Hi gals and guys! Our friends at Curiosity Quills shared this book with me and I wanted you all to have a chance to check it out! Below is the cover, a description of the book, a bit about the author AND an excerpt! If it spikes your interest there are links to find the book under it’s description.
Genre: literary fiction, crime-thriller
Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press
Date of Release: July 31, 2014
Cover Artist: Michelle Johnson at Blue Sky Design
Wesley Rourke is a mouthy, Irish-lucky millionaire, trotting the globe in search of the perfect place to kill his most hated enemy, himself. Blowing his money on charity, and booze as he zooms from city to city, he lays his course towards Lima, Peru.
Once he arrives, he sets about his grisly task only to be inconvenienced by the lure of a pretty young tourist, the daughter of a prominent British lawmaker.
A few days after their first date, he awakens in a hospital to find her missing and he himself embroiled in a media blitz and massive manhunt. With time running out, and wracked with horrifying night-terrors, Wesley is forced to face his past cowardice and wade into the bowels of a pitiless underworld in search of his one ray of hope.
The city of Lima awaits him.
Find The Traveler’s Wake Online:
Goodreads | Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Kobo
About J.P. Moynahan:
I’m a wilderness guide and mountaineer, musician and poet. I’ve climbed all over North and South America, and played my music throughout. From mission’s work in Mexico, to clinking beers with toothless Canadians, and onto climbing an Andean glacier, I enjoy whatever comes my way.
I’m a mouthy sort with a quick tongue and an even quicker grin. Most folks hate me for the first seven minutes, then fall right in love with my winning personality and straight-toothed smile.
Though I harbor a strong sense of independence, I believe in the strength of a supportive community and tight knit family. I enjoy working with youth and young adults and showing them that staying out of jail isn’t so hard and can even be fun. But I’m not a goody-two-shoes, my head isn’t anywhere near my ass, much less in it.
Find J.P. Moynahan Online:
Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
Here is an expert from The Traveler’s Wake:
“Please… please!” she begged. Her once serene, pleasant voice now growling with desperation, her vocal chords slapping and scraping against each other in a ragged tone. “Don’t do this! Don’t hurt my baby!”
“Mommy? It’s okay, Mommy. That man won’t hurt us. I can see an angel. He is here to protect us.” The little girl’s eyes were deep and dark, like pools of violet-tinted water framed with golden, curly hair.
“Baby, I love you,” her mommy said through tears.
“I love you too, Mommy. We will be fine. The angel is here.”
“Shut your damned mouth, kid!” The pale man growled, his wild eyes darting left then right. “Just tell your momma to show me where her jewellery is!” His face was clean but unshaven, a patchwork of dark brown bristle clouding his sallow skin. He wore a jean jacket, newer but torn blue jeans, and leather boots.
“I don’t have any more! I already opened the safe for you! Just please don’t hurt my baby girl!”
The pale man’s knife hovered near the little girl’s throat, light reflecting off the blade onto her smooth, youthful, creamy skin. He held the little child tightly to his chest, assuring that she couldn’t struggle free. The polished wooden floor creaked underneath his feet, his muddy shoes leaving clear footprints al about the well-decorated living room and into the large opulent kitchen.
“There has to be more than this! You’re freaking rich, aren’t you?” He shook the little girl.
“I swear! I… d… don’t know what else I can show you! You have all my jewellery! All my cash! Please just go, I won’t tell anyone!” she continued to plead, “Just don’t hurt her!”
I stood nearby, atop a flight of stairs, watching the horror unfold.
He shouted his reply. “Then it’s your daughter who will have to pay!”
The little girl looked again into my eyes, as she had many times before.
“Please, angel, save me and my mother. I don’t want to die.”
I stood without moving, frozen in my footsteps. “I can’t move!” I yelled to her, the clink of chains entering my ears.
“Who is she talking to?” His acidic voice cut into the air. Glancing in the same direction as the girl, he shook his head, his eyes seeming to pass right through my body. “Your little brat is seeing things now!”
“Please…” The little girl whispered to me.
Her mother’s dark hair was matted across a sweating face, tears smearing the mascara she had worn earlier for her daughter’s piano recital. Her husband wasn’t in town and not due to arrive ‘til the next day. She was alone in her home, with no way to save her or her beloved child from this simpering, seedy demon of a man. He had assaulted them as she’d gotten out of the car, with no fear of being seen, the tall bushes bordering the yard making it a very private setting.
“Just go,” the mother whimpered.
“I can’t. You’ve seen my face.”
“I won’t tell, and my daughter won’t tell. Please, just go.” She was on her knees, hands clasped pathetically.
I had witnessed everything, watched the terror plague these innocent people, unable to push past the invisible wall that was within my mind.
For some reason I could not strike out, my mind and body being unwilling to do what my heart told them to as if I were in a dreamlike state. All I could do was watch, trapped in my being like a living jail cell.
“I can’t help you, little girl,” I said shakily. “I’m not an angel.”
“But I can see your wings. You must be an angel.”
“Who is she talking to?” he whined.
“I am not an angel! I can’t move! I can’t help you!” I began to cry, angry and enraged at my uselessness. “Fight him! Fight him with all your might, little girl!” I screamed.