Rogue's Angels Present: Violated by Carolyn Arnold

Please welcome Carolyn Arnold author of Violated.

Carolyn Arnold will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

Violated

by Carolyn Arnold

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GENRE:  Police Procedural, Thriller

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INTERVIEW:

1. What or who inspired you to start writing?

I started writing when I was a teenager because I found it to be an excellent way of managing all of my emotions. But as a young girl, I always had fun playing Barbies with my younger sister and I believe the reason for that was I got to create a story.

2. What elements are necessary components for this genre?

I write primarily in the mystery genre, so you’ll always find:

• A crime or murder
• The good guys—the cops, the FBI, the investigators
• The baddies—the killers
• The red herrings
• The twists
• The resolution, which results in the killer behind bars

3. How did you come up with your idea for your novel?

My ideas have come from dreams, spring boarded off things I’ve read or seen or my imagination when out and about.

The idea for Violated came from someone I met, but unfortunately, I cannot elaborate further as they were where I got the idea for the killer’s motivation. (Don’t worry they weren’t homicidal! It’s my over-active imagination at work. LOL) I can sum it up to say that the killer’s motivation touches on a current plight for many.

4. What expertise did you bring to your writing?

I bring strong imagination and characters to all of my stories. I also have a keen sense of intuition when it comes to the law enforcement world. Added to that, I love researching when it comes to procedure and forensics. I have contacts who work—or who have worked—in law enforcement to consult with to ensure my facts are correct.

5. What would you want your readers to know about you that might not be in your bio?

I’m a down-to-earth person who is genuine and loves others who are. I love most types of music ranging from country to hard rock.

6. As far as your writing goes, what are your future plans?

To keep writing, to keep honing my craft. I have my intention set on The New York Times bestselling list.

7. Can you give us a sneak peek into this book?

Here’s a snippet from Chapter 9 of Violated. Now, just a brief note before you start reading. Ferris is the man who raped FBI Agent Paige Dawson’s friend, Sam is Paige’s boyfriend, and Grafton is the detective after Paige.

Excerpt from Chapter 9 of Violated:

Police cruisers were in front of a townhouse, their lights spinning. Still about five units away, Sam counted down the numbers.

They had cordoned off Ferris’s house!

“Stop the car!” Sam barked.

He gripped the handle and cracked the door open, preparing to jump from the moving vehicle if need be.

“Hey, what are you do—” The vehicle came to an abrupt stop, thrusting Sam’s shoulder into the back of the front seat. He tossed a fifty to the cabbie before leaping out of the vehicle. He heard the taxi’s wheels squeal as the driver sped away.

Sam ran to a deputy who was standing in front of Ferris’s driveway. “What’s going on here?”

The officer tucked the clipboard he had been holding under an arm and lifted both hands. “Stop there. This is an active crime scene.”

Sam’s heart was thumping wildly. He reached for his badge, cursing with the realization that he didn’t have it on him, and he shouldn’t have had any reason to need it. Some vacation…

“I’m a detective with Grand Forks PD. What happened?”

“Grand Forks? I haven’t heard of it. I’m going to have to ask you to step back.”

“North Dakota. Listen…” Sam extended his hand toward the deputy, who stepped back out of reach. Sam held up a hand to convey he wasn’t a threat. “It’s my girlfriend. She was coming here earlier today. Is she—” He couldn’t bring himself to ask if she was okay. Paige might have only entered his life a couple of months ago, but women like her—independent, sexy, and intelligent—were hard to find. He knew this for a fact from all his failed attempts to find them.

The deputy’s gaze met Sam’s eyes but looked through him. “This is an open investigation.”

This is ridiculous.

“Paige!” Sam screamed.

“Sir, I’m going to have you forcibly removed if you don’t coop—”

Sam plowed past him. The deputy’s clipboard hit the pavement, but Sam didn’t slow down. He kept moving toward the house.

An officer—likely a detective based on his stance of authority and lack of a police-issued uniform—came out the front door.

“Stop right there!” Given both his tone and the edge to his eyes, he meant business. His hand hovered above his weapon, ready to draw it, looking for one good reason to.

Sam briefly surrendered again. “I’m Detective Barber.” No point bringing up his locale as it obviously didn’t matter. Valencia was a light-year from his jurisdiction.

“And I’m Santa Claus.” He looked around Sam to the deputy. “What the hell is this guy doing here?”

“I’m sorry, Grafton.” The deputy yanked on Sam’s shoulder, but Sam wasn’t going to budge until he found out what the hell was going on.

“I’m not going anywhere until someone talks to me.”

“Are you looking to be arrested?” A veiled threat if the underlying curiosity in Grafton’s eyes was any indication.

“My girlfriend… She came here earlier. Is she all right?”

Grafton remained silent, staring at Sam. Sam shrugged the deputy off his shoulder, and the man complied. “She came by to see him this morning, and I haven’t heard from her since. Is she all right?” He expelled a deep breath.

“It depends. Who’s your girlfriend?”

God. Does that mean a woman was hurt—or worse—in this house?

“Paige Dawson,” Sam rushed out. “Now answer my damn question! Is she okay? What happened? Please tell me she is okay.” His clear emotion may as well have met with a brick wall for how much it seemed to affect the detective. But there was a glint in the man’s eyes that told him Paige was just fine. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you come with me? Name’s Detective Grafton, by the way.”

Got that already.

“Please, tell me what’s going on,” Sam said, softer this time.

“Well, Miss Dawson is a murder suspect.”

8. What is the best and worst advice you ever received? (regarding writing or publishing)

I think the worst advice I’ve heard out there is don’t self-promote. “You don’t want to be tweeting about your book.” This is very bad advice. If you want to sell your books, people have to know about it and who is better qualified to announce its arrival into the world than the author? Of course, there is also etiquette when it comes to self-promotion. You don’t want to be private messaging people or adding them to your mailing list without permission. You certainly don’t want to share your book on their Facebook timeline. And you don’t want to link to your book on Twitter and mention them repeatedly.

Best advice is that a book is finished one word at a time. And even though it can feel overwhelming when you’re starting out, if you just break your goal down to a daily writing target—and adhere to it—you’ll meet your goal of finishing your book.

9. Do you outline your books or just start writing?

Somewhere in between, I guess you could say. I don’t outline as this stifles creativity for me, but I have an idea what the story is about start to finish. Sometimes I know from the beginning who the killer is and their motivation, but oftentimes, it’s something I discover along with my investigators.

10. How do you maintain your creativity?

By respecting the gift. I schedule my time so I have periods where I edit and other days when I write. And there also needs to be some time where I rest and just let the ideas flow.

Thank you for having me on your blog today.

BLURB:

Sometimes the past should stay there…

The murder is one of the most heinous Brandon Fisher has ever seen, but that’s not why it has his and his colleagues’ attention. The FBI’s interested because the prime suspect is one of their own, Paige Dawson.

But Paige didn’t go to Valencia, California to kill anyone. She had set out on “vacation”—her new lover in tow—only to confront the man who had raped her friend twenty-some years ago. While the hands of the law are tied, she wants him to face the fact that he destroyed a young woman’s life and know that, as an FBI agent, she’ll be watching his every move. But instead of accomplishing her goal, she wound up in the back of a police cruiser.

Now Paige must face off with a hard-nosed detective determined to stick a murder charge to a fed. But with the trained eyes of the FBI on the case, it’s becoming more and more obvious that the evidence lends itself to a serial killing, not an isolated incident. And as long as the local authorities are focused on Paige, the real murderer is still out there, possibly waiting to strike again…

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EXCERPT:

MONDAY, AUGUST 24TH, 11:10 PM PACIFIC TIME

CANYON COUNTRY, CALIFORNIA

THE MARK WAS IN HIS FORTIES, had no kids, and worked a white-collar job. Average height, average looks. Nothing was truly memorable about him except for his uncommon first name, and that was only because it belonged to a character from a popular eighties movie.

Ferris Hall.

She had followed him to some honky-tonk in Canyon Country, an unsavory location at any time of day, but factor in the late hour and it was even worse. But Ferris had chosen this dive as his hunting ground. Women were easier to lure in with a little chemical persuasion, and that was easy to pass off around here.

He entered the bar with head held high, his back straight, the tease of a smirk on his lips—the end of the evening a foregone conclusion in his mind. He was sipping on his first bourbon, though he was acting as if he was on his third by slurring his words and talking loudly. He’d even thrown a sway into his swagger. Somehow he always managed to make his eyes look bloodshot, too, furthering the charade. And the women would come. And the women would fall for his tricks.

Tonight, she’d be that woman, but she’d be his last. He had to learn there was a price to pay for his actions.

She was sitting down the bar from him. Occasionally, he’d pass her a look—the predatory kind that made her blood boil. She smiled at him, doing her best to convey carnal hunger with her gaze, smearing on a seductive curve to her lips. She dipped her finger into her manhattan and sucked on it—the cherry juice sweet, the whiskey bitter.

Ferris was off his stool and sidling up her to within three seconds.

The ruse worked every time. It also helped that she exploited what nature had given her—a slender frame and shapely legs. High heels accentuated her well-defined calf muscles, and men stared when she walked into a room. When she paired even higher stilettos with a short skirt and crossed her legs, men’s mouths tended to fall open. She utilized all these virtues tonight.

She flashed another sultry smile, and he lifted his glass toward her before tilting his own back and draining it. He set it back on the bar and knocked on it to get the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have another on the rocks and—” he rolled his head toward her “—get the lady whatever she’d like.”

Time to feign innocence and flattery.

She waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “I really shouldn’t.”

She saw the quick look he gave her glass before meeting her eyes again. “Nonsense. Please, it would be my treat.”

If she stripped his voice of its candy-coated tone, his words were pushy and controlling.

“Well”—she angled her glass, showing how little of her drink she had left—“only if you’re sure.”

If she had actually been given a chance to prove her acting skills, she could be living in a sprawling mansion by now.

“Absolutely. What will it be?” Ferris asked, a grin teasing his lips as he tugged down on his left earlobe. It wasn’t hard for her to figure out what was going on. Ferris was asking for something “special” to be added to her drink—the “special” being some kind of date-rape drug.

She lifted her glass to the bartender. “Another manhattan.”

“Coming right up.” The tender left to make their drinks, and she watched him, taking the time to calm her heartbeat and flow of adrenaline.

“I like a woman who can handle her whiskey.” Ferris was looking quite comfortable beside her now. He was fully facing her, his left elbow perched on the counter, and he wasn’t discreet about his drifting gaze, which gravitated to her thighs.

“What can I say? I’m a little whiskey girl.” The words from the country song rolled off her tongue, cinching her gut, but she had to do what was necessary to pull him in.

“Toby Keith,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“Toby Keith.” He pointed to a speaker on the ceiling. “The singer who sings that one.”

“Ah, yes.” And here, she thought she was doing well by knowing it was even a country song. She smiled at him again. He truly thought of himself as a woman’s man.

Pathetic.

“Have I seen you here before?” he asked.

She dipped her head.

“I knew it. I never forget a beautiful face. So what’s your name?”

“Names really aren’t important, are they, baby?” She extended her hand, her long, narrow fingers bowing before him in feminine elegance.

“Oh, she’s mysterious. I like it.” He kissed the back of her hand, and she was proud of herself for not rolling her eyes.

The bartender returned and placed their drinks in front of them. “Here you go.”

From her observations, Ferris seemed to keep a running tab here. Rape now, pay later?

Oh, and Ferris would pay…

“You never told me your name,” she said, falling into her role.

“Oh, I can tell you mine, but you can’t—”

“Uh-huh.” She sucked on the tip of her finger again.

“Ferris.” He still held onto her other hand, and she pulled it back shyly.

“Are you from around here?” she asked, resorting to the necessity of small talk.

“I just fly in from time to time for business.”

“Ah.” She’d have to call upon her acting skills for this performance. She knew he lived less than three miles away from this place. “What business?”

He tapped his jacket pockets, then slid a hand inside one. “How embarrassing. I don’t have any cards with me. Besides, I don’t really want to bore you. Why don’t we talk about you?” He leaned toward her and lifted his rocks glass. “To a fun night.”

“To one we won’t remember.”

They toasted, and he took a long pull of the amber liquid. She pressed her own glass to her lips and pretended to take a sip.

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NOTE:

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AUTHOR Bio and Links:

CAROLYN ARNOLD is the international best-selling and award-winning author of the Madison Knight, Brandon Fisher, and McKinley Mystery series. She is the only author with POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT.™

Carolyn was born in a small town, but that doesn’t keep her from dreaming big. And on par with her large dreams is her overactive imagination that conjures up killers and cases to solve. She currently lives in a city near Toronto with her husband and beagle. She is also a member of Crime Writers of Canada.

Connect with CAROLYN ARNOLD Online:

Website - http://carolynarnold.net/

Twitter - https://twitter.com/Carolyn_Arnold

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCarolynArnold

And don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter for up-to-date information on release and special offers at http://carolynarnold.net/newsletters.

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GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE

Carolyn Arnold will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f1660