Deep Undercover (Preview)

Very excited about my latest release, Deep Undercover, an action/adventure/thriller that’s more story than I’ve done before but still with lots of lusty goodness! Available now on Smashwords, Amazon and everywhere ebooks are sold. Check out the preview below.

Claire is an undercover detective, betrayed and forcibly body swapped by the stripper who pretended to help her. While Claire is stuck in the stripper’s impossibly curvy body and with physical urges she can barely control, the stripper is busy using Claire’s career to enrich a drug baron, sleeping with Claire’s boyfriend, and trying to silence Claire — the real Claire — for good.

Now, Claire has to convince her fellow partner on the squad of what happened against the evidence of his own eyes and with the whole of the police force arrayed against her. Will she ever be able to get her body back? Or will she live just long enough to watch her life being stolen before the body thief and the drug baron silence her for good?

This action-packed thriller features female to female body swaps, voyeurism, and plenty of enticing encounters as Claire obeys the desperate urges of her new body.

Claire opened her eyes slowly. Her teeth ached, her tongue felt thick, her head felt stuffy, and she was staring up at a huge water stain that resembled a laughing demon. Disjointed memories of the previous night’s stupor flitted through her mind, half-forgotten visions of being taunted by the demon. Rolling clumsily onto her side, Claire let her eyes travel around the room, taking in her surroundings. She was lying on a filthy mattress, on a floor covered with mildew, filth and decaying trash. A cracked mirror sat up against the grimy wall across from her, propped against a patch of damp, black mold. She’d been in plenty of rooms like this in her time undercover, but she’d never felt this bad. There was a used crack pipe and a plastic bag holding a small quantity of brownish sludge on the floor beside her bed. She had vague memories of smoking it. But why? She didn’t do crack. If only her head weren’t so thick maybe she could remember what had happened and why she was…wherever she was.

Claire pushed herself up on one arm and licked her lips; they were dry and cracked. As she sat up, stringy blonde hair fell down in front of her vision and across her shoulders. Had she bleached her hair? She grabbed the unfamiliar hair and pulled. Ow! Not a wig. And, now that she was looking down at herself, her body seemed strangely wrong too. Her fingers were thinner and longer, and her body was leaner. She was practically skin and bones. A dirty pink crop top was stretched tight over heavy breasts, breasts much bigger and more perfectly round than she remembered.

Fragments of memories were starting to come back to her but they didn’t make any sense: a strange chair, a fire, an old man stretched out on the floor, and then…did she give someone a blowjob? She’d definitely been on her knees; she remembered holding the man between her lips as he gripped her hair. There had been a sense of euphoria, a certainty that his cock was the most delicious thing she’d ever held in her mouth and she was giving him the blowjob of the century. She rubbed her eyes to try to blot out the image. Not the memory she wanted right now.

Claire stood, shakily, and saw a junkie looking at her. The junkie was a blonde woman, still on the pretty side of worn, with a gaunt face and large silicone-inflated breasts on a thin body. Claire recognized her as Ella, the junkie she’d befriended in her undercover effort. The one who’d led her to the warehouse yesterday—was it yesterday?—where the drug deal was supposed to take place.

Claire took a step forward. “Ella, what happ—” Claire began and froze.

Ella had started walking and speaking at the exact same time. She was mimicking Claire’s every move. It was only then that Claire’s drug-clouded brain realized she was looking into a mirror. Somehow she was in Ella’s body.

Stunned, Claire brought her hands up to her face and watched in the mirror as she ran her fingers over her unfamiliar features. Ella’s face was thinner than Claire’s. Before Ella’s drug use had become serious, she’d been a popular stripper, a man’s wet dream of woman: statuesque with big, blue eyes, inviting lips and huge breasts. After months of addiction, though, Ella looked worn out, skeletal and fragile. Claire’s muscular physique was gone, as was any ability to focus.

How long she had been like this she had no idea—a day? A week? Why couldn’t she remember anything? Her brain was so clouded. Maybe another hit would help?

Claire had scooped up the pipe,loaded with the dregs of whatever she’d taken last night,and was just about to spark up when she stopped, appalled at herself. She stared down at the pipe in her unfamiliar fingers. Her body was craving it. Surely it would clear up her memory, help her focus. Just one hit. Just one.

Claire brought the pipe to her lips when BANG! Something crashed in the next room. . Claire dropped the pipe and crept to the door, peeking around the corner into the living room. BANG! Someone was slamming against the front door of the apartment.. BANG! It was a cheap door; the wood started to splinter. Another crash and the door flew open. Claire pulled her head back around the door, but not before she saw who had come in.

It was Claire’s own body, her auburn hair tied up beneath her cap. The bright white letters on her jacket—NYPD—and the drawn gun evidence she wasn’t here to talk.

As her footsteps slowly approached, some instinctual sense told Claire that her own body was something to fear. Frantically, she searched the room for somewhere to hide. The only exit was a window with a long drop to the ground several stories below. Desperate, Claire tiptoed to the flimsy shelter of a half-open closet and eased herself in behind the bi-fold doors, huddling against the wall.

A second later, she heard footsteps on the filthy bedroom floor.

“Bitch, I know you’re in here,” Claire’s own voice called out. Hearing her own voice was disorienting, like listening to herself in a recording. “And I know what you did last night, you little slut.” The voice had a smile in it Claire didn’t like. “Zeke can’t keep a goddamn secret to save his life.”

Footsteps approached the closet. There was a pause. And then the door was wrenched open and there was a gun pointed at her head.

Claire looked up into her own face, a vicious smile spread across her soft features. The impostor grabbed a fistful of Claire’s stringy blonde hair and yanked her out of the closet. Claire tumbled out onto the floor with a cry of pain and found herself on her back on the hardwood floor, the barrel of the gun pressed against her temple as her own body straddled her.

“You’re supposed to be dead. I’m gonna fix that,” Claire’s body said. “A shame to waste such a pretty face but I got a nice new one. So long, Ella.”

Claire closed her eyes and waited for the explosion. Instead, a familiar male voice called out, “Claire, you okay?”

Claire opened her eyes in time to see a look of pure menace flash across her former face, but Ella (clearly already at home in Claire’s body) recovered quickly. She flashed a reassuring smile over her shoulder, her gun still trained on Claire, and said, “All good, Jake.”

Her partner, Jake, stepped into Claire’s line of sight. His gun, too, was drawn and pointed at her, but she was still relieved to see him.

“Jake! You’ve got to—” she began.

“Shut the fuck up!” Ella yelled. Then, turning to Jake, she said, “Cuff her.”

Ella stepped back and Jake took over, pulling Claire swiftly around so her face was pressed into the floor. Then her arms were pinned behind her back as Jake cuffed her and helped her to her feet—firm but with care—and marched her out the door. Claire heard her own body following behind. Claire didn’t protest; she was stunned into silence, knowing how crazy it would sound, realizing she had been seconds away from getting killed by herself.

They led her down some derelict stairs and along a gray hallway with flickering lights. Doors stood open on either side of the hallway like gaping mouths but no curious onlookers peeked out. Claire guessed that the only people in the building were other junkies who’d either scattered when the cops burst in or were too incapacitated to care.

Ella and Jake shoved Claire into the back of a black SUV, then strapped themselves in up front. Starting up the car, Jake turned to Ella and asked, “You sure this is the one from the warehouse?”

“Yeah. I’d know her face anywhere.”

The warehouse! That’s how it started

Read the rest on Smashwords, Amazon, or wherever ebooks are sold!


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