BOOK REVIEW: Strong Rain Falling by Jon Land


Review by Ryder Islington

This is one of the best police procedural/suspense/mystery books I’ve read in years. Mr. Land has done a great job of bringing characters to life, and for once, the good guy…er…gal…is truly good. Caitlin Strong is a Texas ranger, full of fire and ready to take out the bad guys…er…or gals…as need be. What a reborn concept–good and honest role models, full of integrity and strength. And though Caitlin is an excellent role model, she is also well-rounded and alive. I’d be proud to call her friend.

Below you’ll find a synopsis and an excerpt. Expect to be pulled in by a Texas ranger with a reformed convict for a boyfriend, and a hot temper for those who aren’t willing to stand up and do the right thing. She faces politicians, criminals and uncooperative bosses with disdain and manages to stay alive, and employed.  This is book is the fifth in the series, though it stands alone just fine. But I’ll be going back to read the first four books ASAP.

At the bottom of the post you’ll find a list of other sites where this book is being reviewed and showcased, and where Mr. Land may be doing more interviews. And some of those sites are giving away free copies, so check them out and put your name in the hats of different sites for your chance to win.

Strong Rain Falling

by Jon Land

on August 12 – September 30, 2013

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Forge Books
Publication Date: August 13, 2013
Number of Pages: 368
ISBN: 978-0765331502
Series: Caitlin Strong, 5 (Can be read as a Stand Alone)
Purchase Links:

Synopsis:

Mexico, 1919: The birth of the Mexican drug trade begins with opium being smuggled across the U.S. border, igniting an all-out battle with American law enforcement in general and the Texas Rangers in particular.

The Present: Fifth Generation Texas Ranger Caitlin Strong and her lover, former outlaw Cort Wesley Masters, both survive terrifying gun battles. But this time, it turns out, the actual targets were not them, but Masters’ teenage sons.

That sets Caitlin and Cort Wesley off on a trail winding through the past and present with nothing less than the future of the United States hanging in the balance. Along the way they will confront terrible truths dating all the way back to the Mexican Revolution and the dogged battle Caitlin’s own grandfather and great-grandfather fought against the first generation of Mexican drug dealers.

At the heart of the storm soon to sweep away America as we know it, lies a mastermind whose abundant power is equaled only by her thirst for vengeance. Ana Callas Guajardo, the last surviving member of the family that founded the Mexican drug trade, has dedicated all of her vast resources to a plot aimed at the U.S.’s technological heart.

This time out, sabotage proves to be as deadly a weapon as bombs in a battle Caitlin must win in cyberspace as well. Her lone chance to prevail is to short-circuit a complex plan based as much on microchips as bullets. Because there’s a strong rain coming and only Caitlin and Cort Wesley can stop the fall before it’s too late.

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER 1
Providence, Rhode Island
Caitlin Strong was waiting downstairs in a grassy park bisected by concrete walkways when Dylan Torres emerged from the building. The boy fit in surprisingly well with the Brown University college students he slid between in approaching her, his long black hair bouncing just past his shoulders and attracting the attention of more than one passing coed.
“How’d it go?” Caitlin asked, rising from the bench that felt like a sauna in the sun.
Dylan shrugged and blew some stray hair from his face with his breath. “Size could be an issue.”
“For playing football at this level, I expect so.”
“Coach Estes didn’t rule it out. He just said there were no more first year slots left in the program.”
“First year?”
“Freshman, Caitlin.”
“How’d you leave it?” she asked, feeling dwarfed by the athletic buildings that housed playing courts, training facilities, a swimming pool, full gym and the offices of the school’s coaches. The buildings enclosed the park-like setting on three sides, leaving the street side to be rimmed by an eight-foot wall of carefully layered stone. Playing fields took up the rear of the complex beyond the buildings and, while waiting for Dylan, Caitlin heard the clang of aluminum bats hitting baseballs and thunks of what sounded like soccer balls being kicked about. Funny how living in a place the size of Texas made her antsy within an area where so much was squeezed so close.
“Well, short of me growing another four inches and putting on maybe twenty pounds of muscle, it’s gonna be an uphill battle,” Dylan said, looking down. “That is, if I even get into this place. That’s an uphill battle too.”
She reached out and touched his shoulder. “This coming from a kid who’s bested serial killers, kidnappers and last year a human monster who bled venom instead of blood.”
Dylan started to shrug, but smiled instead. “Helps that you and my dad were there to gun them all down.”
“Well, I don’t believe we’ll be shooting Coach Estes and my point was if anybody can handle an uphill battle or two, it’s you.”
Dylan lapsed into silence, leaving Caitlin to think of the restaurant they’d eaten at the night before where the waitress had complimented her on having such a good looking son. She’d felt her insides turn to mush when the boy smiled and went right on studying the menu, not bothering to correct the woman. He was three quarters through a fifth year at San Antonio’s St. Anthony Catholic High School, in range of finishing the year with straight “A”s. Though the school didn’t formally offer such a program, Caitlin’s captain D. W. Tepper had convinced them to make an exception on behalf of the Texas Rangers by slightly altering their Senior Connection program to fit the needs of a boy whose grades hadn’t anywhere near matched his potential yet.
Not that it was an easy fit. The school’s pristine campus in historic Monte Vista just north of downtown San Antonio was populated by boys and girls in staid, prescribed uniforms that made Dylan cringe. Blazers instead of shapeless shirts worn out at the waist, khakis instead of jeans gone from sagging to, more recently, what they called skinny, and hard leather dress shoes instead of the boots Caitlin had bought him for his birthday a few years back. But the undermanned football team had recruited him early on, Dylan donning a uniform for the first time since a brief stint in the Pop Warner league as a young boy while his mother was still alive and the father he’d yet to meet was in prison. This past fall at St. Anthony’s he’d taken to the sport again like a natural, playing running back and sifting through the tiniest holes in the defensive line to amass vast chunks of yardage. Dylan ended up being named Second Team All TAPPS District 2-5A, attracting the attention of several small colleges, though none on the level of Brown University, a perennial contender for the Ivy League crown.
Caitlin found those Friday nights, sitting with Cort Wesley Masters and his younger son Luke in stands ripe with the first soft bite of fall, strangely comforting. Given that she’d never had much use for such things in her own teenage years, the experience left her feeling as if she’d been transported back in time with a chance to relive her own youth through a boy who was as close to a son as she’d ever have. Left her recalling her own high school days smelling of gun oil instead of perfume. She’d been awkward then, gawky after growing tall fast. Still a few years short of forty, Caitlin had never added to that five-foot-seven-inch frame, although the present found her filled out and firm from regular workouts and jogging. She wore her wavy black hair more fashionably styled, but kept it the very same length she always had, perhaps in a misguided at-tempt to slow time if not stop it altogether.
Gazing at Dylan now, she recalled the headmaster of his school, a cousin of Caitlin’s own high school principal, coming up to her after the victorious opening home game.
“The school owes you a great bit of gratitude, Ranger.”
“Well, sir, I’ll bet Dylan’ll do even better next week.”
The headmaster gestured toward the newly installed lights. “I meant gratitude for the Rangers arranging for the variance that allowed us to go forward with the installation. That’s the only reason we’re able to be here to-night.”
She’d nodded, smiling to herself at how Captain Tepper had managed to arrange Dylan’s admission. “Our pleasure, sir.”
Now, months later on the campus of an Ivy League school in Providence, Rhode Island, Dylan looked down at the grass and then up again, something furtive lurking in his suddenly narrowed eyes. The sun sneaking through a nearby tree dappled his face and further hid what he was about to share.
“I got invited to a frat party.”
“Say that again.”
“I got invited to a party at this frat called D-Phi.”
“D what?”
“Short for Delta Phi. Like the Greek letters.”
“I know they’re Greek letters, son, just like I know what goes on at these kind of parties given that I’ve been called to break them up on more than one occasion.”
“You’re the one who made me start thinking about college.”
“Doesn’t mean I got you thinking about doing shots and playing beer pong.”
“Beirut.”
Caitlin looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language.
“They call it Beirut here, not beer pong,” Dylan continued. “And it’s important I get a notion of what the campus life is like. You told me that too.”
“I did?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I let you go to this party, you promise you won’t drink?”
Dylan rolled his head from side to side. “I promise I won’t drink much.”
“What’s that mean?”
“That I’ll be just fine when you come pick me up in the morning to get to the airport.”
“Pick you up,” Caitlin repeated, her gaze narrowing.
“I’m staying with this kid from Texas who plays on the team. Coach set it up.”
“Coach Estes?”
“Yup. Why?’
Caitlin slapped an arm around the boy’s shoulder and steered him toward the street. “Because I may rethink my decision about shooting him.”
“I told him you were a Texas Ranger,” Dylan said, as they approached a pair of workmen stringing a tape measure outside the athletic complex’s hockey rink.
“What’d he think about that?” Caitlin said, finding her gaze drawn to the two men she noticed had no tools and were wearing scuffed shoes instead of work boots.
“He said he liked gals with guns.”
They continued along the walkway that curved around the park-like grounds, banking left at a small lot where Caitlin had parked her rental. She worked the remote to unlock the doors and watched Dylan ease around to the passenger side, while she turned back toward the hockey rink and the two workmen she couldn’t shake from her mind.
But they were gone.
CHAPTER 2
Providence, Rhode Island
“What’s this WaterFire thing?” Dylan asked, spooning up the last of his ice cream while Caitlin sipped her nightly post-dinner coffee.
“Like a tradition here. Comes highly recommended.”
“You don’t want me going to that frat party.”
“The thought had crossed my mind, but I’m guessing the WaterFire’ll be done ‘fore your party even gets started.”
Dylan held the spoon in his hand and then licked at it.
“How’s the ice cream?”
“It’s Gelato.”
“What’s the difference?”
“None, I guess.
They had chosen to eat at a restaurant called Paragon, again on the recommendation of Coach Estes, a fashionably loud, lit, and reasonably priced bistro-like restaurant on the student-dominated Thayer Street across from the University bookstore. Dylan ordered a pizza while Caitlin ruminated over the menu choices before eventually opting for what she always did: a steak. You can take the gal out of Texas, she thought to herself, but you can’t take Texas out of the gal.
“I hear this Waterfire is something special,” Caitlin said, when she saw him checking his watch.
“Yeah? Who told you that?”
“Coach Estes. What do you say we head downtown and check it out?”
* * *
They walked through the comfortable cool of the early evening darkness, a welcome respite from the sweltering spring heat wave that had struck Texas just before they’d left. Caitlin wanted to talk, but Dylan wouldn’t look up from his iPhone, banging out text after text.
They strolled up a slight hill and then down a steeper one, joining the thick flow of people heading for the sounds of the nighttime festival known as WaterFire. The air was crisp and laced with the pungent aroma of wood smoke drifting up from Providence’s downtown area, where the masses of milling people were headed. The scents grew stronger while the harmonic strains of music sharpened the closer they drew to an area bridged by walkways crisscross-ing a river that ran the entire length of the modest office buildings and residential towers that dominated the city’s skyline. A performance area had been roped off at the foot of the hill, currently occupied by a group of white-faced mimes. An array of pushcarts offering various grilled meats as well as snacks and sweets were lined up nearby, most with hefty lines before them.
The tightest clusters of festival patrons moved in both directions down a walkway at the river’s edge. Cait-lin realized the strange and haunting strains of music had their origins down here as well and moved to join the flow. The black water shimmered like glass, an eerie glow emanat-ing from its surface. Boaters and canoeists paddled lei-surely by. A water taxi packed with seated patrons sipping wine slid past followed by what looked like a gondola straight from Venice.
But it was the source of the orange glow reflecting off the water’s surface that claimed Caitlin’s attention. She could now identify the pungent scent of wood smoke as that of pine and cedar, hearing the familiar crackle of flames as she and Dylan reached a promenade that ran di-rectly alongside the river.
“Caitlin?” Dylan prodded, touching her shoulder.
She jerked to her right, stiffening, the boy’s hand like a hot iron against her shirt.
“Uh-oh,” the boy said. “You got that look.”
“Just don’t like crowds,” Caitlin managed, casting her gaze about. “That’s all.”
A lie, because she felt something wasn’t right, out of rhythm somehow. Her stomach had already tightened and now she could feel the bands of muscle in her neck and shoul-ders knotting up as well.
“Yeah?” Dylan followed before she forced a smile. “And, like, I’m supposed to believe that?”
Before them, a line of bonfires that seemed to rise out of the water curved along the expanse of the Providence river walk. The source of these bonfires, Caitlin saw now, were nearly a hundred steel braziers of flaming wood moored to the water’s surface and stoked by black-shirted workers in a square pontoon-like boat, including one who performed an elaborate fire dance in between tending the flames.
The twisting line of braziers seemed to stretch for-ever into the night. Caitlin and Dylan continued to follow their bright glow amid the crowd, keeping the knee-high re-taining wall on their right. More kiosks selling hotdogs, grilled meats to be stuffed in pockets, kabobs, beverages, and souvenirs had been set up above the river walk on streets and sidewalks. The sights and sounds left her homesick for Texas, the sweet smell of wood smoke reminding her of the scent of barbecue and grilled food wafting over the famed San Antonio River Walk.
Caitlin was imagining that smell when she felt some-thing, not much and not even identifiable at first, yet enough to make her neck hairs stand up. A ripple in the crowd, she realized an instant later, followed almost immediately by more of a buckling indicative of someone forcing their way through it. Instinct twisted Caitlin in the di-rection of the ripple’s origin and the flames’ glow caught a face that was familiar to her.
Because it belonged to one of the workman she’d glimpsed outside the hockey rink back at Brown University. And the second workman stood directly alongside him, hands pulling their jackets back enough to reveal the dark glint of the pistols wedged into their belts.

Author Bio:

Jon Land is the author of more than 30 thrillers, including the bestselling Caitlin Strong Texas Ranger series that includes Strong Enough to Die, Strong Justice, Strong at the Break, Strong Vengeance and, coming this August, Strong Rain Falling. This past fall he resurrected his longtime series hero Blaine McCracken in the E-Book Original Pandora’s Temple, which became a bestseller on both Apple and Amazon and was nominated for a Thriller Award as Best E-Book Original. A follow-up, The Tenth Circle, is slated for release in time for the holiday season. Jon’s first nonfiction book, BETRAYAL, meanwhile, was a national bestseller and was named Best True Crime Book of 2012 by Suspense Magazine. He lives in Providence, Rhode Island and can be found on the Web at jonlandbooks.com.

Catch Up With the Author:

Tour Participants

1.   8/13 ~ Interview & Showcase @ CMash Reads
2.   8/14 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Deal Sharing Aunt
3.   8/15 ~ Review @ Vics Media Room
4.   8/16 ~ Showcase @ The Book Divas Reads
5.   8/17 ~ Review @ A Date with a Book
6.   8/18 — Showcase @ Books4Tomorrow
7.   8/19 ~ Showcase @ Ginas Library
8.   8/20 ~ Interview, Review & Giveaway @ The Book Connection
9.   8/21 ~ Interview Lauries Thoughts and Reviews
10.  8/23 ~ Review & Giveaway @ I Read a Book Once
11.  8/26 ~ Showcase @ Read 2 Review
12.  9/03 ~ Showcase @ My Devotional Thoughts
13.  9/09 ~ Review @ Celticladys Reviews
14.  9/11 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Marys Cup of Tea
15.  9/12 ~ Interview @ Writers and Authors
16.  9/16 ~ Review & Giveaway @ My Cozie Corner
17.  9/18 ~ Books and Needlepoint
18.  9/19 ~ Showcase @ The Thrill of it All
19.  9/22 ~ Review & Giveaway @ The Stuff of Success
20.  9/24 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Deco MyHeart
21.  9/25 ~ Review & Giveaway @ The Wormhole
22.  9/26 ~ Guest Post @ Ryder Islingtons Blog
23.  9/27 ~ Review & Giveaway @ The Top Shelf
24.  9/27 ~ Review @ Ryder Islington
25.  9/27 ~ Showcase @ Hott Books

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GUEST POST: Jon Land, Author of the Caitlin Strong Series


THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY

            When I conceived Caitlin Strong, the female Texas Ranger who graces the pages of STRONG RAIN FALLING and four other books, I wanted to create a classic American hero from our country’s frontier heritage.  I wanted to make her flawed and a bit ambiguous, but ultimately I know she’d always end up shooting straight and doing the right thing.  To me great heroes are what make great books, particularly in the thriller genre.  Good guys (and gals!) we can relate to and root for.  In my mind that’s what it’s all about, in fact and fiction.

So why do we find ourselves so fascinated by dark heroes, anti-heroes and basically bad guys in both fiction and fact too.  I started thinking about this right around the time I heard somewhere that Jahar Tsnarnaev, the surviving Boston Marathon bombing brother, has something like 180,000 followers and friends on some fan site.  Then Rolling Stone magazine arrived in the mail with Jahar on the cover looking like a rock star because, well, maybe he is.

            And he’s not alone.

“Bad boys, bad boys, watcha gonna do, watcha gonna do when they come for you?”

When he wrote that, Bob Marley might well have been thinking of our society’s endless fascination with, and attraction to, bad guys.  We turn them into folk heroes, pop culture icons.  I was already thinking about this in the wake of the tragic passing of James Gandolfini.  His portrayal of Tony Soprano is one for the ages and will be with us forever.  Tony will be admired, envied, looked up to and even deified, in spite of the fact that he’s a brutal, two-timing, wife-cheating thug.  Even before Rolling Stone turned Jahar Tsarnaev into a rock star, he had already become a virtual (literally and figuratively) fan fave of those tween girls who are no more discerning, and perhaps strangely even less so, than their adult counterparts.  Our culture’s love of bad boys dates back to Jimmie Cagney movies advancing to Humphrey Bogart and, finally, the gangster era spawned by the Coreleone family in The Godfather, perhaps the greatest film ever made.

            The problem is how we extend the mythology from fiction into fact, seeing real life bad boys as saintly robin hoods or tortured souls instead of the brutal and irredeemable punks they usually are, ugly to the core.  Such a proclivity stems first from our almost inbred nature to worship the kind of power that mobsters possess.  They write their own rules, never wait in line in restaurants, never have to worry about how they’re going to pay the bills, can have the crap kicked out of anyone who crosses them.  We might not want to do what they do, but we still want to be as they are.  From that twisted perspective, they solve other people’s problems and never have any of their own.  The Boston gangster Whitey Bulger, for example, recently convicted for no less than nineteen murders, was known for distributing free turkeys to the poor on Thanksgiving and for fighting to keep drugs out of his native South Boston.  Yet neither of those was true.

            So what does it say about our collective psyche that we look up to and admire men like Tony Soprano in fiction and fact?  Well, basically we all need to believe in something—that we’re not powerless and that someday we’ll get the rewards we truly deserve.  We emulate the qualities in mobsters we see lacking in ourselves, even though this means overlooking the bad that comes with them.  Tween girls want to date Jahar because he’s hot and somebody that cute can’t possibly be guilty of murder; they can’t get past this bad boy’s looks any more than adults can get past the ability of bad men to command respect and have their rings kissed.  I don’t know what’s more chilling: that his fandom wants to save Jahar or the fact that they believe he can be saved.  The kid, dark brooding and gorgeous or not, put a backpack stuffed with a bomb in front of an eight-year-old boy, remember?  Juxtaposed against his outward beauty, the ugliness that lies within this kid becomes strangely, and sadly, ironic.

In the same courtroom where Jahar may himself appear, for weeks we couldn’t take our eyes off Whitey Bulger because he kicked the ass of anyone who opposed him even as he hoodwinked the FBI.  He was lots of things, but most of all he had the kind of power all of us inwardly crave.  Michael Corleone didn’t really want to become the Don, only wanted to do right for his family.  Tony Soprano could strangle an informant and meet up with his daughter an hour later to finish her college tour.  And you don’t want to mess with either, just like we don’t want anyone to mess with us.  We want to make people offers they can’t refuse, even if that means we have to be a little bit bad or ugly inside too, our reasoning just as skewed as those young girls wasting printer ink on love letters to a psychopath.

Would Rolling Stone have put Jahar Tsarnaev on the cover if he didn’t look like a Backstreet Boy?  Of course not, because that would’ve upset the paradigm of the brooding James Dean/Marlon Brando character recast as a Shakespearean Richard III type.  Jahar looks like he’s ready to be saved just like Tony Soprano always looks ready to kick somebody’s ass.

We want to believe there’s hope amid all the ugliness.  It’s in our natures to be optimistic and sometimes to idealize our moral lessers because they have the power to get away with not giving a damn.  But we shouldn’t look down for our heroes, we should look up to the likes of Caitlin Strong, James Lee Burke’s Dave Robicheaux or Lee Child’s wonderful Jack Reacher.  They actually care and at heart just want to make the world a better place.  We are richer for reading them or meeting those in real life who embody the same qualities that make them heroes.  There are plenty of them out there, in fact as well as fiction.

Jon

BOOK REVIEW: The Lone Wolf Agenda by Joseph Badal


Review by Ryder Islington
This is the first book I’ve read by Joseph Badal. It won’t be the last.  The fourth book in the Danforth Saga is full of international espionage, coupled with military action, enmeshed in the emotional drama that comes from dealing with life and death situations, including those close to home.
Bob Danforth is the leader of a clandestine organization of the U.S. government, designed to handle situations too politically hot to use the military. But this time, his son, Michael, a high-ranking officer in the U.S. army, along with his DELTA unit, must become involved in order to save hundreds, maybe thousands of lives. This is a fast paced suspense that keeps the reader guessing, and praying, and looking out our own windows with the expectation guns might be blazing on our own streets.
I’d love to write more, but I don’t want to include any spoiler, and besides, I have to go find books one through three of the Danforth Saga, and get to reading!
Below you’ll find more information on Joseph Badal and his book: The Lone Wolf Agenda. And if you leave a comment, your name will go in the hat for a chance to win a copy of this book! And at the very end of this post is a list of other sites where you can find interviews, other reviews, and articles on this author and his writing, and more chances to win.

The Lone Wolf Agenda

by Joseph Badal

on Tour dates

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Suspense Publishing
Publication Date: June 25, 2013
Number of Pages: 441
ISBN: 978-0615804507
Purchase Links:

Synopsis:

With “The Lone Wolf Agenda,” Joseph Badal steps back into the world of international espionage and military action thrillers and crafts a story that is as close to the real world of spies and soldiers as a reader can find. This fourth book in the Danforth Saga brings Bob Danforth out of retirement to hunt down lone wolf terrorists hell-bent on destroying America’s oil infrastructure. Badal weaves just enough technology into his story to wow even the most a-technical reader.

“The Lone Wolf Agenda” pairs Danforth with his son Michael, a senior DELTA Force officer, as they combat an OPEC-supported terrorist group allied with a Mexican drug cartel. This story is an epic adventure that will chill readers as they discover that nothing, no matter how diabolical, is impossible.

Read an excerpt:

James Sullivan watched the Bombardier Global 7000 aircraft slowly taxi away from the terminal and breathed in the heavy odor of aviation gas exhaust. Like ambrosia, he thought. He hooked the fingers of both hands in the chain link fence that separated him from the Santa Fe Airport tarmac and squeezed the wire as though to bend it. He gripped the fence so firmly to stop his hands from shaking. He always got the shakes at times like this, just as some men trembled at the prospect of sex and others shook when confronted by danger. But what was about to happen was better than sex and had nothing to do with fear. He shook out of satisfaction that he was about to finish a job that soon would result in the deaths of infidels.
The setting sun painted the plane’s white skin red, reflecting bloody shards of light off its windows. Sullivan knew it was time to go but he couldn’t tear himself away. Just another minute. He watched the plane turn to make its way to the runway; heat plumes from its twin engines swirled in the cold early evening New Mexico air.
Sullivan released his grip and flexed his fingers to encourage circulation. He removed his baseball cap, ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair, replaced the cap on his head, and walked to his white Chevrolet pickup truck parked near the terminal building. He took a suitcase and a canvas satchel from the pickup, carried them to his co-worker Renee Morales’s Saturn sedan parked two slots away. After he unlocked the Saturn with the keys he’d stolen out of Renee’s desk drawer inside the terminal, he got in, started the motor, and slowly drove away along the access road. Sullivan held the steering wheel tightly, first with one hand and then the other to ease each in turn from the pain he inflicted on them.
At the Santa Fe Bypass Road, he stopped for the red light, then turned right, watched his speed. After a couple miles, he took the entrance ramp onto southbound Interstate-25 and accelerated to the legal speed limit of 75 miles per hour. He let the heavy flow of commuters pass him on their way home to Albuquerque.
Five minutes later, at 3 p.m., Sullivan glanced right as he passed the Santa Fe Racetrack, just before the La Cienega exit, and noticed the glint of light that was the Bombardier jet climbing into the cloudless sky.The mood on the airplane was exuberant: Ten CEOs of energy companies were aboard, already well-lubricated with alcohol and enthusing about the three-day oil and gas industry retreat they’d just attended in Santa Fe.
Fifty-four-year-old Fred Zook, CEO of Premier Exploration & Development, leaned his bulk forward against his seat belt, fighting the rising aircraft’s G-force, and nodded at his long-time friend and fellow Yale University graduate, Jeffery Raines, the head of Farragut Oil, seated across from him.
“You as excited about this as I am?” he asked, raising his bushy eyebrows into two upside-down V’s.
Raines smiled and ran a hand over his bald head. “Enough to wet my pants. These oil shale and gas formations will not only make all of us even richer, they’ll also alter the geopolitical and economic universe.”
Zook opened his arms to include all of the plane’s passengers. “If we can keep this coalition together, and the environmentalists don’t kill the deal, and the tree huggers in Congress don’t ruin things, and the President doesn’t order his EPA to stop us . . ..”
Raines slowly wagged his head. “Yeah, there’s all of that. But the world is different now. The American people are fed up with decisions that do nothing but cost them more money at the gas pump and cost more in lives lost to war in the Middle East just to preserve our energy interests there.” He shrugged. “I’ve thought a lot about this. This is way more important than just profits. This is about our country’s survival. We need to make sure none of us ever forgets that.”
“Well said,” Zook replied. Then he laughed and added, “But there ain’t nothin’ wrong with profits.” From his aft-facing seat, he glanced out his window and shielded his eyes from the blazing sun, now a melon-red fireball. He was about to turn back to Raines when a flash of brilliant-white light drew his attention toward the ground.
“What the hell was that?” he blurted, pointing at the window.
“Oh my God! It’s the terminal building. An explosion.”James Sullivan was two miles past the La Cienega exit when the flash of light from the bomb in the airport terminal bloomed in his peripheral vision off to the northeast. But he concentrated on the horizon ahead, where he knew the corporate jet’s flight path would take it. He counted seconds with his fingers against the steering wheel, knowing the jet would soon reach an altitude of ten thousand feet — the level at which the altimeter triggering device would detonate the bomb he’d placed aboard.Fred Zook thought a prayer of thanks, while he looked into Jeff Raines’s startled, wide-eyed gaze. Then he thought how lucky he had been all his life, and raised his glass of scotch to clink against Raines’s glass, when everything in his consciousness suddenly fractured into minute particles.James Sullivan drove Renee Morales’s Saturn he’d taken from the Santa Fe Airport parking lot and dumped it in the Sandia Casino employees’ lot on the north side of Albuquerque. After he hotwired one of the cars there, he drove to his girlfriend’s apartment.
Sullivan guessed Susan Gaithers, a nurse who worked the night shift at a local hospital, would be asleep when he opened the door to her apartment at 4:30 p.m. They’d met in a club a week after he arrived in new Mexico. He told her he was starting law school at The University of New Mexico in the fall, swept her off her feet, and moved in a few days later. The arrangement had provided him with a roof over his head without having to go through the process of a background check associated with an apartment lease, or having to provide a credit card for a motel room. He used her telephone at will, not exposing his cell phone to possible eavesdropping. And Susan was a tigress in bed. All in all, not a bad situation. He was surprised when he walked into the apartment and found her crying; on the couch, telephone in hand. She wore a halter undershirt and bikini underpants.
“Oh my God!” she yelled. She rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck, and planted kisses on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Sullivan asked.
“Don’t you know? There was an explosion at the airport about an hour ago. Felicia from work just called and woke me up to tell me about it. She wondered if you worked today. I was just about to dial your cell when you walked in.”
“That’s awful,” he said. “I got off early today. I must have just missed the explosion.”
“Thank God!” she exclaimed. “Thank God!”
“You’re trembling, babe,” Sullivan said. “I’m okay.” He looked over her shoulder at the television and saw the results of the bombs he’d planted. He smiled, pushed her back so he could see her face. “It’s nice to know you care so much about me.”
“Care!” she said. “I don’t care about you, you idiot. I love you. Don’t you know that?”
“Of course I know that. I love you, too.” He kissed her lips and said, “You standing there with almost nothing on, looking sexy as hell, reminds me of one of the reasons why I love you.”
Susan smiled back at him. “You never get enough.”
“I’m just so damned happy to be alive; I can’t think of any better way to celebrate than making love to you.”
She took his hand and led him into the bedroom.
Sullivan was overwhelmed by her passion. She showed him in many ways how deeply she loved him. He thought for an instant what a shame it was to have to kill her.

Author Bio:

Joseph Badal worked for thirty-eight years in the banking and financial services industries, most recently serving as a senior executive and board member of a NYSE-listed mortgage REIT. He is currently President of Joseph Badal & Associates, Inc., a management consulting firm.

Prior to his finance career, Joe served for six years as a commissioned officer in the U.S. Army in critical, highly classified positions in the U.S. and overseas, including tours of duty in Greece and Vietnam. He earned numerous military decorations.

He holds undergraduate and graduate degrees in International Finance (Temple University) and Business Administration (University of New Mexico). He graduated from the Defense Language Institute, West Coast, and from Stanford University Law School’s Director College.

Joe serves on the boards of Sacred Wind Communications and New Mexico Mutual Insurance, and is Chairman and President of The New Mexico Small Business Investment Corporation.

Joe has had five suspense novels published, including Shell Game, which was released in 2012. His next novel, The Lone Wolf Agenda, will be released in June. He writes a blog titled Everyday Heroes. His first short story, Fire & Ice, was included in an anthology titled Uncommon Assassins, in 2012.

Joe has written dozens of articles that have been published in various business and trade journals, and is a frequent speaker at national business and writers’ events.

Catch Up With the Author:

Tour Participants

1.    8/02 ~ Interview @ Read 2 Review
2.    8/05 ~ Showcase @ Ginas Library
3.    8/06 ~ Showcase & Interview @ Lauries Thoughts & Reviews
4.    8/07 ~ Review & Giveaway @ The Top Shelf
5.    8/08 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Beagle Book Space
6.    8/09 Showcase @ J. C. Martin, Fighter Writer
7.    8/12 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Mad Moose Mama
8.    8/13 ~ Review @ Hotchpotch
9.    8/14 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Purple Penguin Reviews
10.  8/19 ~ Review & Giveaway @ My Cozie Corner
11.  8/20 ~ Interview @ Writers and Authors
12.  8/27 ~ Showcase & Interview @ CMash Reads
13.  9/03 ~ Showcase @ XmasDolly
14.  9/04 ~ Guest Post @ Omnimystery, A Family of Mystery Websites
15.  9/10 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Deal Sharing Aunt
16.  9/16 ~ Showcase @ Hott Books
17.  9/18 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Marys Cup of Tea
18.  9/23 ~ Review & Giveaway @ The Wormhole
19.  9/24 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Ryder Islingtons Blog
20.  9/25 ~ Showcase @ Books4Tomorrow

SHOWCASE: In The Shadow of Revenge by Patricia Hale


In the Shadow of Revenge

by Patricia Hale

on Tour September 1-30, 2013

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Suspense Published by: Carina Press Publication Date: July 15, 2013 Number of Pages: 280 ISBN: 978-14268-9584-5 Purchase Links:

Synopsis:

Everybody thought brilliant Cecily would leave dead-end Miller’s Falls for something better. But a two-decades-old tragedy locks her in place. Few understand the fierce bond that Cecily and Amelia share with Hilary, who was assaulted one summer as the two other girls watched helplessly. It’s a bond of love and guilt…and a desire for vengeance that cuts clear to the bone. So Assistant DA Cecily Minos waits, eager to see the guy in her courtroom. When Amelia meets a man who has the tattoo the girls remember seeing that day, they think they’ve finally caught a break. But the police refuse to reopen the case, and it’s up to Cecily and Amelia to pursue their suspect. Their investigation soon uncovers secrets best left buried. But the law is slow, and they’ve waited long enough for revenge…

Read an excerpt:

My lungs were tight as fists and the voice inside my head said run, but my legs couldn’t be trusted. Standing up wouldn’t have gotten me out of there, it would only have drawn attention to the pee that was warm in my shorts and it might have gotten Hilary killed if he was serious about running that blade across her neck. All of a sudden the man stood and keeping his back to us, lowered the kerchief and put a cigarette in his mouth. Hilary never moved though I saw her blink. She was looking at something far away like she was somewhere else entirely and I hoped that that was true so she wouldn’t have to know what happened. He pulled his baseball hat low over his face the same way it’d been when we first climbed into the railcar and without ever looking at us he jumped to the ground and walked away. “Stay here,” I’d told Amelia, though I knew she wasn’t going anywhere. And I ran. I ran faster than I’d ever run not even caring about the pee burning the inside of my legs. I’d taken the woods instead of the path, running in the opposite direction from the way he’d gone. My legs were scraped and bleeding by the time I’d reached the road and the stitch in my side had made it almost impossible to breath, but I just kept thinking of Hilary laying there and I couldn’t stop until I was pulling open my own back door. I ran into the kitchen and through the house until I found my mother kneeling beside her bed, rosary beads draped around her prayerful hands like a spider web. I stood in the doorway and looked at her, imagined wrapping my arms around her neck and her drawing me in, holding me. I imagined feeling safe. She glanced at me standing there then dismissed me with a nod of her head, knee deep in Jesus. I turned and ran for the telephone.

Author Bio:

Patricia Hale is a graduate of the MFA program at Goddard College in Vermont. She is a member of Sister’s in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, NH Writer’s Project and Maine Writer’s and Publisher’s Alliance. Her essays and articles have appeared in New England literary magazines and the anthology, My Heart’s First Steps. When not writing, she enjoys hiking with her dogs and kayaking on the lakes near her home. Patricia lives in New Hampshire with her husband and two German shepherds.

Catch Up With the Author:

Tour Participants:

1.   9/02 ~ Review @ SavingFor6
2.   9/03 ~ Review @ Hotchpotch
3.   9/04 ~ Interview & Showcase @ Lauries Thoughts and Reviews

4.  9/05 ~ Review @ I Read a Book Once
5.  9/06 ~ Review @ Teena in Toronto
6.  9/07 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Books and Needlepoint

7.  9/07 ~ Review & Giveaway @ My Home of Books
8.  9/09 ~ Interview, Review & Giveaway @ Reader Girls
9.   9/10 ~ Showcase @ Books, Beauty and Bodacious Deals

10. 9/11 ~ Interview @ Writers and Authors
11. 9/12 ~ Review @ Kritters Ramblings
12. 9/13 ~ Interview @ Kritters Ramblings

13. 9/13 ~ Showcase @ Marys Cup of Tea
14. 9/14 ~ Showcase @ Deal Sharing Aunt
15. 9/15 ~ Showcase @ The Stuff of Success

16. 9/16 Showcase @ Anne Patrick
17. 9/17 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Words by webb
18. 9/18 ~ Review @ Celtic Lady Reviews

19. 9/19 ~ Interview & Showcase @ The Reading Frenzy
20. 9/20 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Beagle Book Space
21. 9/20 ~ Review & Giveaway @ bless their hearts mom

22. 9/23 ~ Interview @ Omnimystery
23. 9/24 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Proud Book Nerd
24. 9/25 ~ Review @ Jersey Girl Book Reviews

25. 9/26 ~ Review & Giveaway @ My Cozie Corner
26. 9/27 ~ Showcase @ CMash Reads
27. 9/27 ~ Showcase @ Ryder Islingtons Blog

28. 9/28 ~ Review @ THE SELF-TAUGHT COOK
29. 9/29 ~ Review @ Bookalicious Traveladdict
30.  9/30 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Read 2 Review

Guest Post by Robert Stanek


I’m pleased today to welcome Robert Stanek as a guest on my blog. Robert Stanek is not only the talented author of more than 150 books for adults and children but someone who has been helping other writers ever since his first book was published in 1995.

Back in the early days of the Web, Robert created Writer’s Gallery, Internet Job Center and Internet Daily News to help other writers (archives at http://www.tvpress.com). These days Robert helps other writers by hosting some terrific writers groups, by blogging about writing-related topics, and through his Read Indie tweets on twitter.

On Facebook, Robert Stanek hosts one of the more popular groups for getting the word out about your promotions and free offerings. It’s called “Free Today” and you’ll find the group at https://www.facebook.com/groups/freet…. On Twitter, you can tweet using the hashtag #freetoday as another way to spread the word about your promotions and freebies.

Go Indie (https://www.facebook.com/groups/goindie/) is another terrific group for writers that Robert hosts on Facebook. Go Indie is a group dedicated to promoting indie authors, indie books, and indie booksellers. On Twitter, you can also use hashtag #goindie to spread the word about your books.

On Goodreads.com, Robert hosts the Read Indies group. Read Indies helps to provide a platform for writers to discuss their books and writing-related topics. Read Indies is at http://goodreads.com/group/show/88011.

Robert also writes the Read Indies Blog (http://readindies.blogspot.com/). The blog discusses many important writing-related issues and details many of the challenges indie authors face in gaining mainstream acceptance. Some of the more interesting posts:

Taking Your Work from Print to Film – http://readindies.blogspot.com/2012/1…

Selling Rights to Your Books – http://readindies.blogspot.com/2012/1…

Viewpoints on Rejection Letters – http://readindies.blogspot.com/2013/0…

Understanding Bestseller Lists – http://readindies.blogspot.com/2013/0…

Finding Success as a Writer – http://readindies.blogspot.com/2013/0…

You can learn more about Robert and his books at http://www.robert-stanek.com.

BOOK REVIEW: Reese’s Leap by Darcy Scott


Review by Ryder Islington

I wasn’t sure what this book was about at first. It starts with five women who get together every year for a week on Mistake Island, off the coast of Maine, where there is no electricity, no running water, and no phones. The point is for them to get out of the rat race and get back to nature.

But this time, one of the women invites her boyfriend to come for a few hours. He brings a friend with him: enter our male protagonist Gil Hodge, a botanist who just wants to spend a few hours in the trees. But then the fog rolls in, and no one is going anywhere.

And things only get worse with the appearance of yet another man, this one uninvited and rather icky. That’s a technical term: icky. Dirty. Pushy. Scary. You know…icky.

The author is excellent at delineating characters. Each woman is so unique that it’s easy to tell them apart. And the two men, David Duggins, the writer, and Gil Hodge, the botanist couldn’t be more different. And I’m not even going to get into the third man. I’ll leave him as a surprise for you.

The more I read, the faster I read, and by the last fifty pages, I couldn’t stop. This is a very good mystery, and is book two in a series, but stands alone so you don’t have to read book one first. But now that I know about it, it’s on my TBR list.

I’d recommend this book to mystery lovers, people who like to read women authors, those who like a tad of history in their books, and those who really enjoy reading interesting characters.

Reese’s Leap

by Darcy Scott

on Tour August – September 2013

Book Details:

Genre:  Mystery
Published by: Maine Authors Publishing
Publication Date: March 23, 2013
Number of Pages: 216
ISBN: 978-1938883347
Purchase Links:
Series: Island Mystery Series #2 – Can be read as a stand-alone
(You may also request/review #1 Matinicus)
Disclaimer:
Excessive strong language

Recently, Matinicus (prequel to Reese’s Leap) has won both the “Best Mystery,” 2013 Indie Book Awards and the Bronze Prize for Regional Fiction from the 2013 IPPY Awards!

Synopsis:

In this much-anticipated sequel to the award-winning “Matinicus,” five longtime friends—briefly freed from their complex lives for an annual, all-female retreat on Adria Jackman’s remote, 200-acre enclave of Mistake Island, Maine—are forced to put the partying on hold to host the hard-drinking, bachelor botanist, Gil Hodges, stranded there for what could be days.

A hopeless womanizer, Gil is secretly pleased at the layover, but soon finds Mistake’s deeply forested interior deceptively bucolic and the women a bit too intriguing for comfort, stirring both glorious memory and profound regret. When a diabolical stranger appears out of nowhere, insinuating himself into the fold to exact a twisted kind of revenge, it falls to Gil to keep the women safe, despite a dawning awareness that not everyone will make it off the island alive.

Read an excerpt:

I’m slow coming to in the early-morning stillness—arm slung over my eyes, something lumpy under my butt I only now realize has been digging in for some time. It seems I slept fully clothed, too—something I never do—but the damp chill beneath me makes even less sense, the fusty smell wafting from my bedclothes not quite the permeating fug of the hammock I’ve grown used to. I could crack my eyes and get a visual, I suppose, but that would involve prying the pasty things apart first—something that’s beyond me just now.The shamelessly chipper bird sounding off just above me and the dry whisper of field grass are what tip me off. The meadow. I spent the night in the fucking meadow.
My groan is of the just-how-big-an-asshole-did-I-make-of-myself variety, chased by the kind of creeping, morning-after dread I’ve come to know so well. I vaguely recall a bottle of tawny Port, unearthed by Adria from some secret stash of her father’s after everyone else had gone to bed—which was earlier than usual, thanks to the pall Brit and Pete cast over the evening. Just the two of us, then—well, three, if you count the bottle. Pure liquid ambrosia, if memory serves. No doubt I went a bit overboard. But it wasn’t the booze or the thought of another night crammed onto that miserable hammock that got me out here, I recall now, but the fear of what I might do about Nora’s tempting proximity while I lay in such a weakened and vulnerable state. Still, I’ve no clue how I managed it. Could have walked, could have flown, could have been wheeled in a barrow. But however I did it, I slept like the proverbial rock.No reason to get up now either, I figure—at least not ’til the mosquitoes find me. Another hour, I plead, rolling over, which is when I see Pete down on his haunches studying me, face not a foot from mine.“Jesus!” I bark, adrenaline powering my scramble to clear the sleeping bag I apparently dragged out here with me. “Don’t do that!”He cocks his head, rising to meet me as I stand. Not a good idea as it turns out, this standing business, considering the explosion of pain at the top of my head. At six-two, I’m five or six inches taller than this guy—something that would normally make me feel pretty good, only nothing feels good just now. My legs are so wobbly, it’s all I can do to remain vertical. I glance down at the cool breeze running over my left foot.
My sore, bare left foot.

Where the fuck is my shoe?

“Piece of advice,” Pete says, glancing toward the mountain, gaze flat and unreadable as he swings it back my way. Think Clint Eastwood’s slow burn, but with none of his style. “Right now we got no real beef, you and me. Keep out of this and it’ll stay that way.”

What this? There’s a this?

“Let me guess,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose against the vise slowly tightening at the top of my head, the forks carving out the backs of my eyeballs. The things I do to myself. “This is about your brother, right? What—you were too busy lobbing the n-word at Adria to hear her say she wasn’t around? That none of these chicks know anything about this?”

“They know,” he assures me. “Just not sayin’.”

“They—as in…”

“All of ’em, probably.”

Of course. Conspiracy among the conifers. I’ll have to remember to suggest this to Duggan for the title of whatever mystery or thriller he’s hoping to eke out of all this.

“Come on, man. You saw the looks on their faces—total fucking surprise.”

“Brit said they come out here every year—same women, same week in July.”

Good old Brit. “I wouldn’t know.” Nor do I care. Once around with this shit’s more than enough for me; besides, I desperately need to keep the sun from hitting my retinas just now. Shades, I think. I pat my pockets.

“Earl was killed the week they were here. July 21st.”

“July 21st what?”

“Day he died.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” I say, carefully lowering myself to rummage in my
rucksack for those miserable Maui Jims. Sliding them on makes things marginally better, but mincing my way back to my feet brings stabbing pains from the sole of the shoeless one. Man, it hurts. What the hell did I step on, anyway? Glass, rock—what?

“So, okay,” I say, cranking the foot up stork-like to peer at the dried brown goo stuck to the bottom. Mud? I wonder, hopping awkwardly to stay upright. Blood? “Say you’re right, and he was here. Doesn’t mean they knew he was here.” Gently probing the most tender places for lacerations, protruding foreign objects. “If Adria even suspected he was camping on the island, she’d have booted his ass off. You’ve seen the way she is about this place.”

“Earl don’t listen to nobody when his mind’s set. Kind of his trademark.”

More of that unremitting Eastwood gaze, which is frankly starting to piss me off. Out of nowhere, another piece of yesterday slips along the edge of my mind—something weird about the timing of all this. And then it hits me. If Earl died two years ago, why’s this guy just turning up now?

“You were in prison when it happened.” Pure hunch, of course, but it fits. Explains why he seemed so hinky from the start, that vague whiff of what I now recognize as recent and intimate acquaintance with Maine State Corrections. I do the mental math, take a stab. “You and Earl were sent up together; only he got out early. Drugs would be my bet. That or a juicy little B&E.”

“Fuck them bastards. Bullshit’s what it was. Lousy pot bust. My second time, so the judge bumped me a couple extra years.”

“So Earl gets out, comes here to revisit the old stomping grounds, and ends up dead.”

“I knew there’d be trouble, what with me not around to keep him in line. It was me always looked out for him.”

“Plus, you landed him in jail. What a bro. But hey, at least you knew where he was; there’s that.” Screwing with him like this probably isn’t smart, but I’m still kinda punchy, and I need to piss. Besides; I really, really, really don’t like this guy.
Pete cocks his head.

“This funny to you?”

Fucking hilarious, actually, only it’s fast becoming clear that leaving Adria et al alone while a deluded nut like this is wandering the island wouldn’t be smart. There’s my conscience to consider, what’s left of it anyway. “So you got sprung—what—a month ago? Two?”

“Sat in that shitty jail two years knowin’ he’d been murdered, countin’ the days ’til I got out.”

“Accidents happen, pal. You’ve seen the cliffs out here—dangerous as hell in the wrong conditions.”

“Earl never went near them cliffs. Hated heights. No, somethin’ happened out here. I’m gonna know what and I’m gonna know why. I owe him that. You bein’ here just complicates things.”

“Yeah, well, only person leaving the island is you,” I say, trying to sound all bad-ass as I fight the urge to toss my cookies. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He considers. “Your decision. Things been put in motion. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” A smirk as he nods toward the sleeping bag. “Nice.”

I glance down, following his gaze. A faded field of blue dotted with yellow and pink flowers, the darker hue of a minimally sullied ball gown and white-gloved hands—all this capped with the lemon yellow orb of Cinderella’s hair, her face lit with a saccharine smile. A little girl’s sleeping bag, I realize. Swell.

“So here’s what you do,” he says. “You and the other girls have a meetin’. You explain how things are gonna get really ugly, really fast, if I don’t find out what went down.”

With that he trots back into the brush like something out of The Last of the Mohicans—all that bouncy action enough to set my eyeballs aching. What the fuck was in that bottle, anyway?

Nothing for it but to head to the house and fill Adria in, come up with some kind of plan.

After I find that fucking shoe.

Author Bio:

DARCY SCOTT is a live-aboard sailor and experienced ocean cruiser who’s sailed to Grenada and back on a whim, island-hopped through the Caribbean, and been struck by lightning in the middle of the Gulf Stream. Her favorite cruising ground remains the coast of Maine, however, and her appreciation of the history and rugged beauty of its sparsely populated out-islands serves as inspiration for her Maine Island Mystery Series, which includes 2012’s award-winning “Matinicus” and the newly released “Reese’s Leap.” Book three, “Ragged Island,” is currently in the works. Her debut novel, “Hunter Huntress,” was published in June, 2010 by Snowbooks, Ltd., UK.

Catch Up With the Author:

Tour Participants

1.    8/01 ~ Showcase @ The Book Divas Reads
2.    8/02 ~ Showcase @ Ginas Library
3.    8/03 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Savingfor6
4.    8/04 Showcase & Giveaway @ Books4Tomorrow
5.    8/05 ~ Showcase @ CMash Reads
6.    8/06 ~ Review @ Hotchpotch
7.    8/07 ~ Interview @ Omnimystery, A Family of Mystery Websites
8.    8/08 ~ Interview & Excerpt @ Lauries Thougths
9.    8/10 ~ Showcase @ Lavender & Camomile Press
10.  8/12 ~ Showcase @ Hott Books
11.  8/13 ~ Interview @ Writers and Authors
12.  8/14 ~ Showcase @ The Stuff of Success
13.  8/15 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Deal Sharing Aunt
14.  8/16 ~ Showcase & Interview @ My Devotional Thoughts
15.  8/20 ~ Showcase @ XmasDolly
16.  8/23 ~ Review & Giveaway @ a lovely shore breeze
17.  8/27 ~ Review & Giveaway @ My Cozie Corner
18.  8/28 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Book2Buzz
19.  8/30 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Beth Art From The Heart
20.  9/04 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Read 2 Review
21.  9/12 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Marys Cup of Tea
22.  9/13 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Book Dilettante
23.  9/16 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Ryder Islington’s Blog
24.  9/19 ~ Showcase @ Bookalicious-Travel Addict
25.  9/26 ~ Review & Giveaway @ Cabin Goddess