
February 1933: Nancy Wake is a gregarious twenty-year-old looking for adventure. Having fled her unhappy family home in Sydney, she becomes a journalist and is thrilled when she is posted to Paris. The city is glamorous, brimming with journalists, artists, and a growing number of refugees.
Later, in the French Riviera, she uncovers more than news following a chance encounter with wealthy industrialist, Henri Fiocca. Their relationship blossoms as Hitler makes waves across Europe. While on an assignment in Vienna in 1938, she witnesses Nazis whipping Jews on the street and she vows to fight for justice if ever the opportunity arises.

When Henri is called to the Front to fight, Nancy, determined to help the war effort, joins the Red Cross as an ambulance driver. Every day she witnesses atrocities. When Paris falls, Nancy flees the German oppressors and returns to Marseille. France is a nation defeated; its people are in despair.
A chance encounter with a British officer draws Nancy into the heart of the Garrow escape network, despite Henri’s reservations. Armed with wealth and charm, she convinces Henri that the Germans will never suspect such a woman. But soon she finds herself caught up in a deadly game of espionage.
As the iron fist of the enemy tightens, neighbours denounce neighbours. No one can be trusted. When the enemy closes in, Nancy and Henri face an impossible choice. Has she done more harm than good?
Based on a true story of love and a gripping adventure, Madame Fiocca weaves an extraordinary tale of survival and redemption in wartime.
Excerpt
Picon raised his head, his nose twitching as he sniffed. I crouched down, ran my hand along his back, the hair wiry like a coconut skin, then unclipped his tan leather leash. The morning air, salty, fresh as a gentle breeze, blew in from the ocean, lifted my hair. He trotted by my side as we made our way across the beach, then I watched him gallop down to the water’s edge. The tide sailed out, then shushed back in, slipping over his white paws, and Picon yapped as he ran away from its hold, back to me. I giggled. Grainy sand clung to my toes, burning my soles and I wandered to the water’s edge. The next wave washed over my feet, lukewarm. I glanced down as squidgy sand shifted beneath my weight. A wave rolled in my head as I wavered.
After our walk, I found a table on the hotel terrace. In the distance, I glimpsed Marie in her white bathing suit as she waded into the ocean while Richard waved from waist-high depths, white crested waves crashing around them. As I waited for the waiter to bring my coffee and croissants, I noticed Henri Fiocca seated at a nearby table with a female companion. What a coincidence, or a sign, perhaps. He never did call, although I had been away many times on assignments. He was a womaniser, a playboy. Some men simply weren’t the settling down types.
Henri was tall, medium build with sultry hazel eyes. He oozed a certain charm, with suave and sophistication, and rarely ventured out without a glamorous woman on his arm. I had no idea of his age, but I guessed he was older than me, more likely closer to my elder brother, Stanley’s age. He glanced over and smiled. I smiled back and turned away. I had no idea how he managed to have a steady stream of girlfriends. Of course, I’d had my share of dates, but nothing serious. But as much as I hated to admit it, Henri Fiocca was an enigma, and the first man to rouse my curiosity.
***
We dined outside on the terrace at eight while the sun slipped from her celestial pedestal. Marie sat behind a hand-held oriental fan in shades of blue and pink, her face flushed, smothered in a sheen of perspiration. The day had been long and hot, but the evening dragged a refreshing, delicious breeze from the ocean, to fan my brow and cheeks. Dusk settled by the time we’d finished, and waiters stepped from table to table lighting tealight candles. The sapphire sky glittered with stars; a purple-pink band stretched tight across the horizon. Two violinists serenaded the diners, sweet, melodic notes swayed and scythed into the night, lulling me into a relaxed, almost sleepy state. Marie wore an elegant salmon pink silk dress with lemon flowers embroidered on the chest, her mahogany cigarette holder precisely poised within the fingers of her right hand. Her bright eyes serene, sharp, taking everything and everyone in, forever the huntress. Focussed and determined, ruthlessly uncovering stories and reporting the news, generally without emotional involvement, and sometimes I wished I was more like her. I couldn’t detach myself from suffering or injustice. Perhaps I should have considered a career in politics. At least then one can make a difference.
‘You look tired, Nancy,’ Richard said, a broad grin crinkling his eyes at the corners.
‘Tired? She has enough stamina for the three of us.’ Marie laughed. ‘Let’s go to the casino tonight.’
We’d spent the last two nights at the casino, which was probably the reason for my fatigue. Poor Picon was exhausted, and tonight I’d left him to sleep in my room.
‘Let’s dance.’ Richard took my hand and pulled me to my feet.
As he led me in a gentle waltz to the rhythm of violin music, a fizz of energy gushed through my veins, and I smiled as we took centre stage, dancing before the ocean, beneath the diamante twilight. Couples dined around us, their low murmur of chat a mere vibration. The present tune ended, and a new one began. The Tango. The dance of love. And I loved it. Richard was only slightly taller than me, the perfect partner, height-wise. As we sailed across the terrace, the hairs prickled at the nape of my neck, and then I saw him. Henri Fiocca, sat with his blonde companion from earlier, enjoying an aperitif, his gaze firmly fixed on us. I’m not sure why he caused me to feel so unsettled, but everything I did from then on made far more difference. My appearance, behaviour, everything mattered, and over the following week, I realised that I spent more time in front of the mirror, perfecting my hair, touching up my lipstick, deliberating over what to wear as a fluttering grew in my tummy like a kaleidoscope of butterflies.
Over the next few days, I swam, enjoyed meals with friends, and spent my evenings at the casino, occasionally bumping into Henri, watching in awe as he appeared with a different girl each time. And then one evening, as I strode into the hotel lounge looking for my friends, I found him alone at the bar nursing a brandy, looking vulnerable and brooding. He spun around and flashed that playful grin of his as soon as he saw me and, like a magnet, drew me in, my heart drumming the Marseillaise, beating my ribcage beneath my black silk evening dress. I smiled as we greeted one another in the French way, exotic spices and cedarwood wafting in the air; divine.
‘Bonjour, Noncee,’ he said, his voice like velvet. He put his glass down on the bar and took my hand. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you again.’
I gazed into his eyes, dumbstruck for a split second as my heart thumped against bone. ‘Bonjour.’ He hung onto my hand as if waiting for something. I swallowed.
About the Author
I live with my family on the edge of the Lake District, an area that has always inspired me. After a career in healthcare, I studied creative writing and English at The Open University and fell in love with writing. Armed with a pen, a love of reading and a growing obsession with military and aviation history, I slipped seamlessly into writing historical fiction.
Other interests include music, old movies, and photography – especially if WW2 aircraft are on the radar. I write contemporary and historical fiction.
My debut novel, The Beauty Shop, has been awarded the B.R.A.G. Medallion.
Connect with Suzy Henderson
https://twitter.com/Suzy_Henderson


San Francisco book-restoration expert Brooklyn Wainwright was hoping for a fun, relaxing weekend at a local book fair, but a murderer made other plans in the latest in this New York Times bestselling series.
New York Times bestselling author Kate Carlisle is a native Californian who worked in television production for many years before turning to writing. It was a lifelong fascination with the art and craft of bookbinding that led her to write the Bibliophile Mysteries, featuring Brooklyn Wainwright, whose bookbinding and restoration skills invariably uncover old secrets, treachery and murder. Her first book, Homicide in Hardcover, debuted in February 2010, followed by If Books Could Kill, The Lies That Bind, Murder Under Cover, One Book in the Grave.
A promise made is a promise he’ll keep.
USA Today Bestselling Author Shanna Hatfield writes character-driven romances with relatable heroes and heroines. Her historical westerns have been described as “reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian” while her contemporary works have been called “laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.” Convinced everyone deserves a happy ending, this hopeless romantic is out to make it happen, one story at a time. When she isn’t writing or indulging in chocolate (dark and decadent, please), Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller. To learn more about Shanna or the books she writes, visit her blog 
I grew up in Kansas, surrounded by prairie, but thirty-five years ago I came to Nantucket to visit a friend who introduced me to the love of my life. Charley and I have now lived on Nantucket for 33 years–year-round, as we say, so I have a special feeling for this island and for the people who come here. I love the island most in the winter when the waves crash dramatically on the shore.
December comes to quaint Hearts Bend, Tennessee, with a blanket of white and the glitter of Christmas lights.
Rachel Hauck is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. She is a Christy Award Winner and a double RITA finalist. Her book The Wedding Dress was named Inspirational Novel of the Year by Romantic Times Book Club. She is also the recipient of RT’s Career Achievement Award. A graduate of Ohio State University with a degree in Journalism, and a former sorority girl, Rachel and her husband live in central Florida. She is a huge Buckeyes football fan.
She has an emergency.
Danielle Thorne is the author of classic romance and adventure in several genres. She loves Jane Austen, pirates, beaches, cookies, cats, dogs, and long naps. She does not like phone calls or sushi. A graduate of BYU-Idaho, Danielle saw early work published by Arts and Prose Magazine, Mississippi Crow, The Nantahala Review, StorySouth, and… you get the idea. Besides writing, she’s edited for both Solstice and Desert Breeze Publishing. Her growing blog, The Balanced Writer, focuses on writing, life, and the pursuit of peace and happiness. Currently, Danielle freelances as a non-fiction author while waiting to hear from readers like you through her website. During free time, which means when Netflix is down, she combs through feedback and offers virtual hugs for reviews. Her next historical romance is coming soon.
Jennifer Griffith writes light, sweet romances she calls Cotton Candy for the Soul. Her Legally in Love Collection stems from the fact she fell in love with a handsome law school student who now serves as a judge–as well as her muse. She also writes the Billionaire Makeover Romance series, billionaires and makeovers being some things with which she has less experience.
Just who were the shepherds that were singled out from among earth’s inhabitants to hear the angelic announcement of Christ’s birth? What made them so special, or what uniquely qualified them to be His first witnesses? The Bible tells us very little about them. Now there is an answer!





Through a crazy twist of fate, Caroline Clemmons was not born on a Texas ranch. To compensate for this illogical error, she writes about handsome cowboys, feisty ranch women, and scheming villains in a tiny office her family calls her pink cave. She and her Hero live in North Central Texas cowboy country where they ride herd on their dog and three rescued indoor cats as well as providing nourishment outdoors for squirrels, birds, and other critters.