Today, I'm featuring 'Justiceman,' a funny, quirky mystery set in Nevada. Enjoy!
Blurb: Aspen Dove knows how to get what she wants from every man—until she meets her match in FBI Agent Evan Blaze. While trying to get a story for a doomed newspaper about a local vigilante killer named Justiceman, Aspen becomes the target of not only the mob, but a gang of vigilante bikers with temporary pony tattoos on their cheeks, a serial killer lacking a few brain cells, and Justiceman himself.
I braced myself for impact. The hearse hit the guardrail, pushing me onto the rear glass wall with a thud while the coffin pressed against my back, flattening my falsies even more. At least I had padding.
When I thought it was safe, I took mental inventory of myself. Since I was fine, I stared out the front to make sure the hearse wasn't heading over the edge past the guardrail. Steam billowed into the air in the darkness of the moonlit night, but the car remained motionless.
"All I did was crawl out of the coffin and wave," I said to no one. "What did the driver think I was, a ghost or something?" I pushed the coffin away from me and shoved it against the side wall.
The back of the hearse flew open, making me stare into the moonlit countryside. No one was there except for the barrel of a handgun appearing at the edge of the door. "If you're alive, come out with your hands up." It was a nervous male voice, probably the driver. Considering we were in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada, on a warm June night, no one else was around. I wasn't deaf, but the adorable driver must have thought the dead couldn't hear from the way he yelled.
I moved a little bit closer to the door. "If I'm alive? What do you think?"
The adorable young driver with the dark slightly curly hair popped his head forward toward the open door, keeping his terrified-looking eyes on me.
I hiked up my breasts with my hands, then reached down into my size triple-D cup on the left side and removed a falsie. "I hate that part." I did the same on the right while the cutie with the gun moved in front of the open door, staring at my boobs with his mouth hanging open.
He blinked twice, probably reliving a childhood dream in his head. "You just removed—"
"Yep. Falsies. Get over it." I stuffed the pieces of covered foam into my tight shorts pocket and moved closer to him at to the back of the hearse. "I want to thank you for rescuing me." I thrust out my hand in a greeting.
The man lifted his mouth from where it had been hanging, but didn't shake my hand. As I dropped my arm in awkward embarrassment, he lowered his eyes to my breasts, to the coffin, and back to my breasts again. "Excuse me?" he said. "Rescuing you? But you weren't the dead guy in that box. Where is he?"
Buy links ($2.99):
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Have a great week!