When Janet O'Grady's husband died unexpectedly, she found herself penniless, homeless, and the keeper of a dangerous secret. Determined to make a new life for herself and her six-year-old twin boys, she returns to her family home in Washington State. Jobs are scarce, and she jumps at the offer from banker Grant Brooks to live in his packrat grandfather's house in exchange for cleaning it out and getting it ready for sale. Janet's boys quickly fall in love with Grant, and Janet finds herself deeply attracted to him. But there's a problem. Grant is not at all available: he's engaged to Janet's sister. Janet persuades herself her infatuation will fade if she can just keep her distance from Grant. Unfortunately, only he can help her unravel the dangerous secret that threatens her life and her children's. | Author: Darlene Polachic | Publisher: Darlene Polachic | Publication Date: Jun 29, 2017 | Number of Pages: 265 pages | Language: English | Binding: Paperback | ISBN-10: 0995951810 | ISBN-13: 9780995951815

Everything is so terrible now.

The #1 bestselling phenomenon continues in the eighth Stephanie Plum novel. The stakes get higher, the crimes get nastier, the chases get faster, and the men get hotter. This time Stephanie, Morelli, Ranger. Lula, Valerie, and Grandma Mazur are strapped in for the ride of their lives. Stephanie is hired to find a missing child. But things aren't always as they seem and Stephanie must determine if she's working for the right side of the law. Plus, there's the Morelli question: can a Jersey girl keep her head on straight when more than just bullets are aimed for her heart? And with the Plum and Morelli relationship looking rocky, is it time for Ranger to move in for the kill? Janet Evanovich's latest thriller proves that Hard Eight will never be enough. Product DetailsISBN-13: 9780312983864 Media Type: Paperback Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group Publication Date: 06-16-2003 Pages: 352 Product Dimensions: 4.20(w) x 6.70(h) x 1.20(d) Series: Stephanie Plum SeriesAbout the Author Janet Evanovich is the #1 bestselling author of the Stephanie Plum series, including Four to Score, High Five, Hot Six and Seven Up. She lives in New Hampshire. LORELEI KING has recorded over 200 audiobooks, including several titles from Janet Evanovich's bestselling Stephanie Plum series and Darynda Jones's Charley Davidson series. Her many awards include the 2008 Audie Award for Female Solo Narration for Tallgrass by Sandra Dallas, the Radio Times performer of the Year for The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood, and AudioFile Earphones Awards for Eleven on Top and Twelve Sharp, both by Janet Evanovich. AudioFile also deemed her one of the "Best Voices of 2008."Read an Excerpt Read an Excerpt Chapter One Lately, I've been spending a lot of time rolling on the ground with men who think a stiffy represents personal growth. The rolling around has nothing to do with my sex life. The rolling around is what happens when a bust goes crapolla and there's a last ditch effort to hog tie a big, dumb bad guy possessing a congenitally defective frontal lobe. My name is Stephanie Plum, and I'm in the fugitive apprehension business ...bond enforcement, to be exact, working for my cousin Vincent Plum. It wouldn't be such a bad job except the direct result of bond enforcement is usually incarceration ?and fugitives tend to not like this. Go figure. To encourage fugitive cooperation on the way back to the pokey I usually persuade the guys I capture to wear handcuffs and leg shackles. This works pretty good most of the time. And if done right, cuts back on the rolling around on the ground stuff. Unfortunately, today wasn't most of the time. Martin Paulson, weighing in at 350 pounds and standing 5'8" tall, was arrested for credit card fraud and for being a genuinely obnoxious person. He failed to show for his court appearance last week, and this put Martin on my Most Wanted List. Since Martin is not too bright, he hadn't been too hard to find. Martin had, in fact, been at home engaged in what he does best ...stealing merchandise off the internet. I'd managed to get Martin into cuffs and leg shackles and into my car. I'd even managed to drive Martin to the police station on North Clinton Avenue. Unfortunately, when I attempted to get Martin out of my car he'd tipped over and was now rollingaround on his belly, trussed up like a Christmas goose, unable to right himself. We were in the parking lot adjacent to the municipal building. The back door leading to the docket lieutenant was less than fifty feet away. I could call for help, but I'd be the brunt of cop humor for days. I could unlock the cuffs or ankle shackles, but I didn't trust Paulson. He was royally pissed-off, red-faced and swearing, making obscene threats and horrifying animal sounds. I was standing there, watching Paulson struggle, wondering what the hell I was going to do, because anything short of a fork-lift wasn't going to get Paulson up off the pavement. And just then, Joe Juniak pulled into the lot. Juniak is a former police chief and is now mayor of n0 Trenton. He's a couple years older than me and about a foot taller. Juniak's second cousin, Ziggy, is married to my cousin-in-law Gloria Jean. So we're sort of family ...in a remote way. The driver side window slid down, and Juniak grinned at me, cutting his eyes to Paulson. "Is he yours?" "Yep." "He's illegally parked. His ass is over the white line." I toed Paulson, causing him to start rocking again. "He's stuck." Juniak got out of his car and hauled Paulson up by his armpits. "You don't mind if I embellish this story when I spread it all over town, do you?" "I do mind! Remember, I voted for you," I said. "And we're almost related." "Not gonna help you, cutie. Cops live for stuff like this." "You're not a cop anymore." "Once a cop, always a cop." Paulson and I watched Juniak get back into his car and drive away. "I can't walk in these things," Paulson said, looking down at the shackles. "I'm gonna fall over again. I haven't got a good sense of balance." "Have you ever heard the bounty hunter slogan bring ëem back --dead or alive?" "Sure." "Don't tempt me." Actually, bringing someone back dead is a big no-no, but this seemed like a good time to make an empty threat. It was late afternoon. It was spring. And I wanted to get on with my life. Spending another hour coaxing Paulson to walk across the parking lot wasn't high on my list of favored things to do. I wanted to be on a beach somewhere with the sun blistering my skin until I looked like a fried pork rind. Okay, truth is at this time of year that might have to be Cancun, and Cancun didn't figure into my budget. Still the point was, I didn't want to be here in this stupid parking lot with Paulson. "You probably don't even have a gun," Paulson said. "Hey give me a break. I haven't got all day for this. I have other things to do." "Like what?" cf0"None of your business." "Hah! You haven't got anything better to do." I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and black Caterpillar boots, and I had a real urge to kick him in the back of his leg with my size seven Cat. "Tell me," he said. "I promised my parents I'd be home for dinner at six." Paulson burst out laughing. "That's pathetic. That's fucking pathetic." The laughter turned into a coughing fit, Paulson leaned forward, wobbled side to side and fell over. I reached for him, but it was too late. He was back on his belly, doing his beached whale imitation. * • * My parents live in a narrow duplex in a chunk of Trenton called the Burg. If the Burg was a food, it would be pasta --penne rigate, ziti, fettuccine, spaghetti, and elbow macaroni, swimming in marinara, cheese sauce or mayo. Good, dependable, all-occasion food that puts a smile on your face and fat on your butt. The Burg is a solid neighborhood where people buy houses and live in them until death kicks them out. Backyards are used to run a clothesline, store the garbage can and give the dog a place to poop. No fancy backyard decks and gazebos for Burgers. Burgers sit on their small front porches and cement stoops. The better to see the world go by. I rolled in just as my mother was pulling the roast chicken out of the oven. My father was already in his seat at the head of the table. He stared straight ahead, eyes glazed, thoughts in limbo, knife and fork in hand. My sister Valerie, who had recently moved back home after leaving her husband, was at work whipping potatoes in the kitchen. When we were kids Valerie was the perfect daughter. And I was the daughter who stepped in dog poo, sat on gum, and constantly fell off the garage roof in an attempt to fly. As a last ditch effort to preserve her marriage, Valerie had traded in her Italian-Hungarian genes and turned herself into Meg Ryan. The marriage failed, but the blond Meg shag persists. Valerie's kids were at the table with my dad. The nine year old, Angie, was sitting primly with her hands folded, resigned to enduring the meal, an almost perfect clone of Valerie at that age. The seven year old, Mary Alice, the kid from hell, had two sticks poked into her brown hair. "What's with the sticks?" I asked. "They not sticks. They're antlers. I'm a reindeer." This was a surprise because usually she's a horse. "How was your day?" Grandma asked me, setting a bowl of green beans on the table. "Did you shoot anybody? Did you capture any bad guys?" Grandma Mazur moved in with my parents shortly after my Grandpa Mazur took his fat clogged arteries to the all-you-can-eat buffet in the sky. Grandma's in her mid-seventies and doesn't look a day over ninety. Her body is aging, but her mind seems to be going in the opposite direction. She was wearing white tennis shoes and a lavender polyester warm-up suit. Her steel gray hair was cut short and permed to within an inch of its life. Her nails were painted lavender to match the suit. "I didn't shoot anybody today," I said, "but I brought in a guy wanted for credit card fraud." There was a knock at the front door, and Mabel Markowitz stuck her head in and called, "Yoohoo". My parents live in a two family duplex. They own the south half, and Mabel Markowitz owns the north half, the house divided by a common wall and years of disagreement over house paint. Out of necessity, Mabel's made thrift a religious experience, getting by on social security and government surplus peanut butter. Her husband, Izzy, was a good man but drank himself into an early grave. Mabel's only daughter died of uterine cancer a year ago. The son-in-law died a month later in a car crash. All forward progress stopped at the table, and everyone looked to the front door, because in all the years Mabel had lived next door, she'd never once yoohooed while we were eating. "I hate to disturb your meal," Mabel said. "I just wanted to ask Stephanie if she'd have a minute to stop over, later. I have a question about this bond business. It's for a friend." "Sure," I said. "I'll be over after di

Just for dramatics.

Janet Collins dancing in the Cole Porter musical ''Out of This World'' in 1950.

It was said in a whisper, a tone somewhere between a secret and a confession. “I can’t even make rice…” Staring, us ladies sat for a moment unsure of what to say. And then it began, a rush of exhales and a chorus of “Me either!” “Same here!” and “I thought it was just me!” […]

It has rained non-stop for the past few days. One child is at school and another napping. You’re not quite feeling yourself, and you aren’t quite up to tackling the housework just yet. It is wet and gloomy outside, and you just want to sit with your feelings. You want to listen to something that connects with your current mood.

Janet knows she needs to lose weight - she hasn't seen her feet since the nineties - but when she staggers up onto a table at the work's New Year's party, with enough beer inside her to power Australia for a year, and challenges her mortal enemy, Jack, to a weight-loss competition, she has no idea what she's started. She can't even remember it the next day, but her drunken rant has already become an internet sensation, and now there's no backing out of it. Jack wants nothing to do with it - although he hasn't seen his feet since the eighties - but with his doctor forcing him to lose weight and Janet's constant hostility towards him, he is soon on board, and the competition between them is fierce. So, it's on! Every month for a year the rivals compete to lose the most weight in diets set by their colleagues, ranging from the reasonably sensible to the completely and utterly insane! Attracting full media attention.

Twenty years ago, MTV held the most epic and iconic VMAs of all time — which included appearances by Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Madonna, Janet Jackson, R.E.M., and Neil Young. So step aside, 2000 VMAs. Just step aside.

From her early days performing with big brother Michael through her evolution into a sexy, daring solo artist and mom, take a look at some of Janet Jackson's most daring moments