Anchor
First to Fight, #0.5
by Nicole Blanchard
Publication Date: September 20th 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense
BLURB
I’ll do anything to save her.
A woman I’ve
never met, whose name I don’t even know, gambled her own life to protect my
child. In return, she was taken by a mad man.
I’ll put my
career, my security, and my life on the line to get her back, even if it means
facing the truth about my own mistakes.
The only thing
she can’t trust me with…is her heart.
This is a FULL LENGTH, STANDALONE with a HEA and NO CLIFFHANGER.
FULL
CHAPTER EXCERPT
Gabriel
I wish
I could say it was the sexy blonde who’d been wrapped around me like ivy on a
pole all night who woke me, but it isn’t her sugar-sweet voice blaring through
my cell-phone speaker.
“I
swear to God, Gabriel, if you aren’t there at six o’clock on the dot to pick up
Emily, I’m going to the lawyers to renegotiate custody.”
“Don’t
threaten me, Taylor,” I say with a weariness now characteristic of all our
conversations. What I wish I could do is bark orders at her. It’d be so much
easier if I could deal with my ex-wife like I do the men under my command. It
would have made being married to her a hell of a lot more bearable. Pulling on
a pair of pants and choking down a swallow of coffee from a forgotten mug on my
nightstand distracts me long enough so I don’t go off on her ass. “It’s not
even seven in the morning. I know what time I have to be there.”
Behind
me, the blonde stretches on the white cotton sheets, and I take a moment to
admire the miles of tanned skin before I duck out the sliding glass doors
leading from my bedroom to my back patio. My dog Rudy is hot on my heels and
streaks across the pavers to water the bushes and dive in the pool with a
gorgeous view of the beach.
She
snorts, and I have to wonder what possessed me to marry her. “That’s what you
said the last time, and I waited by the ferry for over an hour. This is why we
got divorced. You never do what you say you will.”
“I
told you, I had an emergency. You know I volunteer with the Coast Guard. Search‑and‑rescue missions don’t just fit into a schedule.” I keep my
voice calm and level, but when Taylor’s pissed, she’s like a spooked
Chihuahua—she can’t seem to stop yapping.
“Yeah,”
she says in a tone I have heard way too often over the years, clipped with a
dash of bitter. It’s about as appetizing as the two-day old coffee I’m
drinking. “You can be there for everyone but your family, right? You’ve got a
lot of lives to save, but you keep missing the ones right in front of you.”
I sigh
into the phone. It’s too early for this shit.
Taylor
gives a half laugh, devoid of humor. “Right. We’ll see you tonight at six
o’clock.” There’s a pause, and I know she wants me to fill it with apologies
and assurances, but I’m done with apologizing to her. As soon as the ink was
dry on our divorce papers, I didn’t look back. “Don’t be late, Gabe. Okay?”
There’s
static, some background chatter, and then a bright, bubbly voice comes over the
line. One that melts the frown right off my face and makes the day seem
brighter, even on this side of noon. “Daddy? Hi, Daddy!”
“Hey
there, sugar plum.” My voice warms and the tension eases from my shoulders.
“Whatcha
doing?” Emily laughs, causing me to smile.
“Watching
Rudy swim.” Rudy lurches from the pool to bring me a ball, and I throw it back
in the water for him. “What are you doing? Can’t wait to see you tonight.”
“Can’t
wait to see you, Daddy,” she says and then describes her summer school, her
friends, and any other thought traipsing across her five-year-old brain in
vivid detail. I could listen to her talk for hours. She’s about the only female
I can stand for any length of time.
As she
chatters on, I amble across the sand-colored, concrete pavers and sit down next
to the pool, my cup of coffee by my side. Rudy paddles over with the neon
yellow tennis ball clamped between his jaws. I wrestle it from him and then
throw the ball to the far side of the pool. He splashes in, ignorant of all of
my human problems, and dog-paddles to his goal.
The
sound of the sliding glass door draws my eyes back to the house, and I find the
blonde posed in the doorway. The white sheet is draped around her body and
offers teasing glimpses of her toned legs and ass. And she is toned.
Everywhere. I spent many, many hours getting well acquainted with every part of
her last night.
Her
smile is seductive and would have any man on his knees begging for round two,
but verbal sparring with Taylor left a bad taste in my mouth. As she sashays
across the lawn, my sole concern is for the very expensive Egyptian cotton
sheet she’s getting grass-stained.
Maybe
I’m losing my touch. Six or seven years ago, it took only the slightest glance
at a half-dressed woman to get me in the mood.
Now it
almost seems like a production just to get off.
Emily
wraps up her updates, and I refocus on our conversation. “I can’t wait for you
to tell me all about the rest when you get here. Don’t forget Mr. Wolfie, okay?
We’ll take him for a ride around the island.”
As if
she could forget him. She clings to the stuffed wolf I gave her before my last
deployment as if she’d die without it.
She
told me once it smells like me, and when she has it with her, it’s almost like
I’m with her, too.
Kids
have a way of sucker punching you in the heart.
It
wasn’t long after her admission that I decided to stick closer to home and
retired from my long career with the Marines. I never thought I’d give that up
for anything, but when there’s a two-foot-nothing, bleach-blonde little angel
crying because you’re never home, your priorities change. It becomes about them
instead of you.
I hope
I didn’t realize it too late.
Volunteering
with the Coast Guard seemed like the perfect balance between my need to serve
my community and country and my desire to be closer to my daughter. Once I
decided to leave the Marines, I moved back to Rockaway Island where I grew up
and took over my dad’s tourist boating business. Weekends like this, when I
know it’ll be hours instead of months until I see her again, make those
sacrifices worth it.
“Okay,
Daddy.” Her giggle fills my ears. “Loves you!”
I
glance back at the blonde as Emily sends me her love. Maybe the reason I can’t
commit to another woman isn’t because I’m not interested. Maybe it’s because I
don’t want to disappoint the most important one in my life—my daughter. “Loves
you, too, sweetheart.”
I hang
up, and a small hand pulls me to my feet. The blonde reaches down and draws me
against her. My fingers linger on her hips, but then they move to her arms, my
touch causing her to shiver. She mirrors my movements and wraps her arms around
me. There’s a slight pause where I’m tempted to take her back to bed, but the
temptation is not enough to rip the blanket off her and get reacquainted.
“Thanks
for a great time,” she says. Her voice is still hoarse from all the screaming
she did. The cottage I inherited from my parents after they died is a good mile
from any neighbor, which is a good thing. If it were closer, we would have kept
them up half the night. I feel bad about turning her away. Almost.
I kiss
her, taking care not to be too rough on her swollen lips. Because I enjoy the
kiss, I lengthen it until her nails dig into my skin. I’m not an asshole, and I
don’t use women, but I make sure they enjoy our time together. My dad taught me
that much before I left at eighteen to explore parts unknown and take down bad
guys. The women I spend time with know up front our relationships won’t go any
deeper than twisting the sheets.
“Same
time tomorrow?” she asks as she pulls away, gasping softly to catch her breath.
Her chin is tipped up to face me, and she bites her lip as she waits for my
response.
“Sorry,
can’t. I’ll be busy.” I trail a finger down her arm and enjoy how she shivers
against me. “But this was fun.”
“It
was.” Her eyes flick down to my lips, and I have to hold back my own smile.
“See you later?”
I take
a step away as though to help her back up the steps, but really I’m just ready
for her to leave. “Maybe.”
I give
her a final kiss, and she walks back into the house to get dressed as I walk
back to my previous spot by the pool. A little while later, I hear the front
door open and close and then a car starts and drives down the gravel driveway.
Rudy
paddles up to me, and I throw the ball back to him a couple of times. I check
the forecast on my phone for the afternoon and note a squall spinning up west
of the island. It shouldn’t take a turn in our direction, but I make a note to
keep an eye on it.
Even
so, I’ll keep my ringer on and my phone clipped to my belt for the rest of the
day.
If
I’ve learned anything from my years marching through deserts, hacking through
jungles, and weathering waves the size of skyscrapers, it’s luck can change in
an instant. In my experience, when everything is going well, things always take
a turn for the worse.
Chloe
“It
will be fun!” my boss says. Her hands lift in a conciliatory gesture when I
blow my bangs out of my face and frown. “Well, okay, maybe not, but there will
be beaches and lots of sun. Maybe you’ll even get a tan!”
I
throw my head back against my desk chair and stare up at a familiar patch of
ceiling. “I don’t need a tan, Sienna. What I need is a vacation.”
“Does
it count if the business trip is to a popular vacation spot? Vacation by
association?” Her voice tilts up at the end, and I can’t fault her for trying
to make the best of a bad situation.
“Why
do you have to move again?” I ask, refraining from banging my head on the desk
in frustration.
She
smiles, but it wobbles around the edges. “You know you’re the best, right
Chloe?”
“Sure,
I am.” I glance with repressed yearning I hope she can’t see at the calendar on
my desk with this weekend circled with hearts. I’d planned to veg out on the
couch with a marathon of romantic movies and no phone, laptop or work-related
web time, but I’ll just have to suck it up. “You so better love me for this.”
“I do,
you know I do.” She rounds my desk and envelopes me in a hug. “You aren’t my
best friend for nothing!”
“Just
promise you’ll write whenever you get where you’re going. If your plans don’t
pan out, you can call me. Whatever you need, I’m there.”
“I
would say you should hook up with someone when you get to the island, but we
both know it won’t happen.”
“Speaking
of,” I say, and she groans. Papers rustle and flutter to the floor as I sort
through the organized chaos on my desk. “What will I be doing at,” I squint at
the fine print, “Rockaway Island?”
“The
usual. It’s a potential investment opportunity for one of our clients. They’re
interested in turning it into an upscale bed-and-breakfast. If they book
through us, we get a twenty-five percent commission. You’ll need to take a look
at the property, get pictures. The usual.”
“You
owe me.” I’m the one who owes her. If it weren’t for Sienna, I’d probably be
homeless.
When I
graduated from college, I expected to move in with my boyfriend. When I moved
all the way to Jacksonville, he informed me he’d had a change of heart. He’d
realized he couldn’t compromise our friendship by marrying me. Once I got over
the betrayal and shock, I realized I needed a place to live and a job to
support myself as soon as possible. I couldn’t look at him, let alone stay in
the same apartment we’d planned to live in together.
I’d
met her through an employment agency and she not only gave me a position as a
receptionist at her boutique travel agency, but also let me crash at her place
until I could afford to save up for my own.
Whenever
she needs a favor, I’m there. No matter what it is.
“Promise,”
she says. “Anything you need.”
“I’ll
hold you to that.”
* * *
I was
going to be late.
I
hated to be late.
As a
rule, I arrived at scheduled places ten minutes prior to being ten minutes
early. My father always said, “If you’re on time, you’re late.”
Well,
according to his philosophy, I was very, very late.
“Shit,
shit, shit,” I hiss, as I whirl like a dervish around my apartment, tossing
clothes pell-mell into suitcases. Most of them tumble to the floor in a heap
guaranteed to cause me endless irritation when I get home and see it, but I
don’t have time to obsess about the disorganized mess.
The
ferry scheduled to transport tourist down the St. John’s River and then fifteen
miles off the east coast to Rockaway Island is scheduled to leave in half an
hour.
With a
frustrated curse, I scrub my hands through my hair and glance around my
apartment for anything I may have left behind. My eyes skip over random stacks
of my belongings, not taking anything in. I have to force myself to slow my
breathing to focus.
Camera.
Check.
Chargers.
Check.
Extra
SD cards. Check.
Phone,
cash, suitcase. Check, check and check.
The
essentials are tucked into Ziploc bags and then into their respective cases.
I’m a natural klutz, and when given the opportunity, have ruined any electronic
gadget in the vicinity. During college, I murdered countless phones, multiple
laptops, and more cords, chargers, and small appliances than I can count. I
take extra care with any work-related tech. It’s become a running joke at work
and I don’t need to see the look on Sienna’s face if I ruin yet another phone
or tablet.
As I
walk out the door with my camera case slung over my shoulder and suitcase in
hand, I shoot off a quick text to my neighbor to feed my goldfish while I’m
gone. Those, I haven’t killed. Yet.
This
is why I don’t see my ex standing outside my door and run right into him.
See?
Klutz.
“Jesus,
Chloe,” he says and, like he had a million times while we were together, he
throws up his arms to steady me. “What’s the rush?”
My
heart, the traitorous thing, hammers in my chest and I hope it’s from being
startled rather than from the man himself. “I’m late for a work thing.”
I re-shoulder
my camera bag and study him. He’s too handsome, with dark blonde hair, a firm
jaw and straight nose. All-American. Clean cut. The man I always pictured I’d
be with.
Thomas
rocks back on his heels. “You look good.”
Nodding
is the only response I can seem to come up with and when I realize how foolish
I must look, I clear my throat. “Um, thanks. Look, I really—”
When I
try to maneuver around him, he blocks my path. “I wanted to talk to you. It’ll
just take a second.”
He has
his hands in his jeans pockets and I know it means he’s feeling extra
vulnerable. I have to clench my hands around my suitcase handle to keep from
comforting him. Comforting him! He shouldn’t get to be vulnerable. He
shouldn’t get to be the damaged one in this scenario. I was the one who lost
everything. I lost my best friend and my fiancé all in one go.
If
anyone deserves to be pissed or comforted, it’s me.
But I
know it’ll be faster for me to just listen to what he has to say. Arguing will
cost me precious minutes, and the clock is ticking. “What is it?”
“I
don’t know how to say this, except for me to just come out with it.”
Now
I’m wishing I had just walked right by him. My fingers clutch around the handle
to my suitcase and I take an extra breath to stem any emotional reaction at
all.
“I’m
getting married.” He whispers it, like if he’s gentle enough, the words won’t
feel like bullets aimed straight at my heart.
My
grip on the suitcase keeps me from stumbling backward. “I—,” I clear my throat
and then try again. “That’s great, Thomas. Wonderful. Congratulations.”
He
leans forward like he wants to comfort me and I find myself taking an automatic
step in retreat. His lips part in shock, then he checks himself, schooling his
features.
I’d
always been a demonstrative girlfriend, and then fiancé, and I’m not ashamed to
admit it. I doled out affection without a thought as to keeping it all to
myself. Thomas was always a guy who never got enough and took everything I had
to give without much in return. My mouth drops open and I shake my head.
I
can’t believe it took me learning about his impending nuptials to realize I
deserve so much better.
“Is
there anything else?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
He
frowns. “No, that’s it. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”
“Yeah,
I appreciate it,” I say and then I start forward. “I really do need to go
before I’m late.”
When
he doesn’t make a move to get out of my way, I roll my suitcase right around
him.
I
don’t bother saying goodbye, I don’t even turn and look back. I learned my
lesson and it’s not one I will forget: love and relationships are overrated.
When I’m in the car, I focus on navigating traffic and checking the clock.
Thomas and that part of my life are history and I’m putting them behind me.
According
to the schedule Sienna printed out for me, I have ten minutes to make it to the
ferry before it takes off and it’s the last one scheduled to go out before the
long holiday weekend. The docks are packed with people. Families heading to the
island for summer vacation, co-eds for the parties, and businessmen for
exclusive retreats. I navigate through the crowd with practiced ease and make
it to the on-boarding area with minutes to spare.
It’s a
beautiful day and as I wait for the attendant to take my money and hand me change,
I lift my face into the sea breeze, determined to enjoy the moment and put the
past where it belongs—behind me. I take the change and roll my things to the
gate where a crowd of people wait to walk up the ramp to the ferry. They
haven’t started boarding, so I’m in luck.
While
I wait, I give myself a few minutes of time to think about Thomas and his
confession. I’m pleased to find I don’t feel like breaking down into a sobbing
mess. If anything, a weight has been lifted off my shoulders and for the first
time in a long time, there’s a bounce in my step.
As
people in front of me move forward, I smile at a little girl holding a stuffed
wolf who is in line in front of me and she smiles back, showing two missing
front teeth. Her mother stands next to her, frowning into her cell phone.
She’s
just redialing a number when a man bumps into her. The mother glances over and
apologizes, but the man doesn’t seem to pay her much mind. In fact, he walks
with grim determination to the boarding ramp, skipping everyone in line.
I step
out of the line to express my indignation at his rudeness when he turns and I
realize he’s holding a gun.
Author Info
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Nicole Blanchard
lives in Florida with her family and their menagerie of animals. She chooses
each day to chase her own fairy tale even if they contain their fair share of
dragons. She is married to her best friend and owns her own business. Nicole
survives on a diet of too many books and substantial amounts of root beer and
slim jims. When not reading, she’s lavishing attention on her family or
inhaling every episode of The Walking Dead and The Big Bang Theory.
Author Links:
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