Wednesday Words: Questions

wurkn-on-mai-plan-for-word-domination-caleb-pupTo be or not to be, that is the question. Whether tis nobler to suffer… Oh. Hi. Yeah, in case you didn’t guess, today’s #1LineWed theme is questions. So, here. Enjoy this scene from THE DEVIL’S CUT where Caleb and Adele play 20 Questions. Plus, bonus, this is their first meeting. 😉

Crime scene tape fluttered around the front door. Adele gave the Ford Explorer with New Mexico tags a cursory glance. More interesting was the uniform from Evergreen PD sitting in his patrol car, head back, snoring. She tapped on his window and he jumped so hard he rammed his crotch into the steering wheel. She bit her lips to keep from laughing.

The guy glowered as he lowered his window. “What?”

She flashed her CBI ID and nodded toward the SUV. “Who’s here?”


Dang it! She should have known this would happen, but how did the news leak?

“How long has she been here?” Everyone in law enforcement had heard of Special Agent Sade Marquis, head of some fancy FBI unit that dealt with the magicks.

“Don’t know who you’re talking about. It’s a dude. He showed up at the station this morning to see the chief. After lunch, chief sent me out here with him to unlock the door. Dude told me to wait outside. Worked for me. This place gives me the creeps.”

Yeah, she knew that feeling. “Great. Fine. Log me in as going into the scene.”

“Copy that.”

Adele pushed open the massive door and stepped inside. Her boots echoed on the granite floor with a dull thud. Standing in the living area, she debated where to start.

“Who are you?”

She screamed before she could catch herself, and whirled to face the man standing in the archway that led downstairs. “Crickets on a cracker. You scared the bejeezus out of me. You must be the Fed.”

“Guilty as charged. And you are?” He raised a bushy brow at her, a brow that got lost under a fringe of messy dark hair. His cheeks and rather chiseled jawline were covered with fine, dark scruff. Amber eyes watched her, unblinking, and her hind brain considered survival. Which meant running. Like crazy. But her human brain decided that was a bad idea. She wasn’t prey.

“Adele McCoy. Colorado Bureau of Investigation.”

“Ah, yes. The tech investigator.”

She bristled but bit back a retort. “Turn about’s fair play. You are?”

“Special Agent Caleb Jones.”

Her libido sighed and fluttered eyelashes at him as he prowled closer. Adele froze while her inner slut squeed. Wait? What? She had an inner slut? Very Special Agent Caleb Jones was the enemy. Here to snatch her case away.

“I understand you have the scene evidence?”

“Uh huh.” God, was she drooling? Not that he wasn’t drool worthy—all six musclely feet of him. Her fingers itched to brush the shaggy hair out of his eyes. Her lips actually tingled as he dropped his eyes to look at her mouth.

“You should breathe, Ms. McCoy.”

“Uh huh.” She was breathing. Wasn’t she?

A smile crept across his face and she wanted to bite his full, bottom lip. She was in so much trouble. He leaned down and her breath caught in her lungs, which was bad because now his leather jacket tickled her breasts through her cashmere sweater.

“Do you have them with you or do we need to go to your office?”

She wanted to inhale again, to breathe the air from his words. She didn’t. Instead, she exhaled with her third brilliant reply since his appearance. “Uhm…”

Poor Adele. She’s just been slapped upside the head with a dose of Magick Male™. Who else has questions to share?

About Silver James

I like walks on the wild side and coffee. Lots of coffee. Warning: My Muse runs with scissors. Author of several award-winning series--Moonstruck, Nightriders MC, The Penumbra Papers, and Red Dirt Royalty (Harlequin Desire) & other books! Purveyor of magic, mystery, mayhem and romance. Lots and lots of romance.
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4 Responses to Wednesday Words: Questions

  1. Heh. That’s wicked awesome, Silver. I can’t wait. (Yeah, I always say that, but I can never wait for your books.)

    Here’s a bit from my WIP Fertile Ground – where the MC has arrived for her first day at the Detroit offices of the SCIU:

    “May I help you?” said an elderly woman seated behind a counter more suited to an insurance agency than a branch of Homeland Security. To one side was a bouquet of flowers in a bright mug declaring her the World’s Best Grandma. To the other sat a plate of cookies.
    Teri refrained from shaking her head. This wasn’t Dallas. This was Detroit—and the sooner she got used to how things were done around here the better off she’d be.
    “Agent Teri Buchanan.” She smiled as brightly as the morning would allow. “I’m supposed to be in the nine o’clock conference call, but I don’t have time to visit my office. Can I stow my bags here?”
    “Agent who?” The woman gave her a thorough once-over, noting her wrinkled skirt and rumpled blazer. She flipped through some notes and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have an agent here by that name. And everyone is in a meeting right now. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll have someone come talk to you when their meeting is over.”
    Coffee. I need coffee.
    “No. I’m Agent Buchanan. I need to report to Supervisory Agent Richard Jensen…”
    “I’m sorry, miss, but he’s in a meeting.”
    Oh holy shit.
    “Yes. I’m aware he’s in a meeting. I also need to be in that meeting.” She could just leave the luggage in the waiting area. “Could you point me in the direction of the conference room?”
    “No visitors allowed past the foyer, miss. If you give me your name…”
    “Agent. Teri. Buchanan.”
    The woman smiled. “That’s funny. We have an Agent Terry Buckman starting today but he’s late.”

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