Tonya Kappes : Hopping the Box Blog Tour and Super Giveaway

Welcome to my stop for Hoppin the Boxes Today I'll be featuring Barbara Silkstone

But -

There are Over 60 stops - with plenty of excerpts, information and a giveaway!

These Eight Authors are presenting their Boxed Sets with Excerpts, Character Bios, and Prizes

Barbara Silkstone with the Wendy Darlin Tomb Raider Boxed Set

Cheryl Bradshaw with the Sloan Monroe Boxed Set

Christy Hayes and the Golden Rule Bundle

Donna Fasano and the Single Daddy Club Boxed Set

Faith Mortimer and the Diana Rivers Mystery Set

M.P. McDonald and the Mark Taylor Omnibus

Melissa F. Miller and the Sasha McCandles Series

Sibel Hodge and the Sibel Hodge Box Set

This tour will run from 11 – 18 November

Giveaways!

Reader drawing is international

Grand Prize Winner : $60 Giftcard to Amazon or Barnes and all eight boxed sets

First Prize Winner: $40 Giftcard and all eight box set

Second Prize winner - 4 (winner’s choice) boxed sets (see the giveaway tool at the bottom of the post!)

And now.. I present

Silkstone Box Set photo SilkstoneBOX_zps7c408af3.jpg

Wendy Darlin' Tomb Raider Box Set ~ Purchase NOW: Amazon

Contains the Three full-length novels:

WENDY AND THE LOST BOYS ~ Book One See the trailer on YouTube Real estate agent for Miami Beach millionaires, Wendy Darlin, clashes with “SEC Investigator” and world famous archaeologist, Roger Jolley. He follows her out to sea on a mega-yacht owned by Charlie Hook, a Ponzi swindler on the run from federal agents and angry investors. Despite her fear of water, she finds herself a tomb raider on the Caribbean one step ahead of modern day pirates. Will she find the Lost Boys? Will she escape Hook’s clutches? And whom will she find on Nevis Island? Oh… and is Roger a good kisser?

Excerpt from Wendy and the Lost Boys Purchase Now: Amazon § Audible

Sometimes the journey you set out on is not the one you return from.I lay on my stomach on Belgian cream-colored sheets in my suite on the 370-foot yacht rocking in the waters somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle. I had finished a pitcher of screwdrivers before the sun came up and was feeling woozy. As I dozed in my bikini, something jumped on my back. I tried to fight it off, rolled over, and found myself looking at a giant tongue and two beady eyes. It was like being married again. All six feet of Hook’s bony body retreated when I brought my knee up catching him in his man-berries. He turned, rolling off the bed and abruptly slamming his johnson into the teak nightstand. His penis was huge, dark, and engorged. I was right about the blue pills in his master suite. They were erectile dysfunction drugs. Of course, with the name UpUGo, it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure it out. “I knew you were taking that junk. Don’t waste your time,” I said to the naked old man with the flabby butt as he held himself with a panicked look on his face. “And get out of my suite. The door was locked for a reason! How’d you get in here?” “It’s been more than four hours, Wendy,” he whimpered. “I’m still hard and it hurts like hell. Help me!” His once chiseled features hung like melted wax from his cheekbones. “My promise to Marni to care for you did not include sex… no way… under no circumstances. That’s what you get for messing with that stuff. Just get out of my way!” I snatched the ten-pound white hairball called Tinkerbelle from the foot of the bed and made my way to the sun deck. Hook’s Predator was a yacht on steroids. It took ten minutes to get from my suite to the upper floor. Hook had spent over $200 million of Ponzied money on this floating erection. He recited the Predator’s talents daily, like a mantra he hoped would keep away the feds, investors, and victims who wanted nothing more than to see him keelhauled. Once on the sun deck, I reclined on a cushioned lounge chair. Tink licked my face, her Maltese dog fur tickling my nose. I wrapped her leash around my left hand and whispered into her ear, “You poor little puppy. You don’t understand we buried your mama yesterday.” The tears came. There was no holding them back. How did I let myself get into this situation? I regretted the day I first heard Hook’s name and regretted even more the day I introduced him to Marni.

LONDON BROIL ~ Book Two See the trailer on YouTube When we last saw Wendy Darling and Roger Jolley in WENDY AND THE LOST BOYS, they were hot on the trail of Egyptian icons stolen from the British Museum. Wendy is now in a frantic race against time and a murderer as she searches for the last Lost Boy hidden somewhere in London while a killer heat wave invades the city. Wendy is held captive over a fish ‘n’ chips shop while Roger’s life is threatened. Can Wendy escape her captors, rescue Roger, and find the missing Lost Boy before the murderer strikes again?

Excerpt from London Broil ~ Purchase Now: Amazon § Audible

I woke the next morning to the overpowering smell of curry and lamb. Yuck. I buried my face in the pillow. Whatever happened to a good old English breakfast of bangers, rubber eggs, and fried bread? My nerves were rubbing on imaginary broken glass as I sidled to the kitchen. The curry pot bubbled away unattended. A blob of red sauce had spilled on the floor, and a kitchen knife lay next to it. I shut off the pot, bent down and picked up the knife. Then I realized it wasn’t red curry on the floor. The spot was a bloody footprint. I dropped the knife. It bounced on the floor. Adrenalin rocketing through my body, the brassy taste of fear filled my mouth. Whoever left the footprint had to be nearby… perhaps in the pantry. The back door was slightly open. I could see Holly and Hildy standing with their heads near the door, waiting for their breakfast. Some watch-geese. Should I call the police? What would I report? Unattended curry, a bloody footprint, and a kitchen knife with my fingerprints on it? I should have known better than to touch lonely hot pots and sticky red knives. But they don’t teach you that in real estate school, and I was learning tomb raiding on the job. Thud! And again another thud! The noise sounded as if it came from the wine cellar. I thought to call out to Samuel, but reconsidered. I remained unsure about the virtues of the houseman, and the bloody knife on the floor made me even less confident. I snuck up the six flights to Benny’s room and knocked on his door, once, then twice. No answer. Ever so slowly I opened it. Benny’s bed was made. Had he gotten up early or hadn’t it been slept in? I checked his bathroom and closet. Roger’s client had vanished. I’d screwed up my first archaeological assignment. Stepping as lightly as I could, I made my way down two flights to my room. I slipped inside and turned the lock, then made a mad dash to the closet to pack my suitcase. Pausing, I realized my luggage would make too much noise and slow me down. I’d seen too many horror movies. I knew the bad guy – if there was a bad guy – was lurking under the stairs or in the foyer. They always are. Screw my suitcase. I found a black plastic trash bag on the closet shelf. Perfect. I threw three designer outfits in it, tossed in some sandals, my toiletries, and knotted the end. I gently pitched the bag out the window onto the shrubs directly below in the garden. I had no intention of leaving without a few of my St. John dresses. I’d worked too hard to pay for them. I eased my way down two flights of stairs, quietly entered the bedroom over the shrubs, and closed the door behind me. I tried to raise the window. It was painted shut but gave way with a screech to my lifting. The trellis came up to the bottom of the windowsill. It might not hold my weight, but those prickly dry shrubs just below should cushion my fall. Carrying my purse, I grabbed the frail woodwork like a demented musketeer. Unfortunately, the ground came up rather quickly. “Ouch!” said a strange voice as I landed on something round and boney. Benny had called this place a garden of constant surprise. I had just encountered one.

CAIRO CAPER ~ Book Three See the trailer on YouTube Part-time tomb raider and full-time real estate broker, Wendy Darlin joins her lover, archaeologist Roger Jolley, in a quest for Cleopatra’s tomb. All they have to do is get from Cairo to the Temple of Taporisi Magna alive. Armed only with a couple of hijacked ashtrays and faced with a trek across the blazing Sahara desert can Wendy out-maneuver Russian oligarchs, a dozen Dark Force mercenaries, and Roger’s chubby ex-girlfriend in time to find the tomb and seal it before chaos erupts in Egypt?

Excerpt from Cairo Caper ~ Purchase Now: Amazon

A room filled with cat mummies caught my attention. Fiona marched ahead, but I was drawn inside. Cats were considered guardians of the underworld and protectors of those in the afterlife. The dried feline bodies caused a wave of sadness to wash over me. I moved to the middle of the room where the weight of a stare on my back caused me to spin around. I locked on to the dark eyeholes in the head of a long-necked cat mummy standing next to a wooden cat coffin. The plaque under the cat noted it had been entombed with its master, one of Cleopatra’s guards who had been slain protecting her in the early days of her reign. A tear ran down my cheek. I shook my head to break the strange connection I felt with the tiny figure. “Wendy!” Fiona’s shrill voice snapped me out of my mystic fog. She was standing cross-legged in the doorway, frantically beckoning to me. Before I could move, a cat brushed my ankle. I jumped and looked down. No cat there. As crazy as it seemed I swiveled my head toward the cat mummy. I could have sworn it winked. My imagination was working overtime. “Wendy, I really have to go.” I barreled through a door marked with a drawing of a woman in a long skirt with a scarf over her head. The lights were a notch down from the gloomy hallway. Fiona managed to squeeze by me and race into the nearest stall, I grabbed a potty two doors over. I locked the door then wrestled with my long skirt and the weight of two mummy-ashtrays in the pockets. I swathed it around my thighs and lifted it just as someone pushed on the stall door. A gravelly male voice, heavily accented in Arabic said, “Open the door!” I dropped my skirt, dragging the hem in the toilet. Ick. The curse of wearing a long skirt. “Wendy! Who is that?” Fiona called. “Is that a sex-maniac?” “Don’t sound so excited,” I said pressing against the door as it shuddered from a fist bashing on the other side. “Open up! I have something for you.” “Go away.” I fought to keep my voice from quavering. “Open up or I’ll… put it under the door.” “You do and I’ll step on it,” I yelled. He damn sure wasn’t delivering a pizza. Something let loose with a high-pitched howl. It sounded like a cat but meaner. I adjusted my skirt, bent down, and peeked under the stall door. Nothing. No male feet. No feet at all. Only the shadow of a cat. What happened to Gravel Voice? “Fiona, on the count of three hit your door and start running. I’ll be right beside you. One!” “I can’t get my Spanx up. I’m too sweaty!” Spanx, my foot. A girdle is a girdle, and a girdle in this heat is ridiculous. “Fiona, drop ‘em and start running!” “It’s the only pair I brought with me…” “Two. Three!” I kicked open the door. No one was there. I didn’t bother checking the shadows. “Run for it!” I imitated Fred Flintstone powering his stone-age car as I paddled my feet for all I was worth. Fiona galloped alongside me. “Was he good looking?” “Shut up and run!” We slip-skidded down the hall and onto the slick-as-glass stone staircase. We shot down the stairs like supercharged Slinkies.

About the Heroine: Wendy Darlin

Until last year Wendy Darlin was a full-time real estate agent for Miami Beach millionaires. Then she met Roger Jolley, world famous archaeologist, Johnny Depp look-alike, and at times the most irritating person on the planet. Her heart, snarky mouth, and comedic capers keep her in constant peril. She’s been told her life is like the movie Romancing the Stone, but at times she feels more like Indiana Jones with boobs.

Follow Wendy at Facebook

About the Author: Barbara Silkstone

Barbara Silkstone is the best-selling author of the Wendy Darlin Tomb Raider Series that includes: Wendy and the Lost Boys, London Broil, Cairo Caper. Her Criminally Funny Fables series includes: The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters; Wendy and the Lost Boys; Zo White and the Seven Morphs, and Cold Case Morphs.

Silkstone’s writing has been described as “perfectly paced and pitched – shades of Janet Evanovich and Carl Hiaasen – without seeming remotely derivative. Fast moving action that shoots from the hip with bullet-proof characterization.”

Follow Barb at Website § Blog § Facebook § Twitter § Goodreads § Pinterest

Be sure to check the other stops on the tour to see more from