First Chapter of Beneath the Surface
By the time Mallory Reeves reached the campsite, the sun had set behind the mountains, giving the crescent of sand below her a red glow. The color matched her mood.
She'd flown hundreds of miles, ridden four hours beside her sullen former brother-in-law Toney, all because Adrian had run off to his dig without signing the papers. Contrary beast that he was, he must have sensed how much she wanted this divorce.
The camp was like so many she'd been to before, only smaller. Even with her eyes closed, she'd be able to map out where everything was. The location might have been a resort, complete with palm trees, if not for the olive-drab tents in a circle, two bigger than the rest, with a fire pit in the center. Along one side of the camp were aluminum barrels raised off the ground on wooden brackets—the water supply. The shower would be over there, a none-too-private nylon-walled tent that could never wash off all the dirt.
Generators lined the other side of camp, silent until the lab was up and running, which would happen once Adrian started bringing up artifacts. Strung from one tent to the next were clotheslines, covered with clothes, mostly male and mostly collegiate. If she looked closely, she could identify Adrian's collection of T-shirts with rude archaeological sayings. She doubted he'd changed that much.
The sound of the ocean on the other side of the dunes washed through the open windows of the truck. The beach was carved from high rocky cliffs. Toney parked on a ledge above the campsite. To leave, they would have to back up the narrow road to turn around.
Other teams stayed in hotels and commuted to the expedition site every day. They had fast food available and running water. Alcohol. She had to marry the one archaeologist who didn't think he was on a dig unless he was living like Grizzly Adams.
Not that he knew who Grizzly Adams was. Being raised in Scotland and living in camps most of his adult life made him weak in the area of pop culture.
About the only area he was weak in.
That and, well, practicality.
Being here was more like being home than the house she and Jonathan had bought. She was no longer the down-and-dirty girl she'd been, looking for clues about ancient civilizations in the writings they'd left behind. Her job translating for Allied Global wasn't as hazardous.
Or as exciting.
She climbed out of the Land Cruiser, scanning the camp for Adrian. She had to guard herself from surprise when he appeared.
No matter how she'd prepared herself for affecting a cool reaction, nothing readied her for the man who approached. He moved with sinuous grace, hard muscled, lean faced, with his dark hair cropped close in what he called his "dig cut", easier to keep clean. Silver-blue eyes glinted in the firelight. Her mouth dried up at the sight of him in the muscle-shirt style she'd always loved, his broad shoulders and sculpted arms tanned dark. She fisted her hands against the memories of stroking her fingers over his skin, casual gestures, sexual ones. She'd never touch him again, and the loss of familiarity weighted her belly. The past couple of years had been good to the man she'd known nearly half her life. The man who'd turned his back on everything she held precious.
Adrian Reeves, gorgeous as ever.
"Mal." He was the only one to call her that. He braced a booted foot on a tree stump, the picture of virility. Unbidden, memories of being wrapped in those arms flooded back, and with them the heat of desire. The one thing they'd been able to do right every time.
Mallory swallowed. "Adrian."
"You look good." His mocking smile took in her mud-spattered boots and pants even as his Scottish burr tickled her nerves. "Never thought I'd see you in those clothes again."
She pushed away her reaction to his look, that jump in her stomach, by recalling Jonathan's expression of surprise when she'd packed. Her need to keep her gear had given him evidence she hadn't put this life behind her as she'd claimed.
"Toney wouldn't tell me what you're looking at. I think he's still mad at me." She glanced after the younger man as he strolled off toward an open-sided tent before she turned to Adrian. "Have you found something good?"
A light came into his eyes, sending the cynicism she'd seen there before scurrying into the shadows. That hadn't changed. Dr. Adrian Reeves loved his work.
"You might say that. Will you be able to stay through tomorrow? I've got some stuff to show you." He rubbed his palms together, grinned, and she caught a glimpse of the idealistic boy she'd loved.
She glanced toward the dunes. On the other side would be the dive boat, the gear they'd need to go out to the site dozens of feet beneath the surface. She could taste the oxygen and feel the regulator in her mouth. The wash of nostalgia was unexpected. Turning back, she shook her head. "I need to get home as soon as I can."
He stepped forward, his eyes scanning her, but she didn't flinch. He was looking for a weakness. She refused to show him one.
"You said that on the phone. What's your hurry?"
God, she didn't want to tell him the truth, not two seconds after she got out of the truck. "I have a life in the States."
"One you were willing to drop to come out here."
"You didn't leave me any choice." She held his gaze for a long time, wanting him to understand he'd inconvenienced her, but also needing to hide how much it hurt her to come.
"Yeah, well, you have to stay tonight. I don't want anyone in the jungle in the dark." He flicked his gaze over her. "You're probably hungry."
He turned away, his body loose limbed, relaxed, the opposite of the tension that ran through her own body.
"Dinner should be almost ready. Let's hit the mess tent."
She fell into step beside him, unwilling to give him the slightest edge. "Let me guess. Chili and beans."
"The digestive tract's best friend." He looked over his shoulder at the Land Cruiser. "You going to leave your bag in the truck?"
She flushed. Over the past few years she'd gotten accustomed to being waited on by bellboys, waiters, valets, but Adrian's gentle prodding reminded her of his rule—everyone carried their own weight in his camp. She backtracked the few steps to the Land Cruiser for her duffel and turned to see Adrian's smirk as he recognized the worn bag.
She swung the strap over her shoulder as they crossed the short distance to the mess tent.
"You're early, as usual," the young woman in the tent told him.
The smirk turned into a full-blown smile, complete with dimples and white teeth. Mallory was glad she wasn't the recipient. It had too much power, and after her long trip, she wouldn't have any resistance. As it was, it sparked a hum low in her belly. The girl behind the table seemed immune.
"Linda, this is Mallory."
He didn't add any more, but the hardness in Linda's eyes told Mallory he'd mentioned her name before. Well, what did she expect, that he'd have glowing things to say about her after Tunisia? Thank heavens she would be out of here tomorrow.
"Mallory. Welcome to our camp."
Mallory wondered if her imagination put Linda's emphasis on the word "our". Linda's smile was tight as she served up a bowl of chili that ordinarily wouldn't have looked appetizing, but after the cardboard burger she'd had on the flight, Mallory's mouth watered.
Adrian motioned her out to the benches set around a campfire. The evening was already cooling. She suppressed a shiver as she stepped gingerly around the crude wood. Facing the flames with her left side away from him, she balanced her bowl on her lap.
"You did bring a sweatshirt?" Adrian gestured to the goose bumps on her arms.
She inclined her head toward the duffel she'd dropped at her feet. She wasn't exactly sure why she didn't want him to see her engagement ring; she fully intended to explain why she was anxious for this divorce. The very thought of that conversation tightened her throat. "I'll get it in a minute."
She took a bite of chili. Either she was hungry or had spent years away from camp food, but she found the lumpy brown glop delicious.
Adrian watched her, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.
She looked down to see she'd cleaned her bowl. Embarrassed, she set her bowl aside. When she did, her ring glinted in the firelight.
Adrian stilled beside her.
Funny how she was so tuned to him after all these years.
"What's that?" he asked, his voice flat.
Damn his eagle eyes. She straightened. If she had to choose, she would have waited to talk about this. "My engagement ring."
His lips thinned. "You're engaged." So matter-of-fact, when it couldn't be easy to learn.
Needing something to do, she bent down and unzipped her duffel. She pulled out her sweatshirt, though she was no longer cold. "You had to know there was a reason I came here to get the papers signed."
"When's the wedding?" His eyes didn't leave the ring, but the muscle in his jaw jumped.
"That's—" He calculated, his brow furrowed. "What? Five weeks away?"
"Not quite." She barely restrained herself from squirming under his inquisition.
He set his full bowl aside with a thunk that showed his emotions were barely constrained. "Who's the guy?"
"Jonathan Montcroft." She'd never noticed how pretentious his name sounded on her tongue. The man himself wasn't, but Adrian would jump to that conclusion. Half an hour with her ex and she was already thinking like him again. "We work together at Allied Global. He's a linguist."
The raised eyebrow had her blushing even before he asked, "Better than me?"
She resisted the urge to tell him to grow up. "He speaks five languages." But her remark didn't erase the picture his double entendre brought to her mind.
"Five languages. Beats my measly three all to hell, doesn't it?"
"It's not a competition." She was too tired to have this conversation.
"Let me guess." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "He's the kind of man who wants the white picket fence and two point four kids."
"Three, but yeah." She watched him, so masculine it hurt to look at him. She squeezed her eyes shut. This man had been the joy of her life and her downfall.
"What happened to Smoller?"
She drew back. The animosity between the two former partners had begun with Adrian's accusations that Valentine had taken the ivory casket Adrian and Toney claimed to have uncovered. The casket disappeared soon after and, despite in-depth searching, was never discovered in Valentine's possession. The vehemence with which Adrian went after Valentine had stunned Mallory. She'd tried to reason with him, but that had only made everything worse. He'd accused her of taking Valentine's side over his.
Their marriage had not improved from there.
"I haven't talked to him in months. There was never anything more than friendship between us, Adrian. You know that."
"Not before I moved out, anyway."
She sucked a breath through her teeth. "Or after."
Adrian scrubbed his hands over his face. He sat back, wiped his hands on his hips. "You have those papers?"
Shoulders sagging with relief, she turned away to the duffel at her side and drew out a thick sheaf of papers and a pen. Colorful little flags stuck out from the pages, indicating where his signature was needed.
The two bites of chili Adrian had eaten rose up in his throat and he leaned back to look up at her. Her face was drawn, her eyes anxious as she held out a pen.
Seeing her climb out of the truck dressed in her dig clothes had sent him spiraling back in time, had sent hope tumbling through him. Yeah, he'd known she was coming but sure as hell hadn't expected to see her in her cargo pants and boots, blonde hair swinging behind her in a ponytail, looking like no time had passed.
"Are you happy?" She didn't look it. He'd fallen in love with her enthusiasm and her passion for life, for archaeology. For him. Now something more than three years and a thousand miles separated them.
She almost dropped her pen in surprise. "I will be."
With a nod, he took the pen. If she believed it, he would too. His name looked very final scrawled across the white paper.
He was letting her go. It was what she wanted, so it was the right thing to do. They could both move on.
He was just used to being married. He'd broken habits before. After almost three years apart, this one should be a snap.
"I'll head back to the city first thing in the morning if you can spare someone to take me to the airport. Probably not Toney because he barely said a word to me. I think he was pissed off." She took the papers and folded them neatly into an envelope before tucking them away.
"I thought you might want to dive, see what we're working on."
Mallory tugged at her ponytail and looked across the camp. "I don't do archaeology anymore."
"All right. Never mind, then." He stood. "First, there's someone I want you to see."
He led her to a tent, situated away from the center of the camp, a little sturdier, a little bigger than the others. She cast a curious glance at Adrian, but he said nothing, only watched her face as he pushed open the tent flap.
A rush of joy engulfed Mallory at the sight of the old man in the camp chair. She dropped to the ground beside her mentor, Dr. Robert Vigil. He'd aged so much in the short time, his cheeks hollowed, his eyes sunken but still sparkling in delight at her arrival. He was so thin. He'd never been a large man, but now he seemed frail.
He tossed his familiar cloth dig journal on the floor beside her and closed his bony hands around her shoulders, pulling her up for a warm embrace. Just for a moment, she rested her head against his skinny shoulder, all her worries evaporating in the security of his arms. He'd been her anchor when she'd lost her parents, when her marriage had fallen apart. Now he was here—with Adrian.
She opened her eyes to see Adrian watching them and all those worries rained down again.
"What are you doing here?" Dr. Vigil eased her away to look at her.
"I—" She dropped her gaze from the dark brown eyes that always saw too much, that knew her too well. "I came to see Adrian."
She heard the hitch of breath that could be hope or wariness. Dr. Vigil had loved both of them but their constant fighting and their split had been hard on him. Mallory felt guilty—and not a little jealous—that Adrian had kept in contact with him. She'd known the professor since she was a child. But once she split with Adrian, she hadn't wanted any reminders of Adrian, of her digger's past, of the career that destroyed dreams. Because of her need for distance, she'd lost the only family she had left.
"She brought the divorce papers," Adrian said, still near the entrance of the tent. He pulled a cellophane bag of beef jerky out of the pocket where he used to carry his cigarettes. "She's getting married again."
She whipped her head up to meet Dr. Vigil's gaze, knowing if she looked at Adrian, she'd burn a hole through him for beating her to the punch.
The professor's stunned expression lasted only a second before a smile spread across his face, not quite reaching his eyes. "Congratulations, Mallory. I hope he's worthy of you."
She heard the censure in his voice and defensiveness rose. Did he want her to continue pining after Adrian, who couldn't give her what she needed?
Dr. Vigil must have seen the pain in her face because he shifted subjects. "You look wonderful. Doesn't she look wonderful, Adrian?"
Adrian shoved the jerky into his pocket. "She's too skinny."
She scowled, rising. "It's the stress of planning a wedding. This time I want to do it right."
Their own wedding had been an outdoor affair in Greece, and they'd dressed in their dig clothes. Their only concessions to convention were the rings and the flowers in her hair. At the time, the ceremony had seemed the height of romance. They'd been young and wild about each other, certain nothing or no one would ever come between them. She imagined most young couples felt that way, but she and Adrian—she'd been so sure. She glanced at his left hand. Of course he'd stopped wearing his ring.
She folded her left hand into a fist. Now she wore someone else's.
"You might have considered planning it after you were divorced." He'd stopped his laconic lounging and stood straight, tension in the lines of his body.
She stepped closer. "You might have signed the papers before you left civilization. You've had them for months."
They were nose to nose in the small space, his scent washing over her, filling her with a memory of gliding hands and hot skin, while his flashing eyes filled her with another, aching recollection. So many fights, just like this one. This wasn't what love was supposed to be. She drew back, relieved she and Jonathan never fought, never lashed out at each other. Never hurt each other.
Adrian glared a moment longer before he spun and left the tent.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Vigil," Mallory murmured, embarrassed that he'd witnessed such a spectacle, that she hadn't grown up where Adrian was concerned. In that moment, she'd forgotten the old man was there.
Dr. Vigil waved a hand, dismissing it as if it didn't bother him. His eyes crinkled as he looked after Adrian. "It feels like old times."
She glanced toward the opening. "Is he still chasing after the Theophilius boxes?"
Dr. Vigil's gaze sharpened. "He hasn't told you?"
She shook her head.
"He thinks he's found one."
Beneath the Surface is available at all retailers.
First Chapter of Breaking Daylight
"Join the army, see the world," Master Sergeant Alex Shepard mocked under his breath.
He hated jungles. Yet here he was, stuck in another one. Central America this time. Why couldn't he be sent to the Arctic or Siberia? What drew the bad guys to the heat and humidity? Or did the atmosphere make them the bad guys in the first place?
He wiped sweat from his eyes with a shrug of his shoulder. Almost midnight and hotter than midday back home in Texas.
He and his team of Rangers joined a group of DEA agents crouched on a hillside, surveilling a sprawling home in a manmade clearing in the middle of the jungle, a compound as out of the way as Santiago Saldana could make it.
Saldana was the baddest of the bad when it came to drug kingpins. He'd kidnapped, tortured and killed DEA agents, and used the scum-of-the-earth MS-13 gang to get his product over the border. A DEA agent had infiltrated Saldana's inner circle, but hadn't been heard from in weeks, so here they were.
Problem was, they might be too late. They hadn't been able to confirm Saldana's presence in the compound. After three days, there was no sight of him, or the American infiltrator who had been their source of information.
So they waited. In the heat. With the bugs. And the rain.
"Showtime," Sergeant Julian Cervantes murmured from Alex's left, his binoculars trained on the compound.
A light flickered on in the house below and a goddess stepped into the bathroom, a goddess with dark wavy hair, eyes that tilted up in the corners like a cat's, and creamy skin that glowed in the soft light. Alex didn't have to raise his own binoculars to know—they'd managed to be on this side of the compound the past two nights at this time. The side on the hill, with the view of the bathroom which held the luxurious large tub and glassed-in shower.
The goddess wore a silky white robe tonight and flipped back the sleeves as she reached over to turn on the water. She poured in a pink glob of some stuff she'd had sitting on the side of the tub, no doubt sweet smelling, and it foamed under the stream of water. Then she twisted her shoulder-length hair up and pinned it with a clip, exposing a long, graceful neck.
Yeah, he was watching through his binoculars now. This job had damn few perks and she was just about the best he'd seen during his twelve years in.
Then facing the window—she had to think she was alone, with this damn jungle all around—she let the robe slide down her arms in a slow, sensuous movement.
Beside him, Julian uttered what sounded like a prayer.
She was a fantasy woman, with full, round dark-tipped breasts, her nipples erect from the friction of the silk. Her skin was flawless. He could almost feel the smoothness of it under his rough palm, and he folded his fingers against the sensation. The curls at the apex of her thighs were dark and neat.
She stepped into the tub—hell, even her feet were graceful—and slipped beneath the bubbles.
This time Julian swore.
She lathered up some fluffy cloth and smoothed it over her arm, leaving tiny bubbles in its wake.
The sight of a woman indulging in a bubble bath in the middle of the jungle was so incongruous. She poured soap on the thick cloth, lifted her legs from the bubbles to smooth it on, such feminine actions. So out of place in his world.
Then her hands disappeared under the water. For a while.
She closed her eyes, scooted lower and her lips parted.
"Jesus," Alex breathed.
"I hate bubbles," Julian said in a choked voice.
Alex shouldn't be watching. He should tear his gaze away as she tilted her head back, offering her throat to her invisible lover. Who was she imagining over her, touching her? Saldana? The thought almost gave him the strength to turn away before she reached out of the tub and picked up a bright pink object.
He recognized it from last night, when there had been no bubbles, only the woman, standing with her robe parted, one leg on the edge of the tub and--
"Is that her—?" Julian didn't say the word. "Are those things waterproof?"
She arched her back, revealing soapy breasts. Alex imagined his own touch smoothing away the bubbles to make way for his mouth. Her body undulated with pleasure, sending water and bubbles over the side of the tub.
He jerked his gaze away with a curse. He had no business watching this woman, Saldana's lover, not when he had sweet Rebecca waiting for him back home.
Rebecca, who he'd never seen naked, never touched, never more than kissed. She wasn't ready for a physical relationship after her bastard of a husband had taken off on her, and Alex treasured her too much to push for it. Rebecca Kelso was his ideal, not the goddess in the tub. Rebecca was the kind of woman who would make him sane again after the things he'd seen and done. She would give him balance.
He reached over and smacked Julian's arm. The younger man turned with glazed eyes and inclined his head. The goddess was rising from the tub now, soap bubbles sliding down her flushed body, her movements languid with the aftereffects of her ministrations. The cat eyes were heavy lidded, the look of a satisfied woman.
Alex hadn't seen that look in a long time.
"Let's get out of here," he mouthed to Julian.
"Who is she, do you suppose?" Julian whispered as they slipped through the foliage on their way back to the rudimentary camp. "Saldana's girlfriend? We don't have any intel on a girlfriend."
"Who cares?" Alex said. "She has to know what kind of person he is, and she doesn't care. If that's what floats her boat, she ain't worth fantasizing about."
"Were you not watching the same thing I was? Damn, have you ever seen a woman do that? I've never seen a woman do that."
Alex didn't think Julian expected an answer. Thank God. "She's given up her soul for the lifestyle he offers her."
Julian frowned. "Way out here? Not a lot of women would go for that. The question is, why would he leave a woman like that out here alone so long? Something's wrong with that picture. You don't think he's already moved to the States?"
Alex shook his head. He didn't know. He had to hope they weren't too late. "Maybe there's a leak. The agent who gave us the intel on Saldana also could have given him the heads-up that we were coming. Maybe he tortured it out of him. No matter how, Saldana isn't here. We're wasting time and resources waiting for him to come back."
He pulled away from Julian, as they entered the camp, already reaching in his rucksack for the spiral he kept there. When the younger man went to make a report to Keith Vasquez, the agent in charge, Alex dropped against a tree and flipped open the battered spiral to write to Rebecca.
But he couldn't get his mind off the raven-haired goddess. He had to do something.
"We're wasting time." Alex confronted Vasquez when he couldn't calm down enough to finish his letter to Rebecca. They weren't going to complete the mission by waiting Saldana out. The man was long gone. "Saldana isn't coming back. He's not stupid enough to just drive past us to get home. We missed him. Time to regroup."
"Master Sergeant," Vasquez said coolly, keeping his voice low to avoid detection. "He left something valuable behind."
"What would that be?"
"The woman. Isabella Canales. She's an American citizen."
"Saldana's whore," Alex spat.
Even Vasquez drew back. "You know her?"
"We saw her on surveillance. You think she's worth his freedom? More importantly, does he?"
"Hell yeah," Julian murmured.
Alex shot him a look. "You don't get it. Women like that are a dime a dozen. It's not like he loves her for her mind."
"Maybe not. But she is an American citizen," Vasquez said.
"Who shares her bed with the scum of the earth."
Vasquez tightened his jaw. "One more day. We haven't seen Agent Cortez yet."
They wouldn't. If Saldana was gone, he wouldn't have left his associates behind. If he'd knocked the agent off as a spy, well, they'd likely stumble over his body in the jungle. But this wasn't Alex's call. Vasquez made it clear his opinion didn't count.
"Send me back down to watch, then. Let's make the most of these twenty-four hours."
"I already have Lee and Jordan out there."
"Another man can give you another angle."
"I need you fresh."
Alex looked at him pityingly. "I'm a Ranger. I do what needs to be done." He turned to find Julian.
"You know she's asleep, right?" Alex asked Julian a few moments later as they hiked the short distance to the compound.
"Yeah, but if you think I'm going to be the only Ranger snoozing while the rest of you are on the mission, you got another think coming."
"Did it sound to you like Vasquez wants to go in for the girl?"
"That is what it sounded like."
"He better have damn good information on the inside of that place. I do not want to be booby-trapped in the jungle."
They moved clockwise around the perimeter, west of where they had been at their earlier post. A spider the size of a tennis ball dropped on Alex's arm, and even after he flicked it away, he could feel the hairy legs on his skin.
He hated the jungle.
"What the hell is that?" Julian muttered, directing Alex's attention to a corner of the compound and the slight figure emerging from it.
"A kid?" Alex theorized. "Out for an adventure?"
"In the jungle?" Julian scoffed. "At night?"
"They aren't always smart." Damned if he didn't know that from experience.
"This one is." Julian motioned to the way the figure glanced over his shoulder. "Doesn't want to get caught."
"Running away from a parent."
"You see anyone besides the girl and the guards in there since we've been watching?"
"Christ." Alex focused his binoculars on the kid, only it wasn't a kid. Dark hair hidden under a dark cap, pulled back into a ponytail that curled in at the nape of a slim, graceful neck. When she turned to look behind her, he saw the feminine tilt of her nose. "What the hell is she doing?"
Alex lowered his binoculars and started moving down the hill. "The goddess."
"Who?" Julian asked from behind him. "Where are you going?"
"Vasquez says she's the only thing Saldana cares about, the only thing that will draw him out. We need to get her."
Isabella Canales's heart pounded. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. How would she find the American soldiers in the jungle at night? Clearly they didn't want anyone to know they were here. If that was the case, how would she, with no training and no real jungle experience, find them?
When Eric Reyes had told her soldiers were on their way to take Santiago into custody, she'd hatched her plan. But Santiago had seen the American talking to her, alone, secretively, and he'd gone into a rage. She didn't want to remember what he'd done to the man.
She didn't want to think about what Santiago had done to her. So she'd planned her escape.
She'd staged her show every night at midnight, luring the guards into an unofficial schedule. They would stop outside her window at that time, then they'd move on, leaving her a window of time to get out of the compound unseen. No one would miss her till the morning.
If Santiago even dreamed she was thinking about escaping, her life would be so much worse. She couldn't afford for him to catch her. She couldn't be his prisoner anymore.
Her stolen boots rubbed with every step despite three pair of socks, and the rough fabric chafed her skin after years of wearing only the finest fabrics. She hoped the soldiers had transportation, and that it wasn't far. She hoped she could charm them into taking her home. She didn't want to play her trump card yet.
A stealthy rustling to her left froze her in her tracks. Jaguars were nocturnal, right? But surely they'd be intimidated by her size.
If she were a hundred pounds heavier.
Too late, she realized the jungle had gone silent, as if the creatures in the trees froze as well, hoping the predator would ignore their existence.
Great. She was out in the jungle, in danger of either being discovered by Santiago's guards or being eaten.
Then a face emerged from the brush, only it wasn't the face she was expecting. It was…green and black streaked, and a moment passed before her terror-stricken brain processed it as human, beneath a helmet wound with vines.
A soldier.
Her relief was short lived, because the soldier had an automatic weapon pointed at her chest.
"Isabella Canales?" His American accent skipped over the nuances of her Spanish name.
"Yes?" Her voice was shaky.
"Toss your pack over there and put your hands in the air."
Goddamn. Up close she was even more stunning, a tiny little thing, the kind of woman a man wanted to care for, protect. The kind who, while he was watching her back, stabbed a knife in his.
"You stay there while Cervantes goes through your pack, then he's going to pat you down." He wished he didn't have to hold a gun on her so he could do it himself. To make sure she was safe before he brought her back into camp. That was why.
His grip tightened. Yeah, right.
He glanced over to see Julian unzip her pack and swear.
Alarm raced through Alex, and he weighed possibilities and solutions. Was she armed? Wired? He scanned the area for cover. "What?"
"It glows in the dark." Julian gingerly lifted a familiar pink object from the bag with two fingers.
"Christ." Alex turned back to the goddess. "You're going out into the jungle to get off? Putting on a show in front of a window wasn't enough?"
She didn't answer, every line in her body tight as Julian dug through her things. Keeping one eye on her, Alex noticed Julian paw past a colorful piece of fabric, saw the flash of high heels. Where the hell did this woman think she was going?
"Clean," Julian pronounced after another minute. "You want me to search her?"
"I'll do it." Instead of shouldering his gun, he passed it to Julian, never taking his gaze off her.
He reached to remove her hat, forking his fingers through her hair, dragging the rubber band free, ignoring the silky strands catching on his rough fingers and the flowery scent rising as he dragged his fingers along her scalp. She looked up at him, eyes large and wary, her gaze not leaving him as he moved his touch down her slender back and into the waistband of her cargo pants, skimming his palms over silky panties. The pants were loose enough that he could reach her thighs, but that would mean bringing her body even closer to his. Already he could smell her on his clothes, no doubt the scent from that pink stuff she'd poured in the tub.
Stepping back, he snatched his hands out of her pants. The expression in her eyes was daring. A thrill of admiration ran through him.
He squashed it like the spider.
He reached under her tank top, over her smooth flat stomach, under the underwire of her bra, his fingertips brushing the plump undersides of her breasts.
Soft.
Then hard. Her nipples pebbled at his touch and he tried to quell the lust that rose up. He didn't linger, but searched under her bra, beneath her arms.
Still she looked at him with those dark eyes.
Then he slid his hands down inside the front of her pants, kicking her feet apart.
The flesh of her belly jumped under his palm, but other than that she didn't move when he reached down the front of her panties, over those neat dark curls that he could see in his memory. He probed her heat briefly, businesslike, ignoring the tightening in his groin, then removed his touch to pat down her thighs.
"Take off your boots."
"May I sit?" A thread of fury underlay her voice.
"Be my guest."
She dropped to the ground, untied one boot and shoved it at him. He inspected it, marveling at the large size, then dropped it to the ground beside her and took her other boot.
"What exactly did you think I'd be hiding?" she asked as she retied her boots and got to her feet.
Her voice was too loud, so he hushed her, leaned close to answer. "I've seen women stick some nasty things in some nasty places to kill soldiers."
"You think I'm coming to attack you?" She glared, and her words whipped out. "I'm coming to you for help."
He eased back, the scent of her overwhelming the scent of the jungle and his own stink. "We're to believe you because you tell us? You're not exactly trustworthy."
He inclined his head toward the compound. "The company you keep." He motioned her to walk ahead of him back to camp. What the hell was she doing out here in the first place? He squelched his curiosity. He was the muscle, not the detective. He'd let Vasquez take care of it. The more distance he kept from Isabella Canales, the better.
But he could still smell her on his hands.
This was a bad idea. Isabella's skin hadn't stopped crawling since the silent soldier had stopped touching her. She was a prisoner, a suspect. She hadn't foreseen this, the disdain, the suspicion. The near-hatred.
The man the soldiers took her to introduced himself as Vasquez and looked down at her like he had found some prize. Her whole body tightened so much she thought her muscles would snap.
"Where is Saldana?" Vasquez asked, his voice smooth.
Isabella didn't fall for the attempt at charm. "You think he'd tell me?"
Vasquez lifted an eyebrow. "You're his lover, aren't you?"
She felt herself flush. The young Hispanic soldier who had gone through her pack studied her, and the others didn't hide their smirks. Only the silent one, the one who had searched her, had no expression. But he watched her.
"He left when he heard you were coming."
"Where did he hear it?"
She swallowed her fear. If they hated her this much now, how would they feel about her if they knew an American had been tortured and killed in the compound and she had been the reason? "I don't know."
"You're lying."
She recognized the tone. Santiago used it often enough to intimidate her. "Why would I lie to you? I need your help."
Vasquez drew back a little. "You need our help?"
She didn't look away, though she wanted to. God, she hated how he was looking down his nose at her. "I want to go home."
"Saldana wouldn't take you?"
She had to turn her head then. "I served him better here. And I didn't have money to leave on my own. You're my only chance."
"You're saying you're his prisoner." The silent soldier spoke at last, and all the contempt she'd gotten from Vasquez was nothing compared to the tone of his deep voice.
"I haven't been allowed to leave the compound in four years."
"In my experience, hostages don't get silk robes and vibrators."
She kept her head turned away. Of course he'd assume she was lying, but she was still humiliated by the search. "Those things were for his pleasure, not mine."
"Not from what I saw tonight."
She whipped around on him then, needing to release the tension that threatened to shatter her. "You have no right to accuse me. You don't know what I've endured."
"I know drug dealers. I know what whores endure." He pushed away from the tree at last, looking down at her with hate in his dark eyes. A contempt even Santiago didn't show.
"Shepard, that's enough." Vasquez's voice was calm but firm, and the soldier stepped back.
Shepard. That was the name of the man who'd touched her so roughly. He straightened at the order but didn't look away. So she didn't either.
"If you won't tell us where Saldana has gone, we use you as bait," Vasquez said, drawing her attention.
That forced a laugh from her. "You overestimate my value. If I was so valuable, do you think he would have left me here?"
Vasquez moved closer. "I don't believe I do. I know Saldana—I know he doesn't tolerate having something he owns being taken from him."
So, in four years, she had made no gains. She was nothing more than a pawn. Her safety, her happiness was important to no one, and the only person who loved her was thousands of miles away.
She had to get to him.
These men, the three agents and four soldiers, planned on using her. She would use them in return. She just couldn't let them know.
Surrounded by DEA agents in a Humvee, heading back home, and still Isabella didn't feel safe. Would she ever feel safe again? She would spend the rest of her life waiting for Santiago to catch up to her. What Vasquez had said about him was right. He didn't like things taken from him, and she was his property. If she didn't get back to the States before he found out she was missing, he knew just how to hurt her most. She hadn't thought that part through.
Maybe this wasn't the best plan, but it was the only one she had.
At least the silent soldier, Shepard, was in the other vehicle. She was operating on the last reserves of the courage that had brought her out of the compound, and didn't need his constant judgment.
The ground shook and the men in the front seat swore. There was a rattling, and the man beside her grabbed the back of her head and shoved her down behind the seat onto his lap. She tensed instinctively. This had been a risk, but here? Now?
"Don't fight me."
What did he mean? Did he think she would do what he wanted here?
"They're shooting at—" He grunted, but as soon as she heard the word shooting, she was down. The rattling sound was louder, almost constant, sometimes in harmony. God, how many were shooting at them?
The vehicle lurched forward, the front end dropping at an angle, flinging Isabella against the back of the front seat and pushing the other man on top of her.
The shouting in the front seat had stopped, and the man on her made no effort to get off of her, his dead weight pushing her to the floor, bending her waist at a painful angle, something wet soaking into the back of her shirt.
Dead weight. Wet and warm, a coppery scent of…
Oh, God.
She gagged, then forced the thought away and gathered her strength to push out from underneath him. He must weigh over two hundred pounds. She couldn't get enough leverage with her legs to lift him off her, so she had to squirm toward the door sliding out from underneath him.
She reached for the door and the metal handle was hot. She snatched her hand back. God, the car was on fire. She was going to die here, burn alive. Would she never get home, never see—?
She turned to the other door, saw a hand reaching in and followed the arm to the dark eyes of Shepard.
"Come on," he said, sharper this time.
"I can't. He's—" The weight of the man still pinned her to the seat. But the other door was beneath her. "Can you open this door?"
The heat was unbearable through her pants, and Shepard withdrew his arm, probably figuring she wasn't worth saving. She didn't want to burn to death. She shoved harder against the dead man on her back, and suddenly the weight was gone, she was free, and Shepard was stretching toward her again.
She reached for him, and the truck lurched forward, putting another foot between her hand and his. It felt like she was standing on the door she'd been trying to escape from. Another lurch, another few inches. She screamed his name and saw him throw himself forward, his fingertips brushing hers.
"You have…to climb…on him," he grunted, every word an effort.
Oh God. Climb on a dead man to lever herself out. Could she do it?
"Now. The truck's about to go."
Go where? She wanted to ask, but the strained expression on his face told her now wasn't the time for questions. She put one booted foot on the man lying against the door, then the other, sinking into the soft tissue. Heaven forgive her.
He grasped her wrists firmly, and when she looked up into his eyes, she saw the first hint of approval.
But when he started to lift her—she could see the strain in his face, his arms—she remembered. She couldn't leave her pack behind, not after what she'd risked to get out. She pulled one hand free and twisted to look for it, found it wedged between the dead man and the floorboard.
She pulled her other arm free and bent to tug it loose.
Above her, Shepard swore a string. "What are you doing? Do you want to die? The truck is going over."
She tugged it by the straps and the truck lurched, along with her heart. Another tug and it was free. She looped it over her arm and turned back to see Shepard still waiting, reaching, and she lifted her arms to him.
He pulled both wrists, making her arms ache as the slender bones held the weight of her body. He slid one hand down to her elbow, then the other to her shoulder as her feet scrabbled for purchase first on the seat, finding a place on the back of the front seat, pushing her way toward him. The truck shifted. Over the sound of her pounding heart, she heard the groan of metal, the rattle of more gunfire, which had grown louder now, closer.
Finally Shepard had her, his arms hooked under both shoulders, her face pressed to his sweaty, stubbled throat as he lifted, as the truck fell away in a screech of metal and she tumbled onto Shepard's chest.
She couldn't even catch her breath because he was yanking her to her feet and shoving her—his hand on her ass and back, keeping her bent over as she moved—shoving her toward the sound of the gunfire, the intermittent muzzle flashes. She hesitated, turned to protest, and he tackled her, sending her face first down a muddy incline with a mouthful of vegetation. He skidded beside her on his back, gun cradled to his chest. When she turned to give him a dirty look, she saw that the shooting was coming from the other soldiers, providing cover.
So Shepard could save her butt.
She opened her mouth to say thank you and spit out some leaves.
Shepard turned to her, his eyes hard with a layer of desperation sheening them. "Put your arms around me."
"What?" She fought to focus, still shaking.
"We've got to go down there." He pointed.
She turned. In the moonlight, she could see that a few feet away, the ground dropped off. A cliff.
Shepard was pulling her toward it. She dug her heels in and clutched her pack to her with both arms.
"Are you crazy?" she shouted over the continuing sound of gunfire, both from their enemies and from the other soldiers.
He glared, jaw set, lips tight. "If you don't we are going to die. I don't think you can make it down on your own. Put your arms around me."
She couldn't. She couldn't even look down.
Shepard stuck his face in hers. "Would you rather go back with him?"
That riveted her. She slipped the knapsack against her chest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He pulled her against him, harder than she expected, knocking her breath out.
"Don't let go," he said, his muscles bunching so she could feel the tension running through his body as he stepped back, and the world dropped out from beneath her.
Breaking Daylight is available at all retailers.
First Chapter of Avalon True
Brioney Dawson balanced on the stool, one heel hooked on the bottom rung, and tuned her guitar. She strummed, adjusted, then, satisfied, look out over the customers of The Wharf, the restaurant where she performed every week. For a Friday night in October, the place was pretty empty, though it would probably fill up closer to sunset. The restaurant's location on pylons extending over the bay made it an ideal spot to watch the sunset.
This time of year, the snowbirds hadn't started drifting down to the Texas coast, ahead of the heavy work that went with winter up north. But by January many would descend, after enjoying a picture postcard Christmas before heading to warmer climates.
Right now Brioney would venture a guess that the dinner crowd was mostly Texans, having a last summer hurrah.
The open-air restaurant suited that, cooled by the ocean breeze through the rolled-up doors.
"Good evening, everybody. I'm Brioney Dawson, your entertainment tonight. If you have any requests, I have a book here." She motioned to a cute little journal with butterflies that her daughter had bought her. It sat at the edge of the stage next to the tip jar. "I'll do my best to play it. I'm going to start with one of my favorites."
Her fingers moved on the frets without conscious thought as she closed her eyes and swung into an old Stevie Nicks song. She was so lucky JoAnna let her sing here. She only sang on Friday, and only for tips, but she loved it. Performing made her feel like there was life beyond being a maid at the one hotel on Avalon Island. As she sang, the noise softened, the clink of glasses and clank of silverware disappeared, and she slipped away from the small town and landed on a stage in Nashville or L.A. or Las Vegas. Instead of dozens of people in her audience, she had thousands. A ridiculous fantasy, she knew, but she enjoyed it anyway.
When she'd finished the song to what she always thought was surprised applause, she opened her eyes, back to reality, and met the amused blue eyes of Blue Ramsey. He leaned back on the barstool and clapped his big hands heartily before he stopped to take a deep swallow of his beer. This was a usual routine. She sang at The Wharf on Friday nights, he'd drink at The Wharf on Friday nights. JoAnna could count on them for consistency.
She thought it was kind of strange, though, that she and Blue had become friends, considering he'd dated her sister throughout high school and followed her to Austin, before they'd broken up and he'd moved back to Avalon Island. Still, he'd been coming around for a while, like he was looking out for her and her daughter.
Brioney sang a couple more songs, including a new Taylor Swift her daughter had urged her to learn, then two of her own compositions before she consulted the notebook. She had three requests, a folk song from the 1960s, a song from the radio, and an obscure title written in Blue's distinctive hand.
This was a game they played. He would try to stump her with a song, and she would play it. Since he'd grown up with eccentric parents—thus the name Blue—he had an eclectic taste in music. Sometimes his songs were indie rock and sometimes they were bluegrass. So far, she'd been able to meet his challenges.
She attributed her broad knowledge to the fact that she spent most of her days cleaning hotel rooms, listening to all kinds of songs on her earbuds. This one was from the movie her daughter Joy had been watching over and over, so she knew it cold. She played the other two first, then met Blue's gaze as she sang his song with a bit more sass than the original.
"I guess that can count," he said when she took a break and joined him at the bar.
"Not even a challenge," she retorted.
"Buy you a drink?" he asked, motioning to his own beer.
"I don't drink when I'm playing." Or ever, really. She didn't want to go home to her daughter with alcohol on her breath. And she needed to set a good example for her younger brother, Brandon, who lived with her.
"Lemonade, then? Sweet tea?"
She took the seat next to him. "I wouldn't say no to a soda." She'd cut back on those, too, but every once in a while liked to indulge.
"How's Joy?"
"She's good." She shifted on the barstool, happy to discuss her favorite subject. "Fourth grade math is kind of kicking her butt, but thankfully Brandon is good at it and can help her. They do a lot of writing in fourth grade, and that she likes."
"Can't believe she's in fourth grade. Before you know it, she'll be a teenager."
That was not her favorite subject. "I have plenty of time for her to be a little girl."
"You should bring her down to the docks. I'll take y'all out for a ride on the boat."
She couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed the benefits of living on the coast. "I'll have to check my schedule to see when I'm off, and she doesn't have anything going on. When do you work?"
"I go out on weekends, mostly, but I'm down there most days, doing something or another."
That was Blue, always doing something or another. During the summer, he ran a rental booth on the beach with his friend Logan, renting beach chairs and canopies to beach-goers. Occasionally, he gave surfing lessons, and sometimes he drove a tow truck, usually catering to tourists who got their little cars stuck in the sand. Now and again, he filled in as bartender. No focus, no responsibility. She didn't understand it, the lack of drive, when she was working as a maid, going to college online and singing here. And she thought of herself as a late bloomer. When Blue had returned to Avalon Island after college, she'd figured he just wasn't ready to grow up, but now, nearly seven years later, he hadn't changed.
Brioney couldn't understand that.
"Come down tomorrow. When was the last time you were out on the water?"
"Won't you have a full boat on a Saturday?"
"Maybe, maybe not. You know what you're doing, though, so you don't need me to hold your hand. It'd be good for you to get out on the water."
Why did he think that? He couldn't know how stressed she was. He didn't know the meaning of the word.
She saw another person drop her notebook back to the stage, and she nodded in that direction. "I need to get back up there."
He smiled. "Yeah, you do. Come down tomorrow," he urged again, and she wondered if she should.
Joy was asleep when Brioney got home, but Brandon was awake, playing a violent video game she didn't allow him to play when Joy was awake. She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, no longer noticing the ink-black hair, the black painted fingernails. Her brother had been a cute kid before he'd gone full-on gamer. But if this was what made him happy, if that kept him going, she wasn't going to fight him.
"How was she?"
"Good, as usual." He paused the game and sat back, but didn't take his gaze from the screen. They held most of their conversations like this.
She set her guitar on the floor on the far side of the kitchen table. She'd eaten a little at the restaurant, but she wanted something sweet, and wondered if Joy and Brandon had found her secret stash of Milanos. "What are you doing tomorrow?"
He gestured with his controller at the big-screen television. "Same thing I'm doing now."
"Blue invited us out on the boat."
"Ah. No."
"Seems a shame for us to live so close to the water and never take advantage of it, when so many people spend so much money to do the things we take for granted."
"Yeah. I'm sticking with no."
"I feel bad leaving you behind."
"Nah, it'd be nice to have the house to myself."
He'd definitely find her Milano stash then. "And what will you do if you have the house to yourself?" Even as the words left her mouth, she regretted them, especially when he paused the game and turned to give her a look over his shoulder.
"Okay, well, I'm going to bed so I can get out there early." Giving up her desire for cookies at the risk of giving away the hiding place, she kissed the top of his head and walked toward her bedroom.
Brioney shifted her weight to balance the backpack over her shoulder as she followed Joy out on the dock. How did the kid have so much energy this early? She'd been up over an hour already and helped make their special Saturdays-off breakfast of pancakes and sausage.
She made a beeline for Blue's boat Blue Skies, where he stepped out and caught her in his arms, swinging her up. She squealed with laughter, like a little kid, before he deposited her on deck and turned to smile at Brioney, white teeth flashing, blue eyes crinkling.
She came to a stumbling stop as her stomach dropped to her toes. Where had that reaction come from? She'd known Blue since she was a kid. Her sister was only a year older than her, so the three of them and Mercedes, her best friend, had done a lot together. Okay, maybe more than once she'd admired the look of him, like when he'd been shirtless on the beach or by the pool. But she loved her sister too much to do more than that. But today, the ratty flip-flops, ragged cargo shorts, and the faded-to-colorless T-shirt didn't matter, only that smile and the way he was looking at her.
His smile dimmed, and he stepped forward. "You okay?"
How long had she been standing there, gawking like an idiot? "I'm fine. I'm good."
He took the backpack and staggered, exaggerated, under the weight. "What do you have in there?"
"Water, sunscreen, a change of clothes, a jacket for each of us." All the things a mother needed to think about.
"I have water and sunscreen, and extra jackets on the boat."
"Well, I didn't know that."
"Because you haven't been out in so long. Come aboard."
"Do you have a lot of clients today?" she asked, ignoring his proffered hand because honestly, she just wasn't sure what touching him would do to her brain right now. She pulled the backpack away from him.
"Two older couples. Should be here any minute. You ladies get settled in." He hopped on the deck beside her and tugged on Joy's braid, much like he'd done with Brioney's hair back in the day. "Good to see you, kid. Give me a hand making ready, and tell me what you've been up to."
She watched her daughter tag along after him, and stowed their bag under the seats that lined the boat. Blue was good with Joy. She'd forgotten about that, how he'd been around her whole life and seemed to feel invested, like an honorary uncle. And it was good for Joy to learn about boats and fishing and things Brioney didn't have time to teach her. She dropped to her seat and leaned her head back, closing her eyes against the sun reflecting off the water. She knew she should put on her sunscreen, and she would in a minute, but for now, she wanted to just savor the warmth.
"Hello?" A gruff voice brought her out of her reverie, and she opened her eyes to see Blue's clients standing on the dock. She stood quickly to welcome them, and Blue joined her to offer his own greeting.
The man with the gray beard stepped onto the deck before helping down a blonde woman. Then a tall, slender man with military bearing followed, and his wife, a brunette, was on her own.
Brioney watched as Blue settled them in, showed them where to store their belongings, where the cooler was so they could help themselves to refreshments. He was good at this, good with people, making everyone comfortable before he beckoned Joy to come to the bridge with him. He motioned for Brioney to cast them off from the dock, then they were on their way out of the channel, heading toward the bay. She leaned her head back again, letting the breeze wash over her, and watched a flock of pelicans soar overhead. They were her favorite, so primitive-looking. One broke away and dove toward the wake of the boat, startling an exclamation from one woman as the pelican swooped beneath the surface, then emerged victorious, a large fish flapping in its beak.
"I wish I was that lucky," one of the men, who'd introduced himself as John, said.
"If you had that laser surgery like I told you to, you might be," his wife Marie countered.
He scowled at her.
"How long have you been married?" Brioney asked, and wondered what compelled her curiosity. Lord knew she saw enough people at the hotel and didn't want to know their stories, beyond what they left behind in their rooms.
"Twenty-eight years," Marie said. "Long enough that I hear that every time we come on vacation."
"Are you from Texas?" Brioney asked.
"North Dakota," John responded. "We live there half a year, and here half a year. Tired of shoveling all that damn snow."
"I can see that." But she couldn't help a wistful sigh. "I've never even seen snow."
"Have you lived here all your life?"
"Yes, and I couldn't ask for a better place to grow up, but we don't have much in the way of seasons, unless you count hurricane season."
"Now that would be terrifying," the other woman, Sharon, said. "Risking losing everything by living here? I couldn't do that."
"We've been lucky, nothing major in my lifetime. We've evacuated a couple of times, when I was a kid, but at the last minute the hurricanes took a turn toward the north and we were spared."
"That is fortunate." Sharon looked toward the bridge. "Your husband is good with your daughter."
The words took a minute to penetrate, then a flush heated her face. "Oh, Blue? No, he's not my husband. He's just a friend. He just wanted to do something nice for us today."
"Oh, I wondered. You have such a good rapport, I was sure you were married."
"We've just known each other forever."
"What is it you do?"
"I'm a maid at the Avalon Island Hotel." She had worked there since she was in high school and was used to the pitying looks she got. Sometimes she was compelled to let people know she was studying for a business degree, but not today. Let them judge.
"I guess you meet a lot of people when you work in the tourism industry," Marie said. "Even people from other countries?"
Brioney took the opportunity to tell them about the British couple she'd met this past summer, who claimed to have minor roles in Downton Abbey, only to be interrupted when Joy bounded down the stairs and skidded to a stop in front of her.
"Blue told me to remind you to put our sunscreen on."
"Right. Get the bag."
As she applied lotion to her daughter, Blue guided the boat out on the open water.
"Blue said we might see dolphins today. Are we going to fish?"
"Maybe. It's up to Blue."
"You like to fish?" the other man, William, asked, surprised.
"Yes, my uncle taught me, but I don't like to clean them."
"If you catch them, you have to clean them. That's the rule."
"I know. My uncle taught me that, too, but I still don't like to do it." She wrinkled her nose. "Sometimes I just throw them back so I don't have to clean them, but sometimes I like to eat them. My mom cooks them really good. Are you going fishing?"
"We certainly hope to. The advertisement said your friend knows the best spots."
"He should. He's been doing this since he was Joy's age," Brioney said with a smile.
When Blue brought the boat around and anchored it, Brioney sat back and watched him settle his clients, then Joy, with fishing poles.
"Are you sure you're just friends?" Marie leaned over to ask. "You haven't stopped looking at him since he came down from the pilothouse."
Brioney willed herself not to blush, the new feelings rushing forward again. "You have to admit, he's nice to look at." But maybe the older women didn't think so, not with his collar-length hair blowing in the breeze, the sun-bleached hair of his beard glistening on his jaw, the loose T-shirt plastered against his body by the wind.
"Oh, he is definitely that," Sharon said.
Blue turned his head to flash a smile at them. "Any of you ladies game?"
Brioney shook her head. "I'm just going to sit here and do nothing for a change." She'd thought about bringing one of her textbooks, and probably should be studying for midterms, but she needed a brain break, a day off. She wished she'd brought a novel, or even a magazine.
"Okay, well, if any of you need me, I'll be in the water. I need to check out one of the props." He stripped off his shirt even as he crossed to the opposite side of the boat, and dove in before anyone could say anything.
"Oh, my!" Marie said, leaning over to watch where he'd disappeared. "Is that safe?"
"Blue is part fish," Brioney assured her, though the glimpse of muscles she'd just seen had her throat knotting.
Just then, he bobbed back to the surface, whipping his hair out of his face. "The water's just fine, ladies!"
"How deep is it there?" Sharon wanted to know.
"Forty feet?" Brioney surmised.
"Are there sharks?"
"Probably a few. I've seen hammerheads and tigers off of the pier. But Blue does this all the time." Which was why he looked like that. "He's a surfer, so he's in the water more than he's out of it."
The three women watched him dive and surface repeatedly, until William made a sound like he'd caught something. Blue heard, too, and pulled himself back onto the boat, the muscles in his lean arms rippling, the wet hair of his chest glinting in the sun. He crossed the boat to support the man reeling in his fish, but William was clearly experienced and didn't need Blue's help. At Blue's quiet suggestion, Joy put her own rod in the holder and moved aside, out of the way. She came to stand by Brioney as the older man started to struggle with his catch.
"What do you think he got?" Brioney asked aloud, but no one answered as Blue stepped forward then, his mouth grim as he lent a hand.
And then the animal broke the surface, thrashing against the line.
"Shark!" Blue barked, then looked over his shoulder at the women as he pulled a knife from his pocket and switched it open. "You see it?"
Brioney saw it, all gray anger and triangular teeth, an animal that had been in the very water Blue had been in. She nodded and tightened her hands on Joy's shoulders when she would move closer. Blue dropped his gaze to Joy, motioned her closer.
"Are you crazy?" Brioney demanded.
"I'm going to cut it loose, but I want to make sure she gets a good look. I won't let anything happen to her."
Because she knew that to be true, she released her grip on her daughter, who immediately slipped away to Blue, her focus on the pissed animal. Blue looked from her to the fisherman, who nodded, and with a quick motion, cut the line. The shark dropped back into the water, which calmed almost instantly, except for the fin moving back and forth, agitated, before disappearing.
Blue and William dropped into their chairs at almost the same moment, while Joy leaned over the side of the boat, scanning the water for the fish. Brioney resisted the urge to pull her daughter against her, to take her below, away from danger.
"I know what I want to do now," Joy declared, turning to face Blue when she didn't see the creature any longer.
"What's that?" Blue asked.
"I want to study fish."
"That's a lot of science," Marie said. "Do you like science?"
"She likes everything," Brioney said.
"I guess this is the place to figure out if you want to do that," John said. "Do you scuba dive?" he asked Blue.
"Nah, I don't. Her uncle does, though. Maybe when he comes home, he can teach you," he said to Joy.
"So she can get in the water with sharks?" Brioney demanded, still a little breathless. "Um, no."
"She won't start out in the water with sharks," Blue pointed out.
But also scuba diving was expensive. Brioney couldn't swing lessons on her budget. Maybe by the time Fitz got home from the army, she would have new interests. She felt bad even thinking that, because part of the reason she sang at The Wharf on Friday nights was to show Joy she should follow her dreams. She wanted her daughter to follow whatever path excited her.
Except getting in the water with sharks.
Once the excitement settled down, Blue started up the engines, and they moved away from the shark's territory before dropping their lines into the water again.
"You were in the water with that animal," Brioney said quietly to Blue, joining him in the pilothouse.
He reached past her to adjust a lever, not meeting her gaze. "He wasn't all that big. I wasn't in danger."
"I kind of do." He turned to her and stroked a strand of her hair back from her face. "You worry about me?"
She stepped back, breaking contact, and dropped her gaze. "You've been good to us. I'd be sad if something happened to you."
"I'm your friend, Brioney."
The rumble of his voice, kept low, sent shivers down her spine. She couldn't meet his gaze, didn't have enough confidence in her emotions to face him.
"I don't know why, after the way Jessamy treated you."
His mouth straightened into a grim line. "I won't say it didn't hurt, but it was a long time ago. She wouldn't have been happy here, and I wouldn't have been happy there, so it is probably for the best."
He guided the boat through the waters, the rumble of the engine and the flow of the water mesmerizing. So she was caught off-guard when he spoke.
"I'm meeting my parents for dinner tonight, but do you want to go get something to eat tomorrow night? You and me and Joy?"
"I can't," she said automatically.
She couldn't think of a reason. "Brandon. I have to make sure he eats."
"He can come, too."
"I can't."
"You came today."
"I…Blue, I don't date."
He rested a hip on the console and folded his arms over his chest. "I didn't ask you on a date. I asked you and your daughter to have dinner with me. If I wanted a date, I wouldn't have invited your daughter and your brother."
"Oh." Embarrassed by the conclusion she'd jumped to, she took another step back and lost her balance over the step. With lightning reflexes, he caught her arm and pulled her against him.
Her palms collided with his chest, the bare skin still cool from the water, so firm beneath her hands, the blond hair crisp beneath her skin. She knew she should pull away, but she couldn't make herself.
Okay, that did the trick. She snapped her gaze away from the sun-browned skin, the drips from the ends of his hair that made paths along his chest, avoided his gaze and turned toward her daughter.
"My God, Mercy, I wanted to lick him, head to toe. What is wrong with me?" Brioney asked as the two of them cleaned out one of the ocean view rooms on Sunday afternoon. The couple who had stayed here had been reasonably neat, but Lord, there was even sand in the bed.
Mercedes shook her head. The three of them, Mercedes, Jessamy and Brioney, had been best friends since kindergarten. They'd been through the ups and downs of men and jobs and ambitions. Mercedes had been there for the drama of Jessamy and Blue's break-up, for Brioney's own stormy relationship with Cameron and her teen pregnancy. She trusted Mercedes as she trusted her own sister, but she couldn't talk to Jessamy about this. No. Way.
"Are you seriously thinking about going out with him?" Mercedes asked.
Brioney blew out a breath. "Jessamy would be pissed, wouldn't she?"
Mercedes frowned as she wiped down the plate-glass window. "I don't know. They were together for a long time. And they were close. I mean, I remember them talking about happily-ever-after, don't you? And her talking about the sex?" Mercedes rolled her eyes. "I've spent my entire adult life trying to get the sex she talked about having with Blue."
Brioney did remember. She blushed at the memory of some of the things Jessamy had told her. Could she ever be with him, knowing he'd done those things with her sister?
"I shouldn't have said anything. It's just a fantasy. I'll never act on it. He's been too good of a friend for me to chase him off when it's over. I'd hate for Joy to get hurt because she couldn't see him anymore."
"So you'd go into it thinking you'd end it? You don't think he's a forever kind of guy?"
"No. Lord. He has a million different jobs, each one easier than the last. He has no ambition. I need more than that for me and for Joy." She blew out a long breath after smoothing the duvet and straightening, stretching her back with her fists pressed into the aching muscles. "Cameron will be in town this weekend. Maybe he'll help me work off some tension."
"I cannot believe you sleep with your baby daddy, still."
"Not all the time, and not, you know, with any expectations. We suck as a couple, but we're really good in bed."
"You're an idiot. You say you're thinking about your future, and Joy's, but you can't do that if you're holding onto your past."
"I'm pretty sure Blue isn't my future. I mean, technically, he's my past, too, since I've known him forever."
"He's a good guy, though. He would never hurt you."
Mercedes was probably right about that. Blue didn't have a vicious bone in his body. "So why don't you go out with him?" Brioney asked her friend, even though just thinking the question gave her a twinge.
"Because I like a little bit of pain," Mercedes said with a wink. "Otherwise, it's no challenge."
Was Brioney like that, too? Is that why she kept Cameron in her life? When Cameron arrived, she could see then if her attraction to Blue was just sexual frustration, or if these feelings were something more.
Wearing a tank and cut-offs, Brioney opened the door to Cameron, feeling a little slutty. She didn't usually dress like this, but she wanted a reaction, to gauge if this weekend would be one where they slept together, or not.
"Hey, Brioney, looking good," he said in an off-handed way, not really looking at her, but past her to Joy, who came running out of her room when she heard his voice.
"I'm going to be a marine biologist," Joy announced first thing as he swept her into his arms.
In a couple more visits, he wasn't going to be able to do that. Brioney had to admit, he wasn't a bad dad, though he wasn't around much. He lived in Houston, which was about four hours away. And he'd grown up really nice. She had to remind herself why they weren't together—he'd hidden behind his parents when they said the baby wasn't his, that she was just grasping onto him to ruin his future. He'd been a summer boy, had already been accepted to Tulane when she'd peed on that stick. But she'd never been with anyone else—still had never been with anyone else. His parents had insisted Cameron continue pursuing his education, and her parents, well, they were gone. Her older brother Fitz, who was raising her, Jessamy and Brandon, essentially told Cameron's parents to fuck off, that he would make sure Brioney and her baby got everything they needed, and they and their deadbeat son could take a hike.
After Joy was born, Cameron had come crawling back, wanting to be part of her life. Brioney allowed it, for Joy's sake, but she'd never forgiven him for letting his parents accuse her of being a liar.
"A marine biologist? Where did that come from?" He looked past her to Brioney.
"We went out on Blue's boat last weekend and one of the fishermen caught a shark. It's all she's been able to think about." Brioney closed the door behind him.
"Blue's still around?" He set Joy down with an exaggerated groan. "Man, he used to be able to get the best—"
Brioney cut him off with a look. He nodded his understanding and turned to his daughter. "What do you want to do this weekend?"
"What are my choices?" she countered, as she always did.
"You are your mother's daughter. I heard the water park in Port Isabel is open, and it's fun. Have you been?"
Of course she hadn't been. It cost an arm and a leg, and Brioney didn't have the money, or the time, to spare.
"No, we haven't been," Joy said, her voice relatively calm, though her eyes were bright.
"Would you like to go?" he asked.
"I would. Can Mom come, too?"
"No, sweetie," she said before unease could do more than flash across Cameron's face. "This weekend is for you and your dad."
As she said it, a strange sense of peace washed over her. Yes, she'd have time free to study. Not that Joy bugged her when she knew she was studying, but Brioney felt guilty not spending their limited free time together.
Joy's face fell. "You'd have fun."
"I need to study. You have fun for both of us."
"You need anything?" Cameron asked Joy, standing uneasily in the entryway.
"I have my bag," she said, and hurried to her room to get it.
"You can come, if you want," he offered awkwardly.
She shook her head. "I have things to do around here. Enjoy your day." Her daughter reappeared, and she kissed her, hugged her hard, and sent her off with her daddy.
Since Brandon was still asleep, the house was quiet. She could get a lot done.
But she could only sit at the books for an hour, when her toes flexed into the carpet one too many times. She looked out the window at the sunny day. There wouldn't be many beautiful days once November arrived. She'd take her book to the beach, sit in the sun and study. Sure, it wouldn't be quiet, and she'd be easily distracted, but the urge was fairly overpowering. Ridiculous, when she should be appreciating the quiet house.
But she needed it. She wrote a note to Brandon, pulled on a different T-shirt—this tank was one thing for greeting her ex, but another to wear out in public, packed a couple of bottled waters and a towel into her book bag, along with her textbook and her composition book, tucked her keys and phone in the front pocket of her shorts, and headed out the front door.
She walked the few short blocks to the beach, feeling the heat of the sun relax her shoulder muscles. She lifted her arms over her head, hands clasped, to stretch, and tightened her toes in her flip-flops. The beach wasn't as crowded as usual, one of the reasons this was her favorite time of year. Not as many people, not as loud. She found a spot where her view of the water wasn't obscured, spread her towel with two snaps, and stretched out on it. She knew that a few hundred yards down the beach, either Blue or Logan would be renting chairs and canopies to tourists, but she didn't come here to see Blue. She came here to feel the sand, to let the sound of the waves relax her, let the rhythm somehow wash the words she read into her brain. The glare of the sun on the page was nearly blinding, and she dug into her bag for her sunglasses.
Finally she settled into the chapter and made notes as the warm breeze flowed over her. She didn't know how long she'd been there when a shadow cast over the page.
Blue dropped to the sand beside her. "Surprised to see you here today."
"Thought you'd be working."
"No, I told Leeayn I'd work today, since Cameron has Joy, but she didn't schedule me. Just as well, since I'm behind on my reading." She held up her book.
He angled his head to read the title. "Macroeconomics Business and Policy. A little light reading?"
"Midterms."
"Yeah? How's it going?"
She stuck her composition book inside the textbook and closed it. "I wish I'd chosen another major."
"Like what? Music?"
She snorted. "What would I be able to do with that?"
"Sing. You have a beautiful voice."
"Thanks, but musicians are a dime a dozen. I just want something so I can give Joy a good life. I know I shouldn't have waited so long, but…"
He put his hand over hers. "You're doing a good thing. Once you have your degree, what are you going to do?"
"I thought maybe I'd be a manager or something. As long as I could stay on the island."
That didn't leave a lot of options, she knew, and if she truly wanted the best for Joy, she'd leave the island, go to another city.
"You're getting red." He touched the tip of her nose. "Did you bring your sunscreen?"
She'd grown up on the island, where sunscreen was as much a part of life as flip-flops. But she'd forgotten it today in her desperation to get to the water's edge.
"Gah. No." And she usually kept it in her bag for Joy, but she'd run out when they'd been on the boat and hadn't replaced it.
"Come on, I have some at the booth."
"I probably should just head home." She opened her bag to tuck her book and notebook inside.
"Ah, come on. We're in for some rain this coming week. You need to get outside while you can." He hopped to his feet and stretched a hand to help her up.
She hesitated, thinking it would be just as easy to push herself to her feet, but instead, she put her hand in his lean one, the palm hard and callused, strong and firm as he wrapped his fingers around her and tugged.
"Did you like college? Getting to go away, I mean?" she asked as they walked, once he released her hand.
"Not really. College was a challenge for me."
"Was it? I wouldn't have thought so."
"Really? Why not?"
"I just remember high school being really easy for you."
"Sure, it was, but that was part of the problem. I didn't have any study skills, and college was exponentially more challenging than high school. Plus, you know, even though my parents weren't particularly strict, having that freedom was heady." He turned to look at her. "I do wish you'd gotten to experience that, if for no other reason than to say you did."
She'd made her decision when she decided to keep her baby. And now it was too late, she was too old, and really, almost ready to graduate. "Did it get easier?"
"I got used to it, but I was never really disciplined. It's pretty amazing, actually, that I got into UT because my grades weren't great. I would have tanked grad school."
"Is that why you came home?"
"Austin was great, you know? Great. But it wasn't the place for me." He motioned for her to precede him up the steps to the boardwalk. "This is home. Always has been, always will be."
Blue told himself he was only checking on Brioney and Joy because Cameron was in town. He didn't trust the guy. He remembered too well how he'd hurt Brioney when he left.
He hadn't been to Brioney's house since he and Jess had broken up almost seven years ago, but his bike flowed along the roads as if it had been yesterday.
Blue bounced the book on the tips of his fingers, his excuse for coming to the house tonight. He rang the doorbell. A few minutes passed before Brioney answered, pushing her hair over her shoulder, bare in the skimpy top she wore. And were her lips swollen?
"Blue, hi. I didn't know you were stopping by."
Her voice was husky, too, sexy as hell. "Yeah, ah, I saw this book on sharks and thought of Joy." He held it up, like it was evidence, glancing past her at Cameron, who'd stepped out of the living room, adjusting his pants. Blue almost didn't recognize the anger that rose in him, that she was fooling around with the guy who had treated her so badly. "Where is she?" He turned what he hoped was a bland expression to Brioney. Of course she would be here, but Brioney wouldn't be making out with her ex, with her daughter nearby.
"She's in the living room. We were watching a movie." Her tone was almost accusing.
Had that been what they were doing? Watching a movie like a normal family, when Cameron had walked away? His temper flared. He buried it and forced a smile.
"Cameron. How's it going?" Uninvited, he stepped into the house and closed the door behind him, like he belonged here.
"Great." Cameron recognized the challenge and lifted his chin. "Pool business has never been better. I have four crews working at all times. Good money." He moved closer to Brioney and folded his arms over his chest. "Brioney and Joy were telling me about your boat. Just the one?"
"Well, there's just me." Blue forced a casual tone. "But I love doing it."
"And you still do the rentals on the beach, too?"
Blue rarely felt defensive about his life choices, but he was already off-balance finding Cameron here. "With Logan, yes. I like meeting the tourists."
"Plus, you know, not a whole lot of pressure."
Blue remembered, clearly now, how he'd hated Cameron even before Brioney turned up pregnant and he dumped her. He could see why Brioney was attracted to him, tall, dark and handsome, broad shouldered. But he was a rich, entitled asshole.
"I like my life," he said, just as Joy came out of the living room, rubbing her eyes.
So she'd been asleep. Maybe Brioney had been making out with her ex. Again, he battled back the anger.
"Hey, Blue, what are you doing here?" Joy asked, her voice slurred by sleep.
"I came to bring you this book." He held it out to her. "I saw it at the store and thought of you."
His words penetrated her lethargy, and she bounced forward to take the book from him. Immediately, she let it fall open and flipped through the pictures. "This is great! Thanks, Blue!" She hugged him, quick and hard, and moved away, looking through her book.
And then he was left, awkward, by the door, as Cameron and Brioney watched him. He no longer had an excuse to be here, so he stepped back, his hand on the doorknob. He looked at Brioney, wishing he could ask her what the hell she was thinking. But it wasn't his business.
"I'll see you around," he said instead, and let himself out.
Brioney flopped onto her bed—alone—feeling a little dirty. She'd thought all week about taking the edge off her libido with Cameron, but when the time came to follow through, she couldn't go through with it and sent him home. Something about them pretending to be a happy little family left a bad taste in her mouth.
Blue stopping by hadn't helped. The posturing between the two men had been subtle, but kind of exciting. God, what was wrong with her?
Would she have settled for Cameron if Blue hadn't stopped by? The way Blue had looked at her….
She rolled her shoulders, as if that could relieve the tension running through her. At least she knew it wasn't just sexual frustration. She was attracted to Blue.
What would Jessamy say? Could she really get involved with her sister's ex?
She pushed the thought aside. She didn't need that drama. She had her daughter, she had school, she had work, she had singing. She would get out her guitar right now to work this off, if she didn't think the noise would wake Joy.
At least Cameron was gone, and she wouldn't see him for another month. She had known he was an asshole, but thought maybe he might have outgrown it until she saw him with Blue tonight. She wished she'd risen to Blue's defense, but honestly, she'd never thought Blue was the type to need defending. He was living the life he wanted, wasn't he? She'd always just assumed. Maybe it was time to ask.
What was she doing? Was she really thinking about getting involved with Blue? Her sister's ex? A man with whom she had nothing in common? She thought he was interested—why else was he coming around the bar, inviting her to go on the boat, bringing Joy a book?
Joy. She'd been trying to show her daughter how to follow her dreams. How could she do that and be involved with a man who had none? At least Cameron was ambitious and successful, and wasn't that what she wanted for her little girl?
But did she really want to wait to find love?
Her head was starting to hurt, and she would never get to sleep, so she got up and headed to the living room for the television. She didn't let herself watch TV much while she was in school because she could better use the time to study. But tonight, she wouldn't be able to study, so she may as well clear some shows off the DVR.
She was halfway through an episode of her favorite romantic series when footsteps padded into the living room and Joy plopped on the couch beside her. Without a word, Brioney lifted a corner of her afghan. Joy curled up against her, and even though it was late on a school night, she let her daughter watch a few minutes until she fell asleep again, nestled against her side.
Avalon True is available at all retailers!
First Chapter of Bluestone Holiday
Bailey Tanner unlocked the door to the log cabin and immediately drew back at the musty smell of the place. Musty and...nasty. She had never smelled something dead up close but she was pretty sure something had died in here.
December in the Northwoods of Minnesota meant opening the windows wasn't an option.
But she was definitely not going to be able to sleep here as she had planned. She might have to go get a room at The Landing a couple of nights. She was pretty sure Lily had a room available this time of year.
When was the last time anyone had been up to the cabin? Not this past summer for sure. Her brothers lived out of state, and her dad wouldn't have even been able to make it up the front steps to the door before his knee replacement last month. So at least a year.
She pulled her sweater up over her nose and said a little prayer that she wouldn't find whatever had died in here.
No, better to find it and get rid of it, rather than it be stuck in a wall somewhere.
She entered the living room with its secondhand plaid furniture in front of the outdated flatscreen television sitting on a cedar chest where they stored blankets. The wall-to-wall carpet the salesman had assured her mother was durable looked sadly out of style. Bailey turned toward the sliding door that led to the deck. Her favorite thing about summers here was reading on the deck at all hours. Her love for books had driven her to become a professor of children's literature in St. Paul.
She checked behind the drapes before she pulled the cord— the last thing she wanted was a spider bite—and when she pulled the drapes open, yep, there was a pile of fur right against the window. Gray, maybe a baby raccoon or a squirrel. She didn't look too closely, but reached around and opened the door before she headed to the kitchen for a broom. Gagging, she pushed the carcass over the threshold—with some effort—and toward the edge of the deck and over the side.
She took a moment to gather herself before she took a deep breath of cold fresh air and looked out through the bare trees to the icy lake beyond.
She hadn't been up here in the winter in years, had forgotten the stark beauty of the place, even with the leaves blanketing everything, where snow should be doing that job this time of year. None of the state had gotten much snow yet this year, and the drive up had been kind of sad and gray.
Walking into the neglected cabin had not dispelled the sad grayness that was settling over her.
But the breeze made standing outside unbearable so she turned back inside, which was only marginally warmer. At least removing the source of the smell had been accomplished, and she left the door open a little longer to see if that helped dissipate the odor. She walked back into the kitchen and again took a deep fortifying breath before opening the refrigerator. It didn't smell great, but at least it was working, and a good scrub should take care of the lingering odor. She braced herself before opening each cabinet, but apparently the exterminators had held up their end of the contract, because nothing scuttled in the empty spaces.
She would have thought her mother would at least have left a few canned goods behind, but no, Bailey was going to have to go into town, go by the grocery store, maybe pick up a hot meal from Quinn's.
Eat it there, because eating anything here was not going to be appetizing.
At least the kitchen was minimally disgusting.
Then she headed upstairs. Her parents' bedroom was in the front, with the view of the lake out of the wide triangular windows, and hers and her brothers' were in the back, toward the woods. Once, the area had been a big bunk room, designed with the idea that the extended family could come stay and have space, but that rarely happened. Her parents erected a wall in the space after Bailey had come sobbing into their room one night too many after her brothers had told her scary stories. So now the space contained one regular sized room, and one tiny room.
She opened the door to check each, and none had any bedding.
Of course. She'd forgotten that her mother took all the bedding home at the end of each season to launder it. Why hadn't she thought of that, before she'd driven all the way up here? Amazon had to deliver here, too, didn't they? She wondered if she'd even have internet service. She needed to ask her mom if they'd had service in the cabin. The fact that she didn't know bothered her. She had been invited up here every summer since she got married, but David had never wanted to come. They'd both worked summer school for extra money that they never spent because he never wanted to do anything. So she had closed in on herself more and more until...she didn't know who she was anymore.
She was going to have to figure it out, now that David was out of the picture. She closed the doors to the bedrooms again, and headed down the stairs to close the sliding door. She was going to have to see what could be done about the dead animal smell before she turned on the heat and stunk up the whole place. She wondered who she could ask.
Just as she turned away from closing the drapes, the front door swung open, and a man strode through, gun drawn.
She jerked her hands up reflexively as he shouted, "Sheriff's department, freeze!"
Zach Zephardt stared down at the woman in the puffy coat and messy hair as she gaped with wide eyes, her hands up before he'd even finished the command.
To be fair, this was his first B&E call, so he hadn't really noticed she was complying before he barked at her.
He holstered his weapon, then held out his hands to the woman, palm out.
The light in the cabin was bad, and damn, the cabin was cold, and smelled like something had died. Was she squatting? He hadn't seen a car in the driveway. How had she gotten all the way out here? Not many people used this road this time of year— most of the cabins in the area were summer places.
"I got a call," he said. "A prowler in this cabin."
"I can't be a prowler in my own family's cabin," she snapped, and stepped forward.
He squinted and...no. It couldn't be. "Bailey?" Bailey had been a summer girl, had spent every summer with her family here in Bluestone. He'd watched her grow from a chubby self-conscious girl who spent most of the summer reading on the deck to a lighthearted teen who'd made the place her own, and had drawn everyone to her, even himself, though she was about five years older than him.
But that young bright girl was nowhere in sight now. The woman before him was hunched inside her coat, and, okay, he'd drawn a gun on her so maybe that was part of it, but she just seemed to be a shadow of the girl he'd known.
She stepped forward, her expression tired, sad, and he instinctively moved forward, hand out in apology. "I didn't know you'd come back. Sorry. Mrs. Filbert reported a prowler and I had to come check it out."
He didn't see any recognition on her part, though. He scrubbed a hand over his chin. He didn't think he had changed that much. Maybe she hadn't expected him to stay in town. Maybe she hadn't thought he would become a cop.
"It's me, Zach. I was Brian's friend, remember?"
She stepped back again just as fast, drawing in a sharp breath that must have been a mistake in this stinky house, because she started coughing, pressing a hand to her chest and bending over.
He caught her arm and guided her toward the door and fresh air. "Let's get out of here for now. You don't have any power, and it's going to be dark soon."
"I forgot how early it gets dark up here," she said, letting him lead her, then pulling her arm free when they reached the porch. "I thought my parents left the power on."
That would make sense because they wouldn't want the place to freeze up in the winter, but when he flicked the light switch by the door, nothing happened, so...
"We can get Chase Granzer out here tomorrow and give it a look. You weren't planning to stay here, were you?" He spotted a suitcase just inside the door.
"I had been, before I saw what bad shape it was in. I'm going to try to get a place at The Landing, I guess. I saw it was still open."
He drew in a breath through his teeth, then reached back in to grab her suitcase and roll it out. "That might be difficult. They're doing the fish house parade this weekend, and she might be pretty well booked."
Bailey looked up at him, brows drawn together. "I thought that was always Thanksgiving week."
"Yeah, usually, but the lake didn't freeze over until after that, and the fishermen couldn't get their houses out on the lake, so we postponed it."
"That's crazy."
He shrugged. "We had temperatures in the nineties until October."
Now that they were out of the shadows, he got a good look at her and yeah, he wouldn't have recognized her if he'd passed her in town. She was pale and solemn, her auburn hair piled haphaz‐ ardly on top of her head, but her attitude more than anything made him certain he wouldn't have known her. She was— hunched in on herself. Okay, yes, when she'd been in middle school, she'd been like that, but she'd blossomed in high school. He saw nothing of the girl she'd been in the woman before him.
"Let's see about getting you a place to stay," he said.
She looked from him to his patrol car, parked in the driveway. "Don't you need to get back to work?"
He motioned to the radio on his hip. "They'll let me know if they need me." They usually didn't. "You want to follow me into town? Where's your car?"
She gave him a look he couldn't read. "In the garage. And it's been a while but I know the way."
He nodded, and headed down he steps ahead of her.
She hadn't given any indication she remembered him, at all. He wondered if she did, and what had made her change so much.
​Bluestone Holiday is available at all retailers.
First Chapter of Bluestone Christmas
The Log Cabin Quilt Shop buzzed with conversation as the women bent over the quilting frame, glasses perched on noses, needles dipping and sliding. Willow slid bolts of Christmas fabric back on the shelf. Finally the bolts were thinning out as people realized they were running out of time as the holidays grew closer. She needed to make room for her Valentine prints, and she had bolts of 1930s reproduction fabric coming in.
She smoothed her hand across the cloth. She loved her shop, loved what it signified. Home. Her home. Hers and her daughter Lala's. A fresh start, a new holiday in her new home.
She looked into the open door of her office, where her daughter was sitting at the desk doing her homework, her blonde head bent over the notebook, her pencil gripped in her little hand. Willow would check it in a minute. Just knowing her daughter was within arm's reach as she worked gave her a warm feeling...which was good for a Minnesota winter.
Even though they had yet to see one snowflake. As she listened to the women in the quilting room, she understood that this was one of the warmest winters on record. It figured, her first winter on her own, when she looked forward to building a snowman, going sledding, having snowball fights, all the things she had never experienced growing up in Texas.
She'd been assured the snow would come, and she'd have all those experiences, but she wanted them for Christmas.
She was going to take a snow day the first chance she got.
"Oh my goodness, look at the time!" exclaimed Sharon Marcel, accompanied by the sound of her chair scooting back from the quilting table. "I need to get home and get dinner started."
Other murmurs of assent followed, and more chairs scraped along the floor. Willow peeked around the corner to see women stretching their backs, tucking glasses away, folding up sewing kits. They'd leave the quilt stretched on the frame until they could get back to it—usually the same women, though some alternated. They'd return every day until the quilt was finished, since they'd be raffling it at the Bluestone Christmas Festival.
Good for the town, good for her fledgling business.
The women retrieved their coats from the hooks near the door and bundled up. It may not have snowed, but it was still cold. They all called their goodbyes to her and Lala before they headed out into the evening.
Something else she had to get used to in Minnesota—it got dark really early.
The shop was so quiet after the women left. Willow spent a few more minutes restocking the store before she walked into her office and dropped her hands to her daughter's shoulders and bent to kiss her head.
"How's the homework?"
"Hard. I don't get fractions."
"Oh, well, you're in the world's best place to learn fractions." Willow crouched beside her daughter and looked at the paper. "What are we looking at?"
"Comparing fractions. How am I supposed to know if three-fourths is bigger than two-thirds?"
"Come here, and I'll show you." She led the way to her cutting table, which had the fractions etched into the metal ruler, along with the inches. "Two-thirds of a yard is twenty-four inches. See? Three-fourths of a yard is twenty-seven inches." She put her fingers on the points of the ruler. "If I sold Mrs. Marcel three-fourths of a yard, and Mrs. Givens two-thirds of a yard, who would get more fabric?"
She didn't think Lala was listening, only stretching to peer at the ruler. "Can I take this ruler to school?" she asked as she transferred answers from the ruler onto her paper.
"Um, no, but you can take the concept of it with you. Pretty soon it will all be in your memory and you won't have to think about it."
"Done!" Lala announced, straightening. "Can we go home now? I'm starving."
So was Willow. She had dinner in her new slow-cooker, and just the thought of the warm meal waiting for her made her stomach growl. Her store hours stated she would be here until six, but she didn't think anyone would be coming in the last forty minutes or so. And a lost sale or two wouldn't break the bank.
"Pack up your stuff and we'll get going. I'll just make one more round and then we'll head home."
Home was a little Craftsman-style house three blocks away, newly renovated and cozy. She took Lala's mittened hand in hers and they swung arms as they walked home. Walking home in this weather was probably ridiculous, but she loved her new town and driving just seemed like a waste. She'd be driving plenty when the snow started.
She opened the door to the house, anticipating the smell of cooking roast and…nothing. Rats. Had she forgotten to turn on the slow-cooker? She flipped the light switch to investigate and…nothing.
"Mom, it's cold in here."
Willow rubbed her nose. "The power's out."
She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight app. "Wait here. I'm going to see if maybe it's a circuit breaker."
"Erm." The questions were getting harder, and Lala wasn't even a preteen yet. "The builders put in different electrical circuits in the house so not everything is drawing power from the same thing at the same time. So it doesn't overload the system, see? And if it does overload the system, it automatically shuts that area off."
"So why is the whole house dark?"
Good question. "Let me just check. Wait here." Using the phone, she found her way to the breaker box in the kitchen pantry and opened it. No, everything looked set. Maybe the fuse box, then, but she didn't know how to change a fuse.
She needed to call someone, but she didn't know who. She considered going to the neighbors, who still had lights, but hated to intrude at dinner time.
"Let's get in the car and head to town for some dinner." She'd have to dispose of the no-doubt ruined meal, but she'd do that when she had more than the light from her phone.
Lala groaned, dropped her backpack to the floor by the door and turned toward the garage.
Quinn's Bar and Grill was busy, the gravel parking lot filled. Willow waited for Lala to get out of the car and they walked up the stairs from the parking lot to the bar that resembled a two-story log cabin. From what she understood, it used to be just a bar, frequented by the fishermen and hunters that had come to town. But as the town had changed and tried to draw people back to it after the recession had kept people home and away from the lake, the bar had started to serve a pretty decent menu, and had become pretty popular in the small town.
They walked into the large open room, lit along the walls with neon beer signs, with green garland draped from one to the other in an attempt at Christmas cheer. She scanned the rough-hewn pine tables for an empty spot. She steered Lala toward an available one and sat down, a little disappointed as she thought of the meal she'd taken the trouble to make. Nothing on the menu was going to satisfy her. But she'd needed to come somewhere where she could ask for help with their power. They couldn't go the night without it.
She recognized the waitress who came to their table with menus, but couldn't remember her name, and she wasn't wearing a name tag.
"Hey, Willow, Lala," the waitress said brightly. "What can I get you to drink?"
They placed their orders, but before the waitress could walk away, Willow leaned her arms on the table. "Hey, I'm sorry, but our power's out. Do you know of anyone who can come take a look?"
"I'll ask Quinn." She motioned to the man behind the bar, the owner of the place, who was leaning on the bar playing with the feet of a baby in a carrier.
Willow followed her gaze. "I don't want to take him away from his family. Is there someone I can hire?"
"Let me ask Quinn," the waitress said again, and hurried off.
"Why didn't you let me get a Coke?" Lala asked.
"Because the last thing I need is a hopped-up sugar monkey running around a dark house."
Lala giggled and Willow stopped herself from grabbing her daughter's hands and holding onto them. Lala was getting to an age where she wouldn't want to be seen holding her mother's hands…and probably was going to be tired of being called Lala before long. The nickname came from her inability as a toddler to pronounce her real name, Lorelei.
"Do you think the power will be back on by the time Rudolph comes on?"
"Oh. Hm. I guess it depends on what's wrong with it. If not, we'll buy it and make a special night of watching Christmas shows."
"Well, what do you think could be wrong with it?"
"I don't know." Willow sat back, unwrapping the silverware from the tightly wound napkin, then flashed her daughter a smile. "We reached the extent of my expertise with the circuit breakers."
"What if they can't fix it tonight?"
"Then we might have to sleep in the quilt shop. Cover up with lots of fabric."
"We could make a fort," Lala said with a bounce in her seat.
Willow grimaced. "Yeah, probably not that. It won't come to that, though." She hoped. "It's probably just a fuse or something."
She was saved from another electrical explanation when Quinn Alden approached the table.
"Hey, Willow, Jess said you're having some trouble at home? No power?"
She folded her arms on the table with a sigh. "Yes, the whole house is dark. I checked the breaker box, but it seemed to be okay."
"I have a friend who could come take a look for you."
Hope surged, which surprised her because she'd thought she'd been pretty sure they could fix it today. "Would he be able to come by tonight? Or she?"
Quinn grinned. "He. Yeah, let me give him a call."
"Oh. Well. Should we get our food to go?"
"Nah, I'll tell him to meet you here, that okay?"
"That would be perfect." She relaxed a bit, not all that comfortable with meeting a strange man alone at her home.
Quinn hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll take care of that, then. You all good here?"
"We're great, thanks."
"Do you know him?" Lala asked when he walked away.
"Everyone pretty much knows everybody. He's married to that pretty lady there." She motioned to the bar, where a tall blonde was wrangling a dark-haired toddler while balancing a baby carrier on the bar. "She owns The Landing, where people rent boats and ice fishing huts, and he owns this place, so they're probably the most well-known people in town."
"Are we really going to live here forever?" Lala's tone held the slightest of whines. "I miss Texas. I miss my friends. I miss having places to go."
"Come on, Lala." This time she didn't stop herself from taking her daughter's hands. "This is our adventure. It's going to be good for us." She hoped. All she wanted was a new start, making it on her own with her daughter. She was determined to be an independent woman, to show Lala how to be one.
Their food arrived at the table and she didn't even admonish Lala for her overuse of ketchup.
The door opened and a cold draft swept into the room, accompanied by a guy in a knit hat and shearling coat. He didn't take off his coat before he approached the bar, as most people did. Willow couldn't say why she watched as he braced both hands against the bar and leaned in, calling to Quinn. Quinn didn't respond, just pointed in her direction. The man turned and looked right at her with eyes the color of the leaves outside.
Was this her electrician? The question was erased as the man approached her table.
"Hey, you're Willow Branson? Quinn said you don't have any power?"
"Right. We walked into the house and it was dark. Not the circuit breakers," she added quickly, to show him she wasn't completely helpless.
"Yeah, no, the whole house wouldn't be out if it was. I'm Chase Granzer, by the way." He stretched out a gloved hand to her.
She dropped her burger into the basket, wiped her hands hastily on her napkin and took his hand, strong and warm beneath the leather glove. Whoa. She hadn't had a reaction to a man since—since, well, watching Aidan Turner in Poldark. Hm.
"I'll just get Jess to bring us some to-go boxes," she said, turning her attention to practical matters.
"No hurry." He pulled out a chair and sat. "You can finish eating. Not like another fifteen minutes is going to make a difference." He turned to her daughter. "Hey. I'm Chase."
"I'm Lorelei," she said, sitting straighter.
Willow lifted her eyebrows at the formality in her daughter's voice.
"Lorelei. I've always loved that name. How old are you?"
"Nine."
"Nine. What's that, a freshman in high school?"
Lorelei giggled. "Fourth grade."
"Fourth grade." He bounced Lorelei's still-wrapped silverware on its end before unwrapping it and handing her a napkin, then touching the corner of his own mouth to show her she had some ketchup there. "I don't suppose Mrs. Finch is still teaching that?"
Lala's eyes widened as she dabbed at her mouth. "She is! She was your teacher?"
"She was."
He leaned on the table, suddenly seeming very large in his heavy coat. Willow was torn between protectiveness toward her daughter and, well, appreciation.
"Did you like her? I mean, she's kind of scary."
He shook his head, a smile tilting up one corner of his mouth. "Best teacher I ever had, not even kidding. I still remember her reading to us after recess."
"She still does that!"
"I bet she doesn't still read Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, with the voices."
Lala's eyes were huge and bright. "She does!"
"'Funny funny funny Fudgie,'" they both said together, in oddly guttural voices, and both cracked up laughing.
Willow knew enough of Mrs. Finch and the book to smile. "So you've lived here all your life?"
He leaned back in his chair. "I have. I live right over on the lake there."
"On the lake?" Lala asked.
"Near the lake, but I can walk out my back yard and sink a line, if I want."
"Do you? Fish from your back yard?" Willow asked.
"Not much good fishing from the shore. I prefer taking my boat out."
"You have a boat?" Lala asked, meal forgotten. "What kind?"
He waved a hand. "Ah, not very big, a fishing boat with a motor. It's in dry dock now, for the winter. I'm waiting for the lake to ice over so I can take my ice house out there."
"Can we see your ice house when it's on the lake?" Lala asked.
"Lala," Willow chided gently. "We don't invite ourselves, and we barely know Mr. Granzer."
"What did she call you?" Chase asked Lala.
Lala blushed to the roots of her hair. "My nickname. Lala. I couldn't say Lorelei when I was little, so my parents started calling me that."
"It's cute. I like it. And of course you can come to see my ice house. It's got a TV and a heater and I'll take a cot out there sometimes."
Willow smiled. "I don't know if any of that makes sense to me."
"Where are you from?" he asked.
She liked his easy tone, his kindness to Lala. She liked the look of him, light brown hair curling from beneath his knit hat, golden stubble dusting his chin, broad shoulders beneath the bulky coat, those autumn-colored eyes.
Girl, get a grip. You don't need another man in your life telling you what to do.
"Texas," she said.
"Texas." He repeated the word on a laugh. "This is going to be a change for you, for sure."
"That's what we wanted."
He gave her a considering look, but if he had a question, she cut it off by motioning for Lala to finish her burger.
"So are you a fisherman, or an electrician, or what is it exactly that you do?" Willow asked as they walked down the steps to the parking lot a few minutes later.
"I'm a bit of a jack of all trades. A handyman, I guess."
Something in the way his lips thinned made her think there was more to his story, but she didn't ask. "This is my car. We live on the same street as the school, so if you want to follow us…"
"I know where you live," he said.
"What?" The statement alarmed her. "How?"
He shrugged. "Newest residents in town. Not many places for you to move into. You're in the old Hughes place."
"I had heard that."
"And you run the quilt store."
She straightened. "I own it, yes."
The corners of his lips twitched at her distinction, and he opened her car door for her. "You lead the way, then."
Her fingers were shaking a little when she slipped the key into the ignition.
"Mom, are you okay?"
"Sure." She smiled at her daughter in the rearview mirror. "Why?"
"Because you're just sitting there and Chase is in his truck waiting to follow."
"Oh!" She put the car in reverse with a little spray of gravel and pulled out of the parking lot, onto the main road that ran along the lake, and back to her house.
"You probably should get snow tires on that car before long," he said when they reached her house, closing the door of his truck on the street.
"Do you know something the weatherman doesn't?" she asked as she walked up the sidewalk from her driveway.
"I know this is Minnesota and we don't go the month of December without snow. By first snowfall, it's too late, and it's cold enough at night that those tires aren't going to do you good much longer. I can do it for you, if you'd like. Have you bought them yet?"
"I guess I'll go to Beaudin and get some this weekend. They can put them on there, can't they?" She was determined not to give that control to another man.
"Yup," he said easily, and flicked on his flashlight as she tried to find the lock in the dark.
She swung the door open, and started to go in first, but he gently pulled her back so he could precede her with the flashlight.
"You don't have a dog, do you?"
"No, but Lala's been wanting one," she said before she understood he was asking so he didn't get bitten. "No, no dog."
"Where's your fuse box?"
"In the garage." Then, again thinking, "This way. Lala, stay put."
She led him through the living room, into the kitchen, the mud room, and opened the door to the garage.
"I see why you don't park in here." His flashlight beam bounced off the boxes that filled the space.
"I still have some unpacking to do, but I haven't gotten around to it."
"You've been here almost a year?"
"Not quite. We got here in May."
"I'd say whatever's in those boxes isn't important enough to unpack. You should get a storage unit, and save them for the big rummage sale we have in the spring."
Just the thought of getting rid of her belongings made her stomach flutter. She'd made enough changes in the past year. She couldn't let go of her belongings, not even if she couldn't exactly remember what was in each of the boxes.
"At the very least, put them somewhere else so you can park your car in here. You don't want to get outside more than you have to this time of year."
She didn't need him to tell her that. "I have a spare room. I'll start moving them in there."
"Have you got an engine heater?"
"No. What's that?"
"Once the temperature gets below ten, you're going to have to plug your engine in so it doesn't freeze up. You have a couple of weeks to get one of those, I'd say."
He popped open the cover of the fuse box, flashed his beam up and down, grunted. "Most of these fuses are blown. You must have had a power surge or something. Go make sure everything is turned off. I don't know how many fuses I actually have on hand, but I'll replace what's important. We need to get the utility company out here to find out what happened, though. We don't want it to happen again." He looked up at her. "You need a flashlight?"
"No, I have my phone." She pulled it out and tapped the screen to show him. He gave her a nod of approval and she went back into the house. She turned off light switches and the slow-cooker, the heater, unplugged her television and computer, and Lala's tablet. She heard Chase come in the front door, heard the rattle of something that was probably his toolbox.
She realized, as she rejoined Lala in the living room, that she wouldn't know if the power was back on with everything turned off.
And then light flooded the kitchen. Chase grinned at her. "Check the heater."
She did, and breathed a sigh of relief when it clicked on and started to roar.
"Mom, the TV isn't coming on," Lala announced from the living room.
"Check your computer, too," Chase said. "If it was a surge, it might have fried your electronics."
"Oh no! Is there any way you can tell?"
He grunted and crouched behind the TV stand. "Yeah, looks like it wiped it out." He straightened and looked at Lala. "Sorry about that, sweetheart." He turned to Willow. "Your computer okay?"
She sat and pulled it onto her lap, tried to boot it up. Nothing. "Oh, no. Lala, your tablet?"
Lala checked, and almost started crying. "Nothing. Mom, it's broken."
"Okay, well, don't panic." She tried to take her own advice as she looked at the black screen of her laptop. Thank God she stored everything on the cloud, so her work wasn't lost, and she had another computer at the shop. "We'll figure something out. The most important thing is we find out what made this happen in the first place. We'll get the utility company to come out to see what caused it, and we'll replace the television and the tablet, okay? Why don't you get ready for your bath?"
Lala glanced at Chase, then nodded, wiping her eyes, and headed to the bathroom. A few moments later, Willow heard the bathroom heater come on. She turned to Chase and reached for her purse.
"What do I owe you?"
He named a figure, and she froze with her hand in her purse. "You have to be kidding."
He frowned, like he hadn't expected her to argue. "Well, that's just to cover the cost of the fuses."
"Chase, that's not enough. You took time out of your evening to come help." She pulled a couple more bills out of her purse, and he stepped back as if she'd pulled a snake out.
"I'm not going to take that."
"I have money. I don't need charity." She didn't intend for her voice to sound so sharp, but the shift in Chase's eyes told her she'd hurt his feelings. "I pay my way." She didn't know how to tell him she didn't want to depend on someone ever again, even if it was something as simple as changing fuses or snow tires. Okay, she'd get someone to do it for her, but not for free, or for an insultingly low price that probably wouldn't cover the little bit of gas he'd used to get here. "I don't want to take advantage," she said, softening her tone.
"In Bluestone, we do the neighborly thing."
Great, a stubborn gentleman. He was becoming less cute by the minute. "Please, can we not do the noble thing? Can you just take the money?"
He hesitated. "I'll take half."
Well, that was progress. She could work with that. She tucked one bill back into her purse and handed him the rest. "Thank you so much."
"Make sure you call the utility company tonight. They might get out here tonight, which I doubt, but they'll get here as soon as they can. Tell them it's just the two of you living here and they might get here sooner." He rested his hand on the door, then reached into his pocket. "If you need anything else, give me a call. Try not to overload the power tonight. And let me know what happens." He stepped forward and handed her a business card.
She glanced down at it and read Chase Granzer, Construction. "Thanks. I really do appreciate you coming out tonight."
"I'll see you around," he said, and walked out. As she locked up behind him, she hoped it was sooner rather than later.
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