The Navy Seal's Rescue

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.