Long and Short Reviews welcomes Diana Muñoz Stewart who is celebrating the recent release of The Price of Grace, the second book in her Black Ops Confidential series. Enter the Rafflecopter for a chance to win a copy of I Am Justice, the first book in the series.

Who can you trust
When family, truth, and love are all on the line?

Gracie Parish knows the true cost of trust. Rescued as a child by the infamous Parish family, she became a member of their covert sisterhood of vigilantes. Gracie saw her most precious relationships destroyed by secrecy. She learned long ago to protect her heart as well as her family’s secrets.

Special Agent Leif “Dusty” McAllister will do anything to uncover the truth about the Parish family’s covert operations. Dusty knows Gracie is his ticket in. He’ll use everything he’s got—fair, unfair, and just plain wrong—to break through her defenses. But the more he gets to know Gracie and her family’s mission, the harder he starts to fall. Neither one is sure they’ll get out of this with their lives—or their hearts—intact.

Black Ops Confidential series

I Am Justice (Book 1)
The Price of Grace (Book 2)
The Cost of Honor (Book 3)

Readers are raving about the Black Ops Confidential series

“A high-octane…satisfying roller-coaster ride. Stewart’s talent shines.”—Publishers Weekly for The Price of Grace
“Spellbinding, sizzling. Unsurpassed romantic suspense.”—Patricia Gussin, New York Times bestselling author for I Am Justice

Enjoy an Excerpt

Dusty entered the packed club. Not an empty seat at the bar. Or an empty space around it. People pushed in hard.
Behind the bar, the club’s owner, little Miss Gracie Parish was overrun, making multiple drinks simultaneously, while she nodded to acknowledge people and instruct servers.

Only one other person helped Gracie behind the bar. A brunette in the server’s white shirt and black pants. He pulled beers and gave shots, but Dusty didn’t see him making any mixed drinks.

Never say he wasn’t a man to help a friend in distress. Even if he had orchestrated that distress in order to get close to her, use her to get to her family and uncover their vigilante activities.

He navigated his way through the crowd with care. Being as big as he was, he was well aware of his ability to intimidate without trying, so he tapped shoulders, nodded politely, and made his way behind the bar as graciously as he could.

Upon seeing him, Gracie jerked her head in surprise then smiled. Hadn’t expected that. Kind of warmed his heart.
He put up a single digit, a give me a second before you kick me out. He leaned closer. She was a good foot shorter. “Stopped by to check on you and have that drink.” He gazed around. “Looks like you’re slammed. Okay if I help? Worked as a bartender in college.”

Gracie’s face walked the line between yes please and stay the hell away, then tipped over. “I could use the help.”
She sent the obviously relieved server back into the club, opened a couple of beers and handed them to a guy across the bar. She took his cash and smiled when he told her to keep the change.

When she turned back to Dusty, her eyes ran down him like it was involuntary. That kind of warmed him too. Warm enough to start a fire.

She pointed to a notepad. “There are two parties that have a tab, try to handle those. You can just write the drinks down. We have the credit cards, so we can tally them later.”

She began making a mixed drink, efficient and calm and sexy as anything he’d ever seen. “Cash is king for you. Drink prices are there.” She pointed to a laminated document held together at a punch-holed corner with a silver hoop. She winged a slice of lemon around the drink she’d made and handed it to a woman, who handed Gracie a credit card. Running the card, she gave Dusty a quick overview of the cash register.

Basically, he had to push three buttons. He could handle that and the math. “What about credit/debit cards?”

She pulled out the receipt that had just spit from the credit card machine. “I’ll handle all people with cards.”

“Got it, boss lady.”

She smiled, and as she walked away, tossed back, “Thanks. Really.”

Lady had a great backside. “Happy to help.”

Quick to learn where everything was, Dusty hit his stride. It wasn’t hard to find people with cash or on account, so he didn’t hurt for business. For the next few hours, he and Gracie worked, brushing hotly against each other as they buzzed here and there.

But, much to his disappointment, not standing in one place long enough to talk or explore that heat. The crowd kept them hopping. A few people got handsy with him and her, trying to get attention. Nothing they couldn’t handle, until the big guy.

Dusty watched him. Impatient as hell, using his size to insert himself at the bar as if the crowd were an insult. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loud to get Gracie’s attention. She turned.

If it had been him, Dusty would’ve ignored the guy. But he saw Gracie’s eyes evaluate the guy and the situation. A smile on her face, she went right over. They exchanged a few words. She tapped the bar as if asking for his patience and began to turn.

Guy’s big hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Gracie looked at where he held her, said something, smiled like it was the only warning she’d give.

The guy’s knuckles whitened on her wrist. A few people at the bar were paying attention now. Someone had taken out a cell. Gracie Parish on camera. Which meant she wasn’t likely to pull any self-defense. She surely wouldn’t want that all over the internet.

Dusty would’ve moved to help, but he was also sure the lady didn’t need it and wouldn’t appreciate him butting in. Plus, he wanted to see what she’d do.

Still smiling at the guy, she reached under the bar, pulled out a nozzle for the fountain drinks, and blasted the guy, not in the face, but directly up his nose.

Shock and the sting of it had him reeling back. The people lining the bar sprang away. Gracie backed up too but kept hold of the nozzle.

That second was all that was needed for one of the bouncers to move in for the kill. He wrestled the dude, got him under control, grabbed him by the neck. Forcing the guy’s head down, he marched the soaked idiot out.

By the time the bouncer reached the front door, Gracie was already getting bar towels and handing them to customers, apologizing for the mess and offering free drinks.

Maybe feeling his gaze, she looked over at him. He’d thought he’d see condemnation, like why hadn’t he hotfooted it over there and given her a hand, but she smiled. She smiled and mouthed, “That was fun.”

Lady was going to break his heart.

***
Excerpted from The Price of Grace by Diana Muñoz Stewart. © 2019 by Diana Muñoz Stewart. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author: Having earned her MFA in Creative Writing, Diana Munoz Stewart went on to write several novels that garnered awards and recognition in the paranormal, science fiction, and contemporary romance genres. A believer in the power of words to heal and connect, she blogs and provides web-content on health, writing, and social issues. She resides in Pennsylvania.

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, IndieBound, or BAM.

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Long and Short Reviews welcomes Diana Muñoz Stewart who is celebrating the release of her newest book I Am Justice, the first book in her new Band of Sisters series. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for a chance to win a copy of the book.

This bad-ass band of sisters plays for keeps.

She’s ready to start a war
Justice Parish takes down bad guys. Rescued from the streets by the world renowned Parish family, she joined their covert sisterhood of vigilante assassins. Her next target: a sex-trafficking ring in the war-torn Middle East. She just needs to get close enough to take them down…

He just wants peace
Sandesh Ross left Special Forces to found a humanitarian group to aid war-torn countries. But saving the world isn’t cheap. Enter Parish Industries and limitless funding, with one catch—their hot, prickly ‘PR specialist’, Justice Parish.

Their chemistry is instant and off-the-charts. But when Justice is injured and her cover blown, Sandesh has to figure out if he can reconcile their missions. With danger dogging their every move, their white-hot passion can change the world—if it doesn’t destroy them first.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Bucks County, Pennsylvania

Deep inside the stone-and-spire main building of the 160-acre campus of the Mantua Academy for Girls, Justice knew the thing that sucked most about a family business. The family part.

She reached her sister’s office…door? Great. Bridget had followed through on her promise to have the door removed.

She rapped on the wood framing the empty doorway. Inside, Bridget sat cross-legged on her mesh, ergohuman office chair, eyes closed. Her frizzy, dark hair stabbed with a silver comb drooped lopsidedly, like a hairy modern art sculpture.

Justice smiled. This was so perfectly Bridget it almost deserved its own word, like freaktacular or weirdiful.

Justice knocked again. “Bridge?”

Bridget’s eyes fluttered open and locked on her. Justice instantly felt seen. As in seen below the skin. Shiva, uhm, Bridget quirked an eyebrow. “What can I do for you, Justice?”

“I need to talk to you about the yoga class. Is it true you have the girls chanting in Sanskrit?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure of your question. I submitted the yoga for approval through the director’s office.”

Justice walked into the office and plopped into a chair. “You got approval for yoga, She-pak Chopra. Not to have the girls chanting in Sanskrit. This isn’t good PR. And that’s bad for me. Means I have to do work.”

Bridget rested her hands on the desk. “I will limit my teaching to poses and centering music.”

Justice smiled. “Dammit, Bridge, you’re so easy.

Why can’t I have more sisters like you?”

“Perhaps, because you are as abrasive as a starving boar,” a voice said from the hall.

Justice turned. Sheared head, lips painted bright red, skin as satiny smooth and dark as a starless sky, and cocked against the doorway, the generous curve of boys- can’t-help-but-wonder hips clad in a leopard-print skirt. Dada, six-foot-two in spiked heels.

And this was the problem with having no doors. Justice slipped her shoe back on, rose, and crossed the room. “You’re home? Aren’t you supposed to be contacting your Brothers Grim informant?”

Dada’s forehead creased. She looked around the hall, but the school staff, a.k.a. no-idea-a-secret-society-of-vigilantes-existed-under-their-feet staff, weren’t in yet. “Have you checked your secure email this morning?”

***

After passing through security, Justice whisked through the headquarters of the Parish empire in Philadelphia. She was too pissed to pay attention to the repeated nods and hellos. Momma’s morning email had sent her scrambling for her Jeep keys. The mission to take down the global trafficking ring had been put on hold.

Nope. Not happening.

She didn’t care if the Brothers Grim had been alerted by her screwup with Tony last week. Or that they’d moved their meeting up by six weeks. Or that they’d moved the location to Jordan—the one place on the entire fucking globe where the League had no established cover. This was bullshit.

Ahead, at the mahogany double doors at the mouth of two intersecting hallways, Momma’s executive assistant, straitlaced Lorena of the cotton button-downs and starched pantsuits, stood from her desk and crossed her arms. Huh. A human barricade.

Good thing Justice had been trained for just such an event.

Sprinting forward, she lifted her foot, planted the arch of her shoe against the edge of the desk, toed herself into the leap, and vaulted into the air.

Lorena ducked and cried out. Instant classic.

Justice landed with a thud. Lorena was still sputtering vague threats when Justice closed Momma’s office door. Click.

For a confused moment, she stood within the inner sanctum. A huge corner office with buttoned leather couches, two flat-screen TVs, a hulking Thor of a desk, and a well-stocked kitchen. The self-satisfied grin slipped from her face.

Shit.

The man—built like a hot night of unforgettable, wild blond hair like a sandstorm, eyes the color of the ocean after a lazy day in the sun—drove the air from her lungs. She couldn’t move. Struck deaf, dumb, and blind meet deer-in-headlights. Damn, the man was tall. Like a wall. A wall of man muscle. So hot.

“Justice.” Leland, Momma’s oldest friend and most trusted adviser, extended his hand with a warm smile. His silver hair gleamed under the canopy of recessed lights. The gray- checkered Armani suit draped over him as if upon the confident shoulders of dignity itself.

Justice took Leland’s smooth hand. He pressed down firmly and tugged her farther inside.

“Sandesh, I’d like you to meet Justice Parish.” Only the stern grip of Leland’s hand told her how annoyed he was. “She does PR for the Mantua Academy and will be working on the Greenville Initiative. She is familiar with all aspects of our newest philanthropy venture.”

Dude was good. Calm. Graceful. And full of shit. Greenville? What was that project about? Giving away money, judging by what Leland had said.

Behind Leland, Momma’s brown eyes showed as little as the rose-colored niqab that covered her hair and face and scars.
Justice turned and gave Leland a rictus grin meant to be a smile. She was usually more successful at hiding her feelings, but a high-pressure situation—you know the kind where you Jack-be-nimbled your momma’s executive assistant, barged into a business meeting, and eye- appraised-seduced-and-fucked a total stranger—had her off her game.

“Actually, my role in all philanthropic projects is still advisory. I wouldn’t want to mislead, uhm, what was your name?”

Blue-Eyes reached for her hand. “I’m Sandesh. Head of the International Peace Team. We’re partnering with Greenville in Jordan.”

He slid his long fingers along her palm in a hot brush that sent her skin tingling. He grasped her hand. Heat suffused her body, brought a flush to her stomach and a smile to her lips. Nice.

Who said philanthropy wasn’t sexy?

Wait. Jordan?

About the Author: Diana Muñoz Stewart is the award-winning, romantic suspense author of the Band of Sisters series, which includes I Am Justice (Sourcebooks Casablanca). She lives in eastern Pennsylvania in an often chaotic and always welcoming home that—depending on the day—can include husband, kids, extended family, friends, and a canine or two. When not writing, Diana can be found kayaking, doing sprints up her long driveway—harder than it sounds–practicing yoga on her deck, flying, climbing, or hiking with the man who’s had her heart since they were teens.

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, or IndieBound.

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