It's embarrassing to admit I STILL haven't managed to get the book listed on Google. What in the world am I doing all day?! But the book is live everywhere else--in fact, it's even available in print. So, hey, maybe I'm finally getting the hang of this thing called publishing. 

I think I mentioned Kale Williams will do the audio (probably in December). 

Anyway, it's live. my first new release since...November? GULP. 

Next up, The 12.2 Per Cent Solution. And then, with whatever time is left in the year, The Medicine Man Murders. I just don't write as quickly as I used to. It's just the way it is now. It's frustrating to you. It's frustrating to me. It's not that I wouldn't love to be able to crank out 13 books a year like I did back in the old days. It's just not possible. 

Anyway, KILL YOUR DARLINGS

BLURB:

At this mystery conference, murder is more than just anotherplot twist...

 

Nobody likes conferences, but they’re part of thejob.

Millbrook House senior editor Keiran Chandler has spentyears curating the best voices in crime lit, but when an unsolicited manuscriptis handed to him at the Noir at the Shore mystery conference, truth collideswith fiction. I Know What You Did is more than just another slush pilesubmission—it’s a direct threat.

U.N. Owen seems to know what really happened in Steeple Hillall those years ago. Who is Owen? How does he know these things? Clearly themysterious author is after more than a book deal. But what?

With a potentially career-ending publishing merger on thehorizon, the end of his affair with bestselling author and former homicide detectiveFinn Scott, and not so subtle threats from someone in his past, Keiran has alot bigger problems than coming up with something witty to say on discussionpanels.

 

EXCERPT:

It was much cooler and breezier down by the water. Sea lionsbarked from the far rocks, and gulls
wheeled overhead, their cries sharp andfleeting.

Finn’s back was to me, and as I grew nearer, I saw that hewas on his phone. Or had been. The call seemed to have ended.

The waves didn’t completely drown out my approach—or, morelikely, Finn possessed more situational awareness than most people—and heglanced around.

His wary expression changed infinitesimally, but then heheld up his phone and smiled ruefully. “The kiddo,” he said, as if our a.m.encounter at the pool had never happened.

The kiddo was Finn’s son, Byron, who was in hisfreshman year at UCLA.

I asked automatically, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. He’s a little homesick, I think.”

My understanding was UCLA was less than an hour from home,but being homesick is not something I know anything about. I left Steeple Hill theday after I turned eighteen, and I never looked back.

I nodded and said, “Finn, I owe you an apology. You haveevery right to work with whomever you choose. Lila’s an excellent editor. Itprobably is time to work with someone who can look at the series withfresh eyes.”

His eyebrows rose. He remarked, “That was interesting, thismorning. Outside of discussing books and having sex, I think that was the firstcompletely unguarded reaction I’ve ever had from you.”

He spoke calmly, but the effect of that almost clinical tonewas as cold and hard as if I’d been knocked down by one of those waves poundingthe shore.

I was still trying to absorb it, when he added, “But, no. I’mthe one who needs to apologize. I blindsided you. I’m sorry, Keir. You didn’tdeserve that. I should have expressed my concerns two weeks ago.”

Expressed my concerns. Jesus. That was formal. Maybehe should have filled them out in triplicate while he was at it.

I didn’t say that, of course. I took another couple of stepsforward, close enough to catch the scent of that herbal aromatic aftershave,close enough to reach out and touch him, though I was pretty sure I’d nevertouch him again. “Yeah. That might have helped. What are your concerns?Because the last time we were together—”

“Why didn’t you tell me your father had died?” heinterrupted.

It was so far out of left field, my jaw dropped.

“I didn’t know you knew him,” I shot back.

“Another gut reaction,” he observed. “You’re offended. Andangry.”

What the hell? I was starting to get angry. “I wasn’tclose to my father. And that, you do know.”

“I do know that. Yes. That’s the extent of what I know aboutyour family.”

I spread my hands in genuine bafflement. What the hell didmy family have to do with anything?

Finn said, “I’m not sure how to put this without hurtingyou. More than I already have. And that’s the last thing I want to do. Ireally…really care for you. It’s not about writing or my career, thoughyes, I’m grateful. I do feel—will always feel—that I owe you. A lot.”

“I don’t want gratitude.”

“I know.” He drew a hard breath. “And that’s not what thisis. This is about…us.”

He stopped again. This time I couldn’t think of anything tosay.

At least I hadn’t imagined that there had been, briefly, us.

Finally, Finn said, “You’re a good friend. You’re intelligentand charming and…insightful. You’re generous. I think you’re genuinely kind.”

Insightful.

I said through stiff lips, “That’s funny. I thought you werekind, too.”

His eyes, green as the waves pounding the sand, flickered. Ithit home, I think, but he hardened his jaw. “I like being with you. And I didwant—for a long time I hoped maybe there would be more.”

My heart was slamming against my ribs in heavy thuds. If I’dbeen hooked to a cardiac monitor, I think alarm bells would have been goingoff. I could almost hear the panicked jangle of my emotions, like windchimescaught in a hurricane. I didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. I wantedto walk away. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

“But there’s something…”

Wrong with you.

Those were the words he was looking for.

What he said instead was, “…going on with you. It isn’tanything new. I realized it a long time ago. At first, I thought you were justvery reserved. Then I thought it was hard for you to trust. That you’d beenhurt. I told myself you had a fear of intimacy. But it’s more than that, isn’tit?”

I said tightly, “You tell me, Dr. Phil.”

He didn’t bite. “We were together for almost four days andyou never once mentioned your father had died the week before. I know you weren’tclose, but there should have been some reaction.”

“How would you know, a week after the fact, what reaction Ihad?”

“You also didn’t mention you’d been in California for hisfuneral. We’d been talking about seeing more of each other, seeing wherethis…friendship might lead.”

“That trip was before,” I protested. “Before wetalked about any of that.”

In fairness, we hadn’t even really talked about thatin any practical sense. We’d just sort of agreed that we both wanted more andthat Monterey might be the time to explore some of those possibilities.

“I know.” He seemed genuinely apologetic—but also absolutelyadamant. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to put it into words without— WhatI’m trying to say is, I’ve known—felt—for a long time that something isn’tright. Finding out about your father’s death crystallized it for me.”

I made a sound of disbelief.

“My instinct is you’re…hiding something. And I’m too old towake up and find myself in a-a Dateline special.”

I think it was random, a shot in the dark, a little flickerof black humor. Or maybe it really was a cop—former cop’s—instinct?

But it hit home, hit the target dead center. Bullseye.

I couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t breathe for a moment.

No small part of my horror was the belated understanding ofwhat it would have meant to drag someone else—to have dragged Finn—into themess I found myself in.

I guess I’d gotten away with it for so long, I’d startedbelieving I really had escaped. The risk to someone else hadn’t occurred to meuntil Finn articulated it. But yes. If—and now it was feeling more like when—thetruth about Dom’s death came out, the wrecking ball wouldn’t just hit me. Itwould smash into whoever was sharing my life. I didn’t want that. Would neverhave been okay with that. I would never knowingly have done anything to hurtFinn.

As Finn stared at me, realization slowly dawned on his face.He looked stunned. And then aghast.

He said incredulously, “I was thinking more on the lines of secretwife.”

“No, you weren’t.”

His voice dropped; I couldn’t hear it over the crash ofwaves hitting the shore. But I saw his lips form soundless words, “What thehell, Keiran?”

I had no answer. What could I say? To Finn, of all people.

The idea that we were going to build some kind ofHappily Ever After? I must have been out of my mind.

I could feel a weird smile forming. It wasn’t humor. I don’tknow what it was aside from an inappropriate response to extreme nervoustension. But I could see Finn’s eyes getting darker and bleaker.

“Is this funny to you?” he asked.

I turned and walked away.

 

WHERE TO BUY:

Amazon

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