You do know you can pre-order it, right? And that you can save $1.05 if you do it now? Just wanted to make sure…

I should have my new computer installed tonight. I’m crossing my fingers the Geek Squad had no problems getting all my files and emails from my old hard drive. I’m thinking only positive thoughts. The alternative will make me cry. Not really, but it would be hugely inconvenient if they can’t!

Anyway, back to Five Ways. Where’d that title come from? I really don’t know. I think one of my muses, the Mr. among the three, came up with it, hoping to make me blush. He should know better by now. Once when I was mad at my daughter, I shouted down the aisle at the grocery store, “Honey, was that supers or ultras?” as I shook a box of tampons at her. Ahhh, such sweet memories.

I don’t think you’ll have any complaints about this book—other than the fact my cops aren’t wearing Wranglers and cowboy hats. But hey, they are cops with cuffs and badges. Next best thing, right?

Meet the boys, ladies!

Two days later, Jackson sat at his usual table with his buddies in The Emerald Tavern, eyeing Marti’s flushed face as she worked the bar. She hadn’t glanced his way except once when he’d first arrived.

Things had been strained between them since he’d read the note. Although they’d gone through the motions, the part of their relationship that made it so different than anything he’d experienced before was absent, crushed beneath the strain of the damn list.

“So’s the honeymoon over?”

Jackson shot Craig with a stinging glare then scanned the rest of his friends. Thursday was the one day of the week where their schedules allowed them to meet. They slouched in their seats. Condensation glistened on the sides of their beers. Not something that happened often because the first beer was always eagerly consumed.

Absent were the rowdy laughter and crude jokes. Not a single gibe had been aimed his way, even though his attention was snagged, as usual, by the curvy brunette behind the counter.

Beau McIntyre cleared his throat. “Craig said you needed some help with something.” Humor glinted in his slanted, dark brown eyes, but his features were difficult to read. Although he was only half Asian, the other half African American, inscrutable was still a word that fit his neutral expression. If he was laughing inside, no hint shown in his dark eyes as he watched Jackson.

Jackson glanced at Craig, frowning, wondering if he’d spilled the beans about The List. “I don’t need help with a goddamn thing.”

“Yeah,” Beau said, his tone dripping sarcasm. “I can see things are peachy between you and Marti. She hasn’t been to our table even once. I’d say she’s avoiding us.”

“She’s avoidin’ me.”
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