Guest Spot Excerpt: Gail Delaney’s The Phoenix Rebellion

Blurb:

Victor turned his back on everything he knew — Everything he thought he was — to help Michael Tanner be free. 

Something dark haunts Victor, threatening to steal his sanity — even his life. He doesn’t understand it, has no name for it; he only knows the malicious darkness in his mind wants him dead for his treachery in helping the humans. 



Only in Beverly Surimoto’s tender touch does he find some fraction of peace. But how much can he take from her before it’s too much? How much before she realizes the demon he is and turns him away?

Excerpt From The Phoenix Rebellion Book Two:  Outcasts

Available February 1, 2010 from Desert Breeze Publishing

Victor’s sorrow was smothering, sucking the air from the room and squeezing Beverly’s chest until she had to take a step back and re-gather her defenses.  Swallowing against the onslaught, Beverly walked into the dark room.

Victor sat on the floor with his back against the wall and his knees drawn up, his head buried in the bend of his folded arms.  Hot tears burned Beverly’s eyes as she knelt beside him, his sadness was so tangible.  It raised the hairs on her arms and made her heart ache.  She had to fight the urge to reach out and touch his hair, smooth her fingers through it, and comfort him.  If the intensity of his emotion was this great just by proximity, Beverly was afraid what she would feel if she touched him.  Instead, she knelt as close as she dared without making contact and clenched her hands in her lap.

Before she could say his name, he raised his head, his black eyes seeking her out in the dim light.  The soft glow of hydrogen gel from the hallway lit his features, highlighting the damp streaks on his cheeks.

“Beverly,” he said, his lips moist from his tears.

She nodded.

His body shook and his expression twisted with agony as new tears filled his eyes and he looked towards the ceiling.  Victor laid a hand across his brow, bracing his head as another wave of anguish slammed through him, and through her.  Beverly curled her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and she felt her own tears fall.

“Victor, please.  Tell me.  What is breaking your heart?”

She could barely read his lips, but his repeated words finally registered.  “I killed her.”

“Who?” she asked.

He shook his head, rolling it against the grayed padding behind him.  Like a creeping shadow, Beverly felt the cold presence slide over Victor and push against her.  Not like the day before when ‘Victor’ had snapped out of sleep to attack Michael.  Then, she had only felt the other mind that was not Victor.  Now, she felt them both; the tormented sadness that smothered Victor, and the cold, calculated darkness that reinforced it.

Victor shook his head more violently, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples.  “No!”  A violent tremor shook his body.  “No!”

He started to roll away, and before she could tell herself to stop, Beverly reached for him and wrapped her fingers around his wrists.  She gasped at the jolt, but it wasn’t the drowning wave she had expected.  An echoing scream resounded through her mind, and she felt the dual entity retreat.  Victor stiffened and arched, then slumped as his gaze shifted to her again, wide and confused.

Beverly panted several breaths, trying to push past the shock and uncertainty that collided in her mind.  If she had been confused before by the mysteries of Victor’s haunting, that confusion multiplied exponentially.  Victor turned his hands to loosen them from her grasp, but didn’t move from her touch.  He ran his fingers along her skin and the back of her knuckles, deep lines furrowing his brow as his gaze followed the point of contact.  Beverly smiled and did what she had wanted to do since she came into the small cell; stroking her fingers through his short, black hair and cupping his head in her palm.

Victor’s eyes closed, and the jumbled chaos that had surrounded him since his awakening quieted to a muffled whisper as he released a shuddered breath.  Beverly didn’t resist as his arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer.  She embraced him, rising on her knees to move closer and let him hold her as tightly as he needed.

Guest Author: Gail Delaney

It’s my great pleasure (and after much boneheaded delay on the part of this Blogger) to have multitalented author and Editor-in-Chief of Desert Breeze Publishing Gail Delaney here on my blog!  So give her a warm reception please, and feel free to ask questions (if you don’t see them right away, give me a little bit to approve them – the spam guard on this blog is a little wonky). Now, sit back, relax, and get ready to meet Gail!

EM:  Thanks for stopping by, Gail!  Of course, I’m sure most of my readers will be most interested in knowing something more about your books.  Can you tell us a bit about what you write?

GD:   I actually write in multiple genres:  contemporary romance, romantic suspense and futuristic romance.  But, for the sake of conversation today, I’d love to talk about my futuristic romance series titled The Phoenix Rebelliion.  This 4-book series is set in our not-too-distant but alternate future where the people of earth have formed an alliance with an alien race called the Areth.  The Areth claim they are our true ancestors and Earth is populated by their descendants.  However, over the decades a rebel group who calls themselves Phoenix have formed an underground society with the intent of proving the Areth to be liars.  This series begins with their secret endeavors and ends with a battle to save mankind.

But, as I said, it’s a romance.  The books are told through the eyes of a cast of characters, the lives of which are intertwined it’s impossible to tell the story of one without telling the others. 

EM:  I’m a SF buff, and The Phoenix Rebellion is one of my favourites, so I’m glad you told us about that!  Most authors usually have trouble pinpointing exactly when they first fell in love with writing.  Anything stick out for you?

GD:  I wrote throughout my childhood.  Sometimes it was short stories, sometimes poems, and I wrote a fantasy novel when I was fifteen. But it was mostly because I felt the need to get the words out, not for the purpose of ‘writing’ for any other reason.

 My mother passed away when I was in my early twenties.  While I helped my father sort through her papers, I found a box my mother had kept for years.  In it was probably everything I’d ever written.  Every short poem, every scribbled note, every book report.  Even every draft of that fantasy novel I wrote at fifteen.  Finding those things made me see what I realized my mother had seen all along.  I was a writer.  Two months after her death, I began the first novel I ever wrote for the purpose of seeking publication.  That book has never been published and needs a lot of work to get to that point, but I intend to publish it someday.  To honor her.

EM:  That’s a very touching and powerful story.  It must be a truly wonderful thing to have such amazing support from your family.  A lot of authors don’t get that.  So, on that note, would you say that a lot of your life ends up in your books?  Art imitating life?

GD:  This is a running joke in my house.  My mother-in-law, an avid reader, couldn’t read my books for a long time.  She said that she ’saw’ her son in them and that was just wrong.   I’ve assured her more than once – quite frequently – that very little an author writes in a book is from direct life experience.  Yes, sometimes… but I would say very little of my life is in my books.  I’ll say… oh… fifteen percent?  Unless you count character nuances sometimes.  Those often come from people in my life.  The way someone will say something or do something or personality quirks… yes, those come from somewhere in my life.

EM:  *laughing* How funny!  So often, I hear how people do use their relations.  It’s funny that your family thought you were when you weren’t!  So, if not your close friends or relations, where do you get your inspiration from?

GD:  I find inspiration for my storylines from life.  Sometimes it’s a news story or something I’ve heard.  Or a conversation I have with someone will stir up some thoughts.  Recently, I watched a program on the Discovery Channel on the phenomenon of Chimera that planted a seed of an idea.   On the other hand, my character inspiration often comes from television or movies.  When I’m creating the personality and nuances of a character, I often tap into an actor who I could see ‘playing’ my character. 

For instance, Colonel Nick Tanner of The Phoenix Rebellion was absolutely and without a doubt inspired by the character of Colonel Jack O’Neill of Stargate SG-1, played by Richard Dean Anderson.  His son Michael Tanner would be more along the lines of a MacGyver-era RDA.  I am definitely drawn to actors prominent in the science fiction genre, probably because I love science fiction and if I’m going to watch a television show or movie – it’s probably going to be sci fi.  Or drama.

EM:  *chuckles* I can so totally see Anderson in Nick Tanner.  I often wondered if that was deliberate.  So, care to give us a peek into what you’re up to, now?  What’s next from Gail Delaney?

GD:  I’m currently developing and working on the first book of another 4-book futuristic romance series called Phoenix Rising, which is a sequel to The Phoenix Rebellion series.  I’m hoping to begin releasing in late 2011.  Since The Phoenix Rebellion  will be releasing throughout 2010, it will work out well to release the new series next year.  Many of the main characters from The Phoenix Rebellion will play rolls in the new series, but they will become the secondary characters.  Some of the secondary characters from the first series will now take a more forward roll – along with some new characters.

EM:  That’s great!  I’ll be looking forward to that!  So, one last question for you.  If you had to pick one character from any of your books that you’d most like to see come to life, who would it be?

GD:  I would say Michael Tanner from both The Phoenix Rebellion and Phoenix Rising.  He is almost like a phoenix himself.  He rose from the ashes in a sense, having been kept as a slave – little more than a guinea pig – for the first 25 years of his life.  When he is freed, he goes on a journey to discover himself and how he fits into the ever-changing world.  I would love to see that in full 3D.

EM:  Sounds great to me!  Hey, thanks for being here, today, Gail!  Anyone wanting to find out more about Gail Delaney or her books can find her at http://www.GailDelaney.com

And be ready for an excerpt from Gail’s excellent new book, The Phoenix Rebellion Book Two: Outcasts, just released from Desert Breeze Publishing!

Author Guest Spot Delay

Due to Blogger error (that would be my mistake), the Author Guest Spot for Gail Delaney won’t be up until this evening… Please check back this evening or tomorrow.

Flash Friday: “In Faith”

Today’s Flash Friday post comes from a Fantasy-Romance I’m currently finishing up for publication this June.  This is an unusual series in so many ways, not the least of which is the main character, Telyn, whose parents had a very Romeo and Juliet relationship.

“In Faith” – excerpted from Legends of Tirum: DAUGHTER OF ASHES

copyright 2003 by Esther Mitchell

            Nacaris eased open the stall door and entered the space.  Bloodcloud immediately pricked his ears, then lifted his head and turned toward this new invader to his space.  Looking into the dark, liquid eyes of the horse, Nacaris saw a plea that looked nearly human, as if the horse tried to tell him to help Telyn.

            Crouching down beside her, he laid a hand on her shoulder and rubbed gently.  “Telyn?  What is it?”

            She jumped, clearly startled, then swiped defensively at her eyes.  “It’s nothing.”

            He sighed and eased down beside her, resting his head and back against the wooden wall.  “Isn’t it always?  When do you stop being so damned stubborn?”

            She bristled instantly.  “I am not stubborn!”

            “Then why can’t you let anyone in?  Why must you always be the brave one, the strong one?”

            Her laugh was quiet with sadness, and twisted with a bitter sound.  “That’s just it.  I’m not brave or strong.”

            He frowned.  This didn’t sound the cocky, determined warrior he knew.  “I don’t follow…”

            She sighed heavily, and turned her face away from him.  “I’ve spent so much of my life running.  What happens if I’m really not good enough to do this?”

            He squeezed her shoulder gently, and drew her into his arms.  “What brought this on?  For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been indomitable.”

            “But you don’t know me.”

            The bitterness in her voice got to him, knotting in his chest like a giant serpent coiled around his heart.  How he wished to tell her the truth!  His arms closed tighter around her, and he leaned to murmur against her ear, “No, but I’d like to.”

            He felt the shudder that went through her, before her face lifted to his, and he saw the small, wavery smile on her face.  “Sorry. I guess I’m just nervous about tomorrow.”

            That had him frowning, again.  “What about this Seoman bothers you so?”

            She offered him a half-shrug, as if she wasn’t sure how to respond.

            “You’ve known him a while?”

            “Since we were children.  Seoman was an orphan my mother took in when I was very young.  He was a sweet boy, always desperate to please.  When his gifts for Seeing became apparent, the MajiMasters came and took him away.  I’ve only seen him once, since, and he seemed sad.”  She sighed again.  “But what Carmyd said this morning worries me.”

            “What did he say?”

            “That Seoman is no longer the boy I knew.”

            Nacaris nodded, and squeezed her gently.  “Everything will be all right.”

            She glanced up at him.  “How can you have so much faith?”

            Nacaris couldn’t help himself.  He raised his fingers to her face, skimming soft skin as he leaned closer.  “Because I believe in you.”

Flash Friday: “Blood Sacrifice”

“Blood Sacrifice” – excerpted from Project Prometheus: IN HER NAME

copyright 2001 by Esther Mitchell

            He called it a situation.  What kind of situation bloodied a man’s face and clothes while sealing his lips?

            A few moments later, Manara had her answer and wished she never asked.  Standing beside Matt, her eyes filled with tears and her face froze in horror, Manara viewed the carnage laid out before her eyes and felt ill.  Unsteadily, she groped for Matt’s arm, clinging to him with all the strength she possessed as she stared out over at blood-soaked stretch of land.  A swatch of cloth, like a bloody flag, snapped on the stiff desert breeze from its position in the low desert brush.  It was easier to look there than to see what made up its genesis.

            The pieces were almost unrecognizable as body parts from this distance.  At first glance, they looked like nothing more than dust-caked red rocks.  But the carrion birds that circled and swooped in to grab up the pieces belied that illusion.  And then she saw the heads.  Sitting side-by-side, staring toward their home, were the bloody, slashed heads of a man and a woman.  His beard was matted with blood, and her hair was hacked off and clumped near her dismembered head.  Gashes slit open the skin to the bone and their eyes held matching, blank expressions of terror.

            Her stomach heaved without warning, and Manara spun away and dropped to the ground as she retched.  Even the temple had not been this grotesque or without cause.  Sobs folded her over long after the illness passed and she rocked back and forth on her knees, wailing for these people whose souls she had not been strong enough to save.

            She sensed movement and knew when Matthew crouched beside her by the warmth of his hand on her back.  With another sob, she threw herself into his embrace, and clung with all her strength to his rock-solid support. 

            “How?”  She cried, as fury rose up to mingle with failure and pain.  “How could this happen?  How could we not know?”

            “I found them this morning on the other side of the ridge.  It’s not pretty over there.”

            Her eyes snapped to his grim face as he spoke those quiet words.  Her stomach roiled threateningly as her mind painted grotesque pictures, but she forced herself to ask the question she really didn’t want answered.

            “There are more?”

            “Just goats and sheep.  Animals,” he reassured her quietly as he helped her to her feet, then placed a protective arm around her as she swayed.  Squeezing her gently, he asked, “Are you okay?”

            Manara’s stomach heaved again.  Okay?  Anything but, she acknowledged queasily as she turned to stare at the carnage, which was all that remained of the goatherd and his wife.  She didn’t have to ask who brutally dismembered them or their herd.  She already knew.

            “It was…it was like this at the temple, too,” she whispered weakly as she clung to Matthew’s steady support.  “Bodies torn apart as if by some terrible beast.”

            She took a shaky step toward the bodies but Matthew caught her, pulling her back.  His eyes were tender and filled with concern as he gazed down into her face.  A shadow touched those muddy eyes and she realized that the demon responsible for this evil had already reached across the span of oceans and polluted another heart with such vileness it was driven to butchery.  The horrible memory of Rachel Murray never left Matthew, though he hardened himself against its influence over time.

Random Read Day

Given that everyone’s being a little shy on FaceBook  … I’m changing the format of Random Read Day a little.  Instead of working off of a quote posted by someone, I’ll find a quote at random myself every week, and post a little, brand-new, free read based around the spirit of that quote and how it inspires me.  And to make things a little more fun, I’m going to mix it up a bit and make the day completely random…You’ll never know what day of the week it’s going to be posted on!  So keep checking the blog to see what’s newly posted, and happy reading!!

My Response to E-Book Pirates: Walk the Plank!

Found this article on the web… And my blood pressure went up! Here’s the link (authors, beware… it’s liable to raise your blood pressure, too!):
http://www.themillions.com/2010/01/confessions-of-a-book-pirate.html/

Here’s the comment I left for all the pirates and would-be pirates who thought they could rationalize away their theft:

I’m an author of (predominantly) e-books. And I won’t be shy. Last year, I made a whopping $25 in royalties. Why? No, it wasn’t all due to piracy. But I’d wager that entire $25, plus some, that at least 50% of the problem was piracy. As more piracy sites went up, and e-book piracy became more prevalent, my royalties dropped from around $500 a year to *blinks* $25?? Coincidence? Well, you do the math and see if you still think so.

For those of you arguing that authors should just put our books out there for free and consider ourselves lucky you’re all reading them, you’re so missing the point. Look at it this way: Say you create Widget 1, and put it up for sale. Then someone comes along, says “Oh, I like that, but I don’t want to pay for it” so they simply TAKE Widget 1, and then make their own copies and distribute them (for free) to 20 of their closest friends, what do you think that will do to your business revenue for the year? You’d consider that to be thievery, no doubt. Well, you’re still “taking” something when you download a book from a torrent site. You didn’t pay the author in any way, shape, or form, and they are the “craftsman” of this particular brand of widget. And when you upload to one of those sites, you are, in effect, giving away free copies of something you haven’t paid for the right to give away (unless you’re giving away your only, purchased copy, and erasing it from your hard drive, and let’s face it, you’re not).

This is a lesson in economics. Yes, I believe that the price on books can be palpably absurd. I’m not arguing that point. But I, as the author, don’t set those prices. All I see are my small %s that make up the royalties. And I don’t see those if people are stealing the books, rather than buying them. You want a free copy? Come along to one of my contests and EARN one, by simply participating… It’s not difficult, and you’ve put in a little time, instead of money. If you’ve got time to surf a torrent site looking for my books, you’ve got time to come and hang out online with me – the result’s the same for you (a free book), and yet you’ve shown you actually DO support me, rather than just SAYING it.

There is no justification for copyright infringement. Believe me, authors are held to the same (and higher) standards in that regard. I remember the recent media coverage of the Cassie Edwards copyright infringement case, where she supposedly “borrowed” directly from non-fiction texts. People were up in arms about her use of small amounts of information taken verbatim from the non-fiction texts… I imagine some of those irate people were simultaneously sitting in front of a piracy site, downloading entire books. And I know enough about copyright law to know that YES, it is copyright infringement to download a work without proper compensation to the author, or at least the author’s permission. And NO, it is not a “gift” from the reader to the author – it actually IS a right, under the law. That’s WHY it’s written law. It’s not implied. It’s not hinted at. It’s not just a rumor. It’s written law in the USA, and violation of it can end up with you in court. Ask Cassie Edwards.

I don’t mind giving away a few free books, here and there. I’m all for encouraging reading, and I’m usually happy to help out a reader who approaches me openly and says “Hey, I really want to read your book, but I can’t afford it right now.” I can be quite creative about coming up with ways to help them get a copy for a reduced amount, or even for free, if I happen to have extra copies available. I’m even likely to autograph a physical copy on CD-ROM and send off, at my own expense. But I DO mind when someone takes something without asking. It’s a lot like breaking into my house and stealing the family silver. It’s going to leave me violated and angry. I have a right to those emotions when someone steals from me – the same way I’m sure all of those pirates would be angry if someone stole their computers or e-book readers… So, my point is this: If you want a book but can’t afford it, try approaching the AUTHOR first. If they can help you out, I’m sure most will. We don’t want to alienate readers – but we DO want to be respected, same as everyone else, and theft is a sure sign of disrespect.

Flash Friday: “The Seer’s Curse”

“The Seer’s Curse”

copyright 2004 by Esther Mitchell

Smoke curled up from the city below, and the distant sounds of death and battle filled Ausar’s ears.  His nostrils flared with the scent of burnt flesh and fresh blood, and rage coiled in his gut to know that Onuris’ minions were the genesis of this slaughter.  As the Crophines‘ Seer, his was the responsibility to guide Ali-Antos towards a bright future.  Why had he not foreseen this?  Why did he receive no warning, no way by which to prepare the people of Ali-Antos for battle?  It was as if the Great Gods mocked him, reminding him that, while he was immortal within the confines of Aermornosa, he was still fallibly human.  Now, the people he was sworn to guide and protect were helpless lambs at the altar of Onuris’ lust for blood and power.

A low, lupine growl rumbled through his chest, and his pupils drank in the light as the wildness within gripped him.  If not for his position, he would be down there, in the thick of battle.  The Gods gifted him with an ability that could turn the tide of the struggle in the city below.  But the weight of the Medicine pouch slung across his chest reminded him that he was bound by other covenants.  He must defend his charge, regardless of the cost.  Which meant he must leave this place.  When the Sodalitas Arachaena arrived at Aermornosa’s gates, they must find nothing of use.

“We must go.”

He turned toward the voice, to meet the dark gaze of the Musir to his left.   Sargon.  The Warrior among them.  Quickly, his gaze flashed over the rest.  Lugh, Mykalos, Csilla.  These were the only family he knew, and he would defend them with his life’s blood.

“It is time, Shadow Walker,” Sargon nodded toward the hidden tunnel that led to the docks only the Elder Musir knew existed.  There, boats would carry them to the far reaches of the Earth, to hide their charges.  They would never see each other again.  And the darkness that filled Ausar had only one bright spot of light.  He had seen the future, in his mirror.  One day, the Gods would bring the five sacred artifacts back to Aermornosa, and return the balance.  Peace settled over him.  That knowledge was comfort enough.

Discover PROJECT PROMETHEUS today!  Join the struggle between light and darkness with

IN HER NAME

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/in-her-name/prod_73.html )

HOPE OF HEAVEN

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/hope-of-heaven/prod_128.html )

and SHADOW WALKER

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/shadow-walker/prod_219.html )

Poetic Dreams: “Battleground”

I wrote this poem years ago, scribbled in the back of a notebook as I sat looking out the window of a small B & B somewhere near Inverness.  To this day, I don’t know why, and I can’t explain the images the field beyond my window evoked, or why they sometimes revisit me with such clarity, even all these years later.  I was all of eight years old, at the time, and yet, the words I wrote didn’t sound like any I would normally use at the time… *shrugs*  It’s a mystery I only have a few small answers to, and as I’ve never been back to that spot (in truth, I’ve no idea if I could find the place again if I tried), I can’t say more on it… Just that, if you’d like, it’s here for you to read:

BATTLEGROUND

A cobbled path,

Laid of stones once thrown,

Crosses a barren field,

Where no love can ever be grown.

A silent voice,

Weeps ‘midst the trees,

And the tale it tells,

Is of much-neglected need.

In the distance,

Sound to the drums,

Of armies on the move,

A war, nearer, comes.

No solace bring those marching feet,

The musk of armor and steel,

For where their heavy footsteps tread,

Will nothing remain to be healed.

Bravery has fled this field,

And cowardice claims victory,

For hate and scorn have ambushed, here,

The hopes of innocence and charity.

Yet, with a breath of honesty,

A rallying cry of simple love,

Green could these fields be again,

And a blue sky, filled with doves.

Random Thursday: “Incognito”

Hmm… I’m starting to think no one wants a fresh new bit of free fiction every week… I’m not getting much in the way of responses to my call for quotes, etc.  Oh, well…

For this week, I chose one of my favourite quotes – from Hubert Humphrey:  “It’s not what they take away from you that counts.  It’s what you do with what you have left.”

*grins* Great inspiration, that one!  So, I’ll use it, this week.   We’ll see what kind of responses I get, next week, before I decide how much longer this is going to continue…

“Incognito” – copyright 2010 by Esther Mitchell

       Billie hunched down in the driver’s seat of her rented sedan, trying to look like she belonged there among the hedgerows and prize roses of Kensington’s wealthy streets.  What she felt like was a first class fraud.  Why had she thought this would be easy?  Resurrecting a life never was.

    She swallowed hard, and her gaze fell briefly to the picture tacked to the dashboard in front of her.  In it, a cherubic little face, framed by dark curls, grinned up at the camera.  Pain twisted in her chest.  Her little Melanie would be six, now.  She’d missed so many precious years.  Her head thumped down against the hand crossed on her steering wheel, and she fought tears for what had to be the hundredth time since she left Houston.  How could she have been so naive, so stupid?

    Roger had taken her baby away.  That was what she got for marrying the first smooth-talking Prince Charming Wannabe to come her way.  She should have known better.  People like her just didn’t marry rich guys like Roger Llyod  Hastings of the Maryland Hastings.  His mother had delighted in reminding Billie of that fact every chance she got in their brief three-year marriage.  Until Melanie was old enough to “leave the brood sow” as her mother-in-law had so haughtily put it.

    Sick rage roiled in Billie’s stomach, and she wondered if it was stress, or just the fact that she’d eaten nothing but a stale donut in the past three days – ever since that slimy P.I. she hired in DC had turned out to be more interested in her ex’s family money than in Billie’s heartache and need for justice.

    “Billie?”  She turned at the sound of her name, before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be her.  She’d cut her hair, dyed it, and she was wearing shades.  No one should recognize her.  And when she saw who half-crouched beside her car door, the donut she’d consumed about made a reappearance.  Logan MacCauley

    “My God, Billie, what’re you doing here?”  His dark green eyes skimmed over her from a face lined in worry.  “You changed your hair.”

     Belatedly, it seemed to dawn on him why she was there, which was a good thing, because she couldn’t speak if her life depended on it.  This man knew her deepest, darkest secrets.  He knew the truth about Melanie’s birth – a truth she hadn’t dared speak in the four years since her divorce.  

    “You’ve come back for her.” 

    She couldn’t very well deny it.  Billie nodded.   Then, clearing her throat, she met his gaze again.  “I thought you were in Italy.”

    He lifted one shoulder in a negligent half-shrug, then moved around the hood of her car to open the passenger side door.  He slid into the seat without asking if it was all right with her, then stared at her again for a long moment.  Finally, he drew and released a breath, and shook his head.  “Damn, you look good.  Even with red hair.”

    Her eyes narrowed.  “Logan.  What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

    He glanced toward the fancy Victorian mansion, then lifted one dark eyebrow at Billie.  “I imagine the same thing you are.  Except I don’t have a restraining order keeping me from that front door.”

     Billie’s throat closed, and she reached out in blind panic to clutch his arm. 

     “You’re not going to…”  She couldn’t finish the terrible idea.  She hadn’t spent the last of her meager savings only to lose in a legal battle she couldn’t face, had she?

     He watched her with that level, hooded gaze for a long moment, before he finally spoke.  “A daughter belongs with her mother.”

    Enigmatic to the last, and neither confirming nor denying her fears.  And that, more than anything she’d been through so far, scared the life out of her.  She had the dreadful feeling she was about to lose her baby forever.