New Project

I adore my job.  I really, really do.  I love going back to school.  I enjoy transcribing World War II tapes.  You know what I miss?  Free time.  Writing time.

Sometimes It Is Rocket Science and The Art of War & Werewolves are still on my project board, but I've decided to move ahead with a new, untitled project.

Here's a teaser:

The walls were red with blood.  It was all she tasted when she swallowed, all she saw when she forced her eyelids open.  The heavy, metallic scent of blood overpowered everything else in the room.

 Riona’s world was comprised of blood and pain. 

Footsteps echoed like gunshots on the parquet floor.  Riona tensed.  Footsteps meant more pain, more blood.  A whimper fell from chapped, blood-caked lips.  Pathetic.  She was pathetic.  It had only taken five hours with a madman to reduce a nine year veteran of the CMPD to a whimpering, wounded animal.

“Detective O’Dell,” a nasal, masculine voice sing-songed.  The footsteps grew closer.  “I have a surprise for you.”

Edwin Galicia, dark eyes glinting with malicious humor, stalked into the living room of his former home.  There was a hunting knife, blade stained with her blood, in his right hand.  His left arm was wrapped around the neck of a tall, fit man with fair hair and pale, sightless eyes.

Her heart leapt to her throat.  Her stomach twisted; the air in her lungs froze.  Of course.  Of course he’d get tired of playing with her and move on to the hostage. 

“Thought this was between you and me, Eddie.”

“You know how to end this, Detective.”

She did.  Her department issued Sig was within reach.  She could grab it and put a bullet smack in the middle of Galicia’s forehead.  Of course, moving the gun would set off a trap that would drop two thin, needle-sharp iron spikes right onto her abdomen. 

Suicide-by-cop had always been Galicia’s ultimate goal. Taking down a cop was just a bonus.

“I heard that losing one of your senses enhances all the others.  Think that means he’ll squeal sooner?”  Galicia squeezed the hostage’s neck.  “Think the little psychic will know what I’m going to do before I do it?”

“He talks to dead people, moron.  He’s not precognitive.”

“Hey!”  Galicia’s smirk slipped.  “Just for that, I think we’ll skip the warm up and move right on to the real fun.”

Riona exhaled and ignored the sharp pang of pain in her chest.  Broken ribs were always a bitch.  She extended her arm.  Her fingers brushed the grip of her gun.  She mentally calculated distance and trajectory, tried not to think about the pain.  ‘Here we go.’

Hope y'all are having a fantastic summer