Not a Hero

by Cherise Sinclair

  Behind the counter was a small woman, lean as a whippet, with short brunette hair. She smiled. “I haven’t seen you in years, but you’re Mako’s Gabriel. It’s good to see you again. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  After a minute, Gabe recalled her name from the time a couple of years before when he’d visited Rescue with Mako. “Sarah. Yes, coffee would be good.” Odd how difficult it was to be around people after months of isolation. “Drip and black, please.”

  She prepared a cup and handed it over, then spotted his badge. Her smile widened. “I’m so pleased you’re here. Caz warned us that you weren’t too enthusiastic about returning to civilization.”

  Damn Caz. “I’ve found that honest people are scarcer than rattlesnakes in Alaska, but it’s not a—”

  “We don’t have rattlesnakes in Alaska.”

  “Exactly.”

  Not taking offense, she laughed. “I hope our Rescue citizens will change your mind. I know Mako wanted you here. He knew how much we need you.”

  Did he? Mako’d sure been more involved with the town than he’d told them. Since when had the survivalist loner concerned himself with anything other than an impending apocalypse? “Bull mentioned there are anti-tourism sentiments?”

  “Oh, yes. We have…” Her voice trailed off as a clean-shaven, spare-framed male entered. Probably late forties. Average height. Light brown hair.

  Armed.

  Gabe tensed, then relaxed again. The man was a civilian, not an insurgent. Jesus, he’d forgotten that open carry of firearms was allowed in Alaska.

  Sarah’s voice cooled. “Good morning, Reverend Parrish. What can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a latte.” The man had a Texas drawl.

  “Coming right up.” Sarah turned a warm smile on Gabe. “I look forward to talking with you more at a later time. Welcome to Rescue, Chief.”

  Chief. Gabe froze for a second. Chief of Police. God help him. “Thanks.”

  When Gabe nodded at Parrish, the man tore his gaze away from the badge on Gabe’s jacket. Mouth flattening, he nodded back.

  Something told Gabe they weren’t going to be bosom buddies.

  In no hurry, Gabe strolled the business section of Main Street—two blocks—reached the end, and headed back on the other side.

  It’d take a while to get his footing here. Get to know the place. When visiting Mako, he’d only come into town to pick up groceries.

  But police work was police work, no matter the size of the town.

  He was a retired SEAL, had been a police lieutenant in Los Angeles, and even led a merc squad. He could deal with paperwork. Didn’t mean he looked forward to managing an entire station’s budget.

  He glanced at the store he was passing, saw it was Dante’s Market, and entered. The owner was a Vietnam vet and the reason why the sarge had chosen Rescue as a place to live.

  Not spotting Dante, Gabe glanced around. Sometime in the last year or so, the owner had walled off the rightmost third of the building. Probably as the population diminished, so did the need for a large grocery store. With an influx of tourists, resort staff, and more residents, Dante might be able to open that section back up.

  Only one person was in the store, a white adult female, who was perusing the cookie section. She had stunning hair. The thick, wavy tangle was every shade of gold and reached halfway down her back. About five-five, she wore jeans and a flannel shirt bulky enough to disguise any curves.

  Before he could speak, she picked up a box of cookies and tucked it into her purse.

  Well, fuck. Disillusionment washed through him. Even here, people were no good. Odd, he hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped for Rescue to be different until that desire was crushed.

  He cleared his throat.

  She spun, saw him, gasped, and began backing away down the aisle. Hand on her throat, she looked so terrified, he almost had a moment of pity.

  Almost.

  * * *

  Staring at the man, Audrey retreated as fast as she could…and he came toward her. Oh God.

  He blocked the narrow aisle completely. Her heart began to pound painfully inside her rib cage. She glanced over her shoulder at the back door, but the locked door would take time to get open.

  She turned to face the man. He was frighteningly big. Over six feet tall, with short brown hair. The beard shadow was darker than his outdoorsman’s tan. Harsh lines bracketed his unsmiling mouth, and he looked…threatening.

  Could the hitman or his people have traced her?

  A glance didn’t reveal Spyros; the man was alone. Besides, she hadn’t left a trail. People disappeared all the time into remote Alaskan towns.

  No, she was safe here. Surely she was. “Wh-what do you want?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest—a very broad chest. “It’s simple. Hand me everything you stole, and then we’ll go down to the station and have a chat.”

  Have a chat? She wasn’t going anywhere with him. The rest of his sentence registered. Station… Oh my God, he was the police.

  She stared at the badge on his black fleece-lined jacket.

  Wait. What did he mean “stole?”

  “I didn’t steal anything.” Fear blossomed anew. Even if her photo ID looked real enough to her, it wouldn’t hold up to a police background check. She took a step back.

  His eyebrows lifted slightly. “I saw you. Bring your purse up to the counter.”

  Outrage swept through her, vying with anxiety. “I’m not stealing. Dante said I could take whatever I wanted to eat.”

  “Mmmhmm.” Disbelief was obvious in the man’s deep voice. “Let’s ask him.”

  Audrey crossed her arms over her chest, imitating the man. “He’s not here.”

  When his gaze pinned her in place, she saw his eyes weren’t black—they were midnight blue and brimmed with skepticism. “He wouldn’t leave his store unattended.”

  “He asked me to mind the register.”

  “And steal the goods?”

  “Listen, Sheriff—”

  “There are no sheriffs in Alaska. Call me Chief.”

  “Chief.” Oh, she was so screwed. He wasn’t merely a small town cop, but the Chief of Police. She swallowed. Where was Dante? Shouldn’t he be back by now? “Chief what?”

  “MacNair. And you are?”

  “Juliette Wilson.” She’d done her homework. Wilson was almost as common as Jones, Johnson, and Smith. Juliette was a popular name, too.

  “Wilson, huh?” His mouth flattened in a cynical way.

  The door opened. As Dante moseyed into the store, relief filled her.

  Only a few inches taller than she was, the wiry grocery store owner had receding white hair and a thick white mustache and beard.

  He saw her, and his bushy brows pulled together. Turning to Gabe, he snapped, “Yo, buddy, leave my girl alone.”

  When the chief turned toward him with a scowl, Dante blinked. His face lit. “It’s Gabe, isn’t it? I’ll be. You’re really here?”

  The chief didn’t even notice Dante’s delight. “Ms. Wilson here was stuffing her purse with groceries and says you left her to mind the place.” The cop’s low baritone held enough sarcasm to fill a lake.

  “Heh, working in LA done made you cynical, boy.” Dante might’ve left Oklahoma behind a long while back, but the southern twang in his voice remained.

  “She told the truth?”

  “Yep, she sho’nuff did.” Dante stepped behind the counter and set down a travel cup and white paper sack from the coffee shop. “She’s working now and then in exchange for one of my rental cabins and some groceries. Room and board, you might say. Keeps me from having to close up every time I want to leave the store.”

  Audrey’s muscles began to unknot.

  “I see.” The chief glanced at her, and his sharp gaze lingered on the yellowing bruises on her face. His suspicions didn’t appear much abated, but he said, politely enough, “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Ms. Wilson.”

  “Quite al
l right. I can appreciate how guilty I must have appeared.” If she’d been a criminal, she’d be running from him as fast as possible.

  To her relief, he nodded and joined Dante at the front.

  After the two men shook hands, Dante glanced over. “Julie, how about you unpack those boxes of cereal?”

  Yes, she totally needed something to keep busy. “I would be delighted.”

  “You shopping or walkin’ your beat?” Dante asked the chief.

  “There’s no food in my cabin, but I’ll shop later.” The chief shrugged. “I wanted to see what I had to deal with here.”

  “A lot, boy. A lot. Get yerself settled in, and then we’ll talk.” Dante’s smile widened. “You might check on your brother across the street. There was a shit-ton of swearing coming from over there.”

  Pretending not to listen, Audrey blinked. The man had a brother. There were two of them in this town. What an awful thought.

  “No surprise. He hates paperwork.” The chief’s lips didn’t move, but the sunlines beside his eyes crinkled.

  Oh. Dear God, the man would be lethal if he ever really smiled. She realized she was staring.

  He noticed. His eyes narrowed, and his expression hardened. Even though Dante’s explanation should have placated the cop, he obviously didn’t trust her at all.

  A chill ran up her spine because she knew she must have looked guilty as hell.

  * * *

  As Gabe left the grocery store, he eyed the buildings on Main Street. A shiver crawled up his spine. Too many places for a sniper to hide.

  After a second, he headed back across the street. Get over it, MacNair. The antsy feeling wasn’t new, after all. Every combat vet went through something similar.

  And his discomfort at being in town? All too familiar during his childhood. Each spring break-up, Mako’d take them to the nearest town where Gabe and his brothers would bunch together like terrified sheep. People would be talking, cars whizzing by… Of course, being resilient kids, they were fine within half an hour and driving the sarge crazy.

  He wasn’t a kid any longer, but he’d get over his nerves soon enough.

  And it’d been pleasant to see Dante. The vet had taken the young woman under his wing. Room and board in exchange for working a few hours? Riiiight. The old guy was good people.

  It’d been nice to see a pretty woman too. Although she obviously hadn’t felt the same about him.

  Was she avoiding him because he was in law enforcement?

  Or because he had a dick?

  Her face was thin with hollows in her cheeks. Her fair skin looked slack as if she’d lost weight recently. Despite her liberal use of makeup, faded bruise shadows over her left jaw and cheek showed. Even more damning, she had faint shadows of bruises on her neck. A healing cut by her mouth made him think of what happened when an abuser wore a ring.

  The damage to her face and neck indicated that whatever—or whoever—had occurred, it had been brutal. He growled under his breath. Be nice to meet the asshole who’d hit her.

  She’d sure been terrified when accused of shoplifting.

  He felt a touch of shame. He hadn’t believed for even a moment that she might be telling the truth.

  In his experience, everyone lied.

  But she hadn’t been—at least about shoplifting. Thank fuck, he didn’t have to haul her in. Yeah, it was sexist, but arresting a woman bothered him. Protect the women and children had been one of Gramps’s dictates. Mako, also, had lived by that code.

  Gabe scowled. Even if Ms. Wilson was innocent of stealing from the store, his “guilty” sensor had gone off. The woman was hiding something.

  When she’d first seen Gabe, her big eyes had filled with fear. That had hurt. But the fear hadn’t left when she’d realized he was a police officer. If anything, her worry had escalated.

  Very astute of you, Ms. Wilson.

  He didn’t like secrets. Might be he’d take an interest in finding out what she was hiding.

  And, appealing or not, that’s all he wanted from her—her secrets. Women were…

  His mouth thinned, remembering when he’d quit the LAPD. To derail an organized crime investigation, the subjects had bribed a woman to set up the detectives. Gabe had been shot. His partner had died. When interviewed, the woman had shrugged and laughed. “Who gives a damn if a pig or two dies?”

  He lost his taste for serve and protect that day.

  Enough. Shaking his head, he forced away the rancid memories. That was then; this is now.

  He walked through the glass-fronted double door and into the two-story municipal building. The wide entry held a receptionist desk guarding the door to the police station on the left, the stairs to the second-floor city hall offices and the health clinic on the right. A handful of folding chairs served as a waiting area. The off-white walls were freshly painted, but the hardwood floor still needed a good sanding and some coats of varnish.

  The receptionist desk wasn’t staffed. Something else to worry about.

  Turning to the right, he walked into Caz’s health clinic.

  Mako’d been damned proud when Caz had joined the Army Special Forces—the sarge’s old branch—and even more so when Caz became a medic. After his discharge, Caz finished his Master’s with a Family Nurse Practitioner license and set up practice in Anchorage. Every so often, he’d disappear for months to do volunteer work in third-world countries.

  With his FNP license, he could run a health clinic without a doctor in residence. And Rescue needed a clinic here. Even if the drive to Soldotna or Seward wasn’t long, a snowstorm or avalanche could render the Sterling and Seward Highways impassible for a couple of days.

  Inside the clinic, a dented metal desk blocked the door to the various exam rooms and offices.

  Hearing the thunk of something hitting the wall followed by another two thunks, Gabe paused. The thuds were accompanied by cursing that started with chinga-something and ending with cabrón.

  When irritated, Caz pulled out his throwing knives. Sounded like someone was in a pissy mood.

  Gabe walked down the hallway.

  In an office at the end, Caz sat behind a desk. His short black hair was uncombed, his dark brown eyes bloodshot, and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.

  Gabe cleared his throat.

  Caz slowly turned his head. “’Bout time you got your ass moving.”

  Since his brother held a knife, and the three in the bulletin board were still quivering, Gabe took the path of wisdom and stayed silent.

  As Caz’s scowl lightened, he leaned back. “It’s good to have you here, viejo.”

  Uh-huh. Gabe glanced at the piles on the desk. “Looks like you’ve got more paperwork than you have patients.”

  “The clinic’s not open, so yes. But the paperwork is filed and approved, and I’m getting some equipment from Community Health Services. Basic supplies are already ordered.”

  “Progress.”

  “Sí. Slow, but sure.” Caz rose and stretched with a groan. “I hate filling out forms.”

  The police station would need a budget, staffing, requisitions… “I hear you.”

  “I’ll be able to open soon, but it’ll be just me at first.” Caz pulled his knives from the bulletin board.

  Gabe grimaced. “The police station has a total of two—patrol and chief.”

  “One end of the pendulum arc. We start with too few businesses and not enough money and, with luck, swing to too many tourists and not enough services. Back and forth.”

  “With no one happy.”

  “Beginnings are like that.” Caz massaged his shoulder—the one he’d busted the year Mako’d taught them rock climbing. “I could sure use a beer. Did you talk to Bull? The bar’s grand opening is tomorrow night even though the restaurant half isn’t quite ready.”

  A bar. That was a civilized notion he could get behind. “Good.”

  “Be warned, mi hermano, he hopes we’ll wait tables if he gets too far behind.”

 
; “It’s good to have dreams, no matter how unrealistic.”

  Caz grinned.

  There. The explosively tempered Hispanic had been defused. My work here is done.

  “Since you’ll be at the bar…” Caz rummaged in a drawer, pulled out a small box, and tossed it to Gabe. “Welcome back to civilization.”

  “Condoms? You’re getting more like Mako every day.” The sarge had usually concluded his safe sex lectures by tossing them boxes of condoms. Gabe felt a smile tug at his lips as he opened the box and stuck the three packets in his wallet.

  “Thanks, bro.” Not that he had any intention of using them, but arguing anything health-related with his medic brother was an exercise in futility. “I better get going. I need to work out schedules with Officer Baumer.”

  “We’ll talk tonight, the three of us. Mako’s freezer still has some salmon, and we can light up the grill at the Hermitage.”

  Gabe snorted. After they’d built the semi-circle of five cabins on the far side of Lynx Lake, Bull named the compound the Hermitage. “What? It’s the dwelling of a hermit, isn’t it?”

  Mako hadn’t been amused.

  “Getting together for supper sounds good. I still have to get my cabin opened up and stocked.” Tomorrow, he’d attend Bull’s grand re-opening…if he could stand being around that many people all at once.

  He paused. A bar. Bull needed staff. Dante’s blonde helper was getting only room and board. No cash. She could probably use a real job.

  When Caz’s lips turned up, Gabe eyed him. “What are you smirking at?”

  “You haven’t lost that I’ve got a plan expression you had as a kid.”

  “It’s not my fault you all were stupid enough to follow me.”

  “Good times. Remember when you decided we should help that cub get back to its mama?”

  The mama had been a brown bear—and all those grizzly movies were spot on about the dangers of a pissed-off mother. Gabe’d almost gotten them all killed. “No wonder the sarge’s hair turned white.”

  Caz laughed. “So, what’s the plan?”