Hooked (A Romance on the Edge Novel) (2 page)

“Iraq.”

Nikolai nodded to the surfboard. “Well, being a SEAL explains the water toy.” He then offered his hand for Garrett to shake. “Very much looking forward to seeing you at dinner.”

Garrett shook his hand. “It was nice meeting you, sir.” He looked at Sonya. “And your family.”

Garrett pursed his lips and whistled under his breath as Sonya Savonski swaggered away from him, easily toting a duffel bag over her very capable shoulders. She wore a ball cap with a ponytail of dark hair hanging out the back. It seemed to tease him as it bounced in time to her step. She was garbed in faded jeans, and a t-shirt with a picture of a king salmon. The words, “Size Does Matter” blazed in red lettering across her ample breasts.

Now there was a woman. Full mouth, full breasts, full hips. The trifecta. He’d never been able to resist that sexy combination.

She must have sensed his scrutiny for she glanced back over her shoulder. He smiled. She frowned. He smiled wider. This summer was showing some promise.

Sonya straddled the 4-wheeler, and Peter jumped on behind her. Nikolai had commandeered the other ATV for him and his wife. In a cloud of dust, they took off rumbling down the dirt road.

Garrett was definitely showing up for dinner.

Waiting for his own ride to manifest, he took a moment to look around. South Naknek didn’t have the postcard beauty of the Kenai Peninsula that he’d flown out of that morning, but it had a rough and ready appeal. An appeal that fit his mood as of late. He could use some getting back to nature and there wasn’t anything but nature at present. He’d spent too much time indoors, riding a desk, and needed some space around him. Nothing
but
space here. The only building next to the dirt-packed runway was a six-by-eight shack with a broken window and a doorway with no door. Someone with a sense of humor had painted a sign on the shed that read, “South Naknek International Airport.”

There wasn’t a tree to block the wind or the view. Bright green tundra with the bloom of summer ended in silt cliffs that broke the ocean as she tumbled her destructive way to shore. Industry dotted the coastline in the form of canneries to help process the catch of the “Red Salmon Capital of the World.”

As an Alaska Wildlife Officer, he’d come to this place under the guise of policing the craziness that the combination of money and cutthroat fishing brought out in people.

“Yo, Hunt!”

Garrett turned from surveying the area to see Judd Iverson stepping out of a brown, rusty Jeep. Garrett hadn’t seen Judd in two years, but he looked as though he hadn’t changed much, still had that playful swagger as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Judd had grayed more at the temples, but it looked good on him. Straight dark brows slashed over eyes that noticed the slightest infraction, unless a woman was in the vicinity. It would be fun working with Judd again, as long as Garrett remembered not to be coerced into joining in any poker games.

“Iverson, you dog. How ya been?” he asked, slapping his hand out for a bone-crushing shake.

“Same as ever.” Judd focused on the surfboard. “Couldn’t have left the board at home, could you?”

Garrett’s face split into a grin. “Not a chance. Gotta have something to do on my off time.”

“Right,” Judd scoffed. “Like we’re going to get any time to breathe once fishing starts. Your memory’s fading, old man.”

“Last I heard, you had a few years on me. Like five.”

“Damn, it’s good to have you here.” Judd slapped him on the back. “I was glad to hear you wanted a change of scene. We can use all the help we can get. I take it Homer’s not treating you well?”

Homer had lost its appeal since his “friend with benefits” had revoked his bedding rights. Garrett shook off the melancholy. He’d had his chance with Mel Bennett and hadn’t taken advantage of it, though she might have been the one woman who wouldn’t have tethered him. He disregarded the thought and focused on Judd.

“Homer’s fine,” Garrett answered. “I just wanted a little more action.”

Judd grabbed Garrett’s bag and threw it into the back of the open Jeep. “There’s no shortage of action around here.”

Just what he was after.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

Garrett boarded the
Calypso
and stowed his gear below deck. He then met Judd and the other trooper they’d be working with, Skip Ozhuwan, in the cabin above. Skip was an Alaskan Native and had grown up on the Kuskokwim Delta. No one knew the waters of the Bering Sea like the Aleut. He had dark almond-shaped eyes and a round happy face that belied a shrewd cop.

Garrett took a seat, and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. Judd threw a Coke to him and offered one to Skip, who declined. Judd popped the top of his own and leaned against the bulkhead.

Skip commandeered the captain’s chair with a clipboard in front of him and began listing where other troopers would be stationed in the Naknek/Kvichak District. It was the job of the Alaska Wildlife Troopers, or AWT, in conjunction with the Alaska State Troopers, to police the fishing and make sure everyone adhered to the fishing and safety regulations.

“We have the usual hot heads present,” Skip began. “The Harte brothers gave us some trouble last summer. Earl Harte is a little trigger happy and likes to shoot at the drifters. He’s yet to hit anyone, but there’s always a first time.” Skip adjusted his seating. It seemed as though his uniform was getting tight in the trunk.

“Then there’s the drifter, Chuck Kendrick, captain of the
Albatross
,” Skip continued. “Last summer, Aidan Harte cut Kendrick’s net when it wrapped around his buoy. Kendrick threatened to get even.”

Judd added, “As we know, Kendrick always follows through.”

Skip nodded. “Yeah, that was a bad situation with the sinking of the
Miss Julie.
Thankfully, we didn’t lose anyone. That time.”

“It sure stuck in my craw that we didn’t have enough evidence to pin that on Kendrick.” Judd addressed Garrett. “It’s common knowledge Kendrick had a hand in her sinking.”

“If it’s common knowledge, why wasn’t he arrested?” Garrett asked.

“Same reason he wasn’t brought up on charges in the burning of the
Mystic
fifteen years ago,” Judd said. “Not enough evidence. That time we lost three and one was a fifteen-year-old girl. Kendrick’s got everyone scared shitless out here. I’d sure like to catch him at something and throw his ass in jail.”

Skip brought them back to his list. “We need to keep an eye out for the
Mary Jane.
Word is she’s doing more than fishing. We’ll need to inform DEA if we catch any drug activity.” Skip glanced at his clipboard. “Last on the list are the Savonskis.”

Garrett uncrossed his legs and sat up. “Who’d you say?”

“Savonskis. You familiar with them?”

“The grandparents were on my flight.” Garrett didn’t feel inclined to mention he’d been invited for dinner tomorrow night.

“Sonya Savonski has thrown in with the drifters. According to the district registration cards she turned in, she’s planning on set netting
and
drifting this summer. There’s bound to be trouble.”

“That’s it.” Skip laid his clipboard down and stretched out his own legs. “Unless you guys have something else to add.”

“I’ve got something,” Judd said. “What’s that new wife of yours been feeding you?”

Skip actually blushed. “Wren’s pregnant, and I guess I’ve been a little sympathetic to her situation.” He rubbed his belly. “I’ve been cutting back on the carbs.”

“Well, with this knucklehead’s surfboard, and you eating for two, the fishermen will think we’ve gone soft and take advantage.”

“Just let ’em try.” Garrett smiled.

Sonya slowed the 4-wheeler down as camp came into view. Red Fox Camp was situated on the edge of Tory Creek, which cut a gully through the tundra—the only place for miles where the bluff lowered enough to allow for cabin sites.

Wes Finley, family friend and seasoned crewman, jogged toward them as she parked the 4-wheeler high on the beach out of reach of the incoming surf. Grams and Gramps followed right behind.

“I was getting worried you guys wouldn’t make the tide,” Wes said, with a ready smile. High tide would flood the available beach, making getting to camp impossible.

Wes was a man with steady brown eyes and trimmed brown hair. Even when he let his beard grow during the fishing season, he kept it neat. He was like a rock, solid and sure, and wise beyond his twenty-three years. Wes gave both Grams and Gramps a warm hug and then reached for the luggage.

Peter grabbed a duffel and hefted it over his shoulder, and Sonya seized the last bag.

Gramps started to sputter. “Give me that, young lady. I’m not so old I can’t fetch and carry anymore.” He held out his hand.

Sonya handed it over. The man was built like a moose and sometimes showed the stubbornness of one.

Grams settled her hand on his arm. “Nikky, let Sonya take the bag. I’d like to stretch my legs a bit after all that traveling. I was hoping you’d take a walk on the beach with me.”

True to form, Gramps tossed the duffel at Sonya—who was braced to receive it—and took his wife’s hand, kissing her fingers. “Sounds like a dandy idea, Maggie May. See you kids in a bit.”

Grams’s laughter caught on the wind as Gramps wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. The man was still besotted with his wife after forty-five years.

Someday, Sonya thought, she’d find a man who would love her like that.

“You coming, Ducky?” Peter’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“Call me that one more time and you’re going to be on dish duty tonight,” Sonya threatened. She hitched up the bag and began the twenty-foot climb up the bank to the cabin perched on the bluff.

“Quack, quack,” Peter countered, already halfway up the trail. “My hands need a good soaking anyway.”

“All right, you two,” Wes said from near the top of the bluff. “Want to fill me in on the name calling?” He was always the level voice of reason between Sonya and Peter. It didn’t hurt that he was getting his masters in psychology, planning to work with underprivileged children. At the age of sixteen, Wes had been caught by Gramps trying to hotwire their SUV one winter. Instead of calling the troopers, her grandfather had dragged him into the house, fed him dinner, and then put him to work shoveling the driveway. He’d been a part of the Savonskis’ extended family ever since.

“I made the mistake of sharing family stories,” Sonya said. Sonya filled Wes in on their mother naming her and Peter after characters in the Russian fable “Peter and the Wolf.” Wes, who was always quick to laugh, didn’t disappoint.

They reached the nest of cabins dotting the tundra. The main cabin housed their grandparents. Rustic and weathered, the cabin was completely shingled to help withstand the intense Bering Sea weather battering its walls all year long. It consisted of one room, a kitchen with a table and benches, and a built-in bed used for extra seating during the day and curtained off at night. A loft provided extra storage and sleeping quarters if necessary.

The bunkhouse stood behind the main cabin along with the gear room and an outhouse. Running water was a luxury that had yet to manifest itself this far from the village of South Naknek.