What a wonderful Mother's Day present. My newest cover is here and it's awesome. Check it out:
And to further whet your appetite, here's a brief excerpt.
Since this is the last book in the series, I'd sworn I wasn't going to introduce any new characters. Sadly, or maybe not, I couldn't keep my word about that. I've got not one but TWO new characters in this book––both of them bad guys! Here's a look at one of them:
The coppery taste of fear filled Jack Connelly’s mouth as he thought about what he had done, what he had nearly done, and what he was going to do. It was a feeling and a flavor he hadn’t sampled in over twenty years.
As he left the town of Abraxas behind and headed toward home his heart was racing. His glance returned repeatedly to his rear view mirror as he waited for the wail of sirens behind him, the rotating flash of police lights that would spell disaster.
“I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, still appalled at the risk he’d taken, even as, faint but unmistakable, a sensation, half-forgotten, and not entirely unpleasant, began to unfold within him. “Christ, I must be outta my mind.”
For most of his adult life Jack had been a model citizen, a pillar of the community. He was a successful businessman, a respected lawyer, a senior partner in the firm his late father had helped found. Every deal he’d made, or touched, or had taken part in had been above board. Or at least that’s how he’d made damn sure they appeared. His life and his practice were secure, successful, seemingly above suspicion, beyond scrutiny or reproach. Caesar’s wife should look so good, he’d often thought.
Which was not to say he never took risks. Of course he did. One had to, he’d found, if only to keep the juices flowing. Otherwise one got sloppy. And lazy. And careless.
And that was the biggest risk of all.
But, in all those years, the risks he’d taken were small and carefully hedged. The kind that weighed big profits against negligible consequences and always included a scapegoat; someone else to catch the flack if the deal went bad.
There were some lessons you learned fast and never forgot. Cover Your Ass was one of those. Whatever else he did, Jack had always, always made sure he had his own back.
Or so he believed.
Those twenty years of safety had come to an abrupt halt a little over six months earlier when he’d received a surprising summons from a former friend...
Gregg Gilchrist had been the leader of the gang to which Jack had belonged when he was still a wild and impressionable young man. With his head shaved, his hands and neck and the back of his skull vividly decorated with grotesque tattoos, the man now known as Rev. Gregg Stevens looked very little like the Gregg that Jack remembered. In fact, if it weren’t for those strange, pale eyes, that indefinable something in Gregg’s manner, and the twisting in Jack’s innards when the other man looked at him––a feeling akin to having swallowed a live snake––Jack would never have recognized his old master at all.
Since this is the last book in the series, I'd sworn I wasn't going to introduce any new characters. Sadly, or maybe not, I couldn't keep my word about that. I've got not one but TWO new characters in this book––both of them bad guys! Here's a look at one of them:
The coppery taste of fear filled Jack Connelly’s mouth as he thought about what he had done, what he had nearly done, and what he was going to do. It was a feeling and a flavor he hadn’t sampled in over twenty years.
As he left the town of Abraxas behind and headed toward home his heart was racing. His glance returned repeatedly to his rear view mirror as he waited for the wail of sirens behind him, the rotating flash of police lights that would spell disaster.
“I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, still appalled at the risk he’d taken, even as, faint but unmistakable, a sensation, half-forgotten, and not entirely unpleasant, began to unfold within him. “Christ, I must be outta my mind.”
For most of his adult life Jack had been a model citizen, a pillar of the community. He was a successful businessman, a respected lawyer, a senior partner in the firm his late father had helped found. Every deal he’d made, or touched, or had taken part in had been above board. Or at least that’s how he’d made damn sure they appeared. His life and his practice were secure, successful, seemingly above suspicion, beyond scrutiny or reproach. Caesar’s wife should look so good, he’d often thought.
Which was not to say he never took risks. Of course he did. One had to, he’d found, if only to keep the juices flowing. Otherwise one got sloppy. And lazy. And careless.
And that was the biggest risk of all.
But, in all those years, the risks he’d taken were small and carefully hedged. The kind that weighed big profits against negligible consequences and always included a scapegoat; someone else to catch the flack if the deal went bad.
There were some lessons you learned fast and never forgot. Cover Your Ass was one of those. Whatever else he did, Jack had always, always made sure he had his own back.
Or so he believed.
Those twenty years of safety had come to an abrupt halt a little over six months earlier when he’d received a surprising summons from a former friend...
Gregg Gilchrist had been the leader of the gang to which Jack had belonged when he was still a wild and impressionable young man. With his head shaved, his hands and neck and the back of his skull vividly decorated with grotesque tattoos, the man now known as Rev. Gregg Stevens looked very little like the Gregg that Jack remembered. In fact, if it weren’t for those strange, pale eyes, that indefinable something in Gregg’s manner, and the twisting in Jack’s innards when the other man looked at him––a feeling akin to having swallowed a live snake––Jack would never have recognized his old master at all.
©PG Forte 2006 All Rights Reserved.
1 comment:
Thanks so much, Ana! I'm telling you, my cover artist is a goddess!
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