And now, a sneak peek at Warren, releasing October 7, 2025
O ne week ago…
Warren Bowman propped his elbows on the table and stared at the monitor dominating the wall in front of him. Devin Beck, the brains and bank behind St. Michael’s Solutions, sat opposite him tap, tap, tapping away at his sleek laptop until the massive, big-screen came alive with the picture of a woman.
She was tiny, would barely come up to his chin, even with the chunky soles of her boots. Pretty in an edgy way, with lilac-colored hair cut short and styled in aggressive spikes. She wore black lace-up leather leggings and Doc Martens, with a maroon graphic art tee shirt and well-worn black bomber jacket. Makeup had been expertly applied to transform her into something resembling a berserker elf.
The whole image made her look tough, bad ass. But the vibes he was getting from her, even in the photo, were anything but. She was on edge, yes, but it wasn’t her default mode.
“Harper Rhodes,” Dev said, interrupting his perusal, “is your next job. You’re on point and can pull others in as needed after your site survey. She’s a romance author who writes as Harper Sloane and is in town for a book signing at the Zephyr. She’s been the target of an online stalker who has escalated significantly in the last two weeks. He even found her phone number. Omaha PD is on it, but haven’t located an IP address, and the threats are pretty standard for this type of thing. Apparently, they aren’t violent enough for further action.” The “yet” in his tone wasn’t implied, it was implicit. “Until they are, she’s just another case number.”
The monitor changed from Rhodes’ photo to a series of emails and then texts that became progressively more suggestive. The last was the most explicit and included a series of dick pics. Nice.
I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think of anything or anyone but me, until you beg for everything you wrote about in T hese Dark Nights. And then, whore, you’ll burn in hellfire for your sinful thoughts. Until all you can see is me. Until you can’t move a damn muscle and I own you heart and soul and body.
Well, that was certainly explicit enough.
Warren’s phone pinged with a notification.
“I just sent you her last book, the one she’ll be signing. Read it so you have some context, since he’s referenced that one specifically,” Dev said. “Basic protection detail. Jordan took time off to back you up for the pickup and the signing itself.”
“How did Rhodes find us?” Warren asked.
SMS didn’t exactly advertise. Anywhere. They were more of a word-of-mouth organization and usually catered to Air Force clients. Harper Rhodes didn’t strike him as a military type.
“Katie McAlister works for her, and brought her to us as a paying client,” Dev replied with a smile. “As a New York Times bestseller, she can afford us, and I won’t say no to the money.” He shuffled the screens back to her photo.
“She arrives in a week, and the signing is the day after.” Dev hit another flurry of keys on the laptop. “Dossier is in your inbox. Questions?”
Warren sat back in his chair, running through it. It sounded fairly standard. “Why’s she doing the signing, if she’s being threatened?”
“Says she won’t stop living her life because of some asshole,” Dev replied.
“I like her already,” Warren said, “Are you working on the IP address?”
Dev shook his head. “She’s paying for protection, not for us to find him. Katie offered it up, at my suggestion, but Rhodes refused. Apparently, this guy isn’t the first, just the most persistent, and explicit.”
Warren didn’t like that one little bit, but this wasn’t one of their pro bono jobs that were associated with an Air Force colleague, and so they would have to do as they were told. For now.
He’d spent a career doing what he was told, and he was happy enough to continue in that vein, at least until it no longer suited. And then, well, everything was an option.