This has been a wonderful couple of weeks. Just when I thought things couldn't get better (or crazier, depending on the angle you looked at it), I received the advanced review copies (ARCs) for Smoke and Ashes. 
Hands down--not including the birth of my children--this was one of the most amazing moments of my life. For nearly a year, I have known the day would come in which I could hold the book in my hands, smell the mass market paper and ink, stroke the cover, and drool over the artwork. It was surreal when that day finally arrived.I'm not one who cries (and I'm not really a hugger--though I make exceptions), yet this week I have been spontaneously bursting into tears and hugging strangers.I can't express how much it means to me that I get to hold my literary baby in my hands. I have sacrificed more than most know to make this dream a reality--friends have come and gone, my social life has its own headstone, and my family members knows that whatever "vacation" we take will likely revolve around a conference, book signing, or convention. And, just like any small business, I really don't have days off. There is always something that needs my attention, or word counts that are breathing down my neck.Yet, it always has been a labor of love.Through it all, the sacrifice, the writing time, the exclusion and tedious schedules, it all comes back to the reason I will always write--I want to make a difference. I want my readers to put my books down and feel uplifted--and to walk away with a feeling of hope.In writing Smoke and Ashes, I spent a great deal of my time researching the events that transpired between the pages. Want to know about chemical oxidizers and arson? How about how fires affect fingerprints? Ask this girl. Or, more accurately, ask me because I spent many an hour talking to firefighters and police officers within my community.
This book (really all of my books, but this one in particular), wouldn't have been possible without their support.As a thank you to my local fire department, as soon as I received my ARCs (and a bunch of swag), I bought a cake and a thank you card and made my way to their doorstep once again. I was given a gracious welcome and "How did the book turn out?"I have never had a bigger smile on my face as the moment I handed them the book that they helped to create. Up until that moment I had kept the secret... a secret a year in the making... a secret that I had been dying to tell them--They had helped to make my dreams of becoming a Harlequin author a reality.I cannot express my thanks enough to the men and women who serve our community. Not only do they put their lives at risk, but they open their hearts and their doors in doing community outreach--like helping crazy blond writers who have nothing more than a dream and a pen.These amazing men and women risk their lives to help others, and my sacrifices pale in comparison. I have no room to complain. I don't have to hold the hands of the dying or run through a burning building. I simply get to mark down the stories of those who do. They are the men and women who live through real life danger... they are (the often unsung) everyday heroes.I tip my hat to those who serve. Thank you.
Books, For Readers, Guest Blogger, Special Operations
WHEN DEATH COMES FOR YOU
Sergeant Brooke Forester wants to live a life that means something, and one in which she isn’t perpetually shrouded by her father’s sins.
YOU MUST FIGHT
But in the blink-and-you-miss town of Sula, Montana, gossip constantly sweeps through the community… And, while Brooke has been the public’s target for years, soon no gossip is juicier than that about the sexy, new FBI agent Sawyer Reynolds who has come to investigate a series of strange and gruesome murders.
OR DIE
Just when Brooke thinks she escapes her past, her past returns—
and brings a cold, calculating psychopath right along with it.
And this time, the killer won’t stop until they take every last shred of her identity and eventually, her life.
For Readers
Excerpt from Hidden Truth (STEALTH Series, Book 1):
She clicked open the tabs of the gun case, exposing the M24 sniper rifle. It was a thing of beauty. Even without firing a single round from this particular gun, Trish Martin could recall the precise feel of pulling the trigger, smelling the spent powder and watching as her enemies fell to their knees.
There was no greater feeling in the world than a justified kill. The men standing around her, those dealing in death, would be easy to strip from this earth…
