EXCERPT from SINBAD'S LAST VOYAGE (Double Dragon Publishing, released November, 2007 , e-book and paperback; also audio book from Books in Motion):

(When war breaks out between Terra and Albegensia, Navajo Andi Talltrees' husband Tran is arrested as a spy and taken to a secret government internment camp. At the suggestion of her godfather, George Windrider, Andi go to the Thieves' Quarter to hired Sinbad sh'en Singh, a halfbreed smuggler, to find out where Tran has been taken.)

...“Hosteen Sh’en Singh?”

“Who’s askin’?” questioned a gruff voice. It was hoarse and raspy, as if he were recovering from a bad chest cold. If he was surprised by her use of the Navajo word for mister, he didn't show it.

“My name’s Andrea Talltrees,” she began. “Al at the Blue Owl sent me-- “

“Yer a Milky, ain’tcha?”

She was too startled to be insulted by that belittling nickname--derived from the name of Terra's galaxy, the Milky Way.

“Well--yes, but what’s that--“
“Al knows I don’t like Earthers. Sorry, Sweets, ya won’t do!”
“I-I won’t?”

He leaned back in the chair, tilting it against the wall, so that his upper body was hidden in the shadows, one knee-high boot braced against the side of the other chair.

In the half light, she saw that he was wearing black leather trousers and a leather vest secured at the waist and neck with straps adorned with polished studs. His arms were bare, one hooked carelessly over the back of the chair, while the other rested against the tabletop, hands encased in short, black gloves. In the hollow of one shoulder, she could see a scarlet slash of a tattoo.

There was a generous amount of bare chest and curly, coppery hair showing in the open front of the vest and Andi quickly glanced away, studiously trying not to stare.

He reached into the pocket of the vest and produced a coin, flipping it across the table.

“Here’s an Eagle fer yer trouble.” It spun around and came to rest near the edge of the table as the other hand waved imperiously. “Now--go away!”

Andi stared at the coin. It was a gold piece, very old, with a flying bird engraved on one side. She’d never seen one like it.

“Go back to Al,” the deep voice went on, “an’ tell him I want an Androsan…”

Picking up the coin, she leaned forward and, taking one of his hands, very carefully placed the Eagle on his palm, and closed the gloved fingers around it.

“I don’t want your money. I came here to talk to you and I’d appreciate it if you’d listen to what I have to say.”

The hand opened. He looked at the coin, then at her, and returned it to his pocket.

“By all means. Go ahead.” There was a hint of laughter behind the roughness.

“I-- “ She looked around. “I-is there somewhere we can talk--in private?”

The hand gestured. “Step into m’office, li’l lady--”

“Talltrees,” she told him quietly. “Andrea Talltrees.”

“--Mistress Talltrees,” The shadowy head nodded, as if accepting her correction. “--an’ speak yer piece.”
Andi didn’t answer.

Suddenly it seemed very warm, the smoke from the fuel lamps on each table combining with the body heat of the customers to make the room an uncomfortable contrast to the coolness outside.

She tugged open the top two buttons of her jacket, and just stood there, uncertain how to begin.

“You said Al sent you…?” he prompted, leaning forward to take a slender black stick out of a holder on the table. He picked up the little petrocandle, a pseudo-relic of an earlier era serving as a centerpiece, and touched the tip of the stick to the tiny flame. For an instant, she had a brief glimpse of long tawny hair and thick copper brows. Then, the light faded as he replaced the lamp and settled back.

A thick cloud of smoke was blown in her direction.

She coughed slightly.

“I-Is that a cigar?” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. He took it out of his mouth and looked at it.

She could see the glowing tip reflected in his eyes and that made her uneasy.

“Why--so it is!” There was mock surprise in the rasp. “Chock full o’ nicotine, carcinogens, carbon particles, an’ God knows how many other nasty things!” He shook his head. “My, my!”

“But--but they’re illegal!” Tobacco was on the List of Unlawful Substances issued by the Surgeon General, was Number One, in fact.

She flapped at the smoke with one hand, trying to fan it away.

“Lady, I’m a smuggler!” The harsh voice was contemptuous. “I bring in about fifty cases o’ these a week, an’ at eight hundred credits a box, I can afford to let fifty real dollars-worth go up in smoke!”

‘But--they’re bad for your health!” It came out before she realized it.

“Don’t you worry about m’ health, li’l lady.” The voice was impatient. “You say ya got business with me? Then hurry up an’ state it! I came here t’ do some serious drinkin’ an’ yer interferin’ with m’ plans!”

She peered into the dimness, trying to see his face. It was like looking at a shadow.

“Can’t we have a little more light? I can hardly see you.”

That brought a short growl of amusement.

“So, you want t’ see me, do you? Jake!” The bartender looked in their direction. As did several others. “Bring a bigger lamp. Th’ li’l lady can’t see enough o’ me!”

There was a spout of laughter and a gabble of crude remarks as Jake, grinning broadly, hurried over with another lamp. He set it on the table, whisked away the smaller one, and Sinbad leaned forward, tilting the shade so that the brightness shone on his face like a spotlight.

“There! That better?”
Andi stared at him.

Oh, my God….

Sitting before her was a cat in human form. His hair, the wildest, curliest stuff she had ever seen, was past shoulder length, a lion’s mane tamed by a leather headband, falling around tapered ears tufted with auburn fur, like those of a lynx she had seen near the chicken pen one Spring. From one nearly non-existent lobe dangled a thick gold ring.

Heavy brows hung over jade-green eyes watching her with scornful amusement, slitted pupils widened because of the low light in the room. He had high cheekbones and a long straight nose, a coppery Mandarin mustache drooping over a mouth in which the smoking cigar now rested.

“I think ya stared long enough.” One of the gloved hands flicked at the shade. “Either shut yer mouth an’ quit gapin’ or open it an’ tell me whatcha want!”

“Please--can’t we go somewhere else to talk?”

With a hiss, he stood up, six feet, eight inches of irritated Felidan, picking up the mug setting upon the table.

“Hey, Jake!” Looking down at her, he took the cigar out of his mouth and called over his shoulder, “Can I borrow one o’ yer rooms fer a while?”

“Sure! Take Number Three!”

“Bring me a pitcher, then” and he stalked away from the table, leaving her to run to keep up with his long-legged stride while the men’s laughter burned her ears.

He pushed open the door and went in. Andi followed silently, closing it carefully behind her.

Sinbad promptly dropped into one of the chairs and motioned her toward the other. “All right--we’re private…Now talk!”

When she didn’t answer, he demanded, “Why did Al sent you?”

“I-- Well, he didn’t-- “ she began.

“Then who in th’ name o’ God did? Is this some kinda joke?” He pushed back his chair, putting both feet upon the table and stared at her, his scowl turning the heavy brows into a copper vee. “Listen, woman--I ain’t got much patience, an’ I’m fast losing what little I do have!”

With a deep breath, Andi said, in a rush, “George Windrider--he said you could help me!” and waited for his reaction.

“Indian George?” The harsh expression softened a little. “Well--what’s th’ problem George thinks I can fix?”

“I want you to find my husband. He’s-- “

“I’m no Tracer, lady! Ya need t’ go t’ th’ Federation’s Missing Persons Section fer that!”

“I can’t!” She leaned forward earnestly, hands on the table. “It’s the Federation who’s taken him. You see-- He’s an Albegensi….”

“You sure know how t’ pick winners!” The cigar had gone out. He relit it from the lamp on the table, and leaned back to regard her steadily, his green eyes speculative.

In the bright light of Number Three, his pupils were narrow black crescents.

“Don’t tell me--let me guess…since th’ whole world is afraid o’ th’ Big Bad Federation, an’ no one else’ll help, you want me t’ find out where they’re holdin’ him. Right?”

She was sweating now. She nodded and wiped her forehead with one hand.

“Can you help me?” she persisted, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

“Well, I could find out if he’s there. Is that all you want?” His tone indicated he considered her just short of insane even to want to know where her husband was.

“Yes,” she assured him. “Just find out where Tran is, and I’ll do the rest.”

“Tran. That his name?”

She nodded.

He fell silent and Andi stood there, gripping the back of the chair, squeezing the wood so hard her fingers hurt, waiting for him to go on.

The silence grew, longer and quieter, until she wanted to scream.

His nostrils crinkled suddenly as if he had scented something.

”Are you afraid o’ me?”

“Should I be?” She was, terribly, but she’d never tell him so.

“Maybe.” He fell quiet again but just when she was ready to grab her pack and stalout, he sat up, letting the legs of the chair strike the floor with a loud snap.

“All right, I’ll do it, but it’ll cost!” The cigar, held in the gloved hand, pointed at her like a small dagger, as the green eyes regarded her unwaveringly. “An’ I don’t think yer willin’ t’ pay th’ price!”

“How much?” she asked quickly. “Tell me! I’ll pay it-- I love my husband!”

“You might not love him that much!”

“I’ll do anything to free him!” She flung the words recklessly. “What do you want?”

The cigar stabbed at her again. “You.”

“What?” She hadn’t heard correctly. She couldn’t have. “W-what did you say?”

“Ya heard me--I want you as m’ payment." He blew a smoke ring into the air. “Yer good-looking’ fer a Milky. I like yer scent, even if ya have tried t’ hide it under that nauseatin’ perfume. Here’s m’ offer: stay with me tonight, an’ if I’m satisfied, I’ll find your mate fer ya.”

She stared at him, stunned into disbelief. This isn’t happening. This creature didn’t say that. He didn’t.

“Look on it as a business arrangement. Ya gimme me what I want, I give ya what ya want.” He spread his hands and shrugged. “What say?”

“Wait just a minute.“ She startled herself by saying exactly what she was thinking. “W-what’s to stop you from just kicking me out after you…get what you want?”

“Good point.” His look indicated he was surprised she had thought of it. “Okay, we do it, an’ good or bad, ya get th’ location o’ th’ camp. Fair?”

He leaned back again, studying the ash on the tip of his cigar before flicking it onto the floor. Waiting. Confident. Enjoying her indecision.

Andi’s thoughts were frantic. Was this what George was warning me about? Oh, God, Tran, I love you, but I can’t do that. Not even for you.

“Make up yer mind, Talltrees.” The raspy voice cut into her thoughts. “I ain’t got all day, an’ neither has yer mate.”

What am I going to do? He’s right. No one else is going to help me. They’re all too afraid. Besides, I wouldn’t even know where to start. Tran will never know. Her hands clenched into fists. I-I’ll just pretend it never happened. She forced her hands to relax, took a deep breath and tried to speak. She had to swallow twice before any sound would come out. Even then, it was a bare whisper.

“A-all right.”

“Good!” He stubbed the cigar into the ashtray on the table. “Well? Go ahead…strip.”

“What? Here? Now?”

He smiled, the light sparkling off long incisors, flashing a fanged leer. “Right. Here. Now. Th’ day ain‘t getting’ any younger, an’ there‘s an empty bed yonder just waitin’ t’ be used.”

Mouth set in a determined line, she took off her jacket and dropped it into the chair. The hand-knit sweater had four buttons at the neck. She got them open and pulled it over her head. Underneath, she wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt. As she began to open the dozen, tiny buttons down its front, frowning in concentration, he gave an exasperated growl.

“Good God! How many clothes’re ya wearin’? D’ ya think it’s winter?”

“It’s still cold in the Valley,” she answered defensively, watching her hands.

Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it. She got the shirt off and heard his groan as he saw the sleeveless undershirt. He was getting impatient, the gloved fingers tapping a loud tattoo on the tabletop. She was afraid he would walk out if she delayed any longer. Quickly, she pulled the tank top over her head and reached for the catch to her bandeau.

The door opened. Jake came in carrying a pitcher of beer, a blast of sound following him into the room. Gasping, Andi snatched at the undershirt and held it against her chest. Her chin quivered. Jake looked from her to Sinbad.

“Sorry, Sin. I-I didn’t think you’d be this far along.”

The smuggler tapped the table with one finger. “Put it there, Jake. Thanks. Now, get out.” There was barely controlled anger in the low voice. The bartender did as he was told and hurried toward the door. “An’ Jake--” He paused and looked back. “Make certain we’re not bothered again.”

“Right. I’ll put up the Do Not Disturb sign.” He went out, slamming the door.

With a shaky sigh, Andi dropped the undershirt. She was dizzy again, feeling the way she had the day her horse ran under a tree and she had hit her head on a limb: lightheaded…sick. There was a roaring in her ears.

“We’ve wasted enough time, woman.”

A gloved hand reached for her and Andi went limp, falling without a sound into a crumpled heap at the smuggler’s feet....

EXCERPT from SINBAD'S LAST VOYAGE (Double Dragon Publishing, released November, 2007 , e-book and paperback; also audio book from Books in Motion):

(When war breaks out between Terra and Albegensia, Navajo Andi Talltrees' husband Tran is arrested as a spy and taken to a secret government internment camp. At the suggestion of her godfather, George Windrider, Andi go to the Thieves' Quarter to hired Sinbad sh'en Singh, a halfbreed smuggler, to find out where Tran has been taken.)

...“Hosteen Sh’en Singh?”

“Who’s askin’?” questioned a gruff voice. It was hoarse and raspy, as if he were recovering from a bad chest cold. If he was surprised by her use of the Navajo word for mister, he didn't show it.

“My name’s Andrea Talltrees,” she began. “Al at the Blue Owl sent me-- “

“Yer a Milky, ain’tcha?”

She was too startled to be insulted by that belittling nickname--derived from the name of Terra's galaxy, the Milky Way.

“Well--yes, but what’s that--“
“Al knows I don’t like Earthers. Sorry, Sweets, ya won’t do!”
“I-I won’t?”

He leaned back in the chair, tilting it against the wall, so that his upper body was hidden in the shadows, one knee-high boot braced against the side of the other chair.

In the half light, she saw that he was wearing black leather trousers and a leather vest secured at the waist and neck with straps adorned with polished studs. His arms were bare, one hooked carelessly over the back of the chair, while the other rested against the tabletop, hands encased in short, black gloves. In the hollow of one shoulder, she could see a scarlet slash of a tattoo.

There was a generous amount of bare chest and curly, coppery hair showing in the open front of the vest and Andi quickly glanced away, studiously trying not to stare.

He reached into the pocket of the vest and produced a coin, flipping it across the table.

“Here’s an Eagle fer yer trouble.” It spun around and came to rest near the edge of the table as the other hand waved imperiously. “Now--go away!”

Andi stared at the coin. It was a gold piece, very old, with a flying bird engraved on one side. She’d never seen one like it.

“Go back to Al,” the deep voice went on, “an’ tell him I want an Androsan…”

Picking up the coin, she leaned forward and, taking one of his hands, very carefully placed the Eagle on his palm, and closed the gloved fingers around it.

“I don’t want your money. I came here to talk to you and I’d appreciate it if you’d listen to what I have to say.”

The hand opened. He looked at the coin, then at her, and returned it to his pocket.

“By all means. Go ahead.” There was a hint of laughter behind the roughness.

“I-- “ She looked around. “I-is there somewhere we can talk--in private?”

The hand gestured. “Step into m’office, li’l lady--”

“Talltrees,” she told him quietly. “Andrea Talltrees.”

“--Mistress Talltrees,” The shadowy head nodded, as if accepting her correction. “--an’ speak yer piece.”
Andi didn’t answer.

Suddenly it seemed very warm, the smoke from the fuel lamps on each table combining with the body heat of the customers to make the room an uncomfortable contrast to the coolness outside.

She tugged open the top two buttons of her jacket, and just stood there, uncertain how to begin.

“You said Al sent you…?” he prompted, leaning forward to take a slender black stick out of a holder on the table. He picked up the little petrocandle, a pseudo-relic of an earlier era serving as a centerpiece, and touched the tip of the stick to the tiny flame. For an instant, she had a brief glimpse of long tawny hair and thick copper brows. Then, the light faded as he replaced the lamp and settled back.

A thick cloud of smoke was blown in her direction.

She coughed slightly.

“I-Is that a cigar?” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. He took it out of his mouth and looked at it.

She could see the glowing tip reflected in his eyes and that made her uneasy.

“Why--so it is!” There was mock surprise in the rasp. “Chock full o’ nicotine, carcinogens, carbon particles, an’ God knows how many other nasty things!” He shook his head. “My, my!”

“But--but they’re illegal!” Tobacco was on the List of Unlawful Substances issued by the Surgeon General, was Number One, in fact.

She flapped at the smoke with one hand, trying to fan it away.

“Lady, I’m a smuggler!” The harsh voice was contemptuous. “I bring in about fifty cases o’ these a week, an’ at eight hundred credits a box, I can afford to let fifty real dollars-worth go up in smoke!”

‘But--they’re bad for your health!” It came out before she realized it.

“Don’t you worry about m’ health, li’l lady.” The voice was impatient. “You say ya got business with me? Then hurry up an’ state it! I came here t’ do some serious drinkin’ an’ yer interferin’ with m’ plans!”

She peered into the dimness, trying to see his face. It was like looking at a shadow.

“Can’t we have a little more light? I can hardly see you.”

That brought a short growl of amusement.

“So, you want t’ see me, do you? Jake!” The bartender looked in their direction. As did several others. “Bring a bigger lamp. Th’ li’l lady can’t see enough o’ me!”

There was a spout of laughter and a gabble of crude remarks as Jake, grinning broadly, hurried over with another lamp. He set it on the table, whisked away the smaller one, and Sinbad leaned forward, tilting the shade so that the brightness shone on his face like a spotlight.

“There! That better?”
Andi stared at him.

Oh, my God….

Sitting before her was a cat in human form. His hair, the wildest, curliest stuff she had ever seen, was past shoulder length, a lion’s mane tamed by a leather headband, falling around tapered ears tufted with auburn fur, like those of a lynx she had seen near the chicken pen one Spring. From one nearly non-existent lobe dangled a thick gold ring.

Heavy brows hung over jade-green eyes watching her with scornful amusement, slitted pupils widened because of the low light in the room. He had high cheekbones and a long straight nose, a coppery Mandarin mustache drooping over a mouth in which the smoking cigar now rested.

“I think ya stared long enough.” One of the gloved hands flicked at the shade. “Either shut yer mouth an’ quit gapin’ or open it an’ tell me whatcha want!”

“Please--can’t we go somewhere else to talk?”

With a hiss, he stood up, six feet, eight inches of irritated Felidan, picking up the mug setting upon the table.

“Hey, Jake!” Looking down at her, he took the cigar out of his mouth and called over his shoulder, “Can I borrow one o’ yer rooms fer a while?”

“Sure! Take Number Three!”

“Bring me a pitcher, then” and he stalked away from the table, leaving her to run to keep up with his long-legged stride while the men’s laughter burned her ears.

He pushed open the door and went in. Andi followed silently, closing it carefully behind her.

Sinbad promptly dropped into one of the chairs and motioned her toward the other. “All right--we’re private…Now talk!”

When she didn’t answer, he demanded, “Why did Al sent you?”

“I-- Well, he didn’t-- “ she began.

“Then who in th’ name o’ God did? Is this some kinda joke?” He pushed back his chair, putting both feet upon the table and stared at her, his scowl turning the heavy brows into a copper vee. “Listen, woman--I ain’t got much patience, an’ I’m fast losing what little I do have!”

With a deep breath, Andi said, in a rush, “George Windrider--he said you could help me!” and waited for his reaction.

“Indian George?” The harsh expression softened a little. “Well--what’s th’ problem George thinks I can fix?”

“I want you to find my husband. He’s-- “

“I’m no Tracer, lady! Ya need t’ go t’ th’ Federation’s Missing Persons Section fer that!”

“I can’t!” She leaned forward earnestly, hands on the table. “It’s the Federation who’s taken him. You see-- He’s an Albegensi….”

“You sure know how t’ pick winners!” The cigar had gone out. He relit it from the lamp on the table, and leaned back to regard her steadily, his green eyes speculative.

In the bright light of Number Three, his pupils were narrow black crescents.

“Don’t tell me--let me guess…since th’ whole world is afraid o’ th’ Big Bad Federation, an’ no one else’ll help, you want me t’ find out where they’re holdin’ him. Right?”

She was sweating now. She nodded and wiped her forehead with one hand.

“Can you help me?” she persisted, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

“Well, I could find out if he’s there. Is that all you want?” His tone indicated he considered her just short of insane even to want to know where her husband was.

“Yes,” she assured him. “Just find out where Tran is, and I’ll do the rest.”

“Tran. That his name?”

She nodded.

He fell silent and Andi stood there, gripping the back of the chair, squeezing the wood so hard her fingers hurt, waiting for him to go on.

The silence grew, longer and quieter, until she wanted to scream.

His nostrils crinkled suddenly as if he had scented something.

”Are you afraid o’ me?”

“Should I be?” She was, terribly, but she’d never tell him so.

“Maybe.” He fell quiet again but just when she was ready to grab her pack and stalout, he sat up, letting the legs of the chair strike the floor with a loud snap.

“All right, I’ll do it, but it’ll cost!” The cigar, held in the gloved hand, pointed at her like a small dagger, as the green eyes regarded her unwaveringly. “An’ I don’t think yer willin’ t’ pay th’ price!”

“How much?” she asked quickly. “Tell me! I’ll pay it-- I love my husband!”

“You might not love him that much!”

“I’ll do anything to free him!” She flung the words recklessly. “What do you want?”

The cigar stabbed at her again. “You.”

“What?” She hadn’t heard correctly. She couldn’t have. “W-what did you say?”

“Ya heard me--I want you as m’ payment." He blew a smoke ring into the air. “Yer good-looking’ fer a Milky. I like yer scent, even if ya have tried t’ hide it under that nauseatin’ perfume. Here’s m’ offer: stay with me tonight, an’ if I’m satisfied, I’ll find your mate fer ya.”

She stared at him, stunned into disbelief. This isn’t happening. This creature didn’t say that. He didn’t.

“Look on it as a business arrangement. Ya gimme me what I want, I give ya what ya want.” He spread his hands and shrugged. “What say?”

“Wait just a minute.“ She startled herself by saying exactly what she was thinking. “W-what’s to stop you from just kicking me out after you…get what you want?”

“Good point.” His look indicated he was surprised she had thought of it. “Okay, we do it, an’ good or bad, ya get th’ location o’ th’ camp. Fair?”

He leaned back again, studying the ash on the tip of his cigar before flicking it onto the floor. Waiting. Confident. Enjoying her indecision.

Andi’s thoughts were frantic. Was this what George was warning me about? Oh, God, Tran, I love you, but I can’t do that. Not even for you.

“Make up yer mind, Talltrees.” The raspy voice cut into her thoughts. “I ain’t got all day, an’ neither has yer mate.”

What am I going to do? He’s right. No one else is going to help me. They’re all too afraid. Besides, I wouldn’t even know where to start. Tran will never know. Her hands clenched into fists. I-I’ll just pretend it never happened. She forced her hands to relax, took a deep breath and tried to speak. She had to swallow twice before any sound would come out. Even then, it was a bare whisper.

“A-all right.”

“Good!” He stubbed the cigar into the ashtray on the table. “Well? Go ahead…strip.”

“What? Here? Now?”

He smiled, the light sparkling off long incisors, flashing a fanged leer. “Right. Here. Now. Th’ day ain‘t getting’ any younger, an’ there‘s an empty bed yonder just waitin’ t’ be used.”

Mouth set in a determined line, she took off her jacket and dropped it into the chair. The hand-knit sweater had four buttons at the neck. She got them open and pulled it over her head. Underneath, she wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt. As she began to open the dozen, tiny buttons down its front, frowning in concentration, he gave an exasperated growl.

“Good God! How many clothes’re ya wearin’? D’ ya think it’s winter?”

“It’s still cold in the Valley,” she answered defensively, watching her hands.

Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it. She got the shirt off and heard his groan as he saw the sleeveless undershirt. He was getting impatient, the gloved fingers tapping a loud tattoo on the tabletop. She was afraid he would walk out if she delayed any longer. Quickly, she pulled the tank top over her head and reached for the catch to her bandeau.

The door opened. Jake came in carrying a pitcher of beer, a blast of sound following him into the room. Gasping, Andi snatched at the undershirt and held it against her chest. Her chin quivered. Jake looked from her to Sinbad.

“Sorry, Sin. I-I didn’t think you’d be this far along.”

The smuggler tapped the table with one finger. “Put it there, Jake. Thanks. Now, get out.” There was barely controlled anger in the low voice. The bartender did as he was told and hurried toward the door. “An’ Jake--” He paused and looked back. “Make certain we’re not bothered again.”

“Right. I’ll put up the Do Not Disturb sign.” He went out, slamming the door.

With a shaky sigh, Andi dropped the undershirt. She was dizzy again, feeling the way she had the day her horse ran under a tree and she had hit her head on a limb: lightheaded…sick. There was a roaring in her ears.

“We’ve wasted enough time, woman.”

A gloved hand reached for her and Andi went limp, falling without a sound into a crumpled heap at the smuggler’s feet....

1 comments

  1. Mary Marvella // December 1, 2007 at 3:11 AM  

    What a great writer! And to think I know you when.

    Mary Marvella