Welcome Robert Winter and IndiGo Marketing to the stable as they celebrate Winter's latest book, Every Breath You Take. See our review HERE.
The author is giving away 5 signed copies of the title! Good luck!
The author is giving away 5 signed copies of the title! Good luck!
Title: Every Breath You Take
Author: Robert Winter
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Release Date: May 5, 2017
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 221 pages
Genre: Romance, Thriller/Suspense
Synopsis
When Zachary Hall leaves Utah for a job in Washington, it’s finally his chance to live as a gay man and maybe find someone special. In a bar he meets Thomas Scarborough, a man who seems perfect in and out of the bedroom. But Thomas never dates. He never even sleeps with the same man twice. Despite their instant connection, he can offer Zachary only his friendship, and Zachary is looking for more.
Thomas is tempted to break his own rules, but years before, he became the victim of a stalker who nearly destroyed his life. Even though his stalker died, Thomas obsessively keeps others at a distance. Despite his fascination with Zachary, he is unable to lower his barriers. Frustrated, Zachary accepts he will never have what he wants with Thomas and soon finds it with another man.
But young gay men in Washington, DC are being murdered, and the victims all have a connection to Thomas. Once again someone is watching Thomas’s every move. Can it be a coincidence? When the depraved killer turns his attention toward Zachary, Thomas must face the demons of his past—or lose his chance to open his heart to Zachary forever.
Exclusive Excerpt
In Every Breath You Take, a young gay man has been murdered, and the initial investigation turns up a connection to Thomas Scarborough. The Washington, DC, police detective assigned to the case is named Maria Torres. Torres was a lot of fun to write and I plan to use her more in future books. Here is the scene in which she is introduced, where she visits the gay bar Mata Hari to interview the owner, Randy Vaughan.
The door to the bar opened, and Randy glanced up and immediately stiffened. Twenty-five years in law enforcement let him recognize a cop as soon she walked in, even wearing plain clothes.
Her black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she wore a fitted, gray wool coat paired with dark jeans and boots with thick heels. At a guess she chose the heels to add to her height. She’d be about five foot five in bare feet. Randy covered a smile as he spotted a couple of women on one of the sofas discreetly check her out as she crossed the room to the bar.
Randy thought quickly. No, his liquor license was up to date, and his permit for the gun he kept beneath the bar in case of trouble was also current. It must be about something else.
The woman offered a badge as she reached him. “Good evening, sir. I’m Detective Torres, Metropolitan Police Department.” Randy glanced at the MPD badge and then back at her. “Do you have a minute for a few questions?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said.
Detective Torres pulled a photo out of the inside pocket of her jacket and handed it to him. “Do you recognize this man?”
Randy studied the picture. The face did look familiar—blond hair, hipster beard, and glasses. He was too young and scrawny for Randy’s tastes, but fairly nice-looking. “I think he was in here a few times, maybe,” Randy said after a minute.
Torres accepted the picture back as she said, “He lived in the neighborhood. We’re looking for information on where he liked to hang out, who he knew.”
“Knew? Lived?”
“His name is Brian Gallagher. He was murdered in his apartment about ten days ago.” Torres watched his face carefully, but Randy didn’t fake his surprise.
“I heard someone was killed, but it didn’t occur to me it might be someone who came in here.”
“The victim talked to a friend the night he was murdered, and he mentioned that he had just left a bar. Do you think it was this one?”
“What night was this?” Randy asked. He tried to think. He was usually good with faces, and a crawling sensation began to climb through his gut as his memory worked.
“Saturday before last. The thirteenth,” Torres told him. “His friend said he came to meet a man but left early and went right home. From her phone log, this would have been about ten p.m.”
Randy nodded. “Yeah, I remember him now. He came up to the bar to talk to one of my customers and started rubbing up against him. The customer turned him down, and the kid—Brian, you said?—started making a scene and then stormed out.”
“Do you know the customer’s name?”
Randy sighed to himself but tried to keep his face neutral. “Yes. It’s Thomas Scarborough. He’s actually an investor in the bar and a friend of mine.”
Torres wrote notes on a pad. Without looking up, she asked, “Did Mr. Scarborough follow him out?”
Randy shook his head. “No. He was at the bar quite a while after Brian left. I can give you some other names to corroborate that.”
Torres flashed a glance up at him. “Ex-cop?” she asked.
“I was a Secret Service agent until I retired last year. This is my bar.”
Torres looked around and nodded. “Nice place.” She focused again on Randy. “Did you see anyone else follow Gallagher out?”
“No, I didn’t notice anything like that. Saturdays are pretty busy, and there were a lot of people coming and going.”
“I’d like to talk to Mr. Scarborough. Can you give me his phone number?”
“No, but I’ll give him your card if you leave one. He’s at a conference in Tokyo, I think, but he’s due back Sunday.”
“You know his travel schedule?” Torres asked, her dark eyebrow arched.
“Like I said, we’re friends,” Randy explained with a shrug. Torres asked his name, and he gave it. As she continued to scribble notes, he tilted his head toward the photo and said, “Papers called it brutal. Gay bashing?”
Torres considered his question for a moment and then said, “We don’t think so. It appears he was targeted, but the attack was sexual in nature.”
“Shit. Poor kid.”
“Yeah. Here’s my card,” Torres said as she slid the small rectangle across the bar. She held the card down with her manicured nails, which were cut short and carried no nail polish. Randy approved the lack of color. It supported the air of gravity Torres cultivated. “I’d like to hear from Mr. Scarborough Monday morning so I don’t need to make another trip over here.” Randy nodded. Torres looked around the room one more time, and then her bootheels clicked lightly across the floor of the bar.
I hope this snippet has you intrigued. You can find out more about the book or any other writing at my website.
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