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Hey Hey romance junkies. One of my favorite people is here. Whoot Whoot! Her name is Vonnie Davis, V to those of us who love not just her, but the fantastic romantic adventures she tells. She’s got a smoking deal for you today. Oh, hell, I’ll let her tell you all about it! Take it away, V…

Happy Spring, everyone. The leaves are popping out on trees here in southern Virginia. My magnolias are blooming as are my cherry trees. I love seeing the earth come alive after a long winter, don’t you?

Mac, I’m always happy to visit your blog and bring along my own touch of mania. I’m a trouble-maker. Truly. I love pitting my heroine and hero together in such a way they drive each other nuts. I love the push and pull of it. The yin and yang of newly acknowledged sexual awareness. The fear of the attraction. The denial. And the way it simply drives them up the wall.

Take two control freaks, for example. What happens when two hard-headed, opinionated and micro-managing people come together? Imagine the sparks, the clashes, the passion. That’s what happens in book two of The Red Hand Conspiracy series: RAIN IS A LOVE SONG.

Jean-Luc is a member of the French counterterrorism unit, an ex-Marine Commando (the French version of our SEALS) and a man who sees women as something to be enjoyed. This attractive American, though, pulls at him. What’s worse her aggressive nature gives him a twitch in his eye.

Gwen is an American widow who has to be in charge of everything about her life since her husband’s death in Iraq spirals her organized existence out of her control.

Her life revolves around her daughter just as ours did when our children were small. But imagine her heartbeat of horror when little Rhiannon is abducted right in front of her eyes—another freakishly out-of-control moment. Thankfully Jean-Luc was nearby to rescue Rhiannon. And while she’s grateful for his help, hours later she’s still grappling to regain control. Her safety net has been ripped to shreds.

While Rhiannon is in the care of Gwen’s father, she and Jean-Luc are on their way for take-out food when he gets a call to report to a murder scene in the sex-district of Paris. And before I share the scene with you, I want to tell you RAIN IS A LOVE SONG is currently a FREE download at Amazon. Free, ladies!!!

“I’m trusting you for now, because I have no choice. Has the crime scene been managed?”
“What?” His head swiveled in her direction. That’s right she worked for the police back in the States. Crime scene investigator or photographer or something. “Yes.”
Gwen started rummaging in her cavernous bag again. “Did the first respondents do the initial assessment?” She pulled out a camera and a roll of film. With quick, efficient movements, she opened the camera’s back to remove an exposed roll and insert a new one.
“I didn’t think anyone used film anymore.”
“I do. It’s been my experience as a crime scene photographer that sometimes an older camera and film take better images than the newer digital ones. I love my trusty old thirty-five millimeter. Dad gave it to me when I graduated from college. I majored in chemistry, but minored in photography.” Her hands expertly made several adjustments. “Just need to set the shutter speed dial to the flash synchronization speed and I’m all set.” She extracted a newer camera from her bag, too, and hung the strap around her neck. “That doesn’t mean I avoid new technology. Although, some courts won’t allow digital pictures into evidence because they can be so easily altered. What’s the rule here in France?”
“Tell me you’re not planning to take pictures of my crime scene. I won’t allow it.” He wanted her to stay in the car while he did his job. She was still rummaging in her bag, grumbling. “I’m not hearing what I want to hear, Gwen.” A motorcycle zipped in front of him, and he slammed on the brakes.
“Ah, here it is.” The woman had a habit of muttering under her breath. She was just loud enough for him to hear, yet low enough he knew she wasn’t talking directly to him. She pulled out a small black device with a wire and microphone attached and began unbuttoning the top few buttons on her blouse.
He couldn’t believe it; what all did she have stuffed into that bag? “You brought a tape recorder along on your trip?” She was biting off a piece of tape, for God’s sake, and taping the recorder above her breast. After which she clipped the microphone onto the neckline of her top.
“Rhiannon wants a recording of her new cousin crying.”
“Of course.” The whole batch of Americans were half-loopy.
“I find this works better. The recorder is voice activated so it’ll only record when I speak. It’s my way of verbally recording what I see as I photograph it. Comes in very handy in trials. It also keeps my hands free to photograph.”
He shook his head at the incredulity of all she had crammed in that shoulder bag. What else had she brought? A crime scene investigation kit? Fingerprinting kit?
She tugged a child’s notepad and pen from her bottomless shoulder bag. “Wish I had my tripod.”
“You’re not authorized to photograph my crime scene.”
“Do you have a ruler? I’ll need one to place next to any evidence I find.”
Was the woman deaf or just hell-bent on having her own way? “You are not photographing my crime scene.” He checked his side mirror before making a turn. She had his temper sparked and primed. One more remark and she’d suffer his wrath.
“Do you have any of those disposable shoe coverings so I don’t leave any non-site traces at the scene while I photograph?” (insert shoe-covers photo)
He yanked his car onto an empty stretch of sidewalk and jammed the gearshift into Park. “Did you not hear me? You’re not authorized to photograph my crime scene.”
“I won’t get in the way of your unit’s photographer.”
She was the most damnable woman. Thick-headed. Dogged. “Don’t you understand?”
Her turquoise eyes flashed. “Don’t you understand? If the same group who killed this informant also snatched Rhiannon, you can bet this mother will do whatever she can to gather evidence to find them. No one touches my child. From now on, I will be in pursuit of their deranged behinds. Believe me, the police, Interpol, counterterrorism units are nothing compared to one pissed-off Momma. Now, do you or do you not have a ruler?”
That damn tick plagued his eye again. Every time he was around this woman with her annoying ways, she affected his right eye—and his libido. “I don’t want you to get out of my car. Is that clear?”
“Yes, it’s clear.” She fiddled with a lens on her camera.
“Good.” For some reason he didn’t believe her. She was going to be trouble.
Gwen tossed her hair over her shoulder. “It’s clear you’re afraid a mere woman would see something you or your staff might miss.” She hiked her chin in that pugnacious way she had. “I thought you were smart enough to see a fresh set of eyes might help. Maybe if I were a man…”
His hand fisted in her hair, and he dragged her to him. Their faces were a mere inch apart. “I wish to hell you were a man. I’d slug you.”
She rolled her eyes and started muttering under her breath again. Something about how she wished he’d try and how great he’d look with his foot broken off and shoved up his ass.

FREE DOWNLOAD UNTIL SATURDAY. HERE’S THE LINK: http://www.amazon.com/Rain-Love-Song-Conspiracy-ebook/dp/B00BK9QV3K/ref=sr_1_7?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1365967371&sr=1-7&keywords=vonnie+davis