I'm pleased to announce the cover reveal for my new novel, Grave Secrets, Palmetto Moon book 2!
No pulse? No problem.
Sophie D'Angelo is good with weird, but her latest investigation takes the cake. A young pregnant woman goes missing and the only witness is a hundred year old ghost. Sophie reluctantly agrees to play host to the specter who seems more interested in Caleb then in solving the case. As her personal life falls apart around her, Sophie will have to decide how far she's willing to go for justice, and what she's willing to risk to make things right with Caleb again.
But how is she supposed to do it with the charismatic Rayne Blackwood vying for her heart?
And now, a sneek peek at Palmetto Moon 2. Grave Secrets.
Prologue
I ducked behind the brick wall just before a beer bottle whizzed past my head, exploding into shards of brown glass behind me.
"You have got to be kidding me," I yelled, and peeked over the wall. He was running. I caught sight of him just as he rounded the far corner of the alley. "Get back here, Gallas!"
I didn’t think he would actually take me seriously enough to listen, so I wasn't stunned at his decision to take off rather than stand his ground and fight. I was maybe 130 lbs. soaking wet, and a head shorter than him to boot. Maybe my reputation was finally preceding me. I smirked at the idea as I bolted over the top of my cover, chasing after him.
At the end of the alley there was a tall barbed wire topped fence. The sound of my boot heels hitting the pavement echoed down the dark street. He must have looked up and seen the fence because he turned, bursting through the back door of the antique shop at the end of the alley. I cussed and backtracked. Thank God I was familiar enough with these back streets to know where most of the entrances would exit. Running to the front I arrived at the glass picture window just as Dave Gallas, parole violator and accused hit and run driver, threw himself into the window from the inside, breaking through in a shower of clear glass. I shrieked and collapsed downward, instinctively covering my head with my arms. He leapt over me and kept running.
Aside from a few small scratches, I didn't feel any severe pain from more severe wounds. I wasn't planning for Gallas to be so lucky. Out of breath and patience I stood, watching him run into the night. Not human, I realized. Besides the idiocy of crashing through a plate glass window and taking off without hesitation or harm—which any meth head could manage—hisgait gave him away. It looked almost fluid, as if at any moment he’d lean forward and run like an animal on all four limbs.
With a sigh that contained more than a little satisfaction, I drew the small silver whistle from under my red t-shirt, stuffed it between my lips and blew. Instantly Gallas clutched his hands to his ears and pitched to the side, falling into the middle of the street. I kept blowing as I jogged up to him.
Just as I reached him, I heard some commotion and turned my head to see that we were less than a block from Rayne’s seedy club, the Painted Lady. The bouncer at the door was mimicking Gallas’ stop, drop, and roll impression. Two men who were probably vampires rushed out of the club. Of course. It might not affect them the same way, but with their superior hearing, they could at least hear the dog whistle. I stopped blowing as they helped the burly Were to his feet. He pointed to where I stood over Gallas. Shit. I was about to have company. With fangs.
I looked down. Gallas’ hand was balled in a fist and coming straight for my face. I tried to dodge the blow, but he was too quick. The impact, though mostly a graze, still felt as if every bone in my face had shattered. Stars exploded in my vision. I fell. He was instantly on his feet, standing over me with his arm drawn back to strike again.
I fumbled for the whistle. Then, over my head a shadow passed, sending Gallas sprawling across the street. I closed one eye. I groaned, straining to get back to my feet.
When I opened my other eye I saw that Rayne Blackwood stood between me and the now unconscious Were. Dusting off his expensive looking suit he turned to me, holding his hand out.
"What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?" he asked, sounding entirely too pleased to find himself in the position of white knight.
I took his hand and let him help me to my feet. "Oh, you know. The usual."
Frowning, Rayne took my chin in one cool hand, turning my face to the side. "Does it hurt?"
I brushed his hand away. "Not as much as my pride," I admitted. "It’s nothing a big fat paycheck won’t make better."
He looked confused so I continued, "Gallas jumped bail. I’m collecting him for a piece of the bond."
"Is work so slow you have to resort to chasing criminals through the streets?"
His voice was steady, but I couldn’t help feeling the implication behind it. It was true. Times at the detective agency had been tough lately, which was why I’d taken a few odd jobs collecting bounties for the Sherriff’s office. But there was no way I was going to share that information with him.
"A job is a job. We can’t all be fabulously rich vampires, you know." I tried to smile, but it must have fallen short. Rayne looked at me, his emerald green eyes searching mine. It was uncomfortable. As if he was somehow looking right through me. It made me feel…naked.
"Speaking of which, where is Caleb? Isn’t he supposed to be your assistant?"
I cringed. I hadn’t exactly told Caleb about any of this. For one thing, I didn’t want to burden him, and for another I still wasn’t exactly sure where we stood since he’d basically become the Conclave’s in house spy.
"You didn’t mention it to him," Rayne guessed.
I tried to play it off with a shrug. "Not really his business. He doesn’t exactly work for me anymore," I said a little more bitterly than I meant to, making Rayne frown at the implication.
Behind him Gallas began to stir. I pushed past Rayne and pulled the whistle from my
shirt, blowing on it just long enough to get him secured in the silver handcuffs I always carried on my belt, just for a situation like this. He hissed as the silver grazed his wrist, immediately turning an angry, raw red. I looked up. His eyes swam with tears, the stubble across his face and the bags under his eyes made him seem so lost…haunted and hopeless. I sighed, this time with resigned empathy, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down and wrapping them around the metal cuffs so they weren’t directly on his skin. He hadn’t attacked me, after all. He’d just tried to run away. Just like he probably had when he’d hit that person in the street. For all his supernatural strength, he was a runner, not a fighter. I felt a pang of guilt.
"I’m sorry I have to do this," I whispered. He nodded and looked down, hiding his expression from me.
I turned to Rayne. "Thanks for that, um…help. With the um," I made a whooshing sound.
He smirked, "Of course. This is quite fortunate, running into you, like this. I want to discuss hiring you to look into something for me."
I raised one eyebrow. Was this about his earlier comment about my financial state? I shook my head, "I don’t need any charity, Rayne. But, um, thanks again."
I turned to walk Gallas to my car, which was parked only a few blocks away, but Rayne kept pace with me, quickly waving his guards back to the club. "You don’t have to walk with me," I said stubbornly, one hand on Gallas’ burly arm.
"I never underestimate your ability to handle yourself, Sophia. And my offer is far from charity, I assure you."
"Sophie," I corrected him. He made a gesture with his hands like, as you wish.
"Besides," Rayne said cheerfully, "David here is a gentle giant, as they say. I doubt he would hurt a fly."
I snorted, "I’ve got a black eye that says differently."
"Touché. Perhaps I should rephrase. He wouldn’t hurt a fly that wasn’t chasing him down the street with a dog whistle and a tazer."
Point taken.
"It’s not up to me to decide if he’s guilty, Rayne. He runs, I catch and return. That’s how this works."
Now it was his turn to snort. "Sophie the bounty hunter. Perhaps they will give you your own television program?"
Beside me, Gallas chuckled.
I rescinded my pity.
I ducked behind the brick wall just before a beer bottle whizzed past my head, exploding into shards of brown glass behind me.
"You have got to be kidding me," I yelled, and peeked over the wall. He was running. I caught sight of him just as he rounded the far corner of the alley. "Get back here, Gallas!"
I didn’t think he would actually take me seriously enough to listen, so I wasn't stunned at his decision to take off rather than stand his ground and fight. I was maybe 130 lbs. soaking wet, and a head shorter than him to boot. Maybe my reputation was finally preceding me. I smirked at the idea as I bolted over the top of my cover, chasing after him.
At the end of the alley there was a tall barbed wire topped fence. The sound of my boot heels hitting the pavement echoed down the dark street. He must have looked up and seen the fence because he turned, bursting through the back door of the antique shop at the end of the alley. I cussed and backtracked. Thank God I was familiar enough with these back streets to know where most of the entrances would exit. Running to the front I arrived at the glass picture window just as Dave Gallas, parole violator and accused hit and run driver, threw himself into the window from the inside, breaking through in a shower of clear glass. I shrieked and collapsed downward, instinctively covering my head with my arms. He leapt over me and kept running.
Aside from a few small scratches, I didn't feel any severe pain from more severe wounds. I wasn't planning for Gallas to be so lucky. Out of breath and patience I stood, watching him run into the night. Not human, I realized. Besides the idiocy of crashing through a plate glass window and taking off without hesitation or harm—which any meth head could manage—hisgait gave him away. It looked almost fluid, as if at any moment he’d lean forward and run like an animal on all four limbs.
With a sigh that contained more than a little satisfaction, I drew the small silver whistle from under my red t-shirt, stuffed it between my lips and blew. Instantly Gallas clutched his hands to his ears and pitched to the side, falling into the middle of the street. I kept blowing as I jogged up to him.
Just as I reached him, I heard some commotion and turned my head to see that we were less than a block from Rayne’s seedy club, the Painted Lady. The bouncer at the door was mimicking Gallas’ stop, drop, and roll impression. Two men who were probably vampires rushed out of the club. Of course. It might not affect them the same way, but with their superior hearing, they could at least hear the dog whistle. I stopped blowing as they helped the burly Were to his feet. He pointed to where I stood over Gallas. Shit. I was about to have company. With fangs.
I looked down. Gallas’ hand was balled in a fist and coming straight for my face. I tried to dodge the blow, but he was too quick. The impact, though mostly a graze, still felt as if every bone in my face had shattered. Stars exploded in my vision. I fell. He was instantly on his feet, standing over me with his arm drawn back to strike again.
I fumbled for the whistle. Then, over my head a shadow passed, sending Gallas sprawling across the street. I closed one eye. I groaned, straining to get back to my feet.
When I opened my other eye I saw that Rayne Blackwood stood between me and the now unconscious Were. Dusting off his expensive looking suit he turned to me, holding his hand out.
"What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?" he asked, sounding entirely too pleased to find himself in the position of white knight.
I took his hand and let him help me to my feet. "Oh, you know. The usual."
Frowning, Rayne took my chin in one cool hand, turning my face to the side. "Does it hurt?"
I brushed his hand away. "Not as much as my pride," I admitted. "It’s nothing a big fat paycheck won’t make better."
He looked confused so I continued, "Gallas jumped bail. I’m collecting him for a piece of the bond."
"Is work so slow you have to resort to chasing criminals through the streets?"
His voice was steady, but I couldn’t help feeling the implication behind it. It was true. Times at the detective agency had been tough lately, which was why I’d taken a few odd jobs collecting bounties for the Sherriff’s office. But there was no way I was going to share that information with him.
"A job is a job. We can’t all be fabulously rich vampires, you know." I tried to smile, but it must have fallen short. Rayne looked at me, his emerald green eyes searching mine. It was uncomfortable. As if he was somehow looking right through me. It made me feel…naked.
"Speaking of which, where is Caleb? Isn’t he supposed to be your assistant?"
I cringed. I hadn’t exactly told Caleb about any of this. For one thing, I didn’t want to burden him, and for another I still wasn’t exactly sure where we stood since he’d basically become the Conclave’s in house spy.
"You didn’t mention it to him," Rayne guessed.
I tried to play it off with a shrug. "Not really his business. He doesn’t exactly work for me anymore," I said a little more bitterly than I meant to, making Rayne frown at the implication.
Behind him Gallas began to stir. I pushed past Rayne and pulled the whistle from my
shirt, blowing on it just long enough to get him secured in the silver handcuffs I always carried on my belt, just for a situation like this. He hissed as the silver grazed his wrist, immediately turning an angry, raw red. I looked up. His eyes swam with tears, the stubble across his face and the bags under his eyes made him seem so lost…haunted and hopeless. I sighed, this time with resigned empathy, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down and wrapping them around the metal cuffs so they weren’t directly on his skin. He hadn’t attacked me, after all. He’d just tried to run away. Just like he probably had when he’d hit that person in the street. For all his supernatural strength, he was a runner, not a fighter. I felt a pang of guilt.
"I’m sorry I have to do this," I whispered. He nodded and looked down, hiding his expression from me.
I turned to Rayne. "Thanks for that, um…help. With the um," I made a whooshing sound.
He smirked, "Of course. This is quite fortunate, running into you, like this. I want to discuss hiring you to look into something for me."
I raised one eyebrow. Was this about his earlier comment about my financial state? I shook my head, "I don’t need any charity, Rayne. But, um, thanks again."
I turned to walk Gallas to my car, which was parked only a few blocks away, but Rayne kept pace with me, quickly waving his guards back to the club. "You don’t have to walk with me," I said stubbornly, one hand on Gallas’ burly arm.
"I never underestimate your ability to handle yourself, Sophia. And my offer is far from charity, I assure you."
"Sophie," I corrected him. He made a gesture with his hands like, as you wish.
"Besides," Rayne said cheerfully, "David here is a gentle giant, as they say. I doubt he would hurt a fly."
I snorted, "I’ve got a black eye that says differently."
"Touché. Perhaps I should rephrase. He wouldn’t hurt a fly that wasn’t chasing him down the street with a dog whistle and a tazer."
Point taken.
"It’s not up to me to decide if he’s guilty, Rayne. He runs, I catch and return. That’s how this works."
Now it was his turn to snort. "Sophie the bounty hunter. Perhaps they will give you your own television program?"
Beside me, Gallas chuckled.
I rescinded my pity.
1 comment:
Congrats Sherry, this looks awesome. Great cover!
Post a Comment