me.” He steered Jody into Tony’s office, unlocked the safe, took out stacks of notes and put them in his rucksack.

“What are you doing?” Jody glared at him. “Stealing?”

Chase pushed him against the wall—no time for pleasantries. “Listen, we’ve got to go or they’ll kill us too,” he snarled in Jody’s face. “Understand? Come with me or I’ll leave you to them.”

Jody gulped and nodded, his brown eyes wide.

“Good.” Chase let him go and dragged him out of the office and down the stairs.

What talent do you wish you had but don't?

I’d like to be able to sing beautifully or dance well. And any kind of sporting or physical talent would be good, because I’m a confirmed bookworm who lives in my head all the time and can’t do anything practical.

Will technology save society or destroy it?

Probably destroy it. Stephen Hawking reckons that Artificial Intelligent will quickly kill off all humans, like in the Terminator story. I think it’s crazy to invent machines which can think for themselves and create themselves—I’m sure they’ll soon see humans as pests. So we better make the most of what time we’ve got left…

Catherine L Byrne writes stories about relationships which push buttons and provoke reactions from readers. She writes about both gay and straight relationships, depending on which characters in her books shout the loudest to have their stories told. 

An inquisitive author, she prefers writing about different situations in each book rather than writing a series about the same one—her stories range from 10th century Viking Britain, to modern educational settings and from mystery to romance. 

As she was born and bred in England and lives there with her family, this infuses her books with a distinctly English tone. She has been writing since as long as she can remember and Extasy Books have published her novels since 2014.

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Excerpt & Giveaway! Dissident, The Bellator Saga #1 by Cecilia London

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She once was important. Now she’s considered dangerous.

In a new America where almost no one can be trusted, Caroline lies unconscious in a government hospital as others decide her fate. She is a political dissident, wanted for questioning by a brutal regime that has come to power in a shockingly easy way. As she recovers from her injuries, all she has are her memories. And once she wakes up, they may not matter anymore. Dissident is a blend of romantic suspense, contemporary romance, political thriller, and speculative fiction. Told mostly in flashback, it details the budding romantic relationship between our heroine, Caroline, and Jack, the silver fox playboy who tries to win her heart. Part One of a Six Part Series. Each part is a full length novel between 60,000-120,000 words and ends in a cliffhanger. For readers 18+. This saga contains adult situations, including non-gratuitous violence, explicit (consensual) sex, psychological and physical trauma, and an oftentimes dark and gritty plot (particularly in part two).

Prologue

They had been dragging themselves through the woods for hours, with him holding the flashlight and leading the way, and her faltering through the ice and snow trying to keep his pace. They moved slowly, their injuries hindering their flight. The forest was thick and foreboding and the biting winter wind whistled through the branches in the trees, cutting them to the core. They listened for the sound of flowing water in the hope that the Allegheny River was no longer frozen over and they could follow it up to New York. 

They knew their odds were long but held out faith that despite the blustering wind and bitter cold, they could somehow find a way to Buffalo. The Canadian border. Their last, best chance at safety.

The flashlight began to flicker and the man knew that the batteries would only last them so much longer. It had been snowing earlier in the night, but the clouds had been carried away by the wind and the flashlight was supplemented by the glow of the winter moon. He turned the flashlight off and his wife tumbled into him.

“Jack, why did you do that?” It was hard for her to stay upright without her momentum to keep her going, and even harder to follow him without the artificial light.

“The flashlight’s getting low and the moon is relatively bright. We should conserve the batteries. Do you need to rest?” he asked, knowing the answer was yes.

“No,” she lied. “Let’s keep going.”

He put the flashlight in his coat pocket, feeling it bump up against the gun he had concealed there. He put his arm around her waist and hoisted her up. 

“Let’s go,” he said, as he kept his arm around her to steady her as she walked.

Their pace continued to slow until they were hardly moving at all. He could see her grimacing with every step, could hear her labored breathing, and he knew that she was much more seriously injured than she was letting on. Although he himself was in pain he did his best to keep them both going. His ankle was sprained and the weight of two people upon it was almost too much for him to bear. But they couldn’t stop.

He saw a clearing up ahead and knew they were nearing a road. But that wasn’t what they wanted. Roads meant people and people meant danger. Almost no one could be trusted. The soldiers who had run their car off the road were biding their time, waiting, until the moment was right to come after them again. 

The two of them weren’t about to make themselves easy prey by following a path trod by others. Their footsteps were not hard to trace because of the snow, but it was better than being out in the open. No, the river was their best bet, their least dangerous path north.

He turned sharply and started to steer them both away from the road, as close to a westerly direction as he could manage. He was a suburban Philly boy and could only depend on his poor instincts to guide him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“We need to find the river, Caroline. There’s a road up ahead and we have to avoid it.”

The woods grew hilly and she began to struggle. He was practically carrying her as they made their way up an incline and he knew he wouldn’t be able to support her much longer. Suddenly she broke free of him and lurched into a nearby tree, sinking to the ground.

She pulled off her earmuffs and loosened her scarf with difficulty, her back to the tree. He could tell she was in tremendous pain and knelt down in the snow beside her. 

“Sweetheart, we have to keep going,” he said.

Her face was windswept and her eyes were red. She was sweating in spite of the cold and he could practically hear her heart beating out of her chest. 

“Jack, I can’t do this. I’m too tired. I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can. We can keep going. I’ll help.”

“You can’t help. You can barely walk while you’re lugging me along.” She began to cry.

He wiped away some of her tears with his gloved hand. “We’ll stop for a minute, all right? Then we’ll start again.”

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. The tears coursed silently down her face. He let her rest, hoping that she would then tell him they could move on even though they really had no time to waste. She opened her eyes a few moments later and looked at him. His breath caught in his throat. Her brown eyes, which had once been so warm, confident, and loving, were now laced with a fear he’d never seen before. 

“You have to go,” she said. “Now.”

“We have to go,” he corrected her.

“No. You.”

“No.” He looked at her incredulously. “We.”

“You have to go, Jack. It’s the only way.”

His mind started racing. He couldn’t wrap his head around what she was suggesting. 

“No. I’m not leaving you here.”

She closed her eyes again. The wetness on her face was beginning to freeze in place. Her voice broke. 

“Tell my girls how much I love them.” She stifled a sob. “Tell them I’m sorry.”

Her children. Their children. Who were hopefully already in Canada. 

“This is absurd, Caroline. I’m not leaving you here alone. Are you insane? We’re wasting time.”

“You can move ten times faster without me. You know I’m right.”

Hot, angry tears pricked his eyes. “I’m not leaving you, sweetheart. There has to be another way.”

“This is the only way and you know it.” She took her left glove off and traced his lips with her bare fingers. “My darling. My Monty. I love you so.”

He kissed her fingers and wrapped them in his, trying to warm them. “I’m not leaving you,” he repeated.

Her voice was weak, but firm. “This is bigger than us. You have to go. Get to Canada. Share that information. Stop Santos. Don’t let all our sacrifices be for nothing.”

“I love you.” He took off his gloves and began to caress her face with his bare hands. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Listen to me. You are going to go. You are going to get to Canada. You are going to get this flash drive to people who can do something with it. Please, Jack. Please do this for me.”

He was adamant. “I am not leaving you here!”

“You are. You need to go. They will find us soon and they’ll find us even sooner if we’re moving together.” She tried to straighten up, using the tree for support. “If you don’t leave, I swear to God I will never forgive you. I mean it. There is no point in both of us getting captured or worse. Please. Do this for me.”

He kissed her forehead, still cradling her face in his hands, and the tears in his eyes spilled over. “Don’t make me do this. I can’t. I won’t leave you.”

“Go,” she whispered. “Go before they catch up with us.”

She removed the glove from her right hand and began to slip her wedding rings off her left ring finger. Her large diamond and sapphire engagement ring glistened in the moonlight. She’d thought it was gaudy when he’d first given it to her, and the media had loved speculating about how much it must have cost. But she’d grown accustomed to it. Aside from its sentimental value, it was now almost worthless in the fragile American economy. 

She fumbled through the simple task, her hands numbed by the cold. She placed the rings in Jack’s hand and wiped the tears from his face. He searched her eyes for an explanation. 

“They’re no good to me out here,” she said. “Take them. They belong to you. I don’t want those bastards to have them.” She closed her eyes and began to nod off.

Jack grabbed her chin, desperate to keep her awake. “Stay with me, Caroline. We can do this.”

“Go now.” Her voice was fading. “Be safe. Be strong.”

Jack brought his lips to hers and kissed her hard, wanting it to last, wanting to breathe life into her, to give her the strength to keep going. He gripped her rings tightly in his fist. The prongs from the engagement ring were prodding into his ice cold palm, but he was oblivious to the pain they caused. He didn’t want to break the connection between them. Caroline brought her hands up to his stocking cap, drew it off, and ran her fingers through his hair. He pulled back, his lips close to hers.

They heard a rustling in the distance and Jack turned his head, not sure of what he would find. He half hoped that a deer would come gliding through the trees but he knew that would be too good to be true. Their luck had run out too many times. Caroline squeezed his hand, the one with the rings in it. 

“Go, Jack. They’re coming. Go.”

He pressed his lips to hers again, a long, frantic kiss. She pushed him away and reached into her coat pocket, pulling out her Glock and an extra magazine. “Take these. You might need them.”

Jack dropped the rings into one of the interior pockets of his coat, and heard them clink against the box containing the flash drive he was hiding. He put the gun and magazine in his outer coat pocket and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She very clumsily put his stocking cap back on his head and stroked his face, wiping away the wetness there.

“I will always be with you,” she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her.

He took in a sharp, painful breath and put his gloves back on. The night air was freezing. “I will come back for you, Caroline. Understand? I promise I will come back. I’m not giving up. I will find someone we can trust and I will come back.”

She smiled and closed her eyes.

He heard the rustling getting closer. There was almost no way that noise was an animal. And he knew he had only one choice. 

He ran.

Cecilia is my pen name. I may or may not live in San Antonio, Texas. I've been known to apply quotes from 'The Simpsons' to everyday life. I live for baseball season.

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