Killing Joe, available now from Samhain Publishing To professional assassin Joe, life is cheap, and crash researcher Anna just another hit. Until his own unplanned car crash changes everything. Dr. Anna Baird, dedicated to the point of obsession, suddenly finds her state-of-the-art crash test dummy haunted by a weird and exciting stranger – who seems doomed to mirror eternally in his own repeated death the fate he’d intended for Anna.  While his unconscious body lies in a hospital bed, Joe finds love and redemption in a reality only he and Anna inhabit.

Reviews:

"KILLING JOE is intriguingly compelling in its premise, and the characters experience countless emotions and plenty of fiery passions."

"The talented skill of Marie Treanor is evident in all her books, as passion and emotion are alway smoothlywoven together. KILLING JOE is definitely not your normal romance, as Ms. Treanor takes its innovative plot and makes it much more than your usual boy meets girl love story...   KILLING JOE is a magical story with delightful characters and enough heat to singe the pages" - 4 stars, Amelia Richard, Sensual Ecataromance.

"Now this is an interesting story and Marie Treanor pulls it off masterfully. It’s sexy, sensual, hot and a great read! I really enjoyed it and it was short enough for me to read it in one sitting on a train journey. I don’t think I could have put it down anyway...There is a lot of emotion in this story and I love the twists and turns that Marie Treanor always delivers with each of her stories. This will keep you on the edge of your seat.

"Yes, I’m a great fan of this talented author’s work and you must read her work now! You won’t regret it." - 4 hearts, Valerie, Love Romances and More

"I've had fun with the pretty original premise, the wry humor, and the refreshingly not-too-stereotypical characters..." Mrs Giggles, 83

Excerpts:

     No one ever accused the assassin of humor. But he did possess a fine sense of irony that he liked to employ in his work.
     For example, he knew exactly how to kill the girl.
     Through his spotlessly clean windscreen, he saw her emerge alone from the hangar-like building she worked in. A swift glance at the open wallet in his hand showed him the photograph of a studious-looking, dark-haired young woman in black-rimmed spectacles and a white lab coat, her severity lightened by a quirky half-smile. Across one creamy if clinical shoulder was scrawled, “All my love, Maria”. He’d written it himself last night, along with a fake New York phone number on the back, just to make his possession of it look innocent.
     The girl now walking across the car park right in front of his vehicle was not called Maria, and she was not American, but she was definitely the same woman. Even her thick, black hair was in exactly the same style, if you could call it that—tied carelessly behind her head, with lots of it escaping. Dr. Anna Baird, a Project Leader working for the British Institute of Crash Research.
     His client wanted her death to look accidental. And obviously, given her profession, a car crash was the most pleasing accident for her to have. But Joe—the assassin always thought of himself as Joe—found it a particularly ironic touch to use her own research to do the job properly. Like any kill, a car crash had to be studied scientifically in order to ensure the target’s death and his own survival, and she did appear to be the number one expert in the field. He had a bit of reading to do back at the hotel.
     Just beyond his car, the girl paused, and Joe dropped his gaze to the wallet, casually rummaging. Some targets sensed his observation. It wasn’t unusual for eye contact to be made, but Joe preferred to avoid it until he was ready. However, the girl just looked around her, frowning, as if she couldn’t remember where she’d parked her car. Joe could have pointed it out to her. After only a moment, she went straight toward it.
     Joe liked the way she walked, economical with her movements, largely unaware of her own body, yet with quiet, natural grace. And he reckoned, by that faintest roll of her hips beneath her well-worn leather jacket, that there was suppressed passion in there. A clichéd fantasy about a female scientist, no doubt, but he was sticking with it.
     Dr. Baird still appeared slightly distracted as she went through the motions of inserting her key into the lock of her Saab, opening the door, throwing her briefcase onto the passenger seat and climbing in. There looked to be a permanent frown on her brow. Perhaps Joe’s client preferred happier women.
     Once she had belted herself in, she placed her hands on the steering wheel with driving-school precision. Then unexpectedly, her head dropped forward onto the wheel in an unexpected gesture of exhaustion or defeat. Like most people, she imagined herself invisible once inside her own car, and Joe found that hint of vulnerability oddly touching. He’d make sure his job was done quickly and efficiently.
 

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