Book Spotlight and Giveaway: Sealed Up: The Course of Fate: Book One by Steve Dunn Hanson

Hot off the press! SEALED UP: THE COURSE OF FATE: BOOK ONE by Steve Dunn Hanson is
available now! Steve will be on a virtual book tour January 3 - March 31 and will be giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card PLUS an autographed copy of his book!  Follow his tour, leave comments and share this page in social networks for extra entries!

Title:
Sealed Up

Author: Steve Dunn Hanson

Publisher: Independent

Pages: 402

Genre: Action/Adventure/Suspense 

The Da Vinci Code unsettles. SEALED UP shakes to the core!

UCLA anthropologist Nathan Hill, in a funk since his young wife’s death, learns of staggering millennia-old chronicles sealed up somewhere in a Mesoamerica cliff. This bombshell rocks him out of his gloom, and he leads a clandestine expedition to uncover them. What are they? Who put them there? No one knows. But, self-absorbed televangelist Brother Luke, who funds the expedition, thinks he does. If he’s right, his power-hunger will have off-the-charts gratification.

Striking Audra Chang joins Nathan in his pursuit and brings her own shocking secret. As they struggle through a literal jungle of puzzles and dead ends, she finds herself falling in love with Nathan. Her secret, though, may make that a non-starter.

When a shaman with a thirst for human sacrifice, and a murderous Mexican drug lord with a mysterious connection to Brother Luke emerge, the expedition appears doomed. Yet Nathan is convinced that fate—or something—demands these inscrutable chronicles be unearthed. And if they are . . . what shattering disruption will they unleash?

Intricately layered and remarkably researched, this enthralling suspense-driven and thought provoking tour de force begs a startling question: Could it happen?

Amazon

Book Excerpt:

“How much farther?” Paul’s shirt was soaked from sweat.

Itzel looked at him and laughed. “Just like Torrance, huh?” Paul rolled his eyes.

“The cenote.”
Ichika pointed to a three-foot-wide path that was recently cut through
the brush. They followed it as it turned to the left then sharply to the
right. The sinkhole loomed in front of them. The water, a huge blue
sapphire, sparkled 15 feet below. Thick emerald-green growth reached
down the sinkhole’s sides, but where they were standing, the vegetation
had been cleared all the way to the water’s surface.

Paul stood at the cenote’s edge and stared down into the bowl. “You slipped here, you’d go all the way in.”

Itzel shuddered and pulled back; thoughts of her father overwhelming her. Was this what it was like where he fell? She trembled and turned away from the cenote. “Let’s leave.”

Paul
looked at her and understood. He almost said something about his
stupidity, but decided one foot in his mouth was enough. He motioned for
Ichika to take them back the way they came. He put his arm around
Itzel, and she leaned her head against him.

“Where are the ruins?”
Paul asked. Ichika didn’t say anything, just pointed ahead. The brush
and ferns that surrounded them were head high and prevented their seeing
anything except along the trail. As they turned to go to where they
first entered the path, Kish’s men stood waiting. Ikan, Muluc, and Yochi
had machetes, and Gukumatz held a tranquilizer gun.

Paul and
Itzel stopped. Ichika, her eyes fastened on the ground, kept going until
she stood on the other side of the men. She turned back toward Itzel
but wouldn’t look at her. “What’s going on?” Paul demanded in Spanish as
he stepped in front of Itzel. Gukumatz raised his gun and shot a dart
into Paul’s stomach. Paul flinched at the pain and looked down at his
stomach. “What the ....” Paul yanked the dart out and threw it on the
ground. A small circle of blood soaked through his shirt. He lunged at
Gukumatz and swung his forearm around catching him on the bridge of his
nose. Blood spurted from Gukumatz’s nostrils as he fell to the ground; a
gash flaring open on top of his nose. Ikan and Yochi dropped their
machetes and jumped Paul.

“What are you doing?” Itzel yelled in
Lacandón. “Where is Kish?” Muluc grabbed her and threw his arm around
her neck, holding her from behind.

“Don’t you hurt her!” Ichika
screamed, as she advanced on him. Gukumatz stood up and wiped his nose
with his sleeve; blood soaking through his shirt to his skin. His stare
at Paul was chilling, and he swore at him in Spanish. Paul tried to get
up to come at him. It was all the two men could do to keep him down even
though his strength was ebbing. Gukumatz turned away from Paul and
pulled a cartridge and a dart from the bag on his shoulder and loaded
them into his gun. He walked to Itzel and shoved Ichika aside. He
lowered the gun and shot the dart into Itzel’s stomach. She flinched at
the pain and stared at Gukumatz. “You pig!” she spat.

Within a few
minutes Paul and Itzel were unconscious. Gukumatz pulled the GPS
trackers from their belts, turned them off, and slammed them against a
rock. He grunted as he picked up Itzel and slung her across his
shoulder. The other three men lifted Paul. They headed to the platform
ruins.

The place of sacrifice.

About the Author

I've lived in places that grew me . . . from a small Idaho farm town, a run-down neighborhood in St. Louis, and a middle-class southern California community, to Sydney, Australia, and Bucharest, Romania. My experiences are as varied as the places I've lived. I have a hopper full of "reality" including being a volunteer jail chaplain and flying with a U.S. presidential candidate in his small plane when an engine conked out. And all of this is fodder for my writing.

WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK

GIVEAWAY DETAILS:

Steve Dunn Hanson is giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card PLUS an autographed copy of his book, Sealed Up!

Terms & Conditions:

• By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
• One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive both prizes.
• This giveaway ends midnight March 31.
• Winner will be contacted via email on April 1.
• Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

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Book Spotlight & Giveaway: Blu Heat by David Burnsworth

Blu Heat: A Blu Carraway Novella

by David Burnsworth

on Tour March 27 - April 10, 2017

Synopsis:

A man walks into a bar, and dies. It isn’t just any bar, it’s the Pirate’s Cove located on the Isle of Palms, a barrier island just north of the Charleston, South Carolina harbor. Ex-Marine Brack Pelton tries to stop the murder and almost dies himself. The victim, Skip Romeo, has a shady past and some interesting friends. The friend he’d planned on meeting at the bar before he got shot was lowcountry Private Investigator Blu Carraway.

Brack Pelton hates that someone shot up his bar and Blu Carraway hates that someone gunned down his friend. Both want revenge and justice. And both tend to leave a lot of collateral damage in their wake. Their team-up is inevitable. Individually, they’re each a force to be reckoned with. Together, they’re like an atomic bomb blast at ground zero. Pelton and Carraway and Charleston will never be the same.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery

Published by: Henery Press

Publication Date: March 28, 2017

Number of Pages: UKN

ISBN: 9781635111866

Series: A Brack Pelton Mystery Novella, 2.5

Purchase Links: Amazon  Barnes & Noble   Goodreads 

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Isle of Palms, South Carolina

The crash of the surf pushed itself in between the beats of a forty-year-old Jimmy Buffet song streaming through the sound system of the Pirate’s Cove. Brack wiped down the old oak bar with Murphy’s oil soap, cleaning away invisible dirt. October had brought with it the end of the tourist season, although it would stay around eighty degrees for another weekend or two. No customers meant no messes to clean up, but Brack had developed a slight case of obsessive-compulsive disorder since Darcy and Mutt had moved away. Thus the need to reclean.

The early fall ocean breeze blew steady through large doors open for just that reason, something Brack never got tired of. Paige, the bar’s manager, had taken the rest of the staff out for a harbor cruise, a gift for another great summer season. Brack hadn’t been up for the day trip, deciding at the last minute to man the fort while they were out playing.

Alone with only his thoughts, he finished the last section of oak and was contemplating giving the wide ancient floor planks another coat of oil soap when a man walked in and took a seat at the bar. Aviator sunglasses, shoulder-length hair thin on top, Sam Elliot mustache. Brack pegged him at mid-forties.

Isle of Palms, South Carolina, where the bar was located, had a lot of money. And Americans enjoyed hiding their wealth behind old blue jeans and pickup trucks. This guy could be rich.

Or homeless.

Brack walked over to him. “How’re ya doing?”

“Gimme a Bud and a shot of Jack.” The man’s voice was gruff. “Can I smoke?”

“Not in here, but if you want to set up on the back deck, you can smoke all you want.”

The man nodded. It made Brack miss being able to smoke a cigar in his own bar. He got the drinks and set them in front of his customer.

The man reached into his pocket, pulled out a wrinkled twenty, and said, “Keep it. If someone asks for Skip, tell ’em where I am.”

Brack watched him scoop up both drinks and head outside, irritated that the distraction from his OCD had left the room. The wood tables called his name.

Who was he kidding? If he didn’t keep busy, he’d think about Darcy. She’d moved away from him to be with another man, and that was too much to handle.

And, because when it rained, it poured, the bar had lost Bonny, its macaw mascot and resident, just two weeks ago to old age. She’d started the business with Brack’s uncle in the seventies. And now she was gone, too.

The front door opened again and this time two men walked in. One glance at their dead eyes told Brack they were not here for the fresh salt air. Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts couldn’t hide the vibe of death they brought with them. Brack had been in enough bad spots before to know these were not tourists looking for daiquiris.

Because Brack had vowed to always have weapons on hand, there were two pistols behind the bar, one at each end and a sawed-off shotgun in the middle. Unfortunately, he was smack dab in between two of the weapons.

The two newcomers looked around the bar, and then they spotted the guy on the back deck.

Brack inched to the closest corner. One set of dead eyes landed on him, a hand reaching behind to what had to be a gun.

Their eyes locked. Brack’s hand was twelve inches away from his own pistol.

Dead Eyes pulled his piece first and fired. Brack’s Marine training dropped him to the ground. The bullet whizzed overhead and a bottle of top-shelf vodka exploded. Glass showered down on him.

More shots fired. Brack wrapped his hand around the Colt Python, his bar manager’s weapon of choice, and felt the thumps as rounds perforated the bar over his head and smacked into the wall cabinet that held all the booze. It seemed like there were more shots than thumps.

He cocked the hammer back, took two deep breaths, and trained the sight around the corner of the bar. It settled on a shin creeping between the chairs and tables.

The Python spit fire and noise and lead. The impact of the bullet blew a crater through the shin. It was as if all the air in the room got sucked through the hole and exited out the back in a cloud of red mist.

A scream followed by two more shots and two more thumps took over all other sound.

The figure owning the useless shin crashed to the ground. With a clear shot, Brack put two center-mass rounds in the man for good measure and then ducked behind the bar again.

One on one now. Even odds. Except they weren’t even. Brack was pinned and he knew it. Two more thumps hit the bar, followed by the sound of the front door banging open and then closing with a whoosh of the air cylinder that pulled it back in.

It could be a trap, the guy just waiting for Brack to fall for it, show himself, and be blasted to Timbuktu. He stayed put a few more seconds which felt like minutes.

A faint siren wailed in the distance. The police station was only two blocks away. Brack hoped to God it was the chief.

After a count of ten more seconds, the front door opened again.

It was now or never. Brack sprang to his feet, Python in hand, sighted in the door, and didn’t fire.

A man a few inches taller than himself held up his hands. Olive skin, short-cropped hair beginning to recede in the corners of his forehead, silver cross on a chain around his neck, black jeans, black T-shirt, Doc Martens, and sunglasses, he said, “Don’t shoot.”

***

Excerpt from Blu Heat: A Blu Carraway Novella by David Burnsworth.  Copyright © 2017 by David Burnsworth. Reproduced with permission from David Burnsworth. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

David Burnsworth became fascinated with the Deep South at a young age. After a degree in Mechanical Engineering from the University of Tennessee and fifteen years in the corporate world, he made the decision to write a novel. Big City Heat is his fourth mystery. Having lived in Charleston on Sullivan's Island for five years, the setting was a foregone conclusion. He and his wife along with their dog call South Carolina home.

Catch Up With Our Author On:
Website , Goodreads, Twitter , & Facebook !

Tour Participants:

Learn more about Blu Heat: A Blu Carraway Novella and it's author David Burnsworth on these other great sites:

Giveaway:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for David Burnsworth and Henery Press. There will be 1 winner of 1 $15 Amazon.com gift card AND 5 winners of one (1) eBook copy of Blu Heat: A Blu Carraway Novella by David Burnsworth. The giveaway begins on March 26th and runs through April 12th, 2017.

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Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours

 

Sealed Up by Steve Dunn Hanson Virtual Book Tour and Giveaway

Title: Sealed Up
Author: Steve Dunn Hanson
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 402
Genre: Action/Adventure/Suspense

The Da Vinci Code unsettles. SEALED UP shakes to the core!

UCLA anthropologist Nathan Hill, in a funk since his young wife’s death, learns of staggering millennia-old chronicles sealed up somewhere in a Mesoamerica cliff. This bombshell rocks him out of his gloom, and he leads a clandestine expedition to uncover them. What are they? Who put them there? No one knows. But, self-absorbed televangelist Brother Luke, who funds the expedition, thinks he does. If he’s right, his power-hunger will have off-the-charts gratification.

Striking Audra Chang joins Nathan in his pursuit and brings her own shocking secret. As they struggle through a literal jungle of puzzles and dead ends, she finds herself falling in love with Nathan. Her secret, though, may make that a non-starter.

When a shaman with a thirst for human sacrifice, and a murderous Mexican drug lord with a mysterious connection to Brother Luke emerge, the expedition appears doomed. Yet Nathan is convinced that fate—or something—demands these inscrutable chronicles be unearthed.
And if they are . . . what shattering disruption will they unleash?

Intricately layered and remarkably researched, this enthralling suspense-driven and thought provoking tour de force begs a startling question: Could it happen?

Book Excerpt:

“How much farther?” Paul’s shirt was soaked from sweat.

Itzel looked at him and laughed. “Just like Torrance, huh?” Paul rolled his eyes.

“The cenote.” Ichika pointed to a three-foot-wide path that was recently cut through the brush. They followed it as it turned to the left then sharply to the right. The sinkhole loomed in front of them. The water, a huge blue sapphire, sparkled 15 feet below. Thick emerald-green growth reached down the sinkhole’s sides, but where they were standing, the vegetation had been cleared all the way to the water’s surface.

Paul stood at the cenote’s edge and stared down into the bowl. “You slipped here, you’d go all the way in.”

Itzel shuddered and pulled back; thoughts of her father overwhelming her. Was this what it was like where he fell? She trembled and turned away from the cenote. “Let’s leave.”

Paul looked at her and understood. He almost said something about his stupidity, but decided one foot in his mouth was enough. He motioned for Ichika to take them back the way they came. He put his arm around Itzel, and she leaned her head against him.

“Where are the ruins?” Paul asked. Ichika didn’t say anything, just pointed ahead. The brush and ferns that surrounded them were head high and prevented their seeing anything except along the trail. As they turned to go to where they first entered the path, Kish’s men stood waiting. Ikan, Muluc, and Yochi had machetes, and Gukumatz held a tranquilizer gun.

Paul and Itzel stopped. Ichika, her eyes fastened on the ground, kept going until she stood on the other side of the men. She turned back toward Itzel but wouldn’t look at her. “What’s going on?” Paul demanded in Spanish as he stepped in front of Itzel. Gukumatz raised his gun and shot a dart into Paul’s stomach. Paul flinched at the pain and looked down at his stomach. “What the ....” Paul yanked the dart out and threw it on the ground. A small circle of blood soaked through his shirt. He lunged at Gukumatz and swung his forearm around catching him on the bridge of his nose. Blood spurted from Gukumatz’s nostrils as he fell to the ground; a gash flaring open on top of his nose. Ikan and Yochi dropped their machetes and jumped Paul.

“What are you doing?” Itzel yelled in Lacandón. “Where is Kish?” Muluc grabbed her and threw his arm around her neck, holding her from behind.

“Don’t you hurt her!” Ichika screamed, as she advanced on him. Gukumatz stood up and wiped his nose with his sleeve; blood soaking through his shirt to his skin. His stare at Paul was chilling, and he swore at him in Spanish. Paul tried to get up to come at him. It was all the two men could do to keep him down even though his strength was ebbing. Gukumatz turned away from Paul and pulled a cartridge and a dart from the bag on his shoulder and loaded them into his gun. He walked to Itzel and shoved Ichika aside. He lowered the gun and shot the dart into Itzel’s stomach. She flinched at the pain and stared at Gukumatz. “You pig!” she spat.

Within a few minutes Paul and Itzel were unconscious. Gukumatz pulled the GPS trackers from their belts, turned them off, and slammed them against a rock. He grunted as he picked up Itzel and slung her across his shoulder. The other three men lifted Paul. They headed to the platform ruins.

The place of sacrifice.

PURCHASE AT 

Amazon

I've lived in places that grew me . . . from a small Idaho farm town, a run-down neighborhood in St. Louis, and a middle-class southern California community, to Sydney, Australia, and Bucharest, Romania. My experiences are as varied as the places I've lived. I have a hopper full of "reality" including being a volunteer jail chaplain and flying with a U.S. presidential candidate in his small plane when an engine conked out. And all of this is fodder for my writing.

WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK

GIVEAWAY DETAILS:

Steve Dunn Hanson is giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card PLUS an autographed copy of his book, Sealed Up!

Terms & Conditions:

• By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
• One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive both prizes.
• This giveaway ends midnight March 31.
• Winner will be contacted via email on April 1.
• Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

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Interview with William Leibowitz, Author of Miracle Man

William Leibowitz has been practicing entertainment/media law in New York City for a number of years.  He has represented numerous renowned creative people and many leading intellectual property companies.  William has a Bachelor of Science degree from New York University (magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa) and a law degree from Columbia University.  He lives in the village of Quogue, New York with his wife, Alexandria, and dog, George.

William wrote Miracle Man because of its humanistic and spiritual messages and because he feels that in our current times--when meritless celebrity has eclipsed accomplishment and the only heroes are those based on comic books, the world needs a real hero--and that, of course, is Robert James Austin, the protagonist in Miracle Man.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK

Did you like thrillers when you were growing up?

Absolutely—I’ve always loved the suspense, the unexpected and the action.

What was the first story in that genre that you wrote?

Miracle Man is the first thriller that I have written.

What is your favorite part of writing in this genre?

Thrillers allow an author to design a plot filled with surprises, twists and turns and complex characters. There’s even room for a bit of romance.

What do you find most difficult about writing in this genre?

To keep a reader’s attention, an author can’t be predictable and must design each chapter so that the reader is motivated not to put the book down –but to read yet another chapter. You have to keep your readers guessing.

Is there an author in this genre that you admire most?

Michael Crichton is amazingly creative. I also admire Dan Brown, Ken Follet and Daniel Silva.

What is up next for you?

Miracle Man is a psychological/ medical thriller that tells the story of Robert James Austin, the greatest genius in human history (we’re talking 10X Einstein’s brain power) as he battles powerful forces, external and internal, that seek to destroy him. Miracle Man is the first book in a trilogy. I’m currently working on the second book.

Do you have anything to add?

When I write I try to have a purpose that’s more than just to entertain.

When I wrote Miracle Man, I wanted to create a believable modern day ‘super hero’ who is an ‘anti-celebrity’. I thought that such a person could be inspirational when contrasted with the meritless celebrities that dominate media today (e.g., the reality TV stars who are famous for being famous, but have no real talent). I also wanted Miracle Man to be the vehicle within which I could convey, in an entertainment context, certain spiritual and humanistic messages that are important to me.
In particular, one of the underlying themes in Miracle Man is the sanctity of each and every human life. As the story of the protagonist unfolds, I think the reader will come to appreciate that one can never predict the ramifications of one person’s death.

I also wanted to get readers thinking about a real-life problem that affects us all. One of the powerful forces fighting Robert Austin is “Big Pharma” which views him as their enemy since he cures diseases and thereby makes many of their “cash-cow” drugs obsolete. In short, Austin is bad for their business. Like Austin, I find it incomprehensible that virtually no major disease has been cured in over 50 years. How can that be the case when so much money has been spent over the decades on research? Simply put, there’s a lot more money in treating symptoms than there is in curing diseases. Austin realized that Big Pharma has no interest in curing diseases. It just wants to keep on selling expensive symptom treatments –and as we know, many people are on expensive ‘medication maintenance programs’ for years, sometimes for life. Austin wanted to change that. I think people need to start questioning Big Pharma on many fronts –from the price of drugs -- to why there aren’t more cures.

---So what I tried to do in Miracle Man is first and foremost to write an entertaining book that engages readers and keeps them turning the pages. But within that entertainment context I wanted to get my readers thinking.

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The Brass Compass by Ellen Butler Book Blast

__________________________________________________

We invite you to Ellen Butler's THE BRASS COMPASS Cover Reveal! Please leave a comment to let Ellen know you stopped by and don't forget to order your copy!

 ___________________________________________________

Title:
THE BRASS COMPASS

Author: Ellen Butler

Publisher: Power to the Pen

Pages: 362

Genre: Historical Thriller/Suspense

A beautiful American spy flees into the night. On her own, she must live by her wits to evade capture and make it to the safety of the Allied forces.
Lily Saint James grew up traveling the European continent, learning languages as she went. In 1938, her mother’s abrupt death brings her back home to Washington, D.C., and after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Lily comes to the attention of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). Her knowledge of German, French, and Italian makes her the perfect OSS Agent, and her quick thinking places her as a nanny in the household of an important German Army Colonel, where she is able to gather intelligence for the Allies. After her marketplace contact goes missing, she makes a late-night trip to her secondary contact only to find him under interrogation by the SS. After he commits suicide, she flees into the frigid winter night carrying false identification papers that are now dangerous and a mini film cartridge with vital strategic information. In order to survive, Lily must make it out of Germany, into the hands of Allied-controlled France, through a path fraught with peril.

Pre-order Links:

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Follow Ellen on Facebook, Twitter, or Join her Newsletter:

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https://twitter.com/EButlerBooks

Book Excerpt:

Chapter One

Into the Night

February 1945

Germany

“Was ist sein Name?” What is his name? The SS officer’s backlit
shadow loomed over his victim as he yelled into the face of the shrinking man
on the third-story balcony. “We know you’ve been passing messages. Tell us, who
is your contact?” he continued in German.

Lenz’s gray-haired head shook like
a frightened mouse. With his back to me, I was too far away to hear the mumbled
response or the Nazi’s next question. I pulled my dark wool coat tighter and
sank deeper into the shadow of the apartment building’s doorway across the
street from where my contact underwent interrogation. The pounding of my heart
pulsated in my ears, and I held my breath as I strained to listen to the
conversation. In front of Lenz’s building stood a black Mercedes-Benz with its
running lights aglow, no doubt the vehicle that brought the SS troops. None of
the neighboring buildings showed any light, as residents cowered behind locked doors
praying the SS wouldn’t come knocking. This was a working-class neighborhood,
and everyone knew it was best to keep your mouth shut and not stick your nose
in the business of the Schutzstaffel.

Their presence at Lenz’s home
explained why my contact at the bakery was absent from our assignation earlier
today. I dreaded to imagine what they had done to Otto for him to give up
Lenz’s name … or worse, mine. Even though I’d never told Otto my name, a
description of me could easily lead the SS to their target.

“Lügner!” Liar!

I flinched as the officer’s ringing
accusation bounced off the brick buildings. A young SS Stormtrooper stepped out
onto the balcony and requested his superior look at something in his hand. I
should have taken their distraction to slip away into the darkness and run;
instead I stayed, anxiously listening, to hear if Lenz would break under the SS
grilling and reveal my identity. Clearly, they suspected he was involved in
spying and would take him away. They probably also knew he had information to
spill and would eventually torture it out of him, which was the only reason he
hadn’t been shot on sight. It was only a matter of time before he gave me away.
My friends in the French Resistance had been directed to hold out for two days
before releasing names to allow the spies to disband and disappear. I wasn’t
sure if the German network applied the same rules, so I remained to see if he
would break before they took him.

“Where did you find this?” the
officer asked.

The trooper indicated inside the
apartment.

“Zeig es mir.” Show me. He followed his subordinate through the
doorway into the building.

Lenz turned and braced himself
against the balcony. I watched in horror as he climbed atop the railing.

“Halt!” a bellow from inside rang out.

Lenz didn’t hesitate, and I averted
my eyes, biting down hard on my cold knuckles, as he took his final moments out
of the hands of the Nazis. Sounds of shattering glass and buckling metal ripped
through the darkness as his body slammed into the SS vehicle. In my periphery,
a neighboring blackout curtain shifted.

“Scheisse!” the SS officer swore as he and his subordinate leaned
over the railing to see Lenz’s body sprawled across their car. “Search the
apartment. Tear it apart!”

The moment they crossed the threshold,
I sprinted into the night.

My breath puffed out in small
plumes of smoke as I dodged through alleys, in and out of darkened doorways,
moving on the balls of my feet. Silently, I cursed the cloudless sky as the
moonlight bounced off the cobblestones, its brightness clear enough to land a
plane. Unless waiting at midnight at a
drop zone for needed supplies, a spy preferred the inky blackness of cloudy
skies. Especially when escaping the enemy.

A few kilometers from Lenz’s
apartment, I paused behind the brick rubble of a bombed-out building. My gaze
searched the area for any sign of movement. Standing alert, I held my breath,
attuning my senses to the nighttime sounds, and listened for the whisper of
cloth, the click of a boot heel, or heaven forbid, the cock of a gun. The
thundering of my heartbeat slowed, and I balled my fists to stop my shaking
hands. All seemed quiet … for the moment.

My fingers curled around the tiny
film cartridge, filled with information vital to the Allied cause, nestled in my
coat pocket. Dropping down to one knee, I slipped the heel of my right boot
aside and tucked it into the hidden cavity. The coded message I’d planned to
pass to Lenz would have to be burned, but I couldn’t take the chance of
lighting a fire right now. It would have to wait until morning.

<!--[if !mso]>

About the Author

Ellen Butler is a novelist writing critically acclaimed suspense thrillers, and award winning romance. The Brass Compass was inspired by the brave women who served in the OSS, British Special Operations Executive and French Resistance. Ellen is a member of The OSS Society and her fascination with WWII history originally piqued when her grandfather revealed his role as a cryptographer during the war. Ellen holds a Master’s Degree in Public Administration and Policy, and her history includes a long list of writing for dry, but illuminating, professional newsletters and windy papers on public policy. She lives in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, D.C.

WEBSITE and SOCIAL LINKS:

WEBSITE
| TWITTER | FACEBOOK

Pistols and Petticoats by Erika Janik Book Blast & Giveaway

Pistols and Petticoats

175 Years of Lady Detectives in Fact and Fiction

by Erika Janik

March 2nd 2017 Book Blast

Synopsis:

A lively exploration of the struggles faced by women in law enforcement and mystery fiction for the past 175 years

In 1910, Alice Wells took the oath to join the all-male Los Angeles Police Department. She wore no uniform, carried no weapon, and kept her badge stuffed in her pocketbook. She wasn’t the first or only policewoman, but she became the movement’s most visible voice.

Police work from its very beginning was considered a male domain, far too dangerous and rough for a respectable woman to even contemplate doing, much less take on as a profession. A policewoman worked outside the home, walking dangerous city streets late at night to confront burglars, drunks, scam artists, and prostitutes. To solve crimes, she observed, collected evidence, and used reason and logic—traits typically associated with men. And most controversially of all, she had a purpose separate from her husband, children, and home. Women who donned the badge faced harassment and discrimination. It would take more than seventy years for women to enter the force as full-fledged officers.

Yet within the covers of popular fiction, women not only wrote mysteries but also created female characters that handily solved crimes. Smart, independent, and courageous, these nineteenth- and early twentieth-century female sleuths (including a healthy number created by male writers) set the stage for Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple, Sara Paretsky’s V. I. Warshawski, Patricia Cornwell’s Kay Scarpetta, and Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone, as well as TV detectives such as Prime Suspect’s Jane Tennison and Law and Order’s Olivia Benson. The authors were not amateurs dabbling in detection but professional writers who helped define the genre and competed with men, often to greater success.

Pistols and Petticoats tells the story of women’s very early place in crime fiction and their public crusade to transform policing. Whether real or fictional, investigating women were nearly always at odds with society. Most women refused to let that stop them, paving the way to a modern professional life for women on the force and in popular culture.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, NonFiction, History

Published by: Beacon Press

Publication Date: February 28th 2017 (1st Published April 26th 2016)

Number of Pages: 248

ISBN: 0807039381 (ISBN13: 9780807039380)

Purchase Links: Amazon  | Barnes & Noble  | Goodreads 

Read an excerpt:

With high heels clicking across the hardwood floors, the diminutive woman from Chicago strode into the headquarters of the New York City police. It was 1922. Few respectable women would enter such a place alone, let alone one wearing a fashionable Paris gown, a feathered hat atop her brown bob, glistening pearls, and lace stockings.

But Alice Clement was no ordinary woman.

Unaware of—or simply not caring about—the commotion her presence caused, Clement walked straight into the office of Commissioner Carleton Simon and announced, “I’ve come to take Stella Myers back to Chicago.”

The commissioner gasped, “She’s desperate!”

Stella Myers was no ordinary crook. The dark-haired thief had outwitted policemen and eluded capture in several states.

Unfazed by Simon’s shocked expression, the well-dressed woman withdrew a set of handcuffs, ankle bracelets, and a “wicked looking gun” from her handbag.

“I’ve come prepared.”

Holding up her handcuffs, Clement stated calmly, “These go on her and we don’t sleep until I’ve locked her up in Chicago.” True to her word, Clement delivered Myers to her Chicago cell.

Alice Clement was hailed as Chicago’s “female Sherlock Holmes,” known for her skills in detection as well as for clearing the city of fortune-tellers, capturing shoplifters, foiling pickpockets, and rescuing girls from the clutches of prostitution. Her uncanny ability to remember faces and her flair for masquerade—“a different disguise every day”—allowed her to rack up one thousand arrests in a single year. She was bold and sassy, unafraid to take on any masher, con artist, or scalawag from the city’s underworld.

Her headline-grabbing arrests and head-turning wardrobe made Clement seem like a character straight from Central Casting. But Alice Clement was not only real; she was also a detective sergeant first grade of the Chicago Police Department.

Clement entered the police force in 1913, riding the wave of media sensation that greeted the hiring of ten policewomen in Chicago. Born in Milwaukee to German immigrant parents in 1878, Clement was unafraid to stand up for herself. She advocated for women’s rights and the repeal of Prohibition. She sued her first husband, Leonard Clement, for divorce on the grounds of desertion and intemperance at a time when women rarely initiated—or won—such dissolutions. Four years later, she married barber Albert L. Faubel in a secret ceremony performed by a female pastor.

It’s not clear why the then thirty-five-year-old, five-foot-three Clement decided to join the force, but she relished the job. She made dramatic arrests—made all the more so by her flamboyant dress— and became the darling of reporters seeking sensational tales of corruption and vice for the morning papers. Dark-haired and attractive, Clement seemed to confound reporters, who couldn’t believe she was old enough to have a daughter much less, a few years later, a granddaughter. “Grandmother Good Detective” read one headline.

She burnished her reputation in a high-profile crusade to root out fortune-tellers preying on the naive. Donning a different disguise every day, Clement had her fortune told more than five hundred times as she gathered evidence to shut down the trade. “Hats are the most important,” she explained, describing her method. “Large and small, light and dark and of vivid hue, floppy brimmed and tailored, there is nothing that alters a woman’s appearance more than a change in headgear.”

Clement also had no truck with flirts. When a man attempted to seduce her at a movie theater, she threatened to arrest him. He thought she was joking and continued his flirtations, but hers was no idle threat. Clement pulled out her blackjack and clubbed him over the head before yanking him out of the theater and dragging him down the street to the station house. When he appeared in court a few days later, the man confessed that he had been cured of flirting. Not every case went Clement’s way, though. The jury acquitted the man, winning the applause of the judge who was no great fan of Clement or her theatrics.

One person who did manage to outwit Clement was her own daughter, Ruth. Preventing hasty marriages fell under Clement’s duties, and she tracked down lovelorn young couples before they could reach the minister. The Chicago Daily Tribune called her the “Nemesis of elopers” for her success and familiarity with everyone involved in the business of matrimony in Chicago. None of this deterred twenty-year-old Ruth Clement, however, who hoped to marry Navy man Charles C. Marrow, even though her mother insisted they couldn’t be married until Marrow finished his time in service in Florida. Ruth did not want to wait, and when Marrow came to visit, the two tied the knot at a minister’s home without telling Clement. When Clement discovered a Mr. and Mrs. Charles C. Marrow registered at the Chicago hotel supposedly housing Marrow alone, she was furious and threatened to arrest her new son-in-law for flouting her wishes. Her anger cooled, however, and Clement soon welcomed the newlyweds into her home.

Between arrests and undercover operations, Clement wrote, produced, and starred in a movie called Dregs of the City, in 1920. She hoped her movie would “deliver a moral message to the world” and “warn young girls of the pitfalls of a great city.” In the film, Clement portrayed herself as a master detective charged with finding a young rural girl who, at the urging of a Chicago huckster, had fled the farm for the city lights and gotten lost in “one of the more unhallowed of the south side cabarets.” The girl’s father came to Clement anegged her to rescue his innocent daughter from the “dregs” of the film’s title. Clement wasn’t the only officer-turned-actor in the film. Chicago police chiefs James L. Mooney and John J. Garrity also had starring roles. Together, the threesome battered “down doors with axes and interrupt[ed] the cogitations of countless devotees of hashish, bhang and opium.” The Chicago Daily Tribune praised Garrity’s acting and his onscreen uniform for its “faultless cut.”

The film created a sensation, particularly after Chicago’s movie censor board, which fell under the oversight of the police department, condemned the movie as immoral. “The picture shall never be shown in Chicago. It’s not even interesting,” read the ruling. “Many of the actors are hams and it doesn’t get anywhere.” Despite several appeals, Clement was unable to convince the censors to allow Dregs of the City to be shown within city limits. She remained undeterred by the decision. “They think they’ve given me a black eye, but they haven’t. I’ll show it anyway,” she declared as she left the hearing, tossing the bouquet of roses she’d been given against the window.

When the cruise ship Eastland rolled over in the Chicago River on July 24, 1915, Clement splashed into the water to assist in the rescue of the pleasure boaters, presumably, given her record, wearing heels and a designer gown. More than eight hundred people would die that day, the greatest maritime disaster in Great Lakes history. For her services in the Eastland disaster, Clement received a gold “coroner’s star” from the Cook County coroner in a quiet ceremony in January of 1916.

Clement’s exploits and personality certainly drew attention, but any woman would: a female crime fighter made for good copy and eye-catching photos. Unaccustomed to seeing women wielding any kind of authority, the public found female officers an entertaining—and sometimes ridiculous—curiosity.

Excerpt from Pistols and Petticoats: 175 Years of Lady Detectives in Fact and Fiction by Erika Janik.  Copyright © 2016 & 2017 by Beacon Press. Reproduced with permission from Beacon Press. All rights reserved.

Readers Are Loving Pistols and Petticoats!

Check out this awesome article in Time Magazine!

“Erika Janik does a fine job tracing the history of women in police work while at the same time describing the role of females in crime fiction. The outcome, with a memorable gallery of characters, is a rich look at the ways in which fact and fiction overlap, reflecting the society surrounding them. A treat for fans of the mystery—and who isn’t?” ~  Katherine Hall Page, Agatha Award–winning author of The Body in the Belfry and The Body in the Snowdrift

“A fascinating mix of the history of early policewomen and their role in crime fiction—positions that were then, and, to some extent even now, in conflict with societal expectations.” ~ Library Journal

“An entertaining history of women’s daring, defiant life choices.” ~ Kirkus Reviews

Author Bio:

Erika Janik is an award-winning writer, historian, and the executive producer of Wisconsin Life on Wisconsin Public Radio. She’s the author of five previous books, including Marketplace of the Marvelous: The Strange Origins of Modern Medicine. She lives in Madison, Wisconsin.

Catch Up With Our Ms. Janik On:
Website , Goodreads , Wisconsin Public Radio , & Twitter !

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