Becky Johnson's Blog

4 out of 5 stars

So Central Intelligence is not an earth shattering movie. Your view of the world will not change. I did not learn anything about myself or the world that I didn't already know, but I had fun watching it. Isn't that the point of movies, to have fun?  To be entertained?
Central Intelligence was entertaining. Kevin Hart and Dwayne Johnson had great comic chemistry. If you are looking for a movie to make you laugh on a rainy day, check out Central Intelligence.

 
Husbands and wives. Mothers and daughters. The past and the future. Secrets bind them. And secrets can destroy them. The author of  Pretty Girls  returns with an electrifying, emotionally complex thriller that plunges its fascinating protagonist into the darkest depths of a mystery that just might destroy him.With the discovery of a murder at an abandoned construction site, Will Trent of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation is brought in on a case that becomes much more dangerous when the dead man is identified as an ex-cop.Studying the body, Sara Linton—the GBI’s newest medical examiner and Will’s lover—realizes that the extensive blood loss didn't belong to the corpse. Sure enough, bloody footprints leading away from the scene indicate there is another victim—a woman—who has vanished . . . and who will die soon if she isn’t found.Will is already compromised, because the site belongs to the city’s most popular citizen: a wealthy, powerful, and politically connected athlete protected by the world’s most expensive lawyers—a man who’s already gotten away with rape, despite Will’s exhaustive efforts to put him away.But the worst is yet to come. Evidence soon links Will’s troubled past to the case . . . and the consequences will tear through his life with the force of a tornado, wreaking havoc for Will and everyone around him, including his colleagues, family, friends—and even the suspects he pursues.Relentlessly suspenseful and furiously paced, peopled with conflicted, fallible characters who leap from the page, The Kept Woman is a seamless blend of twisty police procedural and ingenious psychological thriller -- a searing, unforgettable novel of love, loss, and redemption. 
Karin Slaughter is one of the world’s most popular and acclaimed storytellers. Published in 36 languages, with more than 35 million copies sold across the globe, her sixteen novels include the Grant County and Will Trent books, as well as the Edgar-nominated Cop Town and the instant New York Times bestselling novel Pretty Girls. A native of Georgia, Karin currently lives in Atlanta. Her Will Trent series, Grant County series, and standalone novel Cop Town are all in development for film and television.Visit her at http://www.karinslaughter.com
Review:4 out of 5 stars. This is the first Karin Slaughter book I've read. Since I didn't realize it was in the middle of a series I felt a little behind as I was reading. The author does a good job of creating a story that stands alone even as it is part of a series. Apparently there is some backstory on one of complex characters that I missed out on, but I felt like I was able to follow the story.The Kept Woman is fast paced and kept me guessing. I couldn't put it down! The characters were complex and drove the story.What I really liked about the story was how it reflected the state of women today. Especially in light of the election and other current events I found myself comparing events and people in the book to current events. I do not know if this was the authors intention or not, but the book definitely made me think. Which is always a good thing!I didn't give five stars because I did feel a little behind at times, but that may be because I have not read the other books in this series.

4 out of 5 stars

The Chase by Janet Evanovich and Lee Goldberg is fun. That's the best word I can use to define it. Fun. It's light and fluffy and sometimes that's exactly what you need. It's the book version of the show Leverage.

In The Chase O'Hare and Fox are looking to steal back a Chinese artifact from a former Secretary of State. Their chase takes them across the US and all the way to China. There are lots of twists and turns and the con gets more and more fun.

The characters are pretty surface, but for the book they are perfect. If you are looking for a fun, quick read The Chase is perfect.

Touching Death Preview  1I was eleven the first time I saw someone die.It was hot. The kind of hot where your shirt sticks to your back and every breath feels thick and heavy. The waistband of my plaid, pleated school uniform was itchy. It was always itchy, but in Chicago in early September with the temperature in the nineties, I could barely stand it. “Look,” my best friend April gave my arm a sharp and eager tug, “I can’t believe he’s talking to her.” I looked across the museum where she was pointing. Jonathan Adams. With his dark hair and blue eyes he was the cutest guy in our class. He was talking to Carol, the prettiest girl in our class and our sworn enemy. April had such an intense crush on Jonathan. She had already named their children and when we played the name game she always wanted to get him. While April plotted revenge on her arch nemesis, I looked across the Ancients room in The Chicago Museum of Anthropology and Archeology to where Billy Masters stood by a glass display case. His hair was unruly and stuck up in odd peaks from his forehead in complete disregard of the rules. His white, button-down shirt hung out over his waistband. Technically, he was wearing the school tie; he just wore it tied around his belt loop, a bright red flag of rebellion. I never wanted to admit it, but when I daydreamed and played the name game, I was always looking for Billy Masters. Our class slowly moved through the large room. My teacher, Ms. Daniels, stood at the front of our group lecturing on the Egyptian Empire. With her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, her stockings sagging around her skinny legs, and her soft and squeaky voice the lecture didn’t keep my attention. Her high-pitched voice faded to the background as I gazed at the surrounding exhibits. They were all so beautiful and fascinating. My imagination ran wild with stories and images. I imagined hands cupping a bowl or pulling a comb through a child’s hair. In my mind’s eye a thousand stories and possibilities ran wild.We walked through the center aisle of a room, clustered with pottery and remnants of houses. I felt the strangest urge, the almost all consuming desire to touch. My fingertips itched. The power of it drew me. The crumbled edges of the pottery bowl almost begged me to touch them. Only a velvet rope and a few feet separated me from that tantalizing edge.One touch. No one will know.I didn’t even realize I’d stepped forward until the velvet rope stopped me from going any further. Vaguely, I heard my teacher discussing social structure and family groups, but the pounding of my own heart overpowered all other noise. Rachel, the past whispered, “come. See. Life and death.”I reached my hand out and my fingers brushed the edge of the bowl.Laughter.Raised voices.Yelling.Screams.Crying.The images bombarded me -- a woman sat in front of a fire pit making dinner for her family. A dispute nearby grabbed her attention. Two men were fighting. The crowd surged and pulsed with the energy of the fight. Screamed words sounded foreign to my ears, but the emotion made perfect sense -- fear, anger, uncertainty. Only the woman with the bowl saw the little boy standing too close to the fighters. Only the woman with the bowl saw the danger. She screamed his name. Her screams went unheard in the din. The crowd moved with the fight, their bodies cutting off her view. The bowl was clutched tight in her fingers as she struggled forward, pushing people aside. It grew eerily quiet. The crowd slowed, then paused responding to a different energy. Shoulders and heads slumped as they parted before her. The little boy was on the ground. A bloody rock lay near him. She dropped the bowl as she surged forward, screaming.I awoke on the ground in front the display my face wet and my throat raw with the echo of the screams still ringing in my ears.


2My apartment was freezing. Okay not actually freezing, but the thermostat on the wall read sixty-four degrees. Compared to the temperature outside sixty-four should have felt downright balmy. Instead, I was shivering. January in Chicago is no joke, and the thin windows of my tiny studio apartment didn’t keep the frigid air out. As I stood in front of the one full-length mirror, I could hear the wind whistling long and low as it crept through the window. I leaned back from the mirror to check the clock on the microwave that was only a few feet away. Everything in my tiny studio was close. The whole place could have fit into the living room of the home I grew up in. Here I was twenty-eight years old, recently single, and living in a place worthy of a college student or starving artist. I shot another glance at the clock. If I wasn’t careful I would also be late. I only had a few minutes before my ride would be here.The museum New Year’s gala was the event of the season. The gala drew the elite of the city. This year the special exhibit was my baby. As curator of the Chicago Museum of Anthropology and Archeology’s Ancient’s Wing I developed the special exhibit to be unveiled tonight. I was the youngest curator the museum had ever had and tonight was my first major exhibit. I’d spent six months working on this exhibit. It was meant to be the highlight of my career. Robert and I had planned to be the couple of the night. Robert. My stomach twisted. He would certainly be there tonight.I sucked in a deep breath and held it. There was no way out. I had to go. My breath left in a whoosh. I gave myself a critical once over. At least I looked good. My clothing was all I kept after the breakup. And I had a lot of clothing. At the moment it overflowed my small closet, and bright colors of silk and wool dribbled into boxes and lay upon the bed. It was ridiculous, really. Without the clothing covering almost every surface my apartment, the place would have been bare. I gave a little half turn and checked the flow of the dress in the full-length mirror. I wore a navy gown that skimmed my curves before flowing out at the knees. The scoop neckline was accented by a hammered gold necklace in an Egyptian design. To complete the look, I wore a heavy cuff on my right wrist and thin gold snake wrapped around my left upper arm. Heavy chandelier earrings with blue scarabs hung nearly to my shoulders. The gold jewelry set off my olive-toned Italian skin to perfection. My skin tone was a gift from my Italian father. Everything else was my Egyptian/Jewish mother. My dark curly hair was tamed, for the moment, and wrapped up into a tight French twist. Almond shaped dark eyes, slightly rounded cheeks, and a nose that was a bit too big was accented with an Egyptian cat eyes and deep red lips. Tonight I looked like my mother’s daughter, a Nile Queen. As the curator of the Egyptian exhibit I needed to look the part. I slid my feet into a pair of strappy gold heels and wrapped my vintage Lanvin cape around my shoulders. My phone beeped announcing a text from Kat. My ride was outside.I took one last look around my dingy little studio apartment and let out a sigh at the box spring and mattress on the floor, wobbly table against the far wall, and a dresser missing a drawer. I had fallen a long way since September. A few months ago I lived with Robert in an upscale Goldcoast townhouse. I had a BMW and I truly expected a diamond ring on my finger at any moment. Now I was broke. I sold my car to pay bills. I could barely make it from paycheck to paycheck. The creditors wanted to take everything I had, and I didn’t have much. To top it off, tonight I would probably have to make nice with Robert and his new girlfriend.The whole thing made me ill.I locked the door behind me and slipped down the narrow stairwell to the front door. I saw Kat had parked her red Honda Civic illegally out front.I pulled the heavy front door shut behind me and waited for the click to indicate it had locked. No click. I pushed it open and pulled hard to shut it again, still no click. This was supposed to be a secure building, but half the time the lock on the front door didn’t even work. Kat honked and I gave up on the door. I would call the super again tomorrow.My heels slid on the icy walkway as I shuffled out to Kat’s car. The wind cut through my dress. Even with the cape on, I was freezing. For a brief minute I desperately missed the townhome I shared with Robert with the attached garage and my BMW with heated seats. I didn’t know then that being pampered was something to miss, it just was. I slid into the passenger seat, feeling immensely grateful the heat was on full blast. Kat gave a low whistle.“You look gorgeous girl. You’re going to knock ‘em dead tonight.”“Look who’s talking, hot stuff.”“This old thing.” Kat motioned to her gold gown before putting on her turn signal and pulling into traffic.I hadn’t been exaggerating, Kat looked good. Taller than my own five feet three inches with long lean curves, she was like an amazon goddess. Dark skin stretched over high cheekbones. Eyes so dark they were almost black sparkling at me. Hair wild and free in a puff of curls around her head, Kat looked like a model. Tonight was no exception. My small frame and brown curls paled next to her natural glamour.“Do you think the papers will be there?” Kat answered her question before I had a chance to respond. “Of course the papers will be there. I sent invitations to everyone.”I can count the number of times I’ve seen Kat nervous on one hand, and I’ve known her since college. Normally she’s completely confident and unflappable. But while the exhibit is my baby, the gala is hers. As the public relations manager she did everything from design the invitations to arrange the tables in the rotunda. I knew she was nervous, but I had no doubts the night would be a smashing success.“Do you think we’ll get a write-up in the paper? That would be fantastic coverage for the museum, and fantastic coverage for me.” Kat sent me a wide grin. “It will be the best gala we’ve had yet. I’m sure of it.” My own nerves might have twisted and writhed in my stomach, but Kat deserved all of my support.My first year of college I was terrified. In my eyes, my visions were more of a burden then a gift. I’d graduated high school two years early mostly because I couldn’t stand walking the halls of Westmont High any more than was absolutely necessary. I dressed in black and wore elbow-length gloves at all times. I said I was goth, but really I was scared. Terrified of touching something and finding myself sucked into the past or into someone else’s emotions. I was very good at pretending to be all kinds of things I wasn’t, just to hide what I was.I started college with fifteen credits already under my belt, a whole range of defense mechanisms, and enough social masks to make any actor jealous. Kat was everything I wasn’t. At least on the surface. It didn’t take us long to realize that underneath we were soul mates. That first day of college I sat on my bed after convincing my reluctant parents that I was fine and that mama really couldn’t stay with me. Despite my positive attitude in the presence of my parents, now that they were gone I was ready to cry. With my legs curled under me on the thin college mattress my throat tightened with tears and a meltdown threated to make my first day of college a nightmare. Just when I was about the lose the battle with my emotions the door banged open and Kat sauntered in. Her dark eyes swept the room before settling on me with a sunny smile. “Hi, I’m Katherine, but everyone calls me Kat. You must be my roommate. We’re going to have so much fun.”Fun. We were going to have fun. I didn’t have time to express my disbelief because Kat kept talking. “Can you believe how great the campus is?”She chatted about the campus and the room while she put away her clothes. I sat on the bed completely overwhelmed. On the surface we were opposites. She was tall. I was short. She was a Public Relations Major. I was an ancient studies major. She was an only child. I have way too many siblings. The one thing we had in common was our ability to talk. But all those differences didn’t matter. From that day on we were inseparable. Through college boyfriends and first jobs. A few years ago when we both got jobs in the museum it seemed inevitable.Kat and I pulled into the employee lot behind the museum, preparing for our walk in the cold and ice. I hoped I didn’t fall between the car and the door. My dress would never recover. Of course, the gala itself had valet parking, but we lowly employees weren’t privy to that special service.After parking, Kat and I gripped one another’s arm and shuffled together towards the employee entrance. We had half an hour before the guests started to arrive and we both wanted to go over everything one last time. Once inside the warmth of the door Kat headed to the main hall while I headed toward my office in the west wing of the first floor. I wanted to stash my stole and bag there before walking through the exhibit; my exhibit, one last time. I had already been through it more times than I could count, but I felt the need to make sure it was absolutely perfect.I started from my office and walked the exhibit starting at the back, making my way forward to the front. The biggest pieces were at the end. The theme of the exhibit is the Valley of the Kings, a valley in the Theban hills where for five hundred years tombs for the pharaohs were built. It is the location of the tomb of Tutkahamen and new tombs have been discovered there as recently as 2008. The best and last piece of the exhibit is the mask of Tjuyu. It took years for me to get permission from the Museum of Cairo to display it here. They finally agreed, but sent their own security guards and a curator who would do nothing tonight but guard the mask. It was a concession I was happy to make for the opportunity to house the mask here. I paused in front of the case and gazed at the gold painted eyes. The mask was cold, impersonal and yet I always found it hauntingly beautiful. My gaze swept the display for any marker out of place, any lighting too bold or too soft. Satisfied that the display was perfect, I moved on. As I walked through the entire exhibit I made sure that at each stop the display was as perfect and detailed as the last one. I wanted anticipation to build throughout the event until the gala attendees viewed the final piece. At the start of the exhibit I paused. This was my favorite part of the museum. Off the rotunda was a short hallway that lead to the exhibit hall. The hallway was entirely white; white walls, white floor, two white benches on either side. The lighting was dim. What made the hallway special was the ceiling, a mosaic of stained glass. The lighting stationed behind the glass created an otherworldly splash of color that seemed to move and breathe. Even when the museum was crowded this hall was always quiet. Walking through the mosaic of colors seemed to bring out the peace in even the rowdiest of attendees. Tonight the hallway was very quiet. I took a seat on one of the benches and stared at the ceiling, willing my own peace to surface. People talk about getting butterflies in their stomach when they were nervous. I didn’t have butterflies. I had a snake. A writhing, twisting, biting snake. I pulled in a breath and then let it out, stuffing the nerves down deep inside. I pasted my professional smile over my face like a mask. I was ready.Surrounded by color and light my mind wandered to the mystery and wonder of the artifacts on exhibit tonight. I’ll admit, I’m a bit of a dreamer. In moments the first guests would arrive and it would be game on. I needed my smile in place and every social grace I possessed in full play. My stomach knotted at the thought. I loved parties, but this party was all about me. I needed to be full of charm and knowledge all night. I needed to smile if I saw Robert and act like I didn’t care that he was here with the woman he replaced me with.Sometimes having my gift is a curse. Like when you touch your boyfriend’s coat and get a vivid image of him in bed with another woman. A vivid impression of how turned on he felt as he kissed and caressed another woman. My hand pressed to my stomach and I swallowed back the nausea that rose in my throat. “Angeletti.”I knew that voice, the bane of my existence, Samuel Cartwell, Chief of Security and pain in the ass. Arrogant. Sloppy. Disrespectful. He insisted on calling me by my last name like we were on a sports team or something. In retaliation I insisted on calling him Mr. Cartwell. I hadn’t discovered yet what made the directors adore him, but he was the golden boy.“Mr. Cartwell.”I turned and nearly swallowed my tongue. The man I hadn’t ever seen wearing anything except faded jeans and a t-shirt was decked out in an all-black tux. Black shirt, black tie, black jacket. He looked like a completely different man. His dark hair was brushed back from his forehead. His beard was neat and trimmed close giving him a sophisticated rather than scruffy look. His dark eyes sparked at me above his crooked grin.I must have been gaping because he gave me a sly grin. “I clean up nice, huh?” I fought the urge to nod, his ego didn’t need any feeding. “You too. You ready for tonight?”“Thank you, Mr. Cartwell.” I stood, nervously brushing my palms over my dress. “I am sure tonight will be fine.”“I told you to call me Sam or Cart. Everyone else does.” Yeah, everyone else did. Everyone else loved him. I didn’t see what was so great. I mean, maybe he was sort of good looking with his dark hair and close-cut beard. And maybe his dark brown eyes always looked like they were laughing, but in my opinion he was an overgrown frat boy. So casual with a joke for everything. He had nicknames for everyone. He wore worn old t-shirts to work. He did things like play beer pong on the weekend. Okay, to be fair I don’t know if he actually played beer pong, but it seemed like something he would do.“The exhibit looks great.” “Thank you.” His gaze skimmed over my dress with approval and I couldn’t keep myself from taking inventory too. Cartwell looked polished and debonair. Annoying, I reminded myself. He’s annoying. We stood there awkwardly. “Gimme a whiskey, ginger ale on the side. And don’t be stingy, baby.”I stared at him. What? It needed to be said out loud. “What?"“Anna Christie?” He explained, “You know, Gretta Garbo?” I still had no idea what he was talking about.“Oh Angeletti, you need to watch some old movies. You’re missing out, doll.” Judging by the drama he added to that last part, it was an old movie quote, of course. That was another extremely annoying part of ‘Cart’s’ personality. He was always quoting movies.“Well again, Mr. Cartwell,” I put a subtle emphasis on the Mr. “Thank you, I better go greet our guests.”


Own Touching Death tomorrow 7/26/16. Available on Amazon today for pre-order!

4 out of 5 stars

Drusilla Thorne is in trouble. Her husband is dead and she is the main suspect, but the more she learns about her husband and the events leading to his death, the more she realizes there are lots of suspects, and the more danger she finds herself in.
I struggled with how to rate this book. One on hand it is a well written, fast-paced mystery with a lot packed into a short book. The mystery is solid with lots of twists and turns that kept me guessing. The main character is intriguing and manages to be both likable and uncomfortable at the same which is a tough balance to create.
What I didn't like about the book was the main character's mysterious past or more correctly the lack of clarity on the main character's past. Throughout the book there are hints that Drusilla has been through much more than the readers know. Hints that she has dark secrets in her past, but by the end of the book they are still just hints. Maybe future books will define these secrets further, but I was disappointed that more of my questions weren't answered in this book.

It's here. Touching Death is going to be released Tuesday July 26. It took a long time to get to this point, but I'm so happy it's here.



Rachel Angeletti knows things. She always has. With one touch she sees secrets, emotions, lies. Her gift helps her to be the best museum curator in Chicago. It also makes her personal relationships difficult.Her life is complicated enough when a run in with her ex and an unanticipated vision sends her reeling. One touch and she sees death. One touch and she is thrown into the midst of killer’s dark fantasy. Now Rachel is in a fight for her life against a killer she knows too little about.With danger stalking her around every turn Rachel is in a thrilling race against the clock. Can she catch a killer before he catches her? Touching Death will take you on a riveting, page-turning, journey into the mind of a killer and the heart of a survivor. 
Order it now on Amazon! https://www.amazon.com/Touching-Death...

2 out of 5 stars

I wanted to like this book. It was a great premise. A family falling apart and a kidnapped daughter. I couldn't really enjoy it though. The character's voices were forced and the child's voice was just completely unrealistic. I didn't like the characters and I had trouble getting behind them. Also the book is divided in to two and ends on a cliffhanger which is one of my personal beefs. I'm okay with series, but it feels manipulative for an author to purposefully end on a big cliffhanger.

I ran across this article today. I didn't look for it, and I wasn't expecting it.
To begin with I don't know what actually happened between Woody Allen and his daughter, but I know what happened to me. And I know how I felt about it. I know the shame that kept me quiet.
I don't usually talk about personal things in a public way like this. I tend to like to keep private, private, but as I read the article linked above I realized something. Keeping quiet only helps the abuser.
According to RAINN 1 out of every 6 women are victims of sexual abuse or assault, 68% of sexual assaults are not reported to the police, and 98% of perpetrators will never see jail time. Those are frightening statistics.
Shame is toxic. And when the people we are supposed to trust, the people we expect to protect us, protect the abuser we start to believe those messages that tell us we were to blame. We start to believe the little voice in our head that tells us that we did something to cause the abuse.
Even as I write this I know there are people in my life who would be uncomfortable reading this. People who would be happier if I just stayed quiet about what happened. I will admit to feeling uncomfortable even as I write this. But by speaking out maybe I can help someone else. Maybe someone will read this and realize that they aren't alone. Maybe someone will read this and realize that there are people who are silent on the outside and screaming on the inside.
For years I screamed silently. I let the little voice in my head control me and I lived in shame. I was complicit in my own cover up. No more. I was sexually assaulted by a deacon in my church when I was eleven years old. I didn't know how to say what happened to me, and I didn't get help. For most of my life I lived in the shadow of that one event. The person I am today was molded by that one event. What happened to me wasn't my fault. I have no reason to feel shame. And if something happened to you? It wasn't your fault either.

Title:
WILD WITHIN

Author: Christine Hartmann

Publisher: Limitless Publishing

Pages: 274

Genre: Romantic Suspense
A year
after a family tragedy, Grace Mori embarks on the journey of a lifetime…
Two
thousand, six hundred miles of blistering heat, wilderness, and soul
searching—that’s what Grace signed up for when she decided to hike the Pacific
Crest Trail. It’s not a voyage for beginners, but with no husband and her
family still recovering from her bother’s death, Grace is more alone than
ever. 
This
trail meant something to her brother, and she’ll hike it in his memory, but she
can’t do it alone. So with her brother’s gear and a small group, Grace takes
the most important first steps of her life.
Grace
finds something more than peace and magic on the trail…
When her
first day of hiking ends in heat stroke, Grace is rescued by a handsome,
red-haired hiker who calls himself Lone Star. Grace has an immediate connection
with him, and their brief encounter leaves her fearing her soul mate has
slipped through her fingers. Although he vows to keep in touch, Grace doubts
she’ll ever see him again.
When
fears become reality, the only people Grace can rely on may be killers...
Grace is
surprised to find notes left at supply posts along the trail. Lone Star’s
eloquent letters keep Grace going, clinging to the hope she’ll find him—and
happiness—at the end of her journey. But as the trail becomes more perilous,
menace grows within the group. And when Lone Star’s letters mysteriously stop
coming, Grace fears the worst. 
As tensions flare and a killer
emerges, Grace must battle to survive…and reunite with the man she’s sure is
her future.For More InformationWild Within is available
at Amazon.Discuss this book at PUYB
Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.Book Excerpt:

Later, after sharing a hearty
dinner with the RV couple, Lone Star and Grace pitched their tents in adjacent
campsites. For Grace, tent poles went into wrong grommets, stakes came loose,
and clips misaligned. Lone Star set his up in a flash and sat in the entrance,
watching her struggle. “I wouldn’t mind a little help
here, if you’ve got the time.” “I’ve got the time. But you have to
learn this for yourself, darlin’. Soon it’ll be as easy as pie. But not if I do
it for you. Besides, I enjoy watching you. You clean up real nice.” “Thanks.” Grace curtsied. Her foot
caught in a tent line and she fell. Lone Star chuckled so long he had to hold
his sides. “From where I’m sitting, Lone Star,
you’re not living up to Southern gentleman standards.” She brushed herself off.
“What’s the Texas expression for
go jump in a lake?” “What I think you’re trying to say
is that you think I’m about as fine as cream gravy.” Grace used a rock to pound in her
final tent stake and attached its guy-line. “Yes, that’s what I meant.” She
tossed a pine cone at his head. “You’re as fine as clean gravy. So is my tent.
Not bad for a first try.” “Not clean gravy. Cream gravy. And
it’s a fine tent indeed.” Once inside her shelter, Grace was
too tired to crawl into her sleeping bag. She pulled it over her like a
blanket, thought for a second of Lone Star’s blue eyes, and fell asleep before
the cover reached her chin. Cheerful whistling roused her when
dawn was still a light orange glow on the horizon. She pushed the tent flap
aside and made out Lone Star breaking camp. “Didn’t mean to wake you, darlin’.”“You’re leaving? Already?” Sudden
anxiety prickled in her. “Sure am. Today’s supposed to be
cooler, they say. Still, it’s good to start early in the desert, no matter what
the prediction.” “Wait.” Grace scrambled out. “I can
pack up and go with you. Quick as a caterpillar in heat. Or whatever you’d
say.” She wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm in the crisp morning
air. Lone Star’s face shone with
affection. “Just Grace, your coming with me is a sweet thought.” He took gentle
hold of her shoulders and turned her around. “But you crawl right back in your
bag. You’re staying put today.” Her attention focused on his hands
as he gently pushed her toward her tent. Warm, firm, comforting hands. A sudden
longing enveloped her. She struggled out of his grip. “I don’t need any more
rest. I’m fine.” “You don’t know how tired you are.”“I’m okay. Really.” She jumped up
and down. “See?” “No arguing.” He again ushered her
to the tent and waited until she was tightly wrapped and zippered inside. His
thighs appeared at the entrance as he folded his long body until his head was
level with his knees. “I loved hiking with you yesterday,
Just Grace. My heart is saying stay here with you. But I’ve got 2,600 miles to
hike before snow lands in Canada.
And my law practice isn’t going to be there forever if I don’t get back to it
as soon as I can. I’ve just got to skedaddle.” He cares more about his work
than he does about me. She fought back tears and willed
her voice not to crack. “Okay. I understand. You’ve got your…priorities.” Lone Star reached for her chin but
she jerked it away. He let his hand drop. “Don’t be
that way, Just Grace. You’ve got to have a little faith.” “Faith in what?” “Faith in us.” He rubbed his hand
against her cheek. This time she leaned into it. “There’s an us?”



About the Author

Christine Hartmann grew up in Ohio and Delaware and loves traveling to exotic, romantic settings. After a
college semester in Kathmandu, her first three “real” jobs were all in northern Japan, where she lived for almost 10 years. She currently splits
her career between her daytime occupation (improving the quality of veterans’
nursing home care) and her nights/weekend avocation (writing both fiction and
non-fiction books). Her husband Ron Strickland is a well-known long-distance
hiker and trail guide writer and the founder of the 1,200-mile Pacific
Northwest National Scenic Trail. Christine loves reading, pilates, bicycling,
and snorkeling, and health foods that taste like they’re bad for you. You will
often find her at a keyboard, a German shepherd at her side, and Ron whispering
sweet edits over her shoulder.
Her latest book is book one of the
Wild at Heart series, Wild
Within .
For
More InformationVisit Christine Hartmann’s
website.Connect with Christine on Facebook and Twitter.Find out more about
Christine at Goodreads.





Giveaway!Christine is giving away 2 $25 Amazon
Gift Cards & 20 Wild Within Coffee Mugs!Terms & Conditions:

• By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.

• Two winners will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one $25 Amazon Gift
Card & twenty winners will be chosen to receive one Wild Within Coffee Mug

• This giveaway starts April 4 and ends June 30

• Winner will be contacted via email on July 1.

• Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!ENTER TO WIN!






a Rafflecopter giveaway













4 out of 5 stars
Grace Mori is looking for peace. After a tragedy she decides to hike the Pacific Crest Trail in memory of her brother. But Grace is not alone on the trail. A killer hunts while Grace hikes. In a journey that will take her farther than she ever imagined Grace will find both love and death on the Pacific Crest Trail.
Wild Within is well written and engaging. The characters and interesting and the mystery intriguing. The author's descriptions make you feel like you are a part of the action. I am not a huge romance fan and the love story was a little flat to me, but that just might be my personal preference. In all I would recommend Wild Within to fans of suspense/thrillers.

5 out of 5 stars
So I'd heard a lot about Absolute Power. I expected it to be one of the best books I ever read, and I was not disappointed.
When a professional burglar witnesses a murder involving the President of the United States it starts a chain of evens no one could have imagined.
In the beginning I wasn't completely sold on the book. There were a lot of threads and carracters, and it didn't seem that the book had a connection or a direction. But as the book progressed, as the story progressed, it developed into something I could have never guessed. The threads wove together into something amazing. It was a book that made me cry and kept me guessing the whole time. I read a lot of suspense and it takes a lot to catch me off guard. Absolute Power did just that. I didn't expect how the story unfolded, I didn't expect how characters reacted, and I absolutely did not see how it was going to end.
I highly recommend this book to fans of political thrillers.