Read an excerpt from 'Ivy Vines: Visions' by Judy Serrano

Judy Serrano graduated from Texas A&M University, Commerce with a BA in English. She is a substitute teacher at her children’s school district and teaches developmental writing at a local college. She is also a freelance writer for certain on-line periodicals and does editing for indie authors. She is the author of The Easter’s Lilly Series, The Linked Series, and The Ivy Vines, Visions Series.

Although she is originally from New York, she currently resides in Texas with her husband, four children, (all boys) and five dogs. She is also a singer/songwriter in her spare time.

http://www.judyserrano.com/ Amazon.com Barnesandnoble.com Facebook Twitter Goodreads Smashwords with Black Rose Writing Smashwords, Ivy Vines, Visions

Book Blurb

Moving to Sedona was the only way Ivy could think of to start over. She would meet her high school sweetheart and work on making things right between them. Her psychic abilities were gradually becoming a curse and she needed a new start. Little does she know that when she applies for a waitressing job at a local, upscale French bistro, she will come in contact with the dark and mysterious Eli Dubois. What she doesn’t realize is she has just walked into the middle of the Vortex Murders, which involve a great deal of paranormal activity. Elijah’s army of seers are being murdered, one by one, which seems to be magnifying Ivy’s special abilities.

Eli's best friend, Jake, arrives on the scene and reveals the secret that changes everything. With nowhere to turn, Ivy leans on the two men who offer her solace. And who is the old woman in the shroud? Is she a vision, a dream, or is she real? Only time will tell.

-- Author of The Easter's Lilly Series and Linked published by Black Rose Writing Believe.com

Believe.com www.JudySerrano.com Amazon.com Dallas Parenting Dallas Book Reviews

Excerpt 1

My heart was beating almost out of my chest as I drove to the restaurant to see Simone. I checked my rear view mirror often; just to be sure I wasn’t followed. I parked the car and ran as fast as my legs would carry me to the front door. I felt like I was burdened with cement weights around my ankles as I forced my body to keep moving forward. Trying to catch my breath was futile when Eduardo met me at the entrance. I was in no mood for his pretentious smile and flippant tone, but still he would not let me pass. 

“I need to see Simone,” I told him, barely able to form the words due to the lack of air in my lungs. 

“Will that be one for lunch or two?” he asked me. I almost punched him. 

“Two,” I answered, regaining my composure. “Simone is off in a few minutes. She’ll have lunch with me, I’m sure.” 

“Very well then,” he answered. He slowly took out two menus and sat me at a table by the window. 

“Thank you,” I managed. “Please tell Simone I’m here.” 

He made an unfavorable face at me and walked away. I looked out the window and began to recapture a normal breathing pattern. I noticed an old woman walking by the creek. She had her head covered by a black scarf and she was wearing what looked like a black cloak over her body. It was warm out, being early September, and that’s why her clothing caught my attention. She took off the scarf and looked at me. When our eyes touched, I could feel my blood pressure rise. My face got warm. Long grey curls cascaded down, past her shoulders and her expression got very grave. Her nose looked like a misshapen staircase and she had a mole on the left side of her face along her jaw line. She pointed her finger at me, slowly straightening it out as far as it could go and I felt a surge of fear strike through my body. I stood up quickly, pushing my chair back with the backs of my knees and felt a hand on my shoulder. I let out a shriek that was certainly noticeable and when I turned, it was Simone’s hand on my shoulder. 

“Ivy, what is it?” she asked. “The last time I heard you scream like that…” 

I dismissed her, mid-sentence, knowing exactly what she was going to say. Since that day. The day we don’t dare talk about or even remember if we can help it. 

I turned my attention back to the creek but the old woman was gone. I could feel her. 

“It’s nothing I told her. Are you done with your shift yet?” 

“Yes, I’m done,” she answered. “Eduardo is making me change my clothes first. So, sit tight and I’ll be right back.” 

I sat back down and looked out the window again. A breeze blew open one of the side windows, unexpectedly and I almost fell out of my chair. I could hear a faint humming. It was all too familiar. There was still no old woman, but I knew she was there. She was watching me somehow. 

Simone finally came back and sat beside me. “What’s going on, Ivy? I haven’t seen you this unraveled in a very long time. It’s a little disconcerting to say the least.” 

“He’s after me,” I told her. “He knows I’m here.” 

“Who knows you’re here? Ivy, you’re not making any sense.” 

“Lucifer,” I whispered, leaning into her so that no one else would hear me. “He thinks I know.” 

“He thinks you know what?” she asked, looking at me as though I had gone mad. 

“When Jesus is coming. He thinks I know.” 

“Do you?” she asked. “Do you know?” 

A hiss filled the air in the room as the wind picked up and gushed through the open window. I drew a breath but I dared not answer. She was listening.

International Giveaway

For a chance to win One of Ten e-books of Easter's Lilly

The winner will be announced at the end of the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Read an excerpt from 'Numen's Trust' by Pat Nelson Childs

About the Book

Seven years have passed on Firma since Rokey’s narrow escape from The Order of the Bone. All of Firma is now at war. The living god, Cyure, and his merciless hordes have succeeded in conquering all other realms save two – the kingdoms of Iceberg and Glacia, far up in the Northern Expanse. As refugees pour into these kingdoms from all over Firma, Rokey, Flash and their companions are working constantly to stay one step ahead of Cyure, who still wants ‘The Scion’ alive in order to steal his awesome, but still largely latent power. Just as things look blackest, High Mage Ellispon and his fellow scholars happen upon a key which at last will enable them to translate the ancient scrolls taken from Moribar years before. It is from these scrolls that they learn of a magical object known simply as “The Heart”, which offers them the means to finally unlock Rokey’s enormous power. The only problem – The Heart is not even in Firma! And so the final quest begins – a race to find this fabled object and to give Rokey the power he needs to confront Cyure at last, saving both the people he loves, and the land that he has already given so much to defend.

Link: http://www.chroniclesoffirma.com/NTsummary.html

Read an excerpt:

The roof of the hut burned like a torch, as Ellispon and the two scholars hurried to gather together the scrolls and all the notes that covered the table. A chunk of burning debris fell on Bantion, setting his tunic ablaze. In a panic, he screamed and ran out the door. 

“Bantion!” Valengyll screamed, and ran out after him, dropping his pile of papers. 

Ellispon went quickly to gather them up, jumping to dodge another section of the burning roof as it fell. Rokey watched through the doorway as Valengyll tackled Bantion and forced him to roll around on the ground to put the fire out. The elf then leapt up and drew his sword to defend the two of them from a pair of attacking ogres. Groog flew outside and assumed his fiery dragon guise, then swooped down to aid Valengyll. Ellispon rushed over to Rokey, the precious documents clutched to his chest.

“I’ve got everything,” he yelled over the melee. “Let’s go!” 

Rokey led the way outside, his sword drawn to protect the old mage. He looked around quickly. There were bodies everywhere, but he saw no other enemy fighters close by, so he hastened to aid Valengyll as he struggled against the ogres. 

‘Ellispon!’ he heard Groog send, ‘there is a clear path to a large brush patch straight behind you. Take the documents and hide there with them.’ 

Though he felt guilty about leaving, Ellispon obeyed without hesitation. In this situation, he knew that he would only be a hindrance. The other three continued to fight, Groog distracting the ogres as the other two engaged them with their swords. The battle did not last long. Rokey’s swordsmanship had grown superb over the years, and Valengyll, though he lacked skill, fought ferociously to protect the injured Bantion. After one ogre had been dispatched and the other had fled, Groog returned to his normal size, while Rokey helped Valengyll carry Bantion, severely burned and moaning in pain, out of the clearing and into the brush patch where Ellispon awaited them. All around, they could hear the battle still raging. 

“I’ve got to go find Flash,” Rokey said in a panic. 

“Rokey, you can’t,” said Ellispon. “It’s too risky.” 

“Master, what would you have me do...just leave him out there?” Rokey protested angrily. 

“Rokey, if we lose you, we’ve lost everything,” Ellispon reminded him. “You’ve got to get out of here – open a door to No-When and go. Take these documents with you. If Flaskamper is still alive, he’s already heading this way. If not...if not, then you’d only be throwing your life away for nothing.” 

‘Ellispon is right, Rokey,’ Groog sent. ‘You must escape. You are Firma’s only hope. I will fly out and try to find Flaskamper.’ 

Rokey was about to argue further when Valengyll spoke. 

“Is there anything you can do to help Bantion?” he pleaded. “He must be in terrible pain.” 

‘I’ll find Flaskamper and tell him where you’re hiding,’ sent Groog, and flew off before Rokey could argue. 

Though sick with worry, Rokey found that he could not ignore the young elf’s plea for help. He crawled over to where Valengyll sat with Bantion’s head cradled in his lap. It took Rokey only a moment, though, to realize that Bantion was beyond all help. He broke the news as gently as he could. 

“But he can’t be dead,” Valengyll sobbed quietly. “He can’t be. He was – he was my life.” 

With these words, Rokey felt his own heart tearing in two, for he knew that Ellispon was right. All around them the woods were beginning to erupt into flames, and they could hear the cries of the dying everywhere. It would be suicide for him to go looking for Flash. On the other hand, just like young Valengyll, he couldn’t imagine going on without his love. A he sat there, stunned and unable to act, Ellispon suddenly seized him by the shoulders. 

“You have to go now, son!” he insisted. “All of Firma is depending on you. You have to escape before it’s too late!” 

A nearby tree exploded, showering their hiding place with flaming debris. As the dry evergreen needles around them began to smolder, Rokey suddenly felt all of his emotions draining away. Yes, there was only one choice. His own life might be over, but ‘The Scion’ had to go on. There was too much at stake to let his personal feelings cripple him now. 

“Very well,” he told Ellispon, “but I need you with me, and you must make Valengyll come too. I need you both to help finish translating the scroll.” 

When Ellispon agreed, Rokey closed his eyes and began to reach out to the nearest articulation. He found it nearly impossible to concentrate, but he had performed this task so many times now in practice, it was now much less difficult for him. Still, the process required him to harness and manipulate a tremendous amount of energy, so once the process was underway, Rokey found himself becoming more and more focused on the job at hand. Soon he had constructed a stable doorway for them between two nearby trees. 

“Go now, Master,” he told Ellispon. “Take Valengyll.” 

The High Mage stood, still holding the valuable papers in his arms.
“Valengyll, you must come with us now,” he commanded gently but sternly.

“No!” said Valengyll defiantly. “I won’t leave him!” 

“There will be a time to avenge him, Valengyll,” Ellispon tried. “I swear to you there will be. But now is not that time, son. We need you now. Firma needs you now.” 

“You don’t know what you’re asking, Ellispon,” Valengyll said. 

I know, Valengyll, Rokey thought, desperately scanning the trees behind them for any sign of the dragon or Flash. I know. 

As Ellispon continued trying to persuade the young scholar, Rokey spied a person running toward their burning hut. For a moment, he dared to hope, but as the figure drew closer, his heart sank. It was the Princess Alengra – alone. 

“Princess Alengra!” he yelled, shaking off his growing feelings of dread. “This way!”
Alengra turned and ran toward him. 

“Where’s Flash?” he asked when she reached him. 

“I don’t know!” she cried. “He and Briander went someplace to talk. I was supposed to meet them here, but then the attackers came and –” 

Her knees began to buckle. For a moment, Rokey worried she might faint. He could not risk destroying the doorway in order to catch her. Fortunately she recovered herself. 

“Leni,” he said, “we have to get out of here. Go through the doorway with my two friends there.” He gestured toward Ellispon and Valengyll.

“Doorway?” said Alengra. “What do you mean?” 

Just then Rokey saw a group of enemy fighters break from the trees and start running toward them. There was still no sign of Groog or Flash, but now he could wait no longer. 

“Come on!” he yelled, grabbing her arm. Though clearly confused, she accompanied him willingly. “Ellispon! Valengyll! Inside now!” 

Ellispon entered the shimmering doorway just ahead of Rokey and Alengra. Valengyll, however, did not follow. Rokey turned back, only to find him rushing, his sword drawn, toward the pack of encroaching soldiers. There was no way any of them could stop him. Valengyll had chosen to stay and fight – to give his life avenging his slain lover. It was a supremely selfish act, and yet, as Rokey pulled the doorway closed, watching the young elf charge fearlessly into the overwhelming onslaught, the emotion he felt most keenly of all – was envy.

About the Author

Pat Nelson Childs currently lives in Maine with his faithful cat, Bo. He was born and raised in Rumford, ME. In previous lives, he owned a clothing store in Provincetown, MA and worked as a computer support technician for a large international corporation based in Ann Arbor. He presently mentors GLBT youth and is at work on his latest book. When he's not writing (which is rarely), the author enjoys reading, watching movies, cooking and traveling. He also likes watching football, baseball & hockey and hanging out with friends.

Links:

http://www.patnelsonchilds.com/about.html  

Website: http://www.chroniclesoffirma.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/chroniclesoffirma
Buy book on Amazon: http://amzn.to/JWildV

This giveaway is US Only Signed copy of the Trilogy and International a pdf version of the Trilogy

The winner will be announced at the end of the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Read an excerpt from 'Redemption: A Parson's Gap Story' by Samantha Charles

About the Book

Lindy Carver Harrington loses her unborn child during a violent altercation with her husband. On the same day, her closest friend Sara careens off a mountainside to her death. Lindy is devastated. Imprisoned by grief, and paralyzed by fear, she is easy prey to her husband’s abuse. She is unable to summon the strength to fight back, until now…

A brutal confrontation forces Lindy to choose to either end her husband’s life, or save her own. Escaping, she returns home to Parson’s Gap to rebuild her shattered life. Still haunted by the cryptic message Sara left moments before she died, Lindy becomes determined to answer the voice from the grave and unravel the mystery surrounding Sara’s death.

On a perilous journey into the final days of her friend’s life, Lindy’s quest for truth will expose shocking secrets that will shake a small southern town to its roots. Confronting the demons of her past, she strips away layers of lies buried beneath the magnificent mountains she calls home. When the past and present collide, the truth may set Lindy free, if she can only live long enough to take her last shot at redemption.

Chapter 1

Lindy Harrington woke up with the carved wooden grip of her .38 caliber revolver still clutched in her right hand. Nestled between her rib cage and abdomen, the stainless steel cylinder was strangely comforting against her skin. The metallic taste of copper in her mouth reminded her that she was far too familiar with the taste of her own blood.

Much like a child might cuddle a favored stuffed animal; Lindy had clasped the gun to her body throughout the long restless night, while she weighed the pros and cons of pointing the muzzle at her husband's head and squeezing the trigger.

Unclenching her hand, she placed the pistol on the nightstand beside the bed.

Flexing her fingers to restore circulation, she gently touched her stomach right below her navel where the embryo would have, given the chance, transformed into a living, breathing baby; her baby. A year ago today, she thought. The memory of that morning hit her like waves pummeling a shoreline. Pinching the bridge of her nose to stay the tears, she struggled against the tidal wave of sorrow that washed over her.

So far, she'd been unable to discover any defense against the darkness that consumed her each time she thought about that day, the day two completely unrelated events pushed her into an abyss so deep even a glimmer of light couldn't be found.

Rolling to her side, Lindy drew her long slender legs up into the fetal position. She lay quietly, with silent tears soaking through the fabric of the pillowcase underneath her.

Refusing to submit to the pain, she forced herself to roll to the edge of the king size bed and then dropped her feet over the side. She carefully placed the revolver back into the top drawer of her nightstand, but she left the drawer open this time.

Tentatively, she placed her bare feet on the floor, stepping over the broken glass from a shattered whiskey decanter. The small slit at the corner of her lip was tender, and the area just below her right eye felt a little tight and swollen, but overall it could have been worse. It had been worse.

Dropping back onto the bed, she closed her eyes, and replayed the long hours of contemplation that had replaced sleep the night before. She had repeatedly replayed the chain of events following that disastrous day one year ago. Since then, she had chosen to remain trapped in a violent marriage even after she’d lost her child, but she wasn’t sure whether she stayed as punishment for her sins, or to serve as a constant reminder of his? But it really didn’t matter anymore.

Lindy had been forced to make a decision. She may be able to aim a gun, pull the trigger, and end the agony for both of them, but he wasn't worth the price she'd have to pay. She wasn't about to sacrifice her freedom along with everything else she’d already thrown away. Besides, at the rate he was going he’d self-destruct sooner or later anyway.

Lindy shoved aside the thick down comforter soaked in his semen and her tears. She stood up, this time more sure-footed, and quietly crossed the room to the oversized walk-in closet. Like her, the coat hangers hung empty and the shelves were barren. She pulled a pair of faded Levis over her hips and gingerly worked a worn tank top over her head.

After wrapping a sweatshirt around her waist, she listened carefully for any sign of life downstairs. Hearing nothing but the sound of her own shallow breathing, she picked up her pace, ignoring the twinges of pain at every step. Filling a small suitcase with her meager wardrobe took less than ten minutes.

Approaching the bathroom, carefully avoiding the wall of mirrors facing her, she grabbed a knapsack off the hook behind the door. Retracing her steps, Lindy gently lifted the revolver out of the nightstand drawer and wrapped it in the red velvet cloth that lay underneath. Placing it carefully in the top of her bag, she packed the extra rounds, along with the cleaning supplies, a small can of oil, and soft rag.

Stepping over the torn nightshirt he’d ripped off of her, she made her way to the door. Taking a final look at her marital bed, her own chamber of self-destruction, she released an audible sigh of relief as she left the room behind.

Lindy’s relationship with her husband Harry had begun to deteriorate from the moment they'd taken their vows, but after an appointment with her obstetrician the previous year, a simple test had given her hope that she could salvage something from their disastrous marriage. That night, Lindy had waited up for him to share the news. Sometime before dawn, she'd given up. Bringing along a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, she climbed the stairs and fell into bed. She had just dozed off when she'd heard the kitchen door slam.

Harry had stumbled over the dog and Lindy could hear him cursing and thumping against the walls during his trek up the stairs. When he finally made it to their room, Lindy shut her eyes feigning sleep, hoping that fatigue and intoxication would make disturbing her not worth the effort. She’d been wrong. Harry had staggered to her side of the bed, mumbled an obscene comment about her missing him, and then jerked the comforter off the bed. The smell of stale alcohol, tobacco, and drug store perfume made her already nauseous stomach churn.

Lindy pleaded with him to stop, but he’d only laughed. He’d caught her wrist and shoved her onto her back. Straddling her, he held her arms above her head with one hand and unfastened his filthy jeans with the other, while describing in despicable detail what he intended to do to her.

Despite her resolve to stop him, her attempts to fight him off that night had been futile. He had made good on each threat before he finally rolled off of her. Lindy had carefully moved to the other side of the bed, and finding her robe, tightened the sash around her waist. She'd made it as far as the top of the staircase before he'd caught up to her.

Lindy had chosen her words carefully, hoping to hide any inflection or emotion that would set him off again. She was already terrified he may have harmed the baby, and in a foolish attempt to discourage another brutal confrontation, she’d told him she was pregnant.

He told her she was out of her fucking mind. Then he told her there was no way they were keeping her child. Battered and bruised, trembling with rage and indignation, she had turned to face him just as he lurched toward her. He shoved her backwards, and the force of the thrust had taken her off balance. Unable to react quickly enough to catch the railing, she’d tumbled down the stairs, ending her pregnancy and any hopes she’d had for a family of her own.

Now, on this, the first anniversary of her child’s death, Lindy carried the memory of that night, along with her suitcase, to the bottom of the staircase. Reaching the foyer, she intentionally avoided the expensive Oriental rug his mother purchased to cover the deep red stains that stubbornly refused to fade from the blonde wood.

“‘Out damn spot,’” she whispered, recalling the warm trickle of blood between her thighs as she had laid at the bottom of the stairs on that fateful morning. The physical pain and emotional anguish had held her captive at the foot of the stairs for some time. To this day, she had no idea how long she'd remained there before she was able to place the call to 911.

With her final trip down that staircase behind her, Lindy cautiously checked the living room, but found no sign of Harry. It had been a long time since she'd cared where he spent his nights, but she was always thankful for the ones he didn't spend with her. This morning, in particular, she was fervently hoping he’d be somewhere, anywhere other than home. Entering the kitchen, Lindy found she’d been overly optimistic about his whereabouts.

Harry was passed out, head down on the kitchen table. She tripped over an overturned can of diet soda still lying next to the refrigerator, where it had slid from her grasp the night before when she'd used both hands to ward off the first of many blows to come. The syrupy liquid had become a sticky residue, mixed with shards of glass from a lead crystal whiskey tumbler, a wedding gift, that shattered as it bounced off the wall. Luckily, Harry's aim had been off.

The glass had hit the wall only a few inches from her head, leaving behind a russet colored stain that resembled a Rorschach inkblot. She carefully picked her way around the debris, shaking her head in disgust at the mess, as well as her own stupidity, but feeling her resolve strengthen.

Leaving her dog Atticus locked safely on the other side of the door; she dropped her bag next to her feet within easy reach.

She sat down at the kitchen table across from her husband. Fed up with her own fears, she was determined to try to regain some of the dignity she'd sacrificed by attempting to bring a rational end to an irrational marriage.

Repulsed by the thought of touching him, she called his name several times to rouse him from his unconscious state.

Eventually he looked up, and wiped away the remains of a powdery white substance from under his nose. Lindy didn't expect him to take the news well, but this time, she was counting on his lack of sleep, coupled with a vicious hangover, to temper his response; at least the physical one.

Never fond of wasting time with unnecessary words or insincere emotion, she simply said, “I'm leaving.”

“No you're not,” he mumbled, with a distinct slur to each word. “Didn't we play this scene already, Bitch? Is this about your goddamn baby again?”

Lindy stood up. “I can't do this anymore, Harry. It's too dangerous," she hesitated, "for both of us. I must be crazy to think we could actually have a civilized conversation, a mistake I won't make again.”

He responded faster than she'd expected given his condition. He reached the short distance across the table and grabbed her arm, jerking her back into her chair. Lindy was glad she’d had the foresight to leave Atticus outside. Great Danes are a gentle breed, and Atticus was particularly so up until the moment he felt there was a threat to Lindy, as there so often was when herhusband was around.

“Let go of me.”

“Where, Lindy? Where do you think you're going to go? That black bitch is dead, so you can't run to her. What are you going to do, run off to Atlanta to see your nigger boyfriend?”

Tightening his grip on her wrist, he pulled her across the table, his face so close to hers that she could smell the stale liquor on his breath. She tried to ignore the waves of revulsion.

“Since you're too fucking stupid to figure it out, I'll tell you how this fairy tale works. Low class piece of ass doesn’t leave handsome rich boy. When it's time to take out the trash, I'll put you out by the curb, but not until I'm ready! You might have been strong enough to walk before you lost that kid, Lindy, but not anymore. You're not exactly the tough girl you used to be, are you?”

Clamping his hand around the back of her neck, he salaciously licked the side of her face and then snickered. “I think you like it this way, don't you; the way I gave it to you last night?”

She turned her face and tasted bile rising in her throat. His cell phone started to vibrate, making a clacking sound against the table. He shoved her back into her seat and checked the screen. His bravado fading instantly, he deflated like a hot air balloon lacking a source of heat.

Lindy watched with perverse satisfaction as he consciously made an attempt to control his twitching; one of many annoying physical signs of his addictions, while he answered the call from a far more powerful bully than he could ever become.

“Fuck!” Clearing his throat, he croaked, “Good morning, Dad.”

Despite the fact that he was still too impaired to get behind the wheel of a car, he slithered out the door, with his father's latest summons, no doubt, still ringing in his ears. Harry Harrington, Senior waited for no man, especially not his sniveling spoiled offspring, Harry Junior.

Lindy waited until she heard the garage door close. Atticus was on her immediately, as though he had been waiting for her to come for him all night. Lindy loaded her belongings, along with her dog, into her '68 Mustang.

Harry was right. Whoever Lindy Carver Harrington had been had died a year ago, along with her unborn child, but she intended to resurrect the woman she used to be. Mama Ray, a wise woman, once told her that if you ever lost your way, you go back to the beginning and start over. Lindy was counting on the platitude now, just as she had counted on the woman all those years.

Atticus settled in, and Lindy smiled when she turned to rub the white spot between his eyes.

“Let’s go home, buddy,” she murmured softly, hoping she may have finally grown up enough to grasp the meaning of the word.

About the Author

Samantha Charles is a southern writer. She grew up in the Appalachian region of the Southeast in small towns that are somewhat isolated from modern-day society by geography, and choice. She remains passionate about the magnificence, as well as the malevolence, of the southern culture.

She now resides in the Midwest, with her husband and three children. She attended Baker University in Kansas where she earned her Master of Arts degree. When she isn’t busy creating new worlds, she teaches English as a professor at a local college. he is currently creating a series of short stories about Parson’s Gap; a coal mining town inspired by the people and places she grew to love as a child. She is also hard at work on Salvation, the sequel to Redemption.

Redemption is her first novel.

If you would like to learn more, please visit her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/author.samantha.charles

International Giveaway 

 For a chance to win One of Five pdf's of Redmeption 

 The winner will be announced at the end of the tour. 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Read an excerpt from 'The Seacrest' by Aaron Paul Lazar

About THE SEACREST

They say it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

Finn McGraw disagrees.

He was just seventeen when he had a torrid summer affair with the girl who stole his heart—and then inexplicably turned on him. Finn may have moved on with his life, but he’s never forgotten her.

Now, ten years later, he’s got more than his lost love to worry about. A horrific accident turns his life upside down, resurrecting the ghosts of his long-dead family and taking the lives of the few people he has left.

Finn always believed his estranged brother was responsible for the fire that killed their family—but an unexpected inheritance with a mystery attached throws everything he knows into doubt.

And on top of that, the beguiling daughter of his wealthy employer has secrets of her own. But the closer he gets, the harder she pushes him away.

The Seacrest is a story of intrigue and betrayal, of secrets and second chances—and above all, of a love that never dies.

Check out Chapter 4

Chapter 4

July 2nd, 1997

We played with the beach ball for about an hour, laughing and churning up sand three hundred yards up the beach, away from the sunbathers and family picnics. After the first few nervous minutes, the whole thing felt very natural, as if we were just kids and there were no boy-girl elements to be embarrassed about.

But there certainly were boy-girl elements.

I watched her tawny arms as they flailed and whapped the ball and marveled at her long, delicate legs when she ran back and forth along the quiet stretch of sand we’d chosen. Her eyes had a way of widening in mock horror when I tossed it too high and she missed it, quickly followed by a wide smile that dizzied me.

She had a nice figure, with slim legs, a narrow waist, and pretty shoulders. Her one-piece black suit covered areas I tried not to stare at, but couldn’t help wanting to. I wondered how it would feel to touch her. Probably softer than silk. Her hair cascaded along her back, bouncing dark against her summer brown skin.

We collapsed on the sand with the ball between us, breathing hard and laughing.

“You’re pretty good at this,” she said.

I leaned back on my arms and chuckled. “So are you. For a girl.”

She sat up and hit my arm. “What? For a girl?”

Afraid she’d storm off, I took her hand and pulled her close to me. “I’m just kidding! Really, you’re good, even for a guy.”

She smiled that lazy, sweet grin again and I felt my heart melt.

“Okay. That’s better.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Guess.”

“What?”

“Guess.”

“Okay.” I sat up, furrowed my brow, and placed fingertips against my temples, staring at her. “I’m getting something. It’s coming.”

She laughed and poked my chest. “Oh, really? What do you see?”

I gave it a shot. “Jennifer?”

She snorted. “No!”

I tried again. “Sarah?”

She giggled. “Heck, no.”

I tried to think of the most popular names of our generation, hoping it was one of them. “Allison?”

“Uhnt-uh.” She shook her head.

“Give me a hint.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on!” I frowned. “How can I guess?”

“You have to.”

“Okay. Hannah? Jessica? Carly? Jenna? Lisa?”

“No, no, no, no, and no.”

“Hey. How ‘bout if I tell you my name?”

“What is it?”

I hesitated. “It’s a weird one.”

“Tell me.”

“Okay. It’s Finn.”

She tilted her head. “That’s not weird. I like it. Finn.” She seemed to taste the letters on her tongue, enjoying the feel of it. “It’s different. But nice.”

“Okay. Your turn.” I sat forward expectantly.

“Nope. I’m not telling. You have to keep guessing.”

I ran through all the names I could imagine, and didn’t hit on it. Frustrated now, I flopped back on the sand. “Okay. Then I’m gonna make up a name for you.”

She made a face. “Really?” Quickly, she leaned over me, her face blocking the sun.

In a sudden rush of feeling, I wanted to pull her to me, to smother her in kisses, to taste the salt on her skin.

“Okay, what’s it gonna be? What’s my new name?”

“Let me think.”

Her hair danced over my bare chest. I caught it and played with it. “You are sweet. I could call you

Honey.”

“Boring,” she said.

“How about Candy?”

“Sexist,” she pouted.

“Bambi?”

“Even worse! I’m not a playboy bunny!”

“Okay, Well, you look delicious. How about Cupcake?”

She hissed. “That sounds like a chubby girl. Or a pony.”

“Okay, okay. Let me think. Maybe I need some inspiration. How about a kiss?”

At first I thought she’d reel back and hit me. But to my surprise, she lowered her lips to mine, stopping just an inch apart. “Okay. Just a little one, though.”

I reached my arms up to her neck and pulled her toward me. At the last minute, just as I felt the soft sweetness of her mouth brushing mine, she pulled back.

“Nope. Too soon.” She got up and laughed, twirling around with the ball. “Come on. What’s my

nickname?”

I sat up, trying to control the heat surging beneath my bathing suit. “Okay. I’ve got it.”

“What? What is it?”

“Sassy.”

She pranced toward me. “I love that! Okay. From now on, I’m Sassy to you.”

Her father appeared out of nowhere, his face a study in disapproval. I think he hated me from the moment I’d asked her to toss the ball around. I also figured he’d probably seen us lying near each other, and got nervous.

He glared at me. “Time for lunch. Let’s go.”

There was no arguing with his stern tone. She tossed him the ball and wiggled her fingers at me.

“See ya ‘round, Finn.”

I grinned like an idiot. God, she was cute. “Okay, Sassy. See ya.”

I watched her link arms with her father and sashay away from me. The sun winked on the brilliant sand, almost blinding me. As if hypnotized, I stared with slack jaw until I could barely make out her figure among the crowded, colorful throng of beach-lovers.

Sassy.

Oh, Sassy. You’re the one for me.

Buy links

Amazon US \ Amazon UK \ Amazon CA \ Smashwords

AUTHOR BIO: Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. An award-winning, bestselling Kindle author of three addictive mystery series, writing books, and a new love story, Aaron enjoys the Genesee Valley countryside in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his website at http://www.lazarbooks.com and watch for his upcoming releases THE SEACREST (2013), SANCTUARY (2014), and VIRTUOSO (2014).

CONNECT/ONLINE LINKS:

Website http://www.lazarbooks.com

Blog1 http://www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com

Blog2 http://www.murderby4.blogspot.com

Facebook1 https://www.facebook.com/AaronPaulLazarTwitter (personal page)

Facebook2 https://www.facebook.com/aplazar2 (author page)

Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/629566.Aaron_Paul_Lazar

Google Plus: https://plus.google.com/106903480874581085678/posts

Author’s Den: http://www.authorsden.com/aaronplazar1

Check out an excerpt from 'Reap the Whirlwind' by Robert Sells

About the Book

Whitman Emerson had everything a man could want: a beautiful girlfriend, a growing recognition in literary circles, the respect of his peers, and more than enough money. Until he discovers his bank account has been depleted. A few days later he loses his job. Old friends who may have been able to help him either die, disappear or disown him. Everywhere he goes, he is watched by security cameras. Then he is arrested for child pornography.

Bourbon bottle in hand, he trudged to the door and opened it to red blinking lights of half a dozen police cars. He was pushed aside as black-suited officers forced themselves past him. Roughly grabbed by one of the officers, Whit listened as a detective recited his Miranda rights. Within moments he was handcuffed and led outside.

On the run from the law, Whit joins up a stuttering computer nerd, Rick, and his younger sister, Mary. The trio gradually put the puzzle pieces together and realize their lives and the lives of all humans have been subtly manipulated by a computer, a computer which controls all data… anywhere, from banks to hospitals to online games.

“Whatever is happening is coming from that military base, Whit. I’m sure of it.”

“So the military is behind this?” Whit asked .

Rick paused a moment, both hands wrapped around the coffee cup. “Maybe. But, I don’t think so. I think someone has remotely gained access to their main c-c-computer. The biggest, bad-assed computer in the world.”

“And he is using this giant computer to control parts of the internet.” Whit said.

“All the net. Everything. He’s greedy b-b-bastard.”

An old and unorthodox detective, Jimmy Northup, is assigned to find Whit Emerson. But, the more he digs into the case, the more he realizes it’s a set up.

Jimmy could hear cars pulling in, yells, and laughter. The light and the sound didn’t keep him from sleeping, though. He was unable to stop thinking about the fugitive. He pushed out assumptions until one by one, they dropped away, more tired than he was. He was left with only one assumption which held up: Whit didn’t do any of the crimes. Someone was setting him up.

Jimmy offers his help to ‘Trio of Terror’ and they search for a legendary computer expert, Little Lion who created a super computer ten years before. All four are shocked when they finally meet the legend.

Rick’s wide eyes blinked. “But… b-b-but, you’re a woman!”

She cast a look down at her body as though she was checking, just to make sure. “Correct. A woman, black, old, and unmarried. She tilted the glasses down and glared at him, “You have a problem with any part of that?”

Rick quickly shook his head as though he was trying shake off her stare.

“Little Lion… the name… we were expecting a man.” Whit interjected.

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, how do such chauvinistic notions prevail? It’s not the big male lion with his fancy mane who is the real food-gather… it’s the female… smaller… admittedly not as attractive… who makes the kill. The little lion in the pride.”

Little Lion confirms that the computer represents a grave threat to mankind. A threat that no one else is aware of. The computer created by Little Lion had achieved artificial intelligence and self-awareness. To ensure its survival, the time of Man must end.

As Little Lion wearily rose from the chair, the technician handed over a print out of complex machine language.

“This line is before you pushed the button. The lines which follow are after union. The first page is gibberish. But the second page shows a positive check of all systems. Congratulations. It works perfectly.”

Little Lion did not look at the results of the union. Instead he focused on the “gibberish”. Hiding any reaction, Little Lion was deeply scared.

So begins the greatest battle for freedom ever fought, a battle which only Whit and his friends would ever know about.

He abruptly stopped, pulled his hand from hers and looked at the homes nestled in tree-laden yards, a call for dinner in the distance, a laugh somewhere else.

“They have no clue, Mary. No one even suspects their lives are being manipulated by a self-serving computer. We have to do something. We have to!”

Unfortunately the ‘something’ was destroying the internet as that was the only way to ‘kill’ the computer.

“Over the last few years,” Laisa (Little Lion) began, “I have been perfecting a computer virus unlike any other. It is powerful enough to bring down the entire net in a matter of minutes. Without the vast computer web, the computer is powerless. Then and only then would we have a chance to destroy it.”

“Do it.” said Whit.

She frowned at her over the glasses.

“Really, Whit? Are you ready to really take down the entire net? Sacrifice all financial institutions?”

“Hospitals, police links, GPS…” added Jimmy, emphasizing each with a note played on the piano.

“Satellites, airplanes would be impacted, perhaps even causing crashes…” offered Mary.

“Ships… our navy would be compromised,” continued Laisa.

“Agriculture would be d-d-damaged; they u- u-use computer programs for watering…”

“Pictures, genealogy, the stuff of families would be lost.” Mary said.

“The world would go into a financial and mental depression far worse than even the Great Depression. Trillions of dollars lost.

Trillions, Whit. Don’t worry about a stock market crash, the entire human civilization would crash. Wars would start up.

Millions, perhaps even billions would die.”

Despite the devastating prospect, the group goes ahead with their intentions. But, they are up against the military, the police, and even the general public as the computer controls what each group ‘sees’ and ‘hears’.

Beside the computer, of course, the villain in the story is Henry Jackson, an upper echelon government official in charge of the manhunt trying to capture or, if necessary, kill Whit. Jackson is efficient and brutal, single-minded and focused, charming and self-serving.

When Alice came to his suite that evening, he offered her some wine. At first, she declined. Jackson wiggled the bottle a little, grinning as he tried to convince her. “Come on. You’re off the clock, honey. Just one glass.”

In observing the way Jackson handled subordinates, she knew this was not a man to say no to. He could and did make or break careers. Alice agreed to the wine.

The closing chapter finds Jackson converging on Whit and his friends as they finally mount an assault against the computer.

They eventually succeed with their mission but not without collateral damage to the world and themselves.