Feature Friday Block Party Blog Hop – Week 3!

Thanks for stopping by! I’m participating in Week #3 of the Feature Friday Block Party Blog Hop, which is co-hosted this week with author MJ Schiller. You can #FF us on Twitter with @JolanaMalkston and @MJSchiller. I’ve brought Crab Rollup Appetizers and some info on ONE RED SHOE written by my bestie Diane Burton (don’t forget to #FF Diane at @dmburton72) to the party – Enjoy!

Ingredients:

• 2 packages (8oz.) cream cheese, softened
• 1 cup sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
• 1/3 cup mayonnaise [not Miracle Whip]
• 1 oz. can of crabmeat, drained
• 1 Tbsp. green onion, finely chopped
• 1/4 cup red bell pepper, finely chopped
• Flour tortillas

Directions:

1. Mix first six ingredients well.
2. Spread one tablespoon of crab and cheese mixture on each soft flour tortilla, roll up, cover and refrigerate.
3. Chill well before slicing into one-inch wheels.
4. Secure wheels with decorative toothpicks.

One Red Shoe

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Skylights, dirty like the rest of the windows in the building, let in enough light to see. Good. He didn’t want to risk turning on a light that would shine under the door. Around a corner, hidden from the door, he found a long counter with a row of sinks and a mirror above. All the better to examine the damage done by that trigger-happy fool.

Sam unzipped his jeans and worked down his briefs to expose his hip. What a mess. Not for the first time, he cursed Grashenko for showing up in that hotel room in Smolensk. Sam’s hasty departure, with Yuri and Korioff on his tail, meant leaving behind his gear. His clothes, sunglasses, and emergency medical supplies would bring top dollar on the Russian black market. He would have to make do with what he had. Carefully, he turned a faucet to wet his handkerchief. He blew out a breath in relief the plumbing still worked and was used on a regular basis. No air hissed or sputtered, which would’ve brought Grashenko and Korioff back in a hurry.

With much twisting to see, Sam wiped away the worst of the blood. Amazed that there were paper towels in a dispenser, he folded several and stuffed them inside his briefs. He tried to zip his jeans but the bulge in back pressed on his raw flesh. Hell, he’d zip up when he was done.

When he bent to check his calf, he nearly keeled over from dizziness. He grabbed the counter. His shoe had absorbed the blood. None on the floor, thank God. No trail. Sam patted his shirt pocket and took out his agency cell phone. He needed to find out where the hell Teller was. That idiot better have a damn good reason for doing a no-show. Didn’t he realize the consequences? Didn’t he realize how little time they had to—

The air moved—his only warning that the door to the restroom had opened. A whirlwind in beige blasted past him. In that split second Sam instinctively cataloged the intruder. Female, five-ten, weight uncertain due to voluminous coat, late twenties, long dark single braid, penny loafers. And a large button clipped to her purse. Shit. More dangerous than a Russian Mafia hit man. A wide-eyed innocent. The kind he’d sworn to protect. And here he was bleeding like a stuck pig, so dizzy he was going to fall flat on his face.

For more info and excerpts from her books or to connect with Diane, visit her at:

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Let’s go see what everyone else brought!