Monthly Archives: December 2016

by | December 18, 2016 · 5:00 am

The Game That Never Ends Blitz

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Romantic Action, Drama
Date Published:  October 2016
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In 1953 Sandy and Alex meet and fall in love in Adelaide, South Australia. She comes from a wealthy Catholic family and he is the son of a shopkeeper and an Anglican. Her mother has marriage plans for her and takes Alex to Italy to keep them apart. He goes to Oxford University where he achieves great success in cricket and rugby football. For the next seven years their love has to overcome many conflicts and is sorely tested by a tragic event and her Catholicism. In 1961 now working in San Francisco and believing Alex lost to him forever, Sandy falls in love and marries Kate but Alex, now finally free of her marriage, returns to him plunging his life into chaos. Will he be able to bring an end to this never ending game?

Excerpt

 

She woke me up in the morning at eight saying their group was departing at ten and I should leave before anyone saw me. The Italians knew she was married to Paolo but in true Italian style would never say anything about last night, but it was probably best not to be seen together in the morning. I was getting dressed when she picked up my jacket to hand it to me and she noticed there was something heavy in the pocket.
“She said. “Oh there’s something here in the pocket.”
I had totally forgotten about it but her hand went in and brought out Eva’s watch.
She looked at me strangely. “It’s a ladies watch. Why do you have a ladies watch in your pocket?”
I tried to look nonchalant. “Oh, it’s Eva’s. She gave it to me when Göran gave her a new watch as a birthday present. I’ll give it back to her in the office on Monday.”
“But why did she give it to you?”
I stammered a little. “Well… well, I was sitting next to her when she took it off.”
I saw the disbelief growing in her face and I had a flash back to the Darlene’s gold chain incident in Naples.
“Don’t lie to me Sandy. She gave it to you because you were going to take her home and sleep with her, weren’t you?”
I shook my head. “No, no.”
“You’re lying Sandy. You were going to have her last night until I came along. How inconvenient for you, but then you had me instead. Is she better than me Sandy? How long have you been sleeping with her?”
“Alex, I did not lie to you. I’ve never had sex with her.”
She was completely furious now. “Just a month ago you promised me you would wait for me and marry me when I am free. Is that a lie too?”
“Alex please calm down.”
In answer she hurled Eva’s watch at my face, hitting me on the forehead. I caught it as it bounced off me.
This was too much and I lost my temper. “Alex I did not lie to you but my God how long do you expect me to wait for you? How long will you remain married to Paolo and expect me to stay celibate while wait for you to pop up occasionally? You tell me you don’t sleep with him and I believe you, but when I told you I have never slept with Eva you don’t believe me. If you don’t trust me then maybe we should forget the whole thing. It’s a crazy situation anyway.”
I had gone too far and instantly regretted it.
She burst into a torrent of tears. I went to her but she pushed me away and said “just go”. I put on my jacket, slipped the watch into my pocket and walked out. I could feel blood trickling down my nose and put my handkerchief over the cut in my forehead.
I stayed in my hotel room and drowsed through all of Sunday. I went over the whole scenario, over and over again. I wished I could take it all back. I shouldn’t have reacted angrily to her charges. I would have slept with Eva so she was partially right but I had not lied when I said I had never slept with her. But poor Alex had all the stress of a loveless marriage and her secret. I knew she loved me and I could understand her being upset when she saw me dancing romantically with another woman. But where does that leave us now? By dinner time I had decided that I should wait for her to contact me again. She knew I had another year at Oxford. Despite everything I was still in love with her.
On Monday morning I went straight to Göran’s office. He looked up smiling at me as I walked in. Then he saw the small elastoplast on my forehead.
“Oh no Sandy, please don’t tell me she hit you.”
I pulled Eva’s watch out of my pocket and placed it on his desk.
“She found it in my pocket and threw it at me.”
He felt its weight. “My God Sandy, what a woman. Adrian had told me about her and she was exactly as he described her. Adrian and Pete call her the movie star. Did you know that? What a beauty and she’s violent too. What a combination. You are a lucky man.”
“Well I’m not so lucky now. I think she’s finished with me this time.”
Göran looked upset. “Oh no and it’s entirely my fault because I set you up with Eva.”
I told him it was not his fault and that our relationship was very complicated but I was sure she would come back. I wasn’t really sure but I didn’t want Göran feeling guilty about it.
Except for this one incident I had a wonderful summer in Stockholm. I’d met Mr. Axel Persson, Göran’s father, and he seemed interested in me. Perhaps that would lead to other opportunities. Had cricket opened another door?


About the Author

David Adamson Harper started his working life as a British naval officer serving out of the Hong Kong station, which became the backdrop for his first novel KWANGCHOW. After leaving the navy he joined the management program at Grace Line in New York and spent many years in Panama and San Francisco. He then joined United States Line as a senior executive and ran their South Asia Division from Bombay and later the Africa Division stationed in Durban, South Africa. He returned to San Francisco where he ended his career as a maritime consultant to major west coast ocean carriers. Wherever he went he was always involved in the game of rugby football and was a referee for many years. On retiring he moved to Mexico to become a full time writer. He and wife Susan live in a village on the north shore of beautiful LakeChapala at 5000 feet in the Sierra Madre Mountains. THE GAME THAT NEVER ENDS is his third novel and follows the critically successful HOW TEDDY TOOK PANAMA.
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by | December 17, 2016 · 5:00 am

Harrington Manor Blitz

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Historical Fiction
Date Published:  October 8, 2016

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A murderer stalks the orange groves of 1923 Southern California. Detective Sidney Snipes is called to the Harrington Manor when retired Colonel Peter Wescott Harrington is found slumped over his desk by his family. Snipes entrusts the sensational new crime fighting technology—Fingerprint Analysis to find a fierce fiend.
Just when he though he had the murderer cornered, a neighbor discovers a shallow grave in the orange groves; an unsolved missing person’s cold case files. A case that has haunted the Orange County Sheriff’s Department for three years. The evidence in the missing person’s case rumples Snipes proficient sleuthing skills as the leads take him in circles. Then to add to the muddying discord, another Harrington turns up dead, apparently murdered in his sleep.
But when a sinister child’s Jack-in-the-box, seemingly from the grim reaper himself, materializes on the Colonel’s desk, the detective is bedeviled more than he cares to admit. Nevertheless, Snipes had enough moxie to send fingerprints to every city where his suspects had ever lived. The leads take Snipes in a direction he never saw coming. Within days, he’s shocked to his eyebrows by the results; the identity of the murderer befuddles his mind. Alas, the oldest Harrington son, Shep, supposed wife, had a mock wedding to him in Manhattan, New York, and their plan was to kill the whole Harrington clan for their wealth.
Praise for Harrington Manor:
“Harrington Manor is James at his very best.”-Publisher’s Weekly
About the Author

Ronald James was born during the great depression, and as a toddler watched WPA men build a new street, from his home’s big front window. His playmates were a red rider wagon, a small black satchel and rocks. By using his imagination he had conversations with mythical street workers that bloomed into fashioned fantasies by age four. He used cardboard boxes to create fun spaces for his neighborhood playmates to enjoy and he kept telling stories all through high school. In college he abandoned writing and studied architecture. James had a successful architectural career and retired, however he wanted to keep his creative juices fluent, so he returned to his childhood story telling days and joined a writers group. Like architecture, each day he couldn’t wait to create, finish, and start new stories—like, Harrington Manor.
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by | · 5:00 am

Exit Wounds Blog Tour

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Today is our stop on the blog tour for Exit Wounds by Nikki Archer. We’re so excited to share this contemporary crime novel! Check out our post and grab your copy today.

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About Exit Wounds:

Colt is on the run. After a family argument ends with her father dead on the floor and the murder weapon in her hand, the heiress to Mexico’s largest drug cartel is left with few options. As the police rush to piece together evidence and name a suspect, Colt and her boyfriend speed south. If she wants to stay out of jail, she’ll have to sacrifice a different sort of freedom and leave America for the anonymity and relative safety of Mexico. But at her drug lord uncle’s Playboy-esque villa, the outlaw princess must make a choice: accept her place in the family legacy, or try to make her way alone. And her uncle may have more skeletons in his closet than even Colt could’ve imagined.

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EXCERPT

By my count, Tito has two pools, fifteen cars, five dogs, and a dozen girlfriends. The latter twelve rotate in and out, sometimes showing up in groups of as many as five, content to sunbathe or get smashed or both, taking as much or as little of my uncle’s time and attention as he sees fit to afford them. In his absence, they flirt and gossip with one another. In his presence, they vie for praise and affection, or at least more of these things than are bestowed on the next girl.

For my part, I’m mostly content to float around one of the pools, allowing Luisa to ply me with martinis, which I’ve never had before in my life. They help, though. They help me not dwell every minute of every day on what I did, on what I lost, and what my future may or may not hold. After a few dirty martinis, I can interact with the twelve girlfriends in a somewhat genuine manner, or at the very least find them amusing. Today, there are only three, and after two weeks living with Tito, I’ve finally managed to get all their names straight.

Ingrid puffs on a joint beneath her floppy sun hat, pointing two manicured fingers at me. “You a lucky girl, yah.” She stretches out on her lounge chair, her ribs poking against her pale skin. Takes another hit and smiles at me with pink-rimmed eyes. “What is the word for it… inheritance! When my parents died, I inherited barely nothing. Some money… a house… but you!” There’s a bitterness to her collagen-filled smile. “Someday you inherit this.” She gestures around her, to the pools, to the house with so many rooms I’ve still not managed to count them all, to Luisa. “You have good family to take care of you. You a lucky girl.”

I am a lucky girl.

The lounge chair is warm under my legs, and I lean back, letting the glaring sun dry the sweat off my skin. My skin feels like it’s sizzling, like I’m burning alive. But it’s okay. I deserve to be in Hell for what I’ve done, and if Hell comes with pools and martinis, I’ve got no right to complain. “So what does that make you, Ingrid? Since he’s your boyfriend. Are you lucky, too?”

As annoying as Ingrid is, she’s as good a source of entertainment as anything else. I like fucking with her, just to watch her botoxed face struggle against the wrinkles that confusion threatens to put in her forehead. She ashes her joint in an empty glass and looks over her sunglasses at me. “We all lucky girls, dah-ling. We are free like not too many people are free. We smoke, we fuck, we shop. We do Sweden for the holidays, and Madrid for the bulls.”’ She gestures to Amarra, napping on the chair behind her. “Amarra she loves the designers in Milan, so we go for Fashion Week.”

Free. Ingrid thinks they’re free. Me, I feel like a rat in a cage, albeit a pretty fucking fancy cage.

 

About Nikki Archer:

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Nikki Archer lives in New England, where she teaches high school English and spends her free time pursuing as many degrees as humanly possible. She divides her life into hockey season and baseball season, and she really really hates socks. She spends all of her extra money (and some that’s not exactly extra) on concert tickets and trips to interesting places. Her first novel, “Whatever’s Left,” is a YA romance, but “Exit Wounds” is her first venture into the world of crime writing.

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by | December 16, 2016 · 5:00 am

WETZEL PROMO BLITZ

WETZEL BANNER

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Historical Fiction
Date Published:  December 2016

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“Who in the west has not heard of Wetzel, the daring borderer, the Boone of North-Western Virginia.” Wills de Hass, 1851.
Lewis Wetzel came of age near the end of the Revolutionary War and was an important participant in the twenty-year war between the woodland Indian Nations and the settlers of western Pennsylvania, western Virginia, and Kentucky. The novel, although classified as historical fiction, traces Wetzel’s life over a period of more than twenty years, featuring events and the rich history that occurred in the upper Ohio River Valley, Kentucky, Ohio, and down the Mississippi to New Orleans. According to de Hass, a historian in the mid-nineteenth century, Wetzel’s efforts were without parallel in border warfare.
 EXCERPT
He moved along in the direction indicated by the track he had found, and he soon found another. The Indian was moving along the path parallel to the tree line, which ended at the riverbank.
Lewis knew that the Indians often used the islands such as Boggs Island to help them cross the Ohio, and he figured that this warrior was heading directly to the shore opposite the island.
“This red buck ain’t doin’ much to cover his trail,” said Wetzel aloud to himself. “And he ain’t too far ahead neither.”
He came to a break in the tree line, and he could see the island in the distance. There was tall grass and some light brush in the open area, then another clump of trees. Wetzel dropped to a crawl, keeping his head below the taller grasses until he reached the trees.
He looked for some sign of his quarry and eventually saw a broken twig just a few feet to the left of where he had entered. A natural path led along the base of a low-rising hill, and Lewis followed it, stopping often to listen and examine the forest floor to both sides.
It seemed to Wetzel that he should be close to what he had thought was the Indian’s intended destination. He heard
Something that sounded like singing, a female voice. His eye then caught sight of his prey, kneeling behind a big maple and watching something intently. Wetzel dropped down behind some bushes and stared at the husky brave. What was he looking at?
Lewis backed up a bit and shifted to his right where there was a small opening in the trees through which he could see to the riverbank. What he saw nearly took his breath away. A woman Wetzel stood at the edge of the stream, splashing water on herself. She was completely naked, and she was singing softly. Wetzel knew immediately that it was Lydia, and he could not take his eyes off her. When she began to turn, Lewis was so enthralled that he nearly forgot his dusky friend who was sharing this view.
Lydia stepped toward the canoe that was pulled up on the bank near where she stood and reached for the towel, slung over its side. In so doing, she exposed her front side to the two men watching her with avid attention. Lewis was conscious of the effects this sight was having on his body. Her breasts were as beautiful as he had imagined, and as his eye dropped down to the dark thatch between her legs, he could scarcely keep himself from crying out. He felt the desire well up within him, and he wanted to rush down and take her in his arms.
Lydia casually lifted the towel and began to dry herself, completely unaware of the two men watching her from so nearby.
Lewis, remembering finally the danger to Lydia crouching behind the big tree, looked to see what the warrior was doing.
The Indian, as if mesmerized by the erotic show in front of him, had not moved. This couldn’t last much longer, and Wetzel
eased back into the woods behind him and moved to a position advantageous for an attack. How should he do it without revealing to Lydia that the two of them had been peeping at her. He could not wait much longer, he knew.
He dropped down to a prone position and raised his rifle, sighting through the opening at the Indian who stood next to the tree, still watching the girl. His face was painted and a stone hung
from his right ear. Wetzel aimed just in front of the dangling gem and squeezed the trigger. The ball slammed into the unsuspecting brave in the right jaw, plowing through his mouth and out just under the left eye. He dropped instantly and without making a sound. Wetzel could hear the scream from Lydia, but he waited for a short while before moving.
He was confident that the Indian was dead, but he made no move to go to the body and retrieve the scalp. He could not see Lydia now, but he figured that she was scrambling to get dressed and get the canoe out into the river. Waiting until he thought she was probably dressed, he then pushed through the trees, making as much noise as possible. Lydia was visible as Wetzel neared the edge of the woods, and he could see that she was no longer naked. She had put on the gown, but he could see that her petticoat was still in the canoe. She had crouched down by the side of the canoe that was nearest the river, and as he came into the clearing, she screamed again.
“Lyddy, it’s me, Lew Wetzel,” he shouted, hoping to stop her screaming.
It had just occurred to him that they might not be alone, even though he had seen no one else.
“Who?” Lydia stopped screaming but remained half hidden by the canoe.
“Lew Wetzel!” exclaimed Lew, louder this time.
Now Lydia stood up and immediately recognized the young hunter.
“Lew Wetzel, you fool. You look like an Indian. You scared me to death.”
“That wasn’t my intent, Lyddy,” protested Lew.
“Was that you shooting?” Lydia demanded, walking around the bow of the canoe and approaching Lew. Her expression had changed from one of fright to one of fury.
“I reckon it was,” admitted Wetzel.
“What were you shootin’ at then?” Lydia wanted to know. “I thought somebody was shootin’ at me.”
“I was shootin’ at a rabbit, Lyddy. I missed him.”
“I thought you was supposed to be a crack shot,” said Lydia, beginning to calm down.
“Suppose to bein’ and bein’ are two different things, mebbe,” said Lew.
He had decided it was better not to mention the Indian.
“Well, everybody says you’re one of the best shots on the whole border. Guess you got ’em fooled.”
Another thought occurred to her, and she felt herself beginning to blush. “When did you first see me?” she asked suddenly.
Wetzel was ready for this question. “Why, just when I came out of the woods,” he explained. “I saw you crouchin’ there behind the canoe. Why do you want to know that?”
“None of your business, Lew Wetzel.” In spite of herself, Lydia’s face broke into a coquettish grin. “Maybe I wasn’t dressed proper for receivin’ company.”
Wetzel stole a glance at the petticoat draped against the side of the canoe. “Maybe you ain’t dressed quite proper even now,” replied Lew, surprised that he would talk that way to a girl. He surely would never say such a thing to Betty Zane.
Lydia had seen his glance, and she blushed even more. Still she was feeling a certain excitement at this turn in the conversation.
“Well, it’s better than it was before I heard that shot. I was takin’ a bath in the river.”
“I sure wish I had seen that!” said Wetzel emphatically.
“You’re bad, Lew,” said Lydia. “Would you have watched me without warning me?”
Lew realized he could be on dangerous ground here, and he answered accordingly. “Of course not, Lyddy. Why, you’re my friend Billy’s little sister.”
“What difference does that make? Does that mean if it was some other girl, like Betty Zane, you would have watched?” Lydia was not particularly fond of Betty Zane. It was rumored that she was engaged to Moses Shepherd, a young man that Lydia had in mind for herself.
“No, I wouldn’t have looked at Betty Zane neither. Listen here, Lyddy, it ain’t smart for you to come over here by yourself like you did. I could’ve been an Injun, and if I was, you’d be dead about now.”
“Well, I ain’t dead, and I don’t like you sneakin’ up on me like some Injun anyway.”
“I didn’t sneak up on you, Lyddy. I’ll go behind these bushes and turn my back while you finish gittin’ dressed. Then I’ll take you back home.”
Wetzel did as he promised, and Lydia finished dressing. She wanted to stay angry with him, but she supposed she didn’t really have a good reason. The look on his face, though, made her wonder if maybe he had seen more than he was admitting. When she was ready, she called to him and climbed into the canoe. He laid his rifle carefully on the bottom and pushed the little craft out into the water, jumping in as the current began to carry it away from the shore. He took the paddle and began the trip back around Boggs Island and to the shore on the other side.
Two days later, Lydia sat in the commandant’s room at Fort Henry when John Linn came in to talk to her father, Captain John Boggs. The two men spoke for a few moments when a remark of Linn’s caught her attention.
“Funny thing, Captain,” said Linn. “Across the river, in the woods across from your island, I found the body of a dead redskin. He’d been shot through the head but wasn’t scalped. I don’t know how long he’d been there, but he was beginnin’ to stink. His gun was leanin’ against the tree right where he fell. I didn’t see no sign of any others around anywhere.”
A puzzled look came across Boggs’ face. “Weren’t you over there a couple days ago, Lyddy?” he asked his daughter. “Lew Wetzel said he’d found you there. Did you hear anything that day?” Boggs had intended to address the matter with his daughter and give her a good scolding, but he hadn’t got around to it yet.
“Not a thing,” said Lydia immediately, wondering how much Wetzel had told her father.
The men looked at each other and shook their heads. “Let that be a lesson to you, Lyddy. You’d best not go over there again like that,” said Captain Boggs.
“I won’t, Pa,” answered Lydia. Some rabbit, she was thinking to herself.
About the Author

Richard Fleming has degrees from Northwest Missouri State and Florida State University, including a doctorate in mathematics.  After forty-two years as a professor of mathematics at the University of Missouri, the University of Memphis, and Central Michigan University, he retired and began to indulge a lifelong love of history.  He lives in Mt. Pleasant, Michigan, with his wife, Diane.
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by | December 15, 2016 · 5:00 am

The Pakistani Connection Blitz

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Espionage Thriller, Military Thriller
Date Published: July 2016
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This espionage thriller describes how MI6 was able to place a special non official under-cover agent in the Pakistani Al Qaeda organization, with the aim to finding Osama Bin Laden. His name was Naeem Fiazudin and before being recruited, he was an ex SAS soldier of Pakistani origin with an exceptional fighting record in Afghanistan. He discovered that Al Qaeda was currently being run by a far more powerful man in the background. After the CIA raid in Abbottabad, in which Ben Laden was killed, Al Qaeda and their Taliban allies, decided to use the skills of their new recruit to mount a raid on the Pakistani atomic bomb factory near Islamabad. MI6 came up with an ingenious and supposedly fail safe plan, which allowed the raid to go ahead and expose the danger that both MI6 and the CIA had for years feared, with the aim of forcing the Indian sub-continent to put their nuclear arsenal under international control as a step towards disarmament.
Mike Sander, the new MI6 director had recruited Naeem Fiazudin together another ex SAS soldier, John Sebastian, who was severely injured and took up the position of an Al Jazeera investigative journalist. The two of them were close friends and took part in the Tora Bora raid in Afghanistan at the beginning of the hunt for Bin Laden. The journalist was the convert contact man for Naeem.
The story relates the Odyssey of Naeem Fiazudin, starting with his recruitment in a Mosque in South London leading to him joining the Red Crescent organization in Pakistan and subsequent contact with the Taliban and Al Qaeda in the Swat Valley, where he had to prove himself. He was first asked to organize and mount a raid on the Pul- e-Charkhi prison in Kabul, where a brother of the Afghan Taliban leader Omar was being held and due to be executes. The raid was successful and he got the attention of a man known as the Sheikh in Dubai, who was the de-facto leader of the world wide Al Qaeda network, under the cover of a wealthy and successful businessman in the building industry.
The Sheikh decided that his new recruit should train a team of the best Al Qaeda and Pakistani Taliban fighter and mount a raid on the Pakistani Kahuta bomb making factory and steal four small portable atomic bombs. They would be aided by an inside man, who was an engineer in the end control, who was a devout Muslim and Taliban sympathizer. His job was to build in a GSM triggering device, so the bombs could be detonated anywhere in the world, in particular US and Europe. To this end the Sheikh had an ingenious plan. However, MI6 had also a high ranking Engineer in placed in the PAEC, which oversaw the Kahuta plant. His job was to disarm the bombs and place a small tracing and tracking device in them. Naeem would only be given the go ahead if he successfully accomplished this, just before the bombs were due to be collected.
Something went wrong, and although the Sheikh and the top Al Qaeda leaders, were captured or killed in a meeting in Dubai, the control of the bombs got into the hands of the IS leader. Mike Sanders, together with Naeem Fiazudin and John Sebastian had to stop him using them before it was too late, because one of the bombs had not been neutralized. This bomb was traced to London.
About the Author
Stuart Craigie was born in 1945 at the end of WWII in the North West Frontier province of war time India (now Pakistan); son of Major Ian Craigie of Scottish and Russian parentage. He is married, has adaughter and has lived and worked in Germany for the past twenty years. He holds dual British and German citizenship.
His early childhood was spent in Kenya East Africa. He finished his academic career studying Physics at University College London. After obtaining a B.Sc first class honors and Ph.D. degree he began research in high energy nuclear particle physics. Over the next fourteen years he published over eighty scientific works in major physics journals and proceedings of international conferences, His publications included two monographs and two books.(Most of his works can be found in the ww web under  “N S Craigie”)
During his research years he visited the Soviet Union and a number of east block countries attending symposiums, giving seminars and collaborating with east block physicists on joint projects. These experiences gave him a vivid impression of life behind the iron curtain during the cold war and brought him indirectly in contact with the KGB and East German Stasi, who were monitoring the scientists he had contact with.
In 1984 he left academia and entered industry as a developer of intelligent sensors for the automation industry. In his first four years he submitted and was granted six patents in the above mentioned field. In 1990 he took up a position as a senior executive of his last employer and became its joint CEO and Managing Director in 1994. One of his important tasks was chairman of the board of the directors of a joint venture company in Shanghai. Over a period ofsixteen years he visited and worked in China on numerous occasions.
As a frequent traveler over the years, visiting almost all continents, numerous countries, including most of the major cities around the world, he often took for leisure an exciting spy thriller novel from one or other of his favorite authors: Forsyth, le Carre, and Higgins. As time went on he had read most of their works as well the works of Follet, Clancy, Forbes and others, so that he found less and less to read. Ten years ago this gave him the motivation to write spy novels himself as part of a wider urge to write about life in general..
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