Skip to main content

Lady Wynwood #7 early release Kickstarter

I worked on my first Kickstarter and it got approved! It’s for the Special Edition Hardcover of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 1: Archer and the release of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 7: Spinster. I contacted my graphic designer about the Special Edition Hardcover of vol. 1: Archer—it’s going to be SO beautiful! The Kickstarter focuses on the Special Edition Hardcover, but it’ll also include vol. 7: Spinster so that it’ll sort of be like a launch day for vol. 7, too. A third special thing that’ll be in the Kickstarter is Special Edition Paperbacks of all the books in the series. They won’t be available in stores, just in the Kickstarter (and later, from my website, and also in my Patreon book box tiers if I decide to do them). The Kickstarter is not live yet, but you can follow it to be alerted when it has launched. (You may need to create a free Kickstarter account.) Follow Camy’s Kickstarter

Winner and excerpt - Dangerous Waters by Sandra Robbins

The winner of
Dangerous Waters
by Sandra Robbins

Amy C.

Congratulations! (I've emailed you. Please email me at camy {at] camytang[dot}com if you didn’t get the email message.)

I know the rest of you are crying into your tomato basil mozzarella salad that you didn’t win. Cheer up! Order the book!

Laura Webber is determined to uncover the truth behind her parents' murders. But after being interviewed about the unsolved case, she's abducted and dumped in the Mississippi River with a warning to stop digging up the past. With her life in jeopardy, she knows that her former fiancé, Brad Austin, is the only person she can turn to for help. The cold-case detective has spent years trying to forget Laura, yet he can't turn her away. But before Brad can wrap her in his protection, will their reunion be cut short by a killer threatening to silence Laura forever? 
The Cold Case Files: Uncovering secrets of the past

Excerpt of chapter one:

Even though Laura Webber had watched the prerecorded television interview on the six o'clock news, she couldn't wait to see the repeat at ten. She'd spent the time between the broadcasts finishing up paperwork in her office at the hospital, and then switched on the television to catch it again on the late news. She stared at her pale face on the screen and wondered how her friend and roommate, Grace Kincaid, had ever talked her into doing that interview.

She'd promised herself when she'd returned to Memphis she wouldn't dredge up the memories she'd lived with for the past nineteen years. And yet, there she was on the most watched television station in the city telling how her parents had died in a car bomb explosion when she was ten years old.

Grace, ever the professional reporter, stared into the camera to close the interview. "The deaths of Lawrence Webber and his wife, Madeline, are one of the many unsolved cases that have prompted local authorities to establish a new Cold Case unit within the police department. The Webbers are but one family who hopes they will soon have answers concerning the fates of their loved ones. I am Grace Kincaid reporting for WKIZ-TV. Thank you for watching."

Laura pressed the remote to switch off the television, leaned forward and folded her arms on her desk. At first she hadn't wanted to do the interview. The memory of seeing the car bomb explode and engulf her parents in flames still haunted her. Grace had reasoned with her that people needed to be reminded that a federal prosecutor and his wife had been murdered while his children watched, and she was right. It felt good to know she had told her parents' story.

She glanced at the clock and jumped to her feet. Time to get home. If she was to make it to her early appointments with clients at Cornerstone Clinic in the morning, she needed some sleep. She grabbed her purse hanging on the back of her chair and slid its strap over her shoulder. A chill rippled down her spine as a thought flashed in her mind. The next hospital shift wouldn't occur for another hour. The parking lot would be deserted this late.

Her chin dipped against her chest, and she covered her face with her hands. Through the years she'd thought of what she'd lost that summer day years ago when her parents' car exploded, but it was what she'd gained that kept her awake at nights—the fear that someone was watching her and her brother, just waiting for the chance to annihilate her entire family.

After a moment, she took a deep breath, switched off her office lights and headed for the parking lot. Before stepping outside the hospital, she peered through the door's glass at the dark shadows covering the asphalt beyond the exit. Several streetlights appeared to be out of order. She squinted into the distance trying to remember where she'd parked her car. With the lot filled when she arrived earlier this afternoon, she hadn't been able to get her spot near the building. Scanning the area, she finally spotted her vehicle underneath one of the poles that burned brightly. The distance between where she stood and her car seemed to grow as she stared at it. After a moment she squared her shoulders, stepped from the building and walked toward her car. Her gaze didn't waver as she moved.

Halfway to her destination, the sound of a car door closing echoed across the parking lot, and she froze in place. She cast a glance around but didn't see anyone. A footstep echoed off the asphalt. Was it her imagination, or was someone out there?

She dug in her purse for her keys as she bolted toward her car. Without warning an arm circled her waist and squeezed the breath from her. A hand clamped a cloth over her mouth and nose, blocking the scream rising in her throat. Twisting and kicking, she tried to loosen her attacker's grip, but it was no use. Dizziness swept over her, and she struggled against it. But there was nothing to ward off the darkness that enveloped her.

Disoriented, she awoke with a start. Where was she? How long had she been out? She strained to catch a glimpse of something in the inky darkness that surrounded her, but she could see nothing. She blinked, and her eyelashes brushed against something.

She lay on her side, her arms behind her back. With a tug, she tried to pull her hands to her chest, but something cut into her wrists. She moaned in pain as the truth began to seep into her head. She couldn't see because a blindfold covered her eyes, and she couldn't move because her hands were tied behind her back.

What had happened? Bits and pieces of memory trickled into her brain. The hospital—she had left after watching the interview on TV and walked toward her car. But she didn't recall getting in it.

Then she remembered a cloth over her nose, a man's arm around her waist. Fear rose in her throat. She had broken the first rule she gave crime victims in her counseling sessions—always be mindful of your surroundings. But she hadn't been. Not until it was too late.

Now she lay blindfolded and bound somewhere. She stilled and listened for any clue that might give a hint of her surroundings. The steady hum of an engine and the slapping of tires on pavement answered her question. She was in some kind of vehicle heading toward an unknown destination.

She strained to pull her hands free, but it was no use. Her head jerked at the sharp slap to her face. "It's no use, Laura," a man's voice whispered in her ear. "You can't get loose."

The smell of tobacco and alcohol assaulted her nostrils and she gagged. Then cold fear shot through her veins. He knew her name. This was no random abduction. It was personal.

"Wh-what do you want with me?" Her dry throat burned so that the words were barely more than a whisper.

"I want to talk to you about your television interview."

Her heart pounded, and she tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry. "Wh-what about it?"

Something sharp nicked the skin beneath her chin. Laura tried to pull back from the knife's tip, but the man pressed it closer. "Some people I know don't want you talking about what happened. They think it's better to bury the past. What do you think?"

Tears rolled down her face. "What are you going to do to me?"

He laughed, and the sound sent chill bumps down her spine. "I'm going to make sure you don't talk to anybody else about that car bomb that killed your parents. Your search for answers is going to stop tonight. Understand?"

There was no denying what his words insinuated. He intended to kill her. Her body shook, but she pushed back the groans that rumbled in her throat. The vehicle came to a stop, and another man's voice cut through the silence. "We're here. Get it over with quick."

Before she realized what was happening, she was jerked from the vehicle and stood upright. A man's hand grasped her upper arm so tightly she thought it might cut off her circulation. He reached behind and yanked the ties from her around her hands. She pulled her hands up and rubbed her wrists.

Her knees threatened to collapse at the nudge of a gun against her back. "Now walk forward," he muttered. "And don't look back. Just walk."

"P-please," she begged.

"Walk," he snarled and pushed her forward.

Laura took a hesitant step and then another. Cold water seeped through the soles of her shoes, but she stumbled on. Her heart beat faster every time she moved. Would this step be her last?

A sound like water lapping against a shore reached her ears, and she shuddered at the familiar sound. He had brought her to the bank of the Mississippi River. Now she understood. A shot in the back, and her body would float downriver toward the Gulf of Mexico and never be seen again.

She clenched her fists and thought of her brother, Mark, his wife, Betsy, and their new daughter, Amanda, on Ocracoke Island. She'd never see them again. "God," she whispered, "watch over my family. Don't let them grieve for me."

Cold water rolled over her feet, and she hesitated. "Keep walking," the voice yelled.

She took another step and knew she now stood in the river. She inched forward until the water reached her knees, but the shot still didn't come. Suddenly a motor cranked and tires squealed. She held her breath and waited, but nothing happened.

With shaking hands she reached up, pulled the blindfold from her eyes and turned to stare to her left. The lights of Memphis blinked in the distance. The bridge that connected the city to Arkansas lit the night, and she could see cars whizzing along its roadway. It only took her a moment to figure out that she'd been brought to the northern end of Mud Island.

She turned slowly and stared behind her. There was no one there, and no vehicle sat at the side of the road. With tears streaming down her face she waded out of the water and collapsed on her hands and knees on the riverbank. A combination of fear and relief surged through her body, and she gulped great breaths of air into her lungs.

The melody of "Can't Help Falling in Love," her favorite Elvis song and the ringtone on her cell phone, pierced the darkness. She stumbled to her feet and headed toward the sound. Her purse lay in the grass about ten feet from the water's edge.

She pulled her phone from the purse and rammed it to her ear. "Hello?"

The voice that had chilled her in the vehicle drifted into her ear. "This was a warning, Laura. Let the past go, or next time you won't be so lucky." She cringed at the evil chuckle ringing in her ear. "Be sure and check the local news in the morning. They say history repeats itself. Just make sure it doesn't happen to you, too."

The caller disconnected. Laura pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it. After a moment she sank to her knees again, wrapped her arms around her waist and wailed until she was exhausted. Then she pushed to her feet and began to walk toward the lights of Memphis.

Brad Austin yawned and rubbed the back of his neck as he strode down the hall at police headquarters. He'd been up all night, and he was exhausted. But there was no time to rest. He hadn't thought this job as one of the detectives heading the new Cold Case unit would be as demanding as his former detective job, but so far it had kept him even busier.

He glanced at his watch and frowned. 7:00 a.m. He'd been at the hospital since eleven last night. If Seth and Alex, his partners, were in the office, he'd bring them up to speed on the Nathan Carson lead before he headed back to either the hospital or to the medical examiner's office, depending on whether Carson lived or died.

As Brad walked past the break room, he smelled coffee. That's what he needed right now. He stepped inside, poured himself a cup and sipped the hot liquid as he thought back over the events of the past few days.

Three days ago he'd received a telephone call from a man who identified himself as Nathan Carson, longtime accountant for a local crime family headed by Tony Lynch. Brad had been interested immediately because every cop in town wanted to take down the Lynch organization. Now with Tony retired and living in Florida, a new leader had risen from the ranks, but so far his identity had remained a secret.

At first Brad had been skeptical, but when Carson offered to identify the new leader of the family, he became interested. In addition, Carson also claimed to have information about the five-year-old cold case of a murdered undercover policeman for the Drug Task Force found on the banks of the Mississippi River in Memphis. He hinted at knowing what the officer had discovered shortly before he was killed. That statement had been enough to convince Brad this could be the lead he'd been waiting for.

Only the police and the FBI who'd been called in after the murder knew about the officer's last message to his superiors before his death. He'd discovered that drugs were but one of the Lynch family's businesses. Another was the transportation and sale of illegal aliens along the Mississippi.

Carson had promised to meet with Brad at his office today. That wasn't going to happen now because Nathan Carson's car had exploded in a ball of flames last night when he'd turned the ignition in the parking garage of the office building where he worked. Now he fought for his life in one of the city's best trauma units.

Brad narrowed his eyes and shook his head. He didn't believe in coincidences. What were the odds that two cold cases with suspected ties to the Lynch organization could be connected by a car bomb? The bomb squad had the remains of last night's bomb right now, and he could hardly wait to find out if it bore any resemblance to the one that had killed federal prosecutor Lawrence Webber and his wife nineteen years ago.

That case was another of the files that had been turned over to him when he'd taken this new job, and for personal reasons he'd like to see it solved more than any other. He drained the last drop of his coffee and threw the disposable cup in the trash before he headed down the hall.

As he approached his office, a uniformed officer stepped out and closed the door. "Good morning, Officer Johnson," Brad said. "What can I do for you this morning?"

The man jerked his thumb toward the closed door. "Late last night patrol picked up a woman they spotted walking from the direction of the boat ramp on Mud Island. They brought her to the station, but she insisted she could only talk to you. I just left her in your office."

"What she was doing out there alone late at night?"

The officer shook his head. "I have no idea. Wouldn't tell us a thing except she had information about one of your cold cases." He glanced down at his watch. "I'm off duty, and I'm ready to go home."

"I wish I could go home," Brad said with a sigh. "But it looks like my day is off to a good start. Are Seth and Alex in yet?"

"Didn't see 'em."

"Well, thanks for bringing the woman down here. I'll see what she wants."

Brad opened the door and stepped into the office. The woman sat slumped over the desk in his cubicle. Her head was buried in her crossed arms on top of the desk, and she didn't stir as he closed the door. She appeared to be sound asleep.

He cleared his throat, but she didn't move. He waited a moment before he crossed to where she sat and stopped beside her. "May I help you?" he asked.

A soft snore was the only response he received.

Brad grasped her shoulder and gave a gentle shake. "May I help you?" he repeated in a louder voice.

A scream tore from her mouth, and she jumped to her feet. She recoiled against the desk and stared at him with wild eyes. Then she relaxed and let out a long breath. "Oh, thank goodness, it's you, Brad."

Order: (Large Print) (ebook)

Barnes and Noble
Barnes and Noble (Large Print)
Nookbook (Large Print)
Kindle (Large Print) (ebook) (ebook)

You can also purchase this book from any of the stores found at CBA Storefinder.


Popular Posts

Interview with Fantasy author Willamette Sutta

Adamant in Dust by Willamette Sutta Stones of power and one princess to save them all. The Far Stone Endurant is broken, and a prophecy foretells doom… She should have been the chosen princess to deliver them. But Pergi can’t love Prince Teyrnon, and that's a deal-breaker. Pergi has prepared all her life to become the ruler that her father wants. Without sons, he knows she could only retain the throne if she marries the neighboring prince, combining their kingdoms. Yet the same prophecy that calls for the reunification also warns that they must join by love. Supplanted by her younger sister in this sentiment, Pergi waits with ill grace for Sadira to marry Teyrnon and steal her birthright. No one expects that Sadira would do a runner on her wedding day. What starts as an impromptu rescue of the wayward bride leads to a desperate struggle against a deadly foe. The dark lord Malchor ensnares Sadira in his opening bid to gain all the Far Stones of power. With them, he wi

No Cold Bums toilet seat cover

Captain's Log, Stardate 08.22.2008 I actually wrote out my pattern! I was getting a lot of hits on my infamous toilet seat cover , and I wanted to make a new one with “improvements,” so I paid attention and wrote things down as I made the new one. This was originally based off the Potty Mouth toilet cover , but I altered it to fit over the seat instead of the lid. Yarn: any worsted weight yarn, about 120 yards (this is a really tight number, I used exactly 118 yards. My suggestion is to make sure you have about 130 yards.) I suggest using acrylic yarn because you’re going to be washing this often. Needle: I used US 8, but you can use whatever needle size is recommended by the yarn you’re using. Gauge: Not that important. Mine was 4 sts/1 inch in garter stitch. 6 buttons (I used some leftover shell buttons I had in my stash) tapestry needle Crochet hook (optional) Cover: Using a provisional cast on, cast on 12 stitches. Work in garter st until liner measures

Tabi socks, part deux

Captain's Log, Stardate 07.25.2008 (If you're on Ravelry, friend me! I'm camytang.) I made tabi socks again! (At the bottom of the pattern is the calculation for the toe split if you're not using the same weight yarn that I did for this pattern (fingering). I also give an example from when I used worsted weight yarn with this pattern.) I used Opal yarn, Petticoat colorway. It’s a finer yarn than my last pair of tabi socks, so I altered the pattern a bit. Okay, so here’s my first foray into giving a knitting pattern. Camy’s top-down Tabi Socks I’m assuming you already know the basics of knitting socks. If you’re a beginner, here are some great tutorials: Socks 101 How to Knit Socks The Sock Knitter’s Companion A video of turning the heel Sock Knitting Tips Yarn: I have used both fingering weight and worsted weight yarn with this pattern. You just change the number of cast on stitches according to your gauge and the circumference of your ankle. Th

Toilet seat cover

Captain’s Log, Supplemental Update August 2008: I wrote up the pattern for this with "improvements"! Here's the link to my No Cold Bums toilet seat cover ! Okay, remember a few days ago I was complaining about the cold toilet seat in my bathroom? Well, I decided to knit a seat cover. Not a lid cover, but a seat cover. I went online and couldn’t find anything for the seat, just one pattern for the lid by . However, I took her pattern for the inside edge of the lid cover and modified it to make a seat cover. Here it is! It’s really ugly stitch-wise because originally I made it too small and had to extend it a couple inches on each side. I figured I’d be the one staring at it, so who cared if the extension wasn’t perfectly invisible? I used acrylic yarn since, well, that’s what I had, and also because it’s easy to wash. I’ll probably have to wash this cover every week or so, but it’s easy to take off—I made ties which you can see near the back of the seat. And

Last chance for Camy’s Patreon bonuses

Thank you to everyone who subscribed to my Patreon! I hope you enjoyed the chapters of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 7: Spinster  that I posted the last few weeks. (For those who missed the announcement, I now have a subscription on Patreon where you can read the chapters of my next book ahead of the ebook publication. In order for you to get a taste of my Patreon, I’ve posted the Prologue and Chapter 1 of Lady Wynwood's Spies, volume 7: Spinster  for my newsletter subscribers to read for free.) Roundup of what happened on Patreon: Last week, I posted a bonus extras post about Easter Eggs from Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 4: Betrayer  and volume 7: Spinster . Be sure to chime in if you watched Fullmetal Alchemist or any other anime! I also recorded a video —which was super scary, let me tell you, because I had NO clue what I was doing! Check it out, and at the very least, you'll have a good laugh. This week is your last chance to subscribe and receive “Bidding on Tr

Join Camy's brand-new Patreon!

My Patreon is now live! Thank you so much to those of you who have followed and subscribed to my Patreon! I hope you're enjoying Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 7: Spinster so far. For those who missed the announcement, I now have a subscription on Patreon where you can read chapters of my next book ahead of the ebook publication. You can subscribe to the tiers and receive more benefits in each higher tier. I put together a very PINK comparison chart so you can see the benefits available. Patreon is also a bit like a Facebook group in that you can comment on my chapters and my posts. Feel free to post reactions or ask questions, although I reserve the right to decline to answer if it would be a spoiler. :) To celebrate the launch, I’m offering something special. All patrons will receive “Bidding on Treason,” an exclusive, limited-availability short story starring Lena, whom you met in The Gentleman Thief , and who appears in Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 7: Spinster . However,

Lacy Red Bolero knit pattern

I’ve been trying to get rid of yarn in my stash this year. I came across these two red yarns that look similar but are slightly different. I didn’t have enough of one yarn for a scarf, and while I had enough of the second yarn for a scarf, I have TONS of scarves. So I decided to use both yarns to make a lacy bolero that I can wear over tank tops to make them into T-shirts (it’s still a little chilly here in California, not quite tank top weather). I wrote down the pattern here. I based it off of the Anthropologie-Inspired Capelet pattern by Julia Allen . This is a good pattern to use if you have between 250-300 yards of a worsted/Aran weight yarn, or between 150-200 yards of a worsted/Aran weight yarn and about 90-100 yards of another yarn to use for the ribbing and edging. I think this might look really good with a contrasting color for the ribbing. The yarns I used were a wool worsted/Aran weight (I’m not sure since I got it when my mom cleaned out a friend’s house for her, b


I know I blogged about this on my Writing Diary Blog , but I don’t think I blogged about this here. I read a few writing and productivity books, and I’ve been trying to form better daily habits. The problem is that my self-discipline is very bad. As in, embarrassingly bad. One of my goals has been to form a better writing habit. Since I’m a full-time writer, I already write every day, but I think there are things I can do to tweak my schedule so that I can be able to focus better when I write. I tend to get distracted by the thought of things I need to do that day which I haven’t done yet. I don’t know why my brain is like this, but I haven’t been able to break this tendency. So for example, while I’m writing, I’ll suddenly think about the fact that today’s the day when I need to change the bathroom towels, or mop the kitchen floor, or change the bedsheets. It’ll distract me for a few moments before I tell myself I’ll do it later and I need to focus on writing now. Then a few

Earthquake in San Jose

Captain's Log, Supplemental Some of you might have heard about the 5.2 earthquake in San Jose last night. Just to let you know, we’re okay. The house started shaking, and after 17 years in California, I know by now to run for a doorway. The shaking was over in a few seconds. No big deal. Not even a broken plate or glass. A couple CDs fell off my shelf, nothing else. Even before the shaking completely stopped, I’m standing in the doorway to my office like a good Californian, and I see Captain Caffeine walk into the foyer! “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be under a desk!” “Uh ... I was keeping the cabinets from falling.” (Translation: he was holding the cabinets closed so the glasses wouldn’t rain on the kitchen floor, which in hindsight was thoughtful of him, but I’d rather have glass over the floor instead of a ceiling tile falling on his head!) My friend Dineen lives closer to the epicenter, so I called to see how she was. Everything was fine at her house. “In fact,” she s

Irrational loves

Captain's Log, Stardate 10.09.2007 Today I went to lunch with my friend Dineen, and afterwards, we headed into Borders just to browse. Borders has this section full of cute little notebooks. Small ones, big ones, colored paper ones, you name it. They also have pens and wallets and zippered bags and iPod cases. I must have spent at least thirty minutes just going ga-ga over the stupid little notebooks! What is it with notebooks and me? I can count the number of them that I’ve actually filled on the fingers of one hand. I have them all over the house, most with only a page or two written on, and an entire BOX of new ones in my closet. And I keep coveting more! This thing with notebooks is completely irrational. I cannot understand it, and I cannot stop it. I also cannot seem to fill them with any speed. And considering how much I like to talk, that’s pathetic. I should at least be able to spout nothings enough to fill a few. But when I open it to write inside, a part of my brain sud