God, this hurts. I think I’d rather get stabbed again.
As she headed up the beach, she dug into her back pocket, searching for her room key. When she pulled it out, though, something else came out, and she watched as what looked like a scrap of paper fell to the ground. When she picked it up, though, she could feel that it was a heavy card stock. And it was strange, all black. Both sides.
Wait a minute.
She recognized it, of course, and seeing the word, the name, “Law.”, debossed on the front confirmed it. Kingsley’s card. The last time she’d seen one, Marc had been ripping it up. How’d this one get into her back pocket?
Lily remembered her goodbyes with Kingsley. The tight embrace. Him whispering in her ear. Then him smacking her ass. Grabbing it playfully. It must have been then.
He knew. He knew Marc was going to leave me. That’s why he left so abruptly. He knew, and he left me this card so I could find him.
She stared at the card, gripping it between her fingertips. So little detail, so much potential.
Kingsley wanted her to find him.
Marc didn’t want her to find him.
Kingsley had never lied to her, as far as she could tell.
Marc had spun the biggest lie, just when they’d been the closest.
Marc hadn’t believed in her ability to take care of herself, and thus obviously wasn’t willing to help her or train her.
But Kingsley was.
Lily strode up the walk towards her villa, almost jogging.
Finally, a purpose.
Finally, a job.
Alright, Marc. You think I can’t do this? You think I need you to fight my battles? You think I’m not tough enough to be this person? You think you’re better, faster, without me? You don’t want to be with me? Fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just find someone better than you. Faster than you. Someone who does want to be with me.
Just you wait, Marcelle De Sant. I’ll be the best anyone in this business has ever seen. Just you fucking wait.
To Be Continued …
Read to the end for scenes from the conclusion.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book started out as something completely different. A friend asked if I would ever do a captor/captive story. I wanted something in the desert, so I started writing a book that took place in Mexico, which I didn’t like from the get go – so many “dark” books take place there. I also didn’t want it to be about sex trafficking and/or drugs, as there are also quite a few of those about, and I wasn’t sure I could compete, so somehow I came up with “diamond thief”. But I didn’t like how it was going. So I shelved it. Didn’t think about it again for a while.
Then I got to talking with another friend about books, and I don’t remember exactly how it started, maybe assassin books, and I said I didn’t like that idea, there are so many books about hitmen/assassins. Then we thought what else could an anti-hero do? What other kind of book would I like to write? I mentioned my diamond-thief-in-the-desert book and she asked why didn’t I finish it and I explained my reasons, so we got to talking about it. I thought, if I want desert and diamonds, why not Africa? Where so many diamonds come from? She figured why a kidnapper or an assassin? Why not all of the above? I wanted the heroine to be badass, my friend wanted the hero to be French-ish (I don’t know enough about French culture to make a character from there, so I made him American but raised part time in Haiti, so he speaks French and is exotic. Cheating!).
Thus, Marc and Lily were born. A complete and total 180 from the story I had started maybe a year before. I absolutely live for action movies, “Die Hard” is one of my all-time favorite movies, and I just about died for “Mad Max: Fury Road” this summer, so I poured all of that into this book. I wrote it 100% for me, the action movie I would like to see, just in book form.
I have always been a “pantster”, meaning I don’t use outlines, I type it as it comes to me. Sometimes I strike gold – Degradation, My Time in the Affair. Most of the time, I strike out – the fifteen other unfinished documents on my computer. I started coming to a wall with Marc and Lily’s story and I could feel it, the dreaded shelving-of-a-project. Things never come off the shelf.
Ratula Roy asked me, “what’s the problem? What’s stopping you?” So I told her. Writing is a very linear thing for me. Once I start along a plot line, I can’t see past it. I can’t think outside of the box I’ve created. She was able to see it in 3D, and threw out suggestions, things I never would have thought of on my own. I was able to go back and change the course of the plot in such a way that it got rid of my wall and I was able to keep writing. Something I’d never been able to do before. She also did in such a way that the story remained organic to myself and my own thoughts. She changed the way I look at my own writing, something I’ve been doing for a very long time, and that alone is amazing. These characters belong to her almost as much as they do to me, and her effort on this story was almost as great as my own. Enough thanks cannot be said.
Angie D. – the way you look at a story and dissect it, your attention to detail, your work ethic, your tireless effort, your amazing teasers, so much. I don’t know how to thank you, and pray that you will always be able to read for me. I feel very lucky that you found me.
To my beta readers: Sunny, Lheanne, Rebecca, Beatriz, Jo, Letty, Shannon, Sue, thanks for all your feedback and for taking the time to read for me, even when it’s unedited drivel.
To Rebeka, for all you do for me, and the eight million e-mails I make you send, and for waiting a billion years for me to mail your stuff.
To Shh Mom’s Reading for handling all of my releases and reveals, and handling it all so well.
To Najla Qamber Designs for ALL of my amazing covers, I love each one more than the last, which is hard to even imagine since I love each one more than anything ever.
To Champagne Formats for the amazing paperback editions! You’ve now done all of my books, and I love each and every single one.
And to Bruce Willis and Tom Hardy. To Colin Firth in “Kingsman”, and Tom Cruise in “Mission: Impossible”. To “The Matrix” and “Kung Fu Hustle”. “Mr. & Mrs. Smith”, “Romancing the Stone”, “The Protector”, and “Taken”. And especially to Angelina Jolie, Maggie Q., Michelle Yeoh, Sonja Blade, Chun-Li, Storm, and all those ladies who kicked more ass than their male counterparts ever did.
To the readers, the new ones just discovering this story, and the ones who have been there since Jameson’s first “shut the fuck up”. A year ago, no one but family and close friends had ever written anything I’d put down on paper, so it’s still amazing that this book can find it’s way to you. I hope you enjoyed it. I hope you enjoy the others. I hope you enjoy what’s next to come. Thank you for reading, always.
And as always, thanks to my husband. Doing this is not easy. I work a full-time job. Then I come home, and I plug into a second full-time job. One that takes all my concentration. For me, a book takes about three-four months to create, from conception to publish. The actual writing process and the editing are the worse – I virtually don’t speak to anyone during those two. As I’m writing this, I can’t remember the last time I sat down and watched a movie the whole way through. A month ago? And he suffers through all of this in the most understanding way, tries to make things more comfortable for me, takes care of me, and most importantly, lets me be me. From the bottom of my heart, thank you, Mr. F.
SOUNDTRACK
Songs that I listened to while writing, songs that made me think of the story, and a couple that inspired actual scenes.
● Chaiyya Chaiyya – Dil Se soundtrack
● Africa – Toto
● Bulletproof – Le Roux
● Diamonds – Rihanna
● Hey Man, Nice Shot – Filter
● Papaoutai – Stromae
● Sabotago – Beastie Boys
● Paper Planes – M.I.A.
● Trouble – Iggy Azalea (ft. Jennifer Hudson)
● My Chick Bad
– Ludacris
● Seven Nation Army – The White Stripes
OUT OF PLANS
excerpt
DAY TWO HUNDRED AND SIX
Liliana Brewster used one hand to hold the roll bar above her head. Her other arm was out the side of the car, holding against the door. She used her grip to stabilize her body as the Jeep she was riding in crashed through the jungle, roaring through puddles and leaping off of downed trees.
“You see!?” the man driving the vehicle shouted, pointing through the windshield. She squinted her eyes, trying to see what was out there, but dirt was splattered all over the glass, and a mist had started to come down on them, making visibility low.
“No!” she shouted back.
“Hold on, we are almost to the part where -”
The Jeep began to skid as he pumped the brakes, the tires losing traction in the mud and causing the back end to swing around a little. When they came to a stop, Lily looked over to find they were on the ledge of a very steep embankment. She stood up on her seat and leaned her hips against the windshield.
“Where did you see it?” she asked, bringing a pair of large binoculars to her eyes.
“Over there, to the right,” her guide said, motioning to the same place as before, leaning over his wheel.
Lily turned, straining her eyes. The weather was shit. Low cloud cover hung over the jungle, threatening to dump on them at any moment – the mist was just a warning. She wanted to get to her destination before that happened. She wiped her damp hair off her forehead and kept looking.
“There!” she shouted.
A couple miles in the distance, rising out of the thick canopy, was a spindly little plume of smoke. Light gray and barely noticeable, it couldn’t have been anything more than a campfire. A small campfire. Suitable for one or two people, max. She dropped the binoculars into the back seat, then tracked the smoke with her bare eyes. She began to smile.
“Ms. Lily,” her guide started. “Why do you search so badly for this man?”
“What man?” she asked, trying to guesstimate how long it would take for them to drive to the smoke.
“I heard you last night, you said you are searching for a man,” he explained. Her smile turned to a frown.
“Marcelle De Sant,” she said softly.
“Yes. Why do you want to find this … this De Sant person so badly?”
“Because,” she finally looked down at her guide.
“Because why?”
“I’m going to kill him.”
The Kane Trilogy
DEGRADATION
Available Now
If you haven’t met Jameson Kane yet, read below for a sneak peek …
Prologue
She had come over to their apartment just to drop off some boxes of stuff for her sister, Eloise - Ellie. Tatum had just turned eighteen and was moving to her own apartment in downtown Boston. She had been in a dorm room for her first semester at Harvard, but her parents didn’t “approve” of her roommate, so her father had rented her an apartment off campus. When Tate’s father said jump, all she was ever allowed to say was “how high?”, so, she was moving.
Her sister Ellie was four years older, and they had never gotten along very well. About two years ago, Ellie had started dating Jameson Kane – Kane, as just about everyone called him. The relationship was strange to Tate; Ellie and Jameson seemed more like acquaintances than people who slept with each other, but who was she to judge? She didn’t even really like her own boyfriend.
Tate didn’t really know what to make of Jameson. He was so good looking, it was probably illegal. She worried if she looked at him too long, she’d go blind. He was also very smart – he had graduated early from Yale with an MBA, and was taking some time off to review his job prospects. He came from old money, his father was some sort of big wig on Wall Street, and the talk was that Jameson would follow in his footsteps.
In the two years he had been dating her sister, Jameson hadn’t seemed to take much notice of Tate. He ignored her, treated her with indifference. When he had to deal with her, it was almost like an after thought, like he had forgotten she existed. He was tall, and handsome, and experienced, and smart. Tate was a brainy, naive, clueless girl, fresh out of high school, no real experience with the world or worldly people. He intimidated her.
It felt weird, showing up at Ellie’s apartment without her being there. Jameson had let Tate in, and then pretty much ignored her. Such a gentleman. Tate had to haul several heavy boxes from the parking lot to the building, and then down a long hall to their apartment, all by herself. When she got to the last box, she dropped it by their bed, huffing and puffing.
“Did you want me to help?” Jameson asked, appearing in the doorway. Tate whirled around, startled.
“No, that was the last box,” she replied, straightening out her cardigan. He always made her feel nervous. His eyes wandered over her face.
“You look really red. Want something to drink?” he asked. She felt herself turn even redder than she apparently already was; she was never prepared for his blunt manners.
“If you have any tea, that would be great,” she replied, then followed him to the kitchen. She thought he was going to pour it for her, but he just gestured to the fridge.
“I don’t know what Ellie has in there, lots of health food shit. Dig around,” he offered. She made a face at his back.
“Water is fine,” she told him, then just filled a glass from the tap.
“So. New apartment, all alone in a big city. You ready?” he asked. She nodded and turned to face him. His piercing blue eyes were wandering over her face and she resisted the urge to wipe at her skin. Was she dribbling water down her chin?
“As I’ll ever be, I guess. I’m pretty self-reliant, so I think I’m ready,” she replied, taking delicate sips of her drink. He chuckled.
“C’mon, you look like you’re dying. Let’s sit down, you can chug it,” he offered, leading her to a table. He even shocked her by pulling out a chair for her.
“Thanks,” Tate said, before following his instructions and downing the water in a few gulps. Without asking, he pulled the glass from her hands and refilled it before sitting down across from her.
“Don’t you have like a boyfriend, or something? Is he in Boston?” Jameson asked, sliding her glass back across the table. She shook her head.
“No, Drew stayed in state,” she replied.
“You guys have been going out for a while – how is it, being in a long distance relationship?” he asked. She was surprised at the question. Jameson never cared about anything she did.
“We’ve been together three years, but I don’t know how long it’s gonna last. He didn’t want me to go to Harvard, wanted me to just follow him to Penn State. We argued about it a lot. He wants to try to work it out, but I think it’s just time to get over it. Move on. We’re in college now, I don’t have time for that kind of crap,” she let it all spill out. Jameson raised an eyebrow.
“Wow, very mature approach. How old are you again?” he asked. Tate rolled her eyes.
“You’ve known me for two years, Jameson, and you can’t even remember my age?” she responded with a question. He shrugged.
“I don’t think I even know Ellie’s age. How old?” he pressed.
“I just turned eighteen, two weeks ago. How could you not know Ellie’s age? You’ve been together for so long,” Tate pointed out. He shrugged again.
“I don’t pay attention to things like that. So what are you going to school for?” he asked. Tate had to stop herself from pointing out, again, that he should already know these things – it had been discussed, many times, in front of him. She had never realized it before, but he was kind of self centered. Arrogant.
“Political science,” she said.
“We’ll see how long that lasts. Go into economics, more money,” he told her. She narrowed her eyes.
“I’m not doing it for money,” she replied.
“Then you’re s
tupid.”
“You’re kind of a dick,” she blurted out, shocking herself. She wasn’t prone to foul language most of the time, or being rude. She had just done both. He didn’t seem bothered, though; he burst out laughing.
“You’re just now realizing that?”
Tate smiled. He had a nice laugh, and a sexy smile. She could feel herself blushing. She could remember the first time Ellie had brought him home. Tate had developed a crush on him the instant she’d seen him – tall, dark hair, bright blue eyes, killer smile; what girl wouldn’t fall head over heels in love with him at first sight? But it had never gone beyond that, she knew Jameson was so far out of her league, she wasn’t even visible to him. She didn’t waste too much time fantasizing about him.
But now, sitting across the table from him, she felt herself getting hot under her sweater.
“Well, yeah, you never talk to me,” she pointed out.
“I talk to you.”
“When?”
“Excuse me?”
“When do you talk to me? When was the last time you talked to me?” Tate asked. He thought for a second, looking up at the ceiling.
“I asked if you were okay, after your dog died,” he replied, smiling at her.
“That was last year,” she told him. Jameson started laughing again.
“Hey, at least I remembered,” he pointed out. She found herself laughing as well.
“I guess that’s something. Doesn’t matter anyway, I’ll be gone – no more awkward, silent family dinners to go to, thank god. You and Ellie will be on your own,” she warned him.
“Well, you’ll have to come back sometimes.”
“No,” she shook her head, “I won’t. I’ve decided, I’m not coming back till I’m done with school, if then. I’m trying to get through a masters program in four years, or less.”
Best Laid Plans Page 31