Posted in #Giveaway, Author, blog, Book, Mystery, Silver Dagger Scriptorium Tours, suspense, Thriller, Writer

The Girl at the Bar by Nicholas Nash – Book Tour + #Giveaway


The Girl at the Bar
By Nicholas Nash
Genre: Thriller, Suspense, Mystery
Rebecca, a brilliant cancer researcher, disappears after a one-night stand
with a neurotic man with a questionable past.
Her sudden disappearance in the midst of a high-stakes quest to cure
cancer between two rival billionaires sets into motion an
inexplicable chain of events as the bodies start to pile up.
No one knows why she disappeared. The race to find answers ensnares
everyone around her, one of whom is a deeply disturbed psychopath
lurking in the shadows.
Is Rebecca still alive? What happened to her? Who did it? And why?
Questions about her vex everyone looking for answers. No one can be
trusted and no one is above suspicion…

Please join Quill & Ink Book Tours in supporting Nicholas Nash’s debut release,

The Girl at the Bar.

Nicholas Nash is the exciting new author of The Girl At The Bar, a
psychological thriller about the mysterious disappearance of a
brilliant cancer researcher and the quest to find what happened to
her. Nicholas resides in the concrete jungle of Manhattan in New York
City with his wife and three children and enjoys every moment of it.
An accomplished finance professional, he has a passion for reading
fiction and non-fiction books which inspired him to write an
intriguing thriller. Nicholas hopes you enjoy his work.
Nicholas can be reached at:
Posted in #Book, #Giveaway, Action, Author, blog, Book, Crime, Mystery, Silver Dagger Scriptorium Tours, Thriller, Tour, Writer

The Kramer and Shadow by Greg Smith – Book Tour+ #Giveaway


The Pits
Kramer and Shadow Book 1
by Greg Smith
Genre: Crime Mystery, Action, Thriller
THE PITS, a contemporary crime novel, tells the story of Captain Kramer,
USMC, a compassionate, intelligent man, who rescues a pup from the
scene of a car bombing while on deployment to Afghanistan. The pup is
named Shadow, and accompanies Kramer back to Oceanside, California.
They commit themselves to a campaign which has them fighting for
their lives during an FBI operation to bring down a crime boss based
in Florida.

The Humvees sped past people milling about, pointing at the smoke still towering over the town of Gereshk and jabbering loudly among themselves. Women and children huddled together here and there away from the road, and the elderly gaped at the armored convoy racing into hell.

The town itself was quite built up but very poor and the sewage trails ran down the streets in open channels. Leathernecks would be covered in it when they finished their patrols. Kids ran around in it barefooted.

The Humvees arrived at the town’s central marketplace and instantly found themselves mobbed by hysterical townsfolk. The Marines dismounted and immediately secured the area as the corpsman pushed his way through the tumult towards the blast site. Captain Kramer, 1st Battalion, 1st Marines, Regimental Combat Team 6 held his ground against the terrified and angry locals wailing in his face, some even tugging at his uniform for attention.

He needed to assess the situation. Apart from his Humvees, no other vehicles occupied the square. His troops had rapidly secured the perimeter and a couple now assisted the corpsman. A gritty cloud of smoke and dust shrouded the entire area but drifted away over the rooftops, aided by a breeze that had mercifully sprung up.

Sure enough, a car bomb. A huge scorched crater marked where the car had been parked outside a building. The remains of the vehicle lay in a smoldering, mangled heap halfway across the square with the Explosive Ordnance Disposal technicians sifting through it. Rubble, pieces of metal, the dead, dying, and the injured lay strewn about the whole marketplace. Kramer’s boot bumped something as he stepped forward, and his eyes snapped to his feet. A bloody hand lay palm up. An innocent child’s hand.

His demeanor hardened, and the mob fell back as if it sensed the deadliness building up inside the warrior. Reports flooded in to him as his troops called in with updates. Without hesitation, the radio tech who kept close by Captain Kramer as he prowled the devastated marketplace flashed the news to base headquarters. Among the townsfolk still milling about, a few local officials, including the police chief, worked with the Marines to clear the area of unnecessary personnel.

Close by, a handful of weeping men loaded a civilian pickup truck with bodies, each wrapped in blood-soaked cloth. A group of distraught women mixed with them, wailing and grasping at each bundle being handled. Overwrought by their gruesome task, they were totally oblivious of the poor bewildered individual sitting quietly among their shuffling feet.

A runty tan pup sat sorrowfully beside one particular body. Occasionally it raised a paw and tentatively touched the bloody cloth, or prodded it with its nose. Kramer observed transfixed as the pup peered at the people, then at the small bundle of cloth, then at the people again. Then the pup nuzzled the bundle as if trying to awaken the person wrapped inside.

A grief-stricken man knelt and reverently lifted the tiny body. Judging by his age, he’s likely the father. As he stood, the pup whimpered as if to say, hey, wait a moment. The wailing increased as hands passed the body up to a blood-streaked villager standing in the back of the pickup. Just as he turned to place the bundle with the others, a gust of wind flipped up a corner of the cloth, revealing a tiny hand. Instinctively, Kramer felt that it belonged to a very young girl.

With the last victim onboard, the pickup started up and pulled away. The men and women mourners followed close behind trying to comfort each other as best as they could. The procession gradually left the square, disappearing from view as a waiting throng swarmed after it as it passed into a nearby street.

A strange silence fell over the square. It seemed as if the few remaining locals and all the Marines had their attention riveted on the lonely pup still sitting in the road. It hadn’t left that spot in all this time. Now it sat there staring after the pickup and those following it.

Captain Kramer crossed the street and gently lifted the pup. An expression of pure unadulterated love met his eyes. A light sparkled behind those dark brown eyes that he couldn’t describe. He just felt it.

“Well, hello there, little guy. Looks like everyone’s gone and left you all alone. Ain’t fair, is it? What say I do something about that.”

The pup didn’t squirm or attempt to get away. It merely fixed its eyes on him as if it knew that this person would care for it, keep it safe, and maybe even feed it occasionally. As the six-foot-six Kramer cradled the puny creature in his arms, he was oblivious to the gazes directed his way from all around the square.


You Can Run
Kramer and Shadow Book 2
Captain Kramer, USMC, and his faithful four-footer partner, Sgt. Shadow,
USMC, both survive their first operation assisting the FBI in
bringing down the empire of a major crime boss in America. But more
is in store for the two Marines in yet another FBI operation to tie
up loose ends from the previous op. This time the action is more
intense and proves too costly for the Marines.

She scrambled on her hands and knees, worming her way deep into the thick underbrush. Her lungs and throat burned from frantic breathing. The pain of branches and rocks tearing and bruising her skin went unfelt. Terror coursing through her young body immunized her senses to any injuries.

She bumped into the base of a tree, its rough bark scraping her face. Her arms wrapped around the trunk welcoming the sense of security offered. The girl shuffled around and leaned her back against the tree and drew her knees up to her chest.

She squeezed her eyes tight and listened.

Blood pounded in her ears. She struggled to dampen the infernal noise and gradually her hearing cleared. At first there was nothing then suddenly she heard it—a distant crackling and popping. Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she worked to put a name to the sound. Her eyes flew open. Fire.

Despite the dense underbrush and the distance she had placed between herself and the house, she spotted the flickering light. Night lay thick and heavy all around her and there was no mistaking the flames reaching out through her bedroom window. Tears ran down her face and sobs racked her as images of her parents flashed before her mind’s eye.

“Sarah, time for bed, dear.” Her mother had sent her off to bed early tonight because her father wanted to leave at first light tomorrow morning. It was to be the family’s first vacation to Disney World and the young twelve year old was ecstatic, to say the least. She argued she didn’t think she could sleep a wink but her mother still insisted she try.

Sleep must have snuck up on her because the house was totally dark when the crash of splintering wood jerked her wide-awake. At first she thought she dreamt the noise, but as she sat up in bed wondering, sound of glass shattering came from somewhere downstairs, toward the front of the house. Then she heard the back door burst open.

She leapt out of bed and dashed to the bedroom door. Sarah remembered watching her mother ease it close and blowing her a goodnight kiss. Now she stood at the top of the stairs staring fearfully down into the darkness. Her parents’ room lay at the bottom of the staircase. Suddenly her father threw the door open, startling her. A shaft of light spilled from the bedroom throwing his shadow starkly against the opposite wall. He stared up at her wild-eyed for a second, and swiveled his head back and forth as chaotic sounds came from both ends of the house.

“Get back in your room and close the door, Sarah,” he hissed.

But before she could do as ordered something caught her father’s attention and he turned from her. He was a large man, strongly built, and his frame blocked the passage to the kitchen at the back of the house. Sarah took a tentative step down the stairs when her father must have noticed someone coming from the living room up front.

“What the dickens is going on?” her father shouted. “Who are you? What the hell do you want? You have no right—”

Everything seemed to happen at once.

Sarah’s mother appeared. Her face contorted with fear, her eyes snapping up at her young daughter. Sarah’s father braced himself as a figure charged at him out of the dark. As the two collided in a melee of swinging fists, another man joined the fray. He must have come from the kitchen.

Her mother screamed. Sarah screamed even louder. Her ear-piercing screech resounded in the house, now a scene of an ugly brawl.

“Get out. Now!” Father’s muffled command came from inside the tangle of bodies on the floor.

Sarah’s mother attempted to move to the stairs but a hand lashed out from the scuffle, seized her ankle, and brought her crashing down hard. The woman’s head struck the bottom hardwood stair with a dull crack. A trickle of blood seeped down her face as she stared up at Sarah in horror.

“Grab the kid.” The voice belonged to one of the house invaders.

A sudden thunderous roar rose out of the fighting and with herculean effort, father heaved himself up sending one of the strangers hurtling down the passage. The other pulled something dark and ugly from his belt.

An explosion filled the hallway. Sarah’s hands flew to her ears as she let out a long, high-pitch shriek. Her father toppled to the floor, but not before his shocked and sorrowful expression seared itself into the young girl’s mind.

She turned and bolted.

Toys and clothes littered her room but these she simply ran around or jumped over. She focused on her bedroom window—her only avenue of escape.

Her hands grabbed the wooden frame and, using all her youthful strength, she hefted the window up. Fear clutched her throat. She could barely make out the ground some twelve feet below. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Sarah held her breath, said a very short prayer, and flung herself into the night.

Judo and gymnastic lessons at school came into play and she tucked and rolled as she hit the ground. She sprang to her feet and ran straight for the forest bordering the family property.

Now, hunkered down and shivering from shock and fear, the girl was mesmerized by the sight of her home burning. Regarded as inquisitive by everyone who knew her, Sarah always had a question to pose. Even as her tears glistened in the glow of the fire her mind raced.

If the strangers were after her why hadn’t they simply come through her bedroom window? Why did they break into the house so savagely? And why, oh why, did they have to hurt her parents like they did?

A man emerged from the house. Instinctively Sarah froze; every muscle taut. Only her eyes moved. They followed the man as he walked the edge of the flames, his figure silhouetted against the fiery glare. He reached the area where Sarah’s bedroom used to be and stared at the conflagration. He glanced up as his partner came from around the rear of the house and joined him.

The two men stood for a long moment, gesturing at the fire and each other. Sarah guessed from their body language they were angry, probably at how the night’s events had turned out. One of the men looked down, fingers scratching his chin as if he were in deep thought. Suddenly his whole body stiffened and he dropped to one knee. He touched the ground with his fingertips and his head turned slowly as his eyes tracked a line of some sort.

His arm rose and pointed straight at the tree. Right where Sarah hid.

Fear seized her. She could not breathe. Cold sweat appeared along her hairline and trickled down her chest. Her stomach lurched and the sudden urge to vomit swept over her as bile boiled up her throat. She shot to her feet. She had to run, had to—.

A man blocked her escape. Someone she hadn’t seen before. He grabbed a handful of her hair.

“Gotcha, ya little minx,” he hissed close to her ear, and louder, “Over here, guys. I have the kid. She ain’t going nowhere.”


Lex Talionis
(An Eye For an Eye)
Kramer and Shadow Book 3
A woman out for revenge. America took her husband. America will pay
10,000 fold!

Only Kramer and his Anatolian Shepherd, Shadow, stand in her way. But
will they be enough to stop her?


It is rare for most people to experience the real meaning of ‘dead weight.’

It was equally strange for the thought to come to mind as Kramer muscled the man into a sitting position against a garishly painted door. It wasn’t the first time he’d needed to handle the dead. He studied his handiwork. For all intents and purposes, the figure appeared to be asleep.

Kramer surveyed the alley and the ancient balconies overhead checking for witnesses. No one. A last glance at his handiwork, then he slipped away from the scene.

He had to catch up with his target. The man he was following had entered the medina, or old walled city, of Tangier from the port and headed directly into the warren of alleyways. He was wearing white cotton slacks and a bluish grey lightweight jacket and a white fedora all of which made him somewhat of an easy figure for Kramer to tail.

Although his Global Security Corporation partners, Darci Tucker and his wife, Maria, hadn’t said as much when they pressured him gently into this assignment, Kramer was well aware that it was done out of their concern for him.

The flight from Los Angeles to London to Amsterdam had provided the retired United States Marine major more than enough time for circumspection and for the ugly truth to reveal itself. Losing his parents and his fiancée, FBI Special Agent Sarah Hunter, thirty months ago, had decimated Kramer’s life and left him intolerable company for anyone, especially his close friends. Darci and Maria needed a break from him as much as he needed a new focus and a chance to reprioritize his life.

So here he was in Tangier, Morocco, three weeks after leaving LA, tailing a man they suspected had ties with Shelley Harper—a woman at the top of INTERPOL’s ‘most wanted’ list as well as those of most governments worldwide. For Kramer though, the reasons for hunting down the elusive Harper were by far more personal than anyone else’s.

Ahead a shaft of sunlight snapped off a bluish grey jacket and white fedora. Kramer quickened his pace. A minute later he stood at the junction of four alleyways.

As he scanned the crowds strolling the centuries old terraced alleys, Kramer was oblivious of the many things the Moroccan port of Tangier offered travellers—the sense of exotic mystery, interesting history, beautiful vistas and unspoiled beaches.

One of his favorite movies, The Bourne Ultimatum, had used the medina for one of its glamorous backdrops but it hadn’t prepared Kramer for the spice-filled air with its intriguing aromas that permeated the ancient city.

He overheard a tourist enquire after Bab Haha from a street stall owner who waved a dark olive skinned arm at one of the intersecting alleys. Kramer instinctively glanced in that direction and happened to catch sight of his target. He lit out after Fedora.

Kramer’s situational awareness was as keen as ever but he couldn’t be certain that his unfortunate assailant had merely been a street thug or someone protecting Fedora. The assignment was supposed to be a simple task of arriving at an address in Cairo where GSC had been informed they would locate the fedora-wearing courier. From there all Kramer need do was to shadow the man to his next meeting and capture everything on video, upload the file to Maria at GSC headquarters in California and await further orders.

It all sounded simple enough. Right up to the point that joker jumped Kramer in the medina alley flashing a dagger. That part wasn’t in the script.

A gap in the buildings afforded him a glimpse of the ancient fortifications of the Tangier Kasbah that loomed over the medina. Moments later Kramer found himself standing before Bab Haha. It proved to be one of the several doors or gates that lead into the Kasbah.

Kramer glanced at the map to the left of Bab Haha that highlighted the walk tourists could take around the Kasbah. Overall, the ancient fortified area looked surprising small.

He spotted Fedora weaving through the populace and followed it. Houses lavishly decorated with sculptures of cherubs, colorful shutters and balconies flanked the alley that took him into the Place du Méchouar. He fended off the hordes that descended upon him begging for money or trying to sell something, dodged past the snake charmers and dancers, and skipped around gawking groups of tourists.

At first he Fedora intended to enter the Kasbah Museum but then he ducked through an unassuming door off to its side. The sign over the entrance welcomed Kramer in several languages to enter Les Fils du Detroit, helpfully translated underneath as The Sons of the Strait. He stepped in and found himself transported back in time.

The ten by sixteen feet room proved to be a tiny café. Several people, mainly locals, occupied the two narrow rug-covered bench seats that ran the length of the room. The walls were covered in Moroccan tapestries and numerous old framed photographs hung precariously above the patrons’ heads. A couple of circular, hand beaten bronze tables took some valuable space from the narrow floor and carried several small glasses of mint tea.

The customers paid scant attention to Kramer as he joined them. They continued sipping their hot drinks while a group of four elderly Arab-Andalusian musicians held a jam session at the far end of the room. The authentic melodies and ambiance recreated Morocco’s rich, cultural past.

Kramer accepted a glass of tea and whipped out a tourist guide from his back pocket. He pretended to read it, glancing occasionally at the musicians when, in fact, his focus was really on his target seated opposite.

The man was in his mid-30s, olive skin, lanky, sported a pencil-thin moustache, and wire-rimmed glasses that framed deep-set dark brown eyes. Thick black, wavy hair flowed from under the fedora and skimmed the collar of his jacket.

He leaned close to an older gentleman dressed in the traditional neutrally colored Moroccan djellaba; a long, loose, hooded garment with long sleeves. The craggy weather-beaten face was topped by a black bernousse, or Fez, and a silvery white beard completed the classical Arabic countenance. Both men were deep in conversation.

Kramer shifted slightly to align himself with his target. Once back in his hotel room he would upload the image and audio file from the second button on his shirt.

Darci Tucker, CEO of Global Security Corporation, had designed the ultra high-tech surveillance device. His wife, Maria, would work her digital wizardry to garner every bit of intelligence from it in order to create the next link in the chain that would hopefully lead them closer to Shelley Harper.

All three had a score to settle with the woman.


The advent of retirement opened a whole new world to me and now that it
has come to pass, I am turning my artistic bent from graphic design
and illustration to that of writing.
To date I have published three books, KILLING SOFTLY (an erotic mystery
thriller), and begun an action crime series centered on two
characters, Captain Kramer, USMC and his Anatolian Shepherd dog, Sgt.
Shadow, USMC. Book One of the series is THE PITS, Book Two is YOU CAN
RUN, and at the time of this bibliography rewrite, I am working on
The Kramer and Shadow series is an action, adventure, crime thriller
series that encompasses the world and has our two Marines fighting
hard against organized crime at many levels – but always involving
do-or-die confrontations.
My hope is to establish a fan base for my writing so that my readers can
have an active role in helping me grow and develop as an author in
the years to come. I invite you to join me in this adventure.


Posted in #Giveaway, Author, blog, Book, Serial Killer, Silver Dagger Scriptorium Tours, Thriller, Tour, Writer

A Secondhand Life b Pamela Crane – Book Tour + #Giveaway


A Secondhand Life:
(The Killer Thriller Series Book 1)
by Pamela Crane
Genre: A compelling serial killer thriller
**”A Secondhand Life” is a standalone psychological thriller
featuring characters also found in the companion novella, “A
Secondhand Lie.”**
2016 New Apple Literary Award in Psychological Thrillers, First Place Winner

2016 Reader’s Favorite Award in Thrillers, First Place Winner

2015 Library Journal selection

2016 Chanticleer Clue Awards nominee
2016 Silver Falchion Best Fiction nominee
A heart never forgets its last beat…
In a freak collision when she was twelve, Mia Germaine faced death and
the loss of her father. A heart transplant from a young murder victim
saved her life, but not without a price. Twenty years later, chilling
nightmares about an unresolved homicide begin to plague Mia.
Compelled by these lost memories, she forms a complicated connection
to the victim—the girl killed the night of Mia’s accident—due
to a scientific phenomenon called “organ memory.”
Now suffocating beneath the weight of avenging a dead girl and catching a
serial killer on the loose dubbed the “Triangle Terror,” Mia must
dodge her own demons while unimaginable truths torment her—along
with a killer set on making her his next victim.
As Mia tries to determine if her dreams are clues or disturbing
phantasms, uninvited specters lead her further into danger’s path,
costing her the one person who can save her from herself. More than a
page-turning thriller, “A Secondhand Life” weaves a tale of
second chances and reclaimed dreams as this taut, refreshing story
ensnares and penetrates you.

I didn’t wake up one morning and randomly decide to be a killer; rather, somewhere in the recesses of my soulless being, there it was—a primal urge for blood, for manipulating life and death. Yet all the while I was unable to control my own mind. I had become an animal.

I wasn’t always a murderer, as far as I know. Born with it, or raised into it? Nature versus nurture. The question of the day. One that has baffled therapists for decades. As one of the monsters they studied, even I had no answers. Picking apart my gray matter proved fruitless.

I never tortured cats, pulled the wings off of butterflies, or watched too much graphic news. In fact, I hated what television represented, what it took from us. It stole our youth, our time, our minds. Yet our lives revolved around it. So much power granted to one inanimate object. Perhaps I was jealous.

But jealousy didn’t mutilate my soul. Something else awakened within me over time, eroding my humanity to the point where I despised what society had become. Perverted. Impure. Corrupt. It was a shame what people had turned into with the help of a malevolent social order.

And I thought I was evil.

Look around you. Look at what people do behind closed doors. Neglecting their kids. Abusing their spouses. Drinking themselves into oblivion …

They’re the ugly ones, not me.

I was their savior.

So what exactly turned me into … this? I will probably never know.

But today I challenged all theories of humanity’s innate goodness as the girl’s limp neck hung in my hands, my dirt-stained fingers wrapped around her flawless pink flesh like a snake coiled around its prey. I hadn’t planned on squeezing until she vented a terror-stricken scream, potentially spooking the neighbours and sealing my red-and-blue-flashing fate. Reflexively my hands tightened their grip, summoning Death to take its victim.


A Secondhand Lie:
A gripping short story thriller
(The Killer Thriller Series Book 0)
**”A Secondhand Lie” is the companion novella featuring characters
also found in the full-length standalone thriller, “A Secondhand
Sometimes you know things you’re not supposed to know. Things that you can
never un-know. Things that will change the course of your life…and
the fate of the ones you love.
I found her in our living room, bleeding and close to death, but alive.
Barely. Until morning stole her last breath. The media called her
killer the “Triangle Terror” … and then forgot about her. But I
never forgot—my murdered sister, and an investigation that led to
my own resurrection from the dead.
Twenty-two years ago, on a cold February night, Landon Worthington lost his
father for the last time. After an armed robbery gone wrong, evidence
and witness testimony pointed a shaky finger at Dan
Worthington—deadbeat dad and alcoholic husband. But before the dust
could settle over the conviction, Landon’s preteen sister, Alexis,
is murdered in their home, plunging Landon’s life into further
Two decades and a cold case later, Landon is dogged by guilt over their
estranged relationship and decides to confront his incarcerated
father-of-the-year about what really happened the night of the
robbery. But the years of lies are hard to unravel. And the biggest
question of all haunts him: How does everything tie into his sister’s
And so begins Landon’s journey to piece together the puzzle of secrets,
lies, and truths that can free his father, avenge his sister, and
perhaps save himself.
Pamela Crane is a professional juggler. Not the type of juggler who can toss
flaming torches in the air, but a juggler of four kids, a writing
addiction, a horse rescuer, and a book editor by trade. She lives on
the edge (ask her Arabian horse about that—he’ll tell you all
about their wild adventures while trying to train him!) and she
writes on the edge. Her characters and plots are her escape from the
real world of dirty diapers and cleaning horse stalls, and she
thrives off of an entertaining tale.
She is the author of the best-selling psychological thriller “The
Admirer’s Secret,” Amazon top 20 short story “A Fatal
Affair,” and her latest releases “A Secondhand Life”
and “A Secondhand Lie.”
To pick up a copy of a FREE book, or to find out more about her chaotic
existence, visit her website at


Posted in Author, blog, Book, Silver Dagger Scriptorium Tours, suspense, Thriller, Tour, Writer

A Shadow Life by Leta McCurry – Book Tour + #Giveaway


A Shadow Life
By Leta McCurry
Genre: Thriller, Suspense
Run, Laney, run. That’s what Mama said she should do if something really
bad happened. What just happened is worse than Mama could have
imagined. Now Laney, terrified, covered in blood, and alone, is on
the run from the law.
Laney finds a way to hide in plain sight and builds a safe and near-perfect
new life. Safe and near- perfect, that is, until three people from
the past show up looking for revenge, redemption and love.

Laura Oakley

The Lost Chapter from A Shadow Life

By Leta McCurry

I’ll never forget the first time I saw Laura Oakley.

I was shot up and on fire with fever and pain, lying on a narrow bed in the war casualties ward of the Minnie Tapp Memorial Hospital in Dallas not long after the Armistice of 1918. The only thing I had on my mind was how to get somebody to put me out of my misery for good when I felt a cool hand slide under my head and raise me up. A cup of water touched my lips and a voice said, “Welcome home, soldier.”

I looked into a pair of brown eyes the exact color of Mama’s secret recipe chocolate cake. The kindness I saw there flooded my eyes with tears that dribbled down into stubble on my cheeks. Now, you might think a six-foot-four pig farmer from the Texas hill country would be too shamed to cry, but you would be mistaken. I tell you, after wading through body parts of men and mules in the Argonne Forest, with the blood of your dead friends thick on your face and filling your eyes so you can’t tell a Kraut from a tree, well, a few tears… they don’t amount to nothing.

When Laura leaned over me and brushed the hair back off my forehead with her fine pale hand, all of a sudden it seemed like life might be worth living after all.

Where are you from?” Her voice flowed over me, warm and sweet, like the honey that always covered my hands when I robbed the hive up in the old cottonwood at the farm.

Kendalia, down in the hill country.”

I love it down there, especially when the bluebonnets are in bloom.”

Yes, ma’am.” It was all I could think of to say. Laura smiled and moved on to the next soldier.

The man in the bed on my left didn’t know who he was or where he was but the man on my right told me Laura was a volunteer who visited the military ward every weekday. From then on, Laura was the reason I bothered to open my eyes every morning.

She was tall, taller than a lot of men, but you could tell she was strong even though her frame was slim. Her skin looked smooth and soft, the ivory color reminding me of the bit of Irish lace Mama had brought from Ireland and kept safe in her top dresser drawer.

All the men were in love with her, not because of how she looked but because of who she was. She had a gentle way about her that made you feel like you were special, and no matter how sick you were, you just knew you were going to be okay because Laura said so.

Laura stopped by my bed and talked for a few minutes every day, just like she did with the other men but I didn’t want to be lumped in with the other men. I wanted to be extra-special but I could tell Laura was a genteel, educated girl by how she talked and how she acted. She was so far above me, it was like she was the sun and I was a little petunia in Mama’s flower bed; I could feel the warmth of her shining but I’d never be able to touch her.

So I just watched as she moved among the hospital beds in the ward, stopping for a few words with everyone, squeezing the hand of a kid too young to be coming back from a war, writing a letter for a man who lost his arms, and always smiling. I held those few minutes she spent with me every day close to my heart and I still think it was Laura that speeded my recovery. Even though I understood all my yearning would come to naught, I lived in dread of the day I would be discharged and never see Laura Oakley again.

Then one day a miracle happened, though it didn’t feel like a miracle at first. Laura said “Hi” as she walked right past my bed without stopping to talk like usual. I didn’t know what to make of that and fretted and stewed all day. Then, a little before supper, she came back, pulled up a chair and sat by my bed. “So, Mr. Pig Farmer Milo French, what do you do down there in the hill country besides raise pigs? Do you have a wife and a passel of youngsters to keep you busy?”

Well, I tell you, I was so billy-whacked by this turn of events, it took me a few minutes to come to myself and say, “No, ma’am, just pigs, ma’am.” I felt like I was chewing my words way too much before spitting them out.

Laura laughed and took my hand between hers. “Call me Laura, Milo. Ma’am makes me feel like an old lady.”

Yes, ma’am…Laura.”

So, it’s just you and the pigs down there all by your lonesome?”

No. Mama and Papa are still there. But Papa is getting old. I’ll be taking over one day.” It made me proud, telling her that because it was not a small thing. My family had been pig-farming that land as long as anybody could remember and even longer.

You’ll have to tell me all about it.” Laura stood so the orderly could deliver my supper tray. “We’ll talk some more tomorrow.” She waved and walked away.

I lay awake most of the night trying to figure out what just happened. Maybe it was nothing. Just Laura being her usual kind self, but I really didn’t want to believe that.

I held my breath all the next day, waiting to see if she would single me out for special attention again. Sure enough, at the end of her shift, she rolled a wheel chair up to my bed and said, “You’re so much better, soldier, I have permission to take you down to the lounge. The orderly will bring your tray down there so you can have supper by the fire. That suit you okay?”

Yes, ma’am!”

Yes, Laura.”

Yes, Laura.”

My chest puffed way out when I saw the other men watching Laura wheel me out. If my leg wasn’t still so gimpy, I would have gotten up and danced. Laura wheeled me to a table in front of the fireplace in the lounge and sat across from me.

So, Milo, do you have brothers and sisters?”

No. I had an older brother who died as an infant and a younger sister who died of scarlet fever when she was nine.”

Oh, I’m sorry.”

I never knew my brother and I have trouble remembering my sister. I know I should but it gets harder all the time to even remember what she looked like.”

I never had brothers or sisters so I can’t imagine what something like that would be like. It must be hard.” She waited for the orderly to put my supper tray on the table then continued. “So you’ve lived all your life in … where is it?”


You went to school there?”

Yes. I went through the eighth grade at primary school just down the road from the house, but I had to take a bus to high school.” I laughed when I remembered what a dust-up me going to high school had been.

What’s so funny about riding a bus to school?”

Oh, it’s not that. It’s just that my Mama’s a sight to behold when she gets her dander up.” I buttered a biscuit and took a bite. “You see, boys in that part of the country don’t usually go to high school. Most drop out even before eighth grade to help on the farms. Papa thought it was stretching things for me to finish primary school, so when Mama decided I should go through high school, Papa thought it was time to put his foot down.”

What happened?”

Papa didn’t count on Mama pitching a hissy fit that could have set a pack of hound dogs to howling all the way over in Louisana.” I couldn’t help it; I laughed until tears rolled down my face, telling how Mama was so determined I finish high school. “So I ended up being just about the only boy in that part of the country with a high school diploma. I can’t tell that it makes any difference at all to the pigs but I’m glad to have it.”

Then I went quiet for a minute or two as I stirred the green beans around on my plate and thought how silly this probably all sounded to Laura. It was likely she had even gone to college. She seemed to know what I was thinking because she put her hand on mine and said, “Milo, don’t confuse intelligence with education. I can tell you have more natural intelligence than some men I know who have four years of college.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Nobody had ever said such a thing to me before. I just know that hearing her say it made me feel so good, like sinking down into the warmth of a feather bed on a cold night.

It wasn’t but a few days before I was out of the wheel chair and using crutches and we went down to the lounge every afternoon. Every night she would sweet talk the cafeteria into a tray for both of us so we could have supper together, then we’d sit by the fire having coffee and talking about anything and everything.

I couldn’t get enough of her. This was a real genteel girl, but she never made me feel she was better than me. Me, a pig farmer. We took to holding hands while we talked and she started staying later and later. Then she started coming in for a few hours on Saturdays just to see me. One Saturday afternoon she asked me, right out of the blue, “Have you ever been in love, Milo?’

No,” I said. “Not yet.” I didn’t tell her how I made a fool of myself over Prissy Calloway when I was thirteen and she was a grade ahead of me in school. I was so mortified when she chose to share her lunch bucket with Joe Bob Dorell instead of me, I figured that love business wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I expected I’d grow old by myself then drop dead someday, probably in the pig pen. That had all seemed like a fine idea until I met Laura so I had to ask, “Have you?”

Yes. Well, I think so. I was eighteen and he was twenty. Ryman’s father was a school teacher and Ryman was working to put himself through college. He was hired by our gardener and we got acquainted quite by accident. Then we started finding ways to spend time together. My father exploded when I told him I wanted to marry Ryman.” Laura stopped for a minute and looked at her hands in her lap. “I explained that Ryman was poor but he was working his way through college and wanted to be a lawyer. Father would have none of it. He said Ryman was most likely studying to be a gigolo.

We had a terrible row. I thought Mother would side with me but she didn’t. It wasn’t but a few days before Father called me into his study and showed me a cancelled bank draft for five thousand dollars with Ryman’s signature on the back. I never saw Ryman again.” Laura looked up at me and I could see tears shimmering in her eyes. She dashed them away with her fingers.

I have never forgiven Father or Mother for that matter. But, I will say, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve thought a lot about it. I don’t know if I loved Ryman or if it was the excitement of sneaking about and finding ways to spend time with him. Or it might have been just the excitement of defying Father. He has always ruled Mother and me with an iron fist. But, whether I loved Ryman or not, he broke my heart when he didn’t stand up to Father.”

I found myself quite pleased, not that she had her heart broke, but that she hadn’t married Ryman.

One night, it must have been after eight o’clock, this man in a funny uniform came into the lounge. It wasn’t a military uniform and he was a pretty old man. He stood by the door and said, ‘Miss Laura, excuse me, but we really should go.”

Laura sighed real big and said, “You’re right, Upton. Thank you.” Then she leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, winked and was gone.

I lay awake just about all night puzzling about who that man might be. I knew it wasn’t her daddy. And I was right. It wasn’t but a couple of days before I got to meet that gentleman and I can say I could have lived my whole life without the pleasure.

It was a Sunday. Laura generally didn’t come in to the hospital on Sunday and I was surprised to see her. She came in the morning and we walked down to the lounge. We got to spend the whole day together. After dinner from the cafeteria as usual, we sat by the fire holding hands, laughing and talking, and it got later and later. It must have been going on ten when that same man in the uniform came rushing in real nervous like.

He said, “Miss Laura, your…”

Before he could finish this really big man in a fancy suit with a fancy hat on his head pushed right in.

Laura!” The man didn’t shout but his voice cracked just like a rifle shot. It felt like the room shook and everybody in there looked up.

Laura stood up real quick like and said, calm as you please, “Father.”

He walked right up to us and said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

He grabbed her arm and I could tell he hurt her but she only said, “Why, I’m visiting with Mr. Milo French.”

Her father didn’t even look at me. He said, “I only agreed you could volunteer in this hellhole to keep the peace and because you said it would only be a few hours a couple of days a week. Now it seems you’re down here every day and until all hours.”

These men are coming back from war, Father, and my conscience dictates that I give whatever comfort and aid I can.”

He came right back at her and said, “I knew it was a mistake to let this get started. It ends tonight. It’s not proper that a girl like you is here at all hours consorting with riffraff.”

I tell you, Laura drew herself up and lifted her chin ‘til I thought her head must be touching the ceiling and she said in a cold voice, “I’ll have you know that Mr. French is not riffraff, Father. He happens to be a very fine pig farmer from an old Texas family in Kendalia.”

In that instant, I fell so in love with Laura Oakley, I didn’t know my name or where I was. I just knew I wanted to live out my life with this beautiful woman. Her father swelled up like a toad ‘til his face turned red and I thought he would have apoplexy right then and there.

He tightened his hold on Laura’s arm and said, ‘You will come with me this instant, Laura, and you will not come to this place again.”

I stood up. “Now, wait a minute…”

Laura shook her head at me and jerked her arm out of his grip. ‘I will come with you, Father, not because you order it, but to avoid a petty scene. I remind you that I am twenty-one now and not a scared eighteen year old. I shall return here if I wish.”

The old man snorted and mimicked her. “If you wish. Well, I’ve had about enough of your shenanigans and sass. You straighten up and behave or we’ll see how you fare if I cut you off without a dime. You understand me?”

I understand you, Father.” She leaned down and kissed me right on the lips.

The old man really grabbed her then and drug her, stumbling, toward the door, and her looking back over her shoulder at me. The sight of her walking out of that room felt just like when that sharpshooter’s bullet tore into me in France. My whole self just exploded into a million pieces and I knew I could never be put back together whole again. I knew it beyond doubt because, in that instant, I knew as sure as I knew my name that I could never have a life with that girl. Not because I didn’t love her, but because I did.

I didn’t have to go look at where she lived to know what it would be like. It would be a mansion. I had never seen her in anything but a nurse’s uniform but I understood that one of her regular dresses would cost more than I would earn as a pig farmer in a year. But it was a lot more than Laura being used to fancy houses, fancy clothes and fancy cars. She was used to going to fancy places with fancy people. The men she knew wore suits instead of coming in the back door every night stomping pig shit off their boots.

Laura could say intelligence and education weren’t the same as much as she wanted but she was used to talking with people who knew things. Sooner or later she would miss talking with educated people and she would start thinking I’m ignorant, which I am, of a lot of things.

So there was a lot of puzzlement going on in my head as that girl walked out the door. First, I had to think that maybe I was misreading her. Maybe she wasn’t having the same feelings as me. Maybe she was just being kind. Everybody could see that was just the kind of person she was.

The second thing I had to think on was maybe she was using me to get back at her father for running off the boy she wanted to marry when she was eighteen. Maybe she had really loved him and wanted to pay her father back by marrying somebody even worse than a school teacher’s son or she might just play me along until her father was really good and mad. But somehow, I just couldn’t swallow that pill, no matter how I tried to tell myself it could be. It just didn’t fit the Laura I loved.

The third thing was really the worst of all. Maybe she did love me enough to walk away from everything and marry a pig farmer. I know I loved her enough to do anything to be with her but what could I do? I only knew pig farming. It was who I was. Just like she was who she was, a smart, rich, beautiful girl who could have anybody she wanted.

I knew if she got carried away with loving me enough to marry me, the day would come when she would hate me. She would hate everything she thought she loved. Hate herself for loving me and hate me for letting her get herself into such a sorry life.

So, even if she did truly love me and was willing to marry me, I had to be the sensible one. I had to love her enough to let her go so that is what I did.

It had nothing to do with money, or her father cutting her off. I didn’t even know she was rich when I first started to fall in love with her. Besides that, I don’t want no man’s money but what I earn my own self.

So I put on my regular clothes and just walked out of the hospital late that night. I didn’t tell nobody I was leaving or where I was going. But I couldn’t bear being so far away from her, not just yet, so I went to one of my mama’s cousins just on the outskirts of Dallas. I stayed there a week or so until I thought I was strong enough to really walk away from her.

When I got home, back to Kendalia, there were two letters waiting from me. There was no return address on them but I knew they were from Laura. I lifted the lid on the cook stove in Mama’s kitchen and dropped them in. I knew I would be in more trouble than I could handle if I read them. But, the one thing I didn’t reckon on was how fierce Laura Oakley really did love me.

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a Thursday, the day after Christmas in 1918. Mama had rung the dinner bell and me and Papa had come in from the barn for the noon meal. I was about to set down at the table when we heard a motor then a car door slam out in the yard.

Now, who in the world could that be?” Mama said.

I’ll go see.” I opened the door and Laura was standing there.

I thought I loved her and wanted her so much every minute of every day that I had just conjured her up. But it was Laura all right. She put her arms around my neck and kissed me. Mama and Papa walked up behind me to see who it was and Laura said, “You all come with me.”

And we did. We rode in that fancy car driven by the man in the funny uniform over to Boerne, the county seat. We were married by a justice of the peace that afternoon.

If I had known what Laura’s love for me would cost her, I would have made her go back to Dallas that December day she showed up at my door.

That’s what I tell myself, but I don’t know if I could have really turned away from her a second time, even now, knowing what killed her. It wasn’t the snake coiled behind a jar of peaches on a shelf in the cool, dark cellar that hot summer day that killed her. It was her love for me, a love so strong it held her on that god-forsaken pig farm. That is what haunts me.

Tale-spinner. Revealer of secrets. A dog’s best friend. Cornbread and fried okra
country girl.
Lives in Southern Oregon and enjoys writing, reading, the open road on a
Stallion motorcycle (trike–as a passenger), good food, travel,
genealogy, and a large, fun-loving family. Favorite destinations:
Ireland and Singapore. Author of “High Cotton Country” and “A
Shadow Life” and presently writing her third novel, “Dancing to
the Silence.”
Leta says she loves the fascination of new characters and the fun of
getting acquainted with them and seeing what they will do as the
story develops.
Come on over to to read a free chapter. Sometimes free books, too.
Posted in #Giveaway, Author, blog, Book, Mystery, suspense, Thriller, Tour, Writer

Neil Brand Thriller Series by Ray Dyson – Book Tour + #Giveaway


The Ice Cream Blonde
A Neil Brand Thriller Volume 1
by Ray Dyson
Genre: Thriller, Mystery, Suspense, Crime
Neil Brand is a former World War I soldier and disgraced ex-cop, now
running security for Harry York at York Brothers Studio in 1931
Hollywood. York has a problem with bad boy actor Johnny Cutter, who
failed to show up on the set to finish his latest picture, and Brand
is sent to find the star. In doing so, Brand uncovers a trail of
white slavery, drugs, and murder, involving famous actors and wealthy
businessmen—and a dirty cop who was once Brand’s partner on the
force. As the body count mounts, Brand tries desperately to discover
the truth—before he becomes one of the victims.

Jones noticed and grinned wider. “Where’d you put the body, Bo?”

“Be a little clearer.”

“You know what I mean. I left that bruno as a warning to Johnny Cutter. Thanks to you, Cutter didn’t get the message. Now it’s too late to warn him.”

“Didn’t think a cake-eater like Johnny Cutter would scare you that much. You’re slipping, Jonesy.”

Jones stood away from the door, balancing himself on the balls of both feet. He dropped the cigarette on the floor and ground it with his heel, his eyes not leaving mine. His right

hand dipped into his coat pocket.

“That body shows up, Bo, I’m gonna tag it to you. Should’ve thought of that in the first place. But I didn’t come here to your cage to talk about a dead torpedo who only thought he was tough. I come to see a walkin’ corpse that knows he ain’t tough. Little Bo Peep. I just wanted to see your pan to tell you that what you got the other night is comin’ back to you, Bo, and you ain’t walkin’ away again.”

“You could have phoned that in and not brought your stink.”

His right hand came out of his coat pocket holding a snub-nosed .38 Special. He squeezed off a shot that shattered the glass in the window behind me, the slug tearing into the Stage One wall. He grinned at me, slipped the gat back into his pocket, and pointed his right index finger at me.


The Naked Nymph in the Dark Flickers
A Neil Brand Thriller Volume 2
Rachel Ann Maddon is about to become America’s next great movie star.
Adored by the camera, loved by her public, beautiful Rachel Ann has
it all, including a dark secret from her past that threatens to blow
up her promising future when her mentor and lover—a man old enough
to be her father—turns up dead. Did he fall or was he pushed? Or
did the bullet in him do the job? Either way, a homicide
investigation will be deadly publicity for Rachel Ann and her family.
Rachel Ann’s movie studio switches into high gear to protect her
teetering career, but then Neil Brand, the studio’s security chief,
uncovers a blackmail scheme over illicit sex films that threatens
other major motion picture stars. As the heat builds, the rich and
powerful scramble to get out from under. That’s when the bodies
begin to pile up.

Harless saw me and stepped to the doorway. He pointed at the black sheet. “I think that’s somebody you know. David Lemmert.”

“VanderSaant’s kid?”

“The same. I believe you’ve met.”

I shrugged. “Briefly.”

“Keep your hands in your pockets and come on in.”

Another figure wrapped in a black sheet slumped on the bed, head over the edge, arm dangling. It was a woman’s arm.

“Charlotte Lemmert?”

Harless nodded. “No gunshot wounds on either body. No marks of any sort that indicate something of a violent nature. Cabin undisturbed.”

“No one to hear. No one to see.”

“That’s right,” he said. “Looks like David Lemmert managed to get the cabin door open before he dropped dead. We found a snub-nosed Smith and Wesson .38 Special with a full chamber on the floor beside him.”

I frowned. “One cabin?”

“Adjoining cabins. Figures out to around two grand for the trip.”

“That’s a lot of kale. I had the hunch these two were on their uppers.”

“Any idea how they bought it?”

“We’ll know more when the coroner gets them.”


“Same one you got. It ain’t hard to figure.” He eyed me stonily, went on. “What we don’t have are any witnesses. We can pin it down pretty solid. Looks like they bought it late last night. Ship was to sail this morning and it was a pretty busy place last night. You could probably have slipped a marimba band on board without it being seen.”

“You’ve got people to see, Frank. Why bring me down here?”

“Might be the people we want to see belong to your pal Harry York in one way or another. Thought I’d give you a heads up.”

“I’ll tell you this, Frank. Harry no longer cares about any of them. There’ll be no interference. No stall. No more payoffs.”

He nodded. “I figured that since we got access to Metcalf and to the Maddon doll without strings it was shaking out that way.”

“I figure I’ll be seeing some of those people in the course of business.”

“Go ahead, Neil. At least one of them already knows we’re on our way.”

Ray Dyson first took up writing in Evansville, Indiana, far enough back
that not only is the house he was born in no longer there, neither is
the street. He had a short career as a baseball player, but a long
career as a newspaperman whose gigs included crime reporter, sports
reporter and sports editor. He is also a noted Western historian. He
is the author of the baseball book, Smokey Joe: A Baseball Fable, a
tale of legendary pitcher Smokey Joe Hood. That book, and Bannon: The
Scavenger Breed, involve members of the Bannon family: Joel Patrick
the main character in Bannon, and his grandson, Henry Louis Bannon,
an outfielder in Smokey Joe. His mystery novel, The Ice Cream Blonde,
set in the Hollywood of the early 1930s, follows York Studios
security chief Neil Brand as he solves the murder of a famous movie
star mixed up in blackmail and white slavery. His latest Neil Brand
tale, The Naked Nymph in the Dark Flickers, about a rising movie star
caught up in a treacherous blackmail scheme that turns to murder, is
now available. He lives in Mansfield, Ohio, with his family. In
retirement, he works even harder on his golf game, but with less
Posted in #Giveaway, Author, blog, Book, Dystopian, Fantasy, Fiction, Horror, SciFic, Silver Dagger Scriptorium Tours, Thriller, Tour, Writer

Never Say Die by Stevie Kopas -Book Tour + #Giveaway


Never Say Die:
Stories of The Zombie Apocalypse
by Stevie Kopas
Genre: Dystopian, SciFi, Fantasy, Thriller, Horror
Family, friends, lovers…
Those are just a few examples of the strong bonds that hold humanity
together. But when the dead begin living, and the living start to
die, who will remain connected, and who will be torn apart?
Never Say Die: Stories of The Zombie Apocalypse, explores how different
relationships are put to the ultimate test when the end of the world
comes crashing down around them.
Some will live, some will die, but one thing is for certain: Some bonds
don’t break.
Years after the zombie outbreak decimates the population, Jack’s
sister is mysteriously taken. Will he be able to find his sister, or
better yet, once he finds her, will he be able to accept what she has
and Elena:
The morning of an estranged couple’s divorce is
about to get a lot more stressful when a mysterious illness turns out
to be more dangerous than anyone expected. Will the two be able to
set their differences aside before their journey’s end?
After a terrorist attack, civilization crumbles when a
lab-created virus infects over half the world’s population. Dr.
Henrick Kennedy has found the vaccine in his sixty-third patient, a
former infected, but his intentions are anything but good. Graham, a
lonely janitor, has fallen in love with the imprisoned Patient 63.
But is love enough to save the world, or will love be the means to
its end all over again? (Previously released in At Hell’s Gates,
Volume 2: Origins of Evil)
A little girl is given a vaccine to protect her from the impending
zombie apocalypse, but when things don’t go as planned, Rosie and
her mom must find a way to escape their home and make it to the
evacuation zone alive. The human race may depend on it.
A troubled young man makes the decision to end his life, but when the
dead come back to life and his city is overrun, Trevor has suddenly
found the will to live again, only this time he realizes he has a
found a new purpose in life: Revenge.
Stevie Kopas was born and raised in Perth Amboy, New Jersey. She is a gamer,
a writer and an apocalypse enthusiast. Stevie will never turn down a
good cup of coffee and might even be a bit of a caffeine addict.
Stevie is the author of The Breadwinner Trilogy. Books 1 and 2, The
Breadwinner and Haven were originally self-published in 2013 and
2014. The Breadwinner Trilogy was picked up by Permuted Press in May
of 2014 and the second editions of both the first books were released
in March and April of 2015. The third and final installment in The
Breadwinner Trilogy, All Good Things, debuted in May of 2015. In June
of 2015 The Breadwinner was the number one bestselling dystopian
novel on Amazon.
Her fourth book, Never Say Die: Stories of The Zombie Apocalypse, was
released in May 2016.
Kopas also participates in the At Hell’s Gates horror anthologies and all
profits are donated to the Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund. Her short
stories, Nefarious, Patient 63, and Spencer Family Tradition can be
found in the first three volumes of At Hell’s Gates.
She currently resides in Panama City Beach, Florida and tries to spend as
much time as she can soaking up the sun.
Stevie is also the Managing Editor of the website Horror Metal Sounds and a
writer for the site. Offline, Stevie is a telecommunications
Posted in #Giveaway, Author, blog, Book, Murder, Mystery, Silver Dagger Scriptorium Tours, Thriller, Tour, Writer

Deadly Eyes by Michael Meyer – Book Tour + #Giveaway




Deadly Eyes:
A Caribbean Murder Mystery
by Michael Meyer

Genre: Murder Mystery, Thriller


Romance, mystery, and murder in the Caribbean…
When Cuff and Rosie, laid-back lovers on their idyllic Caribbean paradise of St. Croix, are just beginning to move their relationship to the next level, they suddenly find themselves entangled in the crosshairs of an unknown stalker whose relentless pursuit knows no bounds. Now, with their lives on the line and time running short, they know they must act fast or they will die.
If you enjoy mysteries set in exotic locales, then don’t miss DEADLY EYES with its “fast paced action coupled with the mesmerizing and intense suspense.” (Marilou George – The Kindle Book Review)

From the author who takes you from boisterous Munich to the burning sands of Saudi Arabia in COVERT DREAMS.
Semifinalist for the Best Indie Books of 2012 award.

Goodreads * Amazon * B&N * Kobo


These were not naked eyes, for the distance between these eyes and the
beach bar at Cathy’s Fancy was too great for the naked eye to discern
who was who. No, these eyes had planned meticulously. The eyes were
glued to a pair of terribly expensive and unbelievably powerful
Swarovski Optik binoculars. The balcony on which they now worked, taking
in the scene before them, was the perfect place to see but not be seen.
The powerful binoculars saw to that.

The distance, the palm trees, and the rays of the sun all helped. The
position had been hand picked, after careful consideration. Every angle
had been considered, and, one by one, they had all been discarded for
one reason or another until this very spot, the perfect place to observe
while not being observed, had been selected.

Yes, the eyes had seen it all. The eyes had seen precisely what they had
hoped to see. They were like a master puppeteer. They planned,
controlled, and observed, but from a safe distance. They did not miss a

The eyes. The deadly eyes of St. Croix.



Michael Meyer is the author of mysteries, thrillers, humorous fiction, and non-fiction: Love and romance, laughter and tears, thrills and fears.
He has resided in and has visited many places in the world, all of which have contributed in some way to his own published writing. He has literally traveled throughout the world, on numerous occasions. He has lived in Finland, Germany, Thailand, Saudi Arabia (where COVERT DREAMS – INTERNATIONAL SUSPENSE COLLECTION BOOK ONE – is set), and the U.S. Virgin Islands (where DEADLY EYES – INTERNATIONAL SUSPENSE COLLECTION BOOK TWO – is set). He gained the wanderlust to see the world, to experience other cultures, at an early age, and this desire has never left him. If anything, it has only gained in intensity as he has aged.
Among the many unique things that have happened to him in his world travels, he has walked the streets of Istanbul with a detective, searching for a pickpocket who got him good. He has ridden on the back of a motorcycle in Tehran while the driver, who spoke not one word of English, pointed out all the sights to him. He has wrestled an Iranian soldier who tried to break into his hotel room in Tehran. He has had the paint completely stripped from his car as he drove across Saudi Arabia in a sandstorm. He has stood on the stage of a busy nightclub in Tokyo, singing “She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain When She Comes” to an audience feeling no pain from the Sake they were drinking. He has been chased by a family of mongooses (yes, that is the correct spelling) on the idyllic Caribbean island of St. Croix. And that is just the beginning of his long list of worldly adventures.
As a recent retiree from a forty-year career as a professor of writing, he now lives in Southern California wine country with his wife, Kitty, and their two adorable rescue cats.
SPECIAL NOTE: COVERT DREAMS has recently received a Compulsion Reads endorsement. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Compulsion Reads, this company specializes in reviewing and endorsing those novels that meet its quality standards based on the fundamental qualities of good storytelling. Many books that the company reviews don’t earn their endorsement, so this is a pretty big deal.

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