by Kay Lyons
"I'll be back in a while."
"Be back by eight," Gray bit out as the two rushed down the stairs. "Christopher!"
"Whatever," Christopher said by way of acknowledgment.
Grayson watched them until they turned the corner and walked out of sight before he stalked back into the house and slammed the door.
Of all days to get into a fight with his son, why this one? He’d had a long day at work, and on the way home, he'd met a woman on a motorcycle who'd looked—
He swiped his hand over his face again. It wasn't her. And besides, she'd worn a helmet, aviators, and a jacket, so he hadn't been able to see that much of her to identify her.
It couldn't have been her.
Because if the woman was Frankie Cohen, his life was going to get a lot more complicated than it already was.
* * *
Later that same evening, Frankie entered Ace's Garage to make her way to the office and was greeted by a familiar furry face. "Tank! Hey, boy! Oh, I've missed you."
The German shepherd alternated between wagging and sitting to give her his paw, tongue hanging in a huge smile.
"Hey, Frankie. Welcome back."
"Hey." She looked up to see her mechanic and dog-sitter smiling at her. "Thanks. It's good to be back," she said, straightening to move deeper into the office. She dropped her keys onto her desk and looked at the mound of paperwork awaiting her. That's what she got for a week away on a paid vacation. She'd pay for it, all right. And be playing catch-up for a while. But that white sand and insanely blue water had gone a long way toward lowering her angst factor. Well, until the drive to London’s.
"You said to leave it, so we did."
"It's all good."
"Hey, anytime you want to give up a paid delivery to the Keys that comes with free room and board, you let me know," Steve said. "I'll be happy to sub for you."
She grinned at him and shook her head. "No way. That condo and view definitely qualified as one of the perks of being boss."
Tank moved to the bottom of the love seat across the office and hesitated as he prepped to jump. "Did you give him his meds?"
"Yeah, but the poor boy's feeling achy today. Tough for an old man to keep up running around with my crew."
Tank was a MWD—military working dog—retired from bomb sniffing. He'd served eleven years before being placed for adoption after he was injured in the blast that had killed Tank's handler.
Frankie moved to the love seat where Tank was now settled and stared into his beautiful eyes while stroking his head, the ache in her side pulling from her own now-healed injuries. "We'll head home soon," she told Tank softly. The shepherd blinked at her and lowered his head atop his paws with a loud sigh as though content now that she was home.
"Did you have any issues getting down there?"
She shoved herself up from the couch and returned to the desk. "Had to stop and make a few tweaks but nothing major. I took my time and just enjoyed the ride. Jerry was a happy camper. He couldn't wait to show it off," she said, referring to the Harley she'd spent the last several months restoring. "What are you still doing here? You could've left Tank at the condo. You fishing for overtime for your trip?"
"Nah. Just hanging around to give you the good news."
"Oh? Must be good."
"It is. A miracle walked in today. Been killing me keeping quiet until you got around to showing up."
"A miracle, you say?" She sent the man a suspicious stare and paused in the act of sorting way too much mail. "Well, I'm intrigued. Fill me in."
The Gulf War vet grinned and bounced on the flippers that made up the feet of the double prosthetics appearing out from beneath the shorts he wore.
"Remember that beehive taillight you've been searching high and low for?"
"No way."
"Yeah. Had a kid come in wanting to sell one today."
Her suspicious nature immediately reared its ugly head, and the joy she'd felt at finally getting a much-needed part for her special project burst like a balloon. "A kid?"
"Yeah. About fifteen or so, I'm guessing. Said his old man is a vet, sick with cancer, and needed the cash. Said he’d heard this was a good place to try because of you hiring vets. Anyway, seeing as how you've been looking for one for so long, I bought it. Got a heck of a deal, too."
For the first time since entering the office, she spotted the box propped between the seat and cushion of the chair across from her desk. "Are you sure it's not stolen?"
Steve grimaced but then shrugged.
"Guess there's always a chance of that, but the kid seemed sincere. Been looking online and through the ads since he left while I waited on you to show, but I haven't found anything reported. I'll let you know if I see something."
She set the mail aside to round her desk and check the box over but didn't see anything on the outside. "You get his number or anything?"
Steve grimaced. "No, sorry. He said his dad might sell more parts and tools to pay for bills, though, so he could be back in."
Tools were pricey, and having briefly employed a thief, she was now having to replace tools that had gone missing during the guy's short employment with her. "Gimme a heads-up if he does, and be sure to get some info off of him. How much did he sell it for?"
"Three hundred."
She exhaled with a small whistle as she lifted the taillight from the packing paper and looked it over. "Too good to be true," she said sadly, knowing in her gut she couldn't get too attached to the part because it would probably have to go back to its original buyer. "Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it, but don't buy anything else from this kid until I meet him. I want to check out the story and know he's legit."
"No problem. I figured you would but I wanted to pick that cherry while I had the chance."
She put the part back in the packaging. "Oh, yeah, I'm glad you did. If it's not stolen, it's definitely a find. Thanks for looking out for me."
"You know it," he said with a nod. "I'm going to head out now. You have a good night. Lisa's raring to get on the road bright and early tomorrow, so I need to pack up the van tonight."
"Safe travels. Oh, and lock down the bay doors on your way out, would you?"
"Sure thing. Good to have you back, boss."
Frankie sat in her office chair and went over the schedule for tomorrow before tackling the mail again and perusing the numbers. Time and again, however, her gaze settled on the box across the desk from her. She got up and garnered Tank's attention. The dog watched as she lifted the box onto the desk once more. Maybe there was no label on the outside, but packing slips were sometimes placed inside as well to help derail shipping mishaps. It was worth a shot to hunt for one in case the kid was careless in his attempt for fast cash.
Frankie set the taillight aside and dug around. Just when she was about to give up hope, she spotted a barely visible white tip and pulled it from under one of the box folds.
And there it was. The part had been shipped to—
Her legs gave out and she collapsed onto the edge of the desk.
G. Carter.
She stared down at the slip, Steve's words about the kid's dad being a vet who had cancer sliding through her head, piercing her heart.
Could it be?
She gripped the slip in her fist and fought to breathe as Tank whined and left the couch to come to her side. She buried her fingers into his fur and tried to ground herself in the moment. Breathe. Something to keep from losing herself to the panic swarming her senses.
It couldn't be him.
Hadn't she already lost enough?
Chapter 4
Grayson paced the kitchen in his frustration with Christopher before going back to the living room. He was ten minutes into an ’80s sitcom when the doorbell rang again and his stomach growled as if on cue.
Once more he made his way to the entry, digging his wallet out of his rear pocket as he opened the door to tip for a pizza he didn't want for a kid who wouldn't be grateful. A gasp caught his attentio
n and he lifted his head to lock gazes with… "Frankie?"
She shook her dark head, an incredulous huff leaving her chest as she shoved a box toward him. He dropped his wallet in his effort to secure the box and stared, pulse racing in his veins as she turned without a word and headed toward the stairs. "Frankie, wait. Frankie!"
He tossed the box onto the closest outdoor chair and chased after her, grasping her arm gently to stop her.
A dog began barking and jumped out of an old Jeep, racing toward them.
"You wanna keep that hand, you'd better let go."
He released her immediately and stepped back from the growling dog at her side. "Just… wait a second, okay? Who's your friend?"
"Tank. And why should I wait? The wifey-poo not home to see you flirting with me, so you feel safe?"
He bit back a curse and fought to control his temper. She wouldn't listen a year and a half ago either, but this time… "No, she's—"
"You're unbelievable."
The dog's growls got louder, but it didn't move from its spot at her side, even when she lowered her hand to its head.
"She's dead, Frankie." Maybe it was a cheap shot by way of insensitivity, but he had to say something to slow her down before she disappeared like she had last time.
He held her gaze, flummoxed like he always was every time he came into contact with her. She was thinner than he remembered but just as beautiful as ever. Her dark brown hair was pulled back from her face in a pony, and unlike earlier today when he'd seen her—if it had been her—she now wore standard-issue olive green shorts and a camo T-shirt.
"Should I give my condolences or congratulate you? I'm a little confused."
And angry. He tilted his head toward the door. "Want to come in?"
"No."
"Will you come in?" he asked next. "I'd like to talk to you and I'd rather not have this discussion in front of my neighbors."
"What are you doing here, Grayson?"
A smile pulled at the corners of his lips despite the seriousness of her expression. He shook his head and glanced at the box she'd brought with her. Wait, was that his— "I could ask you the same thing. Where did you get that?"
"Apparently a kid brought it to my garage today to sell. Said his dad was a sick vet with cancer and needed the money."
Christopher. Grayson fisted his hands and his anger must have radiated off of him, because Tank released another warning growl.
"Your dog has issues."
"He's a retired WMD and he doesn't like it when people yell at me."
"I didn't yell at you."
"I guess he just doesn’t like you then."
"What did the kid look like?" It was a stupid question since he was pretty sure those types of parts weren't just lying around in garages at the beach, but asking the question bought him some time.
"I didn't see him. One of my mechanics made the deal. Got it for less than half price, so I figured something was fishy. He'd overlooked a packing slip inside. So is it true?"
He blinked at her, not following.
"Do you have cancer?"
Would she care if he did? "No. What I have is apparently a kid who can't seem to stay out of trouble."
Frankie's expression didn't reveal much, but he knew her well enough to know she was as blown away by their reunion as he was. "It's a little weird how we keep winding up together, isn't it?"
A low huff left her ample chest.
"We're not together. And you didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"
"I'm out. I’m a full-time dad working at a local doctor's office and clinic as their PA."
He watched her close her eyes and fist her hands. Apparently she'd hoped he was just visiting? "Frankie—"
"You knew I lived here. I was honest and told you about my life. About my home, my family. Where I lived. You didn't think we'd run into each other? That it'd be a problem for you to be here?"
He ignored the shot at his character, because it was deserved, and took a step closer. "Wilmington isn't some Podunk town, Frankie. Toss in the population of the beaches… Okay, yeah, I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind that I might see you at some point, but we also could've lived here all of our lives and never run into each other."
"How long have you been here?"
He inhaled. "Since April." And it had taken everything inside of him not to track her down any way he possibly could. Through buddies still in the military, through the internet. But given their history, starting a new job, and his rocky relationship with Christopher, Gray knew he'd needed time to settle in. Get his life on an even keel before anything else.
An exasperated huff left her again.
"Frankie… come inside. Please. Let's talk. Let me finally explain."
She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, one-hundred-percent pissed female ready to do battle. Her expression changed and he kicked himself for the millionth time for not being honest with her from the beginning.
"There's nothing you can say to explain away the lies," she said before purposefully moving down the stairs like insurgents were hot on her heels.
He took a step, going to follow her, but Tank went up on all fours and growled again. "You and I are gonna have to come to terms," he said to the dog.
"Not happening," Frankie called over her shoulder as she reached the bottom step. "But I am glad you don't have cancer."
He watched her go, taking in every sway of her hips and every bounce of her pony. The long, tanned length of her legs and the proud tilt of her head. She got into an old Jeep that gave off an impressive roar when she twisted the key.
Now that his master was safe, Tank took off down the stairs and leaped into the Jeep beside her, sitting tall and proud on the passenger seat.
Grayson couldn't help the small smile that pulled at his lips at the image they made, all rough and tough and protective of one another. But he knew both had a softer side. He'd seen Frankie's and wanted to see it again.
She might hate him, but she was glad he didn't have cancer.
It was a start and he'd take it. And now that she'd made contact and he knew how to find her… he had some making up to do.
Untitled
Twenty minutes after Frankie got home, she forced herself to stop pacing and unlock her aching jaw. Her plan had been to stay at the garage to get caught up, but after taking the part to the address on the slip and seeing Grayson face-to-face, she'd retreated to the safety of her home.
Because he was here. In Carolina Cove.
And single because of a dead wife?
She shook her head and groaned aloud. Single or married, it didn't matter. Not anymore. It was too late to undo the damage caused by his lies.
A low whine and the clang of the food bowl jerked her out of her daze. She turned to see Tank staring at her with his big dark eyes and glanced at the time. "Chow time, huh? Steve said you were being persnickety while I was gone. You know you have to eat so you can take your meds."
She got his food prepped and set the bowl back on the floor, filled his empty water dish since Steve had kept Tank at his house rather than here, and looked at her tiny condo. After being in the military, she'd come out with a duffle of clothes and little else. Tank was a new addition, adopted six months after her discharge. The moment she'd read about his PTSD and how he'd mourned his handler, she'd known the dog would understand her hang-ups. Who better to adopt him than someone who understood what he'd been through?
She opened the fridge but didn't see much other than cheese and a bottle of wine. A search for crackers left her taste-testing a hastily twisted sleeve shoved to the back of the cabinet, but they'd gone stale.
Popcorn?
She opened another cabinet and spied the microwavable box kind. One packet left. While the popcorn popped, she poured some wine. "You know, you should learn how to grocery shop to earn your keep."
Tank let out another whine behind her and she glanced back to see the bowl of food untouched in front of him. "Wh
at's up with you? I know you're hungry. You never eat much when I'm gone, so have at it."
Tank's eyes flicked from her to the food and back to her with another low, pitiful whine.
"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head firmly. "You're not going to con me into doing that, so don't give me those puppy eyes. I only did that a few times because you were sick after your surgeries, and now every time I go somewhere and have to leave you for a few days, you try to guilt me. What kind of best friend are you? I mean, yeah, you were pretty cool when you came to my defense when Gray grabbed me, but that doesn't mean I'm going to do what you want. When you get hungry enough, you'll eat."
Tank inhaled a shuddering breath and sighed, the sound emerging as a grumble. He laid nose to bowl but didn't take his eyes off of her, and she turned away from him to watch the bag inside the microwave grow larger with every kernel that popped. "I don't get it, do you? Why here? Why again? It's weird, right?"
The microwave dinged and she found a bowl to empty the bag into, her mind on a certain man who now lived a matter of streets away. Why Carolina Cove?
She carried her gourmet dinner into the living room with her and curled up on the couch. Frankie found the remote, muting the volume and flipping through channels as she tried to distract herself from thoughts of Grayson.
It didn't work but she tried. Hard.
He'd looked good. A little tired and definitely frustrated at finding out his kid was probably a thief, but good. Handsome as ever with his dark hair and sexy, whisker-scruffed face.
No, not sexy. Deceitful, lying, secret-keeping…
Sexy face.
She closed her eyes and groaned, wondering if there would ever come a day when she could think of him and all that'd happened and not be sad.
A noise interrupted her thoughts and she stilled. What the heck was that?
It took her a few seconds to realize it was Tank's stomach growling. "Really?"
He didn't move other than to stare at her with those guilt-projecting eyes.
She waited, watched. Narrowed her gaze because she felt her resolve slipping. "You are unbelievable," she said, setting the popcorn on the coffee table beside her glass to stand.
