Shortbread Shakedown

By Sofia Aves

A package determined to derail his scheduled future delivered by a mystery woman. A tiny note hints at who she is—and how to find her.

When veteran and acting Brigadier General Dominic Cage returns from deployment days before Christmas, he's unprepared for the shortbread cookies pressed into his hands in a case of mistaken identity by a stunning woman. Unable to forget her, Cage trusts Violet's promise of a true Christmas—until the lines of his reality blur.

Damaged and resolute, and unable to escape the gunfire that haunts him, Cage's choice could cost them everything.

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Nov 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781509238651

Sofia Aves

Sofia Aves is a USA TODAY Bestselling author who writes fast-paced police romances, suspenseful mysteries, steamy cowboys with a Montana backdrop and the occasional cheeky god. She loves reading Indie authors and hides her collection of college romance books beneath an ever-growing TBR pile. Sofia is a mum of three crazies and an overly large fur baby who thinks she’s a teacup puppy. She loves orchids but can’t always keep them alive. Sofia lives near Brisbane, Australia Join Sofia’s newsletter & get a free Blue Blooded Brothers short story: https://BookHip.com/CNMQFX Follow Sofia on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/sofia-aves?follw=true

Book preview

The girl checked over her shoulders with wide eyes, her hair flying at all angles.

It’s fine. I held up my hands, palms open. It happened. Attempting to cover my ass with a smile, as if I hadn’t just tried to kiss her in the middle of a crowded airport.

She blinked at me. I’m sorry.

Sharp corners poked into my palm. A crinkling at waist level diverted my attention to the small package she pressed into my hands. I curled my fingers around it by reflex. In a flurry of honey-colored curls, she disappeared into the crowd that closed over her path.

I hefted the small bag, examining the shortbread cookies wrapped in cellophane. A tiny, yellow ribbon was tied at the top in a neat knot, and a little handmade tag sat to one side. A jaunty sprig of holly propped it up.

To Max, love Violet.

The crowd swelled, disguising her retreat. Carols cranked over the loudspeaker system, overriding the chatter of hundreds of people stuffed into a too-small space.

Plastic reindeer held me with their fixed stare as I pushed my way to where I thought she had headed, her scent dissipating into the crowd around us. I barely registered the man who appeared next to me, taking my bag from my shoulder. My driver introduced himself to deaf ears.

All I wanted was to find the honey-blonde curls of the woman who had ghosted into my life and disappeared.

Praise for Sofia Aves

I loved this short story. A real heart-warming story of adjusting to a new environment and allowing yourself to enjoy the small things in life.

~Anonymous (5 Stars)

Shortbread Shakedown

by

Sofia Aves

Christmas Cookies

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Shortbread Shakedown

COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Sofia Aves

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2021

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3865-1

Christmas Cookies

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

As a thank you to veterans everywhere,

this is my shortbread cookie for you.

Chapter One

I stood outside the customs exit, the airport buzzing with people fussing over their excess luggage. Carols blared over the cacophony of holiday travelers milling in a controlled frenzy, anxious to locate friends and kin. Festive trees lined the large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the streetscape, wound in bunting, their fairy lights twinkling merrily even during daylight hours.

The crowd that cluttered LAX’s International terminal circled me to greet friends and welcome family, but none of them were for me. I scanned above the sea of heads for a placard reading Dominic Cage, groping at my hip with a long-honed instinct for an absent sidearm, despite wearing full dress uniform for the flight.

The place where my holster should rest against my leg lay empty, my uniform incomplete without it. People jostled me, bumps coming from all directions. The constant roar in my head blocked out everything else, even the activity around me.

Focus. It’s just home. You’re home.

But after so many months existing in a tent, transiting back and forth between the two countries, I was no longer certain I could call either home.

Living in the desert on and off over so many years meant I only had my bed in the barracks or a tent in the pink dust. Here, I’d be assigned a building that put sufficient distance between me and everyone else. Months of wishing to be back on US soil warped into a bittersweet desire to turn tail and run back to the pink sand that had coated my gritty existence for the past eighteen months.

Grains dusted my hand as I turned, regardless that I had washed my hair before I left the desert. The stuff got everywhere. After the long flight, I appreciated the chance to walk. The comfort offered by a commercial aircraft didn’t go unnoticed either—the seats had a lot more padding than the canvas webbing of a Herc. The constant drone of the military aircraft was loud, and exhausting, despite the earmuffs I’d packed. I never wanted to see another red seat again in my life.

Two long weeks had been spent in transit waiting for aircraft that sat on the tarmac. Repairs halted while parts were shipped in, and I spent my wasted hours convincing myself I wanted to be back on US soil. Now, that small, air-conditioned tent in the middle of the desert looked appealing.

A tiny woman with a head of gray hair jostled me. I stepped back and bumped into another body. Movement surrounded me as I mumbled apologies, my shoulders tightening. I stood a head taller than most, which gave me a constant supply of fresh air, and combat boots helped me see over the masses. I refused to part with the boots, despite that they weren’t technically part of my dress uniform. Those boots had taken me across so many deployments and brought me back from each one, safe.

Home.

There was that word again.

I picked out the soldier hoisting a sign at chest level in a perfunctory manner, my name printed across it. He’d chosen a good, clear position, highly visible from the customs exit. Either he had arrived very early or wiggled his way into the area to find me. Good man. I made a mental note to praise him to his ranking officer.

I raised my hand to signal to him as a body barreled into me at chest height. Bouncy, honey-blonde curls tangled around my hands—not the sort that came out of a salon, but a true, soft beachy blonde that tumbled over my arms in luxurious waves. The sort of sweet luxury I wanted to hold against my chest when I woke each morning.

Whoa. Where the hell did that come from?

A hardened soldier doesn’t deserve the pleasures of a regular home with a beautiful woman. We’re too screwed up inside for that.

Mwffl-axx. Soood eeeooo.

I couldn’t make out a single word with her voice muffled between my shirt and her hair.

Swearing under my breath but grinning at the same time, I straightened her, apologies curling my tongue. People bumped us again, a distance growing as the jostling receded from my consciousness. The buzzing between my ears quietened.

In a sliver of a second, I glimpsed deep brown eyes ringed with purple as the terminal fell away. She launched into me, wrapping her arms around my neck to cut off