UPDATE: The winner is…Colleen C.!
For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, let me know who your weekend book boyfriend will be!
If you haven’t already chosen your boyfriend, here’s a suggestion. 🙂
(This book is available for only $0.99 for a limited time only!)
Sometimes a hero and heroine chatter in a writer’s ear. I’ve had several over the course of my career who won’t go away once their story is written. Emmy from vampire series was talkative for many years and insisted on being included in nearly every story in that series. Lacey Jones from my original Montana Bounty Hunters series is my latest muse. When we first meet her in Dagger, we’re sure she seems flighty and vain, but as you get to know her, there’s more to this ditzy blonde than meets the eye.
For the next few days, I’ve dropped the price of Dagger because I want you to meet Lacey. I think you’ll love her! It’s a $3 savings, so be sure to get your copy now! As well, I have the first book, Reaper, available for the permanent sale price of $0.99!
In the meantime, enjoy an excerpt from Dagger…
Daniel “Dagger” Renfrew had been a lot of things—an Army Ranger, until he’d mouthed off one too many times to his CO and decided mustering out was better for his long-term aspirations than spending time in Leavenworth; a Seattle beat cop, until he’d gotten bored spending his nights sitting in a squad car in front of corner gas stations; a PI, until he’d informed the wife of the man who’d hired him that hubby was looking for the goods to violate their pre-nup, so she better sue for divorce first; and now, a bounty hunter, which, so far, suited his ADD proclivities. And, in his job, he didn’t look for the easy takedowns. He liked lying in mud or snow with his binoculars trained on a window, hoping for a glimpse of the dirtbag whose mugshot he carried in his hip pocket. If they were badasses—all the better. Dagger preferred when assholes tried to run, because then he’d have an excuse to mix it up, get physical, and blow off steam in an all-out brawl—when the situation warranted, of course.
However, he hadn’t had a job like that in a while. So, in his off-hours, he looked for cheap thrills—sweet-talking easy women out of their clothes or taking repo jobs from the local car dealership.
This morning, he was “reacquiring” a 2014 silver Nissan Altima with a fluffy steering wheel and pom-poms hanging from the rear-view mirror. After verifying the make and model, he strolled as nonchalantly as a man in black tactical pants and boots and a black GORE-TEX jacket could toward the vehicle parked in a condo driveway. Once past the driveway, he ducked low, out of sight of the bay windows in the front of the unit, and sidled up to the Nissan, close enough he could dart up, clear snow from the front windshield, and read the VIN number etched into the corner of the dashboard. After checking with the VIN in the cryptic text message from the dealership’s finance department, he ducked again and reached into his pocket for the key fob he’d picked up from Stuey Higginbotham, who’d called him about the job. He pressed the button, wincing when he accidently hit it twice, beeping the car alarm loud enough a dog in the distance began barking.
So now, stealth was out the door. Dagger cussed, hoping the woman who owned the car didn’t have a boyfriend with a shotgun beside the bed. He straightened, opened the car door, and shoved a small suitcase from the front seat to the passenger side and slid quickly into the car. Not a good move, because the woman who drove the car was obviously short, and his knees banged the dash as he felt for the sliding button to move back the seat and lower it. Seconds ticked by, and he riveted his gaze on the condo’s front door.
A curtain shifted in the window next to the door. A woman’s face, framed by something, maybe a towel, peered through the glass.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He grinned and punched the ignition.
The door slammed open.
He pushed the gear shift into reverse, but not before he noted she wore a bathrobe that parted as she ran down the front steps, exposing well-toned legs clothed in skin-tight black leggings. Brown and cream polka dots spotted her face in a pattern. Her large blue eyes delivered a glacier glare.
Something about her…
His eyes narrowed, and his foot remained on the brake a second too long.
She slapped the hood of the car then came up beside the driver’s side window, her hands clapping against the glass. “No, you don’t, you bastard. That’s my car!”
He took a second. The towel around her head masked her long blonde hair. The creamy polka dots distracted from her lovely cheekbones and stubborn chin, but those eyes and those legs…? He hit the button to lower the window. He knew the moment she recognized him.
Her jaw sagged. “Dag? What the hell are you doing in my car?”
“Not your car anymore, Cupcake.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t call me that. And what do you mean it’s not my car?”
“It’s the dealership’s. Or the finance company’s. Don’t care which.”
“But it’s my car, Dag. You can’t take my car.” Her eyes widened.
Dag saw the shimmer of tears. But he knew that tactic. Knew how often she’d gotten out of speeding tickets and detention hall throughout high school, just flashing those big baby blues and adding a chin wobble that made most men turn to mush.
The wobble started.
At the sight, he nearly groaned. “Take it up with Stuey at Higginbotham Used Cars.”
Her hands fisted on her hips. “And just how the hell am I supposed to get there?”
He shrugged. “Not my problem.” He broke from her glare and adjusted the rearview mirror, any excuse to avoid looking at the woman who’d been the Prom Queen to his Prom King. Back then, they’d had the world at their feet.
She clutched the edge of his window in a white-knuckled grip. “Stop, you can’t leave without me. I have to talk to Stuey. Give me a minute to change.”
“No can do. I have to drop off the car then head to the day job.”
Her eyebrows rose. “This is your side gig?”
Giving a shrug, he let his foot off the brake, and the car inched backward. “Have to go, Lace.”
Her hands curled into fists, and she ran around the front of the car, circling to the passenger-side door.
Afraid he’d run over her pretty heeled boots, he stopped. She tugged on the door handle, but he stared through the glass, schooling his expression, careful not to give her a clue what he was thinking. Certainly not the fact he was enjoying the heck out of seeing her this rattled.
Again, she tried the handle, and then slapped the glass. “Let me inside!”
Maybe she saw that he wasn’t giving an inch. Again, she ran—this time to the back of the car. She spread her arms wide and leaned over the trunk, her tiny frame so short only the top of her face appeared in the rear window.
Exasperated now, Dagger glanced around the quiet street. Doors were opening.
A large man in a grimy wifebeater and jockey shorts strode out of his door, wearing a dark scowl. Read the rest of this entry »