QSFer Kim Fielding has a new MM paranormal romance out: Farkas: Gothika.
Lee Harker has never fit in anywhere. Not with his immigrant family in rural Nebraska, not on a Navy ship during World War II, and not in Los Angeles as associate in a law firm.
But when he’s sent to a remote mansion to complete some paperwork for the reclusive Vincent Farkas, Lee encounters the most unsettling circumstances yet.
Caught in a place where things truly do go bump in the night, he must face his fears—and his desires—and acknowledge his true nature.
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Excerpt
The last of the daylight had long ago bled from the sky and yet Lee Harker remained in his office, a stack of hardbound California Reports and a scrawled-upon legal pad in front of him. His ashtray was nearly overflowing and stale smoke created a heavy pall, almost enough to obscure his view of the lights in Pershing Square, had he bothered to look out the window. Instead he stared at a page in one of the Reports, his brow furrowed and his pen tapping an irregular rhythm on the paper.
His head was sore. He shook out two aspirin tablets from the bottle in his desk drawer and considered washing them down with some of the scotch he kept in another drawer. But that would only make the words swim in front of his eyes, so he dry-swallowed the pills instead, wincing at the vinegary flavor. He’d have a drink when he got home, he promised himself. Maybe two or three. If he got home tonight; he might end up spending a few cramped hours on the sofa in the corner of his office.
He was pondering whether to take a third aspirin when his door swept open silently, the sudden movement startling him. What he saw in the doorway scared him even more: Raymond Graves, the most senior of the firm’s senior partners.
Lee gaped rudely.
“It’s very late,” Graves said as he walked into the office. He was a tall man, so gaunt that he wore his suit like a human hanger. Only a few wispy gray strands clung to his age-mottled scalp, but his white eyebrows bristled so impressively that they nearly obscured his eyes. Lee had seen Graves only a handful of times and had never exchanged more than a polite greeting. Now the man stood near Lee’s desk with an unlit pipe in hand and an odd expression of satisfaction on his narrow face.
“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Graves?”
“Perhaps.”
Instead of explaining, Graves just stood there, staring.
Lee felt very much as if he were being judged. His suit jacket hung on the coatrack, his shirtsleeves were rolled up, he’d loosened his tie, and his hair was likely a mess. He definitely had stubble on his jaw. He was not presentable, but then, he hadn’t expected a visitor at—he glanced at his watch—ten fifteen at night.
“I understand you’re often here this late,” Graves said at last. He was correct, although Lee wondered how he knew and why Graves cared.
“It’s a complicated project, sir.”
“The Bunker Hill project? Yes, I suppose it is complicated. Are you enjoying it?”
Lee, who figured his enjoyment or lack thereof was irrelevant, forced a smile. “I’m helping in a small way to shape the future of Los Angeles, sir.” That was how the junior partner had described the job as he handed it over to Lee.
Graves snorted as if unimpressed. “Your wife doesn’t object to your long hours here?”
“I don’t have a wife.”
“You were unmarried when we hired you. But that was four years ago, was it not? I would have expected a young man such as yourself to have begun a family by now. Surely the young women find you quite eligible—a handsome man with a bright future in one of the West Coast’s most prestigious law firms.”
It was difficult not to squirm. Lee was uncomfortable with both this line of questioning and with being called handsome by Mr. Graves.
“Right now, I prefer to devote my time to my work.”
Lee wondered whether Mr. Graves was aware that one of the other senior partners had twice finagled Lee into a date with his daughter. Lee had vaguely thought that it might be a good idea to allow himself to be manipulated into marrying her. It wouldn’t be too awful; she was intelligent and good company.
Mr. Graves still looked shrewd. “I have a new assignment for you.”
“But Bunker Hill—”
“Was here before you arrived and will be waiting when you return. We’ll be tied up in that mess long enough that I’m sure the paperwork and court filings will far outlast me. You’ll do this other task for a few days only. Your success or failure will be duly noted.”
The aspirin churned in Lee’s belly, making him feel ill. He was still only an associate, not a junior partner. If he didn’t impress his bosses, he’d be canned. And then what would he do? Defend small-time crooks? File lawsuits over fender benders? Maybe he’d end up scuttling back to Nebraska, where he’d— No. That didn’t bear thinking of.
“I’ll work hard and do my best, Mr. Graves. What do you want me to do?”
Graves’s smile revealed yellowed teeth that seemed too small for his mouth. “Go home, Harker. Get some sleep. Take tomorrow off. Return here by six tomorrow evening, carrying a bag packed for three days’ journey.”
“Where am I going?”
“You’ll find that out tomorrow evening. Good night, Harker.”
Graves turned on his heel and marched out of the office, leaving behind the slight scents of alcohol and old age.
Author Bio
Kim Fielding is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic.
Winner of the 2021 BookLife Prize for Fiction, a Lambda Award
finalist and three-time Foreword INDIE finalist, she has migrated
back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States
and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf
space.
She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to
travel and write full time. She also dreams of having two daughters
who fully appreciate her, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football,
and a house that cleans itself. Some dreams are more easily
obtained than others.
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