Karen Blake-Hall’s sharp-bladed fiction cuts to the heart of the emotions driving her characters in desperate situations.
When she’s not at her day job she’s crafting more tales of love and crime or spending time with her husband and children. She lives outside of Toronto with her husband, The Professor.
She is a member of Sisters in Crime International; Sisters in Crime Toronto; Crime Writers of Canada; Romance Writers of America, Toronto Romance Writers.
http://www.karenblake-hall.com/
Blog: https://karenblakehall.wordpress.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KarenBlakeHall.author
Goodreads:www.goodreads.com/author/show/7203856.Karen_Blake_Hall
A Short & Sweet Q&A.
Day or Night?Night for sure.
Pen and paper or Computer?Computer. I think fast and can type faster than I can write.
Fruit or Chocolate?Chocolate anything is the best.
Coffee or Tea?I can't get started in the morning with coffee.
Roller Coaster or Merry-Go-Round?Merry-Go-Round because I'm afraid of heights and can't do the Roller Coaster.
City life or Country life? Country Life
Ebook or Paperback? Both equal after all a book is a book
Cats or Dogs?
Again I love both equally.
What is your secret guilty pleasure?Getting a cup of coffee, some chocolate and a great book. There is nothing on earth quite like this.
You Are Mine Karen Blake Hall
Single mother, Molly Jackson, wants to run the family freight business in the North West Territories and take care of her daughter and grandfather. When creepy letters start to arrive she knows she has a stalker. Can she protect her loved ones when she’s not sure she can protect herself?
When Gramps ask RCMP officer Brock Kingston to come home, he can't refuse the man who took him in. Now he has to return home and save the woman who broke his heart.
Will their rekindled love survive when the truth is revealed?
Excerpt
"A movement by the shed caught her eye and Molly froze. She glanced at the clock on the wall beside the fireplace.
A rush of blood pounded through her temples as she stood. Walking over to the side of the window, she lifted the heavy brocade curtain, making sure she didn't touch the lacy sheer, not wanting her movements to be revealed to whoever was out there.
The figure of a man leaned against the shed, watching the office. Tightness cinched in her chest, as she held her breath. Could he be the one sending the letters?
She kept her eyes focused on the stranger. He was dressed like a local, with a red and black checked flannel shirt peeking out from under a down-filled vest. His worn jeans and scuffed boots resembled every male living in town, but unlike them he looked lethal.
His face was shadowed beneath a baseball cap, his eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. She couldn't make out any of his features.
She let the heavy curtain fall back into place and walked over to the fireplace, reached for the rifle over the mantle, checked for shells then crossed the room to the door.
Opening the front door, she kept a firm grip on the rifle at her side as she yelled, ""What are you doing here?""
The man shrugged. He took a step toward her. Dread lassoed her throat, cinching it closed.
He stepped out of the shadows into the bright sunlight. A navy duffel bag in his hand. Walking toward her he smiled as he removed the glasses drawing her into two, cool-blue pools. ""Long time no see.""
Not nearly long enough. She knew she should be relieved that he wasn't the stalker, but in some ways he was more dangerous.
Her worst nightmare had become a reality. Brock Kingston had come home.
