Cora Blu Tuesday Teaser/ On sale for Radio

Today until till Saturday, I’ve lowered

Poster for Contemporary

 the price of Stranded but not Alone and my NEW RELEASE, The Man He’ll Never Be to $2.85 on
Below is an excerpt from The Man…
Lena Morgan, free lance photographer, is searching for her father’s killer. Just last night she was just reunited with the boy from her past, now a full grown delicious man.
We join her on the waterfront downtown taking pics and fuming over her search being banned down at the police dept.
Banned… banned… She was banned from the files. The flags were raised more than ever now. Connor’s death was closed and sealed and so were the files of criminals he’d put away over the years. She couldn’t believe Officer Maxwell wouldn’t grant her access. She still wasn’t going out with him, regardless. She’d find a way into those files. There had to be another way to access the information.
She found a parking spot in the underground parking lot, her least favorite place to park, next to the roof. She jumped on the elevator and made her way to
the waterfront. Catching a glimpse of the woman street cleaners, she bolted across Woodward and found her spot. She’d found civil service workers to be some of the friendliest people if you just gave them the respect they deserved.
She watched as Detroit’s mounted police trotted their beautiful chocolate and black horses down the street. Heavy fog rolled off the Detroit River. She made her selection and waved. It was tough working with the letters swirling through her mind. Concentration became a chore.
The cop sat proud on his mount, switching to his GQ pose. Back straight, arms roped with hard muscles held the reigns against his strong thighs. Hard black leather boots snug, gripping his wide calf. Chest high, his pecs stressed the dark material begging to be unbuttoned, freeing what lied beneath.
Good grief, she had to get Dillon out of her head or she’d never get this shot. She refocused, the gray morning held a threat of rain. With a foot on the bench to steady her shot, her black trousers pulled across her thighs, reminding her how Dillon helped her dress that morning. He lingered on the zipper, kissing her naval before catching the metal clasp. His lips soft and warm.
“Excuse me, miss.” A women’s voice startled Lena. “What time is it?”
“Oh, ah…” She peeked at her watch. “Eight forty.”
“Thanks, just enough time to grab a coffee… Don’t stare at the cop too long… might run you in, have a good day.”
Heat moved along her spine, embarrassed. “Trying to get the light right… You have a good one…” The
woman waved her on. The graceful horse whinnied, but held the pose like a pro. Nostrils flared alongside his angular face. The strong lines rigid and majestic. The mounted police gave a cursory nod of approval, and she clicked away.
A perfect shot as light fog rolled in off the Detroit River, masking the hooves of the massive animal. She stepped close to the building, avoided the morning foot traffic and shook Mr. Zerbrowski from her mind.
Straddling his lap on the chaise lounge that morning calmed her nerves until she realized only cotton brief boxers kept him under wraps. His body had been hard and a few scars ran the length of his forearm. He was not just some man, but her Dillon, still yet to explain leaving the country in the eleventh grade. Or the fierce hate for Patrick. They’d acted like two rutting bulls in the hospital.
She held up a hand to the officer, as he waved and trotted on down to the waterfront.
Locust trees dotted the sidewalk like lollipops out of a fairytale. Lifting her camera, she aimed and shot.
She pressed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose, forgot to put her contacts while messing with Dillon that morning. Squatting beneath the locust tree, careful of the grate encircling the trunk, she combed a finger through the curly locks over her ears, then refocused her lens up the trunk.
Snap… whirr… snap.
The small yellow leaves appeared to drift through the rising fog as tear drops from the sun, crying through the haze. Flipping a glance to her wrist, she noticed the time, nine a.m. The fog would be thicker on

the waterfront. She’d grab a coffee and head on down.

The temperature off the River had to be ten to fifteen degrees cooler in the morning. Grateful for her wool peacoat, she lowered herself down to the half wall giving her attention to the pulsing currents slapping the barrier.
“Mind if I share your coffee, Lena?”
Jerking her head up, she cringed. Her coffee hit the grass. “Richard.” Lena reeled back, fists balling. “You’re not supposed to come within…”
Thanks for reading and slip over to Pinterest and see what lovely gift my daughter made her mom. A bracelet of my books.
Can’t wait to hear from you Saturday.
Sincerely, Cora Blu