MMFM – Nomad Authors Blog

This is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!

Blurb:
For most women, one husband is more than enough to handle. But Sabina Volt has three mates. Gosh, that would have been nice to know before she’d left Earth in the dust. Being a mail-order bride on a planet far, far away might be more of a challenge than she’d anticipated.

Buy links:

Amazon https://tinyurl.com/y67f948v
B&N https://tinyurl.com/y6clqmur

Excerpt:
“Do you need help with your bags, ma’am?”

Sabina Volt looked up into the earnest young face of the transporter steward. He set her two duffel bags beside the seat, retrieved from the storage closet assigned her. Once petrified of stepping aboard a plane or shuttle, Sabina now wished she could hide in the cabin and avoid disembarking. She no longer had that option—she had to get off.

She shoved to her feet. “No thanks. These are all I have.” A glance up the aisle showed an empty cabin. Though the young man’s face didn’t show impatience, he probably wished she’d get her sorry ass in gear so he could leave.

The steward politely stood aside so she could follow the flashing green lights embedded in the floor leading to the hatch. Dragging her feet as much as possible, dread building with each step, she made her way.

How had she ended up here? It had been sheer madness, signing a contract as a mail-order bride to a man she didn’t know in order to escape a man she knew all too well. But the remaining ache from nearly-healed broken ribs proved that most any action would be better than staying on Earth as Kevin Groman’s punching bag.

“Thank you for flying with us,” said another steward at the hatch.

“Sure,” Sabina muttered. Hopefully she wouldn’t soon fly with them or anyone else. Not back to Earth at least, or anywhere near her former fiancé.

She took a deep breath, eyeing the length of insulated portable structure connecting the shuttle to the terminal. You’ve come this far. Don’t turn coward now. “It’s going to be all right,” she muttered. “Buck up.”

The lights in the terminal stung her eyes, and after the quiet of the shuttle the noise struck her like a living thing. Comm sets dotted the walls every fifty feet or so, all sending out the latest news from Earth at top decibels. Dozens of people, mostly men and shuttle crews, stood around watching the sets or holding shouted conversations over the din. She blinked and stood a moment, adjusting to the new environment.

Then she saw him. Or at least, the cowboy with crossed arms who leaned insolently against the check-in desk sure looked like Walter Sheridan. She’d stared at his hologram often enough to have his features memorized, yet the man watching her wasn’t exactly what she expected.

His face looked sculpted from stone, with a squared chin and sharp cheekbones. Wives’ tales claimed smiling caused wrinkles, but no tell-tale lines marred this man’s face. He had the coloring of someone with brown hair, but she couldn’t tell the color because a sweat-stained, dusty cowboy hat covered his head. When their gazes met, his eyes gave her pause. Green as late spring fields depicted in laser paintings, they were also penetrating and unforgiving. This man wouldn’t trust easily or give any quarter. Like Kevin.

Oh, God. She couldn’t breathe. For a panicky moment she thought she might pass out. Turn around! Get back on that shuttle. Make them pry you out if need be. She swung back toward the door only to find it locked. Fanning her face with her hand, she had no choice but to find someplace to hide. Coming here had been a mistake, a horrible mistake. Run! Anywhere would be better than—

“Are you okay?”

She didn’t look but knew instinctively who stood beside her and took her elbow. He firmly guided her to a chair. When she sat, he forced her head down between her knees.

“Breathe,” he ordered.

“I’m fine,” Sabina said at last, and she did feel better, though a little silly. Kevin was a long way off. It might have taken her half a year and two beatings, but she finally regained her mind, took back her life and escaped him. The method might prove cowardly and impulsive, but she didn’t care. As long as coming here didn’t mean jumping from the solar roaster into the core generator.

Please don’t let Walter be like Kevin!

With her head down she couldn’t help but notice the dust covering his boots and the hems of his worn jeans. This was the way he came to meet his new bride? The lack of care on his part didn’t bode well. She chose this planet for its distance from Earth and Kevin, thinking her former fiancé would never find her here, or think it not worth the trouble and expense to come for her. She had to stay, she had to. Yet if Walter took so little care when coming to meet his new bride, what did it say about his wanting a wife? “I’m fine,” she repeated, then added, “Thanks.”

Then she had no choice. She looked up. And up. Warm pools of emerald colored eyes stared back with a hint of worry. His shirt wasn’t in much better shape than his jeans and boots. A threadbare collar topped a dull khaki colored shirt almost completely faded. Spots of rust-red plaid marked the fabric here and there. He’d rolled up his sleeves, showing muscled, tanned forearms sprinkled with light-colored hair.

“Are you Sabina Volt?”

She nodded.

He stared a moment longer, examining her face. He must have agreed that she was better because he said, “I’d about given up on you bein’ on the transport. Everyone else who got off is long gone. Let’s get out of here.” He scooped up her bags and took a few steps away before stopping to turn around and look. His gaze softened. “You comin’, or do you need another minute?”

In that instant she knew this man was nothing like Kevin. Kevin wouldn’t have given her a moment’s thought. Sabina’s stomach stopped its loop-de-loops, and her head quit spinning. Standing, she said, “Before we go, I’d just like to be sure of who you are.”

He took in a breath and huffed it out. “We don’t have time to waste pulling out papers. You have my hologram. You should know I’m Walt Sheridan. Your future husband.” He stared and waited, as though letting that sink in. “Now hurry. My truck’s parked outside and the sooner we get going the better.”

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This is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!

Blurb:
DAT agent Susan McAllister escapes Earth with killers in hot pursuit. She normally runs toward danger not away, and she likes controlling her own fate, not relying on three strange men and an irreverent cyberbot. Skilled and experienced, she doesn’t believe there’s any way the three crewmen of the cargo ship Erik’s Pryde can help her.

Captain John Erik thinks the sexy, headstrong passenger is nothing but trouble, but he also knows she needs help. And not being men to shrink from adventure, he’s convinced that he and his crew are the ones to provide it. When they’re infected by an illegal drug that releases inhibitions, the crew of the Pryde shows they are men who not only can fight, but can satisfy a woman’s every fantasy.

It’s no surprise when Susan discovers that being a member of the Pryde’s crew has unexpected, lasting benefits.

This is a futuristic space romp!

Buy link:

Kindle
Barnes & Noble
Kobo

Excerpt:

The smell hit Susan McAllister first. The sharp scent of iron, immediately recognizable, stung her nostrils and madeher gag. Then she noticed the door, normally locked at all times, hung open a crack.

She’d been ready to call out that she’d brought back French pastries from the restaurant where she enjoyed an early lunch but instead dropped the white bakery bag on the back steps. Removing her Renthaur X-89 laser pistol from her oversized shoulder bag, she inched forward and released the safety. She eased open the door and stepped inside and then pushed it nearly closed. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from sunlight to the dim interior.

The office fronted as a real estate agency but actually served as Centre District’s Domestic Anti-Terrorism headquarters. Susan had arrived that morning from the global headquarters in Mt. Saussat. In fact, if not for the fact that she never ate while flying and wanted an early lunch upon arrival, she would have been here for whatever shit had gone down.

Hugging the wall, she edged toward the workroom where her close friend and office manager, Lisle Hamilton, had set up the hologram generator, coffeepot, and storage shelving that helped form their cover of handling real estate. Behind an encrypted-lock vault door and out of sight, secure phones and code-deciphering, sub-particle computers were used for the real business of the storefront.

The Centre City office took a lot of ribbing in the Agency because of their cover. The joke was, what’s more boring than a DAT agent on desk duty? A realtor. What’s deadly boring? A DAT gent on desk duty posing as a realtor.

Deadly boring? The overwhelming scent of blood seemed to prove it. Criminy. What in hell happened?

Susan dropped to a crouch at the corner where the back hall entered the workroom. Pistol aimed up and grasped with two hands in classic shooter pose, she slowly leaned forward and peeked into the workroom.

Blood had begun to congeal where it covered the floor. Mark Nichols, who she’d just met that morning, lay on his back, his right hand inside his jacket pocket as though reaching for his weapon. Anne Barnewell lay face down. The size of the hole in the back of her head indicated a Succher 380, the weapon of choice for big-time drug dealers.

Also for cops’ personal weapons. The thought ran quickly through her mind and left just as fast.

The workroom connected to the main office by a swinging door of louvered wood, reminiscent of mid-twentieth-century architecture. From under the door she saw the body of Kyle Angustino, the son of one of Lisle’s friends and an actual real estate intern who had nothing to do with the DAT. Six people worked in the office, including Kyle, five of whom were DAT agents. Susan had no hope any of them were alive unless, like her, they’d been out of the office when hell struck.

The place appeared to be empty, but Susan didn’t change her position. Instead, she examined everything in her line of sight and listened with an intensity that had her shoulders tight with tension. Peering along the wall to the left she scrunched her brows in worry. The vault door stood ajar.

The only person in the office who had the combination was Lisle. A woman’s foot extended out the door, her burgundy shoe half-off. Lisle!

Her friend had bragged about the “killer burgundy pumps with little gold bows” when Susan had called to make arrangements to use one of the office cubicles for the week she would be in Centre City. They’d gone through Agency training together, and their paths crossed regularly. Later she would grieve for Lisle, but right now she needed to keep her wits about her and her emotions in check.

The bell over the front door tinkled, indicating someone entering from the street. A woman said, “Here’s a box for—Oh, dear God, what is this? What’s going on here?” There was no answer. Then, “No, please, no! Oh—”

Susan heard the unmistakable sound of the Succher firing and then a loud noise as something fell to the floor.

“What the hell?” A man pushed the vault door farther open. All that showed was a cuff-linked, white-shirted arm and a hand with long fingers. “What’s going on out there?”

“Nothing,” came a male voice from the front. “I didn’t have the keys to lock the door. I thought pulling the blinds would be enough to make people think we were closed. Forgot about delivery people.”

“Goddamn it. Go through Hamilton’s purse, for Christ’s sake, and find the keys.”

“Okay,” the guy in the front grumbled.

“Jesus, I have to do everything,” Vault Man said.

Susan pulled back. The lead guy knew Lisle’s name. Because he knew her or because of information gleaned while there? And how did he know about the vault room? Had he come to the office because of it, or had he and his buddy happened into the office and thought the heavy door hid more than it did? She dismissed that idea right away because really, who in the world robbed a realtor’s office? So, assuming they already knew about the vault and Lisle, the conclusion was ominous—the murderers were associated with DAT.

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