The Officer Says I Do

by Jeanette Murray

  With a deep breath, she nodded. “Ready.”

  ***

  That night, after unpacking the car and settling Veronica into the guest room of the townhouse, Skye curled against Tim in their bed. The warmth of her body, the softness of her curves had him smiling.

  She traced his lips with a fingertip. “Why so happy?”

  “I don’t know what brought you to me—”

  “I told you before. It was Fate,” she said smugly.

  “I was thinking more like an ace-queen. Vegas, the blackjack table,” he explained when she gave him a confused look. Then she chuckled.

  “That works.”

  Sure did.

  Read on for a sneak peek at

  Jeanette Murray’s

  Duty Calls

  Available January 2013

  From Sourcebooks Casablanca

  Chapter 1

  Jeremy Phillips settled the protectors over his ears, adjusted his glasses more comfortably on the bridge of his nose and took a comfortable stance. Then, at the signal, picked up his Beretta, clicked off the safety and fired fifteen rounds. As the smell of black powder and CPL agent filled his nostrils, he checked his gun, set the safety, then slapped a hand over the switch to draw the paper target forward.

  His best friend, and today’s shooting partner, Timothy O’Shay ducked his head around the divider and mouthed something.

  “What?” Jeremy yelled back.

  Tim cocked one eyebrow and tapped a finger to his ear, pointing out the obvious.

  Oh. Shit. Right. Jeremy took the protectors off and set them on the ledge in front of him, next to his Beretta. “What?”

  “I asked how long you were going to waste bullets when your head’s not in the game.”

  Jeremy gave him a withering look. “I’m not wasting bullets.”

  Tim’s answer was to glance between the two targets—his and Jeremy’s—now only a few feet away. Jeremy took a look also.

  Tim’s dummy showed two tight clusters of bullet holes, so close together they’d ripped large chunks from the paper. Several in the head, the other in the chest. Not a stray hole at all.

  His dummy, by comparison, looked like a constellation of wrongness. Half the bullets sprayed over the outline’s shoulders, the other half catching the figure in the arm or some other undesirable area.

  “You’ll have to remind me how you shot expert at the last firearms qual,” Tim said casually as he stripped the target down and replaced it with a fresh one.

  “Just having an off day.” When Tim said nothing, Jeremy glanced over his shoulder. His friend smirked and shook his head. “Bite me, O’Shay.”

  “You know what Dwayne would say to that.” Tim straightened his shoulders in an effort to look taller. “If you were a female, I just might take you up on that one,” he said with an exaggerated drawl.

  Though he tried to fight it, Jeremy cracked a smile. Their deployed friend, Dwayne Robertson, always did let his natural drawl thicken up to an almost obscene level when he was telling a joke. Tim nailed it perfectly. He clipped on his own fresh target and sent it back. “Yeah, yeah. When’s that big lug coming home, anyway?”

  “He just left not that long ago. For all we know, he might get delayed past the original seven. Stuff’s shifting over there. Makes for interesting deployments.” As he thumbed the last few bullets into his clip, he pushed it in and locked it. “Seriously, what’s going on? You’ve shot for shit all day, and I know you could do better than this blindfolded. What’s up?”

  Because Tim was holding a loaded weapon, now was absolutely not the time for the truth. So instead he lifted a shoulder and dismissed his friend’s concern. “If marriage is gonna turn you into some walking therapy session, I’m not so sure we can be friends anymore.”

  Tim just laughed and flipped the switch to send his target flying back. “It’s not the prison sentence you make it out to be.”

  “Right.”

  “No, really. I guess it could be if you were unhappy. But when you’ve got the right partner, it works out. Pretty damn well, I think.” A self-satisfied smile crossed Tim’s face as he watched his target settle into place. But the preoccupied look in his eye behind his protective glasses said he wasn’t actually seeing the target at all. He was thinking about Skye, his wife.

  Jeremy gave a grunt and rolled his shoulders. Tim might be blissful in love and all that, but it wasn’t for everyone. At least, not for him. Not right now. He had shit to do before he thought about settling down. And his mind wasn’t in the dating game. Not when he was too hung up on one irritating, annoying, always-in-the-way female who made his teeth grind and his blood fire.

  In all the right ways… and wrong ones.

  He waited for his own target to settle before readjusting the mufflers over his ears and reloading his weapon. Deep breath in, then back out. This time he wasn’t going to rush it. Wasn’t going to just punch holes through the paper for the satisfaction of the hit. Concise, precise, accurate.

  He sighted the target, took a calm breath in. Waited until his heart beats slowed enough to time the trigger squeeze between them. And on a slow breath out, he fired one shot.

  And his brain exploded in color and sound, light and movement. Voices. Action. Motivation and intrigue.

  Before he even glanced at the target to check his shot, Jeremy clicked on the safety, set the gun down and started patting his pockets for a pen. Where the hell did he put it? Aggravated, he turned in a tight circle around his cubicle before spotting his pen on the ground by the bag he used for his ammo. He sifted through the bag but came up with no paper. Terrified he was about to lose the scene playing out in his mind, he pushed up the sleeve of his Henley and started to write across the underside of his arm, from biceps to elbow to wrist. Black ink smudged but he kept going, knowing he’d have an interesting time deciphering it later but not caring in the moment. He had to get the idea down or he’d lose it.

  Writer’s block was a bitch in heat. And he wasn’t about to let the perfect solution to the corner he’d written himself into last week slip through his fingers because of a lack of paper.

  Distantly, he realized he no longer heard the muffled pops of Tim’s gun. Quickly, before his friend could realize what he was doing, he jotted the last few words down across the inside of his wrist and pulled his shirt down.

  “Hey, what stopped you?” When Tim glanced around the divide and saw Jeremy squatting on the floor, his brows rose in question. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Standing, stuffing the pen back in his pocket, he shrugged. “Decided you were right. My head’s not in the game. No point in wasting bullets.”

  “I was planning to go a few more, if you don’t mind waiting.”

  Jeremy smiled, feeling more relaxed now than he had in a week. “Sure, maybe I’ll go one more round.” He waited until Tim was settled, then lined up his own fourteen remaining shots. With a more relaxed breathing rhythm, looser stance, he fired until he came up empty. And when he recalled his paper target this time, he couldn’t hold back the satisfied smirk.

  Fourteen head shots, one through the chest. The chest shot being his first before he’d started jotting notes. Not a single stray in the bunch. “Not bad,” he mumbled to himself.

  Then everything in his brain stalled as he caught a whiff of something feminine, something that climbed over the scent of black powder and CLR and made its presence know. A scent he knew too damn well.

  “Not bad at all.”

  And with that light, airy voice from over his shoulder, his mood dipped dangerously low once more.

  ***

  “Mad, hey.” Tim leaned over to give her a hug. Madison hugged back tightly.

  “Thanks for letting me know you were out here.” She hefted her bag from over her shoulder, taking the stall on the ot
her side of Jeremy. “Empty for a Saturday.”

  “It’s early yet. Lazy people are still in bed.” Tim peeked around her arm. “What’d you bring?”

  She held up her twenty-two, brand new and ready to be tested.

  “Ah. See you broke out the Desert Eagle for this one,” he said solemnly, then laughed when she punched him in the arm. Her brother’s face twisted in comedic dismay. “Well, hell, Mad. That’s a girl gun.”

  “I am a girl, you ass.” She kicked at his feet and he shuffled back, laughing all the way to his stall. “And this little sucker fits in almost any purse,” she added, then felt stupid for justifying the completely frivolous purchase of the small handgun. It really was a girly gun. But it was so cute…

  Not able to avoid it any longer, she glanced at Jeremy’s face for the first time since she got to the range.

  Thunderclouds would have been a friendlier welcome. His face was a mask of annoyance and frustration. Well, that made two of them. Though God only knew what he was so frustrated about. If he thought she was stalking him, he had a more self-inflated ego than she thought.

  But either way, she’d play it cool. “Morning, Jeremy,” she said, keeping her voice light and casual.

  Acknowledgments

  The road to publication is a strange and winding one. But the great part about that is you meet some fantastic people along the way. And I have them all to thank for helping me achieve this dream. First the Divas, for providing me with a place to learn and grow. Then my critique group, who are a fantastic cheerleading team. My one-of-a-kind critique partner, Keri Ford, for her hilarious, insightful editorial notes. My lovely agent, Emmanuelle Morgen, for guiding me and being a great support. My editor, Deb Werksman, for giving me the push to make this book the best it could be.

  And then those who have nothing to do with writing, but who matter very much to me. My dog, Clyde, who manages to provide comedic relief during stressful times (as all the best pets do). My mother, who was the one to put my first romance novel in my hand, inspiring my love for the genre. My dad, a girl’s number one fan. My sister, who appreciates my own sense of humor. My daughter, who gives the world’s best snuggles and always manages to make Mommy’s heart melt. And my husband, for being a research assistant, maid, cook, therapist, nanny, and shoulder to lean on when I needed it. You wear a lot of hats, Hubs, but you wear them so darn well.

  My people. Couldn’t have done it without you.

  P.S. Though it may come as a shock, I’m actually not perfect. (I know, right?) Any and all mistakes made concerning the fine fighting force of the United States Marine Corps were mine and mine alone. There. You’re now off the hook, Hubs.

  About the Author

  Jeanette Murray is a contemporary romance author who spends her days surrounded by hunky alpha heroes… at least in her mind. In real life, she’s a one-hero kind of woman, married to her own real-life Marine. When she’s not chasing her daughter or their lovable-but-stupid Goldendoodle around the house, she’s deep in her own fictional world, building another love story. As a military wife, she would tell you where she lives… but by the time you read this, she’ll have already moved. To see what Jeanette is up to next, visit www.jeanettemurray.com.

  SEALed Forever

  by Mary Margret Daughtridge

  He’s got a living, breathing dilemma…

  In the midst of running an undercover CIA mission, Navy SEAL Lt. Garth Vale finds an abandoned baby, and his superiors sure don’t want to know about it. The only person who can help him is the beautiful new doctor in town, but she’s got another surprise for him…

  She’s got a solution… at a price…

  Dr. Bronwyn Whitescarver has left the frantic pace of big city ER medicine for a small town medical practice. Her bags aren’t even unpacked yet when gorgeous, intense Garth Vale shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night with a sick baby…

  But his story somehow doesn’t add up, and Bronwyn isn’t quite sure who she’s saving—the baby, or the man…

  Praise for SEALed Forever:

  “Take two strong characters, throw in some humor and a baby and you’ve got a perfect combination for a heartwarming romance. The suspense subplot is a bonus in this well-written story.”—RT Book Review, 4.5 stars

  For more Mary Margret Daughtridge, visit:

  www.sourcebooks.com