I love this book. The inspiration for this story goes to Elizabeth Smart. We were living in Utah when she was
kidnapped and recovered nine long months later. My own children were greatly affected by her story, as was the world. We all looked for her, and prayed that she would be found and returned to her family. And for months and months, we all feared the worst. My youngest daughter couldn't sleep in her own bed for fear that someone would break in and kidnap her while she slept. When Elizabeth was recovered, and the press swarmed all over her, I remember watching the coverage, with tears in my eyes, and wondering what she would be like in twenty years. And the premise for EDGE was born.
Here is the opening scene for my hero, Cache Calder, the photojournalist who captured a picture of my heroine, Amelia Bennett, when she was recovered. That picture went viral and jumpstarted his career. Now we are twenty years later and he is in a completely different place. A very dark and wounded place.
What fascinates me about these two characters is how their lives were forever changed and connected by one incident. A photograph.
Cache Calder hobbled to his front door, a crutch under his left arm. He was going to kill the son of a bitch on the other side. Why was it so much to ask to be left the hell alone? He yanked open the door to find his poodle of an editor, Tom Passey. “What do you want?”
Tom pushed his way into the apartment. “If you’d answer your blasted phone, I wouldn’t have had to trek all the way across Manhattan to tell you.” Tom looked around the dim and dirty apartment. “Wow. I’d heard you’d gone into cave-mode, but this…is disturbing.” He kicked an empty pizza box out of his way and continued toward the drape-shrouded windows.
“Get the hell out of here, Tom.” Cache held the door open, using the doorknob to keep himself upright.
Tom flung the curtains wide and turned with a dramatic flair. Cache averted his eyes as the sun sliced like fire through his brain.
“Fell off the wagon, huh?” Tom surveyed the sea of Chinese takeout containers rivaling the discarded pizza boxes. He wrinkled his nose and fingered the edge of a Styrofoam box containing leftover petrified chili cheese fries. “What happened to your health nut regime?”
“Can’t find a health food store that delivers,” Cache grumbled. Obviously Tom wasn’t going to leave until he had his say. Cache pushed the door shut. Pain radiated up his leg, and he shook with the effort it took to
stay on his feet. He limped to the recliner, sank into the cushions, and tossed the crutch to the floor, feeling every tense and aching muscle in his forty-two year old body sigh with relief.
“Cache, I know that the last few months have been tough, but it’s time you got back to work. World Events needs you.”
Cache glared at Tom standing there without any effort, dressed in a navy Versace pinstriped suit, his dark hair slicked back, the top buttons of his paisley silk shirt left purposely undone. What did this pompous piece of leftover runway model know about how tough the last few months had been? Tom hadn’t been in the Middle East when the insurgent’s bomb had exploded. He hadn’t watched helplessly as his friends had been blown to pieces.
He hadn’t been cursed with surviving.
Ask anything that you would like to know about this story and what went into the actual writing of it. Over the next seven days, I will be picking three lucky commenters who will receive a free digital copy of EDGE on it's release day. The winners will be announced on Monday, March 18th.
So let the questions and comments begin.