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Yesterday was the 19th of the month and that means it was my day on Author's Speak...yippeee Lou Sylvre and I teamed up again for another look at the Fictional Bad Ass Association Annual Convention. Come take a peak!   My snippet today comes from a romantic thriller released earlier this year by Dreamspinner Press and is part of my Circles series. Mason looked around the pit. He walked the few feet from one end to the other, then gazed up for a minute. “Riece, someone dug this pit and covered it in such a way that when some animal walked on it, the wood would give way. There is no sign of anything being down here, no bones or scat remains, nothing.”. “So?” “So that makes me think whoever did this comes back and checks it often. I’d much rather you were up there”—Mason pointed up—“than down here if they come back and find us. Honestly the more I think about why this might be here, the more it’s starting to creep me out.”    The next mystery suspense from my Circles series is in the editing stages and due for release late this year. Here's a bit of an excerpt: “Fucking cold.” Linden put his head down, gripped his bags tightly to his chest, and ran to the door of the main lodge. When he grasped the door handle, he was sure it was going to be locked, and he gave a few seconds’ thought to breaking it down. The handle turned easily, though, and the door swung open. “Thank you,” Linden whispered to the door. Even if no one was here, he’d be warm, sheltered, and out of the storm. “Are you serious?” A husky and familiar male voice said. At the same time, someone grabbed Linden’s arm and dragged him farther into the lodge. The door closed behind him with an audible snap. Linden shook snow from his head and brushed it off his coat. “God damn, it’s cold.” “Yeah, welcome to Wyoming in the winter. Great place in the summer, but every winter I swear I’m moving, and then I never do. Hey. I know you.” The guy standing beside Linden blushed suddenly. “I started to call you a few times and chickened out. We’re… uh… closed for some renovations. You should have called first.” Linden blinked at the man—Tyler McCall—then glanced around. Big plastic tarps lay scattered near what looked like a bar, and wooden and metal workbenches and sawhorses littered the area. Some of the tables in the dining room were draped in thick black plastic. “This isn’t exactly a social visit,” Linden said. He wasn’t in the habit of calling ahead to arrange an appointment when he wanted to question someone. Holding out his hand—no reason not to be civil—Linden offered a small smile and said, “Special Agent Linden Bourne.” |
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