#Review ~ Terrabyte Security by Tena Stetler ~ Paranormal Romantic Suspense @TenaStetler @GoddessFish

Terrabyte Security by Tena Stetler



Genre:

Paranormal Romantic Suspense

About the Book:

A sleepy little town, Aspen Ridge, nestled in the Colorado Rockies, is experiencing major growing pains. As is Candle's adorable pup.

Former CIA agent, Candle Bearclaw’s new security firm, Terrabyte is expanding by leaps and bounds. When her best friend’s husband, a high-profile software entrepreneur, comes up missing, Candle and her husband, Miacoh, also the new chief of police, find themselves knee-deep in international intrigue.

The same day, an indigenous woman, Molly Reacher, pleads for Candle to take her convoluted case with identity theft overtones. Come to find out, Molly’s friend, a Native American woman, is also missing.

Cayson, an employee of Terrabyte Security, is assigned to protect Molly as the company works through the intricacies of her cases.

Law enforcement are supposed to be all over both missing person cases until Miacoh discovers the indigenous woman’s case is nearly invisible. Will either be found alive?

Read an Excerpt:

A quarter of a mile from Gabby’s house, Cayson discovered an empty sports car fitting the description of Ben’s ex-partner’s vehicle. As he reached to flip off his headlights, a figure darted along the street, dodging behind bushes and cars a couple of blocks from the house. Grabbing his phone off the seat, he called Miacoh to bring him up to date. There was no answer. So he left a message. “I can’t wait for backup. I’m going after him.”

Silently, Cayson crept up behind the intruder outside of the security perimeter of Gabby’s home. He threw a roundhouse kick, connected to the intruder’s head, and followed up with a front kick knocking the man’s weapon from his hand. The gun flew into the air, landed on the ground, and skittered onto the patio. The perpetrator stumbled onto the patio after the weapon and the perimeter alarm wailed. Grabbing a wrought iron chair, the man swung it at Cayson. He sidestepped it, grabbed the chair, then landed a front kick to the solar plexus knocking the individual face down on the patio. The heavy chair caught him off balance for a moment. The individual slowly got to his knees, blood streaming from his nose, and reached for the gun.

Out of nowhere, a large silver and black wolf pounced All four paws landed on the man’s back and knocked him to the ground. As the man lay sprawled on the patio, the snarling wolf jumped off his back and bit down on the man’s hand reaching for the gun. Blood pooled on the ground. The wolf gave one last tug and shook the hand, then let loose. With lightning speed, the animal raced behind the house, into the forest, and disappeared.

Regaining his balance, Cayson swung the chair full circle to trap the man under the chair face down and kicked the gun farther across the patio.

My Review:

Terrabyte Security is the second book in the Mountain Town Mysteries. Candle is running Terrabyte Security in Aspen Ridge. Married to new Chief-of-Police, Miacoh, they have their work cut out for them. The town is much larger than when Candle's father was Chief-of-Police, and the number of magical citizens has also increased. When multiple people go missing in Aspen Ridge, Candle and Miacoh team up to investigate. The case brings together Molly, whose friend is missing, and Cayson, Candle's employee.

Tena Stetler did a great job creating this world, setting it up, and developing the characters. The story is filled with romance, suspense, and action. The synopsis pulled me into the story but the character-driven plot and writing style kept me engaged. I was unable to put the book down. 

I have not read book one but will be going back and doing so as soon as possible.

I was provided a copy of this book.

My Rating:

Meet the Author:

Tena Stetler is an international best-selling author of award-winning paranormal tales. Some call her crazy others creative. She deals with the voices in her head by writing them down and creating a fantasy world and characters you won’t soon forget. Her books tell tales of magical kick-ass women and mystical alpha males that dare to love them. Travel, adventure, magic, and a bit of mystery flourish in her books along with a few companion animals to round out the tales.

Colorado is home, where she shares it with her husband of many moons, a brilliant Chow Chow, a spoiled parrot, and a fifty-two-year-old box turtle. When she’s not writing, she kayaks, camp, hikes, bikes, or just relaxes in the great Colorado outdoors.

Website: https://www.tenastetler.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TenaStetlerAuthor

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/@tenastetler

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Enter the Givaway:

Tena Stetler will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.
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Cranberry Cake Recipe by Hollie Smurthwaite, Author of The Color of Trauma ~ @H_Smurthwaite ~ Deck the Halls with Books Holiday Extravaganza #PNR #Suspense #EnterforaChance

The Color of Trauma

The Psychic Colors Series

Book One

Hollie Smurthwaite

Genre:  Paranormal Romantic Suspense, PNR

Publisher: Hollie Smurthwaite

Date of Publication:  August 30, 2021

ISBN:978-1737118916

ASIN: B09B2QWV52

Number of pages:  358

Word Count: 95,000 words

Cover Artist: Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations

About the Book:

Experiencing another's past could end her future . . .

Kiera Brayleigh is a memory surgeon. In the ten years since her “gift” manifested, she’s helped dozens of women deal with trauma by removing their horrific memories—burns, rapes, tortures.  It pays well, but she holds those moments, making her a fiery mess. The bizarre request from a Chicago homicide detective is the last thing she needs.

Detective Dean Matthson is burdened with an uncanny ability to get inside the minds of criminals. In a dead-end hunt to capture a serial killer, he risks his hard-earned reputation by doing the unthinkable: recruiting a memory surgeon to probe the mind of a comatose victim.  

Kiera might appreciate the cop’s dimples and his commitment to the job, but only an idiot would agree to experience a rape-murder victim’s last memories. Kiera, it turns out, is that idiot. Dean’s dedication and calming presence challenge Kiera’s distrustful nature, and she finds herself falling for Dean even as he struggles with his own demons. 

Can two broken people find love? 

When the killer discovers Kiera’s on the case, he realizes she is exactly what he needs to relive his kills. Dean and the killer both close in on their targets, and it becomes a race to catch the monster before he catches Kiera.

The Color of Trauma is a thought-provoking paranormal romantic suspense novel with an unconventional heroine, dark themes, and psychological drama.

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“I’m not sure how much Ms. Morten has shared with you, but—”

Kiera lifted a finger; thankfully, her index. “Dr. Patty told us you had questions about memory reading as it might apply to one of your cases. Read memories aren’t admissible in court. You’re wasting your time.”

“I don’t need evidence like that,” Dean said, deciding not to point out that Patty hadn’t graduated yet and wasn’t, technically, a doctor.

“Whew,” the blond he didn’t recognize said. “It’s one of the frustrating things about what we do.” The memory surgeons all winced when she spoke, though the blond didn’t appear to notice.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She beamed. “Amy Carter.”

“Do you mind telling me what’s your specialty?”

“Bitching and complaining,” Kiera replied in a tight voice.

Amy’s lips compressed, but she didn’t say anything. Was Kiera the group’s bully? Was that how she controlled the narrative? Everyone looked to her, even Patty.

Kiera sighed. “Dr. Schwartz is the expert in the field. Look into his research. Gilfoile and Roberts are hacks, and the rest don’t know shit but still want to capitalize on the memory-surgeon thing.”

He wrote down “Schwartz” in his notebook, surprised at her generosity. “Thank you.”

She stared at him with those blue eyes that didn’t blink enough. “That all?”

“Not quite.”

“Yeah, I figured.” She shook her head. “They don’t fully understand how memory works, so it’s going to be a while before they figure out how we’re able to access people’s memories and how they can be removed and kept in someone else’s mind. We can’t help you with the science stuff.”

“I’m more interested in how it works from a practical standpoint.” He directed his questions at everyone else, but the only one looking directly at him was Kiera. Fine. If he won her over, the others would follow. “I’m trying to ascertain what you can and can’t do.”

“Why?”

No time to finesse. With his attention still on Kiera, he handed Brittany Kolchek’s picture to Ramon and asked him to look and pass it on.

“I’ve never seen her before,” Ramon said. “Is she missing?”

Dean waited until everyone had viewed the photo, because he didn’t want to give them the opportunity to refuse.

Beth looked last, and she studied Brittany for several seconds. “She seems nice.” Then she walked the photo back to him.

“Her name is Brittany Kolchek,” he said. “She’s in a coma.” As a group, they cringed, even Kiera. Good—they cared. “The doctors say she won’t wake.”

“You don’t want information. You want one of us to jump into her memories,” Kiera said, her face as hard as her voice.

“We believe she’s the third victim of a serial killer targeting young women. All three scenes have little physical evidence. This might be our only chance to catch a break.” When nobody spoke or moved, he added, “He’ll kill again.”

About the Author: 

Hollie Smurthwaite is a paranormal romantic suspense author of The Color of Trauma and The Color of Betrayal. The Color of Trauma was the winner of the 2020 Soon to Be Famous Illinois Author Project in adult fiction. She lives in Chicago with her husband, son, and too few pets. In past lives, she's been a checkout clerk, massage therapist, office manager, recruiter, magazine staff writer, pepper spray hawker, and belly dancer.

Website: https://holliesmurthwaite.com

LinkTree https://linktr.ee/hollie_smurthwaite

Twitter: https://twitter.com/H_Smurthwaite

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Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/HollieSmurthwaiteAuthor/

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/hollie-smurthwaite-03376516b/

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/hollie_smurthwaite

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/75834809-hollie-smurthwaite

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Release Blitz ~ The Forget-Me Knot by Denise Liebig ~ @DeniseWithWords ~ @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #TheForgetMeKnot #DeniseLiebig #Paranormal Paranormal Romantic Suspense, Ghost Romance, Time Travel Romance

 

The Forget-Me Knot 

by Denise Liebig

Paranormal Romantic Suspense, Ghost Romance, Time Travel Romance

Release Date: June 15, 2021

About the Book:

When a beloved heirloom bridges the past with the present, can a young woman bury her dead to build a future with the living?

Portland, Oregon, 2018

Natalie Lane has never been in love. Twelve years after her father’s premature passing, she’s still caring for her heartbroken mother. Determined to avoid a similar future, Natalie focuses on her therapy practice instead of romance. But when a man claiming to be a ghost enters her office, a man only she can see, she realizes that her overworked mind might need a rest.

Fearing a nervous breakdown, Natalie goes on sabbatical to England, leaving everything behind except her cherished Celtic trinity-knot pendant… her forget-me knot. Before she can relax, however, the man appears again, stalking her throughout the British Isles.

And her problems only mount when a visit to a local pub reveals an eerie connection to a former life and love. The more she learns about her past, and her necklace’s link to it, the more Natalie’s much-needed vacation turns into a journey of self discovery that threatens her very soul.

Can the forget-me knot’s secret help Natalie leave her past behind so she can finally find true love?

The Forget-Me Knot is a captivating standalone supernatural novel. If you like paranormal ghost romances with a time travel twist, historical fantasy, and stories drawn from real past-life experiences, you’ll enjoy this enlightening tale.

Read an Excerpt:

2006

The freshly mowed lawn’s distinctly green scent mingled with the earthy aroma from the rectangular hole cut deep in its surface. The morbid perfume made my empty stomach queasy. I looked away to stare instead at my patent leather shoes, riddled with grass clippings and morning dew. Like a threadbare scarf, the pastor’s monotone voice hung uselessly in the crisp April air. He mentioned my name, Natalie, then June, my mother, and paused. In the silence, I shifted focus. My gaze drifted from my shoes and slowly scaled the silver stretcher just feet away, holding the dark, wooden casket.

I struggled to breathe. It was as if the shiny box lay on my chest, allowing only shallow breaths to escape.

Just days before, Dad left for Lane & Frost Architects, carrying his briefcase in one hand and his favorite plastic travel mug in the other. He raised the cup, revealing pictures of me, minus a few front baby teeth, smiling from beneath the clear acrylic cover. He gave the mug a brief shake, like a wave. I rolled my eyes at the former Father’s Day gift, then offered a new smile, now covered in braces.

“Goodbye, John! I love you,” Mom said.

Dad puckered his lips and blew her an air kiss before walking out the front door. As he descended the steps, I watched him crane his neck and take a sip of coffee, avoiding a drip, then two, bound for his brand-new button up. Despite the cup’s many leaks and overall lack of insulation, he filled it to the brim daily, regardless.

Offering Mom and me another smile, Dad backed his Super Beetle out of the driveway, covering his front teeth with his tongue to mimic the mug’s picture. Then he waved goodbye. Minutes later, in an intersection less than a mile from our home, Dad’s car was no match for a speeding utility truck whose driver ran a red light. When Mom received the call, she rushed to the scene, but it was too late. We later learned Dad’s last words were: “Tell my wife and daughter I love them.”

The first responder, a police officer and bowling buddy who was with him until the end, now stood next to me, sniffing periodically. I saw his reflection in the casket as he wiped his nose with the back of his gloved hand. Although it was thoughtful of the officer to attend, I wished my dad and his reflection were standing beside me instead.

“Heavenly Father…” The pastor’s voice caught my attention once more and drew my focus back to the crowd. From the reaction I saw in those surrounding us, I imagined his eulogy was moving, with powerful words that evoked tears in most of the attendants. But I didn’t hear those words, or maybe I couldn’t. Instead, I again gazed at the casket and the somewhat distorted images on its polished surface.

Mom stood on the other side of me, wrapped within Grandpa Lane’s sturdy arms. My other grandparents had already passed, but Poppy, as I called him, was always there for us, standing in for those who could not. With his daughter-in-law propped against his black dress jacket, Poppy rested his chin on her head and held on tight. A gentle, rocking sob grew from the depths of her broken heart and clung to the casket as the squeaky pulley lowered Dad into the earth minutes later. The police officer reached over and pulled me close. Although I didn’t know him well, I held on to the man and openly wept, staining his dress blues with my heartbreak.

Above my sobs, I heard Mom next to me and could only imagine what she was going through. I had lost my father, but in my mind, I believed her grief was much worse. She’d lost her soulmate.

I dried my tears, and with the pastor’s prompting, I left the officer’s side and stepped toward the hole. I wasn’t ready for goodbye, not yet. So I looked down and tossed a single red rose into the lonely depths and whispered, “I’m going to miss you, Daddy.”

I continued to stare at the casket while others moved forward and offered their roses and whispers until the wooden lid was scarcely visible. You’re loved, Daddy, I thought. Wherever you are, I hope you know just how much.

The crowd dispersed, and the bereaved walked to their cars. Some headed to our reception afterward; others went back to their lives and their families. Many hugged me when they passed. Despite their embraces, I felt empty, alone.

“Thanks for coming,” I said again and again. Hearing myself repeat those words brought the extent of my loss into focus. Barely sixteen, I felt as if I’d aged many years in only a few days, and life as I knew it would never be the same. That knowledge was reinforced when I heard Mom still crying behind me. I turned to see her head buried in a handkerchief as Poppy propped her up.

While Mom searched for a dry spot on the square of fabric, I studied Poppy’s furrowed brow and his tight lips that served as dams for the tears he struggled to suppress, meant for his only son. His anguish grew in the ever-deepening creases of his down-turned face, and he seemed to age right before me. My grandfather was a rock, but I’d just learned that even strong men didn’t live forever.

Standing there at that moment, watching my loved ones crumble, I vowed to be stronger, especially for Mom. I faced forward and tried to clear my thoughts, then dried my tears, promising to fight them in the future.

Later that night, I lay atop my covers, staring at the shadow-filled ceiling as the moonlight streamed into my room. When Mom’s sobbing finally subsided, the old house grew silent briefly before offering a series of creaks. The noise soon built into a familiar dance, coinciding with the rustling trees outside my bedroom window. It sounded like my parents’ recent tango lessons in our front room. Their missteps and the laughter they evoked, which had mingled with the floorboards audibly resisting their movement, was still fresh in my memory.

The tears I had promised to fight loomed beneath burning eyes. “I can do this,” I said in a shaky voice that almost mimicked the creaking house. “But I wouldn’t mind a little help.”

I sat up and stared at my closet door for several seconds before leaving my bed to cross the room and open it. I stepped inside and grasped for the ceiling light’s pull chain that dangled in the darkness. Once I made contact, I wound my fingers around the chain and yanked the light to life. From a top shelf, behind old toys and spare blankets, I withdrew a shoebox. I opened the lid to reveal the treasures hidden inside: several ticket stubs from high school football games, a twig, and a stick of gum. All were items my latest crush, Bobby Flynn, had once touched, discarded, or stepped on in the twig’s case. Bobby was tall and ripped, hot by everyone’s standards. The quarterback even smiled at me once. I couldn’t fit that leg-melting grin into the box, but the memory saw me through more than a few failed math tests and a nasty stomach virus.

I slowly closed the lid and caressed the cardboard surface, hoping the simple gesture would evoke an image, a feeling, anything that might help me forget my life for a while. Such an action, something I’d never revealed to anyone, had offered comfort on many prior occasions, and I’d hoped it would again. This time, however, I didn’t feel a thing. I closed my eyes and tried once more. Sadly, Bobby’s once cherished image vanished into an enormous, rectangular hole in the ground.

I opened my eyes, clearing the scene from my mind. “Not even my secret Crush Box can make this hurt disappear,” I mumbled. I ran my hand across the lid a few more times but still felt nothing. Disappointed, I tucked the box under my arm and tiptoed down the hall, through the back door, and into the night.

Across the patio stood Dad’s pride and joy, the barbecue, the same one he had grilled hotdogs on the weekend before. I opened the lid, allowing the moonlight to bring everything into focus. Bits of charred and half-cooked sausage stood at attention as I removed the grates and leaned them against the grill. Above the briquettes that remained, some still intact and only slightly ashen, I placed the shoebox, then doused it with lighter fluid. I removed the red lighter that dangled from a hook attached to the grill and clicked the trigger. The long flame glowed in the darkness, and I stared at it for several seconds before touching it to the box. As the fire leaped into the night, I wondered if I’d ever meet someone I’d love as much

as Mom loved Dad. After seeing how her heart had shattered in the wake of his loss, I also wondered if I’d ever bother looking.

About the Author:

Denise Liebig is an award-winning author whose modern characters experience the past through time travel, reincarnation, the paranormal, and other twists of time. A fan of everything vintage, her desire to be a fly-on-the-wall during the early 1900s inspired her to research that era, which soon launched her writing career. When she’s not imagining stories about the past and writing about them, Denise lives in the present with her husband and three kids.

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Trick or Treat at Caynham Castle by Jeanne Adams, Morgan Brice, Caren Crane, Nancy Northcott @MorganBriceBook @JeanneAdams @NancyNorthcott @carencrane1

Trick or Treat at Caynham Castle

Jeanne Adams, Morgan Brice, Caren Crane, Nancy Northcott

Publisher: Rickety Bookshelf Press

Genre: PNR, Paranormal Romantic Suspense

Date of Publication: 9/25/20

ASIN : B08JZJ69YN

About the Book:

Come to western England’s Welsh Marches and the wickedly, spookily fun Halloween Ball at Caynham Castle. Let the Earl of Caynham and his fiancé welcome you into Halloween fun.

Lovers from Cape May, New Jersey, take a Halloween holiday at the magnificent Caynham Castle in Secrets and Ciphers. As their love and trust deepens, they also stumble across and solve a 700 year old mystery! Enjoy this M/M Romance with Morgan Brice’s Erik and Ben from Treasure Trail.

Follow an archeologist witch from Idaho as she tangles with a sexy photographer from the witchiest town in America, Jeanne Adams’s Haven Harbor, Massachusetts. In Trouble Under the Tower, they discover a hidden chapel, fend off thieves, and help put a dark entity to rest. Somewhere in all that trouble, love sneaks in!

In Mr. Never Again, spies from Nancy Northcott’s Arachnid Agency come to Caynham Castle to guard a weapons designer and her family. When her son goes missing, her loyalty may be at risk. Hunting for him offers Blaine and Dana a second chance at love if they’re brave enough to take it.

In Caren Crane’s tale, Murky Waters, a landscape architect from Massachusetts finds much more than he expects, both in a floral designer from his friend’s shop, and in the woods south of Caynham Castle. Discovery of an evil waterborne spirit threatens the new love he has found, unless his lover figures out how to set him free.

Four spooky, witchy, spirit-filled stories set against the stunning background of Caynham Castle’s epic Halloween Ball and Bonfire Night!

 Purchase from

Amazon 

Read an Excerpt from Secrets and Ciphers by Morgan Brice:

“So when you said ‘castle,’ you really meant—holy shit! That’s a friggin’ castle!” Ben Nolan’s eyes went wide as the hired car pulled into the parking area at Caynham Castle.

Erik Mitchell laughed. “What did you think I meant?”

Ben shook his head, still staring at the large stone building partially hidden within the inner bailey walls. “I thought you meant like Biltmore. Or San Simeon out in California. You know—a big, fancy house built by a gazillionaire. But this is an actual castle!”

“Parts of it date back to the eleven hundreds,” Erik replied, nudging Ben to get him to open his door so their driver could retrieve their luggage. “The fortifications were meant to withstand warfare. It’s been continually inhabited by the Mortimer family for nine hundred years.”

“Wait until I tell my sister-in-law. She thinks it’s extra special that she lives in the same house her grandparents built.”

Erik paid the driver, and then he and Ben stepped to the side of the lot, awaiting the golf cart that would take them closer to the entrance. Caynham Castle had been converted to a hotel back in the 1930s, combining history, fine food, exceptional comfort, and aristocratic flair for those who yearned for a memorable destination.

“For the U.S., that’s an accomplishment,” Erik said with a shrug. “Different places, different times.”

“And you’re friends with the guy who owns it? The duke?”

“Earl,” Erik replied distractedly, checking his text messages to assure that they were in the right place to catch their ride.

“Oh, earl. My bad.” Ben rolled his eyes.

“And I’d say we’re more friendly colleagues than drinking buddies,” Erik answered. “He was the patron of the task force I served on around a fraud investigation in a major museum. We hit it off. He’s very down-to-earth. You’ll like him.”

“Are you on his Christmas card list?”

Erik gave him a weird look. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I get a holiday card from my mailman too. It’s a polite fiction. Doesn’t make us besties.”

“So you do get a card from the earl?” Ben pressed.

Erik sighed and gave him a look of fond exasperation. “Yes. Are you happy now? It’s a very fancy card with foil stamping and laser die-cuts, and the signature is printed on the card. In case you were keeping track.”

“My dad always got a Christmas card from Earl Denning, the guy who ran the lawnmower repair shop near our house in Newark,” Ben said. “Not quite the same thing.”

Erik laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder as if he could guess what was bothering him. “Relax. I never thought you’d feel uncomfortable. I just wanted to spoil you a little.” He gave Ben a coaxing look that usually melted any hesitation.

“I’ve been to fancy places, just not quite this fancy,” Ben admitted, wondering if any of the clothing he had brought with him would be suitable. Well, at least there’s the tux Erik had me get for Jaxon’s big gala. But I don’t think I can wear that all week.

“Think of it as a museum,” Erik cajoled. “And remember what I told you about the food and the cake at the castle tea shop.”

Ben smiled, forcing his insecurities to the back of his mind. Erik had planned this trip to give them both some much-needed time off together, and Ben didn’t want to dim that glow.

“I’m looking forward to all of it,” he assured Erik. “The castle part just took me by surprise.”

“Because I totally tricked you into coming to a castle by telling you we were coming to a castle,” Erik said, but Ben could see his partner’s worried frown had eased.

“Yeah. You’re sneaky like that,” Ben teased.

About Morgan Brice:

Morgan Brice is the romance pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy male/male paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with the happily ever after. Gail writes epic fantasy and urban fantasy, and together with co-author hubby Larry N. Martin, steampunk and comedic horror, all of which have less romance, more explosions. Characters from her Gail books make frequent appearances in secondary roles in her Morgan books, and vice versa.

On the rare occasions Morgan isn’t writing, she’s either reading, cooking, or spoiling two very pampered dogs.

Series include Witchbane, Badlands, Treasure Trail, Kings of the Mountain and Fox Hollow. Watch for more in these series, plus new series coming soon!

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Read an Excerpt from Trouble Under the Tower by Jeanne Adams:

“Good afternoon, sir.” The desk clerk greeted him with a broad smile. The warmly lit area boasted stone walls, rich wood and a softly burning fire. It was also gaily decorated for Halloween with carved pumpkins and a dish of candy on the desk. “Checking in?”

“Yes, thank you.” The dark-haired woman smiled as he gave his name. “Alden McDonald.”

“Oh! A double welcome then as you’re here as the guest of the earl and Dr. Alden.” Obviously connecting the names, she frowned. “Are you related?”

He grinned. In Haven Harbor, most of the families were intertwined in one generation or another. “A very long time ago, someone married someone. My family resurrected the name.”

The Alden name kept hanging around in most Haven Harbor families.

“I didn’t think people celebrated Halloween this much in England. I thought that was an American thing.” He gestured toward the ghost.

The receptionist grinned. “It’s catching on over here a bit more. You may already know, we’re hosting a 1920s themed Halloween Ball for charity..”

Ah. That explained it.

“Welcome to Caynham Castle, Dr. McDonald. Do let us know if there’s anything you need. Patrick will drive you up to your room in the castle proper.”

Nodding, he retraced his steps to the waiting golf cart. “Tell me about the towers,” he said to Patrick as he gave the young man his room number.

Patrick grinned. “Which ones? The one you’ll be staying in? The one the ghost of Lady Alice Neville’s daughter haunts? The one with the bar?”

“All of them.”

He listened in delight as Patrick pointed out Caynham Tower. Secret passages and hidden doors. What was not to love about that, especially this near Halloween?

“Now the tower you’re staying in, sir,,,” Patrick pointed at the bulk of the main building after they came out from under the second curtain wall archway into the inner ward. “That one’s the Challenge Tower. Some say they hear the ring of swords on the landing as you go up the stairs.”

“Swords?”

“Yes, indeed. See, the sixth earl caught his daughter’s suitor in her room.” Patrick wiggled his eyebrows to give extra meaning to the statement. “The earl challenged the guy to a duel. They battled up and down the hall. You can still see the sword marks.”

“Did the earl kill the suitor?”

“Nah.” Patrick’s youthful enthusiasm was infectious. “The man kept saying he wanted to marry the daughter––so the earl disarmed him and ordered the young scallywag brought to the library.” Patrick used a growly voice to mimic the sixth earl’s demand. “They wrote up the marriage documents then and there.

Laughing, Alden got out of the cart and headed into the main castle building. Patrick would follow with his luggage, so he headed up a set of stone steps with a thick glossy wooden railing.

He paused on the second landing and opened his magical senses. As if summoned, the faintest clash of swords rang in his ears and he felt the rush of cold that indicated ghosts were afoot.

Once settled in the room, Alden took time enough to wash up and change into jeans. Slipping on his well-broken-in hiking boots, he headed out for a meal.

 

Sebelle trotted up the stairs, heading for her room. It had taken every ounce of control she had to stop work for the day on the archeological site under Caynham Tower.

When they’d cleared the floor of the hidden rooms, they’d found a trap door in the floor.

A. Trap. Door.

Who knew what they would find beneath it?

“A trap door!” she exulted dancing over the expansive landing. She bounced up the stairs, only looking up at the last minute when she sensed something.

“Whoa!” The absentminded guy in the tweed jacket took a step down into her path. He was looking at the tapestry on the opposite wall.

“What? Oh, sorry,” he exclaimed, catching the railing to steady himself. His hand brushed hers and she felt a warm glow.

Uh-oh. He had magic.

“No, I should have taken the other side. My mind was elsewhere…” She stopped. He was perfectly still, his brow furrowed.

“You’re Dr. Sebelle Turturro. The head archeologist for the Caynham Tower project.”

“Yes.” She braced herself. He could be a reporter. Most guests were unaware of the study. Absolutely no one but her team knew about the trap door.

“Fascinating stuff. Hidden passages. Leaping ghosts. Secret rooms.” He stopped, his gaze unfocused. “You’re…”

Oh, no. This could be a mansplaining moment––a losing proposition––or questions about her visibly multiracial heritage––black, Polynesian and white––her gender, or her curvy body, or some other obtrusively asinine thing. Knowing about magic, and having enough for a spark, frequently turned men into assholes.

“I’m?” she finally asked, because she had to break the tension.

“The Dr. Turturro who wrote the paper on the disappearance of the Etruscan.”

Surprised––shocked, really––she smiled. “You read it? She wracked her brain for who he might be. Her study team was already assembled.

“Dr. Alden McDonald. Your photographer.” He extended his hand and they both gasped at the magical current that ran through the connection. “And a fellow practitioner, I take it?”

Their hands still joined, she gave a cautious nod. Hard to argue you weren’t into the woo-woo and witchy when you met someone who made your hand spark like a live wire.

“I generally don’t admit it.”

“I get that.” Alden opened his mouth to say more, but instead he cocked his head. “Do you hear it?”

She stilled her surprise at his easy acceptance, and listened.

Harsh, panting breaths. The ring of steel on steel. A thump. A gasp of pain or surprise.

“What the hell?” She broke their connection and pivoted. The noise from the landing. faded. Only a ripple of the tapestry gave a hint of something mysterious.

About Jeanne Adams:

Jeanne Adams writes award-winning romantic suspense, paranormal and urban fantasies, as well as space opera that’s been compared to the works of Robert Heinlein and Jack McDevitt. She’s also a sought-after speaker, teaching classes on body disposal for writers, worldbuilding and collaboration, plotting for pantzers and how to write a fight scene that works!

Jeanne lives in Washington, DC with her husband and two growing sons, as well as three dogs – two Labs and an Irish Water Spaniel. Don’t tell, but she’s prone to adopting more dogs when her husband isn’t looking.

Featured in Cosmopolitan Magazine, and other publications, her books have been consistently hailed as “One of the best Suspense Books of the Year!” by Romantic Times and “Stunningly realistic space adventure” by Amazon reviewers.

You can find her books on all major platforms, and connect with her on the web at:

www.JeanneAdams.com

Twitter at www.twitter.com/JeanneAdams  

Facebook www.Facebook.com/JeanneAdamsAuthor

Read an Excerpt from Mr. Never Again by Nancy Northcott:

Even a babysitting assignment could go horribly wrong. Especially when you were watching an engineer to be sure she didn’t illegally sell a government-backed weapons system. In the wrong hands, well…World War III, anyone?

Even so, there would be tiny moments to enjoy the perks of the situation. Like several days staying in an actual castle, The Caynham Castle Hotel, on the boss’s dime.

Dana Gresham swung her rented sedan around a curve, and the town of Caynham-on-Ledwyche came into view. A few minutes later, she was driving through a charming mixture of half-timbered, medieval buildings interspersed with Tudor brick, Georgian stone and more modern styles. If she didn’t get to see more of it while on duty, she would stay a day or so after and explore.

There was only one fly in the ointment, and she absolutely would not think about him until she had to. Which would be when she checked into the hotel in approximately ten minutes and informed him she was here. Until then, no harm in admiring the quaint little town.  Or the castle now looming above the trees ahead on her right.

Her cell phone buzzed, the tone a signal that the call came from her employer, the multinational, covert agency known as Arachnid, or from another employee. The car’s dash display read, Harris, and Dana grimaced. She’d jinxed herself by thinking about him.

Pressing the button on the steering wheel, she took the call. “Gresham.”

She turned left on Caynham Castle Road. The castle drive lay a little way ahead on her right.

“What’s your ETA?” Blaine Harris’s deep voice still sent ripples through her, and wasn’t that aggravating? Dana grimaced. She needed to get her hormones under better control.

It wasn’t like him to be so abrupt, though. Frowning, she replied, “About ten minutes. I just drove through town. Why?”

“Vidhur Mahajan has gone missing.”

The ten-year-old son of their subject. Personal considerations dropped away, and Dana mentally summoned an area map. “How long ago?”

“Nobody’s sure. Apparently, he wanders off every once in a while. The family was in the group touring the castle garden and beehives—lots of shifting positions to see things, a bunch of kids along, and everybody feeling safe on the Earl of Caynham’s private land. With his private bees.”

That dry tone hinted that he found Caynham-on-Ledwyche’s bee products industry baffling. She swung into the car park for a church and stopped.

“When they returned to the hotel,” he continued, “they realized Vidhur and this other kid had taken a powder. The family seems more exasperated than worried.”

The family being Dr. Kara Mahajan, her widowed sister, Bhavna Chaudry, and Vidhur’s fourteen-year-old sister, Aaliyah.

“She feels safe here,” he added. “Even the kid wandering off doesn’t especially worry either her because he likes to do that. She encourages it as fostering his independence.”

“Yeah, well, there are limits.” As the eldest of five, having been responsible for the younger ones while her widowed dad worked two jobs to keep food on the table, Dana wasn’t exactly lacking experience with kids.

“Maybe they just wandered off, but how do we know?” she asked. “Could the group who want to buy his mom’s weapons system be looking for a little insurance? We know they want to buy, but nothing we’ve seen gives me a strong feeling she wants to sell.”

“Wouldn’t you at least think about it in her shoes?”

“Probably. Wouldn’t you?”

Mahajan’s husband had been tortured and murdered by Pakistani intelligence. If she carried a grudge, nobody could blame her. Acting on it by selling India a weapons system underwritten by the British government, however, would take that too far.

“But if she doesn’t want to sell,” Dana continued, “what better leverage than one of her kids?” If that was the case, this assignment had just become a clusterfuck.

“Yeah. So we need to find that kid asap. If we can’t, well…”

“I know. I’m at the church. Where should I go from here?”

“Officers from MI5 masquerading as local detectives are questioning the family while the rest of their team fanned out to search,” Blaine said.

The Security Service had point on this with Arachnid, meaning Dana and Blaine, as backup.  The British government thought no one would suspect two Americans of working with them.

“I’m on the path to Saxon Hundred, northwest of Caynham-on-Ledwyche,” he informed her.

“Because Vidhur Mahajan’s into gaming and there’s a game store there.”

“Got it in one. Meanwhile, you swing through Caynham and see if you spot them. One more set of eyes always helps.”

“On it. Keep me posted.”

“Back atcha.”

Blaine wasn’t one for phone etiquette, so the sudden absence of sound was her only cue that they were done.

Heading back onto Caynham Castle Road, Dana frowned at the picturesque buildings. What in this quaint town would draw a ten-year-old interested in robotics and gaming?

Was searching in the town a waste of precious time?

If someone had snatched the boys, any useful information lay back at the castle.

About Nancy Northcott:

Nancy Northcott’s childhood ambition was to grow up and become Wonder Woman.  Around fourth grade, she realized it was too late to acquire Amazon genes, but she still loved comic books, mysteries, science fiction, fantasy, history, and romance. A sucker for fast action and wrenching emotion, Nancy combines the romance and high stakes (and sometimes the magic) she loves in the books she writes.

She’s the author of the Light Mage Wars paranormal romances, the Lethal Webs and Arachnid Files romantic suspense series, and the historical fantasy trilogy The Boar King’s Honor. With author Jeanne Adams, she co-writes the Outcast Station space opera mystery series.

www.nancynorthcott.com

Twitter: @NancyNorthcott

Facebook:  https://facebook.com/nancynorthcottauthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3468806.Nancy_Northcott

Read an Excerpt from Murky Waters by Caren Crane:

Jason Wetherell eyed the limestone castle walls with a weary, appreciative gaze. As a landscape architect, he appreciated how Caynham Castle rose in stately elegance from its environs on the hill. As a traveler, he was grateful for the staff that opened the door of his airport transport, pulled his luggage from the trunk and escorted him to a waiting golf cart.

“Welcome to Castle Caynham, Mr. Wetherell,” the smiling porter said. Though the fact that he knew to expect Jason at this time was a surprise. “Ben will see you to Reception and they’ll get you checked right in.”

He gave the man a baffled nod and folded himself into the golf cart. The young man wasted no time getting him through the imposing stone archways and down the passage to set of very modern-looking entry doors. He saw signs directing guests to Reception on the driver’s side and a busy-looking gift shop on his own side.

“I’ll stay with your bags until you get checked in, sir,” Ben said. “The Reception desk is right through those doors.”

Jason figured he probably should have done some research on Castle Caynham before he got here, but he trip had come up so suddenly he hadn’t. He’d been waiting for an opportunity like the one the Mortimers had in mind for the Caynham property for a long time. His whole career, really. When his old college roommate, Tom Greenbury, called to tell him what the Earl of Caynham had in mind, Jason felt like it was the chance of a lifetime. Even if it meant he had to attend a costume gala happening on Halloween, of all things.

Jason approached the substantial desk and the smiling receptionist, whose name tag read Angela. “Jason Wetherell, checking in,” he said with a smile. “Or did you know that already?”

“Actually, I did know that, Mr. Wetherell,” she said with a smile of her own. “Lord Mortimer gave us your itinerary, so we were tracking your progress. I know there were delays leaving Boston, but we’re glad you’re with us now.”

That explained the personal attention, at least. Jason found it disconcerting to be the center of attention, but he understood the Earl’s interest in his arrival. He was anxious to meet the man. He’d never met anyone with a title before. Then again, he’d never taken on a project with the scope of what the Earl wanted, either.

“You’ll be staying in the Challenge Tower, Mr. Wetherell, which is to the left of the Great Hall,” Angela said, marking his room’s location on a handy map of the Castle. “As you can see, you’re on the top floor of guest rooms, so you’ll have a splendid view of the grounds.”

“Very good,” he said, not knowing enough about the area to appreciate what the view should be. “Who do I need to see about when I’ll be meeting with Lord Mortimer?”

“Ms. Wellbern, Lord Mortimer’s assistant, has left information for you regarding your meeting,” Angela said. “It won’t be until tomorrow, though, so you’ll have today to rest and familiarize yourself with the Castle. And with Caynham-on-Ledwyche, if you’re feeling like going into the town.”

“I think I’ll try to get settled in first and get my bearings,” Jason said, taking the slim folder of information she handed him and tucking it into the inner pocket of his coat. He hadn’t been sure he would need the overcoat, but brought it from an abundance of New England caution. He was glad he had. Not only was the sky gray and threatening more rain, but there was a distinct chill in the air outside. It reminded him of home.

He shook his head and headed back out to the golf cart, not wanting to ruin his first day here with memories and regrets about his home and family. Ben was waiting on him, just as he had promised.

“So where are we headed, Mr. Wetherell?”

“The Challenge Tower, apparently,” Jason said. “I’ll admit to being curious about that name. I’m sure there is a story attached to it.”

“Indeed there is, sir,” Ben said, navigating carefully through the light foot and golf cart traffic to a broad path leading toward a formidable-looking set of towers set into a looming walled fortress.

Jason was a bit floored by the sheer scale of the place, not to mention the impressively-maintained stonework. It had to take a full-time crew just to keep up the point work. Amazing.

“Back in the late 17th century,” Ben said, driving slowly and carefully, “the 6th Earl challenged his daughter's lover to a duel on a landing of the staircase in the Tower. They battled long and hard, up and down the stairs. The young man kept telling the Earl all through the duel that he loved the girl and wanted to marry her, but the Earl wasn’t swayed. The Earl won the duel, but he didn't kill the young man. He was so impressed with his sword work that he had the man bandaged and brought to his library. The men had some brandy and the Earl agreed to the marriage. Ever since then, that tower has been the Challenge Tower.”

“That’s quite a story,” Jason said, amused. “Any grain of truth in it?”

Ben threw him a surprised look. “Of course. You can see the cuts their duel left in the stone for yourself.”

Jason shook his head, astonished that a place with that sort of history was still standing and occupied. At times like this he realized how young America was, even the old parts, like his hometown in Massachusetts.

He was glad to be here and for this chance to do the work he’d dreamed of since he decided to study landscape architecture. But finding project suited to his degree in cultural landscape studies and design was apparently a challenge. He huffed a laugh to himself at the irony of staying in the Challenge Tower. 

About Caren Crane:

Caren Crane began writing warm, witty contemporary romance and women's fiction to save herself from the drudgery of life in the office. An electrical engineer by training, she longed to create worlds where things were any color except cube-wall gray. She still works in a cubicle, but gets to hang out with witty, fabulous people whenever she's writing, which greatly encourages butt-in-chair time.

Caren lives in North Carolina with her wonderful husband. She has three fiercely intelligent, gorgeous grown children, having neatly side-stepped her mother’s threat that she would have children Just Like Her. 

You can find info and excerpts at: 

https://www.carencrane.com/

https://www.facebook.com/CarenCraneAuthor

https://twitter.com/carencrane1