Excerpt From: Dead Man Living

Trying to get to the crying woman, SWAT team leader Joe Baker took a chance. He knew the victim’s husband had a gun pointed at her. From what Joe could see, the man had already shot her at least once. Blood pooled on the cheap, faded green carpet under her as she begged him to let her go.

Using hand signals, Joe instructed his team to create a diversion as he slipped in through the back door of the run-down duplex. The voice of his best friend, Brian sounded over the bullhorn as Joe made his way inside.

His gun at the ready, Joe tried to assess the situation as he listened to the man yell at his wife. An adjustment to his position gave him a view of the man’s reflection in the adjacent window.

When the gunman turned his back on Joe, he knew it was now or never. As he swung around the corner, gun raised, the man’s wife called out a warning.

"Frank, watch out!"

Joe managed to get a shot off as he was knocked to the ground by the force of a bullet aimed his way.

Gasping for breath, Joe sat up. The wet sheets that surrounded him testified to yet another nightmare. He reached up and rubbed the scar on his temple.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. The dream seemed to be his constant companion since the shooting a year and a half ago.

He’d been dead within minutes of the fatal blast to his head. The paramedics had done everything they could but were unable to save him. He was pronounced dead at three twenty-four by the emergency room physician.

Little did they know.

It still didn’t make sense to the medical community and since then, Joe had become somewhat of a celebrity in Kansas City. The cop who rose from the dead, at least that’s what the local papers had splashed across their pages.

All he remembered was being enveloped in a soothing white light. He saw his friend Brian standing nearby as the doctor and nurses in the emergency room hovered over his body. Brian was obviously arguing with the doctor about something as the physician turned and shook his head.

Joe couldn’t hear their words, but he knew he was dead. He wished he could tell Brian it was okay. He’d felt safe and welcomed in this new place, until the light began to recede and he was thrust back into his body.

When he had opened his eyes, he thought he’d gone blind until he realized there was something covering his face. A shout of fear escaped him, something that had never happened to him before. He’d always been known as the toughest cop on the force.

With his body strapped down, not only couldn’t he see, but he couldn’t release the dark prison from his face. He’d yelled for help until someone walked into the room and flipped on a light.

Excerpt From: Trouble at the Treble T

The jukebox had been playing nonstop in the honky tonk since five o’clock, nothing unusual for a Friday night. People got off work for the weekend, ranch hands started filtering in, the beer began flowing and soon the postage-stamp-sized dance floor was filled with bodies gyrating to old and new country tunes.

Cade Thompson sat with his brothers, Justin and Mark, at a table in the corner of Treble Shooters watching people move to the music—faces flushed, hips wriggling, practically having sex with their clothes on while Travis Tritt and Lady Antebellum echoed off the wooden walls of the honky tonk. They’d spent a hard week with the hands moving cattle from one pasture to the other and culling those for branding. Tonight they’d decided to give themselves a break from the ranch and hang out at the bar they’d bought when the previous owner died. Spring Valley was small enough as it was, with few entertainment options. They didn’t want to see the only real place their hands could hang out close down.

Getting a full-time manager on a permanent basis, though, had been harder than they’d expected. Apparently the list of people who wanted to relocate to Spring Valley was a short one. The men had been burning both ends of the candle—running the Treble T ranch during the day and taking turns running the bar at night—when fortune had finally smiled on them.

Now Cade looked over at the bar, watching as Marti Jensen poured three drinks at once without breaking a sweat, and gave silent thanks once more for the day she’d walked in. He admired the way she kept her cool with all the chaos around her—the raised voices, the clicking of pool balls, the heavy thump of a bass and the squeal of the slide guitar, the lone waitress fighting for her attention along with everyone crowded at the bar demanding their drink now.

She was tall, maybe five ten.

Just right for three brothers who all top six four.

Stop! What are you thinking?

But he couldn’t take his eyes away from her lush body. The way the Treble Shooters T-shirt fell softly against her ripe breasts and the jeans clung lovingly to the finest ass he’d seen in a long time. The way her riot of curly black hair cascaded down her back and framed a face with high cheekbones, violet cat’s eyes and full, sensual lips. He’d wanted to fuck her since the day she’d walked in with the San Antonio classified rolled up in her hand and said in her saucy tone of voice, "Someone in here looking for a manager?" And ever since, he’d done his best to try and push the thought out of his mind.

She’d had excellent references and they still wondered why the hell she’d wanted to come to a tiny spot in the road like Spring Valley. But all she’d tell them was it had been time for her to move on. She had moved into the furnished apartment over Treble Shooters and taken over the bar as if she’d been running it forever. Nothing seemed to faze her—not the normal complement of drunks, not the cowboys who came on to her, not the over the top crowds that jammed the place on weekends. She was a godsend, delivered up to them as if by fate.

And he still wanted to strip her naked and fuck her blind.

Damn, damn, damn.

Excerpt from: Sleeping with the Enemy's Daughter

Camille Douglas stepped into the spacious office and slammed the door behind her with a piercing thud. At the sound of a faint noise, she whipped her head to the side to see a single picture, encased in what appeared to be an expensive gold frame, topple from the mantle and fall with a soft thump to the floor. A tiny grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she fought it back, even as a childish sense of triumph stole over her. With lazy steps, she sauntered towards the centre of the room, her high heels digging into the soft plush carpet, until she came to a stop in front of a large cherry oak desk. With a slight tilt of her chin, she schooled her features into a neutral expression and bravely met the gazes of the four men that stood before her, as hostility blazed in the matching depths of their eyes.

With a quick flick of the wrist, Camille tossed her unruly curls over her shoulder and straightened her back even as droplets of sweat coated her palms. She was scared, but she had no intention of showing it. The Downing brothers had brought her there to draw blood, but she would be damned if she gave them the satisfaction of knowing that she was nervous as hell.

“I’m here as you summoned,” she drawled in her soft, southern accent, her voice dripping with contempt.

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He was the oldest and out of all of them, he was the most arrogant. She’d attended school with him so she knew him the best, and out of all of them she hated him the most.

“You didn’t have to come, although I am sure you knew it was in your best interests to do so,” he said tightly.

She stiffened at his words, her hands balling into tight fists.

“My best interests?” Despite a valiant effort, she couldn’t stop the look of scorn that she knew, without a doubt, crossed her face.

“No, Mr. Downing—” she paused to glance at each of them. “Mr. Downings—” she corrected. “This meeting is in no way shape or form in my best interests, but what choice did I really have? You offered me a way to save my family ranch, so I’m here to take it.”

She stared at each of them, the bitter animosity she’d fought to mask, now blazed in her gaze as anger ignited inside her at the thought of why she was there in the first place. If it wasn’t for what the ranch symbolised she would have told them all to kiss her ass a long time ago. But with the predicament she was in, she was now forced to kiss their asses.

The Douglas Ranch had been in her family since her great-great grandmother, Ida Douglas, a former slave with almost no education, had managed to purchase a small plot of land outside of San Antonio Texas during the Reconstruction Era. At the time, it hadn’t been much, but over the years, the ranch had grown in size, eventually becoming a lucrative and extensive ranching operation, until their name was synonymous with the wealthy black elite of Texas. That had all changed six years ago when her father died and her greedy, tramp of a step-mother squandered most of the family assets in one poorly conceived business deal after the next. By the time Camille returned from her graduate studies in Dublin six months ago, it was too late. The ranch was up for foreclosure, and everything that her family had worked so hard for was now in the hands of their bitter enemies and hated rivals—the Downings. The four Downing brothers now held her family legacy in their hands, and with the exception of going on a murderous rampage, she would stop at nothing to reclaim her family heritage.

“Have a seat, Ms. Douglas,” Jackson, the second oldest said and waved his hand towards the lone chair in the middle of the room. She glanced at it. There were no other chairs in the room. She shook her head. There was no way in hell she was going to sit, while those cocky, arrogant bastards stood over her.

“No thank you. I’ll stand.”

Jackson shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Apparently, that had been their one attempt at courtesy. From the stubborn set of their matching jaw lines, Camille could tell that their southern hospitality well had probably dried up long ago—or at least it had towards her and her family. That was fine with her. She wasn’t there to be courted like some dainty southern belle. She was there to hear their terms so that she could negotiate the selling of her property back to her.

“Look gentlemen. There’s no sense in pretending that this is an amicable meeting, so why don’t we just skip the pleasantries and get straight to business. How much is it going to cost me to get my land back?” There. She’d said it. Her heart beat frantically in her chest as she watched them glance at each other, their expressions registering surprise. She was sure her bluntness had caught them off guard. No matter. That was the reason why she was there so it shouldn’t have come as too big of a surprise that the subject of her ranch would end up on the agenda.

Camille silently fumed, when they leaned in close to exchange hushed words. Their voices were barely more than a whisper, but she could still hear her name. She tapped her foot angrily against the soft carpeted floor, amazed by their rudeness, and a little annoyed that the sound of her stomping foot was muffled.

When they finished with their discussion, Jackson, Jeff and Jason all nodded at their older brother, as if signalling that they were in agreement.

She watched with wary eyes while Jacob studied her. His gaze settled first on her face, before leisurely drifting across her figure. A gasp of shock threatened to erupt from her lips when his eyes lingered on her overly large breasts that strained against her gray suit. As a size sixteen, it was hard to find decent clothing to contain them, but she thought she’d done a good job of hiding her chest that day. Apparently not. A fresh wave of fury washed over her as she bristled under his scrutiny, barely suppressing the urge to ask if he wanted a closer look when his eyes zeroed in on the area between her legs. She shook her head, appalled by his audacity. When he lingered there for several moments, she couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Mr. Downing? Is there something that you would like to say to me—to my face?” She snapped angrily.

Jacob arched a single eyebrow and his lips curled up into a slight grin that looked more like a leer.

Her nostrils flared at the gesture. There was nothing amusing about his actions.

“Actually, there is.” His eyes held her gaze, his expression blank. “How much is the ranch worth to you?”

Camille stood there for several moments considering his question, before giving him the only answer that she could—the truth.

“It’s worth everything. It’s been in my family for generations, and I would do anything to keep it,” she said, knowing her eyes revealed the sincerity of her words.

“Anything?”

She blinked for several seconds. There was something in his voice that gave her pause, but she finally nodded saying, “Yes. I would do anything to keep it.” She fixed her gaze upon each of them before adding. “I cannot buy it at market value yet, but I have a trust and some money saved. I can give you some now and then work out a pay—”

“Thank you, Ms. Douglas for that offer, but we have already come to a decision on the payment plan.”

Relief instantly flooded her at his words, and for the first time since she’d agreed to the meeting, she allowed the tension to seep from her body. They were going to let her buy it back. She had been so worried that with the bad blood between their families they would simply refuse to sell.

“How much? How much do I owe you?”

“It’s not an amount.”

She shook her head, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s not money we want from you.”

“Then how am I supposed to pay you back for the ranch? It’s worth almost three million dollars. What could I possibly give you that would compensate for the amount you paid?”

“Yourself.”

Her eyes widened, not quite comprehending Jacob’s statement. “Huh?”

“You are the payment, Camille.”

His words hit her like a ton of bricks. She stared up at them, the cold expressionless masks that were their faces. A soft gasp ripped past her lips when Jacob’s words finally penetrated the fog that had settled in her brain. They were serious. They wanted her as payment!

“P—payment how? In what capacity?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Maybe they wanted her to be their housekeeper, because the alternative was infinitely more terrifying than the thought of scrubbing their floors and doing their dirty laundry for an eternity.

Jacob’s eyes flashed with impatience.

“What do you think, Camille? You are the payment.”

She shook her head in protest, but he ignored her.

“For six months you will serve all of our sexual needs in any way we see fit. You are to be available to service us at any time, and any place.” She had to restrain herself from rearing back in shock when she glimpsed the tiny flash of desire in his eyes.

“If you comply with our demands for the entire time, then the ranch is yours.”

She stood there stunned. Yet the shock was quickly replaced by fury.

“Absolutely not! I have a job gentleman and it does not include being your twenty-four hour mistress. Those terms are unacceptable—”

“This is not up for negotiation. This is the only offer we are making. You can either take it, or lose your ranch for good,” Jeff said.

She whirled around to stare at Jeff, the third oldest, surprised by his boldness. But then again he was a Downing so what had she truly expected?

“We were under the impression that as an advice columnist and freelance writer, you work mostly from home.”

She slid her gaze to Jason, the youngest, and shot angry daggers from her eyes at him for his insinuation.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips.

“So you think because I work at home, that I having nothing but endless amounts of time to play your mistress?” She asked in a shrill voice.

Silence.

That’s exactly what they thought.

Excerpt From: Competitive Nature

The old place still smelt the same, like over-boiled vegetables sealed in varnish, and the zigzag of the parquet was like an old friend, but there were different, newer, more golden names on the Honours Board now. Hers was still there, if you looked hard enough…‘1995–Head Girl—Elyssa Bradshaw’. The names that accompanied hers still gave her that little thump-thump of the heart when she didn’t look away quickly enough. ‘Head Boy—Jay Marriott’. Oh dear, what a blow that had been to ‘Captain of Sports—Patrick Robertson’. At the time, she’d thought their strange friendship would never recover. And in a way, it hadn’t.

“Do you think Jay and Patrick will come?” asked her old friend Juliet, helping her lug the punch bowl across the hall to a white-clothed table. “Do you still hear from them?”

“Oh, no. I haven’t heard from them since, um, I think it must be at least ten years. I used to see Jay a bit, what with going to the same university, but we kind of drifted. You know how it is. Life gets in the way.”

“It sure does. Let’s not let it get in the way again, eh?”

Elyssa smiled. She would not have guessed that Juliet, the raver of her year, would be an interior designer and mother of four at the age of thirty-three. Juliet, though, would probably have accurately predicted Elyssa’s path in life, she realised with an odd jolt of depression. Single, career-focused, travelling the globe from conference to conference, unable to commit to even a cat—it had been exactly what she’d wanted at twenty-one, but now…no point getting despondent. Life had got in the way of…life. That was what it did.

“No. I mean, everyone has email now. Facebook. No excuse to lose touch again.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“Do you remember our first day?” Elyssa looked around at the handsome, spacious hall, taking herself back to the shy eleven-year-old hiding behind her fringe in the welcome assembly. “I thought this place was so huge. So scary.”

“I remember old Vickers asking that question about how many pupils there were in the whole school. And Jay and Patrick’s hands going up like a shot. Then Patrick got sent out for elbowing Jay in the ribs when he got chosen to answer.”

Elyssa laughed, but there was a wistful pang behind the laughter, closing up her throat. “And they were like that for the next seven years.”

“You were just as bad.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Oh, come on! You tore up that history essay you wrote when Patrick got a better mark.”

“I didn’t! Did I? Oh, actually, I think I did. God, we were donkeys, weren’t we?”

“Asses! But clever ones.”

“That’s an oxymoron. I’m more of an Oxford moron.” “Morons don’t get into Oxford.”

“I don’t know. I did. Anyway, let’s change the subject! Did you or did you not snog Robbie Whitman at the Year Eleven disco? You never did confess.”

Excerpt From: A Spirit of Love

"I still can’t understand what the hell this thing is saying!"

Martin threw his headphones down on the floor of the living room where he was sitting in the two-storey condo he and his lover Emilio shared.

"It’s not a thing, love, it’s a disembodied voice," replied Emilio, ever patient with his headstrong partner. "And you know trying to understand those EVPs is not always possible. Never mind the ghost voices, quit torturing yourself and call her."

Martin considered Emilio, a sweet, smouldering young man of mixed European heritage. Just hitting his mid-twenties, Emilio was all olive skin, thick dark hair and a tight wiry body, one that could get into the most outrageous positions when so inclined. And inclined he was. Emilio had been raised in Italy, Portugal, and had attended university in Britain. He’d eventually followed his parents to Northern California, and Martin was grateful that he had. He may never have met him otherwise. And Sophie would never have been crushed.

That thought made him sigh, and Emilio looked quizzically at him.

"Sorry. I was just wondering how Sophie was doing," he said sheepishly. He knew that it wasn’t generally thought of as cool to mention a past lover to a new one, but their situation was a little unusual. He had never intended to actually leave Sophie. It had always been meant that the three of them would be together. But sometimes things didn’t work out the way you wanted.

Emilio came over and sat down on the floor next to Martin. "It’s been almost a year. She’s an intelligent woman who cares about her work and her clients. She’ll listen to the problems these people are having, and she’ll come around. She can’t hate you forever."

Martin snickered. "Oh, I’m willing to bet forever isn’t nearly long enough."

Two years ago, he’d met the lovely Sophie through his collectables shop, ‘Oddly Enough-Uniques and Collectables’. He specialised in obscure and bizarre antiques and collectables. For instance, he carried things such as a two-headed mummified goat, Victorian medical equipment and medicine bottles, paper ephemera from freak shows, elixir bottles of wild sideshow cures, a chair made of human skulls-,essentially anything out of the ordinary. Sophie, a delicate blonde woman who only stood five foot two and was twenty-two when they met, had wandered into his shop one day looking for antique tarot decks. It turned out that she was a spiritual medium and empath, abilities that had been in her family for years.

He didn’t take her too seriously at first. As much as he enjoyed the wild stuff he carried in his shop, he wasn’t one to believe in ghosts, spirits, or anything of that sort. It was all trickery or sleight of hand in his elevated opinion. Sophie’s translucent skin, pale blue eyes and soft voice had drawn him in at first. But it was her kindness and open heart that had kept him. Eventually, she took him with her on investigations where her help was needed. Many of the paranormal investigators in Petaluma, and all of the other surrounding San Francisco suburbs, knew of her and requested her services.

Initially, he’d gone along as a lark, a way to spend more time with his lovely Sophie. However, he’d soon become convinced. Being with her and witnessing so many weird and wonderful paranormal happenings had changed his outlook forever. She had changed him as well. He’d fallen deeply in love, and had wanted to spend forever with this amazing woman. He’d then become wrapped up in paranormal investigating, and it had all seemed to be a perfect combination between her, the ghost hunting and his shop. They’d come to be known locally as a team.

Then Emilio showed up. He’d been recommended to them through another investigative team, because of all of the specialised equipment he had designed and built. Emilio had an incredibly creative mind, and all three of them had immediately clicked.