Latest in haunting romance from Marci Boudreaux...

As I start getting feedback on The Road Leads Back, I’m excited to hear people tell me they enjoy reading romances with characters over 40. As I get older, I’m finding it more and more difficult to connect with the younger characters I’m trying to write.

 

I wonder if this means in 20 years I’ll be writing romances for the 60s crowd. Hmm. Is there a market for that? I suppose if we’re all still around, you’ll be there with me, right?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading The Road Leads Back as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am so happy to introduce you to Kara Martinson and Harry Canton.

These two wayward lovers are the opening act for my new Stonehill Romance series. The series is set in the fictional Des Moines suburb of Stonehill, and all the characters in the series (at least those planned!) are over 40 and have pasts and problems that reflect the age group.

Kara Martinson and Harry Canton weren’t exactly high school sweethearts, but they did share one night neither will ever forget. Twenty-seven years later, Harry surprises Kara at an art gallery opening and discovers he left her with more than just memories when he went away to college. Desperate to connect with the family he never knew existed, Harry convinces his son to move to Stonehill—and pleads with Kara to come, too.

Kara hasn’t stepped foot in their hometown since the day she was sent away to a home for unwed mothers. Now Harry’s back in her life and as they put together the pieces of their parents’ betrayal, old heartaches start to feel anew. She wants to be near her family, but returning to Iowa means facing some things…and some people…she isn’t quite ready to.

Can Harry convince her to forgive the people who betrayed her so they can embrace the future they were robbed of so long ago? Or will the pain of the past be too much for Kara to overcome?

EXCERPT

Kara squeezed her way toward the crowded bar, nudging between two kids who she couldn’t quite believe were old enough to be legally drinking in public. Shouldn’t they be funneling cheap beer in a college dorm somewhere? Or sneaking shots from Daddy’s liquor cabinet?

Art gallery openings used to be much more sophisticated than this. When she was a young artist, openings were about appreciating the art and the artist, not the free booze.

Shit.

Had she really gone there? Kara shook her head at her bitter thoughts.

The bartender, a walking tattoo with spiked black hair, leaned close so she could hear him. “What’ll it be?”

She realized all she wanted was wine. And quiet. The kids around her were acting more like pre-teens jacked up on sugar than art aficionados. One made a face, squished and reddened, as he held up an empty shot glass as proof of his triumph.

She wondered when she had gotten so damned old. She never used to snub her nose at a good drink. Actually, she completely understood what her problem was, and it had nothing to do with age. She’d conformed. She’d fallen into line. She’d done what she was supposed to do. Agent? Check. Gallery opening? Check. Interviews with all the local fancy-pants magazines? Check.

But this wasn’t her. None of this was her.

Frowning, she leaned in as well, making sure he heard her over the jeering of the kids next to her. “Tequila.” Within seconds he set a glass in front of her and filled it with amber liquid. He started to walk away but she held up one hand and lifted the glass with the other. She downed the drink, slammed the glass down, and gestured for another—one shot wasn’t nearly enough to numb the misery of this evening.

The young man lifted his brows and smirked as he gav¬¬¬e her another shot. He laughed as she motioned for him to fill the glass a third time. “I can’t do this all night, lady.”

“One more.”

“Some of the crap in here costs more than my car. No puking. Got it?”

Kara chuckled. Clearly he didn’t recognize her as the artist who had made the crap. “Honey, I was doing tequila shots before your daddy dropped his pants and made you.”

The barkeep threw his head back and laughed, then filled her glass one more time. “Nice one, babe.”

Babe? Kara snorted as she lifted the glass. It was almost to her lips when a hand squeezed her shoulder.

“Kara?” asked a deep, smooth voice as if the man wasn’t certain who he was touching.

She turned. Her eyes bulged as she looked into an intense dark gaze she hadn’t seen since the night she’d lost her virginity.

The music had been loud, the beer lukewarm, and everybody who was anybody—and several nobody’s like Kara and Harry—in their senior class of Stonehill High was at the graduation party. The only person she had cared about, though, didn’t care about her. Or so she’d thought. Until she’d somehow ended up on Shannon Blake’s disgustingly pink- and ruffle-covered bed with Harry Canton, book club president and algebra superstar, clumsily removing her clothes, leaving slobbery kisses in their wake.

Kara swallowed hard as the flash of a memory faded, and the man standing before her, looking as shocked as she felt, came back into view.

She downed the liquor, slammed the glass against the bar, and sighed before she announced, “I’ve been looking for you for twenty-seven years.”

He sank onto the vacant stool next to her and lifted his hands as if he were at a loss for words. Something that appeared to be guilt filled his eyes and made his full lips sag into a frown. She’d be damned if temptation didn’t hit her as hard as it had when she was a hormonal teen.

“I wanted to tell you I was leaving,” he said, “but I didn’t know how.”

“You should have tried something like, ‘Kara, I’m leaving.’”

“You’re right. But I was a kid. I didn’t have a lot of common sense. All I could think about was how I finally had my freedom.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “You had your freedom? You selfish prick.”

His eyes widened. “Well, that might be a little harsh. I was just a kid, Kara. Yes, I should have told you I had no intention of staying with you, but I was a little overwhelmed by what had happened. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped, as if he had given up justifying sneaking out on her in the middle of the night. “Look, I saw a flier for your gallery opening, and I wanted to say hello. I thought maybe… I don’t know what I was thinking.” He sounded hurt, dejected even. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He stood. She put her hand to his chest and shoved him back onto the barstool. The move instantly reminded of her their one night together. All of seventeen and totally inexperienced, she’d fancied herself a seductress and pushed him on the bed before straddling his hips like she had a clue what she was doing.

Touching his chest now, warmth radiated through her entire body.

She glared, pulling her hand away and squeezing her fingers into a fist. “Are you living in Seattle?”

He shook his head. “I had a conference in town. There were fliers at the hotel. As soon as I saw your picture, I knew I had to come.” His smile returned and excitement radiated from his face. “I can’t believe you have a gallery opening. This is amazing, Kare.”

She wasn’t nearly as thrilled by her accomplishment as he seemed to be. She felt like she was selling her soul instead of her art. She’d always preferred to go the indie route, but that crap agent had cornered her at a particularly vulnerable moment and convinced her she needed him…just like he convinced her she needed to be in a gallery. Although, now she was glad she’d conceded on the open bar.

The tequila swirled through her, making her muscles tingle, preventing her from fully engaging the near-three decades of anger she’d been harboring. She had spent an awfully long time wanting to give Harry Canton a piece of her mind.

Even so, hearing him say she’d done something amazing warmed her in a way very little ever had. If he had come looking for another one-night stand, she hated to admit that she would consider reliving that night again—only this time with more sexual experience and less expectation of him sticking around.

He might be almost three decades older, but his face was still handsome and his brown eyes were just as inviting as they had been when he was a high school prodigy and she was a wallflower.

She smirked at a realization: he was in a suit, probably having just left a corporate meeting, while she was wearing a red sari-inspired dress at her gallery opening.

He was still the straight arrow. She was still the eccentric artist.

“Did you hear what I said, Harry? About looking for you for the last twenty-seven years.”

His shoulders sagged. “I never meant to sleep with you that night. I mean”—he quickly lifted his hands—“I was leaving and should have told you before taking you upstairs. I shouldn’t have just left like that, but I didn’t think you wanted to see me again anyway. If it’s any consolation,” he said giving her a smile that softened the rough edges of her anger, “I’d been working up the courage to kiss you since junior year when you squeezed a tube of red paint in Mitch Friedman’s hair after he made jokes about Frida Kahlo’s eyebrows in art class.”

She frowned at him. That hadn’t been her finest hour. Then again, neither was waking up thinking she was starting a new life as a high school graduate and the girlfriend of the cutest boy she’d ever met, only to find the other side of the homecoming queen’s bed empty. “There’s nothing wrong with a woman embracing her natural beauty.”

His smile faded quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding sincere. “I shouldn’t have left you like I did. I hope you believe that I regret it. Not being with you,” he amended, “but leaving without explaining.”

She laughed softly. He’d had that same nervous habit in high school. He’d say what was on his mind and then instantly try to recover, afraid his words had come out wrong. Usually they had. For as awkward as she’d been, at least she’d always been able to say what she meant and to stand behind it. Of course, that ability got her in trouble more often than not.

She’d told herself a million times that Harry didn’t owe her an explanation. They hadn’t been in any kind of relationship. She’d drooled over him from afar, but other than an occasional smile in the hallway, he’d barely acknowledged her existence in high school. Even if he hadn’t gone off to start his Ivy League college career the day after graduation, he likely never would have looked at her again. Well, at least not until she could no longer hide the truth of their one-night stand from the world.

“I expected so much more from you, Harry,” she said sadly, the sting of what he’d done back then numbed slightly by the tequila.

His shoulders sagged a bit. “I know.”

“Why didn’t you ever write me back?” Her voice sounded hurt and pathetic. She was surprised that after so many years of being angry, there was still pain hiding beneath her fury. “I must have sent you a hundred letters.”

He creased his brow. “Letters? I didn’t get any letters.”

Kara searched his eyes. He looked genuinely confused.

“I sent them to…” Her words faded. Suddenly the tequila-induced haze wasn’t so welcome. “Your mother said if I wrote to you, she’d make sure you got my letters.”

“My mother? I never got any letters.”

“But you sent money.”

Harry shook his head slightly. “What the hell are you talking about? Why would I send you money?”

She stared at him as realization set in. He hadn’t responded to her letters because he hadn’t received her letters. And if he hadn’t received the letters, he hadn’t sent her money. And if he hadn’t sent her money, he hadn’t known that she needed it. Sighing, she let some of her decades-old anger slip. Her head spun, either from the alcohol or the blurry dots she was trying to mentally connect. Leaning onto the bar, she exhaled slowly. “She never told you, did she?”

“Told me what?”

Kara couldn’t speak. Her words wouldn’t form.

An arm wrapped around Kara’s shoulder, startling her and making her gasp quietly. She turned and blinked several times at the man who had just slid next to her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I need to get home.” Leaning in, he kissed her head. “Congratulations on the opening, Mom. It was great.”

“Um…” She swallowed, desperate to find her voice. “Thank you, sweetheart.” She flicked her gaze at the man sitting next to her. The longer Harry looked at her son, the wider Harry’s eyes became.

Phil cast a disapproving glance at Harry then focused on his mother again. “Don’t forget that Jess is expecting you to make pancakes in the morning. You promised.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Kara returned her attention to Harry. His jaw was slack and his cheeks had grown pale.

Phil nodded at Harry as if he were satisfied that he’d made the point that his mother didn’t need to be staying out all night and walked away. Harry watched him leave while Kara waved down the bartender and pointed at her glass. The tattooed kid hesitated, likely debating the ethics of giving her another shot. She pointed again, cocking a brow for emphasis, and he finally filled her glass.

“Kara…” Harry’s voice was breathless, like he’d been kicked in the gut. “Was…was that my…son?

No. His mother definitely hadn’t given him the letters Kara had written. She lifted her shot, toasting him. “Congratulations, Harry. It’s a boy.”

To watch the book trailer for The Road Leads Back please click here.

BUY LINKS

Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Kobo

 

Presenting the covers for all the books in the Stonehill Romance series.

 

 

Marci Boudreaux lives with her husband, two children, and their numerous pets. Romance is her preferred reading and writing genre because nothing feels better than falling in love with someone new, and her husband doesn't like when she does that in real life.

 

As well as writing erotica under her pen name Emilia Mancini, Marci is a content editor for Lyrical Press, an imprint of Kensington Publishing. She earned her MS in Publishing from University of Houston-Victoria in 2014 and worked as a freelance writer until she recently opted to focus on working in books.

 

Learn more about Marci Boudreaux on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

Leigh Goff's new release...

Fans of Witchcraft, Tantalizing Fantasy and Romance -

 

Leigh Goff is offering cookies and milk along with her soon to be released novel on Sloane Taylor's blog:   http://sloanetaylor.blogspot.com/

 

 

Hypocrites in Patriot's garb...

Well, they're at it again.  No sooner does Hillary Clinton enter the presidential race than the GOP, the party of holier-than-thou hypocrisy dives in with cheap shots about foreign donations on her watch, screaming constitutional violations, conflict of interest and illegality.

Seriously?  This is the same party that would justify secret prisons, torture, wiretapping, detention without charge or trial...The list goes on.  It seems the GOP only dusts off the constitution when it suits them.  George W. Bush was the one torturing people in foreign gulags, but Barack Obama is the one they compare with Joseph Stalin.  Why?  For insisting on affordable health care.

Conflict of interest?  This is the party that wants us to think corporations are people, and have the right to buy elections like they were apples from a fruit stand?  I guest they're saying it's okay for American corporations to pour money into our political system; just not foreigners.  Not that they have a problem shipping American jobs overseas or knuckling under to Red China when it serves the interests of big business.  Their only problem with conflict of interest is that they don't want anything conflicting with their interests.  Which may well trample over the country's interests.

Bright future, or dark tomorrow...?

Speaking as one who's passed the half-century mark, I've seen science fiction become daily reality.  Those old enough to remember the days when "Star Trek" was new will feel as strangely as I do, waking up into a world where such problems as pesky drones filling the air, and pranksters flashing laser beams in the eyes of airline pilots were once nothing more than science fiction.  Even cell phones took a bit of getting used to, for those of us who remember Captain Kirk's communicator as the stuff of future fantasy.  Space stations.  Mobile robots on Mars.  Encounters with comets and landers on the moons of Saturn.  Dreams that came true.  And, society advances here on the ground, as well.  Those once shunned by society now openly fight for equality and have made rapid gains.  Dreams do come true.  Tomorrow is today.

Yet, the shadows of the past linger.  We may reach for the stars, but we still fear each other over the color of our skin.  Or, the way we love.  Half a century has passed since Selma and Birmingham, but the killing and the fear, in one form or another, go on.  And, some are still denied their rights.

And, some try to justify the fear and hate and oppression, even glorify it, under the banner of "Religious Freedom."  Freedom for some at the expense of others.  Freedom to discriminate.  Freedom to deny others their freedom.  Spurious, twisted logic.  A baker turns away a gay couple, refusing to cater their wedding because, he says, their marriage violates his religious beliefs.  Millions of right-wing dollars now flow into cases of this type, called by some the last holding action of those who oppose marriage equality and LGBT rights.  The almost comically twisted Orwellian double-think of the anti-progressive side paints these last hold-outs as noble Davids facing the evil Goliath of advancing liberal secularism.  Conveniently overlooking the fact that the LGBT community is still unprotected by federal civil rights law, and, in most states, have absolutely no protection against job or housing discrimination.  The supposedly religious conservatives scoff at comparisons between racism and homophobia, defending the latter on religious grounds.  Conveniently forgetting that religion has historically been used to justify slavery and segregation.

It has been said that patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel.  But, religion is sometimes the first.  Anything can be justified in the name of religious freedom.  Employers who refuse with extreme prejudice to cover the health costs of their employees, and pharmacists who arbitrarily refuse to fill prescriptions, in effect imposing their own personal views on others, negating a woman's constitutional right to control her own body.  Christian Scientists who refuse life-saving medical care to their children.  Universities who preach racial segregation on theological grounds.  Take the argument far enough, and people who crash airliners into buildings in the name of their God may have their day in court.

No, not really.  Because, what passes for religious freedom isn't at all.  It's merely a convenient excuse for bigotry and patriarchal dominance, masquerading as religious freedom.  Odd, isn't it, how right-wing conservatives never pour money into defending the religious freedom of those who oppose war or resist registration in the name of religion.  Nor does their supposed Christian faith ever motivate them to care for the poor or feed the hungry or shelter the homeless.  No, their meticulous cherry-picking of religious scripture is very well aimed toward consistent adherence to ideological causes, not spiritual ones.

Give them enough of a wedge in the form of legal precedent, and they'll probably defend a baker's right to refuse to cater an interracial wedding on religious grounds.  Or, defend a parent's right to rape or brainwash their gay or lesbian teens because their religion supposedly demands it.  They needn't demonstrate the theological consistency of their religious beliefs, of course, because religion is whatever they say it is.  I suppose they might even try to justify gay bashing or murder because the Old Testament, and therefore their religious faith, supposedly demand them.

Yes, we may be on our way to Mars.  But, some want to take us back to the dark ages.  If the latter side wins, book me on the next flight out.

http://mochamemoirspress.com/black-goddess

The darkness within...

               

http://mochamemoirspress.com/black-goddess

In "Black Goddess," I explored one emotionally tormented man's obsession with finding  the secret of evil; facing the darkness at the heart of the human soul.  To do that, I featured one of evil's purest and most potent manifestations:  torture.

I had to do a little research, reading accounts written by torture survivors.  Torture was described as something like a dark force or malignancy that spreads from the body to the mind and soul and eventually becomes dominant.  I also read analyses of how therapists reacted to the stories told them by survivors, and how it affected them.  (Some recoiled from the horror of it and discouraged their patients against digging it up, while others reveled in the horror and the pain.)  I also read accounts written by people who'd been trained by regimes that regularly used torture on political prisoners.  Not surprisingly, the trainers would look for a certain personality type; one that wants to inflict pain.  (They would use live subjects, and offer the trainees their choice of weapons.  Choose a knife, you were in.  Choose a gun, they didn't want you as a torturer; no taste for inflicting pain.)

Torture is in many ways the ultimate avatar of evil, because it depends on the complete absence or negation of the most basic human instinct for empathy with a fellow human being.  The average butcher has more compassion for the animal he slaughters than the torturer has for his victim.  When one's very goal, one's very craft, and more one's passion is to inflict pain on another, then what is left to define humanity?  Even in war, respect for the basic human rights of a captured enemy is a basic pillar of civilization.  Yes, there is a side to human nature that gives in to hate and becomes the very object of one's hatred:  pure evil.  But, civilization is based on the side of human nature that empathizes and learns compassion and understanding.  So, which side is the true face of humanity?  The cruel, unforgiving side like Sparta, that considered failure and weakness capital crimes, embracing the soldier above all?  Or, the kinder, more reflective side like Athens, that revered wisdom and beauty?  Both were products of the human soul.  But, what determines which path a people choose, and do they know where it leads?

Which path are we on now?  The CIA's torture report is out:    

http://www.cvt.org/what-you-can-do/cia-torture-report

Yes, our government tortured people in the name of national security.  The strategic value of statements acquired under torture was at best questionable, at worst useless.  No one has been brought to justice as yet for these acts and probably never will be.  And, officials that were in office at the time openly boast they'd do it again.

So, what does this say about us as a people?  Well, the report is out.  At least we're an open society.  The White House is not hiding the truth from the American people, as the Nazis hid the Final Solution from the German people.  (Bearing in mind, these were acts committed by a previous administration and published by a current administration perhaps desperately trying to make the voting public look with distaste at the opposing party.)  But, perhaps the openness and apparent lack of shame is less a positive than a negative sign of the times.  I suppose the telling test of our society will be how the public ultimately reacts to this information now that it's out in the open.  There will be differences of opinion, of course; demonstrations and counter-demonstrations.  In the end, probably no prosecutions, at least not at the highest levels of government.  Some will maintain it was necessary.  Others will openly revel in the sweet revenge and say in offices or on the Internet that we should have more of it.  Most will just want to forget.

Yes, we can revel in the infliction of pain on those we demonize.  We can look the other way as people are butchered on our own streets, because their skin is a different color.  We can resign ourselves to perpetual war waged from a comfortable distance with mindless machines that kill for us at the touch of a button.  Yes, it's easier to hate and kill than it is to forgive or heal.  But, that complete disconnect from compassion and empathy does have a price, and an insidious one.  We can tell ourselves it's necessary, that we're doing it to save lives and preserve freedom.  We may even believe it.  But, the means always determine the ends.  Turn readily and easily to killing and torture, and that's what you become.  No, it doesn't happen overnight.  It's an evolutionary journey, softened by an endless parade of excuses, rationalizations and euphemisms.  It's not torture; It's enhanced interrogation.  Those aren't dead civilians; They're collateral damage.  No, we're not ready yet to install gas chambers or crematoria at Gitmo.  But, will we be, someday?  And above all, would the mainstream population protest it?

Open your heart to the darkness when an enemy strikes at you, and the darkness creeps little by little into your soul, until that's all there is.  You wake up one morning and realize that's who you are now.  Maybe, that's who you always were, deep down.

In "Black Goddess" the protagonist finds a way back from the darkness through love.  In real life, that may not be enough.  Not for everyone.  Sometimes, there is no way back.  Not for those who hate and kill us, and not for us, once the disease spreads from attacker to attacked.

 

Susan Says...

Susan Gourley is hosting me today on her fine blog:

http://www.susangourley.blogspot.com/

Stop by, check out my views on the writing game, and check out some fine SCIENCE FICTION and Fantasy titles.

Earth: The Return by Joanne Hirase

Latest exciting SCIENCE FICTION release from Joanne Hirase -- The further adventures of the cosmic hero Mac Carter

***

Musa Publishing is proud to announce the release of Earth: The Return, third and final novel in the Mac Carter Chronicles, a science fiction series exploring not just the potential end of the world but also  what impact humans might have on a war that the entire universe is tangled up in.

Curious? Here are some more details about Earth: The Return:

Mac Carter led the Chasramians and their allied planets to victory in the war for universal peace. Now as Chancellor of the Universe, he’s looking forward to a millennium of harmony and tranquility among the hundreds of planets that survived the war.

Unfortunately, an evil ancestor of the gods still remains. Mac must make the journey to Earth and eliminate the threat without reverting to his Earthly ways and putting universal peace at risk. He comes face to face with his past and an evil so strong that his friends must also return to Earth to help. Sol, his son and successor, is captured by the enemy and Mac finds himself fighting not only for Sol’s life, but his own Earthly emotions.

Can Mac win both battles and ensure that the millennium of peace endures?

Excerpt:

The anxiety started in the bottom of his stomach. Mac tried to take a deep breath, but his head started to tingle. He got up and walked around the small spacecraft. He opened every door to see what was inside, trying to take his mind off the fact he was going to kill another person. He didn't find much of interest, so he went back to his table and picked up the letters from his children. Mac decided it would be nice to respond to each one, so he got his paper and pen and began writing letters. That would give him something to do for the rest of the flight to Earth. Mac never was good at writing letters before, but now the words flowed. He had so much he wanted to say, and put his heart into each one.

The speed of the ship changed. It was barely discernible, but Mac was becoming like the pilots; he could feel the navigation, just as Romas told him he would. Mac went to the controls, and looked out the window. He loved this part of the travel, when he could see galaxies, stars, and planets.

The Great Council had ordered the cleanup of the universe, and all planets were clearing out space debris and space junk to make travel safer. The goal was to have only natural items in the sky, as well as functioning satellites, communication ships, and the space travelers. Mac appreciated that because it meant he didn't have to sit at the controls and try to steer around debris. He could let the ship fly itself as it could detect the few obstacles in the galaxy that it needed to avoid.

All the magnificent lights in the sky made him smile. Then it happened. Planet Earth came into view, and a happy sensation coursed through his body. He saw the white swirls against the dark blue and vibrant green. Mac held his breath as the planet got closer and closer. The ship circled Earth and Mac rubbed his hands together. Now that he was here, there were so many places he wanted to go. A slight detour wouldn’t matter, unless the killing didn’t go well. He sighed and shook his head.

The intercom beeped and Mac turned on the screen. “It looks like I’m just about there.”

“Yes, you’ve arrived,” Ingiry said. “Do you feel any different?”

“No, I still feel the same way I felt when I was on Chasra.” Mac bit his lip.

“That is good news. I will let the others know.”

“Are you going to tell me who my mission is?”

Ingiry ignored Mac’s question. “There’s a landing strip cleared for your arrival, although the people at that airstrip don’t know that it’s you who is arriving. All they know is that it’s a ship from Chasra. They won’t pay much attention, as many ships and other aircraft land there.”

“Good," Mac said. “I don't want to be slowed down by anyone or anything, if I can help it.”

“Now, to answer your question.”

“Hold up, Ingiry. I want to take this in.” Mac sat at the window as he began to descend. He remembered what it looked like as they were flying away, and now as the planet got closer, a twinge ran through his body. He wasn't sure what it was and shook it off.

“What a sight,” he said. “I forgot how beautiful my home world is.”

He always made a point to look at other planets as they approached. Many were red, orange, and yellow. Others were marked with purple and green. But Earth, with its majestic blue, was unlike any of the others. The other planets had the resources that they needed, but not near as much water as Earth had.

“Okay, I'm ready to talk.” Mac felt the ship slowing more.

“Here is the most recent photo of the evil ancestor,” Ingiry said.

A photo of a woman with long reddish-brown hair came on the screen. Mac studied her face. She appeared to be in her mid-30s, and Mac shrugged.

“Who is she?”

***************

Curious to find out more about how Mac Carter got off Earth in the first place? Make sure you grab a copy of 2012: The Rising and Chasra: The Homecoming so you can get all the details.

If you already know Mac's story, purchase your copy of Earth: The Return today.