Available from May 1, 2015 until June 30, 2015 ONLY
Make a difference while you read! All proceeds from the sale of Sweet Dreams will be donated to the Diabetes Research Institute via Brenda Novak’s Online Auction for Diabetes Research.
Allison Brennan, Cynthia Eden, JT Ellison, Heather Graham, Liliana Hart, Alex Kava, CJ Lyons, Carla Neggers, Brenda Novak, Theresa Ragan, Erica Spindler, Jo Robertson, and Tiffany Snow, with Lee Child.
Featuring a foreword by #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Lee Child.
When disgraced former cop Alex Morgan is shot saving the life of California’s Lieutenant Governor, she doesn’t expect to be caught in the middle of a deadly conspiracy, an FBI sting, an old rivalry … and cold-blooded murder. AIM TO KILL by NYT bestselling author Allison Brennan.
NYT bestselling author Cynthia Eden invites readers to enter a world of darkness and obsession in her new romantic suspense tale, UNTIL DEATH.
From NYT bestselling author J.T. Ellison comes the long awaited prequel to her Taylor Jackson series. CROSSED, the story of a madman trying to create his own end-of-days apocalypse, introduces Lieutenant Taylor Jackson to the young, troubled FBI profiler Dr. John Baldwin.
In TOYS IN THE ATTIC from NYT bestselling author Heather Graham, Michael Quinn is accustomed to dealing with the deadly, the dangerous, and the extreme—but a haunted spinning wheel? And on the eve of his wedding? He’ll have to risk his life, limb and soul for love to save Danni Cafferty from the cursed creation if he’s ever to get them both to the church on time—and live.
J.J. Graves and Jack Lawson investigate a ritualistic murder while on their honeymoon in DIRTY DEEDS by NYT bestselling author Liliana Hart.
From NYT bestselling author Alex Kava comes the prequel readers have been waiting for, and the case that destined Special Agent Maggie O’Dell to a career of chasing killers.
From NYT bestselling author CJ Lyons: When workaholic FBI Agent Lucy Guardino takes her daughter on vacation, the last thing she expects is to become embroiled in a murder—or for her teenaged daughter to play amateur sleuth with disastrous consequences.
When her twin sister disappears, Ellen Galway enlists the help of a Texas Ranger in SECRET HIDEAWAY, a story of love, danger and revenge from NYT bestselling author Carla Neggers.
HANOVER HOUSE, from NYT bestselling author Brenda Novak, features Evelyn Talbott, a psychiatrist who studies serial killers at a revolutionary new medical health center in remote Hilltop, Alaska. Evelyn’s determined to unlock the mysteries of the anti-social mind, even if it kills her—and being surrounded by men who feel no remorse means it just might…
NYT bestselling author Theresa Ragan’s newest suspense, DEAD MAN RUNNING, is set in motion when an accused murderer escapes prison in a body bag and sets out to prove his innocence.
From NYT bestselling author Erica Spindler comes the prequel to her exciting new series starring reformed southern belle turned kick ass cop, Michaela Dee Dare. In RANDOM ACTS, Micki must uncover the link between a series of bizarre and seemingly random murders in New Orleans.
Someone is slaughtering homeless people in WITHOUT MALICE, Jo Robertson‘s latest suspense-thriller. It’s personal to Parole Officer Santiago Cruz because the targets are his parolees. With no motive or murder weapon, but with help from prison doctor Frankie Jones, Cruz must trace the brutal killings back to their tragic origin.
Before Kathleen, there were just two brothers: Blane and Kade. One bonding trip to Vegas later and Sin City will never be the same in TURN THE TABLES, prequel to the Kathleen Turner Series by Bestselling Author Tiffany Snow.
DIRTY DEEDS By Liliana Hart
Jack was one of those people who was a pleasure to look at. He stood a little over six feet and had the kind of body that showed discipline and training. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Anywhere. He also had the kind of face that made women stop and stare, dimples that he always used to his advantage, and eyes that turned the color of dark chocolate when he was angry or aroused. He was one of the two at the moment, because they were almost black. Based on the fact that something hard was poking my hip, I was betting on the latter of the two.
His hair was dark and he always kept it buzzed close to the scalp. Mostly because when he let it grown long it had a tendency to curl. There were times when I had trouble focusing if Jack was in the room because I pretty much wanted to jump his bones every time he crossed in my general path. Fortunately, he was always very accommodating.
His body had scars—plenty of them—telling story after story of the life he’d led as a cop. And Jack wasn’t the type of man to sit comfortably behind a desk. He wanted to be in the action—leading the pack and taking the chances. Even now, as Sheriff of King George County, Virginia he made sure he knew what was going on in every department of the sheriff’s office. He wasn’t just a figurehead.
“I mean it,” he whispered, slipping inside of me. “This is the last time.”
“Agreed. I’m already sick of you. Lets get a divorce.” And then my eyes rolled back in my head and I stopped thinking all together.
A half an hour later, Jack was spraying sunscreen across my shoulders and back while I dumped sand out of my bikini top. I managed to put on my bathing suit despite the fact that my legs weren’t quite working, and I tied a bright blue sarong around my waist. My body was satiated and relaxed, and all I wanted was to crawl into one of the hammocks outside of our cabana and sleep. I’d had precious little rest and relaxation over the past several years.
My time as county coroner, as well as the owner of Graves Funeral Home, didn’t always allow me to get a solid eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Why was it that death always happened in the middle of the night? Fortunately, I was conditioned to function on little sleep and gallons of coffee from my time as an ER doctor. Of course, my ER days were back before my parents had driven their car over a cliff and changed my life forever.
I swayed and steadied myself on Jack’s arm. “I think there was something in the wedding vows that said you have to carry me if I’m unable to walk due to sexual bliss.” Our cabana was barely a speck in the distance, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it without falling on my face.
“I’m not sure whose wedding you attended, but I don’t think it was ours.” Jack smacked me on the behind and took my hand as we strolled toward our cabana.
My legs felt like lead, the sun was starting to get to me, and I needed a fruity drink with an umbrella in it in a bad way. I’ve never really been on vacation before, but I’ve discovered I’m pretty good at it. I kept my head down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, so I didn’t see the man standing on our front porch until we were almost right on top of him.
HANOVER HOUSE by Brenda Novak
To hide the fear that slithered, snake-like, just below her skin, making the hair on her arms stand up, Evelyn paced across one end of the small, concrete cell, pretending to be absorbed in her notes. It’d taken a few days, but she was back at San Quentin, and they were bringing Hugo Evanski to meet with her. Only this time she was prepared for anything he might do—and so were they. The warden had told her Evanski would be escorted by two correctional officers instead of one, and he wouldn’t be allowed to get out of control again.
When he didn’t appear as soon as she’d expected, however, she set her notes aside and leaned on the desk to haul in a deep breath. She’d only been released from the hospital two days ago, still had a bandage covering her stitches and a black eye to show for that earlier incident—embarrassing proof that she’d allowed herself to be hurt by someone she’d known was dangerous. There was no excuse for that, especially because her detractors wouldn’t hesitate to use what Hugo had done to undermine her efforts, if word ever got out. She had to be careful about what showed up in the press, couldn’t allow Hugo Evanski to jeopardize a program that was still in its infancy and needed time and support in order to grow.
When a clang signaled she’d soon have company, she snatched up her notepad so that no one would be able to tell that her hands were shaking. Although she told herself the same thing wouldn’t happen twice, no amount of self-talk could overcome the emotional response that welled up whenever the slightest sound, smell or other trigger reminded her of what Jasper Moore had done twenty years ago. And Hugo’s attack definitely reminded her of Jasper. Just about any violence did.
She watched as the heavy metal door slid open and two hulk-like correctional officers walked their charge into the room. They tried to seat him in the steel chair bolted to the floor, probably so that he couldn’t launch himself at her again, and, when he stiffened instead of bending, forced him into it.
“Sit your ass down,” one of the guards growled.
Hugo gave his chains a rebellious jerk but eventually complied, lifting his nose in the air and smiling at her as if he was too preoccupied with and delighted by what he’d done to her face to be bothered by correctional officers who were determined to show him they were in charge. “Looks like you’ve had an accident,” he said to her.
She fingered the tender spot near her temple. “It’s nothing. Someone of your reputation…I would’ve expected you to be able to do a lot more than simply knock me into a table.”
When the two officers on either side of him barked out a laugh, obviously surprised by her response, the smile disappeared from Hugo’s clean-shaven face. “Maybe it won’t go quite so well for you the next time.”
TOYS IN THE ATTIC By Heather Graham
The zombie-skeleton-nun was evil.
Kathy could feel it. And so could Waldorf.
“Come on, Waldorf. Kitty, Kitty!” Kathy called.
Waldorf looked at her. She could have sworn that he looked toward the zombie-nun thing— and shuddered again.
He didn’t leave the keyboard.
“Don’t look at it, Waldorf. Don’t look at it…just pretend it’s not there.”
Waldorf didn’t move. He was in the taut, hunched position cats took on when they were ready to strike—or when they were very wary and ready to take up a defensive position.
Kathy let out a sigh and brought the kitty treats over to the computer. The cat left the keys— jumping into her arms.
She gave him the treats. “You know, Waldorf, we’re going to go to my place. It’s just a shotgun rental—I don’t own it, and I’m not fixing it up—but we’ll be happier there.
She thought about her own place longingly. A block off Duval, it could be loud; drunks sometimes stumbled by singing at their top of their lungs after leaving the bars on the main street.
She had a few movie props and things of her own that one just might consider creepy.
But not the zombie-nun thing.
“I’m just going to close this up, Waldorf—then we’ll go to my place. You’ll stay in my arms, right? Didn’t bring the car and it’s about six blocks away….”
She sat, looking at the work she had done, ready to save it. She saw a few typos and set about fixing them before saving—then saved again in a backup file that she emailed to herself. As she did so, she felt the cat’s claws dig into the flesh on her thighs. Waldorf began to hiss.
She looked up.
It was there; the zombie-skeleton-nun thing. Standing in front of her. The gaping mouth now seemed to be grinning, the dark eye sockets seemed to have vision, and they were staring directly at her. She could have sworn that she heard it laughing.
It had moved.
Kathy let out a shriek, stood, clutching the massive cat to her.
And yes, it moved…one of the giant hands reached out, reached out across the desk, reached for her….
She screamed and came around the desk, staring at it in horror, wondering in the back or her mind which was closer, the front door or the back door.
She raced toward the front door. And then she felt it touch her.
Skeletal fingers wound into her hair, pulling her back. It spun her around and all she could think was that the thing was evil. She could hear the thunder of her heart; she could barely breathe. The noise of her pulse was deafening….
She screamed again, wrenched free, bolted for the front door and threw it open, letting Waldorf slip to the ground and run on his own, her only thought—escape!
She raced into the night…. On to Elizabeth Street.
And into the headlights of a coming car.
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