This is the second year in a row I’ve not been able to decide which of two terrific books should be my No. 1. So I have a tie once again. Last year it was two fantasies that made the top spot. This year one of those authors has maintained her position, but she’s now sharing it with an historical author who never lets me down in story or character. And who rounds out the rest of my list? Think I can surprise you? Hmmmmm. Maybe not totally, but I think a few of my picks just might!

10. A Forever Kind of Love by Shiloh Walker – emotion is going to be the word of the day for this list. Combined with an alpha hero and a romance to die for, an author has a life-long fan in me if she can pull that off. Shiloh Walker is definitely one of those authors. This book is chockful of emotion, pulling on your heartstrings so much you’re sure they’ll definitely break. Just what I’ve come to expect from her.

9. Saddled and Spurred/Wrangled and Tangled & Chasin’ Eight/Cowboy Casanova by Lorelei James – I’m not sure how she does it, releasing these four books, plus others, in one year, but I’m sure glad Ms. James does. I couldn’t leave any of these books off the list over another, they’re all so good. My favorite, I think, is W&T – I love Renner and Tierney, they’re such fun. Her cowboys from both of her current series will keep you hot and bothered long after you’ve finished reading them!

8. Hidden Embers by Tessa Adams – sigh. Dragons. I love’em. And this edition of Tessa Adams’ Dragon’s Heat series is right on target for me with the emotion the hero goes through and all those alpha dragons breathing fire everywhere. The aerial fight scenes are as intense as the lovemaking, and with a mysterious disease that could end their clan, this is one all-consuming read. And how can you not lust over that cover, for heaven’s sake?

7. Touch of Crimson by Sylvia Day – I so enjoy an author who can write in more than one genre, and Sylvia Day is a master. I love her paranormals every bit as much as I love her historicals. This new series featuring angels is spectacular. ToC is the perfect opening, and I can’t wait for more, especially since next up is a werewolf hero. Shifters do it for me every time.

6. Pride and Pleasure by Sylvia Day – this is the first time an author has made my list in two different genres. Doesn’t surprise me it’s Ms. Day. Both hero and heroine in this book are fascinating characters, something this author excels at like no other. I can’t imagine anyone reading this list hasn’t read Sylvia Day before, but if so, you have to pick up one of her books like yesterday. Seriously.

5. Breaking Point by Pamela Clare – another author who writes alpha heroes and gives them the perfect heroine for our reading pleasure. And who can insert emotion that breaks your heart and then shows you action until you’re ready to collapse with exhaustion. You get everything in a Pamela Clare book. The hero in this story goes through hell, but his heroine, of course, helps pull him through.

4. Hidden Away by Maya Banks – If you’ve read my reviews of Ms. Banks’ KGI series books, you know I love these Kelly boys. They go through hell to find love, but that makes it all the more sweet and pleasurable in the end. It’s also the family aspect of these stories that I love. You mess with one Kelly, you mess with them all. The brothers tease and fight like boys do, but they back each other up no matter what. Heroes, every one of them.

3. The Many Sins of Lord Cameron by Jennifer Ashley – more brothers that have burrowed into my heart. This book is my second favorite so far, right behind The Madness of Lord Ian MacKenzie. We find out what drives Cam, how his past has shaped him. And what a past it is. I also like the father-son aspect of this book. I was hoping that would be a good part of it when we met Daniel in earlier stories, and Ms. Ashley gave me that hope in spades, and then some.

2. Kiss of Snow by Nalini Singh – there’s not a thing about Ms. Singh’s Psy-Changeling series that I don’t like. I like/love certain books over others, especially the ones that made me cry – but every one of them calls to and satisfies the paranormal/shifter fan in me. Hawke and Sienna live up to the expectations in my mind, I loved every single word.

1. Waking Up with the Duke by Lorraine Heath – all three books in this trilogy are wonderful, but this one, this one was the most emotional of all, and that’s saying something after the very talented Ms. Heath turned a not-so-nice character into a hero you couldn’t help but love on the very first page of his book. The untenable situation in WUwtD, the characters who live it, and the love they share is what puts this book in the No. 1 position for me.

1. Haunting Desire and Haunting Embrace by Erin Quinn – this series has been, well, haunting to read. Ms. Quinn has given this reader a whole new lo ok at Ireland and paranormal stories the like of which I’ve never read before. So beautifully written.

The series has ended with Haunting Embrace, so if you’re looking for something different, these books will hit the spot perfectly.

I always give a few honorable mentions, because it’s such a difficult time whittling down the list of all the great books I’ve read in a year’s time. So I want to share those with you too. Here they are in no particular order:

Second Chance at the Sugar Shack/Any Given Christmas by Candis Terry – what fun these books are! I’m glad I discovered Ms. Terry. She’s a joy to read. Great sense of humor and a mama ghost. You can’t go wrong!

A Light at Winter’s End by Julia London – I’m so glad this book was written. I was very upset at the ending of Summer of Two Wishes. The heroine picked the wrong man, as far as I’m concerned. And when he walked off into the sunset, so to speak, with no other information about where he went, what he did, how he coped, well, I wasn’t happy at all. Here we find out. And now I’m happy. (You should read SoTW first!)

The King’s Mistress by Sandy Blair – it’s nice to have a new book by Sandy Blair on the shelves. And she’s done one heck of a job weaving her hero and heroine into Scottish history to give readers a wonderful romance. No one does it better.

Making Waves by Tawna Fenske – I enjoy an author who can make me laugh out loud. There aren’t many out there who can. Tawna Fenske is a new voice on the scene, and she knows how to write humor. Her characters and storylines are just plain old fun! I still chuckle thinking about that black thong…

What I Did for a Duke by Julie Anne Long – this was my first Julie Anne Long book and I can certainly say I’m hooked. I really enjoyed these characters and just had fun with them. I look forward to reading a lot more of her books in the future. With all of the historicals on my list this year, this one didn’t miss the cut by much at all. So very close!

Well, now we go from my Best of the Year to my Worst of the Year reads. I’m teased by some of the reviewers here at the Pond that I like everything I read. Well, that’s not technically true, because there are those books that sometimes don’t do it even for me. So I have a few. One doesn’t surprise me, one does, and the others just surprised me as I read them. And the biggest surprise is they’re all Scottish historicals, which I love to read. Now you know really how painful these were for me!

~ Must Love Kilts by Allie Mackay – I always try to give an author a second chance when one of their books doesn’t work for me. I believe I’ve given Ms. MacKay a third and fourth chance. I doubt there will be another chance in the offing any time soon. So this one didn’t surprise me at all. And that’s really too bad, because I wouldn’t mind getting a look at the covers on her books. Those I love. You can see my review here, if you’d like.

~ In Bed with a Highlander by Maya Banks – needless to say, this one surprised the ever livin’ hell out of me, as much as I love Ms. Banks’ romantic suspense novels. Honestly, I’m still flabbergasted at my reaction to this book. I expected to love it, every last word. But something went horribly wrong for me. I didn’t grade it super low just because of who the author is – at least the characters worked for me – but I just couldn’t get past other things. I feel another tear coming on. My review is here.

~ Captured by the Highlander/Claimed by the Highlander by Julianne MacLean – I’ve not read Ms. MacLean before these books, and I now know I shouldn’t have started here. I have a lot of her books in the TBR mountain, so it definitely surprised me during reading that these books just don’t work for me on any level, except maybe her characters. Despite their sounding like modern-day people and the books being nearly mirror images of each other, I do like the heroes and heroines. It’s everything else that needs work. I have yet to try the third book, and I don’t know how soon, if at all, that’s going to happen. My reviews can be read here and here.

So how do your 2011 reads stack up to my list? Any you agree with? How about vehemently disagree with?

Sandy M’s review of Breaking Point (I-Team, Book 5) by Pamela Clare
Romantic Suspense published by Berkley 3 May 11

When I open a Pamela Clare book, I know I’m going to be in for a very emotional, very sensual, and very wild and dangerous ride. I know I will laugh. I will cry. I will become enamored of her characters. I will revel in the intensity, tenderness, and romance of their love making. I will sit on the edge of my seat, praying those characters will get through their hell as quickly and unscathed as possible.

So far I’ve only read the last two books of this series, and they are as gripping and full of emotion as can be. The way the heroes and heroines meet are unique and intense, and I’m now so curious to find out if the previous books are the same.

Zach is ex-military and now a U.S. Marshall in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, investigating Los Zetas and its leader, who is suspected of abducting, torturing, and then murdering young women for his bloodthirsty rituals. Having gone through days of torture at their hands, Zach is surprised to hear the bastards toss a woman into the cell next to him. He knows her fate and tries to calm her fears as her reality sets in.

But Natalie is much stronger than he could imagine. She’s the one, despite their odds, who manages to free herself from her restraints and then help Zach so they can make their escape.

Grade: A+

Summary:

While investigating border violence in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, Denver journalist Natalie Benoit is caught in a bloody ambush and taken captive. Alone in the hands of ruthless killers, she will need every ounce of courage she possesses to survive.

Betrayed by another operative, Deputy U.S. Marshal Zach McBride has endured a week of torture and interrogation at the hands of a bloodthirsty Mexican drug cartel. Ready to give his life if he must, he remains unbroken—until he hears the cries of an American woman.

Although Natalie is only a voice in the darkness of their shared prison, her plight brings renewed strength to Zach’s battered body. With her help, he overpowers their captors, and they flee through the desert toward the border, the attraction between them flaring hotter than the Sonoran sun.

But past loss and tragedy leave both of them reluctant to follow their hearts, even when the passion between them reaches its breaking point. Faced with feelings neither expected, they fight to stay ahead of the danger that hunts them as forces more powerful than they can imagine conspire to destroy them both…

Read an excerpt.

Other books in this series:

I always have such a hard time pulling out the books I really like from a previous year. Yes, there’s too many, but it’s also difficult because sometimes you can’t choose because you can’t compare books in different genres. Though I read mostly historical and paranormal, I also enjoy contemps and romantic suspense a lot. Thus, I poured over my entire 2010 review list, chose those that I really loved, and then the difficulty began in whittling it down. My biggest hurdle is books from a series, if an author released more than one book in the year. Sometimes one of many stood out. Sometimes I couldn’t choose one over the other and sometimes I could. In that case, I’ve cheated and listed all the books I loved in that series.     It’s my list and I can do what I want!

So here they are:

10.  The Taming of the Wolf by Lydia Dare

While I’ve so far enjoyed all of the books in this series, it’s the hero, Dashiel, who stole my heart and has ended up my favorite of the series. Lydia Dare has stayed true to her characters and given readers solid, consistent, and intriguing stories. See my TTotW review here.

9.   Lessons From a Scarlet Lady by Emma Wildes

As I said in in my review of this book, it’s a breath of fresh air. Emma Wildes writes a terrific couple who I loved to read about. They kept my interest the entire book, and I wanted more of them when I was done reading. I’m a new fan for sure.

8.   Broken by Shiloh Walker

It would be surprising to me if a Shiloh Walker book didn’t make my Top 10. She’s become a favorite very quickly and she’s never once disappointed me. Though I also enjoyed Fragile, it was Quinn who caught my interest and I anxiously awaited his story. I love a broken, tortured hero and Quinn fit the bill to a T. Read about him here.

7. The Fire Lord’s Lover by Kathryne Kennedy

I became a huge fan of Kathryne Kennedy from the first book of her Relics of Merlin series and was really disappointed when I found she’s not been able to write more it at this point in time. But with her imagination, I shouldn’t have worried at all. Ms. Kennedy has given us another series that is simply awesome. The Fire Lord’s Lover is a perfect start and I can’t wait for more. My review is here.

6.  Raising Kane by Lorelei James – Shoulda Been a Cowboy, Cowgirls Don’t Cry & Slow Ride short story

I can never get enough of Lorelei James. Her stories are real, as are her characters. She doesn’t pretty up a book if tragedy is called for, and in doing so she tugs so hard on your heartstrings it ain’t funny. Her cowboys walk the walk and talk the talk. Her love scenes range from intense and raw to fun and lighthearted. You get everything in a Lorelei James book. Every book she released in 2010 is a Top 10, but Raising Kane is my fave. See my RK review here.

5.   Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman by Lorraine Heath

Lorraine Heath has been a favorite of mine since I read her Texas trilogy and nothing changed when I read her first Regency. She’s simply and truly wonderful. I loved this entire London’s Greatest Lovers trilogy, but it’s Stephen’s story that I really remember. I had my doubts about him, as I said in my review, but he turned out to be one of those heroes you’ll never, ever forget.

4.   Moon Craving by Lucy Monroe

You know those books you wait for? And wait for? Forever, it seems? Moon Craving is one of those for me. I fell in love with Lucy Monroe’s werewolves in her first book, Moon Awakening, in her Children of the Moon series, and I wanted more. But it took a few years for that next one. The wait was worth it, however. Another terrific story for Monroe and paranormal fans. Read my review here.

3.   The Darkest Hour by Maya Banks – No Place to Run

I have so fallen in love with the Kelly Family in Maya Banks’ KGI series. Especially those Kelly boys. They’re alpha and yummy and they still obey their parents. And they fall hard when they find their heroines. So, hell, what’s not to love?? Read about those Kelly boys here.

2.   Bonds of Justice by Nalini Singh – Play of Passion & Blaze of Memory

Nalini Singh is one of those authors who you’re going to love no matter what she puts on the page. I can’t imagine anyone arguing with that, if they’ve read any of her books. Bonds of Justice takes the No. 1 spot – by a very narrow margin over Play of Passion – for me of her books in 2010 because I sobbed reading this book. I very, very rarely cry when reading. It takes something so very special for me shed a tear while reading, but when it happens, I remember it. So due to my full-out sobbing near the end of BoJ, I’ll never forget Max and Sophia. Read my review about them here.

Now for my No 1. pick, I couldn’t decide between these two books, so they’re co-winners. They win not only for the story, the worlds the authors have created, but also for the beautiful, lyrical, haunting writing these authors possess. It takes an awesome author to be able to keep momentum and creativity and imagination in a series going, to make the next book better than the last. Both of these authors have those things down pat. I never have to hope the next book will disappoint me because it won’t be as good as the first or the one just prior. I know the next book will be even better.

1.  Haunting Warrior by Erin Quinn & Crown of Crystal Flame by C.L. Wilson

Erin Quinn’s Haunting series is just that, haunting. In storyline. In characters. In writing. Absolutely stunning all the way around. I am breathlessly waiting for the next installment this April. I will have myself locked in my room until that book is finished.

C.L. Wilson’s Tairen Soul series was a treat and a treasure to read. This last installment brought everything together for an absolutely stunning ending that left readers gasping. The way this woman strings words together is just amazing. I’m sad this series is now complete, but readers of the series know that their favorite characters will be featured in future books. That’s worth waiting for.

Notice I used “absolutely stunning” for each of these authors. Wasn’t a mistake. Completely intentional. Cuz it just is.

Because I had a huge list picked out before I cut it down to my Top 10, I do want to give mention to those that just barely missed the cut.  So here are my Honorable Mentions in no particular order :

Drink of Me & Stealing Kathryn by Jacquelyn Frank – An imagination that is just awesome!

Shadows at Midnight by Elizabeth Jennings – I know Ash didn’t care for this one, but it’s on my keeper shelf!

Taming the Highland Bride & The Hellion and the Highlander by Lynsay Sands – I love Lynsay Sands! I need to start reading her vamps…

Legend of the White Wolf, Seduced by the Wolf & Wolf Fever by Terry Spear – Yuuuuuuuuuuumy werewolves!

A Highlander’s Homecoming by Melissa Mayhue – Time travel. Scottish Highlanders. One of the best at both!

Marked & Entwined by Elisabeth Naughton – Zodiac warriors to die for! Also try her Stolen series.

Naked Edge by Pamela Clare – Hawt love scenes! Oh, and a great mystery and thrilling suspense too!

A Kiss to Kill by Nina Bruhns – Oh my! I want more, more, more!

Infamous by Suzanne Brockmann – I love her romances within a romance. And I love this cowboy!

The Chief by Monica McCarty – I love this concept of Highlander Special Ops! Fun, intense, and so romantic!

Shadow Bound by Erin Kellison – Debut author done good. Terrific and dark!

Shut Up & Kiss Me by Christie Craig – Only humorous book on my list. There’s a reason for that. She’s one of the very best!

Destined to Last by Alyssa Johnson – Beautifully written with such engaging characters. Can’t wait to see what she does next!

The Treasure Keeper by Shana Abe – Dragons! ‘Nuff said.

And even I have a few books that didn’t make the grade for me in 2010. Mikey really doesn’t like everything!

4.   Mad, Bad and Blonde by Cathie Linz

Waaaaaaaaaay too much snipping and sniping and insulting going on between the hero and heroine for me. It went on and on. And on. And on. And on. And that’s too bad because the first part of the book is good. Right up until the heroine went blonde. See my review here.

3.    Time Storm by Samanta Winston

Sigh. Even the time travel didn’t help this book. We only get to know the characters through their fucking. Pirates and danger and all that goes with it was okay, as was the time travel, but it just wasn’t put together to keep my interest. I remember being glad it’s a short story. My review can be read here.

2.   Tomorrow is Another Day novella by Sandra Hill in the Ladies Prefer Rogues anthology

Even the play on Gone with the Wind didn’t save this novella. The characters didn’t work for me either all because of their attitudes. At least the time travel element worked. Guess I should be grateful for that. My review is here.

1.   Passionate Pleasures by Bertrice Small

This book is just a mess all the way around. The characters are likable but that’s about it. It felt like Ms. Small just tried too hard to write erotic romance. I think her niche is historicals and she should stick with that. You can read my review here.

This just in…

Pamela Clare has some exciting MacKinnon’s Rangers news…

~ Release dates for the Brothers MacKinnon trilogy are set.

~ Surrender will be re-released with a new cover in December 2011.

~ Then Untamed will hit the shelves again in January 2012.

~ Connor’s book, tentatively titled Defiant, has a release date sometime in February 2012.

~ Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!

Consider yourself flashed.

Pamela Clare is the author of one of my all time favorite historical novels, Ride the Fire, and sadly we have been waiting to see if her most recent series (MacKinnon’s Rangers) set in Colonial America would ever be finished.

We haven’t been waiting on the author but the publisher to give her the go ahead, since the setting sadly just ‘doesn’t sell’.

::pause for a cry::

Well Pamela just posted some FAB news!@!@!@

It will be a bit of a wait but Connor’s book will be out in 2012. She has moved all her books to Berkley (if you don’t already read her AMAZING I-TEAM series – it is Romantic Suspense pick it up!) Really you have time to pick up her whole back list if you have fallen behind or if you haven’t tried her out yet. Her historicals are grand and her Romantic Suspense is just getting better and better. You can find tons of reviews for both here just follow the tag…

Congrats Pamela!

And yay me! Can I call it or what *G*.

Sandy M’s review of Naked Edge (I-Team, Book 4) by Pamela Clare
Romantic Suspense published by Berkley 2 Mar 10

Until now I had only read Ms. Clare’s historicals, and I absolutely love them. Her MacKinnon’s Rangers books are all favorites, but now her I-Team sits right there on the shelf with those Rangers. Naked Edge is the first book I’ve read in her I-Team series and I am very sorry that’s so.

Kat is half Native American and, raised by her grandmother, she embraces the culture’s spiritual beliefs, living those beliefs unapologetically.  She is a reporter with the Denver Independent’s Investigative Team, very good at what she does. Estranged from her family because they see only the white in Kat, it’s her grandmother who has shaped her life, along with her would-be grandfather, the man who took her to heart, gave some of herself back to her while she searches for the rest.

Now, Gabe is another story. He’s the polar opposite of Kat. He blames himself for a past tragedy in his life and has sworn to never let a woman get to him ever again. When he makes it with a woman, she knows upfront he’s there only for the sex, she’ll be getting nothing more from him. He’s also an adrenaline junkie, rock climbing god, extreme skier, you name it he does it. You would expect him to turn away from Kat when he learns she wants a husband and a family, not a one-night stand or anything akin to that.  Gabe is as surprised at himself as the reader is when he can’t get Kat out of his mind, wants to be with her despite knowing how she feels.

After their initial introduction, which is an oh-my-god moment and not because Gabe is tender and gentle with Kat, they are thrown together when strange happenings occur on tribal land and eventually lead them to investigate murder, desecration of burial lands, along with plundering and looting the ancient graves. They eventually become targets themselves when they get too close to the truth, and the mystery they’re enmeshed in only gets better as it goes along.

I have a feeling that some readers may not like Gabe in the beginning, but I found his dichotomous nature interesting and very telling. He’s so gentle with Kat at times, his amazement at her beauty and strength is compelling, and in the next breath he’s standing by his vow to give nothing more to her than a quick lay. But with Ms. Clare’s writing, I found him sexy as hell when he pins Kat to an elevator wall, when he growls in her ear what he wants to do to her, and so many other things. You felt his need for her, his want of her just as he does, but he just doesn’t get what it is that’s driving him yet.  He does stick to his guns so long, though, you begin to wonder if he will change, but when he does, his sacrifice is huge, and I didn’t see it coming. The man brought tears to my eyes when we both realized how much he truly loves Kat.

In true Pamela Clare style, the love scenes are as hot and sizzling as can be, including what I call her signature scene that you never find between any other heroes and heroines out there. She has them in her historicals and I am glad to find them in her suspense books. The Native American backdrop she’s incorporated into the story is rich in history and deep in belief, and you have to appreciate the research taken to write such a story.

I now have to locate my copies of the three previous books in this series. Honestly, I have no idea why I shelved them instead of reading them the moment I had them in hand. Who knows what the hell I was thinking at the time. Apparently I wasn’t thinking very clearly at all.

Grade: A+

Summary:

What do you do when desire drives you to the very brink?

The day Navajo journalist Katherine James met Gabriel Rossiter, the earth literally moved beneath her feet. Nearly killed in a rockslide while hiking, she found her life in the tall park ranger’s hands. Although she can’t forget him she thinks she’ll never see him again. She is crushed when she recognizes her rescuer among the law enforcement officers raiding a sweat lodge ceremony one night, throwing her and her friends off Mesa Butte, land they consider sacred.

Gabe long ago swore he would never again lose himself to a woman not even one with long dark hair and big eyes that seem to see right through him. But from the moment he first sees Kat, the attraction he feels is undeniable. Appalled by what he has been ordered to do, he’s determined to get to the bottom of recent events at Mesa Butte and to keep Kat safe.

But asking questions can be dangerous almost as dangerous as risking one’s heart. And soon Kat and Gabe’s passion for the truth and each other makes them targets for those who would do anything, even kill, to keep Native Americans off their sacred land.

Read an excerpt.

Other books in this series:

Our three blog hosts cum Western Romance experts have taken the time to tell you a little more about their thoughts and feelings concerning this beloved genre of theirs. So sit back and have fun with these ladies as they answer the same questions from their very differing points of view!

Sybil in Sybil-ese:

GREAT WESTERN DRIVE: What was the first western romance you ever read?

SYBIL: No clue. Whirlwind Bride by Debra Cowan is the first western I see reviewed on TGTBTU on 3/14/05, but was nowhere near my first western. Or my first Harlequin Historical. I want to say prolly Nicole Jordan’s The Outlaw or Elizabeth Lowell’s Winter Fire, which lead to the Only Series (Winter Fire is still my FAVE and the only series ROCKS).

BUT back when I read trash (I say that with so much love and why I am confused to this day why romance is called ‘trash’), but from 13 to early 20s (I slowed down around 17 cuz I was verra busy causing trouble, uh I mean working), in between reading all of V.C Andrews, Sidney Sheldon, Daniele Steele, Jackie Collins I read a western romance. All I recall, it’s a cover with a bathtub type thing (barrel like) with the outlaw behind her. She was kidnapped. And uh… that is just about it… This is the time to I read Glitter Baby by SEP.

I always say my first romance was Shadowheart by Laura Kinsale because that is when my OCD blogness started. When I went searching for like minded people, found Maili’s blog and AAR. It is when I started my blogspot and blah blah blah (I warned you I ramble, yes?) AND didn’t figure out until after I was blogging for a few years? that Glitter Baby was THE SEP. So I still don’t really ‘count’ that nameless book.

GWD: Do you have a favorite western romance author?

SYBIL: I have favorites I like to bitch about *g*. No longer writing westerns but SHOULD BE faves would be Susan Kay Law, Maureen McKade, and Dana Ransom.

GWD: How about a favorite western hero? Heroine?

SYBIL: Oh I suck at this type of question, can I phone a friend?

GWD: When reading, what do you look for in the perfect cowboy?

SYBIL: Oh holy hell, these questions were put together while I was dealing with the website cuz yuck. I will go with K and W gave amazing answers and point you to them. [Ed. you could try, Syb!]

GWD: And the perfect cowgirl to go with that cowboy?

SYBIL: Someone who can hold their own…

GWD: How do you know when you’re reading a bad western romance? Are they any signs?

SYBIL: The author takes the idea that alpha means abuses, demeaning, or assholish. But oddly I can read and LOVE Elizabeth Lowell’s old westerns. For some reason they don’t trip my switch as being ‘too much.’

If the characters all sound like they are in 2009, I can’t read that, or if the cheese is just too fantastic. The whole drama over Cassie Edwards was odd to me because her writing seems like such a bad joke, I was not at all surprised it was copy and paste.

GWD: What’s the one thing that will really turn off you when reading a western romance?

SYBIL: LOL the above

GWD: How do you know when you’re reading a good Western

SYBIL: LOL I make it through the first few chapters without a headache from rolling my eyes.

GWD: Is there one Western that stands out above all others?

SYBIL: Ride the Fire by Pamela Clare. There is something about a book that opens with a man pointing a gun at a very pregnant woman demanding she doctor him and she gets the upper hand in the first few chapters.

GWD: Who is the Western Author who no longer writes them that you miss the most?

SYBIL: Oops, I answered this, huh? Did I miss anyone? Lorraine Heath REALLY should come back as well as Patrica Potter

GWD: Why do you think westerns have seen such an ebb and flow over the years?

SYBIL: I think it is totally about glitz and glam. People think west and think of the work, sweat, work, bawdy women, work and go ewwwww I want that pretty, pretty, pretty Regency book. Waltz me baby, which is all well and good, but people tend to forget a lot of the Regency history in those books are painted with the same romance brush as westerns.

Personally I don’t ‘put myself’ into the shoes of the heroine. I don’t want to fall in love with the hero as much as I want to fall in love with the love story. And some of my themes lend themselves so well to westerns – Second Chance stories, Road Romances, ‘Cabin Romances.’ People also forget America had a lot of money and glam in the East, so some of those ‘westerns’ can give them both things. They even have virgins in the west… honest.

Ramblin’ Kristie J:

GWD: What was the first western romance you ever read?

KRISTIE: I’ve been reading Westerns for years, so I can’t remember exactly which one it was – but I have a feeling I was at a UBS looking for Rexanne Becnel and forgot her name and ended up getting a Rosanne Bittner instead. I can’t remember what book it was – but it blew me away and I was hooked from then on.

GWD: Do you have a favorite western romance author?

KRISTIE: Well, Rosanne Bittner *g*. Also Patricia Potter, Cheryl St. John, Lorraine Heath (Westerns only). Those are the ones who first come to mind.

GWD: How about a favorite western hero? Heroine?

KRISTIE: Hero – there are too many to choose from!! Heroines one of my favorites is Miranda Hayes from Outlaw Hearts by Rosanne Bittner.

GWD: When reading, what do you look for in the perfect cowboy?

KRISTIE: I always love a hero who is wrecked for the heroine – in any genre. I also love the tortured hero. Lobo from Patricia Potter is one who fits both those bills.

GWD: And the perfect cowgirl to go with that cowboy?

KRISTIE: As for cowgirls – one who is strong, who doesn’t rely on the hero to bail her out. One who wears dresses for the most part, although I did just finish Stacey Kayne’s latest, Mountain Wild, and she was a trapper yet I really liked her. I think it was because she was forced into her circumstances rather than choosing it. [Ed. See, Sybs, not so hard!]

GWD: How do you know when you’re reading a bad western romance? Are they any signs?

KRISTIE: I started reading one not long ago and the author put in “Western” speak!! It was awful – even worse than Scottish speak. I couldn’t get past the first chapter. It may have been a good story, but I’ll never know. Wooden stereotypes are also annoying.

GWD: What’s the one thing that will really turn off when reading a western romance?

KRISTIE: Bad writing, bad writing, bad writing. As much as I love Westerns, a poorly written book will turn me off.

GWD: Is there one Western that stands out above all others?

KRISTIE: Outlaw Hearts by Rosanne Bittner. If someone asked for my choice for one that embodies most of what I love about the genre, this is my number one pick.

GWD: Who is the Western Author who no longer writes them that you miss the most?

KRISTIE: Lorraine Heath – without question. Her Westerns had a poignancy – every single one – and I don’t think she has captured that as well in her English historicals.

GWD: Why do you think westerns have seen such an ebb and flow over the years?

KRISTIE: I think all genres have an ebb and flow but the Western more so then most. I don’t think a lot of readers have tried them, so they don’t know what they are missing. I think a number of readers who have tried them just haven’t read the right one for them. And I think some readers like being carried away by the fantasy of England. But if they read the right one – and see what a good Western can offer – I think they can be swayed. There are a lot of genres I thought I’d never try and yet when I read that one book, I was converted. And I think there are quite a fan of Westerns who have kind of ‘forgotten’ about them. We are really hoping to reach all those groups with this Drive.

Wendy, the SuperLibrarian:

GWD: What was the first western romance you ever read?

WENDY: Nevada Nights by Ruth Ryan Langan, a 1980s-tastic western romance that I read when I was around 14 years old and the first book I read that had gasp s-e-x in it. This book features some of my favorite old-skool tropes. Convent-raised heroine? Check. Mysterious gunslinger named Colt? Check. Soap opera style plot featuring heroine’s odious long-lost family? Check. I wouldn’t recommend this book to readers today, but, dang, as a doe-eyed teen I flipping loved every single word.

GWD: Do you have a favorite western romance author?

WENDY: Hands down Maggie Osborne. She wrote fantastic heroines and never took the easy way out in her stories.

GWD: How about a favorite western hero? Heroine?

WENDY: This is tough. I have a huge soft spot for Beta heroes, so probably Dillon Hennessey from The Horseman by Jillian Hart. Although I also have a soft spot for younger heroes who feel like they have to ‘prove themselves’ – so on that front I think Austin Leigh from Texas Splendor by Lorraine Heath wins.

GWD: When reading, what do you look for in the perfect cowboy?

WENDY: I’m looking for a hero with a strong moral code. Heroes that, while they might have terrible reputations, will ultimately do what’s right.

GWD: And the perfect cowgirl to go with that cowboy?

WENDY: Generally speaking, I like heroines with gumption. They don’t have to kick ass and rescue themselves necessarily, but I also want them to do more than sit in the corner, ring their hands and cry. A lot of western heroines start out their romances literally up against a wall (and no, not in a good way!) and I like reading about a woman who isn’t going to simply roll over and die or pray for a hero to come along and rescue her.

GWD: How do you know when you’re reading a bad western romance? Are they any signs?

WENDY: There’s a long-lost gold mine in the plot. Seriously. Every terrible western I’ve read tends to feature a long-lost gold mine. Also, there’s a bathing scene. Hero and/or heroine spies the other one taking a bath in a stream, pond, lake, whatever and they get all tingly. Sort of like spies in Regency historicals, the bathing scene has been done to death in westerns and it needs to be taken out behind the barn and shot.

GWD: What’s the one thing that will really turn you off when reading a western romance?

WENDY: Too-stupid-to-live heroines who aren’t dead yet. Look, living in the west was hard. There weren’t a lot of comforts, and for that matter, there wasn’t a whole lot of structured law. When I read about a heroine doing something stupid in a western, I think to myself, “How is she not dead yet?”

GWD: How do you know when you’re reading a good Western?

WENDY: Westerns aren’t all that different from other romance subgenres. I’m looking for what I call the Emotional Gut Punch Moment. That moment when the author takes all the emotion, heartbreak, angst, etc., rolls it up and smacks the reader over the head with it. Every book in my keeper stash has such a moment. That moment where the author literally rips my heart out, resurrects it, and stuffs it back into my chest cavity.

GWD: Is there one Western that stands out above all others?

WENDY: This is tough because I’ve read so many great westerns over the years. I would say Lorraine Heath’s Texas/Leigh brother trilogy, mostly because it’s one of the few times in my life I’ve ever read a series back-to-back-to-back. Also, A Reason To Live by Maureen McKade, just for the sheer emotional intensity of that story. That story knocked me out.

GWD: Who is the Western Author who no longer writes them that you miss the most?

WENDY: Definitely Maggie Osborne, who retired after her last book in 2004. I really admire many of her books and, frankly, I think the romance genre desperately needs more writers like her.

Of authors who are still publishing but have left the west? Probably a toss up between Lorraine Heath and Nicole Jordan.

GWD: Why do you think westerns have seen such an ebb and flow over the years?

WENDY: Demographics have changed. The baby boomers literally grew up on westerns, in books, films, and TV. You couldn’t turn on a TV in the 1960s without tripping over a cowboy. But as time has advanced, publishers (like every other industry) is desperate to court that 18-49 year old demographic, and frankly? Those readers (of which I’m one) didn’t necessarily grow up on westerns. Also, publishers want to make money – so they’ll hop on The Next Big Thing, whatever that is, when it starts to sell. Hey, the western romance was king at one point, but like everything, it couldn’t last forever. Readers got burnt out. They got tired of slogging through crap to get to the gems. So they went looking for something “new.” I think readers will come back to the western, especially those readers hungry for real emotional stories. It’s just going to take publishers willing to take the “risk” and talented authors churning out quality stories.

GWD: And there you have it, Western fans, the be-all, end-all last word of the biggest fans in blogdom about reading those famed Western romances. You ready to gnaw on some bones with these gals?

Welcome back to Duck Chat!

Today we’re talking to Bonnie Vanak, who is a very busy lady. As I put the finishing touches on her interview, she’s on her way to Haiti. Wow, what a way to spend a week!  Right?  That’s what I thought too. But it’s definitely not so.  Read on and you’ll find out why writing romance is a balm to her soul.

Bonnie lives with her family in sunny Florida. Well, at least it’s sunny when the hurricanes decide to hurtle in a different direction anyway. She has a journalism degree and worked as s journalist for a few years before she began writing for a large international charity.  After traveling to Nicaragua, Haiti and other poor countries, it was writing romance that helps her recover after encountering such horrific suffering.

Her first book was the beginning of her Egyptian novels, The Falcon and the Dove in 2001, followed by The Tiger and the Tomb in 2003, The Cobra and the Concubine in 2005, The Panther and the Pyramid in 2006, The Sword and the Sheath in 2007, and The Scorpion and the Seducer in 2008, and in April 2009 will be The Lady and the Libertine.  She’s also written several Silhouette Nocturnes that feature her Draicon shape-shifting wolves, The Empath, Enemy Lover, and Broken Souls, a Nocturne Bite, in the Midnight Cravings anthology. When in the world did she have time to sit down to talk with us?  Thank goodness she found a few spare minutes.

Bonnie will be in and out of the Pond today, so if you have questions or comments, let her know.  Now let’s chat!

Duck Chat:  You’re so busy writing both your Egyptian historicals for Dorchester and your werewolf books for Silhouette Nocturne! Do you have a set schedule you adhere to for writing each genre or do you just write one book until it’s done before going on to the next? Or something else?

Bonnie Vanak:  I usually have a schedule because I must space apart my deadlines due to the day job. But sometimes I’ll have something unexpected (a nice surprise!) to write, like with Unwrapped, the novella for Holiday with a Vampire III.

DC:  If you could retire any question and never, ever have it asked again, what would it be? Feel free to answer it.

BV:  Why do you write porn for women?

Honestly, someone asked that recently. I do get tired of the whole “romance is trash” attitude, always from those who never read romance or my books. I’ll share a story about this. A few years ago, I was in Haiti for the day job. After we finished work, I was in the hotel lobby reading Pamela Clare’s Ride the Fire while waiting for my co-workers so we could go to dinner. Great book. I’m chilling.

And along comes the newbie, the newest member of my department. We start talking, and he discovers that I write romance novels. The newbie looks at me and says, “Oh, those books are read by desperate women.”

The other co-worker joins us. This guy, who thinks it’s great that I write romance, tosses out some impressive stats about the industry that he heard on NPR, such as how Nora Roberts outsells the leading MALE fiction writer. Then I launch into the reason why I write the books. To balance my life after seeing the hunger and suffering in places like Haiti, because my romance novels always have happy endings.

The newbie wants to know if I write sex scenes. I tell him yes. Then he gets this goofy look and says, “Oh, and you use words like thrust. Romance novels are like PENTHOUSE.”

I ignore that and give an impressive little talk, woven in with stats about what percentage of American women buy romance novels, what kind of market share in publishing romance garners… how the books are character driven and the books are love stories about relationships, etc, etc.

When I finish, he says, “So it’s all about the thrust.” He pumps his fist forward. Some days, I just regret wasting my breath.

DC:  Your seventh historical is The Lady and the Libertine which is due out in April. Would you tell us a little about it?

In this book, a displaced English earl seduces a virginal beauty in order to steal the pharaoh’s treasure she guards in Egypt. I pitted Nigel, a thief, liar, and libertine, who was cheated out of his birthright as earl, against Anne/Karida, who has sworn to be upright and moral. Karida was born in England and taken to live with my Khamsin warriors of the wind in Egypt. They entrusted her with a ruby that unlocks the key to a fabulous treasure buried in the sands.

Nigel was fascinating to write and may be one of my favorite heroes because he’s so complex. He does the wrong things for the right reasons. He’s very naughty, and just when you think he’ll change, he turns around and does something wicked again.

I loosely based the pharaoh’s treasure tomb on the Valley of the Golden Mummies in the Bahariya Oasis, four tombs of about 105 mummies excavated by Dr. Zahi Hawass.

DC:  I’ve heard writers often say their stories take them in surprising directions, or dialogue flows from some unknown place. Is it the same with you? Do your characters surprise you sometimes?

BV:  Definitely. A good example of that are the gremlins in Unwrapped. They literally popped out of nowhere. I had this image of little grinning, green guys dressed like Santa singing off-key Christmas carols and waking up Adrian, the vampire hero. I set them loose in the story, and they provided good comic relief to the darkness. One of my favorite scenes with them is where the gremlins are using the heroine’s bra to launch coconuts at a dummy for “target practice.”

DC:  Do you ever argue with your characters while you’re writing?

BV:  Yes, but they usually win.

DC:  You’ve got several of your Draicon werewolf stories coming out over the next year. Broken Souls is a Nocturne Bite being also being released in April. Please tell us about that and then what’s in store for us next year in the series.

Broken Souls is a Bite that will be released in the anthology Midnight Cravings in April. It features Baylor and Katia from The Empath. Here’s the synopsis:

She was forbidden by the Draicon to cast the blood-to-blood spell. But Katia was determined to find her father, and the spell was her only option. The Draicon had taken her into their pack when her own family had been destroyed by the Morphs. But Katia had never given up hope that her father was still alive, and refused to mate for life with her beloved Baylor until she found him. Now Baylor had given her an ultimatum, and Katia was forced to take drastic measures.
But when Katia’s spell summoned a Morph claiming to be her father, nothing Baylor said could convince her of the danger. Baylor knew too well the cost of trusting a loved one who’d turned, and desperately wanted to save Katia the pain he’d lived with for so long. He also knew that if he spared the Morph, it would destroy Katia, but if he killed this evil being, he risked losing her love forever.

Immortal Wolf is Raphael’s story. The Draicon’s executioner is sent to ritually sacrifice Emily, a female Draicon who can kill with a single touch, but discovers she is his destined mate. That Nocturne is out this October.

Unwrapped will be a story in Holiday with a Vampire III this December and features a vampire who’s given a doll by gremlin carolers as a gift, a doll that shifts into a female Draicon he secretly loves.

And next up is another Bite, Gabriel’s story, which I’m temporarily calling The Shadow Wolf and which I still have to write!

DC:  What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?

BV:  The day job, lol. I work as a writer for a large international charity, travel to impoverished countries like Haiti to get stories of poor people who need help, and then write fund-raising appeals to help them. [Ed. Bonnie just returned from Haiti and has posted her thoughs and some pics at her blog.  Do check it out.]

DC:  How do you feel your male or female characters have evolved over your career? Do you think you write them differently now than you did when you started?

BV:  I have noticed my writing has gotten considerably darker, more intense and emotional. That’s why I love writing the Nocturnes, which are dark paranormals. Raphael in Immortal Wolf is very dark, immortal, and the Draicon’s executioner. I also wanted him to be sexy, like a dark angel, so he’s a Harley-riding Cajun who has an earring and long hair. And he’s a lethal fighter as well.

With the Dorchester historicals, I’ve relished the freedom I had to experiment. That’s a huge asset to a writer’s creativity. My editor always let me write what I wanted, so I could have a hero who was sexually abused as a child (Graham in The Panther & the Pyramid) or a dark-skinned heroine who was subjected to racial bigotry (Jasmine in The Scorpion and the Seducer) or even an English earl who is a thief, liar, and seducer who has a ménage à trois in the fourth chapter (Nigel in The Lady and the Libertine).

DC:  Is there a genre you haven’t tackled but would like to try?

BV:  I always try to put a little mystery, and a twist, in my stories, and I’d like to try writing RS.

DC:  Is there a current work in progress you can give us sneak peek on?

BV:  Actually, I just got off deadline and I’m taking a very short break, but I can give you a glimpse of Immortal Wolf, Raphael’s story, which will be out this fall. Raphael is the Kallan, the only Draicon who can take life away without consequence. He is the Destroyer, who not only swiftly delivers a merciful death with his sacred Scian, his gold sword, but prepares the soul for the journey to the Other Realm. Emily, his “transition,” is believed to kill everyone she touches with her bare hands. Raphael is to ritually sacrifice Emily to prevent the spread of her curse to the entire Draicon race.

Excerpt from Immortal Wolf:

He was the Destroyer, the bringer of death.
Minutes later, he parked the bike in front of the Full Moon bar. Music poured down the street in an acoustic tidal wave; soft, cool jazz and hard, pounding rock. A few women lounging on the sidewalk and sipping hurricanes gave him the twice over. Wind teased the pure white streak of hair at his temple, played with the gold dagger earring dangling from his left ear.
A collective female sigh, soft as a Mississippi River breeze, drifted toward him. He angled his famous half smile at the staring threesome. “Evening ladies,” he drawled.
Three in one night. Nothing new. Hard, fast female company, the bliss of quick, anonymous sex and the energy it brought pushed back the loneliness a little. The tallest had a lush figure, with enough flesh on all the right places he loved to caress. He adored females. Even human women who were too frail to absorb the rough sex Draicon males sometimes relished.
But sex with anonymous strangers never touched the empty space inside him. Raphael gave the women a charming smile and walked away. Behind him, their murmurs of disappointment buzzed like mosquitoes in the bayou.
He headed toward the scratched wood bar and a last mug of beer before his ritual purification necessary to committing trasna. Male and female Draicon nursing drinks stared. “That’s him,” he heard one female whisper. “The Kallan. They say he was appointed because he killed 80 Morphs in one day when they were about to slay a pack in California.”
Sometimes the story boasted over 100 Morphs, and the pack of Draicon were from New England. It mattered not, for the legend shadowing him was far bigger than reality.
Too often he felt as if he were dancing atop a paper pedestal erected by his people. When would he fall off because his blood wasn’t pure enough? Only his family treated him normally.
He snorted. Normal? He was immortal. Normal wasn’t part of the package.
He had never dispatched a female before. Raphael hoped he’d have the strength and emotional detachment to execute the cursed Draicon. It could be worse, he thought grimly. She could be someone I know, even love.
Two of his brothers shouted a hearty hello. He was crossing the distance between them when a voice spoke in his head.
“Amant? Are you there?”
The whisper made him halt. It was her, the one he revered above all others. Raphael held up a hand in greeting to his brothers. He retreated to a solitary table.
“Erin. I’m here.” He reassured her.
Her voice sounded shaky, as if she tried disguising her fear. But something deeply worried her.
“I thought I’d lost you. You haven’t spoken to me since yesterday.”
“Hush, little one,” he soothed. “I’m right here, as I have been. What troubles you, chere?”
“I just missed you, that’s all.”
“I missed you too,” he admitted, pulling out a chair and propping one booted foot upon it.
One month ago, he had been preparing crayfish for the family barbecue when he’d heard her telepathically. His draicara, his destined mate, seeking him out. Raphael had gone still at the sweet purity of her voice, the low melodic tones. He felt bathed in serenity and yet sharpened by sexual need.
It was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced, and yet she’d spoken but one sentence.
Since then, they’d talked nearly each day. He wisely did not press her, and allowed her to seek him out. He’d given her the nickname bestowed on him by his brothers. Amant, the French word for lover. He didn’t want to frighten her or have her overcome with awe at the legendary Raphael, the most feared and respected Draicon.
“Where are you now? What are you doing?” Erin asked.
“In a bar. Talking to you.”
“Oh. There must be many pretty women there.”
He heard the uncertainty and sadness. Raphael spotted his older brother Gabriel flirting with a blonde woman in a low cut dress. “No, just a few big, hairy males.”
“Hairy males. And it’s not even a full moon.”
Her dry joke made him laugh aloud. He leaned forward, placing both feet on the floor. “What’s wrong, Erin? You sound sad. Are you alone?”
A tiny sigh went through him like an arrow. “Where I am, I am always alone.”
Where was her pack? Her alpha?
“I must go. It isn’t safe here. I have to go to someplace safe.”
He picked up her anxiety, like little hairs brushing against the nape of his neck. Raphael frowned, wishing he could see her. “Your people, are they near? Do you feel threatened?”
“It’s just some males from my pack walking nearby. I can’t let them see me.”
His hackles rose at the suggestion of someone daring to touch his draicara. Automatically, he flexed his muscles, his protective instincts rising. “If they try anything with you, they will pay.”
“Don’t worry. They won’t come near me.”
“They’d better not. You’re mine and mine alone.” He couldn’t help rumbling.
She gave a light laugh, as sweet and airy as a songbird. “I can take care of myself. Trust me. I have for a while now.”
“It’s my job to take care of you.”
Her voice deepened. “You’re so good to me, even if you aren’t here. I cherish our times together these past weeks. When can I see you?”
Raphael blocked away thoughts of the task awaiting him. “Soon. I have an assignment, then I will come to you.”
“Promise?” Despair punctuated her voice. Troubled, he sent her waves of reassurance, soothing images of forest and glen, the deep quiet of the green woods. He felt her tension ease.
“How I wish you could kiss me now. Kiss me and tell me all is well.”
Her admission sent waves of erotic heat through him. He would kiss her, inch by sweet inch. His body tightened with need. He wondered what she looked like and wished she would allow him to see her reflection in a mirror.
“I am eager for us to meet. I can’t wait to touch you,” he admitted in a husky, sensual whisper.
“No!”
Her distress screamed in his mind. Raphael frowned and speculated. Even if she were a virgin and scared of her first time, such fear wasn’t normal.
“Has someone hurt you?” He didn’t mean to make his voice so sharp, and softened his tone. “Tell me, so I may help you, chere.”
“I will be fine.” Her wistfulness gave his heart a twist.
“Let me help you. I’m your dracairon. It’s my duty to care for you, and see to all your needs, be they large or small.”
“You sound as if I’m an invalid who needs assistance getting out of bed.” came the tart reply.
Raphael gave a small, amused laugh. It might come to that. He blocked the thought from her of the sexy image of Erin lying languid and flushed in bed, dazed by the pleasure he’d given her. “Of course not. But I am your mate, and it grieves me to know you are in such distress. Tell me what you need.”
“You.” She went silent a few heartbeats and added, “Do you want me?”
Her deep, sultry voice sent lust spiraling through him. Raphael gripped the chair’s armrests. Want her? “You have no idea how badly I want you.” Mentally he sent her an image of an enormous bed, two bodies tangled together between rumbled silk sheets. “All that and much more,” he said softly.
“Oh! Oh. I didn’t realize, I’ve never… um…”
Silent delight filled him at her charming, blushing innocence. “Don’t worry, chere. It’s your first time, and I will be gentle. You have nothing to fear from me.”
“I’m not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you.”
Satisfaction poured through him. He would cherish her, and be mindful of her innocence at their first joining.
“I wish I could touch you.”
The absolute sorrow in her voice gave him pause. His heart twisted. “Soon,” he promised.

DC:  What advice would you give to your younger self?

BV:  I’d tell her, “Sweetie, disco is dead. Get over it already.” LOL!

DC:  If you had never become an author, what do you think you would be doing right now?

BV:  Time traveling back to the 19th century. I wish! Sometimes I think I’m an anachronist at heart. I love history, and that’s why I started writing the Victorian-era Egyptian historicals. Then again, I’d hate wearing a corset and couldn’t live without modern plumbing or Advil.

Lightning Round:

- dark or milk chocolate? Milk chocolate, mmmmm
- smooth or chunky peanut butter? Smooth! (I’m getting hungry now)
- heels or flats? Flats
- coffee or tea? Coffee. Actually amaretto espresso from Nicaragua, yum, I get some each time I travel there
- summer or winter? Since I live in Florida, I like winter and the cooler temperatures and the fact I don’t have to fret over hurricane season
- mountains or beach? Mountains!
- mustard or mayonnaise? I’m a mayo girl
- flowers or candy? Red or pink roses
- pockets or purse? Purse. I have a collection from my travels
- Pepsi or Coke? Diet coke
- print or ebook? Print, only because I’m on a computer day and night, so my eyes get very tired of looking at a screen

Some more fun stuff:

What is your favorite word? Onomatopoeia. I love the sound of it.
[Ed. Okay, had to look that one up, Bonnie! Here’s the pronunciation: on-uh-mah-tuh-pee-uh and then the definition: the formation of a word, as cuckoo or boom, by imitation of a sound made by or associated with its referent.]

What is your least favorite word? Cancer

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Free-thinking, independent, upbeat people who dare to reach for their dreams, who look beyond the ordinary and accept that we are all different and respect those differences.

What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Closed-minded, pessimistic people who disdain those who don’t think as they do and think only they are right.

What sound or noise do you love? A Baltimore Oriole (the bird, not the baseball team) breaking the hushed silence of a deep forest

What sound or noise do you hate? The alarm clock on Monday morning

What is your favorite curse word? &#*@#&@*&#. LOL!

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? If I were better at science, and had a stronger stomach, I’d love to be a forensic anthropologist.

What profession would you not like to do? Accounting.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

I hope He says, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”
I hope He doesn’t say, “You were supposed to take the down escalator.”

No, that’s not a typo. I’m unique. And the rogue duckie – so instead of making my own “Best of 2008″ list… I’m going for the new year. These are the 10 books I’m most looking forward to in 2009. (You’ll notice some books don’t even have cover art yet.) 

N.B. I’d like to issue the caveat that… this is only based on books/lists that I could find. I’d also like to note that… just because I’m excited about it, doesn’t mean its a guarantee I’ll like it. (Color me picky.)

I also haven’t been reading romances that long, and it seems my tastes/author choices differ from a number of people. But that’s ok, because this is my list and I’m sticking to it.

In no particular order…

	1. What I Did For Love by Susan Elizabeth Phillips (Contemporary romance, Wm.Morrow, 27 Jan 09).  Case in point – I’m not 100% sure how I feel about Ms. Phillips’s last few novels. But I bought them – in hardcover. The premise for What I Did For Love sounds interesting, but hasn’t gripped me. (Then again – I wouldn’t have thought I’d *love* Nobody’s Baby But Mine, based on the plot summary.) So we shall see. But still. It’s Susan Elizabeth Phillips – and she’s one of my favorite authors.
	2. Smooth Talking Stranger by Lisa Kleypas (Contemporary romance, St. Martin’s, 31 Mar 09). She’s one of my favorite authors – and… don’t kill me, but Seduce Me at Sunrise and Blue-Eyed Devil were good reads, but not AMAZING. I’m already more excited about Smooth Talking Stranger based on the blurbs. Ms. Kleypas is also one of the few authors that can make me enjoy first person point of view. (Cuz FPPV and I? We are not friends.) But the Travis’s! And… even though it’s a secret baby book, which makes me chuckle, I WANTS it.
	3. Kiss of a Demon King by Kresley Cole (Contemporary paranormal romance, Pocket, nodate Jan 09). I discovered Ms. Cole relatively early in 2008, not too long before I started reviewing, and I think she has the one series I’ve reviewed in total (thus far). And, the hero, Rydstrom, has horns. Horns! I never thought I’d be into horns, but… Ms. Cole has won me over. I love her kick ass heroines who *actually* kick butt -and they’re super hot to boot. And the heroes. Yum. This is a great paranormal world. Fun, scary, violent, full of lore- but one that doesn’t take itself too seriously. My kind of books.
	4. Naked Edge by Pamela Clare (Contemporary romantic suspense, Berkley, 3 Nov 09). I heard about Ms. Clare, and first read Extreme Exposure, which is probably one of my favorite books. Extreme Exposure is extremely well written, great plot, and the hero is one of my favorite types. A good politician. More rare than… well something you’d think is outrageous but I’m sure is in a number of paranormals. Thus, Extreme Exposure (and the subsequent books by Ms. Clare I’ve read, have prompted me to put Naked Edge on my list). I have been waiting for this new I-Team book – and… I don’t know. The heroine Kat is Native American. I think that’s pretty nifty. (Major understatement.)
	5. Branded by Fire by Nalini Singh (Paranormal romance, Berkley, 7 Jul 09). I discovered Ms. Singh early on in ’08, and read all her Psy/Changeling books – in proper Psy/Changeling chronological order, even – serendipitously. Ms. Singh’s book world is intense, and amazing. It’s so well developed you believe it’s real. Scary. (But oh so cool!) Thus, this book edged out Angels’ Blood. (That and the blurb talks about lots of violence and I’m kinda squeamish about teh violences.) AND more importantly, when I read the excerpt for this book my reaction was pretty much “SQUEE SQUEE SQUEE!”
	6. True Love and Other Disasters by Rachel Gibson (Contemporary romance, Avon, 28 Apr 09). Yes, another one of my favorite authors. And a book back to/dealing with Hockey. I read See Jane Score  – and I was hooked. I was even willing to get into hockey. (SEP‘s Chicago Stars, along with college, were what got me into football. And if you click around in my posts, you’ll see I can be a football nut. Especially College.) Although… I will say I DO NOT like all the Flash stuff on Ms. Gibson’s web page. Yay for her designer and all – but it takes forever and I can’t get to the information I want. Does not like! The book, however… *happy sigh*
	7. Deeper by Megan Hart (Contemporary erotic romance, Spice, nodate Jul 09). I love the title. I love the cover. I really like Megan Hart’s writing. There’s something about it. Like crack. It also often depresses the hell out of me – which I hate – but I love her books. They’re so raw, yet well written. And this book blurb. *shivers* I’m going to smack myself if the ending isn’t relatively happy. (I know not to expect bubblegum yay.)
	8. What Happens in London by Julia Quinn (Historical romance, Avon, 30 Jun 09). Yet another author that goes on my “best of” lists – and… while others didn’t like it as much, I adored The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever, and I hope to like the sequel just as much. (Especially if, you know, it is its own book.) So joy for another book more like The Secret Diaries!
	9. Written On Your Skin by Meredith Duran (Historical romance, Pocket, 28 Jul 09). This one looks more interesting than Bound by Your Touch – although I’m a little skeptical about some of the settings. Though I expect if anyone can win me over to parts written in Hong Kong, it is Ms. Duran. I hope not to be disappointed. This book also makes the list because had I done an ’08 list, Ms. Duran would have made it with her debut novel Duke of Shadows.
	10. Hard and Fast by Erin McCarthy (Contemporary romance, Berkley Trade, 5 May 09). First, it’s Ms. McCarthy. Second, it’s Ms. McCarthy writing a contemporary novel. Third, the heroine’s name is Imogen. I really like a number of Imogen Heap’s songs – so I have a major positive association with her. And – Ms. McCarthy may even win me over to NASCAR. At least in fiction. I read the excerpt, and I am in love. I love it. I want this book. I don’t even want to see when this book comes out (May 09) – because I don’t want to wait.

—

Honorable Mentions/if I squint just right are included/still within the number 10…

	10a. Tasting Fear by Shannon McKenna (Contemporary erotic romance, Brava, 28 Jul 09). Okay, so I have to admit, I know nothing about this book. I think it’s Kevin McCloud’s book – and how exciting will it be for a McCloud book to actually star a McCloud? (See? I can good naturedly mock my favorite authors/self.) I also know that Ms. McKenna is one of my favorite authors, and she is one of the few authors I will venture into adventure/suspense for. (And once I buy Ultimate Weapon, Ms. McKenna might have the sole and honorable distinction of being the only author whose entire back list is in my possession and my property…)
	10b. Relentless by Lauren Dane (Sci-fi romance, Berkley Trade, 5 ay 09). I don’t read scifi/fantasy or futuristic novels. I haven’t read scifi/fantasy since middle school. I’ve never particularly enjoyed futuristic novels. BUT! But! I read Undercover, and I loved it. I can see why Undercover took Ms. Dane to the bestseller’s list – and if you haven’t read it – you should. I enjoyed Undercover so much I had to pace myself, and used it as a way to treat myself. And Ms. Dane’s writing (in my humble opinion) only gets better.
	10c. This Duchess of Mine (Historical romance, Avon, 26 May 09) and…10d. A Duke of Her Own by Eloisa James (Historical romance, Avon, 30 Jun 09). I, being the lowly peon I am, do not know what these books are about (other than This Duchess of Mine is Jemma’s book). I have been waiting for Villier’s book, so hopefully he’s healed at some point in the near future. And you know, I love Ms. James’s books. I read Duchess in Love and fell in love. There’s been no turning back since.

—

11. The book I don’t know about by the new author (whoknows, someone, date TBD). I know a lot of people will say that’s a cop out, so that’s why I listed 10 books, then have this one. I mean, I’m sure there are books I don’t know about – and/or what about that one newbie author that writes an amazing book?

The End. Seriously.

Out of all the books coming out in 09 (that I know about – and I found some lists of hundred of books.) These – *these* I want. I will do much to get my hands on these books. What did Scarlet O’Hara say? “Lie, cheat, kill or steal” right? Well… take out the third… and you’ve pretty much got me

Sandy M’s review of Untamed (MacKinnon’s Rangers, Book 2) by Pamela Clare
Historical Romance released by Leisure Books 25 Nov 08

I’ve waited so long for this book.  It’s just a few months shy of three years since the first book in this trilogy, Surrender, was released, and then the fate of the next stories was uncertain for quite a while.  I was overjoyed when I received the ARC of Untamed, reliving first the fervor we all experienced back when Surrender and the MacKinnon brothers won so many fans’ hearts and then anticipating another exciting and romantic love story by Ms. Clare.  I am happy to say she’s given us that and more in this new MacKinnon adventure.

When a British officer by chance spies the MacKinnons fighting men off when rescuing a woman in distress, he presses them into service for the Crown by extortion — serve or hang.  It’s been four years and the Seven Years’ War is still rampaging, the MacKinnon Rangers’ reputation of cunning and success is heralded throughout the country, both good and bad.  Their luck has just hit a snag and Morgan MacKinnon, severely wounded, is captured by the French.  He prefers to die of his injuries instead of being tortured for information and then turned over to the Abenaki tribe where a slow death is guaranteed.

When Morgan doesn’t die, however, the one thing keeping him sane is his angel, Amalie, the French maid who nursed him back to health.  With her unknowing help, Morgan eventually receives the one chance he needs to finally escape, but leaving Amalie behind is harder than he’d ever imagined.  However, it’s something he must do, no matter how difficult, and choosing between the woman he’s coming to love and his brothers’ lives is the most difficult decision he’s ever had to make.

When his escape plans go awry and Amalie is forced to make an unexpected journey to the Abenaki with him, this book really takes off.  Action and adventure leap and bound through the pages and the emotions of these characters either break your heart or make it soar depending on the circumstances, especially concerning Amalie as she learns Morgan and his men are not the evil soldiers she’s always heard about and as she realizes day to day how much she’s come to love her Ranger .

Iain and Annie from Surrender make a few appearances so we can get caught up with their lives.  Connor, the youngest MacKinnon, is also present quite bit.  I so enjoyed the relationship of these three brothers.  Having grown up on the frontier, they’re as tough and resilient as can be, but they’re family, blood, so they stick together, believe in each other no matter what.  The other MacKinnon Rangers are delightful and loads of fun.  Their scene when meeting Amalie is quite lovely.  I also enjoyed the dichotomy between the French and British soldiers, which is not much for the enlisted men, but the superiors are a very different story, as Morgan learns the hard way.

The love scenes are sweet and sometimes frantic.  I loved Morgan’s sensitivity to Amalie’s plight in the beginning of the book and how he handles making love to her, but later his all-consuming passion is equally enjoyable.  Ms. Clare has a way of making at least one love scene unique and unforgettable, both books have one, both sensuous, sexy, romantic, and all MacKinnon.

I sincerely hope we don’t have to wait nearly as long for Connor’s book as we did for this one.  Though I will wait if I have to.  Ms. Clare’s writing and storytelling are simply beautiful, her characters are raw and passionate, and they’re definitely worth the wait.

Grade: A+

Summary:

Though forced to fight for the hated British, Morgan MacKinnon would no more betray the men he leads than slit his own throat—not even when he was captured by the French and threatened with an agonizing death by fire at the hands of their Abenaki allies. Only the look of innocent longing in the eyes of a convent-bred French lass could make him question his vow to escape and return to the Rangers. And soon the sweet passion he awoke in Amalie had him cursing the war that forced him to choose between upholding his honor and pledging himself to the woman he loves.

Read an excerpt.

Other books in this series:

Gwen’s review of Carnal Gift (Blakewell/Kenleigh Family Trilogy, Book 2) by Pamela Clare
Historical romance released by Leisure 1 Mar 04, trilogy reissued 28 Oct 08

If you read my review of Clare’s romantic suspense, Unlawful Contact, you already know I like this author.  However, I had not read any of her historicals.  I rectified that over the holiday last week and loved every page of it.  Read on for what I found so fun in this amazing storyteller’s work…   

Clare constructs very complex scenes.  You can smell, taste, and see the environments her characters inhabit.  The detail of the worlds she builds is rich and remains consistently so throughout a work.  Carnal Gift is chockablock full of this detail and it’s an escape the likes of which you don’t always get in a romance novel but you always want.

Bríghid and Jamie meet under rather unfortunate circumstances.  As with many historicals set in this place/time (18th century Ireland), the English are largely represented by a cruel aristo.  Only, this earl has reasons for being the way he is (you find out why at the end).  It puts a different slant on the whole circumstance that is just a sad, but you still hate his guts.  That’s okay – he’s the bad guy and hating is what we should be doing.

However, as a result of the the aristocrat’s machinations, Jamie and Bríghid are forced into a rather torturous odyssey aimed at keeping her and her loved ones alive and one step ahead of a hangman’s noose.  All this strife serves to cement J and B together even more (contrary to the aforementioned machinations), once the initial mistrust is overcome, that is.  The mistrust and misunderstandings last almost too long for my taste.  I should have had more confidence in Clare’s storytelling abilities, though, because she pulls our characters together before my interest waned.

I enjoyed this book, and while it’s part of a series, it reads fine on its own.  I highly recommend it to fans of Clare’s writing and fans of 18th century historical romances set in Ireland and England.

Grade: B+

Summary:

“I expect you to show my friend just how grateful you are. Your willingness is everything.”

With those harsh words, the hated Sasanach earl decided Bríghid’s fate. Her body and her virginity were to be offered up to a stranger in exchange for her brother’s life. Possessing nothing but her innocence and her fierce Irish pride, she had no choice but to comply. But the handsome man she faced in the darkened bedchamber was not at all the monster she expected. His green eyes seemed to see inside her. His tender touch calmed her fears while he swore he would protect her by only pretending to claim her. And as the long hours of the night passed by, as her senses ignited at the heat of their naked flesh, she made a startling discovery: Sometimes the line between hate and love can be dangerously thin.

Read an excerpt.

Other books in the series:

Limecello’s review of Extreme Exposure by Pamela Clare
Romantic Suspense released by Berkley 2 Aug 05

I think I’m lying to myself. I say I don’t like romantic suspense, and don’t read it… but some of my favorite authors are grouped into this category. That, and this is my favorite book I’ve read in a while. The story is great, the plot is interesting, characters well developed, there’s a lot of good things to say about this book.

The opening of the book really draws the reader in – it’s unexpected, funny, realistic, and rather outrageous. The heroine gets tipsy at a club, and says suggestive things to a state senator. This could be cliché, but isn’t, as the scenes serve to develop both the heroine, Kara McMillan, and the hero, Reece Sheridan. Kara’s out of character behavior provide humor, and gives Reece an in for future encounters. It also shows him to be the gentleman he is.

Kara is an intelligent, hard working woman – a single mom who manages to juggle investigative reporting and motherhood. I thought Kara was extremely real, and an enjoyable character. She has her flaws and doubts, but she’s an extremely strong woman who isn’t afraid to put herself in harm’s way for the sake of the truth, and her job. I know Ms. Clare is herself a reporter, which is nice because there were a lot of “inside” or “behind the scenes” scenes in the book, describing Kara at the office, and the inner workings of a newspaper. It gave Extreme Exposure that much more credibility.

For his part, Reece is almost unreal. He’s the ideal politician (and yes, I do mean to add the “l” at the end of that word). In fact, he might be the ideal man. Smart, caring, idealistic, driven, charming, and not only ready, but able to save the world. He’s someone you have to respect whether or not you like him, and like him I did. I also enjoyed that he knew he and Kara had something real from the start. It’s always nice to have a hero who actually wants to be in a committed relationship.

The story itself read like a headlining newspaper article, but better, because all the background was there, and the reader knew all the facts, and how the events played out from start to finish. Ms. Clare’s attention to detail, from the investigations, secondary characters and subsequent consequences are impressive, and weave a compelling story that draws the reader in. I found the content fascinating. I don’t know if it’s just something I personally enjoy anyway, but the glimpses of the State Congress were fun and lifelike.

Not only that, but the romance was there, it was well written, and strong. The reader follows Kara and Reece’s relationship from its inception. I like how there’s a give and take, and the fact that their interaction is believable. Their chemistry is hot and there are quite a few sexy scenes. The romance also kept the plot from being too heavy, and provided a nice counterbalance to the “running for their lives” aspects of the story.

I also appreciated that Ms. Clare didn’t use broad sweeping stereotypes. There were good and bad politicians, and so forth. The characters made mistakes, and said the wrong thing. However, there are a few minor issues I take with the book. First, there was a lobbyist, who had little redeeming qualities. While this may often be the case, there was no counterpart for her. Also, another character – the attorney. Some of it may be because of who he is – Galen Prentice is the father of Kara’s child, but he abandoned them. Still, when Ms. Clare had so many other things right (laws, statutes, codes, procedures, and so on) – the fact that she ignored the Rules of Professional Responsibility annoyed me a little. Near the climax of the book, I felt that Kara also got a bit melodramatic. Yes, it was a tense situation, but she just took it a tad too far.

However, those were all minor issues, and I very much enjoyed reading this book. I look forward to reading Ms. Clare’s other books, and am actually glad I didn’t “discover” until now because she has two more books out, Hard Evidence, and Unlawful Contact, so I don’t have to wait for new material. I can definitely recommend this book to any and all readers.

Grade: A

It’s been years since her child’s father dumped her, and since then investigative reporter Kara McMillan has kept men at bay—although every day she aches more for a lover’s touch. But to get that, the hard-boiled journalist must become vulnerable—a feeling she vowed never to have again.

With his dangerous good looks, charm, and power, Senator Reece Sheridan could have just about any woman he sets his piercing eyes on. But he’s intrigued by only one. This Kara, this gutsy investigative reporter, has a sensuality that arouses him to no end. If she’s a firebrand in print, he guesses, she must be just as fiery in bed…

But this is no fling. A sudden political scandal—and attempts on Kara’s life—could very well drive them apart. Or maybe, just maybe, adversity could draw them into a bond even more intense than their steamy sexual embraces…

Read an excerpt here.

Shannon C.’s review of Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare
Contemporary romantic suspense released by Berkley 1 Apr 08

We’ve been featuring this book a lot lately here on TGTBTU, with our own Gwen and Alicia giving the book A grades. Then, of course, Ms Clare has stopped by to give us all her real life prison experience. But I hesitated for a long time before deciding to read this book, because Romantic Suspense is one of those genres that I am really iffy about. It can either be really really good, with compelling characters who are caught in hopeless situations where you wonder how in the world they can possibly find a HEA, or it can be really really horrible, with dumb shrieky heroines paired with blandly tough cop types who always do stupid things like go back to their houses alone while a killer lies in wait.

Luckily for me, Unlawful Contact falls squarely into this former category. Reading it is a visceral experience. I was drawn in from the beginning, mesmerized by a tale of old love reunited, the experiences of a man condemned by the law and a woman who knows he is a danger to her but loves him anyway.

I won’t summarize the plot here, because other reviewers have done that already. I will say that the pacing is wonderful. Had it been possible, I would have stayed up all night reading and not regretted a moment of it, because the book is that good.

As I mentioned before, the two leads are compelling. I didn’t know if Ms Clare could make me like a guy who was sentenced to life in prison, but Marc has good reasons for doing the things that he does, and his tenderness and love for Sophie shine through right away. Sophie, herself, is a great character. She reacts in ways that feel true to life, and she is passionate about the people that she cares for. What I particularly liked about her was the fact that when she did things that weren’t very smart–buying condoms and birth control at one point when she is going into hiding with Marc–they weren’t catastrophically stupid, and when she realized her mistakes, Marc is there to reassure her that anyone else could have made them.

The villains in this book are my favorite kind—the kind of villains that honestly do pose a threat to our hero and heroine and have good reasons for doing so. I spotted the major villain early on, but that’s simply because it couldn’t really have been anyone else, and just because I realized who said villain was didn’t mitigate the fact that he was a real threat to the protagonists.

I also have to agree with Gwen. I very much liked the ending, which was both satisfying and realistic. I was afraid it would be neither. I am so glad I was wrong.

I didn’t realize this was part of a series [Ed.: Loosely related set of characters called the I-Team]. If the rest of the books in this series are this good, I will definitely have my faith in good romantic suspense restored.

Grade: A

     Taken hostage by a convicted murderer while reporting at a prison, Sophie Alton has no idea that the man holding the gun to her head is the bad boy who was her first love in high school. Condemned to life without parole, Marc Hunter finds himself with no choice but to break out of prison after his younger sister disappears with her baby.

Though he regrets what he has to put Sophie through, he can’t let anything get in the way of his stopping the corrupt officials who are set on destroying what’s left of his family. But being near Sophie rekindles memories for both of them. As the passion between them heats up, so does the conspiracy to put both of them in their graves.

You can read excerpts here, here, here, here and here.

Ok I am going to work toward getting all the nifty prizes logged today and we will start giving them out. Some of them will go to random comment in a post with these icons. WHAT icons?

SSE EXCERPT: Dear Santa by Karen Templeton

EXCERPT Part II: Thigh High: Thigh High by Bonnie Edwards

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: The Love Letter by Linda Broday

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: No Time for Love by Phyliss Miranda

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: A Shade of Sunrise by DeWanna Pace

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: Amarillo By Morning by Jodi Thomas

EXCERPT Part III: Thigh High: Twinkle Twinkle Little Thong by Bonnie Edwards

Excerpt from Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife by Michelle Styles
new historical release from Mills & Boone with a UK release in June 2008

Yours, Mine…or Ours is book two in Karen Templeton’s Guys & Daughters series (Dear Santa, Yours, Mine…or Ours? and Baby, I’m Yours)

Excerpt of Taken by the Viking by Michelle Styles, coming 1 May!!
Historical romance released by Harlequin 1 May 2008

Excerpt Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare aka the one to steam the screen

I am missing some and will add them tomorrow (I see Kresley Cole’s aren’t here). More excerpts to come from Lisa Kleypas, Jill Shalvis, Lynne Connolly, Stephanie Tyler, Caroline Linden, HelenKay Dimon, EC Sheedy, Liz Carlyle, Hope Tarr, Lora Leigh, Sabrina Jeffries, Jenna Petersen, Laura Drewry, Sydney Croft, Roxanne St. Claire, Jennifer Estep, Cheryl St.John and many more….

As well as some nifty prizes from t-shirts and books *g*. Some you will have to answer questions from the excerpts and other will be random drawings from the comments.

first recap can be found here

Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare

EXCERPT Part I: Unlawful Contact
EXCERPT Part II: Unlawful Contact
EXCERPT Part III: Unlawful Contact
EXCERPT Part IV: Unlawful Contact

We will announce Pamela’s winner tomorrow . Hope you have enjoyed the excerpts and if you have read the book, what did you think? Here is one last bonus bite *g* otherwise known as the jag shag.

If only she had Holly’s sexual courage—and her skill at walking in spiked heels.

Doing her best to step gracefully, Sophie made her way down the stairs into the parking garage, spied the gleaming black Jaguar, and, pulse racing, walked right past it. She stopped at the end of the row and stood there, waiting. Hunt was a smart man; he would figure it out.

And she hoped he figured it out fast. She was freezing her bare butt off.

She heard the Jag’s engine roar to life and took a deep breath, a giggle welling up inside her. She subdued it, fought to keep a straight face, hardly able to breathe. She couldn’t blow this. She just couldn’t.

The Jag rolling slowly, Hunt circled the row of parked cars like a predator circling its prey. When he finally drew along side her, she was on the driver’s side. The car slowed to a stop, and the window slid down with a buzz. He raked her with his gaze, down and up and down again. “Do you need a ride?”

She lowered her voice, let the words come out slow and sultry, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Only if you can take me where I need to go.”

“Oh, babe, I know I can.” He smiled, a slow, sexy smile. “But what’s in it for me?”

Sophie walked closer, switched her shopping bags into one hand, and lifted the front of the dress just enough to show him what was—and wasn’t—beneath it.

Air rushed from his lungs as if he’d been hit. “Get in.”

Sophie dropped her dress back in place, took a step backward. “You’re my first… customer. How do I know you won’t hurt me?”

He looked at her through dark eyes. “You don’t.”

A tremor of excitement rushed through her. She walked around to the passenger door, which opened for her, and let Hunt take her bags. Then she slid into the seat, the heat of his gaze all over her, a look of blatant male hunger on his face.

As the car began to move, she reached over, unbuttoned his jeans and slid her hand inside, her blood going hot when she found him already hard as granite. “You’re so big!”

But he didn’t answer, his eyes on the exit, his jaw clenched.

She freed him from his jeans and stroked his entire length, working him slowly, paying special attention to the engorged head. “Does that feel good?”

Sunlight flooded the car as it left the garage for the street. As the car turned onto the highway, she bent down and took him into her mouth.

Marc gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his mind completely blown. When he’d told her to surprise him, he’d been thinking of a white, lace teddy and maybe a thong or two, not a full-blown sex game and road head. Oh, but here he was, driving on the highway, going fifty-five, and getting the best blow job of his life, his cock in her hot, wet mouth.

And, Jesus, what was she doing with her tongue?

Merging traffic. Slow down.

“You’re pretty good, baby.” His voice was ragged, gruff. “God, yeah, really good.”

She moaned, tightened her grip, took him into her throat.

Throbbing heat filled his pelvis, made his balls ache.

Speed limit fifty-five. Speed up. Whoa! Slow down.

He reached down, sank his fingers in her hair, holding the steering wheel with one hand, his hips lifting of their own accord, urging her to go faster. “God, yes! Fuck me with your mouth!”

Faster. Faster. Yes!

The Louisville exit passed in a blur.

Slow down!

Then she reached down, forced her hand between his thighs, and cupped his balls, keeping up the rhythm with her mouth, her tongue swirling over the aching head of his cock, swirling, flicking, stroking.

Orgasm shot through him in great, wracking spasms, the pleasure sharp and hot, Sophie taking all of it. How he managed to keep the car on the road, he didn’t know. All he knew was that when he could think again, they were still on the highway, and no one was dead.

She sat up, ran kisses along his throat, his jaw. “Did you like that?”

Two could play at this game.

“I’m not finished with you yet, babe. I intend to get my money’s worth.”

She shivered. “What do you want from me.”

“Put your chair back, spread your legs and rest your knees on the dash. Then lift your dress above your waist.”

“But—”

“Do it!”

She did as he asked, exposing her soft inner thighs and the red-gold curls of her muff, opening for him like an exotic tropical flower, rosy and sweet. One eye on the road and one on her, he indulged himself and played with her, feeling the softest part of her, teasing her swollen clit, sliding his finger inside her. Soon she was lifting her hips, whimpering, pleading with him. By the time he’d pulled into the garage, she had already come once, and he was hard again, his libido sent into overdrive by her erotic game.

He jerked the car to a stop, turned off the engine, and closed the garage door behind them. Then he walked around to the passenger side, opened her door and hauled her into his arms for a long, hard kiss. But he wanted more. He pulled her around to the front of the car, turned her to face away from him, and bent her over the hood of the Jag, lifting her dress, exposing her delicious bare ass.

“I’m going to fuck you now just the way I want to—hard and fast.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a condom, opened it and rolled it down the length of his erection. Then gripping her hips, he drove into her.

She closed around him like a fist, the fit so perfect that it seemed a miracle, every thrust better than the one before. He wanted to make it last, wanted to make sure she enjoyed it, too. But the sight of her bent over the hood of Jag in her sexy black dress, her bare ass exposed, his cock pounding into her, brought him hurtling toward the edge.

Faster… God, yes! Harder…

She felt so damned good.

Slick… tight… like heaven.

He felt the tension inside her peak and shatter. Her breath broke, became a cry, her back arching as she came. And then he was thrusting into her mindlessly, lost in the hot rush of release.

# # #

How Flashdance… LOL 

It’s Raining Excerpts!EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT: Secrets of Surrender by Madeline HunterEXCERPT Part I: Thigh High: Parlor Games by Bonnie Edwards

EXCERPT: Phantom Pleasures by Julie Leto

EXCERPT Part I: Unlawful Contact
EXCERPT Part II: Unlawful Contact
EXCERPT Part III: Unlawful Contact
EXCERPT Part IV: Unlawful Contact

SSE EXCERPT: Dear Santa by Karen Templeton

EXCERPT Part II: Thigh High: Thigh High by Bonnie Edwards

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: The Love Letter by Linda Broday

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: No Time for Love by Phyliss Miranda

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: A Shade of Sunrise by DeWanna Pace

EXCERPT: Give Me a Texan: Amarillo By Morning by Jodi Thomas

EXCERPT Part III: Thigh High: Twinkle Twinkle Little Thong by Bonnie Edwards

Excerpt from Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife by Michelle Styles
new historical release from Mills & Boone with a UK release in June 2008

Yours, Mine…or Ours is book two in Karen Templeton’s Guys & Daughters series (Dear Santa, Yours, Mine…or Ours? and Baby, I’m Yours)

Excerpt of Taken by the Viking by Michelle Styles, coming 1 May!!
Historical romance released by Harlequin 1 May 2008

Excerpt Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare aka the one to steam the screen

I am missing some and will add them tomorrow (I see Kresley Cole’s aren’t here). More excerpts to come from Lisa Kleypas, Jill Shalvis, Lynne Connolly, Stephanie Tyler, Caroline Linden, HelenKay Dimon, EC Sheedy, Liz Carlyle, Hope Tarr, Lora Leigh, Sabrina Jeffries, Jenna Petersen, Laura Drewry, Sydney Croft, Roxanne St. Claire, Jennifer Estep, Cheryl St.John and many more….

As well as some nifty prizes from t-shirts and books *g*. Some you will have to answer questions from the excerpts and other will be random drawings from the comments.

Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare

Okay this is the last chapter and I’m done torturing you. For now. At least, I’m done torturing you with THIS book. Yes, friends! We have more excerpts of other books and maybe one more scene from this book – a scene you won’t forget – a scene that will literally steam your screen up…

CHAPTER 3

“Let’s go, Hunter.” Cormack stepped back from the open cell door, his voice gruff to disguise any hint of favoritism. “Move your ass!”

Marc held out his wrists, relieved to see Cormack was putting him in standard-issue police cuffs instead of a four-piece. Marc had pleaded male pride, telling Cormack that the idea of being seen by a pretty woman while wearing full restraints was humiliating.

“I haven’t been near a chick in six years, man,” he’d said. “I don’t want to shuffle in there like some fucking loser.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but you’re classified red, you know. They can’t do nothing to you they ain’t already done, but me they can fire.” Cormack had pointed a thumb at his own chest. “You hurt that lady, and it’s my ass that’ll be on the line. I got kids to feed.”

It was too bad about the kids, but Marc had people depending on him, too.

He’d allowed himself to look insulted. “I’d never hurt a woman. Besides, why would I do anything to her? I need her help finding Megan.”

Obviously, Cormack had believed him.

Cold steel touched Marc’s skin, the handcuffs closing with a series of metallic clicks. Then, sandwiched between Cormack and another guard, he walked down the long hallway and through the first checkpoint, ignoring the shouted warnings, obscenities, and threats that followed him.

“You think you the big bitch, don’t you, Hunter?”

“Better watch your back, Hunter! I’m gonna kill you before I kill my number!”

“Check it out! Hunter’s going to lay some pipe. Is she pretty?”

Marc felt his pulse pick up as they left the maximum-security wing. He tried to tell himself it was just the thought of what he was about to attempt that had his adrenaline going, but he knew there was more to it than that. It was also the thought of seeing Sophie again.

What would she think when she saw him? What would she think of the man he was now? Truth be told, he didn’t want to know.

It had been twelve years since that night at the Monument, twelve years since they’d sipped sodas and shared their dreams, twelve years since she’d made what had probably been the biggest mistake of her young life and given him her virginity. He’d always wondered how she felt about it afterward, whether she’d had regrets. He certainly hadn’t. Memories of that night had helped him get through boot camp, sustained him through the freezing cold of Afghanistan, and brought him back to Colorado when his term of enlistment was over.

No, he hadn’t forgotten her.

I’m the kid who always gets in trouble, remember?

Not with me you’re not.

That night had changed his life-for a while. He’d gone into the Army with a different sense of himself, had pushed his way up through the ranks, becoming a Special Forces sniper and earning the rank of Sergeant First Class before giving up the green. He’d parlayed that experience into a post with the DEA, hoping to put away the kind of scum who’d sold drugs to his mother and sister. Some part of him believed he’d overcome his past, that he’d become a man worthy of a woman like Sophie. But in the end, it hadn’t mattered. He’d ended up exactly where everyone had known he would.

Why not shoot for the stars?

Marc had shot-and missed.

Tension drew to a knot in his gut as Cormack led him through the last checkpoint and into the visitor’s area. He was lower than a snake’s ass for even thinking of putting Sophie through this. But she was his only ticket out of this place, and Megan and Emily needed him. Hopefully, the fact that Sophie knew him would give her some measure of trust and keep her from becoming too afraid-or putting up a fight. Then again, if she reacted too strongly to seeing him or was friendly, the guards would get suspicious.

And then he’d be fucked.

“You taking it from here, Kramer?” Cormack motioned Marc through the next gate and stepped aside.

“Yep.” Kramer adjusted his leather belt with its Glock 21 .45 caliber and looked at Marc with obvious disgust. “Why anyone wants to talk to this piece of shit is beyond me.”

Some of the tension inside Marc settled. He liked Cormack and hadn’t been looking forward to roughing him up. But he had no qualms about kicking Kramer to hell and back. In fact, he’d probably enjoy it. Kramer was a cold bastard who got off on breaking inmates’ balls.

“Over here, Hunter.” Kramer led him toward one of the visitation rooms. “You got thirty minutes. And just in case you got ideas about putting your hands on that sexy bit of gash, just remember I’ll be standing right behind you.”

Bit of gash?

Yes, Marc was going to enjoy this. He met Kramer’s gaze, smiled, the edges of the little shim he held in his mouth sharp against the inside of his cheek.

I’m counting on it, asshole.

Then through the Plexiglas window, he saw her.

He quit breathing. His step faltered. His mind went blank. He didn’t notice Kramer opening the door or ordering him inside or shoving him into a chair, one beefy hand on his shoulder. He was oblivious to the heavy click of the locking door, Kramer’s hulking presence behind him, the weight of the handcuffs on his wrists.

He was aware only of Sophie.

She was even prettier than he remembered-not a teenage girl, but a woman. Her strawberry-blond hair was still long, and she wore it up in a style that was both feminine and sophisticated. Her gentle curves seemed fuller, softening the professional cut of her navy blue blazer and skirt. Her face seemed even more delicate, her cheekbones higher, her lips more lush, her eyes impossibly blue.

Fairy sprite.

He bit back the words and drew in a deep breath to clear his mind.

A mistake.

Her scent slammed into him, subtle and fresh and so very female, igniting every drop of excess testosterone in his blood. How long had it been since he’d smelled anything but the sweaty bodies of other men? If his hardening cock was any indication, too goddamn long.

Jesus H. Christ!

He fought to clear his mind, to think, to relax. He needed to focus, to rein in his hormones, to control his emotions. Anything else would get him killed.

She seemed to study him, her expression detached, her hands folded in her lap. She wore on rings-no engagement ring, no wedding band. She reached to shake his hand. “I’m Sophie Alton from the Denver Independent. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

That’s when it hit him.

She didn’t recognize him.

She has no idea who you are, Hunter.

The realization came like a fist to the gut, cutting short his breath, the force of it taking him completely by surprise. It had never occurred to him that she might not remember him. It didn’t seem possible, but he could see in her eyes that it was true.

He willed himself to speak, took her small hand in his, tried not to look like a man whose world had just imploded. “My pleasure.”

Helluva blow to the ego, isn’t it, dumbass?

But it was more than that.

It meant that she would be terrified.

He looked at her sweet face, saw the girl he’d made love to-and wondered how he was going to bring himself to do this to her. Then he thought of Megan, alone and running for her life, Emily in her arms, and he knew he had no choice. He’d already lost his sister once. He wouldn’t risk losing her again.

Sophie pulled her hand back, feeling strangely uncomfortable. There was something about the tone of the inmate’s voice, something in the way he looked at her…

She set her digital recorder in the middle of the table, cleared her throat. “Since I can’t have my notebook or pens here, I need to record our conversation. I hope that’s all right with you, Mr. Hunter.”

He nodded, his gaze focused entirely on her. “Whatever you want.”

Marc Hunter wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d known he’d be tall because his sister was tall. But Megan was also fragile and out of shape, the result of heroin addiction, a sedentary life and years of prison food. There was nothing fragile or out of shape about Marc Hunter.

At least six-foot-three, he was athletic and well built, his orange prison smock stretched across a broad chest, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to reveal powerful, tattooed biceps, the U.S. Army’s eagle and shield on his right arm and an Celtic band on his left. His brown hair hung to his shoulders, thick and wavy. A dark beard covered the lower half of his face, concealing most of his features, emphasizing the hollows in his cheeks and his high cheekbones, and giving him a threatening look that was lessened somewhat by a full mouth. His eyes were a piercing green that seemed to see beneath her skin.

Even if she hadn’t read his criminal record, Sophie would have known he was dangerous. He had an air about him-intimidating, menacing, aggressive.

A killer.

She pushed the record button and struggled to compose her thoughts. “Um… As I’m sure you know, I’ve been following Megan’s situation since-”

“I’ve read the articles,” he said, adding, “obviously.”

She hadn’t revealed to DOC officials that her interest in this interview had originated with an anonymous caller sent by the inmate, sure they’d refuse to grant her request under those circumstances. She wasn’t going to acknowledge that fact now, either, not with Lieutenant Kramer listening. Mr. Hunter might not care whether he aroused their suspicions, but she did.

“What you might not know is that I care very much for Megan and Emily and haven’t been able to think of anything else since they disappeared. I was hoping you might have some idea why she vanished or where she’s gone.”

His lips curved in a slow smile. “And here I thought you might be able to tell me.”

Confused, Sophie stared at him. He had contacted her, hadn’t he? The man who’d called had told her that Marc Hunter would be able help her with Megan. And yet Hunter was sitting here saying that he hoped she had information. It made no sense.

His smile faded, and his expression grew serious. “Megan is a very troubled young woman, Ms. Alton.”

And you’re a model citizen!

Sophie kept her expression neutral and waited for him to say more.

“She’s been fighting drug addiction since she was a teenager, and every time I think she’s made it, she relapses.”

No news flash there. Sophie had already reported this in her articles. “Are you saying you think that’s what has happened this time?”

“That’s what your article led me to believe.” He stretched out, his muscular leg brushing against hers beneath the table.

She sat up straighter, tucked her feet beneath her chair, wondering if the contact had been accidental. The guy had been in prison for six years, after all. He wouldn’t be the first inmate she’d interviewed who’d tried to make physical contact. “I know Megan was in touch with you. Did she say anything to make you think she’d started using heroin again?”

“I haven’t had contact with Megan for years. We’re not allowed to communicate with one another, as I’m sure you know. What did she say to you?”

Growing annoyed by this purposeless, circular conversation, Sophie found herself glaring at him. What kind of game was Marc Hunter playing? She glanced up at Lieutenant Kramer, who looked like his mind was a thousand miles away, then back at Hunter. “Is there anything about Megan you’d like to tell me, Mr. Hunter?”

He started to speak, his words cut off by a coughing fit. He raised his cuffed hands to cover his mouth, croaked out, “Can I get… some water?”

Lieutenant Kramer nodded, and Sophie realized he expected her to get it.

“All right.” Biting back a retort about middle-aged men and sexism, she stood, crossed the room to the water cooler, and filled a little paper cone.

Why had Hunter wanted her to come down here? If he had something to tell her about Megan, why didn’t he just tell her? He’d known a C.O. would be present during the interview, that he wouldn’t be able to speak with her privately.

She carried the water back and held it out for him.

It happened all at once. The splash of cold water against her wrist as he exploded out of his chair, hands somehow free, feet flying. Her own scream as Lieutenant Kramer fell, unconscious or dead, his weapon out and in Hunter’s hands. Hunter’s iron grip as he grabbed her wrist and yanked her roughly against the hard wall of his chest.

Their gazes collided, his green eyes as hard as jade and unreadable.

Light-headed, her body shaking, her pulse frantic, she gaped up at him, tried to jerk away. Then her splintered thoughts drew together, formed one word. “N-no!”

“Don’t fight me, Sophie!” He wasn’t even out of breath. “I don’t you to get hurt.”

From outside in the hall came shouts and the shrill peal of an alarm.

They knew. The guards knew. They would stop him.

They would protect her.

Stay calm, Alton. Stay calm.

Even as the words entered her mind, she found herself spun hard about, her back crushed against his ribs, his arm locked around her shoulders. She heard him rack the slide on the gun, felt the cold press of steel against her throat, and then she did understand.

You’re his hostage, Alton. He might kill you. He might kill everyone.

She shuddered, felt her knees turn to water.

This couldn’t be happening. It could not be happening.

Marc felt Sophie’s heart pounding, saw her lips go white, and hated himself for doing this to her. Then she did something that made him hate himself even more.

“Pl-please don’t! I-I h-helped your s-sister!”

It was nothing less than a plea for her life, a desperate appeal to his conscience.

Too bad he no longer had one.

“I know.” He pulled her toward the door, almost lifting her off her feet. “And now you’re helping me.”

Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare

Keep reading! Did you ask if I have more? Well, yes! Yes I do! But you have to wait for tomorrow night…

CHAPTER 2

Sophie filled her water bottle at the water cooler, trying to gather whatever thoughts were in her aching head for the I-Team meeting. Worried about Megan and Emily, she’d found it hard to sleep last night despite the alcohol in her system. She’d finally given up at five, shuffling into the kitchen for water and aspirin when her hangover had kicked into full gear. Outside her kitchen window the thermometer had read fifteen below.

“Any word?” Kat’s soft voice came from beside her.

Sophie capped her bottle. “No. I checked with police dispatch this morning, and they hadn’t found them yet. I don’t know what scares me more-what will happen if the cops don’t find them or what will happen when they do.”

Kat gave her arm a squeeze. “All you can do is keep them in your prayers.”

Sophie managed a smile. “Thanks.”

She walked back to her desk, downloaded her e-mail and checked her voice mail. A call from an activist group that was hoping to halt the building of yet another private prison. A long rant from a woman who wanted to know why Colorado’s prison system wouldn’t let her have conjugal visits with her husband like the California prison system had. A quick word from Officer Harburg, Megan’s parole officer, who praised her article and suggested they meet for lunch to talk about some of the subtleties of the parole system.

Was that male interest she detected in his voice?

Would it bother her it was?

No, it wouldn’t. He was an attractive man-tall, dark, masculine. So what if he was several years older than she was? He might have some insights on Megan that would help all of this make sense. Besides, she hadn’t had a date for months.

She’d just written down his number when her phone buzzed with an incoming call. She was tempted to let the caller go to voice mail, knowing she had only a few minutes until the I-Team meeting, but then she’d just have another message to wade through.

She picked up the line. “Sophie Alton.”

“Are you looking for information about Megan Rawlings?”

Sophie’s adrenaline picked up a notch. She hit the record button on her phone. “Yes. Absolutely. Who is this?”

“I’m just calling to let you know that you should request an interview with Marc Hunter, an inmate in Cañon City. He’s her brother. He can help you out.”

The caller rattled off a DOC inmate number and then, before Sophie could ask him any other questions, hung up.

Momentarily forgetting the I-Team meeting, Sophie opened her Internet browser, logged on to the DOC’s website, and filled out the online interview request form, using the information the caller had provided. Hadn’t Megan mentioned once or twice that she had a half-brother who was also in prison? Yes, she had. Her brother had stayed with their mother, while Megan had been placed up for adoption by Social Services. Despite the fact that they must have grown up apart, Megan had seemed to feel real affection for him.

Sophie wondered who the caller had been. It couldn’t have been Marc Hunter himself. Prisoners could only make collect calls, and this hadn’t been a collect call. Perhaps the caller was a friend, someone on the outside. Or maybe he was a C.O.-a correctional officer-someone who did Hunter’s business from the inside in exchange for bribes. In either case, Megan’s brother had to have illegal connections.

What kind of information could he have? He wasn’t supposed to be in communication with his sister. Megan’s parole prohibited her from having any contact with other felons. She wasn’t even allowed to write letters to her brother. Of course, parolees broke that rule all the time, and some went back to prison for it.

Sophie had just placed a request with the Colorado Bureau of Investigation for Hunter’s criminal record when she glanced at the clock. “Crud!”

She grabbed her notepad and pencil and hurried down the hallway to the conference room, where the rest of the I-Team sat around the table waiting for her.

Tom sat at the head of the table, notepad and a stack of newspapers in front of him, one pencil behind his right ear and another in his hand. More than six feet tall and built like a linebacker, he was an intimidating man. If he hadn’t been such a brilliant journalist, Sophie might have left the I-Team a long time ago. Tom had hired her from the News, where she’d worked boring GA-general assignment-and had taught her more about journalism in a month than she’d learned in four years of J-school.

And if he was sometimes a jerk and ran the newsroom as if it were a sweatshop?

Well, she didn’t always have to like him to respect him.

He looked up at her and frowned, a shock of gray curls half covering his eyes. “Glad you could make the time, Alton. Harker, what’s the latest?”

Matt Harker, the city reporter, sat to Tom’s left. Freckle-faced with short reddish hair, he always looked like he’d dressed out of his laundry basket, wearing the same wrinkled tie every day with a different wrinkled shirt. He glanced up from his notes. “The mayor and city council are going at it again-this time over the fire department budget. Council wants to freeze it, but the mayor is holding with the union and wants a substantial increase. Can you tell we have a municipal election coming in the fall?”

Syd Wilson, the managing editor, looked at Matt over her new reading glasses-the reading glasses no one was supposed to notice. Small and wiry, she wore her salt-and-pepper hair short and spiked and didn’t like to think of herself as nearing fifty. “How much?”

Matt shrugged. “Probably no more than ten inches.”

Tom nodded, glanced at Joaquin. “I’m sick of the mayor’s mug shot. Get something fresh from one of the fire stations. Benoit?”

Natalie Benoit was the newest member of the I-Team, hired to take Tessa’s place on cops and courts. From an old Cajun family, she had relocated to Denver after her family lost everything in Hurricane Katrina. Tom had hired her on the spot when he’d learned she was the journalist who’d stayed in Community Medical Center rather than evacuating, helping to care for the sick and dying. Her coverage of the tragedy there had made her a Pulitzer finalist.

With long dark hair, big aqua eyes and a charming New Orleans accent, she’d put the libido of every heterosexual man at the paper into overdrive but rarely seemed to date or socialize. She never talked about her ordeal during Katrina, and no one dared to pry.

“I can probably do with ten inches, as well. A couple of animal-rights activists claim they were beaten up by police at last week’s anti-fur protest. An observer has come forward with a digital recording that seems to support their allegations-pretty rough stuff. They’ve lawyered up and are seeking damages. Chief Irving has promised an internal investigation.”

“Oh, good.” Tom sounded anything but impressed. “Another one.”

Syd punched numbers into her calculator. “Any chance we can get stills off the recording?”

Natalie smiled. “I’ve already turned it over to production.”

“What’s on your plate, James?”

Kat kept her gaze on her notes. She rarely looked anyone in the eyes, something Sophie had come to understand was cultural. “I got a tip that someone in the Department of Wildlife has been distributing eagle parts illegally.”

“Eagle parts?” the room said in unison.

Kat nodded. “When an eagle is accidentally killed or found dead, there’s a process wildlife officials are supposed to follow for distributing feathers, claws and other ceremonial body parts to Indian spiritual leaders. Apparently, someone has been selling parts off to non-Indians. I’m meeting with the whistleblower today, but I doubt I’ll have anything by deadline.”

And just like that Tom was off again, ranting about what would happen if state lawmakers weakened protections for whistleblowers.

Sophie’s mind wandered to Megan and her baby. Had she found a safe, warm place to spend the night? What was she feeding the baby? How far did she think she could get before the police found her and sent her back to prison?

“Alton!”

Sophie snapped back to the present. “I’d like to do a follow-up to yesterday’s piece and see how many parents on parole kidnap their own children. This was supposed to be a supervised visit, after all. I want to find out if this has happened before. Unless I find something big, I’m guessing no more than six inches.”

Syd punched the numbers into her calculator. “Do we have any photos of the baby?”

“Not recent ones.” Sophie glanced down at her notes. “I got an anonymous tip this morning from someone who wants me to request an interview with Megan’s brother, who also happens to be in prison.”

“What is it-a family business?” Matt shook his head, rolled his eyes. “Does she have any relatives on the outside?”

For some reason, Sophie didn’t find Matt’s comment funny. “I’ve already put in a request for an interview with the brother and asked CBI for a copy of his criminal record. I have no idea what kind of information this guy might have.”

Tom leaned back in his chair. “Sounds like there’s only one way to find out.”

# # #

Sophie met Officer Harburg for lunch at her favorite downtown sushi joint.

“We try hard to keep women out of prison, because many are mothers and most are nonviolent offenders. Those who end up behind bars tend to be hardcore.”

Sophie set her notepad aside to make room for her miso and edamame. She met Officer Harburg’s gaze and knew without a doubt that he was interested in her. She could see it in his eyes-light blue eyes-and hear it in the warm tone of his voice. For a moment, she let herself imagine what it might be like to kiss him.

OK, so it wasn’t fireworks, but it wasn’t a repulsive idea either.

“More hard core? I thought men were more difficult.”

“Oh, yes, they are.” He picked up his chopsticks and stirred his miso. “Men are absolutely more violent and dangerous. The vast majority of violent crimes both in prison and out are committed by men, but women are harder to rehabilitate.”

“How so?” She dipped her spoon into the soup and sipped.

“Most female inmates are what we call dual-diagnosis-they have mental-health issues on top of drug or alcohol addiction.” He paused to pop a chunk of tofu into his mouth and chew. “Unfortunately, there are few treatment programs for female felons.”

“Don’t they get treatment in prison?”

“The state doesn’t have the money to give them the therapy they need. Besides, most of them are poor. Prison offers better food and housing than they’ll get on the outside. No pimps to beat them up. No kids to feed. No job to find.”

“That’s true for male inmates, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but there are more treatment programs for men, more jobs, better pay. Men are generally more assertive and more independent. Fewer men raise their kids alone. And-this is important-men are different emotionally. Women tend to form close friendships with other women in prison and have a hard time surviving without the support system offered by those relationships. Men don’t face that obstacle.”

Sophie tried to imagine life without the support system her friends offered-and found it stark. But her friends weren’t felons. “Did Megan have close friends in prison?”

“She’s been in and out of state custody since she was a teenager. I assume she does, though she never talked about personal things with me. I represent ‘The Man,’ you know. Based on what I’ve read of your articles-which are very good, by the way-I’d say she was much more open with you.”

“We mostly talked about her plans and how much she wanted to raise Emily.”

Officer Harburg nodded, a sad look on his face. “I doubt she’ll get that chance now.”

Sophie knew it was the truth, but it still hurt to hear him say it. “I hope you’re wrong, Officer Harburg.”

“It’s Ken.” He smiled, revealing a bit of seaweed that had gotten caught in his front teeth. “Call me Ken.”

Definitely not fireworks.

“Okay, Ken.” She forced herself to look into his eyes and not at his teeth. “What else do you know about Megan?”

# # #

Sophie returned to the office to find that the DOC had approved her interview with Megan’s brother for four o’clock on Friday. It was the speediest green light she’d ever gotten. She hadn’t expected to hear back from DOC until next week at the earliest.

Clearly Marc Hunter was hooked up and had pulled some strings.

# # #

On Friday afternoon, Sophie made the familiar two-hour drive down to Cañon City listening to BBC on her car radio. More violence outside Banda Aceh in Indonesia. An increase in the value of the Euro. AIDS orphans in South Africa.

Her mind wandered off during a report about flooding on Denmark’s Jutland coast. Traffic was sparse for late on a Friday afternoon, the highway wet and icy in places. In front of her and to the west, Pikes Peak loomed jagged and white against the horizon, snow blowing from its summit like a frosty pennant. The sky to the east was clear and blue, but a bank of dark storm clouds rose ominously behind the mountains.

There was a winter storm warning for Colorado’s Front Range tonight-twelve to eighteen inches expected just in time for Sophie’s commute back to Denver. If she’d had money, she would have reserved a hotel room in Colorado Springs and waited till morning when snowplows would have cleared most of it away. But she was trying to save money to help David with his next tuition payment, and a hotel room seemed like a frivolous expense, especially since she’d already spent almost four hundred dollars on studded snow tires.

Just deal with it, Alton.

She found herself thinking through the questions she wanted to ask Megan’s brother. Did he have any idea where his sister had gone? Did he know of anyone who might be helping her, giving her money or shelter or food? Had Megan ever contacted him about wanting to take Emily and run? Had he heard from his sister since her escape?

Last night, she’d read through her notes from Megan’s interviews, looking for anything Megan might have said about her brother. She’d been surprised to find that Megan had mentioned him almost every time-how he’d gotten a message to her every day when she’d been going through heroin withdrawal, how he’d had his attorney deposit money into her commissary account so that she could buy an extra pillow when her pregnancy made it hard for her to sleep, how he’d worried that she wasn’t getting good enough prenatal care.

Sophie had tried to reconcile Megan’s blindly heroic image of her brother to the cold reality of the arrest report CBI had e-mailed to her. Six years ago the man who cared so much about his drug-addicted sister and her baby had taken a high-caliber handgun and shot a fellow DEA agent, at point-blank range. Not just once, but three times. He’d put John Cross, a husband and father of four, in his grave in order to cover up his own drug-dealing. Investigators had found two kilos of cocaine spread out between his house and car and had concluded that he’d killed the other agent to silence him. It was a violent act, heartless and brutal.

How did he square those two parts of himself in his own mind?

“God only knows why people do the things they do,” she said aloud, echoing Tessa’s words of a few days ago.

She exited I-25 and wound her way to US-50, arriving ten minutes early at the Colorado State Penitentiary-a hulking zigzag building of red brick surrounded by high fences, razor wire, and guard towers. She parked in the visitors lot in a space reserved for the press, then refreshed her lipstick and checked her hair in the vanity mirror. Not that her appearance really mattered. She wasn’t going to meet Mr. Right in this place.

She sorted through her purse, transferring everything into her briefcase except for her digital recorder, her press card and a couple bucks in change for the vending machine in case there were delays and she got thirsty. Having covered the prison beat for four years, she knew she’d speed things up and make it easier on herself and the guards if she took with her only the things she needed for her interview. It cut down on the time the guards had to spend searching her and prevented her from having to rent a locker.

DOC regulations for visitors were very stringent, an attempt to pre-empt human ingenuity when it came to smuggling contraband and perpetrating violence. Postage stamps could carry LSD. Pens and pencils could be used as weapons. Cell phones could be used to communicate with criminals outside prison walls. And almost anything-cigarettes, weapons, drugs-could be hidden inside the human body. Once inside the walls, something as simple as a cigarette butt could be used to control, to manipulate, to dominate.

Sophie locked up her car, dropped her keys in her purse, then picked her way through the icy parking lot. She knew it was stupid to wear heels in the snow, but big snow boots just didn’t look professional. Then again neither did lying sprawled on her butt in the snow. But once she got inside it wouldn’t matter what was on her feet.

On the other side of the fence, a group of inmates in four-piece shackles and orange uniforms was being herded out of a van. She barely noticed the way their heads turned as she passed or the chorus of catcalls that followed her. It happened every time she came here.

She stepped through the entrance and walked toward the front desk. A mother with two young children sat in the lobby, probably waiting to visit her husband. A young woman with tattoos on her arm sulked in the corner. A man in a suit-probably a lawyer-chattered in legalese on his cell phone.

“Hey, Ms. Sophie.” Officer Green smiled and handed her a clipboard. “Whose sob story have you come to hear today?”

Like most C.O.s, Officer Green was open about her low opinion of inmates.

“Some guy named Marc Hunter.” Sophie took the clipboard, filled out the Consent to Search form, and handed it back with her press card.

Officer Green gave a snort. “Mr. Badass himself. Your readers will love him.”

Her curiosity piqued, Sophie could help but ask. “Is he trouble?”

Officer Green handed her press card back and gave her the sort of knowing look that promised inside secrets. “Depends on how you define ‘trouble.’ He keeps his nose clean, follows the rules-till someone tries to fuck with him. His first week here, he put five guys in the infirmary.”

It was on the tip of Sophie’s tongue to ask what the five guys had done, but she knew Officer Green would talk for hours if given half a chance. She put her press card back in her purse. “Thanks.”

She crossed the room, passed through the metal detectors, then watched while Officer Russell searched her purse. A big, beefy man with a crew cut, he was a teddy bear.

“Here you go, Ms. Alton.” He handed her purse back, then reached for the ink pad.

Sophie held out her hand, watched as he stamped the back of it with an ultra-violet marker. Visible under a black light, it would have to be verified before she could leave. It seemed like a silly thing to do, given that this was a men’s prison and she was demonstrably not male. But rules were rules.

“Be sure not to wash that off.” Officer Russell chuckled.

“Thanks for the reminder.” Sophie laughed at his joke-the same joke he always made when she came through-then headed down the labyrinthine hallway.

She knew many of the officers who worked the entrance by name, and most were friendly to her, even if they sometimes disagreed with the tone of her articles. Every once in a while one of them called her with a news tip, making them valuable to her as potential sources, as well.

Around the corner, Officer Hinkley and Officer Kramer staffed a thick steel gate that marked the entrance to the visitation area.

“So the bastards had him in the shower and went after him with a broom handle. It took the ER doc an hour and half to stitch up-” Officer Hinkley saw her and broke off. He straightened up, grinned. “Hey, it’s Lois Lane.”

“Hi, guys. How’s it going?” Sophie flashed them a smile, pretended she hadn’t heard, making a mental note to check the incident reports on the way out.

They buzzed her through, and a minute later she was seated in the assigned visiting room. She glanced at her watch, realized she was a few minutes early. Rarely did guards bring the inmates on time. There were so many variables. More than once she’d arrived only to find her interview canceled because of some unforeseen event-fighting on a cellblock, shakedowns, inmate transfers. She sat back in her chair and settled in for the wait.

Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare

Yes! Here it is! MORE. And guess what! I have two. more. chapters. after. this…

CHAPTER 1

Twelve years later

Sophie Alton drove through the streets of Denver as quickly as she could in six inches of slick snow. She was running almost twenty minutes late on the one day in her journalistic career when she didn’t want to be late. Today Megan Rawlings would be able to hold her baby girl for the first time since the baby’s birth seven months ago. It was the day Megan had been living for, the day she’d been working so hard for, and Sophie didn’t want to miss a single moment of it.

She’d told the publisher that she had an important interview this morning, but Glynnis Williams never let anyone’s schedule interrupt her agenda. Glynnis had joined the paper three months ago and had made it abundantly clear that she cared more about advertising dollars than journalistic ethics. She’d interrupted the Investigative Team meeting to explain at great length why she wasn’t going to oppose legislation that would weaken the state’s whistleblower laws, her reasons having everything to do with sucking up to big business and government interests and nothing to do with journalism.

Naturally, Tom hadn’t taken this lying down. Tom Trent had the reputation of being the toughest, most brilliant editor in the state-and the mostly likely to be murdered by a member of his own staff. But today he’d seemed almost likeable. He taken Glynnis on, haranguing her for a good fifteen minutes about the importance of whistleblower protection laws and slamming her with the most inspired version of his “Watchdogs of Freedom” rant Sophie had ever heard. Glynnis had left the meeting looking gratifyingly angry, but that didn’t change the fact that Sophie was now running late.

She took the exit at Federal, glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard, and pushed the speedometer up to thirty-five, weighing the benefits of speeding against the risk of totaling her car on the ice. “Dammit, Glynnis!”

She’d been reporting on Megan’s struggle since last summer, when her investigation into the stillbirth of an inmate’s baby had spurred her to look closely at the plight of women in prison. Megan had been seven months pregnant then, and something about her had tugged at Sophie’s heartstrings. Perhaps it was Megan’s vulnerability, a young woman going through the uncertainty of pregnancy and childbirth in a world of cold steel and indifferent strangers. Perhaps it was Megan’s brave struggle to overcome her addiction. Or maybe it was Megan’s sweetness and lingering innocence, qualities one didn’t often encounter among repeat offenders.

Sophie had visited Megan every week for months. She’d reported on the drug charges that had landed Megan in prison, six weeks pregnant. She’d bitten her fingernails in the hospital hallway while Megan, shackled by one ankle to the delivery table and denied pain relief by an indifferent obstetrician, had endured 18 long hours of labor. She’d watched when Megan had kissed and cuddled her newborn. She’d tried not to cry when Social Services had taken little Emily away, her heart breaking at Megan’s tears and grief.

But today there would be tears of a different sort. Today, mother and child would finally be reunited for a two-hour supervised visit. Just thinking about it put a lump in Sophie’s throat.

She turned left onto Acoma-and pressed on the brakes. Five police cruisers sat in front of New Horizons, lights flashing. It wasn’t unusual to see a cop car parked there. After all, New Horizons was a halfway house, and every so often one of the residents screwed up-broke the house rules, tested hot for drugs, lifted something-and landed back in prison. But never during the months she’d come here had Sophie seen this kind of police response.

Someone was in deep trouble.

She made her way around the bottleneck created by the police cars, nosed her little Toyota into the parking lot, and turned off the engine. Then she grabbed her notebook and purse and stepped out into the frigid February morning. The sky was a brilliant blue, but the sunshine held no warmth, an icy wind blowing off the jagged white mountains to the west. She pulled her coat tighter and, chin down, hurried to the front door.

Joaquin Ramirez, the paper’s best shooter, was already waiting for her in the lobby, his camera ready. He grinned when he saw her. “Told you I’d get here first.”

“You cheated.” Sophie fished out her press card, glanced toward the reception desk. “Lucky for you every cop in Denver was here. One of them might have pulled you over.”

He rolled his dark eyes. “Don’t blame me if you’re chicken to drive in snow.”

She glanced toward the reception desk. “Did you check in?”

“Nope. I was waiting for you.”

Sophie crossed the lobby, signed in, and held out her press card. “Sophie Alton and Joaquin ‘Speedy’ Ramirez here to see Megan Rawlings.”

The receptionist glanced down at Sophie’s press ID, then met her gaze, a strange look on her face. “You’ll have to wait in the lobby.”

Sophie’s stomach knotted. “Is something wrong?”

The police couldn’t be here for Megan. They couldn’t be.

“Wait in the lobby.”

Too nervous to sit, Sophie walked back into the lobby and stood by the window, looking out at the police cars. “They can’t be here for her, Joaquin.”

He set his camera bag down on one of the chairs, gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve really gotten attached to her, haven’t you?”

There was no way to deny it. “Yeah.”

They’d waited almost thirty minutes-a half hour that seemed an eternity-when a squat, balding police officer came round the corner accompanied a tall, dark-haired man with a fat moustache who was wearing a charcoal gray business suit. Sophie could tell by the way the jacket bulged on one side that the man was carrying a firearm. A detective?

Her heart sank.

“Ms. Alton?” The cop had a notepad and a pencil in his hand.

“Yes.”

“I’m Officer Reed. This is Officer Harburg.”

Officer Harburg held out his hand. “I’m Megan Rawlings’ parole officer.”

Feeling almost sick, Sophie shook the man’s hand. “Please tell me Megan and Emily are all right.”

Officer Harburg gave a sad smile. “I wish we could, but Ms. Rawlings seems to have taken her baby and disappeared.”

# # #

“When they catch her, they’ll charge her with possession of a controlled substance, skipping parole, and kidnapping.” Sophie tossed back the last of her chocolatini, chasing her misery away with the one-two punch of booze and best friends. “The stuff they found in her room field-tested positive for heroin.”

“I’m sorry, Sophie.” Tessa Darcangelo, a former member of the I-Team, rubbed her pregnant belly, her blue eyes filled with sympathy, her long blond curls hanging down the back of her chair. “I know how much she and her baby meant to you.”

Sophie knew that Tessa really did understand. Last year, Tessa had witnessed the murder of a teenage girl and had nearly lost her own life trying to expose the human trafficker who was responsible. Sophie suspected Tessa carried the girl’s dying screams with her to this day.

“How can they accuse her of kidnapping her own daughter?” Holly Bradshaw, one of the entertainment writers at the paper, popped an olive in her mouth. Tall, platinum blond and model-gorgeous, she rarely ate food that contained calories. “Doesn’t she have a legal right to be with her baby?”

“Not if she doesn’t have custody.” Kara McMillan, who’d once been the I-Team’s star reporter, set her empty margarita glass aside and tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear. With a hunky senator for a husband, three adorable kids and a successful freelance and nonfiction book career, she was everything Sophie hoped to be one day-wife, mother, star journalist. “I’m guessing the baby is a ward of the state.”

Sophie nodded. “A family of Mennonites have been caring for her-really sweet people. I bet they’re worried to death.”

Sophie had met them and interviewed them-a kind, older couple who’d raised nine children of their own and somehow had energy left to lavish love and attention on the kids of women in prison. Emily was the sixth foster child they’d taken. It had been plain to see that they adored her.

Tessa flagged down the waiter. “Another boring herbal tea for me and another chocolatini for her. Drink your brains out, Sophie. I’ll take you home.”

“That’s the nice thing about having pregnant friends.” Sophie smiled, fighting the sense of gloom that had dogged her all day.

“Designated drivers,” they all said in unison, laughing.

One hour and two drinks later, Sophie felt tipsier, but not more cheerful. Katherine James, the I-team’s environmental reporter, arrived late and ordered a mug of hot chocolate. A mixed-blood Navajo with long dark hair and unusual hazel green eyes, she never drank alcohol. Sophie had originally found her distant and aloof, but she’d realized that Katherine, or Kat as everyone called her, was just naturally reserved. Maybe it was a cultural trait.

They’d quit talking about Megan and her baby and had moved on to a discussion about virginity, prompted by Holly’s tale of the Saudi Arabian prince she’d met and slept with while skiing at Aspen last weekend. “He was surprised to discover I wasn’t a virgin, but he didn’t see anything wrong with the fact that he wasn’t a virgin.”

“Ah, the good, old double standard!” Kara smiled. “Somehow I think the two of you aren’t meant for each other.”

“Hardly! Though the prince thing was très glam.” Holly ate another olive. “So how old were you when you lost your virginity?”

Kara was the first to volunteer. “I was nineteen. We did it at his apartment-lots of candles and Bon Jovi playing in the background. It seemed romantic at the time, but compared to sex with Reece, it was pretty silly.”

“I was a college, and we did it in his dorm room.” Tessa shook her head at the memory. “I thought he was the one, but afterwards he told me he’d just wanted to have sex with a natural blonde. It was so humiliating! I didn’t go near a man after that until Julian.”

“How about you, Kat?” Holly was obviously enjoying the conversation, sex being her favorite topic and natural habitat.

Kat looked down at the table. “I haven’t done that yet.”

“Really?” Holly looked so stunned that Sophie almost laughed.

Kat shrugged. “There was no way to hide birth control living with nine other people in my grandmother’s hogan, and I didn’t want to get pregnant and miss out on college.”

“Okay.” Holly seemed to be thinking it through. “But what about during college?”

“Not everyone makes sex their top priority, Holly,” Kara said.

But Holly was still staring at Kat.

“I never met anyone who was worth it,” Kathleen answered simply.

“I was fourteen.” Holly smiled conspiratorially. “He was the brother of my best friend. It was so lame! We did it in his bedroom while his parents were downstairs watching TV.”

As Holly went on to share too much information, as she always did, Sophie found her thoughts drifting back to the night she’d spent with Hunt so long ago. She could almost hear his voice explaining the stars, oldies tunes drifting over his radio, his arm around her shoulder.

It hadn’t been silly or humiliating or lame.

It had been romantic and passionate-and beautiful.

I want you more than any girl I’ve ever known!

He’d said it, and she’d known he meant it.

No man had come close to matching his intensity-or his sweetness. Not the egocentric attorney she’d gone out with a few years back. Or the self-absorbed rock climber she’d dated briefly after that. Or the reporter from the Post she’d gotten together with last year.

She’d thought of tracking Hunt down, but then she’d imagined how it would feel to knock on his door-and come face to face with his lovely wife and their three kids. The thought had stopped her cold.

“How about you, Sophie? Your turn.”

Sophie sipped her chocolatini, swallowed the rush of emotion that lingered around that bittersweet memory. “I was sixteen, and he was the hottest guy in the senior class-and the school bad boy. We had sex on a blanket under the stars in the desert, and it was perfect.”

Four pairs of eyes stared at her, blinked.

“Really?” Holly looked incredulous.

Sophie tossed back the last of her drink. “Really.”

“What happened afterwards?” Tessa asked.

“He enlisted in the Army and I never saw him again.”

With that, the conversation shifted once more.

Tessa shared her determination to get through her baby’s birth without drugs, provided she could have a vanilla latte the moment the baby was born. “Nothing can equal the agony of going without coffee for nine months.”

Kara assured them they had nothing to worry about with the whistleblower bill. “Reece says the bill will die in committee.” Kara always had the inside scoop on events at the state capitol because her husband, Reece Sheridan, was president of the State Senate. “There’s no way it will even reach the Senate floor.”

“That’s good to hear,” Kat said. “If it were to pass-”

“Why the hell did she do it?” The words burst out before Sophie could stop them. “Megan was close-so close-to having her life and her baby back!”

For a moment, none of her friends said anything.

Then Tessa reached over, took Sophie’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. “God only knows why people do the stupid things they do.”

“You know, Sophie, maybe this is so hard for you because of what happened with your own parents.” Kara spoke quietly, almost hesitantly. “It must be hard for you to see a mother and child torn apart like that.”

The ache that had been sitting in Sophie’s chest all day grew sharper. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s part of it.”

She’d been fifteen when her parents, who’d owned a popular restaurant in downtown Denver, had been hit and killed by a drunk driver. Everything about her life had changed overnight. She and her younger brother, David, had gone from living with a doting mother and father in a wealthy Denver suburb to living with their maternal grandmother in Grand Junction, a smallish Colorado town on the edge of nowhere. The sense of loss and the shock of separation had been staggering. Her parents had gone out-but they’d never come home.

And yet somehow she and David had gotten through it. David was studying in California to become an equine reproductive vet, and she was living her dream of being an investigative reporter. They’d gotten over it. Mostly.

Sophie wiped her tears on her napkin, voiced the secret thought she’d been carrying all day. “If I’d gotten to New Horizons on time-”

“Don’t even start!” Holly glared at her. “I don’t want to have to take you out in the alley and kick your butt, because it’s too damned cold. But I’ll do it if I have to. It’s not your fault.”

Then Sophie remembered why she’d been late. “That’s right. It’s Tom’s fault for raving at Glynnis about the whistleblower bill.”

“There you go.” Tessa nodded with apparent satisfaction. “Blame Tom.”

“Not to defend Tom,” Kara said, sounding like she was about to do just that, “but the only person to blame for Megan’s situation is Megan herself. No one forced her to start using drugs again or to take off with her baby.”

Holly fished a silver tube of lipstick out of her purse. “You just say that because your mom is living with Tom.”

“Holly!” Tessa scolded.

“No.” Kat met Sophie’s gaze. “She’s saying that because it’s the truth. It takes a strong heart to defeat addiction.”

Sophie’s heart felt anything but strong. “Can we go now, Tess?”

A half hour later she sat in the parking lot of her own apartment in Tessa’s snazzy Thunderbird, her head throbbing.

“Promise me you’ll call if Julian hears anything, okay?”

Julian Darcangelo, Tessa’s husband, had been an undercover FBI agent, but now worked as a detective for the vice unit of the Denver Police Department. Nothing much happened on the streets of Denver without him knowing about it.

“You know how Julian is. Just because he knows something doesn’t mean he’ll tell me. I’ll make a point of prying, okay?” Tessa gave her a hug. “Now are you going to make it to your front door walking on that ice, or am I going to have to carry you?”

# # #

One hundred twenty-one. One hundred twenty-two. One hundred twenty-three.

Marc Hunter counted the reps, his third set of push-ups for the night, his mind focused on maintaining form despite the burn in his arms, shoulders, and chest. He barely heard the animal howls coming from the cell upstairs or the shouts of “Shut the fuck up!” that echoed through the cellblock or the throbbing din of angry fists and feet pounding on steel doors-an attempt to force the guards to silence whoever it was who’d bugged out. His mind was as focused and clear as it would if he were back in Afghanistan, eyes on tango. He’d realized six years ago that surviving in prison meant keeping both his mind and his body disciplined and fit. He’d already lost his future. He wasn’t about to yield his sanity.

One hundred thirty-seven. One hundred thirty-eight. One hundred thirty-nine.

He kept his breathing controlled and even, sweat beading on his chest and forehead, his muscles shaking. He pushed himself past one-forty, maxing out, forcing his body where it didn’t want to go. He grunted through the last several reps, his arms and chest barely able to lift his weight, then sat back against the cold concrete wall, breathing hard.

What time was it? He had no idea. There was no window in his nine-by-nine cell, no break in the grey concrete wall to let in daylight and show him whether it was morning or night. In the Colorado State Penitentiary, day broke at 5 a.m. when the fluorescent lights came on and ended at 11 p.m. when the lights went out.

He closed his eyes, imagined the moon rising over the plains, it’s pale light making yesterday’s snow glow silver, Orion setting over the mountains, his belt of stars gleaming. It had been six long years since Marc seen the moon, six years since he’d glimpsed the stars, six years since he’d set his eyes on the mountains. It might as well have been an eternity.

It was strange what he missed. Not just the night sky, but sunrises, rainbows, lightning. Not just fresh fruit and vegetables, but birds singing, the bright colors of flowers, the change of the seasons. Not just sex, but the softness of a woman’s skin, the wild taste of female arousal, the sweetness of a feminine voice.

His life was a monotony of steel and concrete, recycled air and canned food, isolation and masturbation-sterile, cold and empty. That’s how it would be until the day he died. No house in the mountains. No wife. No chance to be a father.

And who’s fault is that, dickhead?

It was his own fault, of course.

He’d thought the deprivation would get easier, but it hadn’t. It seemed go grow sharper with each passing year, until he was afraid that he, too, would be reduced to shrieking and howling in his cell like some wild thing desperate to get out.

But that wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t let it happen.

Megan still needed him. Even from behind bars, he’d been able to help her, trading cigarettes, favors and secrets to make her life easier both in prison and out, using money from his 401(k) to get her into the best halfway house, working through his attorney to secure little Emily’s future. His life might be fucked up beyond hope, but Megan and Emily still had a chance, and he intended to be there for them as much as a man serving a life sentence could be.

In the cellblock beyond, the din of stomping feet and pounding fists reached a crescendo. Any moment now the lights would flash on, and guards would march down the hallway to remove the screamer. They’d haul whoever it was down to psych, strap him to the board and pump him full of sedatives. Then the noise would finally stop, and everyone would be able to get some sleep.

He heard the checkpoint down the hall click open and clang shut, quick footsteps hurrying down the tile floor. Hard soles. A guard.

Instantly on his feet, Marc drew himself up against the wall to the right of the door and waited. He wasn’t about to be taken by surprise. His conviction for killing a federal agent had hadn’t made him popular with guards, and his status as former DEA had made him an object of hatred among the inmates, particularly the ones he’d put behind bars. He’d already survived more than a few attempts to off him-and worse.

The footsteps stopped outside his cell, and the tray slot on his door slid open.

“Hunt! You awake?” came a whisper. “It’s Cormack.”

Marc let himself relax. “Yeah, Cormack, what you got?”

Cormack was one of the few guards he trusted. When Cormack had been new and green, Marc had pulled him away from a mob of lifers who’d been about to blade him up. Naturally, Cormack had been grateful-grateful enough to become one of a network of people who kept Marc informed about the world outside.

“It’s about Megan,” Cormack whispered.

Marc felt his pulse skip. “Go ahead.”

“They say she bolted from the halfway house and took the baby with her. When they searched her room, they found a couple unused syringes and a half-ounce of shit.”

The breath rushed out of Marc’s lungs, and he sank slowly down the wall to the floor.

He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it.

Goddamn it! Goddamn it!

Megan had worked so hard to get clean. She’d been clean since the moment she’d realized she was pregnant and had promised both him and herself that she wouldn’t use again. She’d told him in the letters Cormack had smuggled to him how she wanted to be a good mother to Emily, how she planned to give her baby a home and not abandon her to foster care as their mother had done. Her last message had seemed so full of hope and determination. How could she have broken so quickly?

She’d been out for only a week. One goddamned week!

He fought to find his voice. “When?”

“Yesterday morning.”

That meant Megan had been on the run for almost twenty-four hours. She wasn’t an experienced mother, didn’t know much of anything about babies. She had no money, no place to sleep, no way to take care of Emily-to feed her, change her diapers, keep her warm. The newspapers said it had gotten to ten below last night.

If Megan had Emily out on the streets…

Rage burned in his gut, tangled with the sense of helplessness he felt every time his sister did something to fuck up her life. Only this time it was worse. This time she had an innocent baby with her. He fought the urge to slam his fist into the wall, fought to clear his mind of anger and disappointment and worry. He needed to think-and fast.

He reached for the photo of her that he’d taped to the wall beside his bunk. It had been taken in the hospital the day she’d had the baby. She sat in the hospital bed, holding a bundled Emily in her arms, her ankle shackled to the guardrail of the bed. She looked exhausted, her brown hair in a disorganized ponytail, her eyes holding both happiness and heartbreak.

What the hell had she been thinking? Was she out of her fucking mind?

Maybe seeing Emily again had made it too hard for her to turn the baby back over to Social Services. He knew his sister was emotionally fragile. Or maybe she’d been strung out and had bolted without thinking of the consequences. She’d have to have been high as a kite to leave behind that much smack. What kind of addict left their stash to the cops and…

“Did you say a half-ounce, Cormack?”

“Yeah. That’s what the police report says. It was laced with fentanyl.”

Christ!

That shit was deadly.

But a half-ounce was a hell of a lot for anyone who wasn’t a dealer or a rock star. Either she’d come into some connections he didn’t know about-or it wasn’t her heroin.

And in a single heartbeat her disappearance took on a more sinister meaning.

One day I’ll just disappear, and you’ll find me dead!

Marc felt the cold hitch of fear in his gut. “Did she have any visitors yesterday morning or the night before?”

“I knew you were going to ask that.” Cormack sounded pleased with himself. “Just that lady journalist who’s been writing about her. What’s her name?”

“Sophie Alton.”

“Yeah, Sophie Alton.”

Marc glanced at the pile of articles he’d torn out of the Denver Independent, a plan forming in his mind. “I feel like giving an interview, Cormack. Get in touch with Ms. Alton and let her know I have information that could lead her to Megan Rawlings.”

“You think she’ll want to talk to you?”

Marc lifted one of the articles, glanced at the byline. “I know she will.”

Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare

You know you want to read it. If you’re good, I’ll put more up tomorrow…

PROLOGUE

Grand Junction, Colorado

June 9, 1996

Sophie Alton walked through the party, wishing she’d stayed home. Heavy metal pumped from car speakers, blaring so loudly that she could barely hear herself think. Kids stood and sat among the cottonwoods, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, making out.

She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t sure why she’d let Candy talk her into to coming to this stupid graduation party. Did she really think Hunt was going to notice her?

She saw him through the trees, leaning against his car, talking with Dawn Harper and Kendra Willis. He wore a black T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and a pair of low-slung jeans. His thick brown hair looked like he’d just gotten out of bed, his square jaw covered with dark stubble. He was taller and bigger than the other boys, and though she couldn’t see them from here, she knew his eyes were a deep green. He was by far the cutest guy in the graduating class. Just seeing him made her feel like she was melting.

But Sophie wasn’t an idiot. A guy like Hunt wasn’t about to waste time on a flat-chested sophomore when he could have pretty senior girls like Dawn and Kendra. Besides, he probably liked girls who partied, not nerdy girls who studied all the time.

He glanced her direction, saw her watching him.

She gasped, looked away, and walked faster.

Her grandma had warned her that Hunt was trouble. She’d said his mother had gone to prison and that he would probably follow in her footsteps. It seemed unfair to blame him for things his mother had done, though he did seem to get into trouble a lot. He was the kid teachers blamed for everything, even things he hadn’t done. Once during a school assembly, someone had pulled the fire alarm, and they’d blamed Hunt, even though he’d been sitting in the bleachers at the time. Sophie had known where he was sitting when the alarm went off because she’d been watching him. She’d told the principal this, but he hadn’t listened.

Hunt had just shrugged his shoulders and grinned when they’d led him away, as if to say, “It happens all the time.”

Sophie had felt sorry for him.

She glanced around, looking for Candy. Maybe she could talk Candy into letting her borrow her pickup truck so she could drive home. Or maybe one of the other kids would be heading back into town soon.

But how will you know if they’ve been drinking?

She wouldn’t know. She’d have to trust them not to drive drunk, and she wasn’t sure she trusted even Candy to tell the truth about that. And where was Candy anyway?

Realizing she was stuck at the party until Candy surfaced again, she walked toward the edge of the crowd, stepping over empty plastic beer cups, potato chip bags, and clusters of prickly pear cactus, looking for someplace she could sit down and be by herself.

A group of girls broke into giggles as she passed.

“She’s such a nerd! I bet she studies all night.”

“Do you think she’s ever kissed a guy?”

“Are you kidding? She’s a total virgin.”

Sophie felt her face burn.

“I heard her parents are dead.”

The breath left her lungs in a rush, and her step faltered, tears stinging her eyes. She wanted to run, but then they would know she’d heard them and she’d feel even more humiliated. She forced herself to keep her gaze straight ahead and to walk slowly.

Her parents were dead. They’d been dead for almost a year, run over by a drunk driver while crossing the street in Denver. She and her little brother, David, had gotten the terrible news late one night and had found themselves on the way to their grandma’s house in Grand Junction the next morning. Everyone told Sophie how she needed to think of the future, how she needed to become the young woman her parents knew she could be. But no matter how hard she fought not to be a big baby about it, she couldn’t stop missing her mom and dad.

She saw an outcropping of rock and went to stand on the other side of it where no one could see her cry. But someone was already there.

“Fuck off, stupid bitch!”

A group of boys huddled together, putting something that looked like whitish rocks into a strange, little pipe. Drugs. They were doing drugs.

“Get lost!”

Momentarily speechless, Sophie took a step backwards. “S-sorry!”

One of the boys grabbed her roughly around the wrist and dragged her forward, his sunburned face a wide grin. “Maybe we should keep her around. You know how horny this stuff makes me.”

Shock became fear. She shook her head, tried to pull her arm free. “No!”

“Bad idea. How do we know she won’t narc?” one of them asked. “Besides, you know you can’t get it up on this shit.”

A deep voice came from behind her. “Get your hands off her, Patrick, or I’ll stuff your balls down your throat!”

The boy let go of her so fast that she stumbled backward and almost fell in the grass. “Sorry, Hunt. I didn’t know she was here with you.”

Astonished, Sophie turned and saw Hunt standing behind her, glaring at the group of boys, his jaw tight, his mouth a grim line.

His gaze met hers and grew softer. “Come on, Sophie. You don’t want to hang around with these losers.”

Sophie didn’t need to be asked twice. She followed him to his car.

# # #

Hunt looked at the girl who sat in his passenger seat, feeling a strange tenderness in his chest. She’d put on her seatbelt the moment she’d gotten into the car and now sat with her hands folded in her lap, her pretty face downcast and half hidden by a fall of strawberry-blond hair. He’d always thought she was one of the prettiest girls in school, her eyes a deep blue, her skin pale and creamy, her mouth full and pink. She wasn’t short, but she wasn’t tall either, her slender build, her little nose and the slant of her eyes making him think of a fairy sprite more than a human girl. But she was a smart fairy sprite, making honor roll despite what had happened to her. He had to respect that.

He’d heard what those stupid girls had said about her, and he’d watched her hurry away from the party, looking like she might cry. He’d realized she was headed straight for Patrick and his meth-head buddies, but he hadn’t gotten to her fast enough to keep her away from them. He’d wanted to beat the shit out of Patrick for grabbing her and scaring her like that.

“You okay?” He tucked her hair behind her ear, unveiling her face.

Her cheeks wet with tears, she nodded. “Thanks.”

He stuck his key in the ignition of his ’55 Chevy Bel Air, turned it, and gunned the engine once just to feel its power. It had belonged to his grandfather, and Hunt had mowed a lot of lawns to earn the money to fix it up. “This isn’t exactly your scene, is it?”

She sniffed, shook her head. “No.”

“Where do you want me to take you?” He kicked the car into drive and steered through the trees and partiers toward the dirt road that headed through the adobes back to town.

“I guess I should go home, but… ”

“But what?”

“If my grandma sees I’ve been crying, she’ll ask me what happened, and then I’ll have to tell her I was here. I’ll probably get grounded. She’s pretty strict.”

Hunt was struck by her honesty. If he’d have been in her situation, he’d have solved the problem by telling a bald-faced lie.

That’s why you’re a loser and she’s not, dumbshit.

“Then I won’t take you home—not yet. Ever been up to the Monument?”

She looked up at him, and he could see the wariness in her eyes.

He pushed on the brake, reached under his seat, and pulled out his tire iron. “I’m not going to hurt you, Sophie. See this? If I do anything you don’t like, just hit me with it.”

Her fairy-sprite lips curved into a smile. “I don’t think I could really hit you.”

“You’re not supposed to tell me that. It makes it hard for me to be afraid of you.”

She laughed. “You’re not afraid of me.”

But a part of him was.

# # #

Sophie stared up at the stars, Hunt’s arm around her shoulder, his voice a deep purr in her ear as he explained the constellations, his car radio playing some romantic old Elvis song.

“Over there is Leo.” He pointed toward a configuration of stars just above the western horizon. “See that star, the brightest one? That’s Regulus.”

She looked where he pointed, tried to see a lion, and thought maybe she did. “Which is your favorite constellation?”

“I suppose my favorite is Orion, but he’s not up yet. He’s really easy to spot, though. He’s got three bright stars for his belt.”

“Why do you like him best?”

He smiled, looked straight at her. “He’s the hunter.”

She couldn’t believe this was happening, one of the worst nights of her life becoming one of the best. He’d taken her to get sodas, then he’d driven her to Colorado National Monument, where they’d gotten out of the car and looked over the guardrail at the vast expanse of desert and canyon beyond, the cliffs and rock outcroppings dark shadows against the night. Then he’d driven her along a road made for tourists until he’d found a place to park.

“Got that tire iron?” he’d joked as he’d killed the engine.

They had talked until their sodas were gone and then talked some more. She’d found she could tell him anything—about her school in Denver, about the loneliness she’d felt since coming to Grand Junction, about missing her parents.

“You want them back again, and there’s nothing you can do to get them back,” he’d said, pulling her against his chest when her eyes had filled with tears. “I know.”

Then he’d told her how his mom had gone to prison twice and how he’d been placed in one foster home after another, fighting with the social workers who wanted to put him up for adoption, refusing to cooperate.

“Is that why you get into trouble so much?” she’d asked.

He’d looked at her, something like surprise on his handsome face.

“I guess so,” he’d said, after a moment’s silence. “If I’d have been a good kid like you, they’d have found a new home for me and taken me from my mom. No matter what she’s done, she’s still my mom. She didn’t deserve that.”

They’d talked about school, about their favorite teachers, about what they wanted to be one day. Sophie’d told him how she’d always wanted to be a reporter so that she could travel and meet people. He’d told her he liked science, especially astronomy and geology.

“I always wanted to be an astronaut,” he’d said, shrugging as if he’d just said something ridiculous.

“You could still try. Really, you could. Why not shoot for the stars?”

He’d laughed, shaken his head—and dropped a bomb. “I don’t think any college would take me, at least not yet. I enlisted in the Army. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

“You’re leaving?” The revelation had stunned her—and left an ache in her chest.

She hated saying goodbye, hated being left behind.

He’d looked down at her and grinned. “Gonna miss me, sprite?”

And as he showed her the stars, opening up the sky to her, Sophie realized she was going to miss him. She’d spent only a few short hours with him, but she already felt like she’d known him forever.

“Up from Leo is Virgo. Can you see it there? And that really bright star is Spica. If you follow it to the south—”

“Hunt?” Sophie was afraid to ask him, was afraid to say it, but he was leaving in the morning. If she didn’t say it now, she’d probably never get another chance.

“Hmmm?”

Heart slamming, she forced herself to speak. “I… I want you to kiss me.”

For a moment he said nothing, but looked into her eyes as if trying to see inside her. Then he cupped her face with his left hand, ran his thumb over her lips, and ducked down.

Sophie had been kissed before, but she’d never been kissed like this.

He brushed his lips over hers again and again, soft butterfly caresses that made her whimper. Then he kissed the corners of her mouth, tasting her lips one at a time. And when she was sure she couldn’t take it another second, he took her mouth in a scorching, full-on kiss.

The heat of it stunned her, stole her breath, made her brain go blank. She heard herself moan, her body turning to hot jelly. She clung to him, instinctively following his lead, opening her mouth to the velvet strokes of his tongue, so new and strange to her. By the time he pulled back, she was shaking.

“Hunt?”

“Yeah, sprite?” He sounded breathless.

“Do that again.”

He groaned, fisted a hand in her hair, and crushed her against him, his mouth plundering hers, lips and tongues and teeth, until she was gasping for breath.

But all too soon he let her go and faced forward, his fist so tight around the steering wheel that his knuckles turned white. “I think it’s time to get you home.”

She scooted closer, still shaking. “No, Hunt, please!”

He looked down at her, his forehead furrowed, his lips wet. “If I don’t take you home now, you’re not going to get home till morning.”

She took his face between her hands, felt the rough stubble of his whiskers against her palms. “But that’s what I want! I want—”

“What?”

“You.”

She heard the breath rush from his lungs, felt some kind of battle raging inside him, knew he didn’t believe her.

“I heard what those girls said to you. You shouldn’t feel bad about being a virgin. That’s a beautiful thing. You should save it for a man who makes you feel special. You should save it for—”

“For you.” She’d never been more sure of anything in her life.

He turned in his seat to face her once again, ran his knuckles down her cheek. “But I’m the kid who always gets in trouble, remember?”

“Not with me you’re not.”

Hunt couldn’t believe what she was offering him. How could a smart girl like Sophie Alton would see anything in him? “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

She nodded, her eyes looking impossibly big in the dark. “That’s why it has to be now.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Besides, if she wanted to have sex with him badly enough that he couldn’t talk her out of it, he wasn’t stupid enough to stop her. He wanted her—bad.

“Come on.”

He grabbed the blanket he kept in his trunk, took Sophie’s trembling hand in his, and led her to a secluded copse of piñon pine away from the road. Then he spread the blanket on the warm, sandy ground.

If he’d expected her to get cold feet, he was wrong. The moment he turned to her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on her toes, and kissed him. His little fairy sprite was passionate. Well, that was fine by him.

He drew her down to the blanket beside him, kissed her until his mouth burned, until he’d tasted her lips in every possibly way, until they were both breathless, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“God, Sophie, you are so sweet!”

Slowly, he undid the buttons of her blouse to reveal a lacy white bra and two small but perfect breasts.

“I-I’m flat chested.” She looked away.

“Who told you that?” He pressed his lips against the lace, felt her body tense, heard her gasp. “I think you’re perfect.”

Unable to suppress a hungry groan, he unfastened the clasp, lowered his mouth to a tight, pink nipple and sucked.

“Oh!” She arched off the blanket with a cry, her fingers digging into his hair.

Soon she was twisting beneath him, her head turning from side to side, her silky hair a tangled mass, and he was so hard and so turned on from the sight and taste of her that it hurt. He knew he needed to go slowly, but he didn’t think he could wait much longer. He ran his hand down the satin skin of her belly, unbuttoned her jeans, then tugged them off with her panties, exposing the soft curls of her muff and a pair of smooth, slender legs.

He’d expected her to be shy, but she wasn’t. Instead of hiding herself from him, she tried to undress him, tugging his T-shirt out of his jeans and fumbling with the buttons of his fly.

“I want to touch you!” Her voice was a breathy whisper.

“Yeah.” He liked that idea.

He yanked off his shirt, then guided her uncertain fingers, nearly coming undone when she slid her hands over the skin of his bare ass to push his jeans and boxers out of the way.

“Can I see?” she asked.

“See?” And then he understood.

She’d never seen a dick before, at least not a hard one.

He rolled onto his side, took her hand and guided it to his stiff cock, his entire body tensing when her fingers closed around him.

Sophie hadn’t thought an erect penis would be so big. Or so hard. Or so silky. “I thought it would be like a hot dog.”

He gave a snort. Then laughed. “A hot dog?”

She stroked him, ran her thumb over the moistened tip, felt his body jerk, his laughter catching in his throat, becoming a moan. Hungry for him, she explored him with her hands—his erection, his belly, his chest with its mat of dark curls.

And then he was kissing her again, his lips burning a path over her mouth, down her throat to her breasts, his fingers seeking between her thighs, teasing that secret part of her until she felt damp and hot and achy.

“I want to taste you!” His breath was cool against the heat of her wet, tingling nipples, his hand persistent between her thighs.

Surely he didn’t mean…

Oh, but he did!

Shocked to her core, she tried to stop him. “Hunt, no! You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His hard thigh pressed between hers, nudged her legs apart. Then he kissed his way down her body, the heat of his mouth and the anticipation raising bumps on her skin.

When at last he kissed her there, he did it with the same attention he’d given her mouth, his lips and tongue unbearably hot, the sweet tug of his lips so intense it almost made her scream. Never had she felt anything like this. She bit her lip, held her breath, fought not to break apart.

“Mmm.” He groaned, nipping her sensitive inner thigh. “God, you taste good!”

He took her with his mouth again, this time sliding first one finger, then two deep inside her, stretching her, stroking her, setting her body on fire.

Breath left her lungs in a low, keening cry—and the heat inside her exploded. Molten gold blazed through her, the sensation both scorching and sweet. Only when the pleasure had ebbed did he stop, his lips finding a path up her belly, over her breasts, to her mouth. He tasted wild and musky, and she realized it was her flavor on his lips.

“Are you sure you want to do this, sprite? We can just hold at third base if you want, and you can stay a virgin. I won’t be angry.”

She could see on his face that it cost him something to say those words, and it struck her as excruciatingly sweet that he would give her the chance to back out. Most guys probably wouldn’t do that. But then he was special. Hadn’t she always sensed that?

She pressed her fingers against his lips to quiet him, her decision made the moment he’d kissed her. “I want it to be you, Hunt. I want you.”

“Thank God! I want you more than any girl I’ve ever known!” He stretched himself out above her, lifted one of her slender legs, and wrapped it around his waist. “But there’s something you should know.”

Sophie slid her shaky hands up the muscles of his chest. “Wh-what?”

“I’ve never done this with a virgin. I might hurt you.” Then nudged himself slowly into her, breath hissing from between his clenched teeth, his gaze locked with hers, his muscles tense.

She gave a surprised gasp at the pain, then felt him withdraw.

Had she scared him off?

She drew him closer. “Don’t stop! It doesn’t hurt—too much.”

He gave her a lopsided grin, sweat on his forehead and chest. “I don’t plan to stop, sprite. I’m just letting you get used to me.”

She felt his hips shift, felt him slide slowly into her again, stretching her past the pain, the fullness both piercing and hot. “Oh! Oh, Hunt, yes!”

He groaned, his eyes closed. “God, Sophie! You feel so good! So wet and tight! I don’t think this will last very long.”

Then he began to move, his motions reigniting the fire inside her, the pleasure building thrust upon thrust, until the stars seemed to explode and rain down around them, leaving them both panting and sweaty in the cool summer night.

# # #

Hunt stroked Sophie’s hair, staring at the star-strewn sky above, his senses filled with her. “It’s different with you.”

She lifted her head off his chest, looked at him through sleepy eyes. “What’s different?”

“Everything.”

# # #

They lay together on the blanket, dozing, talking, laughing. He made love to her twice more, holding her until the sun came up and turned the canyon walls pink. Then he dressed her, crooning an old fifties love song, his lips pressed against her hair.

“One starry night, I kissed your lips / One starry night, I held you tight / You and I under the starry sky.”

But the happiness Sophie had felt through the night seemed to dim with the daylight. All too soon, she found herself sitting in his car just down the street from her grandma’s house, fighting tears as silence stretched between them.

“What are you going to tell your grandma?”

“I don’t know. That I just lost my virginity to the guy she warned me about.” She laughed despite the heaviness in her chest and realized that something had changed. She no longer cared what her grandmother thought.

Hunt frowned. “She warned you about me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she was right, wasn’t she?”

Sophie shook her head, clasped his big hand tightly. “No, she was dead wrong.”

More silence.

“I liked you from the first moment I saw you,” he said at last.

“Really?” She found that hard to believe. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He reached over, ran a finger down her cheek. “I didn’t think a guy like me would stand a chance with a girl as smart and sweet as you.”

“That’s stupid!” she snapped, feeling genuinely angry. But one look at his face and her anger was gone. He truly believed what he’d said. “I liked you from the first time I saw you, too. I’m going to miss you, Hunt.”

“I’d promise to stay in touch, but I’ve never written a letter in my life.”

She stared down at their entwined fingers. “I wish…”

“Me, too. But it’s better this way. You have better things to do than hang around with a loser like me. You’re going to go to college, become a famous journalist and end up on the TV news. I’ll be able to watch you and think, ‘See that beautiful woman? She gave you the sweetest night of your life.’”

His words seemed to shoot straight through her heart.

Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, fought to keep her voice steady. “And what about you?”

He shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll try to be an astronaut after all. Might as well shoot for the stars, right?”

She nodded, swallowed her tears, unable to speak.

“Stay away from Patrick and his gang. Promise?”

She nodded again.

“And don’t listen to what anyone in this town has to say. You’re beautiful, and one day the perfect man will come along and sweep you away. Tough luck for me, isn’t it?” He gave a little laugh, then his voice grew tight. “I won’t forget you, fairy sprite.”

And as she watched him drive away in his blue ’55 Chevy, tears streaming down her face, Sophie knew she’d never forget him either.

Tragic news in Romancelandia. Pamela Clare, gracious and talented author of Unlawful Contact, had a computer commit suicide on her. And thus she has lost her music! Which is why there was no contest during her Guest Quacking… and why she seemed to disappear for half of the day. Technology.  She’s a fickle mistress.  I mean.  It’s a tragedy of Shakespearian proportions in this day and age.

Therefore, in an effort to remind her of all her music, and perhaps help her build her collection again, the Duckies (or Sybil) had a fun idea.

Oh, and we get to have a contest. It’s a great one too: the winner will get a signed copy of Unlawful Contact and a set of perfume appropriately named “Marc” and “Sophie” in honor of the book.

And I get to come up with the rules. Excellent. Imagine me saying that like Mr. Burns. No? Oh well.

Pamela says this, as some guidance on her tastes:

• I love 3 Doors Down and lost them. I love rock.
• I lost the Tudors soundtrack.
• God, I lost a ton of 70s, 80s, 90s rock.

Here are the rules:

1. Come of up with a list of your top 10-25 favorite songs OR albums. A catchy tune or two or uh… 3,756 (don’t judge me!).
2. Comment to this thread with that list before midnight (according to the blog’s timestamp) next Tuesday, 8 April (technically 12:00am 9 April, but you know what I mean).
3. A winner will be chosen from the comments.
4. Only one entry per IP address (per household) will be considered for the contest, but you can comment as often as you wish.

Good luck and have fun with lists… it’s a listmania!

We all know by now that Pamela Clare, author of romantic suspense Unlawful Contact (Berkley, 1 Apr 08), is a little bit of an adrenaline junky.  Wait – you didn’t know this?  You mean you didn’t read the “Goldilocks Goes to Jail” posts during the month of March?  Well let me recap them for you…

10 Mar 08 – Guest Post: Goldilocks Goes to Jail, Part I – Pamela Clare looks good in stripes… 

“If you’re attacked, we might not be able to intervene in time to prevent you from being hurt or even killed,” the jail captain told me.

12 Mar 08 – GUEST POST: Goldilocks Goes to Jail, Part II – Strip-searched

I do as she says, handing my clothes to her one item at a time until I stand naked on the cold, cement floor.

“Lift your arms. Turn around. OK, face the wall. Now lift your hair and shake it. Let me see behind our ears. Now I need you to squat on the floor facing away from me and cough.”

“If someone jumps on you, we won’t be there to pull them off right away,” one of the lieutenants warned me earlier.

14 Mar 08 – GUEST POST: Goldilocks Goes to Jail, Part III – Behind the Red Door

I don’t sit for long.

“Your fat ass is in my chair!” shouts a woman who is sitting in another chair nearby – perhaps she lays claim to several.

She gets up and stomps over to me.

17 Mar 08 – Guest Post: Goldilocks Goes to Jail, Part IV — Broomsticks and Bibles

 Why is the broom locked up?” I ask.

“Broomstick parties,” she answers.

“Broomstick parties?” I’ve never heard the term before.

“That’s where a bunch of women gang up on someone they hate and rape her with the broom handle.”

19 Mar 08 – Guest Post: Goldilocks Goes to Jail, Part V — Romance and Meth Heads

As I sit talking with some of the inmates about their kids, I see the two meth heads watching me. Adrenaline punches through my system as I wonder what in the world I did to piss them off.

“You need to stay away from them,” Renee whispers.

26 Mar 08 – GUEST POST: Goldilocks Goes to Jail, Part VI — A Night of Screams

Screaming awakes me. It isn’t any kind of screaming I’ve heard before. It’s an insane, animal screaming, and it makes chills skitter down my spine.

Then I hear two male guards walking along the corridor.

“She’s a journalist,” one says. “You want to see her?”

At the time, it doesn’t dawn on me to think who else might have heard these words. I close my eyes, lie still, wondering if I heard that correctly. Footsteps approach, and I tell myself to stop feeling skittish. The last person in the world the guards are going to harm is a working journalist.

A bright flashlight shines through the window in my door and pans me – head to toe and back again. I lie still, pretend to sleep, feeling like a zoo exhibit. And in the darkness by myself it occurs to me how easy it would be for someone to open the door to a woman inmate’s cell and do whatever he wanted to do, particularly if he were in on it with his buddies. I tuck that idea away in my mind.

Damn!  Just those few moments alone from the series is enough to get my own adrenaline pumping!  Don’t miss these posts!

And that does it for our Pamela Clare Guest Author Day.  Thanks, Pamela!  It was a true honor working with you on these posts and I hope we get the chance again with your next book.  Native American issues, isn’t it?  That sould be interesting!

Pamela Clare joins us today for some Q’s and A’s. Read on to learn more about this accomplished, award-winning author and journalist. Don’t forget to catch her newest romantic suspense release, Unlawful Contact (Berkley, 1 Apr 08).

TGTBTU: Pamela, tell us a little about your first book sale. How long did it take you to crack the industry?

Pamela Clare: My first sale was Sweet Release, a historical and the first book I wrote. It took me seven years to write the book because I had little kids at the time and was working my way up the newsroom ladder. But once it was written, I had an agent within a few months and, after a round of revisions, had a sale in nine. It seemed so easy. Beginner’s luck, I guess. I had written three historicals before I started my first romantic suspense. Writing RS was my agent’s idea. She and I were catching up on the latest, and I mentioned the fact that I’d gotten another threat at work. She said, “Why don’t you write romantic suspense, because you live it.” And I said, “Yeah, except for the ‘romantic’ part.”

TGTBTU: What other genres do want to write in?

PC: I’d like to try my hand a straight historical fiction one day, as well as erotic romance. I have an erotic romance under way that I’ll finish as soon as I get some time.

TGTBTU: How hard is it to write in a male voice? Do you have anything special you need to do to “get in the head” of your male characters, or any of your characters? How hard is it to “switch heads” when you are writing, anyway?

PC: I love writing in the male voice. Men are more action oriented. They want to respond by doing something. It’s not that they’re not emotional, it’s just that everything is more direct. I often find the hero’s passages easier to write than the heroine’s. Provided I’ve done the work I need to do with regard to characterization, switching heads is really easy for me. I have a kind of internal running inventory of where my characters are emotionally, so I just pick one up and put the other one down. Every once in a while, I’ll have a scene where I can’t decide whether to make it from the hero’s point of view or the heroine’s. Then I try to decide who has the most at risk in that scene and usually go with that person because the emotions tend to be higher. I’m an emotion junkie.

TGTBTU: Are you an obssessive outliner, or do you just sit down and wing it when you write? Tell us a little about your process.

PC: For me it starts and ends with characterization. I generally have some idea of what happens in the story. Publishers require a synopsis, so I always write one. But that’s the first work of fiction because I rarely even look at it. I know the general theme and action of the story, the events around which the story evolves — for example, my hero takes the heroine hostage to break out of prison because he knows someone is after his sister — and into that story I place my characters. They feel like real people to me, so I let them loose and take notes. If I really feel them, they do all the plotting work for me because, just like real people, they respond uniquely to whatever is going on around them.

TGTBTU: What is sure to distract you from sitting down and writing, no matter how determined you might be?

PC: Phone calls from well-meaning friends and family who say, “How’s the writing going?” Grocery shopping, paying bills, head-of-household obligations. Rarely does the newspaper interrupt my writing, because everyone there knows better than to call unless it’s a bona fide “holy hell!” emergency. They’re very respectful of my time.

TGTBTU: What other art forms do you enjoy, either as a hobby, collecting, or visiting (museums or performances) – painting, music, photography, etc.?

PC: I love, love, love to paint and draw. I was in Fine Arts in college for a time and got most of a master’s in Fine Arts History. I love listening to music (Celtic, rock, hip hop, blues, classical, etc.). I love concerts, museums, galleries, historical documentaries. Given that I’m also an adrenaline junkie — I blame 15 years of being an investigative reporter — I do crazy stuff sometimes for fun. Like go with one of my journalist friends to a part of Denver where we simply do not belong to hang out in bars or walk the streets. I’ve been the only woman in a bar before. It gets your adrenaline hopping. I don’t know if you can call that a hobby, but it used to be a regular pastime. Also, I quilt. Or I used to before I had deadlines. And I love my rose garden. I have a massive flower garden. My son helps with the garden so that I can write and just come out when I have time to sniff and putter. And when we have time we hike in the mountains, which are 15 minutes from my front door.

TGTBTU: What is your next project? Is it also romantic suspense and will we see the I-Team again?

PC: As soon as I finish Untamed, the sequel to Surrender, my 2006 historical that was a RITA finalist, I’m starting Naked Edge, the next I-Team book. It tells Kat’s story and that of Gabe Rossiter, a mountain park’s ranger. It’s going to focus on contemporary urban Indian issues, something I know quite a bit about from my work at the paper.

TGTBTU: Do you have any charity or pet project you want to call some attention to?

PC: In honor of Unlawful Contact, which is dedicated to a baby who was stillborn as a result of neglect her mother suffered at the hands of prison guards, I guess I’ll mention CCJRC — Colorado Criminal Justice Reform Coalition. They work to ensure that prison inmates receive humane treatment and they accomplish a lot. Although they focus on Colorado, they’ve been a resource to lots of people outside Colorado as well. You can find them online at http://www.ccjrc.org/ .

TGTBTU: Okay, now for the lightning round…

Mustard or mayo? Totally mayo.

Heels or flats? Flats! I’m 5-10.

Pants or skirts? Skirts. Who wants to dress like a boy?

Crunchy or smooth? Depends on my mood.

Chocolate or vanilla ice cream? Only vanilla please. Chocolate is too sacred for ice cream.

Dark or milk chocolate? Milk chocolate, Marabou Mælkchokolade if I can find it.

John Mayer or Mozart? Who can resist Wolfgang? Mozart all the way.

Morning person or night owl? Night owl.

TGTBTU: Thanks Pamela!

PC: Thank you! It’s been fun!

Pamela Clare is our Guest Author today.  Her new romantic suspense, Unlawful Contact, releases today and we highly recommend it.  (Gwen and Alicia have reviewed it.)  Be sure to catch the “Goldilocks Goes to Jail” posts to read about Pamela’s experience in jail. 

Read on for Pamela’s interview with former inmate, Pamela Clifton, to get the real skinny on being a woman behind bars and how Clifton’s loss has inspired so many…

Pamela Clare plays journalist

An interview with Pamela Clifton

Pamela Clare: A long, long time ago in about June 2001, I came across your federal lawsuit against the state of Colorado. I know it’s not easy, but can you give us a quick overview of what happened to you there?

Pamela Clifton: Nothing happened in Denver Women’s.

Clare: Ah. OK. Now that we’ve settled that, I feel like a dope.

Clifton: I started out in Cañon City at the women’s facility. At the time Denver Women’s had just opened, and they did not have the capability to take care of women who were pregnant. I was about three months pregnant when I arrived. I was put on light duty and went to see the doctor every month. My pregnancy was progressing normally. The baby was due on about January 18. The week before Christmas I went in for a check up and was told that I should expect a daughter.

I woke up on a beautiful Christmas morning. I went out to walk laps for an hour, which I always did, and then went back to my room for the 11 AM count. During count you are not allowed to leave your cell, even though we had unlocked doors, except to go to the bathroom. Count usually took about 45 minutes, and then we were called for lunch unit by unit. It was Christmas dinner so things took a little longer.

I remember the first gut-wrenching pain hit about 10 minutes into count. I was alarmed, but not upset. The second one came exactly 15 minutes later and the third one about 12 minutes after that. I saw one of the guards coming down the hall and I said, “ Something’s wrong, I think I am in labor.” She said there wasn’t anything she could do right then because it was count time, but I could go to the bathroom if I wanted. I went to the bathroom and then after 10 minutes I got another one. I started to pace the long unit down the hallway. I spoke to some of the other girls, and they watched over me through each pain. I have two other children so I know what labor feels like as opposed to Braxton-Hicks. I went to the dayroom, the guard was playing a video game, and I asked her to call down to medical, and she said that she did but no one was answering the phone. Finally, they called our unit to lunch and I told the girls that we could walk down to Master Control and tell the guard down there what was happening. The contractions were still about 10 minutes apart. We walked into the dining hall and I sat down. They were coming a little faster. Just so you know my water never breaks; the doctor had to break it with both my kids. Ash was a month early, and Dalton was two weeks late. I had passed this information on to the medical staff at CWCF early on in my pregnancy.

The pains were five minutes apart, and I knew something was happening because it was more than a pushing pain; there was a struggle going on in my belly. I went to Master Control, and I told the officer to please call medical that my pains were five minutes apart. She said, “Go back to your unit. There are plenty of women down there who know how to birth babies.”

I remember standing there with my mouth open. And then the girls ushered me down the hall to my unit. I asked the guard again, and she said, “I’ll try”

I don’t remember much after that I was in my room between the chair and the bed for about 4 hours. The pains started becoming erratic at that point and when the guards changed shifts one of the girls went and told the new guard what was happening and suddenly medical was on the ball, or so I thought. They had me come down, and the nurse who was not a regular employee said that my water hadn’t broken and she couldn’t feel the distress. I asked her to check with the fetal heart monitor to make sure everything was okay, and she said she didn’t know how to use it. I made a remark about it not being that hard, and she said that there wasn’t anyone to call because it was Christmas. She sent me back to my unit.

I waited for someone to call me in the next day, but it was Sunday, and no one was there. That evening I went to an AA meeting, and I saw the nurse in the hall, and I looked at her and said, “Now I don’t feel anything.” She had me come into medical and called the PA. He came over from Fremont, checked me with the fetal heart monitor and had me rushed to the hospital. At the hospital my doctor showed up and did a battery of tests.

“I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat,” he said.

DOC was short on staff, so they took me back to prison for the night. I told one guard what had happened, and she burst into tears and gave me a hug. She was later fired for that show of emotion. I was returned to hospital and they gave me some medicine to restart the labor. Then I just had to wait until my body was ready. No epidural, and I had to do all the work. Leah Rhiann Clifton was born at 2:50 the next morning. Red hair and blue eyes. She had wrapped the cord around her neck three times and tied it in two separate knots trying to get out.

They took her and wrapped her in a blanket, warmed her artificially and brought her to me to say goodbye. I touched her cheek and kissed her forehead. I apologized. I signed her birth certificate and her death certificate. Her footprints were so tiny with 10 perfect little toes. They told me that in these instances when the family is indigent the state would pay for the cremation. I was horrified at that thought. I had nightmares for years of my baby being burned to death. I said no. I would figure out something else. It took everyone I knew, but Stoddard’s, the funeral home in Greeley, donated the money to have her buried. They [DOC] wouldn’t allow me to go to the funeral.

Clare: I’m familiar with your story, and even after all these years, I can’t hear it without getting choked up and really, really angry. I cannot imagine what it must have been like to be in your cell in labor, knowing something was wrong and not being able to get even sympathy from the guards — not even the female guards. Pain and panic and a sense of helplessness… That’s what I imagine, anyway.

Clifton: It’s a knot in your throat. It’s flight or flight. It’s panic and fear and total helplessness. You can’t protect yourself or your child. You don’t want to act out and throw a fit, because if nothing is wrong then they would put you in the hole. They would give you write-ups, which would destroy your chance at going to a halfway house or on parole. You don’t want to give them the opportunity to hurt you, because what if you hurt your baby in the process. A million things go through your mind. I tried to call my family, but of course, it was Christmas and no one was home. This was before cell phones

Clare: Were you shackled at the hospital and during transport while you were in labor?

Clifton: I think so, but I honestly can’t remember.

Clare: Did you receive pain relief during the birth or any support from the nursing staff, someone to hold your hand?

Clifton: No. When they had taken me back to the hospital the next morning, they let me use the phone a lot. I called my ex and told him what happened. He picked up Garry, the baby’s father, and they were at the hospital from Greeley in four hours. He demanded to see me. They let him in the room long enough to say he was sorry, and then they made them leave.

Clare: Afterwards, how long were you allowed to stay in the hospital before it was back to your cell?

Clifton: 24 hours. I had to make funeral arrangements, and the priest wanted to talk to me.

Clare: Then you did something I think was very courageous. You filed a lawsuit against the state. It’s courageous because here you are, at the mercy of the guards, and you’ve filed a lawsuit against some of them and against their employer. You also named the medical staff (or lack thereof) that failed properly to aid you. Behind bars, that could mean a backlash with serious consequences. Did you pay for the lawsuit with mistreatment?

Clifton: The lawsuit protected me in some ways, but it was the little things. The guard from Master Control once locked me in the office and screamed at me. I don’t even remember what she was screaming about. The DOC wrote me up on a trumped-up complicity write-up and put me in the hole for 90 days. I filed against them in court for that, as well.

Clare: And of course, I wrote about this — and was fired for it. It caused a conflict at the paper. One of the editor’s favorite reporters told me that my open-records request against the Department of Corrections needed to be rescinded and that I ought to apologize because the governor’s buddy was running DOC and the paper didn’t want to embarrass the governor. My response was, “I don’t care how the governor feels or who this upsets. I’m doing my job.” Then when the story was written, my editor said, “She was in prison on a drug charge. She was probably doing drugs in prison and killed the kid herself.” To which, I, in extreme anger, shouted, “That’s not journalism! That’s speculation!” By Friday, I was unemployed. I sold the story to another paper an hour later, and then it won a state journalism award. Did you hear on the inside that I’d been fired?

Clifton: No, I didn’t hear about that until later. I had wondered why it was never in the paper.

Clare: Was there any response after the article came out either within DOC or among other newspapers?

Clifton: I was transferred right after that to Pueblo. That’s where I got the trumped-up write up.

Clare: Yikes! I hadn’t heard that part, and I don’t think that’s what I was hoping for! Your lawsuit against the state was recently settled (we can’t talk about the terms of the settlement). Did it give you a sense of completion at all?

Clifton: It did, because it was finally over. I could go to Leah and tell her that they admitted guilt the only way they knew how. I really needed it to be over. It had been 10 years.

Clare: How did you feel when you learned I was dedicating a novel to your daughter?

Clifton: I was overwhelmed with the thought that somehow, Leah would be remembered by more than me. That perhaps she would be able to help make a difference in the world just by being the wonderful bright spirit within me for such a short time. I still get very emotional when I think about how many lives were changed by her.

Clare: OK, now I’m in tears. I’m so sorry for what you’ve gone through and for what happened to Leah. It isn’t right, and there’s no way to make it right. But when I wrote this novel, I knew that I could at least remember her in that way.

You just read Unlawful Contact. I can’t really imagine what that experience was like for you, given the dedication at the front and the fact that my investigation of your situation is specifically mentioned in the story. Was the book hard to read?

Clifton: The book was difficult to read. There are different pieces of my life scattered through the book. What happened to me and my kids, how the system operates. All of it. I was diagnosed with PTSD, and so many memories were locked away, and the book allowed me to let out a little of that pain.

Clare: I only spent 24 hours in jail. You spent six years total in state prison. How realistic was the story in its depiction of prison and the criminal-justice system?

Clifton: You brought me to a point of honest reflection. I could feel you feel me in that cell. What a wonderful job you did, and of course, I was never in a men’s prison which is quite different from a woman’s. The feeling of humiliation is very real. You are stripped of your womanhood, your individuality and your ability to make decisions. That can destroy you or make you stronger. It takes a certain innocence from you but leaves you steelier and more wary. You develop serious trust issues. I don’t know if that is good or bad.

You were actually pretty easy on them The problem is that as in everything in life, it depends on the relationships you build. Some people are just bad, no matter what side of the cage they are on. Sometimes you have to learn to bite your tongue and speak up when the time is right.

Clare: You have no idea how happy I was when I learned you were out of prison. You’re really doing well. Can you tell us about your life now?

Clifton: After prison I decided a few things. First of all, my parental rights had been terminated when I was sent to prison, because policy states that after a certain time period kids should just be put up for adoption. About a year before I was released, Human Services asked me to write a goodbye letter to my children. I could not do it. Instead, I started looking for help within the prisoner advocacy world. I wrote to place called the Rocky Mountain Peace and Justice Center.

My letter was read by a woman named Christie Donner. Christie and I developed an instant connection, and although she was unable to help with my kids, she gave some great advice and I was able to function with the hope that perhaps after I got out I could get them back. I focused on that. I found a job in political and nonprofit fundraising. I worked 80 hours a week for the first year. I made enough money to get out of the halfway house and into my own home. I kept writing to Social Services. They kept denying me. I kept calling. I sent letters of support from my parole officer, my boss, and my therapist. They told me to get a psych evaluation. I did. (Much to the surprise of the psychiatrist, even after all this, I’m normal), and then they told me that Dalton had been adopted out, but Ashleigh hadn’t. They gave her back eventually.

I got off of parole on June 16, 2005. The next day I called Christie Donner. She had started an organization called the Colorado Criminal Justice Reform Coalition. I told her I wanted to start writing grants for nonprofits. She asked if I wanted to just come and work with her. Within six months I gave up my other job. I now work full time with Christie. It is our mission to reduce the mass incarceration rate in Colorado, to help find funding for treatment, to advocate for prisoners and their families, and to reform sentence and policy laws. I started a blog last year that is called Think Outside the Cage. We have had nearly 70,000 hits internationally. CCJRC now has 5,200 members and 105 organizations.

Clare: It’s kind of funny that you sometimes send me press releases. I get a kick out of that.

Clifton: I like to keep you informed

Clare: In your experience, how do most people feel about people convicted of crimes? How does the press in general respond to prison issues?

Clifton: It depends on the person, it depends on the crime, it depends on the politics of the day.  How hot is the issue? Is there something else hotter? Tim Masters‘s got TONS of coverage. The girls who were raped in Brush got a couple of articles.

Clare: Anything else you’d like to share?

Clifton: People should get involved with mentoring programs if they would like to help. They should contact me directly if they would like to be added to the mailing list. Every state is different, if you feel the need to be a voice, write letters to the editor, follow legislation, contact your state, local and federal legislators. More than anything else, thank you. Thank you for caring about the issue, and thank you for caring about Leah.

Now, the rest of you reading this, feel free to jump in and play journalist yourselves. Ask questions of either Pam or me, and we’ll answer.

Today we have the wonderful, talented, and multiple award winning, author and journalist Pamela Clare guesting with us.  She’s here to mark the release of her latest romantic suspense, Unlawful Contact, and to spend some time with the TGTBTU readers.

We’ll have…

• Pamela’s interview with Pam Clifton, a former inmate and part of the inspiration behind Unlawful Contact;
• Our interview with Pamela, where she tells us how chocolate is sacred, characters are everything, and being a single mom makes life just that much more interesting;
• A recap of Pamela’s “Goldilocks Goes to Jail” guest posts, recounting her experiment spending a day in jail.
• Pamela will be around to respond to your comments and answer your questions.

So, join us, won’t you?  Spend some time with this accomplished writer!

Alicia’s review of  Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare
Contemporary romantic suspense released by Berkley 1 Apr 08

I had only read Pamela Clare’s historicals until now. I read this book because of what she posted about her experiences with prison and prisoners. Just the fact that she knew what she was writing about drew me in. Since Sybil had the ARC, I had to read it. I’m so glad I did.

Sophie Alton and Marc Hunter had one night together. Then Marc went into the Army. He saw it as the best way to begin his adult life. His mother was addicted to drugs and was in prison. His little sister was adopted out to a “good” family. He had been in a lot of foster homes and a lot of trouble. So, one night with Sophie and the next morning he was gone. But he never forgot her.

Sophie became an investigative reporter. Now, she has a great career and she’s saving money to put her brother through college. She’s working on prison reform and following a young mother who is cleaning up her life. When that young mother suddenly runs off with the baby, destroying her chances for full legal custody of it, Sophie is shocked. Not as shocked, though, as she is to find out the young lady is Marc’s little sister.

Sophie never forgot Marc. He has always been a special memory to her. She has even considered trying to find him, but doesn’t want to disrupt his life. When she goes to meet with a prisoner about the girl who ran, though, she doesn’t even recognize Marc in the unshaven man in front of her. Marc had hoped she wouldn’t be afraid for herself in his hands. He never thought she wouldn’t know him. She fears for her life and it cuts him to the quick.

And that’s the best thing about Marc. He loves Sophie from start to finish. Sophie has to question her own feelings because Marc is a prisoner and considered dangerous. Marc understands her hesitancy, though, because a woman with any sense would second guess herself. He’s just a good guy.

Unlawful Contact sizzles from beginning to end. The chemistry between the characters radiates from the pages. The plot never stalls and the emotion is high. I had to stop reading and just cry several times. I recommend you read the author’s posts about her real experiences as an investigative reporter (the first post is titled “Pamela Clare looks good in stripes…”, the rest are “Goldilocks Goes to Jail”).

This book is a must-buy.

Grade: A

     Taken hostage by a convicted murderer while reporting at a prison, Sophie Alton has no idea that the man holding the gun to her head is the bad boy who was her first love in high school. Condemned to life without parole, Marc Hunter finds himself with no choice but to break out of prison after his younger sister disappears with her baby.

     Though he regrets what he has to put Sophie through, he can’t let anything get in the way of his stopping the corrupt officials who are set on destroying what’s left of his family. But being near Sophie rekindles memories for both of them. As the passion between them heats up, so does the conspiracy to put both of them in their graves.

     Read an excerpt.

Read Gwen’s review here.

Last of a continuing series of posts sharing my recollections of the time I went to jail for 24 hours as a journalist… 

“This is still jail,” says one woman while we eat our supper, “but it’s a lot nicer than some jails.”

There are general nods of agreement and the women begin discussing different jails like most of us might talk about different shopping malls or hair salons or restaurants. Greeley sucks, they agree. So does Arapahoe County. JeffCo isn’t too bad.

I sit and listen and eat my somewhat palatable supper — meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, mixed canned veggies, and chocolate cake served frosting-side down — while they compare notes, and I’m astonished at how many jails and prisons these women can describe. And then comes the revelation: I am the only one in the unit who has never been in jail before.

The one with AIDS spent several years at the California Institute for Women. Renee has served two years in prison and has been in jail again for several months. Even the woman who’s there for failing to have car insurance has served jail time before.

Now I know why I stood out to the meth heads. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights to them. (Note to self: Do not attempt to go undercover among people who will kill you, such as drug kingpins, Mafia types or international spies.)

Soon the women are talking about which guards they like and which ones they don’t, arguing amongst one another about who treats them like garbage and who sees them as people. Though I haven’t seen any abusive behavior, I’ve noticed that the guards seem to look down on them, an absolute separation from “us,” the law-abiding, and “them,” the inmates. I don’t know what to think about it.

Then the conversation drifts to health care and the women start yelling about a guard who last week supposedly ignored their calls for help when Beth, a young woman who’s no longer there, fell down on the floor and had a grand mal seizure. Standing over her, the guard allegedly watched her twitch and jerk and froth and said, “Nice acting job.” Only hours later, when Beth still lay on the floor, now in her own vomit, did she get medical attention.

Renee turns to me and says, “If you think you might have a headache tomorrow, you’d better order an aspirin now.”

I already know from my pre-”arrest” briefing that most medical requests are dealt with via kites. An inmate fills out a kite, and it is reviewed by jail staff. If a true emergency occurs, like a seizure or high fever or some other health crisis, the guards are supposed to evaluate it and respond.

“In jail, there are inconveniences,” one of the jail staff told me.

But lying in your own vomit having had a seizure isn’t an inconvenience. It’s neglect.

One of the meth heads joins in the conversation.

“I’m not a fucking addict!” she shouts. “When I get out of here, I’m going to sue the county for this! They’re forcing me to take methadone!”

Except that you don’t take methadone for meth addiction, and the jail isn’t authorized to distribute it. Someone has apparently not yet come down to earth.

Dinner is over, the trays are taken away and the evening drags on. Supper is followed by card games at the tables and “NYPD Blue,” which, oddly, seems to be everyone’s favorite TV show.

A handful of women take late showers to the sounds of hoots and hollers from women who’ve gone upstairs to watch. One woman indulges them and does a little stripper routine, shaking her bare butt for her viewers.

Then suddenly it’s 11 p.m. and time for lockdown. It happens fast. One minute you’re being bustled into your cell. Then next the door swings shut with loud click — and the fluorescent lights that have blazed all day are shut off with a clang.

I feel a sense of relief to be alone. I’m locked behind six inches of steel, no need to watch over my shoulder, no chance that I’ll say something really stupid and get pounded. I lie on my completely uncomfortable steel shelf on my skinny “mattress” pad in the dark and realize how tense I am. Every muscle in my body feels knotted. I breathe deeply, every conversation I’ve had, every sight, every smell, jammed together in my mind, demanding consideration.

Then I start to drift asleep — but it doesn’t last for long.

* * *

Screaming awakes me. It isn’t any kind of screaming I’ve heard before. It’s an insane, animal screaming, and it makes chills skitter down my spine.

I sit up, listen. It’s not a woman’s voice. Then again it doesn’t really sound like a man’s voice. I’ve never heard sounds like that coming from a human throat before.

Yaps, growls, howls, screeches draw together for a moment and form words: “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” Then the words fade back into insane, animalistic howling.

I have no clock, no watch, no cell phone, but I lie there in the dark unable to keep from listening as this sound goes on nonstop for hours.

Some male inmates, separated from us by thick concrete walls and steel, take up the screecher’s cause and howl and scream with him. When that doesn’t seem to make enough noise, they begin to pound on their cell doors with their feet, a sound like metallic thunder. And it just doesn’t end.

Around me, I can here women whispering and talking.

No one is sleeping.

Is it like this every night? I have no way of knowing.

I try to sleep, can’t. Some human being has gone off the deep end, and it feels like he’s trying to take everyone in the jail with him. Now profanity has joined the yaps and howls, and it sounds like the jail is haunted by a foul-mouthed poltergeist.

Then I hear two male guards walking along the corridor.

“She’s a journalist,” one says. “You want to see her?”

At the time, it doesn’t dawn on me to think who else might have heard these words. I close my eyes, lie still, wondering if I heard that correctly. Footsteps approach, and I tell myself to stop feeling skittish. The last person in the world the guards are going to harm is a working journalist.

A bright flashlight shines through the window in my door and pans me — head to toe and back again. I lie still, pretend to sleep, feeling like a zoo exhibit. And in the darkness by myself it occurs to me how easy it would be for someone to open the door to a woman inmate’s cell and do whatever he wanted to do, particularly if he were in on it with his buddies. I tuck that idea away in my mind.

Apparently, sleeping journalists aren’t all that exciting because within a minute, the two male guards have moved on.

Sometime after 3 AM by my guess, the screaming stops. I wonder if the screamer lost his voice or whether they took him down to psych and sedated him. I don’t care as long as he’s quiet. Exhausted, I fall asleep.

* * *

The lights flash on with a metallic whir, fluorescent like jerking me from a restless sleep. A guard enters the women’s unit to say that yesterday’s commissary orders have arrived.

The cells are opened, and sleepy women drift down to grab their lip balm, tea bags, soda, stationery, stamps, potato chips, Jolly Ranchers and tampons. (The jail supplies only maxi pads.) I watch them, feeling as if I’d been hit by a bus. I see the clock in the dayroom. It’s 5 AM.

But the word is out.

“You’re a journalist.”

“Yes.” I wonder if the answer will get my teeth knocked into the next century.

“Why are you here?”

I have everyone’s attention, even the meth heads’. “I wanted to know more about what it was like for women behind bars.”

For a moment I worry that they might find that answer patronizing. I don’t mean to turn them into specimens. I just want to understand.

But they seem so astonished that anyone would care that I sense only warmth from them.

Suddenly, they can’t talk fast enough or tell me enough. Abusive boyfriends. Incestuous daddies and uncles. Husbands who drink all their money. Kids they miss, kids they love, kids they may never see again.

The meth heads, who less than 12 hours ago kept trying to pick a fight with me, are now my best friends. The come sit down beside me and tell me a story of Law Enforcement Gone Bad. I wonder if they could see themselves through my eyes what they would think.

Someone takes a precious tea bag, makes me a cup of tea and brings it to me unasked. This tiny gift, given to me by someone who has nothing, touches me deeply. I thank her and sip and listen.

And it hits me as it never has before that each one of these broken women is someone. Many of them have no family who love them. Many have kids who are ashamed of them. But each one of them is someone, and the actions that have defined their lives have led them to this place. Most of them have been in trouble with the law since they were teenage girls, each one of them representing a host of things that went wrong — in their families, in their minds and souls, in our society.

I fight like hell not to cry and just listen.

Then morning count comes and the women are hurried off to their cells. But not me.

“Captain said to get you, ma’am,” a male guard says.

And that’s it.

I grab my bedding and personal items and follow him toward the red door.

“Don’t forget to write about the medical care!” shouts a woman’s voice as the cell doors slam shut.

“Goodbye!” come several other shouts.

The red door opens, and I am free.

* * *

I’m taken to Booking, given my belongings, and allowed to dress. I slowly put the pieces of myself back together, feeling that I’ve been through an emotional wringer. I hold it together through a meeting with the jail captain, who, by allowing me to be in his jail, has left himself open to media exposure. I respect his courage; he says he respects mine. He’d half expected me to bail (no pun intended).

I mention Beth and her seizure and he tells me the incident is being investigated, but says that the women cry wolf a lot making it very hard for the staff to distinguish a true emergency from a woman who’s lonely and needs a change of scenery. I can sympathize with that challenge — I believe in my gut he is sincere — and I ask about the screamer.

“Took him down to psych and sedated him.”

Mystery solved.

I tell the captain I’ll be calling with more questions once I’ve had some sleep. Right now I’m planning to head to the gym to shower and wash the stink of jail off my skin and then in to the newspaper for a day’s work. No sick-day today. I’ve got a newsroom to run and several collegues who probably worried about me all night.

He shakes my hand, tells me he thinks I’m brave and let’s me know that I’m the only journalist to have stayed in his jail as an inmate. I take some perverse pride in this and thank him for watching over me, as I’m sure his guards have done.

Then I pack up my stuff, walk out the front door, and find the mountains bathed in the pink light of sunrise. The snow even seems to glow pink. To me, it looks like hope.

I take a deep breath and walk to my car, the breeze icy. But as I pull out of the parking lot, the weight of the past 24 hours hits me. I think of the women inside — pregnant Marie, Cassie with AIDS, the woman with five kids, Renee, the meth heads. I pull over, stop the car, and let the tears come.

– end of the series –

Thanks to all of you who read through this series. And huge thanks to Sybil, who saw merit in my sharing this story, and to Gwen who made sure my posts looked good. I’m so very grateful!

Staying in jail was one of the most significant experiences of my life as a journalist. Four years later, educated by this experience, I broke a story of medical neglect in our state prison. As a result of that neglect, a full-term, perfectly formed and viable baby girl lost her life and was stillborn. Unlawful Contact is dedicated to that baby girl, Leah Rhiann Clifton. Handing her mother the dedication page to this book was one of the most emotional things I’ve done as a writer. She and I both bawled.

I’d love to hear your comments and will gladly answer your questions. Feel free to visit me on my blog, where there are lots of excerpts, or to stop by my website.

And thanks again!

Part of a continuing series of posts sharing my recollections of the time I went to jail for 24 hours as a journalist…

Back in the women’s unit, Marie, the young pregnant woman, is bustling in and out of her cell, getting ready for her hearing. She thinks she’s going to be allowed to go home and is all but telling everyone goodbye. But then I notice that everyone seems to be in a flurry over something. One woman is wearing rollers in her hair. (Foam rollers are available through the commissary, along with some basic forms of make up.) She wears them for a while and then passes them on to another woman, who runs squealing back to her cell.

“What is going on?” I ask Renee, still my mentor in this bizarre otherworld.

“They’re getting ready for recreation hour,” she says.

I have no idea why an hour in an enclosed gym would make anyone put rollers in her hair, but I don’t say so. Instead, I sit quietly and watch as the women run about, trading contraband pencils, passing out Jolly Rancher candy and generally acting as if they’re about to go on a date.

The No. 2 pencils they use as eyeliner. A coveted red pencil is being used as blush and lip liner. And the Jolly Ranchers? One by one they melt them using paper cups and warm water from the dayroom sink, and then they flick the syrup into their hair using their toothbrushes.

One inmate sees me watching her with what must be an utterly confused look on my face. She explains that the syrup acts as a sort of styling gel.

Then a male guard opens the red door and shouts that it’s time for a shift change and afternoon count. Everyone must be locked down. Women shuffle into their cells, me included, and the doors, controlled by the guards, swing shut and lock with a series of metallic clicks. I imagined that it would be silent in behind all that concrete and steel, but it’s not. I hear women’s voices all around me.

While in the middle of count, a guard announces that when the doors open, anyone who wishes to go to the gym can line up for recreation hour, while anyone who remains in the unit, must stay locked down. Not surprising, most of the women choose recreation.

We line up in the hallway, the women smiling and laughing, the excitement palpable. We start down the zigzag hallway, and soon I understand what the fuss is for. As we pass the kitchen, several dozen male inmates suddenly appear at the windows, big smiles on their faces, their mouths shaping words we can’t hear. But their gestures — hip-thrusting, hands moving up and down at the their crotches in imitation of a hand job, hands squeezing imaginary breasts — say it all.

One woman desperately wants to pass a note to a particular man. She lags behind hoping the guard won’t notice, so that she can tuck the note someplace the male inmate, who is apparently watching, can retrieve it. But the guard isn’t fooled, and, disappointed, the woman is forced back in line.

“As if you’re going to meet Mr. Right in here,” I say.

“You never know,” she says.

“Yes,” I say, “sometimes you do.”

When we reach the gym, which is about half the size of a high school gymnasium, the younger women scatter, running their hands along the edges of mats, looking under the weights, checking beneath the drinking fountain. (A drinking fountain!)

“What are they looking for?” I ask Renee.

“They’re looking for notes. The men are sometimes able to hide them in the equipment,” she says.

I walk laps with Renee for a while, then decide I really need to talk to other women. I join some who are lifting weights. There’s Donna, a mother of five including an infant, who is serving a year for her fifth DUI. This time she got into a car crash with her kids in the vehicle. She was injured, as the bruises on her face attest. Another, Michelle, is serving time for deeds she won’t disclose. She’s American Indian, and very good with a basketball. I can tell she hates being here. Then there’s Cassie, who also has five children, all by different fathers, and who also bears thick scars on her wrists for what could only be multiple suicide attempts. She’s got AIDS, too, as if years in prison (that’s where she’s headed) weren’t enough to contend with. Then there’s Stacy, who’s serving 10 days for having been caught for the third time without car insurance, which she says she can’t afford. She could have gotten off by paying a large fine, but she didn’t have the money for that either.

I look at the wrist bands and see a mix of low-risk, medium- and high-risk inmates. Because there are so few women, and the jail is so crowded, there’s no way to separate more violent female inmates from those that are not violent. Stacy, the women busted for not having car insurance, is locked up with women accused of fraud and assault.

Then a fight breaks out over foosball — who would have thought it’s a contact sport? — and a guard has to intervene. Soon it’s time to head back to the unit. Women line up again, and we make our way back down the hallway, past the kitchen where the men gather once again to ogle the women in their colored-pencil, Jolly Rancher glory. Then we’re locked behind the red door.

* * *

The afternoon wears on, and tempers flare. A shouting and cussing argument has broken out over who’s being louder, the women talking at the table or the TV.

“Turn that goddamn thing down!”

“We can’t hear anything because you’re making too fucking much noise!”

“Would everybody just shut the fuck up!”

Up on the screen, Vanna is turning letters.

Marie comes back from her hearing in tears. The judge won’t let her out on bond, so she’s stuck here for at least a month. She can’t quit crying, and some of the older women go to comfort her.

Then the guard comes in with the day’s mail. Anger and boredom shifts into another kind of tension, as women gather in an anxious knot to see if they’ve gotten anything today. The guard opens each letter or package and inspects the contents for contraband before passing it on to the recipient. A deck of tarot cards is confiscated along with Ms Fat Bottom’s book of stamps.

“Why are you taking my stamps?” Ms Fat Bottom protests. “Why can’t I have my stamps?”

I see another chance to make myself fit in.

“Because it might be blotter,” I say.

“What’s ‘blotter’?” one of the younger women asks.

An older inmate slaps her on the arm. “LSD, stupid!”

Those who didn’t receive mail are visibly disappointed. They feel forgotten, an entire world beyond the walls that didn’t remember them today. Those who did sit to read letters from family and children, huge smiles on their faces. One holds up a Valentine her children made for her. “We love you, Mommy!” it says in bright red crayon. Another has received a couple of new photos and shares those with everyone.

“It must be hard to be away from them,” I say.

She bursts into tears and collapses into a chair.

And then everything changes.

Two new inmates arrive. Word passes quickly that they’re still coming down off of meth and that they were arrested for trying to pass forged money orders in K-Mart. They look angry, and they’re both wearing high-risk wrist bands.

For some reason, I attract their notice. I wasn’t watching them; I didn’t try to talk with them. But when I pass by to get a drink of water, one of them slams me in the chest with her shoulder, the look on her face angry and aggressive.

And then abruptly I remember what I know about mountain lions. If you look them in the eye, they’re more likely to attack. So I refuse to take the bait, acting as if nothing has happened. I get my drink and go back to my seat by a different route.

But that doesn’t stop them.

As I sit talking with some of the inmates about their kids, I see the two meth heads watching me. Adrenaline punches through my system as I wonder what in the world I did to piss them off.

“You need to stay away from them,” Renee whispers.

But I’ve figured that out on my own. And so every time they walk toward me, I manage to be someplace else. When I have to pass them, I’m suddenly too far away to slam into. I don’t make eye contact, pretending never to see them. They are invisible, and so, I hope, am I.

Soon, they’re embroiled in a shoving match with someone else.

To be continued…

For more on my time in jail or on Unlawful Contact, my April 1 release which was inspired by a decade of reporting on prisons, go to my website or my blog. Go here for an excerpt.

Part of a continuing series of posts sharing my recollections of the time I went to jail for 24 hours as a journalist…

By the time the lunch trays have been cleared away, the thaw I sensed has frozen over again. Most inmates ignore me, but the one who yelled at me for sitting in her chair — Ms Fat Bottom — tosses me a few angry glances, her friends doing the same. While they go back to talking, the TV drones on.

“Shut the fuck up!” one of the TV watchers shouts. “We can’t hear!” 

“Fuck you!” one of the women at the table shouts back.

That’s what I like to see—people listening to one another and working together for the common good.

I start to notice things I hadn’t noticed before, perhaps because my adrenaline level has settled down a bit. One of the cells remains closed, a woman periodically looking out the window at the rest of us. Some inmates stay in their cells with the door open, talking. Somewhere, one of the women is crying.

Then the woman to whom I confessed my homicidal tendencies jumps up from her spot in front of the TV and begins pacing the dayroom, an angry look on her face, seeming to talk to herself. Actually, she is talking to herself. I hope for her sake that it’s a good conversation.

Then the door to the unit opens and a young woman with long brown hair walks in, her arms full of personal items.

“Hey! I thought you were out of here!” one of the women calls to her.

She laughs. “I thought I was, too. Got picked up last night.”

Squeals go up from a few of the other women, who seem delighted to have their once-free friend back in the pokey with them.

This strikes me as patently absurd, and something of my feelings must show on my face.

“They’re friends,” says an older woman, who appears at my side.

Yeah, I got that part. What I don’t understand is why they’re happy to see her, rather than bummed for her sake.

The older woman, who says her name is Renee, asks me why I’m there.

I give up the murder ploy and, in keeping with my new vocabulary, say, “Just some shit.”

She accepts that and tells me she’s waiting for a spot in the state women’s prison. It seems she’d once been a registered nurse but had gotten in the habit of writing prescriptions for narcotics for herself — a serious felony. She’s already served a couple of years in prison, she tells me. She was out on parole until she tested hot on a UA, a situation she blames on her father, who used to sexually abuse her and who drove her to drink this past Thanksgiving when he showed up at her door. I can tell it’s upsetting for her, and I wonder if that’s why she was taking narcotics.

I listen to her story, walking with her as she makes her way to the upper level. We sit on the floor, looking down at the dayroom below. While she talks, a guard comes in and opens what looks like a broom closet. And inside is, indeed, a broom, but it is padlocked in place.

“Why is the broom locked up?” I ask.

“Broomstick parties,” she answers.

“Broomstick parties?” I’ve never heard the term before.

“That’s where a bunch of women gang up on someone they hate and rape her with the broom handle.”

For a moment I really can’t say anything, the image in my mind so revolting I don’t know what to think. I’ve heard of male inmates raping each other, but never female inmates.

“That could kill a woman,” I say when I find my tongue again.

“Yes,” she says, explaining that lifers especially get away with that kind of thing because there’s little the state can do to them.

I am appalled.

Then from beneath us, a young woman is led forward by two guards. She’s very young and wearing four-piece restraints, her wrists and ankles in shackles.

Before I can ask, Renee tells me that the girl is 17 and that she was brought in on a minor offense, but was now facing several major felonies after going berserk one afternoon and beating the crap out of guard. She was now on lockdown, free to leave her cell for only an hour each day.

“She jumped on the guard’s back and just started pounding on her,” Renee says.

“Why?” I ask.

“No one knows.”

The young woman looks around, says hi to a few people and is led toward what I now realize is a shower. I stare. The shower is visible to everyone on the upper tier.

The guard leads her through a chest-high door that might as well not be there, unlocks her restraints and then steps aside to give her the four minutes she’s allowed to wash herself.

From all around come the sound of catcalls and shouts, as the other women gather on the balcony to watch.

“I don’t think I’ll take a shower,” I say, blown away by the sight and sound of women acting like frat boys.

“After a while you don’t mind it,” Renee tells me, laughing at some of the more outrageous calls of “hubba-hubba.”

I look at the broomstick and can’t find it in me to feel amused at all.

* * *

The afternoon drifts on. The young woman is now back in her cell, her hour of mobility over. Then the red door opens again and a guard shouts, “Bible study!”

“What’s that about?” I ask, watching as a handful of women line up near the door, as if they think they’re going somewhere.

“Bible Betty,” Renee tells me. “Let’s go.”

If it means getting a break from the boredom and noise of the women’s unit for a while, I’m all for it.

We head down the stairs and join the line, and soon we’re locked inside what looks like a conference room — a big table surrounded by chairs. But this conference room is surrounded by walls of Plexiglas. The air is fresher and much, much quieter. A nervous tension I hadn’t realized I was holding inside seeps away.

Across the table from me sits a little woman with a strong Texas accent. She welcomes the women by name, then looks at me. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Pamela,” I say.

“Hi, Pam,” she says. “Pam is here because she wants to learn about God.”

Actually, I’m there because I’m a journalist, but I don’t say this.

Betty’s hands are gnarled by arthritis. With fingers that can’t straighten, she opens an envelope and begins sorting out crosses made of crocheted string that she herself has made for the inmates. The women, most of whom are in their twenties, squeal with delight.

“Who wanted the pink one?” Betty asks. “What about the blue and white one?”

Soon the crosses are distributed and placed in envelopes with the women’s names on them. Unable to take them back to the unit with them, the women will have to wait until the guards inspect the little crosses before they’re distributed.

A black cross laced with green, yellow and red string is left over. Betty puts it in an envelope for me.

She gives the women updates about friends in other facilities.

“Cindy’s doing much better,” she says, referring to a woman who’d recently shot and killed her allegedly abusive husband. I remember the headlines, remember the articles in the newspaper, none of which I’d written. “She’s getting the help she needs.”

The women constantly interrupt Betty and one another, often not even following the train of conversation, their energy strangely frenetic. But nothing seems to irritate Betty. She remains patient and jovial long after I want to shout, “Shut up!”

Then Betty passes out paper and pencils and asks us to outline our hands. Feeling like I’m in first grade again, I do as she asks. Then she tells us to write a reference from the Bible on each finger and distributes various Bible verses written on note cards. As the inmates work on this project, they begin to settle down, some of the tension dissolving into camaraderie. And I realize that they need this time as much to get a respite from one another as they do relief from boredom.

“I know you don’t have a lot while you’re in here,” Betty says as the lesson draws to a close. “But you do have hands. And when you’re sitting around and you see your hands, I want you to pray.”

The thought of human beings reduced to having only hands to divert themselves strikes me suddenly as very tragic. My throat tightens, and I find myself fighting tears. Betty asks us to fill out index cards with the names of people we’d like her to pray for. Pretending to be engrossed in my own handwriting, I blink the tears away and write down the names of my two sons.

Then the lesson is over. Betty gives everyone a hug and tells them she won’t be back for two weeks. The disappointment this brings is palpable. Then the guards lead us back across the hallway and in through the red door again, locking it behind us.

To be continued…

For more on my time in jail or on Unlawful Contact, my April 1 release which was inspired by a decade of reporting on prisons, go to my website or my blog. Go here for an excerpt.

Gwen’s review of Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare
Contemporary romantic suspense released by Berkley on 1 Apr 08

Picture this, if you will: successful investigative reporter is kidnapped by an escaped lifer.  He hauls her literally thru a police cordon, off into the mountains, to a cabin he knows from his past.  She doesn’t know who he is, except he’s related to a drug addicted young mother she knows – an addict who has disappeared.  All she knows of him is he seems violent, he’s kidnapped her, and she may never be seen alive again.  And so starts a love story…

Holy crap, you say!  So did I!

First, let me set the stage for this review.  I’m listening to Pink Floyd’s Welcome to the Machine (see the “Duck Sauce Theater” in the lower left of the main TGTBTU page).  Seemed appropriate for the wringer our hero and heroine go thru and for one of the basic elements of this book – the prison experience.

Sophie and Marc are fated to be together.  They were attracted to each other in high school.  An attraction they didn’t act on until the day before he leaves for the Army.  They think about each other for years after that beautiful, fateful night.  The way they come back together was written very naturally and, despite the bizarre confluence of events, it was very believable.

And that is probably a good summary for the rest of the book – it was viscerally believable.  It was one of those books where I reached that “reading nirvana” – that place where I’m not even aware of turning the pages and I’m surprised when anyone speaks to me in real life.  I’m so “in the moment” that it’s like I’m hypnotized.  I love, love, love it when a book is that good.

This book is the whole package:  good love story, good action, good characters, good setting, and, most importantly, good writing.  Clare has created a unique thing – a bubble in time that is populated by a compelling story about likable characters with some edge-of-your-seat suspense.  That she also shines a little-used light on the plight of female inmates of our prison systems brings another genuine note to this very good book.

Being a romance, it’s no surprise that the H/H get a happily ever after.  What is a surprise was how Clare did it.  I won’t spoil it for you, but the ending is very gratifying to my “keep it real” genes and still satisfied my “HEA” desires.

I recommend this book to suspense fiction fans, romantic suspense fans, and fans of Pamela Clare.  You won’t regret the time and money spent.  Spread the word – there’s a new warden in town and her name is Pamela Clare.

Grade: A

From the back cover:

     Taken hostage by a convicted murderer while reporting at a prison, Sophie Alton has no idea that the man holding the gun to her head is the bad boy who was her first love in high school. Condemned to life without parole, Marc Hunter finds himself with no choice but to break out of prison after his younger sister disappears with her baby.

     Though he regrets what he has to put Sophie through, he can’t let anything get in the way of his stopping the corrupt officials who are set on destroying what’s left of his family. But being near Sophie rekindles memories for both of them. As the passion between them heats up, so does the conspiracy to put both of them in their graves.

     Read an excerpt.