Spotlight: South Pointe by Dianna Wilkes

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Mystery & Suspense
Date Published: February 6, 2018
Publisher: RedBird Books

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Paige Carson never expected that both a handsome sheriff and a charismatic newcomer would be vying for her affections. The choice isn’t an easy one, as she’s now responsible for raising her orphaned goddaughter, Jess.

Sheriff Sam Wallace didn’t lose at love. He got kicked to the curb. Hopeful that courting the feisty Paige will end differently, he can't help but feel suspicious about his romantic rival. Is Ben Hampshire the man he seems—or is Sam’s jealousy clouding his perspective?

Sam’s determined to win Paige’s and Jess’s love, but he also has to keep Providence Island safe. More than just Sam’s heart is at risk if he fails to find the killer who walks the streets of PI—a killer with more than one agenda.



Excerpt



Dana locked the door after Ben departed and set the Closed. Please call again sign in place.

She’d lied to Ben about the reason for her fainting. Yes, she’d skipped breakfast. Yes, it was hot, and yes, she’d become dizzy. But the truth was she’d panicked when Ben had passed by the front windows.

A shadow fell across the front windows, and she caught a glimpse of blonde hair. The front door opened, spilling sunlight into the lobby.

Maisie was right when she’d described the young man as “a charmer.” His kind humor and gracious manners had put Dana at ease, despite her embarrassment.

One thing was certain. She had to break this cycle of panic every time she came to the office. Her gaze shifted to the area where Kyle Lansing had stood.

She grabbed the cast-iron hummingbird from the side table and swung the metal statue in a sharp arc. The blow slammed against Lansing’s upraised arm. He howled, and the gun fell from his hand. She swung again, this time catching the detective in the chest. Lansing stumbled backward. She dropped the sculpture and snatched up the gun.

That’s when the shadow had swept past the windows. The glimpse of blonde hair had frightened her that it was Jamie returning to the building, and she wouldn’t be able to protect the both of them.

The entry wall blocked the newcomer from her sight. She stepped back. There wasn’t much room to retreat, but each inch might make a difference in saving her life.

Lansing cast a glance over one shoulder. “What are you doing here, Ham—”

The first two shots hit Lansing in the torso. A third shot struck his head. Blood sprayed as he dropped to the floor. She gripped the gun, waiting for the stranger to step forward. Sunlight spilled once more in the lobby entrance. A rush of air and sounds from outside drifted inward as the shadow of the shooter moved away. The door closed, cutting off the sunlight.

Dana gripped the edge of Jamie’s desk as Lansing’s final words echoed in her ears.

“What are you doing here, Ham—”

Hampshire.

A chill rushed through her body, and she closed her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. She dared a glance at the front door as if expecting a face to be staring back at her. “Was it you, Ben?”

And if the shooter had been Ben Hampshire, how long was he willing to keep her and her loved ones safe?




About the Author

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Dianna Wilkes is an award-winning contemporary romance author, known for the Providence Island mystery series.

Reading has always been an important part of her life. “I learned to read when I was four years old,” she said. “Writing my own stories seemed a natural progression.”

Dianna holds a B.A. in Visual Communication and a M.Ed. in Instructional Technology. She worked as an Education Consultant for a medical technology company before leaving the corporate world to write full time. Despite all that nerdy stuff, she loves creating stories of romance and mystery with touches of humor.

When she isn’t writing, Dianna is deep in researching various twigs and branches on her family tree or fulfilling entries on her travel bucket list.


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Spotlight: Slave Shipwreck Saga by Michael Smorenburg

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The Praying Nun
Slave Shipwreck Saga Book 1
by Michael Smorenburg
Genre: Historical Thriller

An uncharted shipwreck, the mysteries she hides, and the brutalized souls who suffered her holds.

In 1985 two divers discovered an ancient uncharted shipwreck off South Africa's Cape of Storms. Salvaging the wreck only inflames the enigma with the trail of secrets compounding and the wreck refusing to yield her identity. Countless vessels, some crammed with bullion, have joined this ship graveyard over the centuries, but what sort of galleon was this, leaving only cannon, cannon balls and scant few clues behind? Three decades pass before the Smithsonian of Washington solves the riddle.

It's 1794 on the fevered coast of Mozambique. Chikunda and his wife Mkiwa, stripped naked and shackled, are heaved aboard the São José de Africa. Only a miracle may save them from the horrors below deck where more than 400 fellow slaves are crammed. But nobody can guess what fate has in store.

If you're a Wilbur Smith or Clive Cussler fan, you will be riveted by this fact-inspired fictionalized tale by Michael Smorenburg, based as it is by personal experience, extensive research and the legacy of artifacts salvaged from the São José de Africa. Pick it up now to go on the adventure of a lifetime.





The Reckoning
Slave Shipwreck Saga Book 2

A slave evades re-capture after his slave ship is wrecked at the treacherous Cape of Good Hope, only to face handing himself over when his wife goes missing with the man who rescued them. A tale of hope, fear and most of all, the yearning for freedom.

It's 1794 and the slave trade is at its ugly peak. When the Portuguese slave ship Sao Jose Paquete de Africa shipwrecks at the Cape of Good Hope, only two hundred of the four hundred slaves aboard survive.

Chikunda and his pregnant wife evade re-capture only to face the impassable cliffs of Table Mountain. With the wild South Atlantic at their backs, Cape Town's gallows and whipping post to the north, the British garrison blocking escape to the south, and dangers of an untamed African coast to the east of a vast mountain range, escape seems impossible.

When Chikunda's wife goes missing, he has a monumental choice to make. Pick up The Reckoning now and lose yourself in a world you never could have imagined, a world where freedom slips ever more out of a man's grasp.





Michael Smorenburg (b. 1964) grew up in Cape Town, South Africa. An entrepreneur with a passion for marketing, in 1995 Michael moved to California where he founded a business consultancy and online media and marketing engine in the burgeoning internet. In 2003 he returned to South Africa where he launched a security company. In 2015 he divested of the business to write full time. Michael's greatest love is the ocean, keeping up with the latest breakthroughs in science, understanding the cosmos and sharing all he learns.





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Spotlight: 99% Faking It by Chris Cannon

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Book Blurb:

Lisa is a card-carrying, book-loving Gryffindor. Solid. And that’s why everyone knows she’s awesome. Well, except for her crush, Matt. He only ever sees her as a friend. Plus, he's got his eye on another girl. Oh well, plenty of fish and all that.

Good thing Lisa just read a book on the “wedding ring phenomenon”—you get more attention when you’re already taken. What if Lisa pretends to be Matt’s plus one? Maybe it’ll help Matt get his girl and Lisa can hook her own fish.

After the plan works, Matt suddenly claims he doesn’t like the view from the friend-zone and wants her instead… But she isn’t interested in being anyone’s second choice. If this guy wants to earn her attention, he’ll need more than some silly “phenomenon.”

He’ll need to go all out...

Disclaimer: This book contains multiple nerd-girl references, cute puppies, and snarky humor that will make you LOL!

Excerpt

The alarm went off on my cell. Noooooo. It couldn’t be morning already. Where had Saturday and Sunday gone? I needed a rewind button. I was not emotionally prepared to deal with Monday. Maybe if I ignored it, it would go away. I hit snooze and rolled over.

“Lisa, you need to wake up,” my mom called out from the other room.

“I don’t want to,” I hollered back.

“I know what will get you out of bed.” I heard the microwave door open and close and then the hum of something cooking. The smell of bacon drifted into my room.

“That’s not fair,” I called out.

“You better get your butt in here before I eat it all.”

Bacon was my kryptonite. It was the only thing that would get me up and moving some mornings. I threw the covers back and stumbled into the kitchen. Three pieces of bacon and two slices of wheat toast waited for me on the table.

“Thank you.” I sat down and bit into a piece of salty crispy goodness. Yum.

“You’re welcome. I have to go. I have an early appointment this morning.”

“See you tonight.” I finished my breakfast and fantasized about crawling back into bed. Why had I stayed up until one thirty to finish my book? It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now...not so much.

After taking a too-long shower, I did minimal hair and makeup. I was just going to school. Not like I was trying to impress anyone. I threw on a black sweatshirt which said, “Siriusly?” and my favorite comfortable jeans. Where were my black Keds? I checked in the living room, behind the bathroom door, and under my bed. Nope.

“Accio Keds,” I waited for a split second to see if it might possibly work. Nope. Still a Muggle. Damn it.

I dug out a pair of black booties that laced up like combat boots. Thank goodness there was a zipper on the side because I didn’t want to unlace those suckers every time I took them on and off. The only problem with the boots was now my fun new Harry Potter socks wouldn’t show. Whatever. I checked my cell. I needed to get my butt out the door.

Twenty minutes later I pulled into the Greenbrier High School parking lot and found a halfway decent spot. Maybe everyone was running a little late this morning. After turning the car off, I sat there for a moment. I didn’t have any tests today. My homework was done. I could do this, but that didn’t mean I was happy about it.

“Monday mornings suck,” I announced to the world as I climbed out of my car.

“We might be soul mates,” a masculine voice said from behind me.

I turned to see a guy with cool hair, ripped jeans, and a black leather jacket striding toward me. And suddenly my morning didn’t seem so bad. I smiled at him. “You’re new.”

“The hair gave me away, didn’t it?” He grinned. “I’m Trey.”

“Lisa,” I said.

“Here’s a test to see how small this town really is. If I said I’m Clarissa’s cousin, do you know who I’m talking about?”

“Does your cousin date Charlie Patterson?” I asked as we walked toward the main entrance.

“Damn.” He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back off of his face. “It’s worse than I thought.”

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About the Author

Chris Cannon is the award-winning author of the Going Down In Flames series and the Boyfriend Chronicles. She lives in Southern Illinois with her husband and various furry beasts. She believes coffee is the Elixir of Life. Most evenings after work, you can find her sucking down caffeine and writing fire-breathing paranormal adventures or snarky romantic comedies.

Connect:

Author’s Website: http://www.chriscannonauthor.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/chriscannonauthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ccannonauthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/ChrisCannon

Cover Reveal: The Forgotten Ones by Andrea Bills

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The Forgotten Ones
Andrea Bills
Publication date: May 6th 2019
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Romance, Thriller

From the iBooks Bestselling Author of Hardwired comes
One small town.
One lost love.
One killer.
Agent Caitlin Cade is called back to her hometown by a serial killer. She’s avoided the town for six years, trying to create a new life away from the painful memories of the sudden passing of her father and a love lost.
Dean Campbell was given a mission that forced him to walk away from the only woman he had ever loved. Just as his mission is over and he can return to her news reaches him that a serial killer has Caitlin caught in a deadly game.
Can Dean handle not being the one in control in order to show Caitlin he’s back for good? Can Caitlin not only face her past but also a killer who always seems two steps ahead of her? As a game of chess plays out using human bodies, secrets and lies come to see the light of day for the first time.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo


Author Bio:

Andrea is a wife, mother and writer from small town West Virginia. She spends her time while she's not dreaming up lovers and villains alike chasing after her two kids and husband.
Her overactive imagination and her husband's wacky dreams attribute to her love of the written word. Guilty pleasures include reading all night and Reese Cups.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram


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Spotlight: The Time Traveler’s Guide to Modern Romance by Madeline J. Reynolds

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Elias Caldwell needs more than his life in nineteenth-century England has to offer. He’d rather go on an adventure than spend one more minute at some stuffy party. When his grandfather gives him a pocket watch he claims can transport him to any place and time, Elias doesn’t believe it…until he’s whisked away to twenty-first-century America.

Tyler Forrester just wants to fall hopelessly in love. But making that kind of connection with someone has been more of a dream than reality. Then a boy appears out of thin air, a boy from the past. As he helps Elias navigate a strange new world for him, introducing him to the wonders of espresso, binge-watching, and rock and roll, Tyler discovers Elias is exactly who he was missing.

But their love has time limit. Elias’s disappearance from the past has had devastating side effects, and now he must choose where he truly belongs—in the Victorian era, or with the boy who took him on an adventure he never dreamed possible?

Excerpt

Tyler grabbed the back of Eli’s head in a way that he hoped looked cooler than it felt. He allowed his fingers to trace Eli’s soft curls before pulling his face in close and pressing their lips together. Soft but firm. Curious and inviting.

As Eli’s face slowly pulled away, the music, which was already fuzzy due to the quality of the speaker, blurred entirely, and the lines of the trees and the figures of other students became hazy. Tyler’s heart rate took off in a full gallop, and his breathing was stilted and uneven. Most people describe the feeling as butterflies right after you’re kissed, but these were more like fireflies. Not only were his insides jittery, but it felt like he was glowing from the inside out. For a few fleeting moments, it felt like he and Eli were the only two people in the woods.

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About the Author

Madeline J. Reynolds is a YA fantasy author living in Chicago. Originally from Minneapolis, she has a background in journalism and has always loved storytelling in its various forms. When not writing, she can be found exploring the city, eating Thai food, or lost in an epic Lord of the Rings marathon.

Connect: Website • Twitter • Instagram • Goodreads

Spotlight: Mr. Misunderstood by Sara Jane Stone

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Rule #1: Maintain Control.

You think you know me. The cars, the penthouse, the reputation for delivering women to that “Oh, yes, Gavin” moment… Yeah, I’m the bad boy billionaire who drives your fantasies.

But I’ve traveled a long road to get here. And I played by the rules—the ones I wrote to guarantee I didn’t return to whom I was before.

Until now. The pictures, the story—it’s my past coming back to haunt me. I’ve lost control. And to get it back, I need to change the story.

So I asked my best friend and neighbor for help. Kayla agreed—if I support her growing pack of four-legged misfits.

My life is under control again.

Only I’m falling for my best friend. Now, my New York City apartment is full of rescued pups, my country retreat looks more like an animal sanctuary, and Kayla’s guarding her heart.

And I’m running out of time to prove the girl next door belongs with the billionaire.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Gavin

I never walk into a room without a plan. I don’t care if I’m entering a board meeting or a bar—I map out my goals beforehand and prepare to execute them. Tonight’s birthday party for my girlfriend’s roommate is no exception. Right now I’m on a mission to locate my date on the rooftop terrace, strip off her panties, and leave her believing today is her special day.

“Gavin!” The twenty-something birthday girl grabs my arm. She’s named after a flower, but hell if I can remember which one. “Now that you’re here, darling, this party is officially lit.”

I raise a practiced eyebrow. “I’m not that exciting.”

Violet—that’s her name—laughs as if I’ve told a particularly hilarious joke.

“In fact, I need to return to work later,” I add.

I want to be clear. I’m not here for Violet’s bash. Tonight, I have a singular goal, and she’s waiting on the roof.

A young hipster in a tailored orange suit sidles up to me. “New product releasing soon, Gavin? I’ve heard rumors that you’re developing new software. If you’re planning a release, I could help with the PR. I’m starting a public relations group, and I’d really love for you to be my first client.”

And I’d love to lick my girlfriend until she screams my name.

I slap hipster dude on the back. “I’m afraid we want different things right now, my friend, and I’ve had a long day.”

Truth.

“Before I talk business,” I continue, stepping away from the birthday girl and her admirers, “I need a drink.”

Lie.

I’m eager to give Alexandra an orgasm, but the bar’s on the way to the stairs. I’ve been to the Brooklyn penthouse before, though I prefer having Alexandra come to my Manhattan apartment The twenty-something trust-fund crowd leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I wouldn’t have even crossed the east river tonight, but Alexandra sent me an invitation I couldn’t refuse.

I pause beside the temporary bar set up beside the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows. “The birthday girl and her friends would like shots. Tequila. Top shelf.”

The bartender nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Violet!” I call over my shoulder. “It’s tequila time.”

“Shots!”

The call echoes around the room. A group suddenly crowds around the birthday girl, eager to share in the celebrating. I take advantage of the distraction and open the sliding glass door leading to a terrace. Following Alexandra’s instructions like a treasure map, I find the stairs and climb two at a time.

Overeager? Hell, yes. I want this woman. Unlike her trust-fund former roommate, Alexandra actually works for a living. Her receptionist gig at my gym pays the bills while she tries to launch her acting career. Her friends fall in the take-them-or-leave-them category for me, but I’m crazy about Alexandra’s work ethic.

She understands me on an elemental level.

I grin like a fool when I reach the top of the metal staircase. I can picture my best friend’s reaction to my lofty claim. “Elemental? You just mean she’s good in bed.”

That is precisely what I mean. But Alexandra takes “good” to new levels.

How do you tell if a woman shares your sexual kinks? I ask myself this question on every first date. Given my habit for choosing Mrs. Right Now—my best friend’s label, not mine—I’ve been on hundreds of first dates, and I still haven’t found an answer. And failure is not something I take lightly. I came from nothing, and now I’m worth more than one billion dollars.

Not that I’m into anything from the Fifty Shades playbook. I’m not that kind of billionaire. But nothing turns me on like sex with the possibility of getting caught. I’m not talking public parks or places that might lead to a night in a jail cell. I’ve had enough trouble in my life, and I’m not about to invite any more.

But a private rooftop terrace while a party buzzes below? The chance that one of the other guests or a member of the catering staff will hear my girlfriend’s moans and come investigate?

Oh, hell yes.

I spot Alexandra by the railing. She’s staring out at the night sky. Beneath the full moon’s glow, I can see the tops of the trees in Prospect Park. Manhattan’s skyline is on the other side of the building, but all I want is a view of my girl, naked and draped over her outdoor furniture.

A sideways glance confirms the lounge chair is still up here. A heat lamp that would look more at home in a restaurant or at a wedding hovers over the lone chair.

She won’t freeze when I pull her dress to her waist.

I cross the cement pavers and wrap my arms around Alexandra’s slim waist, drawing her back to my front. She can’t miss how the mental picture in my mind turns me on. The evidence is pressing against her lower back. Even in her three-inch heels, she’s a good bit shorter than my six-two build.

“I want to bury my face between your legs,” I murmur in her ear. “I’m going to lay you down on that chair, reach up under your dress, slide you panties down your legs, and—”

“I’m not wearing any underwear,” she announces in her low, sultry voice.

Her voice oozes with the promise of sex, and I would bet my BMW that men call to reserve the squash courts at the gym just to hear her purr in their ear. Until last month, I was one of those guys. After the second phone call, I stopped by the desk and asked her out.

Her response? “I knew you would come to your senses and take me to dinner.”

Bold, confident, and sexy as hell. Maybe she’s the one. Maybe I’ve finally found Mrs. Right.

I step forward, using my body to gently guide her across the patio to the chair. We’ve been here before. Not on this roof-deck. Last time, we slipped away at a museum opening and found a quiet hall. No cameras. I made damn sure there wouldn’t be a recording of my girlfriend on her knees in front of me. But when I zipped up and we returned to the party, I knew I’d found a woman who saw more than dollar signs when she looked at me.

Now she steps free from my grasp. The front of her calves bump against the lounge chair. Then she turns to face me. “But I didn’t invite you up here for sex. At least, not to start.”

I school my expression, dialing down the exasperation and the lust. If she wants to talk first, I’m in. I give her my best you-have-my-complete-attention look, the one I’ve practiced in countless business meetings.

Alexandra is special. She deserves more than a quick orgasm during a party.

“I’m listening,” I say, shoving my hands in my suit pants pockets. I want to be clear. I’m not reaching for her. Not yet.

“First, I have something to show you,” she says.

I hear a trace of nerves in her tone, and I sure as hell like her use of the word show in place of tell. Most women I’ve dated for a month or more eventually have something serious to share with me. Their feelings. Their hopes and dreams for our relationship. Or the expected size of their future engagement ring.

For the record, I’ve never bought a ring.

Alexandra’s fingers work the latch on her clutch, and my gaze follows her movements. Her hands are trembling, hard. Finally, the latch gives, and I catch my breath.

I’m immediately turned on. My imagination’s running wild with the potential outcomes from her little game of show-and-tell. Whatever she’s hiding in her purse must be small. Something that pushes my bold, beautiful girl out of her comfort zone. Something that leaves her shaking.

She pulls out a thin slip of paper and holds it out to me.

My brow furrows. I pull my right hand free from my pocket and take it. It’s in my hand before I realize I’m not holding a paper, but a picture. The image is old and slightly discolored, probably dating back to the days when people used cameras and then visited the grocery store to develop the film.

Like when I was a kid…

No.

My jaw tightens, grinding my molars together as I force myself to look at the image. My childhood and this picture—they aren’t connected. It’s not possible.

But a single glance tells me I’m wrong. I know that scrawny, beaten kid in the old photo. Any thought of sex suddenly takes a back seat to the dread stirring deep in my gut.

“How did you get this?” I demand, looking Alexandra straight in the eye.

She’s still shaking like a fucking leaf, but she’s holding her chin high. “It doesn't matter.”

“It does to me,” I say, biting out the words.

I’d thought I’d wiped all records of my humiliation off the face of the earth. But now I’m holding a picture of my weakest moment. I recognize the bathroom floor in the image. The tile matches the house where I grew up. And I should know. I spent a lot of time there, licking my damn wounds, knowing I would have to go to school the next day and face the fucking bullies again.

“There are more photos.” Alexandra nods to the one in my hand. “That one isn’t the worst.”

My grip tightens on the picture. Who is this woman? And how the hell did she get her hands on these images? I didn’t even know they existed until tonight. And I’ve spent a fortune to hide my past.

“What do you want?” I demand, lifting my gaze from the picture to look at her.

I take in her smug, excited expression. The nerves are gone, probably buried beneath the misconception that she’s won.

Fuck, I’ve been played. The thought crosses my mind, and I know I’ve come to this epiphany too late. I’ve been sleeping with the enemy this whole time, and I didn’t even have a damn clue.

“Money to start,” Alexandra announces. “One hundred million, in cash. The account information is on the back of the picture.”

“I’m not paying you off,” I snap. But I turn the image over to confirm there is an account listed. “Not for a bunch of pictures of some kid.”

I’m rationalizing now. No one would see these images and connect them to Gavin Black. If this woman tries, my public relations company will crush her. And there is no way Alexandra knows the full story. Gavin Black had a very different childhood than the one in this picture. There’s proof. I know, because I created it myself.

“It’s not just ‘some kid.’ I know who you are,” she says. “And I’m going to share what I know with every media outlet in this city.”

“The hell you will, you—”

“Unless we come to an agreement. One hundred million suggests you’re willing to work with me.”

“Bitch,” I murmur.

My breath turns shallow. I can feel the panic rushing to my chest, threatening to take hold like a heart attack, but I fight it.

So, she knows who I am? So do I. I’m New York City’s most desirable bachelor. I’m also a capable and effective businessman.

I take one more look at the picture. I am not that kid. Not anymore. I can’t be bullied as an adult, not like the broken, scared child in the old photo.

Taking the picture in both hands, I tear it in half. Then I rip the halves into smaller pieces. I look my girlfriend in the eye as I let the shredded remains fall to the ground.

Her mouth forms a half smile. “You’re angry and you’re lashing out.” She speaks to me in a tone I barely recognize. It’s the same sultry voice, but she sounds like a teacher from my worst nightmares. “I understand.”

“The hell you do,” I growl, careful to keep my voice low.

I refuse to draw the drunken revelers up here and make a scene. In part, because she’s right. I’m very close to losing control. I need to get out of here. Now.Turning on my heel, I walk toward the metal stairs.

“I’m not going away!” she calls after me. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

Who the hell is this woman? Why was she waiting to blackmail me all this time?

I file the questions away and focus on making my way through the drunken melee in the penthouse. My cell is in my hand by the time I reach the exit. In the hall, I pause to text instructions to my driver. I need the limo downstairs by the time the elevator hits the lobby. My ride better be ready for a road trip, because there’s no way I’m going back to the office. And I’m not calling my publicist, or any other members of my elite, expensive PR team.

Not until I talk to my best friend.

The elevator arrives as I pull up the number and hit “call.” It rings over and over. Then the doors open, revealing a sleek, marble lobby as a familiar voice asks me to leave a message.

I step out into the crisp November night. “Kayla, I’m two hours away from you. I’ll be there at midnight. Be ready, because I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a long, long time.”

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About the Author

Sara Jane Stone lives near New York's Hudson River with her very supportive real-life hero, two lively young children, a lazy Burmese cat, and a very active dog. When she is not finger painting with the kids, she loves writing sexy stories, staying up past her bedtime reading red-hot romance, and chatting with her readers on Facebook.

Connect:

Site: www.sarajanestone.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/SaraJaneStone

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SaraJaneStone

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/sarajanestone