Saturday, June 4, 2016

#BookBoost with AAMBC


About The Book:

The Yield (Book I) The Rest of the Story (Book II) is about black male/female relationships and the people involved in these relationships. It is about joy and heartbreak. It allows numerous glimpses into the private lives of the courageous people who were willing to share their stories with the author.

The Yield is written in two parts, Book I and Book II. Book I sets forth the initial scenario; Book II: The Rest of the Story, details the corresponding resolution of each of the initial scenarios introduced in Book I.

It is a nonfiction writing though names and places have been fictionalized to protect the privacy of the real people to whom the stories belong. Many of these people have suffered intense pain; some of them are still hurting. For their pain, for their bravery, for their willingness to share their private lives, it is the author’s hope, as well as the hope of the individuals who have shared their stories, that many others will be able to avoid the pitfalls and ensuing devastation.

There are two ways to read the book: the traditional way from beginning to end, following the sequence of pages in numerical order, or you may prefer to move between the scenarios, reading the initial scenario in Book I and then its corresponding resolution in Book II. However you prefer please read it. You will be enlightened! You won’t be disappointed!

Excerpt

The Black man’s family has a need to believe in his integrity, a need to feel that what they think of him is important to him! His family has a need as well as a desire to trust him and to feel that he is worthy of their trust. And the Black Man has a need to believe that this is so. He needs to be cognizant of the fact that he is the only one who can assure his family that they have his love, loyalty, and support, that there is no reason why they cannot trust him. When he behaves as if this is not so, the family structure is weakened. When the head of the family fails to lead in a way which his sons and daughters can emulate, in a way which his wife can respect, future generations are threatened. This is so because children learn what they live, and they live what they are allowed to experience.

The constant lying, the constant game-playing, the constant need to evade, the constant cheating which is normal behavior for far too many Black men, are behaviors which many of them observed in their fathers, uncles, and other dominant male role models in their lives. This destructive cycle can be broken only by the Black man. If his sons are to be free of the psychological garbage which accumulates in a climate where these behaviors are observed and accepted as normal, masculine behaviors, then the choice is a foregone conclusion: the Black man must choose not to engage in these behaviors. This is not an option if the Black race, the Black family, is to survive! 

You see, the Black family’s survival is threatened when Black men father children for whom they feel no responsibility, nor assume any. It is threatened when children are born to women to whom these children’s fathers feel no allegiance. It is threatened when the birth of a child does not assist to cement an already solid, marital relationship. It is threatened when Black boys enter manhood with misplaced or warped ideas of what it means to be a man! The Black family is threatened when children are being born, but their births are no longer considered, “A family affair.” If the Black race, the Black family is to survive, the refrain must not be, that's just my baby's daddy. It must be instead, this is my beloved husband, the father of our beloved child!


GET TO KNOW DR. JOY WILLARD TEAL


Dr. Joyce Willard Teal is a retired educator.

She began writing professionally in 1995 and has written numerous books and several award-winning poems.

She is host of “The Teal Appeal,” an internet radio talk show on KEBN Radio which airs at 10 a.m. CST on Saturday mornings weekly.

She is a sought-after motivational speaker and workshop leader and was named “2012Woman of the Year” by the members of Upsilon Nu Zeta, the chapter of Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Inc., her sorority. The chapter’s scholarship has been named in her honor, the Dr. Joyce Willard Teal’s Scholarship.

Her latest honor was selection as an honoree for the 2015 African American Educators’ Hall of Fame.  She and her husband reside in Dallas, Texas. 

What was your inspiration for writing this book? 

I was inspired to write this book by the thousands of children with whom I had contact in the classroom during more than 20 years as a public school teacher. Many of them were saddened by little or no contact with their fathers. Some of them didn’t even know who their fathers were. I also got inspiration from the mothers and/or guardians of these children who were doing their best, in many instances, to rear their children without the benefit of having the children’s fathers have an active role in their lives.

What are some challenges you faced when writing this book?

Although many parents shared their stories with me when confronted with why their children were absent repeatedly, why they were acting out in the classroom, etc., most of them were unwilling to allow me to share their stories in the book. I had to convince some of them that sharing their stories could benefit other women in the same or similar situations.

How can book clubs use this book?

Book clubs interested in reading books that engender dialogue regarding relationships can use this book to generate discussions regarding male/female relationships, and though the book spotlights black relationships, any group that would like to discuss specific situations that serve to break-up families can benefit from the contents of “The Yield.”

How can fathers be enlightened by this book? 

The scenarios in this book can serve to make fathers aware of just how important they are and the significant roles they play in assuring that their children are given the best advantages so far as growing up, staying on track and becoming successful adults who become contributing members of society.  In chapter 6, there is a scenario, “Eunice and Eugene, the Weekend Alcoholic.” This scenario highlights the impact that a father’s alcoholism can have upon his family. 

What can a father learn from reading this scenario and its corresponding resolution in “The Rest of the Story?” 

This segment can serve to create awareness within those men (and women also) who drink too heavily of how their drinking impacts their children and how it influences the atmosphere in their homes.

What is the predominant message you want this book to convey to readers? 

It is my hope that readers will walk away from this reading experience with the firm realization that we make our own choices and that the choices that we make frequently dictate the outcomes for us.

What’s the overall theme? 

The overall theme is to showcase the various and numerous scenarios that couples deal with in their everyday lives and to create awareness within men that the physical and mental well-being of their families should be their priority.

Find the Author and the Book:


Website:  www.untealthen.com

On Amazon and Barnes & Noble



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About the Book

Grief strikes everyone differently, for Pete it struck him to the core. After his beloved wife Moriah was tragically killed in a car accident, the driver and his entire ethnicity become the target of Pete's wrath. 

When Pete buried his wife, all love, compassion, empathy, joy, he ever possessed, was buried along with her. Family tries to bring him out of his grief, but his stubbornness allows it to keep a chokehold on his life. 

Carlisha, the young black, orphaned woman that Moriah had welcomed into her heart and their home as a part of their family, is now a bullseye for Pete's grief. But despite his now callous attitude toward her, Carlisha still sees Pete as the man that once was a father figure in her life. 

Tragedy strikes yet again, and a budding romance and a series of deceptions leave Pete questioning the target of his wrath. Soon Carlisha is forced to accept her life as an orphan yet again after the man she loves turns his back on her when she needs him the most. And love Pete never thought would resonate in his heart again blossoms in more ways than one as he fights for someone that represents the very race that he has come to hate.


Excerpt:

Chapter 1

The knocking on the door interrupted Pete from his Sunday morning routine of coffee, sports news on TV and reading The Washington Post. He sucked his teeth in frustration and stood up effortlessly, which was great for his forty-eight year old body, which he refused to put any extra effort in keeping in shape. He stood tall at six feet.

Pete walked over to the front door, already knowing who was behind it before he opened it. He cussed under his breath. Part of him really wanted to ignore the knocking on the door and pretend like he wasn’t home. But he was sure if he didn’t answer now, she would be back later, no doubt. He unlocked and slowly opened the door, not even trying to mask the look of irritation on his face.

“Good morning Uncle Pete, I came to see if you would like to go to church with me today,” Rachel said, beaming. Her bright smile and flowing golden-blonde hair almost overshadowed the early morning sun shining down on the front porch.

“I don’t know why you insist on coming here every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening pestering me about some damn church,” Pete howled. “You know good and goddamn well that I’m not going. Yes I said goddamn, is that blasphemy like you call it? Well I don’t care!” Pete turned and walked away from the door and left Rachel standing on the porch.

Rachel walked in the house and closed the door behind her, she wasn’t the least bit fazed by her Uncle’s abrasive attitude. She’d been coming to visit him faithfully every week for almost a year since her Aunt Moriah was killed in a car accident. She felt it was now her responsibility to check up on him, but more importantly to continue praying for him because when his wife died he had turned into a completely different person.

“What the hell! When did my neighborhood get filled up with all these niggers!?” Pete yelled when he looked out the bay window and noticed a young Black couple walking their dog.

“Uncle Pete! How dare you? That is offensive, rude and not Christ-like.”

“Well, I’m offensive, rude and not Christ-like, so I can say whatever the hell I want,” Pete defended. “I’ve been living here for ten years and never have I seen so many black people. Did they all win the lotto or get rich picking cotton?” Pete mocked, he took a seat back on the couch.

“How dare you talk like that? Aunt Moriah is probably rolling around in her grave.” Rachel took a seat in the armchair across from her uncle.

“Well she wouldn’t be there if a nigger hadn’t crashed into her car,” Pete snapped.

“That was an accident. The driver of the other vehicle had a heart attack behind the wheel. You shouldn’t be blaming anyone for what happened. Two lives were lost that day,” Rachel reasoned. “And calling black people the N word is not right. You need to pray and ask God to heal your heart. You shouldn’t lash out because of Aunt Moriah’s death like that. And you can’t blame every black person for what happened.”

Pete took a sip of his coffee and ignored everything Rachel just said. All he knew was a black man was driving the car that crashed into his wife, whether he had a heart attack or not, he still caused the death of the love of his life. That bastard was drunk; I still don’t believe he had a heart attack! Now he was left with no wife, no kids and only a pestering niece that insisted on bothering him every freaking week about going to her damn church. He considered going to church with her; maybe that would get her off his back.

“I can do and say whatever the hell I want! This is my house!” He spat.

“I bet you wouldn’t say the N word in public because you know it’s wrong. So you shouldn’t say it in private either!”

Pete sucked his teeth loudly. Out of respect for his niece and the kind heart of his beloved dead wife, he held back saying a few cuss words to Rachel. Rachel’s father was his dearly departed wife Moriah’s brother and as much as it pained him to have to deal with Rachel pestering him to go to church every week, he was happy to have Moriah’s family around, it helped him deal with some of the pain of losing his wife so soon and so unfairly. If the driver of that car hadn’t died in the accident he probably would’ve killed the man himself for killing his wife.

Pete would never forget the phone call he received telling him about the accident. Moriah had left their office at Minute Print, the small printing company they operated together to make a deposit at the bank that evening. She was on her way back to the office when the accident happened. The driver that had the heart attack, or drunk driver, veered into her lane hitting her head on. She died instantly. Pete’s whole world turned gray that day. He wanted to die with his wife. Then his anger shifted to every black man that reminded him of the man that hit his wife’s car. Then he just began to despise the sight of any black person that would remind him of the black man that took his wife’s life. Even Pete was surprised at how quickly his anger for the black race grew, but he then began to not care because the fact still remained that his love, his queen, his life, the woman he wanted to have children with, the woman he wanted to grow old with was gone and she was never coming back.

“Rachel – why do you insist on bothering me every Sunday? Get the hint, I am not interested in going to church.” Pete took another sip of his coffee and went back to reading his newspaper.

“Uncle Pete, you know Aunt Moriah loved going to church, she sang in the choir. I’m sure she doesn’t want you not to go anymore.”

“Moriah’s not here, Rachel. And every day I am painfully reminded of that, especially when I look out my own window and see all those black people taking over my neighborhood. You ever thought that maybe I don’t like to go to church anymore is because it reminds me too much of her? When the choir goes up to sing, I still try to find her in the group, but then I remember, yet again, that she’s gone.” Pete pushed down the emotion to cry with the memory of his wife. It was a couple weeks shy of a year since her death, but to Pete, sometimes it still felt like it just happened yesterday.

“I’m sorry, I never thought about it like that.” Rachel was sincere. “Well, will you at least be coming over for dinner later?”

Pete wanted to say no right away, but figured it would be good for him to get a home cooked meal. “What time is it?”

“Four.”

“Alright, I will come over for dinner,” he conceded.

Rachel got up and gave her uncle a quick hug. “Thanks! And don’t be late. I’ll see you later.” She turned and walked toward the door.

“I said I’ll be there all right – I’ll be there on time,” Pete answered, relieved that she was leaving.

“Okay!”


Author, Khara Campbell


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Twitter @KharaCampbell

Instram @KharaCampbell







Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet/Review

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Friday, June 3, 2016

#Book #Blitz. . . The Drago Tree

COMIN' AT'CHA
Proudly Presents. . .A Book Blitz
Featuring Author, Isobel Blackthorn



The Drago Tree
By Isobel Blackthorn
Genre: Contemporary, Literary, Romance

"Haunted by demons past and present, geologist Ann Salter seeks sanctuary on the exotic island of Lanzarote. There she meets charismatic author Richard Parry and indigenous potter Domingo, and together they explore the island. 

Ann's encounters with the island's hidden treasures becomes a journey deep inside herself as she struggles to understand who she was, who she is, and who she wants to be. 

Set against a panoramic backdrop of dramatic island landscapes and Spanish colonial history, The Drago Tree is an intriguing tale of betrayal, conquest and love in all its forms."

Author of The Honey Thief, Robert Hillman says, “This beautifully constructed novel reveals the complexity we invite into our lives when we open our hearts to passion.” 





Author Bio 


Born in London, Isobel Blackthorn has lived in England, Australia, the Canary Islands and Spain. She has a PhD in the occult. She's been a teacher and market trader, and she now works as a publicist. She lives in rural New South Wales, Australia, where she follows her passions for social justice, books and art. Her highly praised first novel, Asylum, was released by Odyssey Books in May 2015. Her next workA Perfect Square will be released by Odyssey Books in August 2016.







CONTACT THE AUTHOR/BUY THE BOOK









Brought to You By:









Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet/Reviewer

#Book #Spotlight. . .Notes & Roses

COMIN' AT'CHA
Proudly Presents. . .A Book 'Spotlight'
Featuring Author, RJ Scott


Notes and Roses

Stanford Creek

Book One

Rozenn Scott

Genre: Contemporary romance
Publisher: All Romance eBooks
Date of Publication: June 1, 2016
ISBN: 978-1-943576-83-8
Number of pages: 255
Word Count: 62000

Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill



BOOK DESCRIPTION

It’s time to stop running and take a stand…for love.

Former boy-band singer CJ Taylor is starting a new life. His stalker is behind bars, he’s taken back his birth name, and he’s bought a house in a small Vermont town. As Cody Brennan, he finally feels safe and wants to write new music and forget about his tragic past, but an accident nearly ruins everything.

Florist Megan Campbell is horrified when a stranger, covered in blood, collapses in her shop. Cody’s erratic behavior startles her at first, but as he recovers she becomes very attracted to him. Her family thinks she should curb her feelings, and worries about her safety—she worries about her heart.

From her amber eyes to her tempting smile, Megan is everything Cody promised himself to avoid. The more he gets to know her, the more he wants to stay. When his past begins to catch up to him in the form of violent threats, will they stay safe long enough to fall in love?

Excerpt

Megan Campbell stepped away from the cash register of Notes & Roses and leaned against the back counter. She put her right hand in her jeans pocket and, as carefully and unobtrusively as possible, removed her cell phone and scrolled to Justin’s name. What should she text her brother? Help sounded like a good start. Or possibly, there’s a man in my shop and I think he’s drunk or stoned. 

Yep, text something like that to Justin, and he would come in guns blazing. Then he’d pin the weird guy to the floor and read him his rights. And the man currently staring at a wall didn’t look dangerous, just lost. Homeless, maybe?

Something more specific then, like, there is a vagrant in here, and he needs help, what should I do? The man moved a little. Away from her side of the store, the “roses” part of the setup, and over to the “notes” side. He was peering at the shelves, a collection of stationery and household bits and pieces like cushions and local crafts. He stumbled a little, turned to the side, and looked up at the posters displayed on the far wall. Landscapes of Vermont: rivers, small towns and red high-sided barns with gently rolling hills of emerald green.

“That’s wrong,” he said.

“Sorry?” Megan asked—but he didn’t reply.

He’s talking to the wall now. Should she add that to the text as well? This was going to end up being a hell of a lot of typing to explain what he was doing. Despite how odd it all looked, the visitor wasn’t threatening her. Also, Rachel would be back soon. Maybe between them they could sort this out?

He hadn’t even spoken to her, but something wasn’t right. Maybe it was the way he’d been standing, his hands fisted at his sides, staring now at the new Valentine’s wall display of flowers and hearts. Maybe it was the way he was dressed; dark jeans caked in mud, heavy boots that had tracked in the same mud. Not to mention the black hoodie with the hood partially hiding his face from her view.

Or maybe it was the despair in his hunched shoulders, the utter defeat in the way he had to support himself to stand.

Whatever it was, Megan was faced with two options. Talk to the strange man in her shop while she was alone in here, or call in reinforcements in case things went south.

Her visitor moved, not his feet but his fists, unclenching and bringing his hands up to knuckle his eyes and then cover them. Megan’s cop brother liked to explain these things to her, but she didn’t need his help to recognize when despair in someone turned to anger. 

She sent the standard 911 text, startled when she looked up and saw the stranger had stepped closer to her while she’d been distracted. 

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice very soft.

“You’re in my shop.”

He shook his head. “I need the music. Someone took it, and I need it.”

Okay, this was so not going the way she wanted it to go. He was incoherent. Maybe he was homeless and needed a place to get out of the persistent snow that had plagued Stanford Creek the last few days. He’d evidently been somewhere slushy and muddy, if his clothes were anything to go by. 

“I don’t understand, sir; what music do you need?” she asked, and waited for him to acknowledge her question. Instead, he took another, shaky, step forward, and covered his eyes again. “Hello? Can I help you?” she repeated when he didn’t look at her.

That finally got his attention. His hands came down, and she got her first clear look at his eyes and face. What she saw had her reaching to send another text. He had blood on him, smeared down from his temple into his wild beard, and his blue eyes were bright with something. Drugs maybe? Long, dark hair hid some of his features, and he looked like he was about to keel over. 

“Where’s the music?” he mumbled, his voice low and urgent. He gripped his temples hard and stumbled back, knocking a display of greeting cards to the floor. The sound was a loud clatter in the otherwise quiet room. “Shit… I didn’t…”

“Sir?” This time she was within reaching distance as he rounded on her, his lips pulled back in a snarl—or a grimace of pain, she couldn’t be entirely sure. Whatever, it wasn’t the look of someone who wanted to be spoken to. Time to leave. She glanced at the front door, imagining the steps between here and there and whether or not he would lurch her way. When she focused back on him, all she saw was a situation that could get out of hand. He was a good six inches taller than her five-nine, broad and built, with tattoos curling around his wrist, disappearing up under the sleeve of the hoodie.

Everything about him looked wrong. He didn’t move again, or even acknowledge her; all he did was stare with bright sapphire eyes, focused on a point behind her, scary and intense and so damned fixated with his expression in that scowl.

“What happened?” He groaned and covered his eyes again. “Call… Zee…”

She texted without looking, only glancing at the screen briefly to make sure she was sending another text to her brother and not some random person on her list. 911. Again. The standard sibling instruction for help me right the hell now, reserved for having one of her brothers rescue her from one of her many dreadful first dates. Garrett wasn’t even in town, so there was little point texting him, and Justin may not even be in the sheriff’s office. She hoped to hell he was, though, and had read her message. She’d know soon enough because the small sheriff’s office was close. 

And still the stranger stood there, staring at her. At least he hadn’t moved any closer.

He closed his eyes and wiped the blood that was trickling down his face, looking down at his hand and staring at the red that streaked his skin. Megan thought she heard a sob, but couldn’t be sure. Compassion welled inside her. Vagrant or not, dressed in soiled clothes and with the hood up, he didn’t have to be a criminal.

“Sir? Do you need help?” She held out her hand, but he stepped closer to her and damn it, she may have had self-defense training but she wasn’t stupid. If the man was hopped up on drugs, she had to stay out of reach. The door opened and Justin stepped in, all uniform and pissed-off attitude. 

“Two 911s? This had better be good, Megs.”

Megan inclined her head to the man Justin evidently hadn’t seen in his dramatic entrance. Justin could handle himself, and he had a gun; he’d know what to do. 

“What the hell?” Justin said as he assessed the situation, his hand automatically resting on his holstered weapon. 

“I think it’s drugs,” she said loud enough for Justin to hear. The man looked at Justin and then to her, before shaking his head a little. 

“No.” The voice was raspy, little more than a growl. “Not those.” He appeared to be struggling to talk, and he pressed his hands to each side of his head. “Just the music; Zee will know,” he added, but his voice slurred, and he coughed and doubled over. 

Justin pulled his weapon and held it to one side, his other hand held in front of him as he stepped closer. “Sir? Are you hurt?” 

Megan saw her brother’s hand on the sidearm, the other placating and suggesting and warning at the same time. She’d seen him stand like this when he broke up the fight at the drugstore. Not that he’d drawn his weapon then; he’d dealt with it by intimidation alone, because everyone involved lived in the town and no one messed with the sheriff. Megan looked at her brother, who teased her, who’d hidden her dolls and pulled her pigtails as a kid, but who was now in a situation that was serious. He was all business.

“What’s your name, sir?” Justin asked.

The stranger stepped back from him, straight into a pile of notebooks this time. The shelf shuddered and some of the display tilted. The movement translated into Justin grabbing the man’s hoodie to stop him falling as he flailed and attempted to stay upright. 

He took a swing at Justin, who ducked and swerved. The attempted hit missed Justin by a mile, and the man followed the momentum he had begun, smacked his fist against a shelf edge, and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Then he didn’t move, was absolutely still. Justin holstered his weapon and crouched next to the prone form of the hooded man, checking for a pulse and then talking into his radio. 

“Dispatch, 390D, medical assistance required at Notes & Roses.”


About the Author:


RJ Scott is the bestselling author of over ninety romance novels and novellas. From cowboys to millionaires, SEALS to cops, her stories are passionate, sexy, and always come with a guaranteed happy ever after. RJ also writes as Rozenn Scott for her new line of strong men and women who find that it’s always worth overcoming obstacles to find a forever love.

RJ lives just outside of London, and has never met a bottle of wine she can’t defeat. 





CONTACT THE AUTHOR/BUY THE BOOK


For more information on other books by RJ/Rozenn 

RJ/Rozenn Website:   www.RJScott.co.uk





GIVEAWAY! GIVEAWAY! GIVEAWAY!


3 Copies of an ARe, A Shades of Naughty ebook



Brought to You By:




Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet/Reviewer

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#Book #Spotlight. . .Taking the Bait

COMIN' AT'CHA
Proudly Presents. . .A Book 'Spotlight'
Featuring Author, Audrey Noire


Taking the Bait
Arc Operatives
Book One
Audrey Noire

Genre: Romance Sci-Fi/Superhero
 Date of Publication: May 6, 2016
ASIN: B01EMABWEQ
 Number of pages: 43
Word Count: 12,817


Cover Artist: Avery Knott


Book Description:

Daria Griffin is a newly-minted undercover operative with ARC, on a mission with her partner. Nicolai Novik an augmented human with super-fast speed. Their first job? Infiltrate a conference of billionaires as a newly-wed couple and dig up the dirt on shady business dealings.

Daria's the bait, tasked with luring in businessmen with her unhappy-trophy-wife routine while Nicolai talks shop. But the operation goes all wrong when Nicolai starts acting strangely in the middle of it. Will they be discovered by forces who may not have their best interests at heart? And why is Nicolai acting so possessive of Daria when he never said more than a few words to her during training?

Part one of a three-part romance story in The ARC Operatives series!

Author's Note: Taking the Bait is a 12,000-word novella. No cliffhanger, HFN ending. Due to strong language and sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18. The first scene from it's sequel is included as a bonus at the end of the book!


Excerpt:

“You want my first mission to have me pretending to be what?!” Daria Griffin gripped the side of her chair as she stared at her boss, and then looked back down at the dossier open in front of her on the desk. She wrinkled up her nose and tried not to make a noise of distress as she wondered if she was really ready for something that required that level of acting skill. Daria had never been particularly confident in her own appearance on a good day, let alone having to pretend to be a trophy wife while undercover (although damn had she day-dreamed of being swept off her feet by billionaire-du-jour when reading those frequent eligible bachelor articles). She shot a look over at her future-partner.

Nicolai Novik’s expression was deadpan, unreadable, and a little unnerving. He was eyeing up his dossier, gaze flicking back and forth over the paper and profiles within it. He ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair and sighed, long and low. At least because English was his second language he wasn’t super-fast at reading it, since he was super-fast at pretty much everything else (including getting into the pants of the receptionists and assistants that were running all over ARC’s offices, holy wow had he burnt through ladies like Daria’d gone through funny-shaped erasers in elementary school).

There was nothing like a team made up of a nearly-dead-half-recovered ARC operative and a nameless ARC former-intern to do an undercover mission at a billionaire business convention, right? At least, Daria hoped there would be nothing like them and they wouldn’t fail and go down in a hail of bullets. Even over a year of training to be an undercover operative hadn’t exactly boosted her self-confidence, especially since in quite a few of her courses she’d only passed with middling grades.

She thought back to before she’d begun down the path towards super-secret spy work. Her supervisors had plucked her out of her internship in the labs as the ink was still drying on her degree. She’d been hustled off (‘transferred’ was the official word for it) from her tiny job paper-chasing after a kind but generally hapless bio-engineering scientist named Dr. Robert Fowler, and put through a series of rigorous tests designed to ‘assess her skills and talents’.

During the testing process there’d been no coffee-fetching test, and definitely no pop-quiz on how to scoop up great thrift-store finds. Daria had figured she’d failed miserably and would have to do the workplace walk-of-shame back to her old boss down in Lab #3b, continue her internship and hope for a good letter of recommendation from him. Not that she would have minded… Robert had been the laid-back kinda boss-guy, and she’d liked working with him even if the hours were kinda wonky.

To her great surprise though she’d passed the tests she’d been given. When she’d looked down at her acceptance and new employment contract with astonishment, Anastasia Rykov, the operative administering the majority of the testing had just raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow and said, “What, you think ARC picks fools for interns? You were groomed for this from the start.”


CONTACT THE AUTHOR/BUY THE BOOK


About the Author:

Audrey Noire grew up in the pacific north west, climbing trees and swimming in the sea. She spent her formative young adult years travelling the globe alongside her musician husband as he toured and played across Europe, North America, and parts of Asia.

They’ve settled down (sorta kinda) with a bundle of cats in a sea-side town. When she’s not on the road watching her rocker husband from side-stage, she’s writing about handsome gents and lovely ladies falling for one another.

She believes that every day is ripe with possibilities, and that life is precious. Don’t waste a second – fall in love with your life all over again!

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Tour giveaway $20 Amazon / 3 copies Taking the Bait.



Brought to You By:







Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet/Reviewer

Thursday, June 2, 2016

#Book #Blitz. . .Children From Dark Houses. . .



Mystery/Thriller
Date Published: June 1, 2016

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Cynical private investigator Atticus Wynn and his idealistic partner Rosemary Sanchez will stop at nothing to save a damaged boy, even when it means taking on a pair of professional killers and a gang of outlaw bikers in this action-packed and gallows-humored mystery thriller prequel to The Black Song Inside.

When Atticus and Rosemary are hired for the seemingly routine job of finding Imran Khan, a runaway from San Diego’s posh Barrington Academy for troubled teens, the detectives quickly discover this case will be anything but routine. 

Imran wasn’t running away from the rigid rules of Barrington, he was running into the arms of an enigmatic beauty who goes to great lengths to stay in the shadows. As soon as Atticus and Rosemary learn of this mystery woman, they’re targeted by a brutal outlaw biker gang.

When the detectives finally meet their employers in person, Imran's parents, the pieces fall into place. They discover a family seething with rage, an abused boy seeking love, and a secret so powerful, it blows the lid off the case. A dark world of dirty money, deadly spies, and double-crosses is brought to light, forcing Atticus and Rosemary to question whether Imran is an innocent victim or a violent avenger.

The detectives will need all of Atticus's street smarts and Rosemary's combat experience to survive as they race down a road of blood and broken people toward a showdown where the very boy they've sworn to save is the person most likely to get them killed. 

EXCERPT

Rosemary Sanchez’s phone rang, or to be more accurate, warbled into song. Specifically, Muddy Waters famous blues tune “Mannish Boy,” which she had not programmed into it. It started at the part that refers to the singer’s destiny to become “the greatest man alive.” She snorted. That Atticus.

Clad in jeans and a gray T-shirt that read ARMY across the front, she’d been in the midst of her daily bed-making duel with her nemesis, her tortoiseshell cat Mawroo, who with feline telepathy, always anticipated the moment she began to make her bed. As the sheet came billowing down, Mawroo leapt onto the mattress. The cat-hump raced around beneath the sheet like a gopher in a cartoon, all the while uttering her namesake cry, “Maaaaawrooooo!” Rosemary could only answer such an affront to bed-making etiquette by scrabbling her fingers about so that the hump raced hither and thither after them, sometimes rolling over to create four paw tent poles, claws poking through the sheet.

Rosemary answered the phone while, in protest at the interruption, Mawroo “mawrooed”!

“Let me guess,” Rosemary said. “You made one too many smartass remarks, and now we’re barred from Barrington.”

“Scoff, scoff,” Atticus said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“I wanted to scoff at your lack of faith, but I’ve only read about people scoffing and never actually seen it. Thus, I don’t know how one would actually go about scoffing in real life. So I improvised.”

“I don’t know whether it’s more disturbing to think you’ve been pondering that for a while or that you just thought it up.”

“Either someone’s playing a violin with a meat tenderizer,” he said, “or you are foolishly trying to make your bed with Mawroo in the room.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Rosemary said. “She sulks all day if I shut her out.”

“How can one tell if a cat is sulking or just being a cat?”

“When one loves another being and is in a close relationship, one pays attention and thus becomes quite attuned to the being’s sensibilities.”

“Are we still talking about a cat here?” Atticus asked.

“Meow,” Rosemary answered.

“Um, er, normally, I’d be game for the metaphorical banter, but I happen to have a gentleman tailing me. I’m hoping you can come out here and tail my tailer.”

Rosemary’s tone switched from banter to business. “Already someone following you? Feel dangerous?”

“Can’t tell,” he said, “but it’s hard to see what I could have done so quickly to make someone want to hurt me.”

“You’ve never been on the other side of your smart mouth.”

“Anyway,” he said, “once you’ve got him, I’ll lose him.”

“And I’ll follow him back to his criminal lair.”

“Criminal lair?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Any criminal associated with Barrington Academy wouldn’t have anything as uncouth as a hideout. He would merit a lair.”

“Brains as well as beauty,” he said. “Brains enough that once this ne’er do well is ensconced in his lair, you wouldn’t dream of doing something as stupid as trying to get a real good looksee before you’ve called your charming partner in for back up, right?”

“You do recall I’ve done a tour of duty in a war zone?”

“And I know you’re going back soon,” Atticus said, his voice tight, “which I don’t like to even think about. My point is that neither of us should take any unnecessary risks.”

“But that’s my specialty.”

“Computers are your specialty. That’s why we joined forces. Risk-taking is your addiction.”

“Fine, if you’re going to be such a big butt about it, I’ll play it all careful and boring.”

Atticus sighed. “All I ask is that you be as concerned about your safety as I am.”

Rosemary ended the call as Mawroo scooted from beneath the sheet, paused, and then suddenly realized it was absolutely imperative she get out of the room as quickly as possible. She galloped through the door and made it all of three feet into the hall before lying down, licking her paws, and rubbing her little baseball head with her wet feet.

Grinning at the kitty’s antics, Rosemary threw her hair into a braid, wriggled into her jeans, and headed out the door to her silver Ford Fiesta ST. Fifteen minutes later, Rosemary texted Atticus that she was in position behind the tail.

About the Author


Carlyle Clark was raised in Poway, a city just north of San Diego, but is now a proud Chicagolander working in the field of Corporate Security and writing crime and fantasy fiction. He has flailed ineffectually at performing the writer's requisite myriad of random jobs: pizza deliverer, curb address painter, sweatshop laborer, day laborer, night laborer, security guard, campus police, Gallup pollster, medical courier, vehicle procurer, and signature-for-petitions-getter.

He is a married man with two cats and a dog. He is also a martial arts enthusiast and a CrossFit endurer who enjoys fishing, sports, movies, TV series with continuing storylines, and of course, reading. Most inconsequentially, he holds the unrecognized distinction of being one of the few people in the world who have been paid to watch concrete dry in the dark. Tragically, that is a true statement.


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Twitter:@Carlyle_Clark


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