From BROOKLYN, by Tracy Brown. Copyright © 2024 by the author, and reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.   CHAPTER ONE Church Girl December 1995 The church was rocking like a rap concert. People were on their feet finishing the pastor’s sentences like lyrics to a song they all knew. Reverend Elias James stood tall in the pulpit with the Bible gripped firmly in his hand. His deep, melodic voice boomed across the sanctuary, eliciting shouts of “Hallelujah!” and “Amen!” from the crowd. Brooklyn Melody James was a seventeen-year-old beauty. Named after the borough where she was born, she seemed to embody the spirit of the place. Tough, trendy, edgy, and popular. Although she was born there and bore its name, she had few memories of the place. Her parents had moved to Staten Island, the city’s forgotten borough, when she was just a child. In a place with such an interwoven community, her golden skin, bright eyes, and dimpled smile made her a magnet for just about every type of attention. Boys wanted to date her, girls wanted to be her friend, and everyone seemed eager to be liked by her. As the middle child in her family, she…

LEOPARD’S HUNT Exclusive Excerpt   Maya sighed. She knew she wasn’t capable of a relationship with Gorya. What could she possibly give him? She was damaged goods. How could she fight for him if she wasn’t prepared to live with him? She struggled to think of a way out for them both. She knew there wasn’t one. Either she accepted the situation and his claim on her or she took the out he was giving her and walked away, leaving him to do whatever he felt he had to do. Gorya still faced the window, refusing to look at her. He might have regained control, but that only added to the determination in every line of his body. From the back, he looked relaxed, once more the man who appeared to command everyone around him when he chose. She found it interesting that he could appear so easygoing and charming, and yet the moment he entered a room, those around him knew he was in charge and listened to every word he said. “Maybe before we make permanent decisions, we should just slow everything down.” Maya couldn’t think what else to say to him. She needed time. Sliding the pack…

Excerpt from MURDER BY LAMPLIGHT by Patrice McDonough   Prologue A clanging jolted little Jacko from his broken sleep. Under a threadbare blanket, he curled himself against the stinging cold. Shivering, he saw the fog of his breath and felt the gnawing hunger in his stomach. During his weeks inside the walls, the boy had learned that a workhouse child was an empty belly with hollow eyes and darting hands ready to grab any unguarded crust. The pinch of hunger made thieves of them all. Tired and weak, he had to get up if he wanted to eat. And he’d better be quick, or he’d feel the crack of Matron’s hand and would face a day with nothing until dinner. But when he heard the keys jangle and saw the sliver of light at the bottom of the door, he froze on his cot. Barely breathing, he listened until the lamp moved on and a key scraped at another door. Relief flooded. Then he buried his face and sobbed. “Jillie.”     Chapter One November 1866 Julia Lewis edged her way through the gawping crowd. Then a young policeman blocked her way when she finally broke through. “Sorry, miss.” The…

THE DIAMOND AND THE DUKE Excerpt   His arms clasped behind him, the duke paced back and forth before the hearth. Never before had she seen him in such a state . . . which was saying a good deal, as she’d seen him many ways these past years: Stunned when his daughter had been caught in a compromising position with Ellie’s brother Courtland. Terrified and pacing in a similar way when Cailin had been giving birth to her first babe. Even that day, with the lines at the corners of his mouth tense, and his skin pale, he’d not looked as he did now. Just then, the Duchess of Bentley slid into her husband’s path, cutting off his stride. The devoted couple exchanged quiet words. Periodically, they nodded. His throat muscles moved, and his eyes gleamed, and the sight of that suffering . . . a portend of what was to come any moment when Wesley Audley finally entered the household, was too much. Ellie wrenched her gaze away, stealing a peek at the clock atop the mantel. “How are you reading right now?” Lottie said in hushed tones to their eldest sister. “I need a distraction,” Hattie said…

I don’t know how to talk to people if it’s not about dead bodies, murder, and alibis. I just don’t. I don’t pretend otherwise. That’s why Aiden and I get along. After years in law enforcement, he’s like me. Translation: he has no social skills. Date night to us is takeout and a murder file. In other words, why, why, why did I agree to attend a party of any kind, let alone in another city that ensures I’ll have to travel with a friend I haven’t seen in years? My resistance and second thoughts are so extreme that I don’t start packing until thirty minutes before Lana will be at my house. At present, I’m staring into my closet, wondering which of my numerous dresses fit and don’t fit since I’ve worn none of them in far too long. The idea of dressing up is not such a bad thing. I like dresses. I like being a woman. And truth be told, it’s been a long time since I was a woman, not just an FBI agent. And I’m certainly not worried the dresses will soften me up and hurt my job or backbone. There’s no reason I can’t…

While the others play games, Alix sits in her compartment to watch Russia go by. Towns are infrequent now—it’s mostly woods upon woods, and more woods. Sometimes the train passes a field fenced with rough-hewn wooden boards, confining a few head of cattle, or a clearing with a small cottage and an even smaller barn. The afternoon grows misty, and the train crosses a lake on a long spit of land that splits the water into two pewter-colored halves. The farther east they travel, the more mysterious it seems. In Germany farms and lanes, towns and streets, are out in the open, known and mapped. Here the forests keep so much hidden. If Russia is the vastest country on earth, and Miss Jackson says it is, must it inevitably be, also, the most mysterious? What magical wonders unfold in the enormous, murky, remote stretches of land? Of course, they won’t be staying anywhere wild and nameless. Papa says their home for the trip will be Peterhof, the seaside estate of the Romanovs, built by a tsar called Peter the Great. A bit like Osborne, Alix imagines, but with onion domes. Late that evening, long after supper, they disembark at the…

Katy Chavos refilled coffee cups and made her way around the small diner in Broken Butte, New Mexico, heading for that last table at the far corner, placed before two plate glass windows that looked out on the lower end of the main street and the sheriff’s office. There were rumors that one of the occupants took that table for the sole purpose of catching sight of the sheriff’s wife. But what man would do that while flirting with only her and no one else consistently for three years? Over the years, he’d nearly kissed her several times and she’d known that had been his intention before he’d pulled back from her. He usually came in during the late shifts she worked and spent several hours talking to her. His gaze always seemed to caress her, and he’d touch her hand, her arm. But he always ended up pulling back then as well. Dane Vanderale sat facing the window and his bodyguard, Ryan Desalvo, or Rhys, as Dane often called him, sat with his back to it, and the sheriff’s office. Which could be one of the reasons the gossip was so nasty about why he always took the same…

ALWAYS REMEMBER Excerpt   The whole of the Ware family was amiable, in fact, and warm and welcoming. But there was also Mr. Ben Ellis, who was not a Ware by name though he was nevertheless an integral part of the family. He was the sort of man one tended not to notice. In physical appearance he was very . . . well, ordinary. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a sturdy build. He had darkish brown hair, which he kept short and neatly styled. His face was pleasant but not outstandingly handsome. He dressed just fashionably enough that one did not notice exactly what he wore. He was quiet without being silent, serious without being morose, well-mannered without being either ostentatious or obsequious. It all added up to . . . ordinariness. Jennifer wondered if it was deliberate. Did he choose to go un- noticed? He was the illegitimate son of the late earl but had been part of the earl’s family since he was a very young child, according to Aunt Kitty’s account. He must have been accepted with kindness by the countess—a remarkable fact. Both she and Mr. Ellis’s half brothers and sisters treated him with…

A brooding young man with wavy blond hair gazed out from the painting. He was dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt tucked into high white trousers, and he held a longbow in one hand. Leather braces adorned his wrists while a quiver of arrows hung from a belt at his waist. He had my mother’s eyes. “Your grandfather was a fine archer,” Grandmother said, “especially with a longbow. This was shortly after we were married in 1953. Back when he was president of the Wolvern Archery Club.” It was an ominous scene. In the background stood Carrick Hall, gray and eerie as if awaiting a storm. And in the darkened woods beside it, a glimmering creature, a great white stag like the one in the tapestry downstairs. The young man’s expression held both fear and determination, as if he didn’t want to hunt the stag but was duty bound to destroy it. “Mum says he was kind,” I ventured. Mum had told me little else about him, in fact, other than that he’d died before I was born. The topic always seemed fraught with a tension I didn’t understand. “He was.” I could read nothing from Grandmother’s expression. She kept…

The unforgiving sun bore down on the desolate valley below, focusing its energy on the only thing moving as it slowly sank into the horizon. A tall, slim figure, clad all in black, cast a long shadow in the grass as he approached the remnants of a crumbling castle. His shadow was faint. He pulled his wide-brimmed hat low on his head, protecting his pale face from the last vestiges of the sun’s rays. Just a few more minutes. He awaited the setting of the sun with the anticipation of the condemned beneath the executioner’s axe, eager for a single, forceful swing so that you could at last be done with it. Being half-human, he could bear the daylight, but on especially hot days like this one, it made his skin feel as if it were being peeled away from his flesh. The night brought sweet release from constant torture. But the day’s torments didn’t register on his face. Emotions rarely did. Half-vampire and cursed with eternal life, he had experienced it all. Most of it pain. The sunset brought its own complications. Killing vampires at night, at the height of their power, was a fool’s errand for even the…