Guest Post: J.C. Kenney – A GENUINE FIX


Good day, book people. Over the years, TBDR has welcomed authors, publishers, fellow book bloggers, and primary characters from books as guests. Well, today I’m pleased to welcome the brother of a primary character, Luke Cobb. Luke will be helping us get to know his sister, Allie, who is featured in the Allie Cobb Mystery A Genuine Fix by J.C. Kenney. I hope you’ll enjoy learning a bit more about Allie. Please follow the blog tour to learn more about the book and author.



A Chat with Luke Cobb


Hi, everyone. I’m Luke, Allie Cobb’s older brother. You know, ever since Allie figured out who killed Thornwell Winchester, not a day goes by that someone asks me about her. What’s she really like? Is she brave or just a psycho with a death wish? And then there’s my favorite.

Is she really only five foot, one? 

Normally I tell people if they want to know something about my little sister, they should ask her themselves. I mean, she lives and works right here in Rushing Creek. The town’s not that big, so she shouldn’t be all that hard to find.

She’s kind of predictable, so if you’re ever in town and you want to track her down, start at Renee’s Used Bookstore. At times, I think Allie keeps that place in business all by herself. I guess it makes sense that she loves books since she’s a literary agent, but she buys five or six books every week. I’m lucky if I have the time to read five or six books in a year. I guess all those books she reads help make her a great agent, though. 

Just don’t tell her I said that. I don’t want her to get a big head!

If she’s not at the bookstore, you might check at Creekside Chocolates, hanging out with her buddy Diane Stapleton. Diane owns the shop. She makes some amazing chocolates, coffee, and drinks. She’s got Allie totally hooked on her hot chocolate. Which, to be honest, is pretty understandable. Diane sells the best tasting chocolate stuff I’ve ever tasted. 

Which reminds, me, I need to stop by there and get Sloane some treats. I guess it shows how small Rushing Creek is that not only is Sloane Winchester my wife, she’s also Allie’s best friend. Sloane’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met and if it wasn’t for Allie, I’d never had a chance to get to know Sloane as well as I have. Like I said, she’s pretty incredible and I’m a lucky guy to have her in my life.

But back to Allie. Since she’s single, she eats out a lot. At lunchtime, you might find her at either The Brown County Diner or Big Al’s. Allie likes to go to the diner for their seasonal pies. At Big Al’s, she usually goes for a booth in the back where she absolutely inhales one of Al’s gourmet burgers and a platter of fries.

I swear, my little sister eats like a pro football player and is still teeny tiny. It makes me a little jealous. As Director of the Rushing Creek Parks Department, I spend a fair amount of time performing manual labor, but I still have to watch what I eat. Allie, the little quirt, eats whatever she wants and doesn’t even put on a pound.  

Of course, she literally walks or rides her bike everywhere. As in, one hundred percent of the time. She doesn’t own a car. She says she never needed a car when she lived in New York City and is happy living without one now. I can’t imagine life without my truck, but it seems to work for her, so more power to her.

Oh, one last place you might find Allie. Our sister Rachel owns the Rushing Creek Public House, a restaurant on the south end of town. It’s the go-to place when Cobb family members have dinner out. Plus, Allie’s on a couple of volunteer boards in town and uses the banquet room at the Pub for meetings. The three of us kids get together for dinner there every Wednesday, so I guarantee you’ll catch her then.

Good luck catching up with her. Who knows, maybe you’ll cross paths with her when she’s out taking her cat Ursula for a walk. That’s correct, her cat. Allie is the only person I’ve ever met who has a cat that she walks like a dog. She can be so weird. 

Yeah, that’s my little sister for you. She’s one of a kind. But her eccentricities work for her, so who am I to judge? Well, I need to get back to work, but before I go, I’ll answer one question people always ask me.

Is she really only five, one? No. In fact, she’s barely five feet tall. The extra inch she claims must be vanity. Don’t tell her I said that, though. Thanks to the kickboxing she does, rumor has it she’s got a serious left hook. That’s one thing about my sister I totally believe!


****


About the Author


J.C. Kenney grew up in a household filled with books by legends Agatha Christie and Lilian Jackson Braun, among many others, so it was no surprise when he found himself writing mystery stories. When he’s not writing, you can find him following IndyCar racing or listening to music. He lives in Indianapolis with his wife, two sons, and a cat who is the inspiration for Ursula in the Allie Cobb Mysteries.


Author Links
Website – https://www.jckenney.com;
Twitter – https://twitter.com/JCKenney1;
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/JCKenney1;
Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/JCKenney;
Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/j.c.kenney/




A Genuine Fix

(An Allie Cobb Mystery)
by J.C. Kenney

About the Book



A Genuine Fix (An Allie Cobb Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
2nd in Series
Lyrical Underground (July 16, 2019)
Paperback: 194 pages
ISBN-10: 1516108604
ISBN-13: 978-1516108602
Digital ASIN: B07KDWV2RX


Murder takes a page out of a killer’s playbook when literary agent Allie Cobb becomes her Indiana town’s number-one bestselling suspect …

Running the family literary business while preparing for her best friend’s wedding, chairing a park planning committee, and getting her rescue cat to bond with her boyfriend’s golden retriever doesn’t leave Allie Cobb much time for crime-solving. But when the guy who stood her up the night of her high school senior prom is killed and dumped in a pile of mulch, Allie’s suddenly the prime suspect.

It’s insulting enough that gambler, drunk, and all-around lowlife Georgie Alonso was found on the site of the memorial park honoring Allie’s deceased father. Now she’s fighting to clear her name and hold off a rush to judgment. But politics, decades-old secrets, and a slew of high-profile suspects make dangerous bedfellows as the eve of the park’s grand opening draws nearer. She’ll have to nab a killer soon, before her storybook life gets a bad ending …


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Book Spotlight: A COLD BREW KILLING by Lena Gregory



A Cold Brew Killing (All-Day Breakfast Cafe Mystery)

by Lena Gregory

About the Book

Cozy Mystery
3rd in Series
Lyrical Underground (November 6, 2018)
Print Length Approximately 250 Pages
Digital ASIN: B079R5Y14L



When an ice cream vendor discovers a frozen stiff, Florida diner owner Gia Morelli has to serve up some just desserts . . .

Gia has become good friends with Trevor, a fun, flirtatious bachelor who owns the ice cream parlor down the street from her popular All-Day Breakfast Café. Trevor has the scoop on all sorts of local attractions and activities. But when he bursts into her diner, trembling and paler than a pint of French Vanilla, she can tell something’s very wrong. Trevor points her toward his shop then passes out cold. When Gia runs down to his shop, she discovers a chilling sight—a dead body in the open freezer. But the ice cream man’s troubles are just beginning. The police suspect him of this murder a la mode, especially when details of his questionable past surface. Gia believes in her friend and is determined to clear his name and find the real cold-blooded killer before someone else gets put on ice . . .






Lena Gregory lives in a small town on the south shore of eastern Long Island with her husband and three children.

When she was growing up, she spent many lazy afternoons on the beach, in the yard, anywhere she could find to curl up with a good book. She loves reading as much now as she did then, but she now enjoys the added pleasure of creating her own stories.

Author Links:

Website: http://www.lenagregory.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lena.gregory.986

Facebook Page:  https://www.facebook.com/Lena.Gregory.Author/?fref=ts

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/LenaGregory03

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14956514.Lena_Gregory?from_search=true

Pinterest:  https://www.pinterest.com/lenagregoryauth/

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2016 Book 442: A COLD TOMORROW by Mae Clair

A Cold Tomorrow (Point Pleasant #2) by Mae Clair 
ISBN: 9781601837813 (paperback)
ISBN: 9781601837783 (ebook)
ASIN: B01DHWAC4G (Kindle edition)
Publication date: December 20, 2016 
Publisher: Lyrical Underground 


Where secrets make their home…

Stopping to help a motorist in trouble, Katie Lynch stumbles upon a mystery as elusive as the Mothman legend that haunts her hometown of Point Pleasant, West Virginia. Could the coded message she finds herald an extraterrestrial visitor? According to locals, it wouldn’t be the first time. And what sense should she make of her young son’s sudden spate of bizarre drawings—and his claim of a late-night visitation? Determined to uncover the truth, Katie only breaks the surface when a new threat erupts. Suddenly her long-gone ex-boyfriend is back and it’s as if he’s under someone else’s control. Not only is he half-crazed, he’s intent on murder…

As a sergeant in the sheriff’s office of the famously uncanny Point Pleasant, Officer Ryan Flynn has learned to tolerate reports of puzzling paranormal events. But single mom Katie Lynch appears to be in very real danger—and somehow Ryan’s own brother, Caden, is caught up in the madness, too. What the skeptical lawman discovers astounds him—and sends him into action. For stopping whatever evil forces are at play may just keep Katie and Caden alive…



Author Mae Clair returns to Point Pleasant, West Virginia in the second book of her Point Pleasant series, A Cold Tomorrow. To some in Point Pleasant, Katie Lynch had a difficult childhood. She and her sister were raised by a single-mother that most people think enjoyed the company of men a little too much. Katie knew that her mother was a hard-working business owner and someone that always provided nutritious meals for her daughters and tried to provide all that they needed, if not wanted. When Katie’s older sister disappeared, most people assumed that she was “wild” and had run away. Now everyone knows that Wendy Lynch had been brutally murdered and buried outside of town all those years ago. Now a single mother herself, Katie is interested in providing a loving and stable home for her son, Sam, working hard at the Parrish Hotel, and growing her friendships with Eve Parrish and Sarah Sherman. Just when Katie thinks things are starting to settle down in Point Pleasant, she comes across a local conspiracy theorist in his car on the side of the road exhibiting very strange behavior. Afterward, she realizes she can’t describe the officer that came upon the scene and the name she remembers isn’t the name of any officer on any local police force. Adding to Katie’s sense of unease, her ex-boyfriend has been spotted in town and is apparently out to get Officer Flynn, and her son’s behavior is a bit strange and oddly familiar after he sees a “green cloud.” If that’s not enough, there are animals being found with strange deaths, the Mothman has been seen again, a local killer has disappeared from a closed room in a local mental facility, and a strange “man in black” is in town. What, if anything, ties these events together? Will Katie and Ryan Flynn be able to uncover the answers before something tragic occurs?

I found A Cold Tomorrow to be a fast-paced and intriguing read. If anything, Ms. Clair has raised the intrigue-quotient and paranormal-factor with this book. There’s a lot more suspense, paranormal thrills and chills, and I can’t wait for the next installment. I like that we get to see the continuing relationship between Eve and Caden, as well as watch the burgeoning relationship between Katie and Ryan. Ms. Clair has provided us with more information on the origin of the Mothman and the men in black (no, I won’t tell you any more about either, read the book!). As I’ve previously stated, as a West Virginia native I’m always on the lookout for books set in West Virginia or written by West Virginians to read and this series has provided hours of pleasure. I’ve enjoyed reading about this real town and folk legend, combined with the fictional lives and events in these stories. If you enjoy paranormal romantic-suspense (with an emphasis on the paranormal) then you’ll definitely want to read A Thousand Yesteryears and A Cold Tomorrow. If you’ve already read A Thousand Yesteryears, then I urge you to grab a copy of A Cold Tomorrow to read. My only regret with this series is that I have to wait until the Summer of 2017 for the third installment, A Desolate Hour, to find out what happens next.

Disclaimer: I received a free digital copy of this book from the publisher for review purposes via NetGalley. I was not paid, required, or otherwise obligated to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”




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Book Blast: BAD ROAD TO NOWHERE by Linda Ladd

Bad Road to Nowhere

by Linda Ladd

December 8, 2016 Book Blast



Synopsis:

Bad Road to Nowhere by Linda Ladd

Bad Memories

Not many people know their way through the bayous well enough to find Will Novak’s crumbling mansion outside New Orleans. Not that Novak wants to talk to anyone. He keeps his guns close and his guard always up.

Bad Sister

Mariah Murray is one selfish, reckless, manipulative woman, the kind Novak would never want to get tangled up with. But he can’t say no to his dead’s wife sister.

Bad Vibes

When Mariah tells him she wants to rescue a childhood friend, another Aussie girl gone conveniently missing in north Georgia, Novak can’t turn her down. She’s hiding something. But the pretty little town she’s targeted screams trouble, too. Novak knows there’s a trap waiting. But until he springs it, there’s no telling who to trust…



Book Details:


Genre: Thriller, Suspense
Published by: Lyrical Underground
Publication Date: December 6th 2016
Number of Pages: 300
ISBN: 9781601838568
Series: A Will Novak Novel, #1
Purchase Links: Amazon  | Barnes & Noble  | Goodreads 


Read an excerpt:

Will Novak swung a leg over the starboard gunwale of his sailboat, got a good firm grip on the railing, and then stretched down far enough to reach the layer of salt and brine crusted at the waterline. Novak was a big guy with big fists and big shoulders and an intimidating look to him. People usually gave him a wide berth if they didn’t know him well, and that’s the way he liked it. It was a beautiful afternoon, late September in South Louisiana, and still hot as hell.

Unseasonably so. He was shirtless, muscles straining with effort, sweat shining on his torso. His body was in peak physical condition, banded with thick, powerful muscles that he knew how to use and that he wasn’t slow to put to good use if anybody messed with him. He followed the rigid daily workout he had mastered a long time ago while in the military, and still adhered to it almost every day. He wasn’t quite as fit as when he ran special ops missions with the SEALs, but he wasn’t too far off. He liked that kind of order and rigidity and purpose in his life, especially now when little else he had meant a damn thing to him.

The Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 379 on which he labored was a sleek and powerful craft, practically new and spotless after an entire day spent scrubbing her after over a week spent at sea. She was a forty-footer that he’d had for almost three months, new out of the factory and built to his own specifications. He’d made sure that the boat was perfectly suited to him. Everything was somewhat oversized, enough to comfortably accommodate his six-feet-six-inch frame. He’d sailed her from South Carolina on the Intracoastal Waterway to his home deep in the bayous of Lafourche and Terrebonne Parishes. He’d worked hard all day making her look like new again. Everything was spotless, inside and out, his gear clean and orderly and stowed in the proper places. That kind of thing was important to him.

On the eve of September 11, he had steered his gleaming boat down the wide Bayou Bonne that edged the back side of his property and eventually sailed her out into the deep royal blue waters of the vast Gulf of Mexico. He’d spent ten full days out there, completely alone, as was his habit every year on the anniversary of that day of infamy for all Americans. He had stayed out on the rolling waves, working through the most catastrophic event in his life, a trauma that he had fought to accept daily for so many years that he no longer kept count. It didn’t matter how long it had been. Not if he lived to be a hundred. He wasn’t going to get over it. He had accepted that now. He just forced himself to live with it. Endless day after endless day.

Out there, though, completely by himself in the dark, quiet, everswaying, ever-restless sea, under untold billions of glittering stars spangled across ink-black skies, he had suffered alone and wept fresh tears for his dead family while he fished for bonito and sea bass and flounder and mourned to the depths of his soul and studiously drank himself into oblivion every single night. But that’s the way he liked it during his own personal, self-inflicted hell week, far away from every other living being on earth, alone and buffeted by ocean winds and rocking waves and the merciless sun, and most of all, the silent solitude where he could work through the grief that never left him, not for one hour, one minute, one second of conscious thought.

But now, on this sunny day, Novak was back at home, ready to live his miserable existence once more, an empty, futile objective that he never really accomplished. But that’s the way it was. Swiping his sponge a few more times down the wide blue stripe painted along the length of the white hull, he took a few extra minutes to scrub the giant silver letters naming his boat. He had called her Sweet Sarah, in memory of his dead wife. Another way to keep Sarah close when she wasn’t close and never would be again.

Once Novak was satisfied with his efforts, he hoisted himself back up and straddled the rail. He raised his face, shut his eyes, and felt the fire of the sun burn hot into his bare skin. He was already sunburned from his time out on the drink, his skin burnished a deep, warm bronze. After a few minutes, he shifted his gaze down onto the slow, rippling bayou current. It was good to be back home, good to be sober, good to be able to think clearly. He had wrestled his demons back under control, at least for the moment. He left his perch, stooped down, and pulled a cold bottle of Dixie beer from the cooler.

He twisted off the cap and took a deep draft, thirsty and tired from a full day of hard physical labor. That’s when he first heard the sound of a vehicle, coming closer, turning off the old bayou road and heading down through the swampy woods to his place.

Grimacing, annoyed as hell, not pleased about uninvited guests showing up, he lowered the beer bottle, shielded his eyes with his forearm, and peered up the long grassy field that stretched between the bayou and the ancient plantation house he’d inherited from his mother on the day he was born. He had not been expecting company today. Or any other day. He did not like company. He did not like people coming around his place, and that was putting it mildly. He was a serious loner. He liked to be invisible. Anonymous. He liked his privacy. And he was willing to protect it.

The sun broiled down, the temperature probably close to ninety, humidity hugging the bayou like a wool blanket, thick and wet and heavy. Drops of perspiration rolled down his forehead and burned into his eyes. Novak grabbed a towel and mopped the sweat off his face and chest. Then he took another long drink of the icy beer. But he kept his attention focused on the spot where his road emerged from the dense grove of giant live oaks and cypress trees and magnolias.

The sugar plantation was ancient and now defunct, but it was a huge property, none of which had ever been sold out of his family. It took a lot of his effort to keep the place even in modest repair. The mansion on the knoll above him had stood in the same spot for over two hundred years. And it looked like it, too, with most of the white paint peeled off and weathered to gray years ago.

Once upon a time, his wealthy Creole ancestors, the St. Pierre family, had sold their sugar at top price and flourished for a century and a half on the bayou plantation they’d named Bonne Terre. They had been quite the elite in Napoleonic New Orleans, he had been told. They still were quite the elite, but mostly in France now. The magnificence with which they’d endowed the place was long gone and the house in need of serious renovation. Someday, maybe. Right now, he preferred to live on his boat where it was cooler and more to his liking.

Minutes passed, and then the car appeared and proceeded slowly around the circular driveway leading to his front gallery. It was a late model Taurus, apple-red and shiny clean and glinting like a fine ruby under the blinding sunlight. Probably a New Orleans rental. He’d never seen the car before. That meant a stranger, which in Novak’s experience usually meant trouble. Few visitors found their way this far down into the bayou. Ever. That’s why he lived there.

Claire Morgan was the exception and one of the few people who knew where he lived, but he trusted her. She was a former homicide detective who’d hired him on as a partner in her new private investigation agency. But it wasn’t Claire who’d come to call today. She was still on her honeymoon with Nicholas Black, out in the Hawaiian Islands, living it up on some big estate on the island of Kauai. They’d been gone around eight weeks now, and that had given Novak plenty of time to do his own thing. Especially after what had happened on their wedding day. The three of them and a couple of other guys had gotten into a particularly hellish mess and had been lucky to make it out alive. Novak’s shoulder wound had healed up well enough, but all of them deserved some R & R. Other than Claire, though, only a handful of people knew where to find him. He didn’t give out his address, and that had served him well.

Novak wiped his sweaty palms on his faded khaki shorts and kept his gaze focused on the Taurus. Behind him, the bayou drifted along in its slow, swirling currents, rippling and splashing south toward the Gulf of Mexico. As soon as the car left his field of vision, he headed down the hatch steps into the dim, cool quarters belowdecks. At the bottom, he stretched up and reached back into the highest shelf. He pulled out his .45 caliber service weapon. A nice little Kimber 1911. Fully loaded and ready to go. The heft of it felt damn good. Back where it belonged. He checked the mag, racked a round into the chamber, and then wedged the gun down inside his back waistband. He grabbed a clean white T-shirt and pulled it over his head as he climbed back up to the stern deck. Picking up a pair of high-powered binoculars, he scanned the back gallery of his house and the wide grassy yard surrounding it.

Nothing moved. He walked down the gangplank and stepped off into the shade thrown by the covered dock. He moved past the boatlift berths but he kept his attention riveted up on the house. The long fields he’d mowed the day before stretched about a hundred yards up from the bayou. The big mansion sat at the far edge, shaded by a dozen ancient live oaks, all draped almost to the ground with long and wispy tendrils of the gray Spanish moss so prevalent in the bayou. The wide gallery encircled the first floor, on all four sides, twelve feet wide, with a twelve-feet-high ceiling. No wind now, all vestiges of the breeze gone, everything still, everything quiet. He could see the east side of the house. It was deserted. The guy in the car could be anywhere by now. He could be anybody. He could be good. He could be bad. He could be there to kill Novak. That was the most likely scenario. Novak sure as hell had plenty of enemies who wanted him dead, all over the world. Right up the highway in New Orleans, in fact. Whoever was in that Taurus, whatever they wanted, Novak wanted them inside his gun sights first before they spotted him.

Taking off toward the house, he jogged down the bank and up onto a narrow dirt path hidden by a long fencerow. Then he headed up the gradual rise, staying well behind the fence covered with climbing ivy and flowering azalea bushes. He kept his weapon out in front using both hands, finger alongside the trigger. Guys who were after him usually just wanted to put a bullet in Novak’s skull. Some had even tried their luck, but nobody had tried it on his home turf. He didn’t like that. Wasn’t too savvy on their part, either.

When he reached the backyard, he pulled up under the branches of a huge mimosa tree. He crouched down there and waited, listening. No thud of running feet. No whispered orders to spread out and find him. No nothing, except some stupid bird chirping its head off somewhere high above him. He searched the trees and found a mockingbird sitting on the carved balustrade on the second-floor gallery. Novak waited a couple more minutes. Then he ran lightly across the grass and took the wide back steps three at a time. He crossed the gallery quickly and pressed his back against the wall. He listened again and heard nothing, so he inched his way around the corner onto the west gallery and then up the side of the house to the front corner. That’s when he heard the loud clang of his century-old iron door knocker. He froze in his tracks.

Directly in front of him, a long white wicker swing swayed in a sudden gust of wind. He darted a quick look around the corner of the house. Three yards down the gallery from him, a woman stood at his front door, her right side turned to him. She was alone. She was unarmed, considering how skin-tight her skimpy outfit molded to her slim body. While he watched, she lifted the heavy door knocker and let it clang down again. Hard. Impatient. Annoyed. She was tall, maybe five feet eight or nine inches. Long black hair curled down around her shoulders. She was slender and her body was fit, all shown to advantage in her tight white Daisy Dukes and a black-and- white chevron crop top. She turned slightly, and Novak glimpsed her impressively toned and suntanned midriff and the lower curve of her breasts. She was not wearing a bra, and her legs were naked, too, shapely and also darkly tanned. White sandals with silver buckles. She looked sexy as hell but harmless.

On the other hand, Novak had known a woman or two who’d also looked sexy and harmless, but who had assassinated more men than Novak had ever thought about gunning down. Keeping his weapon down alongside his right thigh but ready, he stepped out where she could see him but also where he’d have a good shot at her, if all was not as it seemed. The woman apparently had a highly cultivated sense of awareness because she immediately spun toward him. That’s when Novak’s knees almost buckled. He went weak all over, his muscles just going slack. His heart faltered mid-beat. He stared at her, so completely stunned he could not move or speak.

Then his dead wife, the only woman he had ever loved, his beautiful Sarah, smiled at him and said in her familiar Australian accent, “How ya goin’, Will. Long time no see.”


Author Bio:



Linda Ladd is the bestselling author of over a dozen novels. Head to Head marked her exciting return to publishing with a debut thriller after almost a decade’s hiatus. Linda makes her home in Poplar Bluff, Missouri, where she is at work on her next novel. Bad Road to Nowhere is the first in a new series featuring Will Novak.


Catch Up with Linda Ladd on her Website  & on Facebook !





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This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours for Linda Ladd and Kensington Publishing Corp. There will be 5 US/CANADA winners of one (1) eBook copy of Bad Road to Nowhere by Linda Ladd. The giveaway begins on December 7th and runs through December 14th, 2016.


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Book Blast: FOR DUTY AND HONOR by Leo J. Maloney


For Duty and Honor


by Leo J. Maloney


November 22, 2016 Book Blast





Synopsis:


For Duty and Honor by Leo J. Maloney

In this action-packed novella, Black Ops veteran Leo J. Maloney delivers a heart-pounding tale as fast, cold, and sleek as a 9mm bullet…


For Duty And Honor

The unthinkable has happened to operative Dan Morgan. Captured by the Russians. Imprisoned in the Gulag. Tortured by his cruelest, most sadistic enemy. But Morgan knows that every prisoner has a past—and every rival can be used. With the most unlikely of allies, Morgan hatches a plan. To save what’s important, he must risk everything. And that’s when the stakes go sky-high. Dan Morgan’s got to keep fighting. For duty. And honor. And even certain death…




Book Details:


Genre: Thriller, Political Thriller
Published by: Kensington Books/Lyrical Underground
Publication Date: November 22nd 2016
Number of Pages: 96
ISBN: 1616509813 (ISBN13: 9781616509811)
Series: Dan Morgan #5.5

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Read an excerpt:


The prisoner’s body was a brick of exhaustion and pain.

Steel cuffs chafed against his raw wrists and ankles, the rough uniform scraping the burns and cuts that lined his arms and legs and pocked his torso. Even under the blackness of his hood, the prisoner smelled stale sweat mingled with his own breath: iron from the blood, acetone from the starvation. He could barely hold himself up against the jolting ride. All that was keeping him upright were the two thick guards at his sides boxing him in. At the outset, hours ago at the landing strip, the guards were in high spirits, joking and jesting in Russian, which the prisoner could not follow. Whenever he couldn’t hold himself up anymore and leaned into one of them or into the front seat, they would box the prisoner’s head and laugh, forcing him to sit upright again.

But as they drew nearer to their destination, and the car’s heating lost ground against the cold, the guards grew quiet, like there was something grim about the place even to them.

The prisoner swung forward as the jeep came to an abrupt stop, tires on gravel. The doors opened and the spaces on his sides cleared as the men got out, leaving him exposed to the frigid Siberian air. Against this cold, the canvas uniform felt like nothing at all.

The guards unlocked the cuffs and yanked the prisoner out. Too tired to offer any resistance, he walked along, bare feet on the freezing stony ground. Someone pulled off his cowl. He was struck by a hurricane of light that made him so dizzy that he would have vomited, if there were anything in his stomach. It took a moment for the image to stop swimming and resolve itself into the barren landscape of rock and creeping brush lit by a sun low in the sky.

The Siberian tundra.

They prodded him forward. He trudged toward the Brutalist conglomeration of buildings surrounded by tall mesh fences and barbed wire. Prison camp. Gulag. The prisoner’s trembling knee collapsed and he fell on the stony ground. A guard gave him a kick with a heavy, polished leather boot and pulled him to his feet.

They reached the top and entered the vakhta, the guardhouse. He passed through the first gate and was searched, rough hands prodding and poking at him. They then opened the second, leading him through, outside, into the yard. His gaze kept down, he saw guards’ boots, and massive furry Caucasian shepherds, each taller than a full-grown man’s waist. He didn’t look up to see the bare concrete guard towers that overlooked the terrain for miles around or at the sharpshooters that occupied them.

He was pulled inside the nearest boxy building, walls painted with chipping murals of old Soviet propaganda, apple-cheeked youngsters over fields of grain and brave soldiers of the Red Army standing against the octopus of international capitalism. On the second floor, they knocked on a wooden door.

“Postupat’.”

The guards opened the door, revealing an office with a vintage aristocratic desk. They pushed him onto the bare hardwood.

A man stood up with a creak of his chair. The prisoner watched as he approached, seeing from his vantage point only the wingtip oxfords and the hem of his pinstriped gabardine pants, walking around his desk, footsteps echoing in the concrete office.

“Amerikanskiy?”

“Da,” a guard answered.

The man crouched, studying the prisoner’s face. “You are one of General Suvorov’s, are you not?” His voice was deep and filled with gravel and a heavy Russian accent.

The prisoner didn’t respond—not that he needed to.

“You are tough, if he did not break you.” He stood, brushing off unseen dust from his suit jacket. “And if he had broken you, you would be dead already. I am Nevsky, the warden. Welcome to my prison.”




Leo J. MaloneyAuthor Bio:

Leo J. Maloney is a proud supporter of Mission K9 Rescue, http://www.missionk9rescue.org, which is dedicated to the service of retiring and retired military dogs and contract dogs and other dogs who serve. Mission K9 rescues, reunites, re-homes, rehabilitates, and repairs these hero dogs. Leo donates a portion of the proceeds from his writing to this organization. To find out more about Mission K9 Rescue, or to make your own donation, please visit www.missionk9rescue.org or go to www.k9gala.org


Catch Up with Mr. Maloney on his Author’s Website 🔗, on Author’s Twitter 🔗, and on Author’s Facebook 🔗!


** (Photo Credit Carolle Photography)



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This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours for Leo J. Maloney. There will be 1 winners of one (1) eBook copy of For Duty and Honor by Leo J. Maloney. This giveaway is limited to US & Canadian residents only. The giveaway begins on November 19th and runs through November 26th, 2016.


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2016 Book 383: A THOUSAND YESTERYEARS by Mae Clair



A Thousand Yesteryears (Point Pleasant #1) by Mae Clair 
ISBN: 9781601837806 (paperback)
ISBN: 9781601837776 (ebook)
ASIN: B0138NHJ4A (Kindle edition)
Publication date: April 26, 2016 
Publisher: Lyrical Underground


Behind a legend lies the truth…

As a child, Eve Parrish lost her father and her best friend, Maggie Flynn, in a tragic bridge collapse. Fifteen years later, she returns to Point Pleasant to settle her deceased aunt’s estate. Though much has changed about the once thriving river community, the ghost of tragedy still weighs heavily on the town, as do rumors and sightings of the Mothman, a local legend. When Eve uncovers startling information about her aunt’s death, that legend is in danger of becoming all too real…

Caden Flynn is one of the few lucky survivors of the bridge collapse but blames himself for coercing his younger sister out that night. He’s carried that guilt for fifteen years, unaware of darker currents haunting the town. It isn’t long before Eve’s arrival unravels an old secret—one that places her and Caden in the crosshairs of a deadly killer…



Point Pleasant, West Virginia was a small idyllic town on the river across from Ohio until tragedy struck before Christmas in 1967. Just weeks before, there were multiple sightings of the presumed supernatural creature known as the Mothman. After the Silver Bridge collapsed and dozens of lives were lost, many in the town felt the Mothman was a sign of the coming disaster. Eve Parrish was only a child and her entire life was turned upside down, losing her best friend and father in the collapse. After the burials, Eve’s mother quickly moved them to Pennsylvania. Eve and her mother never even returned to visit Eve’s paternal aunt or check on the status of the Parrish Hotel. Eve returns to Point Pleasant after her aunt’s death with the goal of selling the Parrish family home and the hotel. Her return coincides with new sightings of the Mothman and several murders. Her family’s home is vandalized and she’s not sure where to turn. Fortunately, her best friend’s brothers are still in town. Maggie had a crush on Caden Flynn as a child and finds herself still attracted to him as an adult. Caden resigned from the local sheriff’s department and now works as a contractor. He’s quickly hired by Eve to repair the Parrish family home. This once idyllic town is now devastated by the loss of a riverboat manufacturer and highway construction that seems to have left the town behind. Eve naturally turns to Caden to help work out what happened to her family’s home and uncover the secrets left behind by her aunt. Along the way she also uncovers Caden’s secrets. Is it possible for Eve and Caden to uncover the whole truth and past secrets, no matter where it might lead?

I found A Thousand Yesteryears to be a fast-paced read. Ms. Clair blends elements of the supernatural, paranormal, folk legend, suspense, and a bit of romance. There’s a lot more going on in this story than just the repairs to the Parrish home and a return home. There are bad guys, worse guys, and secrets people are willing to kill to protect. There’s also tons of family angst and drama with both the Parrish and Flynn families. As a West Virginia native, I’m always interested in reading stories set in West Virginia or written by West Virginians. The Mothman legend is viewed by some as the local equivalent of the Loch Ness monster and by others, as just a folk legend told to keep wary kids out of certain areas. Is there any truth to the Mothman stories? I don’t know but A Thousand Yesteryears provided a nice twist to this local legend and tied it, as many locals did, to the tragic Silver Bridge collapse. A Thousand Yesteryears is the first book in the Point Pleasant series by Ms. Clair and the second book, A Cold Tomorrow is set to release in December 2016. I’m looking forward to reading more in this series so I can find out what happens next.

Disclaimer: I received a free digital copy of this book from the publisher for review purposes. I was not paid, required, or otherwise obligated to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”





Read an excerpt:

“The phone might be on the fritz,” Eve said as she carried Doreen Sue’s glass to the sink. “I’ve been getting a lot of strange calls with screeches and clicks. I had the phone company check it out, but they couldn’t find anything wrong with the line.” Whatever their verdict, she still wasn’t convinced the odd calls weren’t the fault of an electronic malfunction.

“Screeches and clicks?” Doreen Sue paused mid-dial, pressing the receiver to her chest. “I’ve heard that happens sometimes when a family member dies.”

Eve rinsed the glass with water, then set it in the drain board to be washed later. Something cold slithered down her back. “Excuse me?”

“Your Aunt Rosie.” Doreen Sue bobbed her head as if the answer was obvious. “She might be trying to communicate with you.”

Eve started to laugh, then quelled the instinctive reaction when she noted Doreen Sue’s expression. The woman wasn’t joking.

“Spirits often try to converse through electricity and everyday instruments like TVs, lights, and phones. I know it sounds silly, but I follow all of that stuff…horoscopes, psychics, UFO theories.” A wave of her hand said she took only half of it seriously. “I’ve seen some strange things around here, especially by the TNT. I’ve never seen the Mothman, but I remember reading an article about a medium who was convinced her dead husband tried to communicate with her through phone calls. She heard things like amplifier feedback, insect noises, and strange clicks whenever she answered the phone.”

Eve felt her face drain of color. After talking to a disembodied “thing” in an igloo at the TNT, she should have no problem believing her dead aunt was reaching out to her. She’d sat in the living room only days after arriving and voiced that wish aloud. Aunt Rosie, I wish I understood what was going on. I wish there was some way you could talk to me. The phone calls had started not long afterward. Fluke or answer to her request?



Meet the author:


Mae Clair has been chasing myth, monsters, and folklore through research and reading since she was a child. In 2013 and 2015, she journeyed to West Virginia to learn more about the legendary Mothman, a creature who factors into her latest release.

Mae pens tales of mystery and suspense with a touch of romance. Married to her high school sweetheart, she lives in Pennsylvania and numbers cats, history and exploring old graveyards among her passions. 

Look for Mae on her website at MaeClair.net.

Connect with the author:   Website  |  Twitter  |  Google+  |  Facebook 




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