Title: ELIZABETH GOES TO SEA

As you read this, I'll be on our boat, the St. Kilda, halfway up Canada's Inside Passage. I've been running around like crazy to get everything ready, including house and plant sitters. Getting a 4-6 week cruise together is hectic, but I can't wait. It's something Evan and I have worked toward for many years.

I won't be "connected" very often--if at all--so I won't be able to answer any posts. :-(

Meanwhile, here's an excerpt from BLUE SMOKE AND MURDER, which will be in stores on May 27th.

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Manhattan: 1 A.M.

Dwayne Taylor picked up the "hot" phone before the first ring ended. "St. Kilda Consulting. Who or what do you need?"

"This is Jillian Breck. Joe Faroe told me to call this number if I was ever in trouble."

"Are you in danger at this moment?"

"My car is cut to pieces. Someone put a note under the windshield that said go away or die."

"Where are you now?" Dwayne asked.

"I'm in the Eureka Hotel, outside Mesquite, Nevada, in the casino. I figured it was safest here. Lots of guards."

"Do you have a room?"

"Yes."

"Number, please."

Jill hesitated.

Dwayne waited for her to realize the obvious—if she didn't trust St. Kilda Consulting, why was she calling?

"Four-three-five," she said.

"Ask a guard to escort you to your room. Make sure the drapes are shut before he leaves. Lock the door, both deadbolt and chain. Joe Faroe will call you within fifteen minutes."

"Wait. I'm okay, just scared and mad. No need to wake him up. I'll just—"

"Get escorted to your room," Dwayne cut in firmly. "Fifteen minutes, Ms. Breck. If your room phone doesn't answer, Faroe will--" have a shit-fit "--be very concerned."

Silence.

"Ms. Breck? Are you all right?"

"I'm on my way to the elevator."

"With a guard?"

"A bellman. I waved a ten and he appeared."

Not used to following orders, Dwayne thought. Should make life interesting for whichever operative is assigned to her.

* * *

Zach Balfour knocked smartly on the door of 435, then stepped back so that he was clearly visible in the room door's peephole. Not that a view of his four-day stubble would be reassuring, but he didn't give a damn. He was supposed to be on vacation, not catching imaginary bullets for another bimbo.

"Who is it?" asked a woman.

The voice was low, slightly husky without being at all breathless.

"Zach Balfour, St. Kilda Consulting."

"Slide your card under the door."

It wasn't a request.

His dark eyebrows climbed, but Zach dug out a St. Kilda card and pushed it as far as he could under the hotel room door.

A few moments later, the bolt clicked, the chain rattled, and the door opened. Zach stepped into the room and watched while Jillian Breck closed, bolted, and chained the door again.

She wasn't what he'd expected. She wore jeans, a Ray Troll T-shirt, and beat-up river sandals. She had unpolished fingernails, minimal if any makeup, hair a casual auburn cap, nice breasts, trim butt, and a body that was both fit and unmistakably female. Pale green eyes, steady and clear.

Slowly Zach began to feel less homicidal toward St. Kilda Consulting. He held out his hand and said, "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Breck."

"Jill."

"Call me Zach. Have you had any more trouble since you first called St. Kilda?"

She blinked. "Well, that's blunt."

"Saves time."

She tilted her head and looked up, then down the long, lean man who stood in front of her. She'd worked with enough men on the river not to underestimate the power in his rangy body and wide shoulders, or the penetrating intelligence of his whiskey-colored eyes.

A crop of black stubble did nothing to soften the hard planes of his face. He had equally black hair that was too rough to be well-groomed, and too clean to be a collar-length gesture of contempt aimed at the civilized world. His clothes looked like he'd slept in them after a long day of hiking. Maybe several days.

"You're not what I expected," she said.

"No tuxedo, pistol, and martini, shaken not stirred?"

She smiled. "Sorry, I'm very new to this."

"Don't feel bad. Damn few people are used to death threats."

Her smile vanished. Tight, pale lines appeared around the mouth that had been a soft, deep rose.

Nice going, Zach told himself with a sigh. Turn the client into a net of twanging nerves with a few badly chosen words.