"Hank James." He pulled the folded confirmation from his back pocket, the paper soft from his nervous handling during the drive. But she was already typing, pink-polished nails clicking against keys.
The printer hummed to life. She swiped two key cards, stopped, and looked directly at Brian. The blush started at her chest, visible above her resort polo shirt. "How many keys do you need?"
Brian moved in for the kill, all six-foot-four of him leaning against the counter. His biceps flexed, accidentally on purpose, showing off the tail end of his SEAL trident tattoo. The temperature in the room seemed to rise ten degrees. "Three, darlin', unless you'd like to make yourself one too."
Her hand fluttered to her throat, fingers playing with a small necklace there. The key card machine beeped three times while she tried to remember how to breathe.
She spread a map on the counter with shaking hands, using a pink highlighter to mark their route. "You're in building C, room 247. It's a suite with a view of the beach." Her voice cracked slightly. "I'm April. I'm here until eight if you need... anything."
"Thank you." Hank grabbed two key cards and the paperwork, leaving one for Romeo. "See you in the room, Brian."
Colby laughed as they walked back to the truck. "I watch him do his thing all the time, and I'm still amazed by it. It's damned effortless for that son-of-a-bitch to get laid."
"Natural talent." Hank hefted his bag, trying not to favor his right side. "Though at our age, you'd think he'd slow down."
"Brian? Slow down? The day he slows down is the day they put him in the ground." Colby grabbed his own gear, tactical bag perfectly organized. "You okay? That leg's bothering you."
"I'm fine."
"Bullshit. But we'll pretend I believe you." Colby held the door as they entered the hotel. "Big day tomorrow."
"Yeah." Hank's free hand found the key card in his pocket, running his thumb along the edge. "Everything changes tomorrow."
They found their room, a decent suite with three beds and a balcony overlooking the beach. Brian would get the pull-out when he finally finished his hunt. Hank chose the bed nearest the balcony door, needing to hear the water. Colby took the one with the best sight lines to the door, always tactical, always ready.
Hank sat on his bed, unlacing his boots slowly. His fingers found the scar tissue along his thigh, pressing into the damaged muscle. Tomorrow, he'd need to be at one hundred percent. Tomorrow, thirty years of family history would ride on his shoulders.
"Hey." Colby's voice was quiet. "We're gonna do this. Your grandpa would be proud."
"Yeah." Hank lay back, still fully clothed except for his boots. The sound of waves carried through the glass door. "He would be."
Within minutes, exhaustion won. But just before sleep took him, Hank could have sworn he smelled copper on the ocean breeze, like the moon itself was blessing their arrival.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
Tonight, he just needed to believe they were ready for it.
Chapter 2
The grandfather clock in the hotel lobby chimed half past two as Bree Spencer pushed through the heavy glass doors, her travel-weary body aching from the long drive. The warm air of the Copper Moon Resort enveloped her like a gentle embrace, carrying with it the mingled scents of lavender from the fresh flower arrangements and something sweet, freshly baked goods that made her empty stomach clench with hunger.
"Hi, my name is Bree Spencer." Her voice came out raspier than intended, throat dry from hours of highway driving. She cleared it softly before continuing. "My friend, Blake Donaldson, booked a room for me here."
The pretty blonde clerk behind the reception desk looked up from her computer screen, her fingers pausing mid-type. Under the soft amber lighting of the lobby, her features seemed almost ethereal, with bright blue eyes that sparkled with genuine warmth and a messy bun that somehow looked both effortless and charming, with wisps of golden hair framing her face. A blue ballpoint pen tucked behind her ear completed the picture of organized chaos that seemed to suit the late hour perfectly.
As the clerk's fingers danced across the keyboard, searching for the reservation, Bree allowed herself a moment to truly take in her surroundings. The lobby was a study in understated elegance, earth-toned furniture arranged in intimate conversation areas, plush armchairs that looked like they could swallow a person whole, and those magnificent flower arrangements that dotted every surface. Fresh roses, lilies, and what looked like locally sourced wildflowers created splashes of color against the muted backdrop.
The soft clicking of keys filled the silence before the clerk looked up, studying Bree with those perceptive blue eyes. "Stiff from traveling?" The question was accompanied by a sympathetic smile as Bree rolled her shoulders, producing an audible crack that echoed in the quiet lobby.
"Yeah." Bree managed a self-deprecating laugh, her hand automatically going to massage the knot at the base of her skull. "I'm not used to it. I'm sort of a homebody, to be honest. This is the farthest I've driven by myself in... well, ever."
The admission hung between them for a moment, carrying more weight than Bree had intended to share with a stranger.
"I am too. A homebody, I mean." The clerk's voice brightened, as if finding a kindred spirit at this ungodly hour was a small miracle. "We have enough action here in the summer that I prefer to stay home when I can. But working the night shift, I hear hundreds of accents each year from all over. It's like traveling without ever leaving town."
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Bree found herself genuinely smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. "Wow. When Blake told me to come here, he didn't say it was such a lively place." She paused, looking toward the front doors where moonlight transformed the water beyond into a canvas of liquid copper. "He said the beach would be great for getting my creative juices flowing and that it was beautiful here. But now I'm wondering just how much he left out."
The moonlit water held her transfixed for a moment; it was achingly beautiful, the kind of scene that made her fingers itch for a paintbrush, even through her exhaustion.
