.99 Digital Copies Are Flying Off The Cyber-shelf

Summer is here, atleast it is in my world. To celebrate I'm offering my Golden Leaf Winner, HIS WITNESS TO EVIL, in e-format for only .99 at Amazon. Last day. Tomorrow is back to regular price, so act quick.




Here’s the link to Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/His-Witness-To-Evil-ebook/dp/B007MBA1O0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1332340994&sr=1-1

A blurb for ‘His Witness To Evil’.

Inspired by true events, awarding-winning author Autumn Jordon has penned a thrilling romantic suspense set in the backwoods and small towns of the Appalachian Mountains.

Stephanie Boyd’s ordinary world changes forever when she and her children witness a blood bath. To escape the wrath of the Russian Mafia, she has no choice but to help the FBI uncover the mafia’s mole inside the U.S. Treasury. While on the run with the handsome agent who is willing to die for them, Stephanie learns the meaning of self-sacrifice and love.

Agent John Dolton’s only break in solving the case that cost him everything is a couple of kids and a beautiful widow. But keeping them safe seems impossible when their every move is foreseen by their enemy. Within weeks, Stephanie and her children soften the loner’s heart and John allows himself to let go of his all-consuming sorrow. This time John vows not to fail to protect the family he comes to love.

True events?

I see your eyebrows raised. Yes, true events. Life is stranger than fiction.

The idea for the book came when a trailer containing US funds went missing from the lot of the trucking company I had worked for. It was stolen, just missed directed for an hour. Tractor-trailers are stolen every day, for the product being hauled.

Another element also true and has been verified by the FBI director of the branch office near my home. I can’t tell you what that is, because I would be giving away part of the suspense plot. You’ll just have to read ‘His Witness To Evil’ and try to figure it out.

Remember the sale is only for a short. Please pass on the information. Follow me on twitter as Ajordon for daily updates. Thank you. AJ

Remembering Our Fallen Heroes.

Cursor… Cursor… Cursor…

I remember lying in the hospital, looking around at the ward full of beds, occupied by only a few and wondering if the Army really thought there were so many pregnant women. I was young and naïve. Two years prior we'd seen the end of the Vietnam War.

My husband was on assignment. I was a thousand miles away from home and family. Not a long distance now days, but in the seventies I might’ve well been across the globe. There was no instant communications. No pictures sent across cyber-space or I-phones. No I love you, miss you, take care messages coming back at me. I had just had my first child, a boy, and I felt so alone.

The walls were not decorated with funny characters, but were clean, stark. There were no televisions in the ward. No radios. My meals were not served to me in bed, but rather placed on a long table in the center of the room where my trio of fellow new-mothers gathered to eat whatever everyone else was served in the mess hall that day. Strangely, I felt comfortable. I was an ARMY BRAT. My son was now an ARMY BRAT—born into the 101st Airborne.

With nothing but time to heal, I scanned at the empty beds and wondered how many men had been treated here? My pain was nothing compared to what they must felt. Some had died in this very room. In that defining moment, I grew. A sense of pride like I’d never felt before welled through me as the sorrowful notes of taps floated across the base. I still get choke-up every time I hear the woeful tune.

The nurse handed my baby. I stared at his innocence while his tiny fingers curled around mine, and I thanked all the souls that had given so much so that my son would know freedom like no other in the world.

Please take a few moments this holiday weekend and remember the women and men who gave so much of themselves for your way of life, for your children and for you.

Ps: I’d be proud to have you list the branch and division of any family heroes who’ve

served or are serving listed in your post.

Door Open Or Door Close?

Who loves a good love scene? I do too, but lately while reading, I find myself flipping pages and skipping over them. Why? And why are there books on my shelves that will fall open to the love scenes?

I pass over some love scenes and devour others because of the characters. It’s that simple. The author whose books fall open to those yummy page made me love the characters. I became invested in their lives and their dreams. I would refer to them by name instead of the heroine and hero when telling others about the story.

I wanted the woman to find the man of her dreams because, damn it, she deserved a good man. And I wanted the man to realize she was the piece of his heart he’d been searching for all his life. I wanted the perfect-for-each-other couple to come together as one. (excuse the pun)

The thing about love scenes, when the author has written remarkably real characters and has me totally invested, I don’t need the total physical description of mating for me to enjoy the story. A scene leading up to a hungry first kiss with the door closing shortly afterwards will leave me just as satisfied. In fact, leaving the details of the physical connection to my own imagination is sometimes much better. I hate slot A into slot B writing.

That is my take on love scenes. So what is your opinion? What makes a good love scene for you? And do you prefer the door to remain open?

Excerpt from HIS WITNESS TO EVIL:

She waited for his move.

His gaze drifted over her, stopping briefly on the bruise coloring her upper arm.

Her blood rushed, warming her, making her ready for him. She shifted her weight, parting her legs.

His tongue crossed his lips. “Steph, I…”

“I know you don’t have the answers, John. I don’t either. Right now, I don’t want to think about tomorrow or the next day. I just need to know how you feel.”

Steph reached down and grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

Desire grew in his eyes as his gaze fluttered over her bare breasts.

“Don’t say anything, just show me,” she said.

In two quick strides, he stood before her. He gathered her in his arms. As their kiss deepened, she melted against him. His right hand palmed her ribs before...

HIS WITNESS TO EVIL
ON SALE NOW
AMAZON
&
B&N

Happy Mother's Day

Our first steps were probably hard to take. Remember that moment. We clung to a stable element. We looked out into a world where thousands of new adventures waited for us. Our hearts fluttered with exhilaration like a Hummingbird’s wings. Our knees trembled. We hesitated. Our feet felt like they weighed more than our entire bodies.

A quest as old as mankind called again.

We drew a breath and let go of the safe haven. The first shaky step made us hesitate, but we didn’t stop. We sat our jaws, focused and took another—more stable this time. With each step our confidence grew and showed in our smiles. We started our journey. We made one of our dreams come true and we’ve been working at others ever since.

Whatever your dream has been, remember one of the people who played a huge part in encouraging you to step onto the path.

Happy Mother’s Day.
AJ

First Friday Art Walk

The goal of any artist is to touch the soul of another with their work. I'm happy to share the works of the artists that have touched me. I hope you enjoy them too.

Now, it might not be much to many, but this picture means a lot to me. It hung in my grandmother's living room. I remember as a child, during sleepovers, my grandmother and I would stay up to the wee hours and watch the Late Show and then the Late, Late Show. She'd make real cooked chocolate pudding between the two shows. Yum. Looking at this picture, invokes many feelings and really, isn't that what art is suppose to do?

On another wall hangs my Great-Grandfather's confirmation certificate--dated 1857. The document starts many conversations. Again, isn't that what art should do?

This quilt was commission by grandmother and quilted by the women of my church during the 1940s. She gave it to me on my 16th birthday because I loved it so much. No. I was not 16 in the 1940s. LOL Silly.

These plates were made by my mother. She knows I love butterflies.



Want to see more art today? Check at my friends' sites.



Rita_http://www.ritahenuber.com/category/blog/

Liz Talley/Diana Layne_http://blog.dianalayne.com/

Cynthia Justlin_http://www.cynthiajustlin.com/blog

Anne Marie Becker___www.AnneMarieBecker.com


Stop back next Friday to view more of my art.

Some days

If you're taking a peek, thank you. Happy May. Some consider today the first day of summer. Looking around, I have to agree.

Today, this my office. I wouldn't change a thing.

The scent from these lilacs are heavenly. I think I'll cut a bunch and put them in my bedroom.

My assistant is loving the views too.

Days like this I just want to lay in the hammock and read or watch the clouds drift by, but I'm working on getting the next book polished and out to my readers. I do love my job.



Stop by this Friday as I and a few friends will be sharing art.

And if you'd like to follow my tweets on tweeter, look for me as AJordon. WINK

HIS WITNESS TO EVIL **********************************************************************************Last week, I shared John's backstory. Now, I'll share Stephanie's.



Startled by a crash, Stephanie woke and fell from the couch to the floor. The boom reminded her of the episode last winter when a car skidded into their front porch taking out a corner post. Gripping the leather cushion, she sat up, swept her hair from her face and stared into the darkness that was her living room. The red display of a digital clock on the entertainment center read three forty-two.

Another thump vibrated the floor seconds before the door which lead to the garage burst open. Light spilled across the carpet. Gene was home, finally.

“Damn kids.” His words were slurred and the alcohol he’d consumed over the last six hours while at his weekly poker game preceded him by about twenty feet.

More rattling.

“Stephanie, I’m caught. Get this damn thing off of me or I’ll—“

“Will you keep it down?” She scurried to her feet and hit the switch to the high-hat lights above the fireplace. “The kids are sleeping. They have to get up for school in two hours.”

“This is my house and I’ll yell at them for leaving their freakin’ bikes lying in front of the door anytime I want.”

Em’s bike had been parked against the wall where. Gene probably knocked it over making his not-to-steady way inside. Arguing with him while he was in this state of mind would do her no good. He’d only get more boisterous and eventually wake the kids just to scold them for something that was his own fault. God, she was tired of Gene’s partying. He was married and a father. Would he ever grow up?

The sadness which filled her cemented the truth in place. He never would.

Gene fell forward and she grabbed him under his arms before he hit the floor. As he struggled to free his foot from between the railings of Em’s bike, he leaned on her. “My, God. How much did you have tonight? You didn’t drive home, did you?”

Em’s bike clattered against the garage’s concrete floor. “Damn straight I did. “

“You’re drunk.”

“So. “

Over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of their wedding portrait and wondered where that happy, young couple went wrong.

Disgusted, she pushed Gene away. “So you’re a cop.”

“Yeah." He shrugged and then scratched his stomach, pulling his tee shirt up over the flat abs he worked hard to maintain. "Don't worry. The guys won't ticket me.”

She folded her arms across her chest in order to keep from reaching out and strangling some sense into him. “What about hurting yourself, or God forbid, someone else?”

“I didn’t, okay.” With dithering steps, he made his way into the kitchen and flipped on the lights. “What’s to eat?” He barked over his shoulder. “I’m starved. Rosie got pissed with Tony and threw the pizza we ordered at him. ”

Steph raced after him hoping he wouldn’t reach the pots and pans before she could block him. His buddies probably ordered the pizza after midnight and the delivery guy woke Rosie’s seven-year-old twins. Poor Rosie.

She stepped between Gene and the stove. “Why don’t you go get a shower and I’ll—”

His frown turned wolfish as he grabbed and pulled her close, grinding his hips into hers. “You’re hoping I’ll fall asleep aren’t you?” He nuzzled her neck. The strong smell of beer turned her stomach. “After I grab a couple eggs, I’ll be ready to take care of you, babe. Why don’t you whip them up for me?”

Not in the mood to be manhandled, she pulled away from his clutch. “Stop it, Gene. I’m not in the mood for your games.” Stephanie turned only to be stopped by the bite of his fingernails on her arm.

His eyes narrowed. “I said I’m hungry.”

“And I want a divorce.” She yanked her arm free. “See who gets what they want first.” ******************************************************************************************* Will Stephanie find love again?

Available at Amazon & B&N

John's Story

A look into John's past.

John Dolton crashed to his knees in front of the inferno that consumed his life.

His heart pumped against his sterum with strong, wild vibes, but his brain felt starved for oxygen. How could that be?

Heat like tiny flesh straved piranhas gnawed at his skin. He gulped against the pain. Roasting air seared his lungs, expanding them until his chest felt as if were about to explode.

He didn’t care.

“Damn, John, snap out of it.”

He blinked and focued on the face in front of him.

“Come on, man. You’ve got to get back.” He heard his partner’s cry but Luke’s voice was diffused, coming at him from several directions.

Something looped under his arms and yanked him upward, lifting his dead weight off his knees—the ones that had given way when he’d seen his life gone. The heels of his boots marked the tarmac with duel tracks as he was drugged away from the wreckage. He didn’t fight. He couldn't. Every muscle in his body had died. His gaze remained on the windows of what once was his SUV.

Staring beyond the flaming bizarre tongues licking at the vehicle’s roof, he saw his wife and little girl as he had left them only ten minutes ago. Happy. Laughing. Anticipating a long overdue family vacation.

“Why?” A screamed like that of a savage, wounded animal rivaled sirens.
He searched the faces staring at him. Wide-eyed, brow ceased, sad faces stared back.
Had the horrendous cry come from him?

Julie.

Katie.

He had to save them.

Adreline surged through his veins and John pulled from the force that pulled him back.

Luke’s grip tightened.

“Let me go. I've got to try.” John twisted and swung a fist at his partner’s jaw, but Luke ducted in time.

Pain ripped through John's shoulder as Luke grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.

“They’re gone, John. You can’t save them.”

The agency’s emergency response team raced around the inferno, but John knew in his heart they were too late. He was too late. He had failed to keep Julie and Katie safe.

John caught a glimpse of the smothering arm lying on the sidewalk against the store front a moment before a fireman covered it with a white plastic sheet. A silver band encircled the tiny wrist.

Julie.

John swore a fiery rod stabbed his gut. He clutched his ribs and a second later, he hurdled the egg-muffin he'd consumed an hour ago.

“We’ll get them. I promise you.” Luke’s voice shook as he held John. “I swear. I will die before they get away with this.”

They?

John fell to the sidewalk. Cold laughter mingled with the taste of vomit in his mouth. Luke nor he knew who they were.

They had taken his reason to live. When he found them, they would wish this day had never happened.

Available at Amazon and B&N.