by Gary, Codi
Dedication
For my amazing agent, Sarah Younger.
Thank you for this book.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
An Excerpt from One Lucky Hero
About the Author
Also by Codi Gary
An Excerpt from The Bride Wore Red Boots by Lizbeth Selvig
An Excerpt from Rescued by the Ranger by Dixie Lee Brown
An Excerpt from One Scandalous Kiss by Christy Carlyle
An Excerpt from Dirty Talk by Megan Erickson
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter One
OLIVER MARTINEZ SAT stiffly in the wobbly office chair, the room stifling despite the hum of the air conditioner above his head. He wasn’t usually the nervous type, being that military police didn’t allow time for panic, but facing off against General Reynolds, the man who pretty much held his career in the palm of his hand . . .
Well, he figured he had a right to sweat with the way the older man was staring him down.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Sergeant?” General Reynolds asked.
A thousand excuses ran through his mind, but none of them would appease the general, Oliver knew that. He hadn’t become an MP to be liked; even his family knew he wasn’t a people person. He was hardworking, sharp as a tack, and a mean son of a bitch when you got on his bad side—qualities that made him an excellent MP. And military police was exactly where Oliver belonged. He got to bust heads and keep order; it was structured, and there were rules. He was the good guy.
But this time, he had stepped in a big old pile of shit trying to play the hero.
“I did what I thought was right, sir,” Oliver said.
“You instigated a confrontation with a civilian that turned into an all-out bar brawl,” General Reynolds said. Although his tone and outward expression seemed calm, Oliver hadn’t missed the eye twitch on the left side of the general’s face. The man was beyond furious, and nothing Oliver did or said was going to make things better for him.
Why had he decided to go out with the guys on Friday? His buddies from group therapy, Dean Sparks and Tyler Best, had convinced him that he needed to get out and blow off some steam. He hadn’t expected to take down some rowdy kid or have the cops called on them. The civilian police had been cool, though, once he explained the situation, and as they hauled the kid off for drunk and disorderly, he’d thought that was the end of it.
Until he’d shown up for work this morning only to have Tate tell him he wasn’t on rotation and that the general wanted to see him. Oliver hadn’t had any idea what the meeting was about, but he’d never expected to get his ass chewed over something that wasn’t even his fault.
“It wasn’t a brawl, sir. I contained and subdued him too fast for that.”
Oliver regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. They sounded arrogant, and that wasn’t going to score him any points.
Especially since the civilian in question was the general’s son.
Despite knowing this, Oliver tried again to explain his side. “I just mean, and with all due respect, sir, that the civilian was drunk and harassing several women, and when I politely asked him to leave them alone, he threw the first punch.”
General Reynolds’s salt and pepper mustache twitched, and Oliver wondered for half a second if the general was messing with him and if he was secretly amused that his son had been taught a lesson in respect.
“I don’t care if he threw a hundred punches. You should not have engaged. You did not have to break his nose or sprain his wrist while you were restraining him.”
Okay, so he wasn’t amused. But no matter how angry the general might be, Oliver wasn’t going to apologize for roughing up the little punk. The kid had thrown a sucker punch that had lit fire to Oliver’s jaw, and it was still sore. And if the kid hadn’t fought him so damn hard, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place.
Would he have handled things differently if he’d known who the kid’s dad was? Maybe. But there was nothing Oliver could do about it now except take whatever punishment was meted out to him.
“It seems to me you could use a little time out of the field to learn how to channel your aggression . . . in other ways,” General Reynolds said.
Now the general was smiling, and unease swept over Oliver.
“Have you heard of the Alpha Dog Training Program?” General Reynolds asked.
“Yeah, I know a few of the guys running things,” Oliver said.
And neither Best nor Sparks had been happy about it at first. The Alpha Dog Training Program was the brainchild of some PR expert hoping to create a good public image for the military by training shelter dogs for specialty jobs like military, fire, police, search and rescue, and therapy. And if the animals-getting-a-second-chance angle didn’t just make you weepy, the dogs were being trained by troubled kids under the supervision of MPs.
It was meant as an alternative punishment for nonviolent juvenile offenders. Instead of being locked up in a detention center with months of community service tacked on top, they were sent to Alpha Dog. They shoveled shit, fed and cared for the dogs, and learned how to teach them basic obedience. The place was set up with barracks for up to twenty-five kids at a time. The goal was to give them a skill and refocus their energies. The program even helped them with job placement at several Sacramento veterinary hospitals and rescue organizations. It was a better deal than most kids in the system got.
“Well, I’m glad you’re familiar with it, because you’re going to help organize and promote their upcoming charity event,” General Reynolds said.
Oliver choked in surprise. “I don’t know anything about fundraising!”
The general’s eyes narrowed and glittered. “Well, this will give you a chance to develop a new skill.”
Oliver just sat there, weighing his options. If he pitched a fit and accused the general of abusing his power because Oliver had hurt his son’s delicate feelings, he’d be committing career suicide.
“How long will I be out of the field, sir?” he asked.
“Until I think you’re ready,” General Reynolds said.
Oliver nodded grimly. The only option open to him was to bite the bullet and do the job.
“You’ll report to the Alpha Dog Training Program today. The event coordinator will be there at eleven to give you instructions on what you’ll be doing. I do hope you take this time to learn some discipline, Sergeant Martinez.”
Fuck you.
Taking a deep breath, Oliver stood up and saluted the general. As soon as he barked, “Dismissed,” Oliver was out the door, wishing he was headed home to beat the hell out of his punching bag. This whole morning had sucked donkey nuts, and the last thing Oliver wanted to do was be around a bunch of teenagers or his friends.
Not that Best and Sparks weren’t good people, but he knew that the minute they found out about his little time-out, they were going to laugh it up.
Especially Best.
OLIVER PARKED HIS car and wondered how in the hell a building that held dozens of dogs was so quiet.
Not that there would be anyone around to be bothered by the noise; Alpha Dog Training Center sat on several acres. The closest neighbors were a couple of farms. The facilit
y was a two-story, solid brick building surrounded by a landscape of cactuses and desert plants.
Probably trying to save water during the drought.
The cement walkway led to glass double doors through which Oliver saw Best before he even stepped inside. In the twenty minutes it had taken him to get to his car and drive off base to the Alpha Dog Training Center in North Sac, he had tried prepare himself for his friends’ reactions to his news.
He stepped inside. “What’s up, Best?”
Oliver’s voice echoed in the large, open front of the facility, and Best swung his way, his eyes widening. “Martinez? What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”
Oliver crossed the linoleum floor and slapped Best on the back. “Let’s just say that I got reassigned.”
“What, here? Well, hell, man, I could use you. Why didn’t you tell us? You know, if you haven’t taken the training course for handling military dogs, I can make a phone call.”
“I just found out I was assigned here. Where’s Sparks at?” Oliver definitely didn’t want to tell this story twice.
“He’s in the back talking to one of the kids’ parents. She came in hot about something, and I showed her to the ‘director’s’ office.” Best snorted, as if Sparks wasn’t cut out for running this operation. But Oliver had known Sparks longer. He was more than equipped to handle an irate parent. The guy was on his way to general someday if he could just get his psychiatrist to give him a pass. Sparks suffered from PTSD and survivor’s guilt after his last tour. Despite months spent in individual and group therapy, his shrink kept telling him he still needed time before she’d clear him. It pissed him off royally, but he’d seemed to become less restless since being assigned to Alpha Dog.
Oliver followed Best down the hall until a door on the end swung open and a robust black woman stepped out, smiling. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me about your program, Sergeant Sparks. When they told me my Keenan had been transferred here, I didn’t know what to think.”
Sparks stepped out after her, and although he wasn’t smiling, his tone was reassuring. “I assure you, Mrs. Washington, he is in good hands, and hopefully we can help get him back on track.”
The woman actually simpered at Sparks, and Oliver shook his head. Sparks’s normal countenance was somber—he was a bigger hard-ass than Oliver by a long shot—yet he never seemed to have trouble charming women. Even when Oliver’s married sister, Luz, had visited and met Sparks, she had fawned all over him. When Oliver had given her hell about it, she’d said she could never resist a brooding hero.
And yet, her overly friendly, computer geek husband belied her words.
“Martinez, why are you looking at me as if you want to kiss me?” Sparks asked.
Oliver realized that the woman had left while he was spaced out and shoved Sparks. “Kiss you? Who would want to kiss your ugly mug?”
Sparks’s dark eyes narrowed. “Ugly my ass; I’m as pretty as a fucking daisy.”
“Shit, I’m a daisy; you’re more like one of those thistles that grow where no one wants them,” Best said.
“A limp daisy,” Sparks fired back.
The bickering was actually making Oliver feel a little better about being there. He could handle a few weeks at this place if it meant being around his boys. As for the charity event, he’d follow the publicist’s rules and coast through it, just like he had with high school math. How hard could it be?
“HOLY SHIT, YOU got screwed!” Best howled with laughter.
“Glad the injustice of my situation gives you the jollies, dick,” Oliver said. The three of them had filed into Sparks’s office, and Oliver had given them the lowdown.
And just as he’d suspected, they were models of empathy.
Best continued to hoot, his tall frame bent over, and his shaved blond head the only thing Oliver could see.
Sparks at least had the decency to cover his laugh with a cough. Where Best had the California surfer look, Sparks had eyes as dark as flint and a thick, muscular body to Best’s leaner one.
Sparks recovered first. “So, when is your new keeper supposed to be here?”
Oliver looked up at the clock. “Eleven, so I’ve got about fifteen minutes to kill. You mentioned you could use me, Best. For what?”
“I need another military dog trainer today,” Best said. “Sparks is going to work with the search-and-rescue dogs, and he’s got about five kids he’s training. I have my hands full with eight of my own.”
“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be able to give. It all depends on what this publicist has for me. The last thing I need is for them to report back that I’m not pulling my weight.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, man. They’re going to realize that they picked the wrong guy for this gig, and they’ll probably do most of the work themselves, anyway,” Sparks said.
“And how much do you really think goes into a charity event? Couple of phone calls and boom, you’ll be done, bored, and looking for something to do,” Best said.
Before Oliver could answer, a knock sounded on Sparks’s office door. Best reached out and opened it, his eyes widening a bit.
And then, the sexiest woman Oliver had ever seen glided in, smiling as her gaze landed on each of them in turn.
Then those green eyes met his, and he forgot how to breathe.
“Hello, I’m Evelyn Reynolds, the publicist hired to organize Alpha Dog’s upcoming charity event.” She held her hand out to him, and Oliver took it, the soft press of her palm warm against his. Oliver’s skin suddenly prickled with heat all the way up his arm. “I am so happy to be handling this project. If there is one thing that the world loves, it’s saving animals.”
Oliver nodded, barely listening. He hadn’t exactly known what to expect of his new boss, but it definitely wasn’t a woman who looked like a ’50s pinup model in a polka-dot pencil skirt and black framed glasses. His abuela loved old movies, and he’d watched them with her enough to know what he liked: curvy women with class.
And damn if this woman didn’t fit the bill.
Her dark hair was swept back in some kind of updo—the fact that he even knew that just proved how much having two little sisters had warped his brain. She wore a short sweater over a red top that hugged a set of breasts that would have made a saint stare.
Oliver grinned. He’d never been in the running for sainthood anyway.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“I was just wondering if you were going to let me have my hand back.” Her tone was brimming with amusement, and one of her dark brows was arched.
Oliver lost his smile and heard Best laugh again. Releasing her, he ran his hand over the back of his neck, knowing he was probably blushing like an idiot.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he muttered.
“I’m Sergeant Sparks, program director.” Sparks had come around the desk, drawing the attention away from Oliver for a second, giving him a chance to get a grip. She was just a woman. Sure, an extremely hot woman, but that didn’t mean he needed to act like an idiot.
“It’s good to meet you,” Evelyn said to Sparks.
“And I’m Sergeant Best.” Best had come up alongside her, and when he took her hand, Oliver saw the wink he gave her. “But you can call me Tyler.”
Oliver caught a growl in his throat. Best flirted with all women, Oliver knew that, but watching him do it with Evelyn twisted his guts up, and it was ridiculous. He had just met her and hadn’t exactly given a great first impression.
“And you can call me Ms. Reynolds, Sergeant Best.”
Oliver scoffed, happy that she hadn’t fallen for Best’s act. And then something struck him.
Reynolds? As in General Reynolds?
“And the slow one is Sergeant Martinez,” Best said helpfully.
If she hadn’t turned back to look at him, Oliver would have flipped Best off. I’m going to kick his ass.
Those big, beautiful eyes watched him with curiosity and some
thing else he couldn’t place. If the general was her father, had he told her who Oliver was?
“Sergeant Martinez, I believe you’re helping me out on this project,” she said.
Well, she doesn’t sound vindictive. But she did sound a little disappointed. Why, though?
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Is there a place we can set up?” she asked.
“There is a conference room down the hall and to the right of the lobby,” Sparks said.
Hiking her shoulder bag higher, she said, “Shall we get started, Sergeant?”
Chapter Two
EVELYN REYNOLDS HAD been around military men all her life, and there was a very good reason why she didn’t get involved with them.
Actually, there were a buttload of reasons, but they all boiled down to her father. He had always been adamant about her not getting involved with a military man, but even if he had been okay with it, she’d have steered clear. She’d spent her childhood watching her mother worry and fret when her dad was gone, and she did not want that life.
However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t look and admire the hot piece of man in uniform standing in front of her. He was taller than her five feet four inches by almost a foot, with tan skin and eyes that looked like the ocean off of the Honolulu beach she’d loved to swim in when her father had been stationed there. This man’s shoulders were wide and tapered down into a V at his waist. His pants were slightly baggy, but she had a feeling he had an ass you could bounce a quarter off of.
If Evelyn had a weakness, it was a man with a great ass.
But it was her reaction to Sergeant Martinez that was making her uneasy. The man had said a total of four words to her, but his deep timbre had made her tingle all over, something that had never happened.
“How about we head out to this little café I know?” he said. “I’m starving.”
They had just left Sergeant Sparks’s office, and his suggestion surprised her. She’d thought maybe he was just taciturn, one of those strong silent types, but maybe he had been as thrown by her as she was by him.
The idea delighted her more than she liked.
“I already ate, thanks.” Actually, all she’d had was a protein bar and a bottle of water because she’d been too busy to stop and eat, but there was no way she was going to brunch or lunch or whatever with this man. It might give him the wrong impression.
