Spotlight & Giveaway: All the Missing Girls by Linda Hurtado Bond

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Linda Hurtado Bond to HJ!

Hi Linda and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, All the Missing Girls!

 
Hi readers and friends
 

Please summarize the book a la Twitter style for the readers here:

Crime reporter Mari Alvarez has 48 hours to sneak into Cuba undetected and find her missing sister. With no contacts and an ice-cold trail of cryptic clues, Mari must navigate a maze of lies, deception, and sinister Brujería to uncover the truth before it’s too late. Don’t miss the spine-tingling thriller #AlltheMissingGirls by Emmy award winning journalist @authorlindabond @EntangledPub
 

Please share the opening lines of this book:

The midnight sky, collaborating with the inky Caribbean Sea, acts like a blindfold. I squint to make out land, my skin moist as I grip the dock line. Water batters the boat’s sides, until the captain shifts the motors into neutral. The boat idles in like a whisper, barely displacing the water.
Four wooden walkways protrude from the shadowed shoreline. My heart flutters, much like the waves lapping at the hull.
“Mari, now.”

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• I met my husband when on assignment as a reporter in Cuba, when Fidel Castro invited Pope John Paul II to Havana. That trip inspired me to write about the beauty of Cuba even if it’s in decay.
• Twenty some years later, I have 5 kids and a happy life with this man i met in Cuba.
• While in Cuba I came across an amazing artists compound. I wondered what it would be like to turn something so breathtaking into something sinister.
• I listened to Stephen King’s The Shining while writing this book.
• I listened to Gente de Zona while writing this book

What first attracts your main characters to each other?

When crime reporter Mari Alvarez meets homicide detective Tony Garcia she’s crawling under his yellow crime tape at a murder scene. She sees two kids who witnessed their mother’s murder and it triggers a memory of when she witnessed her mother die. She wants to comfort them. But it sets up an enemies to lovers relationship. Mari’s opinion of Tony changes when she sees him care for his dying grandfather during a dinner Tony’s mother invited her to. She sees a man who loves his family and shows empathy towards those who need help.
 

Using just 5 words, how would you describe your main characters”love affair?

Adversarial. Tension-filled. Passion. Trust. Loyalty. In that order.
 

The First Kiss…

I wonder what he’ll do if I press my lips on his. Quickly. Lightly. Just enough for the static electricity to transfer.

Without revealing too much, what is your favorite scene in the book?

He leans in and says, “Follow me.”
“Salsa?” My pulse is rocking because Tony is about to find out I don’t know how to dance.
“Listen, it’s easy.” He must sense my apprehension. “I step forward, you back. On the beat. One, two, three.”
“One, two, three. I know how to dance salsa. I’m Cuban.” But I don’t. Why don’t I admit that? Because I hate feeling vulnerable, and I’m about to embarrass myself. But maybe that’s the distraction we need to create. If I make a fool of myself, it buys O time to transfer his video.
“You with me?”
Ay Dios mio. I’m so in my head, I’m not moving. Heat slaps my cheeks in time with the music changing.
Tony smiles. His eyes light up in the flashing interludes. And it’s not a sarcastic smile. He’s not laughing at me, I feel that. He’s laughing at this awkward, unreal situation we’ve found ourselves in.
I pull him close. Electricity sparks when our cheeks meet. “I’m nervous.”
“About the watchdog?
About being this close to you. “About dancing.”
“Thought you were Cuban?”
I hear the smile in his voice. “Cuban American. Raised more American.”
Tony pulls back enough for me to read his lips. “Trust me to lead?”
It’s a question, not a demand. I love that. I nod.
He steps forward with his left foot. I step back, hesitate, and shift my weight onto my other foot. I’m looking at our feet, trying to see where he’s heading, instead of relying on him to lead.
He leans in. “Close your eyes. Feel the music.”
He has no idea how hard it is for a control freak like me to close my eyes and let someone else lead me on a crowded dance floor, where I know I’m being watched. My head is spinning, and my toes have gone numb. But I do it, and after a few times, we’re getting the pattern of the one, two, three in better synchronicity.
That’s when I let my mind drift. My fingers explore. His body is rock hard. Totally superficial thing, something I shouldn’t be thinking about right now, but I’ve never had the chance to run my fingers over his body before. Like a lover, or a girlfriend, or a wife. But now, I have license to move my fingers from the center of his back, down his spine, to his waist.
When he leads me into a turn, I drag my hand over his hard shoulders. My fingers linger, even as we part and dance separately for a few beats.
I’ve always seen Tony as either a tough homicide cop or a protective patriarch of his family. Both versions of him attracted me, because they show strength. It’s been a while since I’ve had a strong male figure in my life. Ten years to be exact. After Papi died, Abuela Bonita became head of the household.
I like strong. No, I long for strength. But it does bother me that Tony rarely smiles. Is he too serious? I don’t know. How can one smile at a homicide scene? Or trailing a serial killer? Or taking care of your dying grandfather?
Maybe he needs more joyful moments in his life.
He twirls me around.
My two left feet trip over each other, and I’m going down.
He pulls me back to him, stopping an embarrassing fall.
Tony not only smiles; he laughs.
Even though I can’t hear his laughter over the music, I catch the crinkle at the sides of his eyes. I savor the lift of his lips and the way his head falls back, for once unaware of his surroundings.
Once I’ve steadied myself, I throw my head back and laugh, too. If we’re trying to cause a distraction, and our goal is to keep Mr. White Shoes’s attention on us, the more we look like lovers, the more we convince him of the parts we’ve been playing, and the longer we keep him from noticing Orlando’s absence.
Who am I kidding? And the longer I get to hold this man I’ve longed to touch. Desire washes through me, a warm wave enveloping me. I throw both arms around Tony’s neck, pulling him close for a full, body-on-body, press.
He hesitates.
I wonder what he’ll do if I press my lips on his. Quickly. Lightly. Just enough for the static electricity to transfer.

If your book was optioned for a movie, what scene would be absolutely crucial to include?

Tony’s Family farm
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Someone is pounding on my door.
Bang. Bang. BANG.
Not my door. Too far away. The front door to the farmhouse?
I roll over, throw the thin excuse for a pillow over my head. Am I dreaming? When did I finally fall asleep? Last I remember, my restless legs had me rolling around trying to ease my anxiety. The young cousin I share the room with had finally gotten up and left.
Left me alone.
A beehive of various voices advances. Can’t tell everything they’re saying, but the buzzing includes different Spanish phrases, “Open the door. Police. Do you have any weapons?”
Police!
I bolt out of bed, run to the window, and lift the black bedsheet covering the glass. I step back, let the sheet fall. My hand finds my heart. It’s whacking against my chest like the mallet in one of those Whack-a-Mole arcade games.
My mouth goes dry.
The farm is being raided. By men in threatening uniforms.
What should I do?
A door breaks open. I jump. Front door. Not my door.
Call Tony. My phone’s on the nightstand. I grab and unlock it.
Footsteps down the hallway.
I fly to the bedroom door. Lock it.
Gulping air. Still can’t breathe.
A text comes in fast and furious. Five words.
Arrested. Run. Hide. Call source.
From Tony.
Pulsing blood rocks my temples.
I could hide under the bed, but they’ll look there. Remember the movie Taken? The closet has no door. There’s no bathroom. The window. That’s it.
The door handle jiggles.
I go still.
“It’s locked.”
Not a voice I recognize. In Spanish.
Ringing fills my ears.
Boom. Boom. Boom. “Open up.”
An order. Not a request.
I grab my backpack, throw the phone in, throw on my shorts, a tank, and my slide-in tennies.
What next?
A tap at my window. Do they have my room covered from the outside, too?
“Mari,” a voice calls from outside the window. A voice I do recognize.
I pull off the sheet covering the window and try to jerk it open, but it’s stuck.
Boom. Boom. Boom. “We’re coming in.”
I can’t fit through. “Domingo, help me.”
We both pull on the glass. Tug it open wider.
I haul myself up like a gymnast on the uneven bars. Literally flip through the window, shortening my legs, banging my ankles as they whip over and through.
The sting of skin tearing follows.
Domingo catches me.
Freedom’s angry bark fills my head.
“Get on”
I shoulder my backpack and jump on the scooter.
The bedroom door busts open, but I don’t look.
“Hold on!”
I throw my arms around the teen.
The scooter takes off at a surprising speed. Domingo must have rigged it with an upgraded motor. I lurch backward but clench my thighs around the seat.
“Where’s Orlando?”
No answer.
Now that we’re far enough away I doubt a bullet could catch us, I sneak a peek back.
Freedom hobbles after us on his three good legs. He’ll never be fast enough. We’ll have to leave him. My heart stretches for Domingo. He’s helping me and risking the thing he loves most. I’ll remember that.
Family members are gathered in the front yard. Esme, in a house dress, waves her hands. I can’t hear her, but she must be yelling at them to let Tony go. His hands are behind him, cuffed I’m sure, being led out by two uniformed men. Cops? Military? Can’t tell. They’re leading him to what looks like a small tank. What did he do?
Enter the country illegally.
We all did.
Punishable by prison.
Standing next to that tank, Mr. Perfect White Shoes, Alfonso. But this time, he has on boots. I can’t breathe. Literally. Can. Not. Breathe.
Will Tony go to jail?
Dust from the farm kicks up into my face and I blink, hiding my head behind Domingo’s.
Tony is being arrested. Call source. Mr. Marshal, the U.S. Marshal living undercover in Havana. Thank God, Tony airdropped me his number.
I reach into my backpack and fumble around until I find my phone, a struggle on the bumpy off-road ride.
I grip my phone so hard my fingers go pale. But I’m not losing this phone. It’s my key to Tony’s freedom. Still holding onto Domingo with one arm, I pull the phone around him so I can dial.
The U.S. Marshal answers on the first ring.
Breathless, I shout, “Tony’s been arrested.”
“Do you have a place to hide?” he replies.
Where should I go? Wherever Domingo takes me right now.
Then it hits me.
“I’m going back to Playa Hermosa, where we saw the Oshun festival. I’ll text an address.”
Oshunvilla will have to wait. First, I need to find Orlando and meet up with him if he’s not also taken into custody.
“No. Tell me an address.”
I don’t have it, but I tell him the name of the Santera’s store. I need to talk to her. Maybe she knows where we can hide. She knew why we were here and saved us from the watchdog, Mr. Perfect White Shoes. She gave me instructions to pray to Oshun.
My reporter’s instinct tells me she’ll hide and protect us.
And she’ll know what we need to do next.

Readers should read this book …

Readers should read this book if they love an enemies to lovers troupe. If they want to learn about a new culture and visit a country most people will never see or visit. If you love a scare but also appreciate a slow burn. You should read this book if you love a good who done it.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

the next book in this series is called The Phantom Pirate of Gasparilla.
All TV news crime reporter Mari Alvarez wants is peace while she repairs her relationship with her estranged sister and builds a romantic relationship with her long-time partner, homicide detective Tony Garcia. But when the serial killer she and Tony investigated resurfaces, threatening to murder those closest to her, Mari must find the butcher before he slaughters her chance at happiness.
Terrified when her nemesis keeps popping up at Tampa’s famous GASPARILLA events, hiding in plain sight, a masked pirate bent on revenge, Mari realizes she has no choice but to play the killer’s game: unmask him before he picks off her loved ones with no care about collateral damage.
As Mari figures out someone is using artificial intelligence to place her at murder scenes, turning her from savior into suspect, she realizes she can no longer trust anyone. When the phantom pirate kidnaps everyone she loves, burying them like treasure in the hidden tunnels beneath Tampa’s famous Ybor City, Mari decides to confront the predator alone. She knows pirates are ruthless killers who torture victims. She understands if she fails to defeat this maleficent force she’ll be forced to walk the plank, leaving her loved ones exposed, sailing the sea of evil, facing a tide of horrific, unexpected death.
The Phantom Pirate of Gasparilla is a heart-pounding, cinematic adventure combining old world legends and new world technology. If you like Pirates of the Caribbean or any James Bond movie, you’ll love this story of good versus evil, asking the question can kindness and compassion cure even the most demented and tortured hearts? Leaving you contemplating, what are you willing to sacrifice for those you love?
 
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: Since I ended All the Missing Girls on a cliffhanger, I will give one winner the ARC of The Phantom Pirate of Gasparilla so they can read it before anyone else!

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: What would you do for someone you love? Would you break the law? Would you risk your life?

 
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Excerpt from All the Missing Girls:

Chapter One

The Phantom Pirate of Gasparilla

Saturday 2pm
Gasparilla Children’s parade

“A textbook day in Tampa Bay for a pirate parade. Blue skies, temps in the 70’s.” I scan the crowd of parents and kids lining Bayshore Boulevard on both sides, three rows thick. Men decked out in baggy pants, eye patches and tricorne hats. Their ladies draped in fun, colorful wench-wear. Kids dressed in creative costumes. Many don masks and floppy hats, hiding their faces from the sun.
Hiding their faces from me.
The perfect day for a killer to hide in plain sight.
“I’m reporter Mari Alvarez bringing you the spectacle and the sounds of Tampa’s annual Children’s Gasparilla parade from a top our Channel 15 parade float.” I pray nothing goes wrong.
Boom. Boom.
I jump, even though I expect cannons to fire.
Boom.
Krewe members from Ye Mystic Krewe of Gasparilla, the float in front of us, discharge their pretend cannons continuously.
My reaction has little to do with that and everything to do with the threat I received pre-parade.
I fake a laugh, shrug at the TV camera in front of me and play it off. “I’m sure I’m not the only young in’ startled by the cannon blasts or the drummers beating their way down Bayshore Boulevard.” I gesture for my news photographer to pan off me and over to the bustling crowd. “Listen to the musical monsoon erupting around us.” Dance songs and pirate tunes cross over, blaring from various float speakers. Young voices layer in a high-pitched mix, yelling for beads.
Beads. Beads. More beads. Big beads. Fancy beads. Please!
I catch Detective Tony Garcia’s gaze. He’s walking the street next to our float. He mouths, “You okay? See anything?”
I shake my head. In plain clothes, my homicide detective told friends he’d picked up this security detail for extra cash.
We both know better.
Focus Mari. I shake my whole body, releasing nervous energy. I wonder if Tony is carrying?
My photog moves the TV camera back towards me.
Something strikes me in the cheek. I grab a strand of beads before they fall. “Rowdy little pirates and wenches attack with their weapons. The goal: to take over this fine city.” Raising the plastic necklace toward the camera, I say in a pirate-like voice, “Lucky for us maties, these weapons are mere plastic beads – treasure –not swords.” I toss the string of beads back at the kids lining the street. The crowd roars. “Welcome to our Chanel 15 live coverage. Over the next two hours, we’ll—”
A whizzing sound.
Another bead whacks me. This time on the shoulder. This one burns. What the—remember you’re live.
My photog stumbles backward, smashing against our walled-in parade float.
His movement – his shouting – just more noise slicing through a sea of sounds.
But, when blood trickles from his shoulder, slithering down the down the front of his Channel 15 polo, I know.
I know.
My breath stops.
My photographer glances down. His eyes go wide.
I need to speak. Say something. Words vaporize. For once in my decade-long career I do not know what to say. Do I go to him?
His camera drops. The heavy equipment lands on his right foot.
I cringe, phantom pain shooting through me.
His mouth opens, but no words form.
Time slows.
It’s happening, isn’t it. Just like that murderer promised. I duck down.
Others around me notice.
I’d warned the police chief and our boss before today’s parade. They’d upped security but refused to call off the parade based on my one phone call with a serial killer everyone thought died.
Staccato shots, at assault-rifle speed, incite screams.
People dart away from our float as if a bomb exploded. They fan out, shrapnel dispersing in every direction.
Snippets of random people’s concerns rise from the street to our float.
“What is that?”
“Gunshots. Get down!”
“Shooter!”
A shrill voice rises above the shattering screams.
“Active shooter. Run!”
Bill, a hired security guard, rushes toward my photographer.
The photog falls to his knees and pitches facedown onto the floor of the float, landing on his own equipment. He’s passed out, but his back still rises and falls.
“Medic,” I scream, my body tingling from my ears all the way down to my toes. “We need a paramedic.” Hunched over still, I push past my colleagues.
Most shove me out of their way, trying to get into the bathroom stall. Others throw their bodies flat on the float’s floor.
I step over them, get to the side, grab the rail, search the street for first responders.
The thick crowd streaks away from Bayshore, pulled like an outgoing tide. Costumed people rush over immaculately groomed landscapes in front of the magnificent mansions lining one of Tampa’s richest streets. I scan the crowd for help.
Or for the killer I fingered.
I know that devil is here.
I also know I won’t find him. Too many pirates, dressed in eye masks and puffy pants, faces made up with fake blood and man-made scars.
Unrecognizable.
A high-end baby stroller falls over in front of our float. A mother slaps hands over her cheeks, while an older man swipes the baby up off the concrete. High school band members, in black and red uniforms that say WARRIORS, stumble past our float, zombie-like, leaving their instruments abandoned, cluttering the street, like an alien-led shockwave just vaporized everyone.
Kids scream in various octaves, a choir of terror.
Hot tears blur my vision, but I catch the yellow vest of a— “Hey!” My heart leaps. “Over here.” I gesture with both hands knowing he can’t hear—
Tack. Tack. Tack. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Not a fake cannon. I drop to my knees. Pull my arms over my head. The shooter is firing this way! My heart slams my ribs with such force I’m afraid my bones will break. Can’t catch my breath.
One of my coworkers falls next to me. She rolls over, eyes wide.
I’m screaming now, too. It hits me.
Not a bullet, but the truth.
He’s targeting me. The serial killer I helped bust is coming for me. He told me he would. But I had no idea he’d take out innocent people in the process during a children’s parade. Stars spin in my peripheral vision. I pray my racing heart doesn’t explode. The float whirls around me.
Ding.
My cellphone. I jerk it out of my pocket, read the incoming text.
It’s me.
John Hanks. Former cop. Former serial killer.
Now, active shooter.

Excerpts. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Once you enter their world, there is no escape…in this gripping and undeniably chilling thriller by Emmy-award winning journalist Linda Hurtado Bond

As a crime reporter for a Tampa TV news station, Mari Alvarez knows when an investigation enters dangerous territory. But with her estranged sister missing and almost no information to go on, Mari can’t trust anyone but herself to find the truth. Now she has just 48 hours to sneak into Cuba undetected, track down her sister…and pray to her orisha that she’s not too late.

This is nothing like reporting in her neighborhood, though–a place she knows like the back of her hand. In Havana she has no contacts and only an ice-cold trail of cryptic clues. When Detective Tony Garcia offers to help, Mari puts aside her instincts and tries to let someone in. But soon they’re caught in a maze of lies, deception, and an undercurrent of the island’s own witchcraft, a sinister Brujería.

Every lead draws Mari further into this world of shadows, especially when her sister isn’t the only young woman who’s gone missing. Each step pushes Mari and Tony toward a revelation they never saw coming. And as they close in on the horrifying truth, one thing becomes clear…no one will let them leave Cuba alive.
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads |
 
 

Meet the Author:

Once you enter their world, there is no escape…in this gripping and undeniably chilling thriller by Emmy-award winning journalist Linda Hurtado Bond

As a crime reporter for a Tampa TV news station, Mari Alvarez knows when an investigation enters dangerous territory. But with her estranged sister missing and almost no information to go on, Mari can’t trust anyone but herself to find the truth. Now she has just 48 hours to sneak into Cuba undetected, track down her sister…and pray to her orisha that she’s not too late.

This is nothing like reporting in her neighborhood, though–a place she knows like the back of her hand. In Havana she has no contacts and only an ice-cold trail of cryptic clues. When Detective Tony Garcia offers to help, Mari puts aside her instincts and tries to let someone in. But soon they’re caught in a maze of lies, deception, and an undercurrent of the island’s own witchcraft, a sinister Brujería.

Every lead draws Mari further into this world of shadows, especially when her sister isn’t the only young woman who’s gone missing. Each step pushes Mari and Tony toward a revelation they never saw coming. And as they close in on the horrifying truth, one thing becomes clear…no one will let them leave Cuba alive.
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