Kristine didn’t pick up her first romance novel until she was in her late twenties. Immediately hooked, she read a bazillion books before deciding to write one of her own. After the birth of her first son, she needed something to keep her mind from turning to mush, and Sesame Street wasn’t cutting it! While that first book would never see the light of day, something good had come from writing it. She realized her passion, and had found a career that she loved.
When Kristine is not writing contemporary romances and dark, romantic suspense novels (or reading them!) she is chasing after her four kids and two neurotic dogs
Some links:
Books available on
Amazon, B & N, iBooks
But now a bit more about Shadow of Danger!
Blurb
Four women
have been found dead in the outskirts of a small Wisconsin town. The only
witness, clairvoyant Celeste Risinski, observes these brutal murders through
violent nightmares and hellish visions. The local sheriff, who believes in
Celeste’s abilities and wants to rid their peaceful community of a killer,
enlists the help on an old friend, Ian Scott, owner of a private criminal
investigation agency, CORE. Because of Ian’s dark history with Celeste’s
family, a history she knows nothing about, he sends his top criminalist, former
FBI agent John Kain to investigate.
John
doesn’t believe in Celeste’s mystic hocus-pocus, or in her visions of the
murders. But just when he’s certain they’ve solved the crimes, with the use of
science and evidence, more dead bodies are discovered. Could this somehow be
the work of the same killer or were they dealing with a copycat? To catch a
vicious murderer, the skeptical criminalist reluctantly turns to the sensual
psychic for help. Yet with each step closer to finding the killer, John finds
himself one step closer to losing his heart.
Excerpt
Fingers clawing at the
sheets, tearing them from the mattress, Celeste Risinski woke with a scream.
Panicked, disoriented, she shoved at hands she swore still gripped her. As she
struggled, she knocked the alarm clock from the nightstand. When it hit the
hardwood floor, the radio blared. The loud music, laced with crackling static,
startled her. She whipped open her eyes, relief slowed her racing heart as she looked down at her body, to where her arms and legs were tangled in the thin sheets and comforter. Brutal hands weren’t holding her down. She wasn’t in the woods. She wasn’t fighting for her life. She was in her bedroom, waking up from another nightmare, another look into hell.
Dragging in a deep
breath, she pulled herself to the edge of the mattress, bent and retrieved the
clock. After turning off the radio, she placed it back on the nightstand, then
wiped tears from her face she didn’t remember crying.
No, not true. In her
nightmare, she’d cried and screamed, begged and pleaded, while trapped in the
body of another woman. She hated the way her mind had been sucked into the
woman’s soul. She’d experienced every ounce of the terror, and even the pain
the woman had endured. She rubbed her neck where the phantom cord had been
wrapped during the dream. Even though she was blessedly free of the nightmare
and sitting in her bedroom, claustrophobia wrapped tightly around her, making
it difficult to breathe.
No comments:
Post a Comment