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.
GUEST POST
MAYAN
MYTHS
The
first time I stepped foot into Cozumel, Mexico, I knew I’d found a special
place. The jungle setting was such a contrast from my Kansas home, and I was
drawn to the diverse culture and ancient pyramids. When I first visited the
ruins in Tulum, I was fascinated by the history and the detailed knowledge of
astronomy that the people of the time possessed. Ultimately, I knew one day, I
would like to set a novel in the Yucatan peninsula.
Fast
forward to today, and I’ve just completed my third Harleigh Sinclair novel
which is set in an undiscovered jungle pyramid of the Yucatan called the Temple
of the Moon. This novel was different from the first two. For one, it’s not a
novel at all, but a shorter book called a novella. And for another—my lead
character isn’t Harleigh, but her sister, Lexi Sinclair. Lexi needed her own
story after events unfolded in the first two books, and I was happy to give it
to her, as she made a colorful and feisty lead character for the third book.
Researching
this novel took me to unexpected places. Yes, I knew I was including the myths
surrounding Mayan culture, but each book in the Harleigh Sinclair series also
features a relic. In this case, the relic was the scythe from a Skinwalker, and
merging the Skinwalker myth and Mayan beliefs was an intriguing journey.
This
novella begins in the Uintah Basin in Utah. The scythe has been recently
stolen, and Harleigh is out of commission. Since the scythe was stolen by
Lexi’s boyfriend, it’s Lexi’s turn to take the lead on tracking it down into
the Utah desert.
We
learn that Lexi’s boyfriend, Carlo, is trying to increase the scythe’s power,
and to do so, he must bring it to the Temple of the Moon in the Yucatan. We
also learn that hundreds of years ago, Aztec warriors made a trek from Mexico
to modern-day Utah in order to hide certain treasures, and the scythe was one
of these treasures.
Later,
the scythe was discovered and used by Native American witches to transform
people into Skinwalkers.
Is
the story true? Yes, bits and pieces of it. It’s been recorded that in order to
escape invading Conquistadors, an elite group of Aztec warriors loaded up a few
of their most prized possessions and hid them in caves in the Uintah Basin. The
scythe was a product of my imagination, but the legend of the Skinwalker is
not, and I enjoyed weaving these myths together to create a haunting atmosphere
for the novel.
Lexi
Sinclair and the Temple of the Moon releases on July 23, 2024. I’m so excited
for readers to explore the legends of Skinwalkers, Mayan, and Aztec cultures
through this story.
EXCERPT
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.
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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.
EXCERPT
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.
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About the Author
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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