by Author: Lynde Lakes
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Novel Excerpts
Wednesday, April 25, 2012 @ 10:08 pm

To my readers and sister & brother writers Visit Lynde at Face Book or www.lynde.com Twelve NEW releases Available! Enjoy. Excerpts on my website and Here is one that was just released SILENT CYMBALS.


With Egyptian music blaring from the stage outside René’s dressing- room door, Rusti sat before the mirror, adjusting her black wig with trembling hands. God, it really does make me look exactly like René. Even Mike, the club manager, hadn’t noticed the switch. But will my dancing give me away?

She shook her head at the mocking image in the mirror. How could Rusti Collins, kindergarten teacher, dance half-naked before a roomful of men? She glanced anxiously at the clock. Five minutes more and you’re on, she told herself—and you can do this! For René.

“It’s an emergency,” René had said, “or I wouldn’t ask.”

And how could she refuse? Her twin was everything she’d hoped for in a sister, affectionate, thoughtful, kind. After that first guarded moment at the threshold of Jerry’s office, they had walked so easily into one another’s arms. Into one another’s lives. It was almost as though half of her had been missing. And now she was whole.

She’d worked hard to overlook their different values. She hated to

admit it, even to herself, but she still cringed every time she thought of her

sister weaving her scantily clad way among the club’s clientele. Some of the men even touched her—although it was forbidden. Now here she was taking René’s place. Well, it was just for one night. And she was proud of the way she could undulate her hips and manipulate her little brass finger cymbals, known in the trade as zills.

Still, she had no intensions of teasing the customers the way René did. She wouldn’t even acknowledge their presence.

Rusti took a deep breath; the band played a series of runs that ended with a flourish. That was her cue. With clashing zills and pirouette leaps she charged into room, staring over the heads of the dinner-show crowd, a stage smile frozen on her face. She might be reluctant, but she knew the program and was soon responding to the band’s torrid Egyptian beat, executing the routine with all her practiced agility and grace.

But the crowd wanted more. Mike, the club owner, saw she wasn’t teasing them with the kind of overt come-on her sister, billed as Majai, made them beg for. He gave her a signal she didn’t understand. She darted him a questioning look.

“What’s the matter with you?” he mouthed.

Rusti moved in closer to the tables. She smiled brilliantly and

executed a difficult side-crescent movement, tapping her little brass zills in

rapid-fire repetition. This brought a roar of appreciation, and Mike waved her an okay sign and disappeared. In spite of herself, Rusti felt a thrill surging through her. She added a more complicated quickstep maneuver, and again the applause was deafening. If this was all it took to please them, she could manage just fine. She repeated the routine, weaving her way among the tables—closer than she’d intended. But after all, she didn’t want to tip her hand. She was supposed to be René.

Responding to the fervid rhythms of the band, Rusti approached a center table and did an upward stomach roll. Her silver-sequined bra and hip-hugging belt caught the myriad colors of the room and reflected them back in the flickering candlelight. Wispy red veiling floated around her ankles in a breeze of perpetual motion. The sound of her clashing cymbals pierced the air.

As she retraced her steps with a series of reverse hip-drops, she felt the thing she’d most dreaded. She dared not look down, but the sensation of warm fingers lightly touching her bare midriff sent blood rushing to her face. Before she could react, the groping fingers tucked something hard into her spangled belt. She slapped at the hand with her cymbals, then jerked away and glared down into two of the bluest and most amused eyes she’d ever seen.

“You’re great tonight, Majai,” the blue-eyed man said, grinning up at her.

“And you’re out of line.”

His blue eyes lingered on her. “Been told that before.”

His companion laughed, coarsely.

Rusti retreated a step. There was a sudden pop.

The man who’d touched her winced and grasped his left shoulder. “Majai get down!” he shouted.

A second muted pop followed the first and the man who’d laughed so coarsely slumped over, his head tilting loosely to one side. Blood ran from a hole in his temple. At the sound of a third pop, a rush of cold air whizzed past Rusti’s ear. Stiff with fear and shock, she stood immobile in the middle of the room as everyone around her dashed wildly for cover. Dissonant chords twanged as the musicians dropped their instruments and fled.

Mike and the injured man reached her almost simultaneously and—

1/11/2012 Intrigue-suspense-thriller Author: J Today, I’m sharing excerpts tangled with romance, intrigue and page-turning action. Excerpts follow the blurbs.

Evernight Books: Evernight.com New hot off the press release! MURDER IN THE CLEAR ZONE.

Hot, Hard-bodied Relocation Agent Bard Nichols is merely

tryng to do his job. But once he clashes with the fiery-haired Bird Lady, a mysterious young widow and orphan with a questionable past, he is irrevocably drawn into the deadliest skirmish of his life--a world of intrigue and undeniable steamy passion—a world of Janus-faced enemies. And now that his life in on the line, the Bird Lady seems to have switched sides, changed personalities and joined his rival.

MURDER IN THE CLEAR ZONE (excerpt) Lynde Lakes


California 1986

Charlie’s heart pounded wildly as he ran through the darkness. The sounds of labored breathing and thunder of half a dozen booted feet pursued close behind. The bastards had silencers on their guns. When a bullet tore into his thigh, he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Blood trickled down his leg, draining his strength. The gang of thieving, murderous scum wouldn’t stop until he was dead. Dying, he could handle. But not abandoning Paula to face these killers alone

Less than half a mile to the north, across the stretch of vacant land, twinkled the scattered dim glow of streetlights in the South Tippecanoe housing tract where she slept. Gravel crunched behind him. Breath burned in his lungs. He stumbled over tumbleweeds and large stones. His left foot felt numb. Instinct, self-preservation, and the need to protect Paula urged him on. As an orphan, he learned to think on his feet. If he couldn’t fight his way out of a tight spot, he’d deal his way out. But he wouldn’t deal with these evil bastards.

He ran parallel to the dry riverbed and left behind the housing area and the blue blinking lights of the Norton runway. He swallowed cool night air in agonizing gulps. A bullet whizzed past his head.

He leap

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