Blog Tour, Exclusive Excerpt & Giveaway:
Nightcrawler by Patricia Logan
Trackers, Book 1
I’ve always been a sucker for a guy with muscles and a handsome face. If that makes me sound shallow, maybe I am. I’ve never had a real relationship, unless you consider the guys in my Marine Corps Recon unit. I had a great relationship with those guys. Yeah, yeah, I know we’re splitting hairs. These days, long after my retirement from active duty, the only kind of relationships I really do now are with fictional characters. I love to read, and in fact lately, I’ve been frequenting the pages of my favorite blog, Bestreads, to escape my real-life job, one I’m not very well suited for. One reviewer on there—Nightcrawler—absolutely slays me. He always makes me laugh, steering me clear of some of the worst trash out there when I’m not trying to earn money as a bounty hunter. Maybe someday the right man will come along, and he won’t simply be a book boyfriend. Someday. Lately, I can’t get intrigued by any of the guys I’ve met in bars. Hookups are becoming less and less interesting for me. I’m a reader and of late, I’m also a half decent reviewer. I work exclusively for a blog called Bestreads, working under the name of Nightcrawler and I’m not ashamed to admit, I try to make them funny. In my line of work as a recovery agent for a big insurance company, I’m finding my off hours much more pleasurable. I think about my next review and my next blog post all the time. Whenever I put up a funny two-star review, I dream of the guy who might be at home reading it, but pretty sure the kind of man who reads me, is probably living in his mother’s basement. Still, I’m a romantic at heart. Someday I might just run into him in one of my stories. Someday.
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Couldn’t see your badge from where you were seated in the truck,” Mathis said. I blinked. “You were watching me?” “Spotted you as you drove up. You’ve been parked there for quite a while. I figured you were a bounty hunter—fugitive recovery agent—but since I couldn’t be sure, I took precautions.” He clipped the can into a bracket on his belt before looking back at me with another fucking sunny smile. “You always carry that kind of firepower?” he asked, nodding to my Beretta M9 semiautomatic in full view. “Always. Pays to be prepared,” I replied. “I’d expect a former Marine to be able to take down a suspect without having to resort to that.” He nodded to my belt as my heart started a rapid tattoo. “How’d you…?” “Beretta M9…standard military issue.” I frowned deeply, crossing my arms over my chest. “Don’t mean I’m a Marine. Could be Army or another branch.” Mathis smirked, nodding to my bicep. “A lot of Army guys wear Eagle, Globe, and Anchor tats, do they?” Without thinking, I reached up and covered my tattoo, forgetting that the black muscle T-shirt I’d donned that morning, only partially covered the black ink. “Anyway,” he said, “you should think about carrying something less lethal than a Beretta on the job. You can’t tell me you never worry about having it taken away from you in a fight or…oh, I don’t know, a dogpile in Hollywood. Really, you should carry this. It works great.” He tapped the can on his belt. “Thanks. This’ll do me just fine.” I waved my hand at the can. “Besides, neither a gun nor a can of pepper spray is gonna save you if they run out, so you’d best rely on this.” I tapped the side of my head. “Yeah, guns run out of bullets,” Mathis said, smirking again, “which is why I follow the ‘21-foot rule.’” He bent and lifted the leg of his jeans, pulling out a large knife and straightening. He held it up and showed me. The hilt of the KA-BAR was covered with some sort of colorful wrapping and beaded. “I know you know what that is.” “The 21-foot rule?” “Yeah.” “’Course I know what it is,” I huffed in disgust before eyeballing him more closely. “You’re not military?” I asked, a little surprised by this man. “Navajo,” he said with a grin, replacing the knife. I nodded. The 21-foot rule was a concept taught in self-defense classes to all law enforcement and military recruits as part of their training. It said that an attacker with a knife or other melee weapon could close the distance to another person in the time it would take to draw a gun. In this instance a knife would become the superior weapon. “I’ll keep your advice in mind.” I hadn’t considered pepper spray a lethal weapon even though I had personal experience with it in my capacity of fugitive recovery agent…usually on the painful, receiving end.
About the Author
International bestselling author Patricia Logan, resides in Los Angeles, California. The author of over 75 books and nearly 60 audios including several #1 bestselling gay romances, lives in a small house with a large family. She loves to write about male heroes and the men who love them. Found families are a particular theme throughout her books. She likes to think that she infuses a wide variety of life’s experiences in every book and please trust her when she says all her books come packed with emotion and unbridled humor.
When she’s not writing her next law enforcement mystery, her next BDSM, or her next paranormal romance, she’s watching her grandchildren grow up way too soon and raising kids who make her proud every day. One of her favorite tasks is coaxing nose kisses from cats who insist on flopping on her keyboard while she types. Married to a wonderful man for nearly 40 years, she counts herself lucky to be surrounded by people who love her and give her stories to tell every day.
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Email her at patricialogan.author@yahoo.com. She loves to hear from readers more than anything and will respond to all emails.
