Island Treasures released!

ISLAND TREASURES, BOOK 1 releases on January 1st!

Available here at Whiskey Creek Press Torrid!

An excerpt from Island Treasures:

“Please, be careful with this one. Fragile. Fra-gile. It’s fragile, do you understand?”

Abby reached for the shiny silver container and lifted it gently from the dock to the waiting arms of the muscular man who stood on the ferry.

A gold tooth glittered as he took her case and set it beside him with more care than she’d expected. Although she doubted his ability to understand English, her wide-eyed look, friendly smile and incessant head nodding must have bridged the language barrier. Either that or it was the fact that she was the only woman on the dock who didn’t have black hair, brown eyes and a mustache. That may have helped her cause—and her camera equipment.

Whatever the reason for his friendliness, Abby was grateful. She just wanted to get her stuff transported without anything getting broken. This trip was going to be difficult enough without starting off with cracked lenses. Or worse.

Hefting her duffel bag to her shoulder, she reached out and grasped the hand the swarthy sailor offered. Her hand, small and fine-boned, disappeared inside his beefy grip as she stepped onto the deck and smiled up at him.

“Thank you. Thank you very much for your help.” She smiled so broadly her face felt stretched. It was the last smile she had in her, too. Exhausted from a series of trans-global flights, she knew one more smile would lay her flat. Just one.

“You. Are. Vel… Velcome,” he said, tipping his dun-colored cap. With a quick glance at her tight jeans and blue eyes, he nodded and smiled, flashing one last gold glint in her direction before he reached up and took a mesh crate containing a live chicken from a local woman.

Carrying the metal box to the nearest empty space, she placed it on the floor beside her, dropped her bag and let her legs fold. Settling onto the hard wooden bench as gratefully as if it was a tufted velvet sofa, Abby let her head fall back and her eyes close.

She had done it. Just one more ride—a short one, even—and the journey would be over. From Pensacola to New York to London to Split. And from Split by ferry to Hvar. Halfway around the world.

Hell, I hope one of the guys is waiting for me when I get there. I don’t think I’ve got the patience to hang around on some Croatian island waiting for them to get their asses in gear and—what am I ranting about? They’ll be there. They’re going to be curious as hell—no one’s going to want to miss the fireworks, will they? Probably the whole damn crew will be waiting for me when I get off this ferry. Waiting to see what I’ll do, what I’ll say…