How You Can Save the World and Enter to Win a $175 Prize Pack
/“If you like action-packed adventure books that will keep you reading well into the wee hours, I would recommend The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh.”
–Jennly Reads
To celebrate the release of my second action adventure The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh, I’m offering up my largest prize pack to date! But, first let me tell you about the book…
When it came to writing The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh, I wanted to create a story in the same vein as City of Gold, maintaining what reviewers described as “a fast-paced action adventure” that is “akin to an Indiana Jones story set in modern times.” So in this second installment, archaeologist and adventurer Matthew Connor and his two closest friends set off for Egypt to save the world. I even splashed in a bit of the police action my readers know and love.
“Why does the world need saving?” you may ask, possibly skeptical. Well, an old friend and colleague of Matthew’s has discovered ancient hieroglyphics that hint at the whereabouts of an ancient Egyptian tomb and a mysterious treasure that is said to contain the knowledge of the universe. Beyond that, it can grant humans the ability to traverse Heaven and Earth, and it bestows whoever possesses it with great wealth and wisdom. Now, imagine something like that falling into the hands of terrorists or world powers set on domination… Needless to say, it could lead to global annihilation!
My hope is that The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh will provide readers with a thrill ride that digs into the depths of human nature when one is tempted by power. But if you’re looking for a slow build, this isn’t the book for you. Readers are immediately thrown into the heat of Egypt’s Western Desert, where Matthew’s friend Alexandria Leonard is about to make a life-altering discovery.
Here’s a snippet from the prologue of The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh (Matthew Connor Adventure series):
The sun had barely broken the horizon, but Alex was wide-awake and strapped into her safety harness. She had dreamed of this moment her entire life, and now that it was becoming reality, she could hardly believe it. Here she was at the age of forty and leading her first archaeological dig in Egypt’s Western Desert. Even more incredible was the fact that she and her team were on the brink of a monumental discovery.
They had detected a manmade tunnel that ran thirty-five feet beneath the ground and over 3,600 feet to the east. Where the tunnel ended, there was in a large open space that the ground-penetrating radar couldn’t identify.
Alex stood at the opening of the hole with her site foreman, Jeff Webb; a hieroglyphics expert named Jasper Blair; and two of four laborers, Seth and Timal. They would be responsible for lowering her down.
She took a deep breath, preparing her mind for the descent and the cramped space. Her team had only dug out a well of about four feet in diameter. The position she was in when she went down would be the way she’d stay, as there would be no room to flip over.
She wiped the back of her arm across her forehead to wick away the sweat that kept dripping down her face. She pinched her eyes shut, wishing she had her favorite blue sweatband from high school, when wearing one had been all the rage—back around the time when belonging to a Tape of the Month Club was the thing to do.
She let her long, blond hair down from the ponytail she’d had it in and redid it, tighter this time, pulling it into a messy bun. Back home in northern Michigan, she rarely put her hair up, reserving that for times when she was focused on her work or studies, but in this part of the world, she often wore it up. Even a warm breeze on the back of her neck was better than none at all.
“Good thing you skipped the second course last night,” Jeff teased her.
Not that size was an issue for either of them. She was lean and athletic, and while Jeff had a solid build, he was trim with narrow shoulders.
“Same goes for you,” she tossed back with a smile. She’d known him for years and worked on several digs with him. He’d been the one who had removed two of the stone bricks from the tunnel’s ceiling to create the small opening through which they could descend. He’d been down there to set up a radio module and transmitting antenna that enabled communication between whoever was underground and whoever was on the surface.
Jeff moved behind her and tightened her harness. “Ah!” She sucked air in through gritted teeth. “Maybe just leave enough room for me to breathe.”
He loosened the restraints slightly. “Good?”
She managed to slip her fingers between the straps and her rib cage. “It’ll do.”
He turned to face her again. “Here’s your radio.” Jeff handed her an earpiece that worked with the radio he’d put in place.
“Talk into it for me,” he told her.
She tapped a button on the earpiece and said, “Hello, hello, hello.” She smirked at her mock echo.
Jeff laughed. “I heard you loud and clear. In surround sound, actually. All right, one more thing.” He popped a miner hat on her head, and she fastened the chin strap. “I think it’s best if we lower you feetfirst so that you can be positioned upright in the tunnel.” Jeff’s demeanor became serious.
Alex nodded and looked down again. It was a good thing that she wasn’t claustrophobic or afraid of being suspended by a rope and lowered helplessly into the ground. And while she might not battle with many fears, part of her was as terrified as she was excited about the prospect of setting foot where no one—besides Jeff briefly—had likely been in thousands of years. But this was just meant to be a brief look-see, and she’d be going solo. When she set out in earnest to explore the tunnel, she’d take members of her team with her.
She reached for the gold chain around her neck and pinched the tiny pendant that dangled from it. The Eye of Horus, also known as the Eye of Ra, was an ancient Egyptian symbol of protection. Out here in the desert, she needed all the help she could get. She kissed it and tucked it back beneath her shirt.
“Are you ready?” Jeff asked.
She met Jeff’s eyes and flicked on the headlamp. “I’m ready.”
Jeff pulled an LED flare from his back pocket, turned it on, and tossed it into the hole. Watching the light descend emphasized just how far down it was to the tunnel.
Once it hit the ground, Jeff rolled his hand toward Seth and Timal. “You heard her. Down she goes.”
More sweat dripped from her brow, and she wiped her forehead again. And things were just heating up out here—if you could call already being a hundred degrees “just heating up.” As it was, waves of heat were cutting through the air like ribbons on the horizon, and it was only eight o’clock in the morning.
She looked around at her crew, steadying her thoughts and locking on to her resolve to make history. Great men and women made a habit of stepping outside their comfort zones, living on the edge, and testing out unchartered waters. And she wanted to be among them, to make a difference in the world by unearthing what remained of long gone great empires. Sometimes that required delving into the unknown.
She shook her fanciful musings aside. After all, they may not have discovered anything more than an empty tunnel.
She sat on the ledge, dangling her legs inside the hole. She tugged on the rope secured to her harness, which was connected to a rigging system that Seth and Timal would use to lower her. She glanced at Seth and Timal, confident in their abilities to guide her safely down and back up again. And with one more look at Jeff, she pushed off, letting herself become suspended.
Her heart thumped against her rib cage as she was lowered. She reached out and touched the makeshift walls that her men had put in place to prevent a cave-in. Her fingertips brushed against some sand, and it was slightly cool to the touch, but the air around her was still hot. A few of the granules sprinkled down the shaft.
About six feet beneath the ground, she felt incredibly alone. Although, it was also quiet and peaceful.
As Jeff’s form continued to become smaller above her and the space she was in became more shadowed, brief apprehension lanced through her. But the allure of what lie ahead silenced her anxiety.
If you can take the heat, grab your hat and sunscreen and strap yourself in for an unforgettable adventure. Order your copy of The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh today.
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The winner will save the world by:
Saying goodbye to plastic bags with an environmentally friendly grocery tote.
By exchanging their plastic water bottles with an environmentally friendly stainless-steel water bottle.
By foregoing the paper cup and opting for an environmentally friendly stainless-steel travel mug.
They’ll also receive:
A premium square keychain
A signed hardcover copy of The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh
The ability to name a character in one of Carolyn’s upcoming books!
Contest Deadline: Sunday, April 22nd.
How to Enter:
Buy The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh in e-book before April 22nd.
In the Table of Contents, you’ll see a chapter entitled “SAVE THE WORLD GIVEAWAY.”
Click the “SAVE THE WORLD GIVEAWAY” chapter link, and there you’ll find the link to the entry form.
Complete the form by April 22nd and you’re entered.
The winner will be selected randomly on April 23rd and notified by Hibbert & Stiles Publishing via email by May 1st and contacted for their shipping information.
Share the release and contest with others by supporting Carolyn’s ThunderClap campaign found here.
Follow The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh Facebook event to keep current on the latest news, excerpts, and given more opportunities to win!
About the Matthew Connor Adventure series:
Action-adventure books for the mystery lover. Does treasure hunting excite you? What about the thought of traveling the globe and exploring remote regions to uncover legends that the world has all but forgotten? If so, strap yourself in for an adventure with modern-day archaeologist Matthew Connor and his two closest friends. Indiana Jones meets the twenty-first century.
This is the perfect book series for fans of Indiana Jones, Lara Croft, National Treasure, and The Relic Hunter.
Other Books in the Series:
About the Author
Carolyn Arnold is an international bestselling and award-winning author, as well as a speaker, teacher, and inspirational mentor. She has four continuing fiction series and has written nearly thirty books. Both her female detective and FBI profiler series have been praised by those in law enforcement as being accurate and entertaining, leading her to adopt the trademark, POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT™.
Connect with CAROLYN ARNOLD Online: Website | Twitter | Facebook
And don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter for up-to-date information on release and special offers at CarolynArnold.net/Newsletters.
Read an excerpt from Never Been Good by Christi Barth
/USA Today bestseller Christi Barth returns with another steamy Bad Boys Gone Good novel!
Flynn Maguire isn’t really a bad guy. Sure, he worked for the mob, but he ran a legitimate business—on paper anyway—and it paid enough to keep his brother out of the lifestyle. Until they turned on him. Now he’s stuck in Witness Protection, tending bar in Nowheresville Oregon… and pissed the life he knew is gone. The only bright spot? Fantasizing about his quiet, secretive, beautiful coworker.
Sierra Williams is a woman on the run. All she wants now is to settle into small town life… and ignore the brooding, sexy bartender who can’t seem to take his eyes off her. Flynn’s bad-boy vibe pushes all her buttons, but Sierra fell for the wrong man once already. She can’t afford to let her guard down again. Except Flynn’s tough exterior is slowly melting away to reveal the sweet man beneath and their attraction is too strong to resist.
Sierra and Flynn are falling fast, but they’re both keeping so many secrets. The truth could ruin everything… unless a girl who’s a little bad is perfect for a guy who’s never really been good.
Excerpt
Flynn knelt next to the sofa. “You’ve got the sweetest, biggest heart I’ve ever seen. So kind. Caring. And you’re so beautiful that I have to bend over backward to ignore you so I can get work done.”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
Did she really not know? Not know how much she affected him?
Fuck.
How could she when he’d never said a damn word about it? Never gave her a hint. Hell, almost never even acknowledged it to himself, because the thought of being with her was so impossible.
“Let me show you just how beautiful I think you are.”
Flynn almost bracketed her face in his hands. But she angled back. It was barely noticeable, but he did. He noticed everything about Sierra. And she seemed skittish.
So he dropped his hands back down. Angled in to only touch her lips. It was a soft kiss. A brush, mouth against mouth, so light they barely touched. Just to see what Sierra would do.
She didn’t pull back.
Flynn did it again. And again. Slow, teasing kisses that swept back and forth.
They practically killed him. Reining in his need was like having a fucking noose around his neck. Made it hard to breathe. Hard to think. But if Sierra needed him to go slow, that’s what he’d do.
Finally, her lips parted just enough to let out a sigh. It was all he needed. Flynn threaded his fingers through her long, dark hair. Took a split second to register that it was just as silky as he’d imagined. Then he tilted her head back and to the side to make the angle better. And then he really kissed her.
There was pressure this time but he didn’t go for it. Didn’t unleash all the want bottled up inside of him that he’d been resisting for weeks. But he did full-out kiss her.
Flynn stroked his pinkie along the nape of her neck and was gratified at the shiver that chased its way down her body. He licked the sticky sweetness of the honey from her. He pressed and shaped and fucking learned her mouth. Learned what she liked. Learned that her almost pouty lower lip was the perfect place to use his teeth, right in the center, to make that noise happen in the back of her throat.
Most of all, Flynn learned how mind-blowingly great it was to kiss Sierra. He could do it all night. Christ, he hadn’t even gotten inside her mouth yet, and his dick was already threatening to bust through his jeans. She smelled like the beach, tasted like sugar, and felt like a dream.
Sierra kept shifting in his grasp, little moves that brought her closer against him. Little moves that rubbed her breasts against his chest, that made his hand on her waist slip down to the upper curve of her tight little ass.
He tongued along the seam of her lips, prompting her to finally, finally open to him. Flynn’s tongue slipped in and swept up all that residual honey flavor that he swore had to be just her. He pressed her backward until she was lying on the couch and he could press his whole upper body against her. Their tongues swirled together, side to side and around in a dance that turned his dick to pure steel. And even with him lying on top of her, Sierra still arched up into his embrace with breathy little moans.
Easing back, he pushed the hair off her cheek with one finger. “Do you believe me now? When I say that you’re beautiful? Can you tell how much you turn me on?”
Red flooded her face. “Yes. Those kisses—they clarified your point extremely well.”
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About Christie Barth
USA TODAY bestselling author Christi Barth earned a Masters degree in vocal performance and embarked upon a career on the stage. A love of romance then drew her to wedding planning. Ultimately she succumbed to her lifelong love of books and now writes award-winning contemporary romance, including the Naked Men and Aisle Bound series.
Christi can always be found either whipping up gourmet meals (for fun, honest!) or with her nose in a book. She lives in Maryland with the best husband in the world.
Connect with Christi: Website | Blog | Pinterest | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon Author Page | Facebook | Instagram
Read an excerpt from Lords of the Greenwood by Chris Thorndycroft
/Nottinghamshire, 1264.
England is on the brink of civil war. The barons are in revolt against King Henry III. Such times suit Roger Godberd, sergeant in the garrison at Nottingham Castle. After throwing in their lot with the barons who embark on a bloody campaign for control of England, Roger and his companions are betrayed and seek refuge in Sherwood Forest. There they begin their new lives as outlaws evading their old enemy, the High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire.
Yorkshire, 1320.
Wrongfully accused of murder, young Robert Hood of Wakefield finds himself outlawed with only his bitter enemy Will Shacklock for company. Taking to the woods of Barnsdale, Robert and Will agree on an uneasy truce and begin recruiting a band of robbers fleeing the chaos of the Earl of Lancaster’s rebellion against King Edward II. Eventually drawing the attention of the king himself, Robert and his band are given a choice; be hanged as common criminals or enter the king’s service as agents of the crown…
Blending real history with medieval ballads this is the entwined saga of two men, separated by a generation, united by legend, who inspired the tales of England’s famous hooded outlaw.
Excerpt
Simon de Montfort arrived in London at the end of the week further convincing us that war was but a matter of days away. He was carried in a specially designed carriage as he had broken his leg when his horse had slipped on ice that winter. Despite not being able to see him in person, all London spilled out into the streets to witness the arrival of a man who was on the verge of being deified by the commoners.
“Can’t understand it,” said Roger as we watched the pandemonium from the rooftops on Tower Street. “Look at those fools. Bakers, tanners, night soil men. They act as if de Montfort were sainted before death but nothing will change for them. The barons may win and get a say in how the country is run or the king may crush us all but for those fools life will go on; hard and toilsome as it ever was.”
“He represents change,” I said. “Gone are the days when a king’s ruling was as good as the word of God. The Runnymede Charter and the Oxford Provisions changed all that. De Montfort is fighting for a future of reason, of cause that amounts to more than the whim of a fickle monarch.”
“And yet the common man still won’t get a say in anything.”
“And he does not expect to. All he can expect from all of this is that his superiors can speak for him and protect his rights against a king who sees him as little more than chattel. That is the most the common man can hope for and that is what de Montfort represents.”
Roger looked at me, a smile touching his lips. “You’re a young lad,” he said, “and have the right to a little naivety not to mention principles. You’ll lose both soon enough.”
I ignored Roger’s cynicism and felt secretly justified when de Montfort ruled against de Ferrers in a case brought before him by John de Giffard. The country was not officially at war and looting was strictly forbidden not to mention frowned upon by de Montfort. De Giffard had the gall to portray himself as a protector of the people and claimed that de Ferrers had ruthlessly despoiled a poor draper’s widow in Gloucester.
We were all called before de Montfort who held council in the Tower. We were escorted to an upper chamber where several barons sat in discussion. As soon as I entered I noticed how young they all were. Few were over the age of thirty and I was struck by the notion that this was a young man’s rebellion; generation pitted against generation in a bid to change the status quo upheld by the king and his friends.
De Montfort was a comely, slim man with dark wavy hair that had just started to grey in parts. He had the appearance of an active man and, were it not for his leg which was bound between two splints, I had no doubt that he would be pacing the room in irritation. Opposite him sat de Ferrers, his own swollen leg bound in bandages. Both men had crutches to hand and I was alarmed by the symbolism. This rebellion may be a youthful one but it was an injured one; outnumbered and disabled.
As the charges were read out, de Ferrers raged and called de Giffard all manner of obscenities but the gist of his argument was one that we all agreed with. De Giffard had been attempting to rob the place himself and we had simply got there first. That’s all there was to it.
De Montfort was not impressed. “These are our own people, de Ferrers!” he said, slamming his fist down on a side table and making his wine cup spill. “We are not waging war in foreign parts nor are we suppressing rebels. These are honest citizens who have no power in this game of barons and kings. And this is not the first time I’ve had to warn you against looting!”
“Simon, you must not believe de Giffard’s lies!” de Ferrers said. “He would have you believe that he was a defender of lonely widows when really he lusted after that woman’s valuables even more than I did!”
“Irrelevant!” de Montfort snapped. “Whether or not what you say is true, the fact remains that de Giffard’s men did not plunder that poor woman into ruin! Yours did!”
We stared at the ground and I felt no little shame at being raged at by a man whom all of London revered. Only Roger kept his head held high in support of his lord and I knew then why de Ferrers remembered the name of Roger Godberd and why he prized him above most of his followers.
In the end de Montfort demanded that de Ferrers make amends to the widow in Gloucester. De Ferrers seethed in silence and I knew how he would rage that night at having to fork over money to a mere widow, knocked down another rung in his constant battle to climb out of the depths of debt. I also caught a faint smile on the face of John de Giffard as the verdict was read. It was clear that de Giffard had never hoped to get anything out of this other than seeing a blow delivered to our lord. De Ferrers had plenty of enemies on both sides of this conflict.
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About the Author
Chris Thorndycroft is a British writer of historical fiction, horror and fantasy. His early short stories appeared in magazines and anthologies such as Dark Moon Digest and American Nightmare. His first novel under his own name was A Brother’s Oath; the first book in the Hengest and Horsa Trilogy. He also writes under the pseudonym P. J. Thorndyke.
For more information, please visit Chris Thorndycroft’s website. You can also find him on Twitter and Goodreads.
Spotlight: Death Island by Kelsey Ketch
/by Kelsey Ketch
Genre: NA Historical Fantasy
Release Date: December 31st 2017
I causally walked to the starboard bulwark, catching sight of the harbormaster’s window. The candle still burned as it had been long before night fall. Odd, I thought. The knot in my stomach twisted even tighter. I haven’t seen the harbormaster work his books this late into the night. I leaned against the gunwale and squinted a little, trying to focus my vision. The candle was nearly spent, and underneath the dripping wax laid what possibly could be a hand, but it was too far to tell. As I eased back, my gut squirmed like a bunch of worm snakes. I needed to be sure all was well, for Meriden’s safety and the rest of the crew.
Neglecting to ask Swan’s permission, I slipped down the main deck, across the gangway, and headed straight for the harbormaster’s office. The street was as quiet as the grave when I reached the door. I raised my hand to knock, only for the door to push open on the first tap to the solid oak. I swallowed the lump that crammed its way into my throat. This wasn’t good. I drew my working knife and stepped inside.
“Hello,” I called. “Anyone still here?”
It felt stupid walking into the dark hallway without knowing if I might end up dead or accused of theft, but my gut told me to keep pushing forward. I turned right into the room with the burning candle still flickering inside. The office was clean and uncluttered except for the few stacks of paper on the desk. On top of which laid the harbormaster, as if he merely fallen asleep in his desk chair. My eyes refocused again at his outstretched arm. A trail of hot, liquid wax ran across the flesh of the harbormaster’s hand, which didn’t even stir the man awake. My heart pounded with adrenaline, and I pushed the man up by the shoulder.
A maroon-colored pool poured onto his books from what looked like a dagger wound to the harbormaster’s shoulder. A serious wound, but not one that should have killed. It was the discoloration of the man’s skin and the vomit around the mouth that gave me a better idea what had brought on the man’s demise. I’d seen the signs many times before from men who died in blackish waters as well as a few victims that died at Baker’s hand.
Snake venom.
Spotlight: Turn On, Tune Out by Cynthia Adina Kirkwood
/If you find your life bombarded by information and noise, read about this musician’s challenge to quiet hers.
In Turn On, Tune Out, a British composer turns outlaw in Los Angeles. Angelica Morgan flouts a computer law that cripples creativity. In L.A., she finds an audience, love, and a passion to stop the insidious law from taking hold in Britain. In the near future of California, artists, who steal time off-line, are considered suspect, criminal and dangerous.
Angelica’s friend, Rosetta, an outspoken painter, cautions the musician about the Stop, Look and Listen law. But Angelica dismisses the warning. . . .
Excerpt
A guest, a woman, walked briskly and angrily away from another guest, a man. They brushed past Angelica and Tom, moving the colleagues closer together.
“Mary, Mary,” implored the man trailing behind the woman out of the house. “I didn’t mean –“
Tom said,” You can rise above the muck of living, can’t you, Angelica? As a composer, your concerns are higher than the soap opera trivia of the rest of us slobs.”
Angelica looked at him blankly. She didn’t know how to feel. Was this a compliment or was he calling her an unfeeling robot?
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About the Author
Scrawling, doodling, jotting…Cynthia Adina Kirkwood writes with a pen. Then, she transposes her work to a computer, which she finds useful, not intuitive.
Born and raised in New York City, her parents emigrated there from Belize in Central America. Kirkwood studied at Williams College in Massachusetts, the American University in Cairo, and the Johns Hopkins School for Advanced International Studies in Washington, D.C. At the University of California at Berkeley, she earned a Certificate of Journalism Education from the Summer Program for Minority Journalists.
Kirkwood began her journalism career as a newspaper reporter in Norfolk, Virginia. She worked at newspapers in the east, west and south of the United States. In 1994, she left the San Francisco Chronicle for Sicily and has been living in Europe since then.
In 2012, she and her son left a sedentary life in Cornwall, England, for a farming one in the heart of Portugal. She has 4 acres of terraced land with olive trees and grapevines.









