If the guy loves your kid...

If you're like me that's all it would take. Well, assuming he's a good person and there's some major chemistry happening. In every book I've written there's a child who's critical to the love relationship. In Trust No One my heroine is a single mother of a child with developmental delays. Sophie and Nathan meet under false pretenses: when he discovers she's using a fake identity to hide from someone, he decides not to reveal that he's a PI searching for her stepbrother—which leads to her kidnapping him at gunpoint. At this point in the book they've cleared all that up and Sophie is beginning to trust him, but they're on the run. They've taken refuge at Nathan's sister's house, and he has just returned with information that requires them to hit the road again.

Sophie was holding Max on her lap, spooning scrambled eggs into his mouth, when Nathan walked into the kitchen. He looked exhausted. Strung out, like he'd been up all night taking drugs.  The circles under his eyes were darker, whiskers covered his jaw, and his hair was a mess.

            He was so appealing she stopped breathing and just stared at him.

            The Bannister twins, Ryan and Lizzie, were strapped into booster seats, and began clattering and calling, "Unca Nafan! Unca Nafan!" Nathan bent down and kissed the tops of their heads, but his eyes were on Sophie and Max. Kat walked into her brother's arms and held him tightly for a moment. Still, his eyes held Sophie's.

Max stretched an arm out to him and said, "Boodie."

The smile on Nathan's face when he looked at her son stripped away all remaining defenses she had built to protect her heart. He rounded the table without saying a word and picked up Max off her lap. "How ya doin', Sport?" he asked, and kissed his eggy cheek. Max slapped his hands on Nathan's cheeks, wanting to play their game. Nathan puffed one cheek out and Max tried to slap it before he switched. Sometimes he let Max win and other times he switched around on him, getting the little boy all excited and bouncy. Max wasn't quite up to bouncy at the moment, so Nathan let him win.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie could see Kat taking in the whole scene, a small smile on her lips.

"Are you okay?" Sophie asked. "Want some scrambled eggs?"

Nathan shook his head. "We need to go," he said quietly.

Fear clutched at her throat. "Can I finish feeding Max?"

"Finish fast," he said.

            Do you like books where one or both of the characters have children, or do they detract from the story?

—Ana

Homeland's thoroughly dislikable heroine

I'm writing this in front of the TV, where I'm anxiously awaiting the first episode of the fourth season of Homeland, one of my all time favorite shows. I don't watch much television – I can't deal with sitcoms or shows that feel formulaic or predictable. I also dislike characters that are simply "too too:" too good, too bad, too beautiful, too ugly.

Now I'm the first to admit that the characters in my novels are very good-looking and sexy, but they're imperfect all the same. Most of them have a past they're not proud of (kinda like all of us, right?), but they evolve and do the right thing in the end. That's what romance readers expect, and it makes us feel good.

Enter Carrie Mathison, the bipolar CIA agent (played brilliantly by Claire Danes) on Homeland who spends at least half her time on screen behaving unpleasantly (read: acting like a total b--ch), alienating her coworkers, exploiting her family and sleeping with the enemy. She insults people, yells and curses a lot, drinks way too much and has sex with strangers. She looks ordinary most of the time and downright ugly when she cries. 

In other words, she's the real deal.

The most extraordinary thing about Carrie is her freakishly spot-on intuition. Lots of super intelligent, highly analytical people work for the CIA, but they don't have her gift for seeing what no one else is willing or able to see. She fully intends to save the world and will use any method—illegal or unethical if necessary—to do it. If Carrie were a real person I wouldn't want to put up with her snark or her craziness to be her friend, but I think she's an incredible woman.

If you're a Homeland fan I'd love to know what you think of Carrie. If you're not, is there a character from another TV show or movie you don't like but admire the hell out of?

-- Ana Barrons

Starting in the middle?

I recently read about a method for writing a novel that involves starting in the middle, at the "mirror moment," when the hero or heroine is deciding who they are and what they have to do. Ms. Skeptical here thought that sounded like a strange way to go about starting a novel, so I decided to see what was right smack in the middle of one of my books. As it happens, the trade paper version of Son of the Enemy was released today, so I grabbed it out my box of author copies and turned to the very middle of the book. 

(This is a teaser, but not really a spoiler…)

John is an FBI agent on leave, spending time with Hannah, the daughter of the woman his father was convicted of murdering twenty-three years ago. He received an anonymous note, telling him 6-year-old Hannah was the only witness to the crime, and the only one who can possibly lead him to the real killer. John lies to Hannah about who he is, hoping she'll let him get close enough to probe her earliest, most horrific memories. 

Before John came along, Hannah had been dating Bradshaw, a wealthy businessman with mob connections. Unbeknownst to John, the FBI sent an agent to recruit Hannah's help in taking down her former lover. The agent spotted John, and now his boss, Walter, has called him away for an urgent meeting.

Walter has kept John waiting more than two hours, and is suspiciously understanding about the fact that John has been keeping company with Hannah. John learns about the Bradshaw investigation and asks Walter what the FBI wants from her.

"So what is it exactly that you want her to do?”

“Drop in unannounced during a meeting he’s having with some persons of interest and place a bug on him.”

John froze. “A bug?” He knew how hard it was to get a judge to agree to let them bug a residence or a person. They had some serious s**t on Bradshaw, then.

“It’s a nanotech device. Tiny. Won’t activate until she leaves, so there’s very little risk.”

Like hell. “I’ve never heard of a device like that.”

Walter shrugged. “It’s brand new.” He sipped his coffee. “So, what would you have done if she’d told you about it? Would you have played the protective boyfriend?”

“If you’re asking if I would stand in the way of a bureau investigation the answer is of—” Suddenly Walter’s words sank in. “What did you say?”

“I said—” Walter hesitated for a fraction of a second, and John knew. “What would you do if she told you—?”

Son of a bitch.

“No,” John said. “That’s not what you said. You said, ‘What would you have done if she had told you.’” He leaned forward, careful to keep his hands under the table so he wouldn’t be tempted to put them around Walter’s neck. “That means it’s a done deal. She agreed to do it, didn’t she? Is that what you wanted to tell me? Are you ordering me to back off?”

Walter laid his forearms on the table and leaned toward John. “You still haven’t answered my question. I think I know the answer, though. I think you would have tried to talk her out of it because you’re involved with her and you’ve lost your objectivity.” He stared hard at John. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I haven’t lost my objectivity,” John said in the calmest voice he could muster. “But maybe the FBI has. What if she succeeds? You don’t think Bradshaw’s going to realize it was Hannah who brought the bug in?”

Walter sat back. “Bradshaw cares about her. He wouldn’t hurt her.”

John was incredulous. “You don’t know that. And what about all the other guys in that meeting? Organized crime doesn’t like witnesses, Walter. They hunt down witnesses and kill them. Sometimes they torture them first. You think it’s objective, not to mention ethical, to put an innocent woman in that position?”

“[We] explained it to her. She went in with her eyes open. If there’s a problem, we can put her in the witness-protection program.”

John nearly lost it then. “Oh, that’s just great. She gets to give up her life, her family, all her friends, and start over somewhere else. And you—” He stopped and gripped the edge of the table. “What do you mean, ‘She went in with her eyes open’? Went in? Are you saying—”

It all fell into place in that instant.

“Holy f**k. You kept me here waiting for you so I’d be out of her way. Jesus Christ. She’s there right now, isn’t she?” When Walter didn’t answer, John stood and leaned all the way across the table so he was in the SAC’s face. “Isn’t she?”

“It was the best way,” Walter said.

John is a devoted FBI agent, even though he's hidden some things from the bureau in his efforts to free his father. Now he's at a crossroads: Does he interfere with an ongoing FBI operation or leave Hannah to take her chances in a house full of dangerous men? If he interferes, he'll forfeit his career and blow his cover with Hannah, his only lead in solving the crime that put his father in prison. If he doesn't interfere, Hannah could be hurt—or possibly killed.

I'm fascinated that this moment happened right smack in the middle of my book. It's the right place for it, and it's a game-changer. Maybe I'll take a stab at plotting my next book starting in the middle. How about you? Have you ever started a project in the middle?

—Ana Barrons

Ana loves to hear from readers! Visit her at:

www.anabarrons.com

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Twitter: @ana_barrons

Oh, the terror!

I'm about to start a new romantic suspense novel! I've got my notepad and pen handy for plotting and character development and several hours left of the day with no pressing obligations. The laundry is done, husband busy with his own projects and I'm…

Terrified.

What if I can't think of anything to say? What if my characters fall flat, my plot is insupportable, there isn't enough conflict? What if my agent hates it?

Or what if it gets published and every review is negative?

I don't know why I go through this every time I write a book. I've written several and had three published so far, so it would follow that I'm somewhat confident. And I am…somewhat.

This is my first try at a trilogy. I've got the first book written and almost half of the third—which I thought was the second, but realized it needed to be the last book. There are three siblings in the Hunter family: Nathan is the oldest, and his book is written. Rick is the middle child and Kat is the youngest.

Nathan is a wounded former cop turned P.I. who specializes in finding missing kids. He takes on the search for a senator's son, which leads him to the boy's stepsister—a woman with a past who doesn't want to be found. In order not to spook Sophie when he meets her, he doesn't tell her he's tracked her down to find her stepbrother, all of which sets up a disastrous chain of events for Nathan and his family.

Here's an excerpt from Nathan's book, which I'm calling Trust No One:

In the bedroom, Sophie could hear Nathan's voice very faintly from the powder room off the kitchen. Either he was talking to himself or he was on the phone.

In the bathroom. On the phone.

Her gut seized.

Please, God, don't let him be one of them.

A moment later his silhouette filled the bedroom doorway and she was sitting on the bed in the dark, wrapped in a towel, frozen with doubt and fear. He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked over to the bed, but didn't take it off.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. How could he tell there was something bothering her? He could barely see her. "Why do you ask?"

The bed creaked when he sat down beside her and reached out to stroke her hair. "I can feel the tension rising off you, that's why."

Tell him to leave. Tell him you changed your mind.

But he was big and warm and smelled so masculine, and he'd already given her a taste of what it would be like. And there was the way he smiled and the way he was with Max…

"I thought I heard you talking to someone," she said, hoping he couldn't hear the tremble in her voice. "Were you on the phone?"

His hand didn't falter. "I called my little sister, Kat. I spoke to her yesterday, and she didn't sound so good. Her husband's kind of a schmuck."

Very smooth. But was it the truth? "Isn't it a little late to make a phone call?"

"Kat has trouble sleeping," he said. "Especially when her husband's on the road, which he is now. She's alone with three kids, including twins not much older than Max."

"Oh." She couldn't think of what else to say. She had to make him leave now, before he touched her again. "Nathan—"

"What are you afraid of, Sophie?"

She closed her mouth. If he were one of them, wouldn't he have arrested her by now? Or was he planning to screw her first and then pull out the cuffs?

"Talk to me," he said softly. "You can trust me, I swear. Get it off your chest."

Oh, God, how she wished she could tell him everything and make him understand. But what if he was just manipulating her into confessing? No. She couldn't trust him. Couldn't trust anyone.

"I was just going to say that I think we're… moving a little too fast."

He nodded. "I'm happy to go very, very slowly. Whatever you like."

He bent down and planted a kiss on her bare shoulder, and every nerve ending in her body lit up. Her breasts swelled with need, as did the hard nub between her legs. Was it so bad that she wanted this man, even if…

No, he wasn't one of them. He couldn't be.

-- Ana

I love to hear from readers. If you liked this excerpt and would like to read one of my current ebooks, either leave a comment or email me at: ana@anabarrons.com, let me know which book you'd like (WrongfullyAccused, Son of the Enemy or Betrayed by Trust) and in what format and I'll send you a copy. Easy as that!

More Highland Dreaming

Last night I dreamed I was in Scotland again. 

I'm sure it was because of the book I'm writing, currently called Too Far to Fall because it involves a fair amount of falling. Off high, twisty highland roads. Off high horses. Off the beaten path and headlong into love. In my case, I'm having an ongoing, passionate love affair not only with my hero, who's very hot indeed, but with the Scottish highlands themselves. I may be obsessed.

I've been fortunate to visit some stunning places. Santorini, for example, a Greek island that held me mesmerized with its beauty. And Bryce Canyon in Utah, with rock formations so otherworldly I decided I wanted to carve a little house inside one of them and just live there, completely off the grid, and make up stories about the other strange inhabitants… The Louvre at night when it's all lit up and the glass pyramids feel like crystal palaces planted in the wrong century. 

These are all places I hope to see again, but something about Scotland calls to me.  If this is an obsession, I don't want to be cured. Truth be told, I adore those sweeping Scottish historicals where the clans are all at war with one another and the handsome laird wins the heart of his enemy's woman. I can't get enough! 

In my book, two wounded but very different people meet by chance at the top of a treacherous highland road, brought together by a tragic accident that might have been murder. There are no clans at war, but Ben and Fiona must fight an elusive enemy to find the truth and

save an orphaned baby, nearly losing their lives in the process.

Have you ever visited a place that resonated with you so deeply you literally couldn't get it out of your head? —Ana

Embracing my inner highland lass

I write romantic suspense and I love to read it, but I admit to a weakness for historicals—particularly Scottish historicals. And I do quite a bit of my "reading" in my car, listening to books on tape. There's just something about a man with a Scottish accent (particularly if it's Phil Gigante narrating Karen Marie Moning's Highlander series or Kaleo Griffith doing Pamela's Clare's MacKinnon's Ranger series).

So as I drive through the highlands for the first time, I try to imagine what it would be like to live in a place so ruggedly beautiful but so seldom truly warm. I'm from New England, so I'm partial to cool weather, but August in Scotland means bundling up in fleeces and hoodies, particularly when the wind is blowing. Still, watching the clouds swirl around green hills and rock ledges wrapped in heather, then roll down into the valleys, I suspect it would take a long time to tire of this magical place.

There's so much more water here than I imagined, despite having studied the map before coming. If I lived here I would find a home on a hilltop with a porch—or turrett—looking out over a loch or the sea. I would fix myself pots of tea and sip it in a wicker rocker with a wool tartan on my lap. I'd put on soft bagpipe music in the background to get in the mood, and tap away at my laptop.

It doesn't get more idyllic than that.

Where my dream breaks down is when I go the next step and try to imagine writing a contemporary romantic suspense in my highland rocking chair. Could I write a political thriller in this kind of setting, or would I need to be home in Washington, DC to be in the proper frame of mind? How much does where you write affect what you write?

I only wish I had more time here to find out!

--Ana

Ana Barrons writes sexy romantic suspense, often set in Washington, DC. Visit her on her website: www.anabarrons.com, friend her on Facebook or follow her on Twitter.

Through the victim's eyes

As authors we have to use our imaginations—goes without saying, really. As romantic suspense authors, our imaginations often take us to some pretty dark places. And we live there for as long as it takes to feel the chill down our spines or the outright terror clawing at our guts and get it down on paper. We go back there, over and over, to those black corners, cobwebbed hidey-holes and damaged psyches, smoothing the contours, adding that final layer, the slightest hint of light or deepening darkness.

Most of the time I can find that frightening place in my own evil little mind (mwah ha ha) but when the dark place is a physical location—well, there's nothing like the real thing to get you in the zone.

I was inspired to write Betrayed by Trust by a terrible crime committed right here in the nation's capital. A young government intern disappeared amidst rumors (true, as it turned out) of her involvement with a congressman. Her body was found a year later in heavily wooded Rock Creek Park. Several years later we learned that her killer was an illegal immigrant who had attacked other women in the park.

In Betrayed by Trust, a beautiful young Capitol Hill aide named Blair disappears and her body is found several months later on Roosevelt Island, a tiny wooded island in the Potomac River with a giant statue of Teddy Roosevelt and trails that wind through marsh and swamp. I've been on the island many times with my husband and dogs and kids, finding a bit of nature in view of the Lincoln memorial and the famous Key Bridge.  In my book, the police have a suspect—a foreigner with alleged terrorist ties. But alas, it's not that simple…

 My story takes place in late June and July, so on the 4th of July I had the brilliant idea to watch the fireworks from Roosevelt Island. My husband suggested we stand on the bridge leading onto the island, but, like Blair's sister, my heroine in the story, I wanted to experience the woods at night at the spot where Blair had tumbled off the path and landed in her swampy grave.

Well.

It was very, very dark as we walked the trail in the woods that night. We had expected to have lots of

company, but apparently no one else was dumb enough to try to see the fireworks from the island. The air was thick with humidity and hordes of mosquitoes were out for blood. I began to have second thoughts. Then it started to rain.

My husband lugged his camera and tripod off the path, through thick, prickly bushes onto a tiny spot of muddy ground where he could see the sky through the trees. By this time I was practically hyperventilating. I don't like the woods at night. I'm not brave. And I hate mosquitoes. I wanted to get off that island in the worse way. But it was a couple of miles back to the bridge and the most stubborn man on the planet (who had forgotten the flashlight) informed me that he was not budging until he had some shots of the fireworks.

I lasted about five minutes.

I knew the way back, and I could still see the path even though it was super dark under the canopy of trees. I walked for about the first thirty seconds…and then I ran. Ran like I was being chased. And as I ran, I became Blair, fleeing from a villain she thought she could trust, slipping on the muddy trail, muscles aching, heart pounding, shadows turning sinister, breath coming in shallow, hysterical gasps…

After an endless amount of time I could make out the bridge ahead and the lights of Georgetown twinkling, and I slowed my pace. I closed my eyes and took a deep, grateful breath. For the duration of that two-mile run I had lived inside my story, and experienced some of the terror Blair had felt in the final moments of her life. 

I wouldn't want to go there again.

-Ana Barrons

Betrayed by Trust will be released on July 8th by Carina Press.