Favorite Quotes on Books and Reading

"A book is a gift you can open again and again." Garrison Keillor

Literature is a textually transmitted disease, normally contracted in childhood.” Jane Yolen

"It is what you read when you don't have to that determines what you will be when you can't help it." Oscar Wilde

"Books have furnished, burnished, and enabled my life." Julia Keller

Sunday, December 4, 2016

2016 Book 423: SIZE MATTERS by Cathryn Novak



Size Matters by Cathryn Novak
ISBN: 9781631521034 (paperback)
ISBN: 9781631521041 (ebook)
ASIN: B01MAW0F3F (Kindle edition)
Publication date: November 22, 2016 
Publisher: She Writes Press


John Frederick is a man of considerable substance, in every sense of the word. Rich, intelligent, reclusive, and very large, John Frederick lives to eat. His everyday needs are tended to by Mrs. Floyd, his house manager, and by a never-ending parade of personal chefs. 
Enter Lexie Alexander, the latest applicant for that once-again vacant position. A young woman of magical sensibilities, fresh out of culinary school and still recovering from a recent personal tragedy, Lexie lives to cook. As time passes, a love of food, musical comedy, and tea begins to weave a connection between John Frederick and his new chef but then a major medical crisis completely turns life at Frederick House upside down, threatening the bond John Frederick and Lexie have forged. 
Size Matters is the story of how people interact with each other and with the world, and what happens when the structure of a person's life, their self-image, and all their familiar coping mechanisms are shattered.


Lexie Alexander has just finished culinary school and is still mourning the loss of her mother. Lexie knows she's not ready for the hustle-and-bustle of a gourmet kitchen and is looking forward to working as a personal chef. John Frederick is an obviously wealthy man that is extremely obese, addicted to food, and beyond reclusive. He doesn't understand why it is so difficult to hire and keep a personal chef. So begins the food-based relationship between two lost souls trying to connect, one by lovingly preparing food and the other by eating food in Cathryn Novak's debut, Size Matters.

I found Size Matters to be a quick and easy read that goes beyond cooking and eating food. Both Lexie and John are searching for something and think they've found it in food, Lexie by cooking it and John by eating it. John becomes less reclusive and actually begins to interact face-to-face with Lexie, and they find that have much more in common than just food, such as love for musical theater and a quirky sense of humor. Just when it seems like their relationship is verging on something else, tragedy strikes (no, no one dies). I could tell you what happens next, but if I did you'd have no reason to read the book. What I can say is that if you enjoy light-hearted and quick reads, stories with interesting characters, or simply stories that provide a touch of romance along with some angst and drama then you'll definitely want to grab a copy of Size Matters to read.

Disclaimer: I received a free digital copy of this book 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."




December 6, 2016 – Size Matters by Cathryn Novak

Course Title: Food & Relationships Studies

Department: Culinary Fiction

Description: Lexie Alexander is the personal chef to John Frederick. He's rich, intelligent, reclusive, very large, and lives to eat. But when a major medical crisis turns the household upside down it threatens the special bonds they’ve formed with each other.




Saturday, December 3, 2016

2016 Book 419: WALK INTO SILENCE by Susan McBride

Walk Into Silence (Detective Jo Larsen #1) by Susan McBride 
ISBN: 9781503937628 (paperback)
ISBN: 9781522690030 (audiobook)
ASIN: B01BVD40GE (Kindle edition)
Publication date: December 1, 2016 
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer | Amazon


A woman vanishes from a Texas town. Did she simply run off, or is something darker at play?
When Patrick Dielman shows up at Detective Jo Larsen's desk insisting that his wife, Jenny, is missing, Jo wonders if it's a case of a bored housewife running away.
But as she digs deeper into Jenny's life, Jo learns that Dielman keeps a stranglehold on the family finances, down to the last nickel, and that Jenny's first marriage dissolved following the death of her young son. By all accounts—including her doctor's—she never recovered from the loss. Between a controlling husband, a tragic past, and a callous ex-husband, Jo can't be sure if she should suspect foul play or accept that the woman may have wanted to disappear.
For Jo, whose own demons are shadowing her every step, finding Jenny becomes more than the typical protect-and-serve.


Jo Larsen, a detective with the Plainfield police department, presumes that Jennifer Dielman is a runaway housewife. She quickly discovers that although Jennifer may have had a good reason to leave her husband, she most likely didn't run away from her home and marriage in Susan McBride's newest book, Walk Into Silence.

Jo Larsen is a thirty-something-year-old police detective on a small town police department. She transferred there after working on the Dallas police department. Initially, Jo presumes that the missing Jennifer Dielman is nothing more than a wife that's run away from home. However, the more she learns about Jennifer the more she realizes that this woman didn't leave voluntarily. Just as the investigation is starting to take off, Jennifer's body is discovered in a local quarry. The autopsy reveals that she was murdered. Was Jennifer still stricken with grief from the tragic death of her young son years earlier? Yes. Was Jennifer dealing with an inordinate amount of stress related to her grief? Yes. Was Jennifer the type of person to walk away from her marriage? No. Jo isn't happy with the answers she's receiving from Patrick Dielman - Jennifer's current husband, Dr. Kevin Harrison - Jennifer's ex-husband, or Lisa Barton - the Dielmans neighbor.

Walk Into Silence is the first book in the Jo Larsen series by Ms. McBride. The reader is given a glimpse into Jo's backstory (an abusive childhood at the hands of her stepfather and neglectful mother) as well as the mindset of deceased, Jennifer Dielman. Although Jennifer is still grieving her son's death, she is also seeking answers about his death and feels that her ex-husband is lying about what happened the night their son died. Jennifer also knows that someone is playing games with her mind in an attempt to make her look unhinged (just because she's paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't watching her). Bit by bit, Jo discovers the truth about Jennifer Dielman's life and death while also dealing with the trauma from her own childhood. I found the beginning of Walk Into Silence a bit slow, but it quickly picked up the pace and sucked me in. I enjoyed the characters and action in this story and am looking forward to reading more about Jo Larsen in the future.

Disclaimer: I received a free digital copy of this book 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."


This review is part of a Wunderkind PR promotion.


Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Book Showcase: THE FANTASTIC BOOK OF EVERYBODY'S SECRETS by Sophie Hannah




The Fantastic Book of Everybody's Secrets



by Sophie Hannah



on Tour November 1 - December 17, 2016





The Fantastic Book of Everybody's Secrets by Sophie Hannah


A collection of ingenious suspense stories from one of today's most acclaimed novelists in the genre. Everybody has their secrets, and in Sophie Hannah's fantastic stories the curtains positively twitch with them. Who, for instance, is the hooded figure hiding in the bushes outside a young man's house? Why does the same stranger keep appearing in the background of a family's holiday photographs? What makes a woman stand mesmerised by two children in a school playground, children she's never met but whose names she knows well? And which secret results in a former literary festival director sorting soiled laundry in a shabby hotel? All will be revealed…but at a cost. As Sophie Hannah uncovers the dark obsessions and strange longings behind the most ordinary relationships, life will never seem quite the same again.





Book Details:


Genre: Short Stories, Thriller
Published by: Witness Impulse
Publication Date: October 11th 2016
Number of Pages: 120
ISBN: 0062562096 (ISBN13: 9780062562098)
Purchase Links: Amazon  Barnes & Noble  Goodreads 


Sophie Hannah

Learn More:


Sophie Hannah is the New York Times-bestselling author of numerous psychological thrillers, which have been published in 27 countries and adapted for television, as well as The Monogram Murders, the first Hercule Poirot novel authorized by the estate of Agatha Christie.


Catch Up with Sophie Hannah on her Website , Twitter , or Facebook 










Tour Participants:








Giveaway:





This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours for Sophie Hannah and Witness Impulse. There will be 5 US winners of one (1) eBook copy of The Fantastic Book of Everybody's Secrets by Sophie Hannah. The giveaway begins on November 1st and runs through January 2nd, 2017.

a Rafflecopter giveaway




Sunday, November 27, 2016

Book Review: THE JUDAS GAME by Ethan Cross

The Judas Game (Shepherd #4) by Ethan Cross 
ISBN: 9781611882346 (hardcover)
ISBN: 9781943486953 (ebook)
ASIN: B01HOV0GJC (Kindle edition)
Publication date: October 4, 2016 
Publisher: Fiction Studio Books | Story Plant


When a correctional officer climbs to the top of his watchtower and opens fire on the inmates and guards, federal investigator Marcus Williams and serial killer Francis Ackerman Jr. must join forces again to unearth the truth behind the incident. What they find is a serial killer using the prison as his hunting grounds. But the Judas Killer's ambitions don't end with a few murders. He wants to go down in history and has no reason left to live. With Ackerman undercover among the inmates and Marcus tracking down the mastermind on the outside, the team must learn the identity of the Judas Killer and stop a full-scale uprising that he's orchestrated. But the more they learn about what's happening at the prison and why the more enemies they must face. From inside the overrun facility, Marcus and Ackerman must save the hostages and stop an elaborate escape attempt while trying to determine how a rival corporation, the leader of one of the world's most dangerous criminal organizations, and an inmate with no identity only known as Demon fit into the Judas Killer's plans. Launching a bold new cycle of novels featuring The Shepherd Organization, The Judas Game is searing, mesmerizing fiction it's Ethan Cross at his very best.


The Judas Game is the fourth book in the Shepherd series by Ethan Cross and it starts with a bang (literally and figuratively speaking; see the excerpt below). First, the reader is introduced to the serial killer Francis Ackerman Jr. This man kills for the sake of killing and seemingly has no shame in doing so. We're then introduced to a correctional officer that provides the bang that starts the killing spree in the correctional facility. Just when I thought I knew where the story was going, enter Marcus Williams, a presumed government agent. Just to throw me off kilter even more, as if I wasn't already, Marcus and Francis are brothers that were raised by different families. Marcus was apparently raised by a cop and had a "normal" upbringing, whereas Francis was raised by his biological father who experimented on Francis causing him to be the unrepentant killer that he is today. I thought I understand enough of the backstory when more characters are introduced: Special Agent Maggie Carlisle, Marcus's coworker and possible significant other, and Dylan, Marcus's son. There's also another serial killer named Demon who actually turns himself into local authorities so he can be incarcerated at the prison where the big bang happened. In an effort to show penance (or save his life), Francis agrees to work with Marcus as an insider within the prison in an attempt to gain insight as to what is going on and why while Marcus works his investigation outside the prison. 

The Judas Game provides a lot of angst, drama, and action: family drama between siblings and father and son; random shootings, murders, and bombings at a prison; seemingly random murders of people outside the prison; and several truly evil sociopaths and psychopaths at large. I found it difficult at times to keep track of everything that was going on in this story not to mention the cast of characters. This might be because this is the fourth book in this series and I didn't have the full backstory for each of the major characters, namely Francis Ackerman Jr., Marcus Williams, Dylan Williams, Maggie Carlisle, etc. Then again, it might be because I was reading this while fighting with an increasingly painful migraine episode that made it difficult to concentrate. Even though I did have moments of confusion and had to constantly set this book aside for mini-breaks, the story was gripping and action-packed from beginning to end. I won't tell you how it ends, but there's mayhem and carnage galore. If you've read the previous books in the Shepherd series then you'll definitely want to read The Judas Game. If you haven't read any books in the Shepherd Series, then I strongly encourage you to start at book one and read through to book four, The Judas Game, I doubt you'll be disappointed. I look forward to going back to the beginning and reading all of the books in this series. 

Disclaimer: I received a free digital copy of this book for review purposes via Partners In Crime Virtual Tours. 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:



As he climbed the ladder of Tower 3, a strange memory struck Ray Navarro. It was of his son. Ray had been sitting on their front porch after finishing the mowing, and a green blur had come zooming down the road. His little boy, in a bright green T-shirt, running full blast, and tugging along their cocker spaniel puppy, the dog's legs struggling to keep up with those of his son, Ian. A son he would probably never see again.
As Ray placed one hand in front of the next, his wedding ring kept clanging against the metal of the rungs. The echoes of metal on metal trickled down the concrete walls of Tower 3 like water. Each high-pitched sound sent shockwaves of regret and doubt down through Ray's soul.
He felt like the world was upside down, and he was actually climbing down into hell instead of ascending Tower 3 at Foxbury Correctional Treatment Facility.
The prison was actually an old work camp and mental hospital, which had recently been recommissioned as part of a pilot program for a private company's experimental prison. All of the guards, including himself, had been warned about the unique working conditions inside Foxbury. The program was voluntary. He had known the risks, but the money was just too good to pass up. He had bills to pay and mouths to feed.
Ray Navarro pushed open the hatch in the floor of the crow's nest and pulled himself up into the ten-by-ten space of the tower. The little room smelled like cigarettes, even though no one was supposed to smoke up there. A tiny window air conditioner squeaked and rumbled in the tower's back wall. He shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The gun case was bolted to the left wall of the crow's nest. With almost robotic, instinctual movements, he watched himself unlock the case, grab the 30-06 rifle, and insert cartridges loaded with just the right mixture of chemicals and shrapnel, fire and steel, needed to blow a one-inch hole in a person's flesh. He had always excelled in the use of high-powered, long-range weapons. A pistol and a tactical shotgun also occupied the tower's gun cabinet. He was rated as an expert in their use as well, but he had taken to the 30-06 like a boy's hand to a well-oiled baseball glove.
Ray Navarro extended the rifle's bipod and started searching the prison yard for his first target.
The scope's line of sight slid effortlessly over each man's face. He noticed a pair of the prison's celebrity inmates. Leonard Lash, the infamous gang leader awaiting execution, and Oren Kimble, the madman responsible for a mall shooting five years ago. Then his eye stopped on two of the guards moving along the perimeter of inmates like cowboys watching over the herd. The men seemed to be having an in-depth conversation, a wiser silver-haired mentor teaching a younger pupil. He knew the older black man well. Bill Singer was a war veteran and a former sniper, just like Ray. When Ray returned from his last tour, he had been lost in doubt and fear and hadn't known where to turn. Until he had met Bill. Now, Ray Navarro was five years sober and had even patched things up with his wife, who had come very close to being an ex-wife before Bill had started counseling him.
Bill wasn't supposed to be on duty until Sunday, but something must have changed because there was his friend giving what seemed to be a mini-sermon to his younger counterpart.
The younger white man beside Bill, Jerry Dunn, had just come on with them. Jerry walked with a catch in his gait which made it seem like three of his steps were equal to two of a normal man's, but that wasn't the only aspect of Jerry Dunn which had earned him the nickname "Gimp" among his fellow correctional officers. Jerry also blinked about four times more than a normal person and often struggled to spit out more than a sentence or two.
Ray had no problem with Jerry and even felt sorry for the way many of the other guards treated him. A minor limp and a few tics didn't mean that Dunn couldn't do his job and, by all accounts, the young CO was more than competent.
Ray prayed that the next person up the tower's ladder after him wouldn't be Bill Singer or Jerry Dunn. Although, he didn't really want it to be anyone else either. It was one thing to kill enemy soldiers or even an inmate if there was no other choice. This was different. This was the outright murder of men who were his coworkers, his friends.
Ray threw up all over the floor of Tower 3.
He cursed under his breath and then said, "It's them or you."
He re-acquired his target. Slid the crosshairs over the man's heart and then up to his head. Normally, he would go for the chest, a larger target capable of accomplishing the same task. But since this was quite possibly one of his very last acts on the planet, he figured there was no harm in showing off and going for the true killshot.
"It's them or you."
He kept repeating that phrase like a mantra, over and over.
"It's them or you."
~~*~~
Bill Singer watched Jerry limp along in front of him. The more he watched, the more he noticed that the limp didn't seem to slow Jerry down a bit. Bill realized that from Jerry's perspective each step may have been painful or at the very least require twice as much effort. At his age, Bill realized the importance of pain management and the economy of movement, the debts that needed paying for each step, each incorrect dietary choice, each year with no trips to the gym, each time you tried to do something that you did easily ten years ago.
Knowing the difficulties faced by Jerry having been forced to start his life with inherent setbacks in that arena, Bill felt a soft spot for the kid and had taken the younger guard under his wing. Bill and his wife had neglected to have children, but he considered himself blessed to have some young men he had mentored who had become like sons to him. Jerry Dunn was one of those adopted sons. Another was Ray Navarro, who Bill knew was on overwatch in Tower 3 at that very moment. Then there were several others whom he had met through his volunteer work down at the clinic with his wife, Caroline.
Jerry Dunn actually reminded Bill more of one of those counseling patients than a correctional officer like Ray Navarro. Jerry was a wounded orphan while Ray was a wounded warrior. Both real problems that were no fault of either man, but whose differences were evident in each man's demeanor.
Jerry had shared his story around a table of hot wings and beers on the first night Bill met him. The kid had blinked ten times and twitched twice before explaining that his parents had been killed in a car accident when he was only eight months old.
Some of the others had sympathized but continued to mock Jerry behind his back. And, of course, there were a few assholes in the group, who referred to Jerry as Gimp even to his face. Bill had gone a different way. He had befriended the young officer quickly and learned that whatever its cause, Jerry lived with a lot of pain in his heart.
Jerry Dunn halted his half-gait mid-stride and turned on his heels to face the yard. Bill shook his head at the younger man's appearance. Jerry's shaggy, black, stick-straight hair hung over his ears and looked as if it hadn't been combed in days. Jerry's skin was as pale as Bill's was dark, and it had a certain smell about it. A mix of body odor and a cheap deodorant that acted as a substitute for bathing.
Jerry said, "I'm bored senseless. Let's make a bet. I bet you two bucks that the two big Aryan brotherhood type guys right there. See them, one benching a million pounds and the other spotting him and looking disinterested. I bet you two bucks that the big guy doesn't get it up and the smaller guy either makes fun of him about it or he barely even notices that the big guy dropped the thing on his chest."
Bill followed Jerry's gaze and shook his head again. This time at the younger man's assessment of the situation. Bill said, "I'll take that bet, but let's make it twenty bucks."
Jerry seemed worried by this raising of the stakes, but not worried enough to keep from saying, "You're on."
Bill let his gaze linger on the ABs and watched the scene play out just as he suspected it would. The bigger man dropped the bar, but his spotter didn't even let the bar touch the other man's chest before snatching it up onto the rack.
Bill said, "The spotter wasn't looking away because he wasn't paying attention. He was looking away because he was scanning the yard for threats."
"But they don't need to do that here. There are no physical threats."
"Old habits."
Crestfallen, Jerry continued along the perimeter, and Bill followed in step beside him.
"This group of one hundred," Bill said, referring to the first wave of prisoners being transferred to the refurbished and repurposed Foxbury prison, "has had to form bonds quickly in order to maintain their dominance when the next wave hits. I know we've only been here a few months, but I'm shocked that no one has been killed yet. This new 'experimental model' gives these guys way too much freedom."
As the bigger Aryan rose from the bench and took his place as spotter, the two locked fists, held the embrace for a breath, and released each other with a final squeeze of the shoulder. A strangely intimate public gesture that stretched the limits of the physical contact allowed at Foxbury. They may have even felt the jolt of a warning shock. Maybe that was the point. To bond through a little shared pain.
"It's in their nature to join together into packs. They're a group of hungry wolves thrown into a pen. The laws of nature take over. They're going to gang up and start establishing bonds and hierarchy. I don't care what they claim about this software and technology and cameras. It's nature of the beast out here. Always has been, always will be. Someone's going to get this place's number. There isn't a security system in the world that can't be bypassed. If one guy's smart enough to design it, then there's another guy out there hungry enough to bypass it."
"So far, it seems to be working. I think it's a glimpse of what the prison of the future could look like."
"Don't drink the Kool-Aid just yet. It's only been six months, kid. Trust me. 'So far' doesn't last that long."
Bill glanced back at the big Aryan, now standing solemn guard over his comrade like a stone sentinel.
Then Bill watched the big Aryan's head split down the middle. He saw the blood a heartbeat before he heard the crack of a high-powered rifle.
~~*~~
A millisecond of held breath followed the first man's death. A fraction of a heartbeat when the fight or flight instincts of every inmate twitched toward fight. After all, these men were all fighters in one way or another. It made time seem frozen somehow.
Then everyone, all at once, realized what had happened. The inmates dropped to the ground, as they had been taught, and the guards struggled to keep their wits.
Bill analyzed the situation, years of training and drills all floating to the surface of his personal sea of memories. The training kicked in and won the battle over his instincts.
An inmate must have been putting the life of a guard in danger. That was the only reason a tower guard would have opened fire. His gaze had just enough time to slide over the yard, searching for what he had missed, when the second shot rang out.
This time one of the inmates with his belly to the ground jerked wildly and then lay still, a spray of blood splattering the man to his left.
Bill tried to work it out. Why would a tower guard shoot an inmate lying on the ground?
Unless this was something more.
An entirely different set of training and drills took over—from before he became a correctional officer, from back when he was a young army recruit—and those military-issued instincts helped Bill immediately recognize what this really was. A sniper attack. They were under assault.
"Everyone up!" Bill screamed. "Get inside the buildings. Get to cover!" The throng of prisoners scattered as they scrambled to find protection. The sound of a third shot spurred their legs to pump harder.
Bill didn't see the third man fall, but he did see from where the shot had originated. He had looked to the towers and walls first, scanning for the shooter. And up in Tower 3, he saw a man who looked like Ray Navarro, eye to his rifle, lining up another shot.
The yard was, looking down from above, the shape of a giant stop sign. Guard towers topped four of the outer vertexes. The safety of the prison's main buildings was in the distance to Bill's left. But Tower 3 and the sniper who had become like a son to Bill was closer on the right.
Safety or friendship.
When Bill had served his tour of duty, he had learned and believed that it was all about the man on your right and on your left, your brothers.
Safety or friendship.
Saving his own ass or trying to keep his friend from being killed. The decision was an easy one for Bill Singer. Not even a choice really. Just another instinct; a natural result of all he'd learned and experienced.
He ran toward Tower 3.
Access to the outer perimeter of the yard and the guard towers was made possible via a barred gate in the old stone wall. The problem was that the gate was actually more modern than its surroundings, and it had no locks or keys. It could only be opened by one of the watchers—the name the guards had bestowed on the computer techs who constantly monitored the prison's thousands of cameras through some kind of special software. Amid the chaos of the yard, among the disorder of one hundred men running for their lives, one of those watchers would have to notice him and buzz him through the gate.
It was a long shot. Not to mention that he had to put himself squarely in Ray's crosshairs—if that really was Ray up there—just to reach the gate.
The Ray he knew would never fire on him. But the Ray he knew would never fire on anyone. If it really was Ray, then it wasn't the Ray he knew, and he had no way of anticipating the actions of this robot that had taken Ray's place, this creature that seemed to walk in Ray's skin.
Bill wasn't really surprised to see a pair of the other guards having the same idea. A pair of energetic thirty-something guards who Bill knew as Trent and Stuart were already pounding their fists on the shiny aluminum gate and shouting up at one of the prison's legion of cameras.
To his surprise, Bill was still twenty feet from the gate when he heard the buzz and clank of the lock disengaging. Big brother was watching. The other pair of guards pushed through and ran out of his view, but he knew where they were headed. He shot a glance to Tower 3 as he ran toward the now-open gate.
Ray had disappeared from the tower's window. Whether the shooting was over or Ray was just reloading, Bill couldn't be sure, but he did know that things would go better for his young friend if he was the first one up that ladder.
Bill shouted at the other guards to wait, to let him go up first, but he was so winded from the sprint across the yard that he couldn't make the sound come out with as much force as he wanted.
The younger guards didn't stop their assault. "Wait!" he shouted. The thought of Ray attacking the guards and escalating the situation spurred him forward, pumping his adrenaline to the next level.
Bill caught the gate before it could swing shut and relatch. He rounded the corner of the wall toward Tower 3 and looked up just as the parapet of the tower exploded in a searing ball of glass and fire.
~~*~~
The concussion wave slammed Bill to the ground like a swatted fly. Blackened and flaming chunks of concrete rained down around him. He looked back at Tower 3, and his eyes struggled to regain focus. The midday sun hung in the sky directly behind the watchtower. It looked to Bill as if the sun had simply absorbed the parapet of Tower 3 like some giant fiery PAC-MAN. He held his gaze into the sun just long enough to see that the tip of Tower 3 was gone, as if the crow's nest was the top of a dandelion blown away and scattered to the wind, there and then not.
He was still disoriented by the blast wave. His vision blurred and then came back into focus. Blurred and focused. Then, through the haze, Bill saw Ray Navarro stumbling toward the opening in the stone wall, heading back to the main building.
It was Ray. Bill was sure of it. Not some impostor or impersonator, but his friend. Had the kid completely snapped?
If something was happening in Ray's life that could have driven him to this, then Bill had no clue what it could have been. Maybe the kid had some kind of PTSD flashback? He couldn't have been in his right mind.
Bill's hearing suddenly returned. One second, it was a high-pitched ringing, a shrill otherworldly sound. Then the sound quickly merged back with the real world. The screams brought Bill back to the moment. He crawled, then stumbled, then ran toward the sound of the screaming. One of the men who had beaten him to the tower was on fire. He didn't see the other.
The man, or more of a boy to Bill's old eyes, rolled feebly on the ground to smother the flames. Bill could smell the man's flesh cooking. It reminded him of sizzling bacon.
Bill shoved his hands through the flames to get to the boy. Just enough contact with the fire to singe off all the hair on Bill's arms, but also just enough contact with the boy's torso to shove him into a full roll.
He helped extinguish the last of the flames and then rolled the kid onto his back. His face was charred. He couldn't stop crying and coughing. And Bill could think of nothing he could do to help.
The sound of boots crushing sand and gravel announced the arrival of more guards. One pushed Bill back and started performing CPR on the burned man.
Bill hadn't even noticed that the kid had stopped breathing. He felt suddenly disoriented, as if he had just woken up from a bad dream, and his mind was struggling to realign with reality. All he could hear was the ringing, and it seemed to be growing in volume, swelling toward a climax.
He bent over and threw up. What could Ray have been thinking? Had he seen Ray heading back toward the prison? Had that been real? If so, where was Ray going? Had his young friend done this and then was trying to sneak away in the confusion?
Bill ran back toward the gate. The other guards shouted something about needing help, but Bill ignored them. He moved with a singular focus now.
One emotion drove him forward. Anger. One thought fueled his anger. That could have been me.
If Ray had premeditated this—and he obviously had, because he must have brought some kind of explosives with him and had at least some semblance of an escape plan—then that meant that Ray had no way of knowing who would have been the next person through that hatch. It could have been anyone. It could very easily have been Bill.
A few steps closer or a few seconds faster, and it would have been him.
His friend had nearly taken his life; he had nearly taken him away from Caroline.
That didn't sit right with him and, at the very least, he was going to find out why.
The yard was almost evacuated, and Bill couldn't miss Ray moving toward the north barracks.
He lowered his head and ran harder, trying to close the gap between them.
Ray didn't look back, didn't check over his shoulder once. As if not looking at the destruction he had caused would make it less real, less horrifying. As if guilt and shame wouldn't catch him if he refused to acknowledge them.
The anger fueled Bill even more—the anger awakened something in him. Something that he hadn't felt since his army days. He could still smell the young guard's burning flesh. He could still hear his screams.
He closed the last of the gap in a dive, driving his shoulder into Ray's back and sending them both sprawling onto the concrete of a basketball court.
Ray was first to his feet. He held a Glock pistol, probably stolen from the gun cabinet of Tower 3.
"Stay back," Ray said.
"What have you done?"
"I said stay back!"
"Why?"
Bill's voice cracked as he took a step toward the man he had spent countless hours counseling and guiding back toward sanity.
"Back," Ray said, retreating toward the barracks.
"You tell me why!"
"I'm sorry. I'm glad you're okay."
"Glad I'm okay? I could have been killed. And what about the others you just murdered?"
"I can't. . ." Ray shook his head and turned to run.
Bill stared at him a moment, dumbfounded.
It looked like the Ray he knew. The voice was the same. The look in his eyes. But the Ray he knew would never have done something like this. Did he have the capability? Sure. Ray was a former soldier. He had killed in combat. This was different. This was the visceral act of an animal with its back to the wall. This was the final attack of a dying predator.
What could have possibly driven Ray to such a desperate, animalistic decision?
Ray had taken three big strides toward the barracks before Bill made up his mind that Ray Navarro wasn't leaving the yard.
Bill closed the distance between them in two huge strides. He threw all of his weight and momentum into a single blow. He hurled himself at Ray like a locomotive of flesh and bone. He aimed one huge punch directly at the back of Ray's head. He would hit Ray hard with one sucker punch that would instantly knock him out. The fight would be over before it began.
But Ray ducked the punch at the last second and spun around, the gun still in his hand.
Bill immediately recognized his mistake. An old drill instructor's words floated back to him from the ether of his memory.
Go for the body. The head is too small a target that can move and shift too easily.
Bill immediately knew the consequence of not heeding that advice.
The gun flashed.
Bill saw the shock and horror in Ray's eyes.
He felt the warmth of the blood leaving the wound before actually feeling the pain of the puncture. He fell back to the concrete.
The ringing in his ears was fading away but leaving only silence in its place.
He heard the shouts of other guards telling Ray to get down. He closed his eyes. At least he had stopped Ray from escaping and hurting anyone else or himself.
Bill Singer heard the ringing. Then more shouting. Then the ringing again. And then nothing at all.



Author Bio:


Ethan Cross
Ethan Cross is the award-winning international bestselling author of The Shepherd (described by #1 bestselling author Andrew Gross as "A fast paced, all too real thriller with a villain right out of James Patterson and Criminal Minds."), The Prophet (described by bestselling author Jon Land as "The best book of its kind since Thomas Harris retired Hannibal Lecter"), The Cage, Callsign: Knight, Father of Fear, and Blind Justice.

In addition to writing and working in the publishing industry, Ethan has also served as the Chief Technology Officer for a national franchise, recorded albums and opened for national recording artists as lead singer and guitar player in a musical group, and been an active and involved member of the International Thriller Writers organization and Novelists Inc.

He lives and writes in Illinois with his wife, three kids, and two Shih Tzus.

Catch Up online with Ethan Cross on his Website, Twitter, and Facebook.





Tour Participants:

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This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours for The Story Plant and Ethan Cross. There will be 1 winner of one (1) $25 Amazon.com Giftcard AND there will be several winners of one (1) eBook copy of The Shepherd by Ethan Cross. The giveaway begins on September 29th and runs through December 5th, 2016.

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Tuesday, November 22, 2016

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

Purchase For Duty and Honor at Amazon 🔗, Barnes & Noble 🔗, & add it to your Goodreads 🔗 List!





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, 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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Giveaway:



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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Monday, November 21, 2016

Book Showcase: ESCAPE VELOCITY by Susan Wolfe


Escape Velocity


by Susan Wolfe


on Tour November 1 - December 31, 2016





Synopsis:


Escape Velocity by Susan Wolfe

When does the Con become the Artist?


Georgia Griffin has just arrived in Silicon Valley from Piney, Arkansas on very bald tires, having firmly rejected her beloved father's life as a con artist.  Her father is in jail and a certain minister is hugging her mother for Jesus while eyeing Georgia's little sister, Katie-Ann.  Georgia desperately needs to keep her new job as paralegal for Lumina Software so she can provide a California haven for her sister before it's too late.
While she's still living in her car, Georgia realizes that incompetence and self-dealing have a death grip on her new company.  She decides to adapt her extensive con artist training—just once—to clean up the company. But success is seductive. Soon Georgia is an avid paralegal by day and a masterful con artist by night, using increasingly bold gambits designed to salvage Lumina Software. Then she steps into the shadow of a real crime and must decide: Will she risk her job, the roof over her sister's head, and perhaps her very soul?


Book Details:


Genre: Thriller / Suspense
Published by: Steelkilt Press
Publication Date: October 4th 2016
Number of Pages: 432
ISBN: 0997211717 (ISBN13: 9780997211719)
Purchase Links: Amazon ,  Barnes & Noble , & Goodreads 


Read an excerpt:



Georgia followed the bouncing ponytail into a silent conference room with an immense black table. She perched on the edge of a fancy leather chair, quietly sniffed the air, and followed the scent to a tray of food on a side table: rows of colorful ripe fruit, cheerful little pots of yogurt, a tray of meat and cheese alongside glistening rolls. They hadn't mentioned it would be a lunch interview. She'd have to pace herself and not look greedy. Her empty stomach contracted in anticipation as she politely declined the offer of coffee.
"He'll be with you in a moment," the woman said. "Oh, sorry, let me get this out of here."

She scooped up the food and carried it from the room, leaving only a scent of pineapple hovering in the air.
Well. Good riddance. The last thing Georgia needed was to get all gorged and sleepy right before an interview.
And this could be the interview. This could be the interview that landed the job that allowed her to bring Katie-Ann to California until her father got out of prison. Too bad her resume was sort of bare, but the economy was finally picking up and she only needed one solid foothold. It didn't matter how many jobs she hadn't gotten. What mattered was the one she did get, and this could be that one. So what if it had been more than three weeks since her last interview? That just meant she should make this one count.
As she moved her forearm slowly across the mahogany, she could see her pale skin reflected off the glistening finish. Sure was quiet in here. You couldn't hear anything of the big company that was supposedly operating at breakneck speed just outside the walls. Fast-paced was what they called themselves. Self-starter is what she was supposed to be. Well, she was a self-starter. How else had she gotten here? All the way from Piney, Arkansas, to Silicon Valley on bald tires, a million miles from the sound of Mama's sniffling, the acrid smell of her bright pink nail polish.
Georgia wasn't wearing any makeup at all. The woman with the bobbing ponytail had on perfect makeup that made her skin look like a baby's butt. Which was great if you also knew how to avoid making yourself a magnet for perverts, but Georgia hoped she could hold her own around here without makeup. Tall and lanky and fast-moving, like a colt, her father said. (He should know, he'd boarded enough of them.) She wasn't an athlete, exactly, but definitely a runner. Dark pinstripe pantsuit from the Now and Again shop up in Palo Alto, scratchy at the back of her neck. Blueberry-colored eyes against pale, freckled skin, shiny black hair in a blunt bob as even as her dull scissors could chew through it. A smile so wide it sometimes startled people, seemed to give the fleeting impression she was unhinged. Careful with the smile. Enthusiastic, but not alarming.

The guy coming to interview her was late. She could have peed after all. This big San Jose industrial park was confusing, with boxy cement buildings that all looked exactly alike. Set back from the street behind gigantic parking lots full of glinting cars so it was impossible to see any street numbers, making it clear they couldn't care less whether a newcomer found her way. She'd ended up having to run in her heels just to get to the lobby on time.
Could she get to the john now? She squeezed her shoulder blades tightly and stretched the back of her neck away from the scratchy suit coat. The silence was making her jumpy. She left her resume on the polished table and opened the door just enough to look out.
The woman with the ponytail was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Georgia couldn't see a living soul. She took a couple of tentative steps into the hall. What if the interviewer showed up before she got back? Screw it. With a last look around the vacant executive area, she darted down the hallway.
The hall opened abruptly into an area crammed with battle-gray, fabric cubicles that created a maze the size of a football field. Had she wandered into a different company? The only thing the two areas had in common was that here, too, it was quiet. People must really be concentrating. Either that, or they'd had a bomb scare and nobody had bothered to tell her.
She was relieved to see a bald head appear above the fabric wall a few cubes down like a Jurassic Park dinosaur. (Now, that was quite an image. Did she feel that out of place around here?) She heard a printer spitting out copies somewhere in the distance as she headed toward the dinosaur, rounded a corner and stopped cold.
An unattended donut was resting on the work surface just inside one of the cubes. Barely even inside the cube, less than a foot away, almost as if it had been set down and forgotten by some passerby.
The plate slapped down in a hurry, its edge sticking out precariously beyond the edge of the work surface. Yesterday's donut, perhaps, abandoned, stale.
But no, the donut was still puffy and golden, with minuscule cracks in that shiny sugar glaze. A donut still wafting the faintest scent of the fat it had been fried in. She could almost feel her lips touching the tender surface as her teeth . . .
Had she whimpered out loud? She glanced both ways along the still-deserted hall and then returned her gaze to the donut resting on its lightly grease-stained white paper plate. Pretending to wonder if the cube was occupied, she leaned her head in and called a faint "hello?" resting her hand lightly on the work surface, a finger touching the paper plate. Staring straight ahead, she floated her fingers across the surface and up, until her palm was hovering just above the donut's sticky surface. One quick grab . . .
"May I help you?" intoned a male voice.
Georgia snatched her hand back like the donut was a rattlesnake.
She turned and found herself face to face with the Jurassic Park dinosaur, who was looking distinctly human and downright suspicious. He looked past her and surveyed the vacant cube before resting his skeptical gaze on her most winsome smile.
"Oh, hi!" she said brightly. "I'm here for an interview, and I was hoping you could point me toward the restroom?"
"And you thought it might be in here?"
"Well no, but I thought a person . . ."
"Follow me, please."
She heard her Arkansas twang vibrating the air between them as he led her down the hall a few yards, pointed a stern finger and said, "In there." He crossed his arms, and she felt the heat of his disapproving gaze on her back as she pushed through the heavy door into the privacy on the other side.
Now, that was just downright mortifying. Caught in the act of stealing a donut? A donut?? If he told somebody . . . She cupped her palm over her closed eyes and dragged it slowly down until it covered her mouth.
Of course, she hadn't actually taken the donut, so what precisely had the guy seen? A woman standing at the edge of an empty cube, leaning her head in politely to look for someone. He probably hadn't noticed the donut, and even if he had he'd never imagine how desperately she wanted it. He'd probably had steak and gravy for breakfast, and thought a hungry person in Silicon Valley was as rare as a Jurassic Park dinosaur. If anything, he probably thought she was casing the empty cube for something valuable. Which was ridiculous, because what could a cube contain that was as valuable as a job?
But if he thought it was true, he might be waiting for her just outside the door with a security guard, planning to march her out of the building and away from this rare and essential person who could actually give her a job. Busted because of a donut.
The face that looked back from the mirror above the sink was staring at a firing squad as Georgia held her icy hands under the hot water.
But then the stare turned defiant.
She hadn't driven all the way from Arkansas to live in her car and get this job interview just to become distracted at the critical moment by some prissy, no-account donut police. Who did he think he was? It wasn't even his donut, and anyway, he wasn't doing the hiring. Her only task at this moment was to deliver the interview of a lifetime and get this job.
She squared her shoulders, practiced her smile in the mirror two or three times and strode with her head erect back along the deserted corridor to the interview room.
The man who entered the conference room five minutes later had the stiff-backed posture and shorn hair of a military man. He was well over six feet tall, lean, in his late forties, wearing neatly rolled blue chambray shirtsleeves and a bright yellow bow tie. As he shook her hand and sat opposite her, she saw that his stubble of hair was red and his eyes were a muted green. Fellow Irishman, maybe. Could she forge some connection from that?
"I'm Ken Madigan, the General Counsel here. Are you Georgia Griffin?"
"Yes, sir, I am." She offered her carefully calibrated, not-alarming smile.
"Appreciate you coming in today. Sorry to keep you waiting." He tapped a green folder with her name on the tab. "I've read your resume, so I won't ask you to repeat it. As you know, we have a key job to fill after quite a hiring freeze. Let's start with what's important to you in your next job."
"Well, sir, I just got my paralegal certificate, and I'm looking for the opportunity to put my learning and judgment to use. I intend to prove that I can make a real difference to my company, and then I'd like to advance."
His smile was encouraging. "Advance to what?"
This was a variant of the 'five years' question, and she answered confidently. "In five years I'd still like to be in the legal department, but I want to have learned everything there is to know about the other parts of the company, too. My goal is to become, well, indispensable."
"Is anything else important?" Those gray-green eyes were watching her with mild interest. She decided to take a chance and expose a tiny bit of her peculiar background to personalize this interview.
"Well, sir, I'm eager to get started, because I need to make enough money to get my baby sister here just as soon as I can make a place for her."
His raised his eyebrows slightly. "And how old is she?"
"Fifteen, sir, and needing a better future than the one she's got. I need to move pretty fast on that one."
"I see. Now tell me about your work experience." Which was where these interviews generally died. She shoved her cold hands between her thighs and the chair.
"I don't have a lot of glamorous experience, sir. I cleaned houses and worked as a waitress at the WhistleStop to get myself through school. And the whole time I was growing up I helped my father look after the horses he was boarding. In fact, he got so busy with his second job for a while that I just took over the horses myself. Horses are expensive, delicate animals, and things can go wrong in a heartbeat. With me in charge, our horses did fine."
"Okay, great." He ran his palm over his stubble of hair, considering. "Now tell me what kind of people you like to work with." Not one follow-up question about her experience. Did he think there was nothing worth talking about? Just focus on the question.
"The main thing is I want to work with smart people who like to do things right the first time. And people who just, you know, have common sense."
"I see. And what kind of people bug you?" This interviewer wasn't talking much, which made it hard to tell what impression she was making. A bead of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades.
"Well, I don't much like hypocrites." Which unfortunately eliminated about half the human race, but she wouldn't mention that. He waited. "And I don't like people who can't or won't do their jobs." She stopped there, in spite of his continued silence. No need to mention pedophiles, or that nasty prison guard who'd backed her against the wall on the catwalk. That probably wasn't what Ken Madigan had in mind.
"Thank you." He tapped his pen on her resume. "Now I'd like you to describe yourself with three adjectives."
Was this guy jerking her chain? He didn't much look like he'd jerk anybody's chain, but what did adjectives have to do with job qualifications? Maybe he was politely passing the time because he'd already decided not to hire her.
"Well," she said, glancing into the corner, "I guess I would say I'm effective. Quick at sizing up a situation." She paused. "And then I'm trying to decide between 'inventive' and 'tough.'"
"Okay, I'll give you both. Inventive and tough. Tell me about a time you were quick at sizing up a situation." This didn't feel like the other interviews she'd done. Not only were the questions weird, but he seemed to be listening to her so closely. She couldn't recall ever being listened to quite like this.
To her astonishment she said exactly what came into her head. "Well, like this one. I can already tell that you're a kind person who cares about the people who work for you. I think you're pretty smart, and you listen with a capital L. You might have a problem standing up to people who aren't as smart or above board as you are, though. That could be holding you back some."
Ken Madigan's eyebrows were suddenly up near his hairline. Why on earth was she spilling her insights about him to him? Too many weeks of isolation? Was it hunger? She should have taken that coffee after all, if only to dump plenty of sugar in it. Or was it something about him, that earnest-looking bow tie maybe, that made her idiotically want to be understood? Whatever it was, she'd blown the interview. Good thing she wasn't the sort of weakling who cried.
So move it along and get out of there. She dropped her forehead into her hand. "God, I can't believe I just said all that. You probably don't have any flaws at all, sir, and if you do it isn't my place to notice them. I guess I need another adjective."
"Which would be . . . ?"
"Blunt."
He lowered one eyebrow slightly. "Let's say 'forthright.' And I won't need an example."
"You know what, though?" There was nothing left to lose, really, and she was curious. "I'm not this 'forthright' with everybody. A lot of people must just talk to you."
"They do," he acknowledged with a single nod, his eyebrows resuming their natural location. "It's an accident of birth. But they usually don't say anything this interesting." He sounded amused. Could she salvage this?
"Well, I'm completely embarrassed I got so personal."
"You shouldn't be. I'm impressed with your insight."
"Really? Then maybe you see what I mean about being quick."
He laughed. "I believe I do."
"I mean, I can be quick about other things, too. Quick to see a problem starting up. Sometimes quick to see what'll solve it. Like when my father had to go away and I saw we'd have to sell the stable to pay the taxes . . ." Blah blah blah, there she went again. She resisted clapping her hand over her mouth. Was she trying to lose this job?
The woman with the bouncy ponytail stuck her head in. "I'm so sorry, but Roy would like to see you in his office right away. And your next appointment is already downstairs." She handed him another green folder. The tab said 'Sarah Millchamp.' "I'm going to lunch, but I'll have Maggie go down for her in ten minutes. She'll be in here whenever you're ready."
"Thanks, Nikki," he said, turning back to Georgia. "Unfortunately, it looks like our time's about up. Do you have a question for me before we stop?"
Sixty seconds left to make an impression. "I saw your stock's been going up. Do you think it's going up for the right reasons?"
There went his eyebrows again, and this time his mouth seemed to be restraining a smile. "Not entirely, no, as a matter of fact."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have an opinion about improvements that would make your growth more sustainable?"
He allowed his smile to expand. "I have many opinions, and a small amount of real insight. Might be difficult to discuss right now . . ."
She held a hand up. "Oh, I understand. But do you think a paralegal could help make a difference?"
"A solid paralegal could make a big difference."
"I'd like to know more about the issues, sir, but they're probably confidential, and anyway, I know you have to leave." She leaned forward, preparing to stand up.
"You're a surprising person, Ms. Griffin, and an interesting one. I've enjoyed our conversation."
Like he enjoyed a circus freak, probably. She made her smile humble. "Thank you."
"If it's all right with you, I'd like to have somebody from Human Resources give you a call in the next day or two."
Was he serious? "That would be fine."
"If we decide to work together, could you start pretty quickly?"
The goal now was to leave without saying anything else stupid. "I'm sure I can meet your requirements."
As he walked her out to the elevator he lowered his voice. "You know, Ms. Griffin, you're an intuitive person, and you might have some insights about the Human Resources people you're about to meet . . ."
She held up her palm. "Don't worry, sir. If I do, I'll keep my mouth shut."
"Excellent. Great talking to you. Drive safely, now," he called as the elevator door closed between them.
Thank God that interview was finished. In another five minutes she'd have told him anything, she'd have told him about Robbie. Drive safely? What a cornball. But she must have said something right. He gave her that tip about getting past the Human Resources people, which meant he must like her. Landing a first job with her resume was like trying to freeze fire, but this time at least she had a chance.
Her stomach cramped with hunger as she emerged into the lobby and saw a woman in her mid-thirties glancing through a magazine. Tailored suit, precision-cut blond hair, leather case laid neatly across her lap. Completely professional, and she had ten years' experience on Georgia at least. No. No way. Georgia walked briskly over to the woman and stood between her and the receptionist.
"Ms. Millchamp?" she said quietly, extending her hand.
The woman stood up and smiled. "Sarah Millchamp. Nice to meet you. I know I'm early."
"I'm Misty. So sorry to tell you this, but Mr. Madigan's been called out of town unexpectedly. He's headed for the airport now."
"Oh!" The poised Ms. Millchamp quickly regained her composure. "That's too bad. But of course I understand."
"Thank you for being so understanding. This literally happened ten minutes ago, and I'm completely flustered. I know he wants to meet you. Are you parked out here? At least let me walk you to your car."
She put a sisterly hand against Ms. Millchamp's elbow and began steering her toward the exit. "Tell you what, can I call you to reschedule as soon as Mr. Madigan gets back? Maybe you two can have lunch. Just don't take that job at Google in the meantime."
"Google?"
"Now, don't pretend you haven't heard about the job at Google. In Brad Dormond's department? They're our worst nightmare when it comes to competing for good people." The air in the parking lot mingled the spicy scent of eucalyptus with the smell of rancid engine grease, and her stomach lurched. "So, see over there? That's the entrance to the freeway. Bye now. I'll call you soon."
Georgia waved as Sarah Millchamp backed her car out. Then she hurried back inside to the receptionist.
"Hi," she said. "That lady, Ms. Millchamp? She just let me know she has a migraine and will call to reschedule. Will you let Maggie know?"
The receptionist nodded and picked up her phone. "That's too bad."
"Isn't it, though?"
Done and dusted, as Gramma Griffin would say.
She still might not get the job, of course, she reminded herself as she pulled onto the freeway, nibbling a half-eaten dinner roll she'd squirreled away in the crack between her passenger seat cushions the night before. She'd gotten this far once before. And she didn't have to get it. She had another dozen resumes out, and one of those might still lead to something. Her cousin at Apple had turned out to be more useless than a well dug in a river, but that didn't mean she was desperate. If she continued sleeping in her car most nights her money could last for another five weeks. And Lumina Software might not be a great job, anyway. Ken Madigan probably just interviewed well. That's probably all it was.



Author Bio:


Susan Wolfe
Susan Wolfe is a lawyer with a B.A. from the University of Chicago and a law degree from Stanford University. After four years of practicing law full time, she bailed out and wrote the best-selling novel, The Last Billable Hour, which won the Edgar Award for Best First Novel. She returned to law for another sixteen years, first as a criminal defense attorney and then as an in-house lawyer for Silicon Valley high-tech companies. Born and raised in San Bernardino, California, she now lives in Palo Alto, California, with her husband, Ralph DeVoe. Her new novel, Escape Velocity, will be published in October of 2016.


Catch Up with Susan Wolfe on her Website , on Twitter , and on Facebook !




Tour Participants:

Stop by the other hosts as well for excerpts, guest posts, interviews, reviews, and, of course, more great giveaways!






Join In on the Giveaway!



This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours for Author Guide and Susan Wolfe. There will be 1 US winner of one (1) $50 Amazon.com gift card AND 5 US winners of one (1) eBook copy of Escape Velocity by Susan Wolfe. The giveaway begins on October 31st and runs through January 7th, 2017.

a Rafflecopter giveaway