Because you can't judge a book by its cover

Excerpt

Blind-Faith-Blog-Tour

Novel Reaction is excited be part of the blog tour for Rebecca Zanetti’s Blind Faith. First let’s learn a little more about Rebecca,

ZanettiFORGOTTENSINSRebeccaNew York Times bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti has worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner – only to culminate it all in stories about Alpha males and the women who claim them. She is a member of RWA, has won awards for her works throughout the industry, and has a journalism degree with a poly sci emphasis from Pepperdine University as well as a Juris Doctorate from the University of Idaho.

Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter wonderlands of the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and adventures to weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her husband, children, and extended family who inspire her every day-or at the very least give her plenty of characters to write about.

Social Media Links:

Website

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Rebecca is here to share excerpt from Blind Faith,

Sin Brother Reading Order

Forgotten Sins (you can read my review here)

Sweet Revenge (you can read my review here)

Blind Faith  (you can read my review here)

Now for the excerpt itself:

_______________________________

Zanetti_BlindFaith_ebookNate studied her, wondering how their very different childhoods had somehow brought them to the same place once again.  “Why haven’t you slept with anybody but me?”  he asked, surprising himself.

Her head jerked up.  Vulnerability flashed across her delicate face to be quickly hidden as she slid her arms into the robe and belted it around her tiny waist. “I haven’t had a lot of time, with being blown up, operated on, and then trying to commit fraud on the US Government on behalf of your sworn enemy.”  Sarcastic humor lifted her top lip, but the lightness failed to reach her eyes or flash that devastating dimple.  “Sometimes a girl just has to prioritize.”

He’d loved her sense of humor.  This one?  Not so much.  Sarcasm and fatalism didn’t fit with the person deep inside Audrey, the one she’d shoved down to survive.  “I understand why you stayed to receive medical attention.”  The commander’s medical team and facilities beat any other in the world, without question.  If anybody could have saved her leg, it would’ve been them.  “But now it’s time to go.”  As much as the thought cut through him like a blade, he didn’t trust her enough to send her to his brothers in Montana.  But he could find her safety.  “Let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help.”  Her stance widened slightly as if they faced off under high noon.

Worse yet, absolute truth lived in every word.  The woman really didn’t want his help.  A surprising hurt compressed his lungs.  “Why are you still working with him?”  he breathed out.  Could her mother’s approval mean that much to her?  After everything?

Audrey lifted her chin.  “They saved my life and gave me a second chance.  It’s the only life I’ve truly known, and I’m doing some good with the senator.”

“Find another life,” Nate ground out.

“No.”  Regret filled her sigh.  “You’re the one who told me that our childhood shapes us.  I’m just doing what I can right now.”

He shook his head.  Why did he get the feeling she wasn’t telling him everything?  There was enough truth in her statement that he couldn’t find the lie, but a lie was there.  He was sure of it.  “I’m going to kill him, Aud.  Then I’m going to blow up every facility he owns and make sure they never function again.  You don’t want to be here for this.”

Awareness pursed her lips as she studied him. Her breath hitched as her chest lifted.  Those amazing eyes widened.  “Suicide mission?”

“Probably.”  Which was yet another reason the previous night had been a one-shot deal.  Chances were slim he’d survive the attack he planned after saving his brothers.

She nodded, regret twisting her lip.  “Hasn’t that always been your plan?”

“Yes.”  Except for the brief time she’d been his.  Then his plans had changed dramatically to a future with possible kids and even a fucking picket fence.  He’d known better, without a doubt.  A bullshit every-day life had never been for him.  He’d been created to kill, and through a lucky turn of fate had been given brothers to love—to protect and ultimately save.  They were happy, and once the chips were deactivated, they wouldn’t require his skill set any longer.

He wouldn’t be needed, and he needed them so very much.  Too much.

“Hmmm.”  Pain lived in her eyes, but no give existed in her jaw.  “I just realized—I can’t save you.”

“No.”  He frowned.  What was she talking about?  “I don’t expect you to save me.”

“I know.”  She tightened the belt, her eyes glimmering with tears.  “I’ll get you the codes and any info on Jory, but you need to decide to save yourself.  When this is all over, if you and your brothers survive, you need to save yourself.  Decide to keep going.”

That was the rub, now wasn’t it?  The life he’d been created for, the one he’d excelled at, was over.  Where exactly was he supposed to go?

_________________________________________

Thank you Rebecca for allowing us a sneak peak at your latest novel, Blind Faith.

Novel Reaction is excited to welcome James LePore as part of the blog tour for his latest release Gods and Fathers. Let’s learn a little more about James.

James LePore is an attorney who has practiced law for more than two decades, and an accomplished photographer. He is the author of three previous novels, A WORLD I NEVER MADE, BLOOD OF MY BROTHER, and SONS AND PRINCES, as well as the story collection, ANYONE CAN DIE. He lives in Westchester County, NY with his wife, artist Karen Chandler.

Nationally bestselling author James LePore has established a reputation as a writer whose vividly drawn characters and morally complex plots have kept readers up to all hours turning pages. His new novel promises more sleepless nights and more nonstop thrills

Connect with James Lepore:
Website: www.jamesleporefiction.com

You can read Jocee’s review of Gods and Fathers here. Novel Reaction is pleased to be able to share with its readers some of Gods and Fathers. 

“Why can’t you stay at your mother’s when they’re away?”
“I told you, Basil’s worried about security.”
Though this statement was challengeable on several levels, Matt let it pass. The marriage six years ago of Debra DeMarco, nee Rusillo, and Basil al-Hassan, a rich and handsome Syrian businessman, had marked the beginning of the end of Matt’s long and tortured fight for a place in his son’s heart. Armed with the ultimate weapon—-her new husband’s money—-Debra had made quick work of destroying the last vestiges of Matt’s hopes. A penthouse on Park Avenue, a beach house in Easthampton, a flat in Paris, a “cottage” in Bermuda, clothes and cars virtually on demand, Matt had no way of competing with all this, and no way of expressing his anger—-until tonight.
“What about Mina?” Matt asked.
“What about her?”
“Why aren’t you seeing her?”
“She’s studying.”
“Studying?”
“Yes, studying. You keep repeating what I say. She’s a student. Students study.”
This statement was delivered dismissively, not sarcastically. You’re stupid, Dad. I’m tired of you. Why am I bothering with you? are what Matt heard, and it occurred to him, with a clarity that shocked him after all these muddled and painful years of effort and rejection, effort and rejection, ad nauseum, that he could not hurt Michael, that his own son was indifferent to him, and this was a blow, and strangely a release.
“Well, your friends are assholes, and you are too, Michael. You’re an arrogant, shallow asshole. Where you came from, I don’t know. But not from me.”
“That could be. Maybe Mom had an affair–like you did–and I’m not your son. Do I care? No, I don’t. Can I go upstairs now? I’ll leave in the morning.”
In the kitchen, Matt poured himself another scotch. He took the pizza out of the refrigerator and sat down to eat it, surprised to find that he actually had an appetite. Until tonight, despite the bad cards he had drawn, he had never stopped trying to break through to his son. It’s over, he said to himself, over and done. He’s not your son. He’s Debra’s son, Basil’s son. You lost him a long time ago.
He finished the pizza and was wrapping the garbage to take out in the morning when the doorbell rang. Looking out the kitchen window he saw that it was snowing heavily. Those idiots, he thought, they’re probably stuck someplace. No choice but to let them in. But when he swung open the front door, it wasn’t Adnan and Ali, but his friends Jack McCann and Clarke Goode, homicide detectives who he had worked with for many years, standing facing him. He could see their unmarked car at the curb, and behind it, blocking his driveway, a Pound Ridge patrol car, its engine running and headlights on, two uniformed officers in the front seat. McCann, a florid Irishman whose blue eyes were usually lit by some inner secret joke, looked grim; and Goode, a gnarled black man who never failed to greet Matt with a big smile, was not smiling. Far from it.
“Come in. What’s up?” Matt said. Then, nodding toward the street where the patrol car sat: “What’s with the uniforms?”
The two detectives stepped into the foyer.
“Take your coats off,” Matt said. He could see they were dressed for work, sport jackets and ties on under their trench coats.
“Matt…,” McCann said.
“Talk, Jack,” Matt said. “Is somebody dead?”
“Is Michael home?” Goode asked. He had not taken off his coat, and neither had McCann.
“That’s his car out there,” Matt said. “You know that.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s upstairs.”
Matt looked from McCann to Goode, then back to McCann; looked in the eyes of each, and did not like what he saw. “What about Michael?” he asked.
“We’re here to arrest him,” McCann replied.
“For what?” Drugs, Matt thought, good, let the kid get a taste of the pain he’s always inflicting on others. Him and his two Arab suppliers.
“For murder, Matt,” Goode said.
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Graphic Ratings*

1 = kissing
2 = kissing, some fondling
3 = descriptive stripping but no sex
4 = sex scene but not descriptive in details
5 = full descriptive sex scene

*I am rating a specific book by an author, not the author's style. If I am aware an author writes a specific way, I will let you know.

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