Author: Kit Walker
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Agency
Apparently satisfied they were alone, Moran returned to where Woodley was huddled on the sofa. He crouched to meet Woodley’s eyes. “I’m here to talk about the men you sent after Kitty Winter.”
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Waylaid
Kitty Winter hadn’t been sure whether to attend the grand reopening of the Marigold Cinema until it was announced the evening’s screening would be a double feature: Body Heat and Serial Mom.
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New Story: “Sebastian Moran Gut-Punches a Pimp”
As Moriarty and Moran set out to dismantle exploitative agency Wayward Talent, an old enemy of Moriarty’s resurfaces.
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Preorder: “Sebastian Moran Gut-Punches a Pimp”
The eighth story in The Casefile of Jay Moriarty, titled “Sebastian Moran Gut-Punches a Pimp,” comes out on July 1!
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Fifth of November
From what Jay had heard, people who’d been in war zones tended not to enjoy fireworks all that much—especially when those fireworks were going off randomly in their neighbourhoods. Moran hadn’t said anything about it, but their relationship (for lack of a better word) wasn’t exactly at the trauma-sharing stage.
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Handbasket Express
All semblance of order vanished in a matter of seconds. The hostages stampeded from the great hall, Paul’s crew helpless to stop them—not that they were paying much attention, caught up as they were in their own panic.
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Acceleration
There were multiple different developments for Jay to process all at once, yet one thought screamed above the rest: Sebastian was bleeding.
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Call to the Post
“There is nothing funny,” Sebastian said solemnly, “about the words ‘priest hole.’”
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Charlie Foxtrot
There was just the one exit, and a severe shortage of places to hide. Sebastian only had about half an excuse formulated when Jay grabbed him by the shoulders; Sebastian’s back hit the row of lockers with a metallic rattle and thud. Instinct briefly took over, muscles tensing to fend off the attack—but Jay’s body against his was by now a familiar sensation, and the sense of threat evaporated. Especially once Jay’s mouth sealed over his.
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The Gala
As they handed their invitations over at the door, though, Jay was seized by the sudden conviction that it wouldn’t be enough; the doorman would take one look at him and know, immediately, that no version of Jay Moriarty belonged in a place like this. But he was with Moran—Eton and Oxford, son of an ambassador, former SAS officer Sebastian Moran, who could go just about anywhere he pleased. Which was exactly why Jay had asked for his help.