Excerpt, Giveaways, Promo

Book Blast for Gypsy Hunted by Andrea Drew with a $20 GC rafflecopter giveaway!

Cover_Gypsy Hunted


Gypsy Hunted

by Andrea Drew


Reluctant psychic Gypsy Shields—she prefers the term “intuition consultant”—finds herself in trouble when, on her way home from a blind date, she interrupts a kidnapping in progress. She attempts to intervene, and her heroics are repaid with a collision between the attacker’s van and a brick wall. She awakens in the hospital, paralyzed on her left side and unable to speak. This also means she’s unable to share her vital information as a witness. Fortunately, she is able to use her telepathic connection with her niece to throw a line out to a police detective she knows: Connor Reardon, her blind date.


Connor will do anything to protect Gypsy, and he listens to her claims of psychic power willingly, as he’s concealing certain powers of his own. Nor are they all he’s concealing. Gypsy senses a part of her new ally’s mind is closed to her—what she cannot know is that Connor suspects the kidnapper is someone close to him, and the kidnapping victim holds secrets that will tear through Connor’s department, putting careers and lives at risk. Including Gypsy, still in hospital and vulnerable as the attacker turns his sights on her once again.


Can she use her powers to track down the perpetrator and prevent her own murder?



Excerpt One:


As a telepath, I pick up on feelings and instinct more than most. Other people like to call me a psychic medium, but I’m not really comfortable with the label.  Apart from the fact that I do it for love, not money, I’m sure once someone learns I’m a telepath they conjure up images of dodgy fraudsters on stage at mass events, feeding grieving families what they desperately need. I’d rather not expose myself to more ridicule than necessary. My abilities happened almost by accident—apparently my grandmother was ‘fey,’ as my mother enjoyed mentioning.


I was sure the pinging, nagging doubt had something to do with Aaron’s home life. “What about you, Gypsy? What do you do?” Connor relaxed his posture, the glass poised before his mouth. He had taken on a different look, probably from the wine, or even better, from unfulfilled lust.


“I write business plans. I’ve also been told I have pretty damn good intuition.”


That seemed to spark Connor’s interest.  He pulled at the other earlobe.


“Oh yeah? What does your intuition tell you about me, then?”


“That you seem like a nice enough guy.”


Connor moistened his lips, which quivered with what I suspected was amusement as he sat legs wide apart




“And you’re fishing for compliments that I’m not going to give you just yet.”


Connor threw his head back, indulging in a belly laugh. The rich, throaty sound filled me with pleasure. A smile I couldn’t suppress burst through.


“That’s a fair call, Gypsy, fair call.”


The silence was a comfortable one, our shared joke establishing the early threads of friendship.

Andrea will be awarding a $20 amazon gift card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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AUTHOR Bio and Links:gypsy hunted AuthorPic



Andrea Drew has been a commercial copy writer and resume writer for over a decade.


She’s written for celebrity stylists, assisted business coaches and start-ups, written grants for not for profits, delivered marketing presentations to business owners, and attends Australian writing conventions.


Her self-published book “Pro Resumes Made Easy” has been downloaded over 40,000 times.


Andrea has one husband (more than enough), three kids, a pet rock (her daughters not hers), and a house in the suburbs, where she’s hard at work on the second novel in the Gypsy series.


Email her at andrea@andrea-drew.com.


Gypsy Hunted her first fiction novel (her first suspense thriller set in her home town of Melbourne Australia) is available for pre-order on Amazon prior to release on October 28 2014.


Social Media LInks


Twitter: https://twitter.com/drewwriter


GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/andreadrew


Gypsy Hunted Available for Pre Order on Amazon:




Blog: http://andreadrewauthor.wordpress.com/









Character Interview, Excerpt, Giveaways, Promo

Character Interview of Autumn Covarrubias from Uncovered (An Autumn Covarrubias Mystery #2) w/a ebook Rafflecopter giveaway!


An Autumn Covarrubias Mystery, 2

SX Bradley

Evernight Teen

Teen Thriller, @70k words

Last year sixteen-year-old Autumn solved her sister’s murder. This year, she is part 
of a high school forensic dream team that assists the police when teens are 
kidnapped. When it’s discovered the kidnappings are part of a secret online 
survivor game, the police and team focus on the game maker—the man behind the 


The focus of the investigation shifts when Autumn is singled out and 
becomes the target of the Game Maker’s sick game.  Through 
encrypted messages hidden in steganographs, Autumn must discover who the last 
kidnapping victim is if she hopes to save him in time.



Buy Links:   Evernight Teen   Amazon    B&N    Smashwords

Buy in Print

Character Interview 

Thanks so much for having me on your blog today. My name is Autumn Covarrubias. I’m a high school student at Polk High School in Nogales, Texas. I want to be an FBI agent when I grow up, but for now I solve mysteries in the books, Unraveled and Uncovered by S.X. Bradley.

  1. Did you ever think that your life would end up being in a book?  Before Celeste died, I would have said No. Now, I hope that my stories help others and that they get something from them.
  2. Do you infiltrate your writer’s dreams? Totally. I love to visit her when she least expects it and give her a new twist to the story.
  3. Would you be interested in a sequel, if your writer was so inclined? Uncovered left many unanswered questions, so I think there is still more to explore.
  4. What do you do for a living? I’m a high school student, but I want to be a FBI Profiler.
  5. What do you wear when you go to sleep? I love to wear my FBI T-shirt.
  6. What is your most prized possession? Celeste’s stuffed bunny, Mrs. Potter. It still smells like my sister’s perfume and it reminds me of her.
  7. What’s your favorite thing to do on a rainy Sunday? Love to curl up in my favorite chair and read. I would say play board games with Eduardo, but he cheats.
  8. What turns you on? Solving math problems, a good book, doing the right thing, hanging out with my gorgeous boyfriend, Caedon.
  9. What sound or noise do you hate? The alarm clock-I’m not a morning person like my parents.
  10. What would you not like to do? Anything boring or mundane. I do like excitement and have to be passionate about what I do.

Thanks again for having me on your blog today.




There was minimal blood spatter on the black and white checkered floor. Mainly small, spherical droplets. My hands trembled as I removed the ruler from my new black case. The numbered evidence markers outlined a crimson polka dot path. Squatting down, I held out the ruler, and it landed with a loud ping as the steel hit the tile. All eyes darted toward me. I shrugged an I’m sorry.


Everyone resumed their tasks, except for Minerva. She rolled her eyes at me, which was miraculous considering the spider-leg eyelashes she wore. I gave her a country-club smile, then refocused on the blood spatter.


I picked up my ruler and measured the diameter of several drops. Average was 6 mm. Low velocity. She could still be alive.


“Clear.” Shock , silence. “Sorry for your loss, miss.”


I shook my head, trying to clear the memory. This was different. Low velocity meant small force of impact. These types of droplets were caused by someone dripping blood, not by a blow or gunshot. Or by knife wounds. They could belong to the missing ice cream girl, or if we were lucky, the kidnapper. The Texas state crime lab would have to sort that out, and it could take forever.


I documented the results in my evidence log. My handwriting was shaky, but legible enough for my team.


It’s not her. This is different. This girl may still be alive. There’s hope.


I blew out the fear in one big breath and got back to work. I examined the pattern on the floor. The low blood volume found at the scene was a positive sign, but it wouldn’t matter to her family. They were being tormented every second she was gone. Right now, the tricks their minds were playing on them, the things their imaginations were conjuring, were sadistic. Panic loved to be a bitch like that.


I had to help her and her family. After all, it was why I’d accepted the offer to participate in the Science and Technology Associates in Forensics Foundation’s—or STAFFF’s—forensic training camp.


I stepped back and looked at the ice cream parlor from all angles the way I’d been taught this past summer.


Even though the parlor had a 1950s décor, it was a new addition to the city of Nogales. The overhead fans kept the space cool, and the clack, clack, clack rhythm echoed in the empty shop. The checkered floor was a nice contrast to the deep red booths and bar stools. The walls were adorned with vintage signage and photos of Nogales landmarks. A Wurlitzer jukebox stood proudly by the front entrance. On any other day, it would be a place I’d like to visit with my boyfriend, Caedon.


My four other STAFF teammates were walking around performing the various tasks assigned to them. It was our first case, and I prayed we’d do a kick-ass job, because there was still hope and a chance to impact her fate.


Today, we were at the ice cream shop to act as free consultants for the Nogales PD and to learn about forensics firsthand. Our first team objective was to form no judgments or conclusions before all the facts were in. We would then create a crime scene analysis and summary to forward on to the detective in charge of the investigation. He’d give us his feedback, and that would factor into our grade.


Objectivity was key. Quick-draw conclusions could lead you down the wrong path and to the home of…oh, I don’t know, let’s say…my high school principal. Principal Tamez still hadn’t forgiven me and never would. Ponzi Scheme Boy knew I was onto him, except there was this little thing called evidence that the police liked to have before arresting anyone for embezzling.


He reeked of dishonesty and was definitely hiding something underneath that greasy comb-over. One day, I’d find out exactly what he was up to and find the evidence I needed to put him away.




Author Bio:uncovered Promo Photo

Susan grew up in South Texas, about ten miles from the U.S.-Mexican border. As a child she spent the summers in Mexico with her grandparents and extended family. During these vacations, she frequently created mysteries for her siblings and cousins to solve. These mysteries were her first stories. Nancy Drew soon became her childhood hero and inspiration to write mysteries for young adults.


Her greatest joy is her daughter who is quite the storyteller and likes to come up with the characters’ names for mom’s stories.


When she’s not writing or studying, you can find her looking after her personal mini-zoo which consists of two fish, one thief of a dog, and some hermit crabs.


Susan loves estates sales, traveling, spending time with her family, and discovering new books at the Columbus Metropolitan library.


Susan graduated from the University of Texas, is currently pursuing an MFA from Seton Hill University, and dreams of one day owning a touch screen murder board like the one on her favorite TV show, Castle.


website: http://www.sxbradley.com/

Social Media:





Giveaway: An eBook of Uncovered !
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Excerpt, Promo

Book Tour of Please Pretty Lights by Ina Zajac

Please Pretty Lightsplease pretty lights

Ina Zajac


Blurb: It’s September when good girl Via Sorenson stumbles into a Seattle strip club, drunk and alone on her twenty-first birthday. Matt and Nick—best friends, bandmates, and bouncers—do their best to shield her from their sadistic cocaine-trafficking boss, Carlos. They don’t realize her daddy issues come with a forty-million-dollar trust fund and a legacy she would do anything to escape.

She is actually Violetta Rabbotino, who had been all over the news ten years earlier when her father, an acclaimed abstract artist, came home in a rage, murdered her mother, then turned the gun on himself. Young Violetta was spared, hidden behind the family Christmas tree, veiled by the mysticism of its pretty lights whose unadulterated love captivated and calmed her.

Now, desperate to shed her role as orphaned victim, Via stage dives into a one-hundred-day adventure with Matt and Nick, the bassist and drummer of popular nineties cover band Obliviot. The rock-and-roll lifestyle is the perfect distraction—until she is rattled by true love. As Christmas looms closer, her notorious past becomes undeniable. How will she ever untangle herself from her twisted string of pretty lights?


ina1About the Author: Ina Zajac is an award-winning journalist, avid people watcher, and lover of quirk and contrast. Her writing is heavily influenced by her fascination with music, art, and her hometown of Seattle.

Social Media Links:
Website: http://www.inazajac.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/InaZajacWrites
Twitter: @InaZajac



Chapter 1

SoHo, New York City, December 21, 2004


*** Via

Back to the wall, Via shuffled through the candy cane wilderness, careful not to displace piles of presents or disturb crystal angels. It was so close. Branches prickled against her chin and neck as she stretched into the corner. Needles latched onto her green St. Anne Elementary School sweater. After months of waiting and wondering, there it was—white with a gold bow. She reached out. Her fingertips grazed the paper, the tag. It would have her name on it.

“No peeking,” her mother called from the kitchen. “Cookies are almost ready. Come and help.”

Guilt settled in and crowded out her naughty curiosity. Mama’s feathery voice lingered in the air, and mingled with the smell of gingersnaps.

The front door slammed shut. Her body tensed against the wall as it recognized the rumble of her father’s approach. Her arm retreated to the safety of her side. The hardwood floor vibrated his location in the foyer. He wasn’t supposed to be home from the country yet. He needed his rest.

“Ingrid!” he yelled. “Violetta!”

He called her Violetta when he was angry. When he was happy, he said she was the heartbeat of the universe. Now that she was eleven, she wasn’t a little kid anymore, but she still called him Daddy. He made her promise she would always call him Daddy.

His voice was muffled. The floor was still. He must have stopped to check the front bedrooms, but for how long? That tummy pain was back, the one that burned from the inside out; the one Dr. Peyton said fifth graders shouldn’t have. Being the daughter of Joseph Antonio Rabbotino wasn’t easy. Kids at school called her Rabbit and were never allowed to come over and play. The floor trembled more and more. He must be standing nearby, maybe next to the piano, she thought. She couldn’t see past the tree’s festive colors, and prayed he couldn’t either. She had promised to be a good girl.

Her mother’s voice rushed over from the kitchen. It was shrill. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Put that down. You’re not yourself right now.”

Put what down? She wondered. Sometimes he brought home presents or pets.

“You think I’m crazy?” He let out a harsh laugh she had never heard before. “You think you can drug me and leave me in Connecticut to rot?”

A bell near her elbow began to jingle. Don’t be a spaz, she told herself. She had to stop shaking; she just had to. Being invisible meant being silent, so she leaned to the right and smothered it. Her other arm met up with something pointy.

“But, you wanted to go, remember?” Her mother was talking really fast. “Dr. Goldman said you should rest, give the new meds some time.”

Daddy had a lot of doctors. Daddy took a lot of pills.

“I know what you think of me,” he said. “That the critics are right. That I’ll never paint again.”

“It’s okay, it’s all going to be okay,” her mother insisted. “But you’ve been drinking. We’ve gotten through this before. Remember?”

“Why do you do this to me?” he asked. “Evil little actress. Acting like you love me.”

“I do. You know I do.”


“Please, put that down. We’ll call Dr. Goldman.”

“You sent me away. Do you know what it was like there? Knowing you betrayed me? All you had to do was love me, but you’ve ruined me!”

“No, you wanted to go. You needed to rest. Please remember. Please.”

“Where’s my Violetta?”

“Still at school.”

“She should be home by now—home with us. We should be together now. She hiding under her bed again?” His words turned and trailed back toward the front bedrooms. “Violetta! Come when I call you!”

“Mama?” She called through the branches.

Her mother didn’t seem surprised at all to hear her. “Shh,” she said, faint but firm. It was not her normal ‘shh.’ Something was wrong.

Her father’s voice was already growing louder again. “Violetta!”

“I’m right here,” she tried to say. She decided that she would come out; then he would be angry with her, not her mother. But, a strange sound surrounded her, like baby birds and chimes. It seemed to come through the Christmas tree lights. She blinked. They were such pretty lights—colors she had never seen before. Buzzing into a haze around her, they were mesmerizing.

Shh, its all okay, the lights told her, but not in words.

She felt their meaning in her teeth and bones.

Come and play with us, they urged. Come play pretend.

They flurried about. She tried to speak, but they settled against her tongue like candy-coated snow. They loved her. She watched them spin and shine and gleam and glow. They were everything she needed in that moment, and so she relaxed into the soft aura of Christmas.

Her mother was screaming, “She’s not here! She’s not here!”

The purest colors were born and danced within reflections of those who had come before. Youre not here, they echoed. Youre with us. They snuggled in and tucked themselves around her. Be still, they insisted. This isnt real. She knew they were right. Nothing was real. She was everywhere and nowhere at all, safe between worlds. Her mother’s golden wall clock started to ding its hourly announcement—once, twice.

“You did this,” her father said.

A third ding.

“You made me do this.”


Mama’s voice fluttered. “Remember who you are.”

A loud noise exploded throughout the apartment. Ornaments rattled and slipped from their homes, and Via with them. Her hands came up to cover her ears, but his voice soon rode the wave of ringing and broke on through.

“Why?” he cried. “Why did you make me do this?”

Another explosion ripped away the space around her. She sank down overcome by the bells ringing around her. Why? Why were the bells so loud? It was a gun, she realized. The sound vibrating through her was gunfire. Her shoulder came to rest against the edge of the big box—white with a gold bow. Air came into her lungs in notches, each tighter than the last. She didn’t know what to do. Her trembling hand grasped a branch with a candy cane hanging from it. She began to pull it back.


Dont look, the pretty lights urged her. Its not real. Its not her.

But it was too late. She had already peered past the angels—and through to the other side.


Mouth open, heart lost, she released the branch and it sprang back into place. Its candy cane held strong. The pretty lights spoke no more, but hummed and tingled. The murmur of their adoration grew faint and she began to panic. She curled up into herself, tight and small, desperate to disappear back into their protection.

“Please, pretty lights. Please don’t go.”

She blinked and the lights were just lights. The floors roared. New voices overtook the fading bells. People were yelling. People were coming. An alarm shrieked overhead. The taste of gingersnap dust burnt through the air.

“Please, pretty lights,” she called out again, even though she knew they were gone.


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