When it's all said and done

Hey, my mind is mush. This book is going nowhere tonight. It feels like I can’t string two words together, so I’m not even going to try anymore. Instead I made an Irish coffee to accompany my Cadbury Cream Egg. Yum.

I have news! The collaboration I’ve been working on with Diana Copland and G.B. Lindsey is finished.
Three men with vastly different lives are called to Neverwood, the stately mansion of their youth. They have nothing in common. Just a promise to a woman they called mother—that upon her death, they would restore the house to its former glory, protect it from those who would destroy it, and preserve it as a home for lost boys.

But going home is never easy. One man faces the specter of first love, while another believes past failures will haunt him forever. The third fears honest emotion is beyond his reach. On the path to brotherhood, they discover the old mansion holds more than dusty furniture and secret passageways. A benevolent spirit walks its halls, intent on giving them each the greatest gift of all… true love.

Beware, all who enter here. Audrey Rasmussen’s ghost has come home to Neverwood, and she’s still a hopeless romantic .So exciting! And so looonnnggg. 140,000 words. I can honestly say, without any doubt, working with these two ladies was the most fun I’ve ever had. Creating this shared universe took hours and hours of emails, chats, and conference calls, and I loved every minute of it. 

Diana Copland shipped the package to our agent yesterday, and while it’s nice to be able to shift my energy to my next project, I will miss Neverwood so, so much.

Until we start the sequel. ;-p

I’ve posted a snippet of my contribution below. Titled The Lost Year, it’s the third and final story in the anthology.

The Lost Year: When Nicholas Hardy shows up on the front steps of Neverwood looking for his runaway son, Robbie, Devon is skeptical the boy is even still alive. A teenager on the streets doesn’t have many options, and Robbie has been missing for a full year. But Nicholas won’t be deterred, and moved by his desperation, Devon agrees to help. Nicholas stirs up long-buried passions in Devon—emotions he thought lost long ago—but is it lust he’s feeling, or something far more permanent?

Back at home, the battle for Neverwood rages on. Their foe makes a desperate move, forcing Audrey and her sons to end the war once and for all…
Devon frowned as he padded barefoot back down the stairs, rolling up the cuffs of his shirt. Cal pointed as they reached the bottom. “I had him wait in the music room. It’s private and away from most of the noise.”

Devon nodded, though it looked like a lot of the contractors were wrapping up for the day. Was it that late? The possibility for a nap grew shorter by the minute. He glanced at his wrist before remembering he’d left his watch on the dresser upstairs. “Thanks.” He turned right, cutting through the corner of the cavernous living room into the game room. The music room lay beyond, but Devon was too busy avoiding piles of sawdust and stray nails to notice the man standing in the doorway until he was upon him.

Devon reared back, his ankle catching the edge of a cloth-draped table, but the man caught him before he stumbled. “Sorry,” he blurted. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Devon’s first impression was of wrinkled khakis and a dress shirt that looked like it had come out of the same sad pile of laundry. A second look revealed the intensity Cal had mentioned. The man had a presence that had nothing to do with bluster. His loose posture exuded quiet confidence, though he looked badly shaken at the moment. Dark hair in need of a trim spilled over his ears and across his tanned face, which hadn’t seen a razor in several days. As a descriptor, “desperate” fit. 

Devon gave a gentle pull, and the man released his arm immediately, stepping through the archway into the room that housed Audrey’s baby grand. Someone had covered the precious instrument in a heavy drop cloth. The harp was similarly protected, as were the upholstered window seat cushions. He looked around in vain for chairs before gesturing the man ahead of him to the built-in seats framing the turret. “No problem. Sorry I
took so long.”

“Please don’t apologize. Your… friend told me you were sleeping. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you seeing me immediately.” He thrust his hand at Devon’s chest as he walked backward. “My name’s Nicholas
Hardy.” The words had hardly left his mouth when his knees hit the bench seat, and he overbalanced onto the cushion. Devon took his hand and shook it before Nicholas did any more damage to himself.

The music room, like Devon’s room, was on the west side of the house, and even with tall, thick trees dotting
the property, sunlight poured in through the ten foot windows. It caught Nicholas’s eyes as he gazed upward. The blue of his irises were so pale they might as well have been glowing. The unusual color, along with the intense expression, set off a nervous tingle in Devon’s stomach.

“Um.” He released Nicholas’s hand and sat down, trying not to stare. “Devon McCade.”

“I know. I’ve been trying to track you down for over a week now.”

Devon blinked. “I had no idea I was so popular.”

The levity fell short. Nicholas hunched over his knees, knotting his fingers together. “I need your help. I’ll pay you, of course.”

Devon wasn’t so successful he turned down jobs out of hand. Still, the promise of a vacation had been the only thing keeping him going the past several days. “Is the project time-sensitive?”

Nicholas swallowed. “You could say that. Mr. McCade, I want you to help me find my son. He ran away a year ago, and I’ve been looking for him ever since.”

Again, Devon had to refocus his attention away from Nicholas’s eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“My son. He’s missing. I want you to help me find him.”

Short of breath, Devon leaned back against the warm window pane, deciding to blame his racing pulse on the surreal turn of the conversation. “I’m sorry, but I’m not a private investigator.”

“I know. And believe me, I’ve hired my share of P.I.’s this past year.” Nicholas dropped his head, breaking eye contact. “But it’s your help I need now.” He removed a sheaf of folded pages from his pocket. “I’d just about given up hope. I mean, it’s been a year, and Robbie’s only fourteen. Chances are… he’s dead, right?” Nicholas’s voice broke on the last word, and Devon’s hand twitched to reach out and comfort him.

“You don’t know that.”

A rueful smile passed over Nicholas’s face. “I didn’t, actually. But now, thanks to you, I’m sure he’s alive. At least he was two months ago.” He unfolded the pages and held them out. 

Devon recognized the photographs immediately. “This is the spread on homeless kids I did for the Seattle Times.”

It was only by chance he’d seen the final product, the fruit of four weeks of effort. Devon’s pleasure came
from working in the field, the hunt for that perfect shot. Rarely did he seek out the magazine or periodical that purchased his pictures, but with Seattle so close, it had been hard to avoid the series. Especially when Danny had bought a dozen copies of each issue to show off to the kids in the group.


Nicholas flipped to the third page and pointed to a grainy picture of a group of children huddled beneath a freeway overpass. His fingertip settled on a boy in the left of the shot. “That’s Robbie. Right there.”

Devon pressed his lips together and took the proffered picture. “Mr. Hardy—”

“It’s Nicholas. And I know what you’re going to say. But I’m not seeing what I want to see. It’s him. I swear to God, it’s him.”

Devon didn’t see how he could be sure. The boy’s face was nothing but a blur.  Of course, his own copy of the
picture was bound to of a higher resolution, but was it right to offer hope when it was probably going to end in heartbreak? “Nicholas.” Devon handed the picture back. “What is it exactly you want from me?”

Nicholas cocked his head. “Well… I want you to take me to this place.” He stabbed at the picture.

“Okay.” Devon ran his tongue over his teeth. “Except I’m not even one hundred percent sure where I was for this particular shoot. Did you read the article?” Did Nicholas believe he’d find these kids still hanging out
beneath the freeway? That had been the whole point of the piece. They lived a transient life, landing wherever they found shelter and a meal. Or a pimp. Devon closed his mouth before that fact came flying out.

“Of course I read the article,” Nicholas replied in a soft voice. “I have it memorized.”

There really wasn’t anything to say to that. At a loss, Devon looked down at the stack of pictures in his hand.

“I’m not an idiot, Mr. McCade. I know how things work for these kids. The article didn’t pull any punches. But it’s a place to start.” He sat up straighter. “It’s more than I had a week ago.”

Devon gnawed his upper lip. This wasn’t the sort of heartache he needed right now. The chances of the situation ending well were slim. “Have you checked the local offices? Maybe he’s in state custody.”

“I tried. I’ve been to the Seattle police. I even contacted the FBI. I thought, since the case crosses state lines, they’d be obligated to at least investigate.”

Devon assumed not, judging by Nicholas’s tone.

“I’ve bombarded the Washington websites for missing and exploited children. Nothing. I’ve checked welfare,
juvenile justice… even the mental health systems. It’s crazy, but it feels like nobody wants to help.”

Yeah, that was par for the course. Devon knew the system intimately. Not surprising that Nicholas had got the runaround. His kid was fourteen, not four. The people who had the tools to help also had enough experience to know finding a child of that age—if he didn’t want to be found—would be close to impossible.  “I might be able to lend a hand. I was a foster kid. So were my brothers. They’ve re-involved themselves recently with local troubled youth. Not the same demographic as your son.” At least Devon was assuming. “But they have connections. We can at least give you some names, places to call.”

Nicholas’s mouth fell open, as though it had been years since anyone had done him a kindness. He suddenly looked like a lost child himself. “Thank you.”

“I’ll help you find him,” Devon said, clamping his mouth shut as the last word left his lips. Where the hell had that come from? 

Those bright eyes pinned him again, bringing an inappropriate flush to Devon’s face. “Thank you, Mr. McCade. And like I said, I’ll pay you for your time.”

Jesus, what had he gotten himself into? “That’s not necessary.” He cleared his throat, shoving the pictures back at Nicolas. “Listen, I just flew in from Columbia, and I’m not worth shit right now. If you want to come by
tomorrow morning, I’ll pull the files from this job, and we can make a plan.” 

He stood as he said it, desperate to put some distance between them, and movement in the doorway caught his eye. Danny. Not even trying to be circumspect about his eavesdropping, the brat. Still, it was hard to get angry at Danny, and Devon’s irritation was still gaining momentum when his brother gave a very uncharacteristic wobbly smile and mouthed two words: Thank you.

They hit Devon like a shot of whisky might, stealing his breath and spreading warmth through his chest. Feeling better than he had in days, he shook Nick’s hand and saw him to the door.