The Book
When an insecure, bi-racial
woman begins a cloak-and-dagger love affair with a Japanese American man, she
is intent on keeping her bigoted family in the dark—albeit with devastating
consequences. On the night of her brother’s murder, Deena Hammond stumbles upon
Takumi Tanaka, lost and on the wrong end of a .32. After rescuing him from the
certain fate driving through the hood in a Porsche will bring, a sweet kind of
friendship begins. A balm for her grief. Maybe, Deena likes to think, it
happened the day her white mother killed her black father. Or maybe, it was
always a part of them, like DNA gone bad. Whatever the case, Deena knows that
her family would never approve, hell, never acknowledge her fast-growing love
for Takumi. And had he never made love to her that way, in that unraveling,
soul-searching sort of way, she could’ve done the same. But love’s a devil that
way. So, their game begins. One where they hide what they are from everyone.
Anyone. And Tak understands this—for now. After all, Deena’s career hinges on
the favor of her mentor and boss, his hard-ass of a father. And the Hammond
family is already stretched thin with grief. Yet, each step Deena takes toward
family and career brings her closer to an acceptance she’s never had. And away
from him.
Crimson Footprints
Excerpt
A
slender, striking man of Asian descent was on the wrong end of Anthony’s .32.
With arms raised, his hands were splayed in a show of defenselessness. His
expression was calm, despite the growing crowd of onlookers and the pistol in
his face. Behind him, an old woman made the sign of the cross.
“Anthony!”
Deena cried, rushing towards them. Her brother cast a single sideways glance
but kept his gun level.
“Get
back in the house,” he said.
Deena turned her attention to the
Asian man. She was struck by his eyes, wide and heavy-lidded. His mouth was
generous, his square face softened by layers of thick black hair. He had boyish
good looks and a long, lean athletic frame.
Japanese.
She
was certain he was Japanese.
Deena
turned to her brother. “Will you put that thing away?”
The
two stared at each other, older sister, young brother, eyes narrowed. When he
didn’t move, Deena stepped between the gun and the stranger, her eyes level
with the barrel. Anthony lowered the gun with a sigh and Deena seized the
opportunity to snatch it.
She
turned to the stranger. “I assume that’s your car,” she said, nodding towards a
sleek gray convertible parked haphazardly, a shiny nickel in a murky puddle. He
nodded, his glossy black tresses falling into wide almond eyes.
“Yeah,
um, about that.” He cleared his throat. “He uh, took my keys.”
Deena
turned to her brother, hand extended. He dropped the keys in her palm with a
sigh, a new Ferrari slipping from his grasp with reluctance.
She
passed the keys to the stranger and their fingertips brushed. Something warm and
foreign turned over in her and her lips parted in surprise. She thought she saw
the makings of a smile in his eyes, but she dismissed it. He took the keys and
thanked her. And as she watched him peel off with the top down on his sleek
convertible, Deena’s pulse skittered then and long after.
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Thanks for sharing Crimson Footprints. Great site overall.
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