New Release -- LONG RIDE TO LIMBO by Kit Prate -- Giveaway!

GOLD, GOD & GLORY

Hernando Cortez had lived his life. The glory had been his. God watched over his deathbed, and the gold…its secret would soon be buried with him.

CHICAGO, 1893

Ten years ago that Reese Sullivan rode away from his wife Vanessa and young son Trey. His reasons were strong. And his own.

Vanessa used her beauty and cleverness to seduce an ambitious and kind Wes Underwood. Now he was dead. Ambushed and robbed. And with a cold irony, she has come to Detective Reese Sullivan the hunt the killers down.

Now an angry and bitter son will ride with the father he hates to avenge the death of the step-father he loved – and something more; to reclaim what was taken from his step-father’s body – the key to a vast and fabled treasure. They will embark on a perilous journey that will pit father and son against unseen enemies, natural disaster, and each other – while back home in El Paso the women they love face an unimagined danger at the terrifying end of the …

EXCERPT:

     “It's not a pretty way to die, lawyer. And it takes a long, long time.”
     Mendoza was laughing again, softly, something obscene in his joy at being reminded of past pleasures. Momentarily panicked, Wes Underwood began to bargain for his life. With the grinning giant that stood before him, and now—even more urgently—with the ominous figure that stood behind Trey's back. “For God's sake, man!” he pleaded. “I can't tell you what I don't know!” It was a lie, poorly told in a brief moment of throat-drying fear, a man's desperate attempt to hold on to a fortune in gold he was sure existed; a treasure that bound him with dreams of wealth so great that he was willing to die for it. Even now.
     Suddenly, Mendoza stopped laughing. There was the subtle sound of steel slicing through starched cotton. “For God's sake...” Underwood screamed.
     Trey Underwood watched as the knife ripped through his father's white shirt just to the right of the buttons. From the belt upward, in the blade's wake, a narrow rivulet of blood appeared, bright red and spreading. Instinctively, as much as the rough hands on his arms would allow, the older man backed away from the pain. He stared down at his taut belly, aware that he had been cut, his knees going weak, and then tensing as he realized the wound was only deep enough to draw blood. He swallowed, mentally cursing the dryness in his mouth that made his tongue feel thick and unmanageable, his keen attorney's mind working.
     He was no good to them dead, and that thought consoled him and gave him courage. He pulled himself erect, his posture changing as his spine straightened. “Kill me,” he breathed, “and you'll never find it. You won't even know where to begin to look...” A grim smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. For the first time during the long hours since his captivity, Wes Underwood felt in control.

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