Russian Tattoos: Prisoner by Kat Shehata

Title: Prisoner

Author: Kat Shehata

Series: Russian Tattoos #2

Genre: New Adult, Romantic Suspense

Release Date: August 2, 2016

Publisher: Limitless Publishing

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Summary:
American tennis player Carter Cook is being held prisoner by the Russian mafia…

Carter is the obsession of mob boss Vladimir Ivanov, a man she once loved. Now a mafia war has erupted on his home turf, and Vladimir’s enemies have put a bounty on her head to force him to surrender. If she is captured, his rivals will deliver a deadly ultimatum—his life in exchange for hers. The price for Carter’s freedom is Vladimir’s blood.

Vladimir holds ultimate power as godfather of the Ivanov Bratva…

He spent five years in a Siberian prison camp and has earned every tattoo inked into his skin. He is a powerful man who rules his crew with an iron fist.

But his enemies have discovered his only weakness—Carter. Vladimir knows if she stays in his world, he is handing her a death sentence, so he vows to get her home and never interfere in her life again. Giving up the woman he loves is the only way to protect her from the bad guys—including himself.

Vladimir’s rivals have a different plan for the ill-fated couple…

Some punishments are worse than death, and the head of the Ovechkin Bratva will go to any length to seek vengeance and inflict maximum suffering on Vladimir.

Carter may be Vladimir’s weakness, but she is also his only hope for survival. When the boss of the Ovechkin family threatens the man she loves, she must fight for Vladimir’s freedom before their rivals can deliver the fatal blow.

Love is blind—but it could also be deadly.

The thought of what the Russians were going to do to me made my stomach churn. I tried to slide down the chair to get away, but the guy clamped down on my shoulders and held me in place. I heard someone breathing a few feet in front of me and smelled the noxious odor of burning tobacco. The thug unraveled my blindfold, and a rush of bright fluorescent light cut across my face. As my vision came into focus, Boris’s black eyes fixated on me from across the barren concrete room.

“Welcome to Russia, lapsha.”

Boris. Sitting across from me. Vladimir’s right-hand man with the power to punish me in in every unspeakable way he could think of. I was trapped in a cold, cement cell with the monster who dominated my nightmares. Begging for mercy would only fuel his desire to watch me suffer a slow, agonizing death. My face burned. My body slumped forward. The guy behind me held my shoulders and brought me back to center. My chest heaved. I fought for air.

Boris spoke to my handler in Russian, which prompted him to remove the gag. I gasped and sucked in huge breaths of air in case it was taken from me again. Boris watched me struggle with the calculating eyes of a killer, enjoying my fruitless plight to stay alive. Once air filled my lungs and I caught my breath, I lashed out at my captor.

“Dad will report me missing. Everyone will know it was you.”

The guy behind me, who I still hadn’t seen, clicked his tongue, shoved the gag back in my mouth, and cranked it behind my head. I whimpered. The tough girl act wasn’t fooling anyone, not even me.

“Evidence left at the scene of the crime tells a different story.” Boris took a drag off his stogie. A ring of smoke hung above his head like a polluted halo. His lips curled into a sickening smile. “I warned you. I can make anyone disappear.”

Author Bio:
Kat Shehata’s  first career involved caring for exotic, dangerous, and adorable animals as a zookeeper. As an author, Kat weaves her love of animals into her work. She is the co-author of the New York Times bestselling children’s book Animals on the Other Side written with Sylvia Browne.

She is an avid tennis player and spends her free time playing matches in a recreational league in Cincinnati, Ohio. She holds a bachelor’s degree in theatre from Wilmington College, a professional writing certificate from the University of Cincinnati, and a master’s degree in creative writing from Spalding University.

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Steve Wade Mysteries by Iris Wynne

Author: Iris Wynne

Series: Steve Wade Mysteries #1-2

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Release Dates: Missing Mah Jongg Player: May 27, 2015

Missing Housewife: February 15, 2016

Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing

The Missing Mah Jongg Player #1
Summary:

Steve Wade is an ex-cop with an ex-wife and girlfriends he could never commit to. Now he’s a private investigator known for his knack in solving crimes.

This handsome private eye never has a problem finding customers. His newest case involves five frantic Mah Jongg players who are in search of one of their players who disappeared after meeting a man on an Internet dating site.

Wade is reluctant to take the case, believing it to be just another woman not wanting to be found. But the Mah Jongg players are insistent that Marilou did not vanish on her own. In the meantime, they organize a Valentine’s speed-dating gig inviting all the suspects who dated Marilou in an attempt to find her.

As he watches the dinner play out he begins to realize she may not have gone willingly when all the suspects are before him. He even hires his sometime drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend for the event to lure the culprit out into the open. Steve just hopes no one goes home with a potential killer.

Wade has to work fast as the case begins to unravel when lies and betrayal become evident and the truth of what happened to Marilou becomes clear. Will he be able to find the suspect before they choose another victim? This may be his biggest challenge yet.

The Missing Housewife #2
Summary:

Steve Wade is an ex-cop and now private investigator. His reputation for solving crimes is growing.

His newest client is a man charged with a murder he says he did not commit. The convict's sister has evidence that the person he supposedly murdered is alive and living somewhere in Shanghai after an old classmate of hers sees a double of the murdered victim while touring parts of Asia.

Is the murder victim, a woman, really alive and the man charged with her murder innocent?

Steve does not know what to think. Should he believe a convicted killer who was once a drug addict living on the streets? Steve however does not want an innocent man to spend the rest of his life in jail.

It's a dilemma he must think through and to try to prove the convicted murderer's innocence.

The Missing Mah Jonng Player #1

Marilou Dickson was sitting at the bar, sixty miles away from Toronto on a Saturday night waiting for her date. The only problem was she didn’t know who he was. She got in touch with him on an online dating site and his picture looked great, even though he was much younger than her. A full head of dark hair, straight nose, large hazel eyes and great abs from a previous picture he sent her. She imagined his strong arms wrapped around her as he made love to her. She was tired of being alone as age and beauty were slowly taking its toll while drinking and smoking was becoming an obsession that a good man could help her control.

The noise in the bar was unbearable and she was dying for a cigarette. At least in the old days before cell phones and Internet, you could smoke. The place was packed with pretty girls in floozy outfits, some displaying unwanted flesh. Youth could get away with many things and the sleazier you got, the more attention from the men.

It was like that years ago before marriage and grown kids.

Her phone buzzed which made her spill her drink on her new gold cashmere sweater.

“Damn!” she said.

“May I buy you another drink?”

She looked up and there was her man, looking better in person.

“Hi!” she said tying not to slur her words.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered to her.

“What about my drink?”

“Let’s go to my place.” He smiled as his white teeth flashed at her.

She wanted to stay here and enjoy the bar and perhaps dance. She wasn’t ready to go to his place yet. She sighed and smiled up at him.

“Why don’t we just stay here?”

“You’ll get too drunk.”

She grinned at him, thrilled that he should be so concerned about her. Her phone buzzed again. She gave him a shrug.

“Sorry–I may as well answer this or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

She was going to tell him her friends were worried about her, warned her about going out with strangers–blah-blah. She decided not to say anything. She noticed that his hair was an unnatural black hue, almost like a wig. She wouldn’t care less if he was bald–didn’t men understand that? His glasses were tinted unable to really see the color of his eyes. Something in the pit of her stomach was telling her something was off. She answered her phone walking a distance away from him and the bar. He was watching her though, his look almost a leer. Perhaps it was because she was drunk that she thought this. Nevertheless she would not leave alone and go back into an empty house especially on a Saturday night.

“Marilou is that you?” Harriet said, her voice full of concern.

“What’s up, I’m in the middle of a date.”

“Just checking to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine really, you don’t have to worry.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside of Toronto.”

“What!”

“Harriet, I’m a big girl.”

She glanced over at him. He bought a drink and was sipping it rather quickly. He was watching her so she waved to him.

“What does he look like?”

“I don’t know, he’s wearing a dark wig and glasses.”

“Marilou, that is not a good sign.”

Harriet could hear a deep voice asking her friend something.”

“Gotta go Harriet, see you Monday night.”

There was a click and the line went dead.

The Missing Housewife #2

She had left her group and her husband in order to go to the Peace Hotel washroom which was one of or perhaps even the nicest washroom she had ever seen. Its decor was all black and white marble with gold faucets matching the gold chandeliers along the walls that lit the room. Each toilet had its own cubicle and a shiny black door. American style—no hole in the ground—to every tourist’s delight.

And that is when she saw her.

Connie stared at the woman beside her who was washing her face. A ghost from the past; a woman who was ostensibly dead four years ago. She blinked back at the woman a few times. She hadn’t seen her in over ten years. She had known her since childhood which was embedded forever as a memory.

And Connie Stern’s memory was exceptional. She was the type of person who never forgot a face.

The woman beside her was tall and slim. Her hair, once a shiny dark hue, was now peppered with gray. But those eyes were the same, an unusual dark green that glowed like emeralds. That was her trademark along with her natural beauty. She was the second child of a famous music producer from Toronto. His five beautiful daughters had lived in Rosedale, one of the wealthiest areas in Toronto. The youngest three were from another marriage, but they all lived together in harmony with the second wife, or so the story goes.

If that was Patricia Gold, she would be in her forties and the woman across from her was definitely that age. Her attractiveness was gone, though, after years of living on the street.

It had been a surprise in the community, to say the least, when she left her husband and children in search of drugs. Connie could not believe it when it happened. She had known Patricia well growing up and never saw a sign of it, of the unhappiness or the addiction to drugs. She did know, however, that Patricia wanted to be thinner so she could model. She glanced at her again. The woman glimpsed back at her briefly as she washed her hands.

Connie thought of Patricia's husband, whom she knew in high school. He was popular and could pick any girl he wanted. When they married, she and Patricia were no longer friends which always happened in a big city. Different universities, new jobs, and location changes all caused people to make new friends. Nevertheless, they were the perfect couple, everyone thought. Connie always had fond memories of her.

Connie put her hands in the dryer, peering over at the woman again. She remembered one of the last times seeing her. It was years ago when she and her own husband were walking their kids in strollers when Patricia and her husband drove by and asked them for directions to the nearest park. Their children were sitting in the back seat, silently staring up at them. It was only Connie who had recognized them but said nothing as her husband rambled off the directions. Too much time had passed for either of them to say anything. Everyone looked different with age anyway. Still, she never forgot a face.

Another time, she had seen her at a bar midtown, around Yonge and Eglinton. Connie and two of her friends had decided to go out on the town without kids or spouses, like old times. She hated it though, missing her husband and children, and was just as happy to be home with them. Let the singles have the single life, she had thought. But she did see Patricia Gold there, all dressed up, looking lovely, holding a drink with another old friend who Connie also knew in high school. Her friend was a runner and to this day would be seen running down Avenue Road as if the devil was trying to catch up to her.

And that was the last time she saw Patricia, until now, that is, if it was her.

She held her breath. “Patricia?”

The woman looked up and turned to her with a frown.

“Patricia Gold, is that really you?”

The woman’s green eyes opened wide along with her mouth. She stared back for a second and then ran out of the washroom, leaving Connie staring back at the swinging door. Connie put her hands down on the white granite sink and wondered, of all things, if the sink was real gold, gold plated or just painted gold. The chandeliers flickered and her reflection staring back at her in the mirror looked flushed and confused. Did she see a ghost or was it a double? She did what the other woman did and rinsed her face. She was wrong—she had hoped—and shook her head trying to ignore what had just happened. She would continue her vacation and carry on as if nothing had happened.

Author Bio:

Iris has always wanted to be a writer even before her six-year-old daughter would sneak downstairs and read aloud her stories on the computer as she would type away. Iris has proof of this in an out dated filing cabinet crammed with old manuscripts and short stories in big binders containing historical romance, mysteries, even fantasy.

When she is not working at her computer waiting for a story to come to life, she is busy dog walking, or organizing a game of Mah Jongg and of course reading.

Iris lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband. Her children live on their own and her parents are relieved to receive a text message from them now and then.

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The Missing Mah Jonng Player #1

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Afterlife by Sandy Goldsworthy

Title: Afterlife

Author: Sandy Goldsworthy

Series: Afterworld Saga #2

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Young Adult

Release Date: August 29, 2016

Publisher: Clean Teen Publishing

Summary:
AFTERLIFE is the highly anticipated sequel to AFTERMATH by Sandy Goldsworthy. This exciting Young Adult mystery romance is a must-read.

Everything seems perfect for Emma Bennett—she has a new set of friends she adores and a boyfriend she is crazy about. But when Emma sees a picture of her hunky boyfriend kissing another girl, she begins to question if his love for her is real. As she searches for the truth, will Emma be exposed to the dangers of another world?

Ben Parker enjoys the role of high school student and boyfriend to the love of his existence. Juggling his social life with his job in the Afterworld’s Bureau of Investigation is supposed to be easy for the decorated undercover agent. But when some kid captures a photo of him in a precarious position, he’s faced with lying to his girlfriend or erasing her memory. Instead, Ben makes the worst decision of his career. Now, forced to face the consequences, he loses the only thing that matters to him—Emma.

When seemingly insurmountable obstacles separate the lovers, will the two soul mates be able find their way back to each other?

Kaleidoscope 
“Do you remember Emma?” Lucas asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Abe held my hand. I remembered meeting him at Ray’s auto body shop, although I could have sworn he looked different. Shorter hair, maybe?

“Nice to see you,” I answered, returning his welcoming smile.

“Lucas, did you ever meet my brother, Henrik?” Abe asked.

“Call me Henry,” he said. He shook hands with Lucas first, then reached for my hand and kissed it gently. “Very lovely to meet you, Miss Emma.” He had a hint of an accent. Even though they both looked like they were mid-twenties, Henry acted much older.

I blushed. That kind of attention might be common wherever he came from, but not here in Westport.
“You’re adorable. I didn’t mean to embarrass you, darlin’.”

Drew returned with a tray full of shots before I had time to answer Henry. After introductions, Lucas gave a toast and everyone drank back the whiskey. I didn’t want one, but I drank it anyway. Actually, I choked on it. I didn’t think any of the guys noticed until Henry put his hand on the small of my back and asked if I was okay.

“Yes. Thank you.”

When I looked up at him, I realized he had a beautiful set of ice-gray eyes. The colors were piercing. Shades of white intermixed with hints of silver and turquoise. The longer I stared, the more the hues changed. Blues faded and whites darkened. Chills ran up my arms, but I couldn’t look away. I strained to keep my eyes open despite how heavy my eyelids felt.

A tingling swept over me until I was completely relaxed.

Like a kaleidoscope, Henry’s eye colors swirled. His pupils dilated.

I closed my eyes and saw a young woman with long, brown hair running through tall grass on a sunny afternoon. I felt the warmth on my skin, tilting my head back to catch the rays. I was tired.

Was I floating?

“Emma, can I get you something to drink?” Abe asked. His hand was on my arm. Stunned, I stared up at him. Did I just fall asleep?

I shook my head quickly. “I’m okay,” I mumbled. My eyes were dry and sore, and the strange sensation, the warm, comforting feeling I had, was gone.

Did I just imagine that?




Nightmare
Darkness surrounded me.

The tick and clink of metal on metal sounded. Then there was silence. I leaned forward and felt the restraint of something binding. I pushed forward again and reached my hands out in front of me. Feeling the steering wheel and dashboard, I realized I was in a car, but where?

A woozy wave of fear and anxiety overcame me.

My heart raced. I knew I had been chased and ended up here. I just couldn’t recall how, or who was chasing me. I strained to remember, but all that returned was a feeling of being tracked and hunted.

Thoughts swirled in my mind. I was pinned in a vice of plastic and steel.

Were they still after me?

Despite being wedged in the driver’s seat, I didn’t feel any pain. Not even a headache.

A flash of lights illuminated my surroundings. I was down an embankment in a car I didn’t recognize. Noises on the road above me distracted my thoughts.

Rescue was on its way.

“Help!” I screamed. “Down here!”

The silhouette of a man appeared beside the broken guardrail. The shape of a trench coat and a fedora was a familiar sight. He stood in front of the headlights yards away from me as I pounded on my window.

When he didn’t move, I reached for the door handle. With both hands, I felt around. There was nothing where the handle should be.

Panic set in and my heart pounded.

“Help! I’m trapped,” I cried as my fist made contact with the steamed window of the driver’s side door.
When the man finally moved, he got back in his car and drove away.

“No! Please don’t leave,” I mumbled, hearing my voice aloud.

I awoke in a cold sweat with my dog, Chester, nudging my clutched fist.

The room was dark, and the clock flashed two in the morning. It took me a few minutes to understand I was in my bed, and that the vivid, scary accident was just a dream.

I rolled over. When my heart stopped racing, I dozed off again. 

What is your writing inspiration?
That’s an interesting question. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been inspired to write. In high school, my English teacher didn’t love the assignment I turned in. I thought it was perfect—just what she was looking for. It wasn’t.

The assignment was to describe a house. I wrote that the door was red. My teacher didn’t like just red. She wanted to really “see” the red. It was a turning point for me. Instead of being a chore, writing was something I enjoyed. It was an art to me.

Every time I read a good book, I get inspired to write. Great characters and twisting plots motivate me to craft my story—to take it to the next level.

Aftermath started when the character of Ben Parker came to life. About five years ago, I had a very vivid dream of a train derailment. Railcars tumbled off a ridge, landing on top of each other in a ravine. In my dream, there was a young man that appeared untouched by the accident. Once everything settled, he pulled the victims from the crash site and escorted them to the afterworld. I still remember waking up, my heart pounding in my chest.

Author Bio:
Sandy Goldsworthy was raised in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, blocks from the rocky shores of Lake Michigan. As a child, she fantasized about becoming an author. She jotted story lines in spiral notebooks and drew images of characters that never came to life. Her passion for putting pen to paper began when her high school English teacher inspired her to be more descriptive in her work. Ever since, Sandy dabbled in creative writing, searching for that perfect shade of red and that character you want to get to know.

A graduate from the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh, Sandy is the YA author of the paranormal romance series, The Afterworld Saga. She spends her days managing corporate client programs, and her nights and weekends drafting new plot lines in spiral notebooks. She resides in southeastern Wisconsin with her husband, two children, and an energetic puppy. Learn more at her website.

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