Howdy all!  I’m celebrating that BROKEN releases in just over a week.  So, I’ve decided to start blogging again – once a week on Tuesdays.  Yes, I know it’s Monday, but I promised my FB Street Team (Rebecca’s Rebels) that I’d post a contest today, so that’s why I’m here a day early.  We’ve had a rainy and beautiful spring here, and I thought I’d share a couple of my pictures along with my planning page for the week.  Also, Broken releases in a week, so I’ve added an exclusive excerpt below, just so you can get a taste of Wolfe and Dana’s romance.

I’ve decided to use one planner for my schedule, which will be busier next year when travel starts up again, and one planner for fitness/wellness, because after this whole Covid-19 situation, I’m getting healthy.  Here are my two plans for the week – both mainly using Happy Planners and their awesome stickers.  In the Big, I still have the fitness/health stuff this week, but next week I don’t.  Also, in the fitness layout, I have a place for a quote or idea from either my time on the nordictrack or the 10 minute mediation with Daily Calm.  Here are the layouts:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anyway, it’s fun picking up a new hobby, and it has been while since I planned with all of theses fun stickers.  Next up, I have some great shots from around our house during spring.  I hope you like these!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next up, I have an exclusive excerpt from BROKEN, and instructions for how to enter the contest are below it

Questions zinged around in Dana’s head, but she had to make sure both men were okay before getting down to business. “Did you see who shot at you this time?”

Wolfe shook his head. “No. They just scattered bullets and then got out of there. We had to run to the truck, which was a few blocks away.”

They’d run bleeding like this? Dana ignored the way the room seemed to be swirling around her. “Are you two injured anywhere else?”

“No,” Malcolm said.

“You were knocked out, Mal.” Wolfe’s eyes had gone a deep hue, and his movements were stiff. Though he stood near them, somehow he seemed far away. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it isn’t.” Mal wiped his forehead off, leaving a smear of blood across his eyebrow. “How bad is it?”

Dana turned and bile rose up her throat. The deep cut ran from his temple to above his eye,  and it was still bleeding. Honestly, it was pretty ugly. She couldn’t see bone, but there was no way a bandage would keep that skin together. “You need stitches.”

Wolfe sighed. “Let’s get you to the doctor.”

“No. You stitch it up.” Mal pressed the bloody towel to his head again. “After you take off your shirt so we can see how bad you’ve been shot. We can go to the doctor for you, if you want.”

“I’m fine,” Wolfe all but snarled.

That was it. Just plain and simple it. The room smelled like blood and dirt, and Dana couldn’t take any more. Adrenaline raced through her veins, and her heart rate would not slow down. One or both of them could’ve been killed, and they were acting like it wasn’t the big deal that it really was. “Take off your damn shirt, Wolfe,” she ordered, pressing her hands to her hips. “You have two seconds. Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

He turned then, stepping into her space, his body vibrating and his eyes ablaze. “Try it.”

Deep Ops Book 3
May 26, 2020

International

 

CONTEST:  Comment below for a chance to win, and answer this question:  If you were stuck on a deserted island for the rest of your life, with only ONE food, what would it be?  (Food, not drink.  You can have all the drinks you want).  We’ll randomly draw a name in one week and notify the winner.  Good luck!

 

Fun news!  Hidden hit the USA Today bestseller list, and this is the first time a Book 1 in one of my series has hit a list.  (Except for the Realm Enforcers, which was a spinoff).  So THANK YOU to everyone who preordered or purchased the book in the first week.  This is an adult romantic suspense book featuring wounded heroes and a crazy dog who is fascinated with high heels and would rather eat lipstick than steak.  If you haven’t had a chance to grab a copy, there’s still time.   If you’re on the fence, I’ve included the first chapter here for everyone to read.  

HIDDEN

Chapter 1

The day he moved in next door, dark clouds covered the sky with the promise of a powerful storm. Pippa watched from her window, the one over the kitchen sink, partially hidden by the cheerful polka-dotted curtains. Yellow dots over crisp white background—what she figured happy people would use.

He moved box after box after box through the two-stall garage, all by himself, cut muscles bunching in his arms.

Angles and shadows made up his face, more shadows than angles. He didn’t smile, and although he didn’t frown, his expression had settled into harsh lines.

A guy like him, dangerously handsome, should probably have friends helping.

Yet he didn’t. His black truck, dusty yet seemingly well kept, sat alone in the driveway as he removed the crates.

She swallowed several times, instinctively knowing he wasn’t a man to cross, even if she had been a person who crossed others. She was not.

For a while, she tried to amuse herself with counting the boxes, and then guessing the weight, and then just studying the man. He appeared to be in his early thirties, maybe just a few years older than her.

Thick black hair fell to his collar in unruly waves, giving him an unkempt appearance that hinted nobody took care of him. His shoulders were tense yet his body language fluid. She couldn’t see his eyes.

The question, the damn wondering, would keep her up at night.

But no way, there was absolutely no way, she would venture outside to appease the beast of curiosity.

The new neighbor stood well over six feet tall, his shoulders broad, his long legs encased in worn and frayed jeans. If a man could be hard all over, head to toe, even in movement, then he was.

A scar curved in a half-moon shape over his left eye, and some sort of tattoo, a crest or something, decorated his muscled left bicep. She tilted her head, reaching for the curtains to push them aside a little more.

He paused and turned, much like an animal going on alert, an overlarge box held easily in his arms. Green. Those eyes, narrow and suspicious, alert and dangerous, focused directly on her.

She gasped. Her heart thundered. She fell to the floor below the counter. Not to the side, not even in a crouch, she fell flat on her butt on the well-scrubbed tiles. Her heart ticking, she wrapped her arms around her shins and rested her chin on her knees.

She bit her lip and held her breath, shutting her eyes.

Nothing.

No sound, no hint of an approaching person, no rap on the door. Her throat closed, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

After about ten minutes of holding perfectly still, she lifted her head. Another five and she released her legs. Then she rolled up onto her knees and reached for the counter, her fingers curling over.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself to stand, angling to the side of the counter.

He stood at the window, facing her, his chest taking up most of the panes.

Her heart exploded. She screamed, turned, and ran. She cleared the kitchen in three steps and plowed through the living room, smashing into an antique table that had sat in the same place since the day she’d moved in.

Pain ratcheted up her leg, and she dropped, making panicked grunting noises as she crawled past the sofa toward her bedroom. Her hands slapped the polished wooden floor, and she sobbed out, reaching the room and slamming the door.

She yanked her legs up to her chest again, her back to the door, and reached up to engage the lock. She rocked back and forth, careful not to make a sound.

The doorbell rang.

Her chest tightened, and her vision fuzzed. Tremors started from her shoulders down to her waist and back up. Not now. Not now. God, not now.She took several deep breaths and acknowledged the oncoming panic attack much as Dr. Valentine had taught her. Sometimes letting the panic in actually abated it.

Not this time.

The attack took her full force, pricking sweat along her body. Her arms shook and her legs went numb. Her breathing panted out, her vision fuzzed, and her heart blasted into motion.

Maybe it really was a heart attack this time.

No. It was only a panic attack.

But it could be a heart attack. Maybe the doctors had missed something in her tests. Or maybe it was a stroke.

She couldn’t make it to the phone to dial for help.

Her heart hurt. Her chest really ached. Glancing up at the lock, a flimsy golden thing, she inched away from the door to the bed table on her hands and knees. Jerking open the drawer, she fumbled for a Xanax.

She popped the pill beneath her tongue, letting it quickly absorb. The bitter chalkiness made her gag, but she didn’t move until it had dissolved.

A hard, rapping sound echoed from the living room.

No, no, no. He was knocking on the door. Was it locked? Of course it was locked. She always kept it locked. But would a lock, even a really good one, keep a guy like that out?

Definitely no.

She’d been watching him, and he knew it. Maybe he wasn’t a guy who wanted to be watched, which was why he was moving his stuff all alone. Worse yet, had he been sent to find her? He had looked so furious. Was he angry?

If so, what could she do?

The online martial arts lessons she’d taken lately ran through her head, but once again, she wondered if one could really learn self-defense by watching videos. Something told her that all the self-defense lessons in the world wouldn’t help against that guy.

Oh, why had Mrs. Maloni moved to Florida? Sure, the elderly lady wanted to be closer to her grandchildren, but Cottage Grove was a much better place to live.

Her house had sold in less than a week.

Pippa had hoped to watch young children play and frolic in the large treed backyard, but this guy didn’t seem to have a family.

Perhaps he’d bring one in, yet there was something chillingly solitary about him.

Of course, she hadn’t set foot outside her house for nearly five years, so maybe family men had changed.

Probably not, though.

He knocked again, the sound somehow stronger and more insistent this time.

She opened the bedroom door and peered around the corner. The front door was visible above the sofa.

He knocked again. “Lady?” Deep and rich, his voice easily carried into her home.

She might have squawked.

“Listen, lady. I, ah, saw you fall and just wanna make sure you’re all right. You don’t have to answer the door.” His tone didn’t rise and remained perfectly calm.

She sucked in a deep breath and tried to answer him, but only air came out. Man, she was pathetic. She tapped her head against the doorframe in a sad attempt to self-soothe.

“Um, are you okay?” he asked, hidden by the big front door. “I can call for help.”

No. Oh, no. She swallowed several times. “I’m all right.” Finally, her voice worked. “Honest. It’s okay. Don’t call for anybody.” If she didn’t let them in, the authorities would probably break down the door, right? She couldn’t have that.

Silence came from the front porch, but no steps echoed. He remained in place.

Her heart continued to thunder against her ribs. She wiped her sweaty palms down her yoga pants. Why wasn’t he leaving? “Okay?” she whispered.

“You sure you don’t need help?” he called, his voice rich and deep. Definitely sexy, with a whole male edge that went with that spectacular body. “I promise I can be all sorts of helpful to damsels in distress.”

Was that a line? Was he trying to flirt with her or put her at ease? What could she say back? Something equally flirty so he’d be at ease and not curious about her? Nothing came to her fuzzing mind. “I’m sure.” Go away.Please, he had to go away.

“Okay.” Heavy bootsteps clomped across her front porch, and then silence.

He was gone.

********

Hours later, Malcolm West kept moving boxes into his house, wondering about the pretty lady next door. She hadn’t reappeared in the window for hours.

He knew the sound of terror, and he knew it well. The woman, whoever she was, had been beyond frightened at seeing him in the window. What the hell had he been thinking to approach her house like that?

A fence enclosed their backyards together, and he’d wondered why. Had a family once shared the two homes?

He grabbed the last box of stuff from the truck and hefted it toward the house. Maybe this had been a mistake. He’d purchased the little one-story home sight unseen because of the white clapboard siding, the blue shutters, and the name of the town—Cottage Grove. It sounded peaceful.

He’d never truly see peace again, and he knew it.

All the homes the real estate agent had emailed him about had been sad and run-down…until this one. It had been on the market only a few days, and the agent had insisted it wouldn’t be for long. After a month of searching desperately for a place to call home, he’d jumped on the sale.

It had been so convenient, it seemed like a stroke of fate.

If he believed in fate, which he did not.

He walked through the simple one-story home and dropped another box in the kitchen, looking out at the pine trees beyond the wooden fence. The area had been subdivided into twenty-acre lots, with tons and tons of trees, so he’d figured he wouldn’t see any other houses, which had suited him just fine.

Yet his house was next to another, and one fence enclosed their backyards together.

No other homes were even visible.

He sighed and started to turn for the living room when a sound caught his attention. His body automatically went on full alert, and he reached for the SIG hidden at the back of his waist. Had they found him? Somebody had just come in the front door.

“Detective West? Don’t shoot. I’m a friendly,” came a deep male voice.

Malcolm pulled the gun free, the weight of it in his hand more familiar than his own voice. “Friendlies don’t show up uninvited,” he said calmly, eyeing the two main exits from the room in case he needed to run.

A guy strode into the kitchen, hands loose at his sides. Probably in his thirties, he had bloodshot eyes, short, mussed-up brown hair, and graceful movements. His gaze showed he’d seen some shit, and there was a slight tremble in his right arm. Trying to kick a habit, was he?

Malcolm pointed the weapon at the guy’s head. “Two seconds.”

The man looked at the few boxes set around the room, not seeming to notice the gun. Even with the tremor, he moved like he could fight. “There’s nowhere to sit.”

“You’re not staying.” Malcolm could get to the vehicle hidden a mile away within minutes and then take off again. The pretty cottage was a useless dream, and he’d known it the second he’d signed the papers. “I’d hate to ruin the minty-green wallpaper.” It had flowers on it, and he’d planned to change it anyway.

“Then don’t.” The guy leaned against the wall and shook out his arm.

“What are you kicking?” Malcolm asked, his voice going low.

The guy winced. “I’m losing some friends.”

“Jack, Jose, and Bud?” Mal guessed easily.

“Mainly Jack Daniel’s.” Now he eyed the weapon. “Mind putting that down?”

Mal didn’t flinch. “Who are you?”

Broad shoulders heaved in an exaggerated sigh. “My name is Angus Force, and I’m here to offer you an opportunity.”

“Is that a fact? I don’t need a new toaster.” Mal slid the gun back into place. “Go away.”

“Detective—”

“I’m not a detective any longer. Get out of my house.” Mal could use a good fight, and he was about to give himself what he needed.

“Whoa.” Force held up a hand. “Just hear me out. I’m with a new unit attached to the Homeland Defense Department, and we need a guy with your skills.”

Heat rushed up Mal’s chest. His main skill these days was keeping himself from going ballistic on assholes, and he was about to fail in that. “I’m not interested, Force. Now get the hell out of my house.”

Force shook his head. “I understand you’re struggling with the aftereffects of a difficult assignment, but you won. You got the bad guys.”

Yeah, but how many people had died? In front of him? Mal’s vision started to narrow with darkness from the corners of his eyes. “You don’t want to be here any longer, Force.”

“You think you’re the only one with PTSD, dickhead?” Force spat, losing his casual façade.

“No, but I ain’t lookin’ to bond over it.” Sweat rolled down Mal’s back. “How’d you find me anyway?”

Force visibly settled himself. “It’s not exactly a coincidence that you bought this house. The only one that came close to what you were looking for.” He looked around the old-lady cheerful kitchen. “Though it is sweet.”

Mal’s fingers closed into a fist. “You set me up.”

“Yeah, we did. We need you here.” Force gestured around.

Mal’s lungs compressed. “Why?”

“Because you’re the best undercover cop we’ve ever seen, and we need that right now. Bad.” Force ran a shaking hand through his hair.

“Why?” Mal asked, already fearing the answer.

“The shut-in next door. She’s the key to one of the biggest homegrown threats to our entire country. And here you are.” Force’s eyes gleamed with the hit.

Well, fuck.

Hi all!  Boy, I’ve missed interviewing people, but I’ve had a blast traveling around the world for a while.  Now I’m back to blur the line between reality and fantasy, truth and we-wish-truth, life and stories.  In other words, I’m here to interview Tace Justice.  You know Tace, right?  He’s the Vanguard medic.  What’s Vanguard, you say?  **Sigh**

Okay.  There’s more to life than vampires and super soldiers.  Turns out a nasty bacteria named Scorpius took out 95% of the human population, and a group called Vanguard sprang up in inner Los Angeles.  It’s led by ex-gang member and former soldier Jax Mercury.  Now, you’d think that having most of the population gone would leave things rather peaceful, right?  Right?  Nope.  Haha.  No way.  Turns out the bacteria messes with the brain and creates sociopaths.  (You do know about all the real studies regarding the structures of sociopathic brains, right?).  Anyhoo,  sociopaths can be good just not all that emotional, they can be crazy and eat dirt, or they can be super brilliant, scary, real life serial killers.  Guess who the biggest sociopathi serial killer is in the Scorpius World?  Yep.  The president.  (There are NO ZOMBIES in this series.  The bad guys are sociopaths.  Still human with brains).

So…Tace Justice has survived the bacteria, and he’s darker and deadlier than before.   He’s also kind of wondering if he’s going crazy.  Just to give you a picture, he’s blond with blue eyes straight out of Texas…with the sexy as sin accent.  Yep.  He’s a big guy who has served his country as a medic.  Now we’re meeting in a looted bar somewhere right outside Vanguard territory.

With that intro…

IZZY:  Hi Tace.  Thanks, for, um meeting me.

TACE:  What the hell is going on, and who are you?

IZZY:  I’m Izzy.

TACE:  I don’t know what that means.

IZZY:  (Man, he’s cute.  Huge blue eyes–they sizzle like a hot Texan sky.  I feel the urge to fan myself, but I don’t.  Because I’m a professional, you know.)  It means, you’re here for an interview.  You know it’s important to preserve history, even though we’re fighting for our lives.

TACE:  We have people preserving history?  (He glances down at my brand new red Louboutins and frowns).  Those are pretty fancy shoes for the end of the world.

IZZY:  The king sent me these.

TACE:  The king?  What king?

IZZY:  (Shit.  I’m crossing realities again.  King Dage Kayrs (from the Dark Protectors) can do so because, well, he’s the king.  Most everyone else can’t).  Just a guy I used to date.  You know, before Scorpius.  I wear them to remember him.  (I may need a vampire friend to get me out of this mess.)

TACE:  Did you lose him?

IZZY:  Um, yeah.  Okay.  So.  You’re fighting your attraction to Sami Steel, and that’s not working very well, right?

At this point, Tace leans back in his chair, and his eyes darken to this really cool but kind of scary deep blue.  I swallow, maybe a little nervously.  But hey, I’ve dealt with cranky vampires, remember?  So instead of talking, I just lift one eyebrow.  That usually works.

TACE:  The eyebrow thing doesn’t work on me.

IZZY:  Okay.  But you still need to answer the question.

TACE:  While I don’t see what my love life or current obsessions have to do with history, I guess I could tell you that I’ve always fought my attraction to Sami.  She’s a warrior, and that just turns me on, you know?

IZZY:  In this day and age, with the world ending, it seems like things could revert to the bad old days where women were just, well, used.  To hear you talk about her like a warrior is uplifting.

TACE:  We’re fighting for survival, and anybody who thinks women can’t fight as well as men are just crazy.  Hell.  The smartest and most likely most dangerous people we have at Vanguard are women.  Lynne, Vinnie, Sami, April…they’re all crucial to surviving this.  You get that, right?

IZZY:  I surely do.  So you don’t try to protect her at all.

Tace then rolls his eyes and turns to scout the deserted and garbage riddled street outside.  Then his shoulders seemed to relax.

TACE:  Of course I try to protect her.  She’s well trained and dangerous, but she’s not invincible.  If anything happened to her, I’d lose my mind. 

IZZY:  I understand.  So.  Do you see a happy story for you?

He snorts.

TACE:  No.  I mean, we have enemies outside the gates who want us dead.  One of them is the president of the USA.  We’re gonna have to take the fight to him soon, and my only goal is making sure Sami survives that fight.  Even if I don’t.

He’s sweet and more than a little sexy.  I can’t help but wonder why Sami hasn’t just tackled him to the ground already.  I guess I’ll go read their story now.  I’ve been waiting, and it’s finally here.

The door opens, and there stands three hundred pounds of pure muscle.  I sigh as I take  in golden eyes, longish dark hair, and a deep scowl.  Tace stands, and the second he does, I bound to my feet.

IZZY:  So.  This is my bodyguard from the, ah, Mission to Preserve History.  We’re not affiliated with any group or gang or organization.  (My voice rises as I hustle toward the badass at the door.  I need to get him out of here and out of this reality before I blow everything.)  Bye.

TACE:  Hey.  Good luck with the history!  I’m not sure what’s going to happen to us, especially with so many enemies, so it might be good to keep a record.  Bye.

When will the protectors stop trying to, well, protect me?  With a zip, I’m out of the Scorpius reality and back into another one.

See you guys soon!

XOXOXO, Izzy

Justice Ascending

 

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Here’s an excerpt from JUSTICE ASCENDING:

“Sami,” Jax said. “Damon arrived an hour ago to request assistance. I’m sending Tace into Merc territory to help with the wounded from the attack yesterday, and I’d like you to provide backup.”

Merc territory? Eesh. Although it would be advantageous to catalog their weak points. “Got it.” She kept her face stoic and strode past the men and into the war room. After she’d tapped out the night before, Tace had let her up, and she’d all but run for her quarters. A sleepless night later, and she still couldn’t forget his lips so close to hers. No way was she getting involved with a brilliant bad boy who freely admitted he was about to go dark—especially since he was smart enough to figure out everything she was fighting so hard to keep hidden.

Tace followed her. “You shouldn’t come with me,” he whispered, keeping pace past the table to the lockers.

What was happening with him? “Why not?” she whispered back, yanking open a locker to outfit herself.

He didn’t answer.

She fit a gun holster over her shoulder, pushing her green sweater out of the way. A knife went in her jeans pocket, and a couple more went beside her calf and in her boot. She looked up. “Well?”

Tace’s jaw flexed, and he stepped into her space. “It’s Merc territory.”

“No shit.” Heat flared through her at the nearness of his hard body. Man, she was off-center. “Would you move back?”

“No.” He tugged on her shoulder holster. “This isn’t secure enough.”

She slapped his hands. “Stop it.”

He yanked on the strap, and she smacked his wrist, engaging in a clumsy struggle. He leaned in. “You need to listen to me. Last night I dreamed of you beneath me, naked in bed, and coming hard. We need distance from each other.”

She didn’t back down even as her libido sprang right up into awareness. “What about Barbara?”

“It’s over,” Tace said flatly.

“That’s your problem and not mine.” Sami drew out a knife.

“Yeah, except you’re the one haunting my dreams,” he said, his voice gravelly.

She shook her head. “You’re just having more brain issues from the illness. It’ll go away once you heal. Nothing can happen between us because of our jobs.” And the fact that she was lying to everybody about her past. Oh yeah. That.

His jaw clenched. “I know that, which is why we could use distance.”

“I’m not neglecting my job because you’re horny, Justice.” She shoved him.

He tugged on the strap again, and she slapped his hand. Again. They engaged in a struggle for control, and she shoved his arm.

“What the hell?” Jax snapped from the doorway.

Her head swiveled the same time Tace’s did. Heat climbed into her face.

Jax frowned and looked from Tace to Sami and back. “Is something going on between you two?”

“No,” Sami burst out just as Tace snarled, “Hell, no.”

Jax rocked back on his heels, his face harder than usual. “All right. Keep it that way.”

Sami brushed by Tace. “No worries there.” When she reached Jax, he stopped her by the arm. She lifted one eyebrow and stared up into his sharply cut face.

He dropped his hand. “This isn’t an order. If you don’t want to go into Merc territory, you don’t have to.”

Sami stiffened. The men had never treated her differently because of her sex. Her abdomen cramped. “Did you give Tace the out if he didn’t want to go?”

Jax paused and then frowned again. “Actually, yeah. I did.”

“Oh.” She settled. “All right then. I’m fine on mission.”

“Copy that.” Jax released her. “Learn everything about the Mercs that you can—I’m interested in their holdings and provisions. Well, and security. If we decide to take out Greyson Storm, who steps up?”

Sami paused. Sometimes she forgot what a cold strategist Jax could be. He’d mellowed a little since falling in love . . . but only a little. “You’re thinking of taking the leader of the Mercs out?”

“Maybe.” Jax turned toward Tace. “Are you focused enough for this?”

“Yep.” Tace grabbed a black cowboy hat off a rack near the door.

Sami shook her head. “Do not let him wear the hat. We’ll look like idiots.”

Tace ran his finger along the brim of the hat. “This is my natural look.”

It might have been at one time, but the new Tace Justice? She took a good look at him. The brim hung low over his blue eyes and cast part of his face in shadow. Fine lines and rugged features were visible and yet his expression remained veiled. Tingles exploded in her abdomen. He did look good in the hat. “Maybe it will fit our purposes for them to think you’re a moron.” She pivoted on her heel and headed for the vestibule, using every ounce of her strength to sound normal.

He chuckled low behind her, and the sound shivered down her spine.