Book Tour & Giveaway: Firestorm by Dana Wayne

Some fires are set...others are felt

Firestorm

by

Dana Wayne

Genre: Contemporary Small Town Romance

The greatest danger may lie in the firestorm burning between them

Jenna McCray dedicated her life and trust fund to helping others succeed through her charitable foundation, Pathways Mission. After a self-imposed hiatus, her first venture back into the dating pool is an unmitigated disaster witnessed by many, including hunky Fire Marshall Thomas Donovan.

Donovan had a profound mistrust of the upper crust—until Jenna McCray. One photo in the paper. That’s all it took. Regal. Composed. A killer smile. She looked straight into the camera…and into him--and he hadn’t even met her yet.

When he finally did, the effect was seismic. Prim, proper, and utterly magnetic. Something primal flared to life inside him, and he was powerless against it. Calling her “The Ice Queen” didn’t help. Mocking was easier than admitting she'd gotten under his skin long before they even spoke.

When a fire ravages her business on the same night someone vandalizes her home, he wonders if the incidents are connected and searches for answers.

But someone wants to keep their secret buried.

As danger escalates, so does the blistering chemistry between Jenna and Donovan, and he vows to protect her at all costs—even if it means risking everything.

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Jenna shrieked and jumped up, toppling her chair and stumbling into someone behind her, who then collided with a waiter carrying a water pitcher, sending all three to the floor in a shower of ice-cold water.

She landed partially on top of the man, his arms around her waist as he bore the brunt of the fall. Another scream lodged in her throat when she saw it resting on her thigh.  

Suddenly, his hand moved, and the spider vanished.

“You’re okay,” murmured a husky voice against her ear. “It’s gone. You’re okay.”

Laughter filtered through a fog of humiliation. She’d freaked out—in a public place and lay on the floor atop a total stranger while Oscar did nothing but watch, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Something wrong, Jenna?” he crooned.

“I t-t-told you I h-hate spiders.” Her body trembled, and she couldn’t control the quiver in her voice.

The man’s arms tightened slightly.

“Did you?” cooed Oscar. “I must have forgotten.”

***

Donovan couldn’t believe his eyes when he first saw Jenna McCray in person tonight. All prim and proper, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and his crazy heart raced like a runaway train. 

She’d dominated his thoughts from the moment he saw her picture in the paper two weeks ago. Hell, he’d even cut the damn thing out and kept it in his desk. How pathetic was that?

Everything from her regal posture to how she sipped the wine screamed money and class. Coffee-colored hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape, and pearl studs in her ears emphasized the delicate bone structure of her face and the fullness of ruby-colored lips. The basic black dress and single strand of pearls would look simple on most women. On her, it was elegant.

When their gazes locked briefly, the jolt of desire was so potent it shocked him.

The returning look of interest stole his breath.

Every unexplained feeling he’d endured the last two weeks hit like a tidal wave. It took massive effort to walk calmly to his table.  

Oscar's joining her was an unpleasant shock. The man was dirty as mud. Why on earth would a woman like her associate with him?

Thoughts in turmoil, he decided to skip dinner and leave—until all hell broke loose.

He’d never met anyone with arachnophobia, but judging by her reaction to a fake spider, she suffered an extreme case. As snickers from the other patrons registered, his protective instincts surged.

A shudder rolled through her body, and she sucked in a jerky breath, mumbling something he didn’t catch.

“It’s gone,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”

She made a move to stand, and he maneuvered to assist, one hand remaining on her arm for stability.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, avoiding eye contact and swiping at the water on her dress. “I’ll pay to have your clothes cleaned.”

Face flaming, she watched the waiter clean up the mess. “Oh, Alfred,” she asked. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Miss McCray.” He nodded toward Oscar’s retreating figure. “And he’s to blame—not you.”

Donovan lightly squeezed her arm. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”

She managed a shaky “I’m fine,” then swallowed. “Th-thank you. For helping me.”

 Donovan clenched his teeth as his fantasy dreams went up in smoke. She couldn’t even look him in the eye when she mumbled insincere words of gratitude.

“Anytime.”

At his terse response, dark, earnest eyes, filled with confusion and something he couldn’t readily identify, whipped to his. Desire coursed through him, heady as strong whiskey, leaving him off-balance.

She frowned and retrieved a wallet from the bag on the table, pulled out a card and some bills, then passed the money to Alfred. “If this isn’t sufficient for my wine and the pitcher, please let me know.”

He hesitated, then took the money. “It’s fine, Miss McCray.”

A harried woman appeared from Donovan’s left. The manager—they’d met on a previous visit, but he couldn’t recall her name.

“Oh my God, Jenna. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Katie. Embarrassed but unhurt.” She nodded toward Donovan. “This gentleman broke my fall.” She nibbled her lower lip as though unsure of what to do next. Inhaling, she passed him the card. “Thank you, Mr…”

“Donovan.”

“Mr. Donovan. Please—”

“No mister. Just Donovan.”

Lips slightly parted, she hesitated. “Oh. Okay. Donovan. Please send me a bill for the dry cleaning.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yes. It is.”

Cheeks the brightest red he’d ever seen, her earnest expression softened.

“Please.”

That one word curbed his resentment. He took the card, ignoring the tingle as their fingers brushed.

“Donovan,” said Katie. “Thank you for helping my friend.”

“No problem, ma’am.”

“And dinner’s on me tonight.”

“Actually, I was just leaving.”

She looked around. “Was something wrong with your table?”

He shook his head. “Unexpected change in plans. I was on my way out when—this happened.”

“Then please accept a raincheck for next time.”

He nodded, knowing he would never accept the offer, no matter how kindly extended.

Katie rubbed Jenna’s shoulder. “Guess kicking him to the curb in a public place wasn’t such a good idea after all, huh?”

Donovan barely covered his surprise. So that’s what happened—good for her.

Jenna’s gaze skipped from him to Katie. “No. It wasn’t.”

“I’ve never seen you react that way before.”

She glanced at Donovan. “I—it just surprised me. That’s all.”

He immediately recognized the lie. She wasn’t surprised. She was terrified.

“I told him they bothered me.”

And that’s the understatement of the century.

 “And you’d already told him to back off,” added Katie, “so the creep had a Plan B to get even. I’m just happy you weren’t hurt.”

This time, when she looked at Donavan, her gaze held, and the intensity floored him. A dark chocolate brown enhanced by a golden ring around the edges, they glistened in the restaurant’s ambient lighting.

Or was it unshed tears? 

Texas Winds

Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance

Two hearts shattered by betrayal. Once chance to trust again.

 

Jake Holloway discovered his wife’s infidelity as she lay in a coma, carrying a child that may not be his.

Four years later, his heart remains closed to all emotion. Lexie Morgan’s dream of happily-ever-after ended the day she stood alone at the altar. The need to put distance between her and the pain places her in the path of feral hogs and Jake Holloway’s life. Neither is prepared for the intense attraction.

When Lexie meets his four-year-old daughter, Katie, the timid child with downcast eyes steals her heart.

Forced to rely on Jake’s assistance, it’s impossible to ignore the escalating pull.

But the past never dies, and resurrected hurts threaten their fragile bond.

Will the ever-changing Texas winds hold them together or reduce their love to dust?

 

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Ankle and hip throbbed in unison, and a growing headache added to the misery mix.

She took a breath and looked around. The front bumper dug into the far side of the muddy embankment, and the blown-out tire rested in muck halfway up the rim. Dingy water in the ditch swirled around her feet and leached up her mud-coated pant legs. Her disgusted gaze took in the filthy jeans and soaked and blood-coated tee shirt. “Crap,” she muttered. “Brand new shoes.” She swiped a hand across her cheek, leaving a streak of bloody mud in its wake. “Great way to start my first vacation in years.”

She adjusted her grip on the door and blew wet hair away from her mouth. “Alrighty then.” Muttering under her breath, she reached past the dog and plucked the half-full Swear Jar from the floorboard. An irritated swipe at the wet hair clinging to her cheek left more muddy streaks behind. “Time for the big guns.” She placed the jug on the seat near Biscuit and pulled two soggy one-dollar bills and three quarters from her pocket. She took a breath and ceremoniously dropped the quarters through a slot cut into the lid, mumbling after each one. “Damn. Damn. Dammit.” She took a deep breath and crammed the wet bills through the hole. “And son-of-a-bitch.” 

“Don’t reckon that’s gonna help much.”

An f-bomb exploded before she could stop it.

***

Startled by the man’s deep voice, Lexie swore and spun around, tossing the jar over her shoulder as intense pain shot up her leg.  Off-balance, she grabbed the door to keep from falling on her rear as the jug landed with a mushy thump at the stranger’s feet.

The brim of a dark Stetson cast his face in shadow, but there was no disguising his frame. Tall, at least six-two or three, shoulders a mile wide, with long, muscular legs encased in worn jeans. Muddy work boots covered his feet, and well-used leather gloves stuck out of his front pocket. Rain dripping from the brim of his hat left wet trails on his pale blue chambray shirt, and the rolled-up sleeves revealed tanned, muscular forearms.

He hesitated, then picked up the jar, one corner of his mouth curling up as he read the inscription. “I’m guessing that last word is expensive,” he said as he passed her the container before stepping back.

His husky, just-woke-up voice raced through her like fine wine, leaving her momentarily speechless. “It is,” she snapped and took the jug. “Five bucks.”  She glanced past him and noted a grime-coated, black Ford F250 crew cab parked behind him on the shoulder of the road. Holy crap. I never heard a thing. She eyed her bag, mentally calculating how long it would take to reach the pistol inside if needed. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people. I have a gun. And I know how to use it.” 

He made no effort to approach, just stood there, hands on his hips. “Are you hurt?”

She gripped the door tighter when her throbbing ankle threatened to fold again. “No. I’m good.”

“You have blood on your face. And mud.”

His intense gaze traveled up and down her body, causing an involuntary shiver.

“Were you ejected?”

“No. I slipped when I got out.”

He tipped his head toward the back seat. “What about the dog?”

She glanced at Biscuit, who showed no concern over the stranger’s sudden appearance, and noted a little blood on the side of his mouth. How did she miss that before? “Biscuit!” Dismissing the man, she leaned against the car and ran her hands over the dog again, checking more thoroughly for anything broken. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

The dog stoically endured her frantic exam with only a slight whimper when she touched his front paw before moving to his mouth. “Come on, baby, open up.” She slowly pried his jaw open and saw blood on his tongue.

“Looks like he bit it. Probably on impact.”

It took tremendous effort not to react to the unexpected voice behind her left shoulder. “Yeah. Probably. I’ll have him checked out when I get to town.” 

He looked at the luggage piled in the back of the SUV. “Where you headed?” 

She glanced up and discovered walnut-colored eyes watching Biscuit, his square jaw visibly tense. His face was rugged and somber, bronzed by wind and sun and covered with dark stubble. No laugh lines around full lips, and unspoken pain was alive in dark, fathomless eyes. In a heartbeat, his expression changed, switching to closed-off and distant as he took two steps back, hands stuffed in his front pockets.

Multi-awarding winning author Dana Wayne is a sixth-generation Texan and still resides in the Piney Woods. She routinely speaks at book clubs, writers’ groups and other organizations and is a frequent guest on numerous writing blogs. A die-hard romantic, her stories are filled with strong women, second chances, and happily ever after.

“I’m all about the romance, so my tales are heartwarming, have a splash of suspense and humor. While they are a little steamy, I believe romance is more about emotion than sex, and the journey is more important than the destination.

“I retired in late 2013 and published my first book in 2016. I was over the moon when it was awarded first place in a contest through the Texas Association of Authors, and I never looked back. My books have been nominated for and/or received various awards and numerous five-star reviews. To have my work validated in such a manner is very gratifying and humbling.”

Affiliations include Texas Association of Authors, Writers League of Texas, East Texas Writers Guild, Northeast Texas Writers Organization, and East Texas Writers Association.

 

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Book Review: Words for Patty Jo by Jill Arlene Culiner

Words for Patty Jo by Jill Arlene Culiner
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Young love interrupted, but will life offer a second chance?

Words for Patty Jo by Jill Arline Culiner is an enthralling story of young love interrupted and of lives taking vastly different paths before converging once again. David Buckley, Jr., the high school scholar and scion of local wealth, is intrigued by the beautiful, painfully shy Patty Jo Lovelace, a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Both see the other as different from those typical of the other’s social circle, and a secret summer romance flourishes until David heads off to further his studies in Switzerland in the fall. Patty Jo’s homelife is abominable; an adopted child, she is abused and treated like a servant, her only escapes are the books she and David had shared that summer and her part-time job as a waitress at Peeties Diner. After years of abuse, Patty Jo’s self-worth is nil, and, with David out of the picture, she marries a generous customer she met at the diner, salesman Don Ried. However, Don turns out to be even more physically violent and emotionally abusive than Pa, Ma, and her stepsister, Lizzie. Patty Jo, with two small sons who are quickly picking up their father’s attitude toward their mom, feels completely and utterly trapped, until she realizes that if things don’t change, her only way out may be on a gurney.

Patty Jo is such a tragic figure: beautiful and curious, with the same hopes and dreams as others, slowly being beaten out of her by the very people who should be building her up and supporting her. The transference of Don’s attitudes and behaviors to her sons was gut-wrenching. Her solution is desperate and draws condemnation from so many. Homeless and broke in Toronto, Patty Jo uses her beauty and sex to find safety, security, and some measure of control over her circumstances. She shakes off the zombie-like demeanor she had been reduced to while married to Don, and takes on the personas of people she’s known or read about in a play who fit her current situation. I was glad to see she eventually regains her self-identity and drive, the one she’d had to hide away from Ma, Pa, and Lizzie.

David is a young man of privilege with a life all mapped out for him by his ambitious parents. It is not the life he wants for himself, but he goes along, not ready to break out of their expectations. He has no real understanding of what Patty Jo has been dealing with and the hopelessness in which she is quickly sinking. While the story focuses more on Patty Jo’s trajectory, David’s life takes interesting paths as well, and he gradually follows the path laid out while maintaining thoughts and beliefs that run counter to those life choices.

I enjoyed the dual point of view in telling the story, getting both Patty Jo’s and David’s impressions of shared experiences, and especially their thoughts and feelings about each other over the passing decades and as they reunited. The story is compelling, and I was drawn into the lives of both main characters, wanting to know how things would work out for them. There are sweet moments and shocking ones, and for those who appreciate a heads-up, there are a few graphic adult scenes as well. This story is going to stay with me for some time to come.

I recommend WORDS FOR PATTY JO to readers of women’s or domestic fiction.

I voluntarily reviewed this after receiving an Advance Review Copy from the author through Goddess Fish Promotions Book Tours.

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Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Life or Death (Forensic Instincts, #11) by Andrea Kane

LIFE OR DEATH

by Andrea Kane

March 16 - April 10, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

FORENSIC INSTINCTS 

Who killed Ryan McKay’s cousin?

In suburban Westchester County, just outside the frenetic pace of New York City, a deadly murder occurs. After a violent struggle, FBI agent Shane Walsh is dead and his wife, Caitlin, has vanished. At the urging of a mysterious text, the Walshes’ nine-year-old daughter, Kennedy, has been safely whisked away by a close family member.

The FBI is determined to bring down whoever assassinated one of its own and is focusing on Caitlin as a prime suspect. Ryan McKay, Forensic Instincts’ chief technology officer, as well as Shane’s cousin and lifelong friend, vehemently disagrees. Ryan knows the Walsh family well. He insists that Caitlin is innocent, and that she, herself, is in danger.

After convincing his team to cast a wider net, Ryan leads FI on a zigzag course across two continents to locate Caitlin, sidestepping the FBI at every turn, and protecting Kennedy at all costs. But the FBI is on the warpath, and threatens to permanently shut down Forensic Instincts if they don’t back off. Undeterred by the FBI’s threats, FI goes underground in pursuit of their rogue mission.

As the pace quickens, Kennedy becomes the target of unnerving text messages. Both The FBI and the Forensic Instincts teams sense that the end game is near and that the chess match is spiraling to a stunning conclusion. Determined to declare “checkmate” before the killer, Forensic Instincts must not only protect Kennedy but make sure that their team doesn’t end up as collateral damage when the king falls.

Praise for Life Or Death:

"Life Or Death is a riveting read that explodes right from the opening pages with the shocking murder of an FBI agent - then takes the reader on a non-stop, roller coaster ride of thrills and suspense during a desperate search to find the victim's missing wife and to protect his 9-year-old daughter. Andrea Kane really delivers the goods in this book, the 11th in her Forensic Instincts series."
~ R.G. Belsky, author of the Clare Carlson mystery series

"An adrenaline-fueled joyride. Andrea Kane doesn’t pump the brakes in LIFE OR DEATH. Centered around family ties, and who can you really trust when shadowy forces close in? Combustible pacing and a cast of characters you can’t get out of your head long after the last page."
~ James L’Etoile — award-winning author of River of Lies and the Detective Nathan Parker series

"Life or Death, the latest heart-stopping thriller from New York Times bestselling author Andrea Kane, delivers nonstop tension, emotional depth, and a twist-filled chase that spans continents. When an FBI agent is murdered and his wife vanishes, the elite Forensic Instincts team must outsmart the Bureau itself to uncover the truth. Ms. Kane once again proves why she's a master of psychological suspense. Fans of razor-sharp plotting, unforgettable characters, and fast-paced suspense will devour this one!"
~ Marjorie McCown, author of The Hollywood Mystery Series

"Forensic Instincts’ leader, Casey, is recovering from an injury sustained in a previous case when tragedy strikes. An employee’s cousin is murdered, and his wife has vanished. Left behind is their traumatized eleven-year-old daughter, Kennedy. As the FBI and Forensic Instincts compete to solve the case, Kennedy’s close-knit family and the FI team surround her with love and support. Life or Death, the eleventh book in Andrea Kane’s gripping series, draws readers into an emotional high-stakes race for the truth."
~ Stacy Wilder, author of the Liz Adams Mystery series

Life Or Death Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense Thriller
Published by: Bonnie Meadow Publishing, LLC
Publication Date: March 17, 2026
Number of Pages: 304, HC
ISBN: 9781682320686 (ISBN10: 1682320685), HC
Series: Forensic Instincts, Book 11 | Each is a stand-alone novel
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | RBmedia, Audiobook Links

Read an excerpt:

Bronx River Parkway
Friday, 3:55 p.m.

It wasn’t rush hour—not quite yet. So the drive was an hour plus away. That now left a short distance to go.

Ryan remained quiet and tense, staring out the passenger window as he had throughout the trip to Westchester County.

“Where are we going in New Rochelle?” Marc finally asked, glancing at his GPS, aware that he didn’t recognize the address Ryan had given him.

“To my cousin, Shane Walsh’s, house,” Ryan replied.

Marc nodded as they reached their exit and he eased his car around a loop and off the parkway. “Tell me only what I need to know. I’m not going to pry.”

“You’re not prying. I’m just really freaking out.” Ryan cleared his throat and relayed the entire situation to Marc.

Marc took it all in. “You’ve mentioned that you had a cousin with the Bureau. But that’s about all you’ve said, other than the fact that he has a wife and a young daughter.”

Ryan shrugged. “Shane’s a private guy, so I don’t talk about him much. He’s a Special Agent, Violent Crimes division, at the New York field office. He’s been there since he joined the FBI about eight years ago.”

“Does Hutch know him?”

“I never asked. But I doubt it. Hutch is in charge of all the Violent Crimes divisions. That’s too high up to know every agent who works under him.” Ryan pointed, shifting to the edge of his seat, and reiterating what the GPS was already showing them. “Make your next right. Two blocks down and make a left. Go through a few lights. You’ll see a cul-de-sac on your right. Marigold Terrace. Shane’s house is number 15.”

Marc understood that Ryan’s redundant supply of information was a manifestation of his anxiety. He just nodded again, then pressed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal to speed them up without accelerating too much. Suburban cops lived for speed traps.

Four minutes later, Marc turned onto Marigold Terrace and eased slowly around the curvy road.

“Three down on your left,” Ryan instructed. “White clapboard house, blue shutters.” His tension intensified as Marc reached Shane’s home. “That’s Caitlin’s car parked in the driveway. And Shane’s parked in his usual spot on the street. If they’re both home…but they don’t want Kennedy there… Shit.”

Ryan flung open the passenger door before Marc had brought the car to a complete stop. He was halfway to the front door, digging in his pocket for the key Shane had given him long ago, when Marc reached his side.

“Ryan, wait.” Marc grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Why?”

Marc tugged out the two pairs of latex gloves and shoved one pair into Ryan’s hand. “Put these on.”

Ryan gritted his teeth, while he and Marc worked their hands into the gloves. “Can’t leave any new fingerprints,” he muttered. “In case this is a crime scene.” He sounded ill.

“Is the door unlocked?” Marc asked, quickly assessing the garage door, which was up. He might have suggested accessing the house through there, but Ryan was already in motion. And time was precious.

Ryan jiggled the doorknob. “No.”

“Okay, use the key. I’ve got my Glock. Let’s go.”

Ryan’s hands were shaking as he turned the key and pushed open the door.

He and Marc stepped inside. The foyer was empty and quiet. In fact, the whole house was silent in a way that suggested no one was home.

“Shane?” Ryan called. A pause. “Caitlin?” No response. No sound of footsteps. Nothing.

Marc eased his way in front of Ryan, then crept ahead, sweeping the area with his gun.

Ryan followed behind him, aware that, not only was Marc armed, he was former FBI. He was trained at this. Ryan was not.

They’d barely gone fifteen feet, when Marc caught something in his peripheral vision, and swerved to his right. “Shit,” he muttered.

Ryan peered around him and gasped. Just outside the bathroom was a crumpled body, unmoving and lying in a pool of blood. Beside it, were two shell casings and a cell phone that had been crushed. On the other side of the cell phone was a jagged line of blood.

The inconsistency of the blood pattern struck Marc at once. Reflexively, he whipped out his cell phone and took a few quick photos.

Ryan was in a whole different headspace. Pushing past Marc, he strode over, squatting as he reached the body. “Shane,” he managed.

“Oh my God. Shane.”

Marc was beside Ryan in a heartbeat, restraining him from doing anything that would contaminate the scene. He leaned over Shane’s body, checking for a pulse, a breath—any sign of life.

There were none.

Marc gripped Ryan’s arm, standing and pulling him to his feet. Ryan’s entire body was stiff with shock, but Marc knew that consolation would have to wait.

“Ryan, we’ve got to get out of the house,” he said, visually sweeping as much of the ground floor as he could. “The killer might still be inside. He might have Caitlin.” A hard swallow, as Marc considered the possibility that she might also be dead. That additional jagged line of blood didn’t bode well. “I’ll call 911 as soon as we’re on the front lawn.”

Ryan didn’t budge. He was staring, wild-eyed, down at Shane’s lifeless form. It was only when Marc tugged insistently at his forearm that he regained some semblance of awareness. “No, Marc.” He gave a firm shake of his head. “I have to stay with him.”

“He’s gone,” Marc stated simply, placing a supportive hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “But Caitlin might not be. Let’s get the EMTs and the cops here. We might be saving her life.”

Slowly, Ryan turned, allowing Marc to lead him outside the house and to the front lawn, where he sank down on the grass, still unable to process this horrific occurrence.

Marc kept his Glock at the ready—just in case it was needed. “I’ll watch the windows and the doorways to block any attempt at escape,” he told Ryan. When there was no response, Marc glanced down, giving Ryan a worried look. The poor guy was staring off into space and wasn’t even hearing him.

Stationing himself close to his friend’s side, Marc took out his iPhone and called 911.

“What is your emergency?” was the immediate response.

Marc supplied his name, the address of the crime scene, and then, in staccato phrases, the necessary information.

He disconnected the call, knowing that it would be two minutes, at the most, before the ambulance showed up. He used the time wisely, pressing the button to Hutch’s private cell phone line.

One ring. Then, “Marc?”

“We’re in New Rochelle,” Marc said. “Ryan’s cousin, Shane Walsh, has been killed at his home. He worked for the Bureau, New York field office, Violent Crimes. I called 911, so the locals must already have been dispatched.”

Not even a heartbeat of a pause. “Text me the address.”

“Already done.”

“Then I’m on my way.”

***

Excerpt from Life Or Death by Andrea Kane. Copyright 2026 by Andrea Kane. Reproduced with permission from Andrea Kane. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Andrea Kane is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty-three novels, including nineteen psychological thrillers and fourteen historical romantic suspense titles. With her signature style, Kane creates unforgettable characters and confronts them with life-threatening danger. As a master of suspense, she weaves them into exciting, carefully-researched stories, pushing them to the edge—and keeping her readers up all night.

Kane’s first contemporary suspense thriller, Run for Your Life, became an instant New York Times bestseller.

She followed with a string of bestselling psychological thrillers including No Way Out, Twisted and Drawn in Blood.

Her latest in the highly successful Forensic Instincts series, Life or Death, forces this eclectic team of investigators to navigate a high wire act between the FBI on one side and a vicious killer looking to terminate the rest of a young family on the other. The first showcase of Forensic Instincts’ talents came with the New York Times bestseller, The Girl Who Disappeared Twice, followed by The Line Between Here and Gone, The Stranger You Know, The Silence That Speaks, The Murder That Never Was, A Face To Die For, Dead In A Week, No Stone Unturned, At Any Cost, Struck Dead and Life or Death.

Kane’s beloved historical romantic suspense novels include My Heart’s Desire, Samantha, Echoes in the Mist, and Wishes in the Wind.

With a worldwide following of passionate readers, her books have been published in more than twenty languages.

Kane lives in New Jersey with her family. She’s an avid crossword puzzle solver and a diehard Yankees fan.

Catch Up With Andrea Kane:

AndreaKane.com
Amazon Author Profile
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Review:

5 stars!

Families grieve as one of their own is lost. 

Life or Death is the 11^th book in author Andrea Kane’s excellent Forensic Instincts series, and families, real and found, grieve when one of their own is lost. A terse text message to family matriarch, Maureen McKay, to immediately pick up her grand-niece, Kennedy Walsh, at school, with no explanation given, kicks off the suspense in this breakneck thriller. But the reason behind the terse request soon becomes apparent when the child’s father, FBI Special Agent Shane Walsh, is found murdered in their home, and her mother is missing and presumed taken. Forensic Instincts and the FBI go head-to-head to discover Shane’s killer first and bring Kennedy’s mother, Caitlin, home safely. 

The shocking murder floored me, but it was the scene where the FBI team notifies young Kennedy of her father’s death that absolutely gutted me. In only a couple of chapters, the author had made me a part of the McKay and Forensic Instincts families, and I felt their sorrow. From that point on, I was so invested in the FI team finding the killer, living through their grief, and desperate for them to bring Caitlin home to her little girl. 

It was all hands on deck for both FI and the FBI; both determined to get the person responsible, but do it within the proper parameters of the law to ensure their actions didn’t stand in the way of justice. The overlap between the two teams, FIs founder Casey Woods-Hutchinson, is newly wed to the FBIs Supervising Special Agent Kyle “Hutch” Hutchinson, who is directing their investigation, necessitated some tricky maneuvering on FI’s part to do what they do best and still maintain their relationship. 

This story puts FI’s Ryan McKay and his girlfriend, claircognizant Claire Hedgleigh, in the spotlight; Shane was Ryan’s cousin. Mom Maureen is the glue that keeps the McKay clan together. I was especially drawn into the scenes that featured the daughter as the desperate hunt for her mother continued. There is plenty of clever misdirection, surprising twists and turns, and some covert outside assistance enters the picture to keep the suspense high and the pages turning. While this is the 11^th book in the series, it can easily be read and enjoyed as a standalone. However, the previous books are great and not to be missed! 

I recommend LIFE OR DEATH to readers of thrillers and mysteries, and especially to fans of the series.

 

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Book Blitz: Meat Cove by Janice Weber

Meat Cove

by

Janice Weber

SAGATHRILLER

Publisher: Seacoast Press

Date Published: January 22, 2026

Page count: 338 pages

SYNOPSIS:

Meat Cove combines saga and thriller via Fundy's lurid diary, which appears between each chapter, forming a tale within a tale. As Fundy's grim memories slowly come back to life, her past and present collide in a riveting conclusion worthy of the first sagathriller.

Constable Fundy Sutherland is a buff, gruff Mountie with a price on her head and a veritable ossuary of skeletons in her closet. A former JTF-2 sniper, Fundy is quietly raising daughter Skye in Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia when three events upend her careful obscurity: Skye brings home a DNA ancestry kit; the doppelgänger of Fundy's runaway mother settles in tiny White Point; and an erratic Venezuelan ship passes through the Cabot Strait.

As local disturbances and international tensions escalate around a NATO conference in Halifax, Fundy must leave her safe lane and resurrect an implacable past. Generational love story meets geopolitical suspense in a SAGA THRILLER barreling across the North Atlantic.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Janice Weber grew up in Ridgewood, New Jersey and graduated summa cum laude from the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York.

At the time of her Carnegie Recital Hall debut at age nine, she was writing her first short stories. She has continued both pursuits, with her novels providing counterpoint to the staid world of a concert pianist, or perhaps with her recitals 

offsetting the staid world of a writer.

Janice’s novels have a worldwide following. Her debut, The Secret Life of Eva Hathaway, enjoys near cult status and is widely recognized as iconic Chick Lit – though appearing years before the genre was invented. Its colorful characters, verbal virtuosity, wit, and sensuality established the hallmarks of a style that has earned Weber comparison with Mark Twain, Fran Liebowitz, Harold Pinter, and Robert Ludlum (if such a hybrid can be imagined).

Janice’s novels happen between (and occasionally during) concerts. Music on some level infiltrates almost every book: Eva Hathaway writes hymns between trysts, Floyd Beck met the love of his life at Carnegie Hall, Leslie Frost is a concert violinist, and Ross Major listens to Beethoven when the going gets rough. Characters without music in their lives fill the void with swinging, murder, and treason, activities musicians tend to eschew since this would detract from practice time.

Janice divides her time between fishing villages in Massachusetts and Cape Breton.

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Release Blitz & Giveaway: In Her Own Backyard by Ashley Hanna-Morgan

In Her Own Backyard

by

Ashley Hanna-Morgan

Thriller
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
Date Published: March 26, 2026
Page count: 440 pages

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SYNOPSIS:

Every street holds a secret . . . 

New to the neighborhood and reeling from the traumatic birth of her second child, Marlowe Moore is barely holding it together. Battling postpartum depression and anxiety, she’s desperate for stability.

But when she learns that a woman who once lived in her family’s new home vanished without a trace, Marlowe becomes obsessed. As strange things happen and neighborly smiles feel like veiled threats, Marlowe can’t shake the feeling that someone is hiding something.

She spirals further into paranoia, fixated on the abandoned case and determined to seek justice. But how can a woman who feels lost find a missing person?

Juggling the demands of her beloved family and her harrowing mental illness, Marlowe doesn’t realize she is caught in a cat-and-mouse game that could cost her everything … including her life.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Ashley Hanna-Morgan is a licensed clinical social worker (LCSW) certified in perinatal mental health (PMH-C). In addition to her work as a psychotherapist, she writes about mental health to advocate for change and inspire hope. In 2016, she wrote The Afterglow, a mindfulness and cognitive behavioral therapy curriculum that supports parents with postpartum depression and anxiety. In 2017, she published I Gave Birth to My Heart, a collection of poems about the secret anguishes and innumerable joys of reinventing oneself after postpartum depression.

When she isn’t counseling clients or volunteering with Postpartum Support International, Ashley loves to experiment in the kitchen and spend as much time outside as possible in San Diego, where she resides with her family. In Her Own Backyard is her first novel.

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Cover Reveal: Royal Mayhem by Samantha Jayne Grubey

Royal Mayhem
Samantha Jayne Grubey
Publication date: April 15, 2026
Genres: New Adult, Romance

Part one of a duet.

Melinda Brown doesn’t want much in life, graduate university and survive.

Prince Alexander has everything, surrounded be riches and spoilt to the core. Everything he’s ever wanted has been at the tip of his finger due to his prestigious status as future King of England.

Despite coming from two different worlds, they share the same university. One day everything changes when the two crash into each other’s lives, literally.

As they both enter each other’s worlds, they’re forced to make compromises for the sake of their growing attraction.

Will Melinda and Alexander be able to win people with their love, especially when it becomes clear that they both hide secrets? Or will Prince Alexander by denied for the first time by the first woman that he truly wants? Not everything is as it seems in Royal Mayhem.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Samantha Jayne Grubey is an author of new adult romance.

When she's not writing or reading, she will be playing sims or doing some diamond art and if she isn't doing any of that she could be pole dancing or most likely working.

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Book Tour & Giveaway: The Broken Crown Saga by Orlan Drake

Where loyalty shatters, legends are forged.

The King’s Fall

The Broken Crown Saga Book One

by

Orlan Drake

Genre: Epic Fantasy

A Gripping Tale of Royal Betrayal and Hidden Romance

When darkness falls on the kingdom of Ardanthia, readers will find themselves caught up in a story where nothing is what it seems. Princess Eloise faces impossible choices as murder and betrayal tear her world apart. Her secret love for the Prince of Caladorn adds another layer of danger to an already deadly situation. This isn't just another royal romance - it's a heart-pounding adventure where love and loyalty clash in the most dangerous ways possible. You'll feel every moment of tension as Eloise walks the razor's edge between duty and desire.

 

Mystery and Investigation That Keeps You Guessing

Sir Cedric Blackthorn brings detective skills that would make any crime solver jealous. His brilliant mind works to solve puzzles that could save or destroy an entire kingdom. As Ambassador Zafir arrives with hidden motives and Baron Gorgo schemes from the shadows, every character becomes a suspect. The investigation twists and turns through palace halls filled with secrets. You'll find yourself trying to solve the mystery alongside Cedric, picking up clues and second-guessing every revelation. The chase scenes will have you on the edge of your seat as our heroes race against time through a kingdom ready to explode into war.

 

Fantasy Adventure That Brings Legends to Life

The Broken Crown Saga starts with this incredible first book that mixes political drama with fantasy elements that feel fresh and exciting. Secret groups work behind the scenes, pulling strings that control the fate of nations. The world-building draws you in completely, making you believe in a place where magic and politics dance together in dangerous ways. This story proves that sometimes solving one crime can prevent an entire war - and that the most important battles happen in the shadows.

 

For readers of David Eddings and Terry Brooks, this sweeping tale of betrayal, magic, and destiny will leave you breathless.

 

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The King's Fall opens not in a throne room, but underground. A secret order — no names, no titles, only cloaks and the authority of old purpose — has gathered around a rune-carved table to debate an incident that should not have happened: a full diplomatic party has been wiped out on the road between two kingdoms, and neither king ordered it. Someone is pulling strings that no one can see. The council is about to do something dangerous. They are going to look.

 

There existed beneath the old earth a sanctum kept from all maps and memories, shielded by corridors that twisted into each other with a geometry of deliberate confusion. In the deepest of its halls, a chamber circular and primeval waited in perpetual shadow. The room's centrepiece, a stone table whose circumference rivalled a city well, had been carved from a single slab of basalt. Its rim and surface bore etched runes and ancient sigils, their purpose unclear to any but initiates of the silent order that convened there.

Around this table, shrouded figures gathered, their cloaks indistinguishable but for subtle variations in the weave — one a blue so dark it drank in the torchlight, another a coarse grey laced with fine metallic thread, a third in deep forest green that shed a dusting of spores with every movement. Even in the heart of stone, the air hung moist and cold, saturated with the scent of burnt tallow and the musk of old water. From sconces in the arched walls, torches spat and guttered, casting orange light that slithered across faces as pale and anonymous as death masks.

No titles were spoken here, only the functional necessity of names earned and worn like invisible crowns. The magister at the head of the table, tall, angular, motionless save for the slow folding of gloved hands, did not need to identify himself. When he spoke, the voice cut through the stillness as though it had been whetted on the stone itself.

"Our watchers are not in agreement." The words were uninflected, carefully measured.

A murmur passed around the circle, not of dissent but of discomfort. The second figure, smaller but with an evident coiled energy, leaned forward. Her hands were bare, fingers long and stained black along the creases, and she tapped the table where the runes formed a broken circle.

"It is a minor border skirmish, Sentinal," she said. "Bloodier than most, but hardly unprecedented. Let the kingdoms squabble among themselves — Ardanthia and Caladorn have always warred at the fringes." She sounded impatient, as though summoned for a lesser concern.

The magister in blue, whose hood cast his face into shadow, spoke with a slight tremor. "The killing was not so minor. An entire diplomatic train vanished — every courier, every retainer, every guard. The ambassador's body was not even left for ransom. That is new. That is calculated."

The Sentinal allowed the words to settle, scanning the circle with a gaze that seemed to fix on each magister, regardless of where his face was aimed. "Six months ago, an envoy of Ardanthia, Lord Marcus Blackbriar, journeyed south with full ceremonial escort. Their course was direct: Eldoria to Delrith, then through the corridor to Mirashar. Before reaching Delrith, they were set upon and destroyed. Only one man survived, and he staggered back to Eldoria."

"Coward's tale," said the woman with the ink-stained hands. "Most witnesses die of their wounds, the lucky ones first."

The Sentinal ignored the snipe. "Our watcher in Eldoria heard the testimony. The survivor told King Leofric himself that the attackers wore the livery of Caladorn. Our watcher in Caladorn, however, tells a different story: they found no evidence of a sanctioned operation. If anything, Caladorn's own patrols have increased since the incident. Their court desires peace. Their king is tired of war."

A rustling of fabrics, the weight of suspicion shifting around the table. The green-cloaked figure finally broke his silence, voice low and gravelly. "If both kings are ignorant, then who profits from the attack? It's no longer a border dispute. It's something else."

A pause, broken only by the hiss of a torch collapsing into itself. The Sentinal's next words fell heavier for the silence.

"Our order exists not to shape events, but to understand them. Yet this affair grows more opaque with every new witness. Either our watchers lie, or we are being lied to. That alone is reason to intervene."

"There's little evidence it threatens the Balance," the woman pressed. "What can it matter if kingdoms grind each other to salt? We have seen worse in the east. Nothing endures but the Pattern."

"Unless the Pattern itself is being rewritten," the blue-hooded man said.

At this, the Sentinal brought his palms flat on the runic table, producing a hollow note that echoed into the stone. "We are not theorists. To maintain the balance we need clarity, not further confusion. We will look. Tonight, we summon the memory of that day and see for ourselves."

The woman's upper lip curled. "The power to see through time is not borrowed lightly, Sentinal. It leaves marks on both the living and the dead."

"We risk more by not knowing," the Sentinal said. "If our council cannot agree on what is, how can we guide what must be?"

The blue-hooded man lifted a hand, uncertain. "If it is as you say, and both sides are being manipulated, then the ritual may be hazardous. Memory is often trapped by the will of those who shaped it."

Twilight’s Dominion

The Broken Crown Saga Book Two

The peace was always a lie. They just didn't know whose.

Queen Eloise of Ardanthia has done everything right. She negotiated the alliance with Caladorn, married the prince, held her court together through blight and borderland attacks and the whispered threat of an ancient secret order. Now, with villages vanishing overnight — crops blackened, livestock dead, people simply gone — she does what any good ruler would do. She sends her best.

Sir Cedric Blackthorn, the precise and principled knight-investigator. Captain Elira, a soldier who has survived too much to flinch at anything. Tomas, a scholar more at home with footnotes than fistfights. Ryn, a street thief from the Saltspire docks whose instincts are worth more than anyone's education. And Auralias — the Court Mage, brilliant and unsettling in equal measure — who brings knowledge of old magic that none of the others possess, and who may be the only thing standing between Ardanthia and the League of the Moon.

Together, they are hunting the League before the League can finish what it started.

What they find will change everything they think they know — about the attacks, the conspiracy, and the true scale of what is being assembled in the dark. There are artifacts, older than any living kingdom, whose power was thought lost to history. There are secrets buried so deep that uncovering them will cost more than anyone is prepared to pay. And there is a question, growing louder with every mile: who, exactly, is the enemy?

Twilight's Dominion is a story about loyalty tested to breaking, courts where every smile hides a calculation, and the particular horror of realising that the enemy has been in the room all along. It is about a queen learning that the peace she built was built for her — and a company of mismatched, battle-worn companions who keep fighting even after the ground gives way beneath them.

Set across mountain fortresses carved from living rock, fog-wrapped port cities, a besieged royal palace, and the treacherous corridors of two kingdoms in collision, this is epic fantasy for readers who like their politics sharp, their magic consequential, and their betrayals earned.

Perfect for readers who love:

*The political intrigue of A Song of Ice and Fire

*The ensemble loyalty of The Lies of Locke Lamora

*The world-building depth of Robin Hobb

*Characters who are competent, scarred, and worth caring about

"There's no certainty in what's ahead. But I'd rather die among friends than watch the world go to monsters."

The Broken Crown Saga:
Book One: The King's Fall
Book Two: Twilight's Dominion
Book Three: Echoes of Kings - coming soon

 

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Twilight's Dominion opens on two stories running in parallel. In the first, Lady Seraphina D'Argent — a diplomat travelling alone through the unforgiving Crownspine mountains — has just been surrounded by armed strangers on a mountain pass. She has been riding for ten weeks on orders she doesn't fully understand, heading toward coordinates her queen gave her without explanation. She is about to discover something that will change everything she thought she knew about the world she serves.

 

The figures came on in absolute silence, fanning out across the trail with the efficiency of wolves. In a matter of seconds they had closed off her retreat and were sliding, almost bonelessly, down the talus to encircle her.

Their leader wore a helm that entirely concealed his face, its visor painted with a crude snarl of animal fangs. The others carried composite bows at the ready, arrows nocked, but pointed down — a gesture that managed to be both merciful and contemptuous at once. Seraphina drew Cassia to a halt and set her hands openly on the pommel, every muscle rigid with calculation.

"State your business," the leader growled, voice rendered inhuman by the tin of his visor.

Seraphina debated, for perhaps two breaths, whether to attempt bluff or bravado. The bows decided the matter. "I am Lady Seraphina D'Argent, of Armathor," she replied, "on a mission from Her Majesty Queen Evelina."

The leader turned, a lazy gesture that made mockery of her authority, and a snort went up among his lieutenants. "And your escort?"

"Was not permitted." Seraphina kept her gaze level, though the blood pounded furiously in her ears. "I am to meet with a representative of the Riders, if you are such."

The mention of the Riders produced a shift in the circle. The archers exchanged glances, some wary, some almost amused. The leader drew closer, boots crushing the shallow crust of snow.

"You speak too much for a courier," he observed. "But too little for a spy." He swept a gauntleted hand at her pack horse. "Open your satchel."

She untied the travel case from the gelding, working fingers gone numb in the cold, and fished out the scroll tube. It was heavy, made of dark wood and brass, the wax seal untouched. She held it up so they could all see the sigil of Caladorn: a pair of crossed sabres over a seven-pointed star. There was a stillness, then a slow, careful release of tension among the archers as the leader nodded, almost respectful.

"Walk forward. Slowly," he said.

They escorted her up the ridge, off the trail, through a section of scree so loose that even Cassia balked. For an hour, maybe more, they wound through impossible switchbacks and across narrow spines of rock, each step a new exercise in balance and terror. Finally, the leader raised his hand and the party halted at a narrow saddle between peaks.

Seraphina caught her breath, took a long swallow from her water skin, and paused as she noticed what lay beyond the saddle.

The city was carved into the living stone of the mountain's interior, hidden from the world by both geometry and design. Terraced galleries spiralled down the inside face of a gigantic crater, studded with windows and fire-gleaming vents that gave the place an eerie, hive-like vibrance. Slender bridges of bone-white stone spanned the void between rocky spurs, connecting to massive towers whose roofs gaped open to the sky. Far below, at the crater's deepest point, a plaza of blue granite caught the light of a hundred lanterns, transforming it into a pool of shimmering stars.

She had never seen such a thing. She had never heard of such a thing. And yet, as she stood there, wind plucking at her cloak, Seraphina understood instantly, with a sick clarity, that Queen Evelina had always known.

They did not take her down the public steps. Instead, the archers led her along a narrow spiral cut into the stone, half-tunnel, half-balcony, with just enough space for one person and a horse at a time. The air grew colder with every turn, and the hum of unseen machinery — bellows, pulleys, some kind of water-driven elevator — echoed from deep within the walls. At last they emerged onto a flagstoned platform where the leader, visor now up, gestured for her to dismount.

"Wait here," he said, less threatening now. "You will be summoned."

Seraphina did not ask how long. She untethered her gloves, flexed her hands, and tried not to shiver in the thin mountain air. The view from the platform was staggering; across the chasm, the terraces of the city glimmered with what looked like glass or ice, and tiny figures moved between the arcades.

A boy in a grey tunic arrived, bearing a tray of tea and something that looked like bread but tasted of cedar and salt. He smiled at her with a gentleness that belonged to another world. 

When she asked him his name, he merely gestured for her to drink.

Time stretched, then snapped back when the leader returned, flanked by two more guards in matching visors. "You will come," he said.

I am a new author writing under the pen name Orlan Drake, my real name is Chris Hills Farrow.  I've worked as a freelance writer for magazines in the past but have always wanted to write fiction, and after having more free time during the lockdowns, I have made some progress. I enjoy fantasy because it opens my mind to other worlds or ways of life that do not exist in real life or have ever existed.

 

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