Holy Wrong Place. Wrong Time. The Serial Gets A Cover!

Poor Lucas. He truly doesn't know which end is up but one thing is certain....getting out of this particular mess may involve getting fired...for good which means blowing his cover...which means giving up on the very sexy life he's made for himself in Istanbul...

And the Liz serialized novel now has a cool cover!


Welcome back to the Liz Crowe Serialized Sexy Thriller Novel Project:
WRONG PLACE. WRONG TIME. 

Allow me to catch you up. Please click each of these LIVE links to get current. Go ahead. I can wait.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 
  
Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7


Ok....are you sufficiently titillated? Good.
Let's move on, shall we?





Lucas’ whole body shook. He ran a hand across his face. This whole thing had escalated a lot faster and higher than he’d anticipated. Flat out fucking the woman on one side of a two-way piece of glass was probably a bit on the “overboard” side of the plan. But what’s done…was done. And he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her bare ass just before she slid her skirt back down and turned to him.He leaned in close, all thoughts of Jay, of Ebru and her horrific yet lovely manipulations of him the night before, even of the email he’d read late last night from Virginia stating his orders to be back on U.S. soil within forty eight hours or risk arrest, driven from his mind. All he knew were her sweet, full lips.“Hey!” He flinched, shocked at the sting on his cheek. Alexa had her arm drawn back, her silvery gray eyes were snapping. Before he could stop her, she slapped him again, hard enough to make him stumble backwards. “What the hell?”“You’re a cheating dickhead,” she spit out, one eyebrow raised. His post-orgasm rattled brain tried to focus on her words. “I can’t believe you did it… with her.”“I…um…huh?” He dropped into the wheeled chair he’d pulled her up out of a few minutes before. “You chose that Turkish slut over me?” Her voice was getting higher, as was his inner freak out. But under her breath she said, “Damn Lucas, go with it, will ya? Lover’s quarrel. I gotta get out of here.” She tilted her head towards the bank of screens still lit up with the horrifying latest chapter of the Tate Lincoln unraveling. “Right. I mean…no, honey.” He got slowly to his feet, knees wobbly from the recent quickie and as his brain rushed to catch up. The last thing he remembered for about a solid minute was the sight of her fist, moving closer as if in slow motion, and then the sickening sound of his cartilage smushing in on itself. His butt hit the edge of the chair at the right angle to send it skittering backwards but not fast enough that the back of his head didn’t connect with it as he dropped like a washed up prize fighter, blood spurting from between the fingers he held over his face.He blinked, processing the dull pain in his nose and the sharper one on the back of his skull. The fluorescents flickered. The massive computers hummed. Lucas rolled to his side, groaning when a wave of nausea rose in his throat. Waiting it out, he lay still, dripping blood onto the gray, static-free carpet. Finally, he sat, taking in the empty room and the very distinct odor of recent sexual activity filling his sorely injured nasal passages. He pulled the chair close and used it to get very carefully to his feet. Groaning when dizziness made him stumble, he gripped the edge of the industrial work table and sat on it, processing the last half hour’s worth of craziness. When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he tugged it out, trying not to get it too bloody and stared down at four consecutive texts from Alexa in the last three minutes he must have spent barely conscious thanks to her.“Sorry. Had to make it look real,” was the first one. He touched his most realistically busted nose.“I need your help encrypting something to send to Washington,” was the next. He frowned and kept scrolling, alarm bells ringing so loud in his head he winced.“Tate Lincoln was named by a whistle blower as an NSA cover for international monitoring of ex-pat data. I gotta get in touch with my NGO contact somehow, off the grid.” His frown deepened as he realized she was using a very much not off-the-grid method to spill this to him. “I’m pretty sure you know a good way to do that, eh Jr. G-man?”His scalp prickled and he shot to his feet, glaring down at the message flashing at him, pointing like an accusatory, carefully manicured finger. He glanced up at the glass, then down at his bloody shirt, his brain spinning with the many possible ways this was going to go very, very badly for him. Opening the door quietly, he slipped out into the corridor and took long strides to the elevator, not even sure where he should go but figuring Alexa’s office as good a destination as any. His phone buzzed once more while he leaned against the mirrored wall of the lift as it sped upwards, toward the executive suites. “You were pretty amazing. But I figured you would be.” she said. “Come to my flat. Be ready to tell me your real story.”He typed out a quick response and question, then hit the stop button on the elevator which caused it to lurch, and the doors to snick open revealing a group of people from marketing and supplier relations, all clumped around Ebru like so many minions. She was in the middle of chewing one of them out in rapid-fire Turkish, but that person sucked in a breath at the sight of what must look pretty damn weird—Ms. Trillium’s current personal assistant, Lucas Cameron, (FBI Junior Grade) looking like he’d been in a street brawl. Thank god the smell of blood covers up the smell of sex, he thought as he observed Ebru’s sharp, gorgeous face turn slowly, her full red lips curving downward at the sight of his messed up countenance. The crowd drew back as she stepped forward. “What happened to you?” She touched his nose, seemingly unaffected by the blood smearing it, his lips, chin and shirt. Even in his extremis he could sense her power coiling around the base of his skull. He swayed on his feet as the elevator darkened. “We need to get you to a doctor.” She turned and barked something in Turkish which sent the entourage scrambling. “My poor, sweet, toy,” she cooed, as the doors slid shut and Lucas sensed himself sliding downward, onto the blessedly cool floor. He shook his aching head, trying to figure out if she meant "boy," and guessing she hadn't.His phone buzzed, forcing him back from the edge of unconsciousness—thank god. He’d have to turn in his man card if he let himself faint like some teenaged girl after getting punched by a woman. He gripped the ice-cold stainless steel railing and gritted his teeth against the twin pains in his face and the back of his head. But before he could focus on the phone screen, Ebru had snatched it from him.“No. Your eyes look strange. You shouldn’t try and focus on it right now.”He reached for it, desperate for her not to see the most recent exchange with their mutual boss lady. She leaned away from him, frowning, then touched the power button while he watched, panicked and desperate. “I’m gonna puke,” he declared with as much authority as he could muster. Hurling himself towards her, Lucas grabbed her shoulder and whacked the arm that had the phone in its hand so hard the thing went flying against the far wall, shattering into three pieces on the slate tile floor. She stumbled on her sky-high heels then regained her composure enough to shoot him an arch, somewhat alarming look. The elevator doors opened, revealing the bustling, late afternoon, lobby traffic. Lucas took a step away from her, relieved he’d averted at least that one small potential disaster. Jesus help him if Ebru figured out what he’d just done to…with…Alexa Trillium. He pictured her a moment, waiting in her penthouse flat, toe tapping, waiting for him to appear and spill his guts.Panic tightened its lethal grip around his chest when he realized he’d just squandered about three of his allotted forty-eight hours fucking his boss so her boss would think they were a couple, getting his block practically knocked off by her not thirty seconds post orgasm, then having to break his encrypted company phone all to hell to avoid his whack job of a girlfriend finding out about any of it. Oh, he thought, as his lunch rolled queasily around in his gut and the room started to spin before his eyes. Right, and throwing up all over the feet of people waiting to catch an elevator. Don’t forget about that.
“Lucas!” He heard Ebru’s voice coming from a very far distance as he dropped to his hands and knees, studying the suddenly fascinating pattern of his lunch’s reappearance on the floor. “Yardım edin! Birisi çağrı ambulans!" She was calling. Lucas spent about a half second being proud of himself for hearing it translate in his head before he fell face forward in his own puke and the lights went completely out.



Ok kids, things are getting more complicated by the minute.....come back soon for the next installment!