by Marlie May
FEARLESS
Crescent Cove Romantic Suspense, Viper Force, Book One
Marlie May
Hummingbird Press
Copyright © 2019 Marlie May
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles or reviews. This book
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events,
and incidents are a product of the
Author’s imagination. Any resemblance to an actual person,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ASIN: B07PPW1LR1
ISBN: 9781099347511
Hummingbird Press
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Ginny
2. Cooper
3. Ginny
4. Cooper
5. Ginny
6. Cooper
7. Ginny
8. Cooper
9. Ginny
10. Cooper
11. Ginny
12. Cooper
13. Ginny
14. Cooper
15. Ginny
16. Cooper
17. Ginny
18. Cooper
19. Ginny
20. Cooper
21. Ginny
22. Cooper
23. Ginny
24. Cooper
25. Ginny
26. Cooper
27. Ginny
28. Cooper
29. Ginny
30. Cooper
31. Ginny
32. Cooper
33. Ginny
34. Cooper
35. Ginny
36. Ginny
Untitled
Other Books by Marlie May
Chapter One - Mia
Chapter One
There’s a bit of each of my friends in these pages.
Jessica for reading this book a billion times.
Lee, my bestie, despite the fact
that she lives on the other side of the world.
Stephanie, my very first CP.
Jes for listening to my endless venting.
And Renée, Alex, Katrina, Laura, Amber, Kim, & Lana.
I’m grateful to have all of you in my life.
For Mom. Miss you.
For Laura, Jessie, & Elizabeth
who were also taken too soon.
For my children who give me endless support.
And, last, but not least, for my own personal hero,
my retired Seabee Chief husband.
I couldn’t do this without you.
* * *
Cover art by Black Bird Book Covers
Find them on Facebook here
Their second chance at love
turns lethal when a man
from her past is
determined to see her dead.
Navy Chief Cooper Talon is on leave to clean out his dad’s house and shut the door on the abuse he suffered there. He takes a break to go camping with a buddy, never expecting to run into his friend’s younger sister, Ginny—the girl he secretly adored twelve years ago. With an upcoming deployment, he can’t make a play for her heart. But when someone stalks her, his protective instincts kick in.
After an abduction overseas, travel photographer Ginny Bradley returns home to Maine. A camping trip with her brother will put her nightmares to rest, and meeting up with Cooper makes the weekend complete. Thousands of miles will soon separate them, but something powerful draws them together. Then someone threatens her life.
With time ticking down to Cooper’s deployment, they must discover who wants to hurt Ginny. Long-distance romances rarely survive, but they end permanently when threats turn lethal.
This book was a 2018 RWA® Golden Heart Finalist.
1
Ginny
Instinct told me to run.
As I hurried down the path between the campground and the lake, the forest loomed around me. Air heavy with the scent of decomposed leaves and earth filled my lungs. It hadn’t rained for weeks, and brittle grass crunched beneath my sandals like tiny bones.
And while it had to be at least eighty out, my skin prickled with goosebumps.
Switching my tote bag from my weaker to my stronger arm, I deliberately slowed my pace. Told my heart to stop racing. If anyone saw me scurrying like a spooked rabbit, they wouldn’t believe that for the past ten years, I’d traveled the world all by myself. I’d walked through the countryside near Cairo. Spent days backpacking on the Isle of Crete. I’d even hiked for a month in the Kalahari region of South Africa. More often than not, I hadn’t known where I’d wind up the next day, let alone where I’d lay my head that night.
And now, I was so chickenshit, I could barely find the courage to walk through a wooded campground alone.
“Here’s the white-hot truth,” I whispered to myself. “No one’s going to snatch you up and carry you away.” This was Maine, the laid-back place I’d grown up in. Not Istanbul, where my confidence had been shattered.
It wasn’t easy facing the fear I’d lived with for three months, but I’d come camping this weekend with my older brother to find a way to start moving past it.
I emerged out onto a beach that sloped down to the lake. Ahead, the water gleamed, blue glass broken by only a few boaters and swimmers. On the shore, two little girls splashed under their mom’s hovering gaze. A bald man sat on the dock with his feet dangling in the water. And farther out, teenagers hooted as they cannonballed off a float.
“See?” I mumbled. “You’re fine.”
A solo walk was the first challenge I’d set for myself. Next up? Swimming alone. After staking out a chair with my towel, I pulled off my sundress and waded into the lake. A sweaty mess after helping my brother set up our campsite, the cool water gliding over my skin felt fantastic. I turned onto my back and floated, my hair tickling my shoulders like blonde seaweed. The sun beat down, dulling my senses, and I relaxed.
Pushing my resolve, I flipped over and swam away from shore, making for the closest float. My brisk crawl soon brought me within reach, and I tapped the top of the wooden frame to tick off another accomplishment. Grinning, I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back, then turned and paddled back to the beach.
My self-confidence growing with each test, I strode from the water. I dried off and pulled on my sundress, then sat and buried my heels in the sand. Laziness sunk into my bones.
“What an awesome day,” I said, squinting at the lake.
The woman minding her daughters turned and smiled. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”
"Definitely." Times like this lived to be captured, and who better to record them than a photographer? Pulling my camera from my tote bag, I took pictures of the trees reflecting on the water. The little girls splashing on the shore. I zoomed in on a grasshopper climbing to the top of a blade of grass and, tilting sideways, took a selfie with the grasshopper. I tossed my camera back into my tote, grabbed my paperback, and was soon sucked into the story.
Until a crack rang out in the forest behind me.
Shifting around, I peered over my shoulder but saw nothing.
Another snap. As if something—no, someone—had stepped on a stick.
Rising, I gnawed on my lower lip while staring toward the woods. Where the sun barely reached, a shadow darted from one tree to another.
I gulped. “Who’s there?”
The cry of a loon flew across the lake, and I jumped.
A quick look around told me that while I’d been absorbed in my book, everyone else had le
ft.
I was alone.
Spooked, I stuffed my feet into my sandals. With my tote held against my chest, I rushed up the path. Not watching where I was going—too busy gaping at the dense woods surrounding me—I stumbled over a root, barely catching myself before falling. I groaned and hobbled on, pushing past my stinging foot like I’d pushed past the pain when a man snapped my wrist three months ago.
Dull thuds came up behind me, making me bolt. As my sandals slammed the ground, my breath came in frantic spurts, and my heart thundered. Reaching the end of the path, I raced across the open, grassy area in the center of the campground, making for the log cabin changing rooms in the middle. If I could get inside a room, I could lock the door. I’d be safe.
A gust of wind shot hair into my eyes. Campfire smoke swirled around me. A dog barked. But two giggling kids chasing a butterfly nearby made me slow my steps and come to a halt.
I gazed over my shoulder.
Nothing.
“Of course,” I ground out. “It was just my imagination.”
So much for challenging my fear.
My shoulders sagged, and disappointment burned like acid through my belly. Did I really think someone would harm me while I was out in the open like this? The campground was filled with people getting ready for the weekend. If I screamed, someone would jump to my defense.
Few jumped to your defense last time. The majority had looked away as if men kidnapping women off the street was part of an ordinary day.
I hated that a random sound in the woods could send me into a full-blown panic.
With a sigh, I started up the stairs, but tripped, landing on the deck. Rising, I rubbed my aching wrist. As I brushed the dirt off my knees, I stared toward the path. A man dressed in jeans and a hoodie stood in the shadows. Was he watching me?
Pulse jumping, I slunk against the plank wall, wishing I could melt through the panels. I reached back and pulled open the closest changing room door and slid inside, standing still while my vision adjusted to the dark.
My towel fell from my limp fingers, landing on the floor by my feet.
I’d walked in on a naked man.
He stood with his back to me, his wet swim shorts a tangled bundle near his feet. While my eyes widened, he lifted a towel and wiped his face. A bead of water trailed down his spine from his short, coal black hair. The tail end of a phoenix tattoo, created from more colors than a sunrise on Kilimanjaro, curved along his back and around the top of his shoulder.
He smoothed the towel across his chest, trapezoids flexing as he worked the material lower.
Leave, before he realizes you’re here.
I eased my foot back, but it hit the metal trash can, making a clang ring out in the room. Spinning, I faced away from him. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry.”
He grunted. “Thought I locked the door.”
“I’m really sorry.” My cheeks couldn’t get any hotter if I’d spent a day at the beach without sunscreen. “I…I thought someone was chasing me on the path from the lake, and I didn’t look before barging in.”
“Chasing you?” Clothing rustled, and he came up beside me, the white towel slung around his narrow hips. A small towel, it barely covered his butt cheeks. Not that I was looking that closely.
Mortified, I kept my gaze directed downward.
“I’ll take a look around outside. But first, here.” He pried a small piece of wood off the rough-cut wall and handed it to me.
“Thanks?” I stared down at it. Shaped like a wedge, it was wide on one end and narrow on the other. “What do I do with it?”
“After I leave, press it in here.” He slid his fingertip along the thin gap between the door and frame. “I did lock the door, but the lock must be broken. This’ll keep anyone from entering without your permission.”
Who was this man, and how did he think of things like this?
“You’ll know it’s me returning because I’ll knock hard twice, wait three seconds, and then knock once softly.”
“Okay.” I tightened my grip on the piece of wood, savoring the control it would give me over the situation.
Like a knight in shining—well, white-towel—armor, he strode outside, leaving me alone in silence broken only by my thumping heart.
After using the wedge on the door, I turned and propped my back against the wall. Shoved my damp hair off my face. And tried to slow my pulse, which still raced double-time.
He returned and used the series of knocks, and I let him back inside. Hovering beside me, his chest rose and fell softly.
What should I say? The thought of meeting his gaze made me cringe. I’d already drooled over his backside. No need to get caught checking out his front. “Anyone out there?”
His hand lifted toward me before dropping to his side. “Nope. Didn’t see anyone suspicious hanging around.”
I’d heard his voice before, but where? Maybe in town or overseas. Traveling the world had introduced me to more people than I’d ever recall.
He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”
I needed to pay attention to the conversation, not the gruff cadence of his voice. His abs. Or his hips, barely covered by the damp towel. Flutters sprang up in my belly and heat rushed into my cheeks, which had to be scarlet by now. Fortunately, while my brain had gone on vacation, my tongue was still on the job. “Yeah, I’m okay. It was probably nothing. I must’ve imagined the whole thing.”
Just like all the other times, when I could swear I heard someone outside my apartment, only to beg my brother to come over for an investigation that revealed nothing. With each incident, I lost more of my pride. There was nothing worse than turning from a strong, independent woman into a whimpering, cowering shadow of herself.
The man strode toward the bench. “Let me get dressed. I’ll wait for you outside while you change and then walk with you to your campsite.”
How simple it would be to let everyone protect me. But I hadn’t come here this weekend to let fear rule. “Thanks, but I’m all right.” A glance over my shoulder sent me whirling back to face the door again because he’d dropped the towel and was lifting clothing from the bench. Do not think about his cute butt. I tugged on the knob. “I’ll…umm, see you around?”
Wonderful. See you around. So much for possessing a working tongue.
I ran outside before he could reply and hurried down the steps. With my lower lip pinched between my teeth, I paused to scan the area, but no one looked my way. The hooded man was gone.
A stick lay half-buried in the grass by my feet. I hefted it, feeling incredibly stupid, but a heck of a lot safer. Weapon in hand, I headed for the shady section where my older brother, Eli, and I had set up our campsite.
Families bustled around me, erecting pop-up campers and screen rooms. Kids rode bikes and scooters on the path. Excitement rang out in the air. As a kid, I’d spent most of my weekends camping at Glenridge Mountain with Eli and Mom. Dad left us when I was five and Eli eight, so it had just been we three. Mom was away until next week, and it had been ten years, but Eli and I had decided to resurrect the tradition.
Two six-packs of soda sitting on the picnic table told me Eli had returned from his trip into town.
Feeling silly for carrying a stick, like I expected a pack of coyotes to attack any minute, I tossed it into the fire pit.
Eli emerged from his tent shirtless and limped over to the cooler. After coming too close to an IED in the Middle East, he’d been medically discharged. Regular PT had helped him maintain the bulk he’d gained during his years with the Navy, and leave it to him to flaunt it. A teenager almost ran into a tree while gawking over her shoulder.
“Hey,” he said. “How was the water?”
“Chilly, but refreshing.”
Eli slumped on a chair near the campfire ring, a soda can in his hand. He popped the top and took a long swallow. “I forgot to tell you earlier. One of my high school buddies is camping with us this weekend. Hope that’s okay.”
“Who?”
My heart flipped. Back in high school, Cooper Talon had been tall, skinny, and I could barely find his eyes behind his black hair and thick glasses. I’d been hyper-aware of him, unsure why my skin tingled whenever he came near. At fifteen to their seventeen, I’d been waiting forever to turn into the beauty Mom had predicted, one who could snag any guy I wanted. I’d wanted Cooper. There was something about the way he held his shoulders when he talked to my mom. How his tongue peeked from his mouth when he and Eli played Xbox. That cute nose wrinkle when he sat at the kitchen table doing homework.
I’d put on my best flirt whenever he was around, but it made no difference. He’d only grunted when I spoke to him. And he’d usually shown me his back, rather than his front, whenever I walked into the room. Talk about stomping on my burgeoning crush. I hadn’t seen him since he joined the Navy—the Seabees—after he graduated from high school twelve years ago. Last I’d heard, he was stationed in California.
That voice in the changing room…Of course.
Eli nudged his soda can toward the open grassy area. “There’s Coop now.”
Naked-man strode our way, dressed in khaki shorts and a patterned brown tee. Eighteen-year-old Cooper Talon had given me heart palpitations. A fully mature Cooper might bring on cardiac arrest.