Page 1 of Anchor
ONE
REID HANLON’S HOME – LARKSPUR BEND, TEXAS – FEBRUARY 2002
Larkspur, population 2,800, lay forty-five miles west of Austin, where the Pedernales River made a lazy bend and everyone knew who taught you to throw a curveball.
The sun was just beginning to dip behind the trees when Tuck Hanlon turned into the gravel drive. The tires crunched like dry cornflakes beneath him. The air smelled of cut grass and charcoal—someone a few houses down was grilling ribs again. He hadn’t eaten since morning, but the ache in his chest had nothing to do with hunger.
Lanie Hanlon opened the screen door before he could knock. That look in her eyes hadn’t changed since they were kids—cornflower blue, clear as a bell, and always two seconds from calling his bluff. “You said six,” she said, hands on her hips. “It’s almost seven. Burt had to get back to the station.”
“Traffic,” he replied smoothly, tossing her a crooked smile. Close enough to the truth. “Had to double back. Forgot something for Reid.”
The sigh in her breath said plenty. “He’s been waiting on the porch since five-thirty. Thinks you’re Batman.”
Tuck smirked. “Close enough.”
Socks sliding across hardwood, Reid rounded the corner at full speed, wearing a Cowboys jersey like a cape. Nine years old, all elbows and knees and unchecked joy. Same wild grin Tuck used to flash when he was up to no good.
“Uncle Tuck!”
Tuck dropped to a knee just in time. The kid collided with him, bones, laughter, and blind trust. He wrapped him in one arm, holding on a beat longer than usual. “You been drivin’ your mama nuts?”
“Every day,” Reid replied proudly.
Tuck chuckled and reached into his jacket. “Got somethin’ for you.” He pulled out a worn canvas pouch and handed it over.
Reid opened it like treasure, and maybe it was. His eyes went wide.
Inside was a brass compass, scratched and weathered but still steady, still pointing north.
“This was mine,” Tuck said quietly. “Your gramps gave it to me before he passed. He carried it in Vietnam. I carried it through twelve jumps, maybe more. Figured it’s time for a new mission.”
Reid turned it over like it was gold. “This is real,” he whispered. “Like… military real.”
“Damn right.” Tuck nodded. “Always points north. No matter how lost you get.”
The boy’s face fell. “You’re leavin’ again.”
Tuck swallowed hard, the knot rising in his throat. “Yeah, champ. I’ll write.” He always did. It was never enough.
Tiny feet padded across the porch. Samantha appeared in unicorn pajamas, a pink tiara askew on her curls, dragging astuffed rabbit by one ear. She blinked up at him, then offered a shy wave. “Hi, Unka Tuck.”
“Hey, sunshine.” His voice softened. “You takin’ care of this rascal?”
She nodded solemnly and leaned against Reid’s side like it was where she belonged.
JUNE 2ND
The memory from twenty-two years earlier struck Tuck as he stepped from his rental. A familiar stillness settled over him, nothing to do with peace and everything to do with readiness. His haircut would always be regulation, and his eyes stayed young. He’d been an Air Force pararescueman, a PJ, before deployments stacked up and the years carved him down to what mattered.
Now he carried a physician assistant’s badge and a Chase Medical ID clipped inside his jacket—Clinical Facility Director, it read. Not the white-coat kind of director, but the kind who built medical centers like fortresses and filled them with people who could hold the line.
Today was another kind of goodbye.
He was in town to sign the sale papers on the old house where his niece and nephew had grown up. Four years had passed since his sister, Lanie, died, her body finally giving out after too many years drowning grief in a bottle. She’d never pulled herself together after Burt was killed. Burt was a TexasRanger—never married to her, and their kids took Hanlon as their surname, but he made sure they were provided for.
His death had come quick, a roadside accident a mile from the bend leading home. Reid was eleven, Samantha only six. Tuck did what he could, splitting his life between pararescue deployments, his own immediate family, and that small house, trying to keep Lanie from unraveling. But some things were already broken.
Now Sam was finishing nursing school, and Tuck had opened an entry-level spot for her at Chase Medical in D.C. She had a path forward. He hoped Reid would see the same. He was pointing at an open door the boy could walk through—away from the grind of service, toward something that healed more than it hurt.
