Sergeant's Christmas Siege

by Megan Crane

“Are you afraid I told the mean trooper nasty things about your little club?” she asked in the usual tone she used when she discussed Alaska Force. The kind of disrespectful tone that a small man might take issue with.

  But Templeton only grinned. “I’m not afraid of you, Caradine. I’m interested in what she asked you, that’s all.”

  “She’s very interested in my relationship with Alaska Force.” Caradine sniffed. “And didn’t seem particularly swayed when I told her that I’ve gone out of my way to avoid having relationships with anybody or anything, as is my right and privilege here in the Land of the Midnight Sun.”

  “Did you get a sense—­”

  “I don’t work for you.”

  And the thing about Caradine was that she didn’t raise her voice. She was reliably unfriendly, but she was not harsh. The look she leveled on him then was steady. Intense, maybe. But she wasn’t kidding around.

  “I don’t care one way or the other if every single one of you ends up in a jail cell. What I do care about is the fact that letting you into my café has brought me to the attention of the Alaska State Troopers. That doesn’t make me happy, Templeton. And when I’m not happy, I don’t like cooking. So any way you do the math on that, it doesn’t matter what she asked me or what I said or what the hell is going on. What matters is that you’re all banned.”

  And this time when she slammed the door in his face, Templeton let her.

  He headed back down toward the dock where he’d moored the skiff yesterday. He could tell his brothers right now that Caradine had banned them again—­but where was the fun in that? It would be far more entertaining to have her share that information with each and every one of them herself. Right when they most needed coffee.

  He entertained himself imagining those conversations all the way down to the docks through the weak new light of the lazy December sun, which cast the village in foggy blue before it cleared the mountains. He nodded at some of the fishermen he knew and the villagers waiting for the ferry to come in on its single stop per week this time of year. But his eyes instantly went to his trooper in her winter-­ready gear, standing straight and tall next to the little building that functioned as a ferry terminal.

  “All aboard, Trooper Holiday,” he said merrily as he approached. “I hope you’re ready for the bracing December seas.”

  “According to your file, you’re from the South,” she replied in a voice that was clearly supposed to tell him how unamusing she found him. Funny how he got the exact opposite from her.

  “Guilty as charged, ma’am,” he drawled, throwing some deep, slow, Mississippi vowels in there for good measure.

  “Then let me assure you that I don’t need preparation for Alaskan weather, Alaskan seas, or anything Alaskan at all. I was born right here.”

  It seemed to occur to her that she wasn’t here to get in sparring matches with a man she suspected of criminal activity. He saw something flash over her face, then a little bit of heat in her cheeks that really could have been temper. Though he didn’t think so. Whatever the cause, all she did was stand taller.

  She nodded her head down the length of the dock toward his skiff, and Templeton was fully aware she was issuing an order. “Are you ready?”

  He took his time to pause and really grin at her like his life depended on it. “Kate. Don’t you worry. Rangers are always ready.”

  And he didn’t wait around to see her reaction, though he was pretty sure he could feel her roll her eyes at him. He sauntered down to the Alaska Force boat, then indicated that she should climb aboard before him.

  “I’m going to need you to stay right there,” she said cheerfully. “Both feet on the dock, and none of your body on this boat. Can you do that?”

  “I can do it. Why would I want to?”

  “I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Cross. I’m going to conduct a quick visual sweep of this boat. I’m sure you understand.”

  And the look she gave him was fully cop, no trace of Kate. Templeton waved a lazy hand, settled in to wait, and opted not to question himself as to what exactly the difference between cop and Kate was or when he’d decided he could tell the difference.

  Because that led nowhere a wise man let himself go. Especially when the man in question had decided never again to mix business with pleasure.

  It didn’t take Kate long. She climbed on board, and he figured the point of her inspection was as much to make sure there was nothing on the boat that shouldn’t be there—­and no one hiding below deck in the tiny cabin—­as it was for her to make it clear to him that she was in contact with her department. She got on her comm unit and broke down her inspection for dispatch, responding to several queries, and when she was finished; she kept her hand on her weapon as she beckoned for Templeton to join her on his own damn boat.

  “Do I pass your test?” he asked her as he climbed aboard.

  “Your boat passes muster,” she said coolly. “I’m not prepared to make a judgment on whether or not you do.”

  But he was making a study of her expressions. And he was sure he could see the hint of the humor she didn’t want him to know she had lurking there in her gaze, no matter what she said.

  Templeton liked to think that he could pilot any vehicle on land or in the air, but what he really enjoyed were boats. Even at this time of year, when the sea was swollen and brooding in turn, he found it exhilarating. He liked the challenge of the swells. The dance between what he could see with his eyes and what his instruments told him as he piloted their way out of Grizzly Harbor, then around the rocky, steep, and inhospitable shore of the island toward the little cove he called home.

  He expected Kate to fire more questions at him, taking advantage of the fact he had to concentrate on the water and the weather to interrogate him further. But instead, she was quiet. She stood next to him in the pilot­house, keeping her body at an angle and her hand resting casually enough on her hip, where she had her weapon strapped.

  But she didn’t say a word. Every time he snuck a glance her way, she had her gaze on the crashing Pacific all around them, as the uncertain daylight cast the world in gray and green.

  And Templeton had lived in Alaska for years now. But she was right—­deep down, he was still a Southerner, marked by the slow drawls and soft seasons of the land he’d come from, the damp heat of the summers, and the wide, brown Mississippi River that marked the eastern border of his part of Louisiana. He could tell that the woman beside him had been forged from this place instead. The resilient islands, the formidable mountains. Cool like the glaciers, and endlessly shifting like the sea.

  Sweet Lord, he thought in amazement. He was coming over all poetic. Next thing he knew, he’d break into song and bring the rocky cliffs down around them with his tuneless voice. And then it wouldn’t matter what rules he broke, because he’d be dead.

  But the idea of him making like a troubadour had him laughing out loud, which had the added benefit of making the woman beside him jolt a little bit.

  “Private joke,” he told her, and grinned when she frowned at him.

  He was still laughing to himself when he rounded the rocky outcropping and made his way into Fool’s Cove.

  He knew that the minute he powered around the bend there would be eyes all over his boat no matter the gloom of the morning. And he supposed that the Troopers weren’t wrong to be worried about the kinds of things that could potentially be going on in a place like this. Fool’s Cove was inaccessible to most of the world simply because of where it was. There was only one road in from Grizzly Harbor, though it was only passable every now and again over a tricky bastard of a mountain pass that the locals called Hard Ass Pass. Mostly, the road was washed out, and people who attempted to take it over the mountain didn’t come back.

  In fact, the only person in recent memory who’d survived it was Blue’s fiancée, Everly. And the part of Temple­ton that leaned toward
poetry liked the fact that the woman worthy of his brother Blue had proved herself in that way.

  Something he said out loud only when he wanted to irritate the former SEAL.

  The cove itself wasn’t all that welcoming, should a person make it there. Isaac’s ancestors had built themselves an out-­of-­the-­way fishing lodge and hadn’t done much to make anything about it appealing, because its draw was its location. Over time, they’d added cabins here and there. The lodge was a ramshackle, rambling set of connected buildings up above the high-­tide mark over the water. It ran along the shore, with wooden walkways connecting the different buildings and cabins together. And there were separate cabins deeper in the trees, going up the side of the mountain, where the members of Alaska Force lived. Templeton’s cabin wasn’t hidden away in the woods like many of his brothers’ were. He lived near the beach and what they called Isaac’s box of pain, which is where they did their killer workouts every morning. He could see it as he got closer.

  And it still felt like home, every time he laid eyes on it. Something Templeton didn’t take for granted after his years being shuttled from one foster placement to another.

  He navigated his way into the cove, headed for the docks below the lodge.

  And as they got closer, they could see more of the lights on all over the cove, and the hum of the generators danced around with the sound of the waves.

  “Home sweet home,” Templeton said. And meant it, which never failed to surprise him. He’d been everywhere. But he liked it here, in all this gray and green, with the punishing winters and the months of darkness.

  “Do you consider this your home?” Kate was asking. “Or is it more of a fiefdom?”

  “The thing about your average medieval fiefdom is that it actually contained a lot of people’s homes,” Templeton said. “It’s not an either-or scenario.”

  He was too aware of her gaze on the side of his face. “Interesting tack to take.”

  Templeton slid the boat into the slip at the dock and tied down the lines. He offered to help Kate off the boat once it was moored, received a trooper death glare in reply, and held his hands up in surrender as she climbed off onto the dock herself. Then he preceded her down the length of the dock to the land, wondering what she saw as she followed him. It was just another working day here at Alaska Force headquarters, no matter when whatever daylight they got this time of year decided to make itself known.

  It was coming up on nine, and the sun was actually visible—­but there were already clouds moving in. So it hardly mattered that it was slightly less dark, as far as Templeton was concerned.

  And when they got to the end of the dock, where the beach ran off toward Templeton’s cabin, Alaska Force’s newest hire stood there waiting on the lowest step of the wooden staircase that rose up to the main part of the lodge.

  Bethan Wilcox was one of the handful of women to ever make it through the army’s elite Ranger School, which Templeton—­as one of the very low percentage of men who had done the same—­could only marvel at. The kind of dedication that it took to commit herself to an army that was still largely uncertain what to do with women in combat positions got nothing but respect from Templeton. Being a good soldier was tough enough without centuries of institutionalized sexism packed on top of it. Being an excellent one was even harder.

  Also, she was a killer good shot, fast as hell, and held her own physically.

  Templeton wasn’t at all surprised that Isaac had brought her on board.

  It was only Jonas, in fact, who seemed to have any reservations—­but Templeton couldn’t help thinking that was personal. Not that he’d dared to ask. Yet.

  “Welcome to Fool’s Cove, Trooper Holiday,” Bethan said as Kate walked up behind Templeton to stand at the foot of the stairs.

  Kate smiled, glacial and cool. “Are you here because you’re a woman and that’s supposed to put me at ease? Or because you’re the newest member of this questionable little group and the least likely to implicate yourself?”

  Bethan didn’t blink. “I have to assume both, ma’am.”

  Kate actually smiled. Templeton absolutely did not stare at it, like a starving man, because that would be crazy.

  He wasn’t going to do this. He’d made a promise to himself a long time ago, and he intended to keep it, no matter how pretty his trooper’s smile was.

  Templeton ordered himself to get his head on straight. Then he and Bethan led an Alaska State Trooper who already believed they were suspicious criminals directly into the heart of Alaska Force.

  Five

  Once again, Kate’s expectations were not met.

  She climbed up the steep, well-­made stairs to the lodge and found herself on one of a series of porches that ran alongside the connected or nearby cabins clinging to the side of the hill. She’d seen the surveillance photos and had looked at historical documents dating back to the arrival of the first Gentry into the area, and wasn’t surprised that the place still looked like the rustic fishing lodge it had always been.

  But she’d expected it to be actually rustic.

  Instead, everything was weathered but clearly well maintained, if not new. She could fling herself facedown on the porch at her feet, rub her cheek against it, and very likely come up with no splinters.

  She almost said that out loud, but . . . didn’t. Because she made the mistake of looking at Templeton while she thought it, and everything seemed to tangle inside her. And she found herself wondering what sort of splinters she’d get if she leaned in close and rubbed her cheek—­

  Kate was so appalled at herself that she froze for a moment, there at the top of the steep stairs.

  And Templeton’s expression suggested he knew why. The sun finally heaved itself a little bit higher, sending the pale winter light cascading over the trees but still leaving the cove in shadows. Kate felt shadowed herself, and compromised, and she hated it. So she called in her location, ostentatiously, holding Templeton’s gaze while she did it.

  “You do what you need to do to feel safe, Kate,” Temple­ton drawled when she’d finished.

  “I certainly appreciate your permission, Mr. Cross,” she replied, sounding as cool as he had sounded lazy.

  Then she nodded at Bethan Wilcox, who stood at attention on Templeton’s other side, with her face perfectly blank, as if she, at least, hadn’t fully shifted from the army into this ex-­military life yet.

  They led Kate into what must have once been the main lobby of the lodge when it was actually run as a fishing camp hotel. It was a wide space. There were chairs and sofas scattered here and there, and Kate had imagined that the place would be decorated much in the same style as her inn. One hundred percent, full-­octane Alaska, complete with animal skins, hunting trophies, and taxidermy galore. Or more in the style of the compound of her youth, with an eye toward hunkering down and holding off armies rather than a living space that catered to humans.

  Instead, the Alaska Force lodge felt both comfortable and professional, and she had to stop a moment to think about how they’d achieved that. It was cozy and inviting, yes, with all the ruddy-­colored rugs tossed across the hard­wood floors that were somehow as masculine as they were surprisingly sophisticated for this part of the world. There were sleek, modern updates that wouldn’t look out of place in Mountain Living magazine, from the flat-­screen TV on one wall and the big stone fireplace on another, down to the lack of clutter or anything extraneous.

  “You look surprised,” Templeton rumbled from beside her.

  Too close beside her, because everything about him was inappropriate, and she understood that it was all deliberate. That was the game he was playing. She under­stood it, but for some reason, she seemed to be susceptible to him in ways that made absolutely no sense to her.

  She ignored him—­and her reaction—­and walked farther into the great room, scanning it as she went.

&n
bsp; “I wouldn’t categorize my response as ‘surprised,’” she said after a moment. “But I’ll admit that this looks more corporate than cultish.”

  “Cultish?” Bethan laughed, though she had found another way to stand at attention just inside the door while Templeton prowled around like an oversized jungle cat. “I’m a soldier, ma’am. Not a cult member.”

  “Some would say boot camp is the same as brainwashing,” Templeton pointed out. Conversationally.

  “Not to my face, they wouldn’t,” Bethan retorted.

  Kate smiled as she turned back to face them. “Did you practice that bit? Or am I supposed to believe it was spontaneous?”

  “Again, ma’am,” Bethan said, and Kate thought there was a little bite in that word. Ma’am. Especially since she and Bethan were much the same age. “I’m a soldier. Not in a cult. And not on a stage.”

  “Alaska Force is a business,” came another voice, from the far side of the lodge’s wide-­open lobby, where doors clearly led to other rooms and the series of connected cabins Kate had seen from outside. “So whether or not you think we’re evil probably depends on your feelings about businesses in general.”

  And there he was. The man she’d expected to see yesterday, who was at the heart of all of this.

  Isaac Gentry stood there at the far end of the room, not at attention. In fact, he looked at his ease. Not in that pointedly lazy way Templeton always did, but like he was . . . just a guy. He wore a T-shirt with a drawing on the front of it, cargo pants low on his hips, and boots like everyone else’s. Kate assumed that it was his goal to look unthreatening. Dismissible, even. His smile was genial. His eyes were bright. At a glance, he looked scruffy, bearded, and indistinguishable from any other male in his age demographic in Alaska.

  Unless a person paid attention to how he was standing there, his weight equally distributed on the balls of his feet, spring-­loaded and ready for action. Not to mention, he was in shockingly good physical condition. In perfect shape, even. And had the same kind of lean, dangerous muscles that Templeton had. The kind that were honed in battle, because the people sporting them didn’t need a weapon. They were the weapons.