I have officialy sent out Destined for Trouble for editing! I can't tell you how excited I am!
So for those who are curious and simply can't wait, here's a little sneek peek:
It all started the day my folks threw me a welcome home party in the sweltering mid-summer Texas heat. The entire island of Trouble was invited.
I’d spent the last hour fixing up the backyard and arranging patio furniture in order to accommodate the overwhelming guest list. I could already feel the tingling sensation of the sun’s heat on my shoulders and the first drops of perspiration on my forehead. Even in June, the sun could turn your first layer skin into a burnt crisp by eleven a.m. My once perpetually tanned complexion—courtesy of years of island living—has since turned pale after being hidden under business suits and sitting under bad office fluorescent lighting. I rarely, if ever, saw the sun during my time living in Virginia.
So here’s a tip, when you’re running from the law, don’t forget your sunscreen.
Okay, I wasn’t necessarily running from the law. Just one particular member of law enforcement’s finest. When your FBI agent boyfriend of two years dumps you, and you find yourself surrounded by his presence twenty-four-seven because you both work for the same agency, the only thing a girl can do is head for the hills.
Or in my case, the dunes on Trouble Island.
Ten years after flying the coop, I still considered the quiet island town of Trouble home. Which is exactly why I decided to take a long, overdue vacation from the Bureau—using up almost all of my two month’s saved vacation time in the process.
I used to visit my family often when I was away at college, then I moved out of state for graduate school and my visits trickled to the occasional obligatory holiday visit. After that, I focused on building my career as a crime analyst and got lost in my relationship with James. Over the last few years, my visits had become almost nonexistent. I hadn’t been home in almost five years.
Someone (I forget who) once said, “You can’t go home again,” but in my case, you actually can. It’s an ages old adage, but it’s no more of a cliché than the, “It’s not you, it’s me,” speech I heard when my ex-boyfriend stopped by to pick-up his belongings at my apartment a week after dumping me.
If you want to get technical, I guess this is really the point where my story begins and why I ended up in Trouble.