Forest Park by Valerie Davisson Book Spotlight! Includes #giveaway!

Book 2
Critical choices made in the drama and chaos of the last days of the Vietnam War reach across the Pacific to modern-day Portland, Oregon, threatening to destroy the lives of those who managed to cheat death in 1975. When a violent explosion takes a woman’s life just steps away from Logan McKenna’s downtown hotel, the police suspect all the wrong people, including a homeless vet and two of Logan’s new friends; but are any of them completely innocent? 

While unraveling the tangle of half-truths and secrets to help her friends, Logan’s personal life suffers an explosion of its own. Each character must decide not only whom to trust, but at what cost. 

In addition to writing a great story, in FOREST PARK: Logan Book 2, Davisson skillfully deals with tough questions about our attitude toward refugees, immigration, the homeless, and our military vets. Through the eyes of her original and complex characters, she invites us to explore the true nature of hope, redemption, family, character, and love. 


If you like Nevada Barr’s Anna Pigeon, J. A. Jance’s Sherriff Joanna Brady, Elly Griffith’s Ruth Galloway, or Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Milhone, you’ll love Davisson’s independent, strong, female protagonist, Logan McKenna!

Book 1

Meet Logan McKenna … fiercely loyal, and impossibly inquisitive. 
In SHATTERED, the first book in the original mystery series and stunning fiction debut with which Valerie Davisson lets us crave for more, Logan McKenna loses her husband, her illusions, the company they built together, her music, and now, probably her job. But that won’t stop her from digging into a murder investigation that keeps Southern California’s tight-knit artist community on its toes and law enforcement cluelessly guessing.

At loose ends, and running out of money after buying a fixer upper on the coast, she decides to help out her best friend from high school, Thomas, a Native American artist, and his wife Lisa at their booth at the Otter Arts Festival, in the idyllic coastal town of Jasper, where she and her police-officer brother Rick grew up. When one of the talented, young artists is found gruesomely murdered at the festival, Logan is faced with the reality that her best friend not only lied to her, but may be guilty of murder. It’s up to her to find out what really happened that night, before the murderer kills again.

If you enjoy reading Nevada Barr’s Anna Pigeon, James Patterson’s Murder Club, J. A. Jance’s Joanna Brady or more general: mystery novel with a strong female character, you will quickly fall in love with Valerie Davisson’s Logan McKenna – guaranteed!



Forest Park: Logan Book 2  

Shattered: Logan Book 1


Forest Park: Logan Book 2

Shattered: Logan Book 1


Forest Park: Logan Book 2  

Shattered: Logan Book 1

Barnes & Noble

Forest Park: Logan Book 2

Shattered: Logan Book 1

Hauser Publishing

Forest Park: Logan Book 2

Shattered: Logan Book 1

Valerie Davisson Website:

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Valerie Davisson Twitter:
Valerie has graciously offered a giveaway of three kindle books and three IBook copies of Forest Park for one lucky person! You must leave an email address in comment section or your entry will be discarded, this is so you can be gifted through Amazon/ibook. I do not share your information with anyone other than author/publisher.
Thank you and Good Luck!

Veil of Deception by Michael Byars Lewis on Tour April 18 – May 31, 2016

Veil of Deception

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller 
Published by: SATCOM Publishing 
Publication Date: April 2016 
Number of Pages: 458 
ISBN: 0991476425, 9780991476428 
Purchase Links: Amazon iBooks Barnes & Noble SmashWords Goodreads

For years, Air Force Captain Jason Conrad flew and instructed in the supersonic T-38. Despite his decline into a self-destructive lifestyle, he was considered one of the best instructors on the base. Following a terrifying jet crash, Jason finds himself on a very short list of people on their way out the door. It is a surprise to everyone when he is assigned to the home of the U.S. Air Force Flight Test Center. Jason should have known that in a ‘one mistake Air Force’ where you ‘do more with less’, everything would not be what it appears. Attached to a secret project with a shadowy contractor, Jason is caught between two complications; an overbearing, retired general determined to see him fail; and an aggressive television reporter who wants him in prison. When a ghost from the past shows up and a beautiful, yet mysterious woman enters his life, Jason soon discovers his special project has more secrets than anyone knows about . . . and it could cost him his life.

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Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1 April 14, 2001 SHERRI DAVIS APPROACHED THE ENTRYWAY, already regretting her decision. After filling out paperwork and release forms for thirty minutes, she stood hidden behind the filthy curtain covering the doorway, the knot in her belly growing tighter. She pulled a small section of the worn fabric to the side. Colored lights blinked rapidly, and several spotlights locked on the mirrored ball above the stage, creating hundreds of dancing reflections around the large room. “It doesn’t hurt, ya know,” a voice said over the loud music. Turning her head, Sherri spied a girl in her late teens standing next to her. “You look nervous. It’s your first time, isn’t it?” the girl said to Sherri. “Yes,” she said, releasing the curtain and facing the woman. In the dark hallway, Sherri could barely make out the girl’s features, though her heavy eyelashes and straight black hair were clearly prominent. It was the young girl whose locker was next to hers. “It’s not like sex. Doesn’t hurt the first time.” Sherri nodded. “Got any advice?” “Have fun sweetie, that’s my advice,” the girl said. “Go out there and relax. You’ll do fine.” “Relax,” Sherri replied. “Right.” “Honey, once those assholes start handing you twenties to sit on their lap, you’ll relax,” the girl said. “Now get on out there and bring home the bacon,” the girl said as she patted Sherri on the rear. Sherri noticed the pat was a little too soft and lingered a little too long before the girl retreated back down the hallway toward the stage entrance. Sherri sighed heavily, her hands pressing the pleats of her skirt. She cupped her breasts for a quick adjustment and pulled her shoulders back. Her transition from the dark hallway to the work area was dramatic. The mist spewing from the smoke machine burned her eyes, and her ears pulsed each time the deep bass vibrated through the speakers. Her steps were short and deliberate, as if she had a choice in these five-inch stiletto heels. She gave up the security of the doorway, crossed her arms in front of her breasts and meandered between the tables, dodging a waitress carrying a tray full of beers. The girl, nineteen at most, took the stage like a veteran and danced around the pole while a variety of wishful male suitors watched her every move. Sherri scanned the crowd. The darkness of the bar, the mist, and the flashing lights made it difficult to see anything in detail. The music made her head hurt. Unable to see the two men she was looking for, she began to worry she might be wasting her time. “Hey, baby,” an overweight, drunk businessman said as he reached out and tried to grab her arm. “Not tonight, sweetie,” Sherri replied, pulling away, never making eye contact. She gave the bald drunk the brush-off with her right hand. He shook his head and walked off toward another girl; alcohol making him more optimistic than he had a right to be. While she looked the part—plaid miniskirt and a white button-down tied in front of her push-up bra—she realized she wasn’t acting the part. She sensed her movements through the bar were awkward. Relax. Standing in place, she tapped her foot to the music and rhythmically swayed her body. Sherri closed her eyes and started a slow, seductive dance in place. Her hips swayed like sea oats blowing in the ocean breeze. It didn’t take long before the men nearby stared at her instead of the stage, waving twenty dollar bills at her. Feeling more confident, she moved around the bar again. She had to work fast, as she was scheduled to make her stage debut in half an hour. After a couple minutes meandering through the crowded bar and refusing three more requests for lap dances, she saw the first subject. He had come out of the men’s room and returned to a table located away from the stage. His name was Ahmed Alnami, a Saudi Arabian living in and moving around the United States. Now he was in Pensacola, sitting at a table with Saeed Alghamdi, his partner now getting a lap dance from one of the girls. Alnami sat at the table where he took a long swig of his beer and gave his partner a big smile. Weren’t these two supposed to be devout Muslims? Why were they here? Sherri recognized her opportunity and approached the table. She leaned toward Alnami, her breasts at eye level, right in front of him. He stared in her eyes, looking fearful. Not the fear of danger. The innocent fear, like a teenage boy about to lose his virginity. “Hey, big boy,” she cooed, “are you lonely?” Alnami continued to stare, clearly unsure what to do. Sherri smiled and pointed at her eyes. “Honey, you need to change your focus from here, to here,” she said as she moved her hands to her breasts. Alnami’s face beamed. “Yes, please to sit,” he said in broken English. Sherri sat on his lap. He was a small man; Sherri was taller than he. No wonder he was smiling—a blond Amazon had landed in his lap. She reached over and ran her hand through his hair. It was oily and hadn’t been washed for a while. Wiping her hand on the back of his shirt, she cringed, yet forced a weak smile. Alnami lunged his face forward and buried it in her breasts. Sherri pushed him back. She wanted to punch him, but that would undo all she’d accomplished. “Settle down, big boy, we need to get to know each other first.” “This is what I want,” he said, pointing at his partner, whose lap dancer was grinding aggressively into him. “Oh, you’ll get that and more,” she replied. “We’ve got to do some talking first.” “What is this talking?” he said in a louder voice. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. The smile faded and his eyes bulged. “I want boobies! I want the grind-a-grind!” The teenage innocence disappeared, and the self-absorbed arrogance of the immature adult surfaced. He started to push her off his lap. Sensing she was losing her opportunity, she grabbed his head and shoved his face back into her breasts. “Better?” She pulled his face from her bosom, and the big smile had returned. “Yes please.” “Now, before I give you the grind-a-grind, we’ve got to get to know each other. What’s your name?” “Ahm—” He paused. “Keevin. My name is Keevin.” “Kevin? Okay, Kevin will work for now. My name is Bambi. What do you do, Kevin?” “I do fine. Thank you, Bom-bi.” Sherri cringed. This was painful. “What’s your job?” “Oh, I train to be pilot.” Interesting. She shifted herself on his lap and ran the fingers of her left hand along the buttons of his shirt. “Are you out at the Navy base?” “Yes.” His eyes remained focused on her breasts. “How long are you in town?” “Two more weeks.” Sherri thought for a moment. The two Saudis had already been in Pensacola for two weeks. Obviously, they weren’t students, and they weren’t flying with the Navy, but they were there to fly something. “You must be really smart,” she said. “Not everybody gets to fly airplanes.” “I am one of Allah’s warriors,” Alnami said, his voice rising. “Allahu Akbar.” Sherri studied Alnami. “What is Allah having you do?” She bit her lower lip, realizing she might have pushed the conversation too far, too fast. His eyes moved from her breasts back to her eyes. His nostrils flared as he bared his yellowing teeth. “No more talk of this!” Alnami shouted, unnoticed by the rest of the room. “I want grind-a-grind from you!” He pulled a fifty out of his pocket and waved it at her. Sherri sighed, realizing she would not get any more information unless she took it to the next level. That was not going to happen. She took the bill and stuck it in her bra. She rose from his lap and posed in front of him, hands on her hips. He’s done talking. It’s time to get out of here. She slowly swayed back and forth, running her hands along the sides of her hips up to her breasts. The dancing must have been good, because she noticed his partner staring at her while still getting his lap dance. Sherri leaned forward, nearly rubbing her breasts from his knees to his head, her body barely missing contact with his. She said in his ear, “How about you and me leave this place?” Alnami’s smile grew bigger. “Yes, please!” Pushing herself away from him, she moved behind his chair and ran hands down the front of his chest. “Okay, I’ve got to go clock out and change clothes. I’ll be back here in fifteen minutes. Don’t move.” “I not move. Don’t change your clothes! You sexy momma!” Sherri forced a weak smile. “Okay, baby. Whatever you want.” She left the table and headed to the entryway with the dirty curtain. She walked through the dark hallway, entered the dressing room, and pulled the door behind her, shielding her eyes from the steady light. As her eyes adjusted, she walked to her locker and gathered her things. Standing in front of one of the mirrors, she pulled off the blond wig, and her deep red hair fell to her shoulders. Pulling out a brush, she touched it up from where the wig had pressed it down or tangled it. She then grabbed her tan overcoat and slipped it over her shoulders. Retrieving her clothes from her locker, she knew making a quick exit was more important than comfort. A few of the other girls gazed at her with curiosity and envy. “Sorry, ladies, I’m not cut out for this,” she said. She turned and walked out the back door of the strip club. Reaching the exit, she glanced left and right as she walked out the door. The light by the back door was burned out, making the parking lot dark. She clutched her purse tightly and gripped the can of mace in her coat pocket as she walked to her rental car, a shiny new red Toyota Celica. She grabbed her keys and cell phone from her purse and climbed in. Kicking off the stiletto heels, she cranked the engine and pulled on to Highway 98, dialing on her cell phone as she drove. The phone answered on the first ring. “Did you get it?” the voice asked. “No, I didn’t get that far. Alnami was getting a little too friendly.” “I told you this might happen. Did you find out anything?” “They’re here two more weeks, and they’ll be flying next week, but I don’t know what and I don’t know why. Sorry, it’s the best I was willing to do under the circumstances.” “Okay,” the voice replied. “Get back here tomorrow. I’ve got something else for you.” “Like what?” She was more interested in getting some rest at this point. “Our informant in New York wants to meet with you ASAP.” “All right,” Sherri said begrudgingly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” As she hung up the phone, the car lurched forward. The phone slipped from her fingers, falling to the floorboard as her body slammed into her seat belt. She glanced in the rearview mirror as a car slid back and accelerated toward her again. “What the hell?” she said, assessing the situation. She put both hands on the wheel, and her foot pressed the accelerator as the car made contact with the red Celica a second time. As she reached the Pensacola Bay Bridge, the vehicle behind her changed lanes. She struggled as it maneuvered to strike her car in the left rear fender in an attempt to spin the car. She accelerated again, making the assailant miss his mark. Traffic was light this time of night, but there were enough vehicles to put between her and her attacker. The mystery car pulled behind her, two car lengths back. She managed to accelerate away from it, but still had a good two miles to go on the bridge. Every time she passed a vehicle, the car followed her. Who the hell was attacking her? Could it be Alnami? No, she hadn’t been gone long enough. He would still be waiting for her inside the strip club, probably constructing ridiculous fantasies in his head. It was a dark, starless night, and the rise in the bridge was a half mile away. This hump in the bridge allowed larger boats to enter and exit Pensacola Bay from the Gulf. Once on the other side, she would be in civilization again. Vinyl and glass shards flew everywhere inside the vehicle as bullets pierced the back window of her car and hit the passenger side of the dashboard. She screamed and let go of the steering wheel, her foot coming off the gas for an instant. “Holy shit!” Her eyes darted back and forth as her car veered toward the rail to her right. Grabbing the steering wheel, she pressed the accelerator once again as she jerked her car away from the side rail. “Oh, God,” she said, “why the hell are they shooting at me?” She swerved to put another car between them, then pushed the accelerator to the floor. The innocent car she just passed bumped into the guardrail, sending sparks flying. It spun around as the assailant hit the car from the rear, then continued on. The dark sedan accelerated and closed the distance between them. She felt trapped as her Celica could not gain any more speed. Another burst of machine-gun fire. Sherri screamed as the bullets struck the rear of her vehicle. At the bottom of the hump, she checked her rearview mirror. Shattered glass and bullet holes in the rear window were all she could see. There was no sign of the vehicle chasing her. Her heart raced as she hoped they’d stopped their pursuit. Based on the lights in the distance, she estimated she’d reach the end of the bridge in less than a minute. With a quarter mile to go until she reached the end of the bridge, the car shuddered. Sherri’s gaze shifted to the front of her car, and her shoulders slumped. She beat her fist against the steering wheel as smoke rose from under the hood and the car started decelerating. The speedometer read 80 mph at this point, but the car no longer responded to her foot pressing the accelerator. She pushed it all the way to the floor, but nothing. In her rearview mirror, she noticed the assailant closing in behind her. The car had closed within three car lengths when another round of bullets hit her vehicle. Her heart raced as she reached the end of the bridge and the Celica slowed to 55 mph. “Shit! If I break down on this bridge, I’m done,” she said as she pumped the accelerator. “Who the hell are these guys?” The Celica slowed to 25 mph now, and other cars quickly caught and passed her. Searching for her assailant in the mirror, she saw the dark-colored sedan make a U-turn at the end of the bridge and head toward Pensacola. In front of her, red-and-blue lights danced on top of a parked car. Sherri had driven into a speed trap, and her assailants had turned and run. “Yeah!” she shrieked. “Take that, asshole! You’d better run!” A faint nervous smile eased across her face as she glided the unpowered vehicle into the right lane and onto the side of the road. The car came to a stop, and as soon as she put it in park, her body began shaking as the adrenaline faded. Leaning forward on the steering wheel, she started sobbing. She had almost been killed. A myriad of thoughts raced through her head as the police car pulled in behind her. The officer walked up and tapped on the window with his flashlight. Her finger pushed the button aft, lowering the window, and she covered her eyes as he shined the light in her face. “Driver’s license and registration,” he said. “No problem,” she replied. Automatically, she dug in her purse for her driver’s license. When she reached into the glove box for the rental agreement, she glanced in the passenger’s side mirror and saw the dark outline of the officer’s partner approaching the other side of her vehicle. You think he’d say something about the smoke coming from under the hood, she thought, or the blown-out back window. She stopped digging and glanced back at the officer who spoke to her. Is he wearing jeans? With a quick glance back to the passenger-side mirror, she saw his partner approaching the vehicle was wearing—shorts? Wait, how could this guy not have noticed the bullet holes? “Hey, what agency are you guys with?” she said as she turned back to the cop. Before she could react, he jammed a long stick through the window and pressed it into her neck. The electric shock was fast and intense, then—blackness. Chapter 2 April 15, 2001 A SMALL SLIVER of glistening sunlight cut through the dark hotel room, illuminating its small interior. Dust particles danced through the piercing beam like fireflies on a clear summer night. The light pried into his consciousness while the grinding gears of a construction vehicle outside ripped it open. Jason Conrad buried his face in a pillow and moaned as his head felt ready to explode. He recognized this place, barely. The hangover reminded him that his recent lifestyle choices had their consequences. It didn’t take long for his body to tell him he needed to relieve himself. Sitting up, he swung his feet off the bed and glanced next to him, rubbing the sides of his throbbing temples with his fingertips. The blonde lay strewn out, nude on top of the sheets. She had every appearance of being attractive from here, but he struggled to remember her face. He definitely could not remember her name. Jason tiptoed to the bathroom, as much to protect his pounding head as not to wake the blonde. After relieving himself, he washed his hands and face and brushed his teeth. When he left the bathroom, she was sitting up in the bed, watching him. She is pretty. Now, what is her name again? “Good morning, sexy,” she said. She sounded much more awake than he did. “Hi,” Jason said. She was too bubbly for early morning. “I can’t believe you’re up,” she said in a strong Texas drawl. “Yeah.” “Am I still beautiful?” Jason grinned. “Absolutely.” “You’re quiet this morning. You wouldn’t stop talking last night.” Vague memories of the night before pushed themselves into his consciousness. He crawled back into the bed, and she leaned over and kissed him. “Oh, you brushed your teeth. I’ll be right back,” she said, climbing out of bed and walking to the bathroom. Jason studied her figure. She had all the right equipment. He could see why he would have been talkative. Now he wished he didn’t drink as much. He realized this was a night he would have liked to remember. Yesterday started off well. As flight lead of a four-ship of T-38s, they’d done a flyover for a Texas Rangers game. It was a great TDY, or temporary duty, to Dallas, with per diem. The flyover during the national anthem at the Ballpark in Arlington was uneventful, and they landed at Naval Air Station Fort Worth, formerly known Carswell Air Force Base, right afterward. When they finished securing their jets, a limousine arrived to pick them up outside Base Operations. One of the Rangers’ owners provided the limo for their ride to the stadium. It contained a cooler full of beer and a tray of cheese and crackers to tide them over until they arrived at the stadium in Arlington. It was a tight fit with eight sweaty, cocky T-38 instructors, but they didn’t care. They were amazed at the red carpet treatment and relished every minute of it. The pilots were treated like rock stars in the owners’ VIP suite, with all the food and alcohol they wanted. After the game, the limo drove them to the West End in Dallas. Jason and his buddies found themselves in Gators, a piano bar/restaurant with dueling white grand pianos and a rowdy crowd. He remembered meeting her at Gators. What is her name? Jason rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling. What have I become? Is this the life I want to live? The nameless faces of his women over the years skipped through his thoughts. He felt empty. Like every other one-night stand, she crept back into his head. What happened to the one who’d slipped away six years ago? Whatever happened to Kathy Delgato? The door to the bathroom opened, and the blonde sauntered back into the room. She took the time to brush her hair and put on lipstick. Posing at the end of the bed, she riveted her eyes at him wantonly. “Oh, good, you’re still awake.” She traipsed around the bed to the window and opened the curtain, standing nude in front of the window. “I can’t help it,” she said with a wry smile, turning to face him. “I’m an exhibitionist.” “Clearly.” “What time do you fly back?” She posed seductively in front of the window. Jason glanced at the clock. Red digital numbers displayed eight thirty-three. The pilots planned to leave the hotel at noon. “I need to be at the base at eleven,” he lied. “Oh,” she said, sauntering toward him. “Do I…” He paused. “Do I need to get you a ride home?” Jason couldn’t remember how they made it back to the hotel. “No silly. I drove us, remember?” No, and I can’t remember your name either, so please don’t ask. “Well,” he said, glancing at the clock, “we have some time.” The blonde smiled and crawled back onto the bed. Jason stopped hating himself as she wrapped her arms around him. Even drunk, he had done very well. SHERRI SHIVERED from the cool breeze as she lay on her back. Fading in and out of consciousness, she tossed her head from side to side. Various colors edged their way into her brain as she awoke. She writhed in place, and the ground shifted slightly. Her muscles ached, but the sun on her face was irritating. When she tried to open her eyes, her hand shielded them from the brightness. The smell of saltwater filled her nostrils as waves crashed onto the shore. She was at the beach. The sun glared as she struggled again to open her eyes. The sky was a bright blue, and seagulls called out to her as they bobbed and weaved ten feet overhead, floating rather than flying. Her body ached. Rolling her head to the right, she saw nothing but white sand and sea oats. To the left was more of the same, but with a stinging sensation as she turned her head. Sherri managed to roll over on her left side and prop herself up on her elbow. Her joints were stiff and her skin covered with goose bumps. Her head hurt as she tried to figure out how she ended up here, wherever here turned out to be. Shifting her weight, she managed to sit up on her knees and check herself out. Nothing was broken, and she didn’t notice any injuries other than the neck pain, stiff joints, and sore muscles. She realized she still wore the schoolgirl outfit from the strip club the night before. Checking her bra and panties, she found everything in place and Alnami’s fifty-dollar bill still tucked in her bra. What the hell happened? Someone chased her on the bridge and shot up her car, but she managed to escape. The cop. He did something to her. When she placed her hand on the left side of her neck, the pain shot through her body again. The cop shocked her with something. Only he wasn’t a cop. Who were those guys? They had to be working together. She was an easy target and nobody is that bad of a shot to miss her for that long. Whoever it was, they were sending her a message. The thoughts made her head hurt as she shielded her eyes from the sun, which was inching its way above the horizon. Sherri rose to her feet and realized she had no shoes. She inspected her clothes, what little she wore. Rolling off the white stockings, she tossed them in the sand and untied her white shirt to cover her belly. She buttoned up her shirt and felt a little more comfortable. She slowly brushed the sand off her thighs, waist, and arms. Placing her hands in her deep red hair, she desperately tried to shake out the sand. It would take days, she determined, if not weeks, to get all of the sand out. She searched around her immediate area: no purse, no phone, and no car keys. When she started on this story, Sherri never realized she would experience something like this. She always enjoyed the sense of accomplishment from hard work. As an investigative reporter, she put herself in many compromising situations, but this had been the worst. Being shot at wasn’t something new, but being shot at with automatic weapons was a twist. Even in Sarajevo, she hadn’t faced such firepower. There she’d been dodging sniper fire. Sherri tried to analyze the events, but her head ached, and she realized she was dehydrated. She scanned the beach. The closest people to her were an elderly couple using metal detectors a hundred yards to the east. To the west, more people in the distance, the silhouettes of condos and hotels, and the familiar water tower of Pensacola Beach. She guessed it was about three miles away. Leaving the solitude of the sea oats and sand dunes of this isolated portion of the beach, Sherri trudged toward the water, then west, toward civilization.

Author Bio:

Michael Byars LewisMichael Byars Lewis, is a former AC-130U ‘Spooky’ Gunship Evaluator Pilot with 18 years in Air Force Special Operations Command. A 25-year Air Force pilot, he has flown special operations combat missions in Bosnia, Iraq, and Afghanistan. His first novel, SURLY BONDS, won three awards—2013 Next Generation Indie Book Awards: Silver Medal Finalist 1st Novel (Over 80,000 words), 2013 Readers’ Favorites: Bronze Medal (Fiction-Intrigue), and the 2014 Beverly Hills Book Awards: Winner (Military Fiction). Michael has an extensive social media footprint on Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter, and Pinterest. Michael is currently a pilot for a major U.S. airline.

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This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours for Michael Byars Lewis. There will be 5 US winners of one (1) eBook copy of Michael Byars Lewis. The giveaway begins on April 18th and runs through May 30th, 2016.

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Cover Reveal of Chasing Eva by Camellia Hart!


Chasing Eva

By Camellia Hart

Genre: Romance, Contemporary


Author Camellia Hart’s debut contemporary romance novel about a man and a woman whose lives are about to get sizzling hot…

After living through her share of disloyal relationships, Evangeline Avery will be damned if she lets another man cheat her. A beautiful and confident woman, Eva is the owner of an interior design firm at the brink of collapse. She swears to bring her company back to its past glory, even if it involves sweet talking the one man who caused this turmoil in the first place – Clive Stanton.

Notorious playboy Clive Stanton is a powerful businessman and a formidable enemy of many. He doesn’t do love, or at least not until he meets her again, fifteen years after he saw her last. Eva, his crush from teenage years, the one that got away, is back in his world and he is determined to do anything to make her his.

Will passion and lust bring them together or conflict and the unforgettable scars from their pasts forever tear them apart?

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Release Blitz of Unexpected by T.C.Matson! Includes #Giveaway! @starange13 @TC_Matson



Title: UnExpected

Series: The Fighter Series #2
By: T.C. Matson
Publication Date: April 11, 2016
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Turns out he was everything I ever wanted—charming, loving, and super sexy. But I knew being with Levi, the gorgeous MMA fighter every woman wanted, was going to be difficult. Especially since he’s so far away training a beautiful up-and-coming female fighter, teaching the very thing he thrives on. I just didn’t realize how damaging and strenuous this would be to our relationship. With so many twists and turns, unfortunately, we both got blindsided by the unexpected. 

I’m everything she wants and surprisingly, she was everything I needed. Quickly she became my very existence—my heartbeat. Everything around me faded as she became clear in view. And just because I’m affectionate toward her doesn’t mean I’ve changed. Don’t confuse my being in love with weakness. I’m still pretty damn perfect. I knew distance was going to be hard, but hell, this is agonizing.

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TC Matson loves to let her characters voices be heard. With a head full of stories, she puts her keyboard through a beating daily. Regularly, she visits the solidity of her writing cave, whether it be on the couch, at her desk, or in the corner hiding from her five-year-old.

She’s an avid reader and is known to devour books within hours. As a romance junkie, Matson sets her sights to try to find stories that are relatable and real. She’s not a fan of vampires, fairies, or any other out of this world fiction. And understanding that love isn’t always instant and full of flowers…her writing mirrors it. She isn’t afraid to push the envelope and touch the bases of uncomfortable situations.

Matson resides in the peaceful Piedmont area of North Carolina, where she stays hopped up on caffeine and chasing children. She has a relatively normal life managing her home, or as she calls it, her loony bin. Chaos is indefinite and a sense of humor is absolutely a must.

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Superstitious Feelings by L.J.Winters Blog Tour! Includes #Giveaway! @MissLisaghW @starange13

 Title: Superstitious Feelings
Series: Soul Scavengers #3
By: LJ Winters
Publication Date: April 8, 2016
Genre: Ghost Hunters/Romance

Sullivan Wilde finds himself alone and wondering just what happened. 

Olivia Emerson finds herself on the other side of the country without the Ghost Man, facing down her greatest personal demon in the flesh. 

When Sullivan gets a video clip of the Soul Scavengers team’s latest investigation, he’s stunned. Tracking Olivia down, he rushes to make it to her side before the Devil Himself can swoop in and destroy everything Sullivan holds precious. 

What was supposed to be a thrilling paranormal investigation at an archaeological dig site inside the spooky Superstition Mountains, turns into the team’s worst nightmare. This time, it isn’t the dead that threaten Sullivan and Olivia. Lost gold, a doomsday cult, and an old enemy all plot against them as they fight to stay alive.

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Soul Scavengers #1
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Soul Scavengers #2
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 “Twin flame?” he asked, and placing the pictures on the nightstand he turned to face her.
“It’s another way of saying, your soul mate. You’re my soul mate Sullivan, and I’m yours.” She nestled closer to him on the bed, her hand resting on his knee. “It’s said that Twin Flames meet lifetime after lifetime, sometimes as lovers, sometimes in other family incarnations. I truly believe we’ve been married to each other’s souls for a millennium or more.”
“How?  Like husband and wife?”
“Not exactly. I could have been your father, you could have been my brother or sister. You could have been my wife and me your husband sometimes. The common belief is that it varies. However, a few times in our earthly incarnations when we were lucky, we got to be lovers. Like we are today.”
“Fascinating.” His slow, sexy drawl created an uncontrolled tailspin inside her belly, and Olivia found her carnal-self needing him in the worst possible way.
“Yes. It really is. You and I are old souls, Sullivan. Children of the stars,” she told him, ghosting her hand down his arm. “You just had to wait a few years for me to catch up to you in this life. I’m just sorry for taking so long.”

Lisagh J. Winters is an emotional writer who loves pitting determined women up against hard, difficult to love men.

Her stories read much like watching your favorite TV drama, where POV can sometimes head hop here and there, but you’re always sure where you stand.

Intriguing, strong-willed characters, their push-me-pull-you relationships and an uphill battle of wills are what drives Lisagh’s emotionally rich tales. Angst is her middle name.

When not glued to her laptop, she enjoys life with her husband, three dogs and seven cats. She also loves interacting with her readers on Goodreads and Twitter!

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Release Tour of (Not So) Good In A Room by Dakota Madison!

California Dreamers Romantic Comedy Series Book 1
Dakota Madison

Cover DesignerBeetiful Book Covers

Official genre of book: Romantic Comedy

(NOT SO) GOOD IN A ROOM, a romantic comedy novella by USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Dakota Madison, is a modern reimagining of Cyrano de Bergerac.

 Awkward screenwriter Nellie Berg is great with words, as long as she can write them down. She’s written over thirty action scripts, but has been unable to sell a single one to Hollywood. Instead of working the room, every time Nellie tries to pitch her scripts to producers she becomes overcome with anxiety and completely blanks out.

When Nellie meets another aspiring screenwriter, Roscoe Rhodes, at Pitchfestapalooza they form an unlikely friendship. Roscoe is everything Nellie is not: outgoing, witty, charming…and good in a room. Roscoe suggests that Nellie hire his cousin, Chris, an unemployed actor to pitch her scripts to producers.

 Things get complicated when Nellie falls for Chris and she seeks Roscoe’s help to seal the deal. Roscoe realizes he actually has feelings for Nellie. And Hollywood falls in love with the hot the new pretend screenwriter, who has never even read an entire script let alone written one.


When I finally make it out of the ballroom and into the hotel lobby I do my best to compose myself, but to no avail. I’m definitely going to throw up.

I hurry into the ladies room and just make it to the toilet before I begin to dry heave. My stomach was so twisted with nerves I couldn’t eat anything all day so there’s nothing of any significance to come up.

Tears begin to stream down my face and within moments I’m a sobbing heap of hopelessness on the bathroom floor. I allow myself to release all of the tension I’ve been holding in and wail for several minutes. When I finally feel like I’ve cried the well dry I take in what I hope will be a deep, calming breath.

Will I ever be able to pitch without experiencing complete and utter terror? How will I ever make it in the business if I can’t?

You have to pull yourself together, Nellie.

A knock on the stall I’m occupying startles me.

Then I hear a female voice say, “Is everything okay in there?”

“Fuck off.” The harsh words pop out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. I don’t mean to be rude, but it seems to happen a lot.

I hear the sound of footsteps as whoever I just swore at scurries out of the bathroom.

As I pull myself up from the floor I hike up the white tights that have gathered at my knees. I do my best to smooth out the wrinkles in the black and white polka dot dress I’m wearing.

I slowly step out of the stall and glance around the bathroom just to make sure it’s empty.

I would glance at myself in the mirror, but I know it would just make me feel worse than I already do. Not only would I be a failure, I’d be a hideous looking one as well. I’d like to at least be able to function under the illusion that I’m not completely repulsive looking.

Unfortunately my body isn’t quick enough for my brain. I catch a glance at my reflection in the mirror as I pass by. It’s even worse than I imagined it would be. Calling me frightening looking would be a compliment.

I give my reflection the middle finger as I walk out of the bathroom.

I must still be in a post-anxiety-attack fog because I don’t even see the young producer I attempted to pitch to until I plow right into him.

“I’m so sorry.” I’m surprised when coherent words actually come out of my mouth this time.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“No,” I sputter as I hurry away before I embarrass myself even further.

I scan the large lobby. It’s packed with lines of screenwriters waiting to pitch to producers. There’s one dark corner on the opposite side of the crowded area that looks like a safe zone where I can hide and catch my breath.

I close my eyes for a moment and rub my temples. I’m probably ten minutes away from a major headache on top of everything else.

When I open my eyes I see a very tall guy headed in my direction. Of course I’m only five feet tall, so nearly everyone on the planet over the age of ten is taller than me, but this guy is like a giant. His hair and eyes are as dark as mine, but his are on a much more attractive package.

For some reason the guy is waving a pack of gum at me.

“Want a piece?” he asks.

In a room filled with hundreds of people why on Earth has he singled me out? And why would he think I want gum?

He waits for several moments and stares at me. When I don’t reply he says, “No gum I guess.”

“Please go somewhere that isn’t here.”

He frowns. “Like you own Pitchfestapalooza.”

“Find your own corner,” I hiss.

I wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t budge. He continues to stare at me, like he’s examining a specimen.

I shoot daggers at him hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Fine, I’ll go. Sorry for invading your personal space.”

When he takes off into the sea of emerging screenwriters I breathe a small sigh of relief.

Don’t you just love that term? Emerging screenwriter. It’s a nice way to say wannabe.

That’s what we are. Wannabes. Every person here is scrounging for that one break that will finally get him or her into the business.

I can’t waste my one shot at finally making my dream come true.

I remove my one-sheet from my handbag and stare at it. I’ve gone over my logline and story synopsis thousands of times. I’ve got every word on the page memorized. I have no idea why I can’t just say the words when I actually sit down to pitch.

I have to do this. I have to at least try again. I’d never be able to live with myself if I gave up so easily.

I shove my one-sheet back into my handbag as I make my way over to one of the lines of writers waiting for the opportunity to meet with an action film producer.

Pitchfestapalooza is run like a well-oiled machine. I have to give credit where credit is due. Screenwriters line up to meet with producers by genre and lines keep moving at a fairly brisk pace. It’s set up a little like speed dating, but we’re pitching producers for deals, not trying to score with the opposite sex.

Luckily the line I’ve selected isn’t that long. It’s about half as long as the lines for the screenwriters pitching horror scripts or comedy projects. I’m not surprised that I’m the only female in line. It’s pretty well known that there’s sexism in the film industry, but it seems to be even worse when it comes to action movies.

But I love the genre, and even though I have a vagina, I can’t see myself writing anything else. 

I don’t realize until he turns around that I’m standing right behind the tall guy who offered me the gum.

He flashes me a charismatic smile. The type of grin you might see on a used car salesman or politician.

Why do I get the feeling this guy could sell dirt to a farmer?

“So what do you have against gum?” he asks.


“Then it’s me you don’t like.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Then let’s remedy that situation right now.” He extends a hand for me to shake. “I’m Roscoe Rhodes.”

I’m sure he’s wondering why I’m not returning the gesture. I don’t like touching people I don’t know. It’s one of my numerous obsessions.

He waits for a long moment. When it’s obvious I’m not going to shake his hand he says, “You know, Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“My name’s not Dorothy.”

“At least I got you to say something.”

“Nellie Berg,” I tell him. “And how did you know I’m from Kansas?”

“I didn’t. You’re dressed like Dorothy Gale. What’s up with that outfit?”

I look down at my black patent leather shoes, white tights, black and white polka dot skirt. Then I glance around me. Everyone else is wearing dress jeans and button-down shirts with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Somehow I must have missed the screenwriters’ attire memo.

So in addition to being a bundle of nerves I look completely and totally out of place. Isn’t that just great for my self-esteem?

“You know this producer only makes action films,” Roscoe says.

I don’t even try to hide my scowl. “I know that.”

He points to another line directly across the lobby from us. “The line for romantic comedy is over there.”

“So?” I glare at him.

“Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable over there?”

“You mean somewhere where there isn’t a misogynistic jerk standing in front of me?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ve written a script for an action movie?”

As I shake my head defiantly I wonder why I’m even talking to this asshole.

“Then what are you doing in this line?” His condescending tone is really starting to piss me off.

“I’ve written scripts for thirty action movies.” Choke on that you prick.



“You don’t strike me as the type who would be interested in writing action scripts.”

“And why is that? Because I’m female? Have you bought into the sexist notion that women can’t write action scripts?”

I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him. As much as I’d like him to crawl into a hole somewhere he stares right back at me.

“Maybe it’s the pink polka dot purse you’re holding. That just screams action film. Or the outfit you’re wearing. If Shirley Temple and Dorothy Gale had a love child she would dress like you. Except you look more like a Munchkin with your little round face and tiny body.”

I can feel my face heat with embarrassment. This guy just says whatever he thinks, doesn’t he. “You know that’s really insulting.”

“Munchkin,” he repeats.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, Munch. You look like one of the dolls from the cabbage patch. I just want to put you on a shelf.”

“I consider that a micro-aggression.”

“Boo-hoo. What are you going to do? Call the PC police because I hurt your feelings?”

“You’re kind of a jerk.”

“Everyone says I’m charming.”

This guy is definitely no prince. “I guess everyone is wrong.”


USA TODAY Bestselling author Dakota Madison is known for writing romance with a little spice and lots of heart. She likes to explore current social issues in her work. Dakota is a winner of the prestigious RONE Award for Excellence in the Indie and Small Publishing Industry. When she’s not at her computer creating spicy stories Dakota likes to spend time with her husband and their bloodhounds at their home outside Phoenix, Arizona. Dakota also writes under the pen names SAVANNAH YOUNG, SIERRA AVALON and REN MONTERREY.

The Accidental Empress by Allison Pataki Book Recommendation!


A New York Times bestseller, the love story of “Sisi” the Austro-Hungarian Empress and wife of Emperor Franz Joseph is “captivating, absorbing, and beautifully told” (Kathleen Grissom).

The year is 1853, and the Habsburgs are Europe’s most powerful ruling family. With his empire stretching from Austria to Russia, from Germany to Italy, Emperor Franz Joseph is young, rich, and ready to marry.

Fifteen-year-old Elisabeth, “Sisi,” Duchess of Bavaria, travels to the Habsburg Court with her older sister, who is betrothed to the young emperor. But shortly after her arrival at court, Sisi finds herself in an unexpected dilemma: she has inadvertently fallen for and won the heart of her sister’s groom. Franz Joseph reneges on his earlier proposal and declares his intention to marry Sisi instead.

Thrust onto the throne of Europe’s most treacherous imperial court, Sisi upsets political and familial loyalties in her quest to win, and keep, the love of her emperor, her people, and of the world.

With Pataki’s rich period detail and cast of complex, bewitching characters, The Accidental Empress offers “another absolutely compelling story” (Mary Higgins Clark) with this glimpse into one of history’s most intriguing royal families, shedding new light on the glittering Hapsburg Empire and its most mesmerizing, most beloved “Fairy Queen.” – See more at


Allison Pataki is the New York Times bestselling author of The Traitor’s Wife and The Accidental Empress. She graduated Cum Laude from Yale University with a major in English and spent several years writing for TV and online news outlets. The daughter of former New York State Governor George E. Pataki, Allison is a regular contributor to Huffington Post and, as well as a member of The Historical Novel Society. Allison lives in Chicago with her husband. To learn more and connect with Allison visit or on Twitter @AllisonPataki.

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“This novel is captivating, absorbing, and beautifully told–I can’t wait for the sequel!”

  • – Kathleen Grissom, New York Times bestselling author of The Kitchen House
  • “A love match alters the course of history…Pataki deserves kudos for choosing her subject matter well–Sisi’s life is ideal fictional fodder.”
    – Kirkus Reviews
  • “Intricately plotted, Pataki’s latest is engrossing and incredibly real.”
    – Romantic Times (four stars)
  • “Another absolutely compelling story. I loved it.”
    – Mary Higgins Clark
  • “This novel is captivating, absorbing, and beautifully told–I can’t wait for the sequel!”
    – Kathleen Grissom, New York Times bestselling author of The Kitchen House
  • “The Accidental Empress is lush, romantic, and enlightening–a truly lovely novel.”
    – Therese Fowler, New York Times bestselling author of Z
  • “Allison Pataki brings to life one of the most enigmatic, intelligent, and stunningly beautiful women ever to have graced a court in Europe. A remarkable novel about a truly remarkable empress!”
    – Michelle Moran, bestselling author of Rebel Queen
  • “Once again Pataki stuns by diving deep into the pages of history and bringing up a heroine who is not only a jewel, but a red-blooded, complicated woman, allowing us to see history through a refreshingly new perspective. Smart, interesting, and chock-full of betrayal, intrigue, and love — The Accidental Empress had me glued to the page.”
    – Lee Woodruff, New York Times Best-Selling author and CBS This Morning contributor
  • “With her meticulous attention to historical detail and powerfully entertaining storytelling skills, Allison Pataki is a force in historical fiction. Set amid the grand landscapes of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the wilds of the human heart, The Accidental Empress is an epic tale of honor, power, and love. Breathtaking!”
    – Erika Robuck, bestselling author of Hemingway’s Girl
  • “A glorious novel about a misunderstood empress…With a sumptuous sense of history and evocative attention to detail, Allison Pataki conjures the rebellious, glamorous spirit of Sisi of Austria.”
    – C.W. Gortner, bestselling author of The Queen’s Vow
  • “The Accidental Empress is a tale of royal love we don’t know but should, and who better to share it with us than the supremely gifted and entertaining historical novelist, Allison Pataki. A delightful gift for readers…The Accidental Empress is enthralling.”
    – -Allegra Jordan, Author of The End of Innocence
  • “I felt as if I’d been transported to Austria in this powerful and sweeping novel. A heart wrenching, beautiful story, rich with historical detail and political intrigue. Skillful and utterly captivating.”
    – M.J. Rose, New York Times bestselling author of The Witch of Painted Sorrows
  • “The Accidental Empress is a stunning masterpiece of imagination, enriched with lavish historical detail. Utterly riveting, amazingly insightful. A splendid saga sure to capture the heart.”
    – Jan Moran, bestselling author of Scent of Triumph
  • “Pataki’s fully drawn ACCIDENTAL EMPRESS is an indelible portrayal–not only of one of the most complicated and misunderstood Habsburgs, but of a turbulent royal marriage during a tumultuous era.”
    – Juliet Grey, author of the acclaimed Marie Antoinette trilogy
  • “Allison Pataki so vividly depicts the world of the Habsburg court, you’ll feel the silk of Sisi’s gowns under your very fingers as you eagerly turn the pages of THE ACCIDENTAL EMPRESS. As a woman both ahead of her time and wholly situated within it, Sisi makes for a captivating central figure, and rarely has an author so heartbreakingly captured the exquisite tragedy of getting what you want. Sumptuous, surprising, and deeply felt.”
    – Greer Macallister, author of THE MAGICIAN’S LIE

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Eight Hundred Grapes by Laura Dave


A breakout novel from an author who “positively shines with wisdom and intelligence” (Jonathan Tropper, This Is Where I leave You). “Laura Dave writes with humor and insight about relationships in all their complexity, whether she’s describing siblings or fiancés or a couple long-married. Eight Hundred Grapes is a captivating story about the power of family, the limitations of love, and what becomes of a life’s work” (J. Courtney Sullivan, Maine).

There are secrets you share, and secrets you hide…

Growing up on her family’s Sonoma vineyard, Georgia Ford learned some important secrets. The secret number of grapes it takes to make a bottle of wine: eight hundred. The secret ingredient in her mother’s lasagna: chocolate. The secret behind ending a fight: hold hands.

But just a week before her wedding, thirty-year-old Georgia discovers her beloved fiancé has been keeping a secret so explosive, it will change their lives forever.

Georgia does what she’s always done: she returns to the family vineyard, expecting the comfort of her long-married parents, and her brothers, and everything familiar. But it turns out her fiancé is not the only one who’s been keeping secrets…

Bestselling author Laura Dave has been dubbed “a wry observer of modern love” (USA TODAY), a “decadent storyteller” (Marie Claire), and “compulsively readable” (Woman’s Day). Set in the lush backdrop of Sonoma’s wine country, Eight Hundred Grapes is a heartbreaking, funny, and deeply evocative novel about love, marriage, family, wine, and the treacherous terrain in which they all intersect. –

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Laura Dave is the author of the critically acclaimed novels Eight Hundred Grapes, The First Husband, The Divorce Party, and London Is the Best City in America. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times; O, The Oprah Magazine; Ladies Home Journal; Glamour; Redbook; Self; and The New York Observer. Dave has appeared on the CBS Early Show, Fox and Friends, and All Things Considered; and Cosmopolitan Magazine recently named her a “Fun and Fearless Phenom” of the year. Her novels have been published in eighteen countries and have been optioned for film by Reese Witherspoon, Jennifer Aniston, and Universal Studios. Fox 2000 optioned the rights to Eight Hundred Grapes with Dave writing the screenplay.  – See more at:

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