Undercover police officer Kell has crossed the line. He’s become trapped in an abusive relationship with his violent thug of a boss and sees no way back without wrecking months of work. The hope of ever being involved with someone who respects him seems a distant dream.
Private investigator Gethin is depressed that the bulk of his work involves following unfaithful partners. He knows just what it’s like to be cheated on. Even worse, his relationship with his ex is complicated and Gethin can see no way of breaking free of a guy who so desperately needs him.
A chance encounter brings Kell and Gethin together, entwining their lives with secrets and danger. They both have reasons to keep things casual. But there are consequences to zipless fucks. Not only do they have to survive people trying to kill them, they need to trust each other and keep their wits about them, while ensuring their hearts stay intact.
Little guest post – FACT IS STRANGER THAN FICTION
It’s much easier when writing a story to set the tale in places you know reasonably well. When I started out writing, I set my stories in New York and then Bogota but I’d never been out of the UK. Now, I know better though Google is so good at providing relevant information, I don’t feel quite so pressurized to stick to places I know.
In Drawn In, I needed to use a beach on the south coast of the UK that was dark and quiet. Suitable for people smuggling. I decided on Pett Level Road, Winchelsea Beach. I checked it out on Google Earth and it looked perfect. Then to my disbelief, on 4 Aug 2016, five Iranians who’d crossed the Channel in a dinghy landed in exactly the spot I’d chosen. If the book had already been published, I might have worried!
Picture of the beach shown below © Copyright Oast House Archive and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence
The cat yowled as Gethin pulled back into the traffic. He could hear it scratching at the inside of the carrier. He’d never had a pet as a kid though he’d lived in foster homes that had dogs. No cats. Gethin never bothered getting attached to anything or anyone. After his parents died, nothing had been permanent in his life.
He hadn’t realised the cat was out of the bag until the damn thing leapt onto his lap with an outraged snarl and sank its claws into his thigh. He almost drove off the road.
“Jesus Christ. Get off.” He tried to grab the thing by the scruff of the neck and it scratched his hand. “Ouch.”
Gethin was on the motorway, not supposed to pull onto the hard shoulder unless it was an emergency. Unexpectedly sharing a car with a wild animal counted as an emergency. The cat hissed like a pissed off snake and jumped onto the top of the dashboard. Gethin flicked his indicator, pulled off and put on his hazard lights.
No way was he opening a door and risking the animal making a break for it. He unfastened his seatbelt and reached to grab the carrier from the backseat. He had no idea how the thing had escaped.
“Should have called you Houdini,” he muttered.
Wrestling the animal back to safety proved tricky. The cat braced its legs to try and stop Gethin sliding him in, gripping the outside of the carrier with sharp claws. A moment later, Gethin had more scratches and the cat lay sprawled in the footwell, its malevolent stare making its feelings quite clear.
“Nice, kitty.” Vile, spitting, fucking bastard. His hand was bleeding.
Subtlety and speed were called for. Gethin distracted with one hand while he made a grab with the other, and managed to get a firm grip on the back of the cat’s neck.
“There. That wasn’t so bad. Just calm down.”
He stroked it a couple of times, and the cat growled. Before it could wriggle free, he shoved it backward into the carrier and breathed a sigh of relief when he’d pushed the metal gate closed. He clipped the fastening in place. Oh fuck. Two fastenings. That’s what he’d done wrong. The cat’s yowls and hisses increased in volume.
“I love you too.”
He resisted the impulse to toss the carrier on the backseat, and instead put it there carefully before switching off his warning lights and pulling onto the carriageway.
When he’d parked outside the motel, he called Dieter’s mother. “I’m outside. Bring something to cover the cat. They might not allow them in the room.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
Gethin was desperate for a coffee. He was shattered. He yawned and rubbed at the scratch marks on his hands.
Zena opened the car door and slipped into the passenger seat. She glanced in the back and sighed. “That’s not Tigga.”
“What? He was outside your house. It says Tigger on his collar.”
“That’s Miranda’s cat. He’s called Tigger with an er not an a, and there’s no white tip at the end of his tail.”
“Oh fuck,” Gethin muttered.
Where to find Barbara