by Cynthia Sax
“I have a lead that might interest you.” She didn’t answer, waiting for the caller to elaborate. “There’s a rodeo coming to town, and they are full of animal cruelty and abuse.”
This didn’t sound like a feel-good piece. The caller had her attention now. “Do you have proof?”
The voice gave a bitter laugh, sounding vaguely familiar. “Have you ever seen a rodeo? Electric prods, cinches wrapped around genitals, sharp objects placed under saddles to get horses to buck . . . it’s all there.”
She listened as the caller detailed several incidents at nearby rodeos where animals had to be euthanized due to injuries. Angela arched a brow, taking notes as the man gave her several websites she could research that backed the accusations.
“Can I contact you for more information?” She heard him hemming. “You don’t have to give me your name. Maybe just a phone number or an email address where I can reach you?” The caller gave her both. “Do you mind if I ask one more question—why me?”
“Because you seem like you care about animal rights. That story you did about the stray kittens and the way you found them a home, it really showed who you were inside.”
Angela barely remembered the story other than that Joe had forced it on her when she’d asked for one about a local politician sleeping with his secretary, reminding her that viewers saw her as their small-town sweetheart. She’d found herself reporting about a litter of stray kittens, smiling at the animal shelter as families adopted their favorites, and Jennifer Michaels had broken the infidelity story and was now anchoring at a station in Los Angeles. She was tired of this innocent, girl-next-door act.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised, deciding how to best pitch this story to Joe and whether it would be worth it at all.
An Excerpt from
FINDING MISS MCFARLAND
The Wallflower Wedding Series
by Vivienne Lorret
Delany McFarland is on the hunt for a husband—preferably one who needs her embarrassingly large dowry more than a dutiful wife. Griffin Croft hasn’t been able to get Miss McFarland out of his mind, but now that she’s determined to hand over her fortune to a rake, Griffin knows he must step in. Yet when his noble intentions flee in a moment of unexpected passion, his true course becomes clear: tame Delaney’s wild heart and save her from a fate worse than death . . . a life without love.
She had been purposely avoiding him.
Griffin clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace around her in a circle. “Do you have spies informing you on my whereabouts at all times, or only for social gatherings?”
Miss McFarland watched his movements for a moment, but then she pursed those pink lips and smoothed the front of her cream gown. “I do what I must to avoid being seen at the same function with you. Until recently, I imagined we shared this unspoken agreement.”
“Rumormongers rarely remember innocent bystanders.”
She scoffed. “How nice for you.”
“Yes, and until recently, I was under the impression that I came and went of my own accord. That my decisions were mine alone. Instead, I learn that every choice I make falls under your scrutiny.” He was more agitated than angered. Not to mention intrigued and unaccountably aroused by her admission. During a season packed full of social engagements, she must require daily reports of his activities. Which begged the question, how often did she think of him? “Shall I quiz you on how I take my tea? Or if my valet prefers to tie my cravat into a barrel knot or horse collar?”
“I do not know, nor do I care, how you take your tea, Mr. Croft,” she said, and he clenched his teeth to keep from asking her to say it once more. “However, since I am something of an expert on fashion, I’d say that the elegant fall of the mail coach knot you’re wearing this evening suits the structure of your face. The sapphire pin could make one imagine that your eyes are blue—”
“But you know differently.”
Her cheeks went pink before she drew in a breath and settled her hand over her middle. Before he could stop the thought, he wondered whether she was experiencing the fluttering his sister had mentioned.
“You are determined to be disagreeable. I have made my attempts at civility, but now I am quite through with you. If you’ll excuse me . . .” She started forward to leave.
He blocked her path, unable to forget what he’d heard when he first arrived. “I cannot let you go without a dire warning for your own benefit.”
“If this is in regard to what you overheard—when you were eavesdropping on a private matter—I won’t hear it.”
He doubted she would listen to him if he meant to warn her about a great hole in the earth directly in her path either, but his conscience demanded he speak the words nonetheless. “Montwood is a desperate man, and you have put yourself in his power.”
Her eyes flashed. “That is where you are wrong. I am the one with the fortune, ergo the one with the power.”
How little she knew of men. “And what of your reputation?”
Her laugh did nothing to amuse him. “What I have left of my reputation will remain unscathed. He is not interested in my person. He only needs my fortune. In addition, as a second son, he does not require an heir; therefore, our living apart should not cause a problem with his family. And should he need companionship, he is free to find it elsewhere, so long as he’s discreet.”
“You sell yourself so easily, believing your worth is nothing more than your father’s account ledger,” he growled, his temper getting the better of him. He’d never lost control of it before, but for some reason this tested his limits. If he could see she was more than a sum of wealth, then she should damn well put a higher value on herself. “If you were my sister, I’d lock you in a convent for the rest of your days.”
Miss McFarland stepped forward and pressed the tip of her manicured finger in between the buttons of his waistcoat. “I am not your sister, Mr. Croft. And thank the heavens for that gift, too. I can barely stand to be in the same room with you. You make it impossible to breathe, let alone think. Neither my lungs nor my stomach recalls how to function. Not only that, but you cause this terrible crackling sensation beneath my skin, and it feels like I’m about to catch fire.” Her lips parted, and her small bosom rose and fell with each breath. “I do believe I loathe you to the very core of your being, Mr. Croft.”
Somewhere between the first Mis-ter-Croft and the last, he’d lost all sense.
Because in the very next moment, he gripped her shoulders, hauled her against him, and crushed his mouth to hers.
An Excerpt from
TAKE THE KEY AND LOCK HER UP
by Lena Diaz
As a trained assassin for EXIT Inc—a top-secret mercenary group—Devlin “Devil” Buchanan isn’t afraid to take justice into his own hands. But with EXIT Inc closing in and several women’s lives on the line, Detective Emily O’Malley and Devlin must work together to find the missing women and clear both their names before time runs out . . . and their key to freedom is thrown away.
“I want to talk to you about what you do at EXIT.”
“No.”
She blinked. “No?” Her cell phone beeped. She grabbed it impatiently and took the call. A few seconds later she shoved the phone back in her pocket. “Tuck’s outside. The SWAT team is set up and ready to cover us in case those two yokels decide to start shooting again. The area is secure. Let’s go.” She headed toward the door.
“Wait.”
She turned, her brows raised in question.
He braced his legs in a wide stance and crossed his arms. “If I’m not under arrest, there’s no reason for me to go to the police station.”
Her mouth firmed into a tight line. “You’re not under arrest only if you agree to the deal I offered. The man who killed Shannon Garrett and the unidentified victims in that basement is holding at least two other women right now, doing God only knows what to them. All I’m asking is that you answer some questions to help me find them, so I can save th
eir lives. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Of course it did. But he also knew Kelly Parker, and anyone with her, couldn’t be saved by Emily and her fellow cops. It was becoming increasingly clear that Kelly was the bait in a trap to catch him. The killer would keep her alive, maybe even provide proof of life at some point, to lure Devlin to wherever she was being held. Did he care about her suffering? Absolutely. Which meant he had to come up with a plan to save her without charging full steam ahead and getting himself killed. Because once the killer eliminated his main prey—Devlin—he’d have no reason to keep either of the women alive.
He braced himself for his next lie. If Emily thought he was bad to supposedly get a woman pregnant and abandon her, she was going to despise him after this next one.
“Finding and saving those women is your job,” he said. “I have other things to do that are a lot more fun than sitting in an interrogation room.”
The shocked, disgusted look that crossed her face was no worse than the way he felt inside. Like a jerk, and a damn coward. But if sacrificing his pride kept her safe, so be it. He had to get outside and offer himself as bait to lead his enemies away from the diner before she went out the front. He strode past her to the bathroom door.
“Stop, Devlin, or I’ll shoot.”
He slowly turned around. Seeing his sexy little detective pointing a gun at him again seemed every kind of wrong, especially when his blood was still raging from the hot kiss they’d just shared.
“Seriously?” he said, faking shock. “You’re drawing on an unarmed man? Again? What will Drier say about that? Or Alex? I smell a lawsuit.”
She stomped her foot in frustration.
The urge to laugh at her childish action had him clenching his teeth. She was the perfect blend of innocence, naiveté, and just plain stubbornness. Before he did something they’d both regret—like kissing her again—he slipped out of the bathroom.
A quick side trip through the kitchen too quickly for anyone to even question his presence, and he was down the back hallway, standing at the rear exit. Now all he had to do was make it to some kind of cover—without getting shot—and lead Cougar and his handler away from Emily, all without a weapon of his own to return fire.
Simple. No problem. He shook his head and cursed his decision to go to the police station this morning. Then again, if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have gotten to kiss Emily. If he were killed in the next few minutes, at least he’d die with that intoxicating memory still lingering on his lips.
He cracked the door open and scanned the nearby buildings. Then he flung the door wide and took off running.
An Excerpt from
DYLAN’S REDEMPTION
Book Three: The McBrides
by Jennifer Ryan
From New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Ryan, the McBrides of Fallbrook return with Dylan McBride, the new sheriff. Jessie Thompson had one hell of a week. Dylan McBride, the boy she loved, skipped town without a word. Then her drunk of a father tried to kill her, and she fled Fallbrook, vowing never to return. Eight years later, her father is dead, and Jessie reluctantly goes home—only to come face-to-face with the man who shattered her heart. A man who, for nearly a decade, believed she was dead.
Standing over her sleeping brother, she held the pitcher in one hand and the cup of coffee in the other. She poured the cold water over her brother’s face and chest. He sat bolt upright and yelled, “What the hell!”
Brian held a hand to his dripping head and one to his stomach. He probably had a splitting headache to go with his rotten gut. As far as Jessie was concerned, he deserved both.
“Good morning, brother. Nice of you to rise and shine.”
Brian wiped a hand over his wet face and turned to sit on the sodden couch. His blurry eyes found Jessie standing over him. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes went round before he gained his voice.
“You’re dead. I’ve hit that bottom people talk about. I’m dreaming, hallucinating after a night of drinking. It can’t be you. You’re gone and it’s all my fault.” He covered his face with his hands. Tears filled his voice, his pain and sorrow sharp and piercing. She refused to let it get to her, despite her guilt for making him believe she’d died. Brian needed a good ass-kicking, not a sympathetic ear.
“You’re going to wish I died when I get through with you, you miserable drunk. What the hell happened to you?” She handed over the mug of coffee and shoved it up to his mouth to make him take a sip. Reality setting in, he needed the coffee and a shower before he’d concentrate and focus on her and what she had in store for him.
“Don’t yell, my head is killing me.” He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, probably hoping his brain wouldn’t explode.
Jessie sat on the coffee table in front of her brother, between his knees, and leaned forward with her elbows braced on her thighs.
“Listen to me, brother dear. It’s past time you cleaned up your act. Starting today, you are going to quit drinking yourself into a stupor. You’re going to take care of your wife and child. You’re going to show up for work on Monday morning clear eyed and ready to earn an honest day’s pay.”
“Work? I don’t have any job lined up for Monday.”
“Yes, you do. I gave Marilee the information. You report to James on Monday at the new housing development going up on the outskirts of town. You’ll earn a decent paycheck and have medical benefits for your family.
“The old man left you the house. I’ll go over tomorrow after the funeral to see what needs to be done to make it livable for you and Marilee. I, big brother, am going to make you be the man you used to be, because I can’t stand to see you turn into the next Buddy Thompson. You got that?” She’d yelled it at him to get his attention and to reinforce the fact that he’d created his condition. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he groaned in pain, all the reward she needed.
“If you don’t show up for work on Monday, I’m coming after you. And I’ll keep coming until you get it through that thick head of yours: you are not him. You’re better than that. So get your ass up, take a shower, mow the lawn, kiss your wife, tell her you love her and you aren’t going to be this asshole you’ve turned into anymore. You hear me?”
“Your voice is ringing in my head.” He stared into his coffee cup, but glanced up to say, “You look good. Life’s apparently turned out all right for you.”
Jessie shrugged that off, focused more on the lost look in Brian’s round, sad eyes.
“I thought you died that night. I left and he killed you. Where have you been?”
“Around. Mostly Solomon. I have a house about twenty miles outside of Fallbrook.”
“You do?” The surprise lit his face.
“I started my life over. It’s time you did the same.”
An Excerpt from
SINFUL REWARDS 1
A Billionaires and Bikers Novella
by Cynthia Sax
Belinda “Bee” Carter is a good girl; at least, that’s what she tells herself. And a good girl deserves a nice guy—just like the gorgeous and moody billionaire Nicolas Rainer. Or so she thinks, until she takes a look through her telescope and sees a naked, tattooed man on the balcony across the courtyard. He has been watching her, and that makes him all the more enticing. But when a mysterious and anonymous text message dares her to do something bad, she must decide if she is really the good girl she has always claimed to be, or if she’s willing to risk everything for her secret fantasy of being watched.
An Avon Red Novella
I’d told Cyndi I’d never use it, that it was an instrument purchased by perverts to spy on their neighbors. She’d laughed and called me a prude, not knowing that I was one of those perverts, that I secretly yearned to watch and be watched, to care and be cared for.
If I’m cautious, and I’m always cautious, she’ll never realize I used her telescope this morning. I swing the tube toward the bench and adjust the knob, bringing the mysterious object into focus.
&
nbsp; It’s a phone. Nicolas’s phone. I bounce on the balls of my feet. This is a sign, another declaration from fate that we belong together. I’ll return Nicolas’s much-needed device to him. As a thank you, he’ll invite me to dinner. We’ll talk. He’ll realize how perfect I am for him, fall in love with me, marry me.
Cyndi will find a fiancé also—everyone loves her—and we’ll have a double wedding, as sisters of the heart often do. It’ll be the first wedding my family has had in generations.
Everyone will watch us as we walk down the aisle. I’ll wear a strapless white Vera Wang mermaid gown with organza and lace details, crystal and pearl embroidery accents, the bodice fitted, and the skirt hemmed for my shorter height. My hair will be swept up. My shoes—
Voices murmur outside the condo’s door, the sound piercing my delightful daydream. I swing the telescope upward, not wanting to be caught using it. The snippets of conversation drift away.
I don’t relax. If the telescope isn’t positioned in the same way as it was last night, Cyndi will realize I’ve been using it. She’ll tease me about being a fellow pervert, sharing the story, embellished for dramatic effect, with her stern, serious dad—or, worse, with Angel, that snobby friend of hers.
I’ll die. It’ll be worse than being the butt of jokes in high school because that ridicule was about my clothes and this will center on the part of my soul I’ve always kept hidden. It’ll also be the truth, and I won’t be able to deny it. I am a pervert.
I have to return the telescope to its original position. This is the only acceptable solution. I tap the metal tube.
Last night, my man-crazy roommate was giggling over the new guy in three-eleven north. The previous occupant was a gray-haired, bowtie-wearing tax auditor, his luxurious accommodations supplied by Nicolas. The most exciting thing he ever did was drink his tea on the balcony.