Two homicide detectives must separate the truth from a web of puzzling lies while investigating a murder victim’s friends and lovers in Lost Beach, Texas.
Detective Nicole Lawson is fed up with her job and nonexistent love life. Her first date in months gets cut short by an urgent call from the chief of police. A body has been discovered at Lighthouse Point, and the medical examiner finds an array of strange clues. When the death is ruled a homicide, the news quickly reverberates through Nicole’s beachside hometown.
 
The Lost Beach police department swings into high gear. Leading the investigation is Emmet Davis, a veteran detective who is Nicole’s fiercest rival at work and also the man she has secretly harbored feelings toward for years. With Emmet calling the shots, Nicole sets out to search for leads, starting with the enigmatic yoga instructor who first discovered the body. Nicole is certain the witness knows more than she’s revealing and may even hold the key to unlocking the case.
When another person turns up dead under suspicious circumstances, Nicole sees a bizarre pattern, but no one believes her theory. Under the gun to solve the case, Nicole must put aside her tumultuous feelings and work closely with Emmet to figure out who is targeting her beloved hometown . . . before she becomes a target herself.

Nicole Lawson felt naked.

It wasn't the minidress or the strappy sandals. It wasn't even the weird slit that left the entire side of her thigh on display.

It was the Smith & Wesson .40 caliber pistol-or absence of it-that was making her feel exposed. She was so accustomed to those twenty-nine ounces riding on her hip, and the lack of weight was making her antsy as hell.

She checked her phone, then flipped it over.

Nicole glanced around the restaurant, which was wall-to-wall couples, of course. She'd never been in here before, and the decorations grated on her nerves. They were going for elegant, she knew-this was the Nautilus, after all-and it wasn't like the place was covered in pink balloons. The bloodred rosebuds on every table looked nice, actually. Ditto for the votive candles that emitted a soft glow. Really, it was the glitter that was giving her hives, all those tiny gold hearts sprinkled across her table like pixie dust. Just the sight was making her feel even stupider than she already did in this ridiculous dress.

She checked her phone again.

For the first time ever she had a date on Valentine's, and not just any date. Tonight was the date. She and David had gone out three times already. The last time had ended with intense kissing in his car, which definitely would have continued if he hadn't been called into work. Nothing like being summoned to an autopsy to kill the mood.

He wanted to make it up to her, though. Those were his exact words when he'd invited her to this expensive restaurant. And so Nicole had squeezed herself into a low-cut black dress that gave her the illusion of boobs, borrowed her sister's stilettos, and come here to meet him for dinner.

"Are we still waiting?"

Her server was back again with that pitying look that was almost as annoying as the glitter.

She smiled up at him. "We are."

"And would you like some wine, perhaps? Maybe a cocktail?"

"I'm good." She nodded at her half-finished water. "Thanks."

He walked off, leaving her to her silent phone. No text, no voice message. She'd even checked her email, but zip.

Nicole looked around, sure people were staring at her. God, the white-haired couple behind her was already paying their bill.

Her phone vibrated on the table, and she snatched it up.

"Hello?"

"Where the hell are you?"

Not David. She closed her eyes.

"I'm out. Why?"

"Didn't you get the call?" Emmet asked her, and she pictured him at the police station surrounded by the typical Saturday-night chaos.

"I'm off tonight."

"Not anymore."

Her phone beeped with an incoming call, and she checked the screen.

"Listen, that's Denise. I have to go." Nicole got off with Emmet and took the call.

"Hey, what's up?"

"The chief asked me to reach you. He needs you at a scene."

Damn it.

Nicole pushed her chair back and grabbed her purse. "Does he know I'm off tonight?"

"Yep."

She unzipped her little black clutch and left a ten on the table. They were going to have to bus it, even though she hadn't ordered anything.

"Well, what's going on?"

"One sec," Denise said, and cut over to another call. When things were busy, the Lost Beach PD receptionist doubled as a dispatcher. She was also the chief's right hand, doing everything from managing his calendar to deflecting reporters who called in from time to time.

The front of the restaurant was packed with waiting couples. Nicole scanned the bar and the area around the hostess stand but didn't see any tall, handsome doctors looking around for their date. It was 7:32. She'd officially been stood up.

"Nicole?"

"I'm here." She squeezed past the people and pushed open the door. A cold gust hit her, and she stepped back.

"He needs you at Lighthouse Point right away. And keep it off the radio."

"What's going on?" she asked again.

"I'm not sure."

"Well, what did he say?"

"He said, 'I need Lawson at Lighthouse Point ASAP. Keep it off the radio.' That's all I have."

Nicole hunched her head down, wishing for her leather jacket as she strode across the parking lot. It had filled in since she'd arrived.

"What's your ETA?" Denise asked.

"I'll be there in five."

"Roger that."
 
Excerpted from Liar's Point by Laura Griffin Copyright © 2024 by Laura Griffin. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved.

​Get you a fictional hottie who can fix your computer & tow your car.

Or a fictional hottie who takes charge of her life, kicking butts & taking names & sometimes getting herself into little awkward dilemmas as she does it.

Those are both leads of Danica Nava’s The Truth According to Ember, a sexy workplace contemporary that features these two standout Native MCs, their families (& sometimes the complications that come along with them), and the secondary leads—good, bad, & icky—who populate their Oklahoma City workplace.

In moments this book had me swooning hard & in others, getting frustrated with FMC Ember Lee who frequently resorts to lying (see title ) when it comes to her job & love interest Danuwoa.

But the book offers motivations behind many of the lies—at least in the beginning, before things start ramping up & Danica’s actions—though still somewhat understandable—had me stressing .

Setting aside the lying, this book delivers on the romance front. Though lying can be iffy for me in terms of romance development, there’s a real connection between Ember & Danuwoa, forged on their attraction, their shared culture & experiences as Native Americans, & just what they want out of life.

Friends, I thought this book was great. There are some stellar scenes in it & lots of moments where I rooted for both of them, especially as Ember celebrates the milestones she’s making happen.

Archaeologist Dr. Socorro “Corrie” Mejía has a bone to pick. Literally.  

It’s been Corrie’s life goal to lead an expedition deep into the Mexican jungle in search of the long-lost remains of her ancestor, Chimalli, an ancient warrior of the Aztec empire. But when she is invited to join an all-expenses-paid dig to do just that, Corrie is sure it’s too good to be true...and she’s right.


As the world-renowned expert on Chimalli, Corrie should be leading the expedition, not sharing the glory with her disgustingly handsome nemesis. But Dr. Ford Matthews has been finding new ways to best her since they were in grad school. Ford certainly isn’t thrilled either—with everything going on in his life right now, the last thing he needs is a reminder of their rocky past.

But as the dig begins, it becomes clear they’ll need to work together after learning that a thief is lurking around their campsite. Now they are forced to keep their discoveries—and lingering attraction—under wraps. With money-hungry artifact smugglers, the Mexican authorities, and the lies between them closing in, there’s only one way this all ends—explosively.

Sparks fly when an occult expert and a disgraced archeologist become rivals with benefits in this steamy opposites-attract romance from "go-to author" Rosie Danan (The New York Times Book Review).

Riley Rhodes finally has the chance to turn her family’s knack for the supernatural into a legitimate business when she’s hired to break the curse on an infamous Scottish castle. Used to working alone in her alienating occupation, she's pleasantly surprised to meet a handsome stranger upon arrival--until he tries to get her fired.

Fresh off a scandal, Clark Edgeware can’t allow a self-proclaimed “curse breaker” to threaten his last chance for professional redemption (or his traitorous heart). After he fails to get Riley kicked off his excavation site, he vows to avoid her. Unfortunately for him, she vows to get even.

Riley expects the curse to do her dirty work by driving Clark away, but instead, they keep ending up on top of each other. Turns out, the only thing they do better than fight is fool around. If they’re not careful, by the end of all this, more than the castle will end up in ruins.

​While other women inherited a knack for singing or swearing from their grandmothers, Riley Rhodes received a faded leather journal, a few adolescent summers of field training, and the guarantee that she'd die alone.

Okay, fine, maybe that last thing was a slight exaggeration. But a unique talent for vanquishing the occult, passed down from one generation to the next like heirloom china, certainly didn't make dating any easier. Her matrilineal line's track record for lasting love was . . . bleak, to say the least.

Curse breaking-the Rhodes family talent-was a mysterious and often misunderstood practice, especially in the modern age. Lack of demand wasn't the problem. If anything, the world was more cursed than ever. But as the presence of an angry mob in any good folktale will tell you, people fear what they don't understand.

To be fair, Gran had warned Riley about the inherent hazards of curse breaking out of the gate. There was, of course, the whole physical danger aspect that came part and parcel with facing off against the supernatural. Riley had experienced everything from singed fingertips to the occasional accidental poisoning in the name of her calling.

As for the personal pitfalls? Well, those hurt in a different way.

She'd grown up practicing chants at recess and trying to trade homemade tonics for Twinkies at lunch. Was it any wonder that, through middle school, her only friend had been a kindly art teacher in her late fifties? It wasn't until tenth grade when her tits came in that guys decided "freaky curse girl" was suddenly code for "performs pagan sex rituals." Riley had been almost popular for a week-until that rumor withered on the vine.

It was like Gran always said: No one appreciates a curse breaker until they're cursed.

Since she couldn't be adored for her talents, Riley figured she could at least get paid. So, at thirty-one years old, she'd vowed to be the first to turn the family hobby into a legitimate business.

Still, no one would call her practical. She'd flown thousands of miles to a tiny village in the Scottish Highlands to risk life and limb facing down an ancient and unknowable power-but hey, at least she'd gotten fifty percent up front.

Hours after landing, strung out on jet lag and new-job nerves, Riley decided the village's single pub was as good a place as any to start her investigation into the infamous curse on Arden Castle.

The Hare's Heart had a decent crowd for a Sunday night, considering the total population of the village didn't break two hundred. Dark wood-paneled walls and a low ceiling covered in crimson wallpaper gave the already small space an extra intimate feel. More like an elderly family member's living room than the slick, open-concept spots filled with almost as many screens as people that Riley knew all too well back home.

Hopefully after this job put her services on the map she could stop picking up bartending shifts in Fishtown during lean months. For now, her business was still finding its feet. The meager income she managed to bring in from curse breaking remained firmly in the "side hustle" category-though it was still more than anyone else in her family had ever made from their highly specialized skills. Riley had always thought it was kind of funny, in a morbid way, that a family of curse breakers could help everyone but themselves.

Whether out of fear or a sense of self-preservation, Gran had never charged for her practice. In fact, she'd kept curse breaking a secret her whole life, serving only her tiny rural mountain community. As a consequence, she'd never had two nickels to rub together. She and Riley's mom had weathered a few rough winters without heat, going to bed on lean nights-if not hungry, then certainly not full.

Riley had never faulted her mom for ditching Appalachia and the family mantle in favor of getting her nursing degree in scenic South Jersey. It was only because she'd never been good at anything practical that Riley found herself here in the Highlands, hoping this contract changed more than the number in her bank account.

If word got out that Riley had taken down the notorious curse on Arden Castle, she could go from serving small-time personal clients to big corporate or even government jobs. (She had it on good authority they'd been looking for someone to remove the curse on Area 51 since the seventies).

Perching herself on a faded leather stool at the mahogany bar that divided the pub into two sections, Riley had an excellent vantage point to observe the locals. Up front in the dining room, patrons ranging in age from two to eighty occupied various farm tables brimming with frothing pints and steaming plates.



Excerpted from Do Your Worst by Rosie Danan Copyright © 2023 by Rosie Danan. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.