Cyclone: A Linear Tactical Romantic Suspense Standalone Read online

  She rested her head against the steering wheel. It was difficult not to think of herself as completely weak when she looked back on her choices. A fighter she was not.

  Not a lover either, considering she’d only been with two men, and neither experience had turned out well. Her husband had grown tired of her after only a few months. Which was better than Zac; he’d decided she wasn’t what he’d wanted after only a few thrusts.

  So, yeah. Not a lover. Not a fighter. Just tired.

  Things wouldn’t seem so bleak after she got some rest. It all would be more manageable tomorrow. It always was. One thing about being an emergency room physician—it made you thankful for life, because you were so aware that it was tenuous at best.

  Tomorrow.

  She grabbed her bag out of the passenger side and made her way to the door connected to the portico. Balancing everything in one hand, she got the door unlocked and opened, throwing her bags on top of the washing machine in the small space that doubled as a mudroom. But when she slapped her hand against the light switch, nothing happened.

  “Great.”

  Nothing again as she hit the one in the living room. She went back to get her phone to use as a flashlight. Where was the fuse box? Maybe in that closet near the kitchen?

  Halfway there, she felt it under her tennis shoes—the squish of water. Her breath hissed out. Why was there water in the middle of her living room?

  Her steps dragged as she entered the kitchen area, the water becoming more pronounced. Soon, she heard the steady flow leaking from the cabinet under the kitchen sink. She pulled it open and shined the light in.

  Water poured out.

  It was everywhere.

  With the flashlight, she couldn’t see the damage, but it had to be extensive if her feet were already squishing in it.

  She found her way to the fuse box and opened it. She systematically started moving each switch one at a time, but nothing brought the lights on.

  “Seriously?” she whispered. “Not even one break?”

  Rubbing the muscles at the back of her neck, she leaned her head against the wall. She didn’t want to close her eyes because she might just fall asleep right there standing up. She splashed over to her small kitchen table, wincing as water sloshed around the chair she pulled out, and sat down, blinking back tears.

  Using the pitiful Internet she could get on her not-quite-smartphone, she looked up how to turn off the water at a house. A couple minutes later, she was up and searching for the main shutoff valve outside, Carol’s wrench from the toolbox in the laundry room in hand.

  If holding the wrench wasn’t taking so much of her strength, she would’ve done a little dance when she found the valve. She breathed a sigh of relief when the house didn’t blow up as she turned the water off.

  The way her day had gone it would’ve been par for the course. She trudged back to the laundry room shivering, even though the brisk May night wasn’t very cold by Wyoming standards. Maybe it was having lived in Florida for so long, where it rarely got below sixty degrees, but by the time she was back in the house, the shivers had turned to shudders. Muscles throughout her whole body began clenching, and her fingers began to tingle.

  She leaned heavily against the door. Crap, she was having a panic attack. A physiological response caused by extreme anxiety mixed with exhaustion. Diagnosing it was easy, stopping it much more difficult. She slid over, gripped the washing machine, and grit her teeth, trying to get her body to obey her command to just stop its violent shaking.

  She needed a hot shower and to go to sleep with extra blankets on her bed.

  And she’d used the few she had to help wrap stuff for packing, then tossed them on the floor as she’d unwrapped items. So, they were currently acting as towels for the floodwater.

  Her teeth began to chatter, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that wanted to fall. If she let them out now, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She was going to have a breakdown right here on her laundry room floor.

  She grabbed her purse and duffel from the washing machine and went back out to her car. She didn’t have a credit card since she’d cut them up to get out of debt, but Mayor Dimont knew her and would let her pay cash at the hotel. Anne had enough for tonight.

  Tomorrow, she’d be able to deal with this.

  She hoped.

  The drive into town didn’t take long. The Mayor’s Inn was one of two hotels in town, the other a chain that had popped up since Anne had moved away.

  Her car shuddered and popped softly—yet another thing she needed to deal with—as she pulled into one of the multiple open spots and stared up at the sign for The Mayor’s Inn.

  She knew Barbara Dimont and her now-deceased husband had bought the hotel before the woman had become mayor of Oak Creek. Had the hotel’s name given her the idea? Townsfolk joked that the country would have a different president now if the hotel had been named The President’s Inn instead.

  As a teenager, Anne had worked here at the hotel, done everything from cleaning rooms to checking people in. Mayor Dimont had always allowed Anne’s schedule to be flexible and been patient with her, making it the perfect job.

  But now, walking into the lobby was hard. Anne hadn’t been here since that night six years ago. Hadn’t ever planned to come here again.

  But she didn’t have any choice, so she kept going, relieved to see her old boss sitting in her recliner behind the check-in counter, laughing at whatever television show she was watching.

  “Hey, Mayor.”

  The television clicked off and Barbara stood. “Anne Nichols. Well, aren’t you just a beautiful sight?”

  Before Anne knew what was happening, the small, older woman had flipped the counter divider up and walked through, pulling Anne into her arms. “I’d heard you were back in town, of course. But seeing you with my own eyes after all these years...” Barbara reached up and cupped Anne’s cheeks. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  “At your hotel or in Oak Creek? And it’s Griffin now. I got married. And divorced.”

  “Both.” She tapped Anne’s cheeks. “And sorry about both of the other. You’re looking a little tired. Everything okay? You here to visit your old boss?”

  “No ma’am, although it is good to see you. There’s some flooding in my house and I just need a place to stay for the night until I can find the mental gumption to deal with it tomorrow.”

  “Of course, sweetie. We’ve got plenty of rooms open.”

  “I don’t have a credit card, Mayor.” Anne could feel the chill returning. She clamped down on the need to shiver. Hopefully Mayor Dimont wouldn’t ask too many questions and assume she’d left it at home.

  “I know you’re not going to insult me by trying to pay for a room when you’re in need. Not after all the years you worked here, and everything you and I have been through together.” She tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear, eyebrow raised, her other hand on her hip.

  This woman had seen Anne at the absolute lowest point in her life. It made accepting her offer easier. She nodded. “Thanks, Mayor. It’s been a hard day. And money is a little tight.”

  Mayor Dimont patted her arm. “You and I will catch up some other time. Right now, let’s just get you a bed to fall into.” She handed her a key to room 201. A real live key, rather than a card like most hotels used. It felt good in Anne’s hand. Tangible. “You get yourself a nice hot shower to get rid of that chill and a good night’s sleep. Ain’t nothing going to hurt you here. Not this time. I promise.”

  Their eyes met, a river of memories flowing between them. “Thanks, Mayor.”

  She patted Anne’s cheek again. “I’m glad you’re back, Annie. This is where you belong.”

  As she took the key and headed down the hallway, Anne wished she could feel so sure.

  Zac watched Annie all but run out of New Brother’s. He cursed, indecision—a very unfamiliar feeling—blanketing him. He wanted to go after her, to find out what she still wasn’t tellin
g him. But she obviously didn’t want him to know.

  He believed her when she said he hadn’t forced himself on her. Thank God. But he knew there was more. There was so much more to that night than she was telling him.

  He needed to know.

  He waited impatiently for the overworked waitress to finally bring him the check and box the leftovers, then, after paying, went to his truck. He sat there for a long minute.

  He hadn’t attacked Annie that night. Thank Jesus. She’d wanted it, too. He remembered that much and was thankful that part of his memory was correct. He remembered that everything had been good...right up until it had turned bad. Something he’d done had put shadows, fear, into her eyes. Not a physical attack, but...it was bad.

  Discovering what that was and how to fix it—despite her insistence it wasn’t necessary—was the only thing he cared about right now.

  He drove back toward Linear Tactical, the place that had brought him so much peace and purpose over the last four years, forcing himself to let it go. At least for tonight. He would talk to Annie when she wasn’t so tired. The situation had been unresolved for six years. It could wait one more night.

  He was all the way to his place on the opposite end of town before he spun the truck around and headed back.

  No, this couldn’t wait. He couldn’t stand the thought of Annie going to sleep one more night carrying the knowledge that he’d done something horrible to her while he had no recollection of it. Of her carrying all the weight. Almost everyone had always treated Annie like she was invisible—her parents, the kids at school. Hell, even the people she worked with at the hospital hadn’t recognized her.

  He wasn’t going to add himself to that list. He owed Annie an apology for something, and he wanted to make that right for her. Tonight. If someone else had hurt Annie, Zac would have beaten them into the ground until they apologized. She deserved to have someone as her champion, even if he was fighting himself.

  It took him a long while to get to her house. She was probably already asleep. If she wasn’t, he’d start by offering her the leftover pizza she loved so much. See if that would at least get him in the door. And if she was asleep, fine. He would damn well wait in the truck until morning. At the first sign she was up and about, he’d be knocking on her door.

  Forget pizza, he’d get breakfast and bring it to her. Surprise her. It would be the first time he’d picked up breakfast for a woman without having spent the night in her bed, but it would be worth it.

  Maybe there would be somewhere open that sold flowers. The twenty-four-hour grocery store might have some. If he was going to apologize, he might as well do it right.

  As soon as she told him what he’d done. Obviously, he’d said something cruel. He’d just lost Becky, but that didn’t change the need for an apology. One that Annie would never demand.

  She really did need a champion. Becky and Mrs. P had realized that years ago and had done what they could for her. Becky would want Zac to do what he could, too. He’d always known that.

  Disappointment swamped him when all the lights were out in her house as he pulled up. Yes, he wanted to get her breakfast and flowers, but more, to wipe away that look she got around him occasionally.

  But it could wait until morning. Her needs would come first.

  But as he pulled up, he realized her POS Mazda wasn’t under the portico. Had she not come straight home? Had an emergency back at the hospital?

  He was turning to leave when he saw the door from the portico leading into the house wasn’t completely closed. He stopped and jumped out of his truck.

  “Annie?” He knocked on the door, which swung open, no lights on in the house. “Annie, you’re not in here, right?”

  He reached over to turn on the light, frowning when nothing happened. He stepped further in.

  “Annie?”

  She wasn’t here, but why weren’t her lights working? He checked another switch. Nothing. He was already breaking and entering now; he might as well reset her fuse box, like he’d done a dozen times for Mrs. P over the years, so when Annie did finally get home it wouldn’t be to a dark house.

  He cursed a few seconds later as he realized the carpet was soaked in the living room and water was pooling in the kitchen. He jogged to his truck to get his industrial grade flashlight, then figured out the problem in just a few minutes. A pipe fitting under the kitchen sink had loosened and flooded the whole room. Water had somehow gotten into an electrical socket and blown power in the whole place, which happened sometimes in an old house with equally old wiring. When he saw the water had been turned off outside, he knew Annie had been there and dealt with it as best she could.

  Damn it. She’d already been so tired and overwhelmed. Coming home and finding all her possessions soaked, with no way to dry them or fix this problem in the dark... If he’d been here, he could’ve helped her. Not much, but at least she wouldn’t have had to face it alone.

  The way she had faced everything else.

  He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and went back out to his truck. Now that the water was stopped, nothing could be done until morning, when he could call a plumber and an electrician. He should go home. He could still bring breakfast in the morning, help her get this cleaned up.

  But when he pulled out, he headed toward town—and The Mayor’s Inn. Would she be there? The scene of the crime, so to speak? Hell, maybe being there would help him remember something.

  Although this probably officially counted as stalking, following her from the restaurant to her house, and now maybe to the hotel.

  But he still drove there. Just to see if she was there and make sure she was okay.

  When he pulled up, there was her Mazda—and his confirmation that she’d found shelter for the night. He should leave. But he was parking and walking into the lobby before he could talk himself out of it.

  He grimaced when he saw Mayor Dimont behind the counter. He’d known her a long time, but she didn’t like him. She’d tried to use her influence with the city council to block the permits they needed to open Linear Tactical. Despite the fact that many of the guys were local, and Oak Creek had seemed to want them here, it had still been a close vote due to her opposition.

  Zac had no idea why. He had no memories of her disliking him in high school. But she certainly did now. “Hi, Mayor Dimont.”

  Her gaze frosted over. “Mackay.”

  He held out a hand, palm up, in a gesture of peace. “I’m here to check on Annie. The door was open at her house, and there was some flooding. I know she’s already had a bad day...”

  The mayor’s eyes narrowed. “So, you thought you’d pop in here and see if you could help her out in that smooth Mackay way of yours?”

  He winced. “Well, I don’t exactly know what that is, but yes, I was concerned about her. She and I had dinner, and she was already a little upset without finding her house resembling Atlantis.”

  His attempt at humor was completely lost on the mayor. “That girl is sweeter than Jesus if she lets you anywhere near her after what you did.”

  Zac took a step closer, gaze narrowing on the older woman. “What are you talking about?”

  “That night, six years ago. I know Annie says you can’t be held responsible because you were so torn up with grief over your wife and baby dying. I know that was tragic, but you’ll have to excuse me if I’m just not quite as forgiving as she is.”

  She knew. His hands clenched into fists at his side. “But you know what happened?”

  “I know enough. What you did to that girl is inexcusable, Mackay. You should be ashamed.”

  He wanted to rip his hair out. “Damn it, Mayor. I can’t remember, but I know it’s bad. Annie won’t tell me. I want to fix this. To make it right. But she won’t tell me.”

  “Sweet Annie is never one to accuse or make someone feel guilty. It’s not her way. She thinks she’s weak because she doesn’t rant and rave like most do when someone wrongs them.”

  “No, she absorbs,”
he whispered. “Weathers. Survives. That takes more strength than all the ranting and screaming in the world. Just because she’s quiet doesn’t mean she’s not strong.”

  The mayor’s eyes narrowed further, her head tilting to the side. “You care about her.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I always have. Even when it wasn’t okay for me to. I never acted on it—never did anything that would make me unfaithful to Becky—but I always cared.”

  “And you knew how Annie felt about you?”

  He went completely still. “About me? Anne tolerated me because of her friendship with Becky—we were sort of a package deal. But that’s all there ever was.” Right? Something was itching at the corners of his mind from that night. “Anne always kept her distance from me. We were never alone together.”

  “Right up until you weren’t married to her best friend anymore.” Mayor Dimont leaned back against the counter. “Tell me what you remember.”

  “We sort of found each other that night at The Eagle’s Nest; I’d already had too much to drink. My leave was over the next day, and I was going back to the Army. I couldn’t stand to stay with Carol—too many memories in that house—so I’d gotten a room here.” He closed his eyes, trying to focus his mind. “Henry at The Eagle’s Nest, dumbass that he was, sold or maybe gave me the bottle of Jack. Annie and I decided to sit outside and drink it.

  “We talked for hours. Hell, if I know about what. Everything. She’d finished med school and was in her first year of residency, basically working eighty hours a week. We talked about the Army, how I’d been stationed all over Europe and the Middle East. She said she’d never been out of Wyoming—how maybe one day she might like to travel, but never planned to leave here permanently.”

  Oh God. He remembered that clearly. How she’d never wanted to leave Oak Creek.

  “But she did leave,” Mayor Dimont said evenly.

  Zac turned to the mayor, dread pooling in his stomach. “When?”

  “She transferred to a medical program out of state immediately after Becky died.” She didn’t let him wallow. “Tell me what else you remember.”