It’s been a strange start to 2026. After struggling with the plot, my writing, and the overwhelming political realities for a year, I finished my latest work in progress. After debating with my muse, I changed a few chapters and cut about four thousand words in the middle. Then, the last five thousand words — the big showdown, if you will — came quite naturally. I wrote seven days a week to reach the finish line, only to learn that my publishing house doesn't accept new submissions. I admit the news hit me hard. Since 2008, I had only published with this one publisher, and I was happy with how they handled sales and paid royalties. Now, I am left with a finished story and must decide whether to find a new publisher or self-publish. It's a big decision, and I would appreciate your input on what I should do and the pros and cons of each option.

In the meantime, I would like to share an excerpt from my last published book, Dirty Works.

Just when you think you have found the perfect match, you may find yourself bursting into flames.
 
Excerpt

Nicolas left his hideout cautiously. There was no way of knowing how many burglars he was up against. The carpet under his bare feet was soft and warm, swallowing every sound. He had crossed the room when he became aware of a shadow at the next door, which led to the parlor, Mr. Hollander’s favor-ite abode. The aroma of expensive tobacco was in the air, mingling with that of leather and faintly of flowers. He noticed that there were sandy shoe traces from at least two persons on the otherwise spotless carpet. The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, a man attacked him from the right. Nicolas blocked the man’s arm, twisted it around and thrust the man face-first against the wall. The impact stunned him amid the screams of pain. He went down and lay unmoving. Nicolas let go of the man’s arm to face the second opponent, who aimed a pistol at him. Instinctively, Nicolas turned away, and the projectile passed him soundlessly. Before the shooter could pull the trigger again, Nicolas closed the gap, kicked the man in the shin, and twisted the gun out of his hand, turning his body into him. It had not yet reached the floor when the man boxed Nicolas in the kidney twice so forcefully it was both hurtful and stunning. Gasping for air, Nicolas rammed his elbow into the attacker’s midsection, gaining the advantage to turn and punch the man in the face, twice, three times, driving him backward. His side hurt, but for the moment he had his eyes on his opponent and ignored the pain. Nicolas kicked the man’s knee, triggering a groan, then kicked higher at the man’s chest. The opponent hit the wall behind him, and Nicolas was upon him, hitting him hard in the face once again. The man’s defense crumbled—he couldn’t keep up his fists. Nicolas heard a voice calling out in shock behind him. Quickly he swiveled the injured man around him so that he was a shield against yet another silent bullet. A third man had crossed the threshold into the parlor. Wide-eyed and obviously surprised by the situation, he turned tail and ran back through the living room toward the side entrance of the house.

“Fuck!” Nicolas dropped the now unconscious intruder and pursued the third gangster on bare feet. He heard glass shatter with a deafening noise, as if the living room’s mighty candelabra had hit the floor.It was the glass cabinet. The shards lay scattered across the floor, glistening in the afternoon sunlight, too broadly spread to jump over. Nicolas was lucky he came to a skittering halt before stepping into the glass. “I don’t believe this!” Nicolas put his hands on his hips, catching his breath. He heard the third man run down the hall and leave the building, shouting an order in a language Nicolas didn’t understand.

On the way back to the intruders, he tore off the power line of a floor lamp and used it to tie up the two men. Both were unresponsive, and he had his first good look at them. They were both of Asian origin, solidly built, with hair cut so short their scalps shone through, in their late twenties. The second man he had beaten had a shiny silver dart in his chest. Nicolas refrained from touching it. He searched their pockets but didn’t find a passport or a wallet. He also did not find backpacks or bags to transport stolen goods. “What were you guys up to?” he murmured as he left them behind to search the house. On the way, he grabbed a phone from the hook to call the police.

When he couldn’t find any other intruders, he fetched a pair of shoes from the bedroom, a few clothes for Jacklyn and himself, and went to open the closet. “Hey, lady, good to see you.”

Jacklyn embraced him, sighing with relief. She looked up to him with a frown. “You look… chipper.”

“What did you expect? Your badass FBI agent knows howto use his fists.”

*

Find out more about my books at annraina.com

Follow me on Instagram ann_raina_author

Books are available at online bookstores.

Back to...writing!

 

 

As I've said here before, the summer months are usually slow for writing. I take notes, but I rarely sit down at my computer to work on a novel. Now that the days are shorter and the weather is rainy and windy, I have more time and enjoy sitting at my desk with a cup of coffee and my cat on my lap. I read what I’ve written so far and find my way back to the scenery.

FBI Agent Nicolas Hayes is confronted with a female serial killer who charms her victims, promotes their careers, and demands their devotion. When they fail her, she leaves them dead and looks for another man to manipulate. She has successfully evaded the FBI’s investigation thus far by changing states, locations, looks, and behavior.

It’ll be fun to write about how the FBI team deals with the case, and maybe even solves it in the end (Yes, I wrote stories in which the killer is not found in the end,)

Writing crime novels was never my goal when I started writing. I was more into science fiction and adventure, but when my muse suggested a loving couple and asked me what his profession might be, we agreed that a career agent in the FBI would be a perfect choice.

Here’s an excerpt from one of my previous novels, Famous Murders (book 2 in the series).

 

A killer on the loose, an FBI-agent in love, and a famous actor in danger.

After three murders in the Washington, DC, vicinity, the FBI Agents Hayes and Beckham are assigned to solve the case. Although the murders seem incoherent at first, it becomes clear that there are connections between them. It turns out that the murderer is far from having reached the end of his deadly list.

Aside from the investigation, Agent Hayes has to find a way to get on with his demanding girlfriend and her challenging love games. Can he do both and not lose himself?

Excerpt

“What are these?” Nick asked when she picked up a pair of unique handcuffs.

“Hands front.”

“As you say.” He held up his hands to be bound.

“These are handcuffs designed for hanging. They don’t squeeze your wrists, but spread the pressure on the inner wrists and along your palms.”

“Great. Does all that stuff come with a manual?”

“Step on the stool and reach above you. There’s a protruding beam.”

He looked up. “Don’t say you got that prepared while I was in the shower!”

“It wasn’t that much work, and I found a ladder around here. Or do you think Richard would pull out stacks from down here to have the rest tumble on him?”

“From what you told me, I wouldn’t take him to be a man to bother with carrying firewood.”

“Point taken.” Jacklyn made a face. “Now, reach for the beam and put the chain above it.”

Nicolas stretched to get it done. He tested the beam to carry his weight, and it held.

“Now, step down from the stool.”

“You want me to hang here? Like some piece of meat?” Nicolas breathed deeply when she didn’t budge and slowly stepped off the stool to find his toes hardly touching the sandy ground. “I’ve had more comfortable positions, that’s all.”

“You look ravishing, my lover. All those muscles are showing, and I’m free to kiss every one of them.”

“Not that I wouldn’t allow it at any other position.”

“That’s not the same.” She put the stool aside to brush her lips along his bare chest. “And now, let me show you why this is a perfect position.”

“Yeah, that argument will need some convincing elements. I already feel as if I’ll have arms as long as my legs.”

Jacklyn laughed merrily, and Nick knew he’d done something right. It was one thing to trust your partner. It was another to find true common joy.

“You’re still standing on your feet.”

“Toes. Only on my toes. What’re you doing?”

“Hmm, I’m thinking about heightening your pleasure by blindfolding you. Oh, I see, that’s a no-go. I understand.” She dropped what was in her hand and fetched a bowl with steaming water, two towels, and a razor. “That look on your face is worth the whole drive up here.”

“If you wanted to shave me, we could’ve stayed in the bathroom, right?”

“Not for this.” Apparently, Jacklyn took unearthly delight in lathering his chest and armpits to shave him smooth. “You don’t know how wet I am,” she whispered, smiling seductively. “Imagine me already dripping with expectation. I’m so hot for you I could touch myself now and come. Would you wanna watch?”

The razor elegantly swung toward his midsection before she put it beside the bowl to towel-dry his upper body.

Nick swallowed drily. “You would…you’re gonna…strip? Here?”

She opened his jeans and slowly peeled them down to his knees. Without losing eye contact, she rubbed her chin along the bulge and drew his boxer shorts toward his knees. Gently, still smiling the smile of impending delight, Jacklyn closed her lips around his member. He panted and looking down at her he realized he’d allow her to do anything with him if she caused him such pleasure.

Nick thought all body heat would immediately jump to his testicles. His buttocks clenched, but the way he stood left him no room to push forward and into her mouth. She licked him, stroked him with her teeth and slowly coaxed him up. Then she withdrew.

“Wow, Jacky, that’s some…vicious treatment!”

“Says the man who brings me to climax every time I sleep with him.” Jacklyn stroked along his trembling legs before returning to his cock and balls. “I think this is only fair. You make me a quivering mess, and I’m helpless in your arms.” She kissed his chest tenderly.

“Before long, my arms will be as stretched as Reed Richards’ in the Fantastic Four!”

Chuckling like only a woman could, Jacklyn made sure his arousal grew, no matter the precarious position. Her hands and mouth were on him, gently first, then harder until he stood erect and expecting. Again, she withdrew.

“Oh, come on, Jacky! Don’t…what the hell are you doing?”

Jacklyn lathered his pubic hair, then swung the razor around his quivering cock, changing his appearance profoundly.

“But—”

“Nick, only old men and those who never want to have sex have a jungle down here. All other men on this planet prefer this area neat and…” She cocked her head for a smile and impish expression. “Much easier to access for the rest of the toys I brought.”

Nick rolled his eyes heavenward, knowing she would get her way if he didn’t strongly object. Obviously, he’d missed that moment and now suffered from not speaking his mind in time. However, the feeling was strangely pleasurable, and Jacklyn was the most careful barber he could imagine. From the few insinuations she’d made during their conversations, he expected her to have experience.

When he looked down after Jacklyn was done, he felt alienated from his body. Since the days of adolescence, there had been pubic hair around his genitals. As if she understood his feeling of loss, Jacklyn caressed the soft, vulnerable skin with her lips and tongue and made him forget his regret in ten seconds. He was still hard, and the more she caressed him, the more he wanted off the hook and to carry her back to the bedroom, living room, or any other room in the cabin, just to sink his member into her.

Jacklyn opened her short morning gown, and he looked at her perfect nakedness.

“Like the look?”

He couldn’t help returning her playful smile. “I like everything about you, ma chérie, and you damn well know it. So…will you let me off the hook now?”

“No dice.” She placed the small stool in front of him, stepped on it, and touched his body with hers. “Like that feeling?”

Nick had always been a bad liar and denying his arousal when her hard nipples pressed against his chest was impossible. She caught his penis between their bodies and moved up and down slowly, one hand around his scrotum.

“Tell me, do you have plans for today?”

Nick’s laugh came out a strangled whisper because his mind couldn’t handle the sexual temptation and exchange of words at the same time. He was beyond desire and wanted release badly, but Jacklyn made sure he had no leeway to rub his body against hers and reach what she denied.

“Tell me. Is there anything on your list? Reading a book, maybe, or running a mile?” The question was accompanied by another, not so gentle, tug on his balls.

“Oh, ouch! Other than wanting to fuck you blind? No.” His panting grew louder. “Jacky, this is…torment.”

“Yeah, but a cockish way of torment, right? So fitting, this barn. I’m getting down on you dark and dirty until you can’t think of anything than being horny.”

“Got that accomplished, J, no question.”

“Don’t think you’re the only one aroused, G-man. You’re heating me up.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “All I want is to rub you so long until you scream out my name when you come.”

“That’s not that far away,” he said between clenched teeth, causing her to giggle.

“Ah, you can live like that for some time, believe me.”

“Don’t say you’ll let me—” He stopped to listen. “There’s someone out there!”

He had hardly spoken when a portly man rounded the corner to stop with his thumbs in his uniform pockets, looking concerned. He had a feisty face with a mustache and small eyes drawn to slits under his wide-brimmed hat.

* * *

Find my books at extasybooks.com,

have a look at my website annraina.com

and follow me on Instagram ann_raina_author

Summertime – More Reading Than Writing

 

 

The new book doesn't come together like a good plan by Hannibal Smith, but rather like the vague plans a trainee of the Colonel would make. The writing feels like I'm inventing the puzzle pieces as I go. Some fit and stay, while others are removed. The ones that fit help propel the storyline and create part of the picture. The serial killer, who had no qualms about killing her lovers before, finally meets a man she adores. She doesn't want to leave him, even though she might get caught if she stays. Meanwhile, FBI Agent Nicolas Hayes is in trouble because an old adversary is out to get him. While he’s busy trying to catch a killer and a slick opponent, his love life goes down the drain.

I try to piece together scenes that will help the heroes solve the crimes, but the warm weather keeps me from being at home. Summertime is usually meant for reading and less for writing. I love sitting in the sun with a good book and a cup of coffee. Sometimes, an unrelated story I read inspires another scene, so I keep a notebook and pen ready to write down any idea that comes to mind.

While I continue to work on the puzzle that is my work in progress, here’s an excerpt from my last published book, Dirty Work.

 

Just when you think you have found the perfect match, you may find yourself bursting into flames.

 
Excerpt

Nicolas left his hideout cautiously. There was no way of knowing how many burglars he was up against. The carpet under his bare feet was soft and warm, swallowing every sound. He had crossed the room when he became aware of a shadow at the next door, which led to the parlor, Mr. Hollander’s favorite abode. The aroma of expensive tobacco was in the air, mingling with that of leather and faintly of flowers. He noticed that there were sandy shoe traces from at least two persons on the otherwise spotless carpet. The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, a man attacked him from the right. Nicolas blocked the man’s arm, twisted it around and thrust the man face-first against the wall. The impact stunned him amid the screams of pain. He went down and lay unmoving. Nicolas let go of the man’s arm to face the second opponent, who aimed a pistol at him. Instinctively, Nicolas turned away, and the projectile passed him soundlessly. Before the shooter could pull the trigger again, Nicolas closed the gap, kicked the man in the shin, and twisted the gun out of his hand, turning his body into him. It had not yet reached the floor when the man boxed Nicolas in the kidney twice so forcefully it was both hurtful and stunning. Gasping for air, Nicolas rammed his elbow into the attacker’s midsection, gaining the advantage to turn and punch the man in the face, twice, three times, driving him backward. His side hurt, but for the moment he had his eyes on his opponent and ignored the pain. Nicolas kicked the man’s knee, triggering a groan, then kicked higher at the man’s chest. The opponent hit the wall behind him, and Nicolas was upon him, hitting him hard in the face once again. The man’s defense crumbled—he couldn’t keep up his fists. Nicolas heard a voice calling out in shock behind him. Quickly he swiveled the injured man around him so that he was a shield against yet another silent bullet. A third man had crossed the threshold into the parlor. Wide-eyed and obviously surprised by the situation, he turned tail and ran back through the living room toward the side entrance of the house.

“Fuck!” Nicolas dropped the now unconscious intruder and pursued the third gangster on bare feet. He heard glass shatter with a deafening noise, as if the living room’s mighty candelabra had hit the floor. It was the glass cabinet. The shards lay scattered across the floor, glistening in the afternoon sunlight, too broadly spread to jump over. Nicolas was lucky he came to a skittering halt before stepping into the glass. “I don’t believe this!” Nicolas put his hands on his hips, catching his breath. He heard the third man run down the hall and leave the building, shouting an order in a language Nicolas didn’t understand.

On the way back to the intruders, he tore off the power line of a floor lamp and used it to tie up the two men. Both were unresponsive, and he had his first good look at them. They were both of Asian origin, solidly built, with hair cut so short their scalps shone through, in their late twenties. The second man he had beaten had a shiny silver dart in his chest. Nicolas refrained from touching it. He searched their pockets but didn’t find a passport or a wallet. He also did not find backpacks or bags to transport stolen goods. “What were you guys up to?” he murmured as he left them behind to search the house. On the way, he grabbed a phone from the hook to call the police.

When he couldn’t find any other intruders, he fetched a pair of shoes from the bedroom, a few clothes for Jacklyn and himself, and went to open the closet. “Hey, lady, good to see you.”

Jacklyn embraced him, sighing with relief. She looked up to him with a frown. “You look… chipper.”

“What did you expect? Your badass FBI agent knows how to use his fists.”

***

For more visit my website: annraina.com

 

New Book by Ann Raina - Dirty Work

 

Even though this is the 12th book in the series, I'm still thrilled that my main characters are experiencing another breathtaking story, as my editors put it. Nicolas Hayes must catch a strange, very unusual killer, and Jacklyn faces an unknown group of hostile people who try to kidnap her more than once.

My muse came up with the story, and we sat down with coffee and cookies to work out the details and how the killer would evolve. I like the bad guys to be smart, ahead of the police who are chasing them. It's the challenge that makes writing worthwhile. I like the brainstorming best—when we think about the steps the killer takes, but also the investigation and what the FBI finds out to identify the person and go on the hunt.

It's also wonderful to write the storyline that involves the personal lives of Nicolas and Jacklyn, but also Nicolas's colleagues and friends. They have all grown on me... go figure. LOL

 

For more information about all my books in the series, please, visit my homepage www.annraina.org.

 

Excerpt from Dirty Work

(available at online bookstores, in print at amazon.com)

 

Nicolas left his hideout cautiously. There was no way of knowing how many burglars he was up against. The carpet under his bare feet was soft and warm, swallowing every sound. He had crossed the room when he became aware of a shadow at the next door, which led to the parlor, Mr. Hollander’s favorite abode. The aroma of expensive tobacco was in the air, mingling with that of leather and faintly of flowers. He noticed that there were sandy shoe traces from at least two persons on the otherwise spotless carpet. The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, a man attacked him from the right. Nicolas blocked the man’s arm, twisted it around and thrust the man face-first against the wall. The impact stunned him amid the screams of pain. He went down and lay unmoving. Nicolas let go of the man’s arm to face the second opponent, who aimed a pistol at him. Instinctively, Nicolas turned away, and the projectile passed him soundlessly. Before the shooter could pull the trigger again, Nicolas closed the gap, kicked the man in the shin, and twisted the gun out of his hand, turning his body into him. It had not yet reached the floor when the man boxed Nicolas in the kidney twice so forcefully it was both hurtful and stunning. Gasping for air, Nicolas rammed his elbow into the attacker’s midsection, gaining the advantage to turn and punch the man in the face, twice, three times, driving him backward. His side hurt, but for the moment he had his eyes on his opponent and ignored the pain. Nicolas kicked the man’s knee, triggering a groan, then kicked higher at the man’s chest. The opponent hit the wall behind him, and Nicolas was upon him, hitting him hard in the face once again. The man’s defense crumbled—he couldn’t keep up his fists. Nicolas heard a voice calling out in shock behind him. Quickly he swiveled the injured man around him so that he was a shield against yet another silent bullet. A third man had crossed the threshold into the parlor. Wide-eyed and obviously surprised by the situation, he turned tail and ran back through the living room toward the side entrance of the house.

“Fuck!” Nicolas dropped the now unconscious intruder and pursued the third gangster on bare feet. He heard glass shatter with a deafening noise, as if the living room’s mighty candelabra had hit the floor. It was the glass cabinet. The shards lay scattered across the floor, glistening in the afternoon sunlight, too broadly spread to jump over. Nicolas was lucky he came to a skittering halt before stepping into the glass. “I don’t believe this!” Nicolas put his hands on his hips, catching his breath. He heard the third man run down the hall and leave the building, shouting an order in a language Nicolas didn’t understand.

On the way back to the intruders, he tore off the power line of a floor lamp and used it to tie up the two men. Both were unresponsive, and he had his first good look at them. They were both of Asian origin, solidly built, with hair cut so short their scalps shone through, in their late twenties. The second man he had beaten had a shiny silver dart in his chest. Nicolas refrained from touching it. He searched their pockets but didn’t find a passport or a wallet. He also did not find backpacks or bags to transport stolen goods. “What were you guys up to?” he murmured as he left them behind to search the house. On the way, he grabbed a phone from the hook to call the police.

When he couldn’t find any other intruders, he fetched a pair of shoes from the bedroom, a few clothes for Jacklyn and himself, and went to open the closet. “Hey, lady, good to see you.”

Jacklyn embraced him, sighing with relief. She looked up to him with a frown. “You look... chipper.”

“What did you expect? Your badass FBI agent knows how to use his fists.”

* * *