This year was a little less trying than 2022 but my reading mojo was still lagging and I only read 141 books. So once again my Best of lists may be shorter but everything I read/listened to were so brilliant it was still a hard choice. So over the next two weeks I'll be featuring my Best Reads as well as Best ofs for my special day posts which are a combination of best reads and most viewed, I hope my Best of list helps you to find a new read, be it new-new or new-to-you or maybe it will help you to rediscover a forgotten favorite. Happy Reading and my heartfelt wish for everyone is that 2024 will be a year of recovery, growth, and in the world of reading a year of discovering a new favorite.
👀I try to keep the purchasing links as current as possible but they've been known to change for dozens of reasons, in case any of those links no longer work be sure to check out the author's social media links for updated buying info.👀
Summary:
The Art of Murder #5
Murder: Live and in Technicolor
Working undercover gives FBI Art Crime Team agent Jason West the illusion that he’s safe from his stalker, Dr. Jeremy Kyser. Though film history and preservation are not Jason’s area of expertise, he’s intrigued by the case of a well-connected UCLA film studies professor whose family believes she may have been murdered after discovering a legendary lost 1950s PI film.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, BAU Chief Sam Kennedy gets disturbing news: the Roadside Ripper, the serial killer Sam believes murdered his college boyfriend, may not have been working alone.
Original Review March Book of the Month 2023:
Jason West and Sam Kennedy may not be my favorite Josh Lanyon couple, they may not even be my second or third favorite but I do love them! If you are drawn to opposites attract, co-workers, sort-of-friends to lovers, and attraction-found-amongst-trouble tropes you will love West and Kennedy. I say "sort-of-friends" because personally I don't know that I would ever really called their beginnings a friendship but they were definitely more than just co-workers.I know some are disappointed when the explicit heat is off page but not me. Don't get me wrong, I love the explicit stuff but it's not a must, not a make or break scenario for me. Actually when done right, off page heat can be even hotter than the highly detailed acts because it makes the reader's imagination work overtime and I think most of us have pretty healthy imaginations😉😉.
As for The Movie-Town Murders, I found a great blend of on & off page heat to get my brain gears working. I don't think there was ever any real doubt as to how the men felt about each other but I found the pair, especially Sam, to express their emotions more in Movie-Town than the previous entries even though for a majority of the story they aren't even in the same location. A lovely realistic progression of the couples' relationship, both occupationally and emotionally.
Now on to the mystery side of Movie-Town. Okay so you know what's coming: no spoilers and it's a mystery which means everything can be a spoiler so no real plot points touched on here. I enjoyed seeing Jason in an undercover role in a topic that may not be his primary expertise but it definitely falls in line I think in his art crime division, or at least on the outskirts. I will say there is a bit of a cliffhanger in this entry and I know some don't like that but I loved it! Talk about building up my adrenaline rush another notch!
RATING:
Breathe My Name by Davidson King
Summary:Welcome Boulevard #2
Life is pretty good for Clove; he’s miles away from where he was a year ago. He has a roof over his head, food in his stomach, safety, security—even a job. And nothing means more to him than pleasing his boss…nothing. He wants Marcel, though the man is way out of his league. If Clove can’t have Marcel’s heart, he wants to earn his respect, and when he receives his first solo task, he is ready. At least until the mission results in a dead body.
The moment Marcel lays eyes on Clove, he’s consumed by the need to be with him in every way. So he brings him into the fold, offering him employment, in the hopes that it will be enough. But when a simple errand yields murder, missing money, and criminal powerhouses out for destruction, Marcel realizes he will do anything to keep Clove alive…despite the fact that he clearly has a death wish.
Clove and Marcel are thrown together on a quest for answers. As dangerous as they think it’ll be, it’s far worse. With bullets flying, lives in the balance, and a future unknown, Marcel and Clove must face their feelings for one another. Tumbling into love isn’t easy, especially in their line of work, but they finally have what they want, and nothing in this world will stop them from keeping it.
***
Breathe My Name is book two in the Welcome Boulevard series. It does not follow a story arc and can be read as a standalone. Characters from book one, They Call Him Levity, are incorporated into this story, if that is important to you check out the first book in the series…I mean, Levity is pretty fabulous.
Original Review March 2023:
I feel the need to scream "HOLY HANNAH, BATMAN! Davidson King has done it again!" but that seems almost redundant because there hasn't been a time King hasn't done it with her brilliant knack at storytelling. So I guess I'll skip it this time😉😉.
How can one not love Clove and Marcel? When I read the author's first Welcome Boulevard entry, They Call Him Levity, I just knew the pair needed a story all their own . . . I wasn't wrong. The mystery they find themselves trying to solve(or perhaps more appropriately said "get out from under") is chock full of mayhem, questions, answers, more questions, more mayhem, and many many stones to peak under. With the help of friends, Levity and Sal(if one gets picky Sal is Marcel's boss but I see it as so much more than boss/employee), the stones might not seem quite as heavy.
That's all I'm going to say to the mystery aspect of Breathe My Name so not to spoil anything but I will say I had a flurry of quotes pummeling my brain while reading:
"Danger, Will Robinson!" --Robbie the Robot, Lost in Space“Your eyes can deceive you, don’t trust them.” --Obi Wan Kenobi, Star Wars: A New Hope"You'll Find I'm Full Of Surprises." --Luke Skywalker, SW: The Empire Strikes Back"You Can Either Profit By This, Or Be Destroyed." --Luke Skywalker, SW: Return of the Jedi"Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the dark side." --Emperor Palpatine, SW: Return of the Jedi"I'm the Doctor." --Doctor Who
Those who are unfamiliar with these quotes probably won't understand what I'm getting at so here it is. Simply put: Breathe My Name had my emotions running amuck, from warnings to lessons to solutions, Davidson King brings it all.
As to Clove and Marcel, as I stated above I new they needed their own story that was true to who they were and who they were meant to be. I'd say I wanted to wrap them in bubble wrap to protect them but Marcel didn't really need protecting and Clove is stronger than you realize at first glance, after all he survived the streets with Levity prior to meeting Marcel. Individually these men are strong and incredibly intriguing but together they are an explosive and completely unwavering combination of heat and heart.
Technically, Breathe is a standalone as the story arc doesn't carry over from book one however I can't imagine not reading Levity first. I think I was able to appreciate more fully where the characters were previous and the chemistry that is already brewing BUT, I will also say had I not read Levity first, I would in no way be lost. The author does an excellent job at recap without rehash.
Some authors specialize in certain genres and others are prolific in many. Davidson King may find mafia her main course genre as it were but she can do all of it. In my opinion she proves that with her deeply detailed world building and character creations. As said, many of her stories fall under mafia tag but they have so much more within that tag. Breathe My Name is a perfect example: mafia, lust, action, humor, romance, danger, heat, mystery, and wrapping them all together in a huge heart filled read.
Blade by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Summary:
Boston Rebels #5
Love doesn’t have a formula. It’s messy, unpredictable, and impossible to control for the autistic billionaire inventor and the hockey player who believes he’s lost everything.
Moral “Dunny” Dunkirk has a passion for life. A robust outdoorsman, lover of life, and one of the Boston Rebels fan favorites, Dunny has always embraced excitement and the drive to try new things. During his inaugural flight behind the controls of a small plane, the fates decide to test his mettle in a way that he had never envisioned. When everything crashes down around him, he’s lost in depression and alone in his cabin, facing an existence that is nothing like the one he previously led. Desperate to find some hope, Dunny reaches out to The Harvey Foundation who might be able to help, and he soon finds himself being lifted out of the pit of darkness he’d fallen into one shy uplifting smile at a time.
Accidental billionaire and inventor Cooper Harvey is only happy in the seclusion of his lab, creating new and wonderful things he is sure will make the world a better place. Being on the spectrum, he knows being autistic means he's different to others, but it's in a good way, and it only makes him better at what he does. Other than being blackmailed into spending every fourth Sunday at his PA’s house for dinner, he avoids the chaos of the world, and if that means no social life, then he’s okay with that. In the most splendid isolation money can buy, he escapes the complicated and difficult emotions surrounding attraction, and his single-minded focus means that sex and love have never appeared on his list. When his latest invention reaches the testing stage, he would normally hand it over to his development team, but a chance meeting with the test subject makes him rethink. Something about the hockey player who’d lost it all makes him think life isn’t all about measured chemical reactions, and sometimes it’s just about the craziness of love.
Original Review April Book of the Month 2023:
Even with the recent release of the 30th book in their hockey universe I still don't know for sure which author writes which character, truth is it doesn't matter because Scott & Locey create so fluently their individual writing skills and talents each bring to their collaborations mesh perfectly.
There is just so much I love about Blade. The characters obviously but also the adversities they face. This isn't the first time injuries have been addressed in Scott & Locey's Hockey Universe, this may be the most severe example but not the first. Let's face it, injuries and sports are a no-brainer going to happen at some point scenario.
How much is from pure research or personal experiences, I can't speak to but whichever it is they have an amazing realistic angle(for lack of a better word) when it comes to health issues. Be it full-on health conditions or from injuries suffered on or off the ice, they are spot on with the emotions of both the survivor and support system. I say "survivor" because for those who don't know me, my mother has had health issues that have left her disabled for 30 years and her dad had MS and was in a wheelchair by the time I came along and I see neither as a victim, patient, or handicapped. I know not everyone who uses those terms mean it in a negative light but some do and so again I prefer the term "survivor". I would never wish health issues or injuries on anyone but too often those who don't have personal experience don't realize how damaging and hurtful being stared at can be as well as the flipside and turning away. It can be a thin line to toggle over but for those who experience it, that line can make the difference between a great day and devastating day.
I mentioned the above statement because in Blade, it is this very feeling that both Moral and Cooper, for different reasons but still both, have faced more than they should have to. That battle becomes both barrier and bridge between the two. Cooper living with autism and genius, Moral surviving the plane crash that took his leg and robbed him of the hockey future he always planned on leaves both of them in the public eye in ways neither want and wish to escape from. I want nothing more than to reassure both it's what they feel and see inside that is important, not what others project but I also know from experience we can only do so much to protect our loved ones, they have to come to some of those revelations themselves. It can be a very hard scale to balance but Scott & Locey portray that balance expertly.
Perhaps I've said more about my personal experiences than the book but in my opinion having a romantic fictional story speak to the reader so deeply says more to my love of said story than any plot-detailed review. Thank you, RJ Scott & VL Locey for this brilliantly written tale of survival, growth, friendship, and love. If it wasn't my love for Ten, Jared, and the whole Railers gang(which to be honest stems more from being first to burrow into my heart than superior content), Blade may actually be my favorite so far.
Lament at Loon Landing by Josh Lanyon
Summary:Secrets & Scrabble #6
Fakes, folk music, and ghost fires
When legendary folk singer Lara Fairplay agrees to make her comeback debut at Pirate’s Cove’s annual maritime music festival, everyone in the quaint seaside village is delighted—including mystery bookstore owner and sometimes amateur sleuth, Ellery Page.
Better yet, Lara is scheduled to perform a recently discovered piece of music attributed to “The Father of American Music,” Stephen Foster, which will hopefully bring large crowds and a lot of business.
Several mysterious accidents later, Ellery is less delighted as his suspicion grows that someone plans to silence the celebrity songbird forever.
Original Review April 2023:
Josh Lanyon has once again proven she is not only in her element when writing mystery but she is in fact a Queen of "who done it?" storytelling. Lament at Loon Landing may fall under cozy mystery due to it's lack of descriptive detail on the violence end but for me "cozy" is just straight out mystery and boy does Loon Landing keep you guessing right up to the big reveal(or perhaps reveals in this case but you'll have to discover that for yourself😉). Keeping me guessing is at the top of my must-have-to-make-a-good-mystery-great list and Loon Landing is definitely on the great list.
For those who have been reading Secrets and Scrabble as released know that book 7, Death at the Deep Dive, was released before Lament at Loon Landing(book 6). The author having done this hasn't ruined anything in the spoiler front other than a few minor character and relationship growing.
Speaking of characters, Ellery and Jack continue to be brilliant together. That's not to say they don't have a few hiccups where I want to knock their heads together and in Loon Landing they butt stubbornneses😉, not over Ellery's detecting but where the evidence leads. I won't say more about the mysteries in this entry so as not to spoil it for anyone but just know that their determination to find answers takes a couple of turns neither expected. On the relationship front the men keep moving forward in a way that is not only entertaining but realistic.
The city of Pirate's Cove is truly beginning to feel like home, both for Ellery and this reader. It's a village that may have a dangerously high crime rate that has a knack of pulling the book owner in but it's also a village with a wide variety of characters, some loveable, some likeable, some tolerable, and there are some who you really hope will be the next murder victim😉😉. And of course then you have Watson. Watson is a little yapper of a dog who Ellery discovered, or maybe better said who discovered Ellery and he brings a whole new level of adorability and many, many moments of "awwww, I want one" to the story.
I'd have to say friendships are tested in Lament at Loon Landing more than any of the other Secrets & Scabble entries, some of which may not survive or maybe grow stronger but that too adds another level of realism to this dangerous tourist destination. It's like I say about my favorite mystery television series, Midsomer Murders(super fun British mystery series for those who aren't familiar I highly recommend looking it up), "Why does anyone still live in Midsomer County?" well I find myself saying "Why does anyone stay in Pirate's Cove?". Perhaps they are all a glutton for punishment, maybe not punishment but definitely glutton for danger. But then again, truth be told I'd probably stay in Pirate's Cove just for the people😉.
Lament at Loon Landing is a winning gem of mystery, romance, friendship, and danger that I highly recommend. If you haven't been reading the series so far, I strongly suggest starting at the beginning. There are a few comments regarding previous cases but it's the relationship journeys that are ongoing and will help the reader connect stronger to said characters when experienced from Ellery's arrival at Pirate's Cove in book 1, Murder at Pirate's Cove.
Summary:
Single Dads #6
A blazing connection between single dads from opposite sides of the tracks is fraught with secrets and lies, and a happily ever after is impossible, unless they take a chance on love.
Saved a long time ago by a man who saw a diamond in the rough, Logan is a single dad and the owner of Redcars Automotive, a haven for those in need. With custody of his daughter under scrutiny, his life is upended when a journalist looking for a story slips into his life without him realizing. Logan doesn’t want Gray more than once, but when sharing the secrets of his past won’t get the journalist to leave, what else can he do?
After blaming himself for missing signs that his son was ill, Gray feels Ben is safer with his ex-wife and her new pediatrician husband. With a heart heavy with guilt, and his documentary company failing to find a story, he’s searching for some spark in his life to fix everything. When a series of arson attempts draws him to Los Angeles, he meets the secretive, scarred, and tattooed Logan, who makes him an offer that Gray knows he should refuse.
This opposites-attract love story features two single dads reaching a crossroads in life, angst, secrets, arson, intimidation, and a found family so tightly connected that nothing can break it apart.
Original Review May 2023:
I've said it before and I'll say it again: there is nothing sexier than a man who cares for kids, who lives up to the dad moniker. In the Pride, the latest entry in RJ Scott's Single Dads series, we see not one but two dads and more than one gentle-hearted soul who lends uncle-level support. So there is just all kinds of positive fatherly yumminess to be enjoyed.Too often(or at least in my reading experience) in fiction we find divided parents that just can't find common ground to provide their kids with stability in joint custodies. Now I know that happens in reality so why shouldn't it happen in fiction? But in my reading recollections it seems like the author does that for drama purposes only and that's okay because we have to have some conflict but because it happens more than I'd like to see, when you have an author who goes the opposite direction and have amicable splits that can still enjoy each other's companies I feel a need to highlight it.
This is why I mention the above point: RJ Scott has done that beautifully. So fluently actually that for a few minutes you almost forget Gray and his ex aren't simply BFFs. Maybe I'm just not reading the right books but this just isn't seen enough for me so a huge Kudos! to RJ Scott for this factor. Now that's not to say Logan and his ex don't have the potential to be on the same level but her husband . . . well lets just say he puts off some not so super friendly vibes.
Watching both men with their perspective offspring is fun and heartwarming, perhaps neither child has as much page-time as previous entries but they own every scene they appear in. Delightful. Simply delightful.
There is a bit more of a mystery element to this Single Dads entry than others and I'll admit I had an inkling where it was headed but not quite how or the full extent behind the danger. Within or around the danger lies, Redcars Automotives, Logan's business that through classic car repair and rebuilts, help certain people get a second chance in life. It's due to Redcars and what they offer that Logan is leery of Gray's journalistic intrusion(or at least that is how Gray sees it). Will the danger be resolved? Will Gray prove to Logan he isn't out to destroy the stability Redcars provides? I think you know the answers . . . read for yourself and as always with RJ Scott's work, you won't be disappointed.
Pride is a journey of healing, discovery, and finding your place in the world through love, friendship, family, and second chances. Some use the label "found family" when it comes to family-not-by-marriage-or-blood, personally I just like "family", whichever label you find fits best, there is no denying family is important to everyone in this story and that makes the goodness of Pride all the more longlasting.
I may be repeating myself but the statement I made about the men and their kids also says it best when it comes to my overall reading experience with Pride: Delightful. Simply delightful.
One last note: I briefly talked about the second chances given at Logan's Redcars Automotive, it seems the author will be bringing to us a Single Dads spinoff centered around the classic car repair and rebuild business January 2024 starting with Logan's righthand man, Enzo. I for one can't wait!
RATING:
The Movie-Town Murder by Josh Lanyon
The Skydome Lounge was a revolving restaurant and bar on the top floor of the North Tower of the DoubleTree Hilton in Crystal City. The muted George Jetson meets George Washington decor was uninspired, but no one came for the beige ambiance or even the Tomahawk Ribeye. It took less than forty-five minutes for the glass dome to complete a full 360° rotation, and when the weather was clear, like today, the views of the Pentagon, DC, and the Potomac were phenomenal.
Also, the Skydome’s bartenders understood the art of the free pour.
Jason scanned the mostly empty room and spotted Sam seated at a table beside the wall of windows. His dark suit jacket was draped on the back of the chair, and he was working on his laptop. For a moment Jason let himself enjoy the sight of Sam being Sam: his hard not-quite-handsome profile absorbed in whatever he was reading, white shirtsleeves rolled to reveal tanned and muscular forearms, one well-shod foot moving in absent, restless rhythm.
At a nearby table, two attractive, well-dressed women whispered to each other and tittered as they sized Sam up.
Otherwise, the restaurant was deserted. A DJ station sat vacant in the middle of the room, surrounded by a small parquet dance floor that would barely accommodate three couples. Four large televisions tuned to MSNBC hung from the ceiling, reporting on the continued lack of cooperation from pretty much everyone for pretty much everything.
As Jason approached, Sam glanced up. His severe expression softened, though in order to recognize that, you’d have to know what to look for. Sam took off his gold-wire glasses and pushed down the lid of his laptop.
Jason said, “Hey.” He was still disconcerted—though happy, no question—to find Sam waiting for him in his hotel.
“Hi.” Sam studied him. “Okay?”
Jason nodded, pulled out the chair across from Sam, and sat down. “Yep. Just…surprised.”
About everything. The truth was, he felt shaken in the aftermath of all that adrenaline. The way you did after any close call. He’d been braced for the worst. He was still trying to absorb that the worst hadn’t come to pass.
Sam nodded to the bartender, who crossed the little dance floor to them. “What are you drinking?” Sam asked Jason.
“Whatever’s on tap,” Jason told the bartender.
She nodded. Glanced at the empty rocks glass next to Sam’s elbow. “Another?”
Sam nodded. As the bartender walked away, he said to Jason, “What happened?”
Jason said cautiously, “Kapszukiewicz said you phoned her?”
“We talked on Friday. She hadn’t come to a decision yet.”
Jason offered Sam a crooked smile. “Then you’ll appreciate the irony. Per Kapszukiewicz, both my grandfather and Roy Thompson are deceased and therefore have—had—no active ongoing ‘interest’ in the case.”
Sam’s brow furrowed as he processed.
“Had Thompson still been alive and facing prosecution, then the possibility that my grandfather allegedly ordered him to steal artifacts could have created conflict on my part, since my grandfather could, again allegedly, have been materially involved in the conduct subject to my investigation.”
Jason could see the moment it clicked. Sam’s eyes—the same uncompromising blue of the FBI seal—flickered. His mouth curved wryly. “Your investigation was into ownership of the art, not whether Thompson was guilty of theft.”
“Yes. Right.” Jason expelled a long breath. “Whether my grandfather ordered Thompson to take the art and other items—which he’d never have done—or Thompson ‘liberated’ those things on his own, the bottom line is the treasure was still stolen.”
Sam looked thoughtful. “How the art was acquired wouldn’t affect the outcome of the investigation.”
Jason laughed, wiped his eyes because this was still painful. “Right. In a nutshell. Which is what I must have been. Nuts. What concerns Kapszukiewicz isn’t the ethical conflict. It’s that I believed there was an ethical conflict—and acted accordingly.”
Sam said, “It’s always the cover-up, never the crime.” He added, “Not that you committed or would commit any crime.”
Jason appreciated that Sam felt that way now. He hadn’t seemed to feel that way three days ago.”
“Right. I just…short-circuited. I don’t know why.”
“I do,” Sam was curt. “You do too. So does Kapszukiewicz.” Sam had made no bones about the fact he believed Jason was suffering from nervous exhaustion. He’d probably shared that belief with Kapszukiewicz. Which Jason did not appreciate, but, given recent events, could hardly argue with.
Sam must have been reviewing his own actions and reactions because he added, “This is why speaking to an ethics official ahead of time would be helpful.”
“Yes. Agreed.”
Sam had viewed Jason’s actions as negatively as Jason had. It was never going to be funny, but it was a lesson to both of them. About a number of things.
Jason flicked him a rueful look. “So when you phoned Kapszukiewicz on Friday, that was before you left Montana?”
Sam’s pale brows rose in polite inquiry.
“Before you arrived in LA. Before we talked.” The hours during which Jason had believed their relationship truly was over. And, he would have bet, the hours during which Sam had also believed their relationship was at an end. Because he had ended it.
Or at least that had been Jason’s takeaway because then, like now, Sam had said nothing.
And continued to say nothing.
“Thank you.” Jason steadied his voice. “I mean it. You didn’t have to do that. Especially given your feelings about…everything.”
“I shared my thoughts with Kapszukiewicz. But I can’t tell another unit chief how to handle their team. I wouldn’t if I could.”
“No, I know.” And yet, per Kapszukiewicz, Sam had, in his own way, interceded on Jason’s behalf. That alone had shaken Jason. It was like discovering the sun could occasionally, when it chose, rise in the west and set in the east.
They had traveled a very long distance since that final confrontation in Sam’s temporary office at the Bozwin RA. A distance that had nothing to do with the thousand-plus miles between Montana and California. In fact, most of the journey had happened over the weekend in Jason’s little bungalow on Carroll Canal.
“Personal feelings aside, you’re a good agent, West. You’re ACT’s superstar. I think firing you would be a huge miscalculation. For a lot of reasons.” Jason opened his mouth, but Sam added, “And as far as my personal feelings?” He gave a funny smile. “I think you know there’s not much I wouldn’t do for you.”
Jason really didn’t want to get caught crying in his beer—especially when the beer had yet to arrive. He said briskly, “George phoned too, also asking for clemency.” He was trying to joke, but mild-mannered Supervisory Special Agent George Potts’ attempt to save him meant nearly as much as Sam’s.
The bartender arrived then with their drinks. It seemed Sam was running a tab. So was he not heading out to Quantico after all?
Jason picked up his frosted beer mug. Sam lightly knocked the heel of his glass to Jason’s. “Welcome back, West.”
Jason dipped his head in acknowledgment—the weirdest things choked him up lately. “Geronimo.” He took a long swallow of beer.
“Anyway, like I said, you’re a valuable asset.” Sam sipped his drink. Yet when his gaze met Jason’s there was a look that got to Jason in some hard to explain way. Not sympathy exactly, but a sort of utter and complete understanding that gave Jason a peculiar feeling in his belly, left him feeling warm and weak.
Maybe—well, no maybe about it—it wasn’t fair or even accurate, but he’d always believed there were conditions attached to Sam’s…affection for him. Now they seemed to have crossed into a no man’s land of awareness and acceptance. He had no idea what their future held, but he felt confident of Sam’s feelings in a way he never really, fully had before.
Jason sipped his beer, watching a plane flying into Regan International. In a few hours he’d be flying out himself. But he was not going to look beyond this minute, this stolen time with Sam. God only knew when they’d be in the same town at the same time again.
Suddenly, he remembered something from the interview in Kapszukiewicz’s office and made a sound of amusement.
“What?” Sam asked.
“I almost forgot. Kapszukiewicz said J.J. phoned and told her he objected to having three different partners during his field training period and would prefer that I remain at the LA field office.”
Sam choked on his whisky sour. “Jesus Christ.” He hastily wiped his chin.
Jason laughed.
They had a couple more drinks, talked about nothing much. Jason’s thoughts kept pinging back to the meeting with Kapszukiewicz, reliving every excruciating minute. He was torn between abject relief he still had a career, and mortification that he had come so close to losing it.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, the bar was filling up, the noise level rising accordingly.
Sam raised his brows in inquiry. “Did you want to order dinner or…?”
Jason’s heart lifted. That was one question answered. Sam was staying over. He smiled. “Or. Definitely or.”
Sam’s mouth quirked. He pushed his chair back.
Breathe My Name by Davidson King
CHAPTER ONE
Clove
Dead. The man was dead. I didn’t question it; I just stared at the guy currently lying on his Persian rug, blood haloing his head. Judging by his gray skin, milky eyes, and the mild stench that I was sure would get worse soon, he had been this way for a while.
“Shit.” I pulled the phone from my pocket, ready to call Marcel, my boss, but hesitated. This was the first solo job he’d given me as his assistant.
Marcel believed in me. Not all that long ago I’d been homeless, living in squalor, begging for enough money to buy a slice of bread. Now I lived in a cottage on the property owned by my best friend’s boyfriend and had a job that paid well. Speaking of best friend, Levity was exactly who I should call.
It rang twice before I heard his sunshiny voice. “Hello, Clove.”
“Lev, I’m in trouble. Okay, like, not the kind of trouble where I’m in jail, but the trouble where I’m in a room with a dead guy who Marcel sent me to collect money from.”
“Um.” Levity, ever the helpful wordsmith.
“What do I do?”
“Have you called Marcel?”
I scoffed. “This is the first time he’s let me go do a job for him. How’s it going to look if I’m all, ‘I didn’t get your money because the guy was dead’?”
Levity chuckled, actually fucking laughed. “It’s not like you killed him, Clove. Marcel will understand.”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, gagged because of the smell, and slowly opened them. “Lev, I wanted to do this.”
He was silent for a moment. I knew he understood. Handouts weren’t something I was comfortable with. I lived on the property of Salvatore Grillo, a known crime boss—though he’d been working to lean toward the better side of the law. Levity had begged me to live at the cottage, and I’d agreed but only if I could pay my way. Which had led to me needing a job. I’d accepted the one Marcel had all too eagerly offered me, and I wanted to excel at it.
“Here’s how I see it, Clove. You’re there. At this point you need to call Marcel, and probably the police.”
“The police? Do you kiss your man with that mouth?”
He chuckled again. “Seriously, what if someone’s seen you? Call Marcel, then the cops, or at least do whatever Marcel tells you to do.”
“I hate that plan.”
“I know, but there’s no choice. Tonight, I’ll binge-watch anything you want and comfort you with junk food.”
I narrowed my eyes, and the dead man stared at me with his lifelessness. Was I maybe jealous he was dead, and I was living and had to face Marcel? Perhaps.
“Fine. But if I’m also dead, make sure my tombstone says something kickass.”
“Done.” Levity ended the call. I took another deep breath, reminded myself to stop doing that because this corpse didn’t smell like a field of flowers, and hit Marcel’s number.
“Clove.” His voice was like honey—no, really, even when I’d heard him yell at a guy last week, it was beautiful.
“Dead man on floor no money sorry.” And then I hung up. Yes, while Marcel’s voice was smooth and perfect, I was like a chicken on speed. I had no chill at all.
My phone buzzed immediately, and I wanted to toss it out the window to avoid speaking to Marcel, but I answered.
“Hello, this is Clove. How may I hel—”
“Clove, what the hell was that?”
“Oh, Marcel, good afternoon. How are you today?”
“Hank Rose is dead?”
I gasped. “He is?”
“Clove! I sent you there to collect money. I deduced that was what your frantic choppy message meant.”
I sighed. The gig was up. “Yeah, Hank’s dead. I swear I didn’t do it; he’s been dead a while.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, he did, actually, which is making the scent a lot worse and—”
“Clove, unfortunately, you’ll need to call the police. Tell them you’re a messenger sent to inform him he won a massage at Lily’s Massage Parlor. I own it, so when they verify, it will add up. You’ll tell them you found the man and called nine-one-one. Understand?”
Did I? “Sure.”
“Sure isn’t comforting.”
I nodded even though Marcel couldn’t see me. “Yeah, call the po-po, tell them I found him there, was sent to tell him he won a happy ending, yadda yadda.”
“Fucking hell. Okay, if they arrest you or bring you to the station, which I fear they might since you aren’t sounding convincing at all, call me, and I’ll get a lawyer over to you.”
“Arrested?”
“Call now, Clove. You’ve already been there too long.”
Marcel disconnected and I stared at my cell. Shit. I closed my eyes and counted down from ten. “I can do this.” I cleared my throat and dialed 9-1-1.
From there, my day went from simple and hopeful to chaotic and worrisome.
*****
“I don’t understand, Clove.” Levity was running his fingers through my hair while I lay with my head on his lap, watching a crime drama.
“Cops came, asked what happened, and I tried to remember what Marcel told me to say, but you know the police, Lev. I got scared. They never listened to us on the streets and oftentimes roughed us up worse than the ones we were asking them for help with.”
“I know.” Levity sighed. “They wanted a play-by-play, and what did you say?”
“Well, when I called nine-one-one, I told the dispatcher I found a dead body and the address. That was the easy part. When the cops came, this big guy stepped up and wanted to know how I ended up in Hank’s office.”
“Sounds okay so far.”
I huffed. “That’s when I was like, he won a rubdown and I was here to deliver it.”
“Oh, my…”
“Then the cops wanted to know if I was selling that service. I told them yes because Marcel said to tell them I worked at a spa of his and well—”
“That’s how you ended up at the police station in a holding cell.”
“And Filly from the streets saw me there and punched me in the face, saying I left him behind when we rescued so many to work for Sal.”
“Jesus, Clove.”
I lifted the ice pack from my eye and sat up. “Thanks for coming to get me. I was too embarrassed to call Marcel after that.”
Levity smiled…not one of his beautiful “I love you, best friend” smiles. This was totally creepy.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Well, when you called me I was with Sal. Sal called Marcel, and he’s the one who got you released. I only picked you up.”
“So he knows?”
“Yes, Clove, I know.”
I spun my head so fast, I had a moment of dizziness. There, in the archway to Sal’s living room, stood Marcel in all his godlike glory. He was wearing a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. His brown skin was flawless, and I swore he sparkled with power. He was bald, but it worked for him. His five o’clock shadow was hot as fuck, and even though he was scowling at me as if he wanted to punish me—and I wasn’t necessarily against that—he was still yummy.
“I don’t do well under pressure,” I blurted.
Marcel rolled his eyes. “Let me join you on your way to the cottage; we have a lot to discuss.”
When Marcel walked away, I turned back to Levity. “Is he going to kill me?”
Levity blew out a breath, clearly exasperated. “No, there are other things I believe that man wants to do to you, and murder isn’t one of them.”
I cocked my head to the side, wanting to ask what he meant, but Marcel’s voice boomed through the house.
“Let’s go, Clove.”
Blade by RJ Scott & VL Locey
“Moral. Moral!” Strong hands gripped my shoulders and shook gently, snapping the hold the memory had on me. My eyes, which are now seeing my brother’s worried face, instead of the Canadian wilderness hurtling up to meet me, skitter around the room. Sweat runs down the back of my neck as my lungs stop seizing. Yes, yes, we are in Boston. At the tall tower that holds what my brother, my physical therapist, and my mental health counselor all believe to be my return to being able-bodied. “Moral, are you here with me now?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here. Sorry. I just…” I chanced a look at the skyline. The jet, now long gone, probably landed safely at Logan as hundreds of thousands of planes do every year. Millions perhaps. My shoulder aches. Wincing at the pressure on the reconstructed shoulder joint, I let out a shaky breath. “I saw a plane in the sky. Stupid I know.”
He leaned in to kiss my damp brow. We’ve always been affectionate like that. Mama and Papa were that way. Always hugging and kissing—me and my younger brother, each other, the dogs, the cats, friends, strangers. They were incredibly demonstrative. I missed them both so much.
“It is not stupid. It’s PTSD, which is very normal after a traumatic experience. Your counselor told you so many times.” I shrugged my good arm, moving around in my seat to ensure I can’t see the damn window anymore. “It will pass as time goes by. Once you’re back on your feet.” His eyes flared. “I mean when you’re recovered. I’m sorry. That was—”
“It was fine. A saying. Someday, yes, I will be back on my foot.” My sight touched on my lower half, the left leg so strong and thick, powerful from skating. Then the right, gone below the knee, my trouser leg pinned up neatly by my brother just this morning. Philippe wasn’t amused. “It was a joke. I’m a joker, right?”
“You don’t have to pretend, Moral,” he said before patting my cheek and returning to his seat. “And you will return to your life fully within a year or two, with lots of therapy and this new prosthetic alloy that Dr. Harvey is creating. When you’re sad, be sad. When you’re happy, be happy. I’m not the little boy who lost his parents and had to rely on you and Aunt Celeste to care for him. I’m twenty-six now.”
“Yes, and now you’re taking care of me. Isn’t life funny?” I asked, but there was no humor in the question. “We should just go home. I don’t think this experimental bullshit is for me, Philippe. I have too much therapy to get through…”
He was about to argue, as he did, the stubborn ass, when the door opened and the older woman returned with the reluctant looking man who had bolted what seemed like hours ago. A glance at my watch showed it had only been five minutes since the brilliant inventor with the wide brown eyes had left in such a hurry. I nudged Philippe and jerked my scruffy chin at my crutches. He hurried to comply, passing the crutches over, then reaching to help me out of the chair. I shot him a scowl. My brother lowered his hands to let me struggle upward. It didn’t go well with a healing shoulder and only one leg. Embarrassed at my weakness, I grunted at my brother in French, a quick request for aid. He whispered something back in our native tongue that was not complimentary as he levered me up to my feet. The doctor looked up at me as I wobbled around on my crutches, his dark eyes growing even wider behind his glasses as I got to my full height. Balanced now, I offered him my hand.
He seemed reluctant to take it, but after a slight poke from Miss Brianna, he clasped my fingers, gave them a quick pump, and then dropped them.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Harvey. Thank you for seeing us,” Philippe said jovially, the greeting obviously forced. There was nothing cheerful about this meeting. “My brother, Moral, and I are thrilled to have this time with you. Your personal assistant assured us that you would love to hear my brother’s story. That it would help in your creation of this new metal for athletic prosthetics. Were we not understanding the reply to our email?”
“Your email,” I muttered in French. Philippe shot me a glare.
Lament at Loon Landing by Josh Lanyon
Chapter One
Whoooo…. Whooooo…. WHOOOOO!
Ghostly wailings seemed to issue from the blackened rafters of the Crow’s Nest bookshop.
“What the hell is that noise?” Pirate Cove’s Police Chief Jack Carson stared ceilingward, his blue-green eyes wide with alarm.
Ellery Page, mystery bookshop owner and Jack’s boyfriend, took his oat milk-laced coffee from Jack’s unresisting hand. He said glumly, “The building is haunted.”
“Since when?”
“Since the Sing The Plank organizers announced there’ll be an amateur talent stage at the festival.”
“Ah.”
They listened in silence for a moment to the muffled twang of a banjo and plink of a…ukulele?
WHOOOOO… Whoooo…. Whooooo….
“Despite evidence to the contrary, the only souls suffering the torments of the damned are yours and mine.”
Jack grinned, sipped his coffee. “Is this going on during business hours?”
Ellery nearly choked on his coffee. “Don’t even joke!”
“Sorry. Have either of them ever performed before an audience?”
“It seems so. Kingston and his late wife were active in their local folk music club and Nora used to perform regularly at Pirate Cove’s Traditional Music Society.”
Jack’s brows rose. “I didn’t know we had a Traditional Music Society.”
“We don’t. Not anymore. I have my suspicions.”
Jack chuckled, started to speak, but was interrupted by Watson, Ellery’s black spaniel puppy, who dropped his squeaky toy and began to howl.
Aaah-oooooooh… Ow… Ow… Ow… Aaah-oooooooh…
Ellery sighed. “Right. That started yesterday. I’m not sure if he’s protesting or auditioning.” He called to the puppy, “It’s okay, buddy. It’s almost over.”
“Speaking of almost over.” Jack’s tone was regretful. “I’ve got to get down to the station.”
“Coward.”
Jack shook his head, leaned across the sales counter and kissed Ellery lightly. “I came for the drinks not the band.”
Ellery laughed.
Jack headed for the door, bending to tap Watson’s upturned nose with his finger. Watson cut off his serenade mid-note, looking ever so slightly sheepish. “Working late tonight?” Jack asked Ellery.
Ellery nodded.
“Are you staying at my place or heading out to Captain’s Seat?”
“Your place if that’s okay.”
“Best news of the day.” Jack winked and went out.
The brass bell on the front door swayed, chiming a fond farewell.
It was the autumn equinox and summer was officially over.
September on Buck Island was lovely. The sun cast its lazy spell over glittering water and silky sand. The skies were blue, the breezes balmy, and the crowds had thinned.
Considerably.
Which was the not-so-good news if you were in the business of selling stuff to tourists.
The Crow’s Nest clientele was not primarily of the tourista variety, but there was no denying the influx of summer visitors had plumped up their coffers considerably.
If autumn on Buck Island was anything like winter, trade was going to get pretty lean pretty fast, and Ellery was reluctantly considering whether he did in fact need two full-time employees, in addition to himself, to meet the needs of their fairly slim customer base.
He was fond of both Nora and Kingston, so the idea of letting either go—and really, there was no question of who was on the chopping block—brought him zero pleasure.
“What if we carried a few book-related gift items?” Nora mused as they drank their coffee and gazed out at the largely empty harbor.
Nora Sweeney was Ellery’s right-hand man. Er, woman. A small but stalwart seventy-something Buck Island native, she favored skirts and sensible shoes, and she always wore her long, silver hair in a ponytail.
“Why? We’re a bookstore.”
Nora shrugged. “A few extra dollars here. A few extra dollars there. It all adds up.”
“If we start selling gift items, it’s liable to look like we’re trying to compete with some of the gift shops, which is not going to go over well.”
He was thinking specifically of Janet Maples and Old Salt Stationery. Janet had only recently begun to warm up to him.
As usual, Nora understood him perfectly. “What if our book related gift items were mystery-themed?”
“Hmm.”
“I’ve been looking through that pile of catalogs in the junk room—”
“You mean, my office?”
“Er, your office, and I’ve come up with a list of possibilities.” She fished around in her pocket and handed over a long and crumpled list.
Ellery smoothed out the paper and squinted at Nora’s cramped writing. “Cozy mystery coloring books? Murder mystery dinner party game? Cozy mystery day planner? Nancy Drew jigsaw puzzles? Mystery-themed Christmas ornaments?”
“The holidays are coming.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing.” Nora looked at him in surprise. “I’m kidding,” Ellery said, although he wasn’t entirely sure about that. Jack had mentioned in passing that his family really, really wanted him to come “home” for Christmas this year.
Nora said, “There are key chains, pins, earrings…”
“There’s a lot to choose from,” Ellery agreed. “My concern is the financial outlay.”
“You have to spend money to earn money.”
“You have to have money to spend money,” Ellery retorted.
“We could start with a few choice items and see how it goes.”
Ellery sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Nora’s idea. But, having only recently pulled out of the red, he was understandably cautious. Last year, he’d had his savings to fall back on. This year, he had no savings left with which to weather the inevitable inevitables.
Nora studied him, said, “Or not. Kingston’s come up what I think is a very good idea for bringing in new customers.”
“Kingston has?” Not that Ellery didn’t think Kingston was full of good ideas. He was just surprised to hear Nora touting them. Not so long ago, Nora had viewed Kingston as a rival and competitor if not outright villain. Slowly but surely, that had changed, which was yet another reason Ellery really didn’t want to have to break up the act.
Nora said—in the tone adults use to try to convince toddlers that vegetables are delicious mealtime treats, “What if we were to offer a children’s story hour on weekends?”
Ellery gazed at her in alarm. “We who? We don’t sell children’s books. Do they even make mysteries for children?”
“They do, dearie, but we wouldn’t have to limit ourselves to mysteries.”
“We’re a mystery bookshop.”
“Yes. We are. We’re also the island’s only real bookstore. Which presents us with a unique opportunity to serve Pirate Cove’s littlest customer base.”
“Littlest and most financially strapped.”
Nora laughed. “If there’s one thing people like to spend money on, it’s their children. And, even more so, their grandchildren. Pirate’s Cove doesn’t have endless amusements for little ones.”
“These kids are the descendants of pirates. Maybe they prefer brawling and boozing.”
Nora snorted. “While the children are listening to such classics as Pete the Pirate and The Pirates Next Door, their parents can browse our mystery-themed gifts or pick up something they might like to read.”
“And who exactly would be conducting this story hour?” Ellery asked warily.
“Kingston.”
“Kingston?” Ellery relaxed. “Oh. Well, in that case, yeah. That’s not a bad idea. In fact, it’s kind of a good idea. Are we going to purchase copies of these story books?”
“A few. I’m sure we’d sell a handful or so.” Nora eyed him knowingly. “In fact, you could probably come in an hour or so later on Saturdays. Kingston and I can easily handle the sales floor during that period. Especially during our slow season.”
Ellery considered the possibility of a little extra time with Jack. “Actually, Nora, that’s a great idea.”
Nora beamed. “I’ll let Kingston know you’ve given us your seal of approval.”
Dylan Carter, one of Ellery’s closest friends in Pirate’s Cove, phoned shortly after Ellery returned from lunch on the pier.
“What do you say to lunch?”
Watson, with his tendency to bark at the ever-present seagulls—as well as other dogs, babies in strollers, and every stray piece of trash the wind picked up, was not always the ideal mealtime companion, but he was Ellery’s most frequent, so it was disappointing to have to turn Dylan down.
“I’d have said sure, but I already ate.”
“Ah. I see.” Dylan sounded more distracted than disappointed. “Well, what about joining the rest of us for a drink or dessert? Or both?”
“The rest of us who?”
In addition to owning to owning the Toy Chest and managing the Scallywags, Pirate’s Cove’s local theater guild, Dylan was also one of the organizers of Pirate Cove’s annual Sing the Plank maritime music festival, but Ellery’s fear was that by the rest of us Dylan meant Summer Simmons, his girlfriend.
Dylan’s relationship with Summer had grown increasingly rocky over the past couple of months, and Ellery wanted to give wide berth to any potential public uproar.
But Dylan said, “Lara Fairplay and her entourage, for starters. The Sing the Plank organizers…”
“Lara Fairplay?” Singer-songwriter Lara Fairplay was headlining Sing the Plank, and while Ellery was not a huge fan of folk music, even he was aware that getting Lara Fairplay to appear at their relatively small festival was a huge coup for the island as a whole and the organizers in particular.
“Lara, her husband, her sister…Sue.” Dylan’s tone seemed to grow vague.
“Wait a sec,” Ellery interrupted. “Her sister, Sue or her sister and Sue. As in Sue Lewis, my arch-nemesis.”
Sue Lewis was the owner and editor in chief for the Scuttlebutt Weekly, Pirate Cove’s newspaper. Unfortunately, from their first meeting, Sue and Ellery had rubbed each other the wrong way—and things had gone downhill from there.
“Now, you don’t really think Sue is your arch-nemesis,” Dylan chided. “That’s ancient history, isn’t it?”
“I don’t consider Sue my arch-nemesis, no. She considers me her arch-nemesis.
“She really doesn’t. Sue’s…er…she’s a kinder, gentler Sue. You’ll see.”
“I’ll see from a distance,” Ellery said. “Seriously, though, I already took my break. I can’t just leave Nora and Kingston to—”
“Yes, you can!” Nora chirped from behind him.
Ellery scowled at her.
“We’re fine here. Go. Have fun!” Nora made shooing motions.
“See?” Dylan put in. “Nora’s got it under control.”
“Yeeeah. Just a reminder to you and Nora: I’m actually the one in charge here.”
Both Nora and Dylan chortled at this quaint notion.
“Okay, whatever, but I really can’t just—”
Dylan cut in with an apologetic, “The thing is, I have an ulterior motive in asking you to lunch.”
Ellery sighed. “Believe me, I already figured that much out.”
“But before you agree, you need to, well, see the lay of the land.”
“Before I agree?” Ellery gave a disbelieving laugh. “That’s taking things for granted.”
“Well, after all, everyone in Pirate’s Cove knows this kind of thing is like catnip for you.”
“What kind of thing?”
“Mysteries. Puzzles. Who-dunnits.”
“You want me to solve a mystery?”
“It’s a paying gig. We want to hire you.”
If anything, Ellery’s wariness grew. “You want to hire me to solve a mystery. What kind of mystery?”
Dylan hesitated. “I suppose it’s a little bit of a…a who-dunnit.”
Uh oh. “Who done what?”
Dylan said airily, “If you want to learn the answer to that—and other questions–you’ll just have to come to lunch. The Seacrest Inn at one o’clock.”
And with that, he hung up.
Pride by RJ Scott
Chapter 1
Last week
After seeing every hour in the night, I’d banked no more than thirty minutes of decent sleep, every muscle ached, and my head hurt like a mother. The last thing I wanted today was to have to deal with lawyers, but there was too much at stake for me to fuck this up. I was early for the ten a.m. meeting—nervous as a racing driver with an engine fire—so I found a coffee shop within viewing distance of the office building that was home to Newman, Granda, and Lewis on the eighth floor. In downtown LA, it was impossible to walk twenty yards without tripping over the A-board of some artisan caffeine distributor claiming they served the best coffee in the city, and this one came with views of the 777 Tower as it soared to the sky.
Everything here made me feel small. I researched everything I could, and I fought for the right to be in my daughter’s life, and I hated feeling small.
God, I need caffeine.
“Logan? Coffee for Logan?” the barista called my name.
I stepped out from where I’d been hiding behind the unit displaying an artistically arranged set of mugs in what Millie’s Coffee Emporium called the Hollywood collection. Given we were miles from anything like the celebrity homes tourist trail in the hills, I thought Millie’s marketing was misguided, but who was I to comment. I might live and work in LA, but Echo Park was a long way from Hollywood. Instead of tourists, Millie’s was full of businesspeople who discussed everything from selling to buying in loud voices, and I’d yet to spot a single tourist; so, there was me, sticking out like a sore thumb.
I found a quiet corner with a view of the glass tower where the meeting would be held, and sipped my coffee, wishing for a distraction and damn thankful when my cell vibrated with a text.
Everything okay?
It was from Tudor Barrera, former boss, friend, pseudo dad, who would be waiting for me to tell him the meeting went well, as it usually did, but he was jumping the gun asking me too early.
Too early yet. Just got coffee.
I saw the dots dancing, and wondered what the comment would be.
Give ’em hell.
I snorted a laugh and sent back a simple LOL, but as I typed, I noticed a stubborn speck of oil down the side of my thumb, which had remained despite my best efforts to clean my hands. A mechanic was never truly clean of the sweat of honest work, of the oil and scent of leather and exhaust, although I picked at the spot as I finished my coffee just to see if I could clean it off, then pulled out the letter I’d received to read it one more time.
It was a non-specific, generic, letter-headed missive to attend a meeting regarding Cassidy’s welfare—something we’d done before, and nothing unusual. I had my daughter every other weekend, a precious forty-eight hours from the end of the school day on Friday to Sunday afternoon, but maybe Izzy wanted more time with her new husband and his family? Maybe after today, I could have Cassidy—the six-year-old, precocious, smiling, sunshine, center of my world—for more time.
I couldn’t avoid this thing any longer and headed out to the sixty-story glass building that housed the offices of Newman, Granda, and Lewis. After a warm welcome from the receptionist, I accepted another coffee with an undisguised enthusiasm that made her smile.
“Please take a seat in the family room.” She opened the door to a space off the main corridor, and her polite expression never slipped once, even if she had seen, as I guessed, the rough that I couldn’t hide. Then again, this was LA. I bet she’d seen some things, from actors and rock stars to sports heroes. Maybe she thought I had celebrity money and had chosen to wear an old suit and even older shoes, or maybe she’d just been trained to be welcoming.
“Thank you,” I said with a smile, which I was sure was little more than a grimace.
“You’re welcome. Mr. Granda will be starting the meeting shortly, and I will come to find you.”
My chest was tight, and I didn’t want to be here where I didn’t belong. I was thirty-one years old, responsible, owning and running a company. Hell, I even had a 401k. Still, I tugged down the sleeves of my shirt on instinct, and winced when I realized what I’d done.
Protection mode activated.
“Thank you, again,” I managed.
“Do you need anything?”
“Not to be here?” I quipped.
She offered me a soft smile that was probably meant to be reassuring.
I don’t feel reassured.
She pulled the door closed, and then it was just me with coffee, pacing the six-by-six room with its plush sofa and conspicuous lack of windows. I didn’t like small spaces at the best of times, or the feeling of being trapped, so I opened the door a little and hoped to God this would be over soon so I could get back to the garage.
I’d tried calling Izzy last night to suggest we didn’t need to meet so often—time was money. Only, it was a very polite Parker, aka her new husband, who’d answered the phone even thought I don’t like the guy, he was so damned reasonable that my piss and vinegar attitude had melted, and I found myself thanking him for taking the call, unsure how he’d encouraged me to reach that decision. I hated that he’d somehow gaslit me into feeling bad for wanting to talk to the mother of my daughter, but I couldn’t focus on that now. Did all rich people go somewhere to learn these let’s-be-reasonable techniques, or was I just out of my freaking depth? Probably the latter.
I was Izzy’s dad. I made smiley pancakes, and built Lego, and played tea parties, and loved her with every breath in my body. I may have had a complicated past, detailed in the tattoos etched on my skin, but I could teach Cassidy things Izzy never could. I knew how to stand up for myself, I knew how to strip and rebuild a beautiful lady of a ’66 Thunderbird until she purred like a kitten, or more likely, growled like a tiger. I knew the things Cassidy loved.
“I’m okay,” I muttered to the room.
“Talking to yourself, Logan?” Izzy said from the doorway.
I spun to face her as she slipped inside and shut us in. I felt trapped, but she hadn’t closed the door on purpose because she didn’t know I was claustrophobic. Hell, she didn’t know a tenth of the things about me that’d make her stop and think before shutting us into this small room. She floated in on a cloud of perfume, her ivory skin flawless, every hair in place, and jewelry that would keep the garage afloat for years around her neck, in her earlobes, and weighing down her hands. I’d never have gone out of my way to go with a high-class girl like her, but she’d gone out of hers to find a bad boy. I couldn’t even regret that night, or the joyride in a stolen car, or the arrest, or everything after that… because out of all of it came Cassidy.
And she was every good part of me. She was everything.
“Izzy,” I acknowledged.
“Isabel,” she corrected, and fiddled with the handle of her purse. “Parker suggested that I talk to you alone before we reconsider the custody arrangement—”
“Which was made official with a court order two years ago,” I interrupted. “So, if we’re here to discuss me having Cassidy for more time, then I can agree to that without spending money on lawyers.” Money that I don’t have.
“Logan, stop.” She held up a hand, and I saw the French-polished nails—she used to wear her nails longer, painted them scarlet, but this wasn’t the Izzy I’d known oh so briefly, this was the new, improved Isabel, who wanted to slot back into the world she’d once tried to escape with her walk on the wild side. “It’s not that.”
“So, if you don’t need me to take her for more time, then what are we doing here?”
“Parker has been offered a long-term role within his family’s bank in Europe. Switzerland, to be exact.” She used words, but the rushing sound in my ears meant I couldn’t string them together in any order. Panic gripped my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Switzerland? That meant…
They want to take Cassidy.
“No,” I managed. “No.”
“Think of the opportunities—”
“No.”
“Please be reasonable—”
“You’re not taking our daughter to goddamned Switzerland.”
She winced at the harsh words, but I wasn’t going to be manipulated into thinking I was wrong in my reaction. How in God’s name would I see her? Would she fly back? Would I go there? How could I go there? Izzy was still speaking in that low, wheedling tone that reminded me of Parker, as if she had the right to stand there and rip my life apart.
“It might only be for two or three years, and we think it would be best—”
“No.”
Izzy’s lips thinned, her brown eyes flashing with temper, and that was the first glimpse of the old Izzy I’d seen in a long time. She’d been such a firebrand back in the day, a party girl, out for fun, and I’d witnessed the real temper in her, and I could handle that Izzy, the one who let emotions rule her head.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself, then placed her purse on the sofa, taking that time to get her thoughts straight. I could see the temper ebb and then disappear—ice replaced the heat—and my heart skipped a beat.
“Parker has suggested that Cassidy spend an entire four weeks in the summer with you and it makes sense because you’ll have quality time with her instead of four days or so every month. He knows the costs of flying may well be out of your reach, but he said he’ll cover the cost of a reasonable amount of flights.” She tilted her chin.
Fuck that. I could be just as stubborn.
“And I counter propose that Cassidy remain with me every other weekend, as per the legal agreement we reached, because there’s no way in hell you’re taking her to Switzerland.”
“You have to be reasonable.”
“‘Reasonable’ was me agreeing to only having her every other weekend because it was best for her to be with her mom. Her mom, Izzy! Not your new husband, who talks as if he knows what’s best for everyone just because he has money!”
She pursed her lips, and I could imagine her brain working out what valid point she had to make this a deal I’d agree to. “What about the garage?”
“What about it?” I owned it. It was profitable. Respected.
“Every time she comes home, she’s filthy with oil and her hair is a tangled mess. Do you really think the garage is a suitable place for her to spend time?”
Jesus. How did I defend that? I ran a place where curses were punctuation, where I worked from six in the morning till eight at night, sometimes even later. Objectively, not all my staff could be considered as good, wholesome people to be around a kid. Enzo had a record, Robbie wasn’t using his real name and I knew little about his background, not to mention Rio and Jamie, both of whom had only just gotten out of prison. We were a rough and ready crew, covered in oil, stinking of gas and exhaust, and yeah, there was nothing clean about my work or my life. But Cassidy loved spending time at Redcars Automotive—she thrived on spending time there—and everyone loved her right back.
“She’s happy. She loves the cars, and the guys, and they love her. You know that, so don’t start with that.”
“Parker said you’d be like this,” she snapped.
I saw red. Fuck Parker.
“So, in your plans, I miss her November birthday, and next year a seven-year-old turns up at my place, and we spend precious weeks just getting to know each other again, and then you swoop in to take her away again. Right?”
“Logan—”
“But then she turns eight, and nine, and soon she’s a teenager, and I’m just some random guy she has to spend time with every summer. Every year, my relationship with her is eroded by absence. It’s not happening.”
“Logan, please—”
“I know my rights; we have an agreement, and you’re not taking my daughter overseas.”
Izzy stiffened at what she likely perceived as a threat, but I wasn’t threatening her. I respected her as the mother of my child. Hell, I owed her for even telling me I was a father when she didn’t have to, but I was ready to fight to be a part of my daughter’s life.
“Logan… listen to me.” She stepped closer and placed a hand flat on my chest, and I got an up-close look at her face, her brown eyes bright with emotion. This wasn’t the Izzy I had lusted after, this wasn’t the Izzy from my past, this was some painted doll who stood there and demanded things of me that I could never agree to. “Don’t make this about what you lose,” she encouraged. “Make this about all the opportunities Cassidy will get in life.”
The fuck? “She needs her dad, and if you think I’m going to stand by and—”
“Maybe I used to think it was a good idea for you to be part of her life, but now…”
“What’s changed, Izzy? I thought we were doing okay.” I pleaded with her, but she glanced behind herself at the door, and seemed confused for a moment. What in the hell was going on? Was Izzy okay? She was pale, and the unforgiving light in the ceiling highlighted the anxiety in her expression. “Are you okay? Can I help with—”
“You’re a criminal,” Izzy snapped, and the temperature in the room fell a few degrees.
My sudden swell of sympathy at her confusion vanished in an instant. “I was,” I said. “You knew that when you wanted the bad boy.”
She went scarlet and couldn’t meet my gaze. “You stole cars, you have a criminal record—”
“Yeah, but when you got caught coming along for the ride, you had a daddy who could pay off the cops.”
“Your face scares Cassidy!” she pointed at the scar running from my eye to my lip.
I tapped it, and she winced. “This? Cassidy doesn’t care about my fucking scar,” I snapped.
She spluttered. “And you curse!”
“Never in front of Cass, so fuck you.”
We were toe to toe, and finally, everything heated up, her eyes brightened with emotion, and she took a step back. “And you spent time on the streets, doing God knows what.” She whispered as if she couldn’t bring herself to shout at me, knowing she was pulling on threads that should be left untouched.
“Surviving.” I knew I sounded tired. “Trying to stay alive. That’s what I was doing on the street, not that that meant much to you, but then, not all of us had Mommy and Daddy to run back to.” I knew the barb hit home when she winced, and that wasn’t me anymore. I didn’t want to stand here and hurt her; I just wanted her to realize that I was Cassidy’s daddy. I inhaled, then shook my head. “This isn’t you talking. This is Parker. I’m not doing this with you, and I will fight you every step of the way.”
“With what money? Parker said—”
“Parker said what? That I can’t afford a lawyer to fight this? That he’s won because of that. Fuck, I don’t need a lawyer anymore, I know my rights. We did the court thing. I got partial custody, end of story.”
She straightened the jacket of her scarlet suit, then picked up her purse. “Then there’s nothing more to say.”
I held her arm, and she let out a pained noise, and even though I hadn’t been holding that hard, I let go. “If the Izzy I remember is still in there, then she knows I’m a good dad. Please find that Izzy, and don’t try to take Cassidy away from me. I don’t want to have to go to court. I won’t let you do that to me and Cass.”
“Are you threatening me?” she snapped.
“What? No. Of course, not. I’m freaking pleading with you.”
She paused with her fingers on the handle, but she didn’t turn to face me. “I’m sorry, Logan, but Parker’s family is not willing to back down on sending us there.”
“I won’t lose Cassidy. I will fight this,” I said and left no room for discussion.
The only indication she’d heard was the stiffening of her shoulders. “Parker will use everything he has to make sure you lose,” she murmured, then she glanced back at me, her lips trembling, real tears brightening her eyes. “I’m sorry. You can’t fight him on this, you should just accept what happens.”
“‘Him’?” I softened at her tears. I was a sucker for tears. “What about you?”
For a moment, I thought we’d connected, and then she blinked away the emotion and turned back to the door. “You can’t stop him.”
“Then you stop him.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She met my question with a tilt of her chin, and I thought I might get honesty from her. “I won’t,” she said, then left the room.
I wanted to leave—turn around and walk out of the high-rise and ignore this meeting, but if I did it was something Izzy and her new husband could use against me.
My heart ached; I felt sick; and there was no air in this room. I was in a world I didn’t understand, but I refused to fall back on my destructive, self-doubting behavior, and be who they expected me to be.
Shoulders back, I stalked past the receptionist to the exit.
“Sir?” she asked.
“I’m leaving!” I snapped at her, then stopped and turned back. “Sorry, that was rude. I can’t… I just… can’t…”
“It’s okay, sir, I’ll let them know.” She gave me an apologetic half smile—didn’t stare at me, my clothes, my tattoos, or my scar—then nodded as I left.
I’m Cassidy’s daddy. Not Parker with his money and his lawyers—me.
And they can’t change that.
However hard they try.
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
Josh Lanyon
EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Breathe My Name by Davidson King
Lament at Loon Landing by Josh Lanyon
Pride by RJ Scott
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