Time of Death excerpt

TIME OF DEATH 

FREE for Kindle September 24 and 25, 2014

Alex, the artist. After a tree falls on her house, she joins her aunt on an unspoiled island, but something wakens her family psychic streak. She draws eerily accurate scenes of violence, but she knows nothing about them.

Connor, the prosecutor. He’s building a case against a drug lord one piece of evidence at a time. For him it’s personal, and he can’t risk a relationship with a witness, especially a psychic who’ll blow his case out of the water. 

Rollins, the killer. He’s a cog in a much bigger wheel, and the witness to his acts of violence threatens his operation and his life. He’ll do anything to see that doesn’t happen.

When violence is near, Alex is compelled to draw the scene. While she relaxes on an unspoiled island near Charleston, South Carolina, violence disrupts the tranquil scene when a dead man takes shape on her sketch pad. She knows nothing about the man, but the killer believes she witnessed the murder and sets his sights on Alex. After seeing her drawing, the police think she's involved, and the prosecutor fears a psychic witness will destroy his case. Now, with danger at every turn, she must uncover a killer before he destroys her and her loved ones.

Excerpt

Ace Basin, near Charleston, SC. Dave Allen Photo

Alex smoothed the paper on her board and took a number 2 stick of Payne’s gray from the box, gazing toward the water. The bleached skeleton of a tree lay on its side, smooth and ghostly in the fog. Thin light from the morning sun touched the trunk, giving it a shimmering, ethereal glow. She began drawing, selecting pastels without conscious thought. She worked steadily, intent on capturing the scene before her.

When she was satisfied, she replaced the used sheet with a fresh one and shifted so she could see the old pier. The last wisps of mist hung there, creating the image of a translucent walkway floating above the water. The fog hid the broken board—senseless violence. She sketched without thought, her hand moving automatically over the paper. The pier faded from her vision as her fingers flew. A face, swollen and distorted, took shape under the charcoal.

She blinked, startled by what she’d done. Not the mist-shrouded wooden structure, but a dead face. The face that belonged to yesterday’s body, so misshapen she couldn’t tell if she’d ever seen it. Shaken, she ripped the paper off her board and crammed it into her bag. Later she’d examine it, think about what she’d drawn. Now she wanted only to get away. She packed her materials and hurried from the cove, heading toward Chicora’s breezier ocean side to clear the images from her mind, to concentrate on happier things.
P.S. I've turned comments on again, but spam is overwhelming so I've resorted to the dreaded Captcha Codes. Sorry. I wish there were a better way. 

Time of Death excerpt

Alex

TIME OF DEATH 

Alex, the artist. After a tree falls on her house, she joins her aunt on an unspoiled island, but something wakens her family psychic streak. She draws eerily accurate scenes of violence, but she knows nothing about them.

Connor, the prosecutor. He’s building a case against a drug lord one piece of evidence at a time. For him it’s personal, and he can’t risk a relationship with a witness, especially a psychic who’ll blow his case out of the water. 

Rollins, the killer. He’s a cog in a much bigger wheel, and the witness to his acts of violence threatens his operation and his life. He’ll do anything to see that doesn’t happen.

When violence is near, Alex is compelled to draw the scene. While she relaxes on an unspoiled island near Charleston, South Carolina, violence disrupts the tranquil scene when a dead man takes shape on her sketch pad. She knows nothing about the man, but the killer believes she witnessed the murder and sets his sights on Alex. After seeing her drawing, the police think she's involved, and the prosecutor fears a psychic witness will destroy his case. Now, with danger at every turn, she must uncover a killer before he destroys her and her loved ones.

Excerpt

Ace Basin, near Charleston, SC. Dave Allen Photo

Alex smoothed the paper on her board and took a number 2 stick of Payne’s gray from the box, gazing toward the water. The bleached skeleton of a tree lay on its side, smooth and ghostly in the fog. Thin light from the morning sun touched the trunk, giving it a shimmering, ethereal glow. She began drawing, selecting pastels without conscious thought. She worked steadily, intent on capturing the scene before her.

When she was satisfied, she replaced the used sheet with a fresh one and shifted so she could see the old pier. The last wisps of mist hung there, creating the image of a translucent walkway floating above the water. The fog hid the broken board—senseless violence. She sketched without thought, her hand moving automatically over the paper. The pier faded from her vision as her fingers flew. A face, swollen and distorted, took shape under the charcoal.

She blinked, startled by what she’d done. Not the mist-shrouded wooden structure, but a dead face. The face that belonged to yesterday’s body, so misshapen she couldn’t tell if she’d ever seen it. Shaken, she ripped the paper off her board and crammed it into her bag. Later she’d examine it, think about what she’d drawn. Now she wanted only to get away. She packed her materials and hurried from the cove, heading toward Chicora’s breezier ocean side to clear the images from her mind, to concentrate on happier things.

Free Books-First Impressions

FREE for Kindle 11/16-18: Haunting Refrain is suspense with a little romance and a bit of woo-woo.

First impressions matter. I like picturing characters through another character’s eyes. What do they see? Here are some excerpts from the book.

This is John’s first impression of Kate.

John studied her quietly while she fussed at Ashburton. Something about her seemed familiar, tweaked at his memory. Surely he’d remember someone so . . . vivid. He couldn’t think of a better word. On top of her head, a precarious knot of hair appeared to be held in place by a single pencil. It wasn't very effective, judging by the amount of hair that had already escaped.

As the two women moved closer, he could see the broken point on the blue pencil. It matched the rest of her clothes—a man's blue work shirt that came almost to the knees of her faded jeans, and a pair of worn running shoes. He’d be willing to bet the counter where she worked came to just above her waist—evidenced by a horizontal streak of brownish stains across the front of the shirt.

In this one, Kate runs into a troublemaker with a strong dislike of psychics.

When Kate left the parking lot, she saw that a crowd had spilled into the street in front of the building where Martin Carver had an office. The road was blocked by two police cars. Kate slowed and rolled down her window, waving to a police officer. “What’s wrong? Can I get through here?”

“It’s the Prophet from the Mountains, Ma’am,” he said as if she should know the name. “He’s here because of the—”

“The sinner shall die.” A deep voice rolled over the officer’s words. A tall figure in a long, dirty robe strode out of the crowd, came toward Kate. “Thou shalt not hearken unto the dreamer of dreams: for the Lord your God will smite you with thunder and stones.” He stopped a few feet from her car and raised a long wooden walking stick in the air. His dark eyes stared into hers, his face contorted in anger.

Kate meets the roommate of the murdered woman.

The door opened so quickly that Kate jumped. A large, muscular woman with chopped-off brown hair glared down at her. A baseball bat hung from her hand.

“Whatever it is, I'm not interested, and the answer is no,” the Amazon barked, slamming the door.

For a second, Kate stood speechless. She almost left, then decided she wouldn't be put off so easily. She knocked again.

“Are you deaf, dumb, or both?” Josephine yelled, jerking the door back and waving the bat.

“My name is—” Kate stopped short as the door swung toward her again. She needed to get Josephine’s attention, fast. She flung her purse at the woman. “Listen, dammit. I need to talk to you.”

If this appeals to you, hop on over and get a copy while it’s free. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00336F3QE