7.4.06 :: John Charles of the Chicago Tribune sums up Catch of the Day by saying, "Weddings are the common ingredient in these four delightfully different yet equally entertaining novellas."

7.4.06 :: Patti Fischer at Romance Reviews Today says, "Beverly Brandt is guaranteed to tickle your funny bone with the hijinks in "So Caught Up in You."

7.4.06 :: Jen Mays at The Romance Readers Connection says Catch of the Day "...delivers the sizzle just in time for the summer reading season."

7.4.06 :: "Each story is a fast, sexy read, set in a variety of interesting locales. If you’re in the throes of wedding fever this month, heat it up with Catch of the Day," says Heather Hiestand at Romance Reader at Heart.

7.4.06 :: "Catch of the Day is a sexy, comical and beguiling novel comprised of four delightful tales of love. The main characters are charming, the plots are captivating and the romance is powerful. The secondary characters are just as vibrant and add a lot of pizzazz to the tales. I held my side from laughing to hard, grabbed tissues from the happy tears and rooted for the characters hearts to soar. Each author did a wonderful job captivating this reader and keeping her reading until all hours of the night. If you are looking for a fun summer novel to read, then I would recommend grabbing a lounge chair, something cool to drink and Catch of the Day to read." says Billie Jo at Romance Junkies.

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:: This feature gets posted when the book released. Stay tuned or get notified!

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CHAPTER ONE of ”So Caught Up in You”

“This last leg of our journey is the most treacherous.”

Tasha gripped the thick cable overhead and silently cursed their cheerful guide.  Already, they’d hiked ten miles into the hot, thick jungle and forded a rain-swollen river rumored to be full of bull sharks, crocodiles, and bushmaster snakes.  She’d nearly bitten her own tongue off in fright half an hour earlier when a deadly tree frog leaped from out of nowhere and landed on the top of her head.

And now their journey was getting treacherous?

What was next?  Cannibals?  Man-eating anacondas? 

No.  What was next was to let go of the cable and trust the flimsy harness she was sitting in to hold her weight as she went flying above the canopy of trees, hundreds of feet above the ground.

She suddenly wished that she’d stayed back in San Pedro with Cal, who had elected to stay at the airport to wait for their luggage, which had been misrouted to Nicaragua, according to the airline’s surly lost baggage department employee.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t just have a normal wedding,” Tasha grumbled, swiping at a bead of sweat before it dripped into her eyes.

Next to her, Celie seemed perfectly comfortable on the five-by-five wooden platform surrounding a strangler tree, but Tasha kept a tight hold on the cable she was clipped to as she stood on the warm planks.  If one of the boards had rotted through, she’d be free-falling for ten stories before landing on the jungle floor with a sickening whump.

“Be careful,” Tasha warned as Celie stepped away from the solid trunk of the tree.  “If these boards haven’t been properly treated, there could be a microscopic layer of moss growing on them that will make them slick.”

This was one of the downsides of being an investigative reporter.  You learned the hard way that bad things happen, mostly because people were greedy or lazy or downright evil, but sometimes just because someone didn’t do the job they were supposed to do.

“Isn’t it beautiful up here?”  Celie, who clearly shared none of her big sister’s qualms, spun around in a slow circle, taking in the scene around them.

From up here, the canopy looked more like a thick carpet of grass than the leaves of trees whose branches intertwined until it was difficult to tell where one tree ended and another began.  Brightly colored birds flew above the canopy, some gliding effortlessly toward some unknown destination and others diving back into the trees as they spotted supper.  Tasha just hoped they knew how to get out of the way when the humans clipped to the zip line came zooming their way.  She didn’t even want to imagine the mess it would make if she slammed into a giant Toucan or one of the pretty blue quetzals they’d seen earlier in the day.

Still holding tightly to the cable, Tasha looked down—waaaay down—to where their journey would finally end.  They’d reach the final platform after zipping past a roaring waterfall that plunged over one hundred feet to a bottomless pool below. 

But first, she had to loosen her death grip on the cable, sit back in the sling, lift up her feet and let herself go.

Tasha shivered.

She was so not ready to do this.

“Come on, Tasha.  All the amenities of a five-star hotel await you at the end of the line,” Celie urged as she clipped her own harness to the cable and, without another thought, pushed off the edge of the platform and went flying through the treetops.

Tasha’s eyes narrowed on her sister’s retreating back.  In addition to a hot meal and an even hotter shower, something even more important would be waiting for her at the end of the line.  Quinn Hayes.  The man police still believed had played a key role in the disappearance of Matthew and Julia Martin five years ago.  But they didn’t have enough evidence to hold him, so he’d escaped back to Latin America and, from everything that Tasha had read, was now enjoying a prosperous life here in the jungle—a prosperous life that had begun soon after the Martins vanished.

Another troubling thing that Tasha had found was that rumors of white slavery ran rampant in this part of the world—from vacationers disappearing without a trace to orphans grabbed off the streets and never heard from again.  Costa Playa, a small country located only twenty miles from the ruthless Colombian border, touted itself as a haven for eco-tourism—a safe place for travelers wishing to see the tropics in their most pure form—but despite the maniacally cheery P.R. efforts, the rumors persisted.  It didn’t help that two of America’s top stars had disappeared from this very jungle five years ago.

“Time to go, Miss.”  The cheerful guide interrupted her thoughts by prying Tasha’s gloved hand from the cable and nudging her none too gently with his shoulder.

Tasha’s arms flailed as she lost her balance and tripped over the edge of the platform, her feet whirling in a desperate attempt to get back onto the warm planks.  As if in slow motion, she felt herself falling through the air, the ground rushing up toward her until she was jerked back by the line clipped to the cable overheard. 

The sling was set so that the rider could spin around in a full circle to get a full view of the jungle and Tasha’s wild thrashing only made her spin faster as she tried to regain her bearings.

“Just relax!” she heard her sister shout from up ahead as she picked up speed.

Easy for her to say.  She wasn’t the one dangling upside down a hundred feet from the ground.

Tasha wished she’d spent a few more minutes of her time at the gym doing crunches as she tried to grab the line at her waist and pull herself up into a sitting position.  She’d recently seen a Cirque de Soleil performance where the acrobats were suspended from the ceiling by drapes of red cloth tied around their waists.  They spun faster and faster and then let go of the end of the drape, stopping only inches from the floor.

Tasha now knew how they’d felt.

Splashes of color flashed in and out of her peripheral vision as she waved her arms and legs wildly in an attempt to slow down.  With a mighty effort, she finally managed to grab hold of the line and pull herself up into a sitting position.  After wrapping her arms protectively around the cable, she glanced up to see that Celie was waving her own arms in the air.  It only took her a moment to realize that her sister must have somehow lost the thick leather gloves she’d been given at the beginning of their journey.  The only way to slow down on the zip line was to grab the cable overhead, and Celie would need the gloves to protect her hands from being shredded by the thick wire.

Without the gloves, her sister’s hands would be toast.  Or, rather, hamburger.

Tasha grimaced and relaxed her grip on the cable, leaning forward in an effort to gather speed.  If she could catch up to Celie, she could toss her one of her gloves. 

Only when she when she looked up again, her sister seemed to be rushing toward the final platform at alarming speed.

Tasha squinted toward the landing pad.  Surely there had to be something on the end of the cable that would stop anyone from flying off of it at the end?  But what if the force of Celie crashing into it at top speed broke it?  Tasha couldn’t see any sort of pad or bumper that would cushion Celie’s fall if she went careening off the end of the cable.

And that meant Celie would spend her honeymoon in a body cast. That is, if there was even qualified medical care nearby that could patch her up after such an accident. 

Which, from the . . . er, rustic state of the airport they’d flown into that morning, Tasha doubted.

Tasha knew she had no choice.  She had to protect her little sister, even if it meant endangering herself to do it.

So she let go of the line and closed her eyes as the wind whipped her hair across her face.

If she couldn’t reach Celie in time to stop her, there was only one thing left for her to do.  She’d have to throw herself in front of the runaway cable car to save her sister.

“All we can do is hope for the best.”

Quinn Hayes surveyed the motley band of human cargo that had been delivered to him moments ago before turning his attention back to the young woman standing before him.  “That’s your plan?” he asked.  “Just hope for the best?”

Olivia dePalma folded her hands together in front of her, as serene as the reflection pool in the hotel’s grand open air lobby—a lobby that would soon be filled with American tourists who would surely wonder what these tired, dirty peasants were doing here aside from ruining the ambience.

“You’ll figure something out,” Olivia said.

Quinn looked over at the group again.  There were over two dozen of them this time, when he’d only been expecting half as many.  Not to mention that his contact had promised delivery of this latest “shipment” next week.  Quinn had cleared his schedule, making certain that no happy couple would interfere while he went about getting this latest ragtag band of workers settled into their new lives.

He should have known Rafe would do this to him.  Their profits increased with each new worker, and Rafe never could turn his back on an extra buck.  And getting them here faster only meant that Quinn could get them to work quicker, which meant even more money in Rafe’s—and Quinn’s—pocket.

So he supposed he shouldn’t complain.

But, still, they couldn’t have arrived at a worse time.

“I don’t suppose there are any empty rooms in the employee quarters where we could store them until the Americans are gone?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.  We’re running at nearly one hundred percent capacity this week, and that means all available rooms are being taken up by guests or staff.”

Quinn sighed.  “We’ll have to set them up in a ballroom temporarily, then.  But we need to make sure they know to stay out of sight until I can get them out of here.”

“How are we doing to do that?  They’re going to need access to a washroom,” Olivia said, raising one perfectly arched black eyebrow and giving Quinn the impression that she was secretly laughing at him.

“And here I thought that your plan of hoping for the best would take care of everything,” Quinn couldn’t help but toss back. 

Olivia merely continued watching him calmly. 

After a moment of silence, Quinn gave up.  Olivia was efficient and loyal, but she always left the planning to him.

Which, he supposed was just as well.  He had learned long ago that you could only rely on yourself anyway.

“All right.  Ask the staff to see if they can find some extra uniforms lying around.  No one is to leave that ballroom without a uniform on, and only then to use the restroom.  If they’re asked for something by any of the guests, tell them to pretend they don’t speak the language.”

“Anything else?” 

There went that eyebrow again.

Quinn narrowed his eyes in a look that he knew many would consider dangerous.  Olivia, however, was not cowed.  She never was.

“No.  Just get them out of here as quick as you can,” he answered with a nod toward the eerily silent group huddled in the lobby like a herd of frightened sheep.  “I’m going to call the mine and see if I can get a truck out here to pick them up by tomorrow.  I’d push for them to come out tonight, but the roads are awful now that the rains have started.  We’re just going to have to do what we can to keep them out of sight of the guests until help arrives.”

A quick smile dashed across Olivia’s mouth, coming and going so fast that Quinn wondered if he’d imagined it.  That is, until she murmured under her breath, “And hope for the best.”

Quinn snorted.  Yeah.  Like that had ever worked.

But he didn’t say what he was thinking.  Instead, he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and turned toward the lobby.  The arrivals—he tried not to think of them of individuals; they wouldn’t be around long enough for him to get attached—stood in quiet bunches of four or five, their sad, dark eyes all trained warily on him as if they half-expected him to go on a rampage and start beating them at any minute.  Quinn had had enough experience with their kind to know that this sort of treatment wouldn’t come as much of a surprise to them.

He blinked to cover a cringe when a girl who couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen reached out to clutch the ragged, dirty shirttail of the woman standing next to her.  The fear was easy enough to read on her face, although she kept her shoulders straight and refused to lower her eyes.

Good for her.

Quinn turned back to Olivia after running a frustrated hand through his hair.  “Take them down to the kitchen and have Javier feed them first, will you?  I don’t need them passing out in the lobby before I can make arrangements to get rid of them.”

Olivia’s lips twitched again, but she didn’t do anything more than nod obediently. 

Quinn started outside with his cell phone in hand, the sound of his footsteps echoing on the tile floor as he walked.  He did not need this distraction right now, not with a wedding two days from now that would pay twice as much as he’d make after delivering this “shipment” to the mine.  The sad fact was, human life in this part of the world was cheap.  Men, women, children—none carried much value around here except as symbols of power; a painful lesson Quinn had learned over a decade ago and would never forget.

Shaking off that melancholy thought, he stepped out into the sunshine. 

The hotel—of which he was a part-owner—catered to wealthy Americans who claimed to want a place where they could “get away from it all.”  To that end, there was no high speed Internet access, no cell phone service, and the telephones in the rooms could only be used to call other guests or the front desk.

Which didn’t mean that these services didn’t exist, just that they were not available to guests.  At least, not to those guests who weren’t desperate enough to come begging for a hit on their Blackberries.  Or Crackberries, as Quinn referred to them.

Those guests who needed a fix were shown up to the roof, where they often got four or five bars.  Plenty to calm them down for another few hours.  And if their families didn’t believe they were at the pool or the spa or simply taking a walk on the well-marked trails in the jungle?  Well, that was their problem. 

Quinn only told those wild-eyed folks who came to him with their cell phones clutched desperately to their chests about the hot spot on the roof, next to the landing pad where guests arrived on the zip lines. 

He chuckled to himself now as he climbed the stairs, thinking about how strange it was that guests came here to rough it, but that’s not really what they wanted.  What they really wanted was air conditioned rooms, top-notch meals, cocktails with ice cubes, hot rock massages after a few hours of whitewater rafting or rappelling down waterfalls.   They wanted to pretend that they were staying in an unspoiled jungle where jaguars ran free and monkeys roamed the trees, unmolested by humans other than themselves, but they wanted to do so in an environment that was as similar to home as possible.

But, mostly, they wanted their cell phones to work.

Fortunately, Quinn did too.  At least in this one area of the hotel, where the addicts could hide from their loved ones while checking their e-mail and voicemail and catching up with whatever drama was going on back in their offices.

Quinn pushed open the door leading to the roof and put a hand up to shade his eyes from the noonday sun’s glare.  Temporarily blinded, he stepped out onto the hot tar, his boots sticking to the gummy surface.

He looked up, startled, when a shadow passed over the sun.

Only, it wasn’t a shadow.

It was a woman.

And she wasn’t passing over the sun.  Instead, she was flying through the air like a human tennis ball that had been launched from a machine.  And it looked like he was the net.  Or maybe the racket.

Quinn didn’t have time to think, only to react.  It was only later, when he found himself lying on his back with a cute brunette lying on top of him, her small, firm breasts pressed against his chest, that he fleetingly congratulated himself for—rather than stepping out of the way like any sane person would have done—opening his arms wide and catching her as she fell.

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