Silver Dagger Book Tours
  • Welcome!
  • Current Tours
    • Book Tours
  • Book a Tour
  • Open Sign Ups
  • Contact
  • About
  • Welcome!
  • Current Tours
    • Book Tours
  • Book a Tour
  • Open Sign Ups
  • Contact
  • About
Silver Dagger Book Tours

 

False Front - Book Tour and Giveaway

6/2/2020

58 Comments

 
Picture
Picture

False Front
Bishop Security Series Book 1
by Debbie Baldwin
Genre: Romantic Suspense 

Picture
• a steamy romantic thriller
• a fast-paced, edge-of-your-seat suspense novel
• a timeless romance

Emma Porter is not real. She is an accomplished young woman, living a fulfilling life in New York City, working for an online news agency, and striving toward normalcy. The truth, however, is something else. She was once Emily Webster, a child of privilege, and the twenty-first century Lindbergh Baby. Her high-profile, unexplained abduction and subsequent rescue led to a childhood of paranoia and preparedness, as her kidnapper remained at large and still on the hunt. With her father’s guidance and resources, Emily became Emma Porter, living each day in her new identity, vigilant and unattached. Unattached but for the seemingly unbreakable tether that connects her to the man who, as a young boy, lived next door.

Like Emma, Nathan Bishop is not what he seems. Preparing to helm his family’s defense contracting company, Nathan is better known for his womanizing and reckless behavior than his business acumen. His striking image peppers the pages of society tabloids and police blotters, but beneath the facade of a rake, lurks a warrior. When an arms dealer procures a lethal bioweapon and is rumored to be selling it on U.S. soil, Nathan and his team must use every resource at their disposal to stop the threat.

With danger closing in, fate, once again, puts Emma in Nathan’s path, and the two must determine if the weathered bond between them is enough to find the truth behind their false fronts.

Fans of Nora Roberts, Linda Howard, and Jayne Ann Krentz will love False Front.

Be advised: this story contains scenes of violence equivalent to an R-rated movie and explicit sexual situations.



Add to Goodreads
Amazon * B&N * Google * Kobo ​



Picture
Picture
Picture
​P R O L O G U E


Two Years Ago ...
Emma Porter looked bored. No surprise there. It was her standard expression—her failsafe. She, with some effort, avoided the imposing lighted mirror in front of her and kept her gaze on the screen of her
phone. Her violet eyes, masked by colored contacts that turned them an unremarkable blue, glazed. It didn’t help that the stylist was working his way around her head in a hypnotic rhythm, pulling long strands of honey-colored hair through his enormous round brush. He would have put her to sleep but for the incessant chatter. Sister, do you model? How has no one approached you before? Oh, they’d approached her.
She gave her standard reply.
“Nope, just in school.”
She checked her phone again. A text.
We’re good for Jane Hotel. I talked to my buddy. Bouncer’s name is Fernand. See you at 9!
The exclamation point annoyed her. You’re a guy, she thought. Guys shouldn’t use exclamation points when they text. She’d probably end up dumping him over it. She’d done it for less.
“Big night tonight? It’s a crazy Thursday. Are you going to that thing at Tau?”
“No. Just meeting a friend for a drink.”
A friend? She guessed he was a friend. She’d met him twice—no, three times; he’d kissed her on 58th Street before she got into a cab three nights ago: hence the big date.
“A friend, huh? Sounds like a date.”
“Yeah,” Emma sighed, “it’s kind of a date.”
“So, no one special? No BF?”
“Nope. No boyfriend. Just a date.”
“Well, I imagine the boys are climbing through your window, gorgeous girl.”
She wanted to say the last time a boy tried to climb in my window, security guards tackled him on the front lawn, as a leashed German shepherd bared his teeth at his neck while Teddy Prescott cried that he was in my seventh grade ceramics class, and he just wanted to ask me to a school dance. Instead, she buttoned her lip and checked her phone. Again.
“No, not so much.”
“Well, my work here is done. What do you think?”
He ran his fingers up her scalp from her nape and pushed the mass of hair forward over her shoulders, admiring his handiwork. She managed as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
“Looks great. Thanks.”
She grabbed her bag, left the cash and a generous tip—partly for the blowout, mostly for enduring her mood—and headed out.


The walk home was a short-ish hike. While Broadway up ahead was always jam-packed, the little Tribeca side street was surprisingly desolate.
Scaffolds stood sentry, and crumpled newspapers blew across the road like urban tumbleweeds. Emma’s footsteps clacked on the pavement, and her shopping bags swished against her legs. In the waning daylight, the long shadows reached out. Emma moved with purpose but not haste, running through the plan for the evening in her head. Across the street, a pair of lurking teens stopped talking to watch her. The jarring slam of a Dumpster lid and the beep, beep, beep of a reversing trash
truck echoed across the pavement. Near the end of the block, a homeless man in a recessed doorway muttered about a coming plague and God setting the world to rights. Emma forced herself to keep her pace even but couldn’t stifle her sigh of relief as she rounded the corner and joined the hordes. A businessman let out a noise of irritation as Emma forced him to slow his pace when she merged into the foot traffic. Yes, this was better. She hurried up Broadway and headed for home.
Spring Street was insane. The stores ran the gamut from A-list designer shops to dive bars and bodegas. Beneath the display window of Alexander Woo, a ratty hipster strummed a guitar. In front of Balthazar, there was a hotdog vendor. The street was dotted with musicians and addicts and homeless and shoppers and tourists and construction crews and commuters and students. There was a French crêpe stand next to Emma’s favorite Thai place that was next to an organic vegan café. It was like somebody took everything that made New York New York—the art, the diversity, the music, the food, the bustle, the noise— and jammed it all onto one street. The street Emma called home.
Outside her building, a group of guys from her Abnormal Psychology class was coming out of the corner bodega.
“Hey IQ, what’s up tonight? Heading downtown?”
“Maybe.”
“Martin’s parents’ brownstone is on Waverly. Party’s on!”
“Okay, I’ll try to stop by.”
“Cool.”
The guys in her class had started calling her “IQ” freshman year. She was flattered at first, thinking it bore some reference to her intellect. A few months in, she discovered it was short for “Ice Queen.” That was fine with her too. Whatever.
Her elegant but inconspicuous building sat just down from Mother’s Ruin, her favorite pub, and next to a heavily graffitied retail space for rent. She waved to her doorman, who rushed to help her with her bags.
“Hey, Ms. Porter. Shopping, I see.”
“Hey, Jimmy. Yeah, just a few odds and ends.”
He glanced at the orange Hermes shopping bag and raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.
“You want me to take these up?”
“Yes, please, Jimmy.” She handed over the bags and pushed through the heavy door to the stairs, while Jimmy summoned the elevator.
As she climbed the seven flights, Emma felt pretty calm. It was just a date. People had them all the time. Normal people had them all the time. She was normal. Well, she was getting there, and this outing tonight was proof of that. She had met a cute guy. She liked him well enough, and he was taking her out. She was excited about it; well, the progress more than the date. Another box to check on the list. She could crow about it to her therapist next week. The guy, Tom, seemed excited
too, based on the aforementioned errant exclamation point. That, and the fact that she had actually heard him high-five a guy over the phone when she’d said yes.
Her bags were waiting by the door when she emerged from the seventh- floor landing. She fumbled with her key and pushed the door open with her butt as she scooped her purchases from the hallway floor.
As she walked into the small but tasteful apartment—well, huge and elegant by college standards but certainly low key for Emma—she was greeted by a squeal and then the vaguely familiar strains of Rod Stewart’s classic, “Tonight’s the Night,” so off-key it was barely recognizable.
“Jeez, Caroline, could you take it down a notch?”
“Nope. Can’t. Sorry.”
Caroline Fitzhugh had been Emma’s best friend since before they were born. That wasn’t an exaggeration. Their mothers had grown up together, had married men who were themselves best friends, and were neighbors in Georgetown as newlyweds. The women were inseparable until Emma’s mother crossed the line separating “life of the party” from “addict.” Their pregnancies were well-timed. It gave the two women a chance to rekindle their friendship, and it gave Emma’s mother a fleeting chance at sobriety. Their moms spent their pregnancies together, nearly every day for the nine months leading up to the girls’ arrival. Well, seven months and three weeks—Caroline was always in a rush to get places. After that, Emma’s family moved to Connecticut, Caroline’s to Georgia, and the girls saw each other on holidays and trips. Caroline knew Emma before. Before what one of her shrinks had euphemistically referred to as “the event.” Before she was Emma Porter. Before she was from a small town near Atlanta. Before. Caroline was one of a handful of people with that knowledge. She knew Emma, and she protected her with a ferocity that rivaled Emma’s father. Tonight, however,
was a different story. Tonight, Caroline was pushing her out of the nest.
It’s time, she had said.
Caroline popped a bottle of Veuve Clicquot way too expensive for pre-gaming, declaring a dispensation on Emma’s father’s strict alcohol ban, and poured them each a glass.
“One glass, Em, to loosen up.”
Emma answered her with a sip.
“Go get dressed. The LBD awaits.”
The “little black dress” to which she referred was the Versace black crepe safety pin dress. It was the sexiest thing either of them had ever seen. The sleeveless dress hit Emma mid-thigh and was accented
with mismatched gold safety pins at the waist and hip. Caroline had bought it for Emma on her credit card to avoid any questions from her father. He was generous to a fault, but anything remotely provocative was frowned upon. Emma garnered enough attention as it was, and a sexy dress only upped the ante. Now the dress was laying on her bed next to a pair of strappy sky-high heels and a small box holding a pair of diamond hoops. The outfit for the virgin sacrifice. She laughed to herself, then stopped abruptly, surprised by the term her thoughts had conjured: virgin. It was a word she never used because it had no meaning for her. She hated the word because the status of one’s virginity was inextricably linked to one’s past, and she couldn’t dwell on what she didn’t know. Therapists encouraged her to embrace a term that expressed her “emotional virginity,” but Emma never could think of one. Her shrink was not amused when she suggested “vaginal beginner”
and “hymenal newbie,” so they let it slide. She could be an actual virgin after all. The point was that it shouldn’t matter, and if everything went according to plan, after tonight it wouldn’t. She could pop her emotional and/or physical cherry and move on. At this point, she just wanted to get the damn thing over with.
They had hours before she had to meet Tom. JT, her driver and bodyguard, usually accompanied her out in the evening, but Caroline told him they were heading to a study group at a friend’s in the same building, so he had the night off. She was on her own, and she was thrilled.
Caroline pulled up the zipper on the dress and bounced around to Katy Perry, while Emma sipped tentatively on the same glass of bubbly.
“Oh Jeez, Em, just drink it. One glass won’t have you cross-eyed. It’ll calm your nerves.”
She was right. Emma was nervous. For obvious reasons.
Emma left Caroline at Mother’s, their local bar, with some friends and ordered an Uber to head to the Jane Hotel. As Tom had said, the bouncer, Fernand, was expecting her. Not that she would have had any trouble getting in anyway—she never did—but that dress was like a VIP pass. The group of people waiting gave a resigned sigh almost collectively as Emma deftly moved past them and entered the elegant bar.
Tom had a table he was guarding with his life, and she made a beeline for him. When a guy at the bar grabbed her arm as she passed, not hard, just enough to stop her, Emma paused, stared at the hand on her bicep, and then slowly looked up at him with a perfected impassive glare. Ice Queen indeed. He released her without a word, and she dropped into the seat across from Tom.
“Hey, Gorgeous. You look amazing.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t know what you like, so I ordered you a white wine.”
She rarely drank. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She drank in one of her self-defense classes. Jay, her instructor, had insisted that she know how to do some of the moves “impaired,” as he put it, so he’d fed her three beers and then had her train on the mat. She’d thrown up all over him.
The wine did relax her, and they chatted effortlessly. It took Emma nearly an hour to polish off the drink, and when she returned from the ladies’ room with a fresh coat of lip gloss, a second glass sat waiting.
What the hell. It was a big night.
It took her exactly four sips and ten minutes to realize what was happening.
Emma wasn’t normal. Her father, in an extreme effort to get control of their world, made sure of that, and at this moment she was thankful for it. Most girls would think the subtle blur of vision and the slight wave of nausea were due to nerves or too many drinks. But she knew exactly what was happening. She reached into her purse and texted her panic word, “lighthouse,” to JT, but he was off duty. It could take him hours.
She took a calming breath, keeping her heart rate as low as she could in her panic.
“I’ll be right back. I think I left my lip gloss in the bathroom.”
“I’ll go with you. You look pale.”
“No, no, I’m fine. Just dizzy from the wine, I guess. I’m a lightweight.”
She forced a giggle. That appeased him. He didn’t know she knew.
“Okay, I’ll be waiting.”
“Be right back,” she repeated.
Emma took deliberate steps. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Tom throw some cash on the table and pull a key card from his breast pocket. She needed to focus on making her way down the
hall. She couldn’t get help in the bar; a stumbling, slurring girl in a bar would only bolster Tom’s ruse. There was an elevator at the end, but as she made her way toward it, she stumbled and realized that it was exactly where Tom wanted her. She needed help or a hiding place, and she needed it fast. Whatever he had slipped in her drink was strong. The symptoms were hitting her fast. She moved down to a janitor’s closet. Locked. She started moving frantically hand over hand, keeping her balance on the wall, avoiding looking at the nauseating pattern of the wallpaper as it started to blur. Tom’s footsteps were heavy behind her as he closed in. She got to another door, pushed it open, and stumbled into the room. A group of surprised suits looked up as she blinked at them with terrified eyes. The man at the head of the table stood.
“Jesus, are you all right?”
“No. Help.”
She heard the man closest to her mutter, “she’s wasted.” The man at the head of the table moved like a flash. He was coming toward her, and she was losing her ability to discern whether she had put herself in more danger by stumbling into this room. He seemed to float toward her, and Emma started to shake.
“Not drunk. Drunk,” she slurred. “Drugged,” she amended. “Help.”
“Jesus.” He put his hands on her shoulders, and she instantly calmed.
Emma tried to shake the fog out of her head, but it only got worse.
When she looked up, she saw three of him. So, she looked straight ahead at his tie. A cornflower blue tie that hung between the open sides of his dark suit jacket. She grabbed it with both hands, crunching it in her fists. She tried to remember her training, but all that came out was a plea.
“Please.”
He put his arm around her protectively and calmly spoke.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
And with that soothing notion, she passed out in his arms, still clutching his cornflower blue tie.


Emma woke up nineteen hours later in a hospital room that looked like a suite at the Ritz. JT was standing at the side of the bed like a royal guard, a pissed off royal guard. He felt responsible for her indiscretion; she could feel his anger and guilt. Her father dozed, ashen, in an upholstered leather armchair. The night was a bit of a blur, and she ran through a timeline in her head to catch up. She had as much of it recalled as she probably ever would. Other than the mother of all headaches, she was otherwise uninjured. When she lifted her arm, the one without the IV, to move an itchy strand of hair from her face, the final few moments before she blacked out came flooding back. There, in her hand, was the cornflower blue tie, still knotted, with the length of it dangling down her forearm. It was wrapped around her palm and knuckles. JT informed her with a perplexed smirk that the nurses gave
up trying to pry it from her, and the man, who had not given anyone his name, had ended up pulling it over his head and wrapping it around her hand as they wheeled her away on a gurney.
Completely unconscious, she had refused to let the thing go.



*******
Chapter 1

Present Day
The Harlem Sentry had begun as a conspiracy blog. A crazy bastard named Farrell Whitaker had started it to expose GMOs and lead levels in city water and Hudson River polluters and sleeper cells and anything else that occurred to him. He wasn’t even taken seriously enough for anyone to refute his claims—the occasional alien abduction story that peppered the pages did nothing to help. Then one day about five years ago, he thought he saw a congressman sneaking out of a certain out-of-the-way club. A certain out-of-the-way gay club. A certain outof- the-way S & M leather bar gay club. A certain married, staunchly conservative congressman, in town for a UN event, sneaking out of a
certain out-of-the-way gay club with, eh hem, a companion. And just like that, Farrell Whitaker had suddenly become the highly respected journalist who headed up the most reliable online investigative news source in New York.
Emma had been working there a month, which was almost enough time to prove to her colleagues that she was an ardent, intelligent NYU grad and not some ditz Farrell wanted to fuck. Almost. So, when he called her into his office that day and gave her the good news, she knew the other writers would give her a collective WTF, and she didn’t give one shit. Zero shits given.
Farrell’s office looked like one of those basement rooms in a police procedural where a stalker has established his base of operation. Only, rather than one object of fixation, Farrell’s obsessions ranged from political corruption to environmental toxins to animal abuse to secret government programs. A whiteboard in the corner had the ominous headline: “White Hat/Black Ops” scrawled across the top and pictures of kidnapped executives and young girls taped haphazardly beneath. Another had what looked to be a pharmaceutical pricing flowchart.
Farrell could be the poster child for an ADD/OCD combo.
The charming, if neglected, arched, leaded-glass windows overlooked elevated train tracks where the subways emerged from Manhattan tunnels. His office, despite a huge cash infusion from one of the largest news media organizations in the country, had a gritty feel that Emma was sure Farrell loved. His desk was piled high with magazines, newspapers, and political pamphlets. Farrell, in his paranoia, felt that “lofi” was a safer way to research—Big Brother was watching online. A wall in the corner was tacked full of photos of congressmen, movie stars, news anchors, and athletes. There was a burial ground of outdated technology: fax machines, old laptops, and disk drives, some of which he still used. Farrell loved the looks on people’s faces when he showed up to an interview with a handheld analog recorder and asked if he could “tape” the meeting. Amid the chaos and the junk, Farrell sat
behind his desk, black Adidas propped up dangerously close to a triple espresso, with a cutting-edge tablet nestled in his lap. His frizzy dark blond hair was pulled into a ponytail. He looked like a retired BMX racer. He glanced up with a warm smile, the eye of his office hurricane, and didn’t waste a second jumping in.
“Emma, take a seat. You may think you’re getting canned, but you’re not getting canned. No canning today. Just good news. Very, very good news.” Emma glanced over at his sideboard and spotted the nearly empty pot of coffee resting on the burner.
She often wondered if Farrell had a more serious undiagnosed mental disorder beyond his fixations. He rambled like a lunatic, but he said he had good news, so she just looked at him with a raised brow.
“Nathan Hamilton Bishop. Not Nathaniel, not Nate—Nathan. Born— Greenwich, Connecticut; age—twenty-eight; height—six-two; weight—185; hair—brown….”
She listened to Farrell rattle off Nathan’s stats and thought how incomplete the description sounded. He failed to mention that Nathan’s eyes were a captivating emerald green or that his eyelashes were so long that as a boy he had trimmed them. Farrell omitted that Nathan’s hair curled at the ends when he wore it long and that his crooked smile revealed a barely perceptible chipped incisor that he had never had repaired.
“Chestnut,” she murmured.
“Pardon?”
“His hair. Never mind.”
“Andover, Dartmouth, HBS. Current president, soon-to-be CEO of Knightsgrove-Bishop, arms dealer to the stars . . .”
“Defense contractor.”
“Tomato, tom-ah-to,” he continued as though she hadn’t chimed in. “Fuck buddy to the rich and famous, charlatan, bon vivant, womanizer . . .”
“I know who he is,” she snapped. Boy, did she know.
“Well then, grab a jacket because hell has frozen over.”
Emma waited.
“After routinely requesting an interview every month since he took office . . .”
“He’s the president of a company, not a country,” she corrected.
“My sweet, naive girl.” He smiled kindly and looked at her as though she had asked if Santa Claus were real. Emma mused that he would have patted her head if she hadn’t been sitting across the desk.
“Where was I? Ah, the interview.” Are you sitting down?”
“Sitting.”
“Seatbelt buckled?”
“Farrell.”
“Sorry. Nathan Bishop has agreed to not one, but a series of interviews, a six-week series on himself and the love of his life.”
She thought she might throw up for a second.
“Who?” she choked meekly, not wanting to know the answer.
“Nathan Bishop. Emma, are you even listening to me?”
“No, I mean the ‘love of his life’ part.”
“Oh, isn’t it obvious? The company. Not sure Bishop is capable of meaningful human interaction.”
She was too relieved to respond.
“He requested you.”
“He what?”
“He requested you. You’re doing the interview. I didn’t even question it. When an ungettable guy agrees to something like this after nearly two years of trying, I don’t care if he wants the Ghost of Christmas Past doing the interview.
No. Fucking. Way.
Her mind was going in a million different directions, so she kept it simple.
“Why?”
“I think it’s obvious.”
The color left her face. Normally, she was the first person to think her looks were the reason for something, but this was Nathan Bishop. The most recent photo on his image search was of him with the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover model. This wasn’t about Emma’s looks, but it couldn’t be . . . . She huffed a breath and sat back in the unsteady chair.
“Why?” she repeated, feeling ridiculous.
“Um, because he has eyes in his head. And if this were still just a nickel- and-dime blog, I would add ‘and a dick in his pants.’ But we aren’t, so I can’t.”
“So, no illusions that I’m a talented upstart,” she replied blandly. In a strange irony, sometimes her looks were a blow to her ego, something Caroline deftly referred to as “the problems of the pretty.” She usually added a dramatic boohoo to emphasize her point.
“You are talented, but I doubt Nathan Bishop read your piece on arsenic levels in Sheepshead Bay.”
Emma shrugged her acknowledgment.
“Look, everybody has a way of getting their foot in the door. Me? I’m willing to risk a restraining order. You? Well . . .” he trailed off.
“So, take advantage of the fact that I’m attractive and go get the story of the summer?”
“Attractive isn’t even close to the word I’d use, but yes, take advantage of . . . this.” He gestured to her from head-to-toe and turned to his
tablet. “And if you want to sue me, I’ll add your lawsuit to the pile.
He wants you at,” he paused as he scrolled through the email, “noon tomorrow. Lunch in his office. If tomorrow is like every Friday, he will just be back from his weekly squash game—no doubt sweating out a hangover and sabotaging some unwitting political campaign.”
“I’ll be there.” She ignored the rest of Farrell’s comments, not because they bothered her, or even because she thought they were absurd, but because the first thing he said was ringing in her ears so sweetly that she didn’t want to let the sound go: he wants you.

​

Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
Debbie Baldwin is a successful print media and television writer. She is a graduate of Princeton University and the University of Virginia School of Law.
Debbie and her husband live in Saint Louis, Missouri with their puggle, Pebbles. They have three children in college. False Front is her first novel.


Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads

​

Picture
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

Jun 2
kickoff at Silver Dagger Book Tours
Bedazzled By Books

Jun 3
Craving Lovely Books
Twisted Book Ramblings

Jun 4
All Things Dark & Dirty
The Scratching Post

Jun 5
A Pinch of Bookdust
Inside the Insanity

Jun 7
authors from everywhere

Jun 8
Insane Books
Celticlady's Reviews

Jun 9
Musings From An Addicted Reader

Jun 10
Rhonda's Reading Nook

Jun 11
Midnight Book Reader

Jun 12
Scrupulous Dreams

Jun 15
The Book Dragon

Jun 16
Authors & Readers Book Corner

Jun 17
Momma Says: To Read or Not to Read
Sylv.net

Jun 18
The Pulp and Mystery Shelf
#BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee

Jun 19
Word Processor, Romance, Cats, Kids and Creed

Jun 22
Maiden of the Pages
Girl with Pen

Jun 23
nanasbookreviews
Dragon's Den

Jun 24
Book Corner News and Reviews
Books, Authors, Blogs

Jun 25
The Book junkie Reads . . .
Books all things paranormal and romance

Jun 26
the bookworm lodge
The Sexy Nerd 'Revue'

Jun 29
Books a Plenty Book Reviews
T's Stuff

Jun 30
Plain Talk Book Marketing
Readeropolis

Jul 1
eBook Addicts
The Bookshelf Fairy

Jul 2
Valerie Ullmer | Romance Author
Teatime and Books
​

a Rafflecopter giveaway
Picture
58 Comments
Stephanie Jones
6/2/2020 05:03:06 am

love the book cover!!

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:19:42 am

Thanks so much! I hope you enjoy the book.

Reply
Beppe DM
6/2/2020 05:48:03 am

Amazing cover

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:20:41 am

Thanks so much! I hope you like the book.

Reply
Shirley Ann Speakman
6/2/2020 06:32:49 am

I enjoyed the excerpts the book sounds really good and the cover is great too, best wishes with your book tour Debbie.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:21:06 am

Thank you Shirley!

Reply
Beyond Comps
6/2/2020 07:22:01 am

Great cover!

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:21:35 am

Thanks. I hope you enjoy the book!

Reply
Bernie Wallace
6/2/2020 07:35:22 am

I like the lighthouse on the cover. Congrats on the release.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:22:12 am

Thanks, Bernie! I hope you like the book.

Reply
Kelly D
6/2/2020 08:30:36 am

I like the cover, it looks like an exciting book.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:22:49 am

Thanks Kelly! I think it is an exciting read. I hope you enjoy it.

Reply
Wendy Jensen
6/2/2020 10:23:20 am

Fantastic, beautiful book cover.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:23:36 am

Thanks, Wendy! I hope you enjoy the book.

Reply
Sara Zielinski
6/2/2020 11:58:22 am

This book has a fantastic cover.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:24:21 am

Thanks, Sara! I hope you like the book.

Reply
Rita Wray
6/2/2020 12:18:17 pm

Sounds like a good book.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:24:53 am

I think so! Thanks, Rita!

Reply
Victoria Scott
6/2/2020 01:38:39 pm

Sounds amazing! Thank you for sharing!

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:25:15 am

Thank you, Victoria!

Reply
Sherry
6/2/2020 01:53:13 pm

I think the cover is intense.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:26:15 am

Thanks, Sherry. I hope you enjoy the book!

Reply
Calvin
6/2/2020 01:57:42 pm

Sounds mysterious and interesting to me, great book release. Cheers, and stay safe.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:26:40 am

Thanks, Calvin. You too!

Reply
wendy hutton
6/2/2020 02:36:14 pm

great cover, this book sounds very interesting

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:27:07 am

Thanks, Wendy! I hope you enjoy reading it.

Reply
Susan Smith
6/2/2020 03:11:02 pm

Sounds like a great book. I like the cover.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:27:35 am

Thank you, Susan! I hope you like the book!

Reply
Stephanie
6/2/2020 03:21:11 pm

I do enjoy Linda Howard. So I'm sure I'll like this book as well.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:28:05 am

Thanks, Stephanie!

Reply
Elaine
6/2/2020 05:19:22 pm

Enjoyed the excerpt.Sounds like a good book

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:28:33 am

Thanks, Elaine. I hope you enjoy it!

Reply
Debbie P
6/2/2020 06:22:33 pm

This sounds like a great read. Cool cover!

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:29:05 am

Thanks, Debbie! I hope you enjoy the book.

Reply
lynn clayton
6/2/2020 08:14:53 pm

oh nice cover looks like a great read

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:29:48 am

Thank you, Lynn. I hope you like the book!

Reply
Mary Cloud
6/3/2020 02:53:59 pm

No questions - the cover is nice

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:30:22 am

Thanks, Mary. I hope you enjoy the book!

Reply
James Robert
6/4/2020 07:07:57 am

Your book sounds like a great read and thank you for sharing it with us.

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 10:31:26 am

You're welcome, and thank you for commenting. I hope you enjoy the book!

Reply
Amy F
6/5/2020 04:56:07 pm

Great cover design!! Sounds like an amazing suspense!

Reply
debbie baldwin link
6/5/2020 09:17:37 pm

Thank you, Amy! I hope you enjoy the book :)

Reply
Elizabeth Brooks link
6/12/2020 11:44:44 am

love the cover

Reply
Maria
6/12/2020 09:39:35 pm

WOW this looks amazing, love the cover and the title.

Reply
Emily Gibb
6/12/2020 10:19:08 pm

This is so awesome! LOVE the cover! OMG!

Reply
Dave Gibb
6/12/2020 11:07:26 pm

wow awesome cover

Reply
latisha depoortere
6/14/2020 10:28:48 pm

Love the cover Thank you for sharing!

Reply
Ellie Wright
6/21/2020 11:47:57 am

I love the stormy skies and the lighthouse on the cover. It conveys a sense of impending doom and mystery.

Reply
Shirley O
6/21/2020 10:23:48 pm

I like the cover, it is mysterious.

Reply
Victoria Alexander
6/23/2020 09:18:21 pm

Great excerpt, thanks for sharing!

Reply
MarciaF
6/28/2020 02:38:41 pm

Ominous looking cover that gives a tinge of what to expect.

Reply
Gail Lindsey link
6/28/2020 02:43:45 pm

The cover looks really sharp! Love the colors and the intricate dagger!

Reply
Dana Rodriguez
6/29/2020 01:40:31 pm

This sounds like a great book! Thanks for sharing!

Reply
Tracy Robertson
6/29/2020 08:38:19 pm

Ohh, this sounds interesting! Thank you for the free sample, it has me hooked and I want to read on to find out about Emma. Love the cover!

Reply
DeAnna Keller
7/1/2020 04:56:00 pm

I really like the cover and sounds like an interesting read!

Reply
angie lilly link
7/2/2020 11:24:48 am

I really like this cover. I love how the letters fade into black!

Reply
Laurie Nykaza
7/2/2020 11:03:58 pm

I like the cover looks like a very interesting book to read too.

Reply
Cassandra D
7/2/2020 11:07:48 pm

The cover looks very interesting.

Reply



Leave a Reply.

    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture

    Categories

    All
    Action
    Activity Book
    Adventure
    African American
    Alt History
    Anthology
    Apocalyptic
    Audiobook
    Australian
    Bdsm
    Billionaire Romance
    Biography
    Chick Lit
    Childrens
    Christian
    Coloring Book
    Comedy
    Coming Of Age
    Contemporary Fiction
    Contemporaryromance
    Contemporary Romance
    Cookbook
    Cozymystery
    Cozy Mystery
    Crime
    Cyberpunk
    Dark
    Dark Romance
    Drama
    Dystopian
    Educational
    Eroticromance
    Erotic Romance
    Fairytale
    Fantasy
    Financial
    Giveaway-hop
    Gothic
    Health-and-wellness
    Historical
    Historicalromance
    Historical-romance
    Holiday
    Horror
    Humorous
    Inspirational
    Legal-thriller
    Lgbtq
    Literaryfiction
    Mafiaromance
    Mafia-romance
    Magicrealism
    Magic-realism
    Mcromance
    Mc-romance
    Memoir
    Menage
    Middlegrade
    Middle-grade
    Military
    Mystery
    Newadult
    New Adult
    Nonfiction
    Paranormal
    Paranormalromance
    Paranormal-romance
    Parenting
    Pets
    Poetry
    Postapocalyptic
    Pulp-fiction
    Reverseharemromance
    Reverse-harem-romance
    Rockstarromance
    Rockstar-romance
    Romance
    Romanticcomedy
    Romantic-comedy
    Romanticsuspense
    Romantic-suspense
    Satirical
    Sciencefiction
    Science Fiction
    Scifi
    Scifiromance
    Scifi-romance
    Selfhelp
    Shortstories
    Short-stories
    Speculativefiction
    Speculative Fiction
    Sportsromance
    Steampunk
    Supernatural
    Suspense
    Sweetromance
    Thriller
    Timetravel
    Time-travel
    Urban
    Urbanfantasy
    Urban Fantasy
    Western
    Womensfiction
    Womens Fiction
    Ya
    Youngadult
    Young-adult
    Youngadultya
    Young Adult Ya

    Picture

    Archives

    March 2023
    February 2023
    January 2023
    December 2022
    November 2022
    October 2022
    September 2022
    August 2022
    July 2022
    June 2022
    May 2022
    April 2022
    March 2022
    February 2022
    January 2022
    December 2021
    November 2021
    October 2021
    September 2021
    August 2021
    July 2021
    June 2021
    May 2021
    April 2021
    March 2021
    February 2021
    January 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    October 2020
    September 2020
    August 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    February 2020
    January 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    October 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016

© 2021 Silver Dagger Book Tours