First of all, I want to whine a little. My husband and I "restored" my computer because I was having a lot of problems. Luckily, I saved my work, but now I can't get it to look the same, and I really LIKED it! I've messed with the fonts, the display, etc. but it just doesn't look the same. On the other hand, it's bigger, which might be better for me in the end. Staring at the computer screen so much is playing havoc with my eyes (and my head!)
Also, I think I'm getting a cold. I rarely get sick, but I'm having those signs. It could be allergies, the weather is changing (thank God!) but whatever it is, it's making me miserable.
I've been busy, still have that self-imposed deadline that I'm failing miserably at, so to tide you over, I want to give you a brief glimpse of the suspense in my current novel, Holding Fast.
A floor lamp illuminated the bedroom. Blue velvet on the bed, and he’d bet on satin sheets underneath. The guy was proud of this room, if rumor had it right.
He didn’t see any frills to indicate a woman, but his curiosity got the best of him. The sheets weren’t satin. What a disappointment. Regular cotton sheets but, judging from the stains on them, either the guy jerked off or he had a girl visit from time to time.
He’d bet on both.
The closet door was open and there, almost taunting him, lay a folder, its documents sprawling out like fingers trying to escape their black hole. But he couldn’t grab it and run. No, if there was anything else he could get while he was here, he would.
He heard a key in the lock and the door clicked open. He froze in the shadows and touched his hand to the knife he carried. He didn’t necessarily plan on killing, but when he saw the owner, intense loathing charged through him. He wanted the guy dead. He could try to escape, or exact revenge.
But God didn’t allow him to choose an option. The owner noticed him before he could slip away and think on his decision.
“What the hell?” the owner muttered, probably recognizing him. As if realizing what the intruder came for would not be pretty, the guy turned to run. It was too late.
The blade sank into the man’s ribs, right beneath his heart. The smell of blood fed the killer’s senses and caused his own blood to pulse through his gonads.
Ah, it’d been a long time, but the sensation of a kill hadn’t changed.
Want to see what happens? Download a copy!