Release Date: June 2017
The President put one hand at the First Lady’s elbow, giving it a brief squeeze before rising to join the governor at the dais. Brilliant light bathed the podium, which was flanked by the most prominent men in Florida politics.
Governor Rossner and his wife applauded politely as did the dozen or so others basking in the delight of pulling off such an important political coup. Rossner straightened his tie as he turned in his seat and recrossed his legs. The seat right damned next to the President of the EN-tire U-Nighted friggin States of America, he gloated in silence. His barrel chest puffed beneath his suit coat. He wondered what his father would think, him just sitting there with the freakin’ most important man in the free world. And that man was about to tell everyone in the crowd that he - Gil Rossner - deserved another term. Stifling his grin, Gil folded his hands in his lap and stared at the president’s profile.
He took caution not to catch Maddison’s eye. His campaign manager – slash – brother-in-law shared his disdain for the party leader and current commander-in-chief. It simply would not do for the two men to erupt in laughter behind the man’s back. Though he was sorely tempted. Gil enjoyed belittling the liberal Yankee in the White House.
President Kent Gardner wasn’t much by his standards, yet women seemed to lose their good common sense whenever he was around. His guess was the rumors about Rawlings were true. He stifled a laugh by covering his mouth and quietly clearing his throat. Rawlings was too refined. He and his wife were snobby and polished. Definitely made for television. Gil tried to imagine the prissy man in the sack with that shapely, young First Lady of his. He wondered if the president screamed when he –
Gil’s eyes bulged as incredible pain seared through him. He slumped, slowly, to the side. Sweet Jesus! were the only words his brain could conjure. There were two more popping sounds. Gil was now lying prone on the floor. A spray of blood blurred his vision. Then he felt weight as the dead president fell on him. Gil heard his own wife scream as he expelled a final breath.
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Release Date: February 2017
First comes love, then fear. . .
After a whirlwind romance, Darby Hayes Grisom married the man of her dreams.
Smart, handsome, ambitious-Sean was everything she always thought she
wanted. Little did she know that one year later that dream would turn into
her worst nightmare. Sean is moody, angry, violent. Violent enough to kill.
When Darby realizes she's pregnant she knows Sean will never let her go.
Attorney Jack Kavanaugh is the only person Darby can trust to help her with
her plan to save herself and her baby. But the deeper Jack gets involved in
protecting Darby, the deeper the feelings between them become. A
complication Darby can't afford-because her husband is watching their every
move and he'll do anything to get her-and their baby-back.
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Release Date: March 2016
In NO RETURNS bargain-hunting, crime-fighting paralegal Finley Anderson Tanner gets her most difficult client ever – her disapproving mother.
She’s up against a perpetrator who isn’t afraid to shoot first. Luckily she’s also up against her totally hot boyfriend Liam McGarrity. Together the duo dodge bullets and their attraction to one another as they try to unmask a blackmailer.
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Release Date: April 2012
The elevator door finally blinked open and I stepped inside the small compartment, then pressed the number ‘four.’ I’d been summoned to the executive offices. A summons used to have me shaking in my Jimmy Choos but not so much now that Tony Caprelli occupied one of the partner’s suites.
I sighed and fiddled with the cloisonné clip holding my blonde hair off my face. Before leaving my office, I’d carefully checked my lipstick -reapplied and then added some Stila gloss; and smoothed the front of my vintage Lilly Pulitzer dress. The circa 1960, pale periwinkle and spring green dress with ribbon and lace accents was -if I did say so myself -one of my finest bargain moments. I’d come across it on antiquedressing-dot-com and talk about a find. Classic Lilly with the metal zippers and original labels is well beyond my meager means. Made more meager since I was now carrying a hefty mortgage and most of my credit cards were near their limits. The catch? The hem was faded and stained. A disaster for most women but since I’m just shy of five-four, it was a snap for me to have the seamstress at my cleaner’s turn up a new hem without destroying the line of the dress.
I had a white cashmere sweater draped over my shoulders. It accentuated the cute white birds in the print and since the dress was sleeveless, it saved me from turning into a Lilly-shaped cube of ice. Florida isn’t the sunshine state, it’s the over-air-conditioned state.
I had just enough time to check my reflection in the polished mirrors surrounding the small compartment. I had on one of my favorite pairs of wedge sandals, white patent with seriously cute bows right at the peep-toe. My pedicure had held up nicely, the dark pink polish as shiny as my glossed lips. I couldn’t help but smile. I’d turned bargain hunting into an art. Short of an inspection by Tim Gunn and Heidi Klum, no one would ever know that I was a walking, talking tribute to gently worn, factory damaged and slightly irregular. And I wanted to keep it that way.
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Release Date: 2012
Cassidy Presley Tanner Browning Johnstone Rossi - or whatever the names and order are - was a stunning woman in her early fifties, though she looked more like forty thanks to early intervention plastic surgery. She was barely twenty-one when I was born. At the time, she was a single mother, a fact I found out when I was thirteen. Until then, I'd been told that my name was a combination of family names. What went unsaid was that Finley and Anderson were the surnames to the two men my mother was sleeping with when she got pregnant with me. And yes, that does mean my initials are F.A.T., and no, no one can make a joke I haven't already heard and disliked.
My mother likes to blame me for the premature end to her career as an opera singer at the Met in New York, but in all honesty, she developed nodules on her throat and once they were removed, her voice never fully recovered. Just as she hadn't fully recovered from my transgression at my sister's recent society wedding in Atlanta. Only it wasn't my transgression. Liam McGarrity was the sinner in question. He'd gone out of his way to take pot shots at my mother and while it had been fun at the time, the hour had come for me to shed my pound of flesh.
At least I was shedding at a good place. Saturday lunch at Ironhorse Country Club was lovely. The second story restaurant had floor to ceiling glass overlooking the manicured golf course beyond. I didn't give a flaming fig about the golf aspect; I just loved the stunning flowers and meticulously kept grassy hills. Not that we were there for the view. At least not that view. My mother had her eye on a cardiologist from the neighborhood, so we'd been lunching at Ironhorse for a while now. Guess it was lucky for mom that she'd gotten the club membership in one of her lucrative divorce settlements.
"At least do me the courtesy of listening when I speak to you," she chastised in the quiet but threatening tone I'd heard mothers use on toddlers at the grocery store.
"I am listening." Kinda. "But what more can I do than apologize? Which I have done a gazillion times already."
Her brown eyes narrowed. "You're sorry I'm upset, but you aren't sorry for doing what you did. That's the crux of the problem."
I wanted to throw Liam under the bus. After all, it was his idea to get frisky at the wedding for all to see. It was his idea to exchange verbal barbs with my mother. I was an innocent bystander. And an amused one at that. "Great Aunt Susan liked Liam," I offered weakly. My great aunt didn't just like him. I think she had a serious crush on him, especially after he'd spirited her around the dance floor a time or two.
"Aunt Susan likes every man."
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FAT CHANCE, A Finley Anderson Tanner Mystery
Releases: December 2009
Purchase Fat Chance at Amazon
The only smell better than Lulu Guinness perfume is eau d’ new car. I breathed in a long, slow, steady stream of the leathery scent as I steered my brand new BMW 330Ci off the Brauman Motorcars lot. My was a bit of an exaggeration. Technically the lovely new car belonged to BMW Leasing Corporation, but that was a minor detail. One I was happy to ignore as I weaved through the late morning traffic on Okeechobee Boulevard.
The timing was perfect. The cherry red car was exactly what I’d needed to lift my spirits. I’d been in a funk since the whole Patrick break-up disaster, so when the dealer called me yesterday I didn’t waste any time arranging to take next-day delivery.
Like everything in life – a little bad came with the good. Though my previous car was totaled through no fault on my part, I’d still had to fork over nearly fifteen hundred of my own dollars on the new lease. Luckily, I had cash in the bank. Less than a week ago, I’d deposited a big check. But not before I’d scanned it, saved it and turned the image into a self-congratulatory screensaver on my home and office computers. Hey – it’s not like the law firm of Dane, Lieberman, and Zarnowski cuts a check payable to me in that amount every day. No, this was a freak occurrence. A signing bonus of sorts. Or as I like to think of it – twelve thousand ways for my boss to announce to the world that Finley Anderson Tanner is a valuable asset to the Palm Beach legal community.
The check represented the negotiated dollar amount it had cost Vain Victor Dane, Esquire and Asshole Extraordinaire, to make amends for firing me. My shoulder muscles pinched at the mere thought of my employment lord-and-master. Don’t get me wrong, I like my job at Dane-Lieberman. Okay, so like might be a bit strong. As an estates and trusts paralegal, I get to do a variety of different things which makes it mildly interesting. What makes it a great deal more enjoyable is that I have the autonomy to come and go almost as I please.
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KNOCK 'EM DEAD
Released: March 2008
Purchase Knock 'em Dead at Amazon
I was having an erotic dream about a seriously hot guy with blue eyes, and black hair—not Liam McGarrity—aso-wrong-for-me man who can turn me into a quiveringpile of hormones with a single glance. And definitely notmy perfect-in-every-way boyfriend, Patrick, when the knockingstarted. It was loud and insistent.Some impatient someone wanted my attention at this ungodly hour of—I slitted bleary eyes at the bedside clock—five-twenty A freaking M. On a Sunday, no less. This better be good.
I groaned heavily, missing my thousand-thread-count sheets even before I’d tossed them aside. Patrick was just back in town, so I was dressed in a cotton tee and matching boxers. No sense wasting the good stuff when I’d spent the previous evening watching the What Not to Wear marathon I’d been storing up on my new DVR. A gadget I’d only been able to afford after Visa upped my credit limit.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
“I’m coming, damn it!” Three-quarters asleep, I pulled on my robe and started out of the bedroom, stubbing my toe against the bed frame in the process while whoever the idiot was at my door keep right on knocking. Like I hadn’t heard the first ninety-nine knocks. Me and all my neighbors. I winced, hopped, and cursed, not necessarily in that order. The banging on my front door became more urgent. In the few seconds it took me to hobble through my darkened apartment flipping light switches along the way, I mentally ran through some possibilities.
Could be Sam, my upstairs neighbor and friend. Soon to be former friend if he was the one on the other side of the door.
Patrick was a more remote possibility. He flew cargo for FedEX and often arrived and/or departed at off hours. But we were two years into our relationship and he knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t appreciate an early morning drop-in. Not when I’m at my most visually vulnerable pre shower, hair, and makeup.
Definitely not my mother. Even if she needed me urgently, she’d send a messenger before she’d break protocol. She doesn’t even use the telephone other than during the socially acceptable hours of 10:00 AM to 10:00 PM.
“Pollero spins the hilarious tale of a paralegal whose loyalty to a client imperils her bargain-chasing. Finley's firm sense of priorities and laser-accurate descriptions of the most banal circumstances will make readers eager for an encore. ”
Starred Kirkus Review
“She shops, and the bodies drop. It's easy to dismiss Finley Anderson Tanner, just like those fools tended to dismiss Elle Wood in the movie "Legally Blonde. But Pollero also makes sure the mystery element and the plot are tightly centered. ”
Florida Sun Sentinel
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Released: March 2007 and February 2008
Purchase Knock Off at Amazon
If I could find a way to deep fry chocolate, my life would be whole.
Or at least that’s what I told myself as I parked my BMW in its regular spot in front of the law offices of Dane, Lieberman and Zarnowski. I often muse about food when I’m in a funk.
It was a beautiful, sunny, April morning, making it really hard for me to get excited about going to work. Okay, so I rarely got excited about going to work regardless of the weather. Then again, who does? I grabbed my adorable new Chanel bag, and with a quick, surreptitious glance, checked to be sure I was holding the pale pink bowling bag correctly. I was, and tugged it onto my shoulder.
It would be freaking embarrassing if my co-workers noticed the big black smear of God-only-knew-what on the lambskin leather. The smear would out me. I’d bought the damaged purse at the outlet in Vero Beach. I would take my secret vice to my grave.
No one would ever know that I, Finley Anderson Tanner, am a...discount shopper. And my other really huge fashion secret – I’m a tribute to slightly irregular. My wardrobe is a collection of the unloved cast-offs from the factory and/or the snagged and stained seconds discarded by the trendy stores, then sold at deep discounts. Thanks to the smudge, my new purse was marked down low enough to fit in my budget.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I didn’t have a budget so much as a propensity to carry just enough credit card debt to force me to acknowledge that I have little if any shopping self-restraint.
Well, not just shopping. My excesses seem to be limitless, guided only by my over-whelming desire to have it now. It can be anything. Anything I can pay for in installments, that is. My favorite word is pre-approved. I especially like it when it’s stamped across a solicitation for yet another credit card.
So, that’s how I morphed into a twenty-nine year old woman who doesn’t technically own anything. My apartment is rented, my car is leased and if we still had debtors prisons, I’d be serving life without parole.
“Witty, upbeat, all-around entertaining. A great read with plenty of attitude.”
“Rhonda will take you on a fun, fanciful and fascinating journey. If you’re looking for romance and intrigue with an interesting twist, you won’t want to miss her.”
NYT bestselling author Nora Roberts
“Rhonda Pollero's humor and compelling mystery will keep you turning pages.”
NYT bestselling author Tess Gerritsen
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