Plot Monkeys

IT MUST BE TIME FOR A NEW LESLIE PARRISH RELEASE!

It seems that way, doesn’t it? Another month, another round of Leslie pimping her next Black CATs book.

But it’s true, BLACK AT HEART is showing up in stores today. (Actually, it’s been showing up in stores, but today makes it all official and everything…

In case you haven’t seen it, here’s the cover:

Okay, back to the promoting., This is it. I swear. The last time I beg you to check out a Leslie Parrish book for almost a full year. And maybe the last time ever it’ll be a Black CATs book I’m spouting about.

You all know how much I want this series to continue, not just because I love writing it, but because I have so many more stories I want to tell about this uber cool Cyber Action Team. I honestly have no idea whether the series has done well enough to convince anyone other than me that it’s worth continuing. But I am hoping it has…and could really use your support with this last release just to get the point across.

Again, the reviews have really astounded me and I cannot tell you how thrilled I am at how well these books are being received. BLACK AT HEART earned me my third straight 4 1/2 from Romantic Times. It got a solid B review from that tough reviewer Mrs. Giggles….who admits that straight romance lovers will probably like this book best of the three. It was given a Joyfully Recommended Read rating from Joyfully Reviewed. And the list goes on.

Now, about the book:

If you’ve read either FADE TO BLACK or PITCH BLACK you’ve heard about Supervisory Special Agent Wyatt Blackstone.

Mmm…Wyatt…here he is now…

I love this guy. Seriously, I adore him. He’s definitely not your typical hero. He’s the most intense, brilliant, alluring hero I’ve ever written. Not the least bit alpha, he doesn’t swagger, doesn’t order people around, almost never shows his temper, and isn’t overloaded with testosterone. If you had to assign him an archetype, it would be a Chief…(Julie’s favorite, I know!)

Wyatt’s not just a straight-and-narrow G-man. He’s got deep, dark secrets seething inside him, mysteries in his past that he has revealed to absolutely no-one.

He never pictured himself settling down. Never even conceived of the idea of doing anything as normal as falling in love and getting married. He likes his orderly, neat, structured world and sees no reason to change it.

Then he finds himself stepping–no leaping–outside of his comfort zone. Because when faced with the imminent death of a young woman on his team, a young woman he cares about, he finds himself willing to break any rule and turn his back on everything he’d ever believed about himself and his future.

To him, Lily is worth it.

Yes, it’s Lily. I’ve been trying to keep a lid on that, but word has begun to seep out that Lily Fletcher is the heroine of this book. (If you’ve read PITCH BLACK, you know why.)

Here’s Lily:

She doesn’t much look like the dark-haired woman on the cover of the book, does she? There’s a reason for that. You see, Lily has been in hiding for several months, trying to escape the nightmarish memory of the days she’d spent as the prisoner of a madman. The scars he’d left on her were numerous-both on her body, and on her psyche.

But she’s recovered now, coming back much stronger than she’d ever been before. And only one thing drives her–vengeance.

Which puts Wyatt in a very difficult situation. Because when he stumbles upon a series of murders of men very much like the one who’d attacked Lily Fletcher, he begins to see clues that lead him to an impossible, unthinkable suspicion: that Lily has become a vigilante murderer, picking off evil-doers one-by-one.

I’ve said in interviews that I think PITCH BLACK is the most “traditional” romantic suspense in the trilogy. But I’ll also tell you now, BLACK AT HEART is the deepest, the most emotional. Wyatt and Lily are a perfectly matched couple. It just takes them a little time to sift through the madness surrounding them–to save Lily from multiple unseen enemies who are out for her blood–before they can even begin to think about being together.

If you’ve been on the fence about it, I hope this deeper look at BLACK AT HEART has tempted you to give it a try. In case you’re still waffling, here’s a sneak-peek scene you won’t find anywhere else.

And if you have read the first two books, and are anxiously awaiting the Amazon package bringing your copy of BLACK AT HEART, let me just tell you, Lily is not the same girl you read about in FADE TO BLACK or in PITCH BLACK. So I thought you might like a chance to get to know her.

Click below to enjoy the excerpt. (And if you’d like to order the book from Amazon, just click on the cover!)

PS: Check out a cool review blog, Monkey Bear Reviews, to read an interview with me today. If you haven’t started the Black CATs books, you might be able to win a copy of FADE TO BLACK!

OH! Another PS: I just remembered I’m doing not one but two very rare booksignings this weekend! If you’re in the Baltimore/DC/MD area, please stop by for a visit!

Friday, September 4, 6-8pm, Borders Books, 5533 Urbana Pike, Frederick, MD 21704, (301) 624-1577

and
Saturday, September 5, 3-5pm, Constellation Books, 303 Main St., Reisterstown, MD, 21136 (410) 833-5151

Now, on to the excerpt:
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

How strange it sometimes seemed that she had ended up living at the beach.

After what had happened, what she’d experienced, she should never have wanted to go near the ocean again. Memories of that night—feeling her life slip away on a cold, windswept shore, the crashing waves hiding her pathetic calls for help—should have made her want to be anyplace else. The salty air should have smelled like pain and tasted like death.

Yet she loved it here. The churning of the Atlantic’s waves in an endless rhythm soothed her soul in a way nothing else could. Therapy, meditation, medication, physical training, solitude, they’d all helped. But the tide was what lulled her to sleep each night. And every morning it was what called her forth into the sad world she still sometimes longed to escape.

It could be because it was so steady, impervious to time or humanity. Nothing interfered with the crashing violence of the water against the rocks or the strong lapping of it slipping back out again. It was unstoppable, imperturbable. Strong and aloof. Much like she wanted to be.

When offered this refuge on the rocky coast of Maine, she hadn’t been thinking about the sound of the waves or the possibility of being strong and unstoppable. She’d only thought of escaping the darkness. Healing. Being away from the world. Not forever, just for as long as it took to reclaim herself.

Now, though, the months had stretched on and she honestly didn’t know how she would ever leave this place. The large house hovering on a cliff high above the water didn’t belong to her, yet it had become her home. Her sanctuary in the middle of an insane world where the raging currents could sweep those you love in and out of your life with cold indifference.

A parent. A sweet little boy. A much-loved sibling.

Perhaps that was why she so enjoyed the sound of the surf from far below. Because it was a constant reminder that she was here, high above it and removed from it all. No one left to care about. No one whose loss could be the final blow that shattered her battered psyche.

No one.

Sitting on the terrace, spying on the rest of the world through her laptop, she wondered why she never felt lonely. She went down into town only once a week for supplies, nodding at the postal workers as she checked the always empty P.O. Box. Or exchanging a quiet hello with the woman who ran the local general store that sold everything from apricot jam to weed whackers.

She sensed they all wanted more—conversation, a chance to share juicy gossip. Perhaps even a moment to warn her about living in a house many locals seemed to fear. But she didn’t give anyone the opportunity. She remained distant, always paying for her few purchases with cash, never trying to use a phony credit card, or, worse, a real one that could leave a paper trail. That was the extent of her involvement out there in the world.

That world, however, did occasionally come here.

She’d had a few regular visitors at first. Now, though, only two people ever climbed up the steep, winding steps that led from the driveway and detached garage to the house itself, that was practically an extension of the cliff. One was her self-defense trainer, a former Army sergeant who came a couple of times a week and worked her until she was so exhausted, she sometimes actually slept without dreaming. A blessing. With his help, she had molded her body to match her spirit, making it hard, lean and dangerous. She would never be anybody’s victim again.

As for the other occasional visitor—he came the second weekend of every month.

“So what the hell are you doing here now, a week early?” she whispered as a familiar, dark sedan parked behind her Jeep at the bottom of the hill, far below the patio.

Completely in-tune to her surroundings, accustomed to the constant, reassuring lull of the surf that was the constant soundtrack to her new life, she had immediately noticed a new, unexpected sound a few minutes ago. An engine. A car. Coming up the long driveway.

Her heart had begun to thud at the intrusion, but she hadn’t panicked. Clicking a few keys on her keyboard, she had switched her laptop over to the surveillance system that monitored every square inch of this property. From the cameras mounted on either corner of the garage roof, she’d identified her visitor and breathed a sigh of relief.

Now, though, she was no longer relieved. Instead, in the few seconds it had taken her to process Wyatt Blackstone’s presence here on a sunny, breezy Thursday afternoon, nervous tension had begun to flood her.

This change in routine wasn’t like him. Not only utterly brilliant, Wyatt was also reliable and calm, as even and steady as those waves crashing on the shore. Whatever had driven him up here must be important, but she didn’t immediately fear the worst. If she was in danger, if there had been any threat at all, he would have called her and told her to get out.

Last winter, or even spring, she would have done exactly that. Now she wasn’t so sure. In fact, part of her welcomed the idea of confronting her deepest, darkest fear here, on her turf, with her newfound confidence and highly honed skills.

But Wyatt hadn’t called and she sensed no danger. Something else had prompted the visit. He knew she didn’t want him here, though, of course, she couldn’t force him to stay away. It was his house, after all, even if he did seem to loathe it.

She had made it very clear a few months ago that he didn’t need to keep coming up here and checking on her. The trip up from D.C. wasn’t an easy or a direct one, and he’d been making it every weekend for months. Finally confronting him, she’d asked him to limit the visits.

As usual with the enigmatic man, his reaction had revealed absolutely nothing about what he’d thought of the request. He’d simply honored it.

Until now.

The car door opened. She watched as he stepped out, clad, as usual, in a dark, impeccably tailored suit. She had only rarely seen him wearing anything else. Designer sunglasses hid the startlingly blue eyes, but didn’t disguise the handsomeness of his masculine features—the sculpted cheekbones, strong jaw, chiseled chin, perfectly formed mouth.

How a man who looked like a movie star from Hollywood’s golden age had ended up in the FBI, she honestly had no idea.

A soft ocean breeze swept through his thick, black hair, but didn’t dare to tousle it. She’d bet Neptune himself wouldn’t have the balls to toss ocean spray onto this man’s shiny, immaculate shoes. He was that intimidating.

At least, she’d once thought so. He’d intimidated her to near incoherence once upon a time. Left her tongue-tied and awkward, not knowing what to say or how to act. But she consoled herself with the knowledge that every other woman he met had the same reaction. And that she no longer felt that way.

Instead, as she watched him slam the door, then glance up toward the house perched so high above, she realized she felt nothing. At least nothing that could be construed as romantic emotions.

Physical ones? Well, they were another story. No matter how cold a person’s heart, the white-hot flame of sexual attraction could be hard to resist. Still, any physical attraction she might feel for Wyatt Blackstone was so deeply buried beneath her own layers of self-defense and wariness, she would never give them free rein.

He reached the bottom step, carved into the rocky hill. Pausing, he glanced down to the right of it, at a clump of sea grass. Then he turned his head up toward the garage. Toward her. Through the camera, he pierced her with that direct gaze even his dark glasses couldn’t disguise, demanding entry.

“Okay, okay,” she mumbled, flicking a few keys, disabling the nearly-hidden motion detectors that would screech in alarm if he passed them.

He didn’t even glance down again to ascertain that the light on the tiny sensor beside the step had changed from red to green. He merely began to ascend, knowing full well she had heard him arrive. Knowing she had been watching every move he made, knowing she wouldn’t, couldn’t, keep him out. Even if she wanted to.

She shivered, acknowledging the truth: part of her wanted to.

But worse, another part of her, that tiny, hopeful little spark of her old self that she hadn’t been able to entirely distinguish, didn’t.

You’re just tired of hearing nobody’s voice but the Sarge’s tell you to give him twenty more reps.

Maybe. Or maybe not.

Either way, she couldn’t deny that white hot flame burned the tiniest bit hotter at the sight of him on the monitor.