The Navy Seal's Rescue

The cab stopped in front of the towering resort where a uniformed attendant was quick to open Jessica’s door. “Good afternoon,” he said with a friendly smile. “Welcome to Seaside on the Bluff.”

“Thank you.” She paid Joseph with an extra ten for the tale, and grabbed her small carry-on and leather garment bag before climbing out.

The young man looked alarmed when the cab pulled away from the curb. “Don’t you have more luggage?”

Shaking her head, she inhaled the familiar scent of the ocean, felt the salty breeze stir her hair. “Just these.”

Another employee hurried over with a large cart and she let him take both bags from her. She could’ve easily carried them herself, but she didn’t like denying them the tip. On the other hand, maybe she wasn’t doing them any favors.

Tourist season was in full swing. Three cabs had lined up at the curb and most of the other carts were loaded down with luggage. She’d been lucky to get a room at the last minute. It was a pricey suite she wouldn’t necessarily have booked, but she had to admit, the idea of getting a massage and soaking in a jetted tub sounded like heaven.

“I’m Hector,” the husky young man told her and started pushing the cart toward the glass doors. “Are you here for the reunion?”

“Yes, I am.” She glanced around at the busy port cache and dug into her purse. “Look, my bags are light, and I see you’re busy. I’ll probably end up bumping into people and—”

Ignoring the five-dollar bill she tried to give him, Hector shook his head. “For you, I have all the time in the world,” he said, his grin growing wider as he gestured for her to lead the way through the open glass doors.

She didn’t know what he meant by that, but she preceded him into the stunning, open lobby with a killer view of the ocean. It had been updated since she’d last seen it, although the same beautiful hardwood floors were polished to a shine, and the stark white reception desk with the old-fashioned wooden pigeonhole room slots was still there. The furniture was more elegant—suede chairs and couches, all variant colors of the sand and rock of the landscape, were placed in perfect groupings with convenient, antique tables and plenty of room to maneuver. Stunning bouquets led the eyes from one gorgeous view to the next.

Most of the chairs were occupied with people sipping cocktails and chatting away. She assumed a number of them were here for the reunion, though she hadn’t recognized anyone yet.

Luckily, only two guests were waiting at the front desk. Jessica’s gaze returned to the blue sky and even bluer water, and she had the sudden urge to kick off her flats, make a dash to the shoreline and dig her toes into the warm sand. Soak up enough sunshine to get her through a Chicago winter. More than once Ronny had told her the ocean flowed through her veins. And that she’d be back sooner than she’d thought...that she’d always come back.

By the time she turned to Hector he’d passed the cart to another bell attendant and was holding her things in his large, tanned hands.

“So I’m guessing you’re from Temptation Bay,” he said. “Went to school here.” It was a statement, not a question. “Your family, did they live at Waverly Hills?”

Jessica laughed, unsure if she should be insulted. But in truth her bloodline extended to both sides of the track. Her dad’s clan were townies, less charitably known as the fish people. Ronny came from a long line of fishermen who’d settled on the coast generations ago. The hill people were newbies, relatively speaking, and consisted primarily of wealthy tourists who’d bought prime land atop the bluffs and built second homes.

Ultimately, some of the families made Temptation Bay their permanent residence. Jessica’s grandparents might’ve followed suit, if their only daughter hadn’t announced that she wanted to marry Ronny, a local surfer, who, despite his two championship titles and his big heart, they could never see as anything but a beach bum.

Much as Jessica adored her dad, she knew her grandparents hadn’t been completely wrong. The next week they’d sold their gorgeous vacation home sitting high on the bluff and returned to Connecticut. Of course that hadn’t stopped their headstrong daughter.

At eighteen, Victoria Danes had returned to Temptation Bay two weeks later, on her own for the first time, armed with determination and confidence born from a healthy sense of entitlement. The next day she and Ronny were married on the beach, the water lapping at their bare feet. By most accounts Jessica was born eight months later, give or take. The marriage had barely lasted two years after that.

Noticing Hector’s odd look, she pulled herself back to the present. It took a moment to remember his question. “Any chance you know a local surfer named Ronny? He has a shack on the beach near the old docks.”

“Sure, I know him,” he said, grinning. “Everybody knows Ronny.”

“He’s my dad.”

Hector’s dark eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “No kidding.”

“No kidding.” She moved closer to the front desk when she realized a couple had slipped in ahead of her because she hadn’t been paying attention. “What about you? Your family lives here?”

He nodded, still looking puzzled. “How long have you been away?”

“Hmm...” It wasn’t a simple answer. Home every summer while she was in college. Three years of law school hadn’t given her much leisure time. Then while waiting to take the bar, she’d spent a month abroad with her mom and husband number four. “Not counting visits, about ten years.” Jessica wondered if he could hear the defensiveness that had crept into her voice. Probably not. Although Hector had somehow managed to identify her as a local in a matter of minutes, whereas Grant knew so little about her that he’d had the gall to ask her to help free a rapist.

Generally she wasn’t quick to judge someone. But after being subjected to Sanford Burbidge, she wouldn’t put anything past him. The guy was a sociopath. She pitied his defense team. Which would not include her and she sure as hell didn’t need a weekend away to think about it. Although, the idea of starting over with a tainted reputation sticking to her like a shadow made her want to cry.

Luckily, that didn’t make her any less glad to be here. She hadn’t realized just how much she needed this trip home.

“So, you must surf, right?”

“I used to.” She’d been pretty damn good, too. “But like I said, it’s been a long time.”

“I bet once you get back on that board you’ll rock.”

Jessica laughed. “I doubt I’ll be putting it to the test,” she said, estimating Hector to be in his midtwenties, about ten years younger than herself. So it wasn’t a surprise that she didn’t recognize him. It still made her a little sad, though. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d known just about everyone who lived on the other side of town.

She stared past him at two women across the lobby waving frantically at her. The glare was awful with the bright sunlight flooding in. Perhaps she wasn’t the intended...

Ginny?

“Oh, my God, it’s Ginny Landry,” Jessica murmured, waving back.

Harlow was with her...a little slimmer, quite a bit blonder. At least she was pretty sure it was Harlow, another member of their high school gang—the Fearless Four as they’d called themselves. But Ginny was the only classmate Jessica had seen since they’d graduated because Ginny still lived in Temptation Bay. Ironic since of all of them, Ginny had been on the fast track to become a concert pianist just like her late mother. But life often didn’t turn out as expected. Jessica could attest to that.

It was her turn at the front desk. She stepped up and motioned for Ginny and Harlow to wait, just as a woman dressed in a black uniform brought them drinks.

Check-in went smoothly, and when Hector told her he’d leave her bags in the suite so she could meet her friends, Jessica was grateful he hadn’t ditched her when she’d given him the chance.

She tipped him well, and was about to veer toward the bar, but curiosity stopped her. “How did you know I’m from here?”

“Easy,” Hector said, grinning. “You’ve got that laid-back beach vibe.”

Jessica laughed. “Boy, would my coworkers disagree.”

Of course the reunion was a big clue. He’d probably used the line on all of the attendees to boost his tips.

She sighed at her own cynicism. Laid-back. Right.

Ginny and Harlow were waving again, as if she hadn’t seen them. The lobby and bar were really jam-packed. Not a single empty table or seat, except for the one Ginny had a chokehold on.

Jessica wove her way through the crowd, smiling and nodding, recognizing a few faces but unable to come up with names.

“I should’ve known I’d find you guys near the booze,” she said as she reached them, momentarily losing her breath when Ginny abandoned the chair and pulled her into a huge hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ginny said. “I couldn’t believe it when I got your email yesterday.”

“Ditto for me. Now, quit hogging her.” Harlow was the athlete. Always in motion and winning awards. She’d almost made it to the Olympics before her life had been hijacked by injury. Clearly, she hadn’t let it stop her from staying in great shape.

Jessica grunted. “Okay, you have to let me breathe,” she said when they locked her in from both sides. “Seriously.”

Laughing, Ginny backed off first. “We better grab our seats. Where’s Ronny? Did he just drop you off and leave?”

“He had a charter today. Some guys hired him to take them past Block Island to fish for marlin.” Jessica smoothed her white linen slacks before sitting. “I didn’t want him to lose the business. He had an accident that put him out of commission for a couple weeks, so I took a cab.”

“What happened?” Ginny asked, sinking onto her chair.

“It was a loose board on the old dock. I’ve asked him a hundred times to get the harbormaster to make some repairs.”

“I thought he might have cracked up the Jeep again.”

“He had a car accident? When?”

“Maybe four months ago? I ran into him at the drugstore. He was filling a prescription, but I don’t think he was hurt too badly.”

“So why didn’t he tell me?”

Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t look at me,” Harlow said. “I just arrived from LA this morning. Oh, hey, there’s our waitress. Cricket, what do you want?”

Jessica stared at her friend, then burst out laughing.

The other two exchanged puzzled looks. “What?”

“No one’s called me Cricket in a really, really long time.”

Harlow frowned. “What are we supposed to call you?”

Jessica thought back to when she’d gotten the nickname, well before she’d started kindergarten. Maria and Stella had sold their husbands’ catches every morning, come rain or shine. They were always first to set up at the fish market and had bonded over both being married to men named Jimmy. Since Jessica had just seen Pinocchio, she’d thought they were talking about Jiminy Cricket, and she’d gotten all excited, hopping around in her tie-dyed sundress, barefoot as always, and that was it. Cricket had followed her onto the beach and into her classrooms. Even her mother, who was mortified at first, had come around when she realized how much it suited her. Although once Jessica had gone to college, she had let go of bare feet, high school mischief and her nickname.

“I have to admit,” Ginny said. “The first time I read one of your emails I thought who the hell is Jessica?”

Harlow nearly spit out the sip she’d just taken. “Jessica? Yeah, I kind of remember a teacher calling you that once.” She shook her head. “Sorry. Not me. I can’t call you that. Too weird.”

Jessica grinned, feeling truly at ease for the first time in forever. She’d needed this break. She needed them.

“To the resurrection of Cricket,” Ginny said, holding up her glass.

“Ditto.” Harlow held up her drink.

Jessica—no, Cricket let the name sink in deeper. Since she had only a white napkin sitting in front of her she waved it over her head like a flag of surrender, though she would’ve preferred a drink. “Cricket it is.”

* * *

WYATT COVACK HEARD his phone beep and hoped like hell it was part of a dream. He grabbed the extra pillow and just as he was about to put it over his head he heard the second ring. Cursing, though not loud enough to drown out the third beep, he opened one eye. The alarm clock was a red blur but he finally made out the three and the one. That’s all he needed to see to make him want to punch the wall.

Who the hell was calling him? Just about everyone he trusted with his cell number knew he’d worked until 5:00 a.m. and then hadn’t hit the sack until eight. The bar had closed at one but trying to win his two hundred back from that lousy cardsharp Bobby Cappelli had been damn hard work, and Wyatt dared anyone to tell him otherwise.

He’d left his phone on the kitchen counter, all the way on the other side of the cramped apartment. The place wasn’t very big, but trying to navigate past all the crap he’d left lying around was like crossing a minefield. Maybe worse.

As if the universe decided to prove the point, his bare right foot landed on something sharp. A pain shot up his leg. Dammit to hell. One of Josh’s Lego pieces. He swore the kid was out to kill him. Nerve clusters made the bottom of a person’s feet vulnerable. A ruthless target if you needed to extract information without leaving obvious marks. Made it a popular torture technique.

Wyatt winced. He hated that he knew that, and a lot more, all remnants of his former life. He’d heard time would eventually blunt the memories...reduce the flashbacks. If guilt didn’t punch his ticket first.

Before he made it to the phone the caller was sent to voice mail. He squinted at the call log. Sabrina. Oh, man. If she was calling in sick again, he was gonna...

He actually didn’t know what he was gonna do.

Sabrina was his backup. None of the other waitresses could handle running the bar in his absence. Most of them were kids who attended the local community college, a couple considered themselves artists and sold their work at street fairs. But waiting tables paid the bills. Especially during tourist season.

Most nights he was behind the bar, pouring drinks and filling pitchers, occasionally breaking up fights, and making sure last call didn’t stretch past one o’clock. But there were times when he had to just plain get away. Away from people. From responsibility. Get away from himself when he could manage it, which usually meant getting shit-faced. Other times he borrowed Marty’s chopper. Flying into the clouds had a way of letting him feel weightless and unburdened. And then there were those times when Becky needed him to watch the kids. Sweet-tempered, obedient Rose and Josh, the little terminator.

He rubbed his gritty eyes and waited for his vision to clear. Next he’d probably get a text from Sabrina. Best-case scenario, she’d be late. Worst-case? She was sick, again, and didn’t know how long she’d be out. He was beginning to think he should have a little man-to-man talk with her worthless boyfriend. Wyatt got the feeling the dumb bastard was responsible for most of Sabrina’s absences. That wasn’t what bothered Wyatt the most. Normally he wouldn’t think of butting into someone’s private life. But she was a nice girl who deserved a lot better than an abusive drunk.

On cue his cell signaled a text.

Just as someone knocked at his door.

“Are you kidding me?” he muttered and threw in a curse.

Another loud bang.

“Hold on, for crying out loud,” he yelled and glanced at the text, then searched the floor for his jeans.

When he’d bought Sam’s Sugar Shack two years ago, he’d left everything intact—the funky decor, the staff, the pseudo uniforms, which amounted to very short denim cutoffs and a cropped T-shirt with the bar’s logo. In good conscience he had offered to get rid of the Hooters look, but the waitresses shot it down. Better tips. Who was he to argue?

Hell, he’d hadn’t even changed the name of the place, which every local seemed to have a strong opinion about. The purchase price had included the apartment above it. Never having had a conventional job before, it seemed like a major win.

Big mistake. It made him too accessible.

He couldn’t even get away with turning off his phone. If he didn’t answer, someone always came knocking. Usually over something stupid. Civilians were a bunch of damn crybabies.

He pulled on his jeans and opened the door.

“Hey, boss. Sorry to bother you but—” Tiffy’s gaze froze on his bare chest. He was pretty sure she wasn’t admiring his pecs, although he did keep in shape. She was staring at the scars left by a pair of particularly nasty knife wounds.

He rubbed his stubbled jaw, using his arm to obstruct her view. “You were saying?”

“Oh, um, right. We’re really getting slammed downstairs and Cara and Viv are both late. Well, we knew ahead of time Cara was going to be late because she has an appointment with—I guess it doesn’t matter. Anyway, if you could come in early that would be totally awesome.”

“Early?”

“Yeah, um, like now?”

Wyatt sighed. “I gotta take a quick shower and I’ll be right down.”

Tiffy was still staring at his chest as he closed the door.

Chapter Three

CRICKET STOOD ON the balcony of her suite, inhaling the salt air and feeling it cleanse the body and soul of Jessica and her problems. At least for the moment. This far up the coast you couldn’t smell the fish market. As a kid she’d rarely minded the odor, though sometimes if the temperature climbed too high in the peak of summer, the stink could get to anyone.

One of the advantages of the resort sitting on the bluff was being able to look down at the clear, beautiful water. She could make out the green roofs of the bungalows that had been a recent addition to the resort. Her first choice would’ve been to stay in one of them so she could be right on the beach. But there were only a half dozen available and they’d been booked quickly.

She glanced at her watch, startled that a whole hour had slipped by. With barely enough time to change her clothes, she had fifteen minutes to meet Ginny at Sam’s Sugar Shack.

After hurriedly changing into tan capris and a casual blouse, she rode the elevator down to the “beach and pool level” below the lobby, hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone. Something was clearly bothering Ginny and they didn’t need old classmates inviting themselves along. After all these years and having seen each other only twice, Jessica was glad her old friend felt she could confide in her.

The second before she hit the beach, she kicked off her sandals. Feeling the warmth of the sand and the cooling breeze made it a whole lot easier to shift gears now that everyone would be calling her Cricket. She’d laughed when she picked up her nametag earlier. It had been a hard transition in college becoming Jessica, but since she’d decided early that she wanted to study law, she needed a serious name. But nobody here knew her as an attorney. Even her dad called her Cricket occasionally, but mostly he called her Baby Girl.

After a ten-minute walk, Sam’s came into view. Shading her face from the bright sunlight, she saw Ginny standing at one of the tall umbrella tables outside, wearing a green sundress, which showed off her stupidly perfect arms and the legs that had made half the boys in school walk around with books in front of their jeans. When a couple leaving the bar caught Ginny’s eye, she waved and disappeared inside. The place was probably as packed as the resort bars. Cricket quickened her pace. Hopefully Ginny was able to grab a table. It would be more private and comfortable talking inside.

Removing her sunglasses, she hesitated at the door, letting her eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting.

“Over here.”

She followed the voice and saw Ginny sitting at a small table for two in the corner. It was slightly out of the way and couldn’t be more perfect. All except for the donkey piñata hanging over the wicker chair Cricket sank onto. No, not wicker, more like straw, firm enough to poke her behind. She doubted investing in a few cushions would’ve broken the new owner.

When she saw the pink-and-green Hula-Hoops hanging on the back wall, she grinned. “Oh, my God. This place hasn’t changed one bit. I wonder if they still have Hula-Hoop contests for free drinks.”

Ginny glanced up at the large piñata over Cricket’s head. “I don’t know if I trust that thing.”

“So, you left this chair for me?”

“Well, yeah. I have a kid, you don’t. And you’re an attorney. You can sue without it costing you.” Ginny barely got it all out without laughing.

They were both cracking up and pointing out the strange assortment of hanging decorations. Aside from piñatas of all types, there were also dangling skateboards, a couple of bikini tops, several license plates and a group of visors with dumb sayings. And then Ginny looked at the hula girl bobblehead sitting in the middle of their table. With a flick of her long elegant fingers she set it in motion and they laughed until they both had to wipe away tears.

Sniffling, Cricket moved in for a closer look at the hula girl. “Is that thing glued to the table?”

“I think so.”

“For God’s sake, who would steal that?”

“Oh yeah, you’ve definitely been away too long.”

Cricket glanced around, saw the coast was clear and bowed her head to use the hem of her shirt to dab at her nose and eyes. “Do not make me laugh like that again.”

“It felt good, didn’t it?” The trace of wistfulness in Ginny’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Look, I’m sorry for pulling you away from everyone,” she said. “It isn’t fair, I know, but I figured it would be harder to find time toward the end of the weekend.”

“Oh, please. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Cricket did a quick survey of the place and thought she recognized a woman in an absurdly short skirt downing shots at the bar. “Could just be me, but I have a feeling we’re going to be pretty sick of some of these people by Sunday.”

“It’s not just you.” Ginny’s smile softened the worry lines between her brows. “Does everyone drink so much at reunions?”

“Beats me. I’ve never been... You must’ve come to the ten-year. It was at the hotel, wasn’t it?”

“I’d planned on it but Tilda was sick and I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“Isn’t your dad—?”

“Tilda and I are living in the family home. He’s still in his apartment in Providence.” Ginny shrugged. “It’s for the best. He’ll never accept Tilda or forgive me for not wanting to spend my life playing a piano.”

“It must hurt, though.”

“No, actually, I’ve let it go. I don’t think he ever recovered from my mom’s death, and he never will. It’s sad, and if I thought I could help him I would. But honestly, I think there’s a part of him that blames me. After all, she died giving me life.”

“Of course he doesn’t blame you.” Cricket knew Ginny’s dad. Robert Landry was a well-known attorney, and not just in Rhode Island. “That’s completely irrational.”

“Oh, and you have two perfectly rational parents?”

Cricket let out a strangled laugh. “Good point.” She reached for a glass that wasn’t there. “Did anyone ask if you wanted a drink yet?”

“They probably figured we’ve had our limit.”

“Probably.” She leaned to the side, scanning the room for a waitress. And found someone so much better. “Oh, hello. Did you see the bartender? Nice. Despite the fact he looks as if he just rolled out of bed.”

Ginny looked over her shoulder. “Despite? I think he looks yummy just as he is. I wonder if he’s the owner.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m guessing he’s midthirties? Most of the employees are barely legal drinking age.”

“True. He’s not messing around, either. He’s really whipping out those drinks.” She liked his lean, athletic build, the broad shoulders that filled out his wrinkled T-shirt. Even from clear across the room she could see the play of muscles across his back as he turned and grabbed a bottle off the shelf.