*PREORDER FOR TEMPEST RISING, SYDNEY RYE MYSTERIES BOOK 20. 

Tempest Rising is being set for January of 2027.

The paperback preorders will ship after the ebook releases. Paperbacks take approximately 3 weeks to arrive.

***The audiobook will NOT be available for preorder.*** We won’t have a release date until we know Sonja’s recording schedule. Make sure you’re subscribed to the newsletter to stay up to date. You can sign up here: emilykimelman.com/News

I wake to Frank, Nila, and Blue all whining. Then the world starts to shake. And this is different. It’s not a gentle trembling. 

It’s violent. 

Chaotic. 

Stop. Drop. Hold on. 

Advice given in every earthquake-prone area of the world. I first heard it in Costa Rica. But Simon reminded me on our way here. Get under something and hold on.

I sweep James up into my arms and stumble out of bed, the sheets seeming to hold onto my shins and twine around my feet. The floor pitches like we’re on the open seas. 

The curtains sway, weak daylight flashing, illuminating enough for me to see the desk against the wall, just beyond the tv console. 

Blue leaps after me as I drop to my knees, James held against my chest with my left arm, right arm supporting us as I crawl. He squeezes my neck so tight it makes it hard to breathe. Or maybe that’s the panic.

The chair that was pushed under the desk rolls away as the world tips. I crawl under and grip the leg. Blue presses in next to me. Frank and Nila won’t fit. “Under,” I say, releasing the table leg for a moment to point to the low coffee table. 

Frank whines, but his sister nudges him toward it. They crawl under and lay down. The painting above the bed falls, tipping off the rumpled sheets and crashing onto the tiles. The glass shatters and vibrates on the shaking floor. 

The world is a cacophony of sound—cracking, smashing, ripping. The building, the world is being torn apart. 

The curtain rods tumble down, clattering to the ground. Daylight pours in. The molding around the glass doors cracks. 

I bow my body around James. He lets out a whimper. “It’s okay, Sweetheart.” I tell him. “Everything is okay.”

Frank warbles out a pathetic sound. “Otay, Ank!” James yells to his dog. I squeeze him harder. My brave boy. 

A wrenching sound rips through the air as a chasm opens in the floor between where Frank and Nila cower under the coffee table and our hiding spot. The tile cracks, the entire building shifts. And then we’re falling. I curl around James, hold my breath. Grip the table leg. Time does that weird thing where it goes both fast and slow. 

Impact, sliding, arms around my son. Weight, crushing pain in my ankle. A solid something at my back. Impact on my shoulder as my body stops falling. 

Dust plumes—caught in columns of daylight. Blue’s eyes catch mine. He’s on the other side of James whose breath hits my neck, fast and scared, his body wrapped around mine like a monkey. 

The movement of the world slows, trembles, settles, then stops. I take in a stuttering breath. 

“You okay?” I ask James, peeking down at him. His dark lashes are spiked with tears, his gaze wide, scared. He doesn’t answer, just stares at me. Probably in shock. We were just in a major earthquake. Or a giant decided to destroy our hotel. 

Frank warbles. I glance up to see his head about eight feet above us, ears flopping around his worried face. James looks up at him. “Otay, Ank,” James says again, his voice quieter. Less sure.

Last time he assured Frank, we hadn’t fallen through the floor.