Wicked Secrets

“I re-upped.” Short and sweet. A declarative sentence rather than a question, because his going back to San Diego wasn’t open for negotiation.

Cal looked up from the mountain of paper on his desk and cursed. “Don’t tell me. This is Mrs. Damiano’s fault. You could try going out with her granddaughter and see if a date stops her.”

The man had five-o’clock shadow at midafternoon and a pyramid of Red Bull cans teetering in front of him. He’d been the one to conceive of the dive business in the first place, convinced the small California island where he’d grown up was in desperate need of an adventure diving outfit. Plus, he’d taken on the task of setting up a search-and-rescue program for the area. The local Coast Guard was overwhelmed and focused more on running down drug traffickers than fishing distressed pleasure boaters out of the water. Cal, of course, was committed to keeping everyone safe. Juggling both meant less sleep for everyone, although his buddy had never complained.

Reaching over, Tag swiped a stack of papers from Mount Paperwork. Cal didn’t protest. The first one was an invoice for emergency supplies, but the second was for parts for the chopper. Lots and lots of parts. Lovely. They needed a mechanic. Or stock in an aviation company. Their used bird was a work in progress with more face-lifts than an aging beauty queen. The chopper was also an expensive work in progress, as Cal liked to point out with annoying frequency. Restoration had been Tag’s responsibility, in between running dives and setting up training exercises. Apparently, he should have made time for bookkeeping. Or kidnapping an accountant.

“I can handle Mrs. Damiano.” Not. The old woman redefined determined. “Our CO needs a pilot,” he said, when the silence stretched on too long.

Daeg signed a check and shoveled papers into an envelope. “You’re not the only sailor who knows how to fly a bird or run a rescue op,” he pointed out.

True enough. The Spec Ops boys were planning on taking out a drug op in South America, however, and their CO knew the mission would hit a personal hot spot with Tag. Passion counted, because a soldier who took the mission personally would go the extra mile every time.

Passion aside, he was also pretty much the only man available at the moment. “He asked. Most of the other guys are already assigned. I’m not.”

Cal cracked a new can of Red Bull, tipping it in Tag’s direction. “Cheers, then.”

Mission accomplished, Tag kept right on sorting, circling and adding invoices. Maybe before he went away, he’d post on craigslist for an office manager. The silence built up until Tag was itching to move. But he had more numbers to add, and shoving the pile back on to Cal’s desk wasn’t happening. The guy was exhausted.

He grabbed a stamp, peeled and stuck. “We need help. Office help.”

“Speak for yourself.” Cal flipped Tag the bird. “Because I’m doing just fine here, and Dani’s going to be helping us out in a month or two.”

Daeg grinned. “She estimates another two to three weeks. Just long enough for us to get really desperate.”

Dani Andrews, Daeg’s fiancée, was an actuary and damned good with numbers. She was in the process of setting up a freelance business on the island, but she was currently snowed under with clients. She’d promised to help out just as soon as she could clear the decks, and bringing her on board would be great. The heap of papers on Cal’s desk listed sideways, and Cal cursed, making a grab for the topmost invoices as Mount Paperwork toppled over and hit the floor.

“Right. Or maybe we can’t wait.”

Cal scooped up the papers and deposited them back on the desk. Shoving to his feet, he prowled toward the front of the dive center. The air was thick outside, vibrating with tension as the purple clouds swept closer and closer toward the island.

Cal stared outside with the same kind of longing Tag felt. “Storm’s moving in.”

“Not a bad one.” The thunderstorm headed their way was the usual summer fare. It would bring plenty of heat and some flash-bang. It wasn’t the kind, however, that led to flooding and rescue calls. He could go home and crash. This would be a quick, wet, loud summer storm, but the property damage would be minimal, and no one would be getting hurt. No one would need him tonight.

A good night.

The wind was picking up, whipping the tops of the palms back and forth. The beach was all but deserted now, except for a single woman leaning against a palm, seemingly asleep. She wore a navy blue sweatshirt, the hood pulled up over her head, and a pair of cotton shorts that hugged her butt and left her long, tanned legs on display. Maybe she was grabbing a last moment of toes-in-the-sand fun or maybe she was waiting for someone. “You’re staring.” Cal punched him in the shoulder.

Maybe. But he wasn’t responsible for where his eyes went when he was thinking. Some things actually were beyond his control. Kind of like his one night with Mia, his head—and another body part—reminded him. His lack of control should have embarrassed him, but she’d been right there with him. He’d never been one for picking women up at a bar, but for Mia he’d made an exception, and he still wasn’t sure why. Not because she was gorgeous—although she was and that had certainly helped persuade him—but for some other reason he couldn’t put into words.

“I’m staring at the beach,” he countered. Liar.

“A beach with women on it.” Daeg said, coming up behind them. He’d met his fiancée on Discovery Island when a bad tropical storm had sent him out to rescue her from a flooding Jeep. Tag didn’t need or want to know what had happened when the pair had holed up to wait out the storm, but he’d seen the ring—and he’d seen the look on Daeg’s face. The man had fallen, and fallen hard.

Tag raised a brow, because no way he was letting Daeg off easily. “Now you’re looking, too.”

A small smile tugged at his friend’s lips. Yeah...they were both busted. “I’m not dead.”

No, but Daeg was disgustingly happy with the soon-to-be Mrs. Ross. Although Tag strongly suspected the bride would keep her own name. Independent, strong-minded and fun, Dani was the perfect woman for Daeg, and Tag was happy for them. He really was. He knew he sported a big-ass grin whenever he thought about the two of them and this place. Discovery Island had the heart of a small town, a heart he recognized. He’d been born and raised in Rutland, Vermont. In his small New England town, plenty of people knew his name and his business. You kissed a girl, and every relative, every member of her church, started looking for commitment and a ring. So far, Discovery Island had been a good station. It certainly wasn’t fighting a losing battle against street drugs.

Not that Rutland was any kind of inner city ghetto with urban blight on display on every corner. Nope. The clapboard houses in his hometown were run-down some, but when the snow fell or the leaves changed, pretty enough. The problem had been the baggies of drugs flowing in from urban centers, marked up and selling fast. He’d had friends boast about fortunes made selling heroin they’d bought off the runners who made daily trips from New York City to Vermont.

More than one of his high school friends had kept hidden stashes of cash, guns and drugs, tooling around in an SUV and making deals. Just blue-collar folks sucked into a morass of drugs and all the accompanying bad shit. It was your neighbor breaking into your house and boosting your electronics because he was jonesing for a fix and flat broke. Tag had lost a girlfriend to drug addiction. He’d stuck it out for as long as possible, but then he’d finally had to let go. He had a feeling, though, Daeg was going to have the happy ending.

“You’ll be a dead man if Dani catches you eyeing the scenery.” A grin split Cal’s face.

“Right.” Daeg rocked back on his heels. “And Piper won’t mind at all if you’re looking at other women.”

Cal held up a hand. “Hey, you started it. I’m just finishing things here. Closing the loop. Making sure you all behave.”

Right. While Cal and Daeg bickered amicably, Sleeping Beauty woke up. Levering herself away from the tree and grabbing her towel, she wrapped the blue-and-white stripes around her like a cloak, bent over and threw up. Then she curled into a small ball, as if even the thought of moving was too much. He knew the feeling, but he also knew the skies were close to opening up and drenching the beach. She couldn’t stay where she was. She’d either be brained by errant coconuts or drowned.

Maybe she was drunk.

Or had some kind of virulent bird flu.

Whatever her issue, it wasn’t his problem. Still, when she heaved again, his own gut twinged in sympathy. Daeg frowned, and Tag didn’t have to look over at Cal to know the other man’s face reflected a similar concern. None of them could walk past a civilian in need of a rescue.

“She need an assist?” Cal fished his cell phone out of his pocket, clearly running possible rescue missions through his head.

“Ouch.” Daeg winced sympathetically as the subject of their attention hunched over, looking more miserable by the second.

Surely someone would show up and lead her off. She couldn’t be here by herself. One set of dry heaves later, however, and she was still alone. Damn it.

Daeg hummed a few bars of the Lone Ranger theme music. “He’s going to do it.”

Cal looked at him. “Yep.”

Tag didn’t even have to ask. “Someone has to rescue her. You two could volunteer.”

“Sure, but we don’t have to,” Cal admitted cheerfully. “We’ve got you to go in for us. Plus, you’re the only one who’s still single, just in case she’s like Mrs. Damiano and decides rescue service is a synonym for dating service.”

Daeg hesitated. The guy’s white-knight complex would get him into serious trouble someday. Pot meet kettle. “You’ll take care of her?”

“Yeah.” Joking aside, it went without saying none of them would leave a woman alone on a beach in distress. Since he was the only one who didn’t have someone waiting at home for him, he figured that made him tonight’s rescuer elect. “I’ve got her.”

“If you need help—” Again, some things didn’t have to be said.

He flipped Cal the bird. “I’m good. Go get on with your life. Kiss Piper for me. Have some fun.”

He strode down the boardwalk, hung a left and crunched his way out onto the sand. Yeah, he liked his combat boots because, sue him, the military gave good boot. Part of him thought rushing to the lady’s rescue was a stupid idea, but then she made a small sound of distress and finished unloading the contents of her stomach on the palm tree next to his bike. Okay, scratch that.

She needed help.

Five feet away and closing fast, he spotted a flash of pink. Which could have been a coincidence. Plenty of women had pink swimsuits, and the last female he’d seen in a pink swimsuit was supposed to be on a cruise ship at sea. Not here.

Two feet out, he scuffed the sand because he didn’t want to add a heart attack to the woman’s woes. She had the towel pulled up over her head like a cloak, one suntanned arm braced against the sand. This close, he could read the word bridesmaid on her arm where someone had written it in sunscreen. It was the kind of practical joke he’d play on Daeg—or that Mia’s bridesmaids might have thought up. Damn it.