Remembering Callie

SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't read Perilous, this scene has spoilers!

In this scene, right after the girls meet Ricky and Neal, Jaci has a quiet moment where she reflects on what they've been through since the kidnapping. It's a scene that explores Jaci's feelings, and while it may not be action-packed or exciting, I was sad to see it go.

 Two hours later the city was behind them and the forest engulfed them once again. The boys didn’t say much as Jaci and Amanda told them their story.

Of course they didn’t mention anything that had happened to Sara. That was Sara’s business, if she wanted anyone to know.

And Callie. They’d left out Callie.

As everyone settled down for the night, Jaci crept over to a grove of trees. The moonlight barely illuminated a smooth patch of ground and a rock, perfect for sitting. She stared at the broken skyline above the trees, feeling very alone. She’d never been able to communicate her feelings with Amanda, and lately Sara was too absorbed with her own issues to notice Jaci’s. Not that Jaci blamed her…but it was strange to be in constant company of her friends and feel so isolated.

How she missed Callie. Her dear friend, her best friend. Always ready with a listening ear, comforting words, even indignation when necessary. 

She could hear Sara and the twins laughing. Sara hadn’t laughed in weeks. She rubbed her temples and tried to pray, but too many thoughts ran through her mind. Jaci lay down in the dirt, trying to get comfortable. A tree root dug into her shoulder blade and she scooted sideways. She pretended to be asleep when Sara approached. Sara lay down without a word and soon her breathing was soft and heavy. Jaci wished she could join her.

 

Boy meets Girl

Ah, Ricky. By far one of my favorite characters in Perilous, Ricky is the boy with a troubled past, a troubled home, and a troubled record. On the outside, he seems like the typical, no-good bad boy. But he's so much more than that, and so very complex.

Ricky started out having his own story line, complete with his own point of view. Though his point of view got cut, Ricky remained. Here are some insights to Ricky, THE BOY.

Ricky Collins wasn’t interested in helping three runaway girls. Whatever they’d done to get themselves here, it wasn’t his problem.

But he was interested in the girls. The flirty redhead by herself could provide hours of entertainment. Then there was the blond, who looked like she hadn’t smiled in weeks. Neal was about the only serious person he could handle. But she made Ricky curious. He wanted to get inside her head and find out what was going on.

And of course, the brunette.

So between the three girls, Ricky decided it was worth helping out with lunch.

“Where’d you pick these kids up, anyway?” he asked Neal.

“By the high school. I tripped over Amanda.”

Ricky glanced back at them. “Which one’s Amanda?”

Neal snorted. “The one who doesn’t take her eyes off you.”

Ahh. The redhead. “All right. Fine. We can feed them lunch. But you’re paying for it.”

“Whatever, Ricky.”

They arrived at the deli a few minutes later. Ricky stopped and held the door open, waiting for the girls. Wouldn't hurt to appear chivalrous. Neal waited inside.

“You can order whatever you want as long as the sum comes to less than four dollars,” Ricky said.

The brunette looked at him, her eyes widening. “For all three of us?”

Neal rolled his eyes. “Just get what you want, and don’t worry about the price. He thinks he’s being funny.”

Ricky wasn’t being funny. He was being cheap.

The brunette’s brown eyes flicked between them. “How do we tell you apart?”

She shook her head. “Not seeing it.” Her expression lingered on him and she cocked her head to the side. “What about me? Do I have golden flecks in my eyes?”

He stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Nope. You’re eyes are a deep green. Not a bad color, but…simple. The gold is for the best.”

“Well, at least you think highly of yourself,” she laughed. “That still doesn’t help me tell you apart.”

“You’ll get it,” he said, letting go of her shoulders and following Neal into the restaurant. “Neal's the father-figure.”

Neal cuffed him on the back of the head. “Because you still need parenting!”

Ricky didn't let Neal bother him—most of the time. “I guess he thinks I’m a kid? Go on and sit down. We’ll order and surprise ya’ll.”

The brunette laughed. Ricky liked the sound. He followed after Neal. “All right, Neal. This wasn’t such a bad idea.”

“You’re just trying to figure out which one to flirt with.”

“Hmm.” Ricky pulled his lips down and raised both eyebrows. “Maybe.” It was kind of nice, though. They didn’t know him. Most girls knew him by reputation before they ever met him. “Get two sandwiches for me.”

“I thought we were saving money?”

Ricky glared at him but said nothing.

Neal placed the order and handed him a tray of food. “Here, take this back. I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Yeah.” Ricky surveyed the deli and spotted the three girls sitting in a booth by the window, talking together. He tossed his head back, annoyed that the hair kept getting in his eyes. “Hi.” He stopped in front of their table and handed food out “I’m Ricky. Mind if I sit here?”

“No, no, not at all,” Amanda said. She scooted toward the wall. The blond scooted over as well.

Ricky sat down next to her and offered a sandiwich. “I’m an idiot, what’s your name? I can’t remember.”

She took the sandwich. “Sara.” Her eyes met his and she looked away.

“Hi, Sara.” He bumped her shoulder with his. “Nice to meet you, Sara.”

That elicited a smile. Finally. “You too, Ricky.”

“So, where are you guys from?” He turned his attention back to the brunette, looking at her across the table as he unwrapped one of his burgers.

“We’re from Idaho. We walked here.” Amanda tapped her fingers on the table.

“Really? You walked? Wow!” He shot a glance at her. “So how old are you?” Neal sat down in the booth behind them.

“What wrong with him?” Sara asked, nodding at Neal.

Ricky glanced behind him. Was Neal upset? No, just ignoring his food and staring out the window. Typical Neal. Ricky patted him on the shoulder and turned back to the girls. “He carries the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Heavy burden.”

“What about you?” the brunette asked, lifting her brows. “Don’t you have any responsibility?”

The first words from her, and not exactly welcoming. He took a long sip of his soda before answering. “Nah. I avoid it like the plague. It’s for old people.” He nodded at her. “But you never answered my question. How old are you?”

“She’s fifteen,” Amanda said. “So am I. We’re the oldest.”

Ricky shifted his weight partway over the table and looked at her. “Wow, your hair is really red.”

“It’s actually auburn, but if that’s a compliment, thanks,” she said with a quick grin. “And how old are you?”

“We’re both seventeen.” He sat back and took another bite. “Our birthday was in August." Did anyone here talk besides Amanda?

Amanda leaned over Sara. “I turn sixteen in April.”

“I’m only fourteen,” Sara said.

Ricky looked at her in mock surprise. “She talks!”

Amanda stood up. “Hey, Sara, it’s a little stuffy in here. Let me out.”

“Where are you going?” Ricky asked, moving into the aisle to let her out.

“Outside,” she said. “Some fresh air.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a teasing grin. “I wouldn’t mind company, though.”

The brunette chuckled. “Amanda’s a girl who knows what she wants and goes after it with both hands.”

“Right,” Ricky said, not taking his eyes off of her retreating figure. He slid uninvited next to her. Finishing his second burger, he took a drink and wiped his face with a paper napkin. He rested his arm on the seat just behind her. “So you guys walked here from Idaho?”

“Well, not exactly,” she said. “It’s a long story.”

He shrugged. “We’ve got time. Hey! You haven’t told me your name yet! If you’re done eating, you could introduce yourself.”

She laughed, and again he noticed how the sound thrilled him. “I’m done. Amanda introduced me. I guess my name wasn’t worth noting?”

Neal chuckled and came over from his booth to join them, sitting next to Sara.

“My bad,” Ricky said. “I was distracted by your face.” The little red box in the middle of the table caught his attention. Oo, matches. He picked them up and flipped the box open. Neal grabbed them and slapped them back down on the table.

“Cute,” she teased. “Did you read that in a book or something? I know you couldn't come up with a line like that on your own.”

“Oh, you’re clever,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “So, do you have a name?”

“It’s JC.”

“JC?” he echoed. Never heard that one before.

“J-a-c-i. Jaci. It’s short for Jacinta.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

Neal leaned forward. “Are you in a hurry to get walking again?”

Jaci nodded. “Yes. Thanks for lunch, though. It was very appreciated.”

Ricky grunted. “Huh. This must be some really intense exercise program. Sure we can’t change your mind? Just for a week?”

Sara ran a hand over the table. “We’ve been here too long. Trouble follows us.”

Now that Ricky understood. He’d had more than his own fair share of trouble, and you couldn’t get away from it. They didn’t seem like the trouble type, though.

Jaci stood up and gathered the trash. “All right. Let’s go. I need to throw this away and use the restroom.”

Ricky jumped up, letting her by. “Didn’t you just go? Are you gonna shower again, too?”

“Are you stalking me now?” She turned around and dumped the trash.

Neal’s hand on Ricky's shoulder stopped him from following her. “All right, lover boy. Let’s finish cleaning up here.”

Voices in the Woods

This scene from my book shows the paranoia that haunts each girl, as they spend every second worrying that their kidnapper will catch them again. However, while it shows some of the relationship issues among the girls, as well as their fear, it doesn't actually further the plot. Therefore, it was cut from the final project.

A voice. Whispering in frustration.

Jaci’s eyes moved rapidly under her eyelids, and then snapped open. She lay on the forest ground staring up at the dark sky, partially obscured by tree leaves.

A twig snapped a few feet from her, and every hair on her body bristled in alarm. Her heart began to pound faster, and she held her breath. Someone was there.

She blinked twice, trying to see. There was a lot of scuffling through the leaves near her feet. She wanted to scream. But she seemed to have lost control of her muscles.

There was a heavy sigh next to her and a hand grabbed her ankle. That did it. Jaci bolted upright and screamed.

“Jaci!”

A hand went over her mouth and Jaci reached up to tear it away.

“It’s me! It’s Amanda! I’m sorry, it’s just me!”

Jaci closed her eyes, chest heaving in gasping, sporadic sobs.

Sara sat up next to them. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice nervous. She touched Jaci’s shoulder.

“I frightened her,” Amanda said. She moved closer to Jaci and tried to hug her, but Jaci jerked away.

“Don’t touch me! How could you do that to me?” She put her head in her hands, running her fingernails over her scalp. She’d been so scared. The emotional crash nauseated her.

Sara’s knee clanked against something hard. Reaching down, she turned on a flashlight and picked it up. “Were you looking for this?” she asked Amanda.

Amanda looked at the beam of light. Extending a hand, she took it from Sara. “Jaci, I’m so sorry. I dropped the light and it turned off on me. I was trying to find it. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Honest.”

Jaci took several deep breaths, holding for the count of three before exhaling, just like she did in track before a big race. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

“I know how you feel, Jaci,” Sara said. “I hate it out here, too. I hate it.”

“There’s no one else out here, Sara,” Amanda said, her voice reverting to its self-assured tone. “It’s only us. We’re here for you. You have nothing to worry about.”

Sara whirled on her as if she’d been waiting for that opening. “Oh, so you’ll protect me? Like you did last time? A lot of good you two are to have around!”

“Stop it,” Jaci said. “Don’t go around accusing us when you know we have no power over things. We’re in this together.”

“You’re right,” she answered. “I should be accusing those who do have the power.”

Jaci pressed her thumbs into the flesh between her eyebrows, trying to rub away a headache. "Let’s forget about this. Tomorrow we’ll reach a city, and everything will be fine.”

“We need protection, not a city,” Sara spat out, but her voice lacked any venom.

“Maybe we’ll find both," Jaci said. She glanced at Amanda as they lay back down. “What were you doing out there, anyway?”

“What do you think?” she growled. Amanda turned off the flashlight and once again they  plunged into darkness.

Healing Sara

When I first submitted Perilous, I intended for it to be an inspirational Christian novel about four girls who had to learn to rely on Christ so they could heal for their tragedy. We ended up taking out the religious aspect and turning it into a thriller. No one could be more shocked than I that I had written a thriller. :)

While I am pleased with the fast-paced end result, some of these introspective, faith-building scenes were hard to let go of. Here is one where Jaci and Sara talk about what they've been through and how to let it go. This scene is especially poignant for Sara, who has the hardest time recovering from the kidnapping.

Jaci finished the dishes. Drying her hands, she picked up the lamp and headed for bed. She walked out of the kitchen and through the large parlor, past the brown piano and white pillars.

She paused as she walked past the back door. She thought she’d seen Sara out on the deck. She opened the door and stepped outside, allowing the lamp to light her way.
“Sara?”

It was Sara. Sara didn’t answer, just leaned out over the railing. Jaci hurried over, each step creaking as she walked across the old wood. “Sara, are you okay?” She remembered Sara’s response last time and felt dumb for asking.

Sara shook her head. She took a deep breath and stood tall, straightening her back. Jaci put an arm around her.

"It’s okay, Sara. Whatever’s wrong, you can tell me. You need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk, Jaci. I feel so alone. I’m so frustrated. So angry.”

“Sara. We love you. We’re here for you, even if you never say a word about anything, we care. And Heavenly Father cares.”

Sara shook her head. “I don’t feel Him. I don’t think He cares.”

Jaci held back a gasp of surprise. After their escape, and the old man's rescue... “How can you say that?”

Sara laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “You go through what I’ve been through and you’ll know how I can say that. How could he let that happen to me? What did I do that was so wrong?”

“Do you still pray, Sara?”

“Do you?”

“Of course. Why would I stop?”

“Well, of course I am too. I just don’t feel anything in response. My heart, my soul, it’s empty. It’s like it’s been taken from me.”

Jaci squeezed Sara's hand. “The Savior will take away your pain. Let him have it.”

“I’m waiting.” Sara reached up and brushed away the tears. “Maybe I just don’t have enough faith.”

Jaci wrapped her arms around her. “Sara. Give yourself some time. He will take your burden from you.”

“He’s taken everything else from me,” she sobbed into Jaci’s shoulder. “He may as well take that too.”

Funeral Scene

I can't remember for sure, but I think this scene got cut from Perilous, if not the entire scene, at least parts of it. The biggest reason was that we decided to remove most of the religious elements from the book and take it mainstream. This scene shows Detective Hamilton's indecision about God and religion. I did take out names so there's no spoilers. :)

September 24

Shelley, Idaho

Quite unlike the stereotypical day for a funeral. Carl squinted against the bright sunlight coming from the eastern side of the graveyard. A few colorful leaves drifted around the hole in the ground, indicating that fall was close behind.

It looked like the whole town of Shelley had showed up. Probably had, actually. Carl swallowed and worked hard to keep his face straight.

Kristin glanced at him and took his hand. She was one of the only people wearing a black dress. Didn’t Mormons wear black to funerals? Apparently not.

The pastor, or whoever, finished up his words, closing his Bible. Then he led them in a prayer. Carl tuned the words out. He didn’t want to hear. The tears still stung his eyes as he watched them lower the white casket into the ground. He knew that a young, beautiful girl lay in there, cut off before her time was done. How unfair.

Beside him Kristin wiped her eyes. Mrs. Nichols gathered her younger children around her and sobbed, her lower lip shaking as the tears rolled down her plump cheeks.

A line formed to pay their respects to the Nichols. Carl waited his turn. He had news from his trip to Canada. He hoped it would be some sort of condolence.

Kristin touched his arm. “I’ll wait at the car.”

He nodded, not looking at her. “Okay.”

The line dwindled down. He put on his best business face and approached the Nichols. He hesitated just shy of them.

Mr. Nichols saw him first. “Detective Hamilton.” He reached out and clasped Carl’s arm, then pulled him closer. “Thank you for coming.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Nichols said, her blue eyes shining like sapphires.

He sighed. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find her before this happened.” He hoped they knew how much he meant it. He took it personally every time they lost someone. Especially a youth.

Mr. Nichols inclined his head. “So are we.”

Carl followed them to the car. “I’ll be leaving for Canada in the afternoon.”

“Flying this time?” Mr. Nichols asked.

“Yes. The flier we found in Alberta had a Montreal phone number. Too far to drive.”

Mrs. Nichol’s eyes flicked ahead. Carl followed her gaze to see Mr. and Mrs. Murphy getting into their blue Toyota Camry. “Do you think the other girls are still alive?”

“If they are, we’ll find them. We know they were at the time the flier was printed, which was less than a week ago. Obviously they’d escaped. At this point they could be running, or someone may have turned them in. Hopefully Montreal will have some answers for me.”

Mr. Nichols began herding the children into the car. Mrs. Nichols stopped and looked at him, a sad smile on her face. “We can’t thank you enough, Detective. I hope you will stop by sometime.”

He gave a short laughed, feeling a little uncomfortable. “Don’t put yourself out, Mrs. Nichols. I know you have a lot of things to deal with right now.”

“She was a good girl. I know she's with Jesus.” Her nostrils widened and tears filled her eyes again.

Carl didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to dispute her faith. Especially if it gave her peace.

“Don’t you believe in God, Detective?”

Carl looked up at the sky. God? “It’s not that I don’t believe in God, Mrs. Nichols. I believe in Him. But He doesn’t bother with my life and I don’t bother with His.”

She stared at him a good moment, her blue eyes intent on his. “Have you ever gone to church?”

He focused on her. “I was raised in the Baptist church, Ma’m,” he said, his Alabama accent slipping out at the mention of his upbringing. “But I haven’t stepped foot inside in years.”

She glanced at the van behind her. Mr. Nichols sat in the driver’s seat, waiting. “Well, I happen to know the pastor to a Baptist church on Main Street. I’m sure he’d love for you to visit.” She heaved a sigh. “Anyway, it was good talking to you, Detective. Don’t be a stranger. Please let us know what you find.”

Carl nodded. “Will do.”

He watched them drive away and stood a long time in the graveyard.  

The Stake-out

This is another scene from Perilous that got cut because the villain's POV was cut. In this scene from The Hand (or Truman)'s POV, we see his strategies to find the girls after they narrowly evaded him in Canada. We also get to know a little more about his henchmen, names and characters that don't really appear in Perilous. (I think The Hand deserves his own book, don't you?)

Grey and Sanders entered Truman’s office, their faces glistening with a sheen of sweat. Truman glanced at Claber, whose mouth twitched and a vein on his neck pulsed.

Truman tapped his fingers on the wooden desk in a solemn staccato, letting the silence draw out. The men shifted and kept their eyes on the floor.

“Well?” Truman said. “What are your projections? Where are they now?”

Sanders cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “We followed the tip to a gas station in Victoriaville. The girls were gone, but we followed their path. They ditched the vehicle on the side of the road. They either have a new one, or they're walking.

“We’re monitoring all routes to the American consulate, the RCMP, and the border. Our agents are looking for any vehicle with a blond woman driving and three or more girls in the car.”

Truman's mind conjured up things he would do to get past his agents. Dye the blond’s hair. Get a different driver. Divide the girls. Head different directions. He shook his head. They wouldn’t think to do those things. “If our agents don’t find them, then what?”

Grey answered. “They only have two options: hide out in Canada or head for the States. The girls want to get out of here. I think they’ll try and hike it out. There’s plenty of unguarded land between here and the border, especially by Vermont.”

Truman nodded. His agents were going to be stretched thin, looking for these girls. He couldn’t pay them, either, not unless they found the girls. “I want people in that forest. Keep a satellite phone and any gear necessary to sedate them until back up arrives. I want people patrolling the border. I want men staking out the suburbs around possible points of entry.” He swiveled his head to Claber. “Get me a list of our agents in America. We need to get them on this, fast. If the girls make it to the States, they’ll find allies at every turn. We have to make sure we find them before someone else does.” His head pounded at the thought of all the effort going into this. He only had a handful of agents stateside, and they weren't fully embedded in his circle. He'd have to make certain of their loyalties before trusting them with this.

“On it.” Claber strode from the room. 

 "Grey, get men into those border cities. Here are their orders: First, I want that necklace. Second, I want the blond. Third, I want the Latin girl. Alive. Sanders, I want someone patrolling the border.”

Sander's round blue eyes widened. “How many men can I use? The border is quite long.”

How many men. How many more men did he have? “Get with the police. See how many they can spare. Get your camping gear together and get into that forest.”

Sanders and Grey still stood there. What were they waiting for? "You have your plan of action. Move!”

Camera shot

One of the cons that came from cutting my villain's POV from Perilous was that the reader could no longer see the strings he was pulling on his end to capture the girls. Now the reader is as oblivious as the girls. But The Hand (Truman) is really quite clever...and I had a lot of fun imagining what he was doing while the girls were running. Here's another scene from his POV.

Truman studied the picture of the car Claber had taken on his digital camera. A red Ferrari, 2007. Silver pinstriping. But it wasn’t the car that held his attention. It was the license plate number. “Did you have any difficulties getting the address?”

Claber gave a quick shake of his head. “No. The police department in Montreal was happy to help us.”

Truman nodded. He kept most of his agents spread out, but Montreal was a big city, and it was right next to Victoriaville. He practically ran the Montreal police force. “And my flyer?”

“Printed in the Toronto Star.” Claber dropped a half-sized sheet of paper in front of Truman.

He scanned it. “Who's number is this?”

Claber grinned. “Officer Fayande.”

Truman recognized the name of the officer who had been to the house the day before. Fair enough. Truman put down the flyer. “Are the police going to the address right now?”

“Two of our own agents are going.”

“Excellent.” Truman stared at the door to his study. The barren walls mocked him. Nothing. Nothing to show for his life. He felt hollow and empty. Empty, like the safe downstairs. Well, that was only half-empty. He needed to start planning his next raid. But he couldn’t focus. He needed to find those girls. Sara. That necklace. The Carnicero’s daughter. The freedom they would bring him.

The phone rang and he snatched it up before it finished. “Yes?”

“Truman? Officer Fayande speaking.”

The man’s thick French accent slurred his words. Truman considered offering to speak in French, then decided against it. Let the other man trouble himself. “Did you find the residence?”

“Yes. The vehicle belongs to Christophe Coton. We found him at home, just returning from work.”

Truman glanced at his desk clock. Ten forty-five blinked at him in digital lines. Christophe must work at night. “And the car? The girls? Were they there?”

“No, sir. He borrowed the car to his girl, Nathalie. We got her address. He also had her cell phone.” A smug note entered Fayande’s voice. “We’re tapping it now.”

“Of course.” Truman didn’t congratulate him. He trained his men. If they entered a house, they bugged the phones. If they got a cell phone number, they intercepted the calls. He had an agent who owned a call center in Alberta. All of the tapped lines were digitally recorded and emailed to Truman on the hour. Something this urgent would be sent every ten minutes. “Are you on your way to Nathalie’s house?”

“Yes. We will be there in twenty minutes.”

“If she’s not there, find out where she took those girls.”

“Hopefully to the police,” Fayande said, and he and his partner laughed loudly across the phone lines.

Truman waited. Their laughter faded off. “Keep me informed.”

Missing the Necklace

This scene is in The Hand's POV. It's the moment he discovers that the girls ran away with his necklace.

The drive back lasted an eternity. He didn’t wait for the vehicle to be put into park when they pulled up at the house. He jumped out of the passenger side and headed towards the front door, where Claber greeted him.

            “Well?” he snapped. His eyes flashed with fury and his hands clenched.    

            Claber stiffened and nodded. “We’re in pursuit. We know they escaped into the forest. We’ll be posting men at different positions along the road; we’ll find them when they come out.”

            “You better,” Truman hissed. “Their lives are worth more than yours.” The price on his head—back to square one. At least he had the necklace and the jewels.

            Come to think of it, he hadn't even seen the necklace since the raid. “Where’s the Swan Lake necklace? Is it in the safe?”

            “I don’t know. Would you like me to check?”

            “I’ll do it myself,” Truman grunted, pushing past him.

            The safe was hidden in what appeared to be a small utility closet. Unlatching the back wall, Truman let himself into a large room, of which the safe took up most of the space. He rubbed his fingers over his palm, noting how clammy they were. It’s in the safe, he told himself. He grabbed the combination lock and spun it around.

            The door unhitched with a click. For once the sight of various boxes and stolen goods only infuriated him. He yanked everything out, dumping out the contents, certain at any second he’d find that necklace.

            He didn’t. A little more desperate this time, he carefully put everything back in place, searching every box and corner. The necklace wasn’t there.

            Claber stood in the hallway, his brows knit together. “Was it there?”

            “No.”

            “We’ll check the van. Maybe it never got moved.”

            Truman didn’t answer, already moving down the hall. Claber marched to keep up.

            The van, at least, was safely locked in the garage. Truman yanked the passenger side door open and bent to pull out the safety deposit box under the seat. It wasn’t even locked. He opened it, already knowing it would be empty. Swearing viciously, he shoved the box back under the seat and began opening glove compartments, checking cup holders.

            “Check the driver’s side!” he yelled at Claber.

            Claber did so. He looked a little white as they concluded their search. “It’s not here.”

            Truman paused, breathing heavily, leaning on the open passenger door. “Could it be in the cargo hold?”

            Claber shook his head. “We emptied it first thing. All of the jewels that were in the back are in the safe.”

            Truman hissed. “The girls were in the cargo hold.”

            Claber gulped and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

            Truman slammed the door shut, his eyes burning with rage. “Gather the men into my office.” He ran up the steps, not checking to see if Claber answered. That necklace was gone, and somebody was going to pay.

            He stopped at the kitchen long enough to open a flask of vodka and take a swig. He hoped that gave Claber enough time; he wanted everyone in his office when he got there.

            They were waiting. “Who’s responsible for this stupidity?” he roared, entering the room and unholstering his pistol. He waved it around menacingly, eyes landing on the three who had led the raid: Eli, Grey, and Claber. “Why wasn’t the necklace in the safe where it should’ve been?”

            Eli gulped, and then stepped forward. “I placed the box with the necklace in the back of the van. I didn’t think to move it after we picked up the girls. I was—a little tired.” He waved one hand as he tried to excuse his indiligence.

            Truman marched forward so quickly that the man was forced to step backwards, rejoining his comrades in line. “Because of that one small mistake, the necklace was in the back with the girls. The girls! And now the necklace is gone! And so are they!” Truman lifted the pistol and pulled the trigger. He wasn’t one to throw away his men recklessly, and he rather liked Eli. But incompetence was something he couldn’t deal with.

            The other men averted their eyes from the fallen body. Truman had their undivided attention.

            “He wasn’t the only one at fault,” he said, his voice quiet. The darkness to his tone was more menacing than the shouting. “Who was supposed to make sure the necklace made it safely into the vault?”

            With an audible sigh, Grey stepped forward. “That was me, sir,” he admitted, his expression deflated. “I brought in all the boxes that were in the cab and put them in the vault. But I didn’t open them and check.”

            Truman stepped up to him, but Grey didn’t move. He remained still as Truman’s hot breath touched his neck. “I’m not going to kill you. But you will not receive any pay until the necklace is recovered. Until then, you are my slave. Understood?”

            Grey closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll work doubly hard to recover those girls.”

            “I know.” Truman stepped back again. Once more his eyes swept over the men before him. “In fact, none of us will get any pay if the necklace and the girls are not recovered. Get going!” he snapped, motioning them out with his pistol. He went behind his desk and sank into the chair, dropping his head into his hands. He ignored his men as they filed out of the room, gingerly stepping around their fallen comrade. His head shot up one last time as Claber started out.

            “Claber!” he hollered.

            “Yes?”

            “The blond girl. Sara. I need her back here.” Truman moved his hand. “She’s mine.” She belonged to him. He wasn’t going to let her go that easily.

            Claber jerked his head upward. “We’ll get her back.”

            “That’s all, then,” Truman murmured, exhaling. “And bring me my whiskey.” 

Cutting the Deal

Another scene from my villain (The Hand)'s Point of View. Cut because we cut his POV from the book to help keep the suspense up. What I love about his scenes is we really get to analyze his motives in the kidnapping.

Truman watched the tall oak trees fly past outside his lowered window. He felt as free as the birds soaring through the sky. Who could have guessed this turn of events?

            His men would watch the girls, get them all cleaned up. They weren’t a burden anymore. They were money.

            Except Sara. Sara. He blinked, taken back by how much emotion the name carried with it. There was a girl he’d known in junior high. He’d had an awful crush on her. Jane, with her sparkling blue eyes and golden hair. So much like Sara.

            Jane died in a car accident right before her junior year. Drunk driver hit her car. Seeing Sara was like seeing Jane, back to life. She was worth more than money. He’d make her forget the past, and she’d be happy.

            He opened his netbook and made a few marks in his spreadsheet, then closed it as they pulled up to Sid’s large manor. The sun shone on the red brick driveway, and he pulled out his sunglasses. One of the servants came and opened the car door for him, and he stepped out. Large palm trees waved in the wind. Tall lamps blended into the foliage above them, giving them the additional heat and light they needed to live in this climate.

            Truman pressed his lips together. Sid had money to burn. He made a mental note to raise the price.

            Sid strode to the car, looking comfortable in Bermuda shorts and flip-flops.

            Wrong season, Truman thought.

            Sid greeted him with a large smile. Truman didn’t return it. Sid wasn’t a friend. But he wouldn’t sell Truman out, and that was all that mattered. “Sid.”

            “Never thought I’d be doing business with you,” the other man laughed. The gel in his wavy brown hair glistened in the sunlight.

      “It was an accident. But I’m sure it will be beneficial for us both.”

      They walked past the immaculate lawn into the front sunroom. The warmth coming through the glass and the tiled walls made Truman feel like he was in South America. 

            “You’ve got three little ladies, you say?” Sid asked.

            “Two.”

            Sid raised an eyebrow.

            “I’m keeping one,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. He didn’t like having to explain himself to Sid.

            “Ah.” Sid leered. “She play well?”

            Truman clenched his jaw and didn’t answer.

            Sid shrugged, then motioned him into one of his wicker chairs while he sank back into a large black leather couch.

            Truman sat, removing his outer jacket and placing it on the end table.

            “Cigar?” Sid offered as a servant came by with a cigar platter.

            “Thank you.” Truman’s cell phone began to jingle, and he pulled it out. Frowning a little as he saw the caller, he looked at the other man. “May I?”

            “Of course.”

            He flipped the phone open. “Yes?”

            “Truman.” The excited voice shouted in his ear, and he winced. “The girls escaped! They’re not in the house!”

            He stiffened. “What? They’re gone?” He wished he hadn’t spoken out loud. Better yet, shouldn’t have answered the phone. Bad business manners, anyway. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sid lean back in his seat, touching his fingertips together.

            Truman hissed into the phone. “I don’t care how they got out. Just find them. Now!” However they’d manage to get out, it was a big problem. He couldn’t even begin to count the ways this could bring about the demise of the unstable empire he was building.

            “Well?” Sid asked in an irritatingly mellow voice.

            Ignoring Sid, Truman stood up, gathering his jacket. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue these arrangements later. Thanks for your time.”

            Sid chuckled as Truman hurried to the door. “Anytime, my man. Anytime.”

            Truman didn’t respond. The blood rushed through his veins, his temples pulsing. All he could think of was getting those girls.

A Villain Goes Bad

We ended up cutting The Hand, or Truman's, POV from Perilous to create more suspense. But the scenes really let the reader get into the psyche of this multi-faceted bad guy who isn't your typical kidnapper. Most of the information in the following scene was conveyed in the novel from Jaci's POV, but here it is when we still had The Hand as a main character.

Harry Truman stood at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, and watched Claber and Grey laugh over some private joke. Their laughter cut short when they saw him.

            Truman ignored Grey. “Claber, I want to see you and Eli in my office. Now.” It was true that Grey had gone along on the mission, but he’d gone only as a additional muscle. He didn’t have a voice in the decisions made. Truman wanted to know from Eli and Claber why they now had three teens hiding in the attic.

             Claber’s head jerked up in a quick nod, and he hurried away.

            Unfolding his arms, Truman turned around and went into his private study. He swatted at the dusty desk and sat on it. A half-empty bottle of whiskey lay next to him. He eyed it, tempted to take a swig, but decided to wait.

            Claber and Eli didn’t waste his time. Within three minutes, they were both there.

            Truman nodded. “Shut the door.”

            Claber did so. Eli cracked his knuckles.

            Truman stood and paced for a moment, then came to a halt in front of the men. He clasped his hands behind his back, feet slightly apart. “Well? I sent you to get the Swan Lake necklace. Which you got?” He gave Claber a pointed look. Claber sent him a stiff nod, and Truman relaxed a bit. “Thought I said no stops. Get the necklace and come straight home. So what happened?”

            Claber gave Eli a pointed look.

Eli returned the look, swallowed hard, and said, “It was my fault. We stopped in Idaho Falls to get a bite—”

            “Idaho Falls?” Truman interrupted. “What were you doing in Idaho? You were supposed to head west through New Mexico just to throw them off the trail, and then head north for the border.”

            “Got a call from our agent in Idaho Falls. Said he needed a new cover, the police were suspicious. So we drove up to take care of business.” Beads of sweat lined Eli’s face.

            Truman swung around to face Claber. “Why didn’t you notify me, instead of waiting for me to call and find out why you were late?”

            Claber’s eyes widened. “I assumed our agent had called you first. And even if he hadn't, I didn’t think it was that big a deal if we detoured to Idaho. Our border agent works at the Montana entry and Idaho’s fairly close to there. I figured we’d kill two birds with one stone.”

            Truman gritted his teeth. He wanted someone else to blame, but he had to admit the logic was reasonable. They had to cross at a certain place, and they had to wait till a certain time to do it. There was no reason not to take a few hours extra and go to Idaho Falls. That didn’t explain why they’d shot a girl, though. “Go on. What did the agent say?”

            Eli continued. “Since he knew we were coming, he had already bribed the mall security. It should’ve been quick and easy.”

            Truman pressed his lips together, mulling over the words. He was right. “So where’d the girls come from?” he asked, his voice hard. “I’m a jewel thief, not a kidnapper. I’m wanted for burglary, not murder.” He turned his cold gray eyes on Claber.

            “They were spying on us. Calling the police. I didn’t see any choice except to kill them or bring them along. They’d seen too much.”

             “They saw a black van!” Truman snapped. “You should’ve drugged them and dumped them in a ditch! And the girl that’s dead. What happened there?”

Claber shrugged. “She didn’t listen. If I hadn’t shot her when I did, she’d have  flagged down that Jeep and this whole thing would be over.”

“Then you should’ve just killed them all so we could forget the matter!” Truman shouted. “What, are we going to leave a trail of dead bodies from Idaho to Canada? Lead them right to us?”

He sighed, feeling the fight go out of him. “We’re in a tight situation here. McAllister is very angry about our part in the chicanery in Guadalajara. He’s going to tear Canada apart looking for me until I pay him back the seven million I owe him. He upped the prize on my head to four million, or I would’ve been leading that raid, not Eli.” He paused, but neither man said a word. “No false moves. We can’t afford it. The Swan Lake necklace is worth one point five million. Everything we pull in this year goes to paying that debt, understand?”

            He exhaled and pressed his fingers to his temples. “Claber, get me Sid.”

            Claber went to the phone on the desk. He pulled a small notepad from the drawer and dialed a number from it.

            Truman saw Eli narrow his eyes and wrinkle his nose. He jerked his head in acknowledgement of the sentiment. “I’m not fond of Sid either. He plays with dirty money. But I bet he’ll buy each of those girls from us for at least half a million, maybe more. Then we’re still in the game, aren’t we?”

             Claber looked up. “Truman. He’s on the phone.”

            Truman moved around the desk and took the phone. He put a smile on his face, even though the man’s slimy voice put a foul taste in his mouth. “Sid. How would you like to do some business?”