Tuesday, January 29, 2019

Slaughtered by K.A. Lugo - an extract

This week, I'd like to welcome K.A. Lugo to Tirgearr Tuesday:


 

Slaughtered is available to download through Kindle Unlimited & in print


The Texter

Fallen homicide detective, Jack Slaughter, closes the door on the home where his perfect family has been brutally snatched from him. Moving across the city, he works as a private investigator to fund his own investigation into what happened to his family—who killed his little girl, ZoĆ«, and where is his wife, Leah?
Every three month for the last three years, Jack receives a simple text telling him where he can find his missing wife. There’s a body at each location, but none of them are Leah.
Jack hates missing person’s cases, but they’re his bread and butter. He only takes the case to find Carl Boyd's missing wife because the details of her disappearance closely match Leah’s. He hopes by finding Bonnie Boyd, he'll find his own wife.

The Butcher

Following the leads in the Bonnie Boyd case, Jack discovers someone has been killing women all over the city for the last three years, a fact Jack’s ex-partner and still best friend, Ray Navarro, has neglected to tell him. The city has a serial killer and officials haven’t been able to find a single lead on the person they’ve dubbed The Butcher.
Could Bonnie Boyd’s disappearance be linked to The Butcher? More important, was Leah one of The Butcher’s victims? Could he have gone so far as to murder a child?
With every clue Jack weaves together, the more his own life unravels.

Excerpt:

San Francisco, California

Wednesday

“Is it her? Is it Leah?”
Jack Slaughter’s heart hammered a hole in his chest as he watched the rail-thin form of the newly-made detective, Paul Travers, stride toward him. If he could read the man’s expression and body language, Travers seemed more amused by Jack’s presence than annoyed.
When Jack started lifting the crime scene tape to duck under it, Travers pushed him back with a firm hand on his shoulder.
“You gotta stop turning up like this, Jackie.” Travers’ flippant voice grated on Jack, almost as much as the man’s ruddy complexion and brassy hair. His voice edged on being just a bit too high and too nasal to want to listen to for long. Jack didn’t know how his best friend and former partner, Ray Navarro, could stand it.
With a hand still on his shoulder, Travers nudged Jack back. He made a shooing motion with his other hand. “Why don’t you just go on home and let the professionals do their jobs?”
Travers’ condescending tone made Jack want to punch him in the throat.
“Where’s Ray?” He followed Travers’ gaze over the man’s shoulder and saw Ray standing over the victim’s body several yards away. It appeared to have been positioned at the foot of a tall pine at the dead-end of the road. “I want to talk to him.”
Travers caught his gaze and looked back. “Go home, Jackie. You don’t belong here.” He emphasized the word you. They both knew why Jack was no longer Ray’s partner, nor on the force.
Ignoring the little pissant, Jack shouted over the man’s shoulder. “Ray!” His friend looked up and gave a quick wave to acknowledge he’d seen Jack. He finished up with a CSI, then made his way over.
“What are you doing here, Jack?” When Ray reached up to shake hands, Jack palmed his cell phone into Ray’s.
“I told him to go home . . . partner.”
In Jack’s opinion, Travers seemed to take every opportunity to rub it in that he now occupied Jack’s former position. It didn’t escape his notice that Ray also cringed at the word partner. Jack knew his leaving the force had been a blow to his friend too.
He gazed directly into Ray’s eyes, trying to keep the anxiety he felt from his voice. “I got another one.”
“Jack—” Ray sighed, gazing down at the phone’s screen to the open text—Spreckels Lake.
Since the very first text he’d received—You’ll find your wife in the Panhandle—there had never been anything more than the next location. The texts came every three months, as if on schedule. Every one of them led Jack to a body, but none of them were Leah. If the texter was trying to drive him crazy, it was working. But he couldn’t risk that the guy was crying wolf. Even after three years, Jack still showed up . . . just in case.
Ray handed back the phone then threw his hands onto his hips. Jack could almost hear the gears working in his friend’s head as he gazed around Spreckels Lake with obvious concentration.
This was a beautiful location. Jack remembered bringing his family here, but pushed the memory from his mind. He gazed away from the water, trying to breathe. He knew the answer, but he had to ask it anyway. “Is it her?” Even he heard the waver in his voice.
“You gotta let me do my job, man. You gotta trust me. If this was Leah, you know I’d tell you.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts, Jackie,” Travers cut in, edging up closer to him as if posturing. “You’re not a cop anymore. You don’t belong here. Go home.”
Jack starred at Travers with a look he hoped said, go ahead and touch me again, pissant, I dare you. He must have got his point across because Travers hesitated before stepping away, his back noticeably erect.
“I’m sorry. Paul’s right. You don’t need to be here. It’s not her.” Ray’s voice remained calm. Jack knew the tone, as he often used it to try defusing situations with suspects and distraught families.
“You’re just a distraction, Jackie.”
“Paul!” Ray’s warning tone made Travers jump, as it did those around them.
In his heart, Jack knew when a victim’s family turned up on a crime scene, or tried insinuating themselves into an investigation, it only disrupted the process. More times than he could count, the time he’d spent dealing with the family would have been better served on the investigation.
Jack shrank away from the crime scene tape, his energy evaporating. “You’re right, Ray. I’m sorry. I just can’t risk that the one time I don’t respond to the text, it really will be Leah.”
“I know, Jack. I know.” Ray put his hand on Jack’s shoulder this time, drawing Jack’s attention. “But this isn’t her. Go ho—” Ray stopped short, both knowing Jack hadn’t been home since that night three years ago. “Go back to your place. I’ll stop by after my shift. We’ll talk then, okay?”
Jack looked past Ray’s shoulder to the lifeless body. He watched as technicians carefully placed a protective tarp over the victim, telling him the CSIs had retrieved all the scene evidence they needed and now waited for the coroner’s removal.
Dumping the body at the lake had been a bold move. Even at this dead-end in the road, Golden Gate Park attracted a huge number of people, homeless and visitors alike. Someone had to have seen something.
“Can you use an extra hand?”
“Sorry, Jack. You know I can’t. I gotta get back. I’ll see you later, at your place.”
“Don’t bother.” Jack didn’t have to look back to know Ray watched to make sure he was leaving.
From behind him, he heard Travers ask, “What’s with that guy?”
“Lay off, Paul,” Ray said. “You’d react the same way if your daughter had been murdered and your wife was still missing.”


Meet the Author

K.A. Lugo is a native Northern Californian who grew up in Carmel-by-the-Sea, part of a larger community founded by artists and writers, including John Steinbeck, George Sterling, and Jack London. Over the years, she's worked with several Carmel notables, but it was in 1997 she left the employ of Clint Eastwood to live in Ireland for six months. It was during this time she met the man she would marry, and relocated to live in Ireland.
While always writing since a very young age, K.A. earned her keep in Ireland as one of the country's foremost travel consultants who also wrote travel articles about Ireland.
Since 2005, K.A. has published fourteen titles in genres including romantic suspense, erotic romance, cozy mystery, and now thrillers.
Slaughtered is the first in the new highly acclaimed Jack Slaughter Thriller series, set in San Francisco, a city close to K.A.'s heart.
K.A. loves hearing from readers and promises to reply to each message. Please visit her socials to stay up-to-date on this exciting new series.

Social Links:

Website
Facebook
Twitter
Blog
Goodreads
BookBub

Monday, January 21, 2019

One Night in Aberdeen by Charlotte Howard

Welcome to Tirgearr Tuesday! Today's extract comes from One Night in Aberdeen, a stand-alone novella that was written to be part of Tirgearr's City Nights series.

onenightinaberdeenbycharlottehoward-500

ISBN: 9781311644947 ASIN: B01G984FA2

Blurb:

Ross McKinley and his personal assistant, Lee Bradshaw, have been invited to Aberdeen by Ross’s ex-wife, Anna, to participate in a charity ‘slave auction.’ He finds the whole thing embarrassing, and not wanting to be ‘won’ on the auction block, he asks Lee to bid on him, and win whatever the cost. After a bidding war between Lee and Anna, Lee wins. Being the spoilsport, Anna begins subtly threatening Lee.
Ross finally takes Lee away from the event . . . and back to his hotel room where things quickly change from the boss-employee role to lovers. The following day when Ross is showing Lee around the city, it becomes obvious she’s not enjoying the adventure. She tells him about Anna’s threatening texts—she’s to quit her job and never see Ross again, or Anna will ruin his business.
When Lee refuses to let Anna manipulate her into quitting, will she be strong enough to fight beside Ross for his company? Or will Anna get the upper hand?

Excerpt:

  “I am going to kill you,” Ross McKinley said in a low growl, quiet enough that only Lee heard him. Picking up the short tumbler, he knocked the Scotch back in one gulp. He took a sharp breath as the heat of it caught him off guard, burning his already raw throat. If there was one thing he did enjoy about being back in Aberdeen, it was the opportunity to drink decent, authentic Scottish whiskey.“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Mr McKinley.” His personal assistant didn’t look scared by his threat. She sat on her bar stool, sniggering into her drink.
  “I swear to God, Lee...” he continued, turning to survey the room. He placed his elbows on the bar and leaned back. “What the hell have you got me into?”
She didn’t answer, finishing her drink instead. She didn’t need to respond. Technically it wasn’t her fault. It was Anna’s.
  Ross watched as the other guests socialised, chatting amongst themselves. Waiters and waitresses dressed in black trousers and white shirts handed out hors d’oeuvres and glasses of sparkling wine with a couple of raspberries in the bottom. He grabbed one as a waiter walked past, drained the glass, leaving the fruit, and put it on the bar more forcefully than necessary. He checked his watch. Six o’clock. It was going to take much more alcohol to get him through the next six hours.
  The hotel’s function room had been decorated in a vintage style, with pastel-coloured bunting and printed fabric hanging on the walls. Huge round tables had been placed around the room, draped in cream cloths, with ten places set around each one. The centrepieces were all identical – a slab of unfinished tree trunk used as a plate, with a glass jar holding a posy of pale pink roses and gypsophila, next to a small green bottle wrapped in old twine, holding a few sprigs of rosemary and flowering lavender. Candelabras hung from the high oak beams, catching the dying sun that broke through the few tall windows that dotted the stone walls. It was all very pretty, and very Anna.
  His ex-wife was chatting with one of the band members, standing centre stage as always. Wearing a floor-length, emerald-green, figure-hugging dress with a neckline that skimmed her navel, and dripping in the diamonds he’d bought her over the ten years they’d been married, she looked amazing. And he hated her. He hated every fibre of her being.
  “I am going to kill you,” he said again.
  “It’s good publicity.”
  “It’s a bad idea,” he countered.
  “It’s a bit of fun and you’re raising money for a worthy cause. One you started, I should point out.” And she made her point well. The McKinley Trust was his baby, or more his ex-wife’s, but he was still on the board of the charity, for now. “It would have looked bad if you hadn’t turned up,” she continued.
  He glanced at his assistant, not totally sure that he agreed with her. Lee finished her wine, and twisted on her seat. “I promise to bid on you,” she said, running her fingers through her long wavy brown hair and fiddling with the ends.
  Ross shook his head, then squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He pulled his chequebook and a pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and ripped out a page. He signed the bottom of it and handed it to her. “Go as high as you need to, but get me out of this.”
  Lee nipped the corner of the cheque between two fingers, and smiled. “As high as I need to, huh?” She folded the cheque and put it in her black satin handbag. “Okay, boss,” she said with a wink.

Charlotte Howard

Meet the author

Award-winning author, Charlotte lives in Somerset with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets and can always be found with a cup of tea in her hand. When she's not writing or running around after small people and animals, she loves to eat curry and watch action films.


• • •

Find Charlotte Online:

Website
Facebook
Twitter
Blog
Tirgearr Publishing


#tirgearrtuesday #erotic #romance #novella #citynights #aberdeen