It seemed like it would never get here, but I am finally finished with rewrites on my new book, Home to My Arms! It’s one last pass for proofreading and then I start the query process. As promised, only two days late, I want to share an exerpt. The situation is that the main characters, Jamie and Pip Halloran, have just reunited after a separation and are working out how to deal with the fact that someone is trying to kill Jamie. Please enjoy and feel free to give me all your comnents:

While Pip ran the sweeper to get the last of the glass and debris, I pulled another way-too-large trash bag from under the sink and began cleaning out what was left in the refrigerator and freezer. I hadn’t been cooking much, so it was down to just unidentifiable frost-balls, condiments, leftover Chinese takeout that had long passed retirement age, and that rubbery stalk of celery that seems to come standard with every fridge.  I started to take the bag out the back door, but Pip turned off the vacuum before I got there and called my name.  I turned to face her.

She fingered the cord. “What are we going to do about this?”

I set the bag down. “The house?”

She stomped her foot. “No, Jamie. Someone tried to kill you today. What are we going to do to make that not happen again?”

“We?”

She opened her mouth as if to reply but stopped, tilting her head. “What?”

I leaned against the door frame. “You said we. We’re a we?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Is that not clear? Didn’t we just get through we-ing our brains out a bit ago?”

I laughed. “I know we’re a we that way. Well, I know now. The we-ing was amazing, by the way.”

She flushed. “I tend to agree. Thank you.”

“No, thank you. I needed it. I needed you. I need us.” I paused, savoring the memory. “But I mean you said, ‘What are WE going to do about this.’ You work in an office at the hospital. I’m the thug. What do you mean by we?”

She looked at the floor for a second and began winding the cord back onto the sweeper. “I have some things I want us to talk over, but I still have to think about it. Not long. So, for the time being, can you pretend I asked what you are going to do?”

“Okay.” I picked the bag back up. “I think I have to go to Chicago.”

“Chicago?” She opened the laundry room door to put away the sweeper. “Because of Frank?”

“I need to find out if he’s involved in this—and if so, why.”

“He couldn’t be, Jamie. I mean, really. We know him. He’s like family. He couldn’t bring himself to give you a B in college, let alone send some hit man after you.”

“I know.” I sighed. “Walk with me.”

She followed me out onto the porch and we descended the rickety stairs out to the back yard in silence. When we got to the bottom and we could be side-by-side, I took her hand in my free one as we strolled to the dumpster.

“I can’t imagine it either. But somebody seems to want me dead, and whoever it is, is connected with Chicago. And Herrmann named Frank by name. I have to go there and find out why.”