Wednesday, March 15, 2017
THE DAY I LEARNED THERE REALLY ARE U.S. MARSHALS
I’m sure I never gave much thought to there really
being U.S. Marshals. If the subject ever crossed my mind, it would have been in
the form of watching Marshal Matt Dillion ride across the plains of Kansas on
his big gray horse or maybe Wyatt Earp in a shoot-out in Dodge City. Hell, I
thought U.S. Marshals died out with the Old West.
I’m here to tell you, that isn’t true. They’re here.
And they’re likely here to stay…forever. Which is a good thing. I’m in no way
denying they’re a good thing.
But the day I learned they were real was a real
eye-opener for me. I was sooo not
prepared to meet a U.S. Marshal, especially not with no makeup on, my hair
slicked back in a ponytail, baggy sweatpants, overly large top, plus that
little extra bit of weight a woman puts on every month.
But, come hell or highwater, I was about to meet one.
The day started out like any other day, a nice,
cloud-free sunny sky, typical for Florida, with not a hint of warning of what
was about to happen. The only thing different that morning, was that my younger
son, Shayne was home sick with the flu.
Around nine a.m. the phone rang. You would think a
tingle of warning would slide down my spine warning me not to answer the phone,
or I would hear the theme from Jaws
in the back of my head telling me nothing good was about to happen.
But no. Nothing like that occurred. So, here I am, not
a forewarning in sight and me, bloated, innocent, and unprepared, answered the
phone.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Blaylock?”
“Yes?”
“This is Marshal Dan Trooper.”
“Uh-huh. Yeah, sure it is.” In the back of my mind I’m
thinking this is one of Shayne’s school buddies pulling a prank because Shayne
is absent from school. Playing along, I said, “If this is about him being
absent from school today, he’s sick with the flu.”
“No, ma’am, this isn’t about him being absent from
school, but I do need you to bring him to the school.”
“Yeah, right. Is this a joke? You aren’t really a U.S.
Marshal. There’s no such thing.”
“Yes, ma’am, I assure you, there really are U.S.
Marshals, and I’m one of them.” By this time, his voice was dead serious, a
thread impatient, and I’m feeling damn nervous.
Why the hell is
a U.S. Marshal calling my house? I haven’t done anything wrong. Lately.
“I need you to bring your son, Shayne to the school. I
have some questions he needs to answer.”
“Can you tell me what this is about?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here.”
Huh. Okay. “He’s
in the bed with the flu.”
Surely, no respectable U.S. Marshal would want an
over-protective mama to get her child up and drag him out of the house to be
questioned when said child was so ill.
And why the hell was I arguing with this man? I didn’t
mean to question him or his authority. Of course, my mind was numb. I couldn’t
think, else I’d shut my big mouth and just say, ‘Yes, sir’, ‘No, sir’, and, ‘No
problem, sir’.
But all I could think was my son is ill. I didn’t want
to disturb him. At the same time, I was terrified. Why did a U.S. Marshall want
to question my son?
I don’t think the man hesitated with his response. “I
need you to bring your son to the school. Now.
Or I’ll come get him.”
Holy shit! “I’ll bring him, but I have to wake him up.
He’ll have to get ready, but we’ll be there in a little bit.”
By now, my gut burned, churned, and my head pounded.
My hands shook. I was ready to burst into tears. What the hell has my poor baby
done that warrants a call from a U.S. Marshal? I couldn’t think of anything. I
knew he hadn’t robbed a bank or we’d be living high on the hog. He hadn’t
kidnapped anyone. I’d know that for sure, because we lived in a trailer and
there wasn’t room for anyone extra.
Anyway, I hurried to my son’s bedroom. “Shayne, you
have to get up,” I yelled in a calm voice.
“Mom, I’m sick.”
“I know, but they want you to come to the school.”
“Why?”
“You tell me. It was a U.S. Marshall that called.”
By now, Shayne had poked his head out from under the
covers. “U.S. Marshal? What did he want?”
“He wants you at the school. Now. What have you done?”
My son is fifteen. He’s a typical teenager, but still,
a good kid. At least, I thought he was. I couldn’t imagine what he could have
done, what heinous crime he might have committed to warrant all this.
He flung back the covers and moved to the edge of the
bed. “I don’t think it’s anything serious, Mom.”
He says this to me and I’m thinking, Oh, hell yeah, it’s serious. This is a U.S.
Marshal calling my house. I didn’t even know we still had U.S. Marshals, but I
do now. It. Is. Serious.
“Not serious?” I blinked and remained calm. “You know
what this is about?”
“It’s probably about the school bomb,” he said
nonchalantly. No big deal. Just a little old school bomb.
My head reeled. My hands turned sweaty. “Bomb? School
bomb? What school bomb? Has the
school been bombed? Why didn’t I know
that?”
“No, Mom, the school hasn’t been bombed.” So, damn
patient, when I’m on the edge of a breakdown.
“What’s going on? How are you involved in a school
bombing?”
“I’m not involved in a school bombing.” Again, soft
and patient, like he was explaining to a little child.
In that moment, I felt like a little child. I wanted
to jump in his bed and pull those covers over my head and never crawl out again,
but sadly, we all must face the real world, and today, this was my real world.
“You’ll find out what it’s all about when we get to
the school, Mom. I have to get ready.”
He dismissed me, like he was the parent. Standing
there, I realized my son was too mature, too grown up for his age. In a matter
of seconds, he’d become a man in my eyes. I wanted to weep, yet at the same
time, I wanted to hug him, hold him close, protect him from the evils of the
world. My son, who was just a boy, couldn’t possibly be involved in a school
bombing in any form or fashion.
I looked back on my years of rearing him. I’d taught
him right from wrong, taught him to be a good human being and never harm others.
But I doubted myself. Surely, I taught him
not to do such ugly things, taught him not to destroy, but to appreciate life
and all that entailed, to come to me if he had problems. I’d be there for him.
Yet, with something so huge looming before us, I didn’t know if
I’d be able to do anything to help him. This was serious. The long arm of the
law had reached out for my baby. I was terrified it’d take him away from me. In
these kind of moments, you aren’t sure you’ve done anything right when it comes
to turning your child into a responsible adult.
I walked the floor and bit my thumb nail down to the
quick as I waited on him to get dressed. When he came out of his room, he
wasn’t nervous or upset, or even willing to run, which is what I wanted to do.
I wanted to take him, cover him in bubble wrap, hold him in my arms like I did
when he was a baby and lead him to my getaway car ASAP.
When we arrived at the school,
which was five minutes from the house, someone guided us to a room. In this
room stood a long table where several people were seated on one side. The empty
chairs on the other side were for me, my husband, and son. A tall, lanky man
stood back in a corner. I knew he was the marshal right away. He had that air
of authority about him. He didn’t crack a smile. He stood with his arms folded
across his chest and a hard look in his eyes. A, Don’t Tread on me, warning on his face.
“Sit down,” he said.
I sat down. Who was I to argue with a U.S. Marshal? I
figured I’d already used up my quota of debating with the man. Not a whisper of
disagreement escaped my lips. My husband sat down beside me. Still. Quiet. I
swear he looked paler than Death, and I felt damned ethereal.
“Is this Shayne?” the marshal asked.
I nodded. “Yes sir, this is my son, Shayne. My
youngest son. I have three other sons.” I guess I was volunteering them if he
wanted to question them, too. “Yes, Shayne’s my baby.” Why I babbled, I have no
clue, but I couldn’t make mouth behave.
There was another man in the room seated at the table,
the superintendent of the school. He suddenly jumped up and leaned across the
table right in Shayne’s face and shouted, “If I find out you had anything to do
with this threat to bomb the school, you’ll be expelled for the rest of the
year!”
I was so taken aback. I had no clue how to respond to
that. And I thought, ‘Oh God, if they expel him, he’ll lose a year and have to
go through that grade again’.
Before I could say a word in my son’s defense, the
U.S. Marshall plowed right in, in a no-nonsense, take-charge-kind-of-way. “It’s
my understanding that if it wasn’t for this young man reporting the threat of a
bomb, you wouldn’t know there was a threat. It’s not his fault. He’s your
witness.”
Oh, yeah. Take
that, dumb superintendent!
Suddenly, the U.S. Marshal was my hero, my son’s
savior, my hero, my hero, my hero. The mother came out in me immediately. My
heart burst with pride and relief. My son wasn’t a terrorist/bomber, after all,
but a possible witness to the event. That changed everything. I hoped.
“Now then, Shayne,” the marshal said, “why don’t you
tell us what happened, beginning yesterday. I understand this all started on
your bus ride home after school?”
“Yes, sir,” my son said, so polite. So, mannerly.
Did I teach him that? An hour earlier, I would have
said I’d failed to teach him a damn thing, but now…now, things were different.
“My buddy, Mike and I were riding behind two boys on
the bus,” Shayne continued, “and we heard them making plans to write a note to
bomb the school. We didn’t know if they were serious or just joking around, so
we tried to listen, but we couldn’t hear anything else they said.”
“What happened then?” the marshal asked.
“The boys got off the bus and Mike and I moved up to
their seats to see if they left any evidence behind.”
“Did they?” the marshal inquired. He was very patient
with his questioning.
“They did.” Shayne nodded. “They left a note in the
seat. Mike and I read it and thought it needed to be turned over to the school
authorities.”
“What did the note say?” Again, the marshal was calm
and quiet with his questioning. Thank God, because I was on the verge of
hysterics.
Who were these boys who wanted to threaten the school?
Were they dangerous?
Would they go after Shayne and his friend for turning
them in?
Shayne lifted a brow and shrugged. The note, written
with pencil, stated, ‘There’s a bomb at the school.’”
Duh! Simple enough to deduct.
The marshal handed Shayne a plain piece of notebook
paper all wrinkled and a small corner torn off a sheet of paper. “Is this the
note?”
Shayne looked it over. “Yes, sir, that’s the note we
found on the seat.”
“And you and your friend saw them write it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Then Shayne had a question of his own, which astounded
all of us. “Did you catch the boys who wrote the note?”
I didn’t think the marshal would answer him, but he
did. “We talked to them already. They won’t be attending school here for quite
some time. It seemed one of the boys has a birthday today, and he wanted the
school to close down for one day so he could celebrate without being marked
absent.” He shook his head. “He got his wish, the school is closed for today,
but as I said, neither boy will be back. If they give you any trouble, call me.
I’ll take care of them.”
I was never so relieved to get out of a place in all
my life. Still, I had a big grin on my face. My son, the hero, brought about
the day I learned, there really are U.S. Marshals.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Please Welcome the Fantastic Romance Author, Flossie Benton Rogers
Lord of Fire – Wytchfae 5
Good Morning Readers,
Today's special guest is the super paranormal romance author, Flossie Benton Rogers. Please make her feel welcome and leave a comment for this wonderful lady.
Hi, Tabitha! Flossie
Benton Rogers here. Thank you for featuring Lord of Fire today. By the way, I
love your witch books (and your other books as well)! I thought we’d start out
by talking about the fae dimensions and a few of the beings that inhabit them.
Author Bio:
Flossie Benton Rogers is the author of the Wytchfae paranormal romance series. She is Sagittarius with a Libra ascendant and Taurus moon, or a 5th generation Floridian and freedom loving mystic. She pursues her passion for mythology by writing romances with fairies, goddesses, ghosts, angels, demons, and other magical beings. The Wytchfae world brims with dimensions parallel to our own. Some are welcoming, others dangerous and forbidding. Through the darkest night and the fright of unchained chaos, love will always shine.
Blurb: When The Hawk meets his Wytchfae, the result is spontaneous combustion.
The Wytchfae World: The
realms encountered in the Wytchfae series of paranormal romance / urban fantasy
novels are closer to us than a hair’s breadth. These mysterious places are
populated with faeries, witches, demons, angels, goddesses, dark guardians,
ghosts and other magical beings. The beings dwell in multiple dimensions
parallel to our own earth dimension. Some of the worlds are welcoming, others
dangerous and forbidding. Through the darkest night and the fright of unchained
chaos, love will always shine.
Wytchfae: Trained
witches who possess a smattering of fae blood. Although they live on our
regular earth plane, some of them visit other worlds as well as other times.
Different Wytchfae have different abilities.
Grims: Creatures
contained in a certain area of the Underworld.
Unfortunately for humans, their nourishment comes from sucking out a
person’s life energy via memories. Grims also relish the taste of human blood.
Remnants: Grims
who have degenerated into mindless, zombie-like slugs due to not having access
to enough “food.”
Dark Guardians:
Powerful male demigods who are in charge of various domains, such as the
undersea realm and the empty void between dimensions. They are often heroes of
the books.
Tuatha de Danann: Ancient
Celtic tribe that inspired the modern vision of fairies.
Firbolg: Enemies
of the Tuath.
Succubi: Ruled
by the demoness Lilith, a succubus will seduce dreaming men.
Helios: Lords of
Fire, warriors with control over fire and other dangerous elemental energies.
First Line Teaser:
She’d catch the demon tonight if it killed her.
Lost
in her thoughts, Garnet ran up against something hard and springy, and a sharp
point pricked the soft flesh of her thumb. She squeezed off the pain with her
other hand.
Damned barbed wire.
She
had already made it to the fence line and hadn’t even realized it. Sucking in a
deep breath, she cleared her mind to concentrate on the task at hand. She had
to edge around the boundary to the north side of this large piece of private
property to gain access to the portal. Then she’d hunker down in the bushes and
wait on the demon Borros.
Moving
swiftly again, she cut a wide swath away from the metal fence. Snorting sounds
came from within one of the corrals she had noted early this morning when she
skirted the property. Horses and a few cattle had grazed within.
Bearing
around the corner to head north toward the portal, a splash of incandescent
green appeared and then disappeared in front of her. Startled, she blinked and
reached into her coat pocket for the revolver. The weapon lay cold and
substantial in her hand. She stilled her body to a midnight silence.
The
eerie green reappeared and dashed around her body without spotlighting her in
any way. It formed a mysterious elongated glow. She clamped down harder on the
gun handle to stop her hand from trembling, while shifting positions to keep
the phenomenon in front of her.
Her
mind tumbled over possibilities. The light couldn’t be swamp gas, as it seemed
to proceed purposefully. Its movement created a slight whirring sound. A will
’o the wisp? Somehow she thought not, but what was it?
The
presence darted behind her.
Before
she could turn, a warm, corporeal hand covered her own and relieved her of the
weapon. Whirling around, she came face to face with—a man.
A gasp
escaped her lips. With his substantial height, he towered over her. A faint
greenish residue of light illuminated him enough so that the fierce scowl on
his face caused her heart to thump into overdrive.
She
swallowed, fingering the sheath of one of the knives in her pocket. Damn it,
next time she’d bring a backup piece. She forced herself to speak, but despite
her efforts, her voice rasped. “Give me back my weapon.”
His
sonorous growl reminded her of a feral animal. “Not so fast. What the hell are
you doing sneaking around my property with a firearm in the middle of the
night?”
Video Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTifE-174mE
Buy Links:
Amazon http://amzn.to/1nzt1Bs
Secret Cravings
Publishing http://bit.ly/1FKwWBu
Barnes & Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wytchfae-5-flossie-benton-rogers/1120627377?ean=2940046361803
Connect with
Flossie:
Website: http://flossiebentonrogers.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/FrostFyre
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/Wytchfae
Goodreads author page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6553203.Flossie_Benton_Rogers
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Please Welcome, The Amazing Romance Author, Kenzie Michaels!
Here's a little bit about my special guest today. Please make Kenzie feel welcome by leaving her a comment today.
Thanks for having me today Tabs! Reminder, my contest is still going on. Comment to win your copy of Heart’s Last Chance! Winners will be chosen at the end of September, so don’t forget to leave your contact information!
When I first began reading erotic romances, they always
seemed too short. What happened once the
lovers climbed out of bed and returned to the Real World? What if someone got a phone call from an
ex-lover who suddenly wanted to get back together? What if plans to see each other for lunch or
dinner fell through because of work? I
decided that if I were to ever write an erotic romance, to at least answer the
question of ‘what happens next?’
Blurb:
Everyone has an imaginary friend at some point, right? Well, what if you discover yours is actually
an alien who is
fascinated with Earth?
“Brock, it gets better every time. Do you feel this?”
I said I think I love
you.
Brock brushed his thumbs across her lower eyelids, wiping
away the tears.
Amazon:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)