The Huntress By Dorothy McFalls

The Huntress By Dorothy McFalls
NOW Available from Kindle (Amazon) for $1.99!

If you missed it the first time, you have another chance to catch the action of The Huntress.

It’s nothing personal...
Blond, beautiful bounty hunter Vega Brookes is on the hunt for her latest skip trace. Her prey, ex-special forces officer Grayson Walker, is accused of brutally murdering his business partner and killing the last bounty hunter to come looking for him. He’s ruthless, a killer. She shouldn’t feel attracted to him. Even so, the closer she gets to finding Grayson, the louder her instincts shout that things are not what they seem.

It’s only murder...
Grayson Walker is dangerous and determined. Someone is killing those closest to him, and he’s desperate to find out why. When a firecracker of a bounty hunter comes close to capturing him, he fights back and ends up shooting her. Yet not even a gunshot wound can cool the sparks that fly between them whenever they’re together. Soon, his life turns into a deadly race to earn Vega’s trust, track down a killer, and avoid falling in love.


"I know who you are, Grayson Walker." It wasn't her job to judge him. She just needed to deliver him back to the justice system. "I know what you've done." She raised her gun. She'd do well to remember he'd already killed one bounty hunter. "It's time to return to Atlanta and face responsibility."

She heard him suck in quick a breath. "Tommy said you smelled like a cop. I should've believed him. Since when does a cop look like she belongs on the cover of a fashion magazine?"

He didn't seem to notice the gun in her hand, a weapon that could easily leave several gaping holes in the center of his chest. Or if he did notice, he didn't care. He walked casually toward her, arms spread wide.

"I'm more dangerous to you than the police, Grayson. I'm a bounty hunter. I don't get paid unless you get captured."

He laughed in the darkness, a rather pitiful sound. "The fourth one, I believe. I wonder what makes you think you can succeed where those other brainless goons have failed? Are you planning to seduce me into surrendering?"

Without warning, he lowered his head and rushed her, tackling her, tossing her to the ground as if they were playing a game and she was holding a football not a loaded pistol.

Her breath whooshed out of her lungs. Grayson could remain where he was, straddling her torso, his hands pinning her arms, for the moment. She tightened her hold on the pistol he was working so doggedly to wrench from her grasp.

Pulling in a deep breath to calm her muscles and focus her strength, she visualized her first move. Her first approach, her attack, was crucial since everything that would follow would be born from instinct.

"Hope I didn't hurt you, sweet," he whispered in her ear. "But I couldn't give you the chance to shoot me, either."

His lips curled into that killing smile. "You're really very pretty."

Those eyes of his, eyes she'd memorized from the photo posted in her office, were nearly hypnotic in the darkness. He leaned forward. She heard his breath hitch. "I haven't had a woman like you in..." His lips covered hers. She could taste the raw hunger in the forced kiss.

"Sorry," he said, ripping away.

"Get off me or I'll really hurt you."

He laughed. He actually laughed.

In a fluid move, she twisted to the side, upsetting his balance, and pushed against the asphalt to propel herself up. He tumbled to the ground.

He didn't stay down long. She swung her fist, hitting his jaw as he sprang back to his feet. She didn't need brute strength when he was so obliging in connecting his face to her fist with such force. She stood back and watched as he staggered, tripping over a cypress knee that had grown up through the broken asphalt.

Her fingers produced one of the two pairs of handcuffs she carried in her jacket pocket. Capturing him, a former Special Ops officer, seemed far too easy. He stared up at her, dazed, his eyes hazy and unfocused.

"You've put up a good chase, Grayson." She locked a metal ring over his left wrist.

He let out a light groan as she rolled him over onto his stomach. With her knee pressing onto the center of his back, she reached for his right arm. His hand shot out and captured her wrist as strongly as his left wrist had been ensnared in the trap of the handcuff.

"I don't want to kill you," he said gruffly. Which was really a funny thing for him to say since she still had him on his stomach with his face pressed into the pavement.

She held his left wrist with her left hand. He held her right wrist in his right hand. She wracked her brain, trying to remember which side he favored.

"I'm left-handed," he said, startling her. He yanked his arm out of her grasp and swung with incredible speed back and up, slapping her in the face with the metal handcuff still hooked to his wrist.

She reared back, unwittingly giving Grayson an opening. Before she realized what he was doing, he'd snagged her pistol and twisted around to point it at her.

"Oh, no you don't!" She wasn't ready to let him win that easily. She lunged for her gun. The barrel flared red in the darkness as it fired.

The force of the bullet's impact at such a close range sent her flying. She hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Great, just great. Braving a backwoods medical facility to be sewn up by a doctor who probably doubled as the local veterinarian was not her idea of a pleasant Christmas.

Her shoulder burned, and her arm had already turned painfully numb. Gulping air, she focused all her energies on Grayson. It took everything she had to hug her throbbing arm to her chest and charge him. She prayed he wouldn't have time to take careful aim and fire again before she could knock the gun from his grasp. She had nothing to lose. He'd already killed one bounty hunter, and she had no doubt she was about to be next.

She staggered--the back wall of the bar must have just collapsed--surely that was a wall that had just fallen on her.

Clutching her splitting head, she sank to her knees.

"Damn," was the last thing she heard.

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“You’re a tease, sweetheart. I didn’t realize how much until now. I only hope you’re prepared to back up your invitation.”

Invitation? Lacey didn’t realize Chase was wading toward the steps at the end of the pool. She was intent on slipping into her mesh robe and escaping. His words stung because she knew they weren’t true. Yet why had she deliberately set out to entice him? She knew why. Because she wanted him as hungry for her as she was for him.

When Lacey reached down to turn off the radio, Chase’s hands suddenly fell on her shoulders and whirled her around. A startled squeak escaped her before her mouth was captured by Chase’s in a hard and forceful kiss. She raised her hands to push him away. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her heart slammed against her chest.

“You won’t need this.” Chase roughly ripped the wrap off her body. “If you’re going to tease a man, Lacey, be prepared for the consequences.”

“I wasn’t…”Chase pulled her sharply against him, his hands digging painfully into her naked buttocks.

“You were!” Their breaths mingled, then he was stealing hers away with the demanding pressure of his lips in another kiss.

Lacey was helpless against Chase. Whimpering noises of pleasure sounded deep in her throat as she responded to his rough possession. When she felt the heavy pounding of his arousal against her, she felt an answering response deep inside her body. Before she knew what she was doing, she rotated her hips against him, moaning at the surge of damp heat between her legs.

“You little witch. Do you know what you’re doing?” His words were hoarse and rough.

Lacey knew what she was doing and was in no condition to answer Chase. She had to save her strength just to breathe, and she leaned into him, letting his rock-hard body support her from falling to the deck. Chase’s hands were no longer squeezing her buttocks in punishment, but were gentle now, caressing over her in tender exploration. The rough calluses of his palms added an extra element of stimulation as his hands smoothed down her thighs and back up to her bottom, lifting her at the same time and holding her against him.

“Damn, you feel good against my cock.” He leaned forward and sank his teeth into the side of Lacey’s neck, then soothed the slight pain he’d inflicted by sucking it tenderly. “Sorry, baby, but you bring out the savage in me.”

Trembling wildly, Lacey’s hands went to the waistband of his boxers and slipped inside. It was a bold act that was so unlike her, yet she couldn’t seem to stop her fingers from encircling his hard length to test her power over him. His shudder revealed more than words what her touch was doing to him.

A low groan vibrated through his chest as Chase thrust his hips toward her caress...

Tory Richards

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Crisscross by Ericka Scott

Autumn has finally arrived here in the high desert of California. Nights are downright nippy (as are mornings), holding a promise of the winter to come. While the afternoon sun warms the back porch and entices all the neighborhood kids outside to play. This is my favorite season of the year, with bonfires, football, and things that go bump in the night. Guess that's why most of the seductive suspense I write involves the paranormal (ghosts, psychics, werewolves, and all manner of beasties, including zombies).

My latest release is no different...except, it is. Set during the Christmas holidays, Crisscross is my first full-length sensual novel. The sexual tension is tighter and the sex scenes are softer than most of my other works. But for my fans who enjoy suspense, this book delivers it in spades.

Crisscross (noun): A web of deceit entangling a bestselling author and her small son, two ex-lovers, and a killer with a knack for cruciverbalism and a thirst for revenge.

A psychic, and skeptic, and serial killer… Lia Morgan has seen portents and signs since she was a teenager; however, few people believed her, including her own family. Although estranged, Lia travels across country to aid in the search for her missing sister, Sylvie. What seems to be a simple case gets complicated fast when Lia discovers her sister had a plethora of secrets, including a small son. Is her sister running from an impending paternity case like the police assume, or is her disappearance the work of a serial killer as her friends suspect?

An anthropologist and crossword puzzle fanatic, Jared Trimble is a packrat with a PhD. His world is grounded in the here and now, with no room for paranormal mumbo-jumbo. When Jared's asked to work as a consultant on a missing person's case involving a series of crossword puzzle clues, he's conflicted. One part's thrilled. The other part is suspicious; worried he fits the description of suspect more than investigator. All that is forgotten when he realizes his ex-lover, Lia Morgan, is the missing woman’s sister. While Lia follows signs and portents, Jared uses his wits and experience. When the two collide, nearly forgotten passions flare. As the final clue is revealed, the solution brings them both into the bull’s-eye of the serial killer's target.


What a nightmare!
Lia Morgan rubbed her temples. Of all the calls she had ever envisioned receiving about her sister, this one was not it.
When the police officer introduced himself and told her her sister, Sylvie, was missing, the words almost didn’t register. Missing? Impossible was the first word that came to Lia’s mind. But instead of opening her mouth to argue, she’d listened.
“Yesterday morning, Sylvie and her two-year old son, Deion, left their home at approximately eight-thirty. According to statements we’ve taken, they had planned to go to Pier 39, have lunch, and return home by five o’clock. When your sister’s friend, Margaret Fletcher, called at five, no one answered.” The officer stated.
He then went on to tell her Margaret had called at five-thirty and then at half an hour intervals until eight o’clock. When there was still no answer, and Sylvie couldn’t be reached on her house or cell phone, Margaret drove to the house. After she’d ascertained no one was home, she’d reported Sylvie missing.
As the story unfolded, Lia’s disbelief increased. Sylvie had a son? And what had happened between her and Margaret that they were no longer living together?
“When did you last see your sister?” The officer asked.
“Seven years ago.”
There was a pregnant silence on the line.
“My sister and I weren’t close.” Lia finally added. Now that was the understatement of the year.
“Then you wouldn’t know if she’d voluntarily left the area? Is it possible that she was coming to see you for a visit with the upcoming holidays?”
“No, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t know anything about her plans. But just up and leaving isn’t something my sister would do. You’re aware that she’s a bestselling author of a personal security book, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The officer intoned. “Right now, we’re considering all the scenarios.”
“Of course. Thank you for letting me know.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. If you do hear from your sister…”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Lia laid the telephone receiver back in its cradle. Her thoughts were so jumbled that the sudden loud ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall made her jump. Had time really stood still? Perhaps. Being as something else infeasible had occurred. Her staid and respectable, older and wiser sister had disappeared.
The thought still felt foreign. For ten years, Sylvie Morgan had worked as a security expert for some top secret government organization. According to the little Sylvie had been able to say, she had kept numerous presidents and foreign dignitaries safe by working behind the scenes. Whatever that meant. She knew the ins and outs, hell, she’d wrote the book on keeping your person and identity safe. Lia had bought it last year and taken it to heart. As a freelance photographer, she traveled a lot, and it was important not only to feel secure but to be safe. Even now, Sylvie’s book was a hot topic of discussion on talk shows and prominently displayed in every bookstore Lia frequented. So, what had happened to her sister?
Margaret? Lia conjured up a vision of her sister’s partner, or were they ex-lovers now? Margaret was as tall as her sister, and at times they resembled black and white bookends. Where Sylvie’s complexion was like ebony, Margaret’s lacked almost any pigmentation. They both wore their hair in short bobs, Sylvie’s black and Margaret’s pale blond. Both had curves and legs that seemed to go all the way up to their necks. Many men admired the women from afar; however, that was close as either of them would allow a man to approach.
There was simply no way she could see Margaret as having anything to do with Sylvie’s disappearance. In fact, according to the police, she was the one who had called in the missing person’s report.
Then, Lia focused on the other tidbit of information the officer had dropped. Sylvie had a son. Wow. That was a shocker. Sylvie had always professed never to want children and often joked that she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. Well, something had changed.
Lia twirled on the kitchen stool where she’d perched to answer the phone. It was amazing that her small efficiency apartment could be so crowded and cluttered. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes and, off to left, a pile of laundry mounded up the side of the washer. Luckily, she’d finished a photo shoot and submitted all the shots to her publisher, so she could take off at a moment’s notice. However, she’d probably better clean the place up a bit.
She picked up the receiver again. With her finger poised over the buttons, she was startled to hear a series of beeps, as if someone were already dialing a number. She hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Were the sounds real, or were they a sign she needed to pay attention to? Damn it, she hated when she couldn’t tell reality from a psychic impression. She picked up the receiver and again, the sounds repeated. This time, she left the phone off the hook. The dialing wasn’t real, for the call never connected, the tones simply repeated, two, perhaps three more times. Too bad she’d never memorized what sound went with which number. Perhaps if she hummed the tune, she’d remember it. She tried and then gave up.
Unexpectedly, tears flooded her eyes. Having unique psychic abilities weren’t good for anything if you couldn’t utilize the clues presented to you. “Dammit,” she shouted into her empty apartment. “At least give me something I can use.” She slammed the receiver down and slid off the stool. On one last hope of being able to call the airlines for a reservation, she picked up the handset. The now familiar tune played in her ear.
With a sigh, she put the receiver down. Gently this time. Laundry, dishes, then pack. She’d make reservations for California from the internet.

You can buy Crisscross at Write Words, Inc. where it's on sale for $5.50

It's also available at Omnilit, The bookstore on the corner of your digital neighborhood, for the full price of $6.50.

I hope you have a wonderful autumn season and when things go bump in the night, here's hoping they leave chocolate! LOL.

Ericka Scott

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