“If you ever get tired of Carl—” he winked “—you know where to find me.”
“Hitting on my wife again, Everly?” Chief Warrant Officer Carl Dugan drawled as he came down the hall toward them. Carl had been born in Corpus Christi, Texas, and although he’d lived in Florida for most his life, he never lost his Lone Star accent. “You’re late.”
“Normally, Carl eats breakfast at 6:00 a.m. sharp,” Marcy said, slipping her arm around her husband’s waist and patting his flat belly. “He held off for breakfast with you, so he’s bit cranky.”
Carl, while good-natured, didn’t believe in excuses, so Scott didn’t offer him one. Besides, how would it sound if he said he was late because he’d been ogling a girl in a red bikini? “My apologies, sir.”
“You can stop calling me sir. You outrank me now.”
“That’s never going to happen. I was calling you sir long before I ever joined the Coast Guard.”
“Well, you’re on vacation so I guess I can let your tardiness slide,” Carl joked. “I’m hungry as a whale. How about you?”
“You know me. I can always eat.”
“See you boys later.” Marcy wriggled her fingers.
“You’re not coming with us?” Scott raised an eyebrow.
Marcy said, “I’ve got a busload of middle-school students coming by for a field trip.”
“Better you than me,” Scott said.
“You’d be great with kids. Just wait until you have little nieces and nephews running around.”
Scott put both hands over his ears. “That’s my baby sister you’re talking about.”
Marcy laughed.
The three of them left the building together. Carl stopped to kiss Marcy’s cheek before she branched off in the direction of the parking lot. “Have a good breakfast.”
Without speaking, Scott and Carl fell into lockstep. Scott didn’t have to ask. He knew they were having breakfast at the Lighthouse Restaurant just across the pier from the base. The familiar call of seagulls whinged overhead. The salty air carried on it a hint of coconut. Morning sun glistened glassy blue off the waves.
He paused on the pier to take a deep breath of home and Carl stopped, seeming to understand that Scott needed a moment. It was good to be back.
They walked into the restaurant, greeted by the clatter of dishes and the hum of voices. Most everyone in the place was Coast Guard of one fashion or the other—active duty, reservists, auxiliary or family members of Coasties. People waved and called out to them.
The hostess knew Carl by name and led them to his regular booth that looked out over the water.
On the wall behind them was a ten-year-old photograph of Carl with Scott’s father, Ben. They wore their navy blue operational dress uniforms and had their arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Looking like brothers, they grinned for the camera.
The picture had been snapped just after they’d completed a successful search-and-rescue mission for missing teens who had taken out a sailboat without permission and got caught in a squall.
It was the last photo ever taken of Scott’s dad. Two weeks later, he was dead, killed in a drug interdiction operation. Psychologists might have said Scott had gone into the same line of work as his father as a way to avenge his death. They would have been half-right.
“How you been?” Carl asked.
The question was more perfunctory than fact finding. He and Carl stayed in touch through email, corresponding at least once a week. “Good, good.”
“Dating?”
Scott shook his head and immediately thought of Jackie, but he had no idea why.
Six months without sex. That’s why.
Their waitress came over. “The usual?” she asked Carl.
Carl nodded.
The young woman turned her eyes on Scott, smiled coyly. “And what will you have?”
He thought about flirting with her but he wasn’t really in the mood. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jackie Birch and the disdainful look she’d given him. Scott loved a challenge. He preferred to do the chasing instead of being chased.
“Scrambled eggs, four slices of bacon cooked crisp and a fruit bowl.” He placed his order.
“Anything else?” She licked her lips.
“Cup of coffee.”
The girl looked deflated, picked up their menus and wandered off.
“I can see why you’re not dating,” Carl said. “She was interested.”
“I know.”
Carl watched the departing waitress. “She’s cute.”
“Too young.”
“She’s over eighteen.”
Scott shrugged.
“What’s up? A year ago you would have been hitting banter shots like tennis balls.”
“I don’t know.” He paused. “I guess I’m looking for something a bit more demanding.”
“Picking up a young waitress is too easy?”
“Something like that.”
Jackie kept prowling the back of his mind as he remembered the look on her face telling him to buzz off. He’d wanted to convince her that he was a man worth knowing. Why was that? The intensity of his attraction to a woman that should not have attracted him niggled.
Carl drummed his fingers on the Formica tabletop. For the most part, he was a self-possessed guy. Scott knew his friend. He had something on his mind. “What’s up, Carl?”
A somber expression crossed the older man’s face. He pressed his lips together, blew out a breath. “Juan DeCristo has resurfaced.”
Scott tensed, folded his hands into fists against his thighs. DeCristo was the drug lord responsible for his father’s death. It had been ten years, and while the pain had ebbed, it never completely went away.
And the need for revenge? Would he ever stop feeling it?
He’d been in college when it had happened. Messing around instead of taking his academics seriously. He had wanted to enlist in the Coast Guard as soon as he graduated from high school. Ninety percent of the Coast Guard were enlisted. But his dad argued he would have more opportunity if he went to college. So he’d gone and majored in girls and good times. Then his dad had been killed and that had changed everything forever.
Scott had gotten serious about his studies. He’d changed his major to criminal justice and graduated with top honors from the University of Florida. The next day he joined the Coast Guard. They’d welcomed him like the prodigal son. He’d risen up through the ranks, working in various positions from San Diego to New Hampshire where he’d met Amber. Ironically, she’d left him just two weeks before he’d gotten the desk job in D.C.
“DeCristo is still alive?” He had to force the words through his constricted throat.
“Unfortunately. He—”
The waitress returned with their breakfast.
Carl paused, thanked her. He waited until she walked out of earshot before he resumed his story. “DeCristo was in a South American prison for a while, but his interactions there seemed to have only made him stronger. He met people. Curried favor. He’s got powerful connections.”
Scott picked up his fork, but he’d lost his appetite. He knew how the story