Page 5 of Anchor (First to Fight)

A list of the day’s activities sits on the counter and I shoot him a disbelieving look as I glance over it. “I doubt you’ll be in possession of your balls tomorrow if your wife ever hears you say something like that.”

Tyler winces. “You’re probably right.” He smiles, his otherwise hard eyes going soft. “God bless her.”

Paperwork is the least favorite of my many responsibilities, so I always save it for last. Tyler likes to come at the end of his shift to keep one eye on the beach bunnies while the other watches his back. His wife, Selena, is a sweet lady, but she has a mean side. They’ve been happily married for twenty years and it’s sort of a running joke on the island that he has a wandering, but harmless, eye. As long as I’ve known him, he’s loved Selena to tears.

It’s the relationship I always thought I wanted. Unfortunately, marriage turned out to be a whole other beast altogether. One I’m more than relieved to stay away from.

We bullshit for the next hour until my phone bleats out a familiar ringtone. Tyler gets a call on his radio at the same time.

The squall didn’t listen to the forecasts because it’s headed right for us—from the Atlantic side—and a couple of vacationers are trapped in the vicious waves.

A familiar rush of fear and excitement washes over me.

“Guess we’re closing early,” I say to Tyler.

* * *

Afew hours later, I stumble back to my house for a shave and a change of clothes. I’m cutting it close, too close, to my pick up time for Emily. The small boat caught way too far off the coast due to the weather, took a lot more time to locate than we’d expected due to signal interruptions and a damn uncooperative tropical storm. We found the tourists healthy and uninjured. The storm blew itself out, leaving a sunny evening for Emily’s ride over to the island on the ferry.

But I don’t think Taylor will care about the weather or the lives we saved.

She won’t hear anything from my explanation other than the “I’m late.” My hope is she’s joking about taking me back to court about custody.

Somehow I don’t think it was an empty threat.

Another helicopter roars overhead, but I pay it no mind as I hurry to let Rudy piss before shutting him up in his cage until Em and I get back. By the time I get him fed and watered and left whining in the bathroom, my phone has rung multiple times.

I can already imagine Taylor’s high-pitched voice screeching over the line, so I’m not in any rush to answer it and by the time I’m in my truck and on the road, I forget to call her back.

A news anchor blares out a headline, but I’m in a hurry, so I turn the volume down to a low murmur as I drive the cramped winding roads to the docks where the ferry should be waiting. If I’m lucky, they are running late and haven’t gotten there yet. Taylor has to ride over with Emily and then take the last ferry out, so if they get there before I do, I’m sure to get an earful. If she misses her trip back, we’ll be stuck on the island together, and neither of us wants to spend more time together than we need to.

The roads are more crowded than usual. It’s like a mass exodus of cars and I have to fight in bumper to bumper traffic to get to the docks. You would think there was a celebrity coming to Rockaway Island, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t even know there were so many cars on the island.

It’s the third helicopter that has my brain switching from panicked about being late, and pissing Taylor off, to alert and focused. When the traffic clears, I see three police cruisers parked haphazardly over the sidewalk and then dread balls up in my stomach like a hissing, venomous snake ready to attack me from the inside out.

In my career, intuition has always served me well. When you’re in the middle of a gun fight, cornered, and don’t know where to go, sometimes all you can do is trust your gut. So far, it hasn’t led me wrong.

When ice forms in my chest and a cold sweat slicks my skin, even in the ninety-degree weather, I know something’s wrong.

Then, I notice the helicopters. They weren’t planes advertising free facials or declaring some idiots eternal love like I’d thought earlier. They were from the sheriff’s department, and various television stations.

I slam my car into a parking stop, not giving a damn about the handicapped spot.Fuck the fines.

I spot Tyler’s bald head above the crowd and elbow my way through the gawking spectators to where he stands with a dozen other uniformed cops. His expression when he finds me is grim. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him look so devastated, including the night he had to deliver the news my parents were dead.

That’s the second clue shit’s about to go bad. Tyler can always be counted on to bring levity to any situation so when he’s serious, everyone around him takes on the same energy. It’s what makes him such a great cop, a great leader, and an even better friend.

By the time I reach his side, three more helicopters have flown overhead, and my anxiety has grown through the roof. All of the aerial activity is focused on one spot across the spit of ocean. The copters circle overhead like vultures and the distant whine of their beating blades reminds me a little too much of war in the Middle East.

As if it knows it, my body reacts without thought. My muscles go loose and wired, ready for action at a moment’s notice. I pick up shreds of conversation from the crowd milling around the gathering of cops. All of my senses are on hyper-alert.

So when my phone goes off again, my heart threatens to jump out of my chest.

I turn to Tyler, who is still looking at me with a solemn expression on his worn features. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks every day of his fifty years. “What’s going on?”

He takes a moment to answer, then puts his hand on my shoulder. Tyler’s a great guy, a good friend, but he’s not the type for physical affection between men.

“It’s the ferry,” he says. Then my phone rings again. “You should answer your phone.”