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“The Gail Force Foundation? The name painted on your van?”

There’s a hint of amusement in her tone now. “Very observant. Yes, the Gail Force Foundation.”

That makes sense. He takes kids out on a boat that belongs to this foundation. “And Colby volunteers?”

“If you’re asking if he does what he does for free, the answer is yes.”

I’m on a roll fueled by curiosity. “How come? Why sailing with disabled kids? I mean, it’s a wonderful thing to do, but what’s his motivation?”

Her voice chills again. “Look, I’m sorry, but it’s late, and I need to get to bed. If you have any more questions about Colby’s foundation, I suggest you ask him directly. I don’t want to offer up any answers that aren’t mine to give.” She pauses to clear her throat. “Look for that email with Brandon’s contact information tomorrow.” Her unexpected coldness hits like an icy arrow, but maybe it’s because she’s wiped out. I’ve kept her until after midnight, as the fatigue settling in my own bones reminds me.

Thanking her, I hang up and lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My body might be drained, but my brain buzzes, turning over the conversation—especially the last part. She referred to the foundation as “Colby’s.” Did she mean it’s literally his foundation, or was that a simple slip of a tired tongue? And what answers aren’t hers to give? Most people gush about foundations that do good work, so the fact that she clammed up is curious.

Mystery swirls through my head as I sit up and enter “Gail Force Foundation” in my phone’s search bar. Up pops a website with an image of a sailboat cutting across a sparkling sea, filled with a handful of children in yellow life jackets. I don’t recognize any of their faces, but pure joy is etched into each one’s features—the same expressions I’ve seen when Colby takes the kids sailing. There’s a sailor in the picture too, but only his legs show. He wears shorts, and his thighs show—they’re thick and muscled, like a hockey player’s.

Below the image is a statement that declares “Adventure has no limits,” and that’s followed by the foundation’s mission statement: The Gail Force Foundation empowers children with physical disabilities through adaptive sailing experiences that build confidence, foster independence, and create unforgettable memories on the water.

This jibes with what I’ve personally witnessed but doesn’t tell me much else. How is Colby Chase involved?

The website is simple and straightforward, without many tabs, but I click on the one that says “Our Staff.” I see Peggy Bendix’s smiling face with the title of Executive Director below it. I didn’t know her last name until now. I never asked.

There’s only one other staff member, a pretty young woman with dark hair and blue-gray eyes. My gaze drifts down to her name and title: Lindsey Chase, Treasurer.

I pick up my jaw from the floor and study the picture closely. She definitely resembles Colby. Sister? Cousin? Clicking around the website doesn’t answer the question. Instead, I learn how to follow the foundation on social media, but when I tap on the link, I’m taken to a Facebook page with a dozen or so images of kids and a different sailboat. The most recent one was posted three years ago, and none show Colby, Lindsey, or Peggy.

Moving to a different tab, I find a form I can fill out if I want to become a volunteer. Beside that tab is a red call-to-action button where people can donate. I see references to a “family legacy” and “family foundation,” but nothing else that sheds light on the Gail Force Foundation. I’m more puzzled now than when I dropped into this rabbit hole.

Suddenly, I have a boatload of questions I want to ask Captain Colby.

Chapter 18

Coming up Flat

Jackie

Over two weeks have passed since I first spoke to Peggy, and I’m heading for my Jeep and my second day on the job. The pay isn’t near what I was making before, but it’s surprisingly decent. The best part? I see so many ways we can streamline the operation. I spent all last night giddy over mocking up plans and organizing spreadsheets. My new boss, Brandon, has given me the green light to set things up the way I think best. His motivation probably comes from sheer desperation, but I like having his trust, and I love his enthusiasm. The man has definitely answered his calling. And Colby was right. I think my skill set is exactly what they need, even if it’s not in the realm of finance.

And speaking of finance, I came clean with Brandon when he interviewed me. Things had gone well up to that point, but after I stuttered through my mortifying confession, I was forced to hold my breath as he spent agonizing seconds pursing his lips. Finally, he brightened and said, “As long as you’re not handling funds or doing accounting work, I don’t see a problem.”

I guess they really were hard up, but I’m anxious to show them they didn’t make a mistake. So far, it’s working out for me. Oddly, the first person I texted after landing the job was Colby. I had to. If he hadn’t mentioned it and passed me on to Peggy, I wouldn’t have known the job was out there. The next text went to Peggy. After that, I let Donovan know I was gainfully employed. And finally, I told my parents about my change in circumstances.

They were supportive, as always, if not a little confused. “I wanted to get out of the Bay Area,” I lied, but they accepted it and told me they were proud of me. Gulp.

Donny offered to take me out someplace swanky for a celebratory dinner, but I insisted we go someplace down-to-earth—a Mexican hole-in-the-wall—and I paid. God, that mini-triumph felt good!

These thoughts all stream through my head as I approach my car in the underground parking garage. I climb in, turn on the engine, and start to back out when the Jeep fights me. After making sure the parking brake is disengaged, I slowly depress the accelerator again. The steering wheel lurches to one side, and there’s a loud thump. The car seems to list to one side.

What the …?

I spring from the driver’s seat and check to be sure I didn’t run over somebody’s pet, and on my circuit around the Jeep, the front passenger tire gives out a feeble hiss on its way to going completely flat.

“Damn it!” My curse bounces off the concrete walls. My second day on the job, and I’m going to be late. “Way to make an awesome first impression, Jack,” I grumble as I swing the rear hatch open and look for the lug wrench. Does this car even have one? I never checked when I bought it.

It’s located under the plastic liner in the cargo area, but it’s bolted down. I grasp the bolt but can’t budge it. I look up at the ceiling and groan. Loudly. How am I supposed to unbolt the wrench if I don’t have a wrench to unbolt it with?

“You okay?” a deep voice rumbles behind me to my right, and I squeak in surprise. As I whirl, my gaze lands on a tall, handsome, cut guy whose lip curls up on one side. “Hey.”

My shoulders drop in relief. “Hey. Where’d you come from?”