I like serial killers because I want to know why people do the things they do—specifically the really bad stuff. How can someone be so twisted up in their head they can torture another human being, especially a child? What happened to us in adolescence shapes who we are as people, and that’s definitely the case for some serial killers. But not all serial killers are equal (and not all are psychopaths) but they are all unique. This is essentially the basis for the hit Netflix show MINDHUNTERS, based on John Douglass’s book. The main characters are based on Douglas and another pioneer in the behavioral science unit, Robert Ressler. And please note, there are MANY more key profilers who helped create the BSU, including Robert Keppel and Roy Hazelwood. In the 70s, talking to people like Ed Kemper—having a real conversation with him without showing any disgust for his crimes—was unthinkable. But the profilers pressed on and changed how we catch and study criminals. The show is amazing. Highly encourage you to watch if you haven’t already!

But the crux of the show and their research is this: what are these killers thinking, and why did they do those horrible things? Kemper’s issues go back to his mother—when you hear his stories, it’s not a huge shock he became a killer. Others are wired that way. Gary Ridgway/The Green River Killer told psychiatrists he wanted to see what killing felt like, although he also had a serious lack of confidence around women and saw prostitutes as trash; Bundy wanted to control and frighten, and he wanted private time with the bodies; Jeffrey Dahmer had a substance abuse problem and issues with his sexuality but he had a normal upbringing and no specific triggers in his background. BTK was a family man who deftly compartmentalized his life into specific boxes, keeping careful not to allow his killing box to intersect his personal life, until his ego got the best of him. If you’re interested in Radar, read Katherine Ramsland’s book on him, CONFESSIONS OF A SERIAL KILLER. She spent several years interviewing BTK, and the information comes straight from the source.

We know all of these things (and a whole lot more I don’t have space for) because of guys like Douglas, Ressler, Keppel and Hazelwood, and many more. We can never truly understand these people because we don’t know what it’s like to live in their heads. But we can certainly study and try, and that helps law enforcement catch them. And it helps writers come up with seriously scary villains.

Every one of my bad guys—including my Ripper character—is inspired by research into the dark and twisted. I certainly don’t compare what I do to the likes of Douglas and his cohorts, but I do try and understand as much of the bad guy’s psyche as possible before I start writing. The antagonist—and in my case, usually the killer—drives the plot. Everything the protagonist does is really in reaction to whatever the villain is doing, so it’s crucial to understand every little detail about him before I start writing. 99% of that backstory doesn’t make it into a novel. But it still shapes the entire story.

Have you read KILLING JANE? Reviewers are love!

Life has gotten in the way of my career since September. My mother’s health declined, and then on Tuesday, November 29th, she fell and ended up with a compound fracture to her right leg. Both bones broken and exposed, and one hell of a wound. Her multitude of health issues affected her ability to heal (including diabetes), so the surgeon gave her a 50/50 shot of keeping her foot. Almost 17 weeks later, she’s getting close to being able to bear weight again. The massive wound is down to a flesh wound, and we are hoping the surgeon takes the rods out of her foot soon. Last fall, my parents were also taken advantage of by the person who bought their farm and were essentially run out of their home of 30 years by a hog confinement they were tricked into allowing. That’s a long story, but Karma is a vengeful bitch. When mom fell, we already knew they were moving near us (finally!) because the toxicity of a hog implement 600 feet away from their home wasn’t an option. Because of mom’s injury and the need for care, we set her up in a facility near me until the wound healed. For a few months, Dad drove up on weekends to see her. I suddenly found myself responsible for her care, all of their finances and legal paperwork, as well as getting them ready to move out of the house I grew up in. Compound that with Mom being stuck in a nursing home (which has been a great place for her), and I felt pulled in about a hundred directions. I hated the idea of her sitting there alone, so I spent a lot of my days with her. Getting back to any kind of routine was impossible, and my head was full of everything BUT writing. And there was the daily worry about this day being her last one, or an infection setting in.

I’m an emotional person, and I think that helps my creativity. But it also means I live my life on a rollercoaster, and a lot of my emotions have been tied up with my parents’ issues and hurtful accusations from people I never dreamed could be so callous. Anger, sadness, confusion, absolute fear of mom dying, feeling alone, and then back to anger — and the worst part was the inability to understand how much everything effected me. My husband has been a constant support system, encouraging me to get back to writing because I have a television deal in the works. “Everything’s about to happen to you,” he’d say. “You can’t waste this opportunity. You need to get busy on the next book because the production team is going to sell this, and then they’re going to want season 2.”

I knew he was right, and I tried. I plotted, wrote a scene or two, plotted some more. All here and there, when I could fit it in between the 900 other things going on, including the voices in my head. I lost so much sleep imagining how I could defend myself to people who’ve already made up their minds and will never see things any different. That’s a battle I had to walk away from, because it dried me up emotionally, and nothing’s going to change it.

I kept telling my husband that I’d used up whatever creativity I had. I couldn’t even visualize writing another book, much less one that would be better than the last and worthy of the exceptions of my (very understanding) publisher and excited production studio. I kept trying to work, but every time it looked like I’d be able to get back into a routine and find some spark, the Next Terrible Thing happened.

Finally came the cat bites to my index finger and thumb, and a fast moving infection that could have easily cost me my finger. I had emergency surgery and then spent 4 days in the hospital feeling helpless and finished. And then the surgeon tells me it will be 6 weeks to 3 months before I have full range of motion. At the time, my index finger was still very stiff from the extreme swelling in the tendon. How in the hell was I supposed to work?

Thankfully, I was able to get away from normal life for a while. I made it to the state swim meet to watch my daughter, and then she and I took a much needed vacation to Florida to see my closest friends. Maybe that’s what saved me. After we got back, things seemed to stabilize. A routine emerged. I started wanting to read again, and I started making more and more notes for the new book. I decided to try dictation because of my hand—although I got very lucky and my fingers work fairly well, and I can type. But talking into the mic about the book seemed to jumpstart something, and without even realizing it, I WANTED to write again. And I had ideas! Ideas for Hyde and Seek (Erin Prince #2), for a new indie series, and maybe even another Cage Foster novel.

This week, it all clicked. Between dictation and typing, I created a scene by scene synopsis and wrote 10,000 words on the new book. I hated to stop each day because I enjoyed it so much. That’s a feeling I’d forgotten.

When I told my editor, she declared the lights were back on.

And that’s exactly right. I’ve struggled to explain how I’ve felt this winter, using words like dull and numb and stupid, but she hit the nail on the head. My creative lights had gone black. I didn’t think they would come back on. But they are bright as day right now, and I’m taking advantage of it.

The point of this post isn’t to get a bunch of sympathy or brag about my writing and the television opportunity (although some people are going to take it that way, and those are the ones I’ve realized add nothing of value to my life). It’s to tell you that we all go through extreme lows. Most writers are emotional people, and when that balance is upset by stress and life’s jackhammers, you’re going to stop being able to write. And that’s okay. Give yourself the time to walk away from the keyboard and replenish. Fill up your well, as my editor says. Because eventually, things will swing back up. You’ll see daylight again, and you’ll want to create. Take care of yourself first, and the rest will fall back into place.

I promise.

As an author building my brand, I know I shouldn’t post some of the things I do, even though I keep it on my personal page. And I’ve certainly gone against much of my family in my posts, although that is probably par for the course at this point in my life. Posting my opinion and fears made me feel better, despite possible ramifications.

Here’s why. A lot of writers (or anyone in a creative field) are highly emotional people. We live on a rollercoaster of ups and downs, and that’s sometimes DOUBLED because if we’re doing it right, we’re suffering through our character’s woes as well. My mind never stops, and it’s full of about 900 different threads. Some are work related, many are family: my parents; issues between myself and others that have me baffled and hurt; Grace’s daily stuff. At any given time, there’s a conversation going on in my head. It might be something I want to say to a family member but never can, or maybe how I’ll deal with the attorney for my parents tomorrow, or even how to help Grace work through an issue. My point is, it’s all fueled by emotion. And often fear of the unknown is right on its heels. So add in something as volatile as politics and the future of our country, and things become a powder keg.

We see so many terrible things going on, and we read way too much on FB, and we just keep absorbing and absorbing, and then we’ve got to speak.

I probably spoke too much. To all of the family members and friends I offended: I never meant to target you in anger. I never meant to say you personally are racist, anti-semitic, anti-everything but straight, white male. When I wrote those posts, I wrote them with a vary specific subset of Trump supporters in mind, but I probably generalized the posts too much. I’m sad for the divide it’s probably caused with some family members, although the gap was already very established. I’m sad for anyone I made feel badly or targeted by my posts because that’s just another form of hate and fear that so many of us are afraid of for the next four years.

I do stand by the things I said. Putting them on Facebook isn’t the answer, however, because all it does is incite arguments and push-back. Clearly, no Facebook or Twitter status ever swayed a vote. But when you run on emotion like I do, and your life is so full of personal and business responsibilities, you feel like social media is the only way you can make a difference and get your voice heard. And how can we stay silent when we see terrible things happening, and we have so much fear for our future?

Social media isn’t the answer. It’s full of targeted hate and threats. Trying to make any point on whatever platform you choose is probably going to be ignored at best.

So what can I do?  I can donate to the various groups who are willing and able to protect civil rights and the environment. I can keep my eyes open in my community for hate crimes or threats, and I can educate my child that we must be tolerant of others’ opinions even if we don’t agree, but intolerant of bigotry and cruelty. I can teach her that skin color and religious preference don’t matter, and that we stand up to bullying in any form. I can set the best example I can for her and encourage her to do the same for her peers. I can tell her that even though times are scary, we are all going to be okay.

Because I have to believe that’s true.

If you want to donate time and/or money to groups fighting to protecting civil and human rights, click here.

On Saturday night, the Chicago Cubs made history, breaking their so-called curse and making their first World Series since 1945. It all happened at Wrigley Field, where generations of faithful gathered to celebrate. These Cubs are young and hungry, and as potential league MVP Kris Bryant said, too young to care about curses.

But what about cracking under pressure? Cubs fans have seen it happen before. In 2003, we watched a more experienced team, with an all-star pitching staff, come apart after a crazy inning when a fan interfered with a play. Those Cubs lost their composure, their lead in the series, and eventually the NLCS. This year’s team is made of young, hungry guys who are mostly between 22-28, with the exception of catcher David Ross. He’s 39, and they call him Grandpa. Awesome, right? How could these young, relatively inexperienced guys handle such an enormous task?

This team started the season with great expectations by the fans, the media, the organization, and themselves. Four games into the season, one of their powerhouses tore his ACL and LCL. Many fans were doom and gloom. But the players held steady and went on to a 103 win season. Then came the postseason. They went into the NLCS the favorites, but ended up down 2-1 when their hitters were shut out for two games. Talk about pressure. An entire city and worldwide legion of fans has put their hopes on you, not to mention the bosses who hired you to produce glory.

Kris Bryant and Anthony Rizzo, both MVP candidates, couldn’t hit a damn thing. Rizzo was something like 0 for 10, and it was getting scary. I had major doubts, in part because these guys are so young. The millennial generation (and those who came after) aren’t known for toughness. They’ve grown up in a different time, with a shift in education that in some cases makes it easier to be average and put out average effort. They’re among the “everyone’s a winner and gets a ribbon” generations, and many of those people have a hard time in college and the real world because they’ve never learned how to fail.

Rizzo’s a cancer survivor, so it’s no surprise he broke it open in game four and led the Cubs to major victory. But the other young guys stepped it up to. Even though Bryant’s bat remained cool, he earned walks and got on base. Javier Baez and Addison Russell, who both look like they should still be in high school, brought their bats and incredible outfield skills. Game 5 was more of the same.

Anthony Rizzo made the national news when a mic caught him apologizing to the umpire for his actions the prior inning when he thought he’d walked but had a strike called (I didn’t think he was disrespectful, and neither did the umpire, it seemed). Parents shared the video across Facebook as an inspiration to their kids.

And then came game 6 in Chicago on Saturday night. A team on the cusp of history. 300,000 fans waiting OUTSIDE Wrigley Field to celebrate, plus the lucky ones with tickets ready to watch the game. A Cubs pitcher on the mound with a hell of a task on his shoulders, including going against a 3-time Cy Young Award winner and the man who shut the Cubs out in game 2.

Starting pitcher Kyle Hendricks never wavered, never cracked under the pressure. Never faltered when his team earned an error. The crowd booed when he was relieved in the 7th because he was still in full control.

The hitters brought their bats, and the Cubs prevailed. Celebration ensued, with quite a few tears among the faithful. But of all their accomplishments this season, what’s impressed me most about this young team is their poise and grace. They’ve made their share of mistakes, but they learned from them and pushed forward instead of cracking. When times were rough and they weren’t performing to their (and millions of others) expectations, they didn’t crack or whine or call foul. They worked harder and came out of their slump. And they didn’t allow the Cubs sad history to affect them, especially manager Joe Maddon, who no doubt played a big role in cultivating talent and managing egos.

Kris Bryant said they were too young to worry about curses. Perhaps, but they defied a generational stereotype this season, showing young people how to play hard, work hard, and be humble. They showed our youth how to be grateful for their accomplishments and the importance of teamwork. They’ve inspired a whole new generations of fans by being great role models, and as a parent, I’m forever grateful.

Go Cubs Go!

11 years ago in June, my oldest brother was killed in a car accident. She was already diabetic and overweight but until that moment, everything was stable. But the stress caused her slow decline. I was pregnant at the time, and she was healthy enough to help us paint my daughter’s room. After Grace was born, Mom was a huge help in taking care of her those first weeks. Grace is almost 11 now, and Mom can barely get around.

Since she went on dialysis, I’ve felt as though I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, just waiting for her death to push me off. Her kidney doctor didn’t think she’d make it two years on dialysis because of her heart condition, but until the last couple of weeks, she’s done very well, and he admitted she surprised him. But she’s still very sick, and we could lose her any day. I try to take it one day at a time and be grateful she’s still here, but it’s a struggle.

I truly thought we were going to lose her this time. Shortly after she was admitted to the University of Iowa Hospital two weeks ago, it just seemed like all her systems were shutting down. I had a conference to go to, and it was too late to cancel the hotel or airline. We stood to loose thousands, and she insisted I go. She said she’d be hurt if I didn’t. Walking out of that room that night was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I really thought she’d die before we got on the plane the next morning.

But yet again, she rebounded and is out of the hospital. But she’s still sick, and the reality is we’ll be lucky to get another couple of years for someone her age on dialysis.

So much of my life is spent waiting for the worst to come and fighting against that. I know I should cherish every day, and I honestly try to. But every time the phone rings, my heart stops.

How do we continue to enjoy and live our own lives when someone we love so much is in such a perilous condition? I feel guilty when I’m not worrying about her, and then I feel bad because I’m not giving my husband and daughter my full attention.

And in the back of my mind, there’s always the single, terrible question: what will I do without my mom?

There aren’t any answers, and I know I’m not alone in going through something like this. Watching our parents age and suffer is an awful thing, and I’m lucky I’m close enough to her to help take care of her. But there’s another part of me that’s angry, at both her and life for putting such a good person through such terrible things. She’s only 74, and she deserves better. I think of all the time I spent with her that I took for granted, all the little memories that have evaporated over the years. I should have cherished those moments, stockpiled them, journaled about them.

But that won’t lessen the pain of losing her. So I’ll continue to take things a day at a time and be grateful for whatever time she has left. I’ll also use her health issues as a motivator for my own life, so that I continue to get healthy and avoid the issues she’s dealing with. I don’t want to put my own daughter through this some day.

And to anyone with diabetes, please take care. I know weight is usually a mental issue, so seek therapy if you possibly can. Don’t underestimate what it can do to your body, and don’t underestimate the power of stress. Find healthy ways to cope, seek therapy or other help as needed. We only have one life, and we need to cherish it!

http://www.leelofland.com/wordpress/stacy-green-writers-need-the-wpa-because-readers-are-smart/

Fear of death is something I struggle with, and it’s a topic I tried to explore with Lucy Kendall. Why am I so afraid? Is it a lack of faith? I don’t think so. I believe in God and some kind of an afterlife, even if I’m not sure any single religion is correct.

I think the real crux of it is the idea that one day, I will be no more on this earth. That my own body will just cease. I will be dead. I go through periods of mild panic attacks, usually in the middle of the night, when for just a very brief, heart stopping moment, the truth fully dawns on me. Dead.

And yet, I am strangely drawn to anything morbid. Research is easy for me. Crime scene photos don’t bother me (unless they’re children). The whole idea of embalming and how long a body can last is fascinating to me.

But I hate funerals. I hate seeing them in the casket, all waxen and usually nowhere close to looking like themselves. Dead people in pictures don’t feel as real. It’s easy to see them as an object, something that’s not going to happen to me. Seeing the reality, surrounded by grief and the powerful scent of funeral flowers, I can no longer pretend.

Like all parents, I don’t want to pass my hangups on to my kid. I’ve been very upfront with Grace about death, and her attending a funeral has been a point of contention between my husband and me. He believed she was too young, I thought she needed to have the experience before someone she knew and loved passed on.

She attended our friend’s funeral. Before we left, I told her what to expect, explaining how people often are embalmed and then we pay our respects. I wanted her to understand that death and the body she may see was nothing to be afraid of. It’s a part of life we can’t dwell on, and we were there to honor him.

Grace handled it well. So did I, once I realized the casket was closed. Selfishly, I didn’t want to see that good man like that, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to calm my daughter’s fears if she got upset, because deep inside, I’m scared too. But she did witness the mourning process, and she understood the gravity of the situation.

I still fear death, and I still don’t know exactly why. But hopefully, by being open and honest with Grace, I won’t pass on the same fears to her.

So what makes a hero? Bravery, tenacity, strength are all important qualities. But I think our men and women in uniform have another special something, and that’s the desire not only to serve their country but to make the lives of its citizens better. And every one of them accept that at any given moment, they might have to make the ultimate sacrifice. In fact, they do more than accept it. These heroes embrace that possibility. Each one is cut from a special type of cloth, and I am grateful this country has so many men and women willing to serve and protect.
Thank you.

From rookie cops to special cops, this collection celebrates all of those who Protect and Serve:

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J.M. Madden – Her Secret Wish

Rachel Searles, a former Marine Pilot, normally did the rescuing, so she’s a little off balance when Denver PD officer Dean West comes to her aid in a crash. He’s incredibly handsome, seductive and threatens all her natural defenses.

Dean West is intrigued by the warrior woman with pain in her eyes. As she adjusts to her new life, he wants to be a part of it. Will he be able to surmount her fears and convince her to take a chance with her heart?

Sharon Hamilton – True Navy Blue (Novella)

Zak Chambers grows up in the shadow of a home grown hero he’s always being compared to. But even heroes can be unlucky, and when the legendary SEAL sacrifices his life overseas, Zak is moved to follow in his footsteps.

His fast and furious fling in high school, Amy Dobson, is still the wild child daughter of the local Chief of Police, doing her best to excise her demons by partying with half the male population of their town.  She barges back into his life and Zak finds he is powerless to resist her. They explosively reconnect one last time before he ships off to the Navy.

But will it be enough to save her from terrorists and for a happily ever?

Amity Cross – Rebel (A Men of The Underground Novella)

Kane “Rebel” Sturgess is the newest fighter at The Underground, an illegal cage fighting racket that’s bad news…and big money. He’s set to make his fortune with the only thing he’s ever been good at. Fighting dirty.

He’s got no job, no family, no ties and this is his ticket to an easier life. Winning a Championship in this place could mean better and more honest things for a guy like him.

Enter Charlotte “Charlie” Croft, undercover detective with the Victoria Police, tasked with bringing an end to The Underground. She’s got her work cut out for her considering most of her fellow cops are taking bribes on the side from the ringleaders. The only chance she’s got is if she heads in undercover and immerses herself in the life. She needs to get close to her targets, collect evidence and pounce…all without being found out.

What she doesn’t expect is to fall for one of the fighters. A handsome, dangerous, bad boy with a rap sheet longer than War and Peace. A fighter who goes by the name Rebel.

There’s only one thing he’s interested in cracking, and it isn’t The Underground. It puts Charlie in an impossible position and she’s got to make a choice before she winds up in a body bag.

Her heart or her career. She can’t have both…or can she?

Stacy Green – Shots Fired – A Cage Foster/Delta Detectives novella

Cage Foster is finishing up a long shift as a criminal investigator for the Adams County, Mississippi’s Sheriff department. He’s eager to go home to his fiancé and new baby when a report of shots fired at a friend’s historical antebellum home changes everything.

When Cage arrives at Magnolia House, he discovers a victim on the front lawn and realizes his friends are still trapped inside. A domestic dispute between two guests has gone horribly wrong, and the hostage negotiation team won’t arrive before the situation explodes.

With time running out, Cage must sneak into the house through the long forgotten tunnel once used to shuttle slaves back and forth. Once inside, his only hope is a surprise attack, but the old house has tricks of its own.

Will Cage be able to save his friends, or will he become yet another victim of a furious husband hellbent on punishment?

Jamie Lee Scott – Uncertain Blue (an Uncertain Novella)

When he was just a kid, Dane Briggs spent his summers in Uncertain, at his uncle’s house on the lake. Now he’s back in Uncertain, as a rookie cop. During his first week on the force, he’s reunited with his childhood crush, Claire Hamilton. She’s one of the people arrested during a drug bust. Dane feels a sense of responsibility he can’t explain, and wants to save her. Can Dane save someone who isn’t ready to be saved?

Allie K. Adams – Brace for Contact

Leaving is easy…

As an agent in the State Bureau of Investigation’s Narcotics Unit, it’s Norman “Nash” Ashford’s job to track down the drugs destroying his city and get them off the street. He’s one of the best narc agents the SBI has. Even with his talent at tracking, he’s never been able to find the one that got away—the brightest star to have ever blinded him. Nash has been trying to track her down ever since she walked away half a decade ago.

TREX Cadet Michaela “Mike” Starr is pulled from training on a matter of national security. Her ex-boyfriend has intel vital to the success of a find and is refusing to deliver, so TREX sends her in to persuade him to divulge his source. The man she ran away from is now her target.

Coming back is a whole other story.

Nash and Mike must work together to overcome their past, all while trying not to make the same mistakes. Instead, they make all new ones. Will they get it right this time?

Hildie McQueen – Tea, Theft and Scones

Random thefts are rampant in Whisper, Georgia and Abbie Adams, the owner of Sweet Magnolia Tea shop decides to step in and help investigate.  After all with the Whisper Festival about to take place, the town doesn’t need this hanging over their collective heads.

It’s more complicated than she expects, as everyone seems to be hiding something.  From the new hunky veterinarian to the town’s mayor.

Just as Abbie gets closer to solving who the random thief is, she becomes the prime suspect.

Cheryl Bradshaw – Dead of Night

On the outside, the Bancrofts are an ordinary, squeaky-clean family. No frills. No scandals. When matriarch June Bancroft is fatally stabbed after a weekly Sunday dinner, all eyes are on her daughter-in-law Wren who was seen fleeing the house with the bloody knife. Is Wren really the killer, or is a dark, scandalous family secret to blame?

Carra Copeland – Lilah By Midnight 

Lilah Canfield has one last chance to save her career as a country music performer with a performance at Billy Bob’s Texas in Fort Worth. Bad thing is the worst snow storm in a century has hit the Texas Panhandle making passage on the highways dangerous at best and closed at worst. When her motor coach slides off the road into a snow bank outside her hometown of Mistletoe, Texas, will Lilah make her gig and save her career? Or will she give it all up for a second chance at love?

Two years after the death of his wife, Sheriff’s Deputy Jack McCommas is ready to move forward for himself and his eight year old daughter. When he and a friend stop to help the folks in a stranded motor coach, he can’t believe Lilah Canfield’s standing in front of him and is literally shocked to realize the old spark is still there when they touch. He uncovers a plot to sideline Lilah’s career and realizes he has a dilemma. If he solves the mystery and she chooses her music, will he be able to let her go a second time? Or will he try to convince her to stay in Mistletoe?

Jenna Bennett – Overcome

The last thing Carmen Fuentes wants, is another encounter with a rapist.

She couldn’t get away from Key West fast enough after the trial of Stan Laszlo. Attending the Miami Police College gave her time away from her hometown—away from the stares and whispers, from the pity and the people who thought she’d probably done something to bring it on herself. It also gave her a chance to get on her feet again, to find purpose to her life and some meaning in what happened to her.

But when she envisioned a future in which she helped catch other predators before they could hurt other women, she’d seen herself doing it from a safe distance, behind a desk at the Key West Precinct. Not dressing up in the kind of skimpy outfit she hasn’t worn since before the trial, and hitting the Miami nightspots trying to catch the attention of a serial rapist preying on young Hispanic women.

Yet that’s exactly what Detective Will Murphy offers. A chance to help catch a sexual predator, and to prove—to Will and herself—that when she took the oath to serve and protect, she wasn’t just mouthing words.

But can Carmen handle another encounter with a rapist? Can she trust Will to have her back? And can she put the past behind her and move toward the future, a future that might include Will?

Danielle Stewart – Running from Shadows 

As hard as he tries, Roark Miller can’t forget the cases he worked as a homicide detective in Detroit. The haunting images are blazed into his mind. When he crosses paths with a victim ten years later, the details of her beating and the murder of her boyfriend come crashing back to him. Now Demi’s life is in danger again and Roark must act fast to save her from a past she’s not willing to admit even exists. She can’t face the truth and he can’t stop hunting for answers, but their love might be the only thing to keep them both alive.

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SHOTS FIRED ( A Cage Foster/Delta Detectives novella)

A domestic dispute turns into a hostage situation. Can criminal investigator Cage Foster save the victim…or will he become a victim himself?

Buy Shots Fired in the Protect and Serve Anthology NOW!
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ONE

Cage Foster glared at the coffee pot that had to be older than he was. The relic was one of the few things Cage wished had stayed at the Adams County Sheriff’s old location. He didn’t miss the historic building, with its bad insulation and pathetically slow Internet connection. The modern brick building provided more space for growing departments, more inmates , and better parking.

He’d love to know who’d made the executive decision to prolong the suffering of this groaning, slow-assed coffee pot.

“Patience is a virtue God forgot to bless you with,” his mother used to tell him. She’d laugh at his blustering and fretting, tell him to sit down and relax. He liked to think that being a cop in a small town had helped to teach him patience, and maybe it had, but he still loathed the coffee wait. The stupid machine rattled like it might explode. Black coffee trickled into the stained carafe.

Cage gnashed his teeth.

“Foster.” Marla Towne, the administrative assistant for the Adams County Sheriff’s Criminal Investigative Division, huffed into the room. Marla had recently started wearing contacts and couldn’t get used to them. Her eyes seemed to be stuck wide open. Combined with her thin face, she looked like a perpetually shocked bird.

Cage usually tried to avoid direct eye contact, but the sharp tone of her voice sent a wave of apprehension through him. His head jerked up, and his body felt cold. She’d gone pale. Fear clouded her eyes like cataracts.

“You said Dani and the baby were at Magnolia House today, right?”

His pulse stuttered, his fingers going slightly numb. “Yeah.”

“I just picked up a disturbance call from Roselea.” Marla’s normally confident voice wavered . “Some guy walking by Magnolia House said he thought shots were fired.”

Cage stilled, his energy draining. The coffee pot hissed again, a few more drops spewing into the glass carafe. He abandoned the coffee and rushed out of the break room. The expanse of the new building suddenly seemed like a gaping chasm as Cage raced back to his desk.

A mistake. It had to be.

He pictured his tiny, sleeping infant in Dani’s arms, as she’d been when he’d said goodbye to them early this morning. Emma had just turned six weeks old. After her premature birth, she’d only been home from the hospital for ten days.

Marla chased after him. “Maybe she and the baby already left.”

“Dani’s still really tired,” Cage said as he rounded the corner to the Criminal Investigative Division’s array of gray cubicles. “Spending months on bed rest slows down your metabolism and sucks away your energy. That’s why she’s actually taking the help Jaymee’s offered.” Thanks to preeclampsia complications, Dani was still adjusting to motherhood after spending much of her pregnancy on bed rest. She handled the transition better than Cage. He hated leaving Dani and Emma alone, no matter how many friends offered their support. He didn’t doubt Dani’s ability to handle everything on her own; he just felt better when she and the baby had company.

He’d finally reached his desk. Feeling his internal temperature skyrocketing, he grabbed his cell and called Dani. Every ring seemed to take forever, even as his mind tried to rationalize things.

Shots fired. That could mean any number of things, including a car backfiring. Nick had been tinkering with a 2001 Mustang he wanted to restore, and civilians often mistook an engine backfiring for gunshots.

Jaymee kept a Colt Defender in her nightstand. If the windows were open, the gun’s discharge could have been heard from the sidewalk that stretched past Magnolia House. But the girl he’d grown up with had been around guns since she could walk. She wouldn’t have fired it without good reason. Much less in the house. The sound couldn’t have been a gunshot.

“Hey,” Dani’s tired voice sent a rush of relief through him. “Are you leaving soon?”

“Not quite yet.” Cage sagged against his desk, relief pulsing through him. He gave Marla a thumbs-up, and she nodded, her hand over her heart.

Now he had to tell Dani why’d he called, and he didn’t want her to worry over nothing. And surely this was nothing. “Hang on.” He covered his speaker. “Marla, keep the channel clear and see if you can find out if the Roselea patrol officer checked in with the residents. I’ll call in when I get there.”

He grabbed his radio and keys to his county-issued car. “I just wondered if you and Emma had left Magnolia House yet.”

“Hours ago.” Disgust darkened Dani’s tone. “I wanted to spend the afternoon catching up with Jaymee, but they’ve got an obnoxious guest. Emma and I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

Fresh worry swept over him. Their closest friends had turned historic Magnolia House into a bed and breakfast. After a successful year, the two of them had planned to take Labor Day weekend off. “I thought everyone was supposed to leave this morning?”

“They were,” Dani said. “But this guy talked Nick into letting them stay another night. I thought Jaymee was going to kill him.”

Cage hurried out of the building, his boots loud on the pavement. He unlocked his car and pulled out of the lot with a squeal of his tires. Probably overreacting. Roselea P.D. would love this one. They didn’t care for the sheriff’s department butting into their cases–even when they needed the help.

But Cage needed to be sure. Then he could get home to his family. If he was really lucky, he’d swipe a piece of Jaymee’s strawberry pie before he left.

“So the guy caused a disturbance?”

“Yes,” Dani said. “ If he wasn’t in his room yelling at his wife, he was coming down demanding something from Jaymee. Fresh towels, toilet paper. Whatever he could think of. Emma couldn’t get her nap, so I finally left.”

“I don’t blame you.” Cage hoped the worry hadn’t leaked into his voice. “I’ve got a quick call to follow up on–I’m sure it’s nothing–and then I’ll be home. Kiss Emma for me.”

“I will,” Dani said. “Did you want me to make dinner?”

Cage barely caught his laughter. Her cooking hadn’t improved much since she moved from Yankee land. “That’s all right. I’ll bring something home. I know how tired you are.”

“Nice save, Foster. I’ll see you soon.”

Cage drove with one hand, punching first Jaymee’s and then Nick’s names on his call log. Neither of them answered their cell phones. He tossed his phone into the passenger seat.

All right, fine. They’re busy.

His attempt at rationalizing didn’t work. Worry spread through his system with the speed of an infected bug bite. His skin felt hot and stretched.

He drove well over the speed limit toward Roselea. His knuckles had gone white from his grip on the wheel. Twice he skidded into the gravel, kicking dust up behind him. He turned the radio up, listening to the chatter of the dispatch.

A 10-47 disturbance call came in; another deputy took it. A traffic accident in southwest Adams County. Neither call concerned Cage. He just wanted to keep dispatch open in case Marla came through. He needed to hear her say the Roselea officer had checked in, and Cage’s friends were fine.

The rock in his stomach and the knot between his shoulders refused to lessen. The familiar drive between the two towns moved at a slug-like pace, the palatial antebellum homes no more than a blip on his frequency. Clouds blocked most of the afternoon sun as it dipped into the western horizon. Against the hazy gray, the bright orange and deep red of the fall foliage seemed freakishly bright. Warning beacons.

Finally, the city limits of historic Roselea crept out from behind the towering live oak trees. A slow-moving rental car forced Cage to hit the brakes. He gritted his teeth and whipped into the passing lane.

His sprint didn’t last long. A dust-covered car with Louisiana plates loitered in the left lane.

“Move your ass,” Cage shouted. “Celebrate Labor Day in your own damned state. Stupid freaking tourists.” The last major holiday of the summer meant big money for local businesses. Roselea’s many antique shops relied on the weekend to help counter the seasonal slowdown, and the antebellum home tours enjoyed swollen crowds. The holiday also meant the local police were stretched too thin.

Cage finally zigzagged around the slow car, taking the curve coming into Roselea much too fast. He careened into the gravel, nearly taking out the sign advertising the Labor Day parade and celebratory barbeque in the Roselea City Park.

The sight of life going as usual did nothing to ease his nerves. He barely touched the brake as he turned the corner of Forrest Street. His breath snagged at the site of Magnolia House’s Corinthian columns peeking out from the more than twenty magnolia trees at the front of the property. Their summer blooms were long gone, making the trees look like sad sentinels.

He sped past the trees, hoping to see a parked Roselea patrol car and an officer standing on the front porch. Instead the house stood huge and silent, and the black iron fence that surrounded the main house suddenly seemed more appropriate for a prison yard. Wild rosebushes grew all around the fence, their climbing vines strangling the bars. The gates gaped open.

Had the Roselea police already come and gone? Or were they tied up with something else, assuming the call had been a crank?

Near the garage were both Jaymee’s and Nick’s vehicles, including the dilapidated Mustang and a small four-door car he assumed belonged to the weekend guests.

Cage parked the cruiser and yanked himself out of it. He listened, expecting to hear Mutt’s bark or Jaymee’s shout of hello. He heard only silence. Another jolt of nerves ran up Cage’s spine at the sight of the closed windows. The unseasonably cool weather meant Jaymee would have had the windows open.

The passerby probably wouldn’t have heard the shot from inside the house. It sat too far from the street. Cage wanted to feel relief, but the sudden cloying scent that wafted past him could have been a shot of adrenaline. He tasted the copper on his tongue. Instinct raised the fine hairs on the back of his sweating neck. His gaze shot to Jaymee’s bird feeders. Where were the little gluttons? Most days those feeders were full of songbirds fighting for seed and suet. Not a bird in sight. Not a single song coming from the trees.

The quiet made his stomach coil in anticipation. He strode toward the house but stopped at the sound of a desperate whine. He saw the source of the noise instantly, and everything in the world ground to a halt.

Mutt, Jaymee’s precious dog, lay on his side in a pool of his own wet blood.

Buy Shots Fired in the Protect and Serve Anthology NOW!
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FOUR $0.99 books! Fill your e-reader for less than $4!

We've banded together to bring you four of our thrilling novels (because with the heat wave we've got going on, we all could use some chilling goosebumps to cool us down, right?). Read about each book below, and pick each up at your favorite ebook retailer for $0.99. Happy reading!

All Good Deeds (Lucy Kendall #1) by Stacy Green

Lucy Kendall doesn't believe she's a serial killer. She simply eradicates the worst of society and brings justice to the innocent–the children she failed to protect during her decade in Child Protective Services.

A missing child sets off a chain of events linked to a suspect in a life-changing case in Lucy's past. Her chosen path is terrifying–but the search for the kidnapped child pulls her into web of evil and malice beyond her darkest imagination. 

Get your copy: Amazon | Nook | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play

Blood Stained (Lucy Guardino FBI Thrillers Book 2) by CJ Lyons

Just your average Pittsburgh soccer mom, baking brownies and carrying a loaded forty-caliber Glock…

Until recently Supervisory Special Agent Lucy Guardino was a shining star in the FBI's roster. But after killing a man and disobeying orders, Lucy's been sidelined, chained to her desk. When a mysterious letter arrives hinting that, thanks to Lucy, the wrong man was blamed for a string of serial rapes, kidnappings, and killings four years ago, Lucy jumps at the chance to re-open the case—despite orders to leave well enough alone. What Lucy doesn't know is that what happened four years ago was all a lie, fueled by sacrifice and betrayal, designed to shield the real killer. 

With the lives of her family, a group of innocent children, and the future of one desperate boy at risk, Lucy races to stop an innocent from killing and a killer from butchering more innocents. 

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Secret Justice: A Judge Willa Carson Mystery Novel
(The Hunt For Justice Series Book 3) by Diane Capri

Tampa’s free-spirited Judge Wilhelmina Carson returns in the third installment of this well-loved series. During Tampa’s annual Gasparilla Pirate Festival, murder chases Judge Willa’s beloved secretary into a world of corruption, bank fraud, and art theft while Willa’s dad, Jim Harper, suffers hell of his own making.

Just as Willa is recovering from the shock of meeting her father’s new trophy wife, her secretary Margaret Wheaton becomes mysteriously involved with a nefarious jeweler. When both Margaret’s husband and the jeweler end up dead, Margaret is the number one suspect. Judge Willa sets out to prove Margaret innocent and takes the reader on a ride through Tampa’s month-long pirate party, with twists and turns that keep you guessing until the very end: whodunnit?

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I Have a Secret (Sloane Monroe Book 3) by Cheryl Bradshaw

No one knows the value of keeping a secret more than Doug Ward. But after washing the past twenty years down with a smooth glass of whisky, his steely resolve has started to crack. And he doesn't want to keep quiet. Not anymore.

When dried blood is found on the deck of the cruise ship where Doug was last seen, private investigator Sloane Monroe finesses her way into the surveillance room, sees Doug's bloody body heaved over the railing. 

How many more will die before Sloane uncovers the biggest secret of all?

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