There are worse things than getting lost in the Great Smokey Mountains with a handsome police detective. Like finding oneself on a hit list for some shadow figure nursing delusions of grandeur. With bullets and accusations flying, the only thing standing between her and certain death is a detective with steel blue eyes. If only they looked at her with admiration instead of suspicion... A struggling secretary and aspiring author from Nashville, Jessica McConnell must sort through meager clues and live to write the tale of a lifetime with the hero of her dreams.

Chapter One

Jessica McConnell stared into the dull hazel eyes of the man she was about to kill.

 “Stop!” she commanded in a surprisingly firm voice.

The man took another step forward and stood just five feet in front of her. God help her, she didn’t want to kill him.

“I said stop!” Her arms shook and her eyes burned with the threat of tears while she tried to hold the gun steady.

The man smirked, tilted his head slightly, then balled his hands into fists. A growl emerged from his thin lips and he lunged toward her.

 She pulled the trigger; her arms rose slightly from the recoil.

The man fell to his knees with a thud. Seconds stretched into hours as he toppled to the side, lifeless. Her attacker’s face no longer held any distinguishable features. The bullet had transformed his eyes, nose, mouth and chin into nothing more than hamburger meat.

 Her throat closed around a whimper of revulsion and she tried to swallow the bile burning her throat. Oh dear God! She wanted to run, drop the gun and leave this nightmare. But she was cemented to the hardwood floor. Her gaze moved in slow motion to the gun and the small wisps of smoke floating toward the ceiling. Her hands and arms were spattered with the man’s blood. She attempted to suppress her trembling; she must remain in control and ready. What if he moved? She toppled back on her haunches with the gun pointed in front of her, arms extended, and reined in her rising hysteria. Apparently she’d seen too many movies when the bad guy came back to life.

 Her arms began to quiver as a tremor moved through her entire body.

From a great distance a gentle voice filtered into her mind as if coming through a thick fog. Slowly, she turned toward the sound.

"Jess. He’s dead. Give me the gun."

Meet Vic, a detective in a small southern town surrounded by good 'ole boys who finds the first body of a serial killer known as the cave dweller.

Chapter One

There was someone watching. Vic could feel the heat of their gaze as if it seared holes into her back. She stepped toward her locker, hoping to appear unaware and reached toward the combination lock. She hesitated for a moment, then turning on the balls of her feet, she faced the door, hands clinched in fists and ready for...

Nothing.

Paranoid.

Foolish.

She snickered in relief and returned to her locker, lifted the cool metal and turned the combination. Her senses remained alert, however, as her fingers moved the dial to the right 16, left 24, right 8 and the bindings released. Metal clanked against metal as she lifted the latch. Opening the grey door, she stepped back from the mounds of paper falling to the floor and felt movement behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see five of her male co-workers struggling to keep from laughing hysterically. She bent down and picked up the glossy magazine pages and flipped through them.

"Very funny, guys. Very funny." She held up the Playgirl centerfolds, shaking them in front of her.

"When are you guys going to grow up and start puberty? Huh?"

Vic balled up the papers and threw it at them as they pushed out the door, patting each other on the back.

This is not what she thought her life would be like. All the hard work, the academy, the training and the only thing she faced were playgirl pictures and a crossing guard post at Mike Elam Elementary. Yep, this was her life as the first female cop in Podunk, Tennessee. Detective Victoria Jacobson of the City of Caleb Police Department and the brunt of all the sexual jokes and harassment cops could dish out.

Damn, what she wouldn’t give for something to happen in her one-horse town. Why Mayor McKinely and the commission even approved a detective position was beyond her. Well, except the fact that the mayor himself was a cop wanna-be who couldn’t get through the fitness course of the Nashville Police Academy.

She threw her purse into the locker and slammed the door shut, the metal clanging with quiet echo.

• Published in MCRW's monthly newsletter, Love Notes, July 2004, Volume 6, Issue 7.
• Five Phases of an Author’s Journey
  by Lori Kolin Mofield
  

In my opinion, a large majority of writers work through phases in their journey to publication. I believe that these phases take place without boundaries, guidelines or rules and are controlled by some type of time machine where fate slows time or speeds it up depending on their mood. Although, I wouldn’t begin to question fate, I do wonder if its sense of humor dictates our destiny.

Phase One is one of the most difficult phases to overcome, but once you push forward, it becomes a walk in the park. However, until you take that first step, fate shall dictate the slow pace until you begin. You must begin right now, after all, someone may interview you about your road to success after your novel hits the New York Times Best Seller’s List.

So, you’ve decided that you’re going to write a novel and you’re ready, the excitement is overwhelming. You’ve told everyone you know that you’re going to do this and today is the day. You’re coffee is next to you, sweetened to perfection and temperature just as you like it. You reposition items on your desk so they are perfect, that everything is where you might need it, keeping distractions away. You inhale deeply, exhale slowly and sit up straight. You watch the cursor blink, your fingers are adjusted to the correct keys on the keyboard and fate intervenes. Time slows.

The first word, which may consist of only one letter, becomes difficult. Seconds tick by as minutes and slowly your attention is diverted by little defeating voices in your mind telling you that can’t do it, or you’re not good enough, and even possibly, who’d want to read it anyway. Your eyes begin to look around the room and your fingers are no longer poised and ready. You sip your coffee, stand up and stretch your back, maybe I would be inspired after I fold the clothes in the dryer or clean the bathroom, maybe.

So, why does fate slow time at this juncture? I believe it’s a test. It’s a test of strength to endure the writer’s journey, which is not for the faint of heart. Perseverance must prevail in order for the words to flow from your heart to your mind to your nimble fingers and finally, into the pages of a book. It’s a test of self-confidence, inner strength and stubbornness, because that first rejection can extinguish the writing fire faster than you can say Nora Roberts.