Staggered Cove Station is book one in my new Coast Guard Rescue romantic suspense series. There’s thrills, chills, mystery, and hunky guys to the rescue. Out now from Dreamspinner Press.
Blurb:
Rescues are wild in the Alaskan terrain. So is romance.
Sun-kissed California guardsman Dan Farnsworth might be at home in the water, but he’s out of his element at remote, rugged, and freezing Staggered Cove Station. Acclimating proves hard enough, but he’s also digging into how the station’s previous rescue swimmer was lost at sea. Was it an operation gone bad… or something more sinister? Add to that instant tension between him and his partner, no-nonsense Alaska-born Karl Radin, and Dan has his hands full.
As his investigation heats up, so does the attraction between Dan and Karl—even if they don’t completely trust each other. But as suspicious events escalate to sabotage, Dan starts to fear he and Karl won’t get the chance to become more than reluctant coworkers.
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Karl accepted the coffee and grimaced after his first drink. Super sweet. He made an ick face and handed it back. Lang palmed it with a shrug and drained half. When Scobey made to follow Karl, Lang dropped an arm over her shoulders to keep her in place. She pouted but didn’t argue.
Foreboding shot through Karl, and he shook his head. They all watched avidly as he crossed the lobby to the adjoining corridor and the covered walkway that connected their quarters to the station.
The figure from the helicopter—Farnsworth—was in his room, staring at the bulletin board over his desk, hands on hips, head tilted in thought.
Dan Farnsworth was tall, had a perfect taper of wide shoulders to narrow hips and the smooth glide of flat abs going down to meet them, cornsilk-colored hair unforgivingly shorn, and a full pouty mouth that looked like it wanted to break into a grin and show off its deep dimples.
Karl stopped in his own partially open doorway and cleared his throat. Farnsworth didn’t quite startle, but he turned to look, his bright hazel eyes clouded in thought. Instinctively Karl scanned the room. His bed was still neatly made, perfect corners and quarter-bouncing taut, his desk and dresser undisturbed, clothes bureau closed. Nothing was out of place, but he had the unerring sense that it should be.
“Hi there. I’m Dan—Daniel Farnsworth. And you’re flight mech Radin, right?” Dan was direct, but his ready smile seemed tight, and the dimples Karl wanted to see didn’t fully appear. “I’m the new SR so, hey, we’ll be working together a lot.”
“Chief Petty Officer Radin. That’s correct.” There was no reason to mention rank, but it came through his teeth unbidden.
Karl took Dan’s hand and tried not to notice that it was larger than his or the flutter of warmth in his belly or the heat that radiated off the kid. He glared down his nose and then let go, pulled his hand into a fist against his hip, and shouldered past into his room.
Ideas came to mind—unbidden, filthy, unwanted—and he growled. The lid on his “Yeah don’t even think about it” place rattled. Hard.
“So. Can I help you?” he asked through needless tidying of his already neat desk.
“Not unless you wanna do my sock drawer.” Dan’s smile faded, and he rubbed his thumb over his forefinger as Karl stared in confusion.
Familiarity tickled at the edges of Karl’s awareness, but he couldn’t place it. That gesture—Dan’s thumb circling his finger. Something about it niggled. Karl shook it away.
“Uh—I’m assigned to this room.”
“This room? Mine?” Karl’s insides lurched.
Dan rummaged through a pile of papers on the empty bunk. He folded one to a certain line of text and held it out. “Unless I read this wrong?”
Karl scanned it. His room number, all right. “Nope. You’re in the right place.”
He had space and accommodation for a roommate—an extra bunk and the desk that fit under it as well as several empty cubbies—but he hadn’t been assigned one in a while. He’d lucked out with various combinations of it being a small station and his being senior enough to get a pass when someone needed a roomie.
No way could the kid stay there, sleep in there, live so close to him.
Dan stared at him tensely and waited for Karl to say more. Something about Dan upended him beyond this stupidity. He couldn’t pin it down, but repressed anxiety or even anger lurked in Dan’s gaze. It was probably just nerves, the uncertainty of starting someplace new, and the desire to please.
Desire to please repeated in his head, and he all but punched his desk.
Goddammit. Karl pinched the bridge of his nose, turned on a heel to grab a haphazard mix of things, and edged past Dan into the hall. He didn’t like complications, so Dan would just not become one. The end.
“I was just about to shower. Make yourself at home.”
He caught a glimpse of Scobey loitering at the far end of the hall and growled in her direction. Lightning strobed to warp the hallway, and the afterimage of Dan’s form blurred his vision. In a literal clap of thunder, he left Dan and took a punishing, scalding shower, body numb and thoughts running wild.
* * *
DAN CLOSED the door that Karl left open and leaned his forehead against it. He let out a long, slow breath and listened to the hammer of his rabbiting pulse.
Radin, his newly assigned roomie, the person he wanted to know the most and the last he wanted to meet. Standing in this room—all Radin’s—felt like entering established enemy territory.
Rooting through Radin’s things without having a bead on him had been a bad idea, but impatience won over better sense. At least he only got caught looking at the bulletin board. A clipped-out headline pinned to it, and it burned him, as did continued shock and the dislike he felt when Radin touched him.
A lot of dislike. He expected Radin to dislike him but not for it to affect him so much.
Dan flexed his fingers and pushed away from the door. It was a terrible decision to snoop, but he decided to take advantage of Radin’s absence and finish the job.
Three Ansel Adams posters dominated the wall on Radin’s side, stark black-and-white landscapes of mountains, ice, and running rivers. Dan liked them, and he liked Radin’s decision to keep the room relatively spartan, but that only meant they both appreciated no-frills and the great outdoors. The tall, narrow set of windows had no curtains, but the dark gray wall color wasn’t bad.
Rain lashed the metal siding and blurred the view, and the thunder was powerful enough to send tremors through the building. Dan flipped the overhead light on as the room continued to darken under the storm. What a start to already grim business.
He poked around in the dresser and then the bureau and found the expected socks, thermals, and just-so pressed uniforms. Then he squatted by the footlocker. A cloud of cedar wafted up from the line of sachets taped to the lid and the large carved wooden balls tucked in the bottom corners. Dan patted the items inside—wool blankets, a peacoat, empty rucksack—and savored the tingling, bright scent. But nothing there was of any use, so he snapped the footlocker closed and peered under the bed. Two clear plastic boxes and shoes. The boxes held notebooks and paperwork dated and filed for various incidents, but none from the day Dan wanted to see.
He grumped and clambered to stand carefully, so as not to disturb the perfectly made bed.
Field guides and a signal-flag glossary lined the bookstand on the desk. He ran his knuckle across the worn bindings and sighed. Not even a mystery or sci-fi mixed in. The desk drawers proved more interesting. Bulk-size bags of candy bars filled the bottom drawer, but Dan resisted taking one. Current files hung in the top drawer, and the center drawer was a surprising mess of pencils, pens, candy wrappers, an e-reader and its tangled cord, and a palm-sized plain black book.
Dan sat, tugged the rubber band from around the book, and flipped through the pages. Radin recorded brief notes about each day and daily weather conditions, and he included tiny illustrations, like a sun peeking from behind clouds or a lightning bolt and raindrops. There was another set of symbols that he couldn’t make out. It varied by day but repeated as the weeks went along.
He read several pages without thinking and then stopped short. It was ridiculous to feel like he was prying, given that prying was the objective, but he still shut the book, put the rubber band back on, and returned it to the drawer.
Maybe Radin kept a storage space or something, but Dan didn’t find any keys or receipts. He wouldn’t have time to run and find it today anyway.
He sighed and slid the drawer shut as he stood. The headline caught his eye again and blared in his brain like a claxon, like a whispered curse.
Rescue Swimmer Lost At Sea, Presumed Dead
Dan covered the headline with his hand, closed his eyes, and vowed again to find out why.
Elle Brownlee has always followed her creative, adventuring spirit. Growing up she loved westerns and taking long hikes. On these explorations she’d craft miniature worlds with moss and rocks while making up stories about everything that happened there. This often included dashing cowboy heroes. As an adult, not a lot has changed. She still loves westerns, long hikes, and allowing her imagination to roam. Her romances feature flawed but relatable characters in immersive settings, told with wit, tenderness, and a sly note of sarcasm. Though a cynic in many ways, Elle believes love can conquer all. Every story is a little bit naughty, a whole lot of nice, and will always end with happily ever after.
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