Unimpressed with the need for stealth, Tammy went on. “It’s pretty damn impressive, really. Didn’t know you had it in you. I mean, your last boyfriend was that stuffy accountant from Seattle, remember? The only mysterious thing about him was what you saw in him.”

“You were here last weekend when he came in,” Mallory said.

“The accountant?”

“My date.”

Tammy smiled. She knew she was stepping on Mallory’s last nerve. It was what she did. And this wasn’t going well.

“So is it a silly rumor?” Tammy asked. “Or a real date?”

“Never mind!” Mallory paused. “But…did you hear anything about him?”

“Like…?”

Lucille was nearly falling off the couch now, trying to catch the conversation. Mallory turned her chair slightly, more fully facing her sister. “Like his name,” she whispered.

This got Tammy’s attention in a big way. “Wait a minute. You don’t know his name?”

Shit.

“Wow, how absolutely naughty, Mal. You haven’t done naughty since you were sixteen and turned yourself in for shoplifting. Now you may or may not have a date with a guy whose name you don’t know. A fascinating cry for attention.” Tammy turned her head. “You catching all of this, Lucille?”

“Oh, you know I am.” Lucille pulled out a Smartphone and began tapping keys with her thumbs. Probably writing on the Facebook wall. “This is good; keep talking.”

Mallory dropped her head to the table and thunked it but unfortunately she didn’t lose consciousness and she still had to finish her shift.

After work, she drove home and watered her next door neighbor’s flowers because Mrs. Tyler was wheelchair-bound and couldn’t do it for herself. Then she watered her grandma’s beloved flowers. She fed the ancient old black cat that had come with the house, the one who answered only to “Sweet Pea” and only when food was involved. And before she showered to get ready for the night’s dinner and auction, she clicked through her e-mail.

Then wished she hadn’t.

She’d been tagged on Facebook.

Make sure to buy tickets for tonight’s elegant formal dinner and auction, folks! Supported by the hospital, organized by the nurses and spearheaded by Mallory Quinn, all proceeds will go into the Hospital Foundation’s coffers toward the Health Services Clinic that Mallory’s been working on shoving down our throats. (Just kidding, Mallory!).

And speaking of Ms. Quinn, rumor is that she’ll ‘maybe’ have a date for the event after all, with Mysterious Cute Guy!

Go Mallory!

p.s. Anyone at the event with their cell phone, pictures are greatly appreciated!

Chapter 4

Chocolate will never fail you.

Ty’s routine hadn’t changed much in the six months he’d been in Lucky Harbor. He got up in the mornings and either swam in the ocean or went to the gym, usually with Matt Bowers, a local supervisory forest ranger and the guy who owned the ’72 GMC Jimmy that Ty was fixing up.

Matt was ex-Chicago SWAT, but before that he’d been in the Navy. He and Ty had gone through basic together.

When Ty had injured his leg again, Matt had coaxed him out West to rehabilitate. They’d spent time hitting the gun range, but mostly they enjoyed beating the shit out of each other on the mats.

They had a routine. They’d lie panting side by side on their backs in the gym. “Another round?” Matt would ask.

“Absolutely,” Ty would say.

Neither of them would move.

“You doing okay?” Matt would then ask.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Ty would say.

Matt would let it go.

Ty would hit the beach, swimming until the exhaustion nearly pulled him under. Afterward, he’d force himself along the choppy, rough rocky beach just to prove he could stay upright. He’d started out slow—hell, he’d practically crawled—but he could walk it now. It was quite the feat. Or so his doctor kept telling him. He supposed this was true given that four years ago, he’d nearly lost his left leg in the plane crash thanks to a post-surgical infection.

Which was a hell of a lot less than Brad, Tommy, Kelly, and Trevor had lost.

At the thought of that time and the loss of his team, the familiar clutching seized his gut. He hadn’t been able to save a single one of them. He’d been trained as a trauma paramedic, but their injuries, and his own, had proven too much. Later he’d been honorably discharged and he’d walked away from being a medic.

He hadn’t given anyone so much as a Band-Aid since.

Working in the private sector had proven to be a good fit for him. In actuality, it wasn’t all that different from being enlisted, except the pay was better and he got a say in his assignments. But six months out of work was making him think too much. He wasn’t used to this down time. He wasn’t used to being in one spot for so long. His entire life had been one base after another, one mission after another. He was ready to get back to that world.

He needed to get back to that world, because it was the only way he had of making sure that his team’s death meant something.

But Dr. Josh Scott, the man in charge of his medical care until he was cleared, took a weekly look at Ty’s scans and shook his head each time.

So here Ty was, holed up and recuperating in the big, empty house that Matt had leased for him, the one that was as far from his world as he could get. Far away from where he’d grown up, from anyone he’d known. Just as well, since they were all gone now anyway. His dad had been killed in Desert Storm. His mom had passed two years ago. With his closest friends resting beneath their marble tombstones in Arlington, there was no one else: no wife, no lover, no kids.

It made for a short contact list on his cell phone.

Instead of thinking about that, he spent his time fixing cars instead of people—Matt’s 1972 Jimmy, his own Shelby—because cars didn’t die on those they cared about.

On the day of the big hospital auction, after replacing the transmission on Matt’s Jimmy, Ty degreased and showered, as always. Unlike always, he passed over his usual jeans for a suit, then stared at himself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the man looking back at him. He still had stitches over one eye and a bruise on his cheek from the storm incident. His hair was on the wrong side of a haircut, and he’d skipped shaving. He’d lost some weight over the past six months, making the angles of his face more stark. His eyes seemed…hollow. They matched how he felt inside. His body might be slowly getting back into lean, mean fighting shape, but he had some work yet to do on his soul. He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the ever-present Vicodin bottle, rolling it between his fingers.

The bottle had been empty for two months now, and he’d still give his left nut for a refill. He had two refills available to him; it said so right on the bottle. But since Ty had started to need to be numb—with a terrifying desperation—he’d quit cold turkey.

This didn’t help his leg. Rubbing it absently, he turned away from the mirror, having no idea why he was going to the auction.

Except he did. He was going because the entire town would be there, and in spite of himself, he was curious.

He wanted to see her again, his bossy, warm, sexy nurse.

Which was ridiculous. It’d been so dark the night of the storm that he honestly wasn’t sure he even knew what she looked like. But he knew he’d recognize her voice—that soft, warm voice. It was pretty much all he remembered of the entire evening, the way it’d soothed and calmed him.

Shaking his head, he strode through the bedroom, slipping keys and cash into his pockets, skipping the gun for the night although he’d miss the comforting weight of it. His cell phone was up to fifty-five missed calls now, which was a record. Giving in, he called voice mail and waited for the inevitable.

“Ty,” said a sexy female voice. “Call me.”

Frances St. Claire was the hottest redhead he’d ever seen and also the most ruthless. The messages went back a month or so.

Delete.

“Ty,” she said on one of them. “Seriously. Call me.”

Delete.

“Ty, I’m not f**king around. I need to hear from you.”

Delete.

“Ty, Goddammit! Call me, you bastard!”

Delete.

As the rest of the calls were all variations on the same theme, with slurs on Ty’s heritage and questionable moral compass, he hit delete, delete, delete…

There was no need to call her back. He knew exactly what she wanted. Him, back at work.

Which made two of them.

Mallory paced the lobby of Vets’ Hall in her little black dress and designer heels knock-offs, nodding to the occasional late straggler as they came in. From the large front gathering room, she could smell the delicious dinner that was being served and knew she should be in there. Eating. Smiling. Schmoozing. Getting people fired up for the auction and ready to spend their money.

But she was missing one thing. A date.

Her Mr. All Wrong hadn’t showed, not a big surprise. She hadn’t really expected him to come, but…hell. Amy had gotten her hopes up. And speaking of Amy, Mallory blinked in shock as the tall, poised, gorgeous woman stopped in front of her.

“Wow.” She’d never seen Amy with makeup, or in a dress for that matter, but tonight she was in both, in a killer slinky dress and some serious kick-ass gladiator style heels, both of which emphasized endless legs.

Amy shrugged. “The hospital thrift store.”

“Wow,” Mallory repeated. “You look like you belong in a super hero movie.”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, I came out here to ask you if we need to review your mission tonight with Mr. Wrong.”

“Nope. Mission cancelled.”

“What? Where’s your date?”

“We both know that I didn’t really have a date.” Mallory shook her head. “You look so amazing. I hardly even recognize you.”

“Can’t judge a book by its cover,” Amy said casually. “Have you seen Grace? She didn’t know any guys in town, and there’s no one I’m interested in, so she’s my date tonight.”

In the time since Amy had shown up in Lucky Harbor, Mallory had never known her to go out on a date. Whenever Mallory asked about it, Amy shrugged and said the pickings were too slim. “Maybe I should be making you two a list of Mr. Rights,” Mallory said.

Amy snorted. “Been there, done that.”

Matt Bowers walked by and stopped to say hi to Mallory. She was used to seeing him in his ranger uniform, armed and in work mode. But tonight he was in an expensive dark suit, appearing just as comfortable in his own skin as always, and looking pretty damn fine while he was at it. He was six feet tall, built rangy and leanly muscled like the boxer he was on his off days. He had sun-kissed brown hair from long days on the mountain, light brown eyes, and an easy smile that he flashed at Mallory. “Hey,” he said.

She smiled. “Hey, back.”

Matt turned his attention politely to Amy, and then his eyes registered sudden surprise. “Amy?”

“Yeah, I know. I clean up okay.” Her voice was emotionless, her smile gone as she turned to Mallory. “See you in there.”

Matt’s gaze tracked Amy as she strode across the lobby and vanished inside. Yeah, he looked very fine tonight—and also just the slightest bit bewildered.

Mallory knew him to be a laid-back, easygoing guy. Sharp, quick-witted, and tough as hell. He had to be, given that he was an ex-cop and now worked as a district forest ranger supervisor. Nothing much ever seemed to get beneath his skin.

But Amy had. Interesting. This was definitely going on the list of topics to be discussed during their next little chocoholics meeting. “You forget to tip her at the diner or something?” she asked him.

“Or something,” Matt said. With a shake of his head, he walked off.

Mallory shrugged and took one more look around. At first, she’d been so busy setting up, and then greeting people, that she’d been far too nervous to think about what would happen if Mr. Wrong didn’t show up.

But she was thinking about it now, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. She paced the length of the lobby again, stopping to look once more out the large windows into the parking lot. Argh. She strode back to the dining area and peeked in.

Also filled.

This was both good and bad news. Good, because there was lots of potential money in all those pockets.

Bad, because there was also a lot of potential humiliation in having to go in there alone after it’d been announced that she had a date.

Well, she’d survived worse, she assured herself. Far worse. Still, she managed to waste another five minutes going through the displays of the auction items for the umpteenth time, and as she had every single one of those times, she dawdled in front of one display in particular.

It was a small item, a silver charm bracelet. Each of its charms were unique to Lucky Harbor in some way: a tiny Victorian B&B, a miniature pier, and a gold pan from the gold rush days. So pretty.

Normally, the only jewelry Mallory wore was a small, delicate gold chain with an infinity charm that had been Karen’s. It had been all she ever needed, but this bracelet kept drawing her in, urging her to spend money she didn’t have.

“Not exactly practical for an ER nurse.”

Mallory turned and found Mrs. Burland standing behind her, leaning heavily on a cane, her features twisted into a smile, only named so because her teeth were bared. “Mrs. Burland. You’re feeling better?”

“Hell, no. My ankles are swollen, my fingers are numb, and I’m plugged up beyond any roto-rooter help.”