The September sun soaked into Scott Ross's face so deeply that he could almost feel his skin browning. Yeah, baby, brush a little butter on me, and you'll cook up a nice golden, flaky crust. The leaves around him hadn't started to drop yet, and the breeze that rustled them smelled fresh and clean-not always a given in the nation's capital.
I didn't really care all that much for the first sentence of 'Inside Threat', but (so far) the rest of the book is making up for it! ☺