Holiday Op

Chapter Four

Annabelle bolted upright in bed the next morning, clutching her burning gut, slick moisture coating her neck and chest. How long had she slept? What time was it? She glanced at a clock sitting on the cardboard moving box that served as a nightstand. 1600 hours. Saturday.

The morning after her first real mission for Team Kodiak.

Annabelle flopped back down onto the ultra firm mattress so hard the box spring whined in complaint. Staring at a ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, she gathered air into her lungs and forced it past the closing walls of her throat. The scene of the accident, called in the wee hours of the morning, blinked back to her like camera flashes.

Dark, angry ocean swells.

Frothing white caps.

Snapping wood.

They dragged her under in waves, choking moisture from her heavy eyelids. Gone was the drone of rotor blades overhead, the crackled voices of the crew, and screaming wind. Only the sound of an airplane cracking in two under the weight of the Bering Sea echoed in her mind.

Not one soul had survived the crash. Not one.

Two froze to death in the water, waiting for help. Waiting for her.

Annabelle threw back the sheets and lowered her feet to the chilled wood floor. Suck it up, Foster. It wasn't like someone had fooled her into thinking this post would be a cakewalk. She'd deplaned that first day in Kodiak, welcomed the crisp, salty sea air into her lungs, and told herself she was the luckiest Rescue Swimmer in the Coast Guard. What awaited her was opportunity-to achieve things no woman before her had even attempted, to become stronger and better, to save lives.

That was her calling.

Crying over the ones that couldn't be saved was a waste of good energy. Let it go and focus. How many times had Dad drilled that into her head? She knew what he'd say to her tears. He'd tell her to have her moment and move on.

All right then, moment over.

She peeled off her damp T-shirt, threw on jeans and a gray sweater, and stepped out onto her tiny apartment terrace for some fresh air. Streaks of orange and yellow flamed across a darkening winter sky. Flurries were just beginning their lazy, drifting descent. She breathed deeply of the sweet pine air.

Tony Lombardi would be here in a few short hours.

To pick her up for a date.

"Oh, God.” She covered her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she dropped her arm to her side and began pacing the small space. In the light of day, without the hypnotizing flicker of holiday lights and sparkle and a year's worth of sugar coursing through her veins, Annabelle's face burned as she mentally replayed the previous night's activities.

She kissed Tony Lombardi. Kissed him. A fellow Coastie!

What was she thinking?

Simple, she wasn't.

At which precise moment in the evening's festivities had her brain stopped working? When she'd agreed to that insane bet? Nope, way before then. Sitting across from Tony eating up his flirtations along with his delicious food? Getting closer… Ah, wait, she had it. It all started at the bar, with a pint of Guinness, that killer smile, and a generous helping of pheromones.

Annabelle closed her eyes, rolled her neck around on her shoulders to release the kinks. Who was she kidding, thinking she could let this thing go any further? A relationship between two Coasties with different schedules and intense, demanding jobs was complicated, almost impossible at best. At worst, someone would get hurt, get distracted, and the ripple effects would follow.

This was about more than just the two of them; people depended on their work for their safety, their lives. People like the ones she'd tried to save last night, but who instead, were at the bottom of the ocean.

In the face of that, what did it matter if this was the first man in, oh… forever to get her thinking about something other than her job? The first one who made her feel as though she were coming out of her skin with the need to touch him. Did he feel as much as she did? Or was he playing around, as guys like him were wont to do?

When the initial glow wore off, he'd inevitably see she wasn't like other women. Sure, he said that was okay now, but down the road… maybe not. What would he think if he saw she still lived out of cardboard boxes, used TV trays as end tables, and vacuumed maybe once a month, if she was lucky? Not exactly the domestic type. And probably not the kind of woman most men dreamed of having in the long run.

Just look at all the things stacked against them.

Why bother?

Because you like him. As in really, really like him.

Why him? Why now? Of all the times for someone to walk into her life and shake it up, this was the worst. Starting a new post, getting acclimated to a new place, where she was completely and utterly unknown. It wouldn't do her career any favors to become that girl that hooked up with coworkers. She could just imagine the stares, the snickers behind her back. How humiliating!

That decided it.

She was canceling this date.

Annabelle took the next fifteen minutes rehearsing what she would say in her mind. Then she dialed the number Tony had programmed into her phone. It rang, and rang, and rang. Good. No opportunity to talk her out of it.

She left a lengthy, if somewhat rambling message about too much eggnog, great food, and silly bets that shouldn't count in the light of day. Then she made some reasonable excuse as to why the date was a bad idea. And hung up.

There. Done.

Annabelle had just finished showering and dressing in a white tank top and dark blue terrycloth shorts when someone knocked at the door. She opened it to find Tony standing in the hallway, wearing a crooked Santa hat, a green, long-sleeved T-shirt, holding two paper grocery bags. Basically, he was a nightmare of Christmas cheer, straight down to the toothy grin and twinkle in his eye.

"What are you doing here?” she demanded.

"You don't have a chimney, so I had to use the front door."

"Ha ha. Funny. No really. Didn't you get my message?"

"Sure did."

"Then I'll ask again, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here for our date."

"You mean the one I canceled."

Tony leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, shifting the grocery bags in his arms. “Yeah, about that. I'm not buying it."

"Why not?"

He tipped his head to one side and narrowed one eye at her. “Foster, come on, you're no wuss. You took me on in pool, which maybe was because you don't know me and my many talents, but still… you fight a good fight. I like that about you. But that message…” Head shaking. “That was weak."

Annabelle crossed her arms. No one, absolutely no one, called her weak. “Maybe I'm not interested. Ever think of that?"

"Not interested or not open minded? Seriously, what's the harm in one date? You got something more fun up your sleeve? Washing your hair? Doing laundry? Eating frozen food?” His brows arched. “I cannot believe you would choose a meal out of a box over a date with me. I'm good company, and the food will be awesome."

She allowed a brief smile. “I'm sure that's true."

"Then what's the problem?"

Me. “I don't think it's a good idea to get involved with another Coastie.” Not to mention the fact that she couldn't handle the way he smelled, a mixture of soap and hard work. No one had a right to smell this amazing. How was she supposed to concentrate on her job, or anything for that matter?

"You're throwing the fraternization book at me?” More head shaking. “That's a copout. We don't work anywhere remotely close to one another."

"Still, it makes things complicated."

"You've done a pretty good job of talking yourself out of this."

"Or maybe some things are better left alone.” Like trying to make the impossible work when in the end, someone would inevitably get hurt. Namely, her. Because she already felt too much, wanted too much, too soon. It wasn't just one date; it was the opening of a giant, messy, uncontainable can of worms.

"There's only one problem with all that,” he said.

"What's that?"

"You can't stop thinking about me, and I can't stop thinking about you."

She snorted.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

Well fine, she couldn't.

"I don't know about you, but I like a challenge."

A challenge? Like she was the female equivalent of Mount Everest? “Great, you're one of those guys."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Annabelle stepped toward him, planting her fists on her hips. “What happens when I'm no longer a challenge? Then you're Hit The Road, Jack, right? All I'll see is your pretty backside running for the hills?"

"Someone's a little cynical."

"Realistic. There's a difference."

Tony brought his face to hover over hers. “Lady, I'm as real as it gets."

What a cocky, arrogant, forward, domineering, presumptuous piece of work! Annabelle grabbed the doorknob. “Watch your toes, I'm closing the door."

"Not so fast.” He dug his shoulder into the closing door. “Let me guess, you've got a delicious slab of crap defrosting in your microwave as we speak."

Which was a whole lot better than the line of crap he was feeding her.

"You could eat that. Or…” He paused for effect. “You could dine on butternut squash ravioli in a sage pecan brown butter sauce, Caesar salad, pumpkin bread pudding, and… cookies."

Unbelievable. Now he was bribing her with food!

Which of course, had worked in the past. But not this time. No siree, she wasn't going to give in to that little game, nuh uh.

Wait. Had he said pecan brown butter sauce? Cookies?

"You're thinking about it."

"Stop that."

"What?"

"Reading my mind. I need to think."

Because this was no longer about a plate of cookies or a slab of delectable beef tenderloin eaten by the fire in the public safety of the Rec Center. It was about inviting him into her home, into her life, into…

Who knew where else.

"Pumpkin…” Tony waggled his eyebrows.

"You are a bad, bad man."

"Like Bad Santa?"

"Worse."

"But maybe you like it."

"Maybe."

And maybe she could entertain a possibility, for one evening at least, and enjoy another taste of what Tony Lombardi had to offer. Annabelle slid the door open just enough to let him slip inside.