I’ve got a massive backlist out there, but I’m focusing mostly on my indie releases now, which a lot of my readers haven’t heard of yet. So we’re going to be putting up excerpts of the indie work I’ve done—both full length and short collections, each Wednesday, to encourage you to give my new work a try.
Today’s excerpt comes from A Blush With Death
Buy links:
Kindle: goo.gl/M4qMO8
Nook: goo.gl/pysp5v
Kobo: goo.gl/dJAf4k
iBooks: goo.gl/hF1tbq
The minute my alarm went off, I jumped out of bed. After my three-minute exercise, I worked my way through a simplified yoga routine, spent ten minutes in a head-stand, then gulped down a glass of juice and a couple of protein bars. After a quick shower in the cramped bathroom, I sorted through the clothes I’d brought with me.
I finally pulled out a pair of black jeans and an olive green tank top that would go with my stiletto Candies. I wanted to feel at my strongest today when facing Bebe, and anything that increased my height to towering proportions was a good thing. A glance in the mirror told me that I looked pretty good, if not professional. I’d just use my outfit to my advantage by telling Bebe I’d had to move quickly, and hadn’t had time to retrieve the rest of my clothes yet.
As I headed out to my car, I noticed that the air was thick. Thunderstorm weather. Sure enough, when I looked to the sky, I saw the beginnings of a thick formation of cumulonimbus clouds. Not a good sign. We’d be seeing lightning by nightfall at the latest.
I sped along, mulling over my best approach. I didn’t dare lay it on too thick, or she’d never believe me. However, it wouldn’t do to be blasé, either, or I’d arouse suspicion. I pulled into one of the empty parking spaces labeled Visitor’s Parking in front of the building. As I slipped out of my car, my nerves jangled. I was heading into enemy territory without backup.
Bebe’s Cosmetics was housed in a small suite of offices on the north side of Port Samanish Island, about a mile outside the Gull Harbor city limits. The building was old, obviously built long before Bebe came along. I caught a glimpse of a faded sign that told me this had once been a medical park. A muggy breeze sprang up as I pushed open the door and entered the heart of Bebe’s Cosmetics.
As I headed toward the stairs—Bebe had told me to meet her in her office—the acrid smell of chemicals singed my nose. They permeated the building, and I wondered just what the hell they were using here.
