Karin Tabke | Author of Contemporary, Historical, and Paranormal Romance: Author of Sensual Romance
Karin Tabke | Author of Contemporary, Historical, and Paranormal Romance: Author of Sensual Romance


Final Five!!!!
March 18th, 2009

 

Congratulations!!!

Sorry it took so long, but I had to get two TWO discrepancy judges!  There were too many ties!  But here you go—the five finalists who go to Amy Pierpont!  Now, here’s the Scooby on that.  You have two weeks from today, which is April 1st!  To get me your ten pages and a cover letter.  The ten pages are to be formatted thusly: 10 pages, Courier 12 or TNR 12, one inch margins all of the way around, and no more than 25 lines per page.  One page cover letter, that can be single-spaced.  Send to KLTabke@aol.com with your name and First Line Finalist in the subject line.

 Again, congrats to the five finalist!  I’m really excited about these!

 1. It came to Nick Holloway, gradually, that he was lying on cold, hard concrete. Something above held him fast. His shirt was hooked on the undercarriage of a car.

He managed to get loose—tearing his new Rag & Bone combat shirt in the process—-and crawled out from under. Enveloped by the stench of motor oil, shaking and sick, Nick finally realized where he was: the two-car garage beneath the Aspen House.

The last thing he remembered was talking to a guy named Mars at the “Soul Mate” wrap party. He’d never seen Mars before. It was an exclusive wrap party—-just Brianne Cross, the last four contestants, himself, and the crew. But Nick remembered talking to the mysterious Mars, the two of them sitting on the back deck, the movement of Castle Creek rushing underneath the slats making him dizzy.

As Nick used the Escalade’s side mirror to pull himself to his feet, he noticed the bright yellow tape stretched across the entrance to the garage. Printed on the tape were the words: CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS.

A policeman stood in the driveway just beyond the tape, staring at him, his mouth open in shock.

2. The man slouched on the edge of the bed, his fingers clutching the deadly syringe hidden in his jacket pocket. Despite the timpani drum pounding in his chest and echoing in his ears, his face was expressionless.

He stared at the naked, unsuspecting woman asleep on the bed, her slender body seductive even in slumber, her blonde hair a halo on the pillow.

The guilt gnawing at the man’s gut did not spring from having been inside her, making love to her earlier in the night, but from what he knew was inside her heart and mind and soul. That knowledge made killing her wrong—wrong on so many levels. Sadly, he had known it was wrong for a long time, but he had been powerless to change the course of events set in motion all those weeks ago.

What kind of monster had he become?

Somewhere along the way, the compass of his conscience had lost the true magnetic north of morality.

His fingers tightened around the syringe. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, releasing an avalanche of regret, remorse, and resignation; but still, a mountain of sorrow crushed his chest.

The woman stirred. The pools of molten, dark chocolate that were her eyes suddenly opened, and she smiled up at him.

3. The warmth of the desert vanished under a shroud of bone-chilling twilight. And Jackson Neale, cautious now after four bloody years of war, slipped deeper into its murky, concealing cloak. Anyone he’d befriended on the trek westward from Virginia could be counted on one hand, and he knew with absolute certainty that the person riding into his camp tonight wasn’t one of them.
Only a fool would enter another’s camp without hailing first, and this brazen bastard displayed a boldness that truly amazed him.

Jackson lowered his hand to his hip, calm assurance enveloping him as his fingers slipped around the worn, wooden grip of a well-oiled Army Colt. Patiently, he waited as the rider guided a handsome Bay straight toward the saddlebags near the fire; the glow from the low flames highlighting expensive leather chaps and a set of Mexican spurs strapped snuggly around dusty, silver-tipped boots. And despite the chill of the encroaching night, his evening caller’s black jacket hung open, revealing a holstered revolver buckled low around a denim-covered hip.

With a smooth dismount, the rider dropped to the ground beside the saddlebags. All caution inside Jackson evaporated the moment the stranger lowered to one knee. Seeing his chance, he bolted from the shadows and rammed his shoulder full-force into the unsuspecting thief. Momentum drove them both to the ground.

In an instant, Jackson pinned the body against the sandy soil, his full weight anchoring the bastard into submission.

4. He brought four items to their first date: a spray of orange roses, because he knew they were her favorite flower; a duffle bag containing a change of clothing; three condoms to capture any stray DNA; and a freshly sharpened hunting knife.

With anticipation fizzing through his veins—as effervescent as the finest batch of imported champagne—he plowed through the sprinkler mist dampening the walkway and took the steep steps to her porch two at a time. The sheath strapped to his ankle pinched with each step. Trying to ignore the irritating sensation, he concentrated on the sprinkler mist cooling his face. The tactic had a secondary, even more welcome effect, it curbed the eagerness.

Upon reaching the cover of the porch he shook the moisture from his hair and paused to look around. She had a beautiful view up here on Fancher Heights, below—the lights of Wenatchee spread from east to west in a glittering cobweb of diamond dust.

Her neighbors were set well back, hidden behind lush borders of emerald arborvitaes. Secluded upon this bluff, estranged from her nearest neighbor by a leafy barricade of sound-deadening vegetation, the setting couldn’t have been more perfect. Nobody would hear her scream.

She must have been hovering behind the frosted glass of her entry way, because the door flew open before his finger even touched the bell.

“You’re wet,” she said, her cherry-bright lips twisting in a moue of distress as she leaned in to brush at the offending sprinkles garnishing his denim jacket.

5. They had been in the interrogation room for twelve hours straight. He hadn’t left, not even to get coffee or a donut or to tag team in his partner for that whole good cop-bad-cop game. Mia’s eyes were dangerously heavy and though she had propped her chin in alternate hands for the last few hours, both of her biceps were beginning to feel like three day old spaghetti. Across the table, the detective stared that same level stare, the green of his eyes striking her like a backhanded slap.
“I’ve already told you,” she said, exhaustion slurring the edges of her speech,” my name isn’t Bridget, it’s Mia.”
A days’ growth of beard shadowed his jaw, the only sign that he was any worse for wear from their time in this cinder block hell hole.
“Each one of these stacks is a list of charges from a different state,” he explained softly, almost sympathetically, steepling his hands over the piles of paper that ran the length of the table, “and each stack carries at least a thirty year stretch.”
Mia’s eyes widened, racing across the dull formica as she counted the stacks, stopping at the mugshot they had shown her during the first hour – of a woman who looked exactly like her.
“I know these past few years that we’ve had our ups and downs,” he said, leaning in and lifting a hand as if…as if he were going to reach for her, “but you’re in serious trouble, and I need you to work with me…let me help you.”
This was madness – when she’d left the house this morning, on her way to a nothing job in a nothing town in Nowhere, Southern California, she’d never imagined she would end up in a Los Angeles police station by nightfall, being grilled by a man that was either crazy or wrong or both – and seriously unwilling to admit it.
“Bridg…” he started, but she interrupted, pushing up from her seat fast enough to send the chair under her clattering back against the harshly reflective tile. Before she could find her voice, his was there again, filling the impersonal cold of the air between them with a desperate, heated timbre edged in something raw and smoky; “…you have her wedding ring on your key chain.”

Thank you to everyone who participated ad to all of the cheerleaders out there!

Karin*

18 comments to “Final Five!!!!”

  1. bria
    March 18th, 2009 at 6:01 pm · Link

    Thanks Karin! This has been so much fun and I really appreciate you running it for us.

    Good luck to the finalists!



  2. HollyD
    March 18th, 2009 at 6:22 pm · Link

    Congrats to the final five!



  3. raine
    March 18th, 2009 at 6:29 pm · Link

    Thanks, Karin, for running the contest again.
    And congrats and good luck, finalists! 🙂



  4. Ginny Glass
    March 18th, 2009 at 6:33 pm · Link

    Thank you for a wonderful contest and I am honored to have participated with such talent!



  5. Amanda Murphy
    March 18th, 2009 at 6:51 pm · Link

    Congratulations to the winners! These all look like romantic suspense or thrillers. Is this a new trend to look out for?



  6. Theresa
    March 18th, 2009 at 7:11 pm · Link

    Whoo-hoo,

    This was wonderful news to return home to after an endless, frustrating day at work. Thank you Karin for this wonderful opportunity– by now, after four first line contests, your karma chips chest must be overflowing.

    And a special thank you to Karin’s hard-pressed judges, without whom the contest would never have happened.

    The competition this time around was fierce, the talent stronger than ever before…some of my favorite lines fell by the wayside. Luckily, I found the authors’ websites and have been able to get my fix on the stories they hooked me on during these last ten weeks.

    Hats off to everyone who entered– from first to last round– you all deserve a big round of applause.



  7. J. Carson Black
    March 18th, 2009 at 8:37 pm · Link

    Thanks, Karin, for having this wonderful contest. And thanks to all the judges. I’m amazed by the fantastic company I’ve been privileged to keep. I still don’t know how the judges managed to pick just five—there were so many great lines and paragraphs, I’m not surprised it took two extra judges!



  8. Elisabeth Naughton
    March 18th, 2009 at 8:37 pm · Link

    Congrats to the finalists! It’s been a hoot watching this contest the last few months.

    Way to go (again) on a contest well run, Karin!



  9. chrisk
    March 19th, 2009 at 12:04 am · Link

    Best of luck to all the finalists – hope the editor loves them.



  10. Marion Gillespie
    March 19th, 2009 at 3:40 am · Link

    Congratulations and all the best to the final five. 🙂 Karin, thanks so much for this opportunity, I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge. Marion



  11. Diane Garner
    March 19th, 2009 at 7:27 am · Link

    Karin and all the judges,
    Thanks for this great contest. I’m still in shock that I survived 13 weeks of suspense to be one of the lucky final five. The competition was so tough, I don’t know how the final judges made a decision so I feel very fortunate and honored. And to everyone who participated from the very beginning: NEVER, NEVER GIVE UP THE DREAM!!!



  12. Theresa
    March 19th, 2009 at 7:51 am · Link

    Hey Karin,

    Could you refresh my memory. At this point in the competition can we tweak the original lines before sending the ten pages in? Or do we need to stick with the original lines that got us here?

    Thanks again for this wonderful opportunity!



  13. Karin Tabke
    March 19th, 2009 at 12:54 pm · Link

    tweak away!



  14. Laurie K
    March 19th, 2009 at 2:58 pm · Link

    Good Luck everyone!!!



  15. Cele
    March 19th, 2009 at 7:46 pm · Link

    Congrats to all the winners… and the lucky us who look forward to watching each story unfold.
    Karin thank you for your interest, your hard work, for your perseverance – good luck all.



  16. Randy
    March 20th, 2009 at 7:41 pm · Link

    Congratulations to all the finalists…and a HUGE THANKS to Karin for running this contest. What a unique experience it was–taking a week to agonize, trim, re-write, agonize, re-think, scratch my head, agonize…all to arrive at one measly sentence. I’ll admit, the exercise made the opening to my WIP much stronger!



  17. Cindy Nord
    March 23rd, 2009 at 1:44 am · Link

    Karin,
    Thanks goes out to you and your fabulous judges for hosting such an invigorating, exciting contest. This truly helped make the ‘winter of 2008-2009’ more along much more swiftly. I’m thrilled my work made it into your final five…again, much thanks!

    Warmest,
    🙂
    Cindy Nord



  18. Cindy Carroll
    March 24th, 2009 at 6:54 pm · Link

    Congrats and best of luck to all the finalists. It was a great time. I’m thrilled with how far I made it.

    Karin, thanks for having this contest. And thanks to all the judges.



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