Here it is Wednesday again. I didn’t post here yesterday because I’m still trying to figure out what to blog about on Tuesdays. Instead, I posted a cat meme on my FB author page, where these posts also end up thanks to some WordPress magic. Anyway, I wrote last week and the words belong to the Boston Wolves WIP so yay! I have something to post today. The #ThursdayThreads prompt was a follow-on from the previous week (which I received an honorable mention on a bit of random words). Rather than riffing on that scene, which woud have made sense, I finally got a whisper from Ronan. Hence, new words that will slot into an already established scene. Yippee! What is the prompt? *The clock was ticking.* I just happy the Wolves are stirring from their hibernation. I don’t think this snippet needs much explanation though I will say, things are not what they seem. *bwahaha*
****
Ronan didn’t look up from the laptop on his desk as his brother walked into his study. “Where is she?”
The question was met with silence.
He leaned back in his chair and studied Mick’s face. Uneasy, he waited.
“We can’t find her, Ronan.” Mick’s words rasped out from a throat filled with tension.
The two men stared at each other, the uncomfortable silence stretching to the point of boiling over.
“Who was on her?”
“Devlin.”
Ronan considered that. Had one of the younger Wolves been assigned to Maura, he might understand how they’d lost her. He’d still be furious but Maura could be devious when it came to ducking her bodyguards.
“Where is he?”
“At home, nursing a giant lump on his head. We found him unconscious.”
“When did Devlin lose her?”
“About five.”
Ronan erupted from his chair, terror clutching his chest, making it hard to breathe. He now understood the sense of unease that had been building all evening. “Where have you looked?”
“The boys are covering everywhere—her condo, the DA’s office.” Mick rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re also checking out Crenshaw’s place.”
Ronan forced his wolf down so he could think. “What about Danny Boy’s?”
Mick’s cell rang. He held up one finger while he answered. He didn’t bother putting it on speaker. Ronan could hear the conversation just fine. “What’ve ya got, Sean?”
“Her scent at Danny Boy’s.”
“I’ll kill the bastard,” Ronan snarled as he headed out. The clock was ticking.
****
Poor Ronan. Maura might just be the death of him yet. 😉 Writers, grab the prompt and go with it if you so desire and are inspired. Readers, I know I keep promising but this thing is a BIG book. I am making progress–slow yes, but moving forward–and I still hope it will go live across most of the sales outlets sometime in August. 🤞🏼 Do you like big books or quick reads?
Silver James 