Anchor

Chapter 17

Gabriel

"Gabe?"

I shake my head and snuggle back into the pillow, trying to drift back to sleep. The combination of exhaustion, stress, and sex is a potent one and I'm going to need a week of sleep to recover.

"Gabe, Rudy's barking," Chloe grumbles.

"He'll be fine," I say.

For a few minutes I drift back to sleep and then Rudy starts barking again and this time it sounds like he's trying to claw his way through the door. With a curse, I throw the covers off of my legs and reach blindly for a pair of sweats that are, generally, always on the floor beside my bed. I slip them on and stumble for the bedroom door.

I find Rudy outside my bedroom and glare at him. "Next time I'm going to lock you up in a cage when we go to bed," I tell him.

He pants happily as we walk through the dark hallway to the patio door. I yawn as I yank it open to let him out and he races across the lawn to his favorite bushes.

While he's doing his business, I figure I might as well get something to drink because the marathon sex gave me a powerful thirst. As I make myself a glass of ice water, I consider how to play the morning after, so to speak.

It's probably too early to start talking commitments and considering both of our romantic histories, one of us is likely to balk if we start moving too quickly. The best option is for us to take this slowly. Hell, that's probably what people call dating. The thought makes me frown, but fuck it. If that's what I have to do to keep her coming back, I will.

I drain the glass of water and immediately make another. I chug that one as well and by that time, Rudy's done outside and is scratching to come back in.

"You're lucky you're cute," I tell him as I close the door behind him.

When I look up, I catch a movement in the glass and I only have a few seconds to duck before the gun the man is holding discharges and a bullet shatters the glass. My leg screams in pain as I crouch down and glass rains down around me.

"Get up," the man shouts.

"I'm about fucking sick of people pointing guns in my face," I say as I get to my feet. I feel wetness on my thigh and my feet are probably sliced to hell, but I'm done.

The man flicks on the dining room light where the dishes from our dinner still sit and I nearly fall backward when I realize who the man is.

It's the captain. The one no one's been able to find since Jones threw him overboard that night. He sure doesn't look dead.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, trying, and failing to keep my voice level.

"I'm here to finish what that idiot couldn't."

"Finish..." I trail off. "What are you talking about?"

"He never was good enough for my daughter," he says.

"Daughter?" I repeat numbly. "Your daughter."

"Shelia," he says. "He never appreciated her, but man, I never thought he was stupid as well as useless."

My brain, still hazy with sleep, takes a second to piece things together. When I do, my first thought is of Chloe, who's still in the other room. If she isn't awake by now, it'd be a miracle.

"You're—"

"That's right. Sheila's father. Phillip Langford."

"We saved you," I say.