Anne Marsh - Wicked Secrets

More than one of his high school friends had kept hidden stashes of cash, guns and drugs, tooling around in an SUV and making deals. Just blue-collar folks sucked into a morass of drugs and all the accompanying bad shit. It was your neighbor breaking into your house and boosting your electronics because he was jonesing for a fix and flat broke. Tag had lost a girlfriend to drug addiction. He’d stuck it out for as long as possible, but then he’d finally had to let go. He had a feeling, though, Daeg was going to have the happy ending.

“You’ll be a dead man if Dani catches you eyeing the scenery.” A grin split Cal’s face.

“Right.” Daeg rocked back on his heels. “And Piper won’t mind at all if you’re looking at other women.”

Cal held up a hand. “Hey, you started it. I’m just finishing things here. Closing the loop. Making sure you all behave.”

Right. While Cal and Daeg bickered amicably, Sleeping Beauty woke up. Levering herself away from the tree and grabbing her towel, she wrapped the blue-and-white stripes around her like a cloak, bent over and threw up. Then she curled into a small ball, as if even the thought of moving was too much. He knew the feeling, but he also knew the skies were close to opening up and drenching the beach. She couldn’t stay where she was. She’d either be brained by errant coconuts or drowned.

Maybe she was drunk.

Or had some kind of virulent bird flu.

Whatever her issue, it wasn’t his problem. Still, when she heaved again, his own gut twinged in sympathy. Daeg frowned, and Tag didn’t have to look over at Cal to know the other man’s face reflected a similar concern. None of them could walk past a civilian in need of a rescue.

“She need an assist?” Cal fished his cell phone out of his pocket, clearly running possible rescue missions through his head.

“Ouch.” Daeg winced sympathetically as the subject of their attention hunched over, looking more miserable by the second.

Surely someone would show up and lead her off. She couldn’t be here by herself. One set of dry heaves later, however, and she was still alone. Damn it.

Daeg hummed a few bars of the Lone Ranger theme music. “He’s going to do it.”

Cal looked at him. “Yep.”

Tag didn’t even have to ask. “Someone has to rescue her. You two could volunteer.”

“Sure, but we don’t have to,” Cal admitted cheerfully. “We’ve got you to go in for us. Plus, you’re the only one who’s still single, just in case she’s like Mrs. Damiano and decides rescue service is a synonym for dating service .”

Daeg hesitated. The guy’s white-knight complex would get him into serious trouble someday. Pot meet kettle. “You’ll take care of her?”

“Yeah.” Joking aside, it went without saying none of them would leave a woman alone on a beach in distress. Since he was the only one who didn’t have someone waiting at home for him, he figured that made him tonight’s rescuer elect. “I’ve got her.”

“If you need help—” Again, some things didn’t have to be said.

He flipped Cal the bird. “I’m good. Go get on with your life. Kiss Piper for me. Have some fun.”

He strode down the boardwalk, hung a left and crunched his way out onto the sand. Yeah, he liked his combat boots because, sue him, the military gave good boot. Part of him thought rushing to the lady’s rescue was a stupid idea, but then she made a small sound of distress and finished unloading the contents of her stomach on the palm tree next to his bike. Okay, scratch that.

She needed help.

Five feet away and closing fast, he spotted a flash of pink. Which could have been a coincidence. Plenty of women had pink swimsuits, and the last female he’d seen in a pink swimsuit was supposed to be on a cruise ship at sea. Not here.

Two feet out, he scuffed the sand because he didn’t want to add a heart attack to the woman’s woes. She had the towel pulled up over her head like a cloak, one suntanned arm braced against the sand. This close, he could read the word bridesmaid on her arm where someone had written it in sunscreen. It was the kind of practical joke he’d play on Daeg—or that Mia’s bridesmaids might have thought up. Damn it.

Please, please, don’t let her be here.

* * *

SOMEONE LARGE AND MALE crouched down beside her. Usually, Mia would have taken defensive measures, but right now she was too miserable to care. The world swung in dizzying circles, making her stomach lurch up and down.

“Mia?” Okay. She cared. She recognized that deep growly voice. Tag was back.

Don’t groan because you might puke on his feet. “I already bought you a thank-you drink. Don’t you ever go away?”

He pressed a bottle of cold water into her hand, and, okay, she might have moaned. Even if he couldn’t be bought off with beverages, apparently she could.

“All the time. In fact, I have a date with Uncle Sam in six weeks. Rinse and spit.”

To her eternal shame, she did as he ordered. He measured her pulse, then tilted her head back to check her pupils. She let him because, right now, she was too wiped out to fight. If Tag had apparently decided to become her very own EMT tonight, she’d work with him. Tomorrow was plenty of time to take issue with his high-handed behavior.

“Follow my finger,” he said gruffly, moving his finger first left, then right. “Alcohol? Bird flu? Bad run-in with a zip line?”

His face was close to hers. Kissing distance, in fact, although she bet kissing was the last thing on his mind right now. His eyes were hazel with gold flecks, something she either hadn’t noticed or had forgotten. Huh. Her Senior Chief had pretty eyes.

“Zip line,” she muttered, when he let the silence stretch on.

“How?” Brow furrowing with concern, he immediately started palpating her arms as if he feared she’d somehow fallen off the zip line and then crawled to the beach to lick her wounds.

“Geez.” She knocked his hands away. “I didn’t fall off the thing. I just got dizzy.”

He rocked back on his heels. “You’re motion sick?”

“Got it in one.”

He eased her upright. “Okay. Deep breath.”

“I know what to do.”

“Uh-huh. This happens often?”

When he turned her forearm over, she spotted the bridesmaid temporarily tattooed on her skin.

“I owe someone for that.” Probably her cousin. It was exactly the kind of thing Laurel would do.

“Let’s focus on you right now.” Tag slid his thumbs down her wrist and pushed on a spot. “Give me ten,” he said, when she tried to yank her arm away.

Leaning backward against him, supported by the strong column of his thighs, was no hardship. Her fingers flexed, finding denim. Shoot. There was nothing professional about this, although he didn’t seem to mind.

“How were you injured?” He sounded matter-of-fact, but she’d bet he wouldn’t be happy if she trotted out all of his vulnerabilities with a cheery let’s discuss .

“Uncle Sam and the call of duty. Now, go away.” The words sounded childish, but she didn’t care. The world wasn’t swinging quite so badly anymore, the nausea dissipating now that her stomach had emptied itself. Yeah, the worst was over, but she was so not winning any prizes for elegance. Good thing she wasn’t still attracted to Tag.

“You don’t really want me to leave.” Amusement colored his deep voice.

“And you’d be wrong. Ask me why.”

His hand rubbed a small, lazy circle against the back of her neck, and the water bottle returned to her mouth. “Small sip.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because you threw up on my motorcycle.” She followed his pointing finger, and, sure enough, there was a big black Harley parked beside her palm tree haven. She’d missed his tires. Score one for her. “And because you need help.”