Please Share
See
by
Lee Ann Ward
Lee Ann Ward
Genre:
YA Paranormal
YA Paranormal
**SEE
was voted The TBR Pile Review Site’s Book of the Year for 2017!**
was voted The TBR Pile Review Site’s Book of the Year for 2017!**
Carlie
Henson is pretty, popular, and an All-American girl. She has a
gorgeous boyfriend and a mother who lives to keep her safe. Probably
because everyone is drawn to Carlie…including the murderers she has
the ability to identify when she looks in the eyes of their
victims.
Henson is pretty, popular, and an All-American girl. She has a
gorgeous boyfriend and a mother who lives to keep her safe. Probably
because everyone is drawn to Carlie…including the murderers she has
the ability to identify when she looks in the eyes of their
victims.
KeepingCarlie’s secret is pretty simple when all she has to do is avoid
dead people. But when a cheerleader at her high school is murdered
and the killer seems to have gotten away with it, Carlie knows what
she has to do. With the help of her boyfriend, Dillon, she devises a
plan to see what she must, no matter her personal safety.
dead people. But when a cheerleader at her high school is murdered
and the killer seems to have gotten away with it, Carlie knows what
she has to do. With the help of her boyfriend, Dillon, she devises a
plan to see what she must, no matter her personal safety.
But
when Dillon is the one who’s injured in the showdown with the
killer, Carlie vows to never help anyone again…until the next young
woman attacked is her best friend, Jenna.
when Dillon is the one who’s injured in the showdown with the
killer, Carlie vows to never help anyone again…until the next young
woman attacked is her best friend, Jenna.
Lee
Ann Ward is an award-winning fiction author with a background in
journalism and mass communications. She is also the former Senior
Editor of Champagne Books. Her love of books started at the age of
three, and she’s been addicted ever since. She’s published six novels
with her seventh and eighth on the way (SEE a YA paranormal by
Evernight Teen in June 2017 and GLIMPSES OF WILDERNESS a YA romance
by Inkspell Publishing in December 2017) and has written several
more. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, singing, baking designer
cakes, bowling and dreaming. She’s married to Joe (who also happensto be her publicist) and they have 4 sons whom they adore, and a
granddaughter who is the love of their life. They make their home in
the small fishing community of Bayou La Batre, Alabama.
Ann Ward is an award-winning fiction author with a background in
journalism and mass communications. She is also the former Senior
Editor of Champagne Books. Her love of books started at the age of
three, and she’s been addicted ever since. She’s published six novels
with her seventh and eighth on the way (SEE a YA paranormal by
Evernight Teen in June 2017 and GLIMPSES OF WILDERNESS a YA romance
by Inkspell Publishing in December 2017) and has written several
more. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, singing, baking designer
cakes, bowling and dreaming. She’s married to Joe (who also happensto be her publicist) and they have 4 sons whom they adore, and a
granddaughter who is the love of their life. They make their home in
the small fishing community of Bayou La Batre, Alabama.
I was five and a half when I realized I could see him. I was five and a half, two days, and six hours when I
realized he could see me too.
There was nothing extraordinary about that night. Mom had long put me to bed, and she and Dad were
watching an unsolved cold case show on TV. By the time I’d made my way downstairs for an
unnecessary drink of water, a picture of a murdered lady was flashing on the screen. No one knew who’d
killed her, and the cops had looked for the murderer for several years and given up.
“That’s such a shame,” my dad had said. He was still around then.
“Yeah, it is.” Mom’s words were dragging and nonchalant, as if she were reacting to some lame laundry
detergent commercial or something.
But not me. There I stood in my Belle Disney Princess nightgown, my gaze transfixed on the television. I
couldn’t move—couldn’t look away. Something about the image of that dead woman struck a chord—her
lifeless body and wide, opened eyes.
All I could do was scream. “I know who killed her!” I remember the panic, the way it made my stomach
ache and my skin crawl. “I know who did it! I can see his face!”
“Carlie.” Dad picked me up, the exasperation in his voice as clear to me now as it had been ten years ago.
“What are you doing out of bed? This is way too scary for you to be watching.”
I was crying so hard my nose was running. “Daddy, I know who killed her! I can see him! I really can!”
Mom turned off the TV and took me from Dad. The puzzled look she threw him let me know she was at
least listening to my wild claim, and to this day I’m grateful for her next move.
“Do you want Mommy to draw a picture of the face you’re seeing, sweet girl? Would that make you feel
better?”
“Linda, what the hell are you doing? Don’t encourage her.” Dad was pissed at me to be up that late. He
was always such a tight ass about things like bedtime.
“It might help her,” Mom insisted. “Something obviously has her freaked out, Patrick. I’m getting my
sketchbook.”
It’s the one time I was actually glad that my mom’s a sketch artist for the Pensacola Police Department’s
Homicide Division. People describing perps to her so she can draw them never bothered me. But the
photos of decomposed bodies—the ones of unidentified missing persons that she has to create faces for—
totally creeps me out.
Mom lit a lavender candle to help me relax and set me on her knee. “Go ahead, honey. Tell me what the
man looks like.”
One hour and three holy shits from Dad later, I’d described a killer’s face, and Mom had him on paper. I
was sure of it. But my parents were convinced I was simply spooked from seeing the dead lady on that
show.
Until two nights later when he came for me.
realized he could see me too.
There was nothing extraordinary about that night. Mom had long put me to bed, and she and Dad were
watching an unsolved cold case show on TV. By the time I’d made my way downstairs for an
unnecessary drink of water, a picture of a murdered lady was flashing on the screen. No one knew who’d
killed her, and the cops had looked for the murderer for several years and given up.
“That’s such a shame,” my dad had said. He was still around then.
“Yeah, it is.” Mom’s words were dragging and nonchalant, as if she were reacting to some lame laundry
detergent commercial or something.
But not me. There I stood in my Belle Disney Princess nightgown, my gaze transfixed on the television. I
couldn’t move—couldn’t look away. Something about the image of that dead woman struck a chord—her
lifeless body and wide, opened eyes.
All I could do was scream. “I know who killed her!” I remember the panic, the way it made my stomach
ache and my skin crawl. “I know who did it! I can see his face!”
“Carlie.” Dad picked me up, the exasperation in his voice as clear to me now as it had been ten years ago.
“What are you doing out of bed? This is way too scary for you to be watching.”
I was crying so hard my nose was running. “Daddy, I know who killed her! I can see him! I really can!”
Mom turned off the TV and took me from Dad. The puzzled look she threw him let me know she was at
least listening to my wild claim, and to this day I’m grateful for her next move.
“Do you want Mommy to draw a picture of the face you’re seeing, sweet girl? Would that make you feel
better?”
“Linda, what the hell are you doing? Don’t encourage her.” Dad was pissed at me to be up that late. He
was always such a tight ass about things like bedtime.
“It might help her,” Mom insisted. “Something obviously has her freaked out, Patrick. I’m getting my
sketchbook.”
It’s the one time I was actually glad that my mom’s a sketch artist for the Pensacola Police Department’s
Homicide Division. People describing perps to her so she can draw them never bothered me. But the
photos of decomposed bodies—the ones of unidentified missing persons that she has to create faces for—
totally creeps me out.
Mom lit a lavender candle to help me relax and set me on her knee. “Go ahead, honey. Tell me what the
man looks like.”
One hour and three holy shits from Dad later, I’d described a killer’s face, and Mom had him on paper. I
was sure of it. But my parents were convinced I was simply spooked from seeing the dead lady on that
show.
Until two nights later when he came for me.
Followthe tour HERE
for exclusive content and a giveaway!
I like the cover and look forward to the read thanks so much.