Showing posts with label Suspense. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Suspense. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 09, 2024

Releasing Friday, October 11, 2024: THE KEEPER'S SECRET!


A review from Gail at Night Owl Romance stated, "Award winning author Penelope Marzec has done it again. The Keeper's Promise grabs the reader's attention from the very first and never lets go. This inspirational romantic suspense story has it all. Pick it up as soon as possible for one wonderful ride."

You can find it at all major ebook distributors: 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Keepers-Secret-Penelope-Marzec-ebook/dp/B0D4MKRR93/

Saturday, September 07, 2024

Sunday Scenes: A RUSH OF LIGHT


A RUSH OF LIGHT
is the story of Callie Turner. When she was sixteen her father was murdered but the crime was never solved. Callie became a cop with a mistrust of lawyers. Due to an accident, she is on a disability leave from her job, and trying to start a new career at her father's old inn. Nick Messina saved Callie's life the day her father was murdered. A devout Christian, but a burned out lawyer, Nick has plenty of reasons not to trust cops. Filling in at his uncle's service station, Nick walks into the old inn and is surprised to discover Callie is managing the old inn across the street. 

Her customer regarded her with a measure of surprise, which made her feel as though he could look right through her. Putting one hand up to touch the buttons of her white shirt, she reassured herself that none had come undone. Her gaze wandered to his lips and lingered there. Few men had a mouth so generous. 

What am I thinking? The room warmed—as if she stood in the middle of a street during a July heat wave directing traffic. She grabbed an icy bottle of water and went in search of the broom. Everything about him puzzled her. Why did she have a nagging sense that she had met him before this? 

Two months ago she returned to town. Very little changed in the area during the eight years of her absence. Her customer may have grown up here as she had, though she judged him to be slightly older. It could be possible he knew her sister. 

She cooled down, located the broom and the dustpan, and heard the front door open again. Another customer joined Mr. Dirty Fingernails. The two appeared acquainted with each other and moved to a booth in the corner. Leaning the broom up against the bar, Callie stepped on plenty of peanuts as she made her way to the table. 

Her newest customer wore a vested suit. Judging from his leather attaché, she guessed he was either a lawyer or a securities broker, but since he was talking to Mr. Dirty Fingernails, the lawyer idea seemed more plausible.

“May I get you something?” she asked. 

“Dewars on the rocks.” He hurled the order at her with words clipped, cold and exact. 

When she announced the price, he slid a credit card onto the table. He didn’t even give her a glance—as if she were less than human. A spark of anger ignited deep down inside her. 

Definitely a lawyer. She hated them all.

“Cash only,” she said, unable to eliminate the contempt from her voice.

The man turned, narrowed his eyes and gave her a sharp look. “I don’t carry cash.”

Mr. Dirty Fingernails hurriedly reached for his wallet again. 

“I’ll get it.” He handed her the money. 

Deliberately stomping the peanuts under her feet, Callie went back behind the bar, finding it nearly impossible to stifle her hostility. She should have taken the lawyer’s credit card and shredded it into slivers. 

She chose a glass, scooped up the ice, poured the Scotch, snatched up a cocktail napkin, and started back to the table. 

She discovered crushed peanuts are far more slippery than whole peanuts. As she rounded the end of the bar, her feet slid out from under her. The drink went flying and crashed against the gleaming brass bar rail. She snatched at the broom, hoping to break her fall. The long handle landed on a chair and prevented her from breaking the same arm she mangled last year. Her bottom landed with a resounding thud on the floor, miraculously missing the busted glass by inches. 

Mortified, she winced as the heat blazed in her cheeks. This whole entrepreneurial experiment could turn out to be a disaster if she made pratfalls the regularly scheduled entertainment. 

The two men rushed over to her.

“I know a great workers' comp lawyer...”

“Cut it out, John.” Mr. Dirty Fingernails reached out to her with one of his contaminated paws. “Can you get up?”

She glanced up into his face and found concern gentling his rugged jaw. A crazy flutter tingled inside her chest. She held out her hand, completely ignoring his unwashed state, and that’s when he gave her a genuine smile—one that deepened a dimple in his cheek. Once again, an odd sense of déjà vu came over her. 

She had seen him before. Yet, for some reason, she could not recall where or when, which for her seemed very strange. 

The calluses on his warm hand rubbed against her skin. That summertime heat wave-on-the-asphalt feeling came over her once more and she could barely breathe as the man who remained an enigma in her memory helped her to her feet. 

“Nick, I’ve told you a million times. Don’t be so ready to lend a hand. One of these days, you’re going to get sued,” the vested lawyer grumbled.

“Have you forgotten the good Samaritan?” Nick—or Mr. Dirty Fingernails—asked the lawyer. 

Callie could have sworn something magnetic kept her hand in his. She had to force herself to draw away from him, to edge away from his potent attraction, one millimeter at a time. Once she broke away, she leaned against the bar with her mind racing, searching for some scrap of recollection. The lawyer called him Nick, and though that did not help her memory, she easily envisioned meeting him in some dark alley in the city where she used to work. She wondered which crime he committed. She wondered if he recognized her. 

“A good Samaritan would be taking a deposition,” the lawyer insisted. 

“Please tell me that someday you are going to turn into a human.” Nick sighed. 

The lawyer aimed a look at Nick capable of slicing flesh. 

Unfazed, Nick threw a glare right back at John. “The courts cannot solve everything, as you well know.” 

Callie tried to surreptitiously dust off her derriere. Men like Nick and his friend could smile at you as they pointed a gun at your heart. She did not trust either of them. 

The animosity between the two men charged the room with tension and Callie’s anxiety increased. She believed by moving back home she would leave all the dark alleys behind her, but here in her father’s old inn she sensed danger. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nick laid his hand on her good arm and the impression of menace diminished while soothing warmth shimmered up from his touch. If someone zapped her with a Taser, she would not be more surprised. 

“I landed where there’s plenty of padding. No problem.” She wanted to sound flippant and tough—like the hard-bitten cop she once was. However, her voice came out a little wavery—which was his fault, not hers. 

“What padding? You could use some of my Aunt Bella’s pasta.” He gave her hand a tender squeeze before letting it go. Callie found ice creeping back into her soul. 




Buy it at any of the distributors below! 

Thursday, August 22, 2024

Sunday Scenes: CLEAR AS ICE

Settle down on Sunday with an excerpt from my Christmas novella. It is currently on sale for $1.99 on Amazon until the end of August. However, if you are subscribed to Kindle Unlimited it is always free. If you have a library card, you can get the Hoopla app and read the book for free. At any rate, it is very inexpensive entertainment.  One Amazon customer said, "...uplifting, but suspenseful... Mrs. Marzec once again delivers a story demonstrating God's power of restoration and love."  

😁

To everything there is a season---a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
~ Ecclesiastes 3:4

1

     Haylie’s pulse raced with a combination of fear and excitement as she parked her car by the gully. She got out and swung her skates over her shoulder. The ice on Destiny Lake appeared as smooth as the screen of her laptop. In this corner of central New Jersey, a cold front swept in only one week before Christmas. The lake froze solid.
     Not another soul appeared to have ventured out yet on this early morning and that was perfect. Haylie didn’t want anyone else to witness her halting, miserable performance on the ice—not that anyone she knew lived here anymore. When Superstorm Sandy destroyed billions of dollars’ worth of property, many—like her parents—left their destroyed homes. New people with money, bought the property at rock bottom prices and built new homes raised on tall pilings.
     She walked down the hill through the gully along the well-worn, easy sloping path formed by generations of Fortune Beach youngsters. It warmed her to discover the old trail survived the storm’s devastation.
     At the edge of the lake, the blackened evidence of a small fire touched a sad place inside her. Memories of the times she sat by a fire in the same place rushed into her mind. Those days, which were filled with promise, would never return.
     She pressed her lips together. She was here to conquer the old memories and build new, hopeful ones that couldn’t be crushed or broken—or washed away.
     A large, convenient log lay nearby. Haylie sat, put on her skates, and pulled the laces tight. Though aware her ankles would ache after a few turns, she didn’t care. Seven years ago her world fell apart, but she intended to put it back together as much as possible— and that included skating on this lake. She wasn’t going to skate in an arena and win awards anymore, but she came to realize she needed to skate as much as she needed to breathe.
     It all started at Destiny Lake. She glanced toward the new red house sitting at the top of the hill, and her eyes misted. That house stood in the same spot where her family home used to be until the storm came and the water undermined it. The house was condemned and torn down. Her parents now lived in subsidized senior housing because they had lost everything.
     She turned her gaze back to the frozen lake. She now lived in an apartment two miles away, and if she was thrifty, she could save for a down payment on a house. She hoped to buy one overlooking the lake where her own skating arena would always be available as long as the weather cooperated. She dreamed of placing floodlights on the house so she could direct the beams toward the lake and skate after dark.
     When Christmas came, she intended to host a skating party. She’d put lights in every window of her house as well. She would plant a fir tree in the yard and string lights on it. She’d invite friends to join her in singing Christmas carols and she’d serve hot chocolate and cookies.
     Her glorious fantasy crumbled. The problem with her grand scheme was her lack of friends. There were none from her skating days. After her accident, they all disappeared. The rest of her school friends vanished after years of neglect when she became a virtual prisoner living in a state of perpetual panic from the stress of being stalked by Bret Rounder.
     She inched onto the ice muttering. "I’m over it now." She studied the surface to make sure there were no obstacles—nothing that would catch the blade of her skate and trip her. One broken femur in her life was enough, but she refused to stop doing what she loved. She would skate again. Not professionally, but for fun. For the joy it evoked once upon a time before her life became one long disaster.
     She pushed off and warmed up by gliding along, not going very fast, but seeking a smooth even stroke. The stinging air bit into her cheeks, but she didn’t care. She focused on her balance and the path ahead of her. The lake wasn’t large, but several smaller coves made it much more interesting than going around in circles at an arena.
     A small amount of confidence restored her earlier trepidation. All the skill remained despite her years away. She didn’t intend to try anything daring or dangerous. No jumps. She wanted to slide along as she did when she was young. To be as free as one of the gulls that whirled in the sky.
     She swung around and dug in the toe pick of her skate to stop. She almost laughed as she recalled how her coach continually reprimanded her over and over about the proper and professional way to stop. But even her coach had abandoned Haylie after the accident.
     "I’m here to have fun," Haylie spoke out loud to the wind. Her words echoed in the still air. A shiver ran along her shoulders. She turned around. Was someone watching her?
     She shook herself mentally. What nonsense. If someone stared at her from a window it didn’t matter. She was nobody now.
     Her ankles protested after several more minutes, so she headed back to the gully, but she promised herself she’d do a backward crossover for a short distance before quitting. Taking in a calming breath, she held out her arms and pushed off. She smiled as her soul filled to the brim with the glory of the morning. The ice was all hers and hers alone.
     That’s when the loud bark of a dog startled her.
     "Rufus! Come!" The deep voice of a man echoed over the lake.
     She stopped and turned. A large black dog ran towards her. Her pulse jumped. She didn’t trust dogs. Bitten on the lip when she was young, she shied away from dogs ever since. Could she skate faster than the dog could run?
    "Rufus! Come!"
     She glanced at the hill where a man climbed down, grabbing handholds on bushes and trees.
The dog, Rufus, didn’t stop or pay any attention to the shouted command but dashed toward her at a mad pace. She willed herself to be calm. She thought of possible ways to avoid an attack. She wore a thick down jacket and a pair of heavy leggings beneath her jeans. If the dog bit her, he’d get a mouth full of fabric first.
     Ten feet away from her, the dog lost his footing on the slick ice. He let out a cry as he fell on his side and slid—and kept sliding. His couldn’t pull himself up. She moved in time to avoid a collision as the dog went sailing past her.
     The dog cried pitifully as he drifted toward the opposite shore of the lake. She hoped he wasn’t injured but helping a wounded animal could be dangerous.
     Meanwhile, the man descending the hill reached the bottom and started running and sliding across the ice.
     "Hey! Miss! Could you grab Rufus’s collar for me?" he called out.
     "Does he bite?" she shouted out the question. It echoed in the air. She guessed what the answer would be. The owner of the dog who bit her when she was young claimed her dog never bit anyone. But he bit her.
     "Of course not!" The minute the words were out of his mouth, both of his feet went out from under him and he landed flat on his back.
     Shocked into action, Hailey pulled the phone from her pocket and skated toward him. When she reached him, he was staring up at the sky with eyes as blue as the heaven above. She’d never seen a man with eyes of such an intense color. She gazed in surprise for a moment until he turned his head toward her.
     "Sir, should I call 911?" she asked.
     "No." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Please don’t. I’ll never hear the end of it."
     "Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?"
     He opened his eyes and held up a leash. "Would you please fetch Rufus? He won’t hurt you. I promise."
     "What if he’s injured? Wounded animals bite."
     The man’s mouth turned down in a frown. "You’re afraid of dogs."
     "Yes," she admitted.
     He sighed, rolled over, and gingerly managed to get to his feet.
     "Don’t run," she advised. "Walk slowly."
     "Did you see which way he went?"
     "He slid that way." She pointed in the general direction. "There’s another little cove there with lots of marsh reeds."
     "Would you mind accompanying me in case I fall again." His penetrating blue eyes gazed into hers.
     She swallowed hard. Tall and handsome, the man’s chiseled features spoke of strength, but a touch of gentleness lingered around his mouth. Usually, meeting any stranger would put her on edge, but this man did not cause that reaction in her. Had he hypnotized her with his eyes?
     She switched her gaze to the distant marsh reeds. "Actually, I was afraid I would fall when I came out here. It’s been a while since I’ve been skating."
     "You seemed to be doing fine." He took firm but cautious steps on the ice.
     "Were you watching me?" Her pulse began to race with anxiety. She’d skated in front of thousands of people in countless arenas, but this was different. This man could be some sort of stalker—like the one who drove her half crazy. She sensed someone was watching her and she was right. It was him!
     "Rufus was watching you." He shrugged his shoulders. "He barked and insisted I come to the window. I watched for a minute until I remembered I forgot to put out the garbage can for pickup. When I opened the door, Rufus ran out. I guess he really wanted to meet you."
     "Oh." She whispered. Her suspicions were groundless. Once, countless adoring fans cheered for her. Now the only one intrigued with her was a dog. "I hope he’s okay."
     "Me, too." With a somber note in his voice, he continued. "I need that dog far more than he needs me."
     Haylie couldn’t understand why anyone would need a pet. Pets involved a great deal of time and expense. She never owned a pet—of any kind. Not even a goldfish. Her parents’ biggest expense was her and all that expense came to nothing. Guilt remained heavy on her shoulders.
     "I got bit once—right on my lip. The scar is here." She stopped skating and pointed to it.
     His very cold finger touched her lip. Despite his icy skin, a little spark ignited inside her. "Plastic surgery?"
     "Yes," she admitted, a little shaken with the odd sensation coursing through her. Her coach had recommended the surgery. Everything needed to be perfect. Her face, her hair, her outfits, her routine. The pressure was constant. She didn’t miss that at all. But she missed skating. Without it, even on sunny days, clouds hovered in her thoughts.
     As they rounded the corner, they spotted Rufus. He cried and struggled weakly to right himself.
Guilt pricked her conscience. Still, dogs couldn’t be trusted due to their large teeth. Some men couldn’t be trusted either, but the majority of them were as ordinary as her dad. At least, that’s what the counselor tried to drum into her head.
     "Probably hypothermia." The man knelt beside his dog, whipped off his coat, wrapped the dog in it, and hoisted the animal in his arms.
     "Hey," Haylie warned. "You’ll be an icicle in minutes."
     "He’s disoriented. I’ll get him to the vet right away."
     "I’m really sorry." There wasn’t much more she could say.
     "Please stay with me until I get to solid ground."
     "Of course." It was the least she could do. "By the way, there’s an easier path through the gully to get up the hill."
     "Thanks. I’ll try that. Rufus weighs sixty pounds."
     "Should a dog weigh that much?" The memory of all the treats she’d been denied in order to compete never left her.
     "It depends on the breed."
     "I never owned a pet. They’re expensive and time consuming." With her rigorous schedule, she never had time for anything except skating. Yet, she was the one who wanted it. She enjoyed the competition—then.
     "What do you do?"
     "I’m a physical therapist."
     "Even a physical therapist has the time and moneyfor a pet."
     She clenched her teeth to prevent herself from blurting out her life story. This was her new beginning. While circumstances forced it upon her, despite the obstacles she managed to succeed.
She struggled for calm. He didn’t realize all she endured.
     When they reached the gully, she stopped. "I need to change back into my shoes, but I’ll pray for Rufus’s recovery."
     "That won’t do any good," he muttered as he hurried up the path with his burden.


Download CLEAR AS ICE! 



Wednesday, September 04, 2019

Guest Post: Valerie Goree with DAY OF RECKONING

My guest today is Valerie Massey Goree, an American Christian Fiction Writers Genesis Award winner. She resides with her husband on the beautiful Olympic Peninsula of Washington State.

After serving as missionaries in her home country of Zimbabwe and raising two children, Valerie and her husband moved to Texas. She worked in the public school system for many years, focusing on students with special needs. Now retired, Valerie spends her time writing, and spoiling her grandchildren. 

Her other novels include: Deceive Me Once, Colors of Deceit, Weep in the Night, and Day of Reckoning. The sequel to Weep in the Night, will be released August 30, 2019. 

Check Valerie’s website to learn more about her books: www.valeriegoreeauthor.com

Valerie loves to hear from her readers.

The exciting plot for DAY OF RECKONING:

International Retrieval Organization Agent Lela Ortiz is assigned the kidnapping case of businessman, Chuck Davenport. When her boss allows Jay Vashon, Chuck’s brother-in-law to assist, Lela accepts the help with reservations, especially when Jay prays at the most inopportune times.

Jay would do anything to help bring Chuck home, even work with feisty Agent Ortiz. As Jay and Lela decipher clues Chuck sends to his son with special needs, they are forced to work in close proximity. 

Can Jay break through the barrier Lela has constructed around her heart? Will Lela be able to overcome her distrust of men and God?

And Chuck? Can the pair locate him before the ransom deadline? 




And now for an excerpt!

Three shadowy figures closed in on Lela’s position. She held still as death. If the men found her, they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. Her scars itched, but she couldn’t rub them. Instead, she mentally repeated the words that sustained her in dangerous situations. I am in control. He can never hurt me again. I have the skills to keep myself safe.The quivering in her leg muscles subsided.

One of the men stopped. Lela edged sideways behind the stout trunk of a human-sized cactus. Too close. Efficient as a scalpel, the stiff spines drew drops of blood that oozed down to her wrist. She bit her lip and made a fist.

A gravelly voice whispered, “Shoulda brought a flashlight.”

Heavy footsteps slowed. 

Sweat beads stung Lela’s eyes. She dared not wipe them away.

Another voice. “Are you sure you saw something suspicious?”

“Yeah.” 

“You need glasses, ’cause all I hear is night critters. Come on. Let’s get back to the house.” 

Seconds stretched into minutes before the men shuffled away. Their muffled voices faded into the warm, starless night. Lela’s jaw ached. She relaxed her clenched teeth and peeked out. A dim light silhouetted three bulky shapes on the front porch of the ranch house. One man circled to the rear while the others entered the house and lights popped on in the side windows. 

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