We’d like to thank Lisa Renee Jones for joining us recently, instigating a good discussion about book covers, an important issue in the process of publishing a book and buying one. Thanks for a fun day, Lisa!

And now to our winner, who will receive a goodie bag filled with books, some bath and body works Vampire Blood that Lisa swears you will love and any one of her backlist books she currently has in stock.

Mairee (#4) …. come on down!

Congrats! Send your snail mail address to lighthousetagger (at) gmail (dot) com and we’ll pass it on to Lisa for you.

We’d like to thank Helen Scott Taylor for spending the day with us recently and giving us a terrific topic to think about with her Guest Blog. It was a fun time for all!

And now for our winner of an e-copy of Helen’s latest release, A Clockwork Fairytale. Drumroll, please!

Pamk (#1)

Congratulations, Pamk!

Please send a valid email address to lighthousetagger (at) gmail (dot) com and we’ll get in touch with Helen for you!

We’d like to thank Sandy Blair for spending the day with us recently, opening a discussion for those of us addicted to historical romance. There’s a few of you out there!

And now our winner of an e-copy of Sandy’s new book, The King’s Mistress.

Sally Felt (#4) you’re the lucky one!

Congratulations!

Please send a valid email address to lighthousetagger at gmail dot com and we’ll get your e-copy to you!

Thanks to all of you who stopped by to chat with us about old Mr. Sun giving us too much heat and what you do to combat the summer doldrums. We had a lot of fun reading all of your responses.

And now to our winner of that terrific stack of books:

A Wicked Lord at the Wedding by Jillian Hunter
The Wicked Duke Takes a Wife by Jillian Hunter
A Duke’s Temptation by Jillian Hunter
To Tame a Dangerous Lord by Nicole Jordan
To Desire a Wicked Duke by Nicole Jordan
Wicked Little Game by Christine Wells
Sweetest Little Sin by Christine Wells
In Bed with the Duke by Christina Dodd
Taken by the Prince by Christina Dodd
Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right by Kieran Kramer
Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage by Kieran Kramer

And that is:

Ashley J (#2)

Congrats, Ashley! Send your snail mail address to lighthousetagger at gmail dot com and we’ll get your books in the mail to you!

Well, a few of you had some wild and crazy ideas where our Sybs has been hiding out lately!

From being a member of a SEAL team to cruising the Mediterranean to time traveling back to Regency England, she at least had a good time! Or has she really? I’m hoping she read your posts to give her a chance to daydream while she…

…was only working. Sigh. See why she needs the daydreams?

Okay, now for our winner of that fabulous list of books by Stephanie Laurens, Sarah MacLean, and Allison Chase…

Jane (#4)

Congratulations! You’ve got some heavy-duty reading to do now. Please send your snail mail addy to lighthousetagger at gmail dot com by Friday, August 19, and we’ll get your books out to you!

Another winner will be chosen if there’s no response from the winner by the deadline.

At least it is in my part of the world!

However, we’ve been fairly lucky this summer here in the San Joaquin Valley of Central California. We had a beautiful cool-down in July for a couple of weeks, a time when it’s 100+ degrees, even in the shade. Temps in the mid 80s had all of us lightheaded here in the nation’s prime ag land, running around doing things we don’t normally do during summertime!

Then it’s back to the old grind, according to the weatherman. 101, 102 degrees this past weekend. I had visions of our yearly contest of how many days running it would be 100+ and would we hit 115 again. But wait! That dire prediction never came to pass. We hit the high 90s and thought we were in heaven. And it’s the same for the foreseeable future, thank goodness. Central Californians will take high 90s any day of the week, believe you me.

So what’s it like in your part of the world? Hot and getting hotter by the minute? Or are you also experiencing some cooler, abnormal weather for this time of year?

What do you usually do, if your temps are where they should be, to beat the heat? And if you’re lucky to have it nice right now, what are you doing to take advantage of that beautiful weather?

And what do you get if you tell me? Ha! You just know there’s a catch, huh? But it’s a very good catch. How about this nifty pile of books:

A Wicked Lord at the Wedding by Jillian Hunter
The Wicked Duke Takes a Wife by Jillian Hunter
A Duke’s Temptation by Jillian Hunter
To Tame a Dangerous Lord by Nicole Jordan
To Desire a Wicked Duke by Nicole Jordan
Wicked Little Game by Christine Wells
Sweetest Little Sin by Christine Wells
In Bed with the Duke by Christina Dodd
Taken by the Prince by Christina Dodd
Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right by Kieran Kramer
Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage by Kieran Kramer

I look forward to hearing about your fun during hot summer days!

[U.S. and Canada readers only, please.]

Y’all remember Sybil, right? Head blog honcho. Keeper of the books. Cracker of the review whip. One of the sarcastic wit. Yeah, her!

Well, notice she’s not been around here lately? For a while? Know where she’s been? No?

I do!

But I ain’t tellin’ just yet. Why? ‘Cause I’m going to torture you just a little. Had an idea for a contest. For some books. Some really good books!

So what do you have to do to possibly win these books? We’re going to play a game called Where’s Sybs?!!!

Yeah, she’s in there among all those lovelies, and you can pick her out if you’d like, but you have to do more than find her there. What we want to know is what you think she’s been doing all this time she’s been MIA.

On a safari in Africa? Digging in a pyramid in Egypt? On an oil rig off the shores of Texas?

Something more exciting? Or more mundane?

And what do you get for your efforts? How about this nice stack of books:

The Untamed Bride by Stephanie Laurens
The Elusive Bride by Stephanie Laurens
The Brazen Bride by Stephanie Laurens
The Reckless Bride by Stephanie Laurens
Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake by Sarah MacLean
Ten Ways to be Adored When Landing a Lord by Sarah MacLean
Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke’s Heart by Sarah MacLean
Outrageously Yours by Allison Chase
Most Eagerly Yours by Allison Chase

So get to work! Let us hear your ideas. Be creative and have fun!

Sorry, U.S. & Canada readers only.

My apologies to Melissa Mayhue and our readers!

I simply forgot to add the contest for a copy of Melissa’s Highlander’s Curse to her Guest Blog today.   Syb said to say it’s “our” fault, but it’s not. It’s mine, so I take full responsibility for the error.

Maybe I shouldn’t be staying up so late trying to get everything done in my 36-hour day! And hopefully this late post will make up for my forgetfulness.

Be sure to leave a comment after reading Melissa’s post and we’ll put your name in our hat for your chance to win!

We’d like to thank Alexandra Hawkins for joining us for the release of her latest Lords of Vice book, After Dark with a Scoundrel. Also, thanks to all of you who shared your vices, both good and bad, with the romance community. Books, print and electronic, and chocolate – why is that not a surprise to me? – seem to be the top vices for most of us. I’d say that’s a pretty good combination!

And now for our winners, if I may have a drum roll, please…

I used that handy-dandy random number generator, and here’s what it told me:

~ No. 6: Amy

~ No. 7: Linda Henderson

~ No. 19: Snowi Brume

~ No. 18: Audrey

Congrats, ladies! Please send your snail mail addresses to Lighthousetagger at gmail dot com and I’ll pass on your info to Alexandra.

These Lords of Vice by Alexandra Hawkins have been a lot of fun to read. Underneath their vices – the excesses, the debauchery and quite a bit more – however, they each have a somewhat tortured soul that only their heroine can soothe.

I think Dare is my favorite so far. He’s a man who feels everything so deep, but he plays everything close to the vest because of a family he’s still loyal too, despite the hurt they heap onto him. He tries to do the right thing, especially when it comes to Regan. But she’s the one good thing in his life he has to have no matter the cost.

So let’s have some fun today. Alexandra is diligently working on the next book in this series, but she’s going to take a few minutes here and there throughout the day to check in with us. What’s your worst vice? Or the opposite, your best vice?    Go whichever way you’d like! Four copies of After Dark with a Scoundrel are up for grabs, so be creative and be honest!

In the meantime, here’s the book summary:

One Stolen Kiss…

Young, tender, and highly impressionable, Lady Regan can’t help but be intrigued by her brother’s wayward friends—the wickedly charming Lords of Vice. One man in particular, the dashing Lord Hugh Mordare, known simply as “Dare” among the ton, utterly captivates her—in spite of his reputation as a notorious womanizer. But when she steals an innocent kiss from Dare, Regan is swiftly packed off to boarding school, safely away from danger…and desire.

One Sweet Seduction…

Five years later, Regan returns—a proper lady and ravishing beauty. Miss Swann’s Academy for Young Ladies has taught her how to behave in polite society. But all the training in the world cannot extinguish her love for Dare. Now, she hopes to beat the master of seduction at his own game—by daring Dare to love her in return. This time, both of their hearts are on the line…and winner takes all.

And now the excerpt:

London, April 25, 1822

“Is Lord Chillingsworth pleased that you will be able to join him in London this season?”

Regan blinked, distracted by the innocent question.  All she wanted to do was rend the paper in her hand into dozens of illegible pieces and scream.  Instead, she carefully folded Frost’s letter and smiled demurely at her friends’ expectant expressions.

“Of course.”  Her fingers tapped the paper lightly.  “While it has only been four months since I last saw Frost, I have not had the pleasure of visiting London in almost five years.”

And if Frost has his way, another five years will pass before he grants me his consent.

“Our first social season in Town!” Nina sighed.

Miss Tyne was nineteen and possessed an overly optimistic view on life.  The daughter of a baron, Nina was expected to make a good match for her family.  It was a laudable goal, and the young woman was amendable to her family’s wishes.  Regan was confident that Nina would soon have a dozen suitors vying for her affections.

Perhaps some of Nina’s optimism had rubbed off on Regan while they were in school, after all.

“Well, I say it is high time Lord Chillingsworth does his duty by you, and gives you a proper season, Regan.  I will have you know that Mama agrees as well.”

She did not have the heart to remind Thea that her mother was the person responsible for Regan’s banishment from London in the first place.  Frost would have never thought to send her away to school if it had not been for Lady Karmack’s meddling.  He had been too busy pursuing his own amusements to be bothered with giving his sister the education and polish befitting an earl’s daughter.

Lady Karmack, on the other hand, had taken one look at Regan and feared that under the care of her notorious brother, she was destined to become a famous courtesan or, worse, the wife of one of the Lords of Vice.  As a distant cousin, the older woman felt it was her Christian duty to remove Regan from her brother’s ghastly influence.

It still hurt that Frost had not fought harder to keep her.

In the beginning, Regan had not appreciated Lady Karmack’s keen interest in her welfare.  She had been disrespectful, outrageous, and oftentimes deliberately obtuse when it came to her lessons.  The first year away from Frost and the men she considered her family had been the worst, and Regan had not been shy about displaying her anger toward the people who sincerely believed that they were saving her from a life of depravity.  It was at Miss Swann’s Academy for Young Ladies that she gradually became friends with Thea and Nina.

Instead of looking down their noses at Regan’s outlandish behavior as many of the other girls had, the two young women had been in awe.  No one dared to challenge Miss Swann or speak her mind, yet Regan often did both.  The trio had banded together by the end of their first year, and had been nearly inseparable.  When Regan had not been sequestered at school, she often spent her summers visiting her friends.  If Frost was in residence at the family’s country seat, she joined him.  However, their weeks together were usually strained, and, in hindsight, Regan acknowledged that she was often to blame.

In those early years of what she had come to view as her banishment, she had written her brother dozens of letters, begging him to relent and come for her.  She missed her old life.  She missed Nox and the Lords of Vice.  She had often wondered if Dare might kiss her again if she returned to London.

Frost never gave her a chance to satisfy her curiosity.

He always denied her requests.  Not one for sentimentality, the only time her brother wrote to her was to tell her that she could not return to London until Miss Swann had transformed the hoyden into a lady.  His casual rejections had taken their toll on their relationship, and Regan could not quite forgive Frost for sending her away.

However, she was willing to let bygones be bygones if her brother was willing to be reasonable.

She intended to spend the entire season in London with or without his blessing.

With Lady Karmack on her side this time, Frost was going to find it difficult to dismiss her polite request.

“Will you be remaining at our house or will you join Frost at his town house?” Thea asked.

“My brother undoubtedly will want me to reside with him,” Regan brazenly lied.  “However, it might be prudent to remain here until I have had a chance to speak to him.”

Nina shut the book that she had been readin—g and placed it on her lap.  “Good heavens!”

Regan tried to appear innocent.  “I beg your pardon?”

Her friend rolled her eyes heavenward.  “I cannot believe your audacity.  Now tell us the truth, is your brother aware that you are in Town?”

Thea gasped.  “But you told Mama—–”

Regan gave her friends an exasperated look.  “Be sensible.  Our recent travels have added to the delays in my correspondence with my brother.  While Frost is looking forward to seeing me”–she crossed her fingers behind her back and prayed that her words were true–”he most likely has not received my last letter.”

There was no reason to tell Thea and Nina that Frost was expecting to see her in August when he returned to the family’s country estate.

Her arrogant brother had not mentioned London at all.

Thea thought Regan’s explanation was sound.  “Should we send a messenger to his town house?”

Unconvinced, Nina glanced at Thea and then Regan.  She nodded, silently agreeing to whatever plan Regan had concocted.  “Or that club he frequents.  Oh, what is it called?”

“Nox,” Regan absently replied, rising from her chair.  With Frost’s letter in her hand, she gracefully strolled over to the small fireplace.  “I do not believe that will be necessary, ladies.  Some messages are best delivered in person.”

Regan bent down and dropped Frost’s letter onto the burning coal embers.  The folded paper quickly caught fire, the flames greedily destroying the letter.

Her banishment was finally over.

Dare smoothed his hair back before he pulled the crimson drapery aside and entered the private theater box that Hunter had rented for the season.  His late arrival would likely provoke a few comments from his friends.

Frost did not disappoint him.

With his chair positioned at an angle to accommodate his long legs, the earl grinned up at him.  “Why, a good evening to you, Lord Hugh!”

Dare stepped over his friend’s legs and nodded to Hunter and Saint, who had yet to take their seats.  “Keep your nasty wit to yourself, Frost.  I know that I am late.  It could not be helped.”

Frost pivoted, pulling his legs in as he faced Dare.  “How kind of you to join us this evening.  I must confess when I espied Lady Pashley sitting alone in her box, I feared that your honorable nature might rear its ugly head and put an irreparable blight on our promising evening.”

“If true, Dare’s honor might not be the only head rising this evening,” Saint muttered to Hunter as he nudged the duke.

Dare acknowledged his friend’s ribald comment with a low chuckle.  He peered out into the sea of private boxes in search of his brother’s marchioness.  He spotted her one tier down.  Another couple had joined Allegra, and with luck they would remain at her side for the evening.

“Unlike you, Frost, manners and duty may dictate me to stop by Lady Pashley’s private box to pay my respects.  Nevertheless, I have no inclination to tarry.”

Frost snorted, making his disbelief apparent.

“While you may find this difficult to believe, another lady has engaged my attentions this evening. ” Dare was in too good a mood to be annoyed with Frost.  “Mrs. Randall has invited me to call on her after Lord and Lady Quinton’s ball.”

Frost’s eyebrows slid upward as he nodded with begrudging approval.  Hunter and Saint offered their congratulations.  The lovely twenty-eight-year-old widow had come out of mourning last season.  She had rejected all suitors and, as far as anyone knew, all potential lovers.  The young widow had even been impervious to Frost’s charms.

“I assume you expect us to join you at Lord and Lady Quinton’s ball?” Frost said, casting a sly glance in Lady Pashley’s direction.

Dare braced his palm against the back of his friend’s chair and stared directly into Frost’s turquoise-blue eyes.  “Mrs. Randall never mentioned me joining her at the ball.  Nor would she approve of me bringing the likes of you along to her town house.”

“Widows are daring creatures.  She might be agreeable with the proper enticement,” Frost said, bringing his gloved hand up to the apex of his trousers to make his vulgar point.

All four men laughed, earning them several curious looks from the nearby boxes.  Dare sat down beside Frost.  He was looking for another subject to distract his friend when Saint came to the rescue.

“Has anyone heard from Reign or Sin this evening?”

Hunter slid into the seat in front of Dare.  “Sin will join us later.  His wife decided to sit with her mother and sisters this evening.”

A noncommittal noise rumbled in Frost’s throat.  He did not exactly approve of Lady Sinclair, and the lady did not hide the fact that she was merely tolerant of Frost for her husband’s sake.

Hunter gave their friend a bemused glance.  “Show some respect, Frost.  Lady Sinclair is expected to deliver the Sinclair heir sometime in September.  Sin is just protective of his lady.”

“And Reign?” Dare prompted.

“Worse than Sin, now that he is a father.”  Saint crossed his arms across his chest and braced his stance by bending his left knee.  “He left London five days ago to collect his wife and infant daughter.  Reign did not want them traveling alone.”

Dare could not blame Reign.  He had never seen a gentleman so besotted.  Last season, when Reign had encountered Lady Sophia Northam at a ball, he had fallen hard for the demure blonde.  Reign had the lady wedded, bedded, and with child before the season had ended.

“Another good man . . . ,” Frost mumbled, the rest of his sentence unintelligible, but his meaning was clear to his friends.

Frost enjoyed ladies as well as any other gent.  He just did not view them as anything permanent in a man’s life.  As far as the earl was concerned, marriage had ruined Sin and Reign.

To some degree, Dare silently agreed with Frost.  His older brother’s marriage to Allegra was a miserable union, and Reign’s first marriage to Miss Roberts had been an unmitigated disaster.  Still, both Reign and Sin seemed happy in their recent marriages.  Dare did not begrudge his friends their newfound bliss.

While Saint regaled them with Vane’s latest mischief, Dare idly observed the lords and ladies from private box to private box.  He immediately spotted Lady Sinclair.  Seated beside Lady Harper, the marchioness was engrossed in a discussion with one of her sisters.  Sin was nowhere in sight.

Dare moved on to another private box, recognizing some of the patrons as he let his gaze continue to wander.  It meant nothing if his attention lingered on Allegra.  After all, she was a beautiful woman.  If his heart ached, it was his own damn business.  Before his older brother had stolen her from him, Allegra had been his.
Frost often teased him about Allegra, but his friend did not understand Dare’s inner conflict.  While a part of him would always love the lady, he also hated her.  His familial obligations kept him tethered, and he seemed doomed to never be quite free from her.

And his brother enjoyed Dare’s torment.

Before he could dwell further on his dark thoughts, a glint of amber caught Dare’s eye, distracting him from Allegra’s private box.  One tier up and two boxes to the right, a dark-haired lady in an amber evening dress presented him her elegant profile.  Captivated, he watched as the silken fabric of her dress gleamed like the sun while the candlelight from the chandeliers played across the angles of her puffed sleeves and skirt.  Her dark tresses had been pulled high, and only a few curls near her hairline had escaped.  The lady’s pale creamy complexion was untouched by the sun, yet even in the dim interior of the theater, her skin glowed with health and vitality.

Dare watched as she extended her gloved hand to a gentleman who had slipped into their private box to pay the woman and her female companions his respects.  Slightly envious that the gent had discovered the lady in amber before he had, Dare leaned forward as he watched the silent courtship play out before his eyes.  The young woman smiled and gestured as she formally introduced her friends.  The gentleman bowed, his eyes remaining on his amber prize.

Arrogant bastard.

The gentleman was older and possessed a weak chin.  Possibly two.  A lady of wealth and beauty could do better.  The three gentlemen entering the crowded box must have thought the same thing.

Dare stood when the young woman brought her hand to her heart, and then practically threw herself into the arms of one of her would-be suitors.  His gaze narrowed as recognition flooded his envious heart.

“What the devil–is that Vane?” Dare said his voice infused with such fury that Frost, Hunter, and Saint ceased speaking and stared at him with varying degrees of amazement.

He could not blame them for their curiosity.  Dare did not understand his reaction himself.  A small part of him was still tempted to leap from box to box until he reached Vane so he could have the pleasure of tossing the rogue headfirst into the pit.

What spared him was that the woman in amber released Vane and stepped back.  At Vane’s urging, she looked across the interior of the theater.  Dare inhaled sharply as his hungry gaze drank in her beauty.  Familiarity tickled his senses, but it was elusive.  Unexpectedly their gazes locked, and the dark-haired beauty seemed almost as startled as he was by the impact.

Recognition popped in his head like miniature fireworks.

The last time Dare had seen her endearing face, it had been sullied by soot and grime.

“Gents!” Sin said, bursting through the closed curtains at the back of their private box.  He was grinning from ear to ear.  “Why did no one tell me that our little Regan has come home?”

This just in…

The Harlequin Historical authors are spreading the giving spirit of the holiday season, something you don’t want to miss!

~ Beginning December 1 visit the web page of each participating HH author listed here. You will be asked to take part in an activity – visit a Facebook page, find an ornament, comment on a blog, as examples – that author has chosen especially for her day in the contest.

~ For each day you participate, your name will be entered into a Grand Prize drawing.

~ At the end of the month on December 23, one day from the calendar will be randomly selected. One of the entrants from that selected day will be randomly selected….

~ To win what, you ask? A brand new Kindle 3-G filled to the gills with historical books! So the more days you visit, the better your chances at owning a Kindle!

~ Here’s the page you need to begin with. Bookmark it!

~ The contest is open to readers from the U.S., Canada, UK, Australia, Ireland, and New Zealand.

~ Good luck!

Consider yourself flashed.

This just in…

If you were intrigued by my review to read Erin Kellison’s debut novel, Shadow Bound, here’s your chance to get a few dollars off your purchase of the book with hardly any effort at all!

Head over to Dorchester Publishing.

Read the prologue from Shadow Bound.

Answer a trivia question.

Your $5 off coupon will be emailed to you.

Place an order and apply your coupon.

How darned easy is that!!

If for some reason you’re not sure this book is for you, read my review in addition to the prologue. I think you’ll be very intrigued!

Consider yourself flashed.

So I get an e-mail from Sybil this morning with the loaded one line, “Can you do me a favor?” Oy!  Talk about a loaded question!  So I dipped my toe in the water (“Uh, suuuurrrreeeee….”) and found it was nothing more than posting a contest.  And frankly, who better to ask about posting this contest other than the resident Harlequin Historical Undone ho here at The Pond?

Up for grabs?  A coupon code to download a free copy of Michelle Willingham‘s latest short story, Innocent In The Harem, from Harlequin Historical Undone.  Here’s the blurb:

Ottoman Empire, 1565

Prince Khadin knows his days are numbered. His death could come at any moment, but even he cannot help but be distracted by the Bedouin princess he sees making a daring bid for freedom from the slave market. Even in captivity, her courage and purity attract Khadin to her as much as her beauty. Unable to resist the temptation, he takes the maiden back to the palace harem—to be brought to him at night….

Ooooh, the Ottoman Empire!  A Prince!  A Princess!  And looking at that description, there are sure to be oodles of sexy shenanigans.

We have to turn this contest around rather quickly, so for a chance to win the free download leave a comment on this blog post and tell me – what setting would you like to see more of in historical romances? A winner will be drawn on Friday, June 25.

See, I told you this would be a quickie….

ETA: This contest is now over, and the winner has been notified.

Ok – so I’ve decided to celebrate random holidays each year. Last year it was the Chinese/Lunar New Year. This year, after a quick and random, totally unscientific twitter poll… it was decided 2010 I’d highlight Earth Day.

Being green is very popular now. I’m all for that. I’ve been accused of being a tree hugger, but I’m definitely not on top of everything. I don’t turn off all my electronics, etc – anyway there’s more I could be doing.

I’m not going to give a little Earth Day lesson, because you can find all the information online. I do like that it’s such an international holiday – more than 175 countries celebrate it each year!

I’ve been meaning to give away an ebook as well, so… what’s the prize? A copy of Maya Banks’ new and improved Colter’s Woman. That’s how I plan to celebrate Earth Day this year.

My question is then – what do you think about Earth Day? Did you ever celebrate it? Do you? And… if you read them, what book would you most like to see as an ebook? If you don’t read ebooks, why not?

Personally, I most want As You Desire by Connie Brockway to be released as an electronic book.

And because I’m always for more frivolity…well, me being me I’ve forgotten – so I’ll put it on you! Tell me something lighthearted and fun, that is relevant to this post! (Earth Day, ebooks…)

*NB: As usual, the winner will be announced in the comments. Contest closes a week from Friday.

As we all know, there are some crazies on teh interwebs. We’ve all heard about them, read them, or even experienced them. If you’re an author, you might also get the bonus of getting some crazy emails. Fan letters, hate letters, the works.

Every so often, an author will mention a “speshul” email on twitter. Recently, some authors talking about such a happenstance were HelenKay Dimon, Larissa Ione, Jaci Burton, and Lauren Dane.

Here’s an example.

Dear Larissa,

Thank you so much for writing your Demon books. I’ve been following the Demonica series since the first one, PLEASURE UNBOUND was released, and I can’t tell you how glad I am that I found them.

Finally!

An author is writing books that are specifically relevant to me! I, too, have my own special Demon who rocks my world. It’s so nice that you do too, and that you can understand where I’m coming from.

One of my problems with the series is when Wraith gave the Heofon to Kyran. Wraith would never have done such a thing because it would have been all about him and no one else. Why did you do that? You were wrong. Why would he do that?

And you’re wrong about Hell. I’ve been there. Satan is super cool. I’m going to tell him about your sucky books.

If I had more time, I’d tell you more about my Demon, but you don’t deserve to hear about him. I’m going to tell my demon to kick your demon’s ass the next time he sees him in hell.

I hope you learned your lesson. I’ll be looking for your next Demonica book, just to see if you did. Do not disappoint me in this. I do not like being disappointed.

Your #1 Fan

P.S. I’ve got my eyes on you.

So there you go. Why does this involve all of you? Well. Here’s where the fun begins! I teased the aforementioned authors that I was tempted to write them a very special fan letter. They said they’d post any bat shit crazy email I sent them.

This is where you come in. You have your choice of any of those four authors. Write the craziest, most freaky, creepy, incendiary email you can, and send it to crazyfanletter@gmail.com. (I know, I know I said I’m for contests where you just have to post to be entered, but don’t you think this is a fun and worthy cause?!) **NB** Because I’m having you email that specially created address, please include your info (name + address) in your email to expedite the shipping process for winners. Believe me – I won’t be sharing your information. And, you don’t need to sign your fan letter with your own name – sign it however you want, and add the info somewhere else in the email.

I’ve found an impartial panel, and the winner will get a copy of one of HelenKay Dimon’s books. (I’m hoping to find Holding Out for a Hero at Borders.) There might also be additional winners who get one of Larissa Ione’s Demonica books.

Incidentally, if you have any questions, please post them here, at the blog, rather than emailing that address. Also, if you’d like – and to keep conversation going, which author you’re writing your fan letter to. It’d be great if we could get a nice mix.

And don’t worry – I’ll be posting the best letters we get, and possible snippets of others as well. Ready, set, go!

*P.S. That’s not a real reader letter. I wrote that with my good friend Mad. At one point I had to tell her she was being too nice. And we kept trying to up the crazy, but we’re just not that good. I’m pretty sure you can do much better.

So… I posted it in the comments – but since I wasn’t clear… the winner of a brand new, shiny copy of Coming Undone is

KARA

Please send me your info – theduckeez@goodbadandunread.com
I’ll draw another winner if you don’t contact me in 48 hours. And for future reference – my contests, winners will be announced in the comments.

Have a great weekend, all!

So, the title may be misleading… but this is a contest post. It’s also a rant, because… well what’s an entry from your good friend Limecello without some ranting, right?

Anyway. I basically stopped visiting blogs. I used to visit nearly 200 daily. And I don’t mean with google reader or something (also, did I totally make that up?) I bookmarked them, and I visited each and every one. I tried to comment on them all as well, but sometimes I just had no idea what to say. That happens. I’m not sure what the proper comment is without seeming inane or something.

My point being – recently I’ve seen more and more complaints that blogs have no content these days. They’re just… contests. I, for one, love contests. They’re how (as I’ve said) I “discovered” a number of authors and series. Yay for contests! (Contest whores less so, but that’s another post for another time.)

Authors often post links to contests on twitter – blogs they’re visiting, etc, where there is also a giveaway. Oh boy, oh joy, right?

Wrong. Maybe I just don’t care anymore. Or I’ve been suffering from book and general ennui… but oftentimes I can’t even be bothered to read through the rules. E.g. Comment here, blog about it, put it on facebook, and cross reference with twitter, follow all of us who blog here, and my great aunt Jane, and stand on your head. While reciting the preamble to the United States Constitution.

In many instances, I’ve heard people say they’d rather just buy the book. And upon further reflection, dear bloggers and authors, is that your intent? If so… sneaky. And well played, my friend. Well played.

But cynical me thinks it has to do with promo. In order to enter the contest, you must follow me! And my blog! And lurve me! And pet me! And link to me! And make me POPULAR. *shrug* So I think we all know I’m not the blog owner here… I wouldn’t even know if you were following this blog. (And isn’t it google reader makes it something different weird? I dunno.)

Long story short, the only requirement to be eligible for this contest is that you comment. As yourself, and don’t cheat by creating socks. I check to the best of my ability, and it really pisses me off to have to double check, etc.

What am I giving away, my dear Boo Boo’s and not Boo Boo’s? A copy of Coming Undone by Lauren Dane. It is unsigned, because I bought it my little own self with my little own money. I also basically jumped through all necessary contest hoops, because it took about 6 phone calls, and 2.5 hours of driving to finally get one copy. This copy, my friends, is precious.

Or… if you want bonus entries to this contest… and here I can’t resist. I need you to pat your head and you rub your belly, while jumping rope. But not just any jump – double dutch. Then I want you to do a hand stand outside in the snow, while reciting the Emancipation Proclamation, immediately followed by the choreography of Thriller. [All must be recorded and sent to me.] And I promise… if someone does do that… I’ll send you [well, the first full entry, but I don't think more than one person would even contemplate doing this...] a copy of Coming Undone as well.

So ready? Set? … GO!

Oh you lucky, lucky ducks!  In honor of the holiday craziness season, the Pond is giving away not one, but two recent historical western releases from Harlequin Historical!

Alaskan Renegade by Kate Bridges

In need of a bodyguard on her mission into the Alaskan wilderness, nurse Victoria Windhaven is shocked to recognize the hired gun as none other than Brant MacQuaid—a man she had thought never to see again! Brant, now a notorious bounty hunter with a burning passion for justice, had once betrayed her.

But closely confined in the stagecoach by day, and even more closely combined under the stars by night, Victoria can’t help but dream of turning this renegade into ideal husband material….

Her Colorado Man by Cheryl St. John

When eighteen-year-old Mariah found herself pregnant and unmarried in her small Colorado town, she disappeared. One year later, she returned with a baby—though minus the “husband” who had conveniently ventured off to Alaska’s gold fields to seek his fortune….

But now, with handsome adventurer Wes Burrows turning up and claiming to be the husband she had invented, Mariah’s lies become flesh and blood—and her wildest dreams a reality!

One random commenter will be chosen from the comments on this post.  All you have to do?  Since both of these were November and December releases respectively, we want you to share with us your favorite winter holiday tradition. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, anything goes!  Any of the November or December holidays will do

Contest will close on December 13, 2009. Both copies were purchased by the blog and are not signed.  Contest is open to all.

Five years later, we have finally drawn a winner for a copy of Tucker’s Claim by Sarah McCarty.  We apologize for the tardiness, and we hope the lucky winner will still be very excited!  Who is it?  Well, congratulations to…..

Cheryl C.!

Cheryl, please e-mail Sybil at redwyne AT gmail DOT com with your shipping address to claim your prize.

So glad you could make it back to Duck Chat! Welcome!

Today Kylie Brant is here, so pull up a chair and have some fun!

Kylie began writing in 1990 and in 1992 her first book was published. Now twenty-five or so books later, her backlist is full of Silhouette Intimate Moments and more recently books with Berkley. Today she’s going to talk about her latest trilogy, Mindhunters, plus a few of her other books.

Kylie was born and raised in Iowa, where she still lives today with her husband. They enjoy traveling quite a bit to get away from Iowa winters and visit their children and grandchildren. She loves to read, of course, garden, and exercise. Being an elementary special education teacher, Kylie works with students who have learning and behavior problems.

If you leave a meaningful comment or question for Kylie, we’ll put you in the running for a copy of Waking Nightmare, the first book in her Mindhunters trilogy. If you’re an international reader, she’ll gladly send you an e-copy of the book. Now let’s chat!

DUCK CHAT: Kylie, the exciting news for you is your Mindhunters with Berkely trilogy which releases this month, then also in October and November. First tell us about the trilogy as a whole and then well talk about each book.

KYLIE BRANT: The Mindhunters is the series names. It’s the nickname of a private forensics agency headed by the legendary Adam Raiker, a former profiler for the FBI. It includes some of the best criminologists in the country, and they are hired to assist law enforcement on particularly puzzling and high profile crimes.

DC: Did the trilogy evolve as you originally envisioned it?

KB: It was sort of difficult to know for sure if there would be a trilogy! I wrote the first book on spec and hoped they’d buy the proposals for the other two, as well. Berkley did offer on all three books. But by the time I got to book 3 my vision for it had changed drastically. The character names and occupations were different and even the conflict between the hero and heroine wasn’t the same.

DC: If you could retire any question and never, ever have it asked again, what would it be? Feel free to answer it.

KB: “Are all those love scenes from personal experience?”
“No, but the murder scenes are…”

DC: I’ve heard writers often say their stories take them in surprising directions, or dialogue flows from some unknown place. Is it the same with you? Do your characters surprise you sometimes?

KB: Always. I’m not a plotter at all and I like to be surprised by my characters. When the dialogue just starts to flow…that is truly a magical writing day!

DC: The first book in the trilogy is Waking Nightmare. Would you tell our readers about Ryne and Abby and what to expect in their book?

KB: Abby Phillips is a forensics profiler. Savannah detective Ryne Robel is not happy when he’s assigned to his task force after he requested another investigator. He makes it obvious that he doesn’t think she can offer anything to their hunt for a vicious serial rapist. But it’s Abbie who determines the suspect’s method for selecting his victim–he learns their deepest fear and then forces them to live it.

The chemistry between Abbie and Ryne ignites as they track the elusive suspect. But he’s closer than they think. And they become the newest focus of his horrifying obsession.

Excerpt from Waking Nightmare:

“I’m never going to get used to this weather.” Ryne slid Abbie a glance as he backed the car out of the slot. “How do you stand wearing long sleeves like that in the middle of summer?”

“Superior genes.” Ignoring his snort, she spilled the contents from the file he’d given her onto her lap. Flipping through the neatly arranged photos and reports, she noted they were sorted chronologically beginning with the first incident reported, three months earlier.

She looked at the detective. “So if this latest victim turns out to be related to the others, she’ll be the. . .what? Fourth?”

Ryne pulled to a stop at a stoplight. “That’s right. And she’s almost certainly related. He’s injecting them with something prior to the attacks, and they all describe the same effects. It turns the victims’ memories to mush, which means they haven’t been able to give us squat when it comes to details about the attacker. From the descriptions they give, it also does something to intensify sensation.”

“Maybe to increase the pain from the torture,” she murmured, struck by a thought. If that were the actual intent, rather than just hazing the memory or incapacitating the victim, it would be in keeping with a sadistic rapist.

The hair on the nape of her neck suddenly prickled, and it wasn’t due to the tepid air blasting from the air conditioning vents. The atmosphere in the vehicle had gone charged. She slanted a look at Ryne, noted the muscle working in his jaw.

“What do you know about the torture?”

Feeling like she was stepping on quick sand, she said, “Commander Dixon told me a little about the cases when we discussed my joining the task force.”

“This morning?”

“On the phone yesterday afternoon.”

The smile that crossed his lips then was chilly and completely devoid of humor. He reached for a pair of sunglasses secured to the visor, flipped them open and settled them on his nose.

Irritation coursed through her. “Something about that amuses you?”

“Yeah, it does. Considering the fact that the last time I asked Dixon for another investigator—“ She didn’t miss the inflection he gave the last word. “—was yesterday morning, I guess you could say it’s funny as hell.”

Abbie stifled the retort that rose to her lips. She was more familiar than she’d like with the ego massage necessary in these situations, though she’d never develop a fondness for the need. “Look, let’s cut through the unpleasantries. I have no intention of muscling in on your case. Since I was hired by Dixon, I have to provide him with whatever information he requests of me. But my role is first and foremost as assistance to you.”

His silence, she supposed, was a response of sorts. Just not the one she wanted. Her annoyance deepened. According to Commander Dixon, Robel was some sort of hotshot detective, some very big deal from–Philadelphia? New York? Some place north, anyway. But as far as she could tell he was just another macho jerk, of a type she was all too familiar with. Law enforcement was full of them. Departments could mandate so-called sensitivity training, but it didn’t necessarily change chauvinistic attitudes. It just drove them deeper below the surface.

Abbie studied his chiseled profile. No doubt she was supposed to crumple in the face of his displeasure. He’d be the sort of man to appeal to most women, she supposed, if they liked the lean, lethal, surly type. His short cropped hair was brown, his eyes behind the glasses an Artic shade of blue. His jaw was hard, as if braced for a punch. Given his personality, she’d be willing to bet he’d caught more than his share of them. He wasn’t particularly tall, maybe five foot ten, but he radiated authority. He was probably used to turning his commanding presence on women and melting them into subservience.

One corner of her mouth pulled up wryly as she turned back to the file in her lap. There had been a time when it would have produced just that result with her. Fortunately, that time was in the very remote past.

Ignoring him for the moment, she pored over the police reports, skipping over the complainants names to the blocks of texts that detailed the location, offense, MO, victim and suspect information. “I assume you’re using a state crime lab. What have the tox screens shown?” she asked, without looking up.

At first she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Finally he said, “GBI’s Coastal Regional Crime Lab is here in Savannah. The toxicologist hasn’t found anything definitive, and he’s tested for nearly two-dozen of the more common substances. Reports on the first three victims showed trace amounts of Ectasy in their blood. All victims deny being users, and the toxicologist suspects that it was mixed in controlled amounts to make a new compound.”

She did look up then, her interest piqued. Use of an unfamiliar narcotic agent in the assaults might be their best lead in the case. Even without a sample, it told them something about the unknown subject.

“Same torture methods?”

He shook his head. “The first victim he covered with a plastic bag and repeatedly suffocated and revived. The next he carved up pretty bad. Looked like he was trying to cut her face off. Another he worked over with pliers and a hammer.”

“It’s unusual to switch routines like that,” Abbie mused. “Some rapists might experiment at first, perfect their technique, but if you’ve got no trace evidence it doesn’t sound like this guy is a novice.”

“He’s not.” Robel turned down a residential street. “He’s been doing this a long time. Maybe he’s escalating now. Maybe it takes more and more for him to get his jollies.”

It was possible. For serial offenders, increasing the challenge also intensified their excitement. With that in mind, she asked, “Are there any uncleared homicides in the vicinity that share similarities to the rapes?”

He looked at her, but she couldn’t guess what he was thinking with the glasses shielding his eyes. “Why?”

“He had to start somewhere.” Abbie looked out the window at the row of small neat houses dotting the street. “A guy like this doesn’t get to be an expert all at once.” She turned back to Robel, found him still surveying her. “Maybe he went too far once and accidentally killed his victim. Or something could have gone wrong and he had to kill one who could identify him.”

“Good thought.” The words might have sounded like a compliment if they hadn’t been uttered so grudgingly. “We checked that. Also looked at burglaries. Nothing panned out.” But her remark seemed to have splintered the ice between them.

“I’m not surprised the burglary angle didn’t turn up anything. This isn’t an opportunity rapist. Sounds like he goes in very prepared, very organized. His intent is the rape itself, at least the ritual he’s made of the act.”

“I worked narcotics, undercover. Did a stint in burglary, a longer one in homicide.” He pulled to a stop before a pale blue bungalow with an attached carport. Only one vehicle was in the drive. “I can understand the motivations of those crimes. Greed, jealousy, anger.” Switching off the car, he removed the sunglasses, and slid them back into their spot on the visor. “But I’ve never been able to wrap my mind around rapists. I know what it takes to catch them. I just don’t pretend to understand why they do it.”

Abbie felt herself thawing toward him a little. “Well, if we figure out what’s motivating this guy, we’ll be well on our way toward nailing him.”

“I guess that’s your job.” Robel opened his door and stepped out into the street, reaching back inside the vehicle to retrieve his jacket. “You get in his head and point us in the right direction. That’s what Dixon had in mind, isn’t it?” He slammed the door, shrugging into his suit coat as he rounded the hood of the car.

Abbie opened her door, was immediately blasted by the mid-day heat. The rancor in his words had been barely discernible, but it was there. So she didn’t bother telling him that getting inside the rapist’s head was exactly what she planned on.

It was, in fact, all too familiar territory. She’d spent more years than she’d like to recall doing precisely that.

DC: Do you ever argue with your characters while you’re writing? Who usually wins?

KB: Are you kidding With five kids of my own and 30 years experience teaching? They don’t stand a chance against me! I do give them a great deal of leeway, though. As I said, I like being surprised and I enjoy letting my characters tell me the story.

DC: What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?

KB: Pretty much anything Breathing, LOL! I tend to require a looming deadline to acquire discipline.

I must say, my husband does everything in his power to distract me, though. If it’s a nice day he’s like a hyperactive three year old coming up with plans that will take us out of the house. I have to be firm

DC: Next is Waking Evil. Would you tell our readers about this book?

KB: Ramsey Clark is hired by the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation to assist in the investigation of a young woman’s murder in rural Tennessee. Ramsey is interested only in evidence. But famed parapsychologist Devlin Stryker insists on filling her head with superstition and stories about a century old curse on the town. She puts little stock in the stories until a second murder rocks the town. And Ramsey begins to wonder if a killer is playing on everyone’s fears, or if a prophecy is coming true, one victim at a time.

Excerpt from Waking Evil:

The helicopter landed in the clearing with a bump, bounced once, before settling on the ground again for good. Ramsey Clark shouted her thanks to the pilot, shoved open the door and jumped lightly to the ground, her lone bag slung over one shoulder. She ran in a crouch to avoid the rotors, heard the whop-whop-whop behind her indicating the pilot taking off.

She scanned the cluster of four people waiting nearby as she jogged toward them. The three men wearing suits each held a hand over his tie to prevent them from dancing in the breeze generated by the chopper’s rotors. “Director Jeffries.” The hand she offered was engulfed in the older man’s pawlike grip and squeezed until she had to hide a wince. The chief of Tennessee Bureau of Investigation hadn’t changed much in the years since she’d left its ranks. His craggy face might be a little ruddier. His mop of white hair a bit shorter. But his six-foot frame was just as straight, just as firm as ever.

“Good to see you again, Clark. I hear you’ve been making quite a name for yourself with Raiker Forensics.”

Since the director wasn’t prone to flattery, and since he could only have heard it from Adam Raiker himself, Ramsey allowed herself to feel a small glow of satisfaction. “Thank you, sir. I think I’ve learned a lot.”

Jeffries turned to the two men flanking him. “TBI agents Glenn Matthews and Warden Powell. You’ll be assigned to their team. If you need more manpower give me a holler and I’ll talk to the boss.”

Ramsey nodded her appreciation. Jeffries had no superior at TBI so they were being given carte blanche. Raiker had told her to expect as much.

The director turned to the man in the sheriff’s uniform on her right. “I believe you know Sheriff Rollings.”

Frowning, she was about to deny it. Ramsey knew no one in Buffalo Springs, Tennessee. But the sheriff was taking off his hat and recognition struck her. “Mark Rollings?” She shook her former colleague’s hand with a sense of déjà vu. “I didn’t even know you’d left TBI.”

“Couple years ago now. Didn’t even know I was interested in moving back home until the position of sheriff was open.” Rollings’s pleasantly homely face was somber. “Have to say, tonight’s the first time I’ve regretted it.”

“I assume you’ve looked at the case file.”

Ramsey’s attention shifted back to Jeffries at the question. At her nod, he went on. “Rollings has his hands full here calming the local hysteria, and after a week we aren’t progressing fast enough to suit the governor’s office. The area is attracting every national media team in the country, and the coverage is playing hell with his tourism industry expansion plans.” The director’s voice was heavy with irony.

“I understand.” And she did. Being brought in as a special consultant to the TBI pacified a politically motivated governor and diminished some of the scrutiny that would follow the department throughout the investigation. If the case drew to a quick close, the TBI reaped the positive press. If it didn’t. . . The alternative didn’t bother her. Ramsey had served as shit deflector many times in the past in her capacity as forensic consultant. If the investigation grew lengthy or remained unsolved, she would be served as sacrificial lamb to the clamoring public. Or to the state attorney’s office, if someone there decided to lay the blame on Jeffries.

“Raiker promised a mobile lab.”

“It’ll be here tomorrow,” she promised the director. “But for certain types of evidence we may need access to the TBI facility on an expedited basis.”

“We’ll try to speed any tests through the Knoxville Regional Lab.” Jeffries beetled his brows. “Just help solve this thing, Clark. It’s causing a crapstorm and I don’t want a full fledged shit tornado on my hands.”

Ramsey smiled. She’d always appreciated Jeffries’ plainspeak. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Can’t recall a time that wasn’t good enough for me.” Clearly finished, he turned to his agents. “I’ll expected daily updates. And keep me abreast of any major developments.” Without waiting for the men’s nods he turned and strode briskly toward a road about a quarter mile in the distance. Ramsey could make out two vehicles parked alongside it.

“I’m guessing you’d like to get on into town, drop your stuff off in the room we lined up for you,” Mark was saying.

Ramsey shook her head. “I want to see the crime scene first.” Since diplomacy was often an afterthought for her, she added belatedly, “If that’s okay.”

The sheriff raised a shoulder. “It’s all right with me. What about you fellas? Want to come along?”

The two agents looked at each other and Powell shook his head. “We’ll head back into town.” He shifted his gaze to Ramsey. “We’re set up in the local motel on the outskirts of town. One room serves as our office. We got you a room there, too when Jeffries told us you were coming.”

And by not so much as a flicker of expression did he reveal his opinion on her being brought in on the case, Ramsey noted shrewdly. She’d have to tread carefully there, with both agents, until she was certain how her presence here affected them.

“I’ll check in with you when I get to town and you can bring me up to date on your notes so far.”

When the agents headed in the same direction Jeffries had gone, she turned to Rollings.

“Let me get that for you.” He reached for her bag, but she deflected the gesture.

“I’ve got it, thanks.” She fell into step beside him as they walked toward the tan jeep emblazoned with Spring County Sheriff in black lettering on a green background. “Tell me about the case.”

“Same ol’ Ramsey.” A corner of Rollings’s mouth pulled up. “Always with the small talk. Chatter chatter chatter.” His voice hitched up a notch as he launched into a pretend conversation. ‘Well, I’m just fine, Ms. Clark. And how have you been? How’s that new job of yours? The wife? Oh, she’s fine, too. Still adjustin’ to small town life, but the two little ones keep her pretty busy. What? You’d like to see pictures? Well, it just so happens I have a couple in my wallet. Got them taken at the local Wal-Mart just last month. . . .”

“I can play the game if I need to,” she replied, only half truthfully. “Didn’t figure I needed to with you.”

He stopped at the vehicle, his hand on the handle of the driver’s door, his face serious again. “No, you don’t gotta with me. Figure we go far ‘nough back that we can just pick up. But you’ll find you’ll get further with some folks in these parts if you put forth the effort. I know you never had much patience for mindless chitchat, but the pace is slower ‘round here.”

She was more familiar than he knew with the unwritten customs and tradition demanded by polite society in the rural south. Had, in fact, spent her adult life scrubbing away most of those memories.

Rather than tell him that, she gave him a nod across the roof of the car. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She opened the back door and tossed her bag on the seat behind the wire mesh used to separate prisoners from the law enforcement personnel. Then she slid into the front passenger seat.

He folded his tall lanky form inside and started up the Jeep while she was buckling in. Several minutes later he abruptly pulled off the road and began driving across a field. After the first couple of jolts, Ramsey braced herself with one hand on the dash and the other on the roof of the car.

“Sorry.” Rollings’s lean frame seemed to move seamlessly with each jar and bump. “It’d take half an hour for us to get there by road. The kids that found the body hiked across through the woods on the other side, but going in from this direction will be an easier walk, though I’m told it takes longer. Brought the body out this way.”

“Has the victim been ID’d yet?”

“Nope. White female, between the age of eighteen and twenty-four. Found nude so no help with the clothing.” A muscle jumped in Mark’s jaw. “Not from these parts, is all I know. No hits from National Missing Persons database, at least not yet.”

So a Jane Doe, at least for now. Ramsey felt a stab of sympathy for the unknown woman. She’d died alone and away from home. Was that worse than being murdered in familiar surroundings? Somehow it seemed so.

“How valuable have the wits been?”

“What, the kids?” Mark shot her a look. “Told us what they know, which didn’t turn out to be much. Both scared silly, of course. Spouting nonsense about red mist and screaming and dancing lights. . .tell you what I think.” The Jeep hit a rut with a bone jarring bounce that rattled Ramsey’s teeth. “I think half is fueled by that blasted legend folks ‘round here insist on feeding regularly.”

“Legend?” The case file contained only facts of the case. But when facts were in short supply, other details took on more importance.

Rollings face looked pained. “Guess you’ll be hearing it from ‘bout every person you talk to in town. I know I can count of you, out of anyone, not to be distracted by nonsense.” Still, it seemed to take him a few moments to choose his words. Or maybe he was saving his strength for wrestling the Jeep. Beneath the velvety spread of pasture, the terrain was wicked.

“We’ve got something of a local phenomena here called the Red Mist. Someone else could explain it better but it’s caused by some sort of reaction from some plants ‘round here coming in contact with iron oxide in stagnant water, coupled with contaminants in the air. . .once every blue moon the fog in low lying areas takes on a red tinge for a day or two. Nothing magical about it of course, ‘cept the way it makes folks ‘round here take leave of their senses.”

“So the kids that found the body saw this red mist?”

“That’s what they’re saying. And I do have others in these parts that claim they saw the same thing, so might’ve been true. But local legend has it that whenever the red mist appears, death follows.”

The Jeep hit a rut then that had Ramsey rapping her head smartly on the ceiling of the vehicle. With a grim smile, she repositioned herself more securely in her seat and waited for her internal organs to settle back into place. Then she shot the man beside her a look. “Well, all nonsense aside, Sheriff, so far it appears your local legend is more grounded in facts than you want to admit.”

Rollings brought the Jeep to a halt a few hundred yards shy of the first copse of trees. “Don’t even joke about that,” he advised grimly. “My office is spending too much of our time dealing with hysterical locals who set too much store by superstitious hogwash. The truth is, this is a quiet place. The crime we do have tends to be drunk and disorderlies after payday at the lumber mill, or the occasional domestic dispute. Once in a while we have a fire, or a bad accident to respond to. But violent crime is a stranger here. And when it appears, people don’t understand it. They get scared, and when folks get scared they search for meaning. This legend is just their way of getting a handle on how bad things can happen near their town.”

Ramsey got out of the car and stretched, avoiding, as long as possible, having to look at that expanse of woods ahead of them. “That’s down right philosophical, Mark. Didn’t learn that in the psych courses at TBI.”

He reached back into the car for the shotgun mounted above the dash, and straightened to shut the door, a ghost of a smile playing across his mouth. “You’re right there. I understand these people. Lived here most of my life. I know how they think. How they react. Don’t always agree with ‘em. But I can usually figure where they’re coming from.”

They headed for the woods, and Ramsey could feel her palms start to dampen. Her heart began to thud, the physical reaction annoying her. It was just trees, for godsakes. Each nothing but a mass of carbon dioxide. And she’d mastered this ridiculous fear—she had—years ago.

Deliberately, she quickened her step. “You hoping to go hunting while we’re here?” She cocked her head at the shotgun he carried.

“Not much of a hunter. But we do have some wildlife in these parts. Those kids were downright stupid to come in here at night. There’s feral pigs in these woods. An occasional bobcat. Seen enough copperheads around in my time to keep me wary.”

When her legs wanted to falter at his words, she kept them moving steadily forward. Felt the first cool shadows from the trees overhead slick over her skin like a demon’s kiss.

“Wish I could tell you there was much of a crime scene,” Mark was saying as he walked alongside her. “But apparently a bunch of kids dared eachother to come into the woods and bring back proof they’d been here. First ones back to town got bragging rights, I ‘spect. So they paired off and trooped out in this direction. Shortly after the two found the victim, a few other kids arrived on the scene. And then the whole thing became one big clusterfuck because we had tracks and prints all over the damn place.”

Ramsey felt a familiar surge of impatience. No one liked to have the scene contaminated but one of the few downsides to her job with Raiker Forensics was that she was rarely called to a fresh crime scene. By the time their services were requested, the crime could be days, or weeks old. She had to satisfy herself with case files, pictures of the scene and notes taken by the local law enforcement.

“The way Jeffries talked, you’ve gotten more than your share of unwanted media attention.” They stepped deeper into the woods now and the trees seemed to close in, sucking them in to shadowy interior. She resisted the urge to wipe her dampening palms on her pants leg. “Seems odd for national news to be interested in a homicide in rural Tennessee.”

“I suspect some local nutjob tipped them off. It’s the legend again.” Mark’s face was shiny with perspiration, but Ramsey was chilled. She would be until they stepped back out into the daylight again. “Every two or three decades there’s this Red Mist phenomena and a couple times in the past there’s been a homicide around the same time. The two circumstances get linked, and all of a sudden we have people jabbering about secret spells and century old curses and what have you.”

She made a noncommittal sound. Part of her attention was keeping a wary eye out for those copperheads he’d mentioned so matter-of-factly. But despite her impatience with idle chitchat, she was interested in all the details that would have been missing from the dried police-speak accounting of facts pertinent to the case so far. Evidence was in short supply. It was people who would solve this case. People who’d seen something. Knew something. The tiniest bit of information could end up being key to the homicide. And with no murder weapon and no suspects and little trace evidence, she’d take all the information she could get.

“We’re still trying to sort out tracks from the kids at the scene with any that may have been there earlier.”

“And you’ve eliminated each of the kids as the possible killer?”

“Shoot, Ramsey these kids are sixteen, seventeen years old!”

When she merely looked at him, brows raised, he had the grace to look abashed. “Yeah, I know what you’ve seen in your career. I’ve seen the same. But ‘round here we don’t have kids with the conscience of wild dogs. They all alibi each other for up to thirty minutes before the body’s discovery. Witnesses place the lot of them at Sody’s parking lot for the same time. Pretty unlikely a couple hightailed it into the woods, committed murder and dumped the body knowing more kids would be traipsing in any minute.”

Unlikely, yes. Impossible, no. But Ramsey kept her thoughts to herself. She was more anxious than ever to review all the notes on the case and hear what Agents Powell and Matthews had to say on the subject.

There was a rustle in the underbrush to her right, but it didn’t get her blood racing. No, that feat was accomplished by the trees themselves, looming like sinister sentinels above her. Hemming her in with their close proximity. She rubbed at her arms, where goose flesh prickled and shoved at the mental door of her mind to lock those memories away.

Some would have found the scene charming, with sun dappling the forest floor with brilliant slants of light, spearing through the shadow. They wouldn’t look at the scene and see danger behind every tree trunk. Wouldn’t feel terror lurking behind. Horror ahead.

The trail narrowed, forcing her to follow Rollings single file. “Whose property are we on?”

“Most of it belongs to the county. We’ve got little parcels that butt up against the land of property owners but we’re standing on county ground right now.” They walked in silence another fifteen minutes and Ramsey wondered anew at any kids foolish enough to make this trek at night.

Sixteen or seventeen, Mark had said they were. She knew firsthand just how naïve kids that age could be. How easily fooled. And how quickly things could go very wrong.

One moment they were deep in the forest the next they walked out into a clearing with a large pond. It was ringed with towering pines and massive oaks, their branches dripping with Spanish moss and curling vines. The water looked boggy at the edge closest to them, with clumps of rushes and wild grasses interspersed between the trees.

Ramsey’s gaze was drawn immediately to the crime scene tape still fluttering from the wooden stakes hammered into the ground. A plastic evidence marker poked partway out of the trampled weeds near the pond, overlooked by the investigators when they’d packed up.

And in the center of that tape, crouched at the water’s edge was a man repeatedly dunking something into the water and then holding it up to examine it before repeating the action yet again. A few yards away a jumble of equipment was piled on the ground.

She eyed Rollings. “One of yours?”

The sheriff looked pained as he shook his head. “Now, Ramsey,” he started, as she turned toward the stranger. “Better let me handle this.”
But she was already striding away. “Hey. Hey!”

The man raised a hand in a lazy salute, but it was clear he was much more interested in the reading on the instrument he held than he was in her. Ramsey waited until he’d lowered the tool to jot a notation down in the notebook open on his lap before he looked up, shot her a lazy grin. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

“Interesting thing about that yellow tape all around you,” she said with mock politeness. “It’s actually meant to keep people out of a crime scene, not invite them inside it.”

The sun at her back had the man squinting a bit at her, but the smile never left his face. And it was, for a man, an extraordinarily attractive face. His jaw was long and lean, his eyes a bright laser blue. The golden shade of his hair was usually found only on the very young or the very determined. Someone had broken his nose for him, and the slight bump in it was the only imperfection in a demeanor that was otherwise almost too flawless. Ramsey disliked him on sight just on principal.

“Well, fact is, ma’am, this isn’t an active crime scene anymore. Hey, Mark.” He called a friendly greeting to the man behind her. “Kendra May know you’re out walking pretty girls around the woods?”

“Dev. Thought you’d be finished up here by now.”

Ramsey caught the sheepish note in Rollings’s voice and arched a brow at him. The sheriff intercepted it and followed up with an introduction. “Ramsey Clark, this is my cousin, Devlin Stryker. He’s uh. . .just running some tests.”

“Your cousin,” she repeated carefully. “And does your cousin work for the department? If so, in what capacity?”

Rollings’s face reddened a little. “No. He’s a. . .well, he’s sort of a scientist, you could say.”

Stryker rose in one lithe motion and made his way carefully back to the rest of his belongings, which included, she noted, a large duffel bag with unfamiliar looking instruments strewn around it; a couple cameras, a night vision light source and. . .she blinked once. . .a neatly rolled up sleeping bag.

“Odd place to go camping.”

“Can’t say I used the sleeping bag much last night.” He unzipped the duffel and began placing his things inside it. “Too worried about snakes. I thought I’d stick around a while to compare last night’s readings with some from today.”

With quick neat movements he placed everything but the sleeping bag in the duffle and zipped it, standing up to sling its strap over his shoulder. “I’m done here for now, though.”

“Done with what, exactly?”

Devlin sent her an easy smile that carried just enough charm to have her defenses slamming firmly into place. “Well, let’s see. I used a thermal scanner to measure temperature changes. An EMF meter to guage electromagnetic fields. An ion detector to calculate the presence of negative ions. Then there’s the guassometer, which. . .”

Comprehension warring with disbelief, Ramsey swung back to face Rollings, her voice incredulous. “A ghosthunter? Are you kidding me? You let some paranormal quack compromise the crime scene?”

DC: What has been your favorite book cover from all of your releases and why?

KB: I loved Born in Secret, which had a young Pierce Brosnan lookalike on it! Smokin’ hot!
And Waking Nightmare is my favorite of the single titles. I think they did an excellent job capturing the tone of the trilogy.

DC: How about your least favorite cover? Why?

KB: That would be Friday’s Child. It has a couple on it watching a young girl play on a jungle gym. But with all the bars criss-crossing over it, it looks like the couple is in prison!

DC: Waking the Dead rounds out the trilogy in November. Would you give us a look into the hero and heroine and tell us about their story?

KB: This is the story that had changed so much by the time I got to writing it! Caitlin Fleming knows bones. The former forensic anthropologist–turned investigator is called in to Oregon when seven sets of skeletal remains are discovered in an out of the way cave. She needs wilderness guide Zach Sharper for one reason only–to help her find her way through the Willamette Forest in search for clues. But as they draw closer to the killer, he’s determined to end their search…and the two on his trail.

Excerpt from Waking the Dead:

Chapter One

Seven stainless steel gurneys were lined up in the morgue, each occupied by a partially assembled skeleton and a large garbage bag. The bones gleamed under the florescent lights. An eighth gurney was heaped with the stray bones that had been found lying separately. Caitlin Fleming’s first thought was that the extra bones looked forlorn. Deprived of their dignity, until they could be rejoined to form the remnant of the person they’d once belonged to.

Her second thought was that without the skulls, the chances of identifying those persons decreased dramatically.

“What do you think?” Sheriff Marin Andrews demanded. Her booted feet echoed heavily as she walked from one gurney to the next. “The bones were pretty much loose in the bags, but the medical examiner made an attempt to re-assemble them. We brought out the bones scattered on the bottom of the cave floor in a separate body bag. Recovery operation was a bitch, I’m telling you. The cave branches off from the original vein, gets wider and higher. Then it drops off to a steep chamber about seven feet down. These were probably dumped from above into that chamber.”

Cait barely restrained a wince as she thought of what the recovery process might have entailed. And what could have been destroyed or overlooked. “I think I’ll want to see the cave.”

Andrews’s expression first revealed shock, then amusement. “Fortunately for you, that won’t be necessary. It’s on the face of Castle Rock and not too accessible. Either you climb or rappel down over the edge, or you scale upwards nearly eight hundred feet. There are trails, of course, but they could be tricky for an inexperienced climber. We don’t need an injury on our hands before we even get started.”

“I’m not inexperienced.” Cait knew exactly what the sheriff saw when she looked at her. It was, after all, the appearance she’d cultivated for well over a decade. But her days on the runways of New York, Milan and Paris were long behind her. She was most comfortable these days in a room exactly like this one or hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains. “I’ll want to see the cave,” she repeated firmly.

The other woman shrugged. She wasn’t much older than Cait, maybe thirty-five or so. Her looks were nondescript. A sturdy build filling out a beige uniform. Close cropped light brown hair and hazel eyes. But Cait knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving. Marin Andrews had a reputation for being an excellent, if ambitious cop. And that ambition, along with her father’s millions, were rumored to be priming her for a chase to the governor’s mansion.

Cait’s help in solving this case would provide a stepping stone to that end.

“Figured you’d want to see the area, anyway. We’ve hired Zach Sharper to stay available during the course of the investigation to take you anywhere you want. He’s the guide who found the bodies. Said he was preparing for a client who wanted to spelunk some out of the way caves, so Zach explored a few off the beaten path. Thought he’d discovered a new one when he stumbled on this.” Andrews’s waved a hand at the skeletons. “He runs a wilderness guide company. Rafting, kayaking, mountain climbing, hiking, that sort of thing.” The assessing look in her eye said better than words that she didn’t believe Cait’s assertion of her outdoor experience. “He’s also on the search and rescue team when campers and hikers go missing. He’s got some rough edges, but he’s the best in the state.”

“I can handle rough edges.” Cait walked around the gurneys to look more closely at the nearly identical junctures where the skulls had been separated from each skeleton. “Looks like an ax may have been used here. Or something else with a wide sharp blade heavy enough to decapitate the victim with one blow.” If they were living in the 1600s she’d suspect a guillotine. The slice was that clean. There were no serrations at the top of the skeletons. The skulls hadn’t been sawed off. “You’ve got four men and three women, but I suspect the medical examiner told you that.”

“He did, but this thing is way out of his league and he knows it. He’s a pathologist, not a forensic anthropologist. When I saw what we had here, I immediately thought of Raiker Forensics. Adam Raiker assures me you’re the best in this field.”

She bent over to examine the femur of the second skeleton. The guy had suffered a fracture to it at some point in his life. It had knit cleanly, suggesting certain medical attention. “I am,” she responded absently. She looked up then to arrow a look at Andrews. “My assistant will be arriving at dawn tomorrow with our equipment. Will this facility remain available to us?”

“It will. Anything you need, talk to the Lane County ME. His name is Steve Michaels. You’ll have to meet him tomorrow.” Cait followed the direction of the woman’s gaze as she looked at the clock. Eight PM. And Cait had left Dulles Airport at six am, east coast time. Weariness was edging in, warring with hunger.

“I’ve arranged two rooms for you and your assistant at the Landview Suites here in Eugene. You’ve rented a vehicle?”

“Picked it up at the airport.” The compact SUV looked perfect for the ground she’d be covering in the course of this investigation. “I’d like all the maps you can provide for the area. Roads, forests, surrounding towns. . .” A thought struck her then and she looked at the other woman. “And thanks for arranging for the weapon permit so quickly.” Raiker refused to let any of his consultants work without one.

Andrews lifted a shoulder. “Raiker made it clear that condition wasn’t up for discussion. I doubt you’ll need it. These bones have probably been in that cave for a decade or more. Even if we determine foul play, that would mean the unknown subject could be long gone by now. The threat should be minimal.”

“You think so? Come smell this.” She held up the skeleton’s leg with one hand under its fibula.

Andrews looked at her askance but she approached cautiously and gave a token sniff. When she straightened she looked quizzical.

“Calcium oxide.” The faint but unmistakable odor still clung to the bones. “Lime,” she explained when the sheriff looked confused. “It’s possible that we’ll find it’s a naturally occurring element in the cave’s chambers.”

“Or perhaps an UNSUB decided to hasten the decomposition process by covering the corpse with lime prior to dumping the remains,” Andrews said slowly.

Cait nodded. “Even without help, it doesn’t take decades for a corpse to be reduced to a skeleton. In some climates it’d be a week if the body were left out in the elements. In Oregon it’d take several weeks or months, depending on where the body’s dumped, the season, the temperature, insect and animal access. Maybe you’re right and these bones have been there for decades. But not necessarily.”

When she saw the satisfied gleam in the sheriff’s eye, Cait knew she’d read the woman correctly. Whatever the outcome of this case, Andrews was going use it to vault her political career. And solving a current crime spree would make for a lot better press than some old murders that had happened long ago.

But the woman only said, “I’ve got a copy of the case file for you in the car. You’ll be reporting directly to me, but a great deal of the time I’ll have you working side by side with my lead investigator, Mitch Barnes. You can meet him tomorrow, too.”

Her attention was already back on the skeletons. There was a lot of preparatory work to be done on them, but it would have to wait until tomorrow when Kristy arrived. Although she’d be supervising the lab work, these days Cait was an investigator first, a forensic anthropologist second. And she was anxious to get a look at the secondary scene.

“I’ll want to get my assistant started first thing tomorrow morning. Have Barnes meet me here at nine and tell Sharper to stand by. We’ll head up to. . .”

“. . .McKenzie Bridge,” the other woman supplied.

“. . .and he can take me to Castle Rock. Show me how he happened to discovered the remains of seven people.” She shot a glance at the sheriff as they headed to the door. “How did Sharper react to the discovery? Is he pretty shaken up?”

Andrews gave a bark of laughter, real amusement showing in her expression. “Nothing shakes up Sharper, unless it’s people wasting his time. He’ll be steady enough, don’t worry. But he won’t win any congeniality contests.”

Cait shrugged. “I don’t need congenial. I’ll be satisfied with competent.”

Andrews led the way out of the morgue, the echo of her booted footsteps ringing hollowly. “I may need to remind you of those words after you meet him.”

Her first stop had been an office supply store. The next was a fast food drive through for a grilled chicken salad with definite wilting around the edges. Cait had eaten in between setting up her work area. The crime scene photos were tacked to the white display boards sitting on top of the desk. A collection of labels, index cards, markers and post it notes sat neatly at the base.

Now she sat on the bed leaning against the headboard, the contents of the fat accordion file folder scattered across her lap and on the mattress. The photographs taken in the cave chamber had been taken with a low light lens, but they were still darker than she’d like. While she was able to easily make out the skeletons’ proximity to one another, it would be much more difficult to use the pictures to tell which one was which.

There was a preliminary report from the ME, Steve Michaels, and it appeared to be solid work. Exact measurements of each set of bones were included, as was a thorough examination for evidence of trauma. None of the skeletons showed recent signs of injury. Perhaps the missing skulls would. Or maybe the deaths were the result of poison. Cait narrowed her eyes, considering. She found herself hoping the decapitation had been enacted posthumously. The deaths would be too gruesome to contemplate otherwise.

Had the skulls been removed to impede identification of the victims? To prevent investigators from detecting a telltale method of death? Or were they kept by the perp as trophies?

Taking a look at her watch, Cait began gathering up the materials and replacing them in the file. But it occurred to her that if she could answer those questions, she’d be a long way toward profiling the UNSUB they were searching for.

Kristy Jensen was a full foot shorter than Cait at four-eleven, a wispy ethereal creature with an otherworldly air. Slap a pair of wings on her, and with her elfin features and blonde wavy hair, Cait had always thought she’d looked like a fairy in a kid’s storybook.

Once she opened her mouth, however, that notion would be dispelled forever.

“There is no fucking good way to get to this fuck dump of a town, you know that, don’t you?” Kristy sipped at her Starbucks coffee and aimed a gimlet stare over the rim from cornflower blue eyes. “Charter plane, my ass. Eight fucking hours it took me from Dulles. I could have walked faster. I could have parachuted half way here, hitched a ride on a mother-fucking migrating duck and still gotten here before that damn plane.”

“So the plane ride was good?” Cait laughed at her diminutive friend fingered her as they entered the morgue. “And you owe me four bucks. I’m giving you a pass on the ‘damn’, and the one finger salute, because at least that’s silent.”

“We haven’t even started work yet,” Kristy complained. But she was already digging in her purse to pull out the money. “I think we should change the rules so it only counts during work time.”

“Tough love.” Cait snatched the five from the woman’s hand and handed her a one in change. “You wanted help cleaning up your language. Can’t change the rules mid course.”

“Why not, nothing else has changed, except for my disposable income. I’m still swearing like a one-legged sailor.”

They showed their temporary ID to the clerk at the front desk and headed down the long hallway to the room where Andrews had brought Cait the evening before.

“Discipline,” she chided. But there was no heat to the word. She could care less whether Kristy sounded like a hardened special ops soldier, as long as she did her job to Cait’s exact specifications. And since she was the best assistant she’d ever been assigned, Cait was satisfied. “Anyway you’ll cheer up quick enough once you see what we have to work with.” She paused before the door at the end of the hall, before opening it with a dramatic flourish.

“Sweeeeet,” Kristy breathed, when she got a glimpse of the remains on the gurneys. “Very sweet. What do we have, mass burial? Mass murder,” she corrected as she got closer and noted the lack of human skulls attached.

“I suppose we have to allow for the possibility that someone stumbled upon that cave long before the wilderness guide did,” mused Cait. The thought had occurred belatedly, once she’d gone to bed, the contents of the files still filling her mind. “Someone with a sense of the macabre who took the skulls as souvenirs.” There were other possibilities, of course. But she found it unlikely that a group of cave explorers would have all followed each other down into the chamber, once one had fallen in. Unless it was a suicide pact.

Kristy was practically salivating as she walked between each gurney. “So you want me to clean them first, right? And then match up the spare parts with the proper skeleton?”

“I want you to start a photograph log first,” Cait corrected. “I need a notebook kept of images of each skeleton throughout each step of the process.” It would easier to correct mistakes that way, especially in the tricky process of reassembling the full remains of each, which was often a matter of trial and error. “The ME should be around somewhere. Get him to give you a copy of the measurements he’s done.”

“But you’ll want me to do my own,” the other woman said surely.

Cait sent her a look of approval. “I doubt he had a caliper to do the measurements with. We’ll want to double check and make sure the bones are with the right remains. Match the spare ones over on that extra gurney. And then you can clean the bones. And we’ll see exactly what we’ve got here.”

“What should I do in my spare time?” But her sarcasm was checked. Kristy was hooked by the enormity of their task, just as Cait was. Anticipation was all but radiating off her in waves.

“I heard voices.” At the sound of the newcomer the women turned toward the door. The man approaching them was average height, with hair as dark as Cait’s. He wore blue scrubs, shoe covers and a slight smile that faded as he got closer. Then his expression took on that slightly stunned expression that was all too familiar. He stared from Cait to Kristy and back again, with the look of a starving man surrounded by a steaming banquet. “Ah. . . Michaels.” He held out his hand to each of them in turn, visibly wrestling to get the words out in proper order. “Steve. I am, that is.”

He looked chagrined but Cait spared him no slack. “Well, Michaels Steve, I’m Cait Fleming.” She jerked a thumb at the other woman. “My assistant Kristy Jensen. I’ve got your preliminary report. Appreciate it. Kristy will be working down here most of the time. I’ve been assured that whatever she needs, she can come to you.”

While she spoke the man seemed to have regained his powers of speech. But twin flags of color rode high on his cheeks and his dark eyes still looked dazed. “Certainly.” He dragged his gaze away from Cait and fixed it on Kristy. “Certainly,” he repeated.

“Then I’ll leave you to get started.” She didn’t know if the investigator would be here yet, but she wasn’t anxious to spend any more time with the ME who looked like he’d just cast them in a low budget porn fantasy involving a threesome and a stainless steel coroner’s station. She started out of the room, throwing a look at Kristy over her shoulder. “Keep me posted.”

As she headed through the door she heard her assistant say sweetly, “So Michaels Steve, why don’t we go out to the truck and you can help unload the mother-fucking equipment.”

A smirk on her lips, Cait decided to let it slide. Nothing to shatter a guy’s X rated fantasy than a pint sized angelic blonde with a mouth like a sewage plant. She almost felt sorry for him. Would have if she weren’t still annoyed at his all too common reaction. As it was, she figured he was going to get exactly what he deserved working with Kristy.

When she stepped out of the morgue doors she saw the Lane County Sheriff squad car pulling up to the curb a full fifteen minutes early. Her good humor restored, Cait rounded it to approach the driver’s door. A stocky deputy got out, extended his hand. “Mitch Barnes, Ms. Fleming.”

Belatedly, Cait realized she was still wearing the morgue temporary ID. She pulled it off as she shook hands with the deputy. “Looking forward to working with you, Mitch.”

The man came to her chin, had receding blonde hair and brown eyes that were pure cop. And it was her shoulder harness that drew his attention rather than her face or figure. She liked him immediately for that fact alone.

“Sheriff says you want to head up to Mckenzie Bridge. Over to Castle Rock.”

She nodded as she dropped her ID into her purse. “I’d like to get a look at the dumpsite. Get a feel for it.”

“You got the pictures?”

Understanding what he was getting at, she nodded. “Still want to see it.”

Shrugging, he leaned into his front seat only to withdraw a moment later with an armful of maps. “Andrews said you asked for these.”

“I did, thanks.” She took stack from him. “If you want to lead the way up to the McKenzie Bridge area, I’ll follow this time. That way you don’t have to wait around while I go through the cave if you don’t want to.”

“Sounds good. It’s about a forty-five minute drive. I’ll call Sharper on the way and let him know we’re coming by.” A smirk flashed across the man’s otherwise professional demeanor. “He’ll be thrilled to take you to the cave.”

Coupled with the sheriff’s comments the night before, Cait had the distinct impression that the guide they kept mentioning was light on social graces. The thought didn’t bother her nearly as much as it would if he were another ogler like the ME.

Men like that rarely brought out the best in her.

How the hell had he gotten into this mess?

Fuming, Zach Sharper threw another look at the rear view mirror at the empty ribbon of road behind him. The answer was swift in coming. Ever since he’d reported his findings from that cave, Andrews had had him wrapped up like a damn trick monkey. First he’d had to lead law enforcement to the place. Then there’d been the incessant questioning.

And now he found himself forced to be at the beck and call of some consultant hired by the sheriff’s office. Playing glorified nursemaid to a cop—or close enough to a cop—promised to be worse than the biggest pain in the ass client he ran across from time to time. At least he had a choice taking on the clients.

Yeah, not being given a choice here rankled the most.

He saw the county car headed toward him. Zach put on his sunglasses and got out of his Jeep. Damned if he’d been about to travel down to Eugene and then back again, once he’d heard what the consultant wanted. And he sure as hell hadn’t wasn’t going to arrange for the cops to meet him at his place. Whispering Pines was his getaway. His refuge. Guests were rarely invited.

A small navy SUV pulled off the road in back of the sheriff’s car. He was unsurprised to see Mitch Barnes get out of the lead car. The way Zach heard it Barnes did most of the grunt work for Andrews while she got all the glory. He’d been the first of the cops to follow Zach into that cave. The sheriff sure hadn’t gone in, though she’d been present, running things on top Castle Rock while her people had hauled the bones out. If Barnes wanted another pass at the cave he sure as hell didn’t need Zach. He knew where it was located.

Made a guy wonder if this was just one more way for Andrews to yank his chain, show him that she was calling the shots.

He got out of the car and walked toward the deputy, who was approaching on the inside shoulder. The driver of the SUV got out, too, but it was Barnes Zach concentrated on. He wasn’t a bad sort, for a cop. Maybe he could talk him into a change of plans. Zach was resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get out of this forced alliance with the sheriff’s office. But Andrews wouldn’t necessarily have to know whether he was the one playing nursemaid, or if one of Zach’s employees fulfilled the duty.

Although truth be told, he wasn’t sure he had an employee he disliked enough to saddle with this job.

“Barnes,” he said by way of greeting. The other man gave him a nod. Wasting no time, he continued, “Maybe you and me can reach a. . .”

“Sharper, I want you to meet Caitlin Fleming, a consultant for the sheriff’s department. She’s with Raiker Forensics.”

The inflection in the man’s voice imbued his last words with meaning. But it was his earlier words that had Zach halting in disbelief. Tipping his Wayfarers down he looked—really looked—at the woman approaching.

The mile long legs could be right. And she was tall enough; only a few inches shorter than his own six-three height. The kiss-my-ass cheekbones were familiar. But it was the thick black hair that clinched it, though shorter now than it’d been all those years ago. He didn’t need her to remove her tinted glasses to know the eyes behind them were moss green and guaranteed to turn any breathing male into an instant walking hard-on.

His voice terse, he turned his attention to the deputy and said, “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Barnes blinked. “What?”

“I mean are there going to be TV trucks and cameras following our every move?” Christ, what a clusterfuck. He could already imagine it. But he’d seen enough so-called entertainment featuring desperate cultural celebrities to anticipate what was going on here. “I’m not about to get involved in a reality TV show or whatever the hell she’s part of. You can tell Andrews the deal is off.” Andrews had threatened to jam him up with the constant renewal of permits needed to take his clients camping or kayaking. But maybe he could bribe someone at the permit department to circumvent her meddling. He was willing to take his chances.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s talking about me.” The voice was smoke, pure sex. He’d never heard her speak before, but he’d imagined it often enough years ago in his adolescent fantasies. “Probably recognizes me from some of my modeling work, isn’t that right, Sharper? A long time ago. If you want me to believe you’ve changed from a sweaty hormone ridden teenage boy who undoubtedly used one of my posters to fuel your juvenile wet dreams, then you’ll have to credit that I too grew up and moved on. I want a first hand look at that cave. You’re going to take me there.”

Somehow when he’d imagined her talking decades ago it had been without that tone of withering disdain. His disbelief dissipated, the skepticism remained. He slanted a glance at the deputy. “Seriously, Barnes. This is the department’s consultant?”

The man’s manner was stiff. “Like I said, she’s from Raiker Forensics. The Mindhunters. That might not mean anything to you, but in law enforcement circles it carries a helluva lot of weight.”

Caitlin Fleming as a cop. The implausibility of it still rang in his mind. But then he gave a mental shrug. Most people in these parts used to be something else. Many were reluctant to talk about their pasts. Including him.

Especially him.

He looked her over again, noting the jeans, tennis shoes and long sleeve navy t-shirt. “Either we hike down Castle Rock or climb up it. Either way, it’s not a walk in the park. Mitch here can tell you that. You might want to rethink visiting it in person.”

Instead of responding, she looked at the deputy. “You coming along?”

He shook his head. “Once was enough for me. I’ve been stopping in at the forest service stations in the area. Getting a look at the citations they’ve issued in the last few years.”

She nodded. “I’ll be anxious to look them over when you’re done. See you back in Eugene, then. This will probably take most of the day.” She walked back to her SUV and pulled a pack out of the back of it. Then she locked it and headed back to where they stood waiting for her.

“We’ll use your vehicle, Sharper. I don’t care which approach we take to the cave, although I’ll want to explore both of them.” She headed toward where he’d left his pickup parked on the shoulder of the road. Her voice drifted behind her as she walked away. “I’d already been warned you were an asshole, so your attitude isn’t much of a surprise. But it’ll be up to you to convince me that you’re as good at your job as I’ve heard. Right now, I’ve got to say, I have my doubts.”

DC: How do you feel your male or female characters have evolved over your career? Do you think you write them differently now than you did when you started?

KB: I think my female characters are more confident in themselves now. Certainly they have occupations that make them the equal of any male. The males are still alpha heroes but they accept strength from the heroines, as well as vulnerabilities.

DC: Is there a genre you haven’t tackled but would like to try?

KB: I’m writing exactly what I want to be! But I have always toyed with the idea of writing YA novels.

DC: What advice would you give to your younger self?

KB: Write faster I wrote my first five manuscripts as completes because I was so afraid to have deadlines interfere with time for my kids. I’ve since learned that I need deadlines to produce. Given my own time frame, I could take forever to write a book!

DC: In July your Silhouette Romantic Suspense Terms of Attraction hit the shelves. This is part of your Alpha Squad series. Would tell us first about the series and then a little about this latest book?

KB: Alpha Squad was born out of an interest in SWAT teams. I got a wonderful expert contact who sent me pages of information on any and all questions I had. The books feature a SWAT squad in a fictional California city. Each book is focused on a different member of the squad. The characters in the first book were hostage negotiators; the hero in the second was a tactical officer and in the third, the heroine, Ava Carter was a sniper.

In Terms of Attraction Ava saves the life of a visiting South America dignitary. His security specialist offers her a job, which she turns down. But Homeland Security agents have their own reasons for wanting her to accept and blackmail her to do so. Cael McCabe discovers too late who Ava is working for and cannot trust her. But when his client is kidnapped, Ava is the only one who can help him bring the man back alive.

Excerpt from Terms of Attraction:

Ava Carter lay motionless atop the gravel and tar flat roof squinting through the Nightforce scope of the Remington 700 rifle. She’d been in position for nearly four hours; under a “weapons tight” command for two. If all went according to plan, the subject would be on his way—in one piece—in less than fifteen minutes.

The rheumy late February sun labored to pierce the light cloud cover, and there was small blessing in that. Temperatures still hovered in the high sixties. And even without direct sunlight she could feel a thin trickle of perspiration snaking down her back beneath the LBV vest.

The breeze kissing her cheek seemed to have gotten a little stronger. “Check the wind meter again.”

Her spotter, Steve Banes, held up the pocket calibrator. “Six point two four miles per hour.”

Ava adjusted the dope of her rifle slightly. Steve picked up his high-powered binoculars again and spoke into the Motorola radio. “Side three, opening three. No movement.”

She reached for her own set of binoculars. Through them she could clearly see the black RV that served as the SWAT command center parked a hundred yards from the civic center. She could make out the figure of a man through one of the windows, hunched over a computer.

Her gaze passed over the RV to scan the area. She and Steve were positioned on top of a building across the road about eight hundred yards from the civic center. The building they were observing was circular, with an oddly pitched roof that was supposed to enhance the acoustics inside. Beneath the overhang were narrow windows encircling the building.

The inner perimeter seemed secure. The interested public was still inside listening to Antonio de la Reyes. But it was his detractors that were cause for concern.

From this angle she could only see a corner of the group of protesters and media vans secured behind the outer perimeter in front of the civic center. There were still a few signs waving, but a majority of the picketers had wisely decided to save their strength for when de la Reyes made his exit.

Hopefully once they figured out he wasn’t coming out the front, de la Reyes would be on his way to the airport. Out of Metro City. Out of California and back to his small South American country of San Baltes.

Good riddance.

It wasn’t his politics Ava objected to, though his eloquent arguments for opening the borders of America didn’t resonate for her. It was the target he presented. In the last week alone, as he’d traveled the country, he’d received almost a dozen death threats. Pretty unpopular for a visiting dignitary. She’d heard there was a small rebel contingent in his own country that was just as anxious to see him dead.

She was only anxious to see him gone.

“What’s he even doing here?” grumbled Banes. He was a large man, heavily muscled. His shaved head was the color of her morning double mocha latte and glistened with sweat.

“He has relatives here, I think I heard. His mother lived in Metro City until the seventies.”

Banes’s droopy dark mustache twitched in what might have been a smirk. “Like you’d remember anything about the seventies.”

“Just enough to know seventy-seven was a very good year.” Ava continued to scan the area. They’d had this conversation often enough in the past that she could participate without thinking. Banes had a good fifteen years on her, and he liked to rib her about his experience. He’d been on SWAT ten years longer than she had. He was a damn good marksman, ranking second in the Metro City PD, fourth in the state.

Ava ranked first in both.

“Have you ever been inside?”

She nodded. “Took my son to a concert there once. It’s pretty nice. All the seats have a good view of the stage.” It must have been about three years ago, when Alex was twelve, before he became afflicted with that weird teenage parental anathema. At fifteen he could barely be convinced to be seen with her at the mall.

The radio crackled. “De la Reyes has left the stage. Subject will be exiting from side three, opening one in the next two minutes.”

Ava kept the binoculars raised. De la Reyes’s white limo approached slowly and rolled to a stop by the curb. It would have been checked thoroughly before being allowed through the inner perimeter. Security inside the building would be directing the public out the front. Officers would keep the people from circling around to the back entrance. Everything was working according to plan.

She was about to lower the binoculars when something caught her eye. A glint in one of the civic center’s upper windows. In the next instant it had disappeared. “Do you see anything up there?”

Banes trained his binoculars in the area she was pointing to. “Nope.”

“Must have been the sun,” she muttered. But there was very little sunlight today. Which made it more likely she’d seen a reflection of some sort. But of what?

“Wait.” She and Banes spoke simultaneously. She went on. “You see it, too, right? What is that?”

Both of them stared for long moments through their binoculars. A chill broke out over Ava’s skin as comprehension slammed into her. “It’s a scope.”

Banes grabbed the radio. “We’ve got a reflection in side three, window seven. Looks like it could be from a rifle scope.”

“Cold Shot in position?” came the answer.

“Affirmative.”

“Weapons tight. We’ll send someone inside to check it out.”

Ava set down the binoculars and peered through the Night-force scope of her Remington. She made the minute adjustments necessary to focus on the window in question. “I see the barrel,” she reported quietly. A familiar deadly calm settled over her. “Can you get another angle and make it out?”

Steve belly-crawled several yards away and took another look through the binoculars. As an answer, he spoke through the radio. “We’ve got a weapon sighted and verified. Side three, window seven.”

The radio crackled. “Keep target inside. We’ve got a sighting.”

She heard the voice as if from a distance. Ava’s entire system had slowed. Breathing. Nerves. Heart rate. Everything was focused on the individual on the other end of that rifle across the road. The best shot would be to shoot perpendicular from the window. But she didn’t have time to change position. Shooting at an angle meant firing two shots. The first to break the glass and the second to hit the target.

“What the hell?” muttered Banes as the back door entrance opened. Ava recognized de la Reyes surrounded by his private contingent of security and three tactical officers hurrying toward the steps.

“Weapons loose. Engage, engage.”

She was dimly aware of the group surrounding de la Reyes halting. Retreating toward the civic center. Her finger squeezed the trigger and fired twice in quick succession through the target window. Nearly simultaneously an answering shot sounded and one of the bodies on the steps crumpled.

Ava gave her watch a surreptitious look and sighed mentally. If this was going to drag on much longer she’d need to excuse herself and text Alex. He’d be getting out of basketball practice soon and might need to catch a different ride home.

The debriefing was going more slowly than usual. But then nothing about this incident had proven normal yet.

The door to the conference room opened and Chief of Police Carl Sanders entered, flanked by his deputy chief, Robert Grey. They were followed by Antonio de la Reyes and a few men she remembered from his security contingent.

There was a scraping of chairs as a few of the SWAT officers made room at the long table. Ava sat still as the newcomers stared her way, feeling like an insect on a pin.

“There she is, gentlemen. The officer of the hour.”

There was little doubt about whom Sanders was referring to. Ava was the only woman in the room. Without looking away from her, de la Reyes circled the table to come to a halt before her.

“Ms. Carter,” he said in melodic fluent English. “I am in your debt.”

Since he’d taken her hand and looked to be in no hurry to free it, Ava rose, ill at ease. “I’m glad it worked out.”

He looked more like a movie star than a politician. He was no taller than she, about five nine, with glossy dark hair and soulful brown eyes. But she recognized the tailor-fitted suit he wore and the designer shoes. His country’s impoverishment didn’t extend to this man.

“It worked out, as you say, for all but your fellow officer.” Finally de la Reyes released her hand and glanced back at Sanders. “But I am told the man is well.”

Sanders nodded, his craggy face grim. “Sergeant Talbot was saved by his vest. He’ll be sore for a few days, but he’s already been released from the hospital.”

There was a collective murmur of relief from the room’s occupants.

De la Reyes went to sit in a nearby free chair and Ava sank into her own with a sense of reprieve. She’d never learned to enjoy the spotlight.

Sanders pulled out a chair. “The would-be assassin has been identified.”

“His name is Pedro Cabrerra.” Ava recognized the man passing out sheets as head of the American company providing de la Reyes security while in the country. He was the sort of man who left an impression.

A shade under six feet, he had a commanding presence, even in a roomful of cops. His streaked blond hair bordered on shaggy, his pale green gaze hawklike. His face was tanned as a surfer’s and his body looked broad and rock hewn beneath his suit. Unlike de la Reyes, whose expensive clothes gilded his sophisticated appearance, this man’s suit only served to highlight what he was beneath it. A warrior. No amount of gloss or polish could ever mask his rough edges.

“I am sorry.” De la Reyes lifted a hand to indicate the man passing out Cabrerra’s likeness. “Cael McCabe. He owns the security company I hired shortly before I came to the States.”

McCabe was the only one to remain standing. And he didn’t so much pace the room as prowl. “Cabrerra was a trusted member of Senor de la Reyes’s private security detail who traveled with him from San Baltes.”

“He is…was,” de la Reyes corrected himself, “my first cousin. Our fathers are brothers.”

Ava saw the grief in the man’s eyes and felt a moment of sympathy. Bad enough for complete strangers to want you dead…

DC: If you were a book, what would your blurb be?

KB: A meek mannered teacher by day, Kylie Brant is hiding a secret identity from the world. But when people close to her start disappearing, authorities take a closer look at her after hours job…and the research books in her library. Both have suspicion falling on the teacher slash author. Have her suspense plots finally crossed the line from fiction to reality?

DC: What would be your “voice’s” tagline?

KB: Gritty, edgy suspense with sensual romance.

DC: If you had never become an author, what do you think you would be doing right now?

KB: I had toyed with the idea of getting my Ph.D and teaching at the college level. About a year after deciding against it I wrote my first book. So I’d probably be solidly entrenched in academia by now.

DC: What’s on the horizon for Kylie Brant?

KB: I just agreed to another three books in the Mindhunters series to be released in 2010 and 2011.

Lightning Round:

- dark or milk chocolate?     – Milk chocolate or none at all!
- smooth or chunky peanut butter?      – Creamy.
- heels or flats?     – Depends on what I’m wearing But if heels, I’ll take a pair of flats with me for when my feet start hurting.
- coffee or tea?      – Neither–I’m a Diet Coke gal
- summer or winter?     – Summer all year round!
- mountains or beach?      – Beach! Every year for vacation.
- mustard or mayonnaise?      – Yech. Neither. I’m too finicky.
- flowers or candy?      – Skittles????? I’ll do anything for Skittles.
- pockets or purse?     – Purse. Then I’ll promptly forget it.
- Pepsi or Coke?      – Coke
- ebook or print?     – Print

And just because they’re fun:

1. What is your favorite word?     -  present (as in gift)
2. What is your least favorite word?      -  work
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?     -  family
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?     -  narrow minded people
5. What sound or noise do you love?     -  rock music
6. What sound or noise do you hate?     – the alarm clock
7. What is your favorite curse word?     – f*ckaduck
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?    – writing humorous greeting cards
9. What profession would you not like to do?     -  cleaning sewers
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?     – “Loved your last book!”

DC: Kylie, thank you! We appreciate your taking the time to spend it with us!

When the fine authors over at the Petticoats and Pistols blog found out about our Great Western Drive, they quickly offered us up some goodies to giveaway.  Since this bit of insanity The Great Western Drive is being hosted on three different blogs, why not open this contest to commenters on all three blogs?  First, let’s talk prizes…..

HIS SUBSTITUTE BRIDE by Elizabeth Lane
CATTLEMAN’S UNSUITABLE WIFE by Pam Crooks
TOUCHED BY LOVE by Tracy Garrett
COWBOY CHRISTMAS by Mary Connealy
TAMING THE TEXAN by Charlene Sands
IN A MOTHER’S ARMS by Victoria Bylin
SOARING EAGLE’S EMBRACE by Karen Kay
MOUNTAIN WILD by Stacey Kayne
NOTORIOUS by Patricia Potter
HER MONTANA MAN by Cheryl St.John
MARRYING MINDA by Tanya Hansen

11 books, means 11 different winners!  Winners will be chosen at random from comments made on any Great Western Drive post on TGTBTU, Wendy’s blog and Kristie’s blog.  Contest ends Monday, August 24 at midnight (CST) and is open to US residents only (sorry!).  Good luck!

oops I should have already posted this but it got losted in pending reviews

lets blame Gwen

I’m putting on my author “Buy my Book” hat here. Just so you know.

The 29th July, 2009 sees the release of the second Red book set in my STORM universe, “Red Heat” and here’s an extract from it:

“Slowly, Jillian turned around, keeping her eyes averted until the last moment, working hard to keep her expression clear.

His eyes widened and he fixed her with a stare as blue as the ocean but much hotter. She couldn’t look away. He scanned her from the top of her head to her shoes and back again. “Jillian.” The sound barely passed his lips but it broke the tense hush.

She opened her mouth, tried to speak but found her lips too dry and she passed her tongue over the lower one before closing her mouth again.

His groan was a little louder but not much, more of a sigh, an exhalation that seemed to release something inside him. He took a step toward her but stopped when she instinctively shrank back and planted his feet wide apart instead, shoving his hands in his pockets. He seemed bigger in reality than in any of the photos she’d studied, more vital somehow.

“Where have you been?” His voice was level but she saw the effort it took him to keep it that way from the strained tendons in his neck and the taut lines around his mouth.

“Getting better.” She had her story pat but now she faced him, she found it far more difficult than she’d ever imagined. And she’d imagined it a lot, practiced it until she could do it in her sleep. Until now, when she faced him for the first time. “I couldn’t come back. Not before. I was too ill.”

“The car crash?”

She nodded, trying to remember the script or something resembling it. She’d been through this so many times in preparation for this moment. But it was too late. It had all gone, fled from her memory at the sight of this devastating male. From the top of his gleaming golden head to his highly polished Italian shoes, he exuded powerful masculinity and it took her breath away.

“You’re better? Recovered?”

She nodded again.

“That’s all I need to know for now.” He took the three strides separating them and swept her into his arms, his mouth crashing down on hers as she gasped in shock.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as he devoured her like a man starving for her taste. His scent, hauntingly familiar, a cologne she knew but couldn’t place, mingled with the unmistakable aroma of hot, needy male. And it was her he wanted. Her or the person he thought she was.

At that moment, she wanted him. Whatever, whoever he was. When he flicked his tongue across her lips, shaping, tasting, then returned to the seam, she opened her mouth to him. And her body. She was lost. Anything he wanted, he could have.

When she imagined this scenario, tried to prepare for it, this part was the hardest of all to prepare for. Not that Chase Maynord wasn’t the most powerful, gorgeous man she’d ever met but he would want her and she thought that would make her feel cheap and degraded. They’d known the sight of his lost love would lead to this but never had she imagined how much she’d want him too. He’d refused to take part in vital experiments her bosses had proposed to him but she couldn’t hold that against him now. Not with what he was holding against her. She wanted his hard, long, hot cock with a ferocity that astonished her, but she couldn’t deny her need.

He tore his mouth from hers, only to search her face with a hunger she’d never experienced before. No one had ever wanted her with such intensity and it burned her shame and doubts away. She could do this. More than that, she wanted it.

“Tell me you’re okay now,” he whispered, the intimacy searing her heart.

“I’m okay now.” She felt far from okay, but she didn’t feel lost and alone anymore.

“Do you still feel the same about me?”

She choked. He was opening himself completely to her now and instead of feeling good about it, he made her feel cheap, because she was the liar here. She decided to lie as little as possible. “I don’t know.”

He touched her cheek with one finger, as tender now as he’d been passionate a moment before but she saw in his eyes that he’d only banked it down. “What happened to you, sweetheart? Where have you been?”

“I-I-”

With one impatient gesture, he waved it away and curved his hand around her waist. “That doesn’t matter. Not now. Only this does. Do you still want me?”
Still? “I want you.” That was no lie. She wanted this man, wanted him to take her and fuck her brains out so she wouldn’t have to think anymore. This man was gorgeous and right now he only had eyes for her.

“I never stopped wanting you. Even when I thought you were dead I never stopped. It’s been driving me insane.” The fires returned to his eyes and he bent his head, stealing another kiss before he lifted her into his arms and headed for the bed.

He laid her down and his hands went to his tie, ripping it off without looking away from her. His shirt lasted about ten seconds before it landed on the floor and she had an unimpeded view of his chest. Powerful, lightly sprinkled with hair a shade darker than the golden hair on his head, the expanse was marked with ridges that showed developed muscle. She wanted to touch it, know if it tasted as good as it looked.

She sat up but when she would have lifted her top over her head, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers in a fleeting kiss, leaving her starving for more. He urged her down and she lay on the soft bedcover while he climbed up and over her, straddling her yearning body, owning it. She lifted her hands and pressed them on his hard, beautiful chest. It felt so good, hot and smooth with the slight roughness of hair and when she moved her hands, his nipples pressed hard against her palms. She wanted that heat against her skin. The only recent touches she could remember were impersonal ones from the doctors or friendly pats from her mentors. Nothing like this. She arched up to him and felt him grasp her blouse. When she opened her eyes all she could see was him, drinking her in. She wanted this. Whatever came next, she’d have this.”
And here’s the short description:

Of all the hotels in New York, she has to walk into his.
Ever since Chase Maynord lost the love of his life in a car crash, he’s used her name as a password for STORM agents at his luxury hotel. So when someone registers as Jillian Miller, he assumes it’s business as usual.
But it’s not. Jillian returns to him and their lust burns up the sheets. Only she thinks she’s someone else, her memory destroyed by their mutual enemy. Chase wants her back and he’ll do anything to get her.
Jillian’s mission is to deliver Chase to the IRDC, enemy to Talents. But, stunned by her hunger for him, she doesn’t know whose side she’s on any more.
The old Jillian loved exhibiting herself to an appreciative audience so Chase takes her somewhere he can indulge her every desire. He prays that her old passion for making love in public will restore her to him.
She has to come back to him soon, or they’re both dead. And he won’t let her die alone.
For some reason this book was really hard to write. Part of it was writing a convincing Jillian, the heroine. At the start of the story, Jillian thinks her name is Caroline, and she’s been sent in by the organisation that paid for all her medical care after a near-fatal car crash three years before. Only she really is Jillian, and the IRDC has messed with her mind. The hero, Chase, knows her for who she is, and since Chase is a Sorcerer, and can see into the parts of people’s minds even they aren’t aware of, he’s sure. But she’s not.

I wrote and re-wrote and re-wrote the beginning of that book until I despaired, but I knew from the chemistry between Chase and Jillian that I was on to a good thing so I carried on. You see, you can create the characters, do oodles of preparation before you start, know them like you know your nearest and dearest, but when you bring them together in the story, sometimes it just fizzles. I’ve had that happen before, in the Chance series, when I crafted a heroine for Corin and he just didn’t care for her, nor she for him. If the love scenes are a slog to write, it’s not working.

Chase couldn’t keep his hands off Jillian, and they ended up in bed much earlier than I’d planned, but sometimes that happens, and I let it. Saw where it went, and I liked it.
Jillian has to learn to trust Chase, but more than that, she has to learn to trust herself. So much has happened to her that she is lost, at sea, and she needs to be sure of herself before she can be sure of anyone else. Being plunged into a life-or-death situation doesn’t help her very much. In fact, it’s a death-or-death situation, because of course, the IRDC has no intention of letting her life once she’s fulfilled her objective of bringing Chase over to the Dark Side.

Many people have written about paranormal worlds once they’ve become established, once people have realised and accepted that vampires, shape-shifters and other paranormal beings live among them. Some have written about a world where vampires and their brethren remain hidden, a society within society. In the STORM universe, I wanted to write about “tomorrow,” the days and years following the realization, and how society learns to cope – or doesn’t. If you saw a dragon in the sky tomorrow, knew it was real, not a kite or a barrage balloon or anything else, how would you feel? Terror, perhaps, excitement, maybe even horror. You might turn away from the knowledge, refuse to believe, despite all the proof that starts to pour out of the media. You might run to embrace it, become a groupie, follow them around, beg them to convert you, even if they swear they can’t. Or you might decide that this is a threat, that you need to fight it.

From the way society today behaves, it could be all three, and that’s the most likely outcome. Not the careful construction of a computer game, not obviously (insert your favourite game here) but another, simpler one. So I decided to write about that, and so far it’s been fascinating.
You can buy the book here: http://www.jasminejade.com/p-7433-red-heat.aspx

If you want to win copies of both books released so far in this series, leave a comment. I want to know what kind of paranormal being you would like to meet, and what you would do with him or her? If you want to play in my paranormal world, the world of Talents, you can read all about them on my website. Or if you don’t want to do that, if you’d prefer to play in another world, go ahead! I’ll take all identifiers off the comments, and give them to my daughter, who is a big fantasy fan and under another name one of the movers and shakers in the fantasy world. She’ll pick the winner.

More contesty goodness – because I promised you it was coming! Read on, gentle readers, and try your luck! After all, it is an anthology set in Vegas!

 WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS…AFTER DARK anthology

 Release Date: May 1, 2009

 Anya Bast’s story in this anthology is called THE PROMISE. It’s a prequel to THE DEAL, (WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS… the first anthology, released in 2008), and tells Damian’s story and how/why he came to jilt Cassidy at the altar on their wedding day.

Here’s the whole blurb for the book:

Las Vegas… it’s the town that lives up to the promise of its nickname, Sin City. A gamblers’ paradise for innocent tourists, it conceals a darker, sexual world where the ethereal and wraithlike meet to play a different game….

If there’s one thing succubus Deitre understands it’s revenge. That, and enticing men into arousing, exciting and, okay, perilous sex (for him).
Beautiful on the outside, demon on the inside, she’s going to get back at the naughty firefighter in Darkness…unless he plays his cards right…

Bounty hunter Nell is a hell of a tracker. Now she’s in Vegas on the tail of the witch who dared to steal from her clan. She’s going to get to the unsavory harlot through the woman’s ex-fiancé, and nothing about their charged encounters will be shallow, quick or friendly.

When the half-blood fae male comes to club Darkness, Elena can’t resist acting on the mind-blowing heat coursing between them. She might be betrothed to another, but fae culture says sex with other men until marriage is most definitely foretold.

Tattoo artist Devi is the latent vampire the warlocks need to heal all wounds. But taking her power is a sexually exhausting and dangerous task requiring dark deception…and gambling on her life.

*******

In Anya’s story, The Promise, the heroine, Elena, has known her entire life she would have to marry someone she didn’t love. Family duty binds her and resigns her to her fate, though there’s a part of her that wishes to be free. To enter to win a copy of What Happens in Vegas…After Dark, name a time in your life when you felt duty bound to do something you didn’t want to do.

Three winners will be selected.  

Want to win $100 in free books?
To help promote her upcoming release, Chains, author Shiloh Walker is doing a dash through some of the blogs in romanceland, leaving behind excerpts. If you’d like to get entered to win a gift certificate for $100 (your choice from the online booksellers), all you have to do is visit the blogs, read the excerpts and leave a comment. The excerpts are in order, just visit the first blog, Karen Knows Best and go on from there!

Chains
An all new novel of erotic suspense
They weren’t friends. They weren’t enemies. The only thing the three girls had in common was the high school they went to in Madison, Ohio—until one tragic night. Now, fifteen years later, they’re returning home where passion—and danger—await…
Renee Lincoln was the homecoming queen—with the perfect boyfriend and the perfect life. After that horrible night, she rebelled the only way she knew how: by submitting to her wildest fantasies…
Tall, blonde, and athletic, Lacey Talbot was a golden girl with a bright future. She’s found success as a photographer, but no man has ever been able to satisfy her. No man but the bad boy she left behind…
Sherra Salinger has always looked like a princess out of some fairy tale. The books she writes, though, stem from the nightmare of that one night. And she shrinks from any man’s attention—especially the one stalking her…
They’re coming back to Madison—and it won’t be happy reunion. There are three men, all dangerous in a different way. And when each of them surrender their bodies to the heat, when they succumb to desire, they’ll find the safety they desperately need…

Excerpt (part two)

Fifteen Years Later
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Lacey tried to block out the sound of the leaky water faucet, closing her eyes and resting her back against the wall.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Muttering under her breath, she surged out of the hard, ladder-backed chair and stomped across the waiting room, into the bathroom. It was small, with nothing more than a toilet, a mirror and a sink. A sink with a faucet that kept going…drip. Drip. Drip.
Clenching her jaw, she turned the knobs until that infernal dripping stopped. “There.” Spinning around, she headed out of the bathroom—and crashed straight into Seth Salinger’s chest.
Seth—shit.
One of the main reasons she rarely came back home for more than a day or two. Enough time had passed. Lacey would have thought that maybe she could handle seeing him.
Obviously not.
Get over it. It was one fucking night. Five years ago!
One long, blissful night…one night…and the last damn time a guy touched me and made me feel much of anything—
A night where her brain had actually shut down on her. A night that haunted her dreams. A night that still had the power to make her belly get all hot and shaky. There you go, making things seem bigger than they really are. It was one night—the earth didn’t move, you didn’t fall head over heels in love, and there’s no reason you can’t act like an adult here.
No reason. Adult. Got it. She forced herself to look in his eyes and reminded herself, It’s been five years since that night, kid. It was a fluke—
She might have even succeeded if he hadn’t touched her. His hands came up, cupped over her upper arms and steadied her and heat flared along her skin. Her heart skipped a few beats and started to slam in a sexy little rumba against her breastbone while she tried to get her breathing to level.
“Hey. You okay?”
Easing back, she forced herself to smile at him. “Just peachy, Sheriff.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. His very nice mouth…
“You look exhausted.”
But Lacey barely heard the words at first—she was too busy focusing on that mouth and remembering. Lacey groaned inwardly and gave herself a mental kick in the ass. This was why she hadn’t come back home much since then. At Christmastime, always in and out, a few quick weekends where she stayed with her parents and didn’t leave the house.
Because of him.
What had he been saying…
Oh. Yeah.
Exhausted…smothering a laugh, she edged around him and said, “I am exhausted.” Just barely, she managed to keep enough distance between them so that her arm didn’t brush up against his. She felt his heat though, caught a trace of his scent and wanted to press her face against his neck and just breathe him in.

Visit Book Binge for the next excerpt. You can also visit Shiloh’s blog for details. The blog will be updated to include the live links for each of the participating blogs.

Disclaimer: Only one entry per household. Open to everybody, as long as the author is able to purchase/email you a gift certificate for one of the major online booksellers-Amazon, BN.com, Borders, Powell’s, etc. Winner’s name to be posted on Shiloh’s blog-author will ATTEMPT to notify the winner via email, but cannot be held accountable if her email bounces back- please make sure you enter the correct email and that you add Shiloh to your addy book to prevent problems. Void where prohibited. Please do not post to sweepstakes sites-the author reserves the right to end the contest at anytime, and likely will end it early if the contest ends up posted to sweepstakes sites.

I suck at being in charge of contests. This is something I did not know about myself until recently, but it’s true nonetheless.

A few weeks ago we asked Bree and Donna of Moira Rogers fame to come talk to us about their writing process.

The three winners of anything from the Moira Rogers backlist are as follows:

• Natasha
• BridgetH
• Nancy Bristow

Please send your book requests to shannonc (at) tgtbtu (dot) com with the subject Moira Rogers contest and we’ll get your books to you ASAP.

Lauren: Hey everyone, thanks so much for having me here today!

If you got through the above silliness – you know a little bit about my upcoming contemporary erotic romance release, Taking Care of Business. One of my favorite things about the book is that I wrote it with my bestie, Megan Hart. We came up with the idea as a way to pass the time while waiting in line for a dinner at the 2007 RT Convention in Houston. The whole process has been a lot of fun and there’s something to be said about every once in a while taking a project that is just about fun – if the opportunity comes up, I highly recommend it! Megan and I have a lot of goofy fun so writing a book was really just a lot of us talking too much on IM and ripping ourselves off when we needed dialog. I’m sure it’s not always this enjoyable – this time around, I had a huge last minute deadline drop in while we were writing No Reservations and so we had to write around my schedule. Luckily, we know each other pretty well and we share the same basic attitude about work so it didn’t cause any tension. But a lot of the time, it was like, “I think Kate needs to go to a strip club with Dix.” And Megan would ping me back, “WHEEEEE!” Some days, this job is really fun.

I loved writing Katherine because she’s a woman who knows what she wants. She’s focused on her career and she knows the hard way that things in business are different for women than they are for men so she keeps a big wall between her personal life and her work life. I loved that about her character, I loved that she wasn’t a woman who hated sex or who was afraid of love, she just has to figure out if she can let someone from her work life into her personal life.

In her case, her man, Charles Dixon, isn’t having any excuses. But he’s respectful of her space and her independence. He doesn’t think she’s being silly but he wants her and he’s not going to let her walk out of his life until she admits she wants him too. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that in my head, Dix is totally Dr. Christian Troy from Nip/Tuck. Poor Dix, I think Kate sullied him a bit, and left him sweaty and weak kneed.

Anyway, it was a great experience. Two friends writing about two friends. The story is simple and straightforward with two adult women facing a lot of the same things many women face with men who aren’t jerks or too good to be true. I hope if you pick up TCOB you have as fun reading it as we had writing it.

Pre-Order from Amazon US – releases March 31, 2009
One conference, two friends, two men who know how to take care of business.
Blurb: After leaving the wrong man, Leah Griffin’s not ready to look for the right one. All she wants is to survive the conference she’s planning and spend some time with her best friend Kate Edwards. She’s not expecting the conference services manager to be so tall, dark and handsome…or so eager to please. It’s Brandon Long’s job to make Leah happy, but after a scorching interlude in her hotel room, neither can deny business has become pleasure.
Smart, driven and successful attorney, Katherine Edwards has spent her life making the right choices. Directly counter to those right choices, she’s involved in a long distance, secret love affair with a co-worker. Charles Dixon is a bad choice she can’t help but make – over and over. A conference and a promotion bring Kate back to Pennsylvania and suddenly, Dix wants far more than a few nights in random hotel rooms. He wants something permanent and Katherine has to figure out if sometimes a wrong choice isn’t exactly what a woman needs.

We had a great time with this project and were lucky enough to also sell the follow up book, NO RESERVATIONS which follows Kate and Dix, Leah and Brandon this time to Las Vegas

 [Ed note: Lauren is going to give away a copy of her book, so chime in and say incredibly witty things. It might just be your lucky day.]

I met the Bree half of Moira Rogers several months ago in a multi-fandom community, and from there it was like some kind of synergy had taken place. Our taste in books, particularly romance, is frighteningly similar, and so when the first Moira Rogers books came out, I became an instant fan. Now, with Crux, the dynamic duo of Bree and Donna have taken a leap into urban fantasy that Sandy and I both love. In celebration of the release of Crux, Bree and Donna, the two halves of Moira Rogers, stopped by the pond to talk to us about their writing process. Stay tuned at the end of this post for a contest!

And now, please welcome Moira Rogers!

When Shannon gave me a long leash to come up with my own topic for a guest blog post, my first thought was, “Oh, she’s going to regret this.” Before we get started, I feel like I should issue a disclaimer up front so no one can say they weren’t warned:
I, the Bree half of Moira Rogers, am an enormous geek.

There, I said it. No take backs. I’m a dorky McDork pants geek princess, and on most days my partner in crime is no better. Donna and I love gizmos and gadgets, comic books and computers, and we really, really like RPGs. We met our husbands in a table top role playing game at the local comic book store in a true romantic comedy tale too geeky for publication. We played dozens of games over the years, and we always had one thing in common: we drove everyone crazy with our elaborate back stories and highly flawed characters who were more likely to get the party blown up than actually kill the bad guy.
What can I say? We love a good redemption storyline.

Donna and I are a comparatively rare oddity in the writing world. We’re two people who share a single penname, and that penname is our career. We’re not two authors who have joined forces to write works together; we’re two writers who have joined forces to become one author. There’s a Captain Planet joke in there I’m dying to make, but I don’t want Shannon to beat me too severely when this is over, so I’ll refrain.

We get a lot of questions about how we write and what our process is. People are always fascinated that we have taken this seemingly terrifying leap of faith together, that we do something so intensely personal as telling a story together and somehow at the end of the day are still friends.

The first thing I tell everyone who asks is this: it is not for everyone. We have our epic battles and fights, our spats and our disagreements. We have hurt feelings when someone says, “Oh, okay, so what you’re saying is you want them to name that baby Deus ex machina.” (Ouch, I’m still smarting from that, Donna. More so because you had to be right.)

There are a hundred ways to write a story, and I don’t think any of the methods are the one true way. What I do know is that I can’t imagine working with someone who didn’t prioritize the story elements in the same way I do. Donna and I have our gamer roots to thank for this agreement, I think, because our number one concern is always the characters. Every character in every book we write has a complex history, family, a personality, trouble and triumphs. Every character. That guy who showed up for 3 minutes on the telephone? Him too. We love creating characters. We stash facts and tidbits about them in a top secret wiki—facts that might look a little like a character sheet.

At the end of the day, we almost never have a story idea before we have characters. Our characters shape our stories because each one is the story we think we want to tell for this character. It also means killing them feels like the loss of a person with so many potential stories left to tell, but when you’re writing dangerous books, sometimes you lose people. (Sob.)

Now the nitty gritty: how do we do it?

We each have our stable of characters, and we are the boss of them. All their words, actions, reactions and feelings are ours to decide. We do not have fights over what a character “should” do, we discuss what a character “would” do and how the heck we’re going to fix the repercussions of any given action. We literally write around each other. We don’t each write a chapter, or a POV scene, or anything like that. We write…paragraphs. Or sentences. Or sometimes words. Sometimes those words go in each other’s sentences.

Our husbands are used to listening to us hash out plots. “What would Joe do if…” “But how would Keith react if…” We don’t get to wing it, or we might be writing two different scenes. Even with careful planning sometimes the story can feel a bit like wrestling something into place, because while Donna and I think almost the same…well, almost is still not completely. Sometimes she’ll write a character saying something that would have never in a million years occurred to me, something I never would have written on my own.

And that’s when it feels a little bit like magic.

I could talk all day about the little details, but sometimes it’s hard to tell just what parts of this people really want to know about. So if you have a burning question about life as one half of Moira Rogers, ask! Nothing is sacred…well, a few things are sacred. Like the true location of the Bat Cave. But other than that, ask away!

CONTEST! Three winners will be chosen to win copies of anything from Moira Rogers’ backlist But you have to work for it! Leave a comment on this post with your questions about Bree and Donna’s writing process and you’ll be entered into the contest!

Thanks to Bree and Donna for stopping by and quacking with us!

Heidi enlisted the help of one of her furry friends and has picked the winners from her visit.

Congratulations to:

Stacy S.
Jan
Jane

Please go to Heidi’s Book Page and pick your book from her backlist (sorry, but Tangled Up in Love is not available) then contact her through her contact page or email her at heidi@heidibetts.com with your choice and mailing address.

Many thanks to Heidi for taking time away from her writing (book #3 of the Chicks with Sticks trilogy) to chat with us (and apparently spill some of my secrets) and to everyone who stopped by to say hi.

I have a new release, “Tantalizing Secrets,” a historical set in the Georgian era. In it, the reader meets people from previous Secrets books, and gets to know what Peter gets up to in his own book (I’ve put the blurb and a brief excerpt below for you, but the book is only the springboard for the Pondering).

In the Secrets books, Peter has a mistress, Elizabeth Wisheart. She’s a widow, rich enough to not worry about getting another husband, but she sets her sights on long term lover, Peter, and she throws a few hurdles in the way. She’s beautiful, seductive and a strong character. But when I asked my editor if it were plausible for me to make Elizabeth the heroine in another book, she was doubtful. Thought the reader wouldn’t want her. She’s probably right, she usually is (sigh) but after you’ve read the book, I’d love your opinion. Would Elizabeth make a historical romance heroine? And the wider question – can you turn a villain into a hero?

Several books have done it triumphantly. Think of Mary Jo Putney‘s “The Rake” previously published as “The Rake and the Reformer.” In it, Reggie, the boorish drunk of “The Diabolical Baron” is turned around into an alcoholic in an age when everyone drinks. We come to feel sorry for Reggie, and love his resolve when he moves to the country to kick his habit. It’s on many people’s keeper shelves.

Another favourite is “Devil in Winter” by Lisa Kleypas. How many people wondered how Sebastian, the kidnapper from the previous book in the series, could be turned around? Well Kleypas did it and this is often cited as the readers’ favorite of the whole series.

It seems that the villain-turned-hero has to be a strong person, with no little degree of angst. Tortured, enough that it drives them to do Bad Things. But this sometimes adds a fascinating depth of character.
And sometimes it can be done in one book.

Liz Carlyle‘s “The Devil You Know” features the feckless wastrel Bentley, who isn’t the brightest bulb in the basket, or so it seems. How can we love him, especially after what he does to poor Freddie (Frederica). But by the end of the book, we’re in love. At least, I was.

There are some borders a villain cannot cross. Rape, betrayal that doesn’t have an explanation later, or if my heroine had succeeded in separating the hero and heroine, or stormed off vowing revenge, maybe.

And that’s another thing. I want to turn my villainess around. Are there any books that do this?

So here’s the blurb for Tantalizing Secrets:

Arabella Mason is too busy investigating her brother-in-law’s “accidental” death to entertain thoughts of love. She’ll go to any lengths to ease her sister’s grief, even accept the help of the distressingly attractive Viscount Bredon, Peter Worsley. Instead of answers, the trail of clues only leads to more questions. Who was her brother-in-law, really…and why does Peter, who poses as her brother in public, make mincemeat of her resistance in private?A successful politician and confirmed bachelor, Peter has bedded the loveliest women in society. He never imagined he’d wind up in a Leicester backwater, helping a pretty widow investigate his brother’s untimely death. As his suspicions of foul play grow stronger, the danger rises-and so does his desire for Arabella. One kiss, and she snatches away all his resolve, leaving him wondering which he wants more…

To find his brother’s killer? Or keep Arabella safe-and make her his?

And a teeny snippet:
the coach lurched to a halt and they were flung forward. Peter flung out a hand to stop Arabella hurting herself, and was rewarded by a handful of fabric and a brief contact with one soft breast. He took her arm and hauled her back on to the seat as the carriage pulled to a halt.
Breathlessly she stared at him and they both heard a gruff voice. “Stand and deliver!”
“Good Lord!” The gleam of battle sparked in him. Cautiously he settled the pistol in his pocket so it came easily to hand.
The door of the carriage was wrenched open. A heavily muffled figure stood outside. “Out,” the man commanded.
Peter descended and held his hand out to help Arabella. To his surprise, she wasn’t looking in the least shocked. If he didn’t know her better, he would have thought she was angry.
Lounging against the open door of the carriage, Peter stared at the highwayman. Their assailant was so muffled up it was difficult to make out much about him, but Peter noted the man was no taller than he was, and wasn’t grossly overweight. He’d pulled a cocked hat low down on his forehead and a muffler up over the lower half of his face.
Peter thrust his hands in his pockets, touching the rounded end of the pistol. In the other pocket, he had a knife, usually carried for more mundane purposes but it might come in useful too, given the chance. He kept Arabella in view, prepared to push her to the ground. Some highwaymen wanted more than jewelry and cash; he wasn’t about to allow that.
Arabella lifted her chin and glared at the man. There was no doubt about it now-fire flashed from her dark eyes. She was angry. Peter hoped she wouldn’t do anything foolish. He wished he could see the coachman but that was impossible without turning.
Their aggressor swore, fluently and, much to Peter’s surprise dropped the hand holding the pistol to his side. “Jewelry. Money.”
Then Arabella did something that took Peter completely aback. She put her hands on her hips and thrust her face forward in the age-old position of the fishwife. It said a lot for Peter’s newfound attraction that he found her pose delightful. “And who do you think you are threatening? Get in the carriage this instant!”

You can buy Tantalizing Secrets from Samhain here:
http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/tantalizing-secrets

Or you can win a copy (download in the format of your choice) by commenting here. How about it, should I put Elizabeth down on my list of future heroines? And can you think of any turnaround books that worked for you? Or ones that didn’t? What do you think it needs?

Are you an unabashed, hard-core Gemini Men fan? You adore Ethan Taggert from Caught.  You’ve been anxiously awaiting Derek Taggert’s story in Kept.  But it’s Danny Taggert who’s your favorite and you can’t wait for Unleashed.  Well, my friend, it’s a good thing you stopped by TGTBTU today to chat with Jami Alden…

This next week is going to be very important to you.  Wanna know why?  I’ll tell ya why.

This is your chance to have the completed Gemini Men trilogy before anyone else.  Jami is giving away five ARCs of Unleashed — that’s right five of them.

All you have to do is buy a copy of Kept between today, February 24, and next Tuesday, March 3, snap a pic of your receipt with your digital camera, cell phone, scan it, smoke signals, long-range missile, or whatever way you have to send it via email to Jami and she’ll drop your name in the hat for the drawing. One entry per person, please.

Your receipt must be dated between February 24, 2009, and March 3, 2009, and must be received by Jami no later than March 10, 2009. When the names are drawn, Jami will notify us and we’ll list all winners right here at the blog, along with instructions to receive your ARC.

Now ain’tcha glad you stopped by today?