Till I Found You: The Broken Hero Series—Book One

by Fernandez, Michelle

  Chloe rolled her eyes. Ryland, I wish you were here!

  “Focus dammit… You’re on assignment,” Booker berated himself as he picked up his pace. He needed his morning run to release the sexual tension and overwhelming emotions invading his body. The sun’s rays peeked over the hilltop and the temperature in the air rose to almost unbearable. Sweat beaded over his forehead, his fists clenched as his feet pounded the gravel and vibrated his legs.

  Linkin Park’s “In the End” blared in his earbuds. It seemed fitting somehow with the situation he was in listening to the words as the lyrics buzzed in his ears. He also hoped the thunderous bass could overpower thoughts of guilt from his past and the attraction that compelled him nearer to Chloe.

  He needed to lock it down, put his feelings aside and remember why he was here.

  His job—to protect her from an unknown asshole psychopath.

  He ran faster to calm his arousal. He couldn’t forget his first priority. Doing so would endanger them both, and he couldn’t live through that hell again. He’d barely survived his pain the last time he’d let his guard down.

  Rules. She’s a client. A contract.

  Booker had overstepped with Chloe already, but chalked it up as playful and innocent flirting. The visuals crept into his mind: her cheeks blushing, the way she twirled her hair, when she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth—that last one damn near made his cock pulse.

  His mother had raised a gentleman and he was immediately ashamed thinking of Chloe on his bed having his way with her. But he couldn’t help it. Being in close proximity to Chloe validated there was something between them.

  He was sure she felt the same attraction, or had he misread her body language?

  Her body—tall and graceful. Slender and curvy in all the right places. Those legs for days and perky tits. Damn, what is she doing to me?

  He’d had his share of protecting sexy, sensual women who threw themselves at him. They tempted him with revealing clothing, occasionally inviting him to their bedroom and a few even groped him. Some of his teammates would have jumped on the opportunity to have no-strings-attached sex with these women.

  Booker never crossed that line.

  Each of them was just a contract. It was business.

  But Chloe…she was different, like a drug he couldn’t get enough of and couldn’t wait for his next fix.

  He ran for another mile, pushing himself until he had no more fight in him.

  The longer he ran, the more Booker’s mind wandered again, back to his office.

  Papers and photos from the Channing case had been strewn across his desk. He had just gotten the approval from Knox to work on the case.

  Booker had stopped clicking the pen with his thumb and picked up the 8x10 picture frame sitting on the corner of his desk. Soft ash-brunette curls tumbled over the woman’s shoulders. Her golden hazel eyes sparkled, and she had the most endearing smile.

  Amber. God, I miss you so much.

  Booker’s thumb caressed the woman’s face.

  Across from him, Booker had felt Lincoln’s eyes glaring at him from his own desk. He could sense Lincoln wanted to say something, probably a stick-his-foot-in-his-mouth observation.

  Lincoln’s honesty was something Booker respected and often there were words of wisdom. In that moment, however, Booker was not in the mood.

  Lincoln straightened a stack of papers and pushed them aside. “Don’t you think it’s time to let her rest in peace?”

  “Linc,” Booker had snapped. “Not today.”

  “Sorry, man, I hate seeing you like this.”

  Booker sighed, returning the frame to its rightful place on his desk. “She’s been gone five years.”

  “I know. We do this every year.” Lincoln’s forehead creased. “You gotta move on,” Lincoln had said, closing his laptop.

  Booker rubbed his face in frustration. The ache in his heart descended, finding residency deep in his soul. “I’m trying. My soul has been black since the day she died. Five fucking years. Do you have the answer, Linc? Tell me…how do I move on?”

  “I don’t know. Only you can figure that out.”

  “All you’re figuring out is how to scratch your next itch,” Booker had bit back. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. “What do you know, anyhow? Your wife didn’t die in your arms.”

  “Uncalled for.” Lincoln narrowed his eyes at Booker, scratching his jaw. “JoJo didn’t die in my arms, but she still left me, and I dealt with it.”

  “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to—”

  “I know my situation’s different and I can’t imagine what pain you’ve been through all these years. But I also know it’s unhealthy. I’m honestly worried about you, man. You drown yourself with work by volunteering for any assignment you can get your hands on to keep busy. Give yourself a break. Take a vacation.”

  “I don’t know if I can. I should’ve acted on my instincts when I saw that fucker walk through those doors. I should be six feet under, not her.”

  Booker’s legs finally gave out and he plopped himself on the sand. He took a sip from the water bottle, resting his elbows on bent knees as he watched the waves break against the shoreline.

  Grief was like the ocean’s waves. Sometimes they were loud and fierce, stabbing Booker in the heart where he silently screamed in pain.

  Other times, the ocean was peaceful and calm, bringing him solace. He would never forget Amber, but he needed to learn how to live without her and move on.

  The day Amber Cruz died was no ordinary day, it was her birthday.

  A SEAL could be called away in a moment’s notice and Booker took advantage of the time off. He’d be stateside for the next two weeks and surprised Amber with a road trip up the coast to Santa Barbara. They had reservations at a bed and breakfast, he planned a romantic dinner and looked forward to making love to his wife all weekend.

  Booker and Amber lived in a cozy town outside of Naval Base San Diego, a good five-hour drive to the B&B. They set out early when the sun had not broken the skyline, hoping to get there before noon.

  Although there was a hint of orange in the sky, it was still dark out when Booker parked his car at the gas station. Being a SEAL, it was natural for his instincts to stay on high alert.

  He scanned the area and noticed a lonely Ford truck that’d had better days. He watched the man get out of his car and enter the convenience store.

  “I’m going to run inside to get a couple of drinks and snacks,” Amber said after she opened her door.

  “I’ll go get it, Ambs. Tell me what you want.” Booker inserted the nozzle to pump gas.

  “That’s just it. I don’t know what I’m craving.”

  “How about I buy all the snacks.”

  “Jules, don’t be silly.” Amber rounded the car, kissed him on the cheek and walked toward the convenience store.

  “I’ll be right in after I’m done pumping.”

  Although she was not quite showing, something about his pregnant wife made him hornier than he already was. Maybe it was her fuller perky breasts or the glow that illuminated her bisque skin tone, or maybe the fact he’d been deployed overseas for three weeks.

  Booker whistled toward his wife as her cute ass sauntered into the store.

  Amber smiled back at him. “Like what you see, Sailor?” She fluttered her lashes.

  “Always.” He wiggled his brows. “And I get to see more later.” It melted him every time Amber’s dimples made an appearance.

  Booker placed the nozzle back on the mount when an eerie sound pierced the air. Pow! Then another—Pow!

  He’d know that sound anywhere. Gunshots.

  They came from the convenience store.

  He wasn’t armed, but his skills would be his best weapon. He silently prayed Amber was hiding and not harmed. He rushed to the storefront and peered through the glass doors before easing them open.

  The clerk behind the register held a gun, pointed at t
he man on the floor whose blood was pooling from the side of his lifeless body.

  Booker’s hands flew up in the air. “Hey man, don’t shoot,” he cautioned the young clerk. “I’m a SEAL…what’s your name?”

  “Nate,” his voice shuddered.

  “Okay, Nate, I’m going to check this man’s pulse and while I do, you need to call 911.” With two fingers on the man’s neck, Booker checked his pulse. Nothing. “He’s dead. Is there anyone else with him?”

  Nate’s face paled, hands still shaking. “No. Just him. He—he had a-a gun… I—I shot him.”

  “My wife. Where is she?” Booker looked around. “Amber!” he yelled for her in the small store.

  Booker’s heart pounded, blood rushing through his veins and palms sweating. His legs moved him frantically about the aisles.

  “She’s over there.” Nate pointed to the aisle he last saw her. “He sh-shot her,” Nate shakily told Booker as he put the phone to his ear. “He took out his gun and just fuckin’ shot her… Then I shot him when he was coming my way.”

  The young man held the phone to his ear. “Hello, 911? Yes, we need the paramedics…my, my name is Nathan…a man with a gun came into the store…yes, two people are shot…I don’t know…just one person, I think he’s dead…it’s the gas station on the corner of…”

  Booker tuned out Nate’s voice and rushed to Amber’s side.

  “Baby, I’m here.” He placed both hands on her bloody shirt. Shit, shit, fuck, fuck. “Hold on, Ambs.” Booker tore open her blouse exposing where she had been shot in her chest. “Fuck!” he screamed. “No, no, no, no…”

  He pulled his t-shirt over his head and pressed it against her harrowing wound.

  “Jules.” Amber’s voice was barely a whisper. “I’m s-sorry. I should’ve… I-I’m so co–cold.” Amber’s breaths turned to short pants, spitting blood from her mouth.

  “Don’t talk, baby. Keep your strength.” Booker stared into her heavy hazel eyes, pushing the hair out of her face. “Help’s on the way and they’re going to fix you up.”

  “I don’t th-think I’m going to make it”—Amber wheezed—“our baby,” she stuttered breathlessly. She closed her eyes, placing weak hands over her belly. Booker placed his hands over hers.

  “Don’t fucking close your eyes. Come on, baby, open those pretty hazels…please, Ambs, stay with me.” Booker’s own bloodied hand caressed her soft cheek, wiping the tears streaming down the side of her face. “You’re gonna be fine.” He cradled her in his arms. “You’re going to be a mommy and our baby needs you…I need you. Sweetheart, open your eyes, goddammit. Open your eyes.”

  Tears spilling down his face, Booker yelled out to Nathan. “Where the fuck are the paramedics?”

  Amber opened her eyes to slits and proffered a tender smile. Her hand struggled to reach up and touch her husband’s face, wiping at his fallen tears.

  “I love you, Jules.”

  Booker kissed her forehead. “I love you, Ambrosia.”

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, her lifeless hand fell to the floor. His world spun out of control. Pain stabbed his chest, a twisting knife to his heart, then yanked from his soul.

  Booker broke twice that day, both for Amber and his unborn child.

  No, no, no… God, why? Amber, please come back. Baby, please…don’t leave me.

  His world, gone.

  And with them, his reason for living.

  Now there was no need to exist.

  “This feels so amazing.” The radiant sun warmed Chloe’s face. She grabbed the sunscreen from the small round table between the lounge chairs and squirted a dollop on her palm. This is exactly what the doctor ordered.

  Sun, relaxation and no worries for the next several weeks. The humid air was typical but at least there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to alert them of a sudden tropical storm.

  Flipping through the pages of the latest Cosmo, Phoebe giggled at an article that grabbed her attention. She held the magazine up, showing the title to Chloe. “This article is perfect for you… ‘Flirting Moves No Guy Can Resist’.”

  “I know how to flirt.” Chloe smirked.

  “Yeah, right.” Phoebe’s wide eyes darted back to the words in the article. “This one you should try with Julian. It says, ‘Walk by him with a super-sized tampon in your back pocket and there’s a bonus if it falls out. If he picks it up, tell him you need them huge’.” Phoebe busted a laugh so hard a snort snuck out.

  “There is something seriously wrong with you.” Chloe shook her head, annoyed at her friend’s baiting.

  Although polar opposites, they were each other’s person. Heartaches and hangovers. That was their mantra they’d adopted after Phoebe was stood up at the altar by Bryan Sullivan, her college boyfriend and ex-fiancé.

  The endless nights of crying and red-rimmed eyes broke Chloe’s heart to see her friend that way. Since then Phoebe’s heart closed up and it was party-on Phoebe, with Chloe dragged along for the ride. Phoebe forced Chloe to the god-awful clubs where men thought their pick-up lines really worked. The two women would drink all night to wake up with cotton mouth and pounding heads. Chloe knew her best friend wanted to be loved again; the tough façade didn’t fool her.

  Phoebe started having meaningless, no-strings-attached sex with men. She was a complete and utter mess and swore off any kind of relationship. After Bryan, Phoebe’s philosophy was not to waste her life with just one man. Chloe didn’t understand nor approve of her friend’s new lifestyle, but as long as she was happy, it was all Chloe cared about.

  Phoebe was loyal to the bone. She was the first person to show up at the hospital and took time off from work to be by Chloe’s bedside after the attack. She was the one who nursed her wounds. The one who cradled Chloe when she woke from her nightmares in a cold sweat.

  Four months of therapy, and Phoebe was there every step.

  Phoebe knew everything about Chloe. But one thing Phoebe didn’t know was Chloe wanted to pick her skinny ass up and throw her in the pool to cool Phoebe’s jets from her antagonizing rants about Julian.

  “How about this one…steal his shirt and wear it…or tell him about a night terror you had.” Phoebe smirked at the latter one. “Hmmm—skip the last one.”

  Chloe shook her head. “Yes, let’s skip that one, shall we?”

  Chloe spread the sunscreen on her legs and arms. Her fingers skimmed her abdomen and the pink welts from her stab wounds. She was wearing her royal blue bikini and wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by having her scars exposed. It was only her and Phoebe sunbathing with no one else around.

  Her fingers lingered over the scar. It didn’t hurt anymore but reminded her every day that it was there.

  “I bet you will be panties-down, riding Julian’s dick before the end of our trip.”

  “Shit, Feebs, you’re so vulgar,” Chloe screeched.

  “Don’t act all prim and proper, Princess Chloe. You may still be a virgin, but I know you. You’re dying to have that connection. And I saw how you two were looking at each other last night.”

  “I can’t believe…okay, fine. You want to bet? Let’s do it.” Chloe tapped her chin with her finger. “What’s the wager?”

  “You want to bet against me? I don’t lose, Chlo, and you know it.” Phoebe raised her sunglasses over her head, with a mischievous smile. “A pair of Christian Louboutin heels.”

  “That’s an eight-hundred-dollar-plus bet, you bitch,” Chloe shouted, straightening her back.

  “Well, sounds like I already won.”

  Phoebe was right about one thing. She never lost a bet.

  Take Phoebe to Las Vegas or play the Powerball lottery, she was sure to have some winnings. Phoebe put her name in a raffle at the mall for the hell of it and a week later, the sixty-inch flat-screen television was hers to claim, which was mounted nicely in their living room. Another time, she won Bruno Mars tickets just calling the radio station.

  Chloe needed to win this bet.

  Not for the sake
of the very expensive wager, but she didn’t think it was smart to hook up with Julian.

  A summer fling? Chloe didn’t want that.

  Not only was Chloe over Luke, her walls were back up and her heart guarded. To start something with Julian and for it to go nowhere was not in Chloe’s plan.

  “Not a chance.” Chloe arched a brow. “And when I win, you will be the bachelorette at our fundraiser auctions…as long as you’re still single.”

  “That’s not a fair bet, Chlo. You know I’ll be single for a long while.”

  “Tables have turned. You don’t sound so sure, now do you?” Chloe volleyed with a shit-eating grin. “Besides, it’s for a good cause.” Chloe raised her pinky finger. “Place your bet right here.”

  “I’m going to win”—Phoebe hooked her pinky finger with Chloe’s—“and I know just the outfit I am going to wear with my sexy heels on my date with Thomas…or maybe just wear them solo with nothing else.”

  It was quite entertaining for Chloe to watch Phoebe with the countless dates that swaggered through their front door. And Chloe lived vicariously through her friend, watching different men wine, dine and sex her up.

  These two ladies had a red, yellow, green code for each man she dated. Very few men fell into Phoebe’s Code Green keep-dating category. Most of Phoebe’s dates were Code Yellow, something to try one more time, but they all eventually became Code Red.

  “Is Thomas a Code Yellow? Won’t this be your third date with him?”

  “Don’t get excited. I’m not settling. It’s just that he’s an amazing kisser, and the things he does with his tongue…”

  “Unbelievable.” Chloe rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, he most definitely is.”

  Chloe vowed not to give up her virginity to just any guy, even though she almost had given it up to Luke. She made him wait for months before she was ready, until she caught him screwing Reyna.

  Would Chloe ever find that man?

  The one who could break down her castle?

  Chisel away one stone at a time?

  Or would she grow old and single with a dozen cats?