The Harleigh Sinclair Series - Book Tour and Giveaway

Finding lost artifacts? Not a problem.
​Doing it with a too-cocky billionaire? Impossible. 

Harleigh Sinclair and the Raiders of the Lost Ankh
The Harleigh Sinclair Series Book 1
by Tamara Grantham
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Adventure  

Getting confessions from notorious serial killers? Easy.
Stealing priceless Egyptian artifacts? No problem.
Doing it with a cocky, too-handsome-for-his-own-good bad boy? Impossible.

My name is Harleigh Sinclair, and I’m a Neotact. That’s a fancy word for a person who has special powers using touch. My special power? I can touch a person, see into their mind, and find any object they’ve physically contacted. Comes in handy when you’re employed by San Antonio’s wealthiest entrepreneur who’s in the business of finding lost relics. However, my job description does come with a few hitches.

My most recent client is a man named Jagg Ransom. He’s arrogant and too attractive for his own good. My mission is to purchase an ancient Egyptian ankh from him and deliver it to my boss. Sounds easy, right?

But Ransom refuses to cooperate, so I have no choice but to break into his apartment and steal the location of the amulet from his mind. Bad idea. Like, really bad idea.
I find out that this relic happens to be the relic that gave five percent of Earth’s population Neotact powers. I also learn that Ransom isn’t who he says he is, and I’m forced onto a path that will take me from my home in Texas to a hidden dungeon of a Scottish castle, and then into the heart of a deadly Egyptian desert. Finding the ankh is hard enough. Fighting my feelings for Jagg Ransom is worse.

If I can’t find the ankh in time, not only will I be out of a job, but I’ll lose everything I value—including my own life.


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​CHAPTER THREE

I waited near the bar at Bohanan’s, clenching my gloved hands, resisting the urge to move the strands of hair tickling my cheeks. Lexi had curled it in flowing waves, then styled it in a loose knot at the back of my neck, carefully arranging a few curls to fall down my face. The scent of hair product—natural botanical leave-in-conditioner, as Lexi had informed me—left a light fragrant scent lingering in the air.
You had to give it to my sister, she was a genius when it came to fashion and beauty. As I pulled at my skirt, my exposed legs felt cold in the air conditioning. Sitting here waiting was wearing on me. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Where was this guy? Jagg Ransom. Sounded like a con-artist or some rich schmuck. If he’d purchased the amulet, he must’ve been.
I groaned under my breath. This evening couldn’t get over soon enough.
The host approached me. “Miss Sinclair, I have your table ready, if you’ll follow me.”
Nodding, I sauntered appropriately while wearing heels. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know how to walk in them. Doing previous jobs for Greyson had given me a certain amount of training, and I’d learned my way around a pair of stilettos. Didn’t make me comfortable in them, but I could hold my own.
Soft conversations came from the people sitting around the tables covered with white cloths. Lamps centered on each surface gave a muted light to the space. The host stopped near a table by the back wall, but I politely cleared my throat.
“Would it be too much trouble to be seated by the window?” I pointed to an empty spot near the wall of glass overlooking Houston Street.
“No problem at all. This way.”
I followed him, then sat in the cushioned chair as he placed a menu in front of me. I ordered breadsticks and a water. When he left, I peered out the window. Round bulbs glowed around the historic Majestic Theater sign across the street, and tall buildings rose in the distance against a dark evening sky. A few people walked past.
It took something out of me to sit here and pretend to be someone I wasn’t.
Get the amulet’s location, I reminded myself. That’s all that matters.
My basket of breadsticks arrived, and I nibbled on one as I watched people walk past outside. Ransom should’ve been easy enough to notice. I’d spot his ride first. A Porsche or Lamborghini. Maybe a Lexus. I’d know for sure when he stepped out of his car. Most likely he’d be wearing a tailored suit. It wouldn’t be store bought. That wouldn’t be his type. He’d wear a sensible monochromatic tie. Nothing too flashy. His shoes would be the giveaway. They’d be recently polished, no scuffs, no marks, nothing that would hint at spending any time outdoors or walking through mud puddles. His shoes would tread only on the marble tiles of billion-dollar estates.
A shadow loomed. My gaze wandered up to a mammoth of a man standing over me.
“Sinclair?” he asked, his voice deep and laced with a dangerous edge.
I gave him a shrewd glare in an attempt to hide my surprise. “Ransom?” I stood, berating myself for not recognizing him.
“Yeah,” he said casually, his tone bored and uninterested. “We meeting tonight?”
“We were meeting,” I answered. “Twenty minutes ago.”
He shrugged, looked past me, and grabbed a breadstick off the table. “Damn I’m starving,” he said as he ripped off a bite with his teeth.
I watched him eat with one-part shock and another part disgust. Who was this idiot? I stood tall and placed my hands on my hips, though the top of my head barely reached his chin. He must’ve been part Tongan or Samoan. His deeply tanned skin hinted at a life spent outdoors. Bleached brunette hair had been braided into cornrows that hung down to his shoulders. His frame rivaled any bodybuilder, and his suit hugged his muscles so tightly, I was surprised the seams hadn’t ripped.
He wore no tie, and beneath his purple suit jacket with leather elbow patches, he sported a Hawaiian shirt. When I glanced at his feet, my shock deepened.
He wore a pair of orange flip-flops.
A drop of anger simmered in my chest. Being so incredibly wrong about someone didn’t happen often, and annoyance clawed at me that I’d let it happen now.
He grabbed a chair, spun it around backward, and sat.
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Harleigh Sinclair and the Ice Crusade
The Harleigh Sinclair Series Book 2 

Finding lost artifacts is my specialty, but when an Inuit artifact is hidden in the wilds of Alaska, finding it could be more difficult than I’ve bargained for.

My name is Harleigh Sinclair. I’ve been using my abilities as a Neotact to find ancient relics with special powers. After teaming up with a man named Jagg Ransom—a Crimson Knight with a mysterious past—we’re on the search for five lost artifacts with immense powers.

Our current quest takes us to a remote village in the Alaskan wilderness. But when we arrive, we’re greeted by angry villagers who blame us for the disappearance of one of their trackers. He’s been kidnapped by my former coworker, and the two are on the path to find the relic before us.

If we can’t find the relic first, the object will fall into the hands of an evil organization called the Blood Raiders. Worse, we’re not alone. The Inuit artifact is guarded by a giant beast of lore—one that would rather see us dead than accomplish our mission.

But failure isn’t an option. If the Blood Raiders succeed in obtaining the relic, they’ll use it in a plot to destroy the world as we know it.


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​I stood at the doorway leading into the vaults of Mr. Walter Prescott’s most prized Neotact artifacts and debated how to steal one. Muted lights reflected over the black square of glass across from me. A hand scanner.
“No keypad. Right,” I said under my breath before pulling off my leather gloves. Air conditioning hummed from the vents of the high-rise tower in San Antonio’s downtown district, and I let the cool air wash over my exposed skin.
A cold shiver skittered down my spine, and I darted a glance at the dimly lit hallway stretching behind me. If things went south, it was my only escape. My new manager, King Khamron, had gotten me this far, but he’d stayed on the bottom floor near the building’s entrance to keep an eye out.
Shaking my head, I turned my attention to the scanner. The glass interface seemed to taunt me. My boss would kill me if I couldn’t break inside.
Why did it have to be a handprint scanner? Why couldn’t they use a no frills, super reliable—and easily hijacked—keypad?
As I concentrated, I sighed in frustration. A jolt of energy sparked through my fingertips. The electrical pulses had gotten stronger since I’d returned from Egypt two weeks ago, and I chalked it up to being exposed to the legendary ankh artifact. Darrell Brownstein, a convicted serial killer and Blood Raider, had planned to kill me with it, but instead, I’d used the ankh against him. He was dead now, along with a dozen of his followers.
Still, there were other Blood Raiders out there intent on taking the Neotact artifacts, which had led me to standing here at the vault of Walter Prescott, father of the famed Jagg Ransom, debating how to break in.
Jagg. I shook my head as an image of his ruggedly handsome face intruded on my memories. I hadn’t seen much of him since we’d returned from Egypt. A week ago, he’d told me he was traveling. Didn’t say where. Hadn’t even texted me since.
Long strands of brunette hair came loose from my ponytail and tickled my cheeks. As I pushed them away from my face, I once again attempted to concentrate on the hand scanner. Jagg Ransom was nothing but a distraction. The idea of turning around and telling King that I’d failed wasn’t a pleasant prospect.
I glanced up at the glass doors barring the vault. I could always break through the glass, but I was sure every security sensor in the building would start blaring the moment I did it.
No, I’d have to be creative about getting inside. I tapped my fingers on my lips, noticing the little electrical pulses popping at my skin like rubber bands. Odd that my powers were reacting this way after touching the ankh.
What if my ability isn’t just different? I asked myself. What if it’s more powerful?
With a deep inhale, I forced my doubts aside and placed my hand against the glass of the hand scanner. My heart raced, and I hoped the scanner couldn’t detect a person’s anxiety through its circuits. If so, I’d get fried in a heartbeat.
A yellow line glowed, starting at the top and moving down. I focused on sensing the last person’s hand that had touched the screen. Closing my eyes, I paid attention to the imprint of every swirl, every arch, every loop. Then, I sent a surge of energy into my hand, morphing it until it matched each of the previously used fingerprints.
I held my breath. If this didn’t work, and I got caught, I’d land in jail faster than I could blink.
Please work, please work, I chanted under my breath. Sweat beaded on my brow as I stared at the scanner.
Maybe it had been Jagg’s father’s hand that had been here. Maybe it had been Jagg himself. With that thought, my heart gave a sudden leap, and I could only imagine how angry Jagg Ransom would be if he knew I was breaking into his father’s prized vault.
Concentrate, I reminded myself, the yellow light still scanning up and down. A single beep chimed, and the light turned green. I released a pent-up breath. The door slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing the interior of the vault.

Tamara Grantham is the award-winning author of more than a dozen books and novellas, including the Olive Kennedy: Fairy World MD series, the Shine novellas, and the Twisted Ever After trilogy. Dreamthief, the first book of her Fairy World MD series, won first place for fantasy in INDIEFAB’S Book of the Year Awards, a RONE award for best New Adult Romance, and is a #1 bestseller on Amazon with over 200 five-star reviews.

Tamara holds a Bachelor’s degree in English from Lamar University. She has been a featured speaker at multiple writing conferences, and she has been a panelist at Comic Con Wizard World speaking on the topic of female leads. For her first published project, she collaborated with New York-Times bestselling author, William Bernhardt, in writing the Shine series.
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Born and raised in Texas, Tamara now lives with her husband and five children in Wichita, Kansas. She rarely has any free time, but when the stars align and she gets a moment to relax, she enjoys reading fantasy novels, taking nature walks--which fuel her inspiration for creating fantastical worlds--and watching every Star Wars or Star Trek movie ever made. You can find her online at www.TamaraGrantham.com.


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THE MAGIC BEHIND THE MYTHS

Myths. I love them. When I was a kid, I remember reading Egyptian mythology and being transported to another world. I immersed myself in the tales of Egyptian gods and their magical powers—of Thoth and how he ate the hearts of the unworthy, and of Ra the sun god and how he was said to be the first pharaoh of Egypt, of Cleopatra and how she was the last queen of Egypt. Those stories stuck with me.

It wasn’t just the Egyptian myths that fascinated me, but all mythologies—Greek, Chinese, Norse, Aztec, and more. I also loved reading fantasy novels, and it struck me how closely the ideas of magic and fantasy aligned with mythology.

But there was one story in particular that continued to fascinate me. It was the true story of how archaeologist Howard Carter discovered King Tut’s tomb, and the curse that followed. The curse especially fascinated me. The story goes that a curse was put on Egyptian tombs, and especially the tombs of pharaohs, that would kill anyone who entered. After several members of Carter’s team died, their deaths were attributed to the curse.

That’s when I began playing the “what if?” game. Just as a side note, the “what if?” game has led me to writing many novels, but in this case, it gave me the idea not just for a novel, but for an entire world which would span through a five-book series.

What if an archeologist like Dr. Carter found a relic, say an ankh, that released an Egyptian plague? And what if that plague happened to give a percentage of Earth’s population special abilities? But the abilities needed to have limits, so what if those powers could only be used when said person physically touched something?

This was the start of Harleigh Sinclair. I called these people with special abilities “Neotacts.” Meaning new tactiles. For my main character, Harleigh Sinclair, she could touch a person and see any object they’d touched. It comes in handy when she’s looking for lost relics. My idea for book one was to have her looking for the legendary lost ankh—the original relic that gave five percent of Earth’s population special abilities.
But the ideas for these stories didn’t stop there. What if she were to explore the world looking for these relics? What if I were to include mythologies from different cultures that fed into her adventures? And… what if I patterned her after Indiana Jones, wrote five books, and gave each of the books a title that plays into a pun on the famed adventurer: Raiders of the Lost Ankh, The Ice Crusade, Temple of the Moon, The Bristol Skull, and The Trial of Destiny.

So far, I’ve written three of the five books. Writing them is an adventure itself as I’m able to immerse myself in the legends and myths of cultures I love. I’ve explored Scotland, Egypt, Alaska, Russia, and Mexico, but I plan to research more places as I write the final two books.

However, there’s one myth I haven’t yet discussed that ties all the books together with a nice bow—it’s the legend of King Arthur, and throughout all five books, Harleigh Sinclair is searching for Excalibur, which is another of my favorite myths. To say I’ve enjoyed writing these books is an understatement, and I hope readers are able to feel my enthusiasm as they read the adventures of Harleigh Sinclair.

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