by Liliana Hart
But there was hope in healing. And when he healed and opened his heart, she had a feeling he’d find what he’d been missing all along.
The End
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Discover the Liliana Hart MacKenzie Family Collection
Rush
A MacKenzie Family Novella
by Robin Covington
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From Liliana Hart’s New York Times bestselling MacKenzie family comes a new story by USA Today bestselling author Robin Covington...
Atticus Rush doesn’t really like people. Years in Special Ops and law enforcement showed him the worst of humanity, making his mountain hideaway the ideal place to live. But when his colleagues at MacKenzie Security need him to save the kidnapped young daughter of a U.S. Senator, he’ll do it, even if it means working with the woman who broke his heart …his ex-wife.
Lady Olivia Rutledge-Cairn likes to steal things. Raised with a silver spoon and the glass slipper she spent years cultivating a cadre of acquaintances in the highest places. She parlayed her natural gift for theft into a career of locating and illegally retrieving hard-to-find items of value for the ridiculously wealthy. Rush was the one man who tempted her to change her ways…until he caught her and threatened to turn her in.
MacKenzie Security has vowed to save the girl. Olivia can find anything or anyone. Rush can get anyone out. As the clock winds down on the girl’s life, can they fight the past, a ruthless madman and their explosive passion to get the job done?
Bullet Proof
A MacKenzie Family Novella
by Avery Flynn
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“Being one of the good guys is not my thing.”
Bianca Sutherland isn’t at an exclusive Eyes-Wide-Shut style orgy for the orgasms. She’s there because the only clue to her friend’s disappearance is a photo of a painting hanging somewhere in Bisu Manor. Determined to find her missing friend when no one else will, she expects trouble when she cons her way into the party—but not in the form of a so-hot-he-turns-your-panties-to-ash former boxer.
Taz Hazard’s only concern is looking out for himself and he has no intention of changing his ways until he finds sexy-as-sin Bianca at the most notorious mansion in Ft. Worth. Now, he’s tangled up in a missing person case tied into a powerful new drug about to flood the streets, if they can’t find a way to stop it before its too late. Taking on a drug cartel isn’t safe, but when passion ignites between them Taz and Bianca discover their hearts aren’t bulletproof either.
Delta: Rescue
A MacKenzie Family Novella
by Cristin Harber
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When Luke Brenner takes an off-the-books job on the MacKenzie-Delta joint task force, he has one goal: shut down sex traffickers on his personal hunt for retribution. This operation brings him closer than he’s ever been to avenge his first love, who was taken, sold, and likely dead.
Madeleine Mercier is the daughter of an infamous cartel conglomerate. Their family bleeds money, they sell pleasure, they sell people. She knows no other life, sees no escape, except for one. Maddy is the only person who can take down Papa, when every branch of law enforcement in every country, is on her father’s payroll.
It’s evil. To want to ruin, to murder, her family. But that’s what she is. Ruined for a life outside of destroying her father. She can’t feel arousal. Has never been kissed. Never felt anything other than disgust for the world that she perpetuates. Until she clashes with a possible mercenary who gives her hope.
The hunter versus the virgin. The predator and his prey. When forced together, can enemies resist the urge to run away or destroy one another?
Deep Trouble
A MacKenzie Family Novella
by Kimberly Kincaid
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Bartender Kylie Walker went into the basement of The Corner Tavern for a box of cocktail napkins, but what she got was an eyeful of murder. Now she’s on the run from a killer with connections, and one wrong step could be her last. Desperate to stay safe, Kylie calls the only person she trusts—her ex-Army Ranger brother. The only problem? He’s two thousand miles away, and trouble is right outside her door.
Security specialist Devon Randolph might be rough and gruff, but he’ll never turn down a friend in need, especially when that friend is the fellow Ranger who once saved his life. Devon may have secrets, but he’s nearby, and he’s got the skills to keep his buddy’s sister safe…even if one look at brash, beautiful, Kylie makes him want to break all the rules.
Forced on the run, Kylie and Devon dodge bullets and bad guys, but they cannot fight the attraction burning between them. Yet the closer they grow, the higher the stakes become. Will they be able to outrun a brutal killer? Or will Devon’s secrets tear them apart first?
Desire & Ice
A MacKenzie Family Novella
by Christopher Rice
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Danny Patterson isn’t a teenager anymore. He’s the newest and youngest sheriff’s deputy in Surrender, Montana. A chance encounter with his former schoolteacher on the eve of the biggest snowstorm to hit Surrender in years shows him that some schoolboy crushes never fade. Sometimes they mature into grown-up desire.
It’s been years since Eliza Brightwell set foot in Surrender. So why is she back now? And why does she seem like she’s running from something? To solve this mystery, Danny disobeys a direct order from Sheriff Cooper MacKenzie and sets out into a fierce blizzard, where his courage and his desire might be the only things capable of saving Eliza from a dark force out of her own past.
Discover the World of 1001 Dark Nights
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Bundles
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Blue Box Specials
Rising Storm
Whiskey on the Rocks
Addison Holmes Mysteries
By Liliana Hart
Part of the Red Sole Clues Anthology
Coming March 22, 2016
Click here to pre-order.
I’ve seen a lot of male genitalia in my life.
Okay, maybe not a lot. But I’ve seen a few in real life, and I might have seen one or two in a dirty movie Nick and I rented a few months back. I wasn’t impressed by the movie genitalia. All I could think was that those poor girls must get a lot of urinary tract infections.
And if I’m being honest, male genitalia is not the most attractive thing on the planet, even when it belongs to someone like Nick, who has very impressive attributes and knows just what to do with them. I’ve always thought male dangly bits looked something along the lines of a forlorn Snuffaluffagus—a little sad, a droopy trunk, and tufts of hair sprouting from every which direction.
My name is Addison Holmes, and there’s a reason genitalia is at the forefront of my mind. I’m a private investigator at the McClean Detective Agency. By the grace of God and hot fudge sundaes, I’d somehow managed to pass all portions of the exam that allowed me to carry the laminated license with my photo on it, as well as the pink-handled 9mm I kept in my Kate Spade handbag. I’d bought the Glock and the handbag out of the trunk of Louis Bergman’s Cadillac when I’d gone home to Whiskey Bayou for the holidays. He’d been running a two-for-one special.
A fat lot of good the handbag and Glock were doing me now though. It would look a little foolish to be carrying an almost genuine Kate Spade around a nudist colony, and carrying concealed wasn’t really an option. The best I could do was hide my Glock under a towel in the beach bag I carried.
I was uncomfortable enough standing on the pier in the buff with Rosemarie and Aunt Scarlet at my side. A three-thousand
dollar camera hung around my neck, leaving a very interesting tan line down the center of each of my boobs from the strap. I’d been pretending to take pictures of seagulls for the last fifteen minutes, when in fact, I was trying to take pictures of Elmer Hughes, a man whose Snuffaluffagus was approximately a hundred years old and looked like it suffered from elephantiasis.
“Lord, would you look at the testicles on that man,” Aunt Scarlet said. “They’re the size of oranges. How do you think he keeps from sitting on them?”
“You think he’s had implants?” Rosemarie asked. “I’ve heard plastic surgeons down here make a killing on senior citizens. People get to a certain age and then want to discover the fountain of youth.”
“And testicular implants are supposed to make you look younger?” I asked skeptically, trying to zoom in on Elmer.
“Everything droops when you get to be my age,” Scarlet said. “We always associate tighter with youthfulness. Instead of getting the implants, he should’ve given those puppies a facelift. They almost hang all the way to his knees.”
Elmer was down on the beach under one of the umbrellas, sunning on a lounger topside up, making sure his oranges got plenty of sun. I could barely get a decent shot of the tattoo on his arm, and even with the full zoom and focus of the camera, it was still difficult to make out. Age hadn’t been kind to Elmer Hughes.
“I thought about getting my lady parts tightened up a bit,” Scarlet continued. “They call it vaginal rejuvenation, if you can believe that. I haven’t had anything rejuvenating down there since the time I walked through Wally Pinkerton’s yard and all the sprinklers came on.
“Umm—” I said, for lack of anything better.
“I was going to get rejuvenated because a couple of years ago I thought I might be getting some action, and I wanted everything to look as if it just came out of the factory. But the fellow up and died on me before we could get all hot and bothered. Take my advice, Addison. Never let a man die when they’re laying on top of you. Thank God he was wearing one of those medic alert buttons around his neck, because I never would’ve been able to push him off to reach the phone.”
I was in a complete state of Zen. Or it could have been the Xanax I’d taken with my mojito at lunch. There was no other way to survive being naked with two people I had no desire to be naked with, or listen to the conversation we were currently having without it.
“It’s probably best you opted out of the surgery,” Rosemarie said. “Sharon Osbourne said it was excruciating.”
“Ehh, I don’t have much feeling left down there anyway,” Scarlet said with a shrug. “I’ve stopped holding out hope.”
“You’ve just got to wait for a man who’s big enough to make things seem not so loosey goosey down there.”
Since Scarlet had just celebrated her ninetieth, I was thinking finding that particular man might be a challenge.
“I’m going to have to get closer,” I said, hoping this would distract them from the conversation.
“Look,” Rosemarie said. “Those loungers right next to him just came open. Lets get them before someone else does. You should be able to take plenty of pictures from that angle.”
I sighed and let go of the camera so it hung around my neck. I wanted to say there was something freeing about standing completely naked on the pier, the wind tousling my hair and the sun beating down on my bare skin, but I’d be lying. I pretty much felt just like I had during middle school—awkward posture due to not knowing what to do with my body, awkward hair that frizzed in humidity no matter how much I straightened it, and awkward friends that pretty much guaranteed a lot of time standing next to the punch bowl at school dances.
I’d had my nether regions freshly waxed for this occasion and my body was still in pretty good shape from back when I’d passed the physical fitness portion of my P.I. exam. I maintained the physique by doing hot yoga one day a week and occasionally watching a Jillian Michael’s DVD from the couch. She scared the crap out of me. My butt cheeks clenched every time she screamed at someone that unless they were going to puke, faint, or die then they should keep going. My butt was really starting to look good.
“I still don’t understand how you could recognize the tattoo,” I said to Scarlet. “It’s so wrinkled and distorted it’s nearly impossible to make out.”
“Some things you don’t forget,” she said sagely. “The Savannah bank robbery of ‘45 and a Latin lover named Mario are the two things that stick with me the most. Whew, was your Uncle Stan steamed about Mario. But once I explained he was Spanish Royalty and it was an honor to be asked to sleep with him, Stan calmed right down.” She looked confused for a minute and slapped her hand on top of her head to keep her hat from blowing away. “May he rest in peace.”
Rosemarie and I stared at Scarlet with horrified fascination, and I did a half-assed sign of the cross along with Rosemarie and Scarlet at the mention of Uncle Stanley’s untimely demise. I was mostly Methodist, so I was never really sure if I was crossing myself correctly, but no one had made devil horn signs at me or doused me with holy water, so I figured I was in the clear.
We made our way back to the stairs that led down to the beach and I dug my flip-flops out of the bag so the sand wouldn’t burn my feet. I looked like an idiot wearing nothing but a camera and flip-flops, but to those at the Hidden Sunrise Naturist Community, I looked like I belonged.
We spread our towels out on the loungers, adjusted the umbrellas so we were protected from direct sunlight, and got comfortable. I set the camera on the little table next to the loungers and pointed it at Elmer, who seemed to be snoozing peacefully on the lounger a few feet away.
The problem with the camera was that it made noise when pictures were taken, and I didn’t know how sound of a sleeper Elmer was. So I used my second best option and pulled out my iPhone.
The beach waiter came up and took our drink orders, and I sighed, frustrated, because I couldn’t get a clear shot of the tattoo on his arm with my phone. I had to have the tattoo. It was the only documented proof the FBI had of The Romeo Bandit, aka, Elmer Hughes.
I watched Elmer for ten more minutes and contemplated my choices while I sipped on a Sex on the Beach. Rosemarie was reading a book two loungers over, and Aunt Scarlet had gotten bored and was building a sandcastle, wearing nothing but a big hat and a lot of sand she was probably going to regret getting up close and personal with later.
“Don’t forget the sunscreen, Aunt Scarlet,” I called out a little too loud, watching Elmer closely to see if he stirred. Nope. He was out for the count. It was now or never.
I took another fortifying sip of my drink and grabbed the camera. I put the camera strap around my neck and got on all fours in the hot sand. I might have muttered an expletive or two, having not thought through the fact that it would feel like dipping my hands and knees in molten glass.
I tried not to think about what I looked like from behind. And then I did think about it and grabbed the towel off my lounger, draping it across my backside like a tablecloth. I slowly crawled on hands and knees until I was inches away from Elmer Hughes.
My heart was pounding in my chest and I was covered with sweat and sand, neither of my favorite things. I realized I had a slight buzz and the Xanax must have worn off because I was feeling a whole lot of anxiety all of a sudden.
Elmer let out a soft snore and I squeaked. His arm was limp and his hands were gnarled with age. He wore a pinky ring with a small ruby in the center. The tattoo was wrinkled and the ink had faded over the years, but now that I was up close, I could see it clearly. A thorny vine and rosary beads were twined around a naked woman that had more curves than Kim Kardashian. The vine and the rosary beads ended at the top of his hand where the rose had started to bloom.
I could see how in its heyday the tattoo might have been an interesting conversation piece, but the inked woman was now wizened with age and arm hair, and it looked vaguely as if she were shooting the rosary out of her vagina. But Aunt Scarlet had recognized
it, and that was all that mattered.
I brought the camera up and took a couple of quick shots, and then I bit my lip as I debated whether or not to stretch his skin out a little and get a more complete picture. I finally decided that was the alcohol talking and probably not the best decision, and then I realized the alcohol had been giving me direction through this whole debacle because what I was doing definitely wasn’t using my best judgment.
I found this out the hard way when I turned to crawl back to my own lounger and my towel got stuck under my knee, pulling it completely off and leaving me bare-assed with my lady bits flapping in the breeze.
“Yikes,” a male voice said behind me.
I scrambled to cover my rear with the towel and turned my head in time to catch Elmer Hughes horrified stare.
“Jesus God,” he wheezed, clutching his chest. “I thought I was having a flashback from the seventies. Those things looked a lot different then. Nothing like 70’s bush. You’ve got a nice landscaper.”
I turned fifty shades of red and scrambled to make sure I was completely covered with the towel. And then I noticed his gaze had shifted to the camera in my hand.
“I can explain,” I said.
On behalf of 1001 Dark Nights,
Liz Berry and M.J. Rose would like to thank ~
Liliana Hart
Scott Silverii