Blurb:
Twelve. Twelve of the
deadliest beasts ever forged in the fires of hell have escaped onto our plane,
and they want nothing more than to rip out the jugular of Charley Davidson and
serve her lifeless, mangled body to Satan for dinner. So there’s that. But
Charley has more on her plate than a mob of testy hellhounds. For one thing,
her father has disappeared, and the more she retraces his last steps, the more
she learns he was conducting an investigation of his own, one that has Charley
questioning everything she’s ever known about him. Add to that an ex-BFF who is
haunting her night and day, a rash of suicides that has authorities baffled,
and a drop-dead sexy fiancé who has attracted the attentions of a local
celebrity, and Charley is not having the best week of her life.
A tad north of hell, a hop, skip, and a jump past the realm of eternity, is a little place called Earth, and Charley Davidson, grim reaper extraordinaire, is determined to do everything in her power to protect it.
We’re doomed.
A tad north of hell, a hop, skip, and a jump past the realm of eternity, is a little place called Earth, and Charley Davidson, grim reaper extraordinaire, is determined to do everything in her power to protect it.
We’re doomed.
Available for purchase at
Meet Darynda Jones:
NYTimes and USA Today Bestselling Author Darynda Jones
has won numerous awards for her work, including a prestigious Golden Heart®, a
Rebecca, two Hold Medallions, a RITA ®, and a Daphne du Maurier, and
she has received stellar reviews from dozens of publications including starred
reviews from Publisher’s Weekly, Booklist, and the Library Journal. As a born
storyteller, Darynda grew up spinning tales of dashing damsels and heroes in
distress for any unfortunate soul who happened by, annoying man and beast
alike, and she is ever so grateful for the opportunity to carry on that
tradition. She currently has two series with St. Martin’s Press: The Charley
Davidson Series and the Darklight Trilogy. She lives in the Land of
Enchantment, also known as New Mexico, with her husband of almost 30 years and
two beautiful sons, the Mighty, Mighty Jones Boys. She can be found at
www.daryndajones.com.
Author Links
Excerpt:
I took
the interior stairs back to my office, refusing to spare another glance his
way. Just as I put my plate on my desk, I noticed a priest waiting in Cookie’s
office. He was wearing a jacket and jeans, but the collar gave it away every
time. We’d apparently forgotten to lock the door, but in all my years as a PI,
a priest was new. I felt like I should do the sign of the cross as I walked
forward, but I could never remember if it was up-down-left- right or
up-down-right-left. I was so bad with directions.
“I’m
sorry,” I said, going over and holding out my hand. It was shaking even more
now than it had been that morning. Shaking from too much coffee was one thing,
but shaking from none at all? Utter agony. Torturous. Inhumane. Of course,
Reyes and his new gal pal could have had something to do with my trembling. “I
didn’t mean to leave anyone waiting here,” I continued. “I’m Charley.”
He stood
and took my hand into his. He looked like one of those jolly priests who
preached about hellfire and damnation but then qualified his sermon with an
assurance that if his parishioners strayed, they need only repent to be washed
of their sin. I’d tried to be washed of my sin once, but I ran out of Dial.
Tricky business, that.
“I’m
Father Glenn,” he said, his voice and manner full of exuberance. He had sandy
hair, thinning up top, and wire- framed glasses fitted over chubby cheeks. “I
didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch.” He gestured toward the lunch he could see
through the adjoining door. It sat on my desk, calling my name. Metaphorically.
My
stomach growled on cue. I offered a sheepish grin, then said, “Oh, no, I’m
saving it for later. I’m not the least bit hungry.”
“Gutsy,”
he said as I sat in the chair next to the one he’d been sitting in.
“Gutsy?”
He
followed suit, crossing his legs to get comfortable. “Fibbing to a priest,” he
explained.
“Oh,
that.” I laughed and waved it off. “I do that kind of crap all the time. Except
to my clients,” I assured him. “I don’t lie to my clients.”
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