NIKKI by Michelle Levigne

NIKKI by Michelle Levigne

Quarry Hall Book Five

Nikki lives a faerie tale existence, but after a chance encounter with Joan Archer, she starts to rethink her choices. Brock has changed since convincing Nikki to run away from home. Now his goal is to protect her from his drug lord boss. When his DEA contacts say they can't protect Nikki, Brock must act. He must break her heart to drive her away to be safe.

Ashamed to be the prodigal, Nikki doesn't go straight home. Joan and the Quarry Hall sisters find her and start her healing and the journey home. When the drug lord decides to bring Nikki back and use her to camouflage the organization's activities, he kidnaps her. Quarry Hall and its friends marshal their resources to find her before it is too late.

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Excerpt

"Please, Lord, help me. Show me what to do." Nikki shook her head and watched the teardrops fall on the Bible's pages. "I know what I have to do, but I don't want to. I'm a coward. I'm selfish. I'm--" She slid to her knees again, resting her head on the open Bible, sobbing.

She didn't hear the door open, didn't feel anything until Brock caught her by her elbow and lifted her to her feet.

"You are pathetic! How long are you going to lay around, crying and talking to a God who sure isn't listening? Can't you figure out what you need to do? What's it going to be, Nikki? Me or that baby?"

Later, all that she could remember clearly was that he called it a baby, not a thing, a problem.

She knew what she had to say, what she should say, but the words still caught in her throat.

"Are you gonna abort it, or not?" He dropped her on the bed. "How long are you going to put us through this?"

"I can't--"

He swung back, agony twisting his face. Time slowed, but she couldn't move out of the way as his hand came down and connected hard with her face. Her vision shattered, her neck snapped back and half a heartbeat later she was airborne. The thud when she hit the wall seemed to deafen her and knock the air from her lungs. Nikki slid down, gasping and blinking.

Brock snatched up her Bible and tore it apart at the spine. He yanked and ripped and threw pages across the bed, then across the room.

"Choose!" He threw the cover into her face and stormed out.

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A BOX OF PROMISES by Michelle Levigne

A BOX OF PROMISES by Michelle Levigne

Tabor Heights Year Two


Meg, Andrea, Ray, Bergen and Casey -- dorm sisters with summer plans. Meg: help Mexican orphans. Andrea: publish newspaper articles. Ray: get Michael's attention. Bergen: work with wolves at the zoo. Casey: survive as head camp lifeguard. Those who don't reach their goals pay for a pizza party at the end of the summer.

Sunburn, bubblegum in hair, "mean girls," lunatic customers, temporary blindness, political games and other assorted problems detour the girls from their goals. Life sneaks up and surprises them with opportunities they never expected -- along with five men who find them more than interesting. Will they survive their summer and reach their goals? By the time they return to their dorm, the girls realize that life is what happens when you make other plans.

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Excerpt

We, the undersigned, do hereby swear before God and these witnesses, that we will do something worthwhile and will come back to the fourth floor of Ontario Hall, Butler-Williams University, on Wednesday, August 26, to report to each other on our summer apart.

Anyone who does not fulfill their specific goals or do something even more worthwhile shall pay forfeit by buying a pizza party for all members of the pact.

Solemnly sworn and witnessed. The dorm sisters, fourth floor, Ontario Hall:

Casey Jenkins
VOW: Save a life, get a date for end-of-camp dance
Actually save a life, not just some airhead's social standing like last year when I fixed her dress with a stapler and paperclips -- and get a real date with a guy near my own age, not a pity date with one of the maintenance guys from the boys' camp across the lake.

Meg Tally
VOW: Lose twenty pounds, read through the entire Bible, and teach sewing so all my students have a new dress by the end of the summer.

Maraya Hammersmith
VOW: Work six VBS sessions, grow my hair, get a tan, and finally get the attention of Michael Naismith.

Bergen Mercer
VOW: Work my way up to a job in Wolf Wilderness.

Andrea Gregory
VOW: Write and publish two stories for the Tabor Picayune

A BOX OF PROMISES, Excerpt #2

By the time Hess got off the phone, Andrea had read through fifteen reports and typed in the most interesting and off-beat of them into her computer. Just fifteen incidents over the weekend. It barely took any time at all to go through them. Barking dogs. Kids skinny-dipping in the park after hours. The "ghost" at the Historical Society building turned out to be an archivist working late. The person who reported the ghost had broken her glasses that morning and couldn't see beyond the reach of her hand.

"Slim pickings this week," Hess said with a grin and a shrug, when he walked over to retrieve the report book.

"That loony over on Prague Rd. threatened to beat up the entire circulation department again," she offered.

"Yeah, we know. We have a special folder just for all his threats. The thing is, Prague Road is the dividing line between Tabor and Hyburg, and he's on the Hyburg side of the line. All his threats are for the police in Hyburg to deal with." "Especially since he's grumbling about Hyburg's paper, not ours, and the threats are against their circulation department, not ours. You can't tell him that, though. Every time someone tells him he's calling the wrong office, he goes into his rant about how all the newspapers in the country are owned by the government and he doesn't pay his taxes to get a runaround from lazy communist pinko wannabes who wouldn't know good customer service if it gave them a black eye."

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DARCY by Michelle Levigne

DARCY by Michelle Levigne 


Quarry Hall Book Four

Black Ops doesn’t begin to describe Vincent’s former paramilitary team.

When a friend of the Arc Foundation requests help for a rescue mission facing scandal, he learns two former teammates are involved. Vincent must investigate for the sake of his conscience, but can his instincts be trusted? Who has reformed, and who still waits to destroy those who betrayed him years ago, when their team disintegrated?

Joan comes along, to provide balance and a second pair of eyes. Josh is in charge of renovations. Karl is the fundraiser. Darcy, Josh’s daughter, is an idealistic young woman ready to give her life for what she believes. As Vincent and Joan track down the enemies of the mission, they uncover lies and an insidious scheme, with Darcy as pawn and prize.

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Excerpt

"Coals," Josh murmured. "A new gang," he flung over his shoulder as he broke into a run. Vincent followed. They were only half a block away from Darcy, but right that moment it seemed like miles.

Knives flashed. The three Coals blocked Vincent's view of Darcy. The sidewalk cleared and the traffic on the cluttered street seemed to come to a standstill. A little old lady shrieked. It sounded more like injured pride than pain to Vincent's ears. Then he heard dull thuds and sharp smacking sounds; flesh against flesh.

"Darcy!" Josh shouted as he flung himself onto the back of the nearest Coal. The two went down in a heap.

A second gang member turned, swinging his knife at Vincent. From this close, it looked more like a short sword than a knife. Vincent ducked and turned, kicking high. His foot hit the target, bones snapped, and the Coal went down, shouting in pain, holding his hand. The knife went flying. Vincent turned, looking for the third -- Josh had his opponent well in hand, kneeling on his back and twisting an arm behind him.

The leader of the trio faced Darcy. He had her backed into a doorway, surrounded by barrels and crates of trash, with the Plinkney sisters cowering behind her. Darcy held a four-foot length of rusty, one-inch pipe in a two-handed grip, crouching low, eyes narrowed as she studied her opponent. Her sweatshirt sleeve gaped where it had been sliced and blood soaked into the material, radiating out in a spreading stain, turning the green cloth purple. Darcy seemed not to notice the wound.

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WHEELS by Michelle L. Levigne

WHEELS by Michelle L. Levigne 

Tabor Heights Year Two

Natalie was the little girl across the street who adored Tommy and planned to marry him when they grew up. In the wake of Tommy's broken back and the disintegration of his family, Natalie's family left town.

She never thought she would see him again, until she was assigned to cover the Mission's handicap awareness campaign -- led by Tommy. He didn't seem to recognize her, and she didn't want to embarrass him by bringing up the past, but she had to warn him before the past found Tommy in the shape of his estranged father.

Just when was the right time, in the middle of the campaign and threats from petty criminals who were blackmailing one of Tommy's friends?

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Excerpt

"And you are?" Tommy leaned forward. His eyebrows rose a little when she just stared into his big, chocolate eyes. "Sorry, but nobody told me a reporter was coming. I don't know who you are."

"Oh." She wished she had taken him up on that drink -- she could have splashed it on her face, and maybe generated enough steam to hide behind. "Sorry. Natalie Schaeffer."

"Right!" He leaned back, twisting sideways in his chair so he hooked his right arm over and behind the push-handle.

"You know who I am?"

"Gee, you look so young." He snorted when she shook her head, completely lost. "Natalie Schaffer. She played Mrs. Howell on 'Gilligan's Island.'"

"You are the only person in the whole world who would remember something like that. But it is a different spelling, I must point out."

"Picky, picky. There was this girl I knew when I was a kid. She made the same argument. I used to call her 'Lovey,' and sing the bars about the millionaire and his wife, and she would run away in terror. Gee, give a guy a complex. I was just a dumb kid -- how could I tell her I was passionately in love with her? It just wasn't cool for guys my age." Tommy chuckled. "That's off the record, right?"

"Oh, absolutely. Why would I want to mortally embarrass you in front of half the country?" Natalie bent her head over her notepad, thankful she had written down a list of questions she wanted to ask him. Please, please, please, don't let him recognize me now, after he said all that.

A warm glow shot through her. Tommy had been in love with her, all those years ago? She had been pleased and mortified when he teased her about her name. Maybe if she hadn't run away, she might have known? Then again, what good would it have done either of them, after her father took them to a new church, a new town, and a new state?

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KATHRYN by Michelle Levigne

KATHRYN by Michelle Levigne 

Quarry Hall Book Three

Kathryn's retreat for relaxation and contemplation is interrupted to take a fugitive to safety, beyond the reach of authorities who may be compromised. The injured woman knows her name is Regina, but not why people were shooting at her. The journey to reach a friend in the FBI is complicated when Kathryn's illness requires frequent stops, permitting Regina's pursuers to nip at their heels.

When the mountains interfere with cell reception, and she can't stop long enough to make a call for help and advice, Kathryn has only her companion dog, her own wits, and prayer to depend on. Deception waits around every corner and Regina's attitude tests Kathryn's sympathy and her faith.

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Excerpt:

Regina muttered her farewell and scrambled into the truck. Kathryn stayed leaning against the front of the truck, scratching Bea behind the ears and talking with Pastor Small. She knew her companion wanted to get out of there, but she also knew the minister had questions. He had been patient and helpful and accepted what she told him. She couldn't repay him any other way except with as many answers as she could safely give.

"I really appreciate this," she said. "Not many people these days will help strangers with such a flimsy explanation."

"That isn't reason enough?" Pastor Small laughed and gestured over his shoulder at the white steeple with the gray metal cross on top.

"It should be, but--" She decided not to get into that area.

Sometimes the nastiest, most uncooperative people she had run across in her journeys were people who claimed to be Christians. Nine times out of ten, they based their long lists of what a "real" Christian should be on their own opinions and schemes to earn their way into heaven, and never checked what the Bible said.

"What really convinced you? Back when we were talking in the sanctuary, there was a moment when I thought you were going to throw us out or call the police, then you changed your mind."

"Those." He pointed at the shoes the custodian had given her.

"Oh. Sorry." She went to one knee and started to untie the paint-spattered sneakers.

"No, you ought to keep them." Pastor Small bent down and caught hold of her arm, tugging her upright again. "Four years ago, our youth group put together a time capsule as a joke when they renovated their classroom. Those are my shoes. It was quite a mess, with all the painting we did. We had a great time." He winked. "Those shoes should be in a locked metal box three feet underground, sealed in plastic wrap and cement."

"You're kidding." Kathryn felt a chill race up her back, but it was a good chill.

"Plus," he continued with a lopsided smile, "we don't have a custodian right now. The deacons and trustees and the ladies mission groups and other committees take turns with the upkeep and cleaning. The place hasn't looked this good in years..." Pastor Small tried to laugh. "Whoever -- or whatever -- helped you, he wanted you to be here. Who am I to argue?"

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CODE OF VENGEANCE by Melanie Atkins

CODE OF VENGEANCE by Melanie Atkins

Keller County Cops Book Seven

Sheriff Rick Blaylock relies on an anti-crime platform to win re-election, but with crime on the rise, his critics are relentless. Desperate to prove himself, he must either solve the county's latest murder, or face defeat.

Angry her sister's killer dodged a grand jury indictment, court artist Keegan Riley comes with a plan to avenge her dead sibling, but is thwarted when someone else stabs her intended victim. Still thirsty for revenge, she takes aim at another man who got off scot free, and is again thwarted. What's a girl to do?

Before Keegan can line up victim number three, Rick unearths evidence that puts her at the scene of the latest murder. Should she tell him the truth, or lie? Love is the last thing on her mind, but when he kisses her, she can't help but wonder if falling for him will get her off scot free.

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Excerpt

Keegan tugged her new black turtleneck over her head, pausing only when the soft cotton caught on one of her new garnet earrings. She freed it, settled the shirt over her body, and tugged her hair out of the collar. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the long dark strands back in a tight ponytail. Her pulse raced as she dropped to her haunches to tie her heavy black combat boots. Her charcoal-colored yoga pants fit her like a second skin. Once she donned her matching knit cap and slipped inside that dark alley, she'd disappear.

Vengeance wrapped in shadows.

She strapped a serrated hunting knife to her waist, attached a smaller one to her ankle, and settled the paddle holster containing her brand new Sig Sauer P220 in the small of her back. As an extra precaution, she pocketed a container of pepper spray and picked up the black leather sap she'd ordered off the Internet. The weapon was illegal in Mississippi, but then... nothing about her plan was legal. So what did it matter?

I'm sick and tired of following the damned rules. Rules are why Jenny died. Hell, even after Dirk murdered her, the cops bought his flimsy alibi. Attending an AA meeting, my ass.

Well, that was then, and this is now. Dirk won't win this round. I'm going to see to it. Haley lost her mommy that night, and even though she has her grandma and grandpa now to keep her safe, she'll always have a gaping hole in her life. I'm going to make sure Dirk never has a say in anything, even though he's her father. He doesn't know the meaning of the word.

Keegan grabbed her bike helmet and melted outside into the night. The summer heat enveloped her, and she wished like hell she could shuck the turtleneck, but she didn't dare. Blending into the shadows was more important than not breaking a sweat.

She wiped her brow and hurried over to the detached garage. One flick of her wrist, and the hidden panel at the back of the building swung open to reveal the used Kawasaki motocross bike she'd bought from a kid over in New Orleans for a song. The teen had even agreed to paint it black for her after she'd offered to pay him extra, because he was desperate for cash to buy a car. A week later, she'd picked up the bike. Took her another three weeks of spills and scrapes before she conquered it, but conquer it she did... and now she rode like a pro.

A wide grin split her face as she donned her helmet, rolled the bike from its hiding place, and closed the hidden door. Every time she climbed onto the bike, a thrill shot through her. She'd always been adventurous, but readying herself to take care of Dirk had taken the term adventure to a whole new level. She'd doubled her number of martial arts classes, bought the Sig and learned to shoot, and studied with a local cop who specialized in self-protection for women.

Then, after a two-day computer search, she'd finally located the cruel rat bastard who'd murdered her sister. The skunk had left Hunter's Bayou for a couple of months and returned after he decided the coast was clear. Too bad he hadn't remembered Jenny had a sister. Or if he did, he didn't view her as a threat. The first time he'd put Jenny in the hospital and Keegan had vowed revenge, she hadn't been much of a menace to him. Now, however, she was.

Now, she was ready.

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COOKING UP TROUBLE by Michelle Levigne

COOKING UP TROUBLE by  Michelle Levigne 

Tabor Heights Year Two

Audrey lives for cooking and acting. When the Randolphs experiment with dinner theater, they turn to her to head the kitchen.

Steve returns to Tabor Heights to get to know his new sister, Max. Creating a dinner theater fascinates him, and soon so does Audrey.

As Max and Tony's wedding draws near, so do paparazzi spies. After all, Max is the daughter of celebrities. When Audrey discovers a spy in her kitchen, she spins lies to protect her friends, but finds she needs protection when she is cast opposite Steve in Romeo and Juliet -- and the media speculates she's auditioning to join the celebrity family. Steve becomes her defender and partner in thwarting the paparazzi. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," is more than true for them, but past difficulties and shameful secrets may be building a wall too thick for even friendship to endure.

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Excerpt:

"Who is this incredibly creative lady?" Carlo said, after they had laughed together and made wagers on which of their most-loathed gossip papers would release the false story first.

"Actually... She's my Juliet." Steve held his breath, and counted to eight.

"Come again?"

"I got cast as Romeo, and Audrey is Juliet."

"Oh ho." Carlo's chuckle rolled over him, warm and rich, with a touch of something that made Steve writhe a little. "Be careful to keep reality separate from the fantasy you'll create."

"Dad..."

"Tell me about her. Your mother and I have the right to know the truth about the girl we'll find out you're engaged to by the end of the run."

Steve groaned. He hadn't considered that aspect of getting up on the stage again. Working behind the scenes for eight years now, he had been able to forget what happened the last time he had a leading lady. The sad part was that the girl was so new to the limelight -- winner of a talent search competition -- she actually believed some of the stories she read, pairing her with Steve. For a short while. Fortunately, her awakening came painlessly. When one gossip sheet gave a fictitious biography for her, she realized nothing could be believed just because it was in print.

"Well... okay, she's a baker. I think I heard Max say she went to culinary school. And she's doing pastry for the wedding. She's going to be part of some experiment Joel wants to do with dinner theater..." He groaned again, silently, as he realized he didn't know much else about Audrey, other than where she lived, Max liked her, and she was a loyal member of the cast at Homespun Theater.

"Well, then, I suggest you get to know her better," Carlo said, when Steve related this. "Your leading lady holds your life in her hands, as you hold hers."

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JOAN by Michelle Levigne

JOAN by Michelle Levigne

Quarry Hall Book One

Joan escaped her terrorist mother at fourteen, and didn't know what an "ordinary" life was until she settled in Tabor Heights, seeking the baby sister their mother tried to kill one summer. After four years, she had made a new life, and refused to run away and start over, no matter how many threats came breathing down her neck. She had friends now, and she wasn't going to let anyone hurt them or drive her away from them.

After a series of catastrophes brought her to the breaking point, she received an invitation to visit Quarry Hall, home of the Arc Foundation, and run by a man who claimed to be her father. Joan went to see what he had to say. And despite all her self-preservation instincts, she grew to want to be part of Quarry Hall. But did she dare let go all her secrets, her pain, her shame? It wasn't that she couldn't believe in God -- but could God believe in her?

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EXCERPT

What kind of villain used twine to tie up his victims?

Joan's wrists itched from the fibers as she hobbled down the aisle between tall metal shelves full of grimy crates and packing boxes, and gave another experimental tug with her wrists bound behind her back. A sharp sensation flashed up her arm, followed by warm wet. Either sweat, or she had cut herself with the effort. She was betting on blood, because she had sat for four hours in a dark, grimy storage shed, sweating. The only thing that kept it from being a sweatbox straight out of a prison break movie was that it was made of plastic, not metal. All the time she sat there, no one had asked her any questions. She could have been another crate stored in the shed, for all the attention her captors paid her.

That was about to end, obviously. She would have preferred that they had put a hood over her head, but maybe that was a waste of time, since she had seen three of them. They didn't care what she saw, meaning they could keep her quiet and unable to use what she knew against them.

The man leading the way opened a door at the end of the shadowy aisle. Joan guessed the room was a pre-fabricated module, meant for dividing up large spaces to make them usable. All that mattered was that this room sat near the center of the warehouse. The man walking behind her grabbed her shoulder and half-guided, half-shoved her into the room. She stumbled, but the man who went in first, the beardless, taller one of the two, caught her. He copped a feel before pivoting her around, shoving her into a chair in the corner.

Matt sat in the other corner, hands bound behind him, his ankles tied to the battered wood-and-metal-tube chair with the same brown twine her captors had used on Joan. From the sweat and grime marking his face, darkening his clothes, matting his hair, he had been given the same temporary storage shed treatment. He had some bruises on his face and his bared arms, but no other signs of rough treatment. What was happening now, that they were brought together?

His eyes asked a thousand questions, but he didn't say anything.

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INVITATION TO A WEDDING by Michelle L. Levigne

INVITATION TO A WEDDING by Michelle L. Levigne

A Tabor Heights, Ohio Story

Stacy Belmont was "just" the housekeeper's granddaughter, according to the social snobs in Tabor Heights, and all during their school years, Gretchen Crenshaw fought to "put her in her place" and away from Dinah Ashcroft.

Time, careers, and distance created silence between Stacy and Dinah, who had once vowed to be each other's maid of honor. When Dinah eloped with her Marine hero, Gretchen took over to help plan the blow-out reception of the decade -- and keep Stacy out in the cold.

Drake came home from seminary for the party and knew something was wrong when Stacy left Dinah's present on the back step. When he set out to right a wrong -- Stacy was practically family, after all -- he discovered how important she was to him, and not just as his sister's best friend.

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EXCERPT

"Gretchen never called me." Stacy stopped at the head of the stairs.

"You just said you heard from her--"

"No, I overheard her in the store, loudly telling her cronies how she's the maid of honor and Dinah is depending on her for everything."

"That's only in her really warped imagination." He caught hold of her hands between his, and she realized how much her hands shook and felt icy. "Just this morning, Di said if this was her wedding, you'd still be her maid of honor."

"Really?" No way was she going to let those tears come, but it was a close battle.

"Yeah, and she's been wishing she never hooked up with Gretchen down in Virginia. You should have heard the fight they had over the favors. Di insisted on peach candy sticks and doves, but Gretchen kept saying bells and almonds are in. What doesn't she get that this is Di's party and not hers?"

"She's using the peach sticks and doves?"

Stacy lost the fight with the tears. The next thing she knew, Drake had his arms around her and she was soaking his shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here to make sure everything works out." He sighed and tipped his head so his cheek pressed against her temple. "I know everything's a big mess right now, but honest, Stace, it's all a big mistake. We didn't mean to leave you out. Mom put your name at the top of the guest list and Di swears your name was the first one on the sheet of address labels."

"I guess I was kind of stupid, just sitting and waiting. I could have asked." She sniffled and thought about stepping out of Drake's arms, but she was afraid her wobbly knees might just fold underneath her. Besides, he smelled heavenly, spicy and warm and clean, and she would probably never again have a chance to be held tight against him like this. "I should have known your family wouldn't just shove me out in the cold, like Gre--"

"Like Gretchen has been saying we should do since you guys were in fourth grade? Yeah, like we'd let her tell us what's right and wrong?" Drake chuckled, and the sensation of his chest vibrating against her was delightful.

"Come on, Stace, you gotta come to the party. I mean, if not for Di, then for me."

"You?" A giggle burst out of her. She nearly lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him, positive he was teasing her.

"Yeah, you gotta save me. Gretchen is trying to make sure I'm her date, and I'd rather get the plague than spend the evening with her. Do it for me?"

"Oh, of course, I have to defend your honor." Stacy sniffed and raised her head. She knew better than to look into his eyes as she reluctantly stepped out of his arms. Wiping her eyes, she managed a smile. "Don't you know I'd do anything for you, Drake Ashcroft?"

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ACCIDENTAL HEARTS by Michelle Levigne

ACCIDENTAL HEARTS by Michelle Levigne

A Tabor Heights, Ohio Novel

Tyler Sloane's sister and her children came to live with him when her marriage exploded. A summer of carting children to activities brought him into Abby Morgan's path, and friendship grew between her niece and nephew and his.

Abby was busy with her air courier service and helping her widowed brother raise his children. Common sense said she didn't have time for a relationship -- especially with a man as accident-prone as Tyler. But there comes a time in every woman's life when she has to throw out common sense and take a chance on love. That is, if accidents would stop plaguing her and Tyler, and four mischief-makers could agree that romance isn't "gross," and they should help Aunt Abby and Uncle Ty get together.

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EXCERPT

"Oh, yuck." Abby slowly stood. Strings of bright pink marred with dirty black streaks dripped from her fingers.

"What is it?" Tyler asked with that horrified expression that said he suspected what the answer would be.

"Looks like bubble gum." She turned to hide her grin. Her shoulders shook as she fought giggles.

"Did it ruin anything?"

"Well..." She scraped at the pink and black mess remaining on the cable ends. "Looks like someone was trying to make some repairs, actually."

"What?"

"These connections were snapped. Looks like someone tried to do a patch job with the bubble gum, but the heat melted it."

"Danny. And Pam. They're a matched set." He looked tired, but he grinned. "Too many MacGyver re-runs."

"This sounds good." She returned his grin. If this man had enemies, she suspected they were amusing, cute, and he had just dumped them at the camp hidden in the trees behind them. "Kids?"

"Kids." He sighed. "They broke my cell phone yesterday, otherwise I'd call for a tow. I can't fix anything."

Abby pulled her cell phone from her pocket to call Al. Why not? Her brother's kids had brought her here, so his towing business should profit.

"I'm going to kill him," Tyler said with a crooked grin that made Abby suspect he was proud of the little monster. She just nodded encouragement as she punched in Al's number. "Danny. I can't decide if he's inherited my mechanical ineptitude or not."

"How old?"

"Eight. And ten. Pam ought to know better, but that's her gum. Danny won't chew anything but grape."

"My monsters are ten and nine."

"That's right!" He slapped his thigh and gave her that crooked grin particular to men when they didn't want to admit they had done something stupid.

"Right?"

"I saw you at church a few weeks ago with your kids. You go to Tabor Christian, right?" He barely waited for her to nod she was feeling a little stunned at this point -- and gestured in the general direction of the registration pavilion, through the woods. "They looked so excited about whatever you were signing up for, I decided to check it out. That's how mine are here." He shrugged, his grin widening. "That's how I'm here, too, I guess."
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THE MISSION by Michelle L. Levigne

THE MISSION by Michelle Levigne

A Tabor Heights, Ohio Novel

Thanks to the Arc Foundation, the renovations Claire wanted for the Mission could now become reality. First on the list was a new head custodian to oversee the repairs. She welcomed Paul Hunter and his 5-year-old daughter Sammy, and was thankful for his wholehearted dedication to the Mission -- until she realized one of her deepest fears was having someone take over. Was Paul an ally, or a threat?

Paul welcomed a chance to take his daughter away from his hometown with its painful past and people who preferred to believe the lies about him and his dead wife. Tabor and the Mission were the fresh start and the ministry he had been looking for. He didn't even mind when Sammy took one look at Claire and asked if she was her new mother -- at least, not too much. He wasn't quite sure if he was ready to fall in love again, but if he ever did, Claire would be at the top of his list.

When painful remnants of their pasts followed both Claire and Paul to Tabor Heights, their growing, changing relationship and their faith in God were put to the test. Could they open up their hearts to each other enough to survive, and possibly make the new family that Sammy wanted?

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EXCERPT

Paul pulled the truck into the Holwoods' driveway and climbed out. Brock started making introductions. Paul stepped forward to shake Nikki's hand and the movement revealed a little figure curled up on the bench seat, just starting to stir. Claire barely heard Brock introduce her to Paul, who saw the direction of her gaze and turned back to the cab.

"Hey, sleepy." He reached in and gathered up a bundle of platinum curls, bare feet, and faded denim. Claire felt her face heat up. Proven wrong twice in less than ten minutes. This was not the rebellious adolescent she had envisioned. Sammy Hunter couldn't be more than five years old. An adorable, sleepy five years old. Paul cuddled her close, rubbed her back, and whispered to her as she scrubbed her eyes. When the child finally had both eyes open, her father introduced her to the three adults. Claire couldn't help comparing Paul Hunter with Rich Thomas, his obvious tenderness for his child versus the casual affection the fugitive custodian had sometimes spattered on his adoring little girl.

No doubt about it: Sammy Hunter was wanted long before she was born. Not an accident and burden like poor little Aurora Thomas.

"And this lady is Miss Donnelly. She's Daddy's new boss, too," Paul said, turning Sammy to face her.

"Miss Claire," she responded with a smile. "All the children call me that. I'm so glad to finally meet you, Sammy."

Claire felt her heart twist when the little girl's face lit up slowly, like sunrise. She sat up straight in her father's arms.

"Is she my new mommy?"

"Sammy--" Paul blushed a red so intense it was almost neon. "Miss Donnelly--"

"I prayed really hard," the child continued. "I asked God for a new mommy. I want you."

"Why?" Claire had to ask. She could barely speak, caught between an onslaught of tears, laughter, panic and hunger. Her arms actually ached with the need to cuddle Sammy close.

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BLUE FIRE by Michelle Levigne

BLUE FIRE by Michelle Levigne

Rhianni Day was born on the colony world, Mallachrom. When her father's Rover squadron was sent to the other side of the galaxy, she made a blood vow with Petroc Ash that she would return someday. Then Mallachrom was invaded by the Talroqi, hive creatures who used Humans as hosts and food. Rhianni stayed away, unwilling to face the devastation.

Years later, as a Rover captain and medic, she was sent back to investigate the survivors of the invasion. Were they damaged, dangerous, puppets of the Talroqi, or victims of vicious lies?

Petroc led the survivors, and while he had dreamed of Rhianni's return, he knew that fulfilling their childhood vow would put her life in danger. Neither of them dreamed that they were mere tools in a war that had been brewing for decades, and was about to come to an explosive conclusion.

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EXCERPT

A man trudged up the slope, his boots sliding on the muddy, rocky trail. His hands were full of pocket flowers that nodded and spattered drops of dew with every step he took. He raised his head and looked her directly in the eye. For two seconds he froze, then a chagrined smile brightened his face.

"Danil, I told you not to bother the lady."

"But she's done." Danil tugged on Rhianni's hand, threatening her balance as they slip walked down the slope.

Rhianni knew him. Not consciously, his name and where she had seen him before. Something deep inside her, where she had already fallen in love with Danil, recognized the boy's father. His eyes, dark, wide, deep and touched with somber sadness. They were eyes she remembered, eyes that never lied to her. His thick, black hair hung in tangled curls to his shoulders. Too long for most settlers.

Not too long for one of the Taken, but he couldn't be a Taken, could he? Danil's easy acceptance of her and now his father's calm presence flew in the face of all the rumors that labeled the Taken as anti-social. Rhianni nearly laughed aloud at this first proof that her gut instinct refusal of those rumors and official reports had been dead on. Then her delight at meeting a Taken so soon on landing took over. She tried to stand back and really look at him, mentally filing details for her first report. Rhianni had heard stories of how the Taken had been living like wild animals when they were supposedly rescued from the custody of the Shadows, after the liberation of Mallachrom. Despite the attempts to rehabilitate and re-educate them, they preferred living on the outskirts of civilization now, settlers and hunters, explorers, and harvesters. Their detractors claimed they were psychosomatically allergic to processed foods and synthetic clothes and medicines. They mocked the modern fashions of clothes, hair and decoration, and preferred their rough clothing. Their stringent moral codes made the people in Core seem like participants in an orgy.

This half-familiar stranger moved with a light agility and strength that Rhianni associated with trained warriors. He possessed grace despite the mud that clung to his boots and made him slip. His wide shoulders and the muscles evident under his simple clothes proclaimed him a man who lived outdoors and could handle any kind of physical labor.

"What do the Rovers want now?" he asked. A crooked smile caught one corner of his mouth when Rhianni just stared blankly at him for several seconds.

"Oh, sorry." She slapped a hand over the patch on her sleeve, as if she could hide it and make him forget what he saw.

"If you're trying to recruit Taken for the Corps again, forget it. We knew ten years ago we'd die if we left Mallachrom, but nobody listened to us. Nothing's changed. You won't get any more volunteers to murder with your tests, and there's no war on, so you can't conscript us."

"No. I'm on leave. No Rover activity here at all." She fought the urge to cross her fingers against the bad luck of that particular lie.

Her stomach twisted, part-guilt and part-sorrow for the pain hidden under the chill in his voice. Rhianni had felt sick when she read the report on the deaths of the Taken who had volunteered for intensive testing. Their hyper-sensitivity could have been a powerful weapon for the Rovers, if they hadn't sickened five days of space flight away from Mallachrom. If they hadn't declined and died with terrifying speed.

The details of the wasting illness reminded her of her mother's decline and death. Rhianni had never finished that particular report.

"Dada, she's Rhianni," Danil said. He frowned and looked back and forth between the two adults, as if he expected something from them.

"Anni?" the man breathed. Blue sparks glimmered in his black eyes for a heartbeat.

Rhianni's knees nearly folded under her. The crack in his voice spoke to something deep inside her. He knew her -- why couldn't she remember him? The frustration nearly wrung a whimper from her.

"Took you long enough," he said. "You kept your promise. Never doubted you. Even if it's not the right..." He shifted the flowers to one hand and gestured around the muddy river clearing as if she could understand what went through his mind.

"Promise." Rhianni blinked, momentarily dizzy.

He held out his hand, thumb up. Her gaze fastened on his thumb and the thin white scar across the pad. A scar that matched the scar on her own thumb.

"Petroc." Rhianni laughed and flung her arms tight around him. A thousand questions tried to pour up through her mouth, mixed with laughter, tears and apologies for all the years of silence and her fear for him. They clotted into a thick knot that threatened to strangle her. Heat shot through her as his clean, musky, leather-and-wood-smoke scent invaded her head and made her feel hollow inside.

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BOREALIS - THAT SYNCING FEELING by Michelle Levigne

BOREALIS - THAT SYNCING FEELING by Michelle Levigne

On the other side of a space anomaly, Rover Pilot Nureen Keala came face-to-face with her childhood hero. Problem: Creed died fifty years ago in a devastating space battle. Telepathically linked with a shapeshifting creature named Tessur, Nureen had to get her scout craft repaired and get off the Borealis, but she wasn't sure who she could trust. Certainly not this Tedrin Creed look-alike, and maybe not even Tessur. Forget the TPP.

Tedrin Creed had been stuck on the Borealis five years, after falling through the space anomaly during a massive battle. He doubted Nureen's claim to be a Rover -- the uniform and technology were totally wrong. Problem: she sure reminded him of his best friend, "Killer" Keala. Bigger problem: the anomaly was closing, time was running out, and he had to convince someone he didn't quite trust to escape with him now -- or never.

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EXCERPT

Nureen closed her eyes, even though she couldn't see anything other than the inside of her craft. That was exactly why she needed to close her eyes -- there was nothing, not even darkness beyond the viewport, and all her screens were filled with static. She gulped, feeling her insides trying to rearrange themselves again, and opened her eyes. If she ever let on that she had gotten space-sick, her fellow crewmembers would never let her forget it.

That was assuming she would get out of this alive.

I can either hold our matter together, Tessur responded, or access your memories and units of measure to answer your question. Take your pick.

You don't have to get snippy.

Sorry. I realize this is pretty frightening -- no, actually, you're not frightened. Angry, knocked off balance, confused, but not frightened. You are made of rather sterner stuff than the usual unwilling traveler, aren't you?

Who was--

And here we are! Tessur sounded vastly relieved. If he had been something other than a sweet-smelling fuzzy blanket wrapped around her, Nureen thought he might have been sweating hard enough to drown her. My ship was pulverized by those horrendous hive creatures. It wasn't worth what I paid for it, but it was all I had. If you could make arrangements to drop me at... Oh... my.

"Oh my what?" Nureen rasped, as she skimmed over her console, bringing sensors back online and taking in the readings. Even before the first visual came through her scorched video feeds, she knew it had to be serious if Tessur sounded so disconcerted. It was hard reading someone else's emotions if all she had was a voice in her head and no face -- and no real experience -- to help her interpret.

I've never been in this particular dimension before. Sorry. Tessur slid off her shoulders and melted into something that resembled a neon green puffball with multiple gossamer wings. It floated at her shoulder level, with maybe thirty centimeters between them, and she had the distinct impression that he looked over her console with her, even though he didn't have eyes.

Nureen stared at the image of a massive mechanical construction hanging before her, several thousand kliks away, in high orbit around a devastated-looking planet. She had thousands of images of different worlds in her memory -- a good pilot knew how to make visual identification of the various civilized worlds without having to depend on mechanical memory banks -- and this place was too striking to be easily forgotten. And that meant if she couldn't recall it, then she had never visited this world or seen it in anybody's log records before.

And Tessur hadn't seen it before, either.

I do believe we've discovered a new dimension.

"Ya think?"

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WHITE ROSES by Michelle Levigne

WHITE ROSES by Michelle Levigne

A Tabor Heights, Ohio Novel

Twenty years ago, Toni's sister, Angel, was killed by her secret boyfriend. Now, the White Rose Killer is stalking and killing young women, searching for his true love. Toni is sure this is the same boy who killed Angel, grown to be a dangerous man.

Curt, assistant editor at the Tabor Picayune, has the same theory. They team up in a race against time to dig through the past to identify Angel's killer, before he chooses, terrorizes, and kills another victim.

To protect Toni from being chosen as the White Rose's next 'true love,' Curt and Toni pretend to be involved. Reluctant partnership turns to friendship and then to something more, but will it last beyond the unmasking of the killer?

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EXCERPT

"Donovan said he'd get somebody started checking places that supply greenhouses, and places that would provide building materials. But wouldn't they report something like that being stolen?" She brought the pot over to the table, shoved aside a stack of papers, and put it on a trivet in the center of the table.

Curt inhaled deeply of the fragrant steam rising out of the pot and groaned. "That is not jar sauce. Please tell me you made it."

"Gotta have something to do when you're frustrated and you can't get to the gym." Toni blushed and grinned and stepped over to the refrigerator to pull out a big bowl of salad. "With a name like Napolitano, I better be able to make a decent pot of sauce."

"You are the perfect woman. Marry me."

Curt held his breath and went stone still, afraid to look at Toni. She, on the other hand, started dishing up the spaghetti as if she hadn't heard what he said. If she did hear, she didn't react. He slowly, cautiously released his breath, and congratulated himself that Toni knew him so well, she knew he was joking.

That was good, wasn't it?

"What if Donovan doesn't find any report of that greenhouse panel being stolen?" Toni continued, as she dished up her own spaghetti.

"How much surplus do you think anyone has sitting around?" he countered, and concentrated on twirling strands around his fork. He flinched when Toni reached over and slapped his hand.

"Bless the mess before you eat, okay?" She grinned at him when he looked up at her, startled and half-guilty.

Curt nearly took hold of her hands before he bowed his head to pray, just like he had seen dating couples do at Singles outings for church. That urge scared him, so he ended up clasping his hands together tightly in his lap. What was wrong with him lately?

For a few minutes after he said 'amen,' neither one said anything, busy with scooping up salad and putting dressing on it. He groaned at the first spicy, rich taste of the dark red spaghetti sauce. In college, he had lived on spaghetti and other inexpensive food, but instead of getting sick of it, Curt had turned himself into a connoisseur. Toni's creation ranked up there with the best he had ever tasted. She laughed when he told her so.

"Flattery will get you a quart to take home, if you really like it that much."

"Forget about taking it home. I'll drink it instead of coffee."

"Low blood sugar. Definitely. You're getting loopy." She picked through her salad bowl for a moment. "Okay, the greenhouse panel. What if it was never reported stolen because the White Rose owns a greenhouse?"

"That'd make sense. They've been trying to use the roses as a lead, but no luck." Curt chewed for a minute or two while he thought it over. "He grows roses for himself, to give his victims."

"I didn't see anything about greenhouses or even belonging to a garden club, when I looked through the list. Did you?" Toni sighed and shrugged when Curt thought a moment and shook his head. "Got the feeling we'll spend the whole evening looking through the disks Baxter gave us?"

"Just keep the spaghetti coming."

Toni laughed, and that suited Curt just fine.

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EMBRACING THE LEMONADE LIFE by Sandra Sookoo

EMBRACING THE LEMONADE LIFE by Sandra Sookoo

When life gives you lemons, use them for lemonade or let them sour your life.

Clara Tildon, a cancer survivor, has no time for defeatism. She's opened up the Cute as a Button B & B in Bridgewater, Indiana, and along with her guinea pig, is embracing the lemonade lifestyle. It was always how she wanted to live. Everything is perfect, except for the nagging sensation that she would still like to fall in love.

Jake Yates has returned to Bridgewater, the town he grew up in, for his friend's wedding and he's not happy about it. He got out once and coming back, even for a visit, is not on his agenda. The people of Bridgewater can keep their small town life, it's in his past and that's where he intends it to stay. Even loneliness can't make him reconsider his decisions.

A chance meeting. A fleeting kiss. Suddenly two polar opposites get a unique chance at love. But can Clara give up living in the moment long enough to see Jake as an opportunity she needs to plan for? Can Jake alter his well-laid plans to fit Clara in his life? Or will they both let love get away?

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EXCERPT

She held up a hand, palm outward. "Let me finish. However long I have, I have, okay? I intend to live that time to the fullest. If you can't deal with this fact, you need to go. I'm full up on pity." How would he react? Would he indeed leave, feeling rebuffed and reprimanded? Her stomach churned. This was one of the things she hated about being sick. The wondering, the reworking of relationships because you never knew why people were being nice to you.

"That'll be a little hard to do." He fiddled with a few hollowed out lemon halves, refusing to meet her gaze.

"Why?" He'd caught her off guard. She burned with curiosity to know what he meant. The detritus from making lemonade still lay scattered on the tabletop. Needing something to occupy her hands, she whisked the pitcher away, carrying it to the faucet and began to add cold water to the lemon juice and sugar already inside.

"I've cleared my schedule for the rest of the week. You'd better let me know if you're planning on tossing me out. If you are, I'm temporarily homeless."

Surprised at his announcement, she shut off the water, spinning around with the pitcher still clutched in her fingers, and crashed right into Jake's chest. Lemonade sloshed all over him, her and the floor. Everything smelled like a lemon grove. "You did what?" She brushed a bit of peel from the front of his red sweatshirt. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. I said I wanted to taste the famous lemonade. You interpreted that as bathing me in it. No big deal but I'd much rather share a soak in a bathtub with you instead."

Tiny fires licked at her insides as her chest tightened from his teasing. No words sprang to mind to answer him.

"Listen, Clara." He stepped into her flight path. Sincerity and humor lit his eyes. "I'm taking the week off. To stay here -- with you." Gently, he tugged the empty pitcher from her and dropped it into the sink where it bounced against the stainless steel with a clatter.

"Why?" She could hardly think when her heart raced so fast. A drop of lemonade clung heroically from his chin.

Jake shrugged. "A lot of reasons but mainly you and this town have a hold on me I can't shake. It's best I investigate the reason, don't you think, unless you want me to clear out so you can have your house all to yourself again?"

"Uh, no. Please stay." Oh my God, wishing on the star worked! Now what do I do? Pinned between him and the sink, she ducked out of his grasp and gathered the used lemon halves. She couldn't very well leap across the room and hug him, right? Well, I could but I'd look even crazier than I already do. She bit the inside of her lip. Crud. The trouble with living life in the moment was sometimes, you either needed more than that one moment or you became trapped in it. There wasn't an easy escape and she didn't know if she wanted to run from what hovered on the outskirts. Might as well make the best of it and see what happens. "Actually, I'm glad because you're not ready to go back to the big city. You're not a cynic at heart, I think." Before he could say anything, she lobbed a lemon shell at him, snorting when it bounced off his shoulder.

His expression went from sincere to downright mischievous in the blink of an eye. "Is that right?" Darting to the table, he scooped up a few rinds and chucked them her way in rapid precision.

Clara screeched, taking cover behind a small, wheeled work cart. "That's not fair!" She threw another shell. This one missed him to plop in the lemonade lake on the floor.

"Nothing's fair when there's a kitchen war." He hurled a new rind. This one glanced off the top of her head.

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FORGIVEN by Michelle Levigne

FORGIVEN by Michelle Levigne
A Tabor Heights, Ohio Novel

Four years ago, Nikki James ran away from home to be with Brock Pierson. She was 17, and he was 25. They both thought they were in love, but Brock had dangerous secrets that nearly killed Nikki -- and did kill their baby shortly after she was born.

Now, Nikki works for the Arc Foundation, a philanthropic organization. She has her life back on track, and her spiritual life as well. Arc sends her home to Tabor Heights, to assess the Mission and determine if Arc should partner with Nikki's home chuch to fund the Mission and expand its outreach.

Nikki has to face the people who watched her grow up and who know the mess she made of her life. She has to face the boy who broke her heart in high school -- and drove her into Brock's arms.

And she has to face Brock, because he is out of jail and determined to make up for his past crimes -- and win her heart back.

The only problem is that some dangerous men from Brock's past have followed him to Tabor Heights as well.

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EXCERPT

"Could I see her grave?" he asked, getting up slowly, like a creaky old grandfather, from the bench against the wall parallel to the stairs. It was a good guess that he had been waiting for her to come downstairs again.

Nikki was just too tired to argue. This wasn't like all the times she swallowed misgivings to make Brock happy. She wasn't scalding her conscience and building a callous that let her do stupid things. She would never throw aside what she knew was right to make someone else happy, ever again. No matter how much she thought she loved him. No matter how much she thought he loved her.

This was keeping the peace, so he would leave as quickly and quietly as possible. Still, she couldn't help resisting a little bit.

"Why? She's not really there."

"I know that. It's just... I was getting all geared up to learn how to be a daddy... and now I'll never know."

"If I had aborted her like you ordered me, there wouldn't even be a marker."

"Nikki!" He stomped away a few steps, whirled and spread his arms as if he would lunge at her. Or hug her. Nikki held her ground, stunned to realize she hoped he would hit her so she could fight back. Vincent and Joan had taught her to hold her ground and defend herself -- but never to provoke arguments, never trick someone into attacking her. What was wrong with her?

Arguing and deliberately baiting someone wasn't approved behavior for a representative of the Arc Foundation. Nikki knew Joan and the Carters would be disappointed, at the very least.

Worse, Jesus would be disappointed. She worked for the Arc Foundation to do good in the world, to heal wounds -- and here she was picking at her own wounds, and Brock's, deliberately making them worse. What was wrong with her? Was it just fatigue? Or hadn't she healed as much as she thought?

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MARKED FOR MURDER by Melanie Atkins

MARKED FOR MURDER - Keller County Cops Book One by Melanie Atkins

Detective Jonah McKee is forced to juggle caring for his rowdy three year-old son and protecting a beautiful amnesia victim who was targeted by a vicious serial murderer...or was she?

Brooke Wilson finally remembers her own name - and the name of the man trying to kill her - and the terrifying memory sends her on the run again.

Jonah is forced to hide his son and go with her in order to protect her, and along the way they fall in love.

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EXCERPT

His gaze locked with hers, and she abruptly realized his eyes were a deep cobalt blue that matched his shirt. His gaze was searing in its intensity, and it started a whole other ache inside her. He dribbled another batch of ice chips into her mouth, then sat back and crooked his lips.

"Didn't think you'd ever wake up."

"Wh-who are you?" she asked, crunching the ice. "Where am I? What... happened? I don't know why--"

"You're at River Park Hospital in Hunter's Bayou -- in ICU, as a precaution," he said, his face hardening. He set down the cup. "I don't know what happened to you. Only that someone found you on Highway 463 near the Louisiana line. He thought you were dead."

"On the... highway?" Fear flashed through her. Fear of a man whose identity lay hidden deep inside the recesses of her brain. A tremor rocked her. Yet instinctively, she knew the man feeding her ice chips wasn't the same person. This kind man would never hurt her. She swallowed. "I don't... understand."

"You were found wrapped in a tarp on the side of the road."

"Oh, my God." She looked down and abruptly realized she wore casts on her left wrist and right ankle. Her head throbbed, and she still had no idea who she was. And a tarp?

He took her hand. "Your purse -- I'm assuming it's yours -- was wrapped up with you. Your driver's license--"

"You know my name?" Hope welled inside of her, and she squeezed his hand.

He lifted a brow. "You don't?"

"No. I've been wracking my brain -- but I have no memory of anything before now." She shook her head, and the motion sent a spike of pain through her right eye. She grimaced.

A look of sympathy passed over his face. "Lie still, so you won't get sick. You have a head injury."

"Okay," she murmured, desperate for information. "So you... you know who I am?"

"Yes," he said, watching her closely. "According to your license, you're Ellen Robinson."

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BELOVED CAPTIVE by Melanie Atkins

BELOVED CAPTIVE - New Orleans Detectives: Book Four by Melanie Atkins

Detective Kevin Jacobs believes integrity is the most important trait a cop can possess, until a beautiful doctor accuses him of murder and he's forced to take her hostage in order to clear his name. Rebecca Daniels cooperates with Kevin, and soon finds herself in a fight for her very life--and her heart.

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EXCERPT

He gritted his teeth. "We're going to get up together and you won't make a sound. Got that?"

She didn't answer. Didn't move, didn't breathe. Silence filled the space around them so completely Kevin forgot to breathe, too. When he did, he drew in the bitter tang of blood. The coppery scent caught in his throat.

He gripped the back of her neck and squeezed, careful to keep his fingernails from digging into her tender skin. "You hear me?"

She nodded slowly, and a lone tear dripped down her cheek. Her pulse skittered wildly beneath his hand.

He tamped down the urge to be gentle with her slender, quivering body. He needed her to fear him so she wouldn't cause a commotion as they left the courthouse. How he'd get away without leaving a trail of blood, he didn't know. But he had to try, and she was his best hope.

"Get up." He rose and pulled her with him.

She held herself rigid. He turned her around. The light hit her face and he reeled from the animosity written there. Her eyes were the color of a clear summer sky. They snapped with rage.

"You killed Judge Boykin." Her sharp words made him blanch.

He tightened his grip on her arm. "It wasn't me."

"Oh, no? I saw you." Her accusing gaze slid down his black-clad body and he suddenly realized he and Fowler could be mistaken for twins -- except for the blood now soaking his clothes.

She tried to wriggle free, but he held her fast.

"I can't let you go. I need your help."

"Are you crazy?" She gaped at him.

He fought off a wave of dizziness. "I have to get out of here. I'm losing blood fast."

She looked at his side and her eyes widened. "Oh, my God."

"He stabbed me."

"Who did?" Her gaze jerked to his. "The judge?"

"No." There wasn't time to explain further. He eyed the window.

"There's no way out," she said "except the door."

"We'll see about that." He lifted the Glock to her head. "Walk over to the window. Now."

"Surely you're not planning to--"

He looked at her.

"You are." The blood drained from her face.

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FIRESONG by Michelle Levigne

FIRESONG - A Tabor Heights, Ohio Story From Michelle Levigne

Dani Paul's parents died when she was eleven. She threw herself into her brother and cousins' fledgling band and devoted herself to ministry. Nine years later, Firesong was ready to break into the big-time.

Kurt Green came back to Tabor Heights to prepare for a crusade and celebrate his cousin Katie's marriage to Dani's brother, Andy. As the summer wore on, he found more and more in common with Dani -- music, dedication to ministry, love for Katie and Andy, pain and faith during tragedy, and a belief that ministry and marriage didn't mix. But Kurt realized he might be wrong, especially where Dani was concerned.

Now he just had to convince her that two could handle a traveling ministry just as well, if not better, than one.

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EXCERPT

Kurt stood in the back of the auditorium with his mouth hanging open and didn't care if anyone saw him. He had been impressed at the Mission, but that had been Firesong having fun with friends. Here, this was Firesong polished and sparkling, professional without being slick. Dani glowed, even when the spotlight didn't track her as the lead.

He wished he had a dozen roses to give her when she walked off the stage. He wished he had the right to kiss her when he told her how wonderfully the band performed.

"Hot stuff," the bass player for the White Knights said, with a chuckle just loud enough for Kurt to hear. The only reason they had come to the opening meeting of the conference was because there was nothing else to do on campus. "Think we can get her to quit those dweebs and sing with us?"

"Wonder which one she belongs to?" the drummer said.

"Three are her cousins," Kurt said, leaning over the back of the seats, close enough to smell the musky perfume someone had bathed in. "The one at the keyboard is her big brother. Lay one hand on her, and they'll break more than your drumsticks."

For once, he saw something like respect in the snot's face. Kurt wished he could have made stronger threats. He felt soiled, as if it were his fault these immature hypocrites ogled Dani.

Still, how could anyone not want to get close enough to look in her eyes and hold her hand, put an arm around her and even dare to taste the sweetness of her kiss? Dani was the epitome of the inner beauty Paul had praised in his epistle. It wasn't her fault that it made cretins want to own her.

"Please, Lord," Kurt whispered as Firesong slid into their third number of the evening, "keep her safe."

He fully intended to hand the White Knights over to a conference worker at the end of the opening ceremonies and hurry backstage to congratulate Firesong and warn them, but his cell phone rang. The crusade team in Tabor Heights had an emergency -- the fairgrounds had been booked for the crusade for eight months now, but now the administrators suddenly claimed someone else had priority. A one-day event in the middle of the crusade week. Kurt wished he could simply pass the task of straightening things out to someone else, but he was the leader of the team for another month, until his superiors came to town and took over. He also knew who to call and what buttons to push and strings to pull.

He handed the White Knights over to another guard and hurried off to do his most important job. He would have to trust God to keep Dani safe.

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CHOSEN TARGET by Melanie Atkins

CHOSEN TARGET - New Orleans Detectives: Book Three by Melanie Atkins

Jadan Calloway's latest night out on the town ends in the death of the man who charmed her off her feet. Now the people who killed Kent are after her, and the only man who can save her is Cole McAlister, the rugged, willful detective who believes she is behind his brother's death. Together they become wrapped up in a web of terrorism and intrigue--and they fall in love.

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EXCERPT

New Orleans Police Investigative Unit Commander Cole McAlister slammed out of his car beside Jadan's Java and looked around. The city had changed since he'd left for his second stint in Iraq thirteen months ago. The flood after the hurricane had decimated the place, but citizens had rebuilt. This area around the UNO campus seemed to be thriving, with what looked like a bookstore going up next door to the coffee shop. The odors of paint and new lumber mingled with the enticing smell of freshly brewed java.

He shook off the jet lag still dogging him and approached Slade Montgomery, his good friend and most trusted detective, who stood near the coffee shop's glass door jotting notes in a small spiral notebook. "What've we got?"

Slade looked up. "An attempted murder."

"At least it's not another body." Murders were up again this month. Cole ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape fluttering in the chilly breeze and stuck his hands in his pockets. Slade's mouth curved. "You might change your tune once you learn who almost took a bullet."

"Why would I do that?"

"It's Jadan Calloway."

Jadan. The woman who had been with Kent the night he'd died. Anger rose up to choke Cole. Kent had been his twin. His confidant. His best friend. He turned and peered through the metal-framed door. A pretty blonde woman sat at a table near the counter, her hands wrapped around a colorful mug as she stared blankly into space. Her slim beauty punched Cole like a fist to the gut.

Slade put a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy, now. She's clean."

"I read your report."

"I couldn't hold her on it." He dropped his hand. "She had no priors, nothing that told me she did it, no evidence that she knew Kent before that night. And now--"

"Someone tried to kill her."

"Looks like it."

"Shit." Cole battled the urge to shove the door open and rail at her. Instead, he blinked back tears and stared out into the night. Kent had been his own flesh and blood. They'd shared the same DNA, the same egg, for God's sake. Cole had been older by five minutes. But Kent had always been the most daring. That point had been driven home by his untimely death. Hot sex in his truck in a parking lot with a stranger.

He set his jaw. "I need to talk to her."

"Figured you'd want to." Slade tucked his notebook into his coat pocket. "Need my help?"

"No, thanks." Cole shook his head. "I can handle it."

Slade bobbed his head. "All right. See you tomorrow."

"Bright and early." He paused until Slade climbed into his car and sped away.

Cole's heart jackhammered as he turned and opened the door. A bell jangled. Jadan looked up, and terror streaked across her face.

A dark-haired girl who looked to be in her early twenties came out from the back and stood behind the counter with her arms crossed.

"What's the matter, Ms. Calloway?" Cole quirked his lips. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

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