Imprinted on the Heart by Terry Newman

Imprinted on the Heart

By Terry Newman

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Blurb: 

JJ Spritely, history professor and romance author, writes love stories, but her own happily ever after seems out of reach. She’s frustrated her most recent book is sitting in a warehouse instead of in the hands of her readers. And her relationship with her boyfriend has stalled. What else could possibly go wrong? 

How about a return visit from Alex and Blake, the fictional characters from her yet-to-be-released book? They’ve jumped out of the pages of their book into JJ’s world before. They mean well, but they cause chaos wherever they go. 

Kennedy King Cooper wants to propose to JJ, but his track record with this sort of thing isn’t good - and to further complicate matters, the new professor, Robert J. MacWhouton, is monopolizing JJ’s time. If he doesn’t ask her soon, he may lose her forever.  

Alex and Blake are determined to give destiny a helping hand. They stand ready to do whatever it takes to help Kenn propose before a kilt-wearing romance hero wannabe sweeps her off her feet. If only they had a plan.  

This time, it seems, no one is guaranteed a happily ever after. 

Excerpt: 

A blast of frigid air ran through the room. Someone had entered the Physics Café. 

“Look at him.” Alex pointed in the direction of the person. Blake’s back was to the door, so he twisted to get a good look. 

A backpack slung casually over his shoulder, the man wore a nineteen-twenties-era leather aviator cap, complete with goggles sitting atop the headgear. He also had a matching waist-length, leather jacket. He looked as if he had just stepped out of another era. 

“He looks awfully familiar.” Alex kept an eye on him as he sauntered across the room. 

Blake agreed. “Where could we have seen him before?” He untwisted his body as the man approached the counter. “Did we meet him the last time we were here? From the pep squad, perchance?” 

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe from the history class we took that JJ and Kenn taught?” She pursed her lips. “Think, Blake. You know we know him.” 

“Not from here.” Blake concentrated. “But I think we saw him—” 

“Alex and Blake.” The man stood at their booth, a cup in his hand. 

“Uhm…hi?” Alex glanced at Blake. 

“Oh, Merlin.” Blake popped out of the booth and pumped the man’s free hand. “I didn’t recognize you right away.” 

“Is it really you?” Alex cocked her head. 

“Yes, it’s me. May I sit with you? I ordered.” He pulled his element number, 79Au out of the jacket pocket, as if he needed proof. 

“But of course.” Blake returned to the bench and Merlin slid in next to him. 

“Merlin?” Alex rubbed her chin. “Why are you dressed like that?” 

“It’s my disguise.” He took off his cap and placed it on the bench between Blake and himself. He ran his hands through his curly hair, then shook it out. “That’s better. The cap messes with my hair.” 

“May I ask why you chose the aviator look?” Blake’s eyes were trained on the cap. “I would think just wearing contemporary clothing would be enough of a disguise.” 

“I’ve always liked this look.” He took a sip from the cup. “And I needed something eccentric enough that no one would even suspect I was a wizard.” 

This was only Blake’s second visit to JJ’s world, but he didn’t think there was much chance of anyone thinking Merlin an authentic wizard. But he said nothing. 

“My office is across the street. I thought we could rendezvous here for updates.” 

“You mean that office?” Alex pointed to a storefront on the opposite side of the street. “The one that reads The ord herpa? What’s that?” The letters were in black on the large window. 

Merlin’s face turned pink. “That’s supposed to read The Word Sherpa. I just haven’t finished painting. The other letters will be in red. I thought it would make it look professional.” 

“What exactly is a word sherpa?” Alex asked. 

“Let’s consider the original meaning of sherpa.” Blake sat up straighter. “It’s a member of a Tibetan people who live in the Himalayas in eastern Nepal. They act as guides and provide support for mountain climbers.” He raised a brow at Merlin, who nodded. 

“From here, we can extrapolate that Merlin guides his clients through the mountainous, rugged terrain of words.” 

“How beautiful.” Alex sighed. 

“Something like that.” Merlin sipped from his cup. “I’m a freelance writer.” 

“That’s what I said.” Blake’s British accent was pronounced. “A freelance writer.” 

“You did, hon.” Alex reached over and patted his hand. “And you said it beautifully.” 

“Here you go, Merlin.” Alvin appeared with a small plate of toast. “Are you sure this is how you want it?” 

“Absolutely.” The toast was burnt. Most of it was black. “This brings back childhood memories. My mother made toast like this every morning.” 

Alvin nodded and glanced at Blake, who shrugged.  

“I didn’t know you knew Alex and Blake.” Alvin pushed his glasses up on his nose. 

“We go way back,” Merlin said.  

“Why yes,” Blake said. “Way back.” 

“Alvin!” voices called from the other end of the café. 

“Sounds like you’re in demand.” Blake waved to Ted and Simon behind the counter. 

“No, they think it’s cute because of my name. You know the chipmunk cartoon and all. But I better go. Enjoy. I’ll be back with more coffee.” 

Merlin bit into a slice of toast. His eyes shut as he chewed and he softly moaned. “Tastes divine.” He put it down and rubbed his hands together. 

“Now, tell me, have you learned anything yet?” 

“JJ expects Kenn to ask her to marry him.” Alex bounced in her seat. 

“Good, that’s a good sign.” Merlin picked up another slice of toast. “Perhaps, headquarters was wrong. Everything looks like it’s going in the right direction.” He bit into the toast again. “Perfect.” 

Blake didn’t know if the man was talking about the toast or JJ and Kenn. 

 

Author Bio: 

Terry Newman, an award-winning author, writes romantic comedy with a splash of fantasy.  

As long as she could remember, she has played with words. In junior high school, she documented the life of a married couple: two No. 2 pencils, Penelope and Peregrine. In high school, she wrote of UFOs and penned an occasional political satire. 

She’s also written more normal things. She was the editor-in-chief and ghostwriter for a national health publication, a small-town reporter, and most recently, a freelance writer. 

All of her novels are set in fictional towns in northeast Ohio, where she grew up. She has a daughter, a son-in-law, and a grandpuppy. She lives in North Lima, a real town in northeast Ohio with all of her characters. She reports it does get crowded at times. 

 

 

Periphery by AA DaSilva

Periphery

by AA DaSilva

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Blurb:

When a young widow falls for a mysteriously familiar stranger, she’s targeted by an agency intent on exploiting the ability gained after her near-death experience. When offered a chance to reconnect with her late husband, things get complicated…and dangerous. 

 Charlotte barely survived the accident that killed her husband four years ago. Resuscitated a savant, she struggles to find meaning in her survival. When she meets Simon, a mysteriously familiar stranger, they are drawn to each other with undeniable magnetism. But Simon is contracted to a black-ops agency. 

With the agency on her heels, and Simon claiming her heart, Charlotte’s past and future collide when she’s offered a chance to reconnect with her late husband. 

As secrets are revealed, motives uncovered, and alliances are formed, Charlotte must choose…between the fate of the world and the fate of her heart. 

Excerpt:

Chapter 1 

“Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” –Albert Einstein 

 

I folded my arms tightly across my chest, my hands clenched into fists. A wave of nausea rolled through me as the car slowed to a stop. 

“This conversation is over, Charlotte. I am not having an affair. My father is deploying me to Virginia for a classified mission. It’s my job, my duty.” Jared stared at the intersection, waiting for the light to turn green, his face composed and smooth. 

“But why would Kayla say that?” I gritted my teeth. 

“Because her husband has affairs when he gets deployed, ever think of that? Takes the heat off him when he makes it sound like we all do it,” Jared retorted.  

I chewed on my lip, turning over his response in my head as I stared at the cherry blossoms across the street, buds ready to pop with the impending spring.  

“Look at me, Charly,” Jared coaxed.  

I loosened my fists and looked over to meet his dark eyes.  

He smiled widely, his face so handsome it should be illegal.  

“I’m sorry, I know she’s a troublemaker.” I sighed.  

Jared was traveling more than ever lately, but such was military life. I was going to have to approach this differently after his deployment. 

“It’s only you, doll.” He turned to watch the road as we accelerated.  

I kept my gaze on his face, searching for genuineness in his reply. 

A piercing screech deafened me, and the hairs along my neck prickled in response to the unexpected sound. There was no time to turn to see where it came from. Noises began to coalesce—the relentless shriek of tires attempting to stop several thousand pounds of unyielding metal, hot rubber dragging across asphalt, exploding glass.  

Jared’s body swung uncontrollably away from the source of the impact. 

And red, so much red suspended around us just before the darkness swallowed me up completely.  

**** 

“Blood pressure is eighty over sixty and dropping fast!” A man shouted loud enough to be heard over the chaos.  

My aching head was stabilized in a collar, but my legs bounced from the hard thump as the gurney was pushed over the threshold and into the trauma bay. I tried to open my eyes, but a rush of warm blood pooled near my eyes, blinding me. 

“Oxygen’s dropping, pulse is weak; she’s going into shock!” A voice, this time female, called out between the wailing and buzzing of machines.  

Cold scissors slid across my skin and cut through my clothes. Scattered footsteps clamored around the room. There was the crinkle of packages being ripped open, metal trays clanging, the pop of a syringe being uncapped. 

“Blood loss estimated to be greater than twenty percent. Page the blood bank and tell them to activate the mass-transfusion protocol, STAT!” The man shouted over the cacophony. 

“We’re losing her! Clearing the airway!”  

The female’s yelling was followed by more package-tearing, a pinprick into my hand, wheels rolling, curtain grommets sliding on a metal rod with a tinny whoosh. 

“We’ve got to get her to the O.R.!”  

I was moving, floating almost, and I could tell by the rhythmic pulse of light behind my lids that they were transporting me quickly. Something was over my face pushing air into my lungs without any effort of my own.  

And then there was darkness again. The pulsing of lights overhead stopped, and for half a heartbeat, the world fell unnervingly silent. The silence faded as soft music pierced the darkness. The music encircled me like warm sunlight on a summer day.  

I opened my eyes and saw a sunny road ahead. I slowed the car and lowered the radio, trying to think about where I was and where I was going. My chrome keychain swung from the ignition and reflected the sunlight across the empty passenger seat, leaving a spectacular pattern of glittering light in its wake. I blinked a few times. Jared was driving just moments ago, wasn’t he?  

I was overwhelmed with memories of the accident and trauma bay, while contending with a rush of memories that weren’t mine. A foreign road lined with evergreens, a soldier I had to meet with. A nagging pit formed in my stomach, telling me I had to get to this person I’d never seen before, his face just out of reach of my memory as if formed from a dream. I needed to warn this man. Fast. He was in danger. With laser focus, the memories of the accident began to fade, and I began navigating the road with undue knowledge of how to get to him.  

Time was running out.  

My thoughts were interrupted by a lightning bolt through my chest—the sensation I was being ripped apart from the inside out. The road ahead became blurry, my vision glitching, as if the world before me threatened to disappear. I squinted my eyes to re-focus, gripping the steering wheel tightly while stomping the gas pedal nearly to the floor. Again, the bolt hit my chest with the strength of a hot iron fist. More beeping, unintelligible voices, shouting. And then, the blackness consumed me again. 

I wasn’t going to make it to him in time. 

Every part of my body ached. But worse than the aching pain was the intense fire within my mind. I kept my eyes closed to untangle my thoughts before I faced the people in the room. I could tell by the echo around me that I was in the hospital—the rhythmic sound of the cardiac monitors, the hushed voices in the hall. 

I could feel the presence of two, maybe three people in the room, quietly shuffling. Pages turning, someone reading, perhaps? Another movement to my right indicated someone was arranging something crinkly. Nervous movements.  

Based on the sounds, the people in the hall were about fifteen meters away. My room guests were on my left and my right, and based on the speed of sound—343 meters per second— they were just mere steps away from me. Wait, what was I thinking? What did I know about sound waves and the speed at which they traveled?  

And, more importantly, what the hell happened? The accident! Jared was driving, and the impact came on my side of the car. The intersection. But, what about those strange visions in the car? The foreign road, the soldier I had to warn?  

And, Jared! Oh, thank God he was okay. I didn’t need reassurance he was fine, I was able to replay the accident in my head clearly. I could look at the acceleration on the speedometer, and judging by the sound, the impact, and the trajectory of Jared’s body, no critical injury would’ve occurred. A head injury, perhaps. He must’ve gotten knocked out by hitting his head on the driver’s-side window, and taken a blow to the chest from the airbag, but…he would survive that.  

I needed to open my eyes, talk to the people in the room. But I sifted through equations instead. I could slow the picture in my head of the accident, rotate it and view it from different angles, and determine the impact using estimated figures. Yes, Jared would be fine. Banged up, but alive. And, here I was, intact mentally as well. My body was in pain, specifically the left side of my head that throbbed relentlessly. But it could be worse.  

“Charlotte, can you hear me?” Mitch demanded. 

Ugh. My father-in-law. 

I opened my eyes and blinked rapidly at the unexpected brightness. 

My parents jumped from their seats to hurry to my side. Everyone tried speaking at once.  

A soft knock, and a man in a white lab coat entered the room.  

The drab olive-and-yellow curtains revealed my location. I was in the VA Hospital close to home. 

My father squeezed my hand gently.  

My mother dabbed at her tears with a wrinkled tissue, and her mascara left black streaks along the lower rim of her eyes.  

I tried a half-smile and croaked, “I’m okay.”  

“Charlotte—” Mitch cleared his throat and sat in the vinyl chair near my bed.  

He was wearing his green service uniform adorned with a plethora of colorful ribbon bars and metals.  

The man in the lab coat stepped forward.  

Tomas Gustav, M.D., his lab coat embroidery indicated.  

“General, I’m going to need a moment with the patient before you proceed,” the doctor interjected. 

I inhaled sharply when Mitch, my parents, and the doctor began speaking all at once.  

Mitch didn’t appreciate being interrupted. Typical. 

My head ached as I recalled the memory of the accident again. Jared’s head shattered the driver’s window, his large brown eyes were wide with shock, and a rivulet of blood streamed down his cheek.  

I was startled back to the present when the doctor placed his hand on my wrist. 

My visitors exited the room while I was examined.  

The doctor performed a neurologic exam and gave me a rundown of the accident—which I didn’t need—and the extent of my injuries—which I did.  

Not good, but not bad. Survivable. 

The room filled with my guests again. The medications were wearing off, and with that came an increase in pain but also mental sharpness. In fact, my mind felt sharper than it’d ever been. Strange. 

Author Bio:

Born and raised in New England, AA DaSilva has a degree in clinical laboratory science and brings her love of science and writing together via science fiction romance. When she’s not working in the lab or writing, AA enjoys spending precious quality time with her husband, two sons, and pup Didi (who looks suspiciously like an Ewok). Her award-winning debut novel, Periphery, is a science fiction love story that explores fate, strength, and the choices that determine our destiny. Book two in AA DaSilva’s Periphery series, titled The Bleed-Through Effect, is forthcoming in 2025 from The Wild Rose Press. For the latest updates on new releases, giveaways, and events, sign up for email updates at aadasilva.com and follow her on socials. AA DaSilva is an active member of the Association of Rhode Island Authors, and a member of the Paranormal Romance Guild.

 

GET YOUR ROMANCE AND ADVENTURE HERE!

 By Caroline Clemmons

Isn't it exciting to find a new series that offers romance and adventure? The Guns for Hire Series does just that with ten authors participating. Each of the sweet historical western books will have a unique story told from a different perspective. The series includes lawmen, outlaws, bounty hunters, and even a preacher forced to become a hangman for a short time.

Charlene Raddon conceived the concept of Guns for Hire. She also designed the covers via her Silver Sage cover Designs. The booka are released on the first and 15th of each month beginning in April and going through July. Those books not yet released are up for preorder at the series page on Amazon. Book are also available in Kindle Unlimited.

Don't miss any of the series! Get them here.

When Sparks Fly by Libby Kay

 

 

Romance is in the air with this amazing new series by best-selling author Libby Kay. Pinegrove has it all, sexy firemen, town busybodies, and tons of charm! 

When these sparks fly, a happily ever after is in the cards!

When Sparks Fly

A Pinegrove FD Novel Book 1

by Libby Kay

Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance

Two broken hearts, one charming small town, and a few sparks may be the recipe for love…

Whitney Kerr is at a crossroads—literally. After jumping behind the wheel to flee Savannah, and a bad breakup, this Southern Belle is in search of a fresh start. Stopping in a charming smalltown seems like the perfect place to catch her breath and find herself. It’s too bad a certain fireman with a crooked grin and kind eyes could have her plans of self-discovery going up in a puff of smoke.

Trevor Mays is at a crossroads—figuratively. Still grieving the loss of his father, he was unceremoniously dumped by his fiancée, who quickly rebounded with his work rival. Just as he thinks things can’t get worse, he loses the captain’s promotion—to the man who stole his ex. He’s about to give up on ever smiling again when a curly-haired beauty with curves for days stumbles into his hometown.

With some help from the residents of Pinegrove, this pair will discover that much like the perfect fireworks show, love only needs a spark.

 

Fans of Sherryl Woods’ Sweet Magnolias series and Sarah Adams’s When in Rome series will fall in love with Libby Kay’s sweet fireman romance. Ms. Kay’s engaging stories fill your heart and head with possibilities and will quickly become your new favorite!

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Bookbub * Goodreads

“Thanks for dinner and the walk and the talk.” Whitney seemed flustered, and she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “I know it was a rough day, but hopefully it ended on a high note.”  

Trevor closed the distance in two strides. Reaching up, he tucked a curl behind her ear. His finger grazed her ear lobe as he pulled back, and she shivered. Every cell in his body was on alert at Whitney’s proximity. “Tonight was perfect. I can hardly remember why my day sucked.”  

The admission came easily, and he was incredibly grateful at his mother’s matchmaking skills. “I’m glad.” Whitney breathed, goosebumps erupting down her neck.  

“Good night, darlin’. I’ll see you soon.”  

“See you,” she agreed.  

Trevor strode to his car and got behind the wheel with a lightness in his step. When the day had started, he’d been certain it would end in disaster. Yet now, with Whitney in town, things just felt better … more hopeful. He hadn’t realized until he parked his car that he’d been singing along to the radio the whole drive home. Yeah, Trevor was going to be all right. 

 

Libby Kay lives in the city in the heart of the Midwest with her husband. When she’s not writing, Libby loves reading romance novels of any kind. Stories of people falling in love nourish her soul. Contemporary or Regency, sweet or hot, as long as there is a happily ever after—she’s in love!

When not surrounded by books, Libby can be found baking in her kitchen, binging true crime shows, or on the road with her husband, traveling as far as their bank account will allow.

Libby cohosts the Romance Roundup podcast with Liz Donatelli where they recommend romance books and interview authors, influencers, and publishers. Check it out for your weekly dose of romance!

 

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a $20 giveaway!

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Tender Misdemeanors by Alana Lorens

Tender Misdemeanors

by Alana Lorens

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Blurb:

Caryn Orlane has law enforcement in her blood; her father was a cop, and his father, too. She's a federal agent in northwest Montana, protecting the old forests and keeping the peace. 

Levi Bradshaw also believes in protecting the forests, but has a very different MO. He's the leader of a group of eco-warriors, determined to save the trees of the Bitterroot by legal—and illegal—means. Sometimes this means allying with anti-government groups with a dangerous separate agenda. 

When Caryn and Levi meet in the woods at gunpoint, their encounter ignites a spark of interest, despite operating on opposite sides of the law. When their worlds turn on them, they only grow closer. If they don’t work together, can either survive? 

Excerpt:

Watching over her shoulder, she missed a thick fallen log in her path and tripped over it, falling hard on the ground, her breath snatched away for a few moments. The impact knocked the gun from her hand, and she struggled to retrieve it as the dog came crashing through the brush. The Rhodesian Ridgeback landed squarely on her, still barking, its nails driving into her back, its hot breath in her ear. She expected to feel the sharp bite of teeth at any moment. Desperate, her fingers quested forward for the gun.  

A shrill whistle sounded off to her right. “Rosie, what have you got there?”  

The dog bounded off her. Caryn lurched for the gun, then shoved herself up into a seated position, holding her weapon in both hands. The person who had spoken appeared in her sights. Aware of the panting animal not three feet away, she couldn’t spare a look, her attention focused on the man.  

Nearly six feet tall (or was it just her perspective from the ground?), he stared down at her, seemingly in shock. Thick dark hair lay tousled across his brow, as though he’d just removed one of those ski masks. He wore a simple red plaid flannel shirt and denim jeans, with heavy nut-colored work boots. His build was athletic, and she guessed there was plenty of muscle under the fabric of his shirt and his padded black ski vest. He could have been a model in one of those outdoorsy catalogs, a perfect example of a rugged, handsome western mountain man.  

At first, his warm brown eyes captured her interest.  But second, his quick movement brought a handgun of his own from behind him, perhaps tucked into his belt, and he pointed it directly at her. 

Author Bio:

Alana Lorens has been a published writer for more than forty years. Currently a resident of Asheville, North Carolina, she loves her time in the smoky blue mountains. One of her novellas, That Girl’s The One I Love, is set in the city of Asheville during the old Bele Chere festival. She lives with her daughter, who is the youngest of her seven children, three crotchety cats, and four kittens of various ages. 

Website: https://wordpress.com/page/alana-lorens.com/21 

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

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4829967.Alana_Lorens 

Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/Alana-Lorens/e/B005GE0WBC/ 

Watch the exciting book trailer here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlVFvMZw0a0&t=63s 

 

Lance by Heather Blanton

 Lance

Book 4 Guns for Hire

by Heather Blanton

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Book Blurb:

He lost everything. Now he has nothing left to lose.

Lance Wister had a home, a family, and a future—until greedy railroad barons and ruthless bankers took it all. Hardened by war and burning for revenge, he turns to the only justice he has left: hitting his enemies where it hurts—their wallets. But when his own gang betrays him, leaving him wounded and on the run, he’s out of options… until fate lands him in the wagon of a wary but resourceful peddler.

Cat Callahan has spent years outrunning her past, keeping to herself as she roams the rugged frontier. But when she stumbles upon an injured outlaw hiding among her wares, she has a choice—help him and risk her own freedom, or turn him in and possibly reveal her identity to the law.

Forced into an uneasy partnership, Lance and Cat must navigate a treacherous web of enemies, secrets, and the wild Colorado terrain. But the longer they’re together, the harder it is to ignore the fire sparking between them.

When their pasts finally catch up to them, they’ll face a deadly choice: stand together… or let their enemies tear them apart.

Author:

Heather Blanton is a wonderful author.  She is also a talented graphics artist who is formatting all the books in this series and inserting the graphics at the beginning of each chapter.

The Last Broken Girl by Cynthia Rice

The Last Broken Girl

by Cynthia Rice

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Blurb

In THE LAST BROKEN GIRL, a psychologist fights to save her young daughters, her career and possibly even her sanity when the woman who kidnapped and terrorized her as a teen resurfaces, hiding in the shadows, and forcing her to revisit her painful ordeal to survive. 

Excerpt

Erin climbed back under the covers and switched back to the interior cameras. She scanned room by room. Finally, she watched over the girls, asleep in their beds. This had been her routine since they had been born. She leaned back against the headboard and shut her eyes. She breathed in for three seconds, out for four seconds. Over and over. Tonight, the familiar routine didn’t help. She finally gave up, sat forward, and snatched her phone off the nightstand. 

She turned her attention to the on-line News-Journal. It was the lead article, as Lindsey had described. 

“Convicted Kidnapper Stanley Duggan granted parole hearing with possible release after June hearing.” The article went on to summarize the months of captivity which had destroyed her life twenty years ago and haunted her still. He described the question of a female accomplice, seen only by traumatized young Erin, and authorities were not sure she existed. Duggan had denied having an accomplice. Fuck them. She had no doubt Veronica was alive and watching. 

At the bottom of the article, it mentioned “Erin Moore-Jackson still lives in the area with her husband and two young daughters, with a Psychology practice with Meadowview Center in Lake Delton, Wisconsin. She could not be reached for comment.” 

She checked her phone’s call log and saw there were no missed calls. The reporter hadn’t even tried to reach her, and he had no business mentioning her girls and her place of employment.  

After studying each security camera feed again, she threw off the covers, tiptoed down to the kitchen and topped off another glass of red wine. She settled on the living room couch and wrapped a throw around her legs, clutching her glass so tightly she was afraid it would shatter in her hand as the pen had done earlier in the day. She would not be sleeping that night. 

Author Bio

Mystery and suspense author Cynthia Rice is a physician living in the Milwaukee area and a proud member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. Her debut novel, The Last Broken Girl, is set in rural Wisconsin where she has strong ties. The novel won the 2023 Claymore Award in the category of suspense. Additionally, she has A short story in the February 2025 released anthology, Gone Fishin’: Crime Takes a Holiday. When she’s not working on her next novel, Cynthia keeps busy reading, traveling, and playing mediocre golf and tennis.