Juliet Lyons's Dating the Undead Blog Tour with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Post and Giveaway

 

I am so excited to have Juliet Lyons here at Paranormal and Romantic Suspense Reviews with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Post and Giveaway.

Thanks Juliet and Source Books for allowing me to join your Dating the Undead Blog Tour!

Please take it away, Juliet!

Title: Dating the Undead
Author: Juliet Lyons
Series: Undead Dating Service, #1
ISBN: 9781492645306
Pub date: May 2, 2017
Genre: Paranormal Romance

WOMAN SEEKING VAMPIRE

Likes to keep things casual

Absolutely no poetry

Zero romance required.

Silver Harris is over clingy men — maybe men altogether. But when she shares a toe-curling kiss with a sexy Irish vampire on New Year's Eve, she wonders if maybe it's human men she's fed up with. Silver turns to the popular vampire dating site, V-Date, only to discover that vampire men are just as unimpressive as their mortal counterparts. And her mysterious hottie? He’s nowhere to be found.

Can’t a girl catch a break?

Logan Byrne can't get that sassy redhead — or that kiss! — out of his head. When his boss assigns him to spy on V-Date, he meets Silver again. Turns out, the police are recruiting humans to snitch on vampires through the dating site. As the snark and sparks fly, feelings between Silver and Logan deepen. But, when old demons resurface — literally — Logan isn't sure he can shield either of them from the dangers that have been lying in wait for centuries.

About the Author
 
JULIET LYONS is a paranormal romance author from the UK. She holds a degree in Spanish and Latin American studies and works part-time in a local primary school where she spends far too much time discussing Harry Potter. Since joining global storytelling site Wattpad in 2014, her work has received millions of hits online and gained a legion of fans from all over the world. When she is not writing, Juliet enjoys reading and spending time with her family. Visit: www.julietlyons.co.uk

Social Networking Links

Website: https://www.julietlyons.co.uk/

Twitter: @WriterJLyons

Facebooks: https://www.facebook.com/WriterJLyons

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15118466.Juliet_Lyons

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/julietlyons

To Buy

https://www.julietlyons.co.uk/cover-reveal

Giveaway

Enter to win one of ten copies of Dating the Undead by Juliet Lyons



a Rafflecopter giveaway

10 ways to tell if your date is actually a vampire

1. They only want to meet at night, using the excuse that they’re not ‘a morning person’.

2. On a date to the beach, you catch them harassing the lady in the mini mart to check the stock room for Hawaiian Tropics factor 500.

3. When you get a papercut, they’re oddly excited.

4. They’re still not over their ex. Even though the latter has been dead for two hundred years.

5. Every time you mention a church wedding they recoil in horror*.

6. They often refer to Eric from True Blood as someone who ‘has their shit together.’

7. They drink a lot of red wine, but never seem drunk. Wait — is that actually wine?

8. They have pale, flawless skin despite the fact you’ve never once seen them cleanse and/or moisturise.

9. When watching any kind of sporting event, they constantly scoff and sneer at the athletes. ‘Please! Is that the best they can do?’

10. They are particularly keen to remind you that the neck is a top five erogenous zone...

*Does not necessarily mean they are a vampire. Mortals — particularly males — are also prone to behaving in this way.
 
30 Worst/funniest clichéd lines from dating profiles

To a vampire slayer: Is that a stake in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?

Human seeks vampire: Must have a sparkling personality.

Vampire, social drinker, seeks adventurous mortal with type O neg blood group.

You must be exhausted, because you’ve been running through my mind all day.

Want to grab a bite?

Are you a witch, because I’m pretty sure I’m under your spell.

Man, you’re so hot, I’m burning up faster than I would in a midday sun.

Your coffin or mine?

Get your cloak, Dracula, you’ve pulled.

I’d love to take you to dinner… If you’re okay with being the main course…

I have to say, you are looking fangtastic tonight.

You slay me in every possible sense.

I love your outfit. It would look even better on my bedroom floor.

If it wasn’t for the fangs, I’d think you were an angel sent from heaven.

If I said you had a gorgeous undead body, would you hold it against me?

Smoking hot male vampire seeks special someone — mere mortals need not apply.

Mortal woman seeks wealthy vampire man. Must live in a castle and travel by horseback.

I can’t offer you sunshine, but I can offer you eternity.

Vampire seeks female companion for moonlit strolls. Must like bats.

Seeking a partner in crime. Literally. Immortals only.

Male Vampire seeking a special someone to share his life — or death depending on how you look at it.

If anyone asks, we met in a bar.

She-vamp searching for her knight in shining armour… I turned this hot dude from the round table a few centuries back and I haven’t heard from him since.

No baggage here! My family died in the French Revolution so if you’re down on mother-in-law’s I’m your guy (vampire).

I enjoy hanging out with my friends, particularly in bat form.

I’m a travel junkie. (If I don’t move on every 10-15 years people start to notice I don’t age).

I’m an old-fashioned gent (156 years old) who knows how to treat a lady. Though not on a full moon… obvs.

I don’t bite, unless you ask me to.

Thank goodness I heal fast, because you are too hot to handle.

I’ve heard women like bad boys… With my murderous past I’m just about as bad as they come…

Excerpt

I freeze in terror. What a waste of Dad’s money those self-defense classes turned out to be.

“Silver, it’s just me,” a lilting Irish voice says at my ear, the hand dropping from my shoulder.

I turn around to find myself nose to nose with my vampire from New Year’s Eve, his bright green eyes piercing mine.

I’m struck by several conflicting emotions all at once—anger, relief, and in a tiny measure—happiness. Anger wins out. On impulse, I slap him hard across the face, pointing with a white, clenched hand to the garden I’ve just sprinted across.

“I thought I was about to be murdered, asshole,” I hiss through my teeth. “I ripped my coat. My heels are ruined. All because you thought it might be fun to follow me home.”

He smirks, nonplussed, sliding his hands into the deep pockets of his navy pea coat. “I wasn’t following you,” he says, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, that’s right,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You were just walking me home again. Except this time from fifty yards behind and without me knowing.”

Before he has a chance to reply, the front door flies open and my landlady Vera emerges in a long, silky, oriental dressing gown. She is wigless for once, a Pucci scarf twisted into a makeshift turban covering her head. In her right hand, she holds a meat cleaver.

“Step away, you rapist bastard!” she yells, holding the large knife shakily aloft.

I glare at the vampire, expecting him to either throw his hands in the air or take a step backwards. Instead his brows knit together and his mouth drops open. “Etta Marlow?” he asks, staring at her as if she just walked on water.

The meat cleaver lowers a fraction. “What’s it to you?” Vera demands, her voice losing some of its previous menace.

I roll my eyes. Of course he remembers her. He’s probably seen all her films.

“It is you!” he erupts, wagging a finger in her direction. “You’re Etta Marlow! You played Susie De Sousa in Girl Uptown with Gregor Lane. I love that movie.”

The meat cleaver drops, forgotten, to her side as she pats her turban, eyelashes fluttering. “Fancy you recognizing me,” she mutters happily.

“Excuse me, Vera,” I interject, “but there’s still a potential rapist on your doorstep here.”

Vera looks back to the vampire, who shakes his head, smiling. “A misunderstanding, Etta. I was making sure Silver here made it home safely. She got the wrong end of the stick.”

Vera, or Etta as she was once known, glances over at me. “Do you know this charming fellow, dear?”

I scowl at them both. “Well, yes, but— “

“Well then, you must come in, dear boy. I could show you my Oscar, if you like?”

The Vampire looks as if he’s about to pee himself with excitement. “You mean the one you got for Days Like These with Vic Stevens?”

She holds out a thin hand towards him, gold bangles jangling on her wrist. “The very one, dear. Come, come in.”

I watch, stunned, as he takes her hand, green eyes lit up in excitement.

Before stepping through the door, he hangs back. “Ms. Marlow, I’m afraid it’s only courteous to let you know before I enter that I’m not human. I’m a vampire.”

Vera’s tinkly laugh echoes around the street like a bicycle bell. “Oh, you’re so sweet. Didn’t you know I’ve met dozens of vampires? They’re two a penny in Hollywood, darling.”

Following her across the threshold, he flashes the cockiest of grins. “Coming, Silver?”

My jaw drops in disgust. I’m tempted to sulk off to my basement flat, but instead, I trail after them and slam the door.

We follow Vera along an elegant gold and cream hallway into her immaculate, monochrome front room. Even though I’ve been here on numerous occasions, I’m always mesmerized by the sheer extravagance of the place—buttery white leather sofas, cream fur rugs, one wall is painted black and white to resemble piano keys. It should look tacky, but somehow, it works.

“You two make yourselves at home whilst I go and make myself presentable.” Vera says. “Then I’ll dig out that old Oscar of mine.”

I know, of course, the Oscar will not have to be ‘dug’ out of anywhere. It’s always on display in the den, alongside her film stills and other memorabilia.

“I didn’t catch your name,” she croons to the vampire before she leaves.

He puts a hand on his chest. “Forgive me, I should have introduced myself. Between the meat cleaver threat and getting slapped by Silver here, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I’m Logan. Logan Byrne.”

For strange and unfathomable reasons, my stomach flips. Logan. It suits him.

“Charming,” Vera says. “Don’t you go anywhere, Mr. Byrne.”

As soon as Vera disappears from the room, Logan collapses into one of the white leather arm chairs and puts his crossed feet onto the cut glass coffee table.

I’m still standing, one brow arched, arms folded across my chest. “So, Logan,” I hiss. “What the hell is this?”

He grins, dimples putting in their first appearance of the night as he gazes up at me. “Did anyone ever tell you, you’re particularly beautiful when you’re angry?”

“Oh, cut the crap,” I say, ignoring the hot flush climbing my neck. “Why did you follow me?”

“Like I told Etta, I wanted to make sure you got home safely, that’s all. Though I’m a little confused as to why you have three houses.” He holds up fingers to count. “The one I left you at on New Year’s, the one Nathaniel dropped you at, and now this—cohabiting with an aged 1940’s screen siren.”

“It’s none of your business,” I say, chin in the air. “And anyway, how do you know Nathaniel?”

He shrugs. “I know most of the vampires in London.”

I humpth. “I bet you do.”

In the blink of an eye, he is towering over me, face inches from mine. I inhale his clean, masculine scent like a drowning person coming up for air, and as he leans closer, I find myself gravitating towards him — a flower reaching for sunlight.

He pulls the collar of my coat aside and peers into the gap. As his fingers brush my jaw, an uncontrollable shiver zings through me. I disguise it by stepping out of reach and batting his hand away.

“He did a messy job on your neck,” he says, in a low voice.

“What’s it to you?” I snap.

Before I realize what’s happening, he closes the gap between us. One hand cupping my cheek, he bends over, lips brushing the place Nathaniel bit me, tongue gently swiping the puncture holes.

“That should stop the bleeding,” he says, pulling away. “But you’ll still have a bruise in the morning.”

I rub my neck and look at my fingers. No blood. “So, you can heal wounds? Just another of your unique skills along with beating up drunk men and following young women home for kicks?”

He sinks back into the armchair. “You’re a sexy girl, Silver. I’m glad we’ve met again.”

I snort incredulously, trying, without success, to forget the warmth of his hand on my face. “Well, you certainly made sure we did.”

“And of course,” he continues, pretending to examine a photo on the coffee table. “I’m hugely flattered I’ve managed to turn your head towards my kind.”

“You didn’t turn anything,” I say tartly.

He cocks a brow, gaze burning through my clothes like a laser. I feel a sharp twitch between my legs, as though he’s controlling my private areas by some invisible string. “Are you sure about that?” 

Linda Nightingale's Her General in Gray Blog Tour with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Post and Giveaway

 

I am so excited to have Linda Nightingale here at Paranormal and Romantic Suspense Reviews with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Post and Giveaway.

Thanks Linda and Goddess Fish Promotions for allowing me to join the Her General in Gray Blog Tour!

Please take it away, Linda!

Guest Post

In the early summer of 1863, for various reasons including victories at Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, Lee urged President Davis to again take the war to northern soil. The first time was the Battle of Antietam the previous fall. Lee marched his Army of Northern Virginia into Pennsylvania.

On July 1, 1863, the Confederates clashed with the Union’s Army of the Potomac under the command of George C. Meade, and thus began a 3-day bloodbath in Gettysburg. When the smoke of the cannons cleared, the Union had triumphed although nearly 5,000 horses and 50,000 men lay dead or dying.

It is conjectured that because many of the Confederate soldiers never received a proper burial, and with the utter massacre and violence of the battle, historic Gettysburg is the home of many unquiet spirits. One ghost is said to be General Robert E. Lee.

There is a Ghost Tour of Gettysburg and a long list of haunted sites. More information can be found at: http://www.travelchannel.com/interests/history/articles/ghosts-of-gettysburg

The Battle of Gettysburg was a turning point in the Civil War, the Union victory ending Lee's second and most ambitious invasion of the North. Gettysburg was the inspiration for President Abraham Lincoln's immortal "Gettysburg Address".

From the haunting early morning fog to a golden setting sun, no visit to Gettysburg would be complete without seeing Gettysburg National Military Park.

Having perished at the Battle of Antietam (Battle of Sharpsburg), the hero in Her General in Gray wouldn’t have seen and fought in the horror that was Gettysburg, although Antietam was a bloody battle in its own right. The battles of the Civil War is an interesting topic for research, and I enjoyed learning, through my imagination, the way it was in the eyes of the Blue and the Gray, more particularly the southerners since the hero is a Confederate general (or ghost thereof).

John Sibley Allen’s spirit is ready for a second civil conflict when a woman from Massachusetts purchases, renovates and moves into his family home, Allen Hall, in the Spanish-moss-strewn South Carolina Low Country.

Her General in Gray
by Linda Nightingale
GENRE: Paranormal Romance

BLURB

Autumn Hartley purchases Allen Hall at a steal, but the northern lass gets far more than a beautiful plantation in the South Carolina Low Country. The house comes complete with its own ghost, a handsome and charming Civil War General—for the Confederacy. The stage is set for another civil conflict.

John Sibley Allen died in battle from a wound in the back, the bullet fired by the turncoat, Beauregard Dudley. The traitor’s reincarnation is Autumn the Interloper’s first dinner guest. Sib bedevils her date and annoys her with fleeting, phantom touches, certain he can frighten her away as he did previous purchasers. As time marches on, her resident ghost becomes more appealing while her suitor, Beau, pales in comparison. Autumn finds her ability to love didn’t perish in the divorce that sent her south seeking a fresh start.

After over a century in the hereafter, Sib discovers he is falling for none other than the feisty Yankee girl, but what future could a modern woman and an old-fashioned ghost possibly hope for?

EXCERPT

In an age of smart phones and tablets, she stood for a moment contemplating the past. The temptation was almost too much for her, but she’d started to fold the dress back into its resting place when a hand landed on her shoulder.

Sib’s voice was soft and tender. “The dress belonged to my mother. She wore it at a ball before the war. It appears to be in passable condition. Why don’t you try it on? I’ve imagined you so attired.”

“I’m a Northerner, remember? I’m surprised you offer your mother’s gown to me.” She turned, the green frock draped over her arm. “Where have you been anyway?”

“Here. All the time. I was simply playing along with your game of asking for my disappearance.”

She stiffened. “Don’t play games with me. My mother used to do that. It was disturbing and hurtful to a child.”

“You reveal more of yourself every moment, and I’m enjoying getting to know you. Very well, I’ll share something about me. My father — what do you call it today? — cheated on my mother. More than once.. I’d hear her crying at night. Thus, I would have been true to my wife.” Eyes sad, he nodded at the dress. “I’d like to see you in that, Autumn. We are becoming friends. She would have approved. I’ll assist with the buttons.”

“Turn your back. I’ll have to get undressed.” She motioned at him. “I’ve no desire for a ghost to see me in my bra and panties.”

He chuckled, his big grin enticing. “Such modesty. Actually, I was anticipating that view. Anyway, I’ve seen you in your underwear before.”

“You Peeping Tom!” She accused, shaking a fist at him. “Will I have no privacy? Do you follow me to the bathroom, too?”

“No, Ma’am.” He shook his head, his hair moving in soft waves. “I was simply in my bedroom when you changed into your nightgown.”

“It’s not your bedroom. This is my house, and don’t you forget it.” She glared at him.

He snapped a smart military salute. “Yes, commander.”

“Turn around.” She slid her sweatshirt over her head and slithered out of her sweatpants. “You are such an annoyance.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t be more offended.”

A strange feeling of awe washed over her as she slid the beautiful gown over her head. “Okay. I’m ready for help with the buttons.”

The touch of his fingers filled her with an emotion she’d thought dead. A thrill actually rippled over her. Perhaps, because he was no threat. The General couldn’t break her heart as Chad had done. That dreadful affair seemed as far in the past as the dress of rustling satin. He was the VP at the agency, and their brief association and parting had twisted her feelings into knots.

“You’re tense.” Sib stroked her back. “I sense it isn’t the dress.”

“I’ll tell you later.” She spun, swirling the skirt. “What do you think?”

“I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” A very sweet emotion seeped through her.

“Not in the least.” He offered her an old-fashioned bow.

AUTHOR Bio and Links

Born in South Carolina, Linda has lived in England, Canada, Miami, Ft. Lauderdale, Atlanta and Houston. She’s seen a lot of this country from the windshield of a truck pulling a horse trailer, having bred, trained and showed Andalusian horses for many years.

Linda has won several writing awards, including the Georgia Romance Writers Magnolia Award and the SARA Merritt. She is the mother of two wonderful sons, a retired legal assistant, member of the Houston Miata Club, and enjoys events with that car club. Among her favorite things are her snazzy black convertible and her parlor grand piano. She loves to dress up and host formal dinner parties.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/LNightingale

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LindaNightingaleAuthor

Web Site: http://www.lindanightingale.com – Visit and look around. There’s a free continuing vampire story.

Blog: https://lindanightingale.wordpress.com/ - Lots of interesting guests & prizes

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4839311.Linda_Nightingale

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/lbnightingale1/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Linda-Nightingale/e/B005OSOJ0U

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION 

Linda Nightingale will be awarding Black Diamond Earrings and an eBook of Her General in Gray (International Giveaway) to one winner via rafflecopter, and a second winner will receive a digital choice of one of the author's backlist during the tour.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f2212/

Please follow the rest of the tour here, thanks:

http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2017/02/nbtm-her-general-in-gray-by-linda.html

Maya Tyler's A Vampire's Blog Tour with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Post and Giveaway

 

I am so excited to have Maya Tyler here at Paranormal and Romantic Suspense Reviews with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Post and Giveaway.

Thanks Maya and Goddess Fish Promotions for allowing me to join your A Vampire's Tale Blog Tour!

Please take it away, Maya!

Guest Post

The Villain’s Motive by Maya Tyler

Leaping from the pages of my latest book, my hero materializes before me as a tangible being, as real as the person sitting by me on the subway or passing me on the sidewalk. A hero, a.k.a. “the good guy,” a male lead character, can be defined by their unique characteristics or personality, but one common denominator among them is their opponent, a.k.a “the villain.”

The “Joker” to the “Batman”. The “Lex Luther” to the “Superman.” The “Loki” to the “Thor.” Every superhero faces a villain or two. Good versus evil. It’s the whole yin yang thing – the complementary nature of opposite forces. As in Newton’s Third Law, “for every reaction, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” without a villain, the need for a superhero ceases to exist.

If a hero surfaces to become a savior of sorts – a crime fighter, a protector – what perpetuates the emergence of a villain? Their motive. Whether it be revenge, love, power, pride, survival, ambition, fear, hate, greed, corruption, acceptance, rebellion and countless others… The motive defines the “why” behind the villainy. There would be no hero without the existence of the villain. The villain is just as, if not more, important to the story as the hero.

An effective villain is created with the same care, and completeness, as all the other characters. Many approaches can be taken, using complex motives, relatable characteristics, realistic conflict. A villain can be written as a tragic hero, someone who invokes sympathy in the reader. The good guy who commits a bad deed in order to achieve a good goal: protect a loved one, save the world. A villain can be written as a character with no redeemable qualities, whose main purpose is self-serving, regardless of the consequences.

A Vampire’s Tale contains a very obvious villain in the vampire set on destroying my hero Corgan Halton, and everyone he cares about, in an act of revenge. Revenge is a strong motivator. In this case, the vampire has been waiting a long time to extract payment for what he sees as a grievous injustice committed against him. He had been a young member of a nest of vampires. In his insecurity, he and other immature vampires one-upped each other in vile acts in order to solidify their positions within the group. Motivated by the desire for acceptance and the lust for power, a side effect of immortality, when his plans were thwarted in an unexpected turn of events, he carried on, re-building his vampire nest and planning to strike back.

A less obvious villain is Corgan’s maker, Dee. Turning Corgan into a soulless, blood-craving monster seems like an “un-death” sentence. Her motivation? Loneliness. Possibly driven from the fear of being alone, the instinct for survival, the need for love. In her own way, she saw turning him into a vampire as an improvement to his human life. As his maker, she is protective of him, wielding hurt to those she sees as a threat, still she callously left him for a time to fend for himself. Yet, out of love for him, there are no limits to what she will do. Dee initiated the fight with the vampire nest. Dee threatened my heroine, Marisa Clements, when she saw her as a risk to Corgan’s well-being. Dee has a “the end justifies the means” mentality, with a very loose concept of morality. She is an unrepentant killer, a selfish survivor.

Revenge. Acceptance. Power. Fear. Survival. Love.

A villain is a complex, integral character driven by motive. The villain’s motive. 

A Vampire's Tale
by Maya Tyler
GENRE: paranormal romance

BLURB

The best laid plans

Marisa Clements was never satisfied writing the ‘gossip column’ in the local paper so she quit her job to follow her dream of writing fiction. Floundering in an unforgiving industry, she wrote about vampires, a popular subject she considered fascinating but as real as unicorns, to pay the rent.

Corgan Halton was tired of human misconceptions about vampires. He planned on telling Marisa his story and end his existence. It was no coincidence Corgan selected Marisa to write his story. With the ability to see the future, he knew she would be a major part of it. He knew she would be the one to help him die, but in doing so, she’d be doomed to the same fate. Once they met, their futures would be irrevocably intertwined.

Corgan began caring for Marisa and finally revealed the truth to her. He admitted his quest to atone for his past sins had put her in grave danger from a nest of revenge-seeking vampires. Corgan must claim her for her own protection. But claiming her is not enough, he must ask for help from his wizard friends and his maker in order to destroy his enemy or Marisa will never be safe.

EXCERPT

He didn't have a name yet, but he had a face. A dark, mysterious face with a century's worth of secrets. Secrets he would tell her, only her, if she would listen.

Marisa took a deep, calming breath. “I’m listening.” She closed her eyes, waiting. A cool breeze shifted her hair and her eyes popped open. The old floorboards creaked, and she spun her chair around. “Who's there?” The candle blew out. “What the —”

Time — and her heartbeat — stood still. Paranoia set in, the consequence of writing too many vampire stories. She must've left a window open. Or something. She re-lit the candle and turned her attention back to her laptop, staring at the last words she'd typed.

Corgan Halton.

She didn't remember typing that.

“Corgan Halton.” She said the name slowly. “I like that.” She'd written a dozen vampire stories and this would be her best name yet. It had an old-worldly feel to it. Like a real name. She'd better look it up to make sure it wasn't a real name; she didn’t need a lawsuit. Did people sue for name infringement?

“Okay, Corgan Halton. Are you real?” She typed the name into a search engine.

“As real as you are.” The distinctive male voice resonated in the otherwise quiet room.

Marisa froze. She didn't dare turn around. It was her overactive imagination at play. There was no one there. She hoped. Maybe one of her friends? Is this a joke?

“Not a joke, Marisa.”

Gasping, she stood and spun around toward the sound of his voice.

As he stepped out of the shadows, she took in the man before her. Pale with black, curly hair, dressed in an impeccable suit. Dark and intimidating, he stood in her living room, shrinking the already small space.

Exactly as she’d imagined. She conjured him from her imagination? No… This is not happening.

AUTHOR Bio and Link

Maya Tyler, wife and mother of two boys, writes paranormal romance with a twist. Her debut novella Dream Hunter was released in December 2014. Her second novel A Vampire’s Tale released on March 22, 2017. She’s a romantic and believes in happily-ever-after. Being an author is her lifelong dream. She enjoys reading, music (alternative rock, especially from the 90’s), yoga, movies and TV, and spending her free time writing and blogging at Maya’s Musings.

Author Contact Information



Author Site: http://www.mayatylerauthor.com/


Blog: http://mayatylerauthor.blogspot.ca/


Twitter: @mayatyerauthor


Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mayatylerauthor


Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/105043112636858982190/posts/p/pub


Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6478044.Maya_Tyler


Author Newsletter: http://www.mayatylerauthor.com/mayas-newsletter

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Maya-Tyler/e/B00SW10LZI/

Buy Links

A Vampire’s Tale

The book will be on sale for only $0.99 on Kindle until March 27.

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MYBQUUZ/

Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/698693

Apple https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-vampires-tale/id1199624720?mt=11

Kobo https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/a-vampire-s-tale-3

Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-vampires-tale-maya-tyler/1125552098

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION 

Maya Tyler will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f2192/

Please follow the rest of the tour here, thanks:

https://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.ca/2017/02/nbtm-vampires-tale-by-maya-tyler.html

Lea Griffith's Flash of Fury Blog Tour with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Letter To The Readers and Giveaway

I am so excited to have Lea Griffith here at Paranormal and Romantic Suspense Reviews with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Letter To The Readers and Giveaway.

Thanks Lea and Sourcebooks for allowing me to join your Flash of Fury Blog Tour!

Please take it away, Lea! 

Title: Flash of Fury
Series: Endgame Ops, #1
Author: Lea Griffith
Pub Date: March 7, 2017
ISBN: 9781492646303

Their spark is immediate 

Kingston McNally lost men when someone betrayed his team, and now he’s out for retribution. His quest for the enemy’s courier leads him to Cameroon and Allie Redding, a petite Peace Corps volunteer as stubborn as she is brave. Their attraction is immediate, but Allie has secrets of her own and she’s not giving them up easily.

But their secrets could burn them both

Allie’s life has been spent hiding in plain sight, but she’s had enough of her cloak-and-dagger existence. On her way home, her plane is hijacked — and King saves her life. But that doesn’t mean she owes him anything even if he is the most damnably sexy man she’s ever laid eyes on. He’s got black ops and secrets written all over him, and trust is a two-way street.

Lea Griffith has been reading romance novels since a young age. She cut her teeth on the greats: McNaught, Woodiwiss, and Garwood. She still consumes every romance book she can put her hands on, and now she writes her own compelling romantic suspense. Lea lives with her husband and three teenage daughters in rural Georgia. Website | Twitter | Facebook

Buy Links:

Amazon | Books-A-Million | Barnes & Noble | Chapters | iBooks | Indiebound

LETTER TO THE READERS

Hello, Readers! My name is Lea Griffith and I’m here to tell you a little bit about myself and my upcoming release, Flash of Fury, the first full-length story in my Endgame Ops series. Where should I start? How we start with some personal stuff? Everybody likes personal stuff, yeah?

Okay, here we go — you get five personal facts though to be honest I’m long-winded so I’ll say five but it will probably end up being lots more. Sharing is caring, lol.

I’m married with three teenage daughters ages 16, 17, and just turned 19. I think I’m still sane. (Would I know if I wasn’t? J)

I spend my days mimicking a Practice Administrator for two very busy internal medicine offices in Athens, Georgia. I’ve been in the medical field for a long, long time and again, I’m still sane. Same disclaimer from #1 applies.

I graduated from Brenau University a long, long time ago in a land far, far away. I have a Bachelors of Science degree. I majored in Biology and minored in Chemistry. See disclaimer from #2.

I LOVE reading. The only thing I love doing more is writing. I like to hunt, hate to fish, and I really, really enjoy spending time with my mom and kids. Hubs too when I can pull him away from Real Housewives episodes. The man has a serious heart-on for reality TV. *sigh* Again, I’m going to reference the disclaimer from #3.

Favorite authors you ask? Julie Garwood, Kathleen Woodiwiss, Linda Howard. Favorite books of all time? The Wolf and the Dove by Kathleen Woodiwiss, Kiss Me While I Sleep by Linda Howard, The Prize by Julie Garwood, and one more — Wildcard by Lora Leigh. That’s my authors and books. You now know more about me than some of my family members, lol!

And now that I’ve given you deets on me, let me bend your ear (or would that be your eyes?) about my Endgame Ops series. If you like your heroes incredibly alpha and you like your heroines strong enough to take them on and give it right back, I think I’ve got a few stories cooking for you.

Suspense, heat, and overwhelming connections abound as you enter a world of shadows and intrigue. Each story of my Endgame Ops series brings you closer to a truth you may not be able handle. So watch your step because danger is around every corner and Endgame’s story is just beginning with my upcoming release, Flash of Fury. Let me introduce you to King and Allie. Prepare yourself.

Kingston McNally lost men when someone betrayed his team, and now he's out for retribution. His quest for the enemy's courier leads him to Cameroon and Allie Redding, a petite Peace Corps volunteer as stubborn as she is brave. Their attraction is immediate, but Allie has secrets of her own and she's not giving them up easily.

Allie's life has been spent hiding in plain sight, but she's had enough of her cloak-and-dagger existence. On her way home, her plane is hijacked-and King saves her life. But that doesn't mean she owes him anything...even if he is the most damnably sexy man she's ever laid eyes on. He's got black ops and secrets written all over him, and trust is a two-way street.

Flash of Fury is a fast-paced, action-packed story of survival and how in the midst of the most harrowing circumstances, love can find a way to sneak in and knock you on your behind. With both of them hiding secrets, they’ll have to find a way to survive terrorists and each other.

I hope, with everything in me, that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Now what are you waiting for? Go read ALL THE WORDS!

Lea

PS It’s your turn to tell me a little about you — fave authors? Fave reads? Are you still sane? Remember, sharing is caring.

EXCERPT

It all went down so quickly that it took the remaining terrorists a moment to figure out what had happened. By that time, King was there, grabbing Abdul’s gun and firing in rapid succession, quickly eliminating all targets. He located the phone the terrorist had discarded, scooped it up, and turned to her.

“Get to the galley. There could be more,” he said in a low voice.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked softly as she stood rooted to the spot for an endless moment.

“Get to the galley at the back and open the door. Do it quickly. Do it now.”

Children screamed, while grown people shouted as they all clamored to get out of the front of the plane. Panic was in the air, but no more gunshots rang out. If the terrorists had help, they didn’t yet know what was going on.

King reached over, pushed Abdul from her grip, and his gaze narrowed again on her cheek. He brushed over the growing mark with his thumb. “He hurt you.”

Confusion clouded Allie’s face and she cocked her head, staring at him as if she’d never seen anyone quite like him before.

He shook his head, the sight of her big, blue eyes almost undoing him. He motioned her to the back and said simply, “Go.”

He reached for the small guy he’d almost clocked as the man tried to pass and said, “Tell them what happened but stay vague about us. Do you understand? Tell them all” — King motioned over the plane’s fleeing occupants — “to remain vague about us.”

It was unlikely that the two-hundred-odd passengers would keep silent about the blond who’d head-butted the lead terrorist. Or the giant American who dragged her away. Chances were that his and this woman’s faces would be all over the local news. But if even a few of the passengers negated the story, that mixed intel might buy them a bit of time.

The guy nodded and King took off. He rounded the corner of the attendants’ galley and noticed Allie had the door open. Rain sluiced in, wetting everything in its path. She stuck her head out and peered down, then pulled her head back in, spearing him with her gaze.

“It’s a long way down,” she said mournfully.

“Drop and roll, darlin’,” King responded. “Drop and roll.” Then he was out the door, dropping like a stone and rolling once he hit the ground. He pushed to his feet and glanced around. Security was pouring out onto the tarmac, and sirens could be heard in the distance. A luggage transport machine was rounding a corner, and they didn’t have much time.

He looked up at her, held out his arms, and yelled, “Jump!”

She didn’t hesitate. Good thing she was tiny because she fell right into his arms.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

He didn’t respond, just put her on her feet, grabbed her hand, and hailed down the luggage cart. He told the man they needed a ride to the terminal. The airport employee didn’t even blink—like random Americans came up to him every day asking for a ride in the middle of the pouring rain. He dropped them as far as another plane and told them they had to walk.

Instead of walking, they ran. King moved to an abandoned airport security truck, and they hopped in. He hot-wired the vehicle and had them on the move in under a minute.

“Get down,” he ordered.

She did as he directed. There was hope for her yet.

A gunshot punched out the back glass, and King ducked. He could see no one behind them, but obviously someone was back there shooting. He hung a right and took off around the terminal, passing planes and looking for the airport parking lot.

He’d have to ditch this truck and get them out into the city of Douala quickly.

“Who are you?” she asked and then grunted as she was thrown against the door.

King had just broken through a fence barrier to the airport parking lot and managed to shed the fence that tenaciously clung to the bumper. He picked a row of cars and barreled down it.

“King,” he replied succinctly.

She snorted. “Okay, now really, who…oomph…holy… Could you stop… Son of a…”

He slammed on the brakes. He winced when her head bumped against the glove box. “Sure.”

King hurried out of the truck and picked the first car he came to. He didn’t need flashy; he needed operational. Flashy had alarms. Operational could go undetected.

Fortunately, the first one he came to fit both bills. A Yugo. It just kept getting better and better. The car was unlocked and he slid in.

“A Yugo?” she asked, standing beside him now. “Seriously?”

“In the car and don’t talk,” he demanded.

Her brows lowered and her mouth tightened, but she decided to throw in her lot with him. She rounded the car and got in. King lowered the sun visor, and the keys fell into his lap. The Yugo’s only saving grace was that he wouldn’t have to expend the energy to hot-wire it.

The piece-of-shit car cranked, and King squealed out of the spot, though he slowed down as he approached the exit gate. “Act normal,” he said. “And don’t look anyone in the face.”

Allie didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to — the anger pinching her features spoke volumes. He almost, almost, laughed. They were both soaking wet, but for some reason she looked even more beautiful.

“You laugh at me, and I’ll get you back,” she said from the corner of her mouth.

Spunk. He hated spunk. Oh, and bravery. He hated that too. “You already have,” he responded and enjoyed the way her eyes widened.

Blue, soul-sucking eyes. Her presence was enough of a payback.

“I didn’t. But first chance I get —”

King held up a hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah whatever. Now be quiet and lower your face.”

The woman actually growled at him. And it was sexy as hell. The smile that tugged his lips caught him by surprise.

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Hawk MacKinney's Westobou Gold Blog Tour with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Post and Giveaway

 

I am so excited to have Hawk MacKinney here at Paranormal and Romantic Suspense Reviews with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Post and Giveaway.

Thanks Hawk and Goddess Fish Promotions for allowing me to join your Westobou Gold Blog Tour!

Please take it away, Hawk! 

Guest Post

How do you research for your writing?

Aim initial research for your writing in the directions you want to take the tale being knitted together. The internet is a big crutch, but it can take one down a wreck of a black hole. Caveat: It’s even better if the writer has a foundation or experience in the subject being approached. For example – If you are writing science fiction where quantum physics and the large hadron collider are changing things almost by the hour, you should be a scientist or at least work in that field. That goes double for nonfiction. Check references that look to be what you’re after. Then verify your information at your local library especially helpful are suggestions from reference librarians. Reference librarians can be sources for tidbits that turn a tail, or verify the all-honest internet. They are priceless. Reference librarians scare me…there are NO secrets from such experts. Reference librarians still use antique equipment of a pencil and note pad which are gems among the smart-phone clutter. They must be aliens from an advanced society. Local libraries are my haunts – several times a week when parts and scenes are being jig-sawed into place.

Once the edges of your work are sort-of in place in a rough edit, fill in the research points you’ve marked for more detailed descriptions. Use your characters by letting them show what you want. Don’t TELL the reader.

Edit, edit, edit BUT don’t overkill for that creates sloppiness. This writer is speaking from experience. With final edits, finer points will pop up revealing what needs to be expanded or which areas of confusion can be deleted. A scene or character or section that is not flowing well will become obvious. Remember your reader. Don’t add useless minutia that bores readers, but add depth to description and details.

Westobou Gold
by Hawk MacKinney
GENRE: Mystery/Suspense

BLURB

The Indian Queen would risk torture and worse to keep her secrets from these barbarians in suits of metal and their search for cities of gold. They never found the gold. Empires rose; empires fell, the centuries passed. Legend became fireside myths, but no treasure was ever found. Yet, among the grey-green drapes of wisteria and wild jasmine along the misty shrouded lowlands of bayous and marshes of the Westo River, the folktales persisted.

In the lazed creep of a near-tropical dawnlit the pungent Turkish coffee permeated Moccasin Hollow.

Beyond the kitchen door Lucky, Craige Ingram’s German shepherd gnawed a favorite bone. Looted burial mounds seemed a world away until plundered mounds on Moccasin Hollow land brings amateur archeologist PI Craige Ingram into the crosshairs of kidnapping. Stealthy hideaways are concealed in old colonial brick-lined river grottos beneath the big house of Ardochy plantation. Sex-tape underage blackmail and thrill killings on federal land spur a medical examiner’s preliminary postmortem to more than a hired cleaner’s quickie cover-up passed off as drug deals gone sour. Greed tangles a witch’s pigswill of illicit affairs and murder-to-hide-murder. Shady investigators and shadier politics stir an unexpected concoction that threatens the lives of those at Moccasin Hollow in a spiteful plot against ex-SEAL Craige Ingram and the woman he loves.

Excerpt

Leeza picked one of her days off when Crawforde was out of town. She second-guessed herself as she thought how to go about it, and found herself making the turn onto the curved weeded Ardochy drive and parked next to the old granite buggy steps. She walked around to the front door and turned the ornate brass bell ringer; listened to its clang-ding echo. Waited. Nothing. She gave the brass knob another twist.

The door opened a crack, “Who’re you? What you want?” The door opened slightly more, “What you doin' on this property? Radcliffe and Ardochy is closed for renovation. Won’t be open till restorations are complete.”

The gruff bushy-brows startled her. A bit of sweetness couldn’t hurt, “I wanted to visit Ardochy.”

“Both are private property. I asked you what you were doin' here?”

“Are you the caretaker?”

“I don’t see that’s none of your business. Ain’t your place to ask questions. You’re on private property.”

“I’m doing a research paper for my history professor at the university in Columbia about the confederate battles near Aiken.”

“The Battle of Aiken?” The door opened wider.

“The McGiffern family and the name of Ardochy has come up several times. The university librarian told me most of the McGiffern papers were still in Redcliffe and Archochy.”

“Far as I know they’re all still on the shelves, but they’re book-wormed and full of silver fish. Pages are rotten. Fall to pieces in your hand. Ink faded, barely readable. I think the fellow handling the McGiffern properties is making arrangements to move them.”

“I’d be ever so grateful if you could show me. I know it’s imposing, but I won’t take long.”

Grumpy face disappeared; the door opened, “Only for a few minutes. I got things to do.”

Leeza gushed, “Thank you ever so much.” In the stifling afternoon humidity she felt a twinge uneasy as she followed him up the age-worn creak of solid wood stair steps that spoke of by-gone years. The long hallway talked to her, and she caught the slow steady tick-tock of a great clock somewhere.

“Library is right in here,” the caretaker ushered her in.

The moment she walked into the smaller room Leeza was bewildered, near to the point of being overwhelmed. Crawforde’s office had nothing like this. The narrow shelves were crammed with frayed folio volumes and stacks of handwritten papers and letters. “I expected this room to be bigger.”

He said, “This isn’t the main library. This room was Miss Theosia’s. Where she took her afternoon tea and sit and read.”

On the small desk with its rickety chair lay large leather-bound volumes, one trimmed in blue. Too big for her to hide and sneak out, “All these books and papers.”

“Still laying right where Miss Theosia last left them. Nothin’ fake about this place. Old man Virgil told me once when the landings flooded and the river got high, how he saw pottery and bones sticking out along the washed-out river banks. When the water went down Virgil went back and reburied the bones. Never told nobody what else he found. If he found anything he wouldn’t have told nobody. Folks talked about him. How Virgil was a dumb field hand. He wadn’t one bit dumb. Times when Redcliffe was a workin’ plantation and when the field bell rung after supper, I’d often see him sitting in that very chair with one of these books on his lap, readin’ away. He read every one of these books, sometimes more’n once.” Quick look at the shelves, “Some got wet during times they was hid in the tunnels and caves along the river ’twixt here and Savannah. Tunnels are older than Redcliffe. Indians likely lived in the first ones. McGiffern's been hiding things in the tunnels since before this place was built.” With a wicked chuckle, “Early on it was corn squeezin’s bein’ shipped to Savannah Towne. Ain’t safe to go in them no more. All soggy when the river’s high. Timbers gone rotten. Most clogged with cave-ins. Lots of critters, turtles and snakes. Easy to get buried; no one’d ever know. Mud an’ river an’ rot can make a body disappear real quick if’n gators don’t take it first.”

“I’m terrified of snakes.”

He said, “Plenty of them about.”

Leeze recalled what her fifth grade teacher once said — how a book's value comes from what’s inside. Leeza said, “One of my teachers knew about some of the tunnels.”

“She must’a been one of your old teachers.”

Leeza said, “Could I take just little look inside one or two of these? History of people’s lives right here in these pages.” Same as Crawforde had her do with his old volumes, she slipped on a pair of soft white cotton gloves, “I’ll be extra careful.”

The caretaker said, “A professor once looked through these books. He put on a pair of gloves exactly like that.”

“The professor I work for uses gloves when he’s handling his old volumes.”

“I’ll leave you be. When you’re done, I’ll be at the lower landing.” He shuffled out, Clomping down the creaking steps down one step at a time.

Leeza had used FIND and parts of the filename to locate the one she wanted with its small colored snapshot he’d taken. When she found the note, she printed a copy.

“Confirm El Escorial title printed in Madrid – check Ardochy library – name on the spine with embossed Coat of Arms – list of kings and queens, consorts and mistresses, madness and intrigues, courtiers, notables of each reign - Cortez, Portuguese Magellan - Fidalgo y Ranjel - Cutifachiqui – Westobou treasure – DeSoto –”

She turned to the endless shelves. Her eyes searched for the title with Madrid on the cover. Leeza had heard old-timers talk about Indians and their settlements along the Savannah. She reached a smaller volume down from the shelf. Several loose handwritten pages fell out. The flaky edges crumbled. Across the top of one page, “Westo tribes centered along upper Savanno River.” More faded words inked or penciled along the margins, across the top of the fragile sheets. “Traded mostly with Edisto and coastal tribes - bartered furs for sea treasures- ”

There were more words in cursive she couldn’t read or understand; more scribbles in English, but the faded ink was almost unreadable. “DeSoto kidnapped a Chief's daughter - Chief died from the sickness the medicine man had never seen -” Underlined one word, “smallpox” Followed by, “ - fear for her people. Daughter gathered tribe’s sacred objects - hid them near the burial mounds of their forefathers.” She flipped through the folio pages for any other notes. Nothing shook loose until her fingers trailed the uneven bumps between the last folio page and heavy back cover, and found more notes between the original binding and the newer binding laid over the original. Leeza turned to the spine. She could just barely make out Madrid underneath the later cover.

She took out the pages she’d printed, and opened the book with the blue trim. The stylish handwriting scribed so many decades was long gone. She flipped through a few more pages, then eased closed the aged cover, and took the stairs back down.

AUTHOR Bio and Links

Internationally acclaimed author and public speaker, Hawk MacKinney began writing mysteries for his school newspapers. He served in the US Navy Reserve for over 20 years, and was a tenured faculty member at several state medical facilities, teaching postgraduate courses in both the United States and Jerusalem, Israel. Since retiring Hawk has authored several novels that have received national and international recognition. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel, was nominated for the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award. The Cairns of Sainctuarie, his science fiction series, includes The Bleikovat Event and The Missing Planets, with a third book in the works. Hawk’s latest project focuses on The Moccasin Hollow Mystery Series. Book 1 in the series, Hidden Chamber of Death, was released early 2016.

http://www.hawkmackinney.net/

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100011826991252

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/698008.Hawk_MacKinney

GIVEAWAY

Hawk MacKinney will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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Please follow the rest of the tour here, thanks:

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T.S. O'Neil's Mexican Hat Trick Blog Tour with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Post and Giveaway

 

I am so excited to have T.S. O'Neil here at Paranormal and Romantic Suspense Reviews with a Spotlight, Excerpt, Guest Post and Giveaway.

Thanks T.S. and Goddess Fish Promotions for allowing me to join your Mexican Hat Trick Blog Tour!

Please take it away, T.S.! 

Guest Post

Creating Memorable Characters

The inspiration for creating interesting and memorable characters comes from lots of different places. One of my favorite characters, Eidetic Eddie Doyle, is a composite character, based on memorable literary characters who were detectives — Detective Hoke Moseley from Miami Blues and Travis McGee, for examples. Eddie lives on a boat like McGee and is a bit long in the tooth like Moseley, but I also took inspiration from real life. A very dear friend is a private detective who specializes in trademark anti-counterfeiting, as does Eddie — at least in my latest book, Mexican Hat Trick. Like Moseley, Eddie is a decent guy and a good detective, but he’s older and a little shopworn. I think that’s the part that appeals to some readers in that he reminds them of themselves or people they know.

The inspiration for the character of Char Blackfox, the main protagonist in Tampa Star, Starfish Prime, and Mudd’s Luck, came from various places. I wanted to create someone memorable, and before starting Tampa Star, I had the opportunity to attend a Battlefield Walk with my Army Reserve unit on the Loxahatchee River in South Florida.

In 1838, the Seminoles fought two pitched battle against the U.S. Army. The Native Americans had experienced warriors with access to comparable weaponry as their foes — who were the usual mix of conscripts and seasoned Army veterans. More importantly, the federal troops were exhausted after having spent months on the trail in a forced march from Georgia. By all accounts, the Seminoles defeated the Army troops as the Native Americans were fortunate enough to occupy the high ground — which included having talented sharpshooters high among the branches of the ancient Cypress trees scattered about the battleground. After hearing about the fierce Seminole warriors, I decided to make them the inspiration for Char Blackfox.

At the beginning of Tampa Star, Char is shot in the leg while serving as a Green Beret in Vietnam. The incident that caused Char’s leg injury was based on a real event that happened to a former Army comrade of mine. In the narrative, Char is shot by a dead guy. In real life, my buddy nearly lost a leg because he killed a Viet Cong guerrilla and then pulled the rifle away from the dead man while his just dead finger still enveloped the trigger. My friend had to be reclassified as an MP because the seriousness of the injury made him unfit to serve in the infantry.

I like to think my villains are very memorable as I make them evil, but with subtle flaws that again, make them human and hopefully, more relatable. I’ve crafted a bloodthirsty Mafia Capo who had personal problems caused by his wife’s nephew, an illiterate drug lord who wants to be able to take his wife to the mall in the United States, and a diabetic Russian Arms dealer with a hacked insulin pump.

I was told by one of my editors that I stereotyped my female characters by making them all the same. I had to go back and reread the character descriptions before realizing that I made all my women characters just like your average teen boy likes his female comic book superheroes—large breasted, curvaceous and oozing sex. I also was told that I treated most of my female characters as sex objects. After hearing this criticism, I endeavored to do better for all my female readers by not stereotyping my female characters and making them more multi-dimensional. For example, I created an aggressive marathon running police detective, made one of my protagonist's ex-wife an accomplished artist and owner of a lucrative art gallery and crafted a love interest as a doctor with the International Red Cross.

I guess the point of my musing is to convey that inspiration for creating memorable characters can come from personal experience, history, and inspired invention. You should humanize the characters you create by giving them very human traits, both good and bad and be careful to avoid stereotyping.

Mexican Hat Trick
by T.S. O’Neil
GENRE: Contemporary, Action/Adventure

BLURB

Mexican Hat Trick reunites Retired Sheriff’s Department Detective turned Private Investigator, Eidetic Eddie Doyle with Former Force Recon Marine, Michael Blackfox, in a rollicking tale of murder, counterfeiting and kidnapping south of the border. A rogue’s gallery of new villains, including a pathological ex-French Foreign Legionnaire, a bloodthirsty drug kingpin, and a conniving corporate attorney, conspire to corner the counterfeit apparel market. Mexican Hat Trick is Florida Glare — south of the border.

Excerpt

It was late afternoon; at least an hour after the last lunchtime dinner had swilled his final Tequila Anejo and well before the restaurant began serving dinner. The owner of the traditional French restaurant was a good friend and fellow aficionado of Bolivian Marching powder and high class Russian fucking machines. He offered the location as a neutral meeting place after Chewy described his need.

A nearly new brown Ford Taurus — the kind you rented at the airport, entered the restaurant’s lot and parked next to Chewy’s Range Rover. A tall, dark-haired man exited, removed a leather case from the car and walked towards the entrance. Chewy retreated into the vestibule, backed into the lobby and nodded to the maître d’.

“Si, Senor, this way please,” said the Maître d'. The man led Chewy through the large ornately furnished dining room to a curtained off alcove at its rear. He parted the red velvet curtains with a practiced motion and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Behind it was a small darkly paneled room that looked more like a library than a dining area.

“Bring me a bottle of Don Julio Real and two glasses,” said Chewy. He figured a celebration might be in order. The owner of MM had agreed “in principle” to the deal, and Chewy felt that he would honor that commitment. If a celebration were not in order, he would just start his Friday evening a little early. Chewy took a seat at the far end of the round table with his back to the tapestry-covered wall. He carried a small snub nose revolver in an ankle holster but doubted he would need it. The gringo he was meeting was dressed more like a banker than a private detective.

The maître d’ opened the door, and the man entered. He smiled at Chewy, flashing a perfect set of bright white teeth and offered his hand. Chewy exhaled audibly and relaxed. He stood and took the man’s manicured palm in his meaty fist and forcefully shook it.

He handed Chewy a small ivory colored business card. “Eddie Doyle.”

“You got here quickly,” said Chewy.

“An important matter is deserving of the same level of attention.”

Chewy nodded thoughtfully. “Please sit down, I’ve ordered a bottle of excellent tequila — perhaps you will join me in a drink?”

The man smiled again. “There is always time for one.”

“Si, as we say down here, Uno, ninguno — which means one is nothing,” Chewy smiled as if proud for remembering to translate for the gringo.

The man nodded. “But first down to business.” He reached into a tan leather portfolio and removed a document and a small recorder. These are wiring instructions to your account. Please verify that they are correct. Once we complete your testimony, I’ll sign this document and fax it to the bank. You should have your money by close of business today.”

Chewy resisted the urge to smile — forcing himself to adopt the sober expression of a witness in a murder case. “I just want to do the right thing,” he said finally.

The man switched on the small recorder and placed in front of Chewy. “The microphone is very sensitive. Please tell me everything you know about who is counterfeiting Mountain Man apparel.”

Chewy sighed, unsure how to start. He hoped that the tequila would soon be delivered so they could have started with a toast that would perhaps lubricate his tongue. He licked his thick lips and smiled nervously.

The man sensed Chewy’s unease and poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on a sideboard and set it before him. Chewy shook his head in thanks and emptied the glass. The man refilled it, and Chewy took a short drink. He felt satiated and his initial nervousness dissipated.

Chewy spoke and did not stop until he had told all he knew about the international criminal enterprise involving the counterfeiting of MM apparel. And Chewy knew a lot — who was involved, where the goods were shipped, how they passed through customs undetected and most importantly, why no one at MM had discovered the operation.

“That’s about it,” said Chewy. “That is all I know.” He felt relieved his testimony was over but annoyed that the tequila had not arrived. As if on cue, the door opened, and a waiter entered caring carrying the ornate bottle, two blue tinted glasses and a small plate containing slices of lemon, lime and a tiny pile of salt. Chewy clasped his hands together. “Time to celebrate!”

The waiter filled the two glasses to the very top and retreated a few steps back from the table. Chewy reached for his glass and downed it. He grabbed the bottle, refilled it and drank another shot.

The man, Doyle, held his glass and stared at its content. “Salud,” he said, but his shot remained in the glass.

“What’s a matter, gringo, you don’t like tequila?” asked Chewy.

“Sorry, my friend, I’ve got a meeting with a very important man, and I can’t afford to have liquor on my breath.”

Chewy thought he detected something strange about the man’s accent but forgot about that as he suddenly felt nauseous. He thought he was going to be sick, and tried to get to his feet, but his legs felt like they had a mind of their own. He fell back into his chair as the room began to go in and out of focus. Chewy felt alternately dizzy and sleepy.

The man held the shot glass up to the chandelier, “you can’t see any of the particles — it dissolved completely.

The waiter laughed. “Fast acting as well. Fucking pendejo didn’t even have to be tricked. Puffer fish venom — very hard to get — I buy it from a dive master in Cozumel. He’s slipping into paralysis. The waiter reached out and slapped Chewy across the face. See, he’s numb, but fully aware. He’ll be unable to do anything except die. It should take about four hours or so.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to drink it — they tell me the antidote is almost as bad,” said the man.

Chewy tried to speak, but his tongue felt numb. He mumbled something unintelligible. The men ignored him and continued talking.

“Just make sure you clean everything up,” said the man.

“No worries,” said the waiter. “I’ll dump the body in a tub of Muriatic Acid and most of him will dissolve in a few days. We do it all the time.”

The tall man shook his head, “The body needs to be found, and I’m not sure that they will determine he was poisoned — forensic science may not be the Federal Police’s strong suit.”

“I’ll choke him out after he’s unconscious,” said the waiter.

The gringo nodded in the affirmative. “I suppose that will do. Just make sure he has the business card on him and leave the body where it can be found.”

Chewy struggled to breathe. He almost surrendered to unconsciousness when the talk of his murder brought him back. He struggled to concentrate and summon himself to action. He had been poisoned — of that much he was certain. With what vigor he could muster, he reached down to his ankle and felt the reassuring handle of the revolver. He withdrew it and struggled to point it at one of the figures.

The waiter grabbed his wrist, forced it down to the table and easily removed the revolver from Chewy’s hand. “I’m keeping the pistol.”

“You can have the recorder as well. It just needs some batteries,” said the man.

Chewy struggled to maintain consciousness. He stared at the back of the waiter’s hand and recognized a small tattoo. The last thing Chewy Mendlevich would see on this earthly plain was a small black Z tattooed between the waiter’s thumb and forefinger.

AUTHOR Bio and Links

TS O’Neil graduated with Honors from Northeastern University in Boston, Massachusetts with a Degree in Criminal Justice and graduated with High honors from the University of Phoenix with a Master’s in Business Administration in Technology Management. He served as a Rifleman with the Marine Corps Reserve, an Officer in the Military Police Corps of the United States Army, and retired from the Army of the United States (AUS) as a Lieutenant Colonel in 2012. He is a veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom. TS is currently employed as a Senior Security Consultant, specializing in Information Security. He lives in Seminole, FL with his beautiful wife, Suzanne. He has written four books, Tampa Star, Starfish Prime, Mudd’s Luck and Mexican Hat Trick.

All are available on Amazon.com

www.tsoneil.com

https://www.amazon.com/T.S.-ONeil/e/B00DK8VL1Q/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7200359.T_S_O_Neil

https://www.facebook.com/TampStar

https://twitter.com/tselliot3

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