Snippets from the WIP Files

I have nothing terribly interesting to say today, so I thought I’d drop a few little snippets into the blog.  We’re juggling like a pair of virtuoso performers over here, but we’ve been making some really nice progress these last two weeks–I’m guessing quitting the day job helped.  At least I get a full night’s sleep most nights now!

These are either unedited snippets, or snippets in the process of being edited, so they may not be the final version.  But they’re mostly pretty short anyway. 

From Deadlock

Alec jerked awake to the sound of his front door crashing in off its hinges.

It could have been any of a dozen threats–someone come to rescue the prisoner still in his basement, someone he’d pissed off recently, even a pointed message from Cesar Mendoza–but as Alec rolled from the bed a familiar voice sounded from the entry way, the words a rage-filled roar. “Where is he?”

Oh shit.

Alec had fallen into his bed too tired to take off his jeans, and he didn’t waste time with a shirt. By the time he got down the hallway Andrew had already torn the basement door off its hinges. It crashed to the floor as Andrew disappeared down the stairs, his nose leading him unerringly to the one person Alec had to keep him from killing.

When he found out who’d spilled their guts to Andrew, he might do some killing of his own.

From Zola’s Pride

The soft murmur of feminine voices drifted through the dojo as the last few students lingered in the warmth of the building, making plans to meet later in the week or catching up on the latest gossip. February had brought an unseasonable cold snap, the kind of chill that settled in Zola’s bones and made her long for the unforgiving deserts of her childhood.

A board creaked on the floor behind her, and Zola looked up from rearranging a stack of punching targets to catch sight of Sheila’s reflection. The teenager had a jacket zipped up to her chin and a knit hat pulled low over wild corkscrew curls, leaving just her pale face uncovered. “Zola?”

The girl looked worried, and Zola tensed. “Yes, Sheila? There is a problem?” Even after all these years English didn’t come naturally, the words tumbling out in an order that always made others laugh. She’d spoken too many languages in too many countries to worry now.

Sheila was so accustomed enough to Zola’s linguistic oddities that she didn’t blink. She did, however, speak in her own nearly indecipherable dialect. “There’s a guy lurking outside. I mean, he’s hot and all, but the lurking is pretty creeptastic and a little pervy.”

From A Safe Harbor

Seamus barely managed not to smile. She was sneakier than she gave herself credit for being, and he liked it. “I think you’ve got a bit of a rogue bottled up in you too, sweet Joan.”

She finally looked up, and her dark eyes glinted with amusement. “Women have been using men’s vices against them since men discovered vice.”

“Mm-hmm.” He cracked two more eggs into the bowl. “And what did they use against them before that?”

“Why would they need to? Men were angels. Now I’m thinking they might have been a bit boring too.”

“Men have never been angels, sweetheart.”

“I suppose not.” Her pen scratched against the paper again, more idle doodles. “I’ll enjoy learning about your vices, as long as I’m numbered among them.”