Cliff's Edge
Authors: Laura Harner
Laura Harner
Cliff’s Edge is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Laura Harner
Cover photograph by DWS Photography
Cover Art by Laura Harner
Edited by Jae Ashley
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Hot Corner Press.
ISBN: 978-1-941841-01-3
Warning: All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Contact the publisher for further information:
[email protected]
Contents
When I first wrote Ty Hard, Willow Springs Ranch Book 1, I had no real idea of how much the readers would fall in love with my guys. This series really signaled a new beginning in my writing life. Here we are 6.5 books later, and Cliff and Ryan are ushering another new beginning. I hope you love them every bit as much as Ty and Cass.
Thank you to my writing partners: Havan Fellows, Lee Brazil, Will Parkinson, and Tom Webb—I love spending every day in Google chat writing with you.
A very special thank you to Mardee Barnett, Christy Duke, Mary Wallace, and as always, Jae Ashley.
Finally, I would like to thank you, my wonderful reader. I couldn’t have done this without each and every one of you. Thank you, for all your support.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Big Red
: WM. Wrigley Jr. Company
Coke
: The Coca-Cola Company
Corona
: Cerveceria Modelo, S.A. de C.V.
Day-Glo
: Day-Glo Color Corp.
Dirty Jobs
: Discovery Communications, LLC
Gator (4-wheeler)
: Deere & Company
Google
: Google, Inc.
Guinness
: Diageo Ireland
iPhone
: Apple, Inc.
iPod
: Apple, Inc.
Jack
(referencing Jack Daniel beverage): Jack Daniel’s Properties, Inc.
Jeep
: Chrysler Group, LLC
Keurig
: Keurig, Inc.
Luminox
: Lumondi, Inc.
NCIS
: CBS Studios Inc.
Netflix
: Netflix, Inc.
New England Patriots
: New England Patriots LLC
San Diego Chargers
: Chargers Football Company, LLC
San Diego Padres
: Padres L.P. Padres, Inc.
SEALs
: The Department of the Navy
Seattle Seahawks
: Football Northwest LLC
SIG 226 & SIG
: SIG Swiss Industrial Company
Skilcraft (clock)
: National Industries for the Blind
Sons of Anarchy
: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation
So You Think You Can Dance
: Dick Clark Productions, Inc.
SpongeBob SquarePants
: Viacom International Inc.
US Army
: Department of the Army
Wranglers
: Wrangler Apparel Corp.
WSR Book 7
Navy SEALs Cliff “Snides” Snyder and Ryan “Rhino” Matthews have been moving comfortably in each other’s worlds for two decades. Best friends since attending BUDs twenty years earlier, and despite playing for different teams, they’re often accused of acting like an old married couple—much to their amusement.
Assigned to shore duty for his final tour before retirement and without Ryan to anchor him, Cliff’s restlessness leads him to a local club and hands-on research that leaves him in a compromising position and a witness to murder—signaling the abrupt end of his Navy career. Needing a place to lay low and lick his wounds, Cliff visits his old friends at the Willow Springs Ranch while he considers making cowboy his new job title.
After six long months on deployment, Rhino returns to San Diego—only to discover Cliff’s gone dark and the unlikely words ‘poor judgment’ hanging in the air. Despite the offer of a prestigious assignment, Ryan opts to track down his best friend first and finds him at the WSR…along with more questions than he ever expected. With the most coveted orders for a SEAL dangling, twenty years of service under his belt, and Cliff determined to move on without him, decisions must be made.
Ryan is certain he has the perfect solution going forward, but Cliff knows he must face the fallout of his actions alone—and the one thing he’s determined to do is protect Ryan from making the biggest mistake of his career—even if it costs Cliff everything. You know what they say—the only easy day was yesterday.
“Black and tan. I’ll watch while you pull,” Cliff told the bow-tied, bare-chested bartender.
“Very good, Sir. I always enjoy being watched while I’m pulling,” the cheeky man behind the bar replied with a smile.
Laughing, Cliff dragged a high-backed stool closer as he looked beyond the taps to survey the Thursday night crowd. Although he’d only been to the club half a dozen times in as many years, the interior was as he’d remembered. Dark wood wainscoting, white with red fleur-de-lis accented wallpaper, and swathes of heavy red fabric draped around the room, masking the interior-sealed windows. Elaborate gold and crystal chandeliers glowed softly over the burgundy leather tufted-back sofas, chaise lounges, ornate side chairs, and decor tables. If the cavernous room had been devoid of people and props, you could almost believe you’d stepped into a long ago Victorian parlor. Cliff snorted. Okay, maybe a Victorian brothel. His gaze settled on the woman clad only in a black silk bustier, bound face-first against the St. Andrews cross. Behind her, a man wielded a flogger, drawing up a shade of pink across her ass and thighs.
Mostly ignoring the scene in the center of the room, men and women stood talking or sat in one of the many conversational groupings, some actively engaged in play, others watched, and a few people drifted from spot to spot, seemingly entranced by their surroundings.
Turning to study the others who’d elected to sit at the bar, Cliff noticed most of them were men, dressed in business casual. Some of the drinkers might be starting a long weekend and didn’t have to be to work until Monday, but Cliff would bet more than a few would have serious regrets when they hit the desk tomorrow morning. Several pretended an interest in the bottom of their glasses, but most followed the bartender’s slim hips as he worked the crowded bar. The glass of Guinness sat nearly full to the side of the beer taps while the pretty dark-haired man stepped to the opposite end of the bar to pour a Jack and Coke for another customer. He moved with a slightly exaggerated graceful efficiency that said he was aware of the admiring glances. By the time he returned to Cliff’s end of the long bar, the dark brew had settled. He added the last inch, holding the glass straight up so the head rounded perfectly above the rim. So many suggestive comments played in Cliff’s head, but in the end, he settled for a quick thanks as the bartender placed the perfectly stacked Guinness on a circular coaster.
“Running a tab tonight, Sir?”
Cliff tossed a bill on the bar. “No thanks—this is it for me,” he said, raising the glass in toast. He tilted it just enough to take a mouthful of foam along with the velvet smooth brew nearly thick enough to make a meal. “Mmmm…perfect. Keep the change.”
The slender young man’s brows rose at the generous tip. “Thank you. My name’s Gentry. I don’t think I’ve seen you around Hard Labour before, Sir…” He vigorously swiped at a nonexistent stain on the gleaming oak while he waited to see if Cliff would take the conversational bait.
“Oh, I’ve been here a few times,” Cliff assured him. He licked the foam from his lips, enjoying the way the big, blue eyes followed every movement of his tongue. He raised a brow. “Is Draco around?”
“Oh—” Gentry’s gaze darted to the dimly lit staircase that ran along the wall. “May I tell him who’s asking?”
“Cliff. A friend of Rhino’s. Draco’s expecting me.” Damn…he wished Rhino was in CONUS. He should have talked to his best friend first.
“Sure…I’ll call and let him know you’re here.” He swished his narrow hips a little as he walked to the register, rang up the drink, and dropped the change in a tip jar. He tossed a quick wink over his shoulder, then turned away to use the phone hanging on the wall.
Five minutes later, Gentry stepped around the bar and ushered Cliff to the bottom of the stairs. “Just call out if there’s anything at all I can do for you, Sir. Oh, and you forgot this.” He shoved the coaster into Cliff’s hand. Looking down, he saw the man’s name scrawled across the back, along with a phone number.
“Thanks, Gentry. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Taking the steps two at a time, Cliff Snyder bounded up the half staircase leading to the loft that served as the office for the club manager. Now that he made up his mind—sort of—he was anxious to get on with the mission. He gave himself a mental snort. Okay, so maybe looking into club membership and training as a Dom wasn’t exactly the same thing as the life or death assignments that were part of his job. Given his teammates often referred to him as Cool Hand when he was deep in demolition mode, anyone he worked with would be laughing at his current case of uncertainty.
He tapped on the door and entered at the shouted, “Come in.”
The man striding toward him was striking. With his square face creased into a broad smile, he reminded Cliff of Harrison Ford in a craggy kind of way. “Cliff, nice to see you again,” he said, hand extended.
Accepting both the handshake and the polite lie, Cliff followed the club owner inside. Draco Kincaid would have no reason to remember meeting him more than two years earlier.
“Thanks for seeing me. I have— Shit. What the hell do I have?” He laughed and shook his head.
“A few questions?” Draco supplied. “Come on. Let’s have a seat and talk.” The room was divided into two distinct areas. Directly in front of them and lining the left wall was the office space. In addition to a traditionally styled oak desk with a rolling leather chair, there were filing cabinets, a small safe, and a metal equipment rack with shelves holding miniature security monitors. In the center, a twenty-seven inch display cycled through each camera view, the image hovering on the screen for less than ten seconds before shifting to the next. It was a dizzying array of club scenes and private sessions, but before the screen changed views three times, Draco pressed a button on a small remote, and the monitors went dark. “The cameras are monitored from another room,” Draco said by way of explanation as they passed through the open office to the sitting area along the far wall.
