Unsung Heroes - by Diane Kelly

I’d been working in the tax industry for over 15 years when I first learned of IRS special agents. These criminal investigators are essentially “tax cops,” making sure tax cheats pay their fair share so that you and I don’t have to shoulder an unfair financial burden.

When I first began writing my Death and Taxes series, which stars a criminal investigator for the IRS, I performed research to learn what IRS special agents do and how they do it. I read over facts and statistics about tax fraud. I subscribed to email alerts from the Treasury’s office of financial enforcement. I also interviewed a group of special agents. I was very impressed! They were incredibly smart, driven, attractive, and physically fit. They work hard and take personal risks. I’m so grateful for what they do! The special agents offered me lots of interesting and important information. I took copious notes, even attended the trial of a tax preparer accused of fraud so that I could see justice in action. I learned a lot about what it’s like to be a special agent.

Then I sat down to write my book. I took the truth and played with it, rolling it around like it was Play-Doh, mixing the colors and forming it into different shapes. It’s a fiction writer’s job to create an interesting story and that often means bending the truth for the sake of the story. Just as well-behaved women rarely make history, well-behaved heroines are not as entertaining as ones who break the rules.

Tara Holloway, the special agent who stars in my Death and Taxes series, is hardly a model agent. She pursues justice at all costs, even if it means doing things that, in reality, would get her fired or land her butt in jail. In writing my series, one of my hopes was that I could introduce people to the fascinating world of special agents and create some appreciation for the people who do this tough job. To that end, I’d like to sort out fact from fiction.

FICTION: Tara and her fellow agents operate by the seat of their pants, making snap decisions on the fly without approval from their superiors.

FACT: IRS special agents carefully plan their investigations and actions in advance, with input and approval from those up their chain of command.

FICTION: Tara accesses taxpayer data without authorization.

FACT: IRS special agents are not permitted to look up taxpayer data willy nilly and can be terminated for improperly accessing information.

FICTION: Tara and the other agents combine their personal and work lives, sometimes driving personal vehicles on the job and running personal errands on work time.

FACT: IRS special agents drive only government vehicles while on the job and do not drive them on personal errands.

FICTION: Tara is a sharpshooter who hits everything she aims for and can shoot things out of a person’s hand at long range.

FACT: Fact may not be so far from fiction here. Special agents are required to re-certify on their weapons on a regular basis. So, yep, they not only know numbers, they know their guns, too.

Many of my readers have told me that they first learned of IRS special agents via my novels. Do you know of any other unsung heroes with unusual jobs? Tell us about them!

One person who posts a comment today will win a copy of DEATH, TAXES, AND A FRENCH MANICURE, book #1 in my Death and Taxes series. The winner will be posted around 9:00 pm Central Time. Look for book #2, DEATH, TAXES, AND A SKINNY NO-WHIP LATTE, in bookstores now. Read an excerpt at www.dianekelly.com.

It's March already?

Where have the last 3 months gone? March Madness is on the horizon, Duke plays Carolina in Cameron tomorrow, and Baby Alex is already 3 months old. Craziness!

I had originally planned to go back to work in April, but that was back when I figured we'd get a spot in his sister's daycare. Well, we will, but probably not until June, but possibly as late as September.

September! Yikes! Considering he was born at the end of November...yeah, there's no way I can stay on maternity leave for 9 months. Even June is pushing it, but is more doable.

But in the end, having the extra time at home is going to be a blessing. Not only do I have more time to spend with the cute little guy, but I've decided to put it to advantage and really get some good writing done.

At Gemma's suggestion, I decided to apply for the Nook First program through Barnes & Noble. I'm not really a huge fan of exclusivity agreements as a matter of principle, but since Nook First is just 30 days and is only for new releases, I figured it was worth an experiment.



I'm super excited to announce that Barnes & Noble has selected Pointe of No Return as the May 14 Nook First pick! B&N only spotlights 4 books per month in the Nook First program, so this is really cool.

But this means that Pointe will only be available as a NookBook for the first month, so all other readers will have to wait until June 13. So I've decided to run an ARC contest right now. Leave a comment and you'll be entered to win an ARC of Pointe of No Return once it's ready. It's still in revisions at the moment, but I'm working hard to get it ready to publish in May, so hope to have the ARC ready to be sent in April.

Pointe is the sequel to Codename: Dancer. Dani is assigned to understudy her nemesis Hadley in the Nutcracker. Which is a big honor for a freshman, except it means she won't get a chance to dance in the performance. So when Hadley mysteriously goes missing, Dani doesn't really have any incentive to try to find her. Except knowing Dani, she won't stand by when there's a mystery to uncover!

It's got kidnapping, a drug ring, dirty politicians, and the "Real Trophy Wives of Scottsdale." Throw in some great dancing and you've got "Pointe of No Return!"

So consider this an IOU. If you win, I'll send you an e-book copy in the format of your choice in April.

And for now, enjoy the first chapter!

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Normally it would be pervy for a middle-aged man to touch a teenager’s rear. But there hasn’t been anything normal about my life ever since I moved to Arizona earlier this fall.

“Miss Spevak, your lines are a disgrace.”

“Point your toes!”

“Posture, Miss Spevak! Lift your carriage and lengthen your body!”

“You ladies dance like apes!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to tuck your buttocks?”

That last one might be cause for sexual harassment complaints anywhere else, but not here. I’m a student at Mountain Shadows Academy of the Arts, majoring in dance. I divide my days between ballet and biology, tap and trigonometry, hip hop and history.

“Well, Miss Spevak?” Grigor Dmilov, the legendary principal dancer from the Phoenix Ballet, towered over my five-foot-three frame. His dark eyes bored into me as he pretended to wait for an answer that didn’t really matter since the question was rhetorical anyway – dancers aren’t allowed to talk in class. He used to intimidate me when I first came here.

Oh, who am I kidding? He still intimidates me. I just don’t cry in the shower after class anymore.

Much.

The difference now is that I know corrections are an important part of the process. We spend six hours every day in the studio, striving for perfection. Sometimes it felt like our teachers loved to torture us, but they were just trying to get us to live up to our potential and beyond. Getting corrections was a compliment because it showed that the teachers wanted to nurture your talent.

Not being noticed at all was far more damaging to your career. Nobody wanted to be invisible.

I stood straighter, lifting my rib cage and tucking my derriere under as I prepared to bend my knees and lower myself to the ground in a grand plié. I have a natural tendency to slouch, so even though I’ve been dancing for years, I still have to consciously remind myself not to. It may be more comfortable, but it definitely doesn’t look very nice. Monsieur Dmilov pushed on the back of my thigh to verify that I’d engaged my gluts, then satisfied that I had readjusted my alignment, moved on to his next victim.

The class raced through the positions – first, second, fourth, fifth – skipping third since it was useless, finally finishing with a grand port de bras to stretch our bodies. As I leaned forward, dropping to the ground with a graceful sweeping motion before straightening back up again, I caught the accompanist’s eye and smiled.

It was a standard barre exercise, just like the start of class on any other day. Only it wasn’t any other day. Today was Nutcracker audition day.

The nervous energy in the theatre was palpable. The next ninety minutes would determine how we’d spend the rest of the fall semester. What roles would we dance? A soldier or a soloist?

I looked around the stage at a sea of clones. In their black leotards, pink tights, satin toe shoes, slim physiques, and hair pulled back into a tight bun, the other girls looked almost identical to me, like a genetic experiment gone awry. At first glance, the only way to tell us all apart was by skin tone and hair color.

I wondered whether this was intentional. By tamping down our individual fashion sense in class, the underlying message was that we were not prima ballerinas. Yet. Most of us would be dancing in the corps, where our only responsibility was to perform choreography in a large group, nothing more. Standing out in the corps de ballet would mean you were doing something wrong, since the group was supposed to move as one body. The only time you wanted to be invisible.

A tall order for a group of girls who all had been the star back at home.

Would I be assigned to dance in the corps this year? Probably. I was just a freshman. The soloist roles were generally reserved for upperclassmen. Except for the boys, of course. Guys were lucky, because nobody really expected too much from them since they were few and far between. Girls were expected to be perfect, but as long as a guy could point his toes, jump, and make a reasonable effort at turns, everyone got excited and turned a blind eye to any deficiencies in his technique.
And if he was both cute and straight it was just a bonus.

It wasn’t fair.

But nothing in ballet was fair, so I would just have to suck it up and deal, otherwise I would spend every waking hour making rug angels of despair for the rest of my life. Nobody wanted to admit it, but everyone felt jealousy.

Even Hadley Taylor.

Mountain Shadows’ current star, Hadley was a junior and everyone’s prediction for this year’s Sugar Plum Fairy. She was also a certifiably unpleasant person to be around.

Look up the B-word in the dictionary and they have a picture of her right under the definition.

Or they should.

Hadley commanded the place of honor at the front of the barre. It wasn’t an official position or anything. She just grabbed it on the first day of class and nobody was brave enough to challenge her for it. Not that it would matter anyway. Her dad was a major donor to the school.

A sharp clap broke my reverie and brought me back to the here-and-now. “Grands battements. Four front, four side, four back, four side. Á la seconde, you will close front first. Front, back, front, back.”

Monsieur Dmilov briefly marked the pattern of the exercise, using his arms to substitute for his legs since we were supposed to understand simply from the names of the steps. “Crisp movements, ladies. At the end of each one, bring your feet back together in a tight fifth. If I try to squeeze a credit card between them, I should not succeed.” He nodded at our reigning teen queen. “Miss Taylor, please demonstrate.”

Hadley didn’t even attempt to suppress her smug smile as she effortlessly kicked her leg high in the air. She had exquisite extension, each movement fluid. She was born to dance.

And she knew it.

But so was I. And I was going to show them.

An hour later, sweaty and feeling the burn of the workout tingling in every inch of my muscles, I dropped to the floor with the rest of the girls in grand révérance to our instructor and accompanist. I’d done this at the end of every ballet class for years, but today the curtsy was almost a prayer. An offering sent up to hopefully ensure a role. If I knew an Indian rain dance I’d probably try that, too.

We could use the rain in Arizona.

I just had to dance a solo. Clara would be great. Or Snow Queen. Or even one of the life-sized dolls. I wasn’t picky.

Normally we would exit as quickly as possible, rushing to get back to the dorms, but today we all lingered, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cast list as soon as it was posted.

“You looked great today, Dani,” my friend Maya Sapp said as I untied the satin ribbons of my toe shoes.

“You, too.”

She laughed. “Now you’re just being nice.”

“No way. I saw that triple pirouette during the adagio. It was gorgeous. So smooth you almost hung in the air.”

“Well, I fully expect I’ll be dancing Snow again.”

“Snow Queen?”

She shook her head. “One of the snowflakes in the corps. I think Ana’s got that solo in the bag.”

I had to agree. Our friend Analisa San Miguel was the epitome of elegance and grace. She’d make a beautiful Snow Queen. She hadn’t come backstage yet, but had instead climbed into the orchestra pit to chat with the accompanist and practice her Spanish.

Well, that was one solo down. No, make that two. Hadley would definitely be Sugar Plum.

“Who do you think will be Clara?” I asked.

Me, me, me, me, me, I silently chanted, as if that could actually make it come true.

Maya shrugged. “I don’t know. I think you’re probably a strong contender. Or maybe Kat?”

“But she’s a triple threat. Why would she want to be Clara?”

“Just because she wants to sing and dance on Broadway doesn’t mean she wouldn’t want a lead in a ballet.”

I wrinkled my brow. “I thought she was a senior. Isn’t that too old to dance the part of a twelve-year-old?”

“Not on stage. Kat’s short. She could pull it off. Besides, pros do it all the time in the companies, and they’re in their twenties.”

Crap.

She was right. And Kat would be perfect for the part. She had such an innocence about her when she danced. A natural actress. I could almost picture her skipping around the stage in the party scene with the wooden nutcracker, a present from her weird Uncle Drosselmeyer.

Okay, back to the drawing board.

Maybe I could dance Arabian? Or Chinese? The around-the-world dances in the Land of Sweets were always a crowd pleaser. Arabian would be super hot.

I shoved my toe shoes in my bag and was standing up to leave when Analisa joined us.
“Good class today. Easy,” she said, tucking an imaginary stray wisp back into her tight bun.

Easy? My legs hurt way too much for a supposed easy class. But no way was I about to admit that. Especially not with Hadley within earshot.

In the great scheme of things, I guess it wasn’t the most technically challenging class I’d ever taken. It seemed designed to observe us more than anything. I guess the challenge was in impressing the director.

“Dmilov was totally loving you,” she continued, looking directly at me.

He was? “No way. He kept criticizing me.”

“Dani, Dani, Dani.” Maya shook her head. “Haven’t you learned anything yet? Criticism is good.”

I knew that, but sometimes the fragile artist’s self-esteem needs a boost.

Especially when you were afraid you’d danced like a cow.

Or looked like one.

“Much better to be noticed than not,” Analisa agreed.

Maya laughed. “Like me. He totally ignored me. I could’ve just slept in and nobody would’ve been the wiser. But I expected that.”

“Why?” I asked. “You were on Teen Celebrity Dance-Off. You’re one the best dancers at the school!”

“I’m a contemporary dancer, Dani. Ballet’s not my thing. Not like it is for you and Ana. You’re the bunheads.” She shrugged and rolled her shoulders to work out the kinks in her muscles. “It’s okay. I’ll have fun dancing Snow. I already know the choreography.”

“Wanna go grab a smoothie while we wait?” Analisa asked.

I flinched, both from the question and from the pain of my bleeding toes as I peeled back the lamb’s wool I’d shoved inside my dance shoes. (I always laugh when people say that dancers probably have the nicest feet. Do they actually know any dancers?)

Did I really need the extra calories and sugar from a smoothie? I had costumes to fit into – well, I would if I got a role, that is.

Maya must have seen my hesitation because she answered for me. “Yes, she does. Let’s get out of here.”

We left campus and walked the two blocks to Groovie Smoothie. I thought about ordering a bottle of water and calling it a day, but I knew Ana and Maya weren’t going to hear of it. I knew they were worried about me, but they were wrong. I didn’t have a problem.

Really.

Sure, I’d agreed last month to see a body image counselor. And I’d been going, but it wasn’t the least bit necessary. Interesting – I was learning a lot – but not for me.

The dance department was full of hypocrites. They encouraged us to do whatever it took to be slim and trim so we would look good up on stage, but they didn’t want the liability of their dancers ending up hospitalized. So my counseling was just a formality, and everyone knew it.

Besides, I didn’t have a problem. Really.

“I’ll have an extra-large Mango Madness with a raspberry swirl.” I could just have a fruit smoothie, no need for yogurt. Lo-cal, no fat. Perfect. “Oh, and a soft pretzel,” I added with pointed look at Maya.

See, I didn’t have a problem. Really.

We grabbed our snacks and headed back to the theatre to check on the result.

No list. Damn.

We were just packing up to go back to the dorms when an excited cry rang out from the far end of the room. “The list!”

I limped down the aisle to join the crowd of girls all huddled around a small sheet of paper tacked to the wall. The list contained both girls’ and boys’ names, even though the particular audition we’d just completed was girls-only. The boys took class in a different studio, and their audition was less competitive since there were so many fewer of them so they were pretty much all guaranteed roles.

The crowd was six deep in front of the soloist list, so I checked out the results for the corps first.

My eyes scanned down to the S’s:

Maya Sapp
Talia Small
Alexa Sutton
Lydia Tsai

They skipped me. They skipped me! Which could only mean one thing.

I was going to be a soloist! Sweet!

“Excuse me. Pardon me,” I said, elbowing my way to the front of the other list.

OMG! My name, right there in bold font.

Sugar Plum Fairy
Hadley Taylor
Daniela Spevak (understudy)

Me – the Sugar Plum Fairy! As a freshman! I couldn’t believe it, but there it was in black and white. I couldn’t wait to share my news.

I spun around and saw Analisa and Maya. “I’m dancing Sugar Plum!”

“No, I’m dancing Sugar Plum,” Hadley sneered, behind me.

“What do you mean?”

Analisa bit her lip. “You’re the understudy, Dani.”

I turned back to the list and checked it again. She was right. I was the understudy.
Worse yet, I was Hadley’s understudy. How could I have missed that crucial piece of info?

“That’s fantastic, Dani.” Maya threw her arms around me and enveloped me in a bear
hug. “You go, girl!”

I shrugged out of her grasp and scanned the list again. My name didn’t appear anywhere other than that understudy role. It had to be a mistake.

“I’m not…performing?”

Hadley laughed. “Looks that way. Sucks to be you.”

Now I knew why dancers say “merde” instead of “good luck.” This was shit. For real.

But I wasn’t going to let anyone see me cry.

I looked at the cast list again. Maya was right – Analisa was going to be the Snow Queen. I was thrilled for her. I really was.

But why didn’t I get a role? I mean, I’m just a freshman, so I guess I shouldn’t have expected a solo. I was honored to understudy such a prestigious role at just fourteen years old, but why couldn’t I also be a Snowflake or even a girl in the party scene?

“Congrats, Hadley,”

I said, pasting on my happy face. “And Ana, yay!”

After the requisite round of congratulations, I sneaked out the back with the rest of the rejects while everyone else was still chattering about the upcoming rehearsals.

Hours and hours of rehearsals that I would have to attend, even though I wouldn’t get a chance to dance in the performances. Because let’s face it. Short of a tragedy, there was no way Hadley wouldn’t be dancing.

It just wasn’t fair.

Why wasn’t I good enough? Monsieur Dmilov corrected me, so I know he saw something in my dancing that he wanted to cultivate. And just last month I danced on national TV. So it couldn’t be my dancing.

Which only left one thing.

I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

New year...new baby...new works

ATTENTION KIMA! YOU'RE THE WINNER OF LESLIE LANGTRY'S $25 GIFT CARD. SHE'll CONTACT YOU WITH DETAILS. CONGRATS!!!!!

It's a new year! I'm home on maternity leave with my newborn. And I'm spoiled.

Admittedly I had a very, shall we say, challenging first baby. They always say "sleep when your baby sleeps." Well, that wasn't possible with her. She literally would only sleep every 30 minutes, morning noon or night.

But this one is a really good sleeper. He gives us a 5-hr stretch at night, followed by a 4-hr stretch. (And this is despite being exclusively breastfed, too!) And he even sleeps well during the day, too, so I can write.

Yes, that's right...I'm writing!!! I seriously doubted I would be able to, but I am, and it feels great.

I'm finishing up POINTE OF NO RETURN, which is the sequel to CODENAME: DANCER. I'm also working on a short story set in that same world that will be published in a multi-author ebook anthology this spring.

I'm pretty excited about the short story actually, but it doesn't have a title. So leave me a comment today with a suggestion for a title, and you'll be entered to win a $25 gift card to either Amazon or Barnes & Noble (your choice).

Here's the deal...the story takes place during spring break. My heroine and her friends are dance students at a performing arts boarding school and they solve mysteries in their spare time. They've gone to Sedona, Arizona (home of the famous gorgeous red rocks) for a class trip. My heroine is still flirting with her love interest, who is an inspiring actor. He's not there because he's in LA auditioning for a part in the brand new vampire movie based on the popular Midnight series (ahem, Twilight). My heroine and her friends are obsessed with vampires, btw.

I like punny titles and I make reference to the dance theme in some way, so I'd like to stick to that motif.

Any ideas?

CONTEST! SOMEONE WHO COMMENTS TODAY WILL WIN A $25 GIFT CARD TO EITHER AMAZON OR BN - YOUR CHOICE! AND...YOU WILL BE ENTERED TO WITH A KINDLE FIRE OR NOOK COLOR AT THE END OF THE CONTEST! CHECK IT OUT AND COMMENT!

Winner!! Barbara Elness you are the winner of a $25 B&N gift card from Christie Craig's Twitter contest. Please email her at Christie(at)christie-craig(dot)com with your snail mail address.

Is "Dream Job" an Oxymoron? by Diane Kelly

Okay, as I write this blog on Saturday, Oct. 22nd, I’m sitting outside A Real Bookstore in Fairview, Texas with my buddy Angela after attending a booksigning for fellow Killer Fiction author Christie Craig and my DARA chapter-mate Liz Lipperman. Angela and I are both on our computers. She’s been working on her latest story, while I’ve been trying to think up an interesting topic for this blog. (Had a sangria with lunch. Bad idea. It put my brain to sleep.) Then, lo and behold, Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” came on over the speakers. When he got to the line “I’m sick of sitting ‘round here trying to write this book,” I had to laugh at the irony of that line being sung over the heads of two writers hard at work.

Will I ever get "sick of sitting 'round here trying to write this book?" NEVER!!! It's so much fun to create characters and stories. I have more ideas in my head than I’ll ever be able to get down on paper. I wish there was some way to stick a USB cable in my ear and directly download the stories from my brain to a computer file.

It’s a blessing not only to have work that feels much more like play, but also to be paid to do it. I wish everyone could find a job they love this much.

The new reality shows based on occupations are intriguing. Hell’s Kitchen. Pawn Stars. Ice Road Truckers. The Biggest Catch. Dog the Bounty Hunter. Through these shows, we get to see the inside secrets of all types of jobs. All of them are far more interesting than they might seem at first blush.

Are you working your dream job? If not, what would your dream job be? What about the job appeals to you? Post a comment and you might win a copy of Death, Taxes and a French Manicure. The winner will be chosen at random and posted around 9:00 pm central time. For more chances to win a book plus a $10 Barnes & Noble e-giftcard, visit the blog at my author website, www.dianekelly.com, from now through Oct. 31st.

Thanks for visiting us here at Killer Fiction!

Win a Kindle for Your Kid!

Did you know that according joint study by Bowker/PubTrack and the Association of Booksellers for Children, more than 80% of teens have never read an e-book? With how wired kids are today, that seems hard to believe, but the fact remains that e-readers just aren't widespread amongst the younger set.

Does your preteen or teen want a Kindle, but you're hesitant to spend the money on yet another easily-lost electronic gadget in this economy? Or maybe your teen keeps borrowing your Kindle so often that you never get a chance to use it.

How would you like to WIN a Kindle for your kid? Of course you would!

Just go to http://www.kindleindiependence.blogspot.com no later than July 3 to enter to win a brand-new Kindle, preloaded with 17 of the hottest indie MG and YA titles. Runners-up with win free e-books.

But don't stop there! The website also lists all the various ways to earn additional entries, such as by sending Twitter messages, "liking" the event on Facebook, or submitting honest reviews of any (or all) of the books involved in the promotion. There's no limit to the number of times you can enter, so start today!

What types of tweets count? Well, I’m glad you asked. Here’s some sample tweets you can send:

Want a free Kindle? #KindleINDIEpendence http://bit.ly/l3yXeE

Visit the #KindleINDIEpendence day blog to learn more ways to win a free Kindle. http://kindleindiependence.blogspot.com

I just put Codename: Dancer by Amanda Brice on my TBR pile! #kindleINDIEpendence

Love the cover of Queen Bee of Bridgeton by Leslie DuBois! #kindleINDIEpendence

Those are just some examples. Use your imagination, but be sure to use the #kindleINDIEpendence hashtag so we can count it.

So come earn your Kindle INDIEpdendence! DEADLINE: July 3!

Special Guest: Cynthia Justlin!

Today we welcome talented debut romantic suspense author, Cynthia Justlin to the Killer Fiction blog. Cynthia started out writing contemporary romance, but when all her plots began to turn dastardly, she decided to stop fighting the urge to throw explosions, dead bodies, and evil villains into her books. With her B.S. in the chemical sciences and her love of the periodic table (yes, she's a geek and proud of it!), she finally found the perfect potent mix of love and danger to put into her stories.

I've known Cynthia for several years on the Romance Divas forum, and when we (as well as our friend, Jeannie Lin) decided to enter the Golden Heart in 2009, we traded entries for one last coat of polish.

The entry I got to read during our critique swap was Her Own Best Enemy, Cynthia's debut release! And it was very, very good. I've been waiting for it to be released, so now I'm a very happy girl.

Here's the blurb:

Desperate to track down her ex-husband who disappeared along with their son, Grace Stevens delves into his past and uncovers evidence of a shocking dual life. The man she thought was an ordinary computer consultant is in fact a former high-ranking Special Forces officer with unique skills in military intelligence. With nowhere to turn she is forced to plead for help from Keith King, the one man she hoped to never see again. Against her better judgment she’ll have to put her child’s fate into his hands.

Keith has officially hit rock bottom. Framed for the theft of deadly missile components, the cynical Special Forces officer is in danger of losing the only thing he can count on: his career. His one shot at clearing his name lies in locating Grace’s ex, who was working with Keith on a secret mission to take down a cutthroat military traitor. But to team up with Grace he’ll need to spend 24/7 with a woman who has every reason to hate him. Out to use each other for their own agenda, desperate mother and disillusioned soldier find they must work together to stay alive, and in the process discover that sometimes even the best of enemies fall in love.



So without any further ado, heeeeeeere's Cynthia!

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This is my first guest blog, so be gentle with me!

Remember those shy, awkward girls in high school who did their best to make sure nobody noticed them? Yep, that was me. I’ve always hated drawing attention to myself. I rarely raised my hand to participate in class, even when I knew the answer, because when the whole class turned my way, my whole face would heat up uncomfortably and I couldn’t wait to get--their--attention--off--me.

But then I had children. And I quickly realized that if I didn’t put myself out there for them, nobody else would. You mess with my boys and I’m going to be in your face. I would walk through hell for them any day of the week, stand up in front of millions of people and give a speech (trust me when I say that hell would be a piece of cake for me compared to this), take on any opposition, fight, kick, scream, kill to keep them out of harm’s way. Nothing would stop me.

And that’s exactly what Grace in my debut romantic suspense, Her Own Best Enemy, does when her son goes missing. You see she, too, was the shy, awkward, gangly girl in high school (yes, I’m writing what I know!). She was teased and taunted and generally humiliated, but all of that has left her stronger. Strong enough to know that the only way she can find her son is to beg for help from the very person who made her teen years a living hell.

The good part is, Keith doesn’t remember her. The bad part is, he is nothing like the cruel teenager she used to know and she finds herself falling for this new, stronger, gentler, honorable, man who is risking everything to get her son back. Every twist and turn, every new clue brings them closer together, but Grace isn’t ready to let go of the past, and Keith isn’t ready to trust her with his future.

I’ll readily admit to living a fairly mundane life, but this book allowed me to explore my ‘momma bear’ instinct--to face down men with guns, dodge bullets, and narrowly escape explosions and flash floods, all in the name of saving that which is most precious to me.

So what gets your ‘momma bear’ instinct going? Whether you have children or not, what’s that one thing that pushes your hot button and transforms you into a woman (or man) of steel? Let me know, and one of the lucky commenters will win an e-copy of Her Own Best Enemy in their format of choice. Winner will be posted on the blog on Sunday night!

Killer Fiction’s Kick off the New Year Contest!!!

By Robin "Red Hot" Kaye


There’s nothing better than a contest to kick off the year! Here at Killer Fiction, we’d like to thank all our readers for a fabulous 2010 and kick off 2011 in fine fashion. And what better way to kick off the New Year than with free stuff? All the rules for the contest are on the sidebar, so read up and make sure you’re entered to win great prizes.

IMPORTANT NOTE: All contest winners will be drawn the weekend following the end of the contest. So if you didn’t hear about the contest right away, don’t despair—you can still go back to previous blog posts and enter.

For my blog day, I’m giving away a $25 egift card to Amazon.com or BN.com—winner’s choice and a copy of one of my books, I have Romeo, Romeo, Too Hot to Handle, or Breakfast in Bed--winner’s choice.

Now, for my official contest post…

I can’t believe I said that!

I don’t know about you but have you ever listened to someone and laugh about how an otherwise highly intelligent person could sometimes say or do the dumbest things?

My mother is one such intelligent person. Years ago, when I was going to college and she was getting her masters, she walked past my bedroom door on her way to the garage and told me she was checking her oil. I wondered why she was telling me this. Did she want me to alert the media? I smiled encouragingly and said, “That’s nice, Ma.”

About ten minutes later, she came back and said she was a quart low. I resisted the urge to make a joke, and nodded thinking nothing of it. I’m a girl who would crawl under her car and change her own oil regularly without a problem until I got married and put my DH in charge of all automobile maintenance. Just because I can do it doesn’t mean I want to. But that’s a topic for another post.

My mother returned to the garage and I returned to whatever I was doing. A good ten minutes went by and I looked up to find my mother standing in my doorway holding a dipstick. “All done?” I asked. She shook her head. “I can’t figure out how to get the oil in that teeny-tiny hole.

Needless to say I laughed so hard, I almost peed my pants. Back then, in my early twenties, I thought I was so far above ever doing something that ridiculous. I used to call what my mother did “pullin’ an Angi.” since her name is Angela.

Several years later, I was married, had a few kids who were, unfortunately, old enough to remember. My husband was driving down a road in Boise, ID that I traveled daily. I sat in the passenger seat and was looking over at a pasture where horses grazed. I did a double take because the horses looked strange. They were short. Their bodies looked to be about the average length, so I knew they weren’t miniature horses. Stupidly, I opened my mouth and pointed at the misshapen animals. “Honey,” I said. “look at those short horses.”

My husband took one look at me and laughed. “Rob,” he said, “They’re not short, they’re just standing in an irrigation ditch.” I laughed so hard, I cried. I still do every time I think about it. I had turned into my mother. I had pulled an Angi! At the time, I laughed too hard to be mortified. That came later and said mortification revisits me every time one of my kids brings up the short horse story.

So tell me, have you turned into one of your parents or ever said anything as inane as “Hey, look at those short horses!”?

A Holiday Gift for You!

By Robin "Red Hot" Kaye


Happy Holidays to all my friends.

I found out that my first book in my Domestic Gods Series, Romeo, Romeo is available on Kindle and iBooks for free! Here’s the link for Kindle, as for iBooks, I could only pull it up on my iPhone and not my computer but rest assured, it’s there and it’s free! Yay!

I hope that if you haven’t gotten a copy of Romeo, Romeo already, you’ll go right out and download it to your iPhone, Blackberry, Kindle, or your Mac or PC.


To make this an extra special holiday my latest book, the forth in the Domestic Gods Series, Yours for the Taking, is coming out January 1st and has been spotted on the New Release Tables of several booksellers around the country, I’m going to pick one lucky person who comments to win not only a copy of Yours for the Taking, but also a Humpin’ Hannah’s T-Shirt.

I have three Humpin’ Hannah’s T-shirts to choose from. They’re all size Large because I love nothing better than big comfy T-shirts. As a matter of fact, I’m wearing mine as I write.

The colors from left to right are a stonewashed blue, stonewashed violet/purple and navy.



Humpin’ Hannah’s is a very real, very cool bar in Boise, Idaho. It’s my favorite place to hang out when I go home and I missed it so much, I made one of my favorite fictional characters, Karma Kincaid, in Yours for the Taking an employee there. The owner’s of Humpin’ Hannah’s (Darcy, Todd, and Dick) were nice enough to give me permission to take over their bar and play with it in Yours for the Taking and all my future Domestic Gods Gone Wild books.




So Happy Holidays to all, and when you comment, please tell me about your favorite holiday present, and what you wish you’d received.

My favorite gift was a lovely Kindle! The present I wanted but didn’t get? The life-size stand-up of Mark Harmon as Gibbs from NCIS. I’m still debating whether or not to get on the CBS Website and buy him. I want to put my very own Leroy Jethro Gibbs in the corner so that every time I look up from my computer, I have instant inspiration—so much for the dog.