The Dark Tide by Josh Lanyon

NEW RELEASE TODAY!

ISBN: 978-1-60737-490-9
Series: Adrien English Mysteries; Previous Book: Death of a Pirate King
Genre: LGBT Romantic Suspense
Length: Novel Plus
Cover Artist: Croco Designs
Price: $7.99

BLURB:
As if recovering from heart surgery beneath the gaze of his over-protective family wasn’t exasperating enough, someone keeps trying to break into Adrien English’s bookstore. What is this determined midnight intruder searching for?

When a half-century old skeleton tumbles out of the wall in the midst of the renovation of Cloak and Dagger Bookstore renovation, Adrien turns to hot and handsome ex-lover Jake Riordan -- now out-of-the closet and working as a private detective.

Jake is only too happy to have reason to stay in close contact with Adrien, but there are more surprises in Adrien’s past than either one of them expects -- and one of them may prove hazardous to Jake’s own heart.

EXCERPT:
We reached the bookstore. I thanked Lauren again, lifted a hand in farewell, and let myself into the big, empty building.

It was warm and very still inside. The heady scent of old books floated with the dust motes in the fading light. Old and used books have a particular scent -- very different from new books. That evening it was a mix of old leather, worn cloth, crumbling paper, and wood polish. It smelled like home. I couldn’t imagine willingly leaving Cloak and Dagger ever. Maybe they could stick me under the floorboards when I was done.

I walked over to the plastic wall dividing the bookstore from the other half of the building. There was no sign that the cops had been there during the day. No sign anyone had. Perhaps that was good news.

I went upstairs and unlocked my flat. It was too warm and stuffy upstairs, a bit too redolent of cat. I opened the windows to catch whatever evening breeze there was.
What had been the rush to get here again? Everything was exactly as I’d left it. As it would always be.

I sat down on the sofa, and Tomkins leaped onto the cushion beside me, rubbing his face against my arm.

“Miss me?”

Apparently so. Well, there was no accounting for taste; I’d be the first to admit that.

I dealt with the litter box, fed the cat, decided I’d opt for a snack later, considered having a drink, reconsidered, and returned to the sofa, where I stared at the ceiling for a time.

What the hell was my problem?

If I’d wanted company, why hadn’t I stayed at Lisa’s?

I listened to the distant street sounds as this part of town began to roll up the sidewalks for the evening. I listened to the building settling in for the long evening, stretching out wooden joints, cracking its knuckles.

“Oh, what the hell,” I said.

Tomkins briefly abandoned his pursuit of an ailing fly to throw me a curious look as I rose and went to the phone.

“He’s probably not even home,” I told him.

Tomkins offered no opinion. He sat down to watch, as though my dialing a phone was one of the most fascinating things he’d ever witnessed in his brief life.

The phone rang on the other end.

Once.

Twice.

I closed my eyes, trying to decide if I was going to leave a message.

“Riordan.”

I opened my eyes. Funny how the sound of his voice could still make my heart speed up. You’d have thought I’d be over it by now. You’d have thought wrong.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” One syllable, but his voice warmed perceptibly. “How are you doing?”

“Okay.” I wondered how long it would be before that statement was true.

“Yeah?”

I didn’t think there was any telltale note in my voice, yet his single questioning word held instant and complete discernment. Sometimes I thought Jake, ironically, knew me better than about anyone on the planet.

“Not really,” I admitted. “Did you hear about yesterday?”

“The skeleton in the wall? I heard.”

You could take the boy out of the police force, but you couldn’t take the police force out of the boy.

“We had another break-in too. That’s why I’m calling.”

His voice didn’t cool exactly, though it lost warmth. “Yes?”

“How’s the PI biz?”

He said colorlessly, “I got my first case yesterday. A woman wants me to follow her ex.”

“He’s already her ex?”

“Yeah.”

No wonder his voice sounded flat. “Are you going to take it?”

“Yes.” And clearly it was not up for discussion.

“Do you think you’d have time for another case?”

He sounded almost wary as he asked, “What case? Who’s the client?”

“Me,” I said. “I want to hire you.”

Looking Back - Adrien English

Next Tuesday will see the release of the fifth and final Adrien English novel. This decade-old series is winding up at last -- with what I hope will be the strongest (certainly the longest) book so far.

So I thought it might be timely (seeing that it’s Christmas and I really don’t have it in me to find another blog -- I still have a LOT of Christmas shopping to finish up) to do a quick review of the books -- all available through Loose Id.

The Adrien English Mysteries -- combines the first two books in the series Fatal Shadows and A Dangerous Thing (very cost effective!).

Relationships can be murder. Bookseller and mystery author Adrien English is looking for love in all the wrong places -- and, according to hot and handsome LAPD detective Jake Riordan, it's liable to get him killed.

Fatal ShadowsA serial killer is stalking gay men, and a tawny-eyed LAPD detective wants bookseller Adrien English in handcuffs -- for all the wrong reasons!

A Dangerous Thing
When his romance goes south, Adrien heads north to the California Motherlode country. Can murder -- and Adrien's favorite LAPD detective -- be far behind?




The Hell You Say
Adrien English isn't really a detective, he's a bookseller and mystery writer who has a knack for attracting real life mischief and mayhem -- much to the displeasure of his sexy, sometimes-boyfriend, closeted homicide detective Jake Riordan.

When bookstore assistant Angus falls afoul of a Satanic cult, Adrien falls afoul of Jake -- but despite the fact that his amateur sleuthing is playing hell with his love life, Adrien can't help but delving into this case of kooks, cults, devil worship, and human sacrifice.







Death of a Pirate King
Gay bookseller and reluctant amateur sleuth Adrien English's writing career is suddenly taking off. His first novel, Murder Will Out, has been optioned by notorious Hollywood actor Paul Kane.

But when murder makes an appearance at a dinner party, who should be called in but Adrien's former lover, handsome closeted detective Jake Riordan, now a Lieutenant with LAPD. And that may just drive Adrien's current boyfriend, sexy UCLA professor Guy Snowden, to commit a murder of his own!





The Dark TideAs if recovering from heart surgery beneath the gaze of his over-protective family wasn’t exasperating enough, someone keeps trying to break into Adrien English’s bookstore. What is this determined midnight intruder searching for?

When a half-century old skeleton tumbles out of the wall in the midst of the renovation of Cloak and Dagger Bookstore renovation, Adrien turns to hot and handsome ex-lover Jake Riordan -- now out-of-the closet and working as a private detective.

Jake is only too happy to have reason to stay in close contact with Adrien, but there are more surprises in Adrien’s past than either one of them expects -- and one of them may prove hazardous to Jake’s own heart.

DEATH OF A PIRATE KING by Josh Lanyon

New today from Loose Id.



BLURB:
Gay bookseller and reluctant amateur sleuth Adrien English's writing
career is suddenly taking off. His first novel, Murder Will Out, has
been optioned by notorious Hollywood actor Paul Kane. But when murder
makes an appearance at a dinner party, who should be called in but
Adrien's former lover, handsome closeted detective Jake Riordan, now
a Lieutenant with LAPD -- which may just drive Adrien's new
boyfriend, sexy UCLA professor Guy Snowden, to commit a murder of his
own.

I crossed the brick courtyard, climbed into my Forester and started
down the long drive through what looked like a private park.

Positioned outside the gates at the bottom of the driveway was a
silver unmarked police car, prickling with antennae. Jake Riordan
leaned against the side of the car, arms folded, clearly waiting.

I pulled through the gates and parked beside his car, rolling down my
window.

"Well, well," he said. "This can't be a coincidence."

"It could," I said. "The odds aren't high, but they do exist."

"Uh huh." His face was impassive, and I felt a flare of nerves. I
think it was nerves; certainly I knew first hand just how unpleasant
he could make himself.

"So you're trying to tell me that this is just a sympathy call and
you're not thinking of sticking your nose into this investigation?"

I didn't say anything. According to Paul Kane my asking a few
questions wasn't supposed to be a problem, but here Jake was, and
that generally spelled p-r-o-b-l-e-m in my book.

Into my silence, he said, "You mean like you kept your nose out of
the Grimaldi investigation?"

"Sure," I said warily.

He snorted. "You'd think with all the practice you'd be better at
lying."

"My lies?" I said, forgetting caution in an irrational surge of anger
as I remembered Paul Kane admitting that Jake had been fucking him
all the time he had been fucking me.


He straightened up at whatever he read in my face. I hoped we weren't
in for another wrestling match because, really, what would the
neighbors think? Even in Bel Air, where they say celebrities get away
with murder, there were standards.

I said, "Maybe I was invited over here."

"Maybe you were," he agreed, and it dawned on me that despite the
loose and ready-for-anything stance, he wasn't angry. He should have
been. The old Jake would have been. But he didn't even seem
irritated. He seemed…well, the truth was I didn't know what he
seemed. I couldn't read him. And that, more than anything, confirmed
for me how much time had passed since we were together. "Together"
being relative.

It was painful and it was freeing at the same time.

"Maybe me and Mrs. Jones, we got a thing going on," I said.

His mouth twitched into that reluctant, wry half-smile I remembered
so well. "I hope not," he said. "That would make you a prime suspect
in Mr. Jones's murder."

"I thought I already was."

Astonishingly, he said, "Yeah. Well. Maybe we should talk."

"Is that why you're waiting here?"

"I'm waiting for Alonzo," he said. "He's late." He checked his watch,
and I found myself staring at his wedding ring again. Not that it was
particularly flashy, but it kept catching my eye. "It's nearly
lunchtime. Let's go grab something to eat."

I didn't want to have lunch with him. I didn't want to ever see him
again, but I needed to hear what he had to say, so I nodded and
rolled up my window.

I followed him to the Beverly Glen Deli at the top of Beverly Glen
Boulevard just below Mulholland Drive.

We got a table on the patio. The sun was already warm on this late
June morning, which was fine with me; I felt like I'd been cold ever
since I got out of the hospital. Jake sat back in his chair, studying
me, and I studied him right back.

What was his secret? Did he get vitamin B shots? How the hell did he
keep up with all the men and women and barnyard animals in his life?
And if he'd intended to continue playing dangerous liaisons with Paul
Kane, what about all that bullshit about breaking off with me because
he wanted a real marriage? It didn't make sense -- even from Jake's
admittedly screwy point of view.

Or maybe he hadn't intended to continue with Kane. Maybe nine-to-five
normal had just proven harder than Jake anticipated. Two years ago,
desperate for a family and a "normal" life, he'd broken off his
relationship with me in order to marry policewoman Kate Keegan. End
of story. A few months later I'd learned from his partner Paul Chan,
a member of the writing group I ran at the bookstore, that Kate had
miscarried and returned to duty. I guess there was still a chance of
the family Jake always wanted, but the fact that he had resumed his
old extra-curricular activities -- had, apparently never broken them
completely off -- seemed to limit his chances of success.

I wondered if I'd have still managed to restrain myself from outing
him to Detective Alonzo if I'd known then about the five years with
Paul Kane. I wanted to think I was that chivalrous, but I wasn't sure.
The waitress appeared and handed us menus. I ordered orange juice.
Jake ordered coffee, then his cell phone rang. "Alonzo," he said, and
he excused himself.

I watched the locals come and go in their Mercedes and Maseratis
picking up their take out orders of lox and cream cheese or corned
beef sandwiches. Even the car exhaust smelled more expensive in Bel
Air.

Jake returned a few minutes later and sat down again.

Neither of us said anything. It was the strangest moment. I thought
of all the times I had longed for something as simple as going to eat
with him that he didn't spend the entire time worrying about somebody
he knew seeing us together; and I thought of how we had never run out
of things to say to each other until today.