Showing posts with label ebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ebook. Show all posts

Saturday, July 11, 2020

HIDDEN

Hi

I haven't posted for some time. I've been busy writing and editing my latest thriller HIDDEN.

I had hoped to finish it months ago but COVID 19 came along and everything rapidly changed. We are all dealing with unexpected events, and writers are no different. I sit at my laptop writing or thinking about my latest scene but when these world wide events happen it's harder to focus. 

HIDDEN is an Amanda Blake thriller and the third book in the series.

Amanda has grown and become stronger with each book in the series. She will never forget Scott but she knows she has to move on, though it's hard. Will Nat. help her forget her past love? You will need to read the book to find out.

Will Amanda survive these latest challenges? She's been through a lot and I get upset when she is involved in some dangerous situations. But Amanda dictates what she wants to do and I can only tell her story. 
Sometimes, Amanda thinks she will never be whole again after being a victim at the hands of a predator who had her naked and lying tied up on a table. Will she get her hands on the video from this event and destroy it?

What's Hidden about? 


Amanda’s uncle believes the voice of God speaks through him. 
He is one of the Chosen as are his devotees who live on a compound in the wilds of Montana.
When a child of the Holy Tribe of God goes missing, Amanda’s desperate to search for the boy, but her uncle isn’t concerned and refuses. Soon the child’s mother goes missing too. Amanda must use all her resources to find and rescue the boy and his mother from sinister forces while putting her own life in mortal danger.

This is just the tip of the iceberg and there is so much more to this story.



Look out for HIDDEN in August at your favorite retailer.

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Sleep then my Princess (Chapter 1)


CHAPTER 1
Stephani Robbins looked up from the slides of tissue cultures she was checking for signs of necrosis. Her back ached. She leaned forward and rubbed it.
Nina Mumszuk, her friend and co-worker, set down the cultures she’d seeded on the white bench top and pulled down her face mask. “I spent the weekend looking at houses in Mesa. Vassily thinks we should wait 'till we have more savings, but I want my own place.”
Stephani saved the results of the latest round of tests. “I should be buying, as there are still some bargains buys, but I’m not exactly sure where I want to live.”
Three capped and masked heads turned towards them.
“People used to say that you couldn’t lose with real estate.” Richard Dixon, her colleague and head tissue engineer, said. “Coffee anyone?”
“Just what I need. I’ll sort through the mail.” Stephani said.
Fred Lincoln returned to calibrating the injection robot.
“I’ll go,” Nina said. She glared at Fred’s back. “The usual, Richard?” When he nodded, Nina asked Stephani.
“Same here.” Stephani bypassed bench tops and let herself into the glass corridor that led to three offices. They always reminded her of linked rows of goldfish tanks, like the ones she’d longingly pressed her face against as a small child at the local mall. She tugged at the face mask ties that had caught in her black hair as she strode to her office.
Her forgotten morning cup of coffee was on her desk. She started to sort the mail into two piles, one for Richard and the other for herself, until she came upon a pink envelope without a return address or company logo, addressed to her:

Doctor Stephani Robbins, Senior Tissue Engineer
Rigby Research Inc.
55-78 Desert Sun Drive
Scottsdale, AZ 85251

The envelope had an embossed edge like an invitation.
Richard strolled in with two coffees and paused when he spotted her abandoned cup. “You already have a take-out.”
“That’s from this morning. Thanks. Just put mine on the desk.”
He took a sip and leaned over her shoulder. “Any of that for me, Doc?”
“Stop it. Just because I’ve got a few letters after my name.”
“Just teasing.” He grinned. “You’re always so serious. I’d do anything for a smile.”
If he could call her “doc” because she had a doctorate, then she could do the same for him. “Sure, Professor Dixon.” That didn't come out the way she'd intended. It sounded like she was being sarcastic. God, she wished she could be glib like Iantha, her half-sister from her mother’s second marriage, and get away with it.
“Now…now. I see you’re still getting loads of stuff forwarded from our L.A. branch.”
She took a sip of her coffee. The aroma reminded her of when her mom used to have one on the go as she got ready for work. Stephani had to be up and have her nose in her books.
“I’m not working two jobs for nothing. You’d better study hard and get a degree,” her mother had always said.
Stephani looked up to see Richard rake his fingers though his unruly black hair. He was always trying to tame it. A Harvard graduate, Richard had been headhunted by Rigby.
His hands were large with prominent veins on the back and his fingers were almost squared off. And she remembered from when they’d first met, he had a handshake with a sure grip.
“I’m beginning to wonder if our suppliers bother to update their records. I emailed them two months ago when I transferred,” she said.
 “Obviously, none of them are as organized as you.”
“It doesn’t feel like that. After five years of research into healthy endothelial cells in stromal breast tissue, I should have made a breakthrough, not be agonizing that if I’d taken a different approach I’d be registering a patent for us now.”
“Shoulda, coulda. You’re too hard on yourself. We knew that finding a biological alternative to silicone wasn’t going to be easy.”
“Maybe I’m not committed enough.” Her phone rang. The girl at reception told her that Jack Theed, the representative from West Labs Equipment, had arrived for their meeting. “He’s early. Tell him I’ll be down in ten.”
“So after the fire at the lab in L.A. and having to move here and set up again, you still think you’re not committed enough?” he said.
‘Mm,” she shrugged. She should be grateful that the project still had funding.
“How are the RT241 trials looking so far?”
“It’ll be another thirty-six hours before we know anything.” She opened the pink envelope and found a letter on matching embossed paper.
“What have you got there?” Richard asked.
“An invitation, I think.” She unfolded the letter.

Dear Stephani,
You are my Princess,
My only Princess,
I’ll make you happy,
When you are sad,
I’ll always love you
And treasure you forever
Though others won’t understand,

No one loves you more than I do,
So my Princess be true to me,
In your heart, you know I love you,
Soon, we’ll be together,
And you’ll be mine eternally.
No one loves you more than I do
No one!
Yours forever.

Who the hell’s this from? She slumped into the hydraulic chair and edged backwards from her desk. Why would anyone send this corny poem to her? It wasn’t even Valentine’s Day.
“What’s wrong?” Richard asked.
She shoved the letter back into the envelope. “Nothing.”
“You sure?” Richard raised an eyebrow.
“How’s the new iPhone?” She needed time to think this through.
“Still working out all those Apps. I tell myself it can’t be that hard if a five-year-old can manage it.” Richard glanced down at her quizzically.
She fumbled with the jumble of envelopes trying to cover the one with the poem inside, but everything cascaded to the vinyl floor. Jesus, I’m a klutz.
He gathered them up.
“I can do that.” Dismayed, she watched him pile them onto her desk and swallowed as the letter fell out.
It was in his hands before she could reach for it. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Tell me is it okay for someone to send this to me?”
Richard glanced down at her. She found she had nowhere to hide from his searching gaze.
He read the poem. “Is this from someone you know?”
She shook her head. “I’m too old for star-struck teenagers to be writing me a love poem.”
“This is disturbing. Especially, since this guy thinks that you’ll be his forever.”
“Oh. Let me look again.” This time, she took in each word.
“I can’t think of anyone who would write this stuff.”
“My conclusion is some weirdo’s got a fixation on you.” Richard frowned.
“No one’s been following me. At least I don’t think so. Maybe we’re overreacting.”
“Call security.”
“But what if it’s just a prank?” She’d had a couple of strange calls recently on her home phone even though her number was unlisted. Stephani picked up the phone but put it down when she saw, through the glass wall, Nina leave Laboratory 1 and come along the corridor towards them.
Nina knocked on the door and entered. Strands of her blonde hair had worked their way out of the disposable cap and fell across her face.
“I’ve almost finished loading the incubator, and wanted to check you still want me set the timer for thirty-eight hours.”
“Yes,” Stephani said. “Let’s see if the enriched mixture will improve the cell growth.”
Nina glanced at the letter Stephani held. “Wedding invitation?”
“Someone’s sent me this poem. It’s not like the sort you’d get from an admirer but from….” She let Nina read it.
Nina stared open-mouthed. “Oie Boczi. Sorry. That’s 'Oh God' in Ukrainian. What is in their head? What are you going to do?”
“We’re going to inform security,” Richard said.
“Let’s go talk to the staff and see if anyone’s got any clues,” Richard said. “You could have yourself a stalker.”
Stephani, capped and gowned again, scarcely noticed the familiar smell of growth media and disinfectant as a moment of panic gripped her when two capped heads turned her way. She took a deep breath before she spoke. “Hey, guys.”
She swallowed the hesitation welling in her throat. “Can I ask you something?” Why did she have to deteriorate into a nervous wreck when it came to something personal?
She turned to go when Richard gave her a look that said ‘if you don’t, then I will’, so she pressed on, “I received a poem in the mail today. I don’t know if this is meant to be a joke. If it is, it’s not funny.”
“What’s the problem?” Melissa Toomey, the tissue-engineering graduate, closed the glass fume hood, peeled off her disposable gloves, stepped from behind the bench, and slipped down her mask to reveal a heavily made-up face.
“Have a read.” She slipped the poem from the envelope.
“Do you think he’s stalking you?”
“I hope not. Now I’ll be looking over my shoulder every time I go out.” She should secure the front door of her apartment at night. However, the thought of being in a locked space scared her more.
“Have you seen anyone suspicious, Fred?”
Fred added incubation media into an injection robot. A soft whizzing sound punctuated the air as a measured amount of medium squirted into test tubes.
Finally, he lifted his head and eased down the mask that covered his bulbous nose. “What?”
She repeated her question.
He raised his eyebrows. “As if I'd send you that! I’m here ‘till eight o’clock most nights. When would I have time?”
A typical answer from someone who still lived with his mother and wore pants up to his waist with two pleats that were perfectly formed on each side.
“Can you glance at this and see if it sounds like anyone you might know?”
“Why?”
“Oh, why did I even ask?” She turned from him. Fred, the resident guru in cancer cell research, had an IQ that was probably off the scale, but possessed no people skills.
“Give it to me,” Fred snapped.
“See the way he talks to me,” she said.
“Fred, that was out of line,” Richard said.
Fred flung the poem at her. “Let me get on with my work.”
“I hope someone will-”
“Stop your babbling,” Fred said. “I can’t concentrate.”
“Richard, are you going to let him get away with that?”
“Quit it, Fred. We’re adults and should behave as such.”
“I apologize. Happy?”
Did he even realize that he’d upset her and pretended to be contrite?
“No,” she said, knowing that it would have little impact on Fred. “Richard, how are the RT251 tissue cultures coming?”
“Promising. Still, it’s too early to say for sure.” He glanced at her with a questioning look.
“I’m fine.”
Fred adjusted his mask and picked up the tray of test tubes partly filled with media and ambled, with a loaded tray, to the incubator. “Maybe, this guy’s obsessed with you.”
Her Mary Janes encased in disposable shoe covers made a shh shh sound on the floor as she followed him. “My God, Fred! What makes you think that?”
“The choice of words,” Fred opened the incubator door and began to put the trays inside.
“Are you okay?” Richard asked. “You’ve gone very pale.”
Clutching the poem, she rushed to her office, picked up the phone and realized she couldn’t remember the number. She looked it up on the computer and dialed security. When someone answered, she told them about the poem.
After she hung up, she gulped some cold coffee, called the police and was told someone would be over that morning.
“I’m glad you did that. If you hadn’t, I would have,” Richard said.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see you make that call.”
“I should be doing something.” She left her seat and paced to the window, which gave a view of cacti and succulent gardens with a backdrop of cloudless blue autumn sky against a scattering of eucalyptus trees, and back to where Richard was standing beside her desk.
“Easy now. Just calm down,” he said. “What did you plan to do this morning?”
She drew her palms up. “I don’t know. I can’t think.”
Richard hugged her. “Let me get some photocopies of that poem so I can ask a few people.”
“Thanks,” she said. His aftershave smelled of musk, and his shirt had the scent of freshly washed laundry that made her think of her mother, who spent her nights doing washing and ironing for the extra cash. It was comforting. “I should get back to work.”
Back in Laboratory 1, she picked up the slides and put them down then picked them up again. Maybe, she was making too much of this, and it was just a joke. If that was so, then why did this poem make her feel uncomfortable?
After a few moments, Stephani tried to view the slides and discovered that the microscope wasn’t working. She turned it off and on, to reset it. The images on the screen showed some minor bacterial growth. That was good. Two done and another twenty-two left.
God, the gloves felt wet on the inside from her clammy palms. Usually, she had no trouble concentrating. She forced herself to scan all of the slides and save them to the computer. She’d go back to them when she could focus.
Stephani deposited the slides into the refrigeration unit, binned the rubber gloves and face mask, and retreated to her office.
When her phone rang, she wrenched it from its cradle, dropped it and then finally uttered a flustered, “Good morning!”
She was told Jack was still downstairs at the reception waiting to see her.
“Shoot, I’d completely forgotten. Tell Jack I’ll be down in five.”
After a quick inventory check to see if the lab needed any more test tubes or other equipment that West Labs carried, she shrugged out of the lab coat and hurried into Richard’s office. “Can you call me when security or the police arrive?”
“Where are you going?”
“Jack’s waiting for me downstairs. Just call me when they arrive, and I’ll terminate my meeting with him.” She hurried out the door and was at the elevator when she remembered the order sheet and rushed back to retrieve it off her desk.
As she stepped back into the elevator, a chill ran through her. How long had this anonymous poem writer been stalking her?

www.getBook.at/B016G5T7AG

On sale for a short time only at $0.99

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Sleep then My Princess - Prologue

Hi Folks

I hope you enjoy the Prologue for Sleep then My Princess. I'll be posting the first chapter shortly.


PROLOGUE 

This was his night. He wouldn’t allow anything to mar what he was about to set in motion.

He killed the engine and waited inside his van as darkness fell. He saw a light come on in an upstairs window of the contemporary clapboard house across the road. Reaching for the bottle on the seat beside him, he gulped a mouthful of water while continuing to watch the house.

When the light went off, he gloved up and climbed out of the van onto the quiet residential Santa Barbara Street where the sultry sea breeze caressed his face and set the palm fronds rustling. Their menacing shadows swooped and retreated on the lamp-lit sidewalk. It was what he would call an ideal night for the perfect crime if ever there were one. He paused to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead with a tissue and stuffed it in his pocket. Cautiously, he skirted the large oak tree beside the driveway.

The soft, flickering glow from a television seeped from under the curtains at the window as he crept across the lawn heading to the garage. Small stones scattered when he stumbled on the uneven pathway. Jesus, he cursed silently as he hesitated.

Thankfully, no dog barked. He pulled out a penlight, shone its beam low, until he reached the back entrance of the garage.

Once inside, hands trembling with adrenaline, he dropped the penlight. It clattered to the floor and went off. Cursing to himself, he scrambled around in the dark until his fingers closed around it.

Opening the Ford, he leaned under the steering wheel, felt for the hood release and pulled it. Holding the penlight in his mouth, he lifted the hood and found the hydraulic brake fluid line. He pulled his wrench from his pocket, undid the nut holding line and eased it off with urgent fingers. Finally, he gently closed the hood.

Back in his van, he tried to still his trembling hands and ignore the nervous sweat soaking his shirt. He itched to rip it off. 
 

About an hour later, the external house lights went on, and a tall, slim man and a boy carrying a stuffed animal appeared. The child could only have been his son.

The man opened the garage door and secured the child into the Ford, went around and climbed in. The man backed the vehicle onto the street and drove away.

He tailed the man and the child, keeping several car lengths away so as not to arouse suspicion, his heart thumping with anticipation.

The Ford picked up speed down the hill, took the first curve too fast and the next one even faster. It careened on two wheels at the next curve and flew over the embankment, tumbling end over end, tearing bushes and bouncing off boulders. Over and over the Ford tumbled with bits of vehicle tearing away until it halted in the valley, wheels spinning. Breathing hard with pent up pleasure, he stopped to see if the man or his son climbed from the battered vehicle.
 
When the Ford erupted into flames, he punched the air as the feeling of absolute power surged through him.

Free with KU. Sleep then My Princess is available for pre-order @ 99cents till launch on 30 October.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B016G5T7AG
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B016G5T7AG

http://www.amazon.com.au/gp/product/B016G5T7AG
http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B016G5T7AG


 
 

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Formatting my second thriller

I'm in the final stages of formatting Sleep then My Princess. This is the part where I go cross-eyed trying to eliminate the extra spaces and tabs.

My cover is changing as I'm not happy with the original cover. Better to do it now before the launch which is 30 October.  A burning match. When the match burns out, I'll be uploading my manuscript and cheering that my journey for this book is over. I'll be parting with my child that I've seen grow into an adult.

The Deadly Caress was my first foray into writing thrillers and Sleep then My Princess is my second. I think that the second book has a more original plot and is the favorite with my beta readers.



Thursday, July 23, 2015

Big brother is looking and monitoring you

I've copied and pasted this from another blog because I couldn't believe that this could be happening. 


http://imysantiago.com/2015/07/02/amazon-a-virtual-marketplace-or-big-brother/

Amazon… A virtual marketplace, or Big Brother?

A couple of weeks ago I read the third installment of a series I really loved. I will refrain from sharing the name of the novel and its author.
Like any reader, as soon as I finished reading, I wrote my review. When I tried posting it on Amazon (I did buy the eBook, just like any normal and decent human being would), I received a rather concerning email.
I will not share the screenshot of the email as it does contain the title of the book and name of the author. In its place I have copied the body of the email below.
Dear Amazon Customer,
Thanks for submitting a customer review on Amazon. Your review could not be posted to the website in its current form. While we appreciate your time and comments, reviews must adhere to the following guidelines:
http://www.amazon.com/review-guidelines
Here I was, thinking I had included an expletive, or mentioned a brand name within the review. I went back and cross-referenced it against the review I posted on Amazon’s sister site Goodreads, and didn’t see anything wrong with it. I tried to upload it again. Immediately, I received the below message.
Sorry. You’re not eligible to review this product. For more information, read the Customer Review Guidelines.
I thought for a minute, and figured maybe there was an issue with their website… So I tried to input a review for another book by another author, and received the same system message I shared above.
I wrote an inquiry to Amazon regarding the issue. To my surprise, this is the message I received the following day.
Hello,
We cannot post your Customer Review for (book title deleted) by (author name deleted) to the Amazon website because your account activity indicates that you know the author. 
Customer Reviews are meant to give customers unbiased product feedback from fellow shoppers. Because our goal is to provide Customer Reviews that help customers make informed purchase decisions, any reviews that could be viewed as advertising, promotional, or misleading will not be posted. To learn more about this policy, please review our Customer Review Guidelines (http://amazon.com/help/customer-reviews-guidelines) and FAQs (http://www.amazon.com/gp/help/customer/display.html/?nodeId=201077870).  
We encourage family and friends to share their enthusiasm for the book through our Customer Discussions feature or Editorial Reviews feature. To start a Customer Discussion visit the Meet Our Authors forum and enter your discussion title in the Start a new discussion box. You’ll find the forum here: 
http://www.amazon.com/forum/meet%20our%20authors/&cdForum=Fx2UYC1FC06SU8S
To have your Editorial Review posted to the detail page, e-mail it directly to the author so they can add it for you. 
If you believe you’re eligible to write a Customer Review for this book, send additional details to review-appeals@amazon.com
We hope to see you again soon.
Best regards,
Harm J,
At this point I am dumbstruck. “I know the author.” That is quite an erroneous and quite presumptous assessment, so I went through the painstaking process of escalating the issue to their Review Appeals Department. At this point, I’m pretty upset.
Greetings,
I am appalled with your recent email message stating a review I wrote could not be posted because my “online activity suggests I know the author.” (Online purchase: X by X eBook.)
This response is ludicrous. I am a writer and published author. I understand the Indie Community is a small one, and among our circles, rubbing elbows with peers is not an uncommon occurrence. I am also a blogger and reviewer who also buys books. When I’m not writing, I am reading and reviewing. My reviews are one hundred percent unbiased, regardless if I have rubbed elbows with peers online. I would like to know who is providing you the information that suggests I may know the author.
That’s a two-edged sword; knowing of an author online, and personally knowing an author in real life are two different things. By your definition it would mean that bloggers such as myself are being barred from reviewing books they legitimately purchased, which in turn contravenes with the notion that reviews for a verified purchase are highly encouraged.
I am left speechless as I don’t know any authors on a level you are suggesting. I merely follow authors on Social Media: Twitter, Facebook, Google+, tsu, and on your partner site Goodreads. I interact with these authors during takeover events. I am an avid reader and I buy my books like anyone else does.
Your claims are unfounded, and as a paying consumer, I demand my review be posted. It is unfair to the authors whose work I love, to be punished for a claim that simply cannot stand. I don’t know any authors on a personal level.
Expecting your prompt response,
Ms. Santiago
(Amazon user: x@x.com)
Sent from Yahoo Mail for iPhone
I was hoping for a better outcome. It took them a week to answer back. To my dismay, this below screenshot is the response I received today.

Amazon has crossed the line. 

I pay for my eBooks. I take the time to read and review books I love. The Big Brother mentality Amazon is employing is appalling, and crosses an ethical line of unfathomable proportions. They are not God, and are censoring my passion for the written word. Because of them, I will not be allowed to write and post any further reviews on their site, regardless if I paid, or not. It is a disservice to readers, and a back-handed slap in the face of all authors across the board.

What quantifiable and verifiable ways is Amazon using to determine if I know the author of a book, or not? The fact that they refuse to elaborate as to how I “know the author personally” is highly concerning. 

This is what happens when you are a published writer, and write reviews for the books you paid for.

This is wrong, and it has to stop.

It  is censorship at its finest. I have interacted with a couple hundred authors over the past year; from events to signings, authors and writers rub elbows during networking sessions. This does NOT mean I know you personally. Knowing someone personally is bearing knowledge about them, from say… their favorite color to their social status.
Amazon, you have spat in the face of those authors and writers whose work deserve praise and recognition. I am shocked and appalled. At this time, I will discontinue writing peer reviews. I will complete my list of pending reviews, and will cease from posting them on Amazon.
I’m truly sorry, but my wings have been clipped.
Don’t hate me for it.

Blame Amazon for their questionable business practices.

Feel free to post your comments below. I’m eager to read your thoughts.
-i

Please share this blog post if you think this business practice is unfair.

#ExplainYourselfAmazon #Censorship #QuestionableBusinessPractices #AuthorsDependOnReviews #ClippedWings

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Journal Entry from Amanda Blake second installment. (The Deadly Caress)

The Deadly Caress O. N. Stefan.

I found my mother dead today. I still can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. 

Jean, my mother, was lying so still with her eyes staring at nothing. It was awful.

A toothbrush lay beside her. I stared hard at her outstretched fingers, wanting them to curl around the handle, to show some small sign of life.

Finally, I stared at the marble vanity cluttered with the mundane necessities of the living—a half-drunk glass of water, an open bottle of mouthwash, toothpaste, an open bottle of pills, perfume, lipstick and a compact.

I must have fainted because the next thing I remember was Brian, Dorian and Estella standing round me with worried looks on their faces. 

I had hoped to spend time getting to know my mother, but she's been taken from me. And it's tearing me apart. 





www.getBook.at/B00I0DI0MY





Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Journal Entry from Amanda Blake (The Deadly Caress.)

The Deadly Caress O. N. Stefan.

I met my mother today. I don't know exactly what I expected but one thing for sure was that I didn't think I'd look so much like her.

I want so desperately to like Jean but I'm at sixes and sevens trying to get used to the knowledge that I have a mother. She seems to be trying hard to help me come to terms with all this but I'm resisting and I can't help it. It's tearing me apart as all I was used to was a woman who I thought to be my mother, Elaine, who died when I was twelve. But now I know different. 

Funny how life throws a curve ball at you and you can't duck it no matter what you do.

The picture below is an antique camera from my little collection. I'm a professional photographer and love what I do. I get to go all over the world taking pictures of wildlife and go to places where few people have been.




Thursday, April 9, 2015

Sleep then my Princess. Release date will be July 2015

It's been along journey. I didn't expect that this book would take so much time. I'd written it a few years ago. So it should have been easy to bring it up to speed. Wrong.

I'd had this story assessed and the assessor suggested I take out a secondary plot as it was overshadowing the main plot. So I listened to her and removed a third of the story. Now I had gaping holes and I edited the first third pretty well but the rest of the manuscript was very raw. I had left it like that as I'd lost interest in fixing it up by then. This story gathered "dust" until I pulled it up on my screen mid last year.

Fast forward to today. I'm now ready to send the manuscript off to an editor. I have a cover in mind, finally, and will use the cover designer I previously used on the Deadly Caress to make the cover as eye catching as it can be and to convey what the reader can expect from the story inside.

What's next. I'm planning to change pace and go back to the fantasy trilogy, of which I've written two books and need to at the very least outline the third before I can go back and start polishing the first in the series.