Title: Pinned
Series: Randy Cox, Book One
Author: Liz Faraim
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 03/28/2023
Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: Female/Female
Length: 94400
Genre: Contemporary Thriller, contemporary, crime/thriller, lesbian, trans, over 40, warehouse, industrial accident, police, conspiracy, death
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Description
“Rowdy” Randy Cox, a woman staring down the barrel of retirement, is a curmudgeonly blue-collar butch lesbian, who has been single for twenty years and is trying to date again.
At the end of a long, exhausting shift, Randy finds her supervisor, Bryant, pinned and near death at the warehouse where they work. Upon the news of his death, she battles to find a balance between the joys of an exciting new relationship and the struggles of processing her supervisor’s unexpected passing.
The manner of her supervisor’s death leaves Randy unsettled and suspicious as she gets sucked into both a criminal investigation led by the police and an administrative investigation conducted by her employer.
As Randy seeks the truth, trust erodes, key friendships are strengthened, and more loss awaits her.
Pinned
Liz Faraim © 2023
All Rights Reserved
The alarm clock on my cell phone wailed and I slapped at the touch screen to make it stop. Squinting, I switched on the small bedside lamp. Two a.m. had come quickly. I lay in bed for a moment, listening to the rain fall, waiting for my gluey mouth and burning eyes to clear.
Eventually Porkchop began clawing under the door and howling. I got out of bed with a grumble, shuffled down the hall and through the shadowy living room with Porkchop underfoot, tripping me along the way, and scooped some food into his bowl.
“If you trip and kill me, you won’t get fed, ya dummy.” My voice came out in a rattling croak.
I worked on clearing my throat, then stood in the darkness, listening to him crunch his kibbles. I had lived in that house for fifteen years and didn’t need light to show me the way. Cold seeped from the floor through my socks and chilly air nipped at my ears, but I didn’t bother turning on the heater because I’d be leaving for work soon.
After a quick shower to wake up, I swiped at the fogged-up mirror with my hand and ran a brush through my salt-and-pepper hair. Deodorant and face lotion were next before digging around in the hamper for the pants I had worn to work the day before.
Back in my bedroom I put on clean boxer briefs, thermal underwear, and the filthy jeans. Next up was a thermal top, a turtleneck, and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The shirt had been a heather gray once, but years of wearing it to work had made a permanent brown stain across the belly, and the cuffs of the sleeves were badly frayed.
I slid my feet into a fresh pair of thick wool socks and sat down on the bed to lace up my work boots. They were scuffed beyond recognition, and I was on my third pair of replacement laces, but the soles were still good. To top it all off, I slid a black beanie over my damp hair and pulled on a thick canvas work jacket.
Clomping out to the kitchen, I smiled as I was greeted by the smell of coffee. Technology had come a long way since I was first starting out, and the programmable coffee maker was by far one of my favorite things. I flicked the light switch and nearly jumped out of my skin because of a loud grinding noise. I shut the switch off and the sound stopped. I flipped the switch next to it and squinted as the overhead lights came on.
“Who installs a damn garbage disposal switch so close to a light switch?” My heart glubbed along at double time from the scare.
I poured some half and half into a travel mug, then filled it almost to the top with coffee, before dumping in three heaping spoons of sugar. I gave it a stir, snapped on the lid, and took a sip, scorching my tongue.
“Dammit.”
Mee-rowww.
“When will I learn, Porky? I burn my smart-ass mouth every morning.”
Porkchop went back to his kibbles. Cronch purr cronch purr cronch purr.
I pulled out two shelled hardboiled eggs from the container I kept in the fridge. The smell of sulfur filled my nose as I leaned against the counter and ate the eggs, thinking about how I’d run into Darcy the night before, glad we had reconnected.
“Wasn’t it good to see Darcy?”
Porky didn’t respond. The last bite of egg gone, I shoved a handful of smoked almonds into my mouth, grabbed a pouch of Pop-Tarts from the cabinet, and headed out of the door.
“Bye, Porkchop. Guard the house.”
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Liz is a recovering workaholic who has mastered multi-tasking, including balancing a day job, solo parenting, writing, and finding some semblance of a social life. In past lives she has been a soldier, a bartender, a shoe salesperson, an assistant museum curator, and even a driving instructor.
Liz lives in the East Bay Area of California, and enjoys exploring nature with her son.
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