Book Showcase: Pineapple Easter Egg by Amy Vansant (Giveaway)

PINEAPPLE PORT MYSTERY SERIES

 

NOW OPTIONED FOR TELEVISION!

Every book can be read as a standalone mystery - hop in anywhere in the series!

USA Today, Amazon All-Star and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Amy Vansant has her Pineapple Port crew on an egg-cellent adventures near and far!

Easter eggs surround the body. One of them has a note. Charlotte teams up with Sheriff Frank to solve a cryptic murder in a do-or-dye situation...

Too bad she won't have help. Uncle Seamus and Bob accompany Declan to his charity swim in Tampa, Florida, only to find themselves in pursuit of a stolen life-sized Jimmy Buffett cutout. Darla and Mariska travel to the center of Florida to meet Mariska's newly found cousin at an art festival, where a man with a crush on Mariska bobs up in the lake and she's thrown in jail as a murder suspect. It's up to Darla and some very familiar locals to hatch a plan, solve the crime, and clear Mariska.

It's all very egg-citing!

A super fun and unique mystery full of hidden "Easter eggs" for you to spot! Famous actors anagram names, Jimmy Buffet song references - find them all!

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery, Classic Mystery
Publication Date: April 9, 2025
Number of Pages: 350
Series: Pineapple Port Mystery Series, 24
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Coby Karola stood over his sink, cleaning a dinner plate, when he heard something strike the window near his kitchen table. The noise was sharp. Loud. Too loud to be a bird.

“What the heck was that?” he said to no one, moving to the back door.

He cupped his hands around his face to peer out the window, but it was too dark to see.

He dried his hands on his pants and flipped the back porch light on. Nothing seemed amiss until his attention fell on the center of his unmowed lawn. Unnaturally bright specks of color scattered across an area about the size of a round picnic table—yellow, pink, purple…

Grumbling to himself, Coby opened the door. From the small landing, he saw the color blobs were equally round. Maybe a little oblong. Sort of like…

Eggs?

It was April...

Easter eggs?

Shaking his head, he walked out and bent to pick up one. It was plastic—the typical cheap, hollow plastic eggs people hid candy in this time of year.

Kids.

It was almost Easter. This stunt had to be kids thinking they were funny. This time of year, the residents’ grandkids visited Florida for spring break. Every spring was a nightmare of blaring speakers on golf carts wheeling around the neighborhood.

Coby shook the plastic egg and then cracked open a purple one. There was nothing inside. He picked up another to find it empty as well.

He snorted. If someone was going to take the time to scatter eggs around his yard, at least they could throw in a chocolate or two.

In the hopes of finding something, he kept at it, twisting one egg after the next. Distracted by curiosity, he never heard the stranger running up behind him.

The one with the hammer.

But then, that was the point.

Chapter Two

Charlotte padded into the kitchen to start the morning coffee, her oversized sleep shirt tapping her knees as she walked.

It was still a little strange to wake up in Declan’s house.

She’d given up thinking she’d ever live anywhere but Pineapple Port, the fifty-five-plus community where she’d grown up, but here she was—a whole three miles away in her husband’s house.

She didn’t mind.

Marriage was pretty cool.

Who knew?

She had a new pattern at Declan’s house, and it felt more and more like home every day.

Her soft-coated wheaten terrier, Abby, approached and sat, waiting to be taken for her morning walk. The dog had figured out her patterns faster than her mommy, but to be fair, all her patterns revolved around treats, so things were pretty straightforward for her.

Charlotte suspected Abby liked it better at Declan’s house. Declan had a pool and a fenced back yard, and the terrier could romp whenever she wanted—no waiting for official walks. Charlotte was pretty fond of that new aspect of their lives as well—

Hold on.

Charlotte stopped as something flashed in her peripheral vision. She glanced at the back slider doors in time to see a shadow pass the full-length shade.

Something outside was moving.

Something big.

It didn’t look like a stray cat passing by. It was bigger and more person-shaped. She knew Declan was in the bedroom, so that ruled him out.

She heard splashing and cocked her head.

Someone’s in Declan’s pool?

The splashing made her feel better. Thieves and killers didn’t usually take a quick swim before breaking into a house.

Goofball kids stealing a swim?

Probably. It was that time of year when grandkids came to Florida. People on vacation sometimes acted like vacation spots didn’t carry the same rules or consequences as back home. That’s when they ended up with kids in the pool and golf carts planted in mailbox posts.

Abby heard the intruder splashing and offered her opinion in the form of a deep-chested boof—that pre-full-bark noise all dogs made before completely losing their minds. The dog jogged to the door and entered the lowered shade from the side to peek outside.

Abby’s bark alone would probably scare away the kids—but she didn’t bark. Instead, her little nub of tail wagged.

Charlotte stood behind her failing guard dog but couldn’t see anyone from her angle. Whoever was in the pool had stopped at the far end, out of sight, but she heard someone say, “Whoo! Cold!”

She left Abby and hustled to the bedroom to wake up her husband.

“Declan,” she hissed, shaking him.

He cracked one eye open.

“Hm?”

“There’s someone in the pool.”

“What?”

Declan sat up, alarmed but clearly still half asleep. It didn’t look like his mind would be joining them for another minute or so. The man slept like the dead.

Must be nice.

“There’s someone in our pool,” she repeated.

“In the pool? The cleaning guy?”

“It’s Friday. It’s not the cleaning guy. He was yesterday,” she said, slipping into her robe.

Declan checked his watch and grunted. He stood and stretched. His eyes focused on her. It looked like his brain had caught up to the rest of him.

“There you are,” she said, giving him a quick kiss.

Abby barked twice, and Declan strode toward the living room in the sweat shorts he usually wore to bed without bothering to get dressed. Now, he was all business. Whoever was out there was lucky the man hadn’t had his coffee yet.

Charlotte followed. Declan grabbed a controller from the sofa table, opened the automatic curtains, and watched in stunned silence as someone stroked their way to the edge of his pool.

“Why would someone steal a swim at four in the morning?” asked Charlotte.

Declan switched on the back porch light as the swimmer grabbed the side and bobbed up for air. Noticing the lights and open blinds, he pulled the goggles over his bushy gray eyebrows and squinted at them from the water.

He waved.

“Is that Bob?” asked Declan.

“I think it is,” said Charlotte. “I should probably call Mariska and tell her her husband’s loose.”

Declan glanced over his shoulder at her.

“This is what I was afraid of. Your crazy has followed you from Pineapple Port.”

She smirked and smacked his arm.

“You knew what you were signing up for. No takebacks.”

Declan had experienced plenty of Pineapple Port insanity during their dating years. She, on the other hand, had never known anything else. She was young when she moved into the retirement community to live with her grandmother after her mother died. When her grandmother also passed, the community let her stay, though she was far from the minimum fifty-five years old.

By the time she met Declan, she’d gotten so used to the crazy that she’d stopped noticing it—until she saw it through his eyes. Turns out, life was strange growing up as a retirement community’s young mascot.

Mariska and Bob the Morning Swimmer had served as her foster parents and lived across the street from her in Pineapple Port— though, apparently, now Bob lived in their pool.

Declan opened the slider, and Abby shot out, tail-wagging hello to the familiar man in the pool.

“Whatcha doin’, Bob?” asked Declan.

“I’m getting a quick swim in before we go,” said Bob, patting Abby while she licked the water off his arm.

Declan scowled. “Before we go?”

Charlotte put her knuckles against her lips.

Oh no.

She saw where this was heading.

I think I messed up.

“I’m coming with you to the charity swim in Tampa,” said Bob.

Charlotte nodded.

Yep, I messed up.

Declan turned to look at her. The whites of his eyes flashed, signaling either annoyance or panic. Probably both.

“Hey sweetheart, did you tell Bob I was going to a charity swim in Tampa today?” he asked in a sing-song voice.

His frozen smile answered her question.

Annoyed. Definitely annoyed.

She winced. “I might have mentioned it to Mariska.”

Her husband let out a slow, steady breath. She’d seen him do that move a few times before. One or more of the Pineapple Portians were usually nearby when it happened. Or, Declan’s Uncle Seamus—but a Seamus Sigh came with extra teeth gritting. He was the only thing crazier than the residents of Pineapple Port.

“I’m guessing you’d like to carpool there with me?” he asked Bob.

He’d given in fast. Like her, he’d figured out it was always easier to just accept the crazy was happening.

“That be great,” said Bob. “We should grab some breakfast here first.”

“Sure, the pool always comes with a complimentary breakfast.” Declan turned. “Maybe you could start on that, darling?”

She stuck her tongue out at him and moved to the kitchen to scoop extra coffee into the machine.

It was official—she’d been swept into the nuttery. She should have run away the second she saw it was Bob and not a killer taking a quick dip, pre-murder spree.

She turned on the stove and found a pan.

“Ask Bob what he wants—”

“Eggs!” called Bob, lowering his goggles back over his eyes. “And bacon. And toast. And orange juice!”

Declan nodded and left Abby outside to run around the pool, chasing Bob back and forth as he swam. He’d almost shut the door when Bob popped up again.

“Coffee!” he yelped.

Declan signaled he’d heard and turned to Charlotte.

“What have you done?” he asked.

She laughed. “I’m sorry. It never occurred to me he’d want to go with you. He hasn’t been into swimming for years.”

“I suspect it has more to do with the beach bunnies in Tampa than the swimming,” said Declan.

She snorted a laugh. “You said beach bunnies—you’ve been hanging out with the oldies too long.”

He smirked. “Well, whose fault is that? I’m just glad it wasn’t Seamus—”

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ye,” said Seamus as he burst through the front door.

***

Excerpt from Pineapple Easter Egg by Amy Vansant. Copyright 2025 by Amy Vansant. Reproduced with permission from Amy Vansant. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Amy Vansant has written over 40 books, including the fun, thrilling Shee McQueen series, the rollicking, twisty Pineapple Port Mysteries, and the action-packed Kilty urban fantasies. Throw in a couple of romances and a YA fantasy for her nieces...

Amy specializes in fun, exciting reads with plenty of laughs and action -- she tried to write serious books, but they always ended up full of jokes, so she gave up.

Amy lives in Jupiter, Florida, with her muse/husband and a goony Bordoodle named Archer.

Catch Up With Amy Vansant:

AmyVansant.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads - @AmyVansant
BookBub - @AmyVansant
Instagram - @TheAmyVansant
Threads - @TheAmyVansant
X - @AmyVansant
Facebook - @TheAmyVansant
BlueSky - @amyvansant.bsky.social
YouTube - @AmyVansant

 

 

Tour Participants:

Are you looking for more great books, reviews, and giveaways? Visit these sites:

 

 

Don't Miss Your Chance! Enter to Win:

Click Here for FREE Books & a chance to WIN more exciting prizes!

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

Book Showcase: The Fix by Robert Downs

Professional gambler, Johnny Chapman, plays the hand he’s dealt, but when he’s dealt a series of losers, he decides to up the ante with more money than he can afford to lose. Just when he thinks his life can’t get any worse, it does. The loan shark he owes the money to demands that he pay up and sends his goons after him. The man offers Johnny one way out—fix a race by fatally injecting the dog most likely to win. A piece of cake, Johnny thinks, until he looks into the big brown eyes of the beautiful dog, and the price suddenly seems too great to pay. Now Johnny’s on the run and the goons are closing in…

EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

The taste of liquor still lingered on his lips. Six months without a drink, and he had the chip to prove it. His eyes were downcast, the table was green felt, and his wooden seat jammed the lower part of his back. The overhead light was dim, and he had his hat pulled down over his eyes. Johnny Chapman had lost three hands in a row, and he didn’t want to lose a fourth.

The Indian sat across from him with his hands folded across his chest, wearing dark sunglasses in a dark room, his hair shaved close to his head, and a tooth missing near his front. He cracked his knuckles between hands and even once during. The sound bounced off the walls in the closet of a room.

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” Thomas Kincaid asked. “I ain’t got all night.” His lips formed a sneer before he took a long pull on a dark drink. His eyes flicked in every direction except straight ahead.

“Don’t rush me.”

“If you move any slower, we’ll both be looking up at the daisies,” Thomas replied. He looked at his two cards for what must have been the third time.

Johnny sucked his lip between his teeth, flashed his eyes once toward the ceiling, and flipped a chip onto the deck. The roar in his ears nearly pulled him away from the hand, but the click of the ceiling fan managed to hold his attention. The darkness helped with his focus as well.

The girl sat across from him, dark hair drifting to-ward her shoulders and even a bit beyond. Teeth as white as a bowl of rice. A drop of moisture near her upper lip entered the equation. Her T-shirt bunched out at the front, and her eyes were as cold as Alaska. She played her cards close to her chest, and her bets were even. For the most part. She managed to toss in a few extra chips when she had a hand. But she was a straight shooter and hadn’t bluffed once. Johnny knew it was coming, though. He just didn’t know when. Even if he managed to run like hell, she’d probably still clip him at the ankles. Her chip stack sat more than a third higher than his own.

She had a good smile. That one. Not too much of the pearly whites, but just enough for a man to take notice. The words on her chest accentuated her assets. Tight, clean, and turquoise—the T-shirt, not her breasts.

Johnny’s eyes flicked to his watch, and his phone buzzed in his pocket. The alarm. His leg vibrated for a second more and then it stopped.

It was almost time. The medication. It took the edge off, and stopped his mind from racing off to infinity and beyond. The man with the dark rims and the white lab coat prescribed it in a room bigger than the one he was in now. If he didn’t take his meds in the next ten minutes, the headaches would start soon after.

The ceiling fan whirred again. The backroom was stale and damp, the casino out on the edge of the reservation with nothing but tumbleweed and small trees for over a mile. Diagonally opposite from the little shithole that he called home for the past several years. The run-down piece of trash with the broken Spanish shingles, cracked stucco, and clouded windows.

Seconds turned over, one after another, and still there was no movement from the Indian to his right. Lapu Sinquah flipped his sunglasses up, and dragged them back down, but not before his eyes looked around the table. The Indian made a face and flipped two chips onto the green felt.

The girl was next. She scratched her forehead. Her expression remained neutral. When Caroline Easton flipped her head, her hair remained out of her eyes. Her look resembled cold, hard steel. She followed the Indian with a two-chip flip.

Thomas tossed his cards away, and it was back to Johnny. He felt it: an all-consuming need to win this hand…and the next one…and the one after. Desire consumed him, after all. Or maybe it didn’t.

The hand that got away. The hand that consumed him, pushed him over the edge, and had him calling out in the middle of the night. One voice. One concentrated effort before the moment passed him by. He couldn’t imagine losing, ending up with nothing. Bankrupt.

This minute reasoning had him playing cards night after night, hand after hand, reading player after player. Moment after moment. Until the moments were sick and twisted and filled with jagged edges and punctured with pain. Or left him dead and buried on the side of the road in a ditch with half of his face missing.

The winning streak wouldn’t last. It’d be gone again. Like a sound carried away by the breeze in the middle of a forgotten forest. This time, he wouldn’t fold too soon. This time, he’d play it differently.

The one that got away. The pot in the middle that would have covered three month’s rent. But he tossed his cards aside, even though he’d been staring at the winning hand for damn near three minutes.

His eyes flicked to each of the three players before he once more peeled his cards back from the table and slid the two spades to the side.

The Indian glared at him through the darkness and his dark sunglasses. “Well?” Lapu asked. “What the fuck, man?”

Johnny tossed his shoulders up in the air. “I’m out.”

“Just like that?” Caroline’s long dark hair whipped around her head.

“Sure, why not?”

The Indian rubbed his shaved head. “You’re one crazy motherfucker.”

Johnny shrugged. “I never claimed to be sane.”

The ceiling fan whirred faster, clicking every five seconds. The air was heavy and suffocating, and he yanked on his collar with his index finger. Two drinks were drunk, and a glass clinked against a tooth. One chair slid back and another moved forward.

“There’s over two grand in the pot,” Lapu said.

Johnny gave a slight tilt of his head. “And I know when to walk away.”

The Indian jerked to his feet and extended a finger away from his chest. “It was your raise that started this shitstorm.”

“True,” Johnny said. “And now I’m going to end it.”

Caroline combed her hair with her fingers. “You haven’t ended anything.”

“I’d rather have that as my downfall than lose it all to you nitwits.”

Caroline smirked. Her white teeth glinted against the light overhead. “Who made you queen of the land?”

“I’d like to think it sort of came up on me,” Johnny said. “It sort of took me by surprise. Existence is futile.”

The Indian smirked. His stained teeth were nearly the color of his skin. “Futility won’t help you now.”

The hand was between the girl and the Indian. Her assets versus his. One smirk versus another. The sun-glasses were down, and both the movements and expressions were calculated. Chips were tossed, and the last card was flipped. Caroline took the pot, and her cold expression never wavered.

A ten-minute break ensued. Johnny used the bath-room, washed his hands, shoved two pills into his mouth, cupped his hands underneath the spout, sucked water from his palms, dunked his hands underneath the liquid once more, and splashed the water on his face. He grimaced at his own reflection, the dark, sunken eyes. He sucked in air and dried his hands. His shoes clicked on the broken tile on his way out the door.

His chips hadn’t moved, and neither had the table. The stack of chips was smaller than when he started this game. As the losses mounted, his amount of breathing room decreased. His longest losing streak was thirteen hands in a row.

The blinds were doubled, and his mind numbed. Compassion was a long forgotten equation, and sympathy wasn’t far behind.

The conversation picked up again, and the Indian perfected a new glare. “I never heard so much chatting over a game of cards.”

“It’s not just a game,” Thomas said. “Now, is it?” One dark drink was replaced with another, and the man’s eyes glazed over.

The girl tapped her wrist with two fingers and flipped her hair. “I think we’re already past the point of sanity.”

“If there was ever a point, it was lost—”

“I had a few points of my own that were somehow hammered home.” Johnny flipped three chips into the pot in one smooth motion. He had a hand, and he was determined to play it, even if he had to stare down the girl and the Indian at the same time.

“The game of life succeeds where you might have failed,” Lapu said.

Thomas knocked back the remainder of yet another drink. “I don’t accept failure.”

Johnny’s eyes flicked to his wrist. “You don’t accept success either.”

“Why do you keep looking at your watch?” Thomas asked. “Are you late for a date?”

The girl called and tossed three chips into the pot with only a slight hesitation. She had a hand, or she wanted to make it appear as such. Her lips moved less and less, and her eyes moved more and more. Her features were clearly defined.

Johnny kept his expression even.

“You’re not late for anything that I’ve seen,” Caro-line said.

Both the Indian and Thomas folded.

“I’d like to take you out back and shoot you.”

“Would that somehow solve the majority of your problems?” the Indian asked.

Johnny nodded. “It might solve a few.”

“Or,” she said, “then again, it might not.”

The last card was flipped, and bets were tossed into the center of the pot. Johnny raised, and Caroline countered with a raise of her own. He called, flipped his cards over, and his straight lost to her flush. Half of his stack disappeared in one hand. He ground his teeth and chewed his bottom lip.

“I don’t like you,” Johnny said.

Her expression was colder than Anchorage. “You never liked me.”

“There might have been mutual respect, but that ship sailed out into the great beyond and smacked an iceberg.”

“Passion—”

“Does not equal acceptance,” Johnny said.

“It will keep you up most nights,” the Indian said.

Determined not to lose again, Johnny kept his eyes on the prize and his dwindling stack of chips. The girl to his right had never flashed a smile, and now her stack of chips was nearly three times the size of his own. His eyes flicked to his wrist once more, and he grimaced.

For several moments, the ceiling fan took up all the sound in the room.

His breath hiccupped in his chest, and he swayed in his chair. The wood jammed against his lower back, and the angry green felt kept an even expression. His mouth moved, but no sound escaped from between his lips.

He fell out of his chair and cracked his head on the carpet. For the next few minutes, he drifted in and out of consciousness.

<<

“Did his heart just stop?” Lapu asked.

Thomas leaned across the table. “What the hell are we talking about now?”

Lapu stood up. “I think that fucker passed out.”

“Which fucker?” Caroline’s chest pressed hard enough against her shirt to slow down her blood flow. Her eyes narrowed, but her hand was steady.

“The one that was losing.”

“That’s all you fuckers.” She tapped her tongue against her upper lip. “You’re all losing.”

Lapu shoved his chair back. “I don’t like losing.”

“But you do it so well.”

Thomas’s body shifted in his chair. “Not on purpose.”

The ceiling fan stopped, and the walls trapped all remnants of sound. One beat of silence was followed by another.

Lapu moved first. He slapped two fingers to Johnny’s wrist and checked for a pulse. The heartbeat was low and weak and arrhythmic.

“What do we do now?” Caroline asked. “Have you got a plan?”

Thomas stood up and sat back down again.

“Cayenne pepper and apple cider vinegar,” Lapu said. “Both have the potential to reduce the effects of arrhythmia.”

She pointed. “Or maybe he has pills in his pocket.”

Lapu nodded. “That is also an option. Check his pockets while I prop up his head.”

“I need another drink,” Thomas said. “I’d rather not be sober if a man is going to die.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

Lapu had watched his father die with a look on his face not that far from the one Johnny wore now: the lost eyes and the still body, with his spirit on the verge of leaving this world for the next. Lapu poked through his pockets in a methodical fashion and found a prescription bottle with a half-peeled label. He popped the top, poked his finger through the slot, and removed two pills. He peeled Johnny’s lips apart, shoved the pills inside his mouth, and forced him to swallow. Minutes later, his life force had altered considerably, and color had returned to Johnny’s cheeks.

Lapu nodded his head. “There’s a purpose to every-thing.”

Thomas leaned over and slapped Johnny on the cheek. “I believe in the possibilities of a situation. Those moments that lead from one into the next, filled with passion and compassion and equality, and some other shit.”

Caroline smirked. “Which is what exactly?”

“Not losing another hand.”

Johnny inched his way to a sitting position and slapped his forehead. “Fuck me—”

“Not likely,” Caroline said. “It neither looks enjoy-able nor promising, but that’s a nice try, though.”

“Your perspective has gotten skewed,” Thomas re-plied.

“That’s certainly possible,” she said, “but I wouldn’t be so sure.”

<<

More hands were played, and more hands were lost. Johnny’s stack of chips diminished faster until he was left with two red ones and half a drink. His even expression had vanished long ago, and his feet had started tap-ping during the last three hands. The Indian had six chips to Johnny’s two, and the rest were distributed between Thomas and Caroline, with the girl staring above a tower nearly level with her chin. Her expression hadn’t changed, and neither had her methodical approach to playing cards.

The barrel of a gun dug into Johnny’s lower back-side after he expunged the last two chips he had to his name. He didn’t have time to move or breathe, and he hadn’t even noticed Thomas shift his weight and remove the pistol from somewhere on his person. But the digging did further enhance Johnny’s focus and destroy his moral support. “Cuff him.”

“What the fuck?” Johnny replied.

“It’s time you realized the full extent of your losing.”

Johnny couldn’t see Caroline’s expression, but her voice was filled with menace and hate and exhibited more force than a battering ram.

“Stand up, you piece of trash.”

The gun shifted, and Johnny rose. The room spun, and he considered passing out all over again, but he pulled himself back and inched his way toward the metal door that was a lifetime away.

The barrel against his back never moved or wavered.

<<

She hated cards. Had hated the act and aggression of gambling most of her life. The thrill of winning and the heartbreak of defeat neither moved nor motivated her. Tossing chips into a pot, calculating the odds in her head, reading players around the table, and playing the hands of the other players instead of playing her own made her head throb from the weight of the proposition. But she did it, over and over again. If she thought about it long enough and hard enough, Caroline might have called herself a professional gambler, but that was a term she hated even more than the act of taking money from unsuspecting souls who had a penchant for losing. But if her two choices were paying the rent, or living on the street, she would choose rent every time and worry about the consequences later.

She couldn’t change her fate, or her odds. All she could do was play the hand she was dealt, match it up against what the other guys and gals had around the table, and study the ticks and idiosyncrasies that made each player unique. Over-confidence and euphoria were concepts she knew well, and she could smell it coming like a New Mexican thunderstorm. Even though she understood what she needed to do, she hated her hands even more than she hated long division. With each passing second, her trepidation grew, and the calm she exuded on the surface was a thunderstorm underneath the shallow exterior. It had gotten to the point that it was totally out of control, and probably would be for the rest of her life. It wasn’t satisfying, or even mesmerizing, and yet here she was week after week, going through the motions. The same types of players sat around the table with the same types of expressions painted on their uneven faces. The voice in her mind echoed in time, and she did her best to keep the whispers at bay. But the plan backfired, just as all good plans did that were built on a foundation of lies.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Caroline asked.

“Trying to win,” Johnny said. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Losing,” she said. “And not even admirably. You really are one stupid bastard.”

She had been called to test him, to see if he would break and crumble beneath the weight of a bad hand or two or ten, and he had folded faster than a crumpled handbag smashed against a mugger’s face. She had chipped away steadily at his chips, until two red ones were all he had left, and a tower of multicolored circles stood in front of her.

<<

Johnny had a hand that was planted in his lap by the gods, or maybe it was Julius Caesar himself. He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d lost in a row. Six or maybe it was seven. The torment and punishment continued unabated, and he licked his lips more with each passing second. The hands played out one after another against him, and the gates of Hell had opened before him. The girl to his right was methodical, and the jabs kept on coming, one right after another.

Her hands were probably her best feature. The way her fingers slid across the table, shoving chips and poking at her cards, and prodding the weaknesses of those around her, only made him long for her even more.

But this was it. His moment. And he wasn’t about to let it pass him by. Two minutes later, though, the moment passed, his chips were gone, a gun was shoved against his backside, and he was escorted out of the building.

***

Excerpt from The Fix by Robert Downs. Copyright © 2017 by Robert Downs. Reproduced with permission from Robert Downs. All rights reserved.

PURCHASE AT:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Learn more on Goodreads

Robert Downs aspired to be a writer before he realized how difficult the writing process was. Fortunately, he’d already fallen in love with the craft, otherwise his tales might never have seen print. Originally from West Virginia, he has lived in Virginia, Massachusetts, New Mexico, and now resides in California. When he’s not writing, Downs can be found reading, reviewing, blogging, or smiling.

Visit Robert's website or find him on Facebook.

Book Showcase: Samantha by Andrea Kane

Samantha
by Andrea Kane
on Tour October 2016

Book Details
Genre: Historical Romance

Published by: Bonnie Meadow Publishing LLC

Publication Date: October 18th 2016

Number of Pages: ~418

Series: Book 2 in "Barrett Family Series" (You won't want to miss Book 1, My Heart’s Desire, either!)

Don't Miss Your Chance to Read Samantha! You can purchase your own copy at Amazon, at Barnes & Noble, AND add it to your reading list on Goodreads!

Synopsis:

Lady Samantha Barrett wondered if her imaginary hero would ever become real. Of course, he must be devastatingly handsome and just a bit dangerous. Now, her coach is filled with a collection of Gothic novels and her head with romantic notions as she eagerly leaves her brother’s country estate for her first London season. Still unsophisticated and too innocent by far, Samantha is ill-prepared for the hypocrisy of the ton or for the formidable stranger who crosses her path—a stranger she is sure must be the man of her dreams…

Remington Worth, the Earl of Gresham, is reputed to be anything but a hero. He is, however, intrigued by the fresh, young Lady Samantha. At sea, Remington had been a brilliant captain. To help save his country, he has accepted the Crown’s commission to become the most deadly and loyal covert agent, posing as a notorious womanizer and blackmailer. His latest mission is to investigate the mysterious disappearances of England’s prized merchant vessels. With an iron will, he will allow no one to get in his way or touch his heart—until Samantha.

Read an excerpt:

In walked the man of her dreams.

Samantha stared, transfixed, as the vision stepped directly from the pages of her latest gothic romance into the noisy, smoke-filled tavern.

He had arrived... her long-awaited hero.

It mattered not that he was a total stranger to her... nor that he patronized so seedy an establishment as this... nor that he pointedly displayed an ominous-looking knife handle from the top of one muddied Hessian boot. All that mattered was his towering height, his thick black hair, his uncompromising jaw, his piercing gray eyes. And that dimple... it was just where she'd always known it would be; in his left cheek. It flashed briefly as he nodded a greeting to someone, then vanished into the taut lines of his face.

Yes, it was irrefutably he... the hero of all her fantasies.

Breathless and eager, Samantha watched as he carelessly swung off his great coat, shaking rivulets of rain from it with swift, purposeful strokes. Simultaneously, he surveyed the room, his cool gaze taking in the shoddy furnishings and seedy occupants in one enveloping glance.

He moved forward, commanding and sure, coming closer to where Sammy sat... close enough so she could see the drops of water glistening in his raven-black hair, causing the ends to curl a bit at the nape. He seemed to be looking for someone.

Instead, he found her.

Dark brows raised, not with instantaneous, adoring surrender, but with decided, disapproving surprise.

Without hesitating, Sammy flashed him a smile, drinking in his splendid, chiseled features and exciting, leashed power. He was just as she had imagined him... no, better.

Her heart tightened in her chest as he approached her.

"What despicable cad deserted you here, little one?"

"Pardon me?" Sammy blinked in confusion.

With apparent disgust, her hero scanned the room. "You needn't feel ashamed. Just tell me what unscrupulous blackguard accompanied you to such a place, then abandoned you."

"Oh, nothing like that, sir." Sammy assured him brightly. "Actually, it was I who spotted this establishment from my carriage window and chose to stop here. Given the circumstances, it seemed the best place..."

"The best place... to what?" He looked censuring now, his gray eyes chilling, stormier than the skies that heralded tonight's downpour. "Is this your idea of an evening adventure? If so, you've either lost your way or your mind! Tell me, have you looked about you? I seriously doubt that you have, else you would have bolted. And, thankfully, it seems that these low-lifes have yet to spot you as prey. Had they done so, I assure you that your elegant gown would have long since been tossed up over your foolish, beautiful head!"

Sammy sucked in her breath. This wasn't at all the way she'd envisioned their first meeting.
Following her hero's icy, pointed gaze, she surveyed the dimly lit tavern, trying to see what was upsetting him so. True, the tables were a bit shabby, even broken in spots, and the pungent smell of gin... mixed with some other, unrecognizable foul odor... permeated the room. And, she had to admit, the occupants of the tavern did need to shave... as well as to bathe. Still, they'd shown no signs of harming or even approaching her; so why was her hero hinting at violence?

"I don't know what you mean, sir," she confessed, bewildered. "Despite their rather coarse attire and unpolished manners, the gentlemen here have made no improper advances toward me. They are merely enjoying their spirits and each other's company."

The stranger gaped in utter disbelief.

"Gentlemen?" he managed. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice to a muffled hiss. "Sheltered innocent, what you see are pickpockets, highwaymen and drunks... and an occasional murderer or two." He straightened, emphatic and fierce. "This is Boydry's... as unsavory a pub as they come... not the bloody Clarendon Hotel!"

"Really?" Samantha was finding it very difficult to share the intensity of his tirade. She was too busy drowning in the hypnotic spell of his towering presence. And, after all, he was only trying to protect her... the foremost duty of a true hero.

"If such is the case, then why are you here?" she asked, half-tempted to stroke the hard, uncompromising line of his jaw. "You don't appear unsavory to me."

His dimple flickered in response. "Don't I? That is only because you don't know me."

"No... but I'd like to."

He blinked. "You'd like to..."

"Oh yes. Don't you see?" Sammy leaned forward, making an animated sweep with her hands. "It's as if Mrs. Radcliffe had penned it; a young woman alone... darkness... danger." A pause. "Of course I would have preferred a castle turret to a tavern..." she gave a philosophical shrug, "... nevertheless, you've arrived... and you're exactly as I pictured you."

"You have lost your mind," he muttered.

Author Bio:

Andrea Kane is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of twenty-seven novels, including thirteen psychological thrillers and fourteen historical romantic suspense titles.

With her signature style, Kane creates unforgettable characters and confronts them with life-threatening danger. As a master of suspense, she weaves them into exciting, carefully-researched stories, pushing them to the edge—and keeping her readers up all night.

Kane’s beloved historical romantic suspense novels include My Heart’s Desire, Samantha, The Last Duke, and Wishes in the Wind.

With a worldwide following of passionate readers, her books have been published in more than twenty languages.

Kane lives in New Jersey with her husband and family. She’s an avid crossword puzzle solver and a diehard Yankees fan. Otherwise, she’s either writing or playing with her Pomeranian, Mischief, who does his best to keep her from writing.

Connect With Ms. Kane on

 Facebook

Twitter

website

Tour Host Participants:

Take a minute to stop by some of the other blogs in the tour! They have exciting features, reviews, and special giveaways!

Enter for a Chance to Win!

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Providence Book Promotions for Andrea Kane and Bonnie Meadow Publishing LLC. There will be 5 US winners of one (1) eBook copy of Samantha by Andrea Kane. The giveaway begins on September 28th and runs through November 3rd, 2016.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Visit Providence Book Promotions to Join in & Find More Great Reads!

Book Showcase & Giveaway: My Heart's Desire by Andrea Kane

My Heart’s Desire
by Andrea Kane
on Tour September 2016

Book Details
Genre: Historical Romance
Published by: Bonnie Meadow Publishing LLC
Publication Date: September 20, 2016
Number of Pages: ~ 402
Series: Book 1 in "Barrett Family Series"
Purchase My Heart’s Desire at: Amazon Barnes & Noble or Add it to your reading list on: Goodreads

Synopsis:

Lady Alexandria Cassel scorned London's frivolous social whirl, seeking adventure as a stowaway aboard a merchant ship. Drake Barrett was the vessel's powerful captain—and a cynical duke who disdained a noble's shallow life. At sea he revealed neither his origins nor his wealth, and to Alexandria he was simply a man who made her cool reserve fly with the winds… whose desire for her was as wild as the ocean they sailed.

Caught in the crossfire of war, they were shipwrecked on an idyllic island, where they tasted perfect passion… and tenderness. But Drake dreaded the day of their rescue—when his love would discover that the virile man she adored was at the pinnacle of the aristocracy she despised. Hardly did they suspect the base treachery that would soon threaten them… and the dangers each would brave to join forever their hearts and lives!

Read an excerpt:

"WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY CLOTHES?"
No storm could be as fierce as the one that raged in Alexandria’s flashing eyes as she faced Drake across the cabin. Her expression was murderous, her small hands clenched at her sides, her tone lethal.
Drake closed the door behind him with a firm click. “By ‘your clothes’ I presume you mean that dusty gown and shredded chemise you discarded on my cabin floor?” He leaned nonchalantly against the wall, regarding her with amusement.
Alex was too angry to be shocked at his casual mention of her undergarment. “You know damned well what clothes I mean!”
“Now, now … such language, my lady. I am truly shocked.”
She looked as though she might strike him.
“I demand that you return my things at once!”
His brows went up. “You demand? Careful, princess, your snobbish airs are showing. Remember, on this ship the only one who demands is me.” He crossed the room, ignoring her as if she were no more than an annoying child.
She stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
“Did you want something, my lady?” He paused, studying her livid expression. She was as transparent as glass, her anger and exasperation clearly evident on her beautiful face.
Drake grinned. “Your clothes are no longer with us.”
The color in her face deepened. “What?”
“They were torn from your adventure.”
“Liar!” she shot back. “There was no reason for you to discard them … at least not for the reason you just gave.”
Her accusing tone made him chuckle. “You are quite correct, princess. The real reason is that I cannot have you parading around in your finery. My men are already lusting after you quite openly. We wouldn’t want to further intoxicate their senses, now would we?”
“The only one on this ship who has treated me with any disrespect is you!” she retorted.
“Then be grateful that I have limited you to men’s attire. Perhaps you will be safe from my lecherous advances.”
Drake moved away, and Alex turned her back as he took off his shirt and tossed it carelessly onto the chair. Tossing his breeches next to his shirt, he put an end to her torment by climbing into his berth.
The cabin was silent. Drake could sense Alex’s presence nearby, and he knew instinctively that she was not in bed.
“Princess?”
He heard her jump. “What is it?”
He cleared his throat. “Is there some problem?”
“No … yes …” She paused. “May I use your basin and some water to wash the dirt from my face?”
Drake smiled in the darkness. “Go right ahead. And, princess … if you can find your way around in the dark, help yourself to one of my shirts. They are clean and more than large enough to protect your modesty.”
Again, silence. Then, “Thank you, Captain.”
Her bare feet padded across the room. Drake listened to her opening the heavy chest, taking out one of his shirts, and slipping it on. Splashing sounds told him she was washing, followed by her soft footsteps as she returned to her cot. Then a thud and a cry of pain.
Drake was out of bed in an instant, moving toward the sound of her choked cry.
“Alexandria? What is it?”
“I walked into the cot,” she whimpered.
“Are you badly hurt?”
In truth she was not. It had been a sudden painful blow, yet already the pain was subsiding to a dull throb. But it was more than she could withstand after her emotionally taxing day. Hot tears filled her eyes, spilled down her cheeks. Try though she would, she could not control the sobs that shook her.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I never cry … and it is not that bad a bruise … I just can’t …” She shook her head helplessly, covering her eyes with trembling hands.
There was no forethought. Drake reacted instantly, pulling her into his arms.
“Shhh,” he soothed, pressing her head against his chest. He felt her tears drenching his bare skin, her narrow shoulders shaking. “It’s all right, sweetheart … don’t cry,” he murmured, raising her chin with his forefinger, wishing he could see her face. He stroked his other hand down her back, pressing her closer to him.
They became aware of each other at the same moment. He was totally naked. She was clad only in a thin white shirt. She needed comfort. He needed more.

Author Bio:

Andrea Kane is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of twenty-seven novels, including thirteen psychological thrillers and fourteen historical romantic suspense titles.

With her signature style, Kane creates unforgettable characters and confronts them with life-threatening danger. As a master of suspense, she weaves them into exciting, carefully-researched stories, pushing them to the edge—and keeping her readers up all night.

Kane’s beloved historical romantic suspense novels include My Heart’s Desire, Samantha, The Last Duke, and Wishes in the Wind.

With a worldwide following of passionate readers, her books have been published in more than twenty languages.

Kane lives in New Jersey with her husband and family. She’s an avid crossword puzzle solver and a diehard Yankees fan. Otherwise, she’s either writing or playing with her Pomeranian, Mischief, who does his best to keep her from writing.

Connect With Ms. Kane:

 Facebook

Twitter

website

Tour participants

9/11 Showcase @ Alextheshadowgirl's Blog

9/12 Showcase @ Celticlady's Reviews

9/13 Interview @ Writers and Authors

9/14 Review @ A Holland Reads

9/15 Review @ Hott Books

9/16 Review @ Deal Sharing Aunt

9/16 Showcase @ Books Direct

9/17 Showcase @ The Book Connection

Giveaway

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Providence Book Promotions for Andrea Kane. There will be 5 US winners of one (1) eBook copy of My Heart’s Desire by Andrea Kane. The giveaway begins on August 31st and runs through September 30th, 2016.

a Rafflecopter giveaway