Finding lost artifacts? Not a problem. Doing it with a too-cocky billionaire? Impossible. The Harleigh Sinclair Series Urban Fantasy, Adventure by Tamara Grantham ➱ Book Tour with Guest Post and giveaway
Finding lost artifacts? Not a problem.
Doing it with a too-cocky billionaire? Impossible.
Harleigh Sinclair and the Raiders of the Lost Ankh
The Harleigh Sinclair Series Book 1
by Tamara Grantham
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Adventure
Getting confessions from notorious
serial killers? Easy.
Stealing priceless Egyptian artifacts? No
problem.
Doing it with a cocky, too-handsome-for-his-own-good
bad boy? Impossible.
My name is Harleigh Sinclair, and I’m
a Neotact. That’s a fancy word for a person who has special powers
using touch. My special power? I can touch a person, see into their
mind, and find any object they’ve physically contacted. Comes in
handy when you’re employed by San Antonio’s wealthiest
entrepreneur who’s in the business of finding lost relics. However,
my job description does come with a few hitches.
My most
recent client is a man named Jagg Ransom. He’s arrogant and too
attractive for his own good. My mission is to purchase an ancient
Egyptian ankh from him and deliver it to my boss. Sounds easy,
right?
But Ransom refuses to cooperate, so I have no
choice but to break into his apartment and steal the location of the
amulet from his mind. Bad idea. Like, really bad idea.
I find
out that this relic happens to be the relic that gave five
percent of Earth’s population Neotact powers. I also learn that
Ransom isn’t who he says he is, and I’m forced onto a path that
will take me from my home in Texas to a hidden dungeon of a Scottish
castle, and then into the heart of a deadly Egyptian desert. Finding
the ankh is hard enough. Fighting my feelings for Jagg Ransom is
worse.
If I can’t find the ankh in time, not only will I
be out of a job, but I’ll lose everything I value—including my
own life.
Harleigh Sinclair and the Ice Crusade
The Harleigh Sinclair Series Book 2
Finding lost artifacts is my specialty, but when an Inuit artifact is hidden in the wilds of Alaska, finding it could be more difficult than I’ve bargained for.
My
name is Harleigh Sinclair. I’ve been using my abilities as a
Neotact to find ancient relics with special powers. After teaming up
with a man named Jagg Ransom—a Crimson Knight with a mysterious
past—we’re on the search for five lost artifacts with immense
powers.
Our
current quest takes us to a remote village in the Alaskan wilderness.
But when we arrive, we’re greeted by angry villagers who blame us
for the disappearance of one of their trackers. He’s been kidnapped
by my former coworker, and the two are on the path to find the relic
before us.
If
we can’t find the relic first, the object will fall into the hands
of an evil organization called the Blood Raiders. Worse, we’re not
alone. The Inuit artifact is guarded by a giant beast of lore—one
that would rather see us dead than accomplish our mission.
But
failure isn’t an option. If the Blood Raiders succeed in obtaining
the relic, they’ll use it in a plot to destroy the world as we know
it.
HARLEIGH SINCLAIR AND THE RAIDERS OF THE LOST ANKH
CHAPTER
THREE
Tamara
Grantham
I waited near the bar at
Bohanan’s, clenching my gloved hands, resisting the urge to move the strands of
hair tickling my cheeks. Lexi had curled it in flowing waves, then styled it in
a loose knot at the back of my neck, carefully arranging a few curls to fall
down my face. The scent of hair product—natural botanical leave-in-conditioner,
as Lexi had informed me—left a light fragrant scent lingering in the air.
You had to give it to my
sister, she was a genius when it came to fashion and beauty. As I pulled at my
skirt, my exposed legs felt cold in the air conditioning. Sitting here waiting
was wearing on me. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Where was this
guy? Jagg Ransom. Sounded like a con-artist or some rich schmuck. If he’d
purchased the amulet, he must’ve been.
I groaned under my breath.
This evening couldn’t get over soon enough.
The host approached me. “Miss
Sinclair, I have your table ready, if you’ll follow me.”
Nodding, I sauntered
appropriately while wearing heels. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know how to
walk in them. Doing previous jobs for Greyson had given me a certain amount of
training, and I’d learned my way around a pair of stilettos. Didn’t make me
comfortable in them, but I could hold my own.
Soft conversations came from
the people sitting around the tables covered with white cloths. Lamps centered
on each surface gave a muted light to the space. The host stopped near a table
by the back wall, but I politely cleared my throat.
“Would it be too much trouble
to be seated by the window?” I pointed to an empty spot near the wall of glass
overlooking Houston Street.
“No problem at all. This way.”
I followed him, then sat in
the cushioned chair as he placed a menu in front of me. I ordered breadsticks
and a water. When he left, I peered out the window. Round bulbs glowed around
the historic Majestic Theater sign across the street, and tall buildings rose
in the distance against a dark evening sky. A few people walked past.
It took something out of me to
sit here and pretend to be someone I wasn’t.
Get the amulet’s location, I
reminded myself. That’s all that matters.
My basket of breadsticks
arrived, and I nibbled on one as I watched people walk past outside. Ransom
should’ve been easy enough to notice. I’d spot his ride first. A Porsche or
Lamborghini. Maybe a Lexus. I’d know for sure when he stepped out of his car.
Most likely he’d be wearing a tailored suit. It wouldn’t be store bought. That
wouldn’t be his type. He’d wear a sensible monochromatic tie. Nothing too
flashy. His shoes would be the giveaway. They’d be recently polished, no
scuffs, no marks, nothing that would hint at spending any time outdoors or
walking through mud puddles. His shoes would tread only on the marble tiles of
billion-dollar estates.
A shadow loomed. My gaze
wandered up to a mammoth of a man standing over me.
“Sinclair?” he asked, his
voice deep and laced with a dangerous edge.
I gave him a shrewd glare in
an attempt to hide my surprise. “Ransom?” I stood, berating myself for not
recognizing him.
“Yeah,” he said casually, his
tone bored and uninterested. “We meeting tonight?”
“We were meeting,” I
answered. “Twenty minutes ago.”
He shrugged, looked past me,
and grabbed a breadstick off the table. “Damn I’m starving,” he said as he
ripped off a bite with his teeth.
I watched him eat with
one-part shock and another part disgust. Who was this idiot? I stood tall and
placed my hands on my hips, though the top of my head barely reached his chin.
He must’ve been part Tongan or Samoan. His deeply tanned skin hinted at a life
spent outdoors. Bleached brunette hair had been braided into cornrows that hung
down to his shoulders. His frame rivaled any bodybuilder, and his suit hugged
his muscles so tightly, I was surprised the seams hadn’t ripped.
He wore no tie, and beneath
his purple suit jacket with leather elbow patches, he sported a Hawaiian shirt.
When I glanced at his feet, my shock deepened.
He wore a pair of orange
flip-flops.
A drop of anger simmered in my
chest. Being so incredibly wrong about someone didn’t happen often, and
annoyance clawed at me that I’d let it happen now.
He grabbed a chair, spun it around backward, and sat.
HARLEIGH SINCLAIR AND THE ICE
CRUSADE
A HARLEIGH SINCLAIR NOVEL
BOOK TWO
Tamara Grantham
Excerpts
Excerpt One:
I stood at the doorway leading
into the vaults of Mr. Walter Prescott’s most prized Neotact artifacts and
debated how to steal one. Muted lights reflected over the black square of glass
across from me. A hand scanner.
“No keypad. Right,” I said
under my breath before pulling off my leather gloves. Air conditioning hummed
from the vents of the high-rise tower in San Antonio’s downtown district, and I
let the cool air wash over my exposed skin.
A cold shiver skittered down
my spine, and I darted a glance at the dimly lit hallway stretching behind me.
If things went south, it was my only escape. My new manager, King Khamron, had
gotten me this far, but he’d stayed on the bottom floor near the building’s
entrance to keep an eye out.
Shaking my head, I turned my
attention to the scanner. The glass interface seemed to taunt me. My boss would
kill me if I couldn’t break inside.
Why did it have to be a
handprint scanner? Why couldn’t they use a no frills, super reliable—and easily
hijacked—keypad?
As I concentrated, I sighed in
frustration. A jolt of energy sparked through my fingertips. The electrical
pulses had gotten stronger since I’d returned from Egypt two weeks ago, and I
chalked it up to being exposed to the legendary ankh artifact. Darrell
Brownstein, a convicted serial killer and Blood Raider, had planned to kill me
with it, but instead, I’d used the ankh against him. He was dead now, along
with a dozen of his followers.
Still, there were other Blood
Raiders out there intent on taking the Neotact artifacts, which had led me to
standing here at the vault of Walter Prescott, father of the famed Jagg Ransom,
debating how to break in.
Jagg. I shook my head as an
image of his ruggedly handsome face intruded on my memories. I hadn’t seen much
of him since we’d returned from Egypt. A week ago, he’d told me he was
traveling. Didn’t say where. Hadn’t even texted me since.
Long strands of brunette hair
came loose from my ponytail and tickled my cheeks. As I pushed them away from
my face, I once again attempted to concentrate on the hand scanner. Jagg Ransom
was nothing but a distraction. The idea of turning around and telling King that
I’d failed wasn’t a pleasant prospect.
I glanced up at the glass
doors barring the vault. I could always break through the glass, but I was sure
every security sensor in the building would start blaring the moment I did it.
No, I’d have to be creative
about getting inside. I tapped my fingers on my lips, noticing the little
electrical pulses popping at my skin like rubber bands. Odd that my powers were
reacting this way after touching the ankh.
What if my ability isn’t just
different? I asked myself. What if it’s more powerful?
With a deep inhale, I forced
my doubts aside and placed my hand against the glass of the hand scanner. My
heart raced, and I hoped the scanner couldn’t detect a person’s anxiety through
its circuits. If so, I’d get fried in a heartbeat.
A yellow line glowed, starting
at the top and moving down. I focused on sensing the last person’s hand that
had touched the screen. Closing my eyes, I paid attention to the imprint of
every swirl, every arch, every loop. Then, I sent a surge of energy into my
hand, morphing it until it matched each of the previously used fingerprints.
I held my breath. If this
didn’t work, and I got caught, I’d land in jail faster than I could blink.
Please work, please work, I
chanted under my breath. Sweat beaded on my brow as I stared at the scanner.
Maybe it had been Jagg’s
father’s hand that had been here. Maybe it had been Jagg himself. With that
thought, my heart gave a sudden leap, and I could only imagine how angry Jagg
Ransom would be if he knew I was breaking into his father’s prized vault.
Concentrate, I
reminded myself, the yellow light still scanning up and down. A single beep
chimed, and the light turned green. I released a pent-up breath. The door slid
open with a mechanical hiss, revealing the interior of the vault.
THE MONSTER BEHIND
THE MYTHS
Bigfoot.
Sasquatch. Wood Ape. The monster has many names. Include the legends passed
down by the Inuit people, and he has many more. Nantiniq and Kushtaka to name a
few. I’ve always been fascinated by the legend of Bigfoot. Never has such a
creature had such a hold in every continent on the planet. From Asia to the
Pacific Northwest, Bigfoot endures.
However,
when I heard about the legends of an Alaskan Bigfoot—one much larger and more
hostile than other legends—I was fascinated. This beast was said to attack
children in their sleep, to lure people into the forest with its call, and to
rip humans apart. It was said to have decimated an entire village called
Portlock in the early 1900s.
This
revelation gave rise to considering what my book character, Harleigh Sinclair,
would do when faced with such a threat. Could the creature possibly be hiding
something? Was there more to this being than merely an undiscovered species,
but something more mystical?
These
questions inspired the second book of my Harleigh Sinclair series—The Ice
Crusade. Not only did the legend of Bigfoot play a role in this novel, but I
also wanted to include descriptions of the enchanting Alaskan wilderness.
Nature has also played a huge role in inspiring me, and thus being inspiration
for my novels.
When I took
a cruise to Alaska last summer, I was stunned by the majestic mountains and
awe-inspiring glaciers. I now dub it as the prettiest state in the US.
(Colorado takes second.) The rugged and unexplored terrain was a perfect
setting for a 1700s shipwreck that went undiscovered, and for secret artifacts
to be smuggled onto land and later lost. When Harleigh Sinclair is betrayed by
her coworker, she must follow him into the Alaskan wilderness and look for a
legendary artifact before he finds it, which puts her on a path through rugged,
mountainous terrains and breathtaking snowscapes. I always like to include a
hint of horror and good dose of mystery in novels, and Alaska was the perfect
place to include both.
Tamara Grantham is the award-winning author of more than a dozen books and novellas, including the Olive Kennedy: Fairy World MD series, the Shine novellas, and the Twisted Ever After trilogy. Dreamthief, the first book of her Fairy World MD series, won first place for fantasy in INDIEFAB’S Book of the Year Awards, a RONE award for best New Adult Romance, and is a #1 bestseller on Amazon with over 200 five-star reviews.
Tamara holds a Bachelor’s degree in English from Lamar University. She has been a featured speaker at multiple writing conferences, and she has been a panelist at Comic Con Wizard World speaking on the topic of female leads. For her first published project, she collaborated with New York-Times bestselling author, William Bernhardt, in writing the Shine series.
Born and raised in Texas, Tamara now lives with her husband and five children in Wichita, Kansas. She rarely has any free time, but when the stars align and she gets a moment to relax, she enjoys reading fantasy novels, taking nature walks--which fuel her inspiration for creating fantastical worlds--and watching every Star Wars or Star Trek movie ever made. You can find her online at www.TamaraGrantham.com.
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I'm looking forward to reading this adventurous novel. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThe excerpts sound good. I like the cover art.
ReplyDelete