Shelter In The Tropics

Cate knew the fifteen-minute drive back to the resort would be a lot easier with a few crackers than without. Besides, the boy burned through calories. He needed to eat every ten minutes, so there was almost zero chance of spoiling his dinner.

“Want some graham crackers?”

“Yes!” he cried with enthusiasm. She grabbed the Ziploc snack bag filled with animal-shaped grahams and handed it to him. Feeling relieved, she made her way to the driver’s seat and looked forward to a nice, quiet dinner, before the rest of the guests. Not that there were that many, she thought. The resort was less than half full. It was one of the reasons Mark wanted to do more advertising. And she should, she guessed. She should get over this irrational idea that ads would somehow catch Rick’s attention.

She wouldn’t be in any of the ads, and she could use a picture of the resort on social media. She needed to let go of the fear that drove her. She knew it didn’t make sense. But fear never did.

She pulled up to the resort, noticing the mostly empty parking lot. Her stomach sank. What would she do if the resort went under? When she sold her jewelry—the only thing she took from Rick Allen—she’d put much of it into the hotel. Mark had suggested it. He could be the public face of the resort, and she could be a silent investor, hidden away from the public and from anyone who could recognize her.

Then it had been booming, and she thought it was a sound investment. Of course, that was before the island opened itself up to the big cruise ships. Now, fewer people came to St. Anthony’s to stay. Most opted for a floating hotel, and that meant letting staff go and her taking on a larger role in the resort. She saw two big liners off in the distance. She wondered how many of her guests they’d stolen in the last year.

How many different ways had Rick told her she wasn’t capable of doing anything on her own? There were the hundreds of small household decisions he’d called into question: How could you let the gardener plant those ugly shrubs? Am I wrong, or were you supposed to be supervising him? And then there was the time she wanted to try writing a novel, but he’d ridiculed her mercilessly and in front of others: Cate wants to write. God, can you imagine? A romance! Lord help us. He’d even had an opinion about what she wore: You don’t even know what looks good on you, Cate. How did you last this long with me? When she got upset, he’d tell her she was overreacting. That it was her fault. After all, there was never anything wrong with Rick Allen. The problem had to be with her.

She’d been with him five years, married for three, but in some ways it felt like a life sentence. His nagging voice in her head never quite seemed to go away. He was always telling her something was wrong with her—she wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t interesting enough, wasn’t pretty enough. She got now that it was his way of controlling her, just another aspect of the abuse. But while the bruises healed, the insults and criticisms just festered, wounds that never seemed to scab over.

Maybe I’m not smart enough to run this resort. Maybe Rick was right.

The second the evil thoughts weaseled their way into her head, she pushed them out once more. She was done letting Rick push her around, whether that was physically or in her own head. You’d never survive out there without me, he’d told her once. Well, that’s just not true, she thought, I’m surviving just fine.

She killed the ignition and glanced at the resort.

For now, at least.

Cate bustled Avery out of the car, carrying his fire truck backpack, and steered him straight into the lobby and to the dining room, where the dinner buffet was just being set up. She looked at all the food—the simple fish fillets and bright veggies prepared with such loving care by the cooks in the kitchen—and felt a bit of sadness. It was lovely, but couldn’t touch the amazing buffets of the good old days with fresh crab legs and delicate sushi rolls. The scaled-back buffet was a shadow of its former self. She steered Avery to his favorite spot, near the window looking out to the blue-green water, and turned to head back to the food.

She piled on chicken strips and apple slices, and then hesitated at the broccoli, wondering if it would be too much of a fight to get him to eat some. She felt a sudden presence by her elbow.

“Hi, Cate,” came the deep, unmistakably sexy voice. She knew before looking who stood there.

Cate nearly dropped the plate as she whirled away from the buffet. So much for avoiding the man.

“Tack,” she cried, surprised, her heart rate doubling as she took in his tall frame. The man moved like a big cat. She hadn’t even heard him approach. He’d changed and now wore a linen button-down, short-sleeved, pale blue shirt and khaki cargo shorts. His face broke into an easy smile, and she felt her stomach clench as she looked at his clean-shaven tanned face. She’d just seen him earlier that afternoon, but it seemed in that time he’d managed to get sexier, if such a thing was possible.

“Uh...the dining room is closed,” she managed to say, though the gruff way it came out made her want to kick herself. Why was she being so rude?

Tack grinned, and nodded at the buffet and the plate in her hands. “It looks pretty open to me.” He seemed completely unruffled by her, and even worse, he wasn’t leaving. “Mind if I...join you?”

“Uh...I’m eating with my son...” She nodded toward the table where Avery was happily pretending his snack cup was a car, and making it zoom across the table.

“I love kids,” Tack said smoothly. “I don’t want to brag, but I’ve been told I’m the world’s greatest uncle. I might just have a mug that says the same thing.”

He flashed another bright white smile, and all of the excuses as to why she wouldn’t want a handsome stranger to join her rushed from her mind.

She giggled a little, feeling like she was thirteen again and standing by the lockers in front of the cutest boy in school. Get it together, Cate. He’s not interested in you, anyway. You’re not nearly pretty enough for him. Not without all the expensive jewelry and clothes that Rick said made you an “eight” when you were naturally just a “six.”

Tack reached behind her to get a plate, and his strong arm brushed her elbow. She was hyperaware of every movement he made. She realized, suddenly, she was still holding her son’s half-filled plate, watching Tack reach for scalloped potatoes. She decided to leave the broccoli and opted for raw carrots instead, then headed back with a cup of juice to the table, where she plunked the plate in front of her little boy. He went for the chicken fingers first, naturally, and happily chomped his food while she turned back to the buffet. Deliberately, she started on the opposite side as far from Tack as she could get, though it wasn’t long before he was again by her side.

“What do you recommend?” he asked her, dark eyes studying her. Her mouth went a little dry beneath the intensity of his gaze.

“Everything is good,” she said. “But you should try the conch chowder. It’s the island specialty.” She nodded toward the soup bowl on the other side of the glass-partitioned buffet. She thought it would be better if she could move him from her side, but when he walked around, she realized now, he was right in front of her, glass buffet or not, and he was watching her even as he ladled soup into a small bowl. If he was going to study her like that, she might not be able to eat. Her once growling stomach now exploded into a riot of nerves. Why did the man make her so nervous?

She managed to keep her eyes on the broiled fish she scooped onto her plate, then she moved on to the steamed veggies. He watched her every move. She made the mistake of glancing up at him once, and they made eye contact. She held his gaze for a beat too long, unable to break free. It had been so long since a man had been this focused on her.

Not since Rick, she thought.

She glanced down at her own frumpy cutoffs, her faded T-shirt and flip-flops. She wasn’t even wearing any makeup, and she’d swept up her hair into a messy, careless knot at her nape. She had no idea why Tack studied her like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. It made her uneasy.

She hurriedly finished filling her plate and then scurried it back to her son’s table. The faster I eat, the faster I can get away from that man.

Cate sat and Tack followed, slipping into the chair opposite her. His shoulders were enormous, she decided, like a well-muscled wall, sitting in front of her. It was going to take effort to eat with this hulking man sitting at the table.

Avery just grinned at the stranger. “Hi! I’m Avery,” he said, beaming. The boy wasn’t the least bit shy. Raised in a resort, he was more than used to strangers. Mark had joked that they ought to put the boy out in the lobby as a concierge.

“Hi, Avery. I’m Tack.”

“Nice to meet you,” the precocious four-year-old said. He grinned. “You’ve got lots of muscles. Are you Captain America?”

“Avery,” Cate said reprovingly, feeling the blush of embarrassment creep up her neck. The air-conditioning suddenly seemed a little too weak in the room. Leave it to a preschooler to say exactly what’s on his mind.

“He’s in a superhero phase,” she said, apologetically.

“I’m not Captain America,” Tack said, trying to sound serious. “But I used to be a marine, actually. First Lieutenant Thomas Reeves, at your service. I might know a thing or two about saving the day.”

“I knew it! You are a superhero! Can you fly?”

“Oh, now you’ve started it,” Cate said, and Tack chuckled a little.

Over Tack’s shoulder, Cate saw Carol peek out from the door to the kitchen. The woman was spying! When she was caught, she gave Cate a huge thumbs-up, and that’s when Cate knew somehow that this was all Carol’s doing. It would be just like her to try to set her up on some kind of date. Carol was under the misguided impression that Cate was lonely, that she needed a man’s company. Cate had sworn off men. She didn’t trust herself to pick a good one, and she’d never, ever be beholden to one again.

Tack took a sip of soup and nodded his appreciation at the taste of the conch chowder.

“My daddy can fly,” Avery said suddenly. “He’s an angel in heaven.”

Cate nearly spit out her food. Tack coughed, as if the soup had gone down the wrong way. He coughed louder, face turning red as he gave his chest a hard pat.

“Is that right?” he managed to say, recovering.

Now Cate really wanted to be anywhere but here. Carol was still spying, and she sent her what she hoped was a look of stern disapproval.

“I don’t have a dad. Do you want to be my dad?” Avery asked.

“Avery! That’s not...” Cate wanted the ground to open her up and swallow her whole.

Tack laughed a little. “Don’t worry. It’s okay. Well, how about we see first if we can get through dinner, all right, champ?”

Cate had never felt more embarrassed in her whole life. The table sunk into silence then, the only sound the clink of Tack’s spoon on his soup bowl. Tack seemed to be preoccupied, no doubt thinking she was the most desperate woman on earth. She’d not put Avery up to that, though, she swore.

That’s when Cate saw Carol bustle out of the kitchen, seeming determined.

Oh, no. This was not going to be good.

“Everything all right here?” Carol said brightly. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, we’re fine.” Cate wanted Carol to go away. Besides, this was a buffet, not table-side service.

“So, Mr. Reeves, I know it’s your first trip to St. Anthony’s. Do you snorkel?” She barreled on, not picking up on the cue from Tack’s now-somber face that he probably wasn’t interested in any tour. He looked like a man who wanted to escape. Not that Cate blamed him. Kids at all were a nonstarter for most men, but kids talking about dead fathers and wanting new dads were probably more serious deal breakers.

“Snorkel?” Tack looked momentarily taken aback.

Cate knew exactly what Carol was doing. She was talking about the boat tour around the island that Cate led every morning around ten.

“I’m sure Mr. Reeves has other things to do with his first morning on vacation,” Cate said.

Tack studied her. “Well, I...”

“Cate gives the best tours, and she knows the best snorkeling spots. She leads a group every morning...”

Cate mentally shook her head. No, Carol. No! She tried very hard to telepathically tell her friend to stop what she was doing. The last thing she needed was Tack on board her boat at nine in the morning.

“I love to snorkel. Sounds like fun.” Tack stared at Cate as he said that. Avery happily chomped his chicken tender and Carol just beamed, like she’d won a prize at the state fair. Oh, she’d won a prize, but it wasn’t anything she’d like, Cate thought. She’s going to get an earful when I get her alone.

“The boat is already full,” she lied. Only four other guests had booked a trip for the morning. And two of them were simply strong maybes. The boat could hold ten easily.

“One already canceled just this afternoon,” Carol said. “You’ve got room for one more.” The woman wasn’t going to let this go. The steely look in her eyes told her she was not going to be deterred from this matchmaking mission. Tack quirked an eyebrow, almost as if daring her to deny him now.

“All right,” Cate said, giving in. There was no use fighting them both.

CHAPTER FOUR

TACK LAY ON the soft bed in his room and stared at the second hand of the clock sitting on his nightstand as it ticked forward. The sunlight streamed in; he’d seen the slow progression of light since dawn. He’d been up since three in the morning, his usual wake-up call. He hadn’t sleep through a night since he’d left Afghanistan. And every time he woke up, he thought of Adeeb, fighting side by side with them in some of the worst firefights.

He sent up a little prayer that he was okay. That he’d eluded the Taliban another day.

Tack had met Adeeb when he was twenty-five and worked with him for three years straight on sensitive ops to find Taliban strongholds in Helmand Province, one of the most dangerous areas of Afghanistan. Adeeb, a lanky and thoughtful man, never once got rattled, not even under heavy gunfire.

Tack had been suspicious of the idea of a local translator at first. After all, what reason did he have to help the Americans? But Adeeb hated the Taliban and everything they stood for. “They are terrible people. They’re not about Islam, they’re about power.”

Adeeb had watched his sister be terrorized by the Taliban, and his family threatened when they tried to send her to school. He had every reason to hate them.

Still, Tack wasn’t sure. How could he trust a translator he just met? Sure, he’d volunteered and been vetted by the military, but still. Tack didn’t like wild cards, especially when the lives of his men were on the line.

On their first mission together, Tack and his team were looking for a Taliban leader who’d been causing a lot of trouble. Adeeb interviewed a local family, and after several minutes of discussion as Tack stood by, not understanding a word they said, Adeeb turned to Tack and said, “They told me he’s not here. But they’re lying, and here’s why. They have a son, and he was kidnapped by the Taliban last year. They’re scared.”

Adeeb had been right about everything from that day forward. He knew the bad guys from the good guys, he was smart, he was a fantastic read of people and he’d saved more marines than Tack could count, all by giving them lifesaving intel. He was worth his weight in gold.

But it didn’t take long after that before the threats from the Taliban came in. Phone calls, notes left at his house. They saw him as a traitor and planned to cut off his head. They said they wouldn’t stop there. They’d kill his entire family, all of his relatives. But nothing ever rattled the man, not the threats, not gunfire. He held firm in his beliefs. He told Tack that he believed the Taliban was ruining his country, and that he’d risk his life if need be to stop them. Let them do what they wanted, but he wasn’t going to let them ruin his country without a fight.

Tack respected the position. It was exactly what he would do if a group of extremists took over his own country.

The marines promised Adeeb and his family a visa to come to America, but they’d reneged on their promise. Scratch that. The marines hadn’t reneged on their promise, Tack’s sniveling coward of a commanding officer, Derek Hollie, had.

He checked his phone and found a message from Adeeb. Relief flooded Tack’s body. He only heard from the former translator a couple of times a week, when the man went close enough to town to get a signal.

We are fine. Wanted to let you know. Medeeha says thanks for the candy.

Medeeha was Adeeb’s little girl, who’d just turned three. Tack had sent a care package, as he did every month, filled with dry goods and treats. None of it would do any good if the Taliban found them. Tack quickly messaged back.

Keep safe, man. I haven’t forgotten my promise.

Tack had promised to bring Adeeb to the United States, and he wasn’t giving up on that. He’d left Helmand Province years ago feeling like he’d left one man behind, something he’d vowed never to do.

Adeeb had saved Tack more than once. Had saved all the men in his company more than once. And he helped the Americans at great personal peril after the Taliban labeled him a traitor. Tack knew better than anyone that the Taliban didn’t make idle threats.

Tack had lobbied his senators, wrote letters, did all he could think of to do to get a visa for his friend. Then he had found out that Rick Allen, major donor to political causes, might be able to get him the visa Adeeb so badly needed. That’s why Tack couldn’t fail. Not to mention, the ten-million-dollar reward money could help Adeeb and so many more resettle in the United States.

Tack breathed a sigh of relief that Adeeb and his family fought to live another day, and focused on the case at hand. Already, he’d taken too long in looking for the missing woman. Every day that went by was a day that Adeeb didn’t have.

He glanced at his watch. Time had slipped by, and he realized he ought to get a move on if he wanted to get to the dock for the promised tour. Better watch your back, Tack. She gets one whiff of who you work for, and she might throw you overboard.

He grinned at the thought. Let her try. He’d faced more cunning enemies before. But maybe not prettier ones, he thought, remembering her clear green eyes. He had to admit that.

He stepped into some swim trunks and an old tee, and then grabbed a baseball cap and shoved it on his head. He reached for his mesh bag where he kept his own flippers, mask and snorkel—he’d been scuba certified since even before he enlisted in the marines—and headed out of his room, maneuvering down the stairs and out to the lobby. The ocean was just past the resort pool and down the short stairs to the smooth, nearly white sand. He saw the twenty-foot boat with the blue canopy floating at the end of a long, wooden dock and headed that way. He expected to see a crowd of tourists but found the dock empty, except for Cate.

She wore a pair of worn cutoffs and a tank, the bright teal bikini strap tied at the back of her neck poking through. Her back was to him, and she was bent over an old red plastic cooler, working to lug it to the boat. For a few seconds, he watched her struggle with the heavy old red plastic box, admiring her muscled, tanned legs. The sound of the ocean and the rush of waves hitting the beach made it easy to sneak up on her. He put down his mesh snorkel bag.

“Can I help?” he asked, and watched her jump nearly a mile.

“God, you scared me,” she said, pushing her oversize sunglasses up on her nose and flattening the other hand against her chest. “Where did you come from?”

“Iowa,” he joked. “At least, that’s where I was born and raised, before I moved to Seattle.” She sent him a wry smile as she went back to her work with the cooler.

“Here, let me.” He easily lifted the cooler, packed with ice and drinks, and she stepped back, a little surprised.

“Uh...thanks,” she said, and he noticed she kept her attention focused on him. Good, that’s where it needed to be. “Just put it there.” She pointed to the stern, where a carved out little indention fit the cooler perfectly. He set it in. She hopped in after him and fastened straps around the cooler to make sure it didn’t fall overboard.

“I’ve got snorkel gear if you need it...” she began, turning to one of the seats of the boat. She flipped up the cushioned top to reveal mounds of flippers, snorkels and diving masks.

“I came prepared,” he said, nodding back to the dock. He hopped off the boat and grabbed his gear.

“Oh, I see.” She glanced anxiously about, looking unnerved and clearly distracted, or she would’ve noticed he already had gear. She glanced at the sports watch on her wrist and then back at the hotel, as she kept one foot on the dock and one resting on the stern of the boat.

“Where is everyone?” Tack asked, glancing around the empty boat.

“We were supposed to have at least one more couple join us today,” she explained. “The others have already dropped out, which is unusual, but...it happens. Did you see anyone else in the lobby on your way out?”

He shook his head. “No one in the lobby.”

“We can give them a few more minutes,” she said, biting her lip. Then her phone dinged with an incoming message and she pulled it out of the back pocket of her shorts. “Dammit,” she murmured, and then she glanced up apologetically. “Sorry. I...uh...” She peered at the screen of her phone. “Just one minute.”

She tapped her screen and then put the phone against her ear as she made a phone call. “Carol! It’s Cate. Are you sure they canceled?” She stood and anxiously paced the boat, putting a hand on her head and looking unnerved. “You’re sure that they canceled?”

The intonation wasn’t lost on Tack.

“Carol...if...” She stopped, listening. “Yes, but...maybe we should just reschedule the trip?” Tack, on high alert, listened in. She let out a long, defeated-sounding sigh. “All right then. Fine.” She hung up and angrily tucked the phone back in her pocket. Then she grinned at him sheepishly. “Looks like it’s just us.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Tack grinned, and Cate barked an uneasy laugh. He slung his mesh diver’s bag onto the floor of the boat and as he did so, brushed her arm ever so slightly. She jumped back and almost toppled onto the bench. He reached out a hand to steady her, and he could just make out her wide-eyed surprise behind her tinted lenses. Oh, yes, this would be an interesting morning, of that he had no doubt.

“Uh...thanks.” She withdrew her arm and rubbed it, now looking anywhere but at him.

“Can you get that rope, please?” She tried to be all business, but he could tell she was rattled. He hopped off the boat and easily untied the line holding them to the dock. He stepped back on board and gave the boat a shove with his foot as Cate kicked on the motor and took the boat out to sea. She handled the controls with confidence. The waves slapped against the bow as the ship moved across the green water, sparkling in the sun.

“Where did you learn how to pilot a boat?” he called over the roar of the engine. Of course, he already knew the answer. He’d done his homework on Cate long before now. He already knew she’d grown up in a small town in Louisiana, near Cado Lake, known for cypress trees and a few alligators. While trying to track her down, he’d damn near interviewed every one of her relatives and nearly anybody else who’d ever known her.

Her dad scraped by repairing boats, and probably took her out on the lake more than once. Her mother worked various waitressing jobs. She came from no money. Hers was a typical Cinderella story, if Cinderella tried to murder Prince Charming.

Cate kept her attention on the water. “My dad,” she said. “Dad loved to fish. He taught me how to do both.”