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About the author:
I wrote my first novel when I was thirteen and it is too humiliating to remember. I was enjoying some s’mores over an open fire one night when I was in my twenties, and in a moment of mortification, I tossed the entire manuscript on the fire. But I have never stopped writing, and I count myself blessed to have the opportunity to self-publish at this exciting time with the rise of the eBook.
What inspired you to write your book?
In college, my roommate and I read a number of romance books and used to joke that there weren’t enough books about women who had to rescue the men while he constantly struggled to get her attention and prove himself. When I began writing my own romance books, it seemed natural that they take a bit of a feminist angle. And with that theme in mind, The MaCall Prophecy Trilogy was born, a series that follows three women as they fight against a group of patriarchal powerful men and also try to keep safe the men they love.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Overcome with rage, the bearded man slammed his finger in the drawer and bellowed a string of obscenities. He reached for the back of the file cabinet and toppled it with a grunt of satisfaction. His satisfaction was short-lived.
“There’s nothing here.”
He turned to glare at the officer and snarled, “There has to be something.”
“No photos, no calendar events, no emails, nothing. There’s no sign of the woman.”
“But this is definitely the guy.” The question was in his tone, a tone that raised doubt over the competence of the man who was giving orders.
The younger officer nodded, his eyes darting shiftily around the room, as though making a last ditch effort to identify any shred of significant evidence. His white blond eyebrows drew together in concentration and the bearded man was reminded of the young Nazi officer in The Sound of Music. He tried to imagine him dancing in the rain in a gazebo and smirked to himself.
“How old are you, Dawson? Seventeen…going on eighteen?” he snorted.
Dawson’s pale blue eyes flicked back to the bearded man. “Twenty-two, sir.” His young, clean-shaven face suggested no sense of humor. And clearly he had no knowledge of one of the world’s greatest musicals. The bearded man had fallen in love with Julie Andrews when he had been young. But hell, that was a lifetime ago. These days, given the proper motivation, he’d as soon put a bullet in each member of the Von Trapp family.
Behind his beard, he frowned and returned his attention to the room. It was a tastefully but expensively furnished office. The mahogany desk had been practically cleared when they first entered the room, with none of the typical office equipment or notes that one would usually find on an office desk. The charcoal colored Herman Miller desk chair had been pushed in meticulously. Opposite the desk had stood two dark leather chairs. He was half tempted to try one of them out to see if it was as comfortable as it looked. He wondered if he had time for a quick cigar.
He dug the steel toe of his boot into the plush Oriental rug and sneered as he imagined burning his cigar down to a stub and carelessly tapping ash onto the rug. Better yet, he could drop the stub and use the heel of his boots to grind it into the carpeting. At best, the doctor would never get rid of the cigar scent. If he were lucky, the rug would catch fire and take out the entire building.
He frowned again, knowing that they needed to clear out. They hadn’t found what they had come for, and he didn’t want to destroy any possible evidence. It was possible they had arrived too early, in which case they’d have to come back again to reinvestigate…soon.
Maybe he’d get to enjoy a good smoke in the leather chairs next time.
Jac MaCall was trying desperately to focus on breathing deeply, inhale…exhale, but the sound of her sister’s ringtone was annoyingly distracting. She sighed when her phone finally fell silent and then groaned and unfolded herself when it rang again. She stood straight and stretched another moment before grabbing the cursed technological device.
“Hello, Taryn,” she greeted with very little annoyance in her voice.
“I need your help, Jac.” She continued on without waiting for agreement. “I’m on the side of the mother loving road with a flat tire. The tow truck I called is taking his sweet pony time. And I’ve got a consult a few blocks from your store.”
“Do you need me to pick you up?”
“I need you to take the consult. It’s in nine minutes.”
“Oh, Taryn,” she groaned.
“I know, I know. But I just need you to handle this one.”
“I told you and Dad that I was done. You know that I have no passion for the security business.”
“You’re great with the consults, Jac. It’s a natural gift.”
“It’s a drag,” Jaclyn complained.
“Thank you,” her sister sang.
Jaclyn glanced out the window at the darkening skies and said a small spiteful prayer for rain to make her sister’s breakdown even more complete. Then she checked her watch and headed for the door, grabbing her purse along the way.
Her phone pinged at her, indicating that her sister had texted her the address. She didn’t need the street number. It was a single story building in town that had been built specifically to serve as Archer Family Counseling. She had been driving past the sign on her way to her shop for months now. There were always cars parked in front of the small office building, so she had to assume that Dr. Archer’s business was booming. She imagined a small, portly man wearing glasses and a sweater vest. His hair would be thinning on top.
Personally, she didn’t believe in therapy…at least not the kind that was conducted by a psychiatrist. There were better ways. She practiced a small professional smile as she made her way up the sidewalk.
Inside, Will Archer impatiently glanced at the clock another time, wondering how MaCall Securities Consulting could possibly be the best when the representative couldn’t even manage to find his office on time. He ignored his restless urge to pace and leaned back in his chair instead, making another effort to concentrate on the case studies he’d been working on.
When the doorbell rang, he tucked the files back into the folder and muttered, “Seven minutes late.”
He opened the door as the heavens opened up, drenching the woman outside the front entrance. She stood with her back to him, not much over five feet tall, her blond-streaked chestnut colored hair catching his attention for the briefest of moments. Then he realized what she was wearing. She had on black cotton pants that were cropped almost to the knee and fit her rear end like spandex and a short plum colored hoodie. She whirled around to face him with the most electrifying grin on her face that extended to her eyes…eyes that were grey…no, they were lavender. He stood staring for a moment.
“Perfect,” she laughed, shaking rain out of the short hair that fell only to her jaw line.
“Hello?” he greeted with a question.
“May I come in? I’ll shake your hand when I’m not getting poured on.” He stepped aside and she moved past him like a whisper, turning to look back into the rain. She added, “Spectacular,” before turning back to face him. “I’m looking for Dr. Archer.”
“I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I’m not seeing any more patients this evening. I have an appointment.” He had heard the phrase ‘laughing at the rain’ before, but this gorgeous eccentric made it look really attractive.
She laughed and held out her hand. The movement drew his attention to her hoodie, which was not, at the moment, zipped up. She wore a black sports bra underneath. Her belly was tanned and toned. And he swallowed thickly when the light reflected off of the silver jewel in her belly button. “I’m Jaclyn of MaCall Securities Consulting. I do apologize for being a couple of minutes late.”
“Seven minutes,” he blurted out without intending to be rude. He simply was–if nothing else–a stickler for details.
She hesitated a moment before smiling again. “That’s an excellent sign. Seven is my lucky number.”