Ginger Ring is an eclectic, hat-loving Midwestern girl with a weakness for cheese, dark chocolate, and the Green Bay Packers. She loves reading, playing with her cats, watching great movies, and has a quirky sense of humor. Publishing a book has been a lifelong dream of hers and she is excited to share her romantic stories with you. Her heroines are classy, sassy and in search of love and adventure. When Ginger isn’t tracking down old gangster haunts or stopping at historical landmarks, you can find her on the backwaters of the Mississippi River fishing with her husband.
Now that prohibition was over, FBI agent Michael Flynn hoped to enjoy the quiet life and a chance to
finally concentrate on finding his best friend’s sister. He’d been in love with her since he first laid eyes on her picture. Unfortunately, the more he searched the more he realized she wasn’t just missing. Eryn was hiding from one of the most notorious gangsters around. One who wouldn’t rest until he knew she was dead.
Eryn O’Malley had been moving around for years, doing whatever legal, or illegal job she could find to survive. No time for romance or a normal life. A one night stand with a handsome man at the county fair seemed like just the ticket to escape for a moment from her troubled life. However, finding out he was a G-man wasn’t part of the plan. Now he was on her trail. Whether to arrest or rescue her, she wasn’t sure, and she couldn’t wait around to find out. If he caught her, would he forgive her checkered past or would he always think of her as the gangster’s woman?
“You rest up, handsome, and I will make you a drink. You’re going to need it.” She opened the whiskey bottle and poured a hefty portion in each glass.
“The rest, or the drink?” he inquired.
“Both.” With her back to him, she sprinkled the drug in his drink. He would be sleeping like a baby in no time.
“What’s your name again, doll?” The man rose on his elbows.
“What do you want it to be?” She smiled and handed him the drink.
“You remind me of Rochelle Hudson. Well, if she had red hair, that is.” He downed the whiskey and handed the glass back.
“Another one, George?” Hopefully, the one would be enough, but he was a big fella.
“No. Aren’t you going to join me, Rochelle?” He chuckled and his beefy fingers patted the bed.
“I need a cig first.” Using the motel matches, she lit the cigarette between her red lips, and inhaled. The nicotine calmed her nerves and she breathed deep.
George swung his feet around and sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t care what the doctors say.” He pointed a stubby finger at her. “Those bad things will kill ya.”
“I’ve done a lot of bad things.” A perfect smoke ring floated from her dark lips. “None of them have killed me yet.”