February arrived slick and silent following January's attention grabbing end with a province shutting blizzard. It crept in like a stealth intruder choking on the last tendrils of too much snow before it settled into tranquility. Still and silent, at least to begin with, its arrived with a promise of twenty-eight days more of winter weather before sliding into March. And March, well that's another story, one that will tell itself in its own good time.
That aside, despite bundling up in a blanket in the cold winter mornings. Yes, even central heat doesn't cut the chill. But, despite that, I'm excited for this release, the last in a trio of releases.
Happy Book Birthday - Fatal Intent!
The chance of a lifetime is crashing around her and, in the process, threatening to destroy not just Savannah's career but the very lives of her team. In the Borneo rain forest things have gotten daily and the arrival of one man who claims he can help them might add a threat that no one imagined.
Just reading that reminds me of how much I loved writing this book; how much I loved the research that inspired the idea. Yes, not the other way around but that's another story. I was on a trip to Borneo, dressed in awkward tourist style for the hike. I'd tucked in my pants into my brand new hiking boots and I had enough bug spray to mutate the forest. I was ready.
Possibly not - I wasn't ready for the python - it didn't move, I didn't care. I wasn't ready for the snake that did move, as beautiful as it was - I ran the other way. I also wasn't ready for the beauty of the rain forest - crazy creatures that I could or couldn't identify aside. And I wasn't ready for the idea that leapt at me from the dense, rich green foliage. It was the idea for Fatal Intent. Not all my stories begin with a trip but I love when they do.
Excerpt from Fatal Intent:
She saw him floating headless through a mist of tears.
Even the river’s roar was not enough to mask her scream, as overhead the Borneo midday sun skidded a brilliant reflection across the river’s surface.
Savannah Cole clapped her hand over her mouth and squinted against the bright sun, as if that would shift reality or change the fact that all that stood between Malcolm and anonymity was the San Diego Chargers logo on his torn, water-soaked T-shirt. Instead, tears washed her vision.
Malcolm’s smiling face—his smiling, missing face. She choked and her foot slipped, bringing her dangerously close to the riverbank, and the body.
Brush crackled and something screeched. The sound was harsh and loud even in a place where there was never silence. It would have sent chills through the uninitiated, but it was only an insect, an oversize bug. An insect that might not be classified or identified. There were so many and that was what brought her here. But now her guide was dead, headless. That thought alone was preposterous, even when the evidence lay in front of her. She wanted to weep. She wanted to run. But it was up to her to get her team out of here. She needed another focus before panic clouded everything. And then she caught sight of Ian spewing into the tall grass that grew wild and untamed on the edge of the clearing.
“Ian!”
It was only the two of them—for now. She and Ian. Ian, who was all about screams and hysteria in a crisis. But there’d never been a need to worry about that—there was no crisis, there should have never been a crisis.
Her fingers trembled and she clenched them into her palms, nails pinching the skin.
Her thoughts jittered everywhere.
There was no answer as Ian began to cry in large gulping sobs.
“Ian!” she shouted, trying to use tough love, hoping that would bring him back from the edge. There was no time for sympathy and neither of them could afford hysteria. They had to survive.
Small choking sounds came from the brush.
“C’mon, Ian,” she muttered, swallowing her own bile as it crept up the back of her throat.
Dead.
Only yesterday morning she had laughed with Malcolm. It had been over some inane joke one of the other Iban had told him. Something that related back to his heritage and the Iban’s history as headhunters.
“Headhunters,” she whispered. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
There were no headhunters, not anymore. Just tribal people who took great pride in a history that once had included headhunting. Once, she reminded herself, no more. Her gaze flitted back to the corpse, the corpse that was minus a head.
I’ll be back before dark. Keep to the river. I’ll find you.
The last words Malcolm had spoken, at least to them.
Want to read more?
Get Fatal Intent on Amazon both as an e-copy and paperback!
Happy Birthday to you....Fatal Intent!
On Fatal Intent's release day, I'm celebrating with copy in hand - yes it's in paperback too!
Happy dance!
Get your copy at:Want to read more?
Get Fatal Intent on Amazon both as an e-copy and paperback!
Happy Birthday to you....Fatal Intent!
On Fatal Intent's release day, I'm celebrating with copy in hand - yes it's in paperback too!
Happy dance!
Get your copy at:
Amazon.com; Amazon.ca; Barnes & Noble; Chapters Indigo
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