SEALed at Midnight (3 page)

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. Thanks.” Ginny sighed. She didn’t want her friend’s sympathy. She wanted a decent man. Unfortunately, they seemed to be in short supply. “I think I’m going to take a break from dating for a bit.”

“I think you have to be actually dating to take break from it.”

As if Ginny needed a reminder about her lengthy dry spell in both the dating and the sexual department. “I meant take a break from online dating sites.”

If she admitted the truth to herself, she’d admit she’d been pushing too hard to find someone. She knew very well why too. It was the pressure of the stupid holidays approaching.

She’d been willing to contact any loser who messaged her dating profile to avoid spending one more Christmas single. To have someone to kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

No wonder depression ran rampant this time of year.

“You know that you’re welcome to hang out here with me any night.”

“I know. Thank you.” Ginny forced herself to sound cheerful.

She was grateful for the reminder that though she was single, she wasn’t alone. She had friends and, for better or worse, her family—though sometimes that last one seemed like a mixed blessing.

“Marco is helping me put up my Christmas tree Sunday afternoon. You should come over.”

“This Sunday? Isn’t that a little early?”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m having my parents over here for Thanksgiving dinner so they can meet him. I want everything decorated.”

“Oh, okay.” Ginny hoped it was an artificial tree.

It had better be if it was going to last in Molly’s sweltering third floor condo until December twenty-fifth without causing a fire hazard.

“So come on. Come over. We’ll drink eggnog with spiced rum, put on an old holiday movie to get us in the mood and have a great time.”

And Ginny would be the fifth wheel with Molly and her hot new boyfriend on what would otherwise be a romantic day. No, thank you.

Molly would only deny that was true and say that she wasn’t imposing, so Ginny said, “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

She would think about it—think about how she wasn’t going to intrude on their evening and then think of an excuse of something else she had to do instead.

“Okay, good. Ooo, that’s Marco at the door now. I gotta run. Are you gonna be all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks. Have a good time tonight.”

“Will do. Bye.”

“Bye.” Ginny disconnected the call and sighed.

She was happy Molly had found love.

Honestly she was, but it was hard to not be a little envious that her best friend had a man when Ginny couldn’t even get a guy to actually show up when he was supposed to.

Maybe she should get a pet. A girl could always count on her cat to be there for her . . . probably because it knew that’s where the food was, but still, at least it would keep her company.

The damn phone vibrated again and Ginny had to think that for such a popular girl, she sure seemed to be alone a lot.

Ginny frowned at the unfamiliar number on the display and considered not answering it. Then again, she had nothing else to do.

She hit the button to answer. “Hello?”

“Hello, I’m calling for Virginia Starr.”

“This is she.”

“This is not a sales call. We’re conducting a brief survey that will take approximately five to seven minutes. Is this a convenient time?”

Letting out a breath, Ginny dropped into the chair behind her. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Pitiful. That was the only word to describe both her life and her night.

The minute this call was over she was looking into getting that cat. Maybe adopting a stray would turn her bad luck around.

But her luck with men was so monumentally bad she doubted good karma alone could be any match for it.

Approximately five to seven minutes later Ginny had completed her survey. After a thank you from the caller, she disconnected the call and tossed the phone to the table for what had to be the final time of the night.

Though her mother hadn’t called yet so there was always the chance the cell could ring for a fourth time.

Before that happened she was getting out of her date clothes and into something comfortable.

Luckily she’d never gotten around to putting away her pajamas so it was quick and easy to ditch her bad luck dating outfit and slip into some soft flannel.

Nothing better than warm pajamas on a cold night. Well, maybe one thing better. A hot man to snuggle with would have been nice.

Her big soft throw, the sofa, the TV, a pint and a spoon would have to do instead.

Armed with her cures for a bad date—or in this case, no date—Ginny dropped to the sofa and reached for the local paper she’d tossed on the coffee table.

In the day and age of the internet, it was probably crazy to still get a newspaper made from actual paper, but she couldn’t bring herself to give it up and go digital.

There was something about a newspaper. The history of the business. The romance of the deadlines and rushing it off to press. The smell of the ink. The tactile feel of the paper in her hands.

Ginny worked on a computer for hours every day, sometimes late into the night for her job as a freelance editor and aspiring author. It made sense she’d want to avoid the computer when she wasn’t working . . . then again, maybe she was just old fashioned.

Too bad. She liked what she liked.

Spoon in one hand and the pint of Chunky Monkey braced between her thighs, she flipped open the paper and searched for the Classified section. It should have a listing of pets for adoption. If not, she’d look up the address of the nearest shelter later, if necessary.

But first she jabbed the tablespoon—because sometimes a teaspoon just wouldn’t do—into the pint and lifted a good-sized scoop of the softening ice cream to her mouth.

As the cold sweetness bombarded her taste buds, she flipped to the next page of the paper on her lap. She was still in Help Wanted pages.

Her love life might be in the toilet but thank goodness she didn’t need a job. Hers didn’t make her wealthy, but it was enough to live on and gave her the freedom to do what she wanted. At least her career was one part of her life that wasn’t screwed up.

One more flip took her to Real Estate. She should probably look at that section. The lease on her apartment was up on December first.

Her apartment was okay, but she didn’t love it. She’d have to decide very soon whether to renew for another year or not.

That seemed like too much of a decision to make right then.

Vowing to revisit the housing issue tomorrow, Ginny was just reaching for the corner of the paper to flip the page when a bolded headline grabbed her attention.

House/Pet Sitter Wanted

Intrigued, and without much else to do, Ginny read more.

Spend the holidays in a Massachusetts winter wonderland while getting paid! Firm commitment of December 1
^st
through March 1
^st
required. Must like cats. Call for more details.

Not knowing if it was the brain freeze she’d gotten from the ice cream or just insanity making her do it, Ginny reached for her cell phone. She was dialing the number in the listing before she’d even thought it through.

She could put her furniture in a storage unit and live for the next three months rent-free. Plus, she could experience what it was like having a cat before taking on the lifelong commitment of getting her own.

It was perfect.

Who didn’t like Massachusetts in winter? She knew people who spent a small fortune to rent houses there during ski season, and she’d be getting paid to do it.
 

Massachusetts was an easy drive from Connecticut. She’d still be able to come home to see her parents and Molly when she wanted.

As she sat through the ringing on the line, panic began to set in. Someone else could have already scooped up her dream job.

That would be horrible. She’d never considered house sitting before, but now that she had, she couldn’t stand it if she lost this position.

“Hello?” A pleasant sounding woman’s voice came through her cell.

Heart pounding, Ginny cleared her throat and said, “Hi. I just saw your ad for a house sitter. Have you already found someone?”

“No, we haven’t.”

Ginny barely controlled her squeal of glee at the revelation. Her hope rose. A change of location might just change her life. It couldn’t hurt.

Maybe—finally—things were about to go her way.

CHAPTER 3

Thom cracked open one eye. Things were blurry but he could make out Brody leaning close.

The man smiled. “Hey, buddy. Good to see you finally awake. Any longer and I was fixin’ to call next of kin.”

He groaned. “What the hell happened?”

“RPG. I’ll tell you what, we were damn lucky. It blew in through one hatch and out the other. If it had hit anywhere else, it could have blown up the bird.”

An RPG? What the hell? And Brody’s talk of hatches and helicopters didn’t make any sense to him either.

Thom looked more closely at his friend. Brody was dressed as if ready for a mission, but the last thing Thom remembered he had been kicking back with Brody and Chris watching college football.

The southern born Cassidy brothers were Alabama fans. They had been giving him shit about being
a Yankee
and his allegiance to Boston College.

Confused, Thom asked, “What are you talking about?”

Brody’s usual poker face broke and Thom could see the surprise in his friend’s expression. “You don’t remember?”

He would have frowned, but Thom realized he couldn’t feel his face. “I guess not. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Um, yeah. I’m just gonna go grab a doc. You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Stay there? He wasn’t sure he could move, so it wasn’t as if Thom had a choice to do anything other than wait.

As the fog cleared from his brain, closer observation of his immediate environment revealed he was in a bed surrounded by curtains on three sides. The typical sounds of a medical facility permeated the fabric and reached his ears. The low, distant drone of voices. The constant beep of monitors.

Listening more closely, he heard foreign languages being spoken.

Jesus. Where the hell was he and what the fuck had happened? More than that, why couldn’t he remember any of it?

There was an IV line in his left hand. Thom used his right one to reach up and investigate the strange numbness above his neck.

A single brush of his hand over his features told him one side of his face was swollen. Badly too. Like a few rounds in the ring with the heavyweight champion of the world kind of swollen.

That explained why he could see the top of his own cheek with his left eye. He was fairly certain that hadn’t been the case before. Though right now he wasn’t sure of anything.

The curtain opened to reveal a very doctorly-looking man wearing camouflage-patterned scrubs. That gave Thom one clue. He wasn’t in a civilian facility.

“How are we feeling?”

“
We’ve
been better. What happened to me?” Thom saw Brody hovering behind the doctor. He’d get an answer out of him, if not the doctor.

The doctor reached for a clipboard and looked over the contents of the papers attached before glancing up. “You’ve got a concussion and a fracture to your cheekbone in addition to various lacerations and swelling. Nothing that won’t heal.”

Though all good information to know, that hadn’t been what Thom had been asking. “I mean, how did I get all that? Last I remember I was sitting in Virginia drinking a beer and watching the game.”

Brody’s gaze cut from Thom to the doctor. “See. Told ya’.”

The doctor nodded. “Given the blow you took to the face, and the length of time you were unconscious, I’m not surprised you’re having some trouble with short term memory.”

A blow to the face that Thom didn’t remember. “So what do we do about it?”

“Generally speaking, all it takes is time, but I’m going to order a CT. That’ll tell us more about the extent of the injury.” The doctor was a lot calmer than Thom was about the loss of his memory.