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SHANNON MUIR’S THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

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About the Book

ISBN-10: 1633633772

ISBN-13: 978-1633633773

White Bird Publications

Paperback: 324 pages

February 26, 2019, $18.99

Language: English

Genre: Romantic suspense/thriller

Also available for Kindle

Regan Argent inadvertently uncovered a dark conspiracy that has her on the run, forcing her to return to her childhood home, a small town just outside of Dallas, to seek refuge. Unexpectedly, she bumps into Hunter Grainger, a man she never saw coming. He’s an Air Force pararescueman, on leave, with only one person who knows of his return home. Their unexpected meeting ignites a chain of events where they will be forced to help each other or be executed.

Excerpt from the Book

Chapter One

Regan

More than five years had passed since Regan last walked into her brother’s rank and musty service open garage in Parker, Texas. Her stomach jittered at the manly smells—a mixture of gasoline, WD-40, brake parts cleaner, grease, welding smoke, and tires. Heavy metal pounded from old speakers, nearly drowning out the garage noises of a drill, distant traffic, and the light chirping of birds. It was just another Monday in a town where whispers during summer were as steamy as the day’s barometric reading. And in late June, the temperature climbed high, so those secrets would hang as heavy as a curtain. Her teeth clenched; she’d grown up in Parker and was accustomed to the mind games the locals played. There’s no way she’d have ever come back if she didn’t desperately need her family’s help. But if anyone could tell her how to deal with the mess she’d left behind in New York, how to navigate what she’d discovered, it was her brother, Theodore. She just hoped that this surprise wouldn’t blow up in her face. She’d been barely sixteen when she left for a full scholarship at New York University. Five years, after all, was a long time between visits home.

She peeked inside the service door, remembering that Theodore had a military mind and kept god-awful early morning hours. Before stepping through, she scanned the dimly lit shop, but she didn’t see her brother. Instead, she spotted a man with sapphire-tipped faux-hawk, standing on a small stepladder, bent over a monster pickup truck. Mr. Faux-Hawk’s shirtless arms displayed a jaw-dropping, hot-flash-inducing art canvas. Corded muscles flexed as he continued to tinker with the engine.

When Regan stepped onto the concrete floor of the garage, a chime rang. She observed a tattooed hand move, and with a click of a remote, the tunes lowered to a background hum.

“Can I help you?” He lifted his head from under the open hood and propped an elbow on the side of the newly-painted, black and silver frame. Predatory deep blue and purplish eyes bore into her, the long-feathered lashes, making them all the more menacing. Her breath caught. There was something disturbingly familiar about him. “Yeah—yes, I’m looking for Theodore.” Her voice echoed, too loud inside the open garage. She hid her fidgeting fingers behind her and clasped the bronze bracelet that did not quite cover the spidery scars littered from her elbow to wrist.

“Who’s asking?” The rolling timbre of rock-on-rock in his voice made her insides curl. He stepped down from the engine.

Her lips lifted in a slow smile. “Excuse me?” She was not the swooning type, even if he was dreamy. Okay, smoldering. Thank God she wasn’t tongue-tied around guys anymore.

They began a staring contest. His skin glowed like smooth copper. All hard angles and fierce planes, his face boasted a sharp blade of a nose and black-as-the-devil’s-heart eyebrows.

Regan gulped as she studied him. Oh, crap. It was Hunter Grainger. Boy, had he changed. But unfortunately for her, he’d only gotten hotter in the time since he’d broken her heart. Her pulse raced. In his presence, her tongue became knotted.

“Damn, Regan, you grew into those long legs.” His lips relaxed a bit, and they curved up in one corner. Then he winked.

Her smile faded. Warmth flooded her cheeks. From the smug look pasted on his face, he knew she had recognized him. Blinking seemed to break the spell she was under.

“Holy shit. Hunter Grainger?” She took a deep, unsteady breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He had an inappropriate asinine smile on his face and took a slight step back, pointing toward the engine.

She blushed hotter if that was even possible.

“Yes—yes—I can see you’re working. What I meant is…” She stretched her fingers and began again. “What I meant to say is, what are you doing back in Texas?”

The smirk settled in deeper. “I could ask you the same thing, but I don’t want to appear rude.”

“Rude?” her voice colored with anger. “You don’t want to appear rude? What about the time—”

She was not prepared for this. Not at all. She was a fool for not recognizing him immediately. Every girl had been in love with the bad boy, including her.

All the things she’d sworn she’d say if she ever ran into Hunter flew from her mind. Here he was, right in front of her as she’d so often imagined, and again she was at his mercy. She’d have kicked her own backside if she could.

He finally dropped his work tools back into the toolbox with a deliberate clank, then snatched the rag sitting on top.

“It’s complicated.”

She waited, but it was all the explanation he intended to offer.

In high school, her responses were one or two words. But now she was bolder with her speech and told others her piece of mind. Her choice of clothing reflected her personality—brightly colored shorts that molded to her body paired up with a snug top.

He stepped away from the side of the monster truck and strode with confidence toward Regan, rubbed his rag across his neck before he stopped in front of the monster truck. He leaned casually against the front fender, crossed his ankles, and stared right at her, daring her to say something.

She had a purpose in coming here and again asked about her brother. “So, where’s Theodore?” Trying to avoid Hunter’s eyes, her gaze went to the high-end Italian sports cars neatly lined in the front to the left of the monster truck. Further back, she could see bays with more cars.

Her head snapped back to that damn rag, now clutched between his tattooed knuckles. It drew her gaze to his sculpted chest and downward to his chiseled abs. However, his abs did not hide the horrible scar across the length of his ribs. She didn’t look away fast enough before he cocked his hips toward her.

“So, I couldn’t help noticing you were checking out the goods.” He said it with a lazy smile, winding the rag between his knuckles.

“Which goods are you referring to?” She slipped a glance at him, and he flexed his biceps. He had an array of tattoos on his arms, and her gaze stopped at the large scorpion on his right hand. The extended tail fished down, making the loop to the R on his ring finger inked across his four knuckles that spelled out CROW. “Maybe it’s time for you to get another tattoo.”

He did a half twist showing an outline of wings beginning between his shoulder blades and finishing down the back. “Already there. Try again.” He raised one eyebrow and slightly tucked in his chin when her mouth made a small ‘O’ of surprise. He flashed her a smile.

She tried to recover by crossing her arms and taking a step back, but she stumbled over a wrench. He grabbed her arm. Had he not, she would’ve fallen. She shivered when he pulled her up close against him.

His eyebrows scrunched, and his voice lowered. “Tell me why you came back.” He breathed his words against her face.

Thoughts of her job as a clerk for a law firm back in New York, of the treacherous secret she’d discovered there, flittered across her mind. The phone calls, the threats. She shuddered and dismissed it. There was no way she would utter that to anyone, least of all to Hunter Grainger. Instead, she focused on the questions Hunter hadn’t answered about her brother. “Family,” she said. “I returned because I’m big on family passion. I mean affairs.”

Dammit. She should’ve worn thicker patting on the cut still healing. It had begun forming a scab on her right side of her hip. She forced herself to keep smiling, to hide her embarrassment.

His gaze dipped down and ran back up the length of her body. Her spine tingled, and it felt like it might burst out of her skin.

“Passion, you say.”

Author Bio

MJ Markovski was born in Detroit Michigan and raised by Macedonian immigrant parents. They were strict with her upbringing and once it was time for college and he chose University of Arizona and stayed in Tucson after graduation.

She began her writing when she was young but her serious writing began in 2009/2010 after serious attack from multiple sclerosis (MS). Doctors at that time thought she would die but the worst of it was that she ended up in an electronic wheelchair for mobility. But the novel Whatever It Takes began after her husband at that time of 20+ years not only left her but also her children in 2015. Rather than wallow in her sorrows she delved those emotions and passion into completing the novel titled Whatever It Takes (book 1). Currently writing book 2, titled All That It Takes.

She also has a plethora of other stories to write after she completes her trilogy. And she is currently writing another novel in concurrent with book 2. This one is a young adult futuristic dystopian novel.

Her debut novel Whatever It Takes was published by White Bird Published in 2019 February and available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble both in e-book and paperback formats.

Here is a snippet from the novel written by MJ Markovski. “She pushed the buttons of the code Hunter had given her, and as soon as the door locked, she ran inside the living room, frantically pushing the bedroom door closed. Her plan was to escape through the window and circle around to her Mustang. She moved to the windowpane and tried to shove it up. It didn’t budge. Crap. Looking at the sides, she removed the knife Hunter had given her from her waist. She removed some of the paint from the borders. Securing the knife back in the sheath located around her waist, she attempted to budge the window again.

The pane moved slowly upwards. Almost there. She was so focused on her task, she did not hear the slow creaking of the bedroom door. As the glass inched skywards, tanned fingers gripped the rim. Half a scream escaped her mouth before his hand barreled down in a hard slap and then clasped his hand across her face.

“Scream and you’re dead.””