Excerpt from 'Anomaly'

Staff Sergeant Galen Welc squinted at the screen of his government-issue smartphone. His brown eyes and dark blond hair stared back at him instead of the passcode screen he was searching for. “I don’t know how to turn this fucker on.”

Until the devices became standard, he’d avoided tying himself to anything besides a basic flip phone, but now he had no choice. Just like every other order, he was willing to roll with the tide. But Casey, a fellow staff sergeant in his platoon, was determined to make Galen use his phone, not just possess it.

He located the correct button to bring the screen back to life and entered his code. “Which one is it?”

Casey reached across the table and flipped the cell to face him, scrolling through the pages of apps until he came to a white blobby icon that he tapped open. “This one. Waze is like Facebook for traffic.”

“I refuse to use Facebook and I don’t mind traffic. How is this app supposed to make my life better?”

“Just use it.”

“Seems like this would be dangerous and really fucking distracting.”

“You’re so type A,” Casey goaded him.

He was as far from type A as a person could get and Casey knew it. “You’re the one with control issues. I’m decisive.”

He and Casey had become friends out of circumstance and necessity years ago, but over time, the gunnery sergeant had become one of his best friends. That they were both on temporary orders at the Marine Air Ground Task Force Training Command in Twentynine Palms, California, made Galen’s displacement easier.

Casey pretended to choke on his burger. “Decisive? How about arrogant?”

Galen smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Confident and smart. It’s all perspective and semantics.”

“Smartass is more like it. How is the whole lab rat thing going anyway?”

Galen pocketed his cell, content to move away from a subject he knew nothing about to something he was an expert at. He picked up the apple from his plate, tossing it into the air as he answered Casey. “It’s kind of cool. Besides the length of the commute, I’m enjoying myself. Don’t tell our platoon commander that, though.”

“That butter bar probably doesn’t have pubes yet.” Casey snatched the apple out of the air and took a bite out of it, talking around it as he chewed. “God forbid we like what we do.”

Galen smirked but didn’t comment on Casey’s dig on the straight out of college second lieutenant whom they both reported to. “Capitalism dies a languorous death when people are happy, Casey.”

“Languorous? Really? Anyway, capitalism isn’t dying ’cause ain’t nobody happy. Don’t you read the news? Just use the app. I promise your commute today will be shorter—or at least more informative. I’m grabbing some food from the MCX to restock my room. You want anything while I’m there?”

“Nah, man. I’m good to go. I’ll see you in two days.”

The sun was just a hint of orange on the horizon when Galen left the Sleepy Tortoise Lodge. He rolled up his sleeves, the heat of the day already settling in despite the early hour. At least he could dress like a civilian instead of in uniform for this assignment.

Excerpt from 'Always Ready'

The din of voices hit Dean like a physical blow as he pulled open the door to Darwin’s Theory then walked in. He knew Phil would be waiting for him, but in the crowd of people, it was going to be hard to find him. Tonight was their last night together for a good long while.

Stationed at the Coast Guard’s Kodiak Station on Kodiak Island, where he served as an Aviation Survival Technician—or rescue swimmer—Dean had gotten a weekend pass to come to Anchorage. When he found out he’d gotten it, he’d called Phil to make sure his lover would be able to meet him.

Opilio crab season was about to open, and Phil had been up in Dutch Harbor, getting the boat he worked on ready to go. Phil was a third generation crab fisherman, and it wasn’t easy for him to get away before a season started.

Yet he’d been able to do so, and now they had two nights together before Phil went out on the Bering Sea to fill his quota, and make his money.

Dean jumped when someone pinched his ass. Turning, he hoped it wasn’t a woman who had done it. He didn’t feel like dealing with tears or an indigent female wondering why he didn’t find her attractive. Hell, he hadn’t found any woman beautiful—except his mother—since he was young. He was gay through and through.

“I’ve been sitting here for over an hour, checking out the asses walking in and out of the bar. I have to admit you have got the best behind I’ve seen in a long time.” The voice in his ear caused him to relax, even as he turned.

“Do you also pinch everyone’s ass?” Dean grinned at Phil, though he kept his voice low to keep anyone from overhearing.

“Only the good looking ones.” Phil winked, then gestured toward a table further back in the bar.

Dean followed Phil, letting his gaze drift down Phil’s back to where the man’s ass was enticingly displayed by a pair of worn thin, tight jeans. His lover would never wear those in Dutch or on the boat, but being in the city loosened some constraints for them both.

After flagging down a waitress, he asked for a beer and a shot of whiskey. She gave him a weary nod before rushing off to fill her orders. Phil took a seat in the corner, and Dean sat as close to him as he could without drawing attention to them. He slid his hand onto Phil’s knee under the table.

“Have a good trip in?” Phil inquired before taking a drink of his beer.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Sully came in with me to meet up with his girl before she heads out to visit her parents or something like that.”

“Cool. I came in on my own. Caught a flight out of Dutch early this morning. Checked in the hotel, then did some shopping for supplies. Season opens next week, and we have to be ready.” Phil’s blue eyes danced with desire and happiness.

“I missed you,” Dean softly blurted out, wincing when he heard those words spill out of his mouth.

Phil reached under the table to cover Dean’s hand, then squeezed it. “I missed you too. It’s been too long.”

It had been two months since they’d been able to spend time together. They’d chatted over Skype, emailed and texted every day between opportunities, but it wasn’t the same as seeing Phil face-to-face and being able to hold him in his arms.

They’d been dating—if you’d call it that—for two years, ever since they’d met at a bar in Fairbanks. It hadn’t always been easy, but as their relationship had grown more serious, Dean knew he’d do whatever he had to do to keep Phil his.

Excerpt from 'A Ring and a Vow'

“I just can’t do this. I…I need my ring back.”

“What?” Cary went breathless with shock as the words hit him like a blow. For a moment, he thought he might throw up.

“My ring.” Owen’s expression was as determined as Cary had ever seen it.

Cary pressed his lips together and swallowed as he processed what was happening. He had always feared that Owen would find their situation too hard—two servicemen in different branches, and soon different countries, for years to come. Cary inhaled deeply then blew out an exhale and nodded. He knew that this had to be almost as hard for Owen as it was for him, no matter how crushed Cary was at the moment. Maybe even more difficult, since Owen wasn’t one to express his feelings.

Owen stoically held his hand out, palm upward.

His heart breaking, Cary fumbled at the ring on his finger. It clung to him as though it was as reluctant to leave him as he was for it to be gone. Though it wasn’t the least bit tight, he couldn’t seem to get a good grip on it. Finally, he managed to pull it down his finger, held it for a moment then forced himself to place it in Owen’s hand.

Cary kept his eyes directed downward. Somehow if he didn’t see this happening, it would be less real. His eyes slid shut and he heard the echoing of the words that had shattered his heart and dreams—“I just can’t do this…”

“I can’t leave you without doing this the right way…the way I should have done it to begin with.”

Cary’s eyes popped back open. Owen’s voice had come from lower than…

His breath caught at the sight of Owen down on one knee before him, holding the ring in his fingers.

No. No, no, no. It isn’t what you’re thinking. He…must’ve dropped the ring. Yes, and knelt down to pick it up…

He felt the ever-present optimistic side of him shoving that nay-sayer aside as he took in the sincere and worried expression on Owen’s face. Cary automatically reached out to Owen, who took both his hands in one of his, still holding the Naval Academy ring in the other—the ring he’d secretly swapped for his own before they’d parted just after graduation. The ring that Owen had told him to go ahead and keep in a deliberately off-handed way when the impulsive deception had finally been discovered.

Oh my God, this is really happening.

“Cary…” Owen’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously.

Cary wanted to fall to his knees but he couldn’t move—it was like his joints were set in concrete. The harder he tried, the more frustrated he became. Finally able to move one arm, he pulled a hand free from Owen’s to run along his cheek while he encouraged him to continue with his eyes.

“You’ve been right all along. And you’re right in what you said just now. There’s no reason we can’t make this work. I can’t imagine ever loving anyone the way I love you. And if you’re willing to wait for me…until we can be together for real…” Owen dropped his gaze and stopped talking for a moment as he slid the ring back onto Cary’s finger. “Someday, I’ll do this again, and it’ll be a different ring,” he vowed in a deep voice. He still wouldn’t look up.

Cary cupped his chin, needing to see. At last Owen lifted his head.

Cary reeled back in horror. Instead of the warm brown gaze he loved, there were gaping holes where Owen’s eyes should be.

“Incoming!” The shout came from nowhere, and now they weren’t in the foyer of Cary’s mom’s house, but in the desert.

A huge explosion rocked the ground and a crater formed just yards away.

“Owen!” He tugged at his hand. “Come on! Run!”

Owen shook his head and looked down again.

“No!” Cary screamed when he saw that Owen wasn’t kneeling, but legless…

Excerpt from 'My Marine'

Captain Sean Kelley glanced up, his eyes narrowed at the sight of three soldiers guiding a blindfolded Middle-Eastern man wearing the traditional tan shalwar kameez. His dark brown waskat vest looked a bit rumpled and was tinged with dirt. His pakol hat was askew and also covered in dust. They continued past Kelley’s window and down the main hall of the office complex to the interrogation rooms. Behind the group, a lone young man with olive skin and dark hair—another local most likely—strode, his gait sure, his steps never faltering. His gaze caught Kelley’s, holding it longer than necessary.

Kelley glanced away, pretending to focus on the papers on his desk. He looked up, not taking his eyes off the group until they were too far down the hall for him to keep up with their progress. They were heading to Room Three, the only room without cameras.

Working intelligence, he sometimes caught flak from the other men—Marine Intelligence seemed to be an oxymoron but they did good work. The interrogation in Room Three must be above his pay grade. He hadn’t been informed, which meant he didn’t need to know. Curiosity about the guy following the crowd wove through him and he stood, moving to the door, watching after the group until they disappeared into the room.

Rafe, a lieutenant he worked with sometimes, tapped him on the shoulder. “So you in on that bit of intelligence, Green?”

Kelley shook his head. “Above my pay grade.”

“Heard he was the one behind the bombing—knows a bunch of stuff.”

Kelley nodded then strolled over to the coffee pot, pouring a fresh cup. “Who was following them?”

“Local translator. We’ve used him before. He’s on base a lot. I asked about him once and was handed a mop and a bucket. Just accept that he’s supposed to be here.”

“Interesting.” Kelley moved back to his desk, focusing on work, trying to ignore the men who’d disappeared into Room Three earlier. So much went on behind the scenes that he wasn’t privy to. Before joining up, it would have bugged the hell out of him to see people coming and going without finding out who they were. Now, he knew better than to ask. He took things outside his job at face value—he had his fill with his assignments, delving into people and things he really didn’t want to know about. The hours flew by, and the interrogators were half forgotten until the translator showed up in his office, his eyes downcast, his posture submissive. “Excuse me, sir?” His thick accent had Kelley tilting his head and pinching his eyebrows together.

“Yes? Can I help you?” Kelley pushed away from his desk, looking up into the most beautiful dark brown, almost black, eyes he’d ever seen. He stood and stepped around his desk, needing to get closer to the man.

“I—we need”—the man paused, as if searching for a word—“coffee.”

Kelley nodded and smiled, reaching around the man to open the top drawer of the file cabinet. He should have asked the small man to move out of his way, but he wanted to get closer to see what the guy smelled like, and he wasn’t disappointed. The scent of fresh soap, a bit of dirt and a tang that was pure male clung to the man. Kelley wanted to take another whiff but knew it wouldn’t go unnoticed. “I’m Kelley—the guys call me Green.”

The man nodded, his lips curving up just a small amount before bowing his head a little then catching Kelley’s gaze again. “I am Akim.”

“Nice to meet you, Akim. How many cups do you need?”

“Um—salore… I mean, four.” Akim held up his hand, showing four fingers.

Excerpt from 'Soul Sick'

Jamie crouched in the corner of the deserted house. He struggled to hear updates on the crucial battle seven klicks away, over the sounds of the one raging around him. He curled into his MTV—Modular Tactical Vest—pressing his headset tighter to his ear. A grenade detonated close by. Jamie startled, ducking his head to protect his face. If he was lucky, his Kevlar helmet would absorb flying shrapnel.

Marines held the high ground in the main battle, pushing back against the Taliban force. Jamie’s men were on the roof above him, holding off enemy reinforcements and supplies.

They were outnumbered. Dozens of Taliban surrounded them. Jamie’s five Marines on the roof were the only things stopping them from joining their comrades on the hill. They were sitting ducks up there. He hoped to Christ Matt and his platoon turned the tide on the hill, soon.

Jamie heard the hiss and whistle of an inbound RPG. He ducked his face, hoping the fucking thing struck the building low.

The blast was loud. The building shook. Jamie’s teeth rattled and he tasted blood from his bitten tongue. Something impacted his chest, his arms, the fronts of his legs. All he heard was a ringing in his ears. Sharp pain spiked through Jamie’s shoulder and hip when the blast knocked him to the ground.

He was floating. There was pain, but it was distant. Chaos and noise swirled around him, but didn’t involve him.

“Captain! Captain Anders!”

Someone called his name. Whoever hailed Jamie was at the far end of a long tunnel. At least it sounded that way.

“Captain Anders. Can you hear me? Can you hear me, sir?”

Jamie took a deep breath. Fuck, it hurt to breathe.

“Captain Anders, are you okay, sir?”

His staff sergeant was talking to him. Seth should be on the roof with the rest of the Marines. It was critical they keep the reinforcements from joining the Taliban already engaging Matt and Rusty.

Jamie took another breath. It hurt a little less. He opened his eyes but nothing made sense. Jamie blinked but couldn’t focus.

“You okay, Captain?” Staff Sergeant Reardon asked again, sounding worried.

A violent fit of coughing overwhelmed Jamie. His lungs hurt. His ribs ached like a motherfucker. Jamie rolled to his side but that made the room spin.

“Can you sit up, sir?” Seth asked.

Jamie blinked again as the coughing passed. He made out the dirt floor, mud brick walls, and the shattered glass of the single window. Jamie let Seth help him sit up.

He looked into Reardon’s concerned face. The RPG blast must have knocked him senseless for several minutes.

Excerpt from 'Safe Shores'

Quit checking your cell, old man.

Shane would be docking soon—Kirk had received his text the night before. There was a tightening low in his belly in anticipation of seeing his Coast Guard lover for the first time in three months. They would have two months together before Shane took off on his next tour, plus holiday time. It was the longest stretch of time they’d had together in a while.

Kirk was done fishing for the year until he started up again in May. As was typical, he would work more hours as a cook at the Lighthouse Grill—he took over for the kids who usually went back to school in the fall. But the comfort of routine had been absent as of late. Restlessness scratched under his skin, a dissatisfaction he hadn’t felt since he’d ended his marriage ten years before. He’d grown up in the Columbia River community of Astoria, Oregon then married his childhood sweetheart. They’d had a magnificent son, he’d taken over his dad’s fishing business and had settled into what should have been a peaceful, ideal life.

Except for the part where admitting he was gay had created a major upheaval in his world.

He’d always known that divorcing Cindy would be painful—they’d been best friends since they were twelve—but there’d been the added challenge of being outed in such a small town. It had been a mixed bag of those who didn’t give a shit and those who’d behaved as if he’d contracted leprosy. Since he’d never been social—quiet by nature—it hadn’t been that big of an issue. Thankfully, he and Cindy had finally reached the point where the friendship had returned.

Kirk absent-mindedly checked his cell again after taking a final swallow of the bottle of beer he’d been nursing at the bar of Neptune’s Galley. It was his local dive of choice and he’d patronized it most of his adult life. Grunting at his borderline obsessive behavior, he replaced the phone on the surface of the bar and tried to will himself to calm down. It was nice to wait for his lover Shane in the place where they’d met three years prior. He still marveled at how lucky they’d been to connect at all in the small town. It wasn’t exactly known for its gay hook-ups and Shane’s sporadic shore leaves hadn’t upped the possibility for them to meet. It was like a textbook fated moment—even though he didn’t believe in such things.

“Another?”

Kirk shook his head. “I won’t annoy you with my presence much longer.”

Davey, the ancient bartender, grinned a partially toothless grin at him as he tossed Kirk’s empty container in the trash under the counter.

“Coasties are docking soon.”

Kirk nodded. “Uh huh.”

Anyone who listened to the ship report on the local public radio station every morning knew which freighters, cruise ships or other vessels would be crossing the Columbia Bar and either docking, returning to the open sea bound for distant ports or passing through to Portland or Vancouver. Davey’s words had been a statement, not a question. Kirk fought off the unease he always felt when a local referenced his relationship with Shane. But Davey had known him since Kirk had downed his first beer at Neptune’s and had never treated him any differently when his orientation had become public knowledge. It was likely the only reason he’d continued hanging out at the joint.

I might never have met him.

He grunted to himself again. Ever since he’d realized he was in love with Shane, he’d become a lot more sentimental.