THE REVOLVING BOOK FRIDAY EDITION IS “TIDINGS OF FEAR” by ERICKA SCOTT
POSTED FRIDAY DEC. 2, 2011
AUTHOR: ERICKA SCOTT
TITLE: TIDINGS OF FEAR
GENRE: ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
PUBLISHER: LYRICAL PRESS http://tinyurl.com/LyricalPress
WHERE YOU CAN BUY “TIDINGS OF FEAR”
BARNES AND NOBLE: http://tinyurl.com/7rykzsb
RELEASED: November 21, 2011
A psychic, a skeptic, and a serial killer…
Psychic Lia Morgan sees portents all around her. Although estranged from her family, she joins the search for her missing sister. A simple case gets complicated fast when she discovers her sister’s plethora of secrets includes a son.
Professor Jared Trimble’s world has no room for paranormal mumbo-jumbo. When asked to consult on a case involving a series of crossword puzzles, he’s conflicted. Is he a suspect, or an investigator?
While Lia uses her physic gift and follows signs, Jared uses his wits and experience. When the two collide, passions flare and the final clue brings them both into the bull’s-eye of a serial killer’s target.
READ AN EXCERPT: http://tinyurl.com/ErickaScottExcerpt
WATCH THE TRAILER: http://www.erickascott.com/blog/
It all began with Nancy Drew. Many a mystery writer can point to that teenage sleuth as the beginning of their obsession with mystery and romance (isn’t Ned Nickerson a hunk?) Ericka Scott is no different. A life-long reader of mystery, romance, and everything in between, she finally decided to give the voices in her head a chance to escape. Since then, she’s had over thirty tales of seductive suspense published. She currently lives in Southern California with her husband and three children.
CONNECT WITH ERICKA ONLINE:
WEB SITE: http://www.erickascott.com/
UPCOMING CONTEST: “TIDINGS OF FEAR” is part of the LYRICAL PRESS CHRISTMAS BASH – discounts, blog appearances, and some author chats and contests. FOR MORE INFO CHECK OUT http://www.erickascott.com/
A tiny bell peeled as she entered. The shop consisted of a counter separating a small
waiting room from the area decorated for client portraits. A snow dappled backdrop, the same
one depicted in Sylvie and Deion’s portrait, draped the far wall. Further confirmation that they
had been here.
No one manned the counter, nor could she hear the sound of anyone approaching as a
result of the entry bell. The skin along the back of her neck crawled, and she rubbed it
“Hello?” she called.
Goose pimples rushed up her arms. Must be a ghost walking on her grave. Nothing to be
afraid of in a store open to the public in the middle of the afternoon. Through the plate glass
window, she watched pedestrians stroll by. If anything happened to her, someone would see.
Someone would hear her scream. Heavens. She needed to shake off this paranoia.
At five foot twelve inches tall, as her mother had always said six feet was too tall for a
woman, she was no shrinking violet. Tall and big-boned. Granted, some of the muscle she
carried had gotten soft since her retirement. But she still thought she cut an imposing figure. No
In fact, just to be on the safe side… She dug her cellphone out of her pocket and scrolled
through the menus, looking for the most recent call from Lia. It never hurt to let someone know
After pressing the Talk button, nothing happened. Odd. No bars, no connectivity. She
glanced over her shoulder. No one had come out of the backroom to assist her. Perhaps they
were developing pictures? No, that didn’t make sense. Everything was digital these days. She’d
just go outside, make her call, then come back in.
With a shrug, she strode over to the door and pulled. It refused to open. Thinking she’d
pulled when she should have pushed, she shoved against the door. It still didn’t open.
What the hell?
She stepped back and heard an odd sound. A low hum. The room had darkened as well.
Looking around, she suddenly realized she could no longer see out the front windows. They had
darkened, becoming totally opaque. Probably bulletproof as well. Shit. Not that she carried a gun
This didn’t make any sense. This was a photography studio, for Christ’s sake, not a
government covert operation.
The squeal of a door behind her made her swirl around. She did a double-take. The
appearance of the woman in front of her didn’t make any sense. Tall, with her blond hair cut in a
bob–she felt as if she could be looking in a mirror.
“What the…” she began.
“Hello, Margaret,” a voice said. The mouth was hers; the voice wasn’t.
Despite her misgivings, she stepped toward the figure. Was this some elaborate practical
joke? However, when she looked into the blue eyes of the imposter, what she saw there made her
gasp. They weren’t the serene blue she saw in her own mirror. These eyes were pale, cold and
flat. The eyes of a killer.
Her cellphone rang and, without taking her eyes from her captor, she snatched it up to her
ear. “Hello, please help me! Hello!”
Feedback squealed from the speaker. The figure held up a small device where a red
button glowed on the display.
The fear she’d been struggling to repress sprang free. Her heart pounded painfully against
her ribcage and she couldn’t seem to draw in a full breath. Her nerves jangled, urging her to run,
to hide, to do something. Without options, she settled on doing something she’d never before
done in a situation like this.