Dear Secret Agent,
Sometimes breaking Heaven’s law is worth it, even if it means Hell’s waiting for you.
When her father’s affair leaves her mother in a state of mental collapse, Sarah Armstrong chooses to live with her eccentric aunt in Massachusetts. Sarah hopes Wenham High School will be the perfect spot to forget the past and start fresh.
Too bad the small town doubles as the ancient stomping ground for Hell’s demons and Heaven’s angels. When Sarah becomes a demon’s pawn to lure an angel out of hiding, she finds an unlikely hero in the sullen, bad-boy rocker Caleb Smith. Every time Caleb saves her life, she chips away at his façade and finds something more than a man - an angel. But losing her heart to Caleb may cost Sarah her soul as well.
BROKEN is a 90,000 word YA paranormal about second chances and a forbidden love that tests Heaven’s boundaries.
I have written for the University of Tennessee’s newspaper and had several poems published in anthologies. I am a member of RWA and the online writing forums Romance Divas and Yalitchat.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Author
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Massachusetts, October 1692
Freezing rain lashed the angel’s face and dripped rivulets down his bare chest and back, soaking the wool breeches he wore. He shoved the hair out of his eyes. A small procession left the church in the center of the square, the girl among them. Fetters around her ankles and wrists hindered her movement, and she stumbled in the mud. His feet slid forward, his body aching to help her. Instead, his fingers curled into the bark of the tree he leaned against.
The local magistrate yanked her up by the elbow, half-dragging half-hauling her toward the jailhouse opposite the church. Then a short, bloated man in black overcoat and straight-brimmed hat exited. Reverend Harding, the devil himself. It took every ounce of restraint not to fly through the cover of trees and strip Harding from the inside out right there.
The girl paused and turned her face toward the tree line, as if she knew her angel stood there watching. He stepped further back. The magistrate jerked on the shackles, and she disappeared into the building.
Anger boiled in the pit of the angel’s stomach - anger, just like foolish passion, that he should not feel. He sighed and flexed his balled fingers, rubbing them against his thigh. He had to leave; this was his fault. The trial would continue, but he knew the girl was strong enough to withstand Harding’s ludicrous accusations.
A flutter came from behind, and a hand gripped the angel’s shoulder.
