A Moment After Dark By Janet Raye Stevens

A Moment After Dark By Janet Raye Stevens
Publication date: December 7, 2021
Buy Link: Amazon
Genres: Historical, Paranormal, Suspense
Summary:

She sees the future with a touch. A powerful gift in a time of war.
The enemy wants her. The Allies need her.

Addie Brandt is cursed. When she touches someone, or an object that belongs to them, she sees their future, and it’s rarely good. Mocked and teased her whole life, Addie hides from the world in her family’s funeral home. 

But when her second sight shows her a horrific vision of an attack on the Pearl Harbor Naval base, the gruesome images are too intense to ignore, and she tries to raise the alarm. Will anyone listen?

Federal agent Jack Dunstan needs a miracle. He’s still reeling from the betrayal that nearly decimated his team of agents with paranormal powers, a vengeful Nazi spy with a terrifying ability of his own is out to destroy him, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before America is drawn into the war raging around the world. Hearing rumors of Addie’s vision, he seeks her out, hoping she could be the miracle he’s looking for.

Addie’s not sure she trusts Jack Dunstan. He’s rude, cocky, and insists on calling her curse of second sight a “gift.” But if she wants to save lives and prevent a terrible disaster, she must put aside her fears and doubts and learn to embrace her ability.

With the US on the brink of war and an enemy agent hunting her for her power, Addie must learn to trust Dunstan—and herself—to stop an attack that could change the course of history forever.

A World War II paranormal suspense in the vein of Simone St. James, mixed with a dash of Susan Elia MacNeal’s Maggie Hope series.

—

EXCERPT:

Addie Brandt can see the future with a touch. She’s had a horrific vision of an attack on Pearl Harbor. After failing to warn the police, she goes to a diner where her friend Rosa works and meets Jack Dunstan, who claims to be an insurance salesman, but is really a federal agent who’s

Looking to recruit people with paranormal powers.

“Your last name is Brandt?” Dunstan said. “That’s German, isn’t it?”

Addie choked on a mouthful of minestrone. She remembered what Father had said about the growing animosity toward German Americans.

“It might be,” she said warily. “Though I fail to see why my name should interest you.”

“Because of that.” He stabbed a finger at his newspaper, and the headlines full of war news. “We’ll soon be in this war. People will have to choose a side. Are you one of those German nationalists who think Herr Hitler is the bee’s knees? Or are you red, white, and blue through and through?”

Maybe just red, as in seeing red. This man’s impertinent questions had gotten her dander up. “You certainly are curious, Mr. Dunstan.”

“I’m a curious fella, or so they say.” He flashed another boyish grin. “So, which side will you stand up for, Addie? Your ancestral people? Or will you help Uncle Sam win the fight that’s coming?”

She put down her spoon, fully annoyed now. “Why don’t you take me downtown, officer, where you can grill me properly?”

He laughed, a deep rumble, like a wave crashing into a cave. “Fair enough. I may be pushing too hard.”

She should ignore him. He was rude and strange. Yet, something about this back and forth with him seemed to…irritate her, yes, but also excite her. Engage her. She’d never had a conversation like this with a man before. The few times she’d spoken with a man close to her age, the subject was a corpse. Certainly no man had ever asked for her opinion, about anything.

“If I tell you where I stand, Mister Dunstan, do you promise to leave me alone?”

“Doubtful.”

Her lips twitched. “At least you’re honest. Well, then, speaking for my German side and my Irish side, and the American I’m proud to be, I don’t want us to fight at all. War means death and I hate death.”

“That seems ironic, coming from a woman who works in a funeral home. You’re surrounded by death every day.”

She blinked. “How do you know where I work?”

“You have a chatty friend.” He tipped his head toward the kitchen window. Rosa bent down, bottom thrust out, yelling through the opening at Sal. “She tells me you see things.”

Addie cringed. She’d told Rosa about the picture show that played in her head, but Rosa had never laughed or teased her about it. It stung to discover she’d been spreading gossip about her.

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Addie said.

“I’m sure I’m not. Rosa says you’ve seen her future. That you tried to save a boy’s life long ago. I know you tried to warn the police about something yesterday. Something bad. What was it, Addie? What did you tell them?”

Addie pushed the minestrone away, no longer hungry. And no longer amused. “Mr. Dunstan, just what line of insurance are you in?” she asked, nearly breathless.

He held out his hand. “Why don’t you find out?”

She looked at his palm, crisscrossed with so many lines a palm reader could be employed for months studying them. What did he want her to see? Was it worth the risk? The terrible images of the Pearl Harbor attack had haunted her for days. Why would she touch him and invite yet another horrific Sight?

“Addie, look at me,” he coaxed. She did, surprising herself. He held her in his gaze. “You can trust me.”

His voice rolled over her in a gentle wave. Trust, a heavy word. She’d never allowed herself to trust anyone. Least of all a man she barely knew. And yet… She couldn’t deny she felt drawn to him. Felt at ease looking into his golden-brown eyes.

Should she take the risk?

Author Bio:

Meet award-winning author Janet Raye Stevens – mom, reader, tea-drinker (okay, tea guzzler), and teller of fun, adventurous, occasionally heartbreaking, and stealthily romantic tales.

Derringer Award nominee and winner of the Daphne du Maurier and RWA's Golden Heart® awards, Janet writes mystery, time travel, WWII-set paranormal, and the occasional Christmas romance with humor, heart, and a dash of suspense. She lives in New England with her husband, who's practically perfect in every way, and their two sons, both geniuses and good-looking to boot.

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