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Mistaken Identity has dangerous consequences…

Covering her flu-stricken sister’s shift, Sarah Leech helps at an after-hours jewelry exhibition at the Chicago Art Museum, hoping to network. When a handsome stranger asks her to dance, she agrees. Working around the clock to support her young son and pursue a dream, she figures one waltz gives her a fun story and potentially an important career contact.

Jewel-thief turned informant, Nicholas Thatcher is finishing surveillance before the heist that will secure his freedom. He spots his late mother’s bracelet, the same piece used to blackmail him into a decade-plus career for a crime boss. He can’t be sure of his next move with the unknown woman’s sudden appearance. Following her out of the museum, he spots two men on her heels. When the men stall a CTA train on the elevated tracks and start shooting, the night quickly derails.

Keeping her alive long enough to learn her identity becomes his top priority. When they discover a startling connection, they must work together. Can they find redemption?

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I’m choosing a pretty book cover picture instead of the reality.

Happy 2022! I’ve said that before but this month has given me the oddest sense of deja vu. My kids were back in school for two and a half weeks but when they went back following MLK day, I asked questions like it was the return from winter break.

I sort of feel like every day is the same. But that’s how winter always impacts me. It’s why–typically–I don’t set my books in January thru early March. I lose track of the time.

In truth, 2022 is off to a good start. I’ve been editing the next book in my Home to Harmony series. Following the events of Her Hometown Dream, the book is called Her Unlikely Homecoming so if you’ve read the first book you can guess the hero and heroine of the second.

I’m writing a first draft for a potential third in series, too (different series!). I have several book ideas lined up for first drafts at the start of the year, giving plenty of time to edit and revise before sending any to my agent. I’ve been struggling with this draft, and I’m reminded again to turn off my inner editor. Writing isn’t always easy. The important part is getting it done. Terrible first drafts can be fixed, and sometimes a book has to be fully written before the problems become obvious.

I hope your year is off to a solid start as well. Remember to be kind to yourself. This is the point where a lot of people are beating themselves up about resolutions that have failed. That’s not helpful. Any progress is positive. Sometimes you can leap forward but other times you need to tiptoe.

Jake raised a fist to his mouth and bit down hard on his knuckles. He’d do anything to stop from laughing. During the drive to the alley, Amy had spoken of her poor bowling skills. He had assumed her sense of modesty urged the speech. He’d reassured her she couldn’t possibly be as bad as she implied.
She wasn’t.
She was worse.
During the first ten frames, she hit every part of the lane except for the pins. At one point, her ball stuck in the gutter, and he’d used his next turn to force her ball down the alley. He asked if she wanted bumpers. Shaking her head, she refused. He insisted he’d asked on his behalf. Of course, she didn’t believe him.
While he wasn’t up to professional standards by any stretch, he was much better than her and snagged four strikes and two spares. The next round, she was, perhaps, even worse. He wasn’t sure he’d considered any sport as subjective. He didn’t know how else to rate her performance.
Her score remained in the low double digits. But if he analyzed her play from a broader perspective than numbers, he’d attest that her form declined. At one point, she hit four pins in the lane next to theirs. Luckily, they were the only people bowling at the time.

Finally, she lifted the ball on the tenth frame of their second, and final, round. She held the ball to her nose and moved forward, gliding over the wooden floor with the tricolor, too-large, bowling shoes. Extending her arm behind her, she bent at the waist. When her feet met the line, she had almost perfect form.
This is it. She gets it. He dropped his hand to his side and half rose on tiptoe, studying her in profile. Maybe she had needed practice to loosen her muscles and remember the actions. He’d pay for another round so she could have a decent score and brush off her first two rounds of failure.
In slow motion, she swung the ball behind her, and she lost her grip.
The ball landed with a heavy crash, rolled backward, and lodged between the wall and the stationary row of molded, plastic seats.
Turning, she widened her eyes, and her gaping mouth formed a perfect circle.

Want to know what happens next? Her Hometown Dream now available on most ebook retailers!