The new book doesn't come together like a good plan by Hannibal Smith, but rather like the vague plans a trainee of the Colonel would make. The writing feels like I'm inventing the puzzle pieces as I go. Some fit and stay, while others are removed. The ones that fit help propel the storyline and create part of the picture. The serial killer, who had no qualms about killing her lovers before, finally meets a man she adores. She doesn't want to leave him, even though she might get caught if she stays. Meanwhile, FBI Agent Nicolas Hayes is in trouble because an old adversary is out to get him. While he’s busy trying to catch a killer and a slick opponent, his love life goes down the drain.
I try to piece together scenes that will help the heroes solve the crimes, but the warm weather keeps me from being at home. Summertime is usually meant for reading and less for writing. I love sitting in the sun with a good book and a cup of coffee. Sometimes, an unrelated story I read inspires another scene, so I keep a notebook and pen ready to write down any idea that comes to mind.
While I continue to work on the puzzle that is my work in progress, here’s an excerpt from my last published book, Dirty Work.
Just when you think you have found the perfect match, you may find yourself bursting into flames.
Excerpt
Nicolas left his hideout cautiously. There was no way of knowing how many
burglars he was up against. The carpet under his bare feet was soft and warm,
swallowing every sound. He had crossed the room when he became aware of a
shadow at the next door, which led to the parlor, Mr. Hollander’s favorite
abode. The aroma of expensive tobacco was in the air, mingling with that of
leather and faintly of flowers. He noticed that there were sandy shoe traces
from at least two persons on the otherwise spotless carpet. The moment he
stepped beyond the threshold, a man attacked him from the right. Nicolas
blocked the man’s arm, twisted it around and thrust the man face-first against
the wall. The impact stunned him amid the screams of pain. He went down and lay
unmoving. Nicolas let go of the man’s arm to face the second opponent, who
aimed a pistol at him. Instinctively, Nicolas turned away, and the projectile
passed him soundlessly. Before the shooter could pull the trigger again,
Nicolas closed the gap, kicked the man in the shin, and twisted the gun out of
his hand, turning his body into him. It had not yet reached the floor when the
man boxed Nicolas in the kidney twice so forcefully it was both hurtful and
stunning. Gasping for air, Nicolas rammed his elbow into the attacker’s
midsection, gaining the advantage to turn and punch the man in the face, twice,
three times, driving him backward. His side hurt, but for the moment he had his
eyes on his opponent and ignored the pain. Nicolas kicked the man’s knee,
triggering a groan, then kicked higher at the man’s chest. The opponent hit the
wall behind him, and Nicolas was upon him, hitting him hard in the face once
again. The man’s defense crumbled—he couldn’t keep up his fists. Nicolas heard
a voice calling out in shock behind him. Quickly he swiveled the injured man
around him so that he was a shield against yet another silent bullet. A third
man had crossed the threshold into the parlor. Wide-eyed and obviously
surprised by the situation, he turned tail and ran back through the living room
toward the side entrance of the house.
“Fuck!” Nicolas dropped the now unconscious intruder and pursued the third
gangster on bare feet. He heard glass shatter with a deafening noise, as if the
living room’s mighty candelabra had hit the floor. It was the glass cabinet.
The shards lay scattered across the floor, glistening in the afternoon
sunlight, too broadly spread to jump over. Nicolas was lucky he came to a
skittering halt before stepping into the glass. “I don’t believe this!” Nicolas
put his hands on his hips, catching his breath. He heard the third man run down
the hall and leave the building, shouting an order in a language Nicolas didn’t
understand.
On the way back to the intruders, he tore off the power line of a floor lamp
and used it to tie up the two men. Both were unresponsive, and he had his first
good look at them. They were both of Asian origin, solidly built, with hair cut
so short their scalps shone through, in their late twenties. The second man he
had beaten had a shiny silver dart in his chest. Nicolas refrained from
touching it. He searched their pockets but didn’t find a passport or a wallet.
He also did not find backpacks or bags to transport stolen goods. “What were
you guys up to?” he murmured as he left them behind to search the house. On the
way, he grabbed a phone from the hook to call the police.
When he couldn’t find any other intruders, he fetched a pair of shoes from the
bedroom, a few clothes for Jacklyn and himself, and went to open the closet.
“Hey, lady, good to see you.”
Jacklyn embraced him, sighing with relief. She looked up to him with a frown.
“You look… chipper.”
“What did you expect? Your badass FBI agent knows how to use his fists.”
***
For more visit my website: annraina.com
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