Below is the unedited ending to a horribly boring scene I deleted long before the manuscript went to my editor. It starts out showing Kate and Tom enjoying a romantic day at the beach and I wrote it, because I wanted to give them a reprieve from their troubles to give them a chance to develop a little romance. In the end, I decided there was no romantic tension or conflict of any kind in the scene and it did nothing to advance the plot, so I cut it.

This is the end of the scene in which Tom’s dad and his new friend, Lorna, take Kate and Tom for a spin in a boat.

As Tom’s Dad gunned the motor, he pointed out how Tom pushed his legs toward the boat and pulled back on the rope to get drawn to a stand. She watched in fascination as he zigzagged over the boat’s wake. His muscular arms and legs gleamed in the sun. A crazy sensation she’d never felt before thrummed through her. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Off the laughter beaming from his face. She’d seen the same look when he romped with his nephews. He knew how to let loose and have fun and she suddenly realized that she didn’t do that easily. She liked that about him.

“I used to love to do this after a hard week’s work,” Tom’s dad shouted over the roar of the engine. “If you don’t shed the stress now and again, it’ll kill you.”

Kate could so identify. These past few weeks her insides had felt coiled tighter than a root-bound potted plant.

“Ready to give it a try?” he asked.

She perched forward on her seat, eagerly watching Tom’s movements, the sway of his back, the tilt of his arms, the movements of his legs, to try to glean what she’d need to know. “I think so.”

He slowed the boat and Tom sunk into the water.

“Kate’s ready to give it a try,” Keith shouted out to him.

“Come on in,” Tom called to her.

She gasped as she slipped over the side of the boat. “The water’s cold.”

“You’ll soon warm up.” He swam over and gave her a kiss as if to speed the process, which it did.

She smiled beneath his lips. “We don’t have all day,” his dad grumbled, amusement coloring his tone.

Lorna swatted the man’s arm. “He was just helping her warm up.”
Kate’s cheeks heated. Oh, yeah. He was good at it, too.

Tom helped her fit her feet into the board, then showed her how to hold the rope and brace herself so the boat would lift her to her feet.

“You’ll do great.” He planted another kiss on her cheek, then climbed back into the boat. “If you need to stop, just let go of the rope. We’ll come back around to pick you up.”

“Okay.” Her voice wobbled, but hopefully not so much that he’d noticed.

Within seconds she was skimming across the water. The wind tangling her hair, water splashing her body and Tom beaming at her. They crisscrossed a large area and she soon got the hang of leaning into the turns. After what seemed like mere minutes, the boat slowed and she sunk into the water. “Why’d you stop?”

Tom’s laughter filled her chest and pleasantly rumbled around inside. “You’ve been at it for more than ten minutes, your muscles will be sore tomorrow if you don’t take a break.”

As she tried to climb into the boat, she felt what he meant.”

Tom reached out and gave her a hand up. “You did great.”

“It was so much fun.” She scrubbed her face dry with the towel Lorna handed her, but when she drew it from in front of her face, Tom’s expression had morphed from cheerleader to warrior.

“That way,” he motioned to his dad, slanting a furtive glance toward the shore.

“What’s going on?” she said.

“Nothing to worry about,” his dad said jovially as Tom hauled in the towline. “Just have to watch for hidden danger when we head for shore.”

“Danger?”

Lorna patted her arm. “I think they mean rocks, dear. Don’t worry, Keith’s taken me out a few times and we haven’t bumped into anything yet,”

Tom spared her what was probably meant to be a concurring smile, then squinted back toward shore.

Clearly, Tom wasn’t taking any chances.

 

 

1.    Tell us a little about yourself and how you came to be in the midst of yet another police investigation. 

My name is Kate Adams and I was just trying to help out my elderly neighbor by picking up a few groceries for her at the store. I had no idea the money she gave me to pay for them was counterfeit, and I’m sure she didn’t either. Thankfully, Detective Parker knows me and knows I would never try to pass counterfeit money. Why would I? I have a good job as a research scientist specializing in herbal remedies. Unfortunately, he’s not nearly as certain about my neighbor, which is why I knew I had to step in and help find the real counterfeiter. Except…I’m afraid there’s something much more insidious going on here in Port Aster, and somehow, I’ve wound up entangled in the middle of it.

2.    Do you have any family?

No, my family is all gone. My dad died when I was young, while in custody, soon after the company that now wants to partner with my research station had him arrested for stealing company secrets. I’ve never wanted to believe he was guilty, but since my mom changed our names and shipped us across the country to live with my gran, it had seemed that way. Recently, Detective Tom Parker helped me find the courage to look into what really happened twenty years ago, and although we’re having a difficult time getting answers, it has been nice to finally be able to share my secret fears with someone after all these years.

3.    You’ve mentioned Tom Parker a couple of times now, as if he might be a friend. Or maybe more than a friend? But I’m surprised. Didn’t he arrest you for murdering your mentor a couple of months ago? I seem to remember reading about that in Deadly Devotion. 

Well, yes, he did. But he felt really, really bad about it afterward. And it wasn’t as if he’d wanted to. He’d been compelled to by his boss when he found certain evidence in my research lab. I have to admit that after all that and the other stuff you probably read about in Deadly Devotion, I did avoid Tom for a long while, because I knew he’d have to testify in the upcoming case against the person who tried to kill me and I figured the defendant’s lawyers would rip him to pieces on the stand if they found out he had a relationship with the victim.

4.    But now the two of you are together?

Um, it’s kind of complicated. Tom would like us to be, but… I’m sorry. I really can’t talk about it. It will make much more since if you read my story.

5.    It sounds so noble to try to uncover who’s behind the counterfeiting and other odd things going on with your neighbor. Aren’t you afraid the real bad guy might come after you?

Yeah, actually, someone in a silver Ford Escort has been following me. Tom is totally freaked out about it, which is making me even more paranoid.

6.    Some have suggested that your stalker might be connected to your rather vocal opposition to GPC Pharmaceuticals partnering with the research station. Care to comment?

I’d hardly say I’ve been vocal about my opposition. I didn’t write that letter to the editor if that’s what you’re thinking. Someone else sent it and signed my name. But yes, I’m wary of GPC’s motives. Wouldn’t you be wary of a company that cost your father his life?

7.   What are you afraid they’ll do?

Squash my research. I believe that we may have a cure for depression, but GPC doesn’t care about curing people. They only care about producing products that control symptoms, so patients will be dependent on their drugs.

8.    Does Tom agree?

I think he’s starting to see that my instincts are good.

9.    I think he thinks that there’s lots about you that’s “good!” So tell me, what do you value above all else?

Loyalty. Friends you can count on no matter what.

10. What do you hope people will learn from your experience?

Tell the truth, even when it hurts.

 

 

Catnip is a perennial herb and member of the Mint family that is best known for its ability to make cats high. Originally native to Europe & Asia, it is now common to North America. There are over 200 species of Catnip. The most common are typically Catmint (purple flowers, small grey/green leaves, grows to fifteen inches high), Camphor Catnip (white flowers with purple dots and a camphor scent, grows to eighteen inches high), and the one cats most enjoy, Common catnip (white flowers, grows up to three feet).

According to Culpepper’s Guide to Herbal Medicine (17??), Catnip has historically been used as a tea, an infusion and in other forms to treat a variety of ailments. Although drugs have largely replaced its use, catnip tea remains a popular hair rinse to enhance hair quality.

Benefits noted by users include improved moisture, reduction of split ends and flyaway hair, softer, shinier hair. It is also purported to stimulate hair growth.

How to Brew:

1)   Bring 3-4 cups water to a boil in a pot.

2)   Turn off heat and add 1 tsp catnip per cup of boiled water.*

3)   Cover and let steep until lukewarm or overnight.

4)   Tap off the condensation from the pot lid to retain the essential oils.

5)   Strain out the leaves, then if desired add a pinch of citric acid.

*Other herbs may also be brewed with the catnip, such as lavender for a lovely scent or rosemary and sage for covering grey. The tea will keep in the refrigerator for a week.

Both leaves and flower buds (as found in commercial packages) may be used. However if harvesting your own catnip to dry, the buds are purported to offer more conditioning.

 

Procedure for Use as a Rinse:

1) Shampoo as usual and blot hair dry with a towel.

2) Soak hair in a bowl of catnip tea for a couple of minutes, pouring the tea over scalp several times.

3) Once hair and scalp are saturated, cover with a plastic shower cap and leave on hair for an hour.

4) Rinse the catnip from hair with warm water.*

*Some users don’t rinse the tea from their hair, but others claim this causes build-up, while others keep the tea in a mister and use it to reduce frizz. Some leave the tea in for a shorter time with satisfactory results.

 

Precautions: Catnip tea will stain towels yellow. It may cause yellowing of white or blonde hair, although many find their light-colored hair is not affected. The effect shampoos out.

If you wish to reduce signs of grey, add an 1/8^th cup each of rosemary and sage per cup of water while steeping your catnip. Repeat weekly until you achieve the shade you desire, and then monthly to maintain it.

Sniffing catnip is what produces a high in cats. So if you own a cat, be prepared that it may go a little crazy sniffing the tea as it brews. However, when eaten, catnip acts as a sedative.

 
 

 

1¾ cup whole wheat flour
1½ tsp baking powder
½ tsp nutmeg
½ tsp salt
¼ tsp cinnamon
⅓ cup sunflower oil
¾ cup milk
1 medium egg
⅔ cup granulated sugar


Topping Ingredients:
¼ cup melted butter
¾ cup granulated sugar
1 tsp cinnamon


In a large bowl, mix the first five ingredients. In a second bowl, whisk together the oil, egg, milk, and sugar. Then add the liquid ingredients to the dry, stirring only to combine. Spoon batter into paper-lined muffin pans and bake in preheated 350° F oven for 20 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean.

For topping, mix the cinnamon into the sugar. While muffins are still hot, dip tops in melted butter followed by the sugar and cinnamon mix.

For an added surprise, fill muffin liners half full, add a teaspoon of your favorite jam, and spoon batter over top.

 

 

“Please tell me those women aren’t why you’re really in town.” 

Sam Steele shifted his gaze from the gorgeous heiresses dining in the corner of the dimly lit Seattle bistro and grinned at his brother. “They’re not why I’m in town.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Right.  Now tell me the truth.”

“What?” Sam brandished his most offended tone, hoping not to give away that Jake had nailed his mission. “Can’t I look at a pretty woman?” Pretty hardly did Jennifer Robbins justice. His fingers itched to tug her blond locks free of the tidy bun she’d tamed them into.

“Sure, but I thought you gave up women after that jezebel almost cost you your job.”

Sam gritted his teeth at the reminder of the woman he’d blithely dated for weeks until she’d manipulated him into being late for a rendezvous with a critical informant, who’d later turned up dead, and he’d had to prove he was merely a gullible idiot and not complicit in the plot.

Sam forced his shoulders to relax, sipped his water.

“Still a sore spot, I see.” Jake smirked. “Want me to ask the twins to join us?”

“You know them?” The question came out strangled. Investigating women his brother knew would not go over well with his family, or his boss.

“The heiresses to the Robbins’ Art Gallery?” Jake said in a do-I-look-like-I-was-born-yesterday tone. “Everyone in Seattle knows them.”

Sam leaned forward, holding his brother’s x-ray-vision gaze without so much as a flinch. “They’re not why I’m in town. I’m here to join our parents, you and my adorable nephew Tommy on an Alaskan cruise. Remember?”

Jake studied him a moment longer but thankfully didn’t question Sam’s sudden generosity in surprising them with the cruise tickets. He probably didn’t want to risk being asked to pitch in. Jake drew back his hands, palms out. “Okay, I believe you.”

No, he didn’t. Bringing Jake here tonight had been a mistake. He knew Sam specialized in the FBI’s art crime investigations, so he was bound to be more suspicious than ever when they “ran” into the women on the cruise next week.

Jake glanced over his shoulder again.

This time the twin sister, Cassandra, noticed and offered an inviting smile.

Terrific. Just what Sam didn’t want. Now she’d be suspicious of them on the cruise, too. Could anything else go wrong?

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” Sam ordered. “Mom would kill you if you brought home a girl like that.”

The corner of Jake’s mouth hitched higher. “So I guess that means you’d prefer the more conservative-looking one? Her name’s Jennifer, in case you’re interested.”

Yeah, but Sam didn’t let on that he already knew. He knew more about the pair than Jake could imagine. Like the fact that their parents died in a tragic car accident when the girls were seventeen. That their former guardian, longtime family friend and gallery curator, Reginald Michaels, was their estate trustee until their twenty-fifth birthday. That, although identical twins, the two women couldn’t be more different.

Cassandra wore too much makeup, and flashy designer outfits that revealed more than they concealed. Meanwhile, Jennifer was as buttoned-up as they came in her navy suit and sensible shoes. She didn’t seem to favor the nightclub photo ops like her sister, either. In fact, in the few publicity shots Sam had managed to dig up of the reclusive twin, her gaze held a lost-soul quality that had tugged at something deep inside him.

He shook away the thought. He shouldn’t be noticing a suspect’s ocean blue eyes, except to be able to identify her in a lineup.

“She goes to church,” his brother said, with a hint of amusement. “Has been going for a while.”

“Good to know,” Sam acknowledged, letting Jake have his fun if it meant diverting him from Sam’s true interest in the women. But the backhanded reference to Ms. Jezebel stung. She’d orchestrated their acquaintance at his church, and because she hadn’t seemed to have any affiliation to any of his cases, he’d trusted her far too easily. A mistake he never planned to repeat. “And you know this how?” Sam asked, suddenly curious how Jake happened to know so much about the women who were supposed to be out of their league.

Jake leaned back and took a long draw of his ginger ale before answering. “She goes to the same church as the fire chief.”

Sam steeled himself against a spark of doubt about the woman’s guilt. Jennifer might not work at the gallery like her sister, but as part owner, she’d have some inkling of their illegal dealings. Why else would her computer’s IP address and cell phone have logged as many as six searches of the FBI’s National Stolen Art Information Registry in the past week and a half—the last one while she was in the gallery earlier this evening?

According to the Anchorage office, the tip that a stolen Native American painting had surfaced in a Skagway gallery came from a reliable source. A wiretap on the gallery’s phone had logged several suspicious calls from the Robbins’ Gallery. Two days later, Cassandra and Jennifer were booked on an Alaskan cruise.

Across the bistro, the women asked for their bill.

Sam pushed aside his half-finished dessert. “You done?”

Jake shoveled tiramisu into his mouth and shook his head.

The women stood, and Jake must’ve guessed at Sam’s real reason for asking. Well, hopefully not the real, real reason.

Reginald Michaels’ suspiciously worded conversations with the Skagway gallery had convinced Sam the twins’ roles would be pivotal in smuggling the pieces south. He needed to know for sure.

In his six years on the FBI’s art crime team, Sam had specialized in recovering stolen art, usually by posing as an unscrupulous private collector willing to overlook a masterpiece’s provenance for the opportunity to own it. First, he’d cultivate the seller’s trust, then he’d set up the buy, and a combined team of FBI agents and local law enforcement would have his back. But time hadn’t been on his side in this case.

Jake shoveled in another mouthful then quickly wiped his face. “Okay. I’m good.”

By the time Sam paid the bill, the women had just about made it to their car, which was perfect because Sam could say bye to Jake and quietly tail the pair to their next destination. The late June sun was sinking fast, which would make it easier to follow unobserved.

A scream split the air. One of the twins.

Jake hoofed across the parking lot with Sam on his heels, more than a little uneasy about meeting the twins this way. When he was close enough to see they were unharmed, he slowed and let his brother take the lead. The last thing he needed on this case was more complications.

“Are you two okay?” Jake asked.

The women, clearly shaken, both nodded.

Keeping his distance, Sam rounded behind them, taking in the slashed tires and the smashed driver’s side window of the Ford Focus. An economy car. Another of the heiress’s anomalies.

Jake pulled out his cell phone. “Did you see who did this?”

“No, but—” Jennifer’s voice wobbled as she reached through her shattered car window “—he left this.”

“Don’t touch it!” Moving in quickly to intervene, Sam caught her arm. The sheer panic in her eyes sliced off his breath. That and the ivory-handled knife pinning a torn note to the driver’s seat headrest. On the paper, blood-red letters said You’ll pay.

A chill skittered down his neck. Oh, this was a big complication.

*

“Let go of me.” Jennifer tried to jerk free of the man who’d appeared out of nowhere in the secluded parking lot. But he held her arm fast while Cassandra just stood and stared.

“Hold still. You’re bleeding.” The man pressed a tissue against her palm.

“What?” Jen glanced down at his hand holding hers so determinedly. Oh. He meant to help her. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she stopped resisting.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said in a rumbly voice that soothed her frayed nerves. “The police might be able to get fingerprints off the knife and note.”

“Of course, I wasn’t thinking.” All she’d been thinking about was the Duel After The Masked Ball painting she’d spotted squirreled away in the gallery’s back room tonight.

She tamped down her panic at the sight of the knife and the thought that it must be connected to the painting. A painting of a stabbing.

She shuddered at the memory of the image. She hadn’t wanted to believe Uncle Reginald could be mixed up in anything illegal. She’d actually convinced herself that the person who’d told her as much—the man she hoped to soon sell her share of the gallery to—was just trying to scare her out of soliciting other offers. But then she’d spotted the Duel painting where it shouldn’t have been.

It wasn’t wildly valuable by art standards, but it was listed as stolen on the FBI’s online database.

And for all she knew this threat could be some kind of revenge.

Her rescuer squeezed her hand, mercifully disrupting her spiraling suspicions. He had a bump on his nose like maybe it had once been broken. His sandy-brown hair curled over his ears, grazing his collar, and his three-day beard growth made him look like a rugged cowboy, except for the sports jacket. He searched her face. “Or do you already know who did this?”

At the apprehension shadowing his coffee-brown eyes, butterflies fluttered through her stomach. “I—”

“It’s got to be one of those nutcase grant applicants!” her sister shrieked. “She assesses them for a charitable foundation. They’re always threatening her when she turns down their applications.” Cassandra waved her arms at Jennifer. “Tell them.”

“Calm down.” Jen fought to keep her tone low and even. “These gentlemen don’t need to know that.”

“Do you see the size of that knife?” Cassandra wailed, louder than before, thrusting her finger at it. “The guy’s a whack job!” Her gaze darted to the bushes that edged the parking lot, and she finally lowered her voice. “For all we know, if these guys hadn’t shown up, the creep might’ve jumped us, too.”

Jennifer shivered. Maybe her sister was right. Maybe this didn’t have anything to do with Reginald or the painting. When she broke the news to Lester this morning that his proposal hadn’t met the foundation’s grant qualifications, he’d been irate.

But he had to know that this was no way to change her mind. Threats like this would only land him in jail.

Her rescuer’s grip tightened, drawing her from her thoughts, and she realized he was trying to still her trembling.

“If someone has threatened you, you need to tell the police when they arrive,” he said, although he looked as though he wanted to press for those details himself.

Her gaze skittered from the endearing concern in his eyes to the small frown curving his lips. She swallowed, not sure what had her feeling more off kilter, the note in her car or the man comforting her. She slipped her hand free of his hold. “Yes, thank you. I’ll do that.”

Turning away, she winced at the curious gazes of people spilling out of the restaurant. She hated being the center of attention at the best of times. If the press caught wind of this, they’d be haunting her for weeks.

The man must’ve noticed her distress because he immediately motioned them to move on. “Everything’s okay, folks. Nothing to see here.” The other man positioned himself in front of her car door, effectively blocking the view of the knife.

A few people craned their necks for a better look but then wandered off like the others.

“Thank you, Mr….” Jennifer whispered. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know your name.”

“Sam. Sam Tate.” He motioned to the tall, lanky fellow guarding the car door. “And this is my brother, Jake. He’s with the Stalwart Fire Department north of the city.”

Jake dipped his head toward her. “Ma’am.”

She could see the family resemblance in their faces, especially the kindness in their eyes, but other than that, they seemed as different in appearance as she and her sister were in personalities. “Pleased to meet you both. I’m Jennifer Robbins, and this is my sister, Cassandra.”

“What’s taking the police so long?” Cassie fretted. “It’s going to be dark soon.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and flitted her long lashes at the tall fireman. “You’ll stay until they come. Won’t you?”

Jake grinned. “Be happy to.”

His brother didn’t seem in a hurry to leave either. He crouched down and studied the slashed tires as Jennifer silently thanked God for bringing these two good Samaritans in their time of need.

Cassie paced. “What if this guy knows where you live, Jen? If only we were leaving on the cruise tomorrow. Then he wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“You’re going on a cruise?” Jake asked. “Which one?”

“Alaskan. We’re supposed to leave Monday.” Jen frowned at the note’s sinister threat. She hadn’t agreed to go yet, but maybe getting out of town for a week would be a good thing.

“Alaska? No way.” Awe filled Jake’s voice. “Us too. What are the chances?” He turned to Sam, eyebrow arched.

“The trip is a birthday gift from our uncle.” Cassie flashed a photo-worthy grin. “We’re twins.”

“Cool. We’re celebrating our folks’ fortieth wedding anniversary.” Jake hitched his thumb toward his brother. “Sam’s treat.”

A wealthy cowboy then? And generous. Not that Jen cared about a man’s wealth. She just wasn’t interested in any guy who only cared about hers. Which seemed to be every guy who gave her a second look. Maybe the rest were too intimidated by her bigger bank account. Too bad Ian hadn’t been. He’d done his homework so well that she’d gullibly believed he wanted the private family life she craved. Right up until Uncle Reggie presented him with an ironclad prenuptial agreement to sign.

Cassie tugged on Jen’s sleeve. “See Jen, the cruise won’t be just partiers. You have to come with me.”

Sam turned to her, looking surprised. “You’re thinking of turning down an Alaskan cruise?”

Jen shrugged. Maybe going away for a week would stop whoever did this from bothering her again. Except she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling Uncle Reggie wanted her out of Seattle for a reason.

Like maybe he’d heard that she’d secretly found a buyer for the gallery come their twenty-fifth birthday…when he lost his veto power.

She’d wanted out from the day her parents died driving home from a gallery gala. And the desire had only intensified with every gold-digging suitor who’d knocked on her door since. Uncle Reggie had to know she’d act on it.

She sucked in a breath. Two weeks. And she still had to win Cassie’s agreement to sell her half, too, for the deal to work. Which wouldn’t be easy considering Cass had worked at the gallery since high school and loved everything about it. The last thing Jen wanted to do was take that away from her. But finding that stolen painting tonight, and now this, changed everything.

She’d already lost her parents and scarcely saw Aunt Martha since she’d divorced Reg. Cass was the only family she had left. She couldn’t bear to lose her too. And she could, because if the deal fell through, it was only a matter of time before the police caught wind of what Reg was up to. And Cass would be implicated alongside him. Perhaps getting her away from him and the gallery for ten whole days might make it easier to win her over.

The wail of a police siren drew closer.

She sure wouldn’t have another opportunity tonight to broach the subject.

Sam studied her, his head tilted, as if he couldn’t figure out why anyone would turn down the gift of a cruise.

She chewed on her bottom lip.

If she went and won her sister’s agreement, she’d still have two days to finalize the sale once they returned before the buyer’s deadline expired. And she couldn’t let it expire. Not now that she knew his warning wasn’t just a scare tactic.

1.     Tell us a little about yourself and how you came to be in the midst of such suspense. 

 My name is Jennifer Robbins. My twin sister Cassandra and I were raised in a small rural Washington State community, where our mother taught art and our father managed a store. Then Mom’s art was “discovered” and we moved to Seattle where we opened what quickly became a lucrative art gallery.

I hated city life from the beginning and even more after we lost our parents in a tragic accident at seventeen and became wards of the gallery’s curator. In my later teen years, I became a believer and finally found some of the peace I’d lost when we left home. After college, I didn’t want any part in the gallery that my sister and I had inherited, but our trustee wouldn’t sell it and my sister couldn’t afford to buy me out.

I can’t wait until my 25^th birthday when we finally gain control of our estate. I have already found someone willing to buy the gallery and need only convince my sister to agree to sell. Then I’ll be able to return to a quiet life in our hometown far from newshounds and money-seeking suitors. That’s why I agreed to come on the cruise with my sister. I figured that if I had her away from the glitz of the gallery and the influence of our “uncle” Reggie for a while that she’d listen to reason.

 

 2.     Tell us about Sam Steele.  What was your first impression? 

 

Oh, wow, he captured my interest from the moment he caught my hand to stop me from grabbing the note stabbed to my car seat. He didn’t even know me and not only did he gently try to stop the bleeding, he held on much longer than necessary to still my trembling and then he shooed away all the gawkers as if he knew how uncomfortable the attention made me. Of course, the more time we spent together, I had a hard time not being wary of his interest. Too many men have wooed me for ulterior motives. 

 

  3.     What are your strengths and weaknesses?          

 

 Although I have to admit that I’ve wavered, I’d like to think that sticking to my convictions is my greatest strength. My worst weakness is probably in caring too much what other people think of me.

 4.     What’s your greatest fear? 

 

 I guess I’d have to say having my family’s name smeared. It’s why I loathe the newshounds and the limelight. The rumors that circulated after my parents’ accident were not an experience I ever want to repeat.

 

 5.     What do you think about your spiritual life?

 

 It was pretty skewed, because I was way too focused on my own interests. I’d been praying God would help me sell the gallery and realize my dreams, never once considering that my dreams might not be what He wanted for me.

 

6.     You’ve got a scripture at the beginning of the story.  Tell us why this scripture is significant.       

 

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.” God has delivered me time and again, several times through Sam’s courage and determination. Sam’s selfless actions are a vivid reminder to me of how much both God and Sam love me.

 

 7.     What do you admire about the hero?

 

He is so selfless, dedicated to protecting others, bringing criminals to justice and making the world a safer place. I admire that he’s willing to admit his faults and face the fallout of his choices. I also love how close knit his family is, and that he comes to truly appreciate their importance in his life.

 

 8.     Why could you never see yourself ending up with the hero?

 

He lives in Boston, a city thousands of miles away from my sister—my only family. The last place I want to live is another city, and I don’t want to move far from my sister. In fact, knowing he’d be heading back to Boston probably made it easier for me to just enjoy spending time with him rather than worrying about his intentions or ulterior motives, because I didn’t figure we had a future beyond a cruise ship fling.

 

 9.     What do you hope people will learn from your experience?

 

To embrace life where they are and find contentment in God and inside. I spent too many years yearning to return to the quiet, anonymous life we used to live before moving to Seattle. I believed that once I was finally free of the gallery and could return, then I’d find a man who would love me for me, not for my wealth or influence, and I’d finally be happy again. But happiness and contentment can’t be dependent on others and circumstances. It needs to come from within, from God. Only once I understood that, could I truly love others as I ought.

 

 

 

 

1. Tell us a little about yourself and how you came to be in the midst of such suspense.

My name is Sam Steele. I’m an FBI agent, with our art crime team. Art crime is overlooked by a lot of police departments. Yet, it’s a seventy-billion-dollar-a-year crime with criminals using paintings as collateral to finance everything from arms, drugs and money-laundering deals. Not to mention the cost of lost history and culture. We got a lead on this current case when we got a tip that a stolen Native American painting was being sold out of Skagway, Alaska, to the Robbins’ Gallery. When Jennifer and Cassandra Robbins, heiress’s to the gallery being run by their guardian until their approaching 25^th birthday, booked a cruise to Alaska, I knew I didn’t have time to set up a sting by my usual methods. So I decided to book my parents, widowed brother, my nephew and myself on the same cruise, under the pretense of celebrating our parents’ 40^th wedding anniversary, with the goal of befriending the women in order to gather the evidence against them that I needed.

2. Tell us about the woman you are investigating, Jennifer Robbins. What was your first impression? When did you know it was love?

Jennifer and her twin sister Cassandra were raised in a small rural Washington State community, where her mother taught art and her father managed a store. Then her mother’s art was discovered and the family moved to Seattle where they opened what quickly became a lucrative art gallery. Sadly, the girls lost their parents in a tragic accident at seventeen and became wards of the gallery’s curator. However, unlike her sister who works at the gallery and seems to love the glamorous parties and publicity that goes along with it, Jennifer works for a charitable foundation, seems to embrace a quiet and humble lifestyle and claims to be a believer. I was skeptical at first. I’d been duped before by a beautiful woman that almost cost me a case. But from the first time I met Jennifer, I felt an undeniable attraction to her beauty inside and out. My family adored her, too, especially my nephew who she helped win at dominoes. Spending time with her and my family felt like old times, the idyllic life I’d once dreamed about having, before…

Well, never mind that. When did I know it was love?

Looking back now, I’d have to say it was the first time I saved her life. I remember saying “I won’t let you go.” And ever since, I haven’t wanted to.

3. What strengths/skills do you have? What is your greatest weakness?

I guess my greatest talent is that I can be whoever or whatever I need to be to get the job done. My greatest weakness is probably my incessant need to prove myself.

4. What scares you?

The thought of making a wrong call, a mistake that could cost someone his or her life.

5. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I would’ve walked through the sorrow and grief with my extended family after my cousin died, instead of moving a continent away to avoid it.

6. Where are you in your faith at the start of your story?

I take my faith very seriously, but I realize now that I used work to avoid things I hadn’t wanted to face and as a result wasn’t truly living.

7. Where are you in your faith at the end of the story?

I learn what it means to really trust and realize that my family forgives me for my mistakes and wants to be a part of my life, and I’m finally able to embrace the life God wants for me.

8. What is the one thing you would never do?

Now? Lie to the woman I love.

9. What is the most unusual thing about you?

I guess I would have to say that although I’m a believer, I have posed as many a criminal, usually by posing as an unscrupulous private collector willing to overlook a masterpiece’s provenance for the opportunity to own it, in order to recover it and bring bad guys to justice.

10. What do you hope people will learn from your experience in this story?

Love is worth the risk.

 

 

Happily, my editor made only minor requests for changes, of which I’ll share a few. 

Original:

Jake hoofed across the parking lot with Sam on his six. 

Editor was not familiar with the expression “on his six” used by pilots and others, meaning at six o’clock position. 

Final:

Jake hoofed across the parking lot with Sam on his heels.

Original:

Tommy tugged free of Sam’s hold and veered toward the biggest and brightest painting—rainbow-colored air balloons floating in a pure blue sky—propped at floor level outside the gallery door. Along the way his foot caught the easel of another painting. Sam lunged to stop it from teetering over as Tommy skidded to a halt in front of the air balloons.

“Oh we can’t touch them,” a kind voice sing-songed. Jennifer Robbins. She squatted beside his nephew, her pleasant smile tempering the swiftness with which she’d caught his arm before he danced grubby fingers over the canvas. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

 

Below is the Rough Draft of the Original Opening Scene, which I deleted for two reasons: I needed to show the heroine in danger much sooner; and because it is mostly backstory and set up for what became the opening scene. Basically, I needed to write it to figure out my characters, but my readers didn’t need the information that soon. You’ll notice that Jennifer’s sister’s name was Jessica in this original draft, not Cassandra as it is in the book.

Gripped by the eerie feeling she was being watched, Jennifer Robbins glanced over her shoulder then grabbed the Art Gallery’s door handle. The near-empty street—unusual for downtown Seattle, even on such a muggy July night—only made her feel more uneasy.

Any other day, she’d chalk up the unnerving sensation to this morning’s rant from a rejected grant applicant at the charitable foundation where she worked, but she knew better.

Her palm turned slick on the door handle. The timing of Uncle Reggie’s dinner invitation was too coincidental. He must have heard she’d been secretly hunting for a buyer for the gallery. Or worse, he found out she’d been tipped off to his illegal activities…if the tip was true.

That’s what she needed to find out. That, and if her sister was in on it, too. 

She drew a deep breath and yanked open the door.

At the familiar jingle, her heart hitched, as if she expected to see her parents’ smiling faces even now—almost eight years since their deaths. Her gaze automatically tracked to Mom’s favorite painting, Meadow at Sunrise, hanging on the left-hand wall. Jennifer had painted the piece at fifteen, mere months before the car accident. The image of two identical pig-tailed girls clutching bunches of daisies in their tiny fists, racing toward the sunrise, brought a clog to her throat.

She wasn’t sure why Uncle Reggie insisted on keeping the piece on display. It wasn’t close to the caliber of the other works, but he had a sentimental streak that the gallery patrons seemed to appreciate. For Jennifer, the painting was a picture of the life she’d lost when her parents moved to Seattle to open the gallery. A life she might regain if she could convince her sister to agree to sell.

But considering Jessica had worked at the gallery since the day they graduated high school, convincing her wouldn’t be easy. Jess loved everything about being a part of the gallery, whereas Jen avoided the place as much as possible, only attending opening nights of new shows because Uncle Reggie insisted it was bad for business if she didn’t put in an appearance.

Jessica emerged from the back room, carrying a small painting. “Jen? What brings you here?”

An uneasy feeling rippled through Jen’s chest. Uncle Reggie had given her the impression her twin sister was included in his dinner plans. “Uncle Reggie called. Said he was taking us out for dinner.”

“Oh right.” Jessica set the painting—a Trisha Romance landscape—on the counter between them. “Redge did mention that this morning. I forgot.”

Jen still couldn’t get used to hearing her sister call their former guardian Redge, instead of uncle. Not that he was really their uncle. They’d just known him since they were knee high and had always called him that.

Jessica, her wavy blond hair spilling over her shoulders, a mischievous glint in her eyes, inclined her head toward Jen and whispered, “I think he has a big surprise for us.”

“Really?” Jen squeaked out, visions of stolen paintings parading across her mind. She shook her head. All she had was a potential buyer’s word that Uncle Reggie was up to no good. He’d been the gallery’s manager for years before their parents died. If he were doing anything wrong, her parents would have known. And they never would have named him in their will as her and Jess’s guardian, let alone made him trustee of their inheritance until their twenty-fifth birthday.

Jen sucked in a deep breath. Two weeks. He wouldn’t be happy to learn of her plans once he lost his veto power.

“Yeah, probably something for our birthday.” Jess tested the wire strung across the back of the painting she’d brought in, then lifted it to the hook on the wall behind her. “I was thinking we should do something really big to celebrate.”

“Of course you were.” Some wild party, no doubt, with all her phony art friends. Friends who were only interested in separating her from her money. Money she’d finally have total access to.

“You used to be a lot more fun, you know. Before you started working at that charity and got all religious.”

Oh boy, the conversation was already going downhill and she hadn’t even pitched her idea of selling the gallery, yet. “Actually, I’m thinking of quitting.” 

“Are you serious? I thought you loved that job.”

Jen squirmed.

“Don’t tell me. You had another fanatic blow up at you because you turned down his harebrained plan to save the world.”

“I’d just like to get out of the city,” she said vaguely, not wanting to broach the subject of selling where Uncle Reggie might overhear.

Good thing, too, because he chose that moment to join them. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” He glanced from Jess back to Jen, his lips stretching into a grin that dimpled his craggy cheeks. “Let me guess. You two are plotting my overthrow. You’re going to toss me out on my ear at the stroke of midnight on your birthday.”

“You got that right,” Jess teased back. “You should’ve given me that raise I asked for.”

Uncle Reggie chuckled and pulled Jen into a hug. “It’s good to see you, again.” 

Jen tried not to stiffen. There was nothing in his demeanor to suggest his attitude toward her had changed in any way. In fact, he’d never done anything to cause her to suspect him of wrongdoing. So why was she taking her prospective buyer’s word on it?

Uncle Reggie kissed her forehead, before releasing her. “Glad you could make it on such short notice.”

“Where are you taking us?” Jess piped up.

Reggie stroked his goatee. “Uh…there’s a slight change of plans. I made reservations for your favorite Italian restaurant, however, I won’t be able to join you. I have another temperamental artist, irate over lack of sales, that I need to soothe.”

“Then we’ll make it another time,” Jen suggested.

“No. You girls need to go. You have lots to talk about.”

Jen and Jess exchanged a glance. “We do?”

Uncle Reggie reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out two envelopes. “Yes, like what you’re going to pack for the Alaskan cruise I’m sending you on for your twenty-fifth birthday.”

Jess jumped up and down like a jubilant game-show contestant. “Oh wow! Oh wow! Oh wow!”

“Wow,” Jen agreed, a little uncomfortable that he’d made such elaborate plans without consulting them. What if she couldn’t get the time off work?

“And don’t worry, Jen,” Uncle Reggie said as if he’d read her mind. “I already made sure you could get the time off work.”

“Oh. That’s great then.” She forced a smile to her lips, shoving away the thought that he’d heard about her potential buyer, and decided to thwart the deal by shoving them off to sea.

Uncle Reggie handed them each an envelope. “Your dinner reservations are for six at Antonio’s, and I’ve already taken care of the bill.” He gave them each a kiss on the cheek. “So enjoy your planning.”

The instant the door closed behind Uncle Reggie, Jess squealed again. “Can you believe this?”

“No…” Jen wished she could scrounge up the same enthusiasm as Jess, but something didn’t feel right about this. “Has he ever talked to you about going on a cruise?”

“Sure. Mar and Blake went on one last month and raved on and on about it to Redge. That must’ve given him the idea.”

“Oh.” That made Jen feel a little better. She’d actually always wanted to visit Alaska. Maybe she had it all wrong. Maybe she should be suspicious of her buyer’s motives, not Uncle Reggie’s. Maybe the allegations were a lie.

Jess glanced at her watch. “I have a few more things I should finish up before closing.”

“No problem. I’ll wander around. See what’s new.” Jen strolled along the walls, pretending to admire the paintings, all the while her mind racing. If Uncle Reggie dealt in stolen art, he wouldn’t hang it on the gallery wall. He’d store it in back, only offer it to people whose discretion he could trust.

Or maybe not store it here at all. Maybe he had a secret storage unit somewhere. She could check his address book or receipts. With Jess’s attention focused on tacking description cards next to their newest acquisitions, Jen meandered into the stock room.

Narrow painting-sized storage boxes were neatly lined up along the shelves, each one labeled in Jessica’s precise printing. thomas kincaide prints. karen hagerman prints. franz arthur original.

Her heart skipped a beat. Arthur’s name had appeared a few times on the FBI’s online National Stolen Art File she’d been studying all afternoon. She poked her head into the hall to make sure Jess was still preoccupied, then slid the oil painting from the box. The Sea Grotto.

Her heart raced at the familiar image. She pulled out her cell phone and quickly navigated to the bookmarked website to be certain. At the sight of the identical image on her phone, she gasped.

It was true. Uncle Reggie was a criminal.

 

p style=”text-align: center;”>