Shelter In The Tropics. Cara Lockwood

table-side service.

      “So, Mr. Reeves, I know it’s your first trip to St. Anthony’s. Do you snorkel?” She barreled on, not picking up on the cue from Tack’s now-somber face that he probably wasn’t interested in any tour. He looked like a man who wanted to escape. Not that Cate blamed him. Kids at all were a nonstarter for most men, but kids talking about dead fathers and wanting new dads were probably more serious deal breakers.

      “Snorkel?” Tack looked momentarily taken aback.

      Cate knew exactly what Carol was doing. She was talking about the boat tour around the island that Cate led every morning around ten.

      “I’m sure Mr. Reeves has other things to do with his first morning on vacation,” Cate said.

      Tack studied her. “Well, I...”

      “Cate gives the best tours, and she knows the best snorkeling spots. She leads a group every morning...”

      Cate mentally shook her head. No, Carol. No! She tried very hard to telepathically tell her friend to stop what she was doing. The last thing she needed was Tack on board her boat at nine in the morning.

      “I love to snorkel. Sounds like fun.” Tack stared at Cate as he said that. Avery happily chomped his chicken tender and Carol just beamed, like she’d won a prize at the state fair. Oh, she’d won a prize, but it wasn’t anything she’d like, Cate thought. She’s going to get an earful when I get her alone.

      “The boat is already full,” she lied. Only four other guests had booked a trip for the morning. And two of them were simply strong maybes. The boat could hold ten easily.

      “One already canceled just this afternoon,” Carol said. “You’ve got room for one more.” The woman wasn’t going to let this go. The steely look in her eyes told her she was not going to be deterred from this matchmaking mission. Tack quirked an eyebrow, almost as if daring her to deny him now.

      “All right,” Cate said, giving in. There was no use fighting them both.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      TACK LAY ON the soft bed in his room and stared at the second hand of the clock sitting on his nightstand as it ticked forward. The sunlight streamed in; he’d seen the slow progression of light since dawn. He’d been up since three in the morning, his usual wake-up call. He hadn’t sleep through a night since he’d left Afghanistan. And every time he woke up, he thought of Adeeb, fighting side by side with them in some of the worst firefights.

      He sent up a little prayer that he was okay. That he’d eluded the Taliban another day.

      Tack had met Adeeb when he was twenty-five and worked with him for three years straight on sensitive ops to find Taliban strongholds in Helmand Province, one of the most dangerous areas of Afghanistan. Adeeb, a lanky and thoughtful man, never once got rattled, not even under heavy gunfire.

      Tack had been suspicious of the idea of a local translator at first. After all, what reason did he have to help the Americans? But Adeeb hated the Taliban and everything they stood for. “They are terrible people. They’re not about Islam, they’re about power.”

      Adeeb had watched his sister be terrorized by the Taliban, and his family threatened when they tried to send her to school. He had every reason to hate them.

      Still, Tack wasn’t sure. How could he trust a translator he just met? Sure, he’d volunteered and been vetted by the military, but still. Tack didn’t like wild cards, especially when the lives of his men were on the line.

      On their first mission together, Tack and his team were looking for a Taliban leader who’d been causing a lot of trouble. Adeeb interviewed a local family, and after several minutes of discussion as Tack stood by, not understanding a word they said, Adeeb turned to Tack and said, “They told me he’s not here. But they’re lying, and here’s why. They have a son, and he was kidnapped by the Taliban last year. They’re scared.”

      Adeeb had been right about everything from that day forward. He knew the bad guys from the good guys, he was smart, he was a fantastic read of people and he’d saved more marines than Tack could count, all by giving them lifesaving intel. He was worth his weight in gold.

      But it didn’t take long after that before the threats from the Taliban came in. Phone calls, notes left at his house. They saw him as a traitor and planned to cut off his head. They said they wouldn’t stop there. They’d kill his entire family, all of his relatives. But nothing ever rattled the man, not the threats, not gunfire. He held firm in his beliefs. He told Tack that he believed the Taliban was ruining his country, and that he’d risk his life if need be to stop them. Let them do what they wanted, but he wasn’t going to let them ruin his country without a fight.

      Tack respected the position. It was exactly what he would do if a group of extremists took over his own country.

      The marines promised Adeeb and his family a visa to come to America, but they’d reneged on their promise. Scratch that. The marines hadn’t reneged on their promise, Tack’s sniveling coward of a commanding officer, Derek Hollie, had.

      He checked his phone and found a message from Adeeb. Relief flooded Tack’s body. He only heard from the former translator a couple of times a week, when the man went close enough to town to get a signal.

      We are fine. Wanted to let you know. Medeeha says thanks for the candy.

      Medeeha was Adeeb’s little girl, who’d just turned three. Tack had sent a care package, as he did every month, filled with dry goods and treats. None of it would do any good if the Taliban found them. Tack quickly messaged back.

      Keep safe, man. I haven’t forgotten my promise.

      Tack had promised to bring Adeeb to the United States, and he wasn’t giving up on that. He’d left Helmand Province years ago feeling like he’d left one man behind, something he’d vowed never to do.

      Adeeb had saved Tack more than once. Had saved all the men in his company more than once. And he helped the Americans at great personal peril after the Taliban labeled him a traitor. Tack knew better than anyone that the Taliban didn’t make idle threats.

      Tack had lobbied his senators, wrote letters, did all he could think of to do to get a visa for his friend. Then he had found out that Rick Allen, major donor to political causes, might be able to get him the visa Adeeb so badly needed. That’s why Tack couldn’t fail. Not to mention, the ten-million-dollar reward money could help Adeeb and so many more resettle in the United States.

      Tack breathed a sigh of relief that Adeeb and his family fought to live another day, and focused on the case at hand. Already, he’d taken too long in looking for the missing woman. Every day that went by was a day that Adeeb didn’t have.

      He glanced at his watch. Time had slipped by, and he realized he ought to get a move on if he wanted to get to the dock for the promised tour. Better watch your back, Tack. She gets one whiff of who you work for, and she might throw you overboard.

      He grinned at the thought. Let her try. He’d faced more cunning enemies before. But maybe not prettier ones, he thought, remembering her clear green eyes. He had to admit that.

      He stepped into some swim trunks and an old tee, and then grabbed a baseball cap and shoved it on his head. He reached for his mesh bag where he kept his own flippers, mask and snorkel—he’d been scuba certified since even before he enlisted in the marines—and headed out of his room, maneuvering down the stairs and out to the lobby. The ocean was just past the resort pool and down the short stairs to the smooth, nearly white sand. He saw the twenty-foot boat with the blue canopy floating at the end of a long, wooden dock and headed that way. He expected to see a crowd of tourists but found the dock empty, except for Cate.

      She wore a pair of worn cutoffs and a tank, the bright teal bikini strap tied at the back of her neck poking through. Her back was to him, and she was bent over an old red plastic cooler, working to lug it to the boat. For