Monday, April 30, 2012
Bad Luck Officer
by Suzie Ivy (known as Princess Cop to her grandchildren)
Against all odds, at age forty-five, Suzie Ivy graduated from the police academy. Now, her life as the first female officer in Small Town, Arizona begins. From pink handcuffs to a shotgun named The Rock (Rock Hudson), life in Small Town will never be the same. Bad Luck Officer takes you for a joy ride as Suzie works her first two “cop” years on the streets. Bulls, bad guys and humor will get her through the career of her dreams and prove, dreams really do come true.
This is the true-life adventure of a woman faced with a midlife crisis and empty nest syndrome. There are no tears in baseball but there are hidden tears in law enforcement when Suzie Ivy is on the case. Her expandable baton is bigger than your bat.
by Bill Cokas
“Interesting,” Ruby nodded, grateful for some geographic information. “What region?”
“Bad Sulzbach,” he said. “It must be very small—I couldn’t find it anywhere on my map.” He jerked a thumb at the far wall, on which hung a massive topographic map of central Europe, with Germany more brightly colored than the surrounding countries.
“Any other names or references that would help us narrow down the writer?” she said, turning to the next page of notes.
“Not that I could see,” Konrad said. “If you ask me, she wanted your client to know about where he came from, but not how to get there.”
“Well, Konrad, that makes about as much sense as skid marks in a urinal,” Ruby said in a scolding tone.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Eternal Destiny - Book 2 (Second book in The Ruby Ring Series)
by Chrissy Peebles
Sarah stared up at millions of tiny, twinkling stars. “I’ve never seen so many stars in my life.”
“I could lose myself here in this place,” Victor said, gripping her hand tightly.
“Me too. It smells like the air after a heavy rainstorm, fresh and crisp.”
A great waterfall tumbled down towering, steep canyon walls. Everything gleamed under the silver moonlight. In the soft, swirling mist, a geometrical formation in the air caught her eye. A giant, stunning arc of opalescent light and bands of pastel hues appeared in the droplets of moisture, spreading across the falls like some kind of giant banner. She couldn’t stop staring; there was something magical and mystical and addictive about nature’s perfection, her fragile beauty. “A glowing rainbow…at night?”
Victor wrapped his arm around her. “It’s called a moonbow. It has to be a clear night with dark skies, lots of waterfall mist, and a full moon that rises over the granite walls.”
She smiled and snuggled against his chest. “It’s breathtaking.”
“It’s very rare,” he said. “It happens only a few days a year.”
“Wow. I can’t believe we’re actually witnessing it.”
Victor leaned in against her. “Maybe it’s a glorious sign that we’re meant to be together for all eternity.”
She grinned as he placed a soft kiss on her lips. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s go in for a dip.”
His mouth opened to speak, but before he could refuse, she grabbed his hand and started pulling him into the cool pool of water.
“Sarah…” he said.
“What? Are there hungry fish with big, sharp teeth that’ll eat us?”
“No, it’s completely safe, but this isn’t something royalty does.”
“Are you forbidden from spontaneity, Highness? From having a little fun?”
by Susan Wingate
ONE - SPEIDER: The E is Silent
Super human kid by night, regular high school teenager by day. I’m a junior. Well, next year.
My name is Susie Speider. The E is silent. My name is NOT pronounced speeder. For crying out loud. We are not a family of racers. Sheesh.
My problem? There are two major-stager problems in my life. My meds, for starters. They say I'm ADD. Yeah. Like, so, I concentrate on the moment du jour. What's wrong with that?
Then, there's the issue with my grades. They suck. And, my teacher, Ms. Morlson. She hates my guts! She holds my going or not going to the U in the palm of her cold calloused clammy hands.
(This is a pic of me. The QUEEN of dorks). But, with the new glasses my mom got me and my new meds, maybe I can improve over the next two years enough to bring my grades up to pass with something decent.
The problem? With these new glasses now I look like a short amorphous geeky version of the svelte coolamundo Morticia from the Addam’s Family but not in a good way and certainly not with her way cool clingy clothes. Plus, with my braces, Lord, I look like the empress of geeks on planet Nerd-O-1.
An inexpressive warrior must find a way to bring fire to his home and his heart. May cause your kindle to combust. #Fantasy #Romance
City of Blaze
by H. O. Charles
She noticed how her footfalls reverberated around the tunnel while his did not. How did such a tall man walk with no sound at all? There must be something special about his boots, she decided. They reached the gate where Morghiad took the key from her hand, sending the usual flow of sparks and flame through her limbs. She still hadn’t quite become accustomed to it, and was increasingly frustrated at Morghiad’s utter lack of reaction.
“Stay.” He held his hand up at her and then proceeded through the gate. She could see through its iron rails that he was making straight for the cloak, now dangling limply from the cell door. The cloak shuddered and waved suddenly. It was still being held tightly by the prisoner, who was evidently proud of his prize and unable to pull it through the hole in the door. With startling speed, Morghiad snatched the prisoner’s arm and thrust it downwards. From beyond the cell door the arm’s owner screamed and released the cloak, which Morghiad caught neatly. The prisoner withdrew his arm into the cell door, whimpering quietly. Upon silent feet, the kahr returned to Artemi with the reclaimed cloak and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she uttered. Then, “Did you break his arm?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
“Probably. You’d better hope they don’t talk.” He locked the gate, gave her the key and walked on. The man was inhuman! Did he have no sensibilities at all? What was to stop him from snapping her neck if she angered him? She decided to keep a little more distance behind him.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
by James G. Bruen, Jr.
"Gentlemen," began Tony Underwood, "I believe one of us is a traitor."
The dimly lit room in the row house basement became eerily still. No one spoke. No one lifted a beer mug. No one cut a piece of cheese or pulled a chunk of bread off a loaf.
"Our potholes have been filled in three times during the last two weeks," Underwood continued eventually. "We dig them out again only to have them refilled the very next night. I believe one of us is trying to frustrate our plan to slow speeding cars. One of us wants to drive more than he values our neighborhood, so he's smoothing Oak Street. I've asked Joe Daniels and Ed Lacovic to stand sentinel tonight. They'll catch him."
"If we're all here except Daniels and Lacovic," asked Pete Ander, "how are they going to catch him?"
"And if one of us is a traitor," inquired Sean O'Reilly, "why did you tell us your plan to catch him? Now he knows your plan."
Stunned, Underwood slumped to the floor, mumbling, "I hadn't thought of that."
The first floor door to the basement flew open and slammed against a kitchen table. Shouts, muffled voices, and thumps on walls resonated from the stairway leading to the basement where the men turned as one towards the landing at the bottom of the stairway, straining to see who was causing the clamor.
A black-hooded figure stumbled from the landing, pushed into the gathering by two escorts who had hustled him down the stairs. He sprawled face down on the floor next to a bug-eyed Underwood. The other men sprung on the hooded figure; he struggled mightily but they pinned him quickly.
"Traitor!" exclaimed Underwood.
Agents of Change
by Guy Harrison
Protagonist Calvin Newsome is being interrogated after trespassing on school grounds with the ID of a teenage girl whose identity he earlier assumed...
“Read me her name, maybe that’ll help you remember.”
“I don’t know who she is.”
“I’m not. I—”
“Read the girl’s name. That's not a suggestion.”
I look the man in the eye and gulp before opening my mouth. “Jenny Cooper.”
“That’s right,” he says, nodding his head as he bites his lower lip. “Jenny Cooper. You remember what happened to her, don’t you?”
I shake my head.
“Found dead in Pennypack Creek three years ago. Blunt-force trauma to the head, cracked orbital bone, broken leg. Scuffmarks on her bike that made it look like an accident. Tell me; is that the price for saying no these days?”
“No!” I say. “You think I killed her?”
He shrugs. “The evidence doesn’t lie.”
I can feel my face radiating as my arteries and veins pound the walls of my neck. I damn near faint as I sit back in my chair, letting the detective’s words reverberate in my mind. I’ve been set up...by way of human error, I think. I don’t believe an organization as benevolent as the Agency of Influence would go to such elaborate lengths to see to it that Jenny Cooper’s death—which, by all accounts, appeared to have been a cold case—was pinned on me.
The detective clears his throat. “I’ll give you credit...the marks on the bike, the absence of DNA...you covered your tracks.”
“But it’s just an ID,” I say, my eyes fixed on the card instead of the man.
“Unless you have one helluva story, it’s all we need.” He leans forward and places his interlocked hands on the table. “C’mon. Just admit it.”
Monday, April 23, 2012
Kill Town, USA
by Joseph Love
From the doorway, we stared at a heavy woman with her arms tied by leather reins to the bed, her face pale and stained with blood. In fact, the whole room looked to have been sprayed with blood—streaked on the floor, puddled near a washbasin, and spattered across the wall and window. The front of her nightgown clung to her skin. But she writhed. She was alive. She twisted and contorted her body in the restraints. There was no noise except the rustling of the sheets. Her eyes open and lifeless, she must have turned several days ago. I couldn’t imagine the struggle to get her tied to the bed.
“She was ill a few days before she come out the room with a nosebleed. Worst I ever seen. When I tried to wipe it for her she bit me. Like I wasn’t—like she didn’t know me from anything.” Sewell unzipped his jumpsuit and revealed the wide bite mark on his shoulder. It had partially scabbed over and was deeply bruised.
Days Like These
by Jason Baldwin-Stephens
From there, his eyes moved to the TV and what truly constituted Randall’s portion of the room. It was almost spotless. There was no sauce on the wall. None on his desk and the TV still looked as if it was fresh out of the package. “Son of a...”
Ben stepped further into the room. The bottom two drawers of the dresser, his drawers, were open and his clothes were strewn about. He paid that little attention. Ben’s focus was on the TV; the precious TV.
He grabbed his chair, feeling his palms grate against dried sauce that would never completely wash off. He raised it above his head and squared himself in front of the television. If the room had been bigger he would have thrown the chair.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a rational voice reminded him that holding onto a metal and wooden chair while smashing it into a plugged in television was a bad idea. Ben didn’t care. All he wanted to do was destroy the only thing that Randall seemed to respect. It didn’t even matter if his computer was fine. The fact that Randall had gone out of his way to trash only Ben’s area of the room was enough to set him off. Even if it was in retaliation for Ben talking to the cops, something that Randall would have done without reservation had their roles been reversed, he didn’t care. He’d been avoiding his emotions regarding Randall for two months and the fact of the matter was that he had gone out of his way to accommodate the guy. All Ben wanted to do was to pass his classes and enjoy college.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Hearts True Flight
by D.K. Richardson
The birds came out of nowhere.
The airframe shuddered, the canopy shattered, and Bitching Betty starting screaming "Pitch up! Pitch up!" The warbling alert tone got louder and louder. Wind was howling around the cockpit! Feathers and blood smeared across the inside of the canopy, all over her and her visor - wiping the entrails off her helmet helped, but things were still blurry. Then she heard the one sound she did understand completely, one that scared her to death - bang, Bang, BANG! Compressor stall! The engines, tons of madly whirling, red hot metal, had been damaged!
John still hadn't reacted. Straining against her harness, she could just see his helmet - covered in blood and lying off to one side! "Oh my god, John!' She shouted before keying the intercom - John, John! JOHN!!' There was no answer.
The aircraft pitched up and started climbing - violently! Her headphones screamed "Engine overspeed! Engine overspeed!" One or both of the turbines were starting to come apart at the seams. "What do I do? What do I do?" she screamed. Then, suddenly, she felt - something, no someone. Next to her? Life shifted into slow motion.
Reaching out, she pulled the throttle control all the way to the rear - that stopped Betty - for now. Reaching up, almost without thought, she selected GUARD on the radio panel and calmly called - "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Vixen flight has bird strike, pilot unconscious. Mayday, Mayday, May"
Before she could finish, Betty interrupted - "Engine overtemp." screamed in her headset, then "Engine fire!" Burnthrough! Megan knew she had just seconds to live.
Pulling the command switch to "rear" and slamming the lanyard to her chest, she'd executed the boldface procedure for "Eject" perfectly.
The Son of Perdition
by Len du Randt
The man in Elijah’s seat said a prayer and, without saying anything else, he ate the food that Mary had prepared for Elijah. He then drank of the wine, and finally glanced at Mary with a look of satisfaction. He then looked at Malcolm and their eyes locked. Malcolm was certain that the man could see through his eyes and right into the very core of his soul. It could have been seconds, but to Malcolm it felt like hours had passed before the man finally spoke.
‘He is coming.’
The Messiah! ‘Who is?’ Malcolm asked as calmly as he could manage.
‘He is coming,’ the man repeated. ‘After a time of terrible sorrow, there shall be true peace at last.’
A violent gust of wind suddenly flung open a window, and it banged so loudly against the wall that Mary jumped and let out a little shriek. The wind instantly snuffed the candles. Only the Menorah Lamp’s faint light kept burning. Malcolm picked up the lamp and transferred the flame to the candles. Mary had, in the meantime, managed to close the window again, and as the tiny flame of a candle lit up the room, Malcolm’s eyes searched frantically for his children to see that they were safe. They were. He then looked at Mary who was fixing her hair as she sat down again. Finally, Malcolm directed his attention at the chair that the man had been sitting in.
It was empty.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Silver (The Silver Series Book 1)
by Cheree Alsop
I turned away, distracted, and a shoulder caught mine and shoved me into the lockers along the wall.
“Watch where you’re going,” a voice growled.
I looked up to see a student my age with jet black hair and dark eyes flanked by two stocky, younger students. The scent of werewolf wafted from all three of them. The student who shoved me took a step closer, then stopped; his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed.
“You better have a good reason to be here.”
I bristled at his tone. “My reasons are none of your business.”
His jaw clenched and he swung at me.
The years of practice with my father paid off; my body flowed through the motions without thought. I ducked under his fist and punched as I came up, catching him in the stomach. He doubled over with a gasp, and I slammed an elbow into his back. He fell to the floor with a grunt of pain.
Arms wrapped around me from behind and squeezed tight to pin my arms to my sides. The other student punched me in the stomach with a left, then a right. I broke the student’s hold and ducked, pulling his right arm over my head and behind his back. I wrapped my left arm around his throat and pulled up on his wrist. He yelped and squirmed. I pulled harder.
“Stop moving if you don’t want a dislocated shoulder,” I said quietly in his ear. He froze and his breath rattled in his constricted throat.
The black-haired boy struggled to his feet, his arms around his stomach. The other student hurried to his side with a hand out to help, but the boy hit it away.
The battle against pure evil begins. Friendships are betrayed. Rivals bond…and powers collide. #YA #Paranormal
by T.L. Clarke
Rosalinda’s face turned sickly green as she gagged. “Dios, they’re drinking their blood like vampires. Who are they?”
We looked at each other anxiously because we instinctively knew who they were, the Banished, the enemies of the Eternals and Elementi. Grossly deformed, they stood waiting with clawlike hands and reptilian tongues darting out, tasting the air as if searching for more victims to drain.
“We can’t just stand here. We have to do something.” Jessica’s voice was husky with emotion as she nervously rubbed her now-glowing scarlet pendant. Zora quickly pushed up her eyeglasses that fell familiarly to the tip of her narrow nose.
“Like what? Our scarlet pendants are not strong enough to conjure up ample magic to cast a strong spell to hurt them,” she said with frustration, “so logically, there is nothing that we can do, and fighting is not an option. We’re just not ready.” Rosalinda’s face looked green, like she was one step away from puking on the floor.
“In other words, you mean that we would end up dead like the rest of the Normals out there,” she responded coldly.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Spectacle - 16-year-old giantess and super-wild best friend look for love and a sense of okayness in the world #YA #Literary
by Angie McCullagh
THE DOCTOR’S OFFICE was stark. White paper crinkled under Emily every time she moved. In a rack on the wall were magazines, mostly for little kids: Highlights. My Big Backyard. Cricket. One Seventeen.
This doctor was a pediatric endocrinologist. Emily’s dad, who, unlike Melissa, found her staggering growth infinitely disturbing, had suggested the appointment. Melissa set it up and drove Emily downtown.
The doctor talked to Melissa about things like “bone age” and phalanges and cartilage. He was going to send Emily to the lab to have her hand X-rayed. From the X-ray, the doctor would be able to predict, to a certain extent, how tall Emily would grow.
She’d overheard a conversation between her dad and Melissa a couple weeks before, Emily standing at the top of the stairway while her dad said, “She’s going to lap me, M. Jesus Christ. My daughter’s an amazon.” There was silence then. Until he burst forth with, “We know she doesn’t have anything wrong with her pituitary gland, from what Dr. Watkins said when she was, I don’t know, nine or ten, but my God. What if she’s going to hit seven feet or something?”
Ever the optimist, Melissa said, “WNBA?”
Emily was scared of what the X-ray would tell them. She thought she’d rather not know where she’d end up. Kind of like she’d rather not have any inkling of the day she’d die.
Bookended By Beauty Queens
by Victoria Marshal
“If Anne’s apartment hadn’t burned you wouldn’t have been calling her to see how she was doing, would you?”
“No, but this is different.”
“Yes, if grandma were staying with Jess or Shay I would call to see how she was doing.”
Val folded his fingers together. “Then you should feel good about that.”
Angie felt sick to her stomach. She dropped her spoon on the table and wiped her fingers on a paper napkin.
“Well, I did until you put it that way.”
Angie sank down in her seat and shredded the edge of the napkin.
“You’re the middle child right?” Val asked.
“Then you should be used to this by now. Let me guess, you’ve always been the responsible one. Everyone always came to you with their problems because you’re close in age to your older sister and your younger sister.”
Val had hit the nail on the head. Angie had been the confidant for both Jess and Shay growing up. Not that she enjoyed the role; they forced it on her.
“So why are your panties in such a bunch?” Val gave her an exaggerated pout. “Feeling sorry for yourself?”
“Yes, damn it!” Angie slapped her palms onto the tabletop. “I have the right to feel sorry for myself every once in awhile.”
“Agreed,” Val said. “You go ahead and have your pity-party.”
Angie felt suddenly deflated. She’d expected an argument, or a pep-talk of some kind.
“Everyone gets twenty-four-hours to feel sorry for themselves.” Val glanced at the clock. “I’d say you have eighteen left, so wallow all you want. After that honey, go buy yourself a new dress, a new pair of shoes, or whatever you need to do to pick yourself back up. Then get on with your life.”
Monday, April 16, 2012
The Weeping Empress
by Sadie S. Forsythe
“Say Muhjah,” she said. “Why do you hate him so much? I felt a little sorry for him. He just seemed kind of unfortunate.”
Muhjah popped back up and demanded, “How can you ask me that? Look at the destruction his greed has caused.”
“I know, but why do you hate him so personally?”
“As a citizen, shouldn’t I?”
Chiyo looked at him. She saw the way his gaze darted about like some drunken sailor, and she started to laugh. She laughed so hard her sides ached, she couldn’t catch her breath, and Muhjah became uncomfortable.
“Muhjah, I gave you credit for something noble and good, but that’s not it is it? The emperor’s just convenient.”
Another peal of laughter broke free, and she doubled over with the force of it. Senka dried his face, sat down next to her, and beat her on the back.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said, waving him off. “Oh god, my stomach hurts.”
“I’m not all that fond of being laughed at,” Muhjah said. His tone was terse and threatening, but his body language was that of a scolded child.
“Don’t get upset. I like it so much better this way.”
by Amy Joy
The sinking feeling in my stomach renewed itself. The ancient stone building lookedthe same as I remembered, but the sixteen-foot barbed-wire prison fences aroundthe perimeter and guard shack by the drive reminded me that this was no longer Grant High School: Home of the Angry Bees.
A line had formed at the school entrance, and I looked ahead to see what the hold-up was. But given my size, I couldn’t see anything.
“What are we waiting for?” I asked the girl ahead of me.
She turned and I could see I wasn’t the only one who’d been taking this hard. Her eyes were swollen and her voice was tight as she answered. “I think they’re collecting papers.”
I started to rummage in my bag. Weeks ago I’d been given extensive paperwork to complete, and was told to bring a copy of my social security card and birth certificate.
The girl in front of me sniffed. I wanted to say something, but I kept quiet. Sometimes you just need to be alone to cry.
I watched as she tried to wipe the tears away, and I reached into my bag again,rummaging about until I came upon a pack of tissues. “Here,” I said, holdingthem out to her.
“Thanks,” she answered, accepting the pack. She wiped her face and blew hernose. “Sorry…I’m just…”
“No, it’s fine. Really, I understand.”
“I have a daughter, Charlotte,” she answered.
“Oh,” I said, surprised.
“How old is she?” It seemed like a nice enough way to make conversation.Apparently, it was not the right thing to say.
Tears started down her cheeks. “Five days.”