“Keep it casual but my eight o’clock. Against the wall.”

  Arlo caught on quick. He turned his head slightly, his lips brushing the edge of her brow. “What am I looking at?”

  Kerrigan fought the instant awareness of him, the subtle tick of his breath against her skin shooting sparks.

  “I’m getting really bad vibes off the dude, over near the entrance. About six-three with the leather vest, arms crossed.”

  He held his part, playing her doting date, but she sensed the tension in him and the shift of his attention across the room.

  “I can’t get a solid look at this angle.”

  Scenarios flashed through her mind, one rapid frame after another, even as one kept flickering as the right choice. “Remember that compliment you gave me earlier? About how good I am at staying calm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Stay calm, Arlo. And try to keep up.”

  Without giving him another opportunity to respond, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, shifting them just enough so he had a view across the room.

  Then she pulled down his head, their lips a fraction of a breath apart, and took.

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome back to the 86th precinct in Brooklyn and the second book in my New York Harbor Patrol series. I’m having so much fun with these books, imagining all that lies beneath the waters surrounding the city I love and call home.

  In this book we meet Detective Arlo Prescott, a hotshot at the 86th and one of the precinct’s brightest talents. He’s coming off a big case and is pulled into an investigation when Officer Kerrigan Doyle finds bodies in a shipwreck.

  Kerrigan has recently joined the police diving team that works out of the 86th. She transferred in from Queens and loves the people she’s working with. She’s especially intrigued by the case and wants answers.

  Arlo and Kerrigan are paired up to uncover the mystery of the bodies on the boat, and his seniority and experience do much to help season her youth and ambition. But along the way, they’re fighting a building attraction for one another as well as the growing danger around them.

  Because a threat is growing. And the person behind it is power hungry and very, very determined to run the city’s drug trade at all costs.

  I hope you enjoy this new book in the series about those who make their living protecting the waters in and around New York City. Their courage and drive to defend the home they love run as deep as the waters that surround it.

  Best,

  Addison Fox

  PERIL IN THE SHALLOWS

  Addison Fox

  Addison Fox is a lifelong romance reader, addicted to happily-ever-afters. After discovering she found as much joy writing about romance as she did reading it, she’s never looked back. Addison lives in New York with an apartment full of books, a laptop that’s rarely out of sight and a wily beagle who keeps her running. You can find her at her home on the web at addisonfox.com or on Facebook (Facebook.com/addisonfoxauthor) and Twitter (@addisonfox).

  Books by Addison Fox

  Harlequin Romantic Suspense

  New York Harbor Patrol

  Danger in the Depths

  Peril in the Shallows

  The Coltons of New York

  Under Colton’s Watch

  Midnight Pass, Texas

  The Cowboy’s Deadly Mission

  Special Ops Cowboy

  Under the Rancher’s Protection

  Undercover K-9 Cowboy

  Her Texas Lawman

  The Coltons of Colorado

  Undercover Colton

  Visit the Author Profile page at

  Harlequin.com.

  For my new editor, Emma. I know this is the start of a beautiful partnership.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Excerpt from The Suspect Next Door by Rachel Astor

  Chapter 1

  Kerrigan Doyle loved the water. To this day, her mother still told the story of Kerrigan’s first trip to Coney Island and her squeals of delight as her father dipped her toes, over and over, into the lapping waves of the Atlantic one late-August afternoon.

  It had been a solid quarter century since that first dip, but she’d never lost her soul-deep, unceasing desire for her first love.

  Too bad she hadn’t figured out a way to find any other loves, Kerrigan thought, before chastising herself for the mawkishness.

  It wasn’t like she’d put that much time into the dating scene. A fact that her best friend, Laverne, had berated her for this past summer.

  “Get out and live a little,” her friend had told her. “You spend all day with those hot divers, Kerr. Can’t you spend a few evenings with one, too?”

  While Laverne only had her best interests at heart, her friend’s work at one of the large accounting firms in Manhattan insulated her from some of the more challenging aspects of the modern dating scene. Laverne was a working city girl, out most nights of the week with an ever-rotating crew of fellow twentysomethings who all had a steady paycheck, a love of martinis and an expectation of “work hard, play hard” as the foundation of their lives.

  For all her progressive thoughts and go-get-’em excitement for her friend, Kerrigan was well aware she couldn’t enjoy the same lifestyle. She believed it was essential to maintain a reputation as a damn good cop instead of as a man-hunting twentysomething.

  She’d seen it happen before. It might not be fair, but the woman ended up on the short end of the stick when things went sideways.

  And while she hadn’t been one of New York’s finest all that long, she’d seen enough crash-and-burn relationships to recognize that was a potential minefield she wasn’t interested in navigating.

  Chicken.

  That inward voice whispered the word, even if it wasn’t the most apt moniker for herself. She’d completed the police training course and the diving course for the special division of the NYPD with flying colors. And she’d had the best times for a female recruit in department history. And in the nearly two years since she’d joined the special arm of the NYPD that specialized in underwater work, she’d built a rock-solid reputation for herself.

  One that had paid professional dividends, such as the dive she was part of today.

  The waters around New York City held their own challenges, as the hard-flowing currents and the confluence of freshwater and saltwater ensured her dives were always interesting. That she was considered one of the experts who not only knew how to navigate those waters, but also work within them, was a source of deep pride.

  Her work challenged her and constantly kept her on her toes. It might be all-consuming but working under the water required her full focus. She’d explained this to Laverne repeatedly, to little effect.

  Shaking off her rambling thoughts, she keyed into the quieting chatter as their lead detective, Wyatt Trumball, stood on the deck of the small boat. They were currently bobbing in the water between Governors Island and the solemn face of the Statue of Liberty, rising up in all her green splendor from the grounds of Liberty Island. Ellis Island was a bit farther in the distance and Kerrigan felt a small shot of gratitude for her intrepid ancestors, who’d been processed through that small spit of land after arriving from Ireland more than a century and a half before.

  Driving, cold rain beat down on the exterior of the boat and Kerrigan sunk a bit deeper into her sweatshirt. October in New York was a tough month—the weather could be damn near perfect, or it could be a dire example of all Mother Nature could toss, including hurricanes.

  They’d been close to the latter all week, as the residual effects of a storm that had hit farther south had made a total mess of the entire coastal region. She could already imagine the conditions for the day’s dives. Wyatt was clearly aware of the dangers as he began their briefing.

  “A suspected drug boat went down here around four a.m. Our good friends in the Coast Guard gave solid chase, but ultimately lost them to a couple of hard waves the perpetrators didn’t know how to navigate.”

  “Coast Guard didn’t try to engage?” Gavin Hayes asked, concern on his face.

  “They did and called for NYPD backup. But the overnight storm and the tail end of the hurricane that hit Florida three days ago didn’t do anyone any favors.”

  She heard the grumbles and even a bold curse that their water-based comrades could have done more when Wyatt held up a hand. “The fact the drug runners set the boat on fire to avoid detection sealed the decision to call off the op. Especially once it sunk and the Coast Guard already had the coordinates of its location in hand. They’ve also kept a team in place all night, despite this lovely weather we’re having, so let’s cut them some slack.” Wyatt’s grin was more grim than humorous.

  The grumbles quieted, and Kerrigan didn’t miss the downward cast of a few gazes as Wyatt finished up.

  “When it became clear there weren’
t survivors, the focus shifted to our work today. We’re on recovery duty.”

  More muttered curses went up around her and Kerrigan already knew why. Recovery was a nasty business under the best of circumstances, but a deliberately torched boat left a serious mess behind. In addition to mutilated bodies, the accelerants used needed to be handled with extra care and caution.

  She let out a small sigh of her own as she imagined her descent into the water and the approach to the boat. She braced for what they’d likely find. Already brackish water would be thick with the accelerant and the evidence was likely in multiple pieces, or heavily decomposing from the fire and then time in the water.

  And the bodies...

  It was part of the job, and she would willingly complete it, but dragging the dead off the floor of the ocean never made for an enjoyable aspect of her work.

  But it was the job. Along with evidence recovery, bomb checks, standard patrol and any number of routine duties that were required when living in a city surrounded by water.

  Wyatt continued his briefing. “You’re going out in pairs, four to a Zodiac boat. The goal here is to get in and get out as safely and as quickly as we can. The harbor’s a bitch today and she’s not looking too happy to give up her secrets. Soon as we get the bodies and a recovery area set up around the boat, we’re pulling out.”

  “You don’t want us to secure evidence?” Gavin asked.

  “If it’s in easy reach and you can safely secure proof, you’re cleared to do so, but the entire boat’s coming into impound and will be scoured top to bottom once retrieved.”

  Kerrigan considered the orders before returning her attention to the full briefing on her tablet. Wyatt was thorough, as always, but there were some additional details on expected dive conditions, the specs and size of the boat, theories on who was navigating the cache of drugs through the waters and the ultimate destination of said drugs.

  Endless, Kerrigan thought. The battle against the criminals who sought to ply their trade in New York never stopped. Or even slowed, really. There was an element of hopelessness to it, and she worked hard not to let it creep in too often. But something about the deeply gloomy day and the useless loss of life dragged at her.

  It was an invisible weight they all bore and most days she handled it just fine.

  So why was today any different?

  Shaking it off, she scanned the high points of the briefing once more, pictured the area she’d go out on the Zodiac boat and how she and her dive partner—it looked like she was working with Jayden Houston today—would split up the search-and-rescue.

  And then it was time to go.

  “We’re partners today, Kerr.”

  She smiled at Jayden, his dark brown eyes crinkling at the corners in return. “We are, on an absolutely glorious day for a dive.”

  “Come on now, you mean you don’t love diving in dark soup with a side of rip current?”

  “We’re living the dream, Officer Houston.”

  Jayden slung an arm around her neck as they walked onto the soaked deck of the police boat, the light rain that had accompanied them from their headquarters at the 86th Precinct now coming down in torrents. “That we are, Officer Doyle. A fact I tell my husband, who is currently ensconced in his very comfortable and, might I add, warm office uptown. And I still wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  She patted a hand on his impressive chest before slipping from beneath Jayden’s arm and crossing to her equipment. She efficiently loaded it all into the waiting Zodiac boat, mimicking the work of her fellow officers as they all got ready to face the mission. And as she nestled her gear into the inflatable that would lead them to the dive site, she had to admit Jayden had a point. With a smile she couldn’t hold back, Kerrigan stared through the rain that poured in near sheets over New York Harbor, the city skyline barely visible in the distance.

  She really was living the dream.

  * * *

  An absolute nightmare stared back at her from the harbor floor. She and Jayden were the second team down, following Wyatt and Gavin by about four minutes. The detective had radioed up the condition of the boat and the suspected location of the bodies, so Kerrigan and Jayden had made that quadrant their focus.

  Only to find a tangle of nets, discarded boxes and a clear effort to ruin the crime scene before the boat had inevitably gone down.

  They limited voice communication whenever possible because of their breathing apparatuses, but Kerrigan didn’t miss Jayden’s sharp intake of breath. “This is bad.”

  “Nightmare.”

  Their words were garbled but she’d done this work long enough—and had more than enough contextual clues—to understand and be understood.

  And this was monumentally bad.

  The realization that the boat was going down in the storm had obviously driven the drug runners in their last moments. A significant portion of the boat had been doused with fuel, then set on fire. The water was thick with gas, and she could catch light whiffs of it, even with her breathing apparatus.

  With steady, deliberate movements, she swam closer to the boat. The always restless water was churning even more than usual with the continued aftereffects of the hurricane. The harbor was never particularly clear, but the agitated waters ensured her headlamp barely made a dent in the dense, murky depths.

  Jayden voiced his location and what was in his view, and she responded with what she could see. Although they weren’t more than ten feet apart, the most she could make out of her partner in that short expanse was an outline of his body in his thick diving suit.

  All the more reason to find what they’d come for and get out.

  Wyatt had warned them the dive would be difficult. The continued agitation of the water, pressing on her body as she fought to keep her position, and the general condition of the torched boat only added to the overall challenge of making the recovery.

  “Got something, Kerr.” A hard curse followed, very unlike her normally jovial dive partner.

  Kerrigan voiced a quick reply and worked her way through the thick muck toward Jayden.

  Only to come face-to-face with two charred bodies, lashed haphazardly to the still-intact railing of the boat.

  * * *

  Detective Arlo Prescott watched the sheets of water run off the edge of the police boat and burrowed more deeply into his NYPD-issued jacket. The weather had been a mess the past three days, with puddles the size of small lakes springing up at every intersection in Brooklyn. He’d done his level best to keep his head buried in work, but he had to go home sometime, and the late October nor’easter had given the city a solid dousing.

  The only plus side, he mused as they drew alongside a couple of Zodiac boats, stopping to allow their occupants onto the larger NYPD vessel, was the decided lack of street crime, since the lingering storm had driven most people inside.

  Unless the bastards were dumb enough to try a water escape. Arlo sighed to himself as he saw his closest friend in the NYPD, Wyatt Trumball, climb out of the Zodiac and into the police boat.

  Which, based on today’s outing, those idiots most certainly had. Proof once again that crime happened on the water just as it did on the streets.

  “You look like a drowned rat, Trumball.” Arlo offered the man a hand, pulling him into a close, one-armed hug. “A freezing-cold drowned rat.”

  “You should see the other guy.” Wyatt stepped back, his gaze already scanning the rest of his crew disembarking from the now-tethered Zodiacs. “Or guys, I should say.”

  There was a second police boat in the water, dispatched to manage the evidence recovery of the drug runners’ fishing vessel. And then there were the smaller speedboats that would keep lookie-loos out of the surrounding water as they dealt with the bodies.

  Arlo had already been warned these bodies were more gruesome than the Halloween decorations beginning to line the houses in his Red Hook neighborhood.

  It never failed to amaze him that even in the worst weather conditions nature could throw at them, there’d still be some dumb jerk who wanted to watch the show. The grislier, the better.

  “Hell of a way to go,” Arlo said as he considered his friend.