Tag #silverdaggerbooktours

#blogtour Pismo Beach Sniper by Topper Jones

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A sniper.

 A surf contest. 

A father with everything to lose.

Pismo Beach Sniper

A Thad Hanlon/ Bri de la Guerra Mystery Book 3

by Topper Jones

Genre: Private Investigator Mystery 

When sniper fire erupts at the Central Coast Surf Trials at
Pismo Beach, private investigator Thad Hanlon is thrust into every parent’s
worst nightmare. His eleven-year-old son and two teammates are shot while
surfing—one critically injured—plunging the contest into chaos and terrorizing
the tight-knit Five Cities beach community.

The shooter disappears, torching his hideout, leaving only questions in his
wake. Random attack—or the first move in a deadly game? Why target young
surfers? And is the marksman finished
or just getting started?

Urged by desperate parents, Hanlon and his sharp-witted partner, Bri de la
Guerra, race to protect the kids as they train for the upcoming West Coast
Championships. But as the detective duo close in on the sniper, they uncover a
chilling truth: the surf team isn’t his ultimate target—and the nightmare is
far from over.

This gripping thriller will keep you turning pages late into the night.

 

What Critics Are Saying

“Engaging characters, wit, and suspense elevate this rip-curling
page-turner.”

— Kirkus Reviews

 

“Pismo Beach Sniper is a tense and fast-moving mystery
with real emotional stakes. The target audience is readers who enjoy mystery,
private investigator fiction, crime thrillers, action suspense, coastal noir,
and family-driven detective series. Readers who like Robert Crais’s Elvis Cole
and Joe Pike novels may appreciate the same mix of banter, loyalty, and
wounded-hearted heroism, though Jones swaps Los Angeles grit for Central Coast
surf and spiritual undertow.”

— Literary Titan   

 

“It felt like I was reading something akin to James Patterson: fast,
frighteningly imaginative, and furious with action. Pismo Beach
Sniper is a deftly plotted story of a man doing everything to keep his
child safe in a world where not only waves can kill.”

—R. Oserio, Readers’ Favorite Reviews

 

Amazon * Author’s Site * Bookbub * Goodreads

Chapter 1

I was sitting under a beach canopy in the spectator
section of the California Central Coast Surf Trials, watching the first heat of
the semifinals, when I heard the sonic crack of a large firearm. Something
long-range like the scoped high-precision rifle my business partner, Bri, uses
to qualify at the Five Cities Shoot’n Center.

“What was that?” my son’s surf coach asked. Gev Burian
was sitting on my left. “Sounded like it came from behind us.”

Bri de la Guerra, on my right, stood to check things
out. “Cityside, yeah. I’m thinking .30 cal. Maybe three-oh-eight.”

I swiveled to scan the low-rise buildings of downtown
Pismo—the seafood cafes, souvenir shops, and beach rentals. Clumps of tourists
meandering down narrow Pomeroy Avenue stopped. Some gazed skyward, herd-like,
examining the highest roofline—the old Hotel Pier Vista. Others rushed indoors.

When a second blast didn’t happen soon after, I saw
pedestrians raise their palms in the classic “what’s up” shrug before
continuing their weekend saunter. Some, trailing well-groomed dogs on leashes,
took refuge in their smartphones.

I turned to face the Pacific as Bri sat in her folding
chair. Coach Gev got out his binocs and we rejoined the hundreds of other
parents, friends, and supporters along the beach to watch the tournament.

Three junior surfers, ages eleven to twelve—”grommets”
in surf jargon—were perched on their boards 100 yards offshore in the chilly
morning waters north of Pismo Pier. The contestants wore different colored
jerseys over their wetsuits. Red jersey had priority takeoff; the next wave was
his. As the kids waited for the sets to roll in, they bobbed in the mushy surf
like sitting ducks.

“Yellow’s down!” Coach Gev shouted. He handed me his
binoculars. “The kid’s slumped sideways off his board.”

“Cramp, maybe?” I pressed the field glasses to the
bridge of my nose, fiddling with the adjustments. “January water temps are
cold, fifty-three, fifty-four degrees. These temps? He should have worn a 5/4/3
mm instead. Maybe even a—”

There was a second sonic crack. I watched Yellow’s board
splinter into pieces. Chunks of the foam core ringed the downed contestant as
he struggled to keep his head above water.

Red jersey, closest to Yellow, dropped prone and paddled
with fury toward him. Just as he was about to grab Yellow’s arm, I heard shot
three. There was a splash near the tail of Red’s board.

Red turned turtle, flipping his tri-fin surfboard over
so the bottom faced the sky. Only his hands, gripping the sides of the
shortboard, were exposed.

Shot four took out Red’s middle fin. Shots five and six
took out the two outer fins. Red let go of his board and sank out of view.

That left the eleven-year-old in the light blue jersey
as the only contender sitting on the water. My son, Zael, was in full
competition mode, hyper-focused on The One Thing—a wave with his name on it. A
wave built by the sea gods just for him, for his performance, his tricks, the
ones he’d stick. The 10-rating he’d be awarded by all three judges. That
perfect ten.

Zael was in the zone, tunnel vision his ally. Chaos
bending to will. He had no clue what had happened to Red and Yellow.

I popped out of my beach chair, sprinted from our shade
canopy to the shoreline, and screamed as I waded in. “Duck and cover, Zael! Get
down! Now!” I waved my arms, zigzagging through the shallows.

My son wasn’t hearing me, wasn’t seeing me, wasn’t even
attuned to my panic despite his gift for sensing things unspoken. Zael paddled
hard for takeoff, slid into the three-foot wave breaking off the pier, and
dropped into the curl. He drove down the line, pumping his board to build
speed, then bottom turned, and angled toward the lip to launch into his
signature 360-degree air rotation and—

Blam.

Shot seven.

Zael’s right leg buckled. He lost balance and angled
into a dive as far away from his board as his leash would let him. When he didn’t
come up for air…

Oceano Beach Bedlam

A Thad Hanlon/ Bri de la Guerra Mystery Book 2 

Hanlon & de la Guerra have gone full service. In this
second book in the surfing crime-fighter mystery series, Thad Hanlon and his
martial-arts-obsessed partner, Bri de la Guerra, hang out their shingle as
newly licensed private investigators. Now in addition to fraud-busting, the two
detectives do it all. Background checks. Surveillance. Even finding lost souls.
Just about anything that requires sleuthing or going undercover.

All they need is a client.

That’s when a former exotic dancer from Bakersfield CA shows up looking for her
surf prodigy son who’s gone missing in the wake of cult violence terrorizing
the California Central Coast.

 

What Critics
Are Saying

“A crunchy detective novel set in the world of California surfers.
Jones delivers a proper beach read, both in form and content.”

-Kirkus Reviews

 

“Honestly, I had a blast with this one. Oceano Beach
Bedlam is a smart and entertaining read. If you like your mysteries with
surfboards, sass, and just enough heart to keep you caring, this one’s for you.
It’s a great pick for fans of offbeat detectives, fast dialogue, and
sun-drenched noir with a brain and a soul. I’d recommend it to readers who
enjoy Janet Evanovich, Robert Crais, or the beachier edges of Elmore Leonard.”

— Literary Titan  

 

Amazon * Author’s Site * Bookbub * Goodreads

All That Glisters

A Thad Hanlon/ Bri de la Guerra Mystery Book 1

When the facts don’t add up in his surf buddy’s bizarre
death, forensic consultant (and daddy-to-be) Thaddeus Hanlon investigates,
volunteering to go undercover to pick up where best friend Rafi Silva left off
in a secret probe of the U.S. gold stockpile—every last bullion bar.

Rafi’s spunky fiancĂ©e, Bri de la Guerra, has suspicions of her own and soon
joins Thad on the hunt for answers. Together, the two amateur sleuths delve
deep, stumbling onto a financial a-stock-alypse in the making, triggering a
brutal manhunt along the Eastern seaboard meant to silence anyone looking to
set the ledger straight.

 

What Critics
Are Saying

“Jones’ action-packed murder mystery…is
tension-fueled with plenty of twists and two appealing sleuths. In this
detective series opener, Thad Hanlon, a 27-year-old forensic accountant,
becomes the target of a murderous cadre when he accepts a new assignment that
takes him from Los Angeles to the East Coast center of power. Woven into the
gripping plot are sensual, detailed descriptions of Thad’s adventures riding
the waves, which should please the surfer crowd and afford others a visceral
sense of the experience.”

—Kirkus Reviews

 

“All That Glisters by Topper Jones is well-written with not a
single dull moment. I liked the way the author included elements of action,
mystery, and even some cyber investigating. Overall, I found this book to be an
amazing read.”

—Sefina Hawke, Readers’ Favorite Reviews

 

Amazon * Author’s Site * Bookbub * Goodreads

 

Writing
as Topper Jones, award-winning author Christopher G. Jones, Ph.D., delivers
detective fiction with a dash of romance, plenty of action, and memorable
characters. His Thad Hanlon & Bri de la Guerra Mystery Series has earned
Readers’ Favorite Five Stars and the Literary Titan Gold Book Awards.

 Before
writing full-time, Jones taught financial reporting and business systems
development at the university level and worked in public accounting and
consulting. He is a member of The Private Eye Writers of America and
International Thriller Writers, and an affiliate of Mystery Writers of America.

 To
stay close to family, Jones now lives in the southwestern desert rather than
his native California. But when the surf’s up, he’ll make the 450-mile trek to
the coast for a little “water therapy.”

 

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#blogtour The  Reed Lavender Series by Ashley  Capes

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If you love snarky heroes, twisty mysteries and plenty of
magic,

delve into this urban fantasy series set in Melbourne, Australia!

Graves Robbed,
Heirlooms Returned

Reed Lavender Book 1

by Ashley Capes

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Mystery

 He can speak to the dead. But will giving them justice get him killed?

Reed Lavender lives two lives—one as a detective and another as a reaper.
Hearing the last words of the dead is a handy skill in his line of work, but
magic can’t solve all his problems. While investigating the case of a teen
runaway, he learns his cousin is missing. Racing against the clock, Reed soon
finds himself trapped in a vast conspiracy.

A cult is capturing reapers to siphon their powers and his current case is
somehow connected. But the deeper he digs, the more dangerous and convoluted
the trail becomes. As his two lives get tangled, Reed realizes if he can’t
solve the case and save his cousin, the man who listens to the dead will end up
joining them.

Graves Robbed, Heirlooms Returned is the first thrilling urban
fantasy novel in the Reed Lavender series. If you love snarky
heroes, twisty mysteries and plenty of magic, delve into Graves Robbed,
Heirlooms Returned!

 

**Get it FREE!**

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* Goodreads

 

Graves Robbed, Heirlooms
Returned (Reed Lavender: 1)

 

Chapter 1

 

In the bright moonlight, Reed Lavender inserted his best
crowbar into the pine box where the top met the sides and wrenched the steel
down. Wood squeaked and he shuddered. Worse
than fingernails on a blackboard. He lifted the lid free, resting it
against the freshly turned earth – which, unlike the sound of an opening coffin
– was an almost pleasant thing. A pungent scent, but real. Honest. Worms and
bugs, minerals and secrets lived in the earth; when you got right down to it,
grave dirt wasn’t really any different to regular dirt.

And
he was certainly down to it now, about to be elbow-deep in a coffin.

Again.

But
for what they’d given Elise, the word ‘coffin’ was a stretch. A pine box wasn’t
much of a final resting place – dignity hardly came cheap in Rikerton’s funeral
home and unclaimed bodies were lucky to avoid the incinerator. Or maybe that
would have been better. Dust to dust and
all that.

“But
then you’d be out of work,” he told himself.

Elise
the runaway – that’s what the police thought she was – lay in her dirty jeans
and the same faded Pink Floyd t-shirt she wore when she walked into the cafe
two days back. Her arms lay at her sides, cuts on her palms mostly hidden. Her
face had been covered… by a used napkin. “Jesus, Jennings, that the best you
could do?” Reed growled. At least the napkin was in one piece; the undertaker
had been known to be far more slipshod at times.

Reed
lifted the napkin… and ground his teeth.

She’d
been beaten blue. Deep bruises swam across her cheeks, one eye swollen shut and
the other just as blackened, torn skin at her temple. Jennings had cleaned her
face up well enough but there were still leaf fragments and dried blood in her
hair. The pallor of death had washed out Elise’s freckles, mere suggestions
crossing her bent nose. God, what is she,
fifteen? She looks so small.

Reed
tossed the napkin aside and unwound his scarf, folded it and placed it over her
face, standing still a moment, shaking as he blinked. The night air ran chill
fingers across his now-exposed throat and the back of his neck. Finally, he
took a breath and leant over the coffin, where he lifted her arm. “Sorry,
sweetheart,” he said softly, twisting her silver bracelet up to the moon. Only the
letters ‘Elise’ engraved there. Really, there was little he could learn from a
perfunctory glance at her clothing and jewellery that the police wouldn’t have
already catalogued. He’d check that later, of course – but Elise deserved more.

No,
he’d have to wake her up – sort of.

Her
last words would maybe be enough of a clue. Most folks didn’t have much to say,
right before the end. Sometimes it was a scream or a grunt if he was unlucky.
Other times, they addressed their killer. Or a loved one, perhaps, if the death
was peaceful. Not that I’ve heard a lot
of those in my time.

There’d
been a man out west, he couldn’t recall where – so many cities and towns
blended together – whose last words had been an apology for burnt toast. After
that, the poor guy hadn’t said a thing before being t-boned at an intersection
by a bus an hour later, two blocks from his office.

But
sometimes, a person’s last sentence held a clue.

“Come
on, Elise, tell me something I can use.”

If
she didn’t, he had no other supernatural tricks up his sleeve either, since he
couldn’t simply call upon her spirit. It would have made things much easier and allowed him to stop violating
peoples’ graves but sadly, he wasn’t that lucky.

Reed
removed the scarf a moment, took her cold hands and closed his eyes, sending
his awareness down through her mute fingertips, pushing his way along quiet
veins until he reached her chest, still echoing with the memory of a million
heartbeats, then at last up the throat to the tongue; the tongue which
remembered everything.

But
it would move only once more.

“In
the name of Mors, speak any that you might,” he whispered. “I’ll help you if
you can.”

Her
body resisted.

Not
unusual. It meant reliving the pain and shock – why wouldn’t her body want to
fight that? It was at rest now, if not at peace. But he had to know. Reed
pushed harder, pouring both his hope and anger into the request. “Please,
Elise.”

A
flicker, a tiny sound as her jaw shifted.

He
opened his eyes and leant close. Would it be a scream? A clue? Nonsense? Her
voice was little more than a rasping whisper, such as might easily be mistaken
for a breeze, but he caught the words.

“Wow,
what a beautiful view. This is some place; you can see half the city from
here.”

Then
silence.

“Shit.”
Poor girl, she probably never saw it coming.

Reed
lowered Elise’s hands. Half the city.
That hardly narrowed things down – there were only hundreds of such high points available. But it probably put the
owner in a certain tax bracket at least. He shook his head. No assumptions. It was his first rule.
And that went for murder too – maybe it was an accident. Still, something happened to bring Elise’s life
to an unjust end.

He
had to find out; no-one else was looking and Elise’s grandmother deserved
answers. Even unpleasant ones, he supposed.

Reed
placed the scarf back over the girl’s face and reached for his shovel.


The Radiant King

Reed Lavender Book 2

Things aren’t exactly
getting easier for Reed Lavender.

Old obligations and new cases are piling up but in the aftermath of Feronia’s
defeat, answers are still too thin on the ground. But one clue – his father’s
knucklebone – might just lead to something big.

To learn the truth about his parents’ disappearance, Reed
will have to take the fight to whoever is behind the growing turmoil in his
city. And if the rising number of Spirit-Worms, needy Gods, vindictive lawmen
and only somewhat-helpful cousins don’t stop Reed, then his sense of duty might
do what the others cannot.

Because Reed now finds himself caught between two goals –
solving the murder of Elise or chasing down whoever stole the Goddess’ hand, an
unfathomable thief who might hold answers about his parents


 

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Summer in the City

Reed Lavender Book 3

Reed is about to snap
– and this time, nothing is going to stand in his way when it comes to getting
answers for Elise, not even a supposedly long-vanished Sumerian God. 

Or so Reed thinks.

But summer in the city isn’t going to be like the others.
The city itself isn’t quite the same either, and even if you’re lucky (or
cursed) enough to count the children of Gods among your friends, nothing is
ever simple…

 

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* Goodreads

Ashley is a poet, novelist and ex-teacher living in
Australia.

He taught English, Media and Music Production, he ‘sang’ in
a metal band, worked in an art gallery and for a few years, slaved away at
music retail. (For a few years, he was also a legal secretary).

Aside from reading and writing, Ashley loves (indoor)
volleyball, Studio Ghibli and Magnum PI.

 

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the blitz HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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#blogtour Kill Code by Clive Fleury

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In a world gone wrong, can one man actually make a
difference, or will he die trying? 

Kill Code

by Clive Fleury

Genre: Dystopian Science Fiction

 

WHEN THE OCEANS RISE…THE TRUTH DROWNS

It’s the year 2031. Our future. Their present. A world decimated by climate
catastrophe, where the sun’s heat is deadly and the ocean rises higher every
day. A world ruled by the rich, powerful, and corrupt. A world where a good man
can’t survive for long.

Hogan Duran was a good man once. He was a cop, forced to
resign in disgrace when he couldn’t save his partner from a bullet. Now Hogan
lives on the fraying edges of society, serving cruel masters and scavenging
trash dumps just to survive.

But after four years of living in poverty, Hogan finally
gets a chance to get back on his feet. He’s invited to join the National
Security Council, the powerful paramilitary organization responsible for
protecting the rich and powerful from the more unsavory elements of society.
All he needs to do is pass their deadly entrance exam, and he’ll be rewarded
with wealth and opportunity beyond his wildest dreams.

But this ex-cop’s path to redemption won’t be easy. The NSC
are hiding something, and as Hogan descends deeper and deeper into their world,
he starts to uncover the terrible truth of how the powerful in this new world
maintain their power…and just how far they will go to protect their secrets.

In a world gone wrong, can one man actually make a
difference, or will he die trying? 

 

Kill Code is the first novel in an exciting new
dystopian science fiction series from the mind of award-winning author,
screenwriter, and director Clive Fleury. Fans of The Hunger Games by
Suzanne Collins, The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey, and Divergent by
Veronica Roth will be captivated by Kill Code. You’ll also love
this book if you enjoy:

* Dystopian novels and stories

* Stories about futuristic
societies

* Stories about disgraced cops

* Stories about unlikely heroes

* Stories about conspiracies

* Stories about injustice

  

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

The Station: a seething mass of humanity. Some came with
hope in their hearts, ready to embark on the journey of a lifetime. For others,
it was the only place they had left to go. They had reached rock bottom. Day or
night, the scene was always the same: Transporters arrived and departed
constantly, full of people desperate to get away from here, from there, from
everywhere. Others wandered around the Station aimlessly. These were the
homeless, the addicts, the criminals, the thieves and deadbeats. They spent
their time begging or looking for something to steal.
And there was always tension in the air. A fight could break out at any moment
as these tired and hungry people reached their wits’ ends and lashed out at the
world.
Max and I had been waiting there two hours, which was at least one hour and
fifty-nine minutes too long but neither of us minded. I kept reaching into my
pocket to pull out the letter and stare at it.
“You’ll wear it out, buddy,” said a smiling Max after I had brought the note
out a tenth time. “Just accept it. Next stop: Easy Street.”
I pushed the letter back into my pocket. I still couldn’t believe it. I’d been
accepted. That was the good news. The bad news was I knew that this letter only
confirmed that I had been chosen for NSC training. It was incredibly difficult
to get this far, but even so, only a very few would make it to through to the
next stage—to become officers. Frankly, I had grave doubts I could make it that
far.
Max tapped me on my shoulder and pointed to a transporter that had just pulled
in to Dock 10. It had the word Seattle printed above its windshield. It was
Max’s ride. “Okay, Hogan, looks like it’s my time to go.”
I moved behind Max’s wheelchair and pushed it through the seething crowd
towards the vehicle. It was, like all public transporters nowadays, driverless.
So since there was no one to help, it was up to me to put Max’s ticket into the
scanner and to lower him into in his allotted seat. After that, I folded his
wheelchair and carried the chair to the luggage rack at the front.
As I finished storing the chair, I spotted an attractive woman in her
mid-thirties walk up to Max. I watched as she checked the seat number on her
ticket. “That is twenty-two N isn’t it?” I heard the woman say to Max as she
pointed to the vacant seat next to him.
Max smiled. “It sure is. And you have the luck to be sitting next to Max
Creeling.” He held out his hand. “Great to meet you.”
The woman smiled and sat next to him as I returned.
“Okay, Max, time to go. See if you can get someone to help you with the chair
at the other end.”
“I think I can organize that,” the woman said. “I’m Lisa.” She pushed out her
hand and I shook it.
“Pleased to meet you, Lisa. Thank you for your kind offer. Now, Max, don’t
forget when you get to Seattle to keep out of trouble.”
“Will do.”
I high-fived Max. “Bye. And behave yourself.”
“Always.”
I turned quickly and headed for the transporter’s exit door. Almost as soon as
I had stepped down from the vehicle, the door slid shut, the last passenger
just managing to squeeze on. As the transporter drove off, Max peered out of
the window and winked at me before turning to speak animatedly with Lisa. It
looked like he had struck it lucky.
I missed him already.
My transporter would be in next. Dock 20. I started to walk towards the number
20 sign, scanning the crowd for those who were waiting for the NSC Transit
transporter like me.
A tall, handsome man in his early twenties stepped in front of me, momentarily
blocking my way. I glanced across at him. I knew the type. Dangerous and
arrogant but the sort of asshole that women love. In fact, two young beautiful
girls were with him: long legs, flowing blonde hair, angelic faces. They were
obviously twins.
A commotion came from behind, and a middle-aged, scruffy, worn-down man pushed
through the crowd, a rusty shotgun in hand. “Hey, you!” he screamed at the guy
with the girls. “Those are my daughters, you son of a bitch.”
The handsome man turned, taking in the man and his gun.
“Really,” he replied. “Then I guess I owe you for raising such lovely pleasure
units.”
“They aren’t pleasure units, they’re my girls, and they’re only seventeen.”
“Oh, God
I didn’t know,” the handsome man said, looking shocked. “They swore
they were fifteen.” He grabbed one of the teenagers and starting to kiss her
passionately.
“You bastard,” the older man said, and raised the shotgun, ready to fire. The
handsome man pushed away the girl he was kissing, spun around, and yanked the
weapon from the father’s hands in one motion. In an instant, the father was
looking down the barrel of his own gun.
“The only reason I don’t shoot you right now is ’cause I’m afraid this rusty
piece of shit might blow up in my face.” The younger man cracked the gun open
and dumped the shells onto the floor. Then he pulled a gleaming handgun from
his trousers and leveled it directly at the father’s head. “This, on the other
hand, is in perfect working order. Care to test it?”
The father lunged forward, but I grabbed him, pulling him back. “That’s
enough.”
The handsome man stared at me. “Well, thank you,” he said, stuffing his pistol
back into his pants. “You should thank him too, Dad,” he said to the girls’
father, “you could have got yourself hurt.” He turned away to look at the
girls. “Ladies—it’s been a pleasure. I’m sure you won’t forget your time with
Jake Teerman.”
“Bye, Jake,” one of them shouted as she consoled her teary-eyed sister.
The man, Jake, quickly headed towards the transporter that had just pulled up
at Dock 20.
“I guess some girls like that kind of thing,” a voice behind me said.
I turned. The woman who’d just spoken was strikingly attractive, with long dark
hair, piercing blue eyes, and a button nose. She was dressed in form-fitting
jeans and a blue blouse that hugged her shapely body. She carried an antique
leather holdall.
She held out her hand. “Ruby Mason.”
“Hogan Duran. Pleased to meet you” I said, shaking her hand and pointing at the
NSC Transporter. “You getting on board?”
Ruby smiled proudly. “Yep. And you?”
I nodded and glanced at Jake Teerman, who was climbing up the transporter’s
stairs.
“He’s going as well. I thought the NSC was more selective.”
“I guess not,” Ruby said.

***

About a hundred of us were cramped on board. Most were in
their late teens and early twenties, mainly young men but with a sprinkling of
women. I knew I was an old man by their standards. It was a pretty big
handicap, and since Max’s shooting, my confidence had never really returned.
Was I up to this? The transporter had been pretty quiet from the start, with
only a few talking to one another. That was the sensible thing to do. We didn’t
know exactly what our training would involve, and to give too much away about
yourself at this stage was not a smart strategy.
Ruby and I hadn’t spoken much, either. I’d told her about me being an ex-cop.
She’d told me that she was a waitress who had just been fired from her job. The
news of NSC acceptance had been the lifeline she’d needed. To keep the
conversation going but avoiding any more personal talk, I pointed at the
transporter driver. “Haven’t seen one of those for years.”
“Me neither,” Ruby said.
It was a surprise to both of us. Nowadays, cars and trucks were almost all
driverless. When they were first introduced, people had willingly given up
their vehicles and relied on driverless taxis to get around. Before long, all
trucks had been made driverless, too, and as demand for ‘driven’ cars fell, the
industry collapsed: factories closed and workers were made redundant, joining
the thousands of professional drivers in the ranks of the unemployed.
The NSC was one of the few employers who kept their drivers on, not trusting
the security of driverless vehicles. Onboard computers could be hacked, they
reasoned. It was difficult to accomplish, of course, but it was a risk the
organization wasn’t prepared to take.
The view from the vehicle was a revelation to me, too, even though as a cop, I
had traveled all over the city. In the four years since resigning from the
force, the landscape had changed dramatically. I could see the wealthy zones
with their well-lit stores, malls, and schools. These were surrounded by rows
of affluent suburban homes, some of which had glistening swimming pools in
their back yards. Cars shunted along the wide, clean boulevards, and children
played happily in the lush green parks. The zones were protected by high
steel-mesh fences hung with huge searchlights. Gun-toting guards, walking with
vicious-looking dogs on leashes, manned checkpoints along the border.
In contrast, most of the city’s other zones looked like they’d been bombed out.
There were no green spaces: the schools were huge, gray, factory-like
buildings; the few stores were tiny, temporary structures; and hardly any cars
traveled the crumbling roads that often looked impassable anyway. Homes were,
for the most part, a mixture of temporary-looking Nissan huts or constructions
built out of old wood and corrugated metal sheets.
As the transporter sped on and darkness fell, the signs of decay and
dereliction increased. Tents replaced houses and roads became fewer and fewer.
When the vehicle finally left what remained of the town and descended from the
freeway down onto the open road, the lights inside were dimmed. People slumped
back in their chairs, trying to get as comfortable as possible to sleep.
“Night,” said Ruby, shutting her eyes.
“Night,” I said, and did the same.

***

I awoke hours later, my legs aching, my back in pain. I
really was getting old.
I stared out and saw that the sun had just started to peek over the horizon.
Soon it would be high in the sky, streaming through the transporter’s tinted
windows. If I was to die and somehow found myself in purgatory, it would
probably look like this: dirty brown wasteland stretching out as far as the eye
could see. On the horizon was a mountain range. But these boasted no romantic,
snow-covered summits glistening in the sun: just steep, hostile, rocky
escarpments layered with brown dust.
Ruby opened her eyes. “Hi,” she said, stretching and pulling herself up.
“Morning.”
Ruby turned to look out the window. She shivered. “Is this Hell?” she asked.
“Sure looks like it.”
“Three more hours,” Ruby said, yawning.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, peering at the small clock positioned high over the
driver’s head. I reached into my pocket for my old flip phone, and then
remembered we’d had to leave all electronic gear with the driver. The NSC
expressly forbade anyone to carry anything that could be used to reveal where
we were going. I doubted if the clock really showed the correct time. It would
be too easy to work out where you were from the time traveled.
Ruby gave a start. “Oh my God.” She was staring out the window. I followed her
gaze. In the distance, a band of bikers were riding through the wasteland,
heading towards the transporter. I recognized them. “Krails,” I said. “I’ve
never seen them up close.”
Others on the transporter had seen the Krails, too. They watched fascinated as
the gang approached. As they came closer, I could make out the lined, tough
faces of the riders. Although all were dressed in the same tight black
leathers, some wore black bandanas or had long scarves covering their necks and
faces. Many had grown their hair out, letting it fall down to their waist,
while others had it shaved off completely. It was hard to tell the women from
the men. All looked equally tough, with lined faces browned in the sun.
More than anything else, Krails were proud of their bikes. Despite the dust,
each machine had been meticulously cleaned so their chrome and steel handle
bars shone. Some riders had bows slung over their shoulders, quivers of arrows
hanging from their belts. Others carried long hunting knives stuck into ornate
belts, and handguns stuffed into leather holsters. The man on the lead bike
looked huge and terrifying. He was bald, and his face was crisscrossed with
long scars.
Ruby made a face. “Disgusting. How can anyone live like that?”
“Maybe they ask the same thing about us,” I said as the transporter accelerated
away.
Staring back, I saw the big bald man, the Krail leader, raise his hand and
indicate the rocky outcrops on the horizon. Pulling his bike around, he started
to ride in the direction he’d indicated. The others followed in V-formation.

 

Clive Fleury is an award-winning writer of books and
screenplays and has worked all over the world as a Film/TV director, writer and
producer. He has written six books, most recently ‘All Or None’, the second
novel in the Detective Ryan Murder Mystery series.

 ‘All Or None’ sees Detective Ryan back in the thick of
things. His latest investigation into a mysterious death couldn’t come at a
worse time. He discovers his mother is hiding a troubling secret and is further
sidetracked by a new romance. Fans of who dunnit’s, crime thrillers, and cop
and detective stories will love this novel. 

 Clive’s other books include ‘Off Season’ – book one in the
Detective Ryan Murder Mystery series; ‘Kill Code’ – a dystopian science fiction
novel set in a world facing climate change; 
‘Scary Lizzy’  – a novel about an
eight year old girl, who befriends an African child ghost –  and the teen action adventure book; ‘The Boy
Next Door ‘ –  a story of what happens
when a teenage girl has a crush on her next door neighbor, who isn’t all he
seems.  He also co-wrote ‘Art Pengriffin
and The Curse of The Four’ – a young adult fantasy adventure about a teenage
boy who discovers his father was Merlin the Magician.

 

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the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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#blogtour Burnout by Isobel Reed

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She thought chemistry only existed on the page, then he set
her world on fire.

Burnout

Love Burns Series Book 7

by Isobel Reed

Genre: Small-Town Romance, Romantic Comedy

She thought
chemistry only existed on the page, then he set her world on fire.

The only men in Lucy’s life are fictional. Which is fine. So fine. At
thirty, she is happy with her life. She has a ride or die best friend. A cute
little ginger cat to snuggle with. And an apartment full of books. What more
could she possibly want? Well, before Jack Jones swaggered into town, with his
designer suits and British accent, the answer was nothing. But now, here he is,
showing up where she works, calling her beautiful and making her question
everything.

Jack Jones had it all. High-powered job in the city. Fancy apartment. Women
offering to warm his bed every night. Then he blew up his life. Now, he’s in
small town Wyoming, doing damage control while babysitting his sister’s kids.
There is one silver lining though
 Lucy Mills. He felt a spark during his first
visit to Woodvalley Pines, when he’d shamelessly flirted with her at the diner
where she worked. Three years on, she’s somehow even harder to ignore. She’s
everything he’s been searching for. If only she’d just let him in.

Return to Woodvalley Pines one last time with this swoon-worthy opposites
attract romance packed full of chemistry, charm and Isobel Reed’s signature
witty banter. Burnout is perfect for fans of Book Lovers by Emily Henry and The
Flatshare by Beth O’Leary. Whether you’ve already devoured the other books in
the Love Burn Series or are enjoying it as a standalone, you won’t want to miss
this final book.

 

**Releases Sep 8 – PreOrder Now!**

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Bookbub * Goodreads

“You okay?” Bethany’s hand went to Lucy’s forearm.
“I don’t think you’ve spoken or taken a breath in the past six minutes. I’m
beginning to get concerned that the lack of oxygen has cut off the supply to
your brain.”

Her best friend was hilarious.

“I just remembered that I forgot to leave food out
for Daisy-Mae. I need to go.”

Yes, she was being dramatic, and no, her cat did
not need to be fed, but she didn’t care. She lived a relatively drama-free
life, so she was allowing herself one tiny little freak-out.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Bethany narrowed those big
green eyes at Lucy. “I’m not letting you run just ’cause the mysterious Jack
has arrived.”

Jack Jones, the hottest man Lucy had ever seen in
real life, had indeed just entered the room. With floppy dark hair, piercing
blue-green eyes, and a ridiculously symmetrical face, he was darn right
dangerous. Throw in height, muscles, and a designer suit, and he was
practically a health hazard.

The sight of him alone was clearly enough to break
her. But the sight of him currently being introduced to his three-month-old
nephew? She wasn’t sure she’d ever recover.

Annnnnd 
 my ovaries just exploded.

Cool, cool.

Who was she kidding? There was nothing remotely
cool about her. Which was exactly why she needed to get out of there. Before
she melted into a puddle, in her friend’s living room, on her pretty abstract
rug.

That wouldn’t be a good look.

It wouldn’t be. Yet, she wouldn’t put it past her
traitorous body. Apparently, it had control issues around this man. Which was
stupid, because she’d only met him once for Pete’s sake. Three years ago. When
he’d shamelessly flirted with her at the diner where she worked.

Oh no. He’s coming over.

Abort! Abort! Get out of there now!

Only she couldn’t. Her so-called friend had
noticed Jack’s slow-motion swagger toward her, and amid Lucy’s internal panic,
Bethany had sneakily grabbed hold of Lucy’s arm and was keeping it hostage.

“I hate you,” she whispered to Bethany, her voice
full of the venom her friend deserved.

“You love me.” Bethany had the audacity to laugh.

As soon as their gazes locked, she felt it. That
same feeling she felt all those years ago, one she had started to believe she’d
imagined. Until now. The skin on the back of her neck prickled. Her body
flushed. And her stomach swooped. Deep down, a part of her accepted that this
was just her body enthusiastically reacting to an attractive man. But still,
the knowledge that she’d gone thirty years without ever feeling this
instantaneous chemistry before made it feel significant. 

The closer he got, the hotter Lucy felt. It may be
January, and Woodvalley Pines may be under a blanket of ice outside, but under
her off-the-shoulder cream sweater, there were some questionable things
happening. She may even be forced to throw out her bra.

I love my bra.

Wow. That was a sucky thought. Great. Now she was
angry, flustered, and sad. Just in time for Jack to enter her space.
Close enough for her to see the fierce intensity in his eyes, giving her the
overwhelming urge to find the nearest blanket and crawl under it.

“It’s Lucy, isn’t it?” His voice was deep and
smoother than silk. Did she mention he had a British accent, too? Because 
 of
course he did. “We met a few years ago 
 at the diner.”

Don’t miss the rest
of the Love Burns series!

Find them on Amazon

Isobel was born and raised in London. While she’s a city
girl at heart, she loves daydreaming about running away to a charming small
town—though she’s not entirely sure her husband and son would share her
enthusiasm for the move. When she’s not writing small-town romantic comedies or
growing unhealthily attached to the characters in her books, you can find her
reading, chasing after her very active toddler, or attempting to channel her
inner domestic goddess in the kitchen (with varying degrees of success).

 

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the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!


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#blogtour Sacred Salvation by Casia Pickering

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Father Sebastian has found a home in St. Augusta College.

But when that home is threatened by a student, questions arise in his own
beliefs.

Sacred Salvation

Part of Sins of the Sacred

by Casia Pickering

Genre: Dark Priest Romance

St. Augusta College is known for weaving the Arts with
Theology. Within its iron gates lies a prestigious education that can drive a
person mad.

Father Sebastian Hardwicke is new to the position. Not once has his religious
fervor been tested until he is sent to the cathedral on St. Augusta’s campus.
The school is not what he expected. Hymns and prayers echo within the
cathedral, and the faculty are pious and helpful. Even the students held a
reverence he had only experienced in seminary. On the outside, it is perfect.

But a mask is still a mask, no matter how enticing.

Emilia Trent has two goals in life: to convey true emotion into her art and to
quiet the voices. But the voices have gotten louder, screaming and demanding
that she keep painting. There is no freedom in her expression. With the new
priest coming to campus, her urges grow to a point where she no longer knows
who she is. There is an almost paranormal force growing inside her.

There is only one person capable of holding the demon at bay- Father Sebastian
Hardwicke. But will he choose to face the evil head-on or fall into the deep
embrace of temptation?

Part of Sins of the Sacred, a
dark priest romance shared world series featuring eleven amazing authors.

 

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

 

“I don’t think there is a demon
inside you,” Sebastian sighed, “that wasn’t my intention-”

 

“My father died when I was
starting high school,” Emilia said. “He used to drive freight trucks at
night. During one night, a nasty storm happened, and, well, it crashed. He was
in the hospital for weeks until we couldn’t keep him on life support.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Sebastian said. He
looked off into the distance, as if heweres lost in his own thoughts.

 

Emilia shrugged. “I’ve had
depression ever since. My painting helps with it and so did a therapist when I
had one, but it isn’t because of my depression that I struggle.”

 

“What is?” Sebastian asked.

 

Emilia thought quietly. She
glanced at Sebastian. Without the white collar pinned into his polo shirt, he’d
look like any other well-dressed man. It was that and the type of shirt that
seemed out of place with his jeans and glasses that he was constantly pushing
back up the bridge of his nose. She wondered what made him choose the life he
chose.

 

Was he a believer, or was it
pushed onto him by people around him? She remembered an argument she had with
her mother about maybe joining the military to help pay for college. That was
before the art contest and scholarship that got her into St. Augusta. As much
as she stressed about being at the school, she wouldn’t change her choices if
she had the chance. But her knowledge about Father Arthur, Sister Rebecca, and
Miranda would be for Sebastian. It may not be her responsibility, but it was
something Emilia didn’t want on her conscience.

 

“I’d rather not talk about it,”
she finally decided, shaking her head, “no offense, but I doubt you’d take my
life experiences into consideration if I told you.”

 

“What do you mean?” Sebastian’s
eyes furrowed in confusion.

 

“Imagine being abused or having a
bad relationship with a friend or something,” Emilia said, “can you do that?”

 

Sebastian’s expression went still.
It was as if he were seeing something from his past. A pang of guilt hit
Emilia’s chest. If she had known he might’ve experienced something like what
she was suggesting, she might not have said that.

 

“Okay,” Sebastian whispered, “go
on.”

 

Emilia nodded. “Let’s say you told
someone about that experience, but that person you told didn’t believe you
because the person who abused you or the friend who was awful hasn’t shown that
side of themselves to that person. Can you imagine how that feels?”

 

“I can.” Sebastian’s voice was
raspy and hard. He worked his jaw and rolled his head from side to side.

 

A squirrel jumped from headstone
to headstone as birds twittered. His cheeks were bulging from the collection of
nuts. The leaves rustled as another autumn breeze brushed past. Emilia looked
around at the quiet beauty of it all.

 

Even the voices weren’t around.
Emilia looked around, this time paying attention to every small detail. There
was no fog or shadows. The only brightness that held her attention, aside from
the slowly dying sun, was Sebastian. It was as if the cemetery was an oasis
away from whatever plagued the campus. 

 

“That’s why I’m not ready to say
anything,” Emilia said. “I don’t know if you’d believe me or not, but it’s
not worth saying if we end up arguing.”

 

About the Sins of
the Sacred series

The Sins of the Sacred dark romance shared world series
brings together standalone stories by multiple authors, each exploring the
collision of faith and forbidden desire within religious settings. From
medieval abbeys and dissolution-era monasteries to modern churches and
theological colleges, priests, nuns, exorcists, and other religious figures
face temptations that challenge their sacred vows. The series spans various
time periods, incorporating paranormal elements including demon possession,
angelic intervention, and exorcism that intensify conflicts between duty and
desire.

With diverse pairings including M/F, MM, F/F/F, and MFM
configurations, each book delivers explicit romantic content while exploring
themes of religious trauma, repression, and the struggle between devotion and
forbidden longing. The series features omegaverse dynamics, second chance
romance, and enemies-to-lovers tropes alongside darker explorations of
possession, crisis of faith, and the psychological impact of religious
structures. Designed for readers seeking taboo romance that examines the
tension between sacred vows and human desire in emotionally complex narratives.

 

Find them on Amazon!


Even though she claims she can write anything, the biography
remains to be Casia’s arch-nemesis. Despite this, Casia has used her Writing
degree to craft stories in over ten anthologies, maintained a book blog for
more than a decade, and has begun to write novels. A multi-genre author, Casia
Pickering, is incapable of keeping to one thing. Every story has a piece of her
personality that she treasures and shares with her readers. She currently lives
in the Hampton Roads area of Virginia with her biggest supporter and helper,
her son, affectionately known as Bug. Previous works are under the name, Casia
Courtier.

 

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#blogtour Purebeck Mysteries by Gillian Calvin Thomas

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The Dorset coast holds its
secrets tight—

and the dead won’t stay quiet.

Vex Not Her Ghost

The Purebeck Mysteries Book 1

by Gill Calvin Thomas

Genre: Paranormal Mystery

A quirky detective tackles a haunting family mystery.

 

Caitlin was four years old when her mother died in
mysterious circumstances. Thirty years later she comes into possession of her
family home in Dorset. As she slowly recovers memories of her past, she becomes
convinced that her mother’s ghost is warning her of impending disaster.

Aided by Charlie Bond, a private investigator, an enthralling story of deceit
and deception unfolds as Caitlin and her friends expose the ultimate truth.

 

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

Sister Olive Wouldn’t
Hurt a Fly 

The Purebeck Mysteries Book 2

Fleeing to Dorset traps a mother and son between a cult
and a killer waiting in the shadows


 

If this whole saga was a fight between good and evil, then
who had won? As far as Miriam could work out, neither good nor evil had
triumphed yet. Now she was having to confront the grim consequences of Will’s
behaviour, and she was mortally afraid. Maybe he and his darkness would win
after all.

The tragic suicide of a young student starts a shocking chain of events for
William Marshall, his wife Miriam and their son, Ollie. As Will descends into
madness, a ghostly presence appears in their old house to protect Ollie.
However, when two strangers threaten Miriam and an attempt is made to snatch
Ollie, mother and son are forced to flee.

Amidst ever-present danger, they shake off pursuers to seek sanctuary in Rock
House in Dorset, where they meet Caitlin and her friends. Twenty years have
passed since Charlie Bond helped Caitlin solve the mystery of her mother’s
death. Now, it is the turn of Charlie’s sidekick, Sam Haskell, to investigate a
mysterious cult and unmask a killer.

 

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

Gill Calvin
Thomas is a retired academic who lives with her husband in Swanage , UK.  She finds inspiration in the landscape around
her – the Isle of Purbeck has a spectacular coastline and beautiful beaches,
and it is whilst walking here, that Gill develops characters and plots the
twists and turns you will find in her books.

 Gill’s life
experiences have informed her writing. 
For example, her mother’s death when she was a small child, influenced
her first book, Vex Not Her Ghost, where the heroine has to delve into the past
to uncover the real circumstances of her mother’s death, the cover up and the
ongoing corruption.  Her experiences as a
social work academic governs the plot of her second book, Sister Olive Wouldn’t
Hurt a Fly.  In this book the fatal
combination of a researcher’s mental collapse and a sociopathic opportunist
give rise to a cliffhanging finale.

 Reviewers
have said that Gill writes the sort of books in which you find yourself racing
to the end, whilst not wanting to finish. 
Her characters are compelling, well-drawn and sensitively portrayed.  In her books bad people get what they
deserve, but it is never quite what it seems.

 She is
currently writing her third book. 

 

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the tour  HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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