Melody
Men say women are the weaker sex but would a man have kept writing to his crush after years of silence from said crush? No! He would’ve given that up and moved on! Instead, I powered forward, writing letter after letter to Benson Charles as he served our country. Sure, he might’ve been mad that when we were ten, I named him Biscuit, but honestly, is that something to hold a grudge over for a decade? He’s back in town and say he’s here for good and I’m going to be his. He says it’s to protect me from a serial killer who is hurting Harrisville citizens and truthfully, I think I have a better chance at finding the serial killer than I do of keeping my heart intact.
Frank
Trying to get a woman to forget the past is harder than pushing an elephant through a needle’s eye. Pretty sure that’s like the eleventh commandment. Here’s the deal though, Melody did write me a boat load of letters and yes, I read them like a lifeline to get me through each day. I should’ve answered them but I’m a piss poor writer surrounded by other stupid men. I kept my mouth shut with the theory that action speak louder than words only I spent so many years up in the sky for the Navy while she was at college that I didn’t have time to show Melody I loved her. Things are different now but in between trying to convince Melody that my intentions are serious, I have to catch a serial killer.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
FRANK
“Biscuit!” I wasn’t prepared for Melody to throw herself in my arms. I also didn’t think she’d slap me. Both happened so quickly that I’m a little off center. I rub my cheek and stare after the blonde who is disappearing into the crowd.
“What happened?” asks my partner, Vincent.
“Hell if I know,” I reply. I figured she’d ignore me because I hadn’t written back to her. Over the years, she’d send me a letter now and then, keeping me up to date on the stuff happening here in town. I’d compose replies in my head like I’d make a shit-ass partner for someone like you since half my missions are secrets and If another guy ever looks at you longer than two seconds, I’m taking his eyes and Good thing you admitted that George was your neighbor’s Rottweiler because I was about to come home and murder someone, but they never made it onto the paper.
I’m not real good with words anyway. I’m a hands-on guy. In the Navy, I serve as a wizzo, a weapons systems officer. I sit behind the pilot, provide targeting information, and shoot down enemy aircraft. The last part we do in secret since technically we’re not at war with anyone. Unofficially, though, we’ve been sent on missions that require firepower. Not that we can tell anyone about it. The Navy’s changing. While there are a few missions that still require human pilots and wizzos, more and more of these tasks are carried out by drones.
Vincent and I are on extended leave because neither of us want to teach, which is basically the future of the pilots in the program. I’d rather let an F-14 run over me than have to stand in front of a bunch of newbies telling them how to fly their fake planes.
Now I’ve got to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life: be a teacher or a doer.
I’m not cut out for the first role, and the second role is on the government chopping block.
“Let’s get something to drink,” Vincent suggests.
I send one last look toward Melody and then decide to drink my night away. Unfortunately, I don’t get drunk enough to avoid seeing Vincent eye up my sister in ways no man should. “Don’t forget your promise to me.” If I’m not getting any, he needs to remain zipped up too. “Saved your sorry ass,” I add in case he forgot the circumstances around the promise.
He presses his lips together and then shoves a handful of pretzels in his mouth. In his head, he’s cursing me.
I shrug and gesture for the bartender to fill me up. If we’re going to be miserable and alone, might as well be drunk too. Only that plan is tossed out when Mom texts me that she’s making dinner.
As we’re walking home from the bar, Vincent asks me the question I’ve been waiting for all night. “Why’d she call you Biscuit?”
I decide to ignore him and pretend that the alcohol has affected my hearing.
“Seriously? You’re not going to tell me?”
“Are you leaving my sister alone?”
There’s complete dead silence from Vincent. I snort. “Exactly.”
We’re close to the house when he says, “You can fix things with Melody. I believe in you, Frank.” He pounds me on the back. I give him a healthy push, and maybe things would’ve escalated had I not caught Mom staring at us from the kitchen window.