ONE RED SHOE began as a writing assignment at a Mid-Michigan RWA chapter meeting. Some writers hate writing on demand. I enjoy it. Give me a sentence or a clue and my imagination takes off. Through the late 1990's and early 2000s, I wrote and rewrote this story. My friends (like Nancy Gideon, Jolana Malkston, and the LaSenorita critique group) gave me lots to think about. They made me rethink motivation and goals. Nobody likes to have people tear apart their work. Biting my tongue and listening to their advice made this story so much better.
If you haven't read ONE RED SHOE, here's a little about it, followed by an excerpt. I hope you enjoy.
Blurb:
It Happened One Night meets Knight
and Day
When elementary teacher Daria
Mason left Iowa for a writers’ conference in New York City, she didn’t expect
to come home with a wounded spy. Sam Jozwiak works for a shadow agency that
gathers intel vital to U.S. security. From the moment he steals digital files
from a Russian Mafia kingpin, Murphy’s Law takes over. No matter how he covers
his tracks, the kingpin’s assassins find him. What’s worse than getting shot in
the butt? Accepting help from an Iowa tourist. Thus, begins a road trip that
takes Sam and Daria cross country with the assassins right behind them.
Sam Jozwiak slid
open the door to Korioff’s inner sanctum. It had been blissfully easy. One
guard, now sleeping quietly along with the rest of the compound. Locks a rookie
could open. The computer password taped under the mouse pad. You’d think even a
minor kingpin in the Russian Mafia would have better security.
Hold on. No
modem. No cable, DSL, broadband, not even dial-up. No way to transmit data. Well, shit.
Okay, on to Plan
B.
In the dark,
with only the glow from the computer screen, Sam copied files onto a tiny
memory chip. The financial records and client lists would make for fascinating
reading back at headquarters. As the personal files were being copied, a name
caught his attention. Why the hell did the Russian Mafia have a file on a U.S.
senator? Especially, that senator. Sam opened the file. Holy shit!
Intel this
dangerous couldn’t wait for the normal fourteen-hour transport home. The
hearing was next week. What he just read would send shockwaves through
Washington, through the country. He had to report this to the Director now then
upload that file to the agency.
An hour later,
he raced up the worn wooden stairs of the shabby hotel. He’d contacted the
Director who wasn’t pleased about the change in plan. Sam had wasted too much
time explaining why he couldn’t hook up a connection instead of copying the
files. The Director insisted that the package
be hand-delivered. While that seemed odd to Sam, considering the tight time
frame, the Director did have a reason. The intel was too sensitive to trust to
the Internet. He ordered Sam to meet him in New York City. Again, odd. But he
learned long ago not to question his superiors. All he had to do now was grab
his gear and get the hell out of Dodge before Korioff discovered the little
surprise in his computer.
Sam unlocked the
hotel room, realizing too late that it wasn’t locked.
“Hello, Samuel.
Long time no see, as you Americans say.” Yuri Grashenko sat in the corner of
the small room, his smile as deadly as the Walther PPK in his hand. “Please
return what you stole from my employer. He is most unhappy.”
Jesus, how did he know? How did
Grashenko get here so—
“Why you talk
nice to thief?” The male voice came from behind.
Sam spun low
with a move he hadn’t forgotten from his college basketball days. He slammed
into the newcomer as a bullet from the PPK slammed into the wall where Sam’s
shoulder had been seconds before. One good thing. Yuri wasn’t trying to kill
him. Not yet, anyway.
Sam and the
newcomer rolled down the dark stairs in a tangle of arms and legs. Jesus, the guy was big. Elbows and knees
wreaked as much havoc as the wood steps. He was going to have bruises on
bruises.
His dad was
right. Sam should have gone to work in the steel mill. Shoveling slag had to be
easier than this.
Amazon http://a.co/d/8DH9M5H
s
