Anchor (Chase Legacy #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

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 a stuffed 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 Texas Ranger—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.

When Tuck stepped out onto the porch, Reid followed. The river rushed through the trees, and a dog barked somewhere to the south.

“Heard from Sam,” Tuck said. “She’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

“Say it,” Reid replied without preamble.

Tuck didn’t pretend. “You’ve been white-knuckling yourself through steel for too long.”

Reid leaned on the rail, the wood smooth where forearms had rested thousands of times. “You saying I’m broken?”

“No,” Tuck said with no pity, no pep talk, just truth. “I’m saying you’re carrying more than you should alone. The job teaches you to out-stubborn pain. It doesn’t teach you when to hand off the burden so your hands can do what they’re best at.”

“You recruiting?” Reid’s mouth tilted. “You brought a compass the last time we stood out here. Back when I still had a dad and a functioning mom.” He pulled the compass from his pocket. He still carried it, turning it in his hand, feeling the pull he pretended not to. “This is…”

“Real,” Tuck finished. “Like what you’ve been doing. But real leaves marks. Some you see. Some you don’t.”

They let that hang a moment. Three generations of Hanlons wrapped up in a brass device. Reid stared into the distance at nothing and everything.

The porch light clicked on by itself like a benediction. The memory flooded back. “New speech.” Reid looked at his uncle. “Sounds like a setup.”

Tuck’s lips curled, amused. “No setup. I’m your uncle. I brought dinner and an exit.” He let the words land. “Chase International could use you. Different fight. Cleaner lines. You get to walk guys out of the fire instead of back into it.”

“You left jumping out of planes to babysit surgeons?”

Tuck snorted. “I left to join a place where the people who keep everyone else alive don’t get left on gurneys in hallways. Where care reaches everyday folks, no matter if they can pay. I don’t babysit surgeons—I tell them where the blade stops. Ask around.”

Reid watched headlights skim the curve of the river road—the same bend that had taken his father. “I’m not a hospital guy.”

“Good,” Tuck said. “I’m not offering you a clipboard and a stethoscope.

I’m offering you a team. Chase International’s planting a flag in Ann Arbor.

Killian Moynihan, fresh from New York, is taking command.

Noah Paulsen’s his XO. They’re standing up a brand-new tier-one unit, and they want operators who can see the whole board. ”

Reid didn’t move, but his pulse ticked harder. “You setting me up for a desk?”

“I’m setting you up for a life,” Tuck said, soft and immovable. “It’s where the job doesn’t eat the man doing it. You’re ready to pivot, Reid. Take the goddamn hand I’m offering.”

The silence between them carried weight.

Reid closed the compass, feeling the needle tug true under brass. “When?”

“Ten days,” Tuck said. “I’ll run your medical myself. Pete will pretend not to watch, then absolutely watch. Killian’ll make you sweat. Noah’ll see right through whatever you think you’re hiding.”

Reid’s rueful laugh came short. “Then I should show up sober.”

“Try fed too.” Tuck clapped his shoulder. “Eat tonight. Sleep. Pack light. You won’t need more than you can carry.”

Inside, a nightlight carved a square of gold into the hall. The house still held pictures of a man long gone and the ghost of a woman who’d never survived his loss. Reid wondered, not for the first time, how long he could run before circling the same bend and finding himself at the beginning again.

He flipped the compass once in his palm and slid it back into his pocket. “Ann Arbor.”

Like a promise, Tuck confirmed, “Ann Arbor.”