In the Spotlight: The Atlantis Deception by Mark H. Jackson

THE ATLANTIS DECEPTION by Mark H. Jackson, Adventure/Thriller, 288 pp., $18.22 (paperback) $3.99 (kindle)

Title: THE ATLANTIS DECEPTION
Author: Mark H. Jackson
Publisher: Unbound Digital
Pages: 288
Genre: Adventure/Thriller

A German property developer, Hans Hoffmann, revels in the belief he has discovered the key to unleashing the weapon responsible for sinking Atlantis. Hoffmann requests the help of Cambridge archaeologist, Dr John Hunter to validate his mysterious find. Hunter’s acceptance leads the maverick academic on a journey from the headquarters of a clandestine organisation in England, to a lost city in the heart of the Brazilian Rainforest, and climaxes inside a chamber hidden deep beneath Egyptian Heliopolis. Pioneering theory is spliced by epic battles, daring escapes, and elaborate schemes aimed at unravelling a secret history hidden from humanity for the past twelve thousand years.

Atlantis is a very visual word. A word evoking mystery, forgotten realms, underwater palaces… the list goes on. I find this Plato inspired concept of Atlantis fascinating and read anything and everything I can lay my hands on. The theories are diverse and range from the feasible to the outlandish, but certain concepts keep reoccurring. The Atlantis Deception takes the ideas of accepted and alternative theory, weaving them together to create a believable universe where our past still dictates our future.

The novel follows the trials and tribulations of a fictional Cambridge academic, Dr John Hunter. The focus is not on Atlantis itself, but rather on what happened to its people it the wake of the loss of their homeland. The Atlantis Deception is a classic action adventure tale with heroes, villains, shadowy organisations and self-serving plots, each underpinned by progressive archaeological theory. The novel is written with the aim of both exciting and making readers think in equal measure. Although imagined, many of the conclusions the characters reach are cutting edge and described in such a way so as to blur the line between fact and fiction.

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon

 

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mato Grosso, Brazil, 1939

Himmler paused, bending to examine a black, broken piece of rock

discarded on the forest floor. He turned it in his hand, frowning as

he swept a finger over its impeccable, marble-like finish. It must have

been chipped from a statue or pillar. It was impressive workmanship

and Himmler doubted even the largest construction companies

in Germany would have done any better, even with their modern

machinery and tooling techniques. He slipped the fragment into his

pocket, a tingle of childlike excitement building in his stomach.

After years of ploughing Nazi resources into the Ahnenerbe, he was

at last on the verge of completing his quest. If the papers found in

Tibet by the short-sighted idiot, Ernst Schafer, were to be believed,

then it wouldn’t be long before he possessed the evidence he craved:

solid, indisputable proof linking Aryan Germany to prehistory’s

greatest lost empire, the kingdom of Atlantis. Armed with this knowledge,

Himmler was convinced the Aryans of Europe would rally

under the Nazi banner, joining forces with the Fuhrer to form an

unstoppable alliance tasked with reclaiming the lands and legendary

technologies of their ancestors.

Tibirica barked a command in Himmler’s direction, snapping him

out of the daydream. There were still several steps he needed to tread

along this path and he needed to focus on the present. Proving his

doubters wrong would have to wait. A month earlier, Hitler himself

had dismissed the Ahnenerbe as mere folly and the criticism still

smarted his ego. Luckily for him, his reputation ensured the majority

of Party members were still happy to indulge the quest. Himmler

wasn’t a man anyone wanted as an enemy, and the Party viewed their

support as an easy way to appease his infamous temper.

Up ahead, Tibirica swept aside a dense section of foliage and signalled

for Himmler to follow. He disappeared through the gap with

his son and the vines dropped back in place. Himmler looked down at

the diminutive translator. His hate for the man welled inside his gut.

He despised the reliance his current predicament demanded he place

on such an insignificant being. Back in occupied Europe he would

have ordered the creature’s execution without even batting an eyelid.

But out here… He shook his head. Out here this dirt-encrusted man

was irreplaceable.

‘You go first and tell me if it’s safe,’ said Himmler.

‘W-w-what if it t-t-trap?’ stuttered the petrified translator.

‘That is why you are going first.’ Himmler shoved him in the small

of his back and propelled him through the foliage, sending him crashing

into whatever lay beyond. With a bone-crunching thud the translator

hit something solid and yelped in pain. He staggered backwards

and lost his footing, returning through the greenery and landing at

the feet of his employer. He whimpered and pulled a mucky rag from

his pocket, pressing it against his broken and bloodied nose.

‘Well?’ asked Himmler, suppressing laughter. ‘How did you get

on?’

‘Wall… Wall on other side.’

Himmler frowned and slipped a hand through the thick, leafy

foliage. His hand barely cleared the flora when it met something solid,

something sharing the same smooth surface as the strange flake of

rock in his pocket. Himmler’s eyes widened in anticipation. Could he

really be touching the walls of the lost city? It was an incredible feat

of engineering. He couldn’t have been closer, and yet, if it weren’t for

Tibirica, he and his men would have walked on by, never knowing

how close he’d come to his goal. Not for the first time, he offered up

a quick word of thanks to Lady Luck. This information alone more

than made up for the loss of life inflicted on his Gruppe.

Himmler forced the rest of his body through the tight opening.

The greenery dropped in place behind him and his world plunged

into darkness. Surprised and a little disorientated, he stumbled forwards,

both hands slapping hard against the rock wall. An eerie echo

bounced back and forth through the oppressive, airless atmosphere.

Torrents of perspiration snaked his body, drenching his already moist

uniform. He battled to keep it from his eyes and cursed his decision

to wear the black SS uniform. One of his men had advised otherwise

but Himmler had refused to heed the advice, stubborn in his belief the

officer concerned was testing his authority.

Himmler took a moment and regained his composure. He groped

for the torch strapped to his belt and flicked it on. The thin beam

penetrated the gloom, casting ghostly shadows and exaggerating the

size of the obstacles littering the overgrown path ahead. With a sense

of foreboding and familiar feelings of claustrophobia creeping up on

him, Himmler waved the torch to his left, illuminating the black wall

of rock holding his weight. It seemed to stretch on forever. He stroked

its surface and moved forward a few steps. There weren’t any breaks

or cracks anywhere, the wall’s surface seamless in its construction. No

joins, no cement holding it together, in fact no discernible clues as

to its construction at all. He smiled, marvelling at the thought of his

ancestors possessing such advanced skills in engineering. The Reich

had so much to learn from this ancient people.

Himmler froze as the torch registered movement up ahead, the

beam picking out the shadow of something hidden in the undergrowth.

He cocked his handgun and held his breath, poised and ready

to react to the merest hint of hostility. A male voice split the tension.

Tibirica’s son called out to his father. The two tribesmen must have

realised he was no longer following and retraced their steps. Himmler

lowered his gun and reached for his translator, grabbing his hair and

forcing him to take point. He wanted to trust Tibirica but his instincts

advised him otherwise. Trust was a luxury a man in his position could

little often afford to give freely. He prodded the translator in the back

with his gun and shoved him towards the two tribesmen.

‘Tell them to stay where they are,’ he said. ‘If they disappear again,

we’ll never find them.’ The translator repeated the order, his speech

muffled by the cloth still pressed to his nose. A minute later, after slipping

and sliding their way down the rocky passage, Himmler arrived

alongside his two guides. They flanked him and prodded the torch,

both fascinated by the magical shaft of light it emitted. Himmler

kept them at arm’s length, making a mental note of the greed in the

younger man’s eyes.

‘Ask them where we are headed,’ he ordered, trying to distract

them.

The translator obliged, and Tibirica’s response sounded curt.

‘Well?’ said Himmler.

The translator frowned. ‘He say we walk through wall. I ask where

door. He only repeat same words and point at wall.’

‘I don’t pay you to question what he says, just do your job and

translate.’ Himmler shoved him aside and raked the torch beam across

the wall, searching for evidence of an entrance.

The proximity of the magical light source suddenly became too

much for Tibirica’s son. In a mix of lust, greed and perhaps revenge

for his broken nose, he lunged at Himmler. Catching him unawares,

he shoved Himmler’s gun arm behind his back and punched him in

the kidneys. Himmler tensed his muscles and flung the elbow of his

free arm into the Brazilian’s gut. The blow connected, but found little

purchase on the boy’s greasy stomach. A thick forearm snuck around

his neck, while the other made a grab for the torch. The attempt failed

but the force of the attack was enough to knock it from his grasp and

send it crashing to the ground. Himmler grimaced, grinding his teeth

as the bulb shattered on impact, engulfing the passage in darkness.

The sudden disappearance of the light took the young warrior by

surprise and his grip slackened. Himmler whirled on the ball of his

foot, simultaneously smashing the palm of his hand into his attacker’s

already broken nose. The Brazilian didn’t even have time to scream,

dying where he stood as numerous splinters of bone penetrated his

brain. Himmler shoved the corpse aside and smoothed the creases

from his uniform.

‘Translator, please inform Chief Tibirica to proceed. His son has

met with a little “accident” and I wouldn’t want a similar one to befall

him.’ The translator didn’t respond. Himmler clenched his fist. The

little bastard must have made a bolt for it. He stared into the darkness,

his index finger hovering above the Luger’s trigger as he searched for

a target. The silence was deafening – even the birds appeared to have

abandoned this long-forgotten piece of forest. The Nazi shuddered,

straining his ears for the merest hint of sound. His life was in danger,

and he knew it. A faint clicking sound, two or three metres to his left,

disturbed the silence. He turned to greet it, gun levelled and ready to

open fire.

‘Translator? Is that you?’ Himmler whispered. ‘Answer me or I’ll

shoot.’ A bead of blue light flickered in response, illuminating a small

clearing up ahead. Himmler tensed as a large shape loomed into view.

It was Tibirica. He stepped forward, only to see Tibirica raise an arm

and halt his progress. The chief extended a long finger and pointed at

Himmler’s feet.

Himmler crouched and scanned the ground ahead. There was

something blocking the path. His arm snaked towards it, tentative but

determined to confirm his suspicions. He scowled as his fingers met

the soft, warm flesh of his stricken translator. How would he understand

the bloody chief now? He pulled the old man onto his back and

recoiled at the brutal efficiency of the kill; the head ripped clear of the

neck. It was a sight that left Himmler in no doubt of the suppressed

rage Tibirica must be harbouring. To break a man’s neck was easy,

but to rip it clean from the spine took a strength and skill rare in a

world where the gun ruled the battlefield. He looked up at the chief.

Did this mean they were even again? An eye for an eye and all that?

The stoical Brazilian nodded and jabbed a finger at the glowing

light in the wall. The result was as immediate as it was spectacular.

A semi-circular shaft of light shot from the rock and illuminated the

clearing brighter than the midday sun. Himmler raised an arm to

shield his eyes and staggered backwards. What black magic was this?

Tibirica sniffed and wiped a smattering of blood from his face. He

turned away from Himmler and ducked his head, sliding his ample

frame through the newly formed gap in the wall. Himmler scrambled

up the slope to join him and darted through before the thing closed.

He didn’t have a choice; his life was now in the hands of the chief and

he knew it. He stepped from the makeshift doorway, buoyed to find

natural light on the other side. His elation was tempered as Tibirica’s

massive hand clamped around his shoulder, hauling him through the

gap as it closed behind him. He yelped in pain, feeling a rib crack as he

landed on something solid. He pressed his chest. No harm done, just

another bruise to add to his ever-growing collection. He pushed himself

upright. Where was he? It almost looked like a gutter of a paved

road. The corners of his mouth twisted upward into a tight smile and

he glanced at Tibirica.

‘If this place is what I think it is, Untermensch scum,’ he whispered,

‘then you have assured my place in history.’

If Tibirica understood the German language, he’d have killed

Himmler then and there. Instead he managed only a look of puzzlement.

For the sake of his son, the chief could do little more than pray

Himmler was the messiah his tribe were expecting. Himmler’s smile

widened. Luck was indeed on his side.

Mark H. Jackson is a qualified solicitor who splits his time between protecting the rights of academics, writing thriller fiction and raising five mostly lovely children. He studied Archaeology and Ancient History at the University of Birmingham with a nod towards alternative theory, focusing on the relationship of Giza complex to the stars; portolan maps; and the origins of civilisation and religion. It was within this flame the plots for his future novels were born.

Mark’s writing career extends back over a decade and his diverse portfolio includes three novels, a number of short stories and even a six-part sitcom. Long listed for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, he is currently a featured author on the popular writing website, Wattpad, with over 6,000 followers from all around the world and well over one million reads of his first novel. Aside from Wattpad, Mark is an active member on a number of other writing websites, spending his spare time offering editorial and structural advice to fellow authors. Up to now Mark has considered writing as a creative outlet for the myriad of characters and ideas roaming about his head. The time has come to tease them out of hiding and breathe a little life into their lungs.

His latest book is the adventure/thriller The Atlantis Deception.

Website Link: https://markhjackson.com/
Twitter Link: https://twitter.com/MarkJackson873
Facebook Link: https://www.facebook.com/AtlantisDeception/

Book Feature: Body of the Crime by Jennifer Chase @jchasenovelist

BODY OF THE CRIME by Jennifer Chase, 397 pp., Mystery Suspense, $.99 (Kindle edition)

Title: BODY OF THE CRIME
Author: Jennifer Chase
Publisher: JEC Press
Pages: 397
Genre: Mystery Suspense

Three grisly murders linked to five old cold cases, dubbed the Flower Girl Murders, pushes detectives to their limit to find a clever and extremely brutal serial killer, leaving a California town demanding justice. The District Attorney’s Serial Special Task Force retains the help of the reclusive Dr. Chip Palmer, a forensic expert and criminal profiler, to steer them in the right direction.

Palmer is known for his astute academic interpretations of serial and predatory crimes, along with his unconventional tactics that goes against general police procedures. He is partnered with the tough and beautiful D.A. Inspector Kate Rawlins, a homicide detective transplanted from Phoenix, and the chemistry ignites between the team—turbulent and deadly.

The Flower Girl Murders leaves three homicides, five cold cases, two seasoned detectives, three suspects, and one serial killer calling all the shots. The investigation must rely on one eccentric forensic scientist to unravel the clues to solve the case. But at what cost?

Order Your Copy!

I HATED THE CURIOUS AND often skeptical looks, which came from the audience in the gallery. I gently eased my body into the chair and faced them directly. It felt more like I was a participating target in a firing squad than a courtroom proceeding.

Shifting from side to side in the cushioned seat, I fidgeted with my tie. It was the only thing I could do under the circumstances.

I waited patiently trying not to nervously tap my fingers.

At least the chair was comfortable as I rested my forearms and hands on the armrest. It was not easy to avoid looking at the two burly sheriff deputy bailiffs stationed at the back corners of the room. They watched everyone with an extreme somber, statue-like presence. I was not even sure if they actually blinked or not. 

All eyes in the courtroom fixated on me.

The room fell into complete silence. The audience readied themselves waiting for the show to begin. At least that was what I had imagined in my own mind. 

I realized when the prosecutor had finally called my name to testify and the bailiff escorted me into the courtroom that I had forgotten to change my shoes. Dirt and mud had affixed deep into the crevices of the heavy-duty rubber soles, which donated little chunks of dried soil as I walked from the back of the courtroom to the witness area. There were little piles of mountain soil left behind with every stride. It looked like I had stolen shoes from a homeless person.

It was only yesterday that I had taken an extra-long walk down a wooded path that was barely passable even for the native wildlife, but I did not let the rugged terrain scare me out of adding another specimen to my collection of California sediment. In the process, my shoes sunk deep into the mud. At one point my foot had slipped from the left shoe and then plunged my sock-clad foot directly into the sticky muck.   

I was all too aware of how disheveled I looked only two months before my fortieth birthday. It was not appealing. My appearance did not give the impression that I was an expert at anything, but somehow I managed to muddle through with an air of authority.

Crime scenes never lied, and it was my job to explain the scientific facts to the non-scientific community; but in the end, it was up to the jury to make the right choice of guilt or innocence. Twelve good people ultimately shouldered the justice burden, and I was just the messenger of facts—good or bad.    

Jennifer Chase is a multi award-winning crime fiction author and consulting criminologist. Jennifer holds a bachelor degree in police forensics and a master’s degree in criminology & criminal justice. These academic pursuits developed out of her curiosity about the criminal mind as well as from her own experience with a violent sociopath, providing Jennifer with deep personal investment in every story she tells. In addition, she holds certifications in serial crime and criminal profiling. She is an affiliate member of the International Association of Forensic Criminologists.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK

Visit us at Pump Up Your Book!

 

Book Feature: Nadya's War by C.S. Taylor

Title: NADYA’S WAR
Author: C.S. Taylor
Publisher: Tiny Fox Press
Pages: 300
Genre: Historical Fiction

BOOK BLURB: 

Nadezdah "Little Boar" Buzina, a young pilot with the Red Army's 586th all-female fighter regiment, dreams of becoming an ace. Those dreams shatter when a dogfight leaves her severely burned and the sole survivor from her flight.

For the latter half of 1942, she struggles against crack Luftwaffe pilots, a vengeful political commissar, and a new addiction to morphine, all the while questioning her worth and purpose in a world beyond her control. It's not until the Soviet counter-offensive at Stalingrad that she finds her unlikely answers, and they only come after she's saved the life of her mortal enemy and fallen in love with the one who nearly kills her.

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon

Seven of us zipped through the overcast sky, a dozen meters beneath the cloud layer. Gridnev flew lead and a girl named Tania from First Squadron flew on his wing. Alexandra and I cruised next to them about thirty meters away. I pictured myself as a modern version of my ancestors who rode into battle on horseback, courageous and strong. If only they could see me now, sailing through the air to drive off the invaders. I wondered if they’d be proud or jealous. Maybe both.

The four of us escorted a flight of three Pe-2s from the 150^th High-Speed Bomber Regiment across the snowy landscape. That unit was led by Lieutenant Colonel Ivan Polbin who I’d heard was quite the commander. I’d also heard he enjoyed music and sang well, like me, which made me think we’d get along—even if he was a die-hard communist and loyal to Stalin.

The twin-engine Peshkas flew nearly as fast as our fighters, something I was grateful for. I’m certain the three crew members inside each bomber were thankful as well, since unlike the German Heinkels and Stukas, these planes were tough to catch for any aircraft. That being said, I was glad I was in my Yak-1. I wouldn’t have wanted to fly one of those bombers at all, no matter how prestigious they were. They were still big targets, and far less nimble than the fighter I had. I prayed we’d keep them safe.

All the Pe-2s, however, did have fresh, winter paint jobs. Their off-white and tan colors hid them well in the surroundings, and if I wasn’t paying close attention, I’d even lose sight of them from time to time. Their target was a rail depot the Germans were using to bring in supplies and troops headed to Stalingrad. Obliterating it would disrupt logistics and force the Luftwaffe to keep it safe once rebuilt.

With luck, the Germans wouldn’t spot the Peshkas until the bombs were already dropping and they were headed home. I fantasized about how easy of a mission this could be as we went deeper into enemy lines. Those thoughts almost turned into dreams as the drone from my fighter’s engine combined with the dreary sky nearly put me to sleep, despite the digging pain in my arm.

“Tighten up, Little Boar,” Gridnev called out over the radio.

My eyes snapped to the formation. I’d drifted away from the bombers by a good fifty meters sideways and at least that in altitude. I glanced over my shoulder to see Alexandra off to my right. She’d stayed with me even as I wandered. “Reforming now. Thought I saw something below and wanted a better view.” 

C.S. Taylor is a former Marine and avid fencer (saber for the most part, foil and epee are tolerable). He enjoys all things WWII, especially perfecting his dogfighting skills inside virtual cockpits, and will gladly accept any P-38 Lightnings anyone might wish to bestow upon him. He’s also been known to run a kayak through whitewater now and again, as well give people a run for their money in trap and skeet.

His latest book is the historical fiction, Nadya’s War.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK

A Bookish Chat with Legal Mystery Author Ken Malovos

Ken Malovos has been practicing law in Sacramento for over forty years. He spent twelve years with the Public Defender’s Office and twenty-five years as a business litigator. He now serves full-time as a mediator and arbitrator. Ken has written two previous Mike Zorich novels and both have been recognized by Chanticleer Book Reviews. Contempt of Court was a First Place Category winner in the legal genre of the Mystery and Mayhem competition in 2014. Fatal Reunion was a finalist in the Thriller and Suspense competition in 2016. Ken and his wife live in Sacramento.

His latest book is the legal mystery, ONE NIGHT IN AMBOISE.

Visit his website at www.malovoslaw.com.

As a book bloggin’ and book luvin’ Princess, I’m always curious to find out how authors got the ideas for their books.  How did you come up with the idea for your book?

I thought of secrets that we all have and how we try to keep them hidden. For example, the former Speaker of the House, Dennis Hastert kept a secret for many years, that he was involved in improprieties with young men when he was a wrestling coach. Yet, he ran for Congress and was third-in-line to be President before anyone found out. How does someone keep something like this a secret? What goes through his/her mind? What is his/her emotional state?

Can you tell us what your book is about?

It is about an allegation of rape that took place in Amboise, France, thirty years ago. I follow the lives of the man and the woman and how each of them copes with the initial event. The man becomes a lawyer and then a judge and is now on trial for murder of someone else and he must revisit the rape in order to defend himself.

Can you tell us a little about the main characters of your book?

The main characters are the man and the woman. The woman has much trouble coping with the rape and  telling anyone or even admitting that she is not sure if she was raped. Many people might find this all hard to believe, but it is a reality, as many studies have shown. As I said above, the man becomes a judge and is accused of the murder of someone else. He must finally confront the secret of his life in his trial.

If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would that be?

Read. I did not read much fiction as a younger person but now I love fiction and I am catching up with my reading, while I am writing. I wished I had read a whole lot more.

What would you say is one of your interesting writing quirks?

I am a half-outliner and a half-pantster. I try to outline the initial thoughts and plot ideas and then just write and see what would logically happen next, what the next decision of this character would most likely be.

Do you hear from your readers?  What do they say?

I do. I have received some nice reviews, which I love. But I doubt that many people are going to take the time to tell me the book was lousy.

What is the toughest criticism given to you as an author?

I need to “show not tell.” This is the classic writing rule and it is sometimes hard to follow. I think I am showing, through dialogue, but then I lapse into more telling than is necessary.

What has been your best accomplishment?

As an author, I have received awards from my first two novels from Chanticleer Book Review Book Competitions. This has validated my writing from an objective third source, which has been very rewarding.

Do you Google yourself?

I do. Not often, but I do. I read what others have written but usually I already have seen their reviews on Amazon.com.

How many unpublished and half-finished books do you have?

I have a total of three published novels and a whole bunch of partial writings. Everything else is just an idea in my mind. I am still debating on what my next project will be.

Fun question – if you were princess or prince, what’s one thing you would do to make your kingdom a better place?

Get rid of guns of all types, except legitimate hunting rifles and shotguns. I see absolutely no need for guns whose purpose is to kill people.

Do you have anything specific that you would like to say to your readers?

I just hope that they enjoy this book. It was a lot of fun writing it and I want all my readers to have a fun time with my books.

About the Book:

JIM HANSEN AND CORINNE LARSON are overseas college students at Amboise, France. After meeting at a local bar they leave and encounter a drunk. JIM hits him and the man may be dead. At the manor house where they live, they kiss and make love. The next day she accuses him of rape but does not formally charge him. He denies the charge. The police investigate the killing of the drunk.

After they return to California, CORINNE struggles with the whole incident, wondering if she was at fault. She talks to her sisters and then seeks professional help after turning to alcohol.  JIM goes to law school and becomes a deputy district attorney, always wondering if the allegation of rape will surface and whether he did the right thing. He marries another overseas student from Amboise.

ALICIA OBREGON contacts JIM and asks him to dismiss the criminal case against her husband. She informs JIM that she knows all about Amboise and threatens to expose him. He throws the case, thereby allowing a guilty person to go free. Over time he pays her money.

JIM is appointed a judge and ALICIA continues to blackmail him. CORINNE’s husband comes to Sacramento and confronts JIM in his chambers. JIM says he is sorry about the whole thing. JIM goes to a rehabilitation facility but in a few weeks he leaves, feeling he has resolved all of his concerns. 

ALICIA is found dead. ALICIA’s husband is charged with her murder but he implicates JIM because he knows all about the blackmailing scheme. JIM then is arrested and must stand trial for the murder of ALICIA. The prosecutor focuses on JIM’s motive. JIM asks noted trial lawyer MIKE ZORICH to represent him.  JIM turns down a plea bargain and a sensational jury trial follows. JIM is not truthful with his wife, his attorney or the jury. CORINNE’s husband testifies. The jury cannot reach a decision and JIM must live with a tarnished reputation amidst unsettled questions whether he killed ALICIA and raped CORINNE.

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon

Caridad Pineiro's ONE SUMMER NIGHT Available for Pre-Order!

You can order ONE SUMMER NIGHT right now! ONE SUMMER NIGHT by NY Times Bestselling Author and USA Today Bestselling Author Caridad Pineiro isn't officially released until October but you can order your copy now to make sure you're the first to get your copy! Oh wait - while you're looking over her book info below, be sure to sign up to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card! Good luck!

Title: ONE SUMMER NIGHT
Author: Caridad Pineiro
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Pages: 352
Genre: Contemporary Romance

An offer that’s impossible to accept . . .

Maggie Sinclair has tried everything to save her family’s business, including mortgaging their beloved beach house on the Jersey Shore. But now, she’s out of options.

The Sinclair and Pierce families have been neighbors and enemies for almost thirty years. That hasn’t stopped Owen Pierce from crushing on Maggie, and he’s determined to invest in her success. Now he has to convince her that he’s more than just trouble with a capital T…

PRE-ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon Kindle | Amazon Paperback | B&N | iBooks

 

 

Tracy Parker was in love with being in love.

That worried her best friend and maid of honor Maggie Sinclair more than she cared to admit.

In the middle of the temporary dance floor, Tracy waltzed with her new husband in a satin-and-lace designer gown, gleaming with seed pearls and twinkling sequins. But the sparkle dimmed in comparison to the dreamy glow in Tracy’s eyes.

The sounds of wedding music competed with the gentle rustle of seagrasses in the dunes and the crash of the waves down on the beach. The fragrance from centerpiece flowers and bouquets battled with the kiss of fresh sea air.

Connie and Emma, Tracy’s two other best friends and members of the bridal party, were standing beside Maggie on the edge of the dance floor that had been set up on the great lawn of Maggie’s family’s beachfront mansion on the Jersey Shore. Huddled together, Maggie and her friends watched the happy couple do a final whirl.

“She’s got it so bad,” Maggie said, eyeing Connie and Emma with concern past the rim of her rapidly disappearing glass of champagne.

“Do you think that this time he really is The One?” Connie asked.

“Doubt it,” Emma replied without hesitation.

As the DJ requested that other couples join the happy newlyweds, Maggie and her friends returned to the bridal party dais set out on the patio. Grabbing another glass of champagne, Maggie craned her neck around the gigantic centerpiece piled with an almost obscene mound of white roses, ice-blue hydrangea, lisianthus, sheer tulle, and twinkling fairy lights and examined the assorted guests mingling around the great lawn and down by the boardwalk leading to the beach.

She recognized Tracy’s family from their various meetings over the years, as well as some of Tracy’s sorority sisters, like Toni Van Houten, who in the six years since graduation had managed to pop out a trio of boys who now circled her like sharks around a swimmer. Although the wedding invite had indicated No Children, Toni had done as she pleased. Since Tracy had not wanted a scene at her dream beachfront wedding, Emma, who was doing double duty as the wedding planner for the event, had scrambled to find space for the children at the dinner tables.

“Is that Toni ‘I’ll never ruin my body with babies’ Toni?” Connie asked, a perplexed look on her features.  At Maggie’s nod, Connie’s eyes widened in surprise, and she said, “She looks…happy.”

A cynical laugh erupted from Emma. “She looks crazed.”

Maggie couldn’t argue with either of their assessments. But as put-upon as their old acquaintance seemed, the indulgent smile she gave her youngest child was positively radiant.

Maggie skipped her gaze across the gathering to take note of all the other married folk. It was easy enough to pick them out from her vantage point on the dais where she and her friends sat on display like days’ old cakes in the bakery. They were the last three unmarried women in an extended circle of business and college acquaintances.

“How many times do you suppose we’ve been bridesmaids now?” Maggie wondered aloud. She finished off her glass and motioned for the waiter to bring another.

“Jointly or severally?” asked Connie, ever the lawyer.

“Way too many,” replied Emma, who, for a wedding planner, was the most ardent disbeliever in the possibility of happily ever afters.

Maggie hadn’t given marriage a first thought, much less a second, in a very long time. She’d had too many things going on in her life. Not that there hadn’t been a few memorable moments, most of which revolved around the absolutely worst man for her: Owen Pierce.

But for years now, she’d been dealing with her family’s business and its money problems, which had spilled over into her personal finances. As she gazed at the beauty of the manicured grounds and then back toward her family’s summer home, it occurred to her that this might be the last time she hosted a celebration like this here. She had mortgaged the property that she had inherited to funnel money into the family’s struggling retail store division.

Unfortunately, thanks to her father’s stubborn refusal to make changes to help the business, she spent way too much time at work, which left little time for romance. Not to mention that none of her casual dates had piqued her interest in that direction. Looking down from her perch, however, and seeing the happiness on so many faces suddenly had her reconsidering the merits of married life.

“Always a bridesmaid and never a bride,” she muttered, surprising herself with the hint of wistfulness in her tone.

“That’s because the three of us are all too busy working to search for Prince Charming,” Connie said, her defense as swift and impassioned as if she were arguing a case in court.

“Who even believes in that fairy-tale crap?” Emma’s gaze grew distracted, and she rose from her chair. “Excuse me for a moment. Carlo needs to see me about something.”

Emma rushed off to the side of the dance floor, where her caterer extraordinaire, Carlo Teixeira, raked a hand through his thick brown hair in clear frustration. He wore a pristine white chef’s jacket and pants that enhanced his dark good looks.

Emma laid a hand on Carlo’s forearm and leaned close to speak to him, apparently trying to resolve a problem.

“She doesn’t believe in fairy tales, but her Prince Charming is standing right in front of her,” Connie said with a sad shake of her head.

Maggie took another sip of her champagne and viewed the interaction between Carlo and Emma. Definitely major sparkage going on, she thought.

“You’re totally right,” she said with an assertive nod.

Connie smiled like the proverbial cat, her exotic green-gold eyes gleaming with mischief. “That’s why you hired me to represent your company as soon as I finished law school. Nothing gets past me.”

“Really? So what else do you think you’ve seen tonight?”

Raising her glass, her friend gestured toward the right of the mansion’s great lawn where some of the fraternity brothers from their alma mater had gathered. One of the men slowly turned to sneak a peek at them.

“Owen has been watching you all night long,” Connie said with a shrewd smile.

“Totally impossible, and you of all people should know it. Owen Pierce has absolutely no interest in me.”

She set her glass on the table to hide the nervous tremble of her hand as her gaze connected with his for the briefest of moments. Even that fleeting link was enough to raise her core temperature a few degrees. But what woman wouldn’t respond like that?

In his designer tuxedo, Owen was the epitome of male perfection—raven-black hair, a sexy gleam in his charcoal-gray eyes, broad shoulders, and not an ounce of fat on him, which made her recall seeing him in much, much less on a hot summer night on Sea Kiss Beach. She had been staying in the quaint seaside town on the Jersey Shore with her grandmother that summer, much as she had all her life. As they also had for so many years, the Pierce boys had been residing next door for the entire season.

The two beachfront mansions had been built side by side decades earlier, before the start of the Pierce and Sinclair rift. The cost of waterfront real estate had escalated so drastically since their construction that neither family was willing to sell their beloved home to put some distance between the warring clans.

Well, make that the warring fathers, because as far as Maggie was concerned, she had no beef with Owen. They had played together down on the beach as kids. She couldn’t count the many sand castles they’d built or the time they’d spent out in the surf.

But after her mother had died, things had changed, and the carefree spirit of those halcyon days had disappeared. The Pierce boys had stopped coming down to the Shore for the next few years, and combined with the loss of her mom, it had created an emptiness inside her that hadn’t really gone away.

By the time the Pierce brothers returned years later, the feud had gotten worse, and Owen and Jonathan had been instructed to stay away. But an ill-timed and half-drunk kiss with Owen on a moonlit summer night had proved that staying away was impossible. It had also helped the emptiness recede for a bit. Since then, fate had seemed to toss them together time and time again in both their business and personal lives, keeping alive her fascination with him. She felt not quite so alone when he was around, not that she should get used to that.

Owen Pierce had left her once before when she’d needed his friendship the most: right after her mother’s death. His on-again, off-again presence in her life proved that she couldn’t count on him.

Owen stood next to his younger brother, Jonathan, who couldn’t be more different. While Owen was clean-cut and corporate, Jonathan had the scruffy hipster look going on. It was appealing in its own way, but not to her.

“Trust me, Maggie. Your families might be at war, but Owen would clearly love to sleep with the enemy,” Connie said.

She blew out a frustrated sigh. “More reason to avoid him. You know I’m not the kind to sleep around.”

Emma returned, color riding high on her cheeks, but not in a good way.

“Something wrong?” Maggie asked.

Emma kneeled between the two of them and whispered, “It seems the groom had a bit too much to drink and Tracy caught him being hands-on with an old flame.”

“Not Amy? Tracy always lost it if she spotted him with Amy,” Maggie whispered.

“Definitely Amy. Now Tracy is refusing to come out and cut the cake. I have to say, this takes the cake, literally. Married a few hours, and already there’s trouble.”

“Ever the hopeful romantic, Em,” she kidded.

“If you think you can do better, why don’t the two of you come help me talk Tracy off the ledge?”

Caridad Pineiro is a transplanted Long Island girl who has fallen in love with pork roll and the Jersey Shore, but still can’t get the hang of tomato pies. When Caridad isn’t taking long strolls along the boardwalk to maintain her sanity and burn off that pork roll, she’s also a NY Times and USA Today bestselling author with over a million books sold worldwide. Caridad is passionate about writing and helping others explore and develop their skills as writers. She is a founding member of the Liberty States Fiction Writers and has presented workshops at the RT Book Club Convention, Romance Writers of America National Conference as well as various writing organizations throughout the country.

Want to receive Caridad's newsletter with exclusive content just for subscribers and special giveaways?

Just visit http://bit.ly/2cbxlYw to sign up.

Caridad values your privacy and will not share your e-mail or personal information.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK | PINTEREST | GOODREADS

 

 

Caridad Pineiro is giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card!

Terms & Conditions:

• By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
• One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive $25 Amazon Gift Card
• This giveaway ends midnight September 29.
• Winner will be contacted via email on September 30.
• Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

a Rafflecopter giveaway