Friday, December 4, 2015


I'm thinking about letting all my readers get to know my characters through pictures, descriptions, and quotes every Friday.  It can be from my current WIP (work in progress), as this one is, or it can be from other guest authors whom I've invited to share their characters on my blog.  Variety is the spice of life.

Today, meet my character, Detective Nick Larson, from my current WIP.

Model is Alejandro Corzo.  Found it here:
This is how I visualize him.  He is tough, more quiet than most, filters life through humor (sometime dark humor), is currently battling emotional upheaval after the suicide of his abusive ex-wife, and can't deal with the smell of death, which makes crime scenes a bit uncomfortable since he has a tendency to puke at the smell of decomp.  He is six feet tall, angular face, always has to shave because his beard sprouts more often than he'd like, black hair, and smoky green eyes (can that even be possible? My imagination, guys).  He is attracted to his neighbor, Laura, but doesn't want to take the next step.  Feels he has too much emotional baggage.

To tease you, here is an excerpt from Ch. 1:

Excerpt from Det. Nick Larson novel, copyrighted material:

Tish Ramos methodically closed the evidence paper bag, labeled it, and turned her attention to the men.  Her eyes captured Nick’s six-foot image in a swift up-and-down.  Larson knew he looked like a recently crumpled paper bag, black hair combed with impatient fingers to give it some sort of order, his angular face already displaying his usual five o’clock shadow.  He hadn’t had time to shave or dress neatly, as was his habit.  After shift, he’d fallen face down on his couch and hadn’t moved until the call had come in twenty minutes ago.  For once, he’d been grateful for the call.  It had interrupted stalking nightmares.
“What are you doing here?” Tish asked.  “You guys work domestic.”
“Flu,” Nick croaked, gagged, and rubbed his eyes.  He watched as one of the most meticulous women in SID neatly deposited evidence into what the department euphemistically called doggy bags.  As usual, Ramos looked sterile, dressed sterile, and breathed sterile.
“Captain’s been juggling a domino meltdown with personnel calling in sick,” Nick told her.  “We’re it for a while.  Not that I mind, but why the personal touch here, Ramos?  The call came in as suicide.”
“The first responder thought so—at first.”  Ramos uncurled from her crouch, all five-foot-two of her, and gestured toward the rear of the townhouse.  “Stan worked with me on a similar case about two months ago.  When he saw the victim, his instinct kicked in.  She is too neat.  No evidence of thrashing.  No rope burns.”
Rope burns.
Nick stared at Ramos, hoping for a denial and knowing he wouldn’t get one.  "Hanging."

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