My sci fi romance, Alien Contact for Runaway Moms, has escaped into the wide world, so I’m going to switch manuscripts.
Today’s hook is from The Guardian Angel of Farflung Station, a sci fi romance set in the far future. I recently got the rights back to it, so I’ll be re-releasing it in a month or so. The book has a soft spot in my heart: I wrote it in less than a month and the heroine is my favorite of all time. This lady is good (in all senses of the word), even if the hero mistakes her for a teenager troublemaker in the book’s opening.
Despite the sour economy, Farlung Space Station’s corridors filled during the evening shift-change. Fleet-footed workers going off-shift jostled slower workers going on-shift.
But nobody bumped into Duke Dukelsky. No one.
In a way, he wished they would. He’d rather be treated as regular guy than a wobble-gobble set to explode if touched. But he was the new head cop, not a regular guy. Station folk considered him…different.
Maybe they were right, too—because without warning, his police instincts sprang to full alert. That girl dodging through the crowd was up to no good. No one but him seemed to notice her, so yeah, he was different.
Every second lamp in the Magenta 7 corridor was out—Quartermaster MacDougall’s dismal idea of economy—and the girl slowed a tiny bit in the dark stretches and sped through the light. A ghost couldn’t have moved with more silent grace, or a greater air of innocent unconcern. She spoke to no one. Farflung had fewer than seven thousand permanent residents, so only visiting spacers were friendless, but she wasn’t a spacer. She wore a grey, station-issued smock so baggy it slipped off one smooth, bare shoulder. The smock spoke of volunteer work, poverty—or an attempt at anonymity.
The clincher: When she turned sideways to avoid a collision with a gaggle of spacers in vermilion ship’s uniforms, he saw dirt streaking the front of the smock, as though she’d crawled through…
Through what? None of the sanctioned parts of the station were that dirty.
It was no longer a matter of instinct, but of observation: she’d done or was about to do something. But was it a criminal matter, like an underage hooker offering forbidden fruit, or merely youthful mischief?
Duke considered calling one of his patrollers, but rejected the thought. He wanted his staff focused on preparations for the upcoming VIP visit—and anyway, the best part of his job was unraveling mysteries. Instead of heading home, he matched his pace to hers.
Be sure to check out the hooks by other great writers in the Book Hooks blog hop.
And if you don’t have your copy of Alien Contact for Runaway Moms, what are you waiting for?