Homefront Defenders

And he almost looked familiar.

The man scrubbed his face with his hands and brushed long graying hair from his eyes. Combined with the dark shadow of stubble on his chin, Locke couldn’t get a good look at his facial features. His friend yelled, “Drive!”

The car engine sputtered to life as the knife-wielding man got in the passenger seat. Locke memorized his wide-set eyes and flat nose.

The car sped away. No license plate, but he wasn’t going to forget either of the men.

* * *

Alana sucked in a full breath of salty sea air and moved to sit up. Someone put a hand on her shoulder. “Easy.”

She blinked, and the man came into focus. An EMT. “What...?” She didn’t have the energy to get more words out than that. And why did she think Locke should be here, standing among the crowd of people and a grim-looking lifeguard?

Alana waved off the pressure cuff and sat up. A sharp stab in her side hitched through her like she’d been nicked at exactly that second. “Ouch.” She touched her waist and felt the slit in her rash guard. When she brought her hand away, her fingers had blood mixed with sand on them. She’d been injured surfing before, but never like this.

A black-gloved hand.

“He grabbed my leg.”

Locke pushed through the crowd. “The perp drove away with a friend. Old car, no plates.” He stood over her in his running clothes, his wet shirt clinging to his dark skin. His eyes were filled with concern.

“You went in the water?”

He shrugged, not happy. “I had to get you out.”

Like that was supposed to be obvious to her? She was in trouble, so he’d retrieved her. No big deal. Alana sighed and let the EMT help her to her feet. She swayed a little, and the EMT held her steady. Not the man she wanted, not the one who would never give her even one indication he might feel the same way she did. Locke kept things completely neutral between them.

And then he jumped in the ocean to save her.

But that wasn’t what she wanted to occupy her thoughts with right now. As they walked she glanced over her shoulder at Locke. Her colleague shook the lifeguard’s hand and then brought up the rear with the second EMT, who carried a bulky bag.

The EMT beside her said, “We’ll get you to the bus and patch up that cut. See if you need stitches.”

Alana shook her head. “I won’t.” Not to mention she didn’t want them to call in the local cops. No way. She’d been avoiding that since she got here, and intended to escape the island unscathed by the wrath of her brother. Seeing Sergeant Ray Preston wasn’t on her to-do list.

The EMT didn’t seem to believe her, so Alana said, “I’m serious. I’ve had a lot of surfing injuries—reef rash, jellyfish. I know cuts, and I know this one isn’t deep enough to need stitches.”

Locke’s voice cut over whatever the EMT had been about to say. “He’s still going to check it out, Preston.”

Great. Now they were back to last names—hers at least. Everyone called him Locke.

Alana wanted to roll her eyes. She hated when he called her Preston, like she was just another one of the guys. A growl emerged from her throat, but she tamped it down. The EMTs didn’t need to know she was mad.

“Wait.” The EMT slowed for a step. “Preston? Alana Preston?”

“Yeah.” Alana said it on a sigh. He probably knew her brother.

“No way! My sister thought you were aces. Still does. Kept all her old surfing posters of you. She has the board my dad got her one Christmas that matched yours. She never went surfing, though, just kept it in her room. She’s graduating from U of H this summer. She’s gonna be a vet.”

“Awesome.” She shared a smile with the EMT, though the thought of a younger sibling hitting a milestone was bittersweet. She hadn’t seen her sister, Kaylee, either. Not because she didn’t want to. It was Kaylee who’d told her she never wanted to see her again.

And the last time Alana had seen her brother, Ray hadn’t been much nicer than that.

Alana climbed in the ambulance and lay down on the stretcher. Her fingers wouldn’t stay still, no matter how much she squeezed them together. Hopefully Locke wouldn’t notice. Was he going to file a report? Dumb question. Of course he was—with the police and the Secret Service. Her reaction would be noted, and that note would go in her file. She had to act calm. Cool. She needed something to think about other than the black glove as it gripped her ankle and pulled her into the water.

Locke stood just beyond the step, arms folded across his lean chest. What was he mad about? Was it the attack—like that was her fault—or the EMT knowing who she was?

Maybe he didn’t like the fact the other man knew she’d been a competitive surfer. It wasn’t like she hid it, though she didn’t talk about it too much. It was in her file, but it was unique to her and people often asked her about it. Occasionally she’d meet a fan of hers from way back, like this EMT and his sister. And why not? She’d done something not many people had. Why did Locke have to be such a downer about it?

Alana wasn’t going to back down. “What’s up with—” The EMT wiped her injury, and she gasped. “Ow. That hurt.”

Locke’s frown shifted into an almost smile. It was about as much of a smile as he ever gave anyone, so she counted it as one. Because she was acting like a baby instead of sucking it up like a real Secret Service agent? She didn’t know why that would be funny.

“I’m not saying sorry.” The EMT kept his gaze on her cut. “But you’re right, it isn’t bad.” He slapped cream and some gauze over it that he taped down. “All done.”

“Great.” She shifted to the edge of the bed. The quicker this was over, the quicker they could get to their morning meeting. They’d be late if the police took too long taking her and Locke’s statements.

Locke held up one hand. “Not so fast.”

“What?”

“He’s right,” the EMT said. “You’ve gotta keep that dry. Take care of it, or you’ll have to see a doctor.”

Locke shook his head. “That isn’t what I meant.” His gaze zeroed in on her, and she didn’t like it one bit. “Someone just tried to kill you.”

TWO (#u78a101ef-3db5-5610-94f2-666c8313cfa8)

Locke ignored the bright Hawaiian sun and threw the car in Park outside the residence they were due at in ten minutes. He couldn’t believe Alana was brushing off what had happened to her. It was like she didn’t even care, or was trying to prove to herself she didn’t care.

They’d stopped for coffee after giving the police their statements and going to the morning briefing. At the police station, Locke had looked through mug shots trying to identify the men he’d seen. While he’d been searching fruitlessly through the police’s database, Alana had chatted with every cop in the building like they were old friends.

And yet every time the door had opened, she’d clammed up. Was she on edge because she’d been attacked, or was she not so excited at the prospect of seeing her brother? Ray Preston was a police sergeant, but he hadn’t shown up. Maybe he didn’t want to. Still, Locke figured it was just a matter of time before he did.

Maybe those cops had been old friends of hers. And maybe jealousy wasn’t ugly like he’d thought, but that was probably just Locke kidding himself. He should probably just tell her he was attracted to her so she could tell him that no way on earth would she fall for her uptight team leader, and then he could move on with his life.

That would surely be easier than wondering for a split-second what might have been, followed by convincing himself that dating in this job was the worst idea—which it was.

Locke sighed. They had a lot of work to do before Air Force One’s arrival, and she’d promised that if she needed a break she’d tell him. What else could he ask for? Still, she acted like it was no big deal that she’d nearly died, while Locke could barely breathe he was thinking about it so much.

Who was that Asian man who’d targeted her? Why try to kill her in the ocean? The police had issued a BOLO for both the car and his description of the two men. Locke wanted to be out looking for them, but they had Secret Service duties to attend to.

He glanced at her, pleased her color had come back, at least. He motioned toward the house and decided it was time to test the rookie. “Tell me about this one.”

Locke didn’t miss the face she made. Alana glanced up from the iPad in her lap and looked around at the street he’d parked on in Wainaku, just off the beach on the other side of the island from their hotel. On screen was the file she’d been reading over.

Alana frowned and then shifted in her seat to look out the back window. She wore black pants and a light blue blouse now, her hair pulled back. No earrings—they could get caught on something if a situation occurred. If he hadn’t seen it just hours ago, he wouldn’t think she had nearly died that morning. But she had, and he couldn’t forget it.

“I rode my bike this way to get to school.” Her Hawaiian heritage showed in the almond color of her hair and those peaked eyebrows. She was beautiful—not that Locke had made a point to notice. She was both his subordinate and five years younger than him. Even if he had time for a relationship women were too much work, and he had a president to protect.