Oh, yeah. Seventy thousand words of pure adrenalin rush is ready for you, my friends.
Edited, proof-read, formatted and sitting pretty on my laptop, waiting for tomorrow. Only a major catastrophe will stop me publish it tomorrow. Or a power cut. Or British Telecom screwing up my broadband connection. Well, what I’m trying to say is, not much can go wrong now.
I’ve even got over my complete TERROR of letting the world touch base with my safe little corner.
So let me announce, without further delay, the emergence of a new novel: BLOOD IS HEAVIER
If you can’t wait until tomorrow, you can read a sample here. Today I’ll give you the very end, so you can dream about what Nick Hunter might do next.
Cameron and Maxi were sleeping cuddled-up in Maxi’s hospital bed. Nick picked up Gizmo off the floor, where it had dropped when Cameron’s grip had relaxed in sleep and placed the much-loved toy on the pillow next to him. Walking so softly, that there was no discernible sound, Nick left the room and closed the door behind him.
“Sleeping?” Tequila called from a chair along the wall opposite the door. She patted the one next to her, and Nick took it.
Tequila put a consoling hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your mom and dad.”
“It was inevitable,” Nick spoke slowly. “First they beat them up, they whipped Felicity and broke her jaw. And they broke Randolph’s ribs. At their age, that kind of injury is hard to get over. Randolph had a punctured lung, too. And then, he also took the majority of the bullets intended for her. Not that it made much difference.” Tequila rubbed Nick’s back with comforting circular movements. “He knew, you know? Randolph. He never really expected to recover. That’s why he told me. He would have kept his mouth shut otherwise.”
Nick looked down to his feet, then pulled the wad of scrunched up papers from his inside pocket. “I think it’s time we found out.”
Most of the dirty pages were inconsequential. They looked to be part of some standard-worded transfer of ownership type contract, not in sequence and incomplete, so he could not be sure. The other party to the contract was a certain Alastair Lloyd Campbell, with an address in Notting Hill. Nick looked at Tequila enquiringly.
“Never heard of him,” she said.
“A link to King, maybe?”
“Don’t know. Worth checking, I suppose.”
Nick lifted his head at the sound of hushed footsteps. Detective Newton started speaking before his footsteps halted.
“They need you at the station – I’ll drive you over – to sign a statement.” His eyes locked on the papers in Nick’s hand. “What is that?”
“Nothing,” Nick passed the papers swiftly to Tequila. “Just letters from my friends. Nothing to do with all this…”
“I’ll go see if Maxi is awake. She might like to read them, too.” Tequila stood up promptly and disappeared into Maxi’s room. Just inside, she turned and shook her head at Nick, her eyes narrowed.
Newton waited until the door was closed and then sat down next to Nick.
“You look like you’re about to arrest me,” Nick accused.
Newton laughed. “And you look tired. Not for me to say, of course, but maybe a good night’s sleep might make you see things in a different light. Or maybe you need a longer break, away from here.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Nick answered wryly. Then he looked longingly towards Maxi, as if he could see her through the solid, white walls.
Newton pulled the car keys out of his pocket and let them drop to the floor. Nick turned his head towards him, trying to catch his gaze, but the Detective was looking away.
“Nice place for a holiday, Cyprus. Don’t you think?”
Nick snagged the keys, stood up and walked towards the door.
“Look after them for me, will you? And thanks.”
Newton smiled. “Whatever for? I never said anything.”