Sneak Peek!

For all my Tactical Solutions International fans–good news! I’ve finished the next two novels in the series, with only one more left to conclude the collection. Maybe it’s a good time to reread the series so far and re-acquaint yourself with your favorite characters? You can find them all HERE on Amazon, and they’re available for free with your Kindle Unlimited membership.

Both the new manuscripts still need some editorial work, but I anticipate releasing Blood Ties and Imminent Threat in the first quarter of 2026. Finally, right?

I’m also planning to release Run, Harry, Run, a romcom featuring an emotional support dog, a runaway bride, and a hunky firefighter, in early 2026. While this one’s a departure from my usual romantic suspense, I think you’ll enjoy the humor, heart, and angst between the pages. Stay tuned.

Since I’ve shared sneak peaks of Blood Ties and Run, Harry, Run here already, here’s a little teaser from the opening scene of Imminent Threat…

Marisol nearly jumped out of her skin when someone pounded on the clinic door. Whatever they wanted, at this late hour, it couldn’t be good. She put a hand over her racing heart, sucked in a deep breath, and hurried through the small waiting area to the front door, inventory forgotten.

She flipped the deadbolt and pulled the door open without looking through the side window first. It wouldn’t matter if she did. Anyone who wanted to get into her clinic could do it with one swift kick to the door. It’d happened before, and she preferred not to deal with the damage.

Still, when she came face to face with the business end of a Glock, her gut clenched. She recognized the compact, deadly weapon because she had the exact same model locked uselessly in her personal safe. She also recognized the man wielding it. Santana Reyes del Toro, son of the most vicious cartel boss in this region of Colombia, if not the whole country. She did not recognize the man leaning heavily against him, bleeding profusely.

“We require your help, doctor,” Santana growled in Spanish, gun pointed at Marisol’s chest.

Mari lifted her head, straightened to her full five-foot nothing height, and glared at Santana.

“Put that gun away. If I’m dead, I bet he will be too in a few hours,” she said waving a hand at the semi-conscious victim.

Her voice held more defiance than she actually felt, but there was no way she’d cower in front of the cartel boss’s favorite son. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.

“Your mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days, puta,” he hissed.

“Maybe it will be your mouth that gets you in trouble, Santi. What would your father think if he heard you speak to me like that?”

Taunting this man might very well get her into trouble one of these days, but her loathing for him won out. Anyway, tonight Santana needed her.

Mari looked more carefully at his injured companion. Despite the fact that the victim was likely a murderous, drug dealing bastard, the oath she’d taken in medical school echoed in her mind. She’d had an internal debate about just whose life was worth saving more than once, but she’d come to the conclusion that she could either behave as a judge or a healer, not both. 

With a final glare at Santana, she stepped back from the doorway and waved him in.

“Bring him to the back,” she ordered.

Santana half-carried, half-dragged his companion to one of the private exam rooms, and hefted the large man onto the gurney.

“What’s his name?” Mari asked, giving the victim a quick once over.

She catalogued three gunshot wounds, with one round still buried in his left thigh.

“Marco,” Santana answered.