Hopping the Boxes

Welcome to my stop for Hoppin the Boxes Today I’ll be featuring

Barbara Silkstone

But –

These Eight Authors are presenting their Boxed Sets with Excerpts, Character Bios, and Prizes

Barbara Silkstone with the Wendy Darlin Tomb Raider Boxed Set

Cheryl Bradshaw with the Sloan Monroe Boxed Set

Christy Hayes and the Golden Rule Bundle

Donna Fasano and the Single Daddy Club Boxed Set

Faith Mortimer and the Diana Rivers Mystery Set

M.P. McDonald and the Mark Taylor Omnibus

Melissa F. Miller and the Sasha McCandles Series

Sibel Hodge and the Sibel Hodge Box Set

WENDY AND THE LOST BOYS ~ Book One See the trailer on YouTube

Real estate agent for Miami Beach millionaires, Wendy Darlin, clashes with “SEC Investigator” and world famous archaeologist, Roger Jolley. He follows her out to sea on a mega-yacht owned by Charlie Hook, a Ponzi swindler on the run from federal agents and angry investors. Despite her fear of water, she finds herself a tomb raider on the Caribbean one step ahead of modern day pirates. Will she find the Lost Boys? Will she escape Hook’s clutches? And whom will she find on Nevis Island? Oh… and is Roger a good kisser?

LONDON BROIL ~ Book Two See the trailer on YouTube

When we last saw Wendy Darling and Roger Jolley in WENDY AND THE LOST BOYS, they were hot on the trail of Egyptian icons stolen from the British Museum. Wendy is now in a frantic race against time and a murderer as she searches for the last Lost Boy hidden somewhere in London while a killer heat wave invades the city. Wendy is held captive over a fish ‘n’ chips shop while Roger’s life is threatened. Can Wendy escape her captors, rescue Roger, and find the missing Lost Boy before the murderer strikes again?

CAIRO CAPER ~ Book Three See the trailer on YouTube

Part-time tomb raider and full-time real estate broker, Wendy Darlin joins her lover, archaeologist Roger Jolley, in a quest for Cleopatra’s tomb. All they have to do is get from Cairo to the Temple of Taporisi Magna alive. Armed only with a couple of hijacked ashtrays and faced with a trek across the blazing Sahara desert can Wendy out-maneuver Russian oligarchs, a dozen Dark Force mercenaries, and Roger’s chubby ex-girlfriend in time to find the tomb and seal it before chaos erupts in Egypt?

The suite door flew open and Kit dove in. In my run for cover, I had forgotten about him. His 6’4” gym-toned body was almost naked except for a lavender Speedo and coconut scented tanning oil. He slid to a stop beside me with his fingers in his ears. We stayed in that position until blessed silence engulfed us. The blast had lasted only two minutes, but my head ached and my eyes throbbed.

Kit looked at my lifejacket/black bikini combo. “You look like a bumblebee.”

I waved the .38.

“Honey, don’t point that thing at me.” His eyes shifted to the open door.

A man in a wetsuit and goggles, carrying an M16 stepped in. There wasn’t a mask in the world that could disguise his face. It was my ex-husband Croc, grinning like the fool that he was. “You look like a bumblebee.”

I leveled my gun at him.

He snorted. “Yeah. I’m really scared. How’ve you been, kid?”

I’d never have imagined he’d take to the sea. “What the devil are you doing?”

“We’re here to get Hook’s treasure.”

“You and some Somali pirates?”

He snorted. “He’ll wish that all he had to worry about was Somali pirates. I have most of the brokers from my old hedge fund with me.”

“Ooohh, that should do it. Fierce hedgie marauders, much scarier than those psycho Somalis.”

Croc glared at me. “You’re right. We are much scarier because that bastard ruined our lives and backed us into a corner. Hook and his treasure are our only way out. And you’re going to help us. Where does Hook have it hidden?”

“I wouldn’t tell you if I knew. You’re scum like he is.”

“Don’t test my good nature. I’m going to get back what’s mine and that might include you.”

It was useless talking to him when he got this way.

“By the way, sorry about Marni dying from radiation.”

He didn’t look sorry, and he knew too much. Something was fishy. “How –?”

Croc pulled off his goggles leaving a red mark straddling the bridge of his nose. “Got you bugged,” he smirked.

I frisked myself for hidden microphones.

“Want some help?” He touched my breast.

When I smacked him, his eyes spun like slot machine cherries. He spoke slowly as he rubbed his jaw, “I’ll be back after we search the ship. One of my boys will be in to guard you.”

“You numb nuts.” I yelled at his back as he turned to leave. He looked like a giant black Gumby.

“Don’t call me numb nuts! And don’t yell at me!”

I woke the next morning to the overpowering smell of curry and lamb. Yuck. I buried my face in the pillow. Whatever happened to a good old English breakfast of bangers, rubber eggs, and fried bread?

My nerves were rubbing on imaginary broken glass as I sidled to the kitchen. The curry pot bubbled away unattended. A blob of red sauce had spilled on the floor, and a kitchen knife lay next to it. I shut off the pot, bent down and picked up the knife. Then I realized it wasn’t red curry on the floor. The spot was a bloody footprint. I dropped the knife. It bounced on the floor. Adrenalin rocketing through my body, the brassy taste of fear filled my mouth.

Whoever left the footprint had to be nearby… perhaps in the pantry. The back door was slightly open. I could see Holly and Hildy standing with their heads near the door, waiting for their breakfast. Some watch-geese.

Should I call the police? What would I report? Unattended curry, a bloody footprint, and a kitchen knife with my fingerprints on it? I should have known better than to touch lonely hot pots and sticky red knives. But they don’t teach you that in real estate school, and I was learning tomb raiding on the job.

Thud! And again another thud! The noise sounded as if it came from the wine cellar. I thought to call out to Samuel, but reconsidered. I remained unsure about the virtues of the houseman, and the bloody knife on the floor made me even less confident.

I snuck up the six flights to Benny’s room and knocked on his door, once, then twice. No answer. Ever so slowly I opened it. Benny’s bed was made. Had he gotten up early or hadn’t it been slept in? I checked his bathroom and closet. Roger’s client had vanished. I’d screwed up my first archaeological assignment.

Stepping as lightly as I could, I made my way down two flights to my room. I slipped inside and turned the lock, then made a mad dash to the closet to pack my suitcase. Pausing, I realized my luggage would make too much noise and slow me down. I’d seen too many horror movies. I knew the bad guy – if there was a bad guy – was lurking under the stairs or in the foyer. They always are. Screw my suitcase.

I found a black plastic trash bag on the closet shelf. Perfect. I threw three designer outfits in it, tossed in some sandals, my toiletries, and knotted the end. I gently pitched the bag out the window onto the shrubs directly below in the garden. I had no intention of leaving without a few of my St. John dresses. I’d worked too hard to pay for them.

I eased my way down two flights of stairs, quietly entered the bedroom over the shrubs, and closed the door behind me. I tried to raise the window. It was painted shut but gave way with a screech to my lifting.

The trellis came up to the bottom of the windowsill. It might not hold my weight, but those prickly dry shrubs just below should cushion my fall. Carrying my purse, I grabbed the frail woodwork like a demented musketeer. Unfortunately, the ground came up rather quickly.

“Ouch!” said a strange voice as I landed on something round and boney.

Benny had called this place a garden of constant surprise. I had just encountered one.

I dozed briefly and woke to find Roger, still naked, quietly pacing in the dark between the bed and the wide-open balcony doors. Occasionally a moonbeam would highlight his body. The hung and the restless. He stopped pacing and cocked his head. I started to speak but he waved me off with a finger to his lips.

A voice carried in from the upper deck. Whoever was up there spoke Russian. Then silence.

I felt naked for two reasons. First, I was. Second, I was unarmed. I pulled the sheets up to my chest and shivered despite the heat. I groped around on the nightstand for the marble ashtray till I felt it’s cool surface. I exhaled softly. Now I was only naked-naked.

With a light thump someone landed outside the doorway. What was it with Egyptian balconies?

Roger assumed an Inspector Clouseau-like karate stance that gave me absolutely no confidence. This wasn’t the set of The Pink Panther. I tightened my grip on the ashtray.

A tall figure slipped into the room. The person was backlit so I couldn’t tell much about him except that he had broad shoulders and was half a head taller than my bedmate.

“Key-yah!” Roger yelled as he jumped the prowler and took him down. They were tied in the cursing department with an equal number of Russian and English epithets coming out of the cartoon-like tangle of arms and legs rolling around. Roger would be on top for a second, then the Russian. I hesitated. I could bop Roger as easily as the intruder. The Russian yelped when he missed Roger’s head and slammed his fist into the floor.

As the Russian sucked on his wounded knuckles, Roger separated from him and jumped to his feet. The Russian did the same. Roger hopped back and forth jabbing little punches in the air but not connecting. He should have learned how to handle himself better than that watching me duke it out with Darcy.

Horus’s squawking added to the chaos. He beat his wings against the cage.

The Russian said something that sounded like good night. He socked Roger in the jaw and my guy went down.

A banshee couldn’t have matched the sound I made as I leaped off the bed and nailed the Russian on the noggin with the marble ashtray. He went down face-first with a thud. A black semi-automatic pistol dropped from his hand.

I helped Roger stand. He swayed in front of me. “Why’d you hit him? I was winning.”

“Right.” I stepped back and my foot landed on the gun. I held my breath. When it didn’t go off, I carefully placed it in the nightstand drawer. Ashtrays, not guns, were my thing. I switched on the nightstand light.

Roger had quit swaying and his eyes were focused. I said, “Let’s get some cord and tie this guy up.”

A coil of rope attached to a life preserver hung just outside the door. Roger grabbed it while I pushed up the prowler’s cuffs to get at his thick wrists. I tied triple-knots on each arm, and looped a double knot with a bow at his back. I didn’t have enough rope to tie his feet. There was something kinky, but not sexy, about tying up a stranger while my lover and I were naked.

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Barbara Silkstone is the best-selling author of the Wendy Darlin Tomb Raider Series that includes: Wendy and the Lost Boys, London Broil, Cairo Caper. Her Criminally Funny Fables series includes: The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters; Wendy and the Lost Boys; Zo White and the Seven Morphs, and Cold Case Morphs.

Silkstone’s writing has been described as “perfectly paced and pitched – shades of Janet Evanovich and Carl Hiaasen – without seeming remotely derivative. Fast moving action that shoots from the hip with bullet-proof characterization.”