My Book Chatter...: Carved in Darkness

Showing posts with label Carved in Darkness. Show all posts

July 8, 2014

Happy Release Day Interview ~ Sacrificial Muse by Maegan Beaumont

Happy Release Day to Maegan Beaumont and Sacrificial Muse!!

Here is an interview I did with Maegan late last month :)

Can you tell us a little bit about yourself that we won’t find in your bio? I’m the eldest of three girls. I don’t have any brothers but there are 30 grandchildren on my mother’s side and most of them are male so I feel like I do.

What do you do in your spare time or when you are not writing? What is this “spare time” you speak of?? Seriously though… if I’m not writing, I’m taking care of my family. If I’m not taking care of my family, I’m taking care of the animals. If I’m not taking care of the animals, I’m canning or thinking about canning (strawberries are in season and I need to put up some preserves…). But there is always time for reading. Always.

Do you have a ‘day job’? Nope. Officially, I am a writer/stay-at-home mom. Lucky girl. :)

When did you first start writing? Before I can even remember… my mom brought me a box of old school papers and mixed among them was a “book” I wrote in the 1st grade. I think I was six years old.

How or why did you choose the genre you write in? Every time I have a story idea it starts out innocently enough but then… it gets dark. That’s just where my mind naturally goes.

Where do you get your ideas? My ideas come from everywhere! I’ll see someone on the street and think what’s their story? or read something in the news that I can’t stop thinking about. Something I overhear someone saying or something I see on TV. It’s a never ending stream.

Do you ever experience writer’s block? I experience what I call writer slow down. There are times when I’ll re-write a scene a dozen times because I can’t seem to get it right or I’ll have difficulty transitioning from one scene to the next but I never stop completely.

Do you work with an outline, or do you just write? I use an abbreviated outline that highlights my inciting incident and my major plot points. Everything else that happens is a mystery to me. I have a very active imagination and I can’t see limiting myself that way. To me, that takes all the fun out of it.

Is there any particular author or book that influenced you in any way either growing up or as an adult? Les Edgerton was my first writing instructor (and a published author in his own rite)and without him, I would never have found the confidence or been able to refine my write to the level needed for traditional publication. I owe that man everything.

Can you tell us about your challenges (if any) in getting your first book published? My only real challenge was getting past my own lack of confidence. I’ve always been a writer but I never believed that I could do it as a profession because I never thought I was good enough. Some days, I still don’t.

If you had to go back and do it all over, is there any aspect of your novel or getting it published that you would change? I would have tried sooner. I wasted a lot of time not believing in myself and it’s one of my biggest regrets.

Have you written a book you love that you have not been able to get published? No… but I’ve started a few stories that I never finished. Maybe it’s time to give them a dusting and get back into them. :)

Can you tell us about any WIP’s? Sure! I’m currently wrapping up book #3 in Sabrina’s series (this will be Michael’s book, told from his POV) and then I’ll take the summer to write the prequel to the series’ first book, CARVED IN DARKNESS. After that, if there is still an audience for Sabrina and Michael, I’ll start the next book in the series (#4) that will be set in Yuma, Arizona and dealing with a killer who abducts female migrant farmer workers. I’m also, slowly but surely working on an unrelated crime novel set in South Boston.

Is anything in your book based on a real life experience or is it purely all imagination? Sabrina’s relationship with her best friend, Val, is very much based on my relationship with my own best friend. Our circumstances are not the same but the fact that Val is someone whom Sabrina absolutely needs in her life—that’s very much real. I don’t know where I’d be without my bestie… she and I have been friends for 30 years. She’s an endless source of patience and encouragement to me—even when I didn’t want it or even deserve it. I think I’d probably die without her.

What was your favorite chapter (or part) to write and why? I had a few… in SACRIFICIAL MUSE, there is a scene where Michael strips naked in the presence of another woman and I very much wanted the returning reader to have that now, hold on a minute moment where they thought that he was doing something he shouldn’t with her. Also, any scene where Ben is involved. He’s my absolute favorite character right now. His voice comes through loud and clear and he always has an opinion—even if the scene I’m writing has nothing to do with him.

How did you come up with the title? My publisher, Midnight Ink, came up with both brilliant titles. I suck at naming things.

What project are you working on now? I’m wrapping up book #3 in Sabrina’s series and from there I’ll work on the prequel… after that, who knows. :)

Are there certain characters you would like to go back to, or is there a theme or idea you’d love to work with again? My big theme—the one I keep going back to, again and again, is perseverance. Never giving up. Never backing down, even when it seems like giving up is the smartest thing to do. I think that’s why I love these character so much—because they very much embody that idea for me.

What has been the toughest criticism given to you as an author? What has been the best compliment? When I first starting working with Les Edgerton, he told me under no uncertain terms, that my writing sucked. I had never had any formal training (not one writing class before the age of 35) and to hear that solidified what I had been afraid of my entire life—that I wasn’t good enough… but I’m not a quitter and instead of burying my head in the sand I took my knocks and used them to make myself better. That first bit of praise from him is what made me believe I could actually do this—he made me feel like a real writer… the Gold medal I just received from Independent Publishers helps too. :)

Do you have any advice to give to aspiring writers? Don’t be afraid to try and don’t ever give up. If you are blessed enough to find a mentor (and I strongly suggest you do!), make sure it’s one who has come further in this crazy journey we call writing and make sure they’re willing to be honest with you. Listen to them—chances are, they know what they’re doing.

Is there anything that you would like to say to your readers and fans? I’d just like to thank everyone out there for all of their support and encouragement. Writing is hard and most writers are struggling. We don’t do it for fortune and fame. We do it because we love to… and for our readers. You guys are what make it all worthwhile—everything else is icing on the cake.

Thank you so much for agreeing to be interviewed Maegan :)

Title: Sacrificial Muse
Author: Maegan Beaumont
Release Date: July 8th 2014
Publisher: Midnight Ink
Add to Goodreads

Sabrina opened the red envelope and saw one word...

Mox. Soon.

After learning the identity of the serial killer behind her 83 horrific days of rape and torture, Sabrina Vaughn has suffered more physical and emotional wounds than she can handle. Despite reeling with pain both old and new, Sabrina is given a second chance as a San Francisco homicide detective. But as reporters dog her every step and hordes of mail pour into her office -- from supporters and nutjobs alike--Sabrina falls deeper into a pit of humiliation and anxiety. When nine red roses repeatedly show up on her desk, followed by an ominous red envelope addressed to Calliope, Sabrina realizes that a new killer is targeting her. She is his chosen muse, and the Fates require sacrifice.

Read my review here

Sabrina followed Croft into the room and shut the door. Strickland was crouched next to the bed, looking at something that clung to the side of the pale pink duvet. Whatever it was, it wasn’t blood. From what she could see, there was no visible blood evidence. Lack of blood told her that whatever had happened to Bethany Edwards, it hadn’t been done here.

“Find something?” She said to her partner and he looked at her before shooting Croft a withering glare.

“Maybe.” He tipped his chin at her. “Might be semen. Might be something else,” he said, scraping a few flakes into an evidence envelope, carefully not to disturb the rose petals scattered across the bed. “I’ll let CSU tell me, ‘cause I ain’t smelling it.” He cracked a smile. “You do that?” he said, tipping his chin toward Croft’s face.

She glanced at Croft. Most of the damage was hidden by the hat but she could still see some bumps and bruises. “Yes.”

“Coulda called—I’d have liked to see it happen.”

“Check YouTube.”

Strickland laughed, the sound causing Croft’s shoulders to go stiff. He wasn’t happy about being laughed at but he kept quiet about it. Sabrina watched her partner poke around in the nightstand drawer and remove a couple of items. An expensive tube of lotion. A television remote. A box of tissue. She looked around. No personal items belonging to Bethany Edwards were visible. No clothes on the floor. No magazines or text books. Nothing to tell her that this was a room belonging to a nineteen-year-old college student. Nothing. Just the roses. He’d set the stage—made everything just so in order to feed his fantasy…

“Bag it. It’s a long shot for prints but he might’ve touched them,” Sabrina said to Strickland and he nodded, learning long ago to not question her instincts.

She turned to Croft, studying him for a few seconds before speaking. “So… what do you think? Who is she?” she said to him, watching his face for signs.

Excitement. Arousal. Disgust. Remorse. She saw none of them. All she saw was the kind of detached curiosity that made her slightly uncomfortable.

“Clio.”

Strickland stood, his head tilted to the side a fraction of an inch, asking her if she’d told Croft about the phone call she’d gotten that led her here. She shook her head, telling him that she hadn’t. Strickland dropped his free hand to the grip of his service weapon. Croft’s shoulders tensed, as if sensing Strickland’s intentions, but he remained focused on her.

“At least that’s what it says.” he said, looking at her a second longer before dropping his gaze to the young woman on the bed, his eyes locked on her face.

Sabrina followed his gaze, took in the scene. She was nude, posed with her hands resting demurely on her stomach. Every inch of her pale skin was covered in writing, the ink a muddy rust against the milky white of it. The same word over and over:

Κλέος

“You can read that?” Strickland said. His hand was still on his gun. “Is it Latin?”

Croft looked up at him. “No. It’s Greek and yes, I can read it. And to answer your next questions, I can also speak it and write it.”

“You’re fluent in both Latin and Greek—you know what that makes you, right?” Strickland said, his hand still on his gun.

“Aside from a multi-lingual douchebag with an over-priced education? I suppose it makes me a suspect,” Croft said, delivering the last of his revelation directly at her.

Strickland took a step forward. “No… coupled with the fact that you happen to keep turning up when shit gets weird, it makes you the suspect.”

Croft turned to face Strickland, head on. “I’m here because she brought me here,” he said, tipping his head at Mandy.

“Don’t get it twisted—you’re here because you have a thing for following my partner,” Strickland said. She wasn’t sure when he’d done it, but the safety snap that secured his gun inside its holster had been thumbed open.

“The only thing I’m following, is a story—”

“Who is Clio?” Mandy said, bringing what was shaping up to be an epic throw down in the middle of a crime scene to a screeching halt.

Croft spared her a glance, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his jacket. “She’s the muse of history and art. One of the nine daughters of Zeus.”

Strickland looked at her for a second and suddenly remembered what he’d told her in the elevator. Bethany Edwards had been a history major at Berkeley. From the look he gave her, he’d caught that too. “What’s with the book and the horn?” Strickland said, tilting his head at the items cradled in the victim’s arms.

“The horn is a clarion, a Greek instrument. The book is… just a book. Both are used to symbolize Clio.” Now Croft looked back at Sabrina. “Even without the writing, I’d know who she was supposed to be.”

“I bet,” Strickland said under his breath.

“And the coins?” Sabrina said, cutting her partner a shut-up look.

Croft leaned in and studied them, one placed over each of the victim’s eyes. “They’re drachmas. Ancient Greeks placed one on each eye to pay Charon, the ferry man, to usher their loved ones across the River Styx and into Hades,” he said, sounding like he was teaching a class on Greek Mythology.

“You seem to know a lot about Greek death rituals,” Strickland said.

“Enough to know that isn’t a part of them.” Croft pointed a finger at the victim’s chest. “Organ removal was never practiced by the Greeks.”

“What’s that?” Sabrina pointed toward the victim’s left shoulder. A letter burned into her skin, as big as her fist. A bright angry red, the edges of her white skin charred black from the iron used to brand her. It looked like a lower-case A but she had a feeling it was something else.

Croft looked at her, his expression unreadable. “It's the symbol for Alpha. It means the beginning.”

~~~~~

BOOK #1

Published May 8th 2013 by Midnight Ink
Add to Goodreads

Past horrors bleed into a present day nightmare

Fifteen years ago, a psychotic killer abducted seventeen year old Melissa Walker. For 83 days she was raped and tortured before being left for dead in a deserted church yard... But she was still alive.

Melissa begins a new life as homicide inspector, Sabrina Vaughn. With a new face and a new name, it's her job to hunt down murderers and it's a job she does very well.

When Michael O'Shea, a childhood acquaintance with a suspicious past, suddenly finds her, he brings to life the nightmare Sabrina has long since buried.

Believing that his sister was recently murdered by the same monster who attacked Sabrina, Michael is dead set on getting his revenge--using Sabrina as bait.

Read my review here

Maegan Beaumont is the author of CARVED IN DARKNESS, the first book in the Sabrina Vaughn thriller series (Available through Midnight Ink, spring 2013). A native Phoenician, Maegan’s stories are meant to make you wonder what the guy standing in front of you in the Starbucks line has locked in his basement, and feel a strong desire to sleep with the light on.

When she isn’t busy fulfilling her duties as Domestic Goddess for her high school sweetheart turned husband, Joe, and their four children, she is locked in her office with her computer, her coffee pot and her Rhodesian Ridgeback, and one true love, Jade.

Twitter ~ Blog ~ Goodreads ~ Website
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SACRIFICIAL MUSE BLOG TOUR
July 3^rd – 17^th

Thursday 3^rd July

Author Interview
Mythical Books

Review & Spotlight/Promo
The Book Reading Gals

Guest Post & Spotlight/Promo
The Book Faery Reviews

Spotlight/Promo
Angie’s Reading Dungeon
A Book Junky's Obsession
Loves All Things Books
K&S Book Blog
BabyCakes Book Blog
Angels With Attitude Book Reviews
Bookworm Betties

Friday 4^th July

Spotlight/Promo
Jodie's W.I.N.E. List

Saturday 5^th July

Spotlight/Promo
Shersinghzn
Sexyways of Reading
Indy Book Fairy
Pinky's Favorite Reads

Monday 7^th July

Interview & Spotlight/Promo
My Book Chatter

Guest Post & Author Interview
Writing Dreams

Review & Guest Post
Sarah Aisling

Spotlight/Promo
Best Books
Sweet Treat Reading Reviews
Here Is Some of What I Read
Who Picked This?
Cajun Book Lover

Tuesday 8^th July

Guest Post & Spotlight/Promo
The Cavanaugh Connection

Review & Guest Post
Words I Write Crazy

Spotlight/ Promo
Some Like It Hotter

Wednesday 9^th July

Review & Spotlight/Promo
Blue Chrysalis Book Promotions

Thursday 10^th July

Author Interview & Spotlight/Promo
JeanzBookReadNReview

Review & Spotlight/Promo
MHZ Book Reviews and Giveaways

Guest Post & Spotlight/Promo
Kelly's Thoughts On Things

Friday 11^th July

Spotlight/Promo
Romance With a Bang

Sunday 13^th July

Review
Kims Book Blog

Monday 14^th July

Guest Post
To Read Or Not To Read

Tuesday 15^th July

Guest Post & Spotlight/Promo
Amazeballs Book Addicts

Review, Guest Post & Spotlight/Promo
Carpe_Diem

Spotlight/Promo
Book Talk Reviews
Book Friends Forever

Wednesday 16^th July

Review
Crystal's Many Reviewers

Thursday 17^th July

Spotlight/Promo
Mad Love Book Blog

Review
All Is Read with LexyPat

Any Date

Spotlight/Promo
Sambeana
There For You Editing

~~~~~

July 3, 2014

Blog Tour ~ Sacrificial Muse by Maegan Beaumont ~ Guest Post & Giveaway

Author Maegan Beaumont has become an absolute favorite of mine since I read her first book Carved in Darkness last year. It has been an honor to read, review and help promote her follow up book, Sacrificial Muse - I hope this tour intrigues you enough that you will pick up her books and give them a read!

There are lots of great blogs participating with Guest Posts, Author Interviews and more, so please check them all out (schedule at bottom of page) - and of course, be sure to enter the fabulous giveaway!

Fade to Black

A few months after I signed with my agent, I flew to Chicago for his agency’s annual client conference. It was my first time attending, having only been picked up officially that August, so I was a bit out of my depth. I was in a strange city full of complete strangers. I had absolutely no idea where I was going or who I was going with. If you know me at all then, you know that these are things that usually send me into a tailspin… but I maintained. I kept it together. I did not hide in my hotel room until it was time to check out.

I was very proud.

As we were waiting for the train to take us into the city for dinner, I listened to people talk—“Hi, I’m blah, blah. Blah, blah has been my agent for 2 years.”

“Oh, I know you. My name is blah, blah. I’m with blah, blah.”

(not trying to be disrespectful—just don’t want to use names… or maybe I just don't remember them.)

“So, what's your name and who are you with?”

It took me a few seconds before I realized someone was talking to me.

“Ah… My name is Maegan Beaumont and I’ve been with Chip for a few months.”

I sounded like I was introducing myself at an AA meeting, but I managed to get the words out without any nervous stuttering.

Again—I was very proud.

Suddenly, the young woman standing in front of me whirled around and after a few seconds of scrutiny, said, “You’re Maegan Beaumont?”

Oh. God. What did I do? The juvenile delinquent in me was screaming—No. No you are not. Deny, deny, DENY!!

“Yes…?”

She smiled. “I joined the agency the same week Chip received your manuscript and it was the first thing he gave me to read. I couldn’t get past the first five pages. I still think about it,” she said. “I’m pretty sure it scarred me for life.”

I didn’t know what to say. What did that mean? Was it really that bad? Before I could say anything, she saved me from imploding.

“Oh, no. It was really, really good… but it was too intense for me,” she said. “Most writers have this fade to black moment where they choose to leave the rest of a graphic scene to the reader’s imagination. I kept reading your work, waiting for the fade to black… but it kept going. I kept reading, waiting for it. Fade to black… I kept thinking, when is it going to fade to black? Fade to black. Dear God—FADE TO BLACK!!” She mimed flipping through pages, her eyes as wide dinner plates.

She stopped and smiled at me. “I took it back to Chip and said, “It’s really, really good and really, really disturbing. Here you go—you should read it. And now you’re here.”

I had no idea what to say—again. I felt like an apology was in order but I swore to myself a long time ago that I’d never apologize for anything that I’d written. Maybe I should offer to pay for her therapy…

She turned out to be the one person I really connected with in Chicago. We split a pizza and she admitted that I was nothing like what she expected. I took it as a compliment. We really didn’t talk about my work again (although, she did ask me if my husband was afraid to go to sleep around me...) but her reaction has stuck with me. Nearly two years later and I still think about it.

Fade to Black.

I’ve tried writing that way but it felt… almost like a lie. What I’d put on paper was not what I really wanted to say—the problem was, what I really wanted to say was pretty freakin’ disturbing. I was worried what my family would think. I was worried how, if it was ever read by the general public, I’d be regarded (remember, nice girls don’t write about torture…). Would the parents of my children’s friends think I’m a depraved lunatic and keep their kids away from mine?

I was afraid of offending someone. I was afraid of disappointing everyone. I was afraid of what people would think.

I was afraid.

But you can’t write with fear—not if you want write with honesty and passion and all the things that make a book worth reading. Good writing isn’t always pretty or pleasant. It isn’t about what people want to hear. It’s about what you have to say. As soon as I realized that, I was able to let go of all that worry and doubt and just write. Instead of fading to black, I kept the lights on. I threw open the doors and windows and wrote.

And what I wrote scared me. Not the actual content… but it scared me that the words came from me so easily. That I was able to go there without any real effort at all. I felt the strong desire to delete it off the page before anyone else saw it. I didn’t. I considered cutting it from the book. I didn’t do that either. I’ve come to recognize that feeling this way is a sign that I’ve written something that will affect people. And if we’re not affecting people with our words, then what’s the point?

Truth is, there’ll always be people who will be offended. There will be some who are disappointed or disturbed by the things I write. Who will see me differently. Who will build pre-conceived notions about what I’m really like. And as much as I wish it weren’t so, I can’t let any of that dictate what I write. I’ll go crazy if I do…

So write what you want. Say what you need to say, in the most honest way possible. Don't let fear or doubt decide what you put on paper. You deserve better than that, and so does your reader.

Fade to black. Or not...

It's totally up to you.

Title: Sacrificial Muse
Author: Maegan Beaumont
Release Date: July 8th 2014
Publisher: Midnight Ink
Add to Goodreads

Read my review here

Sabrina opened the red envelope and saw one word...

Mox. Soon.

After learning the identity of the serial killer behind her 83 horrific days of rape and torture, Sabrina Vaughn has suffered more physical and emotional wounds than she can handle. Despite reeling with pain both old and new, Sabrina is given a second chance as a San Francisco homicide detective. But as reporters dog her every step and hordes of mail pour into her office -- from supporters and nutjobs alike--Sabrina falls deeper into a pit of humiliation and anxiety. When nine red roses repeatedly show up on her desk, followed by an ominous red envelope addressed to Calliope, Sabrina realizes that a new killer is targeting her. She is his chosen muse, and the Fates require sacrifice.

“Are you hurt?”

Eight months gone and that’s all he had? It was a stupid thing to say and the look she gave him told him so. Michael shifted in his boots, forcing himself to meet her gaze directly.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” she said, her expression carefully schooled into a look so passive she made the Dalai Lama look like a rage-drunk lunatic. He’d seen that expression before—it was usually followed by a severe ass-kicking.

Still, he pushed her, hating the panicked edge he heard in his voice. “Answer me—are you hurt?”

Sabrina tossed the gun onto the bed. Another bad sign. The last time she’d disarmed herself in front of him she’d rabbit-punched his kidneys so hard he’d pissed blood for three days. “No,” she said, crossing the room, her confident stride interrupted by a slight limp she tried hard to hide. Each footfall that brought her closer felt like a kick in the gut—a reminder of just how much his need for revenge had cost her. She reached past him to yank the curtains closed, letting her gaze drop to the envelope in his hand. “You went through my jacket.”

“Sure did. Who’s Calliope?”

Her eyes narrowed just a bit, enough for him to know he was pushing it. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that reading other peoples’ mail is rude?”

He shrugged. “Nope. She was too busy fishing me out of the drunk tank and nursing me through withdrawal to sweat the small stuff. Who’s Calliope?”

“I am,” she said, going for the envelope in his hand.

He’d been afraid of that. He held it out of reach. “What does it say?”

Her hand snapped out and latched onto the envelope and pulled but he held on. “Coming here was stupid.”

“I know… and I’m getting a bit tired of repeating myself.”

She pulled again, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing doesn’t usually come written in Latin, on handmade paper.”

“Nothing or not, it’s got nothing to do with you.” She pulled again. This time he let her take it, suddenly very much aware all that stood between them was ten inches of space and a bath towel.

He shifted his gaze to the pile of clothes she’d left on the floor. “There’s blood on your jacket. Are you sure you’re okay?”

She shook her head. “It’s not mine,” she said without offering further explanation, stepping around him to get to the other side of the bed. There, she picked up her SIG and stowed it in its holster before dropping it on the nightstand, the envelope along with it. “You didn’t come here to do a welfare check, O’Shea,” she said over her shoulder, giving him a side view of her face and neck as she rifled through the duffle on the bed before pulling out a flimsy wad of black fabric. “So, what do you want?”

Great question. One he didn’t have a ready answer for. Especially when what he wanted and what he was allowed to have were two completely different things. He took a mental step back, distancing himself from her and the messy tangle of emotion seeing her brought up. “I need to talk to you about—”

He’d seen her naked before. Spent six weeks in this very room watching every move she made and he’d done it with an almost Zen-like level of detachment. He’d viewed her in parts—torso, shoulders, legs, back—she’d been a promise he’d made. A means to an end. Nothing more.

This time, when she dropped the towel, he didn’t see parts—he saw her and it was enough to stop him cold. “Jesus,” he hissed, averting his eyes to the lamp on the table next to her.

“You came here to talk to me about Jesus?” she said as she wound her long wet hair into a bun, tucking its tail into the coil to hold it in place. Somehow, with her hair up, she seemed even more naked.

Her tone drew his attention and he found himself looking at her again. “No,” he said, nailing his gaze to hers. “I want to talk to you about Jaxon Croft,” his tone harder than he intended.

She stepped into a pair of shorts, if you could call them that, smoothing them over her hips before she reached for the second wad of fabric and shook it out. Her full breasts swayed gently, drawing his attention for a split second before he looked away. He could see her movements in his peripheral as she gathered up what he hoped to God was a shirt and pulled it over her head.

“Croft? What about him?” she said, drawing his attention again. This time she was clothed and settled on the bed, cross-legged, using the towel to squeeze excess water from her hair.

“He was in Jessup a few weeks ago, asking questions about me. And you.” he said, coming around the side of the bed to stand in front of her.

“I know,” she said, giving him a quick glance. “It started the day after I woke up in the hospital.” She arched an eyebrow at him, giving him a cynical smile. “He’s very… persistent.”

“He follows you?”

She leaned over and reached into her duffle, pulling out a comb. “Everywhere I go,” she said as she ran the comb through her long hair.

He felt something ugly crawl around inside his chest. Something impulsive and ruthless. Something that’d lead him to put two in the back of Croft’s head without a moment’s hesitation if he let it go unchecked. “Has he approached you?”

She stopped combing. “Approach? Has Croft approached me?” She shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

Something about her tone stiffened the back of his neck. “What did he say to you?”

“Oh, you know—blah, blah, blah, I’m blackmailing you—blah, blah, blah.” She said it so nonchalantly that it took him a second to comprehend what she was saying.

“Is Croft why you’re here instead of home?”

She stared at him for a moment as if trying to decide how much of her life was his business and he was suddenly sure she’d tell him to mind his own. Instead she looked away, down at something on the nightstand. The note card he’d found in her jacket pocket. She shrugged. “Val asked me to leave,” she said, finally looking at him again. “Things have been… difficult for us since I’ve been back.” She said it like she’d been on a business trip instead of abducted and shot by her own brother. “But the situation with Croft certainly isn’t doing me any favors.”

“What does he want?”

She shrugged. “You. He’s got this silly idea that I know your deep, dark secrets and he’s given me thirty-six hours to decide who I’m going to throw under the bus—you or Strickland.” Despite her blasé attitude, he could see it. She was scared and pissed off—a dangerous combination where Sabrina was concerned.

“I don’t understand. What did Strickland do?”

She gave him a sad smile. “The usual. He trusted me.”

He jammed his hands into his pockets while fighting to keep from looking away. “So… which one of us is getting run over?” Strickland was her partner. He’d stuck it out, risked his career to help her. He’d been there for her in ways that he never had been and never could be. It was simple: Strickland had earned her loyalty and he hadn’t.

“Neither of you. Croft gave me thirty-six hours to make up my mind. That’s all the time I need to make things right.”

It took him a moment to realize what she was saying. Whatever her plan was, it ended with her in the lions’ den. He shook his head. “No. I won’t let you.”

“Really? And just how are you going to stop me, O’Shea?” She chuckled a bit. “You can’t. Not without exposing yourself.”

He said nothing, forcing his expression to remain neutral but the look on Sabrina’s face told him that she knew him better than he’d hoped.

“You can’t kill him.”

He met her gaze, surprised by the level of urgency he found there. It’d never occurred to him that she might actually care about what happened to Croft. The thought made fighting his ugly impulses harder than he would’ve imagined. “I’m pretty sure I can.”

She swiped a hand over her face before looking up at him. “If Croft turns up dead, I’m the first person who’s gonna get looked at. I have a perceived history of killing people who test my patience, remember?”

He remembered. The last time they were together, bodies started dropping and it was Sabrina who took the heat for it. Not something he’d be willing to risk again unless it was absolutely unavoidable. “Thirty-six hours? Why so long?” he said, lowering himself to the bed, cutting her a long look. “He’s got to know you’d find a way to wriggle off the hook.”
“My guess? He’s hoping I use the time to call in the cavalry. Which is why your being here isn’t just a colossal waste of time, it also wasn’t your smarted move ever.” She set the comb aside and unfolded her legs, drawing her knees to her chest to prop her chin against them. “You should’ve phoned this one in, O’Shea. Or better yet, just trusted me to keep my mouth shut.”

He sighed, running a rough hand over the top of his head. “I need to know what he knows. How much he’s been able to dig up on me. If FSS has sprung a leak, I need to find it before Livingston Shaw does.” Because if Croft could connect him to Sabrina, so could the person feeding him information. If Shaw found out about Croft and his source, she was as good as dead. Or worse—much worse.

Sabrina shrugged. “He’s not much of a sharer when it comes to you. All he’s told me is you’re not someone worth protecting.”

Whatever Croft was, whatever he really wanted with him, the man was honest. He stared at her for a long moment, unsure of what to say. Finally he cleared his throat.

“They never are, you know.”

“Never what?” she said, tipping her face to rest her cheek against her knee.

“My moves. They’re never smart when you’re involved.” He fought the urge to look away from her, focusing on the way her long lashes brushed against the pale skin of her leg. “You have a way of making me do the stupidest things.”

Sabrina gave him a rueful smile. “I’d say I’m sorry but it’d be a lie, considering one of those stupid moves saved my life,” she said, skewering him with a dark blue gaze that caused his heart to pound, fast and uneven, against his chest. “I know it was you that day in the woods, not Carson. You promised you’d find a way back to me and you did. You saved me.”

Her words gnawed at him, razor-sharp teeth that sank in a bit deeper every time he breathed. On impulse, he reached over and wrapped a hand around her ankle to pull her leg flat against the bed. The movement revealed the scar he’d only caught a glimpse of so far, a raised, silver-dollar sized knot of hard tissue punched into the top of her thigh, a long-line incision running through the middle of it. The bullet must’ve shattered and they’d had to operate—

The second she realized what he was looking at, she tried to jerk her leg back but he held on, keeping it straight.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, running a slow hand up the length of her leg until it was parallel with her hip, skimming his fingers along the raised lump of rigid flesh. It was red, warm to the touch, as if it’d happened weeks ago instead of months. He imagined Wade standing over her, pulling the trigger. The terror and hopelessness she must’ve felt but would never admit to. “Whatever I did, it wasn’t enough.” It never was.

He let his fingers glide, finding smooth skin as he traced a feather-light touch along the inside of her thigh. He could feel a slight tremble, a quivering in her muscle along with a sharp intake of breath, soft and slow as she let it out. She dropped a hand to cover his where he touched her and for a second he was unsure if she would pull him closer or push him away.

“Michael, I—”

He forced himself to stop, leaning forward until his forehead rested against hers, relishing the feel of her breath against his face for a moment before he pulled his hand from under hers and stood. “I should go.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, not at all surprised when her face fell into its usually guarded expression. “I’m staying across the hall, won’t be here for more than a few days. I’ll try to stay out of your way and I’ll try my damnedest not to kill Croft while I’m here.” He felt his mouth quirk a bit.

“Is that a promise?”

He didn’t answer; just let his gaze drift to the note card on the nightstand beside her. Was it from a guy she was seeing? Probably that cop who had a thing for her, what was his name? Nickels. He’d looked like the kind of douche who’d write love letters in Latin. Just remembering his name was enough to make him homicidal.

But what did he expect? He’d left her and the cop hadn’t. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t had a choice or that he’d wished every second of every day that things could be different. The fact was, they weren’t and they never would be. She’d moved on—it wasn’t her fault he couldn’t do the same.

He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the bitter lump that’d settled there. “Goodnight,” he said, forcing himself to finally turn and walk out the door.

~~~~~

Book #1

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