I have a brand new story out from Torquere today.
Here’s an excerpt from Boa:
Jake Parrot was in the middle of a damn good daydream when the door to his office burst open, letting in a blast of hot desert air, and far too much Las Vegas morning sunshine.
“I need your help,” said the man silhouetted in the open door.
Jake blinked. In the ten years since he’d started his private detective agency, no one had ever opened with a line straight out of a cheesy detective novel.
He shifted in his chair, not sure he wasn’t still daydreaming. His current favorite had him rescuing a hunky Chippendale’s dancer from a mob boss who bore a striking resemblance to Tony Soprano, but Jake would be the first to admit that his psyche wasn’t above giving him a little variety in his rescue the man of his dreams fantasies.
The man in the doorway stepped into Jake’s office and shut the door. The overhead lights illuminated his face, and Jake blinked again.
This guy wasn’t the Chippendale’s dancer of Jake’s daydream. He was better. Smooth, tanned skin, strong jaw, lightly muscled arms and chest shown off to great advantage by an old-fashioned wife-beater, the guy was maybe late twenties. He had deep brown eyes surrounded by the thickest lashes Jake had ever seen on man or woman. His dark hair was cut to medium length and curled in a haphazard way, giving him an adorable bed head look. At least Jake thought it looked adorable.
Just to make sure he wasn’t still daydreaming, Jake pinched his forearm. Nope, he definitely felt pain. Reality check number one passed with flying colors.
He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”
“Someone stole my boa,” the guy said.
“Feather?” Jake asked. After all, this was Las Vegas, and the guy did have the long-legged, athletic body of a stage dancer.
“Snake,” the guy said. “About seven feet long.” He pulled a picture out of the back pocket of his jeans. “His name’s Marty.”