Monday's Montage Mantlepiece: On the Edge Box Sets Volume 1 & 2

Title: On the Edge Volume 1 & 2

Authors: Holly Barbo, Jayne Hyatt, Susan Griscom, EM Denning, 

Rene Folsom, Rachael Orman, Cherime MacFarlane, S Raven Storm

Anne Conley, Ella Medler, Alisa Mullen, Angie M Brashears

TJ Chapman, Amelia Price, Chris Ward, Aubree Lane, Suzy Stewart Dubot

Lynda Kaye Frazier, Scarlet Braden, Sloan Moorland, Kendra Hale

Julie Elizabeth Powell, Desiree A Cox, Kelly Cozzone, Elaine May

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Release Dates: November 14, 2016

Summary:

12 COMPLETE NOVELS AND NOVELLAS FROM YOUR FAVORITE ROMANTIC SUSPENSE AUTHORS.

Due to mature content, situations and language, this collection is recommended for audiences 18+. Some stories are written in American, some in Canadian, and some in British English. The authors have chosen to stay true to their heritage.

ON THE EDGE is an outstanding 2 volume collection of award-winning romantic suspense books, each fascinating story hand-picked for your enjoyment. Each volume includes 12 thrilling adventures, 12 heroes to root for, 12 couples to add to your 'best friends' list. The perfect companion for late nights on the sofa, the perfect gift to those who enjoy a good read. Add it to your favorite kindle with one click now.

These box sets includes a mix of already released and totally new novels and novellas, all complete works. Those books which are part of a series can be enjoyed fully without the need to read the complete series (though there is a chance you might develop story-addiction issues—for that, we apologize).

Authors: Holly Barbo, Jayne Hyatt, Susan Griscom, EM Denning

Rene Folsom, Rachael Orman, Cherime MacFarlane, S Raven Storm

Anne Conley, Ella Medler, Alisa Mullen, Angie M Brashears

Stories Included:

Binding Contracts by Holly Barbo

What do you do when you no longer want something? You discard it, right? Which is exactly what happens when Keith gets tired of his wife. But there are signed contracts and someone hasn’t read the fine print.

Looking for the Good Life by Jayne Hyatt

Best friends, Emma and Georgie, find that small town life is anything but boring as they embark on a funny, sexy and perilous roller coaster ride of an adventure they had no idea they were boarding until it was too late. It certainly wasn’t what they had in mind when they decided to leave the big city. Emma’s soon to be ex-husband is a cheater. Georgie’s boyfriend is immature and commitment phobic. Knowing it is time to make some changes, they leave their failed romances behind them, in Denver, and head north to Scottsbluff, Nebraska to regroup and get their lives together while running the metaphysical store Emma inherited from her aunt. Instead of peace and quiet, though, they find themselves embroiled in a treacherous mystery involving an ancient, mystical ring, while fighting for their lives against a homicidal maniac who is determined to get his hands on it. Meanwhile, Georgie finds herself falling for yet another bad boy. Moreover, could it be that Emma has come face to face with her soul mate? Join Emma and Georgie as they find that life may not always go the way we expect, yet the unexpected can be sometimes be just what we need.

Beautifully Wounded by Susan Griscom

Sometimes the only way to salvation... is to take a leap of faith.

Jackson Beaumont prides himself on being a nature-loving, guitar-strumming, carefree sort of guy. When the mysterious Lena Benton walks into his bar looking scared and defeated, it's not something he can ignore. He's immediately consumed by concern for her and driven by his desire to help. She's just so beautiful. So wounded.

After being shuffled from one foster home to another growing up, Lena Benton dreamt of finding her prince charming. When the captivating Troy Harington sweeps her off her feet shortly after high school graduation, she's certain she's found her happiness. Unfortunately, Troy's true colors surface shortly after their marriage and things turn ugly. Lena only has one choice. She has to leave him. She has to run...

Lena's escape has brought her to Jackson, and he clearly wants to be there for her, but can she trust anyone again after what she's gone through? And will Jackson be able to help her heal without losing his heart?

Measure For Measure by E.M. Denning

Millicent Hughes—Millie—is an author on the brink success. As a former foster child, her past wasn’t a bed of roses, making her current success even sweeter. But despite her skyrocketing career, she knows something is missing: him.

When her best friend is killed and she’s attacked by what police believe is an obsessed fan, her life is thrown into turmoil. Even her publisher comes under scrutiny. Can her former foster brothers keep her safe or will they have to take drastic measures to catch a killer?

Shuttered Affections by Rene Folsom

Emotionally riveting and electrifyingly sexy. Unputdownable. Rene burns up the pages and leaves you raw, desperately in need of more. —USA Today Bestselling Author, Christin Lovell

Juliana Petersen's troubled past haunts her at every turn. The crippling memories of an abusive relationship, and the lack of support from her family, lead her to flee her old life and begin anew.

After settling into a quaint college town, Juliana finally feels at peace, content to stay under the radar and keep things simple.

Until Aiden Stone, her new photography professor, crashes into her life, blurring the line between love and lust. As their torrid affair reaches untold heights, Juliana struggles to keep her shuttered emotions, and growing affections, from throwing her into a relationship she isn't prepared for.

With her newfound romance blinding her from the looming shadows of her past, her nightmares become reality, and she is forced to discover her true strength within.

NOTE: If you’re not a fan of taboo tales of love and lust or cliffhanger endings, this book isn’t for you. This student/teacher romantic suspense novel is the first book in the Cornerstone series and contains sexual situations meant for adult readers ages 18 and up.

Witness by Rachael Orman

I saw something I wasn't supposed to see.

Married someone I shouldn't have.

But I got away.

It's been five years but I think my time has run out.

People aren't who they seem.

Things aren't how they look and I'm finding out the hard way that my life is no longer my own.

Stalking Red by Cherime MacFarlane

Number 2 Listopia Romance With Strong Contemporary Females, Number 3 Listopia Western and Native American Romance Red, Brenda Levere has been on her own for a very long time. PR, Paul Revere Jones comes from a big family, part Alaska Native and part white. When Red moves into his apartment complex, PR begins the hunt of a lifetime. He wants the prickly woman. Red throws a big glitch in his plans by getting involved with another man. PR continues his friendly interaction with Red as he bides his time. Reardon dumps Red and PR happily deepens their friendship. But Red is shy having been burned before. It is one tough hunt. Can he get her to the altar or will Red keep him at arm's length as a friend with benefits?

Someone for Me by S. Raven Storm

Is lust the same as love? … Skye Jones has survived her childhood of tragedies and loneliness. With no faith in love or finding that special someone, she becomes a workaholic. Faced with the threat of a corporate takeover, she unwilling attends a party hosted by the opposition. Instead of another boring party, she finds herself in the arms of the devilishly handsome and sexy Logan Tyler. From the moment they meet, sparks fly, and the heat engulfs them both in lust and passion. Could this be the man she's been waiting for? But before she can even think about a future with him, Skye has to know can she trust Logan with her secret?

Logan Tyler has paid the price to get where he is. He prides himself on being calm and cool and level- headed, but all that goes out the window when he meets Ms. Skye Jones. Skye turns Logan's world upside down and has him thinking some new thoughts. He knows he loves her in his bed, but soon realizes he wants her in every part of his life. But Logan has a secret. Can he and Skye's relationship survive the truth?

FEEL THE HEAT!

Craze by Anne Conley

When Krista catches her boss doing the unthinkable, the only thing she can do is run. Straight into the arms of the eye-candy she’s been trying not to flirt with on her lunch break. But whose side is he on?

Ryan’s security firm is having a hard time getting off the ground, and this may be just the job to help the company out. But pseudo-bounty hunter isn’t really what Pierce Securities is trying to get a name for. When he finds out their target is the classy lady from the park, all of Ryan’s senses go on high alert. What do these men want with her?

Krista is forced into Ryan’s sanctuary in the woods, where she realizes just how wild he is, but she doesn’t want to tame him. He may feel his methods of protection endangered her, but without Krista in his life, Ryan is crazed.

***Warning*** This book contains possible triggers.

This is book #1 in the Pierce Securities, a Romantic Suspense series by Anne Conley, author of the Stories of Serendipity and The Four Winds.

Not Juliet by Ella Medler

Riella Smith, an unconventional Romany Princess, travels to Tuscany on the trail of her father’s challenger to delay him and prevent unnecessary bloodshed and humiliation. What she expects is trouble from a fearsome rival. But life is rarely that easy.

The trouble she finds is of a different kind. Soon, she faces the toughest decision of her life — again — though it should really be a no-brainer. All she has to do is choose between her people and a myth.

After all, there’s no such thing as love at first sight.

Plastic Confidence by Alisa Mullen

What happens when the past rears its ugly head and messes with who you thought you were? Will it break down all your walls and set your whole world on fire?

Meet Julia Delaney, a.k.a Jules, the lead singer of Love Sick Ponies, sex superstar, and a heart full of rocks. She loves them and leaves them, a bad girl through and through.

That is until she meets Brennan Curtis, a fan boy, a wannabe friend, and the only one who can possibly tear Jules’ walls down.

When the plastic snaps wide open, Jules finds herself in a vulnerable and awkward situation with Brennan and her band.

Jules’ journey of self-discovery started at a young age and her self- image, which is engrained in her brain, might just be there for life. Desperate to alter how people view her, she realizes that she might never be able to escape the past.

Follow the past ghosts into the now for the emotional roller coaster ride you all expect from Alisa Mullen.

Love Box by Angie M Brashears

Not all of us get the fairytale ending. Some of us get restraining orders.

Authors: TJ Chapman, Amelia Price, Chris Ward, Aubree Lane

Suzy Stewart Dubot, Lynda Kaye Frazier, Scarlet Braden, Sloan Moorland

Kendra Hale, Julie Elizabeth Powell, Desiree A Cox, Kelly Cozzone, Elaine May

Stories Included:

From Ashes to Flames by TJ Chapman

Nothing is ever as it seems and when you look beyond the first layer, a whole new world becomes available to your eyes.

Reagan Ó Branáin had one chance and if he failed, he would lose everything… and her.

The Hundred Year Wait by Amelia Price

It's been one-hundred years since Watson died and Mycroft still doesn't understand what Sherlock saw in having such a companion, but after so long alone and somehow still as young, he is starting to wonder what it might be like to have a disciple of his own.

Life for Amelia Jones is dull, she's spent all her years writing about the adventures other people have, and then she meets the Holmes brothers. Can she persuade the most intelligent person in the world to trust her? And if she does, can she survive the danger that surrounds them?

Broken by Chris Ward

Jack is a lost boy, a spoilt, rich delinquent sent to college in Japan to keep him out of trouble. Miyu is a lost girl, fighting to dig her way out of a life of hardship, struggle, and personal sacrifice.

When tragedy strikes, Miyu finds companionship in the unlikeliest of places. Jack wants only to go home to Britain, Miyu only to find the mother who abandoned her sixteen years before. Together they form an uneasy alliance that takes them from the seedy underbelly of Tokyo to the rice fields of Nagano, where they will discover that what they are searching for is something that already exists within them both.

Finding my World is a novel of romantic suspense from Chris Ward, the acclaimed author of the dystopian science-fiction trilogy The Tube Riders.

Tahoe Blues by Aubree Lane

When Cara Lee Greene finds that the glitz and glitter of casino life isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, she divorces the Lake’s self-proclaimed King of Tahoe, and tries to separate herself from the rich and powerful Alexander family.

In her quest for a new life, Cara is able to reconnect with some old friends. She finds a new home, a new love and a new piece of jewelry around her ankle. Under house arrest and accused of a crime she didn’t commit, Cara must rely on a funky group of misfits to uncover the truth and set her free.

Believing himself above society’s mores, Duncan Alexander doesn’t know what he has until his beautiful college professor wife walks in and finds him in bed with another woman. Losing Cara is not an option and Duncan will do anything to get her back. 

With a family whose wealth was built on profiteering during the Prohibition years, Duncan is not above doing what he deems necessary to retrieve his queen. His family sits on the sidelines. They have given Duncan free rein, but in the end will Duncan be able to retain his throne?

The Insignificance of Being a Spy by Suzy Stewart Dubot

Marcus Beaumont, spy for his majesty's government, has to appear insignificant. His life depends upon it. In Britain's struggle against the tyrant Napoleon, his missions find him involved in murder, lust and even love.

Sealed with a Dream by Lynda Kaye Frazier

Max Ritter was a Navy Seal. A life he loved, and a family he would die for. But he was willing to walk away from it all for Amy. Then a nightmare from his past rose from the dead, taking his team and the only woman he ever loved. Max knew it was Maheer, but his Commanders refused to listen. They had Intel that told them different, a dead man's trap, one Max knew well. In a race against time, and in a country that almost cost him his life, Max fights his past to save his family and his future before it was too late.

Harvesting the Hummingbird by Scarlett Braden & Sloan Moorland

Abby never thought she'd have the strength, or the nerve, to get out. An abusive husband, a suffocating marriage, and a decade-long fight with PTSD conspired to trap her in that life. Now living in Ecuador amid the Andes Mountain Range, she enjoys a new life and a new relationship with an old friend. Her former troubles seem a world away. But that all changes when her new love confronts her ex back in North Carolina. If he becomes the next victim of the man she left behind, will it lead the violence of her past to her doorstep?

Ming, Murder and Matchmaking by Kendra Hale

When a Scottish client instructs Wainwright & Talbot Auctioneers to sell his valuable Ming collection and other antiques, and invites them them to his Highland home to prepare for the sale, Richard Wainwright realises this is the perfect matchmaking opportunity between his younger, widowed partner, Quentin Talbot and his divorced daughter, Blythe.

Through devious means, and driven by hate and jealousy, Blythe’s ex, Adam Chase, follows the two up to the Highlands to settle his score. Once there, he perchance hears about the Ming collection, and sets his plans in action.

But Adam isn’t the only criminal who has no qualms murdering especially not for Ming.

Dirty Business by Julie Elizabeth Powell

Gavin Bloom and Alex Moore run an online magazine for an adult market; although each insists it has to be within the limits of not only the law but to their sense of decency. Gavin is on the edge of developing a revolutionary turn for that very magazine, a programme that will no doubt secure the business, maybe forever.

Twisted by Desire by Desiree A. Cox

Sky, Nikki’s ex-husband, has a hold on her heart.

Jeff occupies her thoughts.

Sky can provide Nikki unconditional love.

Jeff can offer her everything she thought she wanted.

Nikki is so confused! Her head’s telling her one thing, while her heart is sending another message.

But Nikki isn’t the only one who’s twisted by desire.

Tropical Dreams by Kelly Cozzone

Betrayal and death permeated Tiana Alexander’s past and threatens to rip apart her future. She can’t escape the devastation of anger and pain. Bringing Tropical Dreams to life is the culmination of facing all life has dealt to her. The same life that taught her trusting someone carried dire consequences. Until David Murphy walked into her club. He made her want to trust again, made her want to love again. What she didn’t know was someone wasn’t about to let that happen. They wanted her dead!

Can David keep her alive long enough to find out who is after her? Can he put aside his own demons for her? Can they overcome deceit, betrayal and more death? Or will life finally take its toll!

Lies and Truth by Elaine May

When Isla Holmes’ life as a child is turned upside down and she is ripped away from her soul mate, she is forced to live a life with evil.

When Isla and her soul mate cross paths, will they find a happy ever after or will evil intervene?

Author Bios:

Holly Barbo

Holly's world is shaped by her love of family, the beauty of the natural world and an irrepressible creative drive. She has always been curious and sees life through questions. These four characteristics color her writing voice. Holly's stories are mostly in non-urban settings and usually have some focus on nature, building discordant themes inside a seemingly peaceful refrain.

My motto: Weaving Alternative Worlds with Threads From Today.

Jayne Hyatt
Jayne Hyatt is a novelist who currently lives in Denver, Colorado. A lifelong bookworm, she especially enjoys reading contemporary and historical romance, romantic suspense and mysteries. When she's not writing, or reading, she's very likely hanging out with her best friend, cooking up a storm, watching a movie, trying out a new restaurant, browsing in a used book store, or simply daydreaming. As she puts it: "I seem to spend a lot of time daydreaming about what my characters are up to when I'm not with them."

Susan Griscom

Susan Griscom writes paranormal and contemporary romance. She's hooked on sexy romances and is a huge fan of superheroes and bad boys confronted with extraordinary forces of nature, powers, and abilities beyond the norm mixed with steamy romance, of course. 

She loves those days when she gets to sit around in her sweat pants, doing nothing but writing emotionally charged stories about love and violence.

She lives in Northern California in wine country and one of her favorite weekend excursions is wine tasting with the love of her life. Together, she and her romantic husband have five great superhero kids and eight mini-superhero grand kids, so far.

EM Denning
E. M. Denning is a writer from British Columbia. She loves her family and her animals and anything cute and fuzzy. She was born a hopeless romantic and when she’s not writing romance, she’s probably reading it. She loves love.

Rene Folsom
Author of contemporary and paranormal, lives in Florida with her husband and three kids. She has officially diagnosed herself with creative ADD and often has a million and one writing projects going at once. In addition to writing, she is also a graphic artist who enjoys creating custom book covers for indie authors. She is definitely an artist at heart and would love nothing more than to be elbow deep in clay during her waking hours.

Rene believes that all fiction is based on some form of reality—otherwise we would never have the inspiration or knowledge to dream up the realistic situations we portray with our words. She is proud to say that her personal experiences have been inspirational, though perhaps not always identical to that of her fictional characters. Where reality and fantasy diverge, however, must remain her little secret…

Rachael Orman
Mother by day. Writer by night. I spend a majority of my day with my children and reading while my nights are filled with the sound of the keyboard as I work on my next work.

I have written in nearly every LBGT category as well as the traditional erotic romance category.

I love to try new things and learn from every piece of work I write. I'll write just about anything once to learn from it. I've even ventured out of my normal erotica genre into Monster Erotica. Doubt you'll find me writing anything not erotic as you can barely get me to even read something out of that category, but then again, you never know what I might try next.

Never stop learning. Try everything at least once.

Cherime MacFarlane

A prolific multi-genre author, she has a broad range of interests that reflect her, been there-done that, life. Romance, Historical Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, all sorts of characters and plots evolve from a vivid imagination.

I came to Alaska kicking and screaming in 1976, and I never want to leave. I cut firewood on shares for money to get through the winter. I swore I would not live above the Alaska Range because it was too cold there and wound up in the Copper River Basin where it got just a cold as Fairbanks.

My second husband, a Scot from Glasgow, was the love of my life. When I write Scots dialect, I experienced hearing it from my in-laws. When my husband got on the phone to Scotland after five seconds, I could hardly understand a word. I was my second husband's chief mechanic's helper and roadie.

I live in a cabin which is slowly being surrounded by the city and wish I was further out. My two cats and Husky-Collie mix dog are happy in our little slice of heaven called Alaska. In the silence of winter dreams of people and places provide a rich pool of ideas to delve into.

S Raven Storm

S. Raven Storm is a native New Yorker, who currently moved from Goldsboro, NC to Dover DE. She holds a BS degree in business management and English literature. She writes erotic and other genres of romance and poetry. S. Raven Storm released her first novel titled: Someone for Me in April 2015 under the now defunct, Platinum Pearl Publications. The Amazon EBook has a five star rating with great reviews. Currently she released the self-published Someone for Me 2 Tina’s Turn, which released December 29, 2015. She is now in the middle of the final book of the Someone for Me trilogy, Someone for Me 3 Stone’s Story. She came in 2nd place for Smexiest 2015 Erotic Romance Novel for Someone for Me. She brings the heat and is famous for her iconic trademark color purple. Her branding slogan of "Feel the heat” and “If it ain't naughty, it ain't nice." has become synonymous with her body of work.

Anne Conley

Anne Conley has written her entire life and has the boxes of angst-filled journals and poetry to prove it. She's been writing for public consumption for the last four years. Currently she is writing three romance series. In Stories of Serendipity, she explores real people living real lives in small town Texas in a contemporary romance setting. In The Four Winds, she chronicles God's four closest archangels, Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael, falling in love and becoming human. In Pierce Securities, she gives us Ryan, Evan, Miriam, Zack, Quinten, and Simon. She lives in rural East Texas with her husband and children in her own private oasis, where she prides herself in her complete lack of social skills, choosing instead to live with the people inside her head.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this story, sign up for my newsletter to receive news on new releases, extras, and random stuff!

Ella Medler

Ella Medler is a U.K. author and editor. She writes fiction in many genres in a seemingly vain attempt to slow down her overactive brain enough to write non-fiction on subjects she knows a thing or two about. She also does not believe in the starchy use of English and ignores the type of rule that doesn’t allow for a sentence to be finished in a preposition. Her books are action-driven, and well-developed characters are her forte. Loves: freedom. Hates: her inner censor.

Alisa Mullen
Alisa Mullen is the author of the Best Selling Saga, The Chosen Series and the Best Selling psychological suspense novel, Plastic Confidence. She is also the author of Following the Sun,77 Steps, One Missing Link,The Business Trip, and many other short stories and novellas. She sometimes goes by kaycee veil.

Growing up in Down East Maine, Mullen received a BA from Texas A&M University and a MS from Our Lady of Lake University in San Antonio, Texas. When she isn't writing, she enjoys reading, making necklaces, and spending time with her family.

Mullen lives in South Texas with her loving husband and their two children.

Angie M Brashears
Angie M Brashears is a lover of everything books. When not writing, she's reading anything she can get her hands on. She grew up in Southern California, and loves the mountains, hiking with her dogs, the beach, and of course, Disneyland! She loves music, and loves singing along to the radio, loud and off-key, performing for anyone unlucky enough to be in the passenger seat.

Angie loves dark and twisted, which she refers to as Dark Ever After books, but is known to read an occasional HEA story as well. When she's not writing, she working, saving lives. A busy Trauma ER nurse for over twenty years, she gets enough reality in her life, and is always looking for a story to take her away from the harsh reality of Emergency Nursing.

If there's football on, she sure to have a huge party going on to cheer her team on...Go Patriots!
As a new author, she'd love to hear from you!

Amelia Price
Jess was born in the quaint village of Woodbridge in the UK, has spent some of her childhood in the States and now resides in the beautiful Roman city of Bath. She lives with her husband Phil and her very dapsy cat, Pleaides. Jess can often be found either in a cafe, grinning behind a large mug of hot chocolate, at her desk, getting annoyed with her cat for sitting on her keyboard, or on her comfy corner sofa with friends, enjoying a vast array of films.

You can read about all the different things Jess does with her work time by checking out all the other pages here. Seperated by type of artistic endeavour they explain all the many different things she enjoys dabbling in.

Chris Ward

Chris Ward is a native of Cornwall, England, but currently lives and works in Nagano, Japan. He is the author of The Tube Riders Trilogy, The Man Who Built the World and Head of Words, as well as numerous short stories and collections.

He spends his time snowboarding, writing, playing guitar in his rock band, Steampunk Unicorn, and generally having too much to say about just about everything.

Aubree Lane 

Aubree Lane lives in the beautiful foothills of Northern California with her husband, two wonderful sons, and a super special peek-a-poo, named Tanner. When not managing the pooper-scooper, Aubree enjoys warm sand, hot sun, and the cool waters of the Pacific.

Her motto: Write Until Your Butt Hurts, and Your Eyes Are Crossed.

Suzy Stewart Dubot
An Anglo/American who has lived in France for over 30 years, she discovered her real desire to write in 2010. It is a passion that has had her writing ever since.  From October 2012 to March 2014, she lived with family in London, England. Writing, not unlike singing, follows her wherever she lives.

Before retiring, a variety of jobs have filled her time. Some of the more interesting have been : Art & Crafts teacher, Bartender, Marketing Assistant for N° 1 World Yacht Charterers (Moorings), Beaux Arts Model, Secretary to the French Haflinger Association...

With her daughters, she is a vegetarian and a supporter of animal rights! She is also an admirer of William Wilberforce. (If you should read her book 'The Viscount's Midsummer Mistress' you will see that she has devoted some paragraphs to the subject in Regency times.)

Lynda Kaye Frazier

Lynda Kaye Frazier spends her days working for a group of Cardiologists doing ultrasounds, then each evening she’s in front of her computer, working on her next story. She grew up in Pennsylvania, but now lives in Arkansas where she enjoys the four seasons without a long, cold winter. She’s an avid reader of romantic suspense, which is the genre that she writes. Other than spending time with her family, her favorite things to do are writing, reading, listening to music, and—her most favorite—going to the beach. Surf, sand and a good book-her stress relief.

Scarlet Braden
Originally from the southern part of the United States — primarily Tennessee, Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Arkansas — technical-writer-turned-novelist Scarlett Braden now lives in Ecuador with her 14-year-old Bichon, Katie Scarlett O'Hara. Scarlett has one super-handsome and intelligent son and a beautiful daughter-in-law who share two adorable fur grandpuppies with her. Someday, maybe Scarlett will have human grandbabies, too.

When she isn't writing, Scarlett enjoys dancing, Facebook games, crocheting, traveling, crafting, reading, and spending time with friends. She is an admitted Facebook and Pinterest addict and currently is looking for a 12-step program. Scarlett blogs as Chica in Cuenca, where she talks about her writing, her new Ecuadorian home, and all her fun activities in that beautiful country.

Sloan Moorland
Sloan Moorland is a mystery and the pseudonym of an interesting character who still works a day job. He has spent most of his life living in the West and Central Plains of the United States, but his job has allowed him to travel the entire country. He is an avid reader, loves fishing, dogs, and kids — and they love him back. He also is the proud father of three handsome boys.

Kendra Hale

For Kendra, who has lived in Canada, the USA and on the European Continent, Great Britain, or the UK, will always be home. Her love for the UK is apparent in The Snow Crystals, and her other/future books, which are all set here. Kendra’s knowledge and life-long interest in the world of antiques, collectibles and such, finds its way into her writing. She writes fiction in different genres.

Julie Elizabeth Powell

I cannot ignore my dreams, so many of them, with names and places and ideas that spark my imagination and compel me to write; to create stories, whether fantasy or horror, or mystery or psychological thriller or murder or even humour and adventure. So, my garden is sown, flourishing, with all manner of growth, and still the dreams come.

Julie Elizabeth Powell, my soul lingering within my imagination; maybe you’ll join me?

Desiree A Cox

Desiree A. Cox was born and raised in Iowa. She married her high school sweetheart and moved to the Philadelphia area after high school and has been happily married for over twenty-five years. She’s the mother of two sons and a daughter.

Writing has always been a part of her life. It started as a way to cope with her childhood shyness, allowing her to communicate without talking. Now she talks and writes … and talks. Desiree also enjoys traveling and spending time at the beach.

Over the past two plus years, she’s been working to get her thoughts in print. She is finally writing what she wants to write. Twisted by Desire, her debut novel, was published in December 2014. In March 2015, the sequel in the Lust, Desire, and Love Trilogy, Jaded by Desire, released. She also has a short story, Fantasy Come True, in the Wickedly Exotic Spring Erotic Wonderland box set that benefits the National Autism Association with 100% of the proceeds.

Kelly Cozzone

Kelly Cozzone was born in New Martinsville, WV. After spending 15 years in Myrtle Beach, SC, she finally made it back to her adopted hometown, Austin, TX. 

When Kelly isn't writing the mystery stories she loves, she is following her beloved Texas Longhorns. An avid football fan, she spends her fall months rooting on her favorite teams.

In addition to being an author, Kelly writes for Examiner.com and shares her thoughts and stories that strike a chord in her on her blog. She is a member of the National Association of Professional Women.

Kelly has been happily married to her husband for 20 years and has three children who are her life. 

Elaine May

I live in the West Country of England with my two beautiful daughters and yummy hubby. I love reading dark and twisted tales that mess with your head. I love to travel and spending time with my family. My dream is for people to like what I've written and hopefully get to go to a book signing event as an author.  

Holly Barbo

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Susan Griscom

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Murder Between the Pages by Josh Lanyon

Summary:
Felix Day, author of the Constantine Sphinx mysteries, and Leonard Fuller, author of the Inspector Fez mysteries, are bitter rivals and the best of enemies. Both happen to present when a notorious author of roman à clef is shot by an invisible assailant during a signing at historic Marlborough Bookstore.

Even if they weren’t both suspects, it’s the perfect opportunity to match wits and sleuthing skills.

If only the murderer was equally amused.

Another great Josh Lanyon murder mystery!  I don't know if there are any plans for future Day/Fuller mysteries or if it's just a standalone but either way, what a wonderful addition to my historical romantic suspense shelf.  Murder Between the Pages is a perfect blend of history, romance, mystery, and humor that is very reminiscent of film noir of the 1940s.  Ethan Day and Leonard Fuller may not appear to like each other but they have more than one common interest and when a murder happens right before their eyes, lets just say those common interests become very interesting and extremely entertaining.  The duo may not be up to Holmes & Moriarity or Adrien & Jake caliber but Day & Fuller are still fun and their connection is definitely intriguing.  As for the mystery, well I've been watching and reading mysteries of all kinds ever since I was old enough to sit up so very few actually stump me anymore.  Personally, a mystery is not just about the who and why but also about the journey getting from the deed to the discovery and trust me, the journey in Murder is awesome.

RATING: 

Chapter One
Felix
The first person I spotted when I stepped into Marlborough Bookstore that blustery May afternoon was Leonard Fuller.

Which, now that I think about it, was rather remarkable given that the room was packed and Josiah Shelton had already begun speaking.

“Is the book a roman à clef? I suppose you might call it that.” Shelton said in his mellifluous voice to the spellbound audience. He was a large man. Not handsome. His iron gray hair was as wild and unkempt as a roadside hedge in winter. His pale eyes protruded in such a way that he seemed perpetually outraged, even now when he was smiling and cheerful and in his element. His nose was too long, his mouth too wide, but the overall effect was of a powerful intellect, a force to be reckoned with.

I made my way through the crowd and found a place near the back of the room.

Shelton continued, asking rhetorically, “Is it satire? No. It is a sincere effort to capture themes and motifs that have absorbed, nay, consumed me for much of my adult life.”

“Poppycock,” muttered an elderly gentleman in the row seated before me.

His female relations tried to hush him.

“Don’t you shush me,” he hissed right back. “He’s in it for the money. Trading on other people’s misfortunes, that’s what he’s done.”

It made me angry to hear him, but no one else seemed to take any notice. Anyway, Shelton didn’t have to prove anything to these people, and certainly not to this old relic who probably thought the pinnacle of Concord’s literary heritage was when Ralph Waldo Emerson and his fellow Transcendentalists used to pop into the Marlborough to check on their book sales.

An unpleasant draft whispered against the back of my neck; the chilly spring breeze finding its way through the gaps in the one hundred-and-fifty-year-old mullioned windows facing the street. The crowded room smelled of wool and tobacco and ladies’ perfume, but mostly it smelled of a century’s-worth of old books.

“With two world wars behind us, who here hasn’t wondered what, if anything, lies beyond the gates of death?” Shelton asked. “Though I have the reputation of a skeptic, even a cynic, I began this project without bias.”

That wasn’t true, of course. No one was without bias. Even a great man like Shelton. In fact, it probably followed that a great man would have great biases.

Or perhaps not. But anyone who knew Shelton knew he was rather opinionated. In fact, we’d had quite an argument over practical occultism only a month ago. Shelton was a ferocious arguer and I always loved a good debate. However, I’d sensed a certain strain since, which was why I’d felt it important to come to his reading that afternoon.

I and everyone else in Concord, it seemed. We’re not Boston but we pride ourselves that we know a thing or two about books and scholarship.

I glanced at Leonard Fuller who was--very rudely--engaged in whispering conversation with Georgie Wolfe, the poetess. Women always gravitate to Fuller, which would be amusing if it wasn’t so ludicrous. His blond head bowed toward her still fairer one, and he was smirking, which is his usual expression with the fairer sex.

As though feeling my gaze, Fuller lifted his eyelashes and met my eyes. His own are a startling and azure blue. It’s a color one feels in the solar plexus -- like jumping out of a plane into cold, empty sky. Your heart seems to stop.

Fuller’s lip curled in greeting. I bared my incisors in reply.

He writes the Inspector Fez so-called mysteries under the moniker of L. F. Monarch. Inspector Fez is nothing but a pale imitation of my own Constantine Sphinx, celebrated gentleman sleuth and Egyptologist, which makes all the more laughable Fuller’s accusation that I stole the idea for The Sphinx from him.

Ha!

Happily my publisher, Mr.  James Cornell--coincidentally also Shelton’s publisher--was able to prove to the jury’s satisfaction what hogwash that was when I sued Fuller in open court for slander.

Fuller has never forgiven me--and I have never forgiven him. Which suits us both beautifully.

Of course we are bound to run into each other now and then, given the size of Concord’s literary community, but not so frequently as to make things awkward.

Fuller was once more listening with fake attentiveness to Georgia. I knew what they were discussing given Georgia’s indiscreet glances at a tall, veiled woman sitting in front of an open-backed bookshelf that towered all the way to the ceiling.

Though wedged in by people, the veiled woman maintained an air of splendid isolation.

Everyone--well, certainly those of us who had read the advance copies of Shelton’s book--knew that the character of Madam Galen was based on Lucinda Lafe, the society hostess and celebrity medium. It was either very brave or a deliberate ploy for publicity for La Lafe to show up here today.

Did that mean the Woolriches were also attending the reading?

Surely not.

I scanned the crowded seats and to my dismay spotted the stony, patrician features of Miranda Woolrich a few rows up. Beside her was Ingham, looking as faded and fragile as papyrus.

A great writer couldn’t be inhibited by other people’s feelings. He had to write the words the Muse whispered in his ear. Even so. I wished the Woolriches hadn’t attended today’s event. It was bound to be painful for them. Even more so once Fuller had finished speaking and the press began to ask their questions.

That was another thing. I hadn’t realized there would be reporters. Not including  Bill Reed of the Courant, I counted at least two other newshawks. From Boston? New York? If the New York press had resumed interest in Shelton, he truly was restored to his rightful place in the New England literary pantheon.

I risked another glance at Fuller.

Georgia had wandered away to interrupt someone else’s enjoyment of Shelton’s talk, and Fuller was now standing to the left of a marble bust of Emerson. Fuller had the kind of cinematic good looks that appeal to some people, still there was an uncanny likeness to Emerson’s profile, particularly about the nose. Their twin aquiline appendages tilted upwards as though some noxious odor had assaulted their chiseled nostrils.

Fuller was no admirer of Shelton’s--he was too egotistical to admire anyone he didn’t recognize off a reflective surface--but he could never bear to miss an opportunity to suck up to James. The free food was probably another inducement. It was hard to imagine the Inspector Fez books were still selling well.

Perhaps when the reading was over we would meet upstairs in the lending library    and exchange a few unpleasantries over the inevitable tea and cookies. I always looked forward to our skirmishes.

Meanwhile, Shelton was in fine form.

“It is easy to become a Theosophist. Any person of average intellectual capacities, and a leaning toward the metaphysical; of pure, unselfish life, who finds more joy in helping his neighbor than in receiving help himself; one who is ever ready to sacrifice his own pleasures for the sake of other people; and who loves Truth, Goodness, and Wisdom for their own sake, not for the benefit they may confer--is a Theosophist.”

God almighty he could--and did--talk.

“Mr. Shelton, do you consider yourself a Theosophist?” called someone from the audience.

The voice was male and mocking. I couldn’t make out the speaker, hidden as he was amidst the blooms of a garden’s-worth of ladies’ hats. I suspected the heckler was another reporter. We seemed to have a regular infestation of them that afternoon.

“I consider myself to be an artist,” Shelton said. “Art is its own philosophy. My only allegiance is to the written word.”

On the dais behind him, Donald Marlborough, owner of Marlborough Bookstore, James, and Viktor Merlin--who happens to be my own agent as well as Shelton’s--were beaming. They knew the book was going to do wonderfully well and make them all pots of money.

Which was excellent news given how unfairly Shelton’s last two books had been received by the reading public. Not the critics. The critics never failed to appreciate his genius. But a man couldn’t live on praise, however warm.

And speaking of warmth, it was getting stuffy. I loosened my scarf, partially unbuttoned my coat. I hated crowds, though I was glad for Shelton’s sake he was getting such a good audience.

I hoped when the time came he would not read the chapter where the first séance takes place. It was well written, naturally, but it would be impossible not to wonder what the Woolrichs felt hearing those things aloud. Yes, the book was fiction, but it was also the truth. Viktor had told me at lunch over a month ago that he believed this time for sure Shelton would surely be sued for libel.

Shelton never cared about such things. And even Viktor hadn’t seemed unduly worried. He thought the publicity would sell even more copies of the book.

“Maybe that sounds arrogant,” Shelton was saying. “But the true artist has to remove himself from the artificial restraints of a bourgeois morality.”

Fuller yawned widely.

A sigh ripple through the other latecomers standing in the back of the room with me. There were soft whispers, some shifting of weight. Shelton had been speaking for over forty minutes.  I wouldn’t have minded a drink, myself. And not tea.

BANG!

A shot rang out.

A gunshot in Marlborough Bookstore.

Shelton jerked back a step at the loud and unmistakable crack, sounding even louder and more unmistakable in the confines of the crowded room. The tang of gunpowder--no, that was cordite--cut the woolly fug that had settled over the audience.

A .32, I thought. That sounded like a .32. My wits were infuriatingly slow and sluggish. That’s what peacetime will do to you. The report of a pistol had at one time as familiar as the brassy morning bell on my alarm clock, and was now utterly, shockingly alien.

Alien and terrifying in this environment where there were so many civilians.

As I stared, still trying to assemble my thoughts, Shelton swayed, and crashed down on top of the table that had been set up for his signing. The stacks of books tumbled over, thudding, unautographed, to the floor.

Shelton landed face down atop them.

Chapter Two
Leonard
I’d like to say that I reacted with the sangfroid of Farid El Mahfouz when I heard the gunshot that killed Josiah Shelton. But on the level? I was as shocked, as stupefied as anybody else in the audience.

It didn’t help that the crowd seemed to rise as one from the sea of chairs, looking around bewilderedly for the source of the pistol report. You’d think people who had just been through a war would know better. Would hunker down. Make some effort to take cover. But nope. Men and women rose as one, gazing stupidly at each other, seeking explanation, searching for the source of all the commotion.

Except there wasn’t any commotion. Not at first. Nobody was waving a pistol around. Nobody tried to make a run for the front doors. Or even the back doors. The crowd standing at the back of the room looked as surprised and confused as everyone else.

Even Felix Day, who might be a lot of things, but is certainly wide awake, looked as blank as the first sheet in a new pack of typing paper.

Day. I’d seen him the minute he’d entered Marlborough’s. It would have been impossible to miss him, standing at the back of the room in his familiar black tweed coat, looking like an elegant scarecrow. His dark hair was too long and untidy. His scarf was stuffed in the pocket of his coat instead of wrapped around his scrawny neck. But there he stood, pale-faced and blazing-eyed as ever, nearly vibrating with intensity. No doubt imagining Shelton had stolen the idea for this latest book from him and planning his next lawsuit.

A woman in the last row of chairs, gave a little sigh and swooned away into the arms of the guy next to her.

That seemed to be the cue everyone had been waiting for. People started screaming and yelling and pointing. But the pointing was toward the platform where Shelton’s body was sprawled on a pile of books. Don Marlborough and James Cowan knelt beside him. His agent, Viktor Merlin, stood over them, literally wringing his hands.

The employees who had been upstairs preparing the refreshments, crowded down the stairway to see what was going on.

And still nobody made a play for the exits.

Don rose from Shelton’s side. He held his hands up and said, “Please! Please, everyone. Stay calm. Stay in your seats.”

Stay in your seats? With a sniper in the house?  Nobody listened. It was doubtful they even heard him over the cries of “Where did it come from?” and “Where is he?”

Lucinda Lafe called, “It came from over here. Almost beside me, I think.”

Beside her? I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been her, given the things Shelton had said about “Madam Galen” in that pseudo-novel of his.

Out of the corner of my eye I spied movement. The very thing I’d been waiting for.

Felix Day made for the front entrance of the shop, his face white and wild-eyed. His normal expression, in other words.

Day?

Well, why not Day? No surprise to me if he’d finally snapped and killed someone.

I pushed my way through the milling crowd determined to stop him from fleeing the scene of his crime. His latest crime--not counting the travesty of Mr. Sphinx Sends His Regrets.

“If you would all just take your seats again,” Don was pleading. “Ladies and gentlemen, please.”

Poor Don. Did he think we were all going to buy a book and sit down for tea and cakes after a murder had taken place? That’s the optimism of a bookseller for you.

I got through the maze of bookshelves in time to see Felix reach the front door at the same time as a large man in a gray overcoat. Preoccupied with Day, I had completely missed this other player in the unfolding drama, which was aggravating as hell.

“Sorry.” Day shoved shut the door. The bell atop gave a cheery jingle. “You can’t leave. We’ve got to wait for the police.”

He was slightly taller, but the man in the overcoat was built like a tank. He calmly sized Day up. “Who’re you?”

Day squared his shoulders. “I’m not here in any official capacity, that’s true. It doesn’t change the fact that a man has been murdered and no one can leave the scene of the crime.”

As usual, using three words for every necessary one--and still failing to answer the question.

“That’s not what I asked,” the large man said. His hair was brown. His eyes a light, indeterminate color. He fixed them on Day with a hard, level look. “I asked you your name.”

Day’s jaw grew stubborn. I wouldn’t doubt there was a mule somewhere in that family tree; I know there’s an ass. But as he glared at the man in the overcoat, his expression altered indefinably. “Felix Day,” he admitted.

“Well, Felix Day, I am the police. I’m Captain Harp of the Concord Police. I’m going to need your assistance. I tried to phone from Marlborough’s office, but there’s no one on the switchboard. I’ll need you to stand here and guard this door while I go for help.”

The bell jingled as Harp yanked open the door and went out, and to my astonishment, Felix let him leave without so much as a peep.

“What the hell?” I said as I reached him. “You let him go?”

Day seemed almost distracted as he replied, “He’s with the police.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s the oldest trick in the book!” I grabbed the door handle--and Felix grabbed my arm with bony but surprisingly strong fingers.

He was scowling--which is his usual expression with me--and I scowled back.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said.

“If you don’t want a punch in the nose, let go my arm,” I warned him.

“Just try it.” Felix’s black eyes were narrow and hostile. Again, perfectly normal for him. “Where were you when that shot went off?”

“Me?” I gaped at him. “That shot came from the back of the room. As you very well know.”

“I don’t know any such thing.”

“Where were you? That’s the question.”

His eyes blazed. “Had I been planning to shoot anyone today, it wouldn’t have been Josiah Shelton.”

“Oh, very nice!” I retorted. “Well, maybe you missed and shot Shelton by mistake.”

“I don’t miss.”

“That’s not what the critics say.”

Day’s face turned a nice healthy red.

“Gentlemen! Please!” Mr. Kent, the floor manager, bustled up to us. He’s a small, plump man with small plump hands and a small plump mouth. His hair is as fine and pale as corn silk. “Mr. Marlborough says no one may leave. Please take your seats again.”

“Did you see the guy who just left?” I demanded.

“Someone left?” Alarmed, Kent peered through the window at the swiftly retreating gray overcoat. He relaxed. “That’s Captain Harp.”

“He’s a cop? You’re sure?”

Kent’s frown faded as he studied my face.  “Oh, Mr. Fuller. It’s you. I didn’t recognize you for a moment. Yes, yes. That gentleman is with the Concord Police Department. I know him well. An excellent customer. Mostly non-fiction, though he does collect first editions of the Romantic poets.”

“So he is a real cop.”

It wasn’t actually a question, but Mr. Kent said, “Oh, yes!” He smiled. It was a wobbly sort of smile. “For all the good it’s done. If only your own brilliant Inspector Fez had been on the scene when this terrible thing happened.”

Day snorted.

I ignored him. “What about the back entrance, Mr. Kent? Is anyone watching to make sure no one slips out through the basement?”

Mr. Kent  shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t believe most customers know that there is a back entrance.”

“Leave it to you to be familiar with the back entrance of any establishment,” Day observed.

I managed to ignore him that time too, though it wasn’t easy, and turned away to push my way back through the crowd to the main room.

“Len, what has happened?” Georgia cried, reaching out to me.

She’s a poet. They’re congenitally unable to accept the obvious. Always looking for another meaning. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar--and sometimes a gun is just a gun.

“Murder, my sweet,” I threw over my shoulder.

I paused by the staircase and tried to see what was happening on the platform. Only a couple of minutes had passed since that single shot had been fired. People crowded around the dais making it difficult to see. What wasn’t happening was resuscitation. That I’d known the minute Shelton landed on the floor. I’d seen too many guys die to mistake that broken flop. And even if I hadn’t, the look on Don’s face had said it all.

How had the thing been managed?

It didn’t seem possible anyone could have escaped out the front. The bell over the door would have alerted us all to any attempt to exit. No one had tried to run upstairs--and where would they go anyway?

That left the basement.

Or…the murderer was still in this room.

No. I was betting on the basement. I left Georgina talking to air, and ducked down the stairs to the basement, taking them fast.

At the foot of the staircase was a long poorly lit hallway lined with three wooden doors. Having been down here on numerous occasions, I knew that one room was Don’s office and one room was the toilet. Both were unlocked and both were empty. The third door led to the basement.

It was also unlocked and swung soundlessly open onto a large room lined with shelves stacked with bins. The bins were full of new books and labeled with the printed names of publishers.

An interior swinging door led onto yet another room.

I pushed through the swinging door and found myself in a long narrow room filled with packing boxes, paper, string. A single light burned from a bare bulb positioned over a large table.

At the end of the room a woman in a silver fur coat and veiled green hat was frantically tugging at the door handle.

Author Bio:

A distinct voice in gay fiction, multi-award-winning author JOSH LANYON has been writing gay mystery, adventure and romance for over a decade. In addition to numerous short stories, novellas, and novels, Josh is the author of the critically acclaimed Adrien English series, including The Hell You Say, winner of the 2006 USABookNews awards for GLBT Fiction. Josh is an Eppie Award winner and a three-time Lambda Literary Award finalist.

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Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Without a Net by Lyn Gala

Summary:
Oliver Robertson has been assigned to go undercover in one of the shade clubs that litter the seedier parts of town. He has never engaged in the sort of edge play found in those places, preferring the BDSM in the more mainstream control clubs. However, to find the criminals behind a series of kidnappings, he must go in undercover as a shade sub. The mission becomes more complicated when his captain asks him to collect evidence against a lieutenant who might be a dirty cop.

The case quickly gets out of hand, and Ollie finds himself caught between wanting to do his job and not knowing who to trust. That confusion grows worse when a number of sexy and dominant men challenge his assumption that he prefers safe, contractually negotiated sex. It turns out he has more of a wild side than he expected, and given that he’s surrounded by dangerous men, and he can’t distinguish the good guys from the bad, that’s terrifying.

When Ollie gives his trust to Travis Goode, a dominant who appears to be a federal agent, he might be making the connection of a lifetime or dooming himself forever.

Ollie pulled into his parking space and cursed when he found Mrs. Dennison had commandeered his solar-charging outlet again. A long cord went from the solar shade above his space right up the wall and into her apartment.

Something inside him snapped. Ollie couldn’t take it anymore. The solar was free, but he’d asked her not to jack his power. It drained the reserves, and some days his car barely charged enough to get him to work and back. And today was cloudy, so he needed every ounce of energy he could get out of the station.

He parked and stormed over to the charging post. While ripping the plug out of the socket felt good, it wasn’t enough. He’d asked her a dozen times. He’d threatened to have the code people out for her illegal extension cord. He’d filed a complaint with the apartment house, and she still had her damn shit plugged into his charger.

Captain Greyson could ask Ollie to stick his neck out. Lieutenant Huda could walk all over him. But Ollie would be damned if Mrs. Dennison and her damn sunlamps would push him one more inch. Ollie marched over to the wall, grabbed the part of the extension cord that hung down from an upper window, and pulled. Mrs. Dennison was on the second floor, but he could hear something crash and then several more dull thuds and an ominous bang. Feeling very satisfied, Ollie went back to his car and plugged it in. A quick check of the levels told him that he was at 17 percent charge. Fuck. Well, he wasn’t going anywhere tonight. He’d be lucky to get enough charge to run the car through tomorrow comfortably.

A door slammed, and Ollie wasn’t surprised when Mrs. Dennison came around the corner looking ready to claw his eyes out. She raised herbs and shit for her magical charms and Wiccan jewelry, and that was fine with him, but not on his charging station.

“I’ll file a complaint! Do you have any idea how much damage you did? That is my workplace, and you damaged hundreds if not thousands of dollars in equipment. I’m going to get you fired.” She stopped several feet away from him. Even mad as a wet hen, she wasn’t about to get too close to him. First, attacking a police officer was stupid. Second, Ollie was built well, and she was about 110 pounds of nothing.

“I tripped and caught myself on the cord, which is why there are codes against having extension cords out windows. I’ve told you that before,” Ollie said. Right now he wanted a fight, and if she called the station, that would give him a great one. “And if you are running a business out of a residence, that is a whole new issue.” He took a step forward.

“Don’t you dare bully me,” she snarled at him. “I will have your job for this.”

“You go for it and try,” Ollie suggested. “And while you’re at it, you can keep your plugs out of my outlets.” Ollie walked away.

“It’s not like you pay for it, asshole.” She chased after him. Thank God he had the parking space nearest the building, so his front door was close. He was ready for a drink and a lot of loud music--something that might disturb her chi or whatever the hell she called it.

“Hey!” Darla Canterbury called out. “We’re all neighbors. Let’s be nice to each other.” She hurried over. Maybe she’d lived in some happy-happy place in her last apartment, but around here everyone pretty much ignored one another when they weren’t throwing around blame. Being nice was not high on the agenda.

“He destroyed my workstation!” Mrs. Dennison nearly shrieked. For a woman in her forties, she had a mean shriek. Usually that tone came out of teenagers at rock concerts.

Mrs. Canterbury smiled soothingly. “I’ll help you get it back in order. I was watching out the window, and he did trip. He looks like he’s had a hard day, so let’s cut him some slack, okay?”

Ollie was shocked. Then again, Mrs. Canterbury was married to a retired cop, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised she stuck up for him.

Mrs. Dennison stopped at the low rail that marked the beginning of Ollie’s apartment line. Stepping over the threshold would make her a trespasser, and maybe she knew Ollie was angry enough to arrest her.

Mrs. Canterbury threw an arm around the woman’s shoulders. They were a study in contrasts. Mrs. Dennison was blonde with delicate features and a tiny frame. While Mrs. Canterbury was about the same age--midforties--she was tall and broad-shouldered with long black hair and a mix of ancestors that must have included some damn attractive Africans and Indians. “I bet you’re frustrated. I’ll help you clean up the mess. What do ya say?”

Ollie glanced up, and Mr. Canterbury stood leaning against the third-story railing. A handsome man a few years older than his wife, Mr. Canterbury looked like he was somewhere in his forties. Gray was showing at his temples, but he was one of those square-jawed masculine men who kept their striking looks well into old age. Ollie had no idea if the Canterburys had children, but if they did, those must be gorgeous kids. They were probably out breaking hearts in college.

Mrs. Canterbury urged Mrs. Dennison up the stairs, and Travis Canterbury came down. Ollie considered heading into his apartment, but that seemed rude when Mr. Canterbury had made such deliberate eye contact. The man’s wife had lied for Ollie; the least he could do was have a friendly conversation.

Mr. Canterbury stopped on the last step and leaned against the rail. “Hard day?”

“To say the least,” Ollie admitted.

Mr. Canterbury offered his hand. “Travis.”

“Ollie. Oliver Robertson. We met when you were moving in.”

“We introduced ourselves, anyway,” Travis said. “No offense, but you look like you caught a hard case.”

Ollie rubbed his face. “Yeah, it happens. You know the job. Anyway, thank your wife for intercepting the shrew. When she tells people she’s a witch, she should tell them she means that in more than one way.” It was horribly un-PC, but in Mrs. Dennison’s case, it was also true.

Travis chuckled. “She’s sometimes hard to take. Between the sage and the marijuana she burns, my house smells like a smoke shop. She’s not good at respecting other people’s boundaries, but I think that has less to do with her religion than the fact she’s a bitch.” Travis stopped and gave Ollie a curious look, and that was when Ollie realized he’d been staring at a married man.

Fuck.

Okay, that was a new level of awkward. Ollie turned to study his front door instead of Travis’s broad shoulders. Travis chuckled again.

“True. She’d be a bitch even if she were Buddhist.” Ollie headed toward his apartment and stopped at the sight of an advertisement hanging from his doorknob. The Bridle Club. Artistically arranged leather implements made it pretty clear what they were promoting. Ollie froze. Either everything in his life had just taken on a sexual overtone, or he was really having trouble getting his head screwed on straight.

“Some of the families are angry about those. They say it’s a shade club and don’t want that garbage hanging from their doors,” Travis commented.

Ollie held the paper, and a tremor went through his body. It was like some sort of omen, only Ollie didn’t believe in omens. He believed in facts.

Travis didn’t seem to notice anything, because he kept right on talking. “I don’t have a problem with the control clubs. My wife and I enjoy playing, and a club is a good way to work out frustration, especially if you have a committed partner and you’re spicing things up with a new setting. But when I was on the job, I hated the shade clubs. Let some nineteen-year-old wander into the wrong one, and he or she would get so turned around that reality wasn’t reality anymore, ya know?”

Ollie nodded. He did know. For a time Ollie stared at the ad, and the weight of the paper seemed to hold him in place.

“I had a case once--a twenty-two-year-old right out of university,” Travis said softly. Something in his tone broke the spell the paper had over Ollie, and he looked up at his neighbor. “Some asshole had violated her redlines so many times that she didn’t know where they were anymore, and he’d convinced her that she wanted more. She’d signed a twenty-four-seven contract as a pet, never allowed to stand up. When we raided his place for drugs, we scooped her up, and it took the psychologists a good two weeks to get her to admit she hadn’t wanted any of it. She was so ashamed of what he’d made her do that she would have rather clung to him than face the real situation. I almost wrung that guy’s neck.” Travis grimaced, and the hatred practically radiated off him.

“Was she okay in the end?” Ollie asked. For some reason, he needed to know the girl had gotten her head back on straight. Dominating was a dangerous business, and in control clubs where sex was all negotiated, that danger was attractive--it was a spice that made sex more exciting. But the shade clubs were different.

“Sorta,” Travis said. “She filed charges against him, but I’m pretty sure she planned to avoid sex for the next sixty years. She was one of those cases that hit me.”

Ollie nodded. He didn’t have anything to add to this conversation. For a time they stood in silence, and then Travis cleared his throat.

“If you ever want to talk about whatever’s eating you, you know where my apartment door is. This job is hard. Don’t make it harder by trying to carry the load all yourself.” Travis silently studied Ollie for a good minute before he turned and headed back up the steps.

When he was halfway to the second floor, Ollie called his name. Travis turned.

“How high up were you before you retired?” Ollie blurted the question out, almost before he realized he was going to ask it.

Travis gave him an odd look. “Plenty high. I could have been captain, but I refused to leave the field. My place was out there investigating leads with my team, not stuck watching through some damn vid feed.” He came down several steps. “But there’s nothing you could say that would shock me. If you want, you could come upstairs and have a couple of drinks, and we can talk about your hard day.”

Ollie wanted to do that, but he wanted it too much. Lusting after a married man was not Ollie’s normal MO, and he was afraid the shit at work had left him too off balance. He wanted someone on his side. Travis gave off a supportive vibe, and Ollie wished he worked for the department because Ollie would trust Travis at his back. He wasn’t sure he could trust the captain who was using him or the lieutenant who was out to get him or even his fellow officers who wanted to stay out of the line of fire.

But no matter how much he wanted some strong shoulder to lean on, he had to handle this on his own. He could not violate operational security on two active cases--the investigation into the kidnappings and the internal review of Lieutenant Huda’s actions.

“No, thanks. Besides, I don’t think your wife wants to hear some old war stories from a couple of cops.”

“Don’t kid yourself. Darla’s got more stories than both of us put together.”

“She was a cop?” Ollie asked. She seemed too caring to be a cop.

“She was a dispatcher,” Travis said. “She heard crap that would make my toes curl, and she was helpless to stop any of it as long as she was on the other end of a vid or a phone. Sometimes when the bad guys were high enough or stupid enough, they even committed crimes in front of the camera, and she got to see it. She may be soft and tender on the outside, but inside that woman has a core of steel. You can trust her to handle whatever you’ve got to say and keep it confidential.”

“That’s a kind offer...” Ollie let his voice trail off. Something here wasn’t right. Yeah, cops stuck together, but this was a little over the top. Ollie’s feelings were too unpredictable for him to spend too much time with a very attractive male. In Ollie’s experience, anxiety and stress never led to good choices. The very fact that he found Travis attractive was the best reason to run like hell. He put on an apologetic expression. “It was a hard day.”

Travis leaned against the rail. “Look, Darla’s always telling me I come on too strong, more like one of those shade Doms than an in-control and sane sort. So feel free to tell me to fuck off if you want, but you’re putting out some sub vibes, and it bothers me to see someone spinning out of control.”

Sub vibes. Fuck. Yeah, that was exactly what Huda had said when he insisted Ollie had to be the one to go under. Apparently he reeked of submission. The worst part was that Travis was the sort Ollie would want under better circumstances.

“I can take care of myself, thanks.” Ollie put a whole lot of unhappy in his voice.

Travis raised his hands in surrender. “No problem. You can take care of yourself, and I don’t doubt that, but if you need some relief, Darla switches, and she always loves to have playtime as the Domme. No sex, of course. I mean, that’s my wife--but we do have some fun toys.” Travis offered him a kind smile, a sort of come-hither expression that made Ollie yearn for some connection.

Ollie’s face got hot as his imagination turned to what it would be like to feel Travis’s hands holding him down. Great. One neighbor hated him, and the other thought he needed babying. Ollie’s life couldn’t get any better. “Fuck off,” he said before he headed into his apartment. He didn’t need to play, especially not with this new job coming at him like a freight train. What he needed were a few beers, some loud music, and a night of killing electronic zombies. That would make him feel better. Without another word to Travis, Ollie went into his apartment and slammed the door.

Author Bio:
Lynsey "Lyn" Gala started writing in the back of her science notebook in third grade and hasn’t stopped since. Westerns starring men with shady pasts gave way to science fiction with questionable protagonists which eventually gave in to any story with a morally ambiguous character. Even the purest heroes have pain and loss and darkness in their hearts, and that’s where she likes to find her stories. Her characters seek to better themselves and find the happy ending (or happier anyway), but it’s writing the struggle that inspires her muse. When she isn’t writing, Lyn Gala teaches in New Mexico.

She first cut her teeth on fanfic: gen, slash, het, and femslash. She prefers to focus on plot: mysteries and monsters and disasters, oh my, but sex can and does happen. Some of her stories focus on power exchange, bondage or bdsm. In her worlds, tops and bottoms are all mature, consenting adults. In fact, stories where they aren't squick her badly, so don't expect to find abuse stories in her journal.

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