Blog Tour: Review & Excerpt from Haunted by a Broken Oath by Dee Armstrong

HAUNTED BY A BROKEN OATH

by Dee Armstrong

February 2 - March 13, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A JD WOLFE INVESTIGATION

 

When a hero dies and children vanish, PI JD Wolfe must confront a deadly conspiracy--and the ghost that's haunted her since childhood.

A decorated military hero is found hanging from a rope. Two young boys vanish without a trace. And private investigator JD Wolfe's world begins to unravel.

The deeper she digs, the closer the danger creeps--not just to her, but to the family that saved her and the career that keeps her sane. JD knows these crimes aren't random. They're a message. And she might be the target.

Once called Diamond in a grim orphanage, the Wolfe family adopted JD, but she's never felt like she truly belonged. She harbors secrets too dark to speak. Secrets that landed her in an asylum. Secrets tied to a ghost that's haunted her since the night her mother died in a fire.

This ghost doesn't sleep. It invades JD's cases, her dreams, and even her heart. She's kept it buried for years. But now, with lives on the line, JD must do the unthinkable.

She must let the ghost in.

Praise for Haunted by a Broken Oath:

"Meet JD Wolfe—a tough, smart, quirky PI with special skills and a meddling ghost in tow. Buckle up for a wild ride!"
~ DP Lyle, Award-Winning Author of the Jake Longly and Cain/Harper Thriller Series and Co-Creator of the Outliers Writing University

"Dee Armstrong is a refreshing new voice in action thrillers. Her new novel is packed with gut-gripping suspense, peppered with witty quips that had me chuckling, while her plot twists had me biting back a scream. Blazing brilliant!"
~ Kathleen Baldwin, Wall Street Journal and #1 Barnes & Noble bestselling author of A School for Unusual Girls

"Haunted By A Broken Oath will grip you from the very first page and linger in your mind long after the last. Armstrong’s strong voice and resonant characters make this an unforgettable read."
~ Kathleen Antrim, Bestselling Author

"A highly eventful but fast-paced supernatural thriller."
~ Kirkus Reviews

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller with a touch of paranormal
Published by: Outliers Press . Suspense Publishing
Publication Date: November 11, 2025
Number of Pages: 424
ISBN: 9798999682994 (Paperback)
Series: A JD Wolfe Investigation, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

My thoughts:

Haunted by a Broken Oath is the first in a new series featuring JD Wolfe, a rookie PI who is haunted by a mysterious ghost woman.  I ended up enjoying this mystery.  There were some twists and surprises that kept me interested.  More than the mystery though, I liked JD herself.  She has a lot of baggage but she is a smart and pretty kick-ass.  She is definitely someone I would want to read more of in other books.  The ghost woman was interesting and I definitely want some answers as to why she haunts JD.  I think this book is one that is best going in not knowing a lot.  I do recommend it.

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

The first rule on my “JD Wolfe’s Survival List” was: Don’t trust the ghost, because she couldn’t leave anything alone. Not when you were awake, not when you were asleep, not when she was haunting you. Not when the only surprise you received for your eighth birthday, other than the death of your mom in a fire, was for the ghost who had tormented her to transfer that torment to you.

And torment you forever.

During the thirteen years since the fire, I went from homeless to orphan to private eye. I reinvented myself. I became stronger. When life comes at you, and you have no one to protect you, and flight isn’t an option, you either fight or surrender.

I chose fight.

I took my adopted family’s surname and changed my name from Diamond, the girl with no last name, to Justyne Diamond Wolfe, or JD for short. I haven’t forgotten my survival rules.

I’ve added more to the list.

Past midnight, I sat hunched at the counter, scrolling through my phone in one of those diners you see in the movies with wide windows, cushy booths, a long counter, and pictures of All American Little League baseball teams lining the walls. You’d expect to see couples snuggled in the booths and a clean-cut, milkshake melt-in-your-mouth kind of guy in a starched button-down shirt. Instead, I was alone with Creepy Diner Guy working the counter. His hair slicked back, his shirt a stain-spattered rendering of a Jackson Pollock painting, his buttons playing hopscotch, missing every other hole.

He wiped a dirty rag around a glass jar with a MISSING flier taped to the front. A pretty, fresh-faced, school-age girl smiled for the camera wearing decades-old clothes and a Hello Kitty backpack. The change and dollar bills stuffed into the jar suggested hope was still alive.

I wasn’t so sure. In my experience, hope was for suckers.

“Get you another coffee, Red?” His nasty meth-smile busted and blackened.

“Still struggling with this one.” I swirled the sludge he called coffee in the bottom of my cup. It had created a tar pit inside my gut. I decided to check in with the office before the coffee killed me.

On the stool at my nine, a ball of light appeared. Flickered. Sparked in shades between blue, violet and eye-piercing white. The air snapped. The skin on my arms tingled and puckered like a plucked goose’s butt.

The light shifted from a pixelated pattern into a semi-transparent woman, all monochromatic shades of gray. Stringy hair stuck to her face, hiding her features. Only her silver eyes and charcoal lips showed through. A dingy nightgown hung from her shoulders and fluttered in shreds around her bare feet.

Home, home, home, the ghost whispered in my brain, where the thoughts were supposed to be mine, not hers. One of many things about the Woman that ticked me off.

Most people would call the ghost a spirit or specter, but I preferred “the Woman.”

Or “Bitch.”

Instead of playing patty-cake and singing nursery rhymes, I learned how to survive living with a not-so-dearly departed. I didn’t care how she died, only that she stuck to my mom like a nasty rash.

The second rule I learned? Never tell anyone about the ghost. Otherwise, they’ll think you’re crazy and lock you up.

Creepy Diner Guy didn’t react to his supernatural guest. He walked past and wiped down tables. That didn’t shock me. My mom had been the only other living person I’d known who could see or hear or smell the Woman.

Even when the Woman didn’t appear, she watched. Listened. Waited for a way to interfere. It was inevitable. I lived with the dead.

An overwhelming smell of lavender clung to the Woman. I gagged on the disgusting sweetness. My hand tugged at the collar of my leather jacket and the t-shirt beneath. “Why can’t you give me one day?” I whispered. “One day without your lavender scent up my nose, your annoying voice blabbing in my head, your bony butt blocking my way?”

S-s-sorry, s-s-sorry, sorry, she repeated.

“Yeah, right. If you were sorry, you’d go back to hell.”

La-la-late. The staccato beat of her words pounded against my temples. As if the ghost cared if she didn’t get forty winks.

“I’m on a job. Go away.” I worked in the family’s business, White Wolfe Investigations. Today’s job was more of a payback than a paycheck. My adopted father, Milt Wolfe—whom I liked to call Fixer Geezer in my head—owed a lifelong favor to his old Navy buddy, Master Chief Ben Palmer. I didn’t know why Master Chief had bought a 24-hour diner right off I-95. Senile? Maybe.

This kind of debt could never be paid off. How could you put a price on someone saving your life?

I understood Milt’s orders: Sit tight. Observe and report. Master Chief thought Creepy Diner Guy volunteered for the night shift to make money on the shady side of life—the side where things slip from white-lie gray to back-alley black; the side where cops close your restaurant and cart you off to jail.

My phone buzzed. No doubt it was one of the Geezers. Two brothers I considered my real fathers, and my bosses. “Sweet cheeks, I’ll be home soon.”

“Sweet cheeks?” Their voices blended into one. They’d put me on speakerphone. Great. Two opinionated, life-controlling Geezers for the price of one.

I couldn’t bring myself to call Milt anything like Dad or Daddy or Pop. Some things took time and a barge load of counseling. “Is everything okay, Sweet Cheeks?”

“Has he passed any packages? Drugs? Money?” Cliff Wolfe, a.k.a. Smarty Pants Geezer and my adopted uncle, was super stinkin’ smart. The type of smart that could send a rocket to the moon but not close the refrigerator door.

“Nope. Only coffee.” I ignored the ghost and monitored Creepy Diner Guy. He picked at a stain on his shirt and popped something into his mouth.

My stomach revolted.

“Stolen anything?” Street smart and straight to the point, Milt didn’t waste words.

“Nope. Nada. Not cash from the till or a quarter from the floor.”

“Be smart.” Uncle Cliff’s voice geared into lecture mode.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be smart.”

“Don’t approach anyone. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Get the intel. Get home. You’re more important than a favor.” Milt, the man who fixed everything with what he had on hand, even if it was only his brute strength or a rubber band, sounded as strong and sure as the day he saved me from St. Francis’ Group Home for Lost Souls. A fancy name for an orphanage. People rebrand and rename. It’s all the same. Group home or orphanage. I preferred orphanage. Or St. Francis’ Hell Hole.

The name didn’t catch on.

“Pleeease.” Unwanted emotions compressed my chest. I struggled to remain in character. “I know better than to talk to strangers.”

“She can handle this.” The rise in Cliff’s voice vetoed any worry.

Creepy Diner Guy inched closer with each swipe of his rag.

Unsure what he could hear, I kept my words soft. “Don’t worry. I’m a big girl.”

The Woman leaned in.

I leaned away, checking the diner’s clock. “It’s past midnight. Do you need me home?”

“A few more hours. Nothing good happens between midnight and three,” said Cliff.

“I don’t like her on her own.” Concern lined the deep timbre of Milt’s voice. “We’ll meet you there. Follow orders and stay safe.”

My face burned solar-flare hot. He didn’t trust me. How could I prove myself if he didn’t give me a chance? “Sheesh. You don’t need to pick me up. I can drive home. I’m not eleven anymore.”

Back ramrod-straight, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, the Woman disapproved of my tone. You’d think after decades of death, she’d have pulled the sequoia-sized stick out of her spectral butt.

“It’s been a long time since you lived on the streets.” Milt shouted into the speakerphone. Technology wasn’t one of his strengths.

“Sweet cheeks, don’t yell.” A sick part of me enjoyed the charade. “I can hear you.” My gaze flickered to Creepy Diner Guy, and I clicked down the volume on my phone. “It’s a cellphone, not a handheld radio.”

“Milt’s right. We shouldn’t have sent you in alone.” Cliff’s words rose decibels higher than his brother’s.

They’d joined forces and wanted to pull the plug on my mission. I couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m okay.” I kept my voice light and confident. To ease their angst, I added a hint of humor. “Worrying is only going to make you grayer.” By age seven, I’d mastered controlling my voice to manipulate adults. That was how you survived when you were the proxy adult because your mom had surrendered to another drug-enhanced dream.

Bored with our conversation, the Woman hummed a song—not a pop or a rap or a country song, but that lullaby. I rubbed my temples, biting my tongue to prevent myself from begging her to stop.

“Keep us posted.” Milt barked out the order as if I was a newbie boot on his ship.

I suppressed an aye, aye, Sir, and replied, “Be home soon.” I hung up and glared at the Woman. “Don’t you start.”

The Woman switched to a jazzy tune.

I passed the time naming the stains on Creepy Diner Guy’s shirt. Red—ketchup. Yellow—mustard. There was a slick of brown across his midriff. Grease? Gravy?

The coffee pit in my belly bubbled. I didn’t want to know.

He shuffled into the back and returned with a plate stacked high with raw hamburger patties and a bag of frozen fries. He tossed the meat on the grill, dumped the fries into a basket, lowered them into grease, and wiped the grill’s metal front with his rag.

In the mirror above the grills, I scanned the parking lot behind me through the diner’s gigantic windows. Empty except for my Jeep.

Through the same mirror, Creepy Diner Guy gave me a hey-baby-I’m-the-answer-to-your-prayers look.

I shot back a don’t-make-me-shove-that-rag-down-your-throat glare. The ghost’s laughter rang in my head. A girly giggle slipped from my throat before I could kill it.

Creepy Diner Guy flipped the hamburgers. He turned, wiping his hands down his shirt. “Waiting for a boyfriend?”

“Expecting a midnight rush?” I countered. The meat smelled a little off, or maybe the nauseous odor came from him.

“Nonya.”

Was that code for something? “Nonya?”

“None ya business.” His shrill laugh shredded my eardrums. He planted his elbows on the counter and leaned in. “Lived in Rubyville long?” His lunch haunted his breath. Hamburger with extra onions.

Home, home, home.

“Kinda,” I replied with my own one-word cryptic answer and snubbed the ghost.

Home, Home, HOME. The Woman didn’t like to be left out or ignored. The longer it went, the more insistent she’d become. At least her humming stopped.

Creepy Diner Guy turned back to the grill, removed the hamburgers, and lifted the basket of fries from the grease. He came around the counter. Sat on a ripped vinyl stool, sandwiched me between his onion breath and the Woman’s putrid potpourri. He leaned close. “I like green eyes and red hair. You look real good in black.”

As if I cared what he thought. Shades from onyx to ebony filled ninety percent of my wardrobe. My leather jacket and knee-high boots fell comfortably in the range. Black was easy to accessorize. It went with more black. “Uh-huh. Thanks.”

Truck pipes rumbled. I checked the parking lot in the mirror. A baby-blue, nineteen-eighty-two Ford parked out front. I’d love to have a truck like that. All shiny and clean.

Home, Home, Home.

I raised my phone as a shield between his breath and me. I texted the Geezers: Got movement, adding the truck’s description and license plate number. In a low voice, I told the Woman, “Hit the bricks.”

“No need to be like that. I’m not going to hurt you,” Creepy Diner Guy replied, his tone operator-smooth. He rubbed a piece of my hair between his fingers. My hair. “Red’s my favorite color.”

My muscles tensed. One swift back fist. That’s all it would take. He could add fresh blood to the stains on his shirt. Bright red would enhance his color palette. Besides, red was his favorite.

But I was on a job. A job I couldn’t mess up by spilling his blood. “Don’t you have more burgers to flip? Potatoes to peel?”

“You wanna peel my potato?”

The coffee tar backed up into my throat. Leaning into my third rule—keep everything important safe in your boots and everything important will keep you safe—I palmed the knife from my boot and showed him the blade. “I can peel more than that. Wanna play?”

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, the Woman chanted. The lights in the diner flashed.

I slid the blade of my knife against his jaw, giving him a free shave. “You’re not really bad, are you?”

The diner’s door opened. I shifted, keeping my back between the door and the knife. No need to frighten a customer or warn off the pick-up guy.

Creepy Diner Guy’s face turned morgue gray. Scared stiff worked for him. He scrambled backward, helter-skelter, and side slipped from the stool.

“That’s what I thought.” I lowered my knife.

Like a buck caught in the crosshairs, he froze. A tsunami of fear flowed over his face. He gazed over my head. Neither my blade nor the Woman caused his locked stare.

Someone scarier than a knife to his throat stood behind me.

Dread dripped down my backbone like bacon grease from a hot pan, setting my nerves on fire. I tucked my chin and snuck a peek over my shoulder.

Scary didn’t do the guy justice. He was a mashup of Godzilla and King Kong—butt ugly and horribly wrong. A massive neck—a monster mama would be proud of—steel-studded earlobes, his hair spiky and nuclear green. He’d claimed this cement jungle and declared himself king.

And I?

I was the bug in his way. But I wasn’t Diamond, the girl with no last name, anymore. I was JD Wolfe, Private Eye.

***

Excerpt from Haunted by a Broken Oath by Dee Armstrong. Copyright 2025 by Dee Armstrong. Reproduced with permission from Dee Armstrong. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Dee Armstrong writes thrillers and romantic suspense with a paranormal twist — stories that squeeze the heart, rattle the nerves, and still leave room for love, laughter, and sass.

She pits tough heroines against bad guys you’ll love to hate — with twists that keep the pages flying and endings that fight for hope.

A former U.S. Air Force Russian linguist and three-time Taekwondo Black Belt National Sparring Champion, Dee believes the vulnerable should be protected and justice must be fierce—because the past never stays buried, and the truth never sleeps.

When she’s not writing about danger and desire, Dee is chasing after her littles, sipping tea on the porch, and plotting against the weeds in her garden.

Find her on social @DeeArmstrongAuthor for sneak peeks, behind-the-scenes chaos, and stories that leave a fingerprint on your heart.

Catch Up With Dee Armstrong:

DeeArmstrong.com
Dee Armstrong's Newsletter
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @DeeArmstrong
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X - @deearmstrongbks
Facebook - @DeeArmstrongAuthor
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Pinterest - @DeeArmstrongAuthor

 

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Spotlight: Excerpt from Make Her Mine by Bree Westland

 

Rowan Harper, a relentless reporter with everything to lose, sets her sights on the Beckett clan, only to find her biggest story complicated by Clive Beckett, the self-sacrificing shifter she never meant to fall for. As prophecy unfolds and a traitor emerges, Making Her Mine blends fated mates, magic, meddling gods, and irresistible chemistry into a battle where love may be the most dangerous force of all. Readers who enjoy grumpy sunshine romances with protective heroes and who did this to you tropes will want to sink their teeth into this all-new steamy paranormal romance from Bree Westland.
 

Clive Beckett played as hard as he worked. Yet the truth of the matter, that he was slowly circling the drain, would soon be apparent to everyone.

He had his family fooled. His passion was saving lives. But his carefully built facade was disintegrating, piece by piece. Sacrifices needed to be made. And as usual Clive was all in, putting himself on the line one too many times.

Nothing excited Rowan Harper more than chasing a lead. She’s failed at everything though, except exploiting the truth. And with her personal life in shambles, she snags an exclusive contract. A tell-all story, centering on the famous Beckett siblings. Once the story breaks, she’ll be set for life, despite a high personal price. But a most unattainable, mountain of a man stands in her way.
When Clive finds himself dragged into yet another scheme to unravel the rogue fae’s hold on the clan, he can’t say no and comes face to face with his very human limitations. The pretty little reporter brightens his drab days, getting under his skin, complicating matters. But painful facts come to light, throwing everything Rowan has worked so hard for into question.
New battle lines are drawn and unforeseen allies called upon as the fight with the fae twists and escalates, aligning with prophecy. And a traitor hides in their midst. Danger lurking among the most vulnerable of them.

*Readers can expect healthy doses of hot shifters, naughty language, and intimate time with a fated mate, all wrapped up in a happily ever after. Can be read as a standalone romance but best enjoyed in the order written.
 
Add to Goodreads Here! 
 
Buy Now or Read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited! 
 
 
Excerpt 
Copyright 2026, Author Bree Westland
 
“I want it all with you. On Earth, on Rayner, in this world and beyond, wherever that leads. Through the power of our bond, we’re one and can never be separated. You feel it too. Tell me,” he prodded, his tone low and guttural.

 
About Bree Westland

Hi, I’m Bree! Paranormal romance writer and lover of all things fantasy. I write steamy shifter romances with growly alpha men and the strong women who love them. Most days you can find me tucked away in my office, lost in the worlds and characters I create, listening while they tell me their stories.
When not writing, you can catch me curled up with a hot cup of tea and my ever-growing TBR pile. I call home the sunny beaches of Jacksonville, Florida, but I love traveling as long as I can take my laptop with me!
 
Follow: Facebook | Website | TikTok | Pinterest | Goodreads | BookBub | Newsletter | Amazon | Linktree
 
 
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Blog Tour: Review & Excerpt from The Arrangement by S.D. Lettie

 

Title: The Arrangement (Bancroft University Chronicles Book 1)
Author: S.D. Lettie
Publisher: Independent
Publication Date: November 7, 2025
Pages: 298
Genre: New Adult / Romantic Suspense 
Formats: Paperback, Kindle, FREE w/ Kindle Unlimited

You know that guy you fell for at sixteen—the one who vanished without explanation, leaving behind enough damage to last years? Now imagine being forced into an engagement with him because your parents decided you’re more useful as leverage than as a daughter. 
And the part he forgot to mention? He’s heir to a Bratva empire with blood on its hands. 
That’s Emilia’s life. Her future is not her own, and her fiancé, Nikolai Volkov, is a man whose silence is more dangerous than his words. Their past is a wound. Their engagement is a threat. And what grows between them is something neither of them should let happen. 

The Arrangement is a dark, slow-burn story of buried truths, political corruption, and a connection that pulls two damaged people toward a collision neither may survive unscathed.
Read sample.

The Arrangement is available at Amazon.
 

My thoughts:

The Arrangement is the first half of the Bancroft University Chronicles duet.  It's definitely a slow burn story involving college senior Emilia.  She is the daughter of the VP of the United States.  She has been raised her whole life to be perfection.  Now she has found out that she has been set up to marry the heir to a powerful Russian mafia family.  She is also about to find out some deep secrets her family has been keeping.  

For the most part, I did like this book.  I found it a bit slow in the beginning.  But by the halfway mark I found miser invested Emilia's story.  I was sad that it left off on a cliffhanger.   I was  left with a lot of questions that I hope will be answered in the next installment.  The characters were interesting.  I really liked Emilia's friendship with Thalia.  Everyone needs a ride or die friend like her.  I do recommend giving this one a shot.

BOOK EXCERPT

My phone buzzes in my shorts pocket. I ignore it, thinking it’s a text, but then it buzzes again. I look down and see my father’s name lighting up the screen. Groaning, I answer. 
“Emilia.” His voice is calm, clipped. Not cold, just clean, like everything else he controls. He says my name like punctuation. 
“Yes, sir.” 
“Your mother asked me to check on the brunch.” 
She didn’t want to ask herself. She never does. She strategically delegates through him, like always. “It’s done,” I say. “Final headcount is confirmed. Catering’s squared. My remarks are short and already vetted.” There’s a pause, the sound of him moving paper in the background, or maybe pouring a drink. I can’t tell. He’s always multitasking, even when he speaks like everything is a priority. 
“She wants it to go smoothly.” 
It will. He knows that. He wouldn’t have called if he didn’t already trust it was handled. 
“There’s something else,” my father says right as I think we’re done, his voice flat and clipped in the way he reserves for things that aren’t up for discussion. “I’ve arranged a meeting with Nikolai and his father next week at the Four Seasons. I’d like you to be there. We have some important things to discuss.” 
– Excerpted from The Arrangement by S.D. Lettie, Independent, 2025. Reprinted with permission.
 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Before she ever had “author” next to her name, S.D. Lettie was—and still is—an avid reader first; the kind who would finish a book in a day and beg her parents to take her back to the bookstore. Reading started as a hobby and, as she got older, became her source of entertainment, escape, and comfort. Over the years, she found herself wanting to write the kind of worlds readers could get excited about—a world that could grow into a fandom of its own. 

Today, Lettie writes slow-burn romances—stories about characters who are imperfectly perfect, the hard moments that shape them, and the plot twists that leave readers reeling. Outside her writing life, she’s a wife and mom of two, roles that influence both her time and perspective. She’s also a dedicated soccer fan, the kind who will plan her day around a match and openly admit she’ll yell at the TV when things get heated.

Through all of it, her goal as an author is simple: she wants her characters to stay with readers long after the book ends. 
 
Her latest book is the new adult romantic suspense, The Arrangement (Bancroft University Chronicles Book 1).
 
Visit her website at www.sdlettieauthor.com. Connect with her on Facebook, Instagram, BookBub and Goodreads.
 

Pre-Order Blitz: Making Her Mine by Bree Westland

 Rowan Harper, a relentless reporter with everything to lose, sets her sights on the Beckett clan, only to find her biggest story complicated by Clive Beckett, the self-sacrificing shifter she never meant to fall for. As prophecy unfolds and a traitor emerges, Making Her Mine blends fated mates, magic, meddling gods, and irresistible chemistry into a battle where love may be the most dangerous force of all. Pre-order this grumpy sunshine romance with a protective hero and a who-did-this-to-you trope from Bree Westland.

Title: Making Her Mine

Author: Bree Westland

Release Date: 02/26/2026

Genres: Paranormal Romance

Page Count: 359 pages

Tropes: Grumpy Sunshine, Meddling Gods, Who Did This To You, Dislike to Love, Protective Hero, Touch Her and Die, Grief and Healing, Fated Mates, Found Family, Telepathic Characters.

Pre-Order on Amazon

Add to Goodreads Here! 

Clive Beckett played as hard as he worked. Yet the truth of the matter, that he was slowly circling the drain, would soon be apparent to everyone.

He had his family fooled. His passion was saving lives. But his carefully built facade was disintegrating, piece by piece. Sacrifices needed to be made. And as usual Clive was all in, putting himself on the line one too many times.

Nothing excited Rowan Harper more than chasing a lead. She’s failed at everything though, except exploiting the truth. And with her personal life in shambles, she snags an exclusive contract. A tell-all story, centering on the famous Beckett siblings. Once the story breaks, she’ll be set for life, despite a high personal price. But a most unattainable, mountain of a man stands in her way.

When Clive finds himself dragged into yet another scheme to unravel the rogue fae’s hold on the clan, he can’t say no and comes face to face with his very human limitations. The pretty little reporter brightens his drab days, getting under his skin, complicating matters. But painful facts come to light, throwing everything Rowan has worked so hard for into question.

New battle lines are drawn and unforeseen allies called upon as the fight with the fae twists and escalates, aligning with prophecy. And a traitor hides in their midst. Danger lurking among the most vulnerable of them.

*Readers can expect healthy doses of hot shifters, naughty language, and intimate time with a fated mate, all wrapped up in a happily ever after. Can be read as a standalone romance but best enjoyed in the order written.

About Bree Westland

Hi, I’m Bree! Paranormal romance writer and lover of all things fantasy. I write steamy shifter romances with growly alpha men and the strong women who love them. Most days you can find me tucked away in my office, lost in the worlds and characters I create, listening while they tell me their stories.

When not writing, you can catch me curled up with a hot cup of tea and my ever-growing TBR pile. I call home the sunny beaches of Jacksonville, Florida, but I love traveling as long as I can take my laptop with me!

 

Follow: Facebook | Website | TikTok | Pinterest | Goodreads | BookBub | Newsletter | Amazon | Linktree

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Spotlight: Excerpt from Lineups and Lyrics by Tina Gallagher

 

Benny Reed came back to Waypoint to rebuild a baseball team, not to fall for Quinn Logan, the hometown girl turned global pop sensation who once wrote songs about him. Keeping their distance should be easy, but unresolved history, explosive chemistry, and nonstop attention from everyone make it nearly impossible. Readers who love missed connections and return-to-hometown romances will fall head over heels for Lineups and Lyrics by Tina Gallagher, a steamy, small-town sports romance.

 

Read Now! 
Amazon → https://amzn.to/45cLkFb 

Benny Reed has a plan. Quinn Logan isn’t part of it.

Managing an MLB team means building something from the ground up, and that challenge is exactly what drew him back to Waypoint. He knows the game. He knows the job. And he knows one rule that’s always served him well: baseball and his personal life don’t mix.

Then he meets Quinn Logan.

She’s Waypoint born and raised.

She’s also a retired pop star with a name the world recognizes.

He doesn’t remember the quiet girl from high school.

She remembers him—and the crush that inspired her first songs.

Getting close is risky.

The town is watching.

The media won’t stay quiet.

And some connections don’t care about timing.

Lineups & Lyrics is a steamy small-town sports romance about missed connections and unexpected love. 

Excerpt 

Copyright 2026, Tina Gallagher

Benny and I stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut. The car moved maybe two feet before a dull clang sounded and the motion stopped dead. A single, half-hearted ding followed—less “arriving at your floor” and more “I tried my best.”

I stared at the panel like it might offer an explanation.

Benny pressed one button, then another.

The lights flickered, then dimmed into a steady glow.

He hit the red emergency call button. A few seconds later, the speaker crackled to life.

“Building security,” a tinny voice said. “Are you stuck in an elevator?”

“Sure looks that way,” Benny said.

“All right. Maintenance will be there within the hour.”

The speaker clicked off, leaving only the hum of the fan.

Benny looked at me and exhaled a slow breath through his nose. “Guess we’re not going anywhere for a bit.”

“Guess not.”

“Might as well get comfortable,” he said.

He pushed off the wall and sank to the floor, one leg stretched out, forearm resting on his bent knee.

I hesitated for a second, then slid down the opposite wall. The space between us felt smaller sitting like this, our legs only a couple of feet apart.

“I like Dane and Marin,” I said.

“Yeah, I think they’ll work out well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m glad Dane recommended her. She’s not someone I would’ve normally looked at.”

“Because she’s a woman?” I asked, feigning a gasp.

“Partly,” he admitted, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “But mostly because her résumé isn’t what I’d usually go for. Most of her experience is in travel ball and D3 college—not exactly the traditional path to the majors.”

“Then why’d you hire her?”

“Because I trust Dane. And after talking to her, I believe him when he says she’s the best.”

“She comes across calm and collected,” I said. “Like nothing shakes her.”

“That was true until you walked in.”

“She was sweet.”

Silence stretched for a beat before he spoke again.

“I take it that happens a lot.”

“More than I ever knew how to handle,” I admitted. “And it still feels strange. Underneath all of it, I’m just me.”

“You ever miss it? The stage, the spotlight?”

“Sometimes,” I said honestly. “I loved my fans and performing for them. I loved the feeling of a song connecting with a stadium full of people. The way a show can feel like everyone’s heartbeat syncing.” I scratched lightly at my wrist, searching for the right words. “But the noise, the scrutiny, the feeling that every breath had to be on display wore me down, and I needed a break.”

“Everyone thinks they want the spotlight until they realize how hot it gets.” His eyes met mine. “Still…walking away takes guts.”

“Or weak knees.” His brow lifted, amused. “I’m serious,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Those final tour workouts nearly killed me. Dancing in heels under stage lights at forty? That’s an Olympic sport.”

He laughed quietly, the sound low and easy. For a moment, it felt lighter between us, like the conversation had traded its weight for something simpler.

“You know, sitting here, it’s hard to picture you as the same person who used to be on all those magazine covers.”

“That girl had a whole team behind her,” I said with a small laugh. “The lighting, the styling, the editing—none of it ever felt like me. I just look more like myself now.”

“Looks good on you,” he said. “The real version.”

The words landed softly but lingered. His gaze held, not sharp, just…intent. Curious. Like he was trying to see all the parts of me I kept tucked away.

“Thanks,” I managed, though my voice came out thinner than I meant it to.

“You make it easy to forget you used to fill stadiums,” he said.

“Good. I just want to be plain old Quinn.”

His mouth curved, slow and sure.

“There’s nothing plain about you, Quinn.”

My heart did an unhelpful fluttery thing, and I tried to steady my breath. He didn’t look away, and I didn’t want him to.

“Benny—” I started, but whatever I meant to say vanished the second his knee brushed mine. Funny how something so insignificant could change the temperature of a room. Or, in this case, an elevator.

He leaned in, close enough that I could catch the warmth of his skin and the faint, clean scent of his cologne. His gaze flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and for a beat the world felt balanced on that breath between maybe and almost.

“Quinn,” he said, my name coming out rough, like gravel and hesitation all at once.

The sound of it was enough to undo me a little. I shifted forward just a fraction, and for a heartbeat, the world went perfectly still. Then the elevator jolted hard. A metallic thunk echoed through the car as the lights flickered back to full brightness.

The jolt sent me off balance, and I caught myself against the wall. Benny blinked, then let out a short laugh.

“Perfect timing,” he said.

“Yeah.” My voice came out breathier than I wanted. “Impeccable.”

Wait until I tell Erin the elevator cockblocked me out of kissing Benny Reed.

About Tina Gallagher

Tina Gallagher grew up and continues to live in Northeast Pennsylvania. As a tween, she and her best friend would create happily ever afters for their favorite soap opera couples. Eventually, the soap operas lost their appeal, but the writing never did. Before living her dream as a full-time author, she worked a spectrum of jobs ranging from baking and cake decorating to marketing and project management. In between creating memorable characters, traveling, and taking pole dance lessons, Tina enjoys spending time with her two grown children and Golden Irish named Thea.

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Blog Tour: Review & Excerpt from Hard Headed Woman by Howard Gimple

HARD HEADED WOMAN

by Howard Gimple

February 2 - 27, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

 

No one but Hannah Johansson believes her father was murdered. Not even her mother. The doctors say he had a stroke, but Hannah knows he was poisoned. She just doesn’t know who did it or why. One thing she does know is that the answers can be found at the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge, a pristine 9,000 acre nature preserve where her father was superintendent.

When she goes back to the Refuge, instead of answers, all she finds are more questions. Ominous questions. Where are all the birds? Why is there a heavily armed guard at the gate? What’s in the mysterious bundles being dropped off there in the middle of the night? When the police won’t investigate, Hannah is determined to find the answers herself, and she won’t quit until she learns the truth. Not even after she is shot at, thrown in jail, and beaten up by a 300-pound lesbian biker.

Praise for Hard Headed Woman:

"A gamesome detective story, dramatically absorbing and intelligently wrought."
~ Kirkus Reviews

"Hard Headed Woman is a refreshingly original story, free of many of the tropes often associated with mystery novels. That alone makes it deliciously difficult for the reader to guess who did what, and that makes this story one of the better mysteries we’ve read recently."
~ The Mystery Review Crew

"The writing was exquisite, with vivid descriptions of all the events. It was a gripping read, especially with all the changes happening in the wildlife refuge. I found the story thoroughly enjoyable and was engrossed until the final page. The conclusion was a major surprise, and I did not expect it at all."
~ Readers’ Favorite

Book Details:

Genre: Mystromedy (a mystery comedy)
Published by: MYSTROMEDY BOOKS
Publication Date: June 22, 2024
Number of Pages: 416
ISBN: 979-8990761513
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Goodreads | BookBub

My thoughts:

    Hard Headed Woman involves Hannah, a woman who has recently lost her father.  When she finds out he was possibly poisoned, she is determined to find out what really happened to him.  I thought his was a solid msytery.  It's a slow burn, but was interesting enough to keep me reading.  What really drove the story were the characters. I liked Hannah's determination to solve her father's murder as well as what was going on at the preserve he so loved. I really enjoyed the friendship between Hannah and Bette.  I would definitely like to read another story with them in it.  

Read an excerpt:

Hannah Johansson stood at the lectern in front of 300 people staring at her, waiting for her to say something heartfelt and meaningful. She looked around the room. A room that was unfamiliar to her even though she’d been in it thousands of times. But that was when it was the multipurpose room at the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge. She played in the large barn-like structure as a child with her dolls and toys and electric trains. She practiced her jumpshot here when her father put up a hoop after she made her junior high team. And when she was a little older, it was where she came when she needed to be alone with her thoughts and her guitar.

But the room that Hannah knew was gone. It was now the Axel Johansson Memorial Auditorium, renamed to honor her father’s memory.

Every seat was filled. The first two rows were reserved for relatives and VIPs. Hannah’s aunt Gilda and cousins Catherine and Phillip were sitting in the middle of the front row, flanked by officials from the Mayor’s Office, the New York City Parks Department, the National Parks Service and local assemblymen and state senators. The second row held representatives from a half-dozen environmental organizations including the Sierra Club, the National Audubon Society and the World Wildlife Fund.

The rest of the packed hall was crammed with children from neighborhood schools, birdwatching enthusiasts from all over the city and beyond, and men and women of all ages and ethnicities who loved the beauty and tranquility of the Refuge and wanted to show their appreciation and gratitude for the man who created and nurtured it.

Michael Leigh, the president of the east coast chapter of the National Environmental Conservancy and the organizer of the event, had just finished the last of a dozen tributes to her father, the man who transformed a rat infested, garbage strewn swamp into one of New York City’s environmental treasures.

Before Leigh left the stage he said, “Our final speaker, Superintendent Johansson’s daughter Hannah, would like to say a few words.”

On one side of the podium an easel held a portrait of her father in his khaki superintendent’s uniform, surrounded by a snowy egret, a great blue heron and a glossy ibis, painted by the celebrated wildlife artist Arthur Singer. On the other side was a wrought iron plant stand, but in place of a plant it held a hand-enameled aluminum urn containing her father’s ashes.

Tiny pearls of sweat formed on Hannah’s forehead. She gripped the lectern for support.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said, fighting to maintain composure. “I know my father meant a lot to you. He meant everything to me. He was my hero. My mentor. My best friend. I loved him more than I could ever possibly say.”

Her face contorted. Her eyes welled up.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I killed him,” she wailed.

***

Excerpt from Hard Headed Woman by Howard Gimple. Copyright 2024 by Howard Gimple. Reproduced with permission from Howard Gimple. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Howard Gimple was a writer at Newsday, the editor of a newsletter for the New York Giants football team, and a copywriter and creative director for several New York ad agencies. He has written English dialogue for the American releases of Japanese anime cartoons, reviewed books for the Long Island History Journal, and written movie scripts for a pay-per-view television network.

Howard was Chief Creative Officer at TajMania Entertainment, a film and TV production company dedicated to creating socially conscious programming. He wrote the award-winning documentary, 'The Garbageman,' about a waste management executive who helped save the lives of more than 50,000 children with congenital heart disease. He was a writer and sports editor for the Stony Brook University alumni magazine. He also taught two seminars at the university, 'Rock & Relevance,' about the political influence of 60's rock & roll and 'Filthy Shakespeare, ' exploring the dramatic use of sexual puns and innuendos in the Bard's plays and poems.

He grew up in Brooklyn, lived in Manhattan and Long Island, and now lives in Glendora, California, with his wife and goldendoodle.

Catch Up With Howard Gimple:

howardgimple.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @howardgimple
Facebook - @authorhowardgimple

 

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Giveaway: Murder, Mayhem, and a Hard Headed Heroine

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Blog Tour: Guest post from Evy Journey , Author of Artsy Rambler: Mindful Journeys to Paris and Beyond

 

Title: Artsy Rambler: Mindful Journeys to Paris and Beyond
Author: Evy Journey (with Rich Journey)
Publisher: Independent
Publication Date: October 30, 2025
Pages: 268
Genre: Nonfiction: Art and Travel
Formats: Kindle & Free with Kindle Unlimited

Experience the transformative power of art when you see the rich and vibrant city of Paris through the eyes of a mindful artsy traveler. From the light-inspired grandeur of Gothic cathedrals and the fresh beauty of Impressionism, sinuous forms that speak to our innate sense of beauty, and the rare library that helps one define oneself; to the role of French cuisine and cultural events in shaping the city's uniqueness, this collection of essays will take you on a journey of discovery and self-reflection.

Amidst the charm and allure of Paris and its art, questions arise and conflicts are explored. Can art truly enrich our understanding of life? Can it help extricate us from constantly waging wars? And how does a urinal become a symbol of controversy that challenges our conception of art?

If you enjoyed "A Moveable Feast" by Ernest Hemingway, this thought-provoking and sometimes meditative collection of essays will unveil the beauty and complexity of the world around you by unleashing the power of art as you satisfy your wanderlust.

Read sample here.

Artsy Rambler: Mindful Journeys to Paris and Beyond is available at Amazon.

Enjoy this guest post:

Crossing Cultures Through Food - by Evy Journey

How many ways can you get to know a culture different from that in which you grew up? One way is through cuisine—usually a delicious, pleasant, and painless way of immersing yourself in an otherwise strange culture, if you don’t balk at trying unusual foods. Because I’ve experienced various cultures, I am fairly adventurous about food. And I’ve learned that we bring our life histories into any experience—whether it’s about food or any other foreign tradition. 

I love many things Japanese. The food, the architecture of traditional Japanese homes, some of their cultural values (respect for elders, for instance). We've added a few Japanese touches to our home, and we’ve traveled to different cities in Japan, a cinch on their Shinkansen which is faster than the French TGV (train de grande vitesse—speed  train). Nothing in this high-tech, car-obsessed culture of ours matches either one of these train systems. That fact, in itself, tells us something about culture and society. What we value more, for instance. 

I have to admit, though, that I know little about Japanese farms and indigenous Japanese culture except for the little bit I've seen in movies. So, I’ve turned to reading books that dig into this subject—like Japanese Farm Food by Nancy Singleton Hachisu, a professional teacher/chef married to a modern Japanese farmer. It gives an intimate look into one Japanese farm and how the family living in it eats to live—a fact that’s helpful to keep in mind. Translating a dish from one country to another, or executing anyone’s recipe in your own kitchen never really produces exactly the same result. So many things can change your final dish.

I ate things I was familiar with when I was in Japan, but I tasted soft tofu served at a mountain buddhist retreat that was like nothing I’ve had before. It looked like regular tofu, but creamier, more like custard in taste and feel on your tongue. I’ve looked, in vain, for something like it at home.

Then, there’s unagi (eel)—that long slender fish that looks like a slithering snake as it swims in the water. In some restaurants in Japan, they kept live eels in tanks, ready to be fished out when customers ordered them. At home, I’ve only had pieces of seasoned cooked unagi served on top of a clump or bowl of tangy salty-sweet rice. 

Like everyone, my husband and I have food preferences and prejudices, shaped by the culture in which we grew up. And neither of us could speak Japanese. We didn’t ask to try the eel. 

This American chef/author moved to Japan equipped with the sensibility advocated by California food guru Alice Waters, one much like the French concept of terroir―organic, as close to the source as you can get, and simple preparations that make main ingredients shine. These are practices easy to adapt to the ingredients and techniques of a Japanese farm.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Evy Journey writes. Stories. Blogs (three sites). Cross-genre novels. She’s also a wannabe artist, and a flâneuse (an ambler).

Evy studied psychology (M.A., University of Hawaii; Ph.D. University of Illinois) initially to help her understand herself and Dostoevsky. Now, she spins tales about nuanced multicultural characters negotiating separate realities. She believes in love and its many faces.

Just as she has crossed genres in writing fiction, she has also crossed cultures, having lived and traveled in various cities in different countries. Find her thoughts on travel, art, and food at Artsy Rambler.
She has one ungranted wish: to live in Paris where art is everywhere and people have honed aimless roaming to an art form. She visits and stays a few months when she can.

Evy’s latest book is Artsy Rambler: Mindful Journeys to Paris and Beyond.
Visit her website at https://evyjourney.net.
Connect with her on social media at:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/evictoriajourney
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/eveonalimb2
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/evy-journey 
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14845365.Evy_Journey