Saturday Spotlight - Christy French

Hello Again!

Christy French joins us one more time with her book, The Bodyguard and the Rock Star

Born and raised in the South, award winning, internationally published author and poet Christy Tillery French loves to write about quirky Southern women and has published six books to date: Chasing Horses, Wayne's Dead, Chasing Demons, The Bodyguard, The Bodyguard and the Show Dog, Book 2 of the Bodyguard Series, and The Bodyguard and the Rock Star, Book 3 of the Bodyguard Series. Chasing Secrets will be published 10/08. French resides on a mini-farm in Powell, TN, with her husband, four dogs and two cats. Avid boaters, she and her husband are restoring a 1965 47’ wooden Trojan Cabin Cruiser. In addition, Christy enjoys working in her flowerbeds and vegetable gardens, horseback riding, camping and, of course, reading. She is a volunteer with Wolf Creek Weimaraner Rescue and donates proceeds from her book sales to this group as well as the local animal shelter. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, the Guppies and Tennessee Mountain Writers.

Protection specialist Natasha Chamberlain thinks guarding popular English rock star Giki during a tour of the Southern states will be easy and loads of fun, but she couldn’t be more wrong. In no time at all, she finds herself bogged down in Giki’s crazy world of sex, drugs, shoplifting and an uncontrollable sweet tooth. If that's not bad enough, Giki is being hunted by a ruthless cyber-stalker intent on putting an end to her career.
When Natasha is shot after the first concert, her fiancé, Jonce Striker, steps in. Determined to keep Natasha safe, he sends his best men, Pitt and Bigun, to watch over her. Striker wants Natasha to marry him and give up her dangerous line of work, but he's having trouble convincing her of that fact.

Natasha's torn between her love for Striker and her desire to do her job. Will she give in to Striker’s demands and forget about her profession? Or will she stay with Giki and do whatever it takes to protect her? The choice is obvious to Natasha, but will she live to regret it?

EXCERPT: Fragrant flowers pelted the clustered group as they made their way toward the idling bus. Behind wooden barriers, fans chanted, “Giki,” the name of the rock star they had paid precious dollars to watch perform that night’s concert. Natasha walked close to the rock star, her eyes scanning all directions in search of potential threats to her client. She fought the urge to duck her head, hoping any roses thrown would be thornless. Although the screaming voices conveyed frenzy, the crowd remained behind the posted barricade, and Natasha allowed herself a moment’s relief. So far, the concert had gone smoothly and it looked like this gig was going to be not only easy, but fun.

White, cottony fabric smacked into her face, entangled in her hair and around her neck. Natasha peeled it away, trying not to breathe in. What was that smell? Bile rose in her throat when she realized she held a large pair of men’s jockeys in her hands. With a shriek, she dropped the underwear and swiped her face with her jacket sleeve, making phhht noises with her mouth. She froze when she noticed the others stuttering to a halt—watching her. This was not how a professional bodyguard reacted. She should be ready for anything.

“Keep moving.” Natasha gestured for the group to close rank, continue onward. She thrust out one hand as she strode along. “Somebody give me some liquor.” A silver flask slapped into her palm. She unscrewed the top, tilted her head back, and splashed the contents of the phial over her face. She held her breath to keep from inhaling the fumes as the sour odor of whiskey wafted over her. Damn, as potent as this stuff smelled, it had to have some heavy alcohol content, should kill any living germs. She poured the brown liquid on her hands and scrubbed her lips with her fingers. She swallowed hard, her stomach churning at the thought of what might have been on the underwear. No way was she going to do such a sissy-ass thing as throw up. A bodyguard never displayed weakness in front of others. She shoved the flask in her jacket pocket and picked up her pace.

Heat pierced her thigh a fraction of a second before a loud pop sounded nearby. Her leg gave way beneath her and she lurched to the side. She reached out to steady herself, locked onto Giki’s arm. The rock star stumbled and both went down, Natasha landing on top.

Warm fluid trickled down Natasha’s leg, pain flared along her thigh. Her hand explored her jeans, where a jagged hole oozed blood. Shock surged through her body like a jolt of electricity. She needed to get Giki out of here—now! The hard, rigid feel of her firearm as she pulled it free helped calm her rising panic. She struggled to stand, forcing her leg to move, and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek when the world began to tilt beneath her. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, but it worked: images sharpened and her mind cleared. Using her body as a shield, she helped Giki to her feet.

One hand gripped her gun pointed at the ground, the other clutched Giki’s arm. “Move.” Cameras strobed in the darkness, fans converged on them in a rush. “Now!” She pushed Giki toward the bus.

Once inside, Natasha collapsed on the floor. Her eyes could not maintain focus—a buzzing sound filled her head. A man yelled, “Call 911,” his voice bleeding pitch, fading away. Blackness descended over her, as dark and impenetrable as an executioner’s hood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looks like another winning story from Christy! Find out more information about Christy and her writing at http://www.christytilleryfrench.com/ or www.authorsden.com/christytfrench

Well folks, that wraps up another Saturday Spotlight! Join me again next week when Keena Kincaid visits again!

Until later....take care and be Blessed!

Saturday Spotlight - Christy French

Happy July 4th Everyone!

Today I'd like to welcome back author, Christy French with her book, The Bodyguard and the Showdog.

Born and raised in the South, award winning, internationally published author and poet Christy Tillery French loves to write about quirky Southern women and has published six books to date: Chasing Horses, Wayne's Dead, Chasing Demons, The Bodyguard, The Bodyguard and the Show Dog, (Book 2 of the Bodyguard Series), and The Bodyguard and the Rock Star (Book 3 of the Bodyguard Series) and her latest, Chasing Secrets. More information about Christy and her writing can be found at http://www.christytilleryfrench.com/ or www.authorsden.com/christytfrench

Blurb: Protection specialist Natasha Chamberlain is self-employed and happily involved with her former boss, Jonce Striker. Natasha's first case centers around Chumley, a champion show dog. The squat Pug has been sent a death threat regarding his participation in an upcoming event.

Although Natasha sees little danger in protecting a canine, she discovers that isn't the case when she ends up in the emergency room several times. As the suspect list grows, Natasha finds it increasingly difficult to balance her new business with her increasing love for Striker.

Likewise, Striker sees the investigation growing wackier and more dangerous by the day. His time is spent between trying to convince Natasha the bodyguard business is too dangerous for her and deciding how he can persuade her to marry him.

Will Natasha find the culprit before it's too late? Will Striker find a way into Natasha's heart? This romantic comedy will have readers turning pages to find the answers.

Excerpt

Natasha leaned back in her chair, feet propped on the desk, lost in reliving the prior night's marathon with Striker. She was working herself into a fever and knew if she didn't stop, she'd be calling him within the next half-hour, finding some excuse to see him, using him to put out the fire. She had just gotten to the really good part, where Striker finally quit playing around and got down to serious business, when bright yellow light burst into her office, conquering the inner fluorescent murk.

Startled, Natasha tilted back and crashed to the floor, her legs in the air. "Ope!" she grunted, staring at the ceiling, thinking that was what she got for buying second-hand office furniture.

As awkward as a turtle on its back, she struggled to untangle from the chair. Aware of warm, moist air tickling her ear, she turned her head. Something wet and slimy rubbed across her lips, and she drew away with a "Phhtt." A small dog watched her, panting a smile. Was there a merry glimmer in the animal's eyes? Was it laughing at her? Her gaze followed the dog's leash to the person attached to the other end. Natasha rolled off the chair and lunged to her feet.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh, my dear, are you all right?" an elderly woman said, one hand over her heart.

"I'm fine. I'm afraid I just overbalanced." Natasha snuck a glance at the dog. He was laughing at her! Talk about humiliating. After wrestling the chair into an upright position, she cleared her throat and repeated, "Can I help you?"

"Oh, dear, I hope so."

Natasha extended her hand, offering as warm a smile as she could manage under the circumstances. "I'm Natasha Chamberlain."

The woman transferred the leash to her left hand and gave Natasha a delicate handshake. "So pleased to meet you, Ms. Chamberlain. I'm Myrtle Galbreath."

Natasha stooped over to pat the dog's head but avoided looking into its eyes. She straightened and gestured toward one of the chairs beyond her desk. "Please."

Myrtle took slow, measured steps in that direction, the dog waddling along beside her, and gingerly sank into the seat. Seeing its mistress had collapsed, the pooch did likewise, emitting a small grunt when he landed.

Natasha lowered herself into her chair with caution. "Cute dog."

Myrtle's face brightened. "Thank you, dear. I think so."

Natasha regarded the small, wrinkled face staring lovingly into his mistress's beaming one. "What breed is he? Pug?"

"Yes, dear, Chumley's a Pug," Myrtle said, returning the dog's affectionate gaze.

Natasha nodded. This was the first of the breed she had ever seen up close.

Myrtle returned her attention to Natasha. "Are you, per chance, a dog lover, dear?"

"Oh, yes. I love dogs."

"Do you own any?"

"Well, my best friend Roger and I have a Weimaraner we share." Natasha eyed Chumley, thinking Brutus could eat him for lunch. "And my..." She paused, unsure how to refer to Striker. Boyfriend? He was more than that and definitely not a boy. Special other? That didn't fit either; it sounded too generic. She noticed Myrtle seemed confused by her hesitancy, so said, "My life mate and I have been talking about getting a dog together."

Myrtle gave her a concerned look. "Oh, my. That's a big commitment. I hope you're ready to take that step."

Wait a minute. They were only talking about a dog here, not a kid or anything. Commitment? Yikes! Natasha hadn't thought of it like that. She chased those thoughts away.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Galbreath?"

"Well, I saw your ad in our community newspaper."

"Yes?"

"And it says you offer private protection services."

"That's right."

"My attorney tells me that would mean something along the lines of a bodyguard."

"Yes."

"Well, I'm in need of one, I'm afraid."

Natasha tamped down the bubble of excitement threatening to overtake her. Oh, boy, here it was, her first client! She couldn't wait to tell Striker. Well, maybe not. He didn't want her to be a bodyguard. Not because his investigative firm provided private security and she would be competing with him, but because he thought it was too dangerous. Especially for Natasha, particularly after her first stint as bodyguard for her best friend, Roger. But that was another story. However, guarding an elderly lady shouldn't be dangerous in any — hold it, back up. What did it matter, how he felt about it? This was her life, not his.”

"Ms. Chamberlain?"

"Oh. I'm sorry, my mind kind of wandered. Please, call me Natasha."

The older woman gave her a matronly smile. "And you must call me Myrtle."

"You're in need of a bodyguard? Might I ask the reason you would need one, Ms. Galbreath ”excuse me, Myrtle?"

"Oh, my dear, it's not for me. It's for Chumley." Myrtle gave Natasha a look, as if she must be crazy if she thought Myrtle needed someone to guard her body.

Natasha tried not to let her disappointment show. Of course, her first official job as a protection specialist would be to guard a dog. Striker would get a kick out of this one; she'd never hear the end of it.

"Chumley's in danger?"

"Yes, dear, extreme danger."

"What kind of danger is he in?"

"Well, I'm afraid he's received a threatening letter."

Natasha's sympathetic look betrayed her inner concern she just might have a nut case on her hands.

Hope you enjoyed this edition of Saturday Spotlight!

Have a BLESSED & Safe July 4th weekend!

PamT

Saturday Spotlight - Christy French

Today I'm pleased to introduce to you Christy French and her latest release, Chasing Secrets.

Bio: Born and raised in the South, award winning, internationally published author and poet Christy Tillery French loves to write about quirky Southern women and has published six books to date: Chasing Horses, Wayne's Dead, Chasing Demons, The Bodyguard, The Bodyguard and the Show Dog, (Book 2 of the Bodyguard Series), and The Bodyguard and the Rock Star (Book 3 of the Bodyguard Series) and her latest, Chasing Secrets. More information about Christy and her writing can be found at http://www.christytilleryfrench.com/ or www.authorsden.com/christytfrench

Blurb: ATF agent Rowan Bronson has evidence Reverend Mark Paul Jameson, head of the New Freedom Absolution Center, is involved in illegal activities with crime boss Roland Metzner. Jameson is using his organization to launder dirty money for Metzner as well as collaborating with him in sending men posing as missionaries to South America to smuggle firearms into the US. But before she can turn over her information, Rowan is betrayed by one of her fellow agents and goes into hiding. It isn't long before Metzner's right-hand man finds her and tries to kill her. Rowan wins the fight and flees the scene, only to run straight into the arms of Garrett Somersby, detective with the Knoxville Police Department Criminal Investigation Division. Garrett has been following Metzner's man, and when he sees blood on Rowan, offers aid. With the help of her dog, Zeus, Rowan steals his SUV and takes off. From that point, Garrett, Metzner, Jameson, and agents from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives are hot on Rowan's trail. Garrett is the first to locate her, but finds his life jeopardized by the others tracking Rowan. The two team up in hopes of retrieving the information and getting it to the proper person within ATF while being pursued by a religious zealot, crime boss, and ATF agent, all with personal agendas concerning Rowan.

Excerpt: Chapter 1:

Warm, sticky fluid seeped into her clothing, saturating her upper chest. With a repulsed shudder, Rowan closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down, her breathing to return to normal. The man's weight crushed her, creating the panicky sensation she could not get enough air into her lungs. But she didn't have the energy to shove him away. Finally, she could stand it no more. She wormed her hands beneath his shoulders and pushed up. His large body moved slightly, then settled back over her, feeling heavier than before. She expelled a frustrated breath. If she didn't get this guy off, he would surely suffocate her.

Zeus," Rowan croaked. She listened for a response, but couldn't hear anything over the loud ringing in her ears. Perfect. If she didn't pass out from lack of oxygen, she would probably stroke out. She gathered as much air into her lungs as she could but was only able to produce a weak, "Zeus." Although she needed his help, she was thankful she had put him in the back yard. He would be dead by now if she hadn't. She craned her neck and could see a muddy snout pushing against the screen door in the kitchen. He'd been digging underneath the shed again. That explained why he hadn't heard all the commotion going on inside. "Come here, boy."

The Weimaraner nudged the screen door open and bounded into the living room. He stopped short when he saw the man, baring his teeth in a fierce growl.

"Help me, Zeus."

Zeus moved close and sniffed the side of Rowan's face. As his nose tracked toward the man,
Rowan pushed up with her arms, showing the dog what she wanted. "Pull him off, Zeus."

Zeus snagged the man's jacket sleeve and tugged. The body barely budged. He dug his claws into the floor and pulled back. "Good boy," she said, when the heavy torso shifted. She twisted her upper body as she jostled against the man and inhaled deeply after Zeus dragged him off her chest. It felt good to be able to breathe normally. She pushed the corpse off her lower abdomen and legs, then sat for a moment, eyes closed, body shaking.

Zeus positioned himself between Rowan and the man, and nudged her shoulder with his nose. She hugged the dog, saying into his fur, "You're a good boy." Zeus solemnly licked her face.

Rowan scooted away from the body and lunged to her feet. The man lay on his stomach, his face turned to one side. A knife, pooled in blood, protruded from the back of his neck. She and the dog stared down at one open eye, looking blankly at nothing. She forced her gaze away and willed her mind to focus on the problem at hand, not what had just occurred.

Rowan hurried to the front windows and peeled back the edge of the curtain, searching for anyone who might be waiting for the man on the floor. The only thing out of order was a large, gold-colored Cadillac in front of her drive, its golden rims gleaming in the sun. She swore to herself. The damn vehicle blocked her in; she wouldn't be able to take her car. She glanced back at the dead man and decided the glitzy Caddy probably belonged to him; those pretentious rims matched the bright suit he wore. She closed the curtain and crossed over to the other side, tugged the heavy cloth away from the window, and studied the street. No one appeared to be inside the vehicle or lurking about, something she found disconcerting. The guy on the floor looked the sort to have a driver, and in her experience, these people always traveled in pairs.

After Rowan locked the front door, she rushed to her bedroom closet, where she worked a couple of loose floor planks free. She withdrew her emergency backpack and took a moment to check inside, make sure her fake ID was there along with enough money to get her to another location.

She grabbed the dog's leash and clipped it on. "Come on, Zeus. We've got to get out of here." At the door, she turned around and looked at the dead man. Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them away. She had just killed her would-be killer.

Hmmm....sounds interesting to me!

Hope you've enjoyed this edition of Saturday Spotlight.

Until later....BE BLESSED!

PamT