Tiffany Pitts

Check these ladies out!

So majestic. So queenly.

That there is Camela Thompson and her doggo, Annie.  Camela is an accomplished author who has recently released the third book of her Hunted Series, Visions & Bones.  Annie is the President of the Arch Nemesis Obliteration Coalition.

Both of them agreed to let me preview the new book for you today. And if you like it, you’re in luck! Because until July 16th – all three books in the series are on sale for $0.99.

Book 3 of the Hunted series

Chapter 1

Mike’s dress shoes slapped against the pavement in rapid tempo, the sound echoing up the brick walls of the buildings on either side. His sports coat billowed behind him while ragged breaths tore through his throat. He slid to a stop, his high-end shoes lacking purchase on the wet pavement. The alley smelled of piss and rotted meat, covering the stench of his fear. He scanned the entry points to the alley and then shot his gaze along the rooftop. Not seeing movement, he rattled the handle of the closest door.

“Shit.” Locked.

The next doorknob turned a fraction before the sharp catch of the lock jarred his arm. Sweat, more from panic than the warm summer night, stood on his neck and steamed against his collar. He scrambled to the next door. When the latch lifted and the heavy door gave way, he breathed a sigh of relief.

The guy washing dishes didn’t bother to turn. The cook, a fat man with a shadow of a beard, raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he lifted the handles of the deep fryer baskets.

Mike rushed past them and ducked into the men’s room. He grabbed a handful of paper towels and went into a stall to wipe away his sweat. The towels came away from his body tinted orange. Fortunately, his black clothes wouldn’t betray him. He stepped out of the stall, checked to make sure he was alone, and buried the towels beneath a mound of crumpled paper in the bin. He washed his hands and leaned to the mirror to check his eyes. Dark, but the whites showed. He visited the bar often. The lighting was crappy enough that no one would notice.

Jay’s Bar had a reputation as one of the seedier establishments near Pioneer Square. Thursday nights were slow, but Mike wouldn’t stand out. The usual mix of patrons could only be described as rumpled. Some wore wrinkled suits, some wore torn jeans, but all of them had the look of someone trying to hold onto their meager existence while doing their best to forget the past. True to form, the regulars sat hunched over their grimy piece of real estate at the bar. Mike slid onto the only empty stool, not bothering with the tables scattered around the room.

“Mikey! The usual?” Abe’s blue eyes shone under his abundant eyebrows. The man had gone gray long ago, but his beard stubbornly held onto red pigment around his mouth. Mike had often been tempted to tell the man it made him look disturbing.

“Sure.”

Abe set a glass in front of Mike and poured generously. He eyed his customer before setting the booze behind the bar. “You look like you’ve been running a race.”

Mike pulled at his collar, rubbing the material against his skin. “Nah. It’s just warm out.”

Abe snorted. “Right.”

A wave of heat pressed against Mike’s back.

“It is muggy.”

Mike’s skin crawled. The woman’s husky voice would be sexy under normal circumstances. He gripped his glass until his knuckles shone white. Afraid the tumbler would shatter in his hands, he eased up but didn’t dare turn around.

“What can I get you?” Abe’s voice was friendly, but he stared at Mike with an eyebrow raised.

“I’ll take whatever he’s having and buy him another round. Why don’t you join me at a table, Mihael?”

Mike’s eyes dried up and his scalp tightened. He hadn’t been called by that name in over one hundred years. He thought about making another run for it, but now that he was around people, she couldn’t hurt him. “Sure, Olivia. Why not?”

And don’t forget to check out the other books in her series!

After ten years of living in the shadow of her stalker, a diagnosis of terminal cancer pushes Olivia Kardos to take matters into her own hands. Her final days will not be spent isolated from the world, nor hiding like a hunted animal. It’s time for Mark Porter to die.