Bolt Action by Victoria Roder
Please feel free to visit my website, www.victoriaroder.com
Blurp: In Action Thriller, Bolt Action from Champagne Books, because it is still illegal to kick the crap out of stupid people, D etective Leslie Bolt uses sarcasm to cope. She is a smart talking, gun hording, Harley riding investigator forced to work a serial murder case with her sexy ex-lover. After a childhood of abuse suffered at the hand of her father, Leslie sleeps with a Ruger Blackhawk .357 under her pillow, has a Browning A-Bolt Stainless Stalker rifle in her broom closet, and a Saturday Night Special stashed in her road-hog cookie jar. The body count mounts and D etective Bolt must conquer her own past, as she races to capture “The State Quarter Killer” before her sister is the next victim. Secrets of the past, murder, deception, sexual tension, and “The State Quarter Killer”, Bolt Action offers it all.
Links:
Bolt Action E-book http://www.amazon.com/Bolt-Action-ebook/dp/B003ZUY58U/ref=pd_rhf_ee_p_t_3
Bolt Action Paperback: http://champagnebooks.com/shop/index.php?route=product/product&path=27_49&product_id=82
Bolt Action Video Trailer:
Excerpt: Bolt Action
Out of my collection of weapons I have stashed around my apartment, I chose my Browning A-Bolt Stainless Stalker rifle from behind the mop in the broom closet. I headed in the direction of my enclosed storage area. Flipping on the porch light in hopes of frightening an intruder, I exited my front door. As I reached the bottom of the wooden steps, I could detect an outline of a person in front of the shadowed storage door. Male-at least six feet tall.
Cocking the rifle, I warned, “Stop. I have a rifle.”
“Calm down, Bolt. It’s just me.” Lance Kestler ran his hand through his thick black hair as he stepped from the shadows into the glow of the porch light.
“Oh for crying out loud. What the hell are you doing here?” I released the trigger. “D id you just come out of my storage area?”
“No. I got out of my car and walked toward your door.” Kestler placed his hands on his slim hips. “How come you never wear your hair down during the day?”
I ignored the question. “I heard a door close.”
Kestler shrugged his broad, black Fieora-clothed shoulders, and wobbled on his feet. “Must’a heard my car door.”
Headlights from a passing car shined toward me and I slid the rifle behind my back. “Whatever. It’s like midnight what the hell do you want?”
“Well, I remembered you don’t sleep much at night, so I assumed you’d still be up. Or maybe you just didn’t sleep at night because I kept you up-or should I say, you kept me up?” Kestler took a stumbling step forward.
I blew out a breath in frustration. How did I ever get involved with this guy in the first place? “Get off it, Kestler. You’ve been drinking. What do you want?”
“Aren’t you gonna invite me in?” He winked in his typical cocky manner. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had your firm body under mine.”
I shook my head. “Are you kidding me?”
“Look, I want to apologize for how things have been going between us lately.” Lance stumbled and dragged his hand across the side of the duplex to stabilize himself.
“Apologize?” The rifle dug into my hand as I tightened my grip. “You can’t even talk in complete sentences. How come you only show up to talk after you’ve been drinking?”
Kestler advanced two steps toward me. “What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to rekindle a civil relationship between us, and you show up acting like Annie Oakley the sharpshooter.”
“You don’t do apologies, or favors without an ulterior motive.” I pointed the rifle toward him. “What the hell do you want? Why don’t you go home?”
“What? You’re gonna shoot me?” Lance put his hands up, pretending to surrender and laughed.
His humor was lost on me. I wanted Kestler off my property and wanted him to know I meant business. Not that I would have shot him. Probably. “You’ve been drinking, and you’re trespassing. I believed you were an intruder and I had to defend myself.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Sounds convincing. I might be able to get someone to buy that.”
“You’d Miss.”
My finger itched to pull the trigger. “D on’t you remember my target scores where always better than yours?”
Lance winked at me. “That’s because I was distracted by your cute ass.”
“You are an ass.”
“I’m done trying to be nice to you.”
“When did you start?”
“Screw you.” He turned to stomp back toward his car.
I lowered the rifle and called out, “Kestler, you’ve been drinking. Should I call you a cab?”
I heard him open his car door. As I walked backward up the three steps to the front door, it didn’t take detective skills to realize he didn’t have the ability nor the courtesy to answer me. Kester was six feet tall─could he have consumed more then two drinks an hour? I ran back down the steps to offer him a ride.
“Kestler!” I pounded on the hood of the car. “Kestler, wait!”
He jammed the car in reverse, spun it around and squealed his tires on the usually quiet street. I watched him drive off and prayed he wouldn’t hit someone on his way home. Retreating inside my apartment, I locked and dead bolted the front door. I returned the A-Bolt rifle to its spot behind the mop, and headed for the phone to call in a tip about a drunk driver. If he was lucky, he’d be stopped by a friendly cop. It not-if he had to spend the night in the drunk tank at least he wouldn’t kill himself or anyone else.
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