I'm pleased to announce that on May 12th Carina
Press will be releasing "In the Black", the first book in my new
series, "Tales from the Edge". It's a rip-roaring adventure series
with I like to explain as "Firefly" meets "Best Little
Whorehouse"… but why not read an excerpt and you can judge for yourself?
***
This
was the worst part of the job, the toughest thing for any captain who ran a
Mercy Ship. When she’d taken over the Bonnie Belle six
months ago, it’d seemed amusing— starting off the landfall with a bang, as it
were. Then back to signing off on maintenance reports and reading mystery
novels until the Belle was
ready to head out for the next stop on their cycle.
Now
this ceremony was like a hangnail catching on anything and everything without relief
in sight.
Performed
once a month.
For
another four and a half years.
Samantha
Keller stood in front of the double doors, waiting for her cue. A low beep in
her ear from the transmitter signaled her to proceed. She pasted a huge smile
on her face and pushed her way through the swinging double doors, making a note
to swing her hips and slow the hell down.
She
couldn’t run down the aisle, no matter how much she wanted to get this over
with.
The
black leather straps cut into the back of her heels as she strode down the
center aisle. She made a mental note to toss the shoes into the garbage bin as
soon as she got back to the Belle.
She’d
have worn her old jump boots but Jenny insisted on her buying the stilettos on
their first stop at Land’s End base, saying
they matched the brand-new leather jumpsuit and that it’d be unseemly for her
to make the announcements in “ragged, old, stinky” military boots.
Sam
had lived and almost died in those boots and if they were good enough for that,
they’d be good enough for this. The words had been on her tongue when she’d
spotted the eagerness in the mechanic’s eyes.
In
the end she’d bought the bloody shoes, the ones now gouging raw spots on her
heels. Six months and they were nowhere near broken in.
Mind
you, she only wore them for a few minutes once a month. Maybe she should have
Jenny stomp around
and soften them up.
The
damned jumpsuit still rode up, tempting her to make some very unladylike
gestures.
Sam
missed her old soft, olive drab uniform.
Along
with the weapons that went with it.
There
was something about having a pistol at her side that made certain situations
more bearable.
Like
this one.
She
spotted Huckness, the security chief, standing off to one side with two of his
men, his attention not on her but on the two hundred miners spread out in front
of them in the main meeting hall. He was looking for signs of trouble.
She
was about to deliver it.
The
second step was her undoing. Her damned shoe missed the metal strip, landing on
bare wood. Her left ankle twisted outward, almost sending her crashing down the
steps. Her right hand shot out and grabbed the podium’s faux wood edge.
As
far as she was concerned this near-fall added one more point toward tossing the
damned shoes into the incinerator as soon as she got off this stage.
A
curse dangled on her lips before being pulled back and twisted into a grin,
primarily because of the live mike only inches from her face.
With
this crowd, it’d probably be considered foreplay.
Wolf
whistles followed her every move. Two hundred hungry men waiting for her.
Wanting her to deliver the goods they’d been promised.
Another
dozen or so women were watching from an office somewhere. The women assigned to
Branson Prime worked the administrative positions, keeping the ink flowing to
keep the base alive. Only a smattering but they were potential customers and
the Guild prepared for every eventuality.
They
were already segregated from the men in the work areas and it continued for
this presentation, allowing them to watch the show without commentary from the
male staff. It wasn’t just out of politeness—it was good business. Let them see
the wares without judging or being judged by their male associates.
Another
day, another show.
Andrew
Trainer, the foreman, stepped away from the podium. A minute later and he was
in the front row of eager spectators, dressed in the same drab grey clothing as
the rest of the miners. The only thing showing his rank was a black stripe on
one sleeve. He wiped the sweat from his forehead on his sleeve even though the
room was cool, the air-conditioning roaring over the crowd.
Sam
gave him a wink, causing the dark-haired man to rock back and forth on the
metal bench.
Inside
she laughed. If she could get a rise out of the old guard with nothing more
than a wink, she might have a damned riot on her hands by the end of the
presentation.
Her
lips twitched once, and then curved into a smile.
She’d
enjoy a riot. It’d been a long time since she got in a good old-fashioned
brawl, two landfalls ago when some idiot thought he’d jump the line when she
was walking through the landing bay on the way to trade some books with the
base library. If she hadn’t gotten to him first he might have not survived the
rough justice being handed out by his fellow miners.
It’d
been a pleasure to kick his ass. Almost as good as sex.
Speaking
of—
“Hello,
Branson Prime,” she purred into the microphone, grimacing as her vocal cords
protested at going so low and slow. It was a necessary evil; her command voice
wasn’t going to work here.
The
resounding cheer was deafening. She withdrew a small data chip from her pocket
and inserted it into the waiting slot on the console. The yelling subsided when
she waved them down, but a low murmur continued to run through the crowd, a
delicious anticipation of what was to come.
“I’m
Sam Keller, Captain of the Bonnie Belle—that
sweet little Mercy ship that docked with your fine manufacturing facility an
hour ago. And I’m here to declare that we are—” she paused for three
heartbeats, seeing the hungry eyes, “—open for business!”
The
two hundred-plus miners jumped to their feet as one, stomping their booted feet
in a deafening chorus. Given the sparse decorations they looked more like prisoners
than potential customers. But they were buyers and she was here to sell a
product.
She
pointed at the large screens set around the mess hall as they flashed to life,
the bright pictures drawing yells from the workers. Usually they displayed
boring litanies of production quotas and the occasional sports competition
piped in from the inner planets. Now they rotated through the images of the six
courtesans, expertly posed and photographed to provide the most titillation for
the money. No outright nudity, just a flash of skin here and a wink there. More
than enough material to fuel a man’s or woman’s fantasies for those long, dark,
lonely nights out here on the edge of colonized space.
“Two
hundred credits an hour and you can do anything you want.” She leaned over the
podium and pressed
her lips to the microphone, letting the zipper on the jumpsuit “accidentally”
slide down just enough to exaggerate her cleavage.
It’d
taken Jenny a week of oil and sweat to loosen the zipper enough to get it to
come down on cue. But it was well worth it, every time.
“Anything.”
She exhaled over the black nub, drawing the word out as long as she could.
***
As you can guess the Bonnie Belle's stay doesn't go as planned…
but why not plan a visit to the Belle for yourself? Make a date May 12th to come on board and see what all the
fuss is about!
When Sam
Keller left the military, she ran to the far end of the galaxy. Now she
captains the Bonnie Belle, a
spaceship full of courtesans who bring a little pleasure to hard-up men on
mining colonies. When one of her girls turns up dead, it’s Sam’s job to find out who killed her, fast.
Marshal
Daniel LeClair is as tough as steel and quick on the draw. But when his
vacation gets replaced by an assignment to help find the killer, he can’t help
angling for a little action with the saucy, hard-charging Sam. She’s got brains, attitude and a body he wouldn’t mind investigating.
Sam, six
months lonely, might just indulge him. But the Guild that owns the Belle wants the case closed yesterday.
With pressure coming from all quadrants, Sam and her marshal clash over false
leads and who’s on top. But when the killer threatens the Belle again, romance will have to wait. It’s a captain’s job to
save her crew, no matter the cost.
