Title: Touched
(The Marnie Baranuik Files #1)
Author: AJ Aalto
Genre:
Paranormal, Urban Fantasy
The media has a nickname for Marnie
Baranuik, though she’d rather they didn’t; they call her the Great White Shark,
a rare dual-talented forensic psychic. Twice-Touched by the Blue Sense--which
gives her the ability to feel the emotions of others, and read impressions left
behind on objects--Marnie also has a doctorate in preternatural biology and a
working knowledge of the dark arts. She is considered without peer in the
psychic community.
Then her first big FBI case ended with a bullet in one shoulder and a chip on the other, a queasy heart and a serial killer in the wind, leaving her a public flop and a private wreck. When the FBI’s preternatural crimes unit tracks her down at a remote mountain lodge for her insight on a local case, her quiet retirement is promptly besieged by a stab-happy starlet, a rampaging ghoul, and a vampire-hunting jackass in tight Wranglers. Marnie figures the only real mystery is which one will kill her first.
Too mean to die young, backed up by friends in cold places, and running with a mouth as demure as a cannon’s blast, Marnie Baranuik is about to discover that there’s no such thing as quitting time when you’re Touched.
Then her first big FBI case ended with a bullet in one shoulder and a chip on the other, a queasy heart and a serial killer in the wind, leaving her a public flop and a private wreck. When the FBI’s preternatural crimes unit tracks her down at a remote mountain lodge for her insight on a local case, her quiet retirement is promptly besieged by a stab-happy starlet, a rampaging ghoul, and a vampire-hunting jackass in tight Wranglers. Marnie figures the only real mystery is which one will kill her first.
Too mean to die young, backed up by friends in cold places, and running with a mouth as demure as a cannon’s blast, Marnie Baranuik is about to discover that there’s no such thing as quitting time when you’re Touched.
Author Bio
AJ Aalto is the author of the paranormal mystery series The Marnie Baranuik Files. Aalto is an unrepentant
liar and a writer of blathering nonsense offset by factual
gore. When not working on her novels, you can find her singing
Monty Python songs in the shower, eavesdropping on perfect strangers, stalking
her eye doctor, or failing at one of her fruitless hobbies. Generally
a fan of anyone with a passion for the ridiculous, she has a weak
spot for smug pseudo-intellectuals and narcissistic jerks; readers will find
her work littered with flawed monsters and oodles of snark.AJ cannot say no to a Snickers bar and has been known to swallow her gum.
Links
Website: http://www.ajaalto.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aj.aalto.5
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ajaalto
Buy the book on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Touched-Marnie-Baranuik-Files-Aalto-ebook/dp/B009NIE5S8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1414888730&sr=8-1&keywords=touched+aj+aalto
Even chin-deep in bubbles, with aromatherapy candles and a
much-too-early cocktail, it’s difficult to relax in the bath when a four
hundred thirty-five-year-old vampire is sitting cross-legged on the closed lid
of the toilet, staring at you. Revenant, I thought-corrected fiercely, pissed
that Batten had stuck the V-word in my head.
“So they have replaced you already, and with such meager substitution,” Harry said, inching forward as though it was fascinating gossip I’d collected on someone else.
I did my admittedly bad Al Pacino, clenching a sudsy fist. “Just when I think I’m out, they pull me back in.”
“Thrown you in a mopple, has it?”
As I soaped, I felt his preternatural probing wash over me, licking through our Bond to taste my emotions; it was like being probed in the brain by rubber-fingered aliens. He didn’t have to do it that way. Harry could be exceptionally subtle. Apparently Harry wasn’t in the mood for subtle. The FBI agents in his home had him flustered like a murder of crows disturbed from their roadside pecking.
“I’m fine. In fact, I’m relieved.” It was pointless to lie to Harry of all people, but it sounded good. “Now that Batten’s officially recruited his little airhead, he’s got no reason to pester me.”
“Yet they were here, and one is forced to wonder why,” Harry said with a hint of a smile. “It is increasingly evident that without you the police, most notably your agents of the preternatural crimes unit, have the devil by the nose.”
I said dryly, “They’re not my agents.”
“You must concede that you have made an impression with the hunter.” Now there was a full-fledged twinkle in his eyes. “He moved Shark Week up several months to celebrate it with you.”
He showed me the newspaper headline again: Marnie Baranuik, the Great White Shark of psychic investigations, lets child serial killer slip through her jaws.
I hate sharks. Sharks eat people. I, on the other hand, do not. I have no plans to start, either. So how the hell am I remotely shark-like? And why was it my fault the killer escaped? I wasn’t the only person on that team. I motioned for Harry to throw the paper in the trash; he tucked it behind his back instead.
I narrowed my eyes. “Batten’s only coming around to get close enough to stake the cheeky dead guy I share my life with.”
“So they have replaced you already, and with such meager substitution,” Harry said, inching forward as though it was fascinating gossip I’d collected on someone else.
I did my admittedly bad Al Pacino, clenching a sudsy fist. “Just when I think I’m out, they pull me back in.”
“Thrown you in a mopple, has it?”
As I soaped, I felt his preternatural probing wash over me, licking through our Bond to taste my emotions; it was like being probed in the brain by rubber-fingered aliens. He didn’t have to do it that way. Harry could be exceptionally subtle. Apparently Harry wasn’t in the mood for subtle. The FBI agents in his home had him flustered like a murder of crows disturbed from their roadside pecking.
“I’m fine. In fact, I’m relieved.” It was pointless to lie to Harry of all people, but it sounded good. “Now that Batten’s officially recruited his little airhead, he’s got no reason to pester me.”
“Yet they were here, and one is forced to wonder why,” Harry said with a hint of a smile. “It is increasingly evident that without you the police, most notably your agents of the preternatural crimes unit, have the devil by the nose.”
I said dryly, “They’re not my agents.”
“You must concede that you have made an impression with the hunter.” Now there was a full-fledged twinkle in his eyes. “He moved Shark Week up several months to celebrate it with you.”
He showed me the newspaper headline again: Marnie Baranuik, the Great White Shark of psychic investigations, lets child serial killer slip through her jaws.
I hate sharks. Sharks eat people. I, on the other hand, do not. I have no plans to start, either. So how the hell am I remotely shark-like? And why was it my fault the killer escaped? I wasn’t the only person on that team. I motioned for Harry to throw the paper in the trash; he tucked it behind his back instead.
I narrowed my eyes. “Batten’s only coming around to get close enough to stake the cheeky dead guy I share my life with.”
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