Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Virtual Book Tour & #Giveaway for Dropping the Dime by Ellie Ashe

Welcome to my stop on the Virtual Book Tour, presented by Bridging the Gap Promotions, for Dropping the Dime by Ellie Ashe.  Please leave a comment or question for Ellie to let her know you stopped by.  You can enter her tour wide giveaway, for a $20 Amazon GC, by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.  You can also follow all of the stops on the tour by clicking on the tour banner above.  The more stops you visit, the better your odds of winning. Check back for my reviews of the entire series so far, books 1, 1.5 and 2,  in the next couple of days.

Dropping the Dime
By Ellie Ashe
Miranda Vaughn Mysteries, Book 2

Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
Release Date: April 1, 2015
Genre: Romantic Mystery
Length:  233 Pages
ISBN:  9781940371689


99 cent special – only for a limited time!!

Buy links:   Kobo   Nook    iBook    Smashwords    Print     Amazon    Gemma Halliday Publishing

About the book:

Miranda Vaughn was once falsely accused of stealing millions, and now she’s helping others who are facing criminal charges. While being an assistant to her former defense attorney isn’t Miranda’s dream job, she’s eager to prove herself, and her first task is a simple one—protect Kathryn, a shy CFO turned informant, and help her prove that a popular real estate developer is embezzling millions from his company. But what should be a straightforward assignment is deliciously complicated when Miranda is thrown together with FBI Agent Jake Barnes, the man who saved her life, broke her heart, and then disappeared.

Beneath the neatly plotted rows of new homes lurk dark secrets, bitter feuds and a whole lot of greed. Nothing is what it appears, even Miranda’s timid client, who is hiding secrets of her own. Despite her growing distrust of her client, Miranda must protect Kathryn from becoming the target of the FBI’s investigation and protect herself from the real thief—all while protecting her heart from the sexy FBI agent she can’t seem to resist.


My heart pounded and my legs ached, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I struggled for breath and grimaced at the pain in my side. Gasping, I struggled onward through the empty city streets in the gray early light.

“I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.”

There was no one out on the street to hear my complaints, so I voiced them, chanting in time with my footsteps on the sidewalk.

“Hang in there, pretty lady. Your butt will look good.”

“Eeep!” I leapt sideways at the voice and saw the bearded man reclining in a doorway. He lifted a paper-covered bottle and winked a bleary eye at me.

I picked up my pace and crossed the street, my heart rate well into the aerobic range thanks to the new rush of adrenaline.

It’s pretty much impossible for me to explain how much I loathe running.  I hate feeling like a lumbering elephant as my feet pound away at the unforgiving sidewalk. I hate sweating. I hate sports bras.

But I kept moving at a pace that could be considered a jog. It was barely daylight, the only sane time to go out in public and humiliate myself. At least there were few people out and about to see me attempt the concept of exercise.

Why was I doing this if I hated it so much? I asked myself this question as I tried to focus on the music streaming in through my earbuds. It was healthy, though it made me feel like I was dying. It would let me fit into the cute dress I just bought that was a little snug. And the next time I was chased by gun-toting psychopaths, I’d be ready to run.

I hoped there was never a next time. But after recent events, I wasn’t going to rule it out.

By the time I reached the entrance to the alley that led to my apartment, I was a huffing, sweaty mess and all I could think of was showering and then stopping by my aunt’s bakery and grabbing a hot almond croissant right off the baking tray. My mouth watered at the thought of the pastry as I opened the gate to the backyard that led to my apartment over Aunt Marie’s garage. I’d been living in the apartment for a couple years and though it was small and cramped and I could now afford to move out, I liked living near my only family member. And her yummy bakery.

I’d been on the lookout for a new place to live, but nothing had caught my eye yet. Living downtown near my new job was convenient, but there weren’t a lot of rentals, at least not affordable ones. There were some nice houses in my price range in some nearby suburbs, but I wasn’t sure if I was suburban material. I was unmarried, didn’t have kids, and wasn’t crazy about long commutes. Until something perfect lured me out of the garage, I was staying put. At least it was cheap and I could save up some money. 

I stepped into Aunt Marie’s backyard and froze at the sight of a man standing in the shadows outside the backdoor.

A year’s worth of adrenaline flooded my body and my heart, already racing from exertion, nearly burst from my chest. My skin prickled and my mind ripped through a thousand scenarios, none of them good. Burglar. Home invasion. Or something personal. 

The tall, lanky man stepped out from under the patio cover and into the early morning gray light and it was worse than I feared.

Robert Fogg.

My former attorney, now my boss.

In his boxers.

Good morning, awkward.

He set down a bowl of cat food and gave me a wave. I returned a weak greeting, then ran up the wooden steps to my apartment.

Well, that settled it. I had to move. 

Author Bio:

Ellie Ashe has always been drawn to jobs where she can tell stories—journalist, lawyer, and now writer. Writing quirky romantic mysteries is how she gets the "happily ever after" that so often is lacking in her day job. 

When not writing, you can find her with her nose in a good book, watching far too much TV, or trying out new recipes on unsuspecting friends and family. She lives in Northern California with her husband and three cats, all of whom worry when she starts browsing the puppy listings on petfinder.com.

Author contact info:
Website:  Ellieashe.com
Newsletter sign-up:  http://bit.ly/EllieNews

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