Thresholds
Kate Canterbary
Vesper Press
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2017 by Kate Canterbary
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any forms, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
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Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner's trademark(s).
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Editing provided by Julia Ganis of JuliaEdits. http://www.juliaedits.com/
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Proofreading provided by Jenny Sims of Editing4Indies. http://www.editing4indies.com/
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Cover design provided by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations. http://www.okaycreations.com
Created with Vellum
For the pervy girls.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Also By Kate Canterbary
Fresh Catch
Before Girl
About Kate
Prologue
Judy
Happy, happy holidays!
What a year it has been. The Commodore and I have had the pleasure of visiting nine countries and logging more than ten thousand miles in the RV, and spent wonderful hours with our children and granddaughter. We couldn't ask for more.
We hit the road last February with a four-month-long tour of Oceania and Asia. We visited the Australian Outback, which reminded Bill of his west Texas roots, save for the kangaroos and dingoes. The Aboriginal culture is fascinating, and we loved exploring Uluru, or Ayers Rock.
Since we couldn't agree on all things, we each indulged our own interests when we reached the coast: Bill got in plenty of surfing at Bondi Beach and I swam with platypuses. We traveled by catamaran out on the Great Barrier Reef and took in some snorkeling. I haven't yet mastered the art of underwater photography but I did get a few blurry snaps of the incredible ocean life.
From there, we headed to Tasmania. Bill and I had plenty of good laughs during this leg of our journey as Wesley's childhood nickname was always the Tasmanian Devil. All jokes aside, this southern island state of Australia is tranquil and stunning. Nearly one-third of the island is designated as national park land, and Bill and I loved hiking the Cradle Mountain reserve. We even visited a real Tasmanian Devil. Surprisingly, he had a much tamer temperament than Wesley as a toddler.
Our journey then took us to New Zealand, Fiji, Thailand, South Korea, and Japan. We spent the late summer and fall on an expedition that originated back home in San Diego and ended in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. We followed the Pacific Coast Highway north to the Olympic National Forest, and then started our Canadian trek in Vancouver. We headed east from there, and loved every mile of it. While we're no strangers to Canada, we timed this tour to maximize the changing seasons. Bill says I took too many photos on this voyage, but I don't think such a thing exists.
But enough about us and our travels!
We're thrilled to report the continued success of Will's private security venture with his BUD/S friend Jordan. We always knew they'd make an unstoppable team, and we couldn't be more proud of the important work they're doing. Our brilliant daughter-in-law Shannon recently closed the year's largest residential property sale in Boston, and that's on top of all her other record sales. Will is lucky to be married to such a smart lady!
Wesley continues to serve as a cultural liaison to several Eastern European nations. His work with the State Department is very fast-paced and demanding, and crucial to preserving centuries of art, history, and tradition. The stakes are high and there's a lot on the line, though Wesley is uniquely suited for this role with his fluency in multiple languages and diplomatic skill. He doesn't get home nearly as much as we'd like, but he's finally putting that anthropology degree to good use!
Lauren's school kicked off its fourth year this past September, and she now has students in grades kindergarten through three. Bill and I have visited each year since the doors opened, and every time we're there, we're amazed that our little Lolo dreamed it all up and brought it to life. She's in her element and she's doing remarkable things with those children. Our son-in-law Matthew was nominated for a prestigious historical preservation prize for his renovation of a two-hundred-year-old home in Boston. It's quite the honor! If Bill and I had fifteen million dollars lying around, we'd jump at the chance to live in a Matthew Walsh signature home!
Now we're headed to New England for the holiday season. If you know Bill, you know he lovingly refers to it as pie season! We're looking forward to celebrating our precious granddaughter's first birthday and spoiling her rotten. She'll be a big sister soon, and we can't wait to welcome the newest Halsted baby into the family in January. We plan on spoiling that one, too!
Bill and I will reprise our roles as grandparent-nursemaids come Baby Halsted's arrival, and we'll remain in New England until March. At that point, we'll head out for another fabulous journey. Bill is angling for Central America and sunshine, though I love the Sierra Nevadas and springtime snow. Maybe we'll catch a bit of both!
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Wishing you a holiday season filled with love and blessings,
Judy and the Commodore
Chapter One
Will
"You've got this under control?" Jordan asked. "You're sure?"
I rolled my eyes at the videoconference camera. My business partner had asked some version of this question five different ways in the past thirty minutes. He was tucked into his office at our Maryland training facility rather than his usual base of operations in Montauk. A team of new field agents was engaged in a final round of pre-dawn extraction and exfiltration exercises before breaking for the holidays, and he was on site to observe them in action.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" I asked. "Aside from standard protection details, we don't have any active ops next week. Are you expecting the world to fall apart over Christmas? Is there terrorist sect chatter I don't know about? A coup in the works? You're always keeping that shit from me."
"No," he said with a shrug. "But I don't want to take off for the holiday and leave you high and dry, especially with the baby coming ashore any day now."
"You make childbirth sound like guerilla warfare."
"Isn't it?" he asked with a laugh.
I considered this, and the all-too-vivid memories of Shannon promising to castrate me the last time she was in labor. She was specific about it, too. She was going to cut off my balls and hang them from a tree in the backyard.
Oh, but I loved that crazy woman. It was hard to believe that Froggie was thirteen months old and eagerly awaiting the arrival of her new brother or sister. I was convinced Shannon was carrying a girl. She was convinced I was wrong. Nothing new there.
"Somewha
t," I conceded. "But that's not the point."
"Maybe we should put Shaw in charge again. He'd didn't fuck anything up last month." Jordan ran his knuckles over his chin. "We'll both take the holidays off. You'll have a baby, I'll have a vacation, and Shaw will do the work."
Annoyed, I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest. We'd established this plan months ago. Jordan's deputy, Jeremy Shaw, had managed the office and our operatives over the Thanksgiving holiday. I was on call for Christmas and Jordan was taking New Year's. It was written down, scheduled up, done. I was a fan of calling an audible when the situation warranted it, but this wasn't one of those situations.
"Dude." I glared at him through the screen. "I have shit to do. I'm not going to dick around with you all day."
Jordan busied himself by shuffling papers and jerking his shoulder as if any of that explained our meeting's strange detour. He tapped a file on his desk several times before meeting my gaze.
"I'd rather pull Shaw than risk this baby storming the beaches early." He shrugged. "I'm scheduled to talk to Shaw soon," he said. "I'll run it by him. He doesn't have a personal life, so I'm sure it's fine."
I yanked off my ball cap and ran my fingers through my hair before glancing back at Jordan. "Just for saying that, this kid will take her sweet time getting here. I told you about all the times we went in for scans and she wouldn't cooperate."
"Yeah, and I still don't understand how it's possible," he replied. "It's not like Shannon is the wardrobe to Narnia."
"Trust me." I rolled the sleeves of my all-weather running shirt to my elbows. "It means my house is going to be filled with strong-willed women."
"Better you than me," Jordan muttered. "Listen, dude. I have a feeling. I have a sense about this. Shaw needs to cover the controls because that baby of yours is coming early."
"You have a feeling. Isn't that pleasant." I rolled my eyes. "We went in for Shannon's thirty-seven week check yesterday. The doc said she looked great and the baby was as snug as a bug in there."
"That's another thing I don't understand," he said, exasperated. "Why is everything in weeks? One of April's clients has a ten-week-old baby. What is that? Why isn't it 'baby' and then one-year-old, two-year-old, like normal life?"
"Because having a baby isn't normal life," I replied with more rueful laughter than Jordan could understand.
"All right. I have a packed schedule, and I need to do some shopping for April this afternoon without her noticing. Let's get back on track."
"You're planning to evade a covert agent trained by the world's top spy units?" I asked. Jordan met his girlfriend April after she was hired to track him. That operation went sideways when they fell into bed together, but they were on the same team now. "Better you than me."
"I'm going to try," he scoffed.
"When are you going to marry that woman?"
"You sound like my mother," Jordan grumbled.
"Mama Trish is a smart lady," I replied.
"Yeah, and she's hammering me about locking things down with April, too," he said. "Y'all seem to forget I've known her for only four fucking months. Y'all are crazy."
"What, like that's not enough time to know when you've found the right girl?" I asked, incredulous. "She's stabbed you, stole intelligence for you, and bested every one of our operatives in hand-to-hand combat. By my count, Cupcake vonRebound is damn near perfect."
Jordan blew out a breath. "Why is this your concern?"
"Good women get away. They don't like waiting around. They find douchey guys who wear pleated trousers and striped shirts with printed ties. They let those douchelords take them for seafood when they don't even like seafood." I nodded repeatedly. "When you find a good woman, you get a ring on her finger and you marry her as fast as she'll let you."
"Pleated trousers," Jordan said slowly. "And striped shirts and seafood." He blinked at me. "Is that the Asshole Hipster Ghost of Christmas Future? Or am I missing your convoluted point altogether?"
"The details don't matter." I pointed at him. "Come on, man. You're not getting any younger."
He flipped me off. "Thank you for that reminder."
"Anytime," I replied. I glanced down at my notes and then back up at him. "Did you ever decide which team you're taking to Jamaica with you?"
He nodded as he took a sip from his water bottle. "Just my mother's usual security detail," he answered. "She tolerates them well enough, but she hasn't told her boyfriend Marco about them. I haven't decided what I think about that yet."
"Is it a problem?" I asked. "Based on what you've told me, the guy's decent but dumber than a bag of sand."
Jordan shook his head, his eyes wide. "I don't know what my mother sees in him. I can't figure it out."
I chuckled. "I can think of an explanation."
He shot me a thunderous glare. "Don't," he warned.
"Maybe Marco's packing some heat," I said. "Maybe he's got moves."
"If you're going to continue down this path, you should know I've had obscene dreams about your mother. Dreams, plural. They were frequent and detailed, and I'll be honest with you, Halsted, your mom's a freak."
"Yeah, it's probably the dick," I continued, ignoring him. "She's allowed a boy toy, isn't she? I hope her room is on the opposite side of the resort. You wouldn't want her and Marco keeping you up all night long."
He pressed his fist to his lips. "I'm throwing up in my mouth right now, Halsted," he choked out. "Maybe I should tell your wife about her security details."
I leaned forward, folding my arms on the desk. "Go right ahead," I replied. "I'd love it if she could aim some of that fierce third trimester energy at me instead of everyone else. Hell, I'd be happy if she'd just stop going to the office every goddamn day or moving furniture on her own."
He blinked down at his desk before looking back to me. "I wouldn't be able to tell April that she wasn't allowed to do anything. She'd just stab me again, or knock me on my ass," he mused.
I tried—failed—to withhold a snicker. It didn't matter that Jordan had seven inches and one hundred pounds on April, that woman could take him any day of the week.
"I don't even know if she wants kids," he continued.
"Ask her," I said simply, "and then put a ring on that finger."
Jordan stared off into the distance as he ran his knuckles along his jaw. "I will blame you if this goes bad," he murmured.
"Of course you will," I said. "You blame me every time you're out of fuckin' paper clips, Kaisall. You'll absolutely blame me if you botch a proposal to a highly marry-able woman."
"You know what? Fuck you," he said. "I'm gonna watch April kick a former Green Beret's ass, then I'm getting on my plane with her and going to the Goldeneye resort. Don't call me until the new year, unless it's to tell me I was right and the baby came early and you've named it Jordan in my honor."
"Say hi to Mama Trish for me," I said. "Try not to kill her boy toy while you're in Jamaica. She'd be real sad about that."
"Merry fucking Christmas, Halsted," he shouted, a laugh creeping into his words.
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After wrapping up my call with Jordan, I pushed away from my desk. My work schedule was light today, and that was good news because I had a long list of other problems to solve.
I headed down the stairs from my third floor office and toward our bedroom. It was early yet, and the house was quiet. I peeked inside, pleased when I found Shannon asleep. She was up late last night as she had a million things on her mind and couldn't rest until she got them all out. That, and the baby was kicking the shit out of her ribs.
Shannon was going to the office this morning—damn stubborn woman—but I needed that time to get a few projects under control while she was out of the house. Come four o'clock this afternoon, Walsh Associates was shutting down for the holidays and my wife was officially on maternity leave. Finally. No more driving all over the fucking universe, no more visiting goddamn construction sites, no more refereeing her dumbass brothers al
l day, every day. She was out of the office and her deputy Tom was responsible for her workload.
That didn't mean she was going to take it easy before the baby arrived. Why the hell would she do that?
She was determined to buy several more investment properties to "keep the boys busy" while she was out of the office. There were lists, work plans, budgets. It was enough for three years, let alone the three months until she planned to return to her regular schedule.
And that was on top of repeatedly reorganizing every piece of newborn clothing and linens, rearranging the nursery, repacking her hospital bag. Shannon was in deep with the nesting, and I had no hope of yanking her out. I could only demand she provide me with marching orders and let me do the work for her. That approach often involved us yelling at each other for an extended period of time but it was a good distraction from all the things she thought she needed to do before we met the baby.
I closed the door behind me and crossed the hall to Abby's room. We'd moved her in there and out of the nursery shortly after her birthday last month, and I still got a pang in my chest seeing her in the "big girl room." As far as I was concerned, she could be a big girl when she was forty-two and gainfully employed as a nun. There was no point between now and then in which she could be anything other than my little Froggie.
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