28 February 2025

Overlord The Price of Talent Book 4 by AK Nevermore Book Tour! @SilverDaggerBookTours #Overlord #ThrPriceOfTalent @aknevermore

Power comes with a price.

Overlord

The Price of Talent Book 4

by AK Nevermore

Genre

Spicy Dystopian SciFi Romance 

On an alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of the population. Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical mutations, giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent upon the exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting them…

Chaos rules the city of Glynfyls.

And all Flynn Scot can do is watch. With the hill frozen in the shadow of the coming Incursion, and the commons giving into a bacchanal madness, the city’s chances of survival are dire. His hands tied by mandates, in order to do what he knows is right and give them a fighting chance, Flynn will have to risk everything by doing wrong.

Meanwhile, Kara can’t hide her declining health.

The Triam’s location remains elusive, and the window to get the treatment she needs is closing. Unwilling to give in, or idly await her fate, she hatches a daring plan to help save the city, even if it ends up destroying her politically.

Because Titus’s army is marching closer to Glynfyls, and they’re not alone.

With them comes a monster that threatens not only the city, but the entire Breaker hierarchy. As the world watches on tenterhooks, Flynn and Kara race against the clock to save their people, but there’s no guarantee they can save themselves.

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**Don’t miss the other books in the series!**

Breaker

The Price of Talent Book 1

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Binder

The Price of Talent Book 2

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Split 

The Price of Talent Book 3

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https://aknevermore.com/books/breaker/breeder/

Flynn’s bedroom door slammed open and the lights flicked on.

“Get up.”

The hell? He blinked, lifting his aching head to glare at Rogan. Man looked even more beat to shit now that the bruising from their fight had set in. One side of his jaw was twice the size it should be, and he didn’t look any happier to be standing there than Flynn was to see him.

“Fuck off,” he growled, his arms tightening around Kara. She murmured in her sleep, a “V” pinching between her brows as she snuggled against his chest.

Rogan laughed. “Wish I could, kid, but Titus’s troops are crossing the border, the city’s burning down again, cattle are running riot through the streets—” He swiped up a pair of pants from the floor and chucked them at Flynn. “—and we’re on fire brigade.”

Goddamn it.

“Are you serious?” he hissed, catching them as he pushed up to sit.

Kara huffed and curled into a little ball, out cold despite the asshole’s bullshit. Flynn frowned, but wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t slept at all the night after succumbing, and he damned well knew the toll of unmaking the damage Otto had done to her bitch mother was more than Kara was letting on.

Rogan’s gaze dropped to her bared shoulder and slid down her back to the blankets pooling around her hips. His tongue flicked over his lip. “Think I’d be in here otherwise?”

Flynn growled, ripping a blanket up to cover her. If that motherfucker even thought about—goddamn it. Man had just handed Flynn his own ass in front of the entire Breaker line. If Rogan, the Alpha fucking Prime, wanted to challenge for her, he’d win, and they both knew it.

So did the thing growling in the recesses of Flynn’s psyche, its hackles raised. Wasn’t conducive to him being in a particularly cooperative mood.

He slung his legs over the side of the mattress, talent crackling around his fingers. Goddamn it. That didn’t help either. He snuffed the sparks in his fists and pulled on his pants. Fabric was still sticky with gore. What time was it? His eyes found the clock as he zipped up. A little after two in the morning. Didn’t this fucking city sleep? “When did Titus cross the border?”

“Vanguard’s a couple hundred miles in and moving fast,” Rogan said as he reached down to scritch behind Hiss’s ears. Stupid cat let him. “Stonefist called Quorum. I was on my way to wake your ass up for that when the fire broke out. Shit’s officially hit the fan.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” Flynn grabbed a shirt and kicked into his boots, still glowering at Rogan. Asshole shot another look at Kara before he flashed that goddamned grin and backed from the room. Flynn killed the lights and just stopped himself from slamming the door shut. God, he hated that prick.

“What the hell are they rioting about now?” he asked, smacking the button for the lift.

Rogan shrugged and stepped in. “They’re throwing one hell of a party on the lower rungs, but this ain’t that, far as I can tell. Heard somebody say a cow kicked over a lantern, and it’s Chicago all over again.”

“Chicago?” Flynn asked, hitting the button for the main floor.

The Breaker rolled his eyes. “You know, big fire, O’Leary’s—never mind. All you need to worry about is it putting it out.” He pushed past him as the lift door opened and stalked toward the gate.

Flynn’s temper spiked and his talent sparked with it. “Me? How am I supposed to—” He stopped to scuff out a patch of smoldering carpet. Christ, that was getting old.

“Right there all the time, isn’t it?”

Flynn scowled. “Yeah. Weren’t you gonna do something about that?” Talent flared around his fingers again, and he swore.

Rogan sighed, glancing at the gate. “Right. How do you control your Shade ability?”

Was he an idiot? “Control my—I don’t. It’s not like—I gotta pull it to use it. They call it cloaking for a reason. It’s like gathering—whatever, it doesn’t matter. I asked about this Breaker shit.”

“Everything matters. Nothing’s important.”

“Did you just quote Nietzsche?”

Breaker cocked an eyebrow. “Did you just call me out for quoting Nietzsche?”

“Christ, you’re a dick.”

“You should talk. Look, in case you haven’t figured it out, Breaker talent isn’t static. It’s tied to your emotions, just like bloodlust. The fact that you’re as moody as a teenaged girl doesn’t help.”

Flynn glared at the man, his teeth gritting together at another flare of talent. “Then what do you suggest?”

“You know anything about physics?” Flynn’s eyes narrowed, and Rogan sighed. “Look, I’m not any more thrilled about this arrangement than you are, so let’s do it and have done. Easiest way for me to explain it is to equate Breaker talent to Ohm’s law—”

“Ionic flow. Got it. Energy is dissipated as heat. Then what?”

Rogan’s brow raised. “Then you reach equilibrium by dissipating it, maintaining the state by breathing the potential out, and letting talent cycle through you,” the Breaker said. “You don’t let it build until you need it.”

“How the hell do I do that?”

Rogan made a come hither motion. “Watch and learn.”

They stepped through the gate and into hell. Flynn wiped his brow, his skin abruptly too tight. Smoke seared down his throat and hung thick in the air, stinging his eyes and occluding the morass of standing water and hard baked sludge coating the street. The haze softened the edges of the blaze as a line of Fixers fought to keep it in stasis, while every Fetch able to shift an oxygen molecule battled to snuff the flames. Their crimson blue flicker and the silver and bronze glow of talent warred, filling the streets with an unearthly glow. Within the thin shell of talent, booms shook the ground. A rain of smoldering debris peppered the street, and a fucking cow ran by.

Rogan held out a hand to him, and Flynn scowled. “Thanks, Gramps, but I promise I’m big enough not to get lost.”

“Asshole. I want you to feel how I channel the fire’s potential.”

“I gotta hold your hand to do it?”

“I can put my foot up your ass if you’d prefer.”

Flynn eyed the man’s outstretched hand. Something big exploded, accompanied by a whomp of flame

“Take your time. Not like there’s any reason to hurry.”

Flynn glared at him and slapped his palm across Rogan’s. The Breaker’s halos flared and talent welled, crackling between them. Instead of something blowing up, it was a steady draw. The raging flames shuddered in response, dying back, and the ground beneath them hummed with a weird vibration. What the hell?

“Feel that?”

“Yeah, what’re you doing?”

Whatever it was, wasn’t easy. Sweat poured from the Breaker, and it wasn’t from the ungodly temperature. His halos bathed everything within a fifty-foot radius a gruesome scarlet. “Acting as a ground,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Like it’s electricity?”

“Yeah. Same principle, and you keep shorting.” He snorted at Flynn’s scowl. “Instead of letting the energy flow to heat, I’m converting the fire’s potential and acting as a conduit, redirecting it out and away. Try reaching for it. If you can call it, you can snuff it, and I could use the help. There’s some kind of accelerant in there—” The ground shook with another series of explosions and hot concrete rained down around them.

Fuck that. Flynn threw up a shield. He pushed it out and away, reinforcing the Fixer’s line. They slumped against one another as he took up the burden, the power of the battering flames sending him back a step. Christ. Yeah, there sure as hell was some kind of accelerant in there. Shit was burning like it was jet fuel. He wiped a hand across his brow, dizzy with the heat.

“Wrong talent, asshole,” Rogan gritted out.

Flynn scowled at him, trying to focus. Reach for the fire…how the fuck was he supposed to…he eased his shield and the sense of it hit him square in the chest. Flynn grunted, stumbling back again.

“Yeah, no shit. Now let it flow through you and ground it out.”

Flynn took a shaky breath; the intensity of that potential Rogan had been talking about was crushing. How the fuck was he handling all that? Man should be a blackened smear—

“Anytime now, kid.” Rogan grimaced.

Shit. Flynn’s jaw tensed, trying to take a hold—he eased his shield again and the flames surged forward. He slammed it back up and the fire’s potential bypassed him, arcing from his grip. Christ, he couldn’t—

“Kara still make that little noise when she comes?”

Flynn’s shield disintegrated as the blaze’s potential flooded into him with his rage. It built, his hair standing on end. He was gonna kill—

“Ground it!”

—that motherfucker. Flynn bellowed, channeling the fire’s potential into the ground along with what Rogan was converting. The street buckled and the surrounding buildings listed. The two men fell to their knees, the inferno sucking down like someone had pulled its string, guttering.

Rogan collapsed to sit, swiping a hand over his brow. “Not bad—”

Flynn’s fist took him in the jaw, knocking him back. “Anything about that ever comes out of your mouth again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“No promises.” Asshole chuckled, wiping the corner of his mouth as he sat up. “And don’t expect it to go any better than your last attempt…but you’re welcome to keep trying.”

God, he hated him. Flynn’s brows furrowed, taking in the smoking ruins. At the far end of the block, Markham spoke to a group of Fetches. He patted one of them on the shoulder, and they staggered off, too exhausted to shift away.

Flynn knew how they felt. His insides were hollow with what’d just gone through him. His glower deepened as his eyes flicked to Rogan. Shithead had baited him, again, and he’d played right into his hands, again. Goddamn his fucking temper. That thing inside him…it was too fucking close. Flynn frowned, staring at his palms, the memory of blood staining them. No. Not here. He was safe in the city.

“When you call it, where does the fire come from?” he asked, wiping this hands on his pants and trying to distract himself. “Doesn’t the potential need a catalyst?”

“Look at you all brainy when you’re not taking potshots,” Rogan muttered, rocking his mangled jaw. “That’s a little more complicated, and I’m spent. It’ll wait.”

Flynn’s brows bunched, glaring at the man who’d claimed to be his great-grandfather. Attitude was on point, but any physical resemblance…to him, to Lot. Complexion was all wrong, but maybe something around the eyes…

The man flashed his teeth. “Yes?”

Christ, that was it. That goddamned grin. Flynn looked away. Markham was headed in their direction, albeit at a snail’s pace. “You the one that figured out how it works? The whole electricity thing?”

“A Breaker’s talent? No. Not controlling it, at least. I was pretty hell-bent on everything but. When I was ready to listen, most of the hard work had been done.”

Flynn flicked a bit of rubble away. Asphalt had caved in around them like a giant fist’d smashed into the street. “Did you want it?”

Rogan’s face went stoney. “When the Surge blasted us back to the Dark Ages, people lost their shit, turned on each other. Nobody understood it. Thought the world was coming to an end, God was punishing us…first to espouse the Sons’ ideology were Talents. Turned into a goddamned cult of suicide bombers. You could hear them imploding. See them flare up at night, taking out everything around them until the Corporation showed up with their promise of a cure. So, no. None of us wanted it, but it’s what we got. Didn’t that asshole teach you anything?”

Flynn chewed his lip. “Cal wasn’t around all that much.” Not even when he was.

“What about Lot?”

A surge of temper sent talent flickering around Flynn’s fingers. “What about him?”

“Never mind.” Rogan swore under his breath. “You’re clamping down and getting all pent up again. Breathe it through you.”

Flynn let out a slow exhale. Damn, he wanted a cigar. Thinking about his father, his Shade talent coming in… Jesus, that’d been a miserable fucking experience, but at least the only person that’d gotten hurt had been him. Accident or not, he’d killed people when Kara had been abducted. Guilt tamped down his anger, self-loathing rising up to snuff what was left of it. He needed to get a handle on this before he lost his shit again and took out any more of the city. Another incident like that, and the Pinch would be prime real estate.

Rogan’s mouth screwed up like he wanted to ask something and knew he wasn’t gonna like the answer. Goddamn it.

“Look, the less Lot and I see of each other, the better,” Flynn said, beating him to it. “Ascending to head was supposed to be the end of it. Come up here, assume the fucking position, and spend the rest of my life voting on granite curbing.” Shit, that almost sounded good. He kicked away some debris, the warmth of the ruined pavement cozy in comparison to the arctic air battering down the radiant heat.

“Funny. You don’t strike me as a white picket fence, two kids and a dog kind of guy.”

A gust of wind sent a squall thick with ash at them. Flynn put a hand up, keeping it from his eyes and spat the grit from his mouth. He’d take the fence and kids in a heartbeat right about now. The dog could go fuck itself, but the rest of it sounded like a dream come true. “Kara would’ve been happy. Safe.”

Rogan cocked an eyebrow. “Would she?”

A defeated numbness stole over Flynn. Probably not on either count. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met. Didn’t want the same things. Christ, what did she want? It pissed him off that figuring it out was taking a backseat to everything else, and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do to change that.

He grimaced as he met Rogan’s eye. “Probably not. I just—It feels like I’m being steamrolled towards something, and no matter what I—” Flynn flushed. What the hell had possessed him to drop that nugget? He mussed ash from his hair, the reality of his goddamned existence weighing him down. The remaining flickers of talent around his fingers drained away. Damn. This shit really was tied to his emotions.

“That’s it. Low and slow. Breathe it out. You get worked up, ground what pulses through you.” Rogan leaned back on his elbows. “The universe usually pushes you for a reason. Why fight it?”

“Because I don’t trust it.”

“No, you don’t trust yourself.” Flynn scowled, and the asshole’s grin was back. “You should. That was good work just now, but it would’ve been better if you’d get over that goddamned reluctance and stop second-guessing yourself. You’re Breaker, kid. Acting on instinct is what we do. Leave the overthinking to the Binders.”

Markham huffed over, and Rogan stood. Flynn rose with him. The only thing his instincts were screaming at him to do was to bury the prick.

Except he’d tried that and failed miserably. Motherfucker. “So, what’s next?”

“Combat nap. Phyllis’s already filed the paperwork to officially step down. Between assuming First, and everything else making up this shit show, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have to drink breakfast if I wanna get through the rest of the day.” Rogan frowned, scratching his stubble. “Should probably shave.”

Flynn rolled his eyes. “No, I meant talent-wise.”

“Try to not blow anything up until the Source gets here. If there’s an after…” Rogan shrugged. “We’ll work on your control. Start with little shit. Light some candles, break frozen peas.” A smile ghosted over his lips, then he pushed past Flynn with a growl. “Get a handle on your equilibrium first.”

Man stalked to the gate and was gone. What the hell had that been about?



AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up camo Chucks.

Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time.

She pays the bills editing, wielding a wicked hot pink pen and writing a column on SFF. She also belongs to the Authors Guild, is a chapter treasurer for the RWA, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion, sleeps.

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A Family With the Cowboy The Westons of Montana Book 1 by Elsa Winckler Book Tour! @SilverDaggerBookTours # #aFamilyWithTheCowboy #TheWestonsOfMontana @ElsaWincklerRomanceAuthor @elsaw1

When a single dad and his son's teacher clash, sparks fly and it's not only because his son is neglecting his chores to read.

A Family With the Cowboy

The Westons of Montana Book 1

by Elsa Winckler

Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance

Widowed rancher Hayden Weston knows what it means to be responsible for his siblings, his eight-year-old son, and the running of the huge family cattle ranch. Some even call him a stern and grumpy taskmaster and they’re not exactly wrong. So when Hayden discovers his son reading a storybook instead of doing chores, he calls on Luke’s teacher to talk about priorities.

School teacher Laura Anderson is new to Marietta, Montana, and has never—until now—been reprimanded for encouraging a child to read. It doesn’t help that sweet Luke’s father is the handsome cowboy with the amber eyes that she met in Grey’s Saloon, or that she’s wildly attracted to him.

Sparks keep flying as their paths keep crossing, but Hayden is determined not to give in to his incomprehensible need to have, hold, and protect Laura from any type of harm. He’s the one who’ll hurt her if he lets her stray too close. He’s not ready to admit his feelings or commit to sharing his life with her.

Even if love comes tumbling in.

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I have been reading love stories for as long as I can remember and when I ‘met’ the classic authors like Jane Austen, Elizabeth Gaskell, Henry James The Brontë sisters, etc. during my Honours studies, I was hooked for life. 

I married my college boyfriend and soul mate and after 47 years, 3 interesting and wonderful children and 4 beautiful grandchildren, he still makes me weak in the knees. We are fortunate to live in the picturesque little seaside village of Betty's Bay, South Africa with the ocean a block away and a beautiful mountain right behind us.

 And although life so far has not always been an easy ride, it has always been an exciting and interesting one! I like the heroines in my stories to be beautiful, feisty, independent and headstrong. And the heroes must be strong but possess a generous amount of sensitivity.

 They are of course, also gorgeous! My stories typically incorporate the family background of the characters to better understand where they come from and who they are when we meet them in the story

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27 February 2025

Red Ultimatum by Edwin D. Fuller and Gary Grossman Book Blitz! #XpressoTours @XpressoTours #RedUltimatum #EdwinDFuller #GaryGrossman


Red Ultimatum
Edwin D. Fuller, Gary Grossman

(The Red Hotel, #4)

Publication date

February 25th, 2025

Genres

Adult, Thriller

A former U.S. President’s plane is brought down in the Atlantic. Revolutionary forces attack Cairo. The U.S. Secretary of State is kidnapped in Panama. 

A North Korean ballistic missile submarine tracks toward America’s West Coast. A sleeper cell spy awakens in the halls of Congress. A woman assassin takes aim on the Washington Mall. 

Behind it all is Russian President Nicolai Gorshkov who has mastered the ability to walk between the raindrops and not get wet. Until… China determines that Gorshkov’s policies are endangering its global initiatives… until Beijing issues Gorshkov a defiant ultimatum… until Dan Reilly, hotel executive/CIA freelancer, and friend of the Secretary of State, reads the moves on the international political chessboard and picks up the pieces.

The non-stop action plays out on Air, Land, and Sea. Yet, with so many geo-political threads being tugged simultaneously, will the Russian leader succeed getting another step closer to rebuilding the old Soviet Empire in his image? (https://redhotelseries.com/)

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EXCERPT:

ATHENS, GREECE

“I saw you die!”

“You saw me fall off the building.”

“Yes, and you died! I saw it happen. The explosion from below. The fireball that swept up. Your last look. I’ve relived that moment every day since. Oh my God, Marnie, I was there. I saw it all.”

“And I’m here with you, Dan.” “You’re not. You can’t be.”

“I am and we can be together again.”

She reached out to him. Dan Reilly stepped back and stared. She was wearing the same dress, green blouse, and leather jacket she had worn that day in Stockholm; the day Marnie Babbitt returned to his hotel room seemingly regretful; wishing things were different; wanting to make them so.

“You loved me, Dan,” the brunette said softly. “You can love me again. Tonight. Here in Athens.”

Dan Reilly stopped retreating. Yes, he thought. Here. Athens.

He looked at the surroundings. Nighttime traffic was flowing along Adrianou Street. Horns honked. Couples walked arm-in-arm. Tourists window-shopped. Everything was normal until the woman he had desperately loved, the woman who had betrayed him stepped out of the shadows in front of him and into the light of a street lamp.

Dan Reilly had just concluded a successful business meeting at Kuzina, one of Athens’ most celebrated restaurants that boasted a magnificent view of The Temple of Hephaestus, the Agora, and the Acropolis. He had come to discuss the final terms for his company’s acquisition of a luxury hotel property currently owned by a Greek billionaire. It would take lawyers months to solidify the terms, but atop the restaurant’s Tarazza, with the golden glow of the Acropolis backlighting them, Reilly and the seller toasted to their relationship with a final glass of Ouzo.

It had been a good night for the International President of Kensington Royal Hotel Corporation. As he had walked along the cobblestones on Adrianou, Marnie Babbitt was not on his mind, but suddenly she was there alive and vibrant as ever. Her beauty took his breath away. Her voice was as soft and lilting as the last whispers in his ear.

Or the last lies, he thought.

“No lies, Dan,” she said as if reading his mind. “This time it will be different.”

At first, Reilly had felt immobile. Then he was drawn to her.

She reached out to him and stroked his cheek. Her touch was as present as ever. The light gave her an almost ethereal glow. She looked longingly into his eyes and proved she was alive with a lingering, deep kiss. Then she said, “Is that the kiss of a dead woman?”

Her tongue, her scent, and her breath were just as he remembered.

Just as he missed. So was the quickening of his heartbeat.

He withdrew and looked into her brown eyes. They were so bright and inviting.

“You missed me. I know you did.” She smiled and took a step back into the shadows. “Come with, Dan.”

The sounds of the city faded away. Gone were the car horns and sirens, people talking, dogs barking, car doors slamming, and footsteps on the sidewalk. Everything around him blurred. There was just Marnie and him. He felt his desire for her grow. Then he thought of Yibing Cheng, the woman now in his life.

“But—”

“It’s all right my darling. I know that there’s someone else. But I’m back. You want me.”

More thoughts from his head. How did she know? “You want us to be together again.”

“Marnie, I saw…

“You saw what we wanted you to see.”

She leaned forward and kissed him again. She felt him. He responded. “Now I’m here. To be with you.”

He withdrew.

“Don’t you want that, Dan? Don’t you want me?” “Marnie…”

“Yes.”

“Marnie,” he said again. “Yes, my love.”

“But you’re—”

She suddenly laughed. Her brown eyes went black.

Maybe it was the Ouzo, but all he initially felt was a prick in his stomach. Then he looked down. There was the hand that he had loved caressing. But now it held the black handle of a Russian Kizlyar Spetsnaz Special Forces knife.

He brought his eyes up to hers. She smiled cruelly, waited a moment, and then twisted the 6.5-inch blade and sliced upwards.

Reilly tried to speak. He couldn’t. He felt his legs crumble, but Marnie Babbitt’s grip on the knife kept him on his feet. She twisted again.

“Why?” Reilly silently gurgled.

“Because this is the way it should have ended.”

Marnie’s words confused him. He grabbed her hand with his. Blood soaked them both.

Should have ended?

Reilly tried to pull out the knife, but she was stronger. Life began to leave him.

With a sickly sweet laugh, she repeated, “This is the way it should have ended. You, not me.”

Should…have…ended. The words were familiar. He’d heard them before. Many times before.

“No!” Reilly shouted in full-throated defiance. “This is not how it should end! And…you…are… dead!”

“What?”

“You’re dead,” he shouted. “You’re dead!” “No, Dan. No! It’s all right.”

He was shaking violently. “Dan!”

Dan Reilly bolted upright. He automatically grabbed his stomach. It was wet, but from sweat, not blood. And the woman whose concerned voice was cutting through his dream belonged to Yibing Cheng.

“Dan, Dan, it’s okay. You’re here with me. Yibing.”

Reilly slowly collected his thoughts. Yibing turned on a night light and faced the man she’d been seeing for just a few months. They were in Athens, but he was not on the street bleeding. But he had had nights like this—in Paris, Washington, and where Reilly and Yibing had first met, Beijing.

“Your dream again?” she asked. He gathered his thoughts.

“Yes, except this time it was here. Outside our restaurant last night.

The street—”

“I’m so sorry,” Yibing said pulling him close to her naked body.

What did she do?”

“At least she didn’t throw me into a woodchipper this time,” Reilly replied lightly. “No plastic bag over my head. No fall from a cliff.” He rubbed his gut. “But she was pretty good with a knife, even for a dream.”

Reilly knew what was going on. Shrinks might call it PTSD. He saw it more as a combination of guilt over the fact that he failed to recognize Marnie Babbitt was a Russian plant and guilt that he couldn’t save her the moment he realized she wanted out. It was all manifesting itself in very vivid revenge dreams. But it was not paranoia.

There was more that wasn’t in his dream world. Dan Reilly had seen drones out his window after he and Yibing had returned from Beijing. He’d spotted people following them. And they were not his people. Not Yibing’s either.

For now, he viewed the tails and eavesdropping as intimidation. Russian or possibly Chinese. But it could get worse. It likely would get worse and not because he was an international hotel executive. It was his moonlighting.

 Dan Reilly had deep ties with officers at the CIA and even deeper ties with the United States Secretary of State.



ED FULLER is CEO of Laguna Strategic Advisors, a global consortium providing business consulting services worldwide. He has served on business and charitable boards during his 40-year career with Marriott International where he was chief marketing officer followed by 22 years as president and managing director of Marriott International.

Under his management, the international division grew from 16 to 550 hotels in 73 countries with 80,000 associates and sales of $8 billion. 

Upon retirement, Fuller has served on five university boards and taught as adjunct professor for MBA and undergraduate students. He blogged for Forbes and other tourism and lodging industry media. His book, You Can’t Lead with Your Feet on the Desk, has been printed in English, Japanese and Chinese. 

Fuller served as captain in the U.S. Army, stationed in Germany and Vietnam and received the Bronze Star and the Army Commendation medals. He and Gary Grossman are co-authors of the Red Hotel series, including the 2018 thriller Red Hotel and the 2021 release, Red Deception, soon to be followed by Red Chaos.

Gary Grossman is author of the bestselling political thrillers EXECUTIVE ACTIONS,EXECUTIVE TREASON, EXECUTIVE COMMAND, and EXECUTIVE FORCE; a geological thriller that spans 4 billions years, OLD EARTH; and with co-author Ed Fuller, RED HOTEL, RED CHAOS, and RED DECEPTION. Grossman has also written two acclaimed non-fiction books covering pop culture and television history: SUPERMAN: SERIAL TO CEREAL and SATURDAY MORNING TV.

He is an Emmy Award-winning network television producer, a print and television journalist, a novelist and a film and TV historian. His career has included stints producing for NBC News, CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox, PBS and 40 cable networks.

Grossman has produced more than 10,000 series episodes and specials through his TV production company Weller/Grossman Productions, and earned numerous awards including the prestigious Governor's Emmy Award for a USA Network production and an Emmy for Best Informational series with the production of "Wolfgang Puck" for Food Network. Their documentary "Beyond the Da Vinci Code" (History Channel) earned two national Emmy nominations. In all, Grossman has received 14 Emmy nominations.

Grossman earned a Bachelors Degree in Communications from Emerson College in Boston and a Master's Degree in Urban Affairs from Boston University.

He began his broadcasting career as a rock disc jockey at WHUC, in Hudson, New York. He worked at Boston television station, WBZ; joined The Boston Globe as a special contributor, and then became the television critic and media columnist at The Boston Herald American. His freelance articles have appeared in The New York Times and numerous magazines. He taught journalism and media at Emerson College, Boston University, USC and now Loyola Marymount University's Graduate School of Film and Television.

Grossman helped formulate, program and launch television cable networks including HGTV, National Geographic Channel, and The Africa Channel.

Grossman has served on the Emerson College Board of Trustees where he chaired the Academic Affairs Committee. He is also a member of the Boston University Metropolitan College Advisory Board. For four years he was chair of the Government Affairs Committee for the Caucus for Television Producers, Directors & Writers, a Hollywood-based media activist group. He is member of The International Thriller Writers Association.

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GIVEAWAY!



Death of a Princess Empire of Shadows, Book #3 R.N. Morris Blog Tour! #Historical @rnmorris @cathiedunn @rogermorris7988 @thecoffeepotbookclub



Book Title: Death of a Princess

Series: Empire of Shadows, Book #3

Author: R.N. Morris

Publication Date: 5th November 2024

Publisher: Sharpe Books

Pages: 192

Genre: Historical Crime / Mystery

Any Triggers
Description of illness, death, violent crime, murder, sexual references, sexual threat.


Summer 1880.


Lipetsk, a spa town in Russia.


The elderly and cantankerous Princess Belskaya suffers a violent reaction while taking a mud bath at the famous Lipetsk Sanatorium. Soon after, she dies.


Dr Roldugin, the medical director of the sanatorium, is at a loss to explain the sudden and shocking death.


He points the finger at Anna Zhdanova, a medical assistant who was supervising the princess’s treatment.


Suspicion also falls on the princess’s nephew Belsky, who appears far from grief-stricken at his aunt’s death.


Meanwhile, investigating magistrate Pavel Pavlovich Virginsky arrives in Lipetsk from St Petersburg, seeking treatment after a nervous breakdown.


Against his better judgement, Virginsky is drawn in to the investigation. But is he getting closer to the truth or walking straight into a deadly trap?


Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/mvOpq8 


This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.



Roger (R.N) Morris is the author of 18 books, including a quartet of historical crime novels set in St Petersburg featuring Porfiry Petrovich, the investigating magistrate from Dostoevsky’s great novel Crime and Punishment. 

These were followed by the Silas Quinn series set in London in 1914. He has been shortlisted for the CWA Duncan Lawrie Gold Dagger and the CWA Historical Dagger.

A former advertising copywriter, Roger has written the libretto for an opera, modern retellings of Frankenstein and Macbeth for French school children. He’s also a scriptwriter for an award winning audio producer, working on true crime and history podcasts including The Curious History of your Home.


His work has been published in 16 countries. 


Married with two grown-up children, Roger lives in Chichester where he keeps an eye out for seagulls.


Website: www.rogernmorris.co.uk 

Twitter: https://x.com/rnmorris 

Facebook: www.facebook.com/roger.morris.7547 

LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/roger-morris-41679518 

Instagram: www.instagram.com/rogermorris7988 

Threads: www.threads.net/@rogermorris7988 

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/rnmorris.bsky.social 

Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/rogernmorris1 

Amazon Author Page: www.amazon.co.uk/stores/author/B001JP9XXA 

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/608784.R_N_Morris 



 





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