by Lori King
With a mental sigh at the loss of such loveliness to marriage, Kendrick walked through the front doors of the SPPD with Michael and Austin at his back. The first thing they saw was a tiny old woman with wild white hair that stuck out everywhere like she had been electrocuted. Her face lit up when she spotted them, and she cocked her head giving them a slightly uncomfortable perusal.
“Welcome to the SPPD, boys, I’m Hattie Davis. You must be the new recruits Jackie-O was telling me about. My, you’re a handsome lot. We’ll have the badge bunnies swamping the lobby again, I’m thinking.” Hattie’s voice was loud and sharp as she greeted them, and when she stepped around the large reception desk, Kendrick blinked and choked back a laugh.
She couldn’t have been more than four and a half feet tall, and she probably weighed less than the free weights that they used every day. There were hearing aids in her ears, and the glassy tint of blue in her brown eyes told him she had cataracts.
“Hi, Ms. Davis, I’m Kendrick McClure, and this is Michael, and Austin Curtis,” he said, reaching out to shake her tiny hand. Her skin felt brittle, like paper, and he wondered how old she was.
“I’m damn near one hundred, Kenny-boy, but if I were about five decades younger, I would give you three strapping lads a night to remember!” She cackled loudly, and Kendrick flushed when he realized he had spoken his question out loud. Thankfully she didn’t seem offended. “Come on this way, and I’ll take ya to Luthy’s office. Have you met Luthy yet?”
“I’m sorry, Luthy?” Michael asked, voicing Kendrick’s own thoughts.
“Luther Wyatt, the police chief. He seems to think he’s the boss around here, but don’t pay him no mind. He thinks too highly of himself these days. Folks around here call him old man Wyatt, but he’s just a young sprout compared to me. Hey, Luthy, these are the new boys!” She continued talking, and Kendrick blinked and shook his head at the sharp sound of her loud voice in the hallway as she led them to an office where a gray-haired man in his early sixties sat in his desk chair with his cowboy boots propped up on his desk. An old western played on the TV nearby, and a radio crackled on his desk next to a computer that was shut off.
“Hattie, I’ve asked you before to address me as Chief, damn it. Hello there, gentlemen, I’m Luther Wyatt, but you can call me Chief or Old Man Wyatt like the rest of the island does. Did you guys get settled into your new place?” Luther stood and shook each of their hands. Kendrick prided himself on being a good judge of character, and Chief Wyatt had friendly eyes that immediately put him at ease.
“We’re good, Chief, thank you. I think we’re all a little anxious to get started,” Austin answered before Kendrick could.
“Sure, sure, let’s go track down Lieutenant Stone so that we can get all of the paperwork signed and get your uniforms. Now which one of you is McClure?”
Kendrick lifted his hand. “That would be me.”
Luther looked him over, and a wide grin spread on his face. “I hear they called you Samurai overseas.”
“Yes, sir, I’m proficient in a variety of martial arts, as well as military hand-to-hand combat. I’m looking forward to seeing what your men are made of down here in the islands,” Kendrick said, feeling his chest puff out with pride. It meant a lot to him to have his skills recognized and know that he was infamous already. Hopefully it would mean that the other officers would respect him enough to allow him to train them.
Kendrick had grown up with very little money as the only son of a hardworking single mom. It was only thanks to the local YMCA and a generous sensei that he even had the skill set to do the job he was hired to do. From the first moment he stepped on the mat with Sensei Cheng, Kendrick had known that he was meant to be there. Finding control in his otherwise chaotic existence had become a challenge and a discipline. It was as much a piece of him as the heart that beat in his chest, and he had carried his skills with him into the Army after high school.
The Army had embraced his talents, training him to be even more lethal, and then shipping him overseas. He didn’t begrudge the military for using him to put down insurgents with lethal force. Instead, he thanked God every day for the path he had walked, because it led him to his two best friends. Michael and Austin were the brothers that Kendrick never had, and they had been the only two things keeping him functioning after he received news of his mother’s sudden death while he was in Afghanistan.
When they left the Army, it was assumed that Kendrick would follow the Curtis brothers home to Texas. He had fit in easily with the locals, but none of the three of them had anticipated what a challenge building a new life in the small town of Apache Crossing would be. Jobs for skilled soldiers who were lethal in hand-to-hand combat weren’t exactly a dime a dozen, and he had struggled right alongside Michael and Austin to find work. Taking this new position with the Sunset Point Police Department had been a relief for all three of them, and he hoped that he could build a new future here in this new world.
“Our men and women you mean?”
Kendrick’s eyes widened, “Of course, sir. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“We have a couple of ladies around the island that I wouldn’t face down even with a loaded pistol in my hand. You think you’re a lethal weapon because of your training? Well you ain’t seen my Liz after I’ve tracked mud on her hardwood floors.” Chief Wyatt clapped him on the back jovially as they walked out of his office and back into the hallway.
“How large is the police force down here, Chief?” Michael asked.
“We have about fifty full-time officers, and couple of reserve that are old retired guys who can’t seem to give up the gun and badge. On staff right now there are only four women, and all four are island born. In fact, you guys are lucky to be part of the small handful of non-natives to get on at the force. Stone and I decided that some new blood was in order down here, and he recommended several of you from his unit.”
“We appreciate the opportunity, sir,” Kendrick responded automatically.
“Wasn’t Bannock Garrison in your unit, too?”
“Yes, Chief, and we haven’t seen him or LT—I mean Lieutenant Stone—since we returned from Afghanistan.” Michael shot Austin and Kendrick a nervous grin. They reached a closed wooden door with a small sign that said No Admittance, and Luther pushed his way through it, indicating they should follow.
They found themselves in a locker room that smelled of sweat and dirty socks and held a half-dozen men in various states of dress. One particular man stood off to the side, pulling on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt that was emblazoned with the word ARMY.
Jackson Stone’s lip curled up in a half smirk half grin, giving him a badass look with several days’ whisker growth on his jaw, and his sharp green eyes. His hair was shaved much like Kendrick’s own. It was like they had never left the military camp in the desert, as the four friends gave each other fist bumps in greeting.
“It’s good to see you guys. I was beginning to wonder when you would get your lazy asses down here this morning. We got work to do to get you back in shape after the year of vacation you’ve had,” Jackson said.
“Vacation? This coming from the dude that’s been holed up on an island since we left the sandbox!” Michael said incredulously.
Another door across the room opened, and the face that came through was just as familiar.
“Well I’ll be damned! Is that Bannock ‘The Burn’ Garrison?” Austin said loudly before letting out a whoop and fist bumping their friend.
“The Three Stooges! When did you guys get here?” Bannock asked, draping a towel around his neck. Bannock was an equally tall man with dark hair and hazel eyes. His broad shoulders were shirtless, and Austin was curious to see a large black dragon tattoo gracing his shoulder.
“Just arrived, and LT couldn’t wait to get his ass kicked, so he ordered us to report immediately,” Michael answered. “When did you get the ink, Garrison?”
Bannock glanced down at his shoulder and rubbed the black ma
rkings fondly as he answered Michael. “When I got my discharge. My buddy Dane did it. He owns the tattoo shop across the park, The Branding Iron. He’ll cut you a good deal if you want one done. Oh wait, I forgot, you’re too much of a pussy to get real ink done.”
“Fuck you, asshole!” The remark was said with a laugh, as Michael lifted the back of his own T-shirt. “I got this done as soon as I got home.”
A large eagle stretched across the back of Michael’s left shoulder, its wings spread, and an equally large United States flag clutched in its talons. It had taken three visits to get the tattoo completed, but Kendrick knew that Michael was ridiculously proud of it.
“Badass, Curtis, whoever did it does good work,” Bannock said with a nod.
“Thanks, man. Now let’s hit the mats and see how you fare, LT,” Michael said, pretending to spar with Jackson for a few seconds.
“I’m all for that. In fact, my boys are anxious to test out their new trainer.” Jackson’s piercing blue gaze honed in on Kendrick, who returned his grin arrogantly. “You up for it, Samurai?”
“The question is, are your men up for it?” Kendrick asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Shouts of encouragement went around the room from the other police officers listening in, and Jackson smirked at Kendrick’s arrogance. “Come on then Samurai, let’s show them what they have to look forward to.”
Kendrick let out a “hooah” and followed Jackson into the gym with a crowd of rowdy officers hot on his tail.
Michael watched as Kendrick worked his way through the men that were available, dropping most of them to the floor with ease. He wasn’t about to step up and take his brother on in front of all of these strangers. That particular lesson had been bashed into his brain on more than one occasion. Instead he sat back and surveyed the group of men around him.
A good number of them were dark haired with dark complexions, a sign of their Hispanic heritage. All of them were large and muscular, and it reassured Michael that he was in the right place. Jackson wouldn’t have brought them to a hole in the wall that was subpar. He just needed to embrace the new adventure and stop thinking about home. No. Not home. Home was Sunset Point now. Apache Crossing was in their past.
Funny thing about the past was that it always seemed to swing around and smack him in the face when he ignored it for too long. Apache Crossing was where he was born and raised. When he was sixteen his whole life was upended by his parent’s death. Since then, he had clung to Austin like a lifeline in a hurricane, trying to figure out how to let go and stand on his own feet. Maybe Sunset Point would give him the courage to do so.
“Seat taken?”
The voice startled him, and he glanced up to see a large dark-haired man speaking to him. The guy was over six feet tall and built broad. The unusual image of a dolphin tattoo on his muscular shoulder surprised Michael, and he found himself staring. The man cleared his throat as he gestured to the space on the bench next to Michael.
“Oh! Oh yeah, man, sorry, have a seat. I’m Michael Curtis.”
The man settled and held his hand out for a handshake, giving Michael a friendly smile. “Diego Mendez. Welcome to Sunset Point. What do you think so far?”
“I think I’ve never seen this many hot women in one place since I went to the groupie bar after basic training. Outside of that, I haven’t seen much of the island yet to be able to say what I think.”
“We do have some beautiful women on the island, and we get a lot of cute tourists, too,” Diego said with a laugh.
“Back home we have gorgeous women, but they tend to be a bit more covered up.”
“Where are you from, cowboy? You sound a little country.” Diego’s hazel eyes narrowed, and Michael could tell he was working his brain to categorize the newbies.
“Apache Crossing, Texas.”
Diego chuckled, “Wow. Sorry, I was just joking about the cowboy thing.”
“No problem. I know I have an accent. I’m hoping being on the island will help me break it. So are you street, Mendez?”
“Detective. How do you know the lieutenant?”
“We served together in Afghanistan.”
“No shit? Wow, thank you for your service. Anyone who can survive the lieutenant and serve in Afghanistan will find Sunset Point a walk on the beach…no pun intended.”
Michael couldn’t stop the laugh that broke free, and he found himself relaxing. Diego seemed like a down-to-earth kind of guy, almost like being back in Texas with his buddies Derek and Paxton Novak.
“Hey, Mike, we’re going to go snag dinner with Stone, you coming?” Austin yelled from across the room, interrupting their chat.
Michael frowned at his brother, but Diego just laughed. “No problem, Curtis, there will be time to play twenty questions later. I’ve got to get going, too. Welcome to the island.”
Michael shook his hand again and then followed Austin, Kendrick, and Jackson back into the locker room to change. He was sighing with relief that at least one person was normal. Maybe Sunset Point wouldn’t be so bad.
Chapter 3
Gabriella Larkin was running late as usual. At that particular moment she was struggling to pull on a pair of strappy sandals while tugging at the bustline of her dress and searching for her sunglasses. Her dinner date with Gladys Humphries was scheduled at six, but Murphy had conspired against her all day long, and she was already ten minutes late. Mama Lupe’s was a two minute walk from her shop and apartment, so it shouldn’t be so difficult, but it seemed like Gaby just had an allergy to punctuality.
Jerking her sunglasses out of the pile of mail sitting next to her door, she shoved them on her face and snagged her purse from the floor. Her white cotton dress flowed around her legs as she spun on her heels and booked it out the door.
She smiled and waved at Dane Hutchinson as he stood on the sidewalk in front of his tattoo parlor, The Branding Iron, chatting with his best friend, Bannock Garrison. Her eyes skimmed over the two delicious looking men as she walked, thinking to herself that it was too bad that the two men barely sparked a sizzle in her stomach.
Bannock was six feet one inch of perfectly tanned, muscled eye candy, but paired with the slightly shorter and more artistically decorated Dane, the two should be classified as a lethal weapon against womankind. She had spent the last ten years listening to the local girls ooh and aah over the pair, but neither man seemed to have found the right one just yet.
When he first moved to Sunset Point and took over The Branding Iron, Dane had done matching tattoos for Gaby and her best friend, Quinn. They each had a half-dollar-sized black skull and crossbones on their right hip bones. The ink represented the past the two women shared playing pirates on the eastern cliffs, and at eighteen they weren’t thinking about how hard the design would be to explain. The story of how the girls played pirates instead of dolls and dress-up when they were young wasn’t high on Gaby’s list of favorite things to bring up at a dinner party, and Quinn regularly lamented that her skull and crossbones looked more like a wounded orca whale after three pregnancies.
It was a sign of the times that Quinn was married with two young sons and a new one due any day. She and her three husbands owned Mama Lupe’s Mexican restaurant. Sebastian, Emmanuel, and Rolando Valdez were local boys who were as genuine and nice as any men she had met, and they swept Quinn off of her feet back in high school with promises of love and marriage. Thankfully, the foursome had worked out, and over the years their marriage had grown closer and more loving, if such a thing were even possible.
Their two sons, Mason who was six, and Zeke who was three, were like Gaby’s nephews, and she couldn’t wait to meet Quinn and her men’s third son when he was born. Excitement trickled through her as she pulled open the heavy glass door and stepped into the air-conditioned room. The smell of tortilla chips, chili peppers, and Spanish rice filled her nostrils, and she sighed with pleasure. Mama Lupe’s was one of her favorite places to be. It felt like she was at home here.
Tipping her head to strip her sunglasses from her face, she looked up a second too late and nearly ran over Reid Sullivan. Her oversized Coach purse hit the ground, and the contents scattered. Gasping with the impact, she cursed her spilt personal business and then remembered the man she had plowed into like a Mack truck. “I’m sorry, Reid! I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Gabriella, are you all right?” His deep-blue eyes surveyed her as she caught her breath.
“Yes, yes, just clumsy as always. I’m running late for dinner, and I was daydreaming.”
Reid gave her a small smirk that was probably intended to be a smile. The sadness in his soul bled into his eyes, and Gaby had the urge to wrap her arms around his large form and hug his pain away. He was a quiet man that lived on the western coast of the island in a private villa. The most Gaby knew about the islander was that he was wealthy and very private. She knew that he had been married once and his wife was deceased, but she didn’t know the hows or whys. He had attended every charity event and community event, but he always kept to himself and left by himself.
“Dreaming up some new couture design for your store?” he asked politely as he bent to help her collect her belongings.
She flashed him a grin as she tossed her golden-brown hair over her shoulder and shoved the items into her bag willy-nilly. “Not this time, but that is usually the source of my distraction. Thank you, and again, I’m so sorry! I will try to avoid killing you the next time I see you!”
“That would be preferable. Always a pleasure, Gabriella.” With that he gave her the makeup bag that he was holding and patted her arm before moving on out the door.
Watching him walk away, she realized for the first time that he was carrying a white paper bag with the restaurant’s logo on it. Why was he taking his food to go? Who would prefer to eat alone? Shrugging off her concerns over the man’s emotional stability, she threw her bag back over her shoulder and made her way into the dim lighting of the dining room. Again she asked herself why she hadn’t fallen for one of the island locals. There were plenty of eligible men around here, but instead of a nice sweet man like Reid, her loins directed her to Tristan Rogers. New York douche bag, and her most recent ex-boyfriend.
