Sunday Snippet: Living With Scars

Greetings!

Holy crap. We're halfway through the year already. How did that happen? LOL

Tonight's post is from a novella entitled Living with Scars. In all honesty, I quite love how it's coming together. The sages can be stingy with giving me the scenes, but when they finally let loose, the words fly. J

Here's the tagline:

Britta Dane, a woman who avoids entanglements, lets Yale Sullivan get a little too close. But when she finds a way to put some distance between them, she lands behind enemy lines. When she finally returns, a little broken and torn up with guilt, she has to find a way to get her brand of normal back.

And the sneaky peek…

Britta Dane rolled out of bed and forced herself to stay upright. It took a stumble, hop, and slide because the room spun, but she did it. God, she'd had too many blurry wakeup calls lately.

Her bubble of laughter ended on a hiccup. Geez, she needed to get a grip. CAP started in thirty minutes, and shit, she'd be late for the briefing if she didn't get a move on. Grabbing her shower kit, she leaned against her locker willing her head to stop pounding.

"Come on. Another day, another shift." She pushed away from the cool metal and bumped into a solid body.

"Not today, Aces. You're scratch."

Britta raised her eyes, probably still bloodshot, to meet the unreadable gaze of her CAG, Yale Sullivan. Shit. She backed up, using the locker for support.

"What do you mean, I'm scratch? I'm alright to fly." Her stomach picked that moment to rebel and it took everything she had not to heave. She swallowed down the bile and took a deep cleansing breath.

Yale snorted. "You're barely vertical. Which means not okay to fly." He turned on his heel and stepped out of quarters.

Britta pushed herself upright again. "Wait. Just wait." She gingerly made her way out into the corridor to see if he'd heeded her request.

Oh, he had. He stood right outside the damn hatch.

"What the hell, Yale? You know I'll be fine after a shower and some coffee." Britta fought against the urge to blink, the lights were brighter outside of crew quarters.

Yale shook his head. "How many more times will you be fine? What does this make? Four days this week you've missed the morning briefing?"

Britta jerked her head. "I didn't miss—" She looked around her, the causeways teemed with people.

Shift change…after morning briefing.

"Damn."

"Right. CAP goes wheels up in ten. You're not flying." He started down the corridor but turned back. "My office, thirty minutes. Do not be late."

She didn't bother with a comeback. He'd hear plenty from her in half an hour.

**

Standing outside the hatch of the CAG's office, Britta sucked in a deep breath. She'd showered, poured coffee down her throat and even forced herself to choke down a sticky bun—the last vestige of the breakfast served in the galley.

And gave herself a pat on the back because she ended up being five minutes early. Wouldn't Yale be impressed?

She snorted. Right. Nothing she'd done since she came back made him happy.

She drank too much. Pulled too many stupid stunts. In general, she'd become the bane of his existence.

Not exactly the place she wanted to be. But she couldn't seem to find her way out of the hole she'd dug herself into. She and Yale…they didn't have the solid footing they'd had before she left.

And that landed solely at her threshold, too.

She exhaled slowly and pounded on the hatch. Might as well get the lecture over with.

"Enter."

Pulling the heavy door open, she stepped into the office expecting to see Yale seated behind the desk. He tended to like things nice and professional when he planned to chastise her. Surprisingly, she found him seated on the small couch in the alcove off to the side of the room.

She dogged the hatch and stood at attention. "Reporting as ordered, sir." Eyes straight, not even she could fail to miss the quick back and forth of his head at her attempt to be overly respectful.

He gestured to the chair cattycorner to the couch. "Have a seat, lieutenant."

She grudgingly sat down.

"What's going on with you?" Yale softly voiced the question.

Needless to say, Britta has no plan to answer his question. At least not honestly. LOL But Yale's a persistent kind of guy. J

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Internal Dialog

Hi!

It's been a rather trying week on the personal front. It's funny how that happens. Little annoyances pop up when least expected and sometimes snowball into raging nightmares. LOL

Seriously, not quite that bad, and thankfully nothing with immediate family. J

Tonight's post is from Internal Dialog, a novella where the main characters should actually spend more time conversing with each other instead of with themselves. J

Here's the tagline:

Tom Callahan, an excellent soldier but sometimes quick to make judgments, wants to figure out what went wrong with Abbey Parks when she got caught on their former home planet. But when Abbey blasts him for wanting to talk about it, he withdraws and gives her plenty of space, which isn't what she wants. Abbey needs Tom to stop overthinking everything and stake a claim.

And the sneaky peek…

Tom Callahan finally admitted the truth. Abbey Parks had not come back the same.

Something about finding that pocket of resistance fighters in the middle of enemy territory on Orion had a hold on her.

She could be so damned reticent. She'd charge onward and carry forth like nothing else mattered. Maintain the status quo and say nothing of what troubled her.

But it would be there. Whatever had her in its grip. Buried deep, maybe, but he'd know.

Her voice would be off, pitched kinda low and sad, and her eyes would take on a faraway stare. Some kernel of memory would nag behind the look. And she'd go quiet, probably for days, until she worked through it.

He wished he could give her the time. But he couldn't. They had to move out and make a rendezvous in a few days.

Abbey needed to be front, center, and present.

Probably why he'd left himself open to the brutal tirade she'd unleashed on him. He'd wanted to nudge her along through the process of getting back to normal.

Stupid move.

She'd let him have it with both barrels.

"You have no idea what the hell it's like out there. None." The scathing look singed him. "And until you do…shut up. I don't need or want a lecture right now."

God, why did he always screw shit up? Opened his mouth and the wrong thing came out. Why the hell couldn't he just say he'd been worried and go from there?

Hah. Fear. That she'd laugh her ass off or make a joke out of his concern.

He wanted to move past that stage. Not that he didn't enjoy her quick witted banter, but every once in a while a serious conversation might be nice. They cared enough for each other to handle it, didn't they?

"Look. I'm sorry. None of that came out the right way." Tom shoved his hands in his pockets. "All I really wanted to do was offer to listen." He glanced up and held her gaze. "If you need to talk. Because you're right. I wasn't out there and I don't know what you went through." He tried not to sound testy about her leaving him behind. He'd have gone if she asked him.

But she hadn't.

And it stung. It said she didn't trust him.

"Just know I'm willing to hear what you have to say. Any time."

She snorted in response and Tom left, feeling like an idiot.

Some days it didn't pay to be a friend.

~:~

Abbey needed to get a grip. Lashing out at Tom didn't solve a damn thing.

Of course he didn't know what she'd gone through or what it had been like out there. She hadn't told anyone. Didn't know if she could.

Especially not Tom.

How could she explain any of it? The ugliness of ravaged planet or finding that small group of hopeful rebels who wouldn't give it up. She didn't know if she could lay it out in a way he'd understand.

Not after the blow up they'd had before she left. Hell, part of the reason she'd gone had been to get away from him and his out-of-the-blue anger.

She had no idea a one night stand would set Tom off. Their friendship ran deep and a potential outcome of something more existed, even if they'd never pursued a physical relationship. And Francois Garnier never had a chance of becoming anything other than a hook-up. Maybe she hadn't explicitly explained she never stuck around after sex, but most guys normally got the picture.

Just her luck Francois didn't play by standard rules. And wouldn't he decide to get prickly about it when he figured it out. Throw in Tom witnessing the bizarre scene Garnier caused and BOOM! Instant awkward mess.

Scene didn't accurately describe the weird byplay and non-discussion. Francois never directly mentioned their lone encounter. Instead he went all twitchy when she strolled by and used platitudes and well-aimed barbs about wishing people had more consideration for others. He asked everyone at the table if it shouldn't be a good idea for a one night stand to be decided upon by both parties…prior to clothes actually coming off.

Tom picked up on it, honed in on the thinly veiled allusive verbiage and Abbey knew the moment he realized Francois spoke about her. It didn't help she couldn't look Garnier…or Tom…in the eye. One man knew her better than almost anyone and the other knew a secret she desperately wanted to keep.

The brutal, cold look Tom gave her felt like a boot to the teeth. "Oh, nice." He rose from the table, voice lethally quiet. "You never change, do you, Abs?"

She opened her mouth to counter, but he walked away without a backward glance. His reaction, the anger and accusation, the rigidly set shoulders, kicked her need to keep from Francois from blabbing his knowledge into overdrive.

Garnier sent her a very satisfied look. The little shit had done it on purpose. She had no doubt.

"Grow the fuck up and stop acting like the wounded party." She leaned down and hissed close to Garnier's ear. "And shut your mouth. He'd never believe you now."

Oh, she got him with that one. Written all over his face, Francois hadn't thought far enough ahead with his little reveal. He'd clearly planned to spill the rest…but it backfired.

Her secret safe for now, she strolled out of the rec room, leaving Garnier to stew in his own stupidity. Once outside, she heaved a relief-filled sigh. Tom Callahan did not need to know she'd called out his name in the throes of orgasm. He'd latch onto the information and try to make more of it than he should.

They didn't have that kind of thing between them. And okay, they could, but neither had ever acted on the tension stretching and flexing between them. The vibe connected them, but never quite led to a hook-up. Abbey feared if they lit the spark it would blow up in their face. She didn't have to worry about it after the rec room incident.

Something broke between them that day. And they never quite got back to the smooth groove they had before. She'd catch Tom gazing in her direction, trying to figure it all out. She wished him luck.

She couldn't even try.

Tom might be a little closer than Abbey realizes to having things sorted. Cosmically bad timing can't last forever, right?

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Hand of Fate

Hello!

Happy Father's Day to all the great and wonderful dads out there, my own included. :D

It's fun to reflect on my relationship with my dad. We didn't always see eye to eye and had a few rocky years to get through. I think it's why I love to write about troubled waters between dads and sons and/or daughters. In my case, I got lucky and my dad and I grew as individuals and found our common ground. My husband and his father never quite got to a place where they could embrace their differences and discuss them without rancor.

Tonight's post is from Hand of Fate and it features a dad and son relationship where they work together. I get to pull from personal experience—my dad and I (and my two brothers) worked for the same company for almost ten years and often had to check the personal relationship at the door—so much easier said than done. J

Here's the tagline:

Ada Kurtz and Clark Wellington are great at their jobs, and either could pull off an upcoming mission. But when Ada gets injured, she's relegated to the sidelines, planning the operation and calling the shots for Clark. He has to take out an enemy satellite which won't be easy without Ada flying his wing.

And the sneaky peek…

Ada Kurtz stared at the fitrep in her hand. Clark Wellington wanted to do what? Put her on notice? Oh…no effing way. She rose from the table and stormed out of the rec room.

God damn the man. Since when could he not take a joke?

Okay…the last one she pulled had been low. Grabbing his clothes, along with any stray towels, and leaving a trail from the showers to the senior pilots' quarters seemed like such a cool idea when it hit. She didn't know the commander would be conducting a walk through of the ship. So it couldn’t be her fault he caught his son traipsing through the corridors while wet, dripping, and naked.

Ada kind of made it her personal mission in life to loosen Clark up. She appreciated his high standards, but yeesh, sometimes he needed a good swift bite of reality. Normal folks didn't maintain a rigid hold on themselves 24/7. Clark could be fun…when he relaxed. He just forgot to do it more often than not. Occasionally he needed a reminder…and she never failed to provide one. Which got her in trouble. She thought the clothes thing a necessary evil. A prank designed to get him out of his headspace and down with the regular people.

Too bad Clark didn't see it the same way.

She might need a new personal mission. Or maybe examine why she picked getting Clark to relax as one. She respected the hell out of him, but fought a powerful attraction, too. Everything about the man screamed commitment and they had a war to fight. Everyone knew bad juju hit when pilots tried to hook up for more than a good, hard fuck.

And Ada had a feeling—deep in her gut—one time would snowball into something so much more. So yeah, right, exactly. She'd keep to the status quo for now. She pushed Clark's buttons and he used her as the example.

But it didn't mean he got to put her on notice. Hurrying though the causeway, still reading the nasty report, Ada missed the yellow caution signs. Her focus on getting to Clark as soon as possible distracted her from everything else.

She rounded a corner and hit the wet, slippery surface of the deck, skidding several feet before—BAM!—down she went. Hard.

Son of a bitch.

Clark will obviously feel awful about Ada's injury, but he'll also have a chance to see her work behind the scenes and maybe find a new kind of respect for what she can do. J

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Guarded Chance

Greetings!

Had a very busy weekend editing and writing, and also working the day job. And I need to check my garden, but yeesh, the time totally gets away from me sometimes.

So, let me get to the snippet. Tonight's post is from Guarded Chance, a novella featuring one of my favorite types of characters, a hot mess. :D

Here's the tagline:

Echo Dart, a brilliant soldier but hot mess of a woman, becomes a captive of the enemy who try to recondition her for their purposes. During the process she realizes there's only one person who has every touched her soul, Race Markinton. But she's already burned the relationship bridge with Race and once she's free, she has to figure out how to make amends or lose him for good.

And the sneaky peek…

"I won't go after her."

Race Markinton had zero reaction when the news of Echo's capture came in. What did everyone expect? Another free show in the saga of Race and Echo? Too damned bad. Race had finally washed his hands of her when she hooked up with Wilson Prewitt. Race decided enough had to finally be enough when they spent an entire week together only to return to base and have Echo make a beeline to the first available civilian. Echo crossed a threshold and Race closed the door. He wouldn't let her back in. Not for peace with the enemy. Not for props from the old man. Not for anything. And definitely not this time. He and Echo had been on the journey too damned long with the same result. They got close to something great, she freaked out, and he got to watch her implode. Jabbing himself in the eye with sharp objects would be less painful. So he'd called an end to the farce. Figured the time had long past come to tuck and roll and make a clean break.

The saga of Race and Echo? Over and done with. They were through.

Except the death grip feeling around his heart wouldn't go away. Old habits and all that. And kicking his addiction to Echo Dart couldn't happen over night. His road to recovery wouldn't be paved with good intentions…more like a buttload of heavy baggage.

He didn't plan to check any more.

He expected the knock when it came. No one had to tell him who stood on the other side of the hatch. No summons over the base comms for the new drama. A face to face would be the only way his CO would handle it.

Rising, Race figured he'd let it play out. His commanding officer already knew the answer. Race wouldn't get involved. No way in hell. Undogging the hatch, Race pulled the heavy door open.

A disgusted snort escaped at the sight greeting him. Two men he'd normally not see together. Stepping back, he ushered his unwanted visitors inside.

He tossed a nasty look toward his immediate superior. "You fight dirty, old man."

His CO shrugged. "You had to know I would."

Race nodded toward his small sitting area. "Yeah, Dad, I did." His gaze settled on Wilson Prewitt. "But him? Seriously? Not just dirty, but damned dangerous." Which his father counted on, the urge to punch Wilson always lurked under the surface. A strong emotional reaction would be just the thing Rick Markinton would go for, knowing exactly which of his son's buttons to push.

Really sucked answering professionally to family.

But…it also meant the old man knew Echo's current lover would be the last person Race would ever work with. Race opened his mouth to say exactly what he thought of his dad's tactics.

The elder Markinton cut him off, snarling. "Deal with it, Race. You need to hear him out." He heaved a weary sigh and sank down on one of the chairs. "And listen to what he has to say."

Race didn't like it, but his old man had aged a decade in the last week. Race could play nice.

For now.

Race dogged the hatch, sat down in the closest chair and leaned back. "Fine." He swung his gaze toward Prewitt. "I'm listening."

~:~

Wilson Prewitt hated the position he'd been put in. Echo gone, the base commander breathing down his neck, and the man Echo couldn't let go of looking like he'd happily shove his fist down Wilson's throat if he didn't start talking in the next three seconds.

Wilson figured he'd better just spit it all out. "It's my fault. I thought—" He stopped and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I was fed a bunch of lies."

Race looked toward his father. "Is he going to start making sense any time soon, Dad?"

The elder Markinton nodded. "He'd better. I warned him you wouldn't be patient." Rick shot Wilson a stern glower.

Wilson blurted, "I handed Echo over to the enemy." He cringed back into the seat, expecting two hands around his throat at any moment.

Race blinked and jerked back. "You did what?" The quiet tone did nothing to ease Wilson's fear. "I don't think I heard it right. You handed Echo over to the enemy?" Race snorted. "No one hands Echo anywhere. She'd fight or die trying."

Markinton didn't have all the pieces yet. But he would.

"She didn't have a choice. I used a neurotoxin to immobilize her."

Wilson shrank back further when Race leaned forward.

The other man studied Wilson for a moment. "You better explain yourself, quickly, if you want to live."

Wilson complied. As if he had any other option.

Ah, Race. He just can't quit on the woman he loves…no matter much he really wants to. :D

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Good for the Soul

Hello!

Okay, last night I watched the best season finale I've seen from a show in a long, long time. Orphan Black hit every right note over the ten episodes and it's going to be a seriously long hiatus until spring of 2014. GAH!

Tonight's post if from a novella entitled Good for the Soul. Dex Thurgood has some serious issues to work through and Lana Denman is around to help him out.

Here's the tagline:

Dex Thurgood has ideals he upholds and wants to keep it that way. But when he's forced to confront a sinister underground trade leader, he has to face his darker nature to bust up the extortion racket, which won't be easy because Ramsey Markum knows one of Dex's deeply buried secrets. Lana Denman steps up to help Dex deal with the fallout of not being perfect.

And the sneaky peek…

"You're not gonna do it. You won't shoot."

Ramsey Markum held court in the dank and musty dive where he ran the underground trade, flanked by henchmen on both sides.

Dex Thurgood held Markum's gaze, the gun steady in his hand. A stain on humanity, Ramsey had one thing right. Dex wouldn't shoot. Not under normal circumstances. At least he wouldn't have if he hadn't seen, first hand, the evil Markum carried and dispensed depending on the whim of his moods.

"You might be standing in the mud with the rest of us, but you've still got a bit of sheen on you." Markum's tone, smug and confident, grated. "You don't have it in you. You're not gonna shoot me—" 

Dex pulled the trigger. "Looks like you're wrong." Markum hit the floor, his face a frozen mask of disbelief.

The two henchmen, both practical and dispassionate, moved forward, ready to put Dex on the leader board.

Dex placed the side arm on the table and stepped back, shaking his head.

"No. I want no part of this." He looked from one guy to the other. "But the underground can't and won't go away. I get that. But this is how it works now. Ramsey is gone. You'll continue on, business as usual, with two exceptions."

Neither man offered up a protest and so far he had their interest. "No more child couriers. Don't pretend you don't know what usually happens to them most of the time. That ends now." He watched and waited until they acknowledged his words. "From this point on, no one else has to work your fees. Fair trade is one thing, slave labor is another." It turned his stomach to say that, but the system they used, distasteful as it could be, worked for most.

Dex flicked his gaze downward toward Ramsey. "If either of you try to hold anyone to previous agreements, we'll find someone better suited to the job." He looked at the men again. "Any questions?"

Both shook their heads back and forth. They'd be stupid to go against him. Dex pretty much handed them the entire underground trade on a platter. They only had to play fair in order to keep it.

Small price to pay if it kept their pipeline running.

He gave both a curt nod. "Then I suggest you take out the trash."

Dex waited until they dragged Ramsey's body out the side door before he turned on his heel and exited the bar. He kept his eyes straight ahead and put one foot in front of the other until he got to his transport. Safely inside, he crumpled onto the nearest seat and put his head in his hands.

How he'd maintained his equilibrium, he'd never know. He'd just killed a man—pretty much in cold blood. An evil one to be certain, but it didn't give him the right to act as judge, jury, and executioner. Yet he'd done exactly that.

Had he really become that numb?

No. He felt the weight of his decision take up residence in his bones. The cold ball of rage and anger still remained, coiled up tight, in his gut.

It would fade with time, but right now he used it to keep it together. He still had several things to accomplish. He might as well start now.

Heaving a sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a portable headset. He spoke the number to Darcene's room and she answered before the first series of beeps completed.

"You're safe. Ramsey's not gonna be a problem anymore." He heard the relieved sigh on her end. "Get everything together for you and Leon. I'm on my way."

Dex ended the call. Didn't think he could listen to or accept any kind of gratitude from her. He'd made a promise to get Darcene and Leon out from under Ramsey's thumb and he had.

He'd see them safely to their new life and go back to his old one. The rest, mainly how he'd live with himself, he'd figure out later.

Poor Dex. His brain is all twisted with self-loathing and he'll have to get himself straightened out or Lana will do it for him. Dex might not like her methods. J

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!

ML Skye