It seems that readers these days are wired for series. The “more is better” way of thinking–and reading–is alive and well. Even Myren, my chauffeur, can’t stop at just one–book that is. (He also has multiple cars, come to think of it. Being a chauffeur and all, I suppose that’s to be expected. I’m not sure if his cars can be called a series… but I digress.)
What’s your favorite series?
My favorite is the Gabriel Allon thriller series by Daniel Silva. Also, my own Beachcomber Investigations romantic detective series (Myren is rolling his eyes, but don’t pay attention to him. I’m not.)
It’s all about the characters. When you read a series it’s because you love the characters, find them exciting and fun, find yourself wishing they were real people so you could meet them and be their best friend. (Okay, maybe that last part is just me. After all, my current best friend is Myren, my chauffeur, so you can’t really blame me for wanting a fictional character for a friend, can you.) (Don’t answer that.)
The only thing better than reading a series that you love is writing a series that you love. Returning to the world and the characters like they’re old friends in a familiar neighborhood, makes the writing easier–though not easy–and all the more enjoyable. That’s what I do and why I do it.
The new upcoming release: Beachcomber Test
Coming in November will be book 7 in Beachcomber Investigations. Here’s an excerpt from Beachcomber Test.
It seemed like a simple case. A case Dane agreed to take because he would do anything for Shana. Now that he was shamelessly in love with her and in full-on convincing-her-to-stay-with-him mode after he almost lost her on Christmas Day.
She didn’t trust him yet. She was in full-on test-the-bastard mode to make sure he was for real.
Her first test was to suggest a trip to Australia to visit her family. He agreed. They planned it for the fall. They were coming into spring and summer season so it didn’t make sense to leave now. She booked their flight and the tic of uneasiness that Dane felt was almost imperceptible.
Her second test was to accept a divorce case without asking him. He’d vowed never to take follow-the-cheating-spouse cases and she knew it. The muscle clench between his shoulder blades was mild and he soldiered through.
Now they would be following some nasty middle-aged man around the island for half the season to work up an irrefutable file on him for the wronged wife so she could work the pre-nup infidelity clause and wring every penny out of sap–or scum—depending on your view–in the divorce. Dane tried hard not to have any view in the matter.
His view was to pray to hell that the man dropped his pants on his first night on island.
No such luck.
Instead, the poor sap or scum got himself killed first night on the island.
This wasn’t any routine divorce case anymore, but Dane wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad thing.
He stood in the small kitchen looking at Shana over his coffee cup. The sun shone through the window and glinted off her golden hair so that she looked like she had sparks flying from her. She wore her usual gorgeous scowl.
“Didn’t you do background on our client before you agreed to the case?”
He smiled when she narrowed her eyes at him.
“No.” She stood with her hands on her hips daring him to shoot her down. That, Dane figured, was test number three.
Dane nodded and walked past her, brushing a hand over the waves of her long soft mane of hair and inhaling the scent of her.
“Where are you going?”
“To the secure phone.”
“What are you? Batman?” She followed after him. She always followed after him. Almost always.
“I’m calling in Acer.”
“Not that I have anything against Acer, but we don’t need him. We can handle this ourselves.”
She’d gotten the call from Captain Colin Lynch at six that morning about the murder victim. Dane knew it was bad when she came back to bed and wouldn’t tell him what the call was about.
He stopped at his old metal desk that doubled as the feature piece in his office that should have been a living room. Shana had brought in a couch, but he mostly used it for a shelf where he threw all the files, papers, mail, books and any other paraphernalia that got collected during an investigation, or in general. He looked at the pile of crap and took a deep breath. Then he smiled at her like he meant it, because he did.
“I’ll do whatever you want, sugar bun.”
“You don’t want me to call you sugar bun?”
“I don’t want you doing whatever I want—“
“Can I quote you—“
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to be agreeable.”
“Well, stop. It’ s not you and it’s creeping me out.”
He reached out and pulled her in and held her tight against him. He was hard and she was soft—in all the strategic places—and he let that feeling of her pressed against him, simmer through his body, hit every nerve and settle in his head and deep in his soul. She stirred and he reflexively tightened his hold.
“It’s okay, Dane. I’m not going to run out the door if you disagree with me.”
“Of course not. Why would you? I mean, look what you have here.”
He spread his arms. It was half-hearted sarcasm because he wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable, but he’d been feeling a lot of that lately. It was as if he were re-living his teen age years only inside a forty-year old body which made the fun parts not nearly as fun.
“I’m looking at who I have.” She sighed deeply and then leaned in and grabbed his lips with her teeth and sucked in, giving him a hair-raising—and other body part raising—kiss. Deep and juicy and thorough.
“You want to go back to bed?” He figured it was a stupid question and he should have grabbed her by the hair and dragged her—figuratively speaking. Maybe another time he would have.
She smiled, moving her hands over his chest. It was a strong well-muscled chest because in his line of work staying in good shape was a matter of life and death. Evidently even when his line of work was a divorce case.
“Always. I always want you.”
“Then we have something in common—I always want you.”
He moved, holding her in his arms, half dragging her in the direction of the hall to the bedroom. Until she dug in her heels.
“We have a murder case,” she said. Then she really smiled.
You can pre-order Beachcomber Test a the following places: