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Thriller

On Tour: The Shadow Network, by Deborah Swift @swiftstory @cathiedunn #WW2 #Thriller #HistoricalRomance #Review

March 5, 2024 by Adriana Kraft

Betrayal, treachery, and courage against the odds

BOOK INFORMATION

Book Title: The Shadow Network
Series: Secret Agent Series (but can be read as a stand-alone)
Author: Deborah Swift
Publication Date: 13th February 2024
Publisher: HQ Digital
Page Length: 376
Genre: Historical Fiction / WW2

BLURB

One woman must sacrifice everything to uncover the truth in this enthralling historical novel, inspired by the true World War Two campaign Radio Aspidistra…

England, 1942: Having fled Germany after her father was captured by the Nazis, Lilli Bergen is desperate to do something pro-active for the Allies. So when she’s approached by the Political Warfare Executive, Lilli jumps at the chance. She’s recruited as a singer for a radio station broadcasting propaganda to German soldiers – a shadow network.

But Lilli’s world is flipped upside down when her ex-boyfriend, Bren Murphy, appears at her workplace; the very man she thinks betrayed her father to the Nazis. Lilli always thought Bren was a Nazi sympathiser – so what is he doing in England supposedly working against the Germans?

Lilli knows Bren is up to something, and must put aside a blossoming new relationship in order to discover the truth. Can Lilli expose him, before it’s too late?

Set in the fascinating world of wartime radio, don’t miss The Shadow Network, a heart-stopping novel of betrayal, treachery, and courage against the odds.

EXCERPT

England, 1940

The knock came again.

‘Mads?’ Lilli called.

Maddie came out of her room with the newspaper under her arm, slopping to the door in her slippers. ‘You could see who it is,’ she grumbled. ‘Probably someone collecting for the Sally Army.’

Lilli let the square, no-nonsense figure of Maddie push past her to unlock the chain and the Yale lock, just as the insistent knock came again.

‘All right, all right, I’m coming.’ Maddie yanked the door open and three men forced their way into the hall. One in a wet trilby hat followed by two policemen.

‘Lilliana Bergen?’ asked the man in the trilby.

‘No, I’m Madeleine Kettering,’ Maddie said. ‘That’s Lilli. What do you want?’

The three men surrounded Lilli before she even had time to blink.

‘What is it? What have I done?’ She tried to back away, a chill rippling down her spine. This was how they came for people, back in Germany.

‘I’m sorry, miss,’ the man in the trilby said, ‘but all enemy aliens have to come with us. Orders of the government.’

Enemy aliens? No, it must be a mistake. ‘You’ve got the wrong person. I’m a refugee. I came here to escape the Nazis. I’ve been in London more than two years.’

‘We have our orders,’ one of the policemen said. ‘You can take a suitcase with you though, one suitcase.’

The words hit her like a fist. One suitcase. That was what they said to Papa. And she’d no word of him since.

But this was England, not Germany. ‘It’s a mistake, I tell you. I have all the correct paperwork. Ask anyone. I’ve a job here, friends here. I’m about to go to work. You can’t possibly believe I—’

‘We’ll give you five minutes to pack,’ the second, burlier policeman said.

‘Let me speak to someone,’ Maddie said. ‘She’s done nothing. She’s about to train as a warden with the WRVS. The letter came today. Wait there, I’ll get it.’

‘No!’ Lilli tried to protest but Maddie had gone to get the letter from the mantelpiece. The men looked a little more uncertain.

‘Here!’ Maddie said, thrusting it into their hands.

One of the men looked at the envelope. ‘Lily Berg? According to our records, you’re Lilliana Bergen. Who is this Lily Berg? And it says you’re Welsh.’ He turned to Maddie. ‘She’s not Welsh, is she?’

‘They got it wrong. It must be a mistake . . .’ Lilli tailed off. She was caught, and couldn’t answer.

‘I can vouch for her good character,’ Maddie said, ‘and so can her employer, Reg Benson; she works as a singer and as a domestic for Mrs—’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said the man in the trilby. ‘All that will be looked into later.’

‘It’s an offence for a refugee to use a false name,’ the big policeman said. ‘She’s to come with us. Fetch your things, miss, or we’ll take you without them.’

Lilli looked at Maddie desperately, unable to believe what she was hearing.

‘Five minutes.’ The trilby man tapped his watch in a manner designed to intimidate.

She ran up the stairs again, her heart thudding. What to pack? Practical clothes. She was still wearing the silk dress, so she grabbed a cardigan and knitted jersey, plus a blouse and a skirt from the rail in the wardrobe, and another pair of flat shoes, the ones she used as a cleaner.

She was stopped in her tracks by the photo of her father, staring out at her from its silver frame.

Oh, Papa, she thought. Where will they take me?

She swept it up and pressed it to her heart, then thrust it into the inside pocket of her suitcase. From the dressing table she retrieved the gold Star of David on a chain that her mother had given her as a child. She never wore it, as it drew too much attention, but she couldn’t leave it behind.

‘Ready?’ A man’s voice from downstairs.

She grabbed her sheet music from the bedside table and at the last minute remembered her nightdress and squashed it in on top.

When she came down Maddie was complaining about how it was ridiculous, and she’d lose money from not having Lilli’s wages coming in.

‘Then get another lodger,’ the man in the trilby said. ‘One that isn’t a German.’

‘She’s a refugee,’ Maddie protested. ‘She came to get away from Hitler.’

‘Same difference.’ The burly policeman shrugged.

A police van idled at the kerb in a wreath of exhaust smoke. The officers yanked open the back doors and pushed Lilli to get in. Inside shivered another woman, an older lady, whose white face and carpet bag stuffed to overflowing, told Lilli she’d been caught equally unprepared.

‘Where are they taking us?’ Lilli asked.

The woman shook her head violently, her mouth sealed shut.

Lilli turned to see Maddie yelling, ‘I’ll report you! It’s disgusting! You can’t do this!’ and thumping on the side of the van. A noise that felt like small explosions. Then Maddie’s desperate voice; ‘Lilli! Write, hear me? You’d better write!’

MY REVIEW

Eight decades after the World War Two era, we continue to discover more and more about the colossal efforts of the Allied spy network and subversive efforts that collectively, ultimately, brought Hitler down.

In The Shadow Network, Author Deborah Swift has plunged us into a richly detailed and thrilling encounter with one of these operations: The clandestine broadcasts masquerading as Echt Deutsch (True German) that delivered false and disheartening information to the Reich troops, beginning in 1942.

I especially appreciated the author’s choice of a part-Jewish German refugee as her heroine. Lilli’s personal story kept me as a reader immersed in the horror of the Nazi regime and the absolute necessity of winning the war. The fear that held Lilli back from exposing what she knew was real, and it nearly cost her – and their broadcasting team – everything.

Five stars, highly recommend.

BUY LINKS

Universal Buy Link: mybook.to/RadioLies
Link to bookshop: https://harpercollins.co.uk/products/the-shadonetwork-ww2-secret-agent-series-deborah-swift

AUTHOR BIO

Deborah Swift is the English author of eighteen historical novels, including Millennium Award winner Past Encounters, and The Lady’s Slipper, shortlisted for the Impress Prize.

Her most recent books are the Renaissance trilogy based around the life of the poisoner Giulia Tofana, The Poison Keeper and its sequels, one of which won the Coffee Pot Book Club Gold Medal. Recently she has completed a secret agent series set in WW2, the first in the series being The Silk Code.

Deborah used to work as a set and costume designer for theatre and TV and enjoys the research aspect of creating historical fiction, something she loved doing as a scenographer. She likes to write about extraordinary characters set against the background of real historical events. Deborah lives in North Lancashire on the edge of the Lake District, an area made famous by the Romantic Poets such as Wordsworth and Coleridge.

Author Links:

Twitter https://twitter.com/swiftstory
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authordeborahswift/
Website: www.deborahswift.com
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/deborahswift1/
Amazon  http://author.to/DeborahSwift
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/deborah-swift

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Filed Under: Blog, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers Tagged With: Historical Fiction, review, Thriller, WWII

Out Now! Remnants of Fire, by Alana Lorens #supernatural #thriller #vampire #reporter #MFRWAuthor

November 20, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

BOOK INFORMATON

Release Date :August 15, 2023
Amazon ASIN:  B0CFDKZ8BZ
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 194918756X
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1949187564

BUY LINKS

Ebooks –   Amazon ebook

B&N Ebook

Smashwords Ebook:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1435752:

BOOK TRAILER

https://youtu.be/pWjJT2upVlo

EXCERPT

The waiter brought the souvlaki and more bread. After he left, I leaned forward and put my elbows on the table. “So what’s going on here? Why did you call me?”

Rick’s blue eyes dissected me. “Because there’s something unusual about you.”

Oh, please. That was as bad as ‘What’s your sign, baby?’ “Do I seem naive enough to fall for that line?”

“Not really.” He speared a chunk of lamb and dipped it in the creamy cucumber sauce. “That doesn’t make it any less true. And I think you really care about Lily Kimball, and what happened to her.”

“Then you believe something ‘happened.’” Remembering his outburst at the hospital, I added, “You think she was killed by someone. You even know who.” I watched his face for reaction.

“I suspect. I don’t know.” He took a long drink of water, as if he were trying to swallow something unpalatable.

“But you haven’t gone to the police.” He shook his head. “Why not?”

He started to answer and then Athena swept over, wanting to make sure everything was to her dear doctor’s satisfaction. She effused with grand passion about how wonderful Rick Paulsen was, as a medical professional and as a man, her praise transparently designed to convince me, as his dinner partner and potential life mate, of his worth. He squirmed as she continued, but seemed loath to interrupt her. Once we had assured her that everything was delightful, she withdrew at last, to observe from behind the cash register.

When he didn’t answer my last question, I asked again. “Why haven’t you gone to the police?”

“You don’t understand. The police won’t be any help in this matter.”

“They’re investigating her death—”

“They’re not investigating her death! They’re just going through the motions until everyone forgets about her and they can toss her file in a cabinet, never to be seen again!” He slapped his fork onto the table, a flush of anger suffusing his face, all the way to the tips of his ears. “Just like the others.”

BLURB

Looking for a fresh start, Sara Woods takes a job as a news reporter in a small town. Her first assignment for the Ralston Courier is to investigate of a string of deaths, all young women, all her age. To deal with chronic back pain, she seeks help at a local healing center. She soon becomes convinced that there is something strange about the Goldstone Clinic. Its doctors and nurses are all the picture of perfect beauty and health, while their patients at first seem to improve and then mysteriously deteriorate.

Dr. Rick Paulsen, a physician at the local hospital, offers to teach Sara how to access her internal power, enhancing hidden skills and revealing secrets from her past. Police officer Brendon Zale also takes an interest in Sara, watching her every move and trying to get close to her. The deeper she digs into the Goldstone, the harder it is to deny links to the paranormal. Can she figure out what is going on and who to trust before it’s too late?

AUTHOR BIO

Alana Lorens has been a published writer for more than forty years, after working as a pizza maker, a floral designer, a journalist and a family law attorney. Currently a resident of Asheville, North Carolina, the aging hippie loves her time in the smoky blue mountains. She writes romance and suspense as Alana Lorens, and sci-fi, fantasy and paranormal mystery as Lyndi Alexander. One of her novellas, THAT GIRL’S THE ONE I LOVE, is set in the city of Asheville during the old Bele Chere festival. She lives with her daughter on the autism spectrum, who is the youngest of her seven children, and she is ruled by three crotchety old cats, and six kittens of various ages.

AUTHOR LINKS

Website      http://Alana-lorens.com

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

Goodreads   https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4829967.Alana_Lorens

Amazon Author Page  https://www.amazon.com/Alana-Lorens/e/B005GE0WBC/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/alana-lorens

Twitter:  @AlexanderLyndi

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/alexander_lyndi/

https://lyndialexander.wordpress.com/2023/08/14/living-with-remnants-of-fire/

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Filed Under: Blog, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers Tagged With: Reporter, supernatural, Thriller, vampire

Book Blast! The Road to Montepulciano, by Garrick Jones @Gazrj01 #GayRomance #Thriller #HistoricalFiction #LGBTQ

October 16, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: The Road to Montepulciano

Author: Garrick Jones

Publisher: Moshpit Publications

Cover Artist: Garrick Jones

Release Date: September 19, 2023

Genre: Crime Thriller/Historical Fiction

Themes: Sowing one’s oats; Finding Mr. Right; Acceptance in community

Heat Rating: 5 flames

Length: 140 500 words/ 393 pages (paperback version)

It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Smashwords

 

 

Blurb

Two years after finishing his tour of duty in the Occupational Forces in Japan, Damson O’Reilly arrives in Siena, Italy. Sight-unseen at a local auction, he buys an abandoned Tuscan farmhouse in which he aims to write, paint, and start a new life.

The house, passed over at auction, becomes an impulse buy when it’s put up for a final time. He’s prepared for a semi-ruin, happy to turn his hand to renovating the house—however, what he’s totally unprepared for are three dead bodies, one of which he stumbles over when he arrives at La Mensola, the name of his isolated farmhouse on the road between Siena and Montepulciano.

Against the backdrop of a series of grisly murders, The Road to Montepulciano is the story of a young man, still suffering the scars of war, who, despite betrayal of trust and surrounded by a complex web of lies, finds friendship, love and the warmth of community.

 

Excerpt

I was lying in bed listening to Donati potter around in the kitchen for a few minutes, trying to make up my mind whether or not to get out of bed. I checked my watch: half past five. It was still dark outside—it wouldn’t start getting light for another three-quarters of an hour.

He had to know, I thought, reflecting on the whole of last evening. He must have guessed that I was queer, otherwise what had happened wouldn’t have taken place. We’d have washed separately, each waiting in our rooms until the other had finished, then continued to drink, play cards and behave like kids, but with our clothes on … or at least our underwear.

Some people just seemed to know it about me, although I wasn’t aware that I’d ever telegraphed where my preferences lay. A few times during the war I’d found myself on the receiving end of some very not-so-subtle advances quite out of the blue, far more forthright than the almost imperceptible, ever-so-slightly charged evening I’d enjoyed last night. And as for him? Well, I wasn’t sure just yet. There was something though that made me wonder: a frequent holding of eye contact, as if he was trying to discover what I was thinking, always breaking away abruptly with a soft smile on his face.

I’d never been able to recognise who was one of the tribe like some of my bedfellows, although at the same time I’d never been shy to leap at an opportunity when it offered itself up. But I found it hard to initiate things. Usually I’d wait until the other person either made a move or gave me a sign that he was interested in more than passing the time of day.

I’d heard Italian men were basically open to anything—whether that was true or not, I had no idea. Maybe Donati was just a regular man who liked a bit of variety every so often—I’d met a few of those—or maybe he was just like me: lonely and looking for a friend.

Deciding to finally get up, I’d barely thrown back the sheet and sat up, my feet drawn up and knees splayed while I leaned over, searching for my cigarettes—which for some strange reason I’d thrown into my haversack last night—when Renzo walked into the room with a demitasse in each hand. The smell of the coffee made my stomach grumble.

He was naked too. It seemed that clothing was to be an optional extra during my stay … I returned his smile.

“Buongiorno, Damson,” he said, handing one of the cups to me, then sat in the middle of the bed, one of his legs at an angle, the knee resting on my foot.

“Buongiorno, Renzo. You. Sleep. Good?”

“Hai dormito bene?” he corrected my Italian, saying the words slowly, twirling his finger in the air to encourage me to repeat the correct version.

“In English?” Renzo asked after I’d got it right.

“Did you sleep well?”

When he repeated the words, he made a pretty good fist of it, so I held out my hand. The shake happened directly over my crotch, mainly because having finished his coffee he’d stretched out over the bed. It was obvious that my genitals were right in front of his face, but his eyes hadn’t flicked away from my own, despite his Cheshire cat grin. This time I was the first to break eye contact, playfully nudging his shoulder with my foot, then reaching for my cigarettes once more.

We chatted for a while, trying out words with each other while smoking, Renzo idly playing with the hair trail below his navel while we traded vocabulary for items in the room. Then, after we’d given each other a lesson on conjugating the present tense of the verb “to be” in our own languages, I checked my watch. “Is that the time?” I said in English. I jumped out of bed, pulling on my only pair of slacks and grabbing a white American T-shirt from my haversack. It was wrinkled, but there was nothing I could do about it.

“No …?” he asked, making a plucking gesture at his waist with his thumb.

Damn, I’d been so distracted that I’d forgotten. Pulling off my trousers, I rummaged in my backpack again and found a pair of Y-fronts—they were a French brand and fairly new on the market. I usually washed my smalls every night, but there’d been too much going on and it had slipped my mind

Renzo whistled as I pulled them on, watching as I put my hand down inside the front of the waistband and adjusted myself in the pouch before pulling on my trousers once more.

“You. Like?” I asked.

He nodded, so I found another pair, still in its packet, and threw them to him. “Go ahead,” I said, while pulling on my socks, then lacing my canvas shoes.

He undid the packet, swung his legs off the bed, put both feet in the underpants, then, as he stood up, pulled them up, turning to look at his arse in the mirror of the wardrobe. “Che bel culo,” he said, winking over his shoulder at me.

I laughed. That phrase I did understand, and he did have a very nice arse.

 

About the Author

From the outback to the opera.

After a thirty-year career as a professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQ University.

Brought up in Australia, between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an academic.

 

 

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

Pinterest | Newsletter Sign-up

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

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Filed Under: Blog, Guest Bloggers, LGBT Tagged With: Gay Romance, Historical Fiction, LB=GBTQ, Thriller

Out now! Pinned, by Liz Faraim @FaraimLiz #Giveaway #LGBTQ

April 22, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

Pinned - Liz Faraim
Liz Faraim has a new lesbian mystery thriller out: Pinned. And there’s a giveaway.

“Rowdy” Randy Cox, a woman staring down the barrel of retirement, is a curmudgeonly blue-collar butch lesbian, who has been single for twenty years and is trying to date again.

At the end of a long, exhausting shift, Randy finds her supervisor, Bryant, pinned and near death at the warehouse where they work. Upon the news of his death, she battles to find a balance between the joys of an exciting new relationship and the struggles of processing her supervisor’s unexpected passing.

The manner of her supervisor’s death leaves Randy unsettled and suspicious as she gets sucked into both a criminal investigation led by the police and an administrative investigation conducted by her employer.

As Randy seeks the truth, trust erodes, key friendships are strengthened, and more loss awaits her.

Warnings: violence, cancer death.

Publisher | Amazon | Universal Buy Link

Goodreads


Giveaway

Liz is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47198/?


Excerpt

“Yeah. You wanna ride the canyon?” Bear asked as she ran her fingers through her wild salt-and-pepper hair. Buck and I both nodded. I stowed my snacks and slid on my helmet.

“Okay. Everybody’s all gassed up, right? Last gas station before the canyon is at the casino.”

“We’re good. Filled up before crossing the causeway. Now stand back,” Bear said as she did a Jackie Gleason style windup before hoisting her short leg over the saddle of her bike.

We’d ridden many miles together and I was happy to see that her bike, a massive 1600cc Road Star, which she had lovingly named Champagne, was still on the road.

Buck fired up her Harley with a bone rattling rumble. I reminded myself to ride in front of her. When I rode behind her the engine noise was too much. I paired up the Bluetooth and Spotify again and picked a 1980s hits channel. Van Morrison sang to me about tupelo honey as I pulled out behind Bear, with Buck taking sweep behind us.

As we rolled slowly by PJ’s, the checker was walking out of the front door, gazing down at her cell phone. She looked up just in time to knock me out one more time with her bright eyes and toothy smile, making my heart race. I had to force myself to focus back on riding as we pulled out of the parking lot onto the main road.

We dodged big groups of college kids on bicycles as we passed through intersections until Dairy Glen turned back into farmland. Long, ramrod-straight county roads that ran between tomato and sunflower fields took us to the next county. The coastal mountains rose in the distance, the only thing to break up the scenery of the flat valley floor except for the occasional barn, well pump, or windmill.

Before long the three of us were weaving our way through the green rolling hills of Capay Valley, the two-lane road gently curving around orchards and dormant row crop fields. I saw some farms with livestock, including a few llamas and emu. We passed through the small towns of Madison, Esparto, and Capay.

Around the bend we got to Brooks, where the small farmhouses gave way to the casino, looming large, overlooking vineyards and the foothills. A massive banner strung across the front advertised an upcoming big-name concert. After the casino we passed through Guinda, and the road narrowed further as the terrain changed from wide-open valley floor to canyon, with steep wooded hillsides. The temperature dropped several degrees in the shade of the hills.

I did my best to stay focused on the ride and the road, but the heart-stopping smile I had gotten earlier in Dairy Glen, those blue eyes locked on mine, were a big distraction. I hadn’t given any woman a second look in years, let alone have one get my heart and mind racing.

Bear cruised along, never in a hurry, taking the curves with ease. I checked my side mirror now and then to make sure Buck was still with us, her aftermarket exhaust pipes echoing through the narrow canyon. There were hardly any other vehicles on the canyon road, though we did pass a few packs of cyclists decked out in spandex, riding fancy road bikes. As we rolled by a group of bikes on a steep climb, I watched one guy’s chiseled leg muscles working hard to pedal. The lady in front of him blew a snot rocket over her shoulder and he didn’t even flinch. I was glad to have an engine between my legs and opened the throttle to climb the last bit of the hill.

At the top of the hill, we zoomed by another gaggle of cyclists, resting after their climb. They were all off their bikes, panting and sweating even in the cold. One lady was throwing up in the bushes. Her jersey said “Veni, Vidi, Vomiti.” The slogan rattled around in my brain, drawing me back to my father trying to teach me Latin as a kid. I figured it meant something like: I came, I saw, I barfed. Another lady stood by, leaning on her bike frame, totally unbothered, sucking on one of those goo energy tubes.

My fingers and toes had started to go numb from the cold despite wearing thick socks and boots, and winter riding gloves. While on a short, straight stretch I took my eyes off the road again to turn on the heated grips. I pressed the button and looked up just in time to see Bear dump her bike over farther than I thought possible. Champagne, nearly on its side, cut over into the opposite lane and back.

I scanned the road for the hazard and had just enough time to register a small rockslide, scree and baseball-sized chunks of rock bouncing down the steep hillside and onto the road. I spotted a small gap and rode straight through, pebbles pinging off my helmet and shooting out from under my tires. I checked my mirror and watched as Buck, who’d had the most time to respond, swung out wide and avoided the whole thing with little fuss. That was Buck for ya.

Bear parked in a turnout a few hundred yards up the road. I pulled in behind her to catch my breath. I yanked off my helmet and pulled the bandana down off my mouth, heart doing somersaults.

Bear slapped her chest and let out a roar that reverberated through the hills and down the canyon.

“Awooo! Jesus Christ! Did you see that, Randy?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t dump it. That was some fine goddamn riding.”

“Wasn’t my first time, won’t be my last.” She gasped and shook her hands out.

“Good thing you’ve been riding since before you could spell motorcycle.”

We laughed wildly, which helped me relax and steady myself as the adrenaline rush faded. Buck pulled in behind us, tires crunching on gravel, and killed her engine.


Author Bio

Liz Faraim
Liz has a full plate between balancing a day job, parenting, writing, and finding some semblance of a social life. In past lives she has been a soldier, a bartender, a shoe salesperson, an assistant museum curator, and even a driving instructor. She focuses her writing on strong, queer, female leads who don’t back down.

Liz transplanted to California from New York over thirty years ago. She now lives in the East Bay Area of California and enjoys exploring nature with her wife and son.

Author Website: https://www.lizfaraim.com

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/liz.faraim.9/

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/FaraimLiz/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20769735.Liz_Faraim

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/?s=faraim&search_type=authors

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Liz-Faraim/author/B092YXBXFV

Other Worlds Ink logo

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Filed Under: Blog, Contests, Guest Bloggers, LGBT Tagged With: blue collar, butch, curmudgeonly, Giveaway, lesbian, LGBTQ, Mystery, Thriller, Transgender

New Release! Out of the Shadows, by Tim Smith @extasybooks #Thriller #RomanticSuspense

January 9, 2023 by Adriana Kraft

Today my blog guest is fellow Extasy author Tim Smith. If you haven’t dipped into his Thriller series Nick Seven, don’t miss it—you’re in for the roller coaster ride of your life!

BOOK INFO

Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : Tim Smith
Word Count :67807
Publication Date :2022-10-28
Series : Nick Seven #8
Genre: Contemporary Romance, Romantic Suspense and Mystery, Thriller
Winner: Extasy Books Editor’s Choice Award

BLURB

How can a couple of former spies enjoy life in their personal corner of paradise, when things from the past keep coming back to haunt them?

What does a former spy have to do to get some peace and quiet in his personal corner of paradise? In the laidback ease of the Florida Keys, Nick Seven has carved out a life far removed from the intrigue that once defined his life in the CIA. He runs his trendy club on the Gulf, keeps a low profile, and enjoys the tropical setting with Felicia, his Barbadian lover and former co-worker. After he sees a woman being killed at a resort, Nick finds himself thrust into an investigation where there is no corpse and no evidence of a crime. The police are busy with a string of high-profile home burglaries and don’t have time to look for his imaginary victim, so it’s up to Nick to investigate. Then French con artist Marco St. Julian unexpectedly surfaces from Nick’s past. Are the incidents related? And what part does the wealthy young trophy wife of a convicted financial scammer play in all of this? Throw in a career-hungry FBI agent, a mysterious Cuban crook and an ex-patriate Irish gunrunner, and it’s more than just another day at the beach.

EXCERPT

The intruder stood in the shadows at the rear of a spacious oceanfront home on Duck Key, waiting for the right moment to go to work. The nighttime Florida sky was punctuated by a bright slice of quarter-moon and a handful of stars. The only light in the old-moneyed neighborhood was provided by ornate street lamps and security lights. Just the way the intruder liked it: enough light to see by, not enough to be seen. The background noise was a combination of waves lapping ashore and distant trawlers scooping up fresh catch. Occasionally a car would cruise by.

The home was one of many in the rich Florida Keys oceanfront enclave known as Hawk’s Cay, just south of Conch Key on the Overseas Highway. It was the kind of place that catered to a certain brand of people, like rich retirees, trust fund babies and savvy bankers who got out while the market was still good. Thousands of people cruised past it every day on their way to and from Key West without giving it more than a passing glance.

The intruder wore a black nylon catsuit that covered every inch of flesh from head to toe, as though they had been sprayed with onyx lacquer. They saw their shadow flash briefly in the glass of the French doors, tall and slender with narrow hips, an elfin-like creature gliding through the night. Their gloved fingers ran along the frame of the door that led to the interior of the home, but stopped when they located the security system sensor near the top. It was a cheap hardware-store variety contact alarm, not appropriate for such an expensive house. The person carefully slid a thin piece of magnetized metal between the two contact points, then crouched to work on the lock. Two metal picks in the keyhole were expertly moved against the tumblers until the intruder heard the telltale click of the lock giving way.

They opened the door and stepped inside, finding themselves in a small dining area off of the kitchen. The interior of the house was illuminated by one lamp from the living room. They stood still for a few moments, not detecting any sounds, then walked to the bedrooms at the rear of the home. They used a small flashlight to illuminate the way, then stopped when they reached the largest bedroom at the end of the hallway. According to the floor plan, this was the master suite.

They approached a dresser and found a small wooden jewelry chest in plain view. Their gloved hands opened it and the flashlight’s beam reflected off the gold and diamond baubles the chest contained. The intruder took a black vinyl drawstring bag from a pocket and transferred the contents to the bag.

They switched off the flashlight, then retraced their steps to the French doors leading to the deck. They momentarily froze when a car passed on the street nearby. After waiting a few moments, the person left the way they had come in and moved to the street, taking advantage of the natural cover provided by shrubs and hibiscus bushes. They made their way to a black Toyota coupe parked down the block and got in.

The driver pulled off the black hood of the catsuit, then fluffed her long dark brown hair, letting it cascade to her shoulders. She pulled down the visor and looked into the lighted vanity mirror, arranging her hair with her fingers. She checked her tanned face for a moment and satisfied herself that she looked natural, not like someone who had just committed a home invasion.

She drove slowly along the narrow street, then crossed a wooden bridge that traversed the channel that ran through the subdivision. When she reached the Overseas Highway she merged with the northbound traffic and maintained the speed limit to avoid any attention from the police routinely patrolling the highway. She glanced at the small bag of gems on the passenger seat and smiled, feeling a little giddy. She gazed forward and saw the marker sign on the right berm, the one reminding her that she was 15 miles from Key Largo.

She continued her northern trek while doing mental calculations. Tonight marked the sixth successful break-in over the past two weeks at various locations along The Keys. All were of fancy homes owned by well-to-do people with more money than they knew what to do with–wealthy industrialists and financiers who had made their riches off the sweat of blue-collar types, and the investors who fell for their scams. People who were smart enough to fleece the flock and dodge the subpoenas when the lawsuits began flying.

The woman slowed as she reached the entrance to the Sunset Resort on the Gulf side of Key Largo. She signaled her turn, then crossed the median into the parking lot, nosing the coupe into a spot at the end of the building, where there was no security camera. She got out, used a key card to enter the hotel, and took the elevator to the third floor. She hesitated before walking to her room, checking that there were no guests in the hallway.

Once inside the suite, the woman transferred tonight’s haul into a gallon-size freezer bag. She took a moment to give a closer look at something that had caught her eye. It was a gold pendant in the shape of a unicorn, about two inches long, with emeralds making up the horn and eyes, on a heavy rope chain. She pocketed the necklace, then secured the bag alongside three others in the designated hiding place.

BUY LINKS

Amazon

Out of the Shadows (Nick Seven Book 8) – Kindle edition by Smith, Tim. Romance Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

Extasy Books:

Out of the Shadows by Tim Smith | Extasy Books

REVIEWS

Five Stars: A fast-paced story from the get-go, with some romantic moments between Nick and Felicia, to relieve the suspense. Plus, a few interesting twists to keep you guessing till the end.

Five Stars: Once Again, Tim Smith has penned an excellent thriller, worthy of the highest recommendation!

BIOGRAPHY

I’m an award-winning, bestselling author of mystery/thrillers and contemporary erotic romance. I’m also a freelance writer/photographer and blogger. When I’m not writing I can often be found in The Florida Keys, indulging my passion for parasailing while seeking out the perfect Mojito.

AllAuthor page:

Tim Smith, Author | Books | Series | Interview | Deals | Newsletter | Contact | Site | AllAuthor

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Filed Under: Blog, Excerpts, Guest Bloggers, Romantic Suspense Tagged With: Contemporary Romance, Romantic Suspense and Mystery, Thriller

The Mind of the Villain #TBT #RomanticSuspense #KU #Halloween #MFRWAuthor

October 27, 2022 by Adriana Kraft

Halloween’s almost here! Did you think we were going to give away the villain’s secrets on this last Throw Back Thursday in October? Think again – but what we will do is share the opening of a creepy letter he sent her:

“Dear Detective: You may be good at games, but I am a master at them. I can hardly wait… Rest assured you are the chosen one. You will reign at the fire – no one else will do. Only one more pretender before you will mount the throne.

BLURB

Whose mask will crumble first—
the enigmatic professor of Celtic Studies,
the undercover cop masquerading as a co-ed,
or the campus stalker,
biding his time to strike again?

Is anthropology professor Matt Bayfield the Blackthorn College rapist, or a potential ally? Aloof and unapproachable, Matt has academic ambitions. He can’t escape Blackthorn College soon enough, and he doesn’t want any entanglements to slow down his exit.

Nancy Appleby would like nothing more than to solve the string of campus rape cases before Thanksgiving so she can go home. The last thing she wants is a relationship to complicate her life—but she’ll settle for a fling, especially when the sex sizzles.

The stalker has his own carefully crafted timetable, with a special date just for Nancy. Can Matt and Nancy force him out of his hidey-hole before it’s too late?

BUY LINK

Available exclusively at Amazon

Always free to read on Kindle Unlimited

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Filed Under: Blog, Excerpts, Romantic Suspense Tagged With: crime, crime fiction, detective stories, Halloween, Halloween Books, lady cop, mystery detective, Pagan, Samhain, SpookySeason, Thriller, thrillerbooks, undercover cop

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