Pursued as a Union spy within Confederate territory, Corrie Belle Hollister’s
desperate attempt to escape on horseback was cut short by an explosion
of sound. The pain from the deadly bullet lasted only a moment—followed
by numbness. Then nothingness as blackness overcame the light . . . Views: 36
"A skillful storyteller . . . attractively quick-witted and wry." --J. M. Coetzee"Ohlin has a great eye, a great ear, and all the other equipment auguring a very successful future."--Jay McInerney"Expect to hear her spoken of in the same reverent breath as Lorrie Moore and Joy Williams." --Heidi JulavitsFrom the highly acclaimed author of The Missing Person and Babylon and Other Stories, a resonant novel of entwined lives and a woman with an unsettling ability to broach the innermost dynamics of the people around her. When Grace, an exceedingly competent and devoted therapist in Montreal, stumbles across a man who has just failed to hang himself, her instinct to help kicks in immediately. Before long, however, she realizes that her feelings for this charismatic, extremely guarded stranger are far from straightforward. In the meantime, her troubled teenage patient, Annie, runs away from home and soon will reinvent herself in New York as an... Views: 36
Are his playboy days over for good? In the wake of political defeat, former mayoral candidate Ainsley St. James does something totally out of character - she has a one-night stand with a seductive stranger. Never expecting to see him again, she accepts a job covering a breaking story in Hilton Head, South Carolina[unknown-8230]only to discover that the island's most desirable recluse is the lover she has yet to forget. Winston Coltrane can't get that incredible night - or the sexy, sophisticated beauty - out of his mind. The marine biologist is developing a secret formula that could be a major medical breakthrough. But there's something Winston is keeping from Ainsley: his feelings for her have grown beyond the bedroom. Kiss by breathtaking kiss, Ainsley is transforming his oceanside sanctuary into a sensual retreat. Will they be able to turn a passionate fling into forever in each other's arms? Views: 36
A powerful and haunting story about the seductive allure of fairy tales and the freedom that comes with waking up to reality When Teresa sleeps—sometimes for days at a time, the scent of roses surrounding her—she dreams of the Arias, outlaw riders on white steeds, who roam the desert at night. She was told about the dark-eyed horsemen by her mother, Dina, who left her own bedroom window open at night in the hopes that one would take her away from her parents' house in Santa Fe. Teresa, who cannot find a cure for her mysterious sleeping sickness, has one true ally: her brother, Silver. Wild and handsome, Silver exerts an irresistible force over everyone he meets—women especially. He pursues a life of crime and danger, and the older he grows, the more reckless he becomes. Teresa wants to break free but is drawn back to her brother again and again, pulled by the belief that he is the night rider of her dreams. Only when she realizes that she... Views: 36
A portrait of a fictional village, by one of the world's most admired writers In the village of Tel Ilan, something is off kilter. An elderly man complains to his daughter that he hears the sound of digging under his house at night. Could it be his tenant, a young Arab? But then the tenant hears the mysterious digging sounds too. The mayor receives a note from his wife: "Don't worry about me." He looks all over, no sign of her. The veneer of new wealth around the village—gourmet restaurants and art galleries, a winery—cannot conceal abandoned outbuildings, disused air raid shelters, rusting farm tools, and trucks left wherever they stopped. Amos Oz's novel-in-stories is a brilliant, unsettling glimpse of what goes on beneath the surface of everyday life. Scenes from Village Life is a parable for Israel, and for all of us. Views: 36
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.France, present dayAscher Vallois unlocked the trunk of his car. The hydraulics squeaked as the trunk yawned open. He was ready for a new car, but given the finances, the ten-year-old Renault Clio would have to serve.He set a practice épée and mask onto the trunk bed. Tearing the Velcro shoulder seams open on his jacket, he then tugged that off.Wednesday afternoons demanded he wear the leather-fronted plastron. The teenage students he taught were overly confident about their lunges. Actually, they thought themselves indestructible. They didn't give consideration to their teacher's destructibility. That was why he also wore a full mask. The scar on his jaw had been a lesson to ensure he wore complete protection around kids at all times.Tomorrow he planned to bring his collection of instructional videos to the studio. The students could learn the importance of a well-designed weapon from watching a master forge a blade. As well, there was much to be gained from watching fencing masters in competition.Ultimately, he wanted to have a camera set up in the studio so he could record students, and then play back their practice matches for them to study. The best way to learn was by observing your own bad habits and then correcting them.All things in good time, he told himself. And if his latest expedition proved successful, the aluminum fencing piste he'd been dreaming about could become reality. It was wireless, which would be more practical for movement and scorekeep-ing, considering he hadn't the cash to hire an assistant.He slammed the trunk shut. It was well past sunset, yet a rosy ambiance painted the horizon, reminding him of a woman's blush. An autumn breeze tickled the perspiration at the back of his neck, drying his sweaty hair.The noise of traffic from the main shopping stretch had settled. Sens had relaxed and let out its belt. The citizens of the French city were inside restaurants chattering over roasted fowl and a bottle of wine, or at home watching the nightly news or shouting at the quiz shows.Shoving a hand in his pants pocket, Ascher mined for his keys, but paused. A tilt of his head focused his hearing behind him and to the left.He was not alone.Swinging a peripheral scan, he paused only a quarter of the way through his surroundings.Standing at the front left corner of the Clio, a tall thin man with choppy brown-and-blond hair rapped his knuckles once upon the rusted hood of the vehicle. A silver ring glinted, catching the subtle glow from an ornamental streetlight up the street. Small bold eyes smiled before the man's mouth did.Ascher felt the salute in that look. A call to duel. The foil had been raised with a mere look. He stood in line of attack.From where had the man come? This narrow street was normally quiet, save for the business owners who parked in the reserved spaces where Ascher now stood.Suddenly aware that others had moved in behind him, Ascher stiffened his shoulders but kept his arms loose, ready. He jangled his keys. A tilt of his head, left then right, loosened his tensing muscles.The air felt menacing, heavy, as if he could take a bite out of it.The smiling man offered a casual "Bonsoir."Wary, yet not so foolish as to leap into a fight—this may be nothing more than a man asking directions—Ascher offered a lift of his chin in acknowledgment."Mr. Vallois, I am a friend," the man offered.His French accent wasn't native, and he looked more Anglo than European, Ascher thought. A dark gray suit fit impeccably upon a sinewy frame. Probably British, he assumed from the slim silhouette of the man's clothing.He knew his name? Caution could be a fencer's downfall. Confidence and awareness must remain at the fore."I have many friends," Ascher said forcefully, lifting his shoulders. "I know them all upon sight. I do not know you."Sensing the potential threat level without moving his head to look, Ascher decided there were two men behind him. Bodyguards for the man standing before him?Ascher eyed the practice épée through the window of the Clio. "Are these gentlemen behind me my friends, as well?""You amuse me, Mr. Vallois. And yes, if you wish it, they can be your very best friends. More preferable than enemies, wouldn't you say?"What the hell was going on? He'd been keeping his nose clean. In fact, the past few years Ascher had gone out of his way to remain inconspicuous. There was nothing like a run-in with the East Indian mafia over rights to claimed treasure to cool a man's jets."Jacques Lambert." The man thrust out a thin hand to shake—an advance that put him to lunge distance—but Ascher did not take the bait. This guy was not British. An American using a French name perhaps? "My business card claims me CEO of BHDC, a genetic-research lab in Paris. You have not heard of us."No need to verify that one. Ascher's interests covered anything athletic, sporting or adventurous. Science? Not his bag. "Genetic research? I don't understand," Ascher said."It is a difficult field to get a mental grasp on," Lambert replied. "But the beauty of it is that you don't have to understand. Simple acceptance is required.""Sorry, I gave at the office.""I'm not on the shill, Vallois. In fact, I have an interest in financing your current dig."The dig? But he'd only that morning gathered a small crew of fellow archaeologists online. They weren't set to convene in Chalon-sur-Saône for another two weeks.Who had brought in this fellow without consulting him?Ascher trusted the two men he had chosen to assist on the dig. Jay and Peyton Nash had accompanied him before. They were his age, far more knowledgeable in archaeology than him, and also enjoyed a challenging mountain bike course, like the one they'd conquered in Scotland's Tweed Valley.Although… he'd recruited another. A woman. He did not know her beyond what he'd learned while chatting with her online. And admittedly, knowledge of her character had been not so important as her figure and those bewitching amber-green eyes."I'm sorry, Mr. Lambert, if you have been led to believe—"The sudden heat of breath hissing down the back of his neck did not disturb Ascher so much as piss him off. He stood tall, not about to back down or cringe from the bully behind him.If the trunk were still open…but it was not. The only weapon he had to hand was his ring of three keys and a rudimentary grasp of martial arts. He slipped the ignition key between his forefinger and middle finger, point out."I have been following your research online for months," Lambert said. "Fascinating how you tracked the Fouquet journals in the Bibliothèque Nationale."Ascher thought about the days spent in the huge Paris library that he had genuinely enjoyed. "I haven't posted that information publicly," he said."Yes, I know. You made it very difficult, but once I tracked your conversations with the Nash brothers, I continued to follow them."So his friends hadn't invited this man. Yet they had inadvertently lured an outsider."I've hired all the men required for the dig, I'm afraid.""You misunderstand, Vallois." Lambert made eye contact with the thugs over Ascher's shoulder. He went for the riposte, slipping something out of his suit coat's inner pocket. It unrolled with a shake. Lambert then slid one hand into the surgical glove. "I—" he gave the glove a crisp snap "—have a keen interest in the sword."Ascher's intuition screamed this was not the place he should be at this moment. Sometimes it was better to run, and risk injury, than to stick around and risk death. Fencing skills aside, now was the time to employ street smarts.Ascher jabbed an elbow backward, catching one of the thugs in the ribs.A meaty arm snaked about Ascher's neck. A vicious squeeze choked off his cry of surprise. Levering his foot against the door of his car, he tried to push off the man, but his attacker leaned into the force, making escape impossible."No, no, mustn't struggle," Lambert said calmly, as if directing a child afraid of the dentist's drill. He tugged the fingertip of one glove, snapping it smartly into place. "This is not what you might suspect.""I suspect everything," Ascher hissed. "I know I do not like you—"Chokehold released, Ascher's arms were wrenched behind him and upward. His shoulder muscles were forced beyond their limit, and his deltoids stretched painfully. Bent forward, he intended to kick backward, but Lambert's next move stopped him.Further utilizing the dread calm of a looming dentist, Lambert withdrew a vial from inside his suit coat."The musketeer's sword has been tops on my list of plunder for quite some time. I believe you have discovered the only possible resting place for the sword, Mr. Vallois." Lambert tapped the finger-size vial against his wrist. There was something inside, white, stick-like. "Surprising, the conclusions you made about the location, but when I thought about it awhile, very believable. I wish you great success.""The sword is not for sale," Ascher said."When one acquires plunder, sir, one does not pay for it. But I am willing to put forth something for your efforts. You will require cash to finance your dig.""Already taken care of.""Your check bounced at the bank. My guess? You should start seeing the overdrafts immediately. I know you are two months behind on rent for that little fencing salon around the corner. Pity. The children will be deprived of your witty yet charming teaching manner," Lambert said.Ascher grunted against the increasing force straining his muscles."As for that cottage you call a mansion out of town, I've made it my business to know your electricity will be shut off two days from now." He bent close to Ascher's face. "Allow me to ease your financial strain.""There is no amount you can offer for the sword."Ascher twisted. Two meaty hands held firmly. It was quite embarrassing how easily he'd been wrangled. As long as his aggressor held his arms back at such a painful angle, he could not escape."That sword is somet... Views: 36
Tom Clancy's Op-Center: Call to Treason is yet another gripping addition to the bestselling series masterminded by Tom Clancy and Steve Pieczenik. The Op-Center's budget is slashed, leaving General Mike Rodgers in the market for a new job. When presidential candidiate Senator Donald Orr recruits Rodgers to act as his military advisor, it sounds like a perfect transition. There's just one problem. A spree of deaths may be tied to Orr's presidential run and Rodgers must decide whether to sign on or shut it down. Views: 36
Veronica is a artist, painter. She's stuck in a relationship going nowhere with an alcoholic cop. So when she meets the enigmatic Marzden and is invited to an artists' retreat at his mansion deep in the country where she can paint with complete freedom, Veronica can't refuse. With her best friend, Ginny, a hugely successful writer, Veronica heads off to the retreat where she is quickly submerged in an almost dreamlike world filled with passionate and violent sex. All the while sensing that there is something brutal and dark hidden deep within Marzen and his two young and gorgeous male companions. And as Jack, Vernoica's recently jilted lover battles his own demons he realizes that she is the only one he loves and must get her back. His search for her leads him to some harsh and frightening revelations about Marzen and when Jack heads off to the mansion to find Veronica it comes together in an orgy of violence, blood and chaos. Classic Edward Lee. A non-stop, suspenseful and gripping thriller. Views: 36
