Q&A with Josh Lanyon discussion
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From Josh's Latest WIP
Thanks for this, Josh, it's so good to "hear" from Adrien again. :)Can't wait for Jake and the rest!
This made me smile and melt all at the same time:
I’d had to choose between coffee and nine more minutes with Jake that morning. Which went predictably.
Josh wrote: "SO THIS IS CHRISTMASChapter One
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
I looked up from the latest love note sent by the California State Tax Franchise Board and offered what I hoped was a pleasant sm..."
All this wonderful glimpses.
And then I don't sleep, but think of all the possibilities.
Around four, I am so tired that Elliot read The Blue Scarab and Tucker and Jake are 'Uh huh - ing unisono.
That's all I need to be happy!
Thank you♡♡♡
Lots of «aww!» or funny moments, thank you josh!I can't wait...
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“Shit.”
“Problem?” Sam appeared in the open window that divided the bathroom from the bedroom. His eyes were very blue in the bright overhead light. Jason had forgotten how blue they were.
“I lost a cufflink.”
Sam’s pale brows rose. Clearly he had no response to that, and Jason felt like an idiot for mentioning it. But those cufflinks had been a gift from his Grandfather Harley when he turned sixteen, and besides being Tiffany and rare, they held a lot of sentimental value for him.
Sam left the window and Jason began retracing his footsteps. Introducing forensic evidence into a crime scene was every bit as bad as removing evidence, and losing a freaking cufflink was a particularly idiotic thing to have happened.
As he moved quietly around the room he couldn’t help thinking that this was a very strange--and very strained--reunion. Not that he’d been expecting to fall into Sam’s arms, but for the last nine minutes he and Sam had been alone for the first time in months and Sam seemed to have nothing to say to him. Seemed unaware he was even in the same room.
It wasn’t going to violate the professional code of conduct to say Hey, nice to see you again, Jason! Was it?
Especially after all those months of phone calls.
All those late night conversations when Sam had maybe a drink too many or Jason was half falling asleep. All those playful, provocative comments about what they’d do when they finally met up again.
Well, here they were.
Jason glanced at Sam’s broad back. He didn’t think Sam was unaware of him so much as deliberately tuning him out. Which was probably the professional and appropriate thing to do.
Sam continued to ignore him as Jason finished retracing his movements around the room. The goddamned cufflink was nowhere to be found. He’d probably lost it on the beach, which at this point was the best case scenario. If it turned up when SMPD conducted their own search, he’d never hear the end of it.
He returned to the bathroom and proceeded to check under the lid of the toilet tank. He checked the sink and bathtub drains and the heating vents.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
A damp bath towel hung on the back of the door. There were little pools of water on the sink counter. So Kerk had washed up before his fatal stroll. Which might mean he had been planning to meet someone. Or maybe he was just a tidy, well-groomed guy. Actually, judging by the amount of personal care products, he was for sure a tidy, well-groomed guy.
“How did you find out about the Kerk homicide?” Jason asked, sifting through the tubes of toothpaste and hair gel, verifying that they did indeed contain toothpaste and hair gel.
After a moment Sam’s voice floated through the open window. “Santa Monica PD contacted LAPD’s Art Theft Detail. Hickok contacted the LA field office once they realized they had a dead German national--well, partly--on their hands.”
“Right. But--” Jason stared at his own listening reflection. Furrowed brow. Green eyes narrowed in thought. He seemed to look a little worried. He was a little worried.
Because how the hell had Sam arrived so fast? It’s not like the FBI flew around the country in private jets. Not even the BAU.
As though reading his mind, Sam said, “I was already in LA.”
Jason stared at the mirrored window opening and the room beyond. It took a second to compute. “I didn’t realize.”
Understatement of the year.
From this angle, he could see Sam’s reflection. Just a slice. But enough to see that Sam was not moving, was standing perfectly still, listening to Jason. Despite his casual tone, Sam was deliberately choosing his words, and Jason’s heart began to thump with something unpleasantly like anxiety.
Josh wrote: "Jason stepped into the shining marble bathroom and raised his brows at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Now there was a look: black tie and bullet proof vest. The wind had whipped his ha..."I want more! Now, possibly.
Just joking! I'm capable to wait. Thank you, dear Josh!
Josh wrote: "Jason stepped into the shining marble bathroom and raised his brows at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Now there was a look: black tie and bullet proof vest. The wind had whipped his ha..."Oh no. This doesn't bode well for our two heroes.
And where's that damn cufflink?!?
Antonella is way more grown up than me. Definitely!!
What!?!? Sam didn't tell Jason he was in LA? He better have a good reason for that!
Sabine wrote: "Antonella is way more grown up than me. Definitely!!"Definitely not ;-). It's just that I don't want to put more pressure on Josh...
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Oh-oh. That doesn't sound too good for a fragile relationship...
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Chapter One
“If the legendary West charm has failed to convince Ursula Martin to file charges against Fletcher-Durrand, maybe Uncle Sam can take a swing at her,” Karan Kapszukiewicz was saying.
Kapszukiewicz was chief of the Major Theft Unit of the Criminal Investigative Division. She oversaw the Art Crime Team agents from her Washington DC office, which was where she was calling Jason from. Jason was on his cell phone in Sam’s apartment in Stafford, Virginia not far from the training academy where he was attending routine in-service refresher training.
“Respectfully, I don’t think that’s the approach we want to take with Martin,” Jason replied. “I think there’s still a good chance she’ll ultimately come through for us, but not if we push her. Her situation is complicated.”
“Isn’t everybody’s?” Karan sighed. “I had a feeling you’d say that, so…okay. I’ll let you make the call. she’s your complainant. Or was.”
Jason winced. The collapse two months ago of charges against the Fletcher-Durrand art gallery was still painful. He had worked his ass off building a prosecutable case of fraud, grand larceny and forgery--only to have the rug yanked out from under him when his original complainants had agreed to settle out of court with the Durrands.
Well, there had been a hell of a lot more to it than that, but the bottom line was the US Attorney’s Office would not be filing charges against Fletcher-Durrand at this time. Especially since the Durrand most wanted by law enforcement and everyone else seemed to have vanished off the face of the planet.
Not that Jason was so naïve as to imagine hard work and determination alone ensured the successful prosecution of every case—luck always played a role, and his luck had definitely been out. At least as far as the Durrands were concerned. In other ways…
His gaze traveled to a large Granville Redmond painting of California poppies beneath stormy skies, hanging on the opposite wall.
In other ways, his luck had been very much in, which was how he came to be lying on BAU Chief Sam Kennedy’s sofa waiting for Sam to get home. Two months ago, he’d feared his relationship with Sam had run its blink-and-you-missed-it course, but against the odds, here he was.
“All right,” Karan said more briskly, her attention already moving on to bigger or more winnable cases. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
She was clearly about to ring off, but Jason being one of her protégés, Karan asked suddenly, “How’s training? You’re still at Quantico?”
“Yeah. I fly out tomorrow night. Training is…training.”
“Always,” Karan agreed gravely. “Okay. Have a good flight home.” She did hang up then, and just in time. Jason heard Sam’s key in the front door lock.
He clicked off his cell and rose as the front door swung open. The scent of April showers and faded, but still slightly jarring, aftershave wafted in.
“Hey.”
Sam was a big man and he filled the door frame. The front room of the apartment felt suddenly, strangely alive. The centrally heated air crackled with energy. His short blond hair was dark and damp, the broad shoulders of his tan trench coat splattered with rain drops.
“Hi.” Sam looked tired. He always looked tired these days. His blue eyes looked gray--but they warmed at the sight of Jason. He dropped his briefcase and took Jason into his arms, kissing him with full and flattering attention.
He even tasted tired—too many cups of coffee, too many breath mints, too many conversations about violent death. Jason kissed him back with all his heart, trying to compensate with a sincere welcome home for what had probably been a shitty day.
Not that Sam found a day of murder, rape and abduction as depressing as Jason would. Sam wouldn’t be so very good at his job, if he did.
As always, the softness of Sam’s lips came as surprise. For a guy who was rumored to have a heart of stone, he sure knew his way around a kiss.
They parted lips reluctantly. Sam studied him. “Good day?”
“It is now.”
Sam smiled faintly, glancing around the room, noting Jason’s coffee cup and the files and photos scattered across the coffee table. His pale brows drew together. “It’s hot as hell in here.”
Jason grimaced. “Sorry. I turned the heat up. I was freezing when I got in.”
Sam snorted, nodding at Jason’s jeans and red MOMA t-shirt. “You could always try putting on a sweatshirt. Or even a pair of socks.”
“True, I guess.”
Sam grinned. “You California boys.”
“Known a lot of us, have you?” Jason was rueful. At forty-six, Sam had twelve years and a whole hell of a lot of experience on him.
“Only one worth remembering.” Sam pulled him back in for another, though briefer, kiss.
Jason smiled beneath the pressure of Sam’s firm mouth.
When Sam let Jason go, he said, “Any idea where you want to eat tonight?” He absently tugged at his tie, probably a good indicator of what he’d prefer. Jason too, for that matter.
“We don’t have to go out. Why don’t we eat in?”
Sam considered him. “You’ve only got another day here.”
“I didn’t come for the night life. Well.” Jason winked, but it was just in play. He suspected it was going to be a low-key night. Sam pushed himself too hard. There wasn’t any good reason for it because the world was never going to run out of homicidal maniacs. There was no finish line in this race. “Anyway, it’s not like I don’t get to eat out enough.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth tugged in acknowledgment. “Yeah. But you must’ve noticed there’s nothing to eat in this place.”
Jason shrugged. Sam’s fridge reflected the state of his own—the state of anyone whose job kept them on the road most of the time.
“I did notice. Not a problem. I’ll run out and pick us something up.”
Sam opened his mouth, presumably to object, and Jason said, “You look beat, Sam. Let me take care of dinner.”
“Why thank you.” There was the faintest edge to Sam’s tone.
He didn’t like being reminded he wasn’t Superman. Jason had learned that over the past ten months. Sam worked hard and played—when he did play, which was rarely—harder. He had the energy and focus of guys half his age, but part of that was sheer willpower.
“You know what I mean.”
Sam grimaced. “I do, unfortunately.” His flicker of irritation was already forgotten.
“So? You must have a favorite Chinese restaurant.” Jason was smiling because the first meal they’d shared had been Chinese food.
Ah, memories. They’d pretty much detested each other back then. Which had made the sexual tension that flared instantly between them all the more—and mutually—exasperating.
“I do. But…”
Sam didn’t finish the thought. Weariness vying with his sense of obligation. Their relationship was such—the nature of their jobs was such—that there was not a lot of time for dating as most of the world understood it.
Jason got it. Anyone in law enforcement got it. But Sam still suffered these occasional bouts of guilt. Or whatever. Sam’s obsession with the job was always going to be a challenge to their relationship. Initially, Jason had figured it had to do with losing Ethan, but for all he knew, Sam had always been like this.
And maybe that single-minded drive had been an issue between Sam and Ethan too. Ethan had been Sam’s boyhood love. They’d grown up together, planned to spend their lives together, but Ethan had been murdered while they were still in college. That was about all Jason knew because Sam was not informative on the topic of Ethan.
“Take out and staying in is actually what I’d prefer,” Jason said.
Sam scanned his face, then relaxed. “Yeah? Okay, if that’s the case. The China King restaurant on Hope Road is pretty good. Tell me what you want—”
“Nope. You tell me what you want. I’ve been sitting around here for a couple of hours. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”
Sam hesitated. “You sure you don’t mind?”
Jason half closed his eyes, consulting his memory of that first night in Kingsfield. “Hot and sour soup, shrimp with lobster sauce…what else? Steamed rice or fried?”
“Steamed. Good memory,”
“You need it in my line of work.” Jason hunted around for his shoes. He found them beneath the coffee table. His leather jacket was draped over the autumn colored accent chair in the corner of the room. He was pretty sure Sam had taken this “apartment home” furnished, because the décor had a definite Overstock.com vibe. Comfortable, attractive, generic. Other than the four paintings by Granville Redmond that decorated his living room, office and bedroom walls, the place could have doubled as a very nice hotel suite.
“Hope Road, you said?” He checked his wallet.
“Go north on US-1. It’s less than a mile.” Sam was shrugging out of his raincoat, preparing to get comfortable, and Jason smiled inwardly.
“Got it. I’ll be back in a few.”
Sam threw him a quick look. “Be careful, West.”
“Roger that.” Jason touched a finger to his temple in mock salute and stepped outside.
Thank you! Great snippet.Here some visuals for Redmond's poppies fields: A Field of California Poppies, California Poppies, and Coastal Storm, given that I couldn't find «California poppies beneath stormy skies» ;-).
Yay! I love snippets, and this one is great! Sam relaxed at home. Who would of thought.
And then comes the desaster around the corner. I can see Sam's home 😊
Overstock. com vibe.
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I love the bit where you describe how Sam tastes: He even tasted tired—too many cups of coffee, too many breath mints, too many conversations about violent death. Such a vivid image, that. I really like the idea that one could even taste those conversations in an intimate kiss.
And oh yes, that Chinese restaurant scene in The Mermaid Murders was a memorable one for us readers, too. (Those fortune cookies and... everything!)
Enjoy
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Here some visuals for Redmond's poppies fields: A Field of California Poppies, California Poppies, and Coastal Storm, given that I couldn't find «California poppies benea..."
These are wonderful, aren't they? I LOVE hearing what kind of books or music or visual arts Josh's characters enjoy. It tells surprisingly much about their character, doesn't it? For me, one of the sweetest moments in The Mermaid Murders was when Jason realizes that also Sam loves Granville Redmond's paintings. :-)
Josh wrote: "ROUGH ROUGH ROUGHChapter One
“If the legendary West charm has failed to convince Ursula Martin to file charges against Fletcher-Durrand, maybe Uncle Sam can take a swing at her,” Karan Kapszukie..."
I can't wait for this one! What a great teaser!
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Chapter One
“If the legendary West charm has failed to convince Ursula Martin to file charges against Fletcher-Durrand, maybe Uncle Sam can take a swing at her,” Ka..."
Thank you!
This section has already changed so much! Really working to get this just right. It suddenly occurred to me that though Jason and Sam have had two books together, they have not actually BEEN together in those books. This time they are and figuring out that dynamic is fascinating.
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Chapter One
“If the legendary West charm has failed to convince Ursula Martin to file charges against Fletcher-Durrand, maybe Uncle Sam can take a swing..."
Ooohhh, that sounds exciting!
Josh wrote: "Mel wrote: "Josh wrote: "ROUGH ROUGH ROUGHChapter One
“If the legendary West charm has failed to convince Ursula Martin to file charges against Fletcher-Durrand, maybe Uncle Sam can take a swing..."
How bad is it that I can't wait for the bit where Sam takes care of Jason...:)
Sabine wrote: "And then comes the desaster around the corner. I can see Sam's home 😊
Overstock. com vibe."
Yes I have the feeling this isn't going to be a "Netflix and chill" evening for these two!
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I can’t deny that Liana’s stubborn refusal to leave Green Lanterns was disappointing.
And a complication.
I didn’t give up, though. I figured it would just take a little time—and a lot more pressure.
But that night, the second night in my boyhood home, my certainty received a good, hard, swift kick.
I went to bed early, not so much jet lagged as emotionally worn out. For a time, I stared up at the shadowy ceiling beams, thinking about Aunt H., Liana, Ogden, Tarrant, Greg, even Cassidy the head gardener. Plenty to think about and too soon to draw any conclusions—about anything but Greg, and really, I hadn’t had much choice there.
It seemed like I’d hardly shut my eyes when a violent thump on the door brought me upright into a sitting position. My eyes strained the darkness. I could just make out the pale, rectangular glimmer of the door.
Had I dreamed it?
I held my breath, listening, held it so long, I thought my lungs would burst. The thump was not repeated. Slowly exhaling, I reached for the bedside lamp but stopped, hand frozen in midair at a new sound.
Footsteps.
Footsteps, deliberate, distinct, passing my room.
“What the fuck,” I muttered and jumped out of bed, heading for the door.
The footsteps were already receding as I grabbed the knob and yanked open the door.
The hallway was dark, pitch-black. I stared in the direction of Aunt H.’s and Liana’s rooms but saw nothing. I turned the other way, and as I gazed down the corridor, I saw an indistinct shape…no, glow…slowly moving away from me. I tried to make sense of that fuzzy light. Was the form male or female?
Was it even a form?
“Stop!” I commanded.
The glow did not stop. Did not even waver. It continued slowly, steadily, moving toward the staircase.
“Hold it right there!”
The phosphorescence dimmed, faded to a diffused grayness, vanished.
I ran after it. At the head of the staircase I could see the light descending, heard the creak of steps. Heard something else too. The very soft rustle of cloth. Clothes.
Or maybe a winding sheet?
Okay, there was a creepy thought. Where the hell had that come from?
On the wall opposite the top stair, I felt around, fumbling for the light switch, but couldn’t find it.
“God damn it.” I couldn’t waste time. I started down the stairs, blindly feeling for the bannister, using it as my guide.
The “ghost” continued unhurriedly on its way.
As it reached the foot of the stairs, the fuzzy light turned left, and with a floating bounce crossed the hall, paused before the drawing-room doors, wavered for a moment, then went through.
https://www.patreon.com/joshlanyon
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And like so many bedtime stories, it begins with a lost prince, a brave soldier, a witch’s spell, and in our case, yes, a bed.
Not just any bed. A black and bronze Victorian antique four-poster with a superbly cast brass plaque decoration in the shape of a five-pointed star and one perfect crystal bedknob atop each tall and graceful post.
The perfect witch’s bed.
Or rather, the perfect bed for a witch.
The problem was, he saw it first.
John Joseph Galbraith.
I didn’t know who he was at the time.
I noticed him, though. At six-foot-four, with shoulders like the Golden Gate Bridge, he was hard to miss. Early forties. Not handsome exactly—or at least the handsomeness was secondary to his air of command. Of authority. Not a guy to fool around with.
So naturally I had to try and fool around with him.
“That’s going to be a tight fit,” I said.
John looked up from his frowning contemplation of the star escutcheon. “What?”
I’m six feet, so it was a novelty to have to look up to meet his eyes. His were a striking shade of yellow-brown—amber—and those alert hawk eyes perfectly suited the severity of his features.
Despite the red glints in his thick hair, there were no freckles on his tanned face. It did not look like a face that creased into a smile very often, and it was definitely not creased for me that afternoon.
I nodded at the empty rectangle formed by the black and bronze bed frame. “Especially if you’re planning on company.” I smiled right into his amber eyes.
He stared right back at me and said, “I sleep alone.”
“That would have to be by choice.”
“Now you’re catching on.”
He was not flirting back. He was not regretting his lack of bedtime companionship, and he was bluntly declining any and all offers I might have in mind.
I felt my smile falter a little. Not that I think I’m irresistible, but some people do. Mortals usually do. When I want them to.
Beside me, Andi gave a little Mary Poppins kind of sniff. Which is always a danger signal.
Josh wrote: "This is a bedtime story.And like so many bedtime stories, it begins with a lost prince, a brave soldier, a witch’s spell, and in our case, yes, a bed.
Not just any bed. A black and bronze Victor..."
Thank you. A witch and a non-mortal, intriguing!
Josh wrote: "This is a bedtime story.And like so many bedtime stories, it begins with a lost prince, a brave soldier, a witch’s spell, and in our case, yes, a bed.
Not just any bed. A black and bronze Victor..."
I'm so ready for this 😁😁😁😁
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And like so many bedtime stories, it begins with a lost prince, a brave soldier, a witch’s spell, and in our case, yes, a bed.
Not just any bed. A black and bronze Victor..."
I’m definitely hooked! Was already after the two first lines. I can see why it’s delightful to write this—because it’s definitely delightful to read it. :-)
Josh wrote: "This is a bedtime story.And like so many bedtime stories, it begins with a lost prince, a brave soldier, a witch’s spell, and in our case, yes, a bed.
Not just any bed. A black and bronze Victor..."
How did I miss this? Must be the new decor around here. ;-)
Can I say that I want more of this and I want it now? I know, I know... insatiable readers. :-D
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“Mother thinks she’s found the perfect housekeeper for us,” John said on the drive back to Greenwich Street. “Some woman she befriended at church.”
“Do you think we need a housekeeper?”
“Yes.” John glanced at me. “I’ve seen your place.”
Having also seen my place, I did not take offense. “Still, I think I’d rather find my own housekeeper.”
“It won’t hurt to interview her, will it? You’ll be at the house tomorrow anyway with the movers.”
I said indifferently, “Sure. If that’s what you’d like.”
John’s head turned my way. “Everything okay?”
“Iff and Kolchak think I murdered Seamus.”
John was silent for so long that I knew this was not coming as any news to him. I stared at his profile.
He said, “Try not to take it personally.”
“Try not to…”
“There’s a fair bit of circumstantial evidence pointing in your direction. That’s all. Iff and Kolchak are two of the best detectives on the force. Even though they’re starting the investigation with a certain amount of bias, they’ll keep digging until they’ve got to the truth.”
“You’re taking this very calmly.”
“No, I’m not.” His tone was grim. “But getting mad about it won’t change anything.”
The bleak note in his voice caused me to revise my initial opinion. He was not remotely okay with this.
“Do you think I killed Seamus?”
After what felt like a very long moment, he said, “I don’t think so, no.”
He had been giving it plenty of thought though. Did that make his conclusion better or worse?
“For the record, I did not kill him.”
“For the record, again, I don’t think you did. But you are hiding something.”
I said bitterly, “Isn’t everyone hiding something?”
"Having also seen my place, I did not take offense." LOLCan't wait!
"Kolchak"? I loved "The Night Stalker" TV series. I think that "lizard man" episode scarred me for life.
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EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! Can't wait!!!! <3<3<3<3
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What Karen says!
I'm looking forward to it. Thank you for sharing this little, tantalising glimpse.
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Q&A with Josh Lanyon
Books mentioned in this topic
The Movie-Town Murders (other topics)The Movie-Town Murders (other topics)
The Movie-Town Murders (other topics)
The Night Stalker (other topics)
IT'S NOT A TRICK QUESTION."
LOL. I'm voting for what Viv said: 28-ish. Maybe. :-)