Turned In Tate!
So, on Thursday I got an unexpected surprise. No Internet, YAY!
Um, not.
Didn't get it back up due to needed cable repairs until Friday night, which—as you can imagine—led to some interesting back ups. My email still hasn't recovered from the month long illness of mine and so I'm going to have to set aside a day of email–probably Monday–and get things back to rights, as well as getting my computer backed up again. It's a good little comp and needs it's care.
But the great news is that I was able to get my edits turned in thanks to the offline time. :) Tate and his lady–the next book in the Resurrection series–have a heck of an adventure in the Pennsylvania countryside, so I'm hoping you're all ready for it this summer. :)
I figure edits will be running fast and furious between me and my editor through March, but I am committed to keeping up with my blogging and updates to my site as well. So keep watching this space. For now, how about a not-totally edited snippet?
Unedited Snippet:
"My sister tried to give me the silent treatment once," he said to no one in particular. "I followed her for four days straight singing "999 Bottles of Beer" at the top of my lungs." He began whistling the cheery tune, the notes coming out in a brow-raising pitch. "I'll last a lot longer whistling than singing, don't you think?"
Her foot skid on the ground.
She could hear the smile in that whistle.
Just watch the damn tassels. He'll give up eventually. You've survived worse…
She tried picking up the pace, but his legs were longer and he seemed to have energy to spare. She tried yanking out her toothbrush and spitting pointedly in front of his boots. He just sidestepped the puddle without missing a step. Losing hope, she put the toothbrush away before she broke off the end and stabbed him with it.
With nothing else to occupy her time except listening to him, the road stretched interminably ahead while the sun sank faster and faster to the west. Worse, the whistling was turning into a piercing ringing in her ears. In her brain. Reverberating up and down her nerves until her skin crawled and her eyes tried to roll up in her head.
Usually, when she walked, the only noises to bother her were crickets and bugs or birds. Maybe a stray dog or cat. Nothing as loud as this, not for this long. No matter how she twisted away from him, or changed her pace, he was right there. Whistling. Setting her senses warping from misery. When she finally had to put her hands over her ears, he actually got louder. But when he laughed—he actually laughed at her!—lights began popping on the edge of her vision.
"Don't you ever shut up?"
"Of course not. I'm a lawyer, I'm trained to talk for days."
She stared at his smug expression, not the slightest clue what he could possibly want. "You said you were taking me to the next safe house. I never agreed to act like your best friend until we got there."
"I'm not asking for friendship." Flinty gray eyes stayed trained on hers and his voice had all the inflection of a steel beam…so why did she get the distinct feeling he was looking at her entire body like it was his own personal buffet? "I just don't like being ignored."
Hugs gang!
Dee