NEXT

black-steering-wheel

Those of you (and you know who you are) that read my last SAM DELAND CRIME NOVEL, ROPE BREAK, released last spring, got stuck with the literary no, no of a “cliffhanger”. Well, it had to be to set up the next book in the series.

SIDE SLIP is the third crime novel driven by the character of state police corporal Sam Deland and is scheduled for release next month. This one is a bit more personal to your intrepid author. No, not the girl or the other girl but one of the three dramas taking place on the pages.

It happened a long time ago and was like a punch in he gut to those of us who had to deal with the tragedy. A modern day fictionalized version does not take away from the real story though, and someday I may have to deal with it again. For now, it will become part of SIDE SLIP and those who know the rest can judge the re-telling.

From the soon to be released novel, SIDE SLIP:

One month before…

Later that afternoon, Eileen took Dutch with her and loaded him into her SUV for the ride from Porter up to Sam’s. She backed out and turned to go to the state road that ran north over the mountain. As she passed, the big man in the passenger seat of the black Suburban parked on a side street turned to the driver and said in Russian, “There goes the woman. Should we visit with her now?”

The driver flipped a black cigarette out of the open window and replied, “No, wait until she is with the cop. We will visit them both.”

Chapter One

Recovery from his gunshot wound took longer than he imagined it would. Sam Deland did not want to be fussed over. He was fiercely independent and had too much responsibility waiting for him to set the course back at home. This slow march to wellness was wearing on his patience. Christie O’Shea wasn’t wearing her Sig .45 or her handcuffs, but as the pretty detective in the skimpiest swimsuit Sam had ever seen slipped in beside him, the warm bubbles of the hot tub seemed a whole lot less aggravating.

Corporal Sam Deland, boss of a squad of Pennsylvania state troopers who were back up north wrapping up three murder investigations and the shooting of one of his troopers, was lounging twelve hundred miles away in a candle lit hot tub with this beautiful Sarasota, Florida sheriff’s detective nursing him back to health. He was torn, to say the least.

“Hi,” Sam said, and took the glass of wine she handed him and sipped a bit of it. He wasn’t a wine type of guy but he had not told her that. He hadn’t really told her much of anything.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she eased the water up over her bare shoulders and under her neck.

Like shit, he thought. But he said, “Ok, I walked around the block today. Had to stop in the shade but I made it. It’s like a sauna out there.”

“It gets worse as the summer goes on. It won’t let up until into October. Did you hear from Ozzie today?” She moved closer to him and rested her free hand on his thigh.

Oh, boy. Getting shot by the thug that kidnapped and terrorized Sam’s eighteen year old son and his son’s girlfriend had cost him a spleen and a lot of blood, but it had not dampened his manhood abilities at all. He felt the surge the touch of her hand caused and tried to relax. It was not working. Manhood was winning.

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