Thursday, February 28, 2013

Cover Reveal: "Embracing the Flames" by Candace Knoebel (Book #2 in the Born In Flames trilogy)

Saph's Book Blog is proud to be part of the cover reveal event for 
"Embracing the Flames" 
by Candace Knoebel.  
This is Book #2 in the Born In Flames trilogy.

The Stone of Immortality has been protected under the watch of the Draconta for as long as time has existed. That is, until the betrayal of a Fate. Now everything is about to change.

Aurora Megalos accepted her destiny without blinking-even if it meant succumbing to her dragon side. Deemed the Progeny, she left the ordinary life she knew and has done everything in her power to learn the ways of her new realm and what it means to be part dragon. But when her mentor, Astral, suddenly disappears, she is forced to take the reins. With war on the brink, she sets out on an epic journey to not only find her mentor, but to stop her Arch Enemy, Zordon, from attaining the Stone of Immortality. But what she discovers about him along the way is far worse than she could’ve ever imagined. She will be tested and pushed to the limit. Lives will be lost, love will be questioned, and a battle will begin.
(Courtesy of Goodreads.com)

So, without further ado, here we go: 





Details about Book #1:

Red mirrored scales race up my arms as the haze of pain blurs my vision. My bones crack, breaking to realign. I scream. It is then that the realization of my unavoidable fate sinks in; I am of a dying race. I am dragon.

Aurora Megalos, orphaned and teetering on the edge of adulthood, thought finding her past would curb the sting of being an outcast. Having no memories of the time before she awoke on her foster mother’s doorstep, she yearns for the emptiness inside her to be filled. With her fellow orphaned best friend, Fenn, by her side, she has nothing to lose and everything to gain. But something powerful stirred within her that she couldn’t explain. Something wanted out.

In the dark of night, a crazed Seer, dubbed Mr.Creepy, erases everything she’s ever known with an impending prophecy. She now faces two paths. Return to her true home to protect a dying race against a growing evil, or stay hidden in the safety of our realm with a shot at a true love. With a vengeful Arch Enemy stopping at nothing to see her dead, she’s running out of time; a decision must be made. What would you choose? (Goodreads.com)

Amazon - Born in Flames

B&N - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/born-in-flames-candace-knoebel/1112772359?ean=2940015130775

KOBO - http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Born-in-Flames/book-8rqT-g-ZEUCVw2k0M1tWxA/page1.html?s=4Cjl3LyzcUOgodcXVlh9Aw&r=1

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

VBT~ Spotlight, Guest Author, and Giveaway Link: "Remember the Stars" by Natalie-Nicole Bates (Presented by Dark World Books)



Remember the Stars

(A 12,000 words Novella)

For Leah Rhodes, life as she knows it has just changed forever.

Waking in a gutter in the dark surroundings of her distant past, a familiar man stands out in her confusion.

But Remy Moreland has been dead for years.

It soon becomes apparent to Leah that both she and Remy are trapped in a hell of their own making.

Can one night together not only lead to the way out, but to love as well?
Welcome Natalie-Nicole Bates to Sapphyria's Book Reviews!!!!

Inspiration for Remember The Stars
By Natalie-Nicole Bates

Purgatory. Limbo. The first circle of Hell.
There are a lot of names to describe it, a lot of definitions to cover it. But is there such a thing as a place where people go after they die that lies between Heaven and Hell?
In Remember The Stars, hero Remy Moreland finds himself trapped in a bleak, scary world that although resembles the world her once knew, tends to be unpredictable and torment him relentlessly with visions of what might have been.
Remy is an imperfect man.
He put himself into situations that endangered himself and others. He aggravated family members because he refused to conform to their way of thinking. Finally, he did the unthinkable and landed in this mysterious and often frightening world. A see-saw, so to speak, where he teeters in the center, ready to tip into one world or another.
But one night a Leah Rhodes is literally dropped into his world. Be she angel or demon or simply an ordinary woman caught up in extraordinary circumstances like himself—Remy is unsure. And this uncertainty is another part of his world.
Is Leah the way out or the way further in?
This ‘state’ of ‘ungrace’ has often fascinated me. Remember The Stars presents the reader with my interpretation of this place between Heaven and Hell, between life and death, light and dark. Will Remy and Leah find their own heaven? Read Remember The Stars, available now from Nooks To Go Now, to find out.

Natalie-Nicole Bates

Natalie-Nicole Bates is a book reviewer and author. Her passions in life include books and hockey along with Victorian and Edwardian era photography and antique poison bottles. Natalie contributes her uncharacteristic love of hockey to being born in Russia. She currently resides in the UK where she is working on her next book and adding to her collection of 19th century post-mortem photos.
BlogTwitterFacebookYoutube

GIVEAWAY DETAILS AND RAFFLECOPTER FORM MAY BE FOUND BY FOLLOWING THIS LINK: http://www.darkworldbooks.com/remember-the-stars-tour/

You will have the chance to win an ecopy of "Remember the Starts" by Natalie-Nicole Bates and a tube of erotic balm.....
Good Luck!!

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

VBT ~ Spotlight: "Ragnar the Murderer" (A tale of love & treachery) by Lily Byrne (Presented by Bewitching Book Tours)


A tale of love and treachery.

It is a time of uneasy truce, of two races living side-by-side, inter-marrying even, but forever on the look out for treachery among their neighbors.

They meet, they bathe together and they consort. Life is short, fun is likely to be brief, and opportunity has to be seized wherever it can be found without unleashing long-held rivalries and carnage.

Then the youthful Dane, Ragnar, falls in love with Aelfwyn the Angle who is already promised by duty to one of her own village.

Ragnar and Aelfwyn's passionate love affair is a secret which will never be hidden for long, but theirs is not the 
only secret around.

When Ragnar finds himself charged with murder, he and Aelfwyn are forcibly parted. But is Ragnar really a cold-blooded, cynical killer or is there a more sinister plot being played out?


Ragnar the Murderer 

Lily Byrne 

Publisher: Taylor Street Books 

ISBN: 13: 978-1463698379 
ASIN: B005BENNW2 

Number of pages: 210 
Word Count: 40,000

Amazon Purchase Link:
Ragnar the Murderer

Background 
914 A.D.

The division of Britain is complete. From Chester to London, Danelaw has been declared, with the county of Wessex and the other western tribes on the other side. There is a fragile peace between the Anglo Saxons and the Norsemen, which any small misunderstanding could ruin at any moment.

The Danes have settled in the East, keeping themselves separate from the local people, who are exclusively Angle. Settlements are unconnected and fraternising between the different groups is discouraged.

Two villages, Byrnstanham and Hallfridby are deep within the Danelaw, not far from each other. The Anglisc of Byrnstanham view the Danes of Hallfridby with suspicion: invaders in all but name.

The Huskarlr regiment of Jarl Thorvald, the overlord of the area, adds to the unease. Danes all over the country are violent intruders on Anglisc soil- are these any different?

The elders of each village don’t want the youths to mix, or even meet. But inevitably, forbidding something only makes people want it more….

About the Author
Lily Byrne 

I faffed around at writing for many years until I had my daughter, but becoming a mum seemed to kick start something in me: I realised that I now had a purpose and time was limited, so I must get on with it. 

The winter of 2009 was severe and as I and my family live in a small village, we were house bound by unusually deep snow for southern England. So I settled down in my office (i.e. the corner of our bedroom) and began my first book, which was published in 2010. 

I haven’t stopped writing since. I go through phases of planning my story, writing furiously, or editing it. It is much easier now my daughter is at school and I get a few hours of work done each day. 

My daughter has truly been an inspiration to me: she has had severe health problems in her short life but is always smiling and laughing, planning for the future, full of ideas. Working at home writing and editing has been ideal, I love my life.

blog: http://lilybyrne.wordpress.com/

FB page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Books-by-Lily-Byrne/158945350811828

Twitter pages: https://twitter.com/LilyByrneWrites

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4978822.Lily_Byrne

Amazon page US Amazon Page UK

Monday, February 25, 2013

VBT: Spotlight with Giveaway: "Rattleman" by George Shuman (Presented by Bewitching Book Tours)


Rattleman

George D Shuman

Available from Kindle - Rattleman

From George D. Shuman who served twenty years with the Metropolitan Police Department, Washington DC, and whose international bestseller, '18 Seconds', is currently in production as a major Hollywood motion picture.

Better still, 'Rattleman' is George D. Shuman's most gripping crime thriller yet.

The Rattleman knows every crevice, every creek, every cave, every ravine, every inch of his remote hunting grounds in the Appalachian Mountains.

He is a determined serial killer, always waiting for his next victim to cross his path.

When Park Ranger Jane Cameron literally stumbles across the remains of two of his victims, she discovers that she too has been caught in his trap.

And when the 'Rattleman's prey is at his mercy, she’s dead. 



Rattleman Chapter 1
Iron Mountain
West Virginia
March

            Everywhere the Sheriff looked there was water. Water dripping, water gurgling, water trickling down the hillsides. It melted from the snow-covered rocks and ice covered trees, from power lines and rooftops creating fissures beneath packed snow. It gouged ruts through the muddy roads, feeding brooks and creeks that formed gravity powered streams, plunging off the mountain to Silver River nearly four thousand feet below.
            The Sheriff sat in his Jeep, defroster on high, blowing warm breath into numb hands, ears prickling like they were stuck with a thousand pins. He tugged wet socks from his feet and laid them over the vents on the dash. The windows had fogged and he wiped them with his elbow, watching the road behind in the side mirror.
Spring had come early to Kettle Hollow.
The radio crackled.
“331… are you there?”
            He reached for the microphone and keyed it, interrupting the static. “331 go. Where’s the crime lab, Sam?”
            “…accident … Dilley’s … noon….Douglas… to raise you.”
            “I copy the crime lab for noon? Tell Chief Douglas I’ll call him tonight.”
            He tossed the microphone on the dash and massaged his feet with cold hands. He sneezed on the sleeve of his jacket and rummaged through the glove box for a bottle of aspirin, shook a few into his hand and chewed them dry.
            Kettle Hollow had once been a summer hunting camp for the Cherokee Indians. Then fur trappers supplying London with America’s first great commodity. When the beavers were all decimated, the loggers came for timber and when the timber was all felled they bored holes into the earth to plunder coal. When the coal was all gone the survivors were left to farm the piteous soil so they grew corn and potatoes and made moonshine for a living. They had become, by majority, a community of de facto outlaws.
            Winters were especially hard in Kettle Hollow, snows cutting the mountain off from civilization for weeks at time. If someone died in the interim, they were packed on a rooftop to keep the animals from getting to them. Which was probably what Buc Thompson was thinking when he brought the lady’s head down from Lake Nawakwa.
            Martin Wayne looked into the cloud of exhaust rising from his rear view mirror. The thermometer was rising fast and a thick ground fog was forming over the warming snow. On a hillside he could see the top half of a cow, the bottom shrouded by mist. An old woman walked by the Jeep carrying a bundle of wood, a man wearing a sack for a hat stopped to peek through the passenger side window. People stood in open doorways scratching fleas and puffing on cigarettes. Then there was movement in the mirror and a vehicle appeared, a dark Chevrolet Suburban with a light bar on the roof. He pulled the damp socks from the dash and began to stretch them over his feet.
            The driver was a pretty brunette named Kirsten Berkley, a state police corporal and senior forensic technician. She’d opened the window and was banging a radio microphone against the side of the vehicle. “How in the hell do you talk to anyone up here? Isn’t this still part of America?”
Marty jerked his head toward the shanties. “Go ask someone who the President is.”
She tossed the mike on the seat, nodding at the man sitting next to her. “Marty, this is Jeff Wittis. Jeff’s a Bluefield boy, former Jug-head like you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Or was that jar-head? I get confused.” She leaned back in her seat. “Jeff, this is Sheriff Wayne.”
Marty leaned over to look at the young man. He wore a blue jumpsuit with the insignia of the West Virginia State Police. “No such thing as a former,” he smiled, reaching past Kirsten to shake the man’s hand.
She was wearing perfume, something familiar and nice. It was impossible to avoid the open second button on her blouse.
The rookie smiled back.
“Hoo-ugh,” Kirsten said dryly.
Kirsten Berkley was assigned to K Troop out of Pocahontas County. She was also the daughter of Superior Court Judge Adam Berkley who presided over Superior Court in Marion West Virginia.
She unfastened her shoulder harness and let it snap away. “So what have you got here anyhow?”
Jane Doe,” Marty said, pointing to the top of a building. “At least the head part of her.”
Kirsten rolled her eyes. “That girl is just everywhere,” she made a smiley face at her partner and bobbed her head back and forth Valley-Girl-style. “And now she’s lost her head.”
She opened the door. “Why don’t you introduce us?”
He led them to a woodshed behind an old smokehouse. All traces of wood had long since been removed and the small enclosure was covered with snow, trampled by muddy boots and large paw prints. Marty nodded toward a ladder that looked less sturdy than the wall.
“I left her like I found her, Kirsten.”
The trooper wrinkled her nose and stepped across a pile of dog shit, climbed the ladder to the roof and bent over until the upper half of her body was out of sight. “How long has she been up here?”
“About nine hours,” Marty said.
“Looks like something from Creature Feature.” She put her hand behind her back and wiggled it. “Jeff, grab the bag with the yellow tag out of the truck.”
The young man took off for the Suburban.
“Farmer got pulled under the wheel of his tractor down in Dilley’s Mill,” she said. “The family was all in the field by the time we arrived. Cousins and little kiddies standing knee high in the snow, dead body under the tire, parents letting them hang out like they were at a circus. Why do they do that?”
Marty shrugged.
“So the boy that found her. Sam said he was ice fishing?”
“Yep,” Marty said. “Saw her head caught in the flow along the shoreline. He had to break the ice away to remove it from the lake. Brought her here and put her on the roof so the dogs wouldn’t get to her.”
She looked over the edge at a pile of dog shit then went back to what she was doing. “Pretty smart, I’d say. She’s in relatively good shape. You were up there yourself?”
“About two hours ago,” he nodded. “I staked the hole where he found her and shot a dozen pictures around the shoreline. If my shoe size is sufficiently calibrated for your reports, you won’t have to slog a mile with your measuring tape.”
Kirsten lifted a boot. “These little piggy’s are just fine with the size of your little piggy’s. In fact, you can’t imagine how thankful they are.” She looked down to make sure her partner hadn’t returned. “You know we should get them together some time.”
Marty rolled his eyes.
“He never saw the rest of her body?”
“Nope,” Marty said, “but she could easily have been under there. Ice is a foot thick and piling up along the shore. Slabs as big as a refrigerator door.”
Kirsten nodded and leaned close until her face was almost touching the woman’s. “Ice expands with literal tons of pressure. Easy to separate a head from the body if it gets wedged in between.”
She tugged out a pair of surgical gloves and snapped them over her wrists.  “If she was caught in the ice she had to have been in the lake before the water froze. Sometime early December I would think.”
Marty nodded and sneezed.
“God bless you,” she said. “I can tell you she’s not a local,” Kirsten lifted the ear lobes with her finger, “five piercings in each and hair color came out of a bottle. Mall cut too, short and spiky on the top.” She turned the head sideways and put her flashlight on the mouth. “Cuts around the lips and gums, nice set of teeth. They’ll be dental records if she’s ever ID’d.”
Kirsten straightened up and played the flashlight down on Marty’s face.
“So when were you planning on calling me?”
Marty put a hand up, squinting to block the light. “Did I say I was going to call you?”
“Last month.”
“Refresh my memory,” he said, eyes straying to the back of her jumpsuit. Kirsten was all woman uniform or no.
“Almost Heaven, end of the bar, around midnight. I think there was at least a dozen witnesses.”
“Drunksies don’t count, Kirs and besides, you’re still married.” His eyes went to her wedding ring and he nodded toward it.
“Oh, Marty. It comes off like everything else.” She used her free hand to unzip her jacket.
 “See?” She zipped it back up. “Besides, how will I know if I want to leave my husband if I don’t sleep with you first?”
He laughed. “You’ve been sniffing too much formaldehyde Kirs.”
The rookie Wittis returned just then, gingerly climbing the ladder until he could reach her hand to transfer the bag.
She removed a camera from it and strapped it over her neck. Then she took another and twisted off the lens cap.
“Marty’s father,” she called down to the rookie, was a cross between a cowboy and the last of the Mohicans. He could travel at night dead reckoning, no moon, no stars, no compass.”
She blew warm breath into her hands to limber up the fingers.
“Ever hear of Calvin Wynn Wayne?”
The rookie shook his head.
“Only the most famous lawman east of the Mississippi.” She put the lens cap between her teeth and fired off a volley of still shots. “All the sports magazines featured him in the sixties and seventies,” she said out of the side of her mouth, lens cap still clenched between her teeth. “Shot and killed a fugitive here in 1967.” She switched cameras, lifted it over the top of the head and took a few pictures straight down at the head. “Just up the road past the general store, isn’t that right, Marty? Of course, there wasn’t a real road back then. Calvin had to come up on horseback, shoot the guy and then lash him to the saddle to take him back down. It took him all night, but the next morning he walked his horse up Main Street in Marion while the churches were letting out Easter morning. Can you picture all those little darlings in their white gloves and bonnets?” She spit the lens cap back into her hand. “Reigns in one hand, dead man over the saddle, big black hole in his back where the bullet came out.”  She shuddered, faking an orgasm. “Now that’s when cops had balls.”
Wittis raised an eyebrow at Marty, who only shrugged.
“Reporters just happened to be in town to write a piece on the hundredth anniversary of the coal mine massacres.” She lowered both cameras and the bag to Wittis. “Wait for me at the bottom,” she told him, pointing to where she wanted him to stand.
Wittis backed down the last two rungs while she finished taking pictures. Then she tucked the smaller camera into a thigh pocket and picked up the woman’s head in her gloved hands.
“A cameraman snapped a shot of Calvin tying his horse to a parking meter. It made the cover of Time Magazine.”
“Put a sheet of plastic down there, Jeff.” She nodded toward a spot that the dogs hadn’t stepped on, looked over at Marty and said, “You don’t mind if I share your family history, do you? Mine’s not nearly as interesting.”
She started down the ladder carefully with the head in both hands, not waiting for his reply.
“Anyhow, Calvin Wayne’s best friend was a full-blooded Cherokee.” “Toby’s still living up on Emmett’s Fork by you. Ain’t that right, Marty?”
Marty sighed.
She set foot on the ground and lay the head between the men on the plastic sheet. “So you see he was raised half cowboy and half Indian. Best of both worlds, huh?”
Marty looked apologetically at the rookie.”
Kirsten was crouched over the woman’s head. “So she’s obviously been preserved by the cold.” She pressed a finger against the woman’s neck and skin moved under her glove. “Eyelids are torn here. See those cuts on the lips I been talking about? One, two… third one here.”
“Fish?” Marty noticed that the rookie Wittis was trying to busy himself with the equipment instead of looking at the head.
Kirsten shrugged. “I don’t think so. Lines look too clean to be bites.” She leaned close to the face again and shook her head. “Once again, I’m going with sharp ice. Jeff, how about bagging her up for me.” She came to her feet and peeled off the gloves.
The rookie gathered the cameras and headed back for the Suburban. Marty thought the young man was looking less well by the minute.
“Shall we call it undetermined?” Marty asked.
Kirsten nodded, reaching into her jumpsuit for a notebook. “Yeah, I’ll get her under some lights tonight and we’ll send her off to the lab in Charleston. Are you coming over for the second half of my show?”
Marty shook his head. “Have to catch the rerun, Kirs. I’m in court with your father in the morning.”
“Then how about tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night?”
“When you buy me a beer for all the fine work I did.”
Marty smiled tiredly. “Kirsten, you really need to remember the last time we had a beer.”
She tried to look innocent, which was wholly ridiculous on Kirsten. “What?”
“We made damn fools of ourselves, is what.”
“Oh, Marty. No one cares what we were doing.”
The rookie came back wearing heavy rubber gloves. He was carrying a seven-foot body bag.
“This?” he asked doubtfully.
Kirsten nodded.
He looked at both of them, then put the head in the bag and rolled up the remaining ends. Afterward he headed back to the Suburban.
“And they were just jealous,” Kirsten said. “If you hadn’t been so sappy over Sarah, you might have gotten lucky in the parking lot,” she ran her tongue over her lips.
Marty laughed and started for the Jeep, but Kirsten ran to catch up with him. By the time he reached the running board, she was at his shoulder and this time the smell of her perfume made him sad.
“Of course, we could skip the beers and just go straight to your place, Marty.”
Marty put his back to the door and sighed. “Kirsten, we are not going to go anywhere together. Not as long as you’re married. Got it?”
“Seriously, Marty,” she put her hands together. “Things haven’t been that great between Mark and I. We’ve been having problems.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said earnestly. “Really I am, but the answer is still no. Not in this town,” he lifted her hand, “and not while this is on your finger.”
“Your problem isn’t that I’m married,” she drew her hand away. “Your problem is Sarah. You’re hoping she’ll come back and you don’t want anything to spoil it in case she does. You’re living in a dream world Marty you know that?”
Kirsten began to walk away.
“You’re not even close, Kirsten,” Marty yelled.
“Bullshit,” she turned and snorted. “You think Sarah will get tired of the big city and come crawling back and you’ll both live happily ever after. Well, I got news for you. Sarah isn’t interested in small pond fish anymore. Sarah’s landed a much bigger trophy than you.”
She turned and strutted toward the Suburban, stopping halfway to look over her shoulder, her voice suddenly silky. “I’m on evenings next week. Call me. I’ll slip out early.”
“Jesus,” he said pounding his fist on the cab. “Just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?” He took a few steps toward her, not caring that her partner was staring at them wide-eyed from the Suburban.
“Just what I said,” she turned to face him. “I’ll meet you after work at your place.”
“About Sarah,” he shouted.
Kirsten groaned and turned to look at him. “I saw her at the Holiday Inn last week at Vickie Patterson’s wedding. I was taking pictures.”
“Sarah,” he said skeptically. “Here in Marion?”
“She was with State Representative Stanton.” Kirsten put her hands on her hips. “You know, he’s a real handsome guy in person. Didn’t she intern with him in after grad school?”
Marty looked at her, unable to speak.
“Give me a call, Marty. It’ll be fun,” she winked and turned for the car.
He stood there in the snow, staring at her as she got in the Suburban, managed a U-turn and started back down the mountain. He tried to recall any conversations he had had with Sarah about her internship at the state capital, but nothing came to mind. Not that it would, Marty was a lot like his father in that way, blind to the details going on around him in life. So blind he’d come home one evening to find his engagement ring on the kitchen counter and all of Sarah’s things gone from the closets.
Marty spun and kicked a chunk of ice that struck high on the wall of the woodshed, sending a cat yowling into the eaves. Then he started up the sidewalk, taking deep breaths and thinking it might be a good night for a beer after all.
The door to the general store was swollen shut and he had to shoulder it open. Smoke was seeping from the seams of a blistering woodstove and it burned his eyes when he entered.
“Got any chewing gum, Mattie,” he pulled off his gloves, stamping his boots on a pile of flattened cardboard. An old woman was stocking shelves behind the counter.
“I’ve got Teaberry and Juicyfruit,” she said. “Which will it be?”
“Juicyfruit,” he fished out a dollar bill and sat on a crude wooden bench.
“They’re not old,” she said, “just brittle from the cold.”
He grunted.
“So how was your climb to the lake?”
“Wet,” he told her, unwrapping a stick of gum that he pushed into his mouth. “What do you think about the head that Buc found?”
“Not exactly friendly country up there,” she nodded in the direction of the mountaintop. “Not for city people anyhow.”
“Who said she was from the city?”
“I saw the girl’s hair,” she said. “Everyone did.”
“You think it was an accident?”
“She wouldn’t be the first or last to get lost in the Appalachians. I say a prayer every time one of them hikers goes by. They don’t like to follow the trails anymore. Not exciting enough. They want to pit themselves against nature. Act like them survivalists on television.”
Marty looked at her, wondering what television she was talking about. There wasn’t a television within ten miles of Kettle Hollow.
“What people, Mattie?” he made a face.
“You know. Survivalist people. They go out in the middle of nowhere and see who can outlast the other.”
Marty squinted at her.
Marty considered the possibility of someone hiking to the lake and drowning. There were thousands of people on the Appalachian Trail each year and it was easy enough for them to see the Iron’s summit looming to their west, conceivable that someone might leave the well-marked trails if they were curious enough to climb it.
Iron Mountain was not named for any mineral deposits, but for its physical resemblance to a flat iron. The western face a sheer wall of stone that climbed to 4700 feet. The north, which was quite jagged, dropped vertically to the Silver River gorge. To the south the mountain was a virtual boulder field that descended to the Monongahela National Forest.
If someone did approach on foot they would most likely come out of the east. That’s where the summit sloped to Lake Nawakwa and it would be one of the first things they would see. Who would dare swim in the lake he couldn’t imagine. Nawakwa was frigid mid summer and the shallow waters were covered with dead trees. It was not a lake for recreation as anyone could see.
“Gaudineer Mountain is just up range too,” Mattie was saying as if reading his thoughts.
“They get tourists up there by the busload to see the leaves turn each fall. Come to see the Virgin Spruce. Buy them I SLEPT WITH THE VIRGINS T-shirts from the locals. You know they take in more money on them T-shirts than the state gives them in preservation funding each year?”
“Mattie, no offense, but where do you get all this stuff?”
“I read,” she shrugged. “You know I read.”
He shook his head, rolling the pack of gum back and forth in the palms of his hands. An image of Sarah and Representative Stanton crept into his thoughts... Sarah interned with him the summer she graduated.
“Gaudineer is one hell of hike from here, Mattie.”
Mattie shrugged. “Well if she wasn’t a hiker she must have come from a city and got into a bad situation and someone brought her up here and dumped her body in the lake. Would have had to have happened last fall before the lake froze over.” Mattie split a box down its spine with a buck knife and clucked with her tongue.
“But you haven’t seen any strangers up here?”
“Everyone’s a stranger,” she folded the box and dropped it on the floor.
Just then his mind wondered to something that happened last year, about a month after he’d taken the job as Sheriff. A woman went jogging near Durbin West Virginia and was never seen again.
 

About George D. Shuman

George Shuman is the international bestselling author of the Sherry Moore series about a blind woman who can see 18 seconds from a dead person's life, using her innate ability to track down their killers.

George's first four Sherry Moore books are published by Simon & Schuster. '!8 Seconds' is currently in production for a major Hollywood motion picture.





'Rattleman' is the first of George's books to be published by Taylor Street. It too will be a major Hollywood motion picture. http://georgedshuman.com/books.html 



Would you like a chance to win an ecopy of "Rattleman" by 
George Shuman?  Just follow my blog via any method I offer and leave me a comment below with your email address, follow method, and name and/or email address you used.  I will pick a winner around March 5th.

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