Friday, December 13, 2013

Mistletoe Madness Blog Hop

I love traditions, especially around Christmas time. It keeps us rooted in what is important. Reminds us that there are many who came before us and that we have a legacy to leave to those who come after. Even the silly little traditions can mean a great deal later down the road, typically triggering joyful memories.

Here are a few of my favorites Christmas traditions. It wouldn’t feel like Christmas without them.
  • Every year, for the last 16 years, my mom and I have gone to Metamora, IN., a small village of shops.
  • Christmas Eve, those of us who don’t have other extended family obligations get together and go out to eat at Red Lobster. This is 40 years running. 
  • Watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. 
  • Making cinnamon rolls Christmas morning. 
  • Mid-night mass. 
  • Christmas music: Silent Night, White Christmas, Drummer Boy… 
  • Sitting at night with just the Christmas tree lights on.
  • Baking
  • And most importantly, spending time with family and friends. 
Share below some of your favorite family traditions or things you love about Christmas to be entered to win a copy of my latest release, DESIRE FOR REVENGE. Please include your email address in your response.

Also, be sure to visit to enter to win the Grand Prize. 

Thursday, October 31, 2013


When highly classified military parts go missing from Libby Aerospace Technologies, Dana Porter is sent to Wyoming to resolve the issues and negotiate a new contract with the United States Navy Defense contractor. But first, she’ll have to figure out why the parts are disappearing. The further Dana digs, the more dangerous things become, and when an ex-employee ends up murdered, she suspects someone is illegally exporting the goods.

Despite General Manager Nick White’s resentment of Dana’s presence, he cannot afford to lose the contract and knows she is his best bet in making sure that doesn't happen. He left Indiana over a year ago to get away from her. Now, she is scrutinizing every aspect of his business, finding inconsistencies he can’t explain and awakening old feelings he thought long gone.

Together, they will race against time to stop the illegal exports and secure the contract, but with hearts and lives on the line, not everyone will walk away unscathed.

World News Report: A plan to attack the U.S. embassy in Sudan was thwarted Wednesday night when an unmanned aerial vehicle was shot down by U.S Military forces stationed in the area. Government officials stated that The UAV, carrying launch missiles, was spotted hovering near the embassy and identified as an immediate threat. No terrorist group has stepped forward to lay claim to the attempted attack.


Khartoum, Sudan
Khartoum’s New Islamic Alliance Military Compound 

Zufar was dead.
The words like a mantra repeated in Rustan Hasan’s head, mocking his very existence.
Zufar was dead. Zufar was dead.
It should have been me. The thought roared through him like a freight train, the painful truth suffocating. Not Zufar.
The pressure in Rustan’s chest built, closing off the air in his lungs as the commander of the Khartoum’s New Islamic Alliance fraction told them of the attack against the United States. Blood had been spilled in accordance with the Quran. But Rustan, with his heart breaking, did not care about advancing Islam, about Allah’s law or the overall goal of the mission. He wanted to drop to his knees and scream out the rage tearing at his insides.
His legs trembled, and his stomach convulsed. A loud howling filled his head drowning out the words of his commander, but not the pain. The thought of his mother and sister pierced his heart. His shoulders shook beneath the olive green of his military uniform as his mind flipped back in time of two skinny boys playing along a dirt road. Makeshift swords of long twigs gripped in their hands as they fought an imaginary foe.
“One day,” nine-year-old Zufar had claimed. “I will fight and kill the real enemy.”
Rustan pulled away from the memories, snapping his shoulders back to quiet the trembling. He would not humiliate Zufar’s memory by falling apart in front of his comrades. He would not disgrace his family.
Zufar had been brave, and the Muslim Brotherhood would glorify his actions. Allah would reward him in the afterlife. Zufar had lived and planned for the day he would commit jihad against their enemy. His day had come, but to Rustan, it was without victory. The enemy had won. They had succeeded in killing a great man—his beloved brother. 

Trinity, Indiana USA

The thrashing and groaning tugged Dana Porter out of a deep sleep. She bolted upright with the realization that her husband struggled with a muscle spasm. She jumped out of the king size bed and circled around to Ted’s side. His eyes squeezed tight against the pain, his fist clenched in a seized state. His sweat-slicked body scented the air with bitter pain. He tried knocking her hands away as she worked to roll him onto his stomach.
“Leave me alone,” he forced out between clenched jaws.
A part of her wanted to leave him to writhe in agony until he begged for help. But he would be stubborn, and she couldn’t allow the pain to go on that long.
She positioned herself, one hand at his shoulder, the other at his waist. Mentally, she counted to three, then lifted, and shoved at the same time. He screamed out as he rolled onto his stomach.
Tears stung her eyes.
“Okay, it’s almost over.” Climbing on the bed, she knelt over him and began to knead the knotted muscles of his back with the heels of her hands, ignoring the ache moving up her arms.
Dana consoled herself with the knowledge that things weren’t as bad as they had been right after the accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. The spasms had come weekly then, but over time had diminished to every six months.
He resented her help, but didn’t fight her with the enthusiasm he once had. Oh, he remained emotionally shut off, almost proudly so.
“That’s enough, Dana. The spasm’s gone,” he murmured, tugging her back to the present.
She climbed from the bed and helped him onto his back. The spasms always left him weak and unable to manipulate his way out of bed. He would need help, and the need would piss him off.
She pulled the blankets up to his waist and thought, as she often did, what a magnificent chest he had. His arms and upper body thick with rope-like muscles from years of dragging his lower body around. She had told him once how beautiful his body was, running her hands over his chest. He had looked at her in disgust and pushed her hands away. The memory kept her from touching him now, kept her from looking into those ice blue eyes.
“Do you want to get out of bed or sleep a few more hours?” She asked, bracing herself for his harsh response.
“What are you going to do?”
She glanced at him, confused by the quiet reply. “I’ll go ahead and get my shower, maybe head into work early.”
“I’ll just lie here a while longer.” He grabbed her wrist when she turned away. The voluntary touch surprised her. “Thank you, Dana.” His words stunned her.
She faltered. “You’re welcome,” she mumbled and then retreated behind the bathroom door.
Under the hot spray of the shower, she let the tears scald her cheeks while painful, silent sobs ripped through her body. Three years and it still broke her heart at how cruel fate had been to Ted, how brutal it had been to their love.

One month later.
Trinity, Indiana, USA

Dana stared at the computer screen, but didn’t see the spreadsheet displayed. She was thinking back to earlier that morning. She and Ted had made love, if she could call it that. It was the first time in ten months. At twenty-eight years old, she was lucky if it happened twice a year. And Ted was capable of more but the need had to build to the point of breaking before he would touch her or allow her to touch him. Even then, he only tolerated her climbing on top of him to complete the act.
No kissing. No hugging or words of affection.
On some level, it made her feel dirty. On many levels, she wondered what was wrong with her, why her husband didn’t want her? Was he no longer attracted to her?
Dana rubbed at her eyes to push back the tears.
A meeting reminder pinged as it popped up on her screen. Dana grabbed a pad of paper and pen, glad for the distraction, and headed down to the conference room.
Nick White’s face lit up the minute she walked in, lifting her spirits. She circled around to sit next to him.
“You look pretty. That’s a good color on you.” His eyes lingered. “Is that a new top?”
Pleased that he noticed, Dana felt the warmth glide over her cheeks. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Are you going out with us Friday after work?”
“I’m planning on it.”
A group of them made a point to go out a couple times a month. Most of them single and still hitting the party scene, but Dana enjoyed spending time with them away from the job. They kept her feeling young.
Paul Nickels, the production control manager, rushed in at the last minute. “Sorry folks for the delay. I know we’ve all got a lot on our plates, so let’s get working on this month’s sales and manufacturing plan.”
The day flew by.
It was after six when she pulled into the driveway at home. The housekeeper they had hired to cook and clean three days a week was still there, which was odd. Mrs. Hodges normally left by five thirty to get home to her own family. Thinking something might be wrong with Ted, Dana rushed into the house and was greeted by laughter.
Setting down her purse, Dana followed the sound of voices to Ted’s office. She stopped outside the open door and listened.
“Ted, these are fabulous. When did you take them?”
“The summer between high school and college. A buddy and I where on a rock climbing mission, to climb as many mountains as we could. I took pictures everywhere we went that summer.”
Dana heard the smile in his voice and the wistfulness.
“You loved the photography as much as the climbing,” Mrs. Hodges stated matter of factly.
“Yes. I did.” Ted chuckled. “Look at this one.”
Dana leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes closed against the burning tears and the ache in her chest. He was sharing something good, his happiness with Mrs. Hodges.
Why won’t he share that with me? Anger simmered below the surface.
“That bag up there, could you get that down for me. It has my old camera in it.”
Dana stepped into the doorway as Mrs. Hodges reached for the bag on the second shelf of the closet—one Dana could have easily reached for him.
“I could have gotten that for you,” Dana said.
Ted turned his head to look at her, the smile vanished, and the coldness slithered into his eyes. He put the lid back on the box of photographs.
Mrs. Hodges set the camera bag down beside Ted’s wheelchair. “Oh, Mrs. Porter, you should look at some of these photos.”
“No,” Ted said sharply.
Silence filled the awkward space.
Dana watched Ted. His jaws clenched as he refused to look at her.
Mrs. Hodges clasped her hands together. “I should be going. Dinner is warming in the oven.”
Dana turned away and walked down the hall to the bedroom. She changed clothes then forced herself to the kitchen where Mrs. Hodges had already set out plates and utensils. Dana removed the food from the oven and placed it on the table. Ted wheeled himself into the room and took his place.
They ate in silence as they always did.
On Friday evening, Dana met up with the group from work at the local watering hole. Nick was nowhere around. She shook off the sense of disappointment as she sat and ordered a beer.
She and Paul were in the middle of a debate about the Indianapolis Colts when Nick showed up. Her lips lifted when their eyes met. He grabbed a chair from a neighboring table and made no bones about asking everyone to scoot down so he could pull up along side Dana.
“Sorry, I’m late. My dad called to inform me that he and my mother are coming to visit next weekend.”
Despite the roll of his eyes, Dana could tell the prospect of seeing his parents made Nick happy.
“You can’t wait.”
Nick laughed. “No, I can’t.” He lifted his hand to get the waitress’s attention and ordered them both another beer. “I wish you could meet them. You would like my mom’s sense of humor.”
“Who are you most like?”
And as they talked, one by one the others left. Before Dana knew it, she and Nick sat alone talking and laughing. 

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Sneak peek at SET FREE

Julie Ludlow rested the rifle over the top edge of the brick apartment building, peered through the scope and sighted in her target.
She inhaled deeply to steady her shaky hands and pulled the trigger, dropping Ricky Parker to the ground on The Coffee House steps.
Seconds ticked by as she shoved another round into the chamber. Her shoulder throbbed and her ears rang as she pumped the trigger again, dropping Ricky’s younger brother, Randy, down beside him.
Julie rolled to the side, shifting the gun away from the ledge and pressing her back against the wall. With the rifle lying across her thighs, she shuddered out a breath as screams for help lifted up from the street.
Trembling, she placed the rifle in its case, and clicked the latches closed. Hunkered low, she dashed toward the stairwell and bounded down two flights to the third floor. She glanced up and down the hall to make sure no one watched as she exited the stairwell and made a quick dash to the janitor’s closet. She closed and locked the door behind her. Nausea churned as sweat beaded along her forehead and ran down between her breasts.
She’d done it. Holy shit. She’d really done it. She squeezed her eyes tight for a heartbeat of a second. No time to stop now.
She stowed the rifle case behind the large metal cabinet and grabbed her backpack from the same location. She took a deep breath, held, and let it out slow and easy. Sirens whirled in the distance as she stepped into the hall. She debated whether to take the stairs, but decided doing so would appear suspicious, so she headed for the elevators as if she did so everyday.
As she reached the first floor exit, police burst through the apartment entrance. She shrunk into a darkened doorway as they charged past and up the stairs, then she slipped out the door unnoticed. Outside, chaos reigned.
Not wanting to draw attention, she mingled among the gathering crowd, slowly making her way to the alley where she’d parked her dad’s brown Buick. Julie climbed behind the wheel and with an unsteady hand turned the key. The old beast shuddered to life. She rammed the gearshift into place and headed out of town.

With hot tears streaming down her cheeks, she left Mulsboro, Ohio behind without looking back.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Tough Mudder

I am a Tough Mudder finisher. 
To do ten + miles is accomplishment enough, but add to the fact that 75% of those miles were in ankle deep mud with 22 obstacles along the way, and I say hell yeah. 

I hope I never see or walk in mud again. It seemed to take days to get all the mud out of each and every crevice of my body. But I’m glad I did it, if nothing else so that I know I never want to do it again. Okay, I said that and meant it the day after the event when everything but my face hurt. In the month and a half that’s followed, I’ve convinced myself that I could do the event better if I trained harder. Somebody shoot me.   

So, what does it mean to be a Tough Mudder? Well, the events consist of a 10-12 mile grueling course with a variety of obstacles, such as the Electric Eel, the Arctic Enema and Everest. The proceeds benefit TheWounded Warrior Project. That alone made the whole thing worth it. 

Part of the team - before picture.
It’s not a race. Your only competition is yourself. How hard do you want to push yourself? What fears do you want to conquer? It’s all about teamwork and with the right team, like mine, no man is left behind. 
So did I reach my own goals? If I compare myself to how the rest of my team did, I’m disappointed in myself, hence the need to do it better. I’m not use to being the weak link. When I compare it to anything else I’ve done in my life, when I compare myself to other participants, most who where 10 to 20 years younger than me, then I’m extremely proud of myself. I’ve never done anything like this. I completed 10.5 miles and attempted 14 of 22 obstacles. I was exhausted. I kept going.

Me jumping in the Atrctic Enema
Do I have regrets? Yes. There are three obstacles I wish I would have tried, but didn’t either due to fear or exhaustion. The Electric Eel—I realize now that I could have done it and wish I had tried. The Boa Constrictor—flat out, fear got me on this one. And Everest−while I have some concern over my knee, I wish I had tried at least once to make it to the top.  
Unfortunately, the main obstacle that I was determined to do, I ended up not doing, but I do feel I made the right choice. Walk the Plank, a 15 + foot drop into water. I am not a strong swimmer and I’ve never liked to go into water over my head. That fear was bigger than I expected. I had gone through two other obstacles prior to Walk the Plank that put me in water over my head. I felt a sense of panic I didn’t expect. Both times, I pushed through the fear and kicked my way to the edge to get out. But by the time I arrived at Walk the Plank, I knew I didn’t want to risk it. After 9 miles and 18 obstacles, my body was exhausted and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to push past the panic or even be able to swim. So I opted to walk around.

The team - Mud Mile 1
With that said, in the weeks that followed a sense of confidence seeped into me, a sense of accomplished, but, yes, there was also acknowledgement that there was a lot of room for improvement. I’m just enough of a competitor to need to prove to myself that I can do better. I recently learned that Tough Mudder is coming to Wilmington, OH in the summer of 2014. I plan to be ready. 

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Desire for Revenge


            Can I cheat death twice?

            AJ Harris had a feeling she was about to find out.

            Pain streaked up the trunk of her body as she dropped to her knees onto the concrete sidewalk. The blaring sirens from the surrounding police cruisers warbled, and her vision blurred.

            Shot. What a stunning realization.
AJ’s right shoulder burned where the bullet struck. Her arm went numb then began to tingle. Unable to force her hand to wrap around the grip, her gun dangled, swinging inch by inch until it slipped off the end of her finger and hit the ground. She flinched, waited for the impact to send off a shot, but it only clattered onto the concrete. 
The zing of bullets and the crack of gunfire penetrated her ears, forcing awareness of the situation past the pain. 
Move. Her brain screamed, transmitting the message to other parts of her body. Leaning at an awkward angle, she fell onto her hip and rolled to a sitting position. Using her feet, she pushed until her back bumped against the rough brick wall of the Sear’s building. It provided little protection, but something was better than nothing. 
With any luck, the bullet had tagged her vest. She slid her hand under her jacket and probed along her shoulder until hitting a tender spot, which sent pain bursting into her chest and down her arm. Her fingers rested in the wet, thick warmth of her blood now soaking the sleeve of her police issued shirt. Nausea churned. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on staying lucid. 
Damn it. This can’t be happening. The guys were finally showing her some respect and treating her as if she was part of the team. Not an easy task in a male dominated industry, and for Hillside’s police department where she was the first and only female patrol officer, the difficulty magnified by ten. Going down in the first round on her first major call wouldn’t look good to her co-workers. How could they trust her to have their backs? 
Where had she gone wrong? Dispatch had called out a bank robbery in progress with hostages and damn near the whole police department had arrived before her. She’d expected the suspects to be inside the bank, not on the roof of the building. There had been no warning until the first shots rang out. 
Her mistake—assuming. She should have stayed alert, more watchful. 
The sudden silence yanked her from her analysis. The eerie quiet more ominous than the gunfire. Fear crept down her spine. Something was wrong. 
The calm before the storm? 
A few of the officers moved to position themselves near the bank’s front doors. Others peered over the hoods of their cars, everyone trying to determine if the suspects were still on the roof or had retreated inside. 
The squawk of the police two-way radio reached AJ, but she couldn’t focus on the relay of information. 
Sitting on the hard, cold sidewalk, a deep penetrating chill seeped through her, reaching to her bones. The buildings acted as a funnel, blasting the winter air down through the streets. She shivered, clenching her jaws against the hot points of pain. March had arrived, but for the Midwest, frigid temperatures and snow were still a frequent occurrence. 
She noticed everything around her. The gray buildings, the bare trees surrounded by concrete slab. The strobe lights on top the cruisers, the only color breaking up the bleakness. In complete contrast to the cold was the warm, fresh scent of donuts from the nearby bakery. 
A vivid image of her grandpa standing behind the counter of his own bakery not twenty minutes away, in an older, quieter part of town, came to mind. 
He’s lost so much already. More than anyone should have to bear. 
AJ shook her head, pushing the thought away. She couldn’t let worry distract her from the current situation. Think. 
She glanced up and down the street. Rush hour in downtown Hillside had come to a screeching halt. No cars with anxious drivers behind the wheel jockeyed for position on crowded streets trying to get home. Office workers, leaving for the day, now cowered back inside buildings or ran out of harm’s way. The normal flow of traffic rerouted. 
Things like this didn’t happen in small town Ohio. But didn’t everyone say that? Even for a large suburb north of Cincinnati, the residents didn’t see much crime and definitely not in the form of a bank robbery with hostages. 
AJ scanned the area until her eyes landed on the familiar face of her friend and supervisor, Steve Hastings, squatted down with his back pressed against the side of the cruiser. He spoke to Captain Marcus Delhi, who hunkered down beside him with the door of the cruiser open and communicating with his team over police channels. 
Seeing Steve steadied her frayed nerves. He would give her hell for getting shot, for making him worry, just like he would with any one of his team members. She gave him a thumbs-up when he glanced over at her, letting him know she was fine. 
The blood was running down her arm and out the end of her sleeve, staining the sidewalk. There was so much blood. 
What if I’m dying? Panic tightened her chest. Her eyes darted back to Steve. 
He moved so that his shoulder now supported him against the car, and he faced her. He mouthed the words, ‘are you hit?’ and she nodded. Steve said something over his shoulder to Delhi, who nodded in reply. 
AJ realized what Steve intended to do and held up her hand to stop him, but he ignored her. She fumbled for her gun to provide protection then remembered it lay a few inches away on the pavement. It wouldn’t have mattered. The movement froze her with pain. 
Then he was squatting in front of her with concern in his eyes and a cocky grin across his handsome face. He grabbed her gun off the pavement and returned it to her holster. 
“Let’s take a look.” He lifted the edge of her jacket to peek. 
“The arm is useless.” She bared her teeth at the grim lines bordering his mouth. “I’m fine. Don’t be a fool.” 
But he didn’t budge. “I’ve been a fool for you from the moment your scrawny ass walked into roll call.” He smirked. 
AJ snorted out a laugh, knowing her ass was anything but scrawny. Her vision wavered, and she reached for him, gripping his arm with her left hand. 
“You’re losing too much blood. Hold on, kiddo, I’m going to get you out of here.” 
A single gunshot rang out, and she heard the dull thud of the bullet imbedding itself in a solid mass. She saw the shock cross Steve’s face and the void in his eyes seconds before he fell backward onto the sidewalk. 
The silence ended. Gunfire erupted around them, drowning out her screams as adrenaline pushed her away from the wall and on top of Steve’s motionless body. 
She heard yelling but the voices faded away along with the sound of bullets rocketing by her head. The smell of blood and gunpowder mingled to nauseate and confuse her. But the pain in her shoulder eased as she lay on top of Steve and felt the warmth drain from his body. She whispered his name once, or so she thought, as the tears ran down her face. 
And she knew he was gone.

Desire for Revenge will be available the last week of April 2013.