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RELEASE BLITZ ~ Whiskey Girl by Adriane Leigh

 

Title: Whiskey Girl
Author: Adriane Leigh

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: June 26, 2018

 

Blurb
She was the one thing holding him together.
Until she was gone.
And then there was whiskey.
Fallon Gentry has spent the last decade reliving one dark night in his head. The moment he lost the woman he loved when a single blink cascaded into a series of events that stole both of their lives. Now his nights are spent playing music in southern honky-tonks and nursing the memory of her the only way he knows how–at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. 
A brief stint in Nashville, a hit song, and a brush with Hollywood couldn’t bring him closer to God, but when the ghost of Augusta Belle Branson appears in his corner of another lonely dive bar late after dark, he’s forced to confront everything he thought he knew about that fateful night, and a few things he didn’t.
He’s her contradiction, she’s his salvation.
A firestorm of emotion consumes them when they come together after ten lost years, every moment more revealing, more unpredictable, more intoxicating than the next until the only reckoning left for Fallon is the one he must make
with himself. But this time, fate may have left an after-burn too bitter to swallow. This time, he may lose his whiskey girl for good.
An unforgettable, epic love story about two lost souls who, against all odds, find themselves through their passion and music. Filled with raw emotion, this lyrical, all-the-feels masterpiece may catapult Adriane Leigh into the league of Colleen Hoover, Brittainy Cherry, and L.J. Shen.

Nelle L’Amour, New York Times Bestselling author of THAT MAN



Purchase Links
AMAZON: US / UK / CA / AU


Excerpt
One
Fallon
The first time I met Augusta Belle Branson, she was fixin’ on killin’ herself.
Said the minute I’d walked up, she was tryin’ to decide if jumpin’ off the bridge in the center—where the water was deep and the current stronger—would be a swifter end, or if she should jump near the edge, where jagged limestone slabs anchored the slow-moving current.
Certain death for sure.
I replayed the split second when the Indian summer sun burst through the orange oak leaves, a halo of warmth enveloping her.
Like an angel. Stardust sparkling straight from heaven, ploppin’ her in my path.
And then she turned, the most startling shade of liquid amber eyes breathing something real and alive, like fire, into my soul.
That same something I’d been runnin’ from—or chasin’, dependin’ on how you looked at it—just about every day since.
I settled myself on the lone wooden stool that awaited at center
stage, my thoughts drawing back to the present. My head swam, but the old familiar chords floated on through the current of whiskey in my blood, and I strummed the first few notes of a song I wrote a lot of nights ago by an act of
sheer muscle memory.
Old acoustic guitar resting on my knee, my first and third fingers in position on the strings, the opening chords of “Whiskey Girl” bled from my fingers.
Every chord, another dagger.
Every whispered lyric, my undoing.
I still didn’t know what the fuck had overtaken me the night I’d written this song in a fevered rush.
Well, the booze might have played a part, but I happened to think my best shit came out of uninhibited states.
I’d just had a fuckton of uninhibited states recently.
And the harder the liquor, the more she haunted me.
Whiskey Girl.
My poisoned lullaby.
The crowd of a few hundred erupted into a standing ovation
when I ended with the final, emotion-charged words.
The irony of this song was it was the one that’d launched my career. The first single to hit radio waves and then the top spot on the Billboard charts, and brought reporters, music executives, long-lost family members I wasn’t even really sure I was related to, and too much other scum with an end game that carried dollar signs to my front doorstep.
I’d moved to Nashville a rising star and left two years later, middle finger in the air as I tossed my once-promising music career out with last night’s liquor bottles in favor of the open road.
Chasing something.
Not finding the one thing I needed.
Playing local honky-tonks for a fraction of the money I could have made.
But the truth was, the road was the only place I could find my happy.
A familiar ball of pain formed in my throat as I stood, pushing my guitar over one shoulder and bowing deeply. I couldn’t see a single face behind the glaring stage lights, but still, some part of me pretended she could be out there, that I was singing to her.
That she would hear her song and find her way back to me.
After hundreds of faceless crowds and too many bottles of Tennessee whiskey to bother counting, I still felt the pull inside me to travel to every town in America if that’s what it took to find her.
Hell, maybe she was happily married with a few kids, a dog, and a fucking minivan by now.
I nodded my head, giving one last wave to the crowd in the dark beyond, then left the stage, taking the steps two at a time and angling past the curtains to head for the tiny-ass dressing room this dive bar provided. Heading for another chug of amber gold before packing my shit into my truck and hitting the road.
I pushed a hand through my hair, thinking maybe a shower would be in order before I bailed, when a curvy little thing backed right up into me.
My palms landed on her shoulders, warm blond waves falling in a cascade over one side. The heady scent of peaches and honey filled my nostrils. My eyes slammed closed and brought me back to summer nights under a giant oak, fireflies melding together with the stars above like a painting.
“Sorry, I just dropped my phone.” The sweet-scented creature spun, brilliant smile falling from her face when our eyes made contact for the first time.
Every coldhearted memory slammed into my chest like a pallet of bricks.
I narrowed my eyes, gaze tracing the familiar yet unfamiliar angles of her porcelain face.
She was thinner now, cheeks sharp slashes of bone that highlighted her always-devastating round eyes and full lips. It was her, all right. I’d know this woman anywhere.
“Hi, Fallon.” I’d been dreamin’ of this moment for the better part of a decade, and still, my heart wasn’t prepared for those two words. My name on her lips left me with a toxic reaction.
My whiskey girl.
My damnation and my salvation.
“I need a fucking minute.” I dropped my hands from her shoulders, her skin still haunting my fingertips, and walked straight down the narrow hallway, pushing the rusted back door open so hard the hinges protested.
Warm night air filled my lungs, replacing the empty feeling seeing her again had left.
“Fallon…” Hell, she’d followed me out.
And hell if wanted her to, but I didn’t not want her to either.
The emotions bombarding my mind were just a-fucking-bout unbearable.
“I said I need a fucking minute.” The sentence came out as more of a growl than I intended. Before she could reply, I stomped across the potholed parking lot, aiming for my heavy-duty Ford.
I yanked the door open, digging behind the driver’s seat for a fresh bottle of my favorite recipe.
I couldn’t be bothered to retrieve the half-full bottle I’d left in my dressing room. I had to get as far the fuck away from her just to clear my head and process what her being here even meant.
My hands circled the neck of the bottle, and I opened it in a flash, chugging back the first warm bite of pleasure I’d been craving.
I tossed the cap on my dash and fished the keys out of my pocket, about to climb into the cab and make hay, when fingertips painted a dark navy filtered into my vision and back out again, my goddamn truck keys hanging from one finger.
“Fuck,” I bit out, crawling out of the cab and swiping for the keys.
My reactions were a helluva lot slower than I thought they were. How much of that bottle had I drunk before the show? I shook the thought from my head, realizing this was probably about close to my average state of play on any given day. Runnin’ away from the life Augusta Belle and I’d had took something out of me. Something only whiskey could fill.
“I don’t care what your stupid ass does on your own time, but you’re not dying on mine, Fallon Gentry.”
My head pounded then. A whole fucking sentence out of her pretty pink lips, and my body’s old dependable reaction to her infuriating every cell of me.
I’d never been in control when it came to Augusta. Shouldn’t have been surprised it was no different now.
“As irritating as ever, I see,” I said, swiping for my keys one more time and missing before I stumbled off around her, whiskey bottle clutched in my hand and hell on my mind.  Augusta was back, and there wasn’t enough whiskey in the
state of Tennessee to help me deal.


Author Bio

Adriane Leigh is an Amazon Top 25 and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and erotic romance. Raised in a snowbank in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, she was born with a book in her hand and won her first Young Authors award before the age of ten. She finished her first romance novel at 14, and hasn’t stopped playing with words since. She earned a literature degree, co-founded and organized international book conventions with RARE: Romance Author & Reader Events, and has written more than 45 independent titles under various pen names.

Married to her own Prince Charming, she now lives among the sand dunes of Lake Michigan, and plays mama to two sweet baby girls. She’s a romantic rebel and word junkie that believes wanderlust is life, is part of the #goodvibetribe, and wishes she had more time to read and knit scarves to keep her cozy during the arctic Michigan winters. Yoga pants, puppies, and mac and cheese also help. Never miss a release! Get an alert at: http://www.adrianeleigh.com

Praise for Adriane’s work:
“Sizzling chemistry, a glamorous world, plot twists…a perfect combination held together with Adriane Leigh’s
addictive writing. I dove into this world, and didn’t want to come up for air. I can’t wait for more!” 

– Alessandra Torre, Hollywood Dirt


“Adriane Leigh never dissapoints with equal amounts of heat and heart with all the sex, suspense and scandal…Leigh’s newest mysterious hero will have you anxiously flipping pages well into the night trying to uncover his secrets.” 

– Jay Crownover, Marked Men
Author Links


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COVER REVEAL & EXCERPT ~ Whiskey Girl by Adriane Leigh

WHISKEY GIRL

from Amazon Top 25 + USA Today Bestseller

ADRIANE LEIGH

  

Photographer: Wander Aguiar

Model: Victorio Piva

Blurb:

She was the one thing holding him together. Until she was gone.

And then there was whiskey.

Fallon Gentry has spent the last decade reliving one dark night in his head. The moment he lost the woman he loved when a single blink cascaded into a series of events that stole both of their lives. Now his nights are spent playing music in southern honky-tonks and nursing the memory of her the only way he knows how–at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

A brief stint in Nashville, a hit song, and a brush with Hollywood couldn’t bring him closer to God, but when the ghost of Augusta Belle Branson appears in his corner of another lonely dive bar late after dark, he’s forced to confront everything he thought he knew about that fateful night, and a few things he didn’t.

He’s her contradiction, she’s his salvation.

A firestorm of emotion consumes them when they come together after ten lost years, every moment more revealing, more unpredictable, more intoxicating than the next until the only reckoning left for Fallon is the one he must make with himself. But this time, fate may have left an after-burn too bitter to swallow. This time, he may lose his whiskey girl for good.

 

GoodReads Link:


PRAISE for Whiskey Girl:

“An unforgettable, epic love story about two lost souls who, against all odds, find themselves through their passion and music. Filled with raw emotion, this lyrical, all-the-feels masterpiece may catapult Adriane Leigh into the league of Colleen Hoover, Brittainy Cherry, and L.J. Shen.”—Nelle L’Amour, New York Times Bestselling author of THAT MAN




Whiskey Girl Chapter One Excerpt:

(COPYRIGHT 2018 BY ADRIANE LEIGH)

One

Fallon

The first time I met Augusta Belle Branson she was fixin’ on killin’ herself.

Said the minute I’d walked up, she was tryin’ to decide if jumpin’ off the bridge in the center—where the water was deep and the current stronger, would be a swifterend–or if jumping near the edge, where jagged limestone labs anchored the slow moving current awaited her.

Certain death for sure.

I replayed the split-second when the blinding summer sun opened through the orange oak leaves, a halo of warmth enveloping her.

Like an angel, stardust sparkling straight from Heaven, ploppin’ her in my path.

And then she turned, the most startling shade of liquid amber eyes breathing something real and alive, like fire, into my soul.

That same something I’d been runnin’ from, or chasin’, dependin’ on how you looked at it, just about everyday since.

I settled myself on the lone wooden stool that awaited at center stage, my thoughts drawing back to the present. My head swam, but the old familiar chords drove on through the current of whiskey in my blood, strumming the first few notes of a song I wrote a lot of nights ago by the sheer act of muscle memory.

Old acoustic guitar resting on my knee, my first and third fingers in position on the strings, the opening chords of Whiskey Girl bled from my fingers.

Every chord, another dagger.

Every whispered lyric, my undoing.

I still don’t know what the fuck had overtaken me the night I’d written Whiskey Girl in a fevered rush.

Well, the booze may have played a factor, but I happened to think my best shit came out of uninhibited states.

I’d just had a fuck ton of uninhibited states recently.

And the harder the liquor, the more she haunted me.

Whiskey Girl.

My poisoned lullaby.

The crowd of a few hundred erupted into a standing ovation when I ended with the final, emotion-charged words.

The irony that this song was the one that’d launched my career, the first single to hit radio waves and then the top spot on the Billboard charts brought reporters, music executives, long last family members that I wasn’t even really sure I was related to, and too much other scum with an end game that carried dollar signs to my front doorstep.

I’d moved to Nashville a rising star, and left two years later, middle finger in the air as I tossed my once promising music career out with last night’s liquor bottles in favor of the open road.

Chasing something.

Not finding the one thing I needed.

Playing local honky-tonks for a fraction of the money I could have made.

But truth was, the road is the only place I could find my happy.

A familiar ball of pain formed in my throat as I stood, pushing my guitar over one shoulder and bowing deeply. I couldn’t see a single face behind the glaring stage lights, but still, some part of me pretended she could be out there, that I was singing to her.

That she would hear her song and find her way back to me.

After hundreds of faceless crowds and too many bottles of Tennessee whiskey to bother counting, I still felt the pull inside me to travel every town in America if that’s what it took to find her.

Hell, maybe she was happily married with a few kids, a dog, and a fucking minivan by now.

I nodded my head, giving one last wave to the crowd in the dark beyond, then left the stage, taking the steps two at a time and angling past the curtains to head for the tiny-ass dressing room this dive bar provided for another chug of amber gold, before packing my shit into my truck and hitting the road.

I pushed a hand through my hair, thinking maybe a shower would be in order before I bailed when a curvy little thing backed right up into me.

My palms landed on her shoulders, warm blonde waves falling in a cascade over one side. The heady scent of peaches and honey filled my nostrils, my eyes slammed closed and brought me back to summer nights under a giant oak, fireflies melting together with the stars above like a painting.

Sorry, I just dropped my phone.” The sweet-scented creature spun, brilliant smile falling off her face when our eyes made contact for the first time.

Every cold-hearted memory slammed into my chest like a pallet of bricks.

I narrowed my eyes, gaze tracing the familiar, yet unfamiliar angles of her porcelain face.

She was thinner now, cheeks sharp slashes of bone that highlighted her always-devastating round eyes and full lips. It was her alright. I’d know this woman anywhere.

Hi, Fallon.” I’d been dreamin’ of this moment for the better part of a decade and still, my heart wasn’t prepared for those two words. My name on her lips left me with a toxic reaction.

My whiskey girl.

My damnation and my savior.

I need a fucking minute.” I dropped her shoulders, her touch still haunting my fingertips, and walked straight down the narrow hallway, pushing the rusted back door open so hard the hinges protested.

Warm, autumn air filled my lungs, replacing the empty feeling that seeing her again had left.

Fallon…” Hell, she’d followed me out.

And hell if wanted her to, but I didn’t not want her to either.

The emotions bombarding my mind were just a-fucking-bout unbearable.

I said, I need a fucking minute.” The sentence more of a growl than I intended. Before she could reply I stomped across the potholed parking lot, aimed for my heavy-duty Ford.

I yanked the door open, digging behind the driver seat for a fresh bottle of my favorite recipe.

I couldn’t be bothered to retrieve the half-full bottle I’d left in my dressing room, I had to get as far the fuck away from her just to clear my head and process what her being here even meant.

My hands circled the neck of the bottle and I opened it in a flash, chugging back the first warm bite of pleasure I’d been craving.

I tossed the cap on my dash and fished the keys out of my pocket, about to climb into the cab and make hay when fingertips painted a dark navy filtered into my vision and back out again, my goddamn truck keys hanging from one finger.

Fuck,” I bit, crawling out of the cab and swiping for the keys.

My reactions were a helluva lot slower than I thought they were, how much of that bottle had I drank before the show? I shook the thought from my head, realizing this was probably about close to my average state of play on any given day. Runnin’ away from the life Augusta Belle and I’d had took something out of me. Something only whiskey could fill.

I don’t care what your stupid ass does on your own time, but you’re not dying on mine, Fallon Gentry.”

My head pounded then, a whole fucking sentence out of her pretty pink lips, my body’s old dependable reaction to her infuriating every cell of me.

I’d never been in control when it came to Augusta, shouldn’t have been surprised that it was no different now.

As irritating as ever, I see.” I bit, swiping for my keys one more time and missing, before I stumbled off around her, whiskey bottle clutched in my hand and hell on my mind.

Augusta was back and there wasn’t enough whiskey in the state of Tennessee to help me deal.

 

Thank you for reading!

Fallon + Augusta hit e-readers June 26!




Author BIO:

Adriane Leighis an Amazon Top 25 and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and erotic romance. Raised in a snowbank in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, she was born with a book in her hand and won her first Young Authors award before the age of ten. She finished her first romance novel at 14, and hasn’t stopped playing with words since. She earned a literature degree, co-founded and organized international book conventions with RARE: Romance Author & Reader Events, and has written more than 45 independent titles under various pen names.

Married to her own Prince Charming, she now lives among the sand dunes of Lake Michigan, and plays mama to two sweet baby girls. She’s a romantic rebel and word junkie that believes wanderlust is life, is part of the #goodvibetribe, and wishes she had more time to read and knit scarves to keep her cozy during the arctic Michigan winters. Yoga pants, puppies, and mac and cheese also help. Never miss a release! Get an alert at: http://www.adrianeleigh.com

Social links:

Facebook Page:
Instagram:
Twitter:
Pinterest:


 

BLOG TOUR- Sweet Alibi by Adriane Leigh

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Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon CA

iBooks  iBooks UK  iBooks AU  Nook  

 

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From USA Today Bestselling author Adriane Leigh comes a passionate contemporary romance about giving in to desire so sharp and sweet it threatens to consume…

Georgia Montgomery is desperate for an escape from the life she’s been leading. The perfect job, the perfect apartment, the perfect boyfriend—all are on the cusp of driving her over the edge. On a whim, she buys a beach house on the North Carolina coast, eager to spend a summer with her college friends. She thinks she’s found the perfect balance, until one pleasure-seeking playboy turns her world on its axis. Georgia tries to ignore the tornado of emotion that sweeps through her system whenever Tristan Howell is near, but just like an addiction, one look, one taste, one touch is never enough.

The chemistry is scorching and it isn’t long before the slow burn ignites into a full-blown wildfire that threatens to consume anything in its path. But Georgia and Tristan can’t shelter their love from the outside world, and the moments of exquisite passion they share aren’t enough to sustain the relationship. When scars from the past resurface–will their hearts meld together as one? Or will outside forces tear them apart, leaving an empty shell where love and passion once thrived?

 

*Note: The characters in Sweet Alibi are real and flawed–they make bad decisions and learn hard lessons. It contains a love triangle, a sweet alpha-male with a broken heart, and a leading lady that doesn’t always know what she wants. If you love a character-driven romance with a hard-fought happily-ever-after, Sweet Alibi is for you. (Formerly published as The Morning After and Light in Morning duet, now with more than 10,000 words of never-before-published BONUS content!


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“You’re getting wet.” Tristan lifted a finger and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I licked my lips nervously, my eyes locked with his. His touch set my skin on fire. I held my bottom lip between my teeth painfully, willing myself to feel anything other than my stomach rolling and the arousal throbbing between my thighs. His eyes darted down to watch my mouth as his lips parted lightly with his breath.

“Georgia,” he whispered as he leaned into me. His lips grazed mine and my eyelids fluttered closed.

Why wasn’t I pulling away?

God, I needed to be pulling away, like two minutes ago.

I should have moved my chair away from his when I sat down. Being in Tristan’s space did things to me, delicious things like the hair rising on the back of my neck and goosebumps dancing across my skin. My stomach flipped, my breathing hitched, and a slow ache settled between my legs.

“Tristan,” I breathed as he brought his hand to my jaw in a light caress, just like he’d been doing a minute ago to the weathered wood of the deck chair. I parted my lips and the air escaped my lungs in a rush.

“I don’t know what this is between us, Georgia, but I want to find out,” he said on a breathy exhale.

“Me too,” I whispered and pressed my lips to his. His soft, slightly salty lips tasted heavenly as I ran my tongue along them. He opened his mouth and our tongues brushed together as his hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers threaded in my hair, thumbs brushing my cheeks. He pulled me closer to him and before I knew it I was adrift in the heady sensation of Tristan.

I lost myself for those few blissful moments attached to his lips. I knew there was a reason I shouldn’t be doing this, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what it was. I ran my palm up his arm and over his shoulder to tangle in his hair.

But the hair was too long. It didn’t feel right. It was foreign, and yet the pull I felt to continue to kiss and caress was undeniable.

“Kyle.” I pulled away quickly, mumbling the name. I licked my lips where Tristan’s salty-sweet taste lingered. The feelings that were swirling inside my body and filtering through my head were terrifying and new and right all in the same breath. Tristan watched as my thoughts aligned.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what just happened or why I said what I did, but it can’t happen again.” I rushed back into the safety of the house, leaving Tristan alone in the rain.

 


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Adriane Leigh was born and raised in a snowbank in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and now lives among the sand dunes of the Lake Michigan lakeshore.

She graduated with a Literature degree but never particularly enjoyed reading Shakespeare or Chaucer.

She is married to a tall, dark, and handsome guy, and plays mama to two sweet baby girls. She is a voracious reader and wishes she had more time to knit scarves to keep her warm during the arctic Michigan winters.

 

Author Links

Twitter  Facebook  Web  Goodreads  Amazon author page Instagram


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RELEASE DAY ~ Blindsight (Part Two) by Adriane Leigh

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She and I were far from chance.

Our first meeting orchestrated.

Our forever ill-fated.

 

Because I’m her enemy.

I’m her savior.

I’m her nightmare Romeo.

 

She’ll thank me at the end of this, and if she doesn’t, I’ll force her to beg.

 

*Blindsight is intended for a mature audience only due to graphic sex, violence, and language.

 

Book Three will release early January 2016.


 

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Amazon US   Amazon UK  Amazon CA

 

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Blindsight # 1

 

Amazon US   Amazon UK   Amazon CA

 

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Sometimes a single touch is all it takes to spark a wildfire.

Erin Warner learned that the day she bumped into the dashing, tattooed stranger on a busy Chicago street corner. She’s captivated from the moment his mystifying green eyes find hers, and it isn’t long before she finds herself flying to exotic locales to assist him, the award-winning erotic photographer Hunter Ellis, on location. What she didn’t bargain for was the way he makes her blood bubble and churn with lust and thinly-veiled promises of unfathomable erotic pleasure with every click of his camera.

But there is more to Hunter than meets the eye, including the intricately etched tattoos decorating his body that disguise horrific scars from a past he refuses to revisit. As she peels away the layers, Erin realizes that what she thought was true, never really was at all, for both of them.

Now she can only hope that blind adoration for the dashing stranger didn’t sign her death warrant.

The first in a thrilling new erotic serial intended for mature audiences.

 


 

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I watched as she sat at the cafe. She looked worried, rushed, continuing to gaze around, on edge. She should be. This was far from over and she was too fucking naïve to know better.

I sighed, hoping she’d wrap up soon so I could get on with it. I checked my watch as she sipped with a soft frown and fat tears in her eyes. Affected by another man, again. Burned by love.

A bright white loading van pulled into the spot obscuring my view of Erin. I grunted, having half a mind to run down there, pull out my nine millimeter, and tell them to get the fuck out of the way.

I groaned when two guys in uniform jumped out and began unloading a dolly and crates of fresh food before delivering it into the cafe.

Christ.” I stuck my key in the ignition to move to a better vantage point before my phone lit up, the distinct and ominous tone that pulsed irritation through my bloodstream.

Looks like you lost sight of the target.

My eyes floated at the words, my brain failing to register the meaning. The target.

What the fuck?” I hurled from the car, darting across the street as a horn blared. Ignoring it, I barreled on. Not after all this time. Not possible.

My boot hit the curb and my eyes finally landed on the table where Erin had sat.

Only this time pandemonium surrounded the scene. A woman hollering, tears streaming down her cheeks as she pointed down the street. A waiter tried to calm her, eyes darting from her crazed face and back to where her finger pointed.

Where the fuck is she?

My eyes travelled the other faces obscuring my view. I shuttled forward on heavy feet before I was close enough to see over the frenzied heads. Three waiters, a bus boy, the hostess, and a half dozen diners lingered around the small table.

She was gone.

Where the fuck is she?” I grabbed a waiter by the elbow and growled as I stepped into the suffocating circle of fear.

Sh-sh-she-she-”Erin’s mother stuttered, pushing my rage to a tipping point.

I grasped the erratic woman’s elbow and spun her to face me.“FBI!” I flipped my badge. “Where is Erin Warner?” I yelled, every moment of Erin’s life in the balance.

Dark eyes widened as terror fogged her features.“Taken.” Her finger shook as she pointed down the street.

Jesus, no. On my watch and right under my nose, Erin had disappeared.

 


 

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Adriane Leigh was born and raised in a snowbank in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and now lives among the sand dunes of the Lake Michigan lakeshore.

She graduated with a Literature degree but never particularly enjoyed reading Shakespeare or Chaucer.

She is married to a tall, dark, and handsome guy, and plays mama to two sweet baby girls. She is a voracious reader and wishes she had more time to knit scarves to keep her warm during the arctic Michigan winters.

Author Links

Twitter  Facebook  Web  Goodreads  Amazon author page


 

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