I’m so sorry to bother you but I’ve been all over the site and searching through the “I’m looking for” options with no results. Maybe I’m missing it!
I’ve just signed up to view news from the IA Facebook site. There is a Facebook and Blog post titled “Nevada’s Snippet Will Be Posted on the Blog” at https://ilona-andrews.com/nevadas-snippet-will-be-posted-on-the-blog/ and I’ve dug around on the blog for any postings several days after but no luck. I found a link to what I think was the location from GoodReads but the end page is a 404 error. Is there any chance that I can find what appears to be a great snippet and catch up? Here’s the text from the GoodReads site (comments section): “(EDIT: Here’s another long snippet of Catalina coming home after a hard day to a kitchen filled with family including the 8,5 months pregnant Nevada. There’s also a glimpse of Rogan… https://ilona-andrews.com/snippet-bribe-youre-my-favorite-truthseeker/ )”.
I tried to do any and all research to find it on my own to avoid embarrassment and public shaming in front of the BDH but to no avail. Thank you so much in advance for the help!LaVonne
Sometimes we write snippets for the readers, usually because they request it, but those snippets are then discarded. That was a fun, slightly sappy snippet, which was never meant to be in the novel. It was fan service. 🙂
Unless the snippet is specifically marked with the book’s title and heading EXCERPT, everything is subject to change and the content of the snippet shouldn’t be taken as being representative of that novel. Unfortunately, shortly after that snippet was posted someone left a very long review of EMERALD BLAZE on Goodreads blasting the book based on the contents of the snippet. The review has been taken down for whatever reason, but I’m guessing several people have read it.
So we let the snippet run its course and took it down. We need to figure out a better way to segregate fan service fun stuff from the actual books. This is part of the reason when people ask us for specific scenes, we usually say no. I can offer you the snippet of pregnant Nevada from the actual book, but it doesn’t have Rogan’s reaction to pregnancy. I think you could probably hunt it down on Facebook fan group.
I walked into the kitchen. The whole family had gathered around the oversized dining room table. Bern, my oldest cousin, big, broad shouldered, with tousled hair that couldn’t decide if it was light brown or dark blond. Leon next to him, a sharp grin on his face. Arabella, looking surly, her long blonde hair curled into ringlets.
On the other side of Bern, at the head of the table, Grandma Frida loaded her taco. Thin, bird-boned, with a halo of platinum curls and a hint of machine grease at her hairline, she saw me and winked. On her left, Mom scooped mango salsa on her plate. Dark haired and bronze skinned, the only person in the family with darker skin than me, Mom used to be athletic and hard. Her last tour robbed her of the full use of her left leg. Even after two surgeries, her knee still hurt. Next to her Nevada picked up a pickle, dipped it into honey, and stuck half of it into her mouth.
“Eww,” Arabella said. “Someone take that away from her.”
Nevada squinted at her. Most of the pregnancy books I read warned to expect mood swings in the last trimester. Nevada was forty weeks pregnant and cool as a cucumber. She claimed she’d put on forty pounds, which didn’t slow her down any, and if she had mood swings, we sure as hell hadn’t seen them. She was her calm, sometimes scary, self, and the look she gave Arabella would have given the five Primes I’d met today a serious pause.
“Touch my pickles and die.”
I sat into the chair next to Nevada. She reached over and patted my back. Leon must have brought everyone up to speed on our monster adventure and race to the MII.
Arabella squinted back. “You’re almost nine months pregnant. Shouldn’t you be soft, and happy, and glowing? When are we gonna see some glow?”
Arabella clearly had a death wish.
Nevada finished her pickle spear and licked honey off her fingertips. “I’m the size of a house, the kid inside me keeps kicking me in the kidneys, I have to pee every five minutes, my legs cramp, and I can’t get out of bed by myself. I have to roll to the side like a walrus, which is harder right now since my husband is somewhere in the Russian Empire and he isn’t there to steady me. And how was your day of being young, beautiful, skinny, and carefree? Why aren’t you glowing?”
Arabella stuck her tongue out and turned back to her plate. Something was wrong.
“What happened?” I asked her.
Arabella rolled her eyes. “I can’t get any privacy in this family.”
No, you don’t. “What happened?”
“Some guy rear-ended me on Wilcrest Drive.”
The collective chewing stopped.
“Are you okay?” Nevada asked.
“I’m okay, Baby is okay, he just bounced off my bumper.”
“Damn right he did,” Grandma Frida said between bites. “That’s 7.5 mm ballistic steel.”
Arabella loved her red Mercedes. We bought it for her used, and she had been in three accidents since getting her license. Now it was four. After our warehouse was attacked by an elite mercenary team, Grandma Frida tried to convince her to switch to something more “sensible”, but my sister refused, since Grandma Frida’s idea of sensible was a tank. Grandma settled for upgrading the Mercedes to VPAM 7 armor. She upgraded the engine, too, to compensate for the added weight and now the Mercedes sounded like a pack of hungry lions.
“What were you doing out on Wilcrest?” Mom asked.
“I wanted Oyster Nachos from Cajun Kitchen.”
Nevada’s eyes glazed over for a second. “Oh, that does sound good.”
“I’ll get you some next time,” Arabella said.
Leon dropped his fork on the table and shook his hands. “What happened with the accident?”
“Nothing happened. The guy who came out had slicked back blond hair, like he was some sort of greaser. He got out of the car and I thought he was going to be nice to me because I curled my hair and had a sundress on. And he came out looked at his grill, and then he grabbed his hair which looked stupid and started screaming that it was an aftermarket grill. He accused me of driving my mom’s car, not knowing how to drive, called me the C word. And then his friends in the car were laughing.”
“So he just screamed at you?” Nevada leaned forward, her expression focused.
Three years ago, Arabella would have exploded. She would have changed shape right there in front of the Cajun Kitchen, stomped on that Tahoe, and rode it like skateboard up and down the street. We had dodged a giant bullet.
“And what did you do?” Nevada asked.
Arabella sighed. “You want to know what I did? Nothing. I stood there like a moron and let him scream at me. I don’t even know why I did that. I’m not a pushover person.”
“What did the driver look like?” I asked.
“I don’t know, I didn’t look at him that well. Blond, well built, jock type, probably twenty-five, twenty-eight, between 160 and 180 lbs, about five foot ten, clean shaven, black T-shirt with a grey outline of Texas on it, khaki cargo shorts, carrot red Nikes with white laces, a fake Rolex. And not a good fake Rolex, either. He was driving a black Chevy Tahoe, maybe 2012 or so, with a small dent in the bumper on the driver side. There were three other people in the car.”
“Did you take a pic?” I asked.
“No,” Arabella squeezed out through clenched teeth. “Like I said, I stood there and let him yell at me. He didn’t even give me his insurance. Since he kept screaming about his grill, I told him he could sell the knock off Rolex he was wearing to pay for a new one. He started cussing, and I said that we needed to get the cops involved. He just drove off. It was a random thing. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We were talking about Nevada. When is Connor coming home?”
Really? That was a low blow.
A week ago, Connor got word that one of the soldiers he served with got himself entangled in a kidnapping in Russia. He was part of the rescue team, which hadn’t come back to base. Peter was one of the sixteen soldiers who made it out of the Belize jungle with Connor. My brother-in-law would do anything for them, but Nevada could be due any day, so he’d hesitated. And my pregnant sister practically pushed him into the plane to the Russian Empire to go and rescue the rescue team. We hadn’t heard anything since.
“Arabella,” Mom said in her sergeant voice.
Arabella looked at her plate.
“You’ll know when I know,” Nevada said. “He’ll handle it and come home.”
And of course, Rogan handles it and does, just in time. Because he is that kind of a guy. We wouldn’t let him miss the birth of his baby, never fear.
For those interested, Oyster Nachos is a real thing in Houston. No idea how it tastes, but I’m guessing it’s yummy.