Today Della Boynton is here with her new release, Crashing Blue. A great character interview, blurb, and excerpt!
What’s
your name and your job?
My name’s Francisco Cabot, but I don’t get to use
it much. As an undercover narc for the
police, it wouldn’t be smart for anyone to know who I really am.
Is
work everything you’d hoped it would be? Why or why not?
Of course I feel deep satisfaction helping put
scum in jail, but I’m always aware that there are more out there. I could spend
my life going after drug lords and murdering bastards. I have job security. It
can depress the hell out of me if I think about it too much.
What
is your biggest strength? Your biggest weakness?
My biggest strength is my ability to be a hard
core bastard myself. I can slip that personality on like a coat. I can’t
infiltrate the worst of the worst if I can’t pretend to be like them myself. I don’t have any weaknesses. Well, okay, I
guess I do have one. I need to keep firmly in mind who I’m trying to save.
Living in filth, you can forget what clean is like. Sometimes I look at a
little kid playing, some lady walking her dog, or a guy going to work and I
think, ‘I kept them safe by taking a drug dealing bastard off the street.’
Makes me feel like Superman, sometimes; a really dark, bad-ass Superman.
If
you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
You probably mean my hair or my sparkling
personality, right? Well, I like myself just fine. If I could change something
it would be the way my life went to shit all at once. I was a happy kid up
until that time. I might have kept going to school. Maybe I would have gone to
college-I sound delusional, don’t I? Actually, I probably would have joined the
family trade and sold drugs. You could say I was changed by what happened to
them for the better, but I won’t legitimize murder for any reason.
Do
you prefer dogs or cats?
I always thought I would get a dog when I finally
retired and found a nice hole in the wall apartment all my own, but cats are
more practical pets.
What
do you look for in a love interest?
Blonde… blue eyes… nice body…
Is
there anyone special in your life?
Yeah. He’s blonde, has blue eyes, and a damned
nice body. *chuckle* His name’s Christopher Caldwell. He’s more than a great
lay, though. He’s a bit naïve and a good guy despite his father being a drug
lord.
If
you could live anywhere, what location would you choose?
I never really thought about it. I like cities,
but I also like a villa with an ocean view. The company I keep is more
important to me.
What’s
your favorite meal, and do you fix it yourself or have someone fix it for you?
I remember my mom making baked ziti and fresh
bread. Whenever I smell those two things cooking I think of her. Unfortunately
I can’t cook and neither can Chris. If I want it I have to order it at a
restaurant.
Favorite
color?
That color the sun makes in Chris’s hair when he’s
on his boat. It’s like hot gold mixed with white.
Coffee
or tea?
Coffee.
~*~
Crashing
Blue
Blurb:
Francisco Cabot is an undercover narc for the
police. Having lived his entire life on the underbelly of society, he's the
perfect man to infiltrate hardcore gangs, gather bulletproof evidence against
them, and make certain their bosses spend a lifetime behind bars. He hides a
dark secret, though, that causes him to harbor a ravening hunger for revenge
that not even his long list of successes can quench. But a man can only live
with revenge and the refuse of humanity for so long, before not even his
fantasies of innocents and his ideals are enough to light the growing darkness
in his soul.
The last man Cabot expects to save him from that
darkness is Christopher Caldwell, the son of the biggest drug king in the city
and the man Cabot has been sent to destroy. Falling in love with the enemy was
never the plan, but when Christopher begs Cabot to leave everything behind to be
with him, Cabot finds himself longing to do just that. His life of violence,
gangs, and slums can’t be left behind so easily, though; they'll be lucky to
make it out alive.
Excerpt:
Life in the slums was like living in a constant
war zone. A person never relaxed completely, never walked the streets without
looking around for danger, and never trusted that the person walking toward him
wasn’t prepared to kill him to take whatever he had. When you leave and go
where that kind of life is as foreign as the surface of the moon, you gain a
perspective you never had before. You understand that things could be so much
better for you. It makes living in the shithole of society unbearable.
“You look a bit rough around the edges this
morning,” Chris said as he checked over his boat.
Calling it a simple boat was inadequate, I thought
as I looked over the sleek wooden finish, the white sails, and the stainless
tack shining in the sun. It was too big for a boat and too small against the
other million-dollar craft around it for the title of yacht. Though it looked
like a well-maintained antique, I could see the vast amount of money spent on
every detail.
“Late night,” I replied as I tried to decide how I
was supposed to join him on the swaying deck from the relative safety of the
dock. He didn’t seem ready to enlighten me. I felt that was for amusement,
though, rather than a desire to keep me at a distance. He had a small smile on
his lips.
In the sun, Chris’s blond hair had highlights that
looked like hot gold. He wore a thin white tank top despite the morning chill
in the air. His tan shorts looked molded onto his athletic build. This was his
element. I was very sure at that moment that it wasn’t mine.
I finally decided to gather my courage and get on
board. Like a nervous alley cat, I eyed the tossing water between me and the
railing with trepidation. I stepped across and immediately lost my balance when
the deck heaved, Chris’s hand was there to steady me. He laughed, but it was
good-natured and I didn’t take offense. I was too busy noticing that he had a
wonderful laugh and a strong arm.
He helped me sit on a cushioned seat toward the
bow and then stood over me, swaying expertly with the toss of the deck. “How
did you find me?”
“Asked around,” I replied, though using my cell
phone to troll through police files was more accurate. As a narc for the police
I had minimal clearance, but it had been enough. My guess that Christopher
Caldwell enjoyed the water had been correct. His expensive craft, the Wastrel,
had been listed under his name.
Chris was studying me. I looked completely out of
place in my gang clothes. My bruised face and slightly swollen bottom lip
attested to my late-night battle with a rival gang. Some of them had gone to
the emergency room. One of them had gone to the morgue. My gang had emerged
relatively unscathed and high on success, especially after I had handed out the
cheaper drugs to them.
“I suppose the next question is, why did you look
for me?” Chris said. “I think I made it clear that I wasn’t interested as long
as you were employed by my father. Turning a new leaf?”
When he looked at me with his blue eyes and I saw
a bit of wistful hope there, I hated replying, “’Fraid not. Your father made it
clear that I wasn’t welcome at his home. Since he didn’t give me contact
details, I thought asking you to be my go-between this one time would be all
right.”
“It’s not,” Chris retorted and then worried a
bottom lip between white teeth as he reconsidered his reaction. He said at
last, “I suppose I send mixed signals when I benefit from my father’s wealth,
but I like to think that not being in the actual business is an acceptable
standard.”
How many late nights had I wasted by drawing fine
distinctions between what I did and the criminal element I helped the police
arrest? “I’m not judging.”
“I’m afraid I can’t be as generous as you are in
return.”
I nodded, understanding. “You don’t have to
explain. I’m trash. I’ll scrape myself off your boat as soon as you agree to
take the money to your father and tell him to contact me.”
“I can’t do that,” Chris replied, “and I don’t
really need to. My father will want his money. He’ll contact you.”
Chris cocked his head to one side. The sunlight
made his eyes look as clear as glass for a moment before he frowned.
I stood up, thinking it was my signal to get the
hell off his boat.
“You must have known that. Why did you really come
here?” Chris asked.
I smiled and motioned around us at the tossing
waves, the sunlight, and the seagulls drifting by on a breeze. “The scenery is
a hell of a lot better than in the slum.” I was staring at Chris as I said
that, though, and not at the scenery. His handsome face took on a worried
expression. I scrambled to clarify, even though a part of my brain was telling
me I had meant exactly what I had implied—I had wanted to see Chris again. “I
was used to a life like this before my gang was busted. I want that back.”
“No offense,” Chris replied, “but you don’t look
like the kind of man to sip champagne on the deck of a yacht.”
“Ah, insults.” I pretended to be hurt.
“No, just the truth,” Chris replied. “You’re a
lone wolf, albeit a handsome one. If I put a tuxedo on you, you will still look
like a wolf. It’s your nature.”
I growled and showed him my teeth as I moved to
the railing and tried to decide how best to get back onto the dock. “Your
father won’t see me directly,” I told him truthfully. “I’m hoping you would
mention me.”
“Talk you up to him?” Chris had chuckled at my
mock growl, but now he was frowning again.
“Yeah,” I replied. I scrambled awkwardly and
managed not to fall face-first as I made it to the dock. “Tell him I’m not a
stupid thug and I look like the kind of guy who might do well in his
organization.”
“We don’t have actual conversations,” Chris
admitted as he came to the railing and leaned on it. “We especially don’t have
conversations about his business.” He studied me as if memorizing every line of
my face. The part of me used to going undercover was getting nervous.
“What?” I finally asked.
He seemed a little embarrassed as he replied,
“It’s nice that you didn’t come here to try and get family secrets out of me.”
“Has that happened?”
Chris shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but I could
see it did. He replied, “It’s happened a few times. They think a son who isn’t
committed to either the business or his father might be willing to give them
damaging information.” I had a feeling that people had used him badly in that
respect.
“Are we talking about the police?”
“Yes, for the most part.” Chris straightened and
reached for some ropes. “I know exactly how long I would live if dear ole dad
ever caught me giving information to anyone about his business.”
“This was a wasted trip, then?” I asked. He was
startled at my honesty. He had handed me the perfect opportunity to lie. I hadn’t
taken it.
Chris gave me a very long appraising look. “You’re
different,” he said finally. “I’m not sure who you really are or what you
really want, but everything you’ve said about yourself has been a lie.”
I felt a chill of dread at his obvious confidence.
I’d never worn my disguise so thinly before. It was as if the man I had created
was losing to the real me, to a dual attraction to an ideal—Snow—and this
man—Chris—who, by his clearly stated standards, wasn’t interested in me as long
as I remained a drug-dealing gang leader.
Chris was suddenly very intense as he leaned over
the rail and held out a hand. “Come with me,” he begged. “Leave it all behind.
I don’t know what there is about you, but I find I can’t stay uninvolved. I
need you to be a different man, though. I need you to get out of my father’s
business.”
His hand was tanned and strong. I could see his
tension and his need for me to say yes. How could he decide to want me so
quickly? I didn’t know, but I wanted to reach out to him. I wanted desperately
to take his hand. It was insane, wasn’t it?
It was hard to step back and put my hands in my
jacket pockets. Alley cats didn’t belong on mini yachts and certainly didn’t
get to develop relationships with someone like Chris. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I
can’t explain, but…”
He frowned. I thought he was either going to show
disgust for me or at least anger. Instead, I saw frustration and then
resignation. His hand lowered. “If you want to meet with my father where he
won’t shoot you on sight, be at 122 Martin Street, Tuesday at nine p.m. That’s
when he’ll show his appreciation to some of his contacts where the public eye
won’t see.”
That information might cost him dearly. I didn’t
know why he was taking such a risk for me when I had just admitted that I had
intended to use him. My “Thank you” seemed inadequate.
“Don’t thank me,” he said as he turned his back on me and began casting off
from the dock. “You have your information, and you’ve made your decision. Now
that you don’t need me, I doubt you’ll want to see me again. I find that
preferable.”
That unexpectedly stung. As the boat slipped away
from the dock and Chris started the engine, I realized why. I didn’t want it to
be over between us. I wanted to see Chris again.
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