***
Stranger at My Door
A new romantic
suspense by Mari Manning
The only thing standing between her and disaster is a man
she can’t trust …
As far as Dinah Pittman is concerned, men can’t be trusted.
Especially cops. Her own father was a cop and a convicted felon who stole a
small fortune before dying in prison. The best part? No one knows where the
money is…and someone is willing to kill off everyone who knows anything about
it.
And Dinah is next.
Rafe Morales left the Dallas police force to settle down to
a simpler life in the small Texas town of El Royo. Instead, he finds himself
protecting an infuriating, tough-as-nails, oh-so-sexy victim—and driving
himself crazy with a thoroughly unprofessional desire.
But as the body count rises, Rafe and Dinah must find a way
to trust each other…before they both end up dead.
An interview with Dinah
Pittman, heroine of Stranger at My Door
Where did you grow
up?
I grew up in a small town in Texas. I’ll tell you the name,
but it doesn’t matter since no one’s ever heard of it. It’s El Royo. For the
first 17 years of my life, I loved it, then a crime destroyed my family, and I
couldn’t get away fast enough.
When is your
birthday?
I’m 25, so you do the math. I was born on November 1, and my
mother, who believed in the stars, painted the night sky at it appeared the day
I was born on the ceiling of my bedroom.
What would you do if
you won the lottery?
Pay back the money my father stole.
An interview with Rafe
Morales, hero of Stranger at My Door
Where did you grow
up?
I grew up on Hacienda Osito, which means Little Bear Ranch
in Spanish.
Worst fear or
nightmare?
I’ve lived through my worst fear – I watched someone I love
die before my eyes. Something broke in me that night. Most people call it my
nerve. My mother swears it’s my alma,
which means soul. Whatever it is, I hope it mends, but I don’t believe I will
ever be whole again.
An excerpt from Stranger at My Door:
The
front door rebounded and clipped Rafe’s shoulder. He kicked it closed with his
boot before raking his flashlight beam across the unlit entryway. The hall was
clear. His heart thumping against ribs, he burst into the living room. His
light hit the figure of a woman, and his feet froze. He tilted the beam up and
framed Dinah Pittman’s expressionless face.
Most girls would have
screamed or hid when he kicked in the door. Not this one. She had balls, he’d
give her that.
Her forearm lifted to shield her eyes from the light. “Who
are you? What do you want?” She sounded tired. “I already told Teke, I don’t
know where the money is.”
Rafe lowered the flashlight and rolled his shoulder to
loosen a tight muscle. There were about two dozen abandoned bungalows in this
part of town. When he saw a candle flickering in the window, he’d expected a
confrontation with teenagers or maybe a squatter.
He stepped into the candlelight. “Officer Morales, ma’am.
Got something against electricity?” As soon as the words were out, he regretted
them. The pink flyers. She’d needed money to turn on the lights.
Her mouth tightened. “Get out.” Turning to a small table by
the window, she gathered up scattered cards, probably her tarot cards. Had she
found customers already?
He studied her as he summoned up an appropriate apology. She
wore cut-offs and a white T-shirt. His eyes swept down her slim legs to her
bare feet and red toenails before he could stop himself. Why were
pain-in-the-ass women always hot?
“I didn’t mean to upset you—”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“That’s tough to do with you around.”
Her hand stilled for a moment, then returned to its task.
“You could have knocked.”
“Sometimes we get squatters in these abandoned houses.
They’re more likely to be discouraged by a show of force.”
“I could have been a mass murderer. Aren’t you supposed to
call for backup?” She glanced down at his flashlight. “If I was a bad guy with
a gun, you’d be dead, Officer Morales.”
“Rafe.”
She’d read him right. He’d tried to pull out his service
revolver when he broke down the door, but—predictably—his hand had turned to
Jell-O. After two years, he still couldn’t get past the night in Dallas when
his beautiful, daring Sam’s luck ran out, and he’d avenged her but failed to
live up to his own lofty ideals. So he relied on the element of surprise and
big fists.
Gathering up the cards, she set them in a neat stack. “As
you can see, I am not a squatter.” Her gaze flickered to his flashlight, then
back up to his face. “There’s an empty house about two blocks down if you’re
determined to rescue one.”
The corner of his mouth inched up. She’d be a handful…for
the right man, which sure as hell wasn’t him. Not anymore. “Thanks for the
tip.”
About Mari Manning
Let’s start with the fun stuff. I love small towns,
mysteries, quiet men, laughter, old-fashioned spaghetti dinners. I love boots
and shopping and jokes and Hershey’s dark chocolate and white wine. I love lots
of things. But my first love is reading.
I love to read. Just about anything, but it has to be
well-written. I go through periods where I am into historical novels or romance
or mystery or history or biography. I never know when my desires will suddenly
change.
Now for the writer-ish, official stuff: Mari Manning is the
author of several contemporary romances and three romantic suspense novels set
in the Texas Hill Country. Stranger at My Door is the first in her A Murder in
Teas series. The second, Stranger in My House will be published by Entangled
later this year. The third book in the series is Stranger in My Bed. Currently
Mari is working on a series of cozy mysteries.
She and her husband live in Chicago.
Buy links to all the major electronic sites are here: http://www.entangledpublishing.com/stranger-at-my-door/
Follow
me @mari_manning on Twitter
1 comment:
Happy to see you here, Mari!
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