Friday, July 31, 2015


A Taste For Mystery (Two Novellas)
by K.D. Rose



A Taste For Killing

Mystery and Romance blend together when competing detectives Carolyn Woods and Jack Heart are both hired to solve a murder, only to realize they are working the same case. To complicate things, Carolyn and Jack have an on again, off again relationship. Then there is Evan Jones, a handsome architect— but he's also a suspect.

Can Carolyn solve the case as more and more murders pile up? Will her relationship with Jack hinder their investigations? And what about Evan Jones? He seems like the perfect man, but could he actually be the murderer?

One thing is for sure: someone close to Carolyn and Jack has a taste for killing.

A Taste For Danger

Jack Heart drinks to excess daily. His apartment is in shambles, he's isolated himself from all his friends, and he stumbles to the couch every night to sleep off an alcoholic stupor. All that changes when he receives a phone call with a job offer from a man he barely knew. Asked to go undercover in an elite business, Jack is thrown into the deep end and hasn't a clue what he's in for— or looking for— until he starts asking questions. 

Suddenly, Jack must track down an embezzler inside a swanky corporation riff with politics, game-playing, and treachery. The deeper Jack goes, the more dirt he finds. Can this out-of-place detective survive and still crack the case? Not to mention some of women he works with have plans for him—plans that are way more than he bargained for.

One thing is certain: Jack's taste for danger will take him to the edge of disaster.

The book will be on sale at Amazon for only 99¢ during the tour.



Jack made sure to get his parking pass from the secretary for tomorrow. He wasn't made of money, and today was gonna cost him twenty bucks. Cheryl followed him out, and they took the elevator down together. Jack thought this little get-together might be a good chance to interview her. What was she head of again? He couldn't remember. He'd have to ask her. His instincts told him to wait until the bar.

Jack made sure to put his briefcase in the trunk. Cheryl brought a satchel with her and sat up front. She directed him out. Apparently she lived not too far away from him, although in the city, even a block of traffic could turn a short drive into an hour. Stuck in rush hour, Cheryl made small-talk.

"So you dined with the big cheese today?" She opened.

"Word gets around fast."

"Yes, anytime someone from HQ comes, everyone knows it. Knows to be on their toes."

"I see."

"What they can't figure out is whether to be on their toes around you."

Now he got it. She was on a scouting mission for the office. He wondered if they drew straws. "I'm just a nobody," he said.

"I doubt that," said Cheryl, "or the Deputy VP wouldn't have taken such an interest in you. So what are you here to do?"

She said it smiling and casual, but underneath he could feel the shark in her.

"I'm not allowed to discuss the details," he said.

"Oh my," said Cheryl and raised her hands as if she was being held up. "Never mind. I don't want to get you in trouble."

"Thanks," he said, then stayed quiet. She didn't try to pry anymore. He wondered if she would after a few drinks. Wait. That was his plan. Who was playing who here?


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

K.D. Rose is a poet and author who currently has published "Heavy Bags of Soul", "Inside Sorrow", “I AM”, “Erasing: Shadows”, "Anger's Children: Three Shorts That Will Blow Your Mind", "A Taste for Mystery: Two Novellas" and her new release, "The Brevity of Twit".

K.D.’s book, Inside Sorrow won the Readers Favorite 2013 international Silver Medal for Poetry. With fellow authors around the globe, KD was also a founding member of the e-magazine, INNOVATE.

K.D. has an eclectic mind and loves language, physics, philosophy, photography, design, art, writing, symbolism, semiotics, spirituality, and Dr. Who. KD Rose is an avid supporter of music, the arts, cutting edge science, technology, and creativity in all forms. K.D also has a chronic illness but doesn't let it get her down. K.D. considers herself a "Spoonie" on the lam.


A Taste For Mystery: Two Novellas

Erasing: Shadows

Angers Children: Three Shorts That Will Blow Your Mind

Inside Sorrow

I AM (Poetry in Motion)
Heavy Bags of Soul

KD Rose's Social Media Links:

KD Roses Blog:     



$15 Amazon/BN GC


by Janelle Jalbert



A struggling veteran reads about the mysterious death of a local athlete and wants to learn more. He meets the owner of the business linked to the crime and discovers others have “disappeared”.

All stories include a man with dark hair, blue eyes, and a strong jaw.

Then, it’s his turn.

The mysterious forces at Bliss change everything. What brought them all to Bliss is not as it appears and their lives are powerfully interconnected across space and time.



Greg opened the backdoor to Bliss. He forced himself to stop thinking about how the name of the place made him think of a day spa rather than a barbeque joint. The tell-tale wood smoke greeted him, causing his stomach to growl and suspending his thoughts about the name of the place. Musical chimes sounded above the door as Greg’s eyes adjusted from the glare of the fall sun to the darkened interior.

Figures, he thought. Why wouldn't there be chimes at a place called Bliss?

Once his eyes adjusted, the bar area didn't seem to be out of the ordinary. Greg stopped at the partition just inside the door. It was covered with a list of sayings:

Follow Your Bliss
Happiness Is an Inside Job
Be Careful What You Wish For
There's No Better Time to Claim the Future You Want Than Now

A half-laugh escaped him. He thought it was a menu board at first and the philosophizing caught him off guard. Still, the final statement hit close to home, and he took a deep breath.

Greg headed to the long black bar. A smaller party room was to the right with about a dozen tables to the left. It had the feel of a contemporary jazz club or maybe a speakeasy. Beyond the tables, bright daylight streamed into the lounge from a passage between the front diner area and the bar. No creepy Twilight Zone feeling here, he thought.

Two muted, flat screen TVs hung on either side of the wood shelves stocked with bottles of all sizes. He eyed the taps and sports coverage while surveying the place. Though there were no windows in the back area, yet it didn't feel claustrophobic. Between the lighting, mirrors and glass, there was elegance to the place that radiated a different type of light. Poster-sized black and white pictures hung on the walls, showing the history of the place. Greg guessed they were from the 1940's. Smaller pictures of patrons and notable artifacts related to "Our Place" dotted the walls. Greg knew from his early research that Our Place was the name of the restaurant until a few years earlier.  

Greg settled in, still getting a sense of the place, when a woman with graying dark hair approached him. Though he talked with Lois on the phone, this was the first time he saw her. She was not remarkably tall, but definitely commanded the bar and carried herself in a way that betrayed her real age. She had a look of knowing, or maybe it was just cheer that she had a customer on a dead afternoon.


Readers can access freebies and bonuses here:

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Janelle Jalbert has ghostwritten 15 nonfiction books on topics ranging from productivity, money management, marketing, cooking, and relationships. She also worked as a copywriter for some of the biggest online names and worked as a motorsports reporter covering NASCAR. Jalbert enjoys bringing stories to life that celebrate the magic in everyday living. To learn more about her current and upcoming releases and promotions visit Jalbert currently lives in Southern California, though she regularly returns to her second home in North Carolina when her pack of pups grants her a vacation.  

Author Website:


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Thursday, July 30, 2015


The Lady Meets Her Match  
by Gina Conkle



Rough-around-the-edges Cyrus Ryland rose from humble origins to become England’s wealthiest citizen and most eligible bachelor. Called the King of Commerce, he thinks nothing of marriage until he hosts a masked ball and discovers an alluring woman hiding in his study. After one dance the lady vanishes, leaving behind a single shoe. The hunt is on, but finding her is only half the battle.

Claire Mayhew wants her hard won independence…a mid-town shop of her own. She resists the scorching attraction with Mr. Ryland — her new landlord, but Cyrus isn’t a man who gives up easily.



“Mr. Ryland, on your first visit to my shop, you questioned my accounts. Now do you plan to inspect how I manage the messengers?” She was being a little tetchy, but that assessment of his touched a sore spot. “As long as I pay my rent come Friday, whatever else happens is no concern of yours.”

He cracked a smile. “Not afraid to put me in my place, are you?”

“As in reminding you that you’re my landlord and you’ve no business giving me such commentary? I’m happy to. I doubt you share your opinions with the male proprietors who rent from you.”

Frayed nerves and a morning fraught with mishaps put her on edge. To admit this to him would be akin to acknowledging a chink in her shopkeeper’s armor. She wasn’t choosing her words with care but let them flow nonetheless.

“Duly noted, Miss Mayhew. I admit I haven’t changed my mind on this venture of yours,” he asserted.

“At the table, even you acknowledged the dangers preying on women in London. At least my sister’s business proposition must prove some goodwill during this trial period.”

She heard him, but her vision caught on the curious red ribbon. Ryland glanced at the box under his arm, his stance relaxing.

“This is the other reason for my visit today,” he said quietly, holding out the wooden box. “It’s for you.”
Her gaze snapped up to his. “For me?”

Claire reached out, accepting the gift with cautious hands. She hefted the box gingerly up and down, checking the sides.

He chuckled. “I promise there’s no viper inside.”

“You bought me a ledger, didn’t you?” Her tone lacked all enthusiasm. A rectangular account book could fit inside the box. So would a shoe.

“If I did, you must agree a ledger would do you good.” His brows slammed together, a small vertical line forming above his nose. “But you won’t know until you open it.”


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Gina writes Viking and Georgian romance with a softly sensual side. She loves history, books and romance…the perfect recipe for historical romance writer. Her passion for castles and old places ---the older and moldier the better--- means interesting family vacations. Good thing her husband and two sons share similar passions. When not visiting fascinating places she can be found delving into the latest adventures in cooking, gardening, and chauffeuring her sons.

On my monthly newsletter:

Buy Links for The Lady Meets Her Match:


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Wednesday, July 29, 2015


Dare to Trust
by J.L. Bowen



Thirteen-year-old Armond Costa heals in three days, no matter what abuse his uncle and aunt inflict upon him. On his fourteenth birthday, he sprouts wings and discovers his aunt and uncle had lied to him. He's the lost Golden Demon's Healer. His father, King of the Golden Demons, insists he return with him and save his people from being persecuted by their mortal enemies, the Dark Demons. Now, Armond must choose between the Ellis brothers and seventeen-year-old Rusty Owens -- the only family he's ever known -- or condemn the Golden Demons to extinction.


“It’s five minutes to midnight, Peter. Do you think he’ll change?”

“They always do. Fourteen. At the witching hour.”


I clutched the iron chain and flung it at them, but it clunked short at their feet.

Uncle Peter narrowed his eyes. “You better stop right now.”

I flicked it again. “Stay away from me.” My voice sounded funny, like I was plugging my nose. What would he do if someone planned to cut his fat ass into tiny pieces?

Splintering pain burned in my back, and the force of the torment threw me onto my stomach, robbing me of my breath. Something moved inside me like a knife moving through my flesh. But Aunt and Uncle stood still. They hadn’t moved. Stop, make it stop. I screamed.

Uncle Peter ran over and held my right arm. “Janet, grab his other arm. They’re forming.”

Aunt clawed her nails into my left arm. Uncle tightened his grip and covered my mouth. I tasted dead fish. Did he ever wash his hands?

Agony pierced my spine. My betraying stomach roller-coasted, and last night’s dinner of roast beef and mashed potatoes rushed up my throat. I withered and spewed in his palm. “Please, stop.”

Suddenly, they released me. I collapsed, face-first in my own vomit. Slime shot up my nose, and I sneezed. My arms trembling, I pushed away from the putrid smell.

The blinding torture slowly faded. Cool air caressed my back and moved my hair. I wiped my sweating brow. I could breathe.

I glanced over my shoulder to see where the cool air was coming from, and my heart raced into a pounding frenzy. I blinked. It couldn’t be. Not feathers like a bird or an angel, but shiny and smooth like leather. I shook my head, but my wings were still there.

Cobwebs flew overhead and landed on Aunt’s arm. She brushed her arm and did a little jig. “Eewww, get it off me!”

“Janet, quit whining. Grab his other arm, and let’s move him across the room here before I get sick.”

They dragged me, the chains hanging down likes vines, and tossed me into the corner. I groaned.

Uncle plopped down onto my buttocks. “Get the chain-saw,” he said. “And plug it into the wall.”

“Please don’t kill me,” I said, my voice too puny.

He anchored his boots on the iron bands around my wrist and shifted hard. My wrists snapped. Pulsing agony bolted up my arm. I shrieked.

“Here.” Aunt Janet panted and handed him the chain-saw. “Take it. It’s heavy.”

“I’ve broken both of his wrists, so he won’t be able to move them when I ask you to hold him down.”

Aunt seized my wrists. Torment rippled through me from the tips of my fingers up to my shoulders.

But this wasn’t bad enough—Uncle stood on my thighs, his boots digging into my skin and muscle, crushing me into the ground. Too weak to move, I struggled to say something, but only gasped. I swallowed and spat, “Get off me.”

The roar of the chain-saw blocked out my yell. Jagged blades cut into me. Bones cut and shattered. My teeth chattered. I screamed loud, wishing someone would hear me. Anyone. But the grinding of the machine was too loud.

Not even getting beaten with a baseball bat hurt this bad. Blood and gore splattered onto Aunt’s face. At her blood-sucking vampire smile, I passed out.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

J.L. Bowen writes both contemporary and paranormal young adult books, and she lives at the foot of the Rocky Mountains in Denver, Colorado.  She loves to take her cocker spaniel, Raven, walks on the trails behind her house or up at her family cabin in Frisco, CO.  She is a member of the Colorado Romance Writers of America, Young Adult Romance Writers of America, and Romance Writers of America.  She has won awards for her CRW newsletter articles. She loves to go on ghost tours and her favorite ghost tour was the Jack the Ripper Tour in London.

J.L. Bowen can be contacted through her website:



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