So Into Her: Book 1 of 3

So Into Her: Book 1 of 3

by D. L. Yoder


Publisher SunRise Publications of Texas

Published in Religion & Spirituality/Fiction, Romance/Romantic Suspense, Mystery & Thrillers/Mystery, Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Romance, Mystery & Thrillers, Literature & Fiction

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Book Description

So Into Her is the story of Yakiesha Simmon's one kind act that starts her on a perilous journey to a brighter tomorrow. It is an odyssey through danger and what is discovered along the way is that sometimes lasting love comes when seemingly, our choices are removed from us. Yakiesha discovers the power to choose when doors shut behind her, allowing no retreat from a path unintended.

Courageous love has transforming properties; Marty Carver is the fortunate recipient of such a love and for him, life is forever changed as well.

A thrilling tale of love triumphant.

Sample Chapter

The Watcher

He was being watched, he could feel it. The crowded room was a boisterous caldron of Kressigg employees; swirling, churning, intermingling, a thousand unfinished sentences reaching his ears. But he was being watched, he could feel it. He turned about searching a sea of disinterested people engaged in their own communications. The feeling was like a fleeting shadow, disappearing from his curious scrutiny, silently slipping back to its hiding place.

He was on the 32nd floor of the Frederick Luis Belvedier Hotel in an elaborate ballroom. The mandatory Christmas party was under way. People who had a life and wanted to get on with it were required to spend a minimum of an hour there; people who had no place to go could play corporate Christmas party until they were forced to go home.

He had arrived late and had made a quick trip through the lavish hotel lobby with more important things on his mind than corporate Christmas parties. He could actually feel his mind buzzing like an angry hornet's nest. It was an unnecessary interruption, but his absence would be noticed. His recent promotion to team leader of the Excelsior Project had put him into a brighter spotlight than he preferred. Peter Gavin, project manager, would be looking for him; Ernest Nellaway, the inventor that his project revolved around would be seeking him as well.

Marty made a list of five men of whom he would have to shake hands with, then he could slip out. In this crowd how would anyone know for sure he didn't fulfill his required hour? He scoffed at the bulletin that had come out announcing a minimum one hour attendance. Section chiefs were to ensure their people took advantage of Kressigg's generosity and partook of the holiday fair. At the ballroom door he was greeted by a neatly dressed attendant.

"May I take your coat sir?"

Marty surrendered his coat and was promptly given a ticket by the attendant.

"Do not lose your ticket; no ticket, no coat, sir"

Marty pocketed the ticket, losing patience with the whole thing already.

The ballroom was adorned with a vast array of Victorian Christmas decorations, no expense spared. It was a place of light and laughter; beverage waiters circulated with silver trays laden with wine and other fancy liqueurs. Those that wanted soft drinks would have to seek them out on their own at a table set in the corner. Several tables were lavishly set with endless varieties of finger food. It was not a place where an unconverted Scrooge would be comfortable. Merriment and loud communion hung in the air making the soft instrumental music almost nonexistent.

Marty felt someone standing right behind him with an impatient stare, but when he turned around there was only a conglomeration of people absorbed only in discussing their own topics with one another. No one waiting impatiently for his attention. Marty frowns and thinks of Scrooges' ghost of Christmas past. What trickery is at work tonight?

Now he was shaking hands, constructing answers for friendly inquisitors, providing compliments for those who fished for them. Once again he felt the invisible hand of someone's eye upon him, but he could not look about; he was forced to make eye contact with storytellers. Now he was dismissing the feeling of being watched as a late night imagination. Marty knew himself; he had a very strong imagination. The benefit of it was his ability to visualize solutions and to assist in the inventing process, thus his quick promotion.

Brian Mingle emerges from the wall of people and launches into his account of his rejected proposal for the Excelsior project. There is no "Hi, how you doing?" No merry Christmas, no congratulations. He just plunges into what seems to be chapter two of his account of his excellence once again overlooked. Maybe somebody else not ten feet away was the unlucky recipient of chapter one, and now Brian had decided chapter two was Marty's to digest.

He is listening; nodding in pretend agreement, hoping his expression is not giving away his disinterest; then he feels it again, the distinct feeling of being observed, being studied.

The feeling is coming from the diagonal right, he turns and looks: the snapshot of the crowd is suddenly obliterated by a blonde woman in a red dress cutting into his field of view from the right, being jostled by the press of the crowd, almost colliding with him.

She is a laughing, oblivious soul armed with a glass of red wine and in danger of sharing it with those around her if only by spoiling a good shirt with its contents. She makes a sincere sounding apology and is giving him a second look, when she is suddenly called away. He breathes a sigh of relief and resumes giving Brian the appearance of his attention.

"So look, if you want me to be on your team, and I know you do, just let Gavin know, he probably will agree, right?"

Brian finishes his conclusion and downs his drink in a quick flick of the wrist. His eyes intense, like a wolverine; small, dark, and glittery, watching for the slightest sign of hesitation.

"Right, I give that some thought."

"Not thought, Marty. Action, action is what is needed here. One does not become a leader by thinking, but by acting and acting quickly and decisively.”

The small wolverine eyes glitter, unblinking as they attempt to bore a hole through Marty's eye sockets. He realizes Brian is right, he must act quickly.

"I am going to ask him now!" Marty declares, darting past Brian.

“I am going to ask him where he buys those colorful ties he is always wearing," Marty whispers as he forges through the crowd like an Alaskan ice breaker trying to make it to the Arctic Circle. He hates to lie and so he has developed the trick of completing the second half of his sentence very quietly.

"Atta boy Marty, now you’re talking!" Brian calls out before he is swallowed by the human wake left behind by Marty.

He moves in the general direction that he sensed his invisible observer, weaving past small clusters of people. He comes to a halt realizing he is chasing imaginary phantoms.

He stops to analyze his overactive imagination, but he reminds himself of his uncanny hunches that have proven to be true more often than not. So this time he just may be wrong.

On cue to his inner thoughts, the crowd parts like a curtain and he finds himself watching a beautiful black woman in a dark blue velvet dress scanning the crowd. She is standing against the wall, sometimes on tiptoe, moving back and forth, craning her neck, and searching. Until she sees him. Her gaze is direct and seems to be for him and only him.

He knows she is the watcher in the crowd. Those eyes would put anyone on a vibe. His thinking suspends while he takes in her beauty. The shape of her face is a graceful elongated oval framed by a mane of dark and tightly curled hair. The contours of her cheeks are slightly pronounced and their angle pulls his eye to her full lips. Slender eye brows are suspended over dark almond shaped eyes in an alluring angled curve. And it's her eyes that hold his attention for an additional moment. The almond shaped eyes are almost oriental; darker than dark yet mirrors of all the available light surrounding her.

He wakes from his reverie with a start, and wonders with small alarm that he is checking out a black woman. This is not business as usual for him. But her gaze is not repelling, so he finds himself drifting closer. He halts again, streams of people threading between them.

What is he doing? What is he going to say? Hi, my name is Marty. Are you looking at me? And what if she has a boyfriend, like a six foot Shaquille O’Neal sort of fellow? But here he is, just shuffling over to who knows what kind of trouble. But wasn't she looking for him? What was it that made him search so hard for the watcher in the first place? He knew he enjoyed looking at beautiful women as much as the next man; and looking was about as far as he got with beautiful women, he was awkward; but he had never given black women much consideration. Tonight he was chasing phantom impressions in a crowded room and enthralled with a woman of a different race; both activities not his usual behaviors.

She must have been using some kind of Jedi mind trick on him. While he attempts to decide what to do next, the last of the human train passes by and she is in view once again, nearer. Beautiful. And inpatient; she grabs his wrist and pulls him out of the way of the next oncoming train of partiers, and leads him to her place along the wall.

She faces him, her eyes serious, her brows knit with concern.

“You have enemies. You understand of course, they are going to kill you?"


I look around immediately, and only observe the pack of self-absorbed holiday crowd behind us, emitting a continuous drone of chatter.

"Don't be so obvious," her reprimand brisk and inpatient. She wraps her arm around mine and proceeds to lead me along the length of the wall.

"We need to talk," she states, moving purposely through the crowd. The crowd thickens and we have to go single file. She tows me along like a disobedient school boy being taken to the principal's office. I have no option but to follow, which is not a totally unpleasant experience. The sweeping motion of the long blue gown fail to conceal the strong feminine figure at work underneath, as she guides me through the crowd with a strong sense of purpose and urgency.

We come to the end of the length of wall and make our way past the drink table set up in the corner. There are large French doors to the left and she pulls me to them. She gives me a quick conspirator’s look and then opens them and we step out onto the balcony on the 32nd floor of the Luis Belvedier Hotel.

"Yikes, it's cold out here!" I proclaim, and then immediately wish I hadn't, Blue Velvet girl is marching straight to the railing and seems impervious to the cold. All business, this one.

We pass small clusters of people, most of them grouped around the solitary fire pit. A few make their way to the railing for a quick peek down to the street below, but none stay but for a minute. The Chicago wind is filled with ice and the breath of snow. She turns and surveys the brightly lit wall of windows behind us.

"We are being watched," she says looking beyond me.

Maybe we are, but I am not feeling it. I am the guy who felt her eyes on me from across the crowded room. I give a minute for my super sense to kit in, but it is drawing a big blank. Maybe Blue Velvet is creating interference, standing against the railing before a backdrop of a million city lights, looking past me, looking like a dream. I start to turn to look at the bank of windows behind me.

"Don't; you're so obvious," she quips turning me back to face her.

"Put your arms around me," she says next, looking intently over my left shoulder.

"Uh, hmm, are you sure...?"

Her eyes move from looking over my left shoulder to meeting my gaze. Her eyebrows pinching slightly together in consternation.

"Put your arms around my waist, now. Like lovers do."

Firm and direct with a dab of impatience thrown in for added effect.

I look at her waist and do a quick gulp; she is not a twiggy, never would make it as a 1920's Art Deco girl, or a ballerina or gymnast or an ice skater; way to much geometry going on, all of it very womanly and quite …

"Anytime, Marty," she drones in a note lower than her normal speaking voice.

"I don't want to appear like we are having a serious conversation," she explains with a softer note.

"Okay, okay, I was just..." I encircle her waist and leave the part about "sizing things up" unspoken.

“You know my name. What's yours?" I say trying to stay halfway intelligent. She feels so good I could hold her forever, I want to pull her closer, but I can't even imagine that. If I was the tin man I would be blowing some vital circuitry needed to stay functioning.

"Yakiesha; now listen we don't have a lot of time, you are the new team leader for the Excelsior research project and there are somethings you need to, kiss me."


"Kiss me." She is looking over my left shoulder again, then at me, then over the left shoulder once more, then at me with the eyebrows knit together in that look of stern consternation she gets when things aren't getting done in a timely manner.

"Kiss me." The serious business voice.

I am not good at spontaneous acting or sudden requests. I am about to do it like a mechanical man. But then everything snaps into focus in a millisecond.

I don't know what is going on, strange events for sure, but I am never going to have a woman this beautiful ever again. I am not winning any popularity contests, no handsome guy contests, never be on any most wanted bachelor list. I will probably end up with Carol from accounting, after dodging her for as long as I can.

This woman is so far out of my league that I have more chance of starting an all-night deli on the moon. I don't consider that she is black woman and I am a white man; she is an elegant princess, and I am not even a frog: the frog turned into a prince; I will always be an electrical engineer, computer nerd, inventor dweeb.

So when I kiss her I better savor the moment, write it down in my forever memories, etch it deep in my brain, and know that this is my one time with such a beautiful creature. All of this snaps into razor sharpness in an eye blink. So I lean over and I kiss her.

I have an imagination, that's how I invent things, by imagination and visualization; creating pictures in my head. That's how I remember the most important things; things never to be forgotten, things accompanied by pictures engraved in my brain.

The seven second kiss; my eyes are closed: I am kissing her on the bow of an eighteenth century schooner with the salt water wind whipping our clothes, pirate and pirate princess. Sea foam leaps up from the bow of our vessel and drenches our eighteenth century costumes, we hold the kiss. I am kissing her on a high Switzerland bluff overlooking green sloping fields populated by white grazing sheep. The wind encircles the Alps above us and spirals down around us; unfurling her long dress like a flag; it encircles me; we hold the kiss. I am kissing her on an Irish stone bridge with a white tumbling river kicking up ice cold spray. The ocean lies in view, a shimmering blue and green tapestry that extends to eternity. We hold the kiss.

I open my eyes and look upon her gentle upturned face, the dark eyes shielded by soft brown eyelids hemmed with long black curved lashes, resting on the crown of her cheek.

"How was that?" I ask after a breath or two.

"Not that good. Do you know the coffee shop two blocks down from 32nd street and Hover?"

My eyes are wide and incredulous, I can feel the expression on my face.

"What do you mean, ‘Not that good?”

"It's called Java You; I will meet you there in thirty minutes."

"Like was it too wet or mushy?"

"Leave the party now, meet me there, and for heaven's sake be aware if you are being followed."

Yakiesha steps out from between me and the railing, heading for the French doors.

"But what did you mean, not that good?" I ask once more, louder, so my words will reach across the increasing distance. She does not answer, passes through the French doors and disappears into the crowd.


When he kissed me I wanted to cry. Do you know how hard it is to push back the tears when they want to come so suddenly and unexpectedly? I had to get out of there pronto, so I made arrangements for him to meet me at Java You. The three block walk time would give me time to get my head back in the game.

When I closed my eyes as he was getting ready to kiss me I just expected some nervous casual attempt at it. But with my eyes closed I was back with Paul, before the corporation stole his soul and turned him into some kind of zombie, work-a-holic. Back when our love was young and strong and had some spark and combustion to it - explosive!

And I know it wasn't totally the corporation, he had slowly drifted away from me. Work had become an invading mistress that stole my special place next to him. And then of course he was killed; taken from me forever. No chance to make things right.

But the kiss; with my eyes closed; I was back with him, the way things used to be, when it was always about us, not about corporate bullshit. Not about money, or fame, or promotion, or technical discovery and invention; life was about us and we promised each other not to get sucked in to Kressigg's whirlwind.

But Paul left me; left me while I was still at arm’s length, day after day, month after month. Damn him! Now he is gone forever and there is no hope to make things better between us. So when he was buried, I buried him a second time, deeper than the ground could hide him away. I threw him in the abyss of forgetfulness, deep and far away from my heart. I made myself safe from remembering, safe from reliving the days of our best love.

And then Marty, damn him too! Kissing me like that! Rocking my past like nobody's business. I know I asked him to do it, but honestly not like that! Just for appearances, not to stir the sleeping dead. I've kissed other men since Paul, but with a dead heart. My Short diversions that go nowhere; like can I really rebuild something that is lost? Ha! Lost is lost!

Then Marty pulls out some magic key and unlocks a shitload of stuff. Really? I can't even wrap my brain around that. I know what I am able to do; I can keep my shields up and in place; that is what I do! I bury my secret pain deep, so deep that nobody gets to touch them. Nobody. Our affections were just a ruse, not real; a trick to keep away the slightest suggestion that a serious conversation was going on.

The beverage waiter had been following us around the room with an empty tray. What, I am not supposed to notice you with your forever, empty serving tray? No time to fill it up again while trying to follow us around the room.

I don't know what they know, or how much they know, but there is a good chance they know I was Paul's girl. So I asked him to put his arms around me, I asked him to kiss me. See you murdering bastards? We are lovers, not conspirators. They have yet to taste my revenge, and I am not going to let them touch Marty either. I had decided to defend Paul's replacement, so I will keep my promise on that. But Marty, as I watch over you; do I have to have to watch out for you as well? Hopefully I can get a better grasp on things before anything happens, because there still are things that do not add up.

Like Marty for instance; I was looking for him. I was standing on the complete opposite side of the room, watching him in the crowd, trying to decide my best approach. I was rehearsing what I might say; it is not every day that you have to tell someone that they are a target.

It was hard keeping an eye on him with all the people milling about. I had lost sight of him again, when all of a sudden there he was, just a few feet away and it seemed he was looking for me! How could that be? We have never met. I know some people can feel that they are being stared at, but from across the room?

For a moment indecision froze me and I think it put the skids on him too, like he was unsure what to do now that he had found me. Then I saw the look on his face, the one that men get when they are checking out my stuff. So it was easy to reel him in, and then I just dismissed this little quirk of him looking for me. There were more important issues at hand. But now I am thinking on it again; could he be a part of the evil pack that I am hunting? He definitely will have some questions to answer when I get down to Java You's.

I retrieve my coat, purse and scarf from the attendant and take the elevator down to the lobby. I step out into the white world of Chicago; it is turning out to be the year with least amount of snowfall. But winter still has draped the city in its white wardrobe and the snow plows have had an easy time of it so far. In happier times the thought of a white Christmas would be bringing me joy. I start for the coffee shop, questions and dilemmas creating my own personal mental snowstorm.


Excerpted from "So Into Her: Book 1 of 3" by D. L. Yoder. Copyright © 2016 by D. L. Yoder. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

D. L. Yoder

D. L. Yoder

Daniel Yoder was born in Seattle Washington and later graduated from Riverview High School in Finley Washington. After a brief involvement in construction work he joined the United States Air Force and served as a Pharmacy Technician. Currently living in San Antonio Texas with his beautiful wife Linda, he has just recently discovered the joy of writing and hopes to continue in that adventure for some time. He likes incorporating spiritual elements into romantic stories with adventure and suspense.

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