The Ruby Door

While Case Four -The Damned is off to editing, I am challenging myself to write a romantic thriller before getting deep in the Falcon Motor Witch series that's outlined and ready to go. I won't lie, I miss Trudy and Jason, but Special Agent Dolly Fine and Convicted hitman Cory Bates have a very intriguing dynamic. The explosive pair travel deep in the Dark Web for the exclusive Ruby door, which Cory is privy to - only to find the portal, like the sizzling attraction between them —if breached, becomes a point of no return.


Excerpt


Dolly lifted the glass and inhaled its subtle perfume, the heady fragrance of caramel and sandalwood made her slightly dizzy.

Her bottom lip quivered a bit as she raised the glass, a mere fragment from where her lusty tongue darted from her mouth.

A perfectly portioned tumbler held the smooth amber elixir. Simple, neat, and just as she liked it.

This was it. This was how it was going to go down, twelve years of sobriety swimming, no drowning in a bottle of Glenlivet.

The agony of her pounding heart caused her to hesitate. Instead, she rolled the glass along her jawline, closing her eyes to take a deep breath.

”Are you going to make love with that scotch or drink it?” A deep voice startled her.

Dolly studied the man from under her lashes. The maniac who now stood before her was the reason the glass was in her hand in the first place.

Her voice sounded hollow and void of emotion.

“Just so you know, one drink and my sobriety is over.” She unabashedly met his eyes. “Then you might as well kill me now —because knowing this cursed disease of mine, I will no longer be of use to you.”

Cory cocked his head, and something akin to compassion flickered over his features, pissing her off.

Dolly defiantly let a form of muscle memory lift the drink toward her lips. Her hand trembled with its ascent.

She flinched when he stepped forward with a swift motion and snatched the tumbler from her fingers, hurling it against the rare art on the wall.

A growl sounded low in his throat, and without hesitation, Cory also pitched the eighty-year-old bottle of Scotch in the same direction.


“Pull yourself together, woman. I refuse to be jealous of a fuckin bottle.”

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