Sheltering Emma (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha): Finding Shelter #1

by Drake, Aspen

  Sheltering Emma (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha)

  Finding Shelter #1

  Aspen Drake

  Aces Press, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 ACES PRESS, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.

  Dear Readers,

  Welcome to the Special Forces: Operation Alpha Fan-Fiction world!

  If you are new to this amazing world, in a nutshell the author wrote a story using one or more of my characters in it. Sometimes that character has a major role in the story, and other times they are only mentioned briefly. This is perfectly legal and allowable because they are going through Aces Press to publish the story.

  This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I might have assisted with brainstorming and other ideas about which of my characters to use, I didn’t have any part in the process or writing or editing the story.

  I’m proud and excited that so many authors loved my characters enough that they wanted to write them into their own story. Thank you for supporting them, and me!

  READ ON!

  Xoxo

  Susan Stoker

  About the book

  As a driver for one of the hottest food delivery services in San Antonio, Emma is constantly getting hit on. Usually, she ignores the advances of her customers. But when she unknowingly shares an elevator with a wealthy and generous detective, she can't ignore his interest. Especially after the ridiculous tip he gives her.

  Hunter never planned to move back to San Antonio. But after his parents' tragic deaths, he feels an obligation to stay in town to settle their substantial estate. The offer to head up a special task force for the SAPD wasn't expected, but it fills a need in him to help others so he gladly takes the job. When an undercover FBI agent, Cruz Livingston, brings a possible lead to his team for followup, Hunter dives right into his work. He expects to help dozens of women who have gone missing in San Antonio over recent months.

  He just never expects that the one woman he's falling for might become one of them.

  One

  Emma

  The box of mint Oreos is calling out to me, so I tear open the package and snag a few before placing it on the conveyor belt. I haven’t eaten all day because I was trying to get as many runs in before it got too dark. I broke my driving glasses, and although I can see pretty well during the day, I’m practically blind at night without them.

  The checker carefully reseals my bag of cookies before scanning the barcode and placing them at the other end of the counter. I didn’t plan to get so much stuff tonight, but I just deposited $350 into my account so stocking up on toilet paper and pasta isn’t a bad idea. Out of habit, my eyes are glued to the flashing red lights that display the price of each item as it’s scanned.

  Shit, I got more stuff than I realized. And that toilet paper rang up at $8.99, but I’m sure the sign said $5.99. I usually buy a smaller pack, but if the twelve-pack is only six bucks, that’s a much better deal and will last three times as long.

  “Excuse me,” I whisper to the lady. “Is that price correct? I thought it was on sale.”

  She picks up the package and turns it around in her hand as if there’s going to be more information printed on it. Then she pushes a few buttons and rescans it. “Sorry, honey. It’s $8.99. Maybe you were looking at the wrong tag.”

  I roll my eyes in frustration. “Yeah, I probably was.”

  That’s just awesome. It’s only a few bucks, but every single one counts in my present financial state.

  I planned on stopping by the coffee shop on my way home, but I should save that for gas money. Delivering food for a living is great for quick cash, but having to stop at the gas station to fill up every day is a bummer. The four-year-old Honda I bought when I started delivering for Meals2Me was affordable but isn’t as efficient as it could be. Not like the hydrogen car I’ve been drooling over. My downstairs neighbor just bought one, and it’s a beauty.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Your card has been declined.” The checker’s voice isn’t quite as friendly as it was ten seconds ago.

  “Wait, what?” I refocus on my groceries, repressing the new car fantasy playing out in my mind. “That’s not possible. I just deposited money today.”

  She stares at me for a moment, waiting for me to shut up. “It said declined. Do you have a different card?”

  Yeah, I’ve got five. None of those will work either. “How much is the total? I might have some cash.”

  “$42.90.” The woman turns to the people in line behind me. “Sorry, folks. It’ll just be a minute.”

  God, I want to die. I unzip every pocket in my purse and pray for cash to miraculously appear. Of course, there’s basically zero chance I’ve overlooked any money in the past, but it’s worth a thousandth look. I find a crumpled five-dollar bill tucked under some receipts in my wallet and a handful of change. “I’m sorry. This is all I have.”

  She looks at the pathetic offering and then down at my groceries. She lifts the opened package of Oreos and rings them up. “$2.99. Is there anything else you want to add?”

  My options for two dollars or less are pretty limited. What I need most are tampons, but that’s three bucks I might not be able to swing in change. This is proof Karma is a man, and he’s punishing me for going shopping while I’m hungry. “No, thanks. Just the cookies.”

  She tips her chin once in a sharp nod then takes the bill from my hand. After motioning a bagger over from another register, she asks him to take back all my unpurchased items then hands me two singles and a penny. “Have a nice evening.”

  “You too.” I keep my head down and don’t dare look at the people in line behind me. This is one of the most mortifying moments of my life. Not the most mortifying…but it’s right up there in the top five.

  The second I get to my car, I pull my phone from my purse and call my bank. They have a twenty-four-hour automated system that will tell me exactly where my money went. When I deposited my check today, I had $23 already in my account. I paid $28 for the water bill and made a minimum payment on my credit card of $54. That should leave me with about three hundred bucks for groceries, gas, and maybe an audiobook to listen to while I’m working.

  The robot bitch doesn’t like my clear speaking voice, so I end up using the keypad on my phone to verify my account. That takes at least two minutes before I get to the recent transaction option in the menu.

  I don’t know if I want to cry or if I feel relief when I hear the first and most recent transaction of the list. “Body Science Gym, $300.”

  That can’t be right. I pay $20 a month for my gym membership, and I canceled it last week, well before the next billing cycle was due. That has to be an error, which means they’ll have to refund my missing three hundred bucks. I don’t really have the time or interest to go chasing down money that should have never been taken from me in the fir
st place, but getting it back will be my number one priority in the morning. Right now, I need to find a dollar menu with fries and a cheeseburger on it because a girl can’t live on Mint Oreos alone.

  * * *

  First thing in the morning, I get on the phone with my gym to figure out how soon I can get my refund. After an hour of escalating between idiot customer service reps and their managers, I fight back tears and turn on my delivery app, ready to start my day. The best thing about my job as a delivery driver with Meals2Me is that as soon as I earn money, I can instantly deposit it into my checking account. That has kept my belly full on more than one occasion. And today is going to be one of those days. The morning started out slow as usual, but by 11:15, I’m doing my daily circuit of deliveries to downtown San Antonio.

  I love working in the in the heart of town because I don’t have to drive between deliveries. I can walk into a restaurant, run it up into one of the buildings surrounding me, then pick up my next order. And since I don’t have a gym membership anymore, I really need this exercise or else I would just lie in bed all day and feel sorry for myself. And that’s completely unacceptable.

  I got myself into my present situation, and I’ll get myself out of it.

  I thought what I had with Rick was real, but I was stupid. His pretty face and sexy tattoos lured me into trusting him, when deep down I knew something was off. Even from the beginning, he was always too private. I understood when he wanted to keep his passwords to himself and asked me to let him track my phone so he knew I was safe. I thought it was sweet. But when he didn’t ever remember to turn on the tracking feature on his phone and insisted on me calling before heading home every night, I should have seen the writing on the wall.

  But I didn’t.

  I held on to the fantasy that he was just a tough alpha and not a sleazy asshole.

  I not only let him destroy my heart, but he destroyed my credit, racking up credit card bills while he was wining and dining those sluts with my money. Then he left me with all the utilities and a stack of debt I can barely cover.

  Had I not been obsessed with figuring out the name of a song I heard playing last month, we might still be together. Fortunately, Alexa had my back. When I checked the usage logs of my smart-home speaker to look up the song, I was horrified by what I found recorded from the days I was working late. It started with a quick recording of a woman asking my Alexa to play make-out music and got progressively worse from there.

  Not the highlight of my month. Or my life.

  But he’s gone now, and I’ll come out of this stronger. I know I will. But it looks like I’ll have to fall even further before I can start climbing my way out.

  Two

  Hunter

  “Fifty more and then a cool-down run.” Brock sounds a little too smug as he says that, but at least he’s doing my workout with me. If he were just standing over me and barking out orders, it would fucking piss me off. But he doesn’t have a rock-solid trainer’s body from sitting on the sidelines. I pay him for a training session, but he uses it to get in his own workout as well. And if I want to have his physique, I’ll gladly do as many burpees as he does.

  “Yeah.” I don’t like to chat when I’m working out. He knows that, so he doesn’t expect verbose answers. But Brock’s a talker and doesn’t ever leave much silence between us.

  “Did I tell you I’m going to some fancy-ass party after the symphony tomorrow night?”

  I snort at the idea of Brock, with his 250 pounds of solid muscle and shaved head that looks like it’s right out of boot camp, at a symphony. “No.”

  “Yeah, can you believe it? One of my clients was freaking out about not having a date, so I offered to go with him.”

  “Good man.”

  He shrugs with a devilish grin. “Not really. I’m hoping he puts out at the end of the night.”

  I just shake my head. What can I say to that?

  “Thirty,” he huffs out between hops to the ground and back up. “Twenty more. Let’s do this.”

  * * *

  Brock’s idea of a cool-down is seven miles uphill on the treadmill. My legs feel like Jell-O by the time he calls it and lets me go for the day. I recently started my new job at the San Antonio Police Department, and I’m still trying to make a good impression. A good night’s rest is key to that. The best way to ensure I won’t be staring at my ceiling all night is to push my body to the point of exhaustion.

  And Brock was the only trainer I trust to make that happen.

  Sliding onto the seat of my old Ford is like coming home. Literally.

  When I had to move back to Texas to help with my parents’ estate, I didn’t bring much with me. Just a few changes of clothes and my laptop. It was my way of convincing myself that the move was only temporary.

  Of course, that was a total lie. Even while Amelia explained to me that Mom and Dad were both killed in a helicopter accident, I knew I’d be home for good. I don’t want to be, but now that the two people who drove me away are gone, San Antonio feels like home again.

  Being in my childhood home without my parents around has taken longer to get used to than I expected. I still cringe when I hear doors close too loudly or glass breaking, going back to the days when Mom would drink too much and start throwing priceless heirlooms at Dad or the staff…or me, if I made the mistake of showing my face. I didn’t make that mistake often after having two baby teeth knocked out by a sterling silver candlestick.

  Even though I spent many nights wishing they were dead, I never expected to lose them in such an extreme way. They weren’t exactly outdoor adventurers. In fact, they avoided the outdoors unless a pool party or a golf course was involved. But despite hating to do anything out of their comfort zones, they were all about keeping up appearances. And while on vacation in Hawaii with some of their fake friends, they were invited to take a helicopter ride above a volcano.

  Mom was afraid of heights, so I don’t know how she managed it, but it must’ve been hard for her to get on that chopper. Even though I hated them as people, they were still my parents and it sucks to imagine what their final moments must have been like. My only consolation is knowing they passed quickly. There were probably a few moments of fear, but they didn’t suffer long.

  According to the official record, all five passengers died instantly upon impact.

  That was eight months ago, and I’m still trying to wrap my mind around what it means to be an orphan with a bank balance that has more zeros than I’ve ever seen before. We were among the wealthy families in San Antonio when I was growing up, but my parents didn’t spoil me with expensive cars or vacations. They lived their life and tried to ignore me as much as possible. I was given the gardener’s old Ford when I turned sixteen and drove that until the day I left after joining the air force. I was surprised to find it still tucked away in the storage building when I moved home. And after a bit of elbow grease, I had my baby purring again.

  Mom’s Maserati and Dad’s Porsche are also in the garage, but I’d rather be in my pickup any day of the week.

  * * *

  Working a noon to nine shift isn’t my first choice, but the new task force I’ve been hired to oversee has two shifts, and by starting mid-day, I get to spend an equal amount of time with each team.

  As I approach the administrative building I’m working out of, a cute chick in yoga pants and a trucker’s hat is balancing a tray full of to-go coffee and a paper bag in her hands by the front door. She glances at me gratefully when I hold the door open and usher her in.

  “Thank you,” she mouths to me and then strides with purpose toward the elevators. I usually take the stairs, but I’m a sucker for a ponytail sticking out from the back of a hat, so I follow silently behind her. “It was the most humiliating moment of my life.”

  I glance at her, surprised by her tone and the fact that she’s speaking to me at all. It takes me a moment to realize she’s speaking into her Bluetooth headset and not directly at me. Pretending that I’m not ea
vesdropping on her conversation, I stand silently beside her as we wait for the elevator doors to open so we can both step inside.

  “I had to leave all my groceries on the counter because my damn card was declined. I knew it was a mistake because I’d just deposited over $300, so I called the bank and they said it was a gym charge. Of course, that’s didn’t make sense since I canceled my gym membership last week. So, I call the gym to find out why they charged me…and get this.” She adjusts the cup holder in her hand and shifts her weight so she’s leaning against the back of the car, probably trying to find some privacy in this cramped space. “The gym said they wouldn’t refund the $300 because that’s the fee for canceling my contract early. I had to cancel my membership because I can’t afford to fucking pay it every month, and yet they think I can afford a $300 cancellation fee. So now I’m working from morning till night just to buy some damn tampons, and I’m going to have a $200 late fee for my rent because that check will probably bounce today, and I won’t be able to pay it until next week.”

  The door to my floor opens, and I step out, feeling sorry for the girl and her situation. I’m even more surprised when she steps out behind me.

  “I’ve got a delivery to make. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

  The girl is hot on my heels as I approach my assistant’s desk to get my messages. When the woman from the elevator steps up behind me, I move out of the way and allow her to approach the desk first.

  “Hello, I am with Meals2Me. I have a delivery for Rena Maxwell.”