Blog Tour + #Giveaway: The Bad Boy Bargain by Kendra C. Highley @KendraHighley @chapterxchapter @entangledteen

The Bad Boy Bargain by Kendra C. Highley

Publication Date: November 14, 2016

Publisher:  Entangled Teen Crush

Baseball player Kyle Sawyer has many labels: bad boy, delinquent, ladies’ man, fearless outfielder… Only one of them is actually true. But then sweet ballet dancer Faith Gladwell asks him to help wreck her reputation, and everything goes sideways.

Faith knows a thing or two about love, and what she had with her cheating jerk of an ex wasn’t it. When he starts spreading rumors about her being an Ice Queen, Faith decides it’s time to let a little bad into her life.

Lucky for her, Kyle Sawyer—dark, dangerous, totally swoonworthy Kyle Sawyer—is landscaping her backyard over Spring Break. Shirtless. And if she can convince him to play along, “dating” Kyle will silence the rumors.

But Faith’s plan threatens to expose Sawyer’s biggest secret of all…and that’s a risk he’s not willing to take.

Disclaimer: This book contains drop-the-book-and-fan-yourself kisses…and touches. Fall in love with a bad boy at your own risk.

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Excerpt:

Chapter One

Kyle

Badass, troublemaker, girl magnet—familiar words always followed Kyle from his locker to his senior English classroom. Or from the cafeteria to the parking lot. Or from the locker room to the baseball field. Anywhere he went, the whispers followed.

Today, it went something like, “Ooh, I know who we should vote most likely to drop out before graduation,” as he walked by. Or, “I heard he banged two girls at once at North Texas last weekend. College girls, man!” Or, “Dude, I heard MLB scouts are coming to the games to watch him play.”

He wished that last one were true.

Kyle zipped his hoodie up tighter, acting like he couldn’t hear a word. The dark red hoodie and a pair of headphones were pretty thin armor, even if he did encourage the stories…the lies. Suttonville High was a big enough maze of suck without letting the truth out.

And no way, no how, was he showing any sort of weakness ever again.

“Dude! Wait up!” a guy called.

For a second, Kyle stiffened. Old habits died hard. But he recognized the voice and let his shoulders relax. Cade Adams, unlike the hundreds of rich, snobby kids crowding the halls, was worth waiting for. He slowed his stride until Cade caught up, looking disheveled. For an amused moment, he wondered if Cade was running from a pack of zombified football players, then he noticed the pleading look on Cade’s face. The same one he’d ignored from a half dozen other guys.

He shook his head. “Nope, still not going.”

“It’s supposed to be a great party,” Cade said, running a hand over his hair to coerce it back into shape. It was a little too long, and curls kept springing up on his head. “First night of spring break, man. All the seniors are going.”

“Everyone except me,” Kyle said, quickening his pace.

“Come on,” Cade pleaded. “I need to be your wingman. Just once. Your leftovers would be a feast to us mere mortals.”

That’s what half the baseball team said, too. But if he let someone be his wingman, they’d find out really quick that he wasn’t what everyone assumed. “Sorry, not my scene.”

“Fine. Okay, I get it.” Cade’s crooked smile didn’t do much to hide his disappointment. “Just…think about it.”

He strode off, breezing through the hall filled with students in designer clothes as if his Iron Man T-shirt, wild hair, and faded jeans didn’t matter to him. And it didn’t—at some point last fall, Cade had become cool. Either that, or he’d stopped caring what any of them thought.

Lucky bastard.

Kyle stalked to chemistry, praying he’d pass today’s test. Being dyslexic turned the periodic table into a medieval torture device, even if his teacher was good about giving him tutoring on the down low. He couldn’t let anyone know he actually cared about his grades, aside from passing to play baseball.

“I heard he’s going out with some girl at Texas Woman’s,” a girl whispered to another as he walked in, as if he couldn’t hear them.

“Wish I knew for sure if anyone here has a chance,” said the other girl, a pretty senior who had a reputation of being a man-eater. “Because I’d ride that pony all over town.”

Kyle’s ears flamed up. To hide his discomfort, he rolled his neck, getting a little satisfaction out of the wary stares after the vertebrae cracked. That’s right, the scary kid just cracked his back. You puny humans shouldn’t try that at home.

The bell rang and he sank into his desk, adopting his typical pose of “I’m only here because the truant officer made me show up today” with his legs stretched out in the aisle. Mrs. Moody, the chem teacher, rolled her eyes. She saw right through him. And if she could, how much longer would it be before everyone else did?

During the test—in which chemical compounds morphed into ancient Hebrew right before his eyes—he couldn’t shake the conversation with Cade. He felt bad about letting the guy down, especially since he hadn’t been much of a friend the last few years, but he hated those parties because of the baggage that rode on them. Namely, his reputation.

Because who at Suttonville would believe that the resident delinquent, skateboard-riding, drag-racing, smart-mouthed chick magnet Kyle Sawyer was actually none of those things?

An Interview with Kendra C. Highley

What inspired you to write The Bad Boy Bargain?

My editor heard a song (“Please” by Sawyer Fredericks) and it gave her the initial idea. I volunteered to write it, so it plotted it out from there.

When or at what age did you know you wanted to be a writer?

Probably in college—I was an English major—but I didn’t start getting serious until my mid-thirties.

What is the earliest age you remember reading your first book?

I was four—it was Richard Scarry’s The Busy World. My kindergarten teachers didn’t believe me when I said I could read and one challenged me by handing me a Dick and Jane book (yes, I’m that old). I read it cover to cover, so they had to move me into the readers’ group.

What genre of books do you enjoy reading?

Young Adult first and foremost, primarily fantasy.

What is your favorite book?

Oh, no…just one?

Hmm, I think the most recent one that had the biggest impact was Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor. I stayed up until three in the morning in the middle of a thunderstorm (in a tent! We were camping) to finish it.

You know I think we all have a favorite author. Who is your favorite author and why?

Probably Jane Austen. If you think about it, she was the first YA author. All her protagonists are teenagers and faced with life changing circumstances. Plus, her dry wit is extraordinary.

If you could travel back in time here on earth to any place or time. Where would you go and why?

That’s a very good question…Victorian London probably. That seemed like an elegant time.

When writing a book do you find that writing comes easy for you or is it a difficult task?

It really depends on the book. Some fall onto the page like they were waiting for you to write it down (The Bad Boy Bargain definitely fell into this category). Others are like pulling teeth the entire way.

Do you have any little fuzzy friends? Like a dog or a cat? Or any pets?

I have four cats. In my defense, there are four people in my home, so we say one cat per person. Every one of them is spoiled rotten.

What is your "to die for", favorite food/foods to eat?

I could eat ice cream every day…which is why I don’t buy it very much. Chocolate pie (my grandma’s recipe especially). If it’s chocolate, I’ll give it a try.

Do you have any advice for anyone that would like to be an author?

Two things. First, read. Some authors are scared to read in their genre for fear of copying, etc. Don’t worry about that. Read bestsellers. Read authors you respect. Doing that will give you the tools you need. Second, join a critique group. The biggest mistake I made was subbing a book I hadn’t vetted enough. I could’ve papered my kitchen with the rejection letters. Make sure other writers have helped you develop your manuscript before letting it out in public.

Kendra C. Highley lives in north Texas with her husband and two children. She also serves as staff to four self-important and high-powered cats. This, according to the cats, is her most important job. She believes in everyday magic, extraordinary love stories, and the restorative powers of dark chocolate.

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Giveaway Information:  Contest ends November 11, 2016

·        $25 Amazon gift card, a paperback copy of Defying Gravity, and bookmarks from Finding Perfect, Defying Gravity, and The Bad Boy Bargain (US ONLY) 

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PROMO Blitz: Welcome to the Family by Nancy S. Reece @nancyreece62 @RABTBookTour

Romantic Suspense

Date Published:  November 9, 2016

Raised in a dysfunctional family, Cassandra Devlyn Ferguson has tried to leave the past behind and carve out a new life with her husband, former Black Ops specialist, Sean Ferguson. Her family's shady business dealings never involved her, and she intends to keep it that way.

Sean wants nothing more than to be a devoted, loving husband. But his new job sends him to the front lines at some of the world's most dangerous spots. For years, he's blamed his Irish wanderlust for the risks, but the truth is ' he enjoys the rush of adrenaline danger brings. When the Devlyn family's mistakes come looking for Cassie, it's up to Sean to bring her home safely.

The one positive? Cassie knows all about her family's true nature and is willing to walk away from everything to stay with him. The negative? Someone wants them dead and will stop at nothing to keep all the skeletons in the closet.

About the Author

Born in the North, raised in the South, Nancy S Reece grew up surrounded by books. Now living with three horses, three dogs, three cats, two children, and one very supportive spouse, when she isn't writing, Nancy can be found wandering old abandoned buildings looking for inspiration.

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Release Blitz: The Little Voice by Joss Sheldon @JossSheldon @RABTBookTour

Psychological Realism / Contemporary / Literary Fiction

Date Published: 23rd November 2016

“Can you remember who you were before the world told you who you should be?”

Dear reader,

My character has been shaped by two opposing forces; the pressure to conform to social norms, and the pressure to be true to myself. To be honest with you, these forces have really torn me apart. They’ve pulled me one way and then the other. At times, they’ve left me questioning my whole entire existence.

But please don’t think that I’m angry or morose. I’m not. Because through adversity comes knowledge. I’ve suffered, it’s true. But I’ve learnt from my pain. I’ve become a better person.

Now, for the first time, I’m ready to tell my story. Perhaps it will inspire you. Perhaps it will encourage you to think in a whole new way. Perhaps it won’t. There’s only one way to find out…

Enjoy the book,

Yew Shodkin

Excerpt

ONE

It was my sixth birthday when the little voice first spoke to me.

Please do understand, dear reader, that it wasn’t an abstract little voice. Oh no! It belonged to a little creature who lived inside my brain. But that creature had not, up until that point, ever said a word.

That creature wasn’t human. Far from it! Although its eyes were identical to my own.

If I’m to be totally honest, I must admit that I’m not exactly sure what it was. I’ve always just called it ‘The Egot’.

The egot’s skin was as red as hellfire, its hair was as bright as the midday sun, and its belly was as round as a pearl. It had webbed feet, elfish ears and lithe claws. I assumed it was male, but it could’ve been female; it was impossible to tell.

Yet, despite its peculiar appearance, I felt comfortable whenever I saw the egot. It possessed a powerful sort charisma which always put me at ease. It’d lift its flat cap, bend one of its spiky knees, and wink in a way which made its eye sparkle. Just seeing the egot made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

The egot was familiar. It was a part of the scenery of my mind. My companion. My friend.

But it had never spoken. Not until the day I turned six.

I was at school when it happened, sitting at the set of desks which I shared with five other pupils. The waxy floor was illuminated by white light. The smell of pencil shavings wafted through the air.

Our teacher, Ms Brown, was standing at the front of that prefabricated space. She was scratching a tiny nub of chalk along an indifferent blackboard.

“As soon as those brave explorers stepped foot on that distant land, they

were attacked by a group of wild savages,” she told the class through a cloud of chalk dust.

“Ooh! Ooh!” screamed Snotty McGill.

I liked Snotty McGill. I liked all the children in my class. Back then, I think we all just tacitly assumed that we were equal. That we were all in the same boat. We didn’t really think about our different genders, races or classes. We just co- existed, like one big family.

I think Snotty McGill was actually called Sarah, but we called her ‘Snotty’ because she always had a cold. An hour seldom passed in which she didn’t either sneeze, pick her nose, or wipe a bogie onto her snot-encrusted sleeve. But she had such a lovely colour. That pink glow which comes with the flu used to engulf her like an aura. It suited her. She always looked so damn effervescent.

Anyway, as I was saying, Snotty McGill was waving her hand above her head.

“Ms! Ms!” she called. “What’s a ‘savage’?”

Ms Brown turned to face us. She looked chalky. Everything around her looked chalky. The floor was covered in chalk-dust and the skirting-boards were covered in chalky-ashes. Chalk residue glistened in Ms Brown’s bushy hair. It coated the points of her fingers.

“Well,” she said. “A savage has the body of a man, but not his civility. A savage is like an animal. He doesn’t wear clothes, live in a house, study or work. He follows his base urges; to eat, drink and reproduce. But he doesn’t have an intellect. He doesn’t have any ambition. He’s smelly, hairy and uncouth. He does the least he can to survive. And he spends most of his time sleeping or playing.”

Snotty McGill looked horrified. As did Stacey Fairclough, Sleepy Sampson and Gavin Gillis. Chubby Smith looked like he was about to start a fight. Most of the class looked dumbfounded. But I felt inspired.

‘They don’t have to go to school!’ I thought with envy and intrigue. ‘They spend all their time playing! They sleep for as long as they like!’

It was as if I’d stumbled across a species of super-humans. To me, the savages sounded like gods. I knew at once that I wanted to be one. I’d never been so sure of anything in my life.

The egot smiled mischievously. It rolled a whisker between its skeletal claws and tapped one of its webbed feet.

Ms Brown continued:

“Well, when the explorers stepped ashore, a pack of savages came hurtling towards them; swinging through the trees like monkeys, beating their breasts like apes, and howling like donkeys. They flocked like birds and stampeded through the dust like a herd of untamed wildebeests.”

That was when the egot spoke for the first time.

It leaned up against the inside of my skull, just behind my nose, and crossed its spindly legs. Then it began to talk:

“If you want to be a savage, you should probably act like a savage. You know, you should probably stampede like a wildebeest. Maybe beat your breast like an ape. Perhaps you’d like to howl like a donkey? Yes, yes.”

The egot’s voice was so… so… so… So far beyond description. So subtle. So calm. So quirky. So eccentric. And so, so quiet!

The egot accentuated random letters, as if it was shocked to discover their existence. It swilled its words, like a Frenchman mulling over a glass of confused wine. And it stretched random syllables, as if it was saddened to see them go.

There was a certain melody to the egot’s voice. It didn’t so much speak as rhyme, like a Shakespearean actor on a crisp autumn night.

But the egot was quiet. Its voice was such a little voice.  A little voice inside my head.

That little voice struck me dumb.

The egot strummed its lip, like a pensive philosopher, and waited for me to reply. But I was in a state of paralytic shock. I couldn’t have replied if I’d wanted to. So the egot folded its arms, in a gesture of mock offence, and then continued on:

“I’m only telling you what you want to hear,” it purred. It swirled the word ‘telling’ so much that the ‘ell’ sound reverberated five times; ‘Tell-ell-ell-ell-ell-ell-ing’.

“You don’t really want to succumb to civility. No, no. You want to be a savage. I think you want to jump between tables, like a monkey swinging between trees. If you thought you could get away with it, and no-one was judging you, you wouldn’t think twice.”

It was a moment of clarity. Bright white, unadulterated clarity. Silent. Outside of time and space.

Please do allow me to explain…

I’m a big fan of the founder of Taoism, the ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu. He was a wizened old gent. His hair was as white as virgin snow and his eyes were deeper than any ocean on earth.

Well, Lao Tzu once said that ‘Knowing others is wisdom. Knowing yourself is enlightenment’.

Dear reader, that’s exactly how I felt! In that moment, I felt that I ‘knew’ myself. In that moment, I felt ‘enlightened’.

Everything was clear. It was clear that I’d been living in a cage. It was clear that freedom was mine to take. It was clear what I had to do. The egot was my clarity. Everything was clear.

I remember a sense of otherworldliness, as if I’d stepped outside of the physical realm. My legs lifted my torso, my frame stood tall, and my spirit stood still. My body melted away from my control.

I watched on as it broke free. As it leapt up onto our shared desk. As it pounded its breast like a valiant ape. And as it puffed its chest like a swashbuckling superhero.

The faint sound of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony started to fill my ears. Delicate violin strings provided a melodic backdrop for the ballet which was unravelling onstage.

My body performed a pirouette.

White paper rose up beneath my feet and span around my shins like froth on a choppy ocean.

I felt an all-encompassing surge of bliss.

One leg rose up in front of my body, forming a sharp arrow which pointed out towards an adjacent desk. I held that position perfectly still, whilst lifting my chin with a pompous sort of grace. Then I leapt like a spring deer, in slow motion, with one leg pointing forward and the other one darting back.

Beethoven’s Ninth sounded glorious as it purred through the gears. Violas joined violins and cellos joined those violas. Double basses began to hum and flutes began to whistle.

I landed with my feet together; an angel of the air, a demon of the sea. My mind floated atop an infinite ocean.

My legs leapt on through the infinite air. They bounded from table to table with ever-increasing speed; gaining momentum, gaining height. I could see my monkey soul. I could hear the monkey calls which were emanating from my open mouth.

I could hear Beethoven’s Ninth reach its first crescendo, as the brass section began its battle cry. Flutes became one with clarinets. Bassoons boomed. Trumpets and horns squealed with uncontrollable delight.

I howled like a donkey at the moment of sexual climax. My lungs filled with pure spirit.

I landed on all fours, looking like a bison. My shoulders were bulging out of my back and my temples were as erect as horns.

I leapt like a giant frog. And I stampeded between desks like a herd of untamed wildebeests; leaving a trail of overturned chairs, twisted students and miscellaneous debris in my wake.

Beethoven’s Ninth called out for redemption, glory and release. It was an impassioned cry. It was a fury-filled yell.

“Yew! Yew! Yew!” Ms Brown yelled. “Yew! Yew! Yew!”

Ms Brown had been yelling since the moment I stood up. But I’d been on a different plane. I hadn’t heard a thing.

My teacher’s voice pierced my ether, burst my euphoria, and threw me down amongst the shards of my shattered pride. To my left; a small calculator bled black ink, a wonky table rocked back and forth like a sober addict, and a potted plant spewed crumbs of soil all across the vinyl flooring. To my right; Aisha Ali was crying into her collar, Tina Thompson was rubbing her shin, and Chubby Smith was holding his belly.

“Yew! Yew! Yew!” Ms Brown yelled.

(I’m called Yew by the way. I think I forgot to mention that).

“Yew! What on earth do you think you’re doing? What’s come over you? I,I, I…”

Ms Brown choked on her words, lifted a hand to her throat, coughed up some chalk-dust, and then gulped down a stodgy chunk of passive air.

She shook her head.

“You’re usually such a good boy!”

She exhaled.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Whatever came over you? Look at this place! Just look at this place! I… I… I just can’t believe it! Oh my.”

I looked around.

The debris of my liberation assaulted my torrid eyes. The disgrace of my emancipation flushed through my dusty veins. And my glorious body became a tepid vase for the desert’s tears.

“I’m not angry,” Ms Brown sighed. “I’m just disappointed.”

That hurt. It hurt a lot.

I was fond of Ms Brown. She was such a sweet person. She was warm. So her disappointment really cut through me.

It was a heavy sort of disappointment; weighed down by the burden of expectation and the gravity of my situation. And it was an overpowering sort of disappointment. It pinned me to the floor.

My world inverted. Ignorance replaced enlightenment. Darkness replaced light. Density replaced levity.

My euphoria was usurped by a deathly sort of anxiety, which shook me from side to side and made me shiver to the core. Beethoven’s Ninth was snuffed out by the booming of my incessant heart. I was sucked down into a black-hole at the centre of my being; paralysed by my teacher’s disappointment and frozen by my own sense of fear. I felt trapped, small and base.

“Disappointed,” Ms Brown repeated. “Yew! That’s not how you’re supposed to behave. That’s not what society expects of you.”

Ms Brown shook her head, which caused chalk-dust to float up into the air. It glistened in the bright-white light. It sparkled.

Ms Brown tutted.

Then she sent me to see the headmaster.

About the Author

Joss Sheldon is a scruffy nomad, unshaven layabout, and good for nothing hobo. Born in 1982, he was brought up in one of the anonymous suburbs which wrap themselves around London's beating heart. And then he escaped!

With a degree from the London School of Economics to his name, Sheldon had spells selling falafel at music festivals, being a ski-bum, and failing to turn the English Midlands into a haven of rugby league.

Then, in 2013, he went to McLeod Ganj in India; a village which plays home to thousands of angry monkeys, hundreds of Tibetan refugees, and the Dalai Lama himself. It was there that Sheldon wrote his first novel, 'Involution & Evolution'.

With several positive reviews to his name, Sheldon had caught the writing bug. So he travelled around Palestine and Kurdistan before writing his second novel, 'Occupied'; a dystopian 'masterpiece' unlike any other story you've ever read!

Now Joss has returned with his third, and most radical novel yet. 'The Little Voice' takes a swipe at the external forces which come to shape our personalities. It's psychological. And it will make you think about the world in a whole new way. As the Huffington Post put it, The Little Voice is probably "The most thought-provoking novel of 2016"...

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Blog Tour + #Giveaway: The Misguided Confession by Dahlia Donovan @DahliaDonovan @HotTreePromos

 HALF-PRICE SALE 

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Title: The Misguided Confession

Author: Dahlia Donovan

Genre: British Paranormal Romance

Release Date: November 12, 2016
Publisher: Hot Tree Publishing

Designer: Claire Smith

 

Elaine Gibbs has been defined by other people’s words for much of her life: autistic, shifter, adopted, genius, Royal Marine. She has spent a year having her entire world spun around and just when she hopes things have stabilised, a zealot threatens everything she holds dear, including her life.

Alim Kader grew up knowing his family’s expectations and is required to fall in line. Life, however, threw him a massive surprise in the body of the most fascinating woman he has ever known. Now if he could only convince her that his sole desire is to stand beside her, not rescue her.

Will love be enough for two people from different worlds to brave a storm of evil and come through the other side unscathed? 

An exhausted Alim had been bouncing from country to country, sorting out issues with several of their family businesses. He’d returned to London feeling utterly spent and decided to head out of the city to the estate he owned in Kent.

He’d missed Elaine. They’d been together steadily since their Christmas tea. Each date had further cemented his desire to have her in his life.

It had started out with meals after work or the occasional weekend excursion. Elaine disliked crowds, a fact that made dating complicated. He’d gone so far as to book out an entire convention as a surprise for Valentine’s Day. 

The little quirks of Elaine’s tended to make others uncomfortable around her. Alim found them charming. It dragged him deeper into love than he’d ever imagined possible.

 Travelling for an extended period had only reinforced it for him. He hadn’t been satisfied with phone conversations, particularly when Elaine hated them. Their attachment to each other had grown until they were far too intertwined to be apart for long. His niece, Alicia, had escaped to his home, but she wouldn’t mind him returning there. The house itself was large enough to allow her whatever privacy she wanted. Alim had no doubts Josh Withers would be with her. The man never seemed to leave his niece alone these days.

Striding through the front doors the butler opened for him, Alim paused at what sounded like an immensely large animal racing through one of the nearby rooms. He frowned at his butler, then froze at the loud roar that echoed through the mansion. His heart started to race while he grabbed one of the hunting rifles from a nearby cupboard and ran in the direction of the roar.

“No!”

Alim stopped short when his niece darted in front of what had to be the largest panther he could ever recall seeing. “Alicia?”

“You can’t shoot him, Uncle.” Alicia rested a hand lightly on top of the animal’s head.

“Him?” Alim frowned at her with the weapon held tightly in his hand. “Did Minxie suddenly grow while I was away?”

Alicia laughed behind her hand for several minutes while the panther made what sounded like a grumbling sort of snarl. “Play nicely, Joshua.”

“Joshua?” Alim stumbled backwards as the dots started to connect in his mind. His arm fell to his side letting the weapon point harmlessly towards the floor. “How is this even possible? Is this a joke? I am not amused, Alicia.”

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Dahlia Donovan started out working in the insurance world. After ten years, she morphed her love of investigating accidents and studying people into writing about them. She's a bit of a hermit and despises being in front of a camera. Her life wouldn't be complete without her husband and her massive collection of books and video games.

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VBT + #Giveaway: King Peso by Carmen Amato @CarmenConnects @GoddessFish

King Peso

by Carmen Amato

GENRE:  police procedural mystery

BLURB:

KING PESO is the fourth book in the sensational Detective Emilia Cruz mystery series recently optioned for both television and film. Emilia is the first female police detective in Acapulco, where Mexican drug cartels battle for control and politicians are bought with blood money.

Three cops are murdered, execution style. Emilia worked with them all.

Her partner’s wife is killed in a home invasion. Was he the real target?

Is Emilia the next?

She hopes to be assigned to a task force to investigate the killings, but is instead directed to a new police unit championed by Acapulco’s ambitious mayor and overseen by a shady union strongman. But when Emilia stumbles upon a falsified report, she will conduct a private investigation, even as another murder victim carries a stark message for her. 

Home is no refuge for Emilia; hotel manager Kurt Rucker has a shocking secret that could tear their relationship apart.

Unexpected help comes from a frightened attorney and a famous movie star, but each new clue to the murders unravels the one before. Meanwhile, Emilia’s ongoing hunt for a missing girl, a continuing series subplot, leads to the infamous El Pharaoh casino, a place she knows only too well.

What do a casino and a cop killer have in common? Emilia bets on her partner, but his gamble could cost both their lives.

Excerpt:

“Are you here to play roulette, Detective Cruz?” Duarte Ochoa asked. “You don’t have any chips.”

“No,” Emilia said. “Just the slots.”

Obregon licked his lips. “Detective Cruz is always a player,” he said. “Whether she admits it or not.”

Duarte Ochoa laughed and snapped his fingers. Out of nowhere, a young man in a King Tut costume appeared. He opened a small wooden box and offered it to the casino owner. Duarte Ochoa took out a blue chip embossed with the golden logo of the casino. Five thousand pesos. Nearly a month’s salary for Emilia. Double that for Natividad.

Emilia’s gaze travelled from the chip to King Tut. Despite the costume, which included a jeweled headdress covering his forehead, she recognized Felipe Garcia. The long hair flowed over his bare shoulders and the high cheekbones were on full display.

The sporting goods store wasn’t doing so well after all. It was too bad that Felipe had to moonlight at the El Pharaoh.

She flashed him a smile of recognition but he didn’t acknowledge her. Emilia wasn’t offended; Felipe probably had to stay in character. Duarte Ochoa dismissed him with a wave and the costumed King Tut went back to his pyramid. The casino owner held the chip between his second and third fingers as if toying with it. “Red or black, Detective Cruz?”

She certainly wasn’t picking Obregon’s favorite color. “Red,” she said.

Duarte Ochoa put the chip on the felted table. The croupier announced that bets were closed and spun the wheel. The clatter of the ball bouncing inside the wheel was louder than the grinding pop music.

“Red wins,” the croupier announced.

Duarte Ochoa smiled broadly as the croupier raked a combination of colored chips to his designated spot on the table. “Do we let it ride, Detective?” he asked Emilia.

Obregon lounged against the table, watching her with that hawkish expression on his face that always made her so nervous. If he suddenly sprouted wings and talons, Emilia would not be surprised.

“It’s your money,” she said.

Duarte Ochoa let it ride.

“Red wins,” the croupier announced again.

Another bet was placed, the wheel spun, and Duarte Ochoa won a third time. The pile in front of him grew. Emilia counted at least a dozen blue chips and an equal amount of red and yellow. A year’s salary.

“If we win on red again, we’ll share it four ways,” Duarte Ochoa said. “With champagne.”

Natividad dug her fingers into Emilia’s arm.

The wheel spun again, the ball bouncing and clattering until finally settling into a numbered slot.

“Black wins,” the croupier announced.

“Que lastima,” Duarte Ochoa said as the croupier raked away all his chips. “When you are a gambler you know that tomorrow the odds will be better. I hope you ladies are not disappointed.”

Obregon let his gaze linger on Emilia. “Don’t worry about Detective Cruz, Duarte. She knows that sometimes you win.” He licked his lips. “And sometimes you lose.”

An Interview with Carmen Amato

What inspired you to write KING PESO?

First, thanks so much for having me and inviting me to meet your readers! I’d like to virtually introduce everybody to Emilia Cruz. She’s the first female police detective in Acapulco, which means she’s up against not only the drug cartels but Mexico’s culture of machismo. But as I always say, she can take the heat. KING PESO is the 4^th mystery in the Detective Emilia Cruz series. There’s a cop killer on the loose in Acapulco and Emilia has worked with all of the victims. So is she next? But as usual in the Detective Emilia Cruz series, nothing is what it seems.

When or at what age did you know you wanted to be a writer?

I remember being about 5 or 6 and writing a story about a man who cut down a tree in front of our house. He was a friend of the family who had a knack for making things go wrong and the tree fell in the wrong direction! I remember being excited to read it to my mother.

What is the earliest age you remember reading your first book?

My sisters gave me a big picture book when I was about 3 or 4. Winnie the Pooh and Eeyore’s Birthday. Pooh plans to give Eeyore a pot of honey but eats all the honey. Piglet plans to give Eeyore a balloon but pops it. Both are sad until Eeyore takes the popped balloon and makes a game with the empty honey pot. I still recall that I didn’t know how to pronounce the word “pathetic” the first time I read it.

What genre of books do you enjoy reading?

I love reading mysteries, literary fiction, history, and memoirs. I especially love the Spenser series by Robert B. Parker, and the Isabel Dalhousie and Ladies No.1 Detective Agency series by Alexander McCall Smith.

What is your favorite book?

I don’t think I have one single favorite, although The Kitchen Madonna by Rumer Godden comes close. A rushed London family gets a little dose of grace when the son makes a homemade icon for their Russian housekeeper. A lovely, sweet story. I’m always looking for copies in used bookstores to give as gifts.

You know I think we all have a favorite author. Who is your favorite author and why?

P.G. Wodehouse takes the prize. I discovered this British humorist in high school and have read dozens of his books and short stories. His world is that of 1920’s England. All of his books have a tangled plot, crazy characters, and perfect phrasing (“he writhed like an electric fan”) that never grow old. My favorite is The Code of the Woosters.

If you could travel back in time here on earth to any place or time. Where would you go and why?

I would go back to the time of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Castles, jousting, intrigue, quests. I think it would be fascinating, although I’d rather be there in summer than winter. I’m partial to central heating!

I channeled a bit of Camelot in one of my books, AWAKENING MACBETH. That’s a romantic thriller with a paranormal twist and you can check out the first chapters on Amazon’s Kindle Scout program page.

      When writing a book do you find that writing comes easy for you or is it a difficult task?

I’m an outline addict. Before I start a novel I create an outline. I scribble “scenes” on sticky notes and post them on a wall. I’ll arrange and rearrange until I like the flow at which point I’ll tape them to a poster and hang it over my desk.

That preliminary outline usually survives to about the middle of the book, at which point I’ll have had better ideas and will repeat the sticky note process. For KING PESO, I did this three times. By time the book was done, the last poster was a mess, with some stickies overwritten in red and others hidden behind a snowfall of new ones.

I tell my kids that writing is like building a chair. You know the rough shape it ahs to be and the first draft has a seat and four legs but it’s not pretty. You have to sand, stain, and polish before you have something good enough to sell.

      Do you have any little fuzzy friends? Like a dog or a cat? Or any pets?

My husband and I rescued a Shepherd-Lab mix six months ago and he now rules the house! Dutch is a real character and we’ve decided his “breed” is “attention hound.” He and I take power walks twice a day or visit the dog park where he is the social secretary.

He likes to have all my attention all the time. When I sit at my desk too long, he’ll bop me on the hip with his nose to remind me to give him some love.

We’re trying to train him not to get on the furniture but it’s an uphill battle. If only he wasn’t so darn cute.

      What is your "to die for", favorite food/foods to eat?

No surprise, because I think it a requirement for writers, but I love coffee. From that first cup in the morning to coffee ice cream for dessert, I’m a committed coffeeholic.

And yes, I do write faster with espresso.

     Do you have any advice for anyone that would like to be an author?

Two pieces of advice:

1. Don’t fall in love with your writing. Fall in love with your setting, characters, and plot, but be ready to polish your prose over and over.

2. Check points of view. Keep each character’s point of view separate.

Other than that, enjoy the journey. No matter where you are on the publishing road, there are twists and turns ahead. Enjoy them all.

To say thanks for having me in to chat. I’d like to invite everyone to stop by my website and pick up a free copy of the Detective Emilia Cruz Starter Library. The Starter Library features “The Beast,” the story about how Emilia became the first female detective in Acapulco, which was first published in The Huffington Post. You’ll also get “The Angler,” the story based on a real life murder mystery, plus the first chapters of the first three Emilia Cruz novels. As a bonus, you’ll get my monthly newsletter, Mystery Ahead.

You can click here to be taken to the Starter Library page.

All the best, Carmen

AUTHOR BIO:

Carmen Amato is the author of romantic thrillers and the Detective Emilia Cruz mystery series set in Acapulco which was recently optioned for film. Originally from New York, her experiences in Mexico and Central America inspire many of her books. For a copy of the Detective Emilia Cruz Starter Library, visit her website at carmenamato.net

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