Thursday, September 29, 2016

Thou Shall Not Steal, but if you do, know who you're ripping off... THE IGLOO BOYS BY HENRY P. GRAVELLE

Title: The Igloo Boys
ISBN: 978-1-62420-237-7
Author: Henry P. Gravelle

Genre: Crime
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 2

The Igloo Boys
Henry P. Gravelle

By Jeffrey Ross 
4 stars out of 5

This tidy tragicomedy pits two-bit thieves (the newly-minted Igloo Boys) against some very angry and frustrated veteran members of the mob. Oh, the story also contains hard-core gangland violence, a fallen angel, dreadlocks, and a few tender moments. The language is a little rough, but the action is epic. You will thoroughly enjoy this read!


Thou Shall Not Steal, but if you do, know who you're ripping off...


A few disgruntled friends working at a manufacturing company in financial hardship, plan to rob the payroll office before they are laid off. Unknown to them, the money they take is mob money just loaned to the company. Now the thieves have more than the police after them, and no one has any idea where the money is.


Detective Freeman looked curiously at the man seated with his big hands politely folded on the tabletop. He watched his eyes because he believed they gave away emotion, surprise or danger and usually the source of the suspect's innocence or guilt.
Yet Freeman could not read this man's eyes. They remained unmoving and expressionless; he had no fear and had seen all the pain this world could toss his way.
Freeman walked slowly around the table speaking in a low monotone, asking questions yet knowing the answers.
"Several years ago Sotheby's sold a bottle of wine corked in 1787 from the wine cellar of one Thomas Jefferson, ex-president and big muck-a-muck with putting together the Declaration and all that crap. The bottle even had his initials engraved on it but after two hundred and something years the shit was no good, just a rare historical piece.
"Still, the bottle fetched fifty-six thousand dollars at auction from an undisclosed bidder. No one knew who had bought that bottle of Thomas Jefferson's wine until last year when a successful doctor reported the breaking and entering of his Weston home while he and his wife enjoyed the Boston Pops.
"The next day the good doctor presented a complete listing of stolen items to his insurance company containing numerous pieces of jewelry, silverware and electronic gadgets of every description along with the previously mentioned bottle of historically certified wine from the Chateau d'Yquem, circa 1787. A rare white wine in a blue bottle with the initials Th. J etched into the glass, now holding a value of one-hundred plus thousand."
Freeman watched the man's eyes when he mentioned the value of the bottle.
No response.
Marty leaned closer and could smell the odor of lockup drifting from the man as he whispered into his ear, "You wouldn't know anything about a bottle fitting that description now would you, Willy?"
The man blinked as though awaking from a trance and opened his hands, palms up. "Don't rightly have any knowledge 'o that, no suh."
"No knowledge of it?" Freeman gave a little laugh, standing erect.
He felt his words had been ignored yet he knew Willy had plenty of knowledge about the missing bottle of wine and even more knowledge about the robbery of the doctor's home, and knew even more about the Igloo.
"Your arresting officers confiscated two Rolex watches, a digital camera, four diamond rings, a pearl necklace, two DVD players and two laptop computers from that room they found you in. All those items with serial numbers of items from the doctor's list of stolen goods. Still don't know what I'm talking about?"
Willy was unflinching, Freeman unrelenting, "I can easily get more time added onto what you already got for hitting that cop. Do you really wanna keep butting heads with me?"
Freeman returned to the other side of the table and opened a manila folder, spreading several sheets of paper across the tabletop. He methodically placed a pair of dark framed bifocals on his aged from stress and demands of 'To protect and Serve' face, then read.
"Willy 'Wampum' Reberio," Freeman stopped, looking confused, "why Wampum?"
"'Cause when I fight I wump the utter guy quick," Willy replied softly.
"I thought because you were part Wampanoag you earned your wampum from fighting?" Freeman said.
It was Willy's turn to look confused, "Suh?"
"You're an old Injun scrapper. Wampum is Indian money ain't it? Isn't that what you fought for, money, wampum?"
Willy shook his head, "No suh, I be called Wampum 'cause I put a hurt on the utter man. I wumped his ass good."
"How many did you wump?"
"Fifty-eight, suh."
Freeman smirked, "Fifty eight? You earned a shot at the title with fifty-eight fights?"
"Fifty-eight kay-ohs," Willy stated proudly.
Freeman understood and resumed reading from the report.

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

HURTLED THROUGH TIME, Sean Michael Sterling, landed in the midst of a May Day celebration he didn’t understand, assuming the role of Laird Sterling. HIGHLAND MIRACLE BY CHRISTINE YOUNG FREE ON KU

Author: Christine Young

Genre: Romance/Fantasy/Paranormal
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 2

HURTLED THROUGH TIME, Sean Michael Sterling, landed in the midst of a May Day celebration he didn’t understand, assuming the role of Laird Sterling.
ILLIGITAMATE CHILD OF NOBILITY, Reagan Douglas searches for a way out of her half brother’s house.


New York City 1895

"I dinnae ken what this contraption could be. I must be aff my heid," he said reverting back to the old language his great grandfather had spoken from time to time.  Sean Michael Sterling walked around the tall red object he'd just come across in Central Park. His heart thundered with the realization this was an anomaly and for some reason...
"Is this a fire hydrant?" he murmured totally intrigued. Cautiously stepping closer, he rested a hand on the object of his fascination. The hackles on the back of his neck stood on end. The thing was smooth and touching it sent shivers up his spine. If this was a hydrant, it sure could hold a ton of water.
For some reason... his mind shifted and he thought time machine—Jules Verne—his favorite book.
He leaned in and smelled, nothing, just the scent of metal. He didn't recognize the odor. When he stepped back, he caught a hint of Daphne floating on the air. A slight breeze sifted through the meadow, filling his senses with new cut grass, wet dog, and something he couldn't quite identify.
Thoughts of pixie dust came to mind.
I am off my head.
A small dog ran around his heels, yipping and barking. "Crazy dog." Sean leaned down and rubbed the dog's ears. “You look like a bandit. Wonder where you came from? Go on, now. Where's your owner?"
The dog sat down, wagging his tale and stared at him. It seemed the animal was telling him he wasn't going anywhere.  "Now, Bandit, you need to go find your owner. I'm not one to be taking you home with me. Don't think my landlord would appreciate a dog in the building."
Strangely he was the only one in the park, or at least this corner of it. The sound of carriages could be heard in the distance. He suddenly felt isolated and completely alone. The damn thing compelled him to know more, seeming to reach out to him and beckon. An eerie keening started in the back of his mind and grew. The impulse to explore overwhelmed him. Even as he looked at the machine, his mind cautioned him to stay away, but his curiosity sprouted to an uncanny level.
A little voice in the back of his head urged him forward. Damn, but he needed to go home. His stomach growled complaining of hours without food. His eyes burned from the fire he'd just been on and his body cried out for sleep. Rubbing his sooty hair, he muttered to himself.
But thoughts of what was inside this monster contraption intrigued him more than the demands of his body.
Walking around the monstrosity, he kept his hand on the metal all the while looking for an opening.  What shocked him and what was more surprising was the fact that little Bandit found the opening for him.
Bandit sat down in front of what appeared to be a door and stared at him again. It seemed to Sean that Bandit dared him to see what was inside. Well, he'd never been a man who could resist a straight on challenge.
He inhaled a long and very deep breath. Closing his eyes he counted to ten. Even though the day was cool, sweat beaded on his forehead. He walked into fires, lifted burning timber, and he'd never really been afraid a day in his life.
This contrivance terrified him.
Nerves snapping, Sean pushed on the door. It slid sideways, revealing a dark abyss. He stepped back. Fear raced through him, caution cried out to him but he ignored all warnings.
Curiosity propelled him forward.
Bandit ran inside. "No," Sean cried out. "Dinnae....
Silence chilled him to the bone and a cold sweat broke out on his body. Birds chirped in nearby trees.
All seemed right with the world—except for this machine.
"Come here." He crouched down and called to Bandit. Bandit didn't budge. Instead the dog cocked his head to one side and seemed to be saying. You come here.
Sean wavered then stood his ground. Bandit seemed to like it in the machine.
And yet...
An extraordinary golden dust swirled around him, warming him like a golden rain.

When Serenity is asked to find the truth in a forty-year old tragedy, someone in the town of White Oak, Texas doesn’t want the truth told. Can they stop her before she finds out what they have kept hidden for so long? THE HOUSE ON BERKLEY STREET BY K. J. DAHLEN

Author: K. J. Dahlen

Genre: Mystery
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1

When Serenity is asked to find the truth in a forty-year old tragedy, someone in the town of White Oak, Texas doesn’t want the truth told. Can they stop her before she finds out what they have kept hidden for so long?


When Serenity St. Claire arrived in White Oak, Texas she pulled into the first service station. She got out of her car and walked inside. The heat from the outside was cut dramatically as she entered the convenience store. Serenity paused for a moment, thankful for the change in temperature. She'd grown up in Oklahoma but she didn't remember it being this hot. At the counter she asked the clerk for a city map. After buying the map and an ice-cold soda, she put her sunglasses back on and pushed the door open again.

Sitting behind the wheel in her car Serenity started the engine and turned up the AC. She opened the map and began looking for a certain address. When she found it she stared at the street for a moment or two. She was half afraid to go there but knew she would have to face her demons sooner or later.

A few minutes later she pulled her car up in front of the last house on the end of Berkley Street and got her first look at the house her mother spent her first two years in. A shiver snaked down her spine. She could still see some of the scorch marks caused by a fire that happened forty years ago but could also see that someone in the past had tried to repair the damage done by the fire.

It looked like someone was maintaining the yard as the grass was freshly cut and there were flowers planted along the path leading to the front door. But the house itself had a neglected look to it. A couple of the windows had been broken and most of the shutters were missing. Serenity could see gaping holes in the roof and scorch marks marred the outer walls of the house. She couldn't tell if that was fire damage or the fact that the house had stood empty all this time. The front door was hanging kind of cockeyed in the doorframe and there were sections of the railing around the front porch that were missing.

As she stepped out of her car and stared at the house, her heart raced. This place had a tragic history that would give even the bravest cause to think twice about entering. It was rumored that forty years ago on April 1 Jedidiah Monroe snapped and murdered his wife Emily and five of their six children. Then after killing his family he started the fire to hide his crimes. Only two year old Hannah escaped certain death and that was only because she wasn't home at the time of the tragedy. Serenity rubbed her arms to ward off the all-encompassing chill sweeping through her.

No one knew for certain exactly what made Jedidiah snap. Some say it was a result of the heat wave Texas had back then. Sixty plus consecutive days of over a hundred degree heat seared most of Texas and Oklahoma that year, but Serenity didn't believe that story. She grew up hearing how much love Jedidiah had for his family and how he would never have hurt them for any reason. Hannah had been too young to remember her family and after the tragedy, she had lived with her grandparents but her grandmother Karin remembered and it was Karin who Serenity had heard the stories from. Before she died a couple of months ago, Karin asked Serenity to go back to White Oak, Texas and find out what really happened that day. She had made her promise to someday come here and find out the truth so Serenity was here to discover what she could about a forty year old tragedy.

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

I have enjoyed this series. Strong alpha highlanders....what more could a girl want. HIGHLAND MAGIC BY CHRISTINE YOUNG FREE ON KINDLE UNLIMITED

Christine Young
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 3


4.0 out of 5 stars
February 24, 2013

I have enjoyed this series. Strong alpha highlanders....what more could a girl want. The heroin is strong but sometimes just doesn't think....but that makes for the drama. Off to the third book.


Throughout the Highlands she is known as Keely, the witch woman. She is a great healer-a woman whose dreams come true. Ian MacPherson is a man who puts honor, loyalty and duty above everything. Their lives are entwined when Ian is sent by the Scottish King to bring Keely to trial for witchcraft. He is attacked and left for dead, but Keely rescues him. When he wakes, he discovers he has no memory. As he remembers his lost past, Ian finds that his need to protect the woman who has saved his life eclipses his duty to his king and country. He is a man torn between honor and duty to his country and the woman he loves.


Scotland, Summer 1513:

For a moment the man's gaze met hers, bored into her heart, questioned. Blood curdling war cries rode the wings of death through the timeless night. Claymores clashed. Dark eyes the color of midnight flashed a challenge. The holy man's opponents hesitated then lunged once more.

Moonbeams reflected light from the gold chain he wore around his neck. Brown robes fell from massive shoulders. Three more enemies appeared from the trees. The priest fell to the ground, wounded by the broadside of his enemy's weapon. Motionless, he lay on her flower-strewn meadow, blood staining the grass and wildflowers, marring the colorful, summer landscape.

Keely Gray woke, heart pounding a rapid staccato. She pressed against her throbbing temples with sweat-slick palms, hoping to ease the horrific pain that always accompanied the dreams. Death--the scent of blood, fear and treachery still hung heavy in the darkened hut. The prickling sensation radiating from her spine to encompass her body was too familiar.

She listened and heard nothing.

A dark void impaled her. The usual night sounds stilled. She heard no hoot of owl, no chirp of crickets, no croak of frogs, nor could she hear the mournful sighing of the wind through the branches of the old oak trees.

Silence emptied her heart as well as her soul, leaving only an ever-present loneliness.

Keely wanted nothing more than to cuddle into her bed and pull the covers over her head. Despite the unspeakable agony deep in the pit of her stomach, she rose from her pallet. Her limbs trembling, she slipped a shapeless tunic over her head and soft-soled shoes onto her feet. As she swept past the front door, she grabbed her woolen cloak.

Light from a full moon illuminated the path. She could see, but she could also be seen, the moonlight both a curse and a blessing. Approaching the meadow she'd watched in her dreams, she slowed her pace and waited. Her fingers wound tightly around the amber pendant she always wore, her only keepsake from her mother.

The sounds and scents hovering on the wind would tell her if danger still lurked. Caution guided her. A vigilance she'd learned long ago held her motionless.

 A familiar dragging sound reassured her she wasn't alone. "Whipple?" she whispered.

A self-appointed guardian angel appeared as if from nowhere then nodded, though there was a wary cast to his faded blue eyes. "Aye, lass, I'm here. I heard ye leave your hut. I would not leave ye alone to face whatever dangerous mission awaited."

Keely waited for Whipple to close the distance between them before she spoke. "I would argue with you about your appearance here at this great hour, but I ken it would do no good. You should not be here. Your heart--"

Whipple spat. "My heart is fine."

She determinedly stepped forward, approaching the meadow of her dream, knowing she wouldn't like what she found.

"Have it your way, then." Given a choice, Keely wouldn't have come to this meadow. But she had to know the truth--had she seen the future or something happening at that very moment?

Whipple didn't reply. On his clubfoot, he followed her, his trailing leg sliding behind him with a soft swish. The hard thud of his crooked oak cane followed at a slightly skewed interval.

Together they crested the hill. Below her, she saw her dream. A priest lay on the ground, his head twisted at an odd angle. For a moment her heart stopped. She bit down on her lower lip while she studied the man.