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Hiding by Jenny Morton Potts - Book Tour + Giveaway

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A gripping psychological thriller with chilling twists, from a unique new voice
Hiding Tour Graphic
Jenny Morton Potts
Genre: Thriller
Publisher: Cahoots Publishing
Publication Date: February 1, 2018
Ready or not. The truth will come
Keller Baye and Rebecca Brown live on different sides of the Atlantic. Until she falls in love with him, Rebecca knows nothing of Keller. But he’s known about her for a very long time, and now he wants to destroy her.
This is the story of two families. One living under the threat of execution in North Carolina. The other caught up in a dark mystery in the Scottish Highlands. The families’ paths are destined to cross. But why? And can anything save them when that happens?
Grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go until the very last page
- Bestselling Author Marius Gabriel
"Hiding is an exceptional book that hooked me from the start and kept me riveted throughout."
- Michelle Ryles at The Book Magnet
"A very well written novel with twists and turns that when unravelled will leave you wide eyed and feeling slightly breathless."
- Ms Ling, Top 1000 Amazon reviewer


Chapter 4
The Hunters

Keller sat in the stationery Chevy. He had his father’s ashes strapped into the seat belt on the passenger seat beside him, along with a bag containing Othaniel Baye’s personal effects:
A wedding ring – no inscription.
A fake Shinola watch, which was still keeping time but the Roman numerals for IX and X had fallen off, so that the time between eight o’clock and eleven o’clock stretched eerily. Keller put the watch on his wrist and looked through the rest of his father’s belongings. Mostly they were from the first prison, before his crime was upgraded to capital.
There were several certificates detailing qualifications in mechanics and an Enhanced Driver’s License. Othaniel would have been hoping, back when he was first incarcerated, to land himself a decent job as a prisoner.
There were some faded pajama bottoms.
A diary, with no entries. Keller shook his head at that. ‘Dumbest thing I ever saw.’
Couple of pair sneakers.
A wallet with photos. Keller took out the picture of his father and Aunt Joya. They looked younger there than Keller was now. They were going somewhere in fine clothes, laughing, both of them. His father wore a suit with a vest. There was still hope in Othaniel’s eyes.
Keller got out of the Chevy with the carryall and walked towards Greensboro’s South Main Street. He slung the bag up on his shoulder and slowly ripped the photograph in half, dropping Aunt Joya on the sidewalk. He walked up to a homeless man outside Kitty’s Nails. The guy wasn’t begging, just sat hunched by the doorway. His foot was rattling, in the aftermath of some substance ingestion most likely, and the little sandy dog at his side fixed his stare on that trembling foot. Keller stared at the man’s shoes, as he did every time he passed a homeless person. But there was nothing remarkable about these scruffy loafers. Keller put down the carryall next to the odd couple and walked away. Neither the man nor the dog seemed to notice.
For the ashes, Keller had no idea where to take them. He’d hoped something on the landscape would speak to him as he’d been driving from the mortician’s, but nothing had suggested itself. If he was honest, he could barely remember living in a place with his father. His memories were more an awareness of a time when his father was simply present, there in the house, there in his life, but he struggled to see him at a table with a plate of food in front of him, or shaving at a bathroom mirror, or ever being out in the yard. Keller had no photographs of their own home, when he had lived with his dad down in Fayetteville, but he guessed Joya had ditched all that. There was nothing left of them.
In the end, Keller took the ashes down to Horsepen Creek which held significant memories for himself at least. Lots of alright memories and one very bad one, in the denser part of the forest. He would stay well away from that area. Keller walked by the river for a half mile or so to be clear of the dog walkers and then studied the urn to see how it opened. It was easy enough, just newly sealed.
The water was moving slowly on the Creek as the heat built to full summer and the ashes settled on the surface as one shape, like a grey continent, breaking only when it slipped over boulders. Keller took off his shoes and sat on a rock near the edge of the river, with his feet in up to the ankles. He wished his father could have been to this place with him just once. He tried to think of something meaningful to say, not a prayer exactly but something about the man who gave him life.
His teacher had told Keller he had a way with words. He couldn’t remember her name, Miss Rake or Miss Rooney or something. She’d taught him over at Jefferson too, when he lived with his dad. Always seemed to have a word of encouragement for Keller. She used to call him ‘son’. C’mon son, nice looking boy like you. Get your head down into those books. Make something of yourself. I know you can. She’d pick up a hunk of his untended blond mop and pretend to tug. She even brought him novels from home, White Fang and Johnny Tremain. He could see the book covers now in his mind’s eye. That teacher came to see Aunt Joya on one occasion but she didn’t get past the front porch. Now Keller couldn’t even remember that lady’s name. Was it Rook? Miss Rook? Many times, he thought he’d seen her since school but it was just wishful thinking. Whenever he got close, it turned out to be someone else. Even after the execution, he thought he saw her at the press conference, sitting near the back but when he looked for her afterwards, there was no sign.
Keller turned the empty urn around in his hands. There was no inscription, Keller couldn’t see the point. He wasn’t keeping the urn. The mortician had just typed up a sticky label with his father’s name and date of passing. Keller peeled off the label and pressed it inside the back pocket of his new jeans.
There was nothing in Keller’s head to say to his father. He looked around the huge tulip poplars lining the Creek. Impossible to tell which one had held the old rope swing he’d used as a boy but Keller left the urn at the foot of a particularly grand specimen.
It had taken Othaniel Baye just under nine minutes to die.

About Jenny Morton Potts

Jenny Morton Potts
Jenny is a novelist, screenplay writer and playwright. After a series of 'proper jobs', she realised she was living someone else's life and escaped to Gascony to make gîtes. Knee deep in cement and pregnant, Jenny was happy. Then autism and a distracted spine surgeon wiped out the order. Returned to wonderful England, to write her socks off.
Jenny would like to see the Northern Lights but worries that’s the best bit and should be saved till last. Very happily, and gratefully, settled with family.
She tries not to take herself too seriously.
Social media links: Facebook | Twitter

Book Tour Schedule

Follow the book tour from April 16 - 28, 2018.
Visit each tour stop daily and discover more features, excerpts, reviews, interviews, fun facts and more! To check the latest tour schedule, visit the Hiding Book Page at Book Unleashed.


1. I once fell asleep in a swimming pool. Me and my partner ran away to France to run a business and we built a swimming pool. The evening it was ready to fill, we had been out dining with neighbours and perhaps we had a little too much Cabernet, but we walked down the Roman steps into the swimming pool. The water was just at the deep end for the first few hours. So we lay in the shallow end, chatting, looking at the stars (which are fabulous in Gascony) and inevitably since we worked our socks off all day every day, we fell asleep. At dawn, we felt the water lapping at our toes, and there was a little salamander within arm’s length staring at me, as if to say. ‘Hey, Jen, wakey wakey’ or the French equivalent. 

2. I have three nipples. Back in the day, the medieval day, this was quite dangerous. I wouldn’t have been admitting it as a fun fact back then, since it would attract the label, ‘Witch!’ It is just tiny, this third nipple and although I breastfed my baby, I did this just with the regular two. So who knows the capability of this witch-like feature. My brother also has a third nipple. And his makes much more of a public appearance than mine ever does. His is also very small. Our thirdies resemble little birthmarks. Neither of us has ever felt remotely self conscious about this, probably because no-one has actually known, other than our spouses and perhaps our parents (though they have doubtless forgotten). Of course, now you know. I probably won’t mention this confession to my brother.

3. I like to include all kinds of real facts in my books. I tell my friends or family when I have included them and this brings lots of laughter. I do this because I can. I do it because it is such a pleasure to bump into real life as I travel through the edits. In ‘Hiding’ there is a ton of reality. My mother used to hold my chocolate face up to the mirror. I burned the best playing cards. I had a Duckham’s Oil sticker on my trike. So much about Ralph and Youngest! Even those panda eyes… No need to write a memoir, it’s all there in my book career.



Hiding Giveaway Graphic
Prizes up for grabs:
1. $10 Amazon Gift Card
2. 5 eBook copies of Hiding
Contest runs from April 16 - 28, 2018.

In partnership with
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