Thursday, October 8, 2015

LaCour's Destiny by Robert Downs Excerpt, Giveaway & Review

LaCour's Destiny

by Robert Downs

on Tour October 2015


Sam LaCour hasn’t given up on men, even if they’ve given up on her, and she doesn’t give up on her colleagues either, even when a dead body turns up, and she faints in front of the cameras, her family, and a television audience.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Oak Tree Press
Publication Date: August 31, 2015
Number of Pages: 238
ISBN: 9781610091893
Series: Sam LaCour
Purchase Links: Amazon Amazon Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

I dress for success, in conservative suits—gray, charcoal, black, violet, navy blue, hunter green, and maroon—either skirts or slacks, with my long hair in a chignon, out of the way of my intense blue eyes. By nature, I look younger than I really am; however, the suits add age to my youthful face, cherubic grin, and dimples. My blouse and pants were pressed, and I’d spent a half-hour on my hair, while my date probably spent significantly less time in the bathroom. Men can get away with that sort of lackadaisical attitude; women often can’t.
Aaron Nevers, my date, wore a three piece, navy blue suit with a red and blue striped tie, an Oxford shirt, white, and black shoes polished to a fine shine. With his dark hair slicked back from his face, he could have passed for a B-list actor in a low budget movie. He had a single dimple on his left cheek, and his eyes twinkled every time he smiled. Even though I’m not particularly impressed by cars, he drove a 2009 Nissan 370Z, or so he told me, and he picked me up at my door, waiting with a single yellow rose in his left hand, as he grasped my right hand in his, kissing the top of my knuckles. As far as first dates went, we had reached a level I had previously considered unattainable. But I had no idea where we would go from here, since we were in uncharted waters, and all I saw was blue.
The date started off pleasant enough with some mild conversation, a few questions, a few stares, and a few shots from my water glass. Aaron assumed the appropriate amount of interest, nodding at most of the appropriate places. He was different than my other dates, more attentive, less into himself, more focused on my face than my chest, a lack of challenge in his eyes, and so far he had kept his elbows off the table. He had his shoulders leaned forward enough to let me know he was interested, but not so far forward that he crowded my space. My personal space bubble extends further than most, and I gave him an extra point for sitting across from me. Right now, he was in the win column, and he didn’t even know it. But I’d known dates that had started off promising: The one who tried to grab my breasts as he slid to the floor after having stumbled into the wait staff, after having downed one too many Bloody Marys, was at the top of my list of disasters. But I was supposed to focus on the positive, however hard that might turn out to be.
My challenge was to make it through the night without emptying my water glass, food flying, or obscene remarks uttered by the opposite party—the most recent of which happened to resort to obscenities. We were seated in a nice restaurant with a muted ambiance, waiters in pressed white shirts, candles, and live music coming from two guys and one guitar, the vocals a somewhat soothing melody of which I wasn’t familiar. The restaurant, however, wasn’t the problem: It was my date. Instead of sitting across from me, he was now seated to my right. After having made some lame excuse about needing to use the restroom, he commandeered the chair that was most likely to invade my personal space—and on two occasions, he moved his chair closer to mine, inches away from my left knee, while I inched away in the opposite direction; he stuck his arm around my shoulder, before I gently removed it and leaned in the other direction; he held a Sam Adams in his right hand when he wasn’t navigating the circumference of the carpet; I didn’t touch alcohol; and his smile had a hint of evilness that he attempted to disguise with playfulness. But I remained open to the possibility that this might still turn out well even if my instincts had heightened to the occasion. With my personal space bubble shrinking, I wasn’t too keen on the end result. The end result could very well lead to disaster: The worst offense involved a police officer and a previous date being dragged away in handcuffs. I took a deep breath and pictured my living room and me in it with no one else around. This seemed to help, although it wasn’t quite enough. I preferred to be the one in control of the touching, not the other way around, and certainly not on a first date.
I ordered a small filet mignon, while he ordered a larger version; both came with garlic mashed potatoes and green beans mixed with almonds and cashews. The conversation drifted from jobs to amusing antidotes to previous vacation experiences, and when we reached a pregnant pause, I didn’t rush to fill in the gap. My date liked to rock back and forth in his chair when emphasizing a point. I waited for him to break the force field of gravity and end up sprawled on the floor: It didn’t happen. The music men took a break—maybe even a siesta, or that might have been my own wishful thinking—and I stared at this rather amusing gentleman out of the corner of my eye, who had a rather annoying habit of smoothing out his tie every four minutes. Not that I was counting.
“Do you play?” he asked. He nodded his head in the direction of where the band had been.
“I’ve always enjoyed live music, but I could never hold a tune.” I told myself I had an awesome voice when I sang in the shower. I resembled both Beyonce and Christina Aguilera.
“I played in a band once. We were known more for playing loud than being any good. Our best gig was our spring formal, and the only reason we even managed that was the first four bands canceled in a matter of days. The school was desperate, and we were probably even more desperate than they were.”
I sipped from my water glass, nodded, and excused myself. As far as he was concerned, I planned to powder my nose. I checked my hair, slowed my breathing—the whole touching and personal space issue—and stared at myself in the mirror for a moment longer than I should have. I’d once had an anxiety attack in the middle of a restaurant, while my date had a piece of lobster between his jaws. After that horrific experience, most of which had to do with the lobster poking out of his teeth, I was determined not to let it happen again.
When I returned to my seat, I found my food waiting for me. Aaron had his hands in his lap. Before I could sit down, he stood up, waited for me to sit down, and then resumed his seat at the table.
When I picked up my fork, he picked up his and held it poised over his plate, as he waited for me to make the first move. I did, and he followed my lead. The size of our bites differed, and the amount of water I consumed to his beer differed, although not much else did.
He said, “I’m told you enjoy sports.”
My sister never ceased to fill in a few extraneous details. “I’ve been known to follow them on occasion.”
The air filled with modesty, as my date’s nose filled with curiosity. He dropped his fork: It made a soft clatter. Hushed conversations ensued around us, although I tried not to pick up on the actual words. When I wasn’t careful, my curiosity got the better of me. Listening was an art form; talking was a skill I still hadn’t quite perfected.
“Who do you like?”
“The Steelers.”
He almost choked on his piece of steak. He hacked twice, and then he swallowed three sips of beer, each one larger than the one before it. He blinked, his eyes flitting away from my face, the pupils slightly larger than normal.
“Your favorite player?”
“Troy Polamalu,” I said. My voice filled with more than a hint of emotion, as I pictured the Samoan darting through tacklers, his long dark hair whipping in the wind.
“Pittsburgh doesn’t have cheerleaders,” he said.
His concern for trivial matters that had no reflection on the game itself surprised me. I chewed in silence, savoring each bit of steak, before washing it down with additional sips of water. Once, I probably even closed my eyes in delight. Charboiled, the best steakhouse in Hampton, VA, on Settlers Landing Road, has a reservation system reserved for those with careful planning in mind. Often two weeks’ notice is required, so Aaron had already reached a level of optimism most of my other dates had not. And he exuded a certain amount of confidence that I found both intriguing and disconcerting at the same time. The whole touching thing notwithstanding.
“You aren’t a Redskins’ fan, are you?”
“I’ve always been partial to the Eagles,” he said.
Unsure exactly how to respond, I chose to refrain from it altogether. I stabbed a piece of steak that had captured my attention and pretended to look amused.
He quizzed me on my football knowledge, and I accepted the challenge. Most of the questions were answered without hesitation, although he did manage to stump me on a couple of occasions. Growing up, my dad had wanted boys. Fate had laughed at his request, and he ended up with two girls, only one of whom even came close to sharing his passion for football. I’d been to one game at Three Rivers Stadium when the Steelers played the Raiders. I couldn’t remember the outcome, but I did recall that it was one of the best days of my life—my dad and I cheering on our beloved Steelers, the roar of the stadium, the promise of a successful outcome hinged on every play—despite the cold weather and the promise of snow in the air. After that experience, I had never been the same, and my fate was forever entwined with Pittsburgh. Although we had more good seasons than bad, we lost a disheartening Super Bowl to the Cowboys when Neil O’Donnell showed a certain lack of judgment on more than one occasion. The loss stuck with me much longer than it should have.
“You were never a cheerleader, were you?”
I shook my head. “What gave me away?”
“Your reaction to my cheerleading comment.”
“I don’t have anything against the activity,” I said. “But I’m not the type of person to paint my face with false enthusiasm and have men leering at me rather than watching the game.” Big breasts were a foreign concept to me, and I’d had more than one date comment on my lack of enthusiasm. Besides, I wouldn’t take my eyes off the field long enough to do even one cheer-worthy act. I finished my steak several minutes after him; I decided to forego dessert; he didn’t; he placed his hands on the edge of the table; I placed mine in my lap; he leaned forward in his chair; I leaned back in mine; my shoulders remained in that perfect posture position.
When dessert came, he offered me a spoon. I politely declined. While he finished up and paid the check, I excused myself once more.
He asked, “Are you sure your nose needs the additional powder?”
“Probably not. But it doesn’t hurt to check.”
Everything was in the same place as it was before. I checked my hair in the mirror, dabbed pale lipstick on my bottom lip, and readjusted my blouse and one errant bra strap.
Aaron helped me into my jacket, right before we met the cool night air head on. I shivered as the wind gusted around me. As I feared, he’d saved his most interesting comment for last, and it happened less than five minutes into our walk with his hand lightly brushing my own. The date had gone well enough, or so I had thought.
“Since you’re an accountant,” he said, “would you like for me to perform an internal audit?”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, as Aaron took a couple more steps before he realized the procession had ceased. I stood in the middle of oncoming traffic, my loose lips opened in protest, the wind whistling through my ears, the ticking time bomb ready to explode upon impact, and a look in Aaron’s eyes that I rather wish I hadn’t seen. A minute later—and what felt more like ten—I found my voice. “You know I’m not that type of accountant, right?”
“Does that mean you’re not interested?”

Author Bio:

authorRobert aspired to be a writer before he realized how difficult the writing process was. Fortunately, he'd already fallen in love with the craft, otherwise Sam and Casey might never have seen print. Originally from West Virginia, he has lived in Virginia, Massachusetts, New Mexico, and now resides in California. To find out more about Sam or Casey, visit the author’s website:

When he’s not writing, Robert can be found reviewing, blogging, or smiling. Falling Immortality and Graceful Immortality helped him discover his true love: hard-boiled mysteries. This is his third novel.

Catch Up with Mr. Downs:
author's website author's facebook

Tour Participants:


Tour-wide Giveaway:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours for Robert Downs. There will be FIVE winners of the LaCour's Destiny eBook. The giveaway runs through November 4th, 2015. a Rafflecopter giveaway

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours

 My review,

Robert Downs the author of "LaCour's Destiny", has given us a very good, interesting mystery novel. This novel is the kind of novel that you want to keep reading until you finish it because you want to know what the ending is going to be. Once I started I did not want to put it down. This is the third book by this author and I am going to read the others the first chance I get. Anyone who likes mysteries will enjoy this one. I give this book a 4/5. I was given this book by Partners in Crime Book Tours . These are my opinions.


Dark Summoner by D.D. Miers Excerpt & Giveaway

Dark Summoner - Relic Keeper Series Book One
by D.D. Miers



"It wasn't the first time I'd had a vision, but it was the first time one had tried to kill me."

Abby Davenport has spent the last fifteen years forgetting her past until a fateful night reveals her false reality. Thrust into a new world of dark sorcery and ancient magic, she's shocked to discover her destiny lies as the keeper of a powerful relic. Now everyone wants to control, own, or destroy her. No longer able to discern truth from lie, she’s torn between a charming guardian and a mysterious summoner. Abby finds herself strangely drawn to each man—one sworn to protect and one who calls to her soul. Can she survive the strange and dangerous labyrinth of the first realm, where every move, emotion, and reaction must be a calculated one?


Excerpt One:

His six-foot-plus frame leaned against the leather walls, arms crossed over his muscular chest, his demeanor casual yet controlled. To say he intimidated me would have been an understatement.

He seemed like the devil incarnate—a strange combination of wickedly handsome and utterly terrifying.

A strange black smokiness swirled around his frame, and I couldn’t tell if it was coming from him or somewhere in the club. Everything about him exuded danger. Whoever he was, that thing took one look at this man and disappeared. I couldn’t help but feel slightly grateful. The brief windows of light allowed me glimpses of his dark and brooding features. Much of him remained in shadow. But I noticed his stunning eyes. They glowed unnaturally and danced as he watched me. With abnormal speed, they flashed from crystal gray to black coal and back again. His short, jet-black hair was tousled yet perfect, and a slight stubble bordered his jawline.

His riveting stare petrified and aroused me at the same time. Looking at him made me desirous for things I never thought I would want. I was recovering from the silent assault when a sudden daze clouded my mind, and my eyelashes fluttered uncontrollably. There wasn’t time for me to panic as it lifted within seconds.

I was no longer in the club.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

With her debut novel Dark Summoner, D.D. Miers begins the Relic Keeper Series, a fast-paced romantic saga filled with danger, destiny, and magic, set in her favorite genre, Paranormal and Fantasy Romance.

Born with a wildly overactive imagination, she’s told stories of enchanted worlds, treacherous villains, and epic love for as long as she can remember. She keeps a watchful eye for the paranormal hiding around every corner and constantly checks the window or rearview mirror for a vampire or fairy.

Although she has a fondness for all things fantasy, she's an epic romance fan at heart and in everything she asks, “What would Jane Austen do?” The journey to becoming a published author has been a long but exciting one. A fervent desire for taking readers from the ordinary to the extraordinary keeps her motivated, and she believes that everything is better with a good helping of romance thrown in.

D.D. is a proud member of the Romance Writers of America (RWA) and the Fantasy, Futuristic, & Paranormal Sub-Genre of RWA (FF&P). She continues to attend conferences and writers’ workshops in order to help inspire, share, and promote her love for romance.

During her downtime, she loves to spend time with her family, share her obsession of all things romance with other fans, and catch up on her never-ending TBR list. She resides in beautiful Southern California with her wonderful husband, an adorable toddler, two kitties, and the many different characters living in her head.

Website Links:


Buy Links:



The author will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Heat by Aubrey Irons

A Soldiers of Fortune Romance
Aubrey Irons

Genre: Contemporary Romance, Military Romance,
New Adult Romance, Billionaire Romance,
Alpha Male, Bad-Boy

Date of Publication: 8/11/15


Number of pages: 237 (kindle)
Word Count: 58,000

Cover Artist: Aubrey Irons

Book Description:

Five years ago, that cocky, egotistical a**hole played me like a fool and broke my heart.

Hudson Banks; the dominant, tattooed, womanizing, ex-Marine-turned-billionaire who runs God-knows-what at my late father’s company.

Oh, and he’s sexy as all f**k, and he d*mn well knows it.

He’s like a gasoline fire; a scorchingly hot disaster, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to get burned.

I’m on track to be the youngest New York State Senator ever elected; the bright, gutsy, good-girl media darling. Except my campaign funding just went dry, and it looks like the only solution is coming from the last person on Earth I’d ever want to take anything from. Oh, and it turns out bad-boy, tough-guy Hudson will be shadowing me 24/7 after he makes it clear that he’s in charge of "protecting the investment".

Yeah, just perfect; a reckless, irresistible d*ck like Hudson Banks is the last person I need being “in charge” of anything to do with me.

Especially when I still can’t forget the taste of his lips or the feeling of that massive hardness I know he’s packing between his legs. It’s not fair that he’s even hotter now than he was back then. It’s not fair that those smoldering, arrogant eyes and that cocky, panty-melting grin still make me warm in places they shouldn’t. And it’s definitely not fair that five years later, I still can’t get him out of my head.

So it looks like I’ve got two races on my hands: the one for election, and the one against the burning heat threatening to tear us both apart. But on the sprint to the finish line, what happens when the man who has everything comes up against the one thing he can’t have?

**This is a standalone, HEA novel**

Available at Amazon

About the Author:

Aubrey Irons enjoys writing about bold, sassy, and intelligent women and the hot, cocky, and quite typically forbidden alpha males who love and lust for them; gripping stories, happy endings, and enough heat to keep things extra steamy!

In the real world, Aubrey is kept plenty entertained by her own tattooed Marine husband, their precocious and adorable three year old, and one very ill-behaved puppy.

The Upstate Boys by Ofer Aronskind Giveaway

The Upstate Boys
Release Date: 8/31/15

Summary from Goodreads:
John Shepherd (Shep) is a kid of the streets. An orphan bounced around from one foster family to another until he winds up in a juvenile detention center in upstate New York. While incarcerated, Shep and his fellow inmates are subjected to regular beatings and forced hard labor by the corrupt warden who runs the facility along with his squadron of armed guards. 

But Shep is no ordinary minor and has no intention of spending the rest of his youth behind bars. Shep and a handful of other inmates hatch a bold plan which culminates in a spectacular turn of events changing the lives of the young prisoners and their captors forever. The Upstate Boys is a tale of adventure, redemption and the unbreakable will of the human spirit. A must read for young and old alike, for anyone who ever dreamed of freedom and especially for those who made it happen.

Buy Links:

About the Author

Ofer Aronskind was born in Tel Aviv, Israel and came to the United States at the age of six. He grew up in Little Neck, Queens, on the outskirts of New York City. He attended SUNY Albany then took a year off after college where he spent the year in Los Angeles writing screenplays. The following year he came back to NY to attend St. John's University School of Law and graduated in 1989. He went to work at the law firm of Weil Gotshal & Manges as a real estate attorney and worked there until 1997. He now lives in Short Hills, New Jersey with his three sons and is a real estate investor.

Ofer, father of 3 boys, has had a lifelong passion for reading and writing. He began writing his first book, Summer Sleep Away the summer he sent his own sons off to camp for their first time. Ofer spent endless nights sitting at the edge of their beds telling his children stories from his own years in camp. As the boys embarked on their journey they encouraged Ofer to turn his stories into a book… so became Mattie Kleinfeld and the beginning of Ofer’s prolific career.

New Jersey resident Ofer Aronskind remembers what it was like to be 12 years old: the challenges of middle school, making new friends, attending summer camp for the first time, having your first crush. By drawing on events from his life, as well as those of his three teenage sons, he has been able to vividly recreate some of life’s most memorable experiences in his young-adult novels.

To find more about Ofer and his 
books for young adults, please visit 

Author Links:


Book Tour Organized by:

Hindu Sex Aliens by Larry Weiner Excerpt

Hindu Sex Aliens

The Island Trilogy

Book 3

Larry Weiner

Genre: Horror/Dark Comedy

Publisher: Forsaken Imprint

Booktrope Publishing

Date of Publication: October 5, 2015



Word Count: 65869

Cover Artist: Larry Weiner

Book Description:

Hmmm … let’s see. Beautiful islands. Check. Friendly undead. Check. Reminders of bloodshed and death everywhere we look ... I dunno, hon. It’s a mixed bag.”

The band’s getting back together once more. But this time, nobody’s feeling it.

The bicker gang of PARADISE ROT and ONCE AGAIN, WITH BLOOD is rapidly losing its taste for luring clueless Middle Americans to obscure tropical-island resorts. Not to mention unwittingly luring them into the clutches of the local ancient undead. Or having to rescue said morons from said bloodslurpers and fleshsnackers.

But here they are — Cate Hendricks and fellow ad creative/nutjob/horndog Kyle Brightman chief among them — on the Indian Ocean island of Soma Indra. Putting together another first-rate ad campaign. Pulling together another train-wreck assortment of guests: Burned-out suburban housewives who are semi-sick of men and seeking sisterhood through yoga sessions. Socially inept software engineers who may or may not be aliens looking to screw their way to species perpetuation. Oh, and did we mention the thousands of Hindu deities looking to rewrite the Kama Sutra during their annual R&R retreat?

Yeeeeaaaaaah. This should go well.

Especially when the gang runs into its most insidious and powerful nemesis yet: Larry Weiner. How does this therapy-addled, midlife-crisis dingus know who they are? Where they’re from? How they think? And what evil plans does he have for them? And why do they want to be thoughtful, responsible grownup-type adults all of a sudden?

Part meta-fiction, part Metamucil, HINDU SEX ALIENS is the cerebrally comic conclusion to Larry Weiner’s uproarious trouble-in-paradise trilogy.


THIS ROOM LOOKS Jackson Pollacked. Is that a thing? An adjective, maybe? To get ‘Jackson Pollacked?’ There was a time when this would’ve grossed me out. But then, I’ve seen things. And now, well, all I can think of is that some unlucky bastard has to clean all of this up.”

Kyle Brightman stood in the conference room, hands in pockets, looking around at walls covered with blood splatter, bits of organ meat, and flesh. Tendons and bone lay strewn about on the conference table—you could see where the kill had been by the small mound of muscle tissue and a human skull. It looked as if someone had popped the cork on a gigantic champagne bottle full of human remains and, voila! Conference room Lee Marvin (Kyle had named most of the conference rooms) had become, as Kyle put it, Jackson Pollacked.

Cate Hendricks, looking as if she’d been dipped into a vat of blood, sat spent in a chair, her legs splayed, still wearing her pair of purple Converses with the white star. She gazed at the floor rug, studying the pattern of blood and human tissue. To Kyle, she looked like a predator having consumed its prey after a kill. Which, in Cate’s case, was called Mandy Newberger.

Leaning up against a wall, arms folded, Dory Parthenia cradled her iPhone between her shoulder and ear. Kyle had always marveled at the way she could do that—not just the manner in which she could converse while doing something else, usually typing on a laptop, but the actual way she was able to cradle the phone. Kyle had tried it a few times and cracked his Han Solo-frozen-in-carbonite phone case after dropping it.

Uh-huh… uh-huh… It’s in pretty bad shape. Uh-huh… Yeah, maybe four. I dunno. We might have to rip everything up and replace it. The table’s in good shape, just covered with blood and guts. Know what? Order a new table. I never liked the ones we picked. Tastes change… Uh-huh… Right, just put it under construction costs. Same for Katharine Hepburn. Uh-huh… Try Design Within Reach—oh, you know what? Check out Hive. Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

Dory let the phone slip off her shoulder and into her hand; Kyle was once again impressed by her phone-handling gymnastics. “Not the best meeting we’ve ever had,” she said.

I leave you kids alone for one minute and look what happens,” Kyle said. “Last time I get coffee during client feedback.”

We both know that’s not true.”


The two of them looked at Cate. They weren’t at the worried stage just yet. Zombies often looked comatose after a feeding—or, in this case, a feast, as Mandy was a big girl.

So, Cate. Hon? What was the trigger word?” Kyle asked. He walked over to her and kneeled. Cate retained her thousand-yard stare. “Copy changes? Did she try to rewrite the headline? They do that. Bastards. Everybody has to have input these days. I suppose it’s always been that way. Was when I started out in the biz, and that was almost fifteen years ago. Can you imagine someone checking out the Sistine chapel and going ‘meh’? Not that we’re creating masterpieces here, but still—”

I’ve hit my wall,” Cate mumbled. And then she slid off the chair onto the blood-drenched floor. She was out.

About the Author:

Larry Weiner is the author of PARADISE ROT (BOOK ONE), ONCE AGAIN, WITH BLOOD (BOOK TWO) and HINDU SEX ALIENS (BOOK THREE) that make up the Island Trilogy. Larry earned a degree in film from CSULA and was an award-winning art director. He lives on an island in the Pacific Northwest with his wife, two kids and a gaggle of animals. He plays bass and thus has poor hearing.

Join his Twitter feed at: @LarryNWeiner