Posted on Leave a comment

PREORDER Grim & Bare It!

My baby is live! I’m so excited that Grim & Bare It, The Accidental Reaper Paranormal Urban Fantasy Series, Book 1 IS AVAILABLE FOR PREORDER EVERYWHERE!

When college student Chloe Frost accidentally kills a grim reaper, she must step into his ropes, take up his scythe, and harvest souls, all while juggling two jobs, handling a moody vampire assigned to be her partner, and attempting to resuscitate her dead love life.

A humorous paranormal urban fantasy series starring a grim reaper and a vampire!

★★★★★ “OMG I loved this book! The whole book flowed so well. I adored ALL of the characters. Chloe and Killion’s chemistry is absolutely wonderful.” ~ Reader review

★★★★★ “Sexy vampire for the win!” ~ Reader review

★★★★★ “…engaging, funny and adventurous, I loved it.” ~ Goodreads review

No good deed goes unpunished….

My plan for a quiet night at home is dashed when, during the rescue of my landlady’s runaway cat, a serial killer — nicknamed the Grim Reaper by the media — decides I’m his next victim.

It’s a fight to the death, and despite being a gold-medal klutz, I somehow manage to turn the tables on him and end his life instead. Imagine my shock when I discover he actually was a grim.

His robes have now chosen me to take his place, and I’m contractually obligated to the Soul Management Group for a full year. Yep, three hundred and sixty-five days until I’m free from these disgusting robes and a death blade with a mind of its own — it wants to kill everyone.

Worse, my new boss, Death, has paired me with the local master vampire to investigate a rogue reaper. Our assignment will take us into the evil underbelly of the supernatural world, and neither of us may make it out alive.

What’s a girl to do? Guess I’ll have to grim and bare it…

Preorder now to enjoy this supernatural world of vampires, grim reapers, witches, shifters, and Death.

Yep, Death with a capital D. 😉

Direct Buy (Read it MAY 1st!):

★ Amazon US:


Apple Books: 


Google Play:

Amazon UK:

Amazon AU:

Amazon CA:

Amazon PRINT:


I can’t wait for you all to meet Chloe, Killion, & Death! From now through May, anyone who has preordered on my DIRECT BUY SITE will be eligible to WIN a prize pack from me. Stay tuned for details!

Happy reading,

Misty 💜

Don’t want to miss a single adventure? Let’s learn more about each other. Sign up to hear from me to find out ALL the fun news! 

Posted on Leave a comment

★★★★★99¢ SALE! Binge read all week! 4-for-1 sale!! 

I’m having a sale, just because it’s Tuesday. Yep, I even came out of my author cave (I’m editing In Too Reap, Accidental Reaper Paranormal Urban Fantasy Series, Book 3, releasing August 1st) so I could let you know. 

SCVC Taskforce Romantic Suspense Set 1-4 is only 99¢. You get the first four complete novels in the SCVC Taskforce Romantic Suspense Series! You can binge read to your heart’s content.

Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

Amazon CA:

Amazon AU:


Apple Books: 

I never expected the Taskforce to still be going strong in 2022. I drafted the first chapters of Deadly Pursuit in 2011. At that time, it was titled Into the Fire. I had sold Operation Sheba and three other stories at that point, but my muse wasn’t cooperating with this story. I set it aside, went back to it, changed the POV, and kept rewriting the same opening chapters.

Eventually, I kept going, except I had to quit again before I hit the climax, due to life intervening, and my muse insisting I write other stories. I outlined what I wanted to happen and put it back in the proverbial drawer. Little did I know that I would need to pull it out and polish it up to include it in an anthology with nine other amazing romantic suspense authors. I got up at 5 a.m. every morning for a month to finish it and get it edited in time, but boy, I’m sure glad I did.

The other cool thing about this series is that it features my chihuahua, Thunder. He was a rescue, on death row in Miami, before a no-kill shelter picked him and our other dog, Athena, up and transported them north to a town about an hour from where we lived at that time. Our giant Pyrenees mix had passed earlier that year and I was still devastated, but my family needed a dog to help us heal from our grief. We searched all the local shelters and rescues for weeks and didn’t find one who captured all our hearts. Then one day in June, we drove to another state to the no-kill shelter and there they were — the two pups who had made an incredibly long journey and were in desperate need of a new family. Thunder and Athena have both been my writing companions for every Taskforce book.

When you read the stories, I hope you’ll enjoy them, especially now since you know more about what went on behind the scenes. Grab your copy of the special collection 1-4 and enjoy! Here are the links again.

Amazon US: 

Amazon UK: 

Amazon CA: 

Amazon AU: 


Apple Books: 

Always writing for you,

Misty 💜


P.S. Don’t forget, Grim & Bare It, Accidental Reaper Paranormal Urban Fantasy Series, Book 1, releases June 1st, but you can get it a whole month early on May 1st through my direct buy site here: 

Posted on Leave a comment

New urban fantasy series is coming!

Guess what?!!? It’s cover reveal week for the first book in my NEW URBAN FANTASY series!

Want to see the cover for Grim & Bare It, Accidental Reaper Series, Book 1, a FULL WEEK before the rest of the world? Come join my private and very official Facebook group and you’re IN!

I’ve been writing diligently on this series since last year, so I can release three books in three months this summer. I’m so excited to finally share my babies with you!

I’m officially releasing the first book, Grim & Bare It, on my birthday, June 1st! 

It’s a gift to myself for following my dream of writing Urban Fantasy again. 

📖💕 I am offering an EARLY RELEASE through my direct buy site. 📖💕


That’s RIGHT! If you want to get the book a FULL MONTH ahead of time (on May 1st), this is the way to do it:


ARCs will go out in April. If you LOVE spunky heroines, sexy vampires, shifters, and witches, AND you’d like to read and review Grim & Bare It, be sure to sign up for my review newsletter to get the details.


Stay tuned for the big reveal!!

Misty 💕

Posted on Leave a comment

Get your hands on Josh!

Here’s what readers love about SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY, book 7 in my Super Agent Romantic Suspense Series, now available.

“This fast moving romantic suspense follows Naomi and Josh as they follow a twisting trail of clues in their efforts to keep their countries safe. Their story is sexy and engaging as they work at cross purposes during the day and sleep together at night. I loved their characters and found myself invested in their story.” ~ Amazon reviewer

If you buy direct from me, you will you save $1!
In this enemies-to-lovers romantic thriller, two international spies must put their differences aside and work together to stop a terrorist out for revenge.
As one of the top assassins in the world, Naomi Singer is a lone wolf. She doesn’t let anyone get close. Family, country, honor…they’re all that matter.
Except when a smart-talking, Marine-turned-spy makes her question her mission. He’s under her skin, in her dreams.
He’s also her target.
Josh Devons doesn’t trust the beautiful assassin in his bed, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting her. The risk is life or death, but the rewards… They’re too great to resist.
When the two discover a sinister plot manipulating both their countries, it’s up to Josh to keep Naomi safe from the very agency who trained her. He’ll sacrifice everything to convince her of his love, even if it means becoming a traitor—or dying at her hands.
Posted on Leave a comment

What place is on your bucket list?

In Operation: Sleeping With the Enemy, there are a couple cameos with Conrad and Julia, the couple I started the Super Agent series with.
Writing Conrad’s character is ‘like butta’ for me. I can channel him SO easily, he would take over every book! I love his snark, his innate power, and his perspective. He sees the world with different eyes than most, and he is absolutely loyal to a fault when it comes to Julia.
(In real life, Michael Stone is more my kind of guy, but in the book boyfriend world? I’m a total Conrad girl.)
Julia is the quintessential smart, sexy woman who knows how to handle Con. I had to make her tough as nails and powerful, too, to keep him on his toes. When I was shopping the manuscript around to agents, one told me she was too assertive, another too much like wall paper. Haha. I think she’s just right 😉
In Operation Sheba, their story mentions their time in Paris as new spies, and in the Sleeping cameo, they talk about visiting again. I studied French in high school and college and always had Paris on my bucket list. I still hope to visit there some day, and I’m brushing up on the language, because even though I was fluent after being taught by a strict nun, I’ve lost almost all of that learning.
What place is on your bucket list? 
Have you read Operation: Sleeping With the Enemy?
Want to get the whole set and binge? 
Posted on Leave a comment

What’s your undercover name?

Tell me, readers, if you could be the heroine in one of my Super Agent books, what would your code name be?
(Use this handy tool to come up with one or make up your own…/ )
According the test, my international spy name is Solitaire Goldfinger (very James Bond, right?), my code name is The Pirate. I live in St. Petersburg and I’m a good spy because I’m a good lover. 🤣🤣🤣
Don’t forget to catch up with the hot, sexy spies in the Super Agent Series with my latest release, Operation: Sleeping With the Enemy 
Posted on Leave a comment

Merry Holidays! Time for a sale!

Merry Christmas & happy holidays! It’s been such a weird year, but I hope you and yours are safe and enjoying some needed fun before the year is over. I hope you’re finding time to read!

December is the month I slow down on writing and editing and plan for the coming year’s releases. I outline books (4 done, 2 to go) and pencil in release dates on my various calendars (6 scheduled so far).

I enjoy Christmas movies and songs, as well as holiday themed stories. White Christmas is my favorite movie, and Santa is Coming to Town by Bruce Springsteen. Both bring back special memories for me.

Do you have a favorite movie or song that instantly puts you in the holiday spirit?

Santa visited early and brought me the one gift I’ve been wishing for – a new sewing machine. I’m a crafter at heart and used to sew all the time. I even made quilts. It’s been fun to get back into the swing of things (see the two items I’ve made so far below) and I’ve spent hours on Pinterest finding more projects.

I’ve also made dozens of bracelets and candles (all sold!) and I have more beads and wax waiting.

If you’re looking for a holiday read, Deadly Holiday, Deadly Attraction, and Operation Christmas Contraband are all on sale on my direct buy site for only 99¢. Merry Christmas!

I’m ready for more interaction with my readers and a spirit of community, so I’ve started a private readers’ group on Facebook. Members will get to see more of “me” the person, and get to see my works in progress (read excerpts as the books are written!), learn about sales, and have early access to release. I won’t be doing much with it until January, but if you’d like to be one of the first, founding readers, you can ask to join here:

Wishing you and yours a peaceful season filled with love and fun,

Misty & family (including Athena, Thunder, and Princess Zoey!)

My sewing organizer with multiple pockets. It zips up and has a carry handle. Great for makeup, nail polish, essential oils, office supplies, and crystals! I call this my Busy Bee pouch. It has two pockets with fun inner linings and heavy duty zippers. 

Posted on Leave a comment

“Phenomenal! The book had me hooked right from the start.”

Looking for a hot, new romantic suspense series?

Investigative reporter Savanna Bunkett digs into a rumor about a top-secret government project producing “super soldiers” and finds herself on an assassin’s hit list.

Navy SEAL Trace Hunter—the only soldier to survive the project—must become her bodyguard. He needs her to set the record straight with the entire world about who he is, and he’s her only chance at survival.

When their mutual enemy closes in, can they put the past behind them and trust each other? Or will secrets, lies, and forbidden passions cost them everything?

“Cover ups, intrigue, life and death situations and romance? Yes please!” ~ Reader review



✩ Apple Books →

✩ Kobo →

✩ B&N →




Posted on Leave a comment

She’s hell-bent to uncover the truth. He’ll do anything to keep his secrets buried.

Being Savanna’s bodyguard is the last thing Trace wants to do, but she’s his one chance to set the record straight—and he’s her only chance at survival. When their mutual enemy closes in, will secrets, lies, and forbidden passions cost them everything?

FREE on all US retailers!

Enjoy this excerpt!

Navy SEAL Lieutenant Trace Hunter stood outside the Witcher prison walls in nothing but his underwear and stared at the gray Virginia skyline.

You wore the same clothes leaving prison that you wore coming in; hence his lack of street clothes.

Eighteen months since he’d been a free man. Since his world crashed down like a Black Hawk hit by a surface-to-air missile.

He drew a deep breath, the cold November air searing a line straight down his throat and into his lungs. Yes sir, the guard hadn’t been lying.

“Brisk out there,” he’d told Trace as he’d handed him a pair of sweatpants and a jacket and ushered him out a rear service door not far from solitary.

The normal guards had been missing, the numerous doors and gates opening for the two of them as if by magic. But Trace was a lifer. He didn’t understand why he was getting out, or why he wasn’t going out the front gate.

Leaving Witcher had never crossed his mind when he’d entered, so he didn’t argue as the guard directed him through the last gate. He did, however, ignore the kindness of the clothes and bugged out as fast as his feet could carry him.

Thanks to his stubbornness, his skin was now pebbling in the frosty air.

He’d briefly considered there would be a car waiting for him, or more likely, there would be a sniper on the hill and a bullet with Trace’s name on it.

Neither materialized.

Forty yards from the prison, he came to a fork in the road. According to the sign, north lay Rileyville, Population 899. South lay Murder Creek, unincorporated. Either way was a long walk in his skivvies.

Rocks and debris on the road bit into the soles of his feet as he put his head down and headed south. He’d taken off the cheap flip-flops Witcher had provided upon entry and thrown them as far as his arm allowed. He’d survived tougher conditions in hellholes like Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Peru. North Korea had been a ball of laughs, too.

At least those places had been warm.

Who got me out?

Leaving the prison, he’d kept wondering if it was a joke, and that once he finally got to the last gate where the laundry trucks came and went, the normal guards would arrive back at their posts, laugh and tell him to turn the fuck around and go back to solitary.

He’d spent a lot of time there. No way in hell he’d been released early for good behavior.

When he’d asked why he was free to go, the guard with the clothes wouldn’t answer him.

Fucking government.

He loved his country. Had done a lot of shit to keep her safe, but there was one thing he’d refused to do and it had cost him his freedom and his reputation. He knew a secret that could destroy the sitting president. Linc Norman’s enemies would give Trace anything he wanted for this tidbit of info.

He wouldn’t give it to them. None of them.

He also wouldn’t follow the last order his commander-in-chief had issued.

So he’d been branded a rogue operative, a traitor. His story—a false one—had been plastered all over the highly-rated The Bunk Stops Here and then been picked up by news stations around the world. He’d become the face on dozens of cheap tabloids, usurping the Royals’ latest baby and stealing the limelight from the current Disney star-turned-porn princess, all thanks to Savanna Bunkett, the host of TBSH who’d broken the story on him.

The all-American, girl-next-door Savanna did a three-show segment on his fall from war hero to traitor, crucifying him and calling into question every mission he’d been on, every SEAL who’d worked with him.

Not a lawyer in the country would touch him, and even if one had stepped forward to take on the U.S. Attorney General, they wouldn’t have won. He was a dead man walking. Thanks to some back-door dealing, he didn’t even get a trial; he was sent straight to Witcher, the hidden government installment built especially for high-risk prisoners like him. Prisoners who’d been the best at what they did. Highly-trained operatives and military personal who knew every trick their government had up its sleeve and how to get around all of them.

Behind him, the sound of tires on pavement broke him out of his reverie.

SUV, four-wheel drive, twenty-five miles an hour tops.

Trace didn’t turn or acknowledge the vehicle’s presence. It was traveling too slowly to be a casual traveler on his way to Murder Creek unless the driver was a blue-hair. Of course, a man his size walking on the side of the road in nothing but his underwear could cause any normal driver to slow so he or she could gawk.

Trace knew the driver wasn’t an old lady or a curious traveler. The person or persons approaching carried danger. Probably someone working for the president or Command & Control. Maybe the person who’d gotten him cut loose from Witcher so they could gun him down on the side of the road.

Hell, the president had already had him in the perfect spot to end him. People inside had tried, but he was better, faster, more deadly than his fellow inmates. He’d sent more than a few of them to the infirmary, knowing they had only come after him because the president had offered them early release if they took him out.

He’d been well-trained for evasive maneuvers. The tree line next to him would make for good cover if he needed it. He could disappear before the driver blinked. Disappear forever and reinvent himself. Go to the Caribbean, meet some sweet native gal and start a new life. Or maybe Italy. He’d always wanted to visit Italy.

Bonus, Italy was one of the few countries where he’d never killed anyone.

The SUV cruised by him, accelerating ten yards out. Cadillac Escalade. Not official government unless the mayor of Virginia was paying a visit.

Maybe it is a blue-hair gawker.

Tinted windows. All-season, heavy duty tires. If he had to guess, he’d say by the sound of those tires on the cold highway, the vehicle was carrying some reinforced side panels.

His gawker was either incredibly rich and paranoid, or Beyoncé had heard he was out and had come to pick him up.

Doesn’t matter who’s in the car. Only matters what I’m going to do about it.

Escape scenarios were limited. There was one road, the road he was walking on, and the trees.


He liked things simple.

Sure enough, the Escalade made a U-y in the valley and stopped, pointed back toward him.

Fight or flight?

While he’d kept himself in good condition inside Witcher, he was tired of fighting.

Flight it is.

He glanced over at the tree line. The shadows beckoned. The anonymity. A fresh start.

Nah. Running wasn’t his style. Instead of bailing from his very exposed line of sight, he stood stock-still and eyed the SUV, still idling a quarter mile away.

He’d pushed through pain, through war, through prison. Had gotten back up every time someone knocked him down.

Even the goddamn president of the United States.

That’s what soldiers did.

There was no point in running. The prez would come for him again and again and again.

It was time to make a stand, even if it was his last.

* * *

Washington, DC

Savanna Jeffries Bunkett looked up from the notes on her lead story when a knock sounded on her dressing room door. She scowled at her reflection in the large mirror over her table. She needed her roots touched up.

Scribbling a reminder on the top sheet, she called out, “Yes?”

Lindsey Fey, the assistant to the assistant director at The Bunk Stops Here and Savanna’s studio-assigned assistant, poked her head in. The headphones she used to bark orders to the cameramen and crew lay around her neck. “You have a visitor.”

The word “visitor” held emphasis. Lindsey’s eyes danced and she was smiling.

Lindsey was always smiling. She ran her butt off, organizing everything from the scriptwriters to the coffee machine and her energy and aggressiveness had helped make TBSH an Emmy winner. She had Executive Producer in her sights and Savanna didn’t have the heart to tell her she was too young and lacked specific equipment between her legs to go that far with the news channel. She was related to one of the producers, however, and in the world of cable news, that would be Lindsey’s ticket to success.

Lindsey never took off her headphones while on set. Maybe not even when she was off set; Savanna couldn’t be sure, since she didn’t hang out with the staff and crew, was never invited out for drinks after filming or to the DC parties the rest of them always seemed to rush off to.

Lindsey’s smile, along with the word emphasis, made Savanna’s pulse speed up. “Is it Parker?” she asked.

Blonde eyebrows drew together and the smile flattened. “Your sister? No.” As Savanna’s hope died, Lindsey’s smile returned. She leaned in, stage-whispering, “Someone big.”

Big in television news or something else? From the excited countenance Lindsey was sporting, it could be Hollywood’s latest action star or the Dalai Lama. Hard to know. The girl was wowed by everyone.

When a recent spike in watchers made TBSH the largest cable investigative news show since Nancy Grace, Savanna’s popularity also skyrocketed. To her embarrassment, she’d become a regular face on E! News and grocery store tabloids as Americans criticized her hair and weight and wondered who she was dating since her breakup with Junior Senator Brady Garrison. Few seemed to appreciate her investigative skills and hard-hitting stories about corporate and political corruption.

Savanna looked back down at her notes. “Unless it’s the Pope”— or Parker. God, where are you? —“I don’t have time for a meeting. Whoever it is can wait until after the show.”

She heard a scuffle and, assuming Lindsey was ducking out, continued to review her notes on the latest political scandal she was about to blow the whistle on.

A moment later, however, the room behind her filled with an unmistakable presence and the scent of the man’s designer cologne. Sharp, musky, reminding her of old leather and fresh betrayal. “Not many people say no to me.”

Savanna’s stomach dropped. She clenched her fingers around the pen she’d been using, the typed words on the script in front of her blurring.

“What are you doing here?” she said without lifting her gaze. Her voice sounded steady even though she was shaking from head to toe.

A crystal vase plunked down on the dressing table next to her, overflowing with a lush mix of summer flowers. Roses, hydrangeas, sunflowers. He’d figured out all her favorites.

Damn him. She’d never be able to enjoy her favorite flowers again.

Linc Norman leaned over her shoulder, ran a finger along her hairline, and pushed a coiffured lock out of the way. “What is this I hear about you doing an exposé on Westmeyer?” His breath landed on the top of her ear and revulsion snaked through her. His Alabama drawl thickened. “Tread lightly, sweetheart. I need them come next November.”

Tread lightly?

Was he seriously throwing down a gauntlet?

Anger replaced her revulsion. He was drawing a line and daring her not to step over it.

We’ll see about that.

Savanna bit the inside of her cheek and stared holes into the paper in front of her. She’d never taken kindly to threats, and wasn’t about to now, even if the man threatening her was the president of the United States. “I told you, I won’t be your lackey. If one of your supporters is committing criminal acts or fleecing the American people in any way, I’m going after them.”

“Like you did your boyfriend?”

Low blow, but then, what did she expect?

“You’ve always been too focused on principles, Van.” Norman let his fingers travel under her chin, forcing it up. “Look at me.”

Savanna glued her eyes on the flowers, not willing to meet his eyes in the mirror.

He pinched her chin between his finger and thumb, forcing her to raise her gaze. “You don’t give me orders or deny me anything. Loosen up your journalistic ethics or I’ll burn you at the stake.”

Finally, Savanna locked eyes with him in the mirror. “I won’t abandon my principles. Ever. So let me get you a match.”

His eyes were several shades lighter than her deep blue ones, with gray streaks that mimicked the ones in his hair. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as if he were teasing her instead of threatening her.

But the threat was real, coming from the most powerful man in the world. “Where is my sister?” she whispered. “What have you done with her?”

The president’s smile turned tolerant, the smooth Southern charm now mixing with the perfect touch of pity. If he’d been a television emcee or talk show host, he would have been her toughest competition. “Parker works for National Intelligence. Who knows where she is or what she’s working on.”

Perhaps Parker was on assignment, but she was a cognitive scientist who’d found a niche studying the brains and behaviors of terrorists. Her work for NI was more analyst and profiler than anything else. Occasionally, she traveled out of the country, but she always texted or called Savanna beforehand to let her know she’d be quiet for a few days or weeks.

They were close; normally they talked every day. They made time for weekly lunches, and once a month, they met their parents for Sunday dinner.

Parker was dedicated and loved her job. While she never shared intelligence or sensitive information, she had been more secretive than usual for the past year and a half.

And now, she was gone.

“If you’ve hurt her…” Savanna let the threat hang in the air. Was she really doing this? Threatening the president of the United States? “If you made her disappear, I will find out, and when I do, I will let everyone know exactly who and what you are.”

A monster.

Releasing her chin, Linc Norman put his face next to hers, their reflections in the mirror looking like the Greek theatre faces of comedy and tragedy. He thought this was a joke—her fierce love and loyalty to her sister.

But the president wasn’t one to take a threat sitting down. He ran his hands over Savanna’s arms, his attention dropping to her cleavage. Holding the gaze a moment longer, purposely trying to make her uncomfortable. “You’ve pissed off a lot of high-powered people in your time at the news desk. Ruined a lot of lives and brought whole companies to their knees. Wouldn’t want any of them to retaliate, now, would you, Van?”

A master at intimidation, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if soaking in her scent before he leaned his forehead against her temple. “You and I both have a role to play in leading the American people and making them feel secure. Parker had one job and she blew it. Don’t follow in her footsteps, Van. Do what I tell you and everyone will be happy.”

Her hand now shook so hard, she had to lay down the pen. It was either that, or she’d stick the pen in his eye socket. “I want my sister back.”

“We don’t always get what we want.” He chuckled and rose to his full height, checking himself out in her mirror. He straightened his tie, brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “Except me. I am, after all, the leader of the free world.”

Savanna held his gaze, refusing to kowtow regardless of the fact that he could ruin her career, her very life, with the snap of his fingers. She mentally cursed herself that she didn’t have a way to make the bastard come clean.

But that was her forte. Digging in and unearthing dirt that could bring anyone, no matter how much power they had, to their knees. She’d known this confrontation was a strong possibility and had already taken measures to start fighting back.

He didn’t see the fire in her eyes, or, knowing him, took it as compliance rather than defiance. Everyone gave him what he wanted when he turned on the charm.

“Remember, lay off Westmeyer.” He winked and patted her back. “And enjoy the flowers.”

Two Secret Service agents closed in around him as he left. At least, she thought they were SS. They could have been his thugs. Parker had once told her Norman used various tunnels under the White House to come and go covertly on a regular basis. Often his own chief of staff had no idea where he was or what he was doing.

“The White House bad boy,” the press had nicknamed him. Savanna knew his antics hid a much deeper, much more sinister side.

Trembling, she took the vase of flowers and smashed it against the wall.

Light reflected off something among the shattered heads of the hydrangeas. Savanna stepped gingerly though the broken glass in the designer heels the audience wouldn’t see behind her news desk. Bending down, she picked up a tiny, flexible, opaque disc.

Listening device? Camera?

Throwing it down, she ground her heel into it. Small satisfaction, but she imagined it was Norman’s face.

Back at her dressing table, she withdrew her cell phone from the top drawer. No calls or texts from Parker, but there was a text from a blocked caller.


A long time ago, Parker had given Savanna a number to text, a person who went by the moniker ON16. A person—man or a woman, she didn’t know—who could help Savanna if she couldn’t get hold of her sister. Extreme emergencies only, Parker had said.

Savanna had never needed it before.

ON16’s text was two lines: a name and a phone number.

Savanna stared at the name, bells going off in her head. Emit Petit. Where had she heard that name before?

Lindsey popped in without knocking. “What did the president say? Are you going to interview him? Please say he wants to do an interview at the White House!”

She was giddy until her attention dropped to the shards of glass and limp flowers on the floor. “Oh, my God. What happened? Are you okay?”

Savanna stood, dropping the cell phone back into her drawer. She smoothed the front of her jacket and grabbed her notes. “Let’s go,” she said, hustling Lindsey out of the room. “We have a show to do.”

And then I’m going to find my sister.



✩ Apple Books →

✩ Kobo →

✩ B&N →

Posted on Leave a comment

The ghost from her past is about to get his cold-blooded revenge

Secrets can get you killed in this riveting story in the SCVC Taskforce romantic suspense series by USA TODAY Bestselling Author, Misty Evans.

He killed her best friend when they were only girls…but she got away.

Now he’s hunting her again.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ “Oh, wow, Deadly Secrets is GOOD! Fast-paced, action-filled, and scorching-hot-romance.” ~ Wiken, Goodreads reviewer


Three ambulances pulled away in quick succession as Roman drove up to the blocked off area near the church and parked. None of them had their lights on.


They were too late to save anyone.

Before they’d left the hotel, Roman had insisted Brooke change out of her dress and pick up shoes. He wasn’t taking her to a crime scene with nothing on her feet. She hadn’t said much on the drive over and he could see how deeply disturbed she was at the idea of checking out the multiple suicide-homicide with him.

Yes, the parishioners had all committed suicide, but it was the work of The Reverend who’d brainwashed them into doing it.

The Rev wasn’t the first cult leader to convince his followers to do so. Jim Jones was probably the most remembered, convincing over 900 people to commit “revolutionary suicide” and drink poison. Not many years ago, just outside of San Diego, the Heaven’s Gate members had killed themselves in order to enable their souls to jump on board a spaceship following the Hale-Bopp comet.

But Roman didn’t believe The Reverend was a true cult leader—he didn’t spend time gathering a flock and preaching to them or trying to take their money or possessions to amass his own. His targets had neither. He moved swiftly, from one group to the next, seeming to exact some kind of vengeance or justice. He was a serial killer, pure and simple, trying to rid the area of nonwhites, it seemed.

Polly, standing inside the barricades with her tablet in hand, waved him over. He flashed his badge at the police guard and guided Brooke past a group of law enforcement and crime scene techs.

Frizzy hair flying, Polly met them halfway. Roman made quick introductions, Brooke distractedly shaking Polly’s hand as the DTT’s crime scene expert smiled good-naturedly, not missing a beat that Roman had brought her and welcoming Brooke to the team. Brooke didn’t respond other than to ask if they were sure this was the work of The Reverend.

Behind Polly, the small church, once abandoned, looked shabby and rundown in the glare of the lights.

Polly handed Roman the tablet with the details laid out in bulleted points the way he liked. She recited the details out loud for Brooke’s benefit.

Death toll: 34 and rising.

Survivors: none.

Method used to kill victim(s): lethal dose of cyanide in the sacrament cups of grape juice served to each member present.

“Pastor Luke? That’s what they called him?” Several other points were listed, but Roman’s eyes skipped over them and he handed the tablet back to Polly. “Matthew, Mark, Luke. He’s using the apostles in the New Testament. We should have seen that correlation earlier. Put out an update to the team. We need to find any and all pastors that pop up along the coast with a disciple name.”

“First, middle, or last,” Brooke added. She stared at the front of the church where the double doors were propped open and crime scene techs were going in and out. “He may use the apostle name as any of them. John will be next, and I’m guessing there will be a lot of Pastor Johns to vet.”

Roman rubbed his knuckles across his beard. He needed a shave. “If he continues in biblical order.” After the last few days with only five hours of sleep in sum total, he could use an energy drink to offset the exhaustion humming in his veins. “He may not.”

“He will.” Brooke seemed certain. “But it will be a few weeks before he starts amassing his next group of displaced immigrants and nonwhite flock. You’ll have a hard time finding him because of that very type of population. They stay off the grid and, by virtue of their secrecy, so does he.”

“Right,” Polly said, lifting one covert brow at Roman. “Do you want to go inside?”

As her answer, Brooke marched toward the open doors. Roman fell into step beside her and Polly caught up, walking backward and typing on her tablet as she spoke. “Same scene as the previous two. There are sigils on every victim’s forehead, a burnt offering was made, and of course, it’s a full moon.”

They were at the doors; Brooke pulled up short, gaze going skyward. “Burnt offering? Full moon?”

“That’s part of The Rev’s MO.” Polly ushered her through the doors, pointing to a wall just inside the vestibule with a painting of the moon in its various phases. Blood cut a swath across it. “He follows the moon’s cycle and apparently smears someone’s blood over the painting before he leaves.”

Brooke studied the painting. “That’s new.”

The comment was so soft, Roman wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “New? Both of the previous groups had the same painting. He convinces his parishioners that the Second Coming will arrive the night of a full moon and it’s God’s Will that they meet the angels coming to collect their souls.”

Brooke studied the picture. “That’s not biblical though. There are mentions of the moon in the Bible, but not exactly corresponding to sacrifices or the Rapture.”

“The sigils he carves on their foreheads aren’t biblical either.” Polly shot him a look and Roman conceded, “At least, we don’t think they are. That’s why we could use you to confirm it.”

“Are the bodies still here?”

Polly paled slightly. She was a CSI, and damn good at her job, but examining a mass suicide was a lot to stomach for anyone. “In the sanctuary. He delivered communion there.”

Brooke started toward the sanctuary, face a grim mask. “And once they’re dead, he mutilates their bodies and disappears.”

An official police CSI tech with a camera hanging from her neck strap brushed past them. She’d worked with the taskforce before and she called over her shoulder, “Sending the pictures to you, Polly, as soon as Detective Clyffe gives me the all-clear.”

“Thanks, Ferne!” Polly called back.

The green commercial carpeting led them to the sanctuary. Here, too, the doors were pinned open.

“Detective Clyffe?” Brooke asked Roman. “Why is San Diego PD handling the case? Where is the FBI?”

“The Reverend is our case.” He stopped, seeing Clyffe at the head of the main aisle speaking on his phone to someone. Around him were empty wooden pews, the back ones displaying laid out bodies covered with white sheets. “We’re stretched thin so the locals do the discovery work for us and help where they can.”

Brooke hmm’d under her breath and Roman heard the criticism in her tone, although he didn’t know why she cared.

Above the podium, Christ hung on the cross, staring down with sad eyes at the dead who’d died in His name.

“If you don’t need me,” Polly said, clutching her tablet, “I’ll hang out here and notify the rest of the team about the apostle thing.”

Roman nodded, then took Brooke’s elbow to escort her in while waving at Clyffe. “You sure you want to actually look at a body?”

Cooper Harris’s words about Brooke not being a field agent rang in his head. He’d inadvertently lured her here, but now wondered if this was a good idea. All he needed was his potential new expert to go lights out on him once she saw the body. “Polly can show you the pictures. Might be…you know.” Less graphic.

“I’ll be fine.” Brooke’s gaze was glued to the nearest white sheet. Her throat constricted as she swallowed hard. “I need to see what he did to them.”

Her tight voice told him there was something more, something personal here, and it hinted at the doctor already knowing more about this case than he did. Was that possible?

She started forward and he gently touched her arm to stop her. “Have you come across The Rev’s work before?”

“I…” Her hesitation was accompanied by a gray pallor that washed over her face. “I’m familiar with his ritualistic killings.”

Familiar, hell. She looked like she’d seen far too much of this bastard’s signature work. “You’ve worked on a case related to him? Was it for the FBI?”

“Not exactly.” Her throat constricted again. “Let’s just say, I’ve studied him to a certain degree.”

On one hand, Roman knew this was a score for him—finally, he had the expert he’d needed for the past year to complete his team and bring The Rev in.

On the other hand, there was no way he wanted to subject Brooke to the nightmares that accompanied the job he did. The things he’d seen that couldn’t be unseen. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized she might be in the field with him. He’d planned to keep her safe behind a desk, researching homegrown terrorists and those like The Reverend, who committed mass murder on American soil. The Reverend was no different than the Urban Warriors, a gang who blew up federal buildings, or the Outlaws motorcycle gang who killed cops up and down I-5. They all believed they were true Americans, and that those who weren’t should be exterminated.

He let his hand linger on her arm. “Studying him is different than seeing his handiwork up close and personal.”

She scrutinized his face for a moment, her eyes searching his. A ghost of emotion chased across her expression. “Thank you for trying to protect me. I assure you I will not lose it when I see the body under that sheet.”

Tough, controlled, determined. Yep, she was going to be one hell of an asset to his team.

If he didn’t scare her off.

Taking her hand seemed like a natural thing to do as he led her to the body she wanted to examine. At first her fingers stiffened, then she stepped forward with him, her hand cool in his much warmer one. He released her, as together they bent down, he at the victim’s head, and she next to the shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked, because he had to make sure. He knew what waited for them under the sheet.

She took a deep breath and seemed to hold it, giving him a nod.

With a silent prayer for the deceased, he crossed himself—his Irish catholic upbringing still in his blood. Then he peeled back the sheet slowly, revealing the woman underneath.

Dark hair and eyes, probably in her early forties. Blood had dried on the woman’s forehead, outlining the sigil that had been carved there. Her eyes, still open, had a bluish tinge to them and were rolled up into her head. Her mouth showed burns from the poison she’d consumed.

Brooke’s breath came out in a rush. “This poor woman.” She gently touched the woman’s shoulder, and Roman saw a hint of tears in her eyes as she studied the bloody sigil.

Detective Clyffe ended his call and headed their way. Abruptly, Brooke stood and whirled around, heading out of the sanctuary.

“Broo—Dr. Heaton,” Roman called, replacing the sheet and straightening as Clyffe caught up to him.

Brooke kept boogying, leaving him behind. “I’ll be in touch,” she called.

So much for not losing it.

And how exactly, did she think she was getting back to her hotel?

Clyffe shook his hand and started reeling off the facts Polly had already shared and Roman tried to give the man his full attention. His focus, however, kept going to the open doors, waiting for Brooke to come back.

She didn’t.

With a sigh, Roman keyed in on the tired, rumpled detective and got to work.

READ the rest NOW!

Buy direct and SAVE!

★ Amazon US →

★ Amazon UK →

★  Amazon CA →

★ Amazon AU →

★ AppleBooks →

★  Kobo →

★ Nook →